nued the venerable warrior, "you shall protect
your people from the blows of the enemy. Bring hither the sword!"

The young men brought down the sword, drawing it forth from the stiff
fingers of Endovellicus.

"Bind it upon you, Alorcus," continued the wizard. "With this you shall
defend us, and may it fall like a thunderbolt wherever the destiny of
your people points! Advance, youthful king!"

Guided by the elder, Alorcus stepped forward to the pyre upon which his
father lay. He turned away his face that he might not behold the body,
fearing an outburst of grief which would force him to shed tears before
his tribe.

"Swear by Neton, by Autubel, by Nabi, by Caulece, by all the gods of our
tribe, and of all the tribes that people this earth and hate the
foreigners who one day came from across the sea to rob us of our riches.
Swear to be faithful to your people and ever to obey the counsels of the
warriors of your tribe! Swear it by the body of your father, which soon
will be only ashes!"

Alorcus took the oath, and the warriors pounded upon their shields
again, uttering acclamations of joy.

The old warrior, with extraordinary vigor, climbed upon the logs and
searched beneath the cuirass of the corpse.

"Take this, Alorcus!" he said, on descending. He handed the new
chieftain a slender copper chain from which hung a disk-like case of the
same metal. "This is the greatest inheritance from your father--the
manumission which accompanied him at all times. There is not a warrior
in Celtiberia who does not carry upon his person his poison so that he
may die rather than become the slave of the conqueror. I prepared this
for your father. I spent a whole moon extracting it from the wild
apium, and one drop of it will kill like a lightning flash. If some day
you fall vanquished, drink and die before your people behold their
chieftain with a hand stricken off and serving the enemy as a slave."

Alorcus slipped the chain over his head, concealing the heirloom in his
breast. Then he returned to Actaeon, beneath the oaks where the ancients
of the tribe were grouped.

The young men in the meadow, apprentices in the art of warfare, ran
around the pyre with lighted torches. The flaming candlewood licked the
resinous logs, and soon the smoke and flames began to enwrap the corpse.

The warriors most famous for valor and strength advanced, making their
horses caracole round about the fire.

Waving their lances, they proclaimed