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Swanhild waited upon the side of the fell for nearly two hours in all. Then, hearing a noise above her, she looked up, and there, black with dirt and wet with water, was Gizur, and with him was the thrall. "What luck, Gizur?" she asked. "This, Swanhild: Eric may hold Mosfell no more, for we have found a way to bolt the fox." "That is good news, then," said Swanhild. "Say on."
Then Eric did this: among his men were some who he knew were not willing to sail from Iceland, and Jon, his thrall, was of them, for Jon did not love the angry sea. He bade these bide a while on Mosfell and make fires nightly on the platform of rock which is in front of the cave, that the spies of Gizur and Swanhild might be deceived by them, and think that Eric was still on the fell.
Get thee back to Mosfell, Eric, and sit there in safety through this winter, for they may not come at thee yonder on Mosfell. Then, if thou art willing, in the spring I will make ready a ship, for I have no ship now, and, moreover, it is too late to sail.
This Skallagrim did swiftly, and afterwards Eric and Gudruda kissed and parted, and they were sad at heart to part. Now on the fifth day after the going of Gudruda, Skallagrim came back to Mosfell somewhat cold and weary.
Then Gudruda took his hand, and, leaning over him, spoke: "Hush, Eric!" she said; "that was no dream, for I am here. Thou hast been sick to death, Eric; but now, if thou wilt rest, things shall go well with thee." "Thou art here?" said Eric, turning his white face towards her. "Do I still dream, or how comest thou here to Mosfell, Gudruda?"
Moreover they brought him gifts of food and clothing and arms, as many as his people could carry away, and laid them in a booth that is on the plain near the foot of Mosfell, which thenceforth was named Ericsfell. Further, they bade his thralls tell him that, if he wished it, they would find him a good ship of war to take him from Iceland ay, and man it with loyal men and true.
"I may not do that, lady," groaned Jon; "for Eric is not on Mosfell." "Where is he, then?" asked Swanhild. Now Jon saw that he had said an unlucky thing, and answered: "Nay, I know not. Last night he rode from Mosfell with Skallagrim Lambstail." "Thou liest, knave," said Swanhild. "Speak, or thou shalt be slain." "Slay on," groaned Jon, glancing at the swords above him, and shutting his eyes.
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."
Then Gudruda sang this song: "Up to Mosfell, battle eager, Rode helmed Brighteyen to the fray. Back from Mosfell, battle shunning. Slunk yon coward thrall I ween. Now shall maid Gudruda never Know a husband's dear embrace; Widowed is she sunk in sorrow, Eric treads Valhalla's halls!" And with this she walked from the stead, looking neither to the right nor to the left.
"That is a good sound," said Skallagrim, and he turned and smelt at the cask; "aye, and a good smell, too! We tasted little ale yonder on Mosfell, and we shall find less at sea." Again he looked at the cask. There was a spigot in it, and lo! on the shelf stood horn cups. "It surely is on draught," he said; "and now it will stand till it goes sour. 'Tis a pity; but I will not drink.
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