"Thor!" he muttered. "This--after what has happened!"
"Are you not my brother?" demanded Roland. "Heu! I know now she did not love me. If she had, I should hate you. But you have robbed me of nothing. How, then, can I grudge you your good fortune?"
"Brother!" cried Olvir.
CHAPTER XII
Look on thy loved one,
Lay lips to his lips.
LAY OF GUDRUN.
On the morning after the feast, the first to greet Roland as he stepped from Olvir's tent was a stocky, bow-legged warrior, whose unkempt red beard and travel-stained dress of coarse wool and leather spoke far more strongly of the camp than of kings' halls. But Roland answered the new-comer's hearty shout with a greeting no less cordial.
"Ho, Amalwin!" he cried; "I did not look to see your Saxon face this far south. What of your fellows in the Sorb Mark,--Count Rudulf?"
"Worad and I came with our levies, the few that Rudulf would spare us. The little birds twitter on the green boughs; but the crafty Grey Wolf scents war in the spring breezes. He will not venture Rhineward from his mark a step beyond Fulda."