“Oh, why give your sister to an every-day body like a guardsman, Eric?”
“Nobody less than the Jarl himself—”
“Ay, the Jarl, by all means! Has it not been proved that jarls’ sisters take well to forest-bred men?” Again a shout of laughter went up, and the song-maker gravely addressed himself to the relacing of his other boot.
Because Randvar remained stooping, the page on his arrival did not notice him; disdainfully he answered the merry group before which he had drawn rein.
“No intention have I to break through the brush to any wedding-feast. My errand hither is to tell the Songsmith that my mind has changed about going,—only I shall tell him that it is because Brynhild cannot spare me. He is to meet Bolverk here and go with him; but they must get along without me. It is to be seen that he left the Tower too late to outgrow his fondness for moose-hump! Much better would you save your banter for his backwoods’ ways.”
Like the impudent red-breasted bird now strutting on a stone wall across the road, Eric thrust out his chest with an air. Laughing and nudging, the young courtmen made a semicircle around him.
“Oh, a well-bred man is what you are, that is clear as day!”
“Small wonder you have no admiration for that lout of a song-maker!”
“Tell us what you think of the showy clothes he has begun to—”
“Yes, give us your opinion of his habits!” they chorussed.