FOR THE WHITE CHRIST (continued 8)

"He is broken at last; I pray that it may be for good. As you doubtless have heard, after the Mayfields at Paderborn last spring, the king, egged on by his werwolf, once more set to ravaging beyond the Westphalian Gate. We had already marched to the Elbe and were encamped on its banks, when word came of a plot between the Lombards and the Duke of Bavaria, and the king thought better of his plan to cross the Elbe. But Wittikind and Alf, thinking that he was about to come over and lay waste all of Saxon Land yet unharried, sent to him, asking terms of surrender. The king chose out Amalwin to go to them with hostages suitable to their rank, that they might come to him in person. Then, leaving the greater part of the host in the North, he came Rhineward by swift marches, and here at Attigny made ready palace and court, that the wild forest-men might see the greatness of his might and kingship. So it has come about that Wittikind, following after with Amalwin, has seen and wondered, and at last bent to the will of Pepin's son. Soon the war-earl and all those who came with him will bow beside the holy font and receive baptism. Two days more will see the heathen become Christian."

"Christian! By Loki, I grieve for the Christian werwolf, who 'll now famish for lack of her Saxon blood!"

Liutrad drew back, and his face darkened with dread and anger.

"God's curse on that evil woman!" he cried; and then a sudden question sprang from his lips: "How come you here, earl?"

"You may well ask," replied Olvir, and he told of the plotters and the fight in Hardrat's hall.

As he listened, Liutrad's face cleared somewhat.

"By Thor, earl," he exclaimed, "that was sword-play! But the best is that you bring tidings of the plot. It may stand you in good stead." His face darkened again. "God knows you need every vantage. I could swear by the rood the werwolf has never forgotten how you scorned her, there on the Garonne bank. Not for your good did she cause the king to send Worad into Thuringia, when she met them at the Eresburg. It is common talk in the palace that she is putting out her utmost craft to sever your betrothal bond and wed Rothada to the Count of Metz."

"Loki!" gasped Olvir, white with anger. Years had passed since he had last given way to such passion; but now the cold fury came upon him with all its old-time force. Liutrad shrank back before the look in his earl's face.

"Calm yourself, ring-breaker," he muttered. "All may yet go well. In the morning I will bring you to the king."

"The king," repeated Olvir, and then his face flushed with a sudden resolve, and his eyes lost their deadly menace. "Who asks for the king? I would speak with my betrothed."

"But our lord king,--would he not be angered?"

"I would speak to my betrothed, alone."

"Holy Mother! Do not be rash, earl; you 'll ruin all!"

"There is nothing to lose; something may be gained. I 've had enough of waiting. The king himself shall no longer bar my way. Now I would speak with my betrothed. She will know best where we may meet."

"You 're mad, Olvir! What would you do?"

"I do not yet know; only, I must speak with Rothada. As you call me friend, seek out Berga her maid without delay. I must see the little maiden soon; else I cannot answer for what may follow. The fiend clutches at my heart."

"I will go, Olvir; though it is no light task."

"Then go and tell all to your grateful king."

"Why reproach me, earl? Is he not my lord? And yet, I risk his good-will to do you favor."

"Forgive me, lad! Faul tears my heart-strings. Go now, and Freya aid you."

"I go, earl. Yet first, a wolf's-hair. You had best lie close this night. In the morning I will bring you one of Deacon Alcuin's robes. With sandals, you can then fare at will about the burg."

"I 'll wear no priestly footgear; but the gown is well thought of. Hasten now. You may yet see her to-night."

CHAPTER XXII

But we in no wise

Might love withstand,

And mine head must I lay

On my love, the ring-breaker.

LAMENT OF ODDRUN.

Liutrad did not return to the inn until mid-morning of the next day, and then it was to fling himself down with a sigh of discouragement.

"The werwolf is keen of eye and ear," he muttered.

"Rest easy, lad. You've done your best. Another day will see fairer luck."

"If only Father Fulrad were here to aid us! Had he lived, all would have been well."

"I could ask no more from any friend, son of Erling, than what you will do for me. Now I will eat, that my full strength may come to me."

"You have not rested much this night, Olvir. Your war-gear shimmers like starlit ice."

"A bride might use the shield as mirror, for all its dints. Eat now. Here is plain fare, but toothsome."

"May Worad eat bitter herbs when he sits at board! The base wretch, to covet a friend's betrothed!"

"Waste no thought on him, lad. The werwolf alone--"

"True; her ring holds him with its magic glamour, even as it has cast its spell over our lord king."

"Ring or no, she is at the root of all the trouble. The world-hero is as wax in her white hands. I have talked much with the Franks since you left me. It is she who has turned away the king's heart from mercy. Not the Saxons alone, but the nearest of his liegemen have suffered from his harshness; and I must have my share, though the dints in my shield and helmet should read me title to fairer reward. Ah, well, better luck in Skuld's hand! Another day may bring a rift in the clouds."

"Saints grant it!" muttered Liutrad; and the two fell to eating in moody silence.

Yet Olvir's confidence in the future was not mistaken. Before evening Berga found Liutrad a chance to speak with her mistress; and he prevailed upon Rothada to set a meeting for that very night.

Immediately after nightfall Olvir, cowled and wrapped about in the Benedictine gown brought to him by Liutrad, strolled with his friend across the burg and around the great bulk of the palace to a shadowy recess between the queen's apartments and the quarters of the court-officials. Here they found Berga waiting for them beside a small door used by the servants, and Liutrad addressed her openly: "Here is my brother priest for your sick friend."

"Let him follow," answered the woman, and she led the way into the foul-odored passage. Olvir silently entered at her heels, leaving Liutrad to watch at the door.

Within was pitchy darkness, broken only by an occasional gleam from the rooms where the house-slaves chattered over their evening meal or lay about on their straw pallets, easing the toil of the day with broad jests and coarse raillery. A flight of steps, steep and narrow, took Olvir and his guide beyond the servants' quarters, and in the utter blackness the Northman had need of his quick ear to follow the woman's lead. She glided softly from passage to passage without a word, stopping only for a touch of warning when the silence was broken by the muffled clink of Olvir's mail beneath his monk's robe. Some little time passed before the woman paused beside a curtained doorway.

"The princess waits within, hero," she whispered. "Enter, and comfort her. I must watch over the bairns, lest they waken and call for their sister. May Freya soften the king's heart, that your love run smooth!"

"My thanks to the good wisher," replied Olvir, and he stepped between the curtains.

He found himself in a large chamber, half lighted by the moonbeams which streamed through the high, casemented window. Where the rays struck upon the opposite wall, the grotesque figures of the tapestry-hangings stood out with such startling distinctness that Olvir stepped back and grasped the hilt of Al-hatif beneath his robe. But then a slender figure glided out into the moonlight from the shadow beside the window, and he ran forward to clasp his betrothed in his arms.

"Little vala,--little vala!" was all he could say, for the words choked in his throat at sight of her tears.

For a while she leaned her head upon his shoulder, and wept as though her heart would break; and he held her to him, unable to put into words the tenderness and compassion which filled his whole being. At last, however, she dried her tear-wet face on his robe, and looked up with a pitiable attempt to be brave.

"My hero, my hero!" she whispered.

"Little vala! Has the witch's daughter sucked your blood, that you look so white and wasted? May Hel, Loki's daughter, wither the red lips of that werwolf! May she--"

"Cease--oh, cease, Olvir! Curses ever come home to the sender. This may be the last time we shall meet here on earth. Let there be no wormwood with the bitter-sweet."

"No, Rothada, this is not our last meeting here on the fair earth."

"Will you then give way to my father? Liutrad said--"

"He said aright. I will not sell my soul, though it be for your father's kingdom. Yet, before God and man, you are my betrothed wife. I have won you by service such as few have given the king, and--we love each other. Your father gave pledge he would send for me, and he broke troth. It is hopeless--nothing can turn his course while the witch's daughter drives--it is hopeless to appeal to him."

"What then, Olvir? Your words fill me with dread; you cherish the thought of some wild deed."

"Should it fill you with dread, darling, that I would have you wed me?"

"No, dear one; my heart sings with gladness at the word. If only it might come true!"

"You have but to say it, king's daughter."

"Would you have me wed you without the banns, Olvir,--in secret? It could not be, dear hero! When the truth became known, the anger of my father would pass all measure. He would never forgive us."

"I look to your father for nothing. He has paid me ill for loyal service. I shall now break the bond which has held me to him. Beneath the priest-robe you feel the war-gear, king's daughter. Zora is saddled for the road. Come! the night is before us. Dawn will see us far on our way to the Rhine."

"O Christ! O Holy Mother, save me!" cried the girl; and she shrank away from her lover, wide-eyed and trembling.

"Listen, darling; listen to me!" he protested. "I would not force you. Only, I beseech you, by the love you bear me, come! At Cologne lie my longships,--my ocean-racers. Who may overtake us when we sail down Rhine Stream? Haoi! how the ships spring to the bowing of the long oars! Behind us lie the flat shores of Frisia; we ride the wild North Sea; before us tower the iron cliffs of old Norway; up Trondheim Fiord we glide, where the free men of Lade wait to welcome their earl and his bride!"

The Northman's black eyes sparkled in the moonlight, and he held out his arms. But still Rothada shrank away.

"It cannot be, dear hero!" she sighed. "It cannot be!"

"Where, then, is the love of my betrothed?"

"I love you none the less, dear, that I cannot go with you."

An agony of grief distorted Olvir's face. He flung himself down before the girl and clasped her feet.

"Come with me,--come with me!" he begged. "Here is only sorrow and parting. The king is iron."

"Yet I am his daughter. There is still hope for us, Olvir. I will plead with my father."

"And if he deny you?"

"God forbid! I can then only return to Chelles."

"To the cloisters! My curse on them! Listen, king's daughter. You are not fated for the nun's veil. That would not fill in fullest measure the spite-cup of the witch's daughter. She will wed you to our girl-faced Count of Metz."

"That is no new tale to me, Olvir; yet I can promise you this much,--I shall never be the bride of another than yourself. If I may not choose the cloister, I will choose that which lies in my bosom."

"You bear my knife?"

"Always--ever ready for use against the bearer."

Rothada put her hand to her breast, and the blue steel of the dagger gleamed in the moonlight. Olvir took the blade from her, and pressed it to his lips.

"Be true, knife of my forging!" he muttered. "There is yet one hope--if it fail, strike true; and when you pierce her heart, I will plunge Al-hatif into my breast."

"Olvir!--you grieve me; I cannot bear it!"

"Why grieve, king's daughter? If we may not wed in this life, we shall be united forever in the life beyond."

"There is still hope; I will go to my father when he is alone, and implore him to grant us happiness."

"It may be he will yield to you--Loki! What's that? The hangings--"

Hampered though he was by the priest's gown, Olvir sprang across the room with the quickness of a leaping wolf. The tapestry, torn from its fastenings by his fierce grasp, fell apart and exposed the withered form of Kosru the leech, crouched against the wall.

"So--it is the werwolf's dotard," said Olvir, and his lip curled with a smile of utter contempt. But the spy was already grovelling on his face, terrified by the dagger and the terrible look of the Northman as he tore apart the tapestry.

"Lord--lord!--spare the aged!" he babbled. "God of Light, soften his heart! Spare me, noble count! I will tell all. I will pay you wergild for my life,--shining gold,--all the scant hoard I 've saved and put away for my helpless age!"

Olvir touched the Magian's head with his buskin, and answered coldly: "Odin bear witness--the hoarder's heart is touched! He 'd give away his gold."

"All--all, to the last penny--only spare my life! I will serve you; I 'll be your slave! Do not thrust into the grave one who already totters on the brink!"

"The greyer the viper, the deadlier its venom," rejoined the Northman, in an ominous tone. "That man is dog-wise who passes by the evil worm because it lies in his path torpid."

"Olvir--Olvir, do not slay the old man!" cried Rothada, and she darted across the chamber, to cling to her lover's arm. "He has been good to me, and--and he has saved many lives."

"Ai! the king's daughter pleads for me; the maiden pleads! I have never sought to do her hurt--by the God of my fathers, I swear it, noble count! Even now I was but coming to fetch the queen's sampler. How could I know you from a priest, lord? If I hid behind the hangings, thinking to creep near and listen, I meant no evil. Only forgive me, and I will serve you; I 'll make confession how, with the witch in the Moselle Wood, I brewed love potions for her daughter to give the Lord Karolah, and how I bound the queen in slumber with my drugs, that the dark maiden might be free to lure the king with her enticements. Spare me, lord, and I 'll even tell--"

"Go to the priests with your witchery and spells," broke in Olvir, with impatient contempt. "As to your lying pledges, I ask nothing of a miserly dotard; nor will I take your oath for silence. This knife is better pledge. Do not forget its keen point, and learn that every man among my blood-eager warriors bears such another blade. If you betray me, by word or by sign, they will search you out, though it be from under the very seat of the throne. I have spoken. Now rise up and guide me back by the way I came, to the door of the slaves."

"Ai! the shadow of Azrael is upon me! The wrathful youth seeks to lure me from the presence of the king's daughter, to shed my blood in secret!"

"Grey fool! That is a lie born of your own treachery. The knife is the maiden's; I give it back into her own hand. Rise up; I would be going. Farewell, little may! It is ill luck that our parting must be said before such a one; yet I trust to the blue steel that he blots all from his memory. Come now, darling, draw near my heart."

"God forbid it be for the last time!" sobbed the girl, overcome by the thought. The knife fell unheeded from her hand upon the wolfskin beside her as she sank, half fainting, into Olvir's arms. Many moments passed while she lay on his breast, quivering with grief. Then Olvir kissed her forehead, and put her gently from him, to spurn the shoulder of the leech.

"Up, dog!" he muttered harshly. "Lead me out."

Kosru shrank back, and huddled in a shapeless heap against the wall.

"I cannot--I cannot go!" he gasped. "A palsy has stricken my limbs. I cannot rise--I swear to you, lord count--"

"Liar! Stand up or I--"

"Stay; do not force him, Olvir. I will guide you myself."

"To the king, then."

"My father!"

"Do you dream that this coward could withhold his secret from the werwolf? He fears my vengeance; he will fear hers more. We will go to the king, and make an end, either for good or for ill."

"It is well, dear hero. Come; my father is in the cell of Deacon Alcuin."

CHAPTER XXIII

Nor shall I leave life

Ere the keen lord,

The eager in sword-play,

My hand shall make end of.

LAY OF GUDRUN.

For a while the Magian waited as the lovers had left him, appearing more like a careless heap of yellow robes than a living man. At last, gaining a little courage from the silence, he thrust out his hooked nose and bald head, like an old vulture peering over a carcass. The glint of the forgotten dagger drew his bleared gaze, and he glared at the cold blade in a fascination of terror. Soon, however, the silver hilt caught his eye, and his fear gave way to greed. A scrawny hand followed the head from the yellow heap, reaching out to clutch the treasure. But then a soft step sounded in the doorway, and the leech drew back into his robes, livid with abject fear.

The curtains of the doorway parted, and Fastrada, radiant in the splendor of her jewels and her voluptuous beauty, advanced slowly into the room. A little way from the entrance, she paused to glance carelessly across the chamber, and then she stretched her arms above her head with the lazy gracefulness of a cat.

"Ai, Hertha," she purred, "you 'll lack service this night. The laggard wizard has been called to dose some filthy slave, and I 've waited till sleep weighs down my eyelids. Would that I were less drowsy! The king is pleased that I ply needle with such industry. It would give me double pleasure to sit by and watch the harlot's daughter finish the piece. But it's pleasant these chilly nights to creep beneath the silken coverlets. I 'll go now. Faul! Who's been at my tapestries? Ah, Kosru! Is that you?"

"Pity, gracious queen! have compassion on your slave!" whined the leech. "A palsy has stricken my limbs. As I entered, the stroke came upon me. The hangings tore in my grasp as I fell."

"Ah--and how came this here?" demanded the queen, pointing to the dagger on the wolfskin rug before the Magian.

"That knife? I had not seen it, gracious dame."

"You lie, Kosru," replied Fastrada, and, stooping for the dagger, she held it up before her in the moonlight. As she looked at it, her lips drew apart in a cruel smile, and her eyes sparkled.

"This is no Frank blade, nor is it of Saracen forging," she said softly. "On the hilt are Norse runes. I 've seen it before--at the belt of that false Dane! It is well for you that you should speak out, Kosru."

"Gracious dame--light of Karolah's eyes!" stammered the leech. "I have lied; but, in truth, I am stricken with a palsy. I feared your anger, and so I lied."

"Speak out! The Dane was here to keep tryst with that sly trull!"

"Ai--ai! They were here, sultana,--he and the king's daughter. I sought to creep around behind the hangings; but the dust set me to coughing. My throat--"

"And then he came upon you! I can see him leap--the bright hero! Yet you live. There's no blood on the blade. How came he to spare you?"

"I--I know not, gracious queen. The king's daughter pleaded for me--and I gave promise--"

"Ah, I had not thought him so foolish. And to leave the knife to tell the tale. Where were his keen wits? He might as well have left the knife in your heart. Hei! The Dane left his knife in the heart of the king's leech,--murder at the door of the king's chamber! Magian, that was a luckless cough for you--Magian!"

A swift movement of the supple, gem-flashing hand, and the loose end of the tapestry was wrapped close about the head of the wretched leech. All the frantic beating of his feeble arms could not stay the stroke for a moment.

When the frail body lay limp and still in her grasp, the queen rose and went across the chamber to hold up her hands where the moon poured in its brightest light. They were white and spotless. She looked them over with careful scrutiny, and, having satisfied herself that they were unsoiled, gazed down, wide-eyed, at the one on which the opal glowed mysteriously in the cold light.

"All honor to my witch-stone!" she exclaimed. "We 've snared our wolf at last. Now to fetch the forester."

She turned quickly away to the door, but paused on the threshold, to step back and glance out through the window.

"The night is clear; yet a cloud may drift across. It is well to make certain," she muttered, and she drew the huddled form along the wall, until it lay across the doorway. Then, fully satisfied, she slipped out and glided swiftly down the dark passages until she gained the bower-chamber. Within, lighted by a row of waxen tapers, the bower-maidens sat about a long table, plying needle and bodkin on the garments of the king and their mistress, while an old priest droned a homily for the edification of their manners.

Fastrada beckoned the nearest girl to approach, and spoke to her in the doorway: "I go to sit with our lord and Deacon Alcuin in the East Tower. You will find Count Gerold playing at chess. Go, bid him bring my sampler from my morning-room and fetch it after me."

"I beg pardon, my dame, am I to fetch it, or Count Gerold?"

"The count, you silly trull! Could I trust such as you to wander at night when young men are about? Go, and see that you return quickly under the eye of the good deacon."

As the maiden hurried away, her cheeks aflame, and her blue eyes wet with the starting tears, her mistress paced calmly back by the way she had come. It was some little distance around to the East Tower, and she was not yet certain whether it would be best for Gerold or for herself to arrive first. There was time to decide at leisure; for the young count, presuming on the king's favor, would probably play out his match before he came to do her bidding. All the better! What greater joy than to stroll along the dark passages, where one was at liberty to give outward play to all the bitter-sweet thoughts of revenge?

But while the witch's daughter glided like a trailing weasel from wing to wing of the great Merwing palace, there was happening in the East Tower that which, had she known of it, would have lent wings to her jewelled buskins.

CHAPTER XXIV

From a heart full of hate

Shall come heavy vengeance.

LAY OF BRYNHILD.

Within a small turret room, that was warmed by a charcoal brazier and lighted by the glow of his own hour-candles, Karl sat on a low bench beside the book-strewn table, while before him knelt Rothada, clasping his sword-hand to her bosom, as she pleaded for love and happiness. His free hand lay upon her glossy head, but his eyes were raised in a troubled look to where Olvir, in his burnished mail, stood calm and beautiful as Forseti, son of Balder. Beside the Northman, with slender fingers clasped upon his glinting shoulder-plate, waited Alcuin, the gentle-hearted scholar, eager to add his appeal to the maiden's.

But when the little princess ceased, and bowed her tear-wet face upon her father's knee, he held up his hand for silence, and sat for many moments, his brows bent in deep thought. Olvir waited the outcome, his eyes fixed upon the king's face in a calm and steady gaze, neither defiant nor imploring.

Then Karl looked up at him, and spoke: "So, Dane hawk, after all the honors I have heaped upon you, not content to defy Holy Church, you come to steal my daughter from me,--a thief in the night! And yet you drew back from the deed; you came before me--"

"For that I claim nothing, lord king. Had not Rothada been loath--"

"And why--why as a thief--"

"Do you ask, lord king? Many weary months have passed since you gave pledge to call me to your side,--to the presence of my betrothed. I come at last, an unwelcome guest, to hear on every lip the bitter tale that your queen is plotting to break my betrothal bonds and wed Count Worad with my bride."

"My queen plotting! Ward your tongue, Dane!"

"It is not I who say that the queen is plotting. Whether she is or is not, I do not know; but I know that your liegemen so say."

"You do wrong to heed the ungrateful slanderers. The court is full of gossip and evil tales, the offspring of envy and malice."

"Then my lord king has not yet broken the betrothal tie between myself and his daughter?"

"Not yet, Olvir," replied Karl, and the severity of his look relaxed in a half-smile. "The bond still holds. Yet tell me, you who talk of ill faith--I speak no more of your plot to lure away the maiden; but how of your loyal service? You are far from the Sorb Mark."

"I bear tidings from the forest land, lord king,--ill tidings," answered Olvir, and he told over again the plotting of the Thuringians and the slaying of Rudulf and his witch-wife.

Neither Alcuin nor Rothada could restrain their cries at the terse recital; but Karl sat through it all, stern and silent, and gave no sign, even when, in a dozen words, Olvir told how the grim old count had fallen to the thrust of Hardrat's spear. When, however, the account was ended, the king nodded, and said: "Years gone, I lost my trust in that drunkard. Name his fellow-plotters."

"Would that I might, lord king! Yet I knew only Hardrat and the witch-wife, and I heard no names spoken."

"You would know their faces again?"

"Some of them in a thousand."

"It is well. You have rendered me good service; and so, if you will bend to Holy Church--"

"I cannot--it would be a lie!"

"Rather it is your pride, your haughty pride of spirit which bars your way to all happiness. Do not tax my patience too far."

"For the sake of the maiden, sire--" ventured Alcuin.

Karl threw out his hand impatiently.

"Is not the child also in my thoughts?" he demanded. "Ah, little maiden, your pleading tears my heart-strings! For your sake, I give your hero one more trial. I name him Count of the Sorb Mark, in the stead of my slain Grey Wolf. Two days I give him at Attigny; then he goes to snare those forest plotters. If when he drags the guilty men before me for the dooming, he has brought himself to bow to Holy Church, he will find yet other honors waiting him; if, however, he cannot in truth bend his stubborn pride, then, nevertheless, I will give him his bride. Such is my will. I have let mercy set aside my justice. Be content. Now, child, rise and go to your chamber. The good deacon will see you safe. I would speak with Olvir of the commands he bears back to Thuringia."

"My father!" cried Rothada, rising; and the heart of the king softened yet more as he saw the light which shone from the violet eyes. She kissed his hand, and then, with the cry of a happy child, turned quickly from him and ran to fling her arms about Olvir's neck.

"Joy, joy, dear one! The Lord Christ has answered my prayer!" she sang.

"I hear once more the voice of the little vala," said Olvir, softly. "Keep your heart merry, beloved. The days of waiting will soon be ended, and when we meet again, I wish to see those cheeks rounded,--their roses once more blooming to shame the sweetbriar. Go, now, darling. The king waits."

Very tenderly he pressed her face between his hands and bent to kiss her eyes and lips. Then he gave her over into the keeping of the scholar, and turned resolutely away. As he looked around, a drop, bright as a gem, was rolling down the king's bearded cheek.

Silently Karl turned to the table, to grasp Alcuin's quill in his unskilled hand; but the words which he sought to write were ill formed. Throwing aside the blotched parchment, he signed to Olvir to take the quill. Under the Northman's deft strokes, the beautiful letters of the Irish script flowed from the quill's point as by magic. The king, as he spoke the message, watched the nimble scribe with half-envious admiration. When the missive was ended, he took wax and stamped it with his signet, in lieu of the great seal.

"So--that is done," he said shortly. "You are a ready scribe. Not even Liutrad is as quick and sure in forming the letters. Now take the scroll, and go."

"I would first render thanks to my lord king."

"Go! My heart misgives me, that I have let the weakness of a father and friend stand in the way of God's service. Go quickly! I would be alone."

"I go, my heart singing with the praises of the golden king!" replied Olvir.

"I ask no thanks. Go," answered Karl, without any sign of response to the young man's smile. As Olvir darted away, too overjoyed to be disheartened by the cold parting, the great Frank's head bent forward, and his brows gathered.

He still sat there, tugging at his beard and gazing moodily at the spot where Rothada had knelt, when the queen glided softly into the chamber. At sight of her graceful figure, his frown gave way to a fond smile; but she had seen his moody look.

"What troubles my dear lord?" she murmured, nestling beside him on the bench. Karl put his great arm about her and drew her to him, before he answered, "It is nothing, sweetheart. I 've had enough of bitter thoughts. Now I would woo my gentle wife."

"Dear lord! Mine is the greater joy! When I dwell on my happiness, my heart goes out to all mankind. I could love even the heathen and the heretics, condemned of God to endless torment. What pity that men should so bring upon themselves the fires of the nether world! One could almost wish to give them good gifts here, to offset their sufferings to come."

"They are perverse and godless men, dear one. Do not trouble your heart for their wickedness. There is enough of sin in Holy Church."

"Yet my thoughts go astray, dear lord. Sometimes I think of our little maiden. I doubt if your Dane hawk's proud spirit will yield. Yet, dear lord, if your judgment hold in all its firm justice, she will ever live in grief, torn from the arms of her hero. Always before I have given heed only to the good of Holy Church; yet now--"

"Take joy, then, kind heart! They were here only a little since, and I gave pledge that they should wed."

"Should wed!--Olvir here!"

"You may well gaze in bewilderment. I wonder at myself. Yet what father could withstand the heart's pleading of his maid-child?"

"My lord, I--rejoice at their joy. I will go--"

"Stay! Who comes leaping upon the stair?"

Rising swiftly, Karl set his great form before the queen, and loosened Ironbiter in its sheath. The half-drawn blade flashed out its full length, when Gerold, pale and glaring with horror, rushed wildly into the room, a bared dagger in his hand. Checked by the threatening sword-point, the Swabian stopped short and sank to his knee, panting.

"Murder, dear lord!" he gasped,--"murder beneath the king's roof! In the queen's morning-room Kosru the leech lies stark, a knife-thrust through his heart!"

Karl lowered his sword, and stared down at the young count.

"Murder?" he repeated. "Whose knife do you bear?"

"The slayer's, sire! I drew it out, and ran to show it you."

"Well done! Hold up the blade, that we may see-- So; it is of Danish make-- And the owner?"

"I do not know, sire."

"He does not know!" hissed Fastrada. "His memory is strangely short. I know the blade."

"You, wife? Name the murderer!"

"Count Olvir, sire."

"Olvir!"

"He, dear lord."

"You know the knife?"

"I could swear to it in a thousand. He once carried it at his belt. Many of the court will remember the blade."

Karl made no answer, but turned and paced slowly to and fro across the room, his gaze fixed on the floor before him. He did not pause until Fastrada looked up with white, drawn face and narrow-lidded eyes, and cried sharply to Gerold: "Hei, king's man! why do you loiter? Go, call warriors, and search out the slayer. It will be no light task to take him, should he have warning. Go!"

"Hold!" commanded Karl. "Am I the king, that a woman speaks for me?"

"Ai! forgive me, dear lord! I thought only of my leech,--my luckless, murdered Kosru!" wailed Fastrada, and she flung herself at his feet.

"Rise, dear one," he said gently.

"Not until the warriors go to take the slayer of that helpless greybeard! Ah, the good old leech! Many's the bitter pang he has eased for me. Only the bloodiest of wretches could have slain so helpless a one! How came the cruel Dane in my morning-room--beside Rothada's chamber? Oh, my lord, could it be that the base outlander came skulking in the darkness to--to-- And Kosru, the luckless greybeard, sought to dissuade him from his evil deed! Send warriors, dear lord! Let the bloody slayer be dragged before your judgment-seat! The mire-death were light doom for such a foul slaying!"

The queen's voice, quivering with agony and horror, broke into wild sobs. Karl stooped over, as though to raise her; only to tower up again and stare about in angry indecision. It was a luckless moment for the sea-king and his betrothed. Before the memory of the Northman's calm face and the little maiden's pleading could blunt and turn aside the poisoned shafts of the witch's daughter, other feet came leaping upon the stair. Again Karl's hand went to the hilt of Ironbiter, and his frown deepened as Worad of Metz rushed into the room, covered from helmet to buskin with travel-grime.

"Lord king!" he gasped--"I could not wait--my horse fell at the gate, outspent--but I--"

"Another bearer of ill tidings," muttered Karl.

"What? I do not understand, sire. I--"

"You come late. Already I have word of Rudulf's death and of the Thuringian plot--from Olvir's lips."

"Plot--Thuringian plot!--and from him!"

"I have said it, dolt."

"And he told you? Saint Michael! there was no plot, lord king,--no plot but his own when he lured Count Rudulf and his Wend wife into the ambush of the Sorbs. I myself found the arrow-pierced bodies on the Saale bank,--I myself, in the lead of the Thuringian searchers. Then many counts who had been feasting at Hardrat's hall told how the Dane had passed by, riding with his chosen victims."

"Hold!" commanded Karl, and he bent forward to fix his keen eyes on the young Frank. "You say they passed by Hardrat's hall?"

Worad drew a large scroll from his breast and held it out to the king. "Here, sire, is the tale, to which all the feasters took oath. I called upon them for it, when, having brought up my warriors, I marched to the warring to take the betrayer, and found that he had fled. Thank God, I find you safe, dear lord! Days had passed since the foul deed, and men said he had gone Rhineward. I rode fast, fearful of the worst--"

"Your fear was needless. Traitor or true man, he came before me with a calm face."

"For you gave him all that he asked, dear lord!" cried Fastrada. "Ai, Holy Mother--to think how near you 've been to his murderous blade!--the bloody Dane, foul betrayer of my father--my mother!--red-handed from the slaying of that helpless greybeard--Ai! the mire-death were light doom for such a treacherous slayer! Justice--justice, son of Pepin! I demand vengeance on the slayer of my kin!"

Even Gerold quivered at the grief and horror in the queen's voice. The shrill appeal pierced to the heart like a knife-thrust. The king's face was terrible to look upon in its deadly anger; and yet he still hesitated.

"It cannot be--it cannot be!" he muttered. "He, my bright Dane--"

"Bright Dane!" screamed Fastrada--"heathen outlander--heretic--scoffer at Holy Church! What lying tale has he told you, that you stand in doubt? Look--look on the scroll which tells of my kin's betrayal--at this knife from the heart of the greybeard! Ai--they shall trample him in the mire!"

"King of Heaven!--that battle-leader! He is no coward to be flung in the fen. You ask too much, wife."

"Too much! Ai, too much for the slayer of my kin! But the king speaks-- Let him, then, be torn asunder by the plunging horses--the murderous wretch! Hei! I can hear the snapping bones!"

Karl stared down into the upraised eyes of his queen, and they were as the eyes of a wolf, glaring green with exultant hate. He turned to stride across the room, and as he turned, he saw again before him the gentle eyes of his daughter,--the pleading face of Himiltrude's child. Twice he paced across the room, the angry flush slowly receding from his face.

Then he paused before his queen, and said coldly, "Seek your bed, wife. This is no place for grieving dames. As to my Dane hawk, rest content. He shall fare from my realm, an outlaw."

"How!--the murderer? Are you mad, son of Pepin? Free to go?--that traitor!"

"No traitor, dame; and he may have had cause for vengeance against your kin. As to the leech, he was but an outlander,--a wizened dotard, already on the grave's edge,--and the Dane is the bravest of all my counts. I have loved him as a kinsman. Enough! His doom is spoken. I give him this night. Then Gerold shall bid him go, under pain of death if he linger an hour after sunrise. Here, Worad, is my signet. After the baptizing of the Saxons, the High Marshal and his horsemen will ride with you to Cologne, on the trail of the outlaw,--to drive him and his wolf-pack from my kingdom."

CHAPTER XXV

I will fare back thither

From whence I came,

To my nighest kin

And those who know me.

LAY OF SIGURD.

All night long Gerold searched Attigny for his outlawed friend, but found no trace of him. At dawn he returned to the palace, weary and all but overcome with the burden of his grief. He was too disheartened even to speak to Rothada's Frisian maid, who stood by the outer gate. He would have passed by her, had she not signed to him.

"What is it, Berga?" he asked dully, when he had followed her into a secluded nook.

"You droop like an outspent hound, lord count. Take cheer. I can put you on the trail."

"How! you know--"

"They slipped out, only a little since,--she and your mate, the big Dane priest."

"To meet Count Olvir!"

"It is merry for lovers to ride in the greenwood."

"My thanks!" muttered Gerold, and he rushed into the palace courtyard.

His horse was dripping with sweat when, a mile up the Aisne bank, he raced to meet the three riders who came cantering through the groves. It was a happy little party. He could see the blush of love and joy which had brought back the roses to Rothada's white cheeks, and her joyous laughter rang clear in the still air. How could he mar their happiness?

But now they were racing forward to meet him, Zora in the lead. A little more, and he was on the dewy turf beside Olvir, gripping his arms. After the first outburst of gladness, however, his face darkened with the shadow of his message.

"How's this, lad?" demanded Olvir. "You stand gaping, doleful as a bee-stung cub. God forbid that you bear ill tidings of our lord king!"

"I bear ill tidings, not of our lord king, but from him," answered Gerold; and he turned appealingly to Liutrad. "I cannot tell them! I cannot say it!"

"Speak! Speak out, man!" commanded Olvir, fiercely.

"Sea-king,--king's son! here is fit ending for your seven years of service. Now are you wolfshead throughout the length and breadth of the Frank realm,--you and all your following! You shall sail down Rhine Stream so soon as you can ride to Cologne. Worad rides after, to hunt you from the realm. If within an hour you have not left Attigny, your head shall pay for the loitering. Such is the command of Karl, King of the Franks, to the hero who has served him as a king's son--a king's son!"

Gerold paused, the words choking in his throat with grief and anger, and Olvir and Liutrad stood before him speechless, stunned by his message. But Rothada slipped from her horse and ran to Olvir.

"Ah, Christ!" she moaned. "My hero outlawed!"

"The king your father has named him wolfshead, maiden," answered Gerold, and then his voice broke into plaintive appeal. "Why did you slay the old leech, Olvir? Why strike the greybeard? At the least, you should have taken your knife with you. Where were your nimble wits? But for the witness of the reddened blade--"

"Hold! Are you mad?" cried Olvir. "You babble of knives and slain men like a fool."

"Would that it were so, friend! But your knife, the ill-omened blade! With my own hand I plucked it from the heart of the luckless Magian."

"How--my knife? None the less, it is a foul lie. I gave the blade long since to this dear one on my breast, and last night I placed it again in her hand, unused, when I spurned the cowering leech. Why should I slay the spy, when I was even then going with my betrothed to stand before her father? There would be nothing to betray."

"Thor's hammer!" roared Liutrad. "The werwolf has snared you, earl--"

"No, by Odin! The falcon bursts through the limed twigs. I 'll go to the king--"

"Too late--too late!" groaned Gerold. "She has shot her venomed shafts too well. After I, wretched man that I am, had brought the blade that sprung the werwolf's snare, Worad came also, with lies yet worse. The Thuringians have spared no pains. A score of high-counts have sworn that you lured old Rudulf to his death in an ambush of the Sorbs. It was then the werwolf triumphed. The king is filled with her venom; and yet--and yet even then he denied her and doomed you only to outlawry."

Olvir struck his thigh. "Thor! I thank him little for that, when I must go faring, and leave my bride to wed the werwolf's nursling."

"I have another knife," said Rothada, and she looked up at Olvir, her sweet lips straight and tense.

"No, king's daughter!" he answered her sternly; "it shall not come to that. I have the right to take you with me into my banishment. Now what is the vala's word?"

"Oh, my hero, I pray for light! If you must truly go-- But first, there is yet hope. My father does not know the truth."

"Would he listen were it told him? No, darling; come with me, that there may be an end of doubt."

"I cannot, Olvir,--I cannot go yet. First see my father. He is just; he will right the wrong he has put upon you."

"And if not?"

"He will, dear hero!"

"And if not?"

"Then--ah, Christ forgive me! I must break the will of the king my father. I must leave home and friends and father--unblessed!"

"No, little vala; not unblessed," broke in Liutrad, his deep voice trembling. "You shall be wed by a priest of God, who will shrive you of all sin in doing what is just and right."

"Enough," said Olvir. "I hold the pledge of my betrothed. Gerold will lead her back to the palace, and Liutrad will fetch my priest-robe. He will bring me in before the king during the noon rest. If I fail, but get free, I 'll ride straight across the Ardennes to Cologne. At nightfall, Liutrad will ride with the king's daughter; but they shall go by another way, down the Meuse to Nimeguen. There I will meet them with my longships. What says Count Gerold to the theft of the king's daughter?"

"Saint Michael! Could you think me so cruel as to hold her here in the power of that werwolf? Yet a word: there will be swift pursuit."

"They will follow me to Cologne."

"And a priest has his cowl," added Liutrad.

Rothada pressed her blushing face against Olvir's shoulder.

"They shall not find our trail, dear hero," she whispered. "Berga in a forester's dress, and I as a page--"

"Freya guide you, my bride!" cried Olvir, and he pressed his lips to her downbent head.

CHAPTER XXVI

Unmeet we should do

As the doings of wolves are,

Raising wrongs 'gainst each other

As the dogs of the Norns,

The greedy ones nourished

In waste steads of the earth.

LAY OF HAMDIR.

When Liutrad returned with the sombre Benedictine robe for his earl, he found Olvir pacing restlessly up and down the Aisne bank.

"You 're slow, lad," he said impatiently; and flinging on the gown, he at once called to Zora. But Liutrad had more knowledge of the king's humor.

"Curb your eagerness, earl," he said. "Wait until after the baptizing, and our lord king has eaten and eased himself with the noon rest. When he wakens, his mood will be fairest."

"Yours is the better judgment, lad," assented Olvir. "My hour of grace is already past, and it will matter little--Loki! We 've forgotten that I cannot ride Zora into the burg. Worad will soon be searching me out, and the mare is as well known as I."

"We must leave her hid in the wood nearest the burg. My horse shall stand in waiting for you by the palace gate. He is heavy, but can race that far at good speed."

"Well schemed, lad! I shall swoop among the limed twigs of the werwolf, and they shall not hold me! Do you call to mind, lad, that day among the sand dunes, when we outrode the angry Danes?"

"Remember! Thor's hammer, but those were merry days!" cried Liutrad; and with that he and Olvir fell to recalling the stirring scenes of their hunts and their fights on land and sea since the day when Olvir Thorbiornson came to Lade, with his grim foster-father, and won the heirship of the high-seat.

Noon came and passed, and the two still talked on with the care-free tones of men at a feast. None might have dreamt from their manner that they were desperate men, prepared, if need were, to defy the might of the great king.

At last, noting by the fall of the sun-rays through the foliage how the time passed, Liutrad gave the word, and they made ready to enter Attigny.

Worms during the wedding of Fastrada was not more gay than was now the little burg on the Aisne. All the court and all the townfolk rejoiced with their king in the fond belief that the bloody Saxon struggle had at last come to an end. The streets were thronged with revellers, through whose midst Olvir, muffled in his cowl, walked unnoted behind Liutrad's horse, straight to the great palace built by the second Clovis.

No official would have thought to bar the entrance of the king's favorite scribe into the most private apartments of the king, without Karl's express command, and where Liutrad went, he had no difficulty in gaining admittance for his priestly fellow. But when they came near the door of the king's chamber, Liutrad thought it best that he should wait outside in the passage. While they stood talking, they heard within the sibilant, purring voice of the queen, and at the same time the Grand Doorward approached, to inquire their purpose. Olvir's gaze grew stern, and he drew Liutrad away, with quick decision.

"Go, bring your horse into the courtyard--to the steps of the palace doorway," he said. "Should I come out in haste, do not wonder if I take the beast from you with a show of force. The Franks should know of nothing against you till you 've fled with their king's daughter."

"Olvir! You mean our lord king no harm?"

"God forbid--greatly as he has wronged me! Only, I 'd not linger in the werwolf's power should all go ill."

"Saint Michael grant you have no need of flight!"

"My thanks. Go quickly!"

Liutrad hurried away, and Olvir stepped forward to meet the doorward, his head bent beneath the cowl, and his lips muttering a Latin phrase.

"Hold," commanded the pompous official. "What is the priest's purpose at the door of our lord king?"

"To enter it, fool!" muttered Olvir, in Latin, and, as the Frank bowed to the blessing, he spoke in a tone of authority: "Lead me to his Majesty. I come from Fulda and--"

"Ah, the wise Abbot Baugulf. Follow me, priest, and pray for grace that you do not stammer and stand dumfounded when you enter the presence of majesty."

Olvir made no answer, and the doorward, judging that he had sufficiently impressed the humble priest, flung aside the curtains, and announced his entrance. "A messenger, your Majesty, from Abbot Baugulf."

"Let him stand and enjoy with us the verses of our Albinus," replied Karl, without turning his gaze from Alcuin, at the foot of the royal couch.

Olvir stopped short, and, from the depths of his cowl, swept the room with his glance. Evidently the king had thought the morning's ceremony sufficient work accomplished for the day, even for his all but tireless energy. In place of the usual crowd of counts and court-officials, pressing about the royal couch to report their actions and receive fresh orders from the king, there were present only Alcuin and Fastrada the queen, who was seated beside her lord on the edge of the massive couch.

At a nod from Karl, Alcuin raised his gold-illumined scroll, and recited his Latin rhymes in a voice that went far toward easing the waywardness of the feet. The king was very hearty in his praise of the poet's efforts; but Fastrada murmured an ironical criticism: "A fair song, my lord,--for children and priests. I myself would rather hear the heart-stirring lays of our fathers."

"They are the fierce songs of heathen warriors, my dame, ill fitted for the lips of God's children," protested Alcuin.

Karl nodded to him, smiling. "Ah, my Albinus, you speak true; I, as head of God's church, must agree with you. It is well that our subjects should not sing the heathen lays. Yet they are the songs of our fathers, and I would not have them wholly lost to our children. But I keep waiting the good abbot's messenger. Stand forward, my son, and deliver over the scroll sent by your superior."

"I bear no scroll, Frank king. The message is on the tongue of the wolfshead," answered Olvir, in a clear voice, and he flung aside the priest's robe, to stand before the king in full war-gear.

"How? Olvir! King of Heaven!" cried Karl, and he sprang up to confront the Northman as he had confronted Gerold in the East Tower,--with bared sword. But Olvir gazed fearlessly into his angry eyes.

"Twice before has my father's sword been brandished to strike down his son," he said. "The edge of Ironbiter in a king's hand is fair fate for a warrior."

"Wretched man! why do you force me to anger? I have yielded to mercy,--I gave you full time to quit my realm. Yet now you stand before me, threatening."

"My sword hangs in its sheath. Had I come to avenge myself for the outlaw's doom, I could have leaped upon the son of Pepin while the priest murmured his verses. Is the king answered?"

Karl lowered his Norse sword, and gazed down moodily at the outlaw.

"By my faith, Dane," he muttered, "I had thought you bold beyond most; but this passes belief."

"A man will do much for his honor and his love, King of the Franks. I am no longer your liegeman; you have broken the fetter which bound us. I have been named wolfshead. Without my knowledge, I have been doomed to outlawry. Now I come to ask a hearing."

"You come too late, murderous Northman!" exclaimed Fastrada. "Our lord king has rendered judgment. Your doom is sealed. Go quickly, outlaw, before the scullions beat you from the palace with their spits."

Olvir looked into the beautiful evil face, smiling with malignant triumph, and the white fury seized upon him.

"I do not speak to the witch's offcast daughter. My appeal is to the King of the Franks," he lisped.

The king gasped in sheer amazement; then the blood leaped into his face, and his eyes flamed. He turned to thrust out his fist at the gaping doorward, and commanded harshly: "Away, fool! Bid the High Marshal and his riders lead this Dane wolf Rhineward, in bonds. The bloody outlaw shall not fare at will about my realm. Go!"

"My lord,--dear sire!" cried Alcuin, as the doorward sprang away; "hear the youth--"

"Silence, priest! None shall pule over this false Dane! Doubly has he earned the tree,--the mire-death. Yet I have spared his life; I have shown mercy."

"It is not for mercy, but for justice that I ask, King of the Franks," replied Olvir; and then, as the thought of his little princess came upon him, his voice broke into despairing appeal: "Hear me, lord king! Be just to the liegeman whom you once honored. Do not send me from your realm wolfshead, that those who hate me may jeer my name, and my friends listen to the scoffing with sealed lips. I will go; I will go gladly, lord king; only, take from me the shame of your dooming, and bless the parting liegeman with a king's gift,--the hand of his betrothed."

"By the King--"

"Hear me, dear lord, I beg you! by the sword in your hand, by this ring on my wrist, gift of Hildegarde--of Hildegarde who so loved my little princess!--I swear to you, dear lord, that I had no part--"

"Do not heed him, King of the Franks!" hissed Fastrada. "Look upon this cruel blade, my lord,--the knife which pierced the feeble greybeard! What justice for the murderer? What mercy for the traitor? I demand vengeance upon my father's betrayer. He shall sink in the slime, or the plunging horses rend him asunder! Vengeance!"

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

A gasping sob burst from the Northman. Karl could not have struck a blow more cruel. The stricken man turned slowly about and passed from the chamber, groping his way as though blinded. The king and the scholar stared after him, hushed and motionless. Not until he was gone did they heed that the queen had glided out by the bower doorway. Then Alcuin began to pray aloud, and the king bent while the priest implored the blessing of Heaven upon the soul of the outlaw.

But Olvir, passing slowly from the doorway along the shadowy corridor, felt a hand thrust out from another curtained entrance to draw him within. Still half dazed, he yielded to the grasp. The hangings fell to behind him, and he found himself face to face with the queen. For a little they stood staring at each other, the queen's face still and cold as a mask. Olvir looked quietly into her dilating eyes, and then, without a word, he turned to go. But Fastrada put out the hand on which glowed her magic opal, and caught his shoulder in an eager grasp.

"Stay, Olvir!" she said. "Give heed, and learn that all is not lost to you."

"The king has spoken, witch's daughter."

"But not the queen. Listen, my gerfalcon. The famished bird wings back to the wrist of its keeper; the well-lashed steed comes to the call of the master. Your spirit is broken, proud Dane, and now my vengeance is slaked. There is gall in the cup. I wish to drink of a sweeter draught, which you shall give at my asking; for in my hand I hold for you good fortune,--honors and riches and power; the king's friendship again for his Dane hawk."

"And the price, werwolf?"

"Take heed of your tongue, Olvir! I have yet a score to settle with your puling nun-bride."

"She has another knife--"

"Take joy of the thought! Listen to me: I offer for her so much as the veil, and that at Chelles, where she will be with Gisela. Weigh it well, Olvir; on the one hand, peace for her; on the other, the knife--or Worad."

"The price?"

A deep blush suffused the queen's cheeks, and her eyes, blue and soft, gazed at the Northman from beneath their long lashes with an alluring glance.

"Surely the price is not too heavy," she murmured. "Men still hold me not uncomely--"

"Lord Christ--and to think! Ah, my world-hero, father of my betrothed! Far better the outlaw's lot! And in my anger I would have left you--beguiled by the plotters!"

"Olvir--Olvir! my hero,--my gerfalcon! Do not shrink from me--do not go--stay with me, Olvir! All the night I sat watching your ships sail away into the cold North. I cannot bear it! Men say the Norse maidens are fair-- My heart! another will lie in your arms. Stay--stay with me, bright hero! See; I beg--I, the queen, on my knees to you. My God--he goes! Turn again, Olvir, only turn. You shall have that also,--I pledge it on your knife,--the girl also,--everything! only turn!"

But Olvir neither paused nor turned about to the frantic woman. His eyes, clear and luminous with inward light, were upraised as though he looked into the blue sky, and his lips smiled as they murmured the hard sayings of the Carpenter's Son: "'Blessed are ye, when men shall revile you, and persecute you, and shall say all manner of evil against you falsely.... Love your enemies, bless them that curse you, do good to them that hate you, and pray for them which despitefully use you.'"

"He is mad--mad! I have stung him to madness!" cried the kneeling woman; and she struggled up to peer out through the hangings after the Northman. But when she saw him returning directly to the door of the king's chamber, she clutched at her bosom, and glided swiftly out after him. A blow between the helmet-rim and the gold collar of the hauberk--

But already the outlaw was at the other door. The doorward had not returned. He parted the curtains, and stepped within, unchallenged, even as the stealthy follower was upon him. The chance was lost.

With a soft rustle of silken robes the queen darted past the Northman, to fling herself into the king's arms.

"He is mad, dear lord,--mad!" she cried. "He entered my bower, and I alone! None but one crazed--"

"Peace, dame. It is you have lost your wit; I have come into wisdom," replied Olvir. "Peace to you and to your lord. I turn back, that, before I go, I may take oath to my tidings of how Hardrat and his fellows plot with Duke Tassilo and Adelchis the Lombard against the life and throne of the son of Pepin."

"So, outlaw," cried Karl, "you hold to that lie! Murderer and traitor--and now--"

"Peace, world-hero; do not speak the word you will ever rue," said Olvir, so quietly that, as the king answered, his voice sank to a mutter.

"My Grey Wolf fell on the Saale bank, pierced by the arrows of the Sorbs."

"Bid men go look upon the count's riven hauberk and the wounds which split his hard skull," rejoined Olvir. "Even Sorbs would not notch their swords on bone and iron, when the foe lay arrow-pierced. Yet more,--no crooked blade cuts like the sweeping longsword. My mail was proof; but the weals still show where the blows struck across my back. As to the slaying of the leech, does the king name me a witling, that I should strike, and leave the knife to tell the tale? Let your daughter bear witness. I gave the blade back into her hand when I turned from the cowering dotard to come before you. It must be she let it fall as I caught her to me. Another came, and found it lying ready for the foul deed--"

"Gerold!"

"No, lord king. What could the brother of Hildegarde gain by the slaying? No; it was another,--whom I could name. But I do not come for vengeance, dear lord; I come only to open your eyes to the truth, that the Thuringians may not take you unawares. Well was it you journeyed so swiftly out of Saxon Land. I call to mind the words of that red boar Hardrat: 'Never shall Karl cross again over Rhine Stream.'"

The king flung out his hand.

"God forgive me, Olvir!" he muttered. "The scroll which maddened me--"

"In seeking my death, lord king, they have sealed their own doom. I could not name them, so they have themselves sent their names to the lord whom they would have betrayed. It is God's will. My counsel to the King of the Franks: In the name of Christ, there has been much to rouse hatred and enmity against your rule,--harshness and cruelty. You have listened to the ill counsel of this misguided daughter of God. Therefore I say to you, bear in mind your own deeds, and be merciful to the wrongdoers. Now I go. The outlaw will not again trouble the son of Pepin. God be with you!"

"Stay, Olvir! You shall not go!" cried Karl, and, freeing himself from Fastrada, he came with a rush to seize the Northman's shoulders in his iron grasp. "Now I hold you fast, kinsman. You shall not go from me. No longer are you outlaw. You shall wed your betrothed, and stay in my hall, Count Palatine, in the stead of Worad of Metz. He whom the king has wrongfully doomed to shame shall sit on the king's judgment-seat."

"My lord! my lord!"--the queen's voice rose to a scream--"what would you do? My father! Kosru! See the bloody knife. You 'd take the murderer's word against a score--"

"Silence, woman! I have given heed long enough to your ill counsel; long enough have I, the king, turned a harsh face against my loyal liegemen, at the bidding of a woman. My folly has borne bitter fruit,--heart-burnings and strife. Go, hide your shame in the bower. Prepare yourself to live at peace with my high judge, else I--"

"Lord king!" protested Olvir, "is this time for harsh words? Listen, dear lord! Wisdom has come to me. I see how my own anger has brought my own sorrow. When, on the Garonne bank, I broke troth with the daughter of Rudulf, the outcome might have been far different had I curbed my tongue from scorn. If the maiden was at fault, my fault was the greater."

"O God!" moaned Fastrada, and she flung herself on the marble pavement.

But Karl did not look about from the serene face of the Northman.

"The Count Palatine has spoken," he said, gravely smiling.

"Would that it might so be!" answered Olvir, and his dark eyes grew dim.

"How then?" demanded Karl. But even as the words left his lips, the door-hangings parted, and Rothada darted across the room, blind to all else than her lover.

"Fly, hero!" she cried. "The courtyard swarms with the warriors; they come to take you! Fly! In the passage wait those who 'll lead you to freedom. Ah, Holy Mother!--too late!"

The passage without resounded with the tread and din of armed men jostling together in their haste. All eyes were fixed on the doorway as Gerold and Liutrad sprang into view. The Swabian paused at once, and stood hesitating, his face white and drawn with despair. But Liutrad strode across the room, tucking up his robe as he went. On the wall hung his great axe. He plucked it down, and turned about, with flaming eyes, as Count Worad rushed into the king's chamber, in the lead of a score of warriors.

But then the king's voice rang out, clear and joyful: "Stay your hand, viking-priest! And you, Count of Metz, take away your men. There's now no need of them."

"Father!" cried Rothada. "You smile! He is no longer outlaw!"

Karl drew her to him, and stood stroking her soft tresses, while the wondering warriors filed out of the king's chamber. When Worad, crestfallen and bewildered, had followed his men, Karl bent over his daughter.

"Do you, then, love him so much?" he murmured.

"More than life! God be praised, you 've listened to him!"

"I shall not soon forget how near I came to losing my Dane hawk,--and he flown hither to warn me of deadly peril! Let the traitors give thanks to Heaven for unmerited mercy. They will have a mild judge."

Olvir shook his head. "My heart leaps with joy that I have won again the friendship of the world-hero. Yet I ask two things only,--let my lord king give me my betrothed to wife, and bid me God-speed on my homeward faring."

"The maiden is yours, kinsman. But we cannot part either with her or you."

"Dear lord, I speak with clear vision. The heretic cannot sit in peace among those who bend to the Bishop of Rome; and more, it is best that we should go, both for ourselves and for the queen. I am weary of strife. My heart longs for the iron cliffs of my home land, for the salt billows roaring among the skerries, for the still waters of the fiord. The viking stifles in this sea-less land."

"Can nothing stay you, Olvir? Think what you ask! You tear at my very heart-strings. How can I send my child into the frozen North?"

"Not all is rime and frost with us, lord king. The summer is fair in our North land, and the Trondir are warm of heart. In time, I shall sit on the high-seat of my father. The king's daughter shall not lack either in honor or in love."

"I will gladly give you whatever else you ask, Olvir. But to part with my child--"

Gently Olvir put Rothada from him, and half turned. He spoke with the calm of utter despair: "It would seem the Norns have woven ill for me. I go into the North, and--I go without my bride."

"Ah, no!" gasped Fastrada. Struggling to her feet, she tore from about her throat the necklace of sapphires which the Northman had given her for wedding gift, and pressed it upon Rothada. "Take it, king's daughter; take it--even that!--only, bid him stay!"

Rothada thrust the blue stones from her, and drew herself up with a haughtiness which the king, her father, had never equalled. There was no grief in her white face as she made answer: "Am I such a one as you that I should bid my hero bend his will? He goes--"

"And you go with him!" The words burst from Karl's lips like a cry of anguish.

For a moment, Olvir stood as though dazed; then Rothada was locked fast in his arms. "My bride! Joy is ours, king's daughter!"

To them sprang their friends, with glad words,--Liutrad, Gerold, even the calm scholar Alcuin. In the midst, Olvir thrust them aside with friendly force, and Rothada and he stood forward, radiant, to return thanks to the great king.