Folko forthwith pitched on the most convenient spot the tent of blue samite fringed with gold, which he carried with him to shelter his gentle lady; whilst Sintram, in the character of herald, rode over to Jarl Eric to announce to him that the beauteous Gabrielle of Montfaucon was present in the army of the knight Biorn, and would the next morning be present as a judge of the combat.
Jarl Eric bowed low on receiving this pleasing message; and ordered his bards to strike up a lay, the words of which ran as follows:-- "Warriors bold of Eric's band, Gird your glittering armour on, Stand beneath to-morrow's sun, In your might.
Fairest dame that ever gladden'd Our wild shores with beauty's vision, May thy bright eyes o'er our combat, Judge the right! Tidings of yon noble stranger Long ago have reach'd our ears, Wafted upon southern breezes, O'er the wave.
Now midst yonder hostile ranks, In his warlike pride he meets us, Folko comes! Fight, men of Eric, True and brave!" These wondrous tones floated over the plain, and reached the tent of Gabrielle.

It was no new thing to her to hear her knight's fame celebrated on all sides; but now that she listened to his praises bursting forth in the stillness of night from the mouth of his enemies, she could scarce refrain from kneeling at the feet of the mighty chieftain.

But he with courteous tenderness held her up, and pressing his lips fervently on her soft hand, he said, "My deeds, O lovely lady, belong to thee, and not to me!" Now the night had passed away, and the east was glowing; and on Niflung's Heath there was waving, and resounding, and glowing too.
Knights put on their rattling armour, war-horses began to neigh, the morning draught went round in gold and silver goblets, while war-songs and the clang of harps resounded in the midst.

A joyous march was heard in Biorn's camp, as Montfaucon, with his troops and retainers, clad in bright steel armour, conducted their lady up to a neighbouring hill, where she would be safe from the spears which would soon be flying in all directions, and whence she could look freely over the battle-field.
The morning sun, as it were in homage, played over her beauty; and as she came in view of the camp of Jarl Eric, his soldiers lowered their weapons, whilst the chieftains bent low the crests of their huge helmets.

Two of Montfaucon's pages remained in attendance on Gabrielle; for so noble a service not unwillingly bridling their love of fighting.
Both armies passed in front of her, saluting her and singing as they went; they then placed themselves in array, and the fight began.
The spears flew from the hands of the stout northern warriors, rattling against the broad shields under which they sheltered themselves, or sometimes clattering as they met in the air; at intervals, on one side or the other, a man was struck, and fell silent in his blood.