HOW ERIC SENT AWAY HIS MEN FROM MOSFELL
Now Eric and Skallagrim came to Mosfell in safety, and during all that
ride Brighteyes spoke no word. He rode in silence, and in silence
Skallagrim rode after him. The heart of Skallagrim was broken because
of the sorrow which his drunkenness had brought about, and the heart of
Eric was buried in Gudruda’s grave.
On Mosfell Eric found four of his own men, two of whom had been among
those that the people of Gizur and Swanhild had driven from Gudruda’s
ship before they fired her. For no fight had been made on the ship.
There also he found Jon, who had been loosed from his bands in the
booth by one who heard his cries as he rode past. Now when Jon saw
Brighteyes, he told him all, and fell at Eric’s feet and wept because
he had betrayed him in his fear.
But Eric spoke no angry word to him. Stooping down he raised him,
saying, “Thou wast never overstout of heart, Jon, and thou art scarcely
to be blamed because thou didst speak rather than die in torment,
though perhaps some had chosen so to die and not to speak. Now I am a
luckless man, and all things happen as they are fated, and the words of
Atli come true, as was to be looked for. The Norns, against whom none
may stand, did but work their will through thy mouth, Jon; so grieve no
more for that which cannot be undone.”
Then he turned away, but Jon wept long and loudly.
That night Eric slept well and dreamed no dreams. But on the morrow he
woke at dawn, and clothed himself and ate. Then he called his men
together, and with them Skallagrim. They came and stood before him, and
Eric, drawing Whitefire, leaned upon it and spoke:
“Hearken, mates,” he said: “I know this, that my hours are short and
death draws on. My years have been few and evil, and I cannot read the
purpose of my life. She whom I loved has been slain by the witchcraft
of Swanhild and the coward hand of Gizur the murderer, and I go to seek
her where she waits. I am very glad to go, for now I have no more joy
in life, being but a luckless man; it is an ill world, friends, and all
the ways are red with blood. I have shed much blood, though but one
life haunts me now at the last, and that is the life of Atli the Earl,
for he was no match for my might and he is dead because of my sin. With
my own blood I will wash away the blood of Atli, and then I seek
another place, leaving nothing but a tale to be told in the ingle when
fall the winter snows. For to this end we all come at the last, and it
matters little if it find us at midday or at nightfall. We live in
sorrow, we die in pain and darkness: for this is the curse that the
Gods have laid upon men and each must taste it in his season. But I
have sworn that no more men shall die for me. I will fight the last
great fight alone; for I know this: I shall not easily be overcome, and
with my fallen foes I will tread on Bifrost Bridge. Therefore,
farewell! When the bones of Eric Brighteyes lie in their barrow, or are
picked by ravens on the mountain side, Gizur will not trouble to hunt
out those who clung to him, if indeed Gizur shall live to tell the
tale. Nor need ye fear the hate of Swanhild, for she aims her spears at
me alone. Go, therefore, and when I am dead, do not forget me, and do
not seek to avenge me, for Death the avenger of all will find them
also.”
Now Eric’s men heard and groaned aloud, saying that they would die with
him, for they loved Eric one and all. Only Skallagrim said nothing.
Then Brighteyes spoke again: “Hear me, comrades. If ye will not go, my
blood will be on your heads, for I will ride out alone, and meet the
men of Gizur in the plain and fall there fighting.”
Then one by one they crept away to seek their horses in the dell. And
each man as he went came to Eric and kissed his hand, then passed
thence weeping. Jon was the last to go, except Skallagrim only, and he
was so moved that he could not speak at all.
It was this Jon who, in after years, when he was grown very old,
wandered from stead to stead telling the deeds of Eric Brighteyes, and
always finding a welcome because of his tale, till at length, as he
journeyed, he was overtaken by a snowstorm and buried in a drift. For
Jon, who lacked much, had this gift: he had a skald’s tongue. Men have
always held that it was to the honour of Jon that he told the tale
thus, hiding nothing, seeing that some of it is against himself.
Now when all had gone, Eric looked at Skallagrim, who still stood near
him, axe in hand.
“Wherefore goest thou not, drunkard?” he said. “Surely thou wilt find
ale and mead in the vales or oversea. Here there is none. Hasten! I
would be alone!”
Now the great body of Skallagrim shook with grief and shame, and the
red blood poured up beneath his dark sin. Then he spoke in a thick
voice:
“I did not think to live to hear such words from the lips of Eric
Brighteyes. They are well earned, yet it is unmanly of thee, lord, thus
to taunt one who loves thee. I would sooner die as Swanhild said yonder
thrall should die than live to listen to such words. I have sinned
against thee, indeed, and because of my sin my heart is broken. Hast
thou, then, never sinned that thou wouldst tear it living from my
breast as eagles tear a foundered horse? Think on thine own sins, Eric,
and pity mine! Taunt me thus once more or bid me go once more and I
will go indeed! I will go thus—on the edge of yonder gulf thou didst
overcome me by thy naked might, and there I swore fealty to thee, Eric
Brighteyes. Many a year have we wandered side by side, and, standing
back to back, have struck many a blow. I am minded to do this: to stand
by thee in the last great fight that draws on and to die there with
thee. I have loved no other man save thee, and I am too old to seek new
lords. Yet, if still thou biddest me, I will go thus. Where I swore my
oath to thee, there I will end it. For I will lay me down on the brink
of yonder gulf, as once I lay when thy hand was at my throat, and call
out that thou art no more my lord and I am no more thy thrall. Then I
will roll into the depths beneath, and by this death of shame thou
shalt be freed of me, Eric Brighteyes.”
Eric looked at the great man—he looked long and sadly. Then he spoke:
“Skallagrim Lambstail, thou hast a true heart. I too have sinned, and
now I put away thy sin, although Gudruda is dead through thee and I
must die because of thee. Stay by me if thou wilt and let us fall
together.”
Then Skallagrim came to Eric, and, kneeling before him, took his hands
and kissed them.
“Now I am once more a man,” he said, “and I know this: we two shall die
such a great death that it will be well to have lived to die it!” and
he arose and shouted:
“A! hai! A! hai! I see foes pass in pride!
A! hai! A! hai! Valkyries ride the wind!
Hear the song of the sword!
Whitefire is aloft—aloft!
Bare is the axe of the Baresark!
Croak, ye nesting ravens;
Flap your wings, ye eagles,
For bright is Mosfell’s cave with blood!
Lap! lap! thou Grey Wolf,
Laugh aloud, Odin!
“Laugh till shake the golden doors;
Heroes’ feet are set on Bifrost,
Open, ye hundred gates!
A! hai! A! hai! red runs the fray!
A! hai! A! hai! Valkyries ride the wind!”
Then Skallagrim turned and went to clean his harness and the golden
helm of Eric.
Now at Coldback Gizur spoke with Swanhild.
“Thou hast brought the greatest shame upon me,” he said, “for thou hast
caused me to slay a sleeping woman. Knowest thou that my own men will
scarcely speak with me? I have come to this evil pass, through love of
thee, that I have slain a sleeping woman!”
“It was not my fault that thou didst kill Gudruda,” answered Swanhild;
“surely I thought it was Eric whom thy sword pierced! I have not sought
thy love, Gizur, and I say this to thee: go, if thou wilt, and leave me
alone!”
Now Gizur looked at her, and was minded to go; but, as Swanhild knew
well, she held him too fast in the net of her witcheries.
“I would go, if I might go!” answered Gizur; “but I am bound to thee
for good or evil, since it is fated that I shall wed thee.”
“Thou wilt never wed me while Eric lives,” said Swanhild.
Now she spoke thus truthfully, and by chance, as it were, not as
driving Gizur on to slay Eric—for, now that Gudruda was dead, she was
in two minds as to this matter, since, if she might, she still desired
to take Eric to herself—but meaning that while Eric lived she would wed
no other man. But Gizur took it otherwise.
“Eric shall certainly die if I may bring it about,” he answered, and
went to speak with his men.
Now all were gathered in the yard at Coldback, and that was a great
company. But their looks were heavy because of the shame that Gizur,
Ospakar’s son, had brought upon them by the murder of Gudruda in her
sleep.
“Hearken, comrades!” said Gizur: “great shame is come upon me because
of a deed that I have done unwittingly, for I aimed at the eagle Eric
and I have slain the swan Gudruda.”
Then a certain old viking in the company, named Ketel, whom Gizur had
hired for the slaying of Eric, spoke:
“Man or woman, it is a niddering deed to kill folk in their sleep,
Gizur! It is murder, and no less, and small luck can be hoped for from
the stroke.”
Now Gizur felt that his people looked on him askance and heavily, and
knew that it would be hard to show them that he was driven to this deed
against his will, and by the witchcraft of Swanhild. So, as was his
nature, he turned to guile for shelter, like a fox to his hole, and
spoke to them with the tongue of a lawman; for Gizur had great skill in
speech.
“That tale was not all true which Eric Brighteyes told you,” he said.
“He was mad with grief, and moreover it seems that he slept, and only
woke to find Gudruda dead. It came about thus: I stood with the lady
Swanhild, and was about to call aloud on Eric to arm himself and come
forth and meet me face to face——”
“Then, lord, methinks thou hadst never met another foe,” quoth the
viking Ketel who had spoken first.
“When of a sudden,” went on Gizur, taking no note of Ketel’s words,
“one clothed in white sprang from the bed and rushed on me. Then I,
thinking that it was Eric, lifted sword, not to smite, but to ward him
away; but the linen-wearer met the sword and fell down dead. Then I
fled, fearing lest men should wake and trap us, and that is all the
tale. It was no fault of mine if Gudruda died upon the sword.”
Thus he spoke, but still men looked doubtfully upon him, for his eye
was the eye of a liar—and Eric, as they knew, did not lie.
“It is hard to find the truth between lawman’s brain and tongue,” said
the old viking Ketel. “Eric is no lawman, but a true man, and he sang
another song. I would slay Eric indeed, for between him and me there is
a blood-feud, since my brother died at his hand when, with Whitefire
for a crook, Brighteyes drove armed men like sheep down the hall of
Middalhof—ay and swordless, slew Ospakar. Yet I say that Eric is a true
man, and, whether or no thou art true, Gizur the Lawman, that thou
knowest best—thou and Swanhild the Fatherless, Groa’s daughter. If thou
didst slay Gudruda as thou tellest, say, how came Gudruda’s blood on
Whitefire’s blade? How did it chance, Gizur, that thou heldest
Whitefire in thy hand and not thine own sword? Now I tell thee this:
either thou shalt go up against Eric and clear thyself by blows, or I
leave thee; and methinks there are others among this company who will
do the same, for we have no wish to be partners with murderers and
their wickedness.”
“Ay, a good word!” said many who stood by. “Let Gizur go up with us to
Mosfell, and there stand face to face with Eric and clear himself by
blows.”
“I ask no more,” said Gizur; “we will ride to-night.”
“But much more shalt thou get, liar,” quoth Ketel to himself, “for that
hour when thou lookest once again on Whitefire shall be thy last!”
So Gizur and Swanhild made ready to go up against Eric. That day they
rode away with a great company, a hundred and one in all, and this was
their plan. They sent six men with that thrall who had shown them the
secret path, bidding him guide them to the mountain-top. Then, when
they were come thither, and heard the shouts of those who sought to
gain the platform from the south, they were to watch till Eric and his
folk came out from the cave, and shoot them with arrows from above or
crush them with stones. But if perchance Eric left the platform and
came to meet his foes in the narrow pass, then they must let themselves
down with ropes from the height above, and, creeping after him round
the rock, must smite him in the back. Moreover, in secret, Gizur
promised a great reward of ten hundreds in silver to him who should
kill Eric, for he did not long to stand face to face with him alone.
Swanhild also in secret made promise of reward to those who should
bring Eric to her, bound, but living; and she bade them do this—to bear
him down with shields and tie him with ropes.
So they rode away, the seven who should climb the mountain from behind
going first, and on the morrow morning they crossed the sand and came
to Mosfell.