And Morven turned aside, and they saw that he wept bitterly; and he said:
“Ye have asked me, and I have answered: but now scarce will ye believe the foe that I have provoked against me; and by the heavens themselves I swear, that if my death would satisfy their fury, nor bring down upon yourselves, and your children’s children, the anger of the throned stars, gladly would I give my bosom to the knife. Yes,” he cried, lifting up his voice, and pointing his shadowy arm towards the hall where the king sat by the pine-fire—“yes, thou whom by my voice the stars chose above thy brother—yes, Siror, the guilty one! take thy sword, and come hither—strike, if thou hast the heart to strike, the Prophet of the Gods!”
The king started to his feet, and the crowd were hushed in a shuddering silence.
Morven resumed:
“Know then, O men of Oestrich, that Siror and Voltoch, his brother, and Darvan, the elder of the wise men, have purposed to slay your prophet, even at such hour as when alone he seeks the shade of the forest to devise new benefits for you. Let the king deny it, if he can!”
Then Voltoch, of the giant limbs, strode forth from the hall, and his spear quivered in his hand.
“Rightly hast thou spoken, base son of my father’s herdsman! and for thy sins shalt thou surely die; for thou liest when thou speakest of thy power with the stars, and thou laughest at the folly of them who hear thee: wherefore put him to death.”
Then the chiefs in the hall clashed their arms, and rushed forth to slay the son of Osslah.
But he, stretching his unarmed hands on high, exclaimed:
“Hear him, O dread ones of the night—hark how he blasphemeth.”