But all the men in the hall sat speechless, and gazed up at the black woman, who looked like a dark thunder cloud.
"Halfred Hamundson," she began--and her voice was loud, yet toneless--"Answers I demand to two questions, before these ten hundred hearers in thy hall. Lie not to me."
The blood rose to Halfred's brow, and he felt his temple veins throb heavily. "If I speak or act," he said to himself, "I know neither what I should say nor do. Therefore I will keep silence and do nothing."
But Harthild, with her left hand pressed upon her thigh, continued--"Didst thou, in that first night, when I held thy hand firm upon my girdle, and asked thee if thou lovedst me, say Yes or No? Answer me Sigskald. I and the gods know about that."
"Yes," said Halfred, and knitted his brows.
"And is it true, as Vandrad the Skald has sworn, that here, in this hall, at the Yule feast, after many horns of mead, thou didst vow, as a wanton wager, that before the midsummer tide, thou would break in the breaker of men's wits like a stubborn horse, and that to make good these boasting words thou camest to Tiunderland, and remained, as thou didst lament, unwounded at sight of me."
"Speak the truth--lie not again--a thousand listeners hear thee--thou lordly son of Oski--Is it so?"
Then Halfred raged in his inmost heart, but he constrained himself, and replied firmly and distinctly--
"It is as thou hast said."
Then Harthild drew herself up yet higher, and like two serpents flashed, glances of fearful hatred from her eyes, as she spoke--