Lögberg-Heimskringla - 17.03.1995, Page 7

Lögberg-Heimskringla • Föstudagur 17. mars 1995 • 7
Tannlæknir Dentist
“Æ, æ þetta er svo sárt,” sagöi
Árni.
“Hvers vegna komstu ekki fyrr,
Árni minn?”
“Ég þoröi ekki,” sagöi Árni.
“Þaö var slæmt," sagöi læknirinn.
“Nú er verra aö gera við tönnina,
hún er svo mikið skemmd.
Þú borðar mikið sælgæti,
er þaö ekki?”
“Jú, dálítiö,” svaraöi Árni.
“Nú skal ég segja þér nokkuö,”
sagöi læknirinn.
“Þú átt aö boröa ávexti og
grænmeti
og drekka mikla mjólk.
Svo áttu líka aö taka lýsi.’
“Oh, oh, this hurts,” said Arni.
“Why did you not come sooner, Arni
dear?”
“I did not dare,” said Arni.
“That is too bad,” said the doctor.
‘Tt is more difficult to reþair the tooth
now,
it is so badly spoiled.
You eat much candy,
do you not?”
“Yes, a little,” said Arni.
“Now I shall tpll you something,”
said the doctor.
“You should eat fruits and vegetables
and drink lots of milk.
Then you should also take cod liver
oil.”
Can you match these words?
See how manyyou can put together ofthese lcetandic and English words:
SÁRT f ' i. y A LITTLE
FYRR f ' 2. ^ MILK
ÞORA | ' 3. ^ (COD) LIVER OIL
SLÆMT | ' 4. CANDY
SKEMMDf ' 5. ^ SOONER
SÆLGÆTI f ' 6. ^ HURT
DÁLÍTIÐ f ' 7. Æi ^ BAD
ÁVÖXTURf " 8. ^ DARE TO
MJÓLK j ' 9. ^ SPOILED
LÝSI 3 ' 10. ^ FRUIT
£ + ••oi ‘‘z + '6 ‘oi + '8 ‘T + L
‘V + 9 “6 + £ "L + > ”8 + £ 'S + Z “9 + T ^StfHMSNV
door.
“You’re welcome, brother, and long
have we waited for your coming. I wish
you’d bring Helga and your sons here
and leave this band of cut-throats and
law-breakers. You still háve many
friends.”
“These words are spoken too late,
sister. These men with me are those who
came to my side when others failed. But
I wish you and your children would
come out of this doomed house and fol-
low me. Leave this husband who has
broken faith with us.”
“No, Hörðr. I stay with my husband
whatever happens. Such was my
promise when I plighted him my troth.”
“Because of our childhood love,
Þorbjörg, come away from this deadly
peril,” begged Hörðr desperately.
Þorbjörg shut the door, saying, “No,
Hörðr. My place is here.”
“Don’t blame me for your fate then,
sister.” Hörðr’s voice rose like a wail of
anguish over the crackling of the flames.
The piles of faggots were buming all
around the manor house. Oaths, shouts,
and hissing of flames filled the air. But
the flames made no headway. Spouts of
water gushed out of every louver on the
roof, and was thrown by buckets full out
of the entrances. The turf walls of the
manor house did not take fire readily.
“Seems to me my sister must have
been ready for our visit,” said Hörðr
thoughtfully. He was thinking of
Sigurðr, whom he had left sleeping on
the hillside.
Searching around, he found where
the brook had been diverted from its
course into the house. Although he
blocked the passage, the situation
remained the same, as the water already
stood several feet high in the house.
“May trolls take them,” panted Geirr,
as a well-aimed bucket full of water
landed on his head. “On, men! Are we
going to let one woman and her slaves
rout us?”
The outlaws redoubled their efforts,
and the piles of brushwood at the
entrances were burning quite lustily,
when Hörðr gave the alarm that men
were flocking from neighboring farms
towards Indriðastaðr. The outlaws fled
in haste towards the mountains.
In the aftemoon, Indriði retumed to
his home. He had pursued the outlaws
with a flock of men, but riding was diffi-
cult in the mountains, and the outlaws
reached their boats in time to save them-
selves.
Order had been restored at
Indriðastaðr. Food and drink were wait-
ing for the rescuing party. The maids,
red-eyed, and somewhat dishevelled
after their gruelling fight with fire and
water, were waiting to serve the food.
But Þorbjörg was not there to receive
the guests.
Indriði went in search of her and
found her in the children’s loft. She
looked into his face eagerly. “They
escaped,” she said as if relieved.
“Yes, this time,” answered Indriði
grimly. Then, “We’ve got guests Þorb-
jörg.”
“I’ve already welcomed guests at our
door today,” answered Þorbjörg.
“But these didn’t come at our bid-
ding.”
“Better that some of them had. But
today, our maids will do the honors at
Indriðastaðr. Tell our guests my eyes are
suffering from smoke.”
Þorbjörg’s eyes were red and heavy,
but Indriði knew it was not only from
smoke. He also had received a shock at
the sight of Hörðr; at the change
wrought by three years of öutlawry. He
thought of his genial host at Breiðabóls-
taðr, clad in blue, scarlet, and gold. He
remembered him as they stood together
in the new-mown meadow, when Hörðr
showed him the callouses on his hands
caused by the sickle. “I’m proud of
these,” he had said. This gaunt hulk of a
man with the wolfish, hunted, unkempt
look, in a tunic of rough homespun, his
eyes like bumed-out coals in a dying fire,
bore little resemblance to that Hörðr.
Suddenly, Indriði felt small, mean,
and guilty. He could not meet Þorbjörg’s
eyes. He left humedly without daring to
tell her that Sigurðr, her cousin, had
been the only casualty of the raid.
“His reward for warning us,” said
Þórólír later when he told her.
But Þorbjörg sat still as he left her.
The eagle was hopelessly trapped. There
was no escape-
(Continued next week)

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DID
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