Jorun.—Don't cry any more, my boy. (Caresses THORGEIR.) And you, Kalf, do you want to have your father beheaded in your game? No more such games! (Slaps KALF.)
Kalf.—You slap me? I who am Kolbein the Young? So you think he will allow himself to be slapped with impunity by a woman?
Jorun.—How does this lion's whelp come among us? I had rather not live than bring up rovers. Never more play war, Kalf! Protect those that are weak! (Embraces THORGEIR, leads the boys to the door, and calls out:) Put Kalf into the dark room for a while!
Broddi (shouts from without).—I must get to speak with you, Brand Kolbeinsson! Quick, quick!
Jorun.—Broddi here! There comes war incarnate mailed from head to foot. May God have pity on all wives!
(Enter BRAND without arms and BRODDI all armed.)
Broddi.—You have collected a good and well-armed body of men?
Brand.—I have had great difficulty in gathering troops. I have only my tenants and my servants, altogether eighty men.
Broddi.—And whilst I make the fort at Holar unconquerable, whilst I break up the frozen ground, whilst I pour water over all the ramparts of our stronghold so that they become like slippery ice—meanwhile you have done nothing. You sing hymns in the churches, beat your breast, and chant 'Miserere.' Your conduct is not becoming a chieftain.
Jorun.—You speak harshly to my husband because he wants peace before all things.