XLVIIA longship pulled into the shore a little beyond the harbour of Tribuit. Men began to leap from her, splashing in the sea up to their waists, laughing at the shock of the water and dragging at the ship, to get her well aground before they left her.
They were led by a tall strongly built young man, whose reddish hair was chopped short to keep the lice out of it. He wore a thick blue tunic over which clanked a breastplate of iron. His face was thin and foolish-looking in repose; yet there was a sharpness about his nose and a quick movement of head and eyes that warned men not to be taken in by his expression. No warrior who really knew him would call Cissa a fool, and certainly not in his hearing. Cissa spoke little, and was more used to striking than to arguing. Only those of his olde
