“The Baron of Montfaucon likewise sends greeting to thy chieftain, Jarl Eric,” interposed Folko; “and engages to be also at Niflung’s Heath, as the hereditary friend of the sea-king, and also as the kinsman and guest of Biorn of the Fiery Eyes.”
The herald was seen to tremble at the name of Montfaucon; he bowed very low, cast an anxious, reverential look at the baron, and left the hall.
Gabrielle looked on her knight, smiling lovingly and securely, for she well knew his victorious prowess; and she only asked, “Where shall I remain, whilst you go forth to battle, Folko?”
“I had hoped,” answered Biorn, “that you would be well contented to stay in this castle, lovely lady; I leave my son to guard you and attend on you.”
Gabrielle hesitated an instant; and Sintram, who had resumed his position near the fire, muttered to himself as he fixed his eyes on the bright flames which were flashing up, “Yes, yes, so it will probably happen. I can fancy that Duke Menelaus had just left Sparta on some warlike expedition, when the young knight Paris met the lovely Helen that evening in the garden.”
But Gabrielle, shuddering although she knew not why, said quickly, “Without you, Folko? And must I forego the joy of seeing you fight? or the honour of tending you, should you chance to receive a wound?”
Folko bowed, gracefully thanking his lady, and replied, “Come with your knight, since such is your pleasure, and be to him a bright guiding star. It is a good old northern custom that ladies should be present at knightly combats, and no true warrior of the north will fail to respect the place whence beams the light of their eyes. Unless, indeed,” continued he with an inquiring look at Biorn, “unless Jarl Eric is not worthy of his forefather?”
“A man of honour,” said Biorn confidently.
“Then array yourself, my fairest love,” said the delighted Folko; “array yourself and come forth with us to the battle-field to behold and judge our deeds.”
“Come forth with us to the battle,” echoed Sintram in a sudden transport of joy.