Ortnit rode away. He forbade any of his serving-men to accompany him,
saying that he wished to be alone. The cool fresh air blowing about his
temples cheered him, and chased away the fumes that troubled him. The
sun began to sink as he entered the wood, where he had to dismount and
lead his horse, because of the low-growing branches of the trees. The
night was so dark that he lost his way, and did not succeed in getting
out of the wood again till daybreak. When he gained the open, he rested
a short time to let his horse graze in the meadow, and to eat his own
breakfast. After that he set out again for the mountains, and at length
reached the wall of rock his mother had mentioned. He rode along the
foot of it, as she had told him, till he heard the gurgling of the
spring, and, on turning a corner, saw the lime before him. It was an
immense tree, and early as it was in the year, it was already covered
with leaves and blossom. Ortnit found on looking around, that it was in
a wide meadow, on which grass, clover, and many-coloured flowers grew
in rich abundance, while the number of birds that nested in the
lime-tree was quite unheard of. A curious feeling came over the king,
it seemed as if he must have heard those birds’ song of welcome in his
childhood, and all at once he remembered a ditty his mother used to
sing. He began to hum it softly.
It was a song about all the little birds, and the music each made after
its kind, sweet as a summer day, and all in honour of Alberich, king of
the wood.
“Alberich—king of the wood,” Ortnit was sure that he had once heard
more about him than that, but what it was he could not tell. Had he not
played with a child of that name once? As he was puzzling over these
confused memories of the past, he happened to glance at his mother’s
ring; the stone in it was shining like a fire, and lighting up the face
of a lovely child, who lay asleep in the grass close by.
“Poor boy,” said the royal hero, compassionately, “I wonder who brought
you to this lonely place! How anxious your mother must be about you! I
cannot leave you here to die of hunger or fall a defenceless prey to
the wild beasts.”
He had already fastened his horse to a branch, and stooping down, he
lifted the boy in his arms to carry him away; but to his intense
surprise he received such a blow on the chest that he not only let the
child fall, but himself tumbled on his back. He had scarcely recovered
his footing, when he found the child holding him so tight that he had
to exert all his strength not to be overthrown. It was a strange sight
to see the tall king and the wonderful child, wrestling furiously
together. Flowers and grass were trodden under foot, shrubs and low
bushes broken and torn, when Ortnit at last flung his opponent on the
ground, and drew his sword to slay him. But, angry as he was, he could
not do it when the little thing gazed at him so entreatingly, and
begged in such a sweet soft voice that he would not murder him when he
was defenceless, but would accept, in exchange for the life he granted
him, a valuable suit of armour, consisting of helmet, shield, and coat
of mail of wrought gold and silver, and last not least, the sword
called Rosen, whose blade had been rendered strong and durable in
dragon’s blood. When Ortnit demanded a hostage for his opponent’s good
faith, the little creature told him that hostages were impossible to
find in that wild mountain country, but Ortnit might trust to his word,
for he also was a king, and ruled over a far wider domain than
Lombardy, though truly his realm lay beneath the earth instead of upon
it, and his subjects were employed day and night in working in metals.
Finding that no hostage was necessary, or indeed procurable, the hero
allowed his prisoner to get up. But before the latter went to get the
armour he had promised, he said that he would like to have the ring
Ortnit was wearing, and that he scrupled the less to ask for it, as it
did not appear to be of great value.
“I cannot give it to you,” replied Ortnit, “for it was a present from
my dear mother, who would never forgive me if I parted with it.”
“And you call yourself a hero,” sneered the little creature, “_you_ who
fear your mother’s blows! Tell me, what do you do when you are wounded
in battle? Do you cry like a baby when you see the blood flow?”
“If you were to hew me in pieces,” replied the Lombard, “painful as
that would be, it would hurt me less than a tear or a sigh from my
mother.”
“Well, good squire of dames,” continued the other, “it can at any rate
do the ring no harm for me to look at it and touch it. I am in your
power, am I not? Your sword is in your hand, and I am without a weapon.”
After a little hesitation the king consented to let the boy draw the
ring from his finger; but scarcely was this done, when he vanished from
before his eyes, suddenly and without warning. Ortnit felt bewildered.
He heard the boy’s voice, now at a distance and now near, making
sarcastic remarks on the beating his mother would give him when he went
home, and finally announcing that he would pelt him with a few pebbles
to show him how well he could do it. Ortnit defended himself for some
time against the terrible storm of sharp stones that rained upon him,
but at last, seeing that neither his great strength nor his sword were
of any avail, he turned to his horse and prepared to ride away.
On perceiving this the hobgoblin exclaimed: “Wait a bit, friend
Goodman. I am sorry to think of the stripes your mother will give you.
Listen to me. I have many important things to talk to you about. If you
will give me your royal word of honour that you will not revenge
yourself for the trick I played you, I will give you back your ring.”
“Very well,” answered Ortnit, “I promise on my honour.”
“And if I go on to talk ill of your mother?”
“No,” cried the king, “I will never forgive that. You may say what you
like about me, but my mother is the purest and most perfect of women.”
“I quite agree with you,” said the little creature; “you may listen to
me without fearing that I shall slander her, for I am Alberich
(Ælf-ric) king of the Dwarfs, and you and I are more nearly related
than you think. I will tell you the truth; but first take back your
ring. I trust to your word of honour.”
The moment Ortnit felt the ring in his hand, he slipped it back on his
finger, and immediately saw the boy standing before him.
“You must know, great king,” pursued Alberich, “that you have to thank
me for your land and people, castles, towns and victories, and also for
your marvellous strength. Your predecessor, whom you call father,
married, when he was an elderly man, the youthful sister of the prince
of the wild Reussen. The marriage was childless. Husband and wife in
vain prayed heaven for an heir. Your mother was the best and most
virtuous woman in Lombardy, but she wore herself away with fretting
about what would become of the country and herself when her husband
died without an heir. She foresaw that the nation would be split into
factions, that civil war would desolate the land, and that she herself
might be chased from Lombardy, a homeless exile. I often heard her
plaints when I entered her room unseen. The older the king grew, the
more her anxiety increased; then—well, you must know it sooner or
later—I became her second husband.”
“Monster, you lie!” shouted Ortnit, drawing a dagger from his side, but
he could not use it, for the smiling boy looked up at him so fearlessly.
“Your anger is bootless,” he said. “You had better let me finish my
story. Young as I look, I am five hundred years old; small as I am, and
big and strong as you are, I am yet your father. I proposed to the king
that he should secretly get a divorce from his wife and let her marry
me. He consented, but she would not. She refused. She spent days and
months in weeping, and only gave way at last when her husband insisted!
She and I were married secretly by a priest. No one guessed what had
happened, and when you were born you were supposed to be the old king’s
son. I did not win my wife’s heart, however, until her first husband
was dead. After that I used sometimes to bring her here; you and I
played together among the flowers like two children, and I sang with
the birds that wild song of theirs about the king of the wood, which
your mother often sung to you again at Castle Garden. When you grew to
be a man and a hero, I was often at your side unseen, while the battle
raged all round you, and on those occasions I have often turned aside
the point of some murderous weapon that threatened your life. When you
cross the wild ocean, and strive to win the Moorish maiden for your
wife, I will be there to help you. So long as you wear that ring on
your finger, you have only to wish for me and you will see me. Now wait
a few minutes; I am going to fetch the armour that no weapon can
pierce, and the sword Rosen, which can cut through steel and iron, and
even dragon’s scales.”
Ortnit felt as though in a dream. While he was still thinking over all
that he had just heard, the sound of heavy steps, and the clanking of
armour startled him out of his reverie. Turning round he saw Alberich,
who with the help of a sturdy dwarf was bringing his promised gift. On
the top of the silver helmet with gold enwrought, was a priceless
diamond. The whole suit of mail was of marvellously beautiful
workmanship, and sparkled with gems wherever gems should be. The sword
was in a golden sheath, its handle was a shining carbuncle, and on the
sharp steel blade were golden figures and the letters forming the
king’s name.
Ortnit was amazed at the beauty of all he saw. He put on the armour,
and it fitted him exactly. Then he picked his tiny father up in his
strong arms and kissed him on his rosy mouth, and Alberich returned his
embrace with much affection. As the king rode away, the last words he
heard were, “Do not forget the importance of that ring. Never give it
away. If you turn it on your finger, I will at once be with you.”
When Ortnit got home, he was received with joy by all his retainers;
and his mother, who was watching for his arrival, signed to him to come
to her. He instantly ran up the steps, and whispered as he kissed her,
“I have come from father Alberich.”
“You know?” she asked, hiding her face on his shoulder.
“I know,” he answered, “that I love and honour my dear mother.”
May came at last. The army assembled and marched south through Tuscany,
Rome and Naples, whence they embarked for Sicily, Messina being the
place fixed on for the general meeting of all the forces. Arrived
there, they found faithful Zacharis ready with his ship, in which he
had stowed away, not only enough provisions for the voyage, but also
merchandise, in case it should be wanted. Soon every man was on board,
a favourable wind swelled the sails, and experienced seamen steered the
ship through the wild sea.