“It is my wish to serve thee as aforetime,” she answered softly, “if so be that Unna wills it.”
“That is her desire,” said Asmund and went his ways.
But Groa stood looking after him and her face was fierce and evil.
“While bane has virtue, while runes have power, and while hand has cunning, never, Unna, shalt thou take my place at Asmund’s side! Out of the water I came to thee, Asmund; into the water I go again. Unquiet shall I lie there—unquiet shall I wend through Hela’s halls; but Unna shall rest at Asmund’s side—in Asmund’s cairn!”
Then again she moved about the hall, making all things ready for the feast. But at midnight, when the light was low and folk slept, Groa rose, and, veiled in a black robe, with a basket in her hand, passed like a shadow through the hall out upon the meads. Thence she glided into the mists that hang about the river’s edge, and in silence, always looking behind her, like one who fears a hidden foe, culled flowers of noisome plants that grow in the marsh. Her basket being filled, she passed round the stead to a hidden dell upon the mountain side. Here a man stood waiting, and near him burned a fire of turf. In his hand he held an iron-pot. It was Koll the Half-witted, Groa’s thrall.
“Are all things ready, Koll?” she said.
“Yes,” he answered; “but I like not these tasks of thine, mistress. Say now, what wouldst thou do with the fire and the pot?”
“This, then, Koll. I would brew a love-potion for Asmund the Priest as he has bidden me to do.”
“I have done many an ill deed for thee, mistress, but of all of them I love this the least,” said the thrall, doubtfully.
“I have done many a good deed for thee, Koll. It was I who saved thee from the Doom-stone, seeming to prove thee innocent—ay, even when thy back was stretched on it, because thou hadst slain a man in his sleep. Is it not so?”