Presently his twin-brother Robert woke him from that dream, calling out: ‘Now, brother Svend, are we really ready; see here! but stop, kneel first; there, now am I the Bishop.’
And he pulled his brother down on to his knees, and put on his head, where it fitted loosely enough now, hanging down from left to right, an iron crown fantastically wrought, which he himself, having just finished it, had taken out of the water, cool and dripping.
Robert and Harald laughed loud when they saw the crown hanging all askew, and the great drops rolling from it into Svend’s eyes and down his cheeks, looking like tears: not so Svend; he rose, holding the crown level on his head, holding it back, so that it pressed against his brow hard, and, first dashing the drops to right and left, caught his brother by the hand, and said:
‘May I keep it, Robert? I shall wear it some day.’
‘Yea,’ said the other; ‘but it is a poor thing; better let Siur put it in the furnace again and make it into sword hilts.’
Thereupon they began to go, Svend holding the crown in his hand: but as they were going, Siur called out: ‘Yet will I sell my dagger at a price, Prince Svend, even as you wished at first, rather than give it you for nothing.’
‘Well, for what?’ said Svend, somewhat shortly, for he thought Siur was going back from his promise, which was ugly to him.
‘Nay, be not angry, prince,’ said the armourer, ‘only I pray you to satisfy this whim of mine; it is the first favour I have asked of you: will you ask the fair, noble lady, your mother, from Siur the smith, if she is happy now?’
‘Willingly, sweet master Siur, if it pleases you; farewell.’
And with happy young faces they went away; and when they were gone, Siur from a secret place drew out various weapons and armour, and began to work at them, having first drawn bolt and bar of his workshop carefully.