Close by the bows of our boat a head came to the surface, and the face was turned to us.  I knew it, for it was that of Asbiorn Heidreksson, and in a flash I minded that once I said that the day might come when I could repay him for letting us go—­saving our lives, rather.  He had his full mail on him, and was sinking, when I gripped his hair and held it.  Then he got his hands on the gunwale and stared at us.

Gerda had hidden her face in her hands, for he was not the only one who had been swept past us.  There were still cries, which rang in my ears, from men who were sinking as we passed on.

Bertric felt the boat lurch, and looked round.  He saw the head above the gunwale, and the clutching hands on it, and reached for his oar.

“Hold hard!” I cried, staying the thrust which was coming.  “It is Asbiorn!”

He dropped the oar again with a short laugh.

“Lucky for him that so it is,” he said; “but I am glad you saved him.”

“It is not to be supposed that I am welcome,” said Asbiorn, mighty coolly; “but on my word I did not know it was you whom I was chasing.  You ought to be in Shetland.  Now, if you think this a mistake, I will let go.”

“Well,” said Bertric, “you are the only man of your crews whom we could make welcome.  Get to the stern and we will help you into the boat.”

He shifted his hands along the gunwale and we got him on board, while Gerda looked on in a sort of silent terror at all that had happened in that few minutes.  There was a row of faces watching us over the rail of the ship by this time, and now Hakon came aft.

“Why,” he said, “you have a lady with you.  I had not seen that before.  We will get you alongside.”

So it came to pass that in five minutes more we were on the deck, and some of Hakon’s men were helping Phelim to get his still-swooning brother on board.  There were a dozen men of rank round us at once, with Hakon at their head.  There were not so many warriors to be seen as one might have expected, but all were picked men and well armed.

As for Hakon himself, I have never seen a more handsome young man.  He was about seventeen at this time, and might have been taken for three years older, being tall and broad of shoulder, with the wonderful yellow hair and piercing eyes of his father Harald, whom he was most like, as all men knew.  It was certain that he did the great English king, Athelstane, who had fostered him, credit, for he was in all ways most kinglike even now.

He took off the blue cap he wore as he went to meet Gerda, and greeted her with all courtesy, asking to know her name.  She answered him frankly, though it was plain that the gaze of all the strange faces disquieted her.

“I am Gerda, granddaughter of that Thorwald who was a king in the south lands in the time of your great father, King Hakon,” she said.  “I have been wrecked here with these friends, who have cared for me, and now will ask for your help.”