Ottar. In what battle? We have no more battles.
Hans. So, so! I just bethought myself. One question more: How come you here?
Sköll. Hast thou not taken our measure, then? Take notice of my sparkling glance--its tender fire: observe his air, like to a love-sick cock's: Do we not smell of myrrh and balm! In short, we go to gaze upon the bride.
Hans. Who, then?
Ottar. Who? Dost thou mock at us? Thou livest here and yet thou hast not heard of the Amberqueen, the marvel of beauty who has sworn to yield herself and her throne to the man that is victorious in a tournament for life and death, and bears all her other suitors to the earth? The fair one is a widow, the heir an orphan; so it is meat and drink to him who throws the others by the heels.
Hans. Are you so sure of it?
Ottar. Well, where is the man who cares to try conclusions with our Duke?
Hans [to himself], I reared one who will strike him down some day.
[Enter Duke Widwolf and more of his men.]
Duke. Why stand you there? Did I send you ahead to chatter? On with you! What stops your mouths? Clear the way! And if I find you sluggish I will call out my cat-o'-nine-tails for you.