And he was at the same time cautioned, though in terms somewhat oracular, to beware of the weapon. On his return home he found that Arngrim had reached it. The latter was treated with the utmost hospitality. For him the sable hams were soaked and boiled, the wild fowl were placed on the spit, vegetables boiled, new bread made, the ale cask tapped, the table spread with the abundant feast, and the minstrel’s song made to enliven an entertainment which the fine hands of mother and daughter had prepared, and which both honoured with their presence. This was, truly, more than Homeric: the most magnanimous of Grecian dames would not have thus welcomed the man who was about to engage in mortal conflict with husband or brother. The feelings of the wife, indeed, on beholding the sinewy frame of the guest, must have been painful: her heart failed her; and she was glad when the increasing power of the cup authorised her and her daughter to retire. The following day her worst fears were verified. Though Swafurlam, at the first onset, cleft in two the shield of his adversary, the very force of his blow was fatal to him: he struck his magic sword into the ground, and, before he could withdraw it, his right hand was amputated by the berserk, who snatched the weapon from the lifeless member and gave the king a mortal wound in the head. Eyvor became the wife of the victor, who bore her, no less than the spoils of her father’s palace, to his Norwegian home.[71] It was now Eyvor’s turn to be anxious. Might not a warrior, still more valiant than her husband, arrive, and render her, like her mother, a forsaken widow? Might not the weapon which had cost her father his life prove equally fatal to one dearer? Often did she request him to bury it under ground; but he was in no humour to part with his most valued treasure, especially as it enabled him to return invincible from all his expeditions. Her fears, however, for _him_ were vain: they should have been excited for her twelve sons, whom she bore in twelve years after her marriage, and who were all warriors—all berserks—all doomed to an early grave. One of them vowed to the god Braga that he would have to wife the princess Ingburga, or perish in the attempt. As all were brothers in arms no less than brothers in blood, all bound to assist each individual of the number, to make the cause of each a common cause, they took the same view. Arngrim, now waxen in years, took his leave of them with a heavy heart; he felt that he must see them no more; and his only consolation was, that when the Nornies, or fatal sisters, call, they will be obeyed. They had to fight on the desert isle of Samsoe with two heroes, Hialmar and Oddur, each at the head of a hundred Swedes, and each renowned for prowess throughout the north. The former, too, was the accepted lover of Ingburga, accepted by her father no less than by herself. On their way to the island, the eldest of Arngrim’s twelve