Before day-break one of the maidens stationed herself at the window,
and gazed anxiously over the sea. After some time she saw vessels full
of armed men approaching the shore; and, with difficulty restraining a
cry of joy, she wakened her mistress and told her the good news. Not
long after, the alarm was given from the tower, where the sleepy
watchman had just woke up.
Queen Gerlind had her wits about her more than any one else. She did
not need to be told who the enemy were, and had given the requisite
orders to the garrison before Ludwig’s and Hartmut’s eyes were well
open. But when the kings were ready, they countermanded her orders, and
instead of defending the castle, marched out to meet the foe in spite
of all her warnings and entreaties.
Each party moved forward to meet the other in close array; and no
sooner had they met than the battle began. Ortwin and Hartmut fought
hand to hand, and Ortwin had well been overthrown, had not bold Horand
struck up the Norman’s spear. But he too was unable to withstand the
king, and was soon afterwards carried to the rear by his men, severely
wounded. Meantime Herwig and Ludwig had met, and after a terrible
combat, the latter was slain.
“The king is dead!” cried his men, and they fled incontinently, pursued
by the victor, strong Irolt, and Siegfried the Moor. The old hero of
Sturmland pressed the advantage. His sword-arm was never still for a
moment, and he was always in the front rank. When the terrified Normans
fled to the castle, they found, to their horror, that he was close
behind them. They only got the great gate shut just in time. But Wate
was not to be done. He shouted to his men to bring up ladders and
storming tackle, meaning to scale the wall.
Hartmut, ignorant of his father’s death, had continued to fight
bravely, till he saw that the Normans were flying. He then retreated
slowly to the castle with his immediate followers. Looking up at the
battlements, he saw Queen Gerlind giving a man a naked sword, and
pointing with fierce earnestness to the women’s apartments in the
castle. He knew his mother, and feared that she was telling the man to
go and murder the Hegeling women, so he exclaimed in a loud voice of
command:
“Coward! If you raise your hand to murder any woman, I will have you
hung before sunset.”
The man let the sword fall to the ground, and slunk away. At this
moment Hartmut, to his intense amazement, caught sight of old Wate at
the castle gate. He looked round for help, but Ludwig was nowhere to be
seen; on every side waved the banners of the Hegelings and their
allies, and their foremost men were fast closing round him and his
little band. Hartmut was too brave to fly; he prepared to defend
himself to the last. The lord of Sturmland now came forward to attack
him; and although he fought desperately, it had gone ill with him, if
Herwig had not thrown himself in the old warrior’s way, and pleaded for
his rival’s life. In the heat of the conflict, Wate did not notice who
it was that addressed him; he brought down one of his sledge-hammer
blows on Herwig’s head, and the king of Zealand was stretched
unconscious on the ground beside many a dead and dying Norman. This
restored the wild lord of Sturmland to his senses. Leaving Hartmut
alone, he bent over his friend, and, to his joy, discovered him to be
whole and sound. As soon as Herwig was on his feet again, Wate asked:
“What devil possessed you to make me spare the life of that Norman
robber?”
“No devil at all,” replied Herwig; “the noble Gudrûn loves the Princess
Ortrûn, and, for her sake, begged that Hartmut’s life should be spared.”
“Women, women!” cried the old warrior. “They are all alike. They have
soft hearts, as easily moved as a fleecy cloud is blown by the breeze.
But now let us haste, and trap the she-wolf in her lair.”
At length the castle gate was burst open, and the hero of Sturmland cut
his way through the small crowd of defenders to the women’s apartments.
There he found Gudrûn surrounded by all the frightened women in the
palace, while Ortrûn and Gerlind knelt at her feet and entreated her
protection.
“Where is the she-wolf?” shouted Wate. “Speak, Gudrûn, and you others!”
He was awful to look upon, with his grim, stern face, his armour and
sword dripping with the blood of his enemies; but Gudrûn did not quail,
nor did she utter a single word to betray the cruel woman who had used
her so badly. She sat still and quiet, full of a gentle dignity, and
looked at the angry old man without blenching.
[Illustration: GERLIND AND ORTRUN AT GUDRÛN’S FEET.]
He cast a quick glance round the room in search of Gerlind, and as he
did so, one of the maidens pointed to the queen. The moment he saw the
glittering, snaky eyes, he caught Gerlind by the hair, and dragging her
to the battlements, cut off her head, and flung both it and the body
over the wall. “Now the other!” he cried, rushing up to the terrified
Ortrûn; “she belongs to the serpent’s brood, and must share her
mother’s fate.”
But Gudrûn held the maiden tightly clasped in her arms, and told the
grim warrior of all the love and tenderness that Ortrûn had shown her,
so Wate was fain to be satisfied with the vengeance he had already
wreaked.
Meanwhile the fighting outside the castle had also ceased. The Norman
hero, weary to death, had surrendered with the eighty warriors that
were left him.
Three days later, the victorious army went on board their ships, and
set sail for the land of the Hegelings, leaving Morung and his men to
garrison Cassian. Hartmut, and Ortrûn with thirty of her maidens, had
to accompany their conquerors. On their way they touched at Wölpensand,
where Queen Hilde had had a minster built, and the bones of those who
fell in the old fight buried; and there the heroes gave solemn thanks
for their great victory. Ortrûn sat alone in the churchyard, looking at
the graves: she thought of her slain father, and wished that she too
were at rest. But Gudrûn coming up to her, took her by the hand and led
her to the Moorish king Siegfried, who desired to gain her love. During
the remainder of the voyage, Gudrûn managed to throw the two much
together, and delighted in telling Ortrûn of Siegfried’s noble and
warlike deeds.
In the meantime Queen Hilde, and Hergart, Herwig’s sister, often sat
together at a window overlooking the sea. The Hegeling army must soon
return, but how would it return? and would Gudrûn have kept her troth?
Hilde was not so hopeful as her young companion, for she was more used
to sorrow. One day when they were at the window as usual, Hergart saw
the fleet appear in the distance, and uttering a cry of joy, told Queen
Hilde that their friends were coming back.
Before the queen and her ladies could get down to the shore, Wate had
already landed. On seeing the queen, he at once told her the good news.
The rest of the ships were not long in arriving, and soon Hilde had the
pleasure of embracing her daughter, the long-lost Gudrûn. Time passed
on, and joy reigned in every breast but one. Hartmut ate out his soul
in sadness. Gentle Hergart pitied him, and begged Queen Hilde to use
her influence to have him set at liberty, and allowed to return to his
kingdom. But Hilde explained how impossible it was to let a man go free
who was sure to bear them deadly enmity, and attack them when he could.
Hartmut one day by accident overheard Hergart pleading for him so
tenderly and so wisely that he was deeply touched. He began to think
that she was, if possible, even more beautiful than Gudrûn, and took
the first opportunity he could find of speaking to her. It was not long
before they learnt to love each other. Hartmut told the queen about it,
and asked for her consent to his marriage with Hergart, which she at
once granted, and at the same time gave him back his sword and freedom,
for the husband of sweet Hergart could never be aught else than the
friend of the Hegelings.
A few weeks later, a great marriage feast was held, in which four
couples appeared before the altar to receive a priestly blessing on
their vows; after which they adjourned to the banqueting-hall, where
all old scores were forgiven and forgotten for the sake of the
happiness that now prevailed. Then the old minstrel, Horand, took up
his harp and sang his last song. In it he told of the great deeds he
had known; he sang of noble lives and noble deaths, of truth and
constancy; and when he ceased, there was not a dry eye in the hall, for
even the grim lord of Sturmland was seen to dash away a tear.
[Illustration: BEOWULF FIGHTS WITH GRENDEL’S MOTHER.]
BEOWULF.
(_I.E._, BEE-WOLF, OR WOODPECKER.)