A long, oily roller slipped from under me, and in its hollow I saw Dalfin.  He was learning to swim, with the little four-legged bench belonging to the helmsman as his support.  It had never entered my mind that the son of a chief could not swim.  I cannot remember when I could not do so, and any one of us would have thought it shame not to be at home in the water, whether rough or calm.  Nor had he warned me that he could not do so; and therein I hold was the deed of a brave man.  He would not hold me back in any way, but would give me my chance, and take his own.  He had to reach the bench, too, which was risky, and that, no doubt, had delayed him.  I swam up to him, and he laughed and spluttered.

“Is all going well?  Where is the boat?” he gasped.

“Very well,” I said.  “But why not tell me you could not swim?  I would have hove up the boat alongside for you.”

“Aye, and so have been seen,” he said.  “I saw this bench, and—­”

The sea filled his mouth, and he had to be silent.  I saw the boat coming to us as the wind drifted her, and swam round him, while he splashed wildly as the bench lifted to the waves.  Then I saw what was amiss, and got it across and under his chest, and he was happy.

“It is the first time I have ever been out of my depth,” he said.  “I shall be happier yet when I am in the boat.  Yonder she comes!”

I turned my head sharply at that, for he was looking north.  We had been running northward dead before the wind when we went overboard, and any boat thence must needs come from the ship.

Then I saw no boat at all, but only the head of a man who swam slowly toward us, and into my mind it came that this was one of our own men who had seen us go, from amidships, and had managed to follow.  So I hailed him, but the answering voice was strange to me.  With a few strokes the swimmer neared us, and I saw that he was a young man, brown-haired and freckled, with a worn, anxious face, that had desperation written on it.  I had never set eyes on him before.

“I would fain make a third in this escape,” he said, speaking fair Danish, but slowly, as if unused to it.  “I have been a captive with Heidrek like yourselves, and I saw you go.”

“You are no Dane?” I said, being somewhat cautious, as may be supposed.

“A Saxon of Wessex,” he answered.  “On my word, I have had no part in this raid, for I was left with the ships.”

“Then you are welcome,” I said frankly.  It was certain that no man would do as we had done, save he were in as sore straits.

The black bow of the boat lifted on the waves close to us, and I swam to her and climbed in over her stern.  By this time the ship was too far off to be dangerous, unless it was thought worthwhile to come back to pick up the boat, which was unlikely, as it would have been done at once if at all.  Between us, the Saxon and I managed to get Dalfin into her, and then our new companion followed.  He wore a thrall’s dress, and had not so much as a knife on him.  Yet one could see that he bore himself as might a thane, while his voice was not a thrall’s voice.