CHAPTER XXXVIII
Eric's Song On The Heathslayings.
Some time that winter it befell that there was one who asked Eric the Skald as to what had befallen, and how many lives had been lost. He sang:
"Famed groves of the race-course whereon the sword runneth,
All up on the Heath 'twas eleven lay dead
In the place where the lime-board, the red board of battle,
Went shivering to pieces midst din of the shields.
And thereof was the cause of the battle, that erewhile
It was Gisli fell in with his fate and his ending
In the midst of the fray of the fire of the fight:
'Gainst the wielder of wound-shaft we thrust forth the onslaught."
And still here is a witness that at this time the asking had been put forth as to how many had fallen of each:
"Three stems of the stall whereon lieth the serpent,
It was even so many that fell of our men,
And the full tale of them that came out of the Northland;
The fish of the fight-board in wounds have we reddened.
But nine is the number of those that have fallen
Of the tholes of the fire of the witch-song of Fiolnir,
From out of the Southland, that fell on the Heath,
Befell to the men there grim gale of the battle."
Then people fell a-talking, saying that greatly had the weight of the slaughter fallen into the band of the Southmen. Then sang he a song:
It was Stir the swift-speeding, and Snorri moreover,
Who summoned the sword-mote, and let it be holden,
Whereas they, the Gods of the spear of the battle,
Made a fate over-heavy for the kindred of Gisli.
But yet little less was the shard of the kindred
That afterwards Bardi carved out with his weapon
From the men of the Southland, the feeders of fight;
For the fight-folk of Gisli there fell beyond measure."