Then came a shout and, turning back, they saw a flame spring to the pale autumn skies.

"The ships!" rose the cry, and the lightest of foot were sent back for news.
They returned with a sorry tale.

Of the ships and the stockade nothing remained but hot cinders.

Half the guard were dead, and old Arnwulf, the captain, lay blood-eagled on the edge of the tide.

The others had gone they knew not where, but doubtless into the forests.
"Our kinsfolks' handiwork," said Ironbeard.