As for what had happened the night before, both Firehead and Somerled appeared to have forgotten it. Each behaved as usual, the one occupied with sailing the ship, the other still spending most of his time doubled over the rail. Somerled was no seafarer. Eyvind was beginning to relax, thinking that there was not so far to go now, and perhaps they might get there without further trouble, when there was a sudden bellow from the stern of the knarr, followed by a chorus of shrieks from the passengers. The bull, which had been growing increasingly restless as the days of close confinement and lurching movement went on, had begun to jerk its head about with some violence, snorting and stamping. Two stout ropes tethered the creature to iron rings set in the decking, but it was not hobbled. Such fetters would pose too great a risk of breaking a limb if the ship’s movement caused a fall, and this fine animal was to be the foundation of Ulf’s breeding herd. Now its angry struggles had broken one of its tethers, leaving only a single length of rope to restrain it. Sensing freedom close, it continued to buck and twist and pull at this last bond, roaring its anger. The heifers raised their voices in support; the sheep, chickens, and geese joined in hysterically, driving the bull to more strenuous efforts. And suddenly, amidst the cacophony of animal noises, there was a sound of splitting timber as the pine decking started to give beneath the onslaught of the creature’s hooves. The crewmen backed away, oars abandoned. The women screamed, gathering children in close. Little imagination was required to picture what damage a beast of that size, with those horns, could do to vessel and passengers before it might be checked or leap overboard in its frenzy. The head jerked anew, the horns scythed through the air. Folk cringed. Who could get anywhere near, even supposing anyone were foolish enough to try?