Part 58 (1/2)

Now it seemed that Eric heard the words, for suddenly his might came back to him, and he staggered to his knees and thence to his feet. Then, as folk fall from him, with all his strength he whirls Whitefire round his head till it s.h.i.+nes like a wheel of fire. ”Thy service is done and thou art clean of Gudruda's blood--go back to those who forged thee!”

Brighteyes cries, and casts Whitefire from him towards the gulf.

Away speeds the great blade, flas.h.i.+ng like lightning through the rays of the setting sun, and behold! as men watch it is gone--gone in mid-air!

Since that day no such sword as Whitefire has been known in Iceland.

”Now slay thou me, Gizur,” says the dying Eric.

Gizur comes on with little eagerness, and Eric cries aloud:

”Swordless I slew thy father!--swordless, s.h.i.+eldless, and wounded to the death I will yet slay _thee_, Gizur the Murderer!” and with a loud cry he staggered towards him.

Gizur smites him with his sword, but Eric does not stay, and while men wait and wonder, Brighteyes sweeps him into his great arms--ay, sweeps him up, lifts him from the ground and reels on.

Eric reels on to the brink of the gulf. Gizur sees his purpose, struggles and shrieks aloud. But the strength of the dying Eric is more than the strength of Gizur. Now Brighteyes stands on the dizzy edge and the light of the pa.s.sing sun flames about his head. And now, bearing Gizur with him, he hurls himself out into the gulf, and lo! the sun sinks!

Men stand wondering, but Swanhild cries aloud:

”n.o.bly done, Eric! n.o.bly done! So I would have seen thee die who of all men wast the first!”

This then was the end of Eric Brighteyes the Unlucky, who of all warriors that have lived in Iceland was the mightiest, the goodliest, and the best beloved of women and of those who clung to him.

Now, on the morrow, Swanhild caused the body of Eric to be searched for in the cleft, and there they found it, floating in water and with the dead Gizur yet clasped in its bear-grip. Then she cleansed it and clothed it again in its rent armour, and bound on the h.e.l.l-shoes, and it was carried on horses to the sea-side, and with it were borne the bodies of Skallagrim Lambstail the Baresark, Eric's thrall, and of all those men whom they had slain in the last great fight on Mosfell, that is now named Ericsfell.

Then Swanhild drew her long dragon of war, in which she had come from Orkneys, from its shed over against Westman Isles, and in the centre of the s.h.i.+p, she piled the bodies of the slain in the shape of a bed, and lashed them fast. And on this bed she laid the corpse of Eric Brighteyes, and the breast of black Skallagrim the Baresark was his pillow, and the breast of Gizur, Ospakar's son, was his foot-rest.