"Not the day should be praised, lord king, but this little maiden."
"She's very near my heart, Olvir, and I bear her to one who will greet her with a mother's love. The barge waits, and I am eager to place the child in Hildegarde's arms. Farewell until to-morrow. Eggihard, my steward, has gone to choose your camp. You have only to sail a few bowshots downstream. Eggihard will see to it that you receive food and drink as you may need."
"I give thanks, lord king," answered Olvir, and, stooping, he kissed Rothada on the forehead.
"Farewell, Earl Olvir!" cried the girl, in a merry voice; and, clasping the hand of her father, she turned away down the river-bank. Olvir's face softened as he watched them go,--the mighty King of the Franks and Lombards hand in hand with the little convent maiden. His eyes glistened as he saw how Karl bent to caress the child's tresses. Truly, here was a royal friend,--a hero whom even the Blood of Odin might serve with honor.
Fastrada sat among the war-counts chosen to accompany the king, with Roland between herself and Gerold. As Olvir looked from the king to his wounded foster-brother, his glance chanced to fall upon the queen's maiden. He turned quickly away, then looked again. After all, so long as he did not give way to desire, was there any reason why he should not enjoy the maiden's beauty? For what purpose was sight given but to see?
Silent and motionless as a statue, he stood gazing after the barge, until the bony hand of Floki the Crane fell upon his shoulder.
"You look over-closely at the dark maiden, earl," he said bluntly.
Olvir frowned, but answered coldly, "Be assured. My sword-brother loves the maiden."
"The more cause to heed me. Listen, son of Thorbiorn. The gerfalcon should fly high. Were Otkar here with his grey wit, I know what quarry he would name for your love quest,--no common bride--"
"What! that child? You 're mad--"