For The White Christ Part 56

Slowly but steadily, Olvir was piercing a rift for his followers into the steel core of the s.h.i.+eldburg, when the Danish ranks before him opened, and in the gap towered up the terrible figure of the Saxon war-earl. He had time only for a glimpse of the Saxon's bearded face and glaring blue eyes; then a blade more ponderous than Ironbiter whirled down upon him.

Unable to avoid the blow, Olvir raised his s.h.i.+eld to meet it. Never had he tilted the little buckler with greater skill. But his arm was somewhat wearied, and the Saxon struck with a force that only Otkar Jotuntop himself might have exceeded. Though the blow glanced aside, it beat the s.h.i.+eld down upon Olvir's helmet with stunning violence. As he stood there, dazed and blinking, Liutrad thrust a protecting s.h.i.+eld above his head, while Gerold flung himself upon the Saxon. As the Swabian leaped, he cut fiercely at Wittikind's neck. But the Saxon caught the blow on his sword, and as Gerold's s.h.i.+eld clashed upon his own, he hurled the leaper backwards.

"_Teu_! _Teu_!" he roared, and he whirled his great blade to cut down the reeling Swabian. But then Liutrad swung up his axe, and dealt the war-earl a cras.h.i.+ng two-handed blow. Driven by all the ma.s.sive strength of the wielder, the heavy blade split the Saxon's s.h.i.+eld, and sent him staggering back as though struck by Thor's hammer.

Even as the Danes pressed in before their war-earl, their close-set ranks heaved and staggered with the force of a tremendous shock from beyond. The Frankish hors.e.m.e.n had withdrawn from the battle-line, and, led by the king himself, had hurled upon the s.h.i.+eldburg in a charge more impetuous than any that had gone before.

Galloping in the lead of his heavy hors.e.m.e.n, Karl spurred his charger full against the wall of locked s.h.i.+elds. A dozen spear-points glanced from his s.h.i.+eld or splintered upon his scale hauberk. Then his heavy stallion struck the s.h.i.+eldwall like a war-ram, and burst through, trampling upon the overthrown Danes. From all sides ready blades were brandished to cut down the royal leader. But not even the halberds could beat through the king's guard. His grey eyes flamed with white fire, and he shouted joyfully, as Ironbiter swirled down to right and left: "_Heu_! _heu_! Christ reigns! Down with the fiend-G.o.ds! Follow me, Franks!"

"_Heu_! _heu_! Christ and king!" shouted the hors.e.m.e.n, and, fired by the example of their leader, they burst through the Dane wall in a dozen places. In a twinkling, the close ranks of the s.h.i.+eldburg were rent asunder, and Danes and Franks were mingled in a wildly furious struggle.

Berserk-mad, Wittikind turned again from the Northmen, and rushed to meet the Frank king as he came plunging through the heart of the s.h.i.+eldburg.

"The king!" he roared; "about him, men!"

With a fierce shout, the Danes rallied and thrust in behind Karl with such desperate valor that he was cut off from the hors.e.m.e.n, with scarce a dozen followers. At once the mailed champions closed in on the handful of riders, and hewed them down with axe and halberd. Karl alone sat his saddle when the Danish ranks opened, and the war-earl came leaping for his vengeance. The first blow of his sword split the skull of the king's stallion, and Karl was hurled forward at the feet of the Saxon.

In the fall, the hilt of Ironbiter, slippery with blood, was wrenched from his grasp. He saw Wittikind's whirling sword, and sprang up to grip him fast about the body. Unable to strike, the Saxon in turn gripped the king. For a little, the Danes held back, while the giant leaders bent and strained to overthrow one another. But the Frank had the vantage of the hold. A bear would have smothered in that hug.

Already Wittikind's face was blackening, when a Dane sprang in and struck the crowned helmet of the king with his war-hammer.

Instantly the king's grip broke. The war-earl thrust him away, and he fell senseless upon the b.l.o.o.d.y ground. Half-smothered, the Saxon stood gasping, unable to raise his sword. Then he was plucked aside by his henchmen, as Olvir and Floki came leaping into the midst and thrust out their s.h.i.+elds to guard the fallen king.

Back to back, the two Northmen stood alone in the midst of the Danes, and so furiously did the champions of King Sigfrid press upon them, that even Floki, in all his many battles, had never been put to such straits to hold his own. Well was it the war-earl yet lacked breath to leap upon them. While he stood gasping, Liutrad and Gerold burst through, at the head of the wedge.

Ground mercilessly between the Frankish hors.e.m.e.n on the one side and the in-thrusting wedge, the Danes at last drew back from about the king, and sought to form another s.h.i.+eldwall.

"They break!" cried Gerold, and springing upon a riderless horse, he wheeled about in the lead of the hors.e.m.e.n. "_Heu_! _heu_! Follow me, Franks! Give the wolves no time to turn!"

Rallying to the call, the Franks spurred their horses upon the disarrayed ranks of the Danes, and for a while all Wittikind's efforts could not make the beaten warriors stand and face the attack. Luckily for them, they were rid of the Norse champions, else their retreat would soon have broken into a rout. But Olvir had called upon his sea-wolves to stand while he and Liutrad sought to restore the king to consciousness.

Fearful of the worst, the two stooped over the great Frank, and were chafing his wrists, when his grey eyes opened in a fierce stare, and he sat up, to grope eagerly about.

"My sword--Ironbiter!" he muttered.

"Here, sire," replied Olvir, and he thrust the gold hilt into the king's hand.

"Good! The battle--"

Floki stepped upon a slain horse, and swept the wild battlefield with his glance: "Yonder, lord king, I see Wittikind's s.h.i.+eldburg. The Danes have faced about, and again withstand your riders. But everywhere the Saxons give ground--even the stubborn Frisians!"

"Saint Michael! we win! Why do your wolves stand idle, Dane hawk?"

"We wait for you, lord king, and the Saxons are not minded to press upon us," replied Olvir, grimly. "Lead us now against them, king! _Heya!_ men; lead forward Count Gerold's horse."

"The lad, also," added Floki. "How does the king's son fare?"

"Look for yourself, Crane," rejoined the viking who led forward Gerold's and Pepin's horses.

The luckless boy, who had been lashed fast in his saddle by the vikings, was crouched low over his horse's withers, and his delicate face, as he gazed vacantly about among the vikings, was white and drawn. At the pitiable sight Karl leaped up, his look dark with chagrin.

"King of Heaven!" he cried, "have I lived to see my first-born fear-stricken--my son a coward?"

"Hold, king!" broke in an old berserk, with generous boldness. "You do both yourself and the bairn a wrong. The lad's now witless. Till the luckless stone struck him down, he rode beside me, blithe of heart in the midst of the battle-din. No man in all our wedge cast a dart with truer aim. I myself saw him pierce two Saxons. He's yet witless."

"Thank G.o.d!" exclaimed Karl, and he sprang to fling his arm about the boy. "Heed me, child--my brave child! Rouse up and draw sword--the battle's not ended!"

But Pepin stared vacantly into the glowing face of his father, and pointed to the blood-reddened figures of the vikings with a foolish smile. "They that are clothed in scarlet dwell in king's houses--clothed in scarlet--scarlet and crimson," he babbled.

"Mother of G.o.d!" muttered Karl, and his eyes fell before the meaningless stare of the boy. But then Olvir sprang forward, his face pale, and his brows meeting in a stern frown.

"Here's a horse, king," he said almost harshly, "Mount, and lead us on again."

"But the lad--"

"Liutrad shall take him in charge. We can do no more for him till this scarlet play is ended."

"Scarlet play--you speak truth, Dane hawk! But see! Ho, Christ triumphs! My Grey Wolf rends his way into the midst of the fen-dwellers. They break--the host itself! Ho, sea-wolves, after me--after me, and burst the Danish s.h.i.+eldwall!"

With a shout that rolled out above all the wild din and uproar, the vikings closed their ranks again in wedge, and wheeled to follow their crowned leader into the thick of the withdrawing Saxons.

As yet only half beaten, the forest-wolves were giving ground with stubborn slowness, and Wittikind was seeking to swing his s.h.i.+eldburg around, that he might shake off the hors.e.m.e.n and rally the tribes in a last furious charge upon the Frankish footmen. Even yet the tide of battle might have been turned against the Franks.

But then the viking wedge crashed into the heart of the Saxon host from the one side, while from the other came sweeping a torrent of routed Frisians, old Rudulf and his grey-armored warriors raging in their midst. The yells of the fen-dwellers quavered with superst.i.tious dread: "The werwolf!--the werwolf! Fly, Saxons!--Fenir 's free!"

Thousands of voices caught up the despairing cry, and the whole Saxon host faced about and broke into utter rout. Wild with fear, they swept across the b.l.o.o.d.y battlefield in a whirling flood that all but overwhelmed the vikings. Like a s.h.i.+p adrift among the storm-waves, the wedge was carried along in the midst of the flying thousands, clear to the farthermost edge of the battlefield. There, at last, they made a stand, and the hors.e.m.e.n came plunging through the flood to join their royal leader.

As Gerold rode up at their head, Karl signed to him: "Plant the standard; send the hors.e.m.e.n on. To my side! I reel with blood-loss."

Again the vikings gathered about the king, while the hors.e.m.e.n joined the fierce pursuit of the Saxons. But hardly had Gerold and Liutrad bound up his wounds, when the last of the flying host came rus.h.i.+ng past, intermingled with the Frankish footmen.

"Ho, lord king!" called Olvir. "My wolves strain at the leash. Bid us go. Yonder comes Amalwin. Let him guard the standard. It cannot be he thirsts to slay his fleeing countrymen."

"Go, then. But leave my luckless Pepin and these bold lads--"

"I'm spent--I stay!" gasped Liutrad.

"I go. My wounds are stanched," said Gerold, and as Olvir sprang upon Zora, the Swabian mounted his own horse little less nimbly.

CHAPTER XVI

Many a man is brave Who still does not thrust the blade Into another man's heart.

LAY OF REGIN.

The sun was far down the western sky when the vikings swung away from the corpse-strewn battlefield and joined the fierce chase of the broken host. Already the foremost of the pursued and the pursuers were beyond view, and for a time Northmen followed after the scattering Saxon bands, in vain search for Wittikind and his Danes.