Denmark -- History -- To 1241; Folklore -- Scandinavia
"Why do I linger? Now we have swallowed our last morsel. Our king
perishes, and utter doom overtakes our hapless city. Our last dawn has
risen, unless perchance there be one here so soft that he fears to offer
himself to the blows, or so unwarlike that he dares not avenge his lord,
and disowns all honours worthy of his valour.
"Thou, Ruta, rise and put forth thy snow-white head, come forth from
thy hiding into the battle. The carnage that is being done without calls
thee. By now the council-chamber is shaken with warfare, and the gates
creak with the dreadful fray. Steel rends the mail-coats, the woven mesh
is torn apart, and the midriff gives under the rain of spears. By now
the huge axes have hacked small the shield of the king; by now the long
swords clash, and the battle-axe clatters its blows upon the shoulders
of men, and cleaves their breasts. Why are your hearts afraid? Why is
your sword faint and blunted? The gate is cleared of our people, and is
filled with the press of the strangers."
And when Hjalte had wrought very great carnage and stained the battle
with blood, he stumbled for the third time on Bjarke's berth, and
thinking he desired to keep quiet because he was afraid, made trial of
him with such taunts at his cowardice as these:
"Bjarke, why art thou absent? Doth deep sleep hold thee? I prithee, what
makes thee tarry? Come out, or the fire will overcome thee. Ho! Choose
the better way, charge with me! Bears may be kept off with fire; let
us spread fire in the recesses, and let the blaze attack the door-posts
first. Let the firebrand fall upon the bedchamber, let the falling roof
offer fuel for the flames and serve to feed the fire. It is right to
scatter conflagration on the doomed gates. But let us who honour our
king with better loyalty form the firm battle-wedges, and, having
measured the phalanx in safe rows, go forth in the way the king taught
us: our king, who laid low Rorik, the son of Bok the covetous, and
wrapped the coward in death. He was rich in wealth, but in enjoyment
poor, stronger in gain than bravery; and thinking gold better than
warfare, he set lucre above all things, and ingloriously accumulated
piles of treasure, scorning the service of noble friends. And when he
was attacked by the navy of Rolf, he bade his servants take the gold
from the chests and spread it out in front of the city gates, making
ready bribes rather than battle, because he knew not the soldier, and
thought that the foe should be attempted with gifts and not with arms:
as though he could fight with wealth alone, and prolong the war by
using, not men, but wares! So he undid the heavy coffers and the rich
chests; he brought forth the polished bracelets and the heavy caskets;
they only fed his destruction. Rich in treasure, poor in warriors, he
left his foes to take away the prizes which he forebore to give to the
friends of his own land. He who once shrank to give little rings of his
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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