CHAPTER VI

He who alone there was deemed best of all, The War-lord of the Danes, well worthy of men. HEL-RIDE OF BRYNHILD.

While Floki and Liutrad returned to their posts, their leader sprang again to where Roland stood leaning upon Gerold's shoulder.

"You 're weary, sword-brother," he exclaimed. "Come with me--"

"Wait, friend," replied Roland. "Yonder is the maiden of whom I spoke."

"Fastrada--?"

"She stands apart with Count Hardrat, whom you threw, and Lupus, Duke of the Vascons."

"Lead on. I am eager to know the maiden who has so fast bound a warrior's heart," replied Olvir, smiling.

Gerold glanced about at the king. "We 're free to go," he said. "Our lord king has thought only for the princess."

Roland nodded impatiently and advanced at once, a hand on the shoulder of either friend. But the gaunt figure of Count Anselm blocked the way.

"Stay a little, Roland," he said. "Here are two who fought both with and against Otkar the Dane, and would grip hands with his foster-son."

"Both as friends and as foes, my kinsman loved the high lords of King Karl," replied Olvir.

The judge's severe face softened as Olvir clasped his bony hand, and he smiled as he turned with him to the serene-faced churchman.

"Here, hero," he said, "is one of the shepherds of the Christian fold who is neither wolf nor boar."

"I have eyes," replied Olvir, simply. "When I see a good man, I know him."

"'There is none good save God,'" quoted the abbot, piously; but he smiled at the sincerity in the young Northman's look and tone.

"'Be ye perfect even as God is perfect,'" quoted Olvir, in turn.

The Franks stared in amazement.

"By all the saints!" cried Anselm; "the lad knows Holy Writ,--a heathen monk!"

"We shall make of him a Christian layman, at the least," rejoined Fulrad, his broad, kindly face aglow.

"Best leave me heathen," said Olvir. "If I become anything else, it will be an Arian, whom, according to Otkar, you name heretic, and hold to be more accursed than the unbelievers."

"We will trust the grace of our Lord Christ to lead you into the true fold," replied Fulrad.

"Meantime, Roland waits to greet his _may_," suggested Gerold.

All smiled at the hint, and the two high councillors hastened to make way for the lover, with hearty God-speeds.

The approach of the three friends had by no means passed unobserved by the queen's maiden; and when presently they stood before her, there was an added depth of color in her cheeks, and her bosom rose and fell to a quickened heart-beat. While the great Count Roland bent to kiss her hand, she stared with glowing eyes at the sea-king. Here was a warrior such as must have been that grand old Saracen,--a hero with a soul of fire, proud as a king, who would laugh at death as at a jest.

Unable to meet the piercing brightness of Olvir's black eyes, she lowered her gaze and bowed as she had bowed to the king. Many a lord had gazed at her with the same admiring look, but never one who had roused a response in her own heart strong enough to over-ride her cool and purposeful coquetry. The blue tints in her eyes deepened, and she stood thrilling with a delicious fear. Only by a strong effort did she succeed in raising her lashes to meet the expected love-message in the stranger's eyes. To her astonishment and chagrin, the calm, full gaze that met her glance told only of frank admiration.

Not that Olvir was unmoved. He had seen many beautiful maidens among the blond daughters of the Northern earls and bondir, but never one whose loveliness was as the loveliness of this dark daughter of Thuringia. Half bewildered, he drank in her rich beauty with eager delight. Yet he did not forget that this was the maiden whom his sword-brother loved.

"So I stand before the daughter of the brave Count Rudulf," he said quietly. "No longer, Roland, do I wonder that the maiden holds your heart in leash. I trust that she will accept this trinket, which I offer in token of friendship."

Great as had been Fastrada's disappointment, she took with eagerness the gold brooch which Olvir unclasped from his cloak. At the touch of his fingers she blushed rosier than before.

"A gift with true friendship is doubly gracious," she murmured.

"I could not give less to the maiden whom my brother loves," answered Olvir, and he drew Roland to his side.

"Satan seize the pagan!" muttered Duke Lupus. "He woos the girl openly for his friend."

"More harm should he speak for himself," replied Count Hardrat. "The girl's eye is caught by his glitter. We must break in on the talk. Bid him and the counts to your feast. I have a plot in mind."

"I trust to your counsel," replied Lupus, and he thrust himself half between Fastrada and Olvir.

"Greeting, lord count," he said. "I am Lupus, Duke of Vasconia, a child of kings."

"Greeting, lord duke," replied Olvir, coldly. "I am Olvir Thorbiornson, heir to the King of Lade."

"I gladly welcome a king's son to my south country. In two days I give a feast to our Lord Karl. I trust that you will be present with your companions."

"I give thanks. I will come, and so, doubtless, will my friends."

"Farewell, then, for a time," said Lupus. Unable to witness any longer Fastrada's preference for the new-comers, he bowed to the party and turned away, dragging with him the unwilling Hardrat.

As Fastrada sought to catch again the eye of the perverse stranger, a barge came sweeping downstream and headed in for a small wharf, just above the viking ships. As the craft made fast to the landing, the high-pitched imperious voice of Karl rang out above the loud talk of his retainers: "Lord Olvir! Where is Lord Olvir?"

Olvir glanced at Roland, and hesitated. But Fastrada said quickly: "Go! Gerold and I will see Count Roland aboard the barge."

As the Northman drew near, Karl smiled and hailed him with more friendliness than ever in his voice: "Here comes my Dane hawk,--truly, a king's son, no less in deed than in bearing! But you are no spokesman, Olvir. This little maid has told in full how you saved herself and my sister's son from the savage Hroar, and, at her bidding, loosed the thrall-bonds of the Frisians."

"That was the doing of Floki, lord king,--yonder tall man at the fore of my crews. In past years he had been a sword-brother to the Frisian shipmaster, and so had the disposal both of ship and thralls. They should all have burned together, had not this little vala--this little seeress--offered him her head-ring for ransom."

"Yet she still wears the circlet."

"There are few men more grim than Floki the Crane; but he is no greedy trader. When he yielded to the maiden's wish it was not to rob her glossy tresses of their ring. As to the rest, I 'll not say that the fate of any in the trade-ship would have been easy to bear had Hroar prospered."

"Truly so! You call yourself an unbeliever; but surely some saint guided your ships into the Seine Mouth."

"No saint steered Hroar's keels, but a traitor's evil counsel. Roland can better tell you how the Dane boar made boast of tidings from your hall. There are false hearts near your high-seat, lord king. Had they their will, even now this child would be grinding meal in Nordmannia, and Roland waiting his doom on Thor's Stone."

Karl pressed his daughter to him with a quick movement.

"Why should they seek to harm my little cloister-dove?" he demanded.

"Has Wittikind the Saxon no cause to strike at the heart of the Frank king?"

"However much a rebel and traitor, the Westphalian is not so mean as to seek vengeance in the thraldom of a maid-child."

"Yet what if he sought to have a hostage in safe keeping, should he venture again Rhineward and be taken thrall? What better safeguard then than the first-born child of King Karl--even though that child be a daughter?"

"My sword! a shrewd guess. Would to Heaven the crafty Saxon had won his seven feet of ground! And yet, he is a brave man, fighting for his fatherland. Rather do I curse the traitors in my hall."

The king looked about at the surrounding lords, his grey eyes aflame. But their glance rested on none whom he had cause to doubt, and his genial humor quickly returned.

"My thanks for your warning, Dane hawk. I shall bear it in mind. And now, if such is your wish, you will pledge yourself my man for this war."

"I stand ready to pledge myself, lord king; but, man or not, I am a king's son, and will not bend knee to any one, living or dead."

"Be assured. I owe you too much to hold to the knee-kissing. You shall be to me as the son of a brother king, come to aid me for a season,--many seasons, I hope."

Fairly overcome by such an answer from the ruler of half Europe, Olvir at once clasped his hands together and placed them between the king's.

"Witness all," he called aloud; "now do I, Olvir, son of Thorbiorn, pledge myself loyal man to Karl, King of the Franks, so long as he wars upon the Saracen folk."

"It is well, my Dane hawk," replied the king, instantly releasing his clasp. "I now have a bird of mettle to fly at the swart pagans,--ay, and a wolf-pack to follow him. Saint Michael! those are stout heroes! With all your birth and spirit, lad, I wonder to see such warriors under the banner of a count so young and slight."

"There's no cause to wonder, lord king. In all my following stands no man to outmatch me in weapon-play, in running, or in swimming. Of runes I know all that Otkar knew, and that is not little. In his wander-years he gathered many writings,--Greek and Roman and Arabic. Each and all, I copied them on parchment of my own make when, a child, I dwelt outlaw with my kinsman in the mound of my father's father."

"In the mound! How came you to dwell in a tomb?"

Olvir half frowned, and looked at his questioner with a sombre light in his dark eyes. But then Rothada's upturned face met his gaze. At once his brow cleared, and he answered with no trace of the bitterness which had welled up from his heart,--

"It was thus, lord king. When tidings of Thorbiorn's death came north, my mother, the emir's daughter, died in her bed; and while they bound on her hel-shoes, I was laid, an unsprinkled babe, at the feet of Skuli, my father's brother. But he would not take me up. He bade them bear me out upon the fell-side. Then Otkar slew many of Skuli's men, and would have slain Skuli, had he not fled. When Otkar stood alone in Trondheim Hall, he took me up and bore me by sea, through darkness and storm, to the wife of Koll the Outlaw. But Otkar was himself outlawed for the slaying, and, when a winter was gone, he brought me to Starkad's grave-mound, where he had made himself a dwelling. Most daring of all his deeds was that breaking of his uncle's mound, for not even he might have matched the Hero of Bravallahede. Yet the fearless champion made his abode with the ashes of the king, on the wild cliffs; and there he reared me, his fosterling, training me in all games of skill and in runes of many tongues, until my fourteenth year. It was a hard training, for Otkar tried me in all things to the utmost of my strength."

"Even as Sigmund tried Sinfiotli."

"Truly so, lord king, and with like purpose. He intended that I should hurl Skuli from the high-seat of Lade, and then aid him to avenge my father."

"God alone could have stayed the crafty grey bear from his purpose! You were not with him when he came to the court of Carloman, my brother."

"The Norns--or your God--willed otherwise; for Skuli, my uncle, stepped into the shoe with me, and so, though lawful heir, I am not yet on the high-seat of Lade. Otkar was still in outlawry, and by our compact with Skuli I could not join him when he fared south to pay what we wrongly thought to be the greater of the blood-debts. But my training was not wasted. With Floki yonder, I swept the Dane shores for the traitor Hroar, and the bairn whose shield could ward a half-stroke of Otkar's axe proved the bane of many a champion. Though Otkar met his fate before vengeance was done, the sword which he whetted has at last sought out the murderer and paid the blood-debt of my father."

Karl gazed down into the sternly joyful face of the young sea-king.

"No more do I wonder that you lead men," he exclaimed. "It is a fair day which brings me such a liegeman!"

"Not the day should be praised, lord king, but this little maiden."

"She's very near my heart, Olvir, and I bear her to one who will greet her with a mother's love. The barge waits, and I am eager to place the child in Hildegarde's arms. Farewell until to-morrow. Eggihard, my steward, has gone to choose your camp. You have only to sail a few bowshots downstream. Eggihard will see to it that you receive food and drink as you may need."

"I give thanks, lord king," answered Olvir, and, stooping, he kissed Rothada on the forehead.

"Farewell, Earl Olvir!" cried the girl, in a merry voice; and, clasping the hand of her father, she turned away down the river-bank. Olvir's face softened as he watched them go,--the mighty King of the Franks and Lombards hand in hand with the little convent maiden. His eyes glistened as he saw how Karl bent to caress the child's tresses. Truly, here was a royal friend,--a hero whom even the Blood of Odin might serve with honor.

Fastrada sat among the war-counts chosen to accompany the king, with Roland between herself and Gerold. As Olvir looked from the king to his wounded foster-brother, his glance chanced to fall upon the queen's maiden. He turned quickly away, then looked again. After all, so long as he did not give way to desire, was there any reason why he should not enjoy the maiden's beauty? For what purpose was sight given but to see?

Silent and motionless as a statue, he stood gazing after the barge, until the bony hand of Floki the Crane fell upon his shoulder.

"You look over-closely at the dark maiden, earl," he said bluntly.

Olvir frowned, but answered coldly, "Be assured. My sword-brother loves the maiden."

"The more cause to heed me. Listen, son of Thorbiorn. The gerfalcon should fly high. Were Otkar here with his grey wit, I know what quarry he would name for your love quest,--no common bride--"

"What! that child? You 're mad--"

"Not I. If you but use shrewdly your nimble wit, your wedding-seat shall be on the bench of a world-king. As to the maiden, she is an opening bud, whose blossom will prove far fairer than that slant-eyed werwolf."

"Werwolf!"

"Ay," went on Floki, unchecked by the hissing menace in his earl's voice; "I am not blind. That maiden's lips are red as blood; and if ever I saw wolf's eyes in human being--"

Olvir burst into hearty laughter.

"Ho, Floki, you 're dogwise!" he cried. "Not even our little vala owns milder eyes or purer look than my sword-brother's _may_. Go now; take the ships downstream to the camp where the king's steward waits our coming. I go afoot."

Floki glowered down upon his earl, a wry look on his long, sharp face.

"Good mead in a hoopless cask,--wise words in a loath ear," he croaked; and turning on his heel, he stalked back to the viking wedge.

A word sent the crews leaping aboard their ships, and quickly all five craft were headed downstream.