Jarl Sigurd's mound had been untended, for we ourselves had never
been so far south as this firth before. Indeed, it had been so laid
waste by Sigurd's men after his death that there was nought to go
there for. But at this time we had reason for getting into some
quiet, unsought place where we should not be likely to be heard of,
for the king had over-many ships and men for us to meet. So after a
week's cruising we put into that firth, and anchored in the shelter
of its hills.

There is no man of all our following who will forget that day,
because of what happened almost as soon as the anchor held. It was
very hot that morning, and what breeze had been out in the open sea
was kept from us now by the hills, so that for some miles we had
rowed the ships up the winding reaches of the firth; and then, as
we laid in the oars and the anchorage was reached, there crept from
inland a dim haze over the sun, dimming the light, and making all
things look strange among the mountains. Then the sounds of the
ships seemed to echo loudly over the still water and when all the
bustle of anchoring was over, the stillness seemed yet greater, for
the men went to their meals, and for a while spoke little.

Einar and I sat on his after deck under the awning, and spoke in
low voices, as if afraid to raise our tones.

"There is a thunderstorm about," I said.

"Ay--listen," the jarl answered.

Then I heard among the hills, far up the firth beyond us, a strange
sound that seemed to draw nearer, like and yet unlike thunder,