For The White Christ Part 61

"Render your thanks to your queen, to whom they are due," he called back, as he left the bower.

Olvir took a step or two after the king, only to turn again to Fastrada.

"Dear dame," he said, "I am not one to value lightly the honor put upon me; yet I wish that Gerold or Amalwin had been chosen instead. Let another be given the counts.h.i.+p. I am content here beside my betrothed."

"Truly, it is a long way to Frisia," sighed Rothada, and she drew close to the side of her hero.

"A long way!" repeated Olvir, clasping her hand.

For a while Fastrada sat calm and silent as before, fingering the opal on her hand. Then, without raising her eyes or altering her look, she said quietly: "Take the word of a well-wisher, Olvir. It is not pleasing to kings to have their favors cast back upon them. Trust me.

My dear lord has chosen you to honor and power above all others of his counts except Barnard, his uncle. Render him the service which lies in you to render, and you may look for more welcome favors to follow."

"I wish one only. Tell me, little vala, would you say no if the king, your father, gave you leave to sail down Rhine Stream with your sea-wolves?"

"If my father bade me go, dear hero--"

"Only one way could you go, child,--as bride of their count," broke in Fastrada, sharply.

"And so it shall be," rejoined Olvir.

Fastrada did not raise her eyes, but her jewelled buskin tapped softly on the dais.

"Foolish children!" she murmured. "You will spoil all when the future is brightest with promise. Would it not seem ungracious, Olvir, to so soon beg another favor? You have yet to fulfil the terms of your betrothal."

"But for this counts.h.i.+p, I would go to him and ask that those terms be set aside. Yet you say true; I cannot tax his friends.h.i.+p. My mouth is closed."

"Trust me, Olvir. You will have a friend close to the king's ear. But bear in mind my dear lord's unwillingness to part with his little maid.

It may be I can soon overcome that. If not, what is another year of waiting to true lovers? Have I not waited all these years for my king,--my king, 'grey of eye'? Rothada is still very young. I have seen two and twenty summers; she cannot count a score."

"She is none too young to wed, even by Northern custom," answered Olvir.

"True, and we will all pray that your betrothal may have a quick ending.

Now send in the maidens from the antechamber, and say your farewells when there is none left to chatter over your parting. You shall have until the turn of the gla.s.s for your parting. No, Olvir; give me no thanks. Go quickly; the sweet moments are winged. But bear in mind, if it come to the worst, what is a year of waiting to true lovers?"

"A year!" muttered Olvir, as he drew Rothada's hand through his arm and led her from the bower, "a year! Doubtless, the queen's words are well meant, but already, dear heart, our betrothal year is far gone; and did I not love you all those long years before?"

Rothada made no reply until the curious maidens had hurried into the bower and she stood alone with her lover in the anteroom. Then she placed her arms on his shoulders, and gazed up, clear-eyed, into his troubled face.

"Dear hero," she said, "Fastrada has spoken wisely. We must have patience. In His own good time, G.o.d will grant us the fulness of joy."

"Ah, darling, you forget the longing--the hunger of love! How shall I sit at peace among the dreary fens, while my heart is with you in the Rhinegau? Day and night I shall hunger for the sight of your sweet face. By false Loki, would that our lord king might do me a wrong! I should seize you, though it were from the very cloister, and bear you away to Trondheim Fiord!"

"Olvir! It grieves me you should hold such thoughts!" cried Rothada, and she burst into tears. Olvir caught her to him in an agony of contrition.

"Would to Heaven I 'd never been a sea-king!" he muttered. "Dearest heart--little princess, forgive me--do not weep!"

"See, then; I have ceased already," whispered Rothada, and she looked up through her tears, with a brave smile. "Yet I am very sad, my hero.

Oh, if only you could go to my father and tell him that your heart was free to fulfil those conditions! Then I would--I would myself beg of him that I might fare down Rhine Stream--with you."

"Little vala! How the longs.h.i.+ps would fly, winged by the bowing oars of your merry sea-wolves!"--and Olvir strained the girl to him. But then he freed her, and his face grew stern.

"Christ aid us!" he muttered. "My spirit is torn between love and truth. Odin bear witness how I love you, dear; yet even for your sake I cannot bend to the yoke of priestcraft. It would be a lie--a lie!"

"The more do I love you, my hero, for your true heart! If you are mistaken, our Lord Christ will give you light. Trust to His guidance, and however you may be led, I have faith that all will come well in the end."

"In the end--ay, in the end; but I'm weary of waiting. Five long winters have dragged by since we first plighted troth, there in the Southland."

"I was only a child; yet see, Olvir, my collar--the tress which saved you at Roncesvalles--still lies clasped about your throat. It is not a year since my father betrothed us. We must trust in Christ and in the good-will of--of the queen."

"The witch's daughter!" replied Olvir, and his face clouded yet more.

"Why did she not look up as she spoke? My mind is not at ease. Her words were so kindly; but still, it seemed to me her meaning--"

"Such doubts are unworthy of you, Olvir. Could a sister--a mother--show greater tenderness than she has shown since Hildegarde left us?"

"The bitterness of parting poisons my thought. Forgive me, dear, if I give way to doubt. Yet there is one in the court whom I can trust to watch over you. Trust Liutrad in all things. He would strike off his sword-hand to give you joy. Wait; a word more, darling. Here is my silver-hilted knife, the work of my own hands."

"What--I bear a dagger?" cried Rothada, and she shrank from the gift.

"Call it a bodkin; only, take and keep it in memory of our parting."

"As you wish, then, dear; yet it is a large bodkin to carry in my bosom, and if I sling it at my girdle, the maidens will mock me for a warrior."

"A terrible hero! Tie the sheath with ribbons, and let the silly maidens laugh."

"No; I will hang it about my neck. It shall lie upon my heart, in pledge of your love and protection. I will cherish it, dear; for it comes from my hero."

Olvir smiled, half sadly, and turned away, while the girl looped a ribbon about her neck to suspend the dagger in her bosom. The movement brought his gaze about to the doorway of the bower, in which stood the withered form of old Kosru the leech, draped about with a gorgeous robe of yellow silk. The moment Olvir's eyes fell upon him, the Magian bent to the rushes, as in former years he had salaamed before the stern Vali Kasim. The servile obeisance irritated the Northman quite as much as the interruption.

"Withdraw, leech!" he said almost harshly.

"I go, lord count. But--may my lord forgive me the bearing!--the gracious queen bids me say that the sand is nearly run."

"Could she not give the gla.s.s another turning?"

"_Ai_, lord; but our mighty protector Karolah has gone to the water-side to see you take s.h.i.+p," replied the leech, and, with a dry cackling of toothless laughter, he shuffled about into the bower. As he turned, he thrust his hand beneath his robe, and a soft, metallic clink chimed with his mirthless chuckle.

"_At--ai!_" he muttered; "youth and love are soon sped; but the s.h.i.+ning gold is ever a joy and a comfort."

Then his ill-omened figure disappeared from view, and Olvir clasped his little princess to him for the last bitter-sweet moments of parting.

CHAPTER XIX

Why are ye sitting there?

Why sleep ye life away?

Why does it grieve you not?