"All joy is ours, Olvir," replied Karl, and he beamed down upon his

queen with the fond look of the newly wedded lover. Fastrada sat

motionless, her eyes downcast and her face wrapped in an inscrutable

calm. As Olvir released her hand and drew aside to where Rothada waited

him on their accustomed seat, the queen-bride bent over her opal, and

murmured softly: "Tell him of his fortune, dear lord. When one's heart

is full of joy or sorrow, it is good to see those around grieve or

rejoice with us."

"Such is the nature of man, sweetheart. Listen, Olvir. As part of the

morning-gift of my bride, I have granted her kindly wish to do you

honor, and so name you Count of the Frisian Mark. Count Teutoric lies

wounded at Fitzlar, and Gerold is too young for so grave a charge. But

this dear one at my side has called to mind your good service in Vascon

Land, and though my selfishness urges the pleasure of your company, I

wish to render you the honor which is your due. My ungenerous love

would have had me regard my own pleasure before your advancement,--the

more so as you should hasten at once to your mark. I will see you again

before you sail. Now I go to advise with Alcuin."

"My lord king!" cried Olvir, springing up. But Karl, mistaking his

purpose, stepped down from the dais and passed by, with a good-natured

shake of the head.

"Render your thanks to your queen, to whom they are due," he called

back, as he left the bower.

Olvir took a step or two after the king, only to turn again to Fastrada.

"Dear dame," he said, "I am not one to value lightly the honor put upon

me; yet I wish that Gerold or Amalwin had been chosen instead. Let

another be given the countship. I am content here beside my betrothed."

"Truly, it is a long way to Frisia," sighed Rothada, and she drew close

to the side of her hero.

"A long way!" repeated Olvir, clasping her hand.

For a while Fastrada sat calm and silent as before, fingering the opal

on her hand. Then, without raising her eyes or altering her look, she

said quietly: "Take the word of a well-wisher, Olvir. It is not

pleasing to kings to have their favors cast back upon them. Trust me.

My dear lord has chosen you to honor and power above all others of his

counts except Barnard, his uncle. Render him the service which lies in

you to render, and you may look for more welcome favors to follow."

"I wish one only. Tell me, little vala, would you say no if the king,

your father, gave you leave to sail down Rhine Stream with your

sea-wolves?"

"If my father bade me go, dear hero--"

"Only one way could you go, child,--as bride of their count," broke in

Fastrada, sharply.

"And so it shall be," rejoined Olvir.

Fastrada did not raise her eyes, but her jewelled buskin tapped softly

on the dais.

"Foolish children!" she murmured. "You will spoil all when the future

is brightest with promise. Would it not seem ungracious, Olvir, to so

soon beg another favor? You have yet to fulfil the terms of your

betrothal."

"But for this countship, I would go to him and ask that those terms be

set aside. Yet you say true; I cannot tax his friendship. My mouth is

closed."

"Trust me, Olvir. You will have a friend close to the king's ear. But

bear in mind my dear lord's unwillingness to part with his little maid.

It may be I can soon overcome that. If not, what is another year of

waiting to true lovers? Have I not waited all these years for my

king,--my king, 'grey of eye'? Rothada is still very young. I have

seen two and twenty summers; she cannot count a score."

"She is none too young to wed, even by Northern custom," answered Olvir.

"True, and we will all pray that your betrothal may have a quick ending.

Now send in the maidens from the antechamber, and say your farewells

when there is none left to chatter over your parting. You shall have

until the turn of the glass for your parting. No, Olvir; give me no

thanks. Go quickly; the sweet moments are winged. But bear in mind, if

it come to the worst, what is a year of waiting to true lovers?"

"A year!" muttered Olvir, as he drew Rothada's hand through his arm and

led her from the bower, "a year! Doubtless, the queen's words are well

meant, but already, dear heart, our betrothal year is far gone; and did

I not love you all those long years before?"

Rothada made no reply until the curious maidens had hurried into the

bower and she stood alone with her lover in the anteroom. Then she

placed her arms on his shoulders, and gazed up, clear-eyed, into his

troubled face.

"Dear hero," she said, "Fastrada has spoken wisely. We must have

patience. In His own good time, God will grant us the fulness of joy."

"Ah, darling, you forget the longing--the hunger of love! How shall I

sit at peace among the dreary fens, while my heart is with you in the

Rhinegau? Day and night I shall hunger for the sight of your sweet

face. By false Loki, would that our lord king might do me a wrong! I

should seize you, though it were from the very cloister, and bear you

away to Trondheim Fiord!"

"Olvir! It grieves me you should hold such thoughts!" cried Rothada,

and she burst into tears. Olvir caught her to him in an agony of

contrition.

"Would to Heaven I 'd never been a sea-king!" he muttered. "Dearest

heart--little princess, forgive me--do not weep!"

"See, then; I have ceased already," whispered Rothada, and she looked up

through her tears, with a brave smile. "Yet I am very sad, my hero.

Oh, if only you could go to my father and tell him that your heart was

free to fulfil those conditions! Then I would--I would myself beg of

him that I might fare down Rhine Stream--with you."

"Little vala! How the longships would fly, winged by the bowing oars of

your merry sea-wolves!"--and Olvir strained the girl to him. But then

he freed her, and his face grew stern.

"Christ aid us!" he muttered. "My spirit is torn between love and

truth. Odin bear witness how I love you, dear; yet even for your sake I

cannot bend to the yoke of priestcraft. It would be a lie--a lie!"

"The more do I love you, my hero, for your true heart! If you are

mistaken, our Lord Christ will give you light. Trust to His guidance,

and however you may be led, I have faith that all will come well in the

end."

"In the end--ay, in the end; but I'm weary of waiting. Five long

winters have dragged by since we first plighted troth, there in the

Southland."

"I was only a child; yet see, Olvir, my collar--the tress which saved

you at Roncesvalles--still lies clasped about your throat. It is not a

year since my father betrothed us. We must trust in Christ and in the

good-will of--of the queen."

"The witch's daughter!" replied Olvir, and his face clouded yet more.

"Why did she not look up as she spoke? My mind is not at ease. Her

words were so kindly; but still, it seemed to me her meaning--"

"Such doubts are unworthy of you, Olvir. Could a sister--a mother--show

greater tenderness than she has shown since Hildegarde left us?"

"The bitterness of parting poisons my thought. Forgive me, dear, if I

give way to doubt. Yet there is one in the court whom I can trust to

watch over you. Trust Liutrad in all things. He would strike off his

sword-hand to give you joy. Wait; a word more, darling. Here is my

silver-hilted knife, the work of my own hands."

"What--I bear a dagger?" cried Rothada, and she shrank from the gift.

"Call it a bodkin; only, take and keep it in memory of our parting."

"As you wish, then, dear; yet it is a large bodkin to carry in my bosom,

and if I sling it at my girdle, the maidens will mock me for a warrior."

"A terrible hero! Tie the sheath with ribbons, and let the silly

maidens laugh."

"No; I will hang it about my neck. It shall lie upon my heart, in

pledge of your love and protection. I will cherish it, dear; for it

comes from my hero."

Olvir smiled, half sadly, and turned away, while the girl looped a

ribbon about her neck to suspend the dagger in her bosom. The movement

brought his gaze about to the doorway of the bower, in which stood the

withered form of old Kosru the leech, draped about with a gorgeous robe

of yellow silk. The moment Olvir's eyes fell upon him, the Magian bent

to the rushes, as in former years he had salaamed before the stern Vali

Kasim. The servile obeisance irritated the Northman quite as much as

the interruption.

"Withdraw, leech!" he said almost harshly.

"I go, lord count. But--may my lord forgive me the bearing!--the

gracious queen bids me say that the sand is nearly run."

"Could she not give the glass another turning?"

"_Ai_, lord; but our mighty protector Karolah has gone to the water-side

to see you take ship," replied the leech, and, with a dry cackling of

toothless laughter, he shuffled about into the bower. As he turned, he

thrust his hand beneath his robe, and a soft, metallic clink chimed with

his mirthless chuckle.

"_At--ai!_" he muttered; "youth and love are soon sped; but the shining

gold is ever a joy and a comfort."

Then his ill-omened figure disappeared from view, and Olvir clasped his

little princess to him for the last bitter-sweet moments of parting.

CHAPTER XIX

Why are ye sitting there?

Why sleep ye life away?

Why does it grieve you not?

WHETTING OF GUDRUN.

Bitterly was Olvir to regret that he had bent to the subtle taunt of the

witch's daughter. Had he taken Rothada before her father in the first

flush of his wedding joy, Karl could have refused them nothing. But he

had let himself be lured away to the fen-lands, far from king and court;

while the new queen was ever at the side of the world-ruler, free at all

times to whisper her guileful words into his willing ear. Olvir had no

need of Liutrad's gloomy letters to tell him of the evil spell which the

witch's daughter had laid on the great Frank. Before the year was out,

it was commonly known, even in Frisia, how the king's bride, who never

smiled, had driven Count Hardrat and others of her countrymen from the

court with scoffs and biting jests, had poisoned the king's mind with

evil thoughts of his most devoted liegemen, and had hardened his heart

to bloodshed and cruelty.

After many dreary months of waiting, it was with a feeling almost of joy

that Olvir received the curt command which bade him join young Karl and

Gerold at the Sigiburg. The king had gone north to hunt out the wary

Engern and Eastphalians, and had left the Frankish horsemen under the

nominal command of his sturdy son, to meet the mounted forces of the

Westphalians.

Even war was preferable to the torment of inaction, and in the great

battle of horsemen which was fought on the Lippe, Olvir proved that if

he had lost his old-time zest for fighting, he had by no means lost his

daring and quickness. The Saxons were defeated with great slaughter,

though not until Olvir had twice saved the life of young Karl.

For such a service, Olvir might well have looked for some special mark

of the king's favor. But the queen had gone north with the court, to

join Karl on the Weser, and not even a word of praise came from the gay

camp near Sunthal, where Karl lingered until after Yuletide.

Then came the command signed by Angilram, the new Keeper of the Seal,

saying that young Karl should join his father at the Eresburg, leaving

the horsemen under Gerold's charge; while Count Olvir should march into

Thuringia, to give aid to Rudulf, Count of the Sorb Mark.

The tidings of Abbot Fulrad's death were very grievous to Olvir; for the

kindly old councillor had been his strongest friend at court. And to

this cup of sorrow was added the gall of Teutoric's reinstatement as

Count of the Frisian Mark. This, however, Karl himself sought to excuse

by a scroll in his own rude, bold handwriting. Teutoric had at last

recovered from his long illness, and had asked for his old countship.

In giving it to him again, he, Karl, had meant nothing against his Dane

hawk, but thought to honor him by sending him into the Sorb Mark, where

there was need of his sword. Sometime in the spring, if the Sorbs had

become quiet, he should call his bright falcon to him.

Filled with renewed hope by this promise, Olvir bade Gerold farewell,

and marched swiftly across Westphalia with his vikings. At the

Eresburg, he left young Karl to await his father, who had stopped at

Paderborn; but he himself marched on with his vikings, over the Fulda

and Werra, into the great forest of the Thuringians.

Not until they reached the banks of the Saale did the vikings come upon

the Grey Wolf's lair,--a great fenced camp on the farthermost border of

the Sorb Mark. But if their journey was long, their welcome was hearty

enough to make amends. Morose and savage as was his nature, old Rudulf

greeted Olvir with the open friendliness of one fearless man for

another. He had long since put away the grudge which he had once

cherished against the Northman, and now he could even speak of the

spurning of his daughter without bitterness. Half jestingly, he called

to mind that all but forgotten event, and pointed out how that which had

seemed so ill a happening had, in the end, turned out well omened for

all. Was not his daughter the king's wedded wife, and Olvir plighted to

the king's daughter?

But Rudulf had other cause than his admiration for the Northman to give

warmth to his greetings. When alone with Olvir, he complained that, for

the first time in a score of years, the young men of his folk showed a

lack of willingness to respond to the king's bode. This was all the

more marked, he said, because of the spirit of unrest which moved

through the forests. Men sat uneasily at the hearthside, their thoughts

clouded with forebodings of evil. It was not that the Sorbs were astir

and threatened a harrying of the mark. That should have brought the

wild forest warriors with a rush to join the banner of their old-time

leader. Yet his war-ring was all but empty. Those who should have

crowded the hedges loitered about their farmstedes.

The coming of Olvir and his sea-wolves was, therefore, a very welcome

event to the grim old Count of the mark. Though time and war had

lessened the number of the vikings to a scant four hundred, they were

picked warriors, mailed like chiefs, and trained as no band had been

trained since the days of the Romans. With such men at his call, the

Grey Wolf lay at ease in his lair, confident that should the Sorbs dare

raid his mark, they would ride back across the Saale far faster than

they came. It would seem that the crafty heathen were themselves aware

of this; for the arrival of the vikings was followed by signs that the

menacing Slavs had thought better of their purpose. All along the

border the account of how the giant Danes of Karl the Frank had turned

the Saxon Wittikind's victories into bloody disaster was now a

well-known tale.

So the Slav folk kept across the Saale, biding a fairer season for their

raid; while the warriors, whose presence had put the curb on their lust

for blood and loot, lay about the Thuringian camp, grumbling at the lack

of merry sword-play. It was in vain that on the accustomed day for the

spring sacrifice they honored Odin with many choice victims. Neither

Floki, nor such others of their number as were skilled in signs and

omens, could foretell anything from the casting of the blood-chips. At

the least, no war was to be read in the boding, and the Sorbs did not

give the lie to the omens.

May came and went, and then June, and Olvir was beginning to doubt the

king's faith, when word was brought to the forest fastness,--another

scroll in Karl's rough handwriting,--saying that he had gone north to

invade the land beyond the Elbe, but had not forgotten his Dane hawk.

With this assurance of the king's troth, Olvir rested fairly content.

Yet it was no easy task to wait through the long summer-time.

Autumn was already at hand when the vikings began to talk of a weird

apparition, in appearance like a dead woman swathed in her shroud, which

wandered through their camp in the darkness. The manner in which the

Thuringians scoffed at the "grey walker" of their heathen fellows soon

convinced Olvir that the fancied wraith was none other than old Rudulf's

Wend wife. To test the matter, he expressed to the count his wonder

that the dame should see fit to act so mysteriously.

The next night, as he sat by the Grey Wolf's hearth listening to a grim

tale of life in the mark, the Wend woman glided into the hut, and sat

down opposite the two men. Rudulf nodded carelessly to his wife, and

would have gone on with his tale. But Olvir turned to greet her.

"Welcome, dame," he said. "I did not think to see you again in this

life, when at our last meeting you fared out into the storm and night."

"And what if I am not now in the flesh-life, son of Thorbiorn?" asked

the witch, in a hollow voice.

"The heartier should be my welcome, dame," rejoined Olvir. "I 've ever

longed to meet a farer from Hel's Land. But though I have seen many go

that journey, I have never seen one come again."

"Not so the daughter of the Snake, bold mocker. In the midnight, when

the wolves feasted upon the bodies of the slain, I have walked on the

battlefield, gathering the death-dew for my spells, and my eyes have

seen the blood-reddened souls rising from the mangled flesh."

"Your souls were going hence, daughter of the Snake; they as yet knew

only the earth-life. I spoke of those who have crossed over the

glittering way, and then come again to Manheim. Hel holds with a firm

grip those who go to her. Not many fare back who have set foot beyond

the wall of Loki's daughter."

"The son of Thorbiorn would have his hostess tell of deeds forbidden

under the laws of Karl. Does not the Christian king doom to the

mire-death those who practise spells? _Ai!_ not all have forgotten my

hut in the Moselle Wood, and the curse which I put upon those whom I

left behind."

"By the fiend Odin!" broke in Rudulf; "that was an ill-doing, wife. Yet

if the good queen has gone hence, and Pepin Crookback become a witling,

our guest will tell you that young Karl bids fair to fill his father's

sword-belt, and our daughter, the queen, goes clad in silk and gold."

"Your daughter,--the false trull,--not mine!" hissed the woman. "As to

her luck, good or ill, have you forgotten my boding when this bright

gerfalcon flew out of the South to seek our leave for his wooing? 'A

king, grey of eye,' was my foretelling, and so it has chanced. But

again I gave my boding, as I fared from the hut into the storm, and

again my word has come true. The queen your daughter sits in her silken

bower, and her heart lies as a stone in her breast. With a touch she

bends the iron Karl to her bidding; yet power and wealth are become as

ashes in her mouth. There is wormwood in her drink, and gall in her

dainty fare. Do I speak truth, gerfalcon?"

"I would say nothing against the dame of my lord," answered Olvir.

"Yet she has brought you little else than sorrow and evil."

"She has not turned the king's heart against me. I hold his pledge.

Each day I look for his bidding to come to him."

"You have not heard, son of Thorbiorn! Your ears are duller than I

thought. Karl went north from Paderborn, not Rhineward. He is now upon

the Elbe bank."

"I have heard, dame. It seems that my wait is to be a little longer."

"You take the ill tidings calmly, hero. Will you laugh in joy when I

tell you that Karl is minded to break his pledge to you?"

"That is not true," said Olvir, staring intently at the grey-shrouded

figure of the woman.

"The hero talks foolishly. She who was my daughter lies in the king's

arms; Count Olvir lies on the Saale bank."

"It is easy to speak bold words when the face is hidden," rejoined

Olvir.

At the taunt, the witch flung back her cloak, exposing fully to the red

firelight the ghastly adder mark upon her cheek and the weasels nestling

in her bosom. Roused by the movement, the little beasts crawled upon

her shoulders, and stared, fiery-eyed, at the stranger.

"Now I see the face of the alruna," said Olvir, quietly. "Let her

speak."

"What more should I say, Dane hawk? Go through the Frank's realm; ask

of the king's men if their lord keeps troth with them; ask of the

harried Saxons whose is the bitter tongue that is ever inflaming the

king's mind to bloodshed."

"Enough of ill talk, wife," growled Rudulf. "King Karl will do right by

our guest-friend."

"Well said, old Grey Dog!" rejoined the woman, scoffingly. "Your teeth

have worn blunt on the bones of Karl's foemen, and now you 'd whine and

lick your master's foot, lest he beat you from the kennel."

"Your tongue is keen, wife, but your speech dull," replied Rudulf,

unmoved. "There's little wit to be found in your jeering talk."

"It may prove a biting jest when the queen's hound comes to lie in the

kennel of the king's dog. _Ai_, my Grey Wolf! your ears are keen for

the footfall of sword-foes, but you do not hear the tread of those who

come creeping from the king's hall."

"How, then; what charges--"

"Does the Count of the mark ask that, when he who should be most zealous

of all in doing the king's will harbors in his very bed one accused of

heathen witchery,--one who has put her curse upon the king himself and

upon his hearth-kin?"

"A hero so great as Karl has little to fear from the curse of a Wend

woman. He will not think it ill that I cherish my wife, the mother of

his queen."

"No mother--nor father, Grey Wolf! It is the king's bed-mate who stirs

him to strike those who gave her life."

"That I do not believe."

"Come, then, and hear it from one who can swear to the tale. Many are

to meet at Hardrat's hall, to talk of this, among other matters. Would

it not be well for Count Olvir and yourself to join them?"

"That is a half-day's ride to the north, wife."

"The Sorbs lie quiet, and you need take none of your followers from the

war-ring. It will be no council, calling for a show of henchmen; so,

unless you fear treachery from your own folk--"

"Silence, woman! I 've had enough of jeering. Neither the Dane hawk nor

the Grey Wolf fears to roam alone in the forest. When does the beer-sot

look for his guests?"

"The drunkard has again given over his bowl. You will find a sober

host. Come in time for the noon meal. Yet stay! There may be

horse-flesh in the trenchers. Is the Dane hawk so zealous a Christian

that the meat of sacrifice--"

"How of the Christian host and this my hearth-friend?" laughed Olvir.

"I pledge myself to eat of the same dish, if the fare is savory."

"It is well. There will be room for all at Hardrat's board. Now I go

before you," replied the woman, and, wrapping her grey cloak about her,

she glided out into the night.

Olvir watched her go, and then he turned gravely to his companion.

"I would speak out my inmost thought," he said. "Could youth come again

to my host, would he choose for the second time to wed with a worker of

spells?"

"It is five and twenty years since, in the land beyond the Sorb country,

the Wend chief's daughter cut free the withes which bound me, and fled

away at my side. I have never since had cause to grieve that we

plighted troth on the Saale bank. I do not lay it upon her that she has

now brought us an ill boding."

"Nor I. She is but the tidings-bearer."

"Bitter tidings!" growled Rudulf, and he began to whet his sword.

CHAPTER XX

Strife and din in the hall,

Cups smitten asunder;

Men lay low in blood--

LAY OF HAMDIR.

But with the morning the Grey Wolf's thoughts had lightened. Side by

side, he and Olvir rode through the ancient forest, as, years before,

they had ridden through the beech-wood to Fulda. The black stallion was

dead, pierced by a Saxon spear. In his stead, the Thuringian rode a

long-limbed horse of coursing blood, the gift of the king. Even Zora

had to lengthen her stride when the big roan raced across the meadows.

As it chanced, however, the roan cast a shoe and went lame, so that the

journey, which began so briskly, ended in a walk. When the two counts

rode into the yard of Hardrat's burg, the horses of their fellow-guests

were already standing in their stalls, and their riders were within the

feast-hall, sitting before half-emptied trenchers. But the host himself

came out to do the last guests honor, and they returned his greetings

with heartiness when they saw that his face, though harsh and morose,

had lost the purple flush and bloated look of the drunkard.

"Again I welcome our Grey Wolf and that Dane hawk whose fame is in the

mouth of every hero," the host repeated. "Let them enter and sit at

meat with those who bear them good-will. My head groom shall see to

their horses. He is a skilled smith, and the forge is red. The Count

of the mark will find his roan shod again for the homeward riding."

"A good deed,--for which I give thanks," answered Rudulf.

"Stay a moment," said Olvir, as Hardrat turned to lead the way into the

hall. "Bid your groom leave my mare free in the yard. She is not used

to being stall-tied."

"As you wish, hero. I do not wonder that you give thought to a steed

that has borne you through two pitched battles and countless frays. Men

say you care for the beast as one of kin to you."

"They say true. More than once she has borne me out of the closing hand

of Loki's daughter. It may be that she will again carry me through

battle, though at heart I now long for peace. Her strength has at last

come again, and though the years lie heavily upon her, she can yet

outrace any courser other than one of her own blood."

"That I can well believe, hero," replied Hardrat, and he led in his

guests.

Within the skin-hung feast-hall the late-comers found that the seats of

honor, on the right and left hand of the host, had been kept waiting for

them. Next below Rudulf's place on the bench sat a huge Wend warrior,

beside whom was the Wend witch in her grey cloak.

Upon the entrance of the counts, many of the guests had risen, with

brimming horn or bowl, to drink health to them, and Rudulf, as he passed

up the table, greeted many by name. But the black-bearded Wend giant

was bent over his trencher, and the old count took his seat on the bench

beside him, with a puzzled shake of his grisly, bristling head.

"By the fiend Odin!" he muttered; "have I come here to sit with Karl's

foes?"

"Be at ease, my lord!" entreated his wife. "Would I have asked you to

this feast had not all been well?"

"All sit here as friends, hero," added Hardrat, earnestly. "We meet

like kinsmen, to talk upon weighty matters. Only give us fair hearing,

and I pledge myself you will not rue your coming."

"Let be, then. I will listen," replied Rudulf.

"Well said!" called out one of the guests, and many echoed the words.

Hardrat rose, smiling, and addressed Olvir. "The guests sit in their

grey iron coats, and you in your linked mail, hero, as is fitting for

warriors gathered in council. Yet all heads other than your own are bare

of helmet. Uncover your sunbright locks, and sit at ease."

"The war-cap rests lightly upon the head of a viking," replied Olvir.

"Count Olvir doubts the faith of his host," sneered Hardrat. "Let him

sit with naked sword across his trencher. We ask only that, with the

Grey Wolf, he hear out whatever his fellow-guests would say."

"I will listen till all is said," replied Olvir, coldly. "But, instead

of the sword, I would have meat upon my trencher."

"Bring mead and the mead-horns for my high guests," called Hardrat.

"I pledge the host in the black mead," said Rudulf, as a Sorb thrall

handed him the drink.

"I pledge the Grey Wolf on my sword," answered Hardrat. "No longer does

the wassail-bowl touch my lips. I take thought of higher matters."

"Well said, hero!" exclaimed the Wend woman. "And now, men of the forest

land, give heed while our host tells what happened on the Moselle,

before the passing away of the good Queen Hildegarde."

Hardrat rose heavily, his face flushed and forbidding.

"It is hard for a man to speak of his shame," he began in a harsh voice.

"The shame of my drunkenness is the greater because it has blurred that

which I would now recall. I owe it to the crafty wit of the alruna that

I have at last fished up the memory from the bottom of the wine-jar,

where I sought to drown it. Count Olvir will remember the wolf-chase on

the frozen Moselle, since it was then he won Karl's pledge for his

daughter's hand."

"I remember," replied Olvir; and his eyes glowed as he saw again the

burning witch-hut in the midst of the storm-swirl, and his princess,

standing with him before the good abbot to plight their troth.

But the harsh voice of Liutrad's red pig broke in on the pleasant

musing,--"Give heed, then, Dane hawk, and you, Grey Wolf of the mark.

To all that I now say, I take oath on my sword--by the holy cross--by

all the fiend-gods of the Saxons and our own heathen fathers! At

Thionville, when the Yule games were closing, Fastrada, daughter of

Rudulf, lured me to race down the frozen Moselle on the track of certain

skaters. Count Olvir will tell Count Rudulf that those skaters were

himself, the queen, the king's daughter, and others."

"So far the tale is true," assented Olvir.

"No less what follows," retorted Hardrat; "only, I wish it were clearer

to the eye of my memory. I see the gnarled oak stems race past on

either side as we sweep down the blue road of the frost-giant. Borne up

by the spell of her witch-ring, the maiden at my side skims along with

magic swiftness. Hardly can I, a skilled ice-runner, keep the pace.

But when we glide in the depths of the winter forest, the maiden makes

pretence of a sprain. I see a fire burning on the river-bank. The

maiden sits before it, muttering spells to drive away the nixie that has

seized her ankle,--such is her claim; but she has lied. She utters the

fearful spell of the werwolf, and from the pouch casts pieces of an evil

charm upon the snow and in the flames. Foul with the stench of the

burning drug, the smoke rolls low beneath the naked boughs. Grisly

shapes peer out from among the alder stems; the wood resounds with the

yelling of the werwolves--"

Panting heavily, the speaker paused to wipe away the great drops which

had gathered on his forehead. In his glaring eyes and the sweat of

fear, the guests saw full proof that their host did not lie. Many

shuddered in the bright sunlight, and there was a hush in the hall as

Hardrat resumed his seat. All turned silently to old Rudulf, who, with

his grisly head bent forward between his shoulders, sat glaring at the

guests from his narrow slant eyes, more like one of the evil beings of

whom Hardrat had spoken than a natural man. But the Grey Wolf

restrained the fury which raged in his savage breast, and the silence

was broken only by the heavy breathing of the guests. Then the Wend

woman rose up.

"I read the faces of the heroes," she said. "None here doubts the truth

of our host's tale."

"Hold, dame; do not speak for all," broke in Olvir. "I believe that

Count Hardrat has told what to him is the truth; yet I doubt his tale.

He has himself spoken of the wine-jar--the mead-cask were enough! Men

in drink often see beasts unknown to sober eyes. What is more, I see no

cause for your daughter to dabble in black magic."

"My daughter, ay; she was then my daughter,--an apt daughter of the Wend

witch! Shall I tell how the witch's daughter whispered in the ears of

her mother the tale of her wild vengeance?--of the drawing of the

wolf-pack; of the luring of Pepin's son, and how, when Karl would have

given her love without the queen's crown, she sent him on down the

ice-street, to find his bairns and his bed-mate in the jaws of the grey

ones? She told all to her mother while the storm-fiends howled about

the forest hut. And then Karl and his Dane hawk came faring safe with

the others to the witch's hearth, and that false trull fawned upon those

whom she had sought to destroy. The fiend-gods bear me witness; she

fawned upon her foe, and forswore the mother who bare her!"

Old Rudulf's fist fell upon the table in a blow that split the oaken

board.

"God in Heaven!" he yelled; "would that my child had come into the world

still-born! Hate and vengeance,--such befitted the Grey Wolf's

daughter; but lying--lying and fawning!"

"Withhold your fury, lair-mate," said the woman; and even Olvir

shuddered to hear her mocking laughter.

The Grey Wolf glared at his scoffing wife; but she threw back her cloak,

and withstood his look with the cold glitter of her sunken eyes. The

menacing light died out of the count's green eyes. He cast a crafty

glance about the hall, and said sullenly: "Take joy of your deed, wife!

My heart is now cold and hard like the flint-rock. I listen."

"Listen, then, childless man! Shall I tell more of that maiden who was

fated to wed the grey-eyed king? The little birds have twittered many

tales in my ears. But no; our host shall speak again. He fared to

Paderborn when Karl held the assembly of his lordlings,--wretched

mockery of the day when the free folk of the shires gathered together

under the holy oaks, to make and unmake their own laws. The red boar

has come from the king's hall, and now I know that neither yourself nor

the Dane hawk will scoff at his tidings."

"The lie is most subtle which is mingled with truth," said Olvir.

Hardrat rose to face the Northman with a heavy frown. "Enough of

jeering, Dane," he said. "I do not ask yourself or Count Rudulf to

believe what I say of the king's ill-will toward you both. That you

will know shortly, when Worad comes faring to the Sorb Mark. It will be

joyous for the Grey Wolf when he sees the Wend king's daughter trampled

in the mire; joyous for the Dane hawk when, fleeing down Rhine Stream,

he hears the wedding bell of Worad and the king's daughter."

"Beware!" lisped Olvir, softly, and his face went white.

The Thuringian turned quickly to his fellow-plotters.

"Listen to me, heroes of the forest land!" he called. "If those who sit

beside me are men, I have said enough to rouse them. We will talk now

of that which concerns all,--of how the fierce werwolf at the side of

Pepin's son has hardened his heart to fire and slaughter, has inflamed

his wrath against all free-minded men. He turns from those who uphold

his throne; he dooms without cause the faithful counts. Men say he is

great,--that none may withstand him. The bear is king of beasts; yet I

have seen him baited by the hounds. We shall not stand alone. How is

minded the noble Lombard Adelchis, whose father, Desiderius, shorn and

uncrowned, lies cooped among the meek brothers at Corbie, praying for

vengeance? Ask the heart's wish of Tassilo, Duke of Bavaria, and of his

Lombard wife. The haughty Agilofingian has little cause to bless

Pepin's son. All goes well! The whole of Italy will welcome the son of

Desiderius and his Greek host. Old Barnard grows dull with his fatness.

Count William of Toulouse fares far into Saracen Land, and the fierce

King Abd-er-Rahman will keep him busied; while here in the North all the

heroes of Thuringia are with us. Then, too, Wittikind--"

"_Hei!_ the Saxon hero waits in Sigfrid's hall, ever ready!" cried the

Wend woman. "He will come again with a Dane host. Bid his

blood-sprinkled folk take heart! Yet another host shall aid them to

strike the cruel Frank. My father's warriors shall ride to join in the

baiting of the Frank bear. In Wend Land men have not yet forgotten the

daughter of the Snake."

"Never shall Karl return across the Rhine!" cried Hardrat; and he rose

to pass down the hall.

At once the guests shouted their approval: "The pledge! the pledge! Let

all taste the red drink of sacrifice!"

Olvir stared at the shouting plotters, and then his gaze fixed on Count

Hardrat, returning up the hall with a copper bowl whose rim was streaked

with dark red.

"Count of the mark," he asked, a strange smile on his lips, "have you

ever heard sung the Lay of Hamdir? It ends somewhat after this fashion:

"'At the hall's gable-end

Fell Sorli to earth,

But Hamdir lay low

At the end of the house.'"

Rudulf made no reply. His slit eyes were fixed in a hungry stare upon

the bulky form of his black-bearded bench-mate. The Wend had been

drinking steadily of the mead, and the powerful drink was already rising

to his head. Drawn by the look of the old count, he turned his

bloodshot eyes upon him in an insolent leer.

"Ho, Karl's dog," he jeered; "when the bear is baited, mine shall be his

bed-mate; nor shall I trouble your priests."

Rudulf rose up quietly, as one who would address the company. The

guests on either side of the table stilled their loud talk, and turned

expectantly to the Count of the mark. For a little, he stood silent

before them, his bristling face thrust forward, his narrow-lidded eyes

blinking. Then, suddenly, he bared his corded arms, and his voice roared

through the hall: "Traitors to Karl! thus the Grey Wolf pledges you

friendship!"

Swiftly the old wrestler stooped, and his terrible grip closed about the

giant Wend. The man had no time to call upon his bull-strength. Caught

fast in the fatal hold, he was bent backward; there came a snapping as

of a dry twig.--The Grey Wolf loosed his hold of the quivering corpse,

to spring at another victim. But his wife stood between, and before he

could pass her, the man had flung himself beneath the table.

Then the hall resounded with wild shouts and the clang of swords torn

from their sheaths. The terrified house-slaves fled screaming into the

open, or crouched against the wall, as the Thuringians rushed forward to

avenge their fellow-plotter. Olvir leaped around beside Rudulf, and

thrust him forward.

"To the door! to the door!" he cried.

"I go--for your sake," growled the old count, and his sword circled

about his grisly head.

"We go in peace," said the Wend woman. She flung the cloak from her

head, and glided, with upraised hand, between her lord and the

threatening Thuringians. "Make way, heroes! Bear in mind your pledge

to me."

"Stand aside, Wend-wife!" commanded the foremost guest.

"Make way yourself, dog! I see a bloody sprite beside you."

The Thuringian flung up his arm to ward off the woman's evil glance.

"That for your boding, witch!" he cried, and she fell to his stabbing

sword. The frightened weasels scurried, squeaking, from the cloak of

their mistress, to hide beneath the table. Upon the slain witch fell

the body of her slayer, struck down by Rudulf.

About the two friends the grey-armored Thuringians closed fast in the

doom-ring. Fierce blows rained down,--blade rang upon blade or clashed

against war-gear. Within the ring, the two, standing back to back,

fought their way steadily toward the door. The Thuringians could not

withstand the mad rage of Rudulf's attack or Olvir's cold white fury.

They fell back continually before the counts; but, from side and rear,

they thrust and struck as at maddened wolves.

Now and again one of their number fell to Al-hatif's stabs or the fierce

downsweep of the Grey Wolf's sword. In turn, their blades beat like

flails upon the doomed men. Not even Olvir's triple mail was proof

against their blows. Soon blood was seeping through the netted rings.

Only the blue steel of his helmet saved his head from a splitting;

Al-hatif was far too light to ward off the heavy longswords. Already

Rudulf was bleeding from many gashes; his head was a mass of wounds.

Still he fought on like a mad beast. He fell at the very threshold of

the open door, pierced through by Hardrat's boar-spear.

At the death-cry of the hero, Olvir sprang about, and his sword clipped

the point of the thrusting lance. Hardrat shrank back to draw his

sword. The Northman leaped through the doorway, calling loudly in

Arabic.

Across the courtyard Zora came plunging to meet her master, and her hoof

struck down the groom who sought to hold her. Olvir vaulted into the

saddle; he bent forward on the mare's neck, and a sharp hiss burst from

his lips. Zora leaped away like an arrow. The fierce Thuringians,

bursting out from the hall, called upon the grooms to close the gate.

But before the nearest man could act, the red mare and her terrible

rider were upon him. He flung himself flat before them, and Zora leaped

over the man, out upon the open hillside.

CHAPTER XXI

Black deeds and ill

Have they been a-doing,

Evil rede

Have they wrought at last.

LAY OF SIGURD.

Not from fear of pursuit, but because of that which he bore with him,

Olvir urged the red mare to her utmost speed. Never even in her prime

had Zora coursed over hill and meadow at a swifter pace. But the way

was long, and even her easy, swinging gait was agony to the wounded man.

When at last she leaped into the war-ring on the Saale bank, her red

coat was wet with the blood of her rider. He lay upon her neck,

clutching at the silky mane, so far gone that, when Floki caught him

from the saddle, he could gasp out but a few brief words: "To the little

vala! I 've fought my last fight!"

Then darkness fell upon him, and he lay in Floki's arms as one dead.

Deftly the grim vikings stanched the wounds of their earl and applied

healing salves.

"It is but blood-loss," said Floki. "In a day, I wager, he calls for

his mare. But now we do his bidding. Bring a litter."

So it was that when Olvir awoke from his swoon, he found himself

swinging along on the shoulders of four stout litter-bearers, well on

the road to Erfurt, the great market of the Thuringians. As Floki had

foretold, he at once called for Zora, and rode into Erfurt. There,

hearing that Karl had left Saxon Land and was already at Cologne, on his

way to Attigny, he turned and rode Rhineward. But though he sat his

saddle all the way to Fulda, and gave his followers little rest, when he

reached the monastery he was so utterly spent with weariness and pain

that he had to lie over a full week before he could push on.

The bluff Northern monks spared themselves no pains to justify their

fame for hospitality; but Olvir's thanks, though sincere, were briefly

worded, and he had little to say to any one. When, rested and almost

healed, he made ready to push on Rhineward, he handed to Abbot Baugulf a

gold arm-ring, in kingly payment for his keep, and stood with unbent

head while the priest poured out his fervent blessing.

From Fulda, Olvir rode steadily Rhineward on the old Roman highway,

though his face spoke of doubt and indecision. But at Mayence he called

Floki aside, and said briefly: "I ride alone to King Karl. Take the men

down Rhine to Cologne, and make all ready aboard the longships. Fit them

as for a race, and for the North Sea. I will join you in a few days,

and, with Freya's aid, I shall not come alone. Another shall ride with

me, whether Karl the King is loath or willing."

"Ho, ring-breaker!" croaked Floki, smiling with crafty triumph. "So we

at last fare back to old Norway, and you are minded to take with you a

bride. There will be joyous howling when your sea-wolves sight their

vala. Yet I am minded of another matter. King Karl owes no small fee

for the long service of the hero's son and his ready champions. Though

we may leave somewhat hastily, on our path to Cologne stands Ingleheim,

the king's new burg, which men say is filled with gold and all manner of

loot."

"By Thor!" cried Olvir, his eyes flaming; "were I sure the Frank had

broken his pledge, not Ingleheim alone should see sword and torch. As

it is, he may yet--Christ grant he keep troth! ... No, old Crane. You

must fare your way, with the peace-thongs firm knotted. If the Norns

have so woven, Zora will bear me to the Rhine far in the lead of the

following Franks; and there's rich loot between Cologne and Rhine

Mouth."

"And what if the werwolf snare you? Let me ride with you, earl."

"I ride alone. No horse in Frank Land could bear up your weight in the

flight from Attigny to Cologne. Yet again, I need you to hold the men

in hand. Do not tell them over-much. They will be nimble enough if

they but know it is for the little vala. Farewell."

With the word, Zora wheeled and sprang away on the long ride to Treves

and across Eastern Neustria to Attigny.

For all her age and the roughness of the way, the red mare could still

have covered the journey in four days. But Olvir, mindful that he might

have need later of the utmost of her speed and strength, kept a tight

rein on the willing mare, and was well content to double the time of the

journey.

So it was that when they came to the Aisne bank, a little before

nightfall of the eighth day, neither man nor rider was any the worse for

the long faring. After bathing in the stream, Olvir rode into Attigny,

under cover of the darkness. The little town was swarming with people;

but Olvir avoided such of the streets as were torchlit, and, having

secured a small room at an inn, presently found a messenger who would go

to the king's palace with a token for Liutrad the scribe.

He was seated alone in his room, reading from his Greek Gospels by the

light of a torch, when a deep voice sounded without the door, and a

moment later the heavy panel had opened and swung to behind a huge

figure in sombre priest robes. Olvir caught a glimpse of a white

tonsure in the midst of the curly yellow hair, as the new-comer turned

to bar the door, and then he was gazing up into Liutrad's honest,

smiling face.

"Ring-breaker! Earl!"--how the joyously uttered words called up the

care-free past, when the longships rode the storm waves, or they two

stood side by side in the sword-game! For the moment, at least, it was

not Liutrad the priest, but Liutrad Erlingson, who put his great hands

on the shoulders of his friend, and met his keen glance with a look of

boyish delight.

"Luck to you, earl!" he cried. "You come in good time. It is but three

days since Wittikind and Alf entered Attigny, with a long following of

Saxon athelings; and Deacon Alcuin has won over the heroes to peace."

"It would seem that the bloody struggle is at last ended," replied

Olvir. "I give God praise, both for the forest-dwellers and for those

who have crushed them."

"And for yourself, earl! Our lord king's face bears more of its

old-time cheerfulness."

"It well may! I had thought the Saxons unyielding. For two years and

more he has harried their land in summer and in winter. How came the

great war-earl--"

"He is broken at last; I pray that it may be for good. As you doubtless

have heard, after the Mayfields at Paderborn last spring, the king,

egged on by his werwolf, once more set to ravaging beyond the

Westphalian Gate. We had already marched to the Elbe and were encamped

on its banks, when word came of a plot between the Lombards and the Duke

of Bavaria, and the king thought better of his plan to cross the Elbe.

But Wittikind and Alf, thinking that he was about to come over and lay

waste all of Saxon Land yet unharried, sent to him, asking terms of

surrender. The king chose out Amalwin to go to them with hostages

suitable to their rank, that they might come to him in person. Then,

leaving the greater part of the host in the North, he came Rhineward by

swift marches, and here at Attigny made ready palace and court, that the

wild forest-men might see the greatness of his might and kingship. So

it has come about that Wittikind, following after with Amalwin, has seen

and wondered, and at last bent to the will of Pepin's son. Soon the

war-earl and all those who came with him will bow beside the holy font

and receive baptism. Two days more will see the heathen become

Christian."

"Christian! By Loki, I grieve for the Christian werwolf, who 'll now

famish for lack of her Saxon blood!"

Liutrad drew back, and his face darkened with dread and anger.

"God's curse on that evil woman!" he cried; and then a sudden question

sprang from his lips: "How come you here, earl?"

"You may well ask," replied Olvir, and he told of the plotters and the

fight in Hardrat's hall.

As he listened, Liutrad's face cleared somewhat.

"By Thor, earl," he exclaimed, "that was sword-play! But the best is

that you bring tidings of the plot. It may stand you in good stead."

His face darkened again. "God knows you need every vantage. I could

swear by the rood the werwolf has never forgotten how you scorned her,

there on the Garonne bank. Not for your good did she cause the king to

send Worad into Thuringia, when she met them at the Eresburg. It is

common talk in the palace that she is putting out her utmost craft to

sever your betrothal bond and wed Rothada to the Count of Metz."

"Loki!" gasped Olvir, white with anger. Years had passed since he had

last given way to such passion; but now the cold fury came upon him with

all its old-time force. Liutrad shrank back before the look in his

earl's face.

"Calm yourself, ring-breaker," he muttered. "All may yet go well. In

the morning I will bring you to the king."

"The king," repeated Olvir, and then his face flushed with a sudden

resolve, and his eyes lost their deadly menace. "Who asks for the king?

I would speak with my betrothed."

"But our lord king,--would he not be angered?"

"I would speak to my betrothed, alone."

"Holy Mother! Do not be rash, earl; you 'll ruin all!"

"There is nothing to lose; something may be gained. I 've had enough of

waiting. The king himself shall no longer bar my way. Now I would

speak with my betrothed. She will know best where we may meet."

"You 're mad, Olvir! What would you do?"

"I do not yet know; only, I must speak with Rothada. As you call me

friend, seek out Berga her maid without delay. I must see the little

maiden soon; else I cannot answer for what may follow. The fiend

clutches at my heart."

"I will go, Olvir; though it is no light task."

"Then go and tell all to your grateful king."

"Why reproach me, earl? Is he not my lord? And yet, I risk his

good-will to do you favor."

"Forgive me, lad! Faul tears my heart-strings. Go now, and Freya aid

you."

"I go, earl. Yet first, a wolf's-hair. You had best lie close this

night. In the morning I will bring you one of Deacon Alcuin's robes.

With sandals, you can then fare at will about the burg."

"I 'll wear no priestly footgear; but the gown is well thought of.

Hasten now. You may yet see her to-night."

CHAPTER XXII

But we in no wise

Might love withstand,

And mine head must I lay

On my love, the ring-breaker.

LAMENT OF ODDRUN.

Liutrad did not return to the inn until mid-morning of the next day, and

then it was to fling himself down with a sigh of discouragement.

"The werwolf is keen of eye and ear," he muttered.

"Rest easy, lad. You've done your best. Another day will see fairer

luck."

"If only Father Fulrad were here to aid us! Had he lived, all would

have been well."

"I could ask no more from any friend, son of Erling, than what you will

do for me. Now I will eat, that my full strength may come to me."

"You have not rested much this night, Olvir. Your war-gear shimmers

like starlit ice."

"A bride might use the shield as mirror, for all its dints. Eat now.

Here is plain fare, but toothsome."

"May Worad eat bitter herbs when he sits at board! The base wretch, to

covet a friend's betrothed!"

"Waste no thought on him, lad. The werwolf alone--"

"True; her ring holds him with its magic glamour, even as it has cast

its spell over our lord king."

"Ring or no, she is at the root of all the trouble. The world-hero is

as wax in her white hands. I have talked much with the Franks since you

left me. It is she who has turned away the king's heart from mercy.

Not the Saxons alone, but the nearest of his liegemen have suffered from

his harshness; and I must have my share, though the dints in my shield

and helmet should read me title to fairer reward. Ah, well, better luck

in Skuld's hand! Another day may bring a rift in the clouds."

"Saints grant it!" muttered Liutrad; and the two fell to eating in moody

silence.

Yet Olvir's confidence in the future was not mistaken. Before evening

Berga found Liutrad a chance to speak with her mistress; and he

prevailed upon Rothada to set a meeting for that very night.

Immediately after nightfall Olvir, cowled and wrapped about in the

Benedictine gown brought to him by Liutrad, strolled with his friend

across the burg and around the great bulk of the palace to a shadowy

recess between the queen's apartments and the quarters of the

court-officials. Here they found Berga waiting for them beside a small

door used by the servants, and Liutrad addressed her openly: "Here is my

brother priest for your sick friend."

"Let him follow," answered the woman, and she led the way into the

foul-odored passage. Olvir silently entered at her heels, leaving

Liutrad to watch at the door.

Within was pitchy darkness, broken only by an occasional gleam from the

rooms where the house-slaves chattered over their evening meal or lay

about on their straw pallets, easing the toil of the day with broad

jests and coarse raillery. A flight of steps, steep and narrow, took

Olvir and his guide beyond the servants' quarters, and in the utter

blackness the Northman had need of his quick ear to follow the woman's

lead. She glided softly from passage to passage without a word,

stopping only for a touch of warning when the silence was broken by the

muffled clink of Olvir's mail beneath his monk's robe. Some little time

passed before the woman paused beside a curtained doorway.

"The princess waits within, hero," she whispered. "Enter, and comfort

her. I must watch over the bairns, lest they waken and call for their

sister. May Freya soften the king's heart, that your love run smooth!"

"My thanks to the good wisher," replied Olvir, and he stepped between

the curtains.

He found himself in a large chamber, half lighted by the moonbeams which

streamed through the high, casemented window. Where the rays struck

upon the opposite wall, the grotesque figures of the tapestry-hangings

stood out with such startling distinctness that Olvir stepped back and

grasped the hilt of Al-hatif beneath his robe. But then a slender

figure glided out into the moonlight from the shadow beside the window,

and he ran forward to clasp his betrothed in his arms.

"Little vala,--little vala!" was all he could say, for the words choked

in his throat at sight of her tears.

For a while she leaned her head upon his shoulder, and wept as though

her heart would break; and he held her to him, unable to put into words

the tenderness and compassion which filled his whole being. At last,

however, she dried her tear-wet face on his robe, and looked up with a

pitiable attempt to be brave.

"My hero, my hero!" she whispered.

"Little vala! Has the witch's daughter sucked your blood, that you look

so white and wasted? May Hel, Loki's daughter, wither the red lips of

that werwolf! May she--"

"Cease--oh, cease, Olvir! Curses ever come home to the sender. This

may be the last time we shall meet here on earth. Let there be no

wormwood with the bitter-sweet."

"No, Rothada, this is not our last meeting here on the fair earth."

"Will you then give way to my father? Liutrad said--"

"He said aright. I will not sell my soul, though it be for your

father's kingdom. Yet, before God and man, you are my betrothed wife.

I have won you by service such as few have given the king, and--we love

each other. Your father gave pledge he would send for me, and he broke

troth. It is hopeless--nothing can turn his course while the witch's

daughter drives--it is hopeless to appeal to him."

"What then, Olvir? Your words fill me with dread; you cherish the

thought of some wild deed."

"Should it fill you with dread, darling, that I would have you wed me?"

"No, dear one; my heart sings with gladness at the word. If only it

might come true!"

"You have but to say it, king's daughter."

"Would you have me wed you without the banns, Olvir,--in secret? It

could not be, dear hero! When the truth became known, the anger of my

father would pass all measure. He would never forgive us."

"I look to your father for nothing. He has paid me ill for loyal

service. I shall now break the bond which has held me to him. Beneath

the priest-robe you feel the war-gear, king's daughter. Zora is saddled

for the road. Come! the night is before us. Dawn will see us far on our

way to the Rhine."

"O Christ! O Holy Mother, save me!" cried the girl; and she shrank away

from her lover, wide-eyed and trembling.

"Listen, darling; listen to me!" he protested. "I would not force you.

Only, I beseech you, by the love you bear me, come! At Cologne lie my

longships,--my ocean-racers. Who may overtake us when we sail down

Rhine Stream? _Haoi!_ how the ships spring to the bowing of the long

oars! Behind us lie the flat shores of Frisia; we ride the wild North

Sea; before us tower the iron cliffs of old Norway; up Trondheim Fiord

we glide, where the free men of Lade wait to welcome their earl and his

bride!"

The Northman's black eyes sparkled in the moonlight, and he held out his

arms. But still Rothada shrank away.

"It cannot be, dear hero!" she sighed. "It cannot be!"

"Where, then, is the love of my betrothed?"

"I love you none the less, dear, that I cannot go with you."

An agony of grief distorted Olvir's face. He flung himself down before

the girl and clasped her feet.

"Come with me,--come with me!" he begged. "Here is only sorrow and

parting. The king is iron."

"Yet I am his daughter. There is still hope for us, Olvir. I will

plead with my father."

"And if he deny you?"

"God forbid! I can then only return to Chelles."

"To the cloisters! My curse on them! Listen, king's daughter. You are

not fated for the nun's veil. That would not fill in fullest measure

the spite-cup of the witch's daughter. She will wed you to our

girl-faced Count of Metz."

"That is no new tale to me, Olvir; yet I can promise you this much,--I

shall never be the bride of another than yourself. If I may not choose

the cloister, I will choose that which lies in my bosom."

"You bear my knife?"

"Always--ever ready for use against the bearer."

Rothada put her hand to her breast, and the blue steel of the dagger

gleamed in the moonlight. Olvir took the blade from her, and pressed it

to his lips.

"Be true, knife of my forging!" he muttered. "There is yet one hope--if

it fail, strike true; and when you pierce her heart, I will plunge

Al-hatif into my breast."

"Olvir!--you grieve me; I cannot bear it!"

"Why grieve, king's daughter? If we may not wed in this life, we shall

be united forever in the life beyond."

"There is still hope; I will go to my father when he is alone, and

implore him to grant us happiness."

"It may be he will yield to you--Loki! What's that? The hangings--"

Hampered though he was by the priest's gown, Olvir sprang across the

room with the quickness of a leaping wolf. The tapestry, torn from its

fastenings by his fierce grasp, fell apart and exposed the withered form

of Kosru the leech, crouched against the wall.

"So--it is the werwolf's dotard," said Olvir, and his lip curled with a

smile of utter contempt. But the spy was already grovelling on his

face, terrified by the dagger and the terrible look of the Northman as

he tore apart the tapestry.

"Lord--lord!--spare the aged!" he babbled. "God of Light, soften his

heart! Spare me, noble count! I will tell all. I will pay you wergild

for my life,--shining gold,--all the scant hoard I 've saved and put

away for my helpless age!"

Olvir touched the Magian's head with his buskin, and answered coldly:

"Odin bear witness--the hoarder's heart is touched! He 'd give away his

gold."

"All--all, to the last penny--only spare my life! I will serve you; I

'll be your slave! Do not thrust into the grave one who already totters

on the brink!"

"The greyer the viper, the deadlier its venom," rejoined the Northman,

in an ominous tone. "That man is dog-wise who passes by the evil worm

because it lies in his path torpid."

"Olvir--Olvir, do not slay the old man!" cried Rothada, and she darted

across the chamber, to cling to her lover's arm. "He has been good to

me, and--and he has saved many lives."

"_Ai!_ the king's daughter pleads for me; the maiden pleads! I have

never sought to do her hurt--by the God of my fathers, I swear it, noble

count! Even now I was but coming to fetch the queen's sampler. How

could I know you from a priest, lord? If I hid behind the hangings,

thinking to creep near and listen, I meant no evil. Only forgive me, and

I will serve you; I 'll make confession how, with the witch in the

Moselle Wood, I brewed love potions for her daughter to give the Lord

Karolah, and how I bound the queen in slumber with my drugs, that the

dark maiden might be free to lure the king with her enticements. Spare

me, lord, and I 'll even tell--"

"Go to the priests with your witchery and spells," broke in Olvir, with

impatient contempt. "As to your lying pledges, I ask nothing of a

miserly dotard; nor will I take your oath for silence. This knife is

better pledge. Do not forget its keen point, and learn that every man

among my blood-eager warriors bears such another blade. If you betray

me, by word or by sign, they will search you out, though it be from

under the very seat of the throne. I have spoken. Now rise up and

guide me back by the way I came, to the door of the slaves."

"_Ai!_ the shadow of Azrael is upon me! The wrathful youth seeks to

lure me from the presence of the king's daughter, to shed my blood in

secret!"

"Grey fool! That is a lie born of your own treachery. The knife is the

maiden's; I give it back into her own hand. Rise up; I would be going.

Farewell, little may! It is ill luck that our parting must be said

before such a one; yet I trust to the blue steel that he blots all from

his memory. Come now, darling, draw near my heart."

"God forbid it be for the last time!" sobbed the girl, overcome by the

thought. The knife fell unheeded from her hand upon the wolfskin beside

her as she sank, half fainting, into Olvir's arms. Many moments passed

while she lay on his breast, quivering with grief. Then Olvir kissed

her forehead, and put her gently from him, to spurn the shoulder of the

leech.

"Up, dog!" he muttered harshly. "Lead me out."

Kosru shrank back, and huddled in a shapeless heap against the wall.

"I cannot--I cannot go!" he gasped. "A palsy has stricken my limbs. I

cannot rise--I swear to you, lord count--"

"Liar! Stand up or I--"

"Stay; do not force him, Olvir. I will guide you myself."

"To the king, then."

"My father!"

"Do you dream that this coward could withhold his secret from the

werwolf? He fears my vengeance; he will fear hers more. We will go to

the king, and make an end, either for good or for ill."

"It is well, dear hero. Come; my father is in the cell of Deacon

Alcuin."

CHAPTER XXIII

Nor shall I leave life

Ere the keen lord,

The eager in sword-play,

My hand shall make end of.

LAY OF GUDRUN.

For a while the Magian waited as the lovers had left him, appearing more

like a careless heap of yellow robes than a living man. At last,

gaining a little courage from the silence, he thrust out his hooked nose

and bald head, like an old vulture peering over a carcass. The glint of

the forgotten dagger drew his bleared gaze, and he glared at the cold

blade in a fascination of terror. Soon, however, the silver hilt caught

his eye, and his fear gave way to greed. A scrawny hand followed the

head from the yellow heap, reaching out to clutch the treasure. But

then a soft step sounded in the doorway, and the leech drew back into

his robes, livid with abject fear.

The curtains of the doorway parted, and Fastrada, radiant in the

splendor of her jewels and her voluptuous beauty, advanced slowly into

the room. A little way from the entrance, she paused to glance

carelessly across the chamber, and then she stretched her arms above her

head with the lazy gracefulness of a cat.

"_Ai_, Hertha," she purred, "you 'll lack service this night. The

laggard wizard has been called to dose some filthy slave, and I 've

waited till sleep weighs down my eyelids. Would that I were less

drowsy! The king is pleased that I ply needle with such industry. It

would give me double pleasure to sit by and watch the harlot's daughter

finish the piece. But it's pleasant these chilly nights to creep

beneath the silken coverlets. I 'll go now. Faul! Who's been at my

tapestries? Ah, Kosru! Is that you?"

"Pity, gracious queen! have compassion on your slave!" whined the leech.

"A palsy has stricken my limbs. As I entered, the stroke came upon me.

The hangings tore in my grasp as I fell."

"Ah--and how came this here?" demanded the queen, pointing to the dagger

on the wolfskin rug before the Magian.

"That knife? I had not seen it, gracious dame."

"You lie, Kosru," replied Fastrada, and, stooping for the dagger, she

held it up before her in the moonlight. As she looked at it, her lips

drew apart in a cruel smile, and her eyes sparkled.

"This is no Frank blade, nor is it of Saracen forging," she said softly.

"On the hilt are Norse runes. I 've seen it before--at the belt of that

false Dane! It is well for you that you should speak out, Kosru."

"Gracious dame--light of Karolah's eyes!" stammered the leech. "I have

lied; but, in truth, I am stricken with a palsy. I feared your anger,

and so I lied."

"Speak out! The Dane was here to keep tryst with that sly trull!"

"_Ai--ai_! They were here, sultana,--he and the king's daughter. I

sought to creep around behind the hangings; but the dust set me to

coughing. My throat--"

"And then he came upon you! I can see him leap--the bright hero! Yet

you live. There's no blood on the blade. How came he to spare you?"

"I--I know not, gracious queen. The king's daughter pleaded for me--and

I gave promise--"

"Ah, I had not thought him so foolish. And to leave the knife to tell

the tale. Where were his keen wits? He might as well have left the

knife in your heart. _Hei_! The Dane left his knife in the heart of the

king's leech,--murder at the door of the king's chamber! Magian, that

was a luckless cough for you--Magian!"

A swift movement of the supple, gem-flashing hand, and the loose end of

the tapestry was wrapped close about the head of the wretched leech.

All the frantic beating of his feeble arms could not stay the stroke for

a moment.

When the frail body lay limp and still in her grasp, the queen rose and

went across the chamber to hold up her hands where the moon poured in

its brightest light. They were white and spotless. She looked them over

with careful scrutiny, and, having satisfied herself that they were

unsoiled, gazed down, wide-eyed, at the one on which the opal glowed

mysteriously in the cold light.

"All honor to my witch-stone!" she exclaimed. "We 've snared our wolf at

last. Now to fetch the forester."

She turned quickly away to the door, but paused on the threshold, to

step back and glance out through the window.

"The night is clear; yet a cloud may drift across. It is well to make

certain," she muttered, and she drew the huddled form along the wall,

until it lay across the doorway. Then, fully satisfied, she slipped out

and glided swiftly down the dark passages until she gained the

bower-chamber. Within, lighted by a row of waxen tapers, the

bower-maidens sat about a long table, plying needle and bodkin on the

garments of the king and their mistress, while an old priest droned a

homily for the edification of their manners.

Fastrada beckoned the nearest girl to approach, and spoke to her in the

doorway: "I go to sit with our lord and Deacon Alcuin in the East Tower.

You will find Count Gerold playing at chess. Go, bid him bring my

sampler from my morning-room and fetch it after me."

"I beg pardon, my dame, am I to fetch it, or Count Gerold?"

"The count, you silly trull! Could I trust such as you to wander at

night when young men are about? Go, and see that you return quickly

under the eye of the good deacon."

As the maiden hurried away, her cheeks aflame, and her blue eyes wet

with the starting tears, her mistress paced calmly back by the way she

had come. It was some little distance around to the East Tower, and she

was not yet certain whether it would be best for Gerold or for herself

to arrive first. There was time to decide at leisure; for the young

count, presuming on the king's favor, would probably play out his match

before he came to do her bidding. All the better! What greater joy

than to stroll along the dark passages, where one was at liberty to give

outward play to all the bitter-sweet thoughts of revenge?

But while the witch's daughter glided like a trailing weasel from wing

to wing of the great Merwing palace, there was happening in the East

Tower that which, had she known of it, would have lent wings to her

jewelled buskins.

CHAPTER XXIV

From a heart full of hate

Shall come heavy vengeance.

LAY OF BRYNHILD.

Within a small turret room, that was warmed by a charcoal brazier and

lighted by the glow of his own hour-candles, Karl sat on a low bench

beside the book-strewn table, while before him knelt Rothada, clasping

his sword-hand to her bosom, as she pleaded for love and happiness. His

free hand lay upon her glossy head, but his eyes were raised in a

troubled look to where Olvir, in his burnished mail, stood calm and

beautiful as Forseti, son of Balder. Beside the Northman, with slender

fingers clasped upon his glinting shoulder-plate, waited Alcuin, the

gentle-hearted scholar, eager to add his appeal to the maiden's.

But when the little princess ceased, and bowed her tear-wet face upon

her father's knee, he held up his hand for silence, and sat for many

moments, his brows bent in deep thought. Olvir waited the outcome, his

eyes fixed upon the king's face in a calm and steady gaze, neither

defiant nor imploring.

Then Karl looked up at him, and spoke: "So, Dane hawk, after all the

honors I have heaped upon you, not content to defy Holy Church, you come

to steal my daughter from me,--a thief in the night! And yet you drew

back from the deed; you came before me--"

"For that I claim nothing, lord king. Had not Rothada been loath--"

"And why--why as a thief--"

"Do you ask, lord king? Many weary months have passed since you gave

pledge to call me to your side,--to the presence of my betrothed. I

come at last, an unwelcome guest, to hear on every lip the bitter tale

that your queen is plotting to break my betrothal bonds and wed Count

Worad with my bride."

"My queen plotting! Ward your tongue, Dane!"

"It is not I who say that the queen is plotting. Whether she is or is

not, I do not know; but I know that your liegemen so say."

"You do wrong to heed the ungrateful slanderers. The court is full of

gossip and evil tales, the offspring of envy and malice."

"Then my lord king has not yet broken the betrothal tie between myself

and his daughter?"

"Not yet, Olvir," replied Karl, and the severity of his look relaxed in

a half-smile. "The bond still holds. Yet tell me, you who talk of ill

faith--I speak no more of your plot to lure away the maiden; but how of

your loyal service? You are far from the Sorb Mark."

"I bear tidings from the forest land, lord king,--ill tidings," answered

Olvir, and he told over again the plotting of the Thuringians and the

slaying of Rudulf and his witch-wife.

Neither Alcuin nor Rothada could restrain their cries at the terse

recital; but Karl sat through it all, stern and silent, and gave no

sign, even when, in a dozen words, Olvir told how the grim old count had

fallen to the thrust of Hardrat's spear. When, however, the account was

ended, the king nodded, and said: "Years gone, I lost my trust in that

drunkard. Name his fellow-plotters."

"Would that I might, lord king! Yet I knew only Hardrat and the

witch-wife, and I heard no names spoken."

"You would know their faces again?"

"Some of them in a thousand."

"It is well. You have rendered me good service; and so, if you will

bend to Holy Church--"

"I cannot--it would be a lie!"

"Rather it is your pride, your haughty pride of spirit which bars your

way to all happiness. Do not tax my patience too far."

"For the sake of the maiden, sire--" ventured Alcuin.

Karl threw out his hand impatiently.

"Is not the child also in my thoughts?" he demanded. "Ah, little maiden,

your pleading tears my heart-strings! For your sake, I give your hero

one more trial. I name him Count of the Sorb Mark, in the stead of my

slain Grey Wolf. Two days I give him at Attigny; then he goes to snare

those forest plotters. If when he drags the guilty men before me for

the dooming, he has brought himself to bow to Holy Church, he will find

yet other honors waiting him; if, however, he cannot in truth bend his

stubborn pride, then, nevertheless, I will give him his bride. Such is

my will. I have let mercy set aside my justice. Be content. Now,

child, rise and go to your chamber. The good deacon will see you safe.

I would speak with Olvir of the commands he bears back to Thuringia."

"My father!" cried Rothada, rising; and the heart of the king softened

yet more as he saw the light which shone from the violet eyes. She

kissed his hand, and then, with the cry of a happy child, turned quickly

from him and ran to fling her arms about Olvir's neck.

"Joy, joy, dear one! The Lord Christ has answered my prayer!" she sang.

"I hear once more the voice of the little vala," said Olvir, softly.

"Keep your heart merry, beloved. The days of waiting will soon be

ended, and when we meet again, I wish to see those cheeks

rounded,--their roses once more blooming to shame the sweetbriar. Go,

now, darling. The king waits."

Very tenderly he pressed her face between his hands and bent to kiss her

eyes and lips. Then he gave her over into the keeping of the scholar,

and turned resolutely away. As he looked around, a drop, bright as a

gem, was rolling down the king's bearded cheek.

Silently Karl turned to the table, to grasp Alcuin's quill in his

unskilled hand; but the words which he sought to write were ill formed.

Throwing aside the blotched parchment, he signed to Olvir to take the

quill. Under the Northman's deft strokes, the beautiful letters of the

Irish script flowed from the quill's point as by magic. The king, as he

spoke the message, watched the nimble scribe with half-envious

admiration. When the missive was ended, he took wax and stamped it with

his signet, in lieu of the great seal.

"So--that is done," he said shortly. "You are a ready scribe. Not even

Liutrad is as quick and sure in forming the letters. Now take the

scroll, and go."

"I would first render thanks to my lord king."

"Go! My heart misgives me, that I have let the weakness of a father and

friend stand in the way of God's service. Go quickly! I would be

alone."

"I go, my heart singing with the praises of the golden king!" replied

Olvir.

"I ask no thanks. Go," answered Karl, without any sign of response to

the young man's smile. As Olvir darted away, too overjoyed to be

disheartened by the cold parting, the great Frank's head bent forward,

and his brows gathered.

He still sat there, tugging at his beard and gazing moodily at the spot

where Rothada had knelt, when the queen glided softly into the chamber.

At sight of her graceful figure, his frown gave way to a fond smile; but

she had seen his moody look.

"What troubles my dear lord?" she murmured, nestling beside him on the

bench. Karl put his great arm about her and drew her to him, before he

answered, "It is nothing, sweetheart. I 've had enough of bitter

thoughts. Now I would woo my gentle wife."

"Dear lord! Mine is the greater joy! When I dwell on my happiness, my

heart goes out to all mankind. I could love even the heathen and the

heretics, condemned of God to endless torment. What pity that men

should so bring upon themselves the fires of the nether world! One could

almost wish to give them good gifts here, to offset their sufferings to

come."

"They are perverse and godless men, dear one. Do not trouble your heart

for their wickedness. There is enough of sin in Holy Church."

"Yet my thoughts go astray, dear lord. Sometimes I think of our little

maiden. I doubt if your Dane hawk's proud spirit will yield. Yet, dear

lord, if your judgment hold in all its firm justice, she will ever live

in grief, torn from the arms of her hero. Always before I have given

heed only to the good of Holy Church; yet now--"

"Take joy, then, kind heart! They were here only a little since, and I

gave pledge that they should wed."

"Should wed!--Olvir here!"

"You may well gaze in bewilderment. I wonder at myself. Yet what

father could withstand the heart's pleading of his maid-child?"

"My lord, I--rejoice at their joy. I will go--"

"Stay! Who comes leaping upon the stair?"

Rising swiftly, Karl set his great form before the queen, and loosened

Ironbiter in its sheath. The half-drawn blade flashed out its full

length, when Gerold, pale and glaring with horror, rushed wildly into

the room, a bared dagger in his hand. Checked by the threatening

sword-point, the Swabian stopped short and sank to his knee, panting.

"Murder, dear lord!" he gasped,--"murder beneath the king's roof! In

the queen's morning-room Kosru the leech lies stark, a knife-thrust

through his heart!"

Karl lowered his sword, and stared down at the young count.

"Murder?" he repeated. "Whose knife do you bear?"

"The slayer's, sire! I drew it out, and ran to show it you."

"Well done! Hold up the blade, that we may see-- So; it is of Danish

make-- And the owner?"

"I do not know, sire."

"He does not know!" hissed Fastrada. "His memory is strangely short. I

know the blade."

"You, wife? Name the murderer!"

"Count Olvir, sire."

"Olvir!"

"He, dear lord."

"You know the knife?"

"I could swear to it in a thousand. He once carried it at his belt.

Many of the court will remember the blade."

Karl made no answer, but turned and paced slowly to and fro across the

room, his gaze fixed on the floor before him. He did not pause until

Fastrada looked up with white, drawn face and narrow-lidded eyes, and

cried sharply to Gerold: "_Hei_, king's man! why do you loiter? Go,

call warriors, and search out the slayer. It will be no light task to

take him, should he have warning. Go!"

"Hold!" commanded Karl. "Am I the king, that a woman speaks for me?"

"_Ai!_ forgive me, dear lord! I thought only of my leech,--my luckless,

murdered Kosru!" wailed Fastrada, and she flung herself at his feet.

"Rise, dear one," he said gently.

"Not until the warriors go to take the slayer of that helpless

greybeard! Ah, the good old leech! Many's the bitter pang he has eased

for me. Only the bloodiest of wretches could have slain so helpless a

one! How came the cruel Dane in my morning-room--beside Rothada's

chamber? Oh, my lord, could it be that the base outlander came skulking

in the darkness to--to-- And Kosru, the luckless greybeard, sought to

dissuade him from his evil deed! Send warriors, dear lord! Let the

bloody slayer be dragged before your judgment-seat! The mire-death were

light doom for such a foul slaying!"

The queen's voice, quivering with agony and horror, broke into wild

sobs. Karl stooped over, as though to raise her; only to tower up again

and stare about in angry indecision. It was a luckless moment for the

sea-king and his betrothed. Before the memory of the Northman's calm

face and the little maiden's pleading could blunt and turn aside the

poisoned shafts of the witch's daughter, other feet came leaping upon

the stair. Again Karl's hand went to the hilt of Ironbiter, and his

frown deepened as Worad of Metz rushed into the room, covered from

helmet to buskin with travel-grime.

"Lord king!" he gasped--"I could not wait--my horse fell at the gate,

outspent--but I--"

"Another bearer of ill tidings," muttered Karl.

"What? I do not understand, sire. I--"

"You come late. Already I have word of Rudulf's death and of the

Thuringian plot--from Olvir's lips."

"Plot--Thuringian plot!--and from him!"

"I have said it, dolt."

"And he told you? Saint Michael! there was no plot, lord king,--no plot

but his own when he lured Count Rudulf and his Wend wife into the ambush

of the Sorbs. I myself found the arrow-pierced bodies on the Saale

bank,--I myself, in the lead of the Thuringian searchers. Then many

counts who had been feasting at Hardrat's hall told how the Dane had

passed by, riding with his chosen victims."

"Hold!" commanded Karl, and he bent forward to fix his keen eyes on the

young Frank. "You say they passed by Hardrat's hall?"

Worad drew a large scroll from his breast and held it out to the king.

"Here, sire, is the tale, to which all the feasters took oath. I called

upon them for it, when, having brought up my warriors, I marched to the

warring to take the betrayer, and found that he had fled. Thank God, I

find you safe, dear lord! Days had passed since the foul deed, and men

said he had gone Rhineward. I rode fast, fearful of the worst--"

"Your fear was needless. Traitor or true man, he came before me with a

calm face."

"For you gave him all that he asked, dear lord!" cried Fastrada. "_Ai_,

Holy Mother--to think how near you 've been to his murderous blade!--the

bloody Dane, foul betrayer of my father--my mother!--red-handed from the

slaying of that helpless greybeard--_Ai!_ the mire-death were light doom

for such a treacherous slayer! Justice--justice, son of Pepin! I demand

vengeance on the slayer of my kin!"

Even Gerold quivered at the grief and horror in the queen's voice. The

shrill appeal pierced to the heart like a knife-thrust. The king's face

was terrible to look upon in its deadly anger; and yet he still

hesitated.

"It cannot be--it cannot be!" he muttered. "He, my bright Dane--"

"Bright Dane!" screamed Fastrada--"heathen outlander--heretic--scoffer

at Holy Church! What lying tale has he told you, that you stand in

doubt? Look--look on the scroll which tells of my kin's betrayal--at

this knife from the heart of the greybeard! _Ai_--they shall trample

him in the mire!"

"King of Heaven!--that battle-leader! He is no coward to be flung in

the fen. You ask too much, wife."

"Too much! _Ai_, too much for the slayer of my kin! But the king

speaks-- Let him, then, be torn asunder by the plunging horses--the

murderous wretch! _Hei_! I can hear the snapping bones!"

Karl stared down into the upraised eyes of his queen, and they were as

the eyes of a wolf, glaring green with exultant hate. He turned to

stride across the room, and as he turned, he saw again before him the

gentle eyes of his daughter,--the pleading face of Himiltrude's child.

Twice he paced across the room, the angry flush slowly receding from his

face.

Then he paused before his queen, and said coldly, "Seek your bed, wife.

This is no place for grieving dames. As to my Dane hawk, rest content.

He shall fare from my realm, an outlaw."

"How!--the murderer? Are you mad, son of Pepin? Free to go?--that

traitor!"

"No traitor, dame; and he may have had cause for vengeance against your

kin. As to the leech, he was but an outlander,--a wizened dotard,

already on the grave's edge,--and the Dane is the bravest of all my

counts. I have loved him as a kinsman. Enough! His doom is spoken. I

give him this night. Then Gerold shall bid him go, under pain of death

if he linger an hour after sunrise. Here, Worad, is my signet. After

the baptizing of the Saxons, the High Marshal and his horsemen will ride

with you to Cologne, on the trail of the outlaw,--to drive him and his

wolf-pack from my kingdom."

CHAPTER XXV

I will fare back thither

From whence I came,

To my nighest kin

And those who know me.

LAY OF SIGURD.

All night long Gerold searched Attigny for his outlawed friend, but

found no trace of him. At dawn he returned to the palace, weary and all

but overcome with the burden of his grief. He was too disheartened even

to speak to Rothada's Frisian maid, who stood by the outer gate. He

would have passed by her, had she not signed to him.

"What is it, Berga?" he asked dully, when he had followed her into a

secluded nook.

"You droop like an outspent hound, lord count. Take cheer. I can put

you on the trail."

"How! you know--"

"They slipped out, only a little since,--she and your mate, the big Dane

priest."

"To meet Count Olvir!"

"It is merry for lovers to ride in the greenwood."

"My thanks!" muttered Gerold, and he rushed into the palace courtyard.

His horse was dripping with sweat when, a mile up the Aisne bank, he

raced to meet the three riders who came cantering through the groves.

It was a happy little party. He could see the blush of love and joy

which had brought back the roses to Rothada's white cheeks, and her

joyous laughter rang clear in the still air. How could he mar their

happiness?

But now they were racing forward to meet him, Zora in the lead. A

little more, and he was on the dewy turf beside Olvir, gripping his

arms. After the first outburst of gladness, however, his face darkened

with the shadow of his message.

"How's this, lad?" demanded Olvir. "You stand gaping, doleful as a

bee-stung cub. God forbid that you bear ill tidings of our lord king!"

"I bear ill tidings, not of our lord king, but from him," answered

Gerold; and he turned appealingly to Liutrad. "I cannot tell them! I

cannot say it!"

"Speak! Speak out, man!" commanded Olvir, fiercely.

"Sea-king,--king's son! here is fit ending for your seven years of

service. Now are you wolfshead throughout the length and breadth of the

Frank realm,--you and all your following! You shall sail down Rhine

Stream so soon as you can ride to Cologne. Worad rides after, to hunt

you from the realm. If within an hour you have not left Attigny, your

head shall pay for the loitering. Such is the command of Karl, King of

the Franks, to the hero who has served him as a king's son--a king's

son!"

Gerold paused, the words choking in his throat with grief and anger, and

Olvir and Liutrad stood before him speechless, stunned by his message.

But Rothada slipped from her horse and ran to Olvir.

"Ah, Christ!" she moaned. "My hero outlawed!"

"The king your father has named him wolfshead, maiden," answered Gerold,

and then his voice broke into plaintive appeal. "Why did you slay the

old leech, Olvir? Why strike the greybeard? At the least, you should

have taken your knife with you. Where were your nimble wits? But for

the witness of the reddened blade--"

"Hold! Are you mad?" cried Olvir. "You babble of knives and slain men

like a fool."

"Would that it were so, friend! But your knife, the ill-omened blade!

With my own hand I plucked it from the heart of the luckless Magian."

"How--my knife? None the less, it is a foul lie. I gave the blade long

since to this dear one on my breast, and last night I placed it again in

her hand, unused, when I spurned the cowering leech. Why should I slay

the spy, when I was even then going with my betrothed to stand before

her father? There would be nothing to betray."

"Thor's hammer!" roared Liutrad. "The werwolf has snared you, earl--"

"No, by Odin! The falcon bursts through the limed twigs. I 'll go to

the king--"

"Too late--too late!" groaned Gerold. "She has shot her venomed shafts

too well. After I, wretched man that I am, had brought the blade that

sprung the werwolf's snare, Worad came also, with lies yet worse. The

Thuringians have spared no pains. A score of high-counts have sworn

that you lured old Rudulf to his death in an ambush of the Sorbs. It

was then the werwolf triumphed. The king is filled with her venom; and

yet--and yet even then he denied her and doomed you only to outlawry."

Olvir struck his thigh. "Thor! I thank him little for that, when I

must go faring, and leave my bride to wed the werwolf's nursling."

"I have another knife," said Rothada, and she looked up at Olvir, her

sweet lips straight and tense.

"No, king's daughter!" he answered her sternly; "it shall not come to

that. I have the right to take you with me into my banishment. Now

what is the vala's word?"

"Oh, my hero, I pray for light! If you must truly go-- But first,

there is yet hope. My father does not know the truth."

"Would he listen were it told him? No, darling; come with me, that

there may be an end of doubt."

"I cannot, Olvir,--I cannot go yet. First see my father. He is just;

he will right the wrong he has put upon you."

"And if not?"

"He will, dear hero!"

"And if not?"

"Then--ah, Christ forgive me! I must break the will of the king my

father. I must leave home and friends and father--unblessed!"

"No, little vala; not unblessed," broke in Liutrad, his deep voice

trembling. "You shall be wed by a priest of God, who will shrive you of

all sin in doing what is just and right."

"Enough," said Olvir. "I hold the pledge of my betrothed. Gerold will

lead her back to the palace, and Liutrad will fetch my priest-robe. He

will bring me in before the king during the noon rest. If I fail, but

get free, I 'll ride straight across the Ardennes to Cologne. At

nightfall, Liutrad will ride with the king's daughter; but they shall go

by another way, down the Meuse to Nimeguen. There I will meet them with

my longships. What says Count Gerold to the theft of the king's

daughter?"

"Saint Michael! Could you think me so cruel as to hold her here in the

power of that werwolf? Yet a word: there will be swift pursuit."

"They will follow me to Cologne."

"And a priest has his cowl," added Liutrad.

Rothada pressed her blushing face against Olvir's shoulder.

"They shall not find our trail, dear hero," she whispered. "Berga in a

forester's dress, and I as a page--"

"Freya guide you, my bride!" cried Olvir, and he pressed his lips to her

downbent head.

CHAPTER XXVI

Unmeet we should do

As the doings of wolves are,

Raising wrongs 'gainst each other

As the dogs of the Norns,

The greedy ones nourished

In waste steads of the earth.

LAY OF HAMDIR.

When Liutrad returned with the sombre Benedictine robe for his earl, he

found Olvir pacing restlessly up and down the Aisne bank.

"You 're slow, lad," he said impatiently; and flinging on the gown, he

at once called to Zora. But Liutrad had more knowledge of the king's

humor.

"Curb your eagerness, earl," he said. "Wait until after the baptizing,

and our lord king has eaten and eased himself with the noon rest. When

he wakens, his mood will be fairest."

"Yours is the better judgment, lad," assented Olvir. "My hour of grace

is already past, and it will matter little--Loki! We 've forgotten that

I cannot ride Zora into the burg. Worad will soon be searching me out,

and the mare is as well known as I."

"We must leave her hid in the wood nearest the burg. My horse shall

stand in waiting for you by the palace gate. He is heavy, but can race

that far at good speed."

"Well schemed, lad! I shall swoop among the limed twigs of the werwolf,

and they shall not hold me! Do you call to mind, lad, that day among

the sand dunes, when we outrode the angry Danes?"

"Remember! Thor's hammer, but those were merry days!" cried Liutrad;

and with that he and Olvir fell to recalling the stirring scenes of

their hunts and their fights on land and sea since the day when Olvir

Thorbiornson came to Lade, with his grim foster-father, and won the

heirship of the high-seat.

Noon came and passed, and the two still talked on with the care-free

tones of men at a feast. None might have dreamt from their manner that

they were desperate men, prepared, if need were, to defy the might of

the great king.

At last, noting by the fall of the sun-rays through the foliage how the

time passed, Liutrad gave the word, and they made ready to enter

Attigny.

Worms during the wedding of Fastrada was not more gay than was now the

little burg on the Aisne. All the court and all the townfolk rejoiced

with their king in the fond belief that the bloody Saxon struggle had at

last come to an end. The streets were thronged with revellers, through

whose midst Olvir, muffled in his cowl, walked unnoted behind Liutrad's

horse, straight to the great palace built by the second Clovis.

No official would have thought to bar the entrance of the king's

favorite scribe into the most private apartments of the king, without

Karl's express command, and where Liutrad went, he had no difficulty in

gaining admittance for his priestly fellow. But when they came near the

door of the king's chamber, Liutrad thought it best that he should wait

outside in the passage. While they stood talking, they heard within the

sibilant, purring voice of the queen, and at the same time the Grand

Doorward approached, to inquire their purpose. Olvir's gaze grew stern,

and he drew Liutrad away, with quick decision.

"Go, bring your horse into the courtyard--to the steps of the palace

doorway," he said. "Should I come out in haste, do not wonder if I take

the beast from you with a show of force. The Franks should know of

nothing against you till you 've fled with their king's daughter."

"Olvir! You mean our lord king no harm?"

"God forbid--greatly as he has wronged me! Only, I 'd not linger in the

werwolf's power should all go ill."

"Saint Michael grant you have no need of flight!"

"My thanks. Go quickly!"

Liutrad hurried away, and Olvir stepped forward to meet the doorward,

his head bent beneath the cowl, and his lips muttering a Latin phrase.

"Hold," commanded the pompous official. "What is the priest's purpose

at the door of our lord king?"

"To enter it, fool!" muttered Olvir, in Latin, and, as the Frank bowed

to the blessing, he spoke in a tone of authority: "Lead me to his

Majesty. I come from Fulda and--"

"Ah, the wise Abbot Baugulf. Follow me, priest, and pray for grace that

you do not stammer and stand dumfounded when you enter the presence of

majesty."

Olvir made no answer, and the doorward, judging that he had sufficiently

impressed the humble priest, flung aside the curtains, and announced his

entrance. "A messenger, your Majesty, from Abbot Baugulf."

"Let him stand and enjoy with us the verses of our Albinus," replied

Karl, without turning his gaze from Alcuin, at the foot of the royal

couch.

Olvir stopped short, and, from the depths of his cowl, swept the room

with his glance. Evidently the king had thought the morning's ceremony

sufficient work accomplished for the day, even for his all but tireless

energy. In place of the usual crowd of counts and court-officials,

pressing about the royal couch to report their actions and receive fresh

orders from the king, there were present only Alcuin and Fastrada the

queen, who was seated beside her lord on the edge of the massive couch.

At a nod from Karl, Alcuin raised his gold-illumined scroll, and recited

his Latin rhymes in a voice that went far toward easing the waywardness

of the feet. The king was very hearty in his praise of the poet's

efforts; but Fastrada murmured an ironical criticism: "A fair song, my

lord,--for children and priests. I myself would rather hear the

heart-stirring lays of our fathers."

"They are the fierce songs of heathen warriors, my dame, ill fitted for

the lips of God's children," protested Alcuin.

Karl nodded to him, smiling. "Ah, my Albinus, you speak true; I, as

head of God's church, must agree with you. It is well that our subjects

should not sing the heathen lays. Yet they are the songs of our

fathers, and I would not have them wholly lost to our children. But I

keep waiting the good abbot's messenger. Stand forward, my son, and

deliver over the scroll sent by your superior."

"I bear no scroll, Frank king. The message is on the tongue of the

wolfshead," answered Olvir, in a clear voice, and he flung aside the

priest's robe, to stand before the king in full war-gear.

"How? Olvir! King of Heaven!" cried Karl, and he sprang up to confront

the Northman as he had confronted Gerold in the East Tower,--with bared

sword. But Olvir gazed fearlessly into his angry eyes.

"Twice before has my father's sword been brandished to strike down his

son," he said. "The edge of Ironbiter in a king's hand is fair fate for

a warrior."

"Wretched man! why do you force me to anger? I have yielded to

mercy,--I gave you full time to quit my realm. Yet now you stand before

me, threatening."

"My sword hangs in its sheath. Had I come to avenge myself for the

outlaw's doom, I could have leaped upon the son of Pepin while the

priest murmured his verses. Is the king answered?"

Karl lowered his Norse sword, and gazed down moodily at the outlaw.

"By my faith, Dane," he muttered, "I had thought you bold beyond most;

but this passes belief."

"A man will do much for his honor and his love, King of the Franks. I

am no longer your liegeman; you have broken the fetter which bound us.

I have been named wolfshead. Without my knowledge, I have been doomed

to outlawry. Now I come to ask a hearing."

"You come too late, murderous Northman!" exclaimed Fastrada. "Our lord

king has rendered judgment. Your doom is sealed. Go quickly, outlaw,

before the scullions beat you from the palace with their spits."

Olvir looked into the beautiful evil face, smiling with malignant

triumph, and the white fury seized upon him.

"I do not speak to the witch's offcast daughter. My appeal is to the

King of the Franks," he lisped.

The king gasped in sheer amazement; then the blood leaped into his face,

and his eyes flamed. He turned to thrust out his fist at the gaping

doorward, and commanded harshly: "Away, fool! Bid the High Marshal and

his riders lead this Dane wolf Rhineward, in bonds. The bloody outlaw

shall not fare at will about my realm. Go!"

"My lord,--dear sire!" cried Alcuin, as the doorward sprang away; "hear

the youth--"

"Silence, priest! None shall pule over this false Dane! Doubly has he

earned the tree,--the mire-death. Yet I have spared his life; I have

shown mercy."

"It is not for mercy, but for justice that I ask, King of the Franks,"

replied Olvir; and then, as the thought of his little princess came upon

him, his voice broke into despairing appeal: "Hear me, lord king! Be

just to the liegeman whom you once honored. Do not send me from your

realm wolfshead, that those who hate me may jeer my name, and my friends

listen to the scoffing with sealed lips. I will go; I will go gladly,

lord king; only, take from me the shame of your dooming, and bless the

parting liegeman with a king's gift,--the hand of his betrothed."

"By the King--"

"Hear me, dear lord, I beg you! by the sword in your hand, by this ring

on my wrist, gift of Hildegarde--of Hildegarde who so loved my little

princess!--I swear to you, dear lord, that I had no part--"

"Do not heed him, King of the Franks!" hissed Fastrada. "Look upon this

cruel blade, my lord,--the knife which pierced the feeble greybeard!

What justice for the murderer? What mercy for the traitor? I demand

vengeance upon my father's betrayer. He shall sink in the slime, or the

plunging horses rend him asunder! Vengeance!"

"Go, Olvir!" muttered the king, thickly; "go--before I forget that I

once loved you."

A gasping sob burst from the Northman. Karl could not have struck a

blow more cruel. The stricken man turned slowly about and passed from

the chamber, groping his way as though blinded. The king and the

scholar stared after him, hushed and motionless. Not until he was gone

did they heed that the queen had glided out by the bower doorway. Then

Alcuin began to pray aloud, and the king bent while the priest implored

the blessing of Heaven upon the soul of the outlaw.

But Olvir, passing slowly from the doorway along the shadowy corridor,

felt a hand thrust out from another curtained entrance to draw him

within. Still half dazed, he yielded to the grasp. The hangings fell

to behind him, and he found himself face to face with the queen. For a

little they stood staring at each other, the queen's face still and cold

as a mask. Olvir looked quietly into her dilating eyes, and then,

without a word, he turned to go. But Fastrada put out the hand on which

glowed her magic opal, and caught his shoulder in an eager grasp.

"Stay, Olvir!" she said. "Give heed, and learn that all is not lost to

you."

"The king has spoken, witch's daughter."

"But not the queen. Listen, my gerfalcon. The famished bird wings back

to the wrist of its keeper; the well-lashed steed comes to the call of

the master. Your spirit is broken, proud Dane, and now my vengeance is

slaked. There is gall in the cup. I wish to drink of a sweeter

draught, which you shall give at my asking; for in my hand I hold for

you good fortune,--honors and riches and power; the king's friendship

again for his Dane hawk."

"And the price, werwolf?"

"Take heed of your tongue, Olvir! I have yet a score to settle with

your puling nun-bride."

"She has another knife--"

"Take joy of the thought! Listen to me: I offer for her so much as the

veil, and that at Chelles, where she will be with Gisela. Weigh it

well, Olvir; on the one hand, peace for her; on the other, the knife--or

Worad."

"The price?"

A deep blush suffused the queen's cheeks, and her eyes, blue and soft,

gazed at the Northman from beneath their long lashes with an alluring

glance.

"Surely the price is not too heavy," she murmured. "Men still hold me

not uncomely--"

"Lord Christ--and to think! Ah, my world-hero, father of my betrothed!

Far better the outlaw's lot! And in my anger I would have left

you--beguiled by the plotters!"

"Olvir--Olvir! my hero,--my gerfalcon! Do not shrink from me--do not

go--stay with me, Olvir! All the night I sat watching your ships sail

away into the cold North. I cannot bear it! Men say the Norse maidens

are fair-- My heart! another will lie in your arms. Stay--stay with

me, bright hero! See; I beg--I, the queen, on my knees to you. My

God--he goes! Turn again, Olvir, only turn. You shall have that

also,--I pledge it on your knife,--the girl also,--everything! only

turn!"

But Olvir neither paused nor turned about to the frantic woman. His

eyes, clear and luminous with inward light, were upraised as though he

looked into the blue sky, and his lips smiled as they murmured the hard

sayings of the Carpenter's Son: "'Blessed are ye, when men shall revile

you, and persecute you, and shall say all manner of evil against you

falsely.... Love your enemies, bless them that curse you, do good to

them that hate you, and pray for them which despitefully use you.'"

"He is mad--mad! I have stung him to madness!" cried the kneeling

woman; and she struggled up to peer out through the hangings after the

Northman. But when she saw him returning directly to the door of the

king's chamber, she clutched at her bosom, and glided swiftly out after

him. A blow between the helmet-rim and the gold collar of the hauberk--

But already the outlaw was at the other door. The doorward had not

returned. He parted the curtains, and stepped within, unchallenged,

even as the stealthy follower was upon him. The chance was lost.

With a soft rustle of silken robes the queen darted past the Northman,

to fling herself into the king's arms.

"He is mad, dear lord,--mad!" she cried. "He entered my bower, and I

alone! None but one crazed--"

"Peace, dame. It is you have lost your wit; I have come into wisdom,"

replied Olvir. "Peace to you and to your lord. I turn back, that,

before I go, I may take oath to my tidings of how Hardrat and his

fellows plot with Duke Tassilo and Adelchis the Lombard against the life

and throne of the son of Pepin."

"So, outlaw," cried Karl, "you hold to that lie! Murderer and

traitor--and now--"

"Peace, world-hero; do not speak the word you will ever rue," said

Olvir, so quietly that, as the king answered, his voice sank to a

mutter.

"My Grey Wolf fell on the Saale bank, pierced by the arrows of the

Sorbs."

"Bid men go look upon the count's riven hauberk and the wounds which

split his hard skull," rejoined Olvir. "Even Sorbs would not notch their

swords on bone and iron, when the foe lay arrow-pierced. Yet more,--no

crooked blade cuts like the sweeping longsword. My mail was proof; but

the weals still show where the blows struck across my back. As to the

slaying of the leech, does the king name me a witling, that I should

strike, and leave the knife to tell the tale? Let your daughter bear

witness. I gave the blade back into her hand when I turned from the

cowering dotard to come before you. It must be she let it fall as I

caught her to me. Another came, and found it lying ready for the foul

deed--"

"Gerold!"

"No, lord king. What could the brother of Hildegarde gain by the

slaying? No; it was another,--whom I could name. But I do not come for

vengeance, dear lord; I come only to open your eyes to the truth, that

the Thuringians may not take you unawares. Well was it you journeyed so

swiftly out of Saxon Land. I call to mind the words of that red boar

Hardrat: 'Never shall Karl cross again over Rhine Stream.'"

The king flung out his hand.

"God forgive me, Olvir!" he muttered. "The scroll which maddened me--"

"In seeking my death, lord king, they have sealed their own doom. I

could not name them, so they have themselves sent their names to the

lord whom they would have betrayed. It is God's will. My counsel to

the King of the Franks: In the name of Christ, there has been much to

rouse hatred and enmity against your rule,--harshness and cruelty. You

have listened to the ill counsel of this misguided daughter of God.

Therefore I say to you, bear in mind your own deeds, and be merciful to

the wrongdoers. Now I go. The outlaw will not again trouble the son of

Pepin. God be with you!"

"Stay, Olvir! You shall not go!" cried Karl, and, freeing himself from

Fastrada, he came with a rush to seize the Northman's shoulders in his

iron grasp. "Now I hold you fast, kinsman. You shall not go from me.

No longer are you outlaw. You shall wed your betrothed, and stay in my

hall, Count Palatine, in the stead of Worad of Metz. He whom the king

has wrongfully doomed to shame shall sit on the king's judgment-seat."

"My lord! my lord!"--the queen's voice rose to a scream--"what would you

do? My father! Kosru! See the bloody knife. You 'd take the

murderer's word against a score--"

"Silence, woman! I have given heed long enough to your ill counsel;

long enough have I, the king, turned a harsh face against my loyal

liegemen, at the bidding of a woman. My folly has borne bitter

fruit,--heart-burnings and strife. Go, hide your shame in the bower.

Prepare yourself to live at peace with my high judge, else I--"

"Lord king!" protested Olvir, "is this time for harsh words? Listen,

dear lord! Wisdom has come to me. I see how my own anger has brought

my own sorrow. When, on the Garonne bank, I broke troth with the

daughter of Rudulf, the outcome might have been far different had I

curbed my tongue from scorn. If the maiden was at fault, my fault was

the greater."

"O God!" moaned Fastrada, and she flung herself on the marble pavement.

But Karl did not look about from the serene face of the Northman.

"The Count Palatine has spoken," he said, gravely smiling.

"Would that it might so be!" answered Olvir, and his dark eyes grew dim.

"How then?" demanded Karl. But even as the words left his lips, the

door-hangings parted, and Rothada darted across the room, blind to all

else than her lover.

"Fly, hero!" she cried. "The courtyard swarms with the warriors; they

come to take you! Fly! In the passage wait those who 'll lead you to

freedom. Ah, Holy Mother!--too late!"

The passage without resounded with the tread and din of armed men

jostling together in their haste. All eyes were fixed on the doorway as

Gerold and Liutrad sprang into view. The Swabian paused at once, and

stood hesitating, his face white and drawn with despair. But Liutrad

strode across the room, tucking up his robe as he went. On the wall hung

his great axe. He plucked it down, and turned about, with flaming eyes,

as Count Worad rushed into the king's chamber, in the lead of a score of

warriors.

But then the king's voice rang out, clear and joyful: "Stay your hand,

viking-priest! And you, Count of Metz, take away your men. There's now

no need of them."

"Father!" cried Rothada. "You smile! He is no longer outlaw!"

Karl drew her to him, and stood stroking her soft tresses, while the

wondering warriors filed out of the king's chamber. When Worad,

crestfallen and bewildered, had followed his men, Karl bent over his

daughter.

"Do you, then, love him so much?" he murmured.

"More than life! God be praised, you 've listened to him!"

"I shall not soon forget how near I came to losing my Dane hawk,--and he

flown hither to warn me of deadly peril! Let the traitors give thanks

to Heaven for unmerited mercy. They will have a mild judge."

Olvir shook his head. "My heart leaps with joy that I have won again

the friendship of the world-hero. Yet I ask two things only,--let my

lord king give me my betrothed to wife, and bid me God-speed on my

homeward faring."

"The maiden is yours, kinsman. But we cannot part either with her or

you."

"Dear lord, I speak with clear vision. The heretic cannot sit in peace

among those who bend to the Bishop of Rome; and more, it is best that we

should go, both for ourselves and for the queen. I am weary of strife.

My heart longs for the iron cliffs of my home land, for the salt billows

roaring among the skerries, for the still waters of the fiord. The

viking stifles in this sea-less land."

"Can nothing stay you, Olvir? Think what you ask! You tear at my very

heart-strings. How can I send my child into the frozen North?"

"Not all is rime and frost with us, lord king. The summer is fair in

our North land, and the Trondir are warm of heart. In time, I shall sit

on the high-seat of my father. The king's daughter shall not lack

either in honor or in love."

"I will gladly give you whatever else you ask, Olvir. But to part with

my child--"

Gently Olvir put Rothada from him, and half turned. He spoke with the

calm of utter despair: "It would seem the Norns have woven ill for me.

I go into the North, and--I go without my bride."

"Ah, no!" gasped Fastrada. Struggling to her feet, she tore from about

her throat the necklace of sapphires which the Northman had given her

for wedding gift, and pressed it upon Rothada. "Take it, king's

daughter; take it--even that!--only, bid him stay!"

Rothada thrust the blue stones from her, and drew herself up with a

haughtiness which the king, her father, had never equalled. There was

no grief in her white face as she made answer: "Am I such a one as you

that I should bid my hero bend his will? He goes--"

"And you go with him!" The words burst from Karl's lips like a cry of

anguish.

For a moment, Olvir stood as though dazed; then Rothada was locked fast

in his arms. "My bride! Joy is ours, king's daughter!"

To them sprang their friends, with glad words,--Liutrad, Gerold, even

the calm scholar Alcuin. In the midst, Olvir thrust them aside with

friendly force, and Rothada and he stood forward, radiant, to return

thanks to the great king.