"They are coming nearer," said Kenulf, and I heard the oars more
plainly yet.

Now the thought of calling my men to arms came over me, but I
remembered how Lodbrok had told me that resistance to vikings,
unless it were successful, meant surely death, but that seldom
would the unresisting be harmed, even if the ship were wantonly
burnt after plunder, and the crew set adrift in their boat.

Still the oars drew nearer, and I thought of the words that Lodbrok
had spoken--how that shipmen would be glad of his presence--and I
wished that he were indeed with me, for now I knew what he meant.

Now, too, I knew his gift of the ring to be our safety, and surely
he had given it to me for this. So I grew confident, and even
longed to see the sharp bow of the boat cleave the mist, if only
her crew knew of our friend by name at least. Yet they might be
Norse--not Danish.

But the sound of oars crossed our bows and died away again, and
then a voice hailed from the ship, as I thought, and there was
silence.

Kenulf and I breathed more freely then, and we too went forward and
ate and drank, and afterwards spoke of the chance of slipping away
when the tide turned, though I was sure that, if the ship were what
we thought, she would up anchor and drift with us.

So the hours of flood tide passed, and then the ship began to swing
idly as the slack came. Then with the turn of tide came little