Dalfin of Maghera, the Irish guest who was with us.  He had taken a passage in a Norse ship from Belfast, meaning to see lands across the sea, and had bided here when he found that we could show him hunting such as he had never heard of.  The mighty aurochs still fed on our hills, and we told tales in hall when guests wondered at the great heads that were on the walls, of how this one and that had been won.  The ship had put in here to wait for wind, and of course we were glad to see her crew and hear what news they had of the greater world.

“Friend,” I said, “it is hard that you should be brought to this pass.”

“It has been the best fight I ever knew,” he answered.  “The only pity is that it has gone the wrong way.  But yonder is a grand funeral pile for the brave men who have fallen.  Surely the smoke will bring down the whole countryside on these ruffians?”

I shook my head.  What happened to us was the affair of no Scot.  Rather they would be setting their own places in order in case their turn came next.

“Well,” said Dalfin, “whom are we fighting, then?”

One of our men answered him.  He was a Norseman, named Sidroc.

“Red hand, wandering Vikings.  Wastrels from every land, and no man’s men.  Most of them are Danes, but I have heard the tongues of Frisian and Finn and Northumbrian amongst them.  We are in evil case, for slavery is the least we have to fear.”

“Nay,” said Dalfin; “death is a lesser evil than that.”

“A man may make shift to escape from slavery,” answered the other, and both were silent.

Then for a moment I had half a hope that help was at hand for us, if too late.  Round the westward point crept two longships under their broad, brown sails, making for our haven.  But a second glance told me that they were the ships belonging to this crew.  Doubtless, they had landed the force somewhere along the coast beyond our ken, and now were coming to see how the raid had fared.  The matter was plain enough to me now.

Half a dozen men came toward us at this time, leaving the rest to sort the piles of plunder they had brought from the village.  I was glad, in a sort of dull way, that none of it came from the hall, for at least no one of them might boast that he wore my father’s weapons and war gear.  The foremost of these men were a gray-haired old chief and a young man of about my own age, who was plainly his son; and I thought it certain that these two were the leaders of the foe.  They were well armed at all points, and richly clad enough, and I could but think them of gentle birth.  The men who followed them were hard-featured warriors, whose dress and weapons were strange to me.

We sat still and stared back at them, as they stood before us, wondering little and caring less, so far as I was concerned, for what they thought or would say.  The old chief ran his eye down our wretched line, stroking his long beard as if noting our points, while the young man seemed to have a sort of pity for us written on his face.