“Nay, that I will not have, and I am master here in this Temple,” said Asmund. “Bethink thee of some other stake, Ospakar, or let the game be off.”
Now Ospakar gnawed his lip with his black fang and thought. Then he laughed aloud and spoke:
“Bright is Whitefire and thou art named Brighteyes. See now: I set the great sword against thy right eye, and, if I win the match, it shall be mine to tear it out. Wilt thou play this game with me? If thy heart fails thee, let it go; but I will set no other stake against my good sword.”
“Eyes and limbs are a poor man’s wealth,” said Eric: “so be it. I stake my right eye against the sword Whitefire, and we will try the match to-morrow.”
“And to-morrow night thou shalt be called Eric One-eye,” said Ospakar—at which some few of his thralls laughed.
But most of the men did not laugh, for they thought this an ill game and a worse jest.
Now the feast went on, and Asmund rose from his high seat in the centre of the nave, on the left hand looking down from the altar, and gave out the holy toasts. First men drank a full horn to Odin, praying for triumph on their foes. Then they drank to Frey, asking for plenty; to Thor, for strength in battle; to Freya, Goddess of Love (and to her Eric drank heartily); to the memory of the dead; and, last of all, to Bragi, God of all delight. When this cup was drunk, Asmund rose again, according to custom, and asked if none had an oath to swear as to some deed that should be done.
For a while there was no answer, but presently Eric Brighteyes stood up.
“Lord,” he said, “I would swear an oath.”
“Set forth the matter, then,” said Asmund.