After they had talked for a while, he glanced round him, and saw that the bustle was subsiding, and most of the men had gone aboard.

“All is ready now,” he said.

“Ay,” replied Thorkel Sigurdson, one of his ship captains, “they wait but for us.”

“Farewell then, Estein!” cried the earl.  “Thor speed you, and send you worthy foemen!”

“My son, I can ill spare you,” said the king.  “But it becomes a king’s son to see the world, and prove his valour in distant lands.  Warfare in the Baltic seas is but a pastime for common Vikings.  England and Valland, [Footnote:  France] the countries of the black man and the flat lands of the rivers, lie before you.  There Estein Hakonson must feed the wolves.”

“And yet, Estein,” he added in a lower tone, as he embraced him, “I would that Yule were here again and you with it.  I am growing old, and my dreams last night were sorrow-laden.”

“Farewell, son of Hakon!” shouted a loud-mouthed chieftain.  “I would that I too were sailing to the southern lands.  Spare not, Estein; fire and sword in England, sword and fire in Valland!”

The group had broken up, and Estein was about to go on board when he heard himself hailed by name.  He looked round, and saw the same old man who had accosted Ketill coming down the pier after him.

“Hail, Estein Hakonson!” he cried; “I have come far to see thee.”

“Hail, old man!” replied Estein courteously; “what errand brings you here?”

“You know me not?” said the old man, looking at him keenly.

“Nay, I cannot call your face to mind.”

“My name is Atli, and if my features are strange to thee, much stranger must my name be.”

He took Estein’s hand, looked closely into his eyes for a minute, and then said solemnly,—­

“Estein Hakonson, this voyage will have an ending other than ye deem.  Troubles I see before ye—­fishes feeding on warriors, and winds that blow as they list, and not as ye.”

“That is likely enough,” replied Estein.  “We are not sailing on a trading voyage, and in the west seas the winds often blow high.  But what luck shall I have?”

“Strange luck, Estein, I see before thee.  Thou shalt be warned and heed not.  More shall be left undone than shall be done.  There shall come a change in thee that I cannot fathom.  Many that set out shall not return, but thine own fate is dim to me.”

A young man of barely twenty, very gaily dressed and martial-looking, had come up to them while they were talking.  He had a reckless, merry look on his handsome face, and bore himself as though he was aware of his personal attractions.

“And what is my fate, old man?” he asked, more as if he were in jest than in earnest.  “Shall I feed the fishes, or make this strange change with Estein into a troll, [Footnote:  A kind of goblin] or werewolf, or whatsoever form he is to take?”

“Thy fate is naught to me, Helgi Sigvaldson,” replied the seer; “yet I think thou wilt never be far from Estein.”