From a heart full of hate Shall come heavy vengeance.

LAY OF BRYNHILD.

Within a small turret room, that was warmed by a charcoal brazier and lighted by the glow of his own hour-candles, Karl sat on a low bench beside the book-strewn table, while before him knelt Rothada, clasping his sword-hand to her bosom, as she pleaded for love and happiness. His free hand lay upon her glossy head, but his eyes were raised in a troubled look to where Olvir, in his burnished mail, stood calm and beautiful as Forseti, son of Balder. Beside the Northman, with slender fingers clasped upon his glinting shoulder-plate, waited Alcuin, the gentle-hearted scholar, eager to add his appeal to the maiden's.

But when the little princess ceased, and bowed her tear-wet face upon her father's knee, he held up his hand for silence, and sat for many moments, his brows bent in deep thought. Olvir waited the outcome, his eyes fixed upon the king's face in a calm and steady gaze, neither defiant nor imploring.

Then Karl looked up at him, and spoke: "So, Dane hawk, after all the honors I have heaped upon you, not content to defy Holy Church, you come to steal my daughter from me,--a thief in the night! And yet you drew back from the deed; you came before me--"

"For that I claim nothing, lord king. Had not Rothada been loath--"

"And why--why as a thief--"

"Do you ask, lord king? Many weary months have pa.s.sed since you gave pledge to call me to your side,--to the presence of my betrothed. I come at last, an unwelcome guest, to hear on every lip the bitter tale that your queen is plotting to break my betrothal bonds and wed Count Worad with my bride."

"My queen plotting! Ward your tongue, Dane!"

"It is not I who say that the queen is plotting. Whether she is or is not, I do not know; but I know that your liegemen so say."

"You do wrong to heed the ungrateful slanderers. The court is full of gossip and evil tales, the offspring of envy and malice."

"Then my lord king has not yet broken the betrothal tie between myself and his daughter?"

"Not yet, Olvir," replied Karl, and the severity of his look relaxed in a half-smile. "The bond still holds. Yet tell me, you who talk of ill faith--I speak no more of your plot to lure away the maiden; but how of your loyal service? You are far from the Sorb Mark."

"I bear tidings from the forest land, lord king,--ill tidings," answered Olvir, and he told over again the plotting of the Thuringians and the slaying of Rudulf and his witch-wife.

Neither Alcuin nor Rothada could restrain their cries at the terse recital; but Karl sat through it all, stern and silent, and gave no sign, even when, in a dozen words, Olvir told how the grim old count had fallen to the thrust of Hardrat's spear. When, however, the account was ended, the king nodded, and said: "Years gone, I lost my trust in that drunkard. Name his fellow-plotters."

"Would that I might, lord king! Yet I knew only Hardrat and the witch-wife, and I heard no names spoken."

"You would know their faces again?"

"Some of them in a thousand."

"It is well. You have rendered me good service; and so, if you will bend to Holy Church--"

"I cannot--it would be a lie!"

"Rather it is your pride, your haughty pride of spirit which bars your way to all happiness. Do not tax my patience too far."

"For the sake of the maiden, sire--" ventured Alcuin.

Karl threw out his hand impatiently.

"Is not the child also in my thoughts?" he demanded. "Ah, little maiden, your pleading tears my heart-strings! For your sake, I give your hero one more trial. I name him Count of the Sorb Mark, in the stead of my slain Grey Wolf. Two days I give him at Attigny; then he goes to snare those forest plotters. If when he drags the guilty men before me for the dooming, he has brought himself to bow to Holy Church, he will find yet other honors waiting him; if, however, he cannot in truth bend his stubborn pride, then, nevertheless, I will give him his bride. Such is my will. I have let mercy set aside my justice. Be content. Now, child, rise and go to your chamber. The good deacon will see you safe.

I would speak with Olvir of the commands he bears back to Thuringia."

"My father!" cried Rothada, rising; and the heart of the king softened yet more as he saw the light which shone from the violet eyes. She kissed his hand, and then, with the cry of a happy child, turned quickly from him and ran to fling her arms about Olvir's neck.

"Joy, joy, dear one! The Lord Christ has answered my prayer!" she sang.

"I hear once more the voice of the little vala," said Olvir, softly.

"Keep your heart merry, beloved. The days of waiting will soon be ended, and when we meet again, I wish to see those cheeks rounded,--their roses once more blooming to shame the sweetbriar. Go, now, darling. The king waits."

Very tenderly he pressed her face between his hands and bent to kiss her eyes and lips. Then he gave her over into the keeping of the scholar, and turned resolutely away. As he looked around, a drop, bright as a gem, was rolling down the king's bearded cheek.

Silently Karl turned to the table, to grasp Alcuin's quill in his unskilled hand; but the words which he sought to write were ill formed.

Throwing aside the blotched parchment, he signed to Olvir to take the quill. Under the Northman's deft strokes, the beautiful letters of the Irish script flowed from the quill's point as by magic. The king, as he spoke the message, watched the nimble scribe with half-envious admiration. When the missive was ended, he took wax and stamped it with his signet, in lieu of the great seal.

"So--that is done," he said shortly. "You are a ready scribe. Not even Liutrad is as quick and sure in forming the letters. Now take the scroll, and go."

"I would first render thanks to my lord king."

"Go! My heart misgives me, that I have let the weakness of a father and friend stand in the way of G.o.d's service. Go quickly! I would be alone."

"I go, my heart singing with the praises of the golden king!" replied Olvir.

"I ask no thanks. Go," answered Karl, without any sign of response to the young man's smile. As Olvir darted away, too overjoyed to be disheartened by the cold parting, the great Frank's head bent forward, and his brows gathered.

He still sat there, tugging at his beard and gazing moodily at the spot where Rothada had knelt, when the queen glided softly into the chamber.

At sight of her graceful figure, his frown gave way to a fond smile; but she had seen his moody look.

"What troubles my dear lord?" she murmured, nestling beside him on the bench. Karl put his great arm about her and drew her to him, before he answered, "It is nothing, sweetheart. I 've had enough of bitter thoughts. Now I would woo my gentle wife."

"Dear lord! Mine is the greater joy! When I dwell on my happiness, my heart goes out to all mankind. I could love even the heathen and the heretics, condemned of G.o.d to endless torment. What pity that men should so bring upon themselves the fires of the nether world! One could almost wish to give them good gifts here, to offset their sufferings to come."

"They are perverse and G.o.dless men, dear one. Do not trouble your heart for their wickedness. There is enough of sin in Holy Church."

"Yet my thoughts go astray, dear lord. Sometimes I think of our little maiden. I doubt if your Dane hawk's proud spirit will yield. Yet, dear lord, if your judgment hold in all its firm justice, she will ever live in grief, torn from the arms of her hero. Always before I have given heed only to the good of Holy Church; yet now--"

"Take joy, then, kind heart! They were here only a little since, and I gave pledge that they should wed."

"Should wed!--Olvir here!"

"You may well gaze in bewilderment. I wonder at myself. Yet what father could withstand the heart's pleading of his maid-child?"

"My lord, I--rejoice at their joy. I will go--"

"Stay! Who comes leaping upon the stair?"

Rising swiftly, Karl set his great form before the queen, and loosened Ironbiter in its sheath. The half-drawn blade flashed out its full length, when Gerold, pale and glaring with horror, rushed wildly into the room, a bared dagger in his hand. Checked by the threatening sword-point, the Swabian stopped short and sank to his knee, panting.

"Murder, dear lord!" he gasped,--"murder beneath the king's roof! In the queen's morning-room Kosru the leech lies stark, a knife-thrust through his heart!"

Karl lowered his sword, and stared down at the young count.

"Murder?" he repeated. "Whose knife do you bear?"