"All joy to my lord king and his bride!" he cried.
"All joy is ours, Olvir," replied Karl, and he beamed down upon his queen with the fond look of the newly wedded lover. Fastrada sat motionless, her eyes downcast and her face wrapped in an inscrutable calm. As Olvir released her hand and drew aside to where Rothada waited him on their accustomed seat, the queen-bride bent over her opal, and murmured softly: "Tell him of his fortune, dear lord. When one's heart is full of joy or sorrow, it is good to see those around grieve or rejoice with us."
"Such is the nature of man, sweetheart. Listen, Olvir. As part of the morning-gift of my bride, I have granted her kindly wish to do you honor, and so name you Count of the Frisian Mark. Count Teutoric lies wounded at Fitzlar, and Gerold is too young for so grave a charge. But this dear one at my side has called to mind your good service in Vascon Land, and though my selfishness urges the pleasure of your company, I wish to render you the honor which is your due. My ungenerous love would have had me regard my own pleasure before your advancement,--the more so as you should hasten at once to your mark. I will see you again before you sail. Now I go to advise with Alcuin."
"My lord king!" cried Olvir, springing up. But Karl, mistaking his purpose, stepped down from the dais and passed by, with a good-natured shake of the head.
"Render your thanks to your queen, to whom they are due," he called back, as he left the bower.
Olvir took a step or two after the king, only to turn again to Fastrada.
"Dear dame," he said, "I am not one to value lightly the honor put upon me; yet I wish that Gerold or Amalwin had been chosen instead. Let another be given the countship. I am content here beside my betrothed."
"Truly, it is a long way to Frisia," sighed Rothada, and she drew close to the side of her hero.
"A long way!" repeated Olvir, clasping her hand.
For a while Fastrada sat calm and silent as before, fingering the opal on her hand. Then, without raising her eyes or altering her look, she said quietly: "Take the word of a well-wisher, Olvir. It is not pleasing to kings to have their favors cast back upon them. Trust me. My dear lord has chosen you to honor and power above all others of his counts except Barnard, his uncle. Render him the service which lies in you to render, and you may look for more welcome favors to follow."