Such doings for us
Are naught seemly to do;
To rend with sword
Oaths once sworn
And troth once plighted.
LAY OF SIGURD.
Even in the heat of battle, never had Roland known the wild fury that
raged in his breast as he crashed through the thickets in search of his
foster-brother. His headlong rush failed to soothe the anguish of
Fastrada's poisoned shaft; and with the pain his anger grew more
terrible. The thought of the maiden lying before him in piteous
abasement, and a savage fear that the betrayer of her love might escape,
alike spurred him on. The outlander was fleet of foot; he must run
swiftly if he would overtake him. But, no! there was the wretch, beyond
the wild-grown hedge.
Olvir stood in a little glade. His face was bowed, and his dark eyes
were dull and glazed with agony. Grief and despair almost beyond
endurance distorted his face and shook his body with racking sobs. He
had loved the beautiful Thuringian with all the passion of his fiery
Eastern nature, with all the tender reverence of his Norse blood and
rearing. Had death torn her from him, he could have bowed to the will
of the Norns. But that his betrothed should have proved false!
"I cannot bear this longer!" he muttered, and his hand grasped the
dagger in his belt. But he hesitated, the weapon half drawn.
"Woman's love is not all of life,--I have yet my brother," he said; and
the dagger clicked back in its sheath.
It was then that Roland burst from the thicket.
"Ward yourself, wretch!" he roared; and the great Norse sword whirled
about his head.
With the instinctive readiness of his outlaw uprearing, Olvir sprang
aside and tore Al-hatif from its sheath. As swiftly, he wheeled to
confront his maddened assailant; and then he realized who that assailant
was.
"Roland!" he cried, and he flung his sword to the ground.
The act checked the Frank's attack. Even at the height of his rage, he
could not strike down his foe unarmed.
"Ward yourself! ward yourself, that I may slay you in fair fight!" he
cried hoarsely.
Olvir only folded his arms and gazed unflinchingly into the Frank's
face.
"The troth of a woman,--the oath of a Frank!" he said coldly. "To my
sword-brother I gave my father's sword to cleave my own head. It would
seem that Ironbiter is fated to prove my bane."
Roland lowered his sword, and leaned heavily upon it, his great body
trembling.
"Take up your blade; defend yourself!" he gasped.
Olvir saw how his face whitened with anguish; but his own only grew the
more bitter, and his voice stung with relentless irony: "What hinders
the Christian from smiting the heathen,--the Frank from stabbing his
friend? He is but an outlander. Strike, and have done."
"O my God, my God!" cried Roland, and the scalding tears ran down his
cheeks. The Northman trembled, yet his face lost none of its hardness.
"How is this?" he said, "My friend is weary. He would have me do the
deed myself. Say the word, foster-brother, and I fall on my own sword."
Roland opened his lips; but the only sound that came from them was a
groan. With slow and awkward fingers he put back his great blade into
its sheath. Vainly he tried again to speak; his tongue refused to obey.
He could no longer endure the Northman's look. He turned and went away
like one in a daze, staggering in his walk.
Olvir watched him go, without a shade of softening in his hard stare;
nor did he move until the bowed figure of the Frank was lost to view in
the coppice. Then he lifted his sword from the ground; a kiss for its
mirror blade, and the point was at his breast. Already he was bending
to fall upon it, when a smothered cry in the thicket caught his quick
ear.
"What's that?" he muttered, and he stood listening. All was silence.
His eye returned to the sword. How the bright hues played on the
polished steel! The red stone burned like a gout of blood from the
heart of fiery Surt. How fiercely its red light had shone in battle--in
battle! Thor! he could hear the arrows whistling, the joyous clash of
swords!
The black eyes flashed. He whirled the sword about and grasped its hilt
in fierce delight.
"There's joy yet in Manheim,--wild play in Odin's game!" he cried; and
again he kissed the blade. "Al-hatif! Al-hatif! king of swords! You
would have slain me,--even as that other friend; yet you shall still be
my friend,--henceforth my only friend and love!"
But the words choked in the utterance. Grief and bitterness poured back
into his heart in full flood. He threw himself upon the ground, and lay
face down. An hour passed before he rose again. His face was calm, but
there were new lines on it. The last trace of boyhood was gone. He
sheathed Al-hatif, and stood for a little while, staring moodily before
him.
"So," he murmured, "love and friendship are dead; and I--I had my part
in the slaying. Would that I had been less harsh with him--ay, and
with--her! Ah, well; what is past is past. Let Urd hold the bitter; I
'll look to Skuld. And now to go. I cannot face those merry ones."
Half sighing, the Northman turned into the coppice and disappeared. A
little later he stepped out on the river's bank into the midst of the
wassailing oarsmen, and spoke a word in Floki's ear: "Take joy! I 've
seen your werwolf's teeth. I go downstream afoot."
Before Floki could reply, Olvir stepped back into the thicket, and was
gone. The other vikings, intent upon their black mead, had scarcely
glanced up at their earl. But Floki for some time sat staring at the
spot where Olvir had vanished, his brows bent in deep thought. At last
his frown relaxed, and he smiled grimly.
"All's well," he muttered. "Grief will pass. I see a fairer bride."
As though the words had been a spell, hardly were they uttered when
Rothada appeared before the speaker. Floki's jaw dropped. But then he
caught sight of Gerold behind the girl, and rose to meet them. The
young count looked at him gravely, and pointed to the boats.
"Make ready at once," he said. "The queen would return. She comes
now."
Floki uttered a word of command; and while the grumbling wassailers
manned the oars he kept a sharp eye on the approaching party. There was
no more merriment to be heard among the young Franks. Even the royal
children were sobered. Hildegarde, who was leaning heavily upon
Roland's arm, looked both grieved and harassed. Close after, between
Lupus and young Worad, walked Fastrada, with drooping body and pale,
downcast face. Last of all, behind the whispering pages and
bower-maidens, came Liutrad, apart from the others.
Roland seated the queen and the children, as before, in his boat; but
Fastrada passed by Olvir's boat with a shudder. As she accepted Worad's
silent invitation, Hildegarde looked up and spoke half hesitatingly:
"How of--Lord Olvir?"
"Let his boat wait," suggested her brother.
"No," put in Floki, curtly.
"Why not?" demanded Roland, and he leaned toward the tall giant,
frowning.
"What use, when he has gone?" rejoined Floki.
"You 've seen him!" exclaimed Liutrad.
"Ay, lad."
"What did he say, man?" asked Worad, sharply.
Floki eyed the questioner with a cold stare; but then, smiling in a
peculiar way, he answered dryly: "The earl bade me take joy."
"Take joy!--why take joy?" asked the queen.
Floki fixed his stare upon Lupus and the drooping Fastrada, and stood
muttering to himself. But he made no response until Roland repeated the
inquiry. When he turned and saw the anxiety of both queen and count,
his look lost its coldness; but he shook his head.
"There are others here who can best answer that," he said. "If they
will not speak, go ask the earl. Ho, all! to your benches! Cast off,
men!"
Roland's troubled face darkened yet more; but, without protest, he
grasped the steer-oar of his boat. Floki stepped into the place of his
absent leader, and the boats thrust out from the shore with the saddened
merrymakers.