For The White Christ Part 19

Tearing himself from the girl's embrace, Olvir turned and walked quickly away. Rothada and her brothers joined the queen in a chorus of _G.o.d-speeds_; but Olvir waved his hand and leaped out through the doorway, without a single glance even for Fastrada.

He found Roland with one hand on Zora's neck and the other caressing the mare's bony cheek. The Frank turned at once at the sound of Olvir's light step, and caught his outstretched hands. For a moment the two gazed at each other with eyes aglow. Then Olvir leaped into the saddle and called to the mare in Arabic. Wheeling at the word, she leaped through the gateway and shot away down the road like an arrow.

CHAPTER XIII

Riding swift on his errands On the bit-gripping steed.

SONG OF ATLI.

Though reared on the iron coast of Northern Norway, Olvir Thorbiornson had coursed more than one good horse over the flat sh.o.r.es of Jutland and Frisia. What was no less to his present advantage, he held clearly in mind all that Otkar Jotuntop had told him, in his childhood, of the emir's red racers of the desert. Yet, confident as he felt of Zora's endurance, throughout the first day's ride he restrained his desire to course at full speed, and held the willing mare in check. Even a Frankish horse, if spurred, might have kept the road with them to the first night's rest,--at a Gothic farmstede just beyond Perigueux.

On the second day, however, Olvir held a looser rein, and Zora's long stride swept him forward through the fertile country of mid-Aquitania at a pace to astonish the dark-featured Gallo-Roman serfs toiling in the fields beside the road. Even the occasional Frankish n.o.ble and pompous bishop faring along the ancient highway could not but halt to stare, with gaping mouth, as the bright Northman shot past them on the red mare.

It might be that they would first catch sight of the rider in the distance, attracted by the sun-rays glittering on his mail and helmet.

Then he would be rus.h.i.+ng upon them, and they would draw aside to see him pa.s.s. Scarcely a glance would they have as horse and rider dashed by; but it was a glance not soon to be forgotten,--the rider, with the sun glinting on his war-gear and jewelled sword, staring eagerly ahead along the road; the red mare, with outstretched head and trumpet nostrils, sweeping over the ground with long, easy strides.

But not all saw the king's messenger so. Now and then Olvir leaped from the small Arab saddle and ran beside Zora, lightly as a deer, his hand upon her withers. The change rested both mare and rider, and slackened the pace but little. A hunter who could boast of having run down the grey wolf afoot in fair chase was not apt to lag in the pace with a hand on his horse. Another aid to Zora was the fair condition of the main route across the rich province. Before the king had marched south, the counts of Aquitania, spurred to unwonted activity by the prospect of his coming, had put both highroad and bridges in moderately good repair.

So it chanced that, shortly before sunset, Olvir halted for the night at a monastery a round ninety miles from where he had mounted at dawn. The sight of the warlike rider as he rode through their gates brought the black-robed Benedictines flocking about him with hospitable greetings; and when Olvir showed the king's signet, the abbot himself sought the privilege of kissing the royal ring.

But Olvir declined the wa.s.sail-feast with which the silk-clad priest would have honored him. Instead, he groomed Zora with his own hands, and, having eaten as plain and scanty a meal as he had doled out for the mare, he withdrew at once to a common bed in the hospice.

Dawn found Zora munching the last of her measure of barley from the stone manger, while her master, his hunger already satisfied by a share of the porter's breakfast, paced up and down the monastery court to rid himself of the stiffness yet lingering in his joints. At the first ray of sunrise, master and mare were pa.s.sing out through the gates, leaving the porter to mumble his blessing over the handful of silver pennies which had fallen from the rider's hand.

The morning was yet early when, without stopping, Olvir rode past beneath the turreted walls of Poitiers, and noon found the red mare racing over the plains of Touraine. From both Otkar and Roland, Olvir had heard the tale of the fateful battle in which the Hammer of the Franks had shattered the victorious hordes of Saracen invaders. Only forty-six years had pa.s.sed since that terrible slaughter of the Moslemah, and as Zora coursed along the smooth highway which stretched across the wide scene of the struggle, her rider's glance rested on luxuriant fields where the serfs yet ploughed up fragments of outland war-gear from the blood-drenched soil.

The young Northman was, however, less impressed by the thought of the great battle than by the grand monuments of the ancient Roman occupancy,--the lofty towers and walls, ma.s.sive arched bridges and aqueducts which, where uninjured by man, still stood about the land, huge and uncrumbling after centuries of use. Often as Otkar had described to him the buildings of the old Romans, Olvir found himself staring at them in no little astonishment and wonder. His learning, however, spared him the awe which would have been felt by his simpler countrymen or the forest-dwelling Saxons, among whom the mighty stone burgs and aqueducts were commonly regarded as the works of giants.

The interest of the king's messenger was at last drawn from these Roman structures to the rapidly increasing numbers of wayfarers, journeying like himself to the north. Every cla.s.s of society was represented, from counts and mitred bishops, travelling with princely retinues, to wretched poor folk, forced into a life of wandering and beggary by the ever-increasing oppression of brutal lords.

In the well-tilled fields which bordered the highway, Olvir could see numbers of toiling husbandmen, part of the fifteen thousand and odd serfs owned by the Abbey of Saint Martin. Here was Christianity exemplified,--the priests of the rueful White Christ sitting in purple and cloth of gold, while their fellowmen sweated and slaved to bring them wealth! The thought filled Olvir with such loathing that when he crossed the Cher and approached Tours, in the thick of the crowd, it was all he could do to bring himself to accept the hospitality of the famous abbey. Nor was his aversion to his monkish hosts lessened when the almoner, overflowing with pride for his monastery, insisted upon showing the king's messenger all the treasures of the church and shrine.

The gold-wrought hangings and the screens of bra.s.s and precious metals, the silver candelabra and the gemmed images, at first half dazzled the unaccustomed eyes of the Northman. But while those black eyes glistened with wonder and admiration of so many precious and beautiful things, the lip beneath curled in scorn of the manner in which the h.o.a.rd had been gathered, and of the images, to which devout wors.h.i.+ppers were offering praise and adoration, alike sanctioned and commended by the Bishop of Rome.

"By the Beard!" muttered Olvir, in Arabic; "and these folk call the Saracens pagans!"

The outlying buildings of the monastery, where monks in short-skirted working frocks plied various trades and handicrafts, tended somewhat to lessen the Northman's scorn of the woman-clad priests. But in the morning he gave to the almoner the exact amount which he thought his lodging was worth, and rode on his way, glad to leave behind him the shuffling black figures, the tinkling bells, and the melancholy chants.

Once on the road again, all bitterness soon pa.s.sed from Olvir's mind.

The day was fair, the road smooth, and already Zora's steel limbs had borne him far on his journey. He cried aloud in sheer gladness of heart, and from the pouch which the king's own hand had fastened to his saddle he flung a fistful of pennies to the rabble of pilgrims by the wayside.

Then Zora lengthened her stride; and the wind whistled in his ears a song of hope and love.

And so Aquitania was left to the south, and the king's messenger rode up the Loire's right bank into Neustria, where were to be seen more Franks and no Goths, but still a vast body of subject Gallo-Romans. Swiftly as he pa.s.sed, Olvir saw much of the beautiful land, whose tilled fields were interspersed with woodlands and meadows. Yet pleasant as was the land to the eye, Olvir observed that the few Frankish husbandmen whom he pa.s.sed differed little in dress and bearing from the dark-haired serfs.

What hope for the future could the free Franks hold, when even the iron rule of their mightiest king could not s.h.i.+eld them from the greed and rapacity of their lords?

But Olvir had little commiseration to waste on Christian freemen. Why did they not stand to their ancient rights, like the Norse commonfolk, and cut off the heads of all lawbreakers, whether thralls or kings?

With a scornful smile he put the weaklings from his thoughts, and sped on across Neustria as he had sped across Aquitania.

As he approached Paris, Olvir began to fear that Zora's hoofs would soon crack from the continual beating on the hard roads. So he sought out the most noted ironsmith in the city, and he and Zora lodged that night in the hovel of the low-born sledge-wielder.

Never had Zora been groomed as she was groomed by the smith that night and in the morning; and when it came to the shoeing, one would have thought the mare a queen, with such care and delicacy did the man fit on the light iron running shoes. While he then spent the forenoon in yet more grooming, Olvir took a stroll into the city. He found gardens and convents, hovels and palaces, spread over all the Island of Notre Dame and along both banks of the Seine opposite. Undeterred by the narrowness and filth of the streets, he crossed the ancient Roman bridge to the island, and visited the palaces of Clovis and Julian the Apostate, and the great domchurches of Saint Genevieve and Saint Merdicus.

Noon, however, saw the king's messenger not only back at the hut, but ready for the road. He had found Zora sleek as silk and bright-eyed, eager to start. When he mounted he said nothing of pay; but the smith bowed and smiled, and wished the princely king's rider a hearty _G.o.d-speed_. Smiling in turn, Olvir put his hand to one of the gold spirals on his left arm; and when the smith, who had not heeded the quick movement, grasped the Northman's hand, he felt an angular piece of heavy metal pressed into his palm. The giver's hand was withdrawn, and the smith stood gaping at the lump of yellow gold that was worth more than his forge and his home and all else he possessed, though he threw in the very s.h.i.+rt upon his back.

Before the man could recover wit enough to cry out his thanks, Olvir was riding away down the crooked street. It was the hour when most of the Franks were seeking the customary noon-rest, and there were few folk abroad to admire and wonder at the king's messenger as he threaded the narrow ways and pa.s.sed over the Roman bridges to the north bank. Before long Zora bore him through the main gate of the suburban walls, and galloped away on the road to Mayence.

A short ride to the Convent of Ch.e.l.les on the Marne, where Olvir delivered a message to the abbess for young Gisela, the king's sister; then Zora was given free rein. The Frankish smith had shod the mare so skilfully that she at once fell into her stride, and the race swept on across Neustria, north and east into Austrasia.

Day after day Zora held on at coursing speed, never faltering, her steel limbs seemingly tireless. But now the roads were rougher, and more than one bridge was missing. Twice horse and rider were carried down from treacherous fords, and once Zora sank in a bog. Neither master nor mare, however, met with injury; and, despite all hindrance, the long miles melted swiftly away before the mare's easy swinging stride.

And so the king's messenger sped through Austrasia, where corners of ancient forest yet stood unhewn, and few men tilled the fields who could not show visible proof of Germanic blood. From Rheims to Treves, Treves to Mayence, thence across the Rhine, and along the Thuringian trade-route which led up the Main and on into the primeval forest,--these were the last stages of the great race.

But the king's messenger was spared at least one day of his expected journeying. At Mayence he learned that Count Rudulf had lately been staying at the Monastery of Fulda, and that it was possible the old hero had not yet returned to his mark.

When, midmorning of the next day, Olvir came at last to Fulda, he found that great centre of civilization in the heart of the beech-wood vastly different from the gilded abbey of Tours, with its slaves and precious h.o.a.rd. The rude ma.s.s of log structures was a very beehive of skilled workers,--st.u.r.dy brothers of Northern blood, who found it more to their liking to toil at husbandry and the handicrafts, or to practise with the pen and study the seven liberal arts, than to chant the dirge-like hymns of Holy Church.

Above all was Olvir drawn to Abbot Sturm, whose manly and dignified welcome of the king's messenger all but conquered the young man's aversion to Christian priests. Not all the bluff old abbot's urgings, however, could hold Olvir over the day, when he learned that Rudulf and his Wend wife had gone to the count's homestede in the adjoining s.h.i.+re.

Again Zora stretched out her lean neck, and raced away down the forest road. By midday she had reached the journey's end. On a rocky knoll, close by the Fulda's bank, stood Rudulf's burg,--a walled enclosure in which were grouped the hall and bower and outbuildings familiar to the Norse eye, and, beside all these, the rude stone keep of the Franks and Southern Saxons, adopted centuries since in imitation of the Roman tower.

CHAPTER XIV

When a wolf thou wert Out in the wildwood.

LAY OF HELGI.

When Olvir entered the open gateway of the burg, no sign of life was to be seen within, other than the thin streamers of smoke rising through the roof-hole of the hall and the high narrow windows of the keep. Not even a hound ran forward to bay at the stranger. Olvir felt little surprise, however, as it was the hour for the Frankish noon-rest.

Seeing that the great red and blue mottled door of the keep was ajar, he sprang off before it, and entered, Zora at his heels.

The intruder at once found himself within a gloomy apartment, only half lighted by the flickering of a small fire. Close by the hearth, on the side nearest to the entrance, crouched a woman, at play with several weasels. She was chanting to them in a tongue unknown to Olvir; and as she droned the refrain, the weasels ran up and down her extended arms.

Olvir caught only a glimpse of the strange play. Before he had ceased blinking from the sudden change out of the sun-glare into the dim-lit interior, the woman had become aware of his presence. A low hiss brought the weasels cl.u.s.tering about her neck, and she glided silently away into the gloom beyond the fire.

"I have known warmer guest-cheer," muttered Olvir; and he advanced to seat himself on the bench beside which the woman had been crouching. As he took the seat he heard a dull grinding on his left, and, looking closer, saw the outlines of a man. He touched the fire with his foot, and the upleaping flames lighted the room with a ruddy flare. It showed to Olvir a grisly warrior, bending over a newly forged sword-blade.

The worker was not unusually big as men went in the North; but he was lean and sinewy, and his bristling grey hair and beard well matched the wolf-hide slung across his shoulders. Except for the fleshy but pointed nose, his face was covered to the eyes by its s.h.a.ggy beard, and the grey bristles grew low down on his forehead, close upon the overhanging brows. Most startling of all were the man's eyes, long and narrow, and set in oblique sockets. One glance at them was enough to tell Olvir why Count Amalwin had called Rudulf of Thuringia the "Grey Wolf." As he looked and wondered, Olvir's thoughts flew even farther afield, and there came into his mind the memory of Floki's bitter words against this forest hero's daughter. If the father so clearly looked the werwolf, might not the maiden--? But he put the disquieting thought from him, and sat calmly facing the fire.

For a while the silence continued unbroken. Then Count Rudulf flung the sword-blade aside, and turned his slit eyes upon the stranger.

"Guest, or tidings-bearer?" he asked in a harsh voice.