Gaar was on his feet now. He went to the door and looked out. There was a hint of breeze, from landward for a change. Maybe the fog would lift soon. "Tell us more," he said over his shoulder.... * * * * * Vornung had been wrong about these Picts. They weren't afraid to fight, and they weren't waiting for the fight to come to them. Under cover of darkness they swarmed in over the gunwales of the ship. Unlovely they were, and unwashed. Gaar had the scent of one in his nostrils as the dark fellow came at him. Gaar struck out and the Pict went overboard. Luckily, the surprise had not been complete. And these Norsemen were used to fighting in close and rocky quarters. They sailed in with a will. Gaar was not too busy to do a bit of wondering. A man was crazy to trust an old fool like Vornung, crazy to follow a dream of white skin and red lips and incredible beauty. Of course, these men of the North would have admitted that they were all a little mad to begin with. Who else but madmen would take such a tiny craft across hundreds of leagues of stormy sea? Gaar laughed aloud. With ten men like his he'd sail anywhere, fight anyone. Elgen, up in the bow, had a Pict in each hand and was cracking their heads together. In the stern, Asgar was making short work of three Picts. This fight wasn't going to last long. And a good thing. The way the Picts swung their clubs they might just happen to knock a few holes in the hull. Gaar breathed easier when the last of them went down. "Now," he said. "Maybe we can talk some sense to them." Vornung had taught him as much as he could recall of the language of the Picts. With a silent prayer that Vornung's memory had been good in at least this one respect, Gaar hauled a swarthy, bowlegged fellow to his feet. "Look here. Can you understand me?" Then the sun came up and the Pict got a look at the man who held him. "I understand you." His words came through chattering teeth. "Good. Don't be afraid. We mean no harm." So Vornung hadn't been completely wrong. Gaar talked, keeping his eyes glued on the man before him. The fellow knew what he was talking about. Mention of the girl who slept brought a secret gleam to his eye. What about all the others? What about the priests? "_The Druids._" It was a whisper. "Is that how they are called? How far to this land?" Gaar saw there wasn't going to be any answer to that. The Pict was scared. He was shaking his head. Some of his friends were coming around and they'd heard too. They were all turning pale around the gills. "Tell him we'll hold his head under water until he speaks up," Asgar suggested. Gaar hesitated. Fighting was one thing, torture another. It was all right to cut a man to pieces as long as he had a chance to do the same to you. Maybe threats would do the trick. He told the Pict what Asgar had suggested and the man licked his lips. The rest of the Picts were in a panic, babbling among themselves.