"Now, now, Odo, we know no more of Odin."
"Odin knows us no more," retorted the old man, "since we have washed
ourselves in the Name of another than the mighty Thor, and taken up
the weakly worship of the conquered. So my son would have it! He
talked of a new Valhal of the Christian; but let him meet me where
he will, he shall not reproach me that he only of all his brethren
died unavenged. Where is the slayer? Set him before me that I may
strike him dead with one blow!"
Lucius crossed himself, looked upwards, and was stepping forwards,
when Verronax with a shout of 'Hold!' leapt into the midst, full
before the avenger's uplifted weapon, crying--
"Slay me, old man! It was I who killed thy son, I, Fearnagh the
Arvernian!"
"Ho!" said Odo. "Give me thine hand. Let me feel thee. Yea, these
be sinews! It is well. I marvelled how my Odorik should have
fallen by the soft Roman hand of yonder stripling; but thou art a
worthy foe. What made the priestling thrust himself between me and
my prey?"
"His generous love," returned Verronax, as Lucius flung himself on
his neck, crying--
"O my Verronax, why hast thou come? The bitterness of death was
past! The gates were opening."
Meanwhile AEmilius had reached Euric, and had made him understand
the substitution. Old Odo knew no Latin, and it was the King, an
able orator in both tongues, who expounded all in Gothic, showing
how Lucius AEmilius had offered his life in the stead of his friend,
and how Verronax had hurried to prevent the sacrifice, reiterating,
almost in a tone of command, the alternative of the wehrgeld.
The lites all burst into acclamations at the nobility of the two
young men, and some muttered that they had not thought these Romans
had so much spirit.
Euric made no decision. He did full justice to the courage and
friendship of the youths, and likewise to the fact that Odorik had
provoked the quarrel, and had been slain in fair fight; but the
choice lay with the father, and perhaps in his heart the politic
Visigoth could not regret that Arvernia should lose a champion sure
to stand up for Roman or national claims.
Odo listened in silence, leaning on his axe. Then he turned his
face to the bystanders, and demanded of them--
"Which of them is the bolder? Which of them flinched at my axe?"
The spectators were unanimous that neither had blenched. The
slender lad had presented himself as resolutely as the stately
warrior.
"It is well," said Odo. "Either way my son will be worthily
avenged. I leave the choice to you, young men."
A brief debate ended in an appeal to the Senator, who, in spite of
all his fortitude, could not restrain himself from groaning aloud,
hiding his face in his hands, and hoarsely saying, "Draw lots."
"Yes," said Euric; "commit the judgment to Heaven."
It was hailed as a relief; but Lucius stipulated that the lots
should be blessed by a Catholic priest, and Verronax muttered
impatiently--
"What matters it? Let us make an end as quickly as may be!"
He had scarcely spoken when shouts were heard, the throng made way,
the circle of lites opened, as, waving an olive branch, a wearied,
exhausted rider and horse appeared, and staggering to the foot of
the throne, there went down entirely spent, the words being just
audible, "He lives! Odorik lives!"
It was Marcus AEmilius, covered with dust, and at first unable to
utter another word, as he sat on the ground, supported by his
brother, while his father made haste to administer the wine handed
to him by an attendant.
"Am I in time?" he asked.
"In time, my son," replied his father, repeating his announcement in
Gothic. "Odorik lives!"
"He lives, he will live," repeated Marcus, reviving. "I came not
away till his life was secure."
"Is it truth?" demanded the old Goth. "Romans have slippery ways."
Meinhard was quick to bear testimony that no man in Arvernia doubted
the word of an AEmilius; but Marcus, taking a small dagger from his
belt, held it out, saying--
"His son said that he would know this token."
Odo felt it. "It is my son's knife," he said, still cautiously;
"but it cannot speak to say how it was taken from him."
"The old barbarian heathen," quoth Verronax, under his breath; "he
would rather lose his son than his vengeance."
Marcus had gathered breath and memory to add, "Tell him Odorik said
he would know the token of the red-breast that nested in the winged
helm of Helgund."
"I own the token," said Odo. "My son lives. He needs no
vengeance." He turned the handle of his axe downwards, passed it to
his left hand, and stretched the right to Verronax, saying, "Young
man, thou art brave. There is no blood feud between us. Odo, son
of Helgund, would swear friendship with you, though ye be Romans."
"Compensation is still due according to the amount of the injury,"
said the Senator scrupulously. "Is it not so, O King?"