All I knew was that Cyneward was next me, and that my axe must keep my own life and take that of others; and I fought for Osritha and home and happiness—­surely the best things for which a man can fight next to his faith.  And now men began to shout their war cries that friend might rally to friend rather than smite him coming as a ghost through the mist.  Then a man next me cried between his teeth: 

“It is Ragnaroek come—­and these are Odin’s foes against whom we fight.”

And so smote the more fiercely till he fell beside me, crying:  “Ahoy!  A Raven!—­a Raven!”

Then was I down on the slippery deck, felled by a blow from a great stone hammer that some wild pirate flung over the heads of his comrades before me, and Cyneward dragged me up quickly, so that I think he saved my life that time.  And I fought on, dazed, and as in a dream I fancied that I was on the deck of my father’s ship fighting the fight that I looked for in the fog that brought my friend Halfden.

When my brain cleared, I knew not which way we faced.  Only that Cyneward was yet with me, and that out of the dimness came against us Jomsburgers clad in outlandish armour, and with shouts to strange gods as they fell on me.

“Hai, Wainomoinen!  Swantewit, ho!”

Then I cast away my shield, for I grew weary, and taking both hands to my axe, fought with a dull rage that I should have fallen, and that there were so many against me.  And all alone we two seemed to fight by reason of the fog, though I heard the shouts of our crew to right and left unceasingly.

Then I felled a man, and one leapt back into mist and was gone, and a giant shape rose up against me out of the thickness, towering alone, and at this I smote fiercely.  Yet it was not mail or hardened deerskin that I smote, but solid timber, and I could not free my axe again, so strongly had I smitten.

It was the high stem head of the vessel.  For I and my men had cleared away the foe from amidships to bows, and still the noise of fight went on behind us, while the fog was thick as ever.

Then Cyneward leaned against the stem head and laughed.

“Pity so good a stroke was wasted on timber, master,” he said.

“Pull it out for me,” I answered, “my arm is tired.”

For now I began to know that my left shoulder was not yet so strong as once.

He tugged at the axe and freed it, not without trouble.

“What now?” said one of the men.

But a great shout came from aft, and then a silence that seemed strange.  We were still, to hear what we might, and I think that others listened for us.

“Surely we have cleared the ship?” I said.  “Let us go and see.”

Then I hailed our men, asking how they fared—­and half I feared to hear the howl and rush of pirates coming back on us.  But it was a Danish voice that called back to me that the last foe was gone.