"Hai, Wainomoinen! Swantewit, ho!"
Then I cast away my shield, for I grew weary, and taking both hands
to my axe, fought with a dull rage that I should have fallen, and
that there were so many against me. And all alone we two seemed to
fight by reason of the fog, though I heard the shouts of our crew
to right and left unceasingly.
Then I felled a man, and one leapt back into mist and was gone, and
a giant shape rose up against me out of the thickness, towering
alone, and at this I smote fiercely. Yet it was not mail or
hardened deerskin that I smote, but solid timber, and I could not
free my axe again, so strongly had I smitten.
It was the high stem head of the vessel. For I and my men had
cleared away the foe from amidships to bows, and still the noise of
fight went on behind us, while the fog was thick as ever.
Then Cyneward leaned against the stem head and laughed.
"Pity so good a stroke was wasted on timber, master," he said.
"Pull it out for me," I answered, "my arm is tired."
For now I began to know that my left shoulder was not yet so strong
as once.
He tugged at the axe and freed it, not without trouble.
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