CHAPTER VII

As he sat on the high-seat, That man of the Southland.

SONG OF ATLI.

Left alone on the knoll, Olvir turned his gaze back to the now distant barge, and watched it musingly until it disappeared beyond a clump of woods. Floki's warning had moved him more than he had cared to acknowledge. Though far from being as profound as had been Otkar, the man was possessed of exceptional shrewdness, and the knowledge of this now compelled the young sea-king to pause and ponder his words. Could they be true? He smiled at the absurdity of the question. But then he remembered the n.o.ble Frank whom he had chosen for foster-brother, and the smile left his face. However pure and innocent, what was this maiden to him?

"It is I who am dogwise, not Floki," he muttered, and he turned his back on Ca.s.seneuil.

Within a bow-shot of the king's pavilion he came upon Count Hardrat, and his quick eye noted that the man's first impulse was to avoid him. But as the Northman approached, the Thuringian advanced to meet him.

"I would make my peace," he said with a gruff show of cordiality.

"Heroes should not bear malice,--and more, you had the best of it."

"Say no more of the wrangle," replied Olvir, quickly. "I heard your name, but it slips my memory."

"Hardrat, a count of Thuringia,--count of a little shire, when I should hold the Sorb Mark, if right were done me," grumbled the Thuringian.

"But old Rudulf has a pretty daughter in the king's hall; and when was Karl ever known--"

Olvir turned upon the speaker, his eyes ablaze.

"How!" he demanded; "do you say anything against the maiden?"

The Thuringian recoiled as though struck.

"I--I--no!" he stammered.

"Then ward your tongue."

The count sought to meet his gaze, but failed.

"My lord Dane," he protested half sullenly, "are you not over-hasty?

Surely, to speak without offence of a maiden whom you have met but once--"

"To me she is as a sister. She is all but betrothed to my foster-brother. But no more. I mistook your tone. And now I should hold it a favor to be told whose are yonder tents. They differ from all others I see about."

"Well they may. It is the camp of the Saracen envoys,--Al Arabi and--"

"Al Arabi--Al Arabi! How else is he called?"

"He is named after the wise King of the Hebrews, though his people give it a strange sound,--Sul--Suleyman."

"Thor smite me!" cried Olvir, his eyes glittering. "My thanks for the word. Farewell, earl."

Before the astonished count could answer, the Northman was walking swiftly toward the Saracen camp. Very soon he came to an open-fronted pavilion, in whose recess a venerable figure reclined on a low divan, droning out a pa.s.sage of the Koran. Olvir halted a moment to stare at the patriarch, then stepped quietly within the entrance.

"Peace be with you, O emir," he said in Arabic.

"And with you peace," answered the Saracen, as he lifted his eyes.

Their hawk-like glance rested wonderingly upon the bright figure of the Northman; but then it was drawn by the glow of the great ruby on the pommel of Al-hatif, and in an instant the Arab's wonder had given place to fury.

"Dog of a kaffir!" he cried, and he leaped to his feet. A taboret, set with dishes, stood before him. Spurning it aside, he advanced with a rush, till his claw-like hands threatened the smooth cheek of the Northman.

"Al-hatif! Al-hatif! The sword of the Prophet!" he shrieked. "What kaffir dog bears the khalif's gift? Eblis take the thief! May his arm wither--"

"Stay!" commanded Olvir. "Would you curse your own blood?"

The Arab paused, transfixed, and Olvir gazed unwavering into his glaring eyes. A dozen or more Moslems, weapons in hand, came flocking about the pavilion, drawn by the outcry of their sheik. But Olvir, heedless of their bared scimetars, continued gravely: "Many winters, O sheik, have whitened the mountains of Armenia since my father and Otkar, whom you called El Jinni, gave oath to you and left you lying bound on the river's bank. Both Thorbiorn and his bride, who was my mother, long since pa.s.sed over the bridge of the dead, and El Jinni has now followed; but the oath has ever been kept. None other than your blood has borne the khalif's gift."

The sheik made no reply. He was gazing searchingly into Olvir's dark face, his own stern features softened by a look of deepest yearning.

His doubts were soon ended. With joy as impetuous and unmeasured as had been his anger, he sprang forward and seized the young man in his arms.

"Son of Gulnare! Seed of my House!" he cried. "Allah is good! You come to cheer my age with your youth and beauty."

Olvir reverently returned the embrace of his mother's father, but answered quickly and with decision: "Deny not the justice of Allah, O sheik! Into the North He sent my mother,--and I am a son of the North.

While this war lasts we shall together fight the Omyyad beneath your black banners. Afterwards I must return here among the Afranj, if not to my father's people."

"Allah's will be done! We shall see when the time is at hand. Now, at least, you will eat my salt and abide with me this night."

"Be it as you desire. Yet, first, I would see to my men."

"Go; but return quickly. My eyes yearn to feast upon the son of my daughter."

Reluctantly the sheik's arms released their clasp, and Olvir darted away along the river-bank. Al Arabi, with a curt command to his swarthy followers to withdraw, stood gazing after his grandson until he vanished behind a group of booths.

"Allah be praised this day!" he murmured fervently as he returned to his cushioned seat. "Kasim, my son-in-law, is a thorn in the flesh; but this bright child of Gulnare renews my youth. His eye is as the soaring falcon's; his step as the fleet gazelle's."

Nor was the sheik's praise unmerited. No runner in the Frankish camp could have covered the mile downstream and back with near the swiftness of the young Northman; yet when he stood again at the door of the pavilion and stepped in upon the costly Persian rugs, he betrayed no other signs of the race than a slight flush in his dark cheeks and an added depth of breathing.

"By the Beard!" exclaimed Al Arabi; "as Zora among coursers, so is the son of Gulnare among runners."

"I have run down the grey wolf in fair chase," replied Olvir, simply, and at the beckoning gesture of the sheik, he seated himself beside the old man in the same Oriental posture. Al Arabi smiled and clapped his hands. Almost immediately an Arab attendant, in loose shirt and baggy trousers, appeared at the entrance and salaamed to the ground.

"Bring food," said Al Arabi.

The man salaamed again and sprang away. As he disappeared, Olvir turned gravely to the sheik.

"What says the Prophet, O kinsman?--'Better is it to do justice than to sit at meat.' Before I taste your salt, it is well that right should be done between us. It seems to me just that I should now return to my mother's father the sword which my father took by force. Here, then, is Al-hatif. I restore it willingly, though I cannot say that the deed is a joyful one."

Olvir was not long kept waiting to see how Al Arabi would meet this act of generous pride. With a quick movement the old Moslem seized the sword and sprang to his feet. The beautiful blade whipped from its sheath and flashed around the sheik's head in bright circles.

"Allah acbar!" he cried. "The sword of the Prophet returns! Once again my hand grasps the khalif's gift!"

Olvir turned his head away, unable longer to hide his anguish at the loss of the sword. He thought of the day in Starkad's mound, when Otkar first put the coveted plaything in his childish hands. Since then it had never lain beyond his reach, night or day, and now--!

In the midst of his rejoicing, Al Arabi paused and turned his head to glance at his grandson. A moment later sword and scabbard were lying across Olvir's feet.

"Look, my son!" cried the old man. "The khalif's gift is my gift. For a little the light of the blade blinded me. But how could I take from my daughter's son the only inheritance she left him? Once the sword was forced from my grasp; now my heart rejoices to part with it to the son of Gulnare."