Chapter 13

I looked over my shoulder at Gerda. Her white dress seemed to shine in the morning sun like silver against some dark bushes, and my first fear was that it could be seen as plainly by the men in the big boat down the strait.

"It cannot be Heidrek's," I groaned.

"I know that boat only too well," answered Bertric; "pull, if you never pulled before."

The oars bent, and the water boiled round the blades. Bertric headed straight across, letting the tide have its way with us. In five minutes we were ashore a hundred yards below where Gerda sat, and then I knew that the bushes must screen her from the view of those who came from the sea. We leapt out and looked at the boat we feared. The men in her did not seem to be heeding us, for, at all events, they had not quickened their stroke. They were keeping over on the far shore. Either they had not seen us, or took us for no more than fishers--or else knew that they had us trapped if they wanted us.

"Give me a lift here," said Bertric, going to a great stone which was a load for any two men. "We must sink this boat--we have the other, if that is any good to us."

Together we hove the great stone into the boat as it rocked on the edge of the tide, starting a plank or two. I stove in one altogether with an oar, shoved her off with all my might, and saw her fill at once, and sink with the weight in her some twenty yards from shore. She would not be seen again till dead low water. Then we hove the oars into the bushes. Maybe it was all useless, but we would leave nothing to be spied which might bring the men to the island sooner than needful.

That took only a few minutes, but in them I cannot tell how many wild plans for Gerda's safety went through my mind. Beyond the bare chance which lay in getting to the hillside and trying to keep out of sight of the men when they landed, there seemed to be nothing we could do.

Now, along the little shore path came Gerda to seek us, smiling at our haste. The boat she missed at once, and looked round for it.

"Why, what has become of the boat?" she asked. "I thought you landed here."

Bertric looked at me, and I at him, and Gerda caught the glance.

"There is something which you fear to tell me," she said steadily. "Let it be spoken at once, for we have faced danger together ere this, have we not?"

"Have you not seen a large boat down the strait?" I asked lamely.

"No," she said, and was stepping forward to the edge of the water, past the screen of low shore bushes to look, but I stayed her.

"It is the boat which we fear," I said. "There are Danes in her, and we think they are seeking the wreck."

She looked me in the face for a moment, and read what was written there.

"We might welcome the coming of honest Vikings," she said, "whether Dane or Norse. They know how to befriend a woman who needs help. These men whom you fear and who seek the wreck can only be the men of our enemy."

Then Bertric said:

"I cannot mistake the boat which I have helped to pull so many a weary time. It is Heidrek's. He has followed us, and has somewhere heard of the fate of the ship. We have sunk the little boat, lest the sight of it should bring them ashore straightway."

"Then we must hide somewhere," she said, looking round her as if to see what place might be.

"Aye, we must hide. There will be fifteen men, or more, in the boat. Malcolm and I cannot stay their landing."

Gerda caught her breath suddenly. "What of the hermits?" she said.

"We waste time," said I. "Come and let us tell them. They may have some hiding place."

Then we went swiftly to the cells. Once we looked back to the strait, from the little rise behind which the cells were sheltered, and saw the boat still working against the tide along the far shore. Heidrek had certainly not heard that the wreck was on the island itself. Most likely it was thought that we had made for the shelter of the strait, and had gone ashore in trying to reach it. Unless the ship which we had seen knew the coast well, her crew could hardly have told that an island was here.

There were no hermits to be seen, for they were either in their cells, or at their tasks about the place. So I went to the first cell and looked in, and finding it empty, went to the next. Fergus sat there, writing in some beautiful book which he was busied with. One never found a brother idle.

"Father," I said, "I must disturb you. There is danger at hand, I fear."

"Ah," he answered, setting down his pen, and rising hastily. "The Danes at last. Well, we have long expected them to come to us, as to our brethren elsewhere. But what shall the poor queen do?"

"Is there no place where you can hide her?" I said.

"None," he answered gloomily. "Tell me more."

I told him, and he shook his head.

"Men in the narrow waters, and men in the open," he muttered. "Hemmed in on every side."

"Danes in the open sea?" I said, with a new fear on me. The end might be nearer than we deemed it.

"Aye, two ships sailing this way."

They were those which we had seen and forgotten. I ran out, and while Fergus went to Bertric, climbed the little hill beyond the village, and looked seaward. The ships were six miles away, and heading due west, having edged somewhat farther from the shore than when we first sighted them. They were not coming hither.

"There need be no fear of those ships, father," I said. "They are making a passage past us--bound elsewhere at all events."

"Then," he said at once, "there lies your boat on the shore of the open sea. Make away to the main land eastward while there is time, and take to the hills inland. You are not likely to be followed thither. We will give you some token which the poor folk of the shore will know."

Now, while the hermit had been speaking, I was translating for the other two, as was my way by this time.

"Father," cried Gerda, and I spoke her words as she said them, "will you not fly also?"

He shook his head with a sad smile. Neither he nor any one of his brethren would leave the place.

"We shall hide in the hill and behind it while we may," he said. "They may not trouble to hunt us."

"The good father is right," said Bertric. "We must get away as soon as we can. It is our one chance. I had thought of it, but was not sure how the shore folk would greet us. Now we must hasten. Ask the hermit to come and help us launch the boat."

Then he turned to Gerda, who stood with clasped hands waiting to hear the end of the rapid speech.

"It is our only hope," he said again. "We must take that way, though it is hard to leave these holy men to their fate."

Then, of a sudden, a light came into Gerda's eyes, and she flushed as with a fresh hope.

"Those other ships!" she cried. "You said they were not Danish. Norse or Irish, they would help us, if we could reach them!"

Bertric said never a word, but ran to the place whence he could look out to sea, and came back with a brighter face.

"They are not Danish," he said. "I am sure thereof. And it is just a chance that we might reach them. If they see we are in need, there is another hope for us, for they will meet us, or heave to for us."

Then some fear took hold of Gerda, born of the chase by Heidrek, as I believe.

"No," she said, "rather the poor folk ashore than chance what men we may meet at sea."

"As you will," answered Bertric. "You may be right. Now will you gather what you must needs take, and that swiftly? Malcolm and I will get our arms."

She went to her cell, and Fergus hurried to call his brethren. We two went to the cell which had been given us.

"Just as well not to put them on," I said. "We have a long pull before us, and if armed men are seen in the boat we must be chased."

The casket of gold was under the heather pillow of my bed, and I dragged it out. From it we took what we could stow away on us in one way or another, and then, with our war gear bundled in our arms, went out.

Across the strait rose a thick smoke from the foot of the glen. Heidrek's folk were burning the wretched huts for sport. All the fisher people would have fled at their first coming.

"They are busy now," said Bertric grimly, nodding toward the signs of pillage. "They will be here next."

Now Gerda came with a little bundle, wrapped in her blue cloak. She was pale, and near to weeping as she looked on the hermits, who were coming together from their work to the black cross in the midst of their home. The old superior caught sight of me and called to me in his still voice.

"So you must fly, my son," he said. "I would that we had had more speech together. Give this to the lady who has listened to me so patiently. Now, I have bidden Fergus and Phelim to go with you. They can row, and that well, and you need help. Aye, I ken the ways of the boatwork well enough. You will make them go with you, for hardly will they obey me, now at the last."

Thereat those two brethren threw themselves at the feet of the old man, and besought him to let them bide with the rest for that crown of martyrdom which they might gain.

"No, my sons," he said sternly, and yet lovingly; "your lives may yet be of use. Ours are done. Now you shall win more by saving the lives of these friends of ours who came to us in need than by losing your own."

Then he bent toward them, and spoke rapidly in the Latin tongue, and I saw their faces change, and they rose up. Thereafter they had no more to say of staying, though at the time I could not tell what the words which wrought this change might be. Without another word they took Bertric's arms and mine and Gerda's little pack, and started for the shore, and as they went the old man smiled as if content. Then he bent toward us.

"Go, my children," he said; "you have no moment to waste longer. It has been good to speak with you."

Now I set that which he had given me in Gerda's hand. It was a little black crucifix carven of the bog oak by one of the brothers who was skilful at that work. She took it with a flushing face.

"Malcolm," she said, "tell him that we will not forget."

So I told him, and he smiled, saying nothing in answer. I dare say he knew that Gerda would not do so, if he had less hopes for myself. Gerda first, and then we two in turn, bent and kissed his thin hand, and he blessed us, and we must needs go.

Across the sand hills we went, keeping out of sight of the opposite shore, and I looked back once and saw that the little black-robed group was moving away up the glen. One brother was coming from the chapel with a burden, which, no doubt, was the case containing the holy vessels.

"Four of us to pull, and Gerda to steer," said Bertric, whose spirits, like my own, were rising. "We should do well. These brothers, moreover, know where we can land, which was the difficulty I most feared. They are terrible cliff walls yonder."

"How far must we go before we can find a landing?" I asked Phelim on this.

"Some five miles or more," he said, after a little thought. "There is a cove and beach at the foot of a valley. The fishers took me there once to help a sick man. I can find the place."

So it seemed that a village lay there also, which was good hearing, for the sake of Gerda, even if it were naught but of turf huts. Thence we could send a message to Dalfin.

Now, while we spoke thus, we were getting the boat down to the water quickly enough between the four of us. She was very light for her size, and we had all her gear in her already. There was room in her for four rowers and two passengers aft, and I dare say might have carried two more at a pinch. With the five of us she would be in her best trim, therefore, and we might well distance a larger boat if it was overladen at all. But the boat we fled from was not to be seen now, even from the higher sand hills. Some rise in the island hid her, or else she was well over to this shore.

The brothers cast off their long, black robes now, and stowed them in the bows of the boat with our gear. They had thick woollen tunics, like those of the fishers, under them, and their arms were bare, and sinewy with long toil with spade and hoe, for these two were the working brothers in field and garden.

We helped Gerda into the stern sheets, and pushed off, splashing knee deep into the water as we ran the boat out among the waves. Then we took our places and headed straight out to sea, across the broken water where the reef lay still well covered, and so into the long, steady seaway of the offing. Then we turned eastward for the long row which was before us, and settled down to the work, Bertric rowing the stroke oar, with myself next him, and the brothers in the bows.

The boat travelled swiftly and easily, so that Phelim praised her as the best he had ever known. He had come from some burnt monastery on Lough Neagh, where the boat was in constant use, whether for fishing or travelling to the cells round the shores.

Soon we opened up the mouth of the strait, and looked anxiously for Heidrek's boat along the shore, whence the smoke rose still thicker and more black from the burning turf huts of the fishing village. It was not to be seen in that direction, and we thought for the moment that the men had already crossed to the island, whose strand we could not see until we were well off the mouth.

A dozen more strokes of the oars and we saw it, and were ourselves seen at the same moment. Whether the men had caught some fisher and had heard where the wreck lay, or whether they had seen the bare ribs of the ship from the far shore I do not know, and it is of little account. But whatever had led them this way, they were close on us, pulling leisurely toward the end of the island past which we were going, as if to round it to the wreck. They were not more than a quarter of a mile from us, and had been hidden under the near shore.

One of the men in her stern pointed to us, and the rowers stopped and turned to look. Then a great hail came over the water, bidding us hold on and wait. She was full of men, pulling five oars a side, with six or eight in the bows and stern.

We said nothing, but held on quickly. Bertric never hastened the long stroke he was setting us, but we put more power into it without need of bidding. Heidrek's men watched us for a short space, and then made up their minds to chase us, no doubt seeing that this could only be one of the wrecked ship's boats, and making sure that we had the treasure on board.

They ran the boat ashore hastily, and some of the men landed, hurrying across the narrow head of the island toward the wreck, while the rest put off again. Now there were but two men in the stern, and the ten rowers bent to their work and were after us. We could see that they were all armed, and the sun flashed from the bright helms as they rose and fell at the work.

Phelim saw the men cross the island and groaned, fearing that when they found nothing on the beach or in the sand hills they would pass on to the village at once. But, like ourselves when we first came ashore, they had no knowledge that a village was there, and it was not to be seen as it nestled in its little valley. So they bided on the shore and watched the chase as it began.

By the time that the big boat was after us in earnest, we had set a full half mile between us and it, owing to the little delay in landing the men. Then they hailed us again, but though we heard the hail we paid no heed to it. So for a little while we held on, until it was plain that the ten oars must needs wear down our four, and then we stepped the mast and made sail, at least holding our own under it and the oars. The northeast breeze was helping us, though we must sail close-hauled, and my only fear was lest the pursuers should do the same. But they had no sail with them.

Now we held on thus for a matter of two miles, and neither of the boats seemed to gain much on the other. It began to come into my mind that we should win after all, if only we did not tire too soon. They had two fresh men, who could take their turn presently. And then it came across me that even if we ran ashore before they reached us, we should hardly have time to get away before they, too, were on the beach. The fisher folk, if there were any huts at the landing place, might all be away at the muster, and no aid might be waiting us.

I know that all these things went through the mind of my comrade at this time, and from the troubled look on the face of Gerda as she steered, it was plain that she, too, had her doubts as to the end of this race. Then Bertric spoke to me over his shoulder.

"We had better head seaward after all," he said. "What think you of our chance of reaching yon ships before we are overhauled? We shall be caught before we reach a landing, or else taken on the very beach, as we go now."

I looked at the two strange ships. They were three miles from shore, and perhaps at the same distance from us eastward, still heading west and a little out to sea.

"It is our best plan," I answered. "We shall get the wind abeam, and ought to sail away from that great boat. It may be a choice of two evils, but one cannot well meet with another Heidrek."

"We must cut across their course and try to hail them," said Bertric, somewhat wearily. "It all depends on how the boat sails on the wind, and if we can keep the oars going. What say you, Queen Gerda?"

"Do as you think best," she answered bravely. "I know how this boat can sail, and I will answer for her. And I can see no sign of a break in these black cliffs for many a long mile ahead."

Now Bertric turned and took a long look at the ships, and his face was half toward me. He seemed puzzled.

"It is hardly possible," he muttered to me, "but I could almost swear that they were English. If not, they are Frisian. But what could have brought either into these seas? Have we taken to the Viking path?"

"No," I answered, "the Vikings have taken them."

He gave a short laugh and bade me and Phelim lower the sail and hoist it afresh for the new tack, while he and Fergus pulled on. Gerda put the boat about into the wind and it was soon done. Astern the enemy howled, thinking that we had given up, for the moment. Then the sail filled, and the boat heeled to the breeze abeam, and we headed out to sea, taking as wide a sweep as we could, lest we should give the foe too much advantage in the change of course.

As it was, they seemed to gain hand over hand for a while, but they had to pull dead to windward in following us as we went off at an angle to the old course. Then we began to draw ahead steadily, and they hailed us with threats which made Gerda pale somewhat, for if we were still too far for the words to be heard there was no mistaking them. But her faith in the boat was justified, for she sailed wonderfully well with the beam wind. The big rowing boat astern began to go somewhat to leeward also, with the set of wind and wave and the tide together on her high side.

Now I glanced at the island which was lessening fast astern. I could make out that the men were still on the beach, searching, as it seemed, for what they might pick up of value from the wreck. The hermits were safe so far, and I told Gerda so in a word or two, and she smiled for the first time since we put off from shore. Her fear for our kind hosts passed from her for the moment.

We covered a mile or more in silence after that, tugging grimly at the oars, with a wary eye on the waves as they came. It was well for us that they were long and even, with little way in the heads of them. The sail, too, steadied the boat, and the hermits rowed well and evenly. But ever astern of us those ten oars rose and fell, unfaltering, until I grew dazed with the flash of the steadily-swung blades. Then I looked at the iron shore, and saw the long lines of cruel cliffs with the white foam at their feet, seeming endless. There may have been a cove in sight, but I could not make it out, and anywise it must have been too far for us.

Then I looked at Gerda, and saw that there was some trouble in her face as she looked forward. Once she smiled as if to cheer the hermit brothers, and at that I felt the lift of the boat that comes with a fresh life set into the swing on the oar, and that told me somewhat. Fergus was failing. Behind me, Phelim, the younger and stronger man, was still breathing deeply and easily, and I had no fear of his failing yet.

Then I grew certain that the enemy was gaining. We had held our own up till this time, but barely. Gerda's lips tightened, and she had to meet the pull of Bertric and Phelim, lest they should overpower us. I did my best and she knew it, and kept the balance for a while, until I must needs speak.

"Bertric," I said quietly, and in the Norse, "the bow oar is failing. Pull easy on your side for a little."

He did so, and the enemy crept nearer.

"Half a mile more," said Gerda. "Only half a mile--and we can hail the ships."

Bertric looked back, and his face brightened.

"We may do it yet," he said; "and they are English-built ships."

Now I cried to Phelim in the Gaelic that we had but a half mile more, and I felt the flagging oar of Fergus take up the work afresh, with a swifter swirl of the water round its blade as he pulled, while Phelim muttered words in Latin which doubtless were of thanks. I heard him name one Clement, who, as I have heard since, is the patron saint of seamen. The boat leapt and quivered again as she fled toward safety.

Now I had looked to see the pursuers give up the chase as we neared the ships, but they did not, and a cold fear came over me. Maybe these were known friends of Heidrek's. Then I thought that if so they might as well leave the matter to be ended by them. We should be helpless directly if so. But it seemed rather that they quickened the pace. They would not share the treasure with anyone.

There was a sound as of a groan from the bows, and the boat swung aside before Gerda could meet her with the helm. An oar flashed past me on a wave, and Phelim shipped his oar with a smothered cry. Fergus had fainted at last. I heard the sharp howl of delight from the men astern as they saw that, but Bertric and I never ceased pulling.

And suddenly Gerda's face lit up with a new hope, and she pointed to the ships and cried to us to look.

"The leading ship is heading for us," she said breathlessly. "She has just paid off from the wind and is coming swiftly."

Another moment and she cried that they had run up somewhat red to the masthead, and at that Bertric called to me, and he ceased pulling. He turned on the thwart and looked, and his eyes gleamed in his pale face. Then he rose up and set his hands to his mouth, and sent a great hail to the ship:

"Ahoy! Hakon Haraldsson, ahoy! Hakon! Hakon!"

The ship was near enough for her men to hear that. I saw a man on her high bows lift his hand in the silent answer of the seaman who hears and understands a hail, and I saw a red shield, blazoned with a golden lion, at the masthead. Then Bertric sat down and laughed as if he could not cease.

"It is Hakon, Athelstane's foster son, on the way to win Norway for himself. Alfred taught us how to build ships like that."