The black warriors who surrounded Riowag were put to their mettle in order to prevent their captain from precipitating himself with drawn sword upon the Terrible Eagle. The latter, thinking only of me, failed to notice the fury of his rival, and addressed me in a voice trembling with rage, while he kicked me with his feet:
"Do you recognize me, dog?"
"I recognize you, rapacious wolf."
"This wound," resumed Neroweg carrying his finger to the deep scar that furrowed his cheek, "do you know who made this wound?"
"Yes, it is my handiwork. I fought you as a soldier."
"You lie! You fought me like a coward! You were two against one!"
"You were making a furious onset on the son of Victoria the Great. He was wounded—his hand could hardly hold his sword—I dashed to his help—and struck in Gallic fashion."
"You marked my face with your Gallic sword—dog!"
Saying this Neroweg struck me repeatedly with the handle of his pike, to the great amusement of the other kings.
I remembered my ancestor Guilhern, chained like a slave and supporting with dignity the cruel treatment of the Romans after the battle of Vannes. I emulated his example. I merely said to Neroweg: