Chapter XI: Book II (4)

“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 friends 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 sprang 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 hath 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 grace 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 nigh 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 wear 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.”

Helfrich was sore grieved. He had never told so sad a tale, and went back weeping.

“What news?” cried Dietrich. “Why weepest thou so bitterly, Sir Helfrich?”

The knight answered, “I may well mourn. The Burgundians have slain Rudeger.”

But the prince of Bern said, “God forbid! That were stark vengeance and devil’s sport. What had Rudeger done to deserve it? Well I know he was their friend.”

Wolfhart answered, “If they have done this, their life shall pay for it. It were shameful to endure it. For oft hath Rudeger’s hand served us.”

The prince of Amelung bade them inquire further. He sat down at a window sore troubled, and bade Hildebrand go to the guests, and ask them what had happened.

Master Hildebrand, bold in strife, took with him neither shield nor sword, and would have gone to them on peaceful wise. But his sister’s child chid him. Grim Wolfhart cried, “Why goest thou naked? If they revile thee, thou wilt have the worst of the quarrel, and return shamed. If thou goest armed, none will withstand thee.”

The old man armed him as the youth had counselled. Or he had ended, all Dietrich’s knights stood in their harness, sword in hand. It irked the warrior, and he had gladly turned them from their purpose. He asked their intent.

“We would follow thee,” they answered. “What if Hagen of Trony, as his wont is, mock thee?” Whereupon Hildebrand consented.