"I could not give less to the maiden whom my brother loves," answered Olvir, and he drew Roland to his side.
"Satan seize the pagan!" muttered Duke Lupus. "He woos the girl openly for his friend."
"More harm should he speak for himself," replied Count Hardrat. "The girl's eye is caught by his glitter. We must break in on the talk. Bid him and the counts to your feast. I have a plot in mind."
"I trust to your counsel," replied Lupus, and he thrust himself half between Fastrada and Olvir.
"Greeting, lord count," he said. "I am Lupus, Duke of Vasconia, a child of kings."
"Greeting, lord duke," replied Olvir, coldly. "I am Olvir Thorbiornson, heir to the King of Lade."
"I gladly welcome a king's son to my south country. In two days I give a feast to our Lord Karl. I trust that you will be present with your companions."
"I give thanks. I will come, and so, doubtless, will my friends."
"Farewell, then, for a time," said Lupus. Unable to witness any longer Fastrada's preference for the new-comers, he bowed to the party and turned away, dragging with him the unwilling Hardrat.
As Fastrada sought to catch again the eye of the perverse stranger, a barge came sweeping downstream and headed in for a small wharf, just above the viking ships. As the craft made fast to the landing, the high-pitched imperious voice of Karl rang out above the loud talk of his retainers: "Lord Olvir! Where is Lord Olvir?"