As he listened, Liutrad's face cleared somewhat.
"By Thor, earl," he exclaimed, "that was sword-play! But the best is that you bring tidings of the plot. It may stand you in good stead." His face darkened again. "God knows you need every vantage. I could swear by the rood the werwolf has never forgotten how you scorned her, there on the Garonne bank. Not for your good did she cause the king to send Worad into Thuringia, when she met them at the Eresburg. It is common talk in the palace that she is putting out her utmost craft to sever your betrothal bond and wed Rothada to the Count of Metz."
"Loki!" gasped Olvir, white with anger. Years had passed since he had last given way to such passion; but now the cold fury came upon him with all its old-time force. Liutrad shrank back before the look in his earl's face.
"Calm yourself, ring-breaker," he muttered. "All may yet go well. In the morning I will bring you to the king."
"The king," repeated Olvir, and then his face flushed with a sudden resolve, and his eyes lost their deadly menace. "Who asks for the king? I would speak with my betrothed."
"But our lord king,--would he not be angered?"
"I would speak to my betrothed, alone."
"Holy Mother! Do not be rash, earl; you 'll ruin all!"
"There is nothing to lose; something may be gained. I 've had enough of waiting. The king himself shall no longer bar my way. Now I would speak with my betrothed. She will know best where we may meet."
"You 're mad, Olvir! What would you do?"