When they came sailing back down the Garonne from Toulouse, the missi found the five longships of the Norse fleet lying moored at Bordeaux, all newly refitted and scraped and painted, in readiness for the voyage north. So it chanced that the two Franks had clear proof of the nature of Olvir's rule; for the quays of the city swarmed with townfolk who had come to bewail the departure of their just count.
"Ah, Olvir," cried Abbot Fulrad, as they boarded the Raven, "our lord king did well to keep you here in the South all these years. I doubt if the missi will bring such satisfying reports of William's rule."
"There will be some who will not grieve at my going," answered Olvir, meaningly. But the smile left his firm lips as he turned to gaze at the sorrowful crowds on the quays. Gerold, who came and stood beside the Northman, had lost little of his old-time boyishness; but Olvir's dark face was marked by the lines of rulership and shadowed by habitual thought. Floki could have told the curious guests that during the past two years his earl had spent no small part of his time in poring over the runes of the White Christ and the strange book of the Asiamen which Count Roland had brought to his foster-brother with the gem-pouch, out of Saragossa.
As the Raven at last cast off from the moorings and glided away down the Gironde in stately lead of the fleet, Olvir waved his hand to the weeping townfolk, and turned quietly to Abbot Fulrad.
"Liutrad has written fully of your bitter Saxon war," he said. "The heroes have met on the stricken field. Again you have beaten Wittikind back into the North, and men say that the war has been fought to a glorious end. Yet I have lain here in the South with sheathed sword, and--do not grieve."
"You may well say that, my son!" exclaimed Fulrad. "Far nobler are the victories of peace than war-won fame. If you have lost the wild joy of battle, you have gained the love of the folk you ruled, and a happiness--"
"Love and happiness? Ay; but not the love and happiness for which I long," sighed Olvir, and his hand went to the double strand of chestnut hair clasped around his throat. "Listen, Father Fulrad. Liutrad once wrote that he had told you of my betrothal. It was a secret which promised me joy; but it has brought me sorrow instead. Through all these years I have sent message after message to my little may, ever faithful to my pledge, ever longing for a word of love in answer. But she is silent,--she has forgotten me in your cold cloisters."
"Forgotten!" cried Gerold, in protest. But Fulrad made a hasty sign to him to be silent, and answered Olvir gravely: "Be patient, my son. Much may chance in so long a time. The maiden was yet a child. None can say whether or not she has forgotten you. However that may be, bear in mind that you have won high favor in the king's eye. That alone should give you joy."
"Nor have you altogether lacked the joy of battle, Olvir," added Gerold. "Liutrad has told me how, at the very first, you searched out the mountain Vascons in their fastnesses, and avenged the death of Roland."
"Vengeance? I found little joy in that. There was more in the finding of Ironbiter, my brother's sword, which he flung among the swart Saracens, and which Floki took from a dying Vascon. I 'd had enough of blood."