CHAPTER XXVIII

Of fourteen winters was I,

If thou listeth to wot,

When I swore to the young lord

Oaths of love.

HEL-RIDE OF BRYNHILD.

"Ho, there! Can this be Niflheim? Why is my voice so weak? I cannot

lift my arm. If this is the under-world, I would look upon the blue and

white face of Hel. Ho, there! Who hearkens to Olvir, son of

Thorbiorn?"

"Peace, ring-breaker! You 're yet in Manheim," croaked a well-known

voice. "When Olvir Elfkin goes hence, Odin, not Hel, shall claim his

spirit. Now lie still, for a blood-fire has burned within your skull

these twelve days gone."

"Faul! I 've dreamt dreams of ill omen. What tidings of the Wolf

Duke?"

"He hangs in chains with his namesake. Before the Frank could strike,

Asiamen and fell-folk had fled to safety with their bloody spoil. But

Liutrad and I took the traitor earl even as he was flying from his burg.

Short shrift did the Frank give him. Eight nights he has ridden on the

tree."

Olvir uttered a hollow laugh: "Then this night he should be wise as

Odin."

"Thor!" cried Floki; "that is a welcome laugh. Now shall you surely

live."

"I laugh with a sore heart. What of my brother?"

"They build him a hero's mound in the dewy valley."

"Would that I might see it!"

"That you shall, ring-breaker, when your strength comes again. Yours is

the right to ward the hero's mound and to seek vengeance upon his

slayers. For listen, son of Thorbiorn: When the king fared north,

though you yet lay as a dying man, he named you Earl of the Vascon Mark.

From Toulouse to Bordeaux, from the Garonne to the Pyrenees, you are

earl and hersir. The sons of Lupus are borne off to the king's hall.

Where the Wolf Duke ruled, you rule."

"Earl--of the Vascon Mark!" muttered Olvir. "Now, by Thor, if the men

stay by me--"

"All stay but Liutrad."

"Liutrad! I 'd have thought him the last after you--"

"The king's will, earl. The Frank is minded to do well by the lad. For

his good and the pleasure of the king, you will not forbid. The king

looks only to your welfare. While we raced away to take thrall the Wolf

Duke, the king put you in the care of Kosru, that outland warlock. The

man's own head was in pledge against your death. Between his wizardry

and the care of the little vala, Hel's hand was thrust back from you.

But now that you grasp firmly at life again, Liutrad should be faring

away north, to return the old warlock to the king's household, and to

bear back the little vala to the nun-women at Chelles, whence she came."

"To the cloister,--to the pale nun-women! By Loki! that shall not be;

she shall not become one of that crew--I--"

"Settle that with the maiden," rejoined Floki, and he slipped softly

from the room.

"He has gone--he has left me alone!" exclaimed Olvir, and, in his great

weakness, he could have wept. But then a little maiden came darting

across the room and knelt to clasp his wasted hands.

"Rothada--little may!" he cried. "What's this I hear? You go to the

cloister?"

"Back to Gisela and the blessed sisters, Lord Olvir. My heart aches with

this terrible world-life. I cannot bear the hatred and cruelties of it

all. I seek peace where my mother died."

"You shall not stay,--you shall not stay for all time! Bend lower,

king's daughter--little vala with eyes like dewy violets!--lower yet,

till your lips press upon mine. So; bravely done, sweetheart! Now lay

your arm about my neck, and promise me--by your tress which I wore, by

my ring on your hand--you will not take the cloister vows, but will

wait--let the time be long or brief--you will wait my coming!"

Obediently Rothada clasped her arms about the young sea-king's neck, and

with her face hidden close against his tangled red-gold hair she

answered him softly: "I promise, Olvir."

BOOK TWO

Surely know I

No love like your love

Among all men

On the mould abiding!

LAY OF GUDRUN.

CHAPTER I

He waxed under welkin in worth and honor

till the folk around him, far and near,

... hearkened to him.

BEOWULF.

Four long years had come and gone, and at last the dreaded loss had

fallen upon the common folk of Vascon Land. The rule of the young Dane

count, who from the first had dispensed a justice throughout his mark as

keen and as bright as his Saracen sword, had come to an end. The king

had at last given way to the request of Olvir, whose followers had

become unutterably wearied of the small pleasure to be gained in hunting

out thieves and lawless lords; and that he might do honor to his loyal

liegemen, Karl had sent as special _missi_ Abbot Fulrad and Count Gerold

to take over the mark.

After the ceremony the _missi_ had journeyed on to Toulouse to place the

rulership in the hands of Count William, for he was the guardian of

Louis, the survivor of the royal twins born at Casseneuil, whom Karl, a

year since, had caused the Pope to anoint as King of Aquitania.

When they came sailing back down the Garonne from Toulouse, the _missi_

found the five longships of the Norse fleet lying moored at Bordeaux,

all newly refitted and scraped and painted, in readiness for the voyage

north. So it chanced that the two Franks had clear proof of the nature

of Olvir's rule; for the quays of the city swarmed with townfolk who had

come to bewail the departure of their just count.

"Ah, Olvir," cried Abbot Fulrad, as they boarded the Raven, "our lord

king did well to keep you here in the South all these years. I doubt if

the _missi_ will bring such satisfying reports of William's rule."

"There will be some who will not grieve at my going," answered Olvir,

meaningly. But the smile left his firm lips as he turned to gaze at the

sorrowful crowds on the quays. Gerold, who came and stood beside the

Northman, had lost little of his old-time boyishness; but Olvir's dark

face was marked by the lines of rulership and shadowed by habitual

thought. Floki could have told the curious guests that during the past

two years his earl had spent no small part of his time in poring over

the runes of the White Christ and the strange book of the Asiamen which

Count Roland had brought to his foster-brother with the gem-pouch, out

of Saragossa.

As the Raven at last cast off from the moorings and glided away down the

Gironde in stately lead of the fleet, Olvir waved his hand to the

weeping townfolk, and turned quietly to Abbot Fulrad.

"Liutrad has written fully of your bitter Saxon war," he said. "The

heroes have met on the stricken field. Again you have beaten Wittikind

back into the North, and men say that the war has been fought to a

glorious end. Yet I have lain here in the South with sheathed sword,

and--do not grieve."

"You may well say that, my son!" exclaimed Fulrad. "Far nobler are the

victories of peace than war-won fame. If you have lost the wild joy of

battle, you have gained the love of the folk you ruled, and a

happiness--"

"Love and happiness? Ay; but not the love and happiness for which I

long," sighed Olvir, and his hand went to the double strand of chestnut

hair clasped around his throat. "Listen, Father Fulrad. Liutrad once

wrote that he had told you of my betrothal. It was a secret which

promised me joy; but it has brought me sorrow instead. Through all

these years I have sent message after message to my little may, ever

faithful to my pledge, ever longing for a word of love in answer. But

she is silent,--she has forgotten me in your cold cloisters."

"Forgotten!" cried Gerold, in protest. But Fulrad made a hasty sign to

him to be silent, and answered Olvir gravely: "Be patient, my son. Much

may chance in so long a time. The maiden was yet a child. None can say

whether or not she has forgotten you. However that may be, bear in mind

that you have won high favor in the king's eye. That alone should give

you joy."

"Nor have you altogether lacked the joy of battle, Olvir," added Gerold.

"Liutrad has told me how, at the very first, you searched out the

mountain Vascons in their fastnesses, and avenged the death of Roland."

"Vengeance? I found little joy in that. There was more in the finding

of Ironbiter, my brother's sword, which he flung among the swart

Saracens, and which Floki took from a dying Vascon. I 'd had enough of

blood."

"No need to tell us, my son, how you turned to the arts of peace. You

have ruled with wisdom; you have tempered justice with mercy. Few

counts give heed to the welfare of those they rule. You, not content

with the administration of justice, have aided the landfolk out of your

own treasure. The Lombards whom you brought in have shown the folk

better methods of tillage, and I hear that our own men have sought to

teach the rude shipwrights of Bordeaux your Norse art of shipbuilding.

Our lord king will not soon forget such deeds."

"If he approve them, why, then, does he deal so harshly with the

Saxons?" demanded Olvir, with sudden heat. "No Frank pays the tithe he

has put upon the forest-folk. He has taken away their cherished

freedom, and saddled them with stern laws that will goad them to

revolt."

"No, no, lad; only to crush out their stubborn heathenism."

"A sight for the heathen fiend-gods!--a world-hero priest-ridden!"

"Saint Michael, no, Olvir!" cried Gerold, and he burst into a boyish

laugh. "You 'd not say that had you been with us in Rome. Listen! It

is now some five years since one of the learned deacons found a

parchment, under seal by the Kaiser Constantine, whom men call the

Great, giving to the Holy Father the title to Rome and all Italy. Yet

our lord king set aside the claim, and, as you know, caused the Holy

Father to crown little Carloman as King of Italy, under the name of

Pepin."

"By Thor! those are good tidings. I had not heard that part of the

tale, though I heard of the crowning of the bairns. William of Toulouse

saw to that. The short-nosed count wrote to me, in the name of King

Louis of Aquitania, demanding aid in his war against the Saracens. I

sent back word that the Count of the Vascon Mark was not the man of any

bairn or of any bairn's nurse."

"We heard of that sending, Olvir, even in the Saxon Mark," said Gerold.

"William did not trouble you the second time."

"No; but the shrewd Neustrian waited his chance, as you know. And now,

by Thor, I'm done with all that. Like my sea-wolves, I 've sickened of

this mild Southland. Ho for the gritting snow and the icy breath of the

frost-giant!" and the sea-king thrust over the Raven's tiller to steer

out into the open sea.

The voyage Rhineward was very boisterous for the season, and Abbot

Fulrad spent much of his time on a cot beneath the Raven's quarter-deck.

But Gerold proved himself a better sailor, and after the second day was

able to keep his place with Olvir beside the tiller. Standing thus,

with the noble ship beneath him racing at the head of the fleet, Gerold

could not only comprehend, but could share in the Northman's keen

enjoyment of the whistling gale and the high-leaping waves. He felt, as

few landsmen might, the wild fascination of the viking life.

But when Olvir began to talk of Trondheim Fiord and the joys of a home

visit, Gerold quickly sought to turn his thoughts back to the honors and

friendships he had won in Frank Land. The king was eager to see his

Dane hawk, and it was not right for Olvir to delay for even a short

visit in the North. What might he not expect of the king's favor, when

Worad, who was not half so learned, had been raised to the judgment-seat

of the Count Palatine? Then there was Liutrad, beloved of all in the

king's hall, and one of the foremost pupils in Alcuin's School of the

Palace,--ah, yes, Alcuin! Surely Olvir would be eager to meet the famed

Anglo-Saxon scholar, whom the king had at last induced to come to his

court.

To all this Olvir listened with a cold ear. But when, having vainly

tried to arouse interest by tales of Fastrada's unsuccessful suitors,

and of her reputed dabblings in witchcraft with the Magian leech Kosru,

Gerold at last gained leave of Fulrad to tell how the king had finally

yielded to the wish of Hildegarde, and bidden Rothada to leave the

Convent of Chelles, in which she had so long secluded herself, he struck

the right note to stir his companion. He had then only to add the rumor

that the king's purpose in compelling the presence of the daughter of

Himiltrude was to betroth her to some outland king.

Here were tidings which touched Olvir to the quick. From the moment he

heard them he was aflame to reach the Rhine and the hall of Karl. He

might have been willing to forgo the king's favor; but the possibility

of Rothada--the little vala--being betrothed to another roused all the

tender love and affection which he felt toward the maiden, and

intensified that love tenfold by a single touch of jealousy.

His should be the king's daughter, if it were within the power of man to

win her! The thought that the king planned to give her to another

stirred him to deepest anger, which, when it left his heart, gave place

to a great longing to see again the little maiden's violet eyes and pure

young face.

And so, while the Raven drove on up the stormy channel, the sea-king no

longer saw rising before him the iron cliffs of old Norway. In his

thoughts were now pictured the quiet convent garden of Chelles, and in

that garden, walking among the roses with Gisela, his little may,

sweeter than ever, and no longer a child.

CHAPTER II

It is marvel

And the red blood

Runs not as the rain

Runs in the street.

FINNESBURH.

When at last the gale-driven fleet sighted the dune shores of the old

Rhine Mouth, and the ships steered in across the bar, no time was lost

in beginning the ascent of the river. From a passing Frisian trader,

the crews learned that war had broken out anew in Saxon Land; and after

such tidings there was no need to urge the viking oarsmen to their

benches whenever, in rounding the wide bends of the stream, the breeze

chanced to come ahead. Olvir was not more eager than were they to reach

Mayence, where both Abbot Fulrad and Gerold thought they might now look

to find Karl and the court. When the _missi_ started south, the king was

about to leave for Aix, to enjoy the warm baths, and plan the building

of the grand palace and the domchurch, which were so long to commemorate

his reign. By this time, however, he should have returned to the

Rhinegau, to urge on the construction of the new palace of Ingleheim.

But as the fleet lay to for provisions at the great stone bridge of

Constantine, which spanned the Rhine at Cologne, the monks of Saint

Martin of the Isle brought full account of the bloody disaster at

Sunthal, to avenge which Karl the King had a month since gathered a

great host and swept north into Saxon Land.

The various stories of the battle, though contradictory on many points,

all agreed as to the main outline. The Sorbs, taking advantage of the

fact that the grim Count Rudulf lay at Fulda helpless from the goring of

a wild boar, had stirred up trouble in their mark. To quiet them, Karl

had levied a host, under the command of Count Worad, the High Marshal

Gilo, and Adalgis the Chamberlain, and had unwisely added to the host a

contingent of Saxons.

In the midst of the forest these Saxons had deserted and fled across

Eastphalia, to join the great war-earl Wittikind, who had once more

returned from Denmark with fire and sword. Following the deserters to

the Weser, the Franks came upon a small host under the command of Count

Teutoric of the Frisian Mark, who had counselled that all should join in

a united attack on the Saxon camp.

But the jealous counts planned secretly to make the attack without the

famed kinsman of the king. Thinking to overwhelm the Saxons by the

impetuosity of their assault, they had rushed upon the Saxon war-hedges

in wildest disorder; only to be caught by the crafty Wittikind as

Herman, his great predecessor, had trapped the Roman Varus. The greater

part of the Frankish host, including Adalgis, Gilo, and twenty counts,

had been slaughtered, and Count Worad had barely managed to bring three

hundred warriors out of the ambush.

After such tidings there was no longer holding the vikings in check.

The ships were at once left in charge of a scanty ship-watch, and with

the swiftness of a mounted levy the vikings swept north from the Rhine

toward the Saxon Mark.

But near the Ruhr a rumor reached the eager band that the king was now

at Fulda; and Olvir, at the urgent request of Abbot Fulrad, turned aside

toward the monastery.

The march to Fulda across the war-trampled fields of Hesse was taken far

more leisurely than the rush from the Rhine. The vikings had little

heart for turning aside, and there was much grumbling among them at

being cheated of the merry sword-play. Even at their slower pace,

however, the third day found them close upon their journey's end, where

they were fated to hear that which should cool the blood-fever of the

grimmest berserk in their number.

Marching through the wild beech forest, the Norse band came upon Fulda

late in the day. They found the half-cleared groves around the

monastery filled with the booths of the Frankish host, and everywhere,

by scores and by hundreds, the leathern-jerkined warriors were to be

seen cooking their evening meal, or seated in groups to eat.

It was the time of day when the men of a victorious host should have

broken into song and merriment. But a hush lay upon the Frankish camp,

and the faces of the less brutal among the warriors bore the gloomy look

of defeated men.

Uneasy with forebodings of evil, Abbot Fulrad spurred on to the

monastery to see the king, and Gerold rode with him. Confident in the

speed of Zora to overtake them, Olvir waited to direct the arrangement

of the viking camp; but a quarrel between two berserks delayed him

longer than he had intended. He had at last pacified the angry men, and

was about to spring upon Zora, when Liutrad Erlingson came galloping

through the wood, afire with eagerness to greet his beloved earl.

Leaping from the saddle, he flung his arms about Olvir and held him

fast, too overjoyed to speak.

Olvir met the bear-like hug with a grip that forced the breath from the

broad chest of his captor, and then, slipping eel-like from the massive

arms, he stepped back to view the young giant.

Like Gerold, Liutrad had not yet lost all his boyishness of look and

bearing. His blue eyes lacked none of their old-time frankness, and his

ruddy face still showed to the world the kindly spirit which dwelt

within. Yet across his forehead was drawn a newly creased line, and

there was a look in his eyes which even his joy at the meeting could not

altogether hide.

"How now, son of Erling?" demanded Olvir. "Have the Christian priests

taken the heart from your breast? You look as do these moody Franks.

Has the whole Christian host seen a bloody guardian-sprite?"

"Ah, Christ! do not speak of blood!" cried Liutrad, and he threw up his

arm before his eyes.

"Read me the riddle, then," rejoined Olvir. "I wait."

"Would that another might tell that tale, ring-breaker! Holy Mother! I

see all again,--the bloody swords, the headless slain splashing into the

Aller!"

"Thor!" muttered Olvir. "I had yet to learn that Christians could

sicken at thought of sword-play."

"Sword-play! sword-play!" echoed Liutrad. "It was no sword-play, earl;

it was slaughter."

"Out with it, lad. You speak in riddles."

"Yet it seems to me, earl, that the wide world must have thundered with

the tidings. But listen. When the king in his wrath swept north

through Saxon Land, Wittikind fled back again to Nordmannia, and all the

forest-dwellers stooped beneath the heel of the Frank. At Verden, on

the Aller, the king called before him the earls and eldormen of the

Saxon folk. They came in a multitude, crying out against Wittikind, who

had stirred them to take up the sword, and submitted themselves humbly

to the will of the king. Some were thrust forward by their fellows, and

many more stood out of themselves to meet, as leaders of the revolt, the

expected doom. But the king was in no mood to content himself with so

small a vengeance. The blood-mist was before his eyes,--he was maddened

by the harrying of the forest-wolves. Of all the high-born

Saxons,--four thousand and more earls and eldormen,--not one was spared.

In a single day the heads of all were hewn off and their bodies cast

into the Aller. The stream flowed red into the Weser,--God grant I soon

forget that sight!"

Again Liutrad flung up his arm before his eyes, and stood shuddering.

Olvir waited, silent and seemingly calm; but the lines about his mouth

drew tense, and his dark eyes gazed past Liutrad into vacancy.

When the son of Erling dropped his arm, Olvir turned on his heel,

without a word, and started to lead Zora back to his tent.

"Stay, earl!" exclaimed Liutrad. "The king will be waiting to welcome

you."

"He may wait," answered Olvir, very quietly, and he kept on until lost

to view beneath the striped viking tilt from which fluttered his starred

banner.

When Liutrad, after greeting Floki and the crews, presently ventured to

peer into Olvir's tent, he saw him seated beside a torch, alternately

reading marked passages in a pair of use-worn books. One of the books

was new to Liutrad, both in binding and script; but the other he at once

recognized as Otkar Jotuntop's Greek Gospels. At his cry of surprise,

Olvir bade him enter and be seated, and then resumed his reading; but

now he read aloud.

CHAPTER III

Too baleful vengeance

Wroughtest thou.

WHETTING OF GUDRUN.

Vainly did Karl the King look that night for the coming of his Dane

hawk. Neither Olvir nor Liutrad stirred from the viking camp. Nor did

they go out in the morning until the king sent Gerold to call Olvir

before him.

Though the bidding was worded in terms of heartiest praise, and though

Gerold spoke it with the delight of one who sees a beloved friend about

to attain the highest honors, Floki alone heard the message with

pleasure. Liutrad turned quickly to his earl, with a troubled look, as

though he dreaded some rash outburst. But his dread was baseless. Olvir

showed neither delight nor anger. As quietly as he had led Zora back to

the tent the evening before, he now called for the mare, and rode off to

do the king's bidding.

Very shortly the three riders came to the monastery gates and entered

the great courtyard. At the door of the hospice they leaped off, and,

without pausing to exchange greeting with the counts who stood about the

yard, turned at once to enter. As they passed through the doorway,

Olvir stepped before his companions and gazed up the long guest-hall.

Beyond the square of white light which poured down through the

roof-hole, he perceived a group of men in the semi-gloom at the far end

of the room. The king stood with his back to the entrance; but Olvir

knew him at once by his powerful figure and the stateliness of his

bearing.

Then, in turn, he made out Abbot Fulrad and Count Hardrat, old Rudulf of

the Sorb Mark, and Baugulf, who had been chosen abbot in the year 780,

when the venerable Sturm departed this life. There was one other

present,--a stooped, thin-faced priest, unknown to Olvir.

The three young warriors had hardly crossed the threshold when Rudulf's

slit eyes caught sight of them. At his guttural exclamation, Karl faced

about and peered down the hall. In a moment he had recognized Olvir by

the brightness of his mail, and was advancing with swift strides to meet

him. The counts and priests followed, Rudulf supported between the two

abbots.

Olvir and the king met in the full light beneath the roof-hole. The

Northman's face was pale and stern, and as he halted, he raised his hand

in formal salute. But Karl gave no heed to this coldness. His great

hands clasped Olvir by the shoulders, and he stood beaming down into the

young man's hard-set face.

"Greeting! greeting to my just steward,--to my bright Dane!" he cried.

"We grieve that you no longer rule over the folk of Vascon Land; but

greater is our joy to welcome you in our presence."

Olvir quivered beneath the royal praise as though he had been struck,

and his face flushed hotly. But, curbing his anger, he gazed direct

into the king's eyes and answered with cold deliberation: "For whatever

I have done, lord king, I have been repaid in full. Once the praise of

the King of the Franks would have tasted sweet in my mouth; now gall is

not more bitter."

A cry of amazement burst from the lips of the priests and counts, and

Karl himself stepped back, frowning and bewildered.

"How now, Olvir?" he demanded. "What riddle is this?"

"A simple one, lord king. I 've had my fill of Christian ways. I would

be faring over the whale-road, to a land where even the mad berserk

slaughters only in the heat of battle."

"_Heu_! _heu_! down with the traitor!" shouted Rudulf and Hardrat in a

breath, and the red-faced count tore his sword from its sheath. But

Karl, with a sweeping side-stroke, like the blow of a lion's paw, met

Hardrat's forward spring, and flung him sprawling upon the rushes.

For a little, while the others stood staring, some flushed and

indignant, others pale with anxiety for their outland friend, Karl gazed

down upon the Northman, his broad chest slowly heaving beneath his

folded arms. Presently the look of half-angry wonderment which had

seamed his face with deep lines gave place to a calm like that of his

daring reproacher. He extended his hand, and replied to Olvir, not as

the over-lord of half Europe to his retainer, but as man to man.

"Friend," he said with simple dignity, "you charge me with cold

slaughter. God judge if I was cold! Had I not looked upon a harried

land,--upon desecrated churches, upon priests and monks of God, helpless

women and babes tortured with fiendish cruelty? Cold! My reproach is

that I doomed the murderous traitors while wrath inflamed my soul.

However stern the judgment, the judge should not speak in anger. That

alone I regret."

"Whether the sword fell in anger or in coldness, what Christian can

justify such a slaying?" rejoined Olvir.

"Upon my head be it!" answered Karl, firmly. "If I have done wrong,

mine is the retribution. But by the King of Heaven, I swear, I stand

here with a clear conscience. Listen, Olvir. Your wits are keen as

your sword; you have eyes. You shall look into my heart and see what I

have set before me as the aim of my lifework. If when you have looked,

you would still be faring, I shall not urge you to stay."

"Beware, lord king," growled Rudulf. "Would you tell the riddles of

your kingcraft into the ears of this heathen Dane?"

"Silence, old wolf!" commanded Karl. "Who has better proved his

trustiness than the Count of Vascon Land? But your warning comes in

good season. I speak with Count Olvir alone."

Hushed by the rebuke, all silently withdrew with the Grey Wolf to where

Hardrat stood brooding over his humiliation. When they were beyond

ear-shot, Karl turned to the Northman, his face aglow with inward light.

"Again, Olvir, I call you friend," he began. "It is a precious word in

the heart of a king; for it is seldom he can so name any man. I bear in

mind how even at the first, at Casseneuil, you uttered words that were

bitter, yet wholesome. I were a witling if I failed to value at the

full one who has proved himself a just ruler,--one who dares speak his

heart's thought in the face of a king, recking nothing of the king's

disfavor. In all my realm I can name only two such men,--yonder deacon,

whom men call Alcuin the Scholar, and yourself."

"He--Alcuin of York?"

"The Northumbrian. Why have I drawn the pale student from his island

home, and made him gift of abbeys and lands? Be sure it is not alone

that he is learned and the priests of my realm are unlearned,--not alone

that he shall be a light to illumine the night of our ignorance. Rather

is it that he, like yourself, Olvir, is a man who puts truth first and

the king second. Therefore I have honored him, and therefore I shall

honor you. I shall do for you that which tears my very heart-strings.

The day when you bow to our Lord Christ in baptism, that day I will

betroth to you Rothada, my daughter."

Abruptly Karl paused and looked at the Northman. Olvir stood staring,

half-dazed. He had steeled himself to meet reproach, anger, even

flattery; but this mode of attack was unforeseen. All too clearly he

realized the full meaning of the king's words; he had only to comply,

and honors, power, riches, love, the little vala,--all were his. A deep

flush reddened his dark face; his eyes sank before the king's kindly

smile, and for a while he stood speechless. But then the flush faded

from his cheeks, and he looked up, calm as before, and his eyes glowing

with a strange light.

"My lord king has honored me with his praise," he said. "Yet he bids me

stay, not because he has justified the bloody deed of Verden, but

because by staying I may win a bride. It is a tempting offer. Were the

maiden here before me, I doubt if I should have strength to withstand

it; and then your Majesty would be certain loser. Should I sell my

truth, even at such a price, the king's truthful friend would be farther

away than Trondheim Fiord."

Karl studied the speaker with a steady gaze, and at the end smiled in

keenest satisfaction.

"I have not wittingly tempted you, Olvir," he replied. "It was in no

sense as a bargain that I spoke of Rothada. Yet I rejoice at this added

proof of your worth. Listen now to the aim of my statecraft. If I do

not justify my ways in your sight, I bid you God-speed."

"Do not believe, sire, that I long to go. I can value at its true worth

the friendship of one whom I know to be a world-hero, and--and I have

not forgotten my little may."

"Friendship and maiden,--both shall be yours, Olvir, if my tongue can

make clear what is in my heart. You charge me with slaughter. The King

of Heaven is my witness whether I wage war for blood. If I seek

dominion, I seek it for the good of men and the fulfilment of God's

will. Were you not a heathen, I would bid you read that grand

writing,--Augustine's 'City of God.'"

"As to Christian writings, sire, I am content with the words of the

White Christ," replied Olvir.

Karl gazed fixedly at the Northman, his brows gathered in deep thought.

"I wish that you had read Augustine's 'City,'" he repeated. "It would

make plain to you the course of my statecraft. But it seems that I must

light the way myself. First, I would have you look at the world through

my eyes. If yours then see a difference, I ask you to tell me. Now let

us gaze out upon the wide world, Olvir. What do we see in the

East?--that vast giant of the past, the Empire of the East Romans,

within a hundred years shorn of Egypt and Africa, of Armenia and Syria,

by the fiery Saracens, before whose attacks the Christian Marks still

crumble and wane. Look to the South,--that same pagan horde, winners

and still fast holders of nine parts of the Christian Goth realm. Look

to the Northeast,--hordes of savage Wends and Avars, waiting only a new

Attila to sweep Europe with a second Hunnic harrying. Does my Dane hawk

see?"

"I see, lord king."

"Then look beyond Rhine Stream, into the forests whence came Burgundians

and Lombards, Allemanni and Bavarians, and my own folk, the tribes of

the Franks. I have heard told the great story of the past,--how, one

and then another, the wild hordes of the North came swarming from their

forests, to crush and trample the Western Empire. They slew the priests

of Holy Church, and trampled under foot all learning and goodness and

art, until God, in His grace, bent Clovis the Merwing to His will."

"A word, lord king. I, too, have heard how the free forest-folk broke

the sway of the subtle Romans. Who looks for praise on the lips of his

foe? Bear in mind, sire, those who wrote the tale. Were not the

scribes Romans? And what destruction of good could there be, when their

own scribes who went before told how the realm was tainted throughout

with utter foulness? The heathen warriors of the forest at least

honored women and truth, and were free men. If, through contact with

the Christian Romans, they forgot those traits--"

"Stay a little, lad. Is the Frank more false, more impure than the

Saxon?"

"If Otkar spoke truth, lord king, the Saxons are purer than the Franks,

and they are free; while in Frank Land I see a race of free men fast

sinking into thraldom. As to the falseness of the Saxon, has not the

forest-dweller learned the use of lies from across Rhine Stream?"

"My faith, you strike hard! But whether or no I give assent to that, it

matters little. At the least, the heathen hosts of old-time shattered

the peace and order of Rome. Where was peace, came war; where was

safety, came peril. Order was swept away, and confusion reigned; and

still it reigns throughout the Western World. But--listen, Olvir--I

have set for myself the task of bringing again the old-time peace and

order. Within my kingdom and upon my borders, where men are now given

over to brute lust and murder, they shall learn to bend to just laws.

Count and bishop, abbot and judge, free man and slave,--all hearts shall

enshrine the image of our Lord Christ!"

Flushed with self-aroused ardor, Karl looked inquiringly at his

stern-faced listener.

Olvir was staring straight before him, intent on the words of the royal

speaker. It was evident that his doubts were not yet satisfied, and so,

after a moment's pause, Karl spoke on: "What more need I say, Olvir?

You have seen how the heathen hedge in my kingdom on three sides,--how

within my borders the mass of my own folk drag upon my skirts with the

weight of their ignorance and sinful living. Even I must at times bend

and smile,--must swallow the gibe, and stoop to some landed lordling

whose benefice was bestowed upon his father by my father, yet which he

now makes pretence of holding by the new and unlawful claim of heritage.

Does the son of Thorbiorn believe that I am one to eat with pleasure a

dish so seasoned? Yet I smile and bide my time. My thought is other

than of kingly dignity. Before all else I have set my task to bring

about peace and order and enlightenment; and there, by God's grace,

shall it stand, until my realm has passed out of the night of ignorance

into the full day of bright learning,--until justice reigns throughout

my kingdom, as for these four years past it has reigned in Vascon Land."

"By Thor!" cried Olvir, "now do I see! You, sire, are even such a king

as was sought by Socrates the Greek,--a golden king, a king who loves

wisdom."

"I have heard of that Greek. You shall tell me of his words another

time. Now I seek to justify my deeds. Already you give praise, yet I

will speak further. Weigh well what I have said,--the task I would work

out; the dangers I must withstand. I have not named all which threaten

my realm. There is yet another looming in the future,--one which I

should have no need to name to you. Beyond the forests and fens of Saxon

Land I see rising a cloud black with menace to Christendom. Am I blind,

my Dane hawk? Have I not watched with a heedful eye the bearing of your

sea-wolves? Have I not measured in battle the shock of those fierce

warriors who follow Wittikind from Sigfrid's realm? Your folk are at

home both on land and sea. Where your own ships have come, others will

follow, and there will not always be king's daughters to turn their

crews from harrying. I foresee a great peril in the North. My sons

will have enough to defend the long coast lines of Neustria and Frisia,

without the open door of a heathen Saxon land for your wild Dane folk to

enter. Therefore I press upon the rebellious Saxons with my whole power,

that I may crush out the last spark of their savagery and heathenism. I

have been mild,--I have sought to win them by kindness. But they have

rebelled many times, and, not content with bowing to their fiend-gods,

they have harried my borders with fire and sword. Must I then forgo

vengeance because the oath-breakers come before me to seek pardon, their

hands yet red with the blood of priests and babes? No, by the King of

Heaven! I have wreaked fitting vengeance upon the murderers. Once for

all time I have crushed the forest-wolves. Now, what says my bright

Dane?"

Olvir stood silent for a while, tapping the jewelled hilt of Al-hatif.

Then he answered deliberately: "I have weighed well your words, sire,

and now wish to remain your liegeman. Already I knew you a world-hero;

you have proved yourself yet more,--a king who seeks first the welfare

of his people. Yet do not mistake me, lord king. Though, in the eyes

of men, your task and the ruthless harrying by your foe may justify that

bloody deed, I still hold that nowhere can you find justification in the

words of the White Christ. Yet more, I hold that by this deed you have

also failed in kingcraft."

"How then?" demanded Karl. "If it cow the forest-wolves, there will be

more saved in blood and woe--"

"But will it daunt those sons of Odin?" broke in Olvir. "The Saxon is

no soft Aquitanian or Romanized Lombard. Does the she-wolf run when her

young are struck? Rather, she turns and rends the hunter. So shall the

forest-dwellers rush to attack you."

"God forbid! If such be the fruit of Verden, I will freely own myself

at fault. But such shall not be. The stiff-necked heathen are broken.

And now, enough of that which is past. I again hold you to be what you

have proved yourself these four years gone,--a friend and a helper in my

lifework."

"I cannot pledge my followers, lord king. They are free vikings, not

henchmen. They may go, or they may stay. But I can pledge myself. In

the days to come, it will be fair cause for boasting that one has had a

hand with Karl the King in the uplifting of men."

"True, lad; and I welcome your learning and keen wit even as I welcome

the wisdom of yonder scholar. Ho, Brother Alcuin, come forward with

your fellows! Come, greet my bright Dane!"

At the bidding, the thin-faced deacon advanced before the counts and

abbots and saluted Olvir gravely.

"In the name of our Lord Christ," he said, "I greet joyfully the high

earl who in deed, if not in word, has ruled his earldom as a true

Christian."

"Yet I am no Christian," answered Olvir. "The sayings of the White

Christ are hard to live. I follow such as lie within my strength. In

time I may gain strength to follow more; but he who has been reared to

manhood with a bared sword in his hand is slow to forget the joy of

battle. At the least, I shall never fetter the wit which God has given

me, nor stoop from my freedom to the yoke of your church. If you

Christian priests can read the words of the White Christ, so can I. But

I would not contend. You have come with the lamp of learning to lighten

the gloom of our lord king's broad realm. I rejoice with him at your

coming, and whatever of power lies within me, I give it freely and

gladly in aid of the good work."

"Young man," interposed Abbot Baugulf, "before you offer your aid, you

should first seek to know whether such would be acceptable in the sight

of God. Has He need of heretics to do His holy work? We hope the

charge may prove untrue; but I grieve to say that many times word has

come from the Southland of how you made a scoff of Holy Church, and of

the first bishop of Christ's fold, His Holiness the Pope; how, with

sacrilegious force, you went so far as to drag from holy sanctuary--from

the very altar of God's temple--one who had thrown himself upon the

mercy of our Heavenly Father."

"That is a lie, lord abbot," answered Olvir, coolly. "I and my men sat

down around the church, and after a time the slayer crept out to meet

his doom. If one may not enter a wrongdoer's house to force out the

guilty owner, much less should one force the nithing from God's house.

I did not break sanctuary; you have given ear to a lie."

"Lie or not, it would be fitting for you first to bow to the vicar of

our Lord Christ before you thrust yourself into Christ's service."

"Brother," interposed Fulrad, "what do we eat,--the kernel or the husk?

The learned Alcuin has spoken of Count Olvir's righteous deeds in Vascon

Land; you speak of the false tales sent out by those who sought to

withstand the justice of their lawful ruler. Count Gerold and myself

have searched closely into the affairs of the Vascon Mark. I need only

mention the year of famine, when Count Olvir sold a fourth of the gems

of his Saracen treasure, and gave the price in alms to the poor of his

mark. He may be unorthodox in name, but his deeds were surely

Christian."

"If Father Fulrad speaks for peace, I will also seek to curb my tongue,"

said Olvir.

"And none shall goad you, my son. We will stand together in good acts,

and avoid the strife of tongues."

"My bright Dane is free to speak at all times," interposed Karl,

quickly. "None the less, the thought is good. Our searchings for truth

shall be without bitterness. The land is now at peace, and we go to

Thionville, to set about the great task of order and learning."

"God speed the good work!" cried Abbot Baugulf, and all around echoed

the prayer.

CHAPTER IV

Green go the ways

Toward the hall of Guiki,

That the fates show forth

To those who fare thither;

There the rich king

Reareth a daughter.

LAY OF REGIN.

The most subtle courtiership could not have gained for Olvir half the

honors which his bold stand for truth had won for him by confirming the

esteem and friendship of the king. But Karl, like all great leaders,

looked for unstinted service in turn for unstinted honors. And so it

was that even before the Frankish host moved Rhineward, he singled out

the young Northman to go with Gerold and Abbot Fulrad as special _missi_

to Italy.

To Rome and back was no short journey. After a tedious delay over the

affairs of Pope Hadrian, there were months to be spent aiding old

Barnard in settling the administration of the new Kingdom of Italy. So

that summer and autumn had passed, and the December snows lay white on

the banks of the Moselle, when at last the three came back from the

Southland.

They had lain over-night at Metz, and as the roads were fair, the

sixteen miles which made up the last stage of their long journey was

covered with ease during the forenoon. A little short of Thionville,

they stopped at an inn for the noon meal. Then, after Olvir had groomed

Zora, and all three had looked to their dress, they rode on quietly

toward the villa.

The first to greet the wayfarers were a party of vikings who had been

hunting up the Moselle. At their head stalked Floki the Crane, and

beside him rode Pepin Hunchback and young Karl, to whom the tall giant

had been teaching woodcraft.

It was a question who were most delighted over the unexpected

meeting,--the king's sons or their Norse guard. All crowded around the

_missi_, with shouts of welcome, so that it was some little time before

the party could move on. Then Gerold and Abbot Fulrad rode ahead with

the king's sons, and Olvir followed in the midst of his overjoyed

warriors. The young earl's own face was aglow; but, true leader as he

was, he lost no time in learning the condition of his men. He had no

need to ask twice. At the first question, Floki pointed down the

Moselle bank to the ship-sheds and the high-peaked Norse hall in the

midst of the viking huts.

"All's well with your sea-wolves, ring-breaker," he croaked. "We have

thatched enough roofs to shelter every head, and the Frank king gives

with an open hand."

"Good! Now I will ride on with my fellow heralds, to speak our tidings

to the king. But I will be with you by nightfall, old Crane," replied

Olvir; and, at a word, Zora leaped forward to the side of Abbot Fulrad's

ambling mule.

There were none but house-slaves at the villa gate to greet the _missi_.

The greater number of the courtiers were sleeping after the noon meal.

Gerold would have called the doorward; but Pepin and young Karl ran

ahead to their father's chamber, and themselves announced the wayfarers.

As the three paused at the curtained doorway, the king's voice, clear

and resonant with pleasure, called upon them to enter.

Fulrad at once thrust aside the curtains and stepped within the chamber,

followed closely by his journey mates. Karl, who had been lying upon a

fur-heaped couch, was already on his feet, gathering his long cloak

about his half-clad shoulders. As Fulrad and Gerold advanced to kiss

his extended hand, Liutrad, who had been alone with him in the room,

reading from Augustine, flung down the book, and ran to meet Olvir.

"Welcome, ring-breaker!" he cried; "thrice welcome, in the name of our

Lord Christ!"

"Greeting, lad, in the name of Truth and Life," rejoined Olvir, and,

gripping the young giant in his arms, he lifted him clean off his feet,

in the sheer joy of friendship. As they parted, an eager question as to

Rothada sprang to his lips; but the answer was interrupted by the king's

imperious call: "You, too, my bright Dane! I would look again into

those eyes of starlit darkness."

"It would seem that your Majesty has been studying skald-craft," replied

Olvir, and he sprang forward, his black eyes sparkling.

Karl's powerful hands closed upon his shoulders, and the clear grey eyes

gazed down into his face, aglow with friendliness.

"Welcome, Olvir, in the words of Liutrad," he said. "Christ is Truth and

Life, and you have both in good share. What says Father Fulrad?"

"His deeds, sire, abound in the spirit of Christ. If only he would bend

his stiff knee to Christ's vicar!" murmured Fulrad, regretfully. "Even

the very presence of the Holy Father failed to move him to reverence."

A slight cloud shadowed the king's face; but soon a smile again

brightened it, and he answered confidently: "Give him time,--give the

lad time, father. He has found the true kernel; the rest will follow.

I look for yourself and Alcuin to win him over before the springtime.

And now to the matters of your mission. The school hour is drawing

near. Go, my sons; hold watch in the hall to warn us, lest we keep the

learned deacon waiting."

"First, a word to the bairns, lord king," interposed Olvir, and he

sprang to catch young Karl as the active boy was darting past, in lead

of his crook-backed brother.

"Say out," answered the king, smiling in response to the gleeful shout

of the boy as Olvir swung him arm's length overhead. Olvir lowered the

boy, to place one hand on his tawny head. The other he rested on

Pepin's glossy locks, so like the chestnut tresses of his sister.

"Listen, lads," he said. "Yule-tide draws near, and my vikings will be

having games. It is fitting that the king's sons should prove

themselves skilled in weapon-play. Come to me in the morning, that I

may see how well the grey Crane has trained you in our Norse games."

"We have not lacked willingness to learn, Lord Olvir," replied Pepin,

and his pale face flushed with pleasure as he caught the approving smile

of his hero-count.

"Not we, by Thor!" cried young Karl, and he thumped his sturdy little

chest with a red-knuckled fist. "I shot a roebuck, and Pepin a stag of

ten tynes; and we--we trailed a boar."

"Which, I am minded, would have ended in two king's sons the less,

little boaster, had not Floki and I trailed you in turn," broke in

Liutrad.

"But we 'd already struck the quarry, Lord Olvir! My spear--"

"Go; go, lads," interposed the king, with kindly impatience. "Another

time you can tell of your deadly fray. Now we have matters of state

before us."

Pepin immediately ran from the chamber; but young Karl lingered for a

moment to whisper in Olvir's ear: "Wait for me to tell of the boar. I

want to tell."

"There goes a king's son," observed Olvir, as the boy darted away.

Karl nodded: "You say well, Olvir. He is my main hope; he shall be

first among his brothers. My people would not stomach the luckless son

of Himiltrude. Though the eldest, Pepin is not fitted in mind to stand

before the others. Yet he shall have his fair portion. I trust to you

four, above all others, to see that the son through whom Heaven has

afflicted me for my sins shall not suffer loss in the allotting of my

realm."

"We give heedful ear to your Majesty's wish," replied Fulrad. "And now

let me deliver the last letter of His Holiness."

With the words, he turned to fumble among the scrolls which crowded his

scrip; but before he could pick out the Pope's missive, Pepin and young

Karl came running back, with word that Deacon Alcuin was in waiting.

Their father rose at once and signed to the abbot.

"Another time, Fulrad," he said. "Come now and see our school."

CHAPTER V

Out then went Sigurd,

The great king's well-loved,

From the speech and the sorrow,

Sore drooping, sore grieving.

VOLSUNGA SAGA.

As the king passed down the main corridor of the villa with Fulrad,

Liutrad touched the arm of his earl, and Olvir, giving instant heed to

the sign, dropped behind Gerold and the chattering young Franks.

"What now, lad?" he asked, as the others hastened on.

For several paces Liutrad walked along beside him without replying.

Then, his eyes fixed upon the stone pavement, he stammered slowly:

"Ring-breaker,--friend,--I must speak out! You yourself first taught me

runes, and so--and so--but already you 're aware how I 've been drawn to

the White Christ. I know you 'll not be harsh. There are Alcuin and

Deacon Paul and many others,--they speak powerfully. I am almost

persuaded to become a monk."

"A monk!" cried Olvir. "Has it come to this? Would that long since I

had called you aboard ship and sailed away to Trondheim Fiord! The son

of Erling a monk!--a beggarly, wifeless, kinless, childless _thing_! By

Thor, sooner would I strike you dead! Can you not yourself read and put

into deed the runes of the White Christ? Did He not take part in the

wedding feast at Cana?"

"True, Olvir; and I know well your horror of the cloisters. I, too,

have felt that loathing."

"You may well say loathing! Man is here on earth to live,--to live in

fulness of life, abounding in health and strength for the joy and

uplifting alike of himself and of others. What, then, is more holy than

wedlock and the rearing of strong sons and pure daughters for the

welfare of the land?"

"Enough, earl," replied Liutrad, in a low voice. "I shall never become

a monk. But I long to give myself to Christ. The secular clergy--"

"Rather, to the Bishop of Rome. You 'd shear off your long locks to

become the thrall of a woman-clad Roman. But the evil is less than I

dreaded. Fulrad has told me of the king's friendship for you. Before

many years we may look to see Karl name you a bishop. As such, you 'd

hold no small measure of power and wealth,--a mitred priest-earl, with

all the gold and wares and lands of your bishopric to give or take

according to your own will. You could do no little good among the

downtrodden poor folk. So; it might be worse. When I sail home again

to Lade, I shall not have to speak of the son of Erling with face

downcast, but can name him in full voice a high liegeman of the Frank

king,--an earl of the White Christ."

"May it be long before you leave us, Olvir!" exclaimed Liutrad, and he

paused to clasp the hands of his gravely smiling companion. Then

together they followed the Franks into the great hall of the villa.

After the ornate magnificence of the Roman basilicas, the

audience-chamber appeared far less imposing to Olvir than would have

been the case before his Italian mission. Interesting as were the

hunting trophies and the rich tapestries which decorated the wall, he

was more attracted by the gaily clad group of lords and clergy about the

dais.

As the courtiers parted before the king, Olvir's gaze fell upon the

crafty, shrivelled face of Kosru, the Magian leech, side by side with

Count Hardrat's bloated visage. Though more sober in look than of old,

the Thuringian's eyes had acquired a furtive glance, and his features

had grown much harsher in outline.

"There stand an odd pair of scholars for the Engleman," muttered Olvir.

"You mean Hardrat and the Asiaman. The old leech has long been known as

a searcher for lore; but that such a one as my red pig should show,

little less hunger for knowledge than the king himself is, to say the

least, very strange. It is even said that he takes part with the leech

and Fastrada in their study of the black art. Heaven forfend,

ring-breaker, that the daughter of Rudulf seek to weave again the spell

which she cast on you in the Southland!"

"Never fear, lad; I 've seen the werwolf's teeth once. There is no need

for a second sight."

"Yet I beg you to beware, Olvir. From Kosru, the maiden has had the

gift of a ring set with magic opal. The hues of the wonderful gem shift

and change like the tints of the maiden's eyes. Few can withstand the

power of that spell; nor has the maiden lost the charm of her beauty.

In face, as in form, she is lovelier than ever."

"Forewarned, forearmed," rejoined Olvir. "And I bear a charm to

withstand all the spells of the Thuringian,--the memory of a little

child-maid."

"Rothada! She came again from Chelles not a fortnight since. Our lord

king gave her leave to go back when you fared away to Italy. But see;

the king beckons to us. No; it is to Abbot Fulrad. Yet we should be

seeking our places; the others draw up their benches. And here comes

the queen. The school will soon open."

"Lead on," said Olvir, eager to draw nearer the private passage by which

Hildegarde and her maidens were entering the hall. Liutrad advanced at

once; but the move failed to bring his earl that which he sought.

Hildegarde had paused just across the threshold, to meet the boisterous

welcome of Gerold; and while brother and sister exchanged greetings,

Olvir looked in vain for the face he longed to see among the half-score

of maidens who slipped into the hall behind the queen. While he yet

stood there, disappointed and hesitating, the queen turned to him from

Gerold.

"Welcome to my lord's bright Dane!" she said. "I see, Olvir, that your

wrist is still burdened with my ring."

"I have never ceased to wear it, dear dame, with reverence and gratitude

for the giver," replied Olvir, as he bowed to kiss the queen's extended

hand.

Hildegarde gazed graciously into his dark face, and answered him with

quiet earnestness: "We seek to make you a gift, Olvir, far more precious

than any ring,--a pearl beyond price. There is now but one thing in the

way,--your resistance to the voice of Holy Church. You have won a warm

place in our hearts, Olvir. Consider well, and do not let your pride

bar your way into Christ's fold."

"I shall weigh the matter with utmost care," said Olvir; and the answer

brought a glow to the anxious face of the queen. But while Liutrad and

her brother escorted the royal dame to the dais, he stood lost in

thought, his eyes fixed upon the rushes at his feet.

He was aroused by a well-remembered voice, whose soft murmur would have

been inaudible but for its sibilance: "Welcome to Count Olvir! Will he

not let bygones be bygones, and swear the peace-oath?"

Olvir started and stared keenly about him. On his right, framed as it

were by the curtained doorway, and almost within arm's length, stood the

daughter of Rudulf, gazing at him from beneath her drooping lashes with

an indescribable look,--a half-smile, full of insolence and dread, of

love and hate. For the moment all the wild whirl of conflicting

emotions which the unexpected sight of her former lover had aroused in

the Thuringian's breast stood out plain to view on her face, through its

court-mask of dissimulation.

Olvir had no need to look twice to assure himself that Liutrad was not

mistaken when he spoke of the maiden's ripened beauty. She had

certainly lost none of her former loveliness, and art had added no

little to her charms. The purple dress, cut low after the latest

Frankish fashion, suggested every soft curve of the girl's rounded form;

her brown hair, with its gleams of gold, was bound by a diadem of all

but queenly splendor; while the fingers of her right hand were covered

with gem-rings half to the tips. But on her left hand, which she held

out to the Northman, there was only one ornament,--the ring whose

reputed magical powers had caused Liutrad so much uneasiness. It was

fashioned of two miniature serpents, one black, the other red, which

held in their jaws an opal of great size and peculiar fire.

For a moment Olvir stood hesitating; then he took the girl's hand, and

answered her gravely: "I take the peace offered by Count Rudulf's

daughter. There is a saying that those who have broken betrothal bonds

can never join in friendship. I trust that with us it may prove

otherwise. At the least, I shall seek to heal the wrong which I wrought

against you."

"And I, Olvir!" murmured the girl, the rich blood leaping to her cheeks.

"I give thanks for your--friendship. We were not fated to meet under the

same roof with cold hearts."

"True, maiden. The past is past. I rejoice that you would now bury it,

and accept friendship instead of bitterness."

A look too subtle even for the Northman's eyes flitted across the girl's

face, and she tightened the handclasp which he was relaxing.

"It is then peace and--friendship," she said. "Come; the questions

begin,--Deacon Alcuin fingers his scrolls. Yonder is a bench behind the

others. You shall sit beside me and enlighten my dull wit."

"As you will," replied Olvir, and he turned at once to comply.

As the couple seated themselves on a bench in the rear of the main group

of students, Alcuin selected one of the scrolls handed him by his

pupils, and bowed to the king.

"Your Majesty, all is in readiness," he said.

At the word, Karl glanced about the hall. All present except Alcuin

were now seated; but the king gazed up and down the benches until he

caught sight of Olvir. Then he nodded and replied: "It is well; the

lesson will now begin. Summon all your lore, my dear teacher. We have

with us to-day a new-comer whose wits are keen as his sword."

"Such learning, sire, as I have gained from the Holy Fathers, I stand

ready to impart. But who may say that he knows all of wisdom? Not even

Solomon, son of David, could so claim."

"What is wisdom?" queried Karl.

"The fruit of knowledge,--the soul of learning."

"And learning?"

"The inscribed knowledge of the ancients."

"What says my bright Dane to that?"

Olvir started up at the question, and saluted the king.

"I am over-new in this game to take active part, sire," he said. "I do

not even know its rules."

"Another time, then, lad. You will soon learn our ways. We will now

follow the lessons set for the day. Worad was to question Alcuin on

dialectics."

As the young Frank rose to confront the master, Olvir sat down again

beside Fastrada, and fell to musing, heedless alike of the learned

disputants and of his fair benchmate.

In the midst of his revery, he was roused by Fastrada, who, under cover

of Alcuin's voice, leaned over and whispered softly: "Look, my hero

friend. Here comes one whom I doubt if you can name. Though she has

not yet taken the veil, Gisela has all but made a nun of her."

"How? Ah!"

Rothada had come in by the queen's entrance, and was already close at

hand, gliding silently over the rushes. It was little wonder that

Olvir, after the first quick start of recognition, sat staring at the

king's daughter, with lips parted and black eyes glistening. He did not

see the Rothada for whom he had looked. That gay, bright-eyed

child-maid was gone, and in her stead was a maiden no less lissome than

the little vala, but taller, and grave with habitual meditation. The

slight pallor of her face, together with the spirituality of its look,

gave to her features an ethereal--almost unearthly--beauty.

As she was about to pass by, unconscious of his presence, Olvir uttered

a stifled cry. Rothada looked down, and met his eager gaze. At sight

of him she halted, as though struck, and he could see her eyes widen and

darken with doubt and vague dread. Her first impulse apparently was to

hasten on; but she checked herself, and was about to speak, when she

chanced to catch Fastrada's look of insolent triumph. At that a flush

rose in her white cheeks, and without a word of greeting she passed

quickly by to her stool, on the dais beside Hildegarde.

For a moment Olvir sat staring in utter bewilderment. Then the hot blood

leaped into his face, and he sprang to his feet. Heedless of the

disputing scholars, of the Thuringian, with her short-lived triumph, of

the king himself, he stalked down the hall, his head high, and his eyes

flashing.

CHAPTER VI

One I loved,

One and none other,

The gold-decked may.

LAY OF SIGURD.

For several days Olvir avoided the villa, pleading the need of

overlooking the affairs of his men. At last, however, Karl himself,

chancing to pass through the viking camp from a hunt down the Moselle,

stopped to bid Olvir attend the mass in the royal chapel on Christmas

Day. There could be no excuse for failing to obey the direct command of

the king, and Olvir came to the service in his gayest dress. But with

him for fellow he brought the grim Floki.

The gloomy chapel exhibited a sepulchral magnificence well in keeping

with the ascetic spirit of priest and monk. The few and broken sun-rays

which struggled in through the narrow windows glistened brightly on the

screens and gates of polished brass and the jewelled images of kings and

saints in the wall niches. The nave, crowded with courtly worshippers,

was further brightened by the glint of polished steel, the rich colors

of precious fabrics, and a bewildering display of gold and gems.

Yet the magnificence of the nave was nothing to the splendor of the

chancel. There, from giant silver candelabra, hundreds of tapers shed

their radiance over the sumptuous decorations of the altar, the gold

crucifix, the tapestries of white silk, emblazoned with griffins and

peacocks, the gold vessels of the officiating priests, and the white

cassocks of the Italian choir.

But notwithstanding the presence of king and court, the solemn harmony

of the Gregorian chants, and the impressiveness of the ceremony as

conducted by the venerable Fulrad, there were two onlookers present who

stood throughout the mass unbending and irreverent.

"By the hair of Sif, ring-breaker," muttered Floki, in the midst, "here

is enough of gold to stock a dozen godi-houses."

"It is nothing to the hoard in the temple of the godi of Rome. That is

all but sheathed with gold, wrung by Holy Church from the sweat and

blood of slaves! But I will not give way to bitterness. This is a

merry day to the Christian folk; we also will be light of heart. Look

how the beams sparkle among the gem-stones. I choose those before your

dull gold. See their bright hues,--blue and green and purple,--ay! and

red as the life-blood of white biorn gushing upon the snow."

"I have eyes, son of Thorbiorn. There is one flagon which alone is

worth a king's wergild,--the jewelled cup that the Godi Fulrad holds

aloft. By Thor! that is a wassail-bowl worth the having. Not Otkar

himself could have drained it at a draught."

"True, old Crane; and it may hold even more than our eyes show us. Tell

me,--you have now dwelt many seasons in Frank Land,--what is your

thought of the White Christ?"

Floki scratched his long nose, and glanced shrewdly about the chapel

before replying.

"You ask a hard riddle, earl," he muttered. "I should answer that He is

Odin and Balder--and more--in One. Yet why should I bend knee to Him? I

have seen how His runes have drawn the temper of your keen spirit and

marred your old-time joy of battle. What greater loss could befall a

viking? So I will yet drink to Thor, trusting in my own craft and the

sweep of my halberd."

"I will not say you are wrong," replied Olvir. "At the least, one

cannot do the will of the White Christ and take joy in sword-play; that

I see clearly, though these Christian priests teach otherwise. Some day

I must make my choice, either to ungirt Al-hatif from my side, or to

burn my Christ-runes."

"Thor!" croaked Floki; "it is time for a little sword-play to stir your

kingly blood. With the springtime, earl, there 'll be call for your

heron beak."

"How? To peck the Saxon wolves?"

"They 'll be afoot in full pack, else I 've lost my scent for blood.

Nor is that the whole saga. I smell blood on another trail,--one which

leads from the king's hall."

"Treason again! I had thought that with the subtle Lupus gone--"

"Gone--ay; but he left one behind him little less subtle. The Grey

Wolf's daughter might teach cunning to Odin, and she does not lack of

crafty mates. More than once I have seen her in the forest border,

waiting for Earl Hardrat and that wizened warlock Kosru."

"I have heard of that from Liutrad. They go to practise witchcraft."

"Then I am dull at riddles, earl. It is treason the three brew in the

woodland, not spell-herbs."

"A fearsome brewing," said Olvir, smiling, "an old man, a maiden, and a

drunkard."

"The fox, the adder, and the full-tushed boar," rejoined Floki. "Craft

cuts sharper than any sword. As to Liutrad's red pig, he has put away

the wassail-bowl. I name the Thuringian no mean foe. He has the

strength of a bull, and far more of wit than in the past, now that the

beer seeps from his brain."

"Yet I see in all this nothing more than a love tryst, with witchery for

a blind. Even granting that the red pig has grown tushes, we will have

our boar-spears at hand when there is need. As to your fox and adder--

But see; the mass is at an end. The king turns to withdraw."

Floki stared down at his earl with a wry look; but as Karl, in all the

stateliness of his majesty and manhood, came down the aisle, side by

side with his beautiful queen, the grim viking drew himself up to his

full height, and sought to imitate his earl's easy salute. The upswing

of the giant's arm drew upon him Hildegarde's glance. At a word from

her, Karl turned to smile at the Northmen, and spoke briefly with Worad.

Immediately the Count Palatine slipped aside, and informed Floki that

the queen wished to inquire about the training of the king's sons.

Floki pushed out among the courtiers. But Olvir, muttering a hasty

response to Worad's greeting, drew back into a niche behind a pillar.

As he did so, his eyes rested for an instant upon Fastrada. The girl

was gazing directly at him, her head thrown back, her eyes narrowed to a

line. When she caught his glance, she smiled and passed on, looking

down at the rings on her clasped hands.

Olvir's face clouded, and his hand went unwittingly to the hilt of his

dagger. A moment, and the dark mood was past; for his gaze fell upon

Rothada in her simple novice's dress. She had lingered at her devotions

after the benediction, and now came slowly down the aisle behind the

other worshippers. Her head was bent, and her lips moved with the

prayers which her white fingers told off on the rosary of pearls about

her throat.

The girl was so absorbed in her devotions that she failed to see Olvir

even when he stepped out beside her. Restraining his eagerness, he

silently followed her down the aisle and out of the chapel. But at the

first lateral passage which opened into the main corridor, he took her

by the arm and drew her within the doorway.

"Stay a moment, little vala," he said quietly. "I would speak with

you."

"Olvir!" exclaimed the girl, in a startled voice. Her hands pressed

tightly together on her bosom, and she stared at him, her eyes dark with

fear.

"How is this?" demanded Olvir, almost angrily. "Have I grown tushes that

the maiden whose troth I hold cannot look at me without dread?"

"Do not be harsh, Lord Olvir!" murmured the girl. "Truly, I have sought

to avoid you; on my knees I begged my father that I might stay at

Chelles. Oh, why cannot I, like Gisela, win the peace and holy joy of

the cloister?"

"Because you are too true of heart to break troth, little may," replied

Olvir. "See; this passage leads to a room which opens on the

garden-court. Come within, where the light is clear, and we can look

into each other's eyes."

A faint blush crept into Rothada's cheeks, and her gaze fell before

Olvir's; but, bowing her head submissively, she led the way down the

passage. Close behind her followed Olvir, his eyes fixed upon the

dainty head beneath its white wimple.

In the middle of the postern-room, where the white light of the winter's

sun streamed through the narrow window, Olvir stopped the girl with a

touch, and placed himself so that he could look directly into her face.

"Little vala," he said, "I must first ask you to make clear the meaning

of your long silence. Whether your answer brings me joy or pain, I

cannot wait longer; I must know the truth now. Four years and more have

passed since you gave me your troth."

Rothada glanced up at him quickly, and then her eyes fell to her

novice's dress.

"Lord Olvir speaks of my troth," she answered in a low but clear voice.

"If he doubts it, let him look at these pearls about my throat,--the

pearls which he gave me in the Southland."

"And yet, Rothada, many as were my messages to you, never once through

all those years did you send answer."

"You remembered me, Lord Olvir!" cried the girl, and she gazed up into

her lover's eyes, her face radiant.

"Remember!" repeated Olvir. "And, could I have forgotten, were not my

sea-wolves at hand to keep me in mind? I never once sent you greeting

and pledge of my faith but your grim worshippers begged leave to add

their gifts. Yet when year after year passed by without answering word

from you, they, like myself, grew weary of sending. If the little

vala's heart had been so chilled by her cloister-dwelling that she chose

to forget those who loved her, we could not love her the less, but we

would cease to fret her with the tokens of our love."

"Which never came! Oh, Olvir, there's been a bitter mistake! I never

once had word or token that you or those grim warriors held me in kind

memory. The months dragged by,--the weary years,--and no word from

Vascon Land. Then I thought you 'd all forgotten me, and in my sorrow I

turned for comfort to our Lord Christ. In Him I found peace, and I

longed to give myself to Him, as Gisela begged me; but I could not, for

I had promised to wait your coming."

"Loki!" muttered Olvir, and he struck his thigh. "Not all my sendings

could have gone astray by chance. There's been a plot against me! Your

holy Abbess Gisela-- But what odds? Little vala, little may, if you

still doubt my troth, look at what lies about my throat."

Rothada raised her eyes to the strand of glossy hair, whose ends,

severed by the rock in the gorge of Roncesvalles, had been rejoined by a

golden clasp. At sight of the token, she uttered a cry of naive

delight, and her eyes beamed up into Olvir's full of tender trust. Her

beauty, pearl-like in its soft, pure lustre, filled him with such

longing that he could no longer restrain himself.

"Dearest!" he cried, and, kneeling to her, he clasped her hand and held

it to his lips.

Smiling and blushing, Rothada sought to draw away. But when she found

she could not escape, she thrust her fingers into her lover's hair, and,

tugging playfully at the bright locks, burst out in her old-time, merry

laugh.

"Free me! free me, Lord Olvir!" she protested in mock severity. "Am I

not the king's daughter? By what right do you hold me in thraldom?"

"See, then, dear heart; I free you," replied Olvir, as he sprang up.

"You have but to speak, and I bend to your wish, sweet princess. Yet I

have double right to hold you fast,--the will of your father and your

own love."

"My love!" murmured the girl, and she blushed. Her eyes sank, and she

drew back shyly.

"Your love, dearest one," repeated Olvir, and he held out his arms.

But then a sudden coldness fell upon her. The color faded from her

cheeks, and the happy light died out of her eyes.

"Lord Christ forgive me!" she cried. "Oh, I did not mean to give way,

Olvir. Truly I do love you,--I am so weak and wicked I cannot but tell

it,--I do love you, Olvir, my bright hero! And yet--and yet, what is

there for us but grief and parting? Even did my father assent, how

could I wed one who will not bend knee to Christ,--a--a heathen?"

Olvir caught up the girl's hand, and, clasping it between his own, gazed

steadily into her tearful eyes.

"Listen to me, dear heart," he said. "You have listened to the idle

tales of others; you shall now judge for yourself. I render no worship

to the heathen gods; but each week, as it passes around, I meditate upon

the words and deeds of the White Christ. With my whole heart I strive

to worship the almighty, all-good God, His Father and our Father.

Answer me, then, little vala; am I to be named among the heathen?"

"Ah, the blessed saints be praised!" cried Rothada. "Then all that they

tell of you is false. You do not mock at His Holiness the Pope, nor

deride Holy Church?"

"I no longer mock, dear one; yet I bend knee only to the will of God in

my own heart. What one among your Christian priests and monks, the most

learned of whom can hardly spell out Holy Writ, shall say that I am

wicked and heathen? I accept fully the sayings of the White Christ, and

strive to live them. Enough, Rothada; I will say no more. Choose

whether you will give yourself to me as I am."

"What shall I say, Olvir?" replied the girl. "I know now you are no

heathen. But I cannot understand,--I do not see how you bend to our

Lord Christ, and yet do not give reverence to those who stand in His

stead."

"Let your heart speak for you, dearest. If I am wrong, leave it to

Alcuin and his fellows to show me my mistake."

Rothada clasped her hands together, and sighed with heartfelt relief.

"Surely, Olvir, if you are wrong, they will show it to you," she said.

Trustful as a little child, she clasped the outstretched hands of her

lover, and raised her lips for his kiss, her eyes shining with

happiness. The touch of her lips, tender and fragrant as a briar-rose,

sent a thrill through Olvir's whole being. But he did not take her in

his arms. As he gazed into her eyes, a sudden sense of unworthiness

came upon him. For the second time, he sank down before her, humbly and

reverently as a worshipper at the shrine of a beloved saint.

"This day has God my Father blessed me with a great blessing," he

murmured. "He has given into my keeping the heart of a pure maiden.

May He give me strength and wisdom to prove myself worthy of so great a

trust!"

"Do not be foolish, dearest," answered Rothada. "If our Lord God has

given you my heart, He has given me your love. How, then, can there be

room for doubt?"

"My princess! Who am I that I should win the Pearl of Great Price?"

"Hush! oh, hush, my hero! You take in vain the words of Holy Writ. It

grieves me."

"I speak the truth. In the eyes of God there can be nothing holier than

a pure maiden. More than all else I hate and despise the teaching of

your Christian priests that women are the chief cause of sins. That is

a lie. But for women, men would be as wolves,--ravenous wolves! And so,

darling--"

"Spare me, Olvir! Truly, you grieve my heart. I am very wicked."

"So wicked that your soul would gleam white on new-fallen snow! Beware,

wicked maiden! For your naughtiness, you shall be given in marriage--"

"To a foolish prattler," interrupted Rothada, with a quick return of

gaiety, and, half stooping, she clasped Olvir's head between her white

hands. "What a hero is this for a king's daughter to wed,--a thrall

bound by the collar of a maiden!"

"Many a king would gladly kneel where I kneel, dear heart."

"No, no, you foolish hero. Few are so blind as to see beauty where

there is none. I am very happy that you love me, dearest; yet I wonder

at your love when I think of the many beautiful maidens with Hildegarde.

Do you think it strange that I longed to go back to Chelles, when, after

all those weary years of waiting, I came upon you in the hall, side by

side with that maiden--"

"--Whose very name is unfit for your pure lips," muttered Olvir. "As

you love me, darling, have nothing to do with her."

"I will do as you wish, Olvir. Because my heart shrank from her, I had

felt it my duty to seek her friendship. But if you bid me shun her--"

"Thank God for your willingness! May we never have need to mention her

name again! So now, dear one-- Hark! What is the shouting?"

"The call of the stewards. We linger over-long. The feast is ready;

and, oh, dear hero, how shall we come before the king my father?"

"Have no fear, darling. The king has already pledged me your hand.

There are terms to be first met; but trust me to see that in good time

they be fulfilled or set aside. Until then it seems to me wise that we

should keep silent."

"Olvir, I should like to at least tell Hildegarde. She is so gracious

and kindly."

"As well tell the king himself, simple heart! No, dearest, we had best

wait. It will not be for long, I trust. And now, remember, should I not

see you sooner, the counts are to join my vikings in the Yule games.

The king himself will take part. Be sure to come. There will be merry

play, and the Moselle is like a burnished shield. I will teach you to

skate."

"I was taught long since, Olvir. Berga, my maid, is a Frisian. So I

shall soon learn again. And I shall not fail to attend the

games,--to--to see the deeds of the king, my father."

For a moment the violet eyes were upraised in a look of tender mockery,

and then their owner was darting off to join the queen's following.

CHAPTER VII

Fish of the wildwood,

Worm smooth crawling.

VOLSUNGA SAGA.

Never had Frank or viking known fairer weather for the Yule games. Each

day the sun shone bright through the frosty air; the snow lay hard and

firm on field and river-bank, and the Moselle offered to the feet of the

skaters its broad street of glassy ice.

In the meadows before the villa, hazel rings for the wrestling had been

enclosed, racing-courses marked out, and targets set up for the contests

with spear and bow. Northmen and Danes, skilled in their own sports,

burned to outmatch the king's men in the games of Frank Land, and the

proud counts, whether East Frank or West Frank, Saxon, Goth, or Lombard,

were no less zealous to prove their superiority over the outlanders.

Yet, keen as was the rivalry, good-humor prevailed in all contests.

Each day great crowds gathered to watch the games, and to skate on the

Moselle. Not a viking was to be found in the high-peaked huts, and such

inmates of the villa as failed to troop out after the king to the field

of games did not stay behind from choice. Aside from the house-slaves,

few were left in the villa. The chapel was deserted by its priests and

choristers, and the hall of state saw little of the sleek courtiers. In

the bower only a maiden or two and the queen's tiring-women lingered in

attendance on their mistress.

The morning after Christmas, Hildegarde, complaining of a headache, had

sent Fastrada to summon Kosru the leech to her bedside. The Magian had

at once pronounced her sickness to be of a nature which, while not

dangerous, would require the utmost of rest and quiet. So the

chattering workers were sent from the chamber, and Kosru took up his

quarters in the anteroom, to overlook the queen's service and administer

her sleeping-draught with his own hand.

Full of yearning for his beautiful queen, Karl would have chosen to

watch at her bedside; but the Magian's assurance of her safety, and his

plea for absolute quiet, sent the king out into the meadows to share in

the games. With the same plea and assurance, the leech also turned

Rothada away, and the girl, no longer dressed as a novice, went gaily

out across the snow-fields to meet her lover.

Behind, in the silent bower, Hildegarde lay in a feverish sleep, waking

only to sip her broth and to drink the sweetish potion which was to lull

her again to sleep. But without, in the merry crowds, was one who took

good care that the king did not lack company.

From morning till evening the daughter of Count Rudulf found occasion to

be always within reach of the king's eye. When Karl won in the

axe-throwing, neither the loud applause of the Franks and the vikings,

nor even Olvir's gift of the great sword Ironbiter as prize, was so

gratifying to him as the silent and half-awed admiration of the

Thuringian maiden. The readiness with which she joined in the praise of

Olvir's archery showed him how utterly her gentle nature had been

misjudged; and when, skimming beside him over the ice, she shyly

confided her love for Rothada, and her longing to see Olvir accept

baptism so that the little princess might wed her bright hero, the heart

of the great Frank went out to the girl in tender sympathy.

At every turn she was ready to please and amuse him. Now it was a gentle

jest; now a murmured phrase whose flattery was too subtle to startle his

honest Teuton heart; and always accompanying the words would be a look

whose faint suggestion of allurement ever gave way to shy confusion.

Soon Karl began to give heed as never before to the many charms of the

lovely Thuringian. Often as he had remarked her beauty, he now wondered

at the perfection of her supple, rounded form and the rich bloom of her

cheeks. Others might own greater regularity of features, but none could

surpass her in grace of movement or charm of expression.

But most of all the king was pleased and his heart touched by the girl's

words of endearment for Rothada and Hildegarde. Her inquiries about the

queen's health often ended in a sigh, and a naive exclamation of how

happy must be the lot of one wedded to a world-hero.

So the days of Yuletide slipped by, each bringing with it new games on

the Moselle bank, and merry play for the onlookers. Even young Karl and

Pepin Hunchback took part, and in many ways proved by their boyish skill

the efficiency of Floki's training. Both were afield from dawn to

sunset, and when not testing their skill at the butts with bow or spear,

or watching some hotly contested race or wrestling match, they were to

be found skimming over the Moselle, in vain efforts to follow Olvir and

their sister.

Dawn of the last day of Yule brought with it a threat of a weather

change. But Franks and vikings gathered as usual on the river-bank, and

the fact that this day was to see an end of the festivities gave added

zest to the games.

None hurried afield with greater eagerness than Pepin Hunchback and the

boy Karl, whom Olvir had promised to take with Rothada down the Moselle.

Gerold and Liutrad were also to be of the party, and the failure of the

latter to appear at the set time kept the others waiting on the bank for

an hour or more.

When at last the young giant did arrive, with the excuse that Abbot

Fulrad had needed him, Olvir, who had been studying the sky, urged that

the trip be given over. But at this the king's sons cried out in bitter

disappointment. Liutrad and Gerold good-naturedly yielded to their

appeals to plead for them, and Olvir finally consented to go part way on

the intended course. Yet before he would give the word to start, he

first sought out Floki in the midst of the wrestlers, and while the

lofty viking was stripping to enter the ring spoke a brief command in

his ear.

As he approached the ring, Olvir had passed a tall and graceful woman,

who was gazing intently across to where the king stood bandying jests

with Fastrada. The gazer's face had been muffled in her scarf and hood,

and when Olvir, after speaking to Floki, turned with casual curiosity to

observe her more closely, she had disappeared in the crowd. But a

little later, as he was binding on Rothada's skates, the same woman came

down the river-bank, and, half running to young Karl, caught him in her

embrace.

"Mother!" cried the boy, clinging to her neck.

"Hildegarde!" echoed Gerold, in amazement, as the hood fell back from

the queen's pale face. "How is this, sister? You 're mad to venture

out--"

"Hush, Gerold; be silent!" rejoined the queen. "I was stifling in the

bower. I woke when all were gone but the leech. He lay asleep, outworn

with watching; so I dressed myself and passed out quietly, that his rest

might not be broken. Have no fear; my strength has come again, and

every breath of the wintry air fills me with new life. See; I have

brought my skates. I will join you on the ice."

Rothada came and put her arms about the queen.

"We had thought to go down the river, mother," she said; "but now that

you are with us--"

"I 'll run tell the good tidings to our lord king," broke in Liutrad.

"No, lad; stay!" exclaimed Hildegarde, and she drew the hood out over

her face again. "It would mar the games should his Majesty withdraw

from the field, and--and there would be great outcry were my presence

known. I wish quiet--peace and quiet--while I skim about on the smooth

ice and breathe in the pure air. Now I am cold and sad. When the blood

leaps freely in my veins, I can join the folk without fear of marring

their play. Take me with you down the Moselle. Bind on my skates,

brother!"

"The storm-light is in the sky, Dame Hildegarde," protested Olvir. "Is

it wise that you should venture beyond sight of the villa?"

"I have spoken," replied Hildegarde, with unwonted sharpness. "Gerold,

lead on with the boys. I will trust to Liutrad's arm."

When the queen spoke in such a tone, even Gerold could not venture a

remonstrance. He lashed the skate-thongs over his sister's slender

buskins, and sprang up, boar-spear in hand, to join the king's sons.

The boys were circling about, wild with delight at the thought that some

stray wolf or bear might give them opportunity to prove their prowess to

their beloved mother. As they darted off before Gerold, Hildegarde

rested her gloved hand lightly on Liutrad's massive forearm and glided

out beside him with the graceful stroke of a practised skater.

Olvir slung his war-bow with its full quiver upon his back, and caught

up Rothada's hand, to follow the queen.

"All's well with our gracious dame, dearest," he said. "She skims over

the ice-street with the ease of a swallow's flight. I wager she can

cover many long miles without wearying."

"True, dear hero; and already I see the bloom creeping back into her

cheeks."

"As it has crept into yours, little nun, day by day, since the first of

Yule. The cloister pallor is all but gone. Once more you are the vala

of my sea-wolves."

"Their morning greeting still roars in my ears. Yet they are

heathen,--only heathen! How beautiful the world is, Olvir!"

"To those whose hearts are filled with beauty and love, dearest."

Rothada's fingers tightened in the firm palm of her hero, and for a long

time the lovers skimmed over the ice in happy silence.

CHAPTER VIII

Troll's lore and witchcraft.

VOLSUNGA SAGA.

As the little party shot out from among the other skaters, to sweep away

down the river, a shrivelled old man crept out of an alder thicket near

the bank, and called to a passing boy. The sight of a silver penny lent

wings to the lad's feet, and he ran nimbly through the crowds on the

snowy field, repeating to himself the two simple words which he was to

whisper in the ear of Fastrada, the queen's maiden. Chance favored him.

The king had drawn apart with Abbot Fulrad, and the Franks were moving

across the meadow to see the wrestling. In the confusion, the boy was

able to gain Fastrada's side and tell his message, unheeded by those

around.

With all her years of court training, Fastrada was unable to hide her

vexation when the boy muttered his two words in her ear. She stopped

short and stamped her jewelled buskin deep into the snow, and her eyes

blazed with angry light. Count Amalwin, who chanced to be near,

inquired with uncouth sympathy what might be troubling the Grey Wolf's

daughter. But Fastrada turned from him without answer, to hasten after

Kosru's messenger.

The boy, eager to finger his promised reward, reached the alder thicket

far in advance of the queen's maiden. But Kosru was so reluctant to

part with a single penny that the boy was still begging for his due when

Fastrada came up. Snatching the leech's pouch, she pressed not one but

four pennies into the hand of the astonished boy, and told him to go and

watch the Danish slingers. As he raced off, half mad with delight at

his treasure, Fastrada turned upon the Magian with a look that made him

cringe to the snow.

"Dog!" she hissed; "you 've let the Swabian escape you! Enough of your

false promises! This very day I counted on for triumph; and now--"

"Pardon! grant me pardon, maiden! Have I not served you well all these

days? Is it my fault that the drug loses its power when so constantly

given? I am aged and weak. Overcome by weariness, I slept--"

"Where is she now?"

The leech rose a little way, and thrust out a crooked finger from his

robe.

"She came here to the river-bank. Hurrying out in search of her, I

spied her in the midst of the crowd. But then she followed after Count

Olvir to this place, where the king's children were waiting with Count

Gerold and Liutrad the Scribe."

"She made herself known to them?"

"But to none other. They disputed a little, and then all glided away

down the river on the ice-shoes. The warriors carried spear and bow, as

though they went to the chase."

"The king himself told me of the skating-party; only, one is gone of

whom he is not aware. A lucky going for you, Magian! I may yet have

time to win; she forgets all else when the ice-blades are on her feet.

She may go far before turning. Would that she might never come back!

_Ai!_ and why should she? In the bleak forest are my mother's fiends

and many hungry mouths!"

The girl turned panting upon the leech, her eyes gleaming green between

the narrowed lids, her scarlet lips drawn back from the strong white

teeth in a cruel smile.

"Go!" she cried. "Fetch me quickly all you have of that drug which

saved you from the wolf-pack in Fulda Wood."

"By the blessed Sun, maiden! what would you do?" gasped the Magian.

"I 'd win for myself power and honors, and for you, gold without stint,"

rejoined Fastrada, and her face hardened to a still more cruel look.

But the leech no longer faltered and cringed. Before his greedy eyes

glittered a yellow heap,--gold without stint! gold without stint! Very

humbly he salaamed to the witch's daughter, and then, bending to her

gesture, limped away on his unholy sending.

An hour or so later, Count Hardrat, chancing to pass along the

river-bank, suddenly found himself face to face with Fastrada. It was

his first sober day since the Christmas feast, and he shrank from

meeting the daughter of Rudulf after his relapse into drunkenness.

Greatly to his surprise, she greeted him not only without reproach, but

even smilingly, and he readily accepted her proposal that they skate

together on the river. The girl's skates already swung at her girdle,

and for balancing-staff she carried a pretty silver and ivory dart, with

flint tip.

Skates were soon found for Hardrat, and the couple darted out among the

ice-skimmers. As they swept in a long loop beyond the regular

racing-course, Fastrada drew her companion's attention to the tracks

leading down the river, and dared him to attempt the overtaking of the

party. Hardrat, who was a skilled skater, accepted the challenge with

eagerness, and very shortly the couple were flying past the viking

settlement and around the first bend of the river into the black borders

of the ancient forest.

For two leagues and more the Thuringian count and the Thuringian maiden

raced side by side at utmost speed, each straining with every nerve and

muscle to outdo the other. At last the man, weakened by his excesses at

wassail, began to lose breath. Heedless of his growing distress, the

girl drove on, her eyes fixed on the narrow trail of skate-marks which

she followed.

"Stay!" gasped Hardrat at last, as they swept down upon yet another bend

of the river. "Slack--your pace, maiden! I can--go--no farther!"

Fastrada glanced about, frowning, at the purple-blotched face of her

mate; but suddenly she seemed to slip, and a cry of pain burst from her

lips. Leaning with all her weight upon one foot, she turned sharply and

glided inshore, borne on by the momentum of her swift flight. Taken by

surprise, Hardrat shot past for half-a-dozen strokes. Before he could

circle about and rejoin the girl, she had limped part way up the

snow-covered bank, to lean against a giant oak. As Hardrat scrambled

after her, she met his look of concern with a rueful face.

"Satan spit the false wood-minnes!" she cried. "They 've wrought me

ill,--my ankle is wrenched."

"Holy saints! and we three leagues from aid!"

"Not so; less than two. The hut--"

"--If _she_ still lingers."

"Shelter, anyway. Yet there may be no need. Chafing and a fire might

ease my hurt."

Hardrat's bloodshot eyes lighted dully.

"There are less welcome tasks than to chafe the foot of Rudulf's

daughter. As to the fire, however, I carry neither flint nor tinder."

"Ah, then, yet stay! Here's the tip of my staff-spear, and for tinder,

my kerchief, whose end I scorched on the coals this morning."

"A lucky chance," muttered Hardrat, and he set to gathering twigs and

dry leaves from along the bank. As he bent to heap the fuel together

for lighting, Fastrada crouched upon the snow, and drew from her bosom a

large pouch, whose contents gave out a fetid odor. Laying the pouch

openly on the snow beside her, she stared over the broad back of her

companion into the depths of the leafless forest, and her face darkened

with the fearful look that had terrified the Magian.

Having piled his fuel, Hardrat drew the broad knife which swung at his

belt, and with the back of the blade struck a shower of sparks from the

flint spear-tip into the linen kerchief. Quickly the tinder caught the

sparks, and a few puffs set the smouldering cloth aflame. Fanned by a

light breeze from up the river, the blaze spread with a cheerful

snapping through the heap of dead limbs and pieces of driftwood.

Hardrat took note how the smoke, instead of rising, drifted away between

the tree-trunks and over the ice, like morning mist.

"See how the smoke lies on the snow," he said. "One needs scant

knowledge of woodcraft to tell that a storm is near."

"Then we should soon be hastening back," replied Fastrada, who, instead

of looking at the ankle which he was chafing, was staring at the

low-eddying smoke with fierce exultance. "_Ai!_" she sighed

complainingly, "that was a luckless wrench! Stay your hand, though. It

may chance there 'll be no need to chafe the hurt. Am I not my mother's

daughter? Here is a charm stronger than the power of elf or nixie. If,

in truth, my hurt is the work of some evil wood-minne, I shall soon heal

it. In this scrip is a drug whose burning will force out the worst of

fiends. Cast it into the midst of the flames while I speak the needed

spell."

Hardrat drew away, his cheeks suddenly gone ashen.

"No! by all the saints, no!" he cried. "I 'll have no hand in your

witchery. I 've seen enough of black spells in _her_ hut."

"Hero!" jeered Fastrada; and with her own hand she lifted the pouch, to

scatter half its contents around her in the snow. As she threw the rest

into the flames, her red lips muttered soft hissing words of the Wendish

tongue, and her beautiful face was distorted with a look that sent a

shudder of superstitious fear through Hardrat's thick-set frame. The

pungent odor sent out by the burning drug added yet more to his terror.

He stood cowering beside the fire, unable to fly, his bloated cheeks

grey and mottled, and his limbs trembling visibly, as he watched the

look of awful expectancy that crept into the face of the witch's

daughter.

Moment after moment, the girl sat staring out after the drifting

smoke-wreaths, her lips softly muttering the sibilant Wend words.

Though Karl himself had marked the Thuringian's boldness on the

battlefield, the man was now like a frightened child in the dark. The

strain was almost more than he could bear. His tow-white hair bristled

beneath his cap; his very blood was curdling in his veins. He was on

the point of crying aloud when the silence was broken by the lone howl

of a wolf. Wild with terror, Hardrat sprang, about to fly. But

Fastrada leaped up as he passed and caught him by the shoulder. Her

eyes gleamed with fierce joy.

"_Hei!_" she cried. "The fiend-gods are with us! Down the wind with the

smoke the evil sprite has passed, and my hurt is healed! my hurt is

healed!"

"Saints shield me!" stammered Hardrat, and he crossed himself. That the

girl should scramble with him down the bank and out across the rough

ice-edge without a trace of her sprain, by no means tended to lessen his

dread.

When they gained the smooth ice, Fastrada would have paused; but Hardrat

struck out at once in the face of the freshening breeze, feverishly

eager to put the long leagues between him and the fumes of the magic

drug. As Fastrada darted to his side, and they swept away over the

level ice, they heard once more, far back in the forest behind them,

that long-drawn, dismal howl; and this time the cry was caught up and

repeated from the farther depths of the forest.

"Holy Mother!" gasped Hardrat. "Your spell has roused the werwolves

from their lairs!"

Fastrada only smiled, and lengthened her stroke to meet the frantic rush

of her companion.

Presently a bend of the river brought the wind into a more favorable

quarter, and the couple raced homeward up the ice-street yet more

swiftly than they had come. For a while they could hear howls in the

forest depths; but as the leagues melted away beneath their

skate-strokes, the dreadful sounds died out in the distance.

Still Hardrat kept on, spurred by mad terror; nor would he slacken the

pace until they swept into full view of the viking settlement. At sight

of the steep-roofed buildings and the shouting merrymakers in the

meadows beyond, he uttered a hoarse cry, and ceased his frantic strokes.

Borne on by his momentum, he glided forward until opposite the viking

hall. Then, utterly spent, he sank down upon the ice, wheezing as

though he would choke.

Fastrada circled about and came to a stand beside the over-wearied man,

eying him with cold indifference. When he had gained breath a little

and could listen, she bent forward and said significantly: "Let there be

no talk of this skating, friend Hardrat."

"Trust me for that, witch-daughter! I 'll drown the memory at the

cask's bottom!"

"It is well that your tongue does not wag with the wine. Here's gold

for your wassail-fee," replied Fastrada, and, flinging a coin to him,

she glided on up the river.

CHAPTER IX

Unto all bale

And all hate whetted.

LAY OF BRYNHILD

In the centre of the skating-course the girl threw back her hood and

gazed about at the circling skaters. Being now easily recognized, she

at once became a focus of attraction for the younger Franks, who darted

forward from all sides to offer themselves as partners. But the girl

stood coyly in their midst, seemingly undecided whom to choose. She had

spied the king sweeping out from the bank, and so contrived that when he

wheeled past the cluster of eager suitors he caught her gaze fixed upon

him in a look of tender longing. Instantly his eyes kindled, and,

driving in among the young warriors, he bore off the prize from their

midst.

With the girl's arm locked fast in his powerful clasp, Karl swept her

along at whirlwind speed, his skates ringing loudly on the ice with the

force of his strokes. His face glowed with the fierce delight of the

captor, and the half-frightened, half-pleased look of his lovely captive

sent the hot blood leaping through his veins.

Unresisting but unassisting, Fastrada clung to his supporting arm while

he bore her around the skating-course at a speed no other skater born in

Frank Land might have hoped to equal. As he swept back through the

thick of the shouting onlookers, he wheeled, seized by some fresh

impulse, and drove away down the river, with no slackening in his

headlong rush.

The Franks discreetly refrained from following their king; and Floki the

Crane, who alone of those present could have overtaken the flying

couple, headed back such of the younger Northmen as chose to consider

the manner of the king's leaving a challenge to race.

So, followed neither by Frank nor viking, Karl drove on with his fair

prize into the forest. As the gnarled trunks of the giant oaks shut out

from view the last glimpse of field and dwelling, Fastrada's downcast

eyes shone with sapphire tints, and though far from wearied by her mad

race with Hardrat, she leaned more heavily upon the arm of the king.

A little later, the two were standing face to face in the centre of the

river, a league beyond the viking camp. Karl was staring at the maiden

with a bewildered look as he listened to her pleading words: "Ah, stay,

my lord! You break my heart! I thought--I thought you 'd take me to

wife."

Karl smiled, half incredulously.

"How then, silly maiden," he said; "have you forgotten who sits beside

me on the throne?"

Fastrada's drooping eyelids quivered, and her face whitened; but she

betrayed no sign of anger or jealousy.

"I 've not forgotten, dear lord," she whispered. "Yet I thought-- I

've heard of kingly rights. Is there--was there not a custom that the

king might take to himself two wives?"

"By my sword, fair one, you 'd make a Merwing of me! Is it not enough

that you have won my love?"

"No, sire, no! It is not enough for me!" cried the girl.

"Then what would you have?" asked Karl, wonderingly.

Before she answered, the girl raised her eyes to his, and flung out her

arms.

"Ah, how I love you, dear lord!" she half whispered. "But you forgo your

ancient right,--you 'll not seat two with you on your throne. I see

only one way that joy may come to me,--ay, and why not? Why should not

I have my turn?"

"How then?" demanded Karl. "Speak out."

"Ah, dear lord, do not be harsh! It is my love that forces my lips to

speak, and so--and so--I will say it, though it kill me! Dear lord, if

you will not make me joint sharer of your throne with the one who now

sits beside you, I would--I would that she might give place to me,--as

the Lombard's daughter gave way to her--as Himiltrude gave way to the

princess--"

"Ha!" cried Karl. He drew back a step, and stood staring at her,

overcome with amazement at her audacity.

For a moment the girl straightened before his angry wonder with a

gesture almost of defiance. But then her eyes sank, and her whole body

drooped forward.

"Pardon me, dear sire!" she pleaded faintly. "Forgive the love which

carried me beyond reason. I could not stay my tongue, dear lord. I was

mad!"

Softened by the girl's words and timid look, Karl relaxed his frown.

"Daughter of Rudulf," he said, "it is I who am at fault. You are far

other than I thought,--I own it with shame! Here, then, is an end; for

as to your foolish dream, that may never be. No woman lives who can

thrust from my heart the daughter of Childebrand."

"Then all is over, dear lord; I may not hope?"

"All is over, maiden."

For a while the girl stood silent, one of her skate-runners tapping

gently on the ice. But then, forcing as it were the words from her

lips, she murmured hurriedly: "Your Majesty, is it not best I should be

returning?"

"Not you alone, maiden! Whoever's afield should be seeking shelter.

Already the oak-tops moan with the coming storm. But fear nothing. We

shall soon be warming our knees by the cheery hall-fire."

"But how, sire, of those who-- Ah, Holy Mother forgive me! I forgot;

in my love and joy, I forgot! Kosru the leech-- Oh, hasten, sire! The

lads and Rothada,--they are on the river, and with them our gracious

dame!"

"Hildegarde!" roared Karl, in angry alarm.

"The queen," echoed Fastrada, and she shrank back in real fear of the

king's threatening gesture. But he advanced, only to motion her up the

river.

"To the villa!" he commanded. "Tell the Danes their vala is in peril!

Bid the counts join with them! I go to meet the skaters."

With the words, Karl wheeled past the cowering girl, and drove away down

the river at headlong speed.

Instantly Fastrada sprang erect and glared after him.

"_Hai!_" she hissed. "Let him go; let him rush to share the fate of the

others! The hungry fangs await him! Merry's the feast I 've set for

Odin's dogs!--king's kin and king; ay, and my false hero! All's merry

in the bleak wood! Hark to the moaning oaks! My mother's spell has

roused the storm-fiends,--the sky darkens. Soon the gnawed bones will

lie wrapped in a snowy shroud! And now I shall go to _her_. She shall

unriddle that old foretelling,--'a king, grey of eye.' The Merwing Wolf

rode the tree; Pepin's son rushes to meet his bane; who, then, may it

be? Adelchis the Lombard, idling in the Kaiser's hall, or that drunken

Hardrat? More likely he,--the white-bristled boar! I had thought to

crush him when the time came; but now-- Ah, would that Pepin's son had

lent a willing ear! He at least was a world-hero, with whom might be

named no warrior other than my sea-king. And now they are death-doomed.

_Ai!_ my bright hero bleeds! Olvir! Oh, Olvir!"

Writhing in tearless anguish, the girl stumbled to the river's edge.

With feverish haste she tore loose the skate-thongs from her buskins,

and, leaping up the bank, fled wildly into the heart of the forest.

CHAPTER X

Thou shalt hear the wolves howling.

LAY OF GUDRUN.

When the little party, whose leader he had considered himself, glided

away into the forest, Olvir had thought to limit the trip to three

leagues at the utmost. But he failed to consider the queen's humor.

After her long confinement within the bower, Hildegarde's fair face

glowed with almost feverish delight as she felt the ice glide away

beneath her feet, and she swayed her body to the skate-stroke with the

grace of a Greek dancer. Upborne by Liutrad's powerful grasp, she soon

lost all thought of fatigue and distance, and floated on--on--through

the white sunlight, her face serene with dreamy contentment. Her

enjoyment was at its height when Olvir, hand in hand with Rothada,

glided up beside her, a troubled look in his dark eyes.

"Stay, Dame Hildegarde," he called out. "I beg you to turn back before

it is too late. The storm-light is boding, and we 're already too far

from hearth and roof-tree."

Hildegarde threw out her hand in a gesture of vexation very unlike her

usual gentle bearing.

"Leave croaking to the ravens!" she cried. "How soon will your storm

sweep upon us?"

"That I cannot say, dear dame. I know nothing of your Rhineland."

"I might guess," said Liutrad, in response to the queen's glance. "Yet

why not ask Gerold? None should know better than he."

"Brother!" called Hildegarde; and when the young Swabian came circling

back to her side, she pointed skywards. "It seems that our Norse hero

is fearful of the storm-boding. He would have it that we wander too far

afield."

"Ah, Olvir; so you still fret at the storm-light," laughed Gerold, and

he cast a careless glance at the sky.

"In old Norway such a boding would bring the wind howling about our ears

within an hour," rejoined Olvir.

"Here it will come with the sundown," said Gerold. "There is yet no

moaning in the oak-tops."

"Enough!" cried his sister. "Rejoin the lads. We 'll fare on."

Though far from satisfied, Olvir made no further protest. Saluting the

queen, he at once fell back with Rothada to their former position in the

rear. Surely Gerold should know. If he gave assurance of safety, why

need an outlander doubt? And it was very pleasant to glide on into the

forest depths, side by side with the little vala. Having done his part,

he could now put away all thought of mishap, and give himself over to

joy.

Constant practice with Olvir through all the happy days of Yule had

gained for Rothada a skate-stroke which in lightness and grace all but

equalled that of Hildegarde herself. With the light staff-spear

balanced in her left hand, and scarf and cloak floating back from her

shoulders, the king's daughter skimmed over the ice-street with all the

airy freedom of a bird. But for the glint of the upcurving

skate-runners as her slender foot peeped from beneath her skirt, Olvir

might well have fancied that her flight was winged. Life and love had

driven the last trace of cloister pallor from her rounding cheeks, and

beamed from her eyes with the tender radiance of perfect trust and joy.

The loveliness of his princess set every fibre of Olvir's being atingle

with rapture. His black eyes gazed down adoringly upon her lissome body

and dainty foot; upon the glossy braids which lay entwined with bright

ribbons down her heaving bosom; upon the flower-like face beneath its

jewelled cap; most of all, upon the soft eyes, half-veiled by the

tresses wind-blown across the white forehead.

Mile after mile, the forest glided past in an endless maze of gnarled

trunks and leafless branches; but, like the queen, the lovers were lost

to all sense of time and distance. Gradually the space between them had

lessened. Now Rothada's hand was upon Olvir's shoulder; his arm was

clasped about her waist, and he was softly chanting to her of the fells

and fiords, of the salmon leaping in the torrents, and the crimson glow

of the midnight sun.

When at last Hildegarde gave the word to turn, the lovers halted with

the others, and stood before them without altering their pose. Neither

would have become aware of Hildegarde's look of surprise or of Liutrad's

and Gerold's smiles, had not young Karl cried out in boyish glee: "See,

mother, Rothada and Count Olvir! Sister will wed our lord father's

bright Dane hawk, and he 'll never fly away to his frost-white eyry."

"The dear Christ grant that such may be the outcome, child," replied

Hildegarde; and she gazed, with a tender smile, at Rothada's downbent

head. "Now that your sister gives proof of her love, all should go

well. Count Olvir has only to accept baptism."

"Baptism, dear dame! Should you not rather say, the yoke of priestly

rule?"

"Olvir, Olvir! put aside your stubborn pride! You little know how hard

it is for our lord to give his sweet maiden into another's keeping. If,

then, he holds you in such friendship, should you not be willing to bend

to Christ?"

"That I already do, Dame Hildegarde," replied Olvir, gravely. "But let

us spare ourselves now. We are afield, and should give ourselves over

to joy."

"Lord Olvir speaks well, mother," exclaimed Pepin, flourishing his

javelin. "Lead on again! We may yet chance upon an elk or bear."

"No, sister; about and homeward!" cried Gerold, in sudden alarm. "Hear

the moaning in the oak-tops! How can I ever forgive myself? The

storm's upon us, and we so far from shelter!"

"I alone am at fault," said Hildegarde. "Had I given heed to Olvir's

warning, by now we should have been within sight of home. Lend your aid

to the lads, brother. If you tire, Liutrad will take your place."

"Beside me, lads!" cried Gerold, impatiently.

The boys darted in to grasp the ends of the Swabian's crossed spear, and

with a shout all three struck out on the homeward race. After them

glided Hildegarde and Liutrad with long, easy strokes, while Olvir, his

arm still clasped about his little princess, swept her along in the wake

of the others like a cluster of thistledown upborne by the breeze.

Spurred on by his alarm, Gerold steadily increased the pace, until the

air whistled in the ears of the skaters, and the long miles melted away

beneath their flashing ice-blades in swift succession. Few skaters,

however, could long sustain so rapid a stroke, and Gerold at last found

that he had overestimated his strength. Unhampered, he might have held

on without slackening to the very end of the course; but his strength

and training were now offset by the weight of the two boys. Little more

than half the homeward course had been covered when his strokes began to

flag, and he found himself compelled to ease the pace. Liutrad was

quick to heed his friend's distress.

"Ho, gossip!" he called; "you 're all but winded. Leave Pepin to me, and

fall behind. I 'll lead for a while."

"Lead, then! I must give way," panted Gerold, and reluctantly he

slackened speed for the Northman to pass. At the moment, however, Pepin

uttered a wild view-halloo, and dashed aside toward the river-bank,

followed hotly by young Karl.

"A wolf!" sang out Liutrad, at sight of the gaunt black beast bounding

silently along the bank among the alders.

"Ho! see the cowardly brute make off!" shouted Gerold, as the wolf

leaped away into the forest.

"Cowardly?" repeated Hildegarde. "It seems to me very bold of the lone

beast to follow an armed party in midday."

"Greyleg fares ill in the winter woods," answered Liutrad, in a careless

tone, and he beckoned to the disappointed young hunters. "Hasten, lads!

If we find ourselves within a league of the villa before the storm

bursts, we shall be doing well."

"God grant no worse befall us!" muttered Olvir, half aloud, and as the

boys circled back to their new places in the party, he drew his war-bow

from its case and strung it, ready for instant use. But at Rothada's

startled look, he smiled, and said lightly: "Now I dare Greyleg to peer

out the second time. He shall find his bane without waiting for the

spears of bairns."

"He will do well to overtake us again, Olvir, now that Liutrad leads."

"True, dear heart. Few even in the North can out-ride Liutrad on the

ice-steeds, and his bigness breaks the wind for those of us who follow.

Lean more to the stroke, dear one, and waste no breath in words."

Obediently Rothada bent forward on his supporting arm, while Olvir,

freed from her inquiring gaze, searched the river-banks with his glance,

and turned his head as though straining to catch the first note of some

distant cry. He had not long to wait.

So faint that at first even the listening ear could scarcely tell it

from the moaning of the oak boughs, down the wind came floating that

most dismal of all sounds,--the long-drawn howl of a wolf. Olvir's face

grew tense, and his grip on the war-bow tightened as he glanced down at

Rothada. But he held on after the others, without a word, though howl

after howl was borne to his ears by the freshening breeze.

CHAPTER XI

--Oft Wyrd preserveth

Undoomed earl--if he doughty be.

BEOWULF.

At first none other than Olvir gave heed to the dreary cry; for now the

storm's forerunners came soughing through the leafless treetops. A

half-mile, however, and the howls had merged into one continuous note

that rose and fell on the breeze like the wail of fiends in torment.

Even Rothada's untrained ear caught the appalling sound as it swelled

out with a sudden flaw of the wind. The girl cowered and pressed closer

to her companion. Nor was she alone in her fear. With all their boyish

pride, her brothers cried out in dread, and Gerold turned as pale as his

sister. Liutrad slackened speed, and looked instinctively to Olvir.

"Hearken, earl!" he called. "The wolf-pack is before us! Should we not

turn back?"

"_Heu!_" shouted Gerold; "turn--turn and fly while there's yet time!"

"Where?" rejoined Olvir,--"to perish in the forest? The storm lowers.

Our only hope is ahead. Let us only sweep by the pack, and we may yet

gain safety. At the worst, we can mount an oak till Floki brings aid.

Lead on, son of Erling! Already we glide through the midst of the

horde. Look back!"

A cry of terror burst from all others than Liutrad as they stared back

over their shoulders. From the point of the last bend, not a hundred

paces behind them, a dozen gaunt beasts were breaking cover to leap out

upon the ice. Even as the skaters looked about, other bands of the

silent pursuers sprang into the open from either bank, and a dry

snapping in the alders drew the eye to half-hidden forms flitting

through the thickets abreast of the party.

Suddenly a huge grey wolf leaped out from the left bank, several yards

in the lead of the skaters. The beast made no attempt to attack the

quarry. Hardly even did he look at them, but bounded along on the

ice-edge, whining like a young dog. The strange actions of the beast,

coupled with the silence of the gathering pack, struck Liutrad's stout

heart with a fear little less intense than that of his companions.

"Tyr! the beasts are upon us!" he shouted, and, gripping Hildegarde and

Pepin fast in his giant grasp, he bent far over and drove into the teeth

of the freshening wind at racing speed. At his heels followed Gerold

with young Karl, keen to hold the vantage of the wind-break offered by

the great body of the Northman.