be the storehouse of all men's divine strength-violence and the spring of all men's intellectual curiosity. It is the reason wherefore men are vastly superior to women."

"I have heard another theory," said Brotwern.

"Indeed?" said Hrothgar, a little confused that more than one explanation might exist for a single thing. "Well... I suppose one theory may be spoken as well as another."

"In the East Isle of Sleetslop, they say that this sack holds a man's heavy winds. It is from thence that the powerful flatulence of a man emanates. And it is from thence that the thunderous voice of a man wells up."

Beowulf, who was very uncomfortable with this line of reasoning, objected. "This is all extremely speculative."

"Well, now, wait," said Brotwern philosophically. "Have you not noticed the voice of Grielatch the Gelding? He was deprived of this special pouch in his infancy."

"Yes," said Hrothgar, "and he has always been most put off by flatulence of any type. He says a man who does wind-violence is no better than a woman in blood-heat."

"Nonsense," cried Beowulf impatiently. "That has nothing to do with it. You are making the classic mistake of assuming that what we see and how things are are somehow connected. We now know this to be a fanciful superstition first advanced by the swag-merchants of the south for the purpose of selling olive extracts. The Norman mystic Lickhen has demonstrated in tongues that how things are is like a treasure guarded by a dragon and that anything we see which tries to approach it falls into a deep abyss and is devoured by word-demons."

"This is most remarkable," said Hrothgar, visibly astounded. "Have you heard this Lickhen speak in tongues yourself?"

"No," answered Beowulf fiercely. "It is not certain that he exists."

"Then where did you learn such a marvelous thing?"

"From Farfilch the Druid. My father sent me to him from a very young age."

"I must really drop in on beer-mass more often," said Hrothgar, a bit chagrined. "By the way, will someone grab that medallion for me?"

Taking their horses by the tongues, the three men sloshed through the muck. Back toward the victory fires.