"The slayer's, sire! I drew it out, and ran to show it you."

"Well done! Hold up the blade, that we may see-- So; it is of Danish make-- And the owner?"

"I do not know, sire."

"He does not know!" hissed Fastrada. "His memory is strangely short. I know the blade."

"You, wife? Name the murderer!"

"Count Olvir, sire."

"Olvir!"

"He, dear lord."

"You know the knife?"

"I could swear to it in a thousand. He once carried it at his belt.

Many of the court will remember the blade."

Karl made no answer, but turned and paced slowly to and fro across the room, his gaze fixed on the floor before him. He did not pause until Fastrada looked up with white, drawn face and narrow-lidded eyes, and cried sharply to Gerold: "_Hei_, king's man! why do you loiter? Go, call warriors, and search out the slayer. It will be no light task to take him, should he have warning. Go!"

"Hold!" commanded Karl. "Am I the king, that a woman speaks for me?"

"_Ai!_ forgive me, dear lord! I thought only of my leech,--my luckless, murdered Kosru!" wailed Fastrada, and she flung herself at his feet.

"Rise, dear one," he said gently.

"Not until the warriors go to take the slayer of that helpless greybeard! Ah, the good old leech! Many's the bitter pang he has eased for me. Only the bloodiest of wretches could have slain so helpless a one! How came the cruel Dane in my morning-room--beside Rothada's chamber? Oh, my lord, could it be that the base outlander came skulking in the darkness to--to-- And Kosru, the luckless greybeard, sought to dissuade him from his evil deed! Send warriors, dear lord! Let the b.l.o.o.d.y slayer be dragged before your judgment-seat! The mire-death were light doom for such a foul slaying!"

The queen's voice, quivering with agony and horror, broke into wild sobs. Karl stooped over, as though to raise her; only to tower up again and stare about in angry indecision. It was a luckless moment for the sea-king and his betrothed. Before the memory of the Northman's calm face and the little maiden's pleading could blunt and turn aside the poisoned shafts of the witch's daughter, other feet came leaping upon the stair. Again Karl's hand went to the hilt of Ironbiter, and his frown deepened as Worad of Metz rushed into the room, covered from helmet to buskin with travel-grime.

"Lord king!" he gasped--"I could not wait--my horse fell at the gate, outspent--but I--"

"Another bearer of ill tidings," muttered Karl.

"What? I do not understand, sire. I--"

"You come late. Already I have word of Rudulf's death and of the Thuringian plot--from Olvir's lips."

"Plot--Thuringian plot!--and from him!"

"I have said it, dolt."

"And he told you? Saint Michael! there was no plot, lord king,--no plot but his own when he lured Count Rudulf and his Wend wife into the ambush of the Sorbs. I myself found the arrow-pierced bodies on the Saale bank,--I myself, in the lead of the Thuringian searchers. Then many counts who had been feasting at Hardrat's hall told how the Dane had pa.s.sed by, riding with his chosen victims."

"Hold!" commanded Karl, and he bent forward to fix his keen eyes on the young Frank. "You say they pa.s.sed by Hardrat's hall?"

Worad drew a large scroll from his breast and held it out to the king.

"Here, sire, is the tale, to which all the feasters took oath. I called upon them for it, when, having brought up my warriors, I marched to the warring to take the betrayer, and found that he had fled. Thank G.o.d, I find you safe, dear lord! Days had pa.s.sed since the foul deed, and men said he had gone Rhineward. I rode fast, fearful of the worst--"

"Your fear was needless. Traitor or true man, he came before me with a calm face."

"For you gave him all that he asked, dear lord!" cried Fastrada. "_Ai_, Holy Mother--to think how near you 've been to his murderous blade!--the b.l.o.o.d.y Dane, foul betrayer of my father--my mother!--red-handed from the slaying of that helpless greybeard--_Ai!_ the mire-death were light doom for such a treacherous slayer! Justice--justice, son of Pepin! I demand vengeance on the slayer of my kin!"

Even Gerold quivered at the grief and horror in the queen's voice. The shrill appeal pierced to the heart like a knife-thrust. The king's face was terrible to look upon in its deadly anger; and yet he still hesitated.

"It cannot be--it cannot be!" he muttered. "He, my bright Dane--"

"Bright Dane!" screamed Fastrada--"heathen outlander--heretic--scoffer at Holy Church! What lying tale has he told you, that you stand in doubt? Look--look on the scroll which tells of my kin's betrayal--at this knife from the heart of the greybeard! _Ai_--they shall trample him in the mire!"

"King of Heaven!--that battle-leader! He is no coward to be flung in the fen. You ask too much, wife."

"Too much! _Ai_, too much for the slayer of my kin! But the king speaks-- Let him, then, be torn asunder by the plunging horses--the murderous wretch! _Hei_! I can hear the snapping bones!"

Karl stared down into the upraised eyes of his queen, and they were as the eyes of a wolf, glaring green with exultant hate. He turned to stride across the room, and as he turned, he saw again before him the gentle eyes of his daughter,--the pleading face of Himiltrude's child.

Twice he paced across the room, the angry flush slowly receding from his face.

Then he paused before his queen, and said coldly, "Seek your bed, wife.

This is no place for grieving dames. As to my Dane hawk, rest content.

He shall fare from my realm, an outlaw."

"How!--the murderer? Are you mad, son of Pepin? Free to go?--that traitor!"

"No traitor, dame; and he may have had cause for vengeance against your kin. As to the leech, he was but an outlander,--a wizened dotard, already on the grave's edge,--and the Dane is the bravest of all my counts. I have loved him as a kinsman. Enough! His doom is spoken. I give him this night. Then Gerold shall bid him go, under pain of death if he linger an hour after sunrise. Here, Worad, is my signet. After the baptizing of the Saxons, the High Marshal and his hors.e.m.e.n will ride with you to Cologne, on the trail of the outlaw,--to drive him and his wolf-pack from my kingdom."

CHAPTER XXV

I will fare back thither From whence I came, To my nighest kin And those who know me.

LAY OF SIGURD.

All night long Gerold searched Attigny for his outlawed friend, but found no trace of him. At dawn he returned to the palace, weary and all but overcome with the burden of his grief. He was too disheartened even to speak to Rothada's Frisian maid, who stood by the outer gate. He would have pa.s.sed by her, had she not signed to him.

"What is it, Berga?" he asked dully, when he had followed her into a secluded nook.

"You droop like an outspent hound, lord count. Take cheer. I can put you on the trail."

"How! you know--"

"They slipped out, only a little since,--she and your mate, the big Dane priest."

"To meet Count Olvir!"