Ekkehard Volume Ii Part 27

But with unruffled calm Waltari spoke, "If mine the fault of that, which caus'd the death Of him thou call'st thy uncle,--may I fall Pierc'd to the heart by thy own lance or sword."

Scarce had he ended, when in hasty speed, That work'd its own destruction, Scaramund Had thrown his lances both; and one was caught, By Walter's s.h.i.+eld, whilst far beyond the mark, The second in some mighty oak stuck fast.

With naked sword, in blind and furious wrath, He then bore down upon his enemy, To split his head with one resounding blow, Which made the sparks flash forth indignantly,-- But could not pierce Waltari's cap of steel; A very masterpiece of workmans.h.i.+p.

Before the echo of this mighty blow Had died away, Waltari's spear had thrown The rider to the ground; and though he ask'd, For mercy, 'twas too late; for with one cut His head was sever'd from his trunk, and thus He shar'd the doom, that he could not revenge; And with his uncle, shar'd an early grave.

"Forwards!" was Gunther's cry, "and don't desist, Before the worn out man shall render up Both life and gold!"--Then Werinhard rode forth, To try his chance against yon fearful man.

He was no friend of lances;--all his skill Lay in his bow,--and from the distance he Sent many an arrow 'gainst his stalwart foe.

But _he_, well cover'd by his ma.s.sive s.h.i.+eld Took ample care, not to expose himself; So that, before Sir Werinhard came near, His quiver had been emptied, all in vain; And full of anger at this first defeat He now rush'd forward with his naked sword.

"And if my arrows are too light for thee, Then let me see what this my sword will do!"

"Long have I waited here impatiently, For thy approach," Waltari made reply, And like a flash of lightning his good spear Flew through the air, the harbinger of death; Missing Sir Werinhard, it hit the horse, Which rearing backwards in its agony Threw off its rider, and then fell on him, And ere Sir Werinhard could raise himself, Waltari's hand had seiz'd his yellow locks; Stern and relentlessly he did the same For him as for the others, and his head Fell to the ground, where his companions lay But Gunther still was loth to quit the fight, So, as fourth combatant, came Ekkefried He who had slain the duke of Saxony And liv'd an outlaw since, at Gunther's court.

Proudly he sat upon his red roan steed; And ere for serious fight he did prepare, With taunting word and mocking speech he tried, To rouse Waltari from his outward calm.

"Say, art thou human, or some imp of h.e.l.l Who with his magic tricks, by demons taught, Has thrown and vanquish'd better men than he?

But now, believe me they will be aveng'd!"

But he, with a contemptuous laugh replied: "Forsooth I know the meaning of such stuff, And am not frightened by thy idle boasts.

Come on, and I will teach thee my dark tricks, And prove my being master of my art!"

"I will not keep thee waiting,--so beware!"

And with these words, the Saxon Ekkefried, With dext'rous hand, his iron spear did throw, Which striking 'gainst Waltari's s.h.i.+eld was broke To pieces, like some wand of brittle gla.s.s.

And with another laugh, Waltari cried: "Take back thy present, and I warrant thee Thou'lt find the goblin knows to hit the mark!"

--A moment later, and his fearful spear, Cleaving the s.h.i.+eld, had pierc'd unto the heart Of Ekkefried, granting a speedy death.

And as his lawful prize Waltari led His goodly horse away unto the spot Where Hildgund' still was watching anxiously.

The fifth who came to undertake the fight, Hadwart by name, had only brought his sword, With which he hoped to kill this dreadful foe.

And to the king, he said before he went: "If this my sword, should be victorious, I prithee, let we have Waltari's s.h.i.+eld!"

Spurring his horse, he rode unto the spot, Where the dead corpses lay blocking the path; So, jumping to the ground, he cried aloud: "Come out then from thy corner, thou sly rogue, Who like a false envenom'd snake dost lie In ambush, hoping thus to save thy life, Which I am come to take with my good sword.

And as thy dainty, many-colour'd s.h.i.+eld Will be my booty, I command thee now, To lay it down, lest it might damag'd be.

And if it were decreed that I should fall, Thou never wilt escape with thy base life; As my companions will avenge my death."

With calm composure, Walter, thus replied: "Indeed, I would not want my trusty s.h.i.+eld, Which more than once to-day has sav'd my life.

Without that s.h.i.+eld, I should not now stand here."

"Then wait, and see me take it!" Hadwart cried, "Thy steed, and aye, thy rose-cheek'd damsel too, Will soon be mine! Come out then, my brave sword!"

Then there began a fighting, as the like, Had ne'er been seen before in yonder wood; So that with wonder and amazement those Franconians stood, and looked on the while.

At last, to end the combat with one stroke, Hadwart dealt such a blow, as must have fell'd, Waltari to the ground, if with his spears The blow he had not parried, and anon He wrench'd the weapon out of Hadwart's hand And threw it far away over his head.

In ignominious flight Sir Hadwart then Tried hard to save his life, but Alphers' son, With swifter feet did follow on his heels; "Stop yet a while, thou hast forgot thy s.h.i.+eld!"

And with these words, he rais'd the iron lance; And struck it through Sir Hadwart's corselet, so That as he fell, he pinn'd him to the ground.

The sixth who volunteer'd his chance to take Was Hagen's nephew, young Sir Patavid.

On seeing him prepar'd to meet his doom, His uncle feeling pity with the lad, With persuasive speech tried hard to turn His daring fancy from this bold endeavour, "Oh, nephew, see how death is lurking there, And do not waste your fresh and youthful life Against yon man, whom you will conquer not."

But Patavid not heeding this advice, Fearlessly went, spurr'd by ambitious pride.

With mournful heart Sir Hagen sat apart, And heaving a deep sigh he spoke these words: "Oh ever greedy youth! oh baneful thirst of gold, I wish that h.e.l.l would gather all her golden dross, And set the dragons to watch over it, Instead of tempting wretched human souls Into perdition. There's none has got enough, And to gain more, they risk their very lives And souls into the bargain. Wretched fools!

That dig and toil and sc.r.a.pe, and do not see That they are often digging their own grave, Beside which death stands grinning. Say, what news Shall I take back to greet thy mother's ears, And thy poor wife, who waits for thy return?"

And as he thought of her despairing grief, A solitary tear would trickle down: "Farewell, farewell for ever, nephew mine!"

He cried in broken accents, which the winds Did carry off unto Waltari's ear, Whose heart was touch'd by his old friend's complaint, And thus address'd the bold, tho' youthful knight: "I warn thee, my brave lad, to spare thy strength, For other deeds and not to risk the fate, Of those who came before thee,--stalwart knights, For I should grieve to lay thee by their side."

"My death does not regard thee; come and fight, Forsooth, I did not come for idle talk,"-- Was Patavid's reply, and as he spoke, His whizzing spear came flying through the air.

But by Waltari's own 'twas beaten off, With such a mighty stroke, that e'en before the feet, Of fair Hildgund it fell, close by the cave.

A cry of fear escaped from her lips.

Then, from her rock, she anxiously look'd forth To see whether her knight still kept the ground, Another time he rais'd his warning voice Bidding his enemy desist from further fight, Who, heedless of these words, still forward press'd With naked sword in hand, hoping to fell Waltari with one strong and dext'rous blow.

But he, bent down his head, so that the sword Not meeting with resistance, cut the air And dragged him who held it to the ground; And ere that he could rise, Waltari's sword Had dealt the death-blow with unsparing hand.

Quick to avenge his friend, Sir Gerwig now Did spur his n.o.ble steed, which with one bound Jump'd o'er the bodies that block'd up the way.

And ere Waltari yet could free his sword, From his last foe, Sir Gerwig's battle-axe --The fav'rite weapon of Franconians then Flew through the air, a fearful sight to see.

Quicker than thought Waltari seiz'd his s.h.i.+eld To guard himself,--and with one backward bound Took up his trusty lance, and thus prepar'd, Unflinching stood, awaiting the attack.

No single word was said on either side; Each thirsted for the fight with hungry soul; One to avenge the death of his dear friend, The other to defend his life and gold, And her he valued more, far more than both.

Full long they fought with unrelenting zeal A well-match'd pair, until Waltari's lance Lifting the s.h.i.+eld of his antagonist, Did find its way into his corselet; And with a hollow groan he reeled back Expiring on the spot where he fell down.

With fear and wonder, the Franconians saw, Waltari's prowess, and their friend's defeat; So that at last they all besought the king To cease from further fight; but he replied: "Ah well, indeed, I never would have thought To find such weak and craven-hearted men Amongst my knights that I deem'd brave before.

What! does misfortune make your spirits fail, Instead of raising them to boiling heat?

And do you mean to say we should return Conquer'd and beaten by one single man?

Nay, if before I only wish'd to have The stranger's gold, I now will have his life!

The blood which he has shed, does cry for blood!"

He ceas'd and at his words, new courage fill'd The hearts of his brave knights, so that now each Would be the first to try the b.l.o.o.d.y game, And in a file they now rode up the path.

Meanwhile, Waltari there to cool his brow, Had ta'en his helmet off, and hung it up On the strong branch of a tall stately oak; And as the fragrant breezes cool'd his brow He felt new strength and vigour in his limbs, But while he thus stood breathing the fresh air, Sir Randolf on his fiery steed advanc'd And came upon him with such sudden speed, That with his iron bar quite unawares He would have pierc'd Waltari where he stood If that the armour which did s.h.i.+eld his breast, Had not been forg'd by Weland's dext'rous hands, And thus resisted Randolf's fierce a.s.sault.

Not having time to don his cap of steel, He seiz'd his s.h.i.+eld as Randolf rais'd his sword, And dealt a cut, which, grazing Walter's head, Cut off some locks of his abundant hair.

The second blow now struck against the edge Of Walter's s.h.i.+eld, with such fierce vehemence That it stuck fast, and ere that he could wrench It from this prison-hold, Waltari's hand Had dragg'd him from the saddle to the ground, "Ha!" cried he, "thou shalt pay for my shorn locks, With thine own pate!" and as he said the words, Sir Randolf's head lay bleeding on the ground.

The ninth who now rode up in furious haste Was Helmnod, bearing neither sword nor lance, But on a long and twisted cord instead A heavy trident set with many spikes.

And in the rear, his friends held the one end, Of the strong rope, hoping, that when the spikes Had taken hold of Walter's s.h.i.+eld, to drag Him to the ground with their united force.

"Take care of thy bald head!" Sir Helmnod cried, "For death is coming towards thee from above!"

And as he spoke, he threw the curious arms With practis'd hands,--nor did he miss the aim.

Right in the middle of Waltari's s.h.i.+eld It fix'd its iron claws, and a loud cry Of joyous exultation fill'd the air, As this success was noted by the rest Who now, e'en aided by the king himself, Pull'd hard with all their might,--yet 'twas in vain For like some giant-oak he kept the ground Until, wearied at last with such vain sport, He suddenly let go his faithful s.h.i.+eld.

So, trusting merely on his coat of mail And his own sword, he madly rush'd along And with one fearful blow, he split the head And neck of Helmnod, through his cap of steel.

Before Sir Trogus yet could free himself From the entangling rope that held him fast, To fetch his arms which all had laid aside Not to be c.u.mber'd, as they pull'd the rope, Waltari with one slash of his fierce sword Had lam'd him on both legs, and ta'en his s.h.i.+eld, Before Sir Trogus could stretch out his hand With which he now took up a mighty stone And hurl'd it with such vigour through the air, That it did break his own strong s.h.i.+eld in twain.

Then, crawling onwards through the shelt'ring gra.s.s.

Sir Trogus stealthily regain'd his sword, Which joyfully he rais'd above his head.

His hero's heart still long'd to die in fight And so he cried aloud: "oh, that a friend Were near to help me, or my trusty s.h.i.+eld Had not been robb'd! I tell thee, haughty knight, Not thine own bravery, but want of chance Has conquer'd me. Come on and take my sword!"

"Thy wish shall be fulfill'd!" Waltari cried, And quick as lightning he flew down the path, Cut off the hand that vainly rais'd the sword, So that it fell, a useless member now Unto the ground. But ere the final blow Which was to end his soul's captivity, He yet had dealt, Sir Tannast gallop'd down, To help his friend in this dread hour of need.

Full angrily Waltari turned round, And with a ghastly wound beneath his arm Sir Tannast fell, bleeding beside his friend; And murmuring, "farewell, beloved maid!"

He breath'd his last, and with a smile he died.

Full of despair, Sir Trogus rais'd his voice To heap such bitter words and sharp insults Upon Waltari's head, that he, inflam'd With angry rage, to stop his sland'rous tongue Now throttled him with his own chain of gold.

When all his knights had thus been slain, the king In bitter sorrow fled unto the spot, Where Hagen sat in gloomy solitude; And shedding scalding tears of rage and grief, He tried to touch his heart with subtle speech And thus to rouse him from his apathy.

But cold as ice Sir Hagen made reply: "Full well thou know'st, oh king, that the pale blood, Which from my fathers I inherited Whose craven hearts would shrink with coward fear When they but heard of war, does hinder me To fight with yonder man. 'Tis thy own speech Which now does lame my arm. I cannot fight."

Again the king tried to appease his wrath Humbling himself, by asking pardon now, And promising that if he would but fight, He would reward him amply, ending thus: "Indeed, I never shall survive the day, On which the burning shame will be reveal'd, When in the streets and high-roads 'twill be said, 'One single man did kill a host of knights And there was none who would avenge the deed!'"

Still Hagen hesitated, thinking how Waltari once had been his bosom-friend, His brother almost,--but when now at last His king and master fell upon his knees, And with uplifted hands besought his help, Then the ice melted which had bound his heart In chains of pride and hatred, and he felt, That if he still refus'd, his honour would For ever be defil'd, and so he spoke: "Whate'er thou biddest me to do, my king, It shall be done, and what no bribe on earth Could have obtained, the faith I owe to thee, Has now accomplish'd;--but before I try My sword and strength against my quondam friend, I fain would find some way to drive him from His present stronghold, which does make his strength.

For, whilst he keeps that place, 'tis certain death To come but near him. Ah, believe me king, That never even to avenge the death Of my fair nephew, would I raise my hand Against my well-tried friend. Only for thee, To save thee from the shame of this defeat, I sacrifice my friends.h.i.+p. Let us hence, So that, imagining that we were gone, He too will ride away, suspecting naught; And in the open field, quite unprepar'd, We will attack him; and I warn thee that The fight will not be easy, even so."

This cunning plan did please the king so well, That he embrac'd Sir Hagen on the spot, And then they went away to hide themselves, Leaving their horses grazing in the woods.

The sun had disappear'd behind the hills And now our hero, wearied from the fight, Stood there, revolving in his inmost heart, Whether 'twere best, to rest and pa.s.s the night-- In his good stronghold, or to hurry on, And find his way out of this wilderness.

His soul misgave him when he saw the king Kissing Sir Hagen, with exulting mien.

Yet, after he had thought of this and that, He made resolve 'twere better to remain, So that it were not said that he had fled, Like some base criminal at fall of night.

So, cutting down from the surrounding trees And th.o.r.n.y brambles many a branch and bough, He made himself a strong and solid hedge, To guard him 'gainst an unforeseen attack-- With deep-drawn sighs he then walk'd to the spot, Where all the corpses lay, his hand had fell'd, And putting back each head unto its trunk, He threw himself down on his knees and prayed: "Oh Lord of hosts, whom all the world obeys, Without whose holy will, nothing is done, I thank Thee, that to-day Thou wert with me Helping me to defeat mine enemies, Who thirsted all to drink my guiltless blood.

Oh Lord whose mighty word destroyeth sin, Yet taketh pity on us sinners all, I pray Thee now to show Thy mercy rare, On these my hand has slain, so that their souls, May enter all into Thy paradise, And I may meet them there, when my day comes."

Thus Walter pray'd; then, rising from the ground, He went to fetch the horses of the dead, And tied them all together with a cord Made of some willow branches, growing near.

Then, taking off his armour, he lay down Upon his s.h.i.+eld, to rest his weary limbs; And speaking tender words unto Hildgund, He bade her watch his slumbers as before, For much he needed some refres.h.i.+ng sleep.

Thus all the night, the fair and faithful maid Sat by his side, driving the sleep away, That tried to steal upon her unawares, By softly singing little bits of song.

Before the dawn of day Waltari rose And telling her to sleep now in her turn He paced the ground with calm and even steps, His lance in hand, ready for an attack.

And thus the night wore on, and morning came; A soft, refres.h.i.+ng mist fell down as dew Hanging in pearly drops on gra.s.s and trees.

Then, from the corpses with all rev'rent care Waltari took the armours, sword and all, Leaving their costly dresses though, untouch'd.

Four of the chargers then were laden with His rightful booty, whilst the other two Were destin'd for himself and his fair bride.

Yet ere they started, mounting on a tree, Waltari with his falcon-eyes survey'd The scenery around, but seeing nought Which might have rous'd suspicion, he resolv'd To wait no more, and thus they now rode forth, Hildgunde, with the booty-laden steeds Riding ahead, whilst Walter clos'd the train.

Scarce were they gone when Hildgund looking back, Beheld two stalwart knights approaching fast, And paling with dismay, she cried aloud: "Oh dear my Lord! The end is coming now I pray thee fly, and save thy precious life!"

Turning his head, Waltari saw the foe And said with tranquil mien: "no man shall say, Waltari fled, whilst he could wield the sword!

Here, take the reins of King Attila's horse And save the golden treasure. Yonder wood Will give thee shelter, whilst I will accost The strangers thus, as it becomes a knight."

The maiden tremblingly obey'd his words, Whilst he prepar'd his trusty lance and s.h.i.+eld.

Yet from a distance, Gunther called out: "Now thou no more canst hide between the rocks, Stand still and let us see, whether the end, Will not reveal another countenance!

And whether fortune is thy hired maid!"

But with contemptuous mien, Waltari turn'd His head away, as if he had not heard And looking full in Hagen's face, he said: "Oh Hagen, my old friend, what has occurr'd, That as an enemy you come to me?

Hast thou forgot the tears which thou hast shed When lying in my arms for the last time,-- That thus thou treatest me, thy faithful friend?

Indeed, I thought the day that we should meet, Would be a joyous one for thee and me, And that with open arms, and loving words Thou wouldst accost me. Oh, how oft my heart Would beat with restless longing, when I thought Of thee, so far away, yet still my friend.

Hast thou forgotten then our boyish days, When both did work and strive, for one great aim, Then, when I look'd into thine eyes I felt As if my parents and my home were near, As if I were not quite forsaken yet.