For The White Christ Part 45

"Olvir!" exclaimed the girl, in a startled voice. Her hands pressed tightly together on her bosom, and she stared at him, her eyes dark with fear.

"How is this?" demanded Olvir, almost angrily. "Have I grown tushes that the maiden whose troth I hold cannot look at me without dread?"

"Do not be harsh, Lord Olvir!" murmured the girl. "Truly, I have sought to avoid you; on my knees I begged my father that I might stay at Ch.e.l.les. Oh, why cannot I, like Gisela, win the peace and holy joy of the cloister?"

"Because you are too true of heart to break troth, little may," replied Olvir. "See; this pa.s.sage leads to a room which opens on the garden-court. Come within, where the light is clear, and we can look into each other's eyes."

A faint blush crept into Rothada's cheeks, and her gaze fell before Olvir's; but, bowing her head submissively, she led the way down the pa.s.sage. Close behind her followed Olvir, his eyes fixed upon the dainty head beneath its white wimple.

In the middle of the postern-room, where the white light of the winter's sun streamed through the narrow window, Olvir stopped the girl with a touch, and placed himself so that he could look directly into her face.

"Little vala," he said, "I must first ask you to make clear the meaning of your long silence. Whether your answer brings me joy or pain, I cannot wait longer; I must know the truth now. Four years and more have pa.s.sed since you gave me your troth."

Rothada glanced up at him quickly, and then her eyes fell to her novice's dress.

"Lord Olvir speaks of my troth," she answered in a low but clear voice.

"If he doubts it, let him look at these pearls about my throat,--the pearls which he gave me in the Southland."

"And yet, Rothada, many as were my messages to you, never once through all those years did you send answer."

"You remembered me, Lord Olvir!" cried the girl, and she gazed up into her lover's eyes, her face radiant.

"Remember!" repeated Olvir. "And, could I have forgotten, were not my sea-wolves at hand to keep me in mind? I never once sent you greeting and pledge of my faith but your grim wors.h.i.+ppers begged leave to add their gifts. Yet when year after year pa.s.sed by without answering word from you, they, like myself, grew weary of sending. If the little vala's heart had been so chilled by her cloister-dwelling that she chose to forget those who loved her, we could not love her the less, but we would cease to fret her with the tokens of our love."

"Which never came! Oh, Olvir, there's been a bitter mistake! I never once had word or token that you or those grim warriors held me in kind memory. The months dragged by,--the weary years,--and no word from Vascon Land. Then I thought you 'd all forgotten me, and in my sorrow I turned for comfort to our Lord Christ. In Him I found peace, and I longed to give myself to Him, as Gisela begged me; but I could not, for I had promised to wait your coming."

"Loki!" muttered Olvir, and he struck his thigh. "Not all my sendings could have gone astray by chance. There's been a plot against me! Your holy Abbess Gisela-- But what odds? Little vala, little may, if you still doubt my troth, look at what lies about my throat."

Rothada raised her eyes to the strand of glossy hair, whose ends, severed by the rock in the gorge of Roncesvalles, had been rejoined by a golden clasp. At sight of the token, she uttered a cry of naive delight, and her eyes beamed up into Olvir's full of tender trust. Her beauty, pearl-like in its soft, pure l.u.s.tre, filled him with such longing that he could no longer restrain himself.

"Dearest!" he cried, and, kneeling to her, he clasped her hand and held it to his lips.

Smiling and blus.h.i.+ng, Rothada sought to draw away. But when she found she could not escape, she thrust her fingers into her lover's hair, and, tugging playfully at the bright locks, burst out in her old-time, merry laugh.

"Free me! free me, Lord Olvir!" she protested in mock severity. "Am I not the king's daughter? By what right do you hold me in thraldom?"

"See, then, dear heart; I free you," replied Olvir, as he sprang up.

"You have but to speak, and I bend to your wish, sweet princess. Yet I have double right to hold you fast,--the will of your father and your own love."

"My love!" murmured the girl, and she blushed. Her eyes sank, and she drew back shyly.

"Your love, dearest one," repeated Olvir, and he held out his arms.

But then a sudden coldness fell upon her. The color faded from her cheeks, and the happy light died out of her eyes.

"Lord Christ forgive me!" she cried. "Oh, I did not mean to give way, Olvir. Truly I do love you,--I am so weak and wicked I cannot but tell it,--I do love you, Olvir, my bright hero! And yet--and yet, what is there for us but grief and parting? Even did my father a.s.sent, how could I wed one who will not bend knee to Christ,--a--a heathen?"

Olvir caught up the girl's hand, and, clasping it between his own, gazed steadily into her tearful eyes.

"Listen to me, dear heart," he said. "You have listened to the idle tales of others; you shall now judge for yourself. I render no wors.h.i.+p to the heathen G.o.ds; but each week, as it pa.s.ses around, I meditate upon the words and deeds of the White Christ. With my whole heart I strive to wors.h.i.+p the almighty, all-good G.o.d, His Father and our Father.

Answer me, then, little vala; am I to be named among the heathen?"

"Ah, the blessed saints be praised!" cried Rothada. "Then all that they tell of you is false. You do not mock at His Holiness the Pope, nor deride Holy Church?"

"I no longer mock, dear one; yet I bend knee only to the will of G.o.d in my own heart. What one among your Christian priests and monks, the most learned of whom can hardly spell out Holy Writ, shall say that I am wicked and heathen? I accept fully the sayings of the White Christ, and strive to live them. Enough, Rothada; I will say no more. Choose whether you will give yourself to me as I am."

"What shall I say, Olvir?" replied the girl. "I know now you are no heathen. But I cannot understand,--I do not see how you bend to our Lord Christ, and yet do not give reverence to those who stand in His stead."

"Let your heart speak for you, dearest. If I am wrong, leave it to Alcuin and his fellows to show me my mistake."

Rothada clasped her hands together, and sighed with heartfelt relief.

"Surely, Olvir, if you are wrong, they will show it to you," she said.

Trustful as a little child, she clasped the outstretched hands of her lover, and raised her lips for his kiss, her eyes s.h.i.+ning with happiness. The touch of her lips, tender and fragrant as a briar-rose, sent a thrill through Olvir's whole being. But he did not take her in his arms. As he gazed into her eyes, a sudden sense of unworthiness came upon him. For the second time, he sank down before her, humbly and reverently as a wors.h.i.+pper at the shrine of a beloved saint.

"This day has G.o.d my Father blessed me with a great blessing," he murmured. "He has given into my keeping the heart of a pure maiden.

May He give me strength and wisdom to prove myself worthy of so great a trust!"

"Do not be foolish, dearest," answered Rothada. "If our Lord G.o.d has given you my heart, He has given me your love. How, then, can there be room for doubt?"

"My princess! Who am I that I should win the Pearl of Great Price?"

"Hus.h.!.+ oh, hush, my hero! You take in vain the words of Holy Writ. It grieves me."

"I speak the truth. In the eyes of G.o.d there can be nothing holier than a pure maiden. More than all else I hate and despise the teaching of your Christian priests that women are the chief cause of sins. That is a lie. But for women, men would be as wolves,--ravenous wolves! And so, darling--"

"Spare me, Olvir! Truly, you grieve my heart. I am very wicked."

"So wicked that your soul would gleam white on new-fallen snow! Beware, wicked maiden! For your naughtiness, you shall be given in marriage--"

"To a foolish prattler," interrupted Rothada, with a quick return of gaiety, and, half stooping, she clasped Olvir's head between her white hands. "What a hero is this for a king's daughter to wed,--a thrall bound by the collar of a maiden!"

"Many a king would gladly kneel where I kneel, dear heart."

"No, no, you foolish hero. Few are so blind as to see beauty where there is none. I am very happy that you love me, dearest; yet I wonder at your love when I think of the many beautiful maidens with Hildegarde.

Do you think it strange that I longed to go back to Ch.e.l.les, when, after all those weary years of waiting, I came upon you in the hall, side by side with that maiden--"

"--Whose very name is unfit for your pure lips," muttered Olvir. "As you love me, darling, have nothing to do with her."

"I will do as you wish, Olvir. Because my heart shrank from her, I had felt it my duty to seek her friends.h.i.+p. But if you bid me shun her--"

"Thank G.o.d for your willingness! May we never have need to mention her name again! So now, dear one-- Hark! What is the shouting?"

"The call of the stewards. We linger over-long. The feast is ready; and, oh, dear hero, how shall we come before the king my father?"

"Have no fear, darling. The king has already pledged me your hand.

There are terms to be first met; but trust me to see that in good time they be fulfilled or set aside. Until then it seems to me wise that we should keep silent."