CHAPTER II

It is marvel And the red blood Runs not as the rain Runs in the street. FINNESBURH.

When at last the gale-driven fleet sighted the dune shores of the old Rhine Mouth, and the ships steered in across the bar, no time was lost in beginning the ascent of the river. From a passing Frisian trader, the crews learned that war had broken out anew in Saxon Land; and after such tidings there was no need to urge the viking oarsmen to their benches whenever, in rounding the wide bends of the stream, the breeze chanced to come ahead. Olvir was not more eager than were they to reach Mayence, where both Abbot Fulrad and Gerold thought they might now look to find Karl and the court. When the _missi_ started south, the king was about to leave for Aix, to enjoy the warm baths, and plan the building of the grand palace and the domchurch, which were so long to commemorate his reign. By this time, however, he should have returned to the Rhinegau, to urge on the construction of the new palace of Ingleheim.

But as the fleet lay to for provisions at the great stone bridge of Constantine, which spanned the Rhine at Cologne, the monks of Saint Martin of the Isle brought full account of the bloody disaster at Sunthal, to avenge which Karl the King had a month since gathered a great host and swept north into Saxon Land.

The various stories of the battle, though contradictory on many points, all agreed as to the main outline. The Sorbs, taking advantage of the fact that the grim Count Rudulf lay at Fulda helpless from the goring of a wild boar, had stirred up trouble in their mark. To quiet them, Karl had levied a host, under the command of Count Worad, the High Marshal Gilo, and Adalgis the Chamberlain, and had unwisely added to the host a contingent of Saxons.

In the midst of the forest these Saxons had deserted and fled across Eastphalia, to join the great war-earl Wittikind, who had once more returned from Denmark with fire and sword. Following the deserters to the Weser, the Franks came upon a small host under the command of Count Teutoric of the Frisian Mark, who had counselled that all should join in a united attack on the Saxon camp.

But the jealous counts planned secretly to make the attack without the famed kinsman of the king. Thinking to overwhelm the Saxons by the impetuosity of their assault, they had rushed upon the Saxon war-hedges in wildest disorder; only to be caught by the crafty Wittikind as Herman, his great predecessor, had trapped the Roman Varus. The greater part of the Frankish host, including Adalgis, Gilo, and twenty counts, had been slaughtered, and Count Worad had barely managed to bring three hundred warriors out of the ambush.

After such tidings there was no longer holding the vikings in check. The ships were at once left in charge of a scanty ship-watch, and with the swiftness of a mounted levy the vikings swept north from the Rhine toward the Saxon Mark.

But near the Ruhr a rumor reached the eager band that the king was now at Fulda; and Olvir, at the urgent request of Abbot Fulrad, turned aside toward the monastery.

The march to Fulda across the war-trampled fields of Hesse was taken far more leisurely than the rush from the Rhine. The vikings had little heart for turning aside, and there was much grumbling among them at being cheated of the merry sword-play. Even at their slower pace, however, the third day found them close upon their journey's end, where they were fated to hear that which should cool the blood-fever of the grimmest berserk in their number.

Marching through the wild beech forest, the Norse band came upon Fulda late in the day. They found the half-cleared groves around the monastery filled with the booths of the Frankish host, and everywhere, by scores and by hundreds, the leathern-jerkined warriors were to be seen cooking their evening meal, or seated in groups to eat.

It was the time of day when the men of a victorious host should have broken into song and merriment. But a hush lay upon the Frankish camp, and the faces of the less brutal among the warriors bore the gloomy look of defeated men.

Uneasy with forebodings of evil, Abbot Fulrad spurred on to the monastery to see the king, and Gerold rode with him. Confident in the speed of Zora to overtake them, Olvir waited to direct the arrangement of the viking camp; but a quarrel between two berserks delayed him longer than he had intended. He had at last pacified the angry men, and was about to spring upon Zora, when Liutrad Erlingson came galloping through the wood, afire with eagerness to greet his beloved earl. Leaping from the saddle, he flung his arms about Olvir and held him fast, too overjoyed to speak.

Olvir met the bear-like hug with a grip that forced the breath from the broad chest of his captor, and then, slipping eel-like from the massive arms, he stepped back to view the young giant.

Like Gerold, Liutrad had not yet lost all his boyishness of look and bearing. His blue eyes lacked none of their old-time frankness, and his ruddy face still showed to the world the kindly spirit which dwelt within. Yet across his forehead was drawn a newly creased line, and there was a look in his eyes which even his joy at the meeting could not altogether hide.

"How now, son of Erling?" demanded Olvir. "Have the Christian priests taken the heart from your breast? You look as do these moody Franks. Has the whole Christian host seen a bloody guardian-sprite?"

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

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

"Would that another might tell that tale, ring-breaker! Holy Mother! I see all again,--the bloody swords, the headless slain splashing into the Aller!"

"Thor!" muttered Olvir. "I had yet to learn that Christians could sicken at thought of sword-play."

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

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

"Yet it seems to me, earl, that the wide world must have thundered with the tidings. But listen. When the king in his wrath swept north through Saxon Land, Wittikind fled back again to Nordmannia, and all the forest-dwellers stooped beneath the heel of the Frank. At Verden, on the Aller, the king called before him the earls and eldormen of the Saxon folk. They came in a multitude, crying out against Wittikind, who had stirred them to take up the sword, and submitted themselves humbly to the will of the king. Some were thrust forward by their fellows, and many more stood out of themselves to meet, as leaders of the revolt, the expected doom. But the king was in no mood to content himself with so small a vengeance. The blood-mist was before his eyes,--he was maddened by the harrying of the forest-wolves. Of all the high-born Saxons,--four thousand and more earls and eldormen,--not one was spared. In a single day the heads of all were hewn off and their bodies cast into the Aller. The stream flowed red into the Weser,--God grant I soon forget that sight!"

Again Liutrad flung up his arm before his eyes, and stood shuddering. Olvir waited, silent and seemingly calm; but the lines about his mouth drew tense, and his dark eyes gazed past Liutrad into vacancy.

When the son of Erling dropped his arm, Olvir turned on his heel, without a word, and started to lead Zora back to his tent.

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

"He may wait," answered Olvir, very quietly, and he kept on until lost to view beneath the striped viking tilt from which fluttered his starred banner.

When Liutrad, after greeting Floki and the crews, presently ventured to peer into Olvir's tent, he saw him seated beside a torch, alternately reading marked passages in a pair of use-worn books. One of the books was new to Liutrad, both in binding and script; but the other he at once recognized as Otkar Jotuntop's Greek Gospels. At his cry of surprise, Olvir bade him enter and be seated, and then resumed his reading; but now he read aloud.