CHAPTER XIV

An ill day, an ill woman, And most ill hap! LAY OF GUDRUN.

Never had Olvir or Rothada known a happier winter. As betrothed lovers they were allowed much greater freedom than would otherwise have been held seemly. Hildegarde often invited the Northman, with Gerold and Liutrad, to her bower, and there the lovers would sit by the hour in a quiet window-nook, watching the games of the king's children. Sometimes the young men and the bower-maidens joined in the play, and there was wild merriment in the bower. At other times the presence of the king restrained the roisterers to more sedate amusements.

But Olvir was not always left in peace with his betrothed. The many churchmen at Thionville, with Alcuin at their head, were untiring in their efforts to convince him of the divine right of the Pope and Holy Church. Over and over again, Olvir stated the high ideals of life which he had gathered from the Gospels by his own reading, but the pious churchmen had no ears for such heresy. Who so sacrilegious as to dispute the dogmas of the wise and holy Augustine? Even Karl was puzzled and annoyed by Olvir's failure to accept the argument of "authority."

But though Olvir found it no great task to withstand the priests, his position was not so easy when he came to the well-wishers who appealed to his heart instead of his head. Hildegarde had masses sung for his conversion, so great was her concern. Between his wish to gratify both king and queen and his desire to win his bride, Olvir came far nearer to losing the struggle than through any arguing of the priests. Yet through it all he held fast to his first stand, even at the times when Karl himself, roused by the failures of his churchmen, took part in the dispute and sought to sweep away the defences of the Northman by the sheer force of his giant will.

So the winter months slipped by, and at last in sunny nooks the earth began to peer through the holes in its white coverlet. Then the Moselle burst its fetters and rolled free in the sunshine, while Ostara of the Saxons came sauntering up from the Southlands, blowing open the leaf-buds with her fragrant breath and strewing behind her a trail of early blossoms.

Never had the outer conditions of the land seemed more in keeping with the quiet joy and peace of the Pascal season. The plans of Alcuin and Karl for a general educational movement throughout the kingdom were well under way, and gave promise of speedy fruition,--to the glory of the king and the uplifting of his subjects.

Into the midst of this peace and quiet the war-storm burst from the Saxon forests without forewarning. On the very eve of Easter Sunday, a messenger from Count Rudulf came riding in hot haste, with word that Wittikind was back again from the North, followed by a host of Nordalbingians.

Further tidings of disaster were not long delayed. From all parts of Saxon Land messengers came flying, with report of fire and sword, bloodshed and sacrilege. The wild forest-folk, Eastphalians, Westphalians, and Engern, had risen to a man, and, under the leadership of Hessi and Alf and Bruno, were rushing to join the standard of the indomitable Wittikind. Last of all came riders from Teutoric, Count of the Frisian Mark. The Frisians were marching eastwards across their fenlands, everywhere slaying and burning, like their Saxon kinsmen. All beyond the Rhine, from Thuringia to the North Sea, the land was aflame.

Such were the fearful tidings which were to bring sorrow to many a Frankish hearthside and shatter the great king's fond dream of peace. Olvir's forebodings of what Verden should bring forth had been verified even more fully than he had expected. It was the hour of promise for Wittikind, son of Wanekind. All the internecine bitterness and jealousies of the tribes had melted away in the heat of their common fury against the Frank. For the first time in the long struggle, the utterly free forest-dwellers had forgotten the narrow boundaries of their shires, and placed themselves willingly under a common leader.

Yet, bitter as was his disappointment, Karl took up the renewal of the war with unflinching resolve to bend the stiff-necked heathen to his will. Riders were sent flying with the arrow-bode to all parts of the kingdom, while the king and his war-counts set about the planning of a campaign in the North greater than any that had ever gone before.

By the end of April the first of the war-levies had gathered at Cologne, where they were to be joined by the king. The first of May had been fixed as the day for the start, and on the evening before, all the high counts sat down to a farewell supper with the royal family. It was only the king's customary meal of four dishes and the roast, yet the occasion gave to it a distinction lacked by many a state feast.

Among the greater number of the guests the talk was all of the coming warfare,--of the long marches through the forests and over the broad heaths of Saxon Land; of possible battles, and the certain speedy overthrow of Wittikind. The gay Franks, many of whom were to find bloody death-beds under the Saxon beeches or in the yellow gorse, jested away the fears of their fair benchmates, and boasted how they would return, covered with glory and laden with the loot of the heathen.

But while most of the guests spent the meal-time in jests and boasting, there were a few who had little desire for merriment. Karl himself, though far other than disheartened that he was on the eve of the death-grapple with the fiercest and most stubborn of his many foes, was in no mood for gaiety. Had not the ravaging of the Saxons been enough to sober his thoughts, there were rumors of fresh plots against him at the court of Duke Tassilo of Bavaria, while old Barnard, his uncle, had sent word from Italy of renewed attempts by Adelchis the Lombard to obtain a fleet and host at Constantinople from the Empress Irene.

But the king was affected most of all by the coming separation from his wife and children. Though it was intended that they should rejoin him in Saxon Land so soon as the full gathering of the Frankish host safeguarded the mark from Saxon raiders, his affection would not suffer him to part from his family without great reluctance.

Saddened as were Karl and Hildegarde by the thought of parting, their grief could not compare with that of Olvir and his little princess. Though the king left love behind, before him he saw glory and power; and even Hildegarde could look forward with pleasure to the success of her dear lord. Olvir, however, in leaving love, left all that he held dear. The expected battles, which lured on so many others with their promise of blood-stained honors, meant no more to him than an unwilling rendering of his duty to the king.

"God grant, dear heart, that we meet the Saxons at once!" he burst out after a long silence. "A single great battle may shatter their war-earl's power, and end the bloody strife. With Wittikind crushed, the most stubborn of the forest-folk may well give up the struggle as hopeless."

"If only they might bend to our Lord Christ without so much as one battle!" sighed Rothada.

"If only they might, little vala!" echoed Olvir. "But the best we can look for is a pitched battle, and the more terrible the slaughter, the more hope for peace to follow."

"That is a fearful saying, Olvir!"

"The truth of sword-rule. But this is no time, dearest, to fret our spirits with such thoughts. We have enough to sadden us in our parting."

"Oh, my hero! If I were not so selfish, I would seek to lighten your heart. But I sit here, heavy with sorrow, while all others are gay. See; even Fastrada has put away her brooding, and makes merry with Gerold and the pages, as once I used to do."

"She may well rejoice! War is as welcome to her as to my vikings; and no doubt she is merry that we are to be parted."

"Dear hero, you should speak evil of no one."

"True, sweetheart; I should not judge even the witch's daughter. Yet her laughter lacks the ring of that which springs from a kindly heart. Nor do I like the manner in which she looks at the king."

"Surely, Olvir, you misjudge the maiden. All during Lent she has been very kind and gentle. Look; here are the mushrooms which she told Pepin and Karl to gather for our mother."

"Loki,--a Roman dish! Yet the act was to be praised," admitted Olvir, and he stared curiously at the salver borne past by one of the pages. "I see it was not enough of honor to the ugly elf-stools that they should be gathered by a king's sons. They must be served in a golden bowl with a spoon of silver."

"Do not mock, dear. The cook is from Ravenna, and very skilled in his art. He bakes the spoon with the food, and if there should chance to be any poisonous mushroom with the others, he knows that the spoon will blacken."

"Better trust to good flesh and grain, and leave such dishes to the Romans and Greeks," rejoined Olvir, and he turned with sudden remembrance to his neglected trencher.

But his appetite, always moderate, was soon satisfied, and he was turning again to Rothada, when, startling as a thunderbolt from a clear sky, the king's voice broke in upon the laughter of the guests, harsh and strained with alarm: "Bring water! bring water quickly! The queen is ill! Mother of God, she swoons!"

In the sudden hush which followed, all heard the sibilant voice of Fastrada echoing the king's cry: "The queen swoons! Run, fetch the leech!--Kosru, the leech!"

Then all at the table sprang up together, and Liutrad and Worad rushed away in search of the Magian. With his own hands Karl had laid his queen upon the dais. About his stooping form gathered the dames and maidens; while the lords, grave and silent with anxiety, drew together at the far end of the hall. Olvir followed Rothada to the outer line of the women; but Gerold alone pushed in through their midst.

As the Swabian knelt beside his sister, Liutrad came thrusting Kosru before him into the hall. The Magian was deathly pale, and trembled visibly as Liutrad and Worad bore him forward between them. Yet he had not lost his power of speech.

"Stay!" he interposed in a quavering voice, as, at a sign from the king, Fastrada and the other bower-maidens sought to raise the queen. "Stay, maidens! I would first learn what our gracious dame has eaten."

"What we have all eaten," replied Karl, quickly.

"But more, lord king," called out Olvir. "How of the elf-stools?"

"The mushrooms!" muttered Gerold, and he sprang up to point out the little golden bowl, still on the board beside his sister's trencher.

Kosru tottered forward and clutched the bowl in his claw-like fingers. Breathlessly the onlookers watched while he sniffed at the shreds in the bottom of the dish and placed one of them upon his tongue. Almost instantly he spewed it out again.

"Ahriman!" he cried, and he turned to the king, his face a sickly yellow.

"Speak out!" commanded Karl, sternly.

"_Ai_! I feared it, lord king. Queen Hildegarde has eaten poisonous fungi."

"Yet the silver was untarnished. I saw it myself."

"But listen, lord king," replied the leech, so huskily that few could follow his words; "the test is not certain. There is a most deadly fungus, so like the harmless kind--"

"Who gathered the venomous mess?" demanded Karl, harshly.

"Your two eldest sons, sire," replied Fastrada.

"King of Heaven!" The great Frank's head bent forward, and he signed to the bower-maidens: "Bear her hence."

Out of the great hall and through the long corridors to her bower, they bore the swooning queen. The guests, following at a respectful distance, waited without the door, where they could soonest hear any word sent out from the sick-chamber.

Within the bower, husband and brother knelt side by side at the foot of Hildegarde's couch, wrestling in agonized prayer; while around them the maidens and tiring-women stood silently weeping, or, at the bidding of the leech, glided hastily about in the service of their beloved mistress.

But though Kosru made trial of drug after drug, all alike failed to rouse Hildegarde from her death-like stupor. Hour by hour the night dragged through its dreary length, and Kosru began to shake his head.

With all but infinite slowness, the grey dawn came stealing in upon the silent watchers,--the dawn of the last day that Hildegarde, the beloved queen, should abide with her dear lord. As the first red arrows of sunrise shot up the eastern sky, Rothada glided out from the bower and came to place her hand in Olvir's. Her face was very sad, and tears shone in the violet eyes.

"All is over!" murmured Olvir, in a broken whisper. But Rothada shook her head.

"No, no; she still breathes. Yet the leech has given up all hope. He promises only to rouse her before the end. He has already given the drug. I come to call Abbot Fulrad for the last offices of Holy Church."

Groans of despair burst from the lips of the waiting liegeman; but Olvir turned silently, and went with Rothada to the chapel. They halted in the doorway, and gazed out over the kneeling congregation to the high altar. There was no need of word or sign. Very solemnly Fulrad took up the vessel of sacred oil, and came down from the chancel. As he passed from among them the soft-voiced choristers sobbed out the wailing notes of the _Miserere_, and the grief-stricken congregation prostrated themselves in hopeless sorrow. But only Rothada and Olvir followed the abbot along the silent passages and in through the entrance to the bower.

Within the sick-room there had been a change. Beside the couch were gathered all the king's children, and Hildegarde, very faint, but fully conscious, was taking the last farewell of her dear ones. The end was very near.

Fulrad raised his tear-stained face, and advanced, with all the solemnity of his office, to administer the last rites of Holy Church. Tremulous but clear, his voice pronounced the words of the sacrament, and with the holy oil he anointed the head and hands and feet of the dying queen. Then, the holy rite ended, he turned and went back to the chapel. As the slow, heavy tread of his sandals died away down the passage, Karl rose up and signed to the sobbing attendants.

"Let all go out but those of kin," he said.

Obediently the maidens and women took a last look at their mistress, and crept away to seek comfort for their grief in the chapel. Behind them followed Fastrada and Kosru the leech, with downcast eyes; while last of all came Olvir, his dark face aglow with the spiritual light that shone in the eyes of Hildegarde. He paused at the door, overcome with yearning to linger inside; and as Fastrada and the cowering leech glided out before him, his wish was answered by the king: "Turn again, Olvir. She speaks your name."

In a moment the Northman was back beside Rothada. Hildegarde had kissed her own children for the last time, and, at a sign from Karl, they were being led from the bower. She now turned her gaze to the grief-stricken figure of Pepin Hunchback, and all bent forward to catch her faintly murmured words: "Son of Himiltrude,--no less my son. Cherish him, dear lord!"

"As God gives me wisdom, beloved," answered Karl.

The boy bent and kissed the lips of the gentle dame who had been to him as his own mother; then, sobbing bitterly, he ran from the bower. In his place knelt Rothada, and on either side of her Gerold and Olvir. Already Hildegarde's mild eyes were darkening; but she turned her gaze to the three, and a smile shone on her pallid cheeks.

"Gerold--brother," she whispered, "God has blessed you. Yours shall ever be a life of honor. Rothada--Olvir, my daughter--my son,--love is yours. Be happy, as I have been happy with my dear lord. Karl--come to me--"

Silently the three rose and gave place to the king. He knelt and drew his beloved into his great arms, and she nestled to him with the sigh of a tired child.

Then the others went softly out of the bower, and left the king alone with his dead.