"Let not man of mine touch an oar till Estein Hakonson lie dead on
yonder deck. We have yet time to slay them. Forward, Liot's men!"

There was a wild and furious rush of men towards the poop. Down
went man after man of the battle-worn defenders. Liot and Estein
met sword to sword and face to face. The red shield was ripped
from top to bottom by a sweep of the bairn-slayer's blade, and at
the same moment Estein's descending sword was met by a Viking's
battle-axe, and snapped at the hilt.

"Now, Estein, I have thee!" shouted his foe; but ere the words
were well out of his mouth, Estein had hurled himself at his
waist, dagger in hand, and brought him headlong to the deck. As
they fell, the ships struck with a mighty crash that threw friend
and foe alike on the bloody planks. Two vessels stuck fast; the
other two broke loose, and plunging over the first line of reefs,
settled down by the bows.

There was a rush to the bulwarks, a splashing of bodies in the
water, and then the doomed and deserted ships, the attacker and
the attacked, sank in the turmoil of the tide. Estein himself had
been pitched clear of his foe into the waist, where he had fallen
head first and half-stunned.

He felt a friendly hand dragging him to the side, and heard
Helgi's voice saying,--

"Art thou able to swim for it?"