For the White Christ: A Story of the Days of Charlemagne

by Robert Ames Bennet

"I do not know, sire."

"He does not know!" hissed Fastrada. "His memory is strangely short. I know the blade."

"You, wife? Name the murderer!"

"Count Olvir, sire."

"Olvir!"

"He, dear lord."

"You know the knife?"

"I could swear to it in a thousand. He once carried it at his belt. Many of the court will remember the blade."

Karl made no answer, but turned and paced slowly to and fro across the room, his gaze fixed on the floor before him. He did not pause until Fastrada looked up with white, drawn face and narrow-lidded eyes, and cried sharply to Gerold: "Hei, king's man! why do you loiter? Go, call warriors, and search out the slayer. It will be no light task to take him, should he have warning. Go!"

"Hold!" commanded Karl. "Am I the king, that a woman speaks for me?"