"I cannot, sir. The string broke yesterday as I shot my last shot; and I and my three comrades have not strength enough to bend another."
Hildebad gave him a drink from his gourd-bottle.
"Didst thou shoot at a Roman?"
"Oh no, sir!" said the man. "A rat was gnawing at that corpse down there. I happily hit it, and we divided it between us."
"Iffaswinth, where is thine uncle Iffamer?" asked the King.
"Dead, sire. He fell behind you, as he was carrying you away from that cursed marble tomb."
"And thy father Iffamuth?"
"Dead too. He could no longer bear the poisonous water from the ditches. Thirst, King! burns more fiercely than hunger; and it will never, never rain from these leaden skies."
"Are you all from the Athesis valley?"
"Yes, sire; from the Iffinger mountains. Oh! what delicious spring water there is at home!"