But the women misdoubted them much of this venture; nevertheless Eric might not be gainsayed.

Now, the road to Mosfell runs past Middalhof and thither he came.  Atli, standing at the men’s door, saw him and cried aloud:  “Ho! a mighty man comes here.”

Swanhild looked out and saw Eric, and he was a goodly sight in his war-gear.  For now, week by week, he seemed to grow more fair and great, as the full strength of his manhood rose in him, like sap in the spring grass, and Gudruda was very proud of her lover.  That night Eric stayed at Middalhof, and sat hand in hand with Gudruda and talked with Earl Atli.  Now the heart of the old viking went out to Eric, and he took great delight in him and in his strength and deeds, and he longed much that the Gods had given him such a son.

“I prophesy this of thee, Brighteyes,” he cried:  “that it shall go ill with this Baresark thou seekest—­yes, and with all men who come within sweep of that great sword of thine.  But remember this, lad:  guard thy head with thy buckler, cut low beneath his shield, if he carries one, and mow the legs from him:  for ever a Baresark rushes on, shield up.”

Eric thanked him for his good words and went to rest.  But, before it was light, he rose, and Gudruda rose also and came into the hall, and buckled his harness on him with her own hands.

“This is a sad task for me, Eric!” she sighed, “for how do I know that Baresark’s hands shall not loose this helm of thine?”

“That is as it may be, sweet,” he said; “but I fear not the Baresark or any man.  How goes it with Swanhild now?”

“I know not.  She makes herself sweet to that old Earl and he is fain of her, and that is beyond my sight.”

“I have seen as much,” said Eric.  “It will be well for us if he should wed her.”

“Ay, and ill for him; but it is to be doubted if that is in her mind.”

Now Eric kissed her soft and sweet, and went away, bidding her look for his return on the day after the morrow.

Gudruda bore up bravely against her fears till he was gone, but then she wept a little.

Now it is to be told that Eric and his thrall Jon rode hard up Stonefell and across the mountains and over the black sand, till, two hours before sunset, they came to the foot of Mosfell, having Hecla on their right.  It is a grim mountain, grey with moss, standing alone in the desert plain; but between it and Hecla there is good grassland.

“Here is the fox’s earth.  Now to start him,” said Eric.

He knows something of the path by which this fortress can be climbed from the south, and horses may be ridden up it for a space.  So on they go, till at length they come to a flat place where water runs down the black rocks, and here Eric drank of the water, ate food, and washed his face and hands.  This done, he bid Jon tend the horses—­for hereabouts there is a little grass—­and be watchful till he returned, since he must go up against Skallagrim alone.  And there with a doubtful heart Jon stayed all that night.  For of all that came to pass he saw but one thing, and that was the light of Whitefire as it flashed out high above him on the brow of the mountain when first Brighteyes smote at foe.