Chapter VI · —WORMS AND THE NIBELUNGENLIED (continued 2)

“Since the Franks, who are so much stronger than we, have yielded,” he said, “how can we of Burgundy hope to triumph against such a host? I will give my daughter Hildegund as a hostage to the Huns. Better that one should suffer than that the realm should be laid waste.” The Huns accepted Hildegund as a hostage, and with much treasure turned their faces westward to the kingdom of Aquitaine, whose king, Alphere, had an only son, Walthar, who was already affianced to Hildegund. He, too, had to give up his son as hostage and pay tribute.

Although ruthless as an invader and cruel as a conqueror, Attila displayed the utmost kindness to the children. He treated them in every way as befitted their rank, and handing the girl over to the queen, had the boys trained in martial exercises and intellectual arts, till in a few years’ time they easily surpassed all of the Huns in every accomplishment that becomes a knight. So greatly did Attila’s queen trust the maiden, Hildegund, that she placed in her charge all the treasures Attila had won in war. Life was pleasant for the youthful hostages, but one day news came to the ear of Attila that Gibicho was dead and that Gunther was his successor. Learning this, Hagen succeeded in making his escape by night, and fearing that Walthar would follow his example, Attila’s queen suggested to her husband that he should marry the youthful warrior, who had greatly distinguished himself at the head of the Huns, to a Hunnish maiden. But Walthar had no mind for such a match and declared himself unworthy of marriage, urging that if wedded he might neglect his military duties, and declaring that nothing was so sweet to him as for ever to be busy in the faithful service of his lord. Attila, never doubting him, and lulled from all suspicion by further victories won by him over a rebellious people, dismissed the matter from his mind; but on returning from his successful campaign Walthar had speech with Hildegund on the subject of their betrothal, hitherto untouched between them.

At first she thought that he merely mocked her, but he protested that he was weary of exile, was anxious to escape, and would have fled ere this but that it grieved him to leave her alone at the Hunnish court. Her reply is one characteristic of women in medieval days.

“Let my lord command,” she said; “I am ready for his love to bear evil hap or good.”

She then provided him, out of the treasure-chests of Attila, with helm, hauberk, and breast-plate. They filled two chests with Hunnish money in the shape of golden rings, placed four pairs of sandals on the top and several fish-hooks, and Walthar told Hildegund that all must be ready in a week’s time.

The Escape

On the seventh day after this Walthar gave a great feast to Attila, his nobles, and his household. He pressed food and wine on the Huns, and when their platters were clear and the tables removed, he handed to the king a splendid carven goblet, full to the brim of the richest and oldest wine. This Attila emptied at a draught, and ordered all his men to follow his example. Soon the wine overcame the Huns, who, pressed by Walthar, caroused so deeply that all were at last rendered unconscious.

Walthar gave the sign to Hildegund, and they slipped from the hall and from the stable took his noble war-horse Lion, so named for his courage. They hung the treasure-chests like panniers on each flank of the charger, and taking with them some food for the journey, set off. Hildegund took the reins, Walthar in full armour sitting behind her. All night they did not draw rein, and during the day they hid in the gloomy woods. At every breath, at the snapping of a twig, or the chirping of a bird, Hildegund trembled. They avoided the habitations of men and skirted the mountains, where but few faces were to be seen, and so they made good their flight.

But the Huns, roused from their drunken sleep, gazed around stupidly and cried loudly for Walthar, their boon companion as they thought, but nowhere was he to be found. The queen, too, missed Hildegund and, realizing that the pair had escaped, made loud wail through the palace. Angry and bewildered, Attila could touch neither food nor drink. Enraged at the manner in which he had been deceived, he offered great gifts to him who would bring back Walthar in chains; but none of the Hunnish champions considered themselves fit for such a task, and at length the hue and cry ceased, and Walthar and Hildegund were left to make their way back to Aquitaine as best they could.

Full of the thought that they were being pursued, Walthar and the maiden fled onward. He killed the birds of the wood and caught fish to supply them with food. His attitude to Hildegund was one of the deepest chivalry, and he was ever mindful for her comfort. Fourteen days had passed when at last, issuing from the darkness of the forest, they beheld the silver Rhine gleaming in the sunlight and spied the towers of Worms. At length he found a ferry, but, fearing to make gossip in the vicinity, he paid the ferryman with fishes, which he had previously caught. The ferryman, as it chanced, sold the fish to the king’s cook, who dressed them and placed them before his royal master. The monarch declared that there were no such fishes in France, and asked who had brought them to Worms. The ferryman was summoned, and related how he had ferried over an armed warrior, a fair maiden, and a great war-horse with two chests. Hagen, who sat at the king’s table, exclaimed full joyfully:

“Now will I avow that this is none other than my comrade Walthar returning from the Hunnish land.”

“Say ye so?” retorted King Gunther. “It is clear that by him the Almighty sends me back the treasure of my father Gibicho.”

So ordered he a horse to be brought, and taking with him twelve of his bravest chiefs besides Hagen, who sought in vain to dissuade him, he went in search of Walthar.

The Cave

Journeying from the banks of the Rhine, Walthar and the maiden had by this time reached the forest of the Vosges. They halted at a spot where between two hills standing close together is situated a pleasant and shady cave, not hollowed out in the earth, but formed by the beetling of the rocks, a fit haunt for bandits, carpeted with green moss. But little sleep had Walthar known since his escape from the Hunland, so, spying this cool retreat, he crept inside it to rest. Putting off his heavy armour, he placed his head on Hildegund’s lap, bidding her keep watch and wake him by a touch if she saw aught of danger. But the covetous Gunther had seen his tracks in the dust, and ever urging on his companions soon came near the cave where Walthar reposed. Hagen warned him of Walthar’s powers as a champion, and told him that he was too great a warrior to permit himself to be despoiled easily.

Hildegund, noticing their approach, gently aroused Walthar, who put on his armour. At first she thought the approaching band were Huns pursuing them, and implored him to slay her; but Walthar smilingly bade her be of good cheer, as he had recognized Hagen’s helm. He was evidently aware, however, of the purpose for which he had been followed, and going to the mouth of the cave, he addressed the assembled warriors, telling them that no Frank should ever return to say that he had taken aught of his treasure unpunished.

Hagen advised a parley in case Walthar should be ready to give up the treasure without bloodshed, and Camillo, the prefect of Metz, was sent to him for this purpose. Camillo told him that if he would give up his charger, the two chests, and the maiden, Gunther would grant him life; but Walthar laughed in his face.

“Go tell King Gunther,” he said, “that if he will not oppose my passage I will present him with one hundred armlets of red metal.”

Hagen strongly advised the king to accept the offer, for on the night before he had had an evil dream of a bear which tore off one of the king’s legs in conflict, and put out one of his own eyes when he came to Gunther’s aid. Gunther replied with a sneer, and Hagen, greatly humiliated, declared that he would share neither the fight nor the spoil.

“There is your foe,” he said. “I will stay here and see how you fare at his hands.”

Now only one warrior could attack Walthar at a time. It is needless to go into details of his several conflicts, which are varied with very considerable skill and fancy, but all of which end in his triumph. The sixth champion he had to meet was Patavrid, sister’s son to Hagen, who vainly endeavoured to restrain him, but who also was worsted, and after the fall of the next warrior the Franks themselves urged Gunther to end the combat; but he, furious at his want of success, only drove them to it the more vehemently.

At last four of them made a combined attack on Walthar, but because of the narrowness of the path they could not come at him with any better success than could one single warrior, and they too were put out of the fight.

Then Gunther was left alone and, fleeing to Hagen, besought him to come to his aid. Long did Hagen resist his entreaties, but at last he was moved by Gunther’s description of the manner in which his kinsfolk had been slain by Walthar. Hagen’s advice was to lure Walthar into the open, when both should attack him, so Hagen and the king departed and selected a spot for an ambush, letting their horses go loose.

Uncertain of what had passed between Hagen and the king, Walthar decided upon remaining in the cave till the morning, so after placing bushes around the mouth of the cave to guard against a surprise, he gave thanks to heaven for his victory.

Rising from his knees, he bound together the six horses which remained, then, loosing his armour, comforted Hildegund as best he might and refreshed himself with food, after which he lay down upon his shield and requested the maiden to watch during his sleep. Although she was tired herself, Hildegund kept awake by singing in a low tone. After his first sleep Walthar rose refreshed, and bidding Hildegund rest herself, he stood leaning upon his spear, keeping guard at the cave-mouth. When morning had come he loaded four of the horses with spoils taken from the dead warriors, and placing Hildegund on the fifth, mounted the sixth himself. Then with great caution he sent forward first of all the four laden horses, then the maiden, and closed the rear with the horse bearing the two treasure-chests.

For about a mile they proceeded thus, when, looking backward, Hildegund espied two men riding down the hill toward them and called to Walthar to flee. But that he would not do, saying: “If honour falls, shame shall attend my last hour.” He bade her take the reins of Lion, his good charger, which carried the gold, and seek refuge in the neighbouring wood, while he ascended the hill to await his enemies.

Gunther advanced, hurling insulting epithets at the champion, who ignored him, but turned to Hagen, appealing to their old friendship and to the recollections of the many hours of childhood they had spent together. He had thought that Hagen would have been the first to welcome him, would have compelled him to accept his hospitality, and would have escorted him peacefully to his father’s kingdom. If he would break his fealty to Gunther, said Walthar, he should depart rich, his shield full of red gold. Irritated at such an offer, Hagen replied that he would not be deluded, and that for Walthar’s slaying of his kinsmen he must have vengeance. So saying, he hurled his spear at Walthar, which the latter avoided. Gunther then cast a shaft which was equally harmless. Then, drawing their swords and covering themselves with their shields, the Franks sought to close with the Aquitainian, who kept them at bay with his spear. As their shorter swords could not reach past Walthar’s mighty shaft, Gunther attempted to recover the spear which he had cast and which lay before the hero’s feet, and told Hagen to go in front; but as he was about to pick it up from the ground Walthar perceived his device and, placing his foot upon it, flung Gunther on his knees, and would have slain him had not Hagen, rushing to his aid, managed to cover him with his shield.

The struggle continued. The hot sunshine came down, and the champions were bathed in sweat. Walthar, tired of the strife, took the offensive, and springing at Hagen, with a great stroke of his spear carried away a part of his armour. Then with a marvellous blow of his sword he smote off the king’s leg as far as the thigh. He would have dispatched him with a second blow, but Hagen threw himself over Gunther’s body and received the sword-stroke on his own head. So well tempered was his helm that the blade flew in flinders, shivered to the handle.

Instantly Walthar looked about him for another weapon, but quick as thought Hagen seized the opportunity and cut off his right hand, “fearful to peoples and princes.” But, undismayed, the hero inserted the wounded stump into the shield, and drawing with his left hand a Hunnish half-sword girt to his right side, he struck at Hagen so fiercely that he bereft him of his right eye, cutting deep into the temple and lips and striking out six of his teeth. But neither might fight more: Gunther’s leg, Walthar’s hand, and Hagen’s eye lay on the ground. They sat down on the heath and stanched with flowers the flowing stream of their blood. They called to them Hildegund, who bound up their wounds and brought them wine.

Wounded as they were, they cracked many a joke over their cups, as heroes should.

“Friend,” said Hagen, “when thou huntest the stag, of whose leather mayest thou have gloves without end, I warn thee to fill thy right-hand glove with soft wool, that thou mayest deceive the game with the semblance of a hand. But what sayest thou to break the custom of thy people in carrying thy sword at thy right side and embracing thy wife with thy left arm?”

“Ha,” retorted Walthar, laughing grimly, “thou wilt have to greet the troops of heroes with a side glance. When thou gettest thee home, make thee a larded broth of milk and flour, which will both nourish and cure thee.”

Then they placed on horseback the king, who was in sore pain. Hagen bore him back to Worms, whilst Walthar and Hildegund pursued their way to Aquitaine, and, on arrival, magnificently celebrated their wedding.

For thirty years did Walthar rule his people after his father’s death. “What wars after this, what triumphs he ever had, behold, my blunted pen refuses to mark. Thou whosoever readest this, forgive a chirping cricket. Weigh not a yet rough voice but the age, since as yet she hath not left the nest for the air. This is the poem of Walthar. Save us, Jesus Christ.”