Act First - Page 2

Give it me.---- ---- Here, take the shield.

FINN (as before). There's no grip to it!

BIORN (mutters). If once I got a grip on you----

(FINN hums to himself for a while.)

BIORN. What now?

FINN. An empty helmet, an edgeless sword, a shield without a grip--there's the whole glory for you. I see not that any can blame Lady Inger for leaving such weapons to hang scoured and polished on the walls, instead of rusting them in Danish blood.

BIORN. Folly! Is there not peace in the land?

FINN. Peace? Ay, when the peasant has shot away his last arrow, and the wolf has reft the last lamb from the fold, then is there peace between them. But 'tis a strange friendship. Well well; let that pass. It is fitting, as I said, that the harness hang bright in the hall; for you know the old saw: "Call none a man but the knightly man." Now there is no knight left in our land; and where no man is, there must women order things; therefore----

BIORN. Therefore--therefore I order you to hold your foul prate! (Rises.) It grows late. Go hang helm and harness in the hall again.

FINN (in a low voice). Nay, best let it be till tomorrow.

BIORN. What, do you fear the dark?

FINN. Not by day. And if so be I fear it at even, I am not the only one. Ah, you look; I tell you in the housefolk's room there is talk of many things. (Lower.) They say that night by night a tall figure, clad in black, walks the Banquet Hall.

BIORN. Old wives' tales!

FINN. Ah, but they all swear 'tis true.

BIORN. That I well believe.

FINN. The strangest of all is that Lady Inger thinks the same----

BIORN (starting). Lady Inger? What does she think?

FINN. What Lady Inger thinks no one can tell. But sure it is that she has no rest in her. See you not how day by day she grows thinner and paler? (Looks keenly at him.) They say she never sleeps--and that it is because of the dark figure----

(While he is speaking, ELINA GYLDENLOVE has appeared in the half-open door on the left. She stops and listens, unobserved.)

BIORN. And you believe such follies?

FINN. Well, half and half. There be folk, too, that read things another way. But that is pure malice, for sure.--Hearken, Biorn-- know you the song that is going round the country?

BIORN. A song?

FINN. Ay, 'tis on all folks' lips. 'Tis a shameful scurril thing, for sure; yet it goes prettily. Just listen (sings in a low voice):

Dame Inger sitteth in Ostrat fair, She wraps her in costly furs-- She decks her in velvet and ermine and vair, Red gold are the beads that she twines in her hair-- But small peace in that soul of hers.

Dame Inger hath sold her to Denmark's lord. She bringeth her folk 'neath the stranger's yoke-- In guerdon whereof---- ----

(BIORN enraged, seizes him by the throat. ELINA