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.. meta::
   :PG.Id: 42050
   :PG.Title: For The White Christ
   :PG.Released: 2013-02-08
   :PG.Rights: Public Domain
   :PG.Producer: Al Haines
   :DC.Creator: Robert Ames Bennet
   :MARCREL.ill: Troy Kinney
   :MARCREL.ill: Margaret West Kinney
   :DC.Title: For The White Christ
              A Story of the Days of Charlemagne
   :DC.Language: en
   :DC.Created: 1905
   :coverpage: images/img-cover.jpg

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FOR THE WHITE CHRIST
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   .. _`Cover`:

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      Cover

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   .. _`"'Bend lower, king's daughter--little vala with eyes like dewy violets!'"`:

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      :alt: "'Bend lower, king's daughter--little vala with eyes like dewy violets!'"  (Page 250)

      "'Bend lower, king's daughter--little vala with eyes like dewy violets!'"  (Page `250`_)

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      FOR THE
      WHITE CHRIST

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      A Story
      of
      The Days of Charlemagne

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      BY
      Robert Ames Bennet

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      Having Pictures and Designs by
      Troy & Margaret West Kinney

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      Chicago
      A. C. McClurg & Co.
      1905   

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      Copyright,
      By A. C. McClurg & Co.
      1905

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      Published March 18, 1905

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      Entered at Stationers' Hall, London

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      All rights reserved

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      The University Press, Cambridge, U.S.A.

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   |   When Alcuin taught the sons of Charlemagne,
   |   In the free schools of Aix, how kings should rule.
   |                   LONGFELLOW.

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      To the Memory
      of
      My Mother

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   ACKNOWLEDGMENT

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All the chapter headings of
this story are taken from lays
which were sung by harpers
and skalds before the
high-seats of heathen Norse chiefs
and in the halls of the
Anglo-Saxon kings, while England
was yet a heptarchy and the
name of Mohammed but little
known to men even on the
shores of the far-distant Bosphorus.

In most instances the selections are from Magnusson
and Morris's beautiful translations of "The Volsunga
Saga, and Certain Songs from the Elder Edda."  The
spirited lines from "Beowulf," "Maldon,"
"Finnesburh," and "Andreas" were found in Gummerle's
"Germanic Origins."  The translation of
"Brunanburh" is by Tennyson.

Apology is due for occasional alterations and elisions,
all of which will readily be detected by students of the
wonderful poetic fragments which have come down to
us from our Norse and Teutonic forefathers.

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   R. A. B.
   Denver, January 1, 1905.

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   ILLUSTRATIONS

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   `"'Bend lower, king's daughter--little vala with eyes
   like dewy violets!'"`_ . . . . . . . . . . Frontispiece

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   `"White to the lips, the young sea-king turned to his enemy"`_

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   `"'Love!' she cried, half hissing the word. 'You speak
   of love,--you, the heathen outlander!'"`_

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   `"'Go, Olvir!' muttered the king, thickly; 'go--before
   I forget that I once loved you'"`_

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.. _`CHAPTER I`:

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   FOR THE WHITE CHRIST

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   BOOK ONE

|     Now death has seized--
|   Bale and terror--my trusty people,
|   Laid down life have my liegemen all.
|                   BEOWULF.

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   CHAPTER I

|   Swans of the Dane-folk--
|   The ships of Sigmund--
|   Heads all gilt over,
|   And prows fair graven.
|                   LAY OF GUDRUN.

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Early of an April morning of
the year 778, a broad-beamed
Frisian trade-ship was drifting
with the ebb-tide down the
Seine estuary.  Wrapped about
by the morning vapors, the
deeply laden little craft floated
on the stream like a
dreamship.  The mists shut out all
view of sky and land and sea.
From the quarter-deck, the two men beside the steer-oar
could scarcely see across the open cargo-heaped waist to
where, gathered silently about the mast, a dozen or so
drowsy sailors stood waiting for the morning breeze.

The remainder of the crew lay sprawled upon the
casks and bales of merchandise, side by side with a score
of Frankish warriors.  All alike were heavy with drunken
slumber.  The shipmaster, a squat red-haired man of great
girth, regarded the overcome wassailers with an indifferent
eye; but the tall warrior beside him appeared far from
pleased by the sight.

"Is it so you rule your ship, Frisian?" he demanded.
"You should have stopped the wassail by midnight.  Here
we swim on the treacherous sea, while our men lie in
drunken stupor."

"We are yet in the stream, lord count," replied the
shipmaster.  "As to my Frisians, a dash of salt water will
soon rouse them.  If your landsmen are farther gone, what
odds?  Drunk or sober, they 'll be alike useless when we
strike rough seas."

The Frank's face lit with a smile as quick as its frown.

"There you are mistaken, Frisian," he said.  "A man
may bear the wild waters no love, yet owe them no fear.
Twice I have crossed this narrow sea, as envoy of our
Lord Karl to the kings of the Anglo-Saxons, and my
henchmen sailed with me."

"Yours are king's men, lord count,--all busked like
chiefs."

"Man for man, I would pit them against the followers
of any leader.  Better a few picked warriors, so armed,
than twice their number of common freemen."

"Well said!" muttered the Frisian; "a choice
following.  I 'd wager on them, even against Dane
steel--except the sea-wolves of Olvir Elfkin."

"Olvir Elfkin?  You speak of a liegeman of Sigfrid,
King of the Nordmannian Danes?"

"No, lord count; Earl Olvir is far too proud to let
himself be called the man of any king.  I sail far on
my trade-farings.  At the fair of Gardariki, across the
great gulf from the Swedes, I saw the Norse hero.  His
father was one-time king of the Trondir, a folk who dwell
beneath the very eaves of the ice-giants.  His mother was
an elf-maiden from the far Eastland.  Another time I will
tell you that tale, lord count.  I had it from Floki the
Crane, my Norse sword-brother.  But now I speak of Earl
Olvir's following.  He is so famed in the North that the
greatest heroes think it honor to fight beneath his banner;
and he rules the mail-clad giants as our great King Karl
rules his counts.  Six seasons in all he has come swooping
south from his ice-cliffs to harry the coasts of Jutland and
Nordmannia; and though even now he is little more than
a bairn in years, each time that he steered about for his
home fiord he left a war-trail of sunken longships to mark
his outbound course."

"I heard much of such sea-fights from that mighty
Dane hero Otkar,--he who went over to King Desiderius
and fought against our Lord Karl in the Lombard war."

"Ay; who has not heard of Otkar Jotuntop,--Otkar
the Dane?  This very Earl Olvir of whom I spoke is of
kin to the hero."

"Even I have heard of Lord Otkar," called out a
childish voice, and the speaker sprang lightly up the deck
ladder.  She was a lissome little maiden, barely out of
childhood, yet possessed of an unconscious dignity of look
and bearing that well matched her rich costume.

The warrior bowed low to her half-shy, half-gay greeting,
and smiling down into her violet eyes, he replied in
a tone of tender deference, "The Princess Rothada is
early awake.  Shall I not call the tiring-woman?"

The girl put up her hand to touch the coronet which
bound her chestnut hair, and her glance passed in naive
admiration down the gold-embroidered border of her
loose-sleeved overdress.

"Princess! princess!" she cried gayly.  "To think
that only four days have gone since with Gisela and the
other maidens I waited upon the blessed sisters!  And now
I wear a ring and silken dresses, and the greatest
war-count of the king my father--but are you not my
kinsman, lord count?"

"Your cousin, little princess.  My mother was a sister
of our lord king."

"Then you shall no longer call me princess, but
Rothada, and I shall call you Roland.  Few maidens can
own kinsmen so tall and grand!" and Rothada stared
up in half-awed admiration at the count's war-dinted
helmet and shining scale-hauberk.

The warrior's blue eyes glowed, but there was no
vanity with his frank pleasure.

"Saint Michael give me skill to shield you from all
harm!" he said.

"Surely he has already strengthened your arm.  In
all the land you stand second only to the king my
father!--But you spoke of Otkar the Dane.  Tell me more
about him, cousin.  Already I know that he was a heathen
count from the far North, more learned than any monk
or priest, and in battle mightier even than my father.
Two winters ago there came to Chelles a maiden who
knew many tales of the Saxon and Lombard wars,--Fastrada--"

Roland's cheeks flushed, and he stooped forward
eagerly.

"Fastrada!" he exclaimed.  "You knew her?"

"For a winter's time---"

"You will meet her again.  She is now one of the
queen's maidens,--the fairest of them all."

"Then you like her, cousin," replied Rothada, with
innocent candor.  "It was different with Gisela and me.
Many of the maidens feared her, and she broke the holy
rules and talked so much of warriors that the good abbess
sent her away.  Yet that is long since--she may have
changed."

"None could but like her now, child," replied Roland,
softly.  Yet even as he spoke, some unwelcome thought
blotted the smile from his face.  He frowned and stared
moodily out into the wavering mists.

The girl followed his look, and the sight of the water
alongside recalled her to the present.

"See, kinsman," she said, with a sudden return of
gayety, "the sailors spread the sail.  How long shall we
be upon the sea until we reach the Garonne?"

"Were we travelling by land, I could tell you, little
princess.  But I am no sea-count.  Our shipmaster can
best answer you."

The Frisian turned to the daughter of the great king
with an uncouth attempt at a bow.

"Wind and wave are fickle, maiden, and no sea is
rougher than the Vascon Bay," he grumbled.  "But with
fair wind I land you at Casseneuil while the lord count's
horsemen yet ride in Aquitania."

"That I doubt, man," said Roland.  "Yet here is
promise of fair sailing.  The sun melts the mists, and with
it comes the breeze to sweep them away."

"Ay; the fog breaks.  Between sun and wind we 'll
see both shores before the ship gains full headway."

"I already see--  Look, man!  Can we be so close
inshore?  What flashes so brightly?"

The Frisian wheeled about, an anxious frown lowering
beneath his shaggy forelock.  His alarm was only too well
founded.  A puff of the freshening breeze swept before
it the last bank of vapor, and revealed with startling
clearness two grim black hulls, along whose sweeping bulwarks
hung rows of yellow shields.  On the lofty prows shone
the gilded dragon-heads whose glitter had first caught
Roland's eye.  The single masts were bare of yard and sail;
but along each side a dozen or more great sweeps thrust out
beneath the scaly shield-row like the legs of a dragon.

"Danes!" gasped the Frisian, and from the grimly
beautiful viking ships, every line of which spoke of grace
and speed, he turned a despairing eye upon his clumsy
trade-ship.

"Lost! lost!" he cried.  "Already they come about
to give chase--Garpike and the lame duck!  Paul seize
all vikings!"

"No, Frisian," rejoined Roland.  "These, in truth,
are war-ships; yet they come in peace.  Dane or other,
they dare not attack us on the coast of Neustria."

As though in retort to this proud boast, a red shield
swung up to each Danish masthead, and across the water
rolled a fierce war-cry.  Roused by the wild shout, all
the sleepers in the trade-ship's waist sprang to their feet.
But while the Frisians huddled about the mast like
frightened sheep, the Franks met the sudden danger with the
steadiness of seasoned warriors.  At a sign from their
lord, they crept aft, sword and axe in hand, and crouched
on the deck behind the bulwarks.  As they made ready
for battle, Roland caught up the hand of Rothada, who
stood gazing at the viking ships in mingled terror and
admiration.

"Princess," he said, "the heathen shoot far with bow
and sling.  It is time you sought shelter below.  For a
while you can there lie in safety."

"But you, cousin?  The Dane ships swarm with
warriors.  You and your men will all be slain!  Do not
fight them, Roland!  Let there be no bloodshed."

"A wise maiden!" cried the shipmaster.  "Mark the
odds,--one stroke brings death to us all.  Yield, lord
Frank!  What if they give two or three to Odin?  The
rest they 'll spare for thralls or set free for wergild."

"Ah, Roland, yield, then!  Do not anger the terrible
heathen.  My father will soon ransom us."

"And what will he say to his daughter's faithless
warder,--to the coward who, without a blow, yielded a
king's child into heathen thraldom?--By my sword, the
Danes take you only over the corpse of the last Frank in
this ship!"

But proudly as he spoke, when he swung the girl
down from the deck, the count's heart sickened at thought
of her helplessness.  How would the little cloister-maiden
fare in the hands of the fierce sea-thieves?  The anguish
of the thought filled him with renewed rage.  He gripped
his sword-hilt.

"Now to die, with a score of Danes for death-bed,"
he muttered.

Then a sudden hope flashed from his blue eyes.  He
seized the steersman by the shoulder, and shouted
joyfully: "Ho, Frisian; we may yet go free!  Cast over the
cargo!  The breeze freshens; we 'll outsail the thieves!"

"Only another viking could do that--yet the cloth
bales will float--the Danes may linger to pick them
up.  A good trick, if old--  But what--  Curse of the
foul fiend!  Look to seaward--three more
longships--across our course!"

"The race is run!  Strike sail, man, and go forward
to your sailors.  You and they may so save your skins.
I and my men die here."

"I, too, can die," answered the shipmaster, stolidly,
and he drew a curved sword-knife from his belt.

"Go; you wear no war-gear," commanded Roland.

"I will fight berserk, as they say in the North."

"Then take my shield, and with it the thanks of
a Frankish count.  No braver man ever fought beside me."

The Frisian took the shield, unmoved by the praise.

"Once I had a Northman for sword-fellow.  They
called him Floki the Crane.  From him I learned the ways
of vikings.  They know how to die."

"No less do my henchmen," rejoined Roland, and he
shook the great mane of tawny hair which fell about his
shoulders.  Here was no Romanized Neustrian, tainted
and weakened by the vices of a corrupt civilization, but
a German warrior,--an Austrasian of pure blood.  He
watched the approaching Danes, eager for battle.

The Frisian, as he slipped the shield upon his arm,
stared at the Frank with a look of dull admiration.  But
when an arrow whistled close overhead, he wheeled
hastily about and shouted command to strike sail.  The
order was obeyed with zeal, for the crew stood trembling
in dread of the Danish missiles.  Down rushed the great
wool sheet, and an exultant shout rolled out from the
pursuing longships.  Count Roland smiled grimly.

"Hearken, men!" he said; "the heathen think we
yield.  They lay aside bow and sling.  All will be axe and
sword play.  They shall learn the taste of Frankish
steel!"

The Frisian shook his head: "No, no, lord count.
They 'll board on either quarter, and overwhelm us.  Your
men are too scattered.  The Danes--"

"No, by my sword!  The leading craft sheers off."

"She steers to meet the seaward ships!  The Norns
smile upon us, Frank.  We are doomed; but many a
Dane goes before us to Hel's Land!"

"Brave words, man, though strange on the lips of
a Christian," replied Roland, and he drew his short-hafted
battle-axe.  "Now, men, make ready.  The Dane ship
closes like a hound on the deer's flank.  It will find the
stag at bay!  When I cast my axe, leap up and strike
for Christ and king."

A low murmur came back from the crouching Franks,
and they gripped their weapons with added firmness.
They were picked men, who had fought in all the wars
of Karl and of Pepin his father.  One, a hoary giant of
sixty, could even boast that as a boy he had swung a sword
in the fateful battle of Tours, when Karl the Hammer
had shattered the conquering hosts of Mohammed.  Death
had no terrors for such iron-hearted warriors.  All they
asked was the chance to sell their lives dearly.  Like
hunted wolves, they lay in wait, while the shouting
Danes rowed up to seize their prize.





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.. _`CHAPTER II`:

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   CHAPTER II

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|   Thought shall be the harder, heart the keener,
|   Mood shall be the more, as our might lessens.
|   Grief and sorrow forever
|   On the man that leaves this sword-play!
|                   SONG OF MALDON.

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Already the longship lay
close astern.  A harsh
command sent the oars rattling in
through their ports; and as the
dragon prow overlapped the
flank of the quarry, a dozen
grappling-hooks fell clanking
across the bulwark.  Half the
longship's crew swarmed in the
bows,--a wild-eyed, skin-clad
band, staring with fierce greed at the casks and bales with
which the trade-ship was laden.  None of them looked twice
at the two men standing so quietly in the middle of the
deck.  In their eagerness for loot, all pressed forward to
board the trade-ship, and so little did they dream of
resistance that many bore their weapons sheathed.

They were soon to learn their mistake.  As the
first Dane leaped upon the bulwark, Roland swept his
axe overhead and hurled it at the luckless viking.
Across the front the Dane's wolfskin serk was thickly
sewn with iron rings; but the axe-blade shore through
iron and hide like cloth, and buried itself in the viking's
breast.

The surprise could not have been more complete.  As
the axe flashed over their heads, the hidden warriors
sprang up and fell upon the Danes with all the fury of
despair.  Their lord and the Frisian sprang forward beside
them, and the Frankish blades threshed across the
bulwarks in swift strokes that cut down a dozen vikings
before they could guard themselves.  More in astonishment
than dismay, the foremost Danes recoiled upon their
fellows, causing a jam and confusion that prolonged the
vantage of the Franks.  Like flails the weapons of the
grey warriors beat upon the round shields of the heathen.

"Strike! strike!" they shouted in the fierce joy of
battle.  "Christ and king!  Down with the pagans! death
to the sea-thieves!"

On the right the shipmaster thrust his pointed sword-knife
into the faces of the enemy; on the left the axe of
the hoary giant of Tours fell like Thor's hammer; while
between the two, Roland, wielding his sword in both hands,
cut down a Dane with every blow.  His eyes flashed with
the fire of battle, and as he struck he shouted tauntingly:
"Ho, Danes! ho, sea-thieves! here is sword-play!  Run,
cast your spears from shelter!  Frank steel bites deep!"

The answer was a roar of fury.  The death of their
fellows only roused the Danes to wild rage.  Their huge
bodies quivered, and eyes yet more fiery than Roland's
flamed with the battle-light.  The air rang with the clash of
weapons, and the terrible war-cry swelled into a deafening
roar,--"Thor aid!  Thor aid!  Death to the Frank dogs!"

In a mass the vikings surged forward and leaped at
the bulwark.  Vainly the Franks sought to withstand the
shock.  The crashing strokes of Roland's sword kept clear
all the space within its sweep; but on either side the
vikings burst across the bulwark in overwhelming numbers.
Shield clashed against shield, and blades beat upon
helmet and hauberk with the clang of a hundred smithies.
No warriors could long withstand such odds.  Down went
the Frisian under the blade of a berserk axe, and after
him fell the old giant of Tours, a throttled Dane in his
grip.  Then four more Franks fell, all together, and the
whole line reeled back across the deck.  The defence was
broken.  The Danes yelled in fierce triumph and surged
forward to thrust their handful of foes over into the sea.
Many warriors so hard pressed would have flung down
their weapons and begged for quarter.  Not so the
henchmen of the king's kin.

"Back to back!" called their count, and for a moment
he checked the Danish rush by the sweep of his single
sword.  Brief as was the respite, it gave his followers
time to rally.  They sprang together and ringed about
their leader in a shieldburg that all the wild fury of the
vikings could not break.  Like their lord, these grey
warriors were Rhinemen of pure German blood.  Between
them and their foes was slight difference other than the
veneer of a nominal Christianity.  Drunk with the wine
of battle, they whirled their reddened blades and rejoiced
to slay and be slain in Odin's game.  One by one, they
staggered and fell, striking even in the death-agony.
Those who were left only narrowed their ring to close
the gaps, and fought on.

Of all the virtues, Northman and Teuton alike gave
first place to courage.  Wonder seized the Danes at the
very height of their blood-fury.  Never before had even
they, the fierce sea-wolves, witnessed such sword-play.
Overcome by admiration, many drew back as the last few
Franks fell dying.  When Roland stood alone within their
circle, by common impulse they lowered their weapons
and shouted to spare the hero.  Only one voice
dissented--but it was the voice of the Danish chief.

The sea-king had been steering his ship, and so
unexpected and furious was the fight that its end came before
he could force a way through the press of his own men.
Enraged that he had failed to come to blows, he now
pushed to the front, a grand and imposing figure in his
scale hauberk and gold-winged helmet.  But beneath the
helmet's bright rim lowered a face more brutal and
ferocious than a Saxon outlaw's.

"Way!" he shouted; and as the vikings parted, he
stepped over the slain to where Roland leaned heavily
upon his sword.

"So-ho!" he jeered, and he eyed the gasping Frank
with cruel satisfaction.  "They breed bears in the South
worth the baiting."

Roland's eyes flashed as he answered: "Heathen
boar! you may well talk of baiting.  Count your men who
have fallen.  Had I half my strength, I 'd send you with
them to burn in Tartarus!"

"Had you all your strength, Frank, I should strike
off your hands with Ironbiter my sword, and cast you
overboard to the sea-god.  As it is, I 'll take you thrall
and break your back on Thor's Stone at the Winter Sacrifice.
Next Yule the followers of Hroar the Cruel shall
drink to Thor and Frey from the skull of Earl Roland, the
kin of the Frank king."

The count started in astonishment.

"Tell me, Dane!" he cried; "how do you know my
name?  Not by chance did you lie in the Seine Mouth!"

"True, thrall; I can swear to that," answered Hroar,
and he laughed.  "Be certain I would not risk King
Sigfrid's longships thus far south without sure gain.  It
is no harm to speak truth to a man who is doomed,--dead
men tell no tales.  May you have joy of your answer!"

"I laugh at death.  Now tell me, Dane!"

"Know then, my merry thrall, that tidings of your
sailing flew to Nordmannia straight from the hall of your
king.  Sigfrid had word from Wittikind the Saxon, and he
from well-wishers across the Rhine.  Not all your king's
foes dwell without his borders.  Some speak Frankish for
mother-tongue--"

"You lie!  No Frank is traitor."

Hroar only laughed and answered jeeringly: "Maybe
a little bird told how Earl Roland should sail south from
the Seine with the Frank king's daughter,--a little bird
in Frankish plumage.  He sang a golden song for me.
Your ship rides deep with her cargo, and Frisian thralls
fetch a good price at the Gardariki fair.--But I would
see your princess.  If she is young and comely, I may
have other use for her than to grind meal."

At the brutal words, fury seized upon Roland.  His
eyes blazed, and rage lent sudden strength to his tottering
frame.

"Heathen dog!" he gasped; "never shall your eyes
look on Rothada!"

Before Hroar could guard or leap aside, the Frank's
sword swung overhead and whirled down upon his helmet
like a sledge.  Had the casque been of common make,
Hroar would have met his fate on the spot.  As it was,
the blow beat a great dint in the gilded steel and sent the
sea-king reeling backward, stunned and blinded.  A dozen
vikings sprang between to shield him, but Roland's sword
dropped at their feet.  Faint from loss of blood, and utterly
spent by that last great blow, the count swayed forward.
Darkness shut out from him the ring of shouting heathen.
He fell swooning upon the heap of corpses.

"A champion! a champion!  The Frank has won
his freedom!" cried the vikings, and they pressed about
to raise the fallen warrior.  Heedless of their own wounds,
they sought to bind up his injuries.  Their warlike but
generous natures yielded homage to the hero who had
met overwhelming odds without dismay and had struck
a berserk blow even when falling.  They forgot the
boasted cruelty of their leader.

Never before had the sea-king suffered such a helmet
stroke.  For several moments he stood dazed, blinking
at the stars which flashed before his eyes, while his head
hummed like a kettle.  Then his vision cleared, and he
saw what his men were about.  Into their midst he sprang,
gnashing his teeth like a wolf.

"Aside, dogs!" he yelled.  "Give me my thrall.  I
will tear out his lying tongue!"

The Danes gave back before the threatening dagger
of their chief, and he sprang upon his victim with a yell
of triumph.  The Frank should pay dearly for that blow!

Some of the milder vikings muttered against the deed.
This Frank was no whining coward, no low-born outlander,
but a fair-haired hero, such as the Sigurds and
Beowulfs of the olden days.

At the best, the Danes bore little love for the cruel
Jutland champion whom King Sigfrid had set over them.
So now they murmured openly.  But Hroar was no less
fearless than he was cruel.  Regardless of their protests,
he turned the fallen Frank upon his back.  No wolf ever
fell upon his prey with fiercer greed.

Already he had set about his deed, when a cry of
surprise from his followers caused him to look up.  The
crowd had opened, and through the midst of the warriors
came a little child-maid, the like of whom the brutal Dane
had never seen.  Utterly lost to self in her fear for her
kinsman, the girl advanced with outstretched arms, her
tender eyes full of reproach, her pure young face aglow
with spiritual light.  Had she been Skuld, youngest of the
Norns, the Dane could not have been more astonished.
He glared at the child in dull wonder.  Could this be
Freya's maid,--Gifion, Goddess of Innocence and
Maidenhood?  At the thought, he started back, a superstitious
dread clutching at his heart.  But when the first shock of
surprise had passed, he perceived the Frankish fashion of
the girl's double tunic and the circlet that marked her rank.

"Spawn of Loki!" he snarled.  "It's only the Frank
king's daughter."

"I am Rothada, and Karl the King is my father," said
the girl, with simple dignity.  "Are you not the Dane
count?"

Hroar scowled assent.

"Speak," he said.

The girl's courage began to falter before the ferocity
of the sea-king's stare, and, shuddering, she gazed about
her at the heaps of dead and wounded warriors.  But she
saw friendly looks upon many of the viking faces, and
forgot her fears once more in the thought of her
fellow-captives.

"I come to offer ransom," she said,--"wergild for all
who yet live.  My father will pay for every one,--Frank
and Frisian alike."

"Doubtless!" sneered Hroar.  "But we will talk of
that in Nordmannia before King Sigfrid.  Wittikind may
have a word to say in the matter.  One thrall at least
I keep as my share of the loot.  Stand aside while I put
my mark on him."

For the second time the Dane turned to his victim.
But Rothada was quicker than he.  With a piteous cry
for mercy, she flung herself upon Roland and sought to
shield him from the knife with her own slender body.
The sight would have melted any heart that held the
slightest trace of nobleness.  It stirred the vikings to open
mutiny.  They renewed their protests, with deeper menace
in their tones, and when Hroar bent and grasped the
maiden roughly by the shoulder, one of the foremost
swung up his sword.

"Stay, Hroar!" he commanded.  "I am not used to
looking on at foul deeds.  You must first pluck out my
eyes before you take the Frank's tongue."

"Ay, and mine!" growled a second viking.

Hroar stood erect and glared at the daring men.  But
neither gave way before his terrible look.  They had the
backing of their fellows.  The sea-king saw this, yet his
hand went to the hilt of his heavy sword.  The fight was
averted, none too soon, by a scarred old berserk.

"Bear wisdom to Urd!" he called scoffingly.  "Hroar
bickers with his wolves, while the Norse hawks swoop
upon him."

At the warning, every Dane aboard the trade-ship
wheeled about and stared seaward.  The harsh alarm of
a war-horn, braying over the water, was not needed to
explain the situation.  A bowshot away they saw their
second longship surging at full speed up the estuary.  A
fountain of white spray spouted from under its forefoot,
and the boiling sea alongside, threshed to foam by the
oar-blades, told that every bench was full, every rower pulling
to the utmost of his strength.  Not without cause!  Close
in the Dane's wake the three longships of the outer estuary
came gliding over the water in swift pursuit.  Each lay
far over under the pressure of its great square sail, and
from the mail-clad crews packed along the fighting
gangway behind the weather bulwarks, rose jeers and grim
laughter at the efforts of the Danes to escape.

"Norse!" shouted Hroar.  "Thor! they mean to
attack us!  Aboard ship and man the oars--yet stay!
First scuttle the trader.  We leave no booty for the
fiordmen!"

"They strike sail!" cried the old berserk.  "Wait a
little.  They do not swing the red shield.  It may be a
jest."

"A bitter jest--  Ho! the foremost comes on alone.
Aboard ship, all, and stand ready to cast off.  I wait the
Norse earl here."





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`CHAPTER III`:

.. class:: center large

   CHAPTER III

.. vspace:: 2

|   Thou the bane of thy brothers wast,
|   The chief of thy kin,--whence curse of Hel
|   Awaits thee, good as thy wits may be!
|                   BEOWULF.

.. vspace:: 2

At the alarm of the Danes, the
trembling heart of the little
princess leaped with joy.  But
the sudden hope gave way as
quickly to renewed terror.  Why
should the cruel sea-count linger
on the trade-ship alone if not to
carry out his ferocious revenge?
Closer than ever the girl clasped
the senseless warrior in her
arms, until the blood from his wounded head seeped warm
through her silken kirtle, and the bell-like rim of his
helmet bruised her tender bosom.

Breathless, she listened to the rush and outcry of the
vikings as with their wounded fellows they poured back
into the longship.  Then, in the lull which followed, she
could hear the smothered wail of her tiring-woman,
crouched in the cubby beneath her.  Gaining courage
from the silence, she at last ventured to raise her head.
She saw Hroar at the farther bulwark, gazing intently
down the estuary.  He did not move, and Rothada rose
timidly to look around.

The second Dane ship was coming about only a few
yards astern; but its crew, like the crew of its consort,
were far too intent on watching the Norse ship to give
heed to the little maiden.  Even the Frisian sailors had
ceased to cower, and were lined along the bulwarks
forward, full of eager hope that the approaching longship
might bring them a change of masters.  Hroar's cruelty
was only too well known throughout Frisia.

Rothada also gazed at the stately prow of the stranger
and joined in the longing of her fellow-captives that the
new-comers would seize the trade-ship for their own.  But
the little maiden's faith gave her still fairer hopes than
those cherished by the Frisians.  To her girlish innocence,
deliverance now seemed certain.  She had only to appeal
to the Norse count, and he would accept ransom for all.
Tears of gratitude shone in her violet eyes as she stooped
to bind up with deft fingers such of Roland's wounds as
the Danes had failed to stanch.

Her task ended, the girl started up again to gaze over
into the Norse ship as it glided alongside.  The vessel
swarmed with huge warriors, whose superiority to the
Danes both in discipline and armor was so striking that
even the convent-bred maiden could not but perceive the
difference.  Against such men, even had the odds been
reversed, the Danes could not have hoped to hold their own.

When Rothada comprehended this, she clasped her
hands in joy and looked eagerly about for the Norse
leader.  A small blue banner, emblazoned with a gold
star, fluttered on the longship's stern, and Rothada's first
thought was that the blond viking at the helm beneath
it must be the sea-king.  But then, standing alone in the
vessel's prow, she saw a warrior whom even she could
not but recognize as the Norse leader.  His round casque,
though wingless, was of blue steel and rimmed with a gold
band in whose front sparkled a garnet star.  Even more
beautiful was the young sea-king's serk, or coat, of
ring-mail, which shimmered in the sun like ice.  His small
round shield differed from the usual Norse and Frankish
patterns both in the greater convexity of its shape and in
the material of its face,--a disc of hammered steel.  Its
bluish surface, polished like a mirror, was traced with gold
damascening both on the boss and on the thickened rim.

Yet with all the young sea-king's splendid war-gear,
so slight and boyish did he appear in contrast to his
followers that Rothada at first thought he could be little
older than herself.  But when he stepped forward and
answered Hroar's hail, it was with a haughtiness of tone
and bearing far other than childlike.

Even as he spoke, the Northman sprang upon the
bulwark of his ship and, great as was the distance which
yet separated the vessels, leaped for the trade-ship's deck.
With a cry of astonishment, Hroar sprang sideways
from before him, down upon the smooth surface of the
bales of goods in the after hold; while high above the
water the leaper's bright figure flashed through the air and
shot in over the bulwark.  Lightly as a panther, the
Northman struck the deck and turned instantly to confront the
Dane.  But Hroar stood motionless, overcome with wonder
at the daring leap, and did not seek to regain the deck.

Seeing that there was no danger of immediate attack,
the Northman lowered his shield and looked about with
keen glances at the slaughtered Franks and Danes.

"Thor!" he cried, "these Rhinemen fought well.
Would that I had led the heroes!  But what's this?--a
Frank yet alive, and beside him a child-maid!"

Now entirely heedless of the Danish sea-king, the
Northman advanced to stare at the forlorn survivors of
Hroar's attack.  Had Rothada possessed her cousin's
knowledge of men and customs, she would have stared
back at the sea-king in bewilderment.  The haughty face
which so coldly confronted her was dark and oval, with
arched nose, lofty brow, and black eyes of intense
brightness,--features part Arab, part Greek in character, but
in no respect Norse.  Yet the young chief's hair proved
quite as fully that his leadership must be founded on
kingly Norse blood.  It was of silky fineness and curled
down beneath his helmet rim in locks like burnished red
gold.  His dress also was that of a king's son.  The cloak
of sable, clasped by a jewelled brooch, was lined with
cloth of gold, while money-rings coiled their yellow
spirals around the ring-mail sleeves which extended to
his wrists.

Abashed by the extreme brightness of the sea-king's
gaze, Rothada lowered her admiring eyes to the splendid
recurved sword which swung at his belt.  Roland could
have told her that the weapon was a sword of the Saracen
folk,--a Damascus blade, which would bend to the hilt
without snapping and, like the Wrath of Sigurd, cut alike
through iron bars and floating wool.  With the
peace-thongs knotted, even that far-famed blade of Regin's
forging could not have compared with this magnificent
weapon, whose sheath sparkled with gems, and upon
whose pommel blazed the splendor of a priceless ruby.

The glint of gold and jewels recalled to Rothada's
mind her own high rank, and gave her courage to glance
up again.  At sight of the milder light in the dark eyes of
the sea-king, she raised her arms to him appealingly.

"Bright count of the sea!" she cried, "the dear Christ
has sent you to save us.  The cruel Dane's knife shall
not harm my kinsman!"

The Northman glanced down at the wounded Frank.

"Who is this warrior?" he demanded.

"My kinsman, Count Roland.  He is a high lord of
King Karl, my father--"

"Your father,--the Frank king!" cried the Northman,
and his eyes flashed a look at the girl that made
her tremble.  But again their keenness softened, and he
pointed to her bosom.

"There's blood upon your kirtle," he muttered.  "Do
these Danes war upon babes and bairns?"

"It is my kinsman's blood.  The Dane count would
have harmed him as he lay helpless.  I tried to shield him."

"Bravely done, little maiden!  Though twice over the
daughter of King Karl, the deed shall count you good
weight in the balance.  Take heart!  Not all vikings are
swine.  Olvir Thorbiornson does not war upon maids and
stricken heroes.  Now I go to settle with this Dane boar
who rends fallen foes."

"It is time to cease prattle," Hroar called up jeeringly.
"Come, talk with a warrior.  What says the bairn
with outland face?  Will he meet a sea-king singly in
sword-play, and stake the trade-ship as prize?"

At the challenge a strange smile lit up the
Northman's dark face; but he replied gravely: "A shrewd
bargain, Dane!  You would have me fight for what I need
only reach out my hand to take.  First tell me your name."

"You 're late from your mother's bower, bairn.  Few
vikings ask the name of Hroar the Cruel."

"Hroar!  Hroar the Cruel!" repeated the Northman,
in a smothered voice.  His hand closed on the hilt
of his sword, and his face went white with anger.  Had
Hroar seen the look in his eyes, he would not have grinned
at his pallor or at the soft lisping voice in which the
Northman answered: "Go, bid your other ship make fast.  All
craft shall lie quiet while I make an end of Hroar the Cruel."

The Dane laughed derisively, yet turned to repeat
to his own crew the command which the Northman
shouted over the opposite bulwark.  Soon all six ships
were drifting abreast on the stream,--the two Danes on
one side of the trader, the three Norse craft on the other.
The Danish crews kept warily aboard their ships, ready
either for fight or flight.  But as the first Norse ship
grappled, from its prow a blond young giant leaped, axe
in hand, sheer over Hroar's head, and down upon the
cargo beyond him.

"Loki!" cried Hroar, starting back.  "Erling Fairhair!
The dead come to life!"

"Your guilt stings you, murderer," rejoined Olvir.
"This is only Liutrad, son of Erling--but he bears his
father's axe; and now comes one--"

"Ha, Floki--Floki the Crane!" gasped Hroar; and
he glared like a trapped wolf at the strange viking
who sprang down over the bulwark after young Liutrad.
Though little broader than his fellow-Northmen, the man
towered up a good span above seven feet in height, and
the long-shafted halberd which he bore on his shoulder
did not tend to lessen the effect of his giant stature.

At sight of the Dane chief a ferocious smile distorted
the wry face of the giant, and he bent to him mockingly.

"Heya, old shipmate!" he croaked.  "Many winters
have sped since we parted on the Rhine bank."

Hroar licked his dry lips and answered thickly:
"Those were good old days when we followed Thorbiorn
and Otkar over sea and land.  I call to mind the loot of
Kars, when Thorbiorn bore off the emir's daughter for
bride.  You were not so mean in those days as to sail under
a boy whose outland swartness--"

"--Proves the blood of the emir's daughter."

"How!--this elf the son of Thorbiorn Viking?"

"Ay," murmured Olvir; "the son of the lord you
betrayed.  Ho, Danes! now shall the murderer pay his
blood-debt.  Many times I have harried your dune coasts
in search of this foul traitor, who, one and twenty winters
gone, sold his sword-fellows and his earl into the ambush
of the boy Karl."

"That is a lie!" shouted Hroar.  "Only to save my
own life--"

"Be still!" commanded Olvir.  "The Crane shall
bear witness for me.  State the charge, Floki."

The lofty Northman stepped upon a cask, and his grey
eyes swept their gaze over the Danish ships and back to
the Danish sea-king, cold and hard as steel.

"Hearken, Danes," he began in a dry croak; "Floki
the Crane is not given to lying.  He can strike his bill
straight to the mark, and his tongue thrusts as straight.
Doubtless this murderer has told you how in days gone
by Thorbiorn Viking fell in the Frankish ambush on Rhine
Stream.  I, too, was there.  Like the earl, I was struck
down by the Frankish spears.  I saw the boy Karl rush
out upon our fallen leader; then a war-hammer stretched
me witless.  When I saw again, before me stood the traitor
Hroar.  In his hand was the sword of his lord, and he
was making blood-play of his own shipmate, Hauk
Otterson, whom men called Longarm.  When Hauk was dead,
his slayer came to me.  He was minded first to cut off my
feet, because, as he said, I was too tall.  But then came the
son of Pepin, and, casting at the traitor the gold for which he
had sold his fellows, bade him begone from Frank Land.
When, after many years, I broke from the Frankish
thrall-bonds, I searched long and fruitlessly for the murderer.
He had hid his shame in the Saxon forests."

"He lies--the croaking stork lies!  There is no
proof!" cried Hroar, loudly; but his eyes fell before the
look of his grim accuser, and glanced uneasily over the
bloody deck, until a dry chuckle from Floki stung him
out of his caution.

"At the least, you will grant that the charge is
somewhat stale," he sneered.

"The fouler the deed's stench," retorted Floki,
thrusting forward his sharp face with a look of deadly
menace.  "We have run you down at last, coward, and
you shall pay your share of the blood-debt.  Hearken,
Danes!  The viking's son is not hunting this boar alone;
he hunts bigger game!  When I, hopeless of finding the
traitor singly, after many winters fared home to
Trondheim to gain aid, I found this unknown son of Thorbiorn
dwelling outlaw in Starkad's grave-mound with Otkar, his
foster-father.  Since then each season we have scoured
your dune coasts for the traitor.  But the great wielder of
Starkad's axe set foot on the trail of mightier game.
Who of the North has not heard how, in the hall of
King Carloman the Frank, and in the realm of Desiderius
the Lombard, Otkar Jotuntop, wisest and strongest of
warriors, fought and plotted against King Karl with all
the craft of his wit and lore and the terror of his axe?
Yet the grey bear failed to wreak vengeance against
Thorbiorn's slayer, and his ashes lie in Starkad's mound.  But
here above me stands his bright fosterling, and when Olvir
Thorbiornson has slain Hroar the traitor, he shall sail on
to bring to an end the task of Otkar."

"Otkar--Otkar!" echoed a feeble voice.  "Who
speaks of the Dane hero?"

As the viking leaders wheeled about in surprise,
Roland, aided by Rothada, sat up and stared at them with
dazed eyes.

"The Frank earl!" muttered Olvir.  "You 've heard
of him, Floki,--Count Roland, the Frank king's kinsman."

"Ay, ring-breaker; I remember how, when he
returned, Otkar spoke much of this brave Frank."

"Even when he lay dying--"

"Saint Michael! he is not dead,---Otkar the Dane,
who, all but single-handed, cut his way from Pavia
through the thick of our host!  I stood in his battle-path,
thinking, in my boyish folly, to check the rush of the grey
bear.  But he was high-minded; he struck with the flat.
Would that he had not fled to the Greeks!  When the
king saw his battle-path, he swore to make him Count of
the Saxon Mark."

"How!  Otkar his foe?" exclaimed Olvir.

The Frank stared up at him and nodded faintly as he
sank back upon the heap of bodies.  The Northman gazed
back at him for a little with a puzzled look.  But an
impatient growl from Hroar recalled his attention to the
Dane.

"Hark, my Frank hero," he said; "we will talk of
this later.  Now my sword sings the death of Hroar the
betrayer.  Run, maiden; fetch drink for the hero, that
he may have strength to watch the sword-game."

"So the laggard at last draws sword," sneered Hroar.
"He has had his pleasure; now I claim mine.  Ironbiter
thirsts; yet before he tastes the warm blood the pledge
of the fight shall be made known.  Speak out, bairn!  If
I win I go hence with trade-ship and all, unhindered,--let
the charge against me be what it may."

"Such are the terms,--all men bear witness!"

A grin of cunning triumph broadened the Dane's
ferocious face.

"Then now is Hroar ready," he called loudly.  "Now
will Ironbiter split the skull of this base-born changeling
as it split the skull of the man he calls father."

.. _`44`:

A terrible oath burst from the lips of Floki; but Olvir
silenced him with a look.  Then, white to the lips, the
young sea-king turned again to his enemy.

"Dare you repeat that lie?" he asked in the soft lisp
that betrayed to his steersmen how deadly was his anger.

"So the bairn begins to quake," jeered the Dane,
deceived by the Northman's seeming mildness.  "Even so
quaked that braggart Thorbiorn when I swung Ironbiter
his own sword above his head."

"That is a double lie," rejoined Olvir, in the same
quiet voice.  "If you met Thorbiorn, son of Starkad, in
battle, it was not he who quaked.  Nor did you slay the
hero.  When he lay dying, pierced by the darts of hidden
foes, the boy Karl ran from behind and thrust him in the
back.  Floki is no liar."

"No, by Odin," boasted Hroar.  "Floki did not see
all.  Pepin's son sought to stay me when I ran to end the
snared wolf.  Would that I had broken the back of the
meddlesome bairn!  Floki has told how he drove me from
his camp before I was half done my play with the thralls."

"Enough, murderer!" cried Olvir.  "Now are you
doomed; look on your bane!"

With the words, the young sea-king's hand gripped
the hilt of his curved sword.  The blade flashed from its
sheath like a tongue of blue flame.  Proudly its wielder
held the weapon up before him and gazed at the play of
iridescent light on its mirror surface.

"Al-hatif, the Priceless! the Beautiful!" he half
whispered.  Then suddenly his black eyes flamed with a
terrible joy.  He flung off his cloak and leaped down
before Hroar, whirling the blade about his head.

"Come, Dane! come, coward!" he shouted.  "Long
have I sought you.  Come to the serpent's kiss! come
to your bane!  Hel's blue hand outstretches; Fenir shall
rend you!"

At the biting taunts the Dane's massive figure quivered
with passion, and all the malevolence of his nature
showed in his brutal face.  Up swung his ponderous
sword, and he advanced upon his foe like an aurochs bull.

"Leap, bairn!" he yelled.  "Ironbiter swings; he
will split your swart face!"

But the Northman did not leap.

"Strike and see," he called tauntingly.

Even more scornful than his words was the Northman's
bearing as he lowered his sword and stood with
the little shield raised overhead.  To thus set himself in
the way of his huge opponent seemed little short of
madness alike to the Danish vikings and to Roland.  The
Frank could not restrain a groan of despair, while Rothada,
darting back to his side with a flask of wine, cried out in
terror.  Already the great sword whirled overhead to cut
down their champion.

A glance at the Norse steersmen might have reassured
the captives.  The blond young giant and his lofty
companion were waiting the outcome of Hroar's attack no less
calmly than their slender leader.  Cool and quiet, Olvir
faced the savage Dane, his lip curled in a haughty smile;
but his eyes glittered like an angry snake's.  Stung by the
scorn of the smile, Hroar put all his strength into the
sweep of his sword.

"Thor aid!" he roared, and the sword whirled down
with terrific force.  But the Northman only smiled the
more scornfully and caught the blow on his tilted shield
with such consummate skill that the blade glanced
harmlessly aside from the steel surface.

A deafening uproar greeted the feat, the Danes on the
one side crying out their wonder, while the Northmen
across answered with shouts of triumph.  The noise
ceased as abruptly as it burst out.  Olvir had raised his
curved sword and tapped the hauberk of the Dane in
warning.  Had he wished it, he could have slain his
enemy then; for Hroar was so astonished by the turning
of the blow that he stood with lowered shield.

"Ward yourself, Dane!" cried the Northman; and as
Hroar started back, the Damascus sword began to dart
forward like the beak of a striking heron.  Up whirled
Ironbiter for a second stroke; but Olvir did not wait its
fall.  With a wild cry he hurled himself upon the Dane
like a maddened wolf.  Above, below, on all sides, his
sword flashed around Hroar's shield in thrusts so swift
that no eye could follow.  In vain Hroar sought to cut
down with sweeping strokes the bright figure that leaped
in upon him till the two shields clashed; in vain he
sought to avoid the lightning sword-thrusts that dazzled
his eyes.

Bleeding from a dozen stabs, his shield-arm pierced
and cheek laid open, the ferocious Dane drew back
appalled.  His glaring eyes no longer saw a human foe
before him; that shimmering, leaping figure was Thor, the
Danish Thor, terrible in his youth and beauty.

Step by step the Dane retreated, until his back struck
the bulwark.  The touch spurred him to desperate fury.
But he sprang forward, only to reel back again before the
stabs of the pitiless sword.  The end was now come.  Half
dazed, he dropped his shield to meet a leg feint, and the
blade lunged through his unguarded neck, so that the
point stood out a span behind.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`CHAPTER IV`:

.. class:: center large

   CHAPTER IV

.. vspace:: 2

|   There the King, the wise-hearted,
|   ... the mighty king.
|                   LAMENT OF ODDRUN.

.. vspace:: 2

On the picturesque Garonne bank,
beneath the Roman walls of
Casseneuil, lay the camp of the
Frankish host.  Since Easter the
levies of blue-eyed Allemanni
and dark-eyed Aquitanians and
Bretons had been pouring in to
swell the ranks.

For a mile around, the fertile
hills were dotted with tents and
booths.  Overhead stretched a canopy of blue haze, the
smoke of the countless fires.  Long lines of ox-wains trailed
in from all parts of the land; great droves of cattle browsed
in the meadows; and water craft of all sizes sailed to and
fro on the Lot and the Garonne, or lay moored along the
banks while busy sailors shifted cargo.  The larger vessels
were from Bordeaux and the sea; others plied between
Casseneuil and Toulouse, where a smaller host--Burgundians
and Lombards, and the Goths and Gallo-Romans
of Septimania and Provincia--were being mustered by
Barnard, the king's uncle, to invade the Saracen country
by way of Narbonne.  The grandson of Karl the
Hammer was gathering his might to strike the pagans such
another blow as had shattered their host on the plains of
Touraine.

The royal pavilion stood in the heart of the camp,
close to the river's bank.  Above its peak floated the
gold-bright folds of the three-forked standard, and the scores
of messengers that came and went told that Karl the King
was busied with the affairs of his vast realm.  Those who
passed in saw first a striking assemblage of the king's
liegemen,--long-robed priests, counts in full war-gear,
and court officials, ornate with silks and jewels.  Here
were warriors who had seen the fall of Pavia and helped
to hew down the Irminsul; bishops and abbots who ruled
ecclesiastical estates, the revenues of which were little less
than princely; *missi dominici*,--those trusty liegemen who
bore the king's will to outland lords, or journeyed through
their appointed ridings to bring justice for all against the
petty tyrannies of count and bishop and judge.

Yet though the pavilion held within it many of the
most famous men of the greatest realm since the fall of the
Western Empire, the new-comer would have been certain
to pass by all alike with a hasty glance and turn half
reverently to the low dais where Karl the King sat on his
oaken throne.  Aside from his jewelled sword-belt, there
was little of gold or gems about the massive figure; but
beneath the sapphires and holy nail of the Lombard crown the
grey eyes of the great Frank gazed out with calm power.
War-counts and priests alike bowed before that glance;
for in mind, as in body, Karl was master of them all.

The last of the *missi* called into service had been
despatched to inspect the four quarters of the realm, and
the king was now in earnest consultation with two
Moslem envoys.  The contrast between the lean figure
and patriarchal beard of the older Saracen and the blond,
massive-limbed Frank was as great as that between the
king's jerkin and cross-thonged stockings and the envoy's
green turban and flowing white burnous.  Yet such of the
bystanders as were accustomed to look beneath mere
outward appearance saw in the Arab sheik's dark face an
expression strikingly like that which gave such dignity
to the fresh ruddy countenance of the king.  Not all the
wide difference in race and dress and years could hide the
stamp of power with which Nature had marked the
features of the two.

The other Saracen, who, like the king, appeared to be
scarcely three or four years past thirty, showed warrior
training in every pose and feature; but a covert sneer
lurked beneath his impassive smile, and from eyes that
blinked like those of a bird of prey he shot quick, evil
glances at the surrounding Franks.

Presently there entered the pavilion a thick-set, tow-haired
warrior, with red, beer-bloated features, who jostled
his way to the front without wasting breath in apologies
for his rudeness.  As he approached the dais the younger
Saracen glanced at him, and, with a seemingly careless
gesture, touched the hilt of his scimetar.  He turned away
at once to join in the parting salaams to the king, while the
boorish warrior returned to the pavilion's entrance.  As he
came to a halt near the Grand Doorward, he pointed
outside, his low forehead creased in a savage scowl.

"Here comes the duke now, and in choice company,"
he grumbled.  "The Merwing shall learn that Rudulf's
daughter is not for a Vascon, though he be twice over
the rightful heir of Clovis."

"Does Count Hardrat speak of the Vascon Wolf?"
inquired the doorward, half heeding.

"Vascon fox!" rejoined Hardrat.  The jest seemed
to ease his ill-humor, and he turned his gaze to the duke's
beautiful companion.

The girl was young,--certainly not more than
seventeen,--but of all the queen's maidens, none could lay
claim to so many suitors.  Among her own people and
the other blond Germans beyond the Rhine she would
have been considered too dark for perfect beauty; but,
North Rhine or South Rhine, few men could have looked
at her without a quickened pulse-beat.  There was allurement
in every line of her softly moulded features, in the
rich bloom of her olive cheeks, and in the silky meshes of
her gold-brown hair.  Envious rivals might say that her
eyes were over-narrow for beauty, and her lips of too
vivid a scarlet.  None the less, the ardent warriors and
courtiers, and more than one mitred churchman, longed
for the kiss of that enticing mouth, and willingly gave
themselves over to the spell of the bewitching eyes with
their strangely shifting tints of blue and green.

Such was Fastrada, the daughter of Count Rudulf,
youngest, fairest, and most sought for among the queen's
bower-maidens.

It was not to be wondered, therefore, that as he
strolled with her up to the pavilion Duke Lupus kept his
small eyes fixed upon the girl in an amorous stare.  Near
the entrance he paused and sighed regretfully.

"Here is the king's tent, maiden," he said.  "I wish
it had been more distant.  At your side the way was all
too short.  I am more than repaid that I left my horse at
the villa gate for my suite to bring after."

The girl looked up, open-eyed, into the Vascon's sensual
face, and replied with a simplicity that to a casual
observer would have appeared almost naive: "The noble
Lupus has done me great honor by his escort.  Our
gracious queen will not soon forget such a favor."

"And the queen's most charming maiden--?"

Fastrada bent her head to hide a smile, but her voice
was very soft: "Who could forget a kindness from the
Duke of the Vascons,--from the rightful heir of Clovis?"

Lupus started, and glanced hastily before him into
the pavilion.  He had often boasted of his descent from
that long line of lustful, bloody, indolent Merwing kings,
the last of whom had been deposed and his crown seized
by Pepin the Short; but all of those boasts had been
uttered when the usurper's son held court on the farther
side of Aquitania.  His relief was heartfelt when he
perceived that only one other than himself had heard the
dangerous compliment.  Hardrat met his furtive glance
with a meaning smile and came forward to bow before
Fastrada.

"Saints grant I may be of service to our dame's fairest
maiden," he said.

The girl lowered her eyes demurely.

"I bear a message to our lord king," she replied.

"Then the Christian maiden must wait for heathen dogs."

Fastrada looked up at her two suitors with an arch
smile, but only Lupus perceived the trace of malice that
lurked in the corners of the scarlet lips.

"Do not be angry for me, Count Hardrat," she said.
"It is a pleasure to wait in company such as that with
which I am favored."

Both lords smiled at the flattery; but while the duke
repaid the compliment in graceful phrases, Hardrat glared
at his rival with jealous suspicion.  From beneath her
modestly drooping lashes Fastrada watched how the
Thuringian's brow lowered under the arrogant stare of
the duke.  Her pulse quickened, and the shifting tints
deepened in her downcast eyes.  But the war-count
checked his threatened outburst, and so put an end to
the sport.

Petulantly the girl turned to the entrance, only to
look about in appeal to the Vascon.

"*Ai*, lord duke," she exclaimed; "who are these
heathen?  I can see only their strange headgear."

"They are Saracen counts, the pagan allies of our
Most Christian King," answered Hardrat, and he smiled
ironically.  "But look,--their audience comes to an end.
I can now lead you in before his Majesty."

"I give thanks," murmured Fastrada, but her
eyes were fixed upon the envoys.  The officials near
the entrance had drawn apart, and the white-robed
Saracens, having salaamed themselves to a respectful
distance from the dais of the mighty Afranj sultan,
were completing their exit in a more dignified
manner.  The tall leader came out like a veritable Sheik
el Islam, his firm tread, erect frame, and eagle glance
giving the lie to the whiteness of his hair and flowing
beard.

Fastrada slipped in front for a closer view of the
grand old warrior, but was met by the leering gaze of
the younger envoy behind him.  Before his stare the girl
shrank back, blushing with offended pride.  Yet she
looked eagerly around after the Saracen leader, and her
changeful eyes sparkled as she exclaimed: "There goes
a hero!  Would that he were young!  We 'd see a
warrior such as few Franks could withstand."

"Strange words for a daughter of Thuringia," replied
Lupus; "yet, none the less, they are very fitting.  Al
Arabi is a count of great fame among his people.  He
has held many high offices, and though no longer Count
of Saragossa, he is friend and chief councillor of Al
Huseyn, the vali who succeeded him.  Old as he is, even
now he can strike a heavy blow."

"He is a raven-feeder!" growled Count Hardrat.
"Nor is Vali Kasim a babe.  The old man has a stout
son-in-law.  Also, he owns a silent tongue and does not
bicker with his friends.  Come now, maiden, if you would
see the king."

The girl smiled, and bowed both to Lupus and to her
red-faced countryman.  Then, with hands clasped before
her and eyes demurely downcast, she followed the latter
through the brilliant assemblage to the royal presence.
Karl, though dictating a memorandum to Abbot Fulrad,
the white-haired Keeper of the Great Seal, paused at once
and nodded pleasantly to Hardrat.

"You bring a maiden from Hildegarde," he observed
in a voice clear and strong but strangely shrill for so
massive a body.  "I am mistaken if it is not the daughter
of our faithful Rudulf.  I trust that she bears good
tidings."

Fastrada bowed low before the dais.  "Our gracious
dame bade me bring word to your Majesty that her pain
has eased.  She enjoys good health again, though she put
away the leech's drugs."

"As well--as well!  I 'd wager a little fasting
against the best of leeches.  But, indeed, these are good
tidings, and they come by the mouth of a fair emissary,"
replied Karl, his gaze lingering on the soft beauty of the
girl's face and form.  "It is a dusty path to the gates,
and the herald of our queen should be spared the pains
of walking it twice in a day.  Let her delay her return.
There will be a seat in our barge when we go to the
noon-meal."

Fastrada bowed and withdrew, half awed, into the
midst of the assemblage.  Yet the admiration in the king's
glance had by no means escaped her.  Her cheeks glowed
with pride at thought of the look and of his kindly tone.
After royalty, the homage of lesser men lacked flavor, and
the girl listened to the eager greetings of the court
officials with an indifferent bearing.  Of what value the
blandishments of these sleek courtiers and petty counts
when heroes such as the famous Roland and Hardrat
were no less eager for her favor?  And now the king
himself had looked at her with far other than a cold eye,
though Queen Hildegarde was yet held to be the most
beautiful woman in the realm.

With true feminine perversity, the girl turned from
all others and set about the task of pleasing a lank,
dour-faced official, the only one in the pavilion who seemed
altogether indifferent to her charms.  The man met her
advances with a sardonic smile, and gave a curt response
to her greeting; while his pale-blue eyes turned away
from her soft beauty to fix their cold stare on the
approaching figure of Duke Lupus.

"The Merwing is ill named," he muttered in his beard,
struck by the same thought that had prompted Hardrat's
jest.  "He should be called Fox, not Wolf,--a cunning
fox!  He will bear watching."

"What is my Lord Anselm pleased to say?" asked
Fastrada.  "He has the look which he wears when he sits
on the judgment-seat, dooming the luckless offenders."

"Maidens should chatter and spin, and leave weightier
matters to those who have wit," answered the judge, dryly.

"Alas, then, for the maidens, if all men agree with
the Count of the Palace!" sighed Fastrada; and she drew
back in mock sorrow.

Anselm paid no heed to the alluring play.  His attention
was fixed upon the Duke of the Vascons.

Lupus advanced with an arrogance that won him little
favor among the proud Franks.  But Karl smiled, and
even extended his hand for the salute when the duke
would have bent to kiss his knee.

"With joy we see again our faithful friend," he said.
"Not satisfied with swearing allegiance the second time,
he brings us needed supplies with a bountiful hand.  It is
well this fair Southland is held for us by so trusty a
liegeman."

"My lord king is pleased to be gracious," replied
Lupus, quickly.  "If I have won his indulgence, I now beg
leave to ask a favor."

"Speak.  Anything I can rightfully give shall be
allowed you."

"It is no small matter, your Majesty; the insolent
Bishop of Rome has stricken the mitre from the head of
my kinsman Thierry."

Karl started and frowned.

"Alter your asking, lord duke," he answered.  "I
cannot set aside so just a judgment.  There were charges
and a fair trial for the Bishop of Bordeaux.  He has failed
to clear himself on a single count; drunkenness, strife,
licentiousness,--all were proved."

"Slander, sire!--malicious slander!" cried the duke,
his passion overleaping all caution.  "My kinsman is
persecuted for his lineage!  Few priests of his rank but
wassail and brawl unrebuked.  As for the third charge,
strangest of all in a realm whose king--"

"Silence!" roared Karl; and he towered up on the
dais like an angry lion.  "Has the kinsman of Hunold
and Waifre twice sworn allegiance to doubt the justice
of his king and Holy Church?  I, the king, sent Pope
Hadrian command for the trial.  It is enough that dukes
and counts trample the common folk and wallow in the
troughs of their sodden vices.  At the least, I will scourge
the swine from God's Church.  By the King of Heaven! when
I have swept the pagan Saracens into the sea I will
cleanse the household of my kingdom,--from duke to
deacon!  Thierry has lost his mitre; let him repent and
walk upright, lest worse come upon him."

Stunned, humiliated, livid with impotent anger, the
haughty Merwing shrank back from before the son of
Pepin, and hastened to quit the assemblage that had
witnessed his shame.  Most of the Franks met his black
glances with ready frowns; but Hardrat, the Thuringian
count, could not conceal his pleasure at the turn of events.

"All goes well!" he chuckled.  "The fox is shrewdly
nipped.  He 'll stop at nothing now.  Rage will melt all
his frosty caution.  The others are with us, heart and
hand, and that missive to Saxon Land by this time should
have rid us--"

The conclusion of the Thuringian's half-muttered
words was lost in a terrific blare of trumpets and
war-horns that sent the alarm ringing to every corner of the
Frankish camp.

Within the pavilion all was instantly struggle and
confusion.  Swords flashed overhead, and the assemblage
surged from side to side as the war-counts sought to push
out from the press of officials and priests.  But Karl the
King walked swiftly through the parting crowd, his face
serene, his sword unsheathed.  The warriors rushed after
him, weapon in hand.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`CHAPTER V`:

.. class:: center large

   CHAPTER V

.. vspace:: 2

|   What are ye, then, of armed men,
|   Mailed folk who the foaming keel
|   Have urged thus over the ocean ways,
|   Over water-ridges the ringed prow?
|                   BEOWULF.

.. vspace:: 2

Most women at such a time
would have cowered behind the
empty throne; Fastrada sought
to pass out with the war-counts.
She was caught, however, in the
press which closed behind them,
and even with Abbot Fulrad's
aid could not gain the entrance
for some time.  When at last the
sturdy old Keeper of the Seal
drew her into the open, the horns had ceased braying, and
a strange hush lay upon the camp.  But the river-banks
were lined with armed men, and Fastrada saw hundreds of
other warriors running to join them.

"What can it mean?" she exclaimed.  "Have the
Aquitanians revolted?  Look how every man stares down
the river."

"Let us go yonder to the knoll where the king stands.
There the view is clear," suggested Fulrad.

"I see masts already,--five of them," exclaimed
Fastrada, as they hurried forward.  "Each bears a white
shield at its peak.  It cannot be they are Greek ships.
They must be Frisian traders, or an embassy from
Alfwold, King of Northumbria."

"Neither one nor the other, maiden," rejoined Fulrad.
"Years since, in the days of Pepin, I saw the like,--once
upon the Seine, and again upon the Rhine, in the Frisian
Mark.  It was there Karl fought his first battle,--a lad
of twelve."

"But these ships--of what land are they?  See how
stately they surge up the river with their glittering prows;
and hark to the oar-song of their crews,--a lay of the
old gods!  I 've heard it in the forest when no priest was
near."

"Ay, maiden; these are heathen craft, and they bear
warriors more terrible than the Saxon wolves.  You've
heard of Lord Otkar.  These are his countrymen."

"Danes?"

"Truly; from Sigfrid's realm, or from Jutland, which
is beyond.  Otkar was of a land yet more distant.  He
told me much of the Norse folk; of their great wealth and
fierce war-spirit.  God grant that Wittikind the
Westphalian lies quiet in Nordmannia and does not march
back with the host of his wife's brother.  The Saxons
and Frisians are hard enough nuts to crack, without the
Danes."

"But how come these heathen on the Garonne?"

"We shall soon learn," answered the abbot, pointing
with his staff.  "Here is the first ship abreast.  Mark the
mail-clad crew."

"The ship turns," observed Fastrada.

"And the others follow.  They will moor before the king."

Even as Fulrad spoke, the oars of the longships rattled
inboard, and the five beautiful craft glided toward the
bank.  They might have been dragons wheeling in salute
to the royal standard.  Spellbound by the sight, warriors
and courtiers and king alike stood silently waiting while
the stately prows swept inshore.  First the leader and
then, in quick succession, the four others ran aground,
and the hush was broken by the thud of grapnels cast
upon the bank.  As the sterns of the vessels swung
downstream with the current, a gangplank was thrust ashore
from the prow of the leader.

The first to leap down the plank was a gallant young
warrior in Frankish armor, at sight of whom the king
cried out in astonishment: "Gerold!--with these Danes!"

"The Northmen come in peace, sire," observed Abbot
Fulrad.  "If not, how is it the queen's brother bears them
company?"

"Peaceful or not, lord abbot," rejoined Hardrat,
"these are insolent pagans to sing forbidden lays in the
midst of a Christian host.  Shall I not take horse, sire,
and bring down the galleys from Casseneuil?  Look,
your Majesty!  Count Roland follows Gerold; and he
totters from recent wounds!"

But Karl made no answer.  He was staring intently
at the lithe warrior in shimmering mail who had leaped
up to help Roland across the gangway.

"Ho, Fulrad," he called; "look close at the Dane
count's war-gear, and call to mind that old Norse bear
Otkar.  His mail was the same in every point as this
bright falcon's.  Can they be kinsmen?"

"Old oak and young ash,--they 're little more alike,
sire.  But the lad will shortly tell us," remarked Fulrad,
as Gerold hastened forward.

The queen's brother mounted the knoll, and knelt to
kiss the extended hand of the king.

"Greeting, lad!  You return in strange fellowship,"
remarked Karl, his gaze fixed upon the bright Northman,
who was supporting Roland up the bank.

"They are shipmates whom I know your Majesty will
gladly welcome," replied Gerold, with fervor.  "Never
have I seen such warriors!  I fell in with them at
Bordeaux."

"Bordeaux?"

"I journeyed to the Vascon burg from Fronsac, thinking
that my lord would wish to know more of the new
walls which Duke Lupus is building."

"Well done!  But these Danes?"

"I can thank their count for a quick journey!  He
comes to you on a strange mission--  But let Roland
speak, sire.  He owes the Northman freedom and life."

"More, sire!--more!" cried Roland, as he sprang
forward from the supporting arm of his companion.

The king met him halfway, and drew him up as he
sought to kneel.

"You 're wounded, kinsman!" he exclaimed.  "You
have fought at sea!  Where are your followers--and the
child?"

"I have lost my henchmen, sire; but all else is
well--thanks to Lord Olvir, my noble sword-brother."

"This Dane?"

"Ay, sire; leader of half a thousand sea-wolves,--the
pick of the North.  He has saved me from torture and
the princess from shame."

"By my father's soul, he has earned the good-will
of one who can repay!  Stand forward, my bright Dane,
that Karl the King may give you thanks."

At such a bidding from the lord of half Europe, most
men would have run to kneel at the king's feet.  Such,
however, was not the manner of vikings, and Olvir
Thorbiornson was not only a leader of vikings, but, throughout
the heathen North, could have laid claim without dispute
to a descent direct from Odin.  Instead of hastening
forward, with glowing face and ready bows, he advanced
proudly erect, as one sea-king would meet another.

Karl and his lords gazed at the young heathen in
wondering admiration, no less impressed by the grace and
pride of his bearing than by his rich dress and the beauty
of his sword and war-gear.  Beside his lithe figure and
dark, masterful face even Gerold of Bussen appeared rough
and uncouth.

Olvir neither bowed nor knelt, but raised his shield
overhead in salute, and returned Karl's gaze with the
unflinching look of an equal.  It was a novel meeting for
the warrior-king, before whom even the wild Saxons
trembled.  He frowned and said shortly: "It would seem
that the Danes are stiff of knee."

"Then set us in your battle-front, lord king," replied
Olvir.

"Well answered!" cried Abbot Fulrad.

"You wish to join my standard, young Dane, and
seek the post of danger?" said Karl, now smiling.

"Where else should a king's son stand?  For this
war the foster-son of Otkar Jotuntop seeks place with his
sea-wolves in the fore of your host."

"Otkar the Dane!--you his fosterling?"

"And blood kinsman."

"Where, then, is the hero?"

"His ashes lie in the mound where he reared me."

"Dead?--that giant warrior!  But he sent you to
make peace with the foe whom without cause he sought
so mightily to harm."

"No, by Thor," rejoined Olvir, his black eyes glittering.
"To the end Otkar thought only of vengeance.  He
gave over the task into my hand.  I sailed out of the North
to harry your coasts with fire and steel."

"Saint Michael! you dare tell me that!" cried Karl,
and his grey eyes flamed with anger at the Northman's
audacity.

"My tale is not all told," said Olvir, unmoved.

"I have heard enough!  You have slain Count
Roland's henchmen, stolen my wares, and now you come
to mock--"

"No, sire! no!" cried Roland, and he sprang before
the Northman, who was turning haughtily away, his dark
face no less angry than the king's.  "Hold, brother!
One word, sire!  It was not he who slew my followers;
he saved us from the clutches of Wittikind's man, a
terrible Dane count, whom he slew in single combat.
While I lay witless from my wounds, he granted the
prayer of the little princess that we be brought to you; he
won over the warriors of the Dane count to join his
banner; yet more, he plighted brotherhood with me, after
the old custom."

"As to your wares, Frank king," broke in Olvir,
hotly, "bale and cask lie in my longships, untouched.
Now I cast them ashore, and weigh anchor."

"No, by my sword; that you shall not!" cried
Karl, and in a stride he was beside the young Northman.
"Hold, kin of Otkar.  I have done wrong; I will
repay."

"Hold, brother, for my sake!" urged Roland, his arm
about Olvir's shoulder.

The sea-king half turned, his nostrils quivering with
passion, and stared fiercely about from the astonished
Frank lords to their king.  But before the look on Karl's
grand face his anger broke and subsided as quickly as
it had flared out.

"Have your will, lord king," he muttered.  "I will
listen, though that is not our custom in the North after
words such as have been spoken here."

"Then I eat those words, my bold Dane.  Wait;
that is not enough!  My hot anger has done you wrong.
I will pay in full.  Yet first, tell me why you sought
vengeance against me,--you and Otkar.  Why did your
foster-father stir up strife between me and my brother
Carolman?  Why did he spur Desiderius, the weak
Lombard, to war?"

Olvir's breast heaved, and his nostrils quivered; but
he answered steadily: "It was thus, lord king: in your
youth you laid an ambush near the Rhine mouth for a
band of vikings."

"It was my first battle.  The Danes had a famous hero
for leader."

"He was my father."

"So--now I understand," muttered Karl, and his
brows met in deep thought.  "You have been generous,
young count.  Name what blood-fine you would have.
I will pay it over without dispute."

"I do not come for wergild, lord king.  While I
thought you my father's slayer, nothing but blood could
have paid for the wrong.  And the debt is paid in blood;
for before I slew that vile Dane, I learned from his own
lips that he, who had betrayed my father, also was his
bane,--that you sought to save the stricken hero."

"He thrust me aside; I was yet a child.  I wish now
that I had hung the blood-eager boar."

"Not so, king; else I might never have learned that
I had no cause to hate you.  I owe thanks to the braggart.
But for his boasts, I doubt if I should have yielded to the
little maid's entreaty."

"It was a Christian deed!" exclaimed Karl.

Olvir smiled: "Say rather, a Christly deed.  I have
read the runes of the White Christ; but, also, I have
heard what Otkar had to say of your Christian priests
and their flocks.  By Thor! beneath the fleece, if Otkar
spoke truth, they differ little from those whom you call
heathen wolves."

"True--true! though the charge is bitter from the
lips of a pagan.  Yet Holy Church is the only fold,
however much defiled by evil men.  Already I have set about
the cleansing of the sacred cloisters.  Before I have ended
that task, I hope that you and all your followers will
have come within the pale."

"But now, lord king, all my men are sons of Thor
and Odin; and I, like Otkar, trust neither in the old gods
nor the new,--only in my own might.  Can you welcome
us so?  I have heard how you force baptism upon the Saxons."

"As a nation of savage pagans, they menace my
kingdom.  I must bend them to Holy Church, or in time
to come they will sweep across the Rhine and lay
desolate the work I seek to upbuild.  It is otherwise with
your following, my Dane hawk.  You are free to choose
or reject Christ, as you are free to come and go.  It is
my trust that you will see the Truth and stay with me always."

"For this war, at least, we shall fight beneath your
standard.  Your foe will not easily break the shieldburg
of my sea-wolves."

"That I can well believe if they are worthy of their leader."

"You shall view them now, lord king!" exclaimed
Olvir, and, wheeling about, he sent a clear command
ringing down the bank.

Hardly was the word uttered when from all five
longships the armed crews poured overboard and swarmed up
the shore like a storming party.  So fierce, indeed, was
their rush that many of the Frankish warriors mistook
it for a real attack.  When three or four counts, with
Hardrat at their head, raised the cry of treachery, a
thousand loyal men ran, shouting, to throw themselves
between their king and the heathen.

But Karl sprang before his warriors, with angry
commands to halt, and the movement was checked as
suddenly as it had started.  Yet, prompt as was the king's
action, there was one sword which swung before he could
utter his first command.

The moment Hardrat saw the Franks come running,
he ceased his shouts and wheeled upon Olvir, with
upraised sword, thinking to cut him down unawares.  He
might easier have surprised a hungry leopard.  Before
the blow could fall, the Northman had thrust Roland out
of danger and leaped in under the descending blade.  His
arms closed about the burly Thuringian like steel bands.
There was no time given Hardrat to break loose or to
strike.  He was flung up bodily and cast headlong over
Olvir's shoulder.

The Thuringian's astonishment was exceeded only
by his rage.  Half stunned, he sat up, staring wide-eyed,
and groped for his sword-hilt.  But Olvir caught up
the weapon, and, snapping the broad blade on his knee,
tossed the fragments back to their owner with careless
scorn.

"Ho! the red pig has a tumble!" roared Liutrad, at
the head of the vikings, and the grim warriors burst into
jeering laughter.

"Saint Michael! who jests at so ill a time?" demanded
Karl; and he wheeled about, his face flushed, and his great
figure quivering with anger.

Olvir answered him, smiling, "My sea-wolves, lord
king.  This fair-haired hero and I have played a merry
game behind your back."

"A game for which Hardrat should hang, sire!"
exclaimed Roland.  "He sought to cut down Count Olvir
unawares."

The angry flush on the king's face deepened, and he
confronted Hardrat with a look before which the stout
warrior visibly trembled.

"Well for you, Thuringian, your sword did no
harm!" he cried.  "Lightly as the young hero takes it,
I am yet minded to ride you on the nearest tree."

"Forgive the deed, sire!  I was over-hasty,--I
thought the heathen were about to attack your Majesty,"
stammered Hardrat.

"We will allow the plea; the thought was loyal,
however ill-advised.  Your broken sword shall be the
punishment for your rashness."

Had Karl been less keenly intent on the movements
of the vikings, the affair might not have passed so lightly
for the Thuringian.  But as Olvir made no demand for
redress, the king turned away, to watch with a kindling
eye the manoeuvres of the Northmen.

At the first threat of attack, those members of the
crews already ashore had lined up so as to present to the
menacing Franks an unbroken wall of shields.  Then
their close ranks formed swiftly in a steel-faced wedge,
with the towering figure of Floki the Crane at the point.
Behind him stood Liutrad Erlingson with the sea-king's
banner, while in the centre of the wedge the poorer
armed Danes surrounded the Frisian sailors and Rothada.
The discipline was perfect.  Not even at the moment
of wildest flurry, when the Franks were charging to the
attack, had a single viking spear been cast or bow been
drawn.

The king's powerful face glowed with pleasure and
admiration at sight of such warriors.

"By my sword!" he swore, "this is a fair day for
me!  Never before has such a band been seen south of
the Rhine."

"Or north of it, lord king," added Olvir.  "All the
champions among the Trondir sailed with me, and with
them many other great warriors from Norway and
Sweden; nor did Hroar number cowards in his crews."

"They may well be named the pick of the North.
I should search all my kingdom to find their like.
Would that their leader had pledged himself to me for
a lifetime!"

The speaker's eyes glowed, and he laid a hand on
Olvir's shoulder, as though eager to take full possession
of such a liegeman.  The Northman would have shrunk
from the familiar touch, had he not perceived the earnest
friendliness of the king's look.  But his reply only half
satisfied the great Frank.

"The Norns weave the future," he said.  "When this
war is ended I may yet wish to remain your man.  But I
cannot speak for my followers.  They are free vikings."

"If you stay, they will stay.  And now they shall
not find me lacking in gifts.  To begin, I name as yours
all the wares which you saved from the Frisian ship.
But did I not see women in the midst of your warriors?
Where is the daughter of Himiltrude?"

Olvir turned and beckoned to his followers.

"The king awaits his daughter," he called.  "Bring
forward the little vala."

"She comes," answered Floki; and the wedge behind
him split open to the centre.

When Rothada advanced to the front, with her broad-shouldered
Frisian maid, Floki and Liutrad seated her on
a shield between them and moved forward at a swinging
stride.

"Farewell to our vala!" called out an old berserk, as
he took the leader's post at the point of the wedge.

"Farewell!  Come again to us soon, little maid!"
shouted the vikings.

The girl waved her hand to the grim heathen, who
in all things had honored her as they would have honored
a daughter of their own kings.  She could almost have
wished to stay with them.  But it was not to be.  Even
now the king, her father, awaited her,--that grand
crowned warrior.  Would he be kind to her, the daughter
of the wife whom he had thrust aside so causelessly to
wed the Lombard princess?  Half hoping, half dismayed,
the girl clasped her hands and gazed at her father with
startled eyes.

Karl stared in wonder at the two viking leaders and
the maiden they bore between them.  Could this be
Himiltrude's daughter,--a child of the cloisters,--this
little heathen princess, clad in rarest furs and loaded
down with glittering ornaments?

But the moment of doubt was brief.  As the saluting
vikings placed the girl before her father and drew back,
she raised her head, which fear had caused her to droop,
and looked up at him again with wide-open, appealing
eyes.

"Himiltrude!" he cried, and he drew the trembling
girl into his arms.

"All's well with the maiden," muttered Floki.

"All is well," repeated Olvir, and he waved the
steersmen back to the wedge.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`CHAPTER VI`:

.. class:: center large

   CHAPTER VI

.. vspace:: 2

|   He who alone there was deemed best of all,
|   The War-lord of the Danes, well worthy of men.
|                   HEL-RIDE OF BRYNHILD.

.. vspace:: 2

While Floki and Liutrad
returned to their posts, their leader
sprang again to where Roland
stood leaning upon Gerold's shoulder.

"You 're weary, sword-brother,"
he exclaimed.  "Come with me--"

"Wait, friend," replied
Roland.  "Yonder is the maiden of
whom I spoke."

"Fastrada--?"

"She stands apart with Count Hardrat, whom you
threw, and Lupus, Duke of the Vascons."

"Lead on.  I am eager to know the maiden who has
so fast bound a warrior's heart," replied Olvir, smiling.

Gerold glanced about at the king.  "We 're free to
go," he said.  "Our lord king has thought only for the
princess."

Roland nodded impatiently and advanced at once, a
hand on the shoulder of either friend.  But the gaunt
figure of Count Anselm blocked the way.

"Stay a little, Roland," he said.  "Here are two who
fought both with and against Otkar the Dane, and would
grip hands with his foster-son."

"Both as friends and as foes, my kinsman loved the
high lords of King Karl," replied Olvir.

The judge's severe face softened as Olvir clasped his
bony hand, and he smiled as he turned with him to the
serene-faced churchman.

"Here, hero," he said, "is one of the shepherds of
the Christian fold who is neither wolf nor boar."

"I have eyes," replied Olvir, simply.  "When I see
a good man, I know him."

"'There is none good save God,'" quoted the abbot,
piously; but he smiled at the sincerity in the young
Northman's look and tone.

"'Be ye perfect even as God is perfect,'" quoted
Olvir, in turn.

The Franks stared in amazement.

"By all the saints!" cried Anselm; "the lad knows
Holy Writ,--a heathen monk!"

"We shall make of him a Christian layman, at the
least," rejoined Fulrad, his broad, kindly face aglow.

"Best leave me heathen," said Olvir.  "If I become
anything else, it will be an Arian, whom, according to
Otkar, you name heretic, and hold to be more accursed
than the unbelievers."

"We will trust the grace of our Lord Christ to lead
you into the true fold," replied Fulrad.

"Meantime, Roland waits to greet his *may*," suggested Gerold.

All smiled at the hint, and the two high councillors
hastened to make way for the lover, with hearty God-speeds.

The approach of the three friends had by no means
passed unobserved by the queen's maiden; and when
presently they stood before her, there was an added depth of
color in her cheeks, and her bosom rose and fell to a
quickened heart-beat.  While the great Count Roland
bent to kiss her hand, she stared with glowing eyes at
the sea-king.  Here was a warrior such as must have
been that grand old Saracen,--a hero with a soul of fire,
proud as a king, who would laugh at death as at a jest.

Unable to meet the piercing brightness of Olvir's
black eyes, she lowered her gaze and bowed as she had
bowed to the king.  Many a lord had gazed at her with
the same admiring look, but never one who had roused a
response in her own heart strong enough to over-ride her
cool and purposeful coquetry.  The blue tints in her eyes
deepened, and she stood thrilling with a delicious fear.
Only by a strong effort did she succeed in raising her lashes
to meet the expected love-message in the stranger's eyes.
To her astonishment and chagrin, the calm, full gaze that
met her glance told only of frank admiration.

Not that Olvir was unmoved.  He had seen many
beautiful maidens among the blond daughters of the
Northern earls and bondir, but never one whose
loveliness was as the loveliness of this dark daughter of
Thuringia.  Half bewildered, he drank in her rich beauty
with eager delight.  Yet he did not forget that this was
the maiden whom his sword-brother loved.

"So I stand before the daughter of the brave Count
Rudulf," he said quietly.  "No longer, Roland, do I
wonder that the maiden holds your heart in leash.  I
trust that she will accept this trinket, which I offer in
token of friendship."

Great as had been Fastrada's disappointment, she
took with eagerness the gold brooch which Olvir
unclasped from his cloak.  At the touch of his fingers she
blushed rosier than before.

"A gift with true friendship is doubly gracious," she
murmured.

"I could not give less to the maiden whom my
brother loves," answered Olvir, and he drew Roland to
his side.

"Satan seize the pagan!" muttered Duke Lupus.
"He woos the girl openly for his friend."

"More harm should he speak for himself," replied
Count Hardrat.  "The girl's eye is caught by his glitter.
We must break in on the talk.  Bid him and the counts
to your feast.  I have a plot in mind."

"I trust to your counsel," replied Lupus, and he
thrust himself half between Fastrada and Olvir.

"Greeting, lord count," he said.  "I am Lupus,
Duke of Vasconia, a child of kings."

"Greeting, lord duke," replied Olvir, coldly.  "I am
Olvir Thorbiornson, heir to the King of Lade."

"I gladly welcome a king's son to my south country.
In two days I give a feast to our Lord Karl.  I trust that
you will be present with your companions."

"I give thanks.  I will come, and so, doubtless, will
my friends."

"Farewell, then, for a time," said Lupus.  Unable to
witness any longer Fastrada's preference for the
new-comers, he bowed to the party and turned away,
dragging with him the unwilling Hardrat.

As Fastrada sought to catch again the eye of the
perverse stranger, a barge came sweeping downstream
and headed in for a small wharf, just above the viking
ships.  As the craft made fast to the landing, the
high-pitched imperious voice of Karl rang out above the loud
talk of his retainers: "Lord Olvir!  Where is Lord Olvir?"

Olvir glanced at Roland, and hesitated.  But
Fastrada said quickly: "Go!  Gerold and I will see Count
Roland aboard the barge."

As the Northman drew near, Karl smiled and hailed
him with more friendliness than ever in his voice: "Here
comes my Dane hawk,--truly, a king's son, no less in
deed than in bearing!  But you are no spokesman, Olvir.
This little maid has told in full how you saved herself
and my sister's son from the savage Hroar, and, at her
bidding, loosed the thrall-bonds of the Frisians."

"That was the doing of Floki, lord king,--yonder
tall man at the fore of my crews.  In past years he had
been a sword-brother to the Frisian shipmaster, and so
had the disposal both of ship and thralls.  They should
all have burned together, had not this little vala--this
little seeress--offered him her head-ring for ransom."

"Yet she still wears the circlet."

"There are few men more grim than Floki the Crane;
but he is no greedy trader.  When he yielded to the
maiden's wish it was not to rob her glossy tresses of their
ring.  As to the rest, I 'll not say that the fate of any in
the trade-ship would have been easy to bear had Hroar
prospered."

"Truly so!  You call yourself an unbeliever; but
surely some saint guided your ships into the Seine Mouth."

"No saint steered Hroar's keels, but a traitor's evil
counsel.  Roland can better tell you how the Dane boar
made boast of tidings from your hall.  There are false
hearts near your high-seat, lord king.  Had they their will,
even now this child would be grinding meal in Nordmannia,
and Roland waiting his doom on Thor's Stone."

Karl pressed his daughter to him with a quick movement.

"Why should they seek to harm my little cloister-dove?"
he demanded.

"Has Wittikind the Saxon no cause to strike at the
heart of the Frank king?"

"However much a rebel and traitor, the Westphalian
is not so mean as to seek vengeance in the thraldom of
a maid-child."

"Yet what if he sought to have a hostage in safe
keeping, should he venture again Rhineward and be taken
thrall?  What better safeguard then than the first-born
child of King Karl--even though that child be a
daughter?"

"My sword! a shrewd guess.  Would to Heaven
the crafty Saxon had won his seven feet of ground!
And yet, he is a brave man, fighting for his fatherland.
Rather do I curse the traitors in my hall."

The king looked about at the surrounding lords, his
grey eyes aflame.  But their glance rested on none whom
he had cause to doubt, and his genial humor quickly
returned.

"My thanks for your warning, Dane hawk.  I shall
bear it in mind.  And now, if such is your wish, you will
pledge yourself my man for this war."

"I stand ready to pledge myself, lord king; but,
man or not, I am a king's son, and will not bend knee to
any one, living or dead."

"Be assured.  I owe you too much to hold to the
knee-kissing.  You shall be to me as the son of a brother
king, come to aid me for a season,--many seasons, I hope."

Fairly overcome by such an answer from the ruler of
half Europe, Olvir at once clasped his hands together and
placed them between the king's.

"Witness all," he called aloud; "now do I, Olvir,
son of Thorbiorn, pledge myself loyal man to Karl, King
of the Franks, so long as he wars upon the Saracen folk."

"It is well, my Dane hawk," replied the king,
instantly releasing his clasp.  "I now have a bird of mettle
to fly at the swart pagans,--ay, and a wolf-pack to follow
him.  Saint Michael! those are stout heroes!  With all
your birth and spirit, lad, I wonder to see such warriors
under the banner of a count so young and slight."

"There's no cause to wonder, lord king.  In all my
following stands no man to outmatch me in weapon-play,
in running, or in swimming.  Of runes I know all that
Otkar knew, and that is not little.  In his wander-years he
gathered many writings,--Greek and Roman and Arabic.
Each and all, I copied them on parchment of my own
make when, a child, I dwelt outlaw with my kinsman in
the mound of my father's father."

"In the mound!  How came you to dwell in a tomb?"

Olvir half frowned, and looked at his questioner with
a sombre light in his dark eyes.  But then Rothada's
upturned face met his gaze.  At once his brow cleared, and
he answered with no trace of the bitterness which had
welled up from his heart,--

"It was thus, lord king.  When tidings of Thorbiorn's
death came north, my mother, the emir's daughter, died
in her bed; and while they bound on her hel-shoes, I was
laid, an unsprinkled babe, at the feet of Skuli, my father's
brother.  But he would not take me up.  He bade them
bear me out upon the fell-side.  Then Otkar slew many
of Skuli's men, and would have slain Skuli, had he not
fled.  When Otkar stood alone in Trondheim Hall, he
took me up and bore me by sea, through darkness and
storm, to the wife of Koll the Outlaw.  But Otkar was
himself outlawed for the slaying, and, when a winter was
gone, he brought me to Starkad's grave-mound, where he
had made himself a dwelling.  Most daring of all his
deeds was that breaking of his uncle's mound, for not
even he might have matched the Hero of Bravallahede.
Yet the fearless champion made his abode with the ashes
of the king, on the wild cliffs; and there he reared me, his
fosterling, training me in all games of skill and in runes
of many tongues, until my fourteenth year.  It was a hard
training, for Otkar tried me in all things to the utmost
of my strength."

"Even as Sigmund tried Sinfiotli."

"Truly so, lord king, and with like purpose.  He
intended that I should hurl Skuli from the high-seat of
Lade, and then aid him to avenge my father."

"God alone could have stayed the crafty grey bear
from his purpose!  You were not with him when he came
to the court of Carloman, my brother."

"The Norns--or your God--willed otherwise; for
Skuli, my uncle, stepped into the shoe with me, and so,
though lawful heir, I am not yet on the high-seat of Lade.
Otkar was still in outlawry, and by our compact with
Skuli I could not join him when he fared south to pay
what we wrongly thought to be the greater of the
blood-debts.  But my training was not wasted.  With Floki
yonder, I swept the Dane shores for the traitor Hroar,
and the bairn whose shield could ward a half-stroke of
Otkar's axe proved the bane of many a champion.
Though Otkar met his fate before vengeance was done,
the sword which he whetted has at last sought out the
murderer and paid the blood-debt of my father."

Karl gazed down into the sternly joyful face of the
young sea-king.

"No more do I wonder that you lead men," he
exclaimed.  "It is a fair day which brings me such a
liegeman!"

"Not the day should be praised, lord king, but this
little maiden."

"She's very near my heart, Olvir, and I bear her to
one who will greet her with a mother's love.  The barge
waits, and I am eager to place the child in Hildegarde's
arms.  Farewell until to-morrow.  Eggihard, my steward,
has gone to choose your camp.  You have only to sail
a few bowshots downstream.  Eggihard will see to it that
you receive food and drink as you may need."

"I give thanks, lord king," answered Olvir, and,
stooping, he kissed Rothada on the forehead.

"Farewell, Earl Olvir!" cried the girl, in a merry
voice; and, clasping the hand of her father, she turned
away down the river-bank.  Olvir's face softened as he
watched them go,--the mighty King of the Franks and
Lombards hand in hand with the little convent maiden.
His eyes glistened as he saw how Karl bent to caress the
child's tresses.  Truly, here was a royal friend,--a hero
whom even the Blood of Odin might serve with honor.

Fastrada sat among the war-counts chosen to accompany
the king, with Roland between herself and Gerold.
As Olvir looked from the king to his wounded
foster-brother, his glance chanced to fall upon the queen's
maiden.  He turned quickly away, then looked again.
After all, so long as he did not give way to desire, was
there any reason why he should not enjoy the maiden's
beauty?  For what purpose was sight given but to see?

Silent and motionless as a statue, he stood gazing
after the barge, until the bony hand of Floki the Crane
fell upon his shoulder.

"You look over-closely at the dark maiden, earl," he
said bluntly.

Olvir frowned, but answered coldly, "Be assured.
My sword-brother loves the maiden."

"The more cause to heed me.  Listen, son of Thorbiorn.
The gerfalcon should fly high.  Were Otkar here
with his grey wit, I know what quarry he would name
for your love quest,--no common bride--"

"What! that child?  You 're mad--"

"Not I.  If you but use shrewdly your nimble wit,
your wedding-seat shall be on the bench of a world-king.
As to the maiden, she is an opening bud, whose blossom
will prove far fairer than that slant-eyed werwolf."

"Werwolf!"

"Ay," went on Floki, unchecked by the hissing
menace in his earl's voice; "I am not blind.  That
maiden's lips are red as blood; and if ever I saw wolf's
eyes in human being--"

Olvir burst into hearty laughter.

"Ho, Floki, you 're dogwise!" he cried.  "Not even
our little vala owns milder eyes or purer look than my
sword-brother's *may*.  Go now; take the ships downstream
to the camp where the king's steward waits our
coming.  I go afoot."

Floki glowered down upon his earl, a wry look on his
long, sharp face.

"Good mead in a hoopless cask,--wise words in a
loath ear," he croaked; and turning on his heel, he stalked
back to the viking wedge.

A word sent the crews leaping aboard their ships,
and quickly all five craft were headed downstream.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`CHAPTER VII`:

.. class:: center large

   CHAPTER VII

.. vspace:: 2

|   As he sat on the high-seat,
|   That man of the Southland.
|                   SONG OF ATLI.

.. vspace:: 2

Left alone on the knoll, Olvir
turned his gaze back to the now
distant barge, and watched it
musingly until it disappeared
beyond a clump of woods.  Floki's
warning had moved him more
than he had cared to
acknowledge.  Though far from being as
profound as had been Otkar, the
man was possessed of exceptional
shrewdness, and the knowledge of this now
compelled the young sea-king to pause and ponder his words.
Could they be true?  He smiled at the absurdity of the
question.  But then he remembered the noble Frank whom
he had chosen for foster-brother, and the smile left his face.
However pure and innocent, what was this maiden to him?

"It is I who am dogwise, not Floki," he muttered,
and he turned his back on Casseneuil.

Within a bow-shot of the king's pavilion he came
upon Count Hardrat, and his quick eye noted that the
man's first impulse was to avoid him.  But as the
Northman approached, the Thuringian advanced to meet him.

"I would make my peace," he said with a gruff
show of cordiality.  "Heroes should not bear
malice,--and more, you had the best of it."

"Say no more of the wrangle," replied Olvir, quickly.
"I heard your name, but it slips my memory."

"Hardrat, a count of Thuringia,--count of a little
shire, when I should hold the Sorb Mark, if right were
done me," grumbled the Thuringian.  "But old Rudulf
has a pretty daughter in the king's hall; and when was
Karl ever known--"

Olvir turned upon the speaker, his eyes ablaze.

"How!" he demanded; "do you say anything against
the maiden?"

The Thuringian recoiled as though struck.

"I--I--no!" he stammered.

"Then ward your tongue."

The count sought to meet his gaze, but failed.

"My lord Dane," he protested half sullenly, "are you
not over-hasty?  Surely, to speak without offence of a
maiden whom you have met but once--"

"To me she is as a sister.  She is all but betrothed
to my foster-brother.  But no more.  I mistook your
tone.  And now I should hold it a favor to be told whose
are yonder tents.  They differ from all others I see
about."

"Well they may.  It is the camp of the Saracen
envoys,--Al Arabi and--"

"Al Arabi--Al Arabi!  How else is he called?"

"He is named after the wise King of the Hebrews,
though his people give it a strange
sound,--Sul--Suleyman."

"Thor smite me!" cried Olvir, his eyes glittering.
"My thanks for the word.  Farewell, earl."

Before the astonished count could answer, the
Northman was walking swiftly toward the Saracen camp.
Very soon he came to an open-fronted pavilion, in whose
recess a venerable figure reclined on a low divan,
droning out a passage of the Koran.  Olvir halted a moment
to stare at the patriarch, then stepped quietly within the
entrance.

"Peace be with you, O emir," he said in Arabic.

"And with you peace," answered the Saracen, as he
lifted his eyes.  Their hawk-like glance rested
wonderingly upon the bright figure of the Northman; but then
it was drawn by the glow of the great ruby on the
pommel of Al-hatif, and in an instant the Arab's wonder
had given place to fury.

"Dog of a kaffir!" he cried, and he leaped to his
feet.  A taboret, set with dishes, stood before him.
Spurning it aside, he advanced with a rush, till his claw-like
hands threatened the smooth cheek of the Northman.

"Al-hatif!  Al-hatif!  The sword of the Prophet!"
he shrieked.  "What kaffir dog bears the khalif's gift?
Eblis take the thief!  May his arm wither--"

"Stay!" commanded Olvir.  "Would you curse your
own blood?"

The Arab paused, transfixed, and Olvir gazed
unwavering into his glaring eyes.  A dozen or more
Moslems, weapons in hand, came flocking about the
pavilion, drawn by the outcry of their sheik.  But Olvir,
heedless of their bared scimetars, continued gravely:
"Many winters, O sheik, have whitened the mountains
of Armenia since my father and Otkar, whom you called
El Jinni, gave oath to you and left you lying bound on the
river's bank.  Both Thorbiorn and his bride, who was
my mother, long since passed over the bridge of the
dead, and El Jinni has now followed; but the oath has
ever been kept.  None other than your blood has borne
the khalif's gift."

The sheik made no reply.  He was gazing searchingly
into Olvir's dark face, his own stern features softened by
a look of deepest yearning.  His doubts were soon ended.
With joy as impetuous and unmeasured as had been his
anger, he sprang forward and seized the young man in
his arms.

"Son of Gulnare!  Seed of my House!" he cried.
"Allah is good!  You come to cheer my age with your
youth and beauty."

Olvir reverently returned the embrace of his mother's
father, but answered quickly and with decision: "Deny
not the justice of Allah, O sheik!  Into the North He
sent my mother,--and I am a son of the North.  While
this war lasts we shall together fight the Omyyad
beneath your black banners.  Afterwards I must return
here among the Afranj, if not to my father's people."

"Allah's will be done!  We shall see when the time
is at hand.  Now, at least, you will eat my salt and abide
with me this night."

"Be it as you desire.  Yet, first, I would see to my men."

"Go; but return quickly.  My eyes yearn to feast
upon the son of my daughter."

Reluctantly the sheik's arms released their clasp, and
Olvir darted away along the river-bank.  Al Arabi, with
a curt command to his swarthy followers to withdraw,
stood gazing after his grandson until he vanished behind
a group of booths.

"Allah be praised this day!" he murmured fervently
as he returned to his cushioned seat.  "Kasim, my
son-in-law, is a thorn in the flesh; but this bright child of
Gulnare renews my youth.  His eye is as the soaring
falcon's; his step as the fleet gazelle's."

Nor was the sheik's praise unmerited.  No runner in
the Frankish camp could have covered the mile
downstream and back with near the swiftness of the young
Northman; yet when he stood again at the door of the
pavilion and stepped in upon the costly Persian rugs, he
betrayed no other signs of the race than a slight flush in
his dark cheeks and an added depth of breathing.

"By the Beard!" exclaimed Al Arabi; "as Zora
among coursers, so is the son of Gulnare among runners."

"I have run down the grey wolf in fair chase," replied
Olvir, simply, and at the beckoning gesture of the sheik,
he seated himself beside the old man in the same Oriental
posture.  Al Arabi smiled and clapped his hands.  Almost
immediately an Arab attendant, in loose shirt and baggy
trousers, appeared at the entrance and salaamed to the
ground.

"Bring food," said Al Arabi.

The man salaamed again and sprang away.  As he
disappeared, Olvir turned gravely to the sheik.

"What says the Prophet, O kinsman?--'Better is
it to do justice than to sit at meat.'  Before I taste your
salt, it is well that right should be done between us.  It
seems to me just that I should now return to my mother's
father the sword which my father took by force.  Here,
then, is Al-hatif.  I restore it willingly, though I cannot
say that the deed is a joyful one."

Olvir was not long kept waiting to see how Al
Arabi would meet this act of generous pride.  With a
quick movement the old Moslem seized the sword and
sprang to his feet.  The beautiful blade whipped from
its sheath and flashed around the sheik's head in bright
circles.

"Allah acbar!" he cried.  "The sword of the Prophet
returns!  Once again my hand grasps the khalif's gift!"

Olvir turned his head away, unable longer to hide his
anguish at the loss of the sword.  He thought of the day
in Starkad's mound, when Otkar first put the coveted
plaything in his childish hands.  Since then it had never
lain beyond his reach, night or day, and now--!

In the midst of his rejoicing, Al Arabi paused and
turned his head to glance at his grandson.  A moment
later sword and scabbard were lying across Olvir's feet.

"Look, my son!" cried the old man.  "The khalif's
gift is my gift.  For a little the light of the blade blinded
me.  But how could I take from my daughter's son the
only inheritance she left him?  Once the sword was forced
from my grasp; now my heart rejoices to part with it to
the son of Gulnare."

Olvir sought to answer, but the words choked in his
throat.  An eye far less keen than the sheik's, however,
could have seen the gratitude which lighted the young
viking's face.  His eyes were shining through a mist of
tears.  Al Arabi gravely seated himself beside his
grandson, and, sheathing the sword, clasped it once more to
Olvir's belt.

The first attendant and another now entered the tent,
bearing between them a taboret set with food.  The
second attendant withdrew at once; but his fellow waited
for further orders.

"Where is Vali Kasim?" asked Al Arabi.

"He goes with the herd to the river, O sheik."

"When they return, bid him come this way."

The man bowed and slipped noiselessly away, while
the host, having first tasted each dish on the table, urged
his guest to eat.  He had no need to repeat the bidding.
Olvir's youth and health would have given relish to the
plainest fare, and the mutton stew was very savory.
When the last drop of gravy had been sopped up, Olvir
turned with good-will to the dates and candied fruit,
which the sheik was attacking with the zest of an
Oriental.  Hearty, however, as was the younger man's
appetite, his palate, unaccustomed to such confections, soon
cloyed with their spicy sweetness.  Al Arabi gravely
shook his head at this sign of foreign taste, and then he
smiled in recollection of the past.

"It is clear that you were not raised in the land of
the faithful, son of my daughter," he observed.  "You
lack the sweet tooth."

"I will not turn from honey in the comb; but these
sweets--"

"The spices of the Far East.  You will in time become
used to their flavor," explained the sheik, and he held up
a slice of candied pomegranate between thumb and finger.
But the sweetmeat did not reach his mouth.  Struck by
a sudden thought, he dropped the titbit to clutch Olvir's
shoulder.  His eyes were ablaze with intense feeling.

"*Hei*, by the Prophet's Beard, you shall in truth learn
the taste of Moslem sweets!  Who is Kasim, that he
should stand first with the Beni Al Abbas?  My word is
yet weightiest in the council of the sheiks.  When this
lion of the Afranj has broken the might of that dog
Abd-er-Rahman, my daughter's son--my daughter's son
shall be Emir of Andalus!"

Olvir's cheeks flushed and his eyes sparkled at the
alluring prospect; but his clear intellect was quick to
perceive the wildness of the scheme.

"Hearken a little, father of my mother," He said.  "I
give thanks for the good thought; but how can such be?
Did Allah uprear me a kaffir, that I might rule over the
faithful?"

"The mission of Islam is to bring unbelievers into
the faith."

"I hold to no faith but my own.  No priest or
prophet shall set the bounds of my thought.  I see much
good in the words of the Son of Mary; but little has
Mohammed added to them.  I believe that God is in all
men alike, and that each man is good, not according as
he is Moslem or Jew, Christian or heathen, but as he does
in his deeds the will of the Spirit within him.  But
enough!  I give you pain."

"*Hei*! you speak in a strange tongue, son of Gulnare.
Yet the tongue can be bridled.  You believe in the One
God.  For the rest, there need be--"

"Stay, father.  What is the creed of Islam, which the
proselyte must cry aloud?  No; it cannot be.  Even my
hair would betray me."

"*Bismillah*!  The All-powerful One will disclose his
decrees in due time.  If yours is the Afranj hair, is not
Abd-er-Rahman's the Afranj eye?  'Blue of eye, and foul
of face,' the saying is against the Omyyad; but there is
nothing in men's mouths against hair of golden flame.
We shall see what Allah has decreed.  Now tell me how
you come here to the host of the Sultan Karolah; tell
me of my Gulnare, and of your life in the frozen North."

Olvir bowed; but he had hardly made a beginning
of the tale of how Thorbiorn Viking brought home his elf
bride from the Land of the Asiamen, when he was
interrupted by the sound of quick hoof-beats, and a score of
beautiful horses, wine-red in color, came crowding around
the front of the tent.  As Olvir stopped short with a cry
of delight, Al Arabi smiled and lifted his hand.  A mare
at once pushed from among her companions and advanced
quietly into the tent, the tip of her flowing tail brushing
the costly rugs, upon which she planted her small hoofs
with the daintiness of a woman.  Al Arabi held out for her
a stoned date, and as she nibbled at it he stroked her bony
cheek.

"So, Zora," he said, "you must have your sweetmeats,
like all women.  But I do not begrudge them to
my swift one.  You look at the guest, daughter of Rustem.
It is well.  He is not such a one as these Afranj jinn,
who must get them to battle or the chase on ox-like
steeds.  No, Wind-racer; this is one with whom you
could course the gazelle from dawn even to sunset.  Look
closely at the young man, for he is of the Household,--he
is the Heir."

Zora stretched out her graceful neck to nuzzle the
Heir's strange attire with the tip of her projecting lip.
The attention was appreciated at its full value.  Never
before had Olvir seen the like of this beautiful mare, and
her friendliness greatly pleased him.  He was stroking
the broad forehead between her soft black eyes when the
younger Saracen envoy entered the tent.

Kasim did not wait to examine the guest, but perceiving
at the first glance that the stranger's dress was
not of Saracen fashion, he exclaimed petulantly: "How
now, father of my bride; has your dowar become a
lounging-place for kaffirs?  I did not look to find you
breaking bread with an Afranj dog."

Great was the vali's surprise when the despised kaffir
answered him in his own tongue: "Friend, what says the
wise king, the emir's namesake?--'Even a fool, when he
holdeth his peace, is accounted wise; and he that shutteth
his lips is esteemed a man of understanding.'"

Though not a little humiliated by the apt rebuke,
Kasim advanced closer to examine the guest with his
blinking gaze.  If his thought was to strike fear into the
heart of the stranger by the fierceness of his look, he was
never so mistaken.  Olvir met him with a gaze so steady
and so full of calm indifference that the Saracen, to cover
the sudden confusion which fell upon him, shifted his
glance to the stranger's dress.

The body armor of the guest was familiar to his
sight; for only in its rich finish and in the threefold
thickness of its mesh did it differ from his own.  Yet it
had an odd appearance, worn with the cross-thonged
stockings, close breeches, and fur-trimmed cloak of the
Norse dress.  And, notwithstanding the ruddy
yellow hair of the son of Gulnare, never had Kasim Ibn
Yusuf seen a warrior who in figure, face, and bearing
so nearly approached the Arab ideal of princeliness and
beauty.

"May it please the father of my sultana to make
known the guest who sits at meat with him," he said.

Al Arabi rose, and Olvir imitated the movement.
When both were standing, the sheik laid his hand on
Olvir's shoulder, and answered the vali: "You have
heard of El Jinni, Ibn Yusuf,--that Samson of the Far
North--"

"I have heard of El Jinni," retorted Kasim.  "So this
is his son.  Had another than yourself told me that you
would hold friendship with any kin of the robber who
despoiled your city and bore off your daughter, I should
name the teller a liar."

"Do not marvel, Ibn Yusuf.  This is not the son of
El Jinni, but the son of that daughter,--my Gulnare.
Rejoice with me, Kasim!  The lost is found!  Come
forward and greet your kinsman."

At the appeal, which was half a command, Kasim
advanced and embraced Olvir, muttering formal words of
pleasure.  His protestations of friendship did not,
however, deceive the young Northman.  He read the hostility
in the Arab's eyes, and met the feigned warmth of his
greeting with cold disdain.

"You bear a sword of price, kinsman," remarked the
vali, as the glow of the great ruby on Al-hatif's hilt caught
his eye.

"It is a sword beyond price," answered Olvir.  "The
Prophet himself once bore it.  When your wife's father
aided Khalif Abdullah to overthrow the House of Omar,
the khalif did more than make him Emir of Kars,--he
gave to him Al-hatif."

"Al-hatif!" cried Kasim; "the Prophet's sword in
the hand of an unbeliever!"

"I believe in the One God," replied Olvir.  "There
is good in all faiths.  I accept the Truth wherever I find
it; the error I reject."

The vali threw out his hands in pious horror.

"La I'laha ilia Allah; Mohammed resoul Allah!"
he cried.  "Within Islam alone is salvation."

"So say the Jews; so say the Christians; and so
say the Magians,--each for his own creed," retorted
Olvir.

Kasim frowned and shook his fist at the unbeliever,
in sudden heat.

"What saying's this?" he exclaimed.  "Who dares
name the creeds of kaffir dogs in the same breath with the
true faith?  Who--"

"Enough, vali!" commanded Al Arabi.  "There shall
be no railing and contention in my House.  The son of
Gulnare does not come to bring strife, but to strengthen
our hands in the struggle against Abd-er-Rahman.  You
saw his warriors in the strange ships which rowed past
before our dowar.  When Karolah comes south, with him
will march your kinsman and his steel-clad warriors, to
fight beneath our banners.  And now, that the son of
Gulnare may not find the way toilsome, I give him the
choicest of my desert-fliers.  The daughter of Rustem is
fitting gift to the son of Gulnare."

"Zora!" stammered Kasim,--"Zora!"

"I have spoken.  Lead the herd away, and make
ready full equipment, that the fleet one may come to her
master with adornment worthy of her lineage."

With his hand clutched convulsively in Zora's flowing
mane, Kasim led her from the tent without a word.

Al Arabi watched his departure with a frown of
displeasure, his lean hand tugging at his beard.

"He goes in anger," he muttered.

"I fear I bring you sorrow, father," said Olvir.  "A
house divided against itself cannot stand."

"The Son of Mary spoke truth.  Yet be at peace.  It
is not you who bring contention to my House.  Kasim
Ibn Yusuf is a man of unruly spirit.  He has long been
a thorn in my flesh.  Your coming has rejoiced my soul."

"Allah grant it may never be otherwise!" responded Olvir.

"*Amin--amin!*" said Al Arabi; and motioning Olvir
to resume his seat, he added: "Now, my son, tell me fully
of your mother and of your fearful uprearing by El Jinni
in the tomb."





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`CHAPTER VIII`:

.. class:: center large

   CHAPTER VIII

.. vspace:: 2

|   Unwound from arm winding-rings
|   Of Kaiser gold wrought--
|                   LAY OF HILDEBRAND.
|
|   The seed of gold
|   Sowed the swan-bright woman,
|   Rings of red-gold.
|                   SONG OF ATLI.

.. vspace:: 2

Morning put an end to Sheik
Suleyman's hospitality.  Shortly
after sunrise his retainers
began striking the tents of the
dowar, in preparation for the
journey back across the
Pyrenees.  To ferry the envoys over
the Garonne, Olvir manned
one of his longships, and made
ready to embark with his new-found
kinsmen.  His purpose was to accompany the
sheik half a day on the march, as a mark of the respect
and affection due his mother's father.  He also had in
view the return to the Garonne, when, unhampered by
companions, he could test the speed of the beautiful red
mare.

At the last moment, however, as Zora was being led
aboard ship, young Gerold of Busson came galloping down
the bank, and hailed the Norse chief loudly: "Hold, Lord
Olvir!  The king bids you to his presence."

Olvir turned, frowning, to the sheik, who stood with
Kasim in the vessel's stern.

"Eblis!" he exclaimed in Arabic.  "Am I a hound,
to leap to another's bidding?  Karolah sends command
for my presence.  Let him command; I go with you."

"Allah forbid!" rejoined Al Arabi.  "Have you not
chosen the service of the Afranj sultan?  Why, then,
should he not command?  Bend to his wish.  It may be
that he sends to honor you."

"Yours are words of wisdom, father of my mother.
My freedom is in the hands of my lord.  Farewell,
therefore,--and peace be with you till we meet in Andalus,"
replied Olvir, and he beckoned the groom who held Zora
to bring the mare to him.

Al Arabi leaned over the ship's side and extended his
arms in a yearning gesture.

"My peace with you, son of Gulnare!  I shall suffer
many nights of longing before I see your face on the
Ebro's bank."

"The days of our meeting will blot out the memory
of the parting," answered Olvir; and a smile drove the
lingering frown from his brow.  Still smiling, he glanced
aside at Kasim, with a pleasant word of parting on his
lips; but neither look nor word won a responsive smile
from the impassive face of the younger Saracen.

A moment later, as the ship's bows swung clear of the
bank, Count Gerold rode down beside Olvir and cried out
eagerly: "Tell me, hero, is not that your rune-friend
Liutrad at the helm?"

"Ay."

"Then may he not come with us?  Our lord king will
be glad to see him also."

Olvir made a sign to the young giant, who calmly
gave the tiller into Floki's hand, and turned to pick up his
ponderous axe.

"The hero should move more briskly if he would
come ashore dry shod," remarked Gerold, and he pointed
to the quickly widening space between the bank and the
longship's stern.

"The stag leaps high.  I alone can out spring the son
of Erling.  Watch!"

As Olvir spoke, Liutrad bounded up on the high stern-piece
of the ship.  For an instant he stood poised on the
gilded dragon-tail, gathering force for the wide leap; then
he came flying above the water, clear to the side of his
earl.

"Well done, Dane!" exclaimed Gerold; and he
sprang from his horse.

Liutrad caught the extended hand of the queen's
brother in his powerful grip, and met his smile with a
look no less friendly.  Though the Northman overtopped
the Swabian by a head, the two were so well matched in
years and nature that their hearts warmed in friendship
on the spot.

For a while, as the boyish warriors exchanged pledges
of friendship, Olvir watched the white-bearded figure in
the stern of the receding ship.  At last, with a gesture of
farewell, he turned and looked at the new-made friends.
His face lighted at sight of their smiles, and with a quick
movement he unwound one of the double spirals of gold
coiled about his arm.  Another twist in his sinewy fingers
broke the spiral into two equal parts.  Handing one to
each of the young men, he explained to the Swabian: "In
the North a leader who is not close-fisted is called the
'ring-breaker,' because he gives the red gold of his rings
to his true friends and followers.  Here, then, I give you
each a ring to wear, as a token of the bond between you."

Both sought to thank him; but he cut short their
words with a gesture.  His face had darkened as though
a shadow had fallen across it.

"May the Norns weave you good luck!" he muttered.
"Not all friends lack gall in their mead."

"Surely there shall be none in the sweet mead that
I 'll drink with Liutrad the loreful!" replied Gerold.  "But
come now.  Our lord king is eager to talk with such wise
heroes.  It is wonderful that warriors should be so learned.
Few even among monks and priests can mark fair letters.
Were you and Lord Olvir baptized, his Majesty would
make bishops of you both."

"As it is," rejoined Olvir, ironically, "we are
benighted heathen,--sons of the fiend-god Thor.  And now,
as you well say, we had best be moving if we would not
keep the great king waiting."

"I will walk to the villa beside my Frank friend,"
remarked Liutrad, as Olvir placed a hand on Zora's
withers and vaulted lightly into the saddle.  But Gerold
would not agree.

"Yonder is the camp of one who owes me favor," he
said.  "I will soon have a horse for you."

With Liutrad mounted, the three quickly covered the
ride to Casseneuil.  Grooms of the king's stables took
charge of the horses in the courtyard of the villa, and
Gerold, waving aside the Grand Doorward, himself
ushered his companions to the royal apartments.

Olvir and Liutrad, staring wonderingly about them
at the Roman architecture and Gallo-Roman decorations
of the villa, followed Gerold in half-awed silence through
the flower-perfumed courts and the marble-tessellated
passages.  At each turn they looked to find themselves on
the threshold of some grand rush-strewn hall, crowded
with war-counts and the Frank king's councillors.  When,
however, Gerold at last led them through a curtained
archway, a glance at the tapestried chamber within showed
them their mistake.

"The queen's bower!" muttered Olvir, and his
black eyes flashed their glance along the line of busily
sewing maidens on the right to Rothada, playing with
her sister and brothers at the edge of the dais that
extended across the farther end of the chamber.  Upon the
dais sat Hildegarde herself, side by side with her royal
spouse.

With all his haughty pride, Olvir was quick to realize
the honor paid him, stranger and outlander as he was,
by such an introduction into the bosom of the Frank king's
family.  When he perceived the queen's extended hand
beckoning him to approach, he advanced at once down
the chamber, without pausing to look about.  In his
eagerness he failed to see Count Roland and Fastrada, who had
drawn apart into one of the recessed windows of the
bower.  Liutrad, however, chancing to glance that way,
turned aside to inquire the health of the wounded count;
and Fastrada took instant advantage of the interruption
to glide out beside Gerold.  If her intention was to
overtake Olvir, she was too late.  He was already kneeling at
the edge of the dais, to kiss the queen's hand.

As the Northman's knee touched the dais step, the
great Frank in the oaken seat struck his thigh, and cried
loudly: "By my sweet dame's spindle! hereafter I swear
by that token!  The Dane bows neither to sword nor
crown, yet stoops low to a woman's hand."

Olvir stood erect and looked straight into the gracious
face of the queen.  Hair of golden floss, a skin of dazzling
fairness,--neither was new to him; but the mild blue
eyes beamed with spiritual light such as was seldom seen
even in the lands of Christendom.  The daughter of
Childebrand, despite her seven years of wedlock, was a
dame very lovely to the eye, no less in expression than
in feature.

Olvir smiled at her as he would have smiled at
Rothada, and, without turning, he answered the king
steadily: "I come of high blood, lord king; also, I am a
free Northman,--I bow to no man.  But the greatest
of all may well bow to holiness.  We have a saying in
the North, 'A good woman is near the gods.'"

"That is a wise saw, however heathenish.  But give
heed to our queen; she has something to say to you."

"I would give thanks for the safe bringing of this
little maiden," remarked Hildegarde.  "Only a warrior
of noblest heart could have done such a deed."

Olvir shook his head smilingly.

"I freed the Dane's thralls for my own pleasure,
which you now double," he said.

"But you shall also accept this ring, as mark of our
gratitude," rejoined the queen, and she drew a bracelet of
twisted gold wires from her white wrist.  When she held
out the ornament, Olvir, instead of grasping it, thrust his
left hand through the opening.

"How! is the ring on?" exclaimed Karl, in surprise.
"The lad has no need to talk of high birth,--a warrior
with hands womanly slender!"

"Yet fit to grasp spear or sword," added Hildegarde,
gazing curiously at the young sea-king's hard palms and
sinewy wrists.

"Before I could walk I played with weapons," replied
Olvir, and he glanced aside at the royal children.  The
king looked also, and at once beckoned to the little group.
The sturdy boy Karl sprang forward at the signal,
followed by his imperious little sister Rotrude and the
toddling Carloman.  After the children of Hildegarde came
their unfortunate half-brother, the crook-backed Pepin.
All were soon perched upon the massive knees of
majesty.

There was space left for Rothada at her father's side;
but she had lingered to greet Olvir.  She came to him, her
face beaming with delight and gay welcome, which yet
could not altogether hide the shyness of budding maidenhood.
Olvir did not wait for her faltering speech.  He
caught her hands in his and bent to kiss her white forehead.

"Health to you, maiden!" he said.  "My sea-wolves
send greeting to their little seeress.  Already they howl
for a glimpse of her bright face."

"I pray they may not howl so loud as when Liutrad,
yonder, and the lofty Floki upraised us on the shield.  My
heart turned to water for fear of their roaring," replied
Rothada; and even the awe of her father's presence could
not restrain a burst of merry laughter at the memory.

Olvir smiled down into the girl's sparkling eyes.

"Ay, king's daughter," he said; "but you soon lost
your dread of the grim hailers.  Did you not cry back
greeting to them?  Small wonder they hailed the little
valkyrie who stood so boldly on the shield with their
earl; small wonder they choose for vala the wise little
leech-maid who went among the stricken warriors with
soft words and healing balm."

Karl stared at his daughter in wonder.

"Do you jest, Count Olvir?" he demanded.  "This
is a part of the tale I had not yet heard.  Surely, for a
nun-child--"

"She was no nun-child, then, but the child of the
great Frank king.  Already she had turned away Floki
from the burning of the thralls.  Then she stood with me
on the swaying shield.  But not until we crossed the
river bar and held war-council oh the Garonne bank did
the crews choose her for their vala,--their little
seeress-maiden.  The stricken Danes whom she had nursed aboard
my Raven set her in the midst of the gathering, and the
king's daughter won all alike by her sweet wisdom and
lore.  She holds the fierce hearts of my sea-wolves by a
bond subtle and strong as the fetter of the Fenris-wolf.
We have sworn to carve the blood-eagle on the back of
whoever does her harm."

"The Holy Mother bless you!" cried Hildegarde;
and the king, flushing with pleasure, added heartily,
"Amen to the good wish!  You have well earned it, my
bright Dane,--you and all your followers, though you
be twice over heathen.  Before sunset the grim warriors
shall see the maiden in their midst.  Now come to my
side, child, and let a seat be brought for our guests."





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`CHAPTER IX`:

.. class:: center large

   CHAPTER IX

.. vspace:: 2

|   As fair as thou seest
|   Brides on the bench abiding.
|   Let not love's silver
|   Rule over thy dreams;
|   Draw no woman to kind kisses.
|                   LAY OF SIGRDRIFA.

.. vspace:: 2

As Rothada sprang up the step of
the dais to nestle close to her
father, Gerold drew out a bench
from the nearest wall.  On this
Olvir seated himself, and the
king beckoned to Liutrad and Roland.

"Come forward, heroes," he
said; "and you, Gerold."

The quick advance of her
companions left Fastrada alone in the midst of the bower.
She hesitated and looked appealingly to the king.  Karl
had bent over the children clasped in his great arms; but
Hildegarde saw the girl's look, and signed to her to take
the place on the bench beside Roland.

Crimson with shamefaced delight, the girl glided
forward.  Near the bench, however, she began to falter,
seemingly overcome by diffidence.  A very audible tittering
from the other bower-maidens sent her edging around
the end of the bench farthest from Roland.  Then the
king, drawn by the note of merriment, looked up and
fixed his gaze upon her.  Was it to be wondered that,
between her diffidence and the awe of the royal presence,
the girl shrank back to the bench in such confusion as
to thrust herself between Liutrad Erlingson and his lord?

Karl burst into a hearty laugh.

"Holy Mother!" he exclaimed, "it is our herald
maiden.  She plays her own part more ill than another's.
Did you not tell me, sweetheart, that Roland--ay,
it was Roland!  We will mend matters if this young
Dane bear will barter seats on the bench with a stricken
hero."

Liutrad sprang up at the word.  But Count Roland
sat firmly in his place.

"The maiden has good eyesight, and there is space
beside me," he said.

A second and louder titter ran down the row of
bower-maidens, and even Hildegarde could not suppress
a smile.  Fastrada only blushed the more, and sat with
downcast eyes, not even venturing a glance at the
young sea-king beside her.  Her drooping shoulder
pressed lightly against the gold spirals on the Norse
hero's mailed arm.  She sat very quiet.

Again Karl laughed, this time at the frowning face
of his nephew.

"Ha, kinsman," he admonished in a jesting tone,
"the maiden seems coy.  Your wooing has been
over-hearty."

"That could not be, dear lord, if the maiden loves
him," observed Hildegarde, softly.

"Which is to say--"

"Nothing, sire, nothing!" broke in Roland.  "We
were merely talking of my sword-brother."

"A choice subject," rejoined Karl; "yet had I worn
the buskins of Count Roland, I should have talked more
of the maiden herself, and of Count Roland's thoughts of
her."

Roland's frown deepened, and Fastrada's blushing
face bent still farther forward.  Olvir sat rigidly erect,
striving to resist his desire to gaze down on the drooping
maiden.  He had caught one glimpse of her face as she
stood between him and the king,--a glimpse that of itself
was enough to set his pulses wildly throbbing; and now
there was added to it the warmth and perfume of her
person close against his side.  The temptation was almost
greater than he could bear.  Only by the strongest
effort could he hold in mind his duty to his foster-brother.
Of all present, he perhaps felt most keenly the constraint
of the silence which followed the king's well-meant
raillery.

The pause was broken by Hildegarde, with the kindly
thought of diverting attention from the lovers.

"Dear lord, you told me that Count Olvir was the
foster-son of Otkar the Dane.  Have I not also heard you
say that Lord Otkar was the craftiest as well as the
strongest of warriors?"

"He was a foe worthy a king," answered Karl.
"Would that the hero were now beside my throne, with
his grey wit and mighty axe!  Yet I should not
complain.  Here is one whom he has reared in all his lore
and wisdom."

"The lore, but not the wisdom, lord king," replied
Olvir.  "He could give me the one; the other no man
may impart."

"True; and the saying tells me you have found
wisdom for yourself.  Beware, for now I shall put your
wit to the test.  I would ask your counsel on this Saracen
war.  All my other borders are pacified.  Even the Saxon
Mark--"

"Count nothing on the Saxons, lord king," interrupted Olvir.

"How! already a difference from my councillors?  Not
one in my hall but will tell you those wolves are at last
tamed.  I have planted their wild land with fortresses and
chapels."

"Your church tithes and the preaching of your priests
will soon stir the sons of Odin to renewed anger.  I speak
words from Otkar's lips.  There will be blood on priestly
robes.  Your burgs and your chapels will see the torch.
Look for no sure peace in Saxon Land so long as Wittikind
the Westphalian bears his head upon his shoulders."

"He dwells with Sigfrid the Dane, as you yourself
bring word."

"Scant cheer!  When he comes again, it will be with
a following of Dane warriors.  If he is content to dwell
always with the Nordmannian king, why should he send
the murderer Hroar to bear off this little maiden by your
knee?"

The king laid his hand on Rothada's head, and his face
grew stern with a look of majesty and power before which
even Olvir sat half awed.

"Dane and Saxon,--sea-wolf and forest-wolf,--let
the wild hordes come!  They shall find other than lambs
to greet them!"

"Yet now you 'd lay open the Mark to them, lord
king," persisted Olvir.  "You plan to lead your host still
farther from the Rhineland."

"By Thor, Olvir," broke in Liutrad, with Norse
freedom, "why seek to mar such fair chance of sword-play?
The more of war, the merrier for heroes.  And would you
turn aid from your Saracen kin?"

"Saracen kin; how's that, my Norse hawk?  Is the
boy mad?"

"No, lord king," replied Olvir; "my face should tell
otherwise.  Because of it, men in the North call me Elfkin;
but this is the truth,--in my mother's veins Greek and Arab
blood were mingled.  Her father, Sheik Suleyman, is known
to you as Al Arabi,--leader of the Saracen envoys."

"Al Arabi!"

"One-time Emir of Armenia.  The wife who bore
him my mother was of kin to the Emperor Leo, whom men
call the Isaurian."

"By my crown! no longer do I wonder at your
unbending knee!  I have done well to honor you.  What is
your knowledge of the Saracen folk?"

"As to those in the Eastland, I learned much from
Otkar and from Arabic writings; but of these in Andalus,
I know only what came to me last night from the lips of
my mother's father."

"And what did he say of Abd-er-Rahman?  The
Saracen king has the name of a great warrior."

"True, lord king; yet the Beni Al Abbas cherish
undying hatred against the Omyyad."

"These Saracen pagans are loath to take oath; but the
envoys swore to the fealty of their faction.  I count no less
on aid from the Christian folk in that land."

"And Duke Lupus, your Majesty," added Roland,
with a sudden show of interest.  "He brings us safe
passage of the Pyrenees."

"I have heard Otkar speak of the Vascons," rejoined
Olvir, dryly.  "It is said they do not love outlanders.  As
to this duke, is he not of Merwing blood?"

"True,--and therefore lacks boldness to break his
allegiance," answered Karl.

Olvir's lip curled in a slow smile.

"A fox will snap in his own den, and, at the best, the
mountain-cats are hard to hold.  You may look for aid to
the Beni Al Abbas; but count neither on Christian Vascon
nor Christian Goth."

"What! do you hold that the Christian folk would
choose their pagan oppressors before a ruler of their own
faith?  Our Holy Father Hadrian numbers them among
the truest of Christians."

"And yet, lord king, the Moslem yoke is lighter on
their necks than is your own upon the folk of Aquitania."

At the bold assertion, Karl's heavy brows met in a
frown, and an angry light shone from his grey eyes.

"My yoke,--my yoke!" he repeated slowly.  "By
my sword, young Dane, you are no court-man.  Otkar
himself would scarce have ventured so bitter a jeer."

"Jeer!  The king asked my counsel, and I gave it.
I believe what I spoke; it came to me from Otkar.  Why,
then, should I not speak it?"

"Why not?" rejoined Karl; and he burst into hearty
laughter.  Then, falling grave again, he nodded, and called
out approvingly, "Here, in truth, is a king's son!
Hearken, my Dane hawk; though I have bold counts as
well as sleek flatterers, my ears are not used to such biting
truths.  It shall be otherwise hereafter.  I will not
willingly part with so straight-tongued a counsellor."

The great Frank paused to pat the heads of the three
boys astride his knees.

"May these bairns prove as bold," he added.  "And
now, enough of such matters.  I had intended, Olvir, to
test your learning, and that of your ruddy-cheeked
follower; but that must now wait.  After the feast of Lupus,
we will have you both come of an evening to feast us on
your book-lore."

"The feast of Lupus!" sighed Hildegarde, pausing
in her needlework.  "I wish that I might attend it with
you, dear lord."

"And why, sweetheart?"

"Fastrada, tell his Majesty of the feast."

Thus called upon by her royal mistress, Fastrada
raised her eyes with a timid glance, which, as she spoke,
faltered and turned appealingly aside toward Olvir.

"Your Majesty," she murmured, "it is said that the
Vascon duke has planned his feast after the manner of the
old-time Romans.  Instead of seats, he will place couches
for the guests to recline upon while they dine."

"What!--to lie and sup together?  The Vascon
proves his Merwing blood.  None other would think of
mating bed and board.  Yet he is host; we must make the
best of it."

"Surely no harm will follow, sire," said Gerold.
"Abbot Fulrad and other churchmen will be there, and
thus to act out an ancient custom will give play for much
merriment."

"Joy works no harm," replied Karl, nodding.  "At the
least, we shall give the duke's hospitality fair trial.
Meantime, there is much else to demand our care.  Farewell for
the present, my Dane hawk, and you, young Samson."

All on the bench rose at the word of dismissal.  Olvir,
with a bow to the queen and a kindly glance for Rothada,
turned quickly away after Gerold and Liutrad, resolutely
refraining from a single glance at the lovely bench-mate
whom he thus suddenly deserted.

In vain Fastrada gazed longingly after the Northman;
while, no less vainly, Roland lingered for a parting look
from the girl.  Both were alike disappointed.

As the bower-maiden glided silently back among her
companions, the wounded count followed Olvir from the
chamber with a heavy tread.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`CHAPTER X`:

.. class:: center large

   CHAPTER X

.. vspace:: 2

|   Bids she not to be wary?
|   For a wolf's hair I found.
|   Wolf-beset shall be the way
|   If we fare on this errand.
|                   SONG OF ATLI.

.. vspace:: 2

Evening of the following day
found Olvir and Gerold returning
to the viking camp from a
successful hunt.  Zora had fully
justified the praises of her giver,
and bore her rider into camp
without a sign of fatigue.  But
the heavier Frankish horse was
so spent by the chase that he
could hardly carry his rider to
Olvir's tent.

At the sound of their approach the tent was opened
from within, and Count Roland came out to greet the
hunters.

"Ho, brother!" called Olvir, as he leaped to the
ground.  "It is well; you keep tryst."

"Better than some," replied Roland.  "Already we
should be on our way to the Vascon's hall; yet Gerold is
as good as horseless."

"We shall go more quickly by boat.  Ho, there, Floki! man
the Raven's barki.  While we wait, brother, Gerold
and I will change chase-gear for hall-dress."

"Stay; first see to this.  A palace slave handed it to
me for you.  He claimed to know nothing of the giver, but
said that the matter was urgent."

"A maiden's gift," ventured Gerold, at sight of the
little ivory vial which Roland held out to the Northman.

Olvir took the gift and examined it keenly.  There
was yet ample light for him to discern a faint "F" traced
on the cover of the vial.  At the discovery every nerve of
his body thrilled with sudden uncontrollable delight.  But
he shook his head at Gerold's suggestion, and said almost
harshly, "I know of no maiden who should so honor me."

"Look within, brother; let us see what is sent," said
Roland.

Olvir at once opened the little vessel and held it up
to view.  The sight brought out a merry shout from Gerold.

"Saint Petronella!" he cried; "the maiden loves you,
hero.  She has sent a lock of hair."

"But a sparse tress, as suits a grey spinster," added
Roland, who had looked closer.

"Grey spinster!" muttered Olvir, and he held out to
his smiling companions the one grey bristle which had lain
coiled in the vial.  "Here is hair, but no woman's," he
added significantly.

"A wolf's hair!" exclaimed Roland.  "But why--"

"A warning!" broke in Gerold.  "I 've heard of the
like in Saxon Land; and did not Gudrun, in the old lay,
send such to her kinsmen?  Am I not right, hero?"

"Ay; come within, Roland.  Hroar's scale hauberk
will hang well on your shoulders.  You, Gerold, shall go
borrow a mail-serk from a man your size.  Bid Floki see to
it that the boatmen also arm themselves.  None shall go to
the feast naked."

"You fear an attack?" questioned Roland as Gerold
darted away.

"There are lonely copses on the way to Casseneuil,"
answered Olvir.

"If men lie in wait, they will not look for us in the
boat.  We will pass them by."

"And if not?  Besides, it may be that the danger waits
us at the villa--even in the feast hall.  A dagger from
behind--"

"True; Lupus is a Merwing.  God forbid he put
poison in our flagons!"

"That we must chance.  But the good mail beneath
our jerkins will do no harm."

Roland's response was to unbuckle the belt from
which swung the heavy blade of Ironbiter.  Olvir then
unrolled Hroar's scale hauberk from its fur wrappings,
and, having adjusted the bandages on the Frank's
half-healed wounds, he buckled the armor about the massive
body of his friend.  The count's silk-embroidered tunic
followed, entirely covering the gilded steel.  Last of all,
Olvir replaced Ironbiter with a lighter sword.  Roland yet
lacked strength to wield that great Norse blade.

Olvir's own mail was on in a trice, followed as quickly
by his gala jerkin.  Unlike Roland's tunic, however, the
jerkin failed to hide his armor.  Its gold collar might have
passed as an ornament; but the long sleeves of ring-mail
glinting beneath the cloth at the wearer's wrists could be
mistaken by none.

"Thor! what care I for the Merwing?" exclaimed
Olvir; and stripping off the jerkin, he belted Al-hatif on
the shimmering mail.  As he flung his gay cloak about his
shoulders, he added grimly, "If the Vascon question my
feast-dress, I have my answer.  More than one tale did
Otkar tell as he lay dying."

"Bear in mind, brother, the duke will be our host; so
ward your tongue," cautioned Roland.

"Let him look to his own, then, and mine will wag
little," replied Olvir.  "Ah, here comes Gerold, with a
good mail-serk on his back.  On with your hall-dress, lad.
We wait for you."

"The boat also.  I was seeking Liutrad, to care for my
horse," explained Gerold, as he drew on the garments
tossed him by Olvir.

A little later the three friends were seated in the stern
of the Raven's boat, and six mail-clad vikings were rowing
them upstream, through the twilight, with long, steady
strokes.  Floki himself pulled bow-oar.

For a while Olvir skirted the shore; then he steered
out into midstream.

"Ho, earl! swing in again," called Floki, sharply.
"The stream might well run slower."

"Also your tongue, Crane!" retorted Olvir.  "In this
dusk watchers might doubt our looks; but Thor smite me
if they could doubt your croak."

"What of that?" growled Floki.

"Have you so soon forgot?" demanded Gerold.  "In
this wood is the camp of Count Hardrat, whom two days
since your ring-breaker flung on the turf."

"Liutrad's red pig!" said Floki, contemptuously.

"But even the meanest foe--"

Roland stopped short.  An arrow had whistled past,
not a span before his face.

"Saint Michael! an attack!" cried Gerold.  "Put
about, hero.  We 'll land, and slay the murderers!"

"They shall hang!  Put about, brother!" shouted
Roland, as a second arrow flew out of the gloom, to shiver
on his shoulder, and another fell blunted from Olvir's side.

The sea-king's nostrils quivered, and his black eyes
flashed eagerly, as, thrusting over the steer-oar, he stooped
for the arrow at his feet.  For a moment he stood peering
at the missile in the dim light, and a fourth arrow struck
quivering in the boat's upcurved stern.  Then, with a stifled
cry, he thrust back the steer-oar so forcefully that the
turning boat surged round again and headed for the
opposite shore.

"Ho, look to your tiller!" protested Roland.  "You
sheer off."

"Give way, men," commanded Olvir.  "Who hungers
for venomed shafts?"

"Venomed?" cried Gerold.'

"Look for yourselves," answered Olvir, as he handed
the arrow to Roland.  "Beware the point, brother."

"This is no Frank shaft," said Roland, the instant he
felt the arrow.

"No," replied Olvir, bitterly; "nor is the steel glazed
for rust guard.  Otkar brought the like from Saracen Land.
They are more deadly than the adder."

"But who--"

"My Saracen kinsman, the younger envoy.  Have I
not won the old sheik's love and taken Zora from him?"

"The foul pagan!" muttered Roland.  "But we have
passed him.  No more arrows whistle."

"And the snake crawls away unscathed!" spluttered
Gerold, boiling with righteous anger.

But Olvir stood silent.  Not until the boat swung in
beside the villa landing did he speak a word, and then only
a curt command: "Moor offshore, Floki, and wait."

"A dreary watch," remarked Gerold.  "I could send
wine--"

"Thanks, lad; but we have mead aboard," replied
Floki.  "A merry feast to you!"

"That is a notable henchman, brother," observed Roland.

Olvir made no reply.  Silent as before, he followed his
companions to the Vascon's hall.  In the light of passing
torches they saw his face livid with grief and anger.

In the Roman portico Roland paused and laid a hand
on the Northman's shoulder.

"Guests--even armed guests--should come to the
feast smiling," he said.

"True; yet my mouth tastes of gall,--my own kinsman!"

"There is that within will sweeten the taste, hero,"
replied Gerold.  "Do not shame us with your frown."

"Lead in, then," said Olvir, and he smothered down
the rage and grief which distorted his face.  Before the
three had passed the threshold of the banquet-chamber, the
Northman's look, though stern, no longer showed a trace
of passion.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`CHAPTER XI`:

.. class:: center large

   CHAPTER XI

.. vspace:: 2

|   A fair may know I,
|   Fair of all the fairest,
|   Girt about with gold,
|   Good for thy getting.
|                   LAY OF REGIN.

.. vspace:: 2

The feast was already begun
when the doorward came
forward to show the belated guests
to their places.  They followed
him, gazing about with keenest
curiosity.  The apartment was
one of ordinary size, hung with
tapestries of a fashion familiar
even to the Northman,--purple
and blue silks, embroidered in
gold and brilliant colors with peacocks and lions, griffins
and unicorns.  But, notwithstanding what they had heard
from Fastrada in the queen's bower, all three, as they went
forward, stared half bewildered at the sight of the guests
on the pillowed couches.

The table, shaped like a horseshoe greatly elongated,
gave room for thirty guests.  It was a gay company,--stately
dames and merry-faced bower-maidens, high court
officials, war-counts, and pompous bishops, all alike
gorgeous with silks and jewels.

The king himself reclined on a raised couch at the
head of the board, with Duke Lupus at his right.  On his
left was the genial white-haired Abbot Fulrad; next to
whom a high court-dame sat in a chair, severely erect, her
eyes fixed watchfully upon the bower-maidens.  Two
places below the old dame Roland's eager gaze instantly
singled out Fastrada.

One couch above and two below the maiden were
vacant; and when the doorward waved Gerold and Roland
to the latter, the Count of the Breton Mark flung himself
down beside Fastrada, without a thought as to why the
Vascon should have arranged such an opportunity for his
most earnest rival.  Gerold, little less hasty, took the
second place and fell into gay chatter with the laughing
bower-maiden on his left.

Olvir, however, was not to be diverted from his
sombre mood either by love or by merriment.  He
advanced to his place above Fastrada with no sign of surprise
at the high honor rendered him by its nearness to the head
of the board.  Heedless of the maiden, heedless even of the
king, he flung back his cloak and stood with the light
shimmering on his bared mail, his piercing gaze fixed upon
Duke Lupus.

Almost instantly the laughter of the guests died away,
and they stared at the Northman in wondering silence.
But the king half rose on his couch.

"What does this mean, Dane?" he demanded.  "Do
guests in the North dine in full war-gear?"

"Not so, lord king; in the North there is no need."

"Saint Michael! what need here?"

"This is good answer," replied Olvir; and plucking
the poisoned arrow from beneath his cloak, he darted it
into the table directly before Duke Lupus.  The Vascon's
startled cry and deathly pallor, as he flung himself back,
fully justified the test.

"The viper!" muttered Olvir.  "Others than my
kinsman shared in the murderous deed.  Only for a blind
were the high places at the feast kept for us."

The king had bent forward, and was reaching to draw
the arrow from the wood.  As he grasped the black
shaft, Gerold cried warningly: "Beware, sire; the dart
is venomed!"

Karl sat upright, the arrow raised before his eyes.

"I see," he said sternly, "this is no clean point; but
it is blunted."

"On my mail," replied Olvir.

"Thank God the mail was proof!  A foul deed!  Name
the wretches, Count Olvir.  They shall meet death in the
slime."

"That I may not do, lord king.  Would such foul ones
as they stand in the open?"

"This is no Frankish arrow."

"Nor Vascon!" stammered Lupus.

Olvir smiled darkly.  "Lay it to some chance band
of outland thieves, lord king.  No others would be so
base.  And now, enough of treachery and bitterness!
May all turn again to the merrymaking.  I would not
be a mar-joy."

Karl nodded gravely and rolled the poisoned arrow in
his kerchief.  Then he sank back again upon his couch, and
gave command: "The count says well.  Let the feast go on."

But Olvir stood waiting beside his place.

"What more?" demanded Karl.

"Does the host question my feast-dress?"

"I?  No!  What does my lord count mean?" exclaimed
Lupus.  "I welcome you gladly, in steel or in silk.
Feast and be merry!"

"As you bid, lord duke," replied Olvir, smiling; but
as he stretched out on the couch his eyes sparkled with
another look than friendship.

"So; the wily snake!  Not my cup alone shall taste
of gall."

.. _`"White to the lips, the young sea-king turned to his enemy"`:

.. figure:: images/img-114.jpg
   :align: center
   :alt: "White to the lips, the young sea-king turned to his enemy."  (Page 44)

   "White to the lips, the young sea-king turned to his enemy."  (Page `44`_)

The comforting thought was diverted by a soft whisper
at his ear,--"Do not be deceived, lord count.  The
Merwing lies."

In the tense strain of his test with the arrow, Olvir
had lost all consciousness of Fastrada's presence.  Now,
however, he turned about, and his gaze rested upon the
maiden's exquisite figure.  At the sight, all his bitter
thoughts of treachery and revenge were forgotten.  He
had no time to recall his sword-brother to mind before the
girl raised her head, and, smiling and blushing with
undisguised pleasure, turned upon him a look that set his heart
to throbbing with mad delight.

"So my lord count is at last pleased to greet me," she
half whispered.

"I had first to greet the host, maiden," rejoined Olvir,
with a flash of grim humor.

"*Ai!* it was grandly done!  But I shudder to think
of your peril!" and the girl's bosom heaved with
emotion.

Olvir gazed straight into her eyes, blue as sapphires
and melting with love.  Again his heart leaped wildly and
sent the hot blood surging through his veins.  All the
Oriental in his nature was aroused.  But it held control
only for a moment.  Over the graceful head of the maiden
he caught sight of his foster-brother's face, clouded with
doubt and bewilderment.  One glance was enough to sober
the viking.  Not even youth and Eastern blood could
withstand the Northern loyalty.  Olvir tore his gaze from the
spell of the sapphire eyes and stared out across the
silver-laden table, his face stern almost to fierceness.

Fastrada, her blushes fast paling, watched him from
beneath lowered lashes with a startled look.  Roland also
watched him, his blue eyes still troubled.  Presently a
change lit up the Northman's face.  He turned about, with
a frank smile for Roland, and met Fastrada's glance with a
look of calm resolve.

"Drink with me, maiden," he said.  "I pledge one
who is the truest friend, the boldest hero in all Frank
Land."

"I drink to that hero," replied Fastrada; and over the
brim of her crystal goblet her eyes again beamed upon
Olvir.

Great as was his self-control, the young man looked
hastily away.  But then his lip curled in scorn of his
weakness, and he exclaimed, "We drink to my sword-brother.
May he find favor in the eyes of the queen's fairest
maiden!"

"The fair to the fair," rejoined Fastrada, with adroit
play on the word.  "The fair count will win a flaxen bride.
But among the dark maidens I know one who has made
choice of a dark-faced hero."

At the open confession Olvir panted, and his eyes
glistened with the love which he could no longer restrain.
Yet he held firm to his purpose.

"The dark maiden is a foolish maiden," he answered.
"She should choose the blue-eyed hero,--a warrior of
kingly blood.  His great heart overflows with love for the
maiden,--he, the king's kin, who need but speak, and
honors will be heaped upon him.  But the dark warrior,
who is he?--a heathen outlander; a stranger in the land;
a wanderer!"

"No, Olvir!" interrupted Roland, hoarsely; "you are
no stranger, but my true brother.  Listen, Fastrada!  For
no short day you have known that I loved you, and you
have never frowned upon my wooing.  Yet now I see that
you turn to my brother.  May the Holy Mother grant that
you do not scorn his love the same!  Give him the
happiness which I thought should be mine."

"And which I 'll not take from you," rejoined Olvir.
"Shall I cut the heart from the breast of my brother?"

"That the maiden already has done.  I blame neither
her nor my loyal brother.  You have wooed for me, and
failed; now you can woo for yourself without blame."

"He may win the same answer, lord count," said
Fastrada, proudly.

The retort passed unheeded.  The foster-brothers were
gazing into each other's eyes.  Soon, however, Roland
turned away, that his friend might not perceive the grief
which he could no longer hide.  Olvir divined the cause of
the movement, and he also sank back on his couch, to stare
moodily before him.

For a while Fastrada held to her pretence of
coldness, waiting for Olvir to begin his wooing.  But he
maintained his moody stare, and gave no sign.  His
silence and the sternness of his look puzzled and
alarmed the girl.  Clearly, this was a very different kind
of lover from the sighing swains who trembled if she
but withheld her smiles.  Not even Roland would have
so fought against his love when freed from the bond of
foster-duty.  One who could put honor before desire was
indeed rare among suitors.  Woman-like, Fastrada grew
all the more eager at the seeming indifference.  Unable
longer to simulate coyness, she leaned toward her chosen
hero and whispered softly: "Olvir,--Olvir, I wait to
hear you speak."

Without turning or lifting his head, the Northman
answered coldly: "Why should you wait, daughter of
Rudulf?  I have stamped my heel on the heart of my
brother; I have stolen from him what he cherished more
than life.  The thief's loot is the thief's curse."

"Yet what have you stolen, Olvir?  Surely, nothing
that Lord Roland possessed, or any other Frank.  Until
you came, I had never loved any man--and now--and now--"

The pleading whisper died away in silence; but Olvir
had turned, flushed and bright-eyed, no longer able to resist
the love which filled his whole being.  He saw how the
girl leaned toward him, her bosom heaving, her scarlet
lips half parted.  Her cheeks were again crimson with
blushes, and her eyes met his gaze with the open
confession of her love.

"Thou art Freya!" he exclaimed adoringly, and the
girl quivered with joy to see how his face softened and his
eyes shone with rapture.  Half unconsciously they drew
nearer together and murmured their love over and over
again.

They exchanged rings and whispered the betrothal
vows, regardless alike of the unheeding revellers and of
the far from friendly glances of their host.  If Hardrat
the Thuringian felt displeased at the success of the Dane
intruder, no trace of the feeling was perceptible on his
wine-flushed features.  Lupus, however, took no pains to
repress his jealous scowl.

For a time the Vascon was required to devote his
attention to the royal guest at his side; but when Karl fell to
jesting with Abbot Fulrad, Lupus could watch the lovers,
undiverted.  As he looked, a fit of jealous rage seized upon
him.  Though they hardly touched hands, the sight was
more than he could bear.  His first thought was to sign to
his steward to put poison in the Northman's wine.  A
seemingly careless gesture and nod, and the crafty slave would
know the chosen victim.  But the sign was not given.  At
the last moment the duke perceived that Olvir's silver
tankard stood brimming beside his trencher.  What little
wine the young man drank was sipped from Fastrada's cup.

Barred of his simplest and most certain means of
removing his rival, the Vascon sat gnawing his lip, his face
distorted with the look of a baffled fiend.  Count Hardrat,
failing to attract the duke's attention by his warning
glances, spoke to the steward.  But the mischief was
already past mending.  Drawn by the intensity of the
duke's look, Olvir and Fastrada raised their heads, and
for an instant both saw the malignant stare of the Vascon.
Quickly as he looked away, neither failed to divine his
jealous rage.  Fastrada clasped her lover's hand in sudden
dread.

"*Ai!* how he hates you!" she whispered.

"No new tidings," rejoined Olvir.  Then he put his
hand to his breast and turned smilingly to the maiden.
"Dear one, here is hidden a bit of hollowed ivory of which
you may have knowledge."

"The hollow was not empty," replied the girl.  "I
feared for you--I fear more now."

"You feared?"

Fastrada hesitated and glanced across the table at
Hardrat.  The war-count was intent on his trencher.  She
drew a deep breath, and, with eyes downcast, murmured
her answer to Olvir's question: "My lord should know that
others than Roland wooed me before his coming, and so
there are those--"

"--Who do not wish me well," said Olvir, as the girl
faltered.  "Still, that is not cause enough for your wolf's
hair."

"True, Olvir; and yet the token was sent at a venture.
I know nothing certain.  I chanced to see Lupus talking
with my drunken countryman Hardrat.  As I came upon
them, Hardrat growled out your name, and repeated it
with a curse.  Then they saw me, and the drunkard hurried
away like a guilty man.  But Lupus stayed to greet me.  I
could not rid myself of him until I was bidden to the
queen's bower."

"He saw that you thought to send a warning."

"No serpent is more subtle.  But if he thinks to come
between us, let him beware!"

Surprised by the hissing note in the softly murmured
threat, Olvir glanced up from the hand he was fondling.
He was too late to catch the cruel expression which for a
moment had marred the girl's beauty; but he wondered to
see how the color of her eyes had altered to a greenish grey.
As he looked, her gaze met his, and the greenish tints
quickly gave place again to the blue.

"By Freya, sweetheart," he said, "your eyes change
their hue."

"My heart will never change."

"Nor mine, by my sword!  But what hushes the
merrymaking?  Ah! the host rises to speak."

Standing on his couch, Lupus smiled down condescendingly
upon his guests, and, to draw attention, waved
a hand whose every finger was burdened with gem-rings.

"Brave counts and holy priests, chaste dames and
beautiful maidens," he began, "fill your goblets to the
brim, and drink with me to the health of the great ruler
who honors us with his presence."

A chorus of shouts greeted the toast, and every man
sprang to his feet, Olvir first of all.

"Long live the king!" cried Hardrat, his bloodshot
eyes fixed upon Lupus.

"The king! the king!--long live the king!" shouted
the guests in chorus, and the war-counts brandished their
bared swords overhead while all present drained their
wine-cups to the bottom.

As Olvir sheathed Al-hatif, he looked down, eager to
rejoin Fastrada.  In this, however, he was to be
disappointed.  The duenna dame had risen from her chair and
was leaving the table.  Immediately all the women present,
dames and maidens alike, rose to follow their leader.  None
longed more to stay than did Fastrada, and she lingered
beside Olvir to the very last.  Already the women had
drawn aside.  Olvir looked at the girl ruefully.

"So we must part, sweetheart," he sighed.

Fastrada gazed into his dark face, and half whispered
her answer: "Ah, my hero, would that the time had come
when we need never part!"

"That, I trust, may soon be," replied Olvir, and he
drew aside for the girl to pass.  She would still have
lingered beside him, but the old dame beckoned to her, and
she glided away to join the other bower-maidens.

As the women swept after their leader through a
private passage, Duke Lupus reached out to refill the
king's gold flagon.  He was met by a quick gesture of
refusal, and Karl turned his empty cup brim down upon
the table.

"Enough of wine," he said.  "I am not over-fond of
wassail, and the feast is dull without our fair ones to grace
the board."

Lupus opened his lips to protest, but caught a glance
from Hardrat, and changed at once to bowing compliance:
"Your Majesty, dancing and juggling were to have
followed.  Yet whatever may be your pleasure--"

"You are a kind host, and we give thanks for the
feast.  Another time we may enjoy the mountebanks.
Farewell, lord duke.  God keep you!  Anselm, a word
in private; and you, Fulrad.  Farewell, my bright Dane."

Olvir wheeled about to salute the king.  As his hand
fell, his eye met Karl's smiling gaze, and he glanced down
at the royal couch.  The king looked, and saw the arrow
wrapped in his kerchief.  He nodded gravely to Olvir,
and, arrow in hand, left the chamber, between Anselm and
Fulrad.

Released from restraint by the departure of the king,
the remaining guests gathered about the head of the table,
and many accepted the duke's invitation to join in a
wassail bout.  Most of the priests, however, and a few of the
counts at once withdrew from the banquet-chamber.  In
their midst went Olvir, so intent on the vision of Fastrada's
loveliness that he had no thought for his foster-brother.

Still musing, he passed the door, and found himself
standing in the torchlight, face to face with Gerold and
Roland.  His eyes fell, and he would have passed by the
two with flushed cheeks, had not Roland laid a hand on his
shoulder and turned to walk beside him.

"Our horses are at your camp, gossip," calmly
remarked the Frank.  "We shall return with you for the
night."

"The murderers may yet linger," added Gerold, from
the rear.

Olvir halted and stepped back from Roland.

"Thor!" he muttered.  "This--after what has happened!"

"Are you not my brother?" demanded Roland.
"*Heu*!  I know now she did not love me.  If she had, I
should hate you.  But you have robbed me of nothing.
How, then, can I grudge you your good fortune?"

"Brother!" cried Olvir.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`CHAPTER XII`:

.. class:: center large

   CHAPTER XII

.. vspace:: 2

|   Look on thy loved one,
|   Lay lips to his lips.
|                   LAY OF GUDRUN.

.. vspace:: 2

On the morning after the feast,
the first to greet Roland as he
stepped from Olvir's tent was
a stocky, bow-legged warrior,
whose unkempt red beard and
travel-stained dress of coarse
wool and leather spoke far more
strongly of the camp than of
kings' halls.  But Roland
answered the new-comer's hearty
shout with a greeting no less cordial.

"Ho, Amalwin!" he cried; "I did not look to see your
Saxon face this far south.  What of your fellows in the
Sorb Mark,--Count Rudulf?"

"Worad and I came with our levies, the few that
Rudulf would spare us.  The little birds twitter on the
green boughs; but the crafty Grey Wolf scents war in the
spring breezes.  He will not venture Rhineward from his
mark a step beyond Fulda."

"How is that, friend?" called Olvir, from the
entrance of the tent.  "Will not Count Rudulf attend the
Mayfields?"

The Saxon stared at the Norse earl in mingled surprise
and admiration until Roland repeated the question, "Then
Rudulf will not come to the assembly?"

"Not he!  I half wish I were myself back over
Rhine Stream, in the deep forest.  But who is this
young hero?"

"Greet him as my sword-brother.  He is a Northman
from beyond the Danes,--a fosterling of Otkar."

"Of Otkar!" shouted Amalwin; and he ran to grasp
Olvir's hand.  "The Dane himself took me thrall at the fall
of the Irminsul; yet he gave me freedom, and won for me
the good-will of Carloman."

Olvir nodded: "Be sure the hero spoke no ill to me of
Amalwin the Saxon.  But Count Rudulf--I must speak
with him."

"Then you must fare over Rhine Stream, hero,"
rejoined Amalwin.

"I know the Grey Wolf," added Roland, nodding in
assent.  "If he scents forest-war, he will not stir out of his
mark for all the Saracens in the old Goth realm."

"It is well I have Zora, brother.  I shall start without
delay.  The time of your Folk-meet is not over-long."

"That is true, Northman," remarked Amalwin.  "Two
fortnights will see the close of the Mayfields.  Though
you ride the fleetest of horses, your return will find Karl
the King across the Pyrenees, and the Saracens already
broken."

Olvir shook his head; but Roland broke in quickly:
"Come, brother; let us bear Amalwin company to our lord
king.  He should know at once of your wish."

"I had forgotten.  I am now only a henchman," said
Olvir, and he frowned.

For a little while, as they walked along the river's bank
to the royal pavilion, his anger kept him moody and silent.
But then he began to question Amalwin on the course
and condition of the roads along the main route to the
Rhine.

Though Karl was deep in the affairs of his immense
realm, he was none too busy to turn immediately at sight
of the Saxon.

"Ho, my forest-bear!--greeting to you!  Where is
Rudulf?"

"Lying in lair, lord king.  He scents blood near by,"
answered Amalwin, and he bent awkwardly to kiss the
royal knee.

"How?  Stand up, man.  Are the Sorbs harrying?"

"Neither Sorb nor Saxon; yet the old wolf will not
fare far from his mark.  His wife, the Wend woman, has
been at her witchery.  She forebodes evil from the west.
So he lies in his mark, sniffing the Saxon breezes."

"Witchcraft--witchcraft!" muttered Karl, frowning.
"We must again warn Rudulf to keep his outland dame
within our law.  But as to the boding,--the fiends may
read the future!  Rudulf has a grey head, and you, my
bright Dane, brought added warning.  Rudulf shall have
our arrow-bode, to levy at will all the land-host of
Thuringia and Austrasia."

"Give me leave to bear the message, lord king," said
Olvir.

"You, my Dane hawk?  I counted on you to lead the
host into Spain."

"My kinsman Al Arabi gave me an Arab mare.  I will
go and come before the ending of the Mayfields."

"Then your mare must be winged!  Why should you go?"

Olvir glanced at Roland, flushing darkly.

The Frank met the look with a grave smile, and
answered for his sword-brother: "It is a simple matter, sire.
Olvir would ask Count Rudulf for the hand of his daughter.
The Thuringian will not come south; so the suitor must
go north."

"Still, is a long journey."

"I will return before you march, lord king," repeated
Olvir.

Karl gazed steadily into the haughty face of the
Northman.  What he saw there soon satisfied his doubts.  He
nodded, and said briefly: "Fulrad will have the writings
drawn up within an hour.  Make ready--Stay! here is
my ring.  It may speed your faring."

Olvir's eyes glistened as he took the royal signet.

"Thor!" he cried.  "Here is a king whom a king's
son may serve without shame!"

"Then fly, king's son.  We 'll be looking for your
return."

Olvir saluted, and hastened out through the crowds of
envious lords.  He was springing away from the pavilion,
when Roland's voice brought him to a stand: "Hold,
brother! a word.  I go first to the villa, to make ready
for your farewell."

"Brother--ay, brother!" muttered Olvir; and he
stood hesitating, overcome by the insistent generosity of
the Frank.  But time pressed.  He waved his hand to
Roland and darted away again.

The hour had hardly passed when Olvir sprang down
from Zora's back, beside Gerold and Roland, at the main
gateway of the villa.  The older count promptly took the
bridle-rein, while Gerold turned and led Olvir to the queen's
apartments.

There was little change within the bower since Olvir's
first visit.  As before, Hildegarde sat on the dais, with the
children grouped about her feet, and the row of busy
maidens on her left.  Only the king was absent.

At Olvir's entrance, the maidens dropped their needlework,
to glance at him from beneath their lashes and
exchange softly murmured comments on his appearance.  But
Olvir's gaze was already fixed upon the graceful form of
Fastrada, among the children on the dais edge.  Heedless
of the chattering maidens, he hastened forward, his ardor
so keen that he could hardly conceal his impatience when
Rothada came running to meet him.

"You leave us, Lord Olvir!" she exclaimed.

"Ay, little maid; the time is short.  Farewell," he
answered, and, with a hasty kiss on her forehead, he passed
by.  For a moment he knelt to kiss the queen's hand, and
then he was beside Fastrada, drinking in the loveliness of
her blushing face.  The look in her eyes as she gazed at his
lithe figure and resplendent war-gear filled him with such
an intoxicating delight that for a little he failed to
comprehend Hildegarde's remark: "I know nothing of your Norse
customs, Lord Olvir.  Here we are somewhat strict with
unbetrothed maidens.  You must say your farewells in our
presence."

Fastrada drooped her head to hide a look of
resentment, and her dainty foot tapped the floor ominously.
Olvir, however, the moment he sensed the queen's
meaning, smiled up at her and answered gaily, "Why speak of
strictness, dear dame?  True love has nothing to hide."

As he spoke, he took Fastrada's hands, and bent to
kiss her, thrilling with all the love and reverence of the
Northern heart for a pure woman.  But as their lips met,
the girl, unable to restrain the impulse of her wild Wendish
blood, threw herself upon his breast, and flung her arms
about his neck.  He could feel the throbbing of her heart
through his mail.

"Farewell, my lord--my hero!" she whispered
brokenly.  "Hasten back again.  If you linger, I shall die!"

"Never has man gone that journey swifter than I shall
go, dear one.  If you have need of service, ask for Liutrad
Erlingson.  All my sea-wolves are at your command.  Now,
farewell, for a little time!"

Tearing himself from the girl's embrace, Olvir turned
and walked quickly away.  Rothada and her brothers joined
the queen in a chorus of *God-speeds*; but Olvir waved his
hand and leaped out through the doorway, without a single
glance even for Fastrada.

He found Roland with one hand on Zora's neck and
the other caressing the mare's bony cheek.  The Frank
turned at once at the sound of Olvir's light step, and caught
his outstretched hands.  For a moment the two gazed at
each other with eyes aglow.  Then Olvir leaped into the
saddle and called to the mare in Arabic.  Wheeling at the
word, she leaped through the gateway and shot away down
the road like an arrow.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`CHAPTER XIII`:

.. class:: center large

   CHAPTER XIII

.. vspace:: 2

|   Riding swift on his errands
|   On the bit-gripping steed.
|                   SONG OF ATLI.

.. vspace:: 2

Though reared on the iron
coast of Northern Norway, Olvir
Thorbiornson had coursed more
than one good horse over the
flat shores of Jutland and Frisia.
What was no less to his present
advantage, he held clearly in
mind all that Otkar Jotuntop
had told him, in his childhood,
of the emir's red racers of the
desert.  Yet, confident as he felt of Zora's endurance,
throughout the first day's ride he restrained his desire to
course at full speed, and held the willing mare in check.
Even a Frankish horse, if spurred, might have kept the
road with them to the first night's rest,--at a Gothic
farmstede just beyond Périgueux.

On the second day, however, Olvir held a looser
rein, and Zora's long stride swept him forward through
the fertile country of mid-Aquitania at a pace to
astonish the dark-featured Gallo-Roman serfs toiling in the
fields beside the road.  Even the occasional Frankish
noble and pompous bishop faring along the ancient
highway could not but halt to stare, with gaping mouth,
as the bright Northman shot past them on the red mare.

It might be that they would first catch sight of the
rider in the distance, attracted by the sun-rays glittering on
his mail and helmet.  Then he would be rushing upon them,
and they would draw aside to see him pass.  Scarcely a
glance would they have as horse and rider dashed by; but
it was a glance not soon to be forgotten,--the rider, with
the sun glinting on his war-gear and jewelled sword,
staring eagerly ahead along the road; the red mare, with
outstretched head and trumpet nostrils, sweeping over the
ground with long, easy strides.

But not all saw the king's messenger so.  Now and
then Olvir leaped from the small Arab saddle and ran
beside Zora, lightly as a deer, his hand upon her withers.
The change rested both mare and rider, and slackened the
pace but little.  A hunter who could boast of having run
down the grey wolf afoot in fair chase was not apt to lag
in the pace with a hand on his horse.  Another aid to Zora
was the fair condition of the main route across the rich
province.  Before the king had marched south, the counts
of Aquitania, spurred to unwonted activity by the prospect
of his coming, had put both highroad and bridges in
moderately good repair.

So it chanced that, shortly before sunset, Olvir halted
for the night at a monastery a round ninety miles from
where he had mounted at dawn.  The sight of the warlike
rider as he rode through their gates brought the
black-robed Benedictines flocking about him with hospitable
greetings; and when Olvir showed the king's signet, the
abbot himself sought the privilege of kissing the royal ring.

But Olvir declined the wassail-feast with which the
silk-clad priest would have honored him.  Instead, he
groomed Zora with his own hands, and, having eaten as
plain and scanty a meal as he had doled out for the mare,
he withdrew at once to a common bed in the hospice.

Dawn found Zora munching the last of her measure of
barley from the stone manger, while her master, his hunger
already satisfied by a share of the porter's breakfast, paced
up and down the monastery court to rid himself of the
stiffness yet lingering in his joints.  At the first ray of
sunrise, master and mare were passing out through the gates,
leaving the porter to mumble his blessing over the handful
of silver pennies which had fallen from the rider's hand.

The morning was yet early when, without stopping,
Olvir rode past beneath the turreted walls of Poitiers, and
noon found the red mare racing over the plains of Touraine.
From both Otkar and Roland, Olvir had heard the tale of
the fateful battle in which the Hammer of the Franks had
shattered the victorious hordes of Saracen invaders.  Only
forty-six years had passed since that terrible slaughter of
the Moslemah, and as Zora coursed along the smooth highway
which stretched across the wide scene of the struggle,
her rider's glance rested on luxuriant fields where the serfs
yet ploughed up fragments of outland war-gear from the
blood-drenched soil.

The young Northman was, however, less impressed by
the thought of the great battle than by the grand
monuments of the ancient Roman occupancy,--the lofty towers
and walls, massive arched bridges and aqueducts which,
where uninjured by man, still stood about the land, huge
and uncrumbling after centuries of use.  Often as Otkar
had described to him the buildings of the old Romans, Olvir
found himself staring at them in no little astonishment and
wonder.  His learning, however, spared him the awe which
would have been felt by his simpler countrymen or the
forest-dwelling Saxons, among whom the mighty stone
burgs and aqueducts were commonly regarded as the works
of giants.

The interest of the king's messenger was at last
drawn from these Roman structures to the rapidly increasing
numbers of wayfarers, journeying like himself to the
north.  Every class of society was represented, from counts
and mitred bishops, travelling with princely retinues, to
wretched poor folk, forced into a life of wandering
and beggary by the ever-increasing oppression of brutal
lords.

In the well-tilled fields which bordered the highway,
Olvir could see numbers of toiling husbandmen, part of the
fifteen thousand and odd serfs owned by the Abbey of
Saint Martin.  Here was Christianity exemplified,--the
priests of the rueful White Christ sitting in purple and
cloth of gold, while their fellowmen sweated and slaved to
bring them wealth!  The thought filled Olvir with such
loathing that when he crossed the Cher and approached
Tours, in the thick of the crowd, it was all he could do to
bring himself to accept the hospitality of the famous abbey.
Nor was his aversion to his monkish hosts lessened when
the almoner, overflowing with pride for his monastery,
insisted upon showing the king's messenger all the treasures
of the church and shrine.

The gold-wrought hangings and the screens of brass
and precious metals, the silver candelabra and the gemmed
images, at first half dazzled the unaccustomed eyes of the
Northman.  But while those black eyes glistened with
wonder and admiration of so many precious and beautiful
things, the lip beneath curled in scorn of the manner in
which the hoard had been gathered, and of the images, to
which devout worshippers were offering praise and
adoration, alike sanctioned and commended by the Bishop of
Rome.

"By the Beard!" muttered Olvir, in Arabic; "and
these folk call the Saracens pagans!"

The outlying buildings of the monastery, where monks
in short-skirted working frocks plied various trades and
handicrafts, tended somewhat to lessen the Northman's
scorn of the woman-clad priests.  But in the morning he
gave to the almoner the exact amount which he thought his
lodging was worth, and rode on his way, glad to leave
behind him the shuffling black figures, the tinkling bells,
and the melancholy chants.

Once on the road again, all bitterness soon passed from
Olvir's mind.  The day was fair, the road smooth, and
already Zora's steel limbs had borne him far on his journey.
He cried aloud in sheer gladness of heart, and from the
pouch which the king's own hand had fastened to his saddle
he flung a fistful of pennies to the rabble of pilgrims by the
wayside.  Then Zora lengthened her stride; and the wind
whistled in his ears a song of hope and love.

And so Aquitania was left to the south, and the king's
messenger rode up the Loire's right bank into Neustria,
where were to be seen more Franks and no Goths, but still
a vast body of subject Gallo-Romans.  Swiftly as he
passed, Olvir saw much of the beautiful land, whose tilled
fields were interspersed with woodlands and meadows.
Yet pleasant as was the land to the eye, Olvir observed that
the few Frankish husbandmen whom he passed differed
little in dress and bearing from the dark-haired serfs.
What hope for the future could the free Franks hold, when
even the iron rule of their mightiest king could not shield
them from the greed and rapacity of their lords?

But Olvir had little commiseration to waste on
Christian freemen.  Why did they not stand to their ancient
rights, like the Norse commonfolk, and cut off the heads
of all lawbreakers, whether thralls or kings?  With a
scornful smile he put the weaklings from his thoughts, and
sped on across Neustria as he had sped across Aquitania.

As he approached Paris, Olvir began to fear that
Zora's hoofs would soon crack from the continual beating
on the hard roads.  So he sought out the most noted
ironsmith in the city, and he and Zora lodged that night in the
hovel of the low-born sledge-wielder.

Never had Zora been groomed as she was groomed by
the smith that night and in the morning; and when it came
to the shoeing, one would have thought the mare a queen,
with such care and delicacy did the man fit on the light iron
running shoes.  While he then spent the forenoon in yet
more grooming, Olvir took a stroll into the city.  He found
gardens and convents, hovels and palaces, spread over all
the Island of Notre Dame and along both banks of the
Seine opposite.  Undeterred by the narrowness and filth
of the streets, he crossed the ancient Roman bridge to
the island, and visited the palaces of Clovis and Julian the
Apostate, and the great domchurches of Saint Genevieve
and Saint Merdicus.

Noon, however, saw the king's messenger not only
back at the hut, but ready for the road.  He had found
Zora sleek as silk and bright-eyed, eager to start.  When
he mounted he said nothing of pay; but the smith bowed
and smiled, and wished the princely king's rider a hearty
*God-speed*.  Smiling in turn, Olvir put his hand to one of
the gold spirals on his left arm; and when the smith, who
had not heeded the quick movement, grasped the Northman's
hand, he felt an angular piece of heavy metal pressed
into his palm.  The giver's hand was withdrawn, and the
smith stood gaping at the lump of yellow gold that was
worth more than his forge and his home and all else
he possessed, though he threw in the very shirt upon his back.

Before the man could recover wit enough to cry out
his thanks, Olvir was riding away down the crooked street.
It was the hour when most of the Franks were seeking the
customary noon-rest, and there were few folk abroad to
admire and wonder at the king's messenger as he threaded
the narrow ways and passed over the Roman bridges to the
north bank.  Before long Zora bore him through the main
gate of the suburban walls, and galloped away on the road
to Mayence.

A short ride to the Convent of Chelles on the Marne,
where Olvir delivered a message to the abbess for young
Gisela, the king's sister; then Zora was given free rein.
The Frankish smith had shod the mare so skilfully that she
at once fell into her stride, and the race swept on across
Neustria, north and east into Austrasia.

Day after day Zora held on at coursing speed, never
faltering, her steel limbs seemingly tireless.  But now the
roads were rougher, and more than one bridge was missing.
Twice horse and rider were carried down from treacherous
fords, and once Zora sank in a bog.  Neither master nor
mare, however, met with injury; and, despite all
hindrance, the long miles melted swiftly away before the
mare's easy swinging stride.

And so the king's messenger sped through Austrasia,
where corners of ancient forest yet stood unhewn, and few
men tilled the fields who could not show visible proof of
Germanic blood.  From Rheims to Treves, Treves to
Mayence, thence across the Rhine, and along the Thuringian
trade-route which led up the Main and on into the
primeval forest,--these were the last stages of the great
race.

But the king's messenger was spared at least one day
of his expected journeying.  At Mayence he learned that
Count Rudulf had lately been staying at the Monastery
of Fulda, and that it was possible the old hero had not yet
returned to his mark.

When, midmorning of the next day, Olvir came at last
to Fulda, he found that great centre of civilization in the
heart of the beech-wood vastly different from the gilded
abbey of Tours, with its slaves and precious hoard.  The
rude mass of log structures was a very beehive of skilled
workers,--sturdy brothers of Northern blood, who found
it more to their liking to toil at husbandry and the
handicrafts, or to practise with the pen and study the seven
liberal arts, than to chant the dirge-like hymns of Holy
Church.

Above all was Olvir drawn to Abbot Sturm, whose
manly and dignified welcome of the king's messenger all
but conquered the young man's aversion to Christian
priests.  Not all the bluff old abbot's urgings, however,
could hold Olvir over the day, when he learned that Rudulf
and his Wend wife had gone to the count's homestede in
the adjoining shire.

Again Zora stretched out her lean neck, and raced
away down the forest road.  By midday she had reached
the journey's end.  On a rocky knoll, close by the Fulda's
bank, stood Rudulf's burg,--a walled enclosure in which
were grouped the hall and bower and outbuildings familiar
to the Norse eye, and, beside all these, the rude stone keep
of the Franks and Southern Saxons, adopted centuries since
in imitation of the Roman tower.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`CHAPTER XIV`:

.. class:: center large

   CHAPTER XIV

.. vspace:: 2

|   When a wolf thou wert
|   Out in the wildwood.
|                   LAY OF HELGI.

.. vspace:: 2

When Olvir entered the open
gateway of the burg, no sign
of life was to be seen within,
other than the thin streamers
of smoke rising through
the roof-hole of the hall and the
high narrow windows of the
keep.  Not even a hound ran
forward to bay at the stranger.
Olvir felt little surprise, however,
as it was the hour for the Frankish noon-rest.  Seeing
that the great red and blue mottled door of the keep
was ajar, he sprang off before it, and entered, Zora at his
heels.

The intruder at once found himself within a gloomy
apartment, only half lighted by the flickering of a small fire.
Close by the hearth, on the side nearest to the entrance,
crouched a woman, at play with several weasels.  She was
chanting to them in a tongue unknown to Olvir; and as she
droned the refrain, the weasels ran up and down her
extended arms.

Olvir caught only a glimpse of the strange play.  Before
he had ceased blinking from the sudden change out of
the sun-glare into the dim-lit interior, the woman had
become aware of his presence.  A low hiss brought the
weasels clustering about her neck, and she glided silently
away into the gloom beyond the fire.

"I have known warmer guest-cheer," muttered Olvir;
and he advanced to seat himself on the bench beside which
the woman had been crouching.  As he took the seat he
heard a dull grinding on his left, and, looking closer, saw
the outlines of a man.  He touched the fire with his foot,
and the upleaping flames lighted the room with a ruddy
flare.  It showed to Olvir a grisly warrior, bending over
a newly forged sword-blade.

The worker was not unusually big as men went in the
North; but he was lean and sinewy, and his bristling grey
hair and beard well matched the wolf-hide slung across his
shoulders.  Except for the fleshy but pointed nose, his face
was covered to the eyes by its shaggy beard, and the grey
bristles grew low down on his forehead, close upon the
overhanging brows.  Most startling of all were the man's
eyes, long and narrow, and set in oblique sockets.  One
glance at them was enough to tell Olvir why Count
Amalwin had called Rudulf of Thuringia the "Grey Wolf."  As
he looked and wondered, Olvir's thoughts flew even farther
afield, and there came into his mind the memory of Floki's
bitter words against this forest hero's daughter.  If the
father so clearly looked the werwolf, might not the
maiden--?  But he put the disquieting thought from him,
and sat calmly facing the fire.

For a while the silence continued unbroken.  Then
Count Rudulf flung the sword-blade aside, and turned his
slit eyes upon the stranger.

"Guest, or tidings-bearer?" he asked in a harsh voice.

"No guest," replied Olvir.

"What tidings?"

"Word from the king--and more."

"*Heu!*" growled Rudulf; "I thought as much,--a
court-man; and yet such mail--  You ride a shapely mare."

"There are worse."

"She is lean.  You rode hard."

"Twelve days since, she drank from the Garonne at
Casseneuil."

The Thuringian shifted on his bench and peered at
Olvir with narrowing eyes.

"Liars are abhorred alike by Odin and the White
Christ."

"Here is the king's message, sealed with his great seal.
Doubtless Fulrad, Keeper of the Seal, noted the date of
sending," replied Olvir, coolly; and he held out the folded
parchment.

Rudulf took the message in a hairy fist, and stared at
the barbarous Latin of the address.

"Open and read," said Olvir.

"How--am I a monk?  That shall wait a while.  You
spoke of other tidings."

"I come as your daughter's wooer."

Rudulf laughed derisively, and surveyed Olvir from
helmet to buskin.

"A gay bird of the South," he sneered.  "He had best
wing it home again.  The North is cold for such."

"The gerfalcon soars over the ice-fells," rejoined Olvir.

"Gerfalcon--gerfalcon!" muttered Rudulf, in an
altered tone.  "It may be!  But hearken, my gay king's
rider.  Falcon or sparrow, you had best be winging
southward.  I have broken the backs of two Saxon and three
Sorb champions, and my strength is still with me.
Fastrada, my daughter, goes to no man who cannot best me
at my chosen game."

Olvir silently laid aside his helmet and unclasped his
mail-serk.

"I am ready," he said.

But Rudulf shook his grisly head.

"It were a pity to mar so shapely a child," he muttered.
"Do not be rash, boy.  I have never but once been
thrown, and that by the greatest of heroes, Otkar the Dane."

At that name, the terrible weariness which deadened
Olvir's nerves fell away, and left him a-tingle with life and
power.

"Come, then, braggart," he jeered.  "Now shall you
bite the dust the second time."

Stung by the taunt, Rudulf dropped his wolf-skin, and
advanced, half crouching, upon the audacious challenger.
His eyes were narrowed to a line, and his grey hair stood
up like the bristles of a wolf.  His gaunt figure, creeping
forward in the dying firelight, was a sight to appall any but
the stoutest hearted.

Olvir, though he held himself with seeming carelessness,
waited the attack with every faculty alert.  He had
no doubt that Rudulf's boasts were based in truth, and yet,
though the strain of his long ride was against him, he did
not shrink.  He was resolved to win the old hero's daughter,
or die in the attempt.

Zora thrust her head past her master's shoulder.
Without averting his gaze from the Thuringian, he uttered
a word of command that sent the mare about to the door
of the apartment.  As she wheeled, Olvir feigned to glance
away, and on the instant Rudulf made his leap.  Olvir
dropped forward, and the leaper stumbled and fell
headlong over him into the rushes.  Both men were up again,
Olvir only a moment quicker than his grey opponent.

"*Heu*! a child's trick," growled Rudulf, and he
advanced again.  This time Olvir sprang to meet him, and in
a moment the two were locked fast in each other's arms.
Olvir at once realized that the old count was far stronger
than himself and very quick.  But he had not been trained
in all kingly games by Otkar Jotuntop, that he should fail
at such a time.

Up and down the room the wrestlers trampled and
reeled in desperate struggle, overturning benches and
tables, and scattering the firebrands among the green
rushes.  Acrid smoke rose from the floor to choke the
wrestlers; but they staggered to and fro across the room,
heedless of all else than their furious strife.  Time and
again the Grey Wolf lifted Olvir sheer off his feet, yet
always the Northman regained his foothold.  The
Thuringian could neither smother him in his terrible hug nor
loosen the younger man's grip.  His every effort to shift
the hold, so as to break Olvir's back, was foiled by
movements yet more adroit.  The crafty old wrestler had met
one whose skill outmatched his own at every turn.

At last age began to tell against the Thuringian.  His
gasps told of failing breath.  For a little he strained his
utmost, his teeth gnashing like a wolf's.  Still Olvir held
fast, biding his time.  Suddenly the Grey Wolf's grip
relaxed.  In a twinkling, Olvir had shifted his hold.  One
arm closed about the count's hairy throat.  The man was
at his mercy.

"Enough! do not--throttle--" gasped Rudulf.

"The back-breaker is not yet upon his back," rejoined
Olvir.  But he eased his grip, and Rudulf answered him
quickly: "No need to thrust the falling tree.  You have won."

"Well said!" cried Olvir, and he supported the
exhausted count to a bench.  Then he flung wide open the
great door, and gathered together the scattered brands of
the fire.  As he put on again his bright mail and helmet, and
sat down in the crossing rays of flame and sunlight, he saw
old Rudulf watching him with a bewildered stare,
muttering, "Have I met my match in a bairn?"

"I was taught the game by him whom you Rhinefolk
call the Dane,--Otkar Jotuntop," said Olvir, quietly.

"Otkar--Otkar!  Ha!  I thought the mail--  And
Otkar himself trained you?"

"I was his fosterling and blood-kin."

"Was?"

"He has gone hence."

"*Heu*! the North has lost a king of heroes.  But he
has left a bold foster-son.  I ought to have known by your
eye, if not by the mail; but the gold and the pretty stones
threw me from the slot.  Your bairn's sword--"

"Bairn's!  With this blade I took vengeance on my
father's slayer, and many another Dane has felt its point,"
rejoined Olvir, as he handed the sword to Rudulf.

The Thuringian examined closely the beautiful
recurved blade, and shook his head.  "This may be good
steel.  I have never seen its like.  Yet the weapon lacks
weight."

"I have known worse blades," answered Olvir; and,
drawing a ring from his finger, he tossed it into the air.
As it fell, he thrust out and caught the little circlet on
Al-hatif's point.

Old Rudulf's green eyes widened in a look of approval.

"By Thor and the White Christ!" he swore; "no
maiden need fear to wed so deft a sword-wielder.  Say the
word, hero.  Whenever you wish, I ride with you to old
Sturm, and make my mark on the betrothal scroll."

"Hold a little," interrupted a softly sibilant voice, so
like Fastrada's that Olvir turned about with a throbbing
heart.  He saw the tall figure of a woman, wrapped about
in a cloak of grey wool.  The woman's face was hidden in
the depths of the hood, but back in the shadow he saw, or
rather felt, a pair of cold eyes fixed upon him.  He had
no doubt that this was the woman of the weasels,--the
mother of his chosen bride.  As he remembered her repute
for witchery, he felt what he had never known since early
childhood,--a thrill of real fear.  But the spell passed in a
moment, and he watched the Wend woman's stealthy
approach, calm alike in seeming and in reality.

"What would the dame ask?" he inquired gravely.

The woman stared at him from the depths of her hood,
and made no reply.

Olvir stared back at her until at last he grew weary
of the delay.

"Let the mother of Fastrada speak," he said in a tone
more of command than entreaty.

"Do you not fear the fiends, son of Thorbiorn?"
demanded the woman, in a hollow voice.

Olvir's lip curled.  "The grave-mound was my
dwelling, and I have ever drunk to Thor."

"Foolish bairn!  Do you not know that I can blast
you with the curse of your own gods,--that I can wither
your limbs like the boughs of the stricken linden?"

Olvir drew up his lithe form, and his black eyes flashed
defiantly.

"Now, by Loki!" he cried; "here we stand, witch-dame.
Let us test the power of your spells."

"Not so, hero.  I have tested what I would test, even
as the Grey Wolf has tested you.  Yet there is more.
Answer me with a straight tongue.  Can you name
yourself a king?"

"Sea-king,--no land-king.  Yet my father, whose
name you divined, was King of Lade, and I am now heir
to the high-seat."

The woman bent her head, and muttered to herself
in her strange tongue.  Rudulf stood waiting, as though
spellbound; but Olvir, grown impatient, stepped about
to go.

"Farewell, dame," he said briskly.

"Go, king's son--  Yet listen!  I doubt.  It should be
*king*; not *king's son*--and *grey of eye*.  *Hei*! all is misty.
The fiend-gods are angered.  Stay with us this night.  I
will make sacrifice and sing the fate-songs."

Olvir laughed.  "I ask no aid from gods I scorn."

"Then I leave you to your fate."

"What the Norns weave will come to pass.  Again
I say, farewell, dame.  Come, Rudulf, if your word is true."

Rudulf turned to his wife, and, meeting a gesture of
assent, hurried out after Olvir and the red mare.  At his
whistle, a powerful black horse came running from the
meadow, and the count mounted without saddle or bridle.
Side by side, Thuringian and Northman rode through
the wild beech-wood to Fulda; and, on the way, the old
count plied his daughter's suitor with many shrewd
questions.  To all alike Olvir made satisfactory answer; and
the Thuringian raised no objections even when he learned
that the young sea-king might soon bear off his bride to his
far Northern home.  It was enough for the Grey Wolf that
the suitor was a tried warrior of good birth.

At Fulda he refused the urgent hospitality of Abbot
Sturm, and waited only while Olvir, quicker than any of
the monastery scribes, drew up the betrothal agreement
in beautiful Irish script.  Then he made his rude mark upon
the parchment, and, with a word of farewell to Olvir, gruff
but hearty, he mounted his horse and rode away
homeward through the gathering night.

But Olvir gladly accepted the abbot's hospitality, not
only for the night, but for two more days to come.  Though
the pick of a breed that could claim greater speed and
endurance than perhaps any other stock known in all
Arabia, even Zora had been too severely taxed by the strain
of the long race from the Southland; and Olvir himself,
with all his lifelong training, had to own the need of rest
before undertaking the return journey.

To the monks of Fulda the brief visit of the king's
messenger afforded material for gossip during many a dull
month to follow.  Young and old, they were eager to serve
him; while Zora had no lack of frocked grooms who took
joy in tending and caressing the wonderful mare.  But
what appealed strongest to Sturm and the more studious
of the brothers was the marvellous learning of their guest.
Though their school was already famed beyond the borders
of the kingdom and could number its pupils by hundreds,
so greatly had learning dwindled throughout Europe that
Olvir, who had benefited by the fruit of Otkar's wander-years,
far outmatched the scholars of the monastery in all
branches of knowledge except only the writings of the
Christian fathers.

Nor did Olvir detract from his reputation at the close
of his visit.  One of his last acts was to visit the monastery
school, where, with quick discernment, he singled out and
rewarded with a handful of silver pennies the brightest
among the younger students,--Eginhard, son of
Eginhard, a nimble-witted child of eight, whom history was
to know as the son-in-law and biographer of Karl the King.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`CHAPTER XV`:

.. class:: center large

   CHAPTER XV

.. vspace:: 2

|   At the Thing,
|   Where folk throng.
|                   LAY OF SIGRDRIFA.

.. vspace:: 2

Once more Zora's round hoofs
beat quick time on the roadway,
and the ease of her stride was
proof that the rest had fully
restored her strength.  With
quick intelligence, she felt and
responded to the joyful mood
of her rider, who, with the
betrothal lines safe in his bosom,
raced away southwards, full of
song and gladness.

Over Rhine and through Austrasia, back across the
Seine at Paris, and so again to Tours and down into fair
Aquitania rode the king's messenger, ever bright-eyed and
smiling.  At Paris he had stopped again half a day with the
smith, so that Zora had had no cause to feel neglected;
while, throughout the long ride, he had lightened the
journey-toil both for himself and for the mare by humming
Northern love-songs and Arab chants of the desert.

So the king's messenger rushed out of the North.  The
royal signet opened for him all doors, and no wayside thief
dared attack so well armed a rider.

Morning of the twelfth day found him leaving the gate
of a little town south of Périgueux.  It was the
commencement of the journey's last stage,--so Olvir
whispered joyfully in Zora's ear; and the red mare responded
by stretching out her neck for the half-day's race that
should bring them to the Garonne.  At first the faithful
beast showed a little stiffness; but she soon fell into her
stride, and the long miles melted away from before her no
less swiftly than when she first left Fulda.

As mare and rider sped along the highway, a stranger,
judging by their appearance, would have thought that
they had just burst away from the tedium of camp life.
Only by their leanness did either betray to the casual
glance the tremendous strain of the long race against time.

Twice during the morning's ride Olvir dismounted and
ran beside the mare, to ease his stiffened limbs.  When,
the second time, he swung back into the saddle, his eye was
caught by the battlement on one of the towers of
Casseneuil.  Then the full view of the Garonne's valley burst
upon him, and he uttered a joyful shout.  The banks of the
stream were still dotted with tents and booths.  The
Frankish host had not yet marched south.

Assured of this welcome fact, Olvir turned the mare
aside to a spring, where he groomed her carefully, and
burnished the silver fittings of her saddle and bridle.  After
that he burnished his war-gear, and did what he could to
cleanse his dress of dust and travel-stain.  Last of all, he
bathed in the pool of the spring and combed out his
red-gold hair.

"So, Wind of the Desert, now we are fit and seemly
for Karolah's presence," he said, and he kissed the mare's
broad forehead.

A little later he was cantering down the road which
wound through the Frankish camps.  The first tents to
which he came were deserted; but it was not hard to divine
that their owners were to be found in the vast crowd on the
river-bank, near the king's pavilion.  Evidently the
Frankish folk-council was holding one of its meetings.

A touch of the rein sent Zora off to the right across a
long stretch of meadow where great herds of cattle were
grazing; then around the corner of a little wood, and they
dashed into the midst of the viking camp.

Suddenly as steed and rider rushed into view, they had
hardly gained Olvir's tent, when the air rang with shouts
of welcome, and the Northmen came running from all sides
to greet their earl.  In the lead came Floki the Crane,
bounding like an elk.  Yet he was not the first to welcome
the sea-king.  The flap of Olvir's tent was flung aside, and
Rothada sprang out, radiant with pleasure.  Close after the
girl ran Karl, her sturdy little half-brother.

"Lord Olvir!  Lord Olvir! how joyous it is to see you!"

"And you, king's daughter!  Put your foot upon the
stirrup--so!"

Drawing the girl up to him, Olvir kissed her ruddy cheek.

"Hold, little vala," he added, as Rothada would have
sprung down.  "I have a question to ask.  Where is your
father? and how came you here alone?"

"The king, my father, is near his tent.  I came with
Roland and Gerold and the others.  But Liutrad was sent
for by Abbot Fulrad, and Fastrada returned to our sweet
Dame Hildegarde.  Pepin would not stay with me; but
Karl--"

"Fastrada!--And they have gone?  Ah, well, then,
we 'll go to the king, and you shall sit behind me,
sweetheart."

"On the beautiful mare!  But Karl--"

"He shall sit in front, if he be a man.  So; there you
are.  Now, king's son!"

The boy ran forward, delighted, and was swung up by
Floki, astride Zora's neck.

Then the jam of vikings closed in around their leader,
and the shouting broke out again.

"Hold your noise, fools!" cried Floki.  "The
ring-breaker has no mind to be deafened."

"How--not cheer?" roared back a scarred old berserk,
his ferocious face beaming.  "Ho!  Thor smite the
silent ones!  Howl your joy, sea-wolves!  Our earl has
come again--*Haoi*!"

|   "Howl! howl, wolves of Hild!
|       He, our hersir,
|       He, our hero,
|       Have we here!"

rang out the mellow voice of a skald from the thick of the
crowd, and the quickly turned verse was echoed by a roar
to be heard even at Casseneuil.

Olvir's eyes sparkled, and he wheeled Zora slowly
around, that he might see all.  As the shouting died away,
he lifted his hand, and answered the boisterous welcome:
"Greeting to you, sons of Thor!  My heart leaps at the
sight of viking faces!  But now I must go to the Frank
king.  I will come again before nightfall.  Arm yourselves
as for battle, that I may see if the camp-sloth has overtaken
you."

"If one man shows a rust-speck on mail or helmet,
strike off my hand," said Floki.

"The Crane has looked to it!" grumbled the old berserk.
"There are softer-spoken leaders.  But he has kept
all well in hand, even as against Liutrad's red pig."

"I will hear of that later; now I must be going.  Farewell,"
replied Olvir, and Zora passed with her triple burden
through the opening crowd.

The mare's gentle canter soon covered the distance to
the assembling-ground of the national council.  But when
she left the last bit of coppice, young Karl, who held
the reins, turned her away from the immense gathering
of freemen to a little grove that shaded a company
of priests, court-officials, and war-counts.  The royal
standard, planted before the grove, marked the presence
of the king.  Here, in fact, was the inner council of the
Frankish national assembly, whence the sovereign,
surrounded by his high liegemen, both lay and ecclesiastical,
sent over his decrees to be confirmed by the voice of the
freemen.

When Zora approached the grove, the king was reading
from a long scroll, and his audience had eye and ear
only for the royal speaker.  Not until Zora thrust her head
over Count Amalwin's heavy shoulder, were the
new-comers perceived.  The Saxon turned with a frown, to
start back and stare at the Northman, open-mouthed.
Olvir leaned toward him, smiling.

"So, Saxon," he said quietly, "what do you now say
of my mare, and what of her master?  We crossed Rhine
Stream, and more,--I held your Grey Wolf by the throat."

"How--Rudulf!" shouted Amalwin, forgetting all
else in his surprise.

The cry rang through the grove like an alarm, and king,
counts, and priests alike turned to stare at the intruders.
The first look on many faces was one of resentment; but
then, just beyond the oaken throne, Roland sprang up and
came running with a cry of greeting: "Olvir!  Olvir!
Welcome back again!"

Close after him ran Liutrad and Gerold, while from all
sides the liegemen pressed forward with excited shouts:
"The Dane!  It is the Dane count!  He cannot have gone
and come already!  Saint Michael, what a mare!"

Then Gerold caught Zora's bridle, while behind him
Roland and Liutrad clasped Olvir by the hands.  So
escorted, with the king's son before him and the king's
daughter at his back, the young Northman rode forward
to the very edge of the dais.  There his friends stepped
aside, and Olvir would have dismounted.  But Karl stayed
him with a gesture, and came forward to lay his great palm
on Zora's forehead.

"By the King of Heaven," he muttered, "well did I
name you my Dane hawk!  Six and twenty days ago you
rode northward.  Have you, in truth, crossed the Rhine?"

"To Fulda and beyond, lord king," replied Olvir; "to
the lair of the Grey Wolf."

"Beyond Fulda!  And how did the old count greet you?"

"We played at back-breaking till I throttled him.
Then we rode to Fulda, and he made his mark on what I
asked him."

"How, Dane," demanded the purple-faced Count Hardrat;
"do you claim to have outwrestled Rudulf of the Sorb
Mark?  I cannot swallow that boast."

Olvir's lip curled, and he bent over toward the speaker.

"Shall I prove the boast--now?" he asked softly.

"Ay; now!" retorted the Thuringian.  But then the
soft hand of Duke Lupus fell upon his shoulder: "Go easy,
friend.  Count Olvir has already tossed you over his head;
he will toss you again."

"Enough!" interrupted Karl, imperiously.  "We will
have no brawling.  I answer for Lord Olvir's truth."

"A word, lord king," called out Amalwin.  "I know
that Rudulf vowed never to give his daughter to one who
could not best him at his own game."

"And here is Rudulf's mark to my betrothal lines,"
added Olvir.

"I need no such proof of the deed, my gerfalcon.  Put
up your scroll, and dismount.  Give me the child."

At the bidding, Olvir tossed young Karl into his
father's arms, and Roland swung down Rothada.  Then
Olvir leaped from the saddle.  As the foster-brothers
parted, Liutrad touched his earl's shoulder.

"Have no thought for the mare, ring-breaker," he said.
"Gerold and I will groom her with our own hands."

Among the first of the company to congratulate the
Northman on his wonderful ride was Duke Lupus.

"I rejoice, hero, that you are here to be with us on the
morrow," he concluded.  "Count Roland and your learned
young Liutrad have planned a boating party up the Lot.
The queen herself will attend, and also one whom I need
not name."

"My thanks for the good tidings," replied Olvir, and
his hand closed with cordial firmness about the Vascon's
soft palm.

Then Lupus glided away, and Count Amalwin thrust
forward a slim, hazel-eyed young warrior, whose firm-set
jaw alone saved his delicate face from girlish softness.

"Here, hero," called out the Saxon; "you have
wrestled with Rudulf; here now is one, half a monk, who
will strive to match you in book-craft,--Worad, Count of
Metz."

"Not I, hero!" protested the young man.  "Already
Liutrad has worsted me.  If the man be so learned, how
dare I meet the master?  Rather, measure your lore with
Abbot Fulrad."

"You would set me against all the learning of Frank
Land," said Olvir, smiling.

"That we shall, lad," replied the king.  "For what
should we gain learning, if not to impart it?  My
war-counts, alas, give little heed to letters."

"The greater heed we give to our swords, lord king,"
mumbled Amalwin.

"To your trenchers, rather!" laughed Karl.  "And
now I myself would give heed to the same.  Here comes
my cupbearer, to tell us that the meat cools on the spits."

Giving over Rothada and her brother into the charge
of the page, the king led the way to the table with a
hastiness that betrayed a hunter's appetite.

Olvir soon found himself seated at a rustic board,
between Roland and Worad.  Overhead the breeze sighed
through the green foliage; but the birds of the grove had
flown away, frightened by the clamor.  After no little
confusion, seats were found for all the company, and a crowd
of attendants served the guests.  Very shortly the loud talk
of the warriors lulled, and little else was to be heard than
the click of knives and spoons.

In the midst of the feast the air shook with a great rolling
outcry that sent Olvir's hand to the hilt of Al-hatif.  But
the Franks went on with their eating as though nothing
had happened.  Roland, however, observed Olvir's movement,
and hastened to explain.

"It is the assembly," he said.  "The freemen have
brought their deliberations to an end."

Olvir smiled ironically: "Otkar had somewhat to say
of your Frankish *folk-thing*.  Your warriors meet to shout
for what the king bids them.  In the North at the *thing* all
alike--kings, earls, and common freemen--stand on the
same footing.  So it is in Saxon Land, and so it was once
among the free Franks."

"You speak boldly, Count Olvir," rejoined young
Worad of Metz.  "I might answer that we free Franks
have passed the stage of the barbarous Saxons.  The
Romans were very wise; we have learned from them."

"And Rome to-day is a grave-mound of dead might.
Its folk bent knee to the foul kaisers as to gods, and their
realm crumbled away.  Kings alone cannot long uphold
kingdoms.  The strength of a land lies in its freemen."

"You jest, Olvir," protested Roland.  "See how our
folk have become bound together and our strength been
magnified since Karl the Hammer seized the reins of power
in his single grasp."

"But why were you weak before?  Your freemen then
had as little part in the making of your laws as they have
now.  Already they were falling into slavery and serfdom.
Even during my few weeks in your land, I have heard how
your freemen, to save themselves from pillage and
starvation, are fast pledging themselves as followers of the
counts.  Lucky for you so great a one as yonder world-hero
sits on the throne!  When he is gone, I foresee evil
for Frank Land."

"You speak words of ill-omen, lord Dane," said
Worad, flushing.  "The Franks have never been stronger.
All outland folk tremble before Karl our King."

"Not all!  I know of one folk--"

"Hold, Olvir, for my sake, if not for your own," broke
in Roland.  "Nothing but bitterness can come of wrangling.
Look! there comes the folk-herald to tell the findings
of the assembly."

"That is he," assented Worad, "the small man on
the grey horse."

The herald leaned from his saddle to speak with the
king, and then, at a nod from Karl, he rose in his stirrups
and shouted down the long table: "Ho, lords of the Franks'
king! learn that the freemen of the realm have confirmed
all laws sent before them by his Majesty, and they give
their full voice for war against the pagan Saracens."

As the shout which greeted this announcement died
away, the herald's voice again rang through the grove;
"Hearken, all, lords of the king!  He who is not prepared
let him make ready.  Two days hence the host will march."

At this command the war-counts filled the grove with
their shouts, and their zeal was so great that many rushed
off leaving half-filled trenchers.

No Frank was more pleased than was Olvir.

"Come, brother!" he cried.  "I must see to my
vikings.  They will be armed for my return."

"You will find them brisk in action.  Floki has not let
them lie about idle."

"That I can well believe.  Farewell for the time,
Count Worad."

"Until the morning, lord count, if nearness to the time
of marching does not prevent our boating trip."

"It may chance that Lupus cannot come; but that
would be small loss," said Roland, bluntly.  "There is
nothing to stay the others.  Are your men ready for the
road?"

"Amalwin has seen to that."

"And Floki to mine, I could swear, brother," said
Olvir.  "Yet we should go and see.  Again, farewell."

Worad waved his slender hand, and the sword-brothers
joined the crowds of departing warriors.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`CHAPTER XVI`:

.. class:: center large

   CHAPTER XVI

.. vspace:: 2

|   But about and between
|   Went baleful fate.
|                   LAY OF SIGURD.

.. vspace:: 2

As Roland had predicted, nothing
arose to interfere with the plans
of the maying party.  Even
Lupus found means to slip away
from the king's presence.  His
excuse was that he wished to
attend the queen.  With the
utmost show of deference, he
and a pair of young pages had
escorted her to the landing-stage,
where she was sitting at ease in the midst of the
royal children and half-a-dozen favorite bower-maidens,
when the Norse ship-boats came racing up from the viking
camp.  The craft were steered by Olvir and Roland, Gerold
of Bussen, and Count Worad.

Olvir's oarsmen were not the best among his vikings.
Floki himself pulled bow-oar in Roland's boat.  Yet the
greater skill of the sea-king more than offset this
disadvantage, and he steered in to the wharf foremost of all.

Forgetful of sore muscles and stiffened joints, the heritage
of his ride, Olvir did not wait for his boat to make fast,
but while it was yet turning, leaped out upon the landing-stage.
Though he hastened at once to bow before Hildegarde,
his eyes were fixed upon the glowing face which
regarded him over the queen's shoulder.  He had thought
for none else.  Hildegarde saw and understood.  She met
his half-stammered greeting with a smile, and motioned
him to step behind her.

"Greet the maiden, Olvir," she said.  "No wooer ever
rode so far and so fast to win his true-love.  I would not
keep you waiting now."

Olvir thanked the kindly queen with a glance, and then
he was beside Fastrada.  It was the moment to which both
had looked forward during all the six and twenty days of
separation.  For a time they stood with clasped hands,
gazing into each other's eyes, too full of love and happiness
to speak.  They were so lost in mutual delight they did not
heed that all the others had embarked and were waiting for
them, until Rothada called out.

"Ah, sweetheart, we must go," sighed Olvir.  "Yet,
first, a word,--I bring good tidings."

Fastrada's eyes shone still brighter.

"I know, my hero," she murmured.  "Yesterday my
heart burned that you should have first seen Rothada; but
I forgave her because of the joyful word she brought.  Oh,
my lord, how my heart leaps to see you once more!  And
you have ridden over Rhine and back again, with scarce a
trace of the long journey!  Who else in Christendom could
do the like?"

"Who else would not do it for the loveliest among
maidens?" replied Olvir; and with that, fearful of losing
his self-control, he led the girl aboard his boat.

Hildegarde had intrusted herself to Roland, along with
the children.  All others had chosen places in the
remaining boats, except only Rothada.  Though begged by Worad
to come with him, the girl had placed herself aboard Olvir's
boat.  Even Fastrada could not ask the little princess to
leave; but her ready wit suggested how to make the best
of the situation.  At a word from her, Olvir told one of the
pages to join them.  The boy was only too pleased to gain
such a merry companion as the king's daughter, and so,
with much laughter and excitement, all was agreeably
arranged, and the five boats sheered off into the stream.

Accustomed as were most of the party to the river
scenery, all found much to delight the eye in the picturesque
hills, the woods, and the flower-strewn dales, now in
the full green of early summer.  Nature added her share to
the merry maying.  There was no cloud to be seen, either
in the sky or on the faces of the pleasure-seekers.  Even
Roland joined freely in the merriment, and unbent so far
as to tell the king's children a wonderful tale,--all about
wood-sprites and werwolves.

Of all the party, two alone had no thought to give to
jest or laughter, and yet they were the happiest couple in
the boats.  Faint with blissful languor, Fastrada sat beside
her lover, too overjoyed for words; while instinct alone
guided Olvir's steer-oar, as his boat, leaping to the strokes
of the big-armed oarsmen, raced upstream in company
with the others.

All too soon, Gerold, in the lead, steered ashore to
the crumbling stone quay of an old-time Roman estate.
Through the trees could be seen the shattered walls of an
immense villa, which, Lupus said, had been looted and
burned by the Saracens on their way to Tours.  But on
landing, in place of proceeding to the ruins, the party
turned aside to a nook in the abandoned garden, where a
stream of pure water gushed from the mouth of a
monstrous bronze dolphin.

Here a cloth was spread on the grass, and the bower-maidens
played at housewife, while the younger men ran
races to the boat for forgotten articles.  After the meal a
half-circle was formed before Hildegarde and the children,
and each member of the party was called upon for a tale.

So with stories of dragons and saints, heroes and
sprites, the hour of noon-rest was passed, and young Karl
and Rotrude and Carloman slept with their heads on their
mother's lap.  But the other youngsters at last wearied of
inaction, and Pepin begged to see the ruined villa.  The
idea was at once caught up by Worad and Gerold, and met
with approval on all sides.

The villa had evidently been the country-seat of a
Roman of great wealth.  In size it was little less than a
palace.  The party rambled about the ruins during most
of the afternoon, with no slackening of interest.  From
the ash-heaps beneath the fire-scarred walls the young
men dug out pretty fragments of statuary and many
whole tiles.

Fatigue and thirst, however, finally moved Hildegarde
to call for a return to the fountain.  When she started,
supported between Roland and Lupus, her maidens and the
younger men ran ahead to gather flowers with the children.
Olvir and Fastrada, however, walked behind, and slow as
was the queen's pace, theirs was yet slower.  Lupus was
quick to note their loitering, and when presently they were
lost to view behind a turn of the wild-grown hedge, he
sought to bring his royal mistress to a halt.

"Pardon me, gracious dame," he said; "is it seemly
that Lord Olvir and the maiden--"

"What harm?" interrupted Hildegarde, smiling.  "Are
they not all but betrothed?  This very evening Fulrad will
hear them plight their troth.  Come; one would think you
had never loved."

Lupus looked quickly away, and drew in his breath
with a softly hissing sound.  Nor was he the only one hurt.
Roland groaned aloud and struck his fist upon his broad
chest.

"Ah, Roland--I had forgot!" exclaimed Hildegarde.

The warrior's stern-set face relaxed, and he smiled
sadly.

"God double my brother's joy!" he said.

And so the three passed on to where the young folk
were playing May games around the fountain.

Meantime, the lovers had more than loitered on the
way,--they had come to a full stop.

The moment Fastrada perceived that the queen and
her companions were hidden by the foliage, she put a
hand to her bosom, and exclaimed: "Hold, Olvir.  I have
dropped the brooch you gave me.  It must have been at
the last, when we started."

"I will run fetch it, sweetheart," replied Olvir, readily.

"And leave me here alone!  I would sooner lose the
clasp.  Let us return together.  I have good tidings, which
the queen left for me to tell you."

"Come, then; we 'll go back.  Now, dear one, what
are your good tidings?"

"Wait a little, my hero.  Tell me first of your
meeting with Count Rudulf, my father, and with my--my
mother."

Olvir half frowned, and drew a little apart, as he
recalled his encounter in the wild beech forest.

"What are your tidings?" he insisted.

The girl glanced up at him with a look which, though
of but a moment's duration, brought out with startling
distinctness her resemblance to the grisly old forest count.
Then her scarlet lips parted in a smile that showed her
strong white teeth, and she replied slowly: "I bend to the
bidding of my lord.  Know, then, that our lord king desires
the company of his daughter on his southward war-faring,
and, that the princess may not be lonely, he has asked the
queen to choose her a journey-mate from among the
bower-maidens."

"The king takes the little vala on such a war-faring! and
you, of all the queen's maidens, are chosen to
go--  By Loki, there are tales of Pepin's son!  Were I
sure--  Ah! that boding of the witch,--her own mother!"

"You speak in riddles," said Fastrada, sharply.
"What of my mother's boding?"

"No good word to you and me," replied Olvir; and he
told briefly of the meeting with the old count and his witch
wife.  As he spoke, his scorn of spells and evil bodings
came back to him, and he cast off the doubt which had
fallen upon his heart.  But when, smiling at his foolish
fear and jealousy, he glanced down at the maiden, he
caught a glimpse of her eyes, green and narrow-lidded as
her father's.  They were still green when the girl met his
look full-faced, and asked in a sibilant voice: "You are
sure--my mother--she said a king--one grey of eye?"

"And I am neither!" muttered Olvir.  "Yet were she
twice your mother, I 'd laugh at such witchery."

But Fastrada turned from her lover's smiling look.
She paused, and gazed down at the weed-grown ash-heap
at her feet, her eyes again narrowed to a line.

A sudden chill fell upon Olvir.  If the maiden truly
loved him, why should she stand pondering that wild
foretelling?  Half angered, he glanced away, and his eye
was caught by a glinting in the grass.  He went ahead, and
found the missing brooch.

"Here is your clasp, daughter of Rudulf," he said coldly.

Heedless of his tone, Fastrada took the ornament, and
stared fixedly at the garnets with which it was studded.

"The queen's gems are far more precious," she
murmured, half aloud.

"I will win you the like, maiden," answered Olvir,
quickly, but his frown deepened.

For a while Fastrada made no response.  Her eyes
were still downcast, and her face was dark with doubt and
inward struggle.

"*Ai*--my mother," she at last whispered; "not often
do her bodings fall amiss!  Yet once I knew the fiends to
fail her--  Ah, if--"

The words faltered on the girl's lips, and she glanced
up furtively at her lover.  But at sight of his look she
started back with a stifled cry.

Olvir's face was white as new ivory, and his eyes
glittered like an angry snake's.

"So, witch-daughter," he lisped softly as a young
child, "this is your Frank love.  It is a merry game to
play fast and loose,--a merry game!  It seems that I
fared to Rhine Stream on my lord king's errand,--both as
to father and daughter.  'A king, grey of eye'--and he
has chosen you to go as mate for--his daughter.  So; the
game is played!  We will accept your mother's boding;
we will trust to her fiends."

"Olvir, Olvir!--my hero!  What is this?  Why do
you speak so cruelly?  Ah, do not shrink from me!  I was
mad--mad!  Truly, I love you, Olvir!  I will never love
another.  Take me back--into your heart!"

"You mistake, daughter of Rudulf," replied Olvir, a
harder note in his lisping voice.  "My heart held the image
of a maiden pure and true; you have shattered that holy
image.  How can I hold love in my heart, when you have
thrust in doubt?  Love!  You say you love me, when
you could stand for an instant weighing my love against a
queen's crown--love!"

His voice cut like a lash.  The girl winced, and looked
appealingly into his face.  But she saw only contempt and
anger.  Then her own eyes hardened.  The daughter of
grey Rudulf and the Wend witch was not one to repay
scorn with a smile.  The very excess of her passion for the
Northman served now to heighten her fury and hatred.
As she turned upon him, her beautiful features were
distorted with a look more startling than the wolfish visage
of her father.

.. _`163`:

"Love!" she cried, half hissing the word.  "You
speak of love,--you, the heathen outlander!  This stone
beneath my feet knows more of love than you!  Your
blood is but ice,--salty ice!  Take your ring, and begone!"

"Now do I see the werwolf!" muttered Olvir, and,
flinging down Fastrada's ring, he trod his own into the
ashes and turned away, proud and angry-eyed.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`CHAPTER XVII`:

.. class:: center large

   CHAPTER XVII

.. vspace:: 2

|   What hath wrought Sigurd
|   Of any wrong-doing
|   That the life of the famed one
|   Thou art fain of taking?
|                   LAY OF BRYNHILD.

.. vspace:: 2

White with fury, Fastrada yet
stood glaring at the spot where
Olvir had disappeared, when she
heard a firm tread on the other
side.  As she looked about, she
caught a glimpse of Roland
approaching through the coppice.
Her first impulse was to spring
away before the king's kinsman
could come upon her.  But
almost at the first step she paused and turned again, with
a smile of wolfish joy.

When Roland burst from the thicket, the girl came
running to meet him, her silken dress torn, her hair capless
and dishevelled, her face blotched with earth.

"Save me!  Save me, lord count!" she gasped.  "In
the name of your mother, do not let him harm me!"

"What is it?  Who would harm you?" demanded
Roland, in amazement.

But the girl flung herself on the ground before him,
sobbing and moaning, and for a while it seemed as though
she could not speak.  The sight of her at his feet stirred to
the depths all the love and pity of the Frank's heart.  He
stooped and sought to lift her; but she shrank from his
touch, and hid her face in her hands.

"Leave me!" she moaned.  "I had forgotten; not to
you can I look to avenge my wrong."

"Wrong!" he repeated, and his blue eyes flared.  "By
my sword, I swear, daughter of Rudulf, I will avenge your
wrong.  Name the man."

Fastrada ceased her sobbing, and half raised herself.
With one hand still across her face, she whispered
brokenly: "He sought to--  Ah, I cannot name it!  but
you came, and he fled.  He is--he was the man I
loved--I trusted."

"Olvir!--my brother?" cried Roland, and he staggered
as though struck.  For a moment he stood, white and
rigid, in an agony of doubt.  But Fastrada's keen wits were
sharpened by hate.

"O my hero! my dark-eyed hero!" she moaned.
"Why should you wrong your betrothed?  Why seek
to harm the maiden who loved you so?"

"Where did he go?" gasped Roland.  A terrible anger
had seized upon him.  His face was crimson with rage,
his eyes bloodshot.  Even as he spoke, he drew the heavy
Norse sword at his side, and when, with head averted, the
girl pointed behind her, he rushed away like a berserk in
the fury.

Instantly Fastrada sat up to listen, her narrowed eyes
dry and hot, her face white, her lips drawn away from the
teeth in two blood-red lines.  She was so intent on
following Roland's headlong flight that Duke Lupus glided out
of the coppice and gained her side unheeded.  With all his
subtlety, the Vascon did not lack courage; but he could
not restrain a shudder when he saw the look on the girl's
face.  He crossed himself hastily, and would have slipped
back to the coppice, had not Fastrada turned and perceived
him.  For a little the two glared at each other.  Fastrada
was first to speak.

"Spy!" she hissed.

But Lupus had recovered from his first superstitious
dread.  Unheeding the scornful term, he bent eagerly
forward and half whispered: "I am not blind, maiden.  You
burn for vengeance.  Who has wronged you?  Tell me!  I
can aid."

Fastrada shook her head sullenly; but her fury was
too great to be repressed.

"Vengeance!" she cried fiercely.  "You speak truth;
I thirst for vengeance!  Nothing will quench my thirst but
the heart's blood of that false heathen.  The base outlander
sought my shame."

"Holy saints!" cried Lupus, in affected horror.  But
Fastrada saw the ironical smile which flitted across his
face, and she knew that he had not been deceived.  She
drew back her head and watched him, like a snake whose
way is barred.  The duke's face instantly assumed a look
of deepest significance, and he extended a white hand.

"Let me be your friend," he urged.  "I also have
wrongs to avenge.  Join with me and my friends.  We will
aid you gladly."

"Already my wolf-hound follows the warm trail,"
rejoined Fastrada, and she laughed shrilly.

"Roland?"

The girl rocked to and fro, her hands clasped about her
knee.

"The sword-brothers meet with bared swords!" she
cried, and again she broke into the terrible laugh.

"And if the Frank falls?" demanded Lupus.

"May each prove the other's bane!"

"My heart to that!  Yet the Dane is quick.  Roland
alone may fall; then you will need aid.  Join us.  If we
succeed, I know a duke who will give you a queen's
crown.

"A queen's crown--a queen's crown," muttered Fastrada,
and she pressed a hand over her eyes.  "What was
the word,--my mother's word?  Ay; a king--"

"How's that, maiden?  What has your mother foretold?"

"I shall wed a king--a king grey of eye."

The pale-grey eyes of Lupus sparkled.

"A true boding!  The Merwing shall win back the
throne of his forefathers, and you shall be his queen.  I
shall rule.  Throne and queen, the alruna--the
witch-wife--forebodes it!"

"Let that be as it may," muttered Fastrada; "only
show me the corpse of that cold-blooded outlander, and I
do your bidding."

"Then we should see how your hound has fared,"
replied Lupus, and the girl sprang up to follow him into
the thicket.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`CHAPTER XVIII`:

.. class:: center large

   CHAPTER XVIII

.. vspace:: 2

|   Such doings for us
|   Are naught seemly to do;
|   To rend with sword
|   Oaths once sworn
|   And troth once plighted.
|                   LAY OF SIGURD.

.. vspace:: 2

Even in the heat of battle, never
had Roland known the wild fury
that raged in his breast as he
crashed through the thickets in
search of his foster-brother.  His
headlong rush failed to soothe
the anguish of Fastrada's
poisoned shaft; and with the pain
his anger grew more terrible.
The thought of the maiden lying
before him in piteous abasement, and a savage fear that
the betrayer of her love might escape, alike spurred him
on.  The outlander was fleet of foot; he must run swiftly
if he would overtake him.  But, no! there was the wretch,
beyond the wild-grown hedge.

Olvir stood in a little glade.  His face was bowed, and
his dark eyes were dull and glazed with agony.  Grief
and despair almost beyond endurance distorted his face
and shook his body with racking sobs.  He had loved the
beautiful Thuringian with all the passion of his fiery
Eastern nature, with all the tender reverence of his Norse
blood and rearing.  Had death torn her from him, he could
have bowed to the will of the Norns.  But that his
betrothed should have proved false!

"I cannot bear this longer!" he muttered, and his
hand grasped the dagger in his belt.  But he hesitated, the
weapon half drawn.

"Woman's love is not all of life,--I have yet my
brother," he said; and the dagger clicked back in its sheath.

It was then that Roland burst from the thicket.

"Ward yourself, wretch!" he roared; and the great
Norse sword whirled about his head.

With the instinctive readiness of his outlaw uprearing,
Olvir sprang aside and tore Al-hatif from its sheath.  As
swiftly, he wheeled to confront his maddened assailant;
and then he realized who that assailant was.

"Roland!" he cried, and he flung his sword to the
ground.

The act checked the Frank's attack.  Even at the height
of his rage, he could not strike down his foe unarmed.

"Ward yourself! ward yourself, that I may slay you
in fair fight!" he cried hoarsely.

Olvir only folded his arms and gazed unflinchingly
into the Frank's face.

"The troth of a woman,--the oath of a Frank!" he
said coldly.  "To my sword-brother I gave my father's
sword to cleave my own head.  It would seem that
Ironbiter is fated to prove my bane."

Roland lowered his sword, and leaned heavily upon it,
his great body trembling.

"Take up your blade; defend yourself!" he gasped.

Olvir saw how his face whitened with anguish; but
his own only grew the more bitter, and his voice stung
with relentless irony: "What hinders the Christian from
smiting the heathen,--the Frank from stabbing his friend?
He is but an outlander.  Strike, and have done."

"O my God, my God!" cried Roland, and the scalding
tears ran down his cheeks.  The Northman trembled, yet
his face lost none of its hardness.

"How is this?" he said, "My friend is weary.  He
would have me do the deed myself.  Say the word,
foster-brother, and I fall on my own sword."

Roland opened his lips; but the only sound that came
from them was a groan.  With slow and awkward fingers
he put back his great blade into its sheath.  Vainly he tried
again to speak; his tongue refused to obey.  He could no
longer endure the Northman's look.  He turned and went
away like one in a daze, staggering in his walk.

Olvir watched him go, without a shade of softening in
his hard stare; nor did he move until the bowed figure of
the Frank was lost to view in the coppice.  Then he lifted
his sword from the ground; a kiss for its mirror blade, and
the point was at his breast.  Already he was bending to fall
upon it, when a smothered cry in the thicket caught his
quick ear.

"What's that?" he muttered, and he stood listening.
All was silence.  His eye returned to the sword.  How the
bright hues played on the polished steel!  The red stone
burned like a gout of blood from the heart of fiery Surt.
How fiercely its red light had shone in battle--in battle!
Thor! he could hear the arrows whistling, the joyous
clash of swords!

The black eyes flashed.  He whirled the sword about
and grasped its hilt in fierce delight.

"There's joy yet in Manheim,--wild play in Odin's
game!" he cried; and again he kissed the blade.
"Al-hatif!  Al-hatif! king of swords!  You would have slain
me,--even as that other friend; yet you shall still be my
friend,--henceforth my only friend and love!"

But the words choked in the utterance.  Grief and
bitterness poured back into his heart in full flood.  He
threw himself upon the ground, and lay face down.  An
hour passed before he rose again.  His face was calm, but
there were new lines on it.  The last trace of boyhood was
gone.  He sheathed Al-hatif, and stood for a little while,
staring moodily before him.

"So," he murmured, "love and friendship are dead;
and I--I had my part in the slaying.  Would that I had
been less harsh with him--ay, and with--her!  Ah, well;
what is past is past.  Let Urd hold the bitter; I 'll look to
Skuld.  And now to go.  I cannot face those merry ones."

Half sighing, the Northman turned into the coppice
and disappeared.  A little later he stepped out on the river's
bank into the midst of the wassailing oarsmen, and spoke
a word in Floki's ear: "Take joy!  I 've seen your
werwolf's teeth.  I go downstream afoot."

Before Floki could reply, Olvir stepped back into the
thicket, and was gone.  The other vikings, intent upon
their black mead, had scarcely glanced up at their earl.
But Floki for some time sat staring at the spot where Olvir
had vanished, his brows bent in deep thought.  At last his
frown relaxed, and he smiled grimly.

"All's well," he muttered.  "Grief will pass.  I see
a fairer bride."

As though the words had been a spell, hardly were
they uttered when Rothada appeared before the speaker.
Floki's jaw dropped.  But then he caught sight of Gerold
behind the girl, and rose to meet them.  The young count
looked at him gravely, and pointed to the boats.

"Make ready at once," he said.  "The queen would
return.  She comes now."

Floki uttered a word of command; and while the
grumbling wassailers manned the oars he kept a sharp eye
on the approaching party.  There was no more merriment
to be heard among the young Franks.  Even the royal
children were sobered.  Hildegarde, who was leaning
heavily upon Roland's arm, looked both grieved and
harassed.  Close after, between Lupus and young Worad,
walked Fastrada, with drooping body and pale, downcast
face.  Last of all, behind the whispering pages and
bower-maidens, came Liutrad, apart from the others.

Roland seated the queen and the children, as before,
in his boat; but Fastrada passed by Olvir's boat with a
shudder.  As she accepted Worad's silent invitation,
Hildegarde looked up and spoke half hesitatingly: "How
of--Lord Olvir?"

"Let his boat wait," suggested her brother.

"No," put in Floki, curtly.

"Why not?" demanded Roland, and he leaned
toward the tall giant, frowning.

"What use, when he has gone?" rejoined Floki.

"You 've seen him!" exclaimed Liutrad.

"Ay, lad."

"What did he say, man?" asked Worad, sharply.

Floki eyed the questioner with a cold stare; but then,
smiling in a peculiar way, he answered dryly: "The earl
bade me take joy."

"Take joy!--why take joy?" asked the queen.

Floki fixed his stare upon Lupus and the drooping
Fastrada, and stood muttering to himself.  But he made no
response until Roland repeated the inquiry.  When he
turned and saw the anxiety of both queen and count, his
look lost its coldness; but he shook his head.

"There are others here who can best answer that," he
said.  "If they will not speak, go ask the earl.  Ho,
all! to your benches!  Cast off, men!"

Roland's troubled face darkened yet more; but, without
protest, he grasped the steer-oar of his boat.  Floki
stepped into the place of his absent leader, and the boats
thrust out from the shore with the saddened merrymakers.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`CHAPTER XIX`:

.. class:: center large

   CHAPTER XIX

.. vspace:: 2

|   Manful they march by mountain dales,
|   Stout of heart o'er the stony cliffs,
|   As far as run the roads before them,
|   Once built by giants.
|                   ANDREAS.

.. vspace:: 2

Dawn of the day of marching
found the vikings drawn up on
the south bank of the Garonne;
but Zora stood at the head of
their column, without a rider.
Olvir had lingered for a last
word with the Frisians and
disabled Danes who had been left
as ship-watch.  With the first
glimpse of the sun, he was stepping
aboard his waiting boat, when Gerold rode down the
bank in company with Amalwin the Saxon.

Both eyed the sea-king coldly, and Gerold hastened to
be done with his message: "Count Hardrat has
advanced with the horse; after him march the Austrasian
levies.  You will follow."

Olvir's dark face, which at first had warmed with a
smile of welcome, hardened at the curt command.

"Your king gave me pledge of the front," he said.
"I should at least follow the horsemen."

"You will follow where his Majesty commands,"
rejoined Count Amalwin.

Olvir glanced from the Saxon to his dragon-ships,
moored along the bank, and drew himself up haughtily.

"Will!" he retorted.  "By Thor, I go where I choose,
fellow!  If it please me, I take ship and leave Frank Land;
let your Frank king command!"

"Do so!" growled Amalwin.  "The land were well
rid of such an outland wooer!  Men call my forest folk
barbarous; but, heathen though they be, they hold pure
maidens in honor."

"No less do I!" cried Olvir, hotly.  "He who says
else, lies!"

"It is well, Dane, I fare Rhineward, and you to
Saracen Land.  Would that Rudulf had broken your
heathen back!" cried the Saxon, and he shook his clenched
fist at Olvir.

The Northman's eyes glittered, and he smiled.

"Come," he lisped.  "There is no better time than
now.  I will meet you singly, or together."

"Holy Mother!" protested Gerold.  "Why should
we fight, Olvir?  The maiden weeps, and Roland is like
a bear in the springtime; but--"

"But all listen to the tale of the Wend witch's
daughter," added Olvir, bitterly.

"We would hear you speak, hero.  The maiden says
nothing.  Only, Lupus--"

"Lupus!  Let that fox look to his crooked tongue!
When the daughter of Rudulf speaks, I will answer.  Until
then my sword speaks for me."

Count Amalwin bent forward, with an altered look.

"You speak rashly, young man," he said; "but your
eye is clear, and--Lupus has a crafty wit.  I doubt if
you are so greatly in the wrong as he hints in his twisted
talk."

"Believe as you choose," said Olvir.  "I have had
enough of Frank love and Frank troth.  In the North we
are not so hasty to put shame upon a man.  Now, if you
are not minded to sword-play, I have only to weigh
anchor."

"By the fiend Odin!" growled Amalwin; "you are a
proud blade, even for Otkar's fostering.  Hear me; I am
of a mind with Gerold, and,--a friend's word in your
ear,--if you come Rhineward, look that you shun the Grey
Wolf and his mate."

"My thanks for the warning," said Olvir, coldly.  "Yet
it is needless.  I sail homewards.  Your king has broken
troth."

"No, Olvir," interrupted Gerold; "the king keeps
troth.  I myself heard the command given.  Your band is
chosen for the king's shieldburg.  At the Pyrenees you will
be called to the front."

"So! by the King of Skalds, that is another tune,"
replied Olvir, and he turned to the Saxon with a quick
smile.  "Sharp words have passed,--it may be mine were
sharpest; but none should look for other than snarls from
a baited bear."

Amalwin's scarred face unbent in an answering smile,
and he extended his hand.

"If wrong has been done," he said, "you are not the
one at fault.  I trust we may meet again as battle-mates.
We are used to duller feathers over Rhine; yet I stand
ever ready to welcome one who could throttle the Grey
Wolf, whether he wear silk or hide."

"It may be I shall again see your forests.  Until then
farewell, lord counts."

"Farewell," replied Amalwin, and he rode off up the
bank.  But Gerold, instead of following, sprang to the
ground.

"What now, lad?" asked Olvir.

"I have yet to see Liutrad.  Abbot Fulrad wishes him
to aid Worad with the lettering.  The abbot's scribe is to
stay behind with Hildegarde.  But first, I would ask your
pardon for my coldness."

"Say no more.  Older heads have been misled.  As
to Liutrad, if he wish it, he is free to aid Fulrad until
there is need of his axe.  I will send him soon.  Now,
farewell."

"Stay a little, hero!" exclaimed Gerold, and he caught
the Northman's arm.  "Before you go, will you not tell me
what came between you and the maiden?  Your sword-brother
goes about heavily.  Give me a word to lighten
his trouble."

Olvir gazed into the pleading face of the queen's
brother, and seemed about to speak.  But then his look
hardened, and he stepped aboard the waiting boat, cold and
haughty.

"I have no word to send the Count of the Breton
Mark," he said.  "Let him come and ask for himself.
Thrust off, men."

Gerold mounted and rode off to Casseneuil, greatly
disappointed that his appeal had failed.  Yet his heart was far
lighter than when he came, for, like Amalwin, he was
convinced that the subtle insinuations of Duke Lupus had no
foundation in truth.  His greatest desire was to tell all to
Roland; but when he reached Casseneuil he found that the
count had just left by boat for Bordeaux, in company with
Lupus.  So he had to content himself with telling his
convictions to his sister.

All was confusion at the villa.  The king had already
taken leave of wife and children, and was riding off, with
half the court in his train, Rothada and Fastrada among
the others.  Gerold could have wished to join the gay
company; but he had to ride in hot haste to overtake his
command,--the contingent of wild mountaineers sent by
the haughty but weak Tassilo, Duke of Bavaria.

Like a swarm of giant locusts, the Frankish host had
risen from about Casseneuil and passed over the Garonne.
Before midday the rearguard had left the valley, and the
entire host was sweeping across Vascon Land toward the
Pyrenees.

The march over the thorny sand-plains of the Landes
and down the valley of the Adour was so directed as to
intersect the old Roman way which ran from Bordeaux
across the mountains to Astorga, in the little kingdom of
Alfonzo the Goth.  Profiting by this useful relic of the
one-time world-rulers, the thousands of Northern buskins trod
the ancient road with quickened step, and rapidly drew
near the outlying spurs of the Pyrenees.

The last halt made before the attempt to cross the
barrier was in the valley of the Little Nive, where, after the
cork forests and sterile marshes of the Landes, the intense
verdure appeared like a carpet of green velvet flung over
upland and meadow.

Horse and foot alike made the most of their rest in the
pleasant dale, for the morning promised a march that
would try the strength of the sturdiest.  Many gazed upon
the wild rampart, the shadow of whose peaks fell early
across their camp, with thoughts which boded greater
misfortune than mere journey toil, and around the fires that
night the old tale was told, how, in days gone by, the host
of King Dagobert the Merwing was beset in this very pass
by the fierce mountain Vascons, and routed with great
slaughter.

But when the bluff-spoken Hardrat ventured to
remind Karl of his predecessor's disaster, the king passed
off the omen with a laugh, and, in turn, reminded the
Thuringian how Roland had come fresh from Lupus, bearing
heartiest assurances of the duke's service and friendship.
Anselm, the astute judge, noted the furtive look
which passed between Fastrada and Hardrat at this; but
the others gathered no more from the incident than the
knowledge of the king's confidence.  They spread the story
throughout the camp, and by break of day the faintest-hearted
in the host was strong for the advance.

In the delightful freshness of early morning, while the
first sun-rays sparkled on the dewdrops, Hardrat's horn
brayed the marching note.  From all sides of the royal
pavilion the heavy Frankish horse gathered and formed
in column, five thousand strong,--ponderous steeds,
backed by riders whose leathern cuirasses were banded
with long iron plates.  Some wore rude armlets and
thigh-pieces.  Slow and unwieldy in their massive strength, these
horsemen were none the less formidable.  So, at least, the
Saracens had found, when on the plains of Touraine wave
after wave of the swift-rushing Moslemah had dashed
forward, to shatter on the rock-like wall of the Franks.

The king, mounted upon a powerful white stallion and
backed by the brightly clad retinue, surveyed the
horsemen with his clear gaze, and nodded to their waiting
commander.  At once Count Hardrat spurred to the front of
the riders, and the long column, breaking into a trot,
thundered away up the valley.  As the rearmost troop passed
the pavilion, the king turned to Count Worad with a
half-frown.

"Where are the Danes?" he demanded.  "You had
word to bid them be at hand."

The young man's delicate face paled, but he answered
steadily: "Count Gerold bore the command, your Majesty,
when he rode to join his Bavarians."

"And I had need of my scribe, sire," explained Fulrad.

"But the Danes?  We wait."

"They come, lord king," said Liutrad; and, as he
spoke, the viking band, half a thousand strong, wheeled
into view around a coppice, to the accompaniment of
merrily clinking steel and the flashing of sunlight on
polished war-gear.  Their appearance was met by shouts
of admiration from the Frankish lords; but, without an
answering cry, they swung into the dusty road and formed
into column, grim and silent.  Then Olvir, all steel and
gold from head to thigh, rode forward on Zora, and raised
his burnished shield in salute.

"Greeting, my Dane hawk," said Karl.  "You come
busked as for battle."

"We think it time for war-gear, lord king," replied
Olvir; and he glanced from the group of silken-vestured
officials to the heights of the Pyrenees.

Karl nodded approvingly.  "It is well.  Our safety is
now in your keeping.  Hereafter, the Austrasians follow us."

Olvir flushed, and his eyes sparkled.  He saluted again
with upraised shield, and answered earnestly: "By my
sword, lord king, you shall not rue your choice of
shieldburg!"

"That I can well believe.  I have not forgotten how
your fierce sea-wolves bend to my little maid."

"She holds them with a fetter strong as the bond of
the Fenris-wolf," replied Olvir, and he looked across to
where Rothada, in her mule-litter, was assuring herself as
to the comfort of Fastrada's tiring-woman and of her own
maid, both of whom were perched upon a heap of baggage
in a rude cart.

Two gaudily attired pages were fluttering about the
little princess, eager to render her service.  Olvir smiled,
then set his jaw sternly.  A second mule-litter had appeared
from behind the cart, and its occupant was gazing at him
with a strange look of shame and aversion, and yet of
entreaty.  Though love lay dead in Olvir's heart, the
Thuringian's look moved him deeply.  Already his eyes were
softening, when their side-glance caught the moody gaze
of Roland.  He stared back at the count, and drew himself
up with a haughty smile.  As he turned again to Fastrada,
he found her glaring at him with all the hatred that had
distorted her face in the garden.  She had mistaken his
scornful movement as meant for herself.

The swift exchange of glances passed in the few
moments that Karl was speaking to Abbot Fulrad.  Before
Olvir had time for second thought, the king turned back to
him, smiling: "Now, my Dane hawk, Abbot Fulrad takes
the child into the midst of your warriors.  We lend her to
them in place of yourself.  For a while you will ride at my
side."

"You honor both leader and men, lord king," replied
Olvir; and he wheeled Zora to the side of the white
stallion.

Instantly Roland lifted the royal standard, and the
silver trumpet of Eggihard the High Steward sounded
the advance.  Into the road, behind Karl and the Northman,
flocked the throng of priests and officials, with no
small degree of bustle and confusion.  But the noise
of their starting was soon drowned in the roars of
delight with which the vikings greeted their little vala.
The king looked down at his road-mate, and nodded
approvingly.

"That is a welcome shout," he said.  "I have not
done ill to choose your heathen wolves."

"Otkar would have named them trustworthy in that
they are heathen."

"And what would he have said of Kasim, your Saracen
kinsman?" rejoined Karl.  "Is not he, too, a pagan?  Yet
how of the arrow you gave me?  I have cleared the
mystery.  It is a Saracen shaft."

"May Hel grip the poisoner!" muttered Olvir, fiercely.
But he restrained his anger, and continued in a calm tone,
"Let my lord king say what is in his mind."

"You are keen, lad!  This, then--you have just cause
for anger against your younger kinsman.  Yet I have need
of him.  He is ruler of Pampeluna, which, I am told, is the
strongest burg in the land of the Navarrese; and more,--he
shares, in a measure, the influence of his wife's father
over the Count of Saragossa."

Olvir glanced up at the expectant face of the king.

"Your Majesty would have me forgo my vengeance,"
he said.

"For a time, at least.  Such a man is but a sprung
stave to lean upon; but, if it be to his own gain, he may
give good service.  Until Barnard, my uncle, joins us at
Saragossa with the second host, much hangs on the
friendliness of this poisoner."

"Let the dog go to Hel, Loki's daughter, his own
way; only, give me the forefront of battle!" cried Olvir,
his eyes bright and nostrils quivering.

The king smiled in approval.

"Saint Michael!" he exclaimed; "I long to see you
in sword-play, kin of Otkar!  The fosterling lacks nothing
of the hero's fire, yet none could differ more in body.
You must favor your mother's kin; your hair alone is
of the North.  *Heu*!  I remember your father, as of
yesterday,--a grand warrior, leaping upon us through the
alders.  Though bigger, he was much such a man as Roland."

"Roland!" echoed Olvir; and involuntarily he glanced about.

Karl noticed the movement, and a question sprang to
his lips: "You 're at outs with your sword-brother.  Why
have you wrangled?  The quarrel grieves me."

"Not you alone, lord king!  Yet am I a hare?  He
came upon me with bared sword--"

"You fought?"

"No.  He was raging; but I cast down my sword."

"And he would not strike,--my sister's son!  But his
anger--?"

"The daughter of Rudulf and I broke troth; why, I
will not tell,--let men think what they may.  Roland met
her.  I do not know what she told him; but he came upon
me like a berserk."

"No doubt the maiden was angry, and in her anger
may have overstepped the truth.  A word may set Roland
right and heal your quarrel."

"Let him ask, then!  He has broken blood-troth.  He
is the one to salve the hurt."

For some moments Karl regarded the young Northman's
haughty face with impassive gravity.  When at
length he broke the silence, his gaze shifted to the jewelled
Al-hatif.

"Yours is a gay sword," he observed.

"No less a keen blade," muttered Olvir.

"It shall soon test the Saracen mail.  May it spur
Abd-er-Rahman into the sea!  Christ conquers; the
heathen hosts shall flee before his warriors."

The king paused, and looked upwards into the blue
sky, his face aglow.  After some little time his gaze
returned to Olvir.

"Listen, kin of Otkar," he said; "this is my
war-scheme: Barnard, my uncle, marches around by way of
Narbonne.  He will leave men to hold the burgs of our
allies in the northeast quarter of the old Goth realm, thus
hedging in Septimania from counter-attack.  At Saragossa
we join hosts, cross the Ebro with our Saracen allies, and
march south against the great burg called Toledo.  If that
burg falls before Abd-er-Rahman comes to battle for his
kingdom, we strike yet farther south at Cordova, his chief
burg and royal seat; while Ibn Habib, the kinsman of
Kasim, crosses over from Africa to harry in the rear of the
Saracen lion,--so Al Arabi and Kasim have given pledge.
Now, what does my Dane hawk say?  The Saracen folk
cannot stand before us in battle.  That was proven by my
father's father.  It is a fiery land; yet the war will be brief.
Behind us is the support of our pagan allies and the
Christian mountaineers; what can defeat us?"

"Treachery."

"True.  But of that I have no fear,--even from Count
Kasim.  The Saracen king has hunted him like a wolf and
slain his kinfolk."

"There is yet the Vascon," remarked Olvir, dryly.

"Him!" rejoined Karl.  "The Merwing hound dare
not yap at my cold shoe.  In the early years of my
kingship he gave over to me his own kinsman, Hunold of
Aquitania, at the first threat.  Enough of such!  Now I
would speak with Roland; afterwards with Abbot Fulrad."

Olvir saluted, and wheeled Zora about.  The act
brought him face to face with Roland, riding alone at the
head of the retinue.  The count met his glance with a
troubled look; but Olvir passed by, and signed to Liutrad.

"Tell Lord Roland the king would speak with him," he said.

The merry young giant nodded, and, without a blink
of surprise at the transference of the message, spurred
forward on Gerold's last gift,--a heavy horse of Frankish
breed.

Olvir reined Zora aside and waited for the retinue to
pass.  His intention was to fall back among his own men,
as far away as possible from his one-time brother and his
one-time love.  But while he rode with the king, Abbot
Fulrad had brought Rothada forward to rejoin her maiden
companion.  A glimpse of the little princess staring at him
from her litter in round-eyed wonderment altered Olvir's
purpose.

Regardless alike of the cold-eyed courtiers and Fastrada's
hateful smile, he guided Zora in among the retinue
until she paced beside Rothada's litter.  He met the
dubious look of Abbot Fulrad with an easy smile.

"The king would speak with you, lord priest," he said,
and as the white-haired churchman urged his mule forward,
Olvir bent gravely over Rothada.

"How is the little vala?" he asked.

"Very well, Lord Olvir.  Is it not joyous to be on our
way to the crest of those mighty fells?  But I forget.  They
tell me I should not speak with you.  Are you so very
wicked, Lord Olvir?"

The Northman turned like a panther suddenly attacked,
and cast at Fastrada a glance of such terrible anger
that all her hate could not withstand its menace.  But as
she shrank from him, Olvir burst into a laugh of careless
scorn.

"This is a wicked world, little cloister-dove," he said.
"Yet be assured,--you can trust your heathen friends,
though I cannot say as much for those who call themselves
followers of the White Christ."

"I'm glad, Lord Olvir!  I could hardly believe you'd
harm me.  Of my dear vikings I had no fear at all, though
some mock at them as heathen.  If only they were not!
Yet they are very good to me, and I love them all."

"Even me!" suggested Olvir, and, with a boyish
laugh, he tossed a small ring into the girl's lap.  "You
shall be my may."

"But I 've no ring to give in turn," she replied
seriously.

"A lock of your hair will be as welcome."

Rothada took the dagger which he held out, and cut a
thick tress from her chestnut hair.

"Braid it," said Olvir; and the girl obediently plaited
the tress in a broad strand.  Olvir took the gift solemnly,
and, winding it twice about his neck, over the gold collar of
his mail, secured the ends together with a double clasp.

"Now I'm your thrall, king's daughter; for I wear
your bond," he said.

"A collar, earl, that should not chafe even the pride of
a sea-king," remarked Liutrad, who had fallen back to the
opposite side of Rothada's litter.  Olvir smiled into his
honest, ruddy face.

"Well said, lad; for it's the gift of a true heart," he
replied, and he cast a piercing glance at Fastrada.  But the
Thuringian, though within ear-shot, gave no sign that she
either saw or heard.  She was surrounded by a group of
favorite admirers, who crowded about her litter, enjoying
at the same time her beauty and her subtle wit.  In
wholesome dread of Olvir's quick ear, the maiden said nothing
against him; but the hostile feeling of her companions was
apparent in their shrugs and glances.

To this Olvir did not pay the slightest heed.  Liutrad,
however, took the matter more to heart.  With boys like
the pages such unfriendliness might be excusable.  But
Worad, notwithstanding his girlish face, was a learned
count and skilled warrior, and during Olvir's Rhine
journey he had not only enjoyed the hospitality of the viking
camp, but had pledged friendship with Gerold and Liutrad.
Of all which Liutrad grumbled to his earl across the litter,
until Rothada and Olvir joined in laughing him into his
usual good-humor.

The road had now plunged into a vast forest of beech
and oak, and through the vistas Olvir pointed out to his
companions the glittering white crest of Mount Altobiscar,
toward which they were steadily ascending.

Gradually the wooded spurs of the great barrier closed
in.  The way became narrow and steep.  Lofty cliffs, whose
crannies were green with hardy box, towered above the
invaders.  Oaks and beeches were giving place to firs.  High
in the genial, sunny air other peaks than Altobiscar thrust
up their jagged snow-crests.

Nearer and nearer the mountain towered above the
narrow road, until the vanguard of the invaders could look
directly up at the glittering summit, five thousand feet
above them.  Slowly horsemen and footmen wound through
the wild gorges of Ibañeta, whose savage grandeur
over-awed all others than the Bavarians and the mountain-bred
warriors of the North.  For them the dizzy cliffs and crags
served only to stir pleasant memories of their own rugged
lands.  But the Frankish dwellers of forest and plain gazed
about them half fearfully, well assured that such gloomy
cliffs and jagged heights must be the abode of malevolent
kobolds and scrats, if not of dragons.

No trace of man other than the old Roman way was to be
seen in the pass.  Nature here ruled alone in one of her
wildest moods.  From their eyries on the crags of Altobiscar,
eagles swooped down to view the invaders, and their screams
echoed weirdly through the gorge, above the dull tramp of
hoofs and buskins and the clink and ring of war-gear.

All Rothada's delight had now given place to dread of
the echoes and the savage scenery, and she would have
wished herself back on the peaceful Garonne, had not Olvir
set about diverting her attention by jests and droll tales.

So, without sign of opposition or danger, the host
poured down through the ominous gorge, to enjoy the
well-earned rest in the dewy valley below.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`CHAPTER XX`:

.. class:: center large

   CHAPTER XX

.. vspace:: 2

|   Lest they fare thither
|   With whistling spears,
|   War to wake 'gainst the king.
|                   SONG OF ATLI.

.. vspace:: 2

From their camp among the
beech and chestnut woods of
Roncesvalles, the invaders
directed their march across the
mountain spurs and down the
valley of the Zubiri, between
hills clad to the summit with
beech and ash.  The land was
grandly beautiful; yet, with
all its magnificence, even the
vikings hailed with joy the distant walls and towers of
Pampeluna.

Word was passed back along the great serpent line of
warriors winding down out of the mountains, and all
pressed forward with renewed vigor, that they might pitch
camp near the burg of the Navarrese.  The rearguard had
need of haste to win this end, for the sun was already half
down the sky when Hardrat's horsemen deployed on the
bank of the Arga, opposite Pampeluna.

Close at the heels of the horse came the royal guard of
vikings, whose long limbs kept them with ease in the wake
of the riders.  They did not halt upon the river's bank, but
followed the king and his retinue across the stream to the
foot of the height upon which rose the walls of the burg.

The battlements were crowded with a swarm of
Christian townfolk, interspersed with groups of swarthy
warriors, whose chain-mail and wide turbans told of the
Saracen domination.  All were gazing across at the ingathering
host of Northerners,--the dreaded Franks, famed alike
among Christian Navarrese and Moslem Moors for rapacity
and fierceness.  It was as though the sheep had called in the
wolf-pack against the shepherd.  In profound silence the
townfolk stared at the horde of their skin-clad allies, and
from the depths of their hearts sent up a wordless prayer
that the peril might pass them by.

Karl gazed up steadily at the closed gate of the burg
and at the silent watchers above.

"By my father's sword, this is cold greeting," he
muttered.

"We have marched swiftly, sire," suggested Count
Anselm.  "May it not be that Count Kasim is taken
unawares by your coming?"

"He will do well not to wait for our knock," said Karl,
grimly.  "So! here is ground more level.  Halt!  Raise the
standard."

Roland unfolded the banner, and pushed forward to the
left of the king, while behind the two the courtiers spread
out in line to right and left, all eager to see and hear what
should follow.

At the word to halt Liutrad had wheeled about, bearing
a command from Olvir; and the vikings, as they came
up, opened out their ranks wider than the line of the
Franks.  Karl turned in his saddle and looked inquiringly
from the warriors to their leader.  But the expression of
the Northman's face cleared away his doubt.  There was a
smouldering fire in Olvir's eyes as he watched for the
appearance of his kinsman, but the stern lines of his mouth
told of perfect self-control.

The king turned to Eggihard.

"Wind your horn," he commanded.  "We shall see if
these Southland folk are dumb."

But as the steward raised his silver trumpet, a great
mass of Saracen spearmen, with Vali Kasim in the lead,
burst from a grove not two bow-shots away, and swooped
down upon the royal party in wild disarray, screaming and
yelling like madmen, and urging their swift horses to the
utmost speed.

Karl, who had been forewarned as to the Saracen custom
of honoring a superior by feigned attacks, wheeled his
horse, and gazed calmly at the approaching whirlwind of
riders.  But there was one among his liegemen who lacked
his faith in the blinking vali.

Hardly had the Moslems burst from their covert when
Olvir stood up in his stirrups and made a sign to his
vikings.  The response was a deep muttering roar, that merged
into the clash and tread of rushing warriors.  Before the
Franks could comprehend the movement, they found themselves
in the heart of the viking wedge, fenced about by a
sevenfold line of warriors.  At the point of the wedge they
could see the Norse sea-king on his red mare, calmly facing
the charge of the turbaned spearmen; while beside him
stood Floki the Crane, smiling in grim anticipation as he
balanced his terrible halberd.  Behind them, Liutrad
loosened the great axe in his belt, and plucked a dart from
the sheaf which he grasped with the staff of his earl's
banner.

The Saracens were within a bow-shot, and coming like
the wind,--lances levelled, scimetars brandished, and
burnouses flying,--when Olvir drew Al-hatif and raised the
blade overhead.  Instantly a rustling, tinkling sound swept
over the wedge behind him.  Slingers raised their slings;
bowmen notched their arrows.

Then the king's voice rang out like a trumpet: "Hold,
men, on your lives!  Down with your weapons!"

But the vikings looked to their earl.  The blade still
glittered above his bright figure, and they stood waiting,
heedless of the Frank.

"By the King of Heaven!" swore Karl; only to pause
and stare with his courtiers.  At a word from Olvir,
Liutrad had sent a dart curving high through the air.  The
missile flashed down and stuck upright in the dry ground,
over a hundred paces distant.  Fifty yards farther, it would
have fallen upon the head of Kasim Ibn Yusuf.

Whatever had been the purpose of the Arab, he saw
how fully the Northern giants were prepared to meet him,
and he understood on the instant the menace of the dart.
The shaft was yet quivering from its fall when he flung up
his hand and uttered a piercing cry.

A hundred voices caught up the wild note and shrieked
it back to their owner's swiftly following fellows.  Up went
the levelled lance-tips, sinewy hands drew hard on the
bridle-reins, and the mass of flying horsemen came to a
halt within the space of a few yards.

As the Saracens came to a stand, Karl forced a way
through the close-set ranks of the vikings, his cheeks
flushed and eyes flashing angrily.

"Way!" he commanded.  "Ho; aside, men!  Give
heed, Lord Olvir!"

Olvir half wheeled Zora and faced the angry king as
the white stallion leaped clear of the foremost vikings.
For a moment Karl glared down on the Northman, his
powerful features stern with the dark menace of offended
majesty.  Olvir, who had looked only for praise of his ready
defence, drew himself up, and met the king's stare with a
bitter smile.

Look and bearing alike goaded Karl to fury.  He
grasped the hilt of his sword, and his great body quivered.
But the spasm passed.  He bent forward and said coldly:
"How is this, Dane?  Neither you nor your followers give
ear to my command."

"Does the stooping hawk heed the lure?" rejoined
Olvir, as coldly.  "You chose us for shieldburg, lord king.
As such--"

"Answer me, by Saint Michael!  Would you have
struck my ally?"

Olvir's black eyes flashed defiance straight into the
eyes of the king.

"By Thor!" he cried.  "By Thor and the White
Christ!  Had Kasim my kinsman charged past yonder
spear, he and a host of his swart hounds should have
fared hence to Loki's daughter!"

Karl's brows met over the long, arched nose, and his
nostrils quivered.  But the last word rang in his
ear,--*daughter! daughter*!  Suddenly he found himself regarding
the affair from an entirely different point of view.  Had
not the young Dane good cause to mistrust the Saracen?
Was he not charged with the safety of his king and of all
the royal party,--officials and unarmed priests,--above
all, the maidens?

Olvir was not slow to heed the sudden return of friendliness
which lighted the king's face; but his own retained
its gloom.  He was sore to the heart with the injustice
which had been done him.  Karl perceived his bitter look,
yet reached out his hand, and the Northman could not do
other than take it.  Holding fast the slender fingers in his
great palm, the king turned in his saddle and called aloud:
"Hearken, my liegemen!  Before all, I give thanks to Lord
Olvir, who most ably has proved his charge.  If any had
doubt as to the trueness of our guard, they may now feel
assured."

"No longer may any doubt!" cried Roland, spurring
forward through the viking ranks.

Olvir glanced about; but at the moment the royal
standard dipped to the breeze, and he failed to see Roland's
face.  He turned back to the king with a look that was
grave without bitterness, and met the Frank's parting grip
with a responsive clasp.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`CHAPTER XXI`:

.. class:: center large

   CHAPTER XXI

.. vspace:: 2

|   O, for my Sigurd
|   I shall have death,
|   Or my fair, my lovely
|   Laid in mine arms.
|                   LAY OF SIGURD.

.. vspace:: 2

At a sign from their earl the
vikings opened their ranks for
the Frank lords, who came
pushing to the front, followed by
the curious maidens.  As Olvir
made a place for Rothada's litter
close in the rear of her father,
Vali Kasim rode forward in
advance of his band, with
half-a-dozen attendants.

"Look, Lord Olvir!" exclaimed the girl.  "What
strange, gay warriors; and the beautiful horses!  The
chief's is like your Zora."

"Her blood-kin,--the swiftest breed in all
Arabia," replied Olvir, his eyes fixed upon Kasim Ibn
Yusuf.

But the Franks were more interested in the vali's
attendants.  In their midst the Berbers led three mules,
two of which were burdened with packs, while the third
bore an unarmed greybeard, whose yellow gown marked
him out as a leech.

At a dozen paces from the great Karolah the vali and
his followers sprang off and salaamed to the dust; and
Kasim, advancing, cried out in broken Frankish: "Blessed
be the day that I behold the mighty Karolah!  The
mountains shake at the tread of his coming; all men rejoice to
see his glorious face!"

"We fail to hear them," replied Karl, dryly; and he
glanced up at the silent folk on the battlements of the burg.

The edge of Kasim's green turban again swept the
ground, and he answered readily: "Mute with awe, the
men of Pampeluna gaze upon the mighty Sultan of
the Afranj.  They wait for him to speak in kindness.
Then will his faithful slaves rejoice."

The king's face relaxed its sternness.  "It is well.
What have you here?"

"The lowly gifts of a slave, who would lay them at
the feet of his glorious lord."

"Saint John the Meek!" muttered Karl, and he made
an impatient gesture.  "Have your will, man."

The leech spoke a word to his fellows, who led the
pack-mules forward.  From one they unloaded and set out
before the king a number of finely wrought silver vases,
packed to the brim with precious spices.  Costly as were
these gifts, they met with little comment from the Franks;
but when from the pack of the second mule the Berbers
drew off roll after roll of gorgeous silks, none could restrain
an expression of admiration.

Among the most eager to view the silks was Fastrada;
and her cries of delight as Worad led her litter-mules
farther forward instantly drew upon her the blinking gaze
of Vali Kasim.  Though the Arab had seen her but once
before,--at the royal pavilion on the Garonne,--he
remembered her perfectly.  He now stared with lustful eyes
at her soft beauty.

"Look, earl.  One might say the swart kite sees
quarry; he has ceased blinking," observed Liutrad, in
Olvir's ear.

"Let him beware, then.  Once a kite caught up a
weasel,--you know the tale.  But this kite's plumage is
not to my liking."

"How so?"

"With an Arab, red bodes anger.  I had it from Otkar."

"You look for treachery?"

"For all evil from one who shoots viper shafts.  This
red cloak is no good omen.  Yet I am pledged to the king
to hold the poisoner in peace."

"Floki might pick a quarrel with him.  I myself
would as lief try my axe on his swaddled skull.  If these
swart folk fight in single combat, one of us will soon make
an end of him."

"No, lad; he is a haughty man.  He might fight me,
but not my follower; and I am bound by my word."

"Then we must wait and watch."

"Ay," muttered Olvir; and he stared hard at Kasim,
who, being addressed by the king, was reluctantly turning
away his gaze from the Afranj maiden.

When, with friendly dignity, Karl had acknowledged
the vali's gifts, he turned to his daughter and her
companion.

"The Saracen shall see how we of the North honor
women," he said.  "Take up the silken rolls and bring
them before the maidens.  When the child has made her
choice, the daughter of Rudulf may take what she will."

Both girls cried out their delight, and Fastrada met
the king's smiling look with a glance that stirred his ardent
nature to the depths.  A subtle change shadowed his
stately features, and for a little he gazed at the girl as
Kasim had gazed.  Her eyes fell before his; and while she
yet held them demurely downcast, Rothada's voice rang
out again in childish delight.  Olvir had chosen for her
a white silk, embroidered in violet and gold.

At his daughter's cry, Karl turned suddenly about in
his saddle and stared, frowning, at the walls of Pampeluna.
The blinking vali before him saw his lips move, and caught
the words which he muttered; but only Fulrad, that abbot
learned in Holy Writ, might have divined his meaning,--"He
that ruleth himself is greater--is greater--!"

Olvir, though so watchful of his Saracen kinsman,
noted the strange look on the king's face.  But then, in
common with the greater number of the Franks, his
attention was drawn by Fastrada.  Two rolls of scarlet silk
already lay in the girl's litter; yet, not content with these,
she had seized upon a gorgeous purple.  Her cry of
gratified vanity fixed upon her the looks of all around.

Most maidens would have drooped their heads in
modest shame at thus being made the centre of observation;
not so the Thuringian.  The rich coloring of her
cheeks heightened, though not with shame, and her eyes
sparkled like sapphires.  Waving aside the attendants, she
unrolled the purple silk, and, with a daring glance at the
king, wrapped herself about in the folds of the imperial
color.

Many of the Franks cried out their admiration of the
maiden's gracefulness; but the few who were quick enough
to perceive the audacious allusion of her act took good care
to preserve silence.  Karl, however, maintained his stern
observation of the city battlements, and the girl, foiled of
her expected triumph, shifted her attack to Olvir.  Here
again she was to meet with disappointment.  The young
Northman returned her half-defiant, half-alluring look with
an indifferent glance, and recalled his attention to Rothada.

The Thuringian's cheek paled.  She let the folds of the
purple silk slip from about her, and bowed forward in the
litter, with hot eyes and thin-drawn lips, deaf to the
murmured compliments of the courtiers.  The strong white
teeth gleamed between her tightened lips, and soon another
look than suffering stole into her face.

In her sudden fury, the girl raised her head to transfix
the Northman with her glance; and, instead, she met the
solemn gaze of Roland's blue eyes.

From the giving of the silks to this decisive moment,
the count had been watching her every look and action with
closest attention.  Until she bent her head, not even the
slightest change in her expression had escaped him.  And
now, his gaze sharpened to the utmost keenness by the
intensity of his feeling, he saw, as it were, the girl's dark
troubled soul stand out bare before its lovely mask.  The
Frank shuddered, and crossed himself hastily.

At this moment the king suddenly recalled to mind
Vali Kasim, who still stood bowing before him with
Oriental obsequiousness.  He smiled, and raised his hand.
"Again we render thanks for your gifts, Count Kasim."

"*Bismillah*!  I rejoice that my glorious lord is pleased.
It is for me to serve him in all things.  Therefore, I have
brought my learned geber, Kosru the Magian, to make
certain that your Majesty shall enjoy health and full
strength while you honor our land with your gracious
presence."

"Health!" repeated Karl, and he smiled as he drew
up his massive figure.  But then his glance chanced to rest
on Rothada, and he signed to the Magian to join the royal
suite.  "It is well.  The maidens may have need of
leechcraft in a strange land.  Our chamberlain will have
command to make fitting return for your gifts, lord count."

"It is not for gifts I ask, most gracious sultan."

"What, then?" demanded Karl, his keen grey eyes
fixed upon the Saracen's impassive face.

Kasim salaamed to the ground before replying.  "My
lord and sultan is gracious; he opens my lips.  Let him
not be offended.  I have said that the people of my city are
consumed with fear of the mighty Afranj; they tremble
lest the fierce giants of the North be loosed in their midst."

"So--you would have me forego the placing of my
wardens in your burg.  How shall it be held when all your
warriors are withdrawn?"

"The walls are high, O sultan.  The townfolk will bar
out my lord's foes and my foes.  Can my lord doubt that
they will hold fast for the sultan of their own faith?"

"How, lord vali," demanded Anselm, the Count Palatine;
"if your folk are so friendly, why should they seek
to be rid of us?  I would not be the one to speak of mishap;
yet here is bitter truth, sire: Should not God and the holy
saints give your Majesty victory; should we fare
homeward, a war-broken host; would these timorous Navarrese
then open their gates to give succor; or would they
not rather seek our harm, to gain favor with the pagan king?"

Kasim smiled blandly, and would have spoken again,
had not Karl held up his hand for silence.  For a little, the
king gazed at the thousand and more Saracen horsemen
massed together in dense ranks on the spot where they
had been halted by the cry of their chief.  Then he glanced
up at the burg on the height and back to the little maiden
behind him.

"O sultan of sultans--" began Kasim; but again
Karl held up a restraining hand.

"I cannot grant your wish, lord count," he said.  "I
must hold to the compact.  Count Olvir, you will guard
this stronghold with your vikings, and Rothada and her
companion shall remain here in your care.  It had been
wiser to have left the maidens at Casseneuil."

Olvir frowned with disappointment at this unexpected
turn of events.

"It was not to sit behind stone walls, lord king, that
I joined your host," he protested.

"Yet I ask it of you, my Dane hawk," replied Karl,
gravely.  "For a time, at least, I ask you to shield this
little maid, who is more precious to me than all the old
Goth realm."

"For her sake," muttered Olvir, half reluctantly.

Karl spoke in a lowered voice: "For her sake, lad!
I would not ask the service but for her.  Would that I had
not brought her across the mountains!  I look for treason
from this fawning hound.  I must safeguard the maiden
and this stronghold at all cost."

"Enough, lord king!" exclaimed Olvir.  "I give you
willing service."





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`CHAPTER XXII`:

.. class:: center large

   CHAPTER XXII

.. vspace:: 2

|   Blithe then grew the breaker of rings.
|                   BEOWULF.

.. vspace:: 2

Early two months had passed
since from the loftiest tower of
Pampeluna's citadel Olvir had
watched the Frankish warriors
wind away across the green
plateau, on their southward
march to the Ebro.  In all the
dreary weeks of waiting no
tidings had come back from the
invading host,--not a word to
tell whether Karl was battling for the old Goth realm on
the Ebro's banks, or, finding Abd-er-Rahman too cautious
to encounter him near Saragossa, had ventured on south
to Toledo or to Cordova itself, in search of the fierce but
wily old Emir of Andalus.

Whatever might be the truth as to the movements of
the host, there could be no doubt that trickery was rife in
its rear; for Karl most certainly had sent more than one
messenger northward, and death or capture at the hands of
the king's Saracen allies could alone account for their
failure to bring tidings to Pampeluna.

At the end of the first month Floki was for taking a
score or so of men, and going in search of the Franks; but
Olvir told him that he would not risk one man, much less
a score, to fall into the traitors' snare.  Instead, he set about
strengthening the defences of the citadel, and levied on the
townfolk for food, until the storerooms were filled to
overflowing.  The old Roman cisterns already held enough
water to last out a six months' siege.

That he could hold the citadel against all comers Olvir
had no doubt; but his warriors were far too few for him to
man the burg walls.  He had to content himself with a
watch at each gate of half a hundred warriors, who, he
planned, could hold their posts secure against any chance
band of the enemy, or, in the event of an attack in force,
could check the first assault, and so save the citadel from
the possibility of a surprise.

In his vigilant watch over the safety of the citadel, the
young Northman found little time to spend in the society
of Rothada's miniature court.  Yet it was not seldom that
he saw the little princess; for she often sought him out
with the complaint that Fastrada was closeted with the
wizened old Magian leech whom the king her father had
left to care for her, and that she was weary of playing
with the pages and the tiring-women.

On the morning of the day which opened the ninth
week of waiting, Olvir came riding up to the great door of
the citadel, after his round of the burg gates, and as he
dismounted in the shadow of the archway, smilingly unlashed
a roll of cloth from his saddle.  Then he beckoned to one of
the door wardens and said briefly: "The mare frets with so
much stall-standing.  Take her for a run across the Arga."

Overjoyed at the chance, the man sprang into the
saddle, and Zora started down the steep path, picking her
steps daintily but with a quickness that showed her
impatience at the restraints on coursing within the burg.

A little later Olvir climbed out upon the roof of the
citadel's main tower, the roll of cloth still in his hand.  For
a while he swept with his glance the neighboring heights
and the broad harvest fields on the plain below the burg.
All lay calm and peaceful in the hot sunshine, and his gaze
turned with his thoughts to the cloth in his hand.  Half
smiling, he peered within its folds, and began to pace
slowly to and fro across the narrow space of the roof.

"By the hair of Sif!" he chuckled, "I 'll wager it's a
gift to delight any maid!"

But his pleasant musing was cut short by the sound of
a sibilant voice in the upper room of an adjoining tower.

"Loki!" he muttered.  "Can I never get beyond earshot
of that woman?"

Frowning, he moved over to the farther battlement,
and turned his face away toward the barren fells which lay
between him and the mysterious South.  But though he
sought to fix his thoughts on the host which had vanished
behind those desolate hills and crags, he could not shut out
the sound of that sibilant voice or the shrill, cackling
answers of Kosru, the old Magian leech.

"Of a surety, man,"--Fastrada was speaking,--"you
are a warlock of note.  Strange you have already wandered
over Rhine!  You must come again, and farther,--to my
Thuringian home.  My mother will give you fair welcome.
Though a woman of the roving Wends, she is skilled in
herbs and magic spells.  At her bidding the storm-wind
rises.  She rules the forest sprites,--kobolds and
nixies,--even the fiend-gods of the Saxons."

"I do not claim to rule the storm-wind, maiden."  The
leech's voice was raised in shrill protest.

"Yet you do not lack knowledge of powerful spells,"
came back the quick response.  "Tell me again of that
which saved you from the wolves in Fulda Wood."

"It was a little thing, maiden, for a geber whose
learning has saved the lives of princes.  Yet the most learned
might well have perished in the fangs of those fierce
children of Ahriman.  Only by chance did I have the magic
drug to throw behind me and stay them, while the Jew and
I fled on to the Christian monastery."

"But the drug?  You did not tell me--"

"A foul-smelling resin from Arabia.  Others than
I have tested its charm over the grey demons of the
forest.  It will stay the wolf-pack on a hot trail, or
draw them from so far as they may scent its odor.
But as to black magic--"  The voice of the leech sank
to a whisper.

For a time the words of neither speaker were audible.
Then Fastrada's voice vibrated on the air, sharp and
distinct: "How!  Even the Magian chief?  Listen, leech;
stand my friend, and I pledge you sure gain in the king's
court.  My word carries favor among his lords."

"A bargain, maiden!  Help me to a fair standing in
the court of Karolah, and I give you a talisman of greatest
potency,--a ring set with the magic stone whose hues
shift and change even as the tints of your eyes."

"Its powers--?"

"To the weak it brings destruction; to the strong,
honors--"

"And love?"

"Love, if already he does not love another."

"Another?  Then I am safe!  He will come back--he
will come back to me!  Give me the spell-stone,
leech--now!  A day may lose all!  I swear to befriend
you!"

"I do not doubt, maiden.  But the ring is in your own
land,--at Metz on the Moselle, pledged to a Jew trader,
Yusuf Ben Israel.  It is a heavy debt,--four ounces of
gold."

"I will pay it gladly for such a ring.  Here is what will
win the spell-stone from the greedy Jew.  *Ai!* you may well
eye the bright clasp.  It was my first gift from *him*!"

Olvir sprang up from his seat on the battlement as
though stung.

"Loki!" he muttered.  "The witch's daughter thinks
to creep back into my heart with the aid of spells and evil
craft.  I have wasted my pity.  Sooner would I cherish an
adder than that fair-faced werwolf."

He turned to descend out of ear-shot of the sibilant
voice, only to pause as it pierced the air in a hissing
whisper: "Hist, leech!  Some one mounts the other tower.  Let
us go down."

"The trolls flee before the light-elf!" murmured Olvir,
and he stepped forward, smiling, as Rothada sprang gaily
into view up the last steps of the narrow stairway.  In a
moment she was beside him, her face raised for his greeting.
But when, instead of kissing her forehead, Olvir bent
to her lips, she drew back with a startled look, and a faint
blush crept into her cheeks.

Never had the little maiden appeared so winsome as
when she stood thus, half shrinking before him, overcome
by a shyness whose source was a mystery to her child mind.
In her play with the pages, she had dressed herself in a
Saracen woman's street costume, several of which had been
found in the citadel.  Swathed from head to foot in the
uncouth gown, with her face framed about by the brown folds,
she appeared for all the world like a spring blossom just
bursting from its dull husk.  Olvir was quick to see the
resemblance.

"By Ostara, little maid!" he exclaimed; "had I come
upon you so out in the woodland, I 'd have fancied you the
elf of the violets.  Surely no flower-elf could be more
winsome!"

"Oh, Olvir!" protested the girl, and her blushing face
bent yet lower.  Her bosom rose and fell quickly, and
she glanced shyly at the smiling Northman.  But then,
overcome by wonder at her strange emotion, she looked up
at him in bewilderment.

"What is this, dear hero?" she murmured.  "When
you speak kindly to me, my very heart sings with gladness,
and yet I fear--I am ashamed."

The eyes of the young sea-king sparkled like black
gems, and he bent to kiss her again.  But as his gaze met
hers, he paused, checked by her trustful innocence, and a
quick flush reddened his dark cheeks.

"I am not worthy!" he said, half aloud.  "Who am I
to open life's mysteries to this little dove?"

"What is it, Olvir?" persisted Rothada.  "Will you
not speak out and answer me?  Why do I not feel so
when Dame Hildegarde and my father, who are no less
kind--"

"Why--ah, why?" repeated Olvir.  "But wait, child.
Do not fret your little heart over such mysteries.  Wait and
ask your questions of the gracious queen who has shown to
you a mother's love.  We 'll be merry and care-free while
we may.  See; here is a gift I 've brought you from the
booths of the Saracen tradefolk."

Flinging open the roll in his hand, Olvir drew out
from its wrappings a silken bodice, worthy even a king's
daughter.  Strange as was its shape, Rothada forgot all
her shyness and bewilderment as she gazed at its beautiful
embroidery, wrought in pearls and gold-thread.  Never
before had she set eyes on such graceful designs.  She
needed little urging to fling aside her brown cloak and
slip on the gay blue kirtle.

"Saint Petronella bless you, dear hero!" she cried in
her delight.  "Truly, it is a king's gift!  I feel as beautiful
as the bower-maidens.  If you like, you can kiss me
again--on the mouth."

"Like!" echoed Olvir, almost in a whisper, and he
thrust out a gentle finger to lift her chin.  Yet before he
could stoop to meet her pouting lips, she sprang aside and
pointed out over the battlements.

"The horses! the beautiful horses!" she shrieked.
"Oh, look, Olvir,--thousands of horsemen racing!"





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`CHAPTER XXIII`:

.. class:: center large

   CHAPTER XXIII

.. vspace:: 2

|   Feeder of foul deeds,
|   Fey do I deem thee.
|                   LAY OF SIGURD.

.. vspace:: 2

Even as the Northman spun
about at the cry of the little
maiden, his hands were loosening
the horn at his belt.  His
glance rested but a moment on
the torrent of Saracen spearmen
which was pouring out across
the green plain from behind
the nearest hill.

"By Thor! three thousand
and more, if a man!" he cried, and with the words the
horn was raised to his lips.  As its warning note blared
down to the very donjons of the citadel, he bent out over
the battlements, and stared across the roofs of the Saracen
quarter to the open space about the Ebro Gate.  Even as
he looked, a shrill battle-cry rent the air,--"*Allah acbar!
Allah acbar!*"--and in a twinkling all the space about the
distant gateway was swarming with armed Saracens, the
turbaned warriors surging in a wild mob into the great
arch of the gateway.

Olvir's nostrils dilated.  "Thor!" he muttered.  "The
Crane will do well to close the gate with those stinging
gnats behind him."

"Oh, Olvir! are they fighting--all those fierce
warriors?--and Floki has so few!  He will be slain!
Hasten--"

"He must fare for himself, king's daughter.  But never
fear!  The horsemen have yet a bow-shot to race,
and--*heya!* look; there's proof the gate is barred."

Great as was the distance, the dry, smokeless air was
so clear that Rothada could see with startling distinctness
the battle-ebb of the attacking mob as they fell back before
the counter-charge of the vikings in the archway.
Suddenly the little band rushed into view, their weapons
flashing in fierce strokes.  The deep viking battle-shout rolled
out above the shrill yells of the Moslems, and the giant
warriors, forming swiftly in a wedge, hurled themselves
like a huge barbed spear-point straight through the thick
of the mob.

"*Haoi!* there's fighting, king's daughter!" shouted
Olvir, his eyes aflame.  But Rothada shrank back, and
pressed her hands upon her eyes, to shut out the cruel
sight.

"What!  So fearful of a little bloodshed?" he exclaimed.
"But I forget.  You 're still a cloister-dove.
Come down and hide with your pages.  I must look to the
door when Floki comes knocking."

"Holy Mother!  Why must there be so much of war
and slaying?" wailed the girl.

"Ask the priests of your White Christ," retorted Olvir,
and taking her hand, he led her quickly down the tower
stair.

Having left the little princess in the care of her
tiring-woman, he ran from post to post of the citadel's defences,
that he might see with his own eyes whether every man
was in his appointed position.  Last of all, he mounted the
great arch above the entrance, whose oaken doors stood
ajar to welcome the retreating gate wardens.

At sight of his earl, a watchman who had climbed the
main tower shouted down to him: "Ho, ring-breaker!
Floki's gate swings open.  The Asiamen ride into the burg."

"What of Floki?" demanded Olvir.

"I cannot see.  But the other wardens gather in the
great square.  Ho! there come the Crane and his men, a
horde of swart curs yelping at their heels.  The bands join,
and the Asiamen run to shelter.  Now the Crane turns this
way."

"Good!" said Olvir.  "They have little more than a
bow-shot to come, and the crooked lanes will check the
horsemen."

It was none too soon, however, that the men of the
gate watches swung up the steep path after Floki and
Liutrad, and poured through the archway into the citadel
court.  As the ponderous doors swung to behind them, the
vanguard of the Saracen host came racing into view, hot
on their trail.  But when they saw that their quarry had
reached cover, the swarthy riders contented themselves
with a derisive yell, and wheeled swiftly about to seek
shelter from the arrows of the vikings.

Olvir hastened down into the court.

"Well done! well done, vikings!" he greeted the
returned warriors.  "You had brisk play for a time, old
Crane.  What of the slain?"

"Go ask the Asiamen, earl," replied Floki, with a dry
chuckle.  "We have none to name, though you can see
enough of scratches among my men.  The black cats do
not lack claws."

"I give thanks they are no sharper.  Had your gate
been opened when you first left it--"

"The traitors did well to open it at all.  I clenched the
chain-hooks with a sledge.  For all their treachery, the
curs gained nothing but scathe."

"Yet we can count one man fated.  Tell me, Liutrad;
did not Ottar pass out your gate upon my mare, to ride
across the Arga?"

"He passed the gate, earl, but not to cross the river.
I heard him say that he was minded to ride around the burg
to the Ebro Gate."

"Loki! my Zora,--my matchless mare!"

"Ho, earl!" called down a warrior on the wall; "here
comes one waving a green branch.  Shall I loose an arrow
at the swart hound?  He is like Earl Kasim as two peas."

"Hold!" commanded Olvir, and he ascended quickly
to the parapet, Floki and Liutrad at his heels.  As they
gained the top and leaned with him over the battlements,
they saw Kasim Ibn Yusuf, branch in hand, riding up the
steep ascent.  Poisoner or not, there could be no doubt as
to the man's boldness.

"Thor smite me!" gasped Liutrad.  "Zora!--he rides Zora!"

"It is a taunt," croaked Floki.  "None but a fated man
would venture such a deed.  Let me drive an arrow through
his hide, and the mare is yours again, ring-breaker."

Olvir was white with anger; but he shook his head.

"No," he lisped; "he bears a peace-branch,--he is a
herald, and peace-holy,--the foul poisoner!"

"May Hel's hand soon grip him!" growled Floki; and
then all three stood silent, glaring down on the
approaching rider.

As he came within speaking distance, the Moslem
peered up at the Norse chiefs, and waved his green branch
in mocking salute.

"Greeting, kinsman!" he called.  "I have returned to
my city with a few friends, and so I am here to beg your
hospitality for the night.  Come down, I pray you, and join
us in the market-place.  What! you are silent?  Is it thus
you greet a guest?  How speaks the Koran: 'For the weary
guest, food and a bed; for the stranger in your gates, a wife
and the queen of your drove.'  Already you have made gift
of the choice mare.  The groom who brought her you will
find, arrow-pierced, beyond the hill.  He rode heedless into
our very midst.  I have besought you for food and shelter;
for wife, I might name that fair houri who rode with
Karolah's daughter--"

"Stay a little, dog," lisped Olvir, in a voice ominously
gentle.  "First, tell me whether you come as envoy."

The vali raised his branch, and answered jeeringly:
"I, Kasim Ibn Yusuf, envoy of the Beni Al Abbas, come
riding from Saragossa, to tell you how I have outwitted the
great Karolah and ridden over his camp."

"That is a lie, adder!"

"No; by the beard of the Prophet!  In the dusk of
evening we rode over Karolah's tent and trampled his
bright banner in the dust.  Now will you come forth with
your braggart giants and meet my friends in the game of
swords?"

"I am content to lie at ease for the night," rejoined
Olvir, quietly, though his eyes were blazing.

"What! is my kinsman so backward when it comes
to blows?  I have heard that he besought Karolah for the
forefront in battle.  Yet it may be he is chilled by so long
sitting behind the stone.  I will try a last word to stir his
cold blood.  When I rode over Karolah's camp, Vali Al
Huseyn opened to me the gates of Saragossa and shut them
in the face of the Afranj.  But when Karolah named the
city's ransom, he demanded that I also should be delivered
over to him.  Urged to the treachery by my own wife's
father, the false vali assented.  I was forewarned none too
soon to escape from Saragossa in the night.  And yet, with
all my haste, let it be known to you, son of Gulnare, that I
found time to force the gate of the Balatt Al Arabi and
bestow on your mother's father a scratch which all the skill
of Kosru my geber could not heal."

"Enough, poisoner!" lisped Olvir, almost in a
whisper.  "If you value life, go--go quickly!"

Though the softly uttered words barely reached his
ear, the Arab could see the look on the Northman's white
face.  Without a word, he wheeled Zora, and clattered
down the slope at headlong speed.

"Ho, the murderous nithing!" jeered Liutrad.  "He
flees as from the Fenris-wolf."

"None too fast to outstrip an arrow," growled Floki.
"Give the word, earl!  My fingers itch to drive a dart
into his swart back."

"No!" gasped Olvir; and he stood glaring after the
fugitive, while the cold sweat gathered and ran down his
white face.  "Hel seize the foul murderer!  He--he, my
blood kin's slayer--has named me nithing!--and I
cannot leave this cursed rock heap!"

"Thor!  Must we then lie idle for the sake of a Roman
keep?"

"And for the vala's sake!" added Liutrad, quickly.

"I am not one to forget the maid," grumbled Floki.
"But a hundred men can hold the keep while we go out
to the blood-game."

"No," broke in Olvir, harshly.  "Far rather would I
meet death than swallow the taunts of that poisoner.  Yet
Karl the Frank gave over this keep into my charge, and I
hold the hard stones fast till Karl the Frank comes again.
Wait till he knocks at the burg gates.  It will then be for
us to go out and open them to him."

A smile of terrible joy lit up the face of the sea-king,
and he turned eagerly to the southward, as though he
already saw the vanguard of the Frankish host.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`CHAPTER XXIV`:

.. class:: center large

   CHAPTER XXIV

.. vspace:: 2

|   With guile the great one
|   Would they beguile.
|                   SONG OF ATLI.

.. vspace:: 2

When it became known through
the citadel that there would be
no sorties against the Asiamen
until the coming of the
Frankish host, the towers at once were
crowded with watchers, all
gazing southward along the Ebro
road.  But a bitter disappointment
lay before the war-eager
vikings.

Toward mid-afternoon there was a great stir in the
Saracen quarters, and soon all the Moslem folk of the
burg--mounted and afoot, or drawn in their heavy-laden
ox-carts--began to move in a steady stream along the streets
and out through the Arga Gate.  Before nightfall the last
cart had creaked over the Arga bridge, and was trailing
away on the Astorga road.

Floki was like a baited bear.

"*Hei*! ring-breaker," he grumbled; "the dogs seek a
new kennel.  It must be they know the Franks are coming.
Now is the time to strike the poisoner,--now, before he
slips through our fingers.  He will flee to-night on the trail
of these slow-moving tradefolk."

"And what if it be a lure to draw us into the open?
No, old Crane!  If the swart dogs linger till the Franks
come, we will make blood-play for them.  Not now."

The last drop in the bitter cup was drained when at
dawn the Saracen spearmen were seen leisurely riding
westward on the Astorga road.  Astride their swift desert
coursers, they well knew their safety from the pursuit of
any kaffir force.

An hour or so after their rearguard had disappeared
four thousand Frankish horsemen came plodding north
upon the Ebro road, their heavy war-chargers so weary
that they could not be spurred out of a walk.

"They have done their best," admitted Olvir, half
reluctantly, and choosing the first hundred men in the
courtyard, he marched out to meet the Franks.  There was none
to bar the way.  The Saracens were all gone, taking with
them the Jews, and the Navarrese townfolk wisely kept out
of the path of the fierce Northerners.

But there was some delay in the Saracen quarter,
where the vikings scattered to see whether any loot was to
be found in the deserted houses.  As it proved, nearly
everywhere the owners had fled in such haste that all
manner of rich plunder lay ready to the hand of the first
comer.

In vain Olvir sought to recall the eager looters from
their search.  Hardly a score appeared after repeated blasts
of his horn; but, spurred on by his desire to hear the
tidings of the Frankish host, he advanced with this scant
following.

The delay had been considerable, and before Olvir
could reach the great archway of the burg gate a horseman
on a black Arab stallion came racing through the dark
tunnel.  In two leaps the splendid courser was beside him,
and Count Roland was springing from the saddle, to grasp
his shoulders.

"Brother!" the Frank almost shouted.  "Brother!--you 're
safe--the poisoner did not take you unawares!
We rode night and day to overtake the traitors; but the
horses of my men--Thank God, I find you safe!"

There was no resisting the heartfelt joy of the Frank.
It swept away at a breath every trace of the grievance
between the friends.  Olvir gazed earnestly into the radiant
eyes of his captor.

"No less am I glad to see you, brother," he said.  But
even at that moment his face clouded: "I thirst for your
tidings, king's kin!  No word have I heard since the host
fared south,--only, the poisoner mocked me with evil
tales.  What of my mother's father?  Is it true he met his
fate--?"

"True, Olvir!  The wretch struck him with a poisoned
blade.  We came with Al Huseyn to hunt out the traitor,
but found only the dying count."

"And none stopped the murderer?"

"He was already gone, brother.  It was at twilight.
He and his following rode out of Saragossa before Al
Huseyn could send word to the gates, and the swart
hounds burst through our beleaguering lines in the
darkness.  I could not leave your dying kinsman,--and it
was well.  He intrusted me with your inheritance,--this
pouch of gem-stones, and a book in Arabic script, which
he said contained the wisdom of Plato, the old Greek
sage.  The book is on my saddle; the gems have not
left my bosom since the noble count gave them into my
charge."

Olvir took the heavy pouch, and, thrusting in his fist,
drew out a handful of flashing gems,---rubies and emeralds
and sapphires.

"Here's honor to the dead!" he exclaimed, as he held
out the precious stones to Roland.

"In his honor!" replied the Frank, gravely, and he
took the gift as freely as it was offered.  But as the gems
rolled into his palm, he picked out a great pearl, and handed
it back to the giver.

"Keep this for the little princess, brother," he said.

"It is a gift for a bride, if it has mates," murmured
Olvir.

"A fitting betrothal gift from a sea-king to a princess!
Now that our bitterness is past, only one thing is lacking
to round out my happiness.  Two more years or so, and
your little may--"

"Say no more, brother.  That pure snow-blossom,--and
I, the bloody-fanged wolf!  Not a day has gone by
since I saw in her eyes--  But tell me!  Is it true the
poisoner rode over the king's camp?"

"I must own he told you truth.  We were watching
for treachery, and yet the wily fox caught us unawares.
When our smaller host came faring from Barcelona, Count
Barnard rode across the Ebro half a day in the lead, and
the king was holding war-council with him, when, in the
twilight, the pagan spearmen burst upon the royal guard.
Only by good chance did I bring up the horsemen in time
to save our lord king."

"Thor!  You 've not lacked sword-play.  But what of
Abd-er-Rahman, that old Omyyad lion?"

"Ask the South Wind; it alone may tell you.  He
proved too wary a lion to show himself within hail of the
Ebro; while, for our part, with treachery in our rear, we
would have been mad to fare south into the enemy's
country."

"Treachery?"

"When we marched down the Ebro valley to Saragossa,
the false vali of the burg closed the gates against us,
though the noble Al Arabi sought to hold him to his
compact.  So we laid siege to the burg until Count Barnard
came with the eastern host, and the poisoner sought to slay
the king.  Before that, messengers had come, by way of
Narbonne and Barnard's host, with word from Count
Rudulf that the Saxons threatened an uprising.  The king
at once sent Gerold and Worad Rhineward at the head
of a thousand horsemen.  They took the longer but safer
road by way of Narbonne; for the whole land swarmed
with the bands of our treacherous allies."

"That I foreboded," said Olvir.  "No messenger came
through with tidings."

"Small wonder!  Of all our Saracen allies, your noble
kinsman Al Arabi alone kept troth.  We had had enough to
sicken us of the Southland without old Rudulf's warnings.
Already our host was wasting from fever and famine, and
so, as Abd-er-Rahman would not come to give us battle,
there was naught to do but to take the wergild which Vali
Al Huseyn had offered to ransom his burg.  The host is
already following my trail."

Olvir flung out a hand toward the south: "By Loki! a
bitter warfaring has it been for more than one.  I have
drunk a cup of gall; no less the great king--"

"Gall would have been honey to him beside that bitter
draught.  But see; here come my laggard riders."

"Your riders!  Halt them, brother; let them camp
outside the walls.  They 've already had their share of
war-loot, while my men have not fingered a penny.  Ours
should be the plunder of the Saracen houses."

"But the Christian townfolk--?"

"King Karl shall levy their wergild.  We will not
break a Christian door.  I can trust my sea-wolves even
in the looting."

"It is well, brother.  The horsemen shall camp outside
the burg.  They shall guard the gates, but not enter,"
replied Roland, and, raising his horn, he blew a ringing call
to halt.

So the weary weeks of war-vigil came to an end, and
few other than the townfolk of Pampeluna grumbled at the
half-week which lapsed before the main host of the Franks,
with its huge over-burdened ox-train, came trailing out of
the South.

Throughout the days of waiting the weary horsemen
were well content to lie about their camps and feast on the
good fare sent out by the luckless townfolk; while up in
the citadel the vikings made exact allotment of their
Moslem loot, and in the heat of the reckless gaming which
followed forgot how they had been cooped up for months like
nun-women, and cheated of the merry sword-play.

The days of idleness, of wassail and gaming, were
soon cut short.  On the morning that the main host reached
Pampeluna, King Karl called the councillors of the city
before him, and told them that their burg should no longer
serve as an eyry for the treacherous Saracen hawks.  He
would exact no wergild,--no ransom; but the citadel and
walls of the burg should be razed to the ground.

There was no appeal from the hard decree.  Within an
hour the city walls swarmed with thousands of Frankish
warriors, armed with mattock and battering-ram.  Soon the
battlements were crashing down, to shatter one upon the
other.

But the task was not one to be accomplished in a day,
even by hordes of brawny Northerners.  While the greater
number toiled at battering down the walls and casting the
loosened stones into the Arga, others scoured the country
for miles around, levying tribute and hostages wherever
they went.

Among the first of these forays was one led by Count
Hardrat in the direction of Astorga.  When he returned,
he reported that no trace of the Moslems had been found.
Yet, for such a fruitless faring, he seemed highly satisfied
over its outcome, and he had no little to say apart with the
beautiful daughter of the Grey Wolf.

The nearer the time set for the homeward faring
approached, the more frequently was Hardrat to be seen with
Fastrada; but as he was well known to be a suitor for the
maiden's hand, his attention aroused no comment other
than pleasant raillery.

When at last the plunder-burdened host trailed away
from the dismantled city, up the valley of the Arga,
Hardrat had no other choice than to join his command.  But
Kosru the Magian rode in closest attendance upon
Fastrada, up the Zubiri, and across the wooded hills, into the
glen of Roncesvalles.

That evening, as Fastrada rested with others of the
court on the turf before the royal pavilion, Hardrat
approached the king's seat and knelt haltingly to kiss his
lord's knee.  Karl smiled, and reached out his hand instead.

"What would our brave count ask?" he said.

"No great favor to grant, sire, yet one upon which
I have set my heart," answered the Thuringian, hurriedly.
"Since Count Gerold left, the men of Duke Tassilo's levy
have marched at random.  Among them is a warrior who
fought beside me at Pavia--"

"A small favor," replied Karl, carelessly.  "You wish
to command the Bavarians.  If that is all--"

"I take heart to ask a greater favor, sire.  Since your
Majesty put me over the Austrasians, my command has not
led the host.  I have swung sword for your Majesty in
more than one hard fight."

"Your service is not forgotten.  If such is your wish,
you shall lead the host back across the mountains."

Hardrat bowed, but stood hesitating.

"What more?" asked Karl.  "What other favor can
I grant my bold hero?"

"None other to me, sire, but one to a maiden.  The
daughter of Rudulf wishes to be among the first to look
out upon the northern slopes."

"There is nothing to hinder.  The maiden shall have
her wish."

"I thank your Majesty doubly," said the Thuringian,
and he withdrew hastily, as though he feared that the king
might recall the lightly spoken favors.

"A gruff man, but trusty," muttered Karl to Anselm,
the Count Palatine, who stood by his seat.  "For all
his drunkenness, there are few bolder than my forest
hero."

"That may well be, sire," rejoined Anselm, dryly.  He
was about to add more, when Roland and Olvir came racing
down the valley through the twilight, Olvir mounted on
a black Arab courser, the gift of his sword-brother.  The
hoofs of the horses ploughed up the turf before the king
as the riders drew rein.  Roland leaped off at once.

"Tidings, sire!" he cried.  "I bring tidings, both good
and bad.  A messenger has come through the pass; he
follows with the written word."

"Speak your tidings,--the ill first.  The good may
sweeten the bitter."

"This, then, sire: The Saxon wolves harry the Rhine
bank from Cologne to the Moselle,--Wittikind and his
wild followers.  No burg or host has checked their
advance across the country of the Hessians.  It is feared
that Fulda may already lie in ashes.  The heathen ravage
with fire and sword, slaughtering all, even to the women
and babes."

Those nearest the king heard the grinding of his teeth,
and caught the flash of his eye through the gloom.  Yet he
spoke in a calm voice: "Truly, you bear bitter tidings!
Give us now the sweet."

"In a word, sire, the queen is safe past her time.
Two strong-limbed king's sons await your Majesty at
Casseneuil."

"And will wait long!" whispered Hardrat in the ear
of Fastrada.  The girl clutched his sleeve.

"Hark to the king's answer!" she hissed.

But there was no need to strain the ear.  Through the
gathering night the king's voice rang out, clear and joyful:
"Ho, my liegemen, here is honey to sweeten the sour wine!
We shall taste of both.  We will not linger in the morning
for the plodding oxen to overtake us.  The sooner the host
crosses the pass, the quicker the wains can follow.
Hardrat, with the Austrasians and Bavarians, will march an
hour before dawn.  Roland, with the horse, will wait as
foreguard for the treasure and baggage."

"With Roland before and Steward Eggihard in the
rear, sire, the treasure could not well be safer," observed
Abbot Fulrad.

"There is no question of danger.  It is speed we
should bear in mind," said Karl.

"Then they must sharpen the goads, sire," remarked
Roland.  "The host will be lolling about camp in the Nive
valley even before Eggihard brings his oxen within view
of my waiting riders."

"There will be need, sire, to urge on the drovers," said
Count Anselm.  "Give me leave to so lend aid."

"A good service, lord judge.  Look to it that no
pilferers lay hand on goods or gold, to slip away into the
forest.  Many of the drovers are of Vascon blood.  Choose
whom you wish to aid in your watch.  Who comes?"

"The tidings-bearer, lord king," replied Olvir.

"So.  Bring lights."

A dozen courtiers ran to fetch brands from the nearest
fire.  As they returned, a gnarl-faced Vascon stepped
forward in the light of their torches, and knelt to present to
the king a sealed parchment.  Fulrad took the message,
and, at a sign from Karl, broke the seal.  But the king
turned to the messenger, who had risen and was about to
slip away.

"Hold, man," he said.  "Where do you come from?"

The Vascon halted, and stood hesitating, as though he
but partly understood the question.  Then he answered in
a harsh voice: "Casseneuil, Frank king."

"You have rendered good service," said Karl.  "Our
steward shall see to it that you have fitting reward."

A strange smile passed across the Vascon's stolid face,
like a flicker of the torchlight, and he turned quietly away
into the darkness.  Olvir caught the man's look, but then
his attention was drawn by Abbot Fulrad.

"Here are three several messages, sire," observed the
priest.  "The first is from Count Teutoric, who sends word
that Rudulf is gone against the Sorbs; that the Saxons
are ravaging in the Rhinegau, and that he is marching
against them with all speed from the Frisian Mark.
Below, in Worad's hand, is word that he and Gerold
had met the messenger near Soissones, and would press
on with utmost haste to levy warriors and attack the
rebels.  Last of all, word noted at Casseneuil, that the
queen is safely delivered of twin sons, alike unblemished
and vigorous."

"Praised be the Holy Mother!" murmured Karl, and
for a while he sat musing, his face aglow with love and
tender pride.

The songs of his distant warriors, who were celebrating
their last night on the southern slope of the mountains by
a wassail-feast, presently aroused the king.  He glanced
up at the waiting ring of lords, and signed to Anselm and
Abbot Fulrad.

"Come within," he said.  "Let wax tapers be brought,
and send for my Dane scribe Liutrad."

Roland sprang back into the saddle and rode with
Olvir across the valley to where Rothada sat in a ring of
torches, surrounded by a little court of the younger
courtiers.  Liutrad, though by no means willing, ran to do the
king's bidding, while the merry companions he left behind
fell suddenly silent with the coming of the high-counts.
But Rothada welcomed with delight both her kinsman and
Olvir, and when the war-famed heroes showed a willingness
to lay aside their dignity and join in the games, all was
soon merry again with the court of the king's daughter.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`CHAPTER XXV`:

.. class:: center large

   CHAPTER XXV

.. vspace:: 2

|   There lay many a man
|   Marr'd by the javelins,
|   Men of the Northland
|   Shot over shield.
|                   BATTLE OF BRUNANBURH.

.. vspace:: 2

Noon found Roland and his
horsemen still waiting for the
ox-train at the head of the
valley.  Hours since, the last files of
the main host had wound away
up the wild gorges of Ibañeta.

From the bank where he
was sitting with Olvir, Roland
sprang up for the twentieth time,
to peer down the valley.

"By my sword, brother," he said, "you 'll soon be
wishing you had gone on with your sea-wolves.  By now
they are resting over in the Nive valley."

"What odds?  Are you not here with me?  I might
wish for the little vala also; yet this is not unpleasant,"
replied Olvir; and he called the black Arab courser which
Roland had given him, to stroke the beast's starred
forehead.  But Roland walked to and fro restlessly.

"We cannot pass the fells in the dark," he said.

"True; yet there is still good time, and--the wains
come now!"

"That creaking?  One can hear them creak a mile or more."

"Not from where we stand.  They 'll soon wheel into view."

"A true seer!  There comes the first ox-span, and
Anselm waving to us.  It is well he rides with the train,
else we should never have seen them.  None but oxen could
have come at all with wains so laden."

"Tribute gold of a dozen burgs and all the plunder of
the Ebro valley!" muttered Olvir.

"Not all, brother.  Your sea-wolves bear theirs upon
their own shoulders."

"Where it is safest.  They 'll yield it with life,--no
sooner."

"One and all, they 're welcome to their loot, and
welcome to bear it.  I trust mine in Anselm's care."

"Mine is yet safer.  My Saracen gems lie in
Floki's bosom.  What thief would risk the bill of the
Crane?"

"Only one utterly reckless of life.  But why do we
talk of safety?  We have put even Kasim behind us.
Would to Heaven we 'd first met the traitor!  Yet now all
that is past.  We go home to enjoy our war-loot."

"Rather, to push on to wilder war-fields."

"Ah, brother, if only we may ride together!  Yet I
fear that his Majesty may leave me on the Garonne, or send
me back to my Breton Mark."

"You shall go Rhineward with us, though I bend knee
for the favor."

"We shall soon see.  Now to horse.  The oxen press
upon us."

"To horse, and forward!" the command passed down
the waiting ranks.  Four thousand heavy-armed Franks
swung into the saddle; four thousand war-steeds wheeled
into column.  The ancient Roman way shook with the
tread of hoofs.  At the head of the column the black Arabs
pranced and curvetted, no less pleased than their riders to
be off, after the long wait.

"Now we fare homeward!" exclaimed Roland, and he
gazed up joyfully at the towering peaks and precipices.
But a sudden shadow fell on Olvir's face.

"Homeward!" he echoed.  "I trust it may not yet be
the homeward faring for me."

"Saint Michael, no!  Surely, there is nothing now to
draw you back into your frozen North.  As to your ships,
we 'll sail them around into the Rhine."

"My ships will soon be sailing the North Sea; but
they may steer for another haven than Rhine Mouth.  My
sea-wolves are fairly glutted with plunder, and I dread lest
these fells recall too well the cliffs of our Trondir fiords."

"But what if the little vala bids her warriors stay?
Never doubt, brother; we 'll sail to the North as we sailed
to the South,--unless the king sails with us."

"Not he.  You Franks are not fond of brine.  But
with Rothada aboard, we could hold fast all the
crews,--Dane and Norse alike."

"I could swear to that.  And we shall soon put her
power to the test.  By nightfall we will overtake the host,
and can tell the little maiden of our wish."

"Before nightfall!  Already we scale the pass, and
Anselm urges on the ox-drovers.  Their beasts follow close
upon our rear."

"Yet, at the best, they 'll drag their wains all too
slowly up these steep gorges," grumbled Roland.  "How
the grim cliffs tower above us!  Here is fitting abode for
fiends and evil sprites."

"Rather, for evil-minded Vascons!  Look above in the
cleft.  I saw the glint of steel."

"The spear of a bear-hunter.  The sullen mountaineer
halts in the chase to watch us pass."

"I saw more spears than one!  By Thor!  I'm minded
to scale the cliff."

"To what end?  At the worst, it is only a band of
Vascon thieves lying in wait to cut off stragglers."

"Were my vikings here, we 'd not pass by this wasp nest."

"Ride on.  The gnarl-faced thieves will not even fall
upon the tail of the rearguard, if the men keep close.  It
would not mend matters should we seek to climb the cleft.
My horsemen are no more crag-bred than am I.  In their
heavy war-gear--"

"Come, then.  But first, send back warning to
Eggihard and Anselm."

Roland turned and gave the command to the first of
his horsemen.  Then his black stallion clattered on up the
steep ascent, side by side with the black courser.

For some time the sword-brothers rode in silence.
Olvir, with the delight of one bred among fells, was
drinking in eagerly the wild and rugged beauty of the pass.
The Frank, however, was depressed in spirit, half awed by
that which most pleased his Norse mate.  He sighed with
relief when the road began to wind about the towering
mass of Altobiscar.

"Saint Michael!" he cried; "here's a landmark to
pass with joy!  Now we shall soon be looking down upon
the gentle valley of the Nive."

"I said true.  Even at this pace twilight will see the
last of Eggihard's Neustrians trailing into camp."

"Ah, brother, that will be a merrier return to the north
slopes than I could hope for when we marched from the
Garonne.  Those were bitter days--"

"Speak no more of that ill time, Roland,--nor of the
maiden.  Never again shall doubt come between us.  Our
hearts are now one."

"Even to the end of all things."

"In life!--in death!" cried Olvir, so fervently that
the echoing cliffs rang with the words: "*life in death!--in
death!--death!*"

Roland shuddered.

"God's mercy!" he cried.  "Hark how the crag-fiends
mock!"

"*Hark--fiends mock!--fiends mock!--mock!*" called
back the echoes.

"It is nothing," laughed Olvir.  "Whoever the
rock-dwellers may be,--kobold or scrat, troll or dwarf,--they
never do harm.  In my bairnhood I would often linger in
the glens where they dwelt, to jeer at them."

"Truly, yours was a wild boyhood, Olvir.  You have
yet told me little of it."

"A merry bairnhood, though Otkar's was a heavy hand."

"That I can well believe.  Tell me more of your tomb life."

"Tell me, rather, of your swart Bretons, and of the
Frisian vikings, who, you say, settled along the coast of
southern Neustria in the olden days."

"Such is the tale.  But I am not in the mood for talk.
I would rather hear of your wild Norse land."

"Then look well at these crags and heights,--most
of all at the great snow-peak.  Let this rough way be
instead the smooth ship-path,--the fiord; and on either
hand the foam-white torrents leaping from the heights.
Such is my home."

"I choose, then, the oak forest, with quiet hill and dale,
where, if you come upon sprites, the worst will be some
gentle swan-maiden, combing her hair by the brookside."

"Or a werwolf lurking in the gloom to seize the
unwary hunter."

"Well cast!  But I 've yet to see either swan-maiden
or werwolf; whereas your crag-fiends that mock with
witless mimicry--ay! and peer down from the cliff
brink--  Look, brother!"

"Thor! that's no fiend.  A Saracen without turban!"

"Saracen?  How should they--"

"An onfall!  Look ahead!"

"A wall--the gorge is walled!"

"And beyond--black banners!  By Loki, the poisoner
has snared us!  Now are we fated, brother!  From
the heights men will cast down rocks."

"God help us!  We cannot stand; nor, with foes on
the cliff, can we cross that wall."

"Sound your horn.  To turn back may alone save us."

"Not even that, if there are many of the traitors,"
replied Roland; yet he raised his horn.  The gorge re-echoed
to the blast.

From end to end the long line of horsemen wavered
and halted, amazed at the note.  But a second blast sent
them wheeling back to the rear.  Cries of alarm and
bewilderment burst out all along their scattered ranks.  Those
nearest the ox-wains shouted to the drovers to turn back.
But the Vascons goaded their beasts on into the jam of
backward-wheeling Franks.

Then, when all in the gorge was wildest flurry and
confusion, high up the steep slopes and along the cliff
crests a thousand horns brayed out the battle-note, and in
a twinkling the heights swarmed with armed Vascons.

"Lost! all is lost!" cried Roland.

"Thor aid!  We die, brother; but we die as men.  Ho,
Rhine wolves! turn! turn again!  We cross the wall!"

The wild cry roused the great war-count from his
despair.  Out flashed Ironbiter, and the black stallion
bounded after his fellow.

"Christ and king!  Christ and king!  Upon the
pagans!  Follow me, Franks!"

A hundred or more riders wheeled at the call, to charge
after their leader.  And as they charged, the gorge behind
them darkened with clouds of spears and arrows, with
avalanches of rocks and tree-trunks.  From van to rear a
shriek went up from the host,--a wail of despair, soon lost
in the screams and groans of mangled victims.

Little did the heavy Northern armor avail its bearers.
Neither shield nor hauberk nor helmet of bronze or iron
could withstand the ponderous Vascon missiles.  The very
completeness of the Frankish war-gear was fatal, for its
weight impeded the efforts of the warriors to escape the
trap.  Penned in the gorge like sheep for the slaughter,
the Franks charged back, to trample their fellows behind,
or vainly sought to scale the heights after the nimble
Vascon drovers.

Pierced through by arrows and darts, mangled by
logs and stones, the doomed warriors fought and
trampled one upon another, in frenzied struggles to escape
that terrible downpour.  But above them the Vascons
mocked their cries for mercy with yells of triumph, and
drowned their pitiful shrieks with the crash of the war-hail.

Summoned by Anselm's horn to guard the treasure
from the pilfering drovers, Eggihard and his Neustrians
rushed forward among the ox-wains, only to share in the
fate of the Frankish horse.  When they turned again to fly,
they found the way behind them bristling with pikes and
spears.  The laggard Asturians and Navarrese, silently
trailing the host, had closed upon the rear, eager to share
the Moslem plunder and to avenge the ruined walls of
Pampeluna.

In the heart of that steel-leaved thicket fell Eggihard
the High Steward, valiantly striving to cut a way for his
Neustrians out of the shambles.

But the greater number of the footmen shrank back
before the advancing spear-points, to perish on the heaps
of slaughtered beasts and men.  Soon Anselm and a score
of followers fled alone before the advance of the
Hispano-Goths; while from every mountain cleft and slope the
Vascons clambered down to snatch their blood-drenched
booty from beneath the mass of torn and shattered victims.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`CHAPTER XXVI`:

.. class:: center large

   CHAPTER XXVI

.. vspace:: 2

|   We have fought; if we die to-day,
|   If we die to-morrow, there is little
|   To choose.  No man may speak
|   When once the Norns have spoken.
|                   LAY OF HAMDIR.

.. vspace:: 2

But not all the Frankish host
perished by the Vascon missiles.
As Roland and his hundred
horsemen charged after Olvir
upon the wall which barred the
gorge, the fiery Moslems
answered the Northern battle-shouts
with shrill yells, and the
foremost among them leaped
their coursers over the barrier,
to rush upon the Franks.  A hundred or more had crossed
the wall before the slower Frankish horses could meet
them; and the treacherous Vascons above, only too willing
that their allies should win more of wounds than plunder,
hastened away to share in the looting of the baggage-train.
Of all the riders who had turned to follow their count, two
only were slain by Vascon arrows.  The others, stung to
desperate fury by the shrieks of those behind them in the
gorge, thundered after their leader with brandished blades.

"On, men! on!" cried Roland.  "The dogs leap to
meet us!  On, and strike them down!"

"*Heu*! *heu*!  Christ and king!  Down with the pagans!"
roared back the Franks, and they crashed at full gallop into
the mass of charging Saracens.  The shock was frightful.
Hurled back by the massive strength of the Frankish
horses, the graceful desert coursers were either overthrown
and trampled underfoot with their riders, or crushed back
upon the barrier.

In a twinkling Franks and Saracens were mingled
in the death-grapple,--a furious hand-to-hand struggle,
where all the vantage lay with the heavy-armed Northerners.
Only the closeness of the jam kept the Franks from
at once shattering the whole Saracen band.  Vengeance
lent double force to their blows.

Side by side on their black Arabs, the foster-brothers
thrust in among the yelling Moslems.  Roland, high in his
stirrups, was wielding his ponderous Norse sword in both
hands.  Where Ironbiter fell, shields and iron casques
were shattered like glass, and their bearers hurled down as
though struck by a sledge.  The Frank's blue eyes flamed
with white fire, his face was flushed, and his powerful
frame quivered with rage.  As he struck, he ground his
teeth savagely.

But Olvir's fury was of another kind.  In his black
eyes was the bright, cold glitter of the striking snake's.
Unlike the Frank count, he crouched low in the saddle;
and from beneath his little steel shield Al-hatif darted out
incessantly, like the beak of a heron.  The Frank's
sword-play was more appalling to the eye, but the Northman's
was the deadlier.  So swift and fatal was Al-hatif's thrust
that many were slain before they were aware of the danger.

Close on the sword-brothers came the Frankish horsemen,
hewing and slashing with sword and double-bladed
axe.  Twice the number of the Saracens could not have
withstood such an attack.  The slender-limbed Arabs and
Berbers were fairly crushed by their big foes.  Less than
a score in the rear managed to free themselves from the
jam and escape the slaughter by leaping back over the
barrier.

The Franks, recking little of their own loss, trampled
forward over the slain, in hot pursuit of the fugitives.  The
rout drew from them a roar of triumph, and they rushed
forward, only to recoil in rage and despair.  The barrier
was far too high for their heavy horses to leap, and its
timbers had been too firmly knit together to be easily torn
apart.  But the main body of the Saracens, hindered by
their retreating fellows of the van, had not yet closed upon
the farther side of the wall.  Olvir was quick to see the
vantage.

"Ho, Franks!" he called.  "Your horses cannot leap;
afoot and follow me!  Behind pours the Vascon hail;
before lies the sword-path.  Let us die like men!"

"Lead on!" roared the horsemen, and they sprang
from their saddles to rush upon the barrier.

Olvir turned to Roland, his look strangely soft.

"Farewell for a little while, brother," he said.  "We
are fated; the valkyries call us."

But Roland smiled grimly, and reined back his black
stallion for the leap.

"Saint Michael!" he cried.  "Life, not death, is
before us!  We 'll cut our way through the midst of
the pagans.  *Heu*! *heu*!  Christ and king!  Follow me, men!"

Already Olvir's courser was leaping the barrier, clean
and light as a gazehound.  No less gallantly the stallion
sprang forward and leaped in turn.  But the feat was
beyond his power.  Borne down by the weight of his rider,
he failed to clear the wall.  His forelegs struck against the
crest, and he fell headlong on the farther side.  Roland,
though hurled violently to the ground, sprang up at once;
but the stallion lay where he fell.

.. _`"'Love!' she cried, half hissing the word. 'You speak of love,--you, the heathen outlander!'"`:

.. figure:: images/img-234.jpg
   :align: center
   :alt: "'Love!' she cried, half hissing the word. 'You speak of love,--you, the heathen outlander!'" (Page 163)

   "'Love!' she cried, half hissing the word. 'You speak of love,--you, the heathen outlander!'" (Page `163`_)

Olvir wheeled his horse before the count, to shield him
from the flights of Saracen darts and arrows which came
whistling about them.

"Forward, men! forward, and wedge!" he cried;
and the Franks, with a wild shout, came swarming over
the wall.

"Wedge, men! wedge!" shouted Roland, as he
sprang out in the lead.  But the dismounted horsemen,
unused to the movement, were slow in forming.  Before
their ranks could lock shields, the Saracens charged upon
them.  Line after line, the Moslem horse came leaping
along the gorge in close order, three hundred swift coursers,
three hundred turbaned riders shrieking their war-cries.

Before the fierce attack the half-formed line of Franks
wavered, and more than one warrior glanced about at the
wall.  But Roland clashed Ironbiter against his shield and
cried cheerily: "Stand fast, my Rhine wolves,--stand,
and strike for Christ and king!"

"Christ aid!  Christ and king!  *Heu*! *heu*!" came
back the deep roar of the Franks.

No longer did any look about at the barrier.  All bent
forward in their places, and as the flying mass of Saracens
crashed upon their half-formed wedge, they met the enemy
with mighty blows of axe and sword and war-hammer.
Down went the foremost line of horses, and their riders
fell slain with them; down went the second line, the third.
Yet relentlessly the Moslems thrust forward, trampling
over the bodies of their fallen leaders, to hurl themselves
against the Frankish shieldwall.

Soon the Northern warriors began to give ground
before the incessant shocks.  Arrows and darts whirred into
their midst from the Saracen rear, and many fell, pierced
in throat or face.  Others were crushed by the plunging
horses, or thrust with lances through the joints of their
rude armor; but most of all met their fate under the
keen-edged scimetars.

The first impetus of the Saracen charge was quickly
lost; but the dark riders gave the hated Afranj not a
moment's time to gain breath.  Their massed ranks closed
up against the Franks, and overbore them with the sheer
weight of the horses.

In vain Roland fought with a strength and skill such
as no other Frank than Karl himself might have equalled;
in vain Olvir, his face white to the lips and rigid with cold
fury, spurred his courser forward into the mass of the
Saracens, and struck down warriors to right and left with
his lightning stabs.

Had there been room for retreat, the foremost
Moslems would have shrunk away from the attack of the
sword-brothers; but they had no choice.  Penned between
the cliffs, they were forced on by their fellows behind,
without hope of escape other than in victory.  In their rear
rode Kasim Ibn Yusuf and a score of chosen men, threatening
with instant death any who should turn.  So, yelling
with desperate rage, the Moslems continued to fling
themselves upon the Afranj, each fiercely striving to cut down
at least one unbeliever before he himself fell beneath the
trampling hoofs.

At last the blows of the Franks began to lessen in
force.  Wearied by the furious struggle, and spent by
wounds and blood-loss, increasing numbers sank beneath
the steadily advancing hoofs.  Only with the utmost effort
could those who were left close the many gaps in their
thinning ranks.

"The end draws near, brother!" cried Roland; and he
drew back with his men, undaunted, but so wearied that he
could hardly swing Ironbiter.

"Oh, for two score of my sea-wolves, with Floki at
their head!" called back Olvir, bitterly.  "We should soon
rend our path through the midst of these swart hounds.
Thor!  Yonder rides the poisoner!  I 'll cut my way to
him, or die!"

But as the Northman sought to spur his horse farther
into the dense jam of Saracens, Roland's voice rang out in
a despairing cry: "Brother--brother!  Farewell!"

Then berserk rage seized upon the Northman.  He
wrenched his horse about, and turned straight across the
fore of the Saracens, his eyes glaring and the froth
dripping from his lips.  For the moment he was a madman,
and had all the madman's strength.  Al-hatif no longer
thrust out, but glittered in wide strokes that slashed
through the firmest mail.  The viking's attack was so
terrible that the bravest of the Moslems sought to avoid him;
and though he fought utterly heedless of guard, fear so
weakened their arms that their blows fell without harm
on his helmet and mail-serk.

Striking down all in his path, Olvir cut his way without
check to the spot where Roland, shieldless and utterly
spent, reeled back under the blows of the enemy.  Warned
by the shrieks of their fellows, the count's assailants turned
to meet the raving Northman.  But already Olvir was
upon them, and Al-hatif whistled in vengeful strokes.

Then the blood-mist cleared from the Northman's
eyes, and he wheeled his horse around beside Roland.

"Close, men! close!" he cried.  "One more rally, and
we die together!  Ho, brother; I come! stand back!"

But the dying Frank glared past his sword-brother.
With a terrible cry he swung up Ironbiter and hurled the
blade into the midst of the Saracens.  It was the last deed
of the hero.  As the great sword whirled from his grasp,
he reeled and would have fallen, had not Olvir bent to catch
him.

Putting out all his strength, the Northman drew the
great Frank up before him on the saddle.  Then the black
courser leaped with his double burden to the barrier, while
behind him the bare score of Franks yet standing formed
in shieldburg to guard their dying count.

Tenderly Olvir laid his friend on the crest of the wall,
and drew the broken helmet from the tawny hair, already
clotted with blood.  The hero's eyes were fast dimming;
but his cold hand closed on Olvir's fingers, and he
murmured brokenly: "Ha, brother--Christ and king!--We
've fought--a good fight!"

"We have fought!" cried Olvir.  "Now we die.  Wait
here for me, brother; I will soon join you!"

But Roland clutched at the turning Northman, and his
voice rang out clear and strong above the Saracen yells and
the clash of weapons: "Stay, Olvir!  Not death to you,
but life,--life and vengeance!  To the king, brother!  You
alone may scale the cliff!"

"Go--go, lord count!" shouted the horsemen.  "We
die; but the king shall avenge!  Go, tell him of the
traitors!"

"While my brother breathes I will not leave him,"
replied Olvir, and he bent from the saddle to embrace the
count.  Then sudden grief fell upon him.  The blue eyes
were glazed, the noble face ghastly with the death-pallor.
Olvir stared down upon the torn and bloody corpse, his
heart wrung with bitter grief.

But it was no time for mourning.  Thicker than ever,
the arrows came whistling overhead and upon the barrier,
and one struck the black courser through the neck.  Roused
by the beast's wild bound, Olvir sat up and gazed alertly
about him.  Already the Saracens were thrusting back the
Frankish shieldwall.

"*Ai*, my fleet one!" cried Olvir.  "Even you are
stricken.  But you have yet to save your rider.  Bear me
over the wall and back through the death-gorge."

Though quivering with pain, the black courser heeded
instantly the voice and touch of his master.  Lightly as a
gazelle he bounded up and over the barrier, and fled along
the bloody gorge at racing speed.

Though the way was heaped with rocks and logs and
the bodies of men and horses, the black courser raced on
unchecked until, swinging around a sharp bend, he all but
ran upon a Frankish horse coming up the gorge.

"Anselm!" shouted Olvir--"you live?  Thor!  We
shall both go free!  Turn back!  Yonder's a cranny in the
cliff--turn back!"

"No, Olvir; I could not climb!" gasped the count,
and he pointed to the splintered shaft of a javelin, fast in
his side.

"You 're wounded, friend!"

"Where's Roland?"

"Slain,--slain by the swart dogs!  His body lies on
the wall crest.  Before it fall the last of the horsemen.  I
alone have fled."

"And I alone come from the Vascon hail.  I alone
live; and now--  But you, hero; you 're yet unharmed;
hasten up out of the bloody pit.  To the king--to the king!"

"I have fled once.  I stay here till you die."

"No, Holy Mother, no!  Fly, hero!  You alone may
bear the evil word.  The Vascons turn to loot the
slain,--I hear yells behind you.  Fly!"

"Let them come.  Fenir tear me if I leave you, living!"

"Then shall your stay be brief!" cried Anselm.

With one hand he tore loose the clasps of his hauberk;
with the other he grasped his dagger.  Before Olvir could
cry out or grasp his arm, he had struck himself to the
heart.

A groan burst from Olvir's lips as he sprang off to
catch the body of the count.  Gently he drew it from the
saddle and stooped to the ground.  But as he bent, the
horses snorted in terror.  Loosening his hold of the Frank,
Olvir rose up just as a boulder, hurtling from the cliff,
shattered upon an outjutting ledge and flew about him in
a hundred fragments.  He heard his courser scream, and
felt himself hurled back as though struck by the axe of
Otkar Jotuntop.

In a moment he was up again, the blood spurting from
a terrible wound just below the collar of his mail-serk.
The sharp point of a whirling rock had torn through his
threefold mail, snapped the bone beneath, and laid open his
chest.  But for the thick strand of Rothada's hair, he would
never again have risen.  Though severed by the sharp-edged
stone, the strand had helped to break its blow.  As
he rose, the loosened plait came slipping down his breast,
and, half dazed, he thrust it in through the rent in his mail.

Then his eye fell upon the black courser, standing in
dumb anguish.  Other fragments of the fatal rock had
struck down Anselm's horse and broken the Arab's
foreleg.  Forgetful of his own wound, Olvir sprang to the
faithful beast and kissed his white-starred forehead.

"Farewell, fleet one!  You have served me true.  May
we meet again in Paradise!" he said, and then, swift and
sure, the point of Al-hatif pierced the courser's heart.

A burst of triumphant yells re-echoed down the gorge.
The last Frank had fallen.  At the warning, Olvir thrust
the scarlet blade back in its sheath and ran swiftly across
the gorge.

"Now do all lie slain," he muttered; "and I--I go to
bear the tidings, if so the Norns will.  Here is a cleft,--I
can yet climb; but if the feeblest of foes lies in wait on the
crest, he may cast me down."

Thrusting the corner of his cloak in upon his wound,
Olvir sprang up the cliff foot and began the ascent of its
all but perpendicular face.  Though every movement of his
injured shoulder cost him terrible agony, he climbed with
the utmost haste; for on the one side he could see
advancing parties of the plunder-laden Vascons, while on the
other, Moslem yells of victory rang near around the turn.
So swiftly did he scale the cliff that he had gained a side
ledge which sloped up to its crest before the Saracens raced
into view.

Overcome by exertion and the anguish of his wound,
he paused for a time at the top of the cranny, too faint and
giddy to attempt the narrow ledge.  But the pursuers, far
below in the gorge bottom, never thought to look up for
their quarry where all along was sheer precipice.  For a
little they circled about the bodies of the black courser and
the Frank count, like hounds which have over-shot the
scent; then they raced on through the gorge.  Not until
they came upon the advancing Vascons and learned that
the fugitive had not passed that way, did they turn back
to scan the cliffs.  But they saw no warrior clinging to the
dizzy ledges.

Urged on by the peril of discovery, Olvir had crept
sideways up the ledge, even as the Saracens galloped away.
The rock, as he slipped along its face, seemed to reel and
thrust out against him, so that at each slow step he thought
to hurl down into the chasm.  It was well for him that in
his boyhood he had climbed for the nests of sea-fowl on
cliffs yet dizzier.  The rock was swaying before his
darkened gaze.  Instinctively he drew himself upward.  At last
he was bending over the cliff's edge.  Then darkness fell
upon him, and he sank forward in a death-like swoon.

But life lay strong in the breast of the sea-king.  In a
little he sighed and half turned.  His opening eyes gazed
sideways along the cliff's edge.  A hundred paces or so
distant, over a projection of the rock, he saw the tops of a pair
of turbans.  Stung to instant action by the sight, he drew
himself up from the brink of the cliff, and crept over the
rocks toward a little fir wood on the slope above.  Within
a spear's length the heads and shoulders of the two
Saracens came into view; but both men were leaning over the
brink of the precipice, staring down at the wild scene in the
gorge bottom.

"Odin blind the Asiamen!" he muttered, and he glided
like a wounded weasel over the bare space which lay
between him and safety.

At last he gained the first tree.  He was safe from the
swart watchers.  But then something stirred in the midst
of the young firs, a few feet before him.  A groan rose to
his lips.  He sank down, only to grip his sword-hilt and
rise again, the bared blade ready to strike.  His lips pressed
together in a smile of grim despair, and he crept forward
again.  Something showed through the fir twigs.  He
peered under the branches into a tiny glade.  There, within
half-a-dozen steps, stood Zora his red mare, tethered beside
two other coursers, and no man was in sight.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`CHAPTER XXVII`:

.. class:: center large

   CHAPTER XXVII

.. vspace:: 2

|   Then Brynhild laughed
|   Till the walls rang again:
|   "Good luck
|   To your hands and swords
|   That have felled
|   The goodly prince!"
|                   LAY OF SIGURD.

.. vspace:: 2

Midway down the valley of the
Little Nive the warriors of the
Frankish host lay at ease about
their fires, while across the camp
fell the shadow of the early
mountain twilight.  All alike
were merry; for now the rugged
fells were passed; the
sun-scorched Saracen Land lay
behind.  In the morning the great
train of plunder-laden carts and wains would be allotted,
and each folk-levy would journey home by its own way,
to enjoy the war-loot.

Not the least merry in the host were the king's "men,"
gathered about the royal pavilion.  Messengers had come
from Casseneuil with confirmation of the queen's good
health, and the welcome tidings that old Rudulf, the Grey
Wolf, had come leaping out of the Sorb Mark in the nick
of time, to save Fulda from the ravaging Saxons.  With
Teutoric, Count of the Frisian Mark, sweeping across
Westphalia toward Paderborn, and Gerold and Worad making
for the harried Rhinegau by forced marches through
Austrasia, none might doubt that the wolves of Odin would
soon be fleeing back to their forests with aching teeth.

In celebration of the fair tidings, Karl had relaxed his
usual abstemiousness, and was drinking freely with his
lords at the door of his tent.  All about the royal seat the
Franks stood laughing and jesting.  The king himself sat
smiling in careless amusement at one of the gay groups
where Rothada and Liutrad played at tag with the pages
about Abbot Fulrad.

But back in the dark recess of the pavilion was another
group, whose members gulped their wine from shaking
goblets, and peered out at the wassailers with little
merriment in their looks.  Crouched in the corner behind the
others was Kosru, the Magian leech, muttering plaintive
invocations to his sun-god.

"It cannot now be long.  The word will soon come,"
growled Hardrat, who, though drinking even more
immoderately than usual, was kept sober by the intense strain.
The Magian edged a little nearer the thickset Thuringian.

"The word will soon come," he echoed in a trembling voice.

"And we crouch here like witless oafs," rejoined
Fastrada.  "Come; there's nothing to betray us but
our own faces.  Let us go out and make merry with the
others."

"Well spoken, daughter of Rudulf!  This time our
great plot has failed; yet our enemy will soon have cause
enough for grief.  We will go out and rejoice at the tidings
which shall soon blacken his merrymaking.  Come.  The
good wine has put heart into me," answered Hardrat, and
he stooped to grasp Kosru by the arm.  But the Magian
was palsied with terror; and while Fastrada lingered beside
him, in a vain attempt to overcome his fear, Hardrat came
springing back from behind the king's seat.

"Stay!" he cried.  "Here comes a rider, fleeing down
the valley."

"*The word!*"  Seized with a second panic, the plotters
drew back again into the depths of the tent.

A sudden hush had fallen upon the merrymakers about
the king.  All had turned, with paling cheeks, to gaze up
the road.  Down the valley a red Arab courser was racing
as for life, and upon the flying beast sat a blood-stained
figure which swayed and reeled in the saddle like a drunken
man.

The king sprang up beside Fulrad.

"God's wounds!" he cried.  "What mummery is this?"

But then from the viking camp in the rear burst out a
terrible shout, and the lofty figure of Floki the Crane came
rushing through the midst of the Franks.

"Olvir!  Olvir!--my earl--my bright one!" he cried;
and as Liutrad sprang in and halted the red mare at the
edge of the gathering, Floki's long arm caught her rider
from the saddle.  But it was Rothada who took the king's
flagon out of the cupbearer's hand and ran to place it at
the lips of the Northman.

The fiery wine lent new strength to the fainting
messenger.  He drew away from Floki and faced the king.

"Vengeance!--vengeance, lord king!" he gasped.
"Slain is the Hero--my brother--and all his host!  I
alone come forth alive--I alone--to call for vengeance!"

Karl's eyes blazed with terrible anger.

"Whose is the guilt?" he demanded.

But Olvir was reeling.  Blood gushed from his mouth.
He fell back into Floki's arms like one dead.

Quivering with rage and grief, the giant raised his earl
as though a child, and turned upon the king.

"Thor!" he roared.  "Do you still stand idle?  Who
rules the fell-folk?"

"Ha!  Lupus,--that bastard fox!" cried Karl.
"Where's Hardrat?  Stay; 'tis a deed for his own
men; they will not fail.  You shall lead them yourself,
Crane,--you and Liutrad.  Those who have horses, let
them ride; the rest follow as best they may.  Five
thousand of my Austrasians shall come after.  Here is my
seal-ring.  Go swiftly to Bordeaux, and seize the Vascon
Wolf!"

Without a word, Floki laid his earl upon the ground
and ran to turn back the wild rush of vikings who came
seething around the pavilion.  Liutrad paused to lay his
hand on Olvir's bloody breast and mutter a vow.  Then,
leading Zora by the bridle, he ran after Floki.

As the crowd parted before the Norse leaders, Karl
knelt down beside their stricken earl.

"The leech,--where's the outland leech?" he demanded.

Back in the pavilion the plotters dragged Kosru to his
feet.

"Hist, Magian!" cried Hardrat.  "The king calls; I
know that tone.  Woe to you if you fail to heed!"

"*Ai*, God of Light!  I cannot, noble lords.  My limbs
fail--"

"Here's the spur, dotard," said Hardrat, brutally, and
he shook his dagger in the leech's face.

"Go, friend," urged Fastrada.

Reassured by her look, Kosru threw his cloak about his
head, and ran, tottering, out beside the king.

But the fear-stricken Magian left behind him others
little less overcome.  As he passed through the entrance,
Fastrada turned upon Hardrat.

"Oaf! sluggard!" she hissed.  "You loiter here, and
the chance is gone.  Others ride first to Bordeaux.  Lupus
will be taken."

The Thuringian turned, snarling; but Fastrada was
already calm again.

"Why wrangle, count?" she said.  "What is done is
done.  Lupus is lost."

"And we with him!  He will tell all to save his own
skin.  Who trusts a Merwing?"

"No, no," insisted Fastrada.  "His is too crafty a
nature.  He could not speak straightforward if he wished.
There may be danger if his trial is kept waiting; but if
that happens my knowledge of the king is at fault."

"You are right, maiden," muttered Hardrat, and he
drew a deep breath.

Fastrada laughed low and softly,--a laugh at sound of
which her fellow-plotter drew away from her, shuddering.

"What do we care for Lupus?" she said.  "We shall
yet win success; and--and him whom I hated I have slain!"

Hardrat crossed himself hastily.

"Saints shield us from werwolves!" he mumbled.

But Fastrada flung herself face down upon the earth.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`CHAPTER XXVIII`:

.. class:: center large

   CHAPTER XXVIII

.. vspace:: 2

|   Of fourteen winters was I,
|   If thou listeth to wot,
|   When I swore to the young lord
|   Oaths of love.
|                   HEL-RIDE OF BRYNHILD.

.. vspace:: 2

"Ho, there!  Can this be Niflheim?
Why is my voice so weak?  I
cannot lift my arm.  If this is
the under-world, I would look
upon the blue and white face of
Hel.  Ho, there!  Who hearkens
to Olvir, son of Thorbiorn?"

"Peace, ring-breaker!
You 're yet in Manheim,"
croaked a well-known voice.
"When Olvir Elfkin goes hence, Odin, not Hel, shall
claim his spirit.  Now lie still, for a blood-fire has burned
within your skull these twelve days gone."

"Faul!  I 've dreamt dreams of ill omen.  What
tidings of the Wolf Duke?"

"He hangs in chains with his namesake.  Before the
Frank could strike, Asiamen and fell-folk had fled to safety
with their bloody spoil.  But Liutrad and I took the traitor
earl even as he was flying from his burg.  Short shrift did
the Frank give him.  Eight nights he has ridden on the
tree."

Olvir uttered a hollow laugh: "Then this night he
should be wise as Odin."

"Thor!" cried Floki; "that is a welcome laugh.  Now
shall you surely live."

"I laugh with a sore heart.  What of my brother?"

"They build him a hero's mound in the dewy valley."

"Would that I might see it!"

"That you shall, ring-breaker, when your strength
comes again.  Yours is the right to ward the hero's mound
and to seek vengeance upon his slayers.  For listen, son of
Thorbiorn: When the king fared north, though you yet lay
as a dying man, he named you Earl of the Vascon Mark.
From Toulouse to Bordeaux, from the Garonne to the
Pyrenees, you are earl and hersir.  The sons of Lupus are
borne off to the king's hall.  Where the Wolf Duke ruled,
you rule."

"Earl--of the Vascon Mark!" muttered Olvir.
"Now, by Thor, if the men stay by me--"

"All stay but Liutrad."

"Liutrad!  I 'd have thought him the last after you--"

"The king's will, earl.  The Frank is minded to do
well by the lad.  For his good and the pleasure of the king,
you will not forbid.  The king looks only to your welfare.
While we raced away to take thrall the Wolf Duke, the
king put you in the care of Kosru, that outland warlock.
The man's own head was in pledge against your death.
Between his wizardry and the care of the little vala, Hel's
hand was thrust back from you.  But now that you grasp
firmly at life again, Liutrad should be faring away north, to
return the old warlock to the king's household, and to bear
back the little vala to the nun-women at Chelles, whence
she came."

"To the cloister,--to the pale nun-women!  By Loki! that
shall not be; she shall not become one of that
crew--I--"

"Settle that with the maiden," rejoined Floki, and he
slipped softly from the room.

"He has gone--he has left me alone!" exclaimed
Olvir, and, in his great weakness, he could have wept.  But
then a little maiden came darting across the room and
knelt to clasp his wasted hands.

"Rothada--little may!" he cried.  "What's this I
hear?  You go to the cloister?"

"Back to Gisela and the blessed sisters, Lord Olvir.
My heart aches with this terrible world-life.  I cannot bear
the hatred and cruelties of it all.  I seek peace where my
mother died."

.. _`250`:

"You shall not stay,--you shall not stay for all time!
Bend lower, king's daughter--little vala with eyes like
dewy violets!--lower yet, till your lips press upon mine.
So; bravely done, sweetheart!  Now lay your arm about
my neck, and promise me--by your tress which I wore,
by my ring on your hand--you will not take the cloister
vows, but will wait--let the time be long or brief--you
will wait my coming!"

Obediently Rothada clasped her arms about the young
sea-king's neck, and with her face hidden close against his
tangled red-gold hair she answered him softly: "I promise,
Olvir."





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`CHAPTER 2-I`:

.. class:: center x-large

   BOOK TWO

.. vspace:: 2

|   Surely know I
|   No love like your love
|   Among all men
|   On the mould abiding!
|                   LAY OF GUDRUN.

.. vspace:: 3

.. class:: center large

   CHAPTER I

|   He waxed under welkin in worth and honor
|   till the folk around him, far and near,
|   ... hearkened to him.
|                   BEOWULF.

.. vspace:: 2

Four long years had come and
gone, and at last the dreaded
loss had fallen upon the
common folk of Vascon Land.  The
rule of the young Dane count,
who from the first had dispensed
a justice throughout his mark
as keen and as bright as his
Saracen sword, had come to an end.
The king had at last given way
to the request of Olvir, whose followers had become
unutterably wearied of the small pleasure to be gained in
hunting out thieves and lawless lords; and that he might
do honor to his loyal liegemen, Karl had sent as special
*missi* Abbot Fulrad and Count Gerold to take over the
mark.

After the ceremony the *missi* had journeyed on to
Toulouse to place the rulership in the hands of Count
William, for he was the guardian of Louis, the survivor of
the royal twins born at Casseneuil, whom Karl, a year
since, had caused the Pope to anoint as King of Aquitania.

When they came sailing back down the Garonne from
Toulouse, the *missi* found the five longships of the Norse
fleet lying moored at Bordeaux, all newly refitted and
scraped and painted, in readiness for the voyage north.  So
it chanced that the two Franks had clear proof of the nature
of Olvir's rule; for the quays of the city swarmed with
townfolk who had come to bewail the departure of their
just count.

"Ah, Olvir," cried Abbot Fulrad, as they boarded the
Raven, "our lord king did well to keep you here in the
South all these years.  I doubt if the *missi* will bring such
satisfying reports of William's rule."

"There will be some who will not grieve at my going,"
answered Olvir, meaningly.  But the smile left his firm lips
as he turned to gaze at the sorrowful crowds on the quays.
Gerold, who came and stood beside the Northman, had lost
little of his old-time boyishness; but Olvir's dark face was
marked by the lines of rulership and shadowed by habitual
thought.  Floki could have told the curious guests that
during the past two years his earl had spent no small part
of his time in poring over the runes of the White Christ
and the strange book of the Asiamen which Count Roland
had brought to his foster-brother with the gem-pouch, out
of Saragossa.

As the Raven at last cast off from the moorings and
glided away down the Gironde in stately lead of the fleet,
Olvir waved his hand to the weeping townfolk, and turned
quietly to Abbot Fulrad.

"Liutrad has written fully of your bitter Saxon war,"
he said.  "The heroes have met on the stricken field.  Again
you have beaten Wittikind back into the North, and men
say that the war has been fought to a glorious end.  Yet I
have lain here in the South with sheathed sword, and--do
not grieve."

"You may well say that, my son!" exclaimed Fulrad.
"Far nobler are the victories of peace than war-won fame.
If you have lost the wild joy of battle, you have gained the
love of the folk you ruled, and a happiness--"

"Love and happiness?  Ay; but not the love and
happiness for which I long," sighed Olvir, and his
hand went to the double strand of chestnut hair clasped
around his throat.  "Listen, Father Fulrad.  Liutrad
once wrote that he had told you of my betrothal.  It
was a secret which promised me joy; but it has brought
me sorrow instead.  Through all these years I have
sent message after message to my little may, ever
faithful to my pledge, ever longing for a word of love in
answer.  But she is silent,--she has forgotten me in
your cold cloisters."

"Forgotten!" cried Gerold, in protest.  But Fulrad
made a hasty sign to him to be silent, and answered Olvir
gravely: "Be patient, my son.  Much may chance in so long
a time.  The maiden was yet a child.  None can say whether
or not she has forgotten you.  However that may be, bear
in mind that you have won high favor in the king's eye.
That alone should give you joy."

"Nor have you altogether lacked the joy of battle,
Olvir," added Gerold.  "Liutrad has told me how, at the
very first, you searched out the mountain Vascons in their
fastnesses, and avenged the death of Roland."

"Vengeance?  I found little joy in that.  There was
more in the finding of Ironbiter, my brother's sword, which
he flung among the swart Saracens, and which Floki took
from a dying Vascon.  I 'd had enough of blood."

"No need to tell us, my son, how you turned to the
arts of peace.  You have ruled with wisdom; you have
tempered justice with mercy.  Few counts give heed to the
welfare of those they rule.  You, not content with the
administration of justice, have aided the landfolk out of your
own treasure.  The Lombards whom you brought in have
shown the folk better methods of tillage, and I hear that
our own men have sought to teach the rude shipwrights
of Bordeaux your Norse art of shipbuilding.  Our lord king
will not soon forget such deeds."

"If he approve them, why, then, does he deal so
harshly with the Saxons?" demanded Olvir, with sudden
heat.  "No Frank pays the tithe he has put upon the
forest-folk.  He has taken away their cherished freedom,
and saddled them with stern laws that will goad them to
revolt."

"No, no, lad; only to crush out their stubborn heathenism."

"A sight for the heathen fiend-gods!--a world-hero
priest-ridden!"

"Saint Michael, no, Olvir!" cried Gerold, and he burst
into a boyish laugh.  "You 'd not say that had you been
with us in Rome.  Listen!  It is now some five years since
one of the learned deacons found a parchment, under seal
by the Kaiser Constantine, whom men call the Great, giving
to the Holy Father the title to Rome and all Italy.  Yet
our lord king set aside the claim, and, as you know, caused
the Holy Father to crown little Carloman as King of Italy,
under the name of Pepin."

"By Thor! those are good tidings.  I had not heard
that part of the tale, though I heard of the crowning of the
bairns.  William of Toulouse saw to that.  The short-nosed
count wrote to me, in the name of King Louis of Aquitania,
demanding aid in his war against the Saracens.  I sent back
word that the Count of the Vascon Mark was not the man
of any bairn or of any bairn's nurse."

"We heard of that sending, Olvir, even in the Saxon
Mark," said Gerold.  "William did not trouble you the
second time."

"No; but the shrewd Neustrian waited his chance, as
you know.  And now, by Thor, I'm done with all that.
Like my sea-wolves, I 've sickened of this mild Southland.
Ho for the gritting snow and the icy breath of the
frost-giant!" and the sea-king thrust over the Raven's tiller to
steer out into the open sea.

The voyage Rhineward was very boisterous for the
season, and Abbot Fulrad spent much of his time on a cot
beneath the Raven's quarter-deck.  But Gerold proved
himself a better sailor, and after the second day was able to
keep his place with Olvir beside the tiller.  Standing thus,
with the noble ship beneath him racing at the head of the
fleet, Gerold could not only comprehend, but could share
in the Northman's keen enjoyment of the whistling gale
and the high-leaping waves.  He felt, as few landsmen
might, the wild fascination of the viking life.

But when Olvir began to talk of Trondheim Fiord and
the joys of a home visit, Gerold quickly sought to turn his
thoughts back to the honors and friendships he had won in
Frank Land.  The king was eager to see his Dane hawk,
and it was not right for Olvir to delay for even a short visit
in the North.  What might he not expect of the king's
favor, when Worad, who was not half so learned, had been
raised to the judgment-seat of the Count Palatine?  Then
there was Liutrad, beloved of all in the king's hall, and one
of the foremost pupils in Alcuin's School of the Palace,--ah,
yes, Alcuin!  Surely Olvir would be eager to meet the
famed Anglo-Saxon scholar, whom the king had at last
induced to come to his court.

To all this Olvir listened with a cold ear.  But when,
having vainly tried to arouse interest by tales of Fastrada's
unsuccessful suitors, and of her reputed dabblings in
witchcraft with the Magian leech Kosru, Gerold at last gained
leave of Fulrad to tell how the king had finally yielded to
the wish of Hildegarde, and bidden Rothada to leave the
Convent of Chelles, in which she had so long secluded
herself, he struck the right note to stir his companion.  He had
then only to add the rumor that the king's purpose in
compelling the presence of the daughter of Himiltrude was to
betroth her to some outland king.

Here were tidings which touched Olvir to the quick.
From the moment he heard them he was aflame to reach
the Rhine and the hall of Karl.  He might have been
willing to forgo the king's favor; but the possibility
of Rothada--the little vala--being betrothed to another
roused all the tender love and affection which he felt
toward the maiden, and intensified that love tenfold by
a single touch of jealousy.

His should be the king's daughter, if it were within the
power of man to win her!  The thought that the king
planned to give her to another stirred him to deepest anger,
which, when it left his heart, gave place to a great longing
to see again the little maiden's violet eyes and pure young
face.

And so, while the Raven drove on up the stormy
channel, the sea-king no longer saw rising before him the
iron cliffs of old Norway.  In his thoughts were now
pictured the quiet convent garden of Chelles, and in that
garden, walking among the roses with Gisela, his little
may, sweeter than ever, and no longer a child.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`CHAPTER 2-II`:

.. class:: center large

   CHAPTER II

.. vspace:: 2

|   It is marvel
|   And the red blood
|   Runs not as the rain
|   Runs in the street.
|                   FINNESBURH.

.. vspace:: 2

When at last the gale-driven fleet
sighted the dune shores of the
old Rhine Mouth, and the ships
steered in across the bar, no time
was lost in beginning the ascent
of the river.  From a passing
Frisian trader, the crews learned
that war had broken out anew
in Saxon Land; and after such
tidings there was no need to
urge the viking oarsmen to their benches whenever, in
rounding the wide bends of the stream, the breeze chanced
to come ahead.  Olvir was not more eager than were they
to reach Mayence, where both Abbot Fulrad and Gerold
thought they might now look to find Karl and the court.
When the *missi* started south, the king was about to leave
for Aix, to enjoy the warm baths, and plan the building of
the grand palace and the domchurch, which were so long
to commemorate his reign.  By this time, however, he
should have returned to the Rhinegau, to urge on the
construction of the new palace of Ingleheim.

But as the fleet lay to for provisions at the great
stone bridge of Constantine, which spanned the Rhine at
Cologne, the monks of Saint Martin of the Isle brought full
account of the bloody disaster at Sunthal, to avenge which
Karl the King had a month since gathered a great host
and swept north into Saxon Land.

The various stories of the battle, though contradictory
on many points, all agreed as to the main outline.  The
Sorbs, taking advantage of the fact that the grim Count
Rudulf lay at Fulda helpless from the goring of a wild
boar, had stirred up trouble in their mark.  To quiet them,
Karl had levied a host, under the command of Count
Worad, the High Marshal Gilo, and Adalgis the Chamberlain,
and had unwisely added to the host a contingent of
Saxons.

In the midst of the forest these Saxons had deserted
and fled across Eastphalia, to join the great war-earl
Wittikind, who had once more returned from Denmark with
fire and sword.  Following the deserters to the Weser,
the Franks came upon a small host under the command
of Count Teutoric of the Frisian Mark, who had counselled
that all should join in a united attack on the Saxon camp.

But the jealous counts planned secretly to make the
attack without the famed kinsman of the king.  Thinking
to overwhelm the Saxons by the impetuosity of their
assault, they had rushed upon the Saxon war-hedges in
wildest disorder; only to be caught by the crafty Wittikind as
Herman, his great predecessor, had trapped the Roman
Varus.  The greater part of the Frankish host, including
Adalgis, Gilo, and twenty counts, had been slaughtered,
and Count Worad had barely managed to bring three
hundred warriors out of the ambush.

After such tidings there was no longer holding the
vikings in check.  The ships were at once left in charge of
a scanty ship-watch, and with the swiftness of a mounted
levy the vikings swept north from the Rhine toward the
Saxon Mark.

But near the Ruhr a rumor reached the eager band
that the king was now at Fulda; and Olvir, at the
urgent request of Abbot Fulrad, turned aside toward
the monastery.

The march to Fulda across the war-trampled fields of
Hesse was taken far more leisurely than the rush from the
Rhine.  The vikings had little heart for turning aside, and
there was much grumbling among them at being cheated
of the merry sword-play.  Even at their slower pace,
however, the third day found them close upon their journey's
end, where they were fated to hear that which should cool
the blood-fever of the grimmest berserk in their number.

Marching through the wild beech forest, the Norse
band came upon Fulda late in the day.  They found the
half-cleared groves around the monastery filled with the
booths of the Frankish host, and everywhere, by scores and
by hundreds, the leathern-jerkined warriors were to be seen
cooking their evening meal, or seated in groups to eat.

It was the time of day when the men of a victorious
host should have broken into song and merriment.  But a
hush lay upon the Frankish camp, and the faces of the less
brutal among the warriors bore the gloomy look of
defeated men.

Uneasy with forebodings of evil, Abbot Fulrad spurred
on to the monastery to see the king, and Gerold rode with
him.  Confident in the speed of Zora to overtake them,
Olvir waited to direct the arrangement of the viking camp;
but a quarrel between two berserks delayed him longer
than he had intended.  He had at last pacified the angry
men, and was about to spring upon Zora, when Liutrad
Erlingson came galloping through the wood, afire with
eagerness to greet his beloved earl.  Leaping from the
saddle, he flung his arms about Olvir and held him fast,
too overjoyed to speak.

Olvir met the bear-like hug with a grip that forced the
breath from the broad chest of his captor, and then,
slipping eel-like from the massive arms, he stepped back to
view the young giant.

Like Gerold, Liutrad had not yet lost all his boyishness
of look and bearing.  His blue eyes lacked none of
their old-time frankness, and his ruddy face still showed to
the world the kindly spirit which dwelt within.  Yet across
his forehead was drawn a newly creased line, and there was
a look in his eyes which even his joy at the meeting could
not altogether hide.

"How now, son of Erling?" demanded Olvir.  "Have
the Christian priests taken the heart from your breast?
You look as do these moody Franks.  Has the whole
Christian host seen a bloody guardian-sprite?"

"Ah, Christ! do not speak of blood!" cried Liutrad,
and he threw up his arm before his eyes.

"Read me the riddle, then," rejoined Olvir.  "I wait."

"Would that another might tell that tale,
ring-breaker!  Holy Mother!  I see all again,--the bloody
swords, the headless slain splashing into the Aller!"

"Thor!" muttered Olvir.  "I had yet to learn that
Christians could sicken at thought of sword-play."

"Sword-play! sword-play!" echoed Liutrad.  "It was
no sword-play, earl; it was slaughter."

"Out with it, lad.  You speak in riddles."

"Yet it seems to me, earl, that the wide world must
have thundered with the tidings.  But listen.  When the
king in his wrath swept north through Saxon Land,
Wittikind fled back again to Nordmannia, and all the
forest-dwellers stooped beneath the heel of the Frank.  At
Verden, on the Aller, the king called before him the earls
and eldormen of the Saxon folk.  They came in a multitude,
crying out against Wittikind, who had stirred them to take
up the sword, and submitted themselves humbly to the will
of the king.  Some were thrust forward by their fellows,
and many more stood out of themselves to meet, as leaders
of the revolt, the expected doom.  But the king was in no
mood to content himself with so small a vengeance.  The
blood-mist was before his eyes,--he was maddened by the
harrying of the forest-wolves.  Of all the high-born
Saxons,--four thousand and more earls and eldormen,--not one
was spared.  In a single day the heads of all were hewn off
and their bodies cast into the Aller.  The stream flowed
red into the Weser,--God grant I soon forget that sight!"

Again Liutrad flung up his arm before his eyes, and
stood shuddering.  Olvir waited, silent and seemingly
calm; but the lines about his mouth drew tense, and his
dark eyes gazed past Liutrad into vacancy.

When the son of Erling dropped his arm, Olvir turned
on his heel, without a word, and started to lead Zora back
to his tent.

"Stay, earl!" exclaimed Liutrad.  "The king will be
waiting to welcome you."

"He may wait," answered Olvir, very quietly, and he
kept on until lost to view beneath the striped viking tilt
from which fluttered his starred banner.

When Liutrad, after greeting Floki and the crews,
presently ventured to peer into Olvir's tent, he saw him
seated beside a torch, alternately reading marked passages
in a pair of use-worn books.  One of the books was new to
Liutrad, both in binding and script; but the other he at
once recognized as Otkar Jotuntop's Greek Gospels.  At
his cry of surprise, Olvir bade him enter and be seated,
and then resumed his reading; but now he read aloud.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`CHAPTER 2-III`:

.. class:: center large

   CHAPTER III

.. vspace:: 2

|   Too baleful vengeance
|   Wroughtest thou.
|                   WHETTING OF GUDRUN.

.. vspace:: 2

Vainly did Karl the King look
that night for the coming of his
Dane hawk.  Neither Olvir nor
Liutrad stirred from the viking
camp.  Nor did they go out in
the morning until the king sent
Gerold to call Olvir before him.

Though the bidding was
worded in terms of heartiest
praise, and though Gerold spoke
it with the delight of one who sees a beloved friend about
to attain the highest honors, Floki alone heard the message
with pleasure.  Liutrad turned quickly to his earl, with a
troubled look, as though he dreaded some rash outburst.
But his dread was baseless.  Olvir showed neither delight
nor anger.  As quietly as he had led Zora back to the tent
the evening before, he now called for the mare, and rode
off to do the king's bidding.

Very shortly the three riders came to the monastery
gates and entered the great courtyard.  At the door of the
hospice they leaped off, and, without pausing to exchange
greeting with the counts who stood about the yard, turned
at once to enter.  As they passed through the doorway,
Olvir stepped before his companions and gazed up the long
guest-hall.  Beyond the square of white light which poured
down through the roof-hole, he perceived a group of men
in the semi-gloom at the far end of the room.  The king
stood with his back to the entrance; but Olvir knew him
at once by his powerful figure and the stateliness of his
bearing.

Then, in turn, he made out Abbot Fulrad and Count
Hardrat, old Rudulf of the Sorb Mark, and Baugulf, who
had been chosen abbot in the year 780, when the venerable
Sturm departed this life.  There was one other present,--a
stooped, thin-faced priest, unknown to Olvir.

The three young warriors had hardly crossed the
threshold when Rudulf's slit eyes caught sight of them.
At his guttural exclamation, Karl faced about and peered
down the hall.  In a moment he had recognized Olvir by
the brightness of his mail, and was advancing with swift
strides to meet him.  The counts and priests followed,
Rudulf supported between the two abbots.

Olvir and the king met in the full light beneath the
roof-hole.  The Northman's face was pale and stern, and as
he halted, he raised his hand in formal salute.  But Karl
gave no heed to this coldness.  His great hands clasped
Olvir by the shoulders, and he stood beaming down into
the young man's hard-set face.

"Greeting! greeting to my just steward,--to my
bright Dane!" he cried.  "We grieve that you no longer
rule over the folk of Vascon Land; but greater is our joy
to welcome you in our presence."

Olvir quivered beneath the royal praise as though he
had been struck, and his face flushed hotly.  But, curbing
his anger, he gazed direct into the king's eyes and
answered with cold deliberation: "For whatever I have done,
lord king, I have been repaid in full.  Once the praise of
the King of the Franks would have tasted sweet in my
mouth; now gall is not more bitter."

A cry of amazement burst from the lips of the priests
and counts, and Karl himself stepped back, frowning and
bewildered.

"How now, Olvir?" he demanded.  "What riddle is this?"

"A simple one, lord king.  I 've had my fill of Christian
ways.  I would be faring over the whale-road, to a
land where even the mad berserk slaughters only in the
heat of battle."

"*Heu*! *heu*! down with the traitor!" shouted Rudulf
and Hardrat in a breath, and the red-faced count tore
his sword from its sheath.  But Karl, with a sweeping
side-stroke, like the blow of a lion's paw, met
Hardrat's forward spring, and flung him sprawling upon the
rushes.

For a little, while the others stood staring, some
flushed and indignant, others pale with anxiety for their
outland friend, Karl gazed down upon the Northman, his
broad chest slowly heaving beneath his folded arms.
Presently the look of half-angry wonderment which had seamed
his face with deep lines gave place to a calm like that of
his daring reproacher.  He extended his hand, and replied
to Olvir, not as the over-lord of half Europe to his retainer,
but as man to man.

"Friend," he said with simple dignity, "you charge
me with cold slaughter.  God judge if I was cold!  Had
I not looked upon a harried land,--upon desecrated
churches, upon priests and monks of God, helpless women
and babes tortured with fiendish cruelty?  Cold!  My
reproach is that I doomed the murderous traitors while
wrath inflamed my soul.  However stern the judgment,
the judge should not speak in anger.  That alone I regret."

"Whether the sword fell in anger or in coldness, what
Christian can justify such a slaying?" rejoined Olvir.

"Upon my head be it!" answered Karl, firmly.  "If
I have done wrong, mine is the retribution.  But by the
King of Heaven, I swear, I stand here with a clear
conscience.  Listen, Olvir.  Your wits are keen as your sword;
you have eyes.  You shall look into my heart and see what
I have set before me as the aim of my lifework.  If when
you have looked, you would still be faring, I shall not urge
you to stay."

"Beware, lord king," growled Rudulf.  "Would you
tell the riddles of your kingcraft into the ears of this
heathen Dane?"

"Silence, old wolf!" commanded Karl.  "Who has
better proved his trustiness than the Count of Vascon
Land?  But your warning comes in good season.  I speak
with Count Olvir alone."

Hushed by the rebuke, all silently withdrew with the
Grey Wolf to where Hardrat stood brooding over his
humiliation.  When they were beyond ear-shot, Karl turned
to the Northman, his face aglow with inward light.

"Again, Olvir, I call you friend," he began.  "It is a
precious word in the heart of a king; for it is seldom he
can so name any man.  I bear in mind how even at the
first, at Casseneuil, you uttered words that were bitter,
yet wholesome.  I were a witling if I failed to value at
the full one who has proved himself a just ruler,--one who
dares speak his heart's thought in the face of a king,
recking nothing of the king's disfavor.  In all my realm I can
name only two such men,--yonder deacon, whom men call
Alcuin the Scholar, and yourself."

"He--Alcuin of York?"

"The Northumbrian.  Why have I drawn the pale
student from his island home, and made him gift of abbeys
and lands?  Be sure it is not alone that he is learned and
the priests of my realm are unlearned,--not alone that
he shall be a light to illumine the night of our ignorance.
Rather is it that he, like yourself, Olvir, is a man who puts
truth first and the king second.  Therefore I have
honored him, and therefore I shall honor you.  I shall do for
you that which tears my very heart-strings.  The day
when you bow to our Lord Christ in baptism, that day I
will betroth to you Rothada, my daughter."

Abruptly Karl paused and looked at the Northman.
Olvir stood staring, half-dazed.  He had steeled himself to
meet reproach, anger, even flattery; but this mode of
attack was unforeseen.  All too clearly he realized the full
meaning of the king's words; he had only to comply, and
honors, power, riches, love, the little vala,--all were his.
A deep flush reddened his dark face; his eyes sank before
the king's kindly smile, and for a while he stood
speechless.  But then the flush faded from his cheeks, and he
looked up, calm as before, and his eyes glowing with a
strange light.

"My lord king has honored me with his praise," he
said.  "Yet he bids me stay, not because he has justified
the bloody deed of Verden, but because by staying I may
win a bride.  It is a tempting offer.  Were the maiden
here before me, I doubt if I should have strength to
withstand it; and then your Majesty would be certain loser.
Should I sell my truth, even at such a price, the king's
truthful friend would be farther away than Trondheim
Fiord."

Karl studied the speaker with a steady gaze, and at
the end smiled in keenest satisfaction.

"I have not wittingly tempted you, Olvir," he replied.
"It was in no sense as a bargain that I spoke of Rothada.
Yet I rejoice at this added proof of your worth.  Listen
now to the aim of my statecraft.  If I do not justify my
ways in your sight, I bid you God-speed."

"Do not believe, sire, that I long to go.  I can value
at its true worth the friendship of one whom I know to be
a world-hero, and--and I have not forgotten my little may."

"Friendship and maiden,--both shall be yours, Olvir,
if my tongue can make clear what is in my heart.  You
charge me with slaughter.  The King of Heaven is my
witness whether I wage war for blood.  If I seek dominion, I
seek it for the good of men and the fulfilment of God's
will.  Were you not a heathen, I would bid you read that
grand writing,--Augustine's 'City of God.'"

"As to Christian writings, sire, I am content with the
words of the White Christ," replied Olvir.

Karl gazed fixedly at the Northman, his brows
gathered in deep thought.

"I wish that you had read Augustine's 'City,'" he
repeated.  "It would make plain to you the course of my
statecraft.  But it seems that I must light the way myself.
First, I would have you look at the world through my eyes.
If yours then see a difference, I ask you to tell me.  Now
let us gaze out upon the wide world, Olvir.  What do we
see in the East?--that vast giant of the past, the
Empire of the East Romans, within a hundred years shorn
of Egypt and Africa, of Armenia and Syria, by the fiery
Saracens, before whose attacks the Christian Marks still
crumble and wane.  Look to the South,--that same pagan
horde, winners and still fast holders of nine parts of the
Christian Goth realm.  Look to the Northeast,--hordes
of savage Wends and Avars, waiting only a new Attila to
sweep Europe with a second Hunnic harrying.  Does my
Dane hawk see?"

"I see, lord king."

"Then look beyond Rhine Stream, into the forests
whence came Burgundians and Lombards, Allemanni and
Bavarians, and my own folk, the tribes of the Franks.  I
have heard told the great story of the past,--how, one and
then another, the wild hordes of the North came swarming
from their forests, to crush and trample the Western
Empire.  They slew the priests of Holy Church, and trampled
under foot all learning and goodness and art, until God, in
His grace, bent Clovis the Merwing to His will."

"A word, lord king.  I, too, have heard how the free
forest-folk broke the sway of the subtle Romans.  Who
looks for praise on the lips of his foe?  Bear in mind, sire,
those who wrote the tale.  Were not the scribes Romans?
And what destruction of good could there be, when their
own scribes who went before told how the realm was
tainted throughout with utter foulness?  The heathen
warriors of the forest at least honored women and truth, and
were free men.  If, through contact with the Christian
Romans, they forgot those traits--"

"Stay a little, lad.  Is the Frank more false, more
impure than the Saxon?"

"If Otkar spoke truth, lord king, the Saxons are purer
than the Franks, and they are free; while in Frank Land
I see a race of free men fast sinking into thraldom.  As
to the falseness of the Saxon, has not the forest-dweller
learned the use of lies from across Rhine Stream?"

"My faith, you strike hard!  But whether or no I
give assent to that, it matters little.  At the least, the
heathen hosts of old-time shattered the peace and order of
Rome.  Where was peace, came war; where was safety,
came peril.  Order was swept away, and confusion reigned;
and still it reigns throughout the Western World.  But--listen,
Olvir--I have set for myself the task of bringing
again the old-time peace and order.  Within my kingdom
and upon my borders, where men are now given over to
brute lust and murder, they shall learn to bend to just laws.
Count and bishop, abbot and judge, free man and slave,--all
hearts shall enshrine the image of our Lord Christ!"

Flushed with self-aroused ardor, Karl looked inquiringly
at his stern-faced listener.

Olvir was staring straight before him, intent on the
words of the royal speaker.  It was evident that his doubts
were not yet satisfied, and so, after a moment's pause, Karl
spoke on: "What more need I say, Olvir?  You have seen
how the heathen hedge in my kingdom on three sides,--how
within my borders the mass of my own folk drag upon
my skirts with the weight of their ignorance and sinful
living.  Even I must at times bend and smile,--must
swallow the gibe, and stoop to some landed lordling whose
benefice was bestowed upon his father by my father, yet
which he now makes pretence of holding by the new and
unlawful claim of heritage.  Does the son of Thorbiorn
believe that I am one to eat with pleasure a dish so
seasoned?  Yet I smile and bide my time.  My thought is
other than of kingly dignity.  Before all else I have set my
task to bring about peace and order and enlightenment;
and there, by God's grace, shall it stand, until my realm
has passed out of the night of ignorance into the full day
of bright learning,--until justice reigns throughout my
kingdom, as for these four years past it has reigned in
Vascon Land."

"By Thor!" cried Olvir, "now do I see!  You, sire,
are even such a king as was sought by Socrates the
Greek,--a golden king, a king who loves wisdom."

"I have heard of that Greek.  You shall tell me of his
words another time.  Now I seek to justify my deeds.
Already you give praise, yet I will speak further.  Weigh
well what I have said,--the task I would work out; the
dangers I must withstand.  I have not named all which
threaten my realm.  There is yet another looming in the
future,--one which I should have no need to name to you.
Beyond the forests and fens of Saxon Land I see rising a
cloud black with menace to Christendom.  Am I blind, my
Dane hawk?  Have I not watched with a heedful eye the
bearing of your sea-wolves?  Have I not measured in battle
the shock of those fierce warriors who follow Wittikind
from Sigfrid's realm?  Your folk are at home both on land
and sea.  Where your own ships have come, others will
follow, and there will not always be king's daughters to
turn their crews from harrying.  I foresee a great peril in
the North.  My sons will have enough to defend the long
coast lines of Neustria and Frisia, without the open door
of a heathen Saxon land for your wild Dane folk to enter.
Therefore I press upon the rebellious Saxons with my whole
power, that I may crush out the last spark of their savagery
and heathenism.  I have been mild,--I have sought to win
them by kindness.  But they have rebelled many times,
and, not content with bowing to their fiend-gods, they have
harried my borders with fire and sword.  Must I then
forgo vengeance because the oath-breakers come before
me to seek pardon, their hands yet red with the blood of
priests and babes?  No, by the King of Heaven!  I have
wreaked fitting vengeance upon the murderers.  Once for
all time I have crushed the forest-wolves.  Now, what says
my bright Dane?"

Olvir stood silent for a while, tapping the jewelled
hilt of Al-hatif.  Then he answered deliberately: "I have
weighed well your words, sire, and now wish to remain
your liegeman.  Already I knew you a world-hero; you
have proved yourself yet more,--a king who seeks first
the welfare of his people.  Yet do not mistake me, lord
king.  Though, in the eyes of men, your task and the
ruthless harrying by your foe may justify that bloody deed, I
still hold that nowhere can you find justification in the
words of the White Christ.  Yet more, I hold that by this
deed you have also failed in kingcraft."

"How then?" demanded Karl.  "If it cow the forest-wolves,
there will be more saved in blood and woe--"

"But will it daunt those sons of Odin?" broke in
Olvir.  "The Saxon is no soft Aquitanian or Romanized
Lombard.  Does the she-wolf run when her young are
struck?  Rather, she turns and rends the hunter.  So shall
the forest-dwellers rush to attack you."

"God forbid!  If such be the fruit of Verden, I will
freely own myself at fault.  But such shall not be.  The
stiff-necked heathen are broken.  And now, enough of that
which is past.  I again hold you to be what you have
proved yourself these four years gone,--a friend and a
helper in my lifework."

"I cannot pledge my followers, lord king.  They are
free vikings, not henchmen.  They may go, or they may
stay.  But I can pledge myself.  In the days to come, it will
be fair cause for boasting that one has had a hand with
Karl the King in the uplifting of men."

"True, lad; and I welcome your learning and keen wit
even as I welcome the wisdom of yonder scholar.  Ho,
Brother Alcuin, come forward with your fellows!  Come,
greet my bright Dane!"

At the bidding, the thin-faced deacon advanced before
the counts and abbots and saluted Olvir gravely.

"In the name of our Lord Christ," he said, "I greet
joyfully the high earl who in deed, if not in word, has ruled
his earldom as a true Christian."

"Yet I am no Christian," answered Olvir.  "The sayings
of the White Christ are hard to live.  I follow such as
lie within my strength.  In time I may gain strength to
follow more; but he who has been reared to manhood with
a bared sword in his hand is slow to forget the joy of battle.
At the least, I shall never fetter the wit which God has
given me, nor stoop from my freedom to the yoke of your
church.  If you Christian priests can read the words of the
White Christ, so can I.  But I would not contend.  You
have come with the lamp of learning to lighten the gloom
of our lord king's broad realm.  I rejoice with him at your
coming, and whatever of power lies within me, I give it
freely and gladly in aid of the good work."

"Young man," interposed Abbot Baugulf, "before
you offer your aid, you should first seek to know whether
such would be acceptable in the sight of God.  Has He
need of heretics to do His holy work?  We hope the charge
may prove untrue; but I grieve to say that many times
word has come from the Southland of how you made a
scoff of Holy Church, and of the first bishop of Christ's
fold, His Holiness the Pope; how, with sacrilegious force,
you went so far as to drag from holy sanctuary--from the
very altar of God's temple--one who had thrown himself
upon the mercy of our Heavenly Father."

"That is a lie, lord abbot," answered Olvir, coolly.
"I and my men sat down around the church, and after
a time the slayer crept out to meet his doom.  If one may
not enter a wrongdoer's house to force out the guilty
owner, much less should one force the nithing from God's
house.  I did not break sanctuary; you have given ear to
a lie."

"Lie or not, it would be fitting for you first to bow to
the vicar of our Lord Christ before you thrust yourself
into Christ's service."

"Brother," interposed Fulrad, "what do we eat,--the
kernel or the husk?  The learned Alcuin has spoken of
Count Olvir's righteous deeds in Vascon Land; you speak
of the false tales sent out by those who sought to withstand
the justice of their lawful ruler.  Count Gerold and myself
have searched closely into the affairs of the Vascon Mark.
I need only mention the year of famine, when Count Olvir
sold a fourth of the gems of his Saracen treasure, and gave
the price in alms to the poor of his mark.  He may be
unorthodox in name, but his deeds were surely Christian."

"If Father Fulrad speaks for peace, I will also seek to
curb my tongue," said Olvir.

"And none shall goad you, my son.  We will stand
together in good acts, and avoid the strife of tongues."

"My bright Dane is free to speak at all times," interposed
Karl, quickly.  "None the less, the thought is good.
Our searchings for truth shall be without bitterness.  The
land is now at peace, and we go to Thionville, to set about
the great task of order and learning."

"God speed the good work!" cried Abbot Baugulf,
and all around echoed the prayer.





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.. _`CHAPTER 2-IV`:

.. class:: center large

   CHAPTER IV

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|   Green go the ways
|   Toward the hall of Guiki,
|   That the fates show forth
|   To those who fare thither;
|   There the rich king
|   Reareth a daughter.
|                   LAY OF REGIN.

.. vspace:: 2

The most subtle courtiership
could not have gained for Olvir
half the honors which his bold
stand for truth had won for
him by confirming the esteem
and friendship of the king.  But
Karl, like all great leaders,
looked for unstinted service in
turn for unstinted honors.  And
so it was that even before the
Frankish host moved Rhineward, he singled out the young
Northman to go with Gerold and Abbot Fulrad as special
*missi* to Italy.

To Rome and back was no short journey.  After a
tedious delay over the affairs of Pope Hadrian, there were
months to be spent aiding old Barnard in settling the
administration of the new Kingdom of Italy.  So that summer
and autumn had passed, and the December snows lay white
on the banks of the Moselle, when at last the three came
back from the Southland.

They had lain over-night at Metz, and as the roads
were fair, the sixteen miles which made up the last stage of
their long journey was covered with ease during the forenoon.
A little short of Thionville, they stopped at an inn
for the noon meal.  Then, after Olvir had groomed Zora,
and all three had looked to their dress, they rode on quietly
toward the villa.

The first to greet the wayfarers were a party of vikings
who had been hunting up the Moselle.  At their head
stalked Floki the Crane, and beside him rode Pepin
Hunchback and young Karl, to whom the tall giant had been
teaching woodcraft.

It was a question who were most delighted over
the unexpected meeting,--the king's sons or their Norse
guard.  All crowded around the *missi*, with shouts of
welcome, so that it was some little time before the party could
move on.  Then Gerold and Abbot Fulrad rode ahead with
the king's sons, and Olvir followed in the midst of his
overjoyed warriors.  The young earl's own face was aglow;
but, true leader as he was, he lost no time in learning the
condition of his men.  He had no need to ask twice.  At
the first question, Floki pointed down the Moselle bank to
the ship-sheds and the high-peaked Norse hall in the midst
of the viking huts.

"All's well with your sea-wolves, ring-breaker," he
croaked.  "We have thatched enough roofs to shelter every
head, and the Frank king gives with an open hand."

"Good!  Now I will ride on with my fellow heralds,
to speak our tidings to the king.  But I will be with you
by nightfall, old Crane," replied Olvir; and, at a word,
Zora leaped forward to the side of Abbot Fulrad's ambling
mule.

There were none but house-slaves at the villa gate to
greet the *missi*.  The greater number of the courtiers were
sleeping after the noon meal.  Gerold would have called
the doorward; but Pepin and young Karl ran ahead to
their father's chamber, and themselves announced the
wayfarers.  As the three paused at the curtained doorway, the
king's voice, clear and resonant with pleasure, called upon
them to enter.

Fulrad at once thrust aside the curtains and stepped
within the chamber, followed closely by his journey mates.
Karl, who had been lying upon a fur-heaped couch, was
already on his feet, gathering his long cloak about his
half-clad shoulders.  As Fulrad and Gerold advanced to kiss his
extended hand, Liutrad, who had been alone with him in
the room, reading from Augustine, flung down the book,
and ran to meet Olvir.

"Welcome, ring-breaker!" he cried; "thrice welcome,
in the name of our Lord Christ!"

"Greeting, lad, in the name of Truth and Life,"
rejoined Olvir, and, gripping the young giant in his arms, he
lifted him clean off his feet, in the sheer joy of friendship.
As they parted, an eager question as to Rothada sprang to
his lips; but the answer was interrupted by the king's
imperious call: "You, too, my bright Dane!  I would look
again into those eyes of starlit darkness."

"It would seem that your Majesty has been studying
skald-craft," replied Olvir, and he sprang forward, his
black eyes sparkling.

Karl's powerful hands closed upon his shoulders, and
the clear grey eyes gazed down into his face, aglow with
friendliness.

"Welcome, Olvir, in the words of Liutrad," he said.
"Christ is Truth and Life, and you have both in good
share.  What says Father Fulrad?"

"His deeds, sire, abound in the spirit of Christ.  If
only he would bend his stiff knee to Christ's vicar!"
murmured Fulrad, regretfully.  "Even the very presence of
the Holy Father failed to move him to reverence."

A slight cloud shadowed the king's face; but soon a
smile again brightened it, and he answered confidently:
"Give him time,--give the lad time, father.  He has found
the true kernel; the rest will follow.  I look for yourself
and Alcuin to win him over before the springtime.  And
now to the matters of your mission.  The school hour is
drawing near.  Go, my sons; hold watch in the hall to
warn us, lest we keep the learned deacon waiting."

"First, a word to the bairns, lord king," interposed
Olvir, and he sprang to catch young Karl as the active boy
was darting past, in lead of his crook-backed brother.

"Say out," answered the king, smiling in response to
the gleeful shout of the boy as Olvir swung him arm's
length overhead.  Olvir lowered the boy, to place one hand
on his tawny head.  The other he rested on Pepin's glossy
locks, so like the chestnut tresses of his sister.

"Listen, lads," he said.  "Yule-tide draws near, and
my vikings will be having games.  It is fitting that the
king's sons should prove themselves skilled in
weapon-play.  Come to me in the morning, that I may see how
well the grey Crane has trained you in our Norse games."

"We have not lacked willingness to learn, Lord
Olvir," replied Pepin, and his pale face flushed with
pleasure as he caught the approving smile of his hero-count.

"Not we, by Thor!" cried young Karl, and he
thumped his sturdy little chest with a red-knuckled fist.
"I shot a roebuck, and Pepin a stag of ten tynes; and
we--we trailed a boar."

"Which, I am minded, would have ended in two king's
sons the less, little boaster, had not Floki and I trailed you
in turn," broke in Liutrad.

"But we 'd already struck the quarry, Lord Olvir!
My spear--"

"Go; go, lads," interposed the king, with kindly
impatience.  "Another time you can tell of your deadly fray.
Now we have matters of state before us."

Pepin immediately ran from the chamber; but young
Karl lingered for a moment to whisper in Olvir's ear:
"Wait for me to tell of the boar.  I want to tell."

"There goes a king's son," observed Olvir, as the boy
darted away.

Karl nodded: "You say well, Olvir.  He is my main
hope; he shall be first among his brothers.  My people
would not stomach the luckless son of Himiltrude.  Though
the eldest, Pepin is not fitted in mind to stand before the
others.  Yet he shall have his fair portion.  I trust to you
four, above all others, to see that the son through whom
Heaven has afflicted me for my sins shall not suffer loss in
the allotting of my realm."

"We give heedful ear to your Majesty's wish," replied
Fulrad.  "And now let me deliver the last letter of His
Holiness."

With the words, he turned to fumble among the scrolls
which crowded his scrip; but before he could pick out the
Pope's missive, Pepin and young Karl came running back,
with word that Deacon Alcuin was in waiting.

Their father rose at once and signed to the abbot.

"Another time, Fulrad," he said.  "Come now and see
our school."





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.. _`CHAPTER 2-V`:

.. class:: center large

   CHAPTER V

.. vspace:: 2

|   Out then went Sigurd,
|   The great king's well-loved,
|   From the speech and the sorrow,
|   Sore drooping, sore grieving.
|                   VOLSUNGA SAGA.

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As the king passed down the main
corridor of the villa with Fulrad,
Liutrad touched the arm of his
earl, and Olvir, giving instant
heed to the sign, dropped behind
Gerold and the chattering young Franks.

"What now, lad?" he asked,
as the others hastened on.

For several paces Liutrad
walked along beside him without replying.  Then, his eyes
fixed upon the stone pavement, he stammered slowly:
"Ring-breaker,--friend,--I must speak out!  You
yourself first taught me runes, and so--and so--but already
you 're aware how I 've been drawn to the White Christ.
I know you 'll not be harsh.  There are Alcuin and Deacon
Paul and many others,--they speak powerfully.  I am
almost persuaded to become a monk."

"A monk!" cried Olvir.  "Has it come to this?
Would that long since I had called you aboard ship and
sailed away to Trondheim Fiord!  The son of Erling a
monk!--a beggarly, wifeless, kinless, childless *thing*!  By
Thor, sooner would I strike you dead!  Can you not
yourself read and put into deed the runes of the White Christ?
Did He not take part in the wedding feast at Cana?"

"True, Olvir; and I know well your horror of the
cloisters.  I, too, have felt that loathing."

"You may well say loathing!  Man is here on earth
to live,--to live in fulness of life, abounding in health and
strength for the joy and uplifting alike of himself and of
others.  What, then, is more holy than wedlock and the
rearing of strong sons and pure daughters for the welfare
of the land?"

"Enough, earl," replied Liutrad, in a low voice.  "I
shall never become a monk.  But I long to give myself to
Christ.  The secular clergy--"

"Rather, to the Bishop of Rome.  You 'd shear off
your long locks to become the thrall of a woman-clad
Roman.  But the evil is less than I dreaded.  Fulrad has
told me of the king's friendship for you.  Before many
years we may look to see Karl name you a bishop.  As
such, you 'd hold no small measure of power and wealth,--a
mitred priest-earl, with all the gold and wares and
lands of your bishopric to give or take according to your
own will.  You could do no little good among the
downtrodden poor folk.  So; it might be worse.  When I sail
home again to Lade, I shall not have to speak of the son
of Erling with face downcast, but can name him in full
voice a high liegeman of the Frank king,--an earl of the
White Christ."

"May it be long before you leave us, Olvir!"
exclaimed Liutrad, and he paused to clasp the hands of his
gravely smiling companion.  Then together they followed
the Franks into the great hall of the villa.

After the ornate magnificence of the Roman basilicas,
the audience-chamber appeared far less imposing to Olvir
than would have been the case before his Italian
mission.  Interesting as were the hunting trophies and the
rich tapestries which decorated the wall, he was more
attracted by the gaily clad group of lords and clergy
about the dais.

As the courtiers parted before the king, Olvir's gaze
fell upon the crafty, shrivelled face of Kosru, the Magian
leech, side by side with Count Hardrat's bloated visage.
Though more sober in look than of old, the Thuringian's
eyes had acquired a furtive glance, and his features had
grown much harsher in outline.

"There stand an odd pair of scholars for the Engleman,"
muttered Olvir.

"You mean Hardrat and the Asiaman.  The old leech
has long been known as a searcher for lore; but that such
a one as my red pig should show, little less hunger for
knowledge than the king himself is, to say the least, very
strange.  It is even said that he takes part with the leech
and Fastrada in their study of the black art.  Heaven
forfend, ring-breaker, that the daughter of Rudulf seek to
weave again the spell which she cast on you in the
Southland!"

"Never fear, lad; I 've seen the werwolf's teeth once.
There is no need for a second sight."

"Yet I beg you to beware, Olvir.  From Kosru, the
maiden has had the gift of a ring set with magic opal.  The
hues of the wonderful gem shift and change like the tints
of the maiden's eyes.  Few can withstand the power of that
spell; nor has the maiden lost the charm of her beauty.  In
face, as in form, she is lovelier than ever."

"Forewarned, forearmed," rejoined Olvir.  "And I
bear a charm to withstand all the spells of the
Thuringian,--the memory of a little child-maid."

"Rothada!  She came again from Chelles not a fortnight
since.  Our lord king gave her leave to go back when
you fared away to Italy.  But see; the king beckons to us.
No; it is to Abbot Fulrad.  Yet we should be seeking
our places; the others draw up their benches.  And here
comes the queen.  The school will soon open."

"Lead on," said Olvir, eager to draw nearer the
private passage by which Hildegarde and her maidens were
entering the hall.  Liutrad advanced at once; but the move
failed to bring his earl that which he sought.  Hildegarde
had paused just across the threshold, to meet the boisterous
welcome of Gerold; and while brother and sister
exchanged greetings, Olvir looked in vain for the face he
longed to see among the half-score of maidens who slipped
into the hall behind the queen.  While he yet stood there,
disappointed and hesitating, the queen turned to him from
Gerold.

"Welcome to my lord's bright Dane!" she said.  "I
see, Olvir, that your wrist is still burdened with my ring."

"I have never ceased to wear it, dear dame, with reverence
and gratitude for the giver," replied Olvir, as he
bowed to kiss the queen's extended hand.

Hildegarde gazed graciously into his dark face, and
answered him with quiet earnestness: "We seek to make
you a gift, Olvir, far more precious than any ring,--a
pearl beyond price.  There is now but one thing in the
way,--your resistance to the voice of Holy Church.  You
have won a warm place in our hearts, Olvir.  Consider
well, and do not let your pride bar your way into Christ's
fold."

"I shall weigh the matter with utmost care," said
Olvir; and the answer brought a glow to the anxious face
of the queen.  But while Liutrad and her brother escorted
the royal dame to the dais, he stood lost in thought, his
eyes fixed upon the rushes at his feet.

He was aroused by a well-remembered voice, whose
soft murmur would have been inaudible but for its
sibilance: "Welcome to Count Olvir!  Will he not let
bygones be bygones, and swear the peace-oath?"

Olvir started and stared keenly about him.  On his
right, framed as it were by the curtained doorway, and
almost within arm's length, stood the daughter of Rudulf,
gazing at him from beneath her drooping lashes with an
indescribable look,--a half-smile, full of insolence and
dread, of love and hate.  For the moment all the wild
whirl of conflicting emotions which the unexpected sight
of her former lover had aroused in the Thuringian's breast
stood out plain to view on her face, through its court-mask
of dissimulation.

Olvir had no need to look twice to assure himself
that Liutrad was not mistaken when he spoke of the
maiden's ripened beauty.  She had certainly lost none of
her former loveliness, and art had added no little to her
charms.  The purple dress, cut low after the latest Frankish
fashion, suggested every soft curve of the girl's rounded
form; her brown hair, with its gleams of gold, was bound
by a diadem of all but queenly splendor; while the fingers
of her right hand were covered with gem-rings half to the
tips.  But on her left hand, which she held out to the
Northman, there was only one ornament,--the ring whose
reputed magical powers had caused Liutrad so much
uneasiness.  It was fashioned of two miniature serpents, one
black, the other red, which held in their jaws an opal of
great size and peculiar fire.

For a moment Olvir stood hesitating; then he took
the girl's hand, and answered her gravely: "I take the
peace offered by Count Rudulf's daughter.  There is a
saying that those who have broken betrothal bonds can
never join in friendship.  I trust that with us it may prove
otherwise.  At the least, I shall seek to heal the wrong
which I wrought against you."

"And I, Olvir!" murmured the girl, the rich blood
leaping to her cheeks.  "I give thanks for your--friendship.
We were not fated to meet under the same roof with
cold hearts."

"True, maiden.  The past is past.  I rejoice that you
would now bury it, and accept friendship instead of
bitterness."

A look too subtle even for the Northman's eyes flitted
across the girl's face, and she tightened the handclasp
which he was relaxing.

"It is then peace and--friendship," she said.  "Come;
the questions begin,--Deacon Alcuin fingers his scrolls.
Yonder is a bench behind the others.  You shall sit beside
me and enlighten my dull wit."

"As you will," replied Olvir, and he turned at once to
comply.

As the couple seated themselves on a bench in the rear
of the main group of students, Alcuin selected one of the
scrolls handed him by his pupils, and bowed to the king.

"Your Majesty, all is in readiness," he said.

At the word, Karl glanced about the hall.  All present
except Alcuin were now seated; but the king gazed up and
down the benches until he caught sight of Olvir.  Then he
nodded and replied: "It is well; the lesson will now begin.
Summon all your lore, my dear teacher.  We have with us
to-day a new-comer whose wits are keen as his sword."

"Such learning, sire, as I have gained from the Holy
Fathers, I stand ready to impart.  But who may say that he
knows all of wisdom?  Not even Solomon, son of David,
could so claim."

"What is wisdom?" queried Karl.

"The fruit of knowledge,--the soul of learning."

"And learning?"

"The inscribed knowledge of the ancients."

"What says my bright Dane to that?"

Olvir started up at the question, and saluted the king.

"I am over-new in this game to take active part, sire,"
he said.  "I do not even know its rules."

"Another time, then, lad.  You will soon learn our
ways.  We will now follow the lessons set for the day.
Worad was to question Alcuin on dialectics."

As the young Frank rose to confront the master, Olvir
sat down again beside Fastrada, and fell to musing,
heedless alike of the learned disputants and of his fair
benchmate.

In the midst of his revery, he was roused by Fastrada,
who, under cover of Alcuin's voice, leaned over and
whispered softly: "Look, my hero friend.  Here comes one
whom I doubt if you can name.  Though she has not yet
taken the veil, Gisela has all but made a nun of her."

"How?  Ah!"

Rothada had come in by the queen's entrance, and was
already close at hand, gliding silently over the rushes.  It
was little wonder that Olvir, after the first quick start of
recognition, sat staring at the king's daughter, with lips
parted and black eyes glistening.  He did not see the
Rothada for whom he had looked.  That gay, bright-eyed
child-maid was gone, and in her stead was a maiden no less
lissome than the little vala, but taller, and grave with
habitual meditation.  The slight pallor of her face, together
with the spirituality of its look, gave to her features an
ethereal--almost unearthly--beauty.

As she was about to pass by, unconscious of his
presence, Olvir uttered a stifled cry.  Rothada looked down,
and met his eager gaze.  At sight of him she halted, as
though struck, and he could see her eyes widen and darken
with doubt and vague dread.  Her first impulse apparently
was to hasten on; but she checked herself, and was about
to speak, when she chanced to catch Fastrada's look of
insolent triumph.  At that a flush rose in her white cheeks,
and without a word of greeting she passed quickly by to
her stool, on the dais beside Hildegarde.

For a moment Olvir sat staring in utter bewilderment.
Then the hot blood leaped into his face, and he sprang to
his feet.  Heedless of the disputing scholars, of the
Thuringian, with her short-lived triumph, of the king himself,
he stalked down the hall, his head high, and his eyes
flashing.





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.. _`CHAPTER 2-VI`:

.. class:: center large

   CHAPTER VI

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|   One I loved,
|   One and none other,
|   The gold-decked may.
|                   LAY OF SIGURD.

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For several days Olvir avoided
the villa, pleading the need of
overlooking the affairs of his
men.  At last, however, Karl
himself, chancing to pass
through the viking camp from a
hunt down the Moselle, stopped
to bid Olvir attend the mass in
the royal chapel on Christmas
Day.  There could be no excuse
for failing to obey the direct command of the king, and
Olvir came to the service in his gayest dress.  But with
him for fellow he brought the grim Floki.

The gloomy chapel exhibited a sepulchral magnificence
well in keeping with the ascetic spirit of priest and
monk.  The few and broken sun-rays which struggled
in through the narrow windows glistened brightly on the
screens and gates of polished brass and the jewelled
images of kings and saints in the wall niches.  The nave,
crowded with courtly worshippers, was further brightened
by the glint of polished steel, the rich colors of precious
fabrics, and a bewildering display of gold and gems.

Yet the magnificence of the nave was nothing to the
splendor of the chancel.  There, from giant silver
candelabra, hundreds of tapers shed their radiance over the
sumptuous decorations of the altar, the gold crucifix, the
tapestries of white silk, emblazoned with griffins and
peacocks, the gold vessels of the officiating priests, and the
white cassocks of the Italian choir.

But notwithstanding the presence of king and court,
the solemn harmony of the Gregorian chants, and the
impressiveness of the ceremony as conducted by the
venerable Fulrad, there were two onlookers present who stood
throughout the mass unbending and irreverent.

"By the hair of Sif, ring-breaker," muttered Floki,
in the midst, "here is enough of gold to stock a dozen
godi-houses."

"It is nothing to the hoard in the temple of the godi
of Rome.  That is all but sheathed with gold, wrung by
Holy Church from the sweat and blood of slaves!  But I
will not give way to bitterness.  This is a merry day to the
Christian folk; we also will be light of heart.  Look how
the beams sparkle among the gem-stones.  I choose those
before your dull gold.  See their bright hues,--blue and
green and purple,--ay! and red as the life-blood of white
biorn gushing upon the snow."

"I have eyes, son of Thorbiorn.  There is one flagon
which alone is worth a king's wergild,--the jewelled cup
that the Godi Fulrad holds aloft.  By Thor! that is a
wassail-bowl worth the having.  Not Otkar himself could
have drained it at a draught."

"True, old Crane; and it may hold even more than
our eyes show us.  Tell me,--you have now dwelt many
seasons in Frank Land,--what is your thought of the
White Christ?"

Floki scratched his long nose, and glanced shrewdly
about the chapel before replying.

"You ask a hard riddle, earl," he muttered.  "I should
answer that He is Odin and Balder--and more--in One.
Yet why should I bend knee to Him?  I have seen how
His runes have drawn the temper of your keen spirit and
marred your old-time joy of battle.  What greater loss
could befall a viking?  So I will yet drink to Thor,
trusting in my own craft and the sweep of my halberd."

"I will not say you are wrong," replied Olvir.  "At
the least, one cannot do the will of the White Christ and
take joy in sword-play; that I see clearly, though these
Christian priests teach otherwise.  Some day I must make
my choice, either to ungirt Al-hatif from my side, or to
burn my Christ-runes."

"Thor!" croaked Floki; "it is time for a little sword-play
to stir your kingly blood.  With the springtime, earl,
there 'll be call for your heron beak."

"How?  To peck the Saxon wolves?"

"They 'll be afoot in full pack, else I 've lost my scent
for blood.  Nor is that the whole saga.  I smell blood on
another trail,--one which leads from the king's hall."

"Treason again!  I had thought that with the subtle
Lupus gone--"

"Gone--ay; but he left one behind him little less
subtle.  The Grey Wolf's daughter might teach cunning to
Odin, and she does not lack of crafty mates.  More than
once I have seen her in the forest border, waiting for Earl
Hardrat and that wizened warlock Kosru."

"I have heard of that from Liutrad.  They go to
practise witchcraft."

"Then I am dull at riddles, earl.  It is treason the
three brew in the woodland, not spell-herbs."

"A fearsome brewing," said Olvir, smiling, "an old
man, a maiden, and a drunkard."

"The fox, the adder, and the full-tushed boar," rejoined
Floki.  "Craft cuts sharper than any sword.  As to
Liutrad's red pig, he has put away the wassail-bowl.  I
name the Thuringian no mean foe.  He has the strength of
a bull, and far more of wit than in the past, now that the
beer seeps from his brain."

"Yet I see in all this nothing more than a love tryst,
with witchery for a blind.  Even granting that the red pig
has grown tushes, we will have our boar-spears at hand
when there is need.  As to your fox and adder--  But see;
the mass is at an end.  The king turns to withdraw."

Floki stared down at his earl with a wry look; but as
Karl, in all the stateliness of his majesty and manhood,
came down the aisle, side by side with his beautiful queen,
the grim viking drew himself up to his full height, and
sought to imitate his earl's easy salute.  The upswing of
the giant's arm drew upon him Hildegarde's glance.  At a
word from her, Karl turned to smile at the Northmen, and
spoke briefly with Worad.  Immediately the Count
Palatine slipped aside, and informed Floki that the queen
wished to inquire about the training of the king's sons.

Floki pushed out among the courtiers.  But Olvir,
muttering a hasty response to Worad's greeting, drew
back into a niche behind a pillar.  As he did so, his eyes
rested for an instant upon Fastrada.  The girl was gazing
directly at him, her head thrown back, her eyes narrowed
to a line.  When she caught his glance, she smiled and
passed on, looking down at the rings on her clasped hands.

Olvir's face clouded, and his hand went unwittingly to
the hilt of his dagger.  A moment, and the dark mood was
past; for his gaze fell upon Rothada in her simple novice's
dress.  She had lingered at her devotions after the
benediction, and now came slowly down the aisle behind the other
worshippers.  Her head was bent, and her lips moved with
the prayers which her white fingers told off on the rosary
of pearls about her throat.

The girl was so absorbed in her devotions that she
failed to see Olvir even when he stepped out beside her.
Restraining his eagerness, he silently followed her down
the aisle and out of the chapel.  But at the first lateral
passage which opened into the main corridor, he took her
by the arm and drew her within the doorway.

"Stay a moment, little vala," he said quietly.  "I
would speak with you."

"Olvir!" exclaimed the girl, in a startled voice.  Her
hands pressed tightly together on her bosom, and she
stared at him, her eyes dark with fear.

"How is this?" demanded Olvir, almost angrily.
"Have I grown tushes that the maiden whose troth I
hold cannot look at me without dread?"

"Do not be harsh, Lord Olvir!" murmured the girl.
"Truly, I have sought to avoid you; on my knees I begged
my father that I might stay at Chelles.  Oh, why cannot I,
like Gisela, win the peace and holy joy of the cloister?"

"Because you are too true of heart to break troth, little
may," replied Olvir.  "See; this passage leads to a room
which opens on the garden-court.  Come within, where the
light is clear, and we can look into each other's eyes."

A faint blush crept into Rothada's cheeks, and her
gaze fell before Olvir's; but, bowing her head submissively,
she led the way down the passage.  Close behind
her followed Olvir, his eyes fixed upon the dainty head
beneath its white wimple.

In the middle of the postern-room, where the white
light of the winter's sun streamed through the narrow
window, Olvir stopped the girl with a touch, and placed
himself so that he could look directly into her face.

"Little vala," he said, "I must first ask you to make
clear the meaning of your long silence.  Whether your
answer brings me joy or pain, I cannot wait longer; I
must know the truth now.  Four years and more have
passed since you gave me your troth."

Rothada glanced up at him quickly, and then her eyes
fell to her novice's dress.

"Lord Olvir speaks of my troth," she answered in a
low but clear voice.  "If he doubts it, let him look at these
pearls about my throat,--the pearls which he gave me in
the Southland."

"And yet, Rothada, many as were my messages to
you, never once through all those years did you send
answer."

"You remembered me, Lord Olvir!" cried the girl,
and she gazed up into her lover's eyes, her face radiant.

"Remember!" repeated Olvir.  "And, could I have
forgotten, were not my sea-wolves at hand to keep me in
mind?  I never once sent you greeting and pledge of my
faith but your grim worshippers begged leave to add their
gifts.  Yet when year after year passed by without
answering word from you, they, like myself, grew weary of
sending.  If the little vala's heart had been so chilled by
her cloister-dwelling that she chose to forget those who
loved her, we could not love her the less, but we would
cease to fret her with the tokens of our love."

"Which never came!  Oh, Olvir, there's been a bitter
mistake!  I never once had word or token that you or
those grim warriors held me in kind memory.  The months
dragged by,--the weary years,--and no word from Vascon
Land.  Then I thought you 'd all forgotten me, and in my
sorrow I turned for comfort to our Lord Christ.  In Him
I found peace, and I longed to give myself to Him, as
Gisela begged me; but I could not, for I had promised to
wait your coming."

"Loki!" muttered Olvir, and he struck his thigh.
"Not all my sendings could have gone astray by chance.
There's been a plot against me!  Your holy Abbess
Gisela--  But what odds?  Little vala, little may, if you
still doubt my troth, look at what lies about my throat."

Rothada raised her eyes to the strand of glossy hair,
whose ends, severed by the rock in the gorge of Roncesvalles,
had been rejoined by a golden clasp.  At sight of
the token, she uttered a cry of naive delight, and her eyes
beamed up into Olvir's full of tender trust.  Her beauty,
pearl-like in its soft, pure lustre, filled him with such
longing that he could no longer restrain himself.

"Dearest!" he cried, and, kneeling to her, he clasped
her hand and held it to his lips.

Smiling and blushing, Rothada sought to draw away.
But when she found she could not escape, she thrust her
fingers into her lover's hair, and, tugging playfully at the
bright locks, burst out in her old-time, merry laugh.

"Free me! free me, Lord Olvir!" she protested in
mock severity.  "Am I not the king's daughter?  By what
right do you hold me in thraldom?"

"See, then, dear heart; I free you," replied Olvir, as
he sprang up.  "You have but to speak, and I bend to your
wish, sweet princess.  Yet I have double right to hold you
fast,--the will of your father and your own love."

"My love!" murmured the girl, and she blushed.
Her eyes sank, and she drew back shyly.

"Your love, dearest one," repeated Olvir, and he held
out his arms.

But then a sudden coldness fell upon her.  The color
faded from her cheeks, and the happy light died out of her
eyes.

"Lord Christ forgive me!" she cried.  "Oh, I did not
mean to give way, Olvir.  Truly I do love you,--I am so
weak and wicked I cannot but tell it,--I do love you,
Olvir, my bright hero!  And yet--and yet, what is there
for us but grief and parting?  Even did my father assent,
how could I wed one who will not bend knee to Christ,--a--a
heathen?"

Olvir caught up the girl's hand, and, clasping it
between his own, gazed steadily into her tearful eyes.

"Listen to me, dear heart," he said.  "You have
listened to the idle tales of others; you shall now judge for
yourself.  I render no worship to the heathen gods; but
each week, as it passes around, I meditate upon the words
and deeds of the White Christ.  With my whole heart I
strive to worship the almighty, all-good God, His Father
and our Father.  Answer me, then, little vala; am I to be
named among the heathen?"

"Ah, the blessed saints be praised!" cried Rothada.
"Then all that they tell of you is false.  You do not mock
at His Holiness the Pope, nor deride Holy Church?"

"I no longer mock, dear one; yet I bend knee only to
the will of God in my own heart.  What one among your
Christian priests and monks, the most learned of whom
can hardly spell out Holy Writ, shall say that I am wicked
and heathen?  I accept fully the sayings of the White
Christ, and strive to live them.  Enough, Rothada; I will
say no more.  Choose whether you will give yourself to
me as I am."

"What shall I say, Olvir?" replied the girl.  "I know
now you are no heathen.  But I cannot understand,--I
do not see how you bend to our Lord Christ, and yet do
not give reverence to those who stand in His stead."

"Let your heart speak for you, dearest.  If I am
wrong, leave it to Alcuin and his fellows to show me my
mistake."

Rothada clasped her hands together, and sighed with
heartfelt relief.

"Surely, Olvir, if you are wrong, they will show it to
you," she said.  Trustful as a little child, she clasped the
outstretched hands of her lover, and raised her lips for his
kiss, her eyes shining with happiness.  The touch of her
lips, tender and fragrant as a briar-rose, sent a thrill
through Olvir's whole being.  But he did not take her in
his arms.  As he gazed into her eyes, a sudden sense of
unworthiness came upon him.  For the second time, he
sank down before her, humbly and reverently as a
worshipper at the shrine of a beloved saint.

"This day has God my Father blessed me with a great
blessing," he murmured.  "He has given into my keeping
the heart of a pure maiden.  May He give me strength and
wisdom to prove myself worthy of so great a trust!"

"Do not be foolish, dearest," answered Rothada.  "If
our Lord God has given you my heart, He has given me
your love.  How, then, can there be room for doubt?"

"My princess!  Who am I that I should win the Pearl
of Great Price?"

"Hush! oh, hush, my hero!  You take in vain the
words of Holy Writ.  It grieves me."

"I speak the truth.  In the eyes of God there can be
nothing holier than a pure maiden.  More than all else I
hate and despise the teaching of your Christian priests
that women are the chief cause of sins.  That is a lie.  But
for women, men would be as wolves,--ravenous wolves!
And so, darling--"

"Spare me, Olvir!  Truly, you grieve my heart.  I am
very wicked."

"So wicked that your soul would gleam white on
new-fallen snow!  Beware, wicked maiden!  For your
naughtiness, you shall be given in marriage--"

"To a foolish prattler," interrupted Rothada, with a
quick return of gaiety, and, half stooping, she clasped
Olvir's head between her white hands.  "What a hero is
this for a king's daughter to wed,--a thrall bound by the
collar of a maiden!"

"Many a king would gladly kneel where I kneel, dear heart."

"No, no, you foolish hero.  Few are so blind as to see
beauty where there is none.  I am very happy that you love
me, dearest; yet I wonder at your love when I think of the
many beautiful maidens with Hildegarde.  Do you think
it strange that I longed to go back to Chelles, when, after
all those weary years of waiting, I came upon you in the
hall, side by side with that maiden--"

"--Whose very name is unfit for your pure lips,"
muttered Olvir.  "As you love me, darling, have nothing
to do with her."

"I will do as you wish, Olvir.  Because my heart
shrank from her, I had felt it my duty to seek her
friendship.  But if you bid me shun her--"

"Thank God for your willingness!  May we never
have need to mention her name again!  So now, dear
one--  Hark!  What is the shouting?"

"The call of the stewards.  We linger over-long.  The
feast is ready; and, oh, dear hero, how shall we come
before the king my father?"

"Have no fear, darling.  The king has already pledged
me your hand.  There are terms to be first met; but trust
me to see that in good time they be fulfilled or set aside.
Until then it seems to me wise that we should keep silent."

"Olvir, I should like to at least tell Hildegarde.  She
is so gracious and kindly."

"As well tell the king himself, simple heart!  No,
dearest, we had best wait.  It will not be for long, I trust.
And now, remember, should I not see you sooner, the
counts are to join my vikings in the Yule games.  The
king himself will take part.  Be sure to come.  There will
be merry play, and the Moselle is like a burnished shield.
I will teach you to skate."

"I was taught long since, Olvir.  Berga, my maid, is a
Frisian.  So I shall soon learn again.  And I shall not fail
to attend the games,--to--to see the deeds of the king,
my father."

For a moment the violet eyes were upraised in a look
of tender mockery, and then their owner was darting off to
join the queen's following.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`CHAPTER 2-VII`:

.. class:: center large

   CHAPTER VII

.. vspace:: 2

|   Fish of the wildwood,
|   Worm smooth crawling.
|                   VOLSUNGA SAGA.

.. vspace:: 2

Never had Frank or viking
known fairer weather for the
Yule games.  Each day the sun
shone bright through the frosty
air; the snow lay hard and firm
on field and river-bank, and the
Moselle offered to the feet of the
skaters its broad street of glassy ice.

In the meadows before the
villa, hazel rings for the wrestling had been enclosed,
racing-courses marked out, and targets set up for the
contests with spear and bow.  Northmen and Danes, skilled
in their own sports, burned to outmatch the king's men in
the games of Frank Land, and the proud counts, whether
East Frank or West Frank, Saxon, Goth, or Lombard,
were no less zealous to prove their superiority over the
outlanders.  Yet, keen as was the rivalry, good-humor
prevailed in all contests.

Each day great crowds gathered to watch the games,
and to skate on the Moselle.  Not a viking was to be found
in the high-peaked huts, and such inmates of the villa as
failed to troop out after the king to the field of games did
not stay behind from choice.  Aside from the house-slaves,
few were left in the villa.  The chapel was deserted by its
priests and choristers, and the hall of state saw little of the
sleek courtiers.  In the bower only a maiden or two and
the queen's tiring-women lingered in attendance on their
mistress.

The morning after Christmas, Hildegarde, complaining
of a headache, had sent Fastrada to summon Kosru the
leech to her bedside.  The Magian had at once pronounced
her sickness to be of a nature which, while not dangerous,
would require the utmost of rest and quiet.  So the
chattering workers were sent from the chamber, and Kosru took
up his quarters in the anteroom, to overlook the queen's
service and administer her sleeping-draught with his own hand.

Full of yearning for his beautiful queen, Karl would
have chosen to watch at her bedside; but the Magian's
assurance of her safety, and his plea for absolute quiet,
sent the king out into the meadows to share in the games.
With the same plea and assurance, the leech also turned
Rothada away, and the girl, no longer dressed as a novice,
went gaily out across the snow-fields to meet her lover.

Behind, in the silent bower, Hildegarde lay in a
feverish sleep, waking only to sip her broth and to drink the
sweetish potion which was to lull her again to sleep.  But
without, in the merry crowds, was one who took good care
that the king did not lack company.

From morning till evening the daughter of Count
Rudulf found occasion to be always within reach of the
king's eye.  When Karl won in the axe-throwing, neither
the loud applause of the Franks and the vikings, nor even
Olvir's gift of the great sword Ironbiter as prize, was so
gratifying to him as the silent and half-awed admiration
of the Thuringian maiden.  The readiness with which she
joined in the praise of Olvir's archery showed him how
utterly her gentle nature had been misjudged; and when,
skimming beside him over the ice, she shyly confided her
love for Rothada, and her longing to see Olvir accept
baptism so that the little princess might wed her bright hero,
the heart of the great Frank went out to the girl in tender
sympathy.

At every turn she was ready to please and amuse him.
Now it was a gentle jest; now a murmured phrase whose
flattery was too subtle to startle his honest Teuton heart;
and always accompanying the words would be a look
whose faint suggestion of allurement ever gave way to shy
confusion.  Soon Karl began to give heed as never before
to the many charms of the lovely Thuringian.  Often as he
had remarked her beauty, he now wondered at the perfection
of her supple, rounded form and the rich bloom of her
cheeks.  Others might own greater regularity of features,
but none could surpass her in grace of movement or charm
of expression.

But most of all the king was pleased and his heart
touched by the girl's words of endearment for Rothada and
Hildegarde.  Her inquiries about the queen's health often
ended in a sigh, and a naive exclamation of how happy
must be the lot of one wedded to a world-hero.

So the days of Yuletide slipped by, each bringing with
it new games on the Moselle bank, and merry play for the
onlookers.  Even young Karl and Pepin Hunchback took
part, and in many ways proved by their boyish skill the
efficiency of Floki's training.  Both were afield from dawn
to sunset, and when not testing their skill at the butts with
bow or spear, or watching some hotly contested race or
wrestling match, they were to be found skimming over the
Moselle, in vain efforts to follow Olvir and their sister.

Dawn of the last day of Yule brought with it a threat
of a weather change.  But Franks and vikings gathered
as usual on the river-bank, and the fact that this day
was to see an end of the festivities gave added zest to
the games.

None hurried afield with greater eagerness than Pepin
Hunchback and the boy Karl, whom Olvir had promised to
take with Rothada down the Moselle.  Gerold and Liutrad
were also to be of the party, and the failure of the latter to
appear at the set time kept the others waiting on the bank
for an hour or more.

When at last the young giant did arrive, with the
excuse that Abbot Fulrad had needed him, Olvir, who had
been studying the sky, urged that the trip be given over.
But at this the king's sons cried out in bitter disappointment.
Liutrad and Gerold good-naturedly yielded to their
appeals to plead for them, and Olvir finally consented to go
part way on the intended course.  Yet before he would give
the word to start, he first sought out Floki in the midst of
the wrestlers, and while the lofty viking was stripping to
enter the ring spoke a brief command in his ear.

As he approached the ring, Olvir had passed a tall and
graceful woman, who was gazing intently across to where
the king stood bandying jests with Fastrada.  The gazer's
face had been muffled in her scarf and hood, and when
Olvir, after speaking to Floki, turned with casual curiosity
to observe her more closely, she had disappeared in the
crowd.  But a little later, as he was binding on Rothada's
skates, the same woman came down the river-bank, and,
half running to young Karl, caught him in her embrace.

"Mother!" cried the boy, clinging to her neck.

"Hildegarde!" echoed Gerold, in amazement, as the
hood fell back from the queen's pale face.  "How is this,
sister?  You 're mad to venture out--"

"Hush, Gerold; be silent!" rejoined the queen.  "I
was stifling in the bower.  I woke when all were gone but
the leech.  He lay asleep, outworn with watching; so I
dressed myself and passed out quietly, that his rest might
not be broken.  Have no fear; my strength has come again,
and every breath of the wintry air fills me with new life.
See; I have brought my skates.  I will join you on the ice."

Rothada came and put her arms about the queen.

"We had thought to go down the river, mother," she
said; "but now that you are with us--"

"I 'll run tell the good tidings to our lord king," broke
in Liutrad.

"No, lad; stay!" exclaimed Hildegarde, and she drew
the hood out over her face again.  "It would mar the
games should his Majesty withdraw from the field,
and--and there would be great outcry were my presence known.
I wish quiet--peace and quiet--while I skim about on
the smooth ice and breathe in the pure air.  Now I am cold
and sad.  When the blood leaps freely in my veins, I can
join the folk without fear of marring their play.  Take me
with you down the Moselle.  Bind on my skates, brother!"

"The storm-light is in the sky, Dame Hildegarde,"
protested Olvir.  "Is it wise that you should venture
beyond sight of the villa?"

"I have spoken," replied Hildegarde, with unwonted
sharpness.  "Gerold, lead on with the boys.  I will trust to
Liutrad's arm."

When the queen spoke in such a tone, even Gerold
could not venture a remonstrance.  He lashed the
skate-thongs over his sister's slender buskins, and sprang up,
boar-spear in hand, to join the king's sons.  The boys were
circling about, wild with delight at the thought that some
stray wolf or bear might give them opportunity to prove
their prowess to their beloved mother.  As they darted off
before Gerold, Hildegarde rested her gloved hand lightly
on Liutrad's massive forearm and glided out beside him
with the graceful stroke of a practised skater.

Olvir slung his war-bow with its full quiver upon his
back, and caught up Rothada's hand, to follow the queen.

"All's well with our gracious dame, dearest," he said.
"She skims over the ice-street with the ease of a swallow's
flight.  I wager she can cover many long miles without
wearying."

"True, dear hero; and already I see the bloom creeping
back into her cheeks."

"As it has crept into yours, little nun, day by day, since
the first of Yule.  The cloister pallor is all but gone.  Once
more you are the vala of my sea-wolves."

"Their morning greeting still roars in my ears.  Yet
they are heathen,--only heathen!  How beautiful the
world is, Olvir!"

"To those whose hearts are filled with beauty and
love, dearest."

Rothada's fingers tightened in the firm palm of her
hero, and for a long time the lovers skimmed over the ice
in happy silence.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`CHAPTER 2-VIII`:

.. class:: center large

   CHAPTER VIII

.. vspace:: 2

|   Troll's lore and witchcraft.
|                   VOLSUNGA SAGA.

.. vspace:: 2

As the little party shot out from
among the other skaters, to
sweep away down the river, a
shrivelled old man crept out of
an alder thicket near the bank,
and called to a passing boy.
The sight of a silver penny lent
wings to the lad's feet, and he
ran nimbly through the crowds
on the snowy field, repeating to
himself the two simple words which he was to whisper in
the ear of Fastrada, the queen's maiden.  Chance favored
him.  The king had drawn apart with Abbot Fulrad, and
the Franks were moving across the meadow to see the
wrestling.  In the confusion, the boy was able to gain
Fastrada's side and tell his message, unheeded by those
around.

With all her years of court training, Fastrada was
unable to hide her vexation when the boy muttered his
two words in her ear.  She stopped short and stamped
her jewelled buskin deep into the snow, and her eyes
blazed with angry light.  Count Amalwin, who chanced
to be near, inquired with uncouth sympathy what might
be troubling the Grey Wolf's daughter.  But Fastrada
turned from him without answer, to hasten after Kosru's
messenger.

The boy, eager to finger his promised reward, reached
the alder thicket far in advance of the queen's maiden.  But
Kosru was so reluctant to part with a single penny that the
boy was still begging for his due when Fastrada came up.
Snatching the leech's pouch, she pressed not one but four
pennies into the hand of the astonished boy, and told him
to go and watch the Danish slingers.  As he raced off, half
mad with delight at his treasure, Fastrada turned upon the
Magian with a look that made him cringe to the snow.

"Dog!" she hissed; "you 've let the Swabian escape
you!  Enough of your false promises!  This very day I
counted on for triumph; and now--"

"Pardon! grant me pardon, maiden!  Have I not
served you well all these days?  Is it my fault that the
drug loses its power when so constantly given?  I am aged
and weak.  Overcome by weariness, I slept--"

"Where is she now?"

The leech rose a little way, and thrust out a crooked
finger from his robe.

"She came here to the river-bank.  Hurrying out in
search of her, I spied her in the midst of the crowd.  But
then she followed after Count Olvir to this place, where
the king's children were waiting with Count Gerold and
Liutrad the Scribe."

"She made herself known to them?"

"But to none other.  They disputed a little, and then
all glided away down the river on the ice-shoes.  The
warriors carried spear and bow, as though they went to the
chase."

"The king himself told me of the skating-party; only,
one is gone of whom he is not aware.  A lucky going for
you, Magian!  I may yet have time to win; she forgets all
else when the ice-blades are on her feet.  She may go far
before turning.  Would that she might never come back!
*Ai!* and why should she?  In the bleak forest are my
mother's fiends and many hungry mouths!"

The girl turned panting upon the leech, her eyes
gleaming green between the narrowed lids, her scarlet lips
drawn back from the strong white teeth in a cruel smile.

"Go!" she cried.  "Fetch me quickly all you have of
that drug which saved you from the wolf-pack in Fulda
Wood."

"By the blessed Sun, maiden! what would you do?"
gasped the Magian.

"I 'd win for myself power and honors, and for you,
gold without stint," rejoined Fastrada, and her face
hardened to a still more cruel look.  But the leech no longer
faltered and cringed.  Before his greedy eyes glittered a
yellow heap,--gold without stint! gold without stint!
Very humbly he salaamed to the witch's daughter, and
then, bending to her gesture, limped away on his unholy
sending.

An hour or so later, Count Hardrat, chancing to pass
along the river-bank, suddenly found himself face to face
with Fastrada.  It was his first sober day since the
Christmas feast, and he shrank from meeting the daughter of
Rudulf after his relapse into drunkenness.  Greatly to his
surprise, she greeted him not only without reproach, but
even smilingly, and he readily accepted her proposal that
they skate together on the river.  The girl's skates already
swung at her girdle, and for balancing-staff she carried a
pretty silver and ivory dart, with flint tip.

Skates were soon found for Hardrat, and the couple
darted out among the ice-skimmers.  As they swept in a
long loop beyond the regular racing-course, Fastrada drew
her companion's attention to the tracks leading down the
river, and dared him to attempt the overtaking of the party.
Hardrat, who was a skilled skater, accepted the challenge
with eagerness, and very shortly the couple were flying
past the viking settlement and around the first bend of the
river into the black borders of the ancient forest.

For two leagues and more the Thuringian count and
the Thuringian maiden raced side by side at utmost speed,
each straining with every nerve and muscle to outdo the
other.  At last the man, weakened by his excesses at
wassail, began to lose breath.  Heedless of his growing
distress, the girl drove on, her eyes fixed on the narrow trail
of skate-marks which she followed.

"Stay!" gasped Hardrat at last, as they swept down
upon yet another bend of the river.  "Slack--your pace,
maiden!  I can--go--no farther!"

Fastrada glanced about, frowning, at the purple-blotched
face of her mate; but suddenly she seemed to
slip, and a cry of pain burst from her lips.  Leaning with
all her weight upon one foot, she turned sharply and glided
inshore, borne on by the momentum of her swift flight.
Taken by surprise, Hardrat shot past for half-a-dozen
strokes.  Before he could circle about and rejoin the girl,
she had limped part way up the snow-covered bank, to
lean against a giant oak.  As Hardrat scrambled after her,
she met his look of concern with a rueful face.

"Satan spit the false wood-minnes!" she cried.
"They 've wrought me ill,--my ankle is wrenched."

"Holy saints! and we three leagues from aid!"

"Not so; less than two.  The hut--"

"--If *she* still lingers."

"Shelter, anyway.  Yet there may be no need.  Chafing
and a fire might ease my hurt."

Hardrat's bloodshot eyes lighted dully.

"There are less welcome tasks than to chafe the foot
of Rudulf's daughter.  As to the fire, however, I carry
neither flint nor tinder."

"Ah, then, yet stay!  Here's the tip of my staff-spear,
and for tinder, my kerchief, whose end I scorched on the
coals this morning."

"A lucky chance," muttered Hardrat, and he set to
gathering twigs and dry leaves from along the bank.  As
he bent to heap the fuel together for lighting, Fastrada
crouched upon the snow, and drew from her bosom a large
pouch, whose contents gave out a fetid odor.  Laying the
pouch openly on the snow beside her, she stared over the
broad back of her companion into the depths of the leafless
forest, and her face darkened with the fearful look that had
terrified the Magian.

Having piled his fuel, Hardrat drew the broad knife
which swung at his belt, and with the back of the blade
struck a shower of sparks from the flint spear-tip into the
linen kerchief.  Quickly the tinder caught the sparks, and
a few puffs set the smouldering cloth aflame.  Fanned by a
light breeze from up the river, the blaze spread with a
cheerful snapping through the heap of dead limbs and
pieces of driftwood.  Hardrat took note how the smoke,
instead of rising, drifted away between the tree-trunks and
over the ice, like morning mist.

"See how the smoke lies on the snow," he said.  "One
needs scant knowledge of woodcraft to tell that a storm is
near."

"Then we should soon be hastening back," replied
Fastrada, who, instead of looking at the ankle which he
was chafing, was staring at the low-eddying smoke with
fierce exultance.  "*Ai!*" she sighed complainingly, "that
was a luckless wrench!  Stay your hand, though.  It may
chance there 'll be no need to chafe the hurt.  Am I not my
mother's daughter?  Here is a charm stronger than the
power of elf or nixie.  If, in truth, my hurt is the work of
some evil wood-minne, I shall soon heal it.  In this scrip
is a drug whose burning will force out the worst of fiends.
Cast it into the midst of the flames while I speak the needed
spell."

Hardrat drew away, his cheeks suddenly gone ashen.

"No! by all the saints, no!" he cried.  "I 'll have no
hand in your witchery.  I 've seen enough of black spells in
*her* hut."

"Hero!" jeered Fastrada; and with her own hand she
lifted the pouch, to scatter half its contents around her in
the snow.  As she threw the rest into the flames, her red
lips muttered soft hissing words of the Wendish tongue,
and her beautiful face was distorted with a look that sent a
shudder of superstitious fear through Hardrat's thick-set
frame.  The pungent odor sent out by the burning drug
added yet more to his terror.  He stood cowering beside
the fire, unable to fly, his bloated cheeks grey and mottled,
and his limbs trembling visibly, as he watched the look of
awful expectancy that crept into the face of the witch's
daughter.

Moment after moment, the girl sat staring out after
the drifting smoke-wreaths, her lips softly muttering the
sibilant Wend words.  Though Karl himself had marked
the Thuringian's boldness on the battlefield, the man was
now like a frightened child in the dark.  The strain was
almost more than he could bear.  His tow-white hair
bristled beneath his cap; his very blood was curdling in
his veins.  He was on the point of crying aloud when the
silence was broken by the lone howl of a wolf.  Wild with
terror, Hardrat sprang, about to fly.  But Fastrada leaped
up as he passed and caught him by the shoulder.  Her eyes
gleamed with fierce joy.

"*Hei!*" she cried.  "The fiend-gods are with us!
Down the wind with the smoke the evil sprite has passed,
and my hurt is healed! my hurt is healed!"

"Saints shield me!" stammered Hardrat, and he
crossed himself.  That the girl should scramble with him
down the bank and out across the rough ice-edge without
a trace of her sprain, by no means tended to lessen his
dread.

When they gained the smooth ice, Fastrada would
have paused; but Hardrat struck out at once in the face
of the freshening breeze, feverishly eager to put the long
leagues between him and the fumes of the magic drug.  As
Fastrada darted to his side, and they swept away over the
level ice, they heard once more, far back in the forest
behind them, that long-drawn, dismal howl; and this time
the cry was caught up and repeated from the farther depths
of the forest.

"Holy Mother!" gasped Hardrat.  "Your spell has
roused the werwolves from their lairs!"

Fastrada only smiled, and lengthened her stroke to
meet the frantic rush of her companion.

Presently a bend of the river brought the wind into a
more favorable quarter, and the couple raced homeward up
the ice-street yet more swiftly than they had come.  For a
while they could hear howls in the forest depths; but as
the leagues melted away beneath their skate-strokes, the
dreadful sounds died out in the distance.

Still Hardrat kept on, spurred by mad terror; nor
would he slacken the pace until they swept into full view
of the viking settlement.  At sight of the steep-roofed
buildings and the shouting merrymakers in the meadows
beyond, he uttered a hoarse cry, and ceased his frantic
strokes.  Borne on by his momentum, he glided forward
until opposite the viking hall.  Then, utterly spent, he sank
down upon the ice, wheezing as though he would choke.

Fastrada circled about and came to a stand beside the
over-wearied man, eying him with cold indifference.  When
he had gained breath a little and could listen, she bent
forward and said significantly: "Let there be no talk of this
skating, friend Hardrat."

"Trust me for that, witch-daughter!  I 'll drown the
memory at the cask's bottom!"

"It is well that your tongue does not wag with the
wine.  Here's gold for your wassail-fee," replied Fastrada,
and, flinging a coin to him, she glided on up the river.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`CHAPTER 2-IX`:

.. class:: center large

   CHAPTER IX

.. vspace:: 2

|   Unto all bale
|   And all hate whetted.
|                   LAY OF BRYNHILD

.. vspace:: 2

In the centre of the skating-course
the girl threw back her
hood and gazed about at the
circling skaters.  Being now
easily recognized, she at once
became a focus of attraction for
the younger Franks, who darted
forward from all sides to offer
themselves as partners.  But the
girl stood coyly in their midst,
seemingly undecided whom to choose.  She had spied the
king sweeping out from the bank, and so contrived that
when he wheeled past the cluster of eager suitors he caught
her gaze fixed upon him in a look of tender longing.
Instantly his eyes kindled, and, driving in among the young
warriors, he bore off the prize from their midst.

With the girl's arm locked fast in his powerful clasp,
Karl swept her along at whirlwind speed, his skates ringing
loudly on the ice with the force of his strokes.  His face
glowed with the fierce delight of the captor, and the
half-frightened, half-pleased look of his lovely captive sent the
hot blood leaping through his veins.

Unresisting but unassisting, Fastrada clung to his
supporting arm while he bore her around the skating-course at
a speed no other skater born in Frank Land might have
hoped to equal.  As he swept back through the thick of the
shouting onlookers, he wheeled, seized by some fresh
impulse, and drove away down the river, with no slackening
in his headlong rush.

The Franks discreetly refrained from following their
king; and Floki the Crane, who alone of those present could
have overtaken the flying couple, headed back such of the
younger Northmen as chose to consider the manner of the
king's leaving a challenge to race.

So, followed neither by Frank nor viking, Karl drove
on with his fair prize into the forest.  As the gnarled trunks
of the giant oaks shut out from view the last glimpse of
field and dwelling, Fastrada's downcast eyes shone with
sapphire tints, and though far from wearied by her mad
race with Hardrat, she leaned more heavily upon the arm
of the king.

A little later, the two were standing face to face in the
centre of the river, a league beyond the viking camp.  Karl
was staring at the maiden with a bewildered look as he
listened to her pleading words: "Ah, stay, my lord!  You
break my heart!  I thought--I thought you 'd take me to wife."

Karl smiled, half incredulously.

"How then, silly maiden," he said; "have you forgotten
who sits beside me on the throne?"

Fastrada's drooping eyelids quivered, and her face
whitened; but she betrayed no sign of anger or jealousy.

"I 've not forgotten, dear lord," she whispered.  "Yet
I thought--  I 've heard of kingly rights.  Is there--was
there not a custom that the king might take to himself two
wives?"

"By my sword, fair one, you 'd make a Merwing of
me!  Is it not enough that you have won my love?"

"No, sire, no!  It is not enough for me!" cried the girl.

"Then what would you have?" asked Karl, wonderingly.

Before she answered, the girl raised her eyes to his,
and flung out her arms.

"Ah, how I love you, dear lord!" she half whispered.
"But you forgo your ancient right,--you 'll not seat two
with you on your throne.  I see only one way that joy may
come to me,--ay, and why not?  Why should not I have
my turn?"

"How then?" demanded Karl.  "Speak out."

"Ah, dear lord, do not be harsh!  It is my love that
forces my lips to speak, and so--and so--I will say it,
though it kill me!  Dear lord, if you will not make me
joint sharer of your throne with the one who now sits
beside you, I would--I would that she might give place to
me,--as the Lombard's daughter gave way to her--as
Himiltrude gave way to the princess--"

"Ha!" cried Karl.  He drew back a step, and stood
staring at her, overcome with amazement at her audacity.

For a moment the girl straightened before his angry
wonder with a gesture almost of defiance.  But then her
eyes sank, and her whole body drooped forward.

"Pardon me, dear sire!" she pleaded faintly.  "Forgive
the love which carried me beyond reason.  I could not
stay my tongue, dear lord.  I was mad!"

Softened by the girl's words and timid look, Karl
relaxed his frown.

"Daughter of Rudulf," he said, "it is I who am at
fault.  You are far other than I thought,--I own it with
shame!  Here, then, is an end; for as to your foolish
dream, that may never be.  No woman lives who can
thrust from my heart the daughter of Childebrand."

"Then all is over, dear lord; I may not hope?"

"All is over, maiden."

For a while the girl stood silent, one of her skate-runners
tapping gently on the ice.  But then, forcing as it
were the words from her lips, she murmured hurriedly:
"Your Majesty, is it not best I should be returning?"

"Not you alone, maiden!  Whoever's afield should be
seeking shelter.  Already the oak-tops moan with the
coming storm.  But fear nothing.  We shall soon be warming
our knees by the cheery hall-fire."

"But how, sire, of those who--  Ah, Holy Mother
forgive me!  I forgot; in my love and joy, I forgot!
Kosru the leech--  Oh, hasten, sire!  The lads and
Rothada,--they are on the river, and with them our gracious
dame!"

"Hildegarde!" roared Karl, in angry alarm.

"The queen," echoed Fastrada, and she shrank back
in real fear of the king's threatening gesture.  But he
advanced, only to motion her up the river.

"To the villa!" he commanded.  "Tell the Danes their
vala is in peril!  Bid the counts join with them!  I go to
meet the skaters."

With the words, Karl wheeled past the cowering girl,
and drove away down the river at headlong speed.

Instantly Fastrada sprang erect and glared after him.

"*Hai!*" she hissed.  "Let him go; let him rush to
share the fate of the others!  The hungry fangs await him!
Merry's the feast I 've set for Odin's dogs!--king's kin
and king; ay, and my false hero!  All's merry in the
bleak wood!  Hark to the moaning oaks!  My mother's
spell has roused the storm-fiends,--the sky darkens.  Soon
the gnawed bones will lie wrapped in a snowy shroud!
And now I shall go to *her*.  She shall unriddle that old
foretelling,--'a king, grey of eye.'  The Merwing Wolf
rode the tree; Pepin's son rushes to meet his bane; who,
then, may it be?  Adelchis the Lombard, idling in the
Kaiser's hall, or that drunken Hardrat?  More likely
he,--the white-bristled boar!  I had thought to crush him
when the time came; but now--  Ah, would that Pepin's
son had lent a willing ear!  He at least was a world-hero,
with whom might be named no warrior other than my
sea-king.  And now they are death-doomed.  *Ai!* my bright
hero bleeds!  Olvir!  Oh, Olvir!"

Writhing in tearless anguish, the girl stumbled to the
river's edge.  With feverish haste she tore loose the
skate-thongs from her buskins, and, leaping up the bank, fled
wildly into the heart of the forest.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`CHAPTER 2-X`:

.. class:: center large

   CHAPTER X

.. vspace:: 2

|   Thou shalt hear the wolves howling.
|                   LAY OF GUDRUN.

.. vspace:: 2

When the little party, whose
leader he had considered
himself, glided away into the forest,
Olvir had thought to limit the
trip to three leagues at the
utmost.  But he failed to consider
the queen's humor.

After her long confinement
within the bower, Hildegarde's
fair face glowed with almost
feverish delight as she felt the ice glide away beneath her
feet, and she swayed her body to the skate-stroke with the
grace of a Greek dancer.  Upborne by Liutrad's powerful
grasp, she soon lost all thought of fatigue and distance,
and floated on--on--through the white sunlight, her face
serene with dreamy contentment.  Her enjoyment was at
its height when Olvir, hand in hand with Rothada, glided
up beside her, a troubled look in his dark eyes.

"Stay, Dame Hildegarde," he called out.  "I beg
you to turn back before it is too late.  The storm-light
is boding, and we 're already too far from hearth and
roof-tree."

Hildegarde threw out her hand in a gesture of vexation
very unlike her usual gentle bearing.

"Leave croaking to the ravens!" she cried.  "How
soon will your storm sweep upon us?"

"That I cannot say, dear dame.  I know nothing of
your Rhineland."

"I might guess," said Liutrad, in response to the
queen's glance.  "Yet why not ask Gerold?  None should
know better than he."

"Brother!" called Hildegarde; and when the young
Swabian came circling back to her side, she pointed
skywards.  "It seems that our Norse hero is fearful of the
storm-boding.  He would have it that we wander too far
afield."

"Ah, Olvir; so you still fret at the storm-light,"
laughed Gerold, and he cast a careless glance at the sky.

"In old Norway such a boding would bring the wind
howling about our ears within an hour," rejoined Olvir.

"Here it will come with the sundown," said Gerold.
"There is yet no moaning in the oak-tops."

"Enough!" cried his sister.  "Rejoin the lads.  We 'll
fare on."

Though far from satisfied, Olvir made no further protest.
Saluting the queen, he at once fell back with Rothada
to their former position in the rear.  Surely Gerold should
know.  If he gave assurance of safety, why need an
outlander doubt?  And it was very pleasant to glide on into
the forest depths, side by side with the little vala.  Having
done his part, he could now put away all thought of
mishap, and give himself over to joy.

Constant practice with Olvir through all the happy
days of Yule had gained for Rothada a skate-stroke which
in lightness and grace all but equalled that of Hildegarde
herself.  With the light staff-spear balanced in her left
hand, and scarf and cloak floating back from her shoulders,
the king's daughter skimmed over the ice-street with all the
airy freedom of a bird.  But for the glint of the upcurving
skate-runners as her slender foot peeped from beneath her
skirt, Olvir might well have fancied that her flight was
winged.  Life and love had driven the last trace of cloister
pallor from her rounding cheeks, and beamed from her eyes
with the tender radiance of perfect trust and joy.

The loveliness of his princess set every fibre of Olvir's
being atingle with rapture.  His black eyes gazed down
adoringly upon her lissome body and dainty foot; upon
the glossy braids which lay entwined with bright ribbons
down her heaving bosom; upon the flower-like face
beneath its jewelled cap; most of all, upon the soft eyes,
half-veiled by the tresses wind-blown across the white forehead.

Mile after mile, the forest glided past in an endless
maze of gnarled trunks and leafless branches; but, like the
queen, the lovers were lost to all sense of time and
distance.  Gradually the space between them had lessened.
Now Rothada's hand was upon Olvir's shoulder; his arm
was clasped about her waist, and he was softly chanting to
her of the fells and fiords, of the salmon leaping in the
torrents, and the crimson glow of the midnight sun.

When at last Hildegarde gave the word to turn, the
lovers halted with the others, and stood before them
without altering their pose.  Neither would have become aware
of Hildegarde's look of surprise or of Liutrad's and Gerold's
smiles, had not young Karl cried out in boyish glee: "See,
mother, Rothada and Count Olvir!  Sister will wed our
lord father's bright Dane hawk, and he 'll never fly away
to his frost-white eyry."

"The dear Christ grant that such may be the outcome,
child," replied Hildegarde; and she gazed, with a tender
smile, at Rothada's downbent head.  "Now that your sister
gives proof of her love, all should go well.  Count Olvir has
only to accept baptism."

"Baptism, dear dame!  Should you not rather say, the
yoke of priestly rule?"

"Olvir, Olvir! put aside your stubborn pride!  You
little know how hard it is for our lord to give his sweet
maiden into another's keeping.  If, then, he holds you in
such friendship, should you not be willing to bend to
Christ?"

"That I already do, Dame Hildegarde," replied Olvir,
gravely.  "But let us spare ourselves now.  We are afield,
and should give ourselves over to joy."

"Lord Olvir speaks well, mother," exclaimed Pepin,
flourishing his javelin.  "Lead on again!  We may yet
chance upon an elk or bear."

"No, sister; about and homeward!" cried Gerold, in
sudden alarm.  "Hear the moaning in the oak-tops!  How
can I ever forgive myself?  The storm's upon us, and we
so far from shelter!"

"I alone am at fault," said Hildegarde.  "Had I
given heed to Olvir's warning, by now we should have
been within sight of home.  Lend your aid to the lads,
brother.  If you tire, Liutrad will take your place."

"Beside me, lads!" cried Gerold, impatiently.

The boys darted in to grasp the ends of the Swabian's
crossed spear, and with a shout all three struck out on the
homeward race.  After them glided Hildegarde and
Liutrad with long, easy strokes, while Olvir, his arm still
clasped about his little princess, swept her along in the
wake of the others like a cluster of thistledown upborne
by the breeze.

Spurred on by his alarm, Gerold steadily increased the
pace, until the air whistled in the ears of the skaters, and
the long miles melted away beneath their flashing
ice-blades in swift succession.  Few skaters, however, could
long sustain so rapid a stroke, and Gerold at last found
that he had overestimated his strength.  Unhampered,
he might have held on without slackening to the very
end of the course; but his strength and training were
now offset by the weight of the two boys.  Little more
than half the homeward course had been covered when
his strokes began to flag, and he found himself compelled
to ease the pace.  Liutrad was quick to heed his friend's
distress.

"Ho, gossip!" he called; "you 're all but winded.
Leave Pepin to me, and fall behind.  I 'll lead for a
while."

"Lead, then!  I must give way," panted Gerold, and
reluctantly he slackened speed for the Northman to pass.
At the moment, however, Pepin uttered a wild view-halloo,
and dashed aside toward the river-bank, followed hotly by
young Karl.

"A wolf!" sang out Liutrad, at sight of the gaunt
black beast bounding silently along the bank among the
alders.

"Ho! see the cowardly brute make off!" shouted
Gerold, as the wolf leaped away into the forest.

"Cowardly?" repeated Hildegarde.  "It seems to me
very bold of the lone beast to follow an armed party in
midday."

"Greyleg fares ill in the winter woods," answered
Liutrad, in a careless tone, and he beckoned to the
disappointed young hunters.  "Hasten, lads!  If we find
ourselves within a league of the villa before the storm
bursts, we shall be doing well."

"God grant no worse befall us!" muttered Olvir,
half aloud, and as the boys circled back to their new places
in the party, he drew his war-bow from its case and strung
it, ready for instant use.  But at Rothada's startled look, he
smiled, and said lightly: "Now I dare Greyleg to peer out
the second time.  He shall find his bane without waiting
for the spears of bairns."

"He will do well to overtake us again, Olvir, now that
Liutrad leads."

"True, dear heart.  Few even in the North can out-ride
Liutrad on the ice-steeds, and his bigness breaks the
wind for those of us who follow.  Lean more to the stroke,
dear one, and waste no breath in words."

Obediently Rothada bent forward on his supporting
arm, while Olvir, freed from her inquiring gaze, searched
the river-banks with his glance, and turned his head as
though straining to catch the first note of some distant
cry.  He had not long to wait.

So faint that at first even the listening ear could
scarcely tell it from the moaning of the oak boughs, down
the wind came floating that most dismal of all sounds,--the
long-drawn howl of a wolf.  Olvir's face grew tense,
and his grip on the war-bow tightened as he glanced down
at Rothada.  But he held on after the others, without a
word, though howl after howl was borne to his ears by
the freshening breeze.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`CHAPTER 2-XI`:

.. class:: center large

   CHAPTER XI

.. vspace:: 2

|   --Oft Wyrd preserveth
|   Undoomed earl--if he doughty be.
|                   BEOWULF.

.. vspace:: 2

At first none other than Olvir
gave heed to the dreary cry; for
now the storm's forerunners
came soughing through the
leafless treetops.  A half-mile,
however, and the howls had merged
into one continuous note that
rose and fell on the breeze like
the wail of fiends in torment.
Even Rothada's untrained ear
caught the appalling sound as it swelled out with a
sudden flaw of the wind.  The girl cowered and pressed
closer to her companion.  Nor was she alone in her
fear.  With all their boyish pride, her brothers cried
out in dread, and Gerold turned as pale as his sister.
Liutrad slackened speed, and looked instinctively to
Olvir.

"Hearken, earl!" he called.  "The wolf-pack is
before us!  Should we not turn back?"

"*Heu!*" shouted Gerold; "turn--turn and fly while
there's yet time!"

"Where?" rejoined Olvir,--"to perish in the forest?
The storm lowers.  Our only hope is ahead.  Let us only
sweep by the pack, and we may yet gain safety.  At the
worst, we can mount an oak till Floki brings aid.  Lead on,
son of Erling!  Already we glide through the midst of the
horde.  Look back!"

A cry of terror burst from all others than Liutrad as
they stared back over their shoulders.  From the point of
the last bend, not a hundred paces behind them, a dozen
gaunt beasts were breaking cover to leap out upon the ice.
Even as the skaters looked about, other bands of the silent
pursuers sprang into the open from either bank, and a dry
snapping in the alders drew the eye to half-hidden forms
flitting through the thickets abreast of the party.

Suddenly a huge grey wolf leaped out from the left
bank, several yards in the lead of the skaters.  The beast
made no attempt to attack the quarry.  Hardly even did he
look at them, but bounded along on the ice-edge, whining
like a young dog.  The strange actions of the beast, coupled
with the silence of the gathering pack, struck Liutrad's
stout heart with a fear little less intense than that of his
companions.

"Tyr! the beasts are upon us!" he shouted, and, gripping
Hildegarde and Pepin fast in his giant grasp, he bent
far over and drove into the teeth of the freshening wind at
racing speed.  At his heels followed Gerold with young
Karl, keen to hold the vantage of the wind-break offered
by the great body of the Northman.

Olvir, however, did not join in the mad rush.  With a
word of assurance to Rothada, he freed his hold of her and
plucked an arrow from his quiver.  With the twang of the
bow the grey leader of the wolf-pack uttered a yell and
leaped high in the air, pierced through and through by the
Norse arrow.  Even as the beast fell dying, Olvir was back
at Rothada's side, and his arm linked in hers with a grip of
steel.

"Ho, dear heart!" he cried cheerily; "now will Odin's
dogs whet their fangs on the bones of their leader, while we
race away up the ice-street.  Bend now--yet farther!  The
others outstrip us."

"Christ save us!" gasped Rothada, despairingly.

Olvir's face contracted with a pang of keenest anguish;
but his voice rang out almost gaily: "How now, king's
daughter; where is your trust?  No wolf should overtake
us though we had ten leagues to cover."

"I trust my hero!" replied the girl, and the words
gave added force to the Northman's swift strokes.  But as
he whirled his precious charge away from the silent
pursuers, the dismal howling in the forest ahead swelled out
with fearful distinctness.

Louder and yet louder resounded the yelling chorus,
until the air quivered with the hideous din, and even
Liutrad faltered, half fearing to advance.  But then
Olvir shot forward in the lead, and his call rang out
bold and clear: "On! on, wolf-racers!  We outstrip the
chase!  At yonder bend we 'll know the worst,--beyond
is the howling pack.  If we cannot pass, turn in to the
cleft oak on the point.  Its boughs will house us safe
from Greyleg."

"We follow, ring-breaker!" shouted Liutrad, and all
dashed on at racing speed, their hearts leaping with
renewed hope.  Every stroke left the grim pursuers farther
to the rear.

But now they were sweeping around the river's bend,
and the outcry before them rose to a deafening clamor.
Dreadful as was the sound, it yet failed to prepare them for
the scene that burst upon their startled gaze.  Even Olvir's
face whitened, and his lips moved in quick prayer.  A little
way beyond the bend, the river's bank and the ice-edge was
black with a dense mass of wolves, yelling and fighting and
tearing at the snow in mad frenzy.

"God save us! they 're werwolves!" cried Gerold.

Hildegarde turned her despairing gaze about till it
rested on young Karl.

"To the oak! to the oak, brother!" she screamed.
"Save my boy!"

But Olvir pointed ahead with a forceful gesture:
"Hold, fools!  Follow me on!  We'll dash by the mad
fiends.  Beyond is safety!"

Again the sea-king's words brought hope to his companions.
Swifter than ever their skate-blades spurned the
glassy surface, and they swept on around the bend at their
utmost speed.

Such was the frenzy of the wolves in their weird
saturnalia that at first they failed to heed the swiftly
approaching skaters.  But as the fugitives came flying
past, the young wolves on the edge of the pack sighted
the quarry, and yelled out the view-cry.  Another moment,
and the whole pack was swarming down the bank and out
upon the ice, to head off the quarry.

So swiftly, however, were the skaters skimming past
that all but a few of the foremost wolves were hopelessly
outdistanced.  Only a dozen or so of those farthest
upstream succeeded in coming near the fugitives, and even of
these the leader alone came within fair distance for the
quarry leap.  With a yell, the beast crouched, and flung
himself at Hildegarde; but at the same instant Liutrad
swerved aside with his charges, and Gerold, driving along
a few paces behind the Northman, straightened up and
cast his heavy boar-spear through the body of the leaping
beast.

In a twinkling the Swabian had whirled young Karl
past the writhing, snarling brute, and all were echoing the
boy's shrill cry of triumph.  Though the wolf-pack yelled
at their very heels, every hungry fang was now behind
them.

"God be praised!" gasped Hildegarde.  "The worst is past."

"We go free!" echoed Gerold, panting yet joyful; "we
go free, out of their very jaws!  Let the cheated fiends
follow in their place!"

But Olvir was silent, and his glance shifted uneasily
from the horde of yelling pursuers to the maiden at his
side.  There was little exultation in his tense white face.
One peril had been passed, but another now threatened.
Rothada was gasping for breath.  Notwithstanding his aid,
she was almost outdone.  Her strokes faltered, and Olvir
could feel the wild throbbing of her heart.  Though she
made no complaint, he saw that the strain was more than
she could bear.  His despairing gaze glanced from the
oak-tops to the lowering sky.

"Not that! not that!" he muttered.  "Already the
storm is upon us.  She would perish of cold on the
shelterless boughs before Floki comes.  By Thor, we hold
our own with the wood-fiends!  Could we keep to the
pace a little longer--  Yet I cannot bear her up alone!"

"Ah, Olvir!" gasped Rothada, "my strength fails;
I can go no farther.  Loose me; loose me, and save the
others, dearest!  I but drag you back--to death!"

Olvir gazed down upon the girl, his dark eyes misty
with infinite love and tenderness; and with the soul-calm
came sudden clearness.  A flush rose in his pale cheeks,
and his eyes flashed with hopeful fire.

"Liutrad!  Gerold!" he shouted; "the princess faints!
Skate abreast, that you may bear her up between you.
Soon you may ease your stroke.  I go to play with the
dogs of Odin."

"God forbid!" cried Liutrad.  "Let me be the one to
stay them."

"And gorge their jaws!  No, lad; you own the greater
strength; I the greater fleetness.  Each to his part!"

"Let Pepin come beside me," said Hildegarde.  "He
can hold to my hand."

"I 'll drag little, dear mother," replied the boy.  "I 'm
still strong."

"And I, mother," echoed Karl, with boyish pride.

"You 're brave lads, both," answered Gerold.  "Slacken
more, Liutrad.  Now, Pepin, cross over to your mother--so;
well done!  We 're ready, Olvir."

"None too soon!" rejoined Olvir, and he fell back
until Liutrad caught the fainting maiden from his grasp.

Borne up between the two young warriors, Rothada
had now only to lean her weight upon their strong arms,
and glide onwards, swept along by their powerful strokes.
The pace was still swift enough to hold the hundred strokes
gained over the horde at the first.  Olvir was quick to
heed the fact, and his face shone as he circled about the
others for a farewell view.

"All's well!" he called cheerily.  "Hold on only a
little longer, and you may ease the pace."

Still smiling, he plucked an arrow from his quiver, and
swept around on his daring mission.  In another moment
he was skimming at arrowy speed straight into the face of
the pack, his gold-red hair streaming, his face bright and
eager with the joy of battle.

Once and again the war-bow twanged, and two of the
grey leaders sprang high in the death-leap.  But, heedless
of their dead, the pack swept on over the writhing bodies
to meet the slayer.  Already the rash skater was upon
them.  Another instant, and he would be struggling in
their midst.  But even as the lolling tongues drew in for
the leap-bite, and the fiery eyes gleamed red with baleful
joy, the mad quarry wheeled like a striking hawk, and shot
away to the right from under their very jaws.  In their
eagerness, many of the foremost wolves leaped at the
Northman; but their jaws clashed together through empty
air, and they fell sprawling upon the ice, to be overrun by
their fellows.

Wild with baffled fury, the whole pack swerved to
follow the fleeing quarry as he swept slantingly across the
broad expanse of the river.  Olvir could have asked no
more.  Skimming along just beyond reach of the foam-dripping
jaws, he gazed back at his ferocious pursuers with
a mocking smile.

"Follow! follow me, dogs of Odin!" he jeered.  "I 'll
lead you a merry dance; to and fro,--a game of ice-tag.
So; we near the bank.  Now across to the other side; and
as we go, I 'll play on my one-stringed harp.  You shall
have music to your singing!"

Circling on the very edge of the ice-rim, Olvir swept
obliquely back across the river.  But as he turned, his
smile gave way to sudden grimness, and he raised his hand
to his quiver.  Then the war-bow began to twang its
answer to the yelling beasts, and arrow after arrow drove
into their midst with vengeful force.  Hardly a shaft flew
wide of its mark; yet they followed so swiftly one upon
the other that the quiver was emptied and the last shaft
whirring from the string before the flying bowman had
crossed the channel.

"Thor!" he shouted in fierce joy.  "We 've played a
merry game, white-fangs; now for a merrier!"

Deftly the bow was unstrung and slipped into its case,
and then the bared blade of Al-hatif glittered in the
sea-king's upraised hand.  But as he swerved out again from
the alder thickets, he first glanced up the river after his
fleeing companions.  Briefly as the terrible play had lasted,
the others had already gained many more yards over the
horde.  While their peril, however, was lessening, his had
suddenly doubled.  Not all the wolves had followed him
in his second turn across the river.  A hundred or more,
running straight onward, had put themselves in advance
of the doubling quarry.  The foremost were already
circling around to hedge him in.

It was no time to falter.  Putting out the very utmost
of his skill and strength, Olvir dashed toward the
fast-closing line at a speed that dropped the following wolves
to the rear as though they had been at a stand.

"Ho, dogs!" he shouted.  "Skate to paw; sword to
fang!  I come; I come to your blood-game!"

An outburst of ferocious yells answered the boastful
shout, and from right and left the beasts sprang in to meet
him.  But again Olvir wheeled with hawk-like quickness.
Two strokes, and he was before a gap in the line guarded
by a single grey leader.  Once again he wheeled, to dart
through the gap.  Swiftly as he came, the old wolf saw
his purpose, and crouched low.  But, even as the beast
leaped, Olvir swerved and shot safely past him; and, in the
passing, Al-hatif whistled in a slashing upstroke.  Greyleg
fell upon the ice, never to leap again.

With a wild shout, Olvir dashed out from the death-trap,
and, undaunted by his close escape, turned for a third
race across the river.  But as he wheeled, a great gust of
wind came roaring through the oaks, and the air suddenly
grew thick with driven snow.  Instantly Olvir sheathed
his reddened blade, and, with his shoulder to the quartering
gale, drove straight up the river at a speed which Floki
himself might not have equalled.

Soon the baffled pursuers fell to the rear.  Their yells
died away in the roaring of the storm, and the snow swept
between in a swirling, blinding mist.  But if the white
storm-veil hid the Northman from his pursuers, it blotted
out no less completely all view of his companions.  For a
while he kept on at racing speed, until he thought he
should be upon them.  Then he slackened his stroke, and
shouted into the white gloom.  No answer came back but
the loud complaint of the straining oaks and the shriek
and roar of the blast through the lashing boughs.

Again Olvir shouted, his face dark with sudden misgiving;
still no answer.  With a bitter cry, he wheeled to
circle about in the dense whirl.  But then the air quivered
with the blast of a hunting-horn, so clear and loud that it
might have been blown within arm's length.

"None bore horns!  It must be Floki!" he cried, and
he drove straight into the teeth of the gale.  The
fierce-driving snow blinded him; but he kept on, groping with
outstretched hands.  Suddenly a white figure swept past
before him, so near that he could almost touch it.  He
wheeled to follow, and at once saw that it was linked in
line with other figures.  His heart leaped with thanksgiving.
Here were all six,--maid and dame, bairns and warriors,--all
safe; ay, and with one added to their number!  Not
even Liutrad was so big and strong as the skater who
drove along at the far end of their line, his massive
shoulder braced against the wind.

"The king!" shouted Olvir, as he swung in to join
himself to the near end of the line.

A welcoming hail burst from the lips of the skaters,
and as they felt the thrust of Olvir's tireless stroke, they
swept on with added speed.  Even Rothada found new
strength in the joy of her hero's presence, and, no longer
contented with gliding, she joined in the swinging stroke
of the others.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`CHAPTER 2-XII`:

.. class:: center large

   CHAPTER XII

.. vspace:: 2

|   Now behold the fourth rede:
|   If ill witch thee bideth,
|   Woe-begetting by the way,
|   Good going farther
|   Rather than guesting,
|   Though thick night be upon thee.
|                   LAY OF SIGRDRIFA.

.. vspace:: 2

Though the blast struck quartering
in the faces of the skaters,
the brunt of its force was broken
by the king's body; so that the
others, dragged on by his
bull-strength and Olvir's wiry vigor,
held to a pace which lost none
of the distance they had gained
on the wolf-pack before the
storm burst.

"Thor!" shouted Liutrad, hoarse but joyful.  "We
cheat both werwolves and storm-fiends!  We shall soon
be sitting by the glowing hearth!"

"God grant it!" replied Karl.  "Yet you crow too
soon, lad.  There's a turn ahead will bring us into the
teeth of the wind.  Even now we should be swerving."

"Saint Michael!" gasped Gerold.  "We can never
drive against this blast!"

"No, by Thor!" called back Olvir.  "Even now we
can scarce hold our own--and behind comes the horde!
We are doomed if we linger on the ice.  To the bank,
lord king!  There's no other way!"

"A hard truth, Dane hawk!  Yet it is better to freeze
than to be torn by ravening beasts.  *Heu*!  I know of a hut
among the oaks.  To the forest!  The pack runs blind,
with neither sight nor scent.  They 'll follow the river
and pass us by."

"To the bank!" shouted Liutrad and Gerold; and
the line of skaters swung around to glide inshore.  Blinded
by the whirling flakes, they drove upon the low bank
before aware of its nearness.  Staggering and half
falling, they stumbled across the rough ice-rim, and flung
themselves down upon the bank to tear at their skate-thongs.

Olvir did not wait to untie knots.  Even as he loosed
his grip on young Karl, he drew his silver-hilted dagger.
In a twinkling he had freed both himself and the boy, and
was springing to the side of Rothada.  Thrusting her
skates with his own and young Karl's into his empty
quiver, he drew the maiden to her feet.  The others had all
freed themselves, and sprang up together.

"Leave no scent for the wood-fiends!  Hold to
your skates, and follow me!" commanded Karl.  Flinging
his younger son upon his shoulder, he grasped Hildegarde
by the hand, and rushed headlong in among the
oaks.

Liutrad caught up Pepin as the king had taken his
brother, and dashed away after their leader.  Olvir and
Gerold, with Rothada between them, followed as closely
upon his heels.  They were none too quick.  Hardly had
they covered a hundred paces, when behind them a sudden
burst of fierce yells rang out across the wind.

"God save us! they 've turned!" gasped Rothada;
while Gerold gripped his sword-hilt and loosened the blade
in its sheath, in readiness for his last fight.  But the yelling
cry died away as quickly as it had swelled out.  The
wolf-pack had overshot the snow-swept trail, and were racing
on around the river-bend.  For many minutes, however, the
king led on into the forest without slackening his swift
stride.  He did not check himself until Hildegarde
stumbled and half fell.

"Dear lord, I am very weary," she sighed.

Halting so abruptly that Liutrad almost ran upon
him, Karl caught his queen in his free arm, and drew
her close.

"Rest, sweetheart," he said gently.  "We are safe for
a time."

"A long time, lord king," added Liutrad.  "Even
should the pack turn, they 'd do well to hunt us out in this
wild flurry."

All the party drew close together, and stood panting,
while the shrieking storm-fiends swirled the snow about
them in dizzy eddies.  Soon, however, Olvir felt Rothada
shiver beneath his cloak.

"Lead on, lord king," he said.  "To linger here is
death!  Lead on to your hut."

Karl raised his head, and peered around through the
driving snow.

"By my sword, Olvir," he muttered; "you ask what
is beyond my skill.  Here among the trees the blast swirls
down from every quarter.  Who could guide through such
a storm?"

"Then we must wander blindly.  If we stand, we shall
perish of cold."

"Follow, then.  We 'll try at a venture."

"Stay, sire!" warned Gerold.  "What comes behind you?"

Karl turned sharply to stare at the huge form which
loomed up out of the snow-mist and drifted by within a
spear-length.  As it passed, the great shape swung about
its steaming muzzle to sniff at the party, and then it
lumbered on at the same leisurely gait.

"A bear!" muttered Karl; and he drew back to shield
his helpless charges.

Liutrad sprang before him with brandished spear.

"White biorn!" he cried,--"white biorn!  What
does the berg-rider in Frank Land?"

"Were I yet heathen," rejoined Olvir, "I 'd say we
look upon the king's sprite."

"It is--it is, earl!  No beast could pass so quietly.
Follow your guardian sprite, sire!  It leads you to safety!"

"Would you have me follow a forest fiend?  And
yet, beast or sprite, we can do no better!  Come, then; our
guide vanishes."

"Lead on, sire," answered Olvir; and all hurried in
pursuit of the dim white figure.  Once close upon it, they
slackened their pace, and silently followed the wraith-like
guide as it lumbered steadily onward into the forest.

Half a league or more had been passed, and both
Hildegarde and Rothada were nearly outspent, when the
strange guide swerved suddenly and disappeared.  At the
same moment a dark object, broader than any oak, loomed
before the wanderers.  They advanced, turning a little to
one side, and there, only a few paces before them, they saw
a red spot glowing in the dark barrier.

"The hut!" cried Karl.

Gerold sprang ahead, and, thrusting open a loose
corner of the window parchment, peered into the hut.  The
others would have hurried past him to the rude door just
beyond; but he uttered a low cry, and stepped before the
king with outstretched hands.

"Stay, sire, stay!" he muttered in a hushed tone.
"Better wolf and storm than witch-cheer!  Look within!"

Startled by the warning, Karl and then Liutrad peered
through the broken parchment, and each in turn drew
back with the same look which distended the eyes of the
Swabian.  Last of all, Olvir put his eye to the hole.  The
first glance showed him a squalid little room whose walls
of rotting logs stood out grimy and bare in the glow of the
driftwood fire.  The rafters of the low thatch were veiled
by the smoke, indriven by the wind, which eddied through
the roof-hole and sent little whirls of snowflakes hissing
into the flames.

Crouched upon the rude hearth, across the fire from each
other, were two women; and Olvir instantly recognized the
one on the left as Fastrada.  She sat with her head thrust
forward, gazing keenly across at her hearth-mate.

After the maiden, Olvir felt little surprise when his
glance turned to the tall woman who sat rocking to and fro
on the edge of the hearth and crooning a strange song, while
weasels played about her feet and ran up and down her
outstretched arms.  It was the girl's mother, the Wend
mate of the old Grey Wolf.

The woman's head was uncovered, and Olvir stared
with keen curiosity at her black hair and aquiline features.
Her dark oval face still showed traces of great beauty; but
age and witch-deeds had stained and withered her cheeks
and caused the once beautiful eyes to sink deep into their
sockets.  Even without the weasels, the look of malignant
joy on the witch's face would have set most hearts to
quaking.  But Olvir was smiling, half pityingly, at the dread
which even the king had betrayed, when the witch chanced
to turn so that the firelight struck upon her cheek.  At the
sight he started and almost cried out.  It seemed to him
that a red adder had thrust up from beneath the woman's
neckband and laid its venomous head upon her cheek.
When he stared more closely, however, he saw that the
snake-head, though perfect in outline, was only a crimson
blotch upon the witch's skin.  He drew back with a grim laugh.

"No wonder she hid her face," he muttered.  "What
woman would not, with such a mark?  But now--ho, lord
king; why do we linger?  Let us hasten in."

"In!" rejoined Gerold,--"a witch den!"

"She is Fastrada's mother,--the wife of Count Rudulf.
She will gladly give hearth-cheer to her husband's lord.
Come."

"Hold, Olvir.  If we go, I lead," said Karl; and he
thrust ahead to the hut door.  He found the latch-string in
and the door fast barred.  His knock must have resounded
through the narrow room like the beating of a hammer;
but though he waited for an answer, all was silence within.

The king did not knock again.  Setting down the half-frozen
boy from his shoulder, he threw his weight against
the door.  Before the shock, it flew violently inwards, its
bar snapped short in the socket.  Having thus cleared the
way, the king drew Hildegarde and the boy to him, and
stooped to pass beneath the lintel.  As the others pushed
after him into the warm interior, they saw Fastrada start
up and stand glaring at them with the horror of one who
looks upon some grisly spectre.

The Wend woman had shrouded herself about in her
grey cloak, and sat quietly in her place, staring at the
forceful guests from the depths of her hood.  Of the
weasels nothing was to be seen but a pair of fiery little
eyes peering out from the folds of the cloak upon her
bosom.  The witch was the first to speak.

"Odin bear witness," she said in a tone of quiet scorn.
"It is very fitting that he who thus breaks in on helpless
women calls himself King of the Franks."

"And over-lord of your lord, Wend wife.  Make way
by the fire for us."

"I make way for no one,--much less for Pepin's son,"
came back the hissing retort.

The king's brows met in a stern frown.

"That we shall soon see, woman," he said.  "Liutrad,
put this hag from the hearth."

"I, lord king!" muttered the young giant, and his
ruddy face whitened.  But then, crossing himself, he
advanced resolutely upon the dreaded alruna.  None the less,
his relief was plain to be seen when the Wend woman rose
and withdrew to the far end of the hut, without waiting to
be forced.

Then at last, as the shivering guests crowded about
the fire, Fastrada found her tongue.  Springing forward,
she threw herself at Hildegarde's feet, and loudly protested
her delight: "My gracious dame--sweet queen!  You're
safe! safe! and the bairns and the little maiden--all
alike have escaped the cruel--the cruel storm!"

"And the wolf-pack!" rejoined Pepin, proudly.

"Holy Mother!--wolves?"

"Nor was aid sent us, maiden," said Karl, sternly.

Fastrada half rose, and flung out her hands.

"Forgive me, sire!" she murmured.  "I, too, was lost;
I, too, wandered in the storm.  Only a little while since I
came upon this unholy den.  Blessed be the saints who
brought you to end my fears!"

"Why fears, maiden?  Should any mother, however
much a witch, harm her own child?"

Fastrada hung her head, visibly disconcerted by the
answer.  Her reply came haltingly, and in a tone almost
too low to be heard: "Your Majesty, should I bear--should
I suffer for her deeds?  It is too much!  Even my
horror--  Ah, let her witchcraft meet with the just
dooming of the king's law!  She is no mother to me!"

"Ay, girl, no longer am I mother to you!" hissed out
the Wend woman, and she glided around to the open door.
At the threshold she turned, and, flinging back her hood,
faced all openly.  The twitching muscles of her sallow
cheek gave to the crimson adder-head a fearful semblance
of life, and the horror lost nothing by the malignant fury
of her look and the sibilance in her low-pitched voice.

"So," she hissed; "the sly trull is bent upon saving
herself.  Having been caught in company with the Wend
witch, she seeks to cast off the mother who bore her!  Let
her be content; she has proved herself a changeling.  The
daughter of the Snake could not be mother to a child so
base and cowardly as to deny the bond of kinship.  No
longer is she blood of my blood or bone of my bone.  I go;
but, as parting gift, I leave her my curse,--the curse of
one who was a mother.  She shall taste of power, and it
shall be as ashes in her mouth; she shall hunger for love,
and hate shall wither her heart.  Woe to her!"

Pausing, with upraised hand, the witch shifted her
hateful gaze from her cowering daughter to the startled
group about the fire.

"As for you, storm-guests," she went on, "learn that
the witch-wife has gifts for all.  To Pepin's son I give toil
and sweat and bloody victory.  Joy to the crusher of free
folk!  None may withstand the world-hero.  Hoary-headed,
he dies in the straw; for no longer are there foes to
withstand him in battle.  And then I see the storm gather
in the frozen North.  The dragons swim the salt waves;
they fall upon Frank Land, ravening with fangs of steel and
with flaming breath.  The kin of Pepin's son flee as hares.
Thor smites the White Christ!  The Frank realm shatters
in fragments!"

"Hold, fiend-wife!" roared Karl; and he turned
threateningly upon the woman, all dread of her witchcraft
forgotten in his deep anger.  But she met him with a look
which even his imperious will could not withstand.  He
stood spellbound, transfixed by the cold glitter of her
sunken eyes.  For a little she held him powerless,--him,
the world-hero, king of half Europe.  Then her thin white
lips curled scornfully, and she turned from him to the
others.

"Enough of Pepin's son," she scoffed.  "As to these
Norse curs, false alike to their folk and their gods, my curse
is needless.  The gods whom they have betrayed will exact
full vengeance.  But I put my curse on the brood of the
bloody Frank,--maiden, bairns, and bed-mate,--all who
stand before me.  May the king's sons never wear crown;
may the nun-maid lose her bright hero; may the fair queen
know beforetime--"

The woman paused, and looked darkly from Hildegarde
to her daughter.  She was yet gloating upon the two
when Rothada rose and came to her with outstretched arms.

"Ah, dame, good dame, be still!" she cried.  "Christ
forgive you the evil words!  Turn to Him; cast out the
hatred from your heart before your own curses creep in to
wither it!"

"*Hei!* what is this?" muttered the woman; and she
drew back in bewilderment.  Her eyes glared into the
pleading eyes of the king's daughter with a look almost of
terror.  Suddenly, without a word, she turned and rushed
out into the storm.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`CHAPTER 2-XIII`:

.. class:: center large

   CHAPTER XIII

.. vspace:: 2

|   Until that Guiki
|   With gold arrayed me
|   And gave me to Sigurd.
|                   LAY OF GUDRUN.

.. vspace:: 2

For a while the deserted guests
stood staring at one another,
and there was dread in the eyes
of even Liutrad and the king.
Olvir alone showed no fear.  If
he had dared the power of the
Wend witch in the depths of
Fulda Wood, he would not
yield awe to her now.
Presently he burst into a scornful laugh.

"Thor!" he jeered.  "The witch-wife flees before a
child,--a fearsome witch!"

"By the rood!" muttered Karl, and he drew in a deep
breath; "they say true who name Rudulf's wife a heathen
alruna."

But Hildegarde gathered the two trembling boys in
her arms, and looked across at Olvir with a grateful
smile.

"Dear lord," she said, "our bright Dane speaks truth.
Witch or no, the Wend woman has fled before our little
maiden.  What need have we to fear the curse of one so
powerless?"

"Here is yet more comfort for those who have faith in
spells," added Olvir.  "At the king's belt swings Ironbiter,
my father's sword, upon whose blade are magic runes, cut
by Otkar himself.  They are pledged to guard the wielder
against all witchcraft and evil."

Gerold shook his head doubtingly, and drew closer to
the fire.  "I have more faith in Christian signs.  Yet
though I marked the cross while she spoke, and twice since,
I say freely that I would sooner face an aurochs bull
naked-handed than stand again before that witch.  Thank God,
she is gone!"

"Into the storm, brother!" murmured Hildegarde,
pityingly.  "May the dear Christ save her body from wolf
and cold, and her soul from hatred!"

At the fervent prayer, Fastrada stared up at the queen
as her mother had stared at Rothada.  But when she met
Hildegarde's mild eyes, radiant with spiritual light, her
gaze sank again to the hearth at her feet, and a dark flush
overspread her face.  Karl, who alone gave heed to the
girl's shame, mistook its cause, and his own face reddened
with a guilty flush.

"God bless you, dear wife!" he muttered.  "What
curse can bring harm upon so gracious a soul?  But as
to that Wend witch, should she escape the storm and
wolf-pack, let her beware the law.  Though twice over the wife
of Rudulf and mother of this maiden, I will enforce against
her to the utmost the just doom for evil spells and
witcheries.  Enough for the time of the hag and her curses.
She has gone out among her storm-fiends; let them cherish
her.  We will warm our knees by her hearth.  Fetch wood
for the fire!"

As Gerold and Liutrad sprang up to bring fagots from
the far end of the hut, Olvir led Rothada about to the fire,
and sought a new bar for the door, which was swaying to
and fro with the eddying draught.  Before making it fast,
however, he peered out in search of the Wend woman.  He
might as well have sought to look through a fog on the
narrow seas.

Though the first fury of the wind had spent its force,
the snow was now falling with greater thickness than ever.
For all Olvir could tell, their grim hostess might have been
lurking within a dozen yards of the doorway.  He hesitated
on the threshold, and was about to shout, when his
quick ear caught another note than the creak and soughing
of the oak-tops.

"Floki!--The laggard comes at last!" he said, and he
faced about to the steaming group around the fire.  "Listen,
lord king!  I hear horns.  My vikings come in search
of their vala."

Horn in hand, Karl sprang out beside the Northman,
and blew the trysting-note.  Three times he repeated the
call, and then at last an answering note came blaring
down the wind.  Off toward the river other horns
caught up and re-echoed the call.  The searchers were
beating through the forest.  Guided by frequent blasts
of the king's horn, they gathered quickly through the
white snow-mist.

Soon the nearest horn resounded within a spear-throw,
and Olvir flung open the door, that the red firelight might
glow out into the storm.  Hardly had he done so, when a
gigantic white figure leaped out of the swirling snow-mist,
and halted within two paces of the doorway, to lean,
panting, upon the long shaft of a halberd.

"Greeting, Floki," said Olvir, in a very quiet tone.
"You come over-late to the skating."

"Forgive, earl!" replied the tall viking.  "Let the
king say if the storm did not burst before the signs boded;
and, more, we 've had a game on the way."

"Saint Michael!" cried Karl; "you 're torn,
man,--you bleed!  The wolves!"

"They had their chase, lord king; now they rest on
the ice.  Only a few turned back before us.  After the
blood-game, we spread out from either bank.  A witling
could have guessed that you 'd tricked the grey dogs in
the flurry."

"Come within," said Olvir.  "The others draw near.
I 'll bind up your shoulder while they gather."

"Let be, ring-breaker.  I would not bring blood before
the queen and our little vala.  It is only a flesh nip, and can
wait.  Here come those whom I outran.  Make ready the
women and bairns, and we 'll bear all to the king's burg."

"Better for them to linger by the warm hearth till the
storm is spent," said Olvir.

But Karl struck his fist into his open palm.

"No! by all the fiends, no!" he swore.  "We linger
no longer under this unholy roof.  Ho! within
there,--Liutrad--Gerold!  Cast the brands among the fagots, and
let all come out.  Guests arrive; we should have
hearth-cheer for all."

Obedient to the king's command, the young men
swept the blazing brands from the hearthstone across
to the high-heaped stack of fuel.  Quickly the flames
licked in among the dry fagots, and spread to right and
left.  Then, puzzled, but satisfied that they had done the
king's will, the young men followed the others from the
hut.  As they passed the threshold, a dozen vikings came
leaping out of the white swirl, wild with delight at sight
of their little vala.

In the midst of the rejoicings, the fire within the hut
burst hissing through the sodden thatch, and poured out
overhead in a torrent of smoke and flames.  Then the red
tongues began to thrust between the half-rotted logs of the
wall; for the hut within was dry as tinder.  The leeward
wall soon became a solid sheet of flame.

As all drew back from the blazing hut, a second band
of vikings came shouting through the forest, guided by the
horns.  Hot after these ran half a hundred Franks and
Northmen, with Fulrad, the valiant old churchman, at
their head, brandishing a boar-spear.

At sight of the abbot, Karl beckoned to him, and
called imperiously for the shouting to cease.  When both
Franks and vikings had gathered in a ring of wondering
listeners, he laid his hand on Olvir's shoulder, and raised
his voice high and clear above the uproar of the storm.

"Listen, liegemen and vikings!  It is fitting that
friends should return gift for gift.  This day my Dane
hawk has given to me a gift beyond price,--the lives of
my queen and children.  Had not the hero turned back to
play with death in the teeth of the wolf-pack, all my loved
ones would have met their fate on the frozen stream.  Now,
therefore, I pledge to the son of Thorbiorn the hand of my
daughter Rothada, and, that none may doubt my faith,
the maiden shall plight her troth with the hero.  Whenever
he has fulfilled the terms I have set for him, they shall wed.
Fulrad will receive their vows."

A great shout of mingled astonishment and delight
burst from the lips of the snow-shrouded onlookers.  But
all fell silent again as Olvir and Rothada clasped hands.

So, their hearts brimming over with love and joy,
sea-king and king's daughter plighted their troth before the
priest, in the midst of the swirling storm.  Out of the
jaws of the wolf-pack, they had won not only life, but joy.

When the vows were spoken, and the abbot had
blessed the betrothed, the Franks joined full-voiced in the
shouts of the vikings.  For the time at least there was only
one among all present who did not share in the joy of the
lovers.  While all others pressed forward about them,
Fastrada alone drew back, cold and silent, and with another
look than friendliness in her narrow-lidded gaze.

Deft hands had already lashed together spear-shafts
and branches for litters to bear the women; and now
Hildegarde and the two maidens were placed on the swaying
seats.  Brawny warriors perched the king's sons on their
shoulders; and all marched away through the whirling
snow, to the accompaniment of blaring horns and the wild
shouts of the vikings.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`CHAPTER 2-XIV`:

.. class:: center large

   CHAPTER XIV

.. vspace:: 2

|   An ill day, an ill woman,
|   And most ill hap!
|                   LAY OF GUDRUN.

.. vspace:: 2

Never had Olvir or Rothada
known a happier winter.  As
betrothed lovers they were allowed
much greater freedom than
would otherwise have been held
seemly.  Hildegarde often
invited the Northman, with Gerold
and Liutrad, to her bower, and
there the lovers would sit by the
hour in a quiet window-nook,
watching the games of the king's children.  Sometimes the
young men and the bower-maidens joined in the play, and
there was wild merriment in the bower.  At other times
the presence of the king restrained the roisterers to more
sedate amusements.

But Olvir was not always left in peace with his
betrothed.  The many churchmen at Thionville, with Alcuin
at their head, were untiring in their efforts to convince
him of the divine right of the Pope and Holy Church.
Over and over again, Olvir stated the high ideals of life
which he had gathered from the Gospels by his own
reading, but the pious churchmen had no ears for such heresy.
Who so sacrilegious as to dispute the dogmas of the wise
and holy Augustine?  Even Karl was puzzled and annoyed
by Olvir's failure to accept the argument of "authority."

But though Olvir found it no great task to withstand
the priests, his position was not so easy when he came to
the well-wishers who appealed to his heart instead of his
head.  Hildegarde had masses sung for his conversion, so
great was her concern.  Between his wish to gratify both
king and queen and his desire to win his bride, Olvir came
far nearer to losing the struggle than through any arguing
of the priests.  Yet through it all he held fast to his first
stand, even at the times when Karl himself, roused by the
failures of his churchmen, took part in the dispute and
sought to sweep away the defences of the Northman by
the sheer force of his giant will.

So the winter months slipped by, and at last in sunny
nooks the earth began to peer through the holes in its
white coverlet.  Then the Moselle burst its fetters and
rolled free in the sunshine, while Ostara of the Saxons
came sauntering up from the Southlands, blowing open
the leaf-buds with her fragrant breath and strewing
behind her a trail of early blossoms.

Never had the outer conditions of the land seemed
more in keeping with the quiet joy and peace of the Pascal
season.  The plans of Alcuin and Karl for a general
educational movement throughout the kingdom were well
under way, and gave promise of speedy fruition,--to the
glory of the king and the uplifting of his subjects.

Into the midst of this peace and quiet the war-storm
burst from the Saxon forests without forewarning.  On
the very eve of Easter Sunday, a messenger from Count
Rudulf came riding in hot haste, with word that Wittikind
was back again from the North, followed by a host of
Nordalbingians.

Further tidings of disaster were not long delayed.
From all parts of Saxon Land messengers came flying, with
report of fire and sword, bloodshed and sacrilege.  The
wild forest-folk, Eastphalians, Westphalians, and Engern,
had risen to a man, and, under the leadership of Hessi
and Alf and Bruno, were rushing to join the standard of
the indomitable Wittikind.  Last of all came riders from
Teutoric, Count of the Frisian Mark.  The Frisians were
marching eastwards across their fenlands, everywhere
slaying and burning, like their Saxon kinsmen.  All beyond
the Rhine, from Thuringia to the North Sea, the land was
aflame.

Such were the fearful tidings which were to bring
sorrow to many a Frankish hearthside and shatter the
great king's fond dream of peace.  Olvir's forebodings of
what Verden should bring forth had been verified even
more fully than he had expected.  It was the hour of
promise for Wittikind, son of Wanekind.  All the
internecine bitterness and jealousies of the tribes had melted
away in the heat of their common fury against the Frank.
For the first time in the long struggle, the utterly free
forest-dwellers had forgotten the narrow boundaries of
their shires, and placed themselves willingly under a
common leader.

Yet, bitter as was his disappointment, Karl took up
the renewal of the war with unflinching resolve to bend
the stiff-necked heathen to his will.  Riders were sent
flying with the arrow-bode to all parts of the kingdom,
while the king and his war-counts set about the planning
of a campaign in the North greater than any that had ever
gone before.

By the end of April the first of the war-levies had
gathered at Cologne, where they were to be joined by the
king.  The first of May had been fixed as the day for the
start, and on the evening before, all the high counts sat
down to a farewell supper with the royal family.  It was
only the king's customary meal of four dishes and the roast,
yet the occasion gave to it a distinction lacked by many a
state feast.

Among the greater number of the guests the talk was
all of the coming warfare,--of the long marches through
the forests and over the broad heaths of Saxon Land;
of possible battles, and the certain speedy overthrow of
Wittikind.  The gay Franks, many of whom were to find
bloody death-beds under the Saxon beeches or in the
yellow gorse, jested away the fears of their fair
benchmates, and boasted how they would return, covered with
glory and laden with the loot of the heathen.

But while most of the guests spent the meal-time in
jests and boasting, there were a few who had little desire
for merriment.  Karl himself, though far other than
disheartened that he was on the eve of the death-grapple
with the fiercest and most stubborn of his many foes, was
in no mood for gaiety.  Had not the ravaging of the Saxons
been enough to sober his thoughts, there were rumors of
fresh plots against him at the court of Duke Tassilo of
Bavaria, while old Barnard, his uncle, had sent word from
Italy of renewed attempts by Adelchis the Lombard to
obtain a fleet and host at Constantinople from the Empress
Irene.

But the king was affected most of all by the coming
separation from his wife and children.  Though it was
intended that they should rejoin him in Saxon Land so soon
as the full gathering of the Frankish host safeguarded the
mark from Saxon raiders, his affection would not suffer
him to part from his family without great reluctance.

.. _`"'Go, Olvir!' muttered the king, thickly; 'go--before I forget that I once loved you'"`:

.. figure:: images/img-352.jpg
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   :alt: "'Go, Olvir!' muttered the king, thickly; 'go--before I forget that I once loved you.'"  (Page 467)

   "'Go, Olvir!' muttered the king, thickly; 'go--before I forget that I once loved you.'"  (Page `467`_)

Saddened as were Karl and Hildegarde by the thought
of parting, their grief could not compare with that of Olvir
and his little princess.  Though the king left love behind,
before him he saw glory and power; and even Hildegarde
could look forward with pleasure to the success of her dear
lord.  Olvir, however, in leaving love, left all that he held
dear.  The expected battles, which lured on so many others
with their promise of blood-stained honors, meant no more
to him than an unwilling rendering of his duty to the king.

"God grant, dear heart, that we meet the Saxons at
once!" he burst out after a long silence.  "A single great
battle may shatter their war-earl's power, and end the
bloody strife.  With Wittikind crushed, the most stubborn
of the forest-folk may well give up the struggle as
hopeless."

"If only they might bend to our Lord Christ without
so much as one battle!" sighed Rothada.

"If only they might, little vala!" echoed Olvir.  "But
the best we can look for is a pitched battle, and the more
terrible the slaughter, the more hope for peace to follow."

"That is a fearful saying, Olvir!"

"The truth of sword-rule.  But this is no time, dearest,
to fret our spirits with such thoughts.  We have enough to
sadden us in our parting."

"Oh, my hero!  If I were not so selfish, I would seek
to lighten your heart.  But I sit here, heavy with sorrow,
while all others are gay.  See; even Fastrada has put away
her brooding, and makes merry with Gerold and the pages,
as once I used to do."

"She may well rejoice!  War is as welcome to her as
to my vikings; and no doubt she is merry that we are to
be parted."

"Dear hero, you should speak evil of no one."

"True, sweetheart; I should not judge even the witch's
daughter.  Yet her laughter lacks the ring of that which
springs from a kindly heart.  Nor do I like the manner in
which she looks at the king."

"Surely, Olvir, you misjudge the maiden.  All during
Lent she has been very kind and gentle.  Look; here are
the mushrooms which she told Pepin and Karl to gather
for our mother."

"Loki,--a Roman dish!  Yet the act was to be
praised," admitted Olvir, and he stared curiously at the
salver borne past by one of the pages.  "I see it was not
enough of honor to the ugly elf-stools that they should be
gathered by a king's sons.  They must be served in a
golden bowl with a spoon of silver."

"Do not mock, dear.  The cook is from Ravenna, and
very skilled in his art.  He bakes the spoon with the food,
and if there should chance to be any poisonous mushroom
with the others, he knows that the spoon will blacken."

"Better trust to good flesh and grain, and leave such
dishes to the Romans and Greeks," rejoined Olvir, and he
turned with sudden remembrance to his neglected trencher.

But his appetite, always moderate, was soon satisfied,
and he was turning again to Rothada, when, startling as a
thunderbolt from a clear sky, the king's voice broke in upon
the laughter of the guests, harsh and strained with alarm:
"Bring water! bring water quickly!  The queen is ill!
Mother of God, she swoons!"

In the sudden hush which followed, all heard the
sibilant voice of Fastrada echoing the king's cry: "The queen
swoons!  Run, fetch the leech!--Kosru, the leech!"

Then all at the table sprang up together, and Liutrad
and Worad rushed away in search of the Magian.  With
his own hands Karl had laid his queen upon the dais.
About his stooping form gathered the dames and maidens;
while the lords, grave and silent with anxiety, drew
together at the far end of the hall.  Olvir followed Rothada
to the outer line of the women; but Gerold alone pushed
in through their midst.

As the Swabian knelt beside his sister, Liutrad came
thrusting Kosru before him into the hall.  The Magian was
deathly pale, and trembled visibly as Liutrad and Worad
bore him forward between them.  Yet he had not lost his
power of speech.

"Stay!" he interposed in a quavering voice, as, at a
sign from the king, Fastrada and the other bower-maidens
sought to raise the queen.  "Stay, maidens!  I would first
learn what our gracious dame has eaten."

"What we have all eaten," replied Karl, quickly.

"But more, lord king," called out Olvir.  "How of the
elf-stools?"

"The mushrooms!" muttered Gerold, and he sprang
up to point out the little golden bowl, still on the board
beside his sister's trencher.

Kosru tottered forward and clutched the bowl in his
claw-like fingers.  Breathlessly the onlookers watched
while he sniffed at the shreds in the bottom of the dish
and placed one of them upon his tongue.  Almost
instantly he spewed it out again.

"Ahriman!" he cried, and he turned to the king, his
face a sickly yellow.

"Speak out!" commanded Karl, sternly.

"*Ai*!  I feared it, lord king.  Queen Hildegarde has
eaten poisonous fungi."

"Yet the silver was untarnished.  I saw it myself."

"But listen, lord king," replied the leech, so huskily
that few could follow his words; "the test is not certain.
There is a most deadly fungus, so like the harmless kind--"

"Who gathered the venomous mess?" demanded Karl, harshly.

"Your two eldest sons, sire," replied Fastrada.

"King of Heaven!"  The great Frank's head bent forward,
and he signed to the bower-maidens: "Bear her hence."

Out of the great hall and through the long corridors
to her bower, they bore the swooning queen.  The guests,
following at a respectful distance, waited without the door,
where they could soonest hear any word sent out from the
sick-chamber.

Within the bower, husband and brother knelt side by
side at the foot of Hildegarde's couch, wrestling in
agonized prayer; while around them the maidens and
tiring-women stood silently weeping, or, at the bidding of the
leech, glided hastily about in the service of their beloved
mistress.

But though Kosru made trial of drug after drug, all
alike failed to rouse Hildegarde from her death-like stupor.
Hour by hour the night dragged through its dreary length,
and Kosru began to shake his head.

With all but infinite slowness, the grey dawn came
stealing in upon the silent watchers,--the dawn of the
last day that Hildegarde, the beloved queen, should abide
with her dear lord.  As the first red arrows of sunrise shot
up the eastern sky, Rothada glided out from the bower and
came to place her hand in Olvir's.  Her face was very sad,
and tears shone in the violet eyes.

"All is over!" murmured Olvir, in a broken whisper.
But Rothada shook her head.

"No, no; she still breathes.  Yet the leech has given
up all hope.  He promises only to rouse her before the end.
He has already given the drug.  I come to call Abbot
Fulrad for the last offices of Holy Church."

Groans of despair burst from the lips of the waiting
liegeman; but Olvir turned silently, and went with
Rothada to the chapel.  They halted in the doorway, and
gazed out over the kneeling congregation to the high altar.
There was no need of word or sign.  Very solemnly Fulrad
took up the vessel of sacred oil, and came down from the
chancel.  As he passed from among them the soft-voiced
choristers sobbed out the wailing notes of the *Miserere*, and
the grief-stricken congregation prostrated themselves in
hopeless sorrow.  But only Rothada and Olvir followed the
abbot along the silent passages and in through the entrance
to the bower.

Within the sick-room there had been a change.  Beside
the couch were gathered all the king's children, and
Hildegarde, very faint, but fully conscious, was taking the last
farewell of her dear ones.  The end was very near.

Fulrad raised his tear-stained face, and advanced, with
all the solemnity of his office, to administer the last rites
of Holy Church.  Tremulous but clear, his voice
pronounced the words of the sacrament, and with the holy oil
he anointed the head and hands and feet of the dying queen.
Then, the holy rite ended, he turned and went back to the
chapel.  As the slow, heavy tread of his sandals died away
down the passage, Karl rose up and signed to the sobbing
attendants.

"Let all go out but those of kin," he said.

Obediently the maidens and women took a last look at
their mistress, and crept away to seek comfort for their
grief in the chapel.  Behind them followed Fastrada and
Kosru the leech, with downcast eyes; while last of all
came Olvir, his dark face aglow with the spiritual light
that shone in the eyes of Hildegarde.  He paused at the
door, overcome with yearning to linger inside; and as
Fastrada and the cowering leech glided out before him, his
wish was answered by the king: "Turn again, Olvir.  She
speaks your name."

In a moment the Northman was back beside Rothada.
Hildegarde had kissed her own children for the last time,
and, at a sign from Karl, they were being led from the
bower.  She now turned her gaze to the grief-stricken
figure of Pepin Hunchback, and all bent forward to catch
her faintly murmured words: "Son of Himiltrude,--no
less my son.  Cherish him, dear lord!"

"As God gives me wisdom, beloved," answered Karl.

The boy bent and kissed the lips of the gentle dame
who had been to him as his own mother; then, sobbing
bitterly, he ran from the bower.  In his place knelt
Rothada, and on either side of her Gerold and Olvir.
Already Hildegarde's mild eyes were darkening; but she
turned her gaze to the three, and a smile shone on her
pallid cheeks.

"Gerold--brother," she whispered, "God has blessed
you.  Yours shall ever be a life of honor.  Rothada--Olvir,
my daughter--my son,--love is yours.  Be happy, as I
have been happy with my dear lord.  Karl--come to me--"

Silently the three rose and gave place to the king.
He knelt and drew his beloved into his great arms, and
she nestled to him with the sigh of a tired child.

Then the others went softly out of the bower, and left
the king alone with his dead.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`CHAPTER 2-XV`:

.. class:: center large

   CHAPTER XV

.. vspace:: 2

|   All the field with the blood of the fighters
|   Flowed, from whence first the great
|   Sun-star of morning-tide,
|   Lamp of the Lord God,
|   Lord everlasting,
|   Glode over earth, till the glorious creature
|   Sunk to her setting.
|                   BATTLE OF BRUNANBURH.

.. vspace:: 2

With all the solemn pomp of
church and state they bore the
dead queen through the budding
woods to Metz, and there laid her
to rest in the crypt of the great
domchurch,--the Basilica of
Saint Arnulf her forefather.  The
beggar crouching on the steps
saw the great king pass in with
bowed head and fingers tugging
at his beard, and knew that there is a grief which comes to
both high and low, which enters alike palace halls and the
hovel of the serf.

But deep as was Karl's sorrow, once that he had
turned away from the tomb of his beloved queen, he set
about the opening of the Saxon campaign with added
determination.  Used as were his liegemen to the tremendous
energy of his movements, never before had they seen him
bend all to his will with such resistless force.  To put away
the anguish of his grief, he threw himself headlong into
the war-game, and welcomed the fresh tidings of ravages
which served to inflame his wrath against the forest-dwellers.

He did not return to the ill-omened villa, but moved
the court direct to Mayence.  Leaving there the royal
household in the charge of Queen Bertrada his mother, who
came from Saint Denis at his asking, he embarked with his
war-counts for Cologne in Olvir's long-ships.

Yet with all his eagerness to meet and crush the
harrying forest-wolves, the first day of summer found him
encamped at the Lippespring with but thirty thousand
warriors,--only a few more than those with whom he had
set out from Cologne.  The greater part of the expected
levies had been delayed by lack of forage and by the all
but impassable morasses which covered the land during
the heavy spring rains.

Far from damping his ardor, however, the delay and
disappointment had served only to harden his resolve and
call out his energy.  Already he had swept across the mark
from the Ems to the Weser, and back again to Paderborn,
devastating all the southern shires of Westphalia.  Where
he had passed, the Saxon hamlets, scattered through the
vast woods and on the broad heaths, were left as heaps
of smouldering ruins.  Their defenders lay slain among the
ashes; while all others of their inhabitants whom the
Franks could take thrall--man and woman and child--were
being dragged away to exile and slavery in the South.

Had the forces of Wittikind been united, even so great
a leader as Karl could not have thus harried the land
unchecked.  But the Frisians were yet making their way
around the north of the Teutoburger Wald, and Bruno
and Hessi had marched with their tribesmen, the
Eastphalians and Engern, to foray along the northern borders
of Thuringia.  So, with only his Westphalians and
Nordalbingians, Wittikind, no less wily than intrepid, had
withdrawn into the hills which form the southern termination
of the Teutoburger Wald, and awaited attack near where
the Roman Varus perished with his legions.  Though his
host was smaller than the Frank's, it held the vantage of
position.

Before he learned of the delayed levies, the king had
sent Olvir into Thuringia, to aid Count Rudulf against
the harrying Engern and Eastphalians.  But when the
vikings had marched clear across the forest land to the
Saale, they found that the Grey Wolf and his little host
of five thousand Thuringians had gone north and west
into Eastphalia, worrying the rearguard of the retreating
Saxons.

Eager to bring word to the king before Hessi and
Bruno could join their large host to that of the war-earl,
Olvir marched straight across country to Paderborn.  But
he reached the Lippespring with even his iron followers
outspent, only to learn that Karl had met the war-earl on
his chosen ground, and forced the passage of the
mountains.  Stubbornly as the Westphalians and their
Nordalbingian allies had fought, the Franks had driven them back
through their sacred forests, and wrested the holy Burg
of Teu from their grasp.

Defeated but unrouted, Wittikind had withdrawn with
his host along the farther slope of the mountains, to meet
his Frisian allies on the Haze bank; and there, upon the
arrival of his belated levies, Karl had followed, to give him
battle the second time.

Such were the tidings that were poured into the ears
of the eager sea-wolves as they lay panting after their
long chase.  Nor had they rested two days before Count
Gerold came racing to the Lippespring with word of the
first great battle on the Haze bank.  By forced marches,
the king had come upon the Saxon host before the juncture
of Hessi and Bruno.  The forest-dwellers, surprised in
their camp, had been driven across the Haze, with great
slaughter.  But the outworn Franks were unable to follow
up their victory, and Karl, learning in the night that Hessi
and Bruno were about to join the war-earl, at once set to
replacing and strengthening the broken war-hedges of the
captured camp.

The immense host of the united Saxons now outnumbered
the Franks by ten thousand men.  The Grey Wolf
had not yet come up with his Thuringians when Gerold left
the Haze, and his whereabouts were unknown.  There was
pressing need for every man who could swing sword.
But Gerold might have spared himself the urging.  The
vikings were wild to take part in the blood-game.  There
were no laggards when, at dawn, Olvir gave the word to
start.

Freshened by their rest, they swept over the hills,
past the Teutoburg and through the wooded valley country
along the base of the Teutoburger Wald, like wolves on a
blood-trail.  Even horsemen could not have outdistanced
them on that first day's march.  Night fell upon them, but
the beams of the rising moon glinted on the bright steel of
their war-gear as they trailed across the open glades.  When
at last they flung themselves down among the alders, to
gnaw at their cold food and stretch out for a half-night's
rest, Gerold sprang from his horse, with the welcome call
that the Frankish camp could not be distant over three
hours' march.

But when, at dawn, the vikings would have rushed
on swifter than ever, Olvir checked them.  If the hosts
had again joined battle, it was well he should bring his
sea-wolves into the field unwearied.  So, chafing at the
restraint, like hounds in leash, yet bending to the will of
their earl, the vikings swung on at the pace he set, until
through the oak forest there came rumbling a sound like
the bellow of angry bulls.  It was the deep battle-note of
the Saxons, roaring in the hollow of their shields.

After that, Olvir no longer thought to hold his
followers.  Silent, but with eyes gleaming and blades bared,
the sea-wolves broke into a run, and charged hotly after
Gerold and their earl.  It was not long before they had
burst out from the oak forest and were rushing across a
stretch of yellow gorse toward the war-hedges of the
Frankish camp, on the nearer bank of the Haze.

A belt of trees shut out all view of the battle which
raged on the farther side of the stream; but above the dull
rumble of the Saxon shield-roar sounded the furious shouts
of the Franks, the harsh braying of horns, the shrilling of
the Saxon fifes, and the terrific clash of shields and helmets
struck by the whirling blades.

The Frankish host had left the shelter of the
war-hedges to meet the Saxons in the open field; but the
ghastly heaps of Saxon slain which half choked the bed
of the Haze showed that the Franks had not been the first
to attempt the crossing.

"Look, lad!" shouted Olvir.  "It must be old Rudulf
has come before us.  The king has driven back the
attacking foe, and followed after, across the stream."

"If such has--  Saint Michael!  Who are those come
flying from the field?--the Neustrians!  God grant we 're
not too late--"

"None too late for the sword-play!" answered the
Northman, his nostrils quivering, and then, silent as his
men, he led the way past the Frankish camp.  As they
skirted the war-hedges, the charging warriors were greeted
by a welcoming hail from the frightened camp-followers
within, and Pepin Hunchback came racing out to meet
Olvir and Gerold.

"Turn back, king's son!  We go into battle," commanded
Gerold.  But Pepin urged his horse close in beside
Zora, and rode along with Olvir.

"Hero," he pleaded, "let me go with you.  My father
left me to hold the camp.  What place is that for a king's
son?"

"Come, then, king's son," answered Olvir, and the
boy's face flushed with joy.  Then his horse leaped with
Zora into the Haze, and close after dashed the vikings,
panting with eagerness for the blood-game.  As they
floundered across the stream, the glimpse which they caught
of the retreating Neustrians down the bank served only
to whet their temper the keener.

But on the farther side, Olvir wheeled the red mare,
and sprang to the ground.

"Hold, men!" he commanded.  "Form wedge.  Afoot,
Gerold.  You 'll stand behind me at the fore, with Floki and
Liutrad.  The king's son rides beside the 'Gleam'--stay! he
himself shall bear the banner.  Put Zora and the count's
horse in the midst.  So; well done!  Now for Odin's game.
Keep close, all.  When my wedge strikes, it should be with
the weight of every man linked to his fellows."

"Lead on, son of Thorbiorn!" croaked Floki, and
the men burst into a roar: "Lead on!  Lead on,
ring-breaker!  *Haoi!*"

Al-hatif glittered above the sea-king's head, and he
sprang about, to lead his band at a half run through the
screening coppice.  A few swift strides, and he burst from
the thickets into full view of the battle.  Before him on the
trampled gorse heath stretched out the vast disordered mass
of the battling hosts, locked fast in the death-grapple and
reeling to and fro with the stress of their mighty struggles.

The Saxon warriors--Eastphalian, Westphalian,
Nordalbingian, and Engern--were mingled in a shapeless
horde, which sought to thrust back and overthrow
the equally disarrayed mass of the Frankish footmen.  But
to the left, the Frisians, most stubborn of all fighters,
stood firm in orderly array against the ferocious attack of
the Grey Wolf and his Thuringians, while across on the
far side of the battlefield, where the left wing of the Saxons
had been thrust back, could be seen the Frankish horse,
with Karl himself in command, vainly striving to break the
ranks of the mail-clad Danes in Wittikind's shieldburg.

Here was the key to the battle-scheme.  None need
tell Olvir where to strike.  The first glance had shown him
how the battle went.  He must strike, and strike quickly.
Already the Franks were giving back before the Saxon
wolf-horde, and even as the vikings burst from the coppice
after their leader, from the willows on their right a
Frankish horn sounded the retreat, and Count Hardrat came
leaping into the open, to fall headlong among the yellow
gorse.

Bewildered and dismayed by the call to flight, the last
ranks of the Neustrians wavered and broke, and the yelling
Saxons leaped forward to slay the fugitives.  But at sight
of the band of mailed warriors who came charging from the
thicket not a spearthrow distant, they halted and closed up
their ranks to meet the coming shock.  As well might they
have thought to check the mad rush of an aurochs herd.
The vikings, though still locked in solid ranks, were now
charging at full run.

As they swept down upon the Saxons, arrows streamed
from their midst into the thick of the enemy; but they
cast no spears until their leader was within twenty paces
of the Saxon line.  Then at last Al-hatif swung up, and
a deadly flight of darts and javelins whirred into the dense
mass of the Saxons.  Pierced through their half-mailed
war-jerkins of wolf and boar hide, scores of the forest-men
fell dead or wounded, and the wedge hurled forward to
strike the line where weakened by their fall.

"Thor aid!  Thor aid!" roared out the viking battle-shout,
and then, with a frightful rending crash, the wedge
smashed in among the Saxons.  Fiercely as the forest-men
leaped to meet the attack, they were like children before
the mailed vikings, who numbered in their midst many
of the most famous champions of the North.  Through
the rift opened by Olvir and Floki, the Northmen followed
hotly, roaring in grim delight as they hewed wider the
battle-path.

To the very heart of the Saxon host the wedge charged
without a check in its terrible course, and the ground
behind it was covered with fallen warriors.  Here and there
a steel-mailed figure lay among the trampled corpses, but
for every such one there was to be counted a dozen of
slain Saxons.  Even the savage Nordalbingians were
appalled by such slaughter, and sought to give way before the
vikings, thinking that they would swerve and pass through
to the Frankish lines, where Worad and Amalwin were
bending every effort to hold their own.  But the Norse
wedge crashed on its way straight for the rear of the
Danish shieldburg.

A few more brief moments of bloody slaughter, and
then Northman was face to face with Northman.  Here
was no longer the formless horde of half-armed berserks,
to be hewn down like cattle by the viking blades, but
Danes trained in shieldburg and armed like their
assailants in scale-hauberks or mail-serks.

As the Danes faced about to meet the rear attack,
Olvir thrust forward through the last ranks of the Saxons,
smiling like a guest newly come to the feast.  Protected
alike against point and edge by his threefold mail, the blue
steel of his helmet, and the little blade-glancing shield, he
had come through the midst of the Saxons without a wound.

At either flank of their earl, Floki and Liutrad swung
their great weapons with unflagging vigor.  At every
stroke of the young giant's axe, a man went down, cleft
through shield and helmet; while the long-shafted blade
of the strutting Crane rose and fell with still more deadly
effect.  Floki did not strike downwards, but whirled his
halberd with a peculiar backhanded stroke, as erratic as
the man's nature.

Unlike their earl, neither had come scatheless from
amongst the Saxons, nor had Gerold.  The young Swabian
was gashed in the shoulder and thigh by thrusting spears,
and the bell-like rim of his casque had been broken by
a sling-stone, which, had it been aimed a handsbreadth
lower, would have beaten in his face.  Liutrad's serk
beneath his axe-arm showed a long rent, where a sword had
bitten through to the bone,--the blow of a berserk-mad
Nordalbingian.  But the look of Floki was most terrible
of all.  His cheek had been laid open by a glancing
sword-stroke, and the wound gave to his long wry face an aspect
of ghastly grotesqueness.  As yet, however, none of the
three felt his wounds, and all alike sprang eagerly after
Olvir, as he rushed upon the Danish shieldwall.

"*Hei*, vikings, follow!" croaked Floki.  "Leave the
cattle.  Here are men!"

"Men--Danes--sons of Thor!" echoed Olvir.
"After me, sea-wolves!  Here are players.  Hail,
Danes--folk of Sigfrid!  Odin calls you!"

"Hail, bairn!  Get thee to Godheim!" shouted a Dane
of vast girth, and he leaped forward from the shieldburg
to meet the Norse earl.

"Lead me!  I follow--in good time," rejoined Olvir,
tauntingly.

The Dane whirled up his two-bladed axe, and struck
with all his might.  Even Olvir's skill could not have
warded such a blow.  It was a shield-smashing stroke,
such as Liutrad was swinging.  But it whirled down
through empty air, and the great blade buried itself deep
in the turf.  Olvir had flung himself forward beneath the
descending weapon and on past the massive figure of the
wielder.  As he darted by, Al-hatif stabbed up beneath
the Dane's shield.  The champion fell groaning upon his
axe.  Without a backward glance, Olvir sprang forward
to break the Danish shieldwall.  Before they could
comprehend his deadly mode of attack, two more Danes went
down from the blinding stabs of Al-hatif, and then Liutrad
and Gerold and Floki were again at his back.

On one side a little space had been left clear by the
opening out of the Saxons.  This was a rare chance for the
sharp-eyed Crane, who leaped sideways, and, with a
full-armed sweep, sent his halberd whistling low among the
legs of the foremost Danes.  It was like a scythe in the
wheat.  The one blow crippled in its sweep no less than
four warriors, whose sudden fall left a gap in the wall of
interlocked shields.  Before the gap could be closed, Olvir
had leaped into the opening, and was putting forth his
utmost effort to pierce the second rank of the Danes.

Close at his shoulders pressed Liutrad and Gerold,
while Floki stood back for a second leg-shearing.  But,
though locked so closely in their ranks that they could
not leap above the terrible halberd, the Danes were too
crafty to be caught as at first.  Three or four instantly
crouched to catch the stroke on their shields, and one, a
skilled swordsman, thrust out his blade to meet the haft
of the halberd.  Neither his parry nor the intervening
shields could entirely break the blow.  The swordsman's
blade was dashed aside, his shield shattered into fragments,
and he himself hurled back among his fellows, a mangled
corpse.  But his skill was not without avail to those beside
him.  The halberd shaft, notched by his sword-edge, broke
short off with the force of the blow.

"Faul!" croaked Floki, and, hurling the splintered
shaft into the midst of the shieldburg, he drew his
sword--a blade half a span longer than Ironbiter and little less
weighty.  He sprang forward none too soon.  Gerold had
thrust himself in the way of a stroke aimed from the side
at Olvir, and the fierce blow, cleaving through his shield,
had dinted his helmet, and sent him reeling backwards,
half-stunned.

"Way, lad, way!" growled the Northman.  Plucking
the Swabian back, he leaped upon the Danes in a berserk rage.

Closing upon their leaders, the vikings now struck
the shieldburg with the full weight of their charge, and the
force of the shock drove the wedge's point well into the
opening cleft by Olvir and his shoulder-mates.  Gerold,
still dazed, was dragged back beside the "Gleam" just
in time to see young Pepin struck down by a sling-stone
which burst the lad's helmet.  As a warrior caught the
gold-starred banner from the opening hand of the king's
son, Gerold gave command that the boy be lashed to his
horse and taken back into the midst of the wedge.  He
himself thrust forward again, that he might not lose his
share of the fighting.  He found the wedge-leaders steadily
cutting their way deeper toward the heart of the shieldburg.

But it was steel biting steel.  Once the impetus of the
viking charge was lost, the advance became very slow.
Even at the wedge's point, the movement, though sure,
meant for every step gained a matter of fiercest struggle.
Olvir and Floki yet fought as at first; but Liutrad, for
all his massive young strength, was glad enough for a time
to give place to Gerold.

If, however, the viking wedge failed to burst open
the shieldburg at once, the slaughter they had wrought
among the Saxons and their presence in the Danish rear
were not without effect on both friend and foe.  The fleeing
Neustrians had turned again, and the Saxons, disconcerted
by the viking charge, no longer pressed so fiercely upon the
Franks, who immediately followed up the slight show of
weakness by renewed efforts to regain their lost ground.

With the attack of the vikings, Wittikind, who had
been trying to single out his royal opponent, on the farther
side of the shieldburg, quickly heeded the greater danger
of the fresh attack, and hastened to the rear to aid in
checking the in-thrusting wedge.

Slowly but steadily, Olvir was piercing a rift for his
followers into the steel core of the shieldburg, when the
Danish ranks before him opened, and in the gap towered
up the terrible figure of the Saxon war-earl.  He had time
only for a glimpse of the Saxon's bearded face and glaring
blue eyes; then a blade more ponderous than Ironbiter
whirled down upon him.

Unable to avoid the blow, Olvir raised his shield to
meet it.  Never had he tilted the little buckler with greater
skill.  But his arm was somewhat wearied, and the Saxon
struck with a force that only Otkar Jotuntop himself might
have exceeded.  Though the blow glanced aside, it beat
the shield down upon Olvir's helmet with stunning
violence.  As he stood there, dazed and blinking, Liutrad
thrust a protecting shield above his head, while Gerold
flung himself upon the Saxon.  As the Swabian leaped,
he cut fiercely at Wittikind's neck.  But the Saxon caught
the blow on his sword, and as Gerold's shield clashed upon
his own, he hurled the leaper backwards.

"*Teu*!  *Teu*!" he roared, and he whirled his great
blade to cut down the reeling Swabian.  But then
Liutrad swung up his axe, and dealt the war-earl a crashing
two-handed blow.  Driven by all the massive strength
of the wielder, the heavy blade split the Saxon's shield,
and sent him staggering back as though struck by Thor's
hammer.

Even as the Danes pressed in before their war-earl,
their close-set ranks heaved and staggered with the force
of a tremendous shock from beyond.  The Frankish horsemen
had withdrawn from the battle-line, and, led by the
king himself, had hurled upon the shieldburg in a charge
more impetuous than any that had gone before.

Galloping in the lead of his heavy horsemen, Karl
spurred his charger full against the wall of locked shields.
A dozen spear-points glanced from his shield or splintered
upon his scale hauberk.  Then his heavy stallion struck
the shieldwall like a war-ram, and burst through,
trampling upon the overthrown Danes.  From all sides ready
blades were brandished to cut down the royal leader.  But
not even the halberds could beat through the king's guard.
His grey eyes flamed with white fire, and he shouted
joyfully, as Ironbiter swirled down to right and left:
"*Heu*! *heu*!  Christ reigns!  Down with the fiend-gods!  Follow
me, Franks!"

"*Heu*! *heu*!  Christ and king!" shouted the horsemen,
and, fired by the example of their leader, they burst
through the Dane wall in a dozen places.  In a twinkling,
the close ranks of the shieldburg were rent asunder, and
Danes and Franks were mingled in a wildly furious
struggle.

Berserk-mad, Wittikind turned again from the Northmen,
and rushed to meet the Frank king as he came plunging
through the heart of the shieldburg.

"The king!" he roared; "about him, men!"

With a fierce shout, the Danes rallied and thrust in
behind Karl with such desperate valor that he was cut off
from the horsemen, with scarce a dozen followers.  At
once the mailed champions closed in on the handful of
riders, and hewed them down with axe and halberd.  Karl
alone sat his saddle when the Danish ranks opened, and
the war-earl came leaping for his vengeance.  The first
blow of his sword split the skull of the king's stallion,
and Karl was hurled forward at the feet of the Saxon.

In the fall, the hilt of Ironbiter, slippery with blood,
was wrenched from his grasp.  He saw Wittikind's
whirling sword, and sprang up to grip him fast about the
body.  Unable to strike, the Saxon in turn gripped the
king.  For a little, the Danes held back, while the giant
leaders bent and strained to overthrow one another.  But
the Frank had the vantage of the hold.  A bear would have
smothered in that hug.  Already Wittikind's face was
blackening, when a Dane sprang in and struck the crowned
helmet of the king with his war-hammer.

Instantly the king's grip broke.  The war-earl thrust
him away, and he fell senseless upon the bloody ground.
Half-smothered, the Saxon stood gasping, unable to raise
his sword.  Then he was plucked aside by his henchmen,
as Olvir and Floki came leaping into the midst and thrust
out their shields to guard the fallen king.

Back to back, the two Northmen stood alone in the
midst of the Danes, and so furiously did the champions
of King Sigfrid press upon them, that even Floki, in all
his many battles, had never been put to such straits to
hold his own.  Well was it the war-earl yet lacked breath
to leap upon them.  While he stood gasping, Liutrad and
Gerold burst through, at the head of the wedge.

Ground mercilessly between the Frankish horsemen
on the one side and the in-thrusting wedge, the Danes at
last drew back from about the king, and sought to form
another shieldwall.

"They break!" cried Gerold, and springing upon a
riderless horse, he wheeled about in the lead of the
horsemen.  "*Heu*! *heu*!  Follow me, Franks!  Give the wolves
no time to turn!"

Rallying to the call, the Franks spurred their horses
upon the disarrayed ranks of the Danes, and for a while
all Wittikind's efforts could not make the beaten warriors
stand and face the attack.  Luckily for them, they were rid
of the Norse champions, else their retreat would soon have
broken into a rout.  But Olvir had called upon his
sea-wolves to stand while he and Liutrad sought to restore
the king to consciousness.

Fearful of the worst, the two stooped over the great
Frank, and were chafing his wrists, when his grey eyes
opened in a fierce stare, and he sat up, to grope eagerly
about.

"My sword--Ironbiter!" he muttered.

"Here, sire," replied Olvir, and he thrust the gold
hilt into the king's hand.

"Good!  The battle--"

Floki stepped upon a slain horse, and swept the wild
battlefield with his glance: "Yonder, lord king, I see
Wittikind's shieldburg.  The Danes have faced about, and
again withstand your riders.  But everywhere the Saxons
give ground--even the stubborn Frisians!"

"Saint Michael!  we win!  Why do your wolves stand
idle, Dane hawk?"

"We wait for you, lord king, and the Saxons are not
minded to press upon us," replied Olvir, grimly.  "Lead
us now against them, king!  *Heya!* men; lead forward
Count Gerold's horse."

"The lad, also," added Floki.  "How does the king's
son fare?"

"Look for yourself, Crane," rejoined the viking who
led forward Gerold's and Pepin's horses.

The luckless boy, who had been lashed fast in his
saddle by the vikings, was crouched low over his horse's
withers, and his delicate face, as he gazed vacantly about
among the vikings, was white and drawn.  At the pitiable
sight Karl leaped up, his look dark with chagrin.

"King of Heaven!" he cried, "have I lived to see
my first-born fear-stricken--my son a coward?"

"Hold, king!" broke in an old berserk, with generous
boldness.  "You do both yourself and the bairn a wrong.
The lad's now witless.  Till the luckless stone struck him
down, he rode beside me, blithe of heart in the midst of
the battle-din.  No man in all our wedge cast a dart with
truer aim.  I myself saw him pierce two Saxons.  He's
yet witless."

"Thank God!" exclaimed Karl, and he sprang to fling
his arm about the boy.  "Heed me, child--my brave
child!  Rouse up and draw sword--the battle's not ended!"

But Pepin stared vacantly into the glowing face of his
father, and pointed to the blood-reddened figures of the
vikings with a foolish smile.  "They that are clothed in
scarlet dwell in king's houses--clothed in scarlet--scarlet
and crimson," he babbled.

"Mother of God!" muttered Karl, and his eyes fell
before the meaningless stare of the boy.  But then Olvir
sprang forward, his face pale, and his brows meeting in
a stern frown.

"Here's a horse, king," he said almost harshly,
"Mount, and lead us on again."

"But the lad--"

"Liutrad shall take him in charge.  We can do no
more for him till this scarlet play is ended."

"Scarlet play--you speak truth, Dane hawk!  But
see!  Ho, Christ triumphs!  My Grey Wolf rends his way
into the midst of the fen-dwellers.  They break--the host
itself!  Ho, sea-wolves, after me--after me, and burst the
Danish shieldwall!"

With a shout that rolled out above all the wild din
and uproar, the vikings closed their ranks again in wedge,
and wheeled to follow their crowned leader into the thick
of the withdrawing Saxons.

As yet only half beaten, the forest-wolves were giving
ground with stubborn slowness, and Wittikind was
seeking to swing his shieldburg around, that he might shake
off the horsemen and rally the tribes in a last furious
charge upon the Frankish footmen.  Even yet the tide of
battle might have been turned against the Franks.

But then the viking wedge crashed into the heart of
the Saxon host from the one side, while from the other
came sweeping a torrent of routed Frisians, old Rudulf
and his grey-armored warriors raging in their midst.  The
yells of the fen-dwellers quavered with superstitious dread:
"The werwolf!--the werwolf!  Fly, Saxons!--Fenir 's free!"

Thousands of voices caught up the despairing cry,
and the whole Saxon host faced about and broke into utter
rout.  Wild with fear, they swept across the bloody
battlefield in a whirling flood that all but overwhelmed the
vikings.  Like a ship adrift among the storm-waves, the
wedge was carried along in the midst of the flying
thousands, clear to the farthermost edge of the battlefield.
There, at last, they made a stand, and the horsemen came
plunging through the flood to join their royal leader.

As Gerold rode up at their head, Karl signed to him:
"Plant the standard; send the horsemen on.  To my side!
I reel with blood-loss."

Again the vikings gathered about the king, while the
horsemen joined the fierce pursuit of the Saxons.  But
hardly had Gerold and Liutrad bound up his wounds,
when the last of the flying host came rushing past,
intermingled with the Frankish footmen.

"Ho, lord king!" called Olvir.  "My wolves strain
at the leash.  Bid us go.  Yonder comes Amalwin.  Let
him guard the standard.  It cannot be he thirsts to slay his
fleeing countrymen."

"Go, then.  But leave my luckless Pepin and these
bold lads--"

"I'm spent--I stay!" gasped Liutrad.

"I go.  My wounds are stanched," said Gerold, and
as Olvir sprang upon Zora, the Swabian mounted his own
horse little less nimbly.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`CHAPTER 2-XVI`:

.. class:: center large

   CHAPTER XVI

.. vspace:: 2

|   Many a man is brave
|   Who still does not thrust the blade
|   Into another man's heart.
|                   LAY OF REGIN.

.. vspace:: 2

The sun was far down the
western sky when the vikings swung
away from the corpse-strewn
battlefield and joined the fierce
chase of the broken host.
Already the foremost of the
pursued and the pursuers were
beyond view, and for a time
Northmen followed after
the scattering Saxon bands, in
vain search for Wittikind and his Danes.

But at last, off to the northward, Olvir caught sight
of a distant glimmering along the skyline, and he had no
need to look twice to know that it was the last rays of
the sunlight glinting on burnished steel.

"Look, lad, our quarry!" he called to Gerold.  "No
Saxon war-gear would gleam so bright."

"Wittikind and his Danes!" cried Gerold.  "Saint
Michael--this has been a glorious day!  Let us but kill
their earl, and the war is at an end!"

After this, those of the Saxons who turned aside out of
the way of the vikings were safe from their dreaded blades.
The sea-wolves were on the trail of bigger game.  Yet
swift as was their pursuit, night fell, and they had not
overtaken the Danes.  Coming to a little brook, they
halted to bathe their wounds in the cool stream and to
eat the last fragments of the coarse fare which they had
brought from the Lippespring.

When, after a little, they clamored to be led on again,
Gerold spoke of a stronghold to which the war-earl might
be fleeing, and at Olvir's assent, guided the band by
moonlight on that blind trail.  But the moon at last set and left
them in darkness, without view of their quarry.  It was
well, for even their iron strength was broken.  Many had
lagged behind in the last hour's march.

Yet at dawn, stiff from their wounds and half
famished, they gathered about their earl, and called upon
him to lead them on across the woodlands.

When at last, bursting out on the edge of a broad
meadow, the vikings sighted the Danes fording a little
stream, they uttered a roar, and rushed forward to close
with the foe.  But even Gerold and Floki were left far
behind by Olvir, who raced ahead on Zora as though to
ride down singly the whole Danish band.  His followers
were nearly a bow-shot to the rear when he drew rein just
beyond sweep of the Danish swords.

The greater number of the Danes were already across
the stream; but a few of the more resolute had halted to
hold the passage against the pursuers.  Olvir, however,
stared over the heads of the desperate champions, to the
little islet upon which Wittikind, striding up out of the
water, had paused to glance back at the Norse wedge.
As the Saxon's eye fell upon the viking earl, the latter
raised his hand, and sent a challenge ringing over the
stream.

"Ho, hero!" he shouted; "stand and wait--I would
meet you in single fight."

"Faul seize you, dog of the Frank!" retorted the
Saxon.  "Am I a witling to linger while your bloody
wolves come up?"

"Listen, son of Wanekind," said Olvir, very
earnestly.  "Odin bear witness--I swear that no man in
my following shall cross the stream, if you fight with
me.  Let these men follow over to their mates.  Mine
will stand here."

"And if you fall, bairn?"

"My pledge shall hold good nevertheless.  But if you
falter and fail to meet me, I shall name you nithing from
Rhine Stream to Trondheim Fiord."

"*Teu*!  It is a bold cockerel!" cried Wittikind.  But
the flush which reddened his bearded cheek showed that
the taunt had gone home.  Only blood could wipe out
that threat of coward-naming.  He signed impatiently to
the Danish rearguard.

"Across, men!" he shouted.  "I 'll soon trim the
comb of this loud-crowing cock, and then we shall see how
the sons of Thor keep faith."

Olvir smiled, well pleased, and, as the Danes sprang
into the stream, he turned about, with upraised hand, to
check the wild charge of his vikings.

"Hold, men!" he called.  "I meet the war-earl singly.
Whether scathe come to me or to him, none among you
shall cross over the stream."

"How, Olvir?" demanded Gerold.  "Would you then
let the Danes escape us?"

"My word is pledged; the Danes go free.  As to the
war-earl, it is as it was with that traitor Hroar."

"You would trust everything to your own sword,
Olvir; and yet the war-earl all but struck you down."

"In the press of the battle," answered Floki, sharply.
"Here the ring-breaker will have room to avoid the
Saxon's sword."

"I have given my word.  See that you keep it," added
Olvir, and, leaping from Zora, he advanced out into the
water.

Wittikind calmly awaited the attack, leaning upon
the hilt of his terrible longsword.  There was no feeling
visible in his bearded face, but his blue eyes were fixed
upon the Northman in a vengeful look.  Had it not been
for the Norse wedge, the battle would have surely gone
against the hated Franks before Rudulf, that werwolf
Thuringian, could break the Frisians.

With a rush, Olvir passed, waist-deep, across the
narrow channel, and sprang out upon the lower end of the
islet.  Between him and the Saxon lay a level stretch of
sedge-grown sand, a dozen paces wide and twice as long.
With the water still dripping from the border of his
mailserk, Olvir advanced quietly upon his great enemy.
Wittikind swung up his sword, and stepped forward to meet the
Northman.

"Come, bairn, come!" he jeered.  "We linger too
long.  I would make an end of the matter, and be gone."

"The gerfalcon strikes the stork!" retorted Olvir,
and he ran in upon the war-earl so closely that his little
steel shield clashed upon the spiked boss of the Saxon's
linden-wood buckler.  Down came the longsword with a
vicious swirl,--a stroke that few among the greatest
champions might have warded.  Olvir made no attempt
to meet it.  Wide as was the blade's sweep, he sprang
back into safety as the blow fell.

Gerold and the vikings shouted in approval of the
adroit play; but the Danes laughed and called out
jeeringly: "Stay a little, dogs of the Franks!  Wait till the
hero's blood warms!"

"The more freely will it flow!" croaked back Floki
the Crane, and the vikings laughed in turn.

Then all on either bank stood staring in silence at
the oddly matched swordsmen.  Olvir, lithe and active as
a panther, was circling round and round his foe, every
nerve and thew and sinew tense to take him unawares.
For a while he was content to spring in and out, avoiding
the terrible sweep of the war-earl's sword.  Once his
opponent had wearied, he would lay himself open sooner or
later to a disabling thrust from Al-hatif.

But the Westphalian was not easily wearied.  Far
from flagging, his blows fell with steadily increasing
quickness and force.  The hero's blood was warming, as
the scoffing Danes had foretold.  He no longer stood in
one spot, wheeling to face the attack of the Northman,
but began to press upon him, in a fierce attempt to pen
him into a corner of the islet, and make an end.  Even
when he stood over the king Olvir had not been so hard
pressed.  The Saxon's attack combined all the savage fury
of a berserk in the rage with the cold craft of a host-leader.

Twice Olvir's leaps barely saved him from the scythe-like
leg-blows of the great blade, and once, as he dropped
beneath a backhanded sweep, the keen edge shore a lock
from his hair.  Nothing daunted, however, by the swirl
of the longsword, his black eyes sparkled and wild joy
filled his heart.  Difficult as it was to avoid Wittikind's
fierce rushes, he leaped and thrust and darted from side
to side, always just a hairbreadth ahead of destruction,
without a thought of fear or weakness.  Had he given way
to either, though only for a single instant, death would
surely have overtaken him.  But always the great blade
whirled through empty air, and the elf leaped unharmed
about the furious giant.

Twice Olvir had retreated from end to end of the
islet, and for the third time was giving back before the
war-earl's savage rushes, when suddenly his eyes sparkled
with a new purpose.  Smiling as one who greets a friend,
he sprang aside to avoid the down-whirling longsword,
and then, heedless of the return stroke, stepped forward
to aim a swift blow at the Saxon's sword-arm.  The utmost
of his skill and sinewy strength was behind the stroke.  It
fell upon the massive forearm midway above the wrist, and
the Danish mail parted like cloth beneath the edge of
Al-hatif.  Through steel and flesh and tendon, the Damascus
blade shore its way, until it gritted on the very bone.
Wittikind's sword fell to the ground.

The fight was won.  The war-earl of all the Saxons
stood before the slender Northman, helpless.  Olvir had
only to raise his sword and strike another blow, and the
son of Wanekind would have met his fate.

The Saxon lowered his shield, and stood waiting for
the death-stroke, his broad chest still heaving with the
violence of his exertions, but his face suddenly stilled
from anger to calm scorn.

"Strike--strike, and have done with your shame,
false son of Odin!" he called in a deep voice.  "But for
you this day the free Saxons should have rid themselves
of the Frank.  You, a Northman, false to your folk and
your gods, have set the heel of a king upon the necks of
a free people.  It is fit that you should slay the leader of
a broken host.  Strike quickly, else Thor will smite you
with his hammer."

But Olvir stepped back, and met the scornful look of
the Saxon with a grave smile.

"Hear me, son of Wanekind!" he rejoined.  "In the
North we listen to witness on both sides before the
dooming.  You have yet to learn what is in my mind."

"I had rather talk with Odin!  We of the forest have
but one tongue with which to speak to traitors; it is of
steel."

"Wittikind is dogwise," replied Olvir, and he raised
Al-hatif to thrust the blade into its sheath.  "Here is my
answer to the taunts of the war-earl.  Odin bids us slay
our foe by guile or by force; but, in the name of the
White Christ, I now tell you to go free."

"*Teu*!  Is it not enough shame that a viking should
sell his sword?  Must he mock an unarmed foe?"

"Odin bear witness--the son of Wanekind is free."

Wittikind stared down intently into the grave, almost
solemn face of the Northman, and his look softened.

"How is this, viking?" he demanded.  "Would
you undo the scathe you have wrought upon my forest-folk?"

"The blood of your warriors brings me no joy, hero.
Yet I am the man of Pepin's son, and so must do his
bidding.  A year since I should have broken the bond,
had not Karl shown to me the need for this bloody war.
Many could tell you what little love I bear the Christian
priests, and I am not one to rejoice at the growing serfdom
among the Franks; yet I see that both Frank priest and
Frank king would bring to your land more than they would
take away,--your boasted freedom is the freedom of the
wolf-pack, without order or true bond.  This bitter day has
proved that all the forces of your forest tribes cannot hope
to check the power of the Frank.  Why, then, drag on with
a hopeless war?--why bring upon your land fire and steel
and famine?"

"I would rather choose death than thraldom," rejoined
Wittikind.

"Who speaks for thraldom?  For a time there would
be a double yoke on the necks of your people; but the
son of Pepin will not reign for all time, and who so
dog-wise as to hold that one as mighty as he will sit in
the high-seat after he has gone?  I foresee that the yoke
of kingship will then be light, and the Saxon folk can
choose for themselves whether they will any longer bear
the yoke of the priests."

"So--now I see.  I am to go free, if I will sell my
folk into thraldom."

Olvir's face clouded.

"You do not understand," he replied.  "Christ grant
that wisdom may come to you!  Now go.  Your wound
bleeds.  Yet one more word.  Bear in mind, should you
ever wish to treat with Karl, I stand pledged as hostage
for your safety."

Without a word, the Saxon turned away across the
islet.  But at the water's edge he wheeled and came
striding back.

"Listen, viking," he said.  "I have misjudged you.
Though you fight for the bloody Frank, I must own that
at heart you are a true man.  May the Allfather soon lead
you back to your own!"

"Rather, may the White Christ, to whom I bend knee,--I,
who despise the Christian priests,--may He bring
you to the joy and freedom of His love!"

"His priests have brought us nothing but a clamoring
for tithes and the sword of their king.  I am content with
the gods of my fathers.  Again I say, may you soon
return to your own folk and the old gods of the North.  I
could wish you no better fortune."

"I pray that wisdom come to you, hero, before more
blood is spilt," replied Olvir, earnestly.  For a moment
after the Saxon turned away, he stood gazing at him;
then he also turned and plunged into the stream.

Midway across the narrow channel Gerold came riding
to meet him, amazed and angry.

"Ho, Olvir!" he cried; "you 're mad, stark mad, to
set the Saxon free!  A stroke would have put an end to
him and his evil plots.  At the least, he should be brought
thrall to the king.  Turn back!  There's yet time to take
him--"

"No, lad.  Draw rein.  My word is pledged--Wittikind
is free."

"You 're mad!--mad!  What will the king say?
There 'll be no bounds to his anger!  We must tell him
nothing of this."

"The king shall know all," replied Olvir, and he waded
on across to his waiting band.

When, late in the afternoon,--well fed from the loot
of a farmstede, but very weary,--the Northmen came
dragging back across the borders of the battlefield, their
earl commanded them to make camp and gather in their
dead and wounded.  He himself rode on with Gerold, over
the Haze and into the Frankish camp.  The Swabian's
face was clouded with fear for his friend; but Olvir went
to the meeting, calm almost to indifference.

As they approached the royal pavilion, before which
a group of war-counts were gathered about the king,
Olvir was astonished to perceive in their midst the kindly
face of Abbot Fulrad.  He saw the old councillor nod and
smile at him, and then the high war-counts, of whom
only Rudulf was missing, rushed to greet him and Gerold.
All others than Amalwin were fairly drunken with the
wine of victory.

"Hail, heroes!" shouted Worad.  "What tidings of
the beaten wolves?  We were too far spent to follow for
long, but your iron vikings--"

"Would that we had stopped as well," replied Gerold,
moodily.

"How then?" demanded Karl, rising from a heap of
furs.  "Did the rebels turn and beat you off?  Where is
Rudulf?"

"Each went his own way, lord king," replied Olvir,
quietly.  "We followed the Danes--"

"And they outran you?"

"No, lord king; we overtook them, and I fought with
Wittikind."

"And won!" shouted Gerold.

"Where's the rebel's head?" rejoined Count Hardrat.
"Were I a slayer, his skull should serve me for mead-bowl.
Satan seize the traitors!  They all but broke my
own skull with their sling-stones."

"The hero's head is on his shoulders,--where Count
Hardrat is free to seek it," said Olvir, coldly.

"Speak out!" exclaimed the king.  "You fought the
Westphalian, and won; yet he still lives.  Do you then
bring him back in thrall-bonds?"

"No, sire.  When the hero's sword fell from his
grasp, I spoke with him a little while, and then told him
to go free."

"Free!  King of Heaven!"

In an instant the king's smiling face was ablaze.  He
sprang up, and stood towering above the Northman in
speechless anger, his hand gripped hard on the hilt of
Ironbiter.  There were few among the war-counts who did
not whiten with dread as they saw the great blade half
drawn from its sheath.

But Olvir stood quietly in his place, and faced the
king with a look of calm friendliness that bordered on
pity.  As he met the look, Karl's hand fell away from the
sword-hilt, and he turned to pace across the front of the
tent.  Twice he repeated the swift movement, and when
he paused to again face the Northman, all his anger was
gone, and in its place only bewilderment.

"Lord Christ!" he muttered; "a little more, and I 'd
have struck my heart's friend.  Ah, Olvir, why try me so?
You were mad to set that traitor free,--him, the head and
front of all the heathen cause!"

"Is there then no end to what you would ask of me,
sire?  The Saxon reproached me as the one who had
turned his victory into bitter defeat.  Have I not waded
in blood for you,--the blood of my brothers?  I could
not strike down that hero when he stood before me
bare-handed, and death were far less bitter than the shame of
thraldom.  The thought came to me, sire, how he was
a brave man, fighting for his country.  He at least is no
forsworn traitor, however many of his fellows may be."

"You forget that at Casseneuil you placed your hands
between my hands.  As liegeman, you should have held
my service above all else."

"Not so, lord king.  I own to a service above your
service,--the will of Christ."

"Was it His will to free that heathen duke, who,
more than any other man, withstands the spreading of the
Gospel?"

"I and mine have slain many warriors in your service,
lord king; I am not yet Christian enough to slay
one in the name of Christ."

"The more shame to own it, Dane," muttered Hardrat.
"But for what else could one look from a heathen?"

"Curb your scoffing tongue, drunkard," commanded
Karl.  "Prudence should counsel you to silence.  There
are those who say that the false horn which, in the midst
of the battle, called your Neustrians to retreat, is the
horn which hangs at your belt."

"It is a lie, lord king!--a foul lie!  I am no coward!"

"I know that well, Thuringian; yet I have known of
brave traitors.  Enough.  You will return to your shire
when Count Rudulf marches homeward.  See to it that
neither he nor the *missi* have cause to report drunkenness
or ill deeds against you, if you do not wish to lose your
countship as well."

As the Thuringian shrank back before the stern rebuke,
Karl turned again to Olvir, and his face softened.

"I have been harsh, lad.  I even failed to hear you
out.  You said that you talked with Wittikind before you
set him free?"

"I sought to show him the hopelessness of this bloody
struggle, and to win him over to surrender."

"But he would not listen?"

"At the least, I stand pledged as his hostage, should
he wish to treat with your Majesty.  I trust that I have
sown seed in his heart that in the end will bear fruit."

"Ah, Olvir, were it not for your pride of spirit, I
should look to see you barter sword and helmet for the
cowled robe, as have more than one of my war-counts.
But enough, lad.  It is not fair to keep you longer; go
within the tent."





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`CHAPTER 2-XVII`:

.. class:: center large

   CHAPTER XVII

.. vspace:: 2

|   A may of all mays--
|   Bright in bower.
|                   LAY OF GUDRUN.

.. vspace:: 2

Olvir caught the look in the
king's eyes, and hastened to the
pavilion, without waiting to ask
questions.  A moment, and he
had darted through the loose-hanging
curtains of the entrance
and stood staring about in the
gloom of the great canopy.
Then, almost at his shoulder,
there came a cry of glad surprise,
and Rothada sprang up from her father's couch,
blushing with delight and sweet confusion.  Wearied by
the long journey from the Rhine, she had lain down to
rest after the noon meal and had fallen asleep.

Before the little princess could even smooth her ruffled
tresses, Olvir had his arm about her shoulders and was
bending to kiss her.  At first, overcome by shyness, she
hid her face upon his shoulder; but the ring-mail was
cold and hard, and love bade her look up.

"So, that is better, darling," said Olvir, as the violet
eyes, beaming with love and happiness, were raised to
his own.  "Now you gaze up bravely, like a true king's
daughter."

"Dear hero!  Surely I should be a little brave, when
you have had to undergo such fearful dangers--that
terrible battle!  I shall live in constant dread lest next
time--"

"Foolish maiden!  Fear slays far greater numbers
than the sword.  Where is your faith in the White Christ?
See now; He has given us this great happiness."

"It is hard to be always trusting, Olvir.  But you
renew my faith.  Here is joy to repay me for my dread."

"Sweet joy, sweetheart!  I had given over all thought
of seeing you until the host returned Rhineward."

"If only it had been a happier cause that brought
me!  Dame Bertrada, my father's mother, was stricken
down with a sickness which none of the leeches could
ease, and when Abbot Fulrad, compelled by matters of
state, decided that he must come north, under guard of
the Burgundian levy, the queen-mother gave command
that I should go with him, to bear her message to my
father.  The good abbot has lost none of his liking for
you, dear hero.  He was only too well pleased to bring
me in his following."

"He has brought me joy!--But the queen-mother?
God grant that the old dame may yet find health!"

"Kosru the leech will return to Mayence with Abbot
Fulrad.  His magic drugs heal where others fail.  Of all
whom he has attended, only Hildegarde, my beloved
mother--"

A sob choked Rothada's utterance, and tears sprang
into her eyes.

Olvir caught her face between his hands, and, stooping
quickly, kissed away the tears.

"Do not grieve, dear heart," he said.  "She rests in
the joy and peace of God's presence, where we shall meet
again with her when we, too, go hence.  Tell me now of
Dame Bertrada.  By what lucky chance could you be
spared from her bedside?"

"Another cares for her, Olvir, with greater skill than
I can give--Fastrada--"

"Fastrada!"

"Be just, dearest.  The maiden has surely changed.
Before Hildegarde--passed on--she was softened, and
now she gives all her time to good deeds.  Even Dame
Bertrada has no word against her.  If only I might so rid
myself of vanity and selfishness!"

"That were impossible, sweetheart,--you have
nothing of either."

"Olvir!  But tell me of my warriors.  Oh, this
terrible battle!  I weep at the thought of the slain."

"Never weep for a viking who falls in battle, little
vala.  He goes hence rejoicing."

"That is no Christian joy."

"Christian, but far from Christ-like.  I have now seen
your father's Christian warriors in battle.  They rejoiced
in the bloody play even as did my grim heathen and--myself."

"Dear hero, I know that you fought only that you
might aid in the coming of Christ's kingdom."

"No, Rothada--God forgive me!  I came to the
battlefield with nothing in my heart but good-will toward
the forest-dwellers, and then I thrust my sword among
them with wolfish delight."

"Yet you gave assent, Olvir, when my father said
that there was no other way to bring about the highest
good to the stubborn heathen."

"For the better way was closed long since!  Ah,
well; let us put the unwelcome thought behind us."

"I, too, might give way to grief, dearest.  My brother--"

"The luckless bairn!  How is he now?"

"He lies on the couch across; but do not go near.
The leech has given him a sleeping draught, and he must
not be wakened before dawn.  He is still dazed from the
blow on his head, and though Kosru gives promise that
in time he will recover, he must now have the utmost of
care.  That is why I must also go when Father Fulrad
takes him and Kosru back to Mayence."

"So soon--but I will not complain.  Though but
for a day or two, Father Fulrad has surely brought me joy!"

"I am glad that you are pleased, dear hero.  Now free
me, that I may make ready for the evening meal."

Olvir ran his fingers through the girl's tangled tresses,
and laughed with a sudden outburst of boyish delight.

"Be seated, king's daughter," he exclaimed.  "Yonder
is a stool.  Seat yourself, and I shall be your tiring-woman."

"No, no, you foolish hero!" protested Rothada, blushing.

But Olvir caught up from a bench an ivory comb and
smilingly led the girl to the seat.

When, a little later, Karl entered the pavilion, he saw
the boldest of his war-counts on his knees before the
daughter of Himiltrude, carefully plaiting the long tresses
of chestnut hair which fell down her bosom.

Rothada drooped her head before the astonished look
of her father, overcome with shame; but Olvir continued
his braiding with quiet unconcern.  The king stood where
he had first paused, silently watching the lovers.  Soon
surprise gave way to other emotions, and he smiled half
sadly.  Very patiently he waited until the last gay ribbon
had been knotted, and then, when Olvir would have risen
to salute him, he held up a restraining hand, and went
and fetched a stool to seat himself beside the blushing girl.

"You do well to be happy while you may, children,"
he said gently.  "The world is harsh and full of trials."

"But love is heaven upon earth," replied Olvir.

"True love; though earth cannot hold it long.  But
I did not come to mar your happiness.  Only, I would sit
with you while they prepare the meal.  At dawn I ride over
the fells."

"At dawn!" exclaimed Rothada, and she lifted her
head quickly to look at Olvir.

Karl drew her to him, and patted her glossy tresses.

"Look rather at me, child," he said.  "I go at dawn
to bear the Magian leech to the bedside of my mother;
he stays here.  I see plainly, Olvir, that you have had
your fill of bloodshed, and so I give you the command
which I had set aside for another.  We have taken great
booty and a multitude of thralls, and in turn have suffered
many wounded among our bold warriors.  Yours shall be
the charge to guard all to the Rhine."

"My lord king!" cried Olvir, and he sprang up to put
his gratitude into words.  But Karl motioned him to fetch
a stool instead.

"Be seated, kinsman," he said gravely.  "You owe
me no thanks.  It is little enough for what you have done.
In a few weeks I may call you into the field again--and
here I come thrusting myself in, to take from you a
portion of your brief season of happiness."

"You do not take, sire, you add," replied Olvir, his
face glowing.  To be named as kinsman by Karl, son of
Pepin,--Karl, the world-hero,--meant more to him than
words could express.

Karl smiled, and turned from the happy lover to his
betrothed.

"What is your word, child?" he demanded, half playfully.

Rothada raised his great hand to her lips and kissed
it, as she murmured her answer: "Our Lord Christ is
very good to me to give me such a father and--and--"

"Such a wooer!"

"Such a wooer!"

"God grant you fulness of joy, dear children,--wedded
bliss for a lifetime such as was mine for the few brief
years."

The broad chest of the speaker rose and fell with a
heavy sigh, and he bent forward upon his sword-hilt, to
stare out into the gathering twilight.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`CHAPTER 2-XVIII`:

.. class:: center large

   CHAPTER XVIII

.. vspace:: 2

|   For wrong and hatred
|   Shall rest them never,
|   Nay, nor sore sorrow.
|                   LAY OF SIGRDRIFA.

.. vspace:: 2

The king spoke very truly when
he predicted that Olvir's journey
Rhineward would be slow.  But
at Cologne, the monks of Saint
Martin of the Isle took charge
of the wounded Franks, and
Count Amalwin came to receive
the king's share of the war-loot.
He brought word of the
queen-mother's death and her interment
beside King Pepin in the Basilica of Saint Denis.
After the burial, Karl moved the court to Worms, and
returned into Saxon Land by way of Fulda.  It was his
command that Olvir should at once join the court, with
Rothada and her brother.

So the longships were hauled from their sheds, and
raced away up Rhine Stream, through the fair Rhinegau
and past Mayence, on along the winding streams to
Worms.

Old Fulrad greeted the king's Dane hawk with the
embrace of a father, and Fastrada welcomed the lovers
with such sweet humility that their hearts went out to her.
Olvir himself could not withhold his friendship when he
came upon the maiden in the midst of the royal children,
and saw how even the boy Karl turned to her as to a
mother.  Only the most malicious of the court gossips
failed to praise the girl for her devoted care of Queen
Bertrada and the solicitude she had shown for the orphaned
children of Hildegarde.

So it happened that when, in the autumn, the king
returned from his planting of fortresses and missions
in Saxon Land, he found waiting him a merry family
group, of whom Fastrada was the life and centre.  To
this little group Karl at once joined himself, and, in the
pleasant days which followed, he frequently put aside
the affairs of state for a sail on the Rhine in Olvir's
Raven.

Blind to all else in the happiness of his own wooing,
Olvir knew nothing of the report that was fast growing
from court gossip to widespread rumor, as to the king's
intentions toward the daughter of Rudulf.  The awakening
came to him and to Rothada without warning.

Gerold and Liutrad, who had had in charge the building
of the burg and mission-church on the Haze for the
newly founded Bishopric of Osnabruk, returned to report
their work complete.  Neither had cause to complain of
the king's praise for their good service; yet the very next
day Olvir met them wandering moodily along the Rhine
bank, and Gerold's face was clouded with grief.

"What is this, lad?" asked Olvir, with ready
sympathy.  "You grieve when all others are merry."

"All are merry, Olvir, even our lord king, and
yet--and yet not half a year has passed--"

Sobs choked the young Swabian's utterance.  He flung
himself face down on the turf, and lay quivering.

Olvir flashed a look of inquiry at Liutrad, who
shrugged his broad shoulders and muttered tersely: "The
king and the witch's daughter, earl."

"It would be more fitting to say 'Count Rudulf's
daughter.'  But what of her and our lord king?"

"Do you not know, ring-breaker?"

"Why my question?"

"Worad says that it has been rumored for a fortnight,
and now it is given out by authority, within a week
our lord king weds the daughter of Rudulf."

"Weds--Fastrada!"

"And why not, ring-breaker?  Once I scoffed at the
maiden's magic ring.  I was dog-wise.  I know she hoped
it would win back your love to her.  In that it failed.  Yet
see now--it has gained her a queen's crown."

Olvir shook his head incredulously.

"I see you still put faith in foolish charms and spells,"
he said.  "It was no bright stone that drew the king's
heart.  Though I wish that his Majesty had been less
hasty, I cannot grudge the maiden her success.  She has
won it fairly,--not by spell or magic stone, nor altogether
by her beauty; but most of all by the kindness of her deeds
and the modesty of her bearing.  Do not grieve, Gerold.
Our lord king has not forgotten your gracious sister.  He
is giving to her children another mother."

"A stepmother--the witch's daughter!" muttered Liutrad.

"Hildegarde!  Hildegarde!" sobbed Gerold.

"Ah, lads!" exclaimed Olvir, "you are unjust to the
maiden.  I myself have seen how her heart has changed."

"Changed?" retorted Liutrad.  "Have you forgotten
the past?--what of your werwolf?  Do not frown, earl.
I lived the four years in the king's hall with the witch's
daughter, while you ruled Vascon Land.  I saw much of
what you seem to have forgotten."

"Enough.  I believe that her heart has altered.  At
the least, she is now the betrothed of our lord king."

"The king has spoken.  It is for us to honor his
bride," said Gerold, and he rose up, dry-eyed, to return
into the burg.

|       *      *      *      *      *

Often as the king was accustomed to visit that city,
Worms could never remember so gay a festival as the
wedding of the new queen.  The narrow streets had been
cleaned of excessive filth; bright cloths and banners hung
from all the larger buildings, and the townfolk, heedless
of the autumn breeze, gaped from window and doorway
at the gaily attired lords who filled the streets with
their armed henchmen.  All Speyer and Mayence and
Frankfurt and the country-side for miles around had come
to see the royal wedding.  The tradefolk had cause to
rejoice in a surfeit of custom; and many a year passed
before the beggars and slaves forgot the royal bounty
doled out to them at the gate of every church and cloister
in the burg.

Yet the giving was not all on the part of royalty.
Lords and tradefolk vied with each other in their gifts to
the king's bride, until Fastrada's bower overflowed with
the finest of silks and woollens, coffers of jewels, and the
richest garments of women's wear.

But in the midst of her abundance, the daughter of
Rudulf sat cold and still, taking no part in the gay chatter
and delighted outcry of the bower-maidens.  There was
a change, however, when, on the morning of the wedding,
Rothada came running to her with the gift sent by Olvir,--a
necklace of sapphires, the largest in the hoard of
Sheik Al Arabi.  At sight of the gift, Fastrada's eyes shone
with the hue of the all but priceless gems, and she hastened
to fasten the necklace about her rounded throat in place
of the river pearls sent by her father.

The press of counts and officials in the burg was so
great that when they thronged with their retainers into
the domchurch, on the heels of the palace lords and
the embassies from outland courts, they filled the great
edifice to the very doors.  As to the common folk, they
had to stop outside in the church court and in the street.
While they waited in the frosty air, those more favored
by birth or fortune stood massed in dense ranks in the
nave and feasted their eyes on the royal ceremony.  Priests
and officials were clad in their most ornate raiment, and
the king himself had laid aside his plain dress for a
costume unrivalled in magnificence by the most extravagant
among his lords.

Very different was the appearance of the bride and
her maidens.  All were dressed in white silk, and, with
their white wimples, looked far more like novices than
bridesmaids.  Even Rothada, who walked beside the bride,
wore no gold or gems.  As the girlish procession passed
softly around into the chancel, the only jewel to be seen
among them was the great opal on the hand which the
bride held clasped to her bosom.

But when Fastrada advanced past her maidens to
kneel before the high altar, she raised her head, with a
sudden upwelling of exultant pride, and Olvir, gazing
from his post behind the king, saw with wonder that his
sapphire necklace lay about her throat.  Then, as he
stood staring, he met her glance, which had passed by
the splendid figure of the king to fix upon himself.  The
look flashed upon him like a stab out of the darkness.  In
a moment it had come and gone, leaving him astounded
and full of dread.  As the lightning reveals the
storm-swept landscape, so that instant's glance had opened to
him a glimpse of the girl's inmost soul, torn between
triumph and despairing hate and the old love for her
lost hero.

Shocked and humiliated, Olvir stood in a half-daze,
heeding neither the chanting of the choir nor the solemn
words of Fulrad.  His heart was numb with a vague
foreboding of evil, and his mind whirled with a chaos of wild
fancies.  For a time he pictured himself as one entangled
in the dreadful deeds and bitter fate of the Nibelung heroes.

But when at last Abbot Fulrad had pronounced the
benediction, and Karl, placing the diadem upon the brow
of his queen, rose up from the altar steps to lead her away,
Olvir regained his calmness.  He told himself that the
queen's strange glance was only an illusion,--that the
false light of the waxen tapers had deceived his eyes, and
he was a vain fool to have imagined that any thought of
himself could have come to the king's bride at the very
steps of the altar.

In his revulsion of feeling, he joined heartily in the
outcry of the Franks, and, side by side with Rothada,
followed the royal couple from the church.  But during
the wedding feast, while all others stared constantly at
the glittering figure of the king and the calm white face
of his bride, Olvir was fully satisfied with the sight of his
little princess.  Though he had overcome the dread which
had chilled his heart, he had no wish to meet such another
look from the new queen.

The next day, however, Olvir heard with pleasure the
summons to appear before the king and the queen in the
bower.  Even when, having saluted the king, he bent to
kiss the slender hand on which glowed the many-hued
opal, no thought of doubt or distrust entered his mind.

"All joy to my lord king and his bride!" he cried.

"All joy is ours, Olvir," replied Karl, and he beamed
down upon his queen with the fond look of the newly
wedded lover.  Fastrada sat motionless, her eyes downcast
and her face wrapped in an inscrutable calm.  As Olvir
released her hand and drew aside to where Rothada waited
him on their accustomed seat, the queen-bride bent over
her opal, and murmured softly: "Tell him of his fortune,
dear lord.  When one's heart is full of joy or sorrow, it
is good to see those around grieve or rejoice with us."

"Such is the nature of man, sweetheart.  Listen, Olvir.
As part of the morning-gift of my bride, I have granted
her kindly wish to do you honor, and so name you Count
of the Frisian Mark.  Count Teutoric lies wounded at
Fitzlar, and Gerold is too young for so grave a charge.
But this dear one at my side has called to mind your good
service in Vascon Land, and though my selfishness urges
the pleasure of your company, I wish to render you the
honor which is your due.  My ungenerous love would have
had me regard my own pleasure before your advancement,--the
more so as you should hasten at once to your mark.
I will see you again before you sail.  Now I go to advise
with Alcuin."

"My lord king!" cried Olvir, springing up.  But Karl,
mistaking his purpose, stepped down from the dais and
passed by, with a good-natured shake of the head.

"Render your thanks to your queen, to whom they are
due," he called back, as he left the bower.

Olvir took a step or two after the king, only to turn
again to Fastrada.

"Dear dame," he said, "I am not one to value lightly
the honor put upon me; yet I wish that Gerold or Amalwin
had been chosen instead.  Let another be given the
countship.  I am content here beside my betrothed."

"Truly, it is a long way to Frisia," sighed Rothada,
and she drew close to the side of her hero.

"A long way!" repeated Olvir, clasping her hand.

For a while Fastrada sat calm and silent as before,
fingering the opal on her hand.  Then, without raising her
eyes or altering her look, she said quietly: "Take the word
of a well-wisher, Olvir.  It is not pleasing to kings to have
their favors cast back upon them.  Trust me.  My dear lord
has chosen you to honor and power above all others of his
counts except Barnard, his uncle.  Render him the service
which lies in you to render, and you may look for more
welcome favors to follow."

"I wish one only.  Tell me, little vala, would you say
no if the king, your father, gave you leave to sail down
Rhine Stream with your sea-wolves?"

"If my father bade me go, dear hero--"

"Only one way could you go, child,--as bride of their
count," broke in Fastrada, sharply.

"And so it shall be," rejoined Olvir.

Fastrada did not raise her eyes, but her jewelled buskin
tapped softly on the dais.

"Foolish children!" she murmured.  "You will spoil
all when the future is brightest with promise.  Would it
not seem ungracious, Olvir, to so soon beg another favor?
You have yet to fulfil the terms of your betrothal."

"But for this countship, I would go to him and ask
that those terms be set aside.  Yet you say true; I cannot
tax his friendship.  My mouth is closed."

"Trust me, Olvir.  You will have a friend close to the
king's ear.  But bear in mind my dear lord's unwillingness
to part with his little maid.  It may be I can soon overcome
that.  If not, what is another year of waiting to true lovers?
Have I not waited all these years for my king,--my king,
'grey of eye'?  Rothada is still very young.  I have seen
two and twenty summers; she cannot count a score."

"She is none too young to wed, even by Northern
custom," answered Olvir.

"True, and we will all pray that your betrothal may
have a quick ending.  Now send in the maidens from the
antechamber, and say your farewells when there is none
left to chatter over your parting.  You shall have until
the turn of the glass for your parting.  No, Olvir; give
me no thanks.  Go quickly; the sweet moments are
winged.  But bear in mind, if it come to the worst, what
is a year of waiting to true lovers?"

"A year!" muttered Olvir, as he drew Rothada's
hand through his arm and led her from the bower, "a
year!  Doubtless, the queen's words are well meant, but
already, dear heart, our betrothal year is far gone; and
did I not love you all those long years before?"

Rothada made no reply until the curious maidens had
hurried into the bower and she stood alone with her lover
in the anteroom.  Then she placed her arms on his
shoulders, and gazed up, clear-eyed, into his troubled face.

"Dear hero," she said, "Fastrada has spoken wisely.
We must have patience.  In His own good time, God will
grant us the fulness of joy."

"Ah, darling, you forget the longing--the hunger
of love!  How shall I sit at peace among the dreary fens,
while my heart is with you in the Rhinegau?  Day and
night I shall hunger for the sight of your sweet face.
By false Loki, would that our lord king might do me a
wrong!  I should seize you, though it were from the very
cloister, and bear you away to Trondheim Fiord!"

"Olvir!  It grieves me you should hold such
thoughts!" cried Rothada, and she burst into tears.
Olvir caught her to him in an agony of contrition.

"Would to Heaven I 'd never been a sea-king!" he
muttered.  "Dearest heart--little princess, forgive
me--do not weep!"

"See, then; I have ceased already," whispered Rothada,
and she looked up through her tears, with a brave
smile.  "Yet I am very sad, my hero.  Oh, if only you
could go to my father and tell him that your heart was free
to fulfil those conditions!  Then I would--I would
myself beg of him that I might fare down Rhine
Stream--with you."

"Little vala!  How the longships would fly, winged
by the bowing oars of your merry sea-wolves!"--and
Olvir strained the girl to him.  But then he freed her, and
his face grew stern.

"Christ aid us!" he muttered.  "My spirit is torn
between love and truth.  Odin bear witness how I love
you, dear; yet even for your sake I cannot bend to the
yoke of priestcraft.  It would be a lie--a lie!"

"The more do I love you, my hero, for your true
heart!  If you are mistaken, our Lord Christ will give you
light.  Trust to His guidance, and however you may be
led, I have faith that all will come well in the end."

"In the end--ay, in the end; but I'm weary of
waiting.  Five long winters have dragged by since we first
plighted troth, there in the Southland."

"I was only a child; yet see, Olvir, my collar--the
tress which saved you at Roncesvalles--still lies clasped
about your throat.  It is not a year since my father
betrothed us.  We must trust in Christ and in the good-will
of--of the queen."

"The witch's daughter!" replied Olvir, and his face
clouded yet more.  "Why did she not look up as she
spoke?  My mind is not at ease.  Her words were so
kindly; but still, it seemed to me her meaning--"

"Such doubts are unworthy of you, Olvir.  Could a
sister--a mother--show greater tenderness than she has
shown since Hildegarde left us?"

"The bitterness of parting poisons my thought.  Forgive
me, dear, if I give way to doubt.  Yet there is one in
the court whom I can trust to watch over you.  Trust
Liutrad in all things.  He would strike off his sword-hand
to give you joy.  Wait; a word more, darling.  Here is
my silver-hilted knife, the work of my own hands."

"What--I bear a dagger?" cried Rothada, and she
shrank from the gift.

"Call it a bodkin; only, take and keep it in memory
of our parting."

"As you wish, then, dear; yet it is a large bodkin
to carry in my bosom, and if I sling it at my girdle, the
maidens will mock me for a warrior."

"A terrible hero!  Tie the sheath with ribbons, and
let the silly maidens laugh."

"No; I will hang it about my neck.  It shall lie upon
my heart, in pledge of your love and protection.  I will
cherish it, dear; for it comes from my hero."

Olvir smiled, half sadly, and turned away, while the
girl looped a ribbon about her neck to suspend the dagger
in her bosom.  The movement brought his gaze about to
the doorway of the bower, in which stood the withered
form of old Kosru the leech, draped about with a gorgeous
robe of yellow silk.  The moment Olvir's eyes fell upon
him, the Magian bent to the rushes, as in former years he
had salaamed before the stern Vali Kasim.  The servile
obeisance irritated the Northman quite as much as the
interruption.

"Withdraw, leech!" he said almost harshly.

"I go, lord count.  But--may my lord forgive me the
bearing!--the gracious queen bids me say that the sand
is nearly run."

"Could she not give the glass another turning?"

"*Ai*, lord; but our mighty protector Karolah has gone
to the water-side to see you take ship," replied the leech,
and, with a dry cackling of toothless laughter, he shuffled
about into the bower.  As he turned, he thrust his hand
beneath his robe, and a soft, metallic clink chimed with his
mirthless chuckle.

"*At--ai!*" he muttered; "youth and love are soon
sped; but the shining gold is ever a joy and a comfort."

Then his ill-omened figure disappeared from view, and
Olvir clasped his little princess to him for the last
bitter-sweet moments of parting.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`CHAPTER 2-XIX`:

.. class:: center large

   CHAPTER XIX

.. vspace:: 2

|   Why are ye sitting there?
|   Why sleep ye life away?
|   Why does it grieve you not?
|                   WHETTING OF GUDRUN.

.. vspace:: 2

Bitterly was Olvir to regret
that he had bent to the subtle
taunt of the witch's daughter.
Had he taken Rothada before
her father in the first flush of his
wedding joy, Karl could have
refused them nothing.  But he
had let himself be lured away to
the fen-lands, far from king and
court; while the new queen was
ever at the side of the world-ruler, free at all times to
whisper her guileful words into his willing ear.  Olvir had no
need of Liutrad's gloomy letters to tell him of the evil spell
which the witch's daughter had laid on the great Frank.
Before the year was out, it was commonly known, even in
Frisia, how the king's bride, who never smiled, had driven
Count Hardrat and others of her countrymen from the
court with scoffs and biting jests, had poisoned the king's
mind with evil thoughts of his most devoted liegemen, and
had hardened his heart to bloodshed and cruelty.

After many dreary months of waiting, it was with a
feeling almost of joy that Olvir received the curt command
which bade him join young Karl and Gerold at the
Sigiburg.  The king had gone north to hunt out the wary
Engern and Eastphalians, and had left the Frankish horsemen
under the nominal command of his sturdy son, to meet
the mounted forces of the Westphalians.

Even war was preferable to the torment of inaction,
and in the great battle of horsemen which was fought on
the Lippe, Olvir proved that if he had lost his old-time zest
for fighting, he had by no means lost his daring and
quickness.  The Saxons were defeated with great slaughter,
though not until Olvir had twice saved the life of young Karl.

For such a service, Olvir might well have looked for
some special mark of the king's favor.  But the queen had
gone north with the court, to join Karl on the Weser, and
not even a word of praise came from the gay camp near
Sunthal, where Karl lingered until after Yuletide.

Then came the command signed by Angilram, the new
Keeper of the Seal, saying that young Karl should join
his father at the Eresburg, leaving the horsemen under
Gerold's charge; while Count Olvir should march into
Thuringia, to give aid to Rudulf, Count of the Sorb Mark.

The tidings of Abbot Fulrad's death were very grievous
to Olvir; for the kindly old councillor had been his
strongest friend at court.  And to this cup of sorrow was
added the gall of Teutoric's reinstatement as Count of the
Frisian Mark.  This, however, Karl himself sought to
excuse by a scroll in his own rude, bold handwriting.
Teutoric had at last recovered from his long illness, and had
asked for his old countship.  In giving it to him again,
he, Karl, had meant nothing against his Dane hawk, but
thought to honor him by sending him into the Sorb Mark,
where there was need of his sword.  Sometime in the
spring, if the Sorbs had become quiet, he should call his
bright falcon to him.

Filled with renewed hope by this promise, Olvir bade
Gerold farewell, and marched swiftly across Westphalia
with his vikings.  At the Eresburg, he left young Karl to
await his father, who had stopped at Paderborn; but he
himself marched on with his vikings, over the Fulda and
Werra, into the great forest of the Thuringians.

Not until they reached the banks of the Saale did the
vikings come upon the Grey Wolf's lair,--a great fenced
camp on the farthermost border of the Sorb Mark.  But
if their journey was long, their welcome was hearty
enough to make amends.  Morose and savage as was his
nature, old Rudulf greeted Olvir with the open friendliness
of one fearless man for another.  He had long since put
away the grudge which he had once cherished against the
Northman, and now he could even speak of the spurning of
his daughter without bitterness.  Half jestingly, he called
to mind that all but forgotten event, and pointed out how
that which had seemed so ill a happening had, in the end,
turned out well omened for all.  Was not his daughter the
king's wedded wife, and Olvir plighted to the king's
daughter?

But Rudulf had other cause than his admiration for
the Northman to give warmth to his greetings.  When
alone with Olvir, he complained that, for the first time in a
score of years, the young men of his folk showed a lack of
willingness to respond to the king's bode.  This was all
the more marked, he said, because of the spirit of unrest
which moved through the forests.  Men sat uneasily at the
hearthside, their thoughts clouded with forebodings of evil.
It was not that the Sorbs were astir and threatened a
harrying of the mark.  That should have brought the wild forest
warriors with a rush to join the banner of their old-time
leader.  Yet his war-ring was all but empty.  Those who
should have crowded the hedges loitered about their
farmstedes.

The coming of Olvir and his sea-wolves was, therefore,
a very welcome event to the grim old Count of the mark.
Though time and war had lessened the number of the
vikings to a scant four hundred, they were picked warriors,
mailed like chiefs, and trained as no band had been trained
since the days of the Romans.  With such men at his call,
the Grey Wolf lay at ease in his lair, confident that
should the Sorbs dare raid his mark, they would ride back
across the Saale far faster than they came.  It would seem
that the crafty heathen were themselves aware of this; for
the arrival of the vikings was followed by signs that the
menacing Slavs had thought better of their purpose.  All
along the border the account of how the giant Danes of
Karl the Frank had turned the Saxon Wittikind's victories
into bloody disaster was now a well-known tale.

So the Slav folk kept across the Saale, biding a fairer
season for their raid; while the warriors, whose presence
had put the curb on their lust for blood and loot, lay about
the Thuringian camp, grumbling at the lack of merry
sword-play.  It was in vain that on the accustomed day for
the spring sacrifice they honored Odin with many choice
victims.  Neither Floki, nor such others of their number as
were skilled in signs and omens, could foretell anything
from the casting of the blood-chips.  At the least, no war
was to be read in the boding, and the Sorbs did not give
the lie to the omens.

May came and went, and then June, and Olvir was
beginning to doubt the king's faith, when word was brought
to the forest fastness,--another scroll in Karl's rough
handwriting,--saying that he had gone north to invade
the land beyond the Elbe, but had not forgotten his Dane
hawk.  With this assurance of the king's troth, Olvir
rested fairly content.  Yet it was no easy task to wait
through the long summer-time.

Autumn was already at hand when the vikings began
to talk of a weird apparition, in appearance like a dead
woman swathed in her shroud, which wandered through
their camp in the darkness.  The manner in which the
Thuringians scoffed at the "grey walker" of their heathen
fellows soon convinced Olvir that the fancied wraith was
none other than old Rudulf's Wend wife.  To test the
matter, he expressed to the count his wonder that the dame
should see fit to act so mysteriously.

The next night, as he sat by the Grey Wolf's hearth
listening to a grim tale of life in the mark, the Wend
woman glided into the hut, and sat down opposite the two
men.  Rudulf nodded carelessly to his wife, and would have
gone on with his tale.  But Olvir turned to greet her.

"Welcome, dame," he said.  "I did not think to see
you again in this life, when at our last meeting you fared
out into the storm and night."

"And what if I am not now in the flesh-life, son of
Thorbiorn?" asked the witch, in a hollow voice.

"The heartier should be my welcome, dame," rejoined
Olvir.  "I 've ever longed to meet a farer from Hel's Land.
But though I have seen many go that journey, I have never
seen one come again."

"Not so the daughter of the Snake, bold mocker.  In
the midnight, when the wolves feasted upon the bodies of
the slain, I have walked on the battlefield, gathering the
death-dew for my spells, and my eyes have seen the
blood-reddened souls rising from the mangled flesh."

"Your souls were going hence, daughter of the Snake;
they as yet knew only the earth-life.  I spoke of those who
have crossed over the glittering way, and then come again
to Manheim.  Hel holds with a firm grip those who go to
her.  Not many fare back who have set foot beyond the wall
of Loki's daughter."

"The son of Thorbiorn would have his hostess tell of
deeds forbidden under the laws of Karl.  Does not the
Christian king doom to the mire-death those who practise
spells?  *Ai!* not all have forgotten my hut in the Moselle
Wood, and the curse which I put upon those whom I left
behind."

"By the fiend Odin!" broke in Rudulf; "that was an
ill-doing, wife.  Yet if the good queen has gone hence,
and Pepin Crookback become a witling, our guest will tell
you that young Karl bids fair to fill his father's sword-belt,
and our daughter, the queen, goes clad in silk and gold."

"Your daughter,--the false trull,--not mine!" hissed
the woman.  "As to her luck, good or ill, have you
forgotten my boding when this bright gerfalcon flew out of
the South to seek our leave for his wooing?  'A king, grey
of eye,' was my foretelling, and so it has chanced.  But
again I gave my boding, as I fared from the hut into the
storm, and again my word has come true.  The queen your
daughter sits in her silken bower, and her heart lies as a
stone in her breast.  With a touch she bends the iron Karl
to her bidding; yet power and wealth are become as ashes
in her mouth.  There is wormwood in her drink, and gall
in her dainty fare.  Do I speak truth, gerfalcon?"

"I would say nothing against the dame of my lord,"
answered Olvir.

"Yet she has brought you little else than sorrow and
evil."

"She has not turned the king's heart against me.  I
hold his pledge.  Each day I look for his bidding to come
to him."

"You have not heard, son of Thorbiorn!  Your ears
are duller than I thought.  Karl went north from
Paderborn, not Rhineward.  He is now upon the Elbe bank."

"I have heard, dame.  It seems that my wait is to be
a little longer."

"You take the ill tidings calmly, hero.  Will you laugh
in joy when I tell you that Karl is minded to break his
pledge to you?"

"That is not true," said Olvir, staring intently at the
grey-shrouded figure of the woman.

"The hero talks foolishly.  She who was my daughter
lies in the king's arms; Count Olvir lies on the Saale
bank."

"It is easy to speak bold words when the face is
hidden," rejoined Olvir.

At the taunt, the witch flung back her cloak, exposing
fully to the red firelight the ghastly adder mark upon her
cheek and the weasels nestling in her bosom.  Roused by
the movement, the little beasts crawled upon her shoulders,
and stared, fiery-eyed, at the stranger.

"Now I see the face of the alruna," said Olvir, quietly.
"Let her speak."

"What more should I say, Dane hawk?  Go through
the Frank's realm; ask of the king's men if their lord keeps
troth with them; ask of the harried Saxons whose is the
bitter tongue that is ever inflaming the king's mind to
bloodshed."

"Enough of ill talk, wife," growled Rudulf.  "King
Karl will do right by our guest-friend."

"Well said, old Grey Dog!" rejoined the woman, scoffingly.
"Your teeth have worn blunt on the bones of Karl's
foemen, and now you 'd whine and lick your master's foot,
lest he beat you from the kennel."

"Your tongue is keen, wife, but your speech dull," replied
Rudulf, unmoved.  "There's little wit to be found in
your jeering talk."

"It may prove a biting jest when the queen's hound
comes to lie in the kennel of the king's dog.  *Ai*, my Grey
Wolf! your ears are keen for the footfall of sword-foes, but
you do not hear the tread of those who come creeping from
the king's hall."

"How, then; what charges--"

"Does the Count of the mark ask that, when he who
should be most zealous of all in doing the king's will
harbors in his very bed one accused of heathen witchery,--one
who has put her curse upon the king himself and upon
his hearth-kin?"

"A hero so great as Karl has little to fear from the
curse of a Wend woman.  He will not think it ill that I
cherish my wife, the mother of his queen."

"No mother--nor father, Grey Wolf!  It is the king's
bed-mate who stirs him to strike those who gave her life."

"That I do not believe."

"Come, then, and hear it from one who can swear
to the tale.  Many are to meet at Hardrat's hall, to talk
of this, among other matters.  Would it not be well for
Count Olvir and yourself to join them?"

"That is a half-day's ride to the north, wife."

"The Sorbs lie quiet, and you need take none of your
followers from the war-ring.  It will be no council, calling
for a show of henchmen; so, unless you fear treachery
from your own folk--"

"Silence, woman!  I 've had enough of jeering.
Neither the Dane hawk nor the Grey Wolf fears to roam
alone in the forest.  When does the beer-sot look for his
guests?"

"The drunkard has again given over his bowl.  You
will find a sober host.  Come in time for the noon meal.
Yet stay!  There may be horse-flesh in the trenchers.  Is
the Dane hawk so zealous a Christian that the meat of
sacrifice--"

"How of the Christian host and this my hearth-friend?"
laughed Olvir.  "I pledge myself to eat of the
same dish, if the fare is savory."

"It is well.  There will be room for all at Hardrat's
board.  Now I go before you," replied the woman, and,
wrapping her grey cloak about her, she glided out into the
night.

Olvir watched her go, and then he turned gravely to
his companion.

"I would speak out my inmost thought," he said.
"Could youth come again to my host, would he choose for
the second time to wed with a worker of spells?"

"It is five and twenty years since, in the land beyond
the Sorb country, the Wend chief's daughter cut free the
withes which bound me, and fled away at my side.  I have
never since had cause to grieve that we plighted troth on
the Saale bank.  I do not lay it upon her that she has now
brought us an ill boding."

"Nor I.  She is but the tidings-bearer."

"Bitter tidings!" growled Rudulf, and he began to
whet his sword.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`CHAPTER 2-XX`:

.. class:: center large

   CHAPTER XX

.. vspace:: 2

|   Strife and din in the hall,
|   Cups smitten asunder;
|   Men lay low in blood--
|                   LAY OF HAMDIR.

.. vspace:: 2

But with the morning the Grey
Wolf's thoughts had lightened.
Side by side, he and Olvir rode
through the ancient forest, as,
years before, they had ridden
through the beech-wood to
Fulda.  The black stallion was
dead, pierced by a Saxon spear.
In his stead, the Thuringian rode
a long-limbed horse of coursing
blood, the gift of the king.  Even Zora had to lengthen her
stride when the big roan raced across the meadows.

As it chanced, however, the roan cast a shoe and went
lame, so that the journey, which began so briskly, ended
in a walk.  When the two counts rode into the yard of
Hardrat's burg, the horses of their fellow-guests were
already standing in their stalls, and their riders were within
the feast-hall, sitting before half-emptied trenchers.  But
the host himself came out to do the last guests honor, and
they returned his greetings with heartiness when they saw
that his face, though harsh and morose, had lost the purple
flush and bloated look of the drunkard.

"Again I welcome our Grey Wolf and that Dane hawk
whose fame is in the mouth of every hero," the host
repeated.  "Let them enter and sit at meat with those who
bear them good-will.  My head groom shall see to their
horses.  He is a skilled smith, and the forge is red.  The
Count of the mark will find his roan shod again for the
homeward riding."

"A good deed,--for which I give thanks," answered Rudulf.

"Stay a moment," said Olvir, as Hardrat turned to
lead the way into the hall.  "Bid your groom leave my
mare free in the yard.  She is not used to being stall-tied."

"As you wish, hero.  I do not wonder that you give
thought to a steed that has borne you through two pitched
battles and countless frays.  Men say you care for the beast
as one of kin to you."

"They say true.  More than once she has borne me out
of the closing hand of Loki's daughter.  It may be that she
will again carry me through battle, though at heart I now
long for peace.  Her strength has at last come again, and
though the years lie heavily upon her, she can yet outrace
any courser other than one of her own blood."

"That I can well believe, hero," replied Hardrat, and
he led in his guests.

Within the skin-hung feast-hall the late-comers found
that the seats of honor, on the right and left hand of the
host, had been kept waiting for them.  Next below Rudulf's
place on the bench sat a huge Wend warrior, beside whom
was the Wend witch in her grey cloak.

Upon the entrance of the counts, many of the guests
had risen, with brimming horn or bowl, to drink health to
them, and Rudulf, as he passed up the table, greeted many
by name.  But the black-bearded Wend giant was bent over
his trencher, and the old count took his seat on the bench
beside him, with a puzzled shake of his grisly, bristling head.

"By the fiend Odin!" he muttered; "have I come here
to sit with Karl's foes?"

"Be at ease, my lord!" entreated his wife.  "Would I
have asked you to this feast had not all been well?"

"All sit here as friends, hero," added Hardrat,
earnestly.  "We meet like kinsmen, to talk upon weighty
matters.  Only give us fair hearing, and I pledge myself
you will not rue your coming."

"Let be, then.  I will listen," replied Rudulf.

"Well said!" called out one of the guests, and many
echoed the words.

Hardrat rose, smiling, and addressed Olvir.  "The
guests sit in their grey iron coats, and you in your linked
mail, hero, as is fitting for warriors gathered in council.
Yet all heads other than your own are bare of helmet.
Uncover your sunbright locks, and sit at ease."

"The war-cap rests lightly upon the head of a viking,"
replied Olvir.

"Count Olvir doubts the faith of his host," sneered
Hardrat.  "Let him sit with naked sword across his
trencher.  We ask only that, with the Grey Wolf, he hear
out whatever his fellow-guests would say."

"I will listen till all is said," replied Olvir, coldly.
"But, instead of the sword, I would have meat upon my
trencher."

"Bring mead and the mead-horns for my high guests,"
called Hardrat.

"I pledge the host in the black mead," said Rudulf, as
a Sorb thrall handed him the drink.

"I pledge the Grey Wolf on my sword," answered
Hardrat.  "No longer does the wassail-bowl touch my lips.
I take thought of higher matters."

"Well said, hero!" exclaimed the Wend woman.
"And now, men of the forest land, give heed while our
host tells what happened on the Moselle, before the passing
away of the good Queen Hildegarde."

Hardrat rose heavily, his face flushed and forbidding.

"It is hard for a man to speak of his shame," he began
in a harsh voice.  "The shame of my drunkenness is the
greater because it has blurred that which I would now
recall.  I owe it to the crafty wit of the alruna that I have
at last fished up the memory from the bottom of the wine-jar,
where I sought to drown it.  Count Olvir will remember
the wolf-chase on the frozen Moselle, since it was then
he won Karl's pledge for his daughter's hand."

"I remember," replied Olvir; and his eyes glowed as
he saw again the burning witch-hut in the midst of the
storm-swirl, and his princess, standing with him before the
good abbot to plight their troth.

But the harsh voice of Liutrad's red pig broke in on the
pleasant musing,--"Give heed, then, Dane hawk, and
you, Grey Wolf of the mark.  To all that I now say, I take
oath on my sword--by the holy cross--by all the
fiend-gods of the Saxons and our own heathen fathers!  At
Thionville, when the Yule games were closing, Fastrada,
daughter of Rudulf, lured me to race down the frozen
Moselle on the track of certain skaters.  Count Olvir will
tell Count Rudulf that those skaters were himself, the
queen, the king's daughter, and others."

"So far the tale is true," assented Olvir.

"No less what follows," retorted Hardrat; "only, I
wish it were clearer to the eye of my memory.  I see the
gnarled oak stems race past on either side as we sweep
down the blue road of the frost-giant.  Borne up by the
spell of her witch-ring, the maiden at my side skims along
with magic swiftness.  Hardly can I, a skilled ice-runner,
keep the pace.  But when we glide in the depths of the
winter forest, the maiden makes pretence of a sprain.  I
see a fire burning on the river-bank.  The maiden sits
before it, muttering spells to drive away the nixie that has
seized her ankle,--such is her claim; but she has lied.
She utters the fearful spell of the werwolf, and from the
pouch casts pieces of an evil charm upon the snow and in
the flames.  Foul with the stench of the burning drug, the
smoke rolls low beneath the naked boughs.  Grisly shapes
peer out from among the alder stems; the wood resounds
with the yelling of the werwolves--"

Panting heavily, the speaker paused to wipe away the
great drops which had gathered on his forehead.  In his
glaring eyes and the sweat of fear, the guests saw full proof
that their host did not lie.  Many shuddered in the bright
sunlight, and there was a hush in the hall as Hardrat
resumed his seat.  All turned silently to old Rudulf, who,
with his grisly head bent forward between his shoulders,
sat glaring at the guests from his narrow slant eyes, more
like one of the evil beings of whom Hardrat had spoken
than a natural man.  But the Grey Wolf restrained the fury
which raged in his savage breast, and the silence was
broken only by the heavy breathing of the guests.  Then
the Wend woman rose up.

"I read the faces of the heroes," she said.  "None here
doubts the truth of our host's tale."

"Hold, dame; do not speak for all," broke in Olvir.
"I believe that Count Hardrat has told what to him is the
truth; yet I doubt his tale.  He has himself spoken of the
wine-jar--the mead-cask were enough!  Men in drink
often see beasts unknown to sober eyes.  What is more, I
see no cause for your daughter to dabble in black magic."

"My daughter, ay; she was then my daughter,--an
apt daughter of the Wend witch!  Shall I tell how the
witch's daughter whispered in the ears of her mother the
tale of her wild vengeance?--of the drawing of the
wolf-pack; of the luring of Pepin's son, and how, when Karl
would have given her love without the queen's crown, she
sent him on down the ice-street, to find his bairns and his
bed-mate in the jaws of the grey ones?  She told all to her
mother while the storm-fiends howled about the forest hut.
And then Karl and his Dane hawk came faring safe with
the others to the witch's hearth, and that false trull fawned
upon those whom she had sought to destroy.  The fiend-gods
bear me witness; she fawned upon her foe, and forswore
the mother who bare her!"

Old Rudulf's fist fell upon the table in a blow that split
the oaken board.

"God in Heaven!" he yelled; "would that my child
had come into the world still-born!  Hate and vengeance,--such
befitted the Grey Wolf's daughter; but lying--lying
and fawning!"

"Withhold your fury, lair-mate," said the woman;
and even Olvir shuddered to hear her mocking laughter.

The Grey Wolf glared at his scoffing wife; but she
threw back her cloak, and withstood his look with the cold
glitter of her sunken eyes.  The menacing light died out of
the count's green eyes.  He cast a crafty glance about the
hall, and said sullenly: "Take joy of your deed, wife!
My heart is now cold and hard like the flint-rock.  I listen."

"Listen, then, childless man!  Shall I tell more of that
maiden who was fated to wed the grey-eyed king?  The
little birds have twittered many tales in my ears.  But no;
our host shall speak again.  He fared to Paderborn when
Karl held the assembly of his lordlings,--wretched
mockery of the day when the free folk of the shires
gathered together under the holy oaks, to make and unmake
their own laws.  The red boar has come from the king's
hall, and now I know that neither yourself nor the Dane
hawk will scoff at his tidings."

"The lie is most subtle which is mingled with truth,"
said Olvir.

Hardrat rose to face the Northman with a heavy frown.
"Enough of jeering, Dane," he said.  "I do not ask yourself
or Count Rudulf to believe what I say of the king's ill-will
toward you both.  That you will know shortly, when
Worad comes faring to the Sorb Mark.  It will be joyous
for the Grey Wolf when he sees the Wend king's daughter
trampled in the mire; joyous for the Dane hawk when,
fleeing down Rhine Stream, he hears the wedding bell of
Worad and the king's daughter."

"Beware!" lisped Olvir, softly, and his face went white.

The Thuringian turned quickly to his fellow-plotters.

"Listen to me, heroes of the forest land!" he called.
"If those who sit beside me are men, I have said enough
to rouse them.  We will talk now of that which concerns
all,--of how the fierce werwolf at the side of Pepin's son
has hardened his heart to fire and slaughter, has inflamed
his wrath against all free-minded men.  He turns from
those who uphold his throne; he dooms without cause the
faithful counts.  Men say he is great,--that none may
withstand him.  The bear is king of beasts; yet I have seen
him baited by the hounds.  We shall not stand alone.
How is minded the noble Lombard Adelchis, whose father,
Desiderius, shorn and uncrowned, lies cooped among the
meek brothers at Corbie, praying for vengeance?  Ask the
heart's wish of Tassilo, Duke of Bavaria, and of his
Lombard wife.  The haughty Agilofingian has little cause to
bless Pepin's son.  All goes well!  The whole of Italy will
welcome the son of Desiderius and his Greek host.  Old
Barnard grows dull with his fatness.  Count William of
Toulouse fares far into Saracen Land, and the fierce
King Abd-er-Rahman will keep him busied; while here
in the North all the heroes of Thuringia are with us.  Then,
too, Wittikind--"

"*Hei!* the Saxon hero waits in Sigfrid's hall, ever
ready!" cried the Wend woman.  "He will come again
with a Dane host.  Bid his blood-sprinkled folk take heart!
Yet another host shall aid them to strike the cruel Frank.
My father's warriors shall ride to join in the baiting of the
Frank bear.  In Wend Land men have not yet forgotten the
daughter of the Snake."

"Never shall Karl return across the Rhine!" cried
Hardrat; and he rose to pass down the hall.

At once the guests shouted their approval: "The
pledge! the pledge!  Let all taste the red drink of
sacrifice!"

Olvir stared at the shouting plotters, and then his gaze
fixed on Count Hardrat, returning up the hall with a copper
bowl whose rim was streaked with dark red.

"Count of the mark," he asked, a strange smile on his
lips, "have you ever heard sung the Lay of Hamdir?  It
ends somewhat after this fashion:

|   "'At the hall's gable-end
|   Fell Sorli to earth,
|   But Hamdir lay low
|   At the end of the house.'"
|

Rudulf made no reply.  His slit eyes were fixed in a
hungry stare upon the bulky form of his black-bearded
bench-mate.  The Wend had been drinking steadily of the
mead, and the powerful drink was already rising to his
head.  Drawn by the look of the old count, he turned his
bloodshot eyes upon him in an insolent leer.

"Ho, Karl's dog," he jeered; "when the bear is baited,
mine shall be his bed-mate; nor shall I trouble your
priests."

Rudulf rose up quietly, as one who would address the
company.  The guests on either side of the table stilled
their loud talk, and turned expectantly to the Count of the
mark.  For a little, he stood silent before them, his
bristling face thrust forward, his narrow-lidded eyes blinking.
Then, suddenly, he bared his corded arms, and his voice
roared through the hall: "Traitors to Karl! thus the Grey
Wolf pledges you friendship!"

Swiftly the old wrestler stooped, and his terrible grip
closed about the giant Wend.  The man had no time to call
upon his bull-strength.  Caught fast in the fatal hold, he
was bent backward; there came a snapping as of a dry
twig.--The Grey Wolf loosed his hold of the quivering
corpse, to spring at another victim.  But his wife stood
between, and before he could pass her, the man had flung
himself beneath the table.

Then the hall resounded with wild shouts and the
clang of swords torn from their sheaths.  The terrified
house-slaves fled screaming into the open, or crouched
against the wall, as the Thuringians rushed forward to
avenge their fellow-plotter.  Olvir leaped around beside
Rudulf, and thrust him forward.

"To the door! to the door!" he cried.

"I go--for your sake," growled the old count, and
his sword circled about his grisly head.

"We go in peace," said the Wend woman.  She flung
the cloak from her head, and glided, with upraised hand,
between her lord and the threatening Thuringians.  "Make
way, heroes!  Bear in mind your pledge to me."

"Stand aside, Wend-wife!" commanded the foremost guest.

"Make way yourself, dog!  I see a bloody sprite beside you."

The Thuringian flung up his arm to ward off the
woman's evil glance.  "That for your boding, witch!" he
cried, and she fell to his stabbing sword.  The frightened
weasels scurried, squeaking, from the cloak of their
mistress, to hide beneath the table.  Upon the slain witch fell
the body of her slayer, struck down by Rudulf.

About the two friends the grey-armored Thuringians
closed fast in the doom-ring.  Fierce blows rained
down,--blade rang upon blade or clashed against war-gear.
Within the ring, the two, standing back to back, fought
their way steadily toward the door.  The Thuringians
could not withstand the mad rage of Rudulf's attack or
Olvir's cold white fury.  They fell back continually before
the counts; but, from side and rear, they thrust and struck
as at maddened wolves.

Now and again one of their number fell to Al-hatif's
stabs or the fierce downsweep of the Grey Wolf's sword.
In turn, their blades beat like flails upon the doomed men.
Not even Olvir's triple mail was proof against their blows.
Soon blood was seeping through the netted rings.  Only
the blue steel of his helmet saved his head from a splitting;
Al-hatif was far too light to ward off the heavy longswords.
Already Rudulf was bleeding from many gashes; his head
was a mass of wounds.  Still he fought on like a mad beast.
He fell at the very threshold of the open door, pierced
through by Hardrat's boar-spear.

At the death-cry of the hero, Olvir sprang about, and
his sword clipped the point of the thrusting lance.  Hardrat
shrank back to draw his sword.  The Northman leaped
through the doorway, calling loudly in Arabic.

Across the courtyard Zora came plunging to meet her
master, and her hoof struck down the groom who sought
to hold her.  Olvir vaulted into the saddle; he bent forward
on the mare's neck, and a sharp hiss burst from his lips.
Zora leaped away like an arrow.  The fierce Thuringians,
bursting out from the hall, called upon the grooms to close
the gate.  But before the nearest man could act, the red
mare and her terrible rider were upon him.  He flung
himself flat before them, and Zora leaped over the man, out
upon the open hillside.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`CHAPTER 2-XXI`:

.. class:: center large

   CHAPTER XXI

.. vspace:: 2

|   Black deeds and ill
|   Have they been a-doing,
|   Evil rede
|   Have they wrought at last.
|                   LAY OF SIGURD.

.. vspace:: 2

Not from fear of pursuit, but
because of that which he bore
with him, Olvir urged the red
mare to her utmost speed.
Never even in her prime had
Zora coursed over hill and
meadow at a swifter pace.  But
the way was long, and even her
easy, swinging gait was agony
to the wounded man.  When at
last she leaped into the war-ring on the Saale bank, her red
coat was wet with the blood of her rider.  He lay upon her
neck, clutching at the silky mane, so far gone that, when
Floki caught him from the saddle, he could gasp out but
a few brief words: "To the little vala!  I 've fought my
last fight!"

Then darkness fell upon him, and he lay in Floki's
arms as one dead.

Deftly the grim vikings stanched the wounds of their
earl and applied healing salves.

"It is but blood-loss," said Floki.  "In a day, I wager,
he calls for his mare.  But now we do his bidding.  Bring
a litter."

So it was that when Olvir awoke from his swoon, he
found himself swinging along on the shoulders of four stout
litter-bearers, well on the road to Erfurt, the great market
of the Thuringians.  As Floki had foretold, he at once called
for Zora, and rode into Erfurt.  There, hearing that Karl
had left Saxon Land and was already at Cologne, on his
way to Attigny, he turned and rode Rhineward.  But
though he sat his saddle all the way to Fulda, and gave his
followers little rest, when he reached the monastery he
was so utterly spent with weariness and pain that he had to
lie over a full week before he could push on.

The bluff Northern monks spared themselves no pains
to justify their fame for hospitality; but Olvir's thanks,
though sincere, were briefly worded, and he had little to
say to any one.  When, rested and almost healed, he made
ready to push on Rhineward, he handed to Abbot Baugulf
a gold arm-ring, in kingly payment for his keep, and stood
with unbent head while the priest poured out his fervent
blessing.

From Fulda, Olvir rode steadily Rhineward on the old
Roman highway, though his face spoke of doubt and
indecision.  But at Mayence he called Floki aside, and said
briefly: "I ride alone to King Karl.  Take the men down
Rhine to Cologne, and make all ready aboard the longships.
Fit them as for a race, and for the North Sea.  I will join
you in a few days, and, with Freya's aid, I shall not come
alone.  Another shall ride with me, whether Karl the King
is loath or willing."

"Ho, ring-breaker!" croaked Floki, smiling with crafty
triumph.  "So we at last fare back to old Norway, and you
are minded to take with you a bride.  There will be
joyous howling when your sea-wolves sight their vala.  Yet
I am minded of another matter.  King Karl owes no
small fee for the long service of the hero's son and his
ready champions.  Though we may leave somewhat
hastily, on our path to Cologne stands Ingleheim, the king's
new burg, which men say is filled with gold and all
manner of loot."

"By Thor!" cried Olvir, his eyes flaming; "were I
sure the Frank had broken his pledge, not Ingleheim alone
should see sword and torch.  As it is, he may yet--Christ
grant he keep troth! ... No, old Crane.  You must fare
your way, with the peace-thongs firm knotted.  If the
Norns have so woven, Zora will bear me to the Rhine
far in the lead of the following Franks; and there's rich
loot between Cologne and Rhine Mouth."

"And what if the werwolf snare you?  Let me ride
with you, earl."

"I ride alone.  No horse in Frank Land could bear up
your weight in the flight from Attigny to Cologne.  Yet
again, I need you to hold the men in hand.  Do not tell
them over-much.  They will be nimble enough if they but
know it is for the little vala.  Farewell."

With the word, Zora wheeled and sprang away on the
long ride to Treves and across Eastern Neustria to Attigny.

For all her age and the roughness of the way, the red
mare could still have covered the journey in four days.  But
Olvir, mindful that he might have need later of the utmost
of her speed and strength, kept a tight rein on the willing
mare, and was well content to double the time of the
journey.

So it was that when they came to the Aisne bank, a
little before nightfall of the eighth day, neither man nor
rider was any the worse for the long faring.  After
bathing in the stream, Olvir rode into Attigny, under cover of
the darkness.  The little town was swarming with people;
but Olvir avoided such of the streets as were torchlit, and,
having secured a small room at an inn, presently found a
messenger who would go to the king's palace with a token
for Liutrad the scribe.

He was seated alone in his room, reading from his
Greek Gospels by the light of a torch, when a deep voice
sounded without the door, and a moment later the heavy
panel had opened and swung to behind a huge figure in
sombre priest robes.  Olvir caught a glimpse of a white
tonsure in the midst of the curly yellow hair, as the
new-comer turned to bar the door, and then he was gazing up
into Liutrad's honest, smiling face.

"Ring-breaker!  Earl!"--how the joyously uttered
words called up the care-free past, when the longships rode
the storm waves, or they two stood side by side in the
sword-game!  For the moment, at least, it was not Liutrad
the priest, but Liutrad Erlingson, who put his great hands
on the shoulders of his friend, and met his keen glance with
a look of boyish delight.

"Luck to you, earl!" he cried.  "You come in
good time.  It is but three days since Wittikind and Alf
entered Attigny, with a long following of Saxon athelings;
and Deacon Alcuin has won over the heroes to peace."

"It would seem that the bloody struggle is at last
ended," replied Olvir.  "I give God praise, both for the
forest-dwellers and for those who have crushed them."

"And for yourself, earl!  Our lord king's face bears
more of its old-time cheerfulness."

"It well may!  I had thought the Saxons unyielding.
For two years and more he has harried their land in
summer and in winter.  How came the great war-earl--"

"He is broken at last; I pray that it may be for good.
As you doubtless have heard, after the Mayfields at
Paderborn last spring, the king, egged on by his werwolf, once
more set to ravaging beyond the Westphalian Gate.  We
had already marched to the Elbe and were encamped on its
banks, when word came of a plot between the Lombards
and the Duke of Bavaria, and the king thought better of his
plan to cross the Elbe.  But Wittikind and Alf, thinking
that he was about to come over and lay waste all of Saxon
Land yet unharried, sent to him, asking terms of surrender.
The king chose out Amalwin to go to them with hostages
suitable to their rank, that they might come to him in
person.  Then, leaving the greater part of the host in the
North, he came Rhineward by swift marches, and here at
Attigny made ready palace and court, that the wild
forest-men might see the greatness of his might and kingship.  So
it has come about that Wittikind, following after with
Amalwin, has seen and wondered, and at last bent to the
will of Pepin's son.  Soon the war-earl and all those who
came with him will bow beside the holy font and receive
baptism.  Two days more will see the heathen become
Christian."

"Christian!  By Loki, I grieve for the Christian
werwolf, who 'll now famish for lack of her Saxon blood!"

Liutrad drew back, and his face darkened with dread
and anger.

"God's curse on that evil woman!" he cried; and then
a sudden question sprang from his lips: "How come you
here, earl?"

"You may well ask," replied Olvir, and he told of the
plotters and the fight in Hardrat's hall.

As he listened, Liutrad's face cleared somewhat.

"By Thor, earl," he exclaimed, "that was sword-play!
But the best is that you bring tidings of the plot.  It may
stand you in good stead."  His face darkened again.  "God
knows you need every vantage.  I could swear by the rood
the werwolf has never forgotten how you scorned her, there
on the Garonne bank.  Not for your good did she cause the
king to send Worad into Thuringia, when she met them at
the Eresburg.  It is common talk in the palace that she is
putting out her utmost craft to sever your betrothal bond
and wed Rothada to the Count of Metz."

"Loki!" gasped Olvir, white with anger.  Years had
passed since he had last given way to such passion; but
now the cold fury came upon him with all its old-time
force.  Liutrad shrank back before the look in his earl's
face.

"Calm yourself, ring-breaker," he muttered.  "All
may yet go well.  In the morning I will bring you to the
king."

"The king," repeated Olvir, and then his face flushed
with a sudden resolve, and his eyes lost their deadly
menace.  "Who asks for the king?  I would speak with my
betrothed."

"But our lord king,--would he not be angered?"

"I would speak to my betrothed, alone."

"Holy Mother!  Do not be rash, earl; you 'll ruin all!"

"There is nothing to lose; something may be gained.
I 've had enough of waiting.  The king himself shall no
longer bar my way.  Now I would speak with my
betrothed.  She will know best where we may meet."

"You 're mad, Olvir!  What would you do?"

"I do not yet know; only, I must speak with Rothada.
As you call me friend, seek out Berga her maid without
delay.  I must see the little maiden soon; else I cannot
answer for what may follow.  The fiend clutches at my
heart."

"I will go, Olvir; though it is no light task."

"Then go and tell all to your grateful king."

"Why reproach me, earl?  Is he not my lord?  And
yet, I risk his good-will to do you favor."

"Forgive me, lad!  Faul tears my heart-strings.  Go
now, and Freya aid you."

"I go, earl.  Yet first, a wolf's-hair.  You had best lie
close this night.  In the morning I will bring you one of
Deacon Alcuin's robes.  With sandals, you can then fare
at will about the burg."

"I 'll wear no priestly footgear; but the gown is well
thought of.  Hasten now.  You may yet see her to-night."





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`CHAPTER 2-XXII`:

.. class:: center large

   CHAPTER XXII

.. vspace:: 2

|   But we in no wise
|   Might love withstand,
|   And mine head must I lay
|   On my love, the ring-breaker.
|                   LAMENT OF ODDRUN.

.. vspace:: 2

Liutrad did not return to the
inn until mid-morning of the
next day, and then it was to
fling himself down with a sigh
of discouragement.

"The werwolf is keen of
eye and ear," he muttered.

"Rest easy, lad.  You've
done your best.  Another day
will see fairer luck."

"If only Father Fulrad were here to aid us!  Had he
lived, all would have been well."

"I could ask no more from any friend, son of Erling,
than what you will do for me.  Now I will eat, that my full
strength may come to me."

"You have not rested much this night, Olvir.  Your
war-gear shimmers like starlit ice."

"A bride might use the shield as mirror, for all its
dints.  Eat now.  Here is plain fare, but toothsome."

"May Worad eat bitter herbs when he sits at board!
The base wretch, to covet a friend's betrothed!"

"Waste no thought on him, lad.  The werwolf alone--"

"True; her ring holds him with its magic glamour,
even as it has cast its spell over our lord king."

"Ring or no, she is at the root of all the trouble.  The
world-hero is as wax in her white hands.  I have talked
much with the Franks since you left me.  It is she who has
turned away the king's heart from mercy.  Not the Saxons
alone, but the nearest of his liegemen have suffered from
his harshness; and I must have my share, though the dints
in my shield and helmet should read me title to fairer
reward.  Ah, well, better luck in Skuld's hand!  Another
day may bring a rift in the clouds."

"Saints grant it!" muttered Liutrad; and the two
fell to eating in moody silence.

Yet Olvir's confidence in the future was not mistaken.
Before evening Berga found Liutrad a chance to speak with
her mistress; and he prevailed upon Rothada to set a
meeting for that very night.

Immediately after nightfall Olvir, cowled and wrapped
about in the Benedictine gown brought to him by Liutrad,
strolled with his friend across the burg and around the
great bulk of the palace to a shadowy recess between
the queen's apartments and the quarters of the
court-officials.  Here they found Berga waiting for them
beside a small door used by the servants, and Liutrad
addressed her openly: "Here is my brother priest for
your sick friend."

"Let him follow," answered the woman, and she led
the way into the foul-odored passage.  Olvir silently
entered at her heels, leaving Liutrad to watch at the door.

Within was pitchy darkness, broken only by an
occasional gleam from the rooms where the house-slaves
chattered over their evening meal or lay about on their straw
pallets, easing the toil of the day with broad jests and
coarse raillery.  A flight of steps, steep and narrow, took
Olvir and his guide beyond the servants' quarters, and in
the utter blackness the Northman had need of his quick
ear to follow the woman's lead.  She glided softly from
passage to passage without a word, stopping only for a
touch of warning when the silence was broken by the
muffled clink of Olvir's mail beneath his monk's robe.
Some little time passed before the woman paused beside a
curtained doorway.

"The princess waits within, hero," she whispered.
"Enter, and comfort her.  I must watch over the bairns,
lest they waken and call for their sister.  May Freya soften
the king's heart, that your love run smooth!"

"My thanks to the good wisher," replied Olvir, and he
stepped between the curtains.

He found himself in a large chamber, half lighted by
the moonbeams which streamed through the high,
casemented window.  Where the rays struck upon the opposite
wall, the grotesque figures of the tapestry-hangings stood
out with such startling distinctness that Olvir stepped back
and grasped the hilt of Al-hatif beneath his robe.  But then
a slender figure glided out into the moonlight from the
shadow beside the window, and he ran forward to clasp
his betrothed in his arms.

"Little vala,--little vala!" was all he could say, for
the words choked in his throat at sight of her tears.

For a while she leaned her head upon his shoulder,
and wept as though her heart would break; and he held her
to him, unable to put into words the tenderness and
compassion which filled his whole being.  At last, however,
she dried her tear-wet face on his robe, and looked up with
a pitiable attempt to be brave.

"My hero, my hero!" she whispered.

"Little vala!  Has the witch's daughter sucked your
blood, that you look so white and wasted?  May Hel,
Loki's daughter, wither the red lips of that werwolf!  May
she--"

"Cease--oh, cease, Olvir!  Curses ever come home
to the sender.  This may be the last time we shall meet
here on earth.  Let there be no wormwood with the bitter-sweet."

"No, Rothada, this is not our last meeting here on the
fair earth."

"Will you then give way to my father?  Liutrad said--"

"He said aright.  I will not sell my soul, though it be
for your father's kingdom.  Yet, before God and man, you
are my betrothed wife.  I have won you by service such as
few have given the king, and--we love each other.  Your
father gave pledge he would send for me, and he broke
troth.  It is hopeless--nothing can turn his course while
the witch's daughter drives--it is hopeless to appeal to him."

"What then, Olvir?  Your words fill me with dread;
you cherish the thought of some wild deed."

"Should it fill you with dread, darling, that I would
have you wed me?"

"No, dear one; my heart sings with gladness at the
word.  If only it might come true!"

"You have but to say it, king's daughter."

"Would you have me wed you without the banns,
Olvir,--in secret?  It could not be, dear hero!  When the
truth became known, the anger of my father would pass all
measure.  He would never forgive us."

"I look to your father for nothing.  He has paid me
ill for loyal service.  I shall now break the bond which has
held me to him.  Beneath the priest-robe you feel the
war-gear, king's daughter.  Zora is saddled for the road.
Come! the night is before us.  Dawn will see us far on our way to
the Rhine."

"O Christ!  O Holy Mother, save me!" cried the
girl; and she shrank away from her lover, wide-eyed and
trembling.

"Listen, darling; listen to me!" he protested.  "I
would not force you.  Only, I beseech you, by the love you
bear me, come!  At Cologne lie my longships,--my
ocean-racers.  Who may overtake us when we sail down Rhine
Stream?  *Haoi!* how the ships spring to the bowing of
the long oars!  Behind us lie the flat shores of Frisia;
we ride the wild North Sea; before us tower the iron
cliffs of old Norway; up Trondheim Fiord we glide,
where the free men of Lade wait to welcome their earl
and his bride!"

The Northman's black eyes sparkled in the moonlight,
and he held out his arms.  But still Rothada shrank away.

"It cannot be, dear hero!" she sighed.  "It cannot be!"

"Where, then, is the love of my betrothed?"

"I love you none the less, dear, that I cannot go with
you."

An agony of grief distorted Olvir's face.  He flung
himself down before the girl and clasped her feet.

"Come with me,--come with me!" he begged.
"Here is only sorrow and parting.  The king is iron."

"Yet I am his daughter.  There is still hope for us,
Olvir.  I will plead with my father."

"And if he deny you?"

"God forbid!  I can then only return to Chelles."

"To the cloisters!  My curse on them!  Listen, king's
daughter.  You are not fated for the nun's veil.  That
would not fill in fullest measure the spite-cup of the
witch's daughter.  She will wed you to our girl-faced
Count of Metz."

"That is no new tale to me, Olvir; yet I can promise
you this much,--I shall never be the bride of another
than yourself.  If I may not choose the cloister, I will
choose that which lies in my bosom."

"You bear my knife?"

"Always--ever ready for use against the bearer."

Rothada put her hand to her breast, and the blue steel
of the dagger gleamed in the moonlight.  Olvir took the
blade from her, and pressed it to his lips.

"Be true, knife of my forging!" he muttered.  "There
is yet one hope--if it fail, strike true; and when you
pierce her heart, I will plunge Al-hatif into my breast."

"Olvir!--you grieve me; I cannot bear it!"

"Why grieve, king's daughter?  If we may not
wed in this life, we shall be united forever in the life
beyond."

"There is still hope; I will go to my father
when he is alone, and implore him to grant us happiness."

"It may be he will yield to you--Loki!  What's
that?  The hangings--"

Hampered though he was by the priest's gown,
Olvir sprang across the room with the quickness of
a leaping wolf.  The tapestry, torn from its fastenings
by his fierce grasp, fell apart and exposed the
withered form of Kosru the leech, crouched against the
wall.

"So--it is the werwolf's dotard," said Olvir, and his
lip curled with a smile of utter contempt.  But the spy
was already grovelling on his face, terrified by the dagger
and the terrible look of the Northman as he tore apart the
tapestry.

"Lord--lord!--spare the aged!" he babbled.  "God
of Light, soften his heart!  Spare me, noble count!  I will
tell all.  I will pay you wergild for my life,--shining
gold,--all the scant hoard I 've saved and put away for
my helpless age!"

Olvir touched the Magian's head with his buskin,
and answered coldly: "Odin bear witness--the hoarder's
heart is touched!  He 'd give away his gold."

"All--all, to the last penny--only spare my life!
I will serve you; I 'll be your slave!  Do not thrust into
the grave one who already totters on the brink!"

"The greyer the viper, the deadlier its venom,"
rejoined the Northman, in an ominous tone.  "That man is
dog-wise who passes by the evil worm because it lies in
his path torpid."

"Olvir--Olvir, do not slay the old man!" cried
Rothada, and she darted across the chamber, to cling to
her lover's arm.  "He has been good to me, and--and
he has saved many lives."

"*Ai!* the king's daughter pleads for me; the maiden
pleads!  I have never sought to do her hurt--by the God
of my fathers, I swear it, noble count!  Even now I was
but coming to fetch the queen's sampler.  How could I
know you from a priest, lord?  If I hid behind the
hangings, thinking to creep near and listen, I meant no evil.
Only forgive me, and I will serve you; I 'll make
confession how, with the witch in the Moselle Wood, I
brewed love potions for her daughter to give the Lord
Karolah, and how I bound the queen in slumber with
my drugs, that the dark maiden might be free to lure the
king with her enticements.  Spare me, lord, and I 'll even
tell--"

"Go to the priests with your witchery and spells,"
broke in Olvir, with impatient contempt.  "As to your
lying pledges, I ask nothing of a miserly dotard; nor
will I take your oath for silence.  This knife is better
pledge.  Do not forget its keen point, and learn that
every man among my blood-eager warriors bears such
another blade.  If you betray me, by word or by sign,
they will search you out, though it be from under the
very seat of the throne.  I have spoken.  Now rise up
and guide me back by the way I came, to the door of the
slaves."

"*Ai!* the shadow of Azrael is upon me!  The wrathful
youth seeks to lure me from the presence of the king's
daughter, to shed my blood in secret!"

"Grey fool!  That is a lie born of your own treachery.
The knife is the maiden's; I give it back into her
own hand.  Rise up; I would be going.  Farewell, little
may!  It is ill luck that our parting must be said before
such a one; yet I trust to the blue steel that he blots
all from his memory.  Come now, darling, draw near my
heart."

"God forbid it be for the last time!" sobbed the girl,
overcome by the thought.  The knife fell unheeded from
her hand upon the wolfskin beside her as she sank, half
fainting, into Olvir's arms.  Many moments passed while
she lay on his breast, quivering with grief.  Then Olvir
kissed her forehead, and put her gently from him, to spurn
the shoulder of the leech.

"Up, dog!" he muttered harshly.  "Lead me out."

Kosru shrank back, and huddled in a shapeless heap
against the wall.

"I cannot--I cannot go!" he gasped.  "A palsy
has stricken my limbs.  I cannot rise--I swear to you,
lord count--"

"Liar!  Stand up or I--"

"Stay; do not force him, Olvir.  I will guide you myself."

"To the king, then."

"My father!"

"Do you dream that this coward could withhold his
secret from the werwolf?  He fears my vengeance; he
will fear hers more.  We will go to the king, and make an
end, either for good or for ill."

"It is well, dear hero.  Come; my father is in the
cell of Deacon Alcuin."





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`CHAPTER 2-XXIII`:

.. class:: center large

   CHAPTER XXIII

.. vspace:: 2

|   Nor shall I leave life
|   Ere the keen lord,
|   The eager in sword-play,
|   My hand shall make end of.
|                   LAY OF GUDRUN.

.. vspace:: 2

For a while the Magian waited
as the lovers had left him,
appearing more like a careless
heap of yellow robes than a
living man.  At last, gaining a
little courage from the silence,
he thrust out his hooked nose
and bald head, like an old
vulture peering over a carcass.
The glint of the forgotten dagger
drew his bleared gaze, and he glared at the cold blade
in a fascination of terror.  Soon, however, the silver hilt
caught his eye, and his fear gave way to greed.  A scrawny
hand followed the head from the yellow heap, reaching
out to clutch the treasure.  But then a soft step sounded
in the doorway, and the leech drew back into his robes,
livid with abject fear.

The curtains of the doorway parted, and Fastrada,
radiant in the splendor of her jewels and her voluptuous
beauty, advanced slowly into the room.  A little way from
the entrance, she paused to glance carelessly across the
chamber, and then she stretched her arms above her head
with the lazy gracefulness of a cat.

"*Ai*, Hertha," she purred, "you 'll lack service this
night.  The laggard wizard has been called to dose some
filthy slave, and I 've waited till sleep weighs down my
eyelids.  Would that I were less drowsy!  The king is pleased
that I ply needle with such industry.  It would give me
double pleasure to sit by and watch the harlot's daughter
finish the piece.  But it's pleasant these chilly nights to
creep beneath the silken coverlets.  I 'll go now.  Faul!
Who's been at my tapestries?  Ah, Kosru!  Is that you?"

"Pity, gracious queen! have compassion on your
slave!" whined the leech.  "A palsy has stricken my limbs.
As I entered, the stroke came upon me.  The hangings
tore in my grasp as I fell."

"Ah--and how came this here?" demanded the
queen, pointing to the dagger on the wolfskin rug before
the Magian.

"That knife?  I had not seen it, gracious dame."

"You lie, Kosru," replied Fastrada, and, stooping for
the dagger, she held it up before her in the moonlight.
As she looked at it, her lips drew apart in a cruel smile,
and her eyes sparkled.

"This is no Frank blade, nor is it of Saracen forging,"
she said softly.  "On the hilt are Norse runes.  I 've seen
it before--at the belt of that false Dane!  It is well for
you that you should speak out, Kosru."

"Gracious dame--light of Karolah's eyes!" stammered
the leech.  "I have lied; but, in truth, I am stricken
with a palsy.  I feared your anger, and so I lied."

"Speak out!  The Dane was here to keep tryst with
that sly trull!"

"*Ai--ai*!  They were here, sultana,--he and the
king's daughter.  I sought to creep around behind the
hangings; but the dust set me to coughing.  My throat--"

"And then he came upon you!  I can see him leap--the
bright hero!  Yet you live.  There's no blood on
the blade.  How came he to spare you?"

"I--I know not, gracious queen.  The king's daughter
pleaded for me--and I gave promise--"

"Ah, I had not thought him so foolish.  And to leave
the knife to tell the tale.  Where were his keen wits?
He might as well have left the knife in your heart.  *Hei*!
The Dane left his knife in the heart of the king's
leech,--murder at the door of the king's chamber!  Magian, that
was a luckless cough for you--Magian!"

A swift movement of the supple, gem-flashing hand,
and the loose end of the tapestry was wrapped close about
the head of the wretched leech.  All the frantic beating of
his feeble arms could not stay the stroke for a moment.

When the frail body lay limp and still in her grasp,
the queen rose and went across the chamber to hold up
her hands where the moon poured in its brightest light.
They were white and spotless.  She looked them over with
careful scrutiny, and, having satisfied herself that they
were unsoiled, gazed down, wide-eyed, at the one on which
the opal glowed mysteriously in the cold light.

"All honor to my witch-stone!" she exclaimed.
"We 've snared our wolf at last.  Now to fetch the
forester."

She turned quickly away to the door, but paused on the
threshold, to step back and glance out through the window.

"The night is clear; yet a cloud may drift across.
It is well to make certain," she muttered, and she drew
the huddled form along the wall, until it lay across the
doorway.  Then, fully satisfied, she slipped out and glided
swiftly down the dark passages until she gained the
bower-chamber.  Within, lighted by a row of waxen tapers, the
bower-maidens sat about a long table, plying needle and
bodkin on the garments of the king and their mistress,
while an old priest droned a homily for the edification of
their manners.

Fastrada beckoned the nearest girl to approach, and
spoke to her in the doorway: "I go to sit with our lord
and Deacon Alcuin in the East Tower.  You will find
Count Gerold playing at chess.  Go, bid him bring my
sampler from my morning-room and fetch it after me."

"I beg pardon, my dame, am I to fetch it, or Count
Gerold?"

"The count, you silly trull!  Could I trust such as
you to wander at night when young men are about?  Go,
and see that you return quickly under the eye of the good
deacon."

As the maiden hurried away, her cheeks aflame, and her
blue eyes wet with the starting tears, her mistress paced
calmly back by the way she had come.  It was some little
distance around to the East Tower, and she was not yet
certain whether it would be best for Gerold or for herself
to arrive first.  There was time to decide at leisure; for
the young count, presuming on the king's favor, would
probably play out his match before he came to do her
bidding.  All the better!  What greater joy than to stroll
along the dark passages, where one was at liberty to give
outward play to all the bitter-sweet thoughts of revenge?

But while the witch's daughter glided like a trailing
weasel from wing to wing of the great Merwing palace,
there was happening in the East Tower that which, had
she known of it, would have lent wings to her jewelled
buskins.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`CHAPTER 2-XXIV`:

.. class:: center large

   CHAPTER XXIV

.. vspace:: 2

|   From a heart full of hate
|   Shall come heavy vengeance.
|                   LAY OF BRYNHILD.

.. vspace:: 2

Within a small turret room,
that was warmed by a charcoal
brazier and lighted by the glow
of his own hour-candles, Karl
sat on a low bench beside the
book-strewn table, while before
him knelt Rothada, clasping his
sword-hand to her bosom, as
she pleaded for love and
happiness.  His free hand lay upon
her glossy head, but his eyes were raised in a troubled
look to where Olvir, in his burnished mail, stood calm and
beautiful as Forseti, son of Balder.  Beside the Northman,
with slender fingers clasped upon his glinting shoulder-plate,
waited Alcuin, the gentle-hearted scholar, eager to
add his appeal to the maiden's.

But when the little princess ceased, and bowed her
tear-wet face upon her father's knee, he held up his hand
for silence, and sat for many moments, his brows bent in
deep thought.  Olvir waited the outcome, his eyes fixed
upon the king's face in a calm and steady gaze, neither
defiant nor imploring.

Then Karl looked up at him, and spoke: "So, Dane
hawk, after all the honors I have heaped upon you, not
content to defy Holy Church, you come to steal my
daughter from me,--a thief in the night!  And yet you
drew back from the deed; you came before me--"

"For that I claim nothing, lord king.  Had not
Rothada been loath--"

"And why--why as a thief--"

"Do you ask, lord king?  Many weary months have
passed since you gave pledge to call me to your side,--to
the presence of my betrothed.  I come at last, an unwelcome
guest, to hear on every lip the bitter tale that your
queen is plotting to break my betrothal bonds and wed
Count Worad with my bride."

"My queen plotting!  Ward your tongue, Dane!"

"It is not I who say that the queen is plotting.
Whether she is or is not, I do not know; but I know that
your liegemen so say."

"You do wrong to heed the ungrateful slanderers.
The court is full of gossip and evil tales, the offspring
of envy and malice."

"Then my lord king has not yet broken the betrothal
tie between myself and his daughter?"

"Not yet, Olvir," replied Karl, and the severity of his
look relaxed in a half-smile.  "The bond still holds.  Yet
tell me, you who talk of ill faith--I speak no more of your
plot to lure away the maiden; but how of your loyal
service?  You are far from the Sorb Mark."

"I bear tidings from the forest land, lord king,--ill
tidings," answered Olvir, and he told over again the
plotting of the Thuringians and the slaying of Rudulf and his
witch-wife.

Neither Alcuin nor Rothada could restrain their cries
at the terse recital; but Karl sat through it all, stern and
silent, and gave no sign, even when, in a dozen words,
Olvir told how the grim old count had fallen to the thrust
of Hardrat's spear.  When, however, the account was
ended, the king nodded, and said: "Years gone, I lost my
trust in that drunkard.  Name his fellow-plotters."

"Would that I might, lord king!  Yet I knew only
Hardrat and the witch-wife, and I heard no names spoken."

"You would know their faces again?"

"Some of them in a thousand."

"It is well.  You have rendered me good service; and
so, if you will bend to Holy Church--"

"I cannot--it would be a lie!"

"Rather it is your pride, your haughty pride of spirit
which bars your way to all happiness.  Do not tax my
patience too far."

"For the sake of the maiden, sire--" ventured Alcuin.

Karl threw out his hand impatiently.

"Is not the child also in my thoughts?" he demanded.
"Ah, little maiden, your pleading tears my heart-strings!
For your sake, I give your hero one more trial.  I name
him Count of the Sorb Mark, in the stead of my slain Grey
Wolf.  Two days I give him at Attigny; then he goes to
snare those forest plotters.  If when he drags the guilty
men before me for the dooming, he has brought himself
to bow to Holy Church, he will find yet other honors
waiting him; if, however, he cannot in truth bend his
stubborn pride, then, nevertheless, I will give him his
bride.  Such is my will.  I have let mercy set aside
my justice.  Be content.  Now, child, rise and go to
your chamber.  The good deacon will see you safe.  I
would speak with Olvir of the commands he bears back
to Thuringia."

"My father!" cried Rothada, rising; and the heart
of the king softened yet more as he saw the light which
shone from the violet eyes.  She kissed his hand, and then,
with the cry of a happy child, turned quickly from him
and ran to fling her arms about Olvir's neck.

"Joy, joy, dear one!  The Lord Christ has answered
my prayer!" she sang.

"I hear once more the voice of the little vala," said
Olvir, softly.  "Keep your heart merry, beloved.  The
days of waiting will soon be ended, and when we meet
again, I wish to see those cheeks rounded,--their roses
once more blooming to shame the sweetbriar.  Go, now,
darling.  The king waits."

Very tenderly he pressed her face between his hands
and bent to kiss her eyes and lips.  Then he gave her over
into the keeping of the scholar, and turned resolutely away.
As he looked around, a drop, bright as a gem, was rolling
down the king's bearded cheek.

Silently Karl turned to the table, to grasp Alcuin's
quill in his unskilled hand; but the words which he sought
to write were ill formed.  Throwing aside the blotched
parchment, he signed to Olvir to take the quill.  Under
the Northman's deft strokes, the beautiful letters of the
Irish script flowed from the quill's point as by magic.  The
king, as he spoke the message, watched the nimble scribe
with half-envious admiration.  When the missive was
ended, he took wax and stamped it with his signet, in
lieu of the great seal.

"So--that is done," he said shortly.  "You are a
ready scribe.  Not even Liutrad is as quick and sure in
forming the letters.  Now take the scroll, and go."

"I would first render thanks to my lord king."

"Go!  My heart misgives me, that I have let the
weakness of a father and friend stand in the way of God's
service.  Go quickly!  I would be alone."

"I go, my heart singing with the praises of the golden
king!" replied Olvir.

"I ask no thanks.  Go," answered Karl, without any
sign of response to the young man's smile.  As Olvir
darted away, too overjoyed to be disheartened by the cold
parting, the great Frank's head bent forward, and his brows
gathered.

He still sat there, tugging at his beard and gazing
moodily at the spot where Rothada had knelt, when the
queen glided softly into the chamber.  At sight of her
graceful figure, his frown gave way to a fond smile; but
she had seen his moody look.

"What troubles my dear lord?" she murmured,
nestling beside him on the bench.  Karl put his great arm
about her and drew her to him, before he answered, "It
is nothing, sweetheart.  I 've had enough of bitter thoughts.
Now I would woo my gentle wife."

"Dear lord!  Mine is the greater joy!  When I dwell
on my happiness, my heart goes out to all mankind.  I
could love even the heathen and the heretics, condemned
of God to endless torment.  What pity that men should
so bring upon themselves the fires of the nether world!
One could almost wish to give them good gifts here, to
offset their sufferings to come."

"They are perverse and godless men, dear one.  Do
not trouble your heart for their wickedness.  There is
enough of sin in Holy Church."

"Yet my thoughts go astray, dear lord.  Sometimes
I think of our little maiden.  I doubt if your Dane
hawk's proud spirit will yield.  Yet, dear lord, if your
judgment hold in all its firm justice, she will ever live in
grief, torn from the arms of her hero.  Always before I
have given heed only to the good of Holy Church; yet
now--"

"Take joy, then, kind heart!  They were here only
a little since, and I gave pledge that they should wed."

"Should wed!--Olvir here!"

"You may well gaze in bewilderment.  I wonder at
myself.  Yet what father could withstand the heart's
pleading of his maid-child?"

"My lord, I--rejoice at their joy.  I will go--"

"Stay!  Who comes leaping upon the stair?"

Rising swiftly, Karl set his great form before the
queen, and loosened Ironbiter in its sheath.  The
half-drawn blade flashed out its full length, when Gerold, pale
and glaring with horror, rushed wildly into the room, a
bared dagger in his hand.  Checked by the threatening
sword-point, the Swabian stopped short and sank to his
knee, panting.

"Murder, dear lord!" he gasped,--"murder beneath
the king's roof!  In the queen's morning-room Kosru the
leech lies stark, a knife-thrust through his heart!"

Karl lowered his sword, and stared down at the young count.

"Murder?" he repeated.  "Whose knife do you bear?"

"The slayer's, sire!  I drew it out, and ran to show
it you."

"Well done!  Hold up the blade, that we may see--  So;
it is of Danish make--  And the owner?"

"I do not know, sire."

"He does not know!" hissed Fastrada.  "His memory
is strangely short.  I know the blade."

"You, wife?  Name the murderer!"

"Count Olvir, sire."

"Olvir!"

"He, dear lord."

"You know the knife?"

"I could swear to it in a thousand.  He once carried
it at his belt.  Many of the court will remember the blade."

Karl made no answer, but turned and paced slowly
to and fro across the room, his gaze fixed on the floor
before him.  He did not pause until Fastrada looked up
with white, drawn face and narrow-lidded eyes, and cried
sharply to Gerold: "*Hei*, king's man! why do you
loiter?  Go, call warriors, and search out the slayer.  It
will be no light task to take him, should he have
warning.  Go!"

"Hold!" commanded Karl.  "Am I the king, that a
woman speaks for me?"

"*Ai!* forgive me, dear lord!  I thought only of my
leech,--my luckless, murdered Kosru!" wailed Fastrada,
and she flung herself at his feet.

"Rise, dear one," he said gently.

"Not until the warriors go to take the slayer of that
helpless greybeard!  Ah, the good old leech!  Many's the
bitter pang he has eased for me.  Only the bloodiest of
wretches could have slain so helpless a one!  How came
the cruel Dane in my morning-room--beside Rothada's
chamber?  Oh, my lord, could it be that the base outlander
came skulking in the darkness to--to--  And Kosru, the
luckless greybeard, sought to dissuade him from his evil
deed!  Send warriors, dear lord!  Let the bloody slayer
be dragged before your judgment-seat!  The mire-death
were light doom for such a foul slaying!"

The queen's voice, quivering with agony and horror,
broke into wild sobs.  Karl stooped over, as though to
raise her; only to tower up again and stare about in
angry indecision.  It was a luckless moment for the
sea-king and his betrothed.  Before the memory of the
Northman's calm face and the little maiden's pleading could blunt
and turn aside the poisoned shafts of the witch's daughter,
other feet came leaping upon the stair.  Again Karl's hand
went to the hilt of Ironbiter, and his frown deepened as
Worad of Metz rushed into the room, covered from helmet
to buskin with travel-grime.

"Lord king!" he gasped--"I could not wait--my
horse fell at the gate, outspent--but I--"

"Another bearer of ill tidings," muttered Karl.

"What?  I do not understand, sire.  I--"

"You come late.  Already I have word of Rudulf's
death and of the Thuringian plot--from Olvir's lips."

"Plot--Thuringian plot!--and from him!"

"I have said it, dolt."

"And he told you?  Saint Michael! there was no
plot, lord king,--no plot but his own when he lured Count
Rudulf and his Wend wife into the ambush of the Sorbs.
I myself found the arrow-pierced bodies on the Saale bank,--I
myself, in the lead of the Thuringian searchers.  Then
many counts who had been feasting at Hardrat's hall
told how the Dane had passed by, riding with his chosen
victims."

"Hold!" commanded Karl, and he bent forward to
fix his keen eyes on the young Frank.  "You say they
passed by Hardrat's hall?"

Worad drew a large scroll from his breast and held
it out to the king.  "Here, sire, is the tale, to which all
the feasters took oath.  I called upon them for it, when,
having brought up my warriors, I marched to the
warring to take the betrayer, and found that he had fled.
Thank God, I find you safe, dear lord!  Days had passed
since the foul deed, and men said he had gone Rhineward.
I rode fast, fearful of the worst--"

"Your fear was needless.  Traitor or true man, he
came before me with a calm face."

"For you gave him all that he asked, dear lord!"
cried Fastrada.  "*Ai*, Holy Mother--to think how near
you 've been to his murderous blade!--the bloody Dane,
foul betrayer of my father--my mother!--red-handed
from the slaying of that helpless greybeard--*Ai!* the
mire-death were light doom for such a treacherous slayer!
Justice--justice, son of Pepin!  I demand vengeance on the
slayer of my kin!"

Even Gerold quivered at the grief and horror in the
queen's voice.  The shrill appeal pierced to the heart like
a knife-thrust.  The king's face was terrible to look upon
in its deadly anger; and yet he still hesitated.

"It cannot be--it cannot be!" he muttered.  "He,
my bright Dane--"

"Bright Dane!" screamed Fastrada--"heathen
outlander--heretic--scoffer at Holy Church!  What lying
tale has he told you, that you stand in doubt?  Look--look
on the scroll which tells of my kin's betrayal--at
this knife from the heart of the greybeard!  *Ai*--they
shall trample him in the mire!"

"King of Heaven!--that battle-leader!  He is no
coward to be flung in the fen.  You ask too much, wife."

"Too much!  *Ai*, too much for the slayer of my kin!
But the king speaks--  Let him, then, be torn asunder by
the plunging horses--the murderous wretch!  *Hei*!  I
can hear the snapping bones!"

Karl stared down into the upraised eyes of his queen,
and they were as the eyes of a wolf, glaring green with
exultant hate.  He turned to stride across the room, and
as he turned, he saw again before him the gentle eyes of his
daughter,--the pleading face of Himiltrude's child.  Twice
he paced across the room, the angry flush slowly receding
from his face.

Then he paused before his queen, and said coldly,
"Seek your bed, wife.  This is no place for grieving dames.
As to my Dane hawk, rest content.  He shall fare from
my realm, an outlaw."

"How!--the murderer?  Are you mad, son of Pepin?
Free to go?--that traitor!"

"No traitor, dame; and he may have had cause for
vengeance against your kin.  As to the leech, he was but
an outlander,--a wizened dotard, already on the grave's
edge,--and the Dane is the bravest of all my counts.
I have loved him as a kinsman.  Enough!  His doom is
spoken.  I give him this night.  Then Gerold shall bid him
go, under pain of death if he linger an hour after sunrise.
Here, Worad, is my signet.  After the baptizing of the
Saxons, the High Marshal and his horsemen will ride with
you to Cologne, on the trail of the outlaw,--to drive him
and his wolf-pack from my kingdom."





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`CHAPTER 2-XXV`:

.. class:: center large

   CHAPTER XXV

.. vspace:: 2

|   I will fare back thither
|   From whence I came,
|   To my nighest kin
|   And those who know me.
|                   LAY OF SIGURD.

.. vspace:: 2

All night long Gerold searched
Attigny for his outlawed friend,
but found no trace of him.  At
dawn he returned to the palace,
weary and all but overcome with
the burden of his grief.  He was
too disheartened even to speak
to Rothada's Frisian maid, who
stood by the outer gate.  He
would have passed by her, had
she not signed to him.

"What is it, Berga?" he asked dully, when he had
followed her into a secluded nook.

"You droop like an outspent hound, lord count.  Take
cheer.  I can put you on the trail."

"How! you know--"

"They slipped out, only a little since,--she and your
mate, the big Dane priest."

"To meet Count Olvir!"

"It is merry for lovers to ride in the greenwood."

"My thanks!" muttered Gerold, and he rushed into
the palace courtyard.

His horse was dripping with sweat when, a mile up
the Aisne bank, he raced to meet the three riders who
came cantering through the groves.  It was a happy little
party.  He could see the blush of love and joy which had
brought back the roses to Rothada's white cheeks, and
her joyous laughter rang clear in the still air.  How could
he mar their happiness?

But now they were racing forward to meet him, Zora
in the lead.  A little more, and he was on the dewy turf
beside Olvir, gripping his arms.  After the first outburst
of gladness, however, his face darkened with the shadow
of his message.

"How's this, lad?" demanded Olvir.  "You stand
gaping, doleful as a bee-stung cub.  God forbid that you
bear ill tidings of our lord king!"

"I bear ill tidings, not of our lord king, but from him,"
answered Gerold; and he turned appealingly to Liutrad.
"I cannot tell them!  I cannot say it!"

"Speak!  Speak out, man!" commanded Olvir, fiercely.

"Sea-king,--king's son! here is fit ending for your
seven years of service.  Now are you wolfshead throughout
the length and breadth of the Frank realm,--you and all
your following!  You shall sail down Rhine Stream so
soon as you can ride to Cologne.  Worad rides after, to
hunt you from the realm.  If within an hour you have
not left Attigny, your head shall pay for the loitering.
Such is the command of Karl, King of the Franks, to
the hero who has served him as a king's son--a king's son!"

Gerold paused, the words choking in his throat with
grief and anger, and Olvir and Liutrad stood before him
speechless, stunned by his message.  But Rothada slipped
from her horse and ran to Olvir.

"Ah, Christ!" she moaned.  "My hero outlawed!"

"The king your father has named him wolfshead,
maiden," answered Gerold, and then his voice broke into
plaintive appeal.  "Why did you slay the old leech, Olvir?
Why strike the greybeard?  At the least, you should have
taken your knife with you.  Where were your nimble wits?
But for the witness of the reddened blade--"

"Hold!  Are you mad?" cried Olvir.  "You babble
of knives and slain men like a fool."

"Would that it were so, friend!  But your knife, the
ill-omened blade!  With my own hand I plucked it from
the heart of the luckless Magian."

"How--my knife?  None the less, it is a foul lie.  I
gave the blade long since to this dear one on my breast,
and last night I placed it again in her hand, unused, when
I spurned the cowering leech.  Why should I slay the
spy, when I was even then going with my betrothed to
stand before her father?  There would be nothing to
betray."

"Thor's hammer!" roared Liutrad.  "The werwolf
has snared you, earl--"

"No, by Odin!  The falcon bursts through the limed
twigs.  I 'll go to the king--"

"Too late--too late!" groaned Gerold.  "She has
shot her venomed shafts too well.  After I, wretched man
that I am, had brought the blade that sprung the
werwolf's snare, Worad came also, with lies yet worse.  The
Thuringians have spared no pains.  A score of high-counts
have sworn that you lured old Rudulf to his death in an
ambush of the Sorbs.  It was then the werwolf triumphed.
The king is filled with her venom; and yet--and yet
even then he denied her and doomed you only to outlawry."

Olvir struck his thigh.  "Thor!  I thank him little for
that, when I must go faring, and leave my bride to wed
the werwolf's nursling."

"I have another knife," said Rothada, and she looked
up at Olvir, her sweet lips straight and tense.

"No, king's daughter!" he answered her sternly; "it
shall not come to that.  I have the right to take you with
me into my banishment.  Now what is the vala's word?"

"Oh, my hero, I pray for light!  If you must truly
go--  But first, there is yet hope.  My father does not
know the truth."

"Would he listen were it told him?  No, darling;
come with me, that there may be an end of doubt."

"I cannot, Olvir,--I cannot go yet.  First see my
father.  He is just; he will right the wrong he has put
upon you."

"And if not?"

"He will, dear hero!"

"And if not?"

"Then--ah, Christ forgive me!  I must break the
will of the king my father.  I must leave home and friends
and father--unblessed!"

"No, little vala; not unblessed," broke in Liutrad,
his deep voice trembling.  "You shall be wed by a priest
of God, who will shrive you of all sin in doing what is
just and right."

"Enough," said Olvir.  "I hold the pledge of my
betrothed.  Gerold will lead her back to the palace, and
Liutrad will fetch my priest-robe.  He will bring me in
before the king during the noon rest.  If I fail, but get free,
I 'll ride straight across the Ardennes to Cologne.  At
nightfall, Liutrad will ride with the king's daughter; but
they shall go by another way, down the Meuse to
Nimeguen.  There I will meet them with my longships.  What
says Count Gerold to the theft of the king's daughter?"

"Saint Michael!  Could you think me so cruel as to
hold her here in the power of that werwolf?  Yet a word:
there will be swift pursuit."

"They will follow me to Cologne."

"And a priest has his cowl," added Liutrad.

Rothada pressed her blushing face against Olvir's
shoulder.

"They shall not find our trail, dear hero," she
whispered.  "Berga in a forester's dress, and I as a page--"

"Freya guide you, my bride!" cried Olvir, and he
pressed his lips to her downbent head.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`CHAPTER 2-XXVI`:

.. class:: center large

   CHAPTER XXVI

.. vspace:: 2

|     Unmeet we should do
|     As the doings of wolves are,
|   Raising wrongs 'gainst each other
|     As the dogs of the Norns,
|     The greedy ones nourished
|   In waste steads of the earth.
|                   LAY OF HAMDIR.

.. vspace:: 2

When Liutrad returned with the
sombre Benedictine robe for his
earl, he found Olvir pacing
restlessly up and down the Aisne bank.

"You 're slow, lad," he said
impatiently; and flinging on the
gown, he at once called to Zora.
But Liutrad had more knowledge of the king's humor.

"Curb your eagerness, earl," he said.  "Wait until
after the baptizing, and our lord king has eaten and eased
himself with the noon rest.  When he wakens, his mood
will be fairest."

"Yours is the better judgment, lad," assented Olvir.
"My hour of grace is already past, and it will matter
little--Loki!  We 've forgotten that I cannot ride Zora into
the burg.  Worad will soon be searching me out, and the
mare is as well known as I."

"We must leave her hid in the wood nearest the burg.
My horse shall stand in waiting for you by the palace gate.
He is heavy, but can race that far at good speed."

"Well schemed, lad!  I shall swoop among the limed
twigs of the werwolf, and they shall not hold me!  Do
you call to mind, lad, that day among the sand dunes,
when we outrode the angry Danes?"

"Remember!  Thor's hammer, but those were merry
days!" cried Liutrad; and with that he and Olvir fell to
recalling the stirring scenes of their hunts and their fights
on land and sea since the day when Olvir Thorbiornson
came to Lade, with his grim foster-father, and won the
heirship of the high-seat.

Noon came and passed, and the two still talked on
with the care-free tones of men at a feast.  None might
have dreamt from their manner that they were desperate
men, prepared, if need were, to defy the might of the great
king.

At last, noting by the fall of the sun-rays through the
foliage how the time passed, Liutrad gave the word, and
they made ready to enter Attigny.

Worms during the wedding of Fastrada was not
more gay than was now the little burg on the Aisne.  All
the court and all the townfolk rejoiced with their king
in the fond belief that the bloody Saxon struggle had at
last come to an end.  The streets were thronged with
revellers, through whose midst Olvir, muffled in his cowl,
walked unnoted behind Liutrad's horse, straight to the
great palace built by the second Clovis.

No official would have thought to bar the entrance
of the king's favorite scribe into the most private
apartments of the king, without Karl's express command, and
where Liutrad went, he had no difficulty in gaining
admittance for his priestly fellow.  But when they came
near the door of the king's chamber, Liutrad thought it
best that he should wait outside in the passage.  While
they stood talking, they heard within the sibilant,
purring voice of the queen, and at the same time the Grand
Doorward approached, to inquire their purpose.  Olvir's
gaze grew stern, and he drew Liutrad away, with quick
decision.

"Go, bring your horse into the courtyard--to the
steps of the palace doorway," he said.  "Should I come out
in haste, do not wonder if I take the beast from you with
a show of force.  The Franks should know of nothing
against you till you 've fled with their king's daughter."

"Olvir!  You mean our lord king no harm?"

"God forbid--greatly as he has wronged me!  Only,
I 'd not linger in the werwolf's power should all go ill."

"Saint Michael grant you have no need of flight!"

"My thanks.  Go quickly!"

Liutrad hurried away, and Olvir stepped forward to
meet the doorward, his head bent beneath the cowl, and
his lips muttering a Latin phrase.

"Hold," commanded the pompous official.  "What is
the priest's purpose at the door of our lord king?"

"To enter it, fool!" muttered Olvir, in Latin, and,
as the Frank bowed to the blessing, he spoke in a tone of
authority: "Lead me to his Majesty.  I come from Fulda
and--"

"Ah, the wise Abbot Baugulf.  Follow me, priest,
and pray for grace that you do not stammer and stand
dumfounded when you enter the presence of majesty."

Olvir made no answer, and the doorward, judging that
he had sufficiently impressed the humble priest, flung aside
the curtains, and announced his entrance.  "A messenger,
your Majesty, from Abbot Baugulf."

"Let him stand and enjoy with us the verses of our
Albinus," replied Karl, without turning his gaze from
Alcuin, at the foot of the royal couch.

Olvir stopped short, and, from the depths of his cowl,
swept the room with his glance.  Evidently the king had
thought the morning's ceremony sufficient work
accomplished for the day, even for his all but tireless energy.
In place of the usual crowd of counts and court-officials,
pressing about the royal couch to report their actions and
receive fresh orders from the king, there were present
only Alcuin and Fastrada the queen, who was seated
beside her lord on the edge of the massive couch.

At a nod from Karl, Alcuin raised his gold-illumined
scroll, and recited his Latin rhymes in a voice that went far
toward easing the waywardness of the feet.  The king was
very hearty in his praise of the poet's efforts; but Fastrada
murmured an ironical criticism: "A fair song, my lord,--for
children and priests.  I myself would rather hear
the heart-stirring lays of our fathers."

"They are the fierce songs of heathen warriors, my
dame, ill fitted for the lips of God's children," protested
Alcuin.

Karl nodded to him, smiling.  "Ah, my Albinus, you
speak true; I, as head of God's church, must agree with
you.  It is well that our subjects should not sing the
heathen lays.  Yet they are the songs of our fathers, and
I would not have them wholly lost to our children.  But I
keep waiting the good abbot's messenger.  Stand forward,
my son, and deliver over the scroll sent by your superior."

"I bear no scroll, Frank king.  The message is on
the tongue of the wolfshead," answered Olvir, in a clear
voice, and he flung aside the priest's robe, to stand before
the king in full war-gear.

"How?  Olvir!  King of Heaven!" cried Karl, and
he sprang up to confront the Northman as he had
confronted Gerold in the East Tower,--with bared sword.
But Olvir gazed fearlessly into his angry eyes.

"Twice before has my father's sword been brandished
to strike down his son," he said.  "The edge of Ironbiter
in a king's hand is fair fate for a warrior."

"Wretched man! why do you force me to anger?  I
have yielded to mercy,--I gave you full time to quit my
realm.  Yet now you stand before me, threatening."

"My sword hangs in its sheath.  Had I come to avenge
myself for the outlaw's doom, I could have leaped upon the
son of Pepin while the priest murmured his verses.  Is the
king answered?"

Karl lowered his Norse sword, and gazed down
moodily at the outlaw.

"By my faith, Dane," he muttered, "I had thought
you bold beyond most; but this passes belief."

"A man will do much for his honor and his love,
King of the Franks.  I am no longer your liegeman; you
have broken the fetter which bound us.  I have been named
wolfshead.  Without my knowledge, I have been doomed
to outlawry.  Now I come to ask a hearing."

"You come too late, murderous Northman!"
exclaimed Fastrada.  "Our lord king has rendered
judgment.  Your doom is sealed.  Go quickly, outlaw, before
the scullions beat you from the palace with their spits."

Olvir looked into the beautiful evil face, smiling
with malignant triumph, and the white fury seized upon him.

"I do not speak to the witch's offcast daughter.  My
appeal is to the King of the Franks," he lisped.

The king gasped in sheer amazement; then the blood
leaped into his face, and his eyes flamed.  He turned to
thrust out his fist at the gaping doorward, and commanded
harshly: "Away, fool!  Bid the High Marshal and his
riders lead this Dane wolf Rhineward, in bonds.  The
bloody outlaw shall not fare at will about my realm.  Go!"

"My lord,--dear sire!" cried Alcuin, as the doorward
sprang away; "hear the youth--"

"Silence, priest!  None shall pule over this false Dane!
Doubly has he earned the tree,--the mire-death.  Yet I
have spared his life; I have shown mercy."

"It is not for mercy, but for justice that I ask, King
of the Franks," replied Olvir; and then, as the thought
of his little princess came upon him, his voice broke into
despairing appeal: "Hear me, lord king!  Be just to the
liegeman whom you once honored.  Do not send me
from your realm wolfshead, that those who hate me may
jeer my name, and my friends listen to the scoffing with
sealed lips.  I will go; I will go gladly, lord king; only,
take from me the shame of your dooming, and bless the
parting liegeman with a king's gift,--the hand of his
betrothed."

"By the King--"

"Hear me, dear lord, I beg you!  by the sword in
your hand, by this ring on my wrist, gift of Hildegarde--of
Hildegarde who so loved my little princess!--I
swear to you, dear lord, that I had no part--"

"Do not heed him, King of the Franks!" hissed Fastrada.
"Look upon this cruel blade, my lord,--the knife
which pierced the feeble greybeard!  What justice for the
murderer?  What mercy for the traitor?  I demand
vengeance upon my father's betrayer.  He shall sink in
the slime, or the plunging horses rend him asunder!
Vengeance!"

.. _`467`:

"Go, Olvir!" muttered the king, thickly; "go--before
I forget that I once loved you."

A gasping sob burst from the Northman.  Karl could
not have struck a blow more cruel.  The stricken man
turned slowly about and passed from the chamber, groping
his way as though blinded.  The king and the scholar stared
after him, hushed and motionless.  Not until he was gone
did they heed that the queen had glided out by the bower
doorway.  Then Alcuin began to pray aloud, and the king
bent while the priest implored the blessing of Heaven upon
the soul of the outlaw.

But Olvir, passing slowly from the doorway along the
shadowy corridor, felt a hand thrust out from another
curtained entrance to draw him within.  Still half dazed, he
yielded to the grasp.  The hangings fell to behind him, and
he found himself face to face with the queen.  For a little
they stood staring at each other, the queen's face still and
cold as a mask.  Olvir looked quietly into her dilating eyes,
and then, without a word, he turned to go.  But Fastrada
put out the hand on which glowed her magic opal, and
caught his shoulder in an eager grasp.

"Stay, Olvir!" she said.  "Give heed, and learn that
all is not lost to you."

"The king has spoken, witch's daughter."

"But not the queen.  Listen, my gerfalcon.  The
famished bird wings back to the wrist of its keeper; the
well-lashed steed comes to the call of the master.  Your
spirit is broken, proud Dane, and now my vengeance is
slaked.  There is gall in the cup.  I wish to drink of a
sweeter draught, which you shall give at my asking; for
in my hand I hold for you good fortune,--honors and
riches and power; the king's friendship again for his Dane
hawk."

"And the price, werwolf?"

"Take heed of your tongue, Olvir!  I have yet a score
to settle with your puling nun-bride."

"She has another knife--"

"Take joy of the thought!  Listen to me: I offer for
her so much as the veil, and that at Chelles, where she will
be with Gisela.  Weigh it well, Olvir; on the one hand,
peace for her; on the other, the knife--or Worad."

"The price?"

A deep blush suffused the queen's cheeks, and her eyes,
blue and soft, gazed at the Northman from beneath their
long lashes with an alluring glance.

"Surely the price is not too heavy," she murmured.
"Men still hold me not uncomely--"

"Lord Christ--and to think!  Ah, my world-hero,
father of my betrothed!  Far better the outlaw's lot!  And
in my anger I would have left you--beguiled by the
plotters!"

"Olvir--Olvir! my hero,--my gerfalcon!  Do not
shrink from me--do not go--stay with me, Olvir!  All
the night I sat watching your ships sail away into the cold
North.  I cannot bear it!  Men say the Norse maidens are
fair--  My heart! another will lie in your arms.  Stay--stay
with me, bright hero!  See; I beg--I, the queen, on
my knees to you.  My God--he goes!  Turn again, Olvir,
only turn.  You shall have that also,--I pledge it on your
knife,--the girl also,--everything! only turn!"

But Olvir neither paused nor turned about to the
frantic woman.  His eyes, clear and luminous with inward
light, were upraised as though he looked into the blue sky,
and his lips smiled as they murmured the hard sayings of
the Carpenter's Son: "'Blessed are ye, when men shall
revile you, and persecute you, and shall say all manner of
evil against you falsely....  Love your enemies, bless
them that curse you, do good to them that hate you, and
pray for them which despitefully use you.'"

"He is mad--mad!  I have stung him to madness!"
cried the kneeling woman; and she struggled up to peer
out through the hangings after the Northman.  But when
she saw him returning directly to the door of the king's
chamber, she clutched at her bosom, and glided swiftly out
after him.  A blow between the helmet-rim and the gold
collar of the hauberk--

But already the outlaw was at the other door.  The
doorward had not returned.  He parted the curtains, and
stepped within, unchallenged, even as the stealthy follower
was upon him.  The chance was lost.

With a soft rustle of silken robes the queen darted past
the Northman, to fling herself into the king's arms.

"He is mad, dear lord,--mad!" she cried.  "He
entered my bower, and I alone!  None but one crazed--"

"Peace, dame.  It is you have lost your wit; I have
come into wisdom," replied Olvir.  "Peace to you and to
your lord.  I turn back, that, before I go, I may take oath
to my tidings of how Hardrat and his fellows plot with
Duke Tassilo and Adelchis the Lombard against the life
and throne of the son of Pepin."

"So, outlaw," cried Karl, "you hold to that lie!  Murderer
and traitor--and now--"

"Peace, world-hero; do not speak the word you will
ever rue," said Olvir, so quietly that, as the king answered,
his voice sank to a mutter.

"My Grey Wolf fell on the Saale bank, pierced by the
arrows of the Sorbs."

"Bid men go look upon the count's riven hauberk and
the wounds which split his hard skull," rejoined Olvir.
"Even Sorbs would not notch their swords on bone and
iron, when the foe lay arrow-pierced.  Yet more,--no
crooked blade cuts like the sweeping longsword.  My mail
was proof; but the weals still show where the blows struck
across my back.  As to the slaying of the leech, does the
king name me a witling, that I should strike, and leave the
knife to tell the tale?  Let your daughter bear witness.  I
gave the blade back into her hand when I turned from the
cowering dotard to come before you.  It must be she let
it fall as I caught her to me.  Another came, and found it
lying ready for the foul deed--"

"Gerold!"

"No, lord king.  What could the brother of Hildegarde
gain by the slaying?  No; it was another,--whom
I could name.  But I do not come for vengeance, dear lord;
I come only to open your eyes to the truth, that the
Thuringians may not take you unawares.  Well was it you
journeyed so swiftly out of Saxon Land.  I call to mind
the words of that red boar Hardrat: 'Never shall Karl cross
again over Rhine Stream.'"

The king flung out his hand.

"God forgive me, Olvir!" he muttered.  "The scroll
which maddened me--"

"In seeking my death, lord king, they have sealed their
own doom.  I could not name them, so they have
themselves sent their names to the lord whom they would have
betrayed.  It is God's will.  My counsel to the King of the
Franks: In the name of Christ, there has been much to
rouse hatred and enmity against your rule,--harshness
and cruelty.  You have listened to the ill counsel of this
misguided daughter of God.  Therefore I say to you, bear
in mind your own deeds, and be merciful to the wrongdoers.
Now I go.  The outlaw will not again trouble the son of
Pepin.  God be with you!"

"Stay, Olvir!  You shall not go!" cried Karl, and,
freeing himself from Fastrada, he came with a rush to
seize the Northman's shoulders in his iron grasp.  "Now
I hold you fast, kinsman.  You shall not go from me.  No
longer are you outlaw.  You shall wed your betrothed, and
stay in my hall, Count Palatine, in the stead of Worad of
Metz.  He whom the king has wrongfully doomed to shame
shall sit on the king's judgment-seat."

"My lord! my lord!"--the queen's voice rose to a
scream--"what would you do?  My father!  Kosru!  See
the bloody knife.  You 'd take the murderer's word against
a score--"

"Silence, woman!  I have given heed long enough to
your ill counsel; long enough have I, the king, turned a
harsh face against my loyal liegemen, at the bidding of a
woman.  My folly has borne bitter fruit,--heart-burnings
and strife.  Go, hide your shame in the bower.  Prepare
yourself to live at peace with my high judge, else I--"

"Lord king!" protested Olvir, "is this time for harsh
words?  Listen, dear lord!  Wisdom has come to me.  I
see how my own anger has brought my own sorrow.
When, on the Garonne bank, I broke troth with the
daughter of Rudulf, the outcome might have been far different
had I curbed my tongue from scorn.  If the maiden was
at fault, my fault was the greater."

"O God!" moaned Fastrada, and she flung herself on
the marble pavement.

But Karl did not look about from the serene face of
the Northman.

"The Count Palatine has spoken," he said, gravely
smiling.

"Would that it might so be!" answered Olvir, and his
dark eyes grew dim.

"How then?" demanded Karl.  But even as the words
left his lips, the door-hangings parted, and Rothada darted
across the room, blind to all else than her lover.

"Fly, hero!" she cried.  "The courtyard swarms with
the warriors; they come to take you!  Fly!  In the passage
wait those who 'll lead you to freedom.  Ah, Holy
Mother!--too late!"

The passage without resounded with the tread and din
of armed men jostling together in their haste.  All eyes
were fixed on the doorway as Gerold and Liutrad sprang
into view.  The Swabian paused at once, and stood
hesitating, his face white and drawn with despair.  But
Liutrad strode across the room, tucking up his robe as he went.
On the wall hung his great axe.  He plucked it down, and
turned about, with flaming eyes, as Count Worad rushed
into the king's chamber, in the lead of a score of warriors.

But then the king's voice rang out, clear and joyful:
"Stay your hand, viking-priest!  And you, Count of Metz,
take away your men.  There's now no need of them."

"Father!" cried Rothada.  "You smile!  He is no
longer outlaw!"

Karl drew her to him, and stood stroking her soft
tresses, while the wondering warriors filed out of the king's
chamber.  When Worad, crestfallen and bewildered, had
followed his men, Karl bent over his daughter.

"Do you, then, love him so much?" he murmured.

"More than life!  God be praised, you 've listened to him!"

"I shall not soon forget how near I came to losing my
Dane hawk,--and he flown hither to warn me of deadly
peril!  Let the traitors give thanks to Heaven for
unmerited mercy.  They will have a mild judge."

Olvir shook his head.  "My heart leaps with joy that I
have won again the friendship of the world-hero.  Yet I
ask two things only,--let my lord king give me my
betrothed to wife, and bid me God-speed on my homeward
faring."

"The maiden is yours, kinsman.  But we cannot part
either with her or you."

"Dear lord, I speak with clear vision.  The heretic
cannot sit in peace among those who bend to the Bishop of
Rome; and more, it is best that we should go, both for
ourselves and for the queen.  I am weary of strife.  My heart
longs for the iron cliffs of my home land, for the salt
billows roaring among the skerries, for the still waters of the
fiord.  The viking stifles in this sea-less land."

"Can nothing stay you, Olvir?  Think what you ask!
You tear at my very heart-strings.  How can I send my
child into the frozen North?"

"Not all is rime and frost with us, lord king.  The
summer is fair in our North land, and the Trondir are warm of
heart.  In time, I shall sit on the high-seat of my father.  The
king's daughter shall not lack either in honor or in love."

"I will gladly give you whatever else you ask, Olvir.
But to part with my child--"

Gently Olvir put Rothada from him, and half turned.
He spoke with the calm of utter despair: "It would seem
the Norns have woven ill for me.  I go into the North,
and--I go without my bride."

"Ah, no!" gasped Fastrada.  Struggling to her feet,
she tore from about her throat the necklace of sapphires
which the Northman had given her for wedding gift, and
pressed it upon Rothada.  "Take it, king's daughter; take
it--even that!--only, bid him stay!"

Rothada thrust the blue stones from her, and drew
herself up with a haughtiness which the king, her father, had
never equalled.  There was no grief in her white face as
she made answer: "Am I such a one as you that I should
bid my hero bend his will?  He goes--"

"And you go with him!"  The words burst from
Karl's lips like a cry of anguish.

For a moment, Olvir stood as though dazed; then
Rothada was locked fast in his arms.  "My bride!  Joy is
ours, king's daughter!"

To them sprang their friends, with glad words,--Liutrad,
Gerold, even the calm scholar Alcuin.  In the midst,
Olvir thrust them aside with friendly force, and Rothada
and he stood forward, radiant, to return thanks to the great
king.

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