Now there are black flies biting before a storm. I see men gathering beneath the cart-shed: Gizur the White and Geir the priest are there, And a lean whispering shape that should be Mord. I have a sting for some one-- (_He looses an arrow: a distant cry follows._) Valgard's voice.... A shaft of theirs is lying on the roof; I'll send it back, for if it should take root A hurt from their own spent and worthless weapon Would put a scorn upon their tale for ever. (_He leans out for the arrow._) RANNVEIG Do not, my son: rouse them not up again When they are slackening in their attack. HALLGERD Shoot, shoot it out, and I'll come up to mock them. GUNNAR (_loosing the arrow_) Hoia! Swerve down upon them, little hawk. (_A shout follows._) Now they run all together round one man: Now they murmur.... A VOICE Close in, lift bows again: He has no shafts, for this is one of ours. (_Arrows fly in at the casement._) GUNNAR Wife, here is something in my arm at last: The head is twisted--I must cut it clear. (STEINVOR _throws open the dais door and rushes through with a high shriek._) STEINVOR Woman, let us out--help us out-- The burning comes--they are calling out for fire. (_She shrieks again. ODDNY and ASTRID, who have come behind her, muffle her head in a kirtle and lift her._) ASTRID (_turning as they bear her out_) Fire suffuses only her cloudy brain: The flare she walks in is on the other side Of her shot eyes. We heard a passionate voice, A shrill unwomanish voice that must be Mord, With "Let us burn him--burn him house and all." And then a grave and trembling voice replied, "Although my life hung on it, it shall not be." Again the cunning fanatic voice went on "I say the house must burn above his head." And the unlifted voice, "Why wilt thou speak Of what none wishes: it shall never be." (ASTRID _and_ ODDNY _disappear with_ STEINVOR.) GUNNAR To fight with honest men is worth much friendship: I'll strive with them again. (_He lifts his bow and loosens arrows at intervals while_ HALLGERD _and_ RANNVEIG _speak._) HALLGERD (_in an undertone to_ RANNVEIG, _looking out meanwhile to the left_) Mother, come here-- Come here and hearken. Is there not a foot, A stealthy step, a fumbling on the latch Of the great door? They come, they come, old mother: Are you not blithe and thirsty, knowing they come And cannot be held back? Watch and be secret, To feel things pass that cannot be undone. RANNVEIG It is the latch. Cry out, cry out for Gunnar, And bring him from the loft.