TIME:  Iceland, A.D. 990

SCENE:  The hall of GUNNAR’S house at Lithend in South Iceland.  The portion shewn is set on the stage diagonally, so that to the right one end is seen, while from the rear corner of this, one side runs down almost to the left front.

The side wall is low and wainscoted with carved panelling on which hang weapons, shields, and coats of mail.  In one place a panel slid aside shews a shut bed.

In front of the panelling are two long benches with a carved high-seat between them.  Across the end of the hall are similar panellings and the seats, with corresponding tables, of the women’s dais; behind these and in the gable wall is a high narrow door with a rounded top.

A timber roof slopes down to the side wall and is upheld by cross-beams and two rows of tall pillars which make a rather narrow nave of the centre of the hall.  One of these rows runs parallel to the side wall, the pair of pillars before the high-seat being carved and ended with images; of the other row only two pillars are visible at the extreme right.

Within this nave is the space for the hearths; but the only hearth visible is the one near the women’s dais.  In the roof above it there is a louvre:  the fire glows and no smoke rises.  The hall is lit everywhere by the firelight.

The rafters over the women’s dais carry a floor at the level of the side walls, forming an open loft which is reached by a wide ladder fixed against the wall:  a bed is seen in this loft.  Low in the roof at intervals are shuttered casements, one being above the loft:  all the shutters are closed.  Near the fire a large shaggy hound is sleeping; and ORMILD, in the undyed woollen dress of a thrall, is combing wool.

ODDNY stands spinning at the side; near her ASTRID and STEINVOR sit stitching a robe which hangs between them.

                        ASTRID
  Night is a winter long:  and evening falls. 
  Night, night and winter and the heavy snow
  Burden our eyes, intrude upon our dreams,
  And make of loneliness an earthly place.

                        ORMILD
  This bragging land of freedom that enthralls me
  Is still the fastness of a secret king
  Who treads the dark like snow, of old king Sleep. 
  He works with night, he has stolen death’s tool frost
  That makes the breaking wave forget to fall.

                        ASTRID
  Best mind thy comb-pot and forget our king
  Before the Longcoat helps at thy awaking.... 
  I like not this forsaken quiet house. 
  The housemen out at harvest in the Isles
  Never return.  Perhaps they went but now,
  Yet I am sore with fearing and expecting
  Because they do not come.  They will not come. 
  I like not this forsaken quiet house,
  This late last harvest, and night creeping in.