>>8350
(contd):
At once Jarl left the hall where he had lived since the day of his birth. He rode through the dark forest, and over passes between frost forbidding crags; and in a place of difficult of access, he established his own hall. He gathered a group of loyal retainers.
Jarl shook his spear and brandished his shield; he spurred his horse and dealt death blows with his sword. He brought his followers to battle and stained the soil red. He slew warriors and won land. Before long Jarl owned no less than eighteen halls. He won great wealth and was generous to his retainers. He game them ringer-rings and armbands, both of gold; he gave them precious stones; and he gave them horses lean and fleet of foot.
In time Jarl sent messengers over the boggy ground to the hall of the chieftain Hersir. And there, on Jarl’s behalf, they asked for the hand of his daughter, Erna. She was fair-haired and long-fingered, and accomplished at whatever she put her mind to.
Hersir was delighted. After Erna had made proper preparation, the messengers escorted her to Jarl’s hall, wearing a wedding veil. And she and Jarl lived most happily together.
Jarl and Erna had a cluster on contented children. They called their first-born But the Son, and their second Barn the Child; there was Jod the Child and Athal the Offspring; Arvi was an Heir and Mog another son; there were Nid and Nidjung the Descendants, Svein the Boy, and kinsman Kund; the youngest was Kon, a nobly born son. Soon all the boys learned to play and swim. As they grew older, they tamed beasts, and made circular shields, shaped shafts and shook spears.
But Kon the Young learned from his father the runes, the age-old meanings. In time he was able to blunt a sword blade and put the sea to sleep. He understood the language of the birds, he could quell flames, and quieten cares — the raging mind and aching heart of an unhappy man. He had the strength of eight men.
Kon and Rig-Jarl shared their secret understanding of the runes, and Kon was even more subtle and wise than his father. He believed it would be his right, too, to be called Rig the King; and he soon won that right.
One day Kon went riding in the gloomy, dark forest. Now and then he reined in his mount and loosed an arrow at a luckless bird. Other birds he lured from their perches, and listened to them.
A crow sat on a branch over Kon’s head. ‘Kon,’ it croaked, ‘why do you spend your time seducing birds to talk to you? You would do better to set out on your stallion and show daring in battle.’
Kon listened carefully to the crow’s counsel. The darkness seemed to fall back from the clearing where he stood, and to wait in the wings.
‘Who have halls more noble than yours?’ continued the crow. Who have won riches greater than yours — gold and jewels and precious ornaments?’
Kon did not answer; he clenched his fists.
‘Who are more skilled than you at steering their ships over the reach of the sea and the stinking saltspray?’
Still Kon did not answer.
‘Dan and Danp, Dan and Danp, Dan and Danp,’ sand the crow. It looked sideways at Kon. ‘They know what it means to temper their weapons with the blood of enemies…’"
-from The Song of Rig