The next time the Patzinaks swept past, Orm’s men shot their last arrows at them. As they did so, however, they heard from behind them a great cry of joy.
“The old man’s prophecy is fulfilled,” cried several voices. “Finn Sonesson has fallen! There is an arrow through his throat, and he is already dead! Kolbjörn, his brother, fell but a few moments ago. Four are now gone; the rest of us cannot die before we have returned home!”
And it turned out as they said, for as they ceased crying, the others heard the sound of war-whoops from the direction of the ship, signifying that Toke had landed with his men. The sight of them seemed to slake the Patzinaks’ thirst for battle, for as Orm’s men ran eagerly to search for spent arrows that might be used again, they heard the thunder of hoofs grow fainter instead of louder and at last die away in the distance.
Orm ordered his men not to kill any of the men who lay wounded on the ground. “Let them remain where they lie,” he said, “until their kinsmen come to collect them.”
Their own wounded, those who were unable to walk, were lying in the wagon. Seven others lay dead on the ground, and these the men took up and carried with them, that they might give them honorable burial as soon as the opportunity arose. In the meantime, however, they made haste to return to the ship before the Patzinaks should return.
Faste’s scribe had disappeared; but when they went to pull the cart forward, they discovered him asleep beneath it. He was roused with a spear-shaft and was much mocked. He said that this fight had been no concern of his, since he was a state official whose business was collecting taxes, and he had not wished to be in anyone’s way, besides which, he had been tired after the night’s marching. The men admitted that it testified to his calmness of mind that he had been able to sleep throughout the battle.
They soon met Toke and his men, and there was great rejoicing on both sides. Toke had disposed of the enemy without much difficulty; as soon as he had come against them with war-whoops and arrows, they had turned and fled. The men thought it possible that they, too, had used up all their arrows.
When they arrived at the ship, Orm looked around him. “Where are the two boys?” he asked Toke.
“The boys?” replied Toke. “You had them with you.”
“I sent them along the bank to call you to our aid,” said Orm in a changed voice.
“What can have become of them?” said Toke, scratching his beard. “I heard hoofbeats and war-cries and saw the Patzinaks ride toward us and wheel their horses, and at once rowed ashore to help you. But I have seen nothing of the boys.”
One of Toke’s men said that, just before the ship had reached the bank, he had seen three Patzinaks emerge on foot from among the rocks, dragging something along; dead men, he had supposed, or possibly prisoners. They had dragged them toward their horses; but, he said, he had not given the matter more thought, because at that moment the ship had touched land and he had started thinking about the forthcoming battle.
Orm stood speechless. He took off his helmet and let it drop to the ground; then he sat down on a stone on the bank and stared into the river. There he sat, motionless, and none of the men dared speak to him.
The men stood muttering among themselves and gazed at him; and even Toke knew not what to say. Spof and Faste’s scribe carried the wounded aboard.
At length Orm rose to his feet. He walked up to Toke and unclipped from his belt his sword, Blue-Tongue. All the men opened their mouths in fear as they saw him do this.
“I am going to the Patzinaks,” he said. “Wait here with the ship for three days. If Blackhair returns, give the sword to him. If none of us returns, take it home for Harald.”
Toke took the sword.
“This is bad,” he said.
“Divide the treasure fairly,” said Orm, “as it would have been divided had I lived. It has brought little luck to us of Toste’s line.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
HOW ORM MET AN OLD FRIEND
ORM took Faste’s scribe with him and went to search among the fallen Patzinaks. They found one who was wounded but not dead, a young man, who had received an arrow in the side and another in the knee. He appeared to be in good heart, for he was sitting up and gnawing a piece of dried meat, with a long wooden flask in his other hand, while his horse grazed beside him.
This man was able to understand something of what the scribe said, and was pleased when he learned that they had not come to take his head. Orm bade the scribe say that they wished to help him on to his horse and accompany him back to his village. After the scribe had repeated this message several times, the Patzinak nodded and pointed at his knee. The arrow had gone right through it, just behind the kneecap, so that the head was sticking out from the inner side of his leg. He had tried to pull it out, he explained by gestures, but had not been able to do so. Orm cut the leg of his skin breeches and worked the arrow a little, pushing it farther into the knee until the whole of the metal head appeared, so that it might be cut off and the shaft drawn out from the other side. The Patzinak snapped his fingers as Orm did this, and whistled slowly; then, when the operation was completed, he set his flask to his mouth and drained it. The other arrow he had succeeded in extracting himself.
Orm took from his belt a fistful of silver and gave it to the man. His face lit up at the sight of it, and he seized it eagerly.
Near them there stood other horses, waiting patiently by the bodies of their fallen masters. They moved away as Orm and the scribe approached them; but when the Patzinak called them with a special whistle, they came willingly to him and allowed halters to be put round their necks.
They helped the wounded man on to his horse. He crooked his wounded leg up on the saddle and appeared not to be troubled by it. The scribe was unwilling to go with them, but Orm told him curtly to do as he was told.
“If you protest, I shall wring your neck,” he said. “It is I, not you, who am to become their prisoner.”
The scribe mumbled that this sort of thing was no fit occupation for a state officer whose concern was collecting taxes; he obeyed, however, and no more was said about this.
They rode away into the grassland, which was the Patzinaks’ domain. Orm said afterwards that a man might search long for a worse land and not succeed; for there were no trees or water, beasts or men to be seen there, but only grass and the empty air above it, and, occasionally, a kind of large rat that slunk away among the tussocks. Twice the Patzinak reined in his horse, pointed to the ground, and said something to the scribe, who then dismounted from his horse and pulled up the plants that the Patzinak had indicated. These, which were broad-bladed, the Patzinak then wrapped round his wounded knee, and bound them fast with a bowstring. This seemed to soothe the pain of his wound, so that he was able to ride on without becoming exhausted.
When the sun had climbed to half of its midday height, they reached the Patzinak camp. It lay in a hollow on either side of a stream, along the banks of which their tents stood in their hundreds. As they approached, hounds began to bay and children to yell, and the camp suddenly became full of horses and men. The Patzinak rode proudly in with his prisoners; then, when they had helped him from his horse, he showed the silver he had received and pointed at Orm.
Orm told the scribe to say that he wished to speak to their chieftain. At first nobody appeared to understand what he said, but at length a little bandy-legged man appeared who understood him and was able to reply in the scribe’s own tongue.
“Tell him this,” said Orm to the scribe. “Both my sons, who are very young, were captured by you during the battle at the weirs last night. I am a chieftain and have come to buy them free. I have come unarmed, as a proof of my peaceful intentions and good faith.”