"Meanwhile I counsel you to obey."
"You?"
"Not me," the old man answered, with immovable composure, "but the Council which rules all the provinces--even yours, the Ebergau and its King. But sit down again, hot-tempered hero! And Adalo, hand him from the wall of the tent where it hangs, the mead horn. The heron of forgetfulness will rustle over our heads, bearing away on its wings the words of wrath and discord."
The two young men took their seats again. While the wild bull's horn, tipped at both ends with bronze, was passing around the circle, Ebarbold said: "Even if we should conquer this time and drive this band of Romans from the country--we have learned the lesson often enough--others will come to avenge those who are defeated. So it has been for many generations."
"But so it will be no longer," the Duke answered slowly. "That is provided for. The evil she-wolf is surrounded by too many dogs at once. She can no longer raise her left paw to aid her right: the Goth is holding it firmly on the Danube, and she is still scarcely able to escape the bite of the Franconians on the Rhine."
"The Goths?" said Ebarbold. "Who knows whether they will be in the field this year?"
"I do," replied the Duke quietly.
"Can you see from here to Thrace?" sneered Ebarbold: "I cannot."
"But there is One who, from his throne in the clouds, overlooks all countries: and he revealed it to me."
"But I see the misery the Romans have wrought around us in our own land," the King continued. "My people have suffered heavily. The cohorts in passing through burned all the dwellings. My own hall too."