Froda felt his arm grow weary, and the warm blood was flowing from two
wounds in his shoulder; he wished so to lie down in death that he might
rise up with honour from his bloody grave to the exalted lady whom he
served. He cast his shield behind him, grasped his sword-hilt with both
hands, and rushed wildly, with a loud war-cry, upon the affrighted foe.
Instantly he heard some voices cry, “It is the rage of the northern
heroes which has come upon him.” And the whole troop were scattered in
dismay, while the exhausted knight remained wounded and alone in the
darkness.
Then the golden hair of Aslauga gleamed once more in the alder-shade;
and Froda said, leaning, through weariness, on his sword, “I think not
that I am wounded to death; but whenever that time shall come, O beloved
lady, wilt thou not indeed appear to me in all thy loveliness and
brightness?” A soft “Yes” breathed against his cheek, and the golden
light vanished.
But now Hildegardis came forth from the thicket, half fainting with
terror, and said feebly, “Within is the fair and frightful spectre of
the north--without is the battle. Oh, merciful heaven! whither shall I
go?”
Then Froda approached to sooth the affrighted one, to speak some words
of comfort to her, and to inquire after Edwald; but wild shouts and the
rattling of armour announced the return of the Bohemian warriors. With
haste Froda led the maiden to the boat, pushed off from the shore,
and rowed her with the last effort of his failing strength towards
the island which he had observed in the midst of the stream. But the
pursuers had already kindled torches, and waved them sparkling here and
there. By this light they soon discovered the boat; they saw that the
dreaded Danish knight was bleeding, and gained fresh courage for their
pursuit. Hardly had Froda pushed the boat to the shore of the island,
before he perceived a Bohemian on the other side in another skiff, and
soon afterwards the greater number of the enemy embarked to row towards
the island. “To the wood, fair maiden,” he whispered, as soon as he
had landed Hildegardis on the shore; “there conceal yourself, whilst
I endeavour to prevent the landing of the robbers.” But Hildegardis,
clinging to his arm, whispered again, “Do I not see that you are pale
and bleeding? and would you have me expire with terror in the dark and
lonely clefts of this rock? Ah! and if your northern gold-haired spectre
were to appear again and seat herself beside me! Think you that I do not
see her there now, shining through the thicket!”
“She shines!” echoed Froda, and new strength and hope ran through
every vein. He climbed the hill, following the gracious gleam; and
Hildegardis, though trembling at the sight, went readily with her
companion, saying only from time to time, in a low voice “Ah, Sir
Knight!--my noble wondrous knight--leave me not here alone; that would
be my death.” The knight, soothing her courteously, stepped ever onwards
through the darkness of dell and forest, for already he heard the sound
of the Bohemians landing on the shore of the island. Suddenly he stood
before a cave thick-covered with underwood, and the gleam disappeared.
“Here, then,” he whispered, endeavouring to hold the branches asunder.
For a moment she paused, and said, “If you should but let the branches
close again behind me, and I were to remain alone with spectres in this
cave! But, Froda, you will surely follow me--a trembling, hunted child
as I am? Will you not?” Without more misgivings she passed through the
branches; and the knight, who would willingly have remained without as a
guard, followed her. Earnestly he listened through the stillness of
the night, whilst Hildegardis hardly dared to draw her breath. Then was
heard the tramp of an armed man, coming ever nearer and nearer, and
now close to the entrance of the cave. In vain did Froda strive to
free himself from the trembling maiden. Already the branches before the
entrance were cracking and breaking, and Froda sighed deeply. “Must I,
then, fall like a lurking fugitive, entangled in a woman’s garments? It
is a base death to die. But can I cast this half-fainting creature away
from me on the dark, hard earth, perhaps into some deep abyss? Come,
then, what will, thou, Lady Aslauga, knowest that I die an honourable
death!”
“Froda! Hildegardis!” breathed a gentle, well-known voice at the
entrance, and recognising Edwald, Froda bore the lady towards him into
the starlight, saying, “She will die of terror in our sight in this
deep cavern. Is the foe near at hand?” “Most of them lie lifeless on the
shore, or swim bleeding through the waves,” said Edwald. “Set your mind
at rest, and repose yourself. Are you wounded, beloved Froda?” He gave
this short account to his astonished companions--how, in the darkness,
he had mixed with the Bohemians and pressed into the skiff, and that it
had been easy to him on landing to disperse the robbers entirely, who
supposed that they were attacked by one of their own crew, and thought
themselves bewitched. “They began at last to fall on one another”--so
he ended his history; “and we have only now to wait for the morning
to conduct the lady home, for those who are wandering about of that
owl-squadron will doubtless hide themselves from the eye of day.” While
speaking, he had skilfully and carefully arranged a couch of twigs and
moss for Hildegardis, and when the wearied one, after uttering some
gentle words of gratitude, had sunk into a slumber, he began, as well
as the darkness would allow, to bind up the wounds of his friend. During
this anxious task, while the dark boughs of the trees murmured over
their heads, and the rippling of the stream was heard from afar, Froda,
in a low voice, made known to his brother-in-arms to the service of what
lady he was bound. Edwald listened with deep attention, but at last he
said tenderly, “Trust me, the noble Princess Aslauga will not resent it,
if you pledge yourself to this earthly beauty in faithful love. Ah!
even now doubtless you are sinning in the dreams of Hildegardis,
richly-gifted and happy knight! I will not stand in your way with
my vain wishes; I see now clearly that she can never, never love me.
Therefore I will this very day hasten to the war which so many valiant
knights of Germany are waging in the heathen land of Prussia, and the
black cross, which distinguishes them for warriors of the Church, I will
lay as the best balm on my throbbing heart. Take, then, dear Froda, that
fair hand which you have won in battle, and live henceforth a life of
surpassing happiness and joy.”
“Edwald,” said Froda, gravely, “this is the first time that I ever heard
one word from your lips which a true knight could not fulfil. Do as
it pleases you towards the fair and haughty Hildegardis, but Aslauga
remains my mistress ever, and no other do I desire in life or death.”
The youth was startled by these stern words, and made no reply. Both,
without saying more to each other, watched through the night in solemn
thought.
The next morning, when the rising sun shone brightly over the flowery
plains around the Castle of Hildegardis, the watchman on the tower blew
a joyful blast from his horn, for his keen eye had distinguished far in
the distance his fair lady, who was riding from the forest between her
two deliverers; and from castle, town, and hamlet, came forth many a
rejoicing train to assure themselves with their own eyes of the happy
news.
Hildegardis turned to Edwald with eyes sparkling through tears, and
said, “Were it not for you, young knight, they might have sought long
and vainly before they found the lost maiden or the noble Froda, who
would now be lying in that dark cavern a bleeding and lifeless corpse.”
Edwald bowed lowly in reply, but persevered in his wonted silence.
It even seemed as though an unusual grief restrained the smile which
erewhile answered so readily, in childlike sweetness, to every friendly
word.
The noble guardian of Hildegardis had, in the overflowing joy of his
heart, prepared a sumptuous banquet, and invited all the knights
and ladies present to attend it. Whilst Froda and Edwald, in all the
brightness of their glory, were ascending the steps in the train of
their rescued lady, Edwald said to his friend, “Noble, steadfast knight,
you can never love me more!” And as Froda looked in astonishment, he
continued--“Thus it is when children presume to counsel heroes, however
well they may mean it. Now have I offended grievously against you,
and yet more against the noble Lady Aslauga.” “Because you would have
plucked every flower of your own garden to gladden me with them?” said
Froda. “No; you are my gentle brother-in-arms now, as heretofore, dear
Edchen, and are perhaps become yet dearer to me.”
Then Edwald smiled again in silent contentment, like a flower after the
morning showers of May.
The eyes of Hildegardis glanced mildly and kindly on him, and she
often conversed graciously with him, while, on the other hand, since
yesterday, a reverential awe seemed to separate her from Froda. But
Edwald also was much altered. However he welcomed with modest joy the
favour of his lady, it yet seemed as if some barrier were between them
which forbade him to entertain the most distant hope of successful love.
It chanced that a noble count, from the court of the Emperor, was
announced, who being bound on an important embassy, had wished to
pay his respects to the Lady Hildegardis by the way. She received him
gladly, and as soon as the first salutations were over, he said, looking
at her and at Edwald, “I know not if my good fortune may not have
brought me hither to a very joyful festivity. That would be right
welcome news to the Emperor my master.” Hildegardis and Edwald were
lovely to look upon in their blushes and confusion, but the count,
perceiving at once that he had been too hasty, inclined himself
respectfully towards the young knight, and said, “Pardon me, noble Duke
Edwald, my too great forwardness, but I know the wish of my sovereign,
and the hope to find it already fulfilled prompted my tongue to speak.”
All eyes were fixed inquiringly on the young hero, who answered, in
graceful confusion, “It is true; the Emperor, when I was last in his
camp, through his undeserved favour, raised me to the rank of a duke.
It was my good fortune, that in an encounter, some of the enemy’s horse,
who had dared to assault the sacred person of the Emperor, dispersed
and fled on my approach.” The count then, at the request of Hildegardis,
related every circumstance of the heroic deed; and it appeared that
Edwald had not only rescued the Emperor from the most imminent peril,
but also, with the cool and daring skill of a general, had gained the
victory which decided the event of the war.
Surprise at first sealed the lips of all; and even before their
congratulations could begin, Hildegardis had turned towards Edwald, and
said in a low voice, which yet, in that silence, was clearly heard by
all, “The noble count has made known the wish of my imperial uncle,
and I conceal it no longer, my own heart’s wish is the same--I am Duke
Edwald’s bride.” And with that she extended to him her fair right hand,
and all present waited only till he should take it, before they burst
into a shout of congratulation. But Edwald forbore to do so; he only
sunk on one knee before his lady, saying, “God forbid that the lofty
Hildegardis should ever recall a word spoken solemnly to noble knights
and dames. ‘To no vanquished knight,’ you said, ‘might the hand of
the Emperor’s niece belong’--and behold there Froda, the noble Danish
knight, my conqueror.” Hildegardis, with a slight blush, turned hastily
away, hiding her eyes, and as Edwald arose, it seemed as though there
were a tear upon his cheek.
In his clanging armour Froda advanced to the middle of the hall,
exclaiming, “I declare my late victory over Duke Edwald to have been
the chance of fortune, and I challenge the noble knight to meet me again
to-morrow in the lists.”
At the same time he threw his iron gauntlet ringing on the pavement.
But Edwald moved not to take it up. On the contrary, a glow of lofty
anger was on his cheeks, and his eyes sparkled with indignation, so
that his friend would hardly have recognised him; and after a silence he
spoke--
“Noble Sir Froda, if I have ever offended you, we are now even. How
durst you, a warrior gloriously wounded by two sword-strokes, challenge
a man unhurt into the lists to-morrow, if you did not despise him?”
“Forgive me, Duke Edwald,” answered Froda, somewhat abashed, but with
cheerfulness, “I have spoken too boldly. Not till I am completely cured
do I call you to the field.”
Then Edwald took up the gauntlet joyfully. He knelt once more before
Hildegardis, who, turning away her face, gave him her fair hand to kiss,
and walked, with his arm in that of his noble Danish friend, out of the
hall.