“Yes, as usual.  The chief has some new plan on foot already.”

The end of it was that in a short time we were on board our own ship, and safely stowed forward, still bound.  Heidrek had added her to his force, and manned her from the other two vessels; but before we reached the ship I saw that Heidrek’s men had piled their slain into an outhouse, set the fagot stack round it, and fired it to windward.  There was no more honour for their fallen comrades than that.

So I saw the last of my home in Caithness, and before me was the life of a slave.  They had stripped us of our mail and weapons, of course, and had handled us roughly, but that might be borne.  The low door of the cramped sail room under the fore deck closed, and we were in darkness, and then Dalfin set into words the thought of us all, with a sort of dull groan: 

“This morning I woke and thought it good to be alive!”

Almost at once the ship was warped out of the haven, and went to sea.  The last hope I had that the Scots might yet gather and fall on these pirates left me at that time, and a sort of despair fell on me.  I think I swooned, or slept at that time, for thereafter I can remember no more until the day was almost spent, and a man came and opened the low door that he might bring us food—­oaten loaves, and ale in a great jug.  Asbiorn stood outside.

“You may as well loose the men,” he said carelessly; “we can mind them well enough.”

“More likely to have them out on us in some sort of berserk rage,” said the man, growling.  “I ken what I would do in their place well enough.”

Asbiorn stooped and looked in on us.  The light was behind him, and I could not see his face; but he spoke evenly, and not unkindly.

“Will your men bide quiet if I unbind you all?” he said.

“Aye,” I answered.  “Why not?”

“Good reason enough why you should,” he said.

“Let them loose.”

One by one we were unbound, some more men coming forward and watching us, with their weapons ready, in case we tried to fall on them.  I dare say some old happening of the sort had taught them caution.

“There are thirty of us on board, mind you,” the man who set us free said, as he gathered the loose cords and went his way.  “Better join us offhand, and make the best of the business.”

“Good advice that, maybe,” said Dalfin, stretching himself.  “Pass along yon ale pot.  I have a mighty thirst on me.”

“That is better,” said the man, and laughed.

I heard him tell another that the Irishman would come round first; but Dalfin’s foot had warned me that he spoke in no earnest.  Whether my friend had any plan in his mind I could not say, but at all events there was no use in making our bondage worse than it might be by sullenness.