Fastrada hung her head, visibly disconcerted by the answer. Her reply came haltingly, and in a tone almost too low to be heard: "Your Majesty, should I bear--should I suffer for her deeds? It is too much! Even my horror-- Ah, let her witchcraft meet with the just dooming of the king's law! She is no mother to me!"
"Ay, girl, no longer am I mother to you!" hissed out the Wend woman, and she glided around to the open door. At the threshold she turned, and, flinging back her hood, faced all openly. The twitching muscles of her sallow cheek gave to the crimson adder-head a fearful semblance of life, and the horror lost nothing by the malignant fury of her look and the sibilance in her low-pitched voice.
"So," she hissed; "the sly trull is bent upon saving herself. Having been caught in company with the Wend witch, she seeks to cast off the mother who bore her! Let her be content; she has proved herself a changeling. The daughter of the Snake could not be mother to a child so base and cowardly as to deny the bond of kinship. No longer is she blood of my blood or bone of my bone. I go; but, as parting gift, I leave her my curse,--the curse of one who was a mother. She shall taste of power, and it shall be as ashes in her mouth; she shall hunger for love, and hate shall wither her heart. Woe to her!"
Pausing, with upraised hand, the witch shifted her hateful gaze from her cowering daughter to the startled group about the fire.
"As for you, storm-guests," she went on, "learn that the witch-wife has gifts for all. To Pepin's son I give toil and sweat and bloody victory. Joy to the crusher of free folk! None may withstand the world-hero. Hoary-headed, he dies in the straw; for no longer are there foes to withstand him in battle. And then I see the storm gather in the frozen North. The dragons swim the salt waves; they fall upon Frank Land, ravening with fangs of steel and with flaming breath. The kin of Pepin's son flee as hares. Thor smites the White Christ! The Frank realm shatters in fragments!"
"Hold, fiend-wife!" roared Karl; and he turned threateningly upon the woman, all dread of her witchcraft forgotten in his deep anger. But she met him with a look which even his imperious will could not withstand. He stood spellbound, transfixed by the cold glitter of her sunken eyes. For a little she held him powerless,--him, the world-hero, king of half Europe. Then her thin white lips curled scornfully, and she turned from him to the others.
"Enough of Pepin's son," she scoffed. "As to these Norse curs, false alike to their folk and their gods, my curse is needless. The gods whom they have betrayed will exact full vengeance. But I put my curse on the brood of the bloody Frank,--maiden, bairns, and bed-mate,--all who stand before me. May the king's sons never wear crown; may the nun-maid lose her bright hero; may the fair queen know beforetime--"
The woman paused, and looked darkly from Hildegarde to her daughter. She was yet gloating upon the two when Rothada rose and came to her with outstretched arms.
"Ah, dame, good dame, be still!" she cried. "Christ forgive you the evil words! Turn to Him; cast out the hatred from your heart before your own curses creep in to wither it!"
"Hei! what is this?" muttered the woman; and she drew back in bewilderment. Her eyes glared into the pleading eyes of the king's daughter with a look almost of terror. Suddenly, without a word, she turned and rushed out into the storm.