Dressed in a short, ragged siarc and breeches of scraped deerskin, old Skirnir continued his muttering incantations for a time, and then lay aside the gourd and, picking up a wooden bowl, spattered a liquid-perhaps oil of some kind-onto the standing stone using a small bundle of frayed birch twigs which he grasped in his right hand. Each time he dipped the twigs into the bowl he called the god's name; and each time he shook the oil onto the rock, he sneezed.
When he had circled the great stone a number of times, he placed the bowl upon the ground and then, placing his hands in the oil, proceeded to speckle the surface of the rock with handprints-sometimes patting the stone with his palms, and sometimes hugging it in a wide-armed embrace. While he was thus employed, King Harald emerged from his place among the onlookers; he had something tucked under his arm, but I could not see what it might be.
After the skald finished anointing the stone, he turned to the king and gestured for the object he carried, which turned out to be a chicken. Before I could think why Jarl Harald should be holding a chicken, the king lifted the bird, raising it high for all to see, then gave it to Skirnir who likewise raised the bird-once, twice, three times, lifting it on high-then offered it to the king, who took its head and beak into his mouth for a moment. A strange sight, that: the king standing before the people with the head of a live chicken in his mouth.
Then the skald gave a loud shout and started to shake all over. His hands and shoulders quivered, his legs shook and his body trembled. All at once he seized the chicken and held it high; he began to spin, trembling all the while. Around and around he spun, whereupon he gave his arm a sharp jerk. There came a crack and the chicken's head snapped off in his hand. The poor bird began running and hopping and fluttering; old Skirnir, keen-eyed, followed its headless flounderings on hands and knees, observing the pitiful bird's death throes. Blood spattered onto the skald and onto the stone.
Everyone held their breath, leaning forward in keen anticipation, as the chicken's flopping gradually diminished. At last, the sorry bird lay still, its feathers quivering gently while it died. Then up leaped Skirnir, and with a loud voice proclaimed the omen favourable-although he did so in such an uncouth speech that I could not make out all he said. The people seemed pleased, prodding one another and nodding solemnly.
Let it here be known that I place no confidence in oracles or omens; neither do I believe in the old gods. Their powers, if any, derive from the will of those who persist in such faulty thinking. I do not say the old gods are demons only-though many wiser heads assure me that this is so-but they are hollow vessels, incapable of bearing the weight of men's belief. In elder days, people clung to such gods as they could find. All was darkness then, and men fumbled in ignorance for anything to hold against the savage night.
But, see, the light has come; day has dawned at long last! That is good news. And it is no longer acceptable to worship those things embraced in darkness. That is my belief. If I did not condemn the barbarians for their misguided faith, perhaps I may be forgiven what some of my more zealous brothers would certainly consider my sinful lack of piety and devotion. No doubt, if they had been in my place they would have scorched the very earth itself with the fire of their transforming righteousness.
But I am a weak and sinful monk, I freely confess it. Even so, I have resolved to tell the truth. Judge me how you will.
After the omen had been judged auspicious, Skirnir proclaimed the theng commenced. Gathering his gourd, bowl, and chicken carcass, the skald withdrew and Harald came before the assembly, declaring himself pleased that so many had answered his summons.
"My kinsmen and brothers," he called in his deep bull voice, throwing his arms wide as if to embrace the assembly. "It does cheer me greatly to see you standing before me, for we are indeed a mighty people. I ask you now: Who is able to stand against the Daneman when he is roused in wrath? Our skill is both dire and formidable. The might of our arms is feared by all the world. Who is able to stand against it?"
Harald thrust his arm in the air as if brandishing a sword, and cried, "Who is able to stand against the Daneman when the wrath of Odin fills his veins with fire?"
Murmured voices rejoined with assurances that no one could stand against the wrath of the Danefolk. The king then commenced a long speech in which he described how all the world trembles when the longship keel slices the deep waters, and how all the world cowers in fear when the Sea Wolf hunts the sea trails. These sentiments were conveyed with much thrusting of imaginary swords and rattling of imaginary spears on invisible shields.
