_Botolf_ (_to_ DEACON SIGURD).--He is dreaming about the messengers of the Holy Church, the sick man! _Sigurd_ (_to_ BISHOP BOTOLF).--He will not live till to-morrow's matins! _Helga_ (_bending down over_ KOLBEIN).--Appoint Thorolf Bjarnason! _Broddi_.--Who is to get Eyafirth? _Brand_.--I heard no one named. _Kolbein_.--I name you, Thorolf Bjarnason! _Broddi_.--For what do you name Thorolf Bjarnason? _Helga_.--For the chieftainship over Eyafirth and all districts north of the Heath. _Broddi_.--I claim that I have better title to it than Thorolf. _Thorolf_.--It will prove a troublesome business for you to wrench Eyafirth out of my hands. (_In a whisper to_ HELGA, _to whom he has approached more closely_.) Am I given Eyafirth then? _Helga_ (_whispers back_).--Do not let it be seen that you are whispering to me. They will become suspicious. My position is difficult. _Kolbein_.--I shall spare you, kinsman! (_Speaks unintelligibly_. HELGA _bends down over him_.) _Helga_.--My husband wishes that you, Brand Kolbeinsson, and you, Thorolf, shall swear to each other an everlasting truce, now immediately. _Brand_.--Is that your wish, kinsman Kolbein? _Kolbein_.--It is. It is. Six hundred men! Advance bravely after me! My kinsman Brand is in great danger. _Broddi_.--Always it is you, Brand! Physician, attend to the sick man. _Salvor_.--Carry your chieftain into his bed! _Kolbein_.--Woden owns all the slain men! Neither Thord Kakali nor one of his men will return alive over Blanda. Another battle won. A great and glorious victory. Carry away the fallen, I will not see them. Woden owns all the slain men. _Botolf_.--So much devilish magic yet living in a Christian country! And this man have I shriven but a short while ago! Woden owns all the slain men! (KOLBEIN'S _men surround him to bear him out on their shields_. HELGA _speaks fast and in a low voice to_ ASBJORN ILLUGASON.) _Helga_.--Place our armed servants before all doors. And let them stay there. And leave the doors open after you when you come in again. _Kolbein_.--Woden owns all the slain men. You bleed, Thorolf Bjarnason. Put on your head, Thorolf! Put on your head! Beware of the cave by the Kolbeinstream! (ASBJORN ILLUGASON, HAF, _and others carry_ KOLBEIN _out_. SALVOR _follows them_. HELGA _leads_ BISHOP BOTOLF _to the high seat_.) _Helga_.--I have neglected to show you those marks of esteem which I ought to have shown you, my lord! But my situation has been a troublesome one for a while. _Botolf_.--I have been thinking in my mind the while, my lady, how much you resemble in mien and carriage the women of the ancient race of the kings of Norway. _Helga_ (_laughs_).--I am a descendant in the fourth generation of King Magnus Bareleg, and were I a man and not a woman I would be nearer to the throne of Norway than your King Hakon. This relationship cost my brother Paul his life, when he was in Norway.