Then he turned away, but Jon wept long and loudly.

That night Eric slept well and dreamed no dreams.  But on the morrow he woke at dawn, and clothed himself and ate.  Then he called his men together, and with them Skallagrim.  They came and stood before him, and Eric, drawing Whitefire, leaned upon it and spoke: 

“Hearken, mates,” he said:  “I know this, that my hours are short and death draws on.  My years have been few and evil, and I cannot read the purpose of my life.  She whom I loved has been slain by the witchcraft of Swanhild and the coward hand of Gizur the murderer, and I go to seek her where she waits.  I am very glad to go, for now I have no more joy in life, being but a luckless man; it is an ill world, friends, and all the ways are red with blood.  I have shed much blood, though but one life haunts me now at the last, and that is the life of Atli the Earl, for he was no match for my might and he is dead because of my sin.  With my own blood I will wash away the blood of Atli, and then I seek another place, leaving nothing but a tale to be told in the ingle when fall the winter snows.  For to this end we all come at the last, and it matters little if it find us at midday or at nightfall.  We live in sorrow, we die in pain and darkness:  for this is the curse that the Gods have laid upon men and each must taste it in his season.  But I have sworn that no more men shall die for me.  I will fight the last great fight alone; for I know this:  I shall not easily be overcome, and with my fallen foes I will tread on Bifrost Bridge.  Therefore, farewell!  When the bones of Eric Brighteyes lie in their barrow, or are picked by ravens on the mountain side, Gizur will not trouble to hunt out those who clung to him, if indeed Gizur shall live to tell the tale.  Nor need ye fear the hate of Swanhild, for she aims her spears at me alone.  Go, therefore, and when I am dead, do not forget me, and do not seek to avenge me, for Death the avenger of all will find them also.”

Now Eric’s men heard and groaned aloud, saying that they would die with him, for they loved Eric one and all.  Only Skallagrim said nothing.

Then Brighteyes spoke again:  “Hear me, comrades.  If ye will not go, my blood will be on your heads, for I will ride out alone, and meet the men of Gizur in the plain and fall there fighting.”

Then one by one they crept away to seek their horses in the dell.  And each man as he went came to Eric and kissed his hand, then passed thence weeping.  Jon was the last to go, except Skallagrim only, and he was so moved that he could not speak at all.

It was this Jon who, in after years, when he was grown very old, wandered from stead to stead telling the deeds of Eric Brighteyes, and always finding a welcome because of his tale, till at length, as he journeyed, he was overtaken by a snowstorm and buried in a drift.  For Jon, who lacked much, had this gift:  he had a skald’s tongue.  Men have always held that it was to the honour of Jon that he told the tale thus, hiding nothing, seeing that some of it is against himself.