“Nay,” said Eric, “we bide not here. I would winter this year in Fareys, for they are the nighest place to Iceland that I may reach. Next summer my three years of outlawry are over, and I would fare back homewards.”
“Now, I see the shadow of a woman’s hand,” said Skallagrim. “It is very late to face the northern seas, and we may sail to Iceland from London in the spring.”
“It is my will that we should sail,” answered Eric.
“Past Orkneys runs the road to Fareys,” said Skallagrim, “and in Orkneys sits a hawk to whom the Lady Elfrida is but a dove. In faring from ill we may hap on worse.”
“It is my will that we sail,” said Eric stubbornly.
“As thou wilt, and as the King wills,” answered Skallagrim.
On the morrow Eric went in before the King, and craved a boon.
“There is little that thou canst ask, Brighteyes,” said the King, “that I will not give thee, for, by my troth, I hold thee dear.”
“I am come back to seek no great thing, lord,” answered Eric, “but this only: leave to bid thee farewell. I would wend homeward.”
“Say, Eric,” said the King, “have I not dealt well with thee?”