For the White Christ: A Story of the Days of Charlemagne

by Robert Ames Bennet

"By the Beard!" muttered Olvir, in Arabic; "and these folk call the Saracens pagans!"

The outlying buildings of the monastery, where monks in short-skirted working frocks plied various trades and handicrafts, tended somewhat to lessen the Northman's scorn of the woman-clad priests. But in the morning he gave to the almoner the exact amount which he thought his lodging was worth, and rode on his way, glad to leave behind him the shuffling black figures, the tinkling bells, and the melancholy chants.

Once on the road again, all bitterness soon passed from Olvir's mind. The day was fair, the road smooth, and already Zora's steel limbs had borne him far on his journey. He cried aloud in sheer gladness of heart, and from the pouch which the king's own hand had fastened to his saddle he flung a fistful of pennies to the rabble of pilgrims by the wayside. Then Zora lengthened her stride; and the wind whistled in his ears a song of hope and love.

And so Aquitania was left to the south, and the king's messenger rode up the Loire's right bank into Neustria, where were to be seen more Franks and no Goths, but still a vast body of subject Gallo-Romans. Swiftly as he passed, Olvir saw much of the beautiful land, whose tilled fields were interspersed with woodlands and meadows. Yet pleasant as was the land to the eye, Olvir observed that the few Frankish husbandmen whom he passed differed little in dress and bearing from the dark-haired serfs. What hope for the future could the free Franks hold, when even the iron rule of their mightiest king could not shield them from the greed and rapacity of their lords?

But Olvir had little commiseration to waste on Christian freemen. Why did they not stand to their ancient rights, like the Norse commonfolk, and cut off the heads of all lawbreakers, whether thralls or kings? With a scornful smile he put the weaklings from his thoughts, and sped on across Neustria as he had sped across Aquitania.

As he approached Paris, Olvir began to fear that Zora's hoofs would soon crack from the continual beating on the hard roads. So he sought out the most noted ironsmith in the city, and he and Zora lodged that night in the hovel of the low-born sledge-wielder.

Never had Zora been groomed as she was groomed by the smith that night and in the morning; and when it came to the shoeing, one would have thought the mare a queen, with such care and delicacy did the man fit on the light iron running shoes. While he then spent the forenoon in yet more grooming, Olvir took a stroll into the city. He found gardens and convents, hovels and palaces, spread over all the Island of Notre Dame and along both banks of the Seine opposite. Undeterred by the narrowness and filth of the streets, he crossed the ancient Roman bridge to the island, and visited the palaces of Clovis and Julian the Apostate, and the great domchurches of Saint Genevieve and Saint Merdicus.

Noon, however, saw the king's messenger not only back at the hut, but ready for the road. He had found Zora sleek as silk and bright-eyed, eager to start. When he mounted he said nothing of pay; but the smith bowed and smiled, and wished the princely king's rider a hearty God-speed. Smiling in turn, Olvir put his hand to one of the gold spirals on his left arm; and when the smith, who had not heeded the quick movement, grasped the Northman's hand, he felt an angular piece of heavy metal pressed into his palm. The giver's hand was withdrawn, and the smith stood gaping at the lump of yellow gold that was worth more than his forge and his home and all else he possessed, though he threw in the very shirt upon his back.

Before the man could recover wit enough to cry out his thanks, Olvir was riding away down the crooked street. It was the hour when most of the Franks were seeking the customary noon-rest, and there were few folk abroad to admire and wonder at the king's messenger as he threaded the narrow ways and passed over the Roman bridges to the north bank. Before long Zora bore him through the main gate of the suburban walls, and galloped away on the road to Mayence.

A short ride to the Convent of Chelles on the Marne, where Olvir delivered a message to the abbess for young Gisela, the king's sister; then Zora was given free rein. The Frankish smith had shod the mare so skilfully that she at once fell into her stride, and the race swept on across Neustria, north and east into Austrasia.