HOW THE DAWN CAME
The dawn broke over Middalhof. Slowly the light gathered in the empty
hall, it crept slowly into the little chamber where Eric slept, and
Gudruda slept also with a deeper sleep.
Now the two women came from their chamber at the far end of the hall,
and drew near the hearth, shivering, for the air was cold. They knelt
by the fire, blowing at the embers till the sticks they cast upon them
crackled to a blaze.
“It seems that Gudruda is not yet gone,” said one to the other. “I
thought she should ride away with Eric before the dawn.”
“Newly wed lie long abed!” laughed the other.
“I am glad to see the blessed light,” said the first woman, “for last
night I dreamed that once again this hall ran red with blood, as at the
marriage-feast of Ospakar.”
“Ah,” answered the other, “it will be well for the south when Eric
Brighteyes and Gudruda are gone over sea, for their loves have brought
much bloodshed upon the land.”
“Well, indeed!” sighed the first. “Had Asmund the Priest never found
Groa, Ran’s gift, singing by the sea, Valhalla had not been so full
to-day. Mindest thou the day he brought her here?”
“I remember it well,” she answered, “though I was but a girl at the
time. Still, when I saw those dark eyes of hers—just such eyes as
Swanhild’s!—I knew her for a witch, as all Finn women are. It is an
evil world: my husband is dead by the sword; dead are both my sons,
fighting for Eric; dead is Unna, Thorod’s daughter; Asmund, my lord, is
dead, and dead is Björn; and now Gudruda the Fair, whom I have rocked
to sleep, leaves us to go over sea. I may not go with her, for my
daughter’s sake; yet I almost wish that I too were dead.”
“That will come soon enough,” said the other, who was young and fair.
Now the witch-sleep began to roll from Eric’s heart, though his eyes
were not yet open. But the talk of the women echoed in his ears, and
the words “_dead!_” “_dead!_” “_dead!_” fell heavily on his slumbering
sense. At length he opened his eyes, only to shut them again, because
of a bright gleam of light that ran up and down something at his side.
Heavily he wondered what this might be, that shone so keen and
bright—that shone like a naked sword.
Now he looked again. Yes, it was a sword which stood by him upon the
bed, and the golden hilt was like the hilt of Whitefire. He lifted up
his hand to touch it, thinking that he dreamed. Lo! his hand and arm
were red!
Then he remembered, and the thought of Gudruda flashed through his
heart. He sat up, gazing down into the shadow at his side.
Presently the women at the fire heard a sound as of a great man falling
to earth.
“What is that noise?” said one.
“Eric leaping from his bed,” answered the other. “He has slept too
long, as we have also.”
As they spoke the curtain of the shut bed was pushed away, and through
it staggered Eric in his night-gear, and lo! the left side of it was
red. His eyes were wide with horror, his mouth was open, and his face
was white as ice.
He stopped, looking at them, made as though to speak, and could not.
Then, while they shrank from him in terror, he turned, and, walking
like a drunken man, staggered from the hall down that passage which led
to the store-chamber. The door stood wide, the shutter was wide, and on
the floor, soaked in the dregs of ale, Skallagrim yet lay snoring, his
axe in one hand and a cup in the other.
Eric looked and understood.
“Awake, drunkard!” he cried, in so terrible a voice that the room
shook. “Awake, and look upon thy work!”
Skallagrim sat up, yawning.
“Forsooth, my head swims,” he said. “Give me ale, I am thirsty.”
“Never wilt thou look on ale again, Skallagrim, when thou hast seen
that which I have to show!” said Eric, in the same dread voice.
Then Skallagrim rose to his feet and gaped upon him.
“What means this, lord? Is it time to ride? and say! why is thy shirt
red with blood?”
“Follow me, drunkard, and look upon thy work!” Eric said again.
Then Skallagrim grew altogether sober, and grasping his axe, followed
after Brighteyes, sore afraid of what he might see.
They went down the passage, past the high seat of the hall, till they
came to the curtain of the shut bed; and after them followed the women.
Eric seized the curtain in his hand, rent it from its fastenings, and
cast it on the ground. Now the light flowed in and struck upon the bed.
It fell upon the bed, it fell upon Whitefire’s hilt and ran along the
blade, it gleamed on a woman’s snowy breast and golden hair, and shone
in her staring eyes—a woman who lay stiff and cold upon the bed, the
great sword fixed within her heart!
“Look upon thy work, drunkard!” Eric cried again, while the women who
peeped behind sent their long wail of woe echoing down the panelled
hall.
“Hearken!” said Eric: “while thou didst lie wallowing in thy swine’s
sleep, foes crept across thy carcase, and this is their
handiwork:—yonder she lies who was my bride!—now is Gudruda the Fair a
death-wife who last night was my bride! This is thy work, drunkard! and
now what meed for thee?”
Skallagrim looked. Then he spoke in a hoarse slow voice:
“What meed, lord? But one—death!”
Then with one hand he covered his eyes and with the other held out his
axe to Eric Brighteyes.
Eric took the axe, and while the women ran thence screaming, he whirled
it thrice about his head. Then he smote down towards the skull of
Skallagrim, but as he smote it seemed to him that a voice whispered in
his ear: “_Thy oath!_”—and he remembered that he had sworn to slay no
more, save for his own life’s sake.
The mighty blow was falling and he might only do this—loose the axe
before it clove Skallagrim in twain. He loosed and away the great axe
flew. It passed over the head of Skallagrim, and sped like light across
the wide hall, till it crashed through the panelling on the further
side, and buried itself to the haft in the wall beyond.
“It is not for me to kill thee, drunkard! Go, die in thy drink!”
“Then I will kill myself!” cried the Baresark, and, rushing across the
hall he tore the great axe from its bed.
“Hold!” said Eric; “perhaps there is yet a deed for thee to do. Then
thou mayest die, if it pleases thee.”
“Ay,” said Skallagrim coming back, “perchance there is still a deed to
do!”
And, flinging down the axe, Skallagrim Lambstail the Baresark fell upon
the floor and wept.
But Eric did not weep. Only he drew Whitefire from the heart of Gudruda
and looked at it.
“Thou art a strange sword, Whitefire,” he said, “who slayest both
friend and foe! Shame on thee, Whitefire! We swore our oath on thee,
Whitefire, and thou hast cut its chain! Now I am minded to shatter
thee.” And as Eric looked on the great blade, lo! it hummed strangely
in answer.
“‘First must thou be the death of some,’ thou sayest? Well, maybe,
Whitefire! But never yet didst thou drink so sweet a life as hers who
now lies dead, nor ever shalt again.”
Then he sheathed the sword, but neither then nor afterwards did he wipe
the blood of Gudruda from its blade.
“Last night a-marrying—to-day a-burying,” said Eric, and he called to
the women to bring spades. Then, having clothed himself, he went to the
centre of the hall, and, brushing away the sand, broke the hard
clay-flooring, dealing great blows on it with an axe. Now Skallagrim,
seeing his purpose, came to him and took one of the spades, and
together they laboured in silence till they had dug a grave a fathom
deep.
“Here,” said Eric, “here, in thine own hall where thou wast born and
lived, Gudruda the Fair, thou shalt sleep at the last. And of Middalhof
I say this: that none shall live there henceforth. It shall be haunted
and accursed till the rafters rot and the walls fall in, making thy
barrow, Gudruda.”
Now this indeed came to pass, for none have lived in Middalhof since
the days of Gudruda the Fair, Asmund’s daughter. It has been ruined
these many years, and now it is but a pile of stones.
When the grave was dug, Eric washed himself and ate some food. Then he
went in to where Gudruda lay dead, and bade the women make her ready
for burial. This they did. When she was washed and clad in a clean
white robe, Eric came to her, and with his own hand bound the
Hell-shoes on her feet and closed her eyes.
It was just then that a man came who said that the people of Gizur and
of Swanhild had burned Gudruda’s ship, driving the crew ashore.
“It is well,” said Eric. “We need the ship no more; now hath she whom
it should bear wings with which to fly.” Then he went in and sat down
on the bed by the body of Gudruda, while Skallagrim crouched on the
ground without, tearing at his beard and muttering. For the fierce
heart of Skallagrim was broken because of that evil which his
drunkenness had brought about.
All day Eric sat thus, looking on his dead love’s face, till the hour
came round when he and Gudruda had drunk the bride-cup. Then he rose
and kissed dead Gudruda on the lips, saying:
“I did not look to part with thee thus, sweet! It is sad that thou
shouldst have gone and left me here. Natheless, I shall soon follow on
thy path.”
Then he called aloud:
“Art sober, drunkard?”
Skallagrim came and stood before him, saying nothing.
“Take thou the feet of her whom thou didst bring to death, and I will
take her head.”
So they lifted up Gudruda and bore her to the grave. Then Eric stood
near the grave, and, taking dead Gudruda in his arms, looked upon her
face by the light of the fire and of the candles that were set about.
He looked thrice, then sang aloud:
“Long ago, when swept the snow-blast,
Close we clung and plighted troth.
Many a year, through storm and sword-song,
Sore I strove to win thee, sweet!
But last night I held thee, Fairest,
Lock’d, a wife, in lover’s arms.
Now, Gudruda, in thy death-rest,
Sleep thou soft till Eric come!
“Hence I go to wreak thy murder.
Hissing fire of flaming stead,
Groan of spear-carles, wail of women,
Soon shall startle through the night.
Then on Mosfell, Kirtle-Wearer,
Eric waits the face of Death.
Freed from weary life and sorrow,
Soon we’ll kiss in Hela’s halls!”
Then he laid her in the grave, and, having shrouded a sheet over her,
they filled it in together, hiding Gudruda the Fair from the sight of
men for ever.
Afterwards Eric armed himself, and this Skallagrim did also. Then he
strode from the hall, and Skallagrim followed him. In the yard those
horses were still tied that should have carried them to the ship, and
on one was the saddle of Gudruda. She had ridden on this horse for many
years, and loved it much, for it would follow her like a dog. Eric
looked at him, then said aloud:
“Gudruda may need thee where she is, Blackmane,” for so the horse was
named. “At the least, none shall ride thee more!” And he snatched the
axe from the hand of Skallagrim and slew the horse at a blow.
Then they rode away, heading for Coldback. The night was wild and
windy, and the sky dark with scudding clouds, through which the moon
peeped out at times. Eric looked up, then spoke to Skallagrim:
“A good night for burning, drunkard!”
“Ay, lord; the flames will fly briskly,” answered Skallagrim.
“How many, thinkest thou, walked over thee, drunkard, when thou didst
lie yonder in the ale?”
“I know not,” groaned Skallagrim; “but I found this in the soft earth
without: the print of a man’s and a woman’s feet; and this on the hill
side: the track of two horses ridden hard.”
“Gizur and Swanhild, drunkard,” said Eric. “Swanhild cast us into deep
sleep by witchcraft, and Gizur dealt the blow. Better for him that he
had never been born than that he has lived to deal that coward’s blow!”
Then they rode on, and when midnight was a little while gone they came
to the stead at Coldback. Now this house was roofed with turves, and
the windows were barred so that none could pass through them. Also in
the yard were faggots of birch and a stack of hay.
Eric and Skallagrim tied their horses in a dell that is to the north of
the stead and crept up to the house. All was still; but a fire burnt in
the hall, and, looking through a crack, Eric could see many men
sleeping about it. Then he made signs to Skallagrim and together, very
silently, they fetched hay and faggots, piling them against the north
door of the house, for the wind blew from the north. Now Eric spoke to
Skallagrim, bidding him stand, axe in hand, by the south door, and slay
those who came out when the reek began to smart them: but he went
himself to fire the pile.
When Brighteyes had made all things ready for the burning, it came into
his mind that, perhaps, Gizur and Swanhild were not in the house. But
he would not hold his hand for this, for he was mad with grief and
rage. So once more he prepared for the deed, when again he heard a
voice in his ear—the voice of Gudruda, and it seemed to say:
“_Thine oath, Eric! remember thine oath!_”
Then he turned and the rage went out of his heart.
“Let them seek me on Mosfell,” he said, “I will not slay them secretly
and by reek, the innocent and the guilty together.” And he strode round
the house to where Skallagrim stood at the south door, axe aloft and
watching.
“Does the fire burn, lord? I see no smoke,” whispered Skallagrim.
“Nay, I have made none. I will shed no more blood, except to save my
life. I leave vengeance to the Norns.”
Now Skallagrim thought that Brighteyes was mad, but he dared say
nothing. So they went to their horses, and when they found them, Eric
rode back to the house. Presently they drew near, and Eric told
Skallagrim to stay where he was, and riding on to the house, smote
heavy blows upon the door, just as Skallagrim once had smitten, before
Eric went up to Mosfell.
Now Swanhild lay in her shut bed; but she could not sleep, because of
what she saw in the eyes of Gudruda. Little may she ever sleep again,
for when she shuts her eyes once more she sees that which was written
in the dead eyes of Gudruda. So, as she lay, she heard the blows upon
the door, and sprang frightened from her bed. Now there was tumult in
the hall, for every man rose to his feet in fear, searching for his
weapons. Again the loud knocks came.
“It is the ghost of Eric!” cried one, for Gizur had given out that Eric
was dead at his hand in fair fight.
“Open!” said Gizur, and they opened, and there, a little way from the
door, sat Brighteyes on a horse, great and shadowy to see, and behind
him was Skallagrim the Baresark.
“It is the ghost of Eric!” they cried again.
“I am no ghost,” said Brighteyes. “I am no ghost, ye men of Swanhild.
Tell me: is Gizur, the son of Ospakar, among you?”
“Gizur is here,” said a voice; “but he swore he slew thee last night.”
“Then he lied,” quoth Eric. “Gizur did not slay me—he murdered Gudruda
the Fair as she lay asleep at my side. See!” and he drew Whitefire from
its scabbard and held it in the rays of the moon that now shone out
between the cloud rifts. “Whitefire is red with Gudruda’s blood—Gudruda
slaughtered in her sleep by Gizur’s coward hand!”
Now men murmured, for this seemed to them the most shameful of all
deeds. But Gizur, hearing, shrank back aghast.
“Listen again!” said Eric. “I was minded but now to burn you all as ye
slept—ay, the firing is piled against the door. Still, I held my hand,
for I have sworn to slay no more, except to save my life. Now I ride
hence to Mosfell. Thither let Gizur come, Gizur the murderer, and
Swanhild the witch, and with them all who will. There I will give them
greeting, and wipe away the blood of Gudruda from Whitefire’s blade.”
“Fear not, Eric,” cried Swanhild, “I will come, and there thou mayst
kill me, if thou canst.”
“Against thee, Swanhild,” said Eric, “I lift no hand. Do thy worst, I
leave thee to thy fate and the vengeance of the Norns. I am no
woman-slayer. But to Gizur the murderer I say, come.”
Then he turned and went, and Skallagrim went with him.
“Up, men, and cut Eric down!” cried Gizur, seeking to cover his shame.
But no man stirred.