The two knights landed unrecognised. They stood in their gray cloaks, like travelling merchants, and silently bowed before a large crucifix, which, surrounded by a gilt circle or halo, stood on the quay-head. Skirmen hastily brought the horses on shore; and, in an instant, the knights had mounted them, and the squire leaped on his hardy norback, when, without delay, the three horsemen proceeded through the slumbering town. Over almost every door there stood a cross, in a ring, as upon the quay. This holy symbol, at once the ancient arms of the town and the origin of its name, was not wanting on any craftsman's sign. Although there was not awaking soul to be seen in the place, the knights saluted almost every second house, mindful, even in their haste, of this customary token of reverence. They rode through the town-gate, and along the frith to the left or northwards, where the road wound near Tornborg. In the wood, close by Tornborg, they ceased their hard gallop, and allowed their horses to breathe. Now, for the first time, Drost Peter broke the long silence. "You are perfectly sure it was them, Skirmen?" he said to his squire. "As sure as I am that it is yourself and Sir Thorstenson who are riding here," replied the squire. "The duke and his drost stood on the beam right over my head, at the quay, and I could count every soul on board the skiff." "How many were there, then?" "I counted nine and twenty, including soldiers and boatmen. They looked a most atrocious pack of rievers. One could hardly see their faces, for their black and red beards; and those who did not sit on the rowing-benches, had large knives in their girdles, and battle-axes in their hands. He who whistled appeared the worst of them all: he was a huge, sturdy fellow, with a face like a bear. I could only see him indistinctly, on account of the red sail that flapped about his ears; but I dare stake my head that it was no one else than Niels Breakpeace himself, the captain of the Jutland rievers, who escaped from us last year." "Niels Breakpeace!" repeated both knights, in astonishment. "But was not the vessel Norwegian, then?" inquired Drost Peter. "The boatmen were Norsemen, sir--audacious-looking fellows, with large cleavers and shaggy caps. He who sat by the rudder was also a Norseman--a little sturdy fellow, dressed like a knight, with a gilded dagger-hilt in his belt. They called him Count Alf." "The algrev--Mindre-Alf!" exclaimed both knights, regarding each other with renewed astonishment; while Sir Thorstenson, repeating the name, became pale with indignation, and grasped the hilt of his sword in his powerful hand. "Stand!" he exclaimed, stopping his horse: "could I but break the algrev's neck, I would give half my life for it. But who has said they are coming in this direction?"