“What news, friends?” cried Eric as the men drew near.

“Bad news for thee, Brighteyes,” answered the mate, “and that Baresark thrall of thine, for we must loose your bands.”

“That is good news, then,” said Eric, “for our limbs are numb and dead because of the nipping of the cords.  Is land in sight?”

“Nay, nor will be for thee, Eric.”

“How now, friend? how now?  Sure, having handselled peace to us, ye mean no harm towards two unarmed men?”

“We swore to do you no harm, nor will we, Eric; this only will we do:  deliver you, bound, to Ran, and leave her to deal with you as she may.”

“Bethink you, sirs,” said Eric:  “this is a cruel deed and most unmanly.  We yielded to you in faith—­will ye break your troth?”

“War has no troth,” he answered, “ye are too great to let slip between our fingers.  Shall it be said of us that two men overcame us all?”

“Mayhap!” murmured Skallagrim beneath his breath.

“Oh, sirs, I beseech you,” said Eric; “I am young, and there is a maid who waits me out in Iceland, and it is hard to die,” and he made as though he wept, while Skallagrim laughed within his sleeve, for it was strange to see Eric feigning fear.

But the men mocked aloud.

“This is the great man,” they cried, “this is that Eric of whose deeds folk sing!  Look! he weeps like a child when he sees the water.  Drag him forth and away with him into the sea!”

“Little need for that,” cried Eric, and lo! the cloaks about him and Skallagrim flew aside.  Out they came with a roar; they came out as a she-bear from her cave, and high above Brighteyes’ golden curls Whitefire shone in the pale light, and nigh to it shone the axe of Skallagrim.  Whitefire flared aloft, then down he fell and sought the false heart of the mate.  The great axe of Skallagrim shone and was lost in the breast of the carle who stood before him.

“Trolls!” shrieked one.  “Here are trolls!” and turned to fly.  But again Whitefire was up and that man flew not far—­one pace, and no more.  Then they fled screaming and after them came axe and sword.  They fled, they fell, they leaped into the sea, till none were left to fall and leap, for they had no time or heart to find or draw their weapons, and presently Eric Brighteyes and Skallagrim Lambstail stood alone upon the deck—­alone with the dead.

“Swanhild is a wise witch,” gasped Eric, “and, whatever ill she has done, I will remember this to her honour.”

“Little good comes of witchcraft,” answered Skallagrim, wiping his brow:  “to-day it works for our hands, to-morrow it shall work against them.”

“To the helm,” said Eric; “the ship yaws and comes side on to the seas.”

Skallagrim sprang to the tiller and put his strength on it, and but just in time, for one big sea came aboard them and left much water in the hold.

“We owe this to thy Baresark ways,” said Eric.  “Hadst thou not slain the steersman we had not filled with water.”