"Aye, surely," I answered. "What of it?"
"Master," he said, "the voice was a Danish voice, as I think. And I mind me of the fires we saw."
"What then?" said I carelessly, though indeed I could see well what fear was in the old man's mind. Yet I would have him put the thing into words, being ready to look the worst in the face at any time.
"The vikings, master," he answered; "surely they were in Orwell mouth and saw us, and have given chase."
"We should have seen them also," I said.
"Not so, master, for the fog hung inland, and if a Dane lies in such a place he has ever men watching the sea--and they will sail two ship's lengths to our one."
"Supposing the ship is a viking, what should we do now?" I asked, for I knew of naught to do but bide where we were.
"Go back with tide and slip past them even now," said Kenulf, though I think he knew that this was hopeless, for if we rowed, the sound of our oars would betray us, and if not we should be on a shoal before long, whence any escape would be impossible.
"Hark!" I said in another moment, and we listened.
There was little noise beyond the lapping of the swift tide against our sides. The men forward were silent, and I had thought that I heard the distant sound of voices and oars.