Alberich now left the walls, and opening a side-door made his way to a
tower-like building that rose above the battlements. This was the
temple where the Moors kept their idols, Mahomet and Apollo; two
enormous figures carved in stone. The queen and her daughter, beautiful
Sidrat, knelt before the idols praying for protection from the
invaders. Suddenly Sidrat felt her hand grasped gently by an invisible
hand. At first she was frightened, and then comforted, for she took it
as a sign that her prayers were heard. But the unseen friend was
Alberich, and not a heathen god. He whispered, “Your gods are dust; I
am a messenger from another world, and have come to save you and to
teach you to worship the true God.”
The girl started to her feet in terror, and hastened to her mother, who
was kneeling at a little distance. Meanwhile the dwarf flung the idols
down and broke them in pieces, and the women were more alarmed than
ever, for they felt convinced that an evil spirit was at work within
the temple.
Alberich went back to the princess, and drew her to the barbican,
whispering, “See, there is the hero who desires to make you his wife,
and queen of his realm.”
Involuntarily she looked down, and saw Ortnit fighting valorously,
driving all before him, and looking god-like in his grace and noble
bearing. She could not turn away her eyes. He was even now advancing to
attack her father. They exchanged one or two blows, the last of which
split Machorell’s shield. Ortnit raised his sword to strike again, but
Sidrat uttered a loud cry of agony, and he refrained, for at the same
moment he saw her standing on the barbican, and knew that she was the
maiden he had loved ever since he had seen her image in the magic
castle on the sea.
“You see the royal hero?” asked the dwarf; but receiving no answer, he
went on: “Go down to the moat to-morrow morning at day-break. Your
father will allow you to do so, if you tell him you are going to call
upon your gods to return to the castle. But when you reach the moat,
you will find the king waiting to speak with you.”
Knowing that his advice would be followed, he left the princess.
The battle had ceased to rage as furiously as before, and all were
weary after their exertions. Ortnit’s men retired to the river-side,
where they were to encamp for the night, and the Moors shut themselves
within the fortress.
All night long Ortnit dreamt of Sidrat, and then awoke and wondered
whether she would come to the trysting-place. In the early morning,
before the sun was up, the king mounted his horse and rode away alone
to Muntabure. He concealed himself beneath the spreading boughs of a
tamarind-tree, and waited and waited, doubting, fearing, would she come
or would she not? At length a postern door opened, and a white figure
came out.
“Sidrat,” he cried, and clasped her in his arms.
“To horse, delay not a moment,” whispered the dwarf; “go down that way,
past the waterfall.”
Ortnit at once obeyed, placed the maiden upon his horse, and mounted
himself. It was high time. He had scarcely got beyond arrow-shot, when
a watchman on the tower recognised him by his helmet, and sounded the
alarm.
Machorell and his men-at-arms hurried down to the fight. Several times
the fortune of the day changed sides; and when at length the battle was
over, the besiegers were too much weakened in number to attempt to
carry the castle by storm; while the besieged were also in woeful
plight, and their sorrow was increased by the loss of the princess.
Ortnit began his retreat next morning. He found on his arrival at Tyre
that his ship was in good order and ready for sea. So he gave orders
for a speedy departure, and soon the gallant little army was speeding
homewards with Princess Sidrat and much spoil. The Moorish girl proved
a willing pupil when the Christian priests of Lombardy taught her their
religion, so she was baptized, and received the name of Liebgart. Soon
after that, she and Ortnit were married at Castle Garden, and the whole
country rejoiced in the king’s good fortune.