from the ship's deck. Some one threw an axe at me as I swam, which
was waste of a good weapon, and I hoped that it was not Thorgils'
best. Strange what thoughts come to a man when in a strait.

The water struck icy cold to me, and I felt that I could not stand
it long, but I gained on the boat with every stroke, though it was
hard work swimming in my mail and with a sword in my hand. I got
rid of the blanket that was hampering my left arm, and by that time
I was far enough from the ship for my foes to be puzzled by it. The
moonlight was bright on the water, but the little waves tossed it
so that it must have been hard for them to know which was I and
which the floating stuff. Certainly, the first arrows that were
shot when the bowmen got a chance at me from the ship or over her
were aimed at the blanket, for I heard them strike it. Then one
leapt from wave to wave past me.

I won to the boat just in time, for I could not have held on much
longer. The cold was numbing me, and if I stopped swimming I must
have sunk with the weight of mail. None of our old summer tricks of
floating and the like were of any use with that weight on me. The
arrows were coming thickly by that time, and I was glad to get to
the far side of the boat and rest my hand on the gunwale, while I
managed to sheathe my sword. The men could not see plainly where I
was, and the arrows pattered on the planks of the boat and hissed
into the water still, on the chance of hitting me. So I thought it
well to get out of range before I tried to get on board, and so
held the gunwale with one hand and paddled on with the other, until
the arrows began to fall short, and at last ceased. A Welshman's
bow has no long range, so that I had not far to go thus. But all
the while I feared most of all to hear the plash of oars that would