The breeze was fresh, and the ship flew, yet not fast enough for me, though so well sailed ours that when day broke the other was hull down astern of us, and at night we had lost her altogether.  And the breeze held and the spray flew, and I walked the deck impatiently, while Thormod from the helm smiled at me.  Bright were the skies over me, and bright the blue water that flashed below the ship’s keel, but my thoughts would even have brightened such leaden skies as those that last saw me cross along this ocean path.  And I thought that I could deal with Ingvar now.

CHAPTER XVI.  HOW WULFRIC BROUGHT OSRITHA HOME.

There was a haze far out at sea, and a fog was coming in with the tide when we came to the mouth of Ingvar’s haven; and rounded the spit of land that shelters it from the southerly winds.  Soon we cleared it and then saw the town and hall above it at the head of the haven, and what my longings were I need not write.

Now by the wharves lay two ships, and I thought little of that, but on seeing them, Thormod, by whose side I was as he steered, seemed to wonder.

“Ingvar has got another ship from somewhere,” he said, “or has built one this winter, for he sailed home with one only.”

Then, too, the men began to say the like, for the second ship was strange to them also, and, as seamen will, they puzzled over her until we were close at hand.  But I leaned on the gunwale and dreamed dreams of my own, paying no heed to their talk.

Out of those dreams I was roused by Thormod’s voice.

“Yon ship is no Dane,” he said sharply.  “Clear the decks and get to arms, men.  Here is somewhat amiss.”

Then was a growl of wrath from our crew, yet no delay, and in a moment every man was in his place.  Down came the sail, and the mast was lowered and hoisted on its stanchions overhead, and in five minutes or less the oars were out, and the men who were arming themselves ran to take them as they were ready, while those who had rowed should get to arms also.  Not for the first time saw I that ship cleared for action, but never had I seen it done so swiftly, though we had but half our fighting crew, sixty men instead of a hundred and thirty or so.

I armed myself swiftly as any, and Thormod bade me take Halfden’s place on the fore deck, where the men were already looking to bowstrings and bringing up sheaves of arrows and darts.

Then when I came they shouted, and one gray-headed warrior cried: 

“Now you have a good fight on hand, axeman.”

Then I asked: 

“Who are the strangers?”

“It is a ship of the Jomsburg vikings,” he said.  “They know that our men are all in England, and have come to see what we have left behind—­Thor’s bolt light on them!”

Now, of all savage vikings these Jomsburgers are the worst.  Red-handed they are, sparing none, and it is said of them that they will sacrifice men to the gods they worship before a great fight.  Nor are they all of one race, but are the fiercest men of all the races of the Baltic gathered into that one nest of pirates, Jomsburg.