'Why are you here in a Gothic encampment?
Go, knock at the gates of Rome, implore her guards on your knees to admit you among the citizens, and when they ask you why--show them the girl there! Tell them that you love her, that you would wed her, that it is nothing to you that her people have murdered your brother and his children! And then, when you yourself have begotten sons, Gothic bastards infected with Roman blood, be a Roman at heart yourself, send your children forth to complete what your wife's people left undone at Aquileia--by murdering me!' She paused and laughed scornfully.

Then her humour suddenly changed, she advanced a few steps, and continued in a louder and sterner tone:-- 'You have broken your faith; you have lied to me; you have forgotten your wrongs and mine; but you have not yet forgotten my parting words when I left you last night! I told you that she should be slain, and now that you have refused to avenge me, I will make good my words by killing her with my own hand! If you would defend her, you must murder me.

You must shed her blood or mine!' She stepped forward, her towering form was stretched to its highest stature, the muscles started into action on her bare arms as she raised them above her head.

For one instant, she fixed her glaring eyes steadily on the girl's shrinking form--the next, she rushed up and struck furiously with the knife at her bare neck.

As the weapon descended, Hermanric caught her wrist.