FOR THE WHITE CHRIST (continued 3)

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.

CHAPTER XIV

When a wolf thou wert

Out in the wildwood.

LAY OF HELGI.

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.

CHAPTER XV

At the Thing,

Where folk throng.

LAY OF SIGRDRIFA.

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.

CHAPTER XVI

But about and between

Went baleful fate.

LAY OF SIGURD.

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.

"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.

CHAPTER XVII

What hath wrought Sigurd

Of any wrong-doing

That the life of the famed one

Thou art fain of taking?

LAY OF BRYNHILD.

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.

CHAPTER XVIII

Such doings for us

Are naught seemly to do;

To rend with sword

Oaths once sworn

And troth once plighted.

LAY OF SIGURD.

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.

CHAPTER XIX

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.

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.

CHAPTER XX

Lest they fare thither

With whistling spears,

War to wake 'gainst the king.

SONG OF ATLI.

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.

CHAPTER XXI

O, for my Sigurd

I shall have death,

Or my fair, my lovely

Laid in mine arms.

LAY OF SIGURD.

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."