, he with many guests was at feast in the royal mansion of
Fitje, in Hoerdaland. While at table a sentinel brought in the alarming
news that a large fleet of ships was sailing up the fiord.

By the king's side sat Eyvnid, his nephew, who was a famous scald, or
bard. They rose and looked out on the fiord.

"What ships are they, of friends or of foes?" asked the king.

The scald replied in a verse, in which he sang that the sons of Erik were
coming again.

"Once more they take us unawares," said Haakon to his men. "They are many
and we are few. Never yet have we faced such odds. The danger lies before
you. Are you ready to meet it? I am loath to flee before any force, but I
leave it to the wise among you to decide."

Eyvnid sang another verse, to the effect that it would be ill counsel to
advise a man like King Haakon to flee from the sons of Gunhild the
sorceress.

"That is a man's song," cried the king, "and what you say is what I
wish."

All around him the warriors shouted their war-cry, and while they ran for
their weapons he put on his armor, seized his sword and shield, and
placed on his head a golden helmet that shone brightly in the sun. Never
had he looked more like a born king, with his noble and inspired
countenance and the bright hair streaming down from under his helmet.

The battle that followed was fierce and bloody. Harold, Gunhild's third
son, commanded the invaders, who far outnumbered Haakon's small force.
And now there was no Egil to defeat the foe by stratagem, but the battle
was hand to hand and face to face, with stroke of sword and thrust of
spear, the war-shout of the fighters and the death-wail of the fallen.

King Haakon that day showed himself a true and heroic warrior. As the
battle grew fiercer his spirit rose higher, and when Eyvnid the scald
greeted him with a warlike verse, he answered with another. But the
midsummer heat growing hard to bear, he flung off his armor and fought
with only his strong right arm for shield. The arrows had now been all
shot, the spears all hurled, and the ranks met hand to hand and sword to
sword, in desperate affray.

In the front rank stood the king, his golden helmet making him a shining
mark for the warriors of the foe.

"Your helmet makes you a target for the Danish spears," cried Eyvnid, and
he drew a hood over it to hide its gleam. Skreyja, Harold's uncle, who
was storming onward towards the king, now lost sight of him and cried
out:

"Wher