Amalwin's scarred face unbent in an answering smile, and he extended his hand.
"If wrong has been done," he said, "you are not the one at fault. I trust we may meet again as battle-mates. We are used to duller feathers over Rhine; yet I stand ever ready to welcome one who could throttle the Grey Wolf, whether he wear silk or hide."
"It may be I shall again see your forests. Until then farewell, lord counts."
"Farewell," replied Amalwin, and he rode off up the bank. But Gerold, instead of following, sprang to the ground.
"What now, lad?" asked Olvir.
"I have yet to see Liutrad. Abbot Fulrad wishes him to aid Worad with the lettering. The abbot's scribe is to stay behind with Hildegarde. But first, I would ask your pardon for my coldness."
"Say no more. Older heads have been misled. As to Liutrad, if he wish it, he is free to aid Fulrad until there is need of his axe. I will send him soon. Now, farewell."
"Stay a little, hero!" exclaimed Gerold, and he caught the Northman's arm. "Before you go, will you not tell me what came between you and the maiden? Your sword-brother goes about heavily. Give me a word to lighten his trouble."
Olvir gazed into the pleading face of the queen's brother, and seemed about to speak. But then his look hardened, and he stepped aboard the waiting boat, cold and haughty.
"I have no word to send the Count of the Breton Mark," he said. "Let him come and ask for himself. Thrust off, men."