"May Hel grip the poisoner!" muttered Olvir, fiercely. But he restrained his anger, and continued in a calm tone, "Let my lord king say what is in his mind."
"You are keen, lad! This, then--you have just cause for anger against your younger kinsman. Yet I have need of him. He is ruler of Pampeluna, which, I am told, is the strongest burg in the land of the Navarrese; and more,--he shares, in a measure, the influence of his wife's father over the Count of Saragossa."
Olvir glanced up at the expectant face of the king.
"Your Majesty would have me forgo my vengeance," he said.
"For a time, at least. Such a man is but a sprung stave to lean upon; but, if it be to his own gain, he may give good service. Until Barnard, my uncle, joins us at Saragossa with the second host, much hangs on the friendliness of this poisoner."
"Let the dog go to Hel, Loki's daughter, his own way; only, give me the forefront of battle!" cried Olvir, his eyes bright and nostrils quivering.
"Saint Michael!" he exclaimed; "I long to see you in sword-play, kin of Otkar! The fosterling lacks nothing of the hero's fire, yet none could differ more in body. You must favor your mother's kin; your hair alone is of the North. _Heu_! I remember your father, as of yesterday,--a grand warrior, leaping upon us through the alders. Though bigger, he was much such a man as Roland."
"Roland!" echoed Olvir; and involuntarily he glanced about.
Karl noticed the movement, and a question sprang to his lips: "You 're at outs with your sword-brother. Why have you wrangled? The quarrel grieves me."
"Not you alone, lord king! Yet am I a hare? He came upon me with bared sword--"
"No. He was raging; but I cast down my sword."
"And he would not strike,--my sister's son! But his anger--?"
"The daughter of Rudulf and I broke troth; why, I will not tell,--let men think what they may. Roland met her. I do not know what she told him; but he came upon me like a berserk."
"No doubt the maiden was angry, and in her anger may have overstepped the truth. A word may set Roland right and heal your quarrel."
"Let him ask, then! He has broken blood-troth. He is the one to salve the hurt."
For some moments Karl regarded the young Northman's haughty face with impassive gravity. When at length he broke the silence, his gaze shifted to the jewelled Al-hatif.