"Who are the strangers?"
"It is a ship of the Jomsburg vikings," he said. "They know that our men are all in England, and have come to see what we have left behind--Thor's bolt light on them!"
Now, of all savage vikings these Jomsburgers are the worst. Red-handed they are, sparing none, and it is said of them that they will sacrifice men to the gods they worship before a great fight. Nor are they all of one race, but are the fiercest men of all the races of the Baltic gathered into that one nest of pirates, Jomsburg.
Now a cold thrill of fear for Osritha ran through me, and then came hot rage, and for a little I was beside myself, as it were, glaring on that ship. Then I grew cool and desperate, longing only to be hand to hand with them.
Swiftly we bore down on the ship, and now from her decks came the hoarse call of uncouth war horns, and her crew came swarming back from the streets with shouts and yells, crossing Ingvar's ship to reach their own, for she lay alongside, stem to stern of the Dane, and next to the open water.
Now I could see that men fought with the last of the Jomsburgers as they came down the street to their ship, and there were no houses burning, so that they could have been for no long time ashore. And that was good to know.
We came into the channel abreast of her, and then Thormod roared to me:
"Now I will ram her. Board her as we strike if we do not sink her!"
Then he called on the oarsmen, and they cheered and tugged at the oars, the men in the waist helping them, and my fore deck warriors gripping the bulwarks against the shock. Down we swooped like a falcon on a wild duck, and as we came the Jomsburgers howled and left their own ship, climbing into Ingvar's to fly the crash, while some tried to cast off, but too late.
"Shoot!" I shouted to my men, and the arrows flew.