For The White Christ Part 27

"Say no more. Older heads have been misled. As to Liutrad, if he wish it, he is free to aid Fulrad until there is need of his axe. I will send him soon. Now, farewell."

"Stay a little, hero!" exclaimed Gerold, and he caught the Northman's arm. "Before you go, will you not tell me what came between you and the maiden? Your sword-brother goes about heavily. Give me a word to lighten his trouble."

Olvir gazed into the pleading face of the queen's brother, and seemed about to speak. But then his look hardened, and he stepped aboard the waiting boat, cold and haughty.

"I have no word to send the Count of the Breton Mark," he said. "Let him come and ask for himself. Thrust off, men."

Gerold mounted and rode off to Ca.s.seneuil, greatly disappointed that his appeal had failed. Yet his heart was far lighter than when he came, for, like Amalwin, he was convinced that the subtle insinuations of Duke Lupus had no foundation in truth. His greatest desire was to tell all to Roland; but when he reached Ca.s.seneuil he found that the count had just left by boat for Bordeaux, in company with Lupus. So he had to content himself with telling his convictions to his sister.

All was confusion at the villa. The king had already taken leave of wife and children, and was riding off, with half the court in his train, Rothada and Fastrada among the others. Gerold could have wished to join the gay company; but he had to ride in hot haste to overtake his command,--the contingent of wild mountaineers sent by the haughty but weak Ta.s.silo, Duke of Bavaria.

Like a swarm of giant locusts, the Frankish host had risen from about Ca.s.seneuil and pa.s.sed over the Garonne. Before midday the rearguard had left the valley, and the entire host was sweeping across Vascon Land toward the Pyrenees.

The march over the th.o.r.n.y sand-plains of the Landes and down the valley of the Adour was so directed as to intersect the old Roman way which ran from Bordeaux across the mountains to Astorga, in the little kingdom of Alfonzo the Goth. Profiting by this useful relic of the one-time world-rulers, the thousands of Northern buskins trod the ancient road with quickened step, and rapidly drew near the outlying spurs of the Pyrenees.

The last halt made before the attempt to cross the barrier was in the valley of the Little Nive, where, after the cork forests and sterile marshes of the Landes, the intense verdure appeared like a carpet of green velvet flung over upland and meadow.

Horse and foot alike made the most of their rest in the pleasant dale, for the morning promised a march that would try the strength of the st.u.r.diest. Many gazed upon the wild rampart, the shadow of whose peaks fell early across their camp, with thoughts which boded greater misfortune than mere journey toil, and around the fires that night the old tale was told, how, in days gone by, the host of King Dagobert the Merwing was beset in this very pa.s.s by the fierce mountain Vascons, and routed with great slaughter.

But when the bluff-spoken Hardrat ventured to remind Karl of his predecessor's disaster, the king pa.s.sed off the omen with a laugh, and, in turn, reminded the Thuringian how Roland had come fresh from Lupus, bearing heartiest a.s.surances of the duke's service and friends.h.i.+p.

Anselm, the astute judge, noted the furtive look which pa.s.sed between Fastrada and Hardrat at this; but the others gathered no more from the incident than the knowledge of the king's confidence. They spread the story throughout the camp, and by break of day the faintest-hearted in the host was strong for the advance.

In the delightful freshness of early morning, while the first sun-rays sparkled on the dewdrops, Hardrat's horn brayed the marching note. From all sides of the royal pavilion the heavy Frankish horse gathered and formed in column, five thousand strong,--ponderous steeds, backed by riders whose leathern cuira.s.ses were banded with long iron plates. Some wore rude armlets and thigh-pieces. Slow and unwieldy in their ma.s.sive strength, these hors.e.m.e.n were none the less formidable. So, at least, the Saracens had found, when on the plains of Touraine wave after wave of the swift-rus.h.i.+ng Moslemah had dashed forward, to shatter on the rock-like wall of the Franks.

The king, mounted upon a powerful white stallion and backed by the brightly clad retinue, surveyed the hors.e.m.e.n with his clear gaze, and nodded to their waiting commander. At once Count Hardrat spurred to the front of the riders, and the long column, breaking into a trot, thundered away up the valley. As the rearmost troop pa.s.sed the pavilion, the king turned to Count Worad with a half-frown.

"Where are the Danes?" he demanded. "You had word to bid them be at hand."

The young man's delicate face paled, but he answered steadily: "Count Gerold bore the command, your Majesty, when he rode to join his Bavarians."

"And I had need of my scribe, sire," explained Fulrad.

"But the Danes? We wait."

"They come, lord king," said Liutrad; and, as he spoke, the viking band, half a thousand strong, wheeled into view around a coppice, to the accompaniment of merrily clinking steel and the flas.h.i.+ng of sunlight on polished war-gear. Their appearance was met by shouts of admiration from the Frankish lords; but, without an answering cry, they swung into the dusty road and formed into column, grim and silent. Then Olvir, all steel and gold from head to thigh, rode forward on Zora, and raised his burnished s.h.i.+eld in salute.

"Greeting, my Dane hawk," said Karl. "You come busked as for battle."

"We think it time for war-gear, lord king," replied Olvir; and he glanced from the group of silken-vestured officials to the heights of the Pyrenees.

Karl nodded approvingly. "It is well. Our safety is now in your keeping. Hereafter, the Austrasians follow us."

Olvir flushed, and his eyes sparkled. He saluted again with upraised s.h.i.+eld, and answered earnestly: "By my sword, lord king, you shall not rue your choice of s.h.i.+eldburg!"

"That I can well believe. I have not forgotten how your fierce sea-wolves bend to my little maid."

"She holds them with a fetter strong as the bond of the Fenris-wolf,"

replied Olvir, and he looked across to where Rothada, in her mule-litter, was a.s.suring herself as to the comfort of Fastrada's tiring-woman and of her own maid, both of whom were perched upon a heap of baggage in a rude cart.

Two gaudily attired pages were fluttering about the little princess, eager to render her service. Olvir smiled, then set his jaw sternly. A second mule-litter had appeared from behind the cart, and its occupant was gazing at him with a strange look of shame and aversion, and yet of entreaty. Though love lay dead in Olvir's heart, the Thuringian's look moved him deeply. Already his eyes were softening, when their side-glance caught the moody gaze of Roland. He stared back at the count, and drew himself up with a haughty smile. As he turned again to Fastrada, he found her glaring at him with all the hatred that had distorted her face in the garden. She had mistaken his scornful movement as meant for herself.

The swift exchange of glances pa.s.sed in the few moments that Karl was speaking to Abbot Fulrad. Before Olvir had time for second thought, the king turned back to him, smiling: "Now, my Dane hawk, Abbot Fulrad takes the child into the midst of your warriors. We lend her to them in place of yourself. For a while you will ride at my side."

"You honor both leader and men, lord king," replied Olvir; and he wheeled Zora to the side of the white stallion.

Instantly Roland lifted the royal standard, and the silver trumpet of Eggihard the High Steward sounded the advance. Into the road, behind Karl and the Northman, flocked the throng of priests and officials, with no small degree of bustle and confusion. But the noise of their starting was soon drowned in the roars of delight with which the vikings greeted their little vala. The king looked down at his road-mate, and nodded approvingly.

"That is a welcome shout," he said. "I have not done ill to choose your heathen wolves."

"Otkar would have named them trustworthy in that they are heathen."

"And what would he have said of Kasim, your Saracen kinsman?" rejoined Karl. "Is not he, too, a pagan? Yet how of the arrow you gave me? I have cleared the mystery. It is a Saracen shaft."

"May Hel grip the poisoner!" muttered Olvir, fiercely. But he restrained his anger, and continued in a calm tone, "Let my lord king say what is in his mind."

"You are keen, lad! This, then--you have just cause for anger against your younger kinsman. Yet I have need of him. He is ruler of Pampeluna, which, I am told, is the strongest burg in the land of the Navarrese; and more,--he shares, in a measure, the influence of his wife's father over the Count of Saragossa."

Olvir glanced up at the expectant face of the king.

"Your Majesty would have me forgo my vengeance," he said.

"For a time, at least. Such a man is but a sprung stave to lean upon; but, if it be to his own gain, he may give good service. Until Barnard, my uncle, joins us at Saragossa with the second host, much hangs on the friendliness of this poisoner."

"Let the dog go to Hel, Loki's daughter, his own way; only, give me the forefront of battle!" cried Olvir, his eyes bright and nostrils quivering.

The king smiled in approval.

"Saint Michael!" he exclaimed; "I long to see you in sword-play, kin of Otkar! The fosterling lacks nothing of the hero's fire, yet none could differ more in body. You must favor your mother's kin; your hair alone is of the North. _Heu_! I remember your father, as of yesterday,--a grand warrior, leaping upon us through the alders. Though bigger, he was much such a man as Roland."

"Roland!" echoed Olvir; and involuntarily he glanced about.

Karl noticed the movement, and a question sprang to his lips: "You 're at outs with your sword-brother. Why have you wrangled? The quarrel grieves me."

"Not you alone, lord king! Yet am I a hare? He came upon me with bared sword--"

"You fought?"

"No. He was raging; but I cast down my sword."

"And he would not strike,--my sister's son! But his anger--?"

"The daughter of Rudulf and I broke troth; why, I will not tell,--let men think what they may. Roland met her. I do not know what she told him; but he came upon me like a berserk."

"No doubt the maiden was angry, and in her anger may have overstepped the truth. A word may set Roland right and heal your quarrel."

"Let him ask, then! He has broken blood-troth. He is the one to salve the hurt."

For some moments Karl regarded the young Northman's haughty face with impa.s.sive gravity. When at length he broke the silence, his gaze s.h.i.+fted to the jewelled Al-hatif.