University of Virginia Library

SCENE I

[The Camp of Guthrum at Ethandune. Guthrum, Oskytel, and their Jarls are feasting in Guthrum's tent.]
OSKYTEL.
Out of the skull of the foe the mead smacks sweet.
Taste of it, Guthrum.

GUTHRUM
(drinking).
Honey-sweet and strong!
For ale-feasts is there no such land as this,
And now 'tis ours to brew with. Do you mind
The day we fired the shrine at Huntingdon,
And supped amid the smoke? I see them now
Lean shavelings huddled round about the shrine
Clutching the silver beakers set with gems,
And yielding but with life the shining robes,
Woven of silk and gold, that in their coffers
Lay thick as leaves fresh ruddled by the frost.

OSKYTEL.
Aye, but at Lindsey was there fatter fare.
Your shrivelled friar is well enough to slay,
But worthless after slaying. Buxom maids,
To while away the weariness of peace,
And fair-haired boys to hand the mead-bowl round,
These are the boons of battle!

GUTHRUM.
This to Woden!
Whose day will dawn with morrow! This to Thor,
Who hammers out the thunder and the flash,
And slays the dragon!

OSKYTEL.
This to boar-helmed Freyr,
The sender of the needfire and the rain! [Turning to the Jarls.]

Why quaff you not?

FIRST JARL.
Because of Weird at hand.
Ask them that read the staves. This crimson-dawn,
The beechen slips on the white cloth spelled out
The runes of death.

SECOND JARL.
And the Shieldmaidens fled
Dim to the wood.

THIRD JARL.
Aye, and the snow-white steeds,
Lashed to the holy chariot, neighed of doom,
Then reared and snorted backward to the stall.

FIRST JARL.
I mind me of the day my lord me gave
Folkright and homestead, and I will not now
Hold back if need befall him, for unmeet
It were that I should homeward bear my shield.
But woeful are the lots.

SECOND JARL.
I mind the time
I in the timbered beer-hall pledged my lord,
When gave he me both helm and ring, that I
Would pay him back my war-gear at his need.
So surely will I. But the runes are foul.

GUTHRUM.
We know it, trusty Jarls! You all speak sooth.
The ebon Raven which the daughters three
Of Regnor Lodbrog in one morning wove
For Hingvar and for Hubba, will not flap
Its wings for war, but droopeth listlessly,
Forewarning rout. So will we not now fight,
But hang our axes on the wall till Thor
Shine on their faces. Meanwhile, let us feast
Blithe in the land we have won.
“I trust my sword, I trust my steed:
But most I trust myself at need.”
He's no true Jarl that doth not drink with me.

FOURTH JARL.
An agëd gleeman, with his daughter, craves
To cheer the night with song. His thews hang loose,
His back is bent like to a bow that keeps,
Unstrung, the bias of its former strain,
And wan as winter is his flaky hair.
But the unwedded helpmeet at his side,
A very bud of freshly-burgeoned May,
Vows in his voice that manhood lingers still,
And he can sing of war, and love, and aught
That's bidden of his craft.

GUTHRUM.
Then bring him in.