When the queen spoke in such a tone, even Gerold could not venture a remonstrance. He lashed the skate-thongs over his sister's slender buskins, and sprang up, boar-spear in hand, to join the king's sons. The boys were circling about, wild with delight at the thought that some stray wolf or bear might give them opportunity to prove their prowess to their beloved mother. As they darted off before Gerold, Hildegarde rested her gloved hand lightly on Liutrad's massive forearm and glided out beside him with the graceful stroke of a practised skater.
Olvir slung his war-bow with its full quiver upon his back, and caught up Rothada's hand, to follow the queen.
"All's well with our gracious dame, dearest," he said. "She skims over the ice-street with the ease of a swallow's flight. I wager she can cover many long miles without wearying."
"True, dear hero; and already I see the bloom creeping back into her cheeks."
"As it has crept into yours, little nun, day by day, since the first of Yule. The cloister pallor is all but gone. Once more you are the vala of my sea-wolves."
"Their morning greeting still roars in my ears. Yet they are heathen,--only heathen! How beautiful the world is, Olvir!"
"To those whose hearts are filled with beauty and love, dearest."
Rothada's fingers tightened in the firm palm of her hero, and for a long time the lovers skimmed over the ice in happy silence.
CHAPTER VIII
Troll's lore and witchcraft.