"Norsemen," answered Sigurd, "and you are Saxons, I take it."
"Right you are," laughed the boy, with a glance over his shoulder. "Are you plundering the country?"
"Nay," answered Sigurd. "We are Christians. Bid your men stand back, for our arrows lie loosely on the strings."
The boy laughed again, as if it were a good joke, and turning, waved to his men, who halted.
"Let me explain," he said. "I am Alfred, son of Jarl Alfric of Mercia, and with me is Sigrid my sister. Briefly, we are flying from the men of King Ethelred; will you assist us?"
Sigurd, suspecting a trap, looked keenly at the boy; but his gaze was met squarely, and Sigurd's suspicions vanished. "Where is your sister, and your pursuers?" he asked.
Alfred pointed to the sledge. "My sister is ill, and we have to carry her." His face suddenly became serious. "Hasten your reply, sir Norseman, for God's sake! The King's men are not half a mile behind, and there are nigh three score of them, while half of mine are wounded or sick."
Sigurd stepped out and gripped his hand. "No time for talking, then! Take your sister and the sick or wounded men out to my ships, and let all your fighting men join mine. Take charge of him, Astrid, and use the boats quickly."
The boy called up his men, dividing them as Sigurd had ordered, and joining the Norsemen with twenty Saxons.
"We will give Ethelred's men a sharp lesson, Biorn. Do you post the men as you see fit."