CHAPTER XX

Lest they fare thither With whistling spears, War to wake 'gainst the king. SONG OF ATLI.

From their camp among the beech and chestnut woods of Roncesvalles, the invaders directed their march across the mountain spurs and down the valley of the Zubiri, between hills clad to the summit with beech and ash. The land was grandly beautiful; yet, with all its magnificence, even the vikings hailed with joy the distant walls and towers of Pampeluna.

Word was passed back along the great serpent line of warriors winding down out of the mountains, and all pressed forward with renewed vigor, that they might pitch camp near the burg of the Navarrese. The rearguard had need of haste to win this end, for the sun was already half down the sky when Hardrat's horsemen deployed on the bank of the Arga, opposite Pampeluna.

Close at the heels of the horse came the royal guard of vikings, whose long limbs kept them with ease in the wake of the riders. They did not halt upon the river's bank, but followed the king and his retinue across the stream to the foot of the height upon which rose the walls of the burg.

The battlements were crowded with a swarm of Christian townfolk, interspersed with groups of swarthy warriors, whose chain-mail and wide turbans told of the Saracen domination. All were gazing across at the ingathering host of Northerners,--the dreaded Franks, famed alike among Christian Navarrese and Moslem Moors for rapacity and fierceness. It was as though the sheep had called in the wolf-pack against the shepherd. In profound silence the townfolk stared at the horde of their skin-clad allies, and from the depths of their hearts sent up a wordless prayer that the peril might pass them by.

Karl gazed up steadily at the closed gate of the burg and at the silent watchers above.

"By my father's sword, this is cold greeting," he muttered.

"We have marched swiftly, sire," suggested Count Anselm. "May it not be that Count Kasim is taken unawares by your coming?"

"He will do well not to wait for our knock," said Karl, grimly. "So! here is ground more level. Halt! Raise the standard."

Roland unfolded the banner, and pushed forward to the left of the king, while behind the two the courtiers spread out in line to right and left, all eager to see and hear what should follow.

At the word to halt Liutrad had wheeled about, bearing a command from Olvir; and the vikings, as they came up, opened out their ranks wider than the line of the Franks. Karl turned in his saddle and looked inquiringly from the warriors to their leader. But the expression of the Northman's face cleared away his doubt. There was a smouldering fire in Olvir's eyes as he watched for the appearance of his kinsman, but the stern lines of his mouth told of perfect self-control.

The king turned to Eggihard.

"Wind your horn," he commanded. "We shall see if these Southland folk are dumb."

But as the steward raised his silver trumpet, a great mass of Saracen spearmen, with Vali Kasim in the lead, burst from a grove not two bow-shots away, and swooped down upon the royal party in wild disarray, screaming and yelling like madmen, and urging their swift horses to the utmost speed.

Karl, who had been forewarned as to the Saracen custom of honoring a superior by feigned attacks, wheeled his horse, and gazed calmly at the approaching whirlwind of riders. But there was one among his liegemen who lacked his faith in the blinking vali.

Hardly had the Moslems burst from their covert when Olvir stood up in his stirrups and made a sign to his vikings. The response was a deep muttering roar, that merged into the clash and tread of rushing warriors. Before the Franks could comprehend the movement, they found themselves in the heart of the viking wedge, fenced about by a sevenfold line of warriors. At the point of the wedge they could see the Norse sea-king on his red mare, calmly facing the charge of the turbaned spearmen; while beside him stood Floki the Crane, smiling in grim anticipation as he balanced his terrible halberd. Behind them, Liutrad loosened the great axe in his belt, and plucked a dart from the sheaf which he grasped with the staff of his earl's banner.

The Saracens were within a bow-shot, and coming like the wind,--lances levelled, scimetars brandished, and burnouses flying,--when Olvir drew Al-hatif and raised the blade overhead. Instantly a rustling, tinkling sound swept over the wedge behind him. Slingers raised their slings; bowmen notched their arrows.

Then the king's voice rang out like a trumpet: "Hold, men, on your lives! Down with your weapons!"

But the vikings looked to their earl. The blade still glittered above his bright figure, and they stood waiting, heedless of the Frank.

"By the King of Heaven!" swore Karl; only to pause and stare with his courtiers. At a word from Olvir, Liutrad had sent a dart curving high through the air. The missile flashed down and stuck upright in the dry ground, over a hundred paces distant. Fifty yards farther, it would have fallen upon the head of Kasim Ibn Yusuf.

Whatever had been the purpose of the Arab, he saw how fully the Northern giants were prepared to meet him, and he understood on the instant the menace of the dart. The shaft was yet quivering from its fall when he flung up his hand and uttered a piercing cry.

A hundred voices caught up the wild note and shrieked it back to their owner's swiftly following fellows. Up went the levelled lance-tips, sinewy hands drew hard on the bridle-reins, and the mass of flying horsemen came to a halt within the space of a few yards.

As the Saracens came to a stand, Karl forced a way through the close-set ranks of the vikings, his cheeks flushed and eyes flashing angrily.

"Way!" he commanded. "Ho; aside, men! Give heed, Lord Olvir!"

Olvir half wheeled Zora and faced the angry king as the white stallion leaped clear of the foremost vikings. For a moment Karl glared down on the Northman, his powerful features stern with the dark menace of offended majesty. Olvir, who had looked only for praise of his ready defence, drew himself up, and met the king's stare with a bitter smile.

Look and bearing alike goaded Karl to fury. He grasped the hilt of his sword, and his great body quivered. But the spasm passed. He bent forward and said coldly: "How is this, Dane? Neither you nor your followers give ear to my command."

"Does the stooping hawk heed the lure?" rejoined Olvir, as coldly. "You chose us for shieldburg, lord king. As such--"

"Answer me, by Saint Michael! Would you have struck my ally?"

Olvir's black eyes flashed defiance straight into the eyes of the king.

"By Thor!" he cried. "By Thor and the White Christ! Had Kasim my kinsman charged past yonder spear, he and a host of his swart hounds should have fared hence to Loki's daughter!"

Karl's brows met over the long, arched nose, and his nostrils quivered. But the last word rang in his ear,--_daughter! daughter_! Suddenly he found himself regarding the affair from an entirely different point of view. Had not the young Dane good cause to mistrust the Saracen? Was he not charged with the safety of his king and of all the royal party,--officials and unarmed priests,--above all, the maidens?

Olvir was not slow to heed the sudden return of friendliness which lighted the king's face; but his own retained its gloom. He was sore to the heart with the injustice which had been done him. Karl perceived his bitter look, yet reached out his hand, and the Northman could not do other than take it. Holding fast the slender fingers in his great palm, the king turned in his saddle and called aloud: "Hearken, my liegemen! Before all, I give thanks to Lord Olvir, who most ably has proved his charge. If any had doubt as to the trueness of our guard, they may now feel assured."

"No longer may any doubt!" cried Roland, spurring forward through the viking ranks.

Olvir glanced about; but at the moment the royal standard dipped to the breeze, and he failed to see Roland's face. He turned back to the king with a look that was grave without bitterness, and met the Frank's parting grip with a responsive clasp.