"The host of Hardrada the Sea King!"
"The hundred keels of Norway!"
"The flag of the World Waster!"
"Hail to the banner of Woden!"
"Hail to Harold Hardrada!"
"The spears will be many and sharp!"
"Swords will cleave helms!"
"Axes will break the mail of the Saxons!"
The war-cries of the men of Vebba, young and old, were fierce and exulting as they gazed down upon the valley and out upon the sea. Scattered upon all the slopes and levels and along the shore were the houses of a considerable town. At the upper end of the valley, and also at the right of the very commodious harbour, were what looked like extensive fortifications. These were composed mainly of strong palisade works, surrounded by ditches or moats. Nowhere was to be seen anything like a castle of stone. In the open spaces, everywhere, were tents and booths. These must now have been empty, for the afternoon sun glittered upon the polished arms and armour of long lines and serried columns of warriors drawn up in battle array as if for inspection.
"Ships! Ships! Ships!" exclaimed Ned. "Scores and scores of them, big and little. I don't see any square-rigged ships, with yards and topsails, but a good many of them have two masts and some have three or four. They are all single sticks without topmasts, and with brig and schooner rigging. I shall know better what they are like after I get down among them."