his opponent immediately cut off his other leg. Hearing the noise, the giantess returned. Arming herself with an uprooted tree, she hit out at the hero with all her strength; but, blinded by passion, she miscalculated the distance, and brought the tree down so hard on her husband’s head that she split it open. Ortnit then slew the giantess, after which he rested awhile from his labours; ate and drank some of the provisions he had brought with him, and let his steed graze at will on the short sweet grass of the upland meadow. Rested and refreshed, he once more set out on his quest. Riding through a wood, he came up with some charcoal-burners, and asked them where he should find the lind-worms. They tried to persuade him to turn back, but in vain. Then they told him that the monsters had set out to travel west; that one of them, having a nest of young ones, had stayed somewhere on the road hidden in a cave, while the other had gone deeper into the mountains, perhaps even into another land.
Unheeding the warning he had just received, Ortnit rode away towards the west. When evening came, he rested for a short time; but as his food was nearly finished, and he wanted to reach an inhabited spot as soon as possible, he set out again, and rode all night long. Next day he reached a meadow, and there he saw little Alberich seated under a tree. The dwarf looked very sad, and when Ortnit drew rein beside him, said:
“My dear son, you are going to your death. Return to Garden, for I have no power over the diabolical monsters you are seeking. I cannot help you.”
“I need no help,” replied the hero. “Have I not the sword Rosen? It will help me to conquer the powers of hell that are arrayed against my poor people.”
“May you be successful!” said the little creature, and springing into the saddle he kissed his son. “May you be successful! and to that end, watch and slumber not. Remember that it is the last advice I can give you. Now give me back the ring you got from your mother. You shall have it again if you return to Garden safe and sound.”
Scarcely had Ortnit returned the ring when he felt a kiss upon his lips, and the dwarf had disappeared.
The hero rode on unfalteringly over hill and dale, and through many a wild glen. At last he unexpectedly reached the very lime-tree under which he had had his first interview with Alberich. The birds were singing as before. All looked peaceful and still. Both Ortnit and his horse were worn out, so he dismounted, and letting his steed graze, laid himself at full length on the soft grass, his faithful dog at his side. He thought over his project, and was strongly tempted to return home to Garden and sweet Liebgart; but he put the desire from him, “for,” he reasoned within himself, “the prince and people are as one person, of which the people form the body and the prince the head; so the prince, to be worthy of his high calling, must as far as in him lies protect his people from all injury. And I have every right to trust to my strength, my sword and my good cause for victory.” It seemed as though the birds in the linden-tree had read his thoughts, and were singing a pæan of joy and encouragement over him and them. He watched them quietly, but soon fatigue gained the upper hand—his eyelids closed, and he fell asleep.
All at once the birds ceased their song, the branches stopped their soft waving to and fro, and the flowers bent their heads as though a breath of poisoned air were passing over them. Crawling through the thicket, trees and bushes breaking with its weight, came the terrible lind-worm, its jaws wide open, showing its long pointed teeth. The faithful dog, with a howl of mingled fear and anger, pulled at his master, hoping to wake him; but in vain, for Ortnit was as though in a charmed sleep. The dog then sprang upon the dragon, but could not touch it because of the way it slashed about with its tail. At this moment the horrible creature caught sight of Ortnit, flung itself upon him, carried him into the thicket, and then broke all his bones by dashing him again and again upon the ground. But though his bones were broken, his armour remained whole as at the first. Then taking the dead body up in its powerful jaws, the lind-worm bore it home to its nest in the noisome cave, where its young ones fell ravenously upon their favourite food, and devoured as much as they could get at through the steel rings of the coat of mail. The dog, which had followed the dragon home in hopes of saving his master, watched all night by the cave, but finding himself powerless to help, set out early next morning on his way back to Garden.
Meanwhile Liebgart and the old queen were very anxious. They hoped and feared alternately. On the fourth day, as they were sitting together, they heard something scratching at the door. Liebgart opened it, and saw the faithful dog, her husband’s companion on his last journey. Instead of showing his usual joy at seeing her, the dog crept slowly in, and lay down at the old queen’s feet with a low, moaning whine.
“He is dead—murdered by the monsters,” cried the unhappy mother. These were the last words she ever spoke, for next moment she sank back dead in her chair.
The shrieks of the young queen brought her women into the room, and soon the sad news was known to all. There was now no king in Lombardy, no one to keep order in the land. The great nobles fought and quarrelled incessantly, and the country was split into factions. At last, tired of this state of anarchy, it was agreed by the notables in council that the only thing that could save the kingdom was for Liebgart to choose a husband who had sufficient wisdom and power to make a good ruler. They went to the queen, each hoping in his secret heart that he would be chosen by her. But on hearing what was required of her, she answered with solemn earnestness that she would preserve her faith to Ortnit unbroken, and that none was worthy to succeed him unless he could slay the lind-worms and avenge his death. The nobles looked at each other in a shamefaced manner, and hastened to leave the royal presence; but avarice and ambition soon regained the upper hand, and civil war seemed imminent. Liebgart, deprived of all means of support,—for even the treasury had been despoiled by the nobles,—was forced, in company with a few women who were faithful to her, to make her own livelihood by spinning.
The Margrave of Tuscany was much distressed when he heard of the straits to which the queen was reduced. He offered her an asylum in his country; but she said that at Garden she had been happy with Ortnit, and there she also wished to sorrow for him. Touched by her faithfulness, the prince sent her food and wine, that she might no longer have to work for the necessaries of life. So she lived on, the Lombards trying to force her to seek refuge from the ills of life by a second marriage; but in vain; she bore all the miseries of her lot with quiet patience, for she strengthened herself with thoughts of her husband and of the avenger for whom she hoped.
This hope, which sometimes rose like a star on the cloudy night of sorrow in which she lived, was one day to be fulfilled, but not for a long time.
THE AMELUNGS
I
HUGDIETERICH AND WOLFDIETERICH
While Ortnit’s ancestors ruled over Lombardy, the great Emperor Anzius lived at Constantinople, and governed Greece, Bulgaria, and many other lands. When he died, he confided his son, Hugdieterich, to the care of his faithful friend, Berchtung, duke of Meran, whom he had himself brought up, and afterwards covered with honours.
Berchtung felt that his first duty was to choose a wife for his ward, and that only a princess of equal rank and great beauty and wisdom would be a suitable helpmeet for so mighty a prince. He had travelled far and wide, and amongst all the princesses he knew there was one and only one that he could propose as a wife for his liege lord. But there were many difficulties in the way. Berchtung confided his troubles to the prince, and told him how much he wished to bring about a marriage between him and Hildburg, daughter of King Walgund of Thessalonica; but he feared it would be impossible, for Walgund loved the maiden so dearly that he had shut her up in a high tower, and permitted no one to speak to her except the old watchman, himself, her mother, and her maid. This he did, fearing lest she should marry and leave him.
Hugdieterich listened to the strange story with great interest, and determined to get a sight of the maiden if he could. So he set to
