Gudruda saw and was sad at heart, and those around her said that it was easy to know how the game would end.
“What said I?” quoth Swanhild, “that it would go badly with Eric were Ospakar’s arms about him.”
“All is not done yet,” answered Gudruda. “Methinks Eric’s feet slipped most strangely, as though he stood on ice.”
But Eric was very sore at heart and could make nothing of this matter—for he was not overthrown by strength.
He sat on the snow and Ospakar and his sons mocked him. But Gudruda drew near and whispered to him to be of good cheer, for fortune might yet change.
“I think that I am bewitched,” said Eric sadly: “my feet have no hold of the ground.”
Gudruda covered her eyes with her hand and thought. Presently she looked up quickly. “I seem to see guile here,” she said. “Now look narrowly on thy shoes.”
He heard, and, loosening his shoe-string, drew a shoe from his foot and looked at the sole. The cold of the snow had hardened the fat, and there it was, all white upon the leather.
Now Eric rose in wrath. “Methought,” he cried, “that I dealt with men of honourable mind, not with cheating tricksters. See now! it is little wonder that I slipped, for grease has been set upon my shoes—and, by Thor! I will cleave the man who did it to the chin,” and as he said it his eyes blazed so dreadfully that folk fell back from him. Asmund took the shoes and looked at them. Then he spoke:
“Brighteyes tells the truth, and we have a sorry knave among us. Ospakar, canst thou clear thyself of this ill deed?”