The blood rose to Halfred's brow, and he felt his temple veins throb heavily. "If I speak or act," he said to himself, "I know neither what I should say nor do. Therefore I will keep silence and do nothing."
But Harthild, with her left hand pressed upon her thigh, continued--"Didst thou, in that first night, when I held thy hand firm upon my girdle, and asked thee if thou lovedst me, say Yes or No? Answer me Sigskald. I and the gods know about that."
"Yes," said Halfred, and knitted his brows.
"And is it true, as Vandrad the Skald has sworn, that here, in this hall, at the Yule feast, after many horns of mead, thou didst vow, as a wanton wager, that before the midsummer tide, thou would break in the breaker of men's wits like a stubborn horse, and that to make good these boasting words thou camest to Tiunderland, and remained, as thou didst lament, unwounded at sight of me."
"Speak the truth--lie not again--a thousand listeners hear thee--thou lordly son of Oski--Is it so?"
Then Halfred raged in his inmost heart, but he constrained himself, and replied firmly and distinctly--
Then Harthild drew herself up yet higher, and like two serpents flashed, glances of fearful hatred from her eyes, as she spoke--
"So be thou accursed, from the crown of thy head to the sole of thy foot, thou who hast deceived and disgraced a hapless woman; Cursed be thy proud thoughts--Madness shall strike them; Cursed be thy false eyes--Blindness shall smite them; Cursed be thy lying Ups--They shall wither and smile no more; Cursed be thy flattering voice--It shall be dumb; Thy house and thy hall shall perish in flames--The Singing Swan shall burn; Thy hand shall be crippled--thy hammer not strike--thy harp shall shatter; Victory shall be denied thee in battle and in song; Nothing shall any more delight thee, in which of yore thou hast rejoiced; The sun of spring--the flowers of the forest--the fire of wine--the blackbird's song--the greeting of the evening star--Sleepless shall roll thy groaning head, and if slumber draws near to thee it shall be with stifling dreams. Yet a twofold curse shall rend ye both, if thou winnest again a woman's love. In madness and disease shall she perish whom thou lovest more than thy soul. But the son whom I, wretched one, must bear, shall be his mother's avenger upon his father. Liar's son, Scoundrel's son, Harthild's Vengeance shall his name be. And one day, villain, shall he smite thee, as here, to shame thee before all men, my hand now strikes thee in the face."