"No," said Gerda, "it is my fancy that my champions shall be well armed. Open the small chest yonder."
I did so, and in that lay a most beautiful byrnie and helm, if anything better than those we had been choosing from. It was the only suit here, and Gerda looked wistfully at it.
"Take that one, Malcolm," she said. "It will fit you. It was one of my father's--and I had a fancy that Thorwald would take it to him in Asgard, for he lies on the Swedish shore, and it might not be laid in the mound with him. Now you shall bear it to him, and he will greet you."
"I am not worthy to wear it," I stammered. "It is too sacred to you."
"No," she answered. "I ask you to do so, and I think you will not refuse."
Now I saw in the face of Dalfin that he thought it right that I should take the mail, and so I did. We went with the three suits and the helms back to Bertric, and so put them on, Gerda helping us, and I taking the tiller when it was Bertric's turn. Even in this little while one could see that Heidrek's leading ship had gained on us.
It was more than good to be in the mail of a free man and warrior once more. Dalfin shook himself, as a man will to settle his byrnie into place, and his eyes shone, and he leapt on the deck, crying:
"Now am I once more a prince of Maghera, and can look a foe--aye, and death, in the face joyfully. My thanks, dear lady, for this honour!"
Then he broke into a wild song in his own tongue, and paced the deck as if eager for the coming of Heidrek, and the promised crash of the meeting ships. And as suddenly he stopped, and looked at his hands.
"Faith," he said, "I thought the song went amiss. It is the song of the swinging swords--and never a sword have I--nor either of us."