Uneasy with forebodings of evil, Abbot Fulrad spurred on to the monastery to see the king, and Gerold rode with him. Confident in the speed of Zora to overtake them, Olvir waited to direct the arrangement of the viking camp; but a quarrel between two berserks delayed him longer than he had intended. He had at last pacified the angry men, and was about to spring upon Zora, when Liutrad Erlingson came galloping through the wood, afire with eagerness to greet his beloved earl. Leaping from the saddle, he flung his arms about Olvir and held him fast, too overjoyed to speak.
Olvir met the bear-like hug with a grip that forced the breath from the broad chest of his captor, and then, slipping eel-like from the massive arms, he stepped back to view the young giant.
Like Gerold, Liutrad had not yet lost all his boyishness of look and bearing. His blue eyes lacked none of their old-time frankness, and his ruddy face still showed to the world the kindly spirit which dwelt within. Yet across his forehead was drawn a newly creased line, and there was a look in his eyes which even his joy at the meeting could not altogether hide.
"How now, son of Erling?" demanded Olvir. "Have the Christian priests taken the heart from your breast? You look as do these moody Franks. Has the whole Christian host seen a bloody guardian-sprite?"
"Ah, Christ! do not speak of blood!" cried Liutrad, and he threw up his arm before his eyes.
"Read me the riddle, then," rejoined Olvir. "I wait."
"Would that another might tell that tale, ring-breaker! Holy Mother! I see all again,--the bloody swords, the headless slain splashing into the Aller!"
"Thor!" muttered Olvir. "I had yet to learn that Christians could sicken at thought of sword-play."
"Sword-play! sword-play!" echoed Liutrad. "It was no sword-play, earl; it was slaughter."
"Out with it, lad. You speak in riddles."