Valbrand had handled rebellious slaves before.

Shaking the fellow until he no longer had any breath to howl with, the steersman said briefly, “It is very unlikely that we shall see any ghosts, but it is altogether certain that your hide will feel my belt if you do not end this fuss.”

Kark made his choice with admirable swiftness.  He got what comfort he could, poor wretch, out of a carefully selected position.  As between two shields, he crept between the mystic Icelander and the dauntless Norman warrior.  Valbrand led the way, his flint face set to withstand the Devil and all his angels; and three strapping Swedes brought up the rear, with drawn swords and thumping hearts.

If only the way could have lain straight and open before them, even though it bristled with beasts and foes!  But for the whole distance it screwed itself into a succession of crescent-shaped beaches, each one lying between rocky spurs of the beetling crags.

Each point they rounded disclosed nothing more alarming than lichened boulders and pebbly shore, with here a dead fish, and there a heap of shining snaky kelp, and yonder a flock of startled gulls,—­but who could tell what the next projection might be hiding?  They walked with their fists gripped hard around their weapons, their eyes shifting, their ears strained, while the waves hissed around their feet and the gulls screamed over their heads.

Slowly the light faded from the mountain top and lay upon the next peak, a golden cone against the blue.  At last, even Valbrand’s sense of duty was satisfied.  “We will turn back now,” he announced, halting them.  “But first I will climb up the cliff, here where it is lowest, and try to see a little way ahead, that we may have as much news as possible to report to the chief.”

As he spoke, he gave a great spring upward on to a shelving ledge, and pulled himself up to the next projection; a rattling shower of sand and pebbles continued to mark his ascent.  Robert the Fearless walked on to look around the rock they had almost reached; but the rest remained where they were, following their leader’s movements with anxious eyes.

They were so intent that they jumped like startled horses at an exclamation from the Icelander.  He was pointing to the strip of beach which lay between Kark and the Norman.

“Look there!” he cried.  “Look there!”

Their alarm was in no way diminished when they had looked and seen that the space was empty.  The cold drops came out on their bodies, and the hair rose on their heads.

Robert of Normandy, who had caught the cry but not the words, came walking back, inquiring the cause of the excitement; and at that the Icelander cried out louder than before: 

“Have a care where you go!  Do you not see it?  You will get blood upon your fine cloak.  It is at your feet.”

In blank amazement, the Norman stared first at the ground and then at the seer.