Swanhild laughed aloud.  “I think it a merry sight,” she cried.  “The marriage-feast of Asmund our father was red, and thy marriage-feast, Gudruda, has been redder.  Would that thy blood and the blood of Eric ran with the blood of Bjoern and Ospakar!  That tale must yet be told, Gudruda.  There shall be binding on of Hell-shoes at Middalhof, but I bind them not.  My task is still to come:  for I will live to fasten the Hell-shoes on the feet of Eric, and on thy feet, Gudruda!  At the least, I have brought about this much, that thou canst scarcely wed Eric the outlaw:  for with his own hand he slew Bjoern our brother, and because of this I count all that death as nothing.  Thou canst not mate with Brighteyes, lest the wide wounds of Bjoern thy brother should take tongues and cry thy shame from sea to sea!”

Gudruda made no answer, but sat as one carved in stone.  Then Swanhild spoke again: 

“Let us away to the north, Gizur; there to gather strength to make an end of Eric.  Say, wilt thou help us, Gudruda?  The blood-feud for the death of Bjoern is thine.”

“Ye are enough to bring about the fall of one unfriended man,” Gudruda said.  “Go, and leave me with my sorrow and the dead.  Nay! before thou goest, listen, Swanhild, for there is that in my heart which tells me I shall never look again upon thy face.  From evil to evil thou hast ever gone, Swanhild, and from evil to evil thou wilt go.  It may well chance that thy wickedness will win.  It may well chance that thou wilt crown thy crimes with my slaying and the slaying of the man who loves me.  But I tell thee this, traitress—­murderess, as thou art—­that here the tale ends not.  Not by death, Swanhild, shalt thou escape the deeds of life! There they shall rise up against thee, and there every shame that thou hast worked, every sin that thou hast sinned, and every soul that thou hast brought to Hela’s halls, shall come to haunt thee and to drive thee on from age to age!  That witchcraft which thou lovest shall mesh thee.  Shadows shall bewilder thee; from the bowl of empty longings thou shalt drink and drink, and not be satisfied.  Yea! lusts shall mock and madden thee.  Thou shalt ride the winds, thou shalt sail the seas, but thou shalt find no harbour, and never shalt thou set foot upon a shore of peace.

“Go on, Swanhild—­dye those hands in blood—­wade through the river of shame!  Seek thy desire, and finding, lose!  Work thy evil, and winning, fail!  I yet shall triumph—­I yet shall trample thee; and, in a place to come, with Eric at my side, I shall make a mock of Swanhild the murderess!  Swanhild the liar, and the wanton, and the witch!  Now get thee gone!”

Swanhild heard.  She looked up at Gudruda’s face and it was alight as with a fire.  She strove to answer, but no words came.  Then Groa’s daughter turned and went, and with her went Gizur.

Now women and thralls came in and drew out the wounded and those who still breathed from among the dead, taking them to the temple.  They bore away the body of Ospakar also, but they left the rest.