the long drinking-horn and lifted it to his lips. “There wanders one afar, beyond the seas, of the race of Harold Fairhaired.”
A thousand men started to their feet. A thousand swords clashed against a thousand shields; and as their drinking-horns were drained, a thousand voices shouted lustily: “A wassail to King Olaf!” And as they swore and drank and clashed, one from among them crept out into the darkness. He ran to the shore, and jumping into a small boat rowed swiftly in the night.
Next morning Gutorm stood before Earl Haakon, and told him of the fierce oaths of Earl Sigvalde and his followers.
It came to pass, however, that next morning, when day broke and the Jomsvikings considered their pledges in the clear, cool light, they would gladly have been forsworn; but the war-arrow had already started on its rounds and had been stuck in every man’s door; and all the north shires of Norway were roused by the summons that Earl Haakon would meet the Earl of the Jomsvikings in a mighty sea-fight.
