“Look not so, maiden,” he said, “for it shall be another Eric than yon flapper-duck who holds Whitefire aloft, though it may very well chance that he shall feel its edge.”
Now Gudruda bit her lip, and Eric burned red to the brow and spoke:
“It is ill, lord, to throw taunts like an angry woman. Thou art great and strong, yet I may dare a deed with thee.”
“Peace, boy! Thou canst climb a waterfall well, I gainsay it not; but beware ere thou settest up thyself against my strength. Say now, what game wilt thou play with Ospakar?”
“I will go on holmgang with thee, byrnie-clad or baresark,[*] and fight thee with axe or sword, or I will wrestle with thee, and Whitefire yonder shall be the winner’s prize.”
[*] To a duel, usually fought, in mail or without it, on an island—“holm”—within a circle of hazel-twigs.
“Nay, I will have no bloodshed here at Middalhof,” said Asmund sternly. “Make play with fists, or wrestle if ye will, for that were great sport to see; but weapons shall not be drawn.”
Now Ospakar grew mad with anger and drink—and he grinned like a dog, till men saw the red gums beneath his lips.
“Thou wilt wrestle with me, youngling—with me whom no man has ever so much as lifted from my feet? Good! I will lay thee on thy face and whip thee, and Whitefire shall be the stake—I swear it on the holy altar-ring; but what hast thou to set against the precious sword? Thy poor hovel and its lot of land shall be all too little.”
“I set my life on it; if I lose Whitefire let Whitefire slay me,” said Eric.