The end of it was that I and the senseless Steinar were both drawn back to my own ship just as the darkness closed in. An hour later came the dawn, showing a sad sight. My father, Thorvald’s, ship and one of Athalbrand’s lay helpless, for all, or nearly all, their crews were dead, while the other had drifted off and was now half a mile away. Ragnar’s ship was still grappled to its foe. My own was perhaps in the best case, for here over twenty men were left unhurt, and another ten whose wounds were light. The rest were dead or dying. I sat on a bench in the waist of the ship, and at my feet lay the man who had been dragged from the sea with me. I thought that this man was dead till the first red rays of dawn lit upon his face, whereon he sat up, and I saw that he was Steinar. “Thus we meet again, my brother,” I said in a quiet voice. “Well, Steinar, look upon your work.” And I pointed to the dead and dying and to the ships around, whence came the sound of groans. Steinar stared at me and asked in a thick voice: “Was it with you, Olaf, that I fell into the sea?” “Even so, Steinar.” “I knew it not in the darkness, Olaf. If I had known, never would I have lifted sword against you.” “What did that matter, Steinar, when you had already pierced my heart, though not with a sword?” At these words Steinar moaned aloud, then said: “For the second time you have saved my life.” “Aye, Steinar; but who knows whether I can do so for a third time? Yet take comfort, for if I may I will, for thus shall I be best avenged.” “A white vengeance,” said Steinar. “Oh, this is not to be borne.” And drawing a knife he wore at his girdle, he strove to kill himself. But I, who was watching, snatched it away, then gave an order. “Bind this man and keep him safe. Also bring him drink and a cloak to cover him.” “Best kill the dog,” grumbled the captain, to whom I spoke. “I kill that one who lays a finger on him,” I replied. Someone whispered into the captain’s ear, whereon he nodded and laughed savagely. “Ah!” he exclaimed, “I am a thickhead. I had forgotten Odin and his sacrifice. Yes, yes, we’ll keep the traitor safe.” So they bound Steinar to one of the benches and gave him ale and covered him with a blood-stained cloak taken from a dead man. I also drank of the ale and drew a cloak about me, for the air was keen. Then I said, “Let us go to the other ships and see what has chanced there.” They got out the oars and rowed to Ragnar’s vessel, where we saw men stirring. “How went it with you?” I asked of one who stood upon the prow. “Not so ill, Olaf,” he answered. “We won, and but now, with the new light, have finished the game. They are all quiet yonder,” he added, nodding at the vessel of Athalbrand, to which they were still grappled. “Where is Ragnar?” I asked. “Come on board and see,” answered the man. A plank was thrust out and I ran across it, fear gripping at my heart. Resting against the mast sat Ragnar, dying.