England. Sweyn, of Denmark, swore too to Ethelred to be his friend, but the Saxon gold was stronger than Sweyn’s oath. What dost thou see now, Thore?”
The outline of the ship became distincter. Truly it was the viking ship of a band of Danish pirates. Olaf’s rowers worked sturdily, and the strong wind made the dark, square sails like wings of speed. The Virgin’s head at the prow, where erstwhile the heathen bison had been carved, was cutting through the waves. The cross upon the sails and upon Olaf’s own richly wrought banner, stood out clearly in the strong light.
“See! my King,” Thorgills cried, as the ship of the Danes came nearer. “See upon the stern of yon viking ship. Surely it is a little maid, and by her side a white-haired, venerable man. They are thralls, stolen from the English or the Irish coast.”
Bishop Sigurd joined them, and his four priests. “What sayest thou, my father? Shall I give them battle for yon poor captives?”
They could now see distinctly the occupants of the Danish ship. A group of captives stood together on the stern deck, young men and boys, and in their midst a maiden of some sixteen years, clinging in terror to a white-haired man.
Bishop Sigurd looked carefully at the small inferior viking vessel of the Danes, with its rough, undisciplined crew, then at Olaf’s noble ship and his fine array of sailors. “It may be thou couldst by argu-
