When Zora approached the grove, the king was reading from a long scroll, and his audience had eye and ear only for the royal speaker. Not until Zora thrust her head over Count Amalwin's heavy shoulder, were the new-comers perceived. The Saxon turned with a frown, to start back and stare at the Northman, open-mouthed. Olvir leaned toward him, smiling.
"So, Saxon," he said quietly, "what do you now say of my mare, and what of her master? We crossed Rhine Stream, and more,--I held your Grey Wolf by the throat."
"How--Rudulf!" shouted Amalwin, forgetting all else in his surprise.
The cry rang through the grove like an alarm, and king, counts, and priests alike turned to stare at the intruders. The first look on many faces was one of resentment; but then, just beyond the oaken throne, Roland sprang up and came running with a cry of greeting: "Olvir! Olvir! Welcome back again!"
Close after him ran Liutrad and Gerold, while from all sides the liegemen pressed forward with excited shouts: "The Dane! It is the Dane count! He cannot have gone and come already! Saint Michael, what a mare!"
Then Gerold caught Zora's bridle, while behind him Roland and Liutrad clasped Olvir by the hands. So escorted, with the king's son before him and the king's daughter at his back, the young Northman rode forward to the very edge of the dais. There his friends stepped aside, and Olvir would have dismounted. But Karl stayed him with a gesture, and came forward to lay his great palm on Zora's forehead.
"By the King of Heaven," he muttered, "well did I name you my Dane hawk! Six and twenty days ago you rode northward. Have you, in truth, crossed the Rhine?"
"To Fulda and beyond, lord king," replied Olvir; "to the lair of the Grey Wolf."
"Beyond Fulda! And how did the old count greet you?"
"We played at back-breaking till I throttled him. Then we rode to Fulda, and he made his mark on what I asked him."
"How, Dane," demanded the purple-faced Count Hardrat; "do you claim to have outwrestled Rudulf of the Sorb Mark? I cannot swallow that boast."
Olvir's lip curled, and he bent over toward the speaker.
"Shall I prove the boast--now?" he asked softly.
"Ay; now!" retorted the Thuringian. But then the soft hand of Duke Lupus fell upon his shoulder: "Go easy, friend. Count Olvir has already tossed you over his head; he will toss you again."