"I have seen our men take things from below the decks," she said.

"Is it not possible to stow all, or nearly all, there? For it may be as well that folk whom we may meet with shall not see that we have these chests on board."

That was good counsel; and though there is not much stowage room on such a ship as this, it could be done. Still the wind did not come, and there was time. Far off, toward where the land should be, the fog still hung in banks, and doubtless Heidrek was still wrapped in it. Not that we had much fear of him now, though it was certain that he would not care to lose us without a search.

Now we raised some of the deck planking aft, and found a floor laid in one place for stowage on either side of the keel. It would take all we wished to get out of sight from off the deck.

"Now let me show you what is in these chests," Gerda said brightly.

"Then you will know how to set them."

I think she had a sort of sad pleasure in going through these things. One by one, as we brought them to the open place, she lifted the lids of the chests, and in them was treasure more than I had ever heard of. Maybe it was only a small h.o.a.rd for one who had been a king in more than name in his time, but there was enough to make Gerda a rich woman in any land where she might care to make a home, if only we could save it for her. One chest held bags of silver coin, stamped with the heads of many kings, and won from many lands, though most came from the English sh.o.r.es, where the burgesses of coast towns would pay ransom for their safety when the longships sailed into their havens with the menace of fire and sword. In another smaller chest, hardly more than a casket, was gold--rings and links and chains of the sort with which men trade by weight, and withal, some coined money from the East and from the British land.

Jewels there were also, brooches of gold and silver and gilded bronze, set with gems and bright with enamel, and arm rings and torques of gold. Women's jewels there were, necklaces and bracelets, hung with the round golden plates, coin-like, with the face of Thor stamped on them, and written runes. Two bales there were also of wondrous stuffs from the looms of eastern lands, gold inwoven and shining, bought in far-off Gardariki, where the great fair is, or won from hall and palace in the wars of Harald Fairhair. And not the least part of the treasure lay in the arms, which were almost beyond our pricing, so good were they, whether mail or helm or weapon. Yet none were better than those Gerda had given us yesterday in our need.

"It is no small treasure which you have made me keep," Gerda said somewhat sadly, as we set the last of the chests in their hiding.

"You will find a use for it, dear lady," Dalfin said cheerfully.

"It is a great thing to have somewhat of the sort to fall back on."

She sighed a little, and turned to a big plain chest which she had bidden us leave on deck.

"You three fall back on that," she said, laughing. "It is no part of the treasure, and is here by mistake. Yet I know what it holds, and you may be glad thereof."

Dalfin threw it open, and laughed also. It was full of the holiday clothes of some half-dozen of the head courtmen of the old king; blue and brown jerkins, and white and blue hose, short red cloaks, and fair linen underwear. They had brought it for the feasting after the mound was made, and had forgotten it in the onset of Heidrek. I have seen men of some rank wear no better. Thorwald's men were in good case.

"You have made new men of us from head to foot," said Dalfin gleefully. "In very truth we have sore need of change."

Now we went to replace the deck planking, and she bethought herself.

"Let us keep the little chest with the gold where we can reach it easily," she said. "Supposing we are wrecked it will be well to have it at hand."

That was wise, and we set it on deck again. It was not more than one could carry easily, though heavy, having iron rings at either end as handles. I took it aft out of the way, and set it by the steering bench. And then we ended our work, and things were shipshape once more.

It was very hot as the sun rose higher. There was a feeling of thunder in the air, and Gerda was glad to seek the shelter of her awning from the heat and glare from sea and sky. The ship swayed gently to the dying swell, and the sail flapped idly against the mast, while ever we looked to see the longships of Heidrek coming in the offing in search of us.

Once I climbed the mast, and was glad to see no sign of his sails.

Though we must have baffled him for the time, we could not have sailed far ere the wind failed. Presently, in the shelter of the boats, we fitted ourselves out afresh from the courtman's chest, and felt more like ourselves again. We set the mail we needed no longer for the time in the chest, and that done, longed for the wind which did not come. It was breathless.

The awning grew stifling, and Gerda left it for our midday meal, coming to the after deck, and sitting there with us. Presently she looked at our dress and smiled, jesting a little. Then she set her hand on the little chest of gold which stood on the deck by her and opened it.

"I am going to ask you to wear some of these things," she said, half shyly. "I have a fancy to see you three as you should be, with the things which belong to your rank on you."

Bertric shook his head at that. "No, lady," he said. "What need?"

"Maybe I would see my friends as they should be," she answered.

"Maybe I would fain for once give the gifts a queen may give, if never again. And maybe it is as well that some of these treasures should be shared among us because we know not what may come."

"Well," said Bertric, laughing, "maybe they will not be so likely to go overboard without us."

Now, I cannot tell all that was in her mind, but so she would have it; and as it was true enough that if we were wrecked we were more likely to save somewhat if it was on us, we let her have her way.

So in the end she chose out the heavy golden bracelets which Bertric and I should wear, and then asked Dalfin, laughing, what was the token of the rank of a prince in his land. It was the torque which Heidrek's men had taken from him, and I told her so.

Whereon she took from the casket a wonderful, twisted torque, the like of which I had never seen, for it was not of Norse work, and gave it to him. He took it and looked at it curiously, and his face lighted up. It had some strange writings on it, and he read them.

Then he turned to Gerda, and it was plain that somewhat had pleased him mightily.

"Queen," he said, "this is a greater gift to me than you ken. It is strange that this torque should come to me here, for there is a song of it which I have known since I was able to learn aught. It is the song of its losing."

"Thorwald, my grandfather, won it on the high seas from Danish Vikings," she answered eagerly. "What is the story?"

"It is the royal torque of our house," he said. "It was lost when my kinsman, Dubhtach of the Spearshafts, fell at Howth. In the song are the names of Danish princes who fell ere it was won from us, and they are not a few. Now your folk have avenged the loss, and the luck of the O'Neills has come back. And, faith, it was time it did, for mighty little luck have we had since it went from us."

Then he bent his knee in princely fashion, and kissed the hand of the giver, and so set the torque on his neck. It bent easily, and fastened with hooked ends. Plain enough it was that he felt that he had recovered a treasure.

"See," said Bertric, "here is wind coming."

There were thunder clouds working up from the north and east, and a haze was gathering overhead. Soon, in the stillness, the thunder rumbled across the sea, and the heavy drops of the first rain fell, bringing with them cold draughts of wind, which filled the sail for a moment, uselessly, and were gone.

Then across the northern sea grew and spread a line of white which swept down on us swiftly, and with a roar the squall, which came before the wall of rain, was on us. Something lifted forward and fled downwind like a broken-winged red and white bird. Gerda's awning had gone; and Dalfin shouted. But we could not heed that. We were wrestling with the helm, for the wind was heavy and unsteady, and the thunder rolled round us and above us, while the lightning shot in jagged streaks from cloud to sea incessantly. The rain came in torrents, whitening the sea; but Gerda stood with her arm round the high sternpost, with her yellow hair flying and the water streaming from her, seeming to enjoy the turmoil.

The rain swept past, and the wind fell suddenly, as it had come.

For a few minutes the sail hung and flapped, and then the worst happened. I heard Bertric cry to us to hold on, and a fresh squall was on us. It came out of the south as if hurled at us, taking the sail aback. The forestay parted, and then with a crash and rending of broken timber the mast went some six feet from the deck, falling aft and to port, and taking with it half the length of the gunwale from amidships.

After that crash we stood and looked at one another, each fearing that there must be some hurt. But there was none. We had been well aft, and the falling masthead and yard had not reached us, though it had been too near to be pleasant. Maybe the end of the yard, as it fell, missed me by a foot or so.

But though Gerda's face was pale, and her eyes wide with the terror of the wreck, she never screamed or let go her hold of the sternpost to which she had been clinging. She was a sea king's daughter.

Chapter 8: Storm And Salvage.

The ship took a heavy list, and some sea broke on board, but though it was rising fast, there was not yet enough to do much harm. The floating bights of canvas hove us round broadside to the run of the waves, and needs must that we cleared away the wreck as soon as might be.

There were two axes slung at the foot of the mast in case of such chances as this, and with them we cut the mast adrift from the shattered gunwale, and got it overboard, so that the ship recovered herself somewhat. The yard lay half on deck, and I climbed out on it, and cleared it from the mast without much trouble, cutting away all the rigging at the masthead, and letting the mast itself go to leeward as the waves would take it.

After that we had some hard work in getting the sail on board again, but it was done at last, and by that time the squall was over, while the wind had flown back to its old quarter--the northeast--and seemed likely to bide there. Overhead the scud was flying with more wind than we could feel, and we had cause to be anxious. The sea would get up, and unless we could set some sort of sail which would at least serve to keep her head to it, we should fare badly. Moreover, it was likely enough that the ship was strained with the wrench of the falling mast.

There was no spare sail on board which we could use in the way of storm canvas, and the sails of the boat were too small to be of any use. Nor was there a spar which we could use as mast, save the yard itself. It must be that or nothing, and time pressed.

I suppose that we might have done better had we the chance, but what we did now in the haste which the rising sea forced on us, was to lash the forward end of the yard to the stump of the mast, without unbending the sail from it. Then we set it up as best we might with the running rigging, and so had a mightily unhandy three-cornered sail of doubled canvas. But when we cast off the lashings which had kept the sail furled while we worked, and sheeted it home, it brought the ship's head to the wind, and for a time we rode easily enough.

Then we baled out the water we had shipped, and sought for any leak there might be. There was none of any account, though the upper planking of the ship was strained, and the wash of the sea found its way through the seams now and then. We could keep that under by baling now and again if it grew no worse.

But in about an hour it was plain that a gale was setting in from the northeast, and the sea was rising. We must run before it whether we would or no, and the sooner we put about the better, crippled as we were. We must go as the gale drove us, and make what landfall we might, though where that would be we could not tell, for there was no knowing how far we were from the Norway sh.o.r.e, or whither we had drifted in the fog.

So we put the ship about, shipping a sea or two as we did so, and then, with our unhandy canvas full and boomed out as best we could with two oars lashed together, we fled into the unknown seas to south and west, well-nigh hopeless, save that of food and water was plenty.

I have no mind to tell of the next three days. They were alike in gray discomfort, in the ceaseless wash of the waves that followed us, and in the fall of the rain. We made terribly heavy weather of it, though the gale was not enough to have been in any way perilous for a well-found ship. We had to bale every four hours or so, and at that time we learned that Gerda knew how to steer. Very brave and bright was she through it all, and maybe that is the one pleasant thing to look back on in all that voyage. We rigged the sail of the boat across the sharp, high gunwales of the stern as some sort of shelter for her, and she was content.

It was on the morning of the fourth day when we had at last a sight of land. Right ahead of us, across the tumbling seas, showed the dim, green tops of mountains, half lost in the drifting rain. We thought they might be the hills of the western islands of Scotland, but could not tell, so utterly had we lost all reckoning.