When the old man felt the wound, and looked in the grim, rugged
countenance of his antagonist, for the first time in all his long life
fear took possession of him, and covering his back with his shield, he
fled like a coward.
With shattered armour, and red with his own blood, and that of others,
the old man came before his master. Dietrich asked whether he had
fought with the Nibelungs, and why he was so wet with blood. Then
Hildebrand told how the Burgundians had slain the good Rüdiger, and had
declined to give up his body for burial.
The hero of Bern was so saddened by these tidings, that he asked no
further questions; he begged the old man to command his comrades to arm
themselves at once.
“Whom shall I command?” asked the master.
“The swordsmen of Bern are all here. You, my lord, and I, are all that
remain of them; and of the Nibelungs, Hagen and King Gunther are the
only ones alive.”
At first Dietrich did not understand, and when he did, he mourned aloud
for his friends and comrades.
“How could my brave men have fallen under the swords of these tired
warriors? Who will now help me to regain the land of the Amelungs?”
So he cried in his sore distress. But soon, mastering his emotion, the
hero prepared to avenge his fallen friends, and, accompanied by the
master, went full-armed to the house where Hagen and Gunther awaited
their fate with undaunted courage.
Hagen and Hildebrand exchanged so many scornful words when they met,
that Dietrich chid them for a couple of old women, and demanded that
the combat should at once begin. Hagen sprang forward without delay.
Balmung was as sharp as ever it had been, and the hero of Bern had much
trouble to defend himself; but the hand that wielded the sword was
weary, and less nimble than of yore. Dietrich, seeing this, made a
sudden spring upon Hagen, threw him down, and bound him fast. Then he
bore his prisoner into the presence of Chriemhild, and recommended him
to her mercy, saying that he was the boldest and bravest warrior in the
whole world. He only noticed the thanks and praise she gave him for his
doughty deed, and did not mark the gleam in her eyes, nor rightly
interpret the flush that rose to her cheeks. He hastened away to the
last battle with King Gunther.
Chriemhild had gained her end: that end to which she had waded through
rivers of noble blood. Hagen read his fate in her eyes; but he never
flinched: he would not give her that dear satisfaction. She wondered
whether she could make him confess where he had hidden the Nibelung
treasure. She spoke to him kindly, and promised to let him go safely
home, if he would only tell her the hiding-place. The hero seemed
touched by her gentleness, and said that he would willingly tell her,
but that he had sworn to keep the secret as long as one of the three
kings of Burgundy was alive.
She promised him again that she would keep her word, if he did her
will; and then had him taken away to sure watch and ward.
“Lies, lies, all lies,” he said to himself, as his gaolers led him away.
The hero of Bern soon afterwards appeared with King Gunther as a
prisoner; the latter was at once taken to a separate dungeon Chriemhild
considered what was now to be done. Siegfried’s murderers were now in
her hands, both the man who had done the deed, and the king who had
condoned it.
She felt a few qualms of conscience when she thought that Gunther was,
after all, her brother; but she soon stifled them, and calmly pursued
the path she had marked out for herself. King Gunther’s head was cut
off by her orders, and laid at Hagen’s feet to convince him that now
the last king of Burgundy was dead.
The hero thrust away the head contemptuously. “It was not thou,” he
said, “to whom I swore allegiance, and whose crown I strove to keep
free from stain. The royal house of Burgundy, to which I belonged, is
wasted, and its glory overthrown. Of what worth to me is the span of
life that remains?”
That night Chriemhild had a happy dream. She thought that Siegfried
stood before her as she had seen him first; that he stretched out his
arms to her in love and gratitude, and then vanished slowly in the grey
dawn.
Next morning Chriemhild seated herself beside King Etzel in all her
robes of state. The hero of Tronje was brought before her, a prisoner,
and in bonds. She questioned him again as to the hiding-place of the
treasure. Raising his head, he answered with all his former boldness:
“You are mistaken, woman, if you think that you have my mind in your
power, that you have tamed me entirely. The kings are all dead now,
Gunther, Gernot, Giselher; now none but God and I know where the
treasure was sunk in the deep waters of the Rhine, and from me you
shall never learn where you may seek with any hope of finding.”
Chriemhild silently came down from the throne, and picked up the good
sword Balmung that lay beside Hagen’s armour.
“You took good care of the gold you stole from me,” she said, “but
another thing that you stole I have in my hands at this moment. My
noble husband Siegfried wore this sword when last I saw him, before he
fell under your murderous hand. I will now try whether it be strong
enough to avenge its master.”
She had drawn the sword from its sheath, and now swung it with both
hands, and with such force that the head was cut from the body, and
fell at the feet of old Hildebrand.
A cry of horror echoed through the hall, then all was still. Chriemhild
thrust the bloody weapon back into its sheath, and said,—
“This blood may never be washed from the blade. Balmung must be taken
to Worms as it is, and laid in Siegfried’s grave. Perhaps he may then
learn that his wife loved him faithfully, and punished his murderer.
Two things alone made up my life: Love and Revenge. My work is done.”
“Strange,” said Hildebrand, staring at the hero’s dissevered head,
“that the bravest warrior in all the world should have been slain by a
woman! But although he wronged me much of late, I will yet avenge him.”
So saying, the old master drew his sword, and gave the queen her
death-blow. Etzel shrieked out, and threw himself on his knees beside
his wife. She was deadly pale, and had only strength to gasp rather
than speak,—
“Let none touch the old master for this,” she said, and they were her
last words.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]