Bishop. I will speak to thee, because bitterness devoureth thy soul. Teja. Verily? Thou thinkest it? Then I give ear. Bishop. Behold, like the spirit of divine wrath, so hast thou risen up among us, young man.... Not thy years did the nation count, only thy deeds.... Old men bowed willingly to thy youth, and since thou hadst yet a long time to serve, as one of the humblest, wert thou already our ruler. From the golden throne of Theoderic, where mercy had sat in judgment, where Totilas bestowed pardon with a smile, rang out sternly thy bloody word ... And woe clave to us as a poisoned wound.... Pursued hither and thither beneath the hot outpourings of Vesuvius, we are now encamped with women and children; while Byzantium, with its hireling soldiers, holdeth us surrounded. Teja. That it surely doth, ha, ha! Not a mouse can come through. Bishop. Our gaze wandereth wistfully seaward: for thence hath God promised us bread. Teja. No tidings of the ships? Ildibad (softly). Nothing. Bishop. Before we armed ourselves for a new war with misery, as free men, true to the ancient law, we determined to choose thee a wife, for in his own body should the King taste why the Goth loveth death. Teja. Found ye that your King loved life overmuch? Bishop. My King! Teja. Nay, that dared ye not, for every hour of this life would hold ye up to mockery.... And even if the ancient law required it, why must ye weld me with this young thing which, trembling for fear before me and ye, hideth in her mother's skirts? And especially on so fitting a day, when hunger doth furnish the marriage music.... Look upon me, Queen--I must call thee by thy title of a half-hour, for, by God! I hardly yet know thy name. I pray thee, look upon me! Dost thou know me? Balthilda. Thou art the King, Sire. Teja.