"No, lord king," replied Olvir; "my face should tell otherwise. Because of it, men in the North call me Elfkin; but this is the truth,--in my mother's veins Greek and Arab blood were mingled. Her father, Sheik Suleyman, is known to you as Al Arabi,--leader of the Saracen envoys."

"Al Arabi!"

"One-time Emir of Armenia. The wife who bore him my mother was of kin to the Emperor Leo, whom men call the Isaurian."

"By my crown! no longer do I wonder at your unbending knee! I have done well to honor you. What is your knowledge of the Saracen folk?"

"As to those in the Eastland, I learned much from Otkar and from Arabic writings; but of these in Andalus, I know only what came to me last night from the lips of my mother's father."

"And what did he say of Abd-er-Rahman? The Saracen king has the name of a great warrior."

"True, lord king; yet the Beni Al Abbas cherish undying hatred against the Omyyad."

"These Saracen pagans are loath to take oath; but the envoys swore to the fealty of their faction. I count no less on aid from the Christian folk in that land."

"And Duke Lupus, your Majesty," added Roland, with a sudden show of interest. "He brings us safe pa.s.sage of the Pyrenees."

"I have heard Otkar speak of the Vascons," rejoined Olvir, dryly. "It is said they do not love outlanders. As to this duke, is he not of Merwing blood?"

"True,--and therefore lacks boldness to break his allegiance," answered Karl.

Olvir's lip curled in a slow smile.

"A fox will snap in his own den, and, at the best, the mountain-cats are hard to hold. You may look for aid to the Beni Al Abbas; but count neither on Christian Vascon nor Christian Goth."

"What! do you hold that the Christian folk would choose their pagan oppressors before a ruler of their own faith? Our Holy Father Hadrian numbers them among the truest of Christians."

"And yet, lord king, the Moslem yoke is lighter on their necks than is your own upon the folk of Aquitania."

At the bold a.s.sertion, Karl's heavy brows met in a frown, and an angry light shone from his grey eyes.

"My yoke,--my yoke!" he repeated slowly. "By my sword, young Dane, you are no court-man. Otkar himself would scarce have ventured so bitter a jeer."

"Jeer! The king asked my counsel, and I gave it. I believe what I spoke; it came to me from Otkar. Why, then, should I not speak it?"

"Why not?" rejoined Karl; and he burst into hearty laughter. Then, falling grave again, he nodded, and called out approvingly, "Here, in truth, is a king's son! Hearken, my Dane hawk; though I have bold counts as well as sleek flatterers, my ears are not used to such biting truths.

It shall be otherwise hereafter. I will not willingly part with so straight-tongued a counsellor."

The great Frank paused to pat the heads of the three boys astride his knees.

"May these bairns prove as bold," he added. "And now, enough of such matters. I had intended, Olvir, to test your learning, and that of your ruddy-cheeked follower; but that must now wait. After the feast of Lupus, we will have you both come of an evening to feast us on your book-lore."

"The feast of Lupus!" sighed Hildegarde, pausing in her needlework. "I wish that I might attend it with you, dear lord."

"And why, sweetheart?"

"Fastrada, tell his Majesty of the feast."

Thus called upon by her royal mistress, Fastrada raised her eyes with a timid glance, which, as she spoke, faltered and turned appealingly aside toward Olvir.

"Your Majesty," she murmured, "it is said that the Vascon duke has planned his feast after the manner of the old-time Romans. Instead of seats, he will place couches for the guests to recline upon while they dine."

"What!--to lie and sup together? The Vascon proves his Merwing blood.

None other would think of mating bed and board. Yet he is host; we must make the best of it."

"Surely no harm will follow, sire," said Gerold. "Abbot Fulrad and other churchmen will be there, and thus to act out an ancient custom will give play for much merriment."

"Joy works no harm," replied Karl, nodding. "At the least, we shall give the duke's hospitality fair trial. Meantime, there is much else to demand our care. Farewell for the present, my Dane hawk, and you, young Samson."

All on the bench rose at the word of dismissal. Olvir, with a bow to the queen and a kindly glance for Rothada, turned quickly away after Gerold and Liutrad, resolutely refraining from a single glance at the lovely bench-mate whom he thus suddenly deserted.

In vain Fastrada gazed longingly after the Northman; while, no less vainly, Roland lingered for a parting look from the girl. Both were alike disappointed.

As the bower-maiden glided silently back among her companions, the wounded count followed Olvir from the chamber with a heavy tread.

CHAPTER X

Bids she not to be wary?

For a wolf's hair I found.

Wolf-beset shall be the way If we fare on this errand.

SONG OF ATLI.

Evening of the following day found Olvir and Gerold returning to the viking camp from a successful hunt. Zora had fully justified the praises of her giver, and bore her rider into camp without a sign of fatigue. But the heavier Frankish horse was so spent by the chase that he could hardly carry his rider to Olvir's tent.

At the sound of their approach the tent was opened from within, and Count Roland came out to greet the hunters.

"Ho, brother!" called Olvir, as he leaped to the ground. "It is well; you keep tryst."

"Better than some," replied Roland. "Already we should be on our way to the Vascon's hall; yet Gerold is as good as horseless."

"We shall go more quickly by boat. Ho, there, Floki! man the Raven's barki. While we wait, brother, Gerold and I will change chase-gear for hall-dress."

"Stay; first see to this. A palace slave handed it to me for you. He claimed to know nothing of the giver, but said that the matter was urgent."

"A maiden's gift," ventured Gerold, at sight of the little ivory vial which Roland held out to the Northman.

Olvir took the gift and examined it keenly. There was yet ample light for him to discern a faint "F" traced on the cover of the vial. At the discovery every nerve of his body thrilled with sudden uncontrollable delight. But he shook his head at Gerold's suggestion, and said almost harshly, "I know of no maiden who should so honor me."

"Look within, brother; let us see what is sent," said Roland.

Olvir at once opened the little vessel and held it up to view. The sight brought out a merry shout from Gerold.

"Saint Petronella!" he cried; "the maiden loves you, hero. She has sent a lock of hair."