A Certain Thormod Is One Of The Scalds (Or Poets) In King
Olaf's Army.
The night before the battle he sings a
spirited song at the King's request, who gives him a gold
ring from his finger in token of his approval.
Thormod
thanks him for the gift, and says, "It is my prayer,
Sire, that we shall never part, either in life or death."
When the King receives his death-wound Thormod is near
him, - but, wounded himself, and so weak and weary that
in a desperate onslaught by the King's men, - nicknamed
"Dag's storm," - HE ONLY STOOD BY HIS COMRADE IN THE
RANKS, ALTHOUGH HE COULD DO NOTHING.
The noise of the battle has ceased; the King is lying
dead where he fell. The very man who had dealt him his
death-wound has laid the body straight out on the ground,
and spread a cloak over it. "And when he wiped the blood
from the face it was very beautiful, and there was red
in the cheeks, as if he only slept."
Thormod, who had received a second wound as he stood in
the ranks - (an arrow in his side, which he breaks off at
the shaft), - wanders away towards a large barn, where
other wounded men have taken refuge. Entering with his
drawn sword in his hand, he meets one of the Bonders
coming out, who says, "It is very bad there, with howling
and screaming; and a great shame it is, that brisk young
fellows cannot bear their wounds.
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