se 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