“Frothi, Frothi, danger is nigh thee. Well-manned ships are gliding over the sea. It is Mysingr who comes; his white sail flutters in the wind; his flag is unfurled. Frothi, Frothi, awake, awake; thou shalt be king no longer.”
And as the giant women ground, the words they spake came to pass—they were grinding revenge for themselves and brought the enemy nearer and nearer.
“Ho! hearken to the herald! Frothi, Frothi, the town is on fire. The palaces will soon be ruined heaps. Grind, Menia, ever more swiftly, until we grind death to Frothi.”
And Menia and Fenia ground and ground till Mysingr and his followers landed from the ships. They ground until they had reached the palace.
“To arms, to arms!” shouted the warder, but it was too late. The Gotlanders armed themselves; but who could stand against the army that the slave women were grinding against them?
Not long did the struggle last. Frothi and his Gotlanders fought bravely, but the sea-king and his allies were mightier, for the giantesses were in giant mood, and turned the handle faster and faster, until down fell the quern stones. Then sank Frothi pierced with wounds, and the fight was over. The army that Menia and Fenia had ground to help Mysingr vanished; and Mysingr and his men alone were left conquerors on the bloody field.
They loaded their ships with treasure, and Mysingr took with him Menia, Fenia, and the quern stones.
But, alas! Mysingr was no wiser than King Frothi had been.
Gold, however, was not his first thought; he had enough of that, but he wanted something else that just then was more to him than gold.