Olvir's face clouded.
"You do not understand," he replied. "Christ grant that wisdom may come to you! Now go. Your wound bleeds. Yet one more word. Bear in mind, should you ever wish to treat with Karl, I stand pledged as hostage for your safety."
Without a word, the Saxon turned away across the islet. But at the water's edge he wheeled and came striding back.
"Listen, viking," he said. "I have misjudged you. Though you fight for the bloody Frank, I must own that at heart you are a true man. May the Allfather soon lead you back to your own!"
"Rather, may the White Christ, to whom I bend knee,--I, who despise the Christian priests,--may He bring you to the joy and freedom of His love!"
"His priests have brought us nothing but a clamoring for tithes and the sword of their king. I am content with the gods of my fathers. Again I say, may you soon return to your own folk and the old gods of the North. I could wish you no better fortune."
"I pray that wisdom come to you, hero, before more blood is spilt," replied Olvir, earnestly. For a moment after the Saxon turned away, he stood gazing at him; then he also turned and plunged into the stream.
Midway across the narrow channel Gerold came riding to meet him, amazed and angry.
"Ho, Olvir!" he cried; "you 're mad, stark mad, to set the Saxon free! A stroke would have put an end to him and his evil plots. At the least, he should be brought thrall to the king. Turn back! There's yet time to take him--"
"No, lad. Draw rein. My word is pledged--Wittikind is free."