“Nay, Earl; thou art old, and I have done the wrong—I may not fight with thee.”
“Art thou a coward also?” said the Earl.
“Some have deemed otherwise,” said Eric, “but it is true that heavy heart makes weak hand. Nevertheless this is my rede. With thee are ten men. Stand thou aside and let them fall on me till I am slain.”
“The odds are too heavy even for thee,” said Skallagrim. “Back to back, lord, as we have stood aforetime, and let us play this game together.”
“Not so,” cried Atli, “this shame is mine, and I have sworn to Swanhild that I will wipe it out in Eric’s blood. Stand thou before me and draw!”
Then Eric drew Whitefire and raised his shield. Atli the Earl rushed at him and smote a great two-handed blow. Eric caught it on his shield and suffered no harm; but he would not smite back.
Atli dropped his point. “Niddering art thou, and coward to the last!” he cried. “See, men, Eric Brighteyes fears to fight. I am not come to this that I will cut down a man who is too faint-hearted to give blow for blow. This is my word: take ye your spear-shafts and push this coward to the shore. Then put him in a boat and drive him hence.”
Now Eric grew red as the red light of sunset, for his manhood might not bear this.
“Take shield,” he said, “and, Earl, on thine own head be thy blood, for none shall live to call Eric niddering and coward.”
Atli laughed in his folly and his rage. He took a shield, and, once more springing on Brighteyes, struck a great blow.