With guile the great one
Would they beguile.
SONG OF ATLI.
When it became known through the citadel that there would be no sorties
against the Asiamen until the coming of the Frankish host, the towers at
once were crowded with watchers, all gazing southward along the Ebro
road. But a bitter disappointment lay before the war-eager vikings.
Toward mid-afternoon there was a great stir in the Saracen quarters, and
soon all the Moslem folk of the burg--mounted and afoot, or drawn in
their heavy-laden ox-carts--began to move in a steady stream along the
streets and out through the Arga Gate. Before nightfall the last cart
had creaked over the Arga bridge, and was trailing away on the Astorga
road.
Floki was like a baited bear.
"_Hei_! ring-breaker," he grumbled; "the dogs seek a new kennel. It
must be they know the Franks are coming. Now is the time to strike the
poisoner,--now, before he slips through our fingers. He will flee
to-night on the trail of these slow-moving tradefolk."
"And what if it be a lure to draw us into the open? No, old Crane! If
the swart dogs linger till the Franks come, we will make blood-play for
them. Not now."
The last drop in the bitter cup was drained when at dawn the Saracen
spearmen were seen leisurely riding westward on the Astorga road.
Astride their swift desert coursers, they well knew their safety from
the pursuit of any kaffir force.
An hour or so after their rearguard had disappeared four thousand
Frankish horsemen came plodding north upon the Ebro road, their heavy
war-chargers so weary that they could not be spurred out of a walk.
"They have done their best," admitted Olvir, half reluctantly, and
choosing the first hundred men in the courtyard, he marched out to meet
the Franks. There was none to bar the way. The Saracens were all gone,
taking with them the Jews, and the Navarrese townfolk wisely kept out of
the path of the fierce Northerners.
But there was some delay in the Saracen quarter, where the vikings
scattered to see whether any loot was to be found in the deserted
houses. As it proved, nearly everywhere the owners had fled in such
haste that all manner of rich plunder lay ready to the hand of the first
comer.
In vain Olvir sought to recall the eager looters from their search.
Hardly a score appeared after repeated blasts of his horn; but, spurred
on by his desire to hear the tidings of the Frankish host, he advanced
with this scant following.
The delay had been considerable, and before Olvir could reach the great
archway of the burg gate a horseman on a black Arab stallion came racing
through the dark tunnel. In two leaps the splendid courser was beside
him, and Count Roland was springing from the saddle, to grasp his
shoulders.
"Brother!" the Frank almost shouted. "Brother!--you 're safe--the
poisoner did not take you unawares! We rode night and day to overtake
the traitors; but the horses of my men--Thank God, I find you safe!"
There was no resisting the heartfelt joy of the Frank. It swept away at
a breath every trace of the grievance between the friends. Olvir gazed
earnestly into the radiant eyes of his captor.
"No less am I glad to see you, brother," he said. But even at that
moment his face clouded: "I thirst for your tidings, king's kin! No
word have I heard since the host fared south,--only, the poisoner mocked
me with evil tales. What of my mother's father? Is it true he met his
fate--?"
"True, Olvir! The wretch struck him with a poisoned blade. We came
with Al Huseyn to hunt out the traitor, but found only the dying count."
"And none stopped the murderer?"
"He was already gone, brother. It was at twilight. He and his following
rode out of Saragossa before Al Huseyn could send word to the gates, and
the swart hounds burst through our beleaguering lines in the darkness.
I could not leave your dying kinsman,--and it was well. He intrusted me
with your inheritance,--this pouch of gem-stones, and a book in Arabic
script, which he said contained the wisdom of Plato, the old Greek sage.
The book is on my saddle; the gems have not left my bosom since the
noble count gave them into my charge."
Olvir took the heavy pouch, and, thrusting in his fist, drew out a
handful of flashing gems,---rubies and emeralds and sapphires.
"Here's honor to the dead!" he exclaimed, as he held out the precious
stones to Roland.
"In his honor!" replied the Frank, gravely, and he took the gift as
freely as it was offered. But as the gems rolled into his palm, he
picked out a great pearl, and handed it back to the giver.
"Keep this for the little princess, brother," he said.
"It is a gift for a bride, if it has mates," murmured Olvir.
"A fitting betrothal gift from a sea-king to a princess! Now that our
bitterness is past, only one thing is lacking to round out my happiness.
Two more years or so, and your little may--"
"Say no more, brother. That pure snow-blossom,--and I, the
bloody-fanged wolf! Not a day has gone by since I saw in her eyes--
But tell me! Is it true the poisoner rode over the king's camp?"
"I must own he told you truth. We were watching for treachery, and yet
the wily fox caught us unawares. When our smaller host came faring from
Barcelona, Count Barnard rode across the Ebro half a day in the lead,
and the king was holding war-council with him, when, in the twilight,
the pagan spearmen burst upon the royal guard. Only by good chance did I
bring up the horsemen in time to save our lord king."
"Thor! You 've not lacked sword-play. But what of Abd-er-Rahman, that
old Omyyad lion?"
"Ask the South Wind; it alone may tell you. He proved too wary a lion
to show himself within hail of the Ebro; while, for our part, with
treachery in our rear, we would have been mad to fare south into the
enemy's country."
"Treachery?"
"When we marched down the Ebro valley to Saragossa, the false vali of
the burg closed the gates against us, though the noble Al Arabi sought
to hold him to his compact. So we laid siege to the burg until Count
Barnard came with the eastern host, and the poisoner sought to slay the
king. Before that, messengers had come, by way of Narbonne and
Barnard's host, with word from Count Rudulf that the Saxons threatened
an uprising. The king at once sent Gerold and Worad Rhineward at the
head of a thousand horsemen. They took the longer but safer road by way
of Narbonne; for the whole land swarmed with the bands of our
treacherous allies."
"That I foreboded," said Olvir. "No messenger came through with
tidings."
"Small wonder! Of all our Saracen allies, your noble kinsman Al Arabi
alone kept troth. We had had enough to sicken us of the Southland
without old Rudulf's warnings. Already our host was wasting from fever
and famine, and so, as Abd-er-Rahman would not come to give us battle,
there was naught to do but to take the wergild which Vali Al Huseyn had
offered to ransom his burg. The host is already following my trail."
Olvir flung out a hand toward the south: "By Loki! a bitter warfaring
has it been for more than one. I have drunk a cup of gall; no less the
great king--"
"Gall would have been honey to him beside that bitter draught. But see;
here come my laggard riders."
"Your riders! Halt them, brother; let them camp outside the walls.
They 've already had their share of war-loot, while my men have not
fingered a penny. Ours should be the plunder of the Saracen houses."
"But the Christian townfolk--?"
"King Karl shall levy their wergild. We will not break a Christian
door. I can trust my sea-wolves even in the looting."
"It is well, brother. The horsemen shall camp outside the burg. They
shall guard the gates, but not enter," replied Roland, and, raising his
horn, he blew a ringing call to halt.
So the weary weeks of war-vigil came to an end, and few other than the
townfolk of Pampeluna grumbled at the half-week which lapsed before the
main host of the Franks, with its huge over-burdened ox-train, came
trailing out of the South.
Throughout the days of waiting the weary horsemen were well content to
lie about their camps and feast on the good fare sent out by the
luckless townfolk; while up in the citadel the vikings made exact
allotment of their Moslem loot, and in the heat of the reckless gaming
which followed forgot how they had been cooped up for months like
nun-women, and cheated of the merry sword-play.
The days of idleness, of wassail and gaming, were soon cut short. On
the morning that the main host reached Pampeluna, King Karl called the
councillors of the city before him, and told them that their burg should
no longer serve as an eyry for the treacherous Saracen hawks. He would
exact no wergild,--no ransom; but the citadel and walls of the burg
should be razed to the ground.
There was no appeal from the hard decree. Within an hour the city walls
swarmed with thousands of Frankish warriors, armed with mattock and
battering-ram. Soon the battlements were crashing down, to shatter one
upon the other.
But the task was not one to be accomplished in a day, even by hordes of
brawny Northerners. While the greater number toiled at battering down
the walls and casting the loosened stones into the Arga, others scoured
the country for miles around, levying tribute and hostages wherever they
went.
Among the first of these forays was one led by Count Hardrat in the
direction of Astorga. When he returned, he reported that no trace of
the Moslems had been found. Yet, for such a fruitless faring, he seemed
highly satisfied over its outcome, and he had no little to say apart
with the beautiful daughter of the Grey Wolf.
The nearer the time set for the homeward faring approached, the more
frequently was Hardrat to be seen with Fastrada; but as he was well
known to be a suitor for the maiden's hand, his attention aroused no
comment other than pleasant raillery.
When at last the plunder-burdened host trailed away from the dismantled
city, up the valley of the Arga, Hardrat had no other choice than to
join his command. But Kosru the Magian rode in closest attendance upon
Fastrada, up the Zubiri, and across the wooded hills, into the glen of
Roncesvalles.
That evening, as Fastrada rested with others of the court on the turf
before the royal pavilion, Hardrat approached the king's seat and knelt
haltingly to kiss his lord's knee. Karl smiled, and reached out his
hand instead.
"What would our brave count ask?" he said.
"No great favor to grant, sire, yet one upon which I have set my heart,"
answered the Thuringian, hurriedly. "Since Count Gerold left, the men of
Duke Tassilo's levy have marched at random. Among them is a warrior who
fought beside me at Pavia--"
"A small favor," replied Karl, carelessly. "You wish to command the
Bavarians. If that is all--"
"I take heart to ask a greater favor, sire. Since your Majesty put me
over the Austrasians, my command has not led the host. I have swung
sword for your Majesty in more than one hard fight."
"Your service is not forgotten. If such is your wish, you shall lead
the host back across the mountains."
Hardrat bowed, but stood hesitating.
"What more?" asked Karl. "What other favor can I grant my bold hero?"
"None other to me, sire, but one to a maiden. The daughter of Rudulf
wishes to be among the first to look out upon the northern slopes."
"There is nothing to hinder. The maiden shall have her wish."
"I thank your Majesty doubly," said the Thuringian, and he withdrew
hastily, as though he feared that the king might recall the lightly
spoken favors.
"A gruff man, but trusty," muttered Karl to Anselm, the Count Palatine,
who stood by his seat. "For all his drunkenness, there are few bolder
than my forest hero."
"That may well be, sire," rejoined Anselm, dryly. He was about to add
more, when Roland and Olvir came racing down the valley through the
twilight, Olvir mounted on a black Arab courser, the gift of his
sword-brother. The hoofs of the horses ploughed up the turf before the
king as the riders drew rein. Roland leaped off at once.
"Tidings, sire!" he cried. "I bring tidings, both good and bad. A
messenger has come through the pass; he follows with the written word."
"Speak your tidings,--the ill first. The good may sweeten the bitter."
"This, then, sire: The Saxon wolves harry the Rhine bank from Cologne to
the Moselle,--Wittikind and his wild followers. No burg or host has
checked their advance across the country of the Hessians. It is feared
that Fulda may already lie in ashes. The heathen ravage with fire and
sword, slaughtering all, even to the women and babes."
Those nearest the king heard the grinding of his teeth, and caught the
flash of his eye through the gloom. Yet he spoke in a calm voice:
"Truly, you bear bitter tidings! Give us now the sweet."
"In a word, sire, the queen is safe past her time. Two strong-limbed
king's sons await your Majesty at Casseneuil."
"And will wait long!" whispered Hardrat in the ear of Fastrada. The
girl clutched his sleeve.
"Hark to the king's answer!" she hissed.
But there was no need to strain the ear. Through the gathering night
the king's voice rang out, clear and joyful: "Ho, my liegemen, here is
honey to sweeten the sour wine! We shall taste of both. We will not
linger in the morning for the plodding oxen to overtake us. The sooner
the host crosses the pass, the quicker the wains can follow. Hardrat,
with the Austrasians and Bavarians, will march an hour before dawn.
Roland, with the horse, will wait as foreguard for the treasure and
baggage."
"With Roland before and Steward Eggihard in the rear, sire, the treasure
could not well be safer," observed Abbot Fulrad.
"There is no question of danger. It is speed we should bear in mind,"
said Karl.
"Then they must sharpen the goads, sire," remarked Roland. "The host
will be lolling about camp in the Nive valley even before Eggihard
brings his oxen within view of my waiting riders."
"There will be need, sire, to urge on the drovers," said Count Anselm.
"Give me leave to so lend aid."
"A good service, lord judge. Look to it that no pilferers lay hand on
goods or gold, to slip away into the forest. Many of the drovers are of
Vascon blood. Choose whom you wish to aid in your watch. Who comes?"
"The tidings-bearer, lord king," replied Olvir.
"So. Bring lights."
A dozen courtiers ran to fetch brands from the nearest fire. As they
returned, a gnarl-faced Vascon stepped forward in the light of their
torches, and knelt to present to the king a sealed parchment. Fulrad
took the message, and, at a sign from Karl, broke the seal. But the
king turned to the messenger, who had risen and was about to slip away.
"Hold, man," he said. "Where do you come from?"
The Vascon halted, and stood hesitating, as though he but partly
understood the question. Then he answered in a harsh voice:
"Casseneuil, Frank king."
"You have rendered good service," said Karl. "Our steward shall see to
it that you have fitting reward."
A strange smile passed across the Vascon's stolid face, like a flicker
of the torchlight, and he turned quietly away into the darkness. Olvir
caught the man's look, but then his attention was drawn by Abbot Fulrad.
"Here are three several messages, sire," observed the priest. "The
first is from Count Teutoric, who sends word that Rudulf is gone against
the Sorbs; that the Saxons are ravaging in the Rhinegau, and that he is
marching against them with all speed from the Frisian Mark. Below, in
Worad's hand, is word that he and Gerold had met the messenger near
Soissones, and would press on with utmost haste to levy warriors and
attack the rebels. Last of all, word noted at Casseneuil, that the
queen is safely delivered of twin sons, alike unblemished and vigorous."
"Praised be the Holy Mother!" murmured Karl, and for a while he sat
musing, his face aglow with love and tender pride.
The songs of his distant warriors, who were celebrating their last night
on the southern slope of the mountains by a wassail-feast, presently
aroused the king. He glanced up at the waiting ring of lords, and
signed to Anselm and Abbot Fulrad.
"Come within," he said. "Let wax tapers be brought, and send for my
Dane scribe Liutrad."
Roland sprang back into the saddle and rode with Olvir across the valley
to where Rothada sat in a ring of torches, surrounded by a little court
of the younger courtiers. Liutrad, though by no means willing, ran to
do the king's bidding, while the merry companions he left behind fell
suddenly silent with the coming of the high-counts. But Rothada welcomed
with delight both her kinsman and Olvir, and when the war-famed heroes
showed a willingness to lay aside their dignity and join in the games,
all was soon merry again with the court of the king's daughter.