Besides the charred bones of man and horse and dog, there were many objects for ornament or use, made of iron and bronze and glass and gold.[98] There was a small cameo of Roman work, carried to these northern wilds, far beyond the widest limit of imperial power, not in the wake of all-conquering troops, but by gainful commerce with barbarian hordes. Or possibly it was a part of the shameful tribute that the tottering masters of the world had to offer to triumphant Goths. As to the point of burying so much treasure with the dead we get a useful hint in the _Vatzdaela Saga_; a father is expostulating with his son about his lack of taste for war. "It was the way of mighty kings or jarls, our peers, that they used to lie out a-warring, winning themselves riches and glory, and the riches they won thus were not reckoned in the inheritance they left, nor could son take it after father, but it was laid in howe with themselves. So though their sons got their lands they could not keep up their estate, though they inherited the honour, unless they threw themselves and their men into jeopardy and warfare; and by this means it was they won riches and renown one after another, each stepping in the footprints of his forefathers."[99] No spot of earth _seems_ to carry one's mind back so far into the immemorial past as this. From the top of one of the great howes we may peer beyond the history of unnumbered years to the days when history was not. About the early dawn of man's activity on earth we may read in any part of the world, but not in many places may we feel its spell as here. Close by was the most famous temple in all the North; and not far off was Odin's grove, whose trees were the sacredest on earth. And near the temple grew one tree whose sort might no man know whose branches were for ever green. The roadway from the south still approaches the ancient village through an avenue of rowan or mountain ash. These were planted recently indeed, but there is the right atmosphere about the mystic tree whence pagan priests cut sacred wands; whose wood is still a potent charm and a powerful protection against witchcraft. Just east of the three great howes we may stand on the flat-topped Tings-hög, where the ancient assemblies of Sweden were held and picture the weaponed warriors not always saying yea to their king. On this spot, too, we may well wonder why _we_ have abandoned our excellent northern words, Scandinavian Thing and Saxon Moot, in favour of a French expression that only means place where men talk, or a Latin one that refers to no more than their coming together. Honey-tasting sparkling mead has here been brewed through the unnumbered centuries, and we may still drink from ancient horns what our fathers enjoyed when the North was first peopled by Aryan man.