(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.