“Out came an arm yonder,” says Gizur, “and there was a gold ring
on it, and took an arrow from the roof, and they would not look
outside for shafts if there were enough in doors; and now ye
shall made a fresh onslaught.”
“Let us burn him house and all,” said Mord.
“That shall never be,” says Gizur, “though I knew that my life
lay on it; but it is easy for thee to find out some plan, such a
cunning man as thou art said to be.”
Some ropes lay there on the ground, and they were often used to
strengthen the roof. Then Mord said, “Let us take the ropes and
throw one end over the end of the carrying beams, but let us
fasten the other end to these rocks and twist them tight with
levers, and so pull the roof off the hall.”
So they took the ropes and all lent a hand to carry this out, and
before Gunnar was aware of it, they had pulled the whole roof off
the hall.
Then Gunnar still shoots with his bow so that they could never
come nigh him. Then Mord said again that they must burn the
house over Gunnar’s head. But Gizur said, “I know not why thou
wilt speak of that which no one else wishes, and that shall never
be.”
Just then Thorbrand Thorleik’s son, sprang up on the roof, and
cuts asunder Gunnar’s bowstring. Gunnar clutches the bill with
both hands, and turns on him quickly and drives it through him,
and hurls him down on the ground.
Then up sprung Asbrand his brother. Gunnar thrusts at him with
his bill, and he threw his shield before the blow, but the bill
passed clean through the shield and broke both his arms, and down
he fell from the wall.
Gunnar had already wounded eight men and slain those twain (1).
By that time Gunnar had got two wounds, and all men said that he
never once winced either at wounds or death.
Then Gunnar said to Hallgerda, “Give me two locks of thy hair,
and ye two, my mother and thou, twist them together into a
bowstring for me.”
“Does aught lie on it?” she says.
“My life lies on it;” he said; “for they will never come to close
quarters with me if I can keep them off with my bow.”
“Well!” she says, “now I will call to thy mind that slap on the
face which thou gavest me; and I care never a whit whether thou
holdest out a long while or a short.”
Then Gunnar sang a song:
“Each who hurts the gory javelin
Hath some honour of his own,
Now my helpmeet wimple-hooded
Hurries all my fame to earth.
No one owner of a warship
Often asks for little things,
Woman, fond of Frodi’s flour (2),
Wends her hand as she is wont.”
