son, and he grew strong and valiant and loved Sigmund as his father.

Now Sigmund began to ponder how he might at last take vengeance on
Siggeir, and gladly did Sinfiotli hear him, for all his love was
given to Sigmund, so that he no longer deemed himself the Goth-king's
son.

At last when the long mirk nights of winter were come, Sigmund and his
foster-son went their way to the home of Siggeir and sought to lurk
therein. Then Sinfiotli led the way to a storehouse where lay great
wine-casks, and whence they could see the lighted feast-hall, and
hear the clamour of Siggeir's folk. There they had to abide the time
when the feasters should be hushed in sleep. Long seemed the hours to
Sinfiotli, but Sigmund was calm and clear-eyed.

Then it befell that two of Queen Signy's youngest-born children threw
a golden toy hither and thither in the feast-hall, and at last it
rolled away among the wine-casks till it lay at Sigmund's feet. So the
children followed it, and coming face to face with those lurkers, they
fled back to the feast-hall. And Sigmund and his foster-son saw all
hope was ended, for they heard the rising tumult as men ran to their
weapons; so they made ready to go forth and die in the hall. Then on
came the battle around the twain, and but short is the tale to tell,
for Sinfiotli slipped on the blood-stained floor and the shield wall
encompassed Sigmund, and so they were both hoppled strait and fast.

The Goth-folk washed their hall of blood and got them to slumber, but
Siggeir lay long pondering what dire death he might bring on his foes.

Now at the first grey dawning Siggeir's folk dight a pit and it had