Two gaudily attired pages were fluttering about the little princess, eager to render her service. Olvir smiled, then set his jaw sternly. A second mule-litter had appeared from behind the cart, and its occupant was gazing at him with a strange look of shame and aversion, and yet of entreaty. Though love lay dead in Olvir's heart, the Thuringian's look moved him deeply. Already his eyes were softening, when their side-glance caught the moody gaze of Roland. He stared back at the count, and drew himself up with a haughty smile. As he turned again to Fastrada, he found her glaring at him with all the hatred that had distorted her face in the garden. She had mistaken his scornful movement as meant for herself.
The swift exchange of glances passed in the few moments that Karl was speaking to Abbot Fulrad. Before Olvir had time for second thought, the king turned back to him, smiling: "Now, my Dane hawk, Abbot Fulrad takes the child into the midst of your warriors. We lend her to them in place of yourself. For a while you will ride at my side."
"You honor both leader and men, lord king," replied Olvir; and he wheeled Zora to the side of the white stallion.
Instantly Roland lifted the royal standard, and the silver trumpet of Eggihard the High Steward sounded the advance. Into the road, behind Karl and the Northman, flocked the throng of priests and officials, with no small degree of bustle and confusion. But the noise of their starting was soon drowned in the roars of delight with which the vikings greeted their little vala. The king looked down at his road-mate, and nodded approvingly.
"That is a welcome shout," he said. "I have not done ill to choose your heathen wolves."
"Otkar would have named them trustworthy in that they are heathen."
"And what would he have said of Kasim, your Saracen kinsman?" rejoined Karl. "Is not he, too, a pagan? Yet how of the arrow you gave me? I have cleared the mystery. It is a Saracen shaft."
"May Hel grip the poisoner!" muttered Olvir, fiercely. But he restrained his anger, and continued in a calm tone, "Let my lord king say what is in his mind."
"You are keen, lad! This, then--you have just cause for anger against your younger kinsman. Yet I have need of him. He is ruler of Pampeluna, which, I am told, is the strongest burg in the land of the Navarrese; and more,--he shares, in a measure, the influence of his wife's father over the Count of Saragossa."
Olvir glanced up at the expectant face of the king.