"I will listen till all is said," replied Olvir, coldly. "But, instead of the sword, I would have meat upon my trencher."
"Bring mead and the mead-horns for my high guests," called Hardrat.
"I pledge the host in the black mead," said Rudulf, as a Sorb thrall handed him the drink.
"I pledge the Grey Wolf on my sword," answered Hardrat. "No longer does the wassail-bowl touch my lips. I take thought of higher matters."
"Well said, hero!" exclaimed the Wend woman. "And now, men of the forest land, give heed while our host tells what happened on the Moselle, before the passing away of the good Queen Hildegarde."
Hardrat rose heavily, his face flushed and forbidding.
"It is hard for a man to speak of his shame," he began in a harsh voice. "The shame of my drunkenness is the greater because it has blurred that which I would now recall. I owe it to the crafty wit of the alruna that I have at last fished up the memory from the bottom of the wine-jar, where I sought to drown it. Count Olvir will remember the wolf-chase on the frozen Moselle, since it was then he won Karl's pledge for his daughter's hand."
"I remember," replied Olvir; and his eyes glowed as he saw again the burning witch-hut in the midst of the storm-swirl, and his princess, standing with him before the good abbot to plight their troth.
But the harsh voice of Liutrad's red pig broke in on the pleasant musing,--"Give heed, then, Dane hawk, and you, Grey Wolf of the mark. To all that I now say, I take oath on my sword--by the holy cross--by all the fiend-gods of the Saxons and our own heathen fathers! At Thionville, when the Yule games were closing, Fastrada, daughter of Rudulf, lured me to race down the frozen Moselle on the track of certain skaters. Count Olvir will tell Count Rudulf that those skaters were himself, the queen, the king's daughter, and others."
"So far the tale is true," assented Olvir.