“Do ye wield your swords with so little strength,” he demanded, “that they bite so poorly?”
“No! no! my King!” the tall chieftain Kolbjorn answered, “but our swords are dull and broken.”
“That must not be,” cried Olaf eagerly, and ran down himself to the chest-room. As he bent over the chest, the king noticed the blood trickling from the wounds he had not felt in the exultation of the combat. Gathering up huge bundles of fresh swords, Olaf went up and down from the deck to the chestroom. But there were no hands to hold the swords, for the men on the “Long Serpent” were only the dead and the dying.
Earl Erik pressed forward with his strong force of warriors on Olaf’s exhausted crew. Kolbjorn, the brave chieftain who so closely resembled the king, had stood beside Olaf throughout the combat. Many arrows and spears had come from the “Iron Ram” aimed at Kolbjorn, for Earl Erik’s men believed him to be the king.
Olaf turned to Kolbjorn. “It were but madness to fight longer.”
“Aye, my King, but nine of us are here to help thee. We will die with thee, if thou dost stay until the end.”
“Nay, nay, my faithful Kolbjorn. It were but to waste thy valiant life and the lives of these true vassals; so leap thou into the water and I will follow thee.
