CHAPTER XI

A fair may know I, Fair of all the fairest, Girt about with gold, Good for thy getting. LAY OF REGIN.

The feast was already begun when the doorward came forward to show the belated guests to their places. They followed him, gazing about with keenest curiosity. The apartment was one of ordinary size, hung with tapestries of a fashion familiar even to the Northman,--purple and blue silks, embroidered in gold and brilliant colors with peacocks and lions, griffins and unicorns. But, notwithstanding what they had heard from Fastrada in the queen's bower, all three, as they went forward, stared half bewildered at the sight of the guests on the pillowed couches.

The table, shaped like a horseshoe greatly elongated, gave room for thirty guests. It was a gay company,--stately dames and merry-faced bower-maidens, high court officials, war-counts, and pompous bishops, all alike gorgeous with silks and jewels.

The king himself reclined on a raised couch at the head of the board, with Duke Lupus at his right. On his left was the genial white-haired Abbot Fulrad; next to whom a high court-dame sat in a chair, severely erect, her eyes fixed watchfully upon the bower-maidens. Two places below the old dame Roland's eager gaze instantly singled out Fastrada.

One couch above and two below the maiden were vacant; and when the doorward waved Gerold and Roland to the latter, the Count of the Breton Mark flung himself down beside Fastrada, without a thought as to why the Vascon should have arranged such an opportunity for his most earnest rival. Gerold, little less hasty, took the second place and fell into gay chatter with the laughing bower-maiden on his left.

Olvir, however, was not to be diverted from his sombre mood either by love or by merriment. He advanced to his place above Fastrada with no sign of surprise at the high honor rendered him by its nearness to the head of the board. Heedless of the maiden, heedless even of the king, he flung back his cloak and stood with the light shimmering on his bared mail, his piercing gaze fixed upon Duke Lupus.

Almost instantly the laughter of the guests died away, and they stared at the Northman in wondering silence. But the king half rose on his couch.

"What does this mean, Dane?" he demanded. "Do guests in the North dine in full war-gear?"

"Not so, lord king; in the North there is no need."

"Saint Michael! what need here?"

"This is good answer," replied Olvir; and plucking the poisoned arrow from beneath his cloak, he darted it into the table directly before Duke Lupus. The Vascon's startled cry and deathly pallor, as he flung himself back, fully justified the test.

"The viper!" muttered Olvir. "Others than my kinsman shared in the murderous deed. Only for a blind were the high places at the feast kept for us."

The king had bent forward, and was reaching to draw the arrow from the wood. As he grasped the black shaft, Gerold cried warningly: "Beware, sire; the dart is venomed!"

Karl sat upright, the arrow raised before his eyes.

"I see," he said sternly, "this is no clean point; but it is blunted."

"On my mail," replied Olvir.

"Thank God the mail was proof! A foul deed! Name the wretches, Count Olvir. They shall meet death in the slime."

"That I may not do, lord king. Would such foul ones as they stand in the open?"

"This is no Frankish arrow."

"Nor Vascon!" stammered Lupus.

Olvir smiled darkly. "Lay it to some chance band of outland thieves, lord king. No others would be so base. And now, enough of treachery and bitterness! May all turn again to the merrymaking. I would not be a mar-joy."

Karl nodded gravely and rolled the poisoned arrow in his kerchief. Then he sank back again upon his couch, and gave command: "The count says well. Let the feast go on."

But Olvir stood waiting beside his place.

"What more?" demanded Karl.

"Does the host question my feast-dress?"

"I? No! What does my lord count mean?" exclaimed Lupus. "I welcome you gladly, in steel or in silk. Feast and be merry!"

"As you bid, lord duke," replied Olvir, smiling; but as he stretched out on the couch his eyes sparkled with another look than friendship.

"So; the wily snake! Not my cup alone shall taste of gall."

The comforting thought was diverted by a soft whisper at his ear,--"Do not be deceived, lord count. The Merwing lies."

In the tense strain of his test with the arrow, Olvir had lost all consciousness of Fastrada's presence. Now, however, he turned about, and his gaze rested upon the maiden's exquisite figure. At the sight, all his bitter thoughts of treachery and revenge were forgotten. He had no time to recall his sword-brother to mind before the girl raised her head, and, smiling and blushing with undisguised pleasure, turned upon him a look that set his heart to throbbing with mad delight.

"So my lord count is at last pleased to greet me," she half whispered.

"I had first to greet the host, maiden," rejoined Olvir, with a flash of grim humor.

"_Ai!_ it was grandly done! But I shudder to think of your peril!" and the girl's bosom heaved with emotion.

Olvir gazed straight into her eyes, blue as sapphires and melting with love. Again his heart leaped wildly and sent the hot blood surging through his veins. All the Oriental in his nature was aroused. But it held control only for a moment. Over the graceful head of the maiden he caught sight of his foster-brother's face, clouded with doubt and bewilderment. One glance was enough to sober the viking. Not even youth and Eastern blood could withstand the Northern loyalty. Olvir tore his gaze from the spell of the sapphire eyes and stared out across the silver-laden table, his face stern almost to fierceness.

Fastrada, her blushes fast paling, watched him from beneath lowered lashes with a startled look. Roland also watched him, his blue eyes still troubled. Presently a change lit up the Northman's face. He turned about, with a frank smile for Roland, and met Fastrada's glance with a look of calm resolve.

"Drink with me, maiden," he said. "I pledge one who is the truest friend, the boldest hero in all Frank Land."

"I drink to that hero," replied Fastrada; and over the brim of her crystal goblet her eyes again beamed upon Olvir.

Great as was his self-control, the young man looked hastily away. But then his lip curled in scorn of his weakness, and he exclaimed, "We drink to my sword-brother. May he find favor in the eyes of the queen's fairest maiden!"

"The fair to the fair," rejoined Fastrada, with adroit play on the word. "The fair count will win a flaxen bride. But among the dark maidens I know one who has made choice of a dark-faced hero."

At the open confession Olvir panted, and his eyes glistened with the love which he could no longer restrain. Yet he held firm to his purpose.

"The dark maiden is a foolish maiden," he answered. "She should choose the blue-eyed hero,--a warrior of kingly blood. His great heart overflows with love for the maiden,--he, the king's kin, who need but speak, and honors will be heaped upon him. But the dark warrior, who is he?--a heathen outlander; a stranger in the land; a wanderer!"

"No, Olvir!" interrupted Roland, hoarsely; "you are no stranger, but my true brother. Listen, Fastrada! For no short day you have known that I loved you, and you have never frowned upon my wooing. Yet now I see that you turn to my brother. May the Holy Mother grant that you do not scorn his love the same! Give him the happiness which I thought should be mine."

"And which I 'll not take from you," rejoined Olvir. "Shall I cut the heart from the breast of my brother?"

"That the maiden already has done. I blame neither her nor my loyal brother. You have wooed for me, and failed; now you can woo for yourself without blame."

"He may win the same answer, lord count," said Fastrada, proudly.

The retort passed unheeded. The foster-brothers were gazing into each other's eyes. Soon, however, Roland turned away, that his friend might not perceive the grief which he could no longer hide. Olvir divined the cause of the movement, and he also sank back on his couch, to stare moodily before him.

For a while Fastrada held to her pretence of coldness, waiting for Olvir to begin his wooing. But he maintained his moody stare, and gave no sign. His silence and the sternness of his look puzzled and alarmed the girl. Clearly, this was a very different kind of lover from the sighing swains who trembled if she but withheld her smiles. Not even Roland would have so fought against his love when freed from the bond of foster-duty. One who could put honor before desire was indeed rare among suitors. Woman-like, Fastrada grew all the more eager at the seeming indifference. Unable longer to simulate coyness, she leaned toward her chosen hero and whispered softly: "Olvir,--Olvir, I wait to hear you speak."

Without turning or lifting his head, the Northman answered coldly: "Why should you wait, daughter of Rudulf? I have stamped my heel on the heart of my brother; I have stolen from him what he cherished more than life. The thief's loot is the thief's curse."

"Yet what have you stolen, Olvir? Surely, nothing that Lord Roland possessed, or any other Frank. Until you came, I had never loved any man--and now--and now--"

The pleading whisper died away in silence; but Olvir had turned, flushed and bright-eyed, no longer able to resist the love which filled his whole being. He saw how the girl leaned toward him, her bosom heaving, her scarlet lips half parted. Her cheeks were again crimson with blushes, and her eyes met his gaze with the open confession of her love.

"Thou art Freya!" he exclaimed adoringly, and the girl quivered with joy to see how his face softened and his eyes shone with rapture. Half unconsciously they drew nearer together and murmured their love over and over again.

They exchanged rings and whispered the betrothal vows, regardless alike of the unheeding revellers and of the far from friendly glances of their host. If Hardrat the Thuringian felt displeased at the success of the Dane intruder, no trace of the feeling was perceptible on his wine-flushed features. Lupus, however, took no pains to repress his jealous scowl.

For a time the Vascon was required to devote his attention to the royal guest at his side; but when Karl fell to jesting with Abbot Fulrad, Lupus could watch the lovers, undiverted. As he looked, a fit of jealous rage seized upon him. Though they hardly touched hands, the sight was more than he could bear. His first thought was to sign to his steward to put poison in the Northman's wine. A seemingly careless gesture and nod, and the crafty slave would know the chosen victim. But the sign was not given. At the last moment the duke perceived that Olvir's silver tankard stood brimming beside his trencher. What little wine the young man drank was sipped from Fastrada's cup.

Barred of his simplest and most certain means of removing his rival, the Vascon sat gnawing his lip, his face distorted with the look of a baffled fiend. Count Hardrat, failing to attract the duke's attention by his warning glances, spoke to the steward. But the mischief was already past mending. Drawn by the intensity of the duke's look, Olvir and Fastrada raised their heads, and for an instant both saw the malignant stare of the Vascon. Quickly as he looked away, neither failed to divine his jealous rage. Fastrada clasped her lover's hand in sudden dread.

"_Ai!_ how he hates you!" she whispered.

"No new tidings," rejoined Olvir. Then he put his hand to his breast and turned smilingly to the maiden. "Dear one, here is hidden a bit of hollowed ivory of which you may have knowledge."

"The hollow was not empty," replied the girl. "I feared for you--I fear more now."

"You feared?"

Fastrada hesitated and glanced across the table at Hardrat. The war-count was intent on his trencher. She drew a deep breath, and, with eyes downcast, murmured her answer to Olvir's question: "My lord should know that others than Roland wooed me before his coming, and so there are those--"

"--Who do not wish me well," said Olvir, as the girl faltered. "Still, that is not cause enough for your wolf's hair."

"True, Olvir; and yet the token was sent at a venture. I know nothing certain. I chanced to see Lupus talking with my drunken countryman Hardrat. As I came upon them, Hardrat growled out your name, and repeated it with a curse. Then they saw me, and the drunkard hurried away like a guilty man. But Lupus stayed to greet me. I could not rid myself of him until I was bidden to the queen's bower."

"He saw that you thought to send a warning."

"No serpent is more subtle. But if he thinks to come between us, let him beware!"

Surprised by the hissing note in the softly murmured threat, Olvir glanced up from the hand he was fondling. He was too late to catch the cruel expression which for a moment had marred the girl's beauty; but he wondered to see how the color of her eyes had altered to a greenish grey. As he looked, her gaze met his, and the greenish tints quickly gave place again to the blue.

"By Freya, sweetheart," he said, "your eyes change their hue."

"My heart will never change."

"Nor mine, by my sword! But what hushes the merrymaking? Ah! the host rises to speak."

Standing on his couch, Lupus smiled down condescendingly upon his guests, and, to draw attention, waved a hand whose every finger was burdened with gem-rings.

"Brave counts and holy priests, chaste dames and beautiful maidens," he began, "fill your goblets to the brim, and drink with me to the health of the great ruler who honors us with his presence."

A chorus of shouts greeted the toast, and every man sprang to his feet, Olvir first of all.

"Long live the king!" cried Hardrat, his bloodshot eyes fixed upon Lupus.

"The king! the king!--long live the king!" shouted the guests in chorus, and the war-counts brandished their bared swords overhead while all present drained their wine-cups to the bottom.

As Olvir sheathed Al-hatif, he looked down, eager to rejoin Fastrada. In this, however, he was to be disappointed. The duenna dame had risen from her chair and was leaving the table. Immediately all the women present, dames and maidens alike, rose to follow their leader. None longed more to stay than did Fastrada, and she lingered beside Olvir to the very last. Already the women had drawn aside. Olvir looked at the girl ruefully.

"So we must part, sweetheart," he sighed.

Fastrada gazed into his dark face, and half whispered her answer: "Ah, my hero, would that the time had come when we need never part!"

"That, I trust, may soon be," replied Olvir, and he drew aside for the girl to pass. She would still have lingered beside him, but the old dame beckoned to her, and she glided away to join the other bower-maidens.

As the women swept after their leader through a private passage, Duke Lupus reached out to refill the king's gold flagon. He was met by a quick gesture of refusal, and Karl turned his empty cup brim down upon the table.

"Enough of wine," he said. "I am not over-fond of wassail, and the feast is dull without our fair ones to grace the board."

Lupus opened his lips to protest, but caught a glance from Hardrat, and changed at once to bowing compliance: "Your Majesty, dancing and juggling were to have followed. Yet whatever may be your pleasure--"

"You are a kind host, and we give thanks for the feast. Another time we may enjoy the mountebanks. Farewell, lord duke. God keep you! Anselm, a word in private; and you, Fulrad. Farewell, my bright Dane."

Olvir wheeled about to salute the king. As his hand fell, his eye met Karl's smiling gaze, and he glanced down at the royal couch. The king looked, and saw the arrow wrapped in his kerchief. He nodded gravely to Olvir, and, arrow in hand, left the chamber, between Anselm and Fulrad.

Released from restraint by the departure of the king, the remaining guests gathered about the head of the table, and many accepted the duke's invitation to join in a wassail bout. Most of the priests, however, and a few of the counts at once withdrew from the banquet-chamber. In their midst went Olvir, so intent on the vision of Fastrada's loveliness that he had no thought for his foster-brother.

Still musing, he passed the door, and found himself standing in the torchlight, face to face with Gerold and Roland. His eyes fell, and he would have passed by the two with flushed cheeks, had not Roland laid a hand on his shoulder and turned to walk beside him.

"Our horses are at your camp, gossip," calmly remarked the Frank. "We shall return with you for the night."

"The murderers may yet linger," added Gerold, from the rear.

Olvir halted and stepped back from Roland.

"Thor!" he muttered. "This--after what has happened!"

"Are you not my brother?" demanded Roland. "_Heu_! I know now she did not love me. If she had, I should hate you. But you have robbed me of nothing. How, then, can I grudge you your good fortune?"

"Brother!" cried Olvir.