"Your Majesty would have me forgo my vengeance," he said.
"For a time, at least. Such a man is but a sprung stave to lean upon; but, if it be to his own gain, he may give good service. Until Barnard, my uncle, joins us at Saragossa with the second host, much hangs on the friendliness of this poisoner."
"Let the dog go to Hel, Loki's daughter, his own way; only, give me the forefront of battle!" cried Olvir, his eyes bright and nostrils quivering.
The king smiled in approval.
"Saint Michael!" he exclaimed; "I long to see you in sword-play, kin of Otkar! The fosterling lacks nothing of the hero's fire, yet none could differ more in body. You must favor your mother's kin; your hair alone is of the North. Heu! I remember your father, as of yesterday,--a grand warrior, leaping upon us through the alders. Though bigger, he was much such a man as Roland."
"Roland!" echoed Olvir; and involuntarily he glanced about.
Karl noticed the movement, and a question sprang to his lips: "You 're at outs with your sword-brother. Why have you wrangled? The quarrel grieves me."
"Not you alone, lord king! Yet am I a hare? He came upon me with bared sword--"
"You fought?"
"No. He was raging; but I cast down my sword."