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One of his sons takes fire, and begins to insult the Lombards and their white gaiters. You Lombards have white legs like so many brood mares. A Lombard flashes up. Go to the Asfeld, and you will see how Lombard mares can kick. Your brother's bones are lying about there like any sorry nag's. This is too much; swords are drawn; but old Thorisend leaps up. He will punish the first man who strikes.
Aldwin, Paul says, and Thorisend fought in the Asfeld, wherever that may be, and Alboin the Lombard prince slew Thorisend the Gepid prince, and the Gepidae were defeated with a great slaughter. Then young Alboin asked his father to let him sit at the table with him. No, he could not do that, by Lombard custom, till he has become son-at- arms to some neighbouring king.
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