A frown darkened the Duke's brow. "Now for the last judgment of the assembly! Other gods are drawing near, unlike those which have just viewlessly hovered above the boy's fair locks--terrible gods! Complaint is made against one of the district kings of the Alemanni."

"Ebarbold! Traitor! Rebel! Destroyer of the army! Oath-breaker!" So threatening voices rose from the throng.

"Peace! Silence in the assembly!" the judge commanded. "Where is the accuser?"

The King's weapon-bearer stepped forward, drew his sword, and said:

"I, Ebarvin, son of Erlafrid. For, like all the men of our league of peoples, I have sworn a terrible oath by all the gods and by the terrors of Hel to resist, denounce, and avenge rebellion and treachery against the league and the Duke of the Alemanni, wherever, however, and whenever I can. Well! For twenty winters I bore the shield of King Ebarbold's father, and for as many more the shield of this Ebarbold himself. Every word I utter against him falls heavily upon my heart; but still more heavily weighs the oath I swore to the Duke for the league of the Alemanni. Well then, I accuse King Ebarbold of oath-breaking, rebellion, and treason. Thrice have I warned him, thrice have I openly threatened to reveal his conduct to the Duke and to the whole people. He laughed at the threat; he would not believe it. He said: 'The skin lies nearer to your heart than the cloak; the Ebergau is dearer to you than the nation; your own lord is more to you than the Duke.' He was mistaken. So it was in former days, so it was for a long, long time; but this wrought woe to us all.

"We have learned the lesson at last: the Romans taught us with iron rods. We have learned it in bloody straits: the people, the league of the people, is the highest thing, for it alone protects all: the hand is more precious than the finger. But he wanted to persuade me and all his followers, nay, all the fighting men in our district; and when we refused, he tried to command us by virtue of his authority as King. He said that, if the popular assembly decided to wage war and the Duke set out on the march, we must not obey, but withdraw from the Holy Mountain, force our way if necessary, and induce the Romans to spare our district by giving hostages and submission."

A terrible roar rose from the ranks; weapons clashed; the wrath of the people burst forth furiously; several young men, brandishing their swords threateningly, sprang toward the accused, who stood, silent but defiant, directly before the judge's seat.

"Hold," cried the Duke, "down with your arms! Whoever wields them again in the place of the assembly, the place of the army, shall be punished at once."

He had started up, and now, from the upper step, he held his long dark mantle protectingly over the head of the threatened man. The tumult instantly subsided: the most hot-headed retreated into the circle in confusion.

"I ask you," the judge now began, "King Ebarbold, son--"

"Spare your words. Count of the Linzgau," interrupted the other, with a gloomy, but fearless glance. "It is all true. Kill me: you have the power to do so, therefore you have the right. I do not wish to live! Had that been my desire, believe me, I might have fled into my own district or to the Roman camp long before you deprived me, by your men, of the royal insignia of my race or watched my every step, while you merely disarmed the insignificant fisherman. True, according to the new law of the league, you might have had me bound--me, the son of many kings, the descendant of a god! Since I have learned the disloyalty of my most faithful follower, my own old shield-bearer, I feel a loathing for the times. I no longer wish to live among a people, according to a law, which permits the horrible thing to happen that the native of a district values its King, the follower his lord, less than the empty sound of the word 'league,' the brief authority of a Duke from another district. I am too old and too proud to learn this new law. You, old man, with your greed for power, long ago, in your bloody thoughts, dedicated me to your savage Odin."

"Not I, you yourself, son of Ebor."

"Well then--slay me."

"Not I. You yourself have separated yourself from your people by such doctrines. Yes, it is better for such men as you to die than to live: the district kings, if they offer defiance, must be sacrificed to Odin, who, as King of the people, is above all our gods and all our peoples."

"My family," said the King proudly, "runs back through a hundred ancestors to the gods: not to that crafty one, whose secret wiles you are imitating, who scatters runes of discord among peoples and princes. We descend from the god of peace. Fro, who bestows fertility. He has set his golden-bristled boar for a sign upon the shields and helmets of us, his sons. I have ever honored him and peace above all."

"Aha, the god Fro," replied the old Duke, now incensed, for he could ill brook hearing his Odin upbraided, "the god Fro will have little cause to rejoice, when he looks down on his descendant dangling from the withered yew, like the long-billed snipe that is caught in a snare. For I ask the assembly,--his own words are the most open expression of guilt,--with what does the law threaten him?"

"The rope--the willow rope!" rang from a thousand voices. "The tree of shame! Hang him! Hang him up at once!"

"But between two dogs: wolves are too good for him."

A look of keen anguish flitted over the King's proud, bold face. He did not fear death, but disgrace. He shuddered slightly. The Duke had watched him intently.

"I, the judge," he now began slowly, "ought not to oppose this sentence, and the guilty man cannot. But consider, spearmen! It will bring little renown to our name among the other peoples, when the rumor spreads among them: a King of the Alemanni is swinging between the clouds and water for treason to the army. You have offered the humble fisherman the straw of hope that the Lofty One might save him from the death of shame, bear him to himself in Valhalla, or even--almost against possibility--after the fulfillment of the deed which you have assigned to him, spare his life.

"Well then, this King's guilt, it is true, is far greater than that caused by the father's love for his child; but honor in him the descendant of the god of harvests! Do not rouse Fro to vengeance, lest for many years he should blast our crops. The god of the boar with golden bristles is easily angered! And remember, too, with gratitude this man's father."

"A brave hero!" ran from lip to lip.

"He fell in the bloody battle of Strataburg, at the head of the wedge of his district. Fighting gallantly in the van of his people, he at last sank--fell backward on his shield, with many wounds in his breast; for he, the man who had the wild-boar's courage, would not turn his back to the foe. This hero is now looking down from Valhalla upon us; his heart is throbbing anxiously at this impending sentence of disgrace. Alemanni, do not let him behold his son hanging between dogs. Grant the King, as well as the fisherman, a deed of ransom!"

Ebarbold looked up with a grateful glance to the man whom he had so bitterly hated. The people were still silent: their wrath was fierce.

Then: "Suppose he should run away?"

"Suppose he should desert to the Romans in the midst of the battle?"

Two men uttered the questions at the same moment. A deep groan escaped the lips of the defiant King: "No one feared that from the fisherman! They ought not to deem me so base." He struck his brow with his clenched hand.

Then Ebarvin, his accuser, stepped forward, saying:

"These questions were hard and undeserved. Few among our people will suspect that from the King of the Ebergau. He spoke truly: he might have fled long ago, but he would not escape. I believe him. I have known him ever since he learned to speak: he has never lied. He wants to die, from resentment against the people's league, and perhaps also from remorse and shame."

The King, deeply moved, hastily turned away from the speaker and closed his eyes, but instantly opened them again with a defiant look.

"Well then, I, a free man of unblemished reputation, with broad lands in the Ebergau--I answer for him with life and limb, property and honor. I will swear for him that any deed of arms imposed by the people to ransom him from the rope King Ebarbold will perform, or he will fall upon his shield in doing it."

"I thank you, Ebarvin," said the tortured man, drawing himself up to his full height: this confidence was balm to his inmost soul.

"So be it! So be it!" shouted the multitude before the judge could put the question. "The Duke shall choose the deed!"

"Well then," said the latter without hesitation, "it is chosen! In the Roman camp is a hero who is its head and its whole strength; if he fall, all their military power will be broken. Name the man!"

"Saturninus!" echoed from many voices. For the Tribune had repeatedly commanded the Roman troops in Germany, and many of the men now assembled on the Holy Mountain had formerly served beneath the Roman eagles.

"Ebarbold, bring us from the battle the head of Saturninus--and your guilt is pardoned. Will you do this, hero of the boar?"

"I will," replied the latter, with a deep sigh of relief. "Give me my sword; give me my weapons again." The shield-bearer handed him the sheathed sword. Tearing the blade from the scabbard, he held its point toward the sun, saying: "I swear by this blade, the sacred symbol of the one-armed god of war, that, in the next battle, I will slay the Tribune, or fall by his sword."

Loud shouts of applause now burst forth. All, even those whose resentment at first had been most bitter, were heartily glad that, instead of a disgraceful punishment, an honorable deed of ransom had been found for the proud King.

The Duke gazed down at the surging throng with satisfaction.