The Frisian turned to the daughter of the great king with an uncouth attempt at a bow.
"Wind and wave are fickle, maiden, and no sea is rougher than the Vascon Bay," he grumbled. "But with fair wind I land you at Casseneuil while the lord count's horsemen yet ride in Aquitania."
"That I doubt, man," said Roland. "Yet here is promise of fair sailing. The sun melts the mists, and with it comes the breeze to sweep them away."
"Ay; the fog breaks. Between sun and wind we 'll see both shores before the ship gains full headway."
"I already see-- Look, man! Can we be so close inshore? What flashes so brightly?"
The Frisian wheeled about, an anxious frown lowering beneath his shaggy forelock. His alarm was only too well founded. A puff of the freshening breeze swept before it the last bank of vapor, and revealed with startling clearness two grim black hulls, along whose sweeping bulwarks hung rows of yellow shields. On the lofty prows shone the gilded dragon-heads whose glitter had first caught Roland's eye. The single masts were bare of yard and sail; but along each side a dozen or more great sweeps thrust out beneath the scaly shield-row like the legs of a dragon.
"Danes!" gasped the Frisian, and from the grimly beautiful viking ships, every line of which spoke of grace and speed, he turned a despairing eye upon his clumsy trade-ship.
"Lost! lost!" he cried. "Already they come about to give chase--Garpike and the lame duck! Paul seize all vikings!"
"No, Frisian," rejoined Roland. "These, in truth, are war-ships; yet they come in peace. Dane or other, they dare not attack us on the coast of Neustria."
As though in retort to this proud boast, a red shield swung up to each Danish masthead, and across the water rolled a fierce war-cry. Roused by the wild shout, all the sleepers in the trade-ship's waist sprang to their feet. But while the Frisians huddled about the mast like frightened sheep, the Franks met the sudden danger with the steadiness of seasoned warriors. At a sign from their lord, they crept aft, sword and axe in hand, and crouched on the deck behind the bulwarks. As they made ready for battle, Roland caught up the hand of Rothada, who stood gazing at the viking ships in mingled terror and admiration.