While Ortnit’s ancestors ruled over Lombardy, the great Emperor Anzius
lived at Constantinople, and governed Greece, Bulgaria, and many other
lands. When he died, he confided his son, Hugdieterich, to the care of
his faithful friend, Berchtung, duke of Meran, whom he had himself
brought up, and afterwards covered with honours.
Berchtung felt that his first duty was to choose a wife for his ward,
and that only a princess of equal rank and great beauty and wisdom
would be a suitable helpmeet for so mighty a prince. He had travelled
far and wide, and amongst all the princesses he knew there was one and
only one that he could propose as a wife for his liege lord. But there
were many difficulties in the way. Berchtung confided his troubles to
the prince, and told him how much he wished to bring about a marriage
between him and Hildburg, daughter of King Walgund of Thessalonica; but
he feared it would be impossible, for Walgund loved the maiden so
dearly that he had shut her up in a high tower, and permitted no one to
speak to her except the old watchman, himself, her mother, and her
maid. This he did, fearing lest she should marry and leave him.
Hugdieterich listened to the strange story with great interest, and
determined to get a sight of the maiden if he could. So he set to work
to learn all that he might of women’s works and women’s ways, even
going so far as to dress himself in women’s garments. After which he
announced his intention of going to Thessalonica to make fair
Hildburg’s acquaintance.
He arrived in due course at Thessalonica, disguised as a great lady,
with a numerous train of female servants. Hearing of the new arrival,
the king and queen invited the stranger to visit them. She did so, and
gave their majesties to understand that she was Hildgunde, sister of
the emperor Hugdieterich, and that she had been outlawed by her
brother. She begged the king to protect her, and to provide her with a
lodging in his palace, and at the same time presented the queen with a
costly piece of embroidery, as a sign of her good will. Her request was
granted. The queen then begged her to teach her ladies to embroider as
she did herself. After this all went so well that Berchtung and his
men-at-arms were sent back to Constantinople, their protection being no
longer needed.
Fair Hildburg heard what was going on, and begged her father to allow
her to see the embroideries, and the artist who worked them. No sooner
had she done so than she wished to learn the art. Walgund gave his
consent, thinking the stranger a very suitable companion for his
daughter, and Hildburg found great pleasure in her company. It was not
until weeks afterwards that she discovered who her teacher was, and
when she did their friendship became stronger than before, until it
grew into acknowledged love.
The fear lest their secret marriage should be discovered, one day
reached a climax.
“What will become of us?” cried Hildburg. “My father will never forgive
us. He will order us both to be slain.”
“Then, at least, we shall die together,” replied Hugdieterich, “but I
hope for better things. The guards and your personal attendants are on
our side, and I expect Berchtung very soon to come and take me home to
Constantinople, on the plea that my brother has forgiven me. I shall
then send an ambassador to ask for your hand in marriage; and when your
father knows our secret, he will not refuse his consent.”
Berchtung came as Hugdieterich had expected, and fetched him away; but
the wooing had to be put off till a more convenient season, as war had
broken out on the frontier, and the emperor was obliged to take the
field. Meantime Hildburg was in greater danger at home than her husband
in the midst of battle. She had a son. He was born quietly in the
tower, without any one except the three faithful friends who guarded
the princess there knowing aught about it. It was not until months
after this event that the queen, her mother, sent to say that she was
coming to visit her daughter. She followed almost on the heels of the
messenger. The porter pretended to have great difficulty in unlocking
the door, and by the time he succeeded, the watchman had smuggled the
child down to a safe hiding-place beside the moat. It was already
evening, so the queen spent the night with her daughter. When she was
gone next morning, the faithful servant hastened to where he had hidden
the child, and it was not to be found. After long and anxious search,
he returned to his mistress, and told her that he had taken the boy to
a nurse, who had promised to bring him up carefully and well.
Soon after this, Berchtung arrived at Thessalonica to thank the king in
his master’s name for the reception he and his family had given the
princess, his sister, and to ask for the hand of the Lady Hildburg,
with whom the emperor had fallen in love from his sister’s description.
The king put off giving any immediate answer to this request, and asked
Berchtung to a great hunt he intended to give in his honour on the
following day.
It was a lovely morning when the hunters set out for the forest. They
rode on cheerily, and had a good day’s sport. At length chance led the
king and Berchtung past the tower where sad Hildburg spent her weary
days in waiting for the husband who came not. As they rode along, they
discovered the fresh track of a wolf leading towards a spring. They
followed the spoor, which led them to a den in a thicket close by, and
in the den was a strange sight.
In the centre of the nest, and surrounded by a litter of wolf-cubs so
young as to be still blind, lay a beautiful child. He was playing with
the little wolves, pulling their ears, and chatting in baby language
such as only mothers and nurses can translate. But evidently his
companions did not like his attentions, and the mother-wolf’s ire was
so roused against him, that it wanted very little more to make her
spring upon the child, and put a sudden end to his play. The old wolf
came up at the same moment, so that the danger was much increased.
Seeing this, the two hunters flung their spears with so much skill as
to kill both the old wolves on the spot. Then the king lifted the baby
in his arms as gently as if it had been his own child.
“It’s very strange,” he said, “how much I feel drawn to this boy. But
he must be hungry, poor little man. My daughter’s tower is close to
here; we shall find some fresh milk there, and she will be glad to see
the little fellow; she is so fond of children, and seldom gets a chance
of seeing them.”
They walked on slowly, Berchtung carrying the child, while the king
examined the wolf’s track with great interest and attention.
“Look here,” he said, “is it not strange? The tracks lead straight from
the den to the moat; I wonder if the wolf stole the child from anywhere
near this.”
Fair Hildburg was not a little astonished when she heard her father’s
tale. She took the child in her arms, and at once recognised him by a
birth-mark on his arm in the shape of a red cross. She struggled to
conceal her feelings, and offered as calmly as she could to take care
of the child, and only begged her father to send a nurse as quickly as
possible.
When he got home, the king told the queen of his adventure, and she was
very curious to see the child. She sent for a nurse, and accompanied
her to the tower. Arrived there, the queen sought her daughter, and
found her busied with the child.
“How I wish,” said the queen, taking it in her arms, “that I knew who
the boy’s mother is! She must be in such distress.”
“Yes,” answered Hildburg; “but look at his clothes, how fine they are!
They show that he is of princely descent.”
“Oh dear,” sighed the queen, “what a lucky woman I should think myself
if I had a grandson like that!”
Hildburg could keep her secret no longer. She threw herself into her
mother’s arms, and told her, with many tears, that she was secretly
married to Hugdieterich, and that the child was theirs. The queen was
startled, angry,—but—it was done, and could not be undone. It was at
least a comfort to think that the child’s father was a mighty emperor!
She told her daughter she would say nothing; but would think what was
best to be done.
Walgund felt strangely attracted by the child. He came to the tower
almost every day to visit it and his daughter. On such occasions the
queen would tell him how much she wished for a son-in-law and such a
grandchild as this. She reminded him that they might in their old age
fall a prey to the barbarous tribes in the neighbourhood, if they had
not some young, strong man to take their part, and added that in her
opinion Hugdieterich would not be amiss. In short, the queen prepared
the way so well that when Berchtung made his formal offer for the
princess’ hand, the king after slight hesitation gave his consent, on
the sole condition that Hildburg was not averse to taking Hugdieterich
as a husband. The queen then told her lord the whole story.
“Wonderful!” he exclaimed, too much astonished to be angry.
Hugdieterich arrived soon afterwards, and was publicly married to the
Lady Hildburg. After the wedding festivities were over, he set out for
Constantinople, accompanied by his beautiful wife, and the little boy,
who was named Wolfdieterich, in remembrance of his first adventure.
With the empress went Sabene, one of the notables of Thessalonica, as
her father had much confidence in his wisdom, and wished him to be his
daughter’s counsellor in any matters of difficulty. He made himself so
useful, that he soon became necessary to her, and at the same time won
the confidence of honest Duke Berchtung so completely that he persuaded
the emperor to make Sabene regent during their absence on a foreign
campaign.
The high position he had gained through the duke’s kindness, made the
false-hearted man bolder and more self-confident than ever. One day he
went so far as to speak unbecomingly to the empress. The noble lady
reproved him severely, and he fell at her feet, begging her pardon, and
entreating her not to tell the emperor of his impertinence. She
promised, but commanded him never more to appear in her presence.
When Hugdieterich returned victorious, Sabene was the first to meet
him. He gave him an account of his stewardship, and at last remarked,
as though by chance, that there was a great deal of dissatisfaction
amongst the people regarding Wolfdieterich, the heir-apparent, who
rumour said was not the king’s child, but the son of an elf, or, worse
still, of an alraun, who had been palmed off upon the royal family by a
witch. Hugdieterich laughed at the story as at a nursery tale. The only
effect it had on him was to make him take his son from under the charge
of Sabene, and give him into the care of faithful Berchtung, that he
might learn all knightly exercises with the duke’s sixteen sons.
Time passed on, and the empress presented her husband with two other
sons, named Bogen and Waxmuth, who were also sent to Berchtung to be
educated. The old duke loved all his pupils dearly, but Wolfdieterich
was his special favourite, for he showed himself full of every quality
that makes a true knight and noble warrior. The busy emperor seldom
found time to go to Lilienporte, the castle of Meran, and Hildburg was
a still less frequent visitor, so that Wolfdieterich had grown
accustomed to look upon Berchtung as his father, and the duchess as his
mother. His brothers, Bogen and Waxmuth, had long since returned to
Constantinople, where crafty Sabene did all that he could to gain their
friendship and confidence. Their mother was sorry to see it; and
fearing lest evil should come of it, she told her husband all that had
happened between them many years before. Hugdieterich’s wrath blazed
forth, and Sabene scarcely escaped alive. He fled from the country, and
sought refuge amongst his kindred in the land of the Huns.
Hugdieterich, worn out by many anxieties and battles, grew old before
his time. When he felt his end approach, he arranged all his affairs
with the utmost care. He bequeathed to his eldest son Constantinople
and the larger part of the empire, while the two younger sons were
given kingdoms farther to the south, and the empress and Berchtung were
to see the will carried out. But scarcely was the emperor laid in the
grave, when the notables of the land met in council, and demanded the
recall of Sabene, because otherwise they feared he might carry out his
threat of bringing the wild Huns upon them. The empress did not feel
herself strong enough to withstand the clamour of the nobles, so she
sent for the traitor.