Egil’s Saga (31 page)

And now held they their peace for a while.

Then spake Egil: “What is it now, daughter? Chewest thou now somewhat?”

“I chew dulse,”
⁸
saith she; “because I am minded that then will it be worse with me than before. I am minded that else will I be over-long alive.”

“Is that bad for a man?” saith Egil.

“Exceeding bad,” saith she. “Wilt thou eat?”

“What can it matter?” saith he.

But a while later called she and bade give her to drink. So now was given her water to drink.

Then spake Egil: “So worketh it with one that eateth dulse, thirsteth he aye the more for that”.

“Wilt thou drink, father?” saith she.

He took it, and swallowed a big draught, and that was in a beast’s horn.

Then spake Thorgerd: “Now are we cheated! This is milk”.

Then bit Egil a shard out of the horn, all that his teeth took hold on, and therewith cast down the horn.

Then spake Thorgerd: “What rede shall we two now take to? ’Tis ended now with this plan. Now would I, father, that we two lengthen our life, so that thou mightest work a funeral song after Bodvar; and I will score it on a roller;
⁹
and then let us two die if it seems us good. Slow methinks will thy son Thorstein be to work the song after Bodvar, and that would not do if there were no right funeral held for him. For I am not minded that we two shall be sitting at the drinking of his funeral feast”.

Egil saith that that was then not to be looked for, that he would have might to work then though he sought to: “Yet try this I may”, saith he. Egil had then had a son that was named Gunnar, and that one too had died a little before. And this is the beginning of the song:
¹⁰

Heavy meseems

Is stirring of tongue now,

’Neath air-weight

Of the ode’s balance.

’Tis not now hopeful

For Odin’s plunder:

From heart’s well

No handy drawing.

’Tis not rais’d easy

(’Cause ruleth here

Heavy sobbings)

From soul’s abode—

The fair thing found

Of Frigg’s kinsfolk,

Borne of yore

From Jotunheim.

Faultless: the one thing

Left for me:

My last, best

Boat unsunken.

The giant’s wound-stream

Waileth under,

Past boat-house door

Of my blood and kin.

For my line

At’s latter end

Standeth, storm-bent

Like forest maples.

’Tis no blithe man,

He that must bear

A dear one’s corpse

From his dwelling down.

Yet for me

A mother’s corpse,

A father dead,

Is first to tell of.

That bear I out

From temple of words,

Timber for song-craft

Speech-beleaféd.

Grim was the breach

The breaker wrought

In the kin-built fence

Of my father’s garth.

I know, unfill’d

And open standeth

My son’s place

That the sea swept bare.

Greatly hath Ran

For-ruin’d me.

I am over-stript

Of loving friends.

The sea hath cut

The cords of mine house,

The hard-spun line

That held from me.

Wot thou, if my wrongs

Could be wreak’d with the sword,

With the Ale-Smith

’T were soon over.

Had I might to fell

The fierce storm’s brother,

’Gainst Aegir’s darling

I’d fare to battle.

Yet had I nothing,

(As I bethought me),

Of might to strive

’Gainst my son’s slayer.

To the common folk’s

Eyes lies bare

The helplessness

Of an old man.

Me hath the sea

Sorely robbéd:

Grim ’tis the death

Of kinsfolk to tell of:

Since for me

My house’s shield

To the way of bliss

From life hath turn’d.

This know I for sure:

In this son of mine

No stuff of an ill man

Was ever waxen.

If the tree had gotten

Grown to’s prime,

To the War-God’s hand

’Should a reach’d at last.

Aye valu’d he most

What his father said,

Though all beside

Should speak against it.

Me he upheld

In mine householding,

And mine estate

Most he strengthen’d.

Oft cometh me

In the light wind

Of the Moon’s bride

My brother lost.

I bethink me of him

When Hild rageth;

Look round for him,

And think on this:

Who else, high-hearted,

His place can fill me,

To stand by me

When mad talk riseth?

Need I that oft

’Gainst thrawart folk:

Wary I wing,

Sith friends are ebbing.

Much hard to find

Is he we may trust in,

’Mid all folk

In Iceland dwelling;

For the good-for-nought

Who a great house wrecketh

Barters for rings

His brother’s corpse.

Find I that oft,

Where fee is bidden

Nay, and that’s said:

That none may get

Right boot for his son

’Less he breed another:

Nor get that man

Who might to other

Stand in the stead

Of a brother born.

It likes me not

Of the common people,

Not though each keep him

Quiet with other.—

—My boy’s come

Where the beë’s path beareth:

My wife’s son,

To seek to his kin.

But ’gainst me still,

With’s mind unmov’d

The Judge of the Froth-mash

Standeth yet.

’Neath unrest’s hood

Hold I may not

Up and aright

My riding thoughts,

Since my son

By the fire of sickness

In hateful wise

From his home was took:

Him that, I wis,

Warded him well

Withouten blemish

From blameful speech.

That mind I too,

That He which holdeth

Converse with men

In the Gods’ home rais’d

Mine house’s ash-tree

From me that grew,

The kindred wood

Of my wife’s kin.

Well stood I

With the Lord of Spears:

I made me trusting

To trow on Him;

Till the Ruler of Wains,

The Awarder of Vict’ry

Cut bonds of our friendship

And flung me off.

Worship I not, then,

Vilir’s Brother,

The Most High God,

Of mine own liking.

Yet Mimir’s Friend hath

To me vouchsaféd

Boot for my bale

That is better, I ween.

Mine Art He gave me,

The God of Battles,

Great Foe of Fenrir,—

A gift all faultless,

And that temper

That still hath brought me

Notable foes

’Mid the knavish-minded.

All’s hard to wield now.

The Wolf’s right Sister

—All-Father’s Foe’s—

On the sea-ness stands.

Yet will I glad,

With a good will,

And without grief,

Abide Hell’s coming.

Egil began to be brisk as it went forward with working of the song. And when the song was ended, then said he it over to Asgerd and Thorgerd and them of his household. Rose he then up out of his bed, and sat him in his high seat. This song called he
Sons
’
Wreck.

Thereafter let Egil hold funeral for his sons after the ancient manner. But when Thorgerd fared home, then Egil led her on her way with gifts.

Egil dwelt at Burg a long tide, and became an old man; but it is not said that he had dealings at law with men here in the land. Nought is said, neither, of holmgangs of his or warlike dealings after he settled down here in Iceland. So say men, that Egil fared not abroad out of Iceland since these tidings came to pass that were now aforesaid; and that had most to do with this, that Egil might not be in Norway because of those guilts, as before was said, that the Kings thought they had against him. A household had he of the greatest largesse, because there lacked not of fee. He had, too, a good frame of mind for this.

King Hakon Athelstane’s-Fosterling ruled over Norway a long while; but the latter part of his life, then came the sons of Eric to Norway and strove for the realm of Norway with Hakon the King, and they had battles together, and Hakon had ever the victory. Their latest battle had they in Hordaland, in Stord at Fitiar.
¹¹
There gat King Hakon the victory, and therewithal his bane-wound. After that, took those sons of Eric kingdom in Norway.

Arinbiorn the Hersir was with Harald Ericson and became his counsellor, and had of him exceeding great revenues. He was overseer of his host and of the warding of the land. Arinbiorn was a great man of war and a victorious. He had to revenue the Firthfolk.

Egil Skallagrimson heard these tidings, that a shifting of Kings was come about in Norway, and that withal, that Arinbiorn was then come into Norway to his own home, and was then in great esteem. Then wrought Egil a song upon Arinbiorn, and this is the beginning thereof:
¹²

I am pat of speech

For praising of princes,

But slow-spoke

Of the stingy-minded;

Open-mouth’d

Of war-lord’s deeds,

But tongue-tied

’Mid tittle-tattle.

With scoffs dower’d

’Gainst scandal-bearers,

I am free of speech

For friends of mine.

Sought have I many

Seats of the great,

With the pure mind

Of poesy.

Had I of old

The Yngling’s child’s,

The rich King’s,

Wrath upon me.

Over my dark hair

Daring’s hood

Drew I, and home

To the Hersir sought I,

There where all-wielder

’Neath helm of awing,

As folk-lord, over

The land did sit.

Steer’d the King

With stern intent

From York-town

The dank demesne.

That was a moonlight

Nought to trust to,

Nor without terror,

On Eric’s brow;

When the moon of his forehead,

Worm-glance darting,

Shone from all-wielder’s

Flaming eyen.

Yet bolster-hire

Of Him that is make

Of the fish of the wildwood

Durst I to lord bear,

So as Ygg’s cup

O’er-brimming came

Unto the mouths

Of each man’s ears.

Nor fair of shape

To folk beseeméd

Skald-fee I won

From house’s ruler,

Then when my wolf-grey

Knob of hats

As price of my song

From prince I gat.

That took I;

But with noddle follow’d

The darkling pits

Of my drooping brows,

And that mouth

Which for me did bear

Mine
HEAD-RANSOM

’Fore prince’s knee.

There stood for me,

Than many better,

The treasure-bestower

On t’other side:

True friend of mine

That I’d learnt to trust to,

In glory enhancéd

At every rede:

Arinbiorn,

Who alone us kept,

Of kempés foremost,

From King’s hatreds;

The ruler’s friend,

Who never yet

Brake faith in the war-wont

Prince’s garth.

And.........

.........let

The much-advancer

Of deeds of mine,

As.........

..................

That it should be in

Kindred’s….

Friendship’s thief

I were justly naméd,

And hope-belier

Of Odin’s cup,

Of praise-song unworthy,

A promise-breaker—

Made I not payment

For that upholding.

Now is that seen

Where set I shall,

Steep for the scaling

Of skalds’ footsteps,

Before men’s eyes

In their multitude,

Praise-song of mighty

Offspring of Hersirs.

Easy of shaping

With my voice-plane

Is the praise-timber

Of son of Thorir

—Of mine own friend—

’Cause chosen lieth

Two things or three

Upon my tongue.

That tell I first,

Which most men wot,

And the common sort

Do seek with their ears:

How bounteous-minded

Beseem’d to men

The Bear of the Table

Of Birches’ Dread.

To all the host

Tis holden for wonder

How the world of men

With wealth he dowereth;

They have enrich’d

The Bear of the Stone,

Both Frey and Niord,

With fee’s abundance.

Yea, at the house of

Hroald’s head-stem

Streams wealth o’ermounting

To hands of men;

There’s riding of friends

From all the ways

Over the wind-bowl’s

Wide bottom.

Like as a prince

He hath gotten

A draw-rope unto

Hearing-baskets;

Lov’d of the Gods

’Mid the throng of men;

Friend of Vethorm;

Weaklings’ defender.

That winneth he

Which the most of men

Fail of, albeit

Fee they’ve gotten;

I mean, short’s not the going

’Twixt great men’s houses,

Nor easy shafting

Of all men’s spears.

Ne’er went one out

From Arinbiorn,

Forth of his long-built

Bedstead-ship,

With scorn led forth

Nor with scathing words

Nor dwelling-stead

Of spear empty.

He is grim toward fee

Who dwells in the Firths;

That one’s right dour

Toward Draupnir’s scions;

An adversary