“Bending a sail,” answered my comrade listlessly, trusting, as it would seem, to the sea language for puzzlement enough to the landsman.

“So,” said the Saxon, quite quietly.  “It was in my mind that when a sail was bent to the yard it was bent with the luff to the fore end thereof.”

At which words Kolgrim started, in a way, and looked first at the riggers and then back at the Saxon, who moved no muscle of his face, though one might see that his eyes twinkled.  And I looked at the riggers also, and saw that the Saxon was right, and that the men had the square-cut sail turned over with the leech forward and the luff aft.  The sail was half laced to the yard, and none but a man who knew much of ships would have seen that aught was wrong.

Then Kolgrim’s face was so red, and angry, and full of shame all at once, that I had the best laugh at him that had come to me for many a day.  And he did not bide with the Saxon any longer, but went on board the ship hastily, and said what he had to say to the riggers.  The Saxon stood, and looked after him with a smile breaking over his pleasant face, and I thought that maybe I owed him some amends for my comrade’s rough jesting, though indeed he had his revenge.

So I came ashore and spoke to him.  He was a slight, brown-haired man of about thirty, bearded and long-haired after the Saxon fashion, and I thought he seemed to be recovering from some wound or sickness that had made him white and thin.  He wore his beard long and forked, which may have made him look thinner; but he seemed active and wiry in his movements—­one of those men who make up for want of strength by quickness and mastery of their weapons.  Soberly dressed enough he was, but the cloth of his short cloak and jerkin was very rich, and he had a gold bracelet and brooch that seemed to mark him as high in rank.

“My comrade has been well caught, thane,” I said; “he will be more careful what tales he tells the next comer.  But I think he was tired of giving the same answers to the same questions to all who come to see us.”

“Likely enough,” the Saxon answered, laughing a little.  “I asked to see the prizes and the vikings’ ships, and he showed me more than I expected.”

Then he looked along the line of vessels that he had not yet passed, and added: 

“I thought there were more Norse ships with Odda.”

I told him how the other vikings had left us with their plunder at Wareham, saying that I thought they could well be spared at that time.

“However,” I said, “I did not count on the Saxons leaving their vessels so soon.”

“Then I take it that I am speaking with King Ranald, of whom Odda has so much to say,” he said, without answering my last words.

“I am Ranald Vemundsson,” I said; “but this ship is all my kingdom now.  Harald Fairhair has the land that should have been mine.  I am but a sea king.”

Then he held out his hand, saying that there was much for which every Saxon should thank me, and I passed that by as well as I could, though I was pleased with the hearty grip he gave me.