Twenty-Ninth Adventure

How Hagen and Folker Sat Before Kriemhild’s Hall

The two valiant knights, Hagen of Trony and Sir Dietrich, parted, and

Gunther’s man looked back for a comrade that he soon espied. He saw

Folker, the cunning fiddler, by Giselher, and bade him come with him,

for well he knew his grim mood. He was in all things a warrior bold and

good.

The knights still stood in the court. These two alone were seen

crossing the yard to a large hall at a distance. They feared no man.

They sat down before the house, on a bench opposite Kriemhild’s

chamber. Their goodly apparel shone bright on their bodies. Not a few

of them that looked were fain to know them. The Huns gaped at the proud

heroes as they had been wild beasts, and Etzel’s wife saw them through

a window, and was troubled anew. She thought on her old wrong, and

began to weep. Etzel’s men marvelled much what had grieved her so sore.

She said, “Good knights, it is Hagen that hath done it.”

Then said they to the queen, “How came it to pass? A moment ago we saw

thee of good cheer. There is no man so bold, had he done thee a hurt,

and thou badest us avenge thee, but he should answer for it with his

life.”

“Him that avenged my wrong I would thank evermore. All that he asked I

would give him. I fall at your feet; only avenge me on Hagen, that he

lose his life.”

Thereupon sixty bold men armed them swiftly, and would have gone out

with one accord to slay Hagen, the bold knight, and the fiddler, for

Kriemhild’s sake.

But when the queen saw so small a number, she spake wrothfully to the

heroes, “Think not to withstand Hagen with so few. Stark and bold as is

Hagen of Trony, much starker is he that sitteth by him, Folker the

fiddler by name, a wicked man. Ye shall not so lightly overcome them.”

When they heard her word, four hundred knights more did on their

armour, for the queen was eager to do her enemies a hurt. Soon they

came in sore straits. When she saw them well armed, she said to them,

“Stand still a while and wait. I will go out to my foes with my crown

on. Hearken while I upbraid Hagen of Trony, Gunther’s man, with what he

hath done to me. I know him for too proud a knight to deny it. After

that, I care not what befalleth him.”

Then the fiddler, a bold minstrel, saw the queen coming down the stair

from the house, and said to his comrade, “Now see, friend Hagen, how

she that hath falsely bidden us to this land, cometh toward us. Never

have I beheld, with a king’s wife, so many men, sword in hand, as for

strife. Knowest thou, friend Hagen, that they hate thee? I counsel thee

to look to thy life and thine honour. Certes, it were well. Methinketh

they be wrothful of their mood. Many among them have shoulders broad

enow. Who would save his life had best do it betimes. I ween they wear

harness below their silk, whereof I hear none declare the meaning.”

But Hagen, the bold man, answered angrily, “Well, I know that it is

against me they carry their bright weapons in their hands. But, for all

that, I will yet ride back to Burgundy. Now say, friend Folker, wilt

thou stand by me, if Kriemhild’s men fall on me? Tell me, as thou

lovest me. To thy service thou wouldst bind me evermore.”

“I will help thee truly,” answered the minstrel; “if I saw the king

coming with all his warriors, I would not, while I lived, stir a foot

from thy side through fear.”

“God in Heaven quit thee, noble Folker! If they fight with me, what

need I more. Since thou wilt help me, as I have heard thee promise,

these knights had best walk warily.”

“Now rise we from our seat, and let her pass,” said the minstrel. “She

is a queen. Do her this honour; she is a high-born lady. Therein we

honour ourselves.”

“Nay, as thou lovest me!” Hagen said. “These knights might deem I did

it through fear, and thought to fly. I will not rise from my seat for

any of them. It beseemeth us better to sit still. Shall I show honour

to her that hateth me? That I will never do, so long as I be a living

man. Certes, I care little if King Etzel’s wife misliketh me.”

Hagen, the overweening man, laid a bright weapon across his knee, from

the hilt whereof shone a flaming jasper, greener than grass. Well

Kriemhild knew that it was Siegfried’s.

When she saw the sword, her heart was heavy. The hilt was of gold, the

scabbard of red broidered silk. It minded her on her woe, and she began

to weep. Bold Hagen, I ween, had done it apurpose.

Brave Folker drew closer to him on the bench a stark fiddle-bow, mickle

and long, made like a sword, sharp and broad. There sat the good

knights unafraid. They deemed them too high to rise from their seat

through fear of any.

Then the noble queen advanced to them and gave them angry greeting. She

said, “Now tell me, Sir Hagen, who sent for thee, that thou hast dared

to ride into this land? Wert thou in thy senses, thou hadst not done

it.”

“None sent for me,” answered Hagen. “Three knights that I call master,

were bidden hither. I am their liegeman, and never yet tarried behind

when they rode to a hightide.”

She said, “Now tell me further. Wherefore didst thou that which hath

earned thee my hate? Thou slewest Siegfried, my dear husband, that I

cannot mourn enow to my life’s end.”

He answered, “Enough! What thou hast said sufficeth. It was I, Hagen,

that slew Siegfried, the hero. He paid dear for the evil words that

Kriemhild spake to fair Brunhild. I deny not, mighty queen, that I am

guilty, and the cause of all the mischief. Avenge it who will, man or

woman. I will not lie; I have wrought thee much woe.”

She said, “Ye hear him, knights! He denieth not the wrong he hath done

me. I care not how he suffer for it, ye men of Etzel.”

The proud warriors glanced at each other. Had there been fighting, the

two comrades had come off with honour, as oft aforetime in strife. What

the Huns had undertaken they durst not perform, through fear. Then said

one among them, “Why look ye at me? My word was vain; I will lose my

life for the gifts of no woman. King Etzel’s wife, methinketh, would

undo us.”

Another said, “I am of thy mind. I would not challenge this fiddler for

towers full of red gold, for much I mislike his fierce glances. This

Hagen, too, I knew in his youth, and need not to be told concerning

him. In two-and-twenty battles I have seen him. He hath given many a

woman heart’s dole. He and the knight of Spain rode on many a foray,

and here, by Etzel, won many victories to the honour of the king.

Wherefore none may deny him praise. In those days the knight was a

child, and they that now are grey were youths. Now he is grown to a

grim man. Thereto, he weareth Balmung, which he won evilly.”

So they agreed that none should fight, whereat the queen grieved

bitterly. The knights turned away, for they feared death from the

fiddler, and were dismayed. How oft will cowards fall back when friend

standeth true by friend! And he that bethinketh him betimes is

delivered from many a snare.

Then said bold Folker, “Now have we seen and heard that foemen are

around us. Haste we to the court, to the kings, that none dare fall

upon them.”

“I will follow,” said Hagen.

They went where they found the knights still waiting in the courtyard;

and bold Folker began to say to his masters with a loud voice, “How

long will ye stand here to be jostled? Go in and hear from the king how

he is minded toward you.”

The knights bold and good went in pairs. The prince of Bern took great

Gunther of Burgundy by the hand. Irnfried took brave Gernot, and

Giselher went in with his father-in-law. Howso the others walked,

Folker and Hagen parted nevermore, save once in battle, till their

death; the which gave many a noble woman cause to weep. With the kings

came their followers, a thousand bold men, and, thereto, sixty

warriors, brought by Hagen from his land. Hawart and Iring, two chosen

knights, went after the kings, hand in hand. Dankwart and Wolfhart, a

true-hearted man, bare them courteously toward them that were present.

When the prince of Rhineland came into the palace, Etzel waited no

longer, but sprang up from his seat when he saw them. Never was fairer

greeting between kings. “Ye be welcome, Sir Gunther and Sir Gernot, and

Giselher your brother. With true heart I sent my service to you at

Worms. Your knights, too, are welcome, each one. Glad are my wife and I

to greet bold Folker, and also Hagen, in this land. Many a message she

sent you to the Rhine.”

Then said Hagen of Trony, “I heard them all. Had I not ridden hither

for my masters’ sake, I had come to do thee honour.” Thereupon the host

took his dear guests by the hand, and led them to the high seat where

he himself sat. And they hasted and poured out mead, morat, and wine,

for the guests, in great golden goblets, and bade the strangers

heartily welcome.

Then said King Etzel, “I tell you truly that nothing in this world had

pleased me better than to see you knights here. It will ease the queen

of mickle heart’s dole. I marvelled oft what I had done, that, among

the many guests I won to my court, ye never came to my land. Glad am I

to see you now.”

Whereto Rudeger, the high-hearted knight, answered, “Thou rejoicest

with cause, for my mistress’s kinsmen are men of proven worth, and they

bring many valiant knights with them.”

It was on a midsummer eve that they came to Etzel’s court, and seldom

hath been heard such high greeting as he gave to the heroes. Then he

went merrily to table with them, and no host ever entreated guests

better. Meat and drink they had in plenty. All that they desired stood

ready for them, for many marvels had been told of them.

The rich king had built a great castle at much cost and

trouble—palaces, and towers, and chambers without number, in a big

fortress, and thereto a goodly hall. He had ordered it to be built long

and high and wide, by reason of the many knights that flocked to his

court without cease. Twelve great kings were his liegemen, and many

warriors of much worship he had always by him, more than any king I

ever heard of. He lived merrily with kinsmen and vassals round him,

with the joyful tumult of good knights on every side. By reason whereof

his heart was uplifted.

Thirtieth Adventure

How Hagen and Folker Kept Watch

The day was now ended and the night drew nigh. The way-weary warriors

were fain to rest, and lie down on their beds, but knew not how to

compass it. Hagen asked, and brought them word.

Gunther said to the host, “God have thee in His keeping. Give us leave

to go and sleep. If thou desire it, we will come again early in the

morning.” Then Etzel parted merrily from his guests.

From all sides the folk pressed in on the strangers. Bold Folker said

to the Huns, “How dare ye get before our feet? If ye void not the way,

it will be the worse for you. I will give some of you a blow with this

fiddle that may cause your friends to weep. Fall back from us warriors.

Certes, ye had better. Ye be knights in name and naught else.”

While the fiddler spake thus wrothfully, bold Hagen looked over his

shoulder and said, “The minstrel giveth you good counsel. Get to your

lodging, ye men of Kriemhild. This is no time for your malice. If ye

would start a quarrel, come to us to-morrow early, and let us way-weary

warriors lie this night in peace. I ween ye will find none readier than

we are.”

They led the guests to a spacious hall, where they found beds, big and

costly, standing ready. Gladly had the queen worked their doom.

Coverlets of bright stuffs from Arras were there, and testers of silk

of Araby, the goodliest that could be, broidered and shining with gold.

The bed-clothes were of ermine and black sable, for them to rest under,

the night through, till the day. In such state never king lay before

with his men.

“Woe is me for our lodging!” said Giselher the youth, “and for my

friends that came hither with us. My sister sent us fair words, but I

fear we must all soon lie dead through her.”

“Grieve not,” said Hagen the knight. “I will myself keep watch, and

will guard thee well, I trow, till the day. Fear naught till then.

After that, each shall look to himself.”

They bowed to him and thanked him. They went to their beds, and, or

long, the valiant men were lying soft. Then bold Hagen began to arm

him.

Folker the fiddler said, “If thou scorn not my help, Hagen, I would

keep watch with thee till the morning.”

The hero thanked Folker, “God in Heaven quit you, dear Folker. In all

my troubles and my straits I desire thee only and no other. I will do

as much for thee, if death hinder it not.”

They both did on their shining harness. Each took his shield in his

hand, and went out before the door to keep watch over the strangers.

They did it faithfully.

Brave Folker leaned his good shield against the wall, and went back and

took his fiddle, and did fair and seemly service to his friends. He sat

down under the lintel upon the stone. There never was a bolder

minstrel. When the sweet tones sounded from his strings, the proud

homeless ones all thanked him. He struck so loud that the house echoed.

Great were his skill and strength both. Then he played sweeter and

softer, till he had lulled many a careworn man to sleep. When Folker

found they were all asleep, he took his shield in his hand again, and

went out and stood before the door, to guard his friends from

Kriemhild’s men.

About the middle of the night, or sooner, bold Folker saw a helmet in

the distance, shining in the dark. Kriemhild’s vassals were fain to do

them a hurt. Or she sent them forth, she said, “For God’s sake, if ye

win at them, slay none save the one man, false Hagen; let the others

live.”

Then spake the fiddler, “Friend Hagen, we must bear this matter through

together. I see armed folk before the house. I ween they come against

us.”

“Hold thy peace,” answered Hagen. “Let them come nigher. Or they are

ware of us, there will be helmets cloven by the swords in our two

hands. They shall be sent back to Kriemhild in sorry plight.”

One of the Hunnish knights saw that the door was guarded, and said

hastily, “We cannot carry this thing through. I see the fiddler

standing guard. He hath on his head a shining helmet, bright and

goodly, with no dint therein, and stark thereto. The rings of his

harness glow like fire. Hagen standeth by him. The strangers are well

watched.”

They turned without more ado. When Folker saw this, he spake angrily to

his comrade, “Let me go out to these knights. I would ask Kriemhild’s

men a question.”

“Nay, as thou lovest me,” said Hagen. “If thou wentest to them, thou

wouldst fall in such strait by their swords that I must help thee,

though all my kinsmen perished thereby. If both the twain of us fell to

fighting, two or three of them might easily spring into the house, and

do such hurt to the sleepers as we could never mourn enow.”

But Folker said, “Let us tell them that we have seen them, that they

deny not their treachery.” Then Folker called out to them, “Why go ye

there armed, valiant knights? Is it murder ye are after, ye men of

Kriemhild? Take me and my comrade to help you.”

None answered him. Right wroth was he.

“Shame on you, cowards! Would ye have slain us sleeping? Seldom afore

hath so foul a deed been done on good knights.”

The queen was heavy of her cheer when they told her that her messengers

had failed. She began to contrive it otherwise, for grim was her mood,

and by reason thereof many a good knight and bold soon perished.

Thirty-First Adventure

How the Burgundians Went to Church

“My harness is grown so cold,” said Folker, “that I ween the night is

far spent. I feel, by the air, that it will soon be day.”

Then they waked the knights that still slept.

The bright morning shone in on the warriors in the hall, and Hagen

began to ask them if they would go to the minster to hear mass. The

bells were ringing according to Christian custom.

The folk sang out of tune: it was not mickle wonder, when Christian and

heathen sang together. Gunther’s men were minded to go to church, and

rose from their beds. They did on their fine apparel—never knights

brought goodlier weed into any king’s land. But Hagen was wroth, and

said, “Ye did better to wear other raiment. Ye know how it standeth

with us here. Instead of roses, bear weapons in your hands, and instead

of jewelled caps, bright helmets. Of wicked Kriemhild’s mood we are

well aware. I tell you there will be fighting this day. For your silken

tunics wear your hauberks, and good broad shields for rich mantels,

that, if any fall on you, ye may be ready. My masters dear, my kinsmen,

and my men, go to the church and bewail your sorrow and your need

before great God, for know, of a surety, that death draweth nigh.

Forget not wherein ye have sinned, and stand humbly before your Maker.

Be warned, most noble knights. If God in Heaven help you not, ye will

hear mass no more.”

So the kings and their men went to the minster. Hagen bade them pause

in the churchyard, that they might not be parted. He said, “None

knoweth yet what the Huns may attempt on us. Lay your shields at your

feet, my friends, and if any give you hostile greeting, answer him with

deep wounds and deadly. That is Hagen’s counsel, that ye may be found

ready, as beseemeth you.”

Folker and Hagen went and stood before the great minster. They did

this, that the queen might be forced to push past them. Right grim was

their mood.

Then came the king and his beautiful wife. Her body was adorned with

rich apparel, and the knights in her train were featly clad. The dust

rose high before the queen’s attendants.

When the rich king saw the princes and their followers armed, he said

hastily, “Why go my friends armed? By my troth it would grieve me if

any had done aught to them. I will make it good to them on any wise

they ask it. Hath any troubled their hearts, he shall feel my

displeasure. Whatso they demand of me I will do.”

Hagen answered, “None hath wrought us annoy. It is the custom of my

masters to go armed at all hightides for full three days. If any did us

a mischief, Etzel should hear thereof.”

Right well Kriemhild heard Hagen’s words. She looked at him from under

her eyelids with bitter hate. Yet she told not the custom of her land,

albeit she knew it well from aforetime. Howso grim and deadly the

queen’s anger was, none had told Etzel how it stood, else he had

hindered what afterward befell. They scorned, through pride, to tell

their wrong.

The queen advanced with a great crowd of folk, but the twain moved not

two hands’ breadth, whereat the Huns were wroth, for they had to press

past the heroes. This pleased not Etzel’s chamberlains, and they had

gladly quarrelled with them, had they dared before the king. There was

much jostling, and nothing more.

When the mass was over, many a Hun sprang to horse. With Kriemhild were

also many beautiful maidens. Kriemhild sat by Etzel at a window with

her women, to see the bold warriors ride, the which the king loved to

do. Ha! many a stranger knight spurred below in the court!

The marshal brought out the horses. Bold Dankwart had gathered together

his master’s followers from Burgundy. Well-saddled horses were led up

for the Nibelungs. When the kings and their men were mounted, Folker

counselled them to joust after the fashion of their country. Full

knightly they rode in the tourney. The counsel was welcome to all, and

a mighty din and clang of arms soon arose in the great tilt-yard, while

Etzel and Kriemhild looked on.

Sixty of Dietrich’s knights spurred forward to meet the strangers. They

were eager for the onset, had Dietrich allowed it, for goodly men were

his. But it irked him when he heard thereof, and forbade them to cross

lances with Gunther’s warriors. He feared it might go hard with his

knights.

When the knights of Bern were gone out of the yard, five hundred of

Rudeger’s men of Bechlaren rode up before the castle, with their

shields. The Margrave had been better pleased if they had stayed away.

He pressed through the crowd, and said to them that they themselves

knew how that Gunther’s men were wroth, and that he would have them

quit the tourney.

When these also had gone back, they say that the knights of Thüringen

and a thousand bold Danes rode in. Then the splinters flew from the

lances. Irnfried and Hawart rode into the tourney. The Rhinelanders met

them proudly. They encountered the men of Thüringen in many a joust;

pierced was many a shield.

Sir Blœdel came on with three thousand. Etzel and Kriemhild saw plainly

all that passed below. The queen rejoiced, by reason of the hate she

bare the Burgundians. She thought in her heart,—what happed or long—“If

they wounded any, the sport might turn to a battle. I would fain be

revenged on my foes; certes, it would not grieve me.”

Schrutan and Gibek came next, and Ramung and Hornbog, after the manner

of the Huns. They all bare them boldly before the Burgundians. High

over the king’s palace flew the splinters. Yet all they did was but

empty sound. Gunther’s men made the house and the castle ring with the

clash of shields. They won great honour. So keen was their pastime that

the foot-cloths ran with the sweat of the horses, as they rode proudly

against the Huns.

Then said stout Folker the fiddler, “These knights dare not confront

us, I ween. I have heard that they hate us. They could not have a

fitter time to prove it.”

“Lead the horses to their stalls,” said the king. “Toward evening ye

may ride again, if there be time for it. Haply the queen may then give

the prize to the Burgundians.”

At that moment a knight rode into the lists, prouder than any other

Hun. Belike he had a dear one at the window. He was rich apparelled

like a bride.

Folker said, “I cannot help it. Yonder woman’s darling must have a

stroke. None shall hinder me. Let him look to his life. I care not how

wroth Etzel’s wife may be.”

“Nay now, for my sake,” said the king. “The folk will blame us if we

begin the fray. Let the Huns be the first. It were better so.”

Still Etzel sat by the queen.

“I will join thee in the tourney,” cried Hagen. “It were well that

these women and these knights saw how we can ride. They give Gunther’s

men scant praise.”

Bold Folker spurred back into the lists. Thereby many a woman won

heart’s dole. He stabbed the proud Hun through the body with his spear.

Many a maid and many a wife was yet to weep for it. Hagen and his sixty

knights followed hard on the fiddler. Etzel and Kriemhild saw it all

plain.

The three kings left not the doughty minstrel alone among his foemen. A

thousand knights rode to the rescue. They were haughty and overweening,

and did as they would.

When the proud Hun was slain, the sound of weeping and wailing rose

from his kinsmen. All asked, “Who hath done it?” and got answer, “It

was Folker, the bold fiddler.”

The friends of the Hunnish Margrave called straightway for their swords

and their shields, that they might kill Folker. The host hasted from

the window. There was a mighty uproar among the Huns. The kings and

their followers alighted before the hall, and beat back their horses.

Then came Etzel and began to part the fray. He seized a sharp sword out

of the hand of one of the Hun’s kinsmen that stood nigh, and thrust

them all back. He was greatly wroth, “Ye would have me fail in honour

toward these knights! If ye had slain this minstrel, I tell you I would

have hanged you all. I marked him well when he slew the Hun, and saw

that it was not with intent, but that his horse stumbled. Let my guests

leave the tilt-yard in peace.”

He gave them escort, himself, and their horses were led to the stalls,

for many varlets stood ready to serve them.

The host went with his guests into the palace, and bade the anger

cease. They set the table, and brought water. The knights of the Rhine

had stark foemen enow. Though it irked Etzel, many armed knights

pressed in after the kings, when they went to table, by reason of their

hate. They waited a chance to avenge their kinsman.

“Ye be too unmannerly,” said the host, “to sit down armed to eat. Whoso

among you toucheth my guests shall pay for it with his head. I have

spoken, O Huns.”

It was long or the knights were all seated. Bitter was Kriemhild’s

wrath. She said, “Prince of Bern, I seek thy counsel and thy kind help

in my sore need.”

But Hildebrand, the good knight, answered, “Who slayeth the Nibelungs

shall do it without me; I care not what price thou offerest. None shall

essay it but he shall rue it, for never yet have these doughty knights

been vanquished.”

“I ask the death of none save Hagen, that hath wronged me. He slew

Siegfried, my dear husband. He that chose him from among the others for

vengeance should have my gold without stint. I were inly grieved did

any suffer save Hagen.”

But Hildebrand answered, “How could one slay him alone? Thou canst see

for thyself, that, if he be set upon, they will all to battle, and poor

and rich alike must perish.”

Said Dietrich also, courteously, “Great queen, say no more. Thy kinsmen

have done naught to me that I should defy them to the death. It is

little to thine honour that thou wouldst compass the doom of thy

kinsmen. They came hither under safe conduct, and not by the hand of

Dietrich shall Siegfried be avenged.”

When she found no treachery in the knight of Bern, she tempted Blœdel

with the promise of a goodly estate that had been Nudung’s. Dankwart

slew him after, that he clean forgot the gift.

She said, “Help me, Sir Blœdel. In this house are the foes that slew

Siegfried, my dear husband. If any avenge me, I will ever serve him.”

Blœdel, that sat by her, answered, “I dare not show thy kinsmen such

hate, so long as my brother showeth them favour. The king would not

forgive me if I defied them.”

“Nay now, Sir Blœdel, I will stand by thee, and give thee silver and

gold for meed, and, thereto, a beautiful woman, the widow of Nudung,

that thou mayest have her to thy dear one. I will give the all, land

and castles, and thou shalt live joyfully with her on the march that

was Nudung’s. In good sooth I will do what I promise.”

When Blœdel heard the fee, and because the woman pleased him for her

fairness, he resolved to win her by battle. So came he to lose his

life.

He said to the queen, “Go back into the hall. Or any is ware thereof, I

will raise a great tumult. Hagen shall pay for what he hath done. I

will bring thee King Gunther’s man bound.”

“Now arm ye, my men,” cried Blœdel, “and let us fall on the foemen in

their lodging. King Etzel’s wife giveth me no peace, and at her bidding

we must risk our lives.”

When the queen had left Blœdel to begin the strife, she went in to

table with King Etzel and his men. She had woven an evil snare against

the guests.

I will tell you how they went into the hall. Crowned kings went before

her; many high princes and knights of worship attended the queen. Etzel

assigned to all the guests their places, the highest and the best in

the hall. Christians and heathens had their different meats, whereof

they ate to the full; for so the wise king ordered it. The yeomen

feasted in their own quarters, where sewers served them, that had been

charged with the care of their food. But revel and merriment were soon

turned to weeping.

Kriemhild’s old wrong lay buried in her heart, and when the strife

could not be kindled otherwise, she bade them bring Etzel’s son to

table. Did ever any woman so fearful a thing for vengeance?

Four of Etzel’s men went straightway and brought in Ortlieb, the young

king, to the princes’ table, where Hagen also sat. Through his

murderous hate the child perished.

When Etzel saw his son, he spake kindly to his wife’s brethren, “See

now, my friends, that is my only son, and your sister’s child. Some day

he will serve you well. If he take after his kin, he will be a valiant

man, rich and right noble, stark and comely. If I live, I will give him

the lordship of twelve countries. Fair service ye may yet have from

young Ortlieb’s hand. Wherefore I pray ye, my dear friends, that, when

ye ride back to the Rhine, ye take with you your sister’s son, and do

well by the child. Rear him in honour till he be a man, and when he is

full grown, if any harry your land, he will help you to avenge it.”

Kriemhild, the wife of Etzel, heard all that the king said.

Hagen answered, “If he grow to be a man, he may well help these

knights. But he hath a weakly look. Methinketh I shall seldom go to

Ortlieb’s court.”

The king eyed Hagen sternly, for his word irked him. Albeit he answered

not again, he was troubled, and heavy of his cheer. Hagen was no friend

to merriment.

The king and his liegemen misliked sore what Hagen had said of the

child, and were wroth that they must bear it. They knew not yet what

the warrior was to do after. Not a few that heard it, and that bare him

hate, had gladly fallen upon him: the king also, had not honour

forbidden him. Ill had Hagen sped. Yet soon he did worse: he slew his

child before his eyes.

Thirty-Second Adventure

How Blœdel Fought With Dankwart in the Hall

Blœdel’s knights all stood ready. With a thousand hauberks they went

where Dankwart sat at table with the yeomen. Grim was soon the hate

between the heroes.

When Sir Blœdel strode up to the table, Dankwart the marshal greeted

him fair. “Welcome to this house, Sir Blœdel. What news dost thou

bring?”

“Greet me not,” said Blœdel. “My coming meaneth thy death, because of

Hagen, thy brother, that slew Siegfried. Thou and many another knight

shall pay for it.”

“Nay now, Sir Blœdel,” said Dankwart. “So might we well rue this

hightide. I was a little child when Siegfried lost his life. I know not

what King Etzel’s wife hath against me.”

“I can tell thee nothing, save that thy kinsmen, Gunther and Hagen, did

it. Now stand on your defence, ye homeless ones. Ye must die, for your

lives are forfeit to Kriemhild.”

“Dost thou persist?” said Dankwart. “Then it irketh me that I asked it.

I had better have spared my words.”

The good knight and bold sprang up from the table, and drew a sharp

weapon that was mickle and long, and smote Blœdel a swift blow

therewith, that his head, in its helmet, fell at their feet.

“That be thy wedding-gift to Nudung’s bride, that thou thoughtest to

win!” he cried. “Let them mate her to-morrow with another man; if he

ask the dowry, he can have the like.” A faithful Hun had told him that

morning, secretly, that the queen plotted their doom.

When Blœdel’s men saw their master lying slain, they endured it no

longer, but fell with drawn swords in grim wrath on the youths. Many

rued it later.

Loud cried Dankwart to the squires and the yeomen, “Ye see that we are

undone. Fight for your lives, ye homeless ones, that ye may lie dead

without shame.”

They that had not swords seized the benches, and caught up the stools

from the floor. The squires of Burgundy were not slow to answer them.

With these they dinted many a helmet.

The homeless youths made grim defence. They drave the armed men from

the house. Yet five hundred and more lay therein dead. They were red

and wet with blood.

This heave news reached Etzel’s knights. Grim was their grief that

Blœdel and his men were slain by the brother of Hagen, and the squires.

Or Etzel knew anything of the matter, two thousand Huns or more did on

their armour and hasted thither, for so it must needs be, and left not

one alive. These false knights brought a mighty host before the house.

The strangers defended them well; but what availed their prowess? They

had all to die. Or long the fray waxed grimmer yet.

Now shall ye list to marvels and wondrous deeds. Nine thousand squires

lay dead, and twelve of Dankwart’s men. He stood alone among his foes.

The noise was hushed, the din had ceased. Dankwart looked over his

shoulder and cried, “Woe is me for the friends I have lost! Among my

foemen I stand alone.”

Swords enow fell upon his body. Many a hero’s wife was yet to weep for

it. He raised his buckler, and lowered the thong, and wetted many a

hauberk with blood.

“Woe is me for this wrong!” cried Aldrian’s child. “Stand back, ye

knights of Hungary, and let me to the air, that it cool a battle-weary

man.” Then he began, in their despite, to hew his way to the door.

When he sprang from the house, how many a sword rang on his helmet!

They that had not seen the wonders of his hand fell upon him there.

“Would to God,” said Dankwart, “I had a messenger to tell my brother

Hagen in what peril I stand! He would help me hence, or die by me.”

But the Hunnish knights answered, “Thou, thyself, shalt be the

messenger, when we carry thee in dead to thy brother. So shall

Gunther’s man first hear of his loss. To Etzel thou hast done grievous

hurt.”

He said, “Keep your threats, and stand back, or I will wet the harness

of some of you. I will bear the news myself to the court, and bewail my

great wrong to my masters.”

He did Etzel’s men such scathe, that they durst not draw against him.

Then they shot so many darts into his shield that he must drop it for

heaviness.

They thought to vanquish him without his shield. Ha! what deep wounds

he made in their helmets! Many a bold man staggered before him. Great

honour and praise were Dankwart’s. From both sides they sprang at him.

I ween they were too hasty. He fought his way through his foemen like a

wild boar in the forest through the hounds—bolder he could not have

been. His path was ever wet anew with hot blood. When did single knight

withstand foemen better? Proudly Hagen’s brother went to court.

The sewers and the cup-bearers heard the clash of swords. Many dropped

the drink and the meats they carried. On the stairs he found stark

enemies enow.

“How now, ye sewers?” cried the weary knight; “see to the guests, and

bear in the good meats to your lords, and let me take my message to my

masters.”

They that had the hardihood, and sprang down on him from the stairs, he

smote so fiercely with his sword that they fell back for fear. With his

strength he had done right wonderly.

Thirty-Third Adventure

How Dankwart Brought the News to His Masters

Then bold Dankwart strode in through the door, and bade Etzel’s

followers void the way; all his harness was covered with blood. It was

at the time they were carrying Ortlieb to and fro from table to table

among the princes, and through the terrible news the child perished.

Dankwart cried aloud to one of the knights, “Thou sittest here too

long, brother Hagen. To thee, and God in Heaven, I bewail our wrong.

Knights and squires lie dead in our hall.”

Hagen called back to him, “Who hath done it?”

“Sir Blœdel and his men. He paid for it bitterly, I can tell thee. I

smote off his head with my hands.”

“He hath paid too little,” said Hagen, “since it can be said of him

that he hath died by the hand of a hero. His womenfolk have the less

cause to weep. Now tell me, dear brother; wherefore art thou so red? I

ween thy wounds are deep. If he be anywhere near that hath done it, and

the Devil help him not, he is a dead man.”

“Unwounded I stand. My harness is wet with the blood of other men,

whereof I have to-day slain so many, that I cannot swear to the

number.”

Hagen said, “Brother Dankwart, keep the door, and let not a single Hun

out; I will speak with the knights as our wrong constraineth me.

Guiltless, our followers lie dead.”

“To such great kings will I gladly be chamberlain,” said the bold man;

“I will guard the stairs faithfully.”

Kriemhild’s men were sore dismayed.

“I marvel much,” said Hagen, “what the Hunnish knights whisper in each

other’s ears. I ween they could well spare him that standeth at the

door, and hath brought this court news to the Burgundians. I have long

heard Kriemhild say that she could not bear her heart’s dole. Now drink

we to Love, and taste the king’s wine. The young prince of the Huns

shall be the first.”

With that, Hagen slew the child Ortlieb, that the blood gushed down on

his hand from his sword, and the head flew up into the queen’s lap.

Then a slaughter grim and great arose among the knights. He slew the

child’s guardian with a sword stroke from both his hands, that the head

fell down before the table. It was sorry pay he gave the tutor. He saw

a minstrel sitting at Etzel’s table, and sprang at him in wrath, and

lopped off his right hand on his viol: “Take that for the message thou

broughtest to the Burgundians.”

“Woe is me for my hand!” cried Werbel. “Sir Hagen of Trony, what have I

done to thee? I rode with true heart to thy master’s land. How shall I

make my music now?”

Little recked Hagen if he never fiddled more. He quenched on Etzel’s

knights, in the house there, his grim lust for blood, and smote to

death not a few.

Swift Folker sprang from the table; his fiddle-bow rang loud. Harsh

were the tunes of Gunther’s minstrel. Ha! many a foe he made among the

Huns!

The three kings, too, rose hastily. They would have parted them or more

harm was done. But they could not, for Folker and Hagen were beside

themselves with rage.

When the King of Rhineland could not stint the strife, he, also, smote

many a deep wound through the shining harness of his foemen. Well he

showed his hardihood.

Then stark Gernot came into the battle, and slew many Huns with the

sharp sword that Rudeger had given him. He brought many of Etzel’s

knights to their graves therewith.

Uta’s youngest son sprang into the fray, and pierced the helmets of

Etzel’s knights valiantly with his weapon. Bold Giselher’s hand did

wonderly.

But howso valiant all the others were, the kings and their men, Folker

stood up bolder than any against the foes; he was a hero; he wounded

many, that they fell down in their blood.

Etzel’s liegemen warded them well, but the guests hewed their way with

their bright swords up and down the hall. From all sides came the sound

of wailing. They that were without would gladly have won in to their

friends, but could not; and they that were within would have won out,

but Dankwart let none of them up the stair or down. Then a great crowd

gathered before the door, and the swords clanged loud upon the helmets,

so that Dankwart came in much scathe. Hagen feared for him, as was

meet, and he cried aloud to Folker, “Comrade, seest thou my brother

beset by the stark blows of the Huns? Save him, friend, or we lose the

warrior.”

“That will I, without fail,” said the minstrel; and he began to fiddle

his way through the hall; it was a hard sword that rang in his hand.

Great thank he won from the knights of the Rhine.

He said to Dankwart, “Thou hast toiled hard to-day. Thy brother bade me

come to thy help. Do thou go without, and I will stand within.”

Dankwart went outside the door and guarded the stair. Loud din made the

weapons of the heroes. Inside, Folker the Burgundian did the like. The

bold fiddler cried above the crowd, “The house is well warded, friend

Hagen; Etzel’s door is barred by the hands of two knights that have

made it fast with a thousand bolts.”

When Hagen saw the door secured, the famous knight and good threw back

his shield, and began to avenge the death of his friends in earnest.

Many a valiant knight suffered for his wrath.

When the Prince of Bern saw the wonders that Hagen wrought, and the

helmets that he brake, he sprang on to a bench, and cried, “Hagen

poureth out the bitterest wine of all.”

The host and his wife fell in great fear. Many a dear friend was slain

before their eyes. Etzel himself scarce escaped from his foemen. He sat

there affrighted. What did it profit him that he was a king?

Proud Kriemhild cried to Dietrich, “Help me, noble knight, by the

princely charity of an Amelung king, to come hence alive. If Hagen

reach me, death standeth by my side.”

“How can I help thee, noble queen? I cannot help myself. Gunther’s men

are so grimly wroth that I can win grace for none.”

“Nay now, good Sir Dietrich, show thy mercy, and help me hence or I

die. Save me and the king from this great peril.”

“I will try. Albeit, for long, I have not seen good knights in such a

fury. The blood gusheth from the helmets at their sword-strokes.”

The chosen knight shouted with a loud voice that rang out like the

blast of a buffalo horn, so that all the castle echoed with its

strength, for stark and of mickle might was Dietrich.

King Gunther heard his cry above the din of strife, and hearkened. He

said, “The voice of Dietrich hath reached me. I ween our knights have

slain some of his men. I see him on the table, beckoning with his hand.

Friends and kinsmen of Burgundy, hold, that we may learn what we have

done to Dietrich’s hurt.”

When King Gunther had begged and prayed them, they lowered their

swords. Thereby Gunther showed his might, that they smote no blow. Then

he asked the Prince of Bern what he wanted. He said, “Most noble

Dietrich, what hurt have my friends done thee? I will make it good.

Sore grieved were I, had any done thee scathe.”

But Sir Dietrich answered, “Naught hath been done against me. With thy

safe-conduct let me quit this hall, and the bitter strife, with my men.

For this I will ever serve thee.”

“Why ask this grace?” said Wolfhart. “The fiddler hath not barred the

door so fast that we cannot set it wide, and go forth.”

“Hold thy peace,” cried Dietrich. “Thou hast played the Devil.”

Then Gunther answered, “I give thee leave. Lead forth few or many, so

they be not my foemen. These shall tarry within, for great wrong have I

suffered from the Huns.”

When the knight of Bern heard that, he put one arm round the queen, for

she was greatly affrighted, and with the other he led out Etzel. Six

hundred good knights followed Dietrich.

Then said noble Rudeger, the Margrave, “If any more of them that love

and would serve thee may win from this hall, let us hear it; that peace

may endure, as is seemly, betwixt faithful friends.”

Straightway Giselher answered his father-in-law. “Peace and love be

betwixt us. Thou and thy liegemen have been ever true to us, wherefore

depart with thy friends, fearing nothing.”

When Sir Rudeger left the hall, five hundred or more went out with him.

The Burgundian knights did honourably therein, but King Gunther

suffered scathe for it after.

One of the Huns would have saved himself when he saw King Etzel go out

with Dietrich, but the fiddler smote him such a blow that his head fell

down at Etzel’s feet.

When the king of the land was gone out from the house, he turned and

looked at Folker. “Woe is me for such guests! It is a hard and bitter

thing that all my knights fall dead before them! Alack! this hightide!”

wailed the great king. “There is one within that hight Folker. He is

liker a wild boar than a fiddler. I thank Heaven that I escaped the

devil. His tunes are harsh; his bow is red. His notes smite many a hero

dead. I know not what this minstrel hath against us. Never was guest so

unwelcome.”

The knight of Bern, and Sir Rudeger, went each to his lodging. They

desired not to meddle with the strife, and they bade their men avoid

the fray.

Had the guests known what hurt the twain would do them after, they had

not won so lightly from the hall, but had gotten a stroke from the bold

ones in passing.

All that they would let go were gone. Then arose a mighty din. The

guests avenged them bitterly. Ha! many a helmet did Folker break!

King Gunther turned his ear to the noise. “Dost thou hear the tunes,

Hagen, that Folker playeth yonder on the Huns, when any would win

through the door? The hue of his bow is red.”

“It repenteth me sore,” spake Hagen, “to be parted from the knight. I

was his comrade, and he mine. If we win home again, we shall ever be

true friends. See now, great king, how he serveth thee. He earneth thy

silver and thy gold. His fiddle-bow cleaveth the hard steel, and

scattereth on the ground the bright jewels on the helmets. Never have I

seen a minstrel make such stand. His measures ring through helmet and

shield. Good horse shall he ride, and wear costly apparel.”

Of the Huns that had been in the hall, not one was left alive. The

tumult fell, for there was none to fight, and the bold warriors laid

down their swords.

Thirty-Fourth Adventure

How They Threw Down the Dead

The knights sat down through weariness. Folker and Hagen went out

before the hall. There the overweening men leaned on their shields and

spake together.

Then said Giselher of Burgundy, “Rest not yet, dear friends. Ye must

carry the dead out of the house. We shall be set upon again; trow my

word. These cannot lie longer among our feet. Or the Huns overcome us,

we will hew many wounds; to the which I am nothing loth.”

“Well for me that I have such a lord,” answered Hagen. “This counsel

suiteth well such a knight as our young master hath approved him this

day. Ye Burgundians have cause to rejoice.”

They did as he commanded, and bare the seven thousand dead bodies to

the door, and threw them out. They fell down at the foot of the stair.

Then arose a great wail from their kinsmen. Some of them were so little

wounded that, with softer nursing, they had come to. Now, from the

fall, these died also. Their friends wept and made bitter dole.

Then said bold Folker the fiddler, “Now I perceive they spake the truth

that told me the Huns were cowards. They weep like women, when they

might tend these wounded bodies.”

A Margrave that was there deemed he meant this truly. He saw one of his

kinsmen lying in his blood, and put his arms round him to bear him

away. Him the minstrel shot dead.

When the others saw this, they fled, and began to curse Folker. With

that, he lifted a sharp spear and hard from the ground, that a Hun had

shot at him, and hurled it strongly across the courtyard, over the

heads of the folk. Etzel’s men took their stand further off, for they

all feared his might.

Then came Etzel with his men before the hall. Folker and Hagen began to

speak out their mind to the King of the Huns. They suffered for it or

all was done.

“It is well for a people when its kings fight in the forefront of the

strife as doeth each of my masters. They hew the helmets, and the blood

spurteth out.”

Etzel was brave, and he grasped his shield. “Have a care,” cried

Kriemhild, “and offer thy knights gold heaped upon the shield. If Hagen

reach thee, thou hast death at thy hand.”

But the king was so bold he would not stop; the which is rare enow

among great princes to-day. They had to pull him back by his

shield-thong; whereat grim Hagen began to mock anew. “Siegfried’s

darling and Etzel’s are near of kin. Siegfried had Kriemhild to wife or

ever she saw thee. Coward king, thou, of all men, shouldst bear me no

grudge.”

When Kriemhild heard him, she was bitterly wroth that he durst mock her

before Etzel’s warriors, and she strove to work them woe. She said, “To

him that will slay Hagen of Trony and bring me his head, I will fill

Etzel’s shield with red gold. Thereto, he shall have, for his meed,

goodly castles and land.”

“I know not why ye hang back,” said the minstrel. “I never yet saw

heroes stand dismayed that had the offer of such pay. Etzel hath small

cause to love you. I see many cowards standing here that eat the king’s

bread, and fail him now in his sore need, and yet call themselves bold

knights. Shame upon them!”

Great Etzel was grieved enow. He wept sore for his dead men and

kinsmen. Valiant warriors of many lands stood round him, and bewailed

his great loss with him.

Then bold Folker mocked them again. “I see many high-born knights

weeping here, that help their king little in his need. Long have they

eaten his bread with shame.”

The best among them thought, “He sayeth sooth.”

But none mourned so inly as Iring, the hero of Denmark; the which was

proven or long by his deeds.

Thirty-Fifth Adventure

How Iring Was Slain

Then cried Iring, the Margrave of Denmark, “I have long followed

honour, and done not amiss in battle. Bring me my harness, and I will

go up against Hagen.”

“Thou hadst better not,” answered Hagen, “or thy kinsmen will have more

to weep for. Though ye sprang up two or three together, ye would fall

down the stair the worse for it.”

“I care not,” said Iring. “I have oft tried as hard a thing. With my

single sword I would defy thee, if thou hadst done twice as much in the

strife.”

Sir Iring armed him straightway. Irnfried of Thuringia, likewise, a

bold youth, and Hawart the stark, with a thousand men that were fain to

stand by Iring.

When the fiddler saw so great an armed host with him, wearing bright

helmets on their heads, he was wroth. “Behold how Iring cometh hither,

that vowed to encounter thee alone. It beseemeth not a knight to lie. I

blame him much. A thousand armed knights or more come with him.”

“Call me no liar,” said Hawart’s liegeman. “I will gladly abide by my

word, nor fail therein through fear. How grim soever Hagen may be, I

will meet him alone.”

Iring fell at the feet of his kinsmen and vassals, that they might let

him defy the knight in single combat. They were loth, for they knew

proud Hagen of Burgundy well. But he prayed them so long that they

consented. When his followers saw that he wooed honour, they let him

go. Then began a deadly strife betwixt them.

Iring of Denmark, the chosen knight, raised his spear; then he covered

his body with his shield, and sprang at Hagen. The heroes made a loud

din. They hurled their spears so mightily from their hands, that they

pierced through the strong bucklers to the bright harness, and the

shafts flew high in the air. Then the grimly bold men grasped their

swords.

Hagen was strong beyond measure, yet Iring smote him, that all the

house rang. Palace and tower echoed their blows. But neither had the

advantage.

Iring left Hagen unwounded, and sprang at the fiddler. He thought to

vanquish him by his mighty blows. But the gleeman stood well on his

guard, and smote his foeman, that the steel plate of his buckler flew

off. He was a terrible man.

Then Iring ran at Gunther, the King of Burgundy.

Fell enow were the twain. But though each smote fiercely at the other,

they drew no blood. Their good harness shielded them.

He left Gunther, and ran at Gernot, and began to strike sparks from his

mailcoat, but King Gernot of Burgundy well-nigh slew him. Then he

sprang from the princes, for he was right nimble, and soon had slain

four Burgundians from Worms beyond the Rhine. Giselher was greatly

wroth thereat. “Now by God, Sir Iring,” he cried, “thou shalt pay for

them that lie dead!” and he fell on him. He smote the Dane, that began

to stagger, and dropped down among the blood, so that all deemed the

doughty warrior would never strike another blow. Yet Iring lay

unwounded withal before Giselher. From the noise of his helmet and the

clang of the sword his wits left him, and he lay in a swoon. That had

Giselher done with his strong arm.

When the noise of the blow had cleared from his brain, he thought, “I

live still, and am unwounded. Now I know the strength of Giselher.” He

heard his foemen on both sides. Had they been ware how it stood with

him, worse had befallen him. He heard Giselher also, and he pondered by

what device he might escape them. He sprang up furiously from among the

blood. Well his swiftness served him. He fled from the house, past

Hagen, and gave him a stout stroke as he ran.

“Ha!” thought Hagen, “Thou shalt die for this. The Devil help thee, or

thou art a dead man.” But Iring wounded Hagen through the helmet. He

did it with Vasky, a goodly weapon.

When Hagen felt the wound, he swung his sword fiercely, that Hawart’s

man must needs fly. Hagen followed him down the stair. But Iring held

his shield above his head. Had the stair been thrice as long, Hagen had

not left him time for a single thrust. Ha! what red sparks flew from

his helmet! Yet, safe withal, Iring reached his friends.

When Kriemhild heard what he had done to Hagen of Trony in the strife,

she thanked him. “God quit thee, Iring, thou hero undismayed! thou hast

comforted me, heart and soul, for I see Hagen’s harness red with

blood.” The glad queen took the shield from his hand herself.

“Stint thy thanks,” said Hagen. “There is scant cause for them. If he

tried it again, he were in sooth a bold man. The wound I got from him

will serve thee little. The blood thou seest on my harness but urgeth

me to slay the more. Only now, for the first time, I am wroth indeed.

Sir Iring hath done me little hurt.”

Iring of Denmark stood against the wind, and cooled him in his harness,

with his helmet unlaced; and all the folk praised his hardihood, that

the Margrave’s heart was uplifted. He said, “Friends, arm me anew. I

will essay it again. Haply I may vanquish this overweening man.” His

shield was hewn in pieces; they brought him a better straight.

The warrior was soon armed, and stronger than afore. Wrothfully he

seized a stark spear, wherewith he defied Hagen yet again. He had won

more profit and honour had he let it be.

Hagen waited not for his coming. Hurling darts, and with drawn sword,

he sprang down the stairs in a fury. Iring’s strength availed him

little. They smote at each other’s shields, that glowed with a fire-red

wind. Through his helmet and his buckler, Hawart’s man was wounded to

the death by Hagen’s sword. He was never whole again.

When Sir Iring felt the wound, he raised his shield higher to guard his

head, for he perceived that he was sore hurt. But Gunther’s man did

worse to him yet. He found a spear lying at his feet, and hurled it at

Iring, the knight of Denmark, that it stuck out on the other side of

his head. The overweening knight made a grim end of his foeman.

Iring fell back among his friends. Or they did off his helmet, they

drew the spear out. Then death stood at hand. Loud mourned his friends;

their sorrow was bitter.

The queen came, and began to weep for stark Iring. She wept for his

wounds, and was right doleful. But the undismayed hero spake before his

kinsmen, “Weep not, noble lady. What avail thy tears? I must die from

these wounds that I have gotten. Death will not leave me longer to thee

and Etzel.”

Then he said to them of Thuringia and Denmark, “See that none of you

take the gifts of the queen—her bright gold so red. If ye fight with

Hagen ye must die.”

His cheek was pale; he bare death’s mark. They grieved enow; for

Hawart’s man would nevermore be whole. Then they of Denmark must needs

to the fray.

Irnfried and Hawart sprang forward with a thousand knights. The din was

loud over all. Ha! what sharp spears were hurled at the Burgundians!

Bold Irnfried ran at the gleeman, and came in scathe by his hand. The

fiddler smote the Landgrave through his strong helmet, for he was grim

enow. Then Irnfried gave Folker a blow, that the links of his hauberk

brake asunder, and his harness grew red like fire. Yet, for all, the

Landgrave fell dead before the fiddler.

Hawart and Hagen closed in strife. Had any seen it, they had beheld

wonders. They smote mightily with their swords. Hawart died by the

knight of Burgundy.

When the Thuringians and Danes saw their masters slain, they rushed yet

fiercer against the house, and grisly was the strife or they won to the

door. Many a helmet and buckler were hewn in pieces.

“Give way,” cried Folker, “and let them in. They shall not have their

will, but, in lieu thereof, shall perish. They will earn the queen’s

gift with their death.”

The proud warriors thronged into the hall, but many an one bowed his

head, slain by swift blows. Well fought bold Gernot; the like did

Giselher.

A thousand and four came in. Keen and bright flashed the swords; but

all the knights died. Great wonders might be told of the Burgundians.

When the tumult fell, there was silence. Over all, the blood of the

dead men trickled through the crannies into the gutters below. They of

the Rhine had done this by their prowess.

Then the Burgundians sat and rested, and laid down their weapons and

their shields. The bold gleeman went out before the house, and waited,

lest any more should come to fight.

The king and his wife wailed loud. Maids and wives beat their breasts.

I ween that Death had sworn an oath against them, for many a knight was

yet to die by the hands of the strangers.

Thirty-Sixth Adventure

How the Queen Bad Them Burn Down the Hall

“Now do off your helmets,” said Hagen the knight. “I and my comrade

will keep watch. And if Etzel’s men try it again, I will warn my

masters straightway.”

Then many a good warrior unlaced his helmet. They sat down on the

bodies that had fallen in the blood by their hands. With bitter hate

the guests were spied at by the Huns.

Before nightfall the king and queen had prevailed on the men of Hungary

to dare the combat anew. Twenty thousand or more stood before them

ready for battle. These hasted to fall on the strangers.

Dankwart, Hagen’s brother, sprang from his masters to the foemen at the

door. They thought he was slain, but he came forth alive.

The strife endured till the night. The guests, as beseemed good

warriors, had defended them against Etzel’s men all through the long

summer day. Ha! what doughty heroes lay dead before them. It was on a

midsummer that the great slaughter fell, when Kriemhild avenged her

heart’s dole on her nearest kinsmen, and on many another man, and all

King Etzel’s joy was ended. Yet she purposed not at the first to bring

it to such a bloody encounter, but only to kill Hagen; but the Devil

contrived it so, that they must all perish.

The day was done; they were in sore straits. They deemed a quick death

had been better than long anguish. The proud knights would fain have

had a truce. They asked that the king might be brought to them.

The heroes, red with blood, and blackened with the soil of their

harness, stepped out of the hall with the three kings. They knew not

whom to bewail their bitter woe to.

Both Etzel and Kriemhild came. The land all round was theirs, and many

had joined their host. Etzel said to the guests, “What would ye with

me? Haply ye seek for peace. That can hardly be, after such wrong as ye

have done me and mine. Ye shall pay for it while I have life. Because

of my child that ye slew, and my many men, nor peace nor truce shall ye

have.”

Gunther answered, “A great wrong constrained us thereto. All my

followers perished in their lodging by the hands of thy knights. What

had I done to deserve that? I came to see thee in good faith, for I

deemed thou wert my friend.”

Then said Giselher, the youth, of Burgundy, “Ye knights of King Etzel

that yet live, what have ye against me? How had I wronged you?—I that

rode hither with loving heart?”

They answered, “Thy love hath filled all the castles of this country

with mourning. We had gladly been spared thy journey from Worms beyond

the Rhine. Thou hast orphaned the land—thou and thy brothers.”

Then cried Gunther in wrath, “If ye would lay from you this stark hate

against us homeless ones, it were well for both sides, for we are

guiltless before Etzel.”

But the host answered the guests, “My scathe is greater than thine;

because of the mickle toil of the strife, and its shame, not one of you

shall come forth alive.”

Then said stark Gernot to the king, “Herein, at the least, incline thy

heart to do mercifully with us. Stand back from the house, that we win

out to you. We know that our life is forfeit; let what must come, come

quickly. Thou hast many knights unwounded; let them fall on us, and

give us battle-weary ones rest. How long wouldst thou have us strive?”

King Etzel’s knights would have let them forth, but when Kriemhild

heard it, she was wroth, and even this boon was denied to the

strangers.

“Nay now, ye Huns, I entreat you, in good faith, that ye let not these

lusters after blood come out from the hall, lest thy kinsmen all perish

miserably. If none of them were left alive save Uta’s children, my

noble brothers, and won they to the air to cool their harness, ye were

lost. Bolder knights were never born into the world.”

Then said young Giselher, “Fairest sister mine, right evil I deem it

that thou badest me across the Rhine to this bitter woe. How have I

deserved death from the Huns? I was ever true to thee, nor did thee any

hurt. I rode hither, dearest sister, for that I trusted to thy love.

Needs must thou show mercy.”

“I will show no mercy, for I got none. Bitter wrong did Hagen of Trony

to me in my home yonder, and here he hath slain my child. They that

came with him must pay for it. Yet, if ye will deliver Hagen captive, I

will grant your prayer, and let you live; for ye are my brothers, and

the children of one mother. I will prevail upon my knights here to

grant a truce.”

“God in Heaven forbid!” cried Gernot. “Though we were a thousand,

liefer would we all die by thy kinsmen, than give one single man for

our ransom. That we will never do.”

“We must perish then,” said Giselher; “but we will fall as good

knights. We are still here; would any fight with us? I will never do

falsely by my friend.”

Cried bold Dankwart too (he had done ill to hold his peace), “My

brother Hagen standeth not alone. They that have denied us quarter may

rue it yet. By my troth, ye will find it to your cost.”

Then said the queen, “Ye heroes undismayed, go forward to the steps and

avenge our wrong. I will thank you forever, and with cause. I will

requite Hagen’s insolence to the full. Let not one of them forth at any

point, and I will let kindle the hall at its four sides. So will my

heart’s dole be avenged.”

Etzel’s knights were not loth. With darts and with blows they drave

back into the house them that stood without. Loud was the din; but the

princes and their men were not parted, nor failed they in faith to one

another.

Etzel’s wife bade the hall be kindled, and they tormented the bodies of

the heroes with fire. The wind blew, and the house was soon all aflame.

Folk never suffered worse, I ween. There were many that cried, “Woe is

me for this pain! Liefer had we died in battle. God pity us, for we are

all lost. The queen taketh bitter vengeance.”

One among them wailed, “We perish by the smoke and the fire. Grim is

our torment. The stark heat maketh me so athirst, that I die.”

Said Hagen of Trony, “Ye noble knights and good, let any that are

athirst drink the blood. In this heat it is better than wine, and there

is naught sweeter here.”

Then went one where he found a dead body. He knelt by the wounds, and

did off his helmet, and began to drink the streaming blood. Albeit he

was little used thereto, he deemed it right good. “God quit thee, Sir

Hagen!” said the weary man, “I have learned a good drink. Never did I

taste better wine. If I live, I will thank thee.”

When the others heard his praise, many more of them drank the blood,

and their bodies were strengthened, for the which many a noble woman

paid through her dear ones.

The fire-flakes fell down on them in the hall, but they warded them off

with their shields. Both the smoke and the fire tormented them. Never

before suffered heroes such sore pain.

Then said Hagen of Trony, “Stand fast by the wall. Let not the brands

fall on your helmets. Trample them with your feet deeper in the blood.

A woeful hightide is the queen’s.”

The night ended at last. The bold gleeman, and Hagen, his comrade,

stood before the house and leaned upon their shields. They waited for

further hurt from Etzel’s knights. It advantaged the strangers much

that the roof was vaulted. By reason thereof more were left alive.

Albeit they at the windows suffered scathe, they bared them valiantly,

as their bold hearts bade them.

Then said the fiddler, “Go we now into the hall, that the Huns deem we

be all dead from this torment, albeit some among them shall yet feel

our might.”

Giselher, the youth, of Burgundy, said, “It is daybreak, I ween. A cool

wind bloweth. God grant we may see happier days. My sister Kriemhild

hath bidden us to a doleful hightide.”

One of them spake, “I see the dawn. Since we can do no better, arm you,

ye knights, for battle, that, come we never hence, we may die with

honour.”

Etzel deemed the guests were all dead of their travail and the stress

of the fire. But six hundred bold men yet lived. Never king had better

knights. They that kept ward over the strangers had seen that some were

left, albeit the princes and their men had suffered loss and dole. They

saw many that walked up and down in the house.

They told Kriemhild that many were left alive, but the queen answered,

“It cannot be. None could live in that fire. I trow they all lie dead.”

The kings and their men had still gladly asked for mercy, had there

been any to show it. But there was none in the whole country of the

Huns. Wherefore they avenged their death with willing hand.

They were greeted early in the morning with a fierce onslaught, and

came in great scathe. Stark spears were hurled at them. Well the

knights within stood on their defence.

Etzel’s men were the bolder, that they might win Kriemhild’s fee.

Thereto, they obeyed the king gladly; but soon they looked on death.

One might tell marvels of her gifts and promises. She bade them bear

forth red gold upon shields, and gave thereof to all that desired it,

or would take it. So great treasure was never given against foemen.

The host of warriors came armed to the hall. The fiddler said, “We are

here. I never was gladder to see any knights than those that have taken

the king’s gold to our hurt.”

Not a few of them cried out, “Come nigher, ye heroes! Do your worst,

and make an end quickly, for here are none but must die.”

Soon their bucklers were filled full of darts. What shall I say more?

Twelve hundred warriors strove once and again to win entrance. The

guests cooled their hardihood with wounds. None could part the strife.

The blood flowed from death-deep wounds. Many were slain. Each bewailed

some friend. All Etzel’s worthy knights perished. Their kinsmen

sorrowed bitterly.

Thirty-Seventh Adventure

How Rudeger Was Slain

The strangers did valiantly that morning. Gotelind’s husband came into

the courtyard and saw the heavy loss on both sides, whereat the true

man wept inly.

“Woe is me,” said the knight, “that ever I was born, since none can

stop this strife! Fain would I have them at one again, but the king

holdeth back, for he seeth always more done to his hurt.”

Good Rudeger sent to Dietrich, that they might seek to move the great

king. But the knight of Bern sent back answer, “Who can hinder it? King

Etzel letteth none intercede.”

A knight of the Huns, that had oft seen Rudeger standing with wet eyes,

said to the queen, “Look how he standeth yonder, that Etzel hath raised

above all others, and that hath land and folk at his service. Why hath

Rudeger so many castles from the king? He hath struck no blow in this

battle. I ween he careth little for our scathe, so long as he hath enow

for himself. They say he is bolder than any other. Ill hath he shown it

in our need.”

The faithful man, when he heard that word, looked angrily at the

knight. He thought, “Thou shalt pay for this. Thou callest me a coward.

Thou hast told thy tale too loud at court.”

He clenched his fist, and ran at him, and smote the Hun so fiercely

that he fell down at his feet, dead. Whereat Etzel’s grief waxed anew.

“Away with thee, false babbler!” cried Rudeger. “I had trouble and

sorrow enow. What was it to thee that I fought not? Good cause have I

also to hate the strangers, and had done what I could against them, but

that I brought them hither. I was their escort into my master’s land,

and may not lift my wretched hand against them.”

Then said Etzel, the great king, to the Margrave, “How hast thou helped

us, most noble Rudeger? We had dead men enow in the land, and needed no

more. Evilly hast thou done.”

But the knight answered, “He angered me, and twitted me with the honour

and the wealth thou hast bestowed on me so plenteously. It hath cost

the liar dear.”

Then came the queen, that had seen the Hun perish by Rudeger’s wrath.

She mourned for him with wet eyes, and said to Rudeger, “What have we

ever done to thee that thou shouldst add to our sorrow? Thou hast oft

times promised, noble Rudeger, that thou wouldst risk, for our sake,

both honour and life, and I have heard many warriors praise thee for

thy valour. Hast thou forgotten the oath thou swearest to me with thy

hand, good knight, when thou didst woo me for King Etzel—how that thou

wouldst serve me till my life’s end, or till thine? Never was my need

greater than now.”

“It is true, noble lady. I promised to risk for thee honour and life,

but I sware not to lose my soul. I brought the princes to this

hightide.”

She said, “Remember, Rudeger, thy faith, and thine oath to avenge all

my hurt and my woe.”

The Margrave answered, “I have never said thee nay.”

Etzel began to entreat likewise. They fell at his feet. Sore troubled

was the good Margrave. Full of grief, he cried, “Woe is me that ever I

saw this hour, for God hath forsaken me. All my duty to Heaven, mine

honour, my good faith, my knightliness, I must forego. God above have

pity, and let me die! Whether I do this thing, or do it not, I sin. And

if I take the part of neither, all the world will blame me. Let Him

that made me guide me.”

Still the king and his wife implored him. Whence it fell that many

valiant warriors lost their lives at his hand, and the hero himself was

slain. Hear ye now the tale of his sorrow. Well he knew he could win

naught but teen and scathe. Fain had he denied the prayer of the king

and queen. He feared, if he slew but one man, that the world would

loathe him evermore.

Then the bold man said to the king, “Take back what thou hast given

me—castles and land. Leave me nothing at all. I will go forth afoot

into exile. I will take my wife and my daughter by the hand, and I will

quit thy country empty, rather than I will die dishonoured. I took thy

red gold to my hurt.”

King Etzel answered, “Who will help me then? Land and folk I gave to

thee, Rudeger, that thou mightest avenge me on my foes. Thou shalt rule

with Etzel as a great king.”

But Rudeger said, “How can I do it? I bade them to my house and home; I

set meat and drink before them, and gave them my gifts. Shall I also

smite them dead? The folk may deem me a coward. But I have always

served them well. Should I fight with them now, it were ill done. Deep

must I rue past friendship. I gave my daughter to Giselher. None better

in this world had she found, of so great lineage and honour, and faith,

and wealth. Never saw I young king so virtuous.”

But Kriemhild answered, “Most noble Rudeger, take pity on us both.

Bethink thee that never host had guests like these.”

Then said the Margrave, “What thou and my master have given me I must

pay for, this day, with my life. I shall die, and that quickly. Well I

know that, or nightfall, my lands and castles will return to your

keeping. To your grace I commend my wife and my child, and the homeless

ones that are at Bechlaren.”

“God reward thee, Rudeger,” cried the king. He and the queen were both

glad. “Thy folk shall be well seen to; but thou thyself, I trow, will

come off scatheless.”

So he put his soul and body on the hazard. Etzel’s wife began to weep.

He said, “I must keep my vow to thee. Woe is me for my friends, that I

must fall upon in mine own despite!”

They saw him turn heavily from the king. To his knights that stood

close by, he said, “Arm ye, my men all. For I must fight the

Burgundians, to my sorrow.”

The heroes called for their harness, and the attendants brought helm

and buckler. Soon the proud strangers heard the sad news.

Rudeger stood armed with five hundred men, and twelve knights that went

with him, to win worship in the fray. They knew not that death was so

near.

Rudeger went forth with his helmet on; his men carried sharp swords,

and, thereto, broad shields and bright. The fiddler saw this, and was

dismayed. But when Giselher beheld his father-in-law with his helmet

on, he weened that he meant them well. The noble king was right glad.

“Well for me that I have such friends,” cried Giselher, “as these we

won by the way! For my wife’s sake he will save us. By my faith, I am

glad to be wed.”

“Thy trust is vain,” said the fiddler. “When ever did ye see so many

knights come in peace, with helmets laced on, and with swords? Rudeger

cometh to serve for his castles and his lands.”

Or the fiddler had made an end of speaking, Rudeger, the noble man,

stood before the house. He laid his good shield before his feet. He

must needs deny greeting to his friends.

Then the Margrave shouted into the hall, “Stand on your defence, ye

bold Nibelungs. I would have helped you, but must slay you. Once we

were friends, but I cannot keep my faith.”

The sore-tired men were dismayed at this word. Their comfort was gone,

for he that they loved was come against them. From their foemen they

had suffered enow.

“God in Heaven forbid,” said Gunther the knight, “that thou shouldst be

false to the friendship and the faith wherein we trusted. It cannot

be.”

“I cannot help it,” said Rudeger. “I must fight with you, for I have

vowed it. As ye love your lives, bold warriors, ward you well. King

Etzel’s wife will have it so.”

“Thou turnest too late,” said the king. “God reward thee, noble

Rudeger, for the truth and the love thou hast shown us, if it endure

but to the end. We shall ever thank and serve thee for the rich gifts

thou gavest to me and my kinsmen, when thou broughtest us with true

heart into Etzel’s land: so thou let us live. Think well thereon, noble

Rudeger.”

“Gladly would I grant it,” said the knight. “Might I but give thee

freely, as I would, with none to chide me!”

“Give that no thought,” said Gernot. “Never host entreated guests so

kindly as thou us; the which will advantage thee if we live.”

“Would to God, noble Gernot,” cried Rudeger, “that ye were at the

Rhine, and I dead with honour, since I must fight with you! Never

strangers were worse entreated by friends.”

“God reward thee, Sir Rudeger,” answered Gernot, “for thy rich gifts. I

should rue thy death, for in thee a virtuous man would fall. Behold,

good knight, the sword thou gavest, in my hand. It hath never failed me

in my need. Its edge hath killed many a warrior. It is finely tempered

and stark, and thereto bright and good. So goodly a gift, I ween, never

knight will give more. If thou forbear not, but fall upon us, and slay

any of my kinsmen here, thou shalt perish by thine own sword! Much I

pity thee and thy wife.”

“Would to God, Sir Gernot, thou hadst thy will, and thy friends were

out of peril! To thee I would entrust wife and daughter.”

Then said the youngest of fair Uta’s sons, “How canst thou do this

thing, Sir Rudeger? All that came hither with me are thy friends. A

vile deed is this. Thou makest thy daughter too soon a widow. If thou

and thy knights defy us, ill am I apayed, that I trusted thee before

all other men, when I won thy daughter for my wife.”

“Forget not thy troth, noble king, if God send thee hence,” answered

Rudeger. “Let not the maiden suffer for my sin. By thine own princely

virtue, withdraw not thy favour from her.”

“Fain would I promise it,” said Giselher the youth. “Yet if my

high-born kinsmen perish here by thy hand, my love for thee and thy

daughter must perish also.”

“Then God have mercy!” cried the brave man; whereat he lifted his

shield, and would have fallen upon the guests in Kriemhild’s hall.

But Hagen called out to him from the stairhead, “Tarry awhile, noble

Rudeger. Let me and my masters speak with thee yet awhile in our need.

What shall it profit Etzel if we knights die in a strange land? I am in

evil case,” said Hagen. “The shield that Gotelind gave me to carry, the

Huns have hewn from my hand. In good faith I bore it hither. Would to

God I had such a shield as thou hast, noble Rudeger! A better I would

not ask for in the battle.”

“I would gladly give thee my shield, durst I offer it before Kriemhild.

Yet take it, Hagen, and wear it. Ha! mightest thou but win with it to

Burgundy!”

When they saw him give the shield so readily, there were eyes enow red

with hot tears. It was the last gift that Rudeger of Bechlaren ever

gave.

Albeit Hagen was grim and stern, he was melted by the gift that the

good knight, so nigh to his end, had given him. And many a warrior

mourned with him.

“Now God reward thee, noble Rudeger; there will never be thy like again

for giving freely to homeless knights. May the fame of thy charity live

for ever. Sad news hast thou brought me. We had trouble enow. God pity

us if we must fight with friends.”

The Margrave answered, “Thou grievest not more than I.”

“I will requite thee for thy gift, brave Rudeger. Whatever betide thee

from these knights, my hand will not touch thee—not if thou slewest

every man of Burgundy.”

Rudeger bowed, and thanked him. All the folk wept. Sore pity it was

that none could stay the strife. The father of all virtue lay dead in

Rudeger.

Then Folker the fiddler went to the door and said, “Since my comrade

Hagen hath sworn peace, thou shalt have it also from my hand. Well

didst thou earn it when we came first into this country. Noble

Margrave, be my envoy. The Margravine gave me these red bracelets to

wear at the hightide. See them now, and bear witness that I did it.”

“Would to God that the Margravine might give thee more! Doubt not but I

shall tell my dear one, if I ever see her alive.”

When he had promised that, Rudeger lifted up his shield; he waxed

fierce, and tarried no longer. Like a knight he fell upon the guests.

Many a swift blow he smote. Folker and Hagen stood back, for they had

vowed it. But so many bold men stood by the door that Rudeger came in

great scathe.

Athirst for blood, Gunther and Gernot let him pass in. Certes, they

were heroes. Giselher drew back sorrowing. He hoped to live yet awhile;

wherefore he avoided Rudeger in the strife.

Then the Margrave’s men ran at their foemen, and followed their master

like good knights. They carried sharp weapons, wherewith they clove

many a helmet and buckler. The weary ones answered the men of Bechlaren

with swift blows that pierced deep and straight through their harness

to their life’s blood. They did wonderly in the battle.

All the warriors were now in the hall. Folker and Hagen fell on them,

for they had sworn to spare none save the one man. Their hands struck

blood from the helmets. Right grim was the clash of swords! Many a

shield-plate sprang in sunder, and the precious stones were scattered

among the blood. So fiercely none will fight again. The prince of

Bechlaren hewed a path right and left, as one acquainted with battle.

Well did Rudeger approve him that day a bold and blameless knight.

Gunther and Gernot smote many heroes dead. Giselher and Dankwart laid

about them, fearing naught, and sent many a man to his doom.

Rudeger approved him stark enow, bold and well armed. Ha! many a knight

he slew! One of the Burgundians saw this, and was wroth; whereat

Rudeger’s death drew nigh.

Gernot cried out to the Margrave, “Noble Rudeger; thou leavest none of

my men alive. It irketh me sore; I will bear it no longer. I will turn

thy gift against thee, for thou hast taken many friends from me. Come

hither, thou bold man. What thou gavest me I will earn to the

uttermost.”

Or the Margrave had fought his way to him, bright bucklers grew dim

with blood. Then, greedy of fame, the men ran at each other, and began

to ward off the deadly wounds. But their swords were so sharp that

nothing could withstand them. Rudeger the knight smote Gernot through

his flint-hard helmet, that the blood brake out. Soon the good warrior

was avenged. He swung Rudeger’s gift on high, and, albeit he was

wounded to the death, he smote him through his good shield and his

helmet, that Gotelind’s husband died. So rich a gift was never worse

requited. So they fell in the strife—Gernot and Rudeger—slain by each

other’s hand.

Thereat Hagen waxed grimmer than afore. The hero of Trony said, “Great

woe is ours. None can ever make good to their folk and their land the

loss of these two knights. Rudeger’s men shall pay for it.” They gave

no quarter. Many were struck down unwounded that had come to, but that

they were drowned in the blood.

“Woe is me for my brother, fallen dead! Each hour bringeth fresh dole.

For my father-in-law, Rudeger, I grieve also. Twofold is my loss and my

sorrow.”

When Giselher saw his brother slain, they that were in the hall

suffered for it. Death lagged not behind. Of the men of Bechlaren there

was left not a living soul.

Gunther and Giselher, and eke Hagen, Dankwart and Folker, the good

knights, went where the two warriors lay, and there the heroes wept

piteously.

“Death hath despoiled us sore,” said Giselher the youth. “Stop your

weeping, and go out to the air, that we strife-weary ones may cool our

harness. God will not let us live longer, I ween.”

They that were without saw them sitting, or leaning and taking their

rest. Rudeger’s men were all slain; the din was hushed. The silence

endured so long that Etzel was angered, and the king’s wife cried, “Woe

is me for this treason. They speak too long. The bodies of our foemen

are left unscathed by Rudeger’s hand. He plotteth to guide them back to

Burgundy. What doth it profit us, King Etzel, that we have shared all

our wealth with him? The knight hath done falsely. He that should have

avenged us cometh to terms with them.”

But Folker, the valiant warrior, answered her, “Alack! it is not so,

noble queen. If I might give the lie to one so high-born as thou art,

thou hast foully slandered Rudeger. Sorry terms have he and his knights

made with us. With such good will he did the king’s bidding, that he

and his men all lie dead. Look round thee for another, Kriemhild, to

obey thee. Rudeger served thee till his death. If thou doubtest, thou

mayest see for thyself.”

To her grief they did it. They brought the mangled hero where Etzel saw

him. Never were Etzel’s knights so doleful. When the dead Margrave was

held up before them, none could write or tell all the bitter wailing

whereby women and men alike uttered their heart’s dole. Etzel’s woe was

so great that the sound of his lamentation was as a lion’s roar. Loud

wept his wife. They mourned good Rudeger bitterly.

Thirty-Eighth Adventure

How Dietrich’s Knights Were All Slain

So loud they wept on all sides, that palace and towers echoed with the

sound. One of Dietrich’s men of Bern heard it, and hasted with the

news.

He said to the prince, “Hearken, Sir Dietrich. Never in my life heard I

such wail as this. Methinketh the king himself hath joined the

hightide. How else should all the folk make such dole. Either the king

or Kriemhild—one of them at the least—have the guests killed through

hate. The valiant warriors weep bitterly.”

The prince of Bern answered, “Judge not so hastily, my good men. What

the stranger knights have done, sore peril hath constrained them to.

Let it boot them now that I sware peace to them.”

But bold Wolfhart said, “I will go and ask what they have done, and

will tell thee, dear master, when I know the truth.”

Sir Dietrich answered, “When a knight is wroth, if one question him

roughly, his anger is soon kindled. I would not have thee meddle

therein, Wolfhart.”

He bade Helfrich haste thither, and find out from Etzel’s men, or from

the guests, what had happed, for he had never heard folk wail so loud.

The messenger asked, “What aileth you all?”

One among them answered, “Joy is fled from the land of the Huns.

Rudeger lieth slain by the men of Burgundy. Of them that entered in

with him, not one is left alive.”

Helfrich was sore grieved. He had never told so sad a tale, and went

back weeping.

“What news?” cried Dietrich. “Why weepest thou so bitterly, Sir

Helfrich?”

The knight answered, “I may well mourn. The Burgundians have slain

Rudeger.”

But the prince of Bern said, “God forbid! That were stark vengeance and

devil’s sport. What had Rudeger done to deserve it? Well I know he was

their friend.”

Wolfhart answered, “If they have done this, their life shall pay for

it. It were shameful to endure it. For oft hath Rudeger’s hand served

us.”

The prince of Amelung bade them inquire further. He sat down at a

window sore troubled, and bade Hildebrand go to the guests, and ask

them what had happened.

Master Hildebrand, bold in strife, took with him neither shield nor

sword, and would have gone to them on peaceful wise. But his sister’s

child chid him. Grim Wolfhart cried, “Why goest thou naked? If they

revile thee, thou wilt have the worst of the quarrel, and return

shamed. If thou goest armed, none will withstand thee.”

The old man armed him as the youth had counselled. Or he had ended, all

Dietrich’s knights stood in their harness, sword in hand. It irked the

warrior, and he had gladly turned them from their purpose. He asked

their intent.

“We would follow thee,” they answered. “What if Hagen of Trony, as his

wont is, mock thee?” Whereupon Hildebrand consented.

When bold Folker saw the knights of Bern, Dietrich’s men, girt with

swords, and coming armed, with shields in their hands, he told his

masters of Burgundy. He said, “Dietrich’s men draw nigh like foemen,

armed, and in helmets. They come to defy us. I ween it will go hard

with us forlorn ones.”

Hildebrand came up while he spake. He laid his shield at his feet, and

said to Gunther’s men, “Alack! ye good knights! What have ye done to

Rudeger? Dietrich, my master, sent me hither to ask if any here slew

the good Margrave, as they tell us. We could ill endure such loss.”

Hagen of Trony answered, “The news is true. Glad were I had the

messenger lied to thee, for Rudeger’s sake, and that he lived still.

Both men and women must evermore bewail him.”

When they heard he was dead in sooth, all the warriors wept, as was

meet. Down beard and chin ran the tears of Dietrich’s men. Right heavy

were they and doleful.

A duke of Bern that hight Siegstab, cried, “Now is ended all the loving

kindness wherewith Rudeger cheered our sad days. Ye have slain, in

Rudeger, the friend of all homeless knights.”

Sir Wolfwine of Amelung said, “I had not grieved more this day to see

my father dead. Woe is me! Who will comfort the good Margravine?”

Sir Wolfhart cried angrily, “Who will lead the warriors forth to battle

now, as Rudeger so oft hath done. Woe is me for brave Rudeger! We have

lost him!”

Wolfbrand and Helfrich and eke Helmnot wept for his death with all

their friends. Hildebrand could ask no more for grief. He said, “Grant

now, ye warriors, that for which my master sent me. Give us dead

Rudeger from out the hall, with whom all our joy hath perished, and let

us requite him for all the kindness he hath shown to us and many

another. Like him we are homeless. Why tarry ye? Let us bear him hence,

and serve him dead, as we had gladly served him living.”

Then said King Gunther, “No service is better than that of friends to a

dead friend. I approve the true heart of him that doeth it. Ye have

cause to praise him. He hath shown you much love.”

“How long shall we entreat?” cried Wolfhart. “Sith ye have slain our

joy, and we can have him no more, let us bear him hence to bury him.”

But Folker answered, “Ye shall get him from none here. Come and take

him out of the house, where he lieth with his death-wounds in the

blood. So shall ye serve Rudeger truly.”

Cried bold Wolfhart, “God knoweth, sir fiddler, thou dost wrong to

provoke us further; thou hast done us hurt enow. If I dared before my

master, it would go hard with thee. We may not fight; he hath forbidden

it.”

The fiddler said, “He that avoideth all that is forbidden is over

fearful. He hath not the right hero’s heart.”

Hagen approved the word of his comrade. But Wolfhart cried, “Give over

mocking, or I will put thy fiddle-strings out of tune, that thou mayest

have somewhat to tell, if ever thou ridest again to Burgundy. I can no

longer, with honour, endure thine insolence.”

The fiddler answered, “If thou spoilest my strings, my hand will dim

thy helmet afore I ride back to Burgundy.”

Wolfhart would have run at him, but his uncle, Hildebrand, held him

fast and would not let him. “Thou art mad in thy foolish wrath. We

should come in disgrace forever with my master.”

“Let loose the lion that is so grim, sir knight. But if he fall into my

hand,” said Folker, “I will slay him, though he had laid the whole

world dead. There will be an end of his hot answers.”

Wolfhart fell in a fury thereat. He lifted his shield and sprang at him

like a wild lion. His friends followed after. But, quick though he was,

old Hildebrand came before any to the stair-way, that he might not be

second in the fight. They found plenty to meet them among the

strangers.

Hagen leapt upon Master Hildebrand. The weapons rang loud in their

hands, for it was well seen they were wroth. A fire-red wind blew from

their swords. But they were parted in the fray by the knights of Bern,

that pressed in amain. So Master Hildebrand turned away from Hagen.

Stark Wolfhart ran at Folker. He smote the fiddler on his helmet, that

the sword’s edge cut into the beaver. The bold fiddler struck him such

a blow that the sparks flew from his harness. Deadly was their hate.

Then Sir Wolfwine parted them. If he was not a hero, there never was

one. Gunther, the noble king, met the famed Amelung knights with ready

hand. Sir Giselher made many a polished helmet red and wet with blood.

Dankwart, Hagen’s brother, was a grim man. All that he ha done afore to

Etzel’s warriors was but a wind to what he did now; fell and furious

was Aldrian’s child. Ritschart and Gerbart, Helfrich and Wichart, had

never spared themselves in battle, the which they let Gunther’s men

see. Wolfbrand was undaunted in the strife. Old Hildebrand fought as he

were mad. Many a good knight fell dead in the blood before the sword of

Wolfhart. Rudeger was well avenged. Sir Siegstab did right valiantly.

Ha! how many hard helmets Dietrich’s sister’s son brake to his foemen.

Bolder in battle he could not have been.

When stark Folker saw that Siegstab struck blood from the hauberks, he

was wroth, and leapt upon him and slew him. Such proof of his skill

gave the fiddler that Siegstab died.

Hildebrand avenged him as beseemed his might. “Woe is me for my dear

lord, that lieth slain by Folker’s hand! Bitterly shall the fiddler pay

for it.” Certes, Hildebrand was grim enow. He smote Folker, that the

gleeman’s shield and helmet flew in splinters across the hall. That was

an end of stark Folker.

Then Dietrich’s men rushed in from all sides. They smote till the links

of their foemen’s mail whistled asunder, and their broken sword-points

flew on high. They struck hot-flowing streams from the helmets.

When Hagen of Trony saw Folker dead, he grieved more bitterly than he

had done yet, all the hightide, for kinsman or vassal. Alack! how

grimly he began to avenge him!

“Old Hildebrand shall not go scatheless, for his hand hath slain my

friend, the best comrade I ever had.”

He raised his shield, and hewed his way right and left.

Helfrich slew stark Dankwart. Doleful enow were Gunther and Giselher

when they saw him fall in his bitter pains. Yet he had well avenged his

death with his own hand.

Albeit many mighty princes of many lands were gathered there against

the little band, their prowess had brought them forth alive, had not

the Christian folk turned foemen.

Meantime, Wolfhart went to and fro, and hewed down Gunther’s men. He

cut his way round the hall thrice. Many a knight fell before him.

Then cried stark Giselher to Wolfhart, “Woe is me, that I have so grim

a foe! Come hither, bold warrior, and I will make an end of this.

Longer it shall not endure.”

Wolfhart turned to Giselher in the strife. They gave one another wide

wounds. So fiercely Wolfhart sprang at him that the blood under his

feet spurted over his head.

Fair Uta’s child welcomed Wolfhart, the bold knight, with swift blows.

Albeit the warrior was mighty, he perished. Never king so young was so

valiant. He smote Wolfhart through his goodly harness, that blood

flowed down from the gash: he wounded Dietrich’s man to the death. None

save a hero had done it.

When Wolfhart felt the sword-cut, he threw away his shield, and lifted

a mighty and sharp weapon, wherewith, through helmet and harness, he

slew Giselher. They gave each other a grim death, for Dietrich’s man

fell likewise.

Old Hildebrand grieved sore when he saw Wolfhart fall. All Gunther’s

men and Dietrich’s were dead, and he went where Wolfhart lay in the

blood, and put his arm round him to bear him away out of the house. But

he was too heavy, so he must needs let him lie. Then the deadly wounded

man looked up from among the blood, and saw that his uncle would have

helped him, and he said, “Dearest uncle, no help availeth me. Thou

didest better to beware of Hagen, for grim and fell is his heart. And

if my kinsmen, my nearest and my best, mourn for me hereafter, say that

they weep without cause, for that I died gloriously by the hand of a

king. In the fight I have so well avenged me that many a warrior’s wife

shall wail. If any question thee, tell him straight that, with my

single hand, I slew an hundred.”

Then Hagen thought on the fiddler that old Hildebrand had slain, and he

said to the knight, “Thou shalt pay for my teen. Thou hast robbed us of

many a good warrior.” He smote Hildebrand, that Balmung, the sword he

had taken from Siegfried when he slew him, rang loud. But the old man

stood boldly on his defence. He brought his sharp-edged sword down on

Hagen, but could not wound him. Then Hagen pierced him through his good

harness.

When Master Hildebrand felt the wound, he feared more scathe from

Hagen, so he threw his shield over his back and fled.

Now, of all the knights, none were left alive save two, Gunther and

Hagen.

Old Hildebrand, covered with blood, ran with the news to Dietrich, that

he saw sitting sadly where he had left him. Soon the prince had more

cause for woe. When he saw Hildebrand in his bloody harness, he asked

fearfully for his tale. “Now tell me, Master Hildebrand, why thou art

so wet with thy life’s blood? Who did it? I ween thou hast fought with

the guests in the hall, albeit I so sternly forbade it. Thou hadst

better have forborne.”

Hildebrand answered his master, “Hagen did it. He gave me this wound in

the hall when I turned to flee from him. I scarce escaped the devil

with my life.”

Said the prince of Bern, “Thou art rightly served. Thou heardest me vow

friendship to the knights, and thou hast broken the peace I gave them.

Were it not that I shame me to slay thee, thy life were forfeit.”

“Be not so wroth, my lord Dietrich. Enough woe hath befallen me and

mine. We would have borne away Rudeger’s body, but Gunther’s men denied

it.”

“Woe is me for this wrong! Is Rudeger then dead? That is the bitterest

of my dole. Noble Gotelind is my cousin’s child. Alack! The poor

orphans of Bechlaren!” With ruth and sorrow he wept for Rudeger. “Woe

is me for the true comrade I have lost. I must mourn Etzel’s liegeman

forever. Canst thou tell me, Master Hildebrand, who slew him?”

Hildebrand answered, “It was stark Gernot, but the hero fell by

Rudeger’s hand.”

Said Dietrich, “Bid my men arm them, for I will thither straightway.

Send me my shining harness. I, myself, will question the knights of

Burgundy.”

But Master Hildebrand answered, “Who is there to call? Thy sole living

liegeman standeth here. I am the only one. The rest are dead.”

Dietrich trembled at the news, and was passing doleful, for never in

this world had he known such woe. He cried, “Are all my men slain? then

God hath forgotten poor Dietrich! I was a great king, rich and proud.

Yet how could they all die, these valiant heroes, by foemen so

battle-weary and sore beset? Death had spared them, but that I am

doomed to sorrow. Since this hard fate is needs mine, tell me if any of

the guests be left alive.”

Hildebrand answered, “None save Hagen, and Gunther, the king. God

knoweth I say sooth.”

“Woe is me, dear Wolfhart, if I have lost thee! It were better I had

never been born. Siegstab and Wolfwine and Wolfbrand: who is there then

left to help me in the land of the Amelungs? Is bold Gelfrich slain

also? And Gerbart and Wichart? When shall I have done weeping? This day

hath ended all my joy. Alack! that none may die of grief!”

Thirty-Ninth Adventure

How Gunther, Hagen, and Kriemhild Were Slain

Thereupon Sir Dietrich went and got his harness himself. Old Hildebrand

helped to arm him. The strong man wept so loud that the house rang with

his voice. But soon he was of stout heart again, as beseemed a hero. He

did on his armour in wrath. He took a fine-tempered shield in his hand,

and they hasted to the place—he and Master Hildebrand.

Then said Hagen of Trony, “I see Sir Dietrich yonder. He cometh to

avenge his great loss. This day will show which of us twain is the

better man. Howso stark of body and grim Sir Dietrich may deem him, I

doubt not but I shall stand against him, if he seek vengeance.” So

spake Hagen.

Dietrich, that was with Hildebrand, heard him. He came where both the

knights stood outside the house, leaning against the wall. Good

Dietrich laid down his shield, and, moved with deep woe, he said, “Why

hast thou so entreated a homeless knight? What had I done to thee? Thou

hast ended all my joy. Thou deemedst it too little to have slain

Rudeger to our scathe; now thou hast robbed me of all my men. I had

never done the like to you, O knights. Think on yourselves and your

loss—the death of your friends, and your travail. By reason thereof are

ye not heavy of your cheer? Alack! how bitter to me is Rudeger’s death!

There was never such woe in this world. Ye have done evilly by me and

by yourselves. All the joy I had ye have slain. How shall I ever mourn

enough for all my kinsmen?”

“We are not alone to blame,” answered Hagen. “Your knights came hither

armed and ready, with a great host. Methinketh the tale hath not been

told thee aright.”

“What shall I believe then? Hildebrand said that when my knights of

Amelung begged you to give them Rudeger’s body, ye answered mockingly,

as they stood below.”

Then said the prince of the Rhineland. “They told me they were come to

bear Rudeger hence. I denied them, not to anger thy men, but to grieve

Etzel withal. Whereat Wolfhart flew in a passion.”

Said the prince of Bern, “There is nothing for it. Of thy knightliness,

atone to me for the wrong thou hast done me, and I will avenge it no

further. Yield thee captive, thee and thy man, and I will defend thee

to the uttermost against the wrath of the Huns. Thou wilt find me

faithful and true.”

“God in Heaven forbid,” cried Hagen, “that two knights, armed as we are

for battle, should yield them to thee! I would hold it a great shame,

and ill done.”

“Deny me not,” said Dietrich. “Ye have made me heavy-hearted enow, O

Gunther and Hagen; and it is no more than just, that ye make it good. I

swear to you, and give you my hand thereon, that I will ride back with

you to your own country. I will bring you safely thither, or die with

you, and forget my great wrong for your sakes.”

“Ask us no more,” said Hagen. “It were a shameful tale to tell of us,

that two such bold men yielded them captive. I see none save Hildebrand

by thy side.”

Hildebrand answered, “Ye would do well to take my master’s terms; the

hour will come, or long, when ye would gladly take them, but may not

have them.”

“Certes, I had liefer do it,” said Hagen, “than flee mine adversary

like a coward, as thou didst, Master Hildebrand. By my troth, I deemed

thou hadst withstood a foeman better.”

Cried Hildebrand, “Thou needest not to twit me. Who was it that, by the

wask-stone, sat upon his shield when Walter of Spain slew so many of

his kinsmen? Thou, thyself, art not void of blame.”

Said Sir Dietrich then, “It beseemeth not warriors to fight with words

like old women. I forbid thee, Master Hildebrand, to say more. Homeless

knight that I am, I have grief enow. Tell me now, Sir Hagen, what ye

good knights said when ye saw me coming armed. Was it not that thou

alone wouldst defy me?”

“Thou hast guessed rightly,” answered Hagen. “I am ready to prove it

with swift blows, if my Nibelung sword break not. I am wroth that ye

would have had us yield us captive.”

When Dietrich heard grim Hagen’s mind, he caught up his shield, and

sprang up the steps. The Nibelung sword rang loud on his mail. Sir

Dietrich knew well that the bold man was fierce. The prince of Bern

warded off the strokes. He needed not to learn that Hagen was a valiant

knight. Thereto, he feared stark Balmung. But ever and anon he struck

out warily, till he had overcome Hagen in the strife. He gave him a

wound that was deep and wide. Then thought Sir Dietrich, “Thy long

travail hath made thee weak. I had little honour in thy death. Liefer

will I take thee captive.” Not lightly did he prevail. He threw down

his shield. He was stark and bold, and he caught Hagen of Trony in his

arms. So the valiant man was vanquished. King Gunther grieved sore.

Dietrich bound Hagen, and led him to the queen, and delivered into her

hand the boldest knight that ever bare a sword. After her bitter dole,

she was glad enow. She bowed before the knight for joy. “Blest be thou

in soul and body. Thou hast made good to me all my woe. I will thank

thee till my dying day.”

Then said Dietrich, “Let him live, noble queen. His service may yet

atone to thee for what he hath done to thy hurt. Take not vengeance on

him for that he is bound.”

She bade them lead Hagen to a dungeon. There he lay locked up, and none

saw him.

Then King Gunther called aloud, “Where is the hero of Bern? He hath

done me a grievous wrong.”

Sir Dietrich went to meet him. Gunther was a man of might. He tarried

not, but ran toward him from the hall. Loud was the din of their

swords.

Howso famed Dietrich was from aforetime, Gunther was so wroth and so

fell, and so bitterly his foeman, by reason of the wrong he had

endured, that it was a marvel Sir Dietrich came off alive. They were

stark and mighty men both. Palace and towers echoed with their blows,

as their swift swords hewed their good helmets. A high-hearted king was

Gunther.

But the knight of Bern overcame him, as he had done Hagen. His blood

gushed from his harness by reason of the good sword that Dietrich

carried. Yet Gunther had defended him well, for all he was so weary.

The knight was bound by Dietrich’s hand, albeit a king should never

wear such bonds. Dietrich deemed, if he left Gunther and his man free,

they would kill all they met.

He took him by the hand, and let him before Kriemhild. Her sorrow was

lighter when she saw him. She said, “Thou art welcome, King Gunther.”

He answered, “I would thank thee, dear sister, if thy greeting were in

love. But I know thy fierce mind, and that thou mockest me and Hagen.”

Then said the prince of Bern, “Most high queen, there were never nobler

captives than these I have delivered here into thy hands. Let the

homeless knights live for my sake.”

She promised him she would do it gladly, and good Dietrich went forth

weeping. Yet soon Etzel’s wife took grim vengeance, by reason whereof

both the valiant men perished. She kept them in dungeons, apart, that

neither saw the other again till she bore her brother’s head to Hagen.

Certes, Kriemhild’s vengeance was bitter.

The queen went to Hagen, and spake angrily to the knight. “Give me back

what thou hast taken from me, and ye may both win back alive to

Burgundy.”

But grim Hagen answered, “Thy words are wasted, noble queen. I have

sworn to show the hoard to none. While one of my masters liveth, none

other shall have it.”

“I will end the matter,” said the queen. Then she bade them slay her

brother, and they smote off his head. She carried it by the hair to the

knight of Trony. He was grieved enow.

When the sorrowful man saw his master’s head, he cried to Kriemhild,

“Thou hast wrought all thy will. It hath fallen out as I deemed it

must. The noble King of Burgundy is dead, and Giselher the youth, and

eke Gernot. None knoweth of the treasure now save God and me. Thou

shalt never see it, devil that thou art.”

She said, “I come off ill in the reckoning. I will keep Siegfried’s

sword at the least. My true love wore it when I saw him last. My

bitterest heart’s dole was for him.”

She drew it from the sheath. He could not hinder it. She purposed to

slay the knight. She lifted it high with both hands, and smote off his

head.

King Etzel saw it, and sorrowed. “Alack!” cried the king, “The best

warrior that ever rode to battle, or bore a shield, hath fallen by the

hand of a woman! Albeit I was his foeman, I must grieve.”

Then said Master Hildebrand, “His death shall not profit her. I care

not what come of it. Though I came in scathe by him myself, I will

avenge the death of the bold knight of Trony.”

Hildebrand sprang fiercely at Kriemhild, and slew her with his sword.

She suffered sore by his anger. Her loud cry helped her not.

Dead bodies lay stretched all over. The queen was hewn in pieces. Etzel

and Dietrich began to weep. They wailed piteously for kinsmen and

vassals. Mickle valour lay there slain. The folk were doleful and

dreary.

The end of the king’s hightide was woe, even as, at the last, all joy

turneth to sorrow.

I know not what fell after. Christian and heathen, wife, man, and maid,

were seen weeping and mourning for their friends.

I WILL TELL YOU NO MORE. LET THE DEAD LIE. HOWEVER IT FARED AFTER WITH

THE HUNS, MY TALE IS ENDED. THIS IS THE FALL OF THE NIBELUNGS.