CHAPTER XX

Strife and din in the hall, Cups smitten asunder; Men lay low in blood-- LAY OF HAMDIR.

But with the morning the Grey Wolf's thoughts had lightened. Side by side, he and Olvir rode through the ancient forest, as, years before, they had ridden through the beech-wood to Fulda. The black stallion was dead, pierced by a Saxon spear. In his stead, the Thuringian rode a long-limbed horse of coursing blood, the gift of the king. Even Zora had to lengthen her stride when the big roan raced across the meadows.

As it chanced, however, the roan cast a shoe and went lame, so that the journey, which began so briskly, ended in a walk. When the two counts rode into the yard of Hardrat's burg, the horses of their fellow-guests were already standing in their stalls, and their riders were within the feast-hall, sitting before half-emptied trenchers. But the host himself came out to do the last guests honor, and they returned his greetings with heartiness when they saw that his face, though harsh and morose, had lost the purple flush and bloated look of the drunkard.

"Again I welcome our Grey Wolf and that Dane hawk whose fame is in the mouth of every hero," the host repeated. "Let them enter and sit at meat with those who bear them good-will. My head groom shall see to their horses. He is a skilled smith, and the forge is red. The Count of the mark will find his roan shod again for the homeward riding."

"A good deed,--for which I give thanks," answered Rudulf.

"Stay a moment," said Olvir, as Hardrat turned to lead the way into the hall. "Bid your groom leave my mare free in the yard. She is not used to being stall-tied."

"As you wish, hero. I do not wonder that you give thought to a steed that has borne you through two pitched battles and countless frays. Men say you care for the beast as one of kin to you."

"They say true. More than once she has borne me out of the closing hand of Loki's daughter. It may be that she will again carry me through battle, though at heart I now long for peace. Her strength has at last come again, and though the years lie heavily upon her, she can yet outrace any courser other than one of her own blood."

"That I can well believe, hero," replied Hardrat, and he led in his guests.

Within the skin-hung feast-hall the late-comers found that the seats of honor, on the right and left hand of the host, had been kept waiting for them. Next below Rudulf's place on the bench sat a huge Wend warrior, beside whom was the Wend witch in her grey cloak.

Upon the entrance of the counts, many of the guests had risen, with brimming horn or bowl, to drink health to them, and Rudulf, as he passed up the table, greeted many by name. But the black-bearded Wend giant was bent over his trencher, and the old count took his seat on the bench beside him, with a puzzled shake of his grisly, bristling head.

"By the fiend Odin!" he muttered; "have I come here to sit with Karl's foes?"

"Be at ease, my lord!" entreated his wife. "Would I have asked you to this feast had not all been well?"

"All sit here as friends, hero," added Hardrat, earnestly. "We meet like kinsmen, to talk upon weighty matters. Only give us fair hearing, and I pledge myself you will not rue your coming."

"Let be, then. I will listen," replied Rudulf.

"Well said!" called out one of the guests, and many echoed the words.

Hardrat rose, smiling, and addressed Olvir. "The guests sit in their grey iron coats, and you in your linked mail, hero, as is fitting for warriors gathered in council. Yet all heads other than your own are bare of helmet. Uncover your sunbright locks, and sit at ease."

"The war-cap rests lightly upon the head of a viking," replied Olvir.

"Count Olvir doubts the faith of his host," sneered Hardrat. "Let him sit with naked sword across his trencher. We ask only that, with the Grey Wolf, he hear out whatever his fellow-guests would say."

"I will listen till all is said," replied Olvir, coldly. "But, instead of the sword, I would have meat upon my trencher."

"Bring mead and the mead-horns for my high guests," called Hardrat.

"I pledge the host in the black mead," said Rudulf, as a Sorb thrall handed him the drink.

"I pledge the Grey Wolf on my sword," answered Hardrat. "No longer does the wassail-bowl touch my lips. I take thought of higher matters."

"Well said, hero!" exclaimed the Wend woman. "And now, men of the forest land, give heed while our host tells what happened on the Moselle, before the passing away of the good Queen Hildegarde."

Hardrat rose heavily, his face flushed and forbidding.

"It is hard for a man to speak of his shame," he began in a harsh voice. "The shame of my drunkenness is the greater because it has blurred that which I would now recall. I owe it to the crafty wit of the alruna that I have at last fished up the memory from the bottom of the wine-jar, where I sought to drown it. Count Olvir will remember the wolf-chase on the frozen Moselle, since it was then he won Karl's pledge for his daughter's hand."

"I remember," replied Olvir; and his eyes glowed as he saw again the burning witch-hut in the midst of the storm-swirl, and his princess, standing with him before the good abbot to plight their troth.

But the harsh voice of Liutrad's red pig broke in on the pleasant musing,--"Give heed, then, Dane hawk, and you, Grey Wolf of the mark. To all that I now say, I take oath on my sword--by the holy cross--by all the fiend-gods of the Saxons and our own heathen fathers! At Thionville, when the Yule games were closing, Fastrada, daughter of Rudulf, lured me to race down the frozen Moselle on the track of certain skaters. Count Olvir will tell Count Rudulf that those skaters were himself, the queen, the king's daughter, and others."

"So far the tale is true," assented Olvir.

"No less what follows," retorted Hardrat; "only, I wish it were clearer to the eye of my memory. I see the gnarled oak stems race past on either side as we sweep down the blue road of the frost-giant. Borne up by the spell of her witch-ring, the maiden at my side skims along with magic swiftness. Hardly can I, a skilled ice-runner, keep the pace. But when we glide in the depths of the winter forest, the maiden makes pretence of a sprain. I see a fire burning on the river-bank. The maiden sits before it, muttering spells to drive away the nixie that has seized her ankle,--such is her claim; but she has lied. She utters the fearful spell of the werwolf, and from the pouch casts pieces of an evil charm upon the snow and in the flames. Foul with the stench of the burning drug, the smoke rolls low beneath the naked boughs. Grisly shapes peer out from among the alder stems; the wood resounds with the yelling of the werwolves--"

Panting heavily, the speaker paused to wipe away the great drops which had gathered on his forehead. In his glaring eyes and the sweat of fear, the guests saw full proof that their host did not lie. Many shuddered in the bright sunlight, and there was a hush in the hall as Hardrat resumed his seat. All turned silently to old Rudulf, who, with his grisly head bent forward between his shoulders, sat glaring at the guests from his narrow slant eyes, more like one of the evil beings of whom Hardrat had spoken than a natural man. But the Grey Wolf restrained the fury which raged in his savage breast, and the silence was broken only by the heavy breathing of the guests. Then the Wend woman rose up.

"I read the faces of the heroes," she said. "None here doubts the truth of our host's tale."

"Hold, dame; do not speak for all," broke in Olvir. "I believe that Count Hardrat has told what to him is the truth; yet I doubt his tale. He has himself spoken of the wine-jar--the mead-cask were enough! Men in drink often see beasts unknown to sober eyes. What is more, I see no cause for your daughter to dabble in black magic."

"My daughter, ay; she was then my daughter,--an apt daughter of the Wend witch! Shall I tell how the witch's daughter whispered in the ears of her mother the tale of her wild vengeance?--of the drawing of the wolf-pack; of the luring of Pepin's son, and how, when Karl would have given her love without the queen's crown, she sent him on down the ice-street, to find his bairns and his bed-mate in the jaws of the grey ones? She told all to her mother while the storm-fiends howled about the forest hut. And then Karl and his Dane hawk came faring safe with the others to the witch's hearth, and that false trull fawned upon those whom she had sought to destroy. The fiend-gods bear me witness; she fawned upon her foe, and forswore the mother who bare her!"

Old Rudulf's fist fell upon the table in a blow that split the oaken board.

"God in Heaven!" he yelled; "would that my child had come into the world still-born! Hate and vengeance,--such befitted the Grey Wolf's daughter; but lying--lying and fawning!"

"Withhold your fury, lair-mate," said the woman; and even Olvir shuddered to hear her mocking laughter.

The Grey Wolf glared at his scoffing wife; but she threw back her cloak, and withstood his look with the cold glitter of her sunken eyes. The menacing light died out of the count's green eyes. He cast a crafty glance about the hall, and said sullenly: "Take joy of your deed, wife! My heart is now cold and hard like the flint-rock. I listen."

"Listen, then, childless man! Shall I tell more of that maiden who was fated to wed the grey-eyed king? The little birds have twittered many tales in my ears. But no; our host shall speak again. He fared to Paderborn when Karl held the assembly of his lordlings,--wretched mockery of the day when the free folk of the shires gathered together under the holy oaks, to make and unmake their own laws. The red boar has come from the king's hall, and now I know that neither yourself nor the Dane hawk will scoff at his tidings."

"The lie is most subtle which is mingled with truth," said Olvir.

Hardrat rose to face the Northman with a heavy frown. "Enough of jeering, Dane," he said. "I do not ask yourself or Count Rudulf to believe what I say of the king's ill-will toward you both. That you will know shortly, when Worad comes faring to the Sorb Mark. It will be joyous for the Grey Wolf when he sees the Wend king's daughter trampled in the mire; joyous for the Dane hawk when, fleeing down Rhine Stream, he hears the wedding bell of Worad and the king's daughter."

"Beware!" lisped Olvir, softly, and his face went white.

The Thuringian turned quickly to his fellow-plotters.

"Listen to me, heroes of the forest land!" he called. "If those who sit beside me are men, I have said enough to rouse them. We will talk now of that which concerns all,--of how the fierce werwolf at the side of Pepin's son has hardened his heart to fire and slaughter, has inflamed his wrath against all free-minded men. He turns from those who uphold his throne; he dooms without cause the faithful counts. Men say he is great,--that none may withstand him. The bear is king of beasts; yet I have seen him baited by the hounds. We shall not stand alone. How is minded the noble Lombard Adelchis, whose father, Desiderius, shorn and uncrowned, lies cooped among the meek brothers at Corbie, praying for vengeance? Ask the heart's wish of Tassilo, Duke of Bavaria, and of his Lombard wife. The haughty Agilofingian has little cause to bless Pepin's son. All goes well! The whole of Italy will welcome the son of Desiderius and his Greek host. Old Barnard grows dull with his fatness. Count William of Toulouse fares far into Saracen Land, and the fierce King Abd-er-Rahman will keep him busied; while here in the North all the heroes of Thuringia are with us. Then, too, Wittikind--"

"_Hei!_ the Saxon hero waits in Sigfrid's hall, ever ready!" cried the Wend woman. "He will come again with a Dane host. Bid his blood-sprinkled folk take heart! Yet another host shall aid them to strike the cruel Frank. My father's warriors shall ride to join in the baiting of the Frank bear. In Wend Land men have not yet forgotten the daughter of the Snake."

"Never shall Karl return across the Rhine!" cried Hardrat; and he rose to pass down the hall.

At once the guests shouted their approval: "The pledge! the pledge! Let all taste the red drink of sacrifice!"

Olvir stared at the shouting plotters, and then his gaze fixed on Count Hardrat, returning up the hall with a copper bowl whose rim was streaked with dark red.

"Count of the mark," he asked, a strange smile on his lips, "have you ever heard sung the Lay of Hamdir? It ends somewhat after this fashion:

"'At the hall's gable-end Fell Sorli to earth, But Hamdir lay low At the end of the house.'"

Rudulf made no reply. His slit eyes were fixed in a hungry stare upon the bulky form of his black-bearded bench-mate. The Wend had been drinking steadily of the mead, and the powerful drink was already rising to his head. Drawn by the look of the old count, he turned his bloodshot eyes upon him in an insolent leer.

"Ho, Karl's dog," he jeered; "when the bear is baited, mine shall be his bed-mate; nor shall I trouble your priests."

Rudulf rose up quietly, as one who would address the company. The guests on either side of the table stilled their loud talk, and turned expectantly to the Count of the mark. For a little, he stood silent before them, his bristling face thrust forward, his narrow-lidded eyes blinking. Then, suddenly, he bared his corded arms, and his voice roared through the hall: "Traitors to Karl! thus the Grey Wolf pledges you friendship!"

Swiftly the old wrestler stooped, and his terrible grip closed about the giant Wend. The man had no time to call upon his bull-strength. Caught fast in the fatal hold, he was bent backward; there came a snapping as of a dry twig.--The Grey Wolf loosed his hold of the quivering corpse, to spring at another victim. But his wife stood between, and before he could pass her, the man had flung himself beneath the table.

Then the hall resounded with wild shouts and the clang of swords torn from their sheaths. The terrified house-slaves fled screaming into the open, or crouched against the wall, as the Thuringians rushed forward to avenge their fellow-plotter. Olvir leaped around beside Rudulf, and thrust him forward.

"To the door! to the door!" he cried.

"I go--for your sake," growled the old count, and his sword circled about his grisly head.

"We go in peace," said the Wend woman. She flung the cloak from her head, and glided, with upraised hand, between her lord and the threatening Thuringians. "Make way, heroes! Bear in mind your pledge to me."

"Stand aside, Wend-wife!" commanded the foremost guest.

"Make way yourself, dog! I see a bloody sprite beside you."

The Thuringian flung up his arm to ward off the woman's evil glance. "That for your boding, witch!" he cried, and she fell to his stabbing sword. The frightened weasels scurried, squeaking, from the cloak of their mistress, to hide beneath the table. Upon the slain witch fell the body of her slayer, struck down by Rudulf.

About the two friends the grey-armored Thuringians closed fast in the doom-ring. Fierce blows rained down,--blade rang upon blade or clashed against war-gear. Within the ring, the two, standing back to back, fought their way steadily toward the door. The Thuringians could not withstand the mad rage of Rudulf's attack or Olvir's cold white fury. They fell back continually before the counts; but, from side and rear, they thrust and struck as at maddened wolves.

Now and again one of their number fell to Al-hatif's stabs or the fierce downsweep of the Grey Wolf's sword. In turn, their blades beat like flails upon the doomed men. Not even Olvir's triple mail was proof against their blows. Soon blood was seeping through the netted rings. Only the blue steel of his helmet saved his head from a splitting; Al-hatif was far too light to ward off the heavy longswords. Already Rudulf was bleeding from many gashes; his head was a mass of wounds. Still he fought on like a mad beast. He fell at the very threshold of the open door, pierced through by Hardrat's boar-spear.

At the death-cry of the hero, Olvir sprang about, and his sword clipped the point of the thrusting lance. Hardrat shrank back to draw his sword. The Northman leaped through the doorway, calling loudly in Arabic.

Across the courtyard Zora came plunging to meet her master, and her hoof struck down the groom who sought to hold her. Olvir vaulted into the saddle; he bent forward on the mare's neck, and a sharp hiss burst from his lips. Zora leaped away like an arrow. The fierce Thuringians, bursting out from the hall, called upon the grooms to close the gate. But before the nearest man could act, the red mare and her terrible rider were upon him. He flung himself flat before them, and Zora leaped over the man, out upon the open hillside.