"We played at back-breaking till I throttled him. Then we rode to Fulda, and he made his mark on what I asked him."
"How, Dane," demanded the purple-faced Count Hardrat; "do you claim to have outwrestled Rudulf of the Sorb Mark? I cannot swallow that boast."
Olvir's lip curled, and he bent over toward the speaker.
"Shall I prove the boast--now?" he asked softly.
"Ay; now!" retorted the Thuringian. But then the soft hand of Duke Lupus fell upon his shoulder: "Go easy, friend. Count Olvir has already tossed you over his head; he will toss you again."
"Enough!" interrupted Karl, imperiously. "We will have no brawling. I answer for Lord Olvir's truth."
"A word, lord king," called out Amalwin. "I know that Rudulf vowed never to give his daughter to one who could not best him at his own game."
"And here is Rudulf's mark to my betrothal lines," added Olvir.
"I need no such proof of the deed, my gerfalcon. Put up your scroll, and dismount. Give me the child."
At the bidding, Olvir tossed young Karl into his father's arms, and Roland swung down Rothada. Then Olvir leaped from the saddle. As the foster-brothers parted, Liutrad touched his earl's shoulder.