Brighteyes turned without a word. He took three paces and Gudruda watched him as he went.
“Eric!” she called. “Eric! thou mayest not go yet: for at this hour the thralls bring down the kine to milk, and they will see thee. Liest thou hid here. I—I will go. For though, indeed, thou dost deserve to die, I am not willing to bring thee to thy end—because of old friendship I am not willing!”
“If thou goest, I will go also,” said Eric. “Thralls or no thralls, I will go, Gudruda.”
“Thou art cruel to drive me to such a choice, and I have a mind to give thee to thy fate.”
“As thou wilt,” said Eric; but she made as though she did not hear his words.
“Now,” she said, “if we must stay here, it is better that we hide where thou didst hide, lest some come upon thee.” And she passed through the screen of rushes and sat down in a grassy place beyond, and spoke again.
“Nay, sit not near me; sit yonder. I would not touch thee, nor look upon thee, who wast Swanhild’s love, and didst slay Björn my brother.”
“Say, Gudruda,” said Eric, “did I not tell thee of the magic arts of Swanhild? Did I not tell thee before all men yonder in the hall, and didst thou not say that thou didst believe my words? Speak.”
“That is true,” said Gudruda.
“Wherefore, then, dost thou taunt me with being Swanhild’s love—with being the love of her whom of all alive I hate the most—and whose wicked guile has brought these sorrows on us?”