"Farewell to our vala!" called out an old berserk, as he took the leader's post at the point of the wedge.
"Farewell! Come again to us soon, little maid!" shouted the vikings.
The girl waved her hand to the grim heathen, who in all things had honored her as they would have honored a daughter of their own kings. She could almost have wished to stay with them. But it was not to be. Even now the king, her father, awaited her,--that grand crowned warrior. Would he be kind to her, the daughter of the wife whom he had thrust aside so causelessly to wed the Lombard princess? Half hoping, half dismayed, the girl clasped her hands and gazed at her father with startled eyes.
Karl stared in wonder at the two viking leaders and the maiden they bore between them. Could this be Himiltrude's daughter,--a child of the cloisters,--this little heathen princess, clad in rarest furs and loaded down with glittering ornaments?
But the moment of doubt was brief. As the saluting vikings placed the girl before her father and drew back, she raised her head, which fear had caused her to droop, and looked up at him again with wide-open, appealing eyes.
"Himiltrude!" he cried, and he drew the trembling girl into his arms.
"All's well with the maiden," muttered Floki.
"All is well," repeated Olvir, and he waved the steersmen back to the wedge.
CHAPTER VI
He who alone there was deemed best of all,