"You, my Dane hawk? I counted on you to lead the host into Spain."
"My kinsman Al Arabi gave me an Arab mare. I will go and come before the ending of the Mayfields."
"Then your mare must be winged! Why should you go?"
Olvir glanced at Roland, flushing darkly.
The Frank met the look with a grave smile, and answered for his sword-brother: "It is a simple matter, sire. Olvir would ask Count Rudulf for the hand of his daughter. The Thuringian will not come south; so the suitor must go north."
"Still, is a long journey."
"I will return before you march, lord king," repeated Olvir.
Karl gazed steadily into the haughty face of the Northman. What he saw there soon satisfied his doubts. He nodded, and said briefly: "Fulrad will have the writings drawn up within an hour. Make ready--Stay! here is my ring. It may speed your faring."
Olvir's eyes glistened as he took the royal signet.
"Thor!" he cried. "Here is a king whom a king's son may serve without shame!"