After these things the brothers turned back to Norway, and Thorvald the Tinker made his way to Iceland. But the brothers went warfaring round about Ireland, Wales, England and Scotland, and they were reckoned to be the most famous of men. It was they who first built the castle of Scarborough; they made raids into Scotland, and achieved many great feats, and led a mighty host; and in all that host none was like Cormac in strength and courage.
Once upon a time, after a battle, Cormac was driving the flying foe before him while the rest of his host had gone back aboard ship. Out of the woods there rushed against him one as monstrous big as an idol -- a Scot; and a fierce struggle began. Cormac felt for his sword, but it had slipped out of the sheath; he was over-matched, for the giant was possessed; but yet he reached out, caught his sword, and struck the giant his death-blow. Then the giant cast his hands about Cormac, and gripped his sides so hard that the ribs cracked, and he fell over, and the dead giant on top of him, so that he could not stir. Far and wide his folk were looking for him, but at last they found him and carried him aboard ship. Then he made this song: --
(82) "When my manhood was matched in embraces With the might of yon horror, the strangler, Far other I found it than folding That fair one ye know in my arms! On the high-seat of heroes with Odin From the horn of the gods I were drinking O'er soon -- let me speak it to warriors -- If Skrymir had failed of his aid."
Then his wounds were looked to; they found that his ribs were broken on both sides. He said it was no use trying to heal him, and lay there in his wounds for a time, while his men grieved that he should have been so unwary of his life.
He answered them in song: --
(83) "Of yore never once did I ween it, When I wielded the cleaver of targets, That sickness was fated to foil me -- A fighter so hardy as I. But I shrink not, for others must share it, Stout shafts of the spear though they deem them, -- O hard at my heart is the death-pang, -- Thus hopeless the bravest may die."
And this song also: --
(84) "He came not with me in the morning, Thy mate, O thou fairest of women, When we reddened for booty the brword, So brave to the hand-grip, in Ireland: When the sword from its scabbard was loosened And sang round my cheeks in the battle For the feast of the Fury, and blood-drops Fell hot on the neb of the raven."
And then he began to fail.
This was his last song: --
(85) "There was dew from the wound smitten deeply That drained from the stroke of the sword-edge; There was red on the weapon I wielded In the war with the glorious and gallant: Yet not where the brword, -- the blood wand, -- Was borne by the lords of the falchion, But low in the straw like a laggard, O my lady, dishonoured I die!"
He said that his will was to give Thorgils his brother all he had, -- the goods he owned and the host he led; for he would like best, he said, that his brother should have the use of them.
So then Cormac died. Thorgils became captain over the host, and was long time in viking.
And so ends the story.
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