"Your king gave me pledge of the front," he said. "I should at least follow the horsemen."
"You will follow where his Majesty commands," rejoined Count Amalwin.
Olvir glanced from the Saxon to his dragon-ships, moored along the bank, and drew himself up haughtily.
"Will!" he retorted. "By Thor, I go where I choose, fellow! If it please me, I take ship and leave Frank Land; let your Frank king command!"
"Do so!" growled Amalwin. "The land were well rid of such an outland wooer! Men call my forest folk barbarous; but, heathen though they be, they hold pure maidens in honor."
"No less do I!" cried Olvir, hotly. "He who says else, lies!"
"It is well, Dane, I fare Rhineward, and you to Saracen Land. Would that Rudulf had broken your heathen back!" cried the Saxon, and he shook his clenched fist at Olvir.
The Northman's eyes glittered, and he smiled.
"Come," he lisped. "There is no better time than now. I will meet you singly, or together."
"Holy Mother!" protested Gerold. "Why should we fight, Olvir? The maiden weeps, and Roland is like a bear in the springtime; but--"