Adalo was about to make a vehement reply, but he involuntarily looked at the silent man, and controlled himself.
"We have learned that long enough, I think," Ebarbold continued; "from generation to generation, when each province still fought independently, long before this name and league of the Alemanni were heard and invented!"
"You don't like this league?" the Duke now asked suddenly.
The King started. The voice, hitherto mute, sounded so loud and powerful. Glancing up timidly, he shrugged his shoulders: "Whether I like it or not, I can no longer dissolve it."
"No, you cannot," said Hariowald very calmly, stroking his long beard; but his gray eye darted a glance which boded evil.
"You don't like the name of Alemanni either?" asked Adalo indignantly.
"No, Adeling. 'All men together!' Ha, our forefathers prided themselves on standing alone, province by province; nay, in the old days family by family, not leaning on others, and also not bound by them, not subject to the will of the majority."
"Yes, that's it!" said the old Duke with a fierce smile. "You were in the citadel of Rome--so was I. But I perceived with my one eye what you have not seen. You noticed the glittering lustre of their magnificence; it dazzled you: I saw through the glitter to the decay, the decline beneath. And one thing more," he added mysteriously, lowering his voice--"for several generations they have had no more luck with their own gods--with the new ones, I mean. Ay, the old one whom they formerly had--" he now spoke with a certain timidity, even reverence--"I mean the one with the thunderbolts and the eagle--he was a god of battles, almost like our own. Often his eagle on their shields seemed to me to flap its wings, and the lightning to glow redly. Often and often have I seen them conquer under that handsome bearded god and his sons. Mars and Hercules. But now they have chosen for their god a youth, gentle and nobly wise, but no warrior. His own priests say he never held a sword in his hand. He did not descend from a line of gods; he was the son of a laborer. And this man--a carpenter--belonged to a race long in bondage to Rome, a people many of whom have wandered to us with packs on their bent backs, mere traders in spices. Not many of them are seen in the ranks of the legions. Since the Romans chose for their god that gentle teacher who would not even defend his own life, victory has deserted their standards. But what (besides their Jupiter in the clouds) formerly secured to them for centuries conquest on earth I also learned; the god whom I most honor showed it to me: one will controlled them all. They were already united men--all for one, and one for all, through many hundred winters; while we, according to the wish of your heart, fought province by province, each for himself, and--succumbed. This is your freedom--the freedom of discord and consequent destruction!"
The glowing wrath of enthusiastic conviction transfigured the old Duke's noble face.