On moved the two keels toward the ledge of rocks, and the tide was falling. They would be bare before long.
"Row, now!" shouted the jarl. "Send _The Sword_ far up upon the ledge. She must be lifted by the rocks till she is out of the water. There come the Britons toward the point. Be ready to strike them! The Druids have gathered an army!"
No sail was raised upon either of the ships, but the rowers of the trireme paused while those of _The Sword_ pulled strongly. She was light now, having no stowage or ballast, and quickly her prow was thrust high up the ledge between two masses of dark gray stone. Then the trireme was grappled at her stern and many Saxons sprang out upon the ledge. There were several fathoms of water between this and the shore.
"Fast falleth the tide," said Ulric. "Lift ye now Lars the Old, the shipmaker, and bear him to the fore deck of _The Sword_. Lay by him his arms and his armor, breaking the sword and the spear and cleaving the shield and mail that no other may ever bear them."
The vikings carried the old warrior quickly, and he uttered no sound. They laid him upon the fore deck and did as Ulric commanded, but the hilt of the broken sword, having yet half the length of its bright blade, they put into his right hand. In the middle of the ship much wood was placed, heaping it, and in this heap a blazing torch was thrust. Then all the vikings left _The Sword_, and the greater part of her was already out of water.
"They come in swarms!" exclaimed Tostig the Red, gazing at the Britons who rushed along the shore toward the point. "Hael! the fire burneth well! They must not prevent it!"
Up leaped the long-armed flames, catching the fagots of pine splinters.
"Burn thou, O _Sword_!" shouted the jarl. "I give thee to Odin in the fire! Thou art mine own, O good ship from the Northland. I would I might have sailed in thee to the Middle Sea and to the city of the gods!"
"O jarl," said Wulf the Skater, "even so would I have sailed. I think we shall never see that city. The gods are far away, and I know not if they have any city. I am dark this day, and over me is a cloud."
The jarl spoke not again, but he looked earnestly at _The Sword_ and at that which was threatening along the shore. Still as a stone lay Lars the Old, and some men thought him dead. There were Druids now at the point, and with them were harpers and trumpeters, and the white-robed ones were chanting to their gods.