But now it was Cethegus's turn to get angry.
He felt abashed. The chivalry of Witichis was strange to him, and it vexed him that he could not mock at it. It vexed him to be compelled; that his free choice had been mistrusted. A furious hatred in return for Teja's contempt, and anger at the King's brutal frankness, flamed up in his soul. He would gladly have thrust his dagger into the Goth's broad breast.
He had been almost on the point of giving his word in good earnest from a soldierly feeling of honour.
But now a very different, hateful feeling of malignant joy flashed across his mind. The barbarians had mistrusted him, they had despised him; now they should certainly be deceived!
Coming forward with a keen look, he grasped the King's hand.
"Be it so!" he said.
"Be it so!" repeated Witichis, giving his hand a strong pressure. "I am glad that I was right and not Teja. Farewell! Guard our Rome! From you I will demand her again in honourable combat."
And he left the house.
"Well!" said Teja, who waited outside with the other Goths. "Shall I storm the house?"
"No," said Witichis; "he has given his word."