cause is,
without doubt, a just one, there must be hidden guilt in me, your King.
Repeatedly, so say our heathen songs, has a King sacrificed himself for
his people when defeat, pestilence, or scarcity had persecuted the
nation for years. Then the King took upon himself the hidden sin which
seemed to weigh upon his people, and atoned by his death, or by going
sceptreless into exile, an outlawed fugitive. Let me put off the crown
from my unfortunate head. Choose another King, with whom God is not
angry; choose Totila, or----"

"Thou ravest still in the fever of thy wounds," interrupted the old
master-at-arms. "_Thou_ weighed down with guilt--thou, the most
faithful of all? No! I tell you, you children of too young days, who
have lost the old strength of your fathers with your fathers' old
belief, and now know of no comfort for your hearts--I tell you, your
distrustful speeches grieve me!" and his eyes flashed with a strange
radiance as he continued, "All that rejoices or pains us here upon
earth is scarcely worth our notice. Here below there is but one thing
necessary, and that is, to have been a true man, and no perjurer, and
to die on the battle-field, and not upon a straw bed. Then the Walkyri
bear the faithful hero from the bloody field, and carry him on rosy
clouds to Odin's halls, where the Einheriar greet him with full cups.
There he daily rides forth at dawn to the hunting-field or the
fencing-court, and at eve he returns to the banquet and the song in the
golden halls. And lovely virgins caress the youths, and the elders chat
about wise primeval times with the old primeval heroes. And there I
shall meet again all the valiant companions of my youth; bold Winithar
and Waltharis of Aquitania, and Guntharis of Burgundy. There I shall
again behold him for whom I have so longed. Sir Beowulf; and I shall
see the Cheruskians of ancient days, the first who ever beat the
Romans, and of whom the singer of the Saxons still sings. And again I
shall carry the shield and spear of my master, the King with the eagle
eyes. And thus we shall live for all eternity in light and joy, the
earth below and all its woes forgotten."

"A fine poem, old heathen!" said Totila, with a smile. "But if all this
can no longer console us for actual and heart-rending suffering? Speak
thou also, Teja, thou gloomy guest. What is thy opinion of our sorrows?
Thy sword never fails us; why dost thou withhold thy words? What makes
thy comforting harp du