I did my best and she knew it, and kept the balance for a while, until I must needs speak.
"Bertric," I said quietly, and in the Norse, "the bow oar is failing.

Pull easy on your side for a little." He did so, and the enemy crept nearer.
"Half a mile more," said Gerda.

"Only half a mile--and we can hail the ships." Bertric looked back, and his face brightened.
"We may do it yet," he said; "and they are English-built ships." Now I cried to Phelim in the Gaelic that we had but a half mile more, and I felt the flagging oar of Fergus take up the work afresh, with a swifter swirl of the water round its blade as he pulled, while Phelim muttered words in Latin which doubtless were of thanks.

I heard him name one Clement, who, as I have heard since, is the patron saint of seamen.

The boat leapt and quivered again as she fled toward safety.
Now I had looked to see the pursuers give up the chase as we neared the ships, but they did not, and a cold fear came over me.