“I stay by my goods,” answered Evan, with a laugh.  “If there is a levy in the camp there will be men who will need watching among them.”

“Why, then, we six Norsemen can go, and leave you to tend the ship.”

“That will be all right,” said Evan, somewhat gladly, as I thought; “so long as we are here you need have no fear.  Every one knows that a chapman will fight for his goods if need be.  But a Welshman will not meddle with a Welshman’s goods.”

“So long as he is there to mind them,” laughed Thorgils.  “Then we can go.  I do not know how soon we can be back, though.”

“That is no matter.  We are used to keeping watch.”

“Ay.  How is that hurt friend of yours after the voyage?”

“Well as one could expect,” answered Evan, “He says he has slept almost all the way.  He is comfortable where he is.”

They went aft, and soon I heard the princess speaking with them.  Then the well-known click and clash of armed men marching in order came to me, as the chief sent a guard for his daughter.  It was terrible to hear the voices of honest men so close to me and to be helpless, and I worked at the rope feverishly.

I heard the princess and her party leave the ship, and almost as the last footstep left the deck one strand of the cord went.  I worked harder yet, with a great hope on me.

“Presently the Norsemen will be full of Howel’s mead,” I heard Evan say to one of his men.  “Then we will get ashore and leave swiftly.  I think we need not stay to pay Thorgils for the voyage.”

“Let us tell some of the shore men to bide here to help us,” said the other—­“we have the Saxon to carry.”

“That is a good thought.”

They clattered over the plank ashore, and another strand of the rope went at that time.  I thought it was but one of another turn of the line, however.  Five minutes more of painful sawing and straining and I felt another strand give way.  That made three, and now one of the two turns of line that held my arms could have but one strand left, and that ought to be no more than I could break by force.  Then I wrestled with it with little care if my struggles as I bent and strove made noise that might call attention to me, for it was my last chance.  The lines bruised and cut me sorely, even through my mail, but I heeded that no more than I did the hardness of the timbers against which I rolled; and at last it did snap, with a suddenness that let my elbow fly against the iron that had been my saving, almost forcing a cry from me.

I was yet bound to my splints, but with my arms free it was but the work of a few seconds to cast off the last of my bonds, and within five minutes after the strand had parted I was on my feet, and rubbing and stretching my bruised and cramped limbs into life again.  Then I felt in the darkness for the bale that held my gear, and found it and tore it open.