“Fear nothing,” I answered. “We are alone here, for I set guards of my own company around the place, with command to admit no one, and my order runs against all save the Empress in person.”
“Then we are safe, Olaf, since this damp would disarrange her hair, which, I noted, is curled with irons, not by Nature, like my own. Oh! Olaf, Olaf, how wonderful is the fate that has brought us together. I say that when I saw you yonder in the cathedral for the first time since I was born, I knew you again, as you knew me. That is why, when you whispered to me, ‘Greeting after the ages,’ I gave you back your welcome. I know nothing of the past. If we lived and loved before, that tale is lost to me. But there’s your dream and there’s the necklace. When I was a child, Olaf, it was taken from the embalmed body of some royal woman, who, by tradition, was of my own race, yes, and by records of which my father can tell you, for he is among the last who can still read the writing of the old Egyptians. Moreover, she was very like me, Olaf, for I remember her well as she lay in her coffin, preserved by arts which the Egyptians had. She was young, not much older than I am to-day, and her story tells that she died in giving birth to a son, who grew up a strong and vigorous man, and although he was but half royal, founded a new dynasty in Egypt and became my forefather. This necklace lay upon her breast, and beneath it a writing on papyrus, which said that when the half of it which was lost should be joined again to that half, then those who had worn them would meet once more as mortals. Now the two halves of the necklace have met, and we have met as God decreed, and it is one and we are one for ever and for ever, let every Empress of the earth do what they will to part us.”
“Aye,” I answered, embracing her again, “we are one for ever and for ever, though perchance for a while we may be separated from time to time.”
CHAPTER VII
VICTORY OR VALHALLA!
A minute later I heard a rustle as of branches being moved by people thrusting their way through them. A choked voice commanded,
“Take him living or dead.”
Armed men appeared about us, four of them, and one cried “Yield!”
I sprang up and drew the Wanderer’s sword.
“Who orders the General Michael to yield in his own command?” I asked.
“I do,” answered the man. “Yield or die!”