“Thou hast a wondrous blade there, Ospakar!” said Asmund, “though this is no place to draw it.  Whence came it?  Methinks no such swords are fashioned now.”

“Ay, Asmund, a wondrous blade indeed.  There is no other such in the world, for the dwarfs forged it of old, and he shall be unconquered who holds it aloft.  This was King Odin’s sword, and it is named Whitefire.  Ralph the Red took it from King Eric’s cairn in Norway, and he strove long with the Barrow-Dweller[*] before he wrenched it from his grasp.  But my father won it and slew Ralph, though he had never done this had Whitefire been aloft against him.  But Ralph the Red, being in drink when the ships met in battle, fought with an axe, and was slain by my father, and since then Whitefire has been the last light that many a chief’s eyes have seen.  Look at it, Asmund.”

[*] The ghost in the cairn.

Now he drew the great sword, and men were astonished as it flashed aloft.  Its hilt was of gold, and blue stones were set therein.  It measured two ells and a half from crossbar to point, and so bright was the broad blade that no one could look on it for long, and all down its length ran runes.

“A wondrous weapon, truly!” said Asmund.  “How read the runes?”

“I know not, nor any man—­they are ancient.”

“Let me look at them,” said Groa, “I am skilled in runes.”  Now she took the sword, and heaved it up, and looked at the runes and said, “A strange writing truly.”

“How runs it, housekeeper?” said Asmund.

“Thus, lord, if my skill is not at fault:—­

     “Whitefire is my name—­
     Dwarf-folk forged me—­
     Odin’s sword was I—­
     Eric’s sword was I—­
     Eric’s sword shall I be—­
     And where I fall there he must follow me.”

Now Gudruda looked at Eric Brighteyes wonderingly, and Ospakar saw it and became very angry.

“Look not so, maiden,” he said, “for it shall be another Eric than yon flapper-duck who holds Whitefire aloft, though it may very well chance that he shall feel its edge.”

Now Gudruda bit her lip, and Eric burned red to the brow and spoke: 

“It is ill, lord, to throw taunts like an angry woman.  Thou art great and strong, yet I may dare a deed with thee.”

“Peace, boy!  Thou canst climb a waterfall well, I gainsay it not; but beware ere thou settest up thyself against my strength.  Say now, what game wilt thou play with Ospakar?”

“I will go on holmgang with thee, byrnie-clad or baresark,[*] and fight thee with axe or sword, or I will wrestle with thee, and Whitefire yonder shall be the winner’s prize.”

     [*] To a duel, usually fought, in mail or without it, on an
     island—­“holm”—­within a circle of hazel-twigs.

“Nay, I will have no bloodshed here at Middalhof,” said Asmund sternly.  “Make play with fists, or wrestle if ye will, for that were great sport to see; but weapons shall not be drawn.”