ing to a statue rather than a man, and learnt
that it is vain for buffoons to assail with, their tricks a settled and
weighty sternness, and that a mighty mass cannot be shaken with the
idle puffing of the lips. For Starkad had set his face so firmly in his
stubborn wrath, that he seemed not a whit easier to move than ever. For
the inflexibility which he owed his vows was not softened either by the
strain of the lute or the enticements of the palate; and he thought that
more respect should be paid to his strenuous and manly purpose than to
the tickling of the ears or the lures of the feast. Accordingly he flung
the bone, which he had stripped in eating the meat, in the face of the
harlequin, and drove the wind violently out of his puffed cheeks, so
that they collapsed. By this he showed how his austerity loathed the
clatter of the stage; for his ears were stopped with anger and open to
no influence of delight. This reward, befitting an actor, punished
an unseemly performance with a shameful wage. For Starkad excellently
judged the man's deserts, and bestowed a shankbone for the piper to pipe
on, requiting his soft service with a hard fee. None could say whether
the actor piped or wept the louder; he showed by his bitter flood of
tears how little place bravery has in the breasts of the dissolute. For
the fellow was a mere minion of pleasure, and had never learnt to bear
the assaults of calamity. This man's hurt was ominous of the carnage
that was to follow at the feast. Right well did Starkad's spirit,
heedful of sternness, hold with stubborn gravity to steadfast revenge;
for he was as much disgusted at the lute as others were delighted,
and repaid the unwelcome service by insultingly flinging a bone; thus
avowing that he owed a greater debt to the glorious dust of his mighty
friend than to his shameless and infamous ward.

But when Starkad saw that the slayers of Frode were in high favour
with the king, his stern glances expressed the mighty wrath which he
harboured, and his face betrayed what he felt. The visible fury of his
gaze betokened the secret tempest in his heart. At last, when Ingild
tried to appease him with royal fare, he spurned the dainty. Satisfied
with cheap and common food, he utterly spurned outlandish delicacies;
he was used to plain diet, and would not pamper his palate with any
delightful flavour. When he was asked why he had refused the generous
attention of the king with such a clouded brow, he sai