FOR THE WHITE CHRIST (continued 7)

Instantly the king's grip broke. The war-earl thrust him away, and he fell senseless upon the bloody ground. Half-smothered, the Saxon stood gasping, unable to raise his sword. Then he was plucked aside by his henchmen, as Olvir and Floki came leaping into the midst and thrust out their shields to guard the fallen king.

Back to back, the two Northmen stood alone in the midst of the Danes, and so furiously did the champions of King Sigfrid press upon them, that even Floki, in all his many battles, had never been put to such straits to hold his own. Well was it the war-earl yet lacked breath to leap upon them. While he stood gasping, Liutrad and Gerold burst through, at the head of the wedge.

Ground mercilessly between the Frankish horsemen on the one side and the in-thrusting wedge, the Danes at last drew back from about the king, and sought to form another shieldwall.

"They break!" cried Gerold, and springing upon a riderless horse, he wheeled about in the lead of the horsemen. "Heu! heu! Follow me, Franks! Give the wolves no time to turn!"

Rallying to the call, the Franks spurred their horses upon the disarrayed ranks of the Danes, and for a while all Wittikind's efforts could not make the beaten warriors stand and face the attack. Luckily for them, they were rid of the Norse champions, else their retreat would soon have broken into a rout. But Olvir had called upon his sea-wolves to stand while he and Liutrad sought to restore the king to consciousness.

Fearful of the worst, the two stooped over the great Frank, and were chafing his wrists, when his grey eyes opened in a fierce stare, and he sat up, to grope eagerly about.

"My sword--Ironbiter!" he muttered.

"Here, sire," replied Olvir, and he thrust the gold hilt into the king's hand.

"Good! The battle--"

Floki stepped upon a slain horse, and swept the wild battlefield with his glance: "Yonder, lord king, I see Wittikind's shieldburg. The Danes have faced about, and again withstand your riders. But everywhere the Saxons give ground--even the stubborn Frisians!"

"Saint Michael! we win! Why do your wolves stand idle, Dane hawk?"

"We wait for you, lord king, and the Saxons are not minded to press upon us," replied Olvir, grimly. "Lead us now against them, king! Heya! men; lead forward Count Gerold's horse."

"The lad, also," added Floki. "How does the king's son fare?"

"Look for yourself, Crane," rejoined the viking who led forward Gerold's and Pepin's horses.

The luckless boy, who had been lashed fast in his saddle by the vikings, was crouched low over his horse's withers, and his delicate face, as he gazed vacantly about among the vikings, was white and drawn. At the pitiable sight Karl leaped up, his look dark with chagrin.

"King of Heaven!" he cried, "have I lived to see my first-born fear-stricken--my son a coward?"

"Hold, king!" broke in an old berserk, with generous boldness. "You do both yourself and the bairn a wrong. The lad's now witless. Till the luckless stone struck him down, he rode beside me, blithe of heart in the midst of the battle-din. No man in all our wedge cast a dart with truer aim. I myself saw him pierce two Saxons. He's yet witless."

"Thank God!" exclaimed Karl, and he sprang to fling his arm about the boy. "Heed me, child--my brave child! Rouse up and draw sword--the battle's not ended!"

But Pepin stared vacantly into the glowing face of his father, and pointed to the blood-reddened figures of the vikings with a foolish smile. "They that are clothed in scarlet dwell in king's houses--clothed in scarlet--scarlet and crimson," he babbled.

"Mother of God!" muttered Karl, and his eyes fell before the meaningless stare of the boy. But then Olvir sprang forward, his face pale, and his brows meeting in a stern frown.

"Here's a horse, king," he said almost harshly, "Mount, and lead us on again."

"But the lad--"

"Liutrad shall take him in charge. We can do no more for him till this scarlet play is ended."

"Scarlet play--you speak truth, Dane hawk! But see! Ho, Christ triumphs! My Grey Wolf rends his way into the midst of the fen-dwellers. They break--the host itself! Ho, sea-wolves, after me--after me, and burst the Danish shieldwall!"

With a shout that rolled out above all the wild din and uproar, the vikings closed their ranks again in wedge, and wheeled to follow their crowned leader into the thick of the withdrawing Saxons.

As yet only half beaten, the forest-wolves were giving ground with stubborn slowness, and Wittikind was seeking to swing his shieldburg around, that he might shake off the horsemen and rally the tribes in a last furious charge upon the Frankish footmen. Even yet the tide of battle might have been turned against the Franks.

But then the viking wedge crashed into the heart of the Saxon host from the one side, while from the other came sweeping a torrent of routed Frisians, old Rudulf and his grey-armored warriors raging in their midst. The yells of the fen-dwellers quavered with superstitious dread: "The werwolf!--the werwolf! Fly, Saxons!--Fenir 's free!"

Thousands of voices caught up the despairing cry, and the whole Saxon host faced about and broke into utter rout. Wild with fear, they swept across the bloody battlefield in a whirling flood that all but overwhelmed the vikings. Like a ship adrift among the storm-waves, the wedge was carried along in the midst of the flying thousands, clear to the farthermost edge of the battlefield. There, at last, they made a stand, and the horsemen came plunging through the flood to join their royal leader.

As Gerold rode up at their head, Karl signed to him: "Plant the standard; send the horsemen on. To my side! I reel with blood-loss."

Again the vikings gathered about the king, while the horsemen joined the fierce pursuit of the Saxons. But hardly had Gerold and Liutrad bound up his wounds, when the last of the flying host came rushing past, intermingled with the Frankish footmen.

"Ho, lord king!" called Olvir. "My wolves strain at the leash. Bid us go. Yonder comes Amalwin. Let him guard the standard. It cannot be he thirsts to slay his fleeing countrymen."

"Go, then. But leave my luckless Pepin and these bold lads--"

"I'm spent--I stay!" gasped Liutrad.

"I go. My wounds are stanched," said Gerold, and as Olvir sprang upon Zora, the Swabian mounted his own horse little less nimbly.

CHAPTER XVI

Many a man is brave

Who still does not thrust the blade

Into another man's heart.

LAY OF REGIN.

The sun was far down the western sky when the vikings swung away from the corpse-strewn battlefield and joined the fierce chase of the broken host. Already the foremost of the pursued and the pursuers were beyond view, and for a time Northmen followed after the scattering Saxon bands, in vain search for Wittikind and his Danes.

But at last, off to the northward, Olvir caught sight of a distant glimmering along the skyline, and he had no need to look twice to know that it was the last rays of the sunlight glinting on burnished steel.

"Look, lad, our quarry!" he called to Gerold. "No Saxon war-gear would gleam so bright."

"Wittikind and his Danes!" cried Gerold. "Saint Michael--this has been a glorious day! Let us but kill their earl, and the war is at an end!"

After this, those of the Saxons who turned aside out of the way of the vikings were safe from their dreaded blades. The sea-wolves were on the trail of bigger game. Yet swift as was their pursuit, night fell, and they had not overtaken the Danes. Coming to a little brook, they halted to bathe their wounds in the cool stream and to eat the last fragments of the coarse fare which they had brought from the Lippespring.

When, after a little, they clamored to be led on again, Gerold spoke of a stronghold to which the war-earl might be fleeing, and at Olvir's assent, guided the band by moonlight on that blind trail. But the moon at last set and left them in darkness, without view of their quarry. It was well, for even their iron strength was broken. Many had lagged behind in the last hour's march.

Yet at dawn, stiff from their wounds and half famished, they gathered about their earl, and called upon him to lead them on across the woodlands.

When at last, bursting out on the edge of a broad meadow, the vikings sighted the Danes fording a little stream, they uttered a roar, and rushed forward to close with the foe. But even Gerold and Floki were left far behind by Olvir, who raced ahead on Zora as though to ride down singly the whole Danish band. His followers were nearly a bow-shot to the rear when he drew rein just beyond sweep of the Danish swords.

The greater number of the Danes were already across the stream; but a few of the more resolute had halted to hold the passage against the pursuers. Olvir, however, stared over the heads of the desperate champions, to the little islet upon which Wittikind, striding up out of the water, had paused to glance back at the Norse wedge. As the Saxon's eye fell upon the viking earl, the latter raised his hand, and sent a challenge ringing over the stream.

"Ho, hero!" he shouted; "stand and wait--I would meet you in single fight."

"Faul seize you, dog of the Frank!" retorted the Saxon. "Am I a witling to linger while your bloody wolves come up?"

"Listen, son of Wanekind," said Olvir, very earnestly. "Odin bear witness--I swear that no man in my following shall cross the stream, if you fight with me. Let these men follow over to their mates. Mine will stand here."

"And if you fall, bairn?"

"My pledge shall hold good nevertheless. But if you falter and fail to meet me, I shall name you nithing from Rhine Stream to Trondheim Fiord."

"Teu! It is a bold cockerel!" cried Wittikind. But the flush which reddened his bearded cheek showed that the taunt had gone home. Only blood could wipe out that threat of coward-naming. He signed impatiently to the Danish rearguard.

"Across, men!" he shouted. "I 'll soon trim the comb of this loud-crowing cock, and then we shall see how the sons of Thor keep faith."

Olvir smiled, well pleased, and, as the Danes sprang into the stream, he turned about, with upraised hand, to check the wild charge of his vikings.

"Hold, men!" he called. "I meet the war-earl singly. Whether scathe come to me or to him, none among you shall cross over the stream."

"How, Olvir?" demanded Gerold. "Would you then let the Danes escape us?"

"My word is pledged; the Danes go free. As to the war-earl, it is as it was with that traitor Hroar."

"You would trust everything to your own sword, Olvir; and yet the war-earl all but struck you down."

"In the press of the battle," answered Floki, sharply. "Here the ring-breaker will have room to avoid the Saxon's sword."

"I have given my word. See that you keep it," added Olvir, and, leaping from Zora, he advanced out into the water.

Wittikind calmly awaited the attack, leaning upon the hilt of his terrible longsword. There was no feeling visible in his bearded face, but his blue eyes were fixed upon the Northman in a vengeful look. Had it not been for the Norse wedge, the battle would have surely gone against the hated Franks before Rudulf, that werwolf Thuringian, could break the Frisians.

With a rush, Olvir passed, waist-deep, across the narrow channel, and sprang out upon the lower end of the islet. Between him and the Saxon lay a level stretch of sedge-grown sand, a dozen paces wide and twice as long. With the water still dripping from the border of his mailserk, Olvir advanced quietly upon his great enemy. Wittikind swung up his sword, and stepped forward to meet the Northman.

"Come, bairn, come!" he jeered. "We linger too long. I would make an end of the matter, and be gone."

"The gerfalcon strikes the stork!" retorted Olvir, and he ran in upon the war-earl so closely that his little steel shield clashed upon the spiked boss of the Saxon's linden-wood buckler. Down came the longsword with a vicious swirl,--a stroke that few among the greatest champions might have warded. Olvir made no attempt to meet it. Wide as was the blade's sweep, he sprang back into safety as the blow fell.

Gerold and the vikings shouted in approval of the adroit play; but the Danes laughed and called out jeeringly: "Stay a little, dogs of the Franks! Wait till the hero's blood warms!"

"The more freely will it flow!" croaked back Floki the Crane, and the vikings laughed in turn.

Then all on either bank stood staring in silence at the oddly matched swordsmen. Olvir, lithe and active as a panther, was circling round and round his foe, every nerve and thew and sinew tense to take him unawares. For a while he was content to spring in and out, avoiding the terrible sweep of the war-earl's sword. Once his opponent had wearied, he would lay himself open sooner or later to a disabling thrust from Al-hatif.

But the Westphalian was not easily wearied. Far from flagging, his blows fell with steadily increasing quickness and force. The hero's blood was warming, as the scoffing Danes had foretold. He no longer stood in one spot, wheeling to face the attack of the Northman, but began to press upon him, in a fierce attempt to pen him into a corner of the islet, and make an end. Even when he stood over the king Olvir had not been so hard pressed. The Saxon's attack combined all the savage fury of a berserk in the rage with the cold craft of a host-leader.

Twice Olvir's leaps barely saved him from the scythe-like leg-blows of the great blade, and once, as he dropped beneath a backhanded sweep, the keen edge shore a lock from his hair. Nothing daunted, however, by the swirl of the longsword, his black eyes sparkled and wild joy filled his heart. Difficult as it was to avoid Wittikind's fierce rushes, he leaped and thrust and darted from side to side, always just a hairbreadth ahead of destruction, without a thought of fear or weakness. Had he given way to either, though only for a single instant, death would surely have overtaken him. But always the great blade whirled through empty air, and the elf leaped unharmed about the furious giant.

Twice Olvir had retreated from end to end of the islet, and for the third time was giving back before the war-earl's savage rushes, when suddenly his eyes sparkled with a new purpose. Smiling as one who greets a friend, he sprang aside to avoid the down-whirling longsword, and then, heedless of the return stroke, stepped forward to aim a swift blow at the Saxon's sword-arm. The utmost of his skill and sinewy strength was behind the stroke. It fell upon the massive forearm midway above the wrist, and the Danish mail parted like cloth beneath the edge of Al-hatif. Through steel and flesh and tendon, the Damascus blade shore its way, until it gritted on the very bone. Wittikind's sword fell to the ground.

The fight was won. The war-earl of all the Saxons stood before the slender Northman, helpless. Olvir had only to raise his sword and strike another blow, and the son of Wanekind would have met his fate.

The Saxon lowered his shield, and stood waiting for the death-stroke, his broad chest still heaving with the violence of his exertions, but his face suddenly stilled from anger to calm scorn.

"Strike--strike, and have done with your shame, false son of Odin!" he called in a deep voice. "But for you this day the free Saxons should have rid themselves of the Frank. You, a Northman, false to your folk and your gods, have set the heel of a king upon the necks of a free people. It is fit that you should slay the leader of a broken host. Strike quickly, else Thor will smite you with his hammer."

But Olvir stepped back, and met the scornful look of the Saxon with a grave smile.

"Hear me, son of Wanekind!" he rejoined. "In the North we listen to witness on both sides before the dooming. You have yet to learn what is in my mind."

"I had rather talk with Odin! We of the forest have but one tongue with which to speak to traitors; it is of steel."

"Wittikind is dogwise," replied Olvir, and he raised Al-hatif to thrust the blade into its sheath. "Here is my answer to the taunts of the war-earl. Odin bids us slay our foe by guile or by force; but, in the name of the White Christ, I now tell you to go free."

"Teu! Is it not enough shame that a viking should sell his sword? Must he mock an unarmed foe?"

"Odin bear witness--the son of Wanekind is free."

Wittikind stared down intently into the grave, almost solemn face of the Northman, and his look softened.

"How is this, viking?" he demanded. "Would you undo the scathe you have wrought upon my forest-folk?"

"The blood of your warriors brings me no joy, hero. Yet I am the man of Pepin's son, and so must do his bidding. A year since I should have broken the bond, had not Karl shown to me the need for this bloody war. Many could tell you what little love I bear the Christian priests, and I am not one to rejoice at the growing serfdom among the Franks; yet I see that both Frank priest and Frank king would bring to your land more than they would take away,--your boasted freedom is the freedom of the wolf-pack, without order or true bond. This bitter day has proved that all the forces of your forest tribes cannot hope to check the power of the Frank. Why, then, drag on with a hopeless war?--why bring upon your land fire and steel and famine?"

"I would rather choose death than thraldom," rejoined Wittikind.

"Who speaks for thraldom? For a time there would be a double yoke on the necks of your people; but the son of Pepin will not reign for all time, and who so dog-wise as to hold that one as mighty as he will sit in the high-seat after he has gone? I foresee that the yoke of kingship will then be light, and the Saxon folk can choose for themselves whether they will any longer bear the yoke of the priests."

"So--now I see. I am to go free, if I will sell my folk into thraldom."

Olvir's face clouded.

"You do not understand," he replied. "Christ grant that wisdom may come to you! Now go. Your wound bleeds. Yet one more word. Bear in mind, should you ever wish to treat with Karl, I stand pledged as hostage for your safety."

Without a word, the Saxon turned away across the islet. But at the water's edge he wheeled and came striding back.

"Listen, viking," he said. "I have misjudged you. Though you fight for the bloody Frank, I must own that at heart you are a true man. May the Allfather soon lead you back to your own!"

"Rather, may the White Christ, to whom I bend knee,--I, who despise the Christian priests,--may He bring you to the joy and freedom of His love!"

"His priests have brought us nothing but a clamoring for tithes and the sword of their king. I am content with the gods of my fathers. Again I say, may you soon return to your own folk and the old gods of the North. I could wish you no better fortune."

"I pray that wisdom come to you, hero, before more blood is spilt," replied Olvir, earnestly. For a moment after the Saxon turned away, he stood gazing at him; then he also turned and plunged into the stream.

Midway across the narrow channel Gerold came riding to meet him, amazed and angry.

"Ho, Olvir!" he cried; "you 're mad, stark mad, to set the Saxon free! A stroke would have put an end to him and his evil plots. At the least, he should be brought thrall to the king. Turn back! There's yet time to take him--"

"No, lad. Draw rein. My word is pledged--Wittikind is free."

"You 're mad!--mad! What will the king say? There 'll be no bounds to his anger! We must tell him nothing of this."

"The king shall know all," replied Olvir, and he waded on across to his waiting band.

When, late in the afternoon,--well fed from the loot of a farmstede, but very weary,--the Northmen came dragging back across the borders of the battlefield, their earl commanded them to make camp and gather in their dead and wounded. He himself rode on with Gerold, over the Haze and into the Frankish camp. The Swabian's face was clouded with fear for his friend; but Olvir went to the meeting, calm almost to indifference.

As they approached the royal pavilion, before which a group of war-counts were gathered about the king, Olvir was astonished to perceive in their midst the kindly face of Abbot Fulrad. He saw the old councillor nod and smile at him, and then the high war-counts, of whom only Rudulf was missing, rushed to greet him and Gerold. All others than Amalwin were fairly drunken with the wine of victory.

"Hail, heroes!" shouted Worad. "What tidings of the beaten wolves? We were too far spent to follow for long, but your iron vikings--"

"Would that we had stopped as well," replied Gerold, moodily.

"How then?" demanded Karl, rising from a heap of furs. "Did the rebels turn and beat you off? Where is Rudulf?"

"Each went his own way, lord king," replied Olvir, quietly. "We followed the Danes--"

"And they outran you?"

"No, lord king; we overtook them, and I fought with Wittikind."

"And won!" shouted Gerold.

"Where's the rebel's head?" rejoined Count Hardrat. "Were I a slayer, his skull should serve me for mead-bowl. Satan seize the traitors! They all but broke my own skull with their sling-stones."

"The hero's head is on his shoulders,--where Count Hardrat is free to seek it," said Olvir, coldly.

"Speak out!" exclaimed the king. "You fought the Westphalian, and won; yet he still lives. Do you then bring him back in thrall-bonds?"

"No, sire. When the hero's sword fell from his grasp, I spoke with him a little while, and then told him to go free."

"Free! King of Heaven!"

In an instant the king's smiling face was ablaze. He sprang up, and stood towering above the Northman in speechless anger, his hand gripped hard on the hilt of Ironbiter. There were few among the war-counts who did not whiten with dread as they saw the great blade half drawn from its sheath.

But Olvir stood quietly in his place, and faced the king with a look of calm friendliness that bordered on pity. As he met the look, Karl's hand fell away from the sword-hilt, and he turned to pace across the front of the tent. Twice he repeated the swift movement, and when he paused to again face the Northman, all his anger was gone, and in its place only bewilderment.

"Lord Christ!" he muttered; "a little more, and I 'd have struck my heart's friend. Ah, Olvir, why try me so? You were mad to set that traitor free,--him, the head and front of all the heathen cause!"

"Is there then no end to what you would ask of me, sire? The Saxon reproached me as the one who had turned his victory into bitter defeat. Have I not waded in blood for you,--the blood of my brothers? I could not strike down that hero when he stood before me bare-handed, and death were far less bitter than the shame of thraldom. The thought came to me, sire, how he was a brave man, fighting for his country. He at least is no forsworn traitor, however many of his fellows may be."

"You forget that at Casseneuil you placed your hands between my hands. As liegeman, you should have held my service above all else."

"Not so, lord king. I own to a service above your service,--the will of Christ."

"Was it His will to free that heathen duke, who, more than any other man, withstands the spreading of the Gospel?"

"I and mine have slain many warriors in your service, lord king; I am not yet Christian enough to slay one in the name of Christ."

"The more shame to own it, Dane," muttered Hardrat. "But for what else could one look from a heathen?"

"Curb your scoffing tongue, drunkard," commanded Karl. "Prudence should counsel you to silence. There are those who say that the false horn which, in the midst of the battle, called your Neustrians to retreat, is the horn which hangs at your belt."

"It is a lie, lord king!--a foul lie! I am no coward!"

"I know that well, Thuringian; yet I have known of brave traitors. Enough. You will return to your shire when Count Rudulf marches homeward. See to it that neither he nor the missi have cause to report drunkenness or ill deeds against you, if you do not wish to lose your countship as well."

As the Thuringian shrank back before the stern rebuke, Karl turned again to Olvir, and his face softened.

"I have been harsh, lad. I even failed to hear you out. You said that you talked with Wittikind before you set him free?"

"I sought to show him the hopelessness of this bloody struggle, and to win him over to surrender."

"But he would not listen?"

"At the least, I stand pledged as his hostage, should he wish to treat with your Majesty. I trust that I have sown seed in his heart that in the end will bear fruit."

"Ah, Olvir, were it not for your pride of spirit, I should look to see you barter sword and helmet for the cowled robe, as have more than one of my war-counts. But enough, lad. It is not fair to keep you longer; go within the tent."

CHAPTER XVII

A may of all mays--

Bright in bower.

LAY OF GUDRUN.

Olvir caught the look in the king's eyes, and hastened to the pavilion, without waiting to ask questions. A moment, and he had darted through the loose-hanging curtains of the entrance and stood staring about in the gloom of the great canopy. Then, almost at his shoulder, there came a cry of glad surprise, and Rothada sprang up from her father's couch, blushing with delight and sweet confusion. Wearied by the long journey from the Rhine, she had lain down to rest after the noon meal and had fallen asleep.

Before the little princess could even smooth her ruffled tresses, Olvir had his arm about her shoulders and was bending to kiss her. At first, overcome by shyness, she hid her face upon his shoulder; but the ring-mail was cold and hard, and love bade her look up.

"So, that is better, darling," said Olvir, as the violet eyes, beaming with love and happiness, were raised to his own. "Now you gaze up bravely, like a true king's daughter."

"Dear hero! Surely I should be a little brave, when you have had to undergo such fearful dangers--that terrible battle! I shall live in constant dread lest next time--"

"Foolish maiden! Fear slays far greater numbers than the sword. Where is your faith in the White Christ? See now; He has given us this great happiness."

"It is hard to be always trusting, Olvir. But you renew my faith. Here is joy to repay me for my dread."

"Sweet joy, sweetheart! I had given over all thought of seeing you until the host returned Rhineward."

"If only it had been a happier cause that brought me! Dame Bertrada, my father's mother, was stricken down with a sickness which none of the leeches could ease, and when Abbot Fulrad, compelled by matters of state, decided that he must come north, under guard of the Burgundian levy, the queen-mother gave command that I should go with him, to bear her message to my father. The good abbot has lost none of his liking for you, dear hero. He was only too well pleased to bring me in his following."

"He has brought me joy!--But the queen-mother? God grant that the old dame may yet find health!"

"Kosru the leech will return to Mayence with Abbot Fulrad. His magic drugs heal where others fail. Of all whom he has attended, only Hildegarde, my beloved mother--"

A sob choked Rothada's utterance, and tears sprang into her eyes.

Olvir caught her face between his hands, and, stooping quickly, kissed away the tears.

"Do not grieve, dear heart," he said. "She rests in the joy and peace of God's presence, where we shall meet again with her when we, too, go hence. Tell me now of Dame Bertrada. By what lucky chance could you be spared from her bedside?"

"Another cares for her, Olvir, with greater skill than I can give--Fastrada--"

"Fastrada!"

"Be just, dearest. The maiden has surely changed. Before Hildegarde--passed on--she was softened, and now she gives all her time to good deeds. Even Dame Bertrada has no word against her. If only I might so rid myself of vanity and selfishness!"

"That were impossible, sweetheart,--you have nothing of either."

"Olvir! But tell me of my warriors. Oh, this terrible battle! I weep at the thought of the slain."

"Never weep for a viking who falls in battle, little vala. He goes hence rejoicing."

"That is no Christian joy."

"Christian, but far from Christ-like. I have now seen your father's Christian warriors in battle. They rejoiced in the bloody play even as did my grim heathen and--myself."

"Dear hero, I know that you fought only that you might aid in the coming of Christ's kingdom."

"No, Rothada--God forgive me! I came to the battlefield with nothing in my heart but good-will toward the forest-dwellers, and then I thrust my sword among them with wolfish delight."

"Yet you gave assent, Olvir, when my father said that there was no other way to bring about the highest good to the stubborn heathen."

"For the better way was closed long since! Ah, well; let us put the unwelcome thought behind us."

"I, too, might give way to grief, dearest. My brother--"

"The luckless bairn! How is he now?"

"He lies on the couch across; but do not go near. The leech has given him a sleeping draught, and he must not be wakened before dawn. He is still dazed from the blow on his head, and though Kosru gives promise that in time he will recover, he must now have the utmost of care. That is why I must also go when Father Fulrad takes him and Kosru back to Mayence."

"So soon--but I will not complain. Though but for a day or two, Father Fulrad has surely brought me joy!"

"I am glad that you are pleased, dear hero. Now free me, that I may make ready for the evening meal."

Olvir ran his fingers through the girl's tangled tresses, and laughed with a sudden outburst of boyish delight.

"Be seated, king's daughter," he exclaimed. "Yonder is a stool. Seat yourself, and I shall be your tiring-woman."

"No, no, you foolish hero!" protested Rothada, blushing.

But Olvir caught up from a bench an ivory comb and smilingly led the girl to the seat.

When, a little later, Karl entered the pavilion, he saw the boldest of his war-counts on his knees before the daughter of Himiltrude, carefully plaiting the long tresses of chestnut hair which fell down her bosom.

Rothada drooped her head before the astonished look of her father, overcome with shame; but Olvir continued his braiding with quiet unconcern. The king stood where he had first paused, silently watching the lovers. Soon surprise gave way to other emotions, and he smiled half sadly. Very patiently he waited until the last gay ribbon had been knotted, and then, when Olvir would have risen to salute him, he held up a restraining hand, and went and fetched a stool to seat himself beside the blushing girl.

"You do well to be happy while you may, children," he said gently. "The world is harsh and full of trials."

"But love is heaven upon earth," replied Olvir.

"True love; though earth cannot hold it long. But I did not come to mar your happiness. Only, I would sit with you while they prepare the meal. At dawn I ride over the fells."

"At dawn!" exclaimed Rothada, and she lifted her head quickly to look at Olvir.

Karl drew her to him, and patted her glossy tresses.

"Look rather at me, child," he said. "I go at dawn to bear the Magian leech to the bedside of my mother; he stays here. I see plainly, Olvir, that you have had your fill of bloodshed, and so I give you the command which I had set aside for another. We have taken great booty and a multitude of thralls, and in turn have suffered many wounded among our bold warriors. Yours shall be the charge to guard all to the Rhine."

"My lord king!" cried Olvir, and he sprang up to put his gratitude into words. But Karl motioned him to fetch a stool instead.

"Be seated, kinsman," he said gravely. "You owe me no thanks. It is little enough for what you have done. In a few weeks I may call you into the field again--and here I come thrusting myself in, to take from you a portion of your brief season of happiness."

"You do not take, sire, you add," replied Olvir, his face glowing. To be named as kinsman by Karl, son of Pepin,--Karl, the world-hero,--meant more to him than words could express.

Karl smiled, and turned from the happy lover to his betrothed.

"What is your word, child?" he demanded, half playfully.

Rothada raised his great hand to her lips and kissed it, as she murmured her answer: "Our Lord Christ is very good to me to give me such a father and--and--"

"Such a wooer!"

"Such a wooer!"

"God grant you fulness of joy, dear children,--wedded bliss for a lifetime such as was mine for the few brief years."

The broad chest of the speaker rose and fell with a heavy sigh, and he bent forward upon his sword-hilt, to stare out into the gathering twilight.

CHAPTER XVIII

For wrong and hatred

Shall rest them never,

Nay, nor sore sorrow.

LAY OF SIGRDRIFA.

The king spoke very truly when he predicted that Olvir's journey Rhineward would be slow. But at Cologne, the monks of Saint Martin of the Isle took charge of the wounded Franks, and Count Amalwin came to receive the king's share of the war-loot. He brought word of the queen-mother's death and her interment beside King Pepin in the Basilica of Saint Denis. After the burial, Karl moved the court to Worms, and returned into Saxon Land by way of Fulda. It was his command that Olvir should at once join the court, with Rothada and her brother.

So the longships were hauled from their sheds, and raced away up Rhine Stream, through the fair Rhinegau and past Mayence, on along the winding streams to Worms.

Old Fulrad greeted the king's Dane hawk with the embrace of a father, and Fastrada welcomed the lovers with such sweet humility that their hearts went out to her. Olvir himself could not withhold his friendship when he came upon the maiden in the midst of the royal children, and saw how even the boy Karl turned to her as to a mother. Only the most malicious of the court gossips failed to praise the girl for her devoted care of Queen Bertrada and the solicitude she had shown for the orphaned children of Hildegarde.

So it happened that when, in the autumn, the king returned from his planting of fortresses and missions in Saxon Land, he found waiting him a merry family group, of whom Fastrada was the life and centre. To this little group Karl at once joined himself, and, in the pleasant days which followed, he frequently put aside the affairs of state for a sail on the Rhine in Olvir's Raven.

Blind to all else in the happiness of his own wooing, Olvir knew nothing of the report that was fast growing from court gossip to widespread rumor, as to the king's intentions toward the daughter of Rudulf. The awakening came to him and to Rothada without warning.

Gerold and Liutrad, who had had in charge the building of the burg and mission-church on the Haze for the newly founded Bishopric of Osnabruk, returned to report their work complete. Neither had cause to complain of the king's praise for their good service; yet the very next day Olvir met them wandering moodily along the Rhine bank, and Gerold's face was clouded with grief.

"What is this, lad?" asked Olvir, with ready sympathy. "You grieve when all others are merry."

"All are merry, Olvir, even our lord king, and yet--and yet not half a year has passed--"

Sobs choked the young Swabian's utterance. He flung himself face down on the turf, and lay quivering.

Olvir flashed a look of inquiry at Liutrad, who shrugged his broad shoulders and muttered tersely: "The king and the witch's daughter, earl."

"It would be more fitting to say 'Count Rudulf's daughter.' But what of her and our lord king?"

"Do you not know, ring-breaker?"

"Why my question?"

"Worad says that it has been rumored for a fortnight, and now it is given out by authority, within a week our lord king weds the daughter of Rudulf."

"Weds--Fastrada!"

"And why not, ring-breaker? Once I scoffed at the maiden's magic ring. I was dog-wise. I know she hoped it would win back your love to her. In that it failed. Yet see now--it has gained her a queen's crown."

Olvir shook his head incredulously.

"I see you still put faith in foolish charms and spells," he said. "It was no bright stone that drew the king's heart. Though I wish that his Majesty had been less hasty, I cannot grudge the maiden her success. She has won it fairly,--not by spell or magic stone, nor altogether by her beauty; but most of all by the kindness of her deeds and the modesty of her bearing. Do not grieve, Gerold. Our lord king has not forgotten your gracious sister. He is giving to her children another mother."

"A stepmother--the witch's daughter!" muttered Liutrad.

"Hildegarde! Hildegarde!" sobbed Gerold.

"Ah, lads!" exclaimed Olvir, "you are unjust to the maiden. I myself have seen how her heart has changed."

"Changed?" retorted Liutrad. "Have you forgotten the past?--what of your werwolf? Do not frown, earl. I lived the four years in the king's hall with the witch's daughter, while you ruled Vascon Land. I saw much of what you seem to have forgotten."

"Enough. I believe that her heart has altered. At the least, she is now the betrothed of our lord king."

"The king has spoken. It is for us to honor his bride," said Gerold, and he rose up, dry-eyed, to return into the burg.

* * * * *

Often as the king was accustomed to visit that city, Worms could never remember so gay a festival as the wedding of the new queen. The narrow streets had been cleaned of excessive filth; bright cloths and banners hung from all the larger buildings, and the townfolk, heedless of the autumn breeze, gaped from window and doorway at the gaily attired lords who filled the streets with their armed henchmen. All Speyer and Mayence and Frankfurt and the country-side for miles around had come to see the royal wedding. The tradefolk had cause to rejoice in a surfeit of custom; and many a year passed before the beggars and slaves forgot the royal bounty doled out to them at the gate of every church and cloister in the burg.

Yet the giving was not all on the part of royalty. Lords and tradefolk vied with each other in their gifts to the king's bride, until Fastrada's bower overflowed with the finest of silks and woollens, coffers of jewels, and the richest garments of women's wear.

But in the midst of her abundance, the daughter of Rudulf sat cold and still, taking no part in the gay chatter and delighted outcry of the bower-maidens. There was a change, however, when, on the morning of the wedding, Rothada came running to her with the gift sent by Olvir,--a necklace of sapphires, the largest in the hoard of Sheik Al Arabi. At sight of the gift, Fastrada's eyes shone with the hue of the all but priceless gems, and she hastened to fasten the necklace about her rounded throat in place of the river pearls sent by her father.

The press of counts and officials in the burg was so great that when they thronged with their retainers into the domchurch, on the heels of the palace lords and the embassies from outland courts, they filled the great edifice to the very doors. As to the common folk, they had to stop outside in the church court and in the street. While they waited in the frosty air, those more favored by birth or fortune stood massed in dense ranks in the nave and feasted their eyes on the royal ceremony. Priests and officials were clad in their most ornate raiment, and the king himself had laid aside his plain dress for a costume unrivalled in magnificence by the most extravagant among his lords.

Very different was the appearance of the bride and her maidens. All were dressed in white silk, and, with their white wimples, looked far more like novices than bridesmaids. Even Rothada, who walked beside the bride, wore no gold or gems. As the girlish procession passed softly around into the chancel, the only jewel to be seen among them was the great opal on the hand which the bride held clasped to her bosom.

But when Fastrada advanced past her maidens to kneel before the high altar, she raised her head, with a sudden upwelling of exultant pride, and Olvir, gazing from his post behind the king, saw with wonder that his sapphire necklace lay about her throat. Then, as he stood staring, he met her glance, which had passed by the splendid figure of the king to fix upon himself. The look flashed upon him like a stab out of the darkness. In a moment it had come and gone, leaving him astounded and full of dread. As the lightning reveals the storm-swept landscape, so that instant's glance had opened to him a glimpse of the girl's inmost soul, torn between triumph and despairing hate and the old love for her lost hero.

Shocked and humiliated, Olvir stood in a half-daze, heeding neither the chanting of the choir nor the solemn words of Fulrad. His heart was numb with a vague foreboding of evil, and his mind whirled with a chaos of wild fancies. For a time he pictured himself as one entangled in the dreadful deeds and bitter fate of the Nibelung heroes.

But when at last Abbot Fulrad had pronounced the benediction, and Karl, placing the diadem upon the brow of his queen, rose up from the altar steps to lead her away, Olvir regained his calmness. He told himself that the queen's strange glance was only an illusion,--that the false light of the waxen tapers had deceived his eyes, and he was a vain fool to have imagined that any thought of himself could have come to the king's bride at the very steps of the altar.

In his revulsion of feeling, he joined heartily in the outcry of the Franks, and, side by side with Rothada, followed the royal couple from the church. But during the wedding feast, while all others stared constantly at the glittering figure of the king and the calm white face of his bride, Olvir was fully satisfied with the sight of his little princess. Though he had overcome the dread which had chilled his heart, he had no wish to meet such another look from the new queen.

The next day, however, Olvir heard with pleasure the summons to appear before the king and the queen in the bower. Even when, having saluted the king, he bent to kiss the slender hand on which glowed the many-hued opal, no thought of doubt or distrust entered his mind.

"All joy to my lord king and his bride!" he cried.

"All joy is ours, Olvir," replied Karl, and he beamed down upon his queen with the fond look of the newly wedded lover. Fastrada sat motionless, her eyes downcast and her face wrapped in an inscrutable calm. As Olvir released her hand and drew aside to where Rothada waited him on their accustomed seat, the queen-bride bent over her opal, and murmured softly: "Tell him of his fortune, dear lord. When one's heart is full of joy or sorrow, it is good to see those around grieve or rejoice with us."

"Such is the nature of man, sweetheart. Listen, Olvir. As part of the morning-gift of my bride, I have granted her kindly wish to do you honor, and so name you Count of the Frisian Mark. Count Teutoric lies wounded at Fitzlar, and Gerold is too young for so grave a charge. But this dear one at my side has called to mind your good service in Vascon Land, and though my selfishness urges the pleasure of your company, I wish to render you the honor which is your due. My ungenerous love would have had me regard my own pleasure before your advancement,--the more so as you should hasten at once to your mark. I will see you again before you sail. Now I go to advise with Alcuin."

"My lord king!" cried Olvir, springing up. But Karl, mistaking his purpose, stepped down from the dais and passed by, with a good-natured shake of the head.

"Render your thanks to your queen, to whom they are due," he called back, as he left the bower.

Olvir took a step or two after the king, only to turn again to Fastrada.

"Dear dame," he said, "I am not one to value lightly the honor put upon me; yet I wish that Gerold or Amalwin had been chosen instead. Let another be given the countship. I am content here beside my betrothed."

"Truly, it is a long way to Frisia," sighed Rothada, and she drew close to the side of her hero.

"A long way!" repeated Olvir, clasping her hand.

For a while Fastrada sat calm and silent as before, fingering the opal on her hand. Then, without raising her eyes or altering her look, she said quietly: "Take the word of a well-wisher, Olvir. It is not pleasing to kings to have their favors cast back upon them. Trust me. My dear lord has chosen you to honor and power above all others of his counts except Barnard, his uncle. Render him the service which lies in you to render, and you may look for more welcome favors to follow."

"I wish one only. Tell me, little vala, would you say no if the king, your father, gave you leave to sail down Rhine Stream with your sea-wolves?"

"If my father bade me go, dear hero--"

"Only one way could you go, child,--as bride of their count," broke in Fastrada, sharply.

"And so it shall be," rejoined Olvir.

Fastrada did not raise her eyes, but her jewelled buskin tapped softly on the dais.

"Foolish children!" she murmured. "You will spoil all when the future is brightest with promise. Would it not seem ungracious, Olvir, to so soon beg another favor? You have yet to fulfil the terms of your betrothal."

"But for this countship, I would go to him and ask that those terms be set aside. Yet you say true; I cannot tax his friendship. My mouth is closed."

"Trust me, Olvir. You will have a friend close to the king's ear. But bear in mind my dear lord's unwillingness to part with his little maid. It may be I can soon overcome that. If not, what is another year of waiting to true lovers? Have I not waited all these years for my king,--my king, 'grey of eye'? Rothada is still very young. I have seen two and twenty summers; she cannot count a score."

"She is none too young to wed, even by Northern custom," answered Olvir.

"True, and we will all pray that your betrothal may have a quick ending. Now send in the maidens from the antechamber, and say your farewells when there is none left to chatter over your parting. You shall have until the turn of the glass for your parting. No, Olvir; give me no thanks. Go quickly; the sweet moments are winged. But bear in mind, if it come to the worst, what is a year of waiting to true lovers?"

"A year!" muttered Olvir, as he drew Rothada's hand through his arm and led her from the bower, "a year! Doubtless, the queen's words are well meant, but already, dear heart, our betrothal year is far gone; and did I not love you all those long years before?"

Rothada made no reply until the curious maidens had hurried into the bower and she stood alone with her lover in the anteroom. Then she placed her arms on his shoulders, and gazed up, clear-eyed, into his troubled face.

"Dear hero," she said, "Fastrada has spoken wisely. We must have patience. In His own good time, God will grant us the fulness of joy."

"Ah, darling, you forget the longing--the hunger of love! How shall I sit at peace among the dreary fens, while my heart is with you in the Rhinegau? Day and night I shall hunger for the sight of your sweet face. By false Loki, would that our lord king might do me a wrong! I should seize you, though it were from the very cloister, and bear you away to Trondheim Fiord!"

"Olvir! It grieves me you should hold such thoughts!" cried Rothada, and she burst into tears. Olvir caught her to him in an agony of contrition.

"Would to Heaven I 'd never been a sea-king!" he muttered. "Dearest heart--little princess, forgive me--do not weep!"

"See, then; I have ceased already," whispered Rothada, and she looked up through her tears, with a brave smile. "Yet I am very sad, my hero. Oh, if only you could go to my father and tell him that your heart was free to fulfil those conditions! Then I would--I would myself beg of him that I might fare down Rhine Stream--with you."

"Little vala! How the longships would fly, winged by the bowing oars of your merry sea-wolves!"--and Olvir strained the girl to him. But then he freed her, and his face grew stern.

"Christ aid us!" he muttered. "My spirit is torn between love and truth. Odin bear witness how I love you, dear; yet even for your sake I cannot bend to the yoke of priestcraft. It would be a lie--a lie!"

"The more do I love you, my hero, for your true heart! If you are mistaken, our Lord Christ will give you light. Trust to His guidance, and however you may be led, I have faith that all will come well in the end."

"In the end--ay, in the end; but I'm weary of waiting. Five long winters have dragged by since we first plighted troth, there in the Southland."

"I was only a child; yet see, Olvir, my collar--the tress which saved you at Roncesvalles--still lies clasped about your throat. It is not a year since my father betrothed us. We must trust in Christ and in the good-will of--of the queen."

"The witch's daughter!" replied Olvir, and his face clouded yet more. "Why did she not look up as she spoke? My mind is not at ease. Her words were so kindly; but still, it seemed to me her meaning--"

"Such doubts are unworthy of you, Olvir. Could a sister--a mother--show greater tenderness than she has shown since Hildegarde left us?"

"The bitterness of parting poisons my thought. Forgive me, dear, if I give way to doubt. Yet there is one in the court whom I can trust to watch over you. Trust Liutrad in all things. He would strike off his sword-hand to give you joy. Wait; a word more, darling. Here is my silver-hilted knife, the work of my own hands."

"What--I bear a dagger?" cried Rothada, and she shrank from the gift.

"Call it a bodkin; only, take and keep it in memory of our parting."

"As you wish, then, dear; yet it is a large bodkin to carry in my bosom, and if I sling it at my girdle, the maidens will mock me for a warrior."

"A terrible hero! Tie the sheath with ribbons, and let the silly maidens laugh."

"No; I will hang it about my neck. It shall lie upon my heart, in pledge of your love and protection. I will cherish it, dear; for it comes from my hero."

Olvir smiled, half sadly, and turned away, while the girl looped a ribbon about her neck to suspend the dagger in her bosom. The movement brought his gaze about to the doorway of the bower, in which stood the withered form of old Kosru the leech, draped about with a gorgeous robe of yellow silk. The moment Olvir's eyes fell upon him, the Magian bent to the rushes, as in former years he had salaamed before the stern Vali Kasim. The servile obeisance irritated the Northman quite as much as the interruption.

"Withdraw, leech!" he said almost harshly.

"I go, lord count. But--may my lord forgive me the bearing!--the gracious queen bids me say that the sand is nearly run."

"Could she not give the glass another turning?"

"Ai, lord; but our mighty protector Karolah has gone to the water-side to see you take ship," replied the leech, and, with a dry cackling of toothless laughter, he shuffled about into the bower. As he turned, he thrust his hand beneath his robe, and a soft, metallic clink chimed with his mirthless chuckle.

"At--ai!" he muttered; "youth and love are soon sped; but the shining gold is ever a joy and a comfort."

Then his ill-omened figure disappeared from view, and Olvir clasped his little princess to him for the last bitter-sweet moments of parting.

CHAPTER XIX

Why are ye sitting there?

Why sleep ye life away?

Why does it grieve you not?

WHETTING OF GUDRUN.

Bitterly was Olvir to regret that he had bent to the subtle taunt of the witch's daughter. Had he taken Rothada before her father in the first flush of his wedding joy, Karl could have refused them nothing. But he had let himself be lured away to the fen-lands, far from king and court; while the new queen was ever at the side of the world-ruler, free at all times to whisper her guileful words into his willing ear. Olvir had no need of Liutrad's gloomy letters to tell him of the evil spell which the witch's daughter had laid on the great Frank. Before the year was out, it was commonly known, even in Frisia, how the king's bride, who never smiled, had driven Count Hardrat and others of her countrymen from the court with scoffs and biting jests, had poisoned the king's mind with evil thoughts of his most devoted liegemen, and had hardened his heart to bloodshed and cruelty.

After many dreary months of waiting, it was with a feeling almost of joy that Olvir received the curt command which bade him join young Karl and Gerold at the Sigiburg. The king had gone north to hunt out the wary Engern and Eastphalians, and had left the Frankish horsemen under the nominal command of his sturdy son, to meet the mounted forces of the Westphalians.

Even war was preferable to the torment of inaction, and in the great battle of horsemen which was fought on the Lippe, Olvir proved that if he had lost his old-time zest for fighting, he had by no means lost his daring and quickness. The Saxons were defeated with great slaughter, though not until Olvir had twice saved the life of young Karl.

For such a service, Olvir might well have looked for some special mark of the king's favor. But the queen had gone north with the court, to join Karl on the Weser, and not even a word of praise came from the gay camp near Sunthal, where Karl lingered until after Yuletide.

Then came the command signed by Angilram, the new Keeper of the Seal, saying that young Karl should join his father at the Eresburg, leaving the horsemen under Gerold's charge; while Count Olvir should march into Thuringia, to give aid to Rudulf, Count of the Sorb Mark.

The tidings of Abbot Fulrad's death were very grievous to Olvir; for the kindly old councillor had been his strongest friend at court. And to this cup of sorrow was added the gall of Teutoric's reinstatement as Count of the Frisian Mark. This, however, Karl himself sought to excuse by a scroll in his own rude, bold handwriting. Teutoric had at last recovered from his long illness, and had asked for his old countship. In giving it to him again, he, Karl, had meant nothing against his Dane hawk, but thought to honor him by sending him into the Sorb Mark, where there was need of his sword. Sometime in the spring, if the Sorbs had become quiet, he should call his bright falcon to him.

Filled with renewed hope by this promise, Olvir bade Gerold farewell, and marched swiftly across Westphalia with his vikings. At the Eresburg, he left young Karl to await his father, who had stopped at Paderborn; but he himself marched on with his vikings, over the Fulda and Werra, into the great forest of the Thuringians.

Not until they reached the banks of the Saale did the vikings come upon the Grey Wolf's lair,--a great fenced camp on the farthermost border of the Sorb Mark. But if their journey was long, their welcome was hearty enough to make amends. Morose and savage as was his nature, old Rudulf greeted Olvir with the open friendliness of one fearless man for another. He had long since put away the grudge which he had once cherished against the Northman, and now he could even speak of the spurning of his daughter without bitterness. Half jestingly, he called to mind that all but forgotten event, and pointed out how that which had seemed so ill a happening had, in the end, turned out well omened for all. Was not his daughter the king's wedded wife, and Olvir plighted to the king's daughter?

But Rudulf had other cause than his admiration for the Northman to give warmth to his greetings. When alone with Olvir, he complained that, for the first time in a score of years, the young men of his folk showed a lack of willingness to respond to the king's bode. This was all the more marked, he said, because of the spirit of unrest which moved through the forests. Men sat uneasily at the hearthside, their thoughts clouded with forebodings of evil. It was not that the Sorbs were astir and threatened a harrying of the mark. That should have brought the wild forest warriors with a rush to join the banner of their old-time leader. Yet his war-ring was all but empty. Those who should have crowded the hedges loitered about their farmstedes.

The coming of Olvir and his sea-wolves was, therefore, a very welcome event to the grim old Count of the mark. Though time and war had lessened the number of the vikings to a scant four hundred, they were picked warriors, mailed like chiefs, and trained as no band had been trained since the days of the Romans. With such men at his call, the Grey Wolf lay at ease in his lair, confident that should the Sorbs dare raid his mark, they would ride back across the Saale far faster than they came. It would seem that the crafty heathen were themselves aware of this; for the arrival of the vikings was followed by signs that the menacing Slavs had thought better of their purpose. All along the border the account of how the giant Danes of Karl the Frank had turned the Saxon Wittikind's victories into bloody disaster was now a well-known tale.

So the Slav folk kept across the Saale, biding a fairer season for their raid; while the warriors, whose presence had put the curb on their lust for blood and loot, lay about the Thuringian camp, grumbling at the lack of merry sword-play. It was in vain that on the accustomed day for the spring sacrifice they honored Odin with many choice victims. Neither Floki, nor such others of their number as were skilled in signs and omens, could foretell anything from the casting of the blood-chips. At the least, no war was to be read in the boding, and the Sorbs did not give the lie to the omens.

May came and went, and then June, and Olvir was beginning to doubt the king's faith, when word was brought to the forest fastness,--another scroll in Karl's rough handwriting,--saying that he had gone north to invade the land beyond the Elbe, but had not forgotten his Dane hawk. With this assurance of the king's troth, Olvir rested fairly content. Yet it was no easy task to wait through the long summer-time.

Autumn was already at hand when the vikings began to talk of a weird apparition, in appearance like a dead woman swathed in her shroud, which wandered through their camp in the darkness. The manner in which the Thuringians scoffed at the "grey walker" of their heathen fellows soon convinced Olvir that the fancied wraith was none other than old Rudulf's Wend wife. To test the matter, he expressed to the count his wonder that the dame should see fit to act so mysteriously.

The next night, as he sat by the Grey Wolf's hearth listening to a grim tale of life in the mark, the Wend woman glided into the hut, and sat down opposite the two men. Rudulf nodded carelessly to his wife, and would have gone on with his tale. But Olvir turned to greet her.

"Welcome, dame," he said. "I did not think to see you again in this life, when at our last meeting you fared out into the storm and night."

"And what if I am not now in the flesh-life, son of Thorbiorn?" asked the witch, in a hollow voice.

"The heartier should be my welcome, dame," rejoined Olvir. "I 've ever longed to meet a farer from Hel's Land. But though I have seen many go that journey, I have never seen one come again."

"Not so the daughter of the Snake, bold mocker. In the midnight, when the wolves feasted upon the bodies of the slain, I have walked on the battlefield, gathering the death-dew for my spells, and my eyes have seen the blood-reddened souls rising from the mangled flesh."

"Your souls were going hence, daughter of the Snake; they as yet knew only the earth-life. I spoke of those who have crossed over the glittering way, and then come again to Manheim. Hel holds with a firm grip those who go to her. Not many fare back who have set foot beyond the wall of Loki's daughter."

"The son of Thorbiorn would have his hostess tell of deeds forbidden under the laws of Karl. Does not the Christian king doom to the mire-death those who practise spells? Ai! not all have forgotten my hut in the Moselle Wood, and the curse which I put upon those whom I left behind."

"By the fiend Odin!" broke in Rudulf; "that was an ill-doing, wife. Yet if the good queen has gone hence, and Pepin Crookback become a witling, our guest will tell you that young Karl bids fair to fill his father's sword-belt, and our daughter, the queen, goes clad in silk and gold."

"Your daughter,--the false trull,--not mine!" hissed the woman. "As to her luck, good or ill, have you forgotten my boding when this bright gerfalcon flew out of the South to seek our leave for his wooing? 'A king, grey of eye,' was my foretelling, and so it has chanced. But again I gave my boding, as I fared from the hut into the storm, and again my word has come true. The queen your daughter sits in her silken bower, and her heart lies as a stone in her breast. With a touch she bends the iron Karl to her bidding; yet power and wealth are become as ashes in her mouth. There is wormwood in her drink, and gall in her dainty fare. Do I speak truth, gerfalcon?"

"I would say nothing against the dame of my lord," answered Olvir.

"Yet she has brought you little else than sorrow and evil."

"She has not turned the king's heart against me. I hold his pledge. Each day I look for his bidding to come to him."

"You have not heard, son of Thorbiorn! Your ears are duller than I thought. Karl went north from Paderborn, not Rhineward. He is now upon the Elbe bank."

"I have heard, dame. It seems that my wait is to be a little longer."

"You take the ill tidings calmly, hero. Will you laugh in joy when I tell you that Karl is minded to break his pledge to you?"

"That is not true," said Olvir, staring intently at the grey-shrouded figure of the woman.

"The hero talks foolishly. She who was my daughter lies in the king's arms; Count Olvir lies on the Saale bank."

"It is easy to speak bold words when the face is hidden," rejoined Olvir.

At the taunt, the witch flung back her cloak, exposing fully to the red firelight the ghastly adder mark upon her cheek and the weasels nestling in her bosom. Roused by the movement, the little beasts crawled upon her shoulders, and stared, fiery-eyed, at the stranger.

"Now I see the face of the alruna," said Olvir, quietly. "Let her speak."

"What more should I say, Dane hawk? Go through the Frank's realm; ask of the king's men if their lord keeps troth with them; ask of the harried Saxons whose is the bitter tongue that is ever inflaming the king's mind to bloodshed."

"Enough of ill talk, wife," growled Rudulf. "King Karl will do right by our guest-friend."

"Well said, old Grey Dog!" rejoined the woman, scoffingly. "Your teeth have worn blunt on the bones of Karl's foemen, and now you 'd whine and lick your master's foot, lest he beat you from the kennel."

"Your tongue is keen, wife, but your speech dull," replied Rudulf, unmoved. "There's little wit to be found in your jeering talk."

"It may prove a biting jest when the queen's hound comes to lie in the kennel of the king's dog. Ai, my Grey Wolf! your ears are keen for the footfall of sword-foes, but you do not hear the tread of those who come creeping from the king's hall."

"How, then; what charges--"

"Does the Count of the mark ask that, when he who should be most zealous of all in doing the king's will harbors in his very bed one accused of heathen witchery,--one who has put her curse upon the king himself and upon his hearth-kin?"

"A hero so great as Karl has little to fear from the curse of a Wend woman. He will not think it ill that I cherish my wife, the mother of his queen."

"No mother--nor father, Grey Wolf! It is the king's bed-mate who stirs him to strike those who gave her life."

"That I do not believe."

"Come, then, and hear it from one who can swear to the tale. Many are to meet at Hardrat's hall, to talk of this, among other matters. Would it not be well for Count Olvir and yourself to join them?"

"That is a half-day's ride to the north, wife."

"The Sorbs lie quiet, and you need take none of your followers from the war-ring. It will be no council, calling for a show of henchmen; so, unless you fear treachery from your own folk--"

"Silence, woman! I 've had enough of jeering. Neither the Dane hawk nor the Grey Wolf fears to roam alone in the forest. When does the beer-sot look for his guests?"

"The drunkard has again given over his bowl. You will find a sober host. Come in time for the noon meal. Yet stay! There may be horse-flesh in the trenchers. Is the Dane hawk so zealous a Christian that the meat of sacrifice--"

"How of the Christian host and this my hearth-friend?" laughed Olvir. "I pledge myself to eat of the same dish, if the fare is savory."

"It is well. There will be room for all at Hardrat's board. Now I go before you," replied the woman, and, wrapping her grey cloak about her, she glided out into the night.

Olvir watched her go, and then he turned gravely to his companion.

"I would speak out my inmost thought," he said. "Could youth come again to my host, would he choose for the second time to wed with a worker of spells?"

"It is five and twenty years since, in the land beyond the Sorb country, the Wend chief's daughter cut free the withes which bound me, and fled away at my side. I have never since had cause to grieve that we plighted troth on the Saale bank. I do not lay it upon her that she has now brought us an ill boding."

"Nor I. She is but the tidings-bearer."

"Bitter tidings!" growled Rudulf, and he began to whet his sword.

CHAPTER XX

Strife and din in the hall,

Cups smitten asunder;

Men lay low in blood--

LAY OF HAMDIR.

But with the morning the Grey Wolf's thoughts had lightened. Side by side, he and Olvir rode through the ancient forest, as, years before, they had ridden through the beech-wood to Fulda. The black stallion was dead, pierced by a Saxon spear. In his stead, the Thuringian rode a long-limbed horse of coursing blood, the gift of the king. Even Zora had to lengthen her stride when the big roan raced across the meadows.

As it chanced, however, the roan cast a shoe and went lame, so that the journey, which began so briskly, ended in a walk. When the two counts rode into the yard of Hardrat's burg, the horses of their fellow-guests were already standing in their stalls, and their riders were within the feast-hall, sitting before half-emptied trenchers. But the host himself came out to do the last guests honor, and they returned his greetings with heartiness when they saw that his face, though harsh and morose, had lost the purple flush and bloated look of the drunkard.

"Again I welcome our Grey Wolf and that Dane hawk whose fame is in the mouth of every hero," the host repeated. "Let them enter and sit at meat with those who bear them good-will. My head groom shall see to their horses. He is a skilled smith, and the forge is red. The Count of the mark will find his roan shod again for the homeward riding."

"A good deed,--for which I give thanks," answered Rudulf.

"Stay a moment," said Olvir, as Hardrat turned to lead the way into the hall. "Bid your groom leave my mare free in the yard. She is not used to being stall-tied."

"As you wish, hero. I do not wonder that you give thought to a steed that has borne you through two pitched battles and countless frays. Men say you care for the beast as one of kin to you."

"They say true. More than once she has borne me out of the closing hand of Loki's daughter. It may be that she will again carry me through battle, though at heart I now long for peace. Her strength has at last come again, and though the years lie heavily upon her, she can yet outrace any courser other than one of her own blood."

"That I can well believe, hero," replied Hardrat, and he led in his guests.

Within the skin-hung feast-hall the late-comers found that the seats of honor, on the right and left hand of the host, had been kept waiting for them. Next below Rudulf's place on the bench sat a huge Wend warrior, beside whom was the Wend witch in her grey cloak.

Upon the entrance of the counts, many of the guests had risen, with brimming horn or bowl, to drink health to them, and Rudulf, as he passed up the table, greeted many by name. But the black-bearded Wend giant was bent over his trencher, and the old count took his seat on the bench beside him, with a puzzled shake of his grisly, bristling head.

"By the fiend Odin!" he muttered; "have I come here to sit with Karl's foes?"

"Be at ease, my lord!" entreated his wife. "Would I have asked you to this feast had not all been well?"

"All sit here as friends, hero," added Hardrat, earnestly. "We meet like kinsmen, to talk upon weighty matters. Only give us fair hearing, and I pledge myself you will not rue your coming."

"Let be, then. I will listen," replied Rudulf.

"Well said!" called out one of the guests, and many echoed the words.

Hardrat rose, smiling, and addressed Olvir. "The guests sit in their grey iron coats, and you in your linked mail, hero, as is fitting for warriors gathered in council. Yet all heads other than your own are bare of helmet. Uncover your sunbright locks, and sit at ease."

"The war-cap rests lightly upon the head of a viking," replied Olvir.

"Count Olvir doubts the faith of his host," sneered Hardrat. "Let him sit with naked sword across his trencher. We ask only that, with the Grey Wolf, he hear out whatever his fellow-guests would say."

"I will listen till all is said," replied Olvir, coldly. "But, instead of the sword, I would have meat upon my trencher."

"Bring mead and the mead-horns for my high guests," called Hardrat.

"I pledge the host in the black mead," said Rudulf, as a Sorb thrall handed him the drink.

"I pledge the Grey Wolf on my sword," answered Hardrat. "No longer does the wassail-bowl touch my lips. I take thought of higher matters."

"Well said, hero!" exclaimed the Wend woman. "And now, men of the forest land, give heed while our host tells what happened on the Moselle, before the passing away of the good Queen Hildegarde."

Hardrat rose heavily, his face flushed and forbidding.

"It is hard for a man to speak of his shame," he began in a harsh voice. "The shame of my drunkenness is the greater because it has blurred that which I would now recall. I owe it to the crafty wit of the alruna that I have at last fished up the memory from the bottom of the wine-jar, where I sought to drown it. Count Olvir will remember the wolf-chase on the frozen Moselle, since it was then he won Karl's pledge for his daughter's hand."

"I remember," replied Olvir; and his eyes glowed as he saw again the burning witch-hut in the midst of the storm-swirl, and his princess, standing with him before the good abbot to plight their troth.

But the harsh voice of Liutrad's red pig broke in on the pleasant musing,--"Give heed, then, Dane hawk, and you, Grey Wolf of the mark. To all that I now say, I take oath on my sword--by the holy cross--by all the fiend-gods of the Saxons and our own heathen fathers! At Thionville, when the Yule games were closing, Fastrada, daughter of Rudulf, lured me to race down the frozen Moselle on the track of certain skaters. Count Olvir will tell Count Rudulf that those skaters were himself, the queen, the king's daughter, and others."

"So far the tale is true," assented Olvir.

"No less what follows," retorted Hardrat; "only, I wish it were clearer to the eye of my memory. I see the gnarled oak stems race past on either side as we sweep down the blue road of the frost-giant. Borne up by the spell of her witch-ring, the maiden at my side skims along with magic swiftness. Hardly can I, a skilled ice-runner, keep the pace. But when we glide in the depths of the winter forest, the maiden makes pretence of a sprain. I see a fire burning on the river-bank. The maiden sits before it, muttering spells to drive away the nixie that has seized her ankle,--such is her claim; but she has lied. She utters the fearful spell of the werwolf, and from the pouch casts pieces of an evil charm upon the snow and in the flames. Foul with the stench of the burning drug, the smoke rolls low beneath the naked boughs. Grisly shapes peer out from among the alder stems; the wood resounds with the yelling of the werwolves--"

Panting heavily, the speaker paused to wipe away the great drops which had gathered on his forehead. In his glaring eyes and the sweat of fear, the guests saw full proof that their host did not lie. Many shuddered in the bright sunlight, and there was a hush in the hall as Hardrat resumed his seat. All turned silently to old Rudulf, who, with his grisly head bent forward between his shoulders, sat glaring at the guests from his narrow slant eyes, more like one of the evil beings of whom Hardrat had spoken than a natural man. But the Grey Wolf restrained the fury which raged in his savage breast, and the silence was broken only by the heavy breathing of the guests. Then the Wend woman rose up.

"I read the faces of the heroes," she said. "None here doubts the truth of our host's tale."

"Hold, dame; do not speak for all," broke in Olvir. "I believe that Count Hardrat has told what to him is the truth; yet I doubt his tale. He has himself spoken of the wine-jar--the mead-cask were enough! Men in drink often see beasts unknown to sober eyes. What is more, I see no cause for your daughter to dabble in black magic."

"My daughter, ay; she was then my daughter,--an apt daughter of the Wend witch! Shall I tell how the witch's daughter whispered in the ears of her mother the tale of her wild vengeance?--of the drawing of the wolf-pack; of the luring of Pepin's son, and how, when Karl would have given her love without the queen's crown, she sent him on down the ice-street, to find his bairns and his bed-mate in the jaws of the grey ones? She told all to her mother while the storm-fiends howled about the forest hut. And then Karl and his Dane hawk came faring safe with the others to the witch's hearth, and that false trull fawned upon those whom she had sought to destroy. The fiend-gods bear me witness; she fawned upon her foe, and forswore the mother who bare her!"

Old Rudulf's fist fell upon the table in a blow that split the oaken board.

"God in Heaven!" he yelled; "would that my child had come into the world still-born! Hate and vengeance,--such befitted the Grey Wolf's daughter; but lying--lying and fawning!"

"Withhold your fury, lair-mate," said the woman; and even Olvir shuddered to hear her mocking laughter.

The Grey Wolf glared at his scoffing wife; but she threw back her cloak, and withstood his look with the cold glitter of her sunken eyes. The menacing light died out of the count's green eyes. He cast a crafty glance about the hall, and said sullenly: "Take joy of your deed, wife! My heart is now cold and hard like the flint-rock. I listen."

"Listen, then, childless man! Shall I tell more of that maiden who was fated to wed the grey-eyed king? The little birds have twittered many tales in my ears. But no; our host shall speak again. He fared to Paderborn when Karl held the assembly of his lordlings,--wretched mockery of the day when the free folk of the shires gathered together under the holy oaks, to make and unmake their own laws. The red boar has come from the king's hall, and now I know that neither yourself nor the Dane hawk will scoff at his tidings."

"The lie is most subtle which is mingled with truth," said Olvir.

Hardrat rose to face the Northman with a heavy frown. "Enough of jeering, Dane," he said. "I do not ask yourself or Count Rudulf to believe what I say of the king's ill-will toward you both. That you will know shortly, when Worad comes faring to the Sorb Mark. It will be joyous for the Grey Wolf when he sees the Wend king's daughter trampled in the mire; joyous for the Dane hawk when, fleeing down Rhine Stream, he hears the wedding bell of Worad and the king's daughter."

"Beware!" lisped Olvir, softly, and his face went white.

The Thuringian turned quickly to his fellow-plotters.

"Listen to me, heroes of the forest land!" he called. "If those who sit beside me are men, I have said enough to rouse them. We will talk now of that which concerns all,--of how the fierce werwolf at the side of Pepin's son has hardened his heart to fire and slaughter, has inflamed his wrath against all free-minded men. He turns from those who uphold his throne; he dooms without cause the faithful counts. Men say he is great,--that none may withstand him. The bear is king of beasts; yet I have seen him baited by the hounds. We shall not stand alone. How is minded the noble Lombard Adelchis, whose father, Desiderius, shorn and uncrowned, lies cooped among the meek brothers at Corbie, praying for vengeance? Ask the heart's wish of Tassilo, Duke of Bavaria, and of his Lombard wife. The haughty Agilofingian has little cause to bless Pepin's son. All goes well! The whole of Italy will welcome the son of Desiderius and his Greek host. Old Barnard grows dull with his fatness. Count William of Toulouse fares far into Saracen Land, and the fierce King Abd-er-Rahman will keep him busied; while here in the North all the heroes of Thuringia are with us. Then, too, Wittikind--"

"Hei! the Saxon hero waits in Sigfrid's hall, ever ready!" cried the Wend woman. "He will come again with a Dane host. Bid his blood-sprinkled folk take heart! Yet another host shall aid them to strike the cruel Frank. My father's warriors shall ride to join in the baiting of the Frank bear. In Wend Land men have not yet forgotten the daughter of the Snake."

"Never shall Karl return across the Rhine!" cried Hardrat; and he rose to pass down the hall.

At once the guests shouted their approval: "The pledge! the pledge! Let all taste the red drink of sacrifice!"

Olvir stared at the shouting plotters, and then his gaze fixed on Count Hardrat, returning up the hall with a copper bowl whose rim was streaked with dark red.

"Count of the mark," he asked, a strange smile on his lips, "have you ever heard sung the Lay of Hamdir? It ends somewhat after this fashion:

"'At the hall's gable-end

Fell Sorli to earth,

But Hamdir lay low

At the end of the house.'"

Rudulf made no reply. His slit eyes were fixed in a hungry stare upon the bulky form of his black-bearded bench-mate. The Wend had been drinking steadily of the mead, and the powerful drink was already rising to his head. Drawn by the look of the old count, he turned his bloodshot eyes upon him in an insolent leer.

"Ho, Karl's dog," he jeered; "when the bear is baited, mine shall be his bed-mate; nor shall I trouble your priests."

Rudulf rose up quietly, as one who would address the company. The guests on either side of the table stilled their loud talk, and turned expectantly to the Count of the mark. For a little, he stood silent before them, his bristling face thrust forward, his narrow-lidded eyes blinking. Then, suddenly, he bared his corded arms, and his voice roared through the hall: "Traitors to Karl! thus the Grey Wolf pledges you friendship!"

Swiftly the old wrestler stooped, and his terrible grip closed about the giant Wend. The man had no time to call upon his bull-strength. Caught fast in the fatal hold, he was bent backward; there came a snapping as of a dry twig.--The Grey Wolf loosed his hold of the quivering corpse, to spring at another victim. But his wife stood between, and before he could pass her, the man had flung himself beneath the table.

Then the hall resounded with wild shouts and the clang of swords torn from their sheaths. The terrified house-slaves fled screaming into the open, or crouched against the wall, as the Thuringians rushed forward to avenge their fellow-plotter. Olvir leaped around beside Rudulf, and thrust him forward.

"To the door! to the door!" he cried.

"I go--for your sake," growled the old count, and his sword circled about his grisly head.

"We go in peace," said the Wend woman. She flung the cloak from her head, and glided, with upraised hand, between her lord and the threatening Thuringians. "Make way, heroes! Bear in mind your pledge to me."

"Stand aside, Wend-wife!" commanded the foremost guest.

"Make way yourself, dog! I see a bloody sprite beside you."

The Thuringian flung up his arm to ward off the woman's evil glance. "That for your boding, witch!" he cried, and she fell to his stabbing sword. The frightened weasels scurried, squeaking, from the cloak of their mistress, to hide beneath the table. Upon the slain witch fell the body of her slayer, struck down by Rudulf.

About the two friends the grey-armored Thuringians closed fast in the doom-ring. Fierce blows rained down,--blade rang upon blade or clashed against war-gear. Within the ring, the two, standing back to back, fought their way steadily toward the door. The Thuringians could not withstand the mad rage of Rudulf's attack or Olvir's cold white fury. They fell back continually before the counts; but, from side and rear, they thrust and struck as at maddened wolves.

Now and again one of their number fell to Al-hatif's stabs or the fierce downsweep of the Grey Wolf's sword. In turn, their blades beat like flails upon the doomed men. Not even Olvir's triple mail was proof against their blows. Soon blood was seeping through the netted rings. Only the blue steel of his helmet saved his head from a splitting; Al-hatif was far too light to ward off the heavy longswords. Already Rudulf was bleeding from many gashes; his head was a mass of wounds. Still he fought on like a mad beast. He fell at the very threshold of the open door, pierced through by Hardrat's boar-spear.

At the death-cry of the hero, Olvir sprang about, and his sword clipped the point of the thrusting lance. Hardrat shrank back to draw his sword. The Northman leaped through the doorway, calling loudly in Arabic.

Across the courtyard Zora came plunging to meet her master, and her hoof struck down the groom who sought to hold her. Olvir vaulted into the saddle; he bent forward on the mare's neck, and a sharp hiss burst from his lips. Zora leaped away like an arrow. The fierce Thuringians, bursting out from the hall, called upon the grooms to close the gate. But before the nearest man could act, the red mare and her terrible rider were upon him. He flung himself flat before them, and Zora leaped over the man, out upon the open hillside.

CHAPTER XXI

Black deeds and ill

Have they been a-doing,

Evil rede

Have they wrought at last.

LAY OF SIGURD.

Not from fear of pursuit, but because of that which he bore with him, Olvir urged the red mare to her utmost speed. Never even in her prime had Zora coursed over hill and meadow at a swifter pace. But the way was long, and even her easy, swinging gait was agony to the wounded man. When at last she leaped into the war-ring on the Saale bank, her red coat was wet with the blood of her rider. He lay upon her neck, clutching at the silky mane, so far gone that, when Floki caught him from the saddle, he could gasp out but a few brief words: "To the little vala! I 've fought my last fight!"

Then darkness fell upon him, and he lay in Floki's arms as one dead.

Deftly the grim vikings stanched the wounds of their earl and applied healing salves.

"It is but blood-loss," said Floki. "In a day, I wager, he calls for his mare. But now we do his bidding. Bring a litter."

So it was that when Olvir awoke from his swoon, he found himself swinging along on the shoulders of four stout litter-bearers, well on the road to Erfurt, the great market of the Thuringians. As Floki had foretold, he at once called for Zora, and rode into Erfurt. There, hearing that Karl had left Saxon Land and was already at Cologne, on his way to Attigny, he turned and rode Rhineward. But though he sat his saddle all the way to Fulda, and gave his followers little rest, when he reached the monastery he was so utterly spent with weariness and pain that he had to lie over a full week before he could push on.

The bluff Northern monks spared themselves no pains to justify their fame for hospitality; but Olvir's thanks, though sincere, were briefly worded, and he had little to say to any one. When, rested and almost healed, he made ready to push on Rhineward, he handed to Abbot Baugulf a gold arm-ring, in kingly payment for his keep, and stood with unbent head while the priest poured out his fervent blessing.

From Fulda, Olvir rode steadily Rhineward on the old Roman highway, though his face spoke of doubt and indecision. But at Mayence he called Floki aside, and said briefly: "I ride alone to King Karl. Take the men down Rhine to Cologne, and make all ready aboard the longships. Fit them as for a race, and for the North Sea. I will join you in a few days, and, with Freya's aid, I shall not come alone. Another shall ride with me, whether Karl the King is loath or willing."

"Ho, ring-breaker!" croaked Floki, smiling with crafty triumph. "So we at last fare back to old Norway, and you are minded to take with you a bride. There will be joyous howling when your sea-wolves sight their vala. Yet I am minded of another matter. King Karl owes no small fee for the long service of the hero's son and his ready champions. Though we may leave somewhat hastily, on our path to Cologne stands Ingleheim, the king's new burg, which men say is filled with gold and all manner of loot."

"By Thor!" cried Olvir, his eyes flaming; "were I sure the Frank had broken his pledge, not Ingleheim alone should see sword and torch. As it is, he may yet--Christ grant he keep troth! ... No, old Crane. You must fare your way, with the peace-thongs firm knotted. If the Norns have so woven, Zora will bear me to the Rhine far in the lead of the following Franks; and there's rich loot between Cologne and Rhine Mouth."

"And what if the werwolf snare you? Let me ride with you, earl."

"I ride alone. No horse in Frank Land could bear up your weight in the flight from Attigny to Cologne. Yet again, I need you to hold the men in hand. Do not tell them over-much. They will be nimble enough if they but know it is for the little vala. Farewell."

With the word, Zora wheeled and sprang away on the long ride to Treves and across Eastern Neustria to Attigny.

For all her age and the roughness of the way, the red mare could still have covered the journey in four days. But Olvir, mindful that he might have need later of the utmost of her speed and strength, kept a tight rein on the willing mare, and was well content to double the time of the journey.

So it was that when they came to the Aisne bank, a little before nightfall of the eighth day, neither man nor rider was any the worse for the long faring. After bathing in the stream, Olvir rode into Attigny, under cover of the darkness. The little town was swarming with people; but Olvir avoided such of the streets as were torchlit, and, having secured a small room at an inn, presently found a messenger who would go to the king's palace with a token for Liutrad the scribe.

He was seated alone in his room, reading from his Greek Gospels by the light of a torch, when a deep voice sounded without the door, and a moment later the heavy panel had opened and swung to behind a huge figure in sombre priest robes. Olvir caught a glimpse of a white tonsure in the midst of the curly yellow hair, as the new-comer turned to bar the door, and then he was gazing up into Liutrad's honest, smiling face.

"Ring-breaker! Earl!"--how the joyously uttered words called up the care-free past, when the longships rode the storm waves, or they two stood side by side in the sword-game! For the moment, at least, it was not Liutrad the priest, but Liutrad Erlingson, who put his great hands on the shoulders of his friend, and met his keen glance with a look of boyish delight.

"Luck to you, earl!" he cried. "You come in good time. It is but three days since Wittikind and Alf entered Attigny, with a long following of Saxon athelings; and Deacon Alcuin has won over the heroes to peace."

"It would seem that the bloody struggle is at last ended," replied Olvir. "I give God praise, both for the forest-dwellers and for those who have crushed them."

"And for yourself, earl! Our lord king's face bears more of its old-time cheerfulness."

"It well may! I had thought the Saxons unyielding. For two years and more he has harried their land in summer and in winter. How came the great war-earl--"