"Come, then, braggart," he jeered. "Now shall you bite the dust the second time."
Stung by the taunt, Rudulf dropped his wolf-skin, and advanced, half crouching, upon the audacious challenger. His eyes were narrowed to a line, and his grey hair stood up like the bristles of a wolf. His gaunt figure, creeping forward in the dying firelight, was a sight to appall any but the stoutest hearted.
Olvir, though he held himself with seeming carelessness, waited the attack with every faculty alert. He had no doubt that Rudulf's boasts were based in truth, and yet, though the strain of his long ride was against him, he did not shrink. He was resolved to win the old hero's daughter, or die in the attempt.
Zora thrust her head past her master's shoulder. Without averting his gaze from the Thuringian, he uttered a word of command that sent the mare about to the door of the apartment. As she wheeled, Olvir feigned to glance away, and on the instant Rudulf made his leap. Olvir dropped forward, and the leaper stumbled and fell headlong over him into the rushes. Both men were up again, Olvir only a moment quicker than his grey opponent.
"Heu! a child's trick," growled Rudulf, and he advanced again. This time Olvir sprang to meet him, and in a moment the two were locked fast in each other's arms. Olvir at once realized that the old count was far stronger than himself and very quick. But he had not been trained in all kingly games by Otkar Jotuntop, that he should fail at such a time.
Up and down the room the wrestlers trampled and reeled in desperate struggle, overturning benches and tables, and scattering the firebrands among the green rushes. Acrid smoke rose from the floor to choke the wrestlers; but they staggered to and fro across the room, heedless of all else than their furious strife. Time and again the Grey Wolf lifted Olvir sheer off his feet, yet always the Northman regained his foothold. The Thuringian could neither smother him in his terrible hug nor loosen the younger man's grip. His every effort to shift the hold, so as to break Olvir's back, was foiled by movements yet more adroit. The crafty old wrestler had met one whose skill outmatched his own at every turn.
At last age began to tell against the Thuringian. His gasps told of failing breath. For a little he strained his utmost, his teeth gnashing like a wolf's. Still Olvir held fast, biding his time. Suddenly the Grey Wolf's grip relaxed. In a twinkling, Olvir had shifted his hold. One arm closed about the count's hairy throat. The man was at his mercy.
"Enough! do not--throttle--" gasped Rudulf.
"The back-breaker is not yet upon his back," rejoined Olvir. But he eased his grip, and Rudulf answered him quickly: "No need to thrust the falling tree. You have won."
"Well said!" cried Olvir, and he supported the exhausted count to a bench. Then he flung wide open the great door, and gathered together the scattered brands of the fire. As he put on again his bright mail and helmet, and sat down in the crossing rays of flame and sunlight, he saw old Rudulf watching him with a bewildered stare, muttering, "Have I met my match in a bairn?"