the gold-broidered silk robe you wore, cast upon the ground, and your armour gone."
"I know not what was the hour, Martina, and speak no more to me, I pray, of that accursed womanish robe."
"Which you treated but ill, Olaf, for it is spotted as though with blood."
"The Augustus spilt some wine over it."
"Aye, my mistress told me the story. Also that of how you would have eaten the poisoned fig, which you snatched from the lips of Constantine."
"And what else did your mistress tell you, Martina?"
"Not much, Olaf. She was in a very strange mood last night, and while I combed her hair, which, Olaf, was as tangled as though a man had handled it," and she looked at me till I coloured to the eyes, "and undid her diadem, that was set on it all awry, she spoke to me of marriage."
"Of marriage!" I gasped.
"Certainly—did I not speak the word with clearness?—of marriage."
"With whom, Martina?"
"Oh! grow not jealous before there is need, Olaf. She made no mention of the name of our future divine master, for whosoever can rule Irene, if such a one lives, will certainly rule us also. All she said was that she wished she could find some man to guide, guard and comfort her, who grew lonely amidst many troubles, and hoped for more sons than Constantine."
"What sort of a man, Martina? This Emperor Charlemagne, or some other king?"
"No. She vowed that she had seen enough of
