Bari is the name of an Italian town which, small and unimportant as it
is now, was once a mighty sea-port. In those old days the harbour was
deep and large and full of ships, while in the town itself were
numerous palaces and houses surrounded by gardens and orange-groves.
Here it was that the great and glorious King Rother, the father of his
people and the terror of his foes, held court amongst the dukes, counts
and nobles of the land. The race-course was close to the sea, and there
the young warriors were wont to congregate, to throw the spear and
practise such sports as teach agility, while the women and maidens
looked on and distributed prizes to the successful candidates for
honour.
One day King Rother was seated on his throne surrounded by his
counsellors, watching now the people, now the sports, and now the
restless waves that were beating against the shore. There was a
troubled look upon his face. Turning to his old and faithful
banner-bearer, Duke Berchther of Meran, who sat beside him, “Look,” he
said, “do you see how the waves raise their foam-crowned heads high in
the air, dash forward, and then vanish without leaving a trace behind?
The kings of the earth resemble them in this, so indeed do all men.”
“What do you say?” cried the duke. “Do you not hear how many songs are
sung in your praise? Know you not that such songs live on from
generation to generation, and that your name and deeds will therefore
be spoken of with admiration till the end of time?”
“That is poor comfort,” replied the king. “What is the future to me,
when the present is so tame and joyless? A happy home were better to me
than the songs of which you speak. There go your seven sons, bold
Leupold at their head, their helmets wreathed in token of victory. You
live a second life in them, and their love will sustain you in your old
age. What good is my throne to me? I have not wife nor child. I shall
wither like an old tree, or become the laughing-stock of children in my
age!”
“Then why do you not marry?” asked the duke, laughing heartily. “You
are in your prime and a famous warrior. You might pick and choose any
one you liked for a wife, no one would say you nay, from a simple
maiden to a high-born princess.”
“You say that I am free to choose,” said Rother bitterly; “kings are
more fettered in their choice than other men. They must marry in their
own degree, or their children cannot succeed them, and may even live to
curse them. I have travelled in many lands, but I have never yet seen
the princess I could have wished to make my wife.”
“Nay then, sire, if you are so hard to please,” returned Berchther
after a deep and thoughtful silence; “I think I know of a lady who
might suit you, if you are willing to risk your head for her sake.”
The king desiring further information, Berchther showed him the
portrait of a lovely girl, who, he said, was the daughter of the
Emperor of Constantinople. Rother could not take his eyes off the
picture, and exclaimed that she, and she alone, must be his wife.
“Very good, my lord,” said Berchther; “but that is a more difficult
matter to bring about than you think. I must explain what I mean. The
Emperor Constantine is so devoted to his daughter that he will not part
with her; and if any man—be he count, duke or king—is bold enough to
go and ask for her hand, he at once orders his head to be cut off. And
what is the good of a headless wooer?”
“I think,” answered Rother, “that I shall meet with a better reception
than that. The emperor of the East will know how to bear himself to the
ruler of the West. But now call my counsellors together, that I may
tell them what I intend to do.”
When the council was assembled, the king told his ministers the whole
story, adding in conclusion that he intended to do his wooing in
person. They strongly dissuaded him from this, upon the plea, that the
king, being the chief of the state, had no right to endanger its safety
by risking his head unnecessarily. Rother at last gave way, much
against his will. The debate as to who should go to Constantinople
lasted a long time, for each man felt that his head was of at least as
much value to himself as the king’s could possibly be to the state.
Then Leupold, Berchther’s brave son, rose with six of his brothers, and
declared in their name and his own that they were ready to go as soon
as the ships were fitted out for the journey; whereupon five noble
counts, emulating the valour of these seven, announced their
willingness to accompany them.
Preparations were made for the departure of the twelve ambassadors, and
at last the day came on which they were to set sail. Just before the
anchors were lifted, the king came down to the harbour, his
gold-stringed harp in his hand, and sang them a farewell song, so
strangely sweet and stirring that it moved them as Wodan’s songs used
to move the hearts of their fathers in the olden time. It seemed to
them as though the god of battles were calling on them to be up and
doing. The music ceased; and then Rother took leave of them, saying,
“If ever you are in need, and you hear that song, you may know that I
am near and will help you.”
The hawsers were unloosed and the ship set sail. After a voyage that
lasted for days and weeks, the travellers sighted the Golden Horn, the
port of Constantinople; and as the sun was rising over the city, they
landed at the wharf. They dressed themselves in velvet and heavy gold
brocade, and cloaks trimmed with ermine. Every one turned to gaze after
them as they passed up the street towards the palace. None knew who
they were or whence they came, but all thought they must be the
ambassadors of some mighty prince.
The emperor was yet in bed, dreaming of the feasts and carousals in
which his heart delighted, when the empress awoke him, and said, “Get
up, Constantine; the messengers of a great king have come to see you.
They bring tidings of vast importance. You must receive them with all
due honour and respect.”
When the emperor was ready, he desired the ambassadors to be brought to
him in the throne-room, where he received them courteously. At first
all went well. Constantine was pleased that his friendship and alliance
should be sought by the ruler of the West, and expressed his delight in
no scant terms; but when Leupold went on to say that his royal master
had also commissioned him to ask in his name for the hand of the
Princess Oda, the emperor’s wrath knew no bounds, and he ordered his
guards to seize the “foreign hounds” and cast them into prison.
When the guards had left the hall with the twelve ambassadors,
Constantine began to pace the floor, rubbing his hands, and muttering,
“Behead, drown, hang—which shall it be? Ah, it were best to hang them.
It would be a grand sight! Twelve fine gentlemen in gorgeous raiment
brought at once to the gallows. St. Maurice grant that the wondrous
spectacle may bring us glory!”
“Constantine,” said the kindly empress, “beware what you do. Is our
beautiful daughter never to marry? Would it not be a good thing to give
her to King Rother, and let her rule the West with him, as we the East?
If you slay the messengers he has sent, Rother will assuredly ally
himself with the heathen king of Desert-Babylon, and, with his help,
seek your destruction.”
“St. Michael and his holy angels will protect us against the might of
the godless host of infidels,” replied the emperor sanctimoniously.
“Ah,” said the prudent wife, “do not be too sure of that. He has other
things to do. He has to fight for the conversion and salvation of the
wild heathen tribes. Take my advice, and keep Rother’s messengers as
hostages, that our hands may be strengthened when their king comes over
the western sea and demands them from us at the head of his army.”
The counsel pleased the emperor, and he gave orders that the prisoners
should be well guarded.