men wrought as it were in a world of blood.
"That is the meaning of Leif's whimsies," he thought, and so comforted
himself.

That night the Northmen slept in peace, but the scouts brought back word
of a desert country, no men or cattle, and ashes where once had been
dwellings.

"Our kinsfolk have been here before us," said King Ironbeard grimly. He
did not love the Danes, though he had fought by their side.

Half the force was left as a guard by the ships, and next day the rest
went forward up the valley at a slant from the river's course. For that
way, ran the tale, lay a great Roman house, a palace of King Kristni,
where much gold was to be had for the lifting. By midday they were among
pleasant meadows, but the raiders had been there, for the houses were
fired and the orchards hacked down. Then came a shout and, turning back,
they saw a flame spring to the pale autumn skies. "The ships!" rose the
cry, and the lightest of foot were sent back for news.

They returned with a sorry tale. Of the ships and the stockade nothing
remained but hot cinders. Half the guard were dead, and old Arnwulf, the
captain, lay blood-eagled on the edge of the tide. The others had gone
they knew not where, but doubtless into the forests.

"Our kinsfolks' handiwork," said Ironbeard. "We are indeed forestalled,
my heroes."

A council was held and it was resolved to make a camp by the stream and
defend it against all comers, till such time as under Leif's guidance
new ships could be built.

"Axes will never ring on them," said Leif under his breath. He walked
now like a man who was fey and his face was that of another world.

He spoke truth, for as they moved towards the riverbank, just before
the darkening, in a glade between two forests Fate met them. There was
barely time to form the Shield-ring ere their enemies were upon them--a
mass of wild men in wolves' skins and at their head mounted warriors in
byrnies, with long swords that flashed and fell.

Biorn saw little of the battle, wedged in the heart of the Shield-ring.
He heard the shouts of the enemy, and the clangour of blows, and the
sharp intake of breath, but chiefly he heard the beating of his own
heart. The ring swayed and moved as it gave before the onset or pressed
to an attack of its own, and Biorn found himself stumbling over the
dead. "I am Biorn, and my father is King," he repeated to himself, the
spell he had so often used when on the fells or the firths he had met