Before the astonished count could answer, the Northman was walking swiftly toward the Saracen camp. Very soon he came to an open-fronted pavilion, in whose recess a venerable figure reclined on a low divan, droning out a passage of the Koran. Olvir halted a moment to stare at the patriarch, then stepped quietly within the entrance.
"Peace be with you, O emir," he said in Arabic.
"And with you peace," answered the Saracen, as he lifted his eyes. Their hawk-like glance rested wonderingly upon the bright figure of the Northman; but then it was drawn by the glow of the great ruby on the pommel of Al-hatif, and in an instant the Arab's wonder had given place to fury.
"Dog of a kaffir!" he cried, and he leaped to his feet. A taboret, set with dishes, stood before him. Spurning it aside, he advanced with a rush, till his claw-like hands threatened the smooth cheek of the Northman.
"Al-hatif! Al-hatif! The sword of the Prophet!" he shrieked. "What kaffir dog bears the khalif's gift? Eblis take the thief! May his arm wither--"
"Stay!" commanded Olvir. "Would you curse your own blood?"
The Arab paused, transfixed, and Olvir gazed unwavering into his glaring eyes. A dozen or more Moslems, weapons in hand, came flocking about the pavilion, drawn by the outcry of their sheik. But Olvir, heedless of their bared scimetars, continued gravely: "Many winters, O sheik, have whitened the mountains of Armenia since my father and Otkar, whom you called El Jinni, gave oath to you and left you lying bound on the river's bank. Both Thorbiorn and his bride, who was my mother, long since passed over the bridge of the dead, and El Jinni has now followed; but the oath has ever been kept. None other than your blood has borne the khalif's gift."
The sheik made no reply. He was gazing searchingly into Olvir's dark face, his own stern features softened by a look of deepest yearning. His doubts were soon ended. With joy as impetuous and unmeasured as had been his anger, he sprang forward and seized the young man in his arms.
"Son of Gulnare! Seed of my House!" he cried. "Allah is good! You come to cheer my age with your youth and beauty."
Olvir reverently returned the embrace of his mother's father, but answered quickly and with decision: "Deny not the justice of Allah, O sheik! Into the North He sent my mother,--and I am a son of the North. While this war lasts we shall together fight the Omyyad beneath your black banners. Afterwards I must return here among the Afranj, if not to my father's people."