"Sigurd, Thorir Klakke's ship is leaving, and will not answer our signals; come quickly!"
Calling to Biorn, Sigurd ran down to the harbor, and in the dim light could see the trading vessel, which had not been drawn up on shore, slowly making her way toward the harbor entrance, for the port was too wide to freeze far from shore.
Without wasting time in hailing, Sigurd sprang into a light skiff, moored at the edge of the ice, set a dozen men at the oars, and in five minutes was close to the ship.
"Way enough, men," he said, then lifted his voice: "What business have you leaving Dublin thus? Come back and give an accounting!"
At this the oars flashed out the faster, and a mocking voice responded: "What, indeed, young cockerel? Go back to Jomsborg and—"
"Help, Sigurd! Help!" broke in a cry, "they have—"
Silence fell again, but something flashed into the water beside Sigurd's boat, and as Biorn picked it up, the boy exclaimed:
"That was Astrid's voice! Alongside, men!"
Only a mocking laugh answered, as the square sail rose and the ship filled away. "No use," said Biorn. "Better return; see, I have picked this up." He held out something to Sigurd.
Now Sigurd and Astrid both knew the secret of Runic writing, which only the priests and high chieftains among the Northmen were familiar with; and looking down at the object, Sigurd saw it was a bit of wood, with something scratched on it. The light was too dim to see further.