CHAPTER V

Out then went Sigurd, The great king's well-loved, From the speech and the sorrow, Sore drooping, sore grieving. VOLSUNGA SAGA.

As the king passed down the main corridor of the villa with Fulrad, Liutrad touched the arm of his earl, and Olvir, giving instant heed to the sign, dropped behind Gerold and the chattering young Franks.

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

For several paces Liutrad walked along beside him without replying. Then, his eyes fixed upon the stone pavement, he stammered slowly: "Ring-breaker,--friend,--I must speak out! You yourself first taught me runes, and so--and so--but already you 're aware how I 've been drawn to the White Christ. I know you 'll not be harsh. There are Alcuin and Deacon Paul and many others,--they speak powerfully. I am almost persuaded to become a monk."

"A monk!" cried Olvir. "Has it come to this? Would that long since I had called you aboard ship and sailed away to Trondheim Fiord! The son of Erling a monk!--a beggarly, wifeless, kinless, childless _thing_! By Thor, sooner would I strike you dead! Can you not yourself read and put into deed the runes of the White Christ? Did He not take part in the wedding feast at Cana?"

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

"You may well say loathing! Man is here on earth to live,--to live in fulness of life, abounding in health and strength for the joy and uplifting alike of himself and of others. What, then, is more holy than wedlock and the rearing of strong sons and pure daughters for the welfare of the land?"

"Enough, earl," replied Liutrad, in a low voice. "I shall never become a monk. But I long to give myself to Christ. The secular clergy--"

"Rather, to the Bishop of Rome. You 'd shear off your long locks to become the thrall of a woman-clad Roman. But the evil is less than I dreaded. Fulrad has told me of the king's friendship for you. Before many years we may look to see Karl name you a bishop. As such, you 'd hold no small measure of power and wealth,--a mitred priest-earl, with all the gold and wares and lands of your bishopric to give or take according to your own will. You could do no little good among the downtrodden poor folk. So; it might be worse. When I sail home again to Lade, I shall not have to speak of the son of Erling with face downcast, but can name him in full voice a high liegeman of the Frank king,--an earl of the White Christ."

"May it be long before you leave us, Olvir!" exclaimed Liutrad, and he paused to clasp the hands of his gravely smiling companion. Then together they followed the Franks into the great hall of the villa.

After the ornate magnificence of the Roman basilicas, the audience-chamber appeared far less imposing to Olvir than would have been the case before his Italian mission. Interesting as were the hunting trophies and the rich tapestries which decorated the wall, he was more attracted by the gaily clad group of lords and clergy about the dais.

As the courtiers parted before the king, Olvir's gaze fell upon the crafty, shrivelled face of Kosru, the Magian leech, side by side with Count Hardrat's bloated visage. Though more sober in look than of old, the Thuringian's eyes had acquired a furtive glance, and his features had grown much harsher in outline.

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

"You mean Hardrat and the Asiaman. The old leech has long been known as a searcher for lore; but that such a one as my red pig should show, little less hunger for knowledge than the king himself is, to say the least, very strange. It is even said that he takes part with the leech and Fastrada in their study of the black art. Heaven forfend, ring-breaker, that the daughter of Rudulf seek to weave again the spell which she cast on you in the Southland!"

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

"Yet I beg you to beware, Olvir. From Kosru, the maiden has had the gift of a ring set with magic opal. The hues of the wonderful gem shift and change like the tints of the maiden's eyes. Few can withstand the power of that spell; nor has the maiden lost the charm of her beauty. In face, as in form, she is lovelier than ever."

"Forewarned, forearmed," rejoined Olvir. "And I bear a charm to withstand all the spells of the Thuringian,--the memory of a little child-maid."

"Rothada! She came again from Chelles not a fortnight since. Our lord king gave her leave to go back when you fared away to Italy. But see; the king beckons to us. No; it is to Abbot Fulrad. Yet we should be seeking our places; the others draw up their benches. And here comes the queen. The school will soon open."

"Lead on," said Olvir, eager to draw nearer the private passage by which Hildegarde and her maidens were entering the hall. Liutrad advanced at once; but the move failed to bring his earl that which he sought. Hildegarde had paused just across the threshold, to meet the boisterous welcome of Gerold; and while brother and sister exchanged greetings, Olvir looked in vain for the face he longed to see among the half-score of maidens who slipped into the hall behind the queen. While he yet stood there, disappointed and hesitating, the queen turned to him from Gerold.

"Welcome to my lord's bright Dane!" she said. "I see, Olvir, that your wrist is still burdened with my ring."

"I have never ceased to wear it, dear dame, with reverence and gratitude for the giver," replied Olvir, as he bowed to kiss the queen's extended hand.

Hildegarde gazed graciously into his dark face, and answered him with quiet earnestness: "We seek to make you a gift, Olvir, far more precious than any ring,--a pearl beyond price. There is now but one thing in the way,--your resistance to the voice of Holy Church. You have won a warm place in our hearts, Olvir. Consider well, and do not let your pride bar your way into Christ's fold."

"I shall weigh the matter with utmost care," said Olvir; and the answer brought a glow to the anxious face of the queen. But while Liutrad and her brother escorted the royal dame to the dais, he stood lost in thought, his eyes fixed upon the rushes at his feet.

He was aroused by a well-remembered voice, whose soft murmur would have been inaudible but for its sibilance: "Welcome to Count Olvir! Will he not let bygones be bygones, and swear the peace-oath?"

Olvir started and stared keenly about him. On his right, framed as it were by the curtained doorway, and almost within arm's length, stood the daughter of Rudulf, gazing at him from beneath her drooping lashes with an indescribable look,--a half-smile, full of insolence and dread, of love and hate. For the moment all the wild whirl of conflicting emotions which the unexpected sight of her former lover had aroused in the Thuringian's breast stood out plain to view on her face, through its court-mask of dissimulation.

Olvir had no need to look twice to assure himself that Liutrad was not mistaken when he spoke of the maiden's ripened beauty. She had certainly lost none of her former loveliness, and art had added no little to her charms. The purple dress, cut low after the latest Frankish fashion, suggested every soft curve of the girl's rounded form; her brown hair, with its gleams of gold, was bound by a diadem of all but queenly splendor; while the fingers of her right hand were covered with gem-rings half to the tips. But on her left hand, which she held out to the Northman, there was only one ornament,--the ring whose reputed magical powers had caused Liutrad so much uneasiness. It was fashioned of two miniature serpents, one black, the other red, which held in their jaws an opal of great size and peculiar fire.

For a moment Olvir stood hesitating; then he took the girl's hand, and answered her gravely: "I take the peace offered by Count Rudulf's daughter. There is a saying that those who have broken betrothal bonds can never join in friendship. I trust that with us it may prove otherwise. At the least, I shall seek to heal the wrong which I wrought against you."

"And I, Olvir!" murmured the girl, the rich blood leaping to her cheeks. "I give thanks for your--friendship. We were not fated to meet under the same roof with cold hearts."

"True, maiden. The past is past. I rejoice that you would now bury it, and accept friendship instead of bitterness."

A look too subtle even for the Northman's eyes flitted across the girl's face, and she tightened the handclasp which he was relaxing.

"It is then peace and--friendship," she said. "Come; the questions begin,--Deacon Alcuin fingers his scrolls. Yonder is a bench behind the others. You shall sit beside me and enlighten my dull wit."

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

As the couple seated themselves on a bench in the rear of the main group of students, Alcuin selected one of the scrolls handed him by his pupils, and bowed to the king.

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

At the word, Karl glanced about the hall. All present except Alcuin were now seated; but the king gazed up and down the benches until he caught sight of Olvir. Then he nodded and replied: "It is well; the lesson will now begin. Summon all your lore, my dear teacher. We have with us to-day a new-comer whose wits are keen as his sword."

"Such learning, sire, as I have gained from the Holy Fathers, I stand ready to impart. But who may say that he knows all of wisdom? Not even Solomon, son of David, could so claim."

"What is wisdom?" queried Karl.

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

"And learning?"

"The inscribed knowledge of the ancients."

"What says my bright Dane to that?"

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

"I am over-new in this game to take active part, sire," he said. "I do not even know its rules."

"Another time, then, lad. You will soon learn our ways. We will now follow the lessons set for the day. Worad was to question Alcuin on dialectics."

As the young Frank rose to confront the master, Olvir sat down again beside Fastrada, and fell to musing, heedless alike of the learned disputants and of his fair benchmate.

In the midst of his revery, he was roused by Fastrada, who, under cover of Alcuin's voice, leaned over and whispered softly: "Look, my hero friend. Here comes one whom I doubt if you can name. Though she has not yet taken the veil, Gisela has all but made a nun of her."

"How? Ah!"

Rothada had come in by the queen's entrance, and was already close at hand, gliding silently over the rushes. It was little wonder that Olvir, after the first quick start of recognition, sat staring at the king's daughter, with lips parted and black eyes glistening. He did not see the Rothada for whom he had looked. That gay, bright-eyed child-maid was gone, and in her stead was a maiden no less lissome than the little vala, but taller, and grave with habitual meditation. The slight pallor of her face, together with the spirituality of its look, gave to her features an ethereal--almost unearthly--beauty.

As she was about to pass by, unconscious of his presence, Olvir uttered a stifled cry. Rothada looked down, and met his eager gaze. At sight of him she halted, as though struck, and he could see her eyes widen and darken with doubt and vague dread. Her first impulse apparently was to hasten on; but she checked herself, and was about to speak, when she chanced to catch Fastrada's look of insolent triumph. At that a flush rose in her white cheeks, and without a word of greeting she passed quickly by to her stool, on the dais beside Hildegarde.

For a moment Olvir sat staring in utter bewilderment. Then the hot blood leaped into his face, and he sprang to his feet. Heedless of the disputing scholars, of the Thuringian, with her short-lived triumph, of the king himself, he stalked down the hall, his head high, and his eyes flashing.