“Nay, nor will be for thee, Eric.”
“How now, friend? how now? Sure, having handselled peace to us, ye mean no harm towards two unarmed men?”
“We swore to do you no harm, nor will we, Eric; this only will we do: deliver you, bound, to Ran, and leave her to deal with you as she may.”
“Bethink you, sirs,” said Eric: “this is a cruel deed and most unmanly. We yielded to you in faith—will ye break your troth?”
“War has no troth,” he answered, “ye are too great to let slip between our fingers. Shall it be said of us that two men overcame us all?”
“Mayhap!” murmured Skallagrim beneath his breath.
“Oh, sirs, I beseech you,” said Eric; “I am young, and there is a maid who waits me out in Iceland, and it is hard to die,” and he made as though he wept, while Skallagrim laughed within his sleeve, for it was strange to see Eric feigning fear.
But the men mocked aloud.
“This is the great man,” they cried, “this is that Eric of whose deeds folk sing! Look! he weeps like a child when he sees the water. Drag him forth and away with him into the sea!”
“Little need for that,” cried Eric, and lo! the cloaks about him and Skallagrim flew aside. Out they came with a roar; they came out as a she-bear from her cave, and high above Brighteyes’ golden curls Whitefire shone in the pale light, and nigh to it shone the axe of Skallagrim. Whitefire flared aloft, then down he fell and sought the false heart of the mate. The great axe of Skallagrim shone and was lost in the breast of the carle who stood before him.