Adils, Aki, Alfgeir, Arinbjorn, Armod Beard, Asgerd, Athelstan, Atli the Short, Æthelstan, Bard, Bera, Berg-Onund, Bjorgolf, Bjorn, Bodvar, Borg, Brynjolf, Courland, Danes, Egil, Einer, Eirik Bloodaxe, England, Eyvind, Finnmark, Fjord Province, Geir, Godrek, Grim, Gunnhild, Hakon, Halberd, Hallvard, Halogaland, Hildirid, Hildiridarsons, Hogni, Hring, Iceland, intrigue, Isle of Torg, Karelians, Ketil Trout, King Arnvid, King Æthelstan, King Faravid, King Harald, Kveldulf, Kvenland, Kylfings, Lapps, Ljot the Pale, Namdalen, Norway, Norwegians, Olaf the Red, Olvir, Onund Sjoni, Oslo Fjord, Rognvald, Sandness, Scandanavia, Scots, Shape-changer, Sigrid, Sigtrygg, Skallagrimsson, slander, Snorri Sturluson, Sweden, Thora, Thorfinn, Thorgils Gjallandi, Thorolf, Thorunn, treachery, Trondheim, Vikings, Welch, Yngvar
I grew old and infirm. Now that I had lost the power of intimidation people made fun of me. That was fine with me. I had a good run through this life of sailing, pillaging, fighting long-ship to long-ship. I had raised my sons to the best of my ability and had amassed a great deal of wealth and land.
My movements were slow, my eye-sight was failing and I could not hear a damn word that anyone spoke.
This all occurred while I was living with Grim and Thordis.
One day I hobbled outside the wall. I stumbled and fell. Some of the women there saw my embarrassment.
Some of them laughed, saying: “You are now quite gone, Egil, if you fall when alone.”
Then my son Grim said, “Women jeered at us less when we were younger.” I believe he used the term “we” just to make me feel better.
I made a verse.
‘Old haltered horse I waver,
Bald-head I weakly fall:
Hollow my failing leg-bones,
The fount of hearing dry.’
I became quite blind. And it was so that one day, when the weather was cold, I went to the fire to warm myself. Whereupon the cook said that it was a great wonder, so mighty a man as I had been, that he should lie in her way so that she could not do her work.
“Be you civil,” I said, “though I bask by the fire, remember your place.”
“Stand you up” she retorted, “go to your seat, and let me do my work.”
I stood up, and went to my place and made a verse.
Blind near the blaze I wander,
Beg of the fire-maid pardon,
Crave for a seat. Such sorrow
From sightless eyes I bear.
Yet England’s mighty monarch
Praised me with precious gold:
The wild king once
Was tamed by my words
Again, once when I went to the fire to warm myself, a man asked me whether my feet were cold and warned me not to put them too near the fire.
“That shall be so,” I said, “but it is not easy steering my feet now that I cannot see. Being blind is a dismal thing.” Then I made my last verse.
Time passes slowly,
I tarry here alone,
An old, senile elder
From kings’ courts exiled.
I walk on these two widows,
Once true women,
Bedfellows now needing
Blaze of fire.