Loon at whom our stomachs sicken,
Soon shall bear these words of scorn;
Far too nice for such base fellows
Is the name my bounty gives,
Een my muse her help refuses,
Making mirth of dungbeard boys.
Here I find a nickname fitting
For those noisome dungbeard boys, —
Loath am I to break my bargain
Linked with such a noble man —
Knit we all our taunts together —
Known to me is mind of man —
Call we now with outburst common,
Him, that churl, the beardless carle.”
Thou art a jewel indeed,” says Hallgerda; ” how yielding thou art
to what I ask!”
Just then Gunnar came in. He had been standing outside the door
of the bower, and heard all the words that had passed. They were
in a great fright when they saw him come in, and then all held
their peace, but before there had been bursts of laughter.
Gunnar was very wroth, and said to Sigmund, “Thou art a foolish
man, and one that cannot keep to good advice, and thou revilest
Njal’s sons, and Njal himself who is most worth of all; and this
thou doest in spite of what thou hast already done. Mind, this
will be thy death. But if any man repeats these words that thou
hast spoken, or these verses that thou hast made, that man shall
be sent away at once, and have my wrath beside.”
But they were all so sore afraid of him, that no one dared to
repeat those words. After that he went away, but the gangrel
women talked among themselves, and said that they would get a
reward from Bergthora if they told her all this.
They went then away afterwards down thither, and took Bergthora
aside and told her the whole story of their own free will.
Bergthora spoke and said, when men sate down to the board, “Gifts
have been given to all of you, father and sons, and ye will be no
true men unless ye repay them somehow.”
“What gifts are these? ” asks Skarphedinn.
“You, my sons,” says Bergthora, “have got one gift between you
all. Ye are nicknamed `Dungbeardlings,’ but my husband `the
Beardless Carle.’”
“Ours is no woman’s nature,” says Skarphedinn, “that we should
fly into a rage at every little thing.”
“And yet Gunnar was wroth for your sakes,” says she, “and he is
thought to be good-tempered. But if ye do not take vengeance for
this wrong, ye will avenge no shame.”
“The carline, our mother, thinks this fine sport,” says
Skarphedinn, and smiled scornfully as he spoke, but still the
sweat burst out upon his brow, and red flecks came over his
checks, but that was not his wont. Grim was silent and bit his
