From him men looked at Eric.

“Lo!  Baldur and the Troll!” said Swanhild, and everybody laughed, since so it was indeed; for, if Ospakar was black and hideous as a troll, Eric was beautiful as Baldur, the loveliest of the Gods.  He was taller than Ospakar by the half of a hand and as broad in the chest.  Still, he was not yet come to his greatest strength, and, though his limbs were well knit, they seemed but as a child’s against the limbs of Ospakar.  But he was quick as a cat and lithe, his neck and arms were white as whey, and beneath his golden hair his bright eyes shone like spears.

Now they stood face to face, with arms outstretched, waiting the word of Asmund.  He gave it and they circled round each other with arms held low.  Presently Ospakar made a rush and, seizing Eric about the middle, tried to lift him, but with no avail.  Thrice he strove and failed, then Eric moved his foot and lo! it slipped upon the sanded turf.  Again Eric moved and again he slipped, a third time and he slipped a third time, and before he could recover himself he was full on his back and fairly thrown.

Gudruda saw and was sad at heart, and those around her said that it was easy to know how the game would end.

“What said I?” quoth Swanhild, “that it would go badly with Eric were Ospakar’s arms about him.”

“All is not done yet,” answered Gudruda.  “Methinks Eric’s feet slipped most strangely, as though he stood on ice.”

But Eric was very sore at heart and could make nothing of this matter—­for he was not overthrown by strength.

He sat on the snow and Ospakar and his sons mocked him.  But Gudruda drew near and whispered to him to be of good cheer, for fortune might yet change.

“I think that I am bewitched,” said Eric sadly:  “my feet have no hold of the ground.”

Gudruda covered her eyes with her hand and thought.  Presently she looked up quickly.  “I seem to see guile here,” she said.  “Now look narrowly on thy shoes.”

He heard, and, loosening his shoe-string, drew a shoe from his foot and looked at the sole.  The cold of the snow had hardened the fat, and there it was, all white upon the leather.

Now Eric rose in wrath.  “Methought,” he cried, “that I dealt with men of honourable mind, not with cheating tricksters.  See now! it is little wonder that I slipped, for grease has been set upon my shoes—­and, by Thor!  I will cleave the man who did it to the chin,” and as he said it his eyes blazed so dreadfully that folk fell back from him.  Asmund took the shoes and looked at them.  Then he spoke: 

“Brighteyes tells the truth, and we have a sorry knave among us.  Ospakar, canst thou clear thyself of this ill deed?”

“I will swear on the holy ring that I know nothing of it, and if any man in my company has had a hand therein he shall die,” said Ospakar.

“That we will swear also,” cried his sons Gizur and Mord.