Before the warriors went to the feast that evening, Queen Chriemhild
had spoken privately to the hero of Bern. She promised him Etzel’s help
in regaining his kingdom, if he would do her one service—if he would
avenge Siegfried’s death. But he told her that he could not, for the
Burgundian warriors were old friends and comrades of his; besides, he
reminded her, that they had come to Etzelburg in all good faith and
loyalty. A few minutes after Dietrich had left her sad and hopeless,
Blödelin, Etzel’s brother, came in, and told the queen of what had
happened that afternoon in the tilting ground. Seeing how hot his anger
was, Chriemhild thought she might perhaps succeed in gaining him over
to her cause. She therefore told him of the unavenged death of
Siegfried, and promised him a rich treasure of silver and gold if he
would do her will. But he refused, from fear of Etzel’s anger. Upon
which, the wise woman offered him a margravate in addition, with lands
and towers, and the hand of a beautiful maiden of her court, whom he
had long wooed, and wooed in vain. These promises gained him to her
will. He told her that he would cause a quarrel to spring up between
the men on either side, and if Hagen came to try and settle matters, he
would have him overpowered, and carried to the queen in bonds.
Chriemhild then retired to her chamber, which was pervaded by a soft
light, the curtains of Indian silk keeping off the rays of the sun. As
she sat there thinking, the words that her mother had once spoken
rushed into her memory. “Women often strike deeper wounds and shed more
blood with their tongues than men with their swords.” She would have
started up, and recalled Blödelin; but at the same moment she saw, as
distinctly as if it had really been there, Siegfried’s bier with the
dead warrior stretched upon it. She saw him raise himself, and stretch
out his arms to her; but when she started forward to meet him, there
was nothing but empty air. She determined now to go on to the bitter
end. Whether her vengeance brought about the death of her little son,
and of King Etzel; whether it brought about the destruction of the
kingdom, she did not care. She could die, and die willingly, if only
she had the murderer’s life.
Meantime, Blödelin was making his preparations. His men were rejoiced
to hear the news he brought them, and followed him joyously to the
hall, where Dankwart the Marshal, Hagen’s brother, had charge over the
serving-men. The hero rose from his seat to greet the prince, who
exclaimed:
“Prepare to die. The queen demands a bloody atonement for the death of
the great Siegfried.”
“But why should I have to expiate a murder of which I knew nothing?”
“That cannot be helped,” said the Hun; “my men’s swords cannot return
unstained to their sheaths.”
“Then I am sorry that I gave you words of peace. I shall now give you
your answer with cold steel.”
With that he drew his sword, and swung it so lustily at the warrior’s
neck that his head fell to the ground at one blow.
Wild shrieks and shouts of vengeance arose, and all prepared to take
part in the fight that had become inevitable. Dankwart made his way
fighting to the hall, his armour bespattered with blood; but the
defenceless serving-men were slain to a man.
“Up, brother Hagen!” he cried, “save me from the faithless Huns. Lord
Blödelin attacked both me and the servants, in order to avenge
Siegfried’s death. I slew him, but the servants are all dead, and I
alone am escaped out of the traitorous toils that the Huns have laid
for us.”