“You, Bishop,” said Grimur warningly—“well for you this good man’s here. If it weren’t for him, I’d send you swimming and saying your prayers in earnest for less than you’ve said.”
“Filthy beast,” said Gudda scornfully, and spat at the Bishop, who only laughed.
Guest the One-eyed turned to him with a keen glance.
“Have you ever thought,” he said quietly, “that one day must be your last—that your tongue may be silent for ever after any word you have spoken?”
“Ho, yes. And I’ve got it all ready what I’m going to say. When I get to the Gates of Heaven—if the Devil hasn’t pinched my soul all hot on the way—I’ll say to the Lord: ‘Here you are; Behold the Son of Man!’ That’s my words.”
“You also are my brother,” said Guest the One-eyed. And he held out his hand.
The Bishop spat in it.
Guest the One-eyed stood silent gazing at his extended hand. Then he sat down and sobbed.
The Bishop’s laugh of derision died away. He stood for a moment breathing heavily, then slunk out of the shed and went away.
The other three stood silently watching, afraid to look at each other, uncertain what to do.