Thirty-Third AdventureHow Dankwart Brought the News to His MastersThen 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.
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.