Kitabı oku: «Epics and Romances of the Middle Ages», sayfa 6

“Ah, sire,” he said, “things have gone badly here with us. The good old empress died during the siege of Lilienporte. When the fortress capitulated, the noble duke Berchtung and his sons were put in irons and flung into a dark and dismal dungeon. Death soon put an end to the old man’s pain, but the ten young lords are still kept in strict confinement, and I may bring them no better food than a daily supply of this black bread and water.”

Wolfdieterich was miserable when he thought that he was not without guilt with respect to his mother and his old friend. He could do nothing for them now, but he might still do something for the ten faithful servants who yet remained. He arranged with Ortwin that they should have better food, and should be cheered by the hope of a speedy deliverance. The old gaoler went on his way, and the king returned to his people.

He found his men already under arms, for they told him that Sabene had discovered not only that they were there, but what had brought them.

The armies met, and the battle raged long and furiously, without either side getting the better of the other. But at last the fortune of the day turned. The citizens of Constantinople rose in revolt against the tyranny that had ground them down so long, hastened to the prison, and set Berchtung’s ten brave sons at liberty. Having done this, they put themselves under their command, and marched to the assistance of Wolfdieterich. It was a glorious victory. The hero was proclaimed emperor on the battle-field.

Soon after their return to the capital, Sabene and the royal brothers were brought before their judges. The first was sentenced to death, and was at once led away to instant execution; the death of the two latter was likewise demanded by both people and army, and Wolfdieterich knew that they were guilty of causing the death of their mother and that of old Berchtung, and had brought upon him all the troubles and difficulties of his early youth. Yet he could not decide what was best to be done, and reserved judgment until the following day.

That night, as the victor slept the sleep of the just, his mother appeared to him in a dream, saintlike and beautiful in aspect. She said: “Spare my children, and my blessing shall rest on thee.”

And immediately Berchtung appeared at her side: “God has mercy upon His erring children; do not shed thy brothers’ blood.”

As the hero gazed at the apparitions in intense amazement, Liebgart joined them, and said gently: “Hast thou not gained kingdom, glory, and me, through the ill deeds of thy brothers? Return them, therefore, good for evil.”

Morning broke—the figures vanished, leaving Wolfdieterich resolved what he should do. He called the nobles together, and before them all pardoned Bogen and Waxmuth, restored them their dignities and lands, to be held thenceforth as great fiefs under him. At first no one approved of his clemency, but on hearing his explanation all were silenced.

As soon as his arrangements were completed, Wolfdieterich returned with his army to Lombardy, and was welcomed by Liebgart with the greatest joy. After resting there for awhile, he, his princes, and their followers went to Rome, where he was crowned emperor. At the feast which followed the coronation he appointed the ten sons of good Duke Berchtung to be rulers of great fiefs. Herbrand, the eldest, received Garden and its territory. Through his son Hildebrand, of whose valiant deeds we shall hear later on, he was the ancestor of the Wülfings. Hache was given Rhineland, with Breisach as his capital. His son Eckehart was the protector of the Harlungs, Imbreke, and Fritele. He is celebrated in song and story as the trusty Eckehart. Berchther, the third son, succeeded his father at Meran. The other sons were as well endowed, but not as famous as their brothers, so their names and possessions need not be told.

Wolfdieterich and Liebgart had a son, whom they named Hugdieterich after his grandfather. He grew up to be a mighty hero, and was the father of a valiant race.

II
KING SAMSON (SAMSING)

In the good old times a mighty yarl (earl) ruled over the rich town and district of Salern, which was one of the largest fiefs of a great kingdom. The yarl governed so strictly and justly that peace and plenty cheered the hearts of all that dwelt in the district. He kept up a large army to defend his coasts from the onslaught of the Vikings, who often descended on them in great numbers in hopes of plunder.

Amongst the followers of the yarl was the warrior Samson, nicknamed “The Black,” because of his coal-black hair and beard. He was always the first in battle, and had even been known to disperse whole battalions with his single arm. He was terrible to look upon. His dark eyes flashed under heavy beetling brows. His bull-neck and powerful limbs bore witness to his remarkable strength. No one could withstand him in battle. He hewed men down, whether armed or unarmed, with as great ease as if they were made of touchwood. In private life, on the other hand, he was gentle and kindly, unless contradicted; then, indeed, he would keep silence, but would none the less carry out his own will, regardless of the cost to others. As can be readily imagined, few people ventured to oppose him without reason.

One day the yarl, who had just been made king, was sitting at a feast in celebration of a great victory. His warriors were round him sharing in his joy, Samson in their midst. Suddenly he rose, and, taking a cup of wine in his hand, offered it to the king, and said, with all courtesy:

“Sire, many a victory have I helped to gain for you, and now I come to offer you this cup and to ask you to grant me a boon.”

“Speak on, brave hero,” answered the king, “and tell me what you desire. Hitherto you have asked no reward for your great deeds of valour. What you already have was given of my good will, unasked by you. So demand what you like, I can deny you nothing.”

“Good, my lord,” said Samson. “I do not want any more castles or lands, I am rich enough; but I am very solitary at home, now that my mother has grown old and cross. Your daughter Hildeswid is a sweet little thing, and I should much like to make her my wife. Now you know how you can pleasure me by granting this request.”

Rodgeier was so astonished at this address that he nearly let the cup fall.

“You are a famous warrior,” he said; “but the maiden is of royal birth, and only a king can lead her home. You are in her service as well as mine. So take this plate of sweetmeats and bear it to her in the women’s house. Then come back here, and drown all memory of your strange request in a bowl of good wine.”

Samson took up the sweetmeats silently, and bore them to the princess, who was busy embroidering with her maids. He placed the dish before her, saying,—

“Eat, sweet one, for I bring you good news. You are to follow me to my home, and live there as my good wife. Dress now, and bid one of your maidens come with you.”

On seeing the girl’s hesitation, he added,—

“If you do not go willingly, you will force me to kill the yarl, and burn the palace, with all that are in it.”

He looked so fierce and grim as he spoke, that Hildeswid trembled with fear, and obeyed him without a word.

He took her by the hand and led her down to the court, where a groom was holding his horse in readiness. In the clear light of day, and in the presence of many watchmen, none of whom dared remonstrate, Samson placed the princess before him on the saddle, and rode away with her into the wood and towards his home. When he reached his dwelling the door was locked, and he knocked so thunderously that the sound was heard to a great distance. No answer. He knocked again and again. A hoarse voice at last was heard from within, proclaiming that the door should not be opened whilst the owner of the house was from home.

“Mother,” cried Samson, “pull back the bolts, for it is I—your son—I have brought you a princess to be your daughter, and to tend you in your old age.”

The door opened, creaking and groaning, as though unaccustomed to move on its hinges, and a thin old woman came out on the threshold, dressed in rags.

“What?” she cried. “Do you bring guests with you? That woman in her grand clothes, her maid, and an idle groom. How could you do it, son? You know how poor we are;” and she looked up at her tall son with a cunning leer.

“But, mother,” said the warrior, “where is the gold I sent you? Where are the servants I gave you? And what have you done with the gorgeous raiment I sent to clothe you?”

“I hid the gold away in my chest,” answered the old woman; “for one never knows whether one may not become a pauper in one’s old age. I dismissed the servants you gave me very soon, for I thought they would have eaten me out of house and home; and as for the clothes, I have laid them aside to wait for better times.”

“Ah well, mother,” said Samson, “if that sort of thing makes you happy, you can do as you like with your own; but now open the door and let us in. We are tired after our long ride, and would fain have a good dinner.”

They went into the house and sat down. The old woman placed before them a hunch of rye bread and a jar of water. Samson would have made but a poor meal, had his groom not brought out a cut of venison and some wine, with which he had taken care to provide himself before leaving the palace. After he had stilled his hunger, Samson begged his lady’s permission to go out and see if he could not find a stag to store the larder. The groom went down to the cellar, where he was fortunate enough to find a cask of ale; and the old mother withdrew to her own apartments, leaving the princess alone with her maid.

The wide hall was dark and eerie, and full of strange flickering shadows, that grew more mysterious and ghost-like as the evening closed in, and the owls might be heard hooting in the pine-trees near. Hildeswid could bear it no longer. She sent her maid to ask the old woman to come back to the hall; but she did not, nor did the maid return. The poor child’s terror was so great that she determined to go in search of her mother-in-law.

She wandered through one empty, dreary, dusty room after another, till at last she entered a large vaulted chamber, and there she saw the old woman crouching over a great chest full of gold and precious stones, muttering to herself. Approaching her, Hildeswid heard her gloating over her treasures, and saying how much they would be increased when she added the princess’s ornaments to the number, which could so easily be done by strangling the girl. Hildeswid uttered a low cry of terror, and the old woman looked round. Then, with a shriek of “thief, robber, wretch!” she threw herself upon the unhappy child, and tried to throttle her; but at that moment Samson came in and stopped her.

“Mother,” he said, “you cannot remain here. I will take you and your treasure to my other house on the edge of the wood. There you can live in peace.”

Meanwhile King Rodgeier had discovered that his daughter had been carried off. He sent out one body of his men-at-arms after another to fetch her home; but they all failed, and he prepared to go himself.

Riding along towards Samson’s grange, he and his men saw a little house by the side of a great wood. They entered, and asked the old woman they met in the house to tell them where Samson lived. She denied that she had ever heard of such a man; but when the king offered her a handful of gold, she at once pointed out the path that led to his grange, and even went a bit of the way to see that they made no mistake.

The king and his fifteen companions had not gone very far when they met the hero. His helmet and armour were coal black, like his beard and hair; his steed was also black, but on his shield was emblazoned a lion on a golden field. There was a sharp, short fight in which Samson came off conqueror.

When the battle was over, he set out for his mother’s house. On entering the hall he found her there busily counting the gold the king had given her.

“Mother,” he said, “for the sake of that gold you betrayed your own son, and you richly deserve to die; but as you are my mother, I cannot punish your treachery.”

The old woman went on counting her hoard as calmly as before.

“Mother,” he began again, “you betrayed your son for gold, and you should die by my dagger; but you are my mother, and I cannot slay you. Now listen to me: take your gold and leave this place, lest harm befall you.”

The old woman poured her treasures into a huge sack, and answered,—

“This should all have been yours, if you had not brought that little fool into the house. I will go, and take my wealth to the king.”

“I have slain him and his men,” said Samson quietly; but he looked so stern that his mother changed colour, and muttered,—

“Very well then, I will go and seek an heir who will give both me and my treasures house-room.”

Three times Samson’s hand sought sword and dagger, but he mastered his anger, and rode away through the dark pine forest to his home.

When he got there, he found Hildeswid hard at work with her maidens.

“Wife,” he said, going up to her, “my mother betrayed me for love of gold—my sword and dagger both thirsted for her blood—but I would not, could not slay her. If you are false to me—then—they must do their work.”

He looked terrible in his wrath, but she took off his helmet and coat of mail, kissed him and led him to his seat. And he at once grew gentle, and told her that he wanted to win glory and honour for her sake, and that he hoped soon to see her acknowledged queen of her father’s realm.

When the death of Rodgeier was made known in Salern by the only one of his men who had escaped to tell the tale, a Thing was summoned in order that a new ruler might be chosen. The votes were all in favour of Brunstein, brother of the late king, a man of great wisdom in counsel, and a lover of justice. There would now have been peace in the realm, had it not been for Samson, who made raids into the land and carried off cattle and supplies. So Brunstein called together all the bravest warriors of his own and other lands, and made them lay their hands in his and swear to take Samson alive or dead, or themselves die in the attempt. Then, led by the king, they set out and rode over mountains and plains and through the dark forest, and all without finding the object of their search. One evening they reached a strong fortress, and being very tired, rested there for the night. After supper they went to bed and slept. Every one slept, even the guards, when they had carefully locked and bolted the great gates.

That night Samson came. Finding he could not break the gates, he set fire to them, and while they were still burning, pulled them down, and leaped into the place. The watchmen awoke and blew their horns; but as there were many thatched roofs within the walls, all of which caught fire, the king and his men naturally thought a large army had broken in upon them, and were filled with terror. The gigantic figure of Black Samson appearing now here, now there, amongst the flames, added to their fear, and all that were left of them took refuge in flight.

The king, followed by six faithful attendants, made his way into the forest, and after riding a long time came in sight of a goodly grange. He entered, and found that the mistress of the house was his niece Hildeswid. He asked after Samson, but she said he was out. He then begged her to leave her husband and go with him; but she refused, advising him to go away as quickly as he could, lest he should fall into his enemy’s hands.

Brunstein confessed that she was right, and took his departure, but it was even then too late. Samson had returned, and, seeing them, at once set out in pursuit. No courage or strength, however great, could avail against his terrible arm. Brunstein and five of his warriors fell never to rise again, while the sixth got away with great difficulty and not without severe wounds. Samson started in pursuit. When he got out of the wood, he saw thirty horsemen galloping towards him. On their banner, a lion was displayed on a golden field.

“So, ho,” cried the hero, “you are Amelungs. Welcome, Uncle Dietmar. I rejoice to see you and your men.”

When they had rested and refreshed themselves in Samson’s grange, Dietmar explained, that having heard that his nephew was outlawed and in need of help, he had come to visit him and see whether he could be of any use. Samson was much pleased, and announced his intention of taking the open field now that he was no longer alone in the world. So he and his companions set out next morning. No one ventured to oppose him, and he soon had so large a district under his command that he was able to take up the powers and dignity of duke. After that he made his way towards Salern, and sent on messengers to desire the citizens to elect him king, under pain of having their town and possessions burnt about their ears.

After much conferring together, the burghers came to the conclusion that they could not do better than obey; for while Samson had been their friend, their town had been more flourishing than at any other time. So they sent to beg him to come and rule over them.

When the hero found that all was going as he wished, he sent for his wife, and, side by side, they rode into Salern, where they were received with acclamation.

The new ruler governed with a strong hand, and administered justice equally to all, both high and low. He showed a grateful remembrance of every kindness he had met with in his adversity, and kept peace on his borders. He grew old in the punctual fulfilment of these duties; and when he felt that he was no longer strong enough to do the work alone, he appointed his eldest son to be his assistant and successor. But he did not like it to be supposed that he was too old and weak to be of use; and so when his second son asked him what share he was to have in the royal heritage, he answered him nothing, but called together the whole army and made them an address.

He told them that when he was young every one had sought to do great deeds, but now people had grown lazy. The long peace, that had brought material blessing on the realm, had also brought the curse of a love of ease and pleasure; and for fear this evil should increase, and the country become an easy prey to some greedy neighbour, he summoned every warrior to appear before him in three months’ time, each accompanied by his men, and bearing a courageous heart within his breast, for he was going to lead them against a powerful foe.

The same day that Samson made this announcement to his army, he wrote a letter to the proud yarl Elsung of Bern (Verona), a man of about his own age, and with an equal love of great and heroic deeds. In this letter he demanded that Elsung should pay him tribute as his liege lord, and should give his daughter, Odilia, to his second son. All this he demanded as a right, due from a vassal to his king.

When the yarl read the letter, he was very angry, and made immediate preparations for war. He began by ordering five of Samson’s ambassadors to be hung on the spot, and the sixth to be sent back to his master with his tongue cut out.

No sooner were the three months over than King Samson started for Bern at the head of his men.

The armies met, and there was a great battle. The slaughter on either side was hideous. At length Samson’s wondrous strength enabled him to slay the yarl, and gain the victory. The Bernese, seeing that their ruler was dead, thought it most prudent to choose Samson for their king, and thus put an end to all ill-feeling between the two nations.

When this business was settled, the victor sent for the yarl’s daughter, Odilia, and told her that he intended her to be the wife of his second son, to whom he was going to make over her father’s realm. The maiden wept, and said that she could not marry so soon after her father’s death; but Samson’s rage at meeting with contradiction was so terrible, that the girl in mortal fear consented to wed the prince. His berserker wrath appeased by her obedience, the king at once regained his usual genial manner, kissed her, and assured her of his protection.

The marriage arranged, Samson set out on his return to his own land, accompanied by his eldest son. Before he had gone very far, he felt his wounds painful. They would not heal, and caused him so much suffering that he had to halt at a little town on the way, and there he died, naming his youngest son ruler of the Rhineland, with Fritilaburg as his residence.