A small hatchet was stuck into her girdle. She carried over her shoulder a long sweeping harp, surmounted with a swan's head and neck of silver.
The Roman populace--their eyes opened wide in wonder--pressed after these singular figures, and even the Goths could not but admire the wondrously fair complexion and the singularly light and sparkling eyes of these northerners.
"As the black hero who received me," began the Viking, "assures me that he is not the King, then no other can be he but thou," and he gave his hand to Totila, first pulling off his fighting-glove of shark's skin.
"Welcome to the Tiber, my cousins from Thuleland!" cried Totila, as he raised his cup and pledged his guests.
Seats were quickly prepared, and the royal visitors took their places at the King's table; their followers at the table near them. Adalgoth poured out wine from tall, two-handled jugs.
King Harald drank, and looked wonderingly around.
"By Asathor!" he cried; "but it is beautiful here!"
"Such I imagine Walhalla to be!" said his companion.
The Goths and the northerners could scarcely understand each other.
"If it pleases thee so well, brother," Totila slowly said, "then rest amongst us with thy wife for some time."