Leif gave a shout."My skill has riot failed me," he cried."We enter the Frankish firth.See, there is the butt of England!"After that the helms were swung round, and a course laid south by west.And then the mist came again, but this time it was less of a shroud, for birds hovered about their wake, so that they were always conscious of land.
Because of the strength of the tides the rowers made slow progress, and it was not till the late afternoon of the seventeenth day that Leif approached Ironbeard with a proud head and spoke a word.The King nodded, and Leif took his stand in the prow with the lead in his hand.The sea mirroring the mist was leaden dull, but the old pilot smelt shoal water.
Warily he sounded, till suddenly out of the gloom a spit of land rose on the port, and it was clear that they were entering the mouth of a river.
The six galleys jolted across the sandbar, Leif in the foremost peering ahead and shouting every now and then an order.It was fine weather for a surprise landing.Biorn saw only low sand-dunes green with coarse grasses and, somewhere behind, the darkness of a forest.But he could not tear his eyes from it, for it was the long-dreamed-of Roman land.
Then a strange thing befell.A madness seemed to come on Leif.He left his pilot's stand and rushed to the stern where the King stood.Flinging himself on his knees, he clasped Ironbeard's legs and poured out supplications.
"Return!" he cried."While there is yet time, return.Seek England, Gael-land, anywhere, but not this place.I see blood in the stream and blood on the strand.Our blood, your blood, my King! There is doom for the folk of Thorwald by this river!"The King's face did not change."What will be, will be," he said gravely.
"We abide by our purpose and will take what Thor sends with a stout heart.
How say you, my brave ones?"
And all shouted to go forward, for the sight of a new country had fired their blood.Leif sat huddled by the bulwarks, with a white face and a gasp in his throat, like one coming out of a swoon.
They went ashore at a bend of the stream where was a sandy cape, beached the galleys, felled trees from the neighbouring forest and built them a stockade.The dying sun flushed water and wood with angry crimson, and Biorn observed that the men wrought as it were in a world of blood."That is the meaning of Leif's whimsies," he thought, and so comforted himself.
That night the Northmen slept in peace, but the scouts brought back word of a desert country, no men or cattle, and ashes where once had been dwellings.
"Our kinsfolk have been here before us," said King Ironbeard grimly.He did not love the Danes, though he had fought by their side.
Half the force was left as a guard by the ships, and next day the rest went forward up the valley at a slant from the river's course.For that way, ran the tale, lay a great Roman house, a palace of King Kristni, where much gold was to be had for the lifting.By midday they were among pleasant meadows, but the raiders had been there, for the houses were fired and the orchards hacked down.Then came a shout and, turning back, they saw a flame spring to the pale autumn skies."The ships!" rose the cry, and the lightest of foot were sent back for news.
They returned with a sorry tale.Of the ships and the stockade nothing remained but hot cinders.Half the guard were dead, and old Arnwulf, the captain, lay blood-eagled on the edge of the tide.The others had gone they knew not where, but doubtless into the forests.
"Our kinsfolks' handiwork," said Ironbeard."We are indeed forestalled, my heroes."A council was held and it was resolved to make a camp by the stream and defend it against all comers, till such time as under Leif's guidance new ships could be built.
"Axes will never ring on them," said Leif under his breath.He walked now like a man who was fey and his face was that of another world.
He spoke truth, for as they moved towards the riverbank, just before the darkening, in a glade between two forests Fate met them.There was barely time to form the Shield-ring ere their enemies were upon them--a mass of wild men in wolves' skins and at their head mounted warriors in byrnies, with long swords that flashed and fell.
