As he sat on the high-seat,
That man of the Southland.
SONG OF ATLI.
Left alone on the knoll, Olvir turned his gaze back to the now distant
barge, and watched it musingly until it disappeared beyond a clump of
woods. Floki's warning had moved him more than he had cared to
acknowledge. Though far from being as profound as had been Otkar, the
man was possessed of exceptional shrewdness, and the knowledge of this
now compelled the young sea-king to pause and ponder his words. Could
they be true? He smiled at the absurdity of the question. But then he
remembered the noble Frank whom he had chosen for foster-brother, and
the smile left his face. However pure and innocent, what was this maiden
to him?
"It is I who am dogwise, not Floki," he muttered, and he turned his back
on Casseneuil.
Within a bow-shot of the king's pavilion he came upon Count Hardrat, and
his quick eye noted that the man's first impulse was to avoid him. But
as the Northman approached, the Thuringian advanced to meet him.
"I would make my peace," he said with a gruff show of cordiality.
"Heroes should not bear malice,--and more, you had the best of it."
"Say no more of the wrangle," replied Olvir, quickly. "I heard your
name, but it slips my memory."
"Hardrat, a count of Thuringia,--count of a little shire, when I should
hold the Sorb Mark, if right were done me," grumbled the Thuringian.
"But old Rudulf has a pretty daughter in the king's hall; and when was
Karl ever known--"
Olvir turned upon the speaker, his eyes ablaze.
"How!" he demanded; "do you say anything against the maiden?"
The Thuringian recoiled as though struck.
"I--I--no!" he stammered.
"Then ward your tongue."
The count sought to meet his gaze, but failed.
"My lord Dane," he protested half sullenly, "are you not over-hasty?
Surely, to speak without offence of a maiden whom you have met but
once--"
"To me she is as a sister. She is all but betrothed to my
foster-brother. But no more. I mistook your tone. And now I should
hold it a favor to be told whose are yonder tents. They differ from all
others I see about."
"Well they may. It is the camp of the Saracen envoys,--Al Arabi and--"
"Al Arabi--Al Arabi! How else is he called?"
"He is named after the wise King of the Hebrews, though his people give
it a strange sound,--Sul--Suleyman."
"Thor smite me!" cried Olvir, his eyes glittering. "My thanks for the
word. Farewell, earl."
Before the astonished count could answer, the Northman was walking
swiftly toward the Saracen camp. Very soon he came to an open-fronted
pavilion, in whose recess a venerable figure reclined on a low divan,
droning out a passage of the Koran. Olvir halted a moment to stare at
the patriarch, then stepped quietly within the entrance.
"Peace be with you, O emir," he said in Arabic.
"And with you peace," answered the Saracen, as he lifted his eyes.
Their hawk-like glance rested wonderingly upon the bright figure of the
Northman; but then it was drawn by the glow of the great ruby on the
pommel of Al-hatif, and in an instant the Arab's wonder had given place
to fury.
"Dog of a kaffir!" he cried, and he leaped to his feet. A taboret, set
with dishes, stood before him. Spurning it aside, he advanced with a
rush, till his claw-like hands threatened the smooth cheek of the
Northman.
"Al-hatif! Al-hatif! The sword of the Prophet!" he shrieked. "What
kaffir dog bears the khalif's gift? Eblis take the thief! May his arm
wither--"
"Stay!" commanded Olvir. "Would you curse your own blood?"
The Arab paused, transfixed, and Olvir gazed unwavering into his glaring
eyes. A dozen or more Moslems, weapons in hand, came flocking about the
pavilion, drawn by the outcry of their sheik. But Olvir, heedless of
their bared scimetars, continued gravely: "Many winters, O sheik, have
whitened the mountains of Armenia since my father and Otkar, whom you
called El Jinni, gave oath to you and left you lying bound on the
river's bank. Both Thorbiorn and his bride, who was my mother, long
since passed over the bridge of the dead, and El Jinni has now followed;
but the oath has ever been kept. None other than your blood has borne
the khalif's gift."
The sheik made no reply. He was gazing searchingly into Olvir's dark
face, his own stern features softened by a look of deepest yearning.
His doubts were soon ended. With joy as impetuous and unmeasured as had
been his anger, he sprang forward and seized the young man in his arms.
"Son of Gulnare! Seed of my House!" he cried. "Allah is good! You come
to cheer my age with your youth and beauty."
Olvir reverently returned the embrace of his mother's father, but
answered quickly and with decision: "Deny not the justice of Allah, O
sheik! Into the North He sent my mother,--and I am a son of the North.
While this war lasts we shall together fight the Omyyad beneath your
black banners. Afterwards I must return here among the Afranj, if not
to my father's people."
"Allah's will be done! We shall see when the time is at hand. Now, at
least, you will eat my salt and abide with me this night."
"Be it as you desire. Yet, first, I would see to my men."
"Go; but return quickly. My eyes yearn to feast upon the son of my
daughter."
Reluctantly the sheik's arms released their clasp, and Olvir darted away
along the river-bank. Al Arabi, with a curt command to his swarthy
followers to withdraw, stood gazing after his grandson until he vanished
behind a group of booths.
"Allah be praised this day!" he murmured fervently as he returned to his
cushioned seat. "Kasim, my son-in-law, is a thorn in the flesh; but
this bright child of Gulnare renews my youth. His eye is as the soaring
falcon's; his step as the fleet gazelle's."
Nor was the sheik's praise unmerited. No runner in the Frankish camp
could have covered the mile downstream and back with near the swiftness
of the young Northman; yet when he stood again at the door of the
pavilion and stepped in upon the costly Persian rugs, he betrayed no
other signs of the race than a slight flush in his dark cheeks and an
added depth of breathing.
"By the Beard!" exclaimed Al Arabi; "as Zora among coursers, so is the
son of Gulnare among runners."
"I have run down the grey wolf in fair chase," replied Olvir, simply,
and at the beckoning gesture of the sheik, he seated himself beside the
old man in the same Oriental posture. Al Arabi smiled and clapped his
hands. Almost immediately an Arab attendant, in loose shirt and baggy
trousers, appeared at the entrance and salaamed to the ground.
"Bring food," said Al Arabi.
The man salaamed again and sprang away. As he disappeared, Olvir turned
gravely to the sheik.
"What says the Prophet, O kinsman?--'Better is it to do justice than to
sit at meat.' Before I taste your salt, it is well that right should be
done between us. It seems to me just that I should now return to my
mother's father the sword which my father took by force. Here, then, is
Al-hatif. I restore it willingly, though I cannot say that the deed is
a joyful one."
Olvir was not long kept waiting to see how Al Arabi would meet this act
of generous pride. With a quick movement the old Moslem seized the
sword and sprang to his feet. The beautiful blade whipped from its
sheath and flashed around the sheik's head in bright circles.
"Allah acbar!" he cried. "The sword of the Prophet returns! Once again
my hand grasps the khalif's gift!"
Olvir turned his head away, unable longer to hide his anguish at the
loss of the sword. He thought of the day in Starkad's mound, when Otkar
first put the coveted plaything in his childish hands. Since then it
had never lain beyond his reach, night or day, and now--!
In the midst of his rejoicing, Al Arabi paused and turned his head to
glance at his grandson. A moment later sword and scabbard were lying
across Olvir's feet.
"Look, my son!" cried the old man. "The khalif's gift is my gift. For
a little the light of the blade blinded me. But how could I take from
my daughter's son the only inheritance she left him? Once the sword was
forced from my grasp; now my heart rejoices to part with it to the son
of Gulnare."
Olvir sought to answer, but the words choked in his throat. An eye far
less keen than the sheik's, however, could have seen the gratitude which
lighted the young viking's face. His eyes were shining through a mist
of tears. Al Arabi gravely seated himself beside his grandson, and,
sheathing the sword, clasped it once more to Olvir's belt.
The first attendant and another now entered the tent, bearing between
them a taboret set with food. The second attendant withdrew at once;
but his fellow waited for further orders.
"Where is Vali Kasim?" asked Al Arabi.
"He goes with the herd to the river, O sheik."
"When they return, bid him come this way."
The man bowed and slipped noiselessly away, while the host, having first
tasted each dish on the table, urged his guest to eat. He had no need
to repeat the bidding. Olvir's youth and health would have given relish
to the plainest fare, and the mutton stew was very savory. When the last
drop of gravy had been sopped up, Olvir turned with good-will to the
dates and candied fruit, which the sheik was attacking with the zest of
an Oriental. Hearty, however, as was the younger man's appetite, his
palate, unaccustomed to such confections, soon cloyed with their spicy
sweetness. Al Arabi gravely shook his head at this sign of foreign
taste, and then he smiled in recollection of the past.
"It is clear that you were not raised in the land of the faithful, son
of my daughter," he observed. "You lack the sweet tooth."
"I will not turn from honey in the comb; but these sweets--"
"The spices of the Far East. You will in time become used to their
flavor," explained the sheik, and he held up a slice of candied
pomegranate between thumb and finger. But the sweetmeat did not reach
his mouth. Struck by a sudden thought, he dropped the titbit to clutch
Olvir's shoulder. His eyes were ablaze with intense feeling.
"_Hei_, by the Prophet's Beard, you shall in truth learn the taste of
Moslem sweets! Who is Kasim, that he should stand first with the Beni
Al Abbas? My word is yet weightiest in the council of the sheiks. When
this lion of the Afranj has broken the might of that dog Abd-er-Rahman,
my daughter's son--my daughter's son shall be Emir of Andalus!"
Olvir's cheeks flushed and his eyes sparkled at the alluring prospect;
but his clear intellect was quick to perceive the wildness of the
scheme.
"Hearken a little, father of my mother," He said. "I give thanks for
the good thought; but how can such be? Did Allah uprear me a kaffir,
that I might rule over the faithful?"
"The mission of Islam is to bring unbelievers into the faith."
"I hold to no faith but my own. No priest or prophet shall set the
bounds of my thought. I see much good in the words of the Son of Mary;
but little has Mohammed added to them. I believe that God is in all men
alike, and that each man is good, not according as he is Moslem or Jew,
Christian or heathen, but as he does in his deeds the will of the Spirit
within him. But enough! I give you pain."
"_Hei_! you speak in a strange tongue, son of Gulnare. Yet the tongue
can be bridled. You believe in the One God. For the rest, there need
be--"
"Stay, father. What is the creed of Islam, which the proselyte must cry
aloud? No; it cannot be. Even my hair would betray me."
"_Bismillah_! The All-powerful One will disclose his decrees in due
time. If yours is the Afranj hair, is not Abd-er-Rahman's the Afranj
eye? 'Blue of eye, and foul of face,' the saying is against the Omyyad;
but there is nothing in men's mouths against hair of golden flame. We
shall see what Allah has decreed. Now tell me how you come here to the
host of the Sultan Karolah; tell me of my Gulnare, and of your life in
the frozen North."
Olvir bowed; but he had hardly made a beginning of the tale of how
Thorbiorn Viking brought home his elf bride from the Land of the
Asiamen, when he was interrupted by the sound of quick hoof-beats, and a
score of beautiful horses, wine-red in color, came crowding around the
front of the tent. As Olvir stopped short with a cry of delight, Al
Arabi smiled and lifted his hand. A mare at once pushed from among her
companions and advanced quietly into the tent, the tip of her flowing
tail brushing the costly rugs, upon which she planted her small hoofs
with the daintiness of a woman. Al Arabi held out for her a stoned
date, and as she nibbled at it he stroked her bony cheek.
"So, Zora," he said, "you must have your sweetmeats, like all women.
But I do not begrudge them to my swift one. You look at the guest,
daughter of Rustem. It is well. He is not such a one as these Afranj
jinn, who must get them to battle or the chase on ox-like steeds. No,
Wind-racer; this is one with whom you could course the gazelle from dawn
even to sunset. Look closely at the young man, for he is of the
Household,--he is the Heir."
Zora stretched out her graceful neck to nuzzle the Heir's strange attire
with the tip of her projecting lip. The attention was appreciated at its
full value. Never before had Olvir seen the like of this beautiful
mare, and her friendliness greatly pleased him. He was stroking the
broad forehead between her soft black eyes when the younger Saracen
envoy entered the tent.
Kasim did not wait to examine the guest, but perceiving at the first
glance that the stranger's dress was not of Saracen fashion, he
exclaimed petulantly: "How now, father of my bride; has your dowar
become a lounging-place for kaffirs? I did not look to find you
breaking bread with an Afranj dog."
Great was the vali's surprise when the despised kaffir answered him in
his own tongue: "Friend, what says the wise king, the emir's
namesake?--'Even a fool, when he holdeth his peace, is accounted wise;
and he that shutteth his lips is esteemed a man of understanding.'"
Though not a little humiliated by the apt rebuke, Kasim advanced closer
to examine the guest with his blinking gaze. If his thought was to
strike fear into the heart of the stranger by the fierceness of his
look, he was never so mistaken. Olvir met him with a gaze so steady and
so full of calm indifference that the Saracen, to cover the sudden
confusion which fell upon him, shifted his glance to the stranger's
dress.
The body armor of the guest was familiar to his sight; for only in its
rich finish and in the threefold thickness of its mesh did it differ
from his own. Yet it had an odd appearance, worn with the cross-thonged
stockings, close breeches, and fur-trimmed cloak of the Norse dress.
And, notwithstanding the ruddy yellow hair of the son of Gulnare, never
had Kasim Ibn Yusuf seen a warrior who in figure, face, and bearing so
nearly approached the Arab ideal of princeliness and beauty.
"May it please the father of my sultana to make known the guest who sits
at meat with him," he said.
Al Arabi rose, and Olvir imitated the movement. When both were standing,
the sheik laid his hand on Olvir's shoulder, and answered the vali: "You
have heard of El Jinni, Ibn Yusuf,--that Samson of the Far North--"
"I have heard of El Jinni," retorted Kasim. "So this is his son. Had
another than yourself told me that you would hold friendship with any
kin of the robber who despoiled your city and bore off your daughter, I
should name the teller a liar."
"Do not marvel, Ibn Yusuf. This is not the son of El Jinni, but the son
of that daughter,--my Gulnare. Rejoice with me, Kasim! The lost is
found! Come forward and greet your kinsman."
At the appeal, which was half a command, Kasim advanced and embraced
Olvir, muttering formal words of pleasure. His protestations of
friendship did not, however, deceive the young Northman. He read the
hostility in the Arab's eyes, and met the feigned warmth of his greeting
with cold disdain.
"You bear a sword of price, kinsman," remarked the vali, as the glow of
the great ruby on Al-hatif's hilt caught his eye.
"It is a sword beyond price," answered Olvir. "The Prophet himself once
bore it. When your wife's father aided Khalif Abdullah to overthrow the
House of Omar, the khalif did more than make him Emir of Kars,--he gave
to him Al-hatif."
"Al-hatif!" cried Kasim; "the Prophet's sword in the hand of an
unbeliever!"
"I believe in the One God," replied Olvir. "There is good in all
faiths. I accept the Truth wherever I find it; the error I reject."
The vali threw out his hands in pious horror.
"La I'laha ilia Allah; Mohammed resoul Allah!" he cried. "Within Islam
alone is salvation."
"So say the Jews; so say the Christians; and so say the Magians,--each
for his own creed," retorted Olvir.
Kasim frowned and shook his fist at the unbeliever, in sudden heat.
"What saying's this?" he exclaimed. "Who dares name the creeds of
kaffir dogs in the same breath with the true faith? Who--"
"Enough, vali!" commanded Al Arabi. "There shall be no railing and
contention in my House. The son of Gulnare does not come to bring
strife, but to strengthen our hands in the struggle against
Abd-er-Rahman. You saw his warriors in the strange ships which rowed
past before our dowar. When Karolah comes south, with him will march
your kinsman and his steel-clad warriors, to fight beneath our banners.
And now, that the son of Gulnare may not find the way toilsome, I give
him the choicest of my desert-fliers. The daughter of Rustem is fitting
gift to the son of Gulnare."
"Zora!" stammered Kasim,--"Zora!"
"I have spoken. Lead the herd away, and make ready full equipment, that
the fleet one may come to her master with adornment worthy of her
lineage."
With his hand clutched convulsively in Zora's flowing mane, Kasim led
her from the tent without a word.
Al Arabi watched his departure with a frown of displeasure, his lean
hand tugging at his beard.
"He goes in anger," he muttered.
"I fear I bring you sorrow, father," said Olvir. "A house divided
against itself cannot stand."
"The Son of Mary spoke truth. Yet be at peace. It is not you who bring
contention to my House. Kasim Ibn Yusuf is a man of unruly spirit. He
has long been a thorn in my flesh. Your coming has rejoiced my soul."
"Allah grant it may never be otherwise!" responded Olvir.
"_Amin--amin!_" said Al Arabi; and motioning Olvir to resume his seat,
he added: "Now, my son, tell me fully of your mother and of your fearful
uprearing by El Jinni in the tomb."