Meanwhile Witichis had ridden up.
Guntharis and Arahad looked at him inquiringly.
Unusual solemnity was added to the customary simple dignity of his manner; the majesty of deep grief.
"I come to speak with you of the welfare of the Goths. Brother shall slay brother no more. Let us enter Ravenna together, and together conquer Belisarius. I shall wed Mataswintha, and you two shall stand nearest to my throne."
"Never!" cried Arahad passionately.
"Thou forgettest," said Duke Guntharis proudly, "that thy bride is in our tents."
"Duke Guntharis of Tuscany, I might answer that shortly we shall be in your tents. We are more numerous and not less brave than you, and, Duke, we have right on our side. I will not speak of that, but only warn you of the fate of the Goths. Should you conquer us, you are too weak to conquer Belisarius. Even united, we are scarcely strong enough for that. Give way!"
"It is for thee to give way," said the Wölfung. "If thou lovest the Goths, lay down thy crown. Canst thou make no sacrifice for thy people?"
"I can. I have done so. Hast thou a wife, O Guntharis?"
"I have a dear wife."