That night, when Olaus the White and the laughing Morna left the great bonfire where the vikings sang and drank horn after horn of strong ale, they stood and looked across the loch. In the moonlight, upon the dim verge of the further shore, they could discern ten crosses. On each was a motionless white splatch. MIRCATH The _Mire Chath_ was the name given to the war-frenzy that often preceded and accompanied battle. When Haco the Laugher saw the islanders coming out of the west in their birlinns, he called to his vikings: "Now of a truth we shall hear the Song of the Sword!" The ten galleys of the Summer-Sailors spread out into two lines of five boats, each boat an arrow-flight from those on either side. The birlinns came on against the noon. In the sun-dazzle they loomed black as a shoal of pollack. There were fifteen in all, and from the largest, midway among them, flew a banner. On this banner was a disc of gold. "It is the Banner of the Sunbeam," shouted Olaf the Red, who with Torquil the One-Armed was hero-man to Haco. "I know it well. The Gael who fight under that are warriors indeed." "Is there a saga-man here?" cried Haco. At that a great shout went up from the vikings: "Harald the Smith!" A man rose among the bow-men in Olaf's boat. It was Harald. He took a small square harp, and he struck the strings. This was the song he sang: Let loose the hounds of war, The whirling swords! Send them leaping afar, Red in their thirst for war; Odin laughs in his car At the screaming of the swords! Far let the white-ones fly, The whirling swords! Afar off the ravens spy Death-shadows cloud the sky. Let the wolves of the Gael die 'Neath the screaming swords! The Shining Ones yonder High in Valhalla Shout now, with thunder. _Drive the Gaels under, Cleave them asunder-- Swords of Valhalla!_ A shiver passed over every viking. Strong men shook as a child when lightning plays. Then the trembling passed. The mircath, the war-frenzy, came on them. Loud laughter, went from boat to boat. Many tossed the great oars, and swung them down upon the sea, splashing the sun-dazzle into a yeast of foam. Others sprang up and whirled their javelins on high, catching them with bloody mouths: others made sword-play, and stammered thick words through a surf of froth upon their lips. Olaf the Red towered high on the steering-plank of the _Calling Raven_, swirling round and round a mighty battle-axe: on the _Sea-Wolf_, Torquil One-Arm shaded his eyes, and screamed hoarsely wild words that no one knew the meaning of. Only Haco was still for a time. Then he, too, knew the mircath: and he stood up in the _Red-Dragon_ and laughed loud and long. And when Haco the Laugher laughed, there was ever blood and to spare.