"I pray you will allow me to accompany you." He addressed himself to Wulfhere. "The game of war is not unknown to me-and waiting here in ignorance of the fate of my promised bride would be worse to me than death."
"Come if you will," growled Wulfhere. "It's like we'll need all the swords we can muster before the cruise is over. King Gerinth, have you no hint whatever of who took the princess?"
"None. We found only a single trace of anything out of the ordinary in the forests. Here it is."
The king drew from his garments a tiny object and passed it to the chieftain. Wulfhere stared, unenlightened, at the small, polished flint arrowhead which lay in his huge palm. Cormac took it and looked closely at it. His face was inscrutable but his cold eyes flickered momentarily. Then the Gael said a strange thing:
"I will not shave today, after all."
III.
The fresh wind filled the sails of the dragonship and the rhythmic clack of many oars answered the deep-chested chant of the rowers. Cormac Mac Art, in full armor, the horse-hair of his helmet floating in the breeze, leaned on the rail of the poop-deck. Wulfhere banged his axe on the deal planking and roared an unnecessary order at the steersman.
"Cormac," said the huge Viking, "who is king of Britain?"
"Who is king of Hades when Pluto is away?" asked the Gael.
"Read me no runes from your knowledge of Roman myths," growled Wulfhere.
"Rome ruled Britain as Pluto rules Hades," answered Cormac. "Now Rome has fallen and the lesser demons are battling among themselves for mastery. Some eighty years ago the legions were withdrawn from Britain when Alaric and his Goths sacked the imperial city. Vortigern, was king of Britain-or rather, made himself so when the Britons had to look to themselves for aid. He let the wolves in, himself, when he hired Hengist and Horsa and their Jutes to fight off the Picts, as you know.