“Now that Brighteyes is dead, I would fain follow on his path:  so, if thou listest, throw the gates wide,” Gudruda answered, and heeded her no more.

Swanhild went, but not far.  On the further side of a knoll of grass she flung herself to earth and grieved as her fierce heart might.  She shed no tears, but sat silently, looking with empty eyes adown the past, and onward to the future, and finding no good therein.

But Gudruda wept as the weight of her loss pressed in upon her—­wept heavy silent tears and cried in her heart to Eric who was gone—­cried to death to come upon her and bring her sleep or Eric.

So she sat and so she grieved till, quite outworn with sorrow, sleep stole upon her and she dreamed.  Gudruda dreamed that she was dead and that she sat nigh to the golden door that is in Odin’s house at Valhalla, by which the warriors pass and repass for ever.  There she sat from age to age, listening to the thunder of ten thousand thousand tramping feet, and watching the fierce faces of the chosen as they marched out in armies to do battle in the meads.  And as she sat, at length a one-eyed man, clad in gleaming garments, drew near and spoke to her.  He was glorious to look on, and old, and she knew him for Odin the Allfather.

“Whom seekest thou, maid Gudruda?” he asked, and the voice he spoke with was the voice of waters.

“I seek Eric Brighteyes,” she answered, “who passed hither a thousand years ago, and for love of whom I am heart-broken.”

“Eric Brighteyes, Thorgrimur’s son?” quoth Odin.  “I know him well; no brisker warrior enters at Valhalla’s doors, and none shall do more service at the coming of grey wolf Fenrir.[*] Pass on and leave him to his glory and his God.”

[*] The foe destined to bring destruction on the Norse gods.

Then, in her dream, she wept sore, and prayed of Odin by the name of Freya that he would give Eric to her for a little space.

“What wilt thou pay, then, maid Gudruda?” said Odin.

“My life,” she answered.

“Good,” he said; “for a night Eric shall be thine.  Then die, and let thy death be his cause of death.”  And Odin sang this song: 

     “Now, corse-choosing Daughters, hearken
     To the dread Allfather’s word: 
     When the gale of spears’ breath gathers
     Count not Eric midst the slain,
     Till Brighteyen once hath slumbered,
     Wedded, at Gudruda’s side—­
     Then, Maidens, scream your battle call;
     Whelmed with foes, let Eric fall!”

And Gudruda awoke, but in her ears the mighty waters still seemed to speak with Odin’s voice, saying: 

     “Then, Maidens, scream your battle call;
     Whelmed with foes, let Eric fall!”

She awoke from that fey sleep, and looked upwards, and lo! before her, with shattered shield and all besmeared with war’s red rain, stood gold-helmed Eric.  There he stood, great and beautiful to see, and she looked on him trembling and amazed.