The din of tourney was bidden cease. The damsels were sent to their chambers, and the guests to sleep and to take their rest till the day. Then meats were made ready, for their host saw well to their comfort.
When they had eaten, they would have set out again for the country of the Huns, but Rudeger said, “Go not, I pray you. Tarry here yet a while, for I had never dearer guests.”
Dankwart answered, “It may not be. Where couldst thou find the meat, the bread and the wine, for so many knights?”
But when the host heard him, he said, “Speak not of that. Deny me not, my dear lords. I can give you, and all them that are with you, meat for fourteen days. Little hath King Etzel ever taken of my substance.”
Albeit they made excuse, they had to tarry till the fourth morning. He gave both horses and apparel so freely, that the fame of it spread abroad.
But longer than this it could not last, for they must needs forth. Rudeger was not sparing of his goods. If any craved for aught, none denied him. Each got his desire.
The attendants brought the saddled horses to the door. There many stranger knights joined them, shield in hand, to ride with them to Etzel’s court. To each of the noble guests Rudeger offered a gift, or he left the hall. He had wherewithal to live in honour and give freely. Upon Giselher he had bestowed his fair daughter. He gave to Gernot a goodly weapon enow, that he wielded well afterward in strife. The Margrave’s wife grudged him not the gift, yet Rudeger, or long, was slain thereby.
To Gunther, the valiant knight, he gave a coat of mail, that did the rich king honour, albeit he seldom took gifts. He bowed before Rudeger and thanked him.
Gotelind offered Hagen a fair gift, as was fitting, since the king had taken one, that he might not fare to the hightide without a keepsake from her, but he refused.
“Naught that I ever saw would I so fain bear away with me as yonder shield on the wall. I would gladly carry it into Etzel’s land.”
When the Margravine heard Hagen’s word, it minded her on her sorrow, and she fell to weeping. She thought sadly on the death of Nudung, that Wittich had slain; and her heart was heavy.
She said to the knight, “I will give thee the shield. Would to God he yet lived that once bore it! He died in battle. I must ever weep when I think on him, for my woman’s heart is sore.”
The noble Margravine rose from her seat, and took down the shield with her white hands and carried it to Hagen, that used it as a hero should. A covering of bright stuff lay over its device. The light never shone on better shield. It was so rich with precious stones, that had any wanted to buy it, it had cost him at the least a thousand marks.
The knight bade his attendants bear it away. Then came his brother Dankwart, to whom the Margrave’s daughter gave richly broidered apparel, that afterward he wore merrily among the Huns.
None had touched any of these things but for love of the host that offered them so kindly. Yet, or long, they bare him such hate that they slew him.
Bold Folker then stepped forth with knightly bearing and stood before Gotelind with his viol. He played a sweet tune and sang her his song. Then he took his leave and left Bechlaren. But first the Margravine bade them bring a drawer near. Of loving gifts now hear the tale. She took therefrom twelve armlets, and drew them over his hand, saying, “These shalt thou take with thee and wear for my sake at Etzel’s court. When thou comest again, I will hear how thou hast served me at the hightide.” Well he did her behest.
The host said to the guests, “That ye may journey the safer, I will myself escort you, and see that none fall on you by the way.” And forthwith they loaded his sumpters. He stood ready for the road with five hundred men, mounted and equipped. These he led merrily to the hightide. Not one of them came back alive to Bechlaren.
He took leave with sweet kisses. The same did Giselher, as love bade him. They took the fair women in their arms. Or long, many a damsel wept for them.
The windows were flung wide over all, for the host and his men were gotten to horse. Their hearts, I ween, foreboded their bitter woe, and many a wife and many a maiden wept sore. They sorrowed for many a dear friend that was never seen more at Bechlaren. Yet merrily they rode down the valley by the Danube into the land of the Huns.
Then said noble Rudeger to the Burgundians, “We must delay no longer to send news of our advance. Nothing could rejoice King Etzel more.”
The swift envoys pressed down through Austria, and soon the folk knew, far and near, that the heroes were on their way from Worms beyond the Rhine. It was welcome news to the king’s vassals. The envoys spurred forward with the tidings that the Nibelungs were come to the Huns.
“Receive them well, Kriemhild, my wife. Thy brethren are come to show thee great honour.”
Kriemhild stood at a window and looked out as a friend might for friends. Many drew thither from her father’s land. The king was joyful when he heard the news.
“Glad am I,” said Kriemhild, “my kinsmen come with many new shields and shining bucklers. I will ever be his friend that taketh my gold and remembereth my wrong.”
She thought in her heart, “Now for the reckoning! If I can contrive it, it will go hard at this hightide with him that killed all my happiness. Fain would I work his doom. I care not what may come of it: my vengeance shall fall on the hateful body of him that stole my joy from me. He shall pay dear for my sorrow.”
Twenty-Eighth Adventure
How Kriemhild Received Hagen
When the Burgundians came into the land, old Hildebrand of Bern heard thereof, and told his master, that was grieved at the news. He bade him give hearty welcome to the valiant knights.
Bold Wolfhart called for the horses, and many stark warriors rode with Dietrich to greet them on the plain, where they had pitched their goodly tents.
When Hagen of Trony saw them from afar, he spake courteously to his masters, “Arise, ye doughty heroes, and go to meet them that come to welcome you. A company of warriors that I know well draw hither – the heroes of the Amelung land. They are men of high courage. Scorn not their service.”
Then, as was seemly, Dietrich, with many knights and squires, sprang to the ground. They hasted to the guests, and welcomed the heroes of Burgundy lovingly.
When Dietrich saw them, he was both glad and sorry; he knew what was toward, and grieved that they were come. He deemed that Rudeger was privy to it, and had told them. “Ye be welcome, Gunther and Giselher, Gernot and Hagen; Folker, likewise, and Dankwart the swift. Know ye not that Kriemhild still mourneth bitterly for the hero of the Nibelungs?”
“She will weep awhile,” answered Hagen. “This many a year he lieth slain. She did well to comfort her with the king of the Huns. Siegfried will not come again. He is long buried.”
“Enough of Siegfried’s wounds. While Kriemhild, my mistress, liveth, mischief may well betide. Wherefore, hope of the Nibelungs, beware!” So spake Dietrich of Bern.
“Wherefore should I beware?” said the king. “Etzel sent us envoys (what more could I ask?) bidding us hither to this land. My sister Kriemhild, also, sent us many greetings.”
But Hagen said, “Bid Sir Dietrich and his good knights tell us further of this matter, that they may show us the mind of Kriemhild.”
Then the three kings went apart: Gunther and Gernot and Dietrich.
“Now tell us, noble knight of Bern, what thou knowest of the queen’s mind.”
The prince of Bern answered, “What can I tell you, save that every morning I have heard Etzel’s wife weeping and wailing in bitter woe to the great God of Heaven, because of stark Siegfried’s death?”
Said bold Folker, the fiddler, “There is no help for it. Let us ride to the court and see what befalleth us among the Huns.”
The bold Burgundians rode to the court right proudly, after the custom of their land. Many bold Huns marvelled much what manner of man Hagen of Trony might be. The folk knew well, from hearsay, that he had slain Siegfried of the Netherland, the starkest of all knights, Kriemhild’s husband. Wherefore many questions were asked concerning him. The hero was of great stature; that is certain. His shoulders were broad, his hair was grisled; his legs were long, and terrible was his face. He walked with a proud gait.
Then lodging was made ready for the Burgundians. Gunther’s attendants lay separate from the others. The queen, that greatly hated Gunther, had so ordered it. By this device his yeomen were slain soon after.
Dankwart, Hagen’s brother, was marshal. The king commended his men earnestly to his care, that he might give them meat and drink enow, the which the bold knight did faithfully and with good will.
Kriemhild went forth with her attendants and welcomed the Nibelungs with false heart. She kissed Giselher and took him by the hand. When Hagen of Trony saw that, he bound his helmet on tighter.
“After such greeting,” he said, “good knights may well take thought. The kings and their men are not all alike welcome. No good cometh of our journey to this hightide.”
She answered, “Let him that is glad to see thee welcome thee. I will not greet thee as a friend. What bringest thou for me from Worms, beyond the Rhine, that thou shouldst be so greatly welcome?”
“This is news,” said Hagen, “that knights should bring thee gifts. Had I thought of it, I had easily brought thee something. I am rich enow.”
“Tell me what thou hast done with the Nibelung hoard. That, at the least, was mine own. Ye should have brought it with you into Etzel’s land.”
“By my troth, lady, I have not touched the Nibelung hoard this many a year. My masters bade me sink it in the Rhine. There it must bide till the day of doom.”
Then said the queen, “I thought so. Little hast thou brought thereof, albeit it was mine own, and held by me aforetime. Many a sad day I have lived for lack of it and its lord.”
“I bring thee the Devil!” cried Hagen. “My shield and my harness were enow to carry, and my bright helmet, and the sword in my hand. I have brought thee naught further.”
“I speak not of my treasure, because I desire the gold. I have so much to give that I need not thy offerings. A murder and a double theft – it is these that I, unhappiest of women, would have thee make good to me.”
Then said the queen to all the knights, “None shall bear weapons in this hall. Deliver them to me, ye knights, that they be taken in charge.”
“Not so, by my troth,” said Hagen; “I crave not the honour, great daughter of kings, to have thee bear my shield and other weapons to safe keeping. Thou art a queen here. My father taught me to guard them myself.”
“Woe is me!” cried Kriemhild. “Why will not Hagen and my brother give up their shields? They are warned. If I knew him that did it, he should die.”
Sir Dietrich answered wrathfully then, “I am he that warned the noble kings, and bold Hagen, the man of Burgundy. Do thy worst, thou devil’s wife, I care not!”
Kriemhild was greatly ashamed, for she stood in bitter fear of Dietrich. She went from him without a word, but with swift and wrathful glances at her foes.
Then two knights clasped hands – the one was Dietrich, the other Hagen. Dietrich, the valiant warrior, said courteously, “I grieve to see thee here, since the queen hath spoken thus.”
Hagen of Trony answered, “It will all come right.”
So the bold men spake together, and King Etzel saw them, and asked, “I would know who yonder knight is that Dietrich welcometh so lovingly. He beareth him proudly. Howso is his father hight, he is, certes, a goodly warrior.”
One of Kriemhild’s men answered the king, “He was born at Trony. The name of his father was Aldrian. Albeit now he goeth gently, he is a grim man. I will prove to thee yet that I lie not.”
“How shall I find him so grim?” He knew nothing, as yet, of all that the queen contrived against her kinsmen: by reason whereof not one of them escaped alive from the Huns.
“I know Hagen well. He was my vassal. Praise and mickle honour he won here by me. I made him a knight, and gave him my gold. For that he proved him faithful, I was ever kind to him. Wherefore I may well know all about him. I brought two noble children captive to this land – him and Walter of Spain. Here they grew to manhood. Hagen I sent home again. Walter fled with Hildegund.”
So he mused on the good old days, and what had happed long ago, for he had seen Hagen, that did him stark service in his youth. Yet now that he was old, he lost by him many a dear friend.
Twenty-Ninth Adventure
How Hagen and Folker Sat Before Kriemhild’s Hall
The two valiant knights, Hagen of Trony and Sir Dietrich, parted, and Gunther’s man looked back for a comrade that he soon espied. He saw Folker, the cunning fiddler, by Giselher, and bade him come with him, for well he knew his grim mood. He was in all things a warrior bold and good.
The knights still stood in the court. These two alone were seen crossing the yard to a large hall at a distance. They feared no man. They sat down before the house, on a bench opposite Kriemhild’s chamber. Their goodly apparel shone bright on their bodies. Not a few of them that looked were fain to know them. The Huns gaped at the proud heroes as they had been wild beasts, and Etzel’s wife saw them through a window, and was troubled anew. She thought on her old wrong, and began to weep. Etzel’s men marvelled much what had grieved her so sore. She said, “Good knights, it is Hagen that hath done it.”
Then said they to the queen, “How came it to pass? A moment ago we saw thee of good cheer. There is no man so bold, had he done thee a hurt, and thou badest us avenge thee, but he should answer for it with his life.”
“Him that avenged my wrong I would thank evermore. All that he asked I would give him. I fall at your feet; only avenge me on Hagen, that he lose his life.”
Thereupon sixty bold men armed them swiftly, and would have gone out with one accord to slay Hagen, the bold knight, and the fiddler, for Kriemhild’s sake.
But when the queen saw so small a number, she spake wrothfully to the heroes, “Think not to withstand Hagen with so few. Stark and bold as is Hagen of Trony, much starker is he that sitteth by him, Folker the fiddler by name, a wicked man. Ye shall not so lightly overcome them.”
When they heard her word, four hundred knights more did on their armour, for the queen was eager to do her enemies a hurt. Soon they came in sore straits. When she saw them well armed, she said to them, “Stand still a while and wait. I will go out to my foes with my crown on. Hearken while I upbraid Hagen of Trony, Gunther’s man, with what he hath done to me. I know him for too proud a knight to deny it. After that, I care not what befalleth him.”
Then the fiddler, a bold minstrel, saw the queen coming down the stair from the house, and said to his comrade, “Now see, friend Hagen, how she that hath falsely bidden us to this land, cometh toward us. Never have I beheld, with a king’s wife, so many men, sword in hand, as for strife. Knowest thou, friend Hagen, that they hate thee? I counsel thee to look to thy life and thine honour. Certes, it were well. Methinketh they be wrothful of their mood. Many among them have shoulders broad enow. Who would save his life had best do it betimes. I ween they wear harness below their silk, whereof I hear none declare the meaning.”
But Hagen, the bold man, answered angrily, “Well, I know that it is against me they carry their bright weapons in their hands. But, for all that, I will yet ride back to Burgundy. Now say, friend Folker, wilt thou stand by me, if Kriemhild’s men fall on me? Tell me, as thou lovest me. To thy service thou wouldst bind me evermore.”
“I will help thee truly,” answered the minstrel; “if I saw the king coming with all his warriors, I would not, while I lived, stir a foot from thy side through fear.”
“God in Heaven quit thee, noble Folker! If they fight with me, what need I more. Since thou wilt help me, as I have heard thee promise, these knights had best walk warily.”
“Now rise we from our seat, and let her pass,” said the minstrel. “She is a queen. Do her this honour; she is a high-born lady. Therein we honour ourselves.”
“Nay, as thou lovest me!” Hagen said. “These knights might deem I did it through fear, and thought to fly. I will not rise from my seat for any of them. It beseemeth us better to sit still. Shall I show honour to her that hateth me? That I will never do, so long as I be a living man. Certes, I care little if King Etzel’s wife misliketh me.”
Hagen, the overweening man, laid a bright weapon across his knee, from the hilt whereof shone a flaming jasper, greener than grass. Well Kriemhild knew that it was Siegfried’s.
When she saw the sword, her heart was heavy. The hilt was of gold, the scabbard of red broidered silk. It minded her on her woe, and she began to weep. Bold Hagen, I ween, had done it apurpose.
Brave Folker drew closer to him on the bench a stark fiddle-bow, mickle and long, made like a sword, sharp and broad. There sat the good knights unafraid. They deemed them too high to rise from their seat through fear of any.
Then the noble queen advanced to them and gave them angry greeting. She said, “Now tell me, Sir Hagen, who sent for thee, that thou hast dared to ride into this land? Wert thou in thy senses, thou hadst not done it.”
“None sent for me,” answered Hagen. “Three knights that I call master, were bidden hither. I am their liegeman, and never yet tarried behind when they rode to a hightide.”
She said, “Now tell me further. Wherefore didst thou that which hath earned thee my hate? Thou slewest Siegfried, my dear husband, that I cannot mourn enow to my life’s end.”
He answered, “Enough! What thou hast said sufficeth. It was I, Hagen, that slew Siegfried, the hero. He paid dear for the evil words that Kriemhild spake to fair Brunhild. I deny not, mighty queen, that I am guilty, and the cause of all the mischief. Avenge it who will, man or woman. I will not lie; I have wrought thee much woe.”
She said, “Ye hear him, knights! He denieth not the wrong he hath done me. I care not how he suffer for it, ye men of Etzel.”
The proud warriors glanced at each other. Had there been fighting, the two comrades had come off with honour, as oft aforetime in strife. What the Huns had undertaken they durst not perform, through fear. Then said one among them, “Why look ye at me? My word was vain; I will not lose my life for the gifts of no woman. King Etzel’s wife, methinketh, would undo us.”
Another said, “I am of thy mind. I would not challenge this fiddler for towers full of red gold, for much I mislike his fierce glances. This Hagen, too, I knew in his youth, and need not to be told concerning him. In two-and-twenty battles I have seen him. He hath given many a woman heart’s dole. He and the knight of Spain rode on many a foray, and here, by Etzel, won many victories to the honour of the king. Wherefore none may deny him praise. In those days the knight was a child, and they that now are grey were youths. Now he is grown to a grim man. Thereto, he weareth Balmung, which he won evilly.”
So they agreed that none should fight, whereat the queen grieved bitterly. The knights turned away, for the feared death from the fiddler, and were dismayed. How oft will cowards fall back when friend standeth true by friend! And he that bethinketh him betimes is delivered from many a snare.
Then said bold Folker, “Now have we seen and heard that foemen are around us. Haste we to the court, to the kings, that none dare fall upon them.”
“I will follow,” said Hagen.
They went where they found the knights still waiting in the courtyard; and bold Folker began to say to his masters with a loud voice, “How long will ye stand here to be jostled? Go in and hear from the king how he is minded toward you.”
The knights bold and good went in pairs. The prince of Bern took great Gunther of Burgundy by the hand. Irnfried took brave Gernot, and Giselher went in with his father-in-law. Howso the others walked, Folker and Hagen parted nevermore, save once in battle, till their death; the which gave many a noble woman cause to weep. With the kings came their followers, a thousand bold men, and, thereto, sixty warriors, brought by Hagen from his land. Hawart and Iring, two chosen knights, went after the kings, hand in hand. Dankwart and Wolfhart, a true-hearted man, bare them courteously toward them that were present.
When the prince of Rhineland came into the palace, Etzel waited no longer, but sprang up from his seat when he saw them. Never was fairer greeting between kings. “Ye be welcome, Sir Gunther and Sir Gernot, and Giselher your brother. With true heart I sent my service to you at Worms. Your knights, too, are welcome, each one. Glad are my wife and I to greet bold Folker, and also Hagen, in this land. Many a message she sent you to the Rhine.”
Then said Hagen of Trony, “I heard them all. Had I not ridden hither for my masters’ sake, I had come to do thee honour.” Thereupon the host took his dear guests by the hand, and led them to the high seat where he himself sat. And they hasted and poured out mead, morat, and wine, for the guests, in great golden goblets, and bade the strangers heartily welcome.
Then said King Etzel, “I tell you truly that nothing in this world had pleased me better than to see you knights here. It will ease the queen of mickle heart’s dole. I marvelled oft what I had done, that, among the many guests I won to my court, ye never came to my land. Glad am I to see you now.”
Whereto Rudeger, the high-hearted knight, answered, “Thou rejoicest with cause, for my mistress’s kinsmen are men of proven worth, and they bring many valiant knights with them.”
It was on a midsummer eve that they came to Etzel’s court, and seldom hath been heard such high greeting as he gave to the heroes. Then he went merrily to table with them, and no host ever entreated guests better. Meat and drink they had in plenty. All that they desired stood ready for them, for many marvels had been told of them.
The rich king had built a great castle at much cost and trouble – palaces, and towers, and chambers without number, in a big fortress, and thereto a goodly hall. He had ordered it to be built long and high and wide, by reason of the many knights that flocked to his court without cease. Twelve great kings were his liegemen, and many warriors of much worship he had always by him, more than any king I ever heard of. He lived merrily with kinsmen and vassals round him, with the joyful tumult of good knights on every side. By reason whereof his heart was uplifted.
Thirtieth Adventure
How Hagen and Folker Kept Watch
The day was now ended and the night drew nigh. The way-weary warriors were fain to rest, and lie down on their beds, but knew not how to compass it. Hagen asked, and brought them word.
Gunther said to the host, “God have thee in His keeping. Give us leave to go and sleep. If thou desire it, we will come again early in the morning.” Then Etzel parted merrily from his guests.
From all sides the folk pressed in on the strangers. Bold Folker said to the Huns, “How dare ye get before our feet? If ye void not the way, it will be the worse for you. I will give some of you a blow with this fiddle that may cause your friends to weep. Fall back from us warriors. Certes, ye had better. Ye be knights in name and naught else.”
While the fiddler spake thus wrothfully, bold Hagen looked over his shoulder and said, “The minstrel giveth you good counsel. Get to your lodging, ye men of Kriemhild. This is no time for your malice. If ye would start a quarrel, come to us to-morrow early, and let us way-weary warriors lie this night in peace. I ween ye will find none readier than we are.”
They led the guests to a spacious hall, where they found beds, big and costly, standing ready. Gladly had the queen worked their doom. Coverlets of bright stuffs from Arras were there, and testers of silk of Araby, the goodliest that could be, broidered and shining with gold. The bed-clothes were of ermine and black sable, for them to rest under, the night through, till the day. In such state never king lay before with his men.
“Woe is me for our lodging!” said Giselher the youth, “and for my friends that came hither with us. My sister sent us fair words, but I fear we must all soon lie dead through her.”
“Grieve not,” said Hagen the knight. “I will myself keep watch, and will guard thee well, I trow, till the day. Fear naught till then. After that, each shall look to himself.”
They bowed to him and thanked him. They went to their beds, and, or long, the valiant men were lying soft. Then bold Hagen began to arm him.
Folker the fiddler said, “If thou scorn not my help, Hagen, I would keep watch with thee till the morning.”
The hero thanked Folker, “God in Heaven quit you, dear Folker. In all my troubles and my straits I desire thee only and no other. I will do as much for thee, if death hinder it not.”
They both did on their shining harness. Each took his shield in his hand, and went out before the door to keep watch over the strangers. They did it faithfully.
Brave Folker leaned his good shield against the wall, and went back and took his fiddle, and did fair and seemly service to his friends. He sat down under the lintel upon the stone. There never was a bolder minstrel. When the sweet tones sounded from his strings, the proud homeless ones all thanked him. He struck so loud that the house echoed. Great were his skill and strength both. Then he played sweeter and softer, till he had lulled many a careworn man to sleep. When Folker found they were all asleep, he took his shield in his hand again, and went out and stood before the door, to guard his friends from Kriemhild’s men.
About the middle of the night, or sooner, bold Folker saw a helmet in the distance, shining in the dark. Kriemhild’s vassals were fain to do them a hurt. Or she sent them forth, she said, “For God’s sake, if ye win at them, slay none save the one man, false Hagen; let the others live.”
Then spake the fiddler, “Friend Hagen, we must bear this matter through together. I see armed folk before the house. I ween they come against us.”
“Hold thy peace,” answered Hagen. “Let them come nigher. Or they are ware of us, there will be helmets cloven by the swords in our two hands. They shall be sent back to Kriemhild in sorry plight.”
One of the Hunnish knights saw that the door was guarded, and said hastily, “We cannot carry this thing through. I see the fiddler standing guard. He hath on his head a shining helmet, bright and goodly, with no dint therein, and stark thereto. The rings of his harness glow like fire. Hagen standeth by him. The strangers are well watched.”
They turned without more ado. When Folker saw this, he spake angrily to his comrade, “Let me go out to these knights. I would ask Kriemhild’s men a question.”
“Nay, as thou lovest me,” said Hagen. “If thou wentest to them, thou wouldst fall in such strait by their swords that I must help thee, though all my kinsmen perished thereby. If both the twain of us fell to fighting, two or three of them might easily spring into the house, and do such hurt to the sleepers as we could never mourn enow.”
But Folker said, “Let us tell them that we have seen them, that they deny not their treachery.” Then Folker called out to them, “Why go ye there armed, valiant knights? Is it murder ye are after, ye men of Kriemhild? Take me and my comrade to help you.”
None answered him. Right wroth was he.
“Shame on you, cowards! Would ye have slain us sleeping? Seldom afore hath so foul a deed been done on good knights.”
The queen was heavy of her cheer when they told her that her messengers had failed. She began to contrive it otherwise, for grim was her mood, and by reason thereof many a good knight and bold soon perished.
Thirty-First Adventure
How the Burgundians Went to Church
“My harness is grown so cold,” said Folker, “that I ween the night is far spent. I feel, by the air, that it will soon be day.”
Then they walked the knights that still slept.
The bright morning shone in on the warriors in the hall, and Hagen began to ask them if they would go to the minster to hear mass. The bells were ringing according to Christian custom.
The folk sang out of tune: it was not mickle wonder, when Christian and heathen sang together. Gunther’s men were minded to go to church, and rose from their beds. They did on their fine apparel – never knights brought goodlier weed into any king’s land. But Hagen was wroth, and said, “Ye did better to wear other raiment. Ye know how it standeth with us here. Instead of roses, bear weapons in your hands, and instead of jewelled caps, bright helmets. Of wicked Kriemhild’s mood we are well aware. I tell you there will be fighting this day. For your silken tunics wear your hauberks, and good broad shields for rich mantels, that, if any fall on you, ye may be ready. My masters dear, my kinsmen, and my men, go to the church and bewail your sorrow and your need before great God, for know, of a surety, that death draweth nigh. Forget not wherein ye have sinned, and stand humbly before your Maker. Be warned, most noble knights. If God in Heaven help you not, ye will hear mass no more.”
So the kings and their men went to the minster. Hagen bade them pause in the churchyard, that they might not be parted. He said, “None knoweth yet what the Huns may attempt on us. Lay your shields at your feet, my friends, and if any give you hostile greeting, answer him with deep wounds and deadly. That is Hagen’s counsel, that ye may be found ready, as beseemeth you.”
Folker and Hagen went and stood before the great minster. They did this, that the queen might be forced to push past them. Right grim was their mood.
Then came the king and his beautiful wife. Her body was adorned with rich apparel, and the knights in her train were featly clad. The dust rose high before the queen’s attendants.
When the rich king saw the princes and their followers armed, he said hastily, “Why go my friends armed? By my troth it would grieve me if any had done aught to them. I will make it good to them on any wise they ask it. Hath any troubled their hearts, he shall feel my displeasure. Whatso they demand of me I will do.”
Hagen answered, “None hath wrought us annoy. It is the custom of my masters to go armed at all hightides for full three days. If any did us a mischief, Etzel should hear thereof.”
Right well Kriemhild heard Hagen’s words. She looked at him from under her eyelids with bitter hate. Yet she told not the custom of her land, albeit she knew it well from aforetime. Howso grim and deadly the queen’s anger was, none had told Etzel how it stood, else he had hindered what afterward befell. They scorned, through pride, to tell their wrong.
The queen advanced with a great crowd of folk, but the twain moved not two hands’ breadth, whereat the Huns were wroth, for they had to press past the heroes. This pleased not Etzel’s chamberlains, and they had gladly quarrelled with them, had they dared before the king. There was much jostling, and nothing more.
When the mass was over, many a Hun sprang to horse. With Kriemhild were also many beautiful maidens. Kriemhild sat by Etzel at a window with her women, to see the bold warriors ride, the which the king loved to do. Ha! many a stranger knight spurred below in the court!
The marshal brought out the horses. Bold Dankwart had gathered together his master’s followers from Burgundy. Well-saddled horses were led up for the Nibelungs. When the kings and their men were mounted, Folker counselled them to joust after the fashion of their country. Full knightly they rode in the tourney. The counsel was welcome to all, and a mighty din and clang of arms soon arose in the great tilt-yard, while Etzel and Kriemhild looked on.
Sixty of Dietrich’s knights spurred forward to meet the strangers. They were eager for the onset, had Dietrich allowed it, for goodly men were his. But it irked him when he heard thereof, and forbade them to cross lances with Gunther’s warriors. He feared it might go hard with his knights.
When the knights of Bern were gone out of the yard, five hundred of Rudeger’s men of Bechlaren rode up before the castle, with their shields. The Margrave had been better pleased if they had stayed away. He pressed through the crowd, and said to them that they themselves knew how that Gunther’s men were wroth, and that he would have them quit the tourney.
When these also had gone back, they say that the knights of Thueringen and a thousand bold Danes rode in. Then the splinters flew from the lances. Irnfried and Hawart rode into the tourney. The Rhinelanders met them proudly. They encountered the men of Thueringen in many a joust; pierced was many a shield.
Sir Bloedel came on with three thousand. Etzel and Kriemhild saw plainly all that passed below. The queen rejoiced, by reason of the hate she bare the Burgundians. She thought in her heart, – what happed or long – “If they wounded any, the sport might turn to a battle. I would fain be revenged on my foes; certes, it would not grieve me.”
Schrutan and Gibek came next, and Ramung and Hornbog, after the manner of the Huns. They all bare them boldly before the Burgundians. High over the king’s palace flew the splinters. Yet all they did was but empty sound. Gunther’s men made the house and the castle ring with the clash of shields. They won great honour. So keen was their pastime that the foot-cloths ran with the sweat of the horses, as they rode proudly against the Huns.
Then said stout Folker the fiddler, “These knights dare not confront us, I ween. I have heard that they hate us. They could not have a fitter time to prove it.”
“Lead the horses to their stalls,” said the king. “Toward evening ye may ride again, if there be time for it. Haply the queen may then give the prize to the Burgundians.”
At that moment a knight rode into the lists, prouder than any other Hun. Belike he had a dear one at the window. He was rich apparelled like a bride.
Folker said, “I cannot help it. Yonder woman’s darling must have a stroke. None shall hinder me. Let him look to his life. I care not how wroth Etzel’s wife may be.”
“Nay now, for my sake,” said the king. “The folk will blame us if we begin the fray. Let the Huns be the first. It were better so.”
Still Etzel sat by the queen.
“I will join thee in the tourney,” cried Hagen. “It were well that these women and these knights saw how we can ride. They give Gunther’s men scant praise.”
Bold Folker spurred back into the lists. Thereby many a woman won heart’s dole. He stabbed the proud Hun through the body with his spear. Many a maid and many a wife was yet to weep for it. Hagen and his sixty knights followed hard on the fiddler. Etzel and Kriemhild saw it all plain.
The three kings left not the doughty minstrel alone among his foemen. A thousand knights rode to the rescue. They were haughty and overweening, and did as they would.
When the proud Hun was slain, the sound of weeping and wailing rose from his kinsmen. All asked, “Who hath done it?” and got answer, “It was Folker, the bold fiddler.”
The friends of the Hunnish Margrave called straightway for their swords and their shields, that they might kill Folker. The host hasted from the window. There was a mighty uproar among the Huns. The kings and their followers alighted before the all, and beat back their horses.
Then came Etzel and began to part the fray. He seized a sharp sword out of the hand of one of the Hun’s kinsmen that stood nigh, and thrust them all back. He was greatly wroth, “Ye would have me fail in honour toward these knights! If ye had slain this minstrel, I tell you I would have hanged you all. I marked him well when he slew the Hun, and saw that it was not with intent, but that his horse stumbled. Let my guests leave the tilt-yard in peace.”
He gave them escort, himself, and their horses were led to the stalls, for many varlets stood ready to serve them.
The host went with his guests into the palace, and bade the anger cease. They set the table, and brought water. The knights of the Rhine had stark foemen enow. Though it irked Etzel, many armed knights pressed in after the kings, when they went to table, by reason of their hate. They waited a chance to avenge their kinsman.
“Ye be too unmannerly,” said the host, “to sit down armed to eat. Whoso among you toucheth my guests shall pay for it with his head. I have spoken, O Huns.”
It was long or the knights were all seated. Bitter was Kriemhild’s wrath. She said, “Prince of Bern, I seek thy counsel and thy kind help in my sore need.”
But Hildebrand, the good knight, answered, “Who slayeth the Nibelungs shall do it without me; I care not what price thou offerest. None shall essay it but he shall rue it, for never yet have these doughty knights been vanquished.”
“I ask the death of none save Hagen, that hath wronged me. He slew Siegfried, my dear husband. He that chose him from among the others for vengeance should have my gold without stint. I were inly grieved did any suffer save Hagen.”
But Hildebrand answered, “How could one slay him alone? Thou canst see for thyself, that, if he be set upon, they will all to battle, and poor and rich alike must perish.”
Said Dietrich also, courteously, “Great queen, say no more. Thy kinsmen have done naught to me that I should defy them to the death. It is little to thine honour that thou wouldst compass the doom of thy kinsmen. They came hither under safe conduct, and not by the hand of Dietrich shall Siegfried be avenged.”
When she found no treachery in the knight of Bern, she tempted Bloedel with the promise of a goodly estate that had been Nudung’s. Dankwart slew him after, that he clean forgot the gift.
Bloedel, that sat by her, answered, “I dare not show thy kinsmen such hate, so long as my brother showeth them favour. The king would not forgive me if I defied them.”
“Nay now, Sir Bloedel, I will stand by thee, and give thee silver and gold for meed, and, thereto, a beautiful woman, the widow of Nudung, that thou mayest have her to thy dear one. I will give the all, land and castles, and thou shalt live joyfully with her on the march that was Nudung’s. In good sooth I will do what I promise.”
When Bloedel heard the fee, and because the woman pleased him for her fairness, he resolved to win her by battle. So came he to lose his life.
He said to the queen, “Go back into the hall. Or any is ware thereof, I will raise a great tumult. Hagen shall pay for what he hath done. I will bring thee King Gunther’s man bound.”
“Now arm ye, my men,” cried Bloedel, “and let us fall on the foemen in their lodging. King Etzel’s wife giveth me no peace, and at her bidding we must risk our lives.”
When the queen had left Bloedel to begin the strife, she went in to table with King Etzel and his men. She had woven an evil snare against the guests.
I will tell you how they went into the hall. Crowned kings went before her; many high princes and knights of worship attended the queen. Etzel assigned to all the guests their places, the highest and the best in the hall. Christians and heathens had their different meats, whereof they ate to the full; for so the wise king ordered it. The yeomen feasted in their own quarters, where sewers served them, that had been charged with the care of their food. But revel and merriment were soon turned to weeping.
Kriemhild’s old wrong lay buried in her heart, and when the strife could not be kindled otherwise, she bade them bring Etzel’s son to table. Did ever any woman so fearful a thing for vengeance?
Four of Etzel’s men went straightway and brought in Ortlieb, the young king, to the princes’ table, where Hagen also sat. Through his murderous hate the child perished.
When Etzel saw his son, he spake kindly to his wife’s brethren, “See now, my friends, that is my only son, and your sister’s child. Some day he will serve you well. If he take after his kin, he will be a valiant man, rich and right noble, stark and comely. If I live, I will give him the lordship of twelve countries. Fair service ye may yet have from young Ortlieb’s hand. Wherefore I pray ye, my dear friends, that, when ye ride back to the Rhine, ye take with you your sister’s son, and do well by the child. Rear him in honour till he be a man, and when he is full grown, if any harry your land, he will help you to avenge it.” Kriemhild, the wife of Etzel, heard all that the king said.
Hagen answered, “If he grow to be a man, he may well help these knights. But he hath a weakly look. Methinketh I shall seldom go to Ortlieb’s court.”
The king eyed Hagen sternly, for his word irked him. Albeit he answered not again, he was troubled, and heavy of his cheer. Hagen was no friend to merriment.
The king and his liegemen misliked sore what Hagen had said of the child, and were wroth that they must bear it. They knew not yet what the warrior was to do after. Not a few that heard it, and that bare him hate, had gladly fallen upon him: the king also, had not honour forbidden him. Ill had Hagen sped. Yet soon he did worse: he slew his child before his eyes.
Thirty-Second Adventure
How Bloedel Fought With Dankwart in the Hall
Bloedel’s knights all stood ready. With a thousand hauberks they went where Dankwart sat at table with the yeomen. Grim was soon the hate between the heroes.
When Sir Bloedel strode up to the table, Dankwart the marshal greeted him fair. “Welcome to this house, Sir Bloedel. What news dost thou bring?”
“Greet me not,” said Bloedel. “My coming meaneth thy death, because of Hagen, thy brother, that slew Siegfried. Thou and many another knight shall pay for it.”
“Nay now, Sir Bloedel,” said Dankwart. “So might we well rue this hightide. I was a little child when Siegfried lost his life. I know not what King Etzel’s wife hath against me.”
“I can tell thee nothing, save that thy kinsmen, Gunther and Hagen, did it. Now stand on your defence, ye homeless ones. Ye must die, for your lives are forfeit to Kriemhild.”
“Dost thou persist?” said Dankwart. “Then it irketh me that I asked it. I had better have spared my words.”
The good knight and bold sprang up from the table, and drew a sharp weapon that was mickle and long, and smote Bloedel a swift blow therewith, that his head, in its helmet, fell at their feet.
“That be thy wedding-gift to Nudung’s bride, that thou thoughtest to win!” he cried. “Let them mate her to-morrow with another man; if he ask the dowry, he can have the like.” A faithful Hun had told him that morning, secretly, that the queen plotted their doom.
When Bloedel’s men saw their master lying slain, they endured it no longer, but fell with drawn swords in grim wrath on the youths. Many rued it later.
Loud cried Dankwart to the squires and the yeomen, “Ye see that we are undone. Fight for your lives, ye homeless ones, that ye may lie dead without shame.”
They that had not swords seized the benches, and caught up the stools from the floor. The squires of Burgundy were not slow to answer them. With these they dinted many a helmet.
The homeless youths made grim defence. They drave the armed me from the house. Yet five hundred and more lay therein dead. They were red and wet with blood.
This heave news reached Etzel’s knights. Grim was their grief that Bloedel and his men were slain by the brother of Hagen, and the squires. Or Etzel knew anything of the matter, two thousand Huns or more did on their armour and hasted thither, for so it must needs be, and left not one alive. These false knights brought a mighty host before the house. The strangers defended them well; but what availed their prowess? They had all to die. Or long the fray waxed grimmer yet.
Now shall ye list to marvels and wondrous deeds. Nine thousand squires lay dead, and twelve of Dankwart’s men. He stood alone among his foes. The noise was hushed, the din had ceased. Dankwart looked over his shoulder and cried, “Woe is me for the friends I have lost! Among my foemen I stand alone.”
Swords enow fell upon his body. Many a hero’s wife was yet to weep for it. He raised his buckler, and lowered the thong, and wetted many a hauberk with blood.
“Woe is me for this wrong!” cried Aldrian’s child. “Stand back, ye knights of Hungary, and let me to the air, that it cool a battle-weary man.” Then he began, in their despite, to hew his way to the door.
When he sprang from the house, how many a sword rang on his helmet! They that had not seen the wonders of his hand fell upon him there.
“Would to God,” said Dankwart, “I had a messenger to tell my brother Hagen in what peril I stand! He would help me hence, or die by me.”
But the Hunnish knights answered, “Thou, thyself, shalt be the messenger, when we carry thee in dead to thy brother. So shall Gunther’s man have first hear of his loss. To Etzel thou hast done grievous hurt.”
He said, “Keep your threats, and stand back, or I will wet the harness of some of you. I will bear the news myself to the court, and bewail my great wrong to my masters.”
He did Etzel’s men such scathe, that they durst not draw against him. Then they shot so many darts into his shield that he must drop it for heaviness.
They thought to vanquish him without his shield. Ha! what deep wounds he made in their helmets! Many a bold man staggered before him. Great honour and praise were Dankwart’s. From both sides they sprang at him. I ween they were too hasty. He fought his way through his foemen like a wild boar in the forest through the hounds – bolder he could not have been. His path was ever wet anew with hot blood. When did single knight withstand foemen better? Proudly Hagen’s brother went to court.
The sewers and the cup-bearers heard the clash of swords. Many dropped the drink and the meats they carried. On the stairs he found stark enemies enow.
“How now, ye sewers?” cried the weary knight; “see to the guests, and bear in the good meats to your lords, and let me take my message to my masters.”
They that had the hardihood, and sprang down on him from the stairs, he smote so fiercely with his sword that they fell back for fear. With his strength he had done right wonderly.
Thirty-Third Adventure
How Dankwart Brought the News to His Masters
Then bold Dankwart strode in through the door, and bade Etzel’s followers void the way; all his harness was covered with blood. It was a the time they were carrying Ortlieb to and fro from table to table among the princes, and through the terrible news the child perished.
Dankwart cried aloud to one of the knights, “Thou sittest here too long, brother Hagen. To thee, and God in Heaven, I bewail our wrong. Knights and squires lie dead in our hall.”
Hagen called back to him, “Who hath done it?”
“Sir Bloedel and his men. He paid for it bitterly, I can tell thee. I smote off his head with my hands.”
“He hath paid too little,” said Hagen, “since it can be said of him that he hath died by the hand of a hero. His womenfolk have the less cause to weep. Now tell me, dear brother; wherefore art thou so red? I ween thy wounds are deep. If he be anywhere near that hath done it, and the Devil help him not, he is a dead man.”
“Unwounded I stand. My harness is wet with the blood of other men, whereof I have to-day slain so many, that I cannot swear to the number.”
Hagen said, “Brother Dankwart, keep the door, and let not a single Hun out; I will speak with the knights as our wrong constraineth me. Guiltless, our followers lie dead.”
“To such great kings will I gladly be chamberlain,” said the bold man; “I will guard the stairs faithfully.”
Kriemhild’s men were sore dismayed.
“I marvel much,” said Hagen, “what the Hunnish knights whisper in each other’s ears. I ween they could well spare him that standeth at the door, and hath brought this court news to the Burgundians. I have long heard Kriemhild say that she could not bear her heart’s dole. Now drink we to Love, and taste the king’s wine. The young prince of the Huns shall be the first.”
With that, Hagen slew the child Ortlieb, that the blood gushed down on his hand from his sword, and the head flew up into the queen’s lap. Then a slaughter grim and great arose among the knights. He slew the child’s guardian with a sword stroke from both his hands, that the head fell down before the table. It was sorry pay he gave the tutor. He saw a minstrel sitting at Etzel’s table, and sprang at him in wrath, and lopped off his right hand on his viol: “Take that for the message thou broughtest to the Burgundians.”
“Woe is me for my hand!” cried Werbel. “Sir Hagen of Trony, what have I done to thee? I rode with true heart to thy master’s land. How shall I make my music now?”
Little recked Hagen if he never fiddled more. He quenched on Etzel’s knights, in the house there, his grim lust for blood, and smote to death not a few.
Swift Folker sprang from the table; his fiddle-bow rang loud. Harsh were the tunes of Gunther’s minstrel. Ha! many a foe he made among the Huns!
The three kings, too, rose hastily. They would have parted them or more harm was done. But they could not, for Folker and Hagen were beside themselves with rage.
When the King of Rhineland could not stint the strife, he, also, smote many a deep wound through the shining harness of his foemen. Well he showed his hardihood.
Then stark Gernot came into the battle, and slew many Huns with the sharp sword that Rudeger had given him. He brought many of Etzel’s knights to their graves therewith.
Uta’s youngest son sprang into the fray, and pierced the helmets of Etzel’s knights valiantly with his weapon. Bold Giselher’s hand did wonderly.
But howso valiant all the others were, the kings and their men, Folker stood up bolder than any against the foes; he was a hero; he wounded many, that they fell down in their blood.
Etzel’s liegemen warded them well, but the guests hewed their way with their bright swords up and down the hall. From all sides came the sound of wailing. They that were without would gladly have won in to their friends, but could not; and they that were within would have won out, but Dankwart let none of them up the stair or down. Then a great crowd gathered before the door, and the swords clanged loud upon the helmets, so that Dankwart came in much scathe. Hagen feared for him, as was meet, and he cried aloud to Folker, “Comrade, seest thou my brother beset by the stark blows of the Huns? Save him, friend, or we lose the warrior.”
“That will I, without fail,” said the minstrel; and he began to fiddle his way through the hall; it was a hard sword that rang in his hand. Great thank he won from the knights of the Rhine.
He said to Dankwart, “Thou hast toiled hard to-day. Thy brother bade me come to thy help. Do thou go without, and I will stand within.”
Dankwart went outside the door and guarded the stair. Loud din made the weapons of the heroes. Inside, Folker the Burgundian did the like. The bold fiddler cried above the crowd, “The house is well warded, friend Hagen; Etzel’s door is barred by the hands of two knights that have made it fast with a thousand bolts.”
When Hagen saw the door secured, the famous knight and good threw back his shield, and began to avenge the death of his friend in earnest. Many a valiant knight suffered for his wrath.
When the Prince of Bern saw the wonders that Hagen wrought, and the helmets that he brake, he sprang on to a bench, and cried, “Hagen poureth out the bitterest wine of all.”
The host and his wife fell in great fear. Many a dear friend was slain before their eyes. Etzel himself scarce escaped from his foemen. He sat there affrighted. What did it profit him that he was a king?
Proud Kriemhild cried to Dietrich, “Help me, noble knight, by the princely charity of an Amelung king, to come hence alive. If Hagen reach me, death standeth by my side.”
“How can I help thee, noble queen? I cannot help myself. Gunther’s men are so grimly wroth that I can win grace for none.”
“Nay now, good Sir Dietrich, show thy mercy, and help me hence or I die. Save me and the king from this great peril.”
“I will try. Albeit, for long, I have not seen good knights in such a fury. The blood gusheth from the helmets at their sword-strokes.”
The chosen knight shouted with a loud voice that rang out like the blast of a buffalo horn, so that all the castle echoed with its strength, for stark and of mickle might was Dietrich.
King Gunther heard his cry above the din of strife, and hearkened. He said, “The voice of Dietrich hath reached me. I ween our knights have slain some of his men. I see him on the table, beckoning with his hand. Friends and kinsmen of Burgundy, hold, that we may learn what we have done to Dietrich’s hurt.”
When King Gunther had begged and prayed them, they lowered their swords. Thereby Gunther showed his might, that they smote no blow. Then he asked the Prince of Bern what he wanted. He said, “Most noble Dietrich, what hurt have my friends done thee? I will make it good. Sore grieved were I, had any done thee scathe.”
But Sir Dietrich answered, “Naught hath been done against me. With thy safe-conduct let me quit this hall, and the bitter strife, with my men. For this I will ever serve thee.”
“Why ask this grace?” said Wolfhart. “The fiddler hath not barred the door so fast that we cannot set it wide, and go forth.”
“Hold thy peace,” cried Dietrich. “Thou hast played the Devil.”
Then Gunther answered, “I give thee leave. Lead forth few or many, so they be not my foemen. These shall tarry within, for great wrong have I suffered from the Huns.”
When the knight of Bern heard that, he put one arm round the queen, for she was greatly affrighted, and with the other he led out Etzel. Six hundred good knights followed Dietrich.
Then said noble Rudeger, the Margrave, “If any more of them that love and would serve thee may win from this hall, let us hear it; that peace may endure, as is seemly, betwixt faithful friends.”
Straightway Giselher answered his father-in-law. “Peace and love be betwixt us. Thou and thy liegemen have been ever true to us, wherefore depart with thy friends, fearing nothing.”
When Sir Rudeger left the hall, five hundred or more went out with him. The Burgundian knights did honourably therein, but King Gunther suffered scathe for it after.
One of the Huns would have saved himself when he saw King Etzel go out with Dietrich, but the fiddler smote him such a blow that his head fell down at Etzel’s feet.
When the king of the land was gone out from the house, he turned and looked at Folker. “Woe is me for such guests! It is a hard and bitter thing that all my knights fall dead before them! Alack! this hightide!” wailed the great king. “There is one within that hight Folker. He is liker a wild boar than a fiddler. I thank Heaven that I escaped the devil. His tunes are harsh; his bow is red. His notes smite many a hero dead. I know not what this minstrel hath against us. Never was guest so unwelcome.”
The knight of Bern, and Sir Rudeger, went each to his lodging. They desired not to meddle with the strife, and they bade their men avoid the fray.
Had the guests known what hurt the twain would do them after, they had not won so lightly from the hall, but had gotten a stroke from the bold ones in passing.
All that they would let go were gone. Then arose a mighty din. The guests avenged them bitterly. Ha! many a helmet did Folker break!
King Gunther turned his ear to the noise. “Dost thou hear the tunes, Hagen, that Folker playeth yonder on the Huns, when any would win through the door? The hue of his bow is red.”
“It repenteth me sore,” spake Hagen, “to be parted from the knight. I was his comrade, and he mine. If we win home again, we shall ever be true friends. See now, great king, how he serveth thee. He earneth thy silver and thy gold. His fiddle-bow cleaveth the hard steel, and scattereth on the ground the bright jewels on the helmets. Never have I seen a minstrel make such stand. His measures ring through helmet and shield. Good horse shall he ride, and wear costly apparel.”
Of the Huns that had been in the hall, not one was left alive. The tumult fell, for there was none to fight, and the bold warriors laid down their swords.
Thirty-Fourth Adventure
How They Threw Down the Dead
The knights sat down through weariness. Folker and Hagen went out before the hall. There the overweening men leaned on their shields and spake together.
Then said Giselher of Burgundy, “Rest not yet, dear friends. Ye must carry the dead out of the house. We shall be set upon again; trow my word. These cannot lie longer among our feet. Or the Huns overcome us, we will hew many wounds; to the which I am nothing loth.”
“Well for me that I have such a lord,” answered Hagen. “This counsel suiteth well such a knight as our young master hath approved him this day. Ye Burgundians have cause to rejoice.”
They did as he commanded, and bare the seven thousand dead bodies to the door, and threw them out. They fell down at the foot of the stair. Then arose a great wail from their kinsmen. Some of them were so little wounded that, with softer nursing, they had come to. Now, from the fall, these died also. Their friends wept and made bitter dole.
Then said bold Folker the fiddler, “Now I perceive they spake the truth that told me the Huns were cowards. They weep like women, when they might tend these wounded bodies.”
A Margrave that was there deemed he meant this truly. He saw one of his kinsmen lying in his blood, and put his arms round him to bear him away. Him the minstrel shot dead.
When the others saw this, they fled, and began to curse Folker. With that, he lifted a sharp spear and hard from the ground, that a Hun had shot at him, and hurled it strongly across the courtyard, over the heads of the folk. Etzel’s men took their stand further off, for they all feared his might.
Then came Etzel with his men before the hall. Folker and Hagen began to speak out their mind to the King of the Huns. They suffered for it or all was done.
“It is well for a people when its kings fight in the forefront of the strife as doeth each of my masters. They hew the helmets, and the blood spurteth out.”
Etzel was brave, and he grasped his shield. “Have a care,” cried Kriemhild, “and offer thy knights gold heaped upon the shield. If Hagen reach thee, thou hast death at thy hand.”
But the king was so bold he would not stop; the which is rare enow among great princes to-day. They had to pull him back by his shield-thong; whereat grim Hagen began to mock anew. “Siegfried’s darling and Etzel’s are near of kin. Siegfried had Kriemhild to wife or ever she saw thee. Coward king, thou, of all men, shouldst bear me no grudge.”
When Kriemhild heard him, she was bitterly wroth that he durst mock her before Etzel’s warriors, and she strove to work them woe. She said, “To him that will slay Hagen of Trony and bring me his head, I will fill Etzel’s shield with red gold. Thereto, he shall have, for his meed, goodly castles and land.”
“I know not why ye hang back,” said the minstrel. “I never yet saw heroes stand dismayed that had the offer of such pay. Etzel hath small cause to love you. I see many cowards standing here that eat the king’s bread, and fail him now in his sore need, and yet call themselves bold knights. Shame upon them!”
Great Etzel was grieved enow. He wept sore for his dead men and kinsmen. Valiant warriors of many lands stood round him, and bewailed his great loss with him.
Then bold Folker mocked them again. “I see many high-born knights weeping here, that help their king little in his need. Long have they eaten his bread with shame.”
The best among them thought, “He sayeth sooth.”
But none mourned so inly as Iring, the hero of Denmark; the which was proven or long by his deeds.
Thirty-Fifth Adventure
How Iring Was Slain
Then cried Iring, the Margrave of Denmark, “I have long followed honour, and done not amiss in battle. Bring me my harness, and I will go up against Hagen.”
“Thou hadst better not,” answered Hagen, “or thy kinsmen will have more to weep for. Though ye spring up two or three together, ye would fall down the stair the worse for it.”
“I care not,” said Iring. “I have oft tried as hard a thing. With my single sword I would defy thee, if thou hadst done twice as much in the strife.”
Sir Iring armed him straightway. Irnfried of Thuringia, likewise, a bold youth, and Hawart the stark, with a thousand men that were fain to stand by Iring.
When the fiddler saw so great an armed host with him, wearing bright helmets on their heads, he was wroth. “Behold how Iring cometh hither, that vowed to encounter thee alone. It beseemeth not a knight to lie. I blame him much. A thousand armed knights or more come with him.”
“Call me no liar,” said Hawart’s liegeman. “I will gladly abide by my word, nor fail therein through fear. How grim soever Hagen may be, I will meet him alone.”
Iring fell at the feet of his kinsmen and vassals, that they might let him defy the knight in single combat. They were loth, for they knew proud Hagen of Burgundy well. But he prayed them so long that they consented. When his followers saw that he wooed honour, they let him go. Then began a deadly strife betwixt them.
Iring of Denmark, the chosen knight, raised his spear; then he covered his body with his shield, and sprang at Hagen. The heroes made a loud din. They hurled their spears so mightily from their hands, that they pierced through the strong bucklers to the bright harness, and the shafts flew high in the air. Then the grimly bold men grasped their swords.
Hagen was strong beyond measure, yet Iring smote him, that all the house rang. Palace and tower echoed their blows. But neither had the advantage.
Iring left Hagen unwounded, and sprang at the fiddler. He thought to vanquish him by his mighty blows. But the gleeman stood well on his guard, and smote his foeman, that the steel plate of his buckler flew off. He was a terrible man.
Then Iring ran at Gunther, the King of Burgundy.
Fell enow were the twain. But though each smote fiercely at the other, they drew no blood. Their good harness shielded them.
He left Gunther, and ran at Gernot, and began to strike sparks from his mailcoat, but King Gernot of Burgundy well-nigh slew him. Then he sprang from the princes, for he was right nimble, and soon had slain four Burgundians from Worms beyond the Rhine. Giselher was greatly wroth thereat. “Now by God, Sir Iring,” he cried, “thou shalt pay for them that lie dead!” and he fell on him. He smote the Dane, that began to stagger, and dropped down among the blood, so that all deemed the doughty warrior would never strike another blow. Yet Iring lay unwounded withal before Giselher. From the noise of his helmet and the clang of the sword his wits left him, and he lay in a swoon. That had Giselher done with his strong arm.
When the noise of the blow had cleared from his brain, he thought, “I live still, and am unwounded. Now I know the strength of Giselher.” He heard his foemen on both sides. Had they been ware how it stood with him, worse had befallen him. He heard Giselher also, and he pondered by what device he might escape them. He sprang up furiously from among the blood. Well his swiftness served him. He fled from the house, past Hagen, and gave him a stout stroke as he ran.
“Ha!” thought Hagen, “Thou shalt die for this. The Devil help thee, or thou art a dead man.” But Iring wounded Hagen through the helmet. He did it with Vasky, a goodly weapon.
When Hagen felt the wound, he swung his sword fiercely, that Hawart’s man must needs fly. Hagen followed him down the stair. But Iring held his shield above his head. Had the stair been thrice as long, Hagen had not left him time for a single thrust. Ha! what red sparks flew from his helmet! Yet, safe withal, Iring reached his friends.
When Kriemhild heard what he had done to Hagen of Trony in the strife, she thanked him. “God quit thee, Iring, thou hero undismayed! thou hast comforted me, heart and soul, for I see Hagen’s harness red with blood.” The glad queen took the shield from his hand herself.
“Stint thy thanks,” said Hagen. “There is scant cause for them. If he tried it again, he were in sooth a bold man. The wound I got from him will serve thee little. The blood thou seest on my harness but urgeth me to slay the more. Only now, for the first time, I am wroth indeed. Sir Iring hath done me little hurt.”
Iring of Denmark stood against the wind, and cooled him in his harness, with his helmet unlaced; and all the folk praised his hardihood, that the Margrave’s heart was uplifted. He said, “Friends, arm me anew. I will essay it again. Haply I may vanquish this overweening man.” His shield was hewn in pieces; they brought him a better straight.
The warrior was soon armed, and stronger than afore. Wrothfully he seized a stark spear, wherewith he defied Hagen yet again. He had won more profit and honour had he let it be.
Hagen waited not for his coming. Hurling darts, and with drawn sword, he sprang down the stairs in a fury. Iring’s strength availed him little. They smote at each other’s shields, that glowed with a fire-red wind. Through his helmet and his buckler, Hawart’s man was wounded to the death by Hagen’s sword. He was never whole again.
When Sir Iring felt the wound, he raised his shield higher to guard his head, for he perceived that he was sore hurt. But Gunther’s man did worse to him yet. He found a spear lying at his feet, and hurled it at Iring, the knight of Denmark, that it stuck out on the other side of his head. The overweening knight made a grim end of his foeman.
Iring fell back among his friends. Or they did off his helmet, they drew the spear out. Then death stood at hand. Loud mourned his friends; their sorrow was bitter.
The queen came, and began to weep for stark Iring. She wept for his wounds, and was right doleful. But the undismayed hero spake before his kinsmen, “Weep not, noble lady. What avail thy tears? I must die from these wounds that I have gotten. Death will not leave me longer to thee and Etzel.”
Then he said to them of Thuringia and Denmark, “See that none of you take the gifts of the queen – her bright gold so red. If ye fight with Hagen ye must die.”
His cheek was pale; he bare death’s mark. They grieved enow; for Hawart’s man would nevermore be whole. Then they of Denmark must needs to the fray.
Irnfried and Hawart sprang forward with a thousand knights. The din was loud over all. Ha! what sharp spears were hurled at the Burgundians! Bold Irnfried ran at the gleeman, and came in scathe by his hand. The fiddler smote the Landgrave through his strong helmet, for he was grim enow. Then Irnfried gave Folker a blow, that the links of his hauberk brake asunder, and his harness grew red like fire. Yet, for all, the Landgrave fell dead before the fiddler.
Hawart and Hagen closed in strife. Had any seen it, they had beheld wonders. They smote mightily with their swords. Hawart died by the knight of Burgundy.
When the Thuringians and Danes saw their masters slain, they rushed yet fiercer against the house, and grisly was the strife or they won to the door. Many a helmet and buckler were hewn in pieces.
“Give way,” cried Folker, “and let them in. They shall not have their will, but, in lieu thereof, shall perish. They will earn the queen’s gift with their death.”
The proud warriors thronged into the hall, but many an one bowed his head, slain by swift blows. Well fought bold Gernot; the like did Giselher.
A thousand and four came in. Keen and bright flashed the swords; but all the knights died. Great wonders might be told of the Burgundians.
When the tumult fell, there was silence. Over all, the blood of the dead men trickled through the crannies into the gutters below. They of the Rhine had done this by their prowess.
Then the Burgundians sat and rested, and laid down their weapons and their shields. The bold gleeman went out before the house, and waited, lest any more should come to fight.
The king and his wife wailed loud. Maids and wives beat their breasts. I ween that Death had sworn an oath against them, for many a knight was yet to die by the hands of the strangers.
Thirty-Sixth Adventure
How the Queen Bad Them Burn Down the Hall
“Now do off your helmets,” said Hagen the knight. “I and my comrade will keep watch. And if Etzel’s men try it again, I will warn my masters straightway.”
Then many a good warrior unlaced his helmet. They sat down on the bodies that had fallen in the blood by their hands. With bitter hate the guests were spied at by the Huns.
Before nightfall the king and queen had prevailed on the men of Hungary to dare the combat anew. Twenty thousand or more stood before them ready for battle. These hasted to fall on the strangers.
Dankwart, Hagen’s brother, sprang from his masters to the foemen at the door. They thought he was slain, but he came forth alive.
The strife endured till the night. The guests, as beseemed good warriors, had defended them against Etzel’s men all through the long summer day. Ha! what doughty heroes lay dead before them. It was on a midsummer that the great slaughter fell, when Kriemhild avenged her heart’s dole on her nearest kinsmen, and on many another man, and all King Etzel’s joy was ended. Yet she purposed not at the first to bring it to such a bloody encounter, but only to kill Hagen; but the Devil contrived it so, that they must all perish.
The day was done; they were in sore straits. They deemed a quick death had been better than long anguish. The proud knights would fain have had a truce. They asked that the king might be brought to them.
The heroes, red with blood, and blackened with the soil of their harness, stepped out of the hall with the three kings. They knew not whom to bewail their bitter woe to.
Both Etzel and Kriemhild came. The land all round was theirs, and many had joined their host. Etzel said to the guests, “What would ye with me? Haply ye seek for peace. That can hardly be, after such wrong as ye have done me and mine. Ye shall pay for it while I have life. Because of my child that ye slew, and my many men, nor peace nor truce shall ye have.”
Gunther answered, “A great wrong constrained us thereto. All my followers perished in their lodging by the hands of thy knights. What had I done to deserve that? I came to see thee in good faith, for I deemed thou wert my friend.”
Then said Giselher, the youth, of Burgundy, “Ye knights of King Etzel that yet live, what have ye against me? How had I wronged you? – I that rode hither with loving heart?”
They answered, “Thy love hath filled all the castles of this country with mourning. We had gladly been spared thy journey from Worms beyond the Rhine. Thou hast orphaned the land – thou and thy brothers.”
Then cried Gunther in wrath, “If ye would lay from you this stark hate against us homeless ones, it were well for both sides, for we are guiltless before Etzel.”
But the host answered the guests, “My scathe is greater than thine; because of the mickle toil of the strife, and its shame, not one of you shall come forth alive.”
Then said stark Gernot to the king, “Herein, at the least, incline thy heart to do mercifully with us. Stand back from the house, that we win out to you. We know that our life is forfeit; let what must come, come quickly. Thou hast many knights unwounded; let them fall on us, and give us battle-weary ones rest. How long wouldst thou have us strive?”
King Etzel’s knights would have let them forth, but when Kriemhild heard it, she was wroth, and even this boon was denied to the strangers.
“Nay now, ye Huns, I entreat you, in good faith, that ye let not these lusters after blood come out from the hall, lest thy kinsmen all perish miserably. If none of them were left alive save Uta’s children, my noble brothers, and won they to the air to cool their harness, ye were lost. Bolder knights were never born into the world.”
Then said young Giselher, “Fairest sister mine, right evil I deem it that thou badest me across the Rhine to this bitter woe. How have I deserved death from the Huns? I was ever true to thee, nor did thee any hurt. I rode hither, dearest sister, for that I trusted to thy love. Needs must thou show mercy.”
“I will show no mercy, for I got none. Bitter wrong did Hagen of Trony to me in my home yonder, and here he hath slain my child. They that came with him must pay for it. Yet, if ye will deliver Hagen captive, I will grant your prayer, and let you live; for ye are my brothers, and the children of one mother. I will prevail upon my knights here to grant a truce.”
“God in Heaven forbid!” cried Gernot. “Though we were a thousand, liefer would we all die by thy kinsmen, than give one single man for our ransom. That we will never do.”
“We must perish then,” said Giselher; “but we will fall as good knights. We are still here; would any fight with us? I will never do falsely by my friend.”
Cried bold Dankwart too (he had done ill to hold his peace), “My brother Hagen standeth not alone. They that have denied us quarter may rue it yet. By my troth, ye will find it to your cost.”
Then said the queen, “Ye heroes undismayed, go forward to the steps and avenge our wrong. I will thank you forever, and with cause. I will requite Hagen’s insolence to the full. Let not one of them forth at any point, and I will let kindle the hall at its four sides. So will my heart’s dole be avenged.”
Etzel’s knights were not loth. With darts and with blows they drave back into the house them that stood without. Loud was the din; but the princes and their men were not parted, nor failed they in faith to one another.
Etzel’s wife bade the hall be kindled, and they tormented the bodies of the heroes with fire. The wind blew, and the house was soon all aflame. Folk never suffered worse, I ween. There were many that cried, “Woe is me for this pain! Liefer had we died in battle. God pity us, for we are all lost. The queen taketh bitter vengeance.”
One among them wailed, “We perish by the smoke and the fire. Grim is our torment. The stark heat maketh me so athirst, that I die.”
Said Hagen of Trony, “Ye noble knights and good, let any that are athirst drink the blood. In this heat it is better than wine, and there is naught sweeter here.”
Then went one where he found a dead body. He knelt by the wounds, and did off his helmet, and began to drink the streaming blood. Albeit he was little used thereto, he deemed it right good. “God quit thee, Sir Hagen!” said the weary man, “I have learned a good drink. Never did I taste better wine. If I live, I will thank thee.”
When the others heard his praise, many more of them drank the blood, and their bodies were strengthened, for the which many a noble woman paid through her dear ones.
The fire-flakes fell down on them in the hall, but they warded them off with their shields. Both the smoke and the fire tormented them. Never before suffered heroes such sore pain.
Then said Hagen of Trony, “Stand fast by the wall. Let not the brands fall on your helmets. Trample them with your feet deeper in the blood. A woeful hightide is the queen’s.”
The night ended at last. The bold gleeman, and Hagen, his comrade, stood before the house and leaned upon their shields. They waited for further hurt from Etzel’s knights. It advantaged the strangers much that the roof was vaulted. By reason thereof more were left alive. Albeit they at the windows suffered scathe, they bared them valiantly, as their bold hearts bade them.
Then said the fiddler, “Go we now into the hall, that the Huns deem we be all dead from this torment, albeit some among them shall yet feel our might.”
Giselher, the youth, of Burgundy, said, “It is daybreak, I ween. A cool wind bloweth. God grant we may see happier days. My sister Kriemhild hath bidden us to a doleful hightide.”
One of them spake, “I see the dawn. Since we can do no better, arm you, ye knights, for battle, that, come we never hence, we may die with honour.”
Etzel deemed the guests were all dead of their travail and the stress of the fire. But six hundred bold men yet lived. Never king had better knights. They that kept ward over the strangers had seen that some were left, albeit the princes and their men had suffered loss and dole. They saw many that walked up and down in the house.
They told Kriemhild that many were left alive, but the queen answered, “It cannot be. None could live in that fire. I trow they all lie dead.”
The kings and their men had still gladly asked for mercy, had there been any to show it. But there was none in the whole country of the Huns. Wherefore they avenged their death with willing hand.
They were greeted early in the morning with a fierce onslaught, and came in great scathe. Stark spears were hurled at them. Well the knights within stood on their defence.
Etzel’s men were the bolder, that they might win Kriemhild’s fee. Thereto, they obeyed the king gladly; but soon they looked on death.
One might tell marvels of her gifts and promises. She bade them bear forth red gold upon shields, and gave thereof to all that desired it, or would take it. So great treasure was never given against foemen.
The host of warriors came armed to the hall. The fiddler said, “We are here. I never was gladder to see any knights than those that have taken the king’s gold to our hurt.”
Not a few of them cried out, “Come nigher, ye heroes! Do your worst, and make an end quickly, for here are none but must die.”
Soon their bucklers were filled full of darts. What shall I say more? Twelve hundred warriors strove once and again to win entrance. The guests cooled their hardihood with wounds. None could part the strife. The blood flowed from death-deep wounds. Many were slain. Each bewailed some friend. All Etzel’s worthy knights perished. Their kinsmen sorrowed bitterly.
Thirty-Seventh Adventure
How Rudeger Was Slain
The strangers did valiantly that morning. Gotelind’s husband came into the courtyard and saw the heavy loss on both sides, whereat the true man wept inly.
“Woe is me,” said the knight, “that ever I was born, since none can stop this strife! Fain would I have them at one again, but the king holdeth back, for he seeth always more done to his hurt.”
Good Rudeger sent to Dietrich, that they might seek to move the great king. But the knight of Bern sent back answer, “Who can hinder it? King Etzel letteth none intercede.”
A knight of the Huns, that had oft seen Rudeger standing with wet eyes, said to the queen, “Look how he standeth yonder, that Etzel hath raised above all others, and that hath land and folk at his service. Why hath Rudeger so many castles from the king? He hath struck no blow in this battle. I ween he careth little for our scathe, so long as he has enow for himself. They say he is bolder than any other. Ill hath he shown it in our need.”
The faithful man, when he heard that word, looked angrily at the knight. He thought, “Thou shalt pay for this. Thou callest me a coward. Thou hast told thy tale too loud at court.”
He clenched his fist, and ran at him, and smote the Hun so fiercely that he fell down at his feet, dead. Whereat Etzel’s grief waxed anew.
“Away with thee, false babbler!” cried Rudeger. “I had trouble and sorrow enow. What was it to thee that I fought not? Good cause have I also to hate the strangers, and had done what I could against them, but that I brought them hither. I was their escort into my master’s land, and may not lift my wretched hand against them.”
Then said Etzel, the great king, to the Margrave, “How hast thou helped us, most noble Rudeger? We had dead men enow in the land, and needed no more. Evilly hast thou done.”
But the knight answered, “He angered me, and twitted me with the honour and the wealth thou hast bestowed on me so plenteously. It hath cost the liar dear.”
Then came the queen, that had seen the Hun perish by Rudeger’s wrath. She mourned for him with wet eyes, and said to Rudeger, “What have we ever done to thee that thou shouldst add to our sorrow? Thou hast oft times promised, noble Rudeger, that thou wouldst risk, for our sake, both honour and life, and I have heard many warriors praise thee for thy valour. Hast thou forgotten the oath thou swearest to me with thy hand, good knight, when thou didst woo me for King Etzel – how that thou wouldst serve me till my life’s end, or till thine? Never was my need greater than now.”
“It is true, noble lady. I promised to risk for thee honour and life, but I sware not to lose my soul. I brought the princes to this hightide.”
She said, “Remember, Rudeger, thy faith, and thine oath to avenge all my hurt and my woe.”
The Margrave answered, “I have never said thee nay.”
Etzel began to entreat likewise. They fell at his feet. Sore troubled was the good Margrave. Full of grief, he cried, “Woe is me that ever I saw this hour, for God hath forsaken me. All my duty to Heaven, mine honour, my good faith, my knightliness, I must forego. God above have pity, and let me die! Whether I do this thing, or do it not, I sin. And if I take the part of neither, all the world will blame me. Let Him that made me guide me.”
Still the king and his wife implored him. Whence it fell that many valiant warriors lost their lives at his hand, and the hero himself was slain. Hear ye now the tale of his sorrow. Well he knew he could win naught but teen and scathe. Fain had he denied the prayer of the king and queen. He feared, if he slew but one man, that the world would loathe him evermore.
Then the bold man said to the king, “Take back what thou hast given me – castles and land. Leave me nothing at all. I will go forth afoot into exile. I will take my wife and my daughter by the hand, and I will quit thy country empty, rather than I will die dishonoured. I took thy red gold to my hurt.”
King Etzel answered, “Who will help me then? Land and folk I gave to thee, Rudeger, that thou mightest avenge me on my foes. Thou shalt rule with Etzel as a great king.”
But Rudeger said, “How can I do it? I bade them to my house and home; I set meat and drink before them, and gave them my gifts. Shall I also smite them dead? The folk may deem me a coward. But I have always served them well. Should I fight with them now, it were ill done. Deep must I rue past friendship. I gave my daughter to Giselher. None better in this world had she found, of so great lineage and honour, and faith, and wealth. Never saw I young king so virtuous.”
But Kriemhild answered, “Most noble Rudeger, take pity on us both. Bethink thee that never host had guests like these.”
Then said the Margrave, “What thou and my master have given me I must pay for, this day, with my life. I shall die, and that quickly. Well I know that, or nightfall, my lands and castles will return to your keeping. To your grave I commend my wife and my child, and the homeless ones that are at Bechlaren.”
“God reward thee, Rudeger,” cried the king. He and the queen were both glad. “Thy folk shall be well seen to; but thou thyself, I trow, will come off scatheless.”
So he put his soul and body on the hazard. Etzel’s wife began to weep. He said, “I must keep my vow to thee. Woe is me for my friends, that I must fall upon in mine own despite!”
They saw him turn heavily from the king. To his knights that stood close by, he said, “Arm ye, my men all. For I must fight the Burgundians, to my sorrow.”
The heroes called for their harness, and the attendants brought helm and buckler. Soon the proud strangers heard the sad news.
Rudeger stood armed with five hundred men, and twelve knights that went with him, to win worship in the fray. They knew not that death was so near.
Rudeger went forth with his helmet on; his men carried sharp swords, and, thereto, broad shields and bright. The fiddler saw this, and was dismayed. But when Giselher beheld his father-in-law with his helmet on, he weened that he meant them well. The noble king was right glad. “Well for me that I have such friends,” cried Giselher, “as these we won by the way! For my wife’s sake he will save us. By my faith, I am glad to be wed.”
“Thy trust is vain,” said the fiddler. “When ever did ye see so many knights come in peace, with helmets laced on, and with swords? Rudeger cometh to serve for his castles and his lands.”
Or the fiddler had made an end of speaking, Rudeger, the noble man, stood before the house. He laid his good shield before his feet. He must needs deny greeting to his friends.
Then the Margrave shouted into the hall, “Stand on your defence, ye bold Nibelungs. I would have helped you, but must slay you. Once we were friends, but I cannot keep my faith.”
The sore-tired men were dismayed at this word. Their comfort was gone, for he that they loved was come against them. From their foemen they had suffered enow.
“God in Heaven forbid,” said Gunther the knight, “that thou shouldst be false to the friendship and the faith wherein we trusted. It cannot be.”
“I cannot help it,” said Rudeger. “I must fight with you, for I have vowed it. As ye love your lives, bold warriors, ward you well. King Etzel’s wife will have it so.”
“Thou turnest too late,” said the king. “God reward thee, noble Rudeger, for the truth and the love thou hast shown us, if it endure but to the end. We shall ever thank and serve thee for the rich gifts thou gavest to me and my kinsmen, when thou broughtest us with true heart into Etzel’s land: so thou let us live. Think well thereon, noble Rudeger.”
“Gladly would I grant it,” said the knight. “Might I but give thee freely, as I would, with none to chide me!”
“Give that no thought,” said Gernot. “Never host entreated guests so kindly as thou us; the which will advantage thee if we live.”
“Would to God, noble Gernot,” cried Rudeger, “that ye were at the Rhine, and I dead with honour, since I must fight with you! Never strangers were worse entreated by friends.”
“God reward thee, Sir Rudeger,” answered Gernot, “for thy rich gifts. I should rue thy death, for in thee a virtuous man would fall. Behold, good knight, the sword thou gavest, in my hand. It hath never failed me in my need. Its edge hath killed many a warrior. It is finely tempered and stark, and thereto bright and good. So goodly a gift, I ween, never knight will give more. If thou forbear not, but fall upon us, and slay any of my kinsmen here, thou shalt perish by thine own sword! Much I pity thee and thy wife.”
“Would to God, Sir Gernot, thou hadst thy will, and thy friends were out of peril! To thee I would entrust wife and daughter.”
Then said the youngest of fair Uta’s sons, “How canst thou do this thing, Sir Rudeger? All that came hither with me are thy friends. A vile deed is this. Thou makest thy daughter too soon a widow. If thou and thy knights defy us, ill am I apayed, that I trusted thee before all other men, when I won thy daughter for my wife.”
“Forget not thy troth, noble king, if God send thee hence,” answered Rudeger. “Let not the maiden suffer for my sin. By thine own princely virtue, withdraw not thy favour from her.”
“Fain would I promise it,” said Giselher the youth. “Yet if my high-born kinsmen perish here by thy hand, my love for thee and thy daughter must perish also.”
“Then God have mercy!” cried the brave man; whereat he lifted his shield, and would have fallen upon the guests in Kriemhild’s hall.
But Hagen called out to him from the stairhead, “Tarry awhile, noble Rudeger. Let me and my masters speak with thee yet awhile in our need. What shall it profit Etzel if we knights die in a strange land? I am in evil case,” said Hagen. “The shield that Gotelind gave me to carry, the Huns have hewn from my hand. In good faith I bore it hither. Would to God I had such a shield as thou hast, noble Rudeger! A better I would not ask for in the battle.”
“I would gladly give thee my shield, durst I offer it before Kriemhild. Yet take it, Hagen, and wear it. Ha! mightest thou but win with it to Burgundy!”
When they saw him give the shield so readily, there were eyes enow red with hot tears. It was the last gift that Rudeger of Bechlaren ever gave.
Albeit Hagen was grim and stern, he was melted by the gift that the good knight, so night to his end, had given him. And many a warrior mourned with him.
“Now God reward thee, noble Rudeger; there will never be thy like again for giving freely to homeless knights. May the fame of thy charity live for ever. Sad news hast thou brought me. We had trouble enow. God pity us if we must fight with friends.”
The Margrave answered, “Thou grievest not more than I.”
“I will requite thee for thy gift, brave Rudeger. Whatever betide thee from these knights, my hand will not touch thee – not if thou slewest every man of Burgundy.”
Rudeger bowed, and thanked him. All the folk wept. Sore pity it was that none could stay the strife. The father of all virtue lay dead in Rudeger.
Then Folker the fiddler went to the door and said, “Since my comrade Hagen hath sworn peace, thou shalt have it also from my hand. Well didst thou earn it when we came first into this country. Noble Margrave, be my envoy. The Margravine gave me these red bracelets to war at the hightide. See them now, and bear witness that I did it.”
“Would to God that the Margravine might give thee more! Doubt not but I shall tell my dear one, if I ever see her alive.”
When he had promised that, Rudeger lifted up his shield; he waxed fierce, and tarried no longer. Like a knight he fell upon the guests. Many a swift blow he smote. Folker and Hagen stood back, for they had vowed it. But so many bold men stood by the door that Rudeger came in great scathe.
Athirst for blood, Gunther and Gernot let him pass in. Certes, they were heroes. Giselher drew back sorrowing. He hoped to live yet awhile; wherefore he avoided Rudeger in the strife.
Then the Margrave’s men ran at their foemen, and followed their master like good knights. They carried sharp weapons, wherewith they clove many a helmet and buckler. The weary ones answered the men of Bechlaren with swift blows that pierced deep and straight through their harness to their life’s blood. They did wonderly in the battle.
All the warriors were now in the hall. Folker and Hagen fell on them, for they had sworn to spare none save the one man. Their hands struck blood from the helmets. Right grim was the clash of swords! Many a shield-plate sprang in sunder, and the precious stones were scattered among the blood. So fiercely none will fight again. The prince of Bechlaren hewed a path right and left, as one acquainted with battle. Well did Rudeger approve him that day a bold and blameless knight. Gunther and Gernot smote many heroes dead. Giselher and Dankwart laid about them, fearing naught, and sent many a man to his doom.
Rudeger approved him stark enow, bold and well armed. Ha! many a knight he slew! One of the Burgundians saw this, and was wroth; whereat Rudeger’s death drew nigh.
Gernot cried out to the Margrave, “Noble Rudeger; thou leavest none of my men alive. It irketh me sore; I will bear it no longer. I will turn thy gift against thee, for thou hast taken many friends from me. Come hither, thou bold man. What thou gavest me I will earn to the uttermost.”
Or the Margrave had fought his way to him, bright bucklers grew dim with blood. Then, greedy of fame, the men ran at each other, and began to ward off the deadly wounds. But their swords were so sharp that nothing could withstand them. Rudeger the knight smote Gernot through his flint- hard helmet, that the blood brake out. Soon the good warrior was avenged. He swung Rudeger’s gift on high, and, albeit he was wounded to the death, he smote him through his good shield and his helmet, that Gotelind’s husband died. So rich a gift was never worse requited. So they fell in the strife – Gernot and Rudeger – slain by each other’s hand.
Thereat Hagen waxed grimmer than afore. The hero of Trony said, “Great woe is ours. None can ever make good to their folk and their land the loss of these two knights. Rudeger’s men shall pay for it.” They gave no quarter. Many were struck down unwounded that had come to, but that they were drowned in the blood.
“Woe is me for my brother, fallen dead! Each hour bringeth fresh dole. For my father-in-law, Rudeger, I grieve also. Twofold is my loss and my sorrow.”
When Giselher saw his brother slain, they that were in the hall suffered for it. Death lagged not behind. Of the men of Bechlaren there was left not a living soul.
Gunther and Giselher, and eke Hagen, Dankwart and Folker, the good knights, went where the two warriors lay, and there the heroes wept piteously.
“Death hath despoiled us sore,” said Giselher the youth. “Stop your weeping, and go out to the air, that we strife-weary ones may cool our harness. God will not let us live longer, I ween.”
They that were without saw them sitting, or leaning and taking their rest. Rudeger’s men were all slain; the din was hushed. The silence endured so long that Etzel was angered, and the king’s wife cried, “Woe is me for this treason. They speak too long. The bodies of our foemen are left unscathed by Rudeger’s hand. He plotteth to guide them back to Burgundy. What doth it profit us, King Etzel, that we have shared all our wealth with him? The knight hath done falsely. He that should have avenged us cometh to terms with them.”
But Folker, the valiant warrior, answered her, “Alack! it is not so, noble queen. If I might give the lie to one so high-born as thou art, thou hast foully slandered Rudeger. Sorry terms have he and his knights made with us. With such good will he did the king’s bidding, that he and his men all lie dead. Look round thee for another, Kriemhild, to obey thee. Rudeger served thee till his death. If thou doubtest, thou mayest see for thyself.”
To her grief they did it. They brought the mangled hero where Etzel saw him. Never were Etzel’s knights so doleful. When the dead Margrave was held up before them, none could write or tell all the bitter wailing whereby women and men alike uttered their heart’s dole. Etzel’s woe was so great that the sound of his lamentation was as a lion’s roar. Loud wept his wife. They mourned good Rudeger bitterly.
Thirty-Eighth Adventure
How Dietrich’s Knights Were All Slain
So loud they wept on all sides, that palace and towers echoed with the sound. One of Dietrich’s men of Bern heard it, and hasted with the news.
He said to the prince, “Hearken, Sir Dietrich. Never in my life heard I such wail as this. Methinketh the king himself hath joined the hightide. How else should all the folk make such dole. Either the king or Kriemhild – one of them at the least – have the guests killed through hate. The valiant warriors weep bitterly.”
The prince of Bern answered, “Judge not so hastily, my good men. What the stranger knights have done, sore peril hath constrained them to. Let it boot them now that I sware peace to them.”
But bold Wolfhart said, “I will go and ask what they have done, and will tell thee, dear master, when I know the truth.”
Sir Dietrich answered, “When a knight is wroth, if one question him roughly, his anger is soon kindled. I would not have thee meddle therein, Wolfhart.”
He bade Helfrich haste thither, and find out from Etzel’s men, or from the guests, what had happed, for he had never heard folk wail so loud.
The messenger asked, “What aileth you all?”
One among them answered, “Joy is fled from the land of the Huns. Rudeger lieth slain by the men of Burgundy. Of them that entered in with him, not one is left alive.”