How Sir Otto once more encountered his Double-goer.
The morning had now dawned; the Knight of Trautwangen had left his
faithful steed in charge of his comrades, and mounted up to the top of
a steep hill, that he might discern from thence in what direction the
pursuit could best be continued;--whether they should proceed farther
through the valleys, or now retreat by the way they had come. On the
hill-top the rock was cleft into two great masses, as by a giant’s
sword. On the brink of the precipice stood Sir Otto, and rejoiced to
perceive that he had advanced far beyond the Finland frontier, and
that his troops could now assume a station which would be greatly more
commanding and advantageous than any that they had hitherto possessed.
When he was lost in these reflections, lo! there appeared, through the
morning fogs, a tall figure of an armed knight on the opposite half of
the cleft rock. With his visor thrown back, he gazed around him, just
as Sir Otto had before done, till suddenly their eyes met together, and
both trembled with affright,--for it was indeed Ottur and Otto who had
thus encountered each other.
At length, “This cannot and shall not longer be endured,” cried Ottur.
“At the sight of thee my senses are again confused, and I am driven to
madness. In this world one champion only must live with that form and
those features. Besides, thou hast, in this last night, beaten us from
the battle-field; but, if I could make an end of thee, the faithful
servants of Odin and Valhalla might hope ere long to redeem their lost
honours, and inflict just vengeance on their foes. Therefore raise
thy spear, and defend thyself, for the cleft of the rocks forbids us
to use our swords; but ere the sun has fully risen in the heavens,
our lances must determine who is to have the right of wearing such
features,--thou or I.”--With these words he brandished his massive
javelin high over his head.
“Yet halt a moment,” said Sir Otto; “methinks by the combat which thou
hast now proposed neither of us will arrive at peace of mind. How might
that man live for the future who had put to death his own double?--were
not that to say that he had killed himself?”
“Truly it would be so,” answered Ottur; “but, remember, we shall fight
with closed visors. One cannot mark then how his own features are
stained with blood, or grinning in death’s agony.”--Thereupon he closed
his iron beaver with a great crash, and again poised his javelin.
“Yet, methinks, we might become friends and brethren in arms,” answered
Sir Otto, “and this on terms more intimate than those which bound any
two heroes that the world has yet ever known.”
“Wilt thou then follow the banners of Gerda?--or would I forsake her?”
said Ottur, in a hollow voice from his closed helmet;--“since these
are questions that may never be peaceably answered betwixt us, let us
straightway to our bloody work!--If thou wilt not begin the attack, I
shall at all hazards hurl my spear against thee; and surely, since thou
wear’st the semblance of Ottur, thou canst not prove a runaway and a
coward!”
“Heaven forbid!” answered the Knight of Trautwangen, who now drew down
his visor, and prepared himself, like his antagonist, for the combat.
For a little space thereafter, the two tall champions stood with their
shields uplifted, and watching each other, when, lo! the Knight of
Trautwangen beheld a new and strange assailant, who was rushing from
the thickets against his adversary;--a wild bull, which had perchance
been disturbed and enraged by the movements of the troops, came forth
foaming, bellowing, and tossing his horns,--directing all his wrath
against Ottur, whom he would doubtless have hurled from the precipice;
for the youth seemed never to observe his approach. In a moment
the Knight of Trautwangen sent forth his javelin with irresistible
strength, and so correct an aim, that it passed clear over the head
of his pagan foe, and struck deep into the neck of the raging animal,
which immediately fell, wrestling with death, among the deep snow.
“What meanest thou, Otto?” said the pagan youth, at the same time
dropping his spear; “it is impossible that thou couldst have been so
bad a marksman, as to throw the weapon over my head!--or, peradventure,
thou hast done this but in mockery?”--Sir Otto made a signal that he
should look behind him; and, on turning round, Ottur saw the wild beast
with the arrow in his neck, which was now stretching his convulsed
limbs in the last agonies of death. At this sight he paused, and at
length, turning to the Knight of Trautwangen, he threw back his
visor, whereupon the latter followed his example; and the sun, which
just then rose, shone brightly on the features of both the young
heroes. They looked at each other with kindness and confidence, till
Ottur said,--“Shall we then exchange swords in token of good-will,
though the fates forbid that we should march in the battle-field
together?”--“Nay,” answered Sir Otto, “I dare not give away my sword;
for it is a sacred pledge received from my father’s hand, otherwise
it should be thine, and that right willingly;--but mark what I have
now to say. If thou indeed lookest on me as a friend, then, for the
future, let thy rapier be named Otto, in remembrance of me, and I, in
like manner, will name mine Ottur.”--“Be it so,” answered the pagan;
“I agree thereto with all my heart; and, methinks, thou art far wiser,
and better able to afford good counsel than I am, although thou seem’st
to be several years younger.”--“Ay, truly,” answered the Knight of
Trautwangen, “thou lookest somewhat older than I am, though, in other
respects, we are indeed but too like to each other.”--“So then,” said
the pagan, brandishing his sword, “this old friend is now to be called
Otto?”--“And this well-proved comrade of mine is named Ottur,” replied
the other, striking with his iron glove on his sword, so that the blade
rung and rattled in the scabbard. Thereupon the two warriors nodded
kindly their parting salutations, and both descended into the valley to
join their several squadrons.
From this day onwards, the winter was spent quietly and peaceably amid
the snow-covered mountains. The defeated Finlanders did not venture any
more with their enchantments to provoke the Christian army; and the
commanders on both sides past at intervals many tranquil, happy hours
in the watch-tower of the Lady Minnatrost. The pious Druda continued,
as was her wont, to appear calm, contented, and mild, as the silvery
moonlight;--only once, when Sir Otto repeated, at the banquet-table,
the farewell-songs of the beautiful Astrid and the stern Sir Hugur,
which he had learned from the wise armourer at the sea-monarch’s
castle, she began to weep bitterly, and begged of Sir Otto, that he
never would sing those words to her again. By the knight her slightest
wishes were ever looked upon as an irresistible law; and their life
glided on so pleasantly, that the two champions wondered how the
winter in the north had past so soon away; for, ere they had thought
of changing their station, the mild zephyrs of spring were already
breathing through the valleys,--the rivers again flowed in their rocky
channels,--and plots of green grass and flowers began once more to
appear amid these wild northern regions.