There the King, the wise-hearted,
... the mighty king.
LAMENT OF ODDRUN.
On the picturesque Garonne bank, beneath the Roman walls of Casseneuil,
lay the camp of the Frankish host. Since Easter the levies of blue-eyed
Allemanni and dark-eyed Aquitanians and Bretons had been pouring in to
swell the ranks.
For a mile around, the fertile hills were dotted with tents and booths.
Overhead stretched a canopy of blue haze, the smoke of the countless
fires. Long lines of ox-wains trailed in from all parts of the land;
great droves of cattle browsed in the meadows; and water craft of all
sizes sailed to and fro on the Lot and the Garonne, or lay moored along
the banks while busy sailors shifted cargo. The larger vessels were
from Bordeaux and the sea; others plied between Casseneuil and Toulouse,
where a smaller host--Burgundians and Lombards, and the Goths and
Gallo-Romans of Septimania and Provincia--were being mustered by
Barnard, the king's uncle, to invade the Saracen country by way of
Narbonne. The grandson of Karl the Hammer was gathering his might to
strike the pagans such another blow as had shattered their host on the
plains of Touraine.
The royal pavilion stood in the heart of the camp, close to the river's
bank. Above its peak floated the gold-bright folds of the three-forked
standard, and the scores of messengers that came and went told that Karl
the King was busied with the affairs of his vast realm. Those who
passed in saw first a striking assemblage of the king's
liegemen,--long-robed priests, counts in full war-gear, and court
officials, ornate with silks and jewels. Here were warriors who had
seen the fall of Pavia and helped to hew down the Irminsul; bishops and
abbots who ruled ecclesiastical estates, the revenues of which were
little less than princely; _missi dominici_,--those trusty liegemen who
bore the king's will to outland lords, or journeyed through their
appointed ridings to bring justice for all against the petty tyrannies
of count and bishop and judge.
Yet though the pavilion held within it many of the most famous men of
the greatest realm since the fall of the Western Empire, the new-comer
would have been certain to pass by all alike with a hasty glance and
turn half reverently to the low dais where Karl the King sat on his
oaken throne. Aside from his jewelled sword-belt, there was little of
gold or gems about the massive figure; but beneath the sapphires and
holy nail of the Lombard crown the grey eyes of the great Frank gazed
out with calm power. War-counts and priests alike bowed before that
glance; for in mind, as in body, Karl was master of them all.
The last of the _missi_ called into service had been despatched to
inspect the four quarters of the realm, and the king was now in earnest
consultation with two Moslem envoys. The contrast between the lean
figure and patriarchal beard of the older Saracen and the blond,
massive-limbed Frank was as great as that between the king's jerkin and
cross-thonged stockings and the envoy's green turban and flowing white
burnous. Yet such of the bystanders as were accustomed to look beneath
mere outward appearance saw in the Arab sheik's dark face an expression
strikingly like that which gave such dignity to the fresh ruddy
countenance of the king. Not all the wide difference in race and dress
and years could hide the stamp of power with which Nature had marked the
features of the two.
The other Saracen, who, like the king, appeared to be scarcely three or
four years past thirty, showed warrior training in every pose and
feature; but a covert sneer lurked beneath his impassive smile, and from
eyes that blinked like those of a bird of prey he shot quick, evil
glances at the surrounding Franks.
Presently there entered the pavilion a thick-set, tow-haired warrior,
with red, beer-bloated features, who jostled his way to the front
without wasting breath in apologies for his rudeness. As he approached
the dais the younger Saracen glanced at him, and, with a seemingly
careless gesture, touched the hilt of his scimetar. He turned away at
once to join in the parting salaams to the king, while the boorish
warrior returned to the pavilion's entrance. As he came to a halt near
the Grand Doorward, he pointed outside, his low forehead creased in a
savage scowl.
"Here comes the duke now, and in choice company," he grumbled. "The
Merwing shall learn that Rudulf's daughter is not for a Vascon, though
he be twice over the rightful heir of Clovis."
"Does Count Hardrat speak of the Vascon Wolf?" inquired the doorward,
half heeding.
"Vascon fox!" rejoined Hardrat. The jest seemed to ease his ill-humor,
and he turned his gaze to the duke's beautiful companion.
The girl was young,--certainly not more than seventeen,--but of all the
queen's maidens, none could lay claim to so many suitors. Among her own
people and the other blond Germans beyond the Rhine she would have been
considered too dark for perfect beauty; but, North Rhine or South Rhine,
few men could have looked at her without a quickened pulse-beat. There
was allurement in every line of her softly moulded features, in the rich
bloom of her olive cheeks, and in the silky meshes of her gold-brown
hair. Envious rivals might say that her eyes were over-narrow for
beauty, and her lips of too vivid a scarlet. None the less, the ardent
warriors and courtiers, and more than one mitred churchman, longed for
the kiss of that enticing mouth, and willingly gave themselves over to
the spell of the bewitching eyes with their strangely shifting tints of
blue and green.
Such was Fastrada, the daughter of Count Rudulf, youngest, fairest, and
most sought for among the queen's bower-maidens.
It was not to be wondered, therefore, that as he strolled with her up to
the pavilion Duke Lupus kept his small eyes fixed upon the girl in an
amorous stare. Near the entrance he paused and sighed regretfully.
"Here is the king's tent, maiden," he said. "I wish it had been more
distant. At your side the way was all too short. I am more than repaid
that I left my horse at the villa gate for my suite to bring after."
The girl looked up, open-eyed, into the Vascon's sensual face, and
replied with a simplicity that to a casual observer would have appeared
almost naive: "The noble Lupus has done me great honor by his escort.
Our gracious queen will not soon forget such a favor."
"And the queen's most charming maiden--?"
Fastrada bent her head to hide a smile, but her voice was very soft:
"Who could forget a kindness from the Duke of the Vascons,--from the
rightful heir of Clovis?"
Lupus started, and glanced hastily before him into the pavilion. He had
often boasted of his descent from that long line of lustful, bloody,
indolent Merwing kings, the last of whom had been deposed and his crown
seized by Pepin the Short; but all of those boasts had been uttered when
the usurper's son held court on the farther side of Aquitania. His
relief was heartfelt when he perceived that only one other than himself
had heard the dangerous compliment. Hardrat met his furtive glance with
a meaning smile and came forward to bow before Fastrada.
"Saints grant I may be of service to our dame's fairest maiden," he
said.
The girl lowered her eyes demurely.
"I bear a message to our lord king," she replied.
"Then the Christian maiden must wait for heathen dogs."
Fastrada looked up at her two suitors with an arch smile, but only Lupus
perceived the trace of malice that lurked in the corners of the scarlet
lips.
"Do not be angry for me, Count Hardrat," she said. "It is a pleasure to
wait in company such as that with which I am favored."
Both lords smiled at the flattery; but while the duke repaid the
compliment in graceful phrases, Hardrat glared at his rival with jealous
suspicion. From beneath her modestly drooping lashes Fastrada watched
how the Thuringian's brow lowered under the arrogant stare of the duke.
Her pulse quickened, and the shifting tints deepened in her downcast
eyes. But the war-count checked his threatened outburst, and so put an
end to the sport.
Petulantly the girl turned to the entrance, only to look about in appeal
to the Vascon.
"_Ai_, lord duke," she exclaimed; "who are these heathen? I can see
only their strange headgear."
"They are Saracen counts, the pagan allies of our Most Christian King,"
answered Hardrat, and he smiled ironically. "But look,--their audience
comes to an end. I can now lead you in before his Majesty."
"I give thanks," murmured Fastrada, but her eyes were fixed upon the
envoys. The officials near the entrance had drawn apart, and the
white-robed Saracens, having salaamed themselves to a respectful
distance from the dais of the mighty Afranj sultan, were completing
their exit in a more dignified manner. The tall leader came out like a
veritable Sheik el Islam, his firm tread, erect frame, and eagle glance
giving the lie to the whiteness of his hair and flowing beard.
Fastrada slipped in front for a closer view of the grand old warrior,
but was met by the leering gaze of the younger envoy behind him. Before
his stare the girl shrank back, blushing with offended pride. Yet she
looked eagerly around after the Saracen leader, and her changeful eyes
sparkled as she exclaimed: "There goes a hero! Would that he were
young! We 'd see a warrior such as few Franks could withstand."
"Strange words for a daughter of Thuringia," replied Lupus; "yet, none
the less, they are very fitting. Al Arabi is a count of great fame
among his people. He has held many high offices, and though no longer
Count of Saragossa, he is friend and chief councillor of Al Huseyn, the
vali who succeeded him. Old as he is, even now he can strike a heavy
blow."
"He is a raven-feeder!" growled Count Hardrat. "Nor is Vali Kasim a
babe. The old man has a stout son-in-law. Also, he owns a silent
tongue and does not bicker with his friends. Come now, maiden, if you
would see the king."
The girl smiled, and bowed both to Lupus and to her red-faced
countryman. Then, with hands clasped before her and eyes demurely
downcast, she followed the latter through the brilliant assemblage to
the royal presence. Karl, though dictating a memorandum to Abbot Fulrad,
the white-haired Keeper of the Great Seal, paused at once and nodded
pleasantly to Hardrat.
"You bring a maiden from Hildegarde," he observed in a voice clear and
strong but strangely shrill for so massive a body. "I am mistaken if it
is not the daughter of our faithful Rudulf. I trust that she bears good
tidings."
Fastrada bowed low before the dais. "Our gracious dame bade me bring
word to your Majesty that her pain has eased. She enjoys good health
again, though she put away the leech's drugs."
"As well--as well! I 'd wager a little fasting against the best of
leeches. But, indeed, these are good tidings, and they come by the
mouth of a fair emissary," replied Karl, his gaze lingering on the soft
beauty of the girl's face and form. "It is a dusty path to the gates,
and the herald of our queen should be spared the pains of walking it
twice in a day. Let her delay her return. There will be a seat in our
barge when we go to the noon-meal."
Fastrada bowed and withdrew, half awed, into the midst of the
assemblage. Yet the admiration in the king's glance had by no means
escaped her. Her cheeks glowed with pride at thought of the look and of
his kindly tone. After royalty, the homage of lesser men lacked flavor,
and the girl listened to the eager greetings of the court officials with
an indifferent bearing. Of what value the blandishments of these sleek
courtiers and petty counts when heroes such as the famous Roland and
Hardrat were no less eager for her favor? And now the king himself had
looked at her with far other than a cold eye, though Queen Hildegarde
was yet held to be the most beautiful woman in the realm.
With true feminine perversity, the girl turned from all others and set
about the task of pleasing a lank, dour-faced official, the only one in
the pavilion who seemed altogether indifferent to her charms. The man
met her advances with a sardonic smile, and gave a curt response to her
greeting; while his pale-blue eyes turned away from her soft beauty to
fix their cold stare on the approaching figure of Duke Lupus.
"The Merwing is ill named," he muttered in his beard, struck by the same
thought that had prompted Hardrat's jest. "He should be called Fox, not
Wolf,--a cunning fox! He will bear watching."
"What is my Lord Anselm pleased to say?" asked Fastrada. "He has the
look which he wears when he sits on the judgment-seat, dooming the
luckless offenders."
"Maidens should chatter and spin, and leave weightier matters to those
who have wit," answered the judge, dryly.
"Alas, then, for the maidens, if all men agree with the Count of the
Palace!" sighed Fastrada; and she drew back in mock sorrow.
Anselm paid no heed to the alluring play. His attention was fixed upon
the Duke of the Vascons.
Lupus advanced with an arrogance that won him little favor among the
proud Franks. But Karl smiled, and even extended his hand for the
salute when the duke would have bent to kiss his knee.
"With joy we see again our faithful friend," he said. "Not satisfied
with swearing allegiance the second time, he brings us needed supplies
with a bountiful hand. It is well this fair Southland is held for us by
so trusty a liegeman."
"My lord king is pleased to be gracious," replied Lupus, quickly. "If I
have won his indulgence, I now beg leave to ask a favor."
"Speak. Anything I can rightfully give shall be allowed you."
"It is no small matter, your Majesty; the insolent Bishop of Rome has
stricken the mitre from the head of my kinsman Thierry."
Karl started and frowned.
"Alter your asking, lord duke," he answered. "I cannot set aside so
just a judgment. There were charges and a fair trial for the Bishop of
Bordeaux. He has failed to clear himself on a single count;
drunkenness, strife, licentiousness,--all were proved."
"Slander, sire!--malicious slander!" cried the duke, his passion
overleaping all caution. "My kinsman is persecuted for his lineage!
Few priests of his rank but wassail and brawl unrebuked. As for the
third charge, strangest of all in a realm whose king--"
"Silence!" roared Karl; and he towered up on the dais like an angry
lion. "Has the kinsman of Hunold and Waifre twice sworn allegiance to
doubt the justice of his king and Holy Church? I, the king, sent Pope
Hadrian command for the trial. It is enough that dukes and counts
trample the common folk and wallow in the troughs of their sodden vices.
At the least, I will scourge the swine from God's Church. By the King
of Heaven! when I have swept the pagan Saracens into the sea I will
cleanse the household of my kingdom,--from duke to deacon! Thierry has
lost his mitre; let him repent and walk upright, lest worse come upon
him."
Stunned, humiliated, livid with impotent anger, the haughty Merwing
shrank back from before the son of Pepin, and hastened to quit the
assemblage that had witnessed his shame. Most of the Franks met his
black glances with ready frowns; but Hardrat, the Thuringian count,
could not conceal his pleasure at the turn of events.
"All goes well!" he chuckled. "The fox is shrewdly nipped. He 'll stop
at nothing now. Rage will melt all his frosty caution. The others are
with us, heart and hand, and that missive to Saxon Land by this time
should have rid us--"
The conclusion of the Thuringian's half-muttered words was lost in a
terrific blare of trumpets and war-horns that sent the alarm ringing to
every corner of the Frankish camp.
Within the pavilion all was instantly struggle and confusion. Swords
flashed overhead, and the assemblage surged from side to side as the
war-counts sought to push out from the press of officials and priests.
But Karl the King walked swiftly through the parting crowd, his face
serene, his sword unsheathed. The warriors rushed after him, weapon in
hand.