Now a word or two passed as to whether we should step the mast and set sail at once, but it seemed safer not to do so.  We could still be made out clearly from the ship if we did.

“I wonder someone has not looked into the cabin yet to see if we are still there,” I said.

“Not likely,” answered Dalfin.  “I set back the cover on the hatch before I went for the bench.”

“A good thought, too,” said I.  “Now, what I most hope is that none of my poor folk will be harmed for this.  Mayhap it will be said that they helped us in some way.”

“No,” said the Saxon slowly.  “They will blame me, and that matters not at all.  But it must have been a mere chance that the terrible splashing our comrade made was not seen by Asbiorn; for he went aft, and looked long toward the boat.  I heard him say that she had gone adrift, and that some lubber must have made fast the painter carelessly.  The man who took the helm said that the boat was not worth putting about for, and that hardly a man of the crew was fit to haul sheet.  Which is true enough.”

“Asbiorn saw without doubt,” I said.  “This escape is his doing.”

“Aye,” answered the Saxon, “I can well believe it.  He is the only one of all that crowd who is worth a thought.  It is the first time they have let me sail with him—­it is but a chance that I have done so now.  Men get away from him too easily.”

“How did you get away now?”

“There was no man awake near me.  I had naught to do but roll over the rail.  I dare say Asbiorn saw me also.  He would not care, for he hates to have captives held as slaves on board his ship.”

Dalfin shivered a little.  “It is very cold,” he said ruefully.

So it was, for the June nights in the north have still a nip in the air.  I told him that sea water has no harm in it, but at the same time thought we might as well get out the oars and make what way we could.  Then when we lifted the sail and looked for them, there were none.  Only the short steering oar was there; but the new pair I had made myself this winter were gone.  No doubt the pirates had put them in their own boat, for they were good.  Not that it seemed to matter much, for so soon as the ship was a mile or two farther, we could make sail in safety.  We could have done little in the time but warm ourselves.  So we had to be content to sit still while the dark sail drew away, and our clothes dried on us.

“Well,” said the Saxon presently, “how you feel, friends, I do not know; but I want to shout and leap with the joy of being free again.  Nine months I have been a thrall to Heidrek, watched, and bound betimes, moreover.”

He held out his hands, and they were hard with the oar, and there were yet traces of cords round the strong wrists.

“Tell us how you came into this trouble,” I said, “it is likely that we shall be comrades for a while.”