Once, when he was standing sadly by her last resting-place, he suddenly
remembered that she had bidden him go back to his own country when she
was dead; and then the thought of his mother and his Faithful Eleven
rushed back into his mind. He also recollected that he had never
carried out his plan of calling the Emperor Ortnit to their assistance.
“I shall never forget you, dear wife,” he murmured, “but I should be
unworthy of your great love for me if I did not at once set out to
bring freedom to those who have been true to the death in their
fidelity to me.”
He turned away, and hastened to make ready for his journey.
He passed through many lands, rich and poor. One evening he saw a
castle before him, and asked a passing traveller to whom it belonged.
“Sir,” replied the man, crossing himself, “ride on quickly, if you be a
Christian, for that stronghold is where the heathen king Beligan lives,
with his daughter Marpilia, a maiden learned in magic arts. He slays
every Christian he can catch, and sticks his head on a spike placed on
the battlements for the purpose. Look, there is one place empty still;
beware lest your head be sent to fill it.”
The hero explained that he felt no fear of that, as his armour was
good, and he must have sharp weapons who sought to pierce it. But the
traveller assured him that the king so thoroughly understood the art of
dagger-throwing, that none could escape from him alive.
Wolfdieterich and the man parted company. The former would have ridden
past the castle, had not the owner come out to meet him, and invited
him to spend the night with him; an invitation the hero was far too
brave a man to decline. The daughter of his host, a young and beautiful
girl, received him at the gate, and led him into the hall. While they
supped together, Wolfdieterich, on being questioned, told them whence
he came, and whither he was going; and Beligan saw from his answers
that he was a Christian. The heathen king then informed his guest, with
a diabolical smile, that he had come just in time to provide a head to
make up the required number on the battlements. Wolfdieterich
understood what was meant, but shewing no signs of fear, he raised his
goblet to his lips, and emptied it to the health of his host and his
daughter.
Bedtime came, and Beligan, taking him aside, told him that he had found
grace in the eyes of his daughter Marpilia, and that he might marry her
if he liked, receiving both castle and kingdom as her dowry, on one
condition—that he would worship Mahmet. Wolfdieterich asked for time
to think over the proposal; but the heathen smiled, and said—
“You may have to-night to consider the plan; that is long enough.”
He then offered him a goblet of wine, into which he had secretly thrown
a powder.
“Drink, friend,” he said, “and you will sleep long and soundly
to-night.”
The hero was on the point of obeying, when Marpilia, who had
re-entered, snatched the goblet out of her father’s hand, and emptying
it on the floor, exclaimed,—
“Not so, father. I intend to teach the stranger better things to-night.”