Olaf backed off a few paces, and his hand dropped to his ax. Slowly he pulled it from his belt and tested the blade with his finger tips.
Dave backed off. “Tell him I’ll fight him with fists if he’s not too scared to put his meat chopper away.”
Erik strode to the bow of the ship. “What is this?” he asked, his voice rising in threat.
“One of the demons defies my command,” Olaf said.
A tight knot of sailors formed around the group huddled in the stern sheets.
A fat sailor with a black mustache stepped forward and said, his eyes round with excitement, “The demon breathed fire. I saw it, I saw it.”
“Aye,” another sailor piped up. “Fire from his mouth and from his nostrils.”
“What nonsense is this?” Erik asked. “No man breathes fire.”
“These are not ordinary men,” Olaf said. “They are cursed, and their vessel is transparent. We should never have taken them aboard.”
“Aye,” a sailor with a patch over his right eye added, “I too saw the one with the twisted nose breathe smoke. Olaf is right. They are more than men, and nothing less than demons.”
“Three days we have sailed,” another seaman said, “and no land.”
“And no sign of land,” another spoke up.
“Olaf is right. Kill the demons and throw them to the sharks.”
“Aye, kill the demons.”
“Kill the demons!”
“Kill the demons!”
The cry rose like a chant around the clustered deck of the Norse ship. Axes slid noiselessly from their halters, and browned arms sliced at the air in protest.
“This looks bad,” Neil whispered. “We’re really in for it, now.”
“Shorty again,” Dave said. “Always Shorty and his big mouth.”
“He still says we’re demons, that we should be killed.”
Dave thought silently for a second. The noise of the sailors reached his ears as they pressed closer to the group in the stern sheets.
“Ask Shorty there if he’ll fight with a demon.”
Neil hesitated.
“Go on,” Dave said. “Ask him!”
“Do you dare fight a demon?” Neil said to Olaf. “Do you dare fight him with your fists?”
“A demon is evil,” Olaf pronounced. “I can defeat a demon because evil holds no power on this ship.”
The crew cheered Olaf’s words, and Neil waited for silence before he spoke again.
“And if this demon should defeat you, and using your own logic, he is no longer a demon. He is a mere man who beat you in fair combat.”
“He is a demon,” Olaf declared, “and I will destroy him.”
“But if he wins,” Neil persisted, “is he not then human? You yourself say that evil holds no power on this ship.”
Erik’s voice broke in. “If your friend wins, Olaf will have to admit that he is only human.”
“With bare fists?” Neil pressed.
“With bare fists,” Erik commanded. “Clear the deck!”
“He’ll fight you,” Neil said excitedly. “And if you win, they’ll drop all this demon nonsense.”
“Good,” Dave said, beginning to strip off his shirt. “I’m going to enjoy this. I am certainly going to enjoy this.” He grinned maliciously at Olaf.
The sailors formed into a circle amidships, a tight circle, shoulder to shoulder. Before them, against their chests, they held their heavy metal shields, rim to rim.
Olaf peeled his tunic from his shoulders and let it hang down over the belt of his garment. He flexed the enormous muscles on his arms and chest and drew in a deep breath. Several friends patted him on the back and hovered around him, chuckling, glancing every now and then at Dave who had stripped to the waist.
Dave was taller than Olaf by at least eight inches, and his height gave a lean suppleness to the appearance of his body. But he was as strong as a metal spring, Neil knew, his muscles tough and sinewy, neatly covering the big bones of his body. And he had boxed at college.
“Just take it easy,” Neil advised. “Don’t let him get those arms around you. I don’t imagine there’ll be any rules in this match, Dave.”
“I’ll take him,” Dave said confidently. “Don’t worry.”
“Are you ready?” Erik called.
“We’re ready,” Neil said.
Olaf stepped into the circle of men, the shields lowering momentarily to admit him, and then closing into a tight, metal ring again.
Dave entered the circle on the other side, and Erik handed Neil a shield.
“We will join the circle,” he said.
The men made room for Neil and Erik. Erik stood on Neil’s right in the circle, his shield touching Neil’s. On Neil’s left was the sailor with the patch over his eye.
“You may begin whenever you are ready,” Erik said.
“Good luck, Dave,” Neil called.
Dave winked at Neil and then concentrated on his burly opponent. Warily, they eyed each other and circled around the human ring.
Dave fell into a boxing stance, his left arm probing the air ahead of him, his right hand tucked against his shoulder. He came closer to Olaf who stood his ground, his heavy arms weaving ahead of him, his fingers widespread.