Then she seized the necklace and fastened it round her throat.
“Stay,” I said, awaking. “I think you had best not touch those gems. Iduna, I have dreamed that they will bring no luck to you or to any woman, save one.”
Here the dark-faced Freydisa looked up at me, then dropped her eyes again, and stood listening.
“You have dreamed!” exclaimed Iduna. “I care little what you have dreamed. It is for the necklace I care, and not all the ill-luck in the world shall stay me from the keeping of it.”
Here again Freydisa looked up, but Steinar looked down.
“Did you find aught else?” asked Ragnar, interrupting.
“Aye, brother, this!” and from under my cloak I produced the Wanderer’s sword.
“A wondrous weapon,” said Ragnar when he had examined it, “though somewhat heavy for its length, and of bronze, after the fashion of those that are buried in the grave mounds. It has seen much wear also, and, I should say, has loosed many a spirit. Look at the gold work of the handle. Truly a wondrous weapon, worth all the necklaces in the world. But tell us your story.”
So I told them, and when I came to the images that we had found standing on the coffin, Iduna, who was paying little heed, stopped from her fondling of the necklace and asked where they were.
“Freydisa has them,” I answered. “Show them the Wanderer’s gods, Freydisa.”