"Let him stand and enjoy with us the verses of our Albinus," replied Karl, without turning his gaze from Alcuin, at the foot of the royal couch.
Olvir stopped short, and, from the depths of his cowl, swept the room with his glance. Evidently the king had thought the morning's ceremony sufficient work accomplished for the day, even for his all but tireless energy. In place of the usual crowd of counts and court-officials, pressing about the royal couch to report their actions and receive fresh orders from the king, there were present only Alcuin and Fastrada the queen, who was seated beside her lord on the edge of the massive couch.
At a nod from Karl, Alcuin raised his gold-illumined scroll, and recited his Latin rhymes in a voice that went far toward easing the waywardness of the feet. The king was very hearty in his praise of the poet's efforts; but Fastrada murmured an ironical criticism: "A fair song, my lord,--for children and priests. I myself would rather hear the heart-stirring lays of our fathers."
"They are the fierce songs of heathen warriors, my dame, ill fitted for the lips of God's children," protested Alcuin.
Karl nodded to him, smiling. "Ah, my Albinus, you speak true; I, as head of God's church, must agree with you. It is well that our subjects should not sing the heathen lays. Yet they are the songs of our fathers, and I would not have them wholly lost to our children. But I keep waiting the good abbot's messenger. Stand forward, my son, and deliver over the scroll sent by your superior."
"I bear no scroll, Frank king. The message is on the tongue of the wolfshead," answered Olvir, in a clear voice, and he flung aside the priest's robe, to stand before the king in full war-gear.
"How? Olvir! King of Heaven!" cried Karl, and he sprang up to confront the Northman as he had confronted Gerold in the East Tower,--with bared sword. But Olvir gazed fearlessly into his angry eyes.
"Twice before has my father's sword been brandished to strike down his son," he said. "The edge of Ironbiter in a king's hand is fair fate for a warrior."
"Wretched man! why do you force me to anger? I have yielded to mercy,--I gave you full time to quit my realm. Yet now you stand before me, threatening."
"My sword hangs in its sheath. Had I come to avenge myself for the outlaw's doom, I could have leaped upon the son of Pepin while the priest murmured his verses. Is the king answered?"