"This son of Ebur thinks," the Duke continued, "that rather than obey a king of the Alemanni he would serve the Cæsar." Now Adalo sprang from his seat. "And suppose it were so," cried Ebarbold, "would you prevent it? In a few weeks, when the leaves fall, your command of the army will end. But meanwhile--" "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." "We will rebuild them," cried Adalo, laughing, as he hung the horn on the wall. "The forest will not refuse trees to its people. My home below on the hillock beside the lake"--his face now grew grave--"is dear to me; sacred the hearth beside which I sat in my dear mother's lap while my father, skilled in the music of the harp, sung of the gods and the deeds of our own ancestors. The Centurion will probably soon hurl the torch into the ancient dwelling of my family with the rune of the stag's antlers. Never more can I hope to mount the high seat where I was so often allowed to fill my father's drinking horn. But though through all the future years I should have no other shelter for this head than the waving boughs of the woods, never will I yield to the Italians." "Yield? The purpose is only to confirm a treaty such as we have often made." "And the Romans as often broken," said Adalo. "Or we ourselves. What is asked of us? Young men to fight the Cæsar's battles. We have more than we can feed. In return they will give us red gold."