Without a word, Floki laid his earl upon the ground and ran to turn back the wild rush of vikings who came seething around the pavilion. Liutrad paused to lay his hand on Olvir's bloody breast and mutter a vow. Then, leading Zora by the bridle, he ran after Floki.
As the crowd parted before the Norse leaders, Karl knelt down beside their stricken earl.
"The leech,--where's the outland leech?" he demanded.
Back in the pavilion the plotters dragged Kosru to his feet.
"Hist, Magian!" cried Hardrat. "The king calls; I know that tone. Woe to you if you fail to heed!"
"_Ai_, God of Light! I cannot, noble lords. My limbs fail--"
"Here's the spur, dotard," said Hardrat, brutally, and he shook his dagger in the leech's face.
Reassured by her look, Kosru threw his cloak about his head, and ran, tottering, out beside the king.
But the fear-stricken Magian left behind him others little less overcome. As he passed through the entrance, Fastrada turned upon Hardrat.
"Oaf! sluggard!" she hissed. "You loiter here, and the chance is gone. Others ride first to Bordeaux. Lupus will be taken."
The Thuringian turned, snarling; but Fastrada was already calm again.
"Why wrangle, count?" she said. "What is done is done. Lupus is lost."
"And we with him! He will tell all to save his own skin. Who trusts a Merwing?"
"No, no," insisted Fastrada. "His is too crafty a nature. He could not speak straightforward if he wished. There may be danger if his trial is kept waiting; but if that happens my knowledge of the king is at fault."
"You are right, maiden," muttered Hardrat, and he drew a deep breath.
Fastrada laughed low and softly,--a laugh at sound of which her fellow-plotter drew away from her, shuddering.
"What do we care for Lupus?" she said. "We shall yet win success; and--and him whom I hated I have slain!"
"Saints shield us from werwolves!" he mumbled.
But Fastrada flung herself face down upon the earth.
Of fourteen winters was I, If thou listeth to wot, When I swore to the young lord Oaths of love. HEL-RIDE OF BRYNHILD.
"Ho, there! Can this be Niflheim? Why is my voice so weak? I cannot lift my arm. If this is the under-world, I would look upon the blue and white face of Hel. Ho, there! Who hearkens to Olvir, son of Thorbiorn?"