Another Dane, surrounded by six or more foemen, his spear broken and knowing he faced his death, took hold of the edge of his shield and, with a loud cry of defiance, began spinning around and around, the shield forming a wide arc. Two ambushers who tried to dart in under the shield to stab him with their spears had their skulls cracked by the iron rim; another lost his own weapon and darted aside just in time. The three that were left retreated to a safe distance and then threw their spears at once. The Viking was struck twice, but turned one of the spears on his attackers and killed one and wounded another before he succumbed.

Gunnar I glimpsed in the killing heat of the fray, leaping and whirling like an enraged animal, his hammer a blur of steel and blood about his head. I heard the awful sound of bones snapping and breaking beneath the fury of his blows. He charged and charged again. Two of the dark enemy fell to a single smashing stroke; he felled a third before the second struck the ground.

The dark adversary swarmed all around us, straining to the fight, their shrill voices keening as they waved their slender swords. The eparch and I hugged the earth as the onrushing enemy flowed over and around us. More and more pressed in from every side, and the valiant Sea Wolves strove to hold them off. Never did men fight and die with such abandon. If the battle could have been won with fearlessness alone, the Danes would have stood unchallenged on the blood-soaked ground in the end. But there were simply too many attackers, and too few defenders. One by one, the brave Danes were dragged down and killed.

The last thing I saw was Harald Bull-Roar staggering under the weight of two assailants on his back. With a mighty shrug he threw them off, but two more leapt upon him, and then two more, and he crashed down. The dark-cloaked adversary overwhelmed us and the battle was over.

For a moment all was quiet, and then the enemy raised their victory chant. They stood on the battleground, weapons lofted high, cheering themselves and jeering at their victims. One look at the hillside, however, told me there was nothing worth cheering about. The dark ones had paid a fearful price for their dubious victory.

The enemy dead lay in heaps upon earth stained with their blood. The wounded, and there were scores, lay moaning where they had fallen, or stumbled dazed and shaken over the corpse-strewn hill with bewildered expressions on their ashen faces; still others sat and wept into their wounds.

The chanting stopped and the victors turned their attention to searching the bodies. Instinct told me to remain perfectly still. I thought that if I appeared as merely one more corpse among so many, I might be overlooked. Cautiously, carefully, I put my mouth next to the eparch's ear to tell him my plan.

"Do not move," I whispered. "They may think us dead and leave us alone."

He did not hear me, so I whispered a little louder and gave him a surreptitious nudge with my arm. "Did you hear me, eparch?" I asked, looking at his face. His eyes were open, and he was still watching the hilltop where the battle had been fiercest. "Nicephorus?"

It was then that I saw the spear protruding from between his shoulders and knew that he was dead. I stared at the wicked spear in disbelief. How is it possible, I wondered, for a man to die so quietly? Why him and not me?

In the turmoil of battle, his life had been violently taken and I, lying right beside him, had not even noticed. I felt shame and disgust and outrage all at once. I wanted to leap up and start running-to run and not stop running until I had put the hateful battle and the blood-soaked earth far behind me.

Unaccountably, I began to tremble. My limbs shook, my body jolted, and I could not stop the shaking. Seized by paroxysms I shuddered and convulsed uncontrollably. It was all I could do to press my face into the dirt and hope the enemy would pass me by.

Someone must have seen me shaking, for the next thing I knew, my arms were gripped and I was jerked upright and dragged up the hill between two attackers. We came to a place where a number of enemy were standing in tight ranks around a group huddled on the ground. The ranks parted and I was thrown in among those kneeling there. I saw King Harald, head down, bleeding from his nose and mouth, and realized that these few, myself included, were the last left alive.

Still trembling, I quickly scanned the group and counted twenty-one; of those I knew, only Harald and Hnefi numbered among the survivors. Twenty-one left from more than a hundred warriors, and who knew how many merchants-all dead. Alas, the killing was still not finished.

One of the dark-cloaked victors, his sword notched and dripping red, strode to the nearest Dane, grabbed a handful of the man's hair, jerked back his head and cut the victim's throat-much to the amusement of the ambushers looking on. The Sea Wolf slumped to the ground, closed his eyes and died without a whimper. The warrior next to the dying Sea Wolf, unwilling to lay down his life for the delight of the enemy, struggled to his feet and threw himself upon the man who had killed his friend. Somehow, he succeeded in getting his hands on the foeman's throat. The Sea Wolves urged him on enthusiastically. It took three hard sword chops on the back of his neck to kill him.

After the third Sea Wolf had his throat slit, the others stopped cheering and resigned themselves to their fate.

This is how I shall die, I thought. This, finally, is how I shall die-murdered with barbarians by an unknown enemy.

"Christ have mercy!" I muttered. The words were out of my mouth before I knew what I was saying-a reflex trained by long habit only. I no longer believed, nor even expected that the Lord Christ would even hear my prayer, much less answer it.

The man kneeling next to me heard my outburst, however, and said, "You pray to your god, Aeddan. That is good. I think only your Christ can help us now."

I looked at the man, stared at him; the voice I recognized, but the battered face I no longer knew. "Gunnar?" One eye was horribly bruised and blood trickled down his face and neck from a gash in his scalp; his lips were split and bleeding, one ear was all but torn away, and there was a hideous blue-black knot on his forehead. "Gunnar…" I hardly knew what to say. "You are alive!"

"For a little yet," he whispered, wiping blood from his eyes. "But if your Christ saves us this time, then I, too, will worship him."

Just then, a fourth prisoner was yanked to his feet so that the dark-cloaked foe could impale him with a spear. Two enemy warriors held the Sea Wolf while a third put a spear through his belly.

"No one can save us now," I said bitterly.

"Then farewell, Aeddan," Gunnar said.

The unfortunate Dane was still twitching on the ground when the leader of the dark ones arrived, seated on a brown horse. I suppose he had directed the battle from a safe distance, and now that it was over, felt sufficient courage to come and inspect the spoils, such as they were.

He rode directly to where the prisoners were being slaughtered and slid from the saddle. Taking hold of the man who had murdered the last prisoner, he struck the warrior twice in the face, and shoved him away hard. Then he turned and began shouting at the others; I watched the mirth disappear from their faces. They put up their weapons and the killing stopped at once.

"He works fast, this Christ of yours," whispered Gunnar knowingly. "What is that one saying?"

"I do not know."

"They are Arabs?"

"Maybe," I answered. "But they do not speak like the amir and his people."

The leader of the dark ones shouted some more commands, and then climbed back onto his horse and rode away. The few remaining prisoners were then bound hand-to-hand, one to another, with rope made of leather strips. We were prodded to our feet at spearpoint and made to stagger back down the hill over the still-warm corpses of the fallen.