Then Frithiof blamed Ingeborg for her broken vow and declared he would never believe her again. And yet his heart grieved for her, and he could never forget the friend of his childhood.
"You wrong the maid," said old Hilding. "As the sea-fowl, when its breast is wounded, dives far away from the eyes of daylight, and, with its life-blood flowing, yet gives no sign of weakness or misery, so Ingeborg in the darkness bore her suffering and I only saw her anguish. When the wedding day came, she, pale as death, rode a black steed, following the white-robed maidens and the steel-clad men.
"From off the saddle I took the sad maid and went with her to the altar, where she uttered her vows and prayed long to Balder. When Helge saw your ring on her arm he tore it off with angry words. Then I in anger drew my sword, but Ingeborg gently said: 'Let the All-father judge between him and me.'"
"The All-father will judge," calmly replied Frithiof, when Hilding had told his story; "I, too, will judge. Now is the time when the king who sold his sister sits in the temple of Balder as priest. Him will I seek."
Balder's Funeral Pile
Midnight's sun fell upon the mountain. The beams seemed to threaten fire and war, so blood-red were they. The heavens glowed; it was night contending with day.
On Balder's altar burned a fire—the emblem of the sun—and priests stood around the wall of the temple, grasping burning brands. Near the altar stood King Helge, wearing his crown. All at once he heard the war-cry, and the clash of weapons resounded through the forest.
"Bjorn, stand fast by yonder door!"
Helge heard the cry and turned pale. Well he knew the ringing voice of Frithiof. Fiercely as autumn winds fell the hero's bitter words:—