"None other to me, sire, but one to a maiden. The daughter of Rudulf wishes to be among the first to look out upon the northern slopes."
"There is nothing to hinder. The maiden shall have her wish."
"I thank your Majesty doubly," said the Thuringian, and he withdrew hastily, as though he feared that the king might recall the lightly spoken favors.
"A gruff man, but trusty," muttered Karl to Anselm, the Count Palatine, who stood by his seat. "For all his drunkenness, there are few bolder than my forest hero."
"That may well be, sire," rejoined Anselm, dryly. He was about to add more, when Roland and Olvir came racing down the valley through the twilight, Olvir mounted on a black Arab courser, the gift of his sword-brother. The hoofs of the horses ploughed up the turf before the king as the riders drew rein. Roland leaped off at once.
"Tidings, sire!" he cried. "I bring tidings, both good and bad. A messenger has come through the pass; he follows with the written word."
"Speak your tidings,--the ill first. The good may sweeten the bitter."
"This, then, sire: The Saxon wolves harry the Rhine bank from Cologne to the Moselle,--Wittikind and his wild followers. No burg or host has checked their advance across the country of the Hessians. It is feared that Fulda may already lie in ashes. The heathen ravage with fire and sword, slaughtering all, even to the women and babes."
Those nearest the king heard the grinding of his teeth, and caught the flash of his eye through the gloom. Yet he spoke in a calm voice: "Truly, you bear bitter tidings! Give us now the sweet."
"In a word, sire, the queen is safe past her time. Two strong-limbed king's sons await your Majesty at Casseneuil."