swiftly up to the mound, with the plash of oars only to break the
silence, and there was nought amiss that we could see. They had
made it on a little flat tongue of land that jutted from the
mountain's foot into the deep water, so that on two sides the mound
was close to its edge. So we pulled on softly round the tongue of
land, being maybe about fifty paces from the mound across the
water. And when we saw the other side of Sigurd's resting place,
the oars stayed suddenly, and the jarl, who held the tiller, swung
the boat away from the shore, and I think I knew then what fear
was.

The mound was open. There was a wide, brown scar, as of
freshly-moved earth, across its base, reaching from the level to
six or eight feet of its height, as though half the grass-grown
side had been shorn away by a sword cut; and in the midst of that
scar was a doorway, open to the grave's heart, low and stone built.
Some of the earth that had fallen lay before it on the water's
edge, but the rest was doubtless in the water, for there was but a
narrow path between bank and mound.

At that sight we stared, thinking we should surely see the grim
form of Sigurd loom gigantic and troll-like {iii} across the
doorway; and the jarl half rose from his seat beside me, and cried
out with a great voice:

"Sigurd--my brother!"

I think he knew not what or why he cried thus, for he sank back
into his place and swayed against me, while his cry rang loud among
the hills, and the eagles answered it.