When the pair came toward her over the carpet of leather-hued leaves, she put out a white hand in beckoning. “Come here, my Valkyria, and let me try if I can make you look still more like a gay bird from over the East Sea.”
“You have made me look a very splendid bird, lady,” Randalin said gratefully, as she knelt to receive the woodland crown.
Elfgiva patted the brown cheeks in acknowledgment, and also in delight at the effect of her handiwork. “You are an honor to my art. Do you know that the night before you came to me I dreamed I held a burning candle in my hand, and that is known by everybody to be a sign of good. A hundred plans are in my mind against the time that this peace shall be over, and we are obliged to return to that loathful house where we suffer so much with dulness that the quarrels of my little brats are the only excitement we have.”
Still kneeling for the white fingers to pat and pull at her head-dress, Randalin looked up wonderingly. “Is it your belief that King Canute will not carry out his intention, lady, that you say ‘when the peace is over’? I know for certain that it is expected to last forever.”
“Forever?” The lady’s voice was an echo of sweet mockery. “Take half a kingdom when a whole lies almost within his reach? Now I will not deny that the King is sometimes boyish of mood, but rarely that foolish.” She seemed to toss the idea from her with the leaves she shook from her robe as she rose and moved back a step to see the wreath from a new point. “Turn your head this way, child. Yes, there is still one thing wanting on this side; berries if I have them, or grasses if I have not,—here are more berries! Oh, yes, I declare that I expect to be very merry through your spirits! You shall have the rule over my pages and devise games and junketings without end.”
Humming gayly, she began to weave in the bright berries; and it struck Randalin that here was a good opportunity to make the plea she had in her mind. She said gravely, “I shall be thankful if you are able to manage it, lady, so that I may go back with you.”
Pausing in her work, Elfgiva looked down in surprise. “Now what should prevent?” she asked.
The girl colored a little as she answered: “It was in the King’s mind once, lady, that a good way to dispose of Randalin, Frode’s daughter, would be to marry her to the son of Lodbrok. If he should still keep that opinion—I would prefer to die!” she ended abruptly.
But the King’s wife laughed her rippling laughter that had in it all the music of falling waters. “Shed no tears over that, ladybird! Would I be apt to let such an odious bear as Rothgar Lodbroksson rob me of my newest plaything? Whence to my dulness a pastime but for your help? Though he were the King’s blood-brother, he should tell for naught. You do not guess half the entertainment your wild ways will be to me. I expect it will be more pleasant for me to have you than that Norman ape which Canute sent me at the beginning of the summer,—which is dead now, unfortunately, because Harald would insist upon shooting his arrows into it. There! Now my work could not be improved upon.” Again she moved back, her beautiful head tilted in birdlike examination. Randalin arose slowly and stood before her with widening eyes.
But it was not long that the Lady of Northampton had for her or for the wreath. Now her attention was attracted to the farthest group of guards and huntsmen, whose motions and shouting seemed to indicate some unusual commotion. Bending, she peered curiously under the branches. “I wonder if it has happened that the King has sent someone to meet us?” she exclaimed. “I see a gleam of scarlet, lady,” the maiden of the riverbank came to tell her eagerly.