"The hour has come--the sun is setting--night approaches--death, death to the Gaul! He struck the Terrible Eagle--death, death to the Gaul! Bind him fast. We shall consult the subterranean gods in the magic water in which he is to boil!" "Yes--death!" cried the Franks rushing upon me and binding me fast again. "He shall die under a prolonged agony! Death to the dog of a Gaul!" "We are the priestesses of the sacrifice!" Elwig and the two hags protested in chorus, while they redoubled their bizarre contortions that by degrees imposed the Frankish warriors with terror. "Oh! you who struck my brother, the blood of my blood," Elwig screamed, writhing her arms, and howling furiously she threw herself upon me in a real or feigned transport of rage; "the gods of the nether world have delivered you into my hands! Come--come--let us drag him into the cavern," she added addressing the old hags, "we must season him for his death with the proper tortures. Vengeance! Let our vengeance be merciless!" The confusion into which the Franks were thrown by the blow that I dealt Neroweg kept them from interfering with Elwig and her two female assistants. Several of the kings even joined her in dragging me into the cavern, while the others were hurrying hither and thither or gathered anxiously around the Terrible Eagle who lay prone upon the ground, pale, motionless and his head bleeding. "Our grand chief is not dead," said some; "his hands are warm and his heart beats." "Let us transport him to his hut." "If he die we shall draw lots for his five black horses, his fine Gallic sword with the gold handle, and also for his necklace and silver bracelets." "The horses and arms of Neroweg belong to the oldest chief!" cried one of those who were holding up the head of the Terrible Eagle. "I am the oldest. To me belong both horses and arms! To me also his tent and chariots! To me his gold necklaces and silver bracelets!" "You lie!" came from one of the chiefs at the feet of Neroweg. "His horses, his tent and his arms belong to me as his war companion." "No!" cried the others. "No! Everything that belongs to Neroweg must be drawn lots for." From the threshold of the cavern where I then was, I could see and hear the dispute wax hot and the swords glisten, while Neroweg, who still remained unconscious, was almost trampled under the feet of the enraged disputants, as they leaped over his body to get at closer quarters with one another. The conflict threatened to take a bloody turn when, leaving me where I was, Elwig threw herself between the combatants, whom she sought to separate, and shouted aloud: "Shame and ill luck to those who contend over the spoils of a king who is neither dead nor revenged! Shame and ill luck to those who contend over the spoils of a brother before the very eyes of his sister! Shame and ill luck to the impious men who disturb the quiet of a place that is consecrated to the gods of the nether world!"