“Cold are the counsels of women”
—Northern saying.
Blinded by the change from the hall’s unbroken shade to the court-yard’s untempered light, Randvar lingered on the threshold. As upon helpless prey, the unsparing sunshine of the spring morning fastened on him and pointed out that his leather tunic had been dragged open at the throat and his sleeves torn out at the shoulders, that his face was haggard and his eyes bloodshot. The thralls, hurrying to and from the buildings with fresh water and clean straw, laughed indulgently as they glanced at him, and murmured one to another: “Behold a man who drank deep last night!”
No more than if he had been wine-deadened was he conscious of their comments or their presence. He had drunk of misery as of a heady liquor, and like a drunkard’s thirst for water was his longing for the presence of the woman he loved. Seeking her—conscious only of his need of her—he made his way across the glaring stretch of the court-yard, through the dim length of the women’s hall, to the shrine of her alcove bower.
Before he reached it, its open door gave him view of tapestried walls in whose dusky east a mirror of silver-gilt hung like a rising sun, of white-robed tirewomen moving now and again across it, of the girl who stood before it while they finished dressing her, her exquisite head agleam against the dark hangings like a jewel in its casket. His sense of beauty stirred through his heaviness, and quickened song-makers’ fancies in his mind.
“The web of her hair glows as the dragon’s treasure glowed in the gloom of his den.... As a pearl from a setting of red gold shines her face from her tresses.... As rare as a jewel is Brynhild the Proud ... as unbending ... as untender....”
Into his longing crept something akin to wistfulness. He stood gazing at her in silence as—encountering his eyes in the mirror—she raised her head with a motion of surprise. He wondered why she did not turn when he advanced, but remained regarding his reflection and spoke as to the man in the bright oval.
“Has Freya’s son lost sight of my dignity, as well as of his own, that he comes in disorder into my presence?”
“Disorder?” he repeated, looking for the first time at his reflection.