During the summer Earl Rögnvald and his men left Jorsalaland, and were going to Mikligard. In the autumn they came to a town called Imbolum,[383] and stayed there a long time. When two persons met where the street was crowded, and one of them thought it necessary to go to one side, he cried out to the other, “Midway, midway!” One evening the Earl’s men, among whom was Erling Skakki, walked from the town, and on the bridge leading to the ship, some inhabitants of the town met them, and cried out, “Midway, midway!” Erling was very drunk, and pretended not to hear it; and when they met, he jumped from the bridge into the mud; his men ran to his assistance, and dragged him out, and had to undress him completely. Next morning, when the Earl saw him, and was told what had happened, he smiled and sang: Bad the luck my friend has met with; In the mud he tumbled, splashing; As he would not cry out “Midway!” Loudly, like the foreign people. I suppose the prince’s brother, When upset, looked rather rueful. Black the mud that on the ground is In Imbol, as Erling knoweth. Some time after, it happened that they came from the town very drunk, and Jón Fót was missed by his men, and no one else was missing. They sent immediately to the other ships to search for him, but he was not found. They could not search for him on shore during the night; but in the morning, when it was daylight, they found him murdered under the wall of the town; but it was never known who had slain him. They buried him honourably at a holy church, and then they went away, and came north to Ægisness,[384] and there they waited some nights for a fair wind to sail to Mikligard. They made their ships look splendidly, and sailed with great pomp, as they knew Sigurd Jorsalafari had done. While they were crossing the sea northward the Earl sang this song: Let us ride the sea-king’s horses, Leave the plough in field untouched. As we drive the wet prows onward All the way to Mikligard. There we’ll take the royal bounty, Paid for wielding well our weapons, While we fill the wolf’s red palate, And on battlefields win honour. CHAPTER LXXXIII. OF EARL RÖGNVALD.