FOR THE WHITE CHRIST (continued 5)

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.

CHAPTER II

It is marvel

And the red blood

Runs not as the rain

Runs in the street.

FINNESBURH.

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.

CHAPTER III

Too baleful vengeance

Wroughtest thou.

WHETTING OF GUDRUN.

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.

CHAPTER IV

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.

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."

CHAPTER V

Out then went Sigurd,

The great king's well-loved,

From the speech and the sorrow,

Sore drooping, sore grieving.

VOLSUNGA SAGA.

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.

CHAPTER VI

One I loved,

One and none other,

The gold-decked may.

LAY OF SIGURD.

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.

CHAPTER VII

Fish of the wildwood,

Worm smooth crawling.

VOLSUNGA SAGA.

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.

CHAPTER VIII

Troll's lore and witchcraft.

VOLSUNGA SAGA.

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.

CHAPTER IX

Unto all bale

And all hate whetted.

LAY OF BRYNHILD

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.