Then Atli rose grumbling, and shook the heavy sleep from his eyes:  for of all living folk he most feared Swanhild his wife.  He donned his garments, threw a thick cloak about him, and, going to the hall where men snored around the dying fires, for the night was bitter, he awoke some of them.  Now among those men whom he called was Hall of Lithdale, Hall the mate who had cut the grapnel-chain.  For this Hall, fearing to return to Iceland, had come hither saying that he had been wounded off Fareys, in the great fight between Eric and Ospakar’s men, and left there to grow well of his hurt or die.  Then Atli, not knowing that the carle lied, had bid him welcome for Eric’s sake, for he still loved Eric above all men.

But Hall loved not labour and nightfarings to search for shipwrecked men of whom the Lady Swanhild had chanced to dream.  So he turned himself upon his side and slept again.  Still, certain of Atli’s folk rose at his bidding, and they went together down to the south-western rocks.

But Swanhild, a cloak thrown over her night-gear, sat herself in the high seat of the hall and fixing her eyes, now upon the dying fires and now upon the blood-marks in her arm, waited in silence.  The night was cold and windy, but the moon shone bright, and by its light Atli and his people made their way to the south-western rocks, on which the sea beat madly.

“What lies yonder?” said Atli, pointing to some black things that lay beneath them upon the rock, cast there by the waves.  A man climbed down the cliff’s side that is here as though it were cut in steps, and then cried aloud: 

“A ship’s mast, new broken, lord.”

“It seems that Swanhild dreams true,” muttered Atli; “but I am sure of this:  that none have come ashore alive in such a sea.”

Presently the man who searched the rocks below cried aloud again: 

“Here lie two great men, locked in each other’s arms.  They seem to be dead.”

Now all the men climb down the slippery rocks as best they may, though the spray wets them, and with them goes Atli.  The Earl is a brisk man, though old in years, and he comes first to where the two lie.  He who was undermost lay upon his back, but his face is hid by the thick golden hair that flowed across it.

“Man’s body indeed, but woman’s locks,” said Atli as he put out his hand and drew the hair away, so that the light of the moon fell on the face beneath.

He looked, then staggered back against the rock.

“By Thor!” he cried, “here lies the corpse of Eric Brighteyes!” and Atli wrung his hands and wept, for he loved Eric much.

“Be not so sure that the men are dead, Earl,” said one, “I thought I saw yon great carle move but now.”

“He is Skallagrim Lambstail, Eric’s Death-shadow,” said Atli again.  “Up with them, lads—­see, yonder lies a plank—­and away to the hall.  I will give twenty in silver to each of you if Eric lives,” and he unclasped his cloak and threw it over both of them.