TALES OF THE ROMANS
had been struck down by a stranger with a sword. A scuffle took place. The stranger was seized, and brought before the king. The sword had been snatched from his hand.
A small bronze altar stood near the king. On the top of the altar flickered a fire, in which the king was going to burn a sacrifice to the gods of the Etruscan people.
“Who are you?” asked the king of the stranger.
“I am a Roman.”
“What is your name?”
“Mutius.”
“Why did you kill my officer?”
“I thought it was you, sir. I meant to kill you.”
As he spoke Mutius held out his right hand and thrust it into the flames of the fire on the altar. The flesh of his hand was scorched, but he did not flinch. He gazed steadily into the face of the king.
“Take your hand away from the fire!” cried the king. “Brave man, here is your sword.”
Mutius took the sword in his left hand, and his right hand dropped at his side. He would never again have the proper use of his right hand.
“King,” he said, “you see we Romans do not fear pain when we do service to our city. For the sake of Rome we are ready to sacrifice our hands, our hearts, our lives. I am not the only
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