“That is ill, then,” said Eric, “for we have little help, except from each other, and I, too, am well-nigh spent. Well, we have done a great deed and now it is time to rest.”
“My left arm is yet whole, lord, and I can make shift for a while with it. Cut loose the cord before they bait us to death, and let us rush upon these wolves and fall fighting.”
“A good counsel,” said Eric, “and a quick end; but stay a while: what plan have they now?”
Now the men of Ospakar, having little heart left in them for such work as this, had taken thought together.
“We have got great hurt, and little honour,” said the mate. “There are but nineteen of us left alive, and that is scarcely enough to work the ship, and it seems that we shall be fewer before Eric Brighteyes and Skallagrim Lambstail lie quiet by yonder mast. They are mighty men, indeed, and it would be better, methinks, to deal with them by craft, rather than by force.”
The sailors said that this was a good word, for they were weary of the sight of Whitefire as he flamed on high and the sound of the axe of Skallagrim as it crashed through helm and byrnie; and as fear crept in valour fled out.
“This is my rede, then,” said the mate: “that we go to them and give them peace, and lay them in bonds, swearing that we will put them ashore when we are come back to Iceland. But when we have them fast, as they sleep at night, we will creep on them and hurl them into the sea, and afterwards we will say that we slew them fighting.”
“A shameful deed!” said a man.
“Then go thou up against them,” answered the mate. “If we slay them not, then shall this tale be told against us throughout Iceland: that a ship’s company were worsted by two men, and we may not live beneath that dishonour.”
The man held his peace, and the mate, laying down his arms, crept forward alone, towards the mast, just as Eric and Skallagrim were about to cut themselves loose and rush on them.