“Nay, I have made none. I will shed no more blood, except to save my life. I leave vengeance to the Norns.”
Now Skallagrim thought that Brighteyes was mad, but he dared say nothing. So they went to their horses, and when they found them, Eric rode back to the house. Presently they drew near, and Eric told Skallagrim to stay where he was, and riding on to the house, smote heavy blows upon the door, just as Skallagrim once had smitten, before Eric went up to Mosfell.
Now Swanhild lay in her shut bed; but she could not sleep, because of what she saw in the eyes of Gudruda. Little may she ever sleep again, for when she shuts her eyes once more she sees that which was written in the dead eyes of Gudruda. So, as she lay, she heard the blows upon the door, and sprang frightened from her bed. Now there was tumult in the hall, for every man rose to his feet in fear, searching for his weapons. Again the loud knocks came.
“It is the ghost of Eric!” cried one, for Gizur had given out that Eric was dead at his hand in fair fight.
“Open!” said Gizur, and they opened, and there, a little way from the door, sat Brighteyes on a horse, great and shadowy to see, and behind him was Skallagrim the Baresark.
“It is the ghost of Eric!” they cried again.
“I am no ghost,” said Brighteyes. “I am no ghost, ye men of Swanhild. Tell me: is Gizur, the son of Ospakar, among you?”
“Gizur is here,” said a voice; “but he swore he slew thee last night.”
“Then he lied,” quoth Eric. “Gizur did not slay me—he murdered Gudruda the Fair as she lay asleep at my side. See!” and he drew Whitefire from its scabbard and held it in the rays of the moon that now shone out between the cloud rifts. “Whitefire is red with Gudruda’s blood—Gudruda slaughtered in her sleep by Gizur’s coward hand!”
Now men murmured, for this seemed to them the most shameful of all deeds. But Gizur, hearing, shrank back aghast.