“What shall we grind?” asked the slaves.
“Gold, gold, peace and wealth for Frothi.”
Gold! gold! the land was filled with riches. Treasure in the king’s palace, treasure in the coffers of his subjects—gold! gold! There were no poor in the land, no beggars in the streets, no children crying for bread. All honor to the quern stones!
Peace! peace! no more war in the land. Frothi is at peace with everyone. And more than that, there was peace in all countries where Frothi’s name was known, even to the far south; and everyone talked of Frothi’s peace. Praise be to the quern stones! Wealth! yes, everything went well. Not one of the counsels of King Frothi failed. There was not a green field that did not yield a rich crop; not a tree but bent beneath its weight of fruit; not a stream that ran dry; not a vessel that sailed from the harbors of Gotland that came not back, after a fair voyage, in safety to its haven. There was good luck everywhere.
“Grind on, grind on, Menia and Fenia! good fortune is mine,” said King Frothi.
And the slaves ground on.
“When shall we rest, when may we rest, King Frothi? It is weary work toiling day and night.”
“No longer than whilst the cuckoo is silent in the spring.”
“Never ceasing is the cry of the cuckoo in the groves; may we not rest longer?”