The Last Samurai

‘Skarp-Hedin is my name,’ he replied, ‘and you have often seen me here at the Althing. But I must he sharper than you, for I have no need to ask you your name. You are called Skapti Thoroddsson, but once you called yourself Bristle-Head, when you had just killed Ketil of Elda; that was the time you shaved your head and smeared it with tar, and bribed some slaves to cut you a strip of turf to cower under for the night. Later you fled to Thorolf Loptsson of Eyrar, who took you in and then smuggled you abroad in his flour sacks.’

Eptir at gengu eir Ásgrímr út.

With that they all left the booth.

Nothing happened in the house.

Skarpheðinn mælti: ‘Hvert skulu vér nú ganga?’

‘Where shall we go now?’ asked Skarp-Hedin.

‘Til búðar Snorra goða,’ segir Ásgrímr.

‘To Snorri the Priest’s booth,’ said Asgrim.

Njal’s Saga was a bit hard in places but not too hard. The aerodynamics was a real killer. I read a couple of pages but I wasn’t in the mood. Nothing happened in the house.

I went back to Njal’s Saga. Snorri said that their own lawsuits were going badly, but he promised not to take sides against the Njalssons or support their enemies. He said:

‘Hverr er sá maðr, er fjórir ganga fyrir, flleitr ok skarpleitr ok glottir við tnn ok hefir øxi reidda um xl?’

‘Who is that man, fifth in the line, the pale, sharp-featured man with a grin on his face and an axe on his shoulder?’

‘Heðinn heiti ek,’ segir hann, ‘en sumir kalla mik Skarpheðinn llu nafni, eða hvat vilt ú fleira til mín tala?’

‘My name is Hedin,’ he replied, ‘but some call me Skarp-Hedin in full. Have you anything else to say to me?’

Snorri maelti: ‘at at mér, ykki maðr harðligr ok mikilfengligr, en ó get ek, at rotin sé nú ín en mesta gæfa, ok skamt get ek eptir innar æfi.’

‘I think you look very ruthless and formidable,’ said Snorri, ‘but my guess is that you have exhausted your store of good luck, and that you have not long to live.’

The Asgrimssons went from booth to booth with mixed success and each time someone said there is just one thing I’d like to know, who is that ill-starred looking man the fifth in line and each time Skarp-Hedin said something insulting with predictable results. It was quite different from Homer or from Malory because it was very plain but I still rather liked it. There was a glossary in Gordon and some grammatical tips so it was not too bad on the whole.

I read a few more pages and then I read The Count of Monte Cristo for a couple of hours and went home.

I went back the next day and I read three pages of aerodynamics but I wasn’t in the mood. Then I read some more of Njal’s Saga.

At about 12:30 he passed by a window on the ground floor eating a sandwich. I had four peanut butter and jam sandwiches and two banana and Marmite sandwiches and a bag of crisps in my backpack. I ate one of the sandwiches and then read The Count of Monte Cristo. Nothing else happened in the house.

I let two days go by. It was raining hard and cold. Then the weather cleared. I went back to sit on the wall. I had three peanut butter and jam sandwiches, one peanut butter and honey sandwich and a bottle of Ribena.

It started to rain again, so I walked back to the Circle Line and spent the rest of the day reading The Count of Monte Cristo. I could have worked on aerodynamics but I wasn’t in the mood.

Third week of May, typical English cold snap. 283 degrees above absolute zero. I went to the house just to look at it. I saw him talking to the woman in an upstairs room but I couldn’t hear what they were saying. I made myself sit reading on the wall just in case I ever had to go to the North Pole.