Olvir and Liutrad, staring wonderingly about them at the Roman architecture and Gallo-Roman decorations of the villa, followed Gerold in half-awed silence through the flower-perfumed courts and the marble-tessellated passages. At each turn they looked to find themselves on the threshold of some grand rush-strewn hall, crowded with war-counts and the Frank king's councillors. When, however, Gerold at last led them through a curtained archway, a glance at the tapestried chamber within showed them their mistake.
"The queen's bower!" muttered Olvir, and his black eyes flashed their glance along the line of busily sewing maidens on the right to Rothada, playing with her sister and brothers at the edge of the dais that extended across the farther end of the chamber. Upon the dais sat Hildegarde herself, side by side with her royal spouse.
With all his haughty pride, Olvir was quick to realize the honor paid him, stranger and outlander as he was, by such an introduction into the bosom of the Frank king's family. When he perceived the queen's extended hand beckoning him to approach, he advanced at once down the chamber, without pausing to look about. In his eagerness he failed to see Count Roland and Fastrada, who had drawn apart into one of the recessed windows of the bower. Liutrad, however, chancing to glance that way, turned aside to inquire the health of the wounded count; and Fastrada took instant advantage of the interruption to glide out beside Gerold. If her intention was to overtake Olvir, she was too late. He was already kneeling at the edge of the dais, to kiss the queen's hand.
As the Northman's knee touched the dais step, the great Frank in the oaken seat struck his thigh, and cried loudly: "By my sweet dame's spindle! hereafter I swear by that token! The Dane bows neither to sword nor crown, yet stoops low to a woman's hand."
Olvir stood erect and looked straight into the gracious face of the queen. Hair of golden floss, a skin of dazzling fairness,--neither was new to him; but the mild blue eyes beamed with spiritual light such as was seldom seen even in the lands of Christendom. The daughter of Childebrand, despite her seven years of wedlock, was a dame very lovely to the eye, no less in expression than in feature.