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Dietrich and Hildebrand determined to take shelter in the castle of Ortgis which was nigh at hand. When they knocked at the door several armed giants rushed out upon them, but at length they too were conquered. A horseman in black armour had kept behind the rest during the battle. He murmured something in a strange language, and obedient to his voice, new giants arose out of the earth, to take the place of the slain; still the heroes were victorious. The black horseman continued to murmur, and horrible lind-worms crept out of the ground, and with them Dietrich and Hildebrand had to fight all night long. The black horseman disappeared at last, when the first rays of the rising sun lighted up the castle in the valley. At the same moment the heroes saw an enormous old lind-worm crawling away with an armed man in its jaws. It wanted to creep away unnoticed, but the warriors immediately attacked it. The dragon let its victim fall, and hurled itself, hissing, upon Dietrich who stood nearest. With one claw it tore away his shield and ripped up his coat of mail; at the same time it caught up Hildebrand with its tail and flung him to a great distance. But Dietrich thrust his sword right through its jaws, and so deep into a neighbouring tree, that the creature was pinned down, and died a few minutes after, roaring like thunder.

The maiden they had saved from Ortgis had watched the combat from afar. She now approached and bound up Dietrich’s wounds, pouring in a healing balm. Meanwhile, Hildebrand had picked up the man the dragon had let fall, and recognised him as Ruotwin, the son of Helfrich of Tuscany, who was his mother’s brother.

Ruotwin joined the other two, and promised to help them to punish the wizard Janibas. Further help appeared in the person of Helfrich. The whole party now moved on towards the magician’s castle, the gates of which stood open. The court was full of armed men, amongst whom was Janibas in black armour, riding on a coal black steed. He murmured magic words, and lions rushed out on the heroes. These great beasts were slain, and so were the men-at-arms who followed them. Janibas alone escaped.

Dietrich and his followers entered the castle, where they found three of the queen’s maidens cooped up for fattening, and set them free. After which, they burnt the magician’s fortress, that it might not serve as a refuge to Janibas if he returned to that part of the country.

The whole party then started for Aron, the castle of Helfrich, where the heroes were to rest before continuing their journey to the palace of Queen Virginal. A short respite from their toil was the more necessary, as Dietrich’s wounds were very painful; but their hostess’s good nursing had soon the happiest effect in subduing the fever, and healing the wounds. At last the day was fixed for their departure, and Helfrich had settled to go with them, and lead them to Jeraspunt. While they were making their final arrangements, a dwarf galloped up to the door, and throwing himself from his horse, entered the hall, his mantle torn and dusty, and his countenance as pale as death.

“Help, noble heroes, help!” he cried. “Janibas has come against Queen Virginal in battle array. He has ordered her to deliver all her maidens up to him, and also the carbuncle in her coronet. If he gets that into his power, no one can withstand him, for it would give him complete command over all the mountains, and over all the giants, dwarfs and lind-worms that inhabit them. Woe to them, if they fall into his hands.”

Dietrich at once declared his readiness to go alone to the queen’s help, if the others were not prepared to start on the instant.

“What, alone!” cried the dwarf. “If you go alone you are a dead man. Even I, her majesty’s special defender, had to turn my back, and fly before the foe; what then would become of you?”

Nobody could help laughing at the mannikin’s conceit; but there was no time to lose, and all the warriors hastened to arm and start for the palace.

The heroes and their friends had a long and hard pull up the mountain side, over snow fields and glaciers, in the midst of which great crevasses yawned in unexpected places, but they were cheered on their way by catching from every height a glimpse of Jeraspunt. At length they came so near that they heard shrieks and howls, and other sounds of battle. A few minutes later the terrible scene was visible. Some of the palace guard were killed and mangled, others were yet defending themselves. Gigantic dogs, monsters of every sort, and hordes of savage warriors formed the enemy’s ranks. Many had forced their way through the broken gate, and were raging, storming, and howling round the queen’s throne.

The sovereign lady sat there unmoved, surrounded by her trembling maidens; a carbuncle glowed in the diadem that graced her head, and a silver veil was wrapt about her. Her only protection seemed to be a magic circle that her assailants could not pass. Whether the magic lay in her wonderful beauty or in the spiritual love that shone in her face, it were impossible to say. No one had yet dared to approach her. Even the heroes halted for a moment on first seeing her, but then recovering themselves, pressed forward.

They made their way in spite of clouds of snow, and lumps of ice, to say nothing of a frightful hurricane that almost blew them away. The mountains trembled under repeated thunder claps, and a bottomless crevasse divided them from the palace. But at the same moment Dietrich perceived the black horseman reading his magic spells from an iron tablet. He sprang upon him, broke the tablet, and slew the magician. A great clap of thunder rolled over the mountains, avalanches fell, ice fields broke up, and then came a silence as of death. The spell was broken, the yawning gulf closed, and the way to the palace was free. The magician’s followers, eager to avenge their master, attacked the heroes and their men, but their efforts were vain. The monsters, who yet lived, had soon to fly and seek refuge in the solitudes of the snow mountains.

Dietrich now approached the queen at the head of his followers. He would have knelt before her, but she rose from her throne, and offering him her hand, greeted him with a kiss. Unable to utter a word, he let her lead him to the throne, and seated himself at her side.

“Know, great hero,” she said, “that I have seen your love and your deeds. I give up my rule in Elf-land, and will go home with you, and live amongst mortal men till death parts us.”

The palace was cleansed by invisible hands; the gate, and all the broken posts and pillars were mended during the night, and the marriage of the mortal hero with the elf-queen was solemnized soon after. The husband and wife then started for Bern, where Virginal made his home so delightful that it was long before Dietrich thought of seeking more adventures. Meanwhile there was sorrow in the mountains, and in the heart of every elf that lived there. The queen had left her country and her people for the sake of a mortal. All nature mourned her absence, the sunsets had no longer the prismatic hues of former times, and the fairy palace was invisible to all.

II
DIETRICH’S COMRADES

Heime

In all countries and amongst all nations were spread the name and fame of Dietrich of Bern, for he was the favourite hero of many a wandering minstrel, and so it came to pass that numbers of brave warriors used to go and visit him, and take part in the amusements or serious occupations that engrossed the attention of their host during the time of their visit.

Even in the far north his name was famous, not only in the castle of the noble, but in many a wayside inn and solitary grange.

At the time of which we speak, a renowned horse-dealer called Studas lived in the heart of a great forest. He cared little for the singing and fiddling of the wandering minstrels, but his son Heime was different. He often declared that he knew he could wield lance and sword as well as the hero of Bern. His father was weary of his vainglorious talk, and one day, when the young fellow was boasting as usual that he was as good a man as Dietrich, if not better, his father exclaimed in a pet:

“Well, if that be the case, go up to the hollow mountain, and kill the dragon that is doing all this mischief in the neighbourhood.”

The lad looked up at him inquiringly. The father nodded, and Heime, casting a haughty look at him, turned and went out.

“He will not do it,” muttered the old man, “but I think I have cooled his hot blood for him.”

Things were going otherwise than honest Studas dreamed in his philosophy. His bold son armed himself, and mounting one of his father’s best horses, rode off to the mountain. The lind-worm sprang at him with open jaws, but the lad plunged his spear into his mouth with such force that the point came out behind his head. The monster lashed the ground long and furiously with his tail, but at length fell dead. Whereupon Heime cut off his head, and riding home, took it into the grange, and flung the trophy at his father’s feet.

“St. Kilian!” cried Studas. “Boy, have you really killed the dragon? Well–”

“Well,” answered the bold youth, “I shall now go and slay the hero of Bern. Give me the horse that carried me so bravely to-day. He will take me to Bern, and bring me home again without hurt.”

The old man felt his head go round when he heard his son speak in such a way; but he granted the lad’s request, and Heime rode out into the unknown world.

In the royal palace of Bern Queen Virginal was busy filling the goblets of the warriors, who feasted with her husband, and who agreed that great as were the blessings of peace, it was high time they should be up and doing something, lest their swords should rust in their scabbards. In the midst of this conversation the door opened, and a stranger entered in full armour. He was a tall broad-shouldered man, and apparently young.

Hildebrand welcomed him, and invited him to take off his coat-of-mail, telling him that purple and silken garments were more suited to a royal feast than the panoply of war.

“My trade is war,” said the stranger, “I am Heime, son of the horse-dealer Studas, and have come to challenge the famous Dietrich to come out with me into the open field, and try which of us is the better man.”

He spoke so loud that every one heard, and Dietrich at once accepted his challenge, calling upon his guests to come out and watch the fray. The king then put on his armour, mounted his good horse, Falcon, and in another moment was ready for the combat.

They fought for some time on horseback, but at length the shafts of their spears being broken in the mêlée, they sprang to the ground, and continued the combat on foot. Again a little time, and after Heime had performed wonderful feats of valour, his sword broke, and he stood defenceless before the angry king. Dietrich swung his sword above his head preparatory to giving his opponent the death-blow, but he had not the heart to do it. He had compassion on the youth and courage of the bold warrior, who stood so fearless before him. Letting his sword fall to his side, the king offered his hand to Heime in sign of peace. This generosity conquered the lad completely. He took the offered hand, said that he confessed himself overcome, and swore that henceforth he would be a faithful servant and follower of the glorious king. Dietrich was pleased to number a man like Heime among his followers, and presented him with castles and rich lands.

Wittich

Wittich was the son of Wieland, the smith of Heligoland, by Böswilde (Badhilda). From his earliest childhood his father had taught him the use of the bow, and the greatest praise he ever gave him was to say,—

“You are a bowman like my brother Eigel.”

Young Wittich wanted very much to learn all that he could about his uncle, and Wieland began:

“When your mother’s father—Niduder, Drost of the Niars—made me a prisoner long ago, my brother Eigel came to his castle, and entered his service as bowman of the guard. Every one admired his skill. He could shoot away the head of an eagle that was flying high as the heavens. I have also seen him aim an arrow at the right or left foot of a lynx, and pin it to the bough on which the creature sat. And he did other wonderful things too numerous to relate. But the Drost wanted to see something more wonderful still, so he desired him to shoot an apple off the head of his own child at a hundred paces off, telling him at the same time that if he refused, or if obeying, he missed his mark, he would have the boy hewn in pieces before his eyes. Eigel drew three arrows from his quiver, and fitted one to the bowstring. The boy stood motionless, looking at his father with perfect confidence. Could you have done that, my lad? Eh!”

“No father,” answered Wittich boldly, “I would have fetched your trusty sword Mimung, and have hewn off the head of that wicked old man; and then, if his Niars had tried to avenge him, I would have chased them out of the country.”

“All very fine, young hero,” laughed the father, “but remember this; a true hero only speaks of what he has done, not of what he would have done under such and such circumstances. It would have been better, however, if Eigel had done something of that kind. After he had shot away the apple, he turned to the Drost, and told him, that had he by any accident killed his son, he would have used the two other arrows in shooting him first, and then himself. The Drost took no notice of the speech at the time, but soon afterwards, he exiled the bowman without thanks or payment, and no one knows what has become of him.”

The smith brought up his son on tales like this, which naturally excited the boy’s ardour for adventure, and made him more and more unwilling to work at the forge. One day the lad spoke out, and asked his father to give him a suit of armour, and the good sword Mimung, that he might hie away to Bern, fight with king Dietrich, and win a kingdom like his ancestors. After many refusals the smith at last gave his consent, and furnished his son with all that he needed for the enterprise, explaining to him the special virtues of each weapon. Finally he told him to remember that his great-grandfather, King Wilkinus, a mighty warrior in his day, had married a mermaid, who, when the king was dying, had promised him, by the memory of their love, that she would help any of their descendants who asked for her aid. “Go down to the sea-shore, my son,” continued the smith, “if ever you are in need, and demand the protection of our ancestress.” And then with much sage advice, together with many old stories of things he had seen and known, Wieland took leave of his son.

Wittich rode on for many days before he met with any adventure. At length he came to a broad river, and dismounting, took off his armour, which he laid upon the bank, and began to wade across the water, leading his horse Skemming by the bridle. When half way across, three horsemen in full armour passed by, and seeing him began to taunt him and ask him where he was going. He told them that if they would wait until he had put his armour on, he was ready to try conclusions with them. They agreed, but no sooner did they see him dressed in his coat of mail, and mounted on his good steed, than they bethought them, that as they were in a strange place, it would be better to have a man of such thews and sinews for a comrade than an enemy. So they offered him peace instead of war. He accepted, and after shaking hands, they journeyed on together.

They rode up stream for a long way, and at last they came to a castle. A host of savage-looking men poured out of the gates, and advanced to meet them.

“There are too many for us to conquer,” said the eldest of the strangers, “still I think that our good swords may enable us to hew our way across the bridge.”

“Let me go and offer them a silver piece as toll,” said Wittich, and setting spurs to his horse he rode on.

Arrived at the bridge, he was informed that the only toll demanded or accepted there were the horse, armour, clothes, right hand and right foot of the traveller. He explained that he could not afford to pay so high a price for so small a benefit, and offered them a piece of money. Whereupon they drew their swords and attacked him.

The three warriors meanwhile kept on a neighbouring height, and watched and commented on all that went on below. Seeing that their new friend seemed hard beset, two of them galloped to his assistance, while the third held back in scorn. But before they reached the place of combat, seven of the robbers were slain, and at sight of them the others took flight.

The heroes now rode on to the castle, where they found plenty of food and much booty. While they enjoyed their evening meal, their tongues were unloosed, and each told his name and deeds. Wittich had more to tell about his father than about himself, and then he learnt that the eldest of his new companions was Master Hildebrand, the second strong Heime, and the third Yarl Hornboge, who was also a comrade of Dietrich.

“This is a stroke of good luck for me,” cried the young warrior, “for I am on my way to Bern to try my strength against the glorious king, and I have good hope that I may win the day, for my father has given me his sword Mimung that can cut through steel and stone. Just look at the hilt, is not the workmanship beautiful?”

On hearing this, the three comrades grew more silent, and proposed to go to rest, as they were very tired. Wittich followed their example.

The young hero was soon snoring in company with Heime and Hornboge, but Hildebrand lay awake, a prey to sad forebodings. He knew that Wittich’s sword could cut through his master’s helmet, and he considered what was to be done. He crept noiselessly from his bed, and taking Mimung, compared it with his own sword. The two blades were wonderfully alike, but not the hilts. So with a grim smile of satisfaction, he carefully unscrewed the blades from the hilts, and exchanged them; then returned to his couch, and soon after fell asleep.

They started again on their journey next morning. In the course of a few days, they met with several adventures that proved to Hildebrand and his comrades that Wittich was of the stuff that heroes are made of.

On hearing of the arrival of his old master and the rest, King Dietrich hastened out into the court to meet and welcome them. But his astonishment was great when the young stranger pulled off his silver gauntlet and handed it to him. In another moment Dietrich had snatched it, and flung it in the youth’s face, exclaiming wrathfully:

“Do you think it is part of a king’s duty to make a target of himself for every wandering adventurer to strike at? Here, my men, seize the rascal, and hang him to the highest gallows.”

“The power to do so is on your side,” answered Wittich, “but bethink you, my lord, whether such a deed would not bring dishonour on your fair fame.”

And Hildebrand said, “Sire, this is Wittich, son of Wieland, the celebrated smith. He is no mean man, or secret traitor, but well worthy of a place in the ranks of your comrades.”

“Very well, master,” replied the king, “I will fight him as he desires, but should he be conquered, I will deliver him to the hangman. It is my last word. Now come to the race-course.”

The whole town assembled to witness the duel between the king and the stranger. The combat raged long, but at last Wittich’s sword broke, and he stood defenceless before the king.

“False father, you deceived me,” he cried, “you gave me the wrong sword, and not Mimung.”

“Surrender, vagrant,” cried Dietrich, “and then to the gallows with you.”

The young warrior’s last hour had come, if Hildebrand had not sprung between them.

“Sire,” he said, “spare an unarmed man, and make him one of your comrades. We could not have a more heroic soul in our company.”

“No. He shall go to the gallows. Stand back, master, that he may once more lick the dust before me.”

The master was sick at heart. He thought of how he had wronged the young hero by changing his sword: “Here, brave warrior, is your sword Mimung,” he said, handing Wittich the weapon at his side, “and now, Dietrich, do your best!”

The battle began again, and Mimung showed its mettle now. Bits of the king’s shield and armour fell away, and a home-stroke laid his helmet open. “Surrender, king!” cried the victorious youth; but Dietrich fought on, in spite of terrible wounds.

Then the master sprang forward.

“Wittich,” he cried, “hold your hand, for it is not your own strength, but Wieland’s sword that gives you victory. Be our comrade, and then we shall rule the world, for, next to the king, you are the bravest of all the heroes.”

“Master,” replied Wittich, “you helped me in my need and I will not now deny you.” Then turning to the king:

“Glorious hero of Bern, I am your man henceforward, and will be faithful to you as long as I live.”

The king took his offered hand in his firm grasp, and made him ruler over a large fief.

Wildeber, Ilsan and other Comrades

Ecke was the eldest son of the once powerful king Mentiger by the mermaid whom he made his queen. He loved Queen Seeburg, who lived at Cologne in the Rhineland. Seeburg had a great desire to see King Dietrich, and Ecke on hearing of it, promised to bring him to her, or die in the attempt. She, on her side, said that she would be his wife if he came home successful. He went, met Dietrich, and after showing prodigies of valour, died at his hands, much to the sorrow of the king, who had learnt to love him during the few hours of their acquaintance.

When Dietrich returned to Bern after slaying Ecke, Heime came out to meet him, and was so outspoken in his joy at seeing him again, that the king, much touched, gave him his good sword Nagelring as a sign of his friendship. The warrior received it with delight, and kissed the trusty blade twice or thrice, as he said:

“I will wear this sword for the glory of my king, and will never part with it as long as I live.”

“You are unworthy of the sword,” cried Wittich, who had come up with the other warriors: “Do you remember how you left your weapon in its sheath when the robbers were attacking me, and that Hildebrand and Hornboge alone helped me?”

“Your self-sufficiency had made me angry, as your spiteful tongue does now. I will cut it out.”

Both men put their hands to their swords, but the king stepped between them, and desired them to keep the peace in the castle. When he learnt all that had happened, Dietrich told Heime that he might go his way, because it was not seemly in a warrior to leave his comrade unaided in danger. But he added, that when he had shown by brave deeds that he was really a hero, he might return to them once more.

“Well, sire, I think I shall win myself greater wealth by Nagelring than I lose in the castles you now take from me.”

Having thus spoken, the bold warrior sprang on his horse, and rode away without taking leave of any one. He rode on, till he reached the Wisara (Weser), where he drew a band of robbers around him, and wrought great mischief. He plundered the defenceless country-people, and even bold warriors had to pay him black mail; and thus, through highway robbery, he became the owner of a great hoard of wealth, which he was never tired of increasing.

Dietrich had to tell his friends of his terrible combat with the hero Ecke, in which he had won the beautiful suit of armour he brought home with him, and the good sword Ecke-sax. One day, when the warriors were discussing this subject, a monk entered the hall, and remained standing humbly near the door. He was tall and broad-shouldered, and his cowl was pulled forward so as to hide his face. The servants began to play him tricks, until at last the monk, growing impatient, seized one of his persecutors by the ear, and held him up shrieking in the air.

When the king asked the reason of the noise, the monk stepped forward, and begged a morsel of bread for a half-starved penitent. Dietrich came forward himself, and commanded food and drink to be placed before the brother; but his astonishment was great when the monk pushed back his cowl, and displayed well rounded cheeks that bore no trace of starvation. He was still more surprised when he saw the quantity of food and wine the reverend brother could dispose of.

“The holy man has the appetite of a wolf,” murmured the bystanders.

“Five long years have I done penance by prayer, fasting and water-drinking,” he said, “and have now license from the venerable prior to go out into the world, and lay penance on other sinners. Now,” he continued, going on with his meal, “ye be all miserable sinners with your continual feasting and drinking, and I call upon you to do penance, and be converted, that your sins be blotted out.”

Then he intoned, in a loud ringing voice, “O Sanctissima.”

Master Hildebrand had joined the group, and now exclaimed:

“Why, it is my own dear brother, Ilsan the Monk.”

“Culpa mea,” cried the monk; “touch me not, unholy brother. Confess, and do penance, that thou go not straight to hell like the others.”

“But,” said the master, “we are all collected here together to convert, by kindness or force, all monsters, giants, and dwarfs; so, my reverend brother, I now beg of you to lay aside your robes, and once more become one of us.”

“Convert, say you? Yea, I have license to convert the heathen, and will therefore join you in your pious work.”

With these words, the monk flung off his robes, and stood before them dressed in full armour.

“Here,” he cried, touching his broadsword, “is my preacher’s staff, and here,” pointing to his coat of mail, “my breviary. St. Kilian pray for me and for all of us, Ora pro nobis.”

He sat down amongst the warriors, who had all known the stout monk Ilsan for many years. He drank and sang, now psalms, now songs, and told merry tales of his life in the monastery.

Evening came on apace. Candles and torches were lighted. Suddenly every one was startled by a strange creature pattering in at the door. It was like a bear to look upon. Its head resembled that of a boar, but its hands and feet were of human form. The monster stood as though rooted to the threshold, and appeared to be considering on whom first to make its spring.

“An evil spirit,” cried Ilsan; “a soul escaped from the purgatorial fire. I will address it. Conjuro te …” He paused, for the monster had turned its face to him.

“I will drag him back to his purgatory again,” cried bold Wolfhart, springing over the table, and seizing the creature by its fur. But pull and tug as he might, he could not move it by so much as an inch. It quietly gave the warrior such a kick, that he fell head over heels into the middle of the hall.

Hornboge, Wittich, and other warriors tried to push the monster out with their united strength, but in vain.

“Give room, brave comrades,” cried the angry king. “I will see whether the monster is proof against my sword Ecke-sax.”

“Sire,” interrupted Master Hildebrand, catching him by the arm, “look; do you not see a golden bracelet, sparkling with precious stones, on the creature’s wrist? It is a man—perhaps a brave warrior.”

“Well,” said the king, turning to his strange guest, “if you are indeed a hero, doff your disguise. Join us, and be our faithful comrade.”

On hearing these words, the strange guest threw off boar’s head and bear’s skin, and stood before the king and his followers clad in armour.

“I know you now,” said Hildebrand. “You are the brave hero Wildeber, surnamed The Strong. And the gold bracelet is the gift of a swan-maiden, and makes your strength double. But why did you so disguise yourself? Every brave man is a welcome guest to our king.”

Wildeber seated himself by the master’s side, emptied a goblet of sparkling wine, and said:

“Once, after fighting a hard fight with robbers, I lay down to sleep on the bank of a lake. Suddenly I was awakened by a splashing in the water. Turning my eyes in the direction of the noise, I saw a beautiful maiden bathing. I spied her swan-garment lying on the bank, crept up to it softly, took it, and hid it. The maiden sought it everywhere, and when she could not find it, she began to weep aloud. I went to her, and begged that she would follow me home and be my wife. But she wept the more, and said that she must die if she were deprived of her bird’s dress. I was sorry for her, and gave it back, whereupon she gave me this bracelet, which increases my strength immensely; but she told me that to preserve it I must wander about as a bear with a boar’s head, until the most famous king on earth chose me to be one of his comrades. If I did not obey her, she warned me that the virtue of the jewel would depart, and I should soon be slain in battle. Having thus spoken, she flew away. That is why I came to you in such disguise, brave hero,” he continued, addressing Dietrich; “and as you have received me into the ranks of your comrades of your own free will, I hope that the bracelet will retain its magic power as long as I live.”

“Pax vobiscum!” stammered the monk, as he staggered away to bed. The other warriors soon followed his example, and silence reigned in the palace.

Dietleib

King Dietrich was one day about to mount his horse, and set out to visit his brother monarch, the Emperor Ermenrich, when a warrior rode into the court. The king at once knew him to be Heime. He was not much pleased to see him back at Bern, but when Heime told him that he had been victorious in many battles against giants and robbers, he consented to receive him once more into the ranks of his comrades, and desired him to accompany him and certain of his followers to Romaburg.

At Fritilaburg, where they rested, Dietrich accepted the offered service of a man who called himself Ilmenrik, son of a Danish yeoman Soti; and enrolled him amongst his servants.

When they came to Romaburg, they were received with all honour by the emperor, who gave them both board and lodging. But the emperor forgot one thing in his plans, and that was, to provide food for the servants. Ilmenrik fed them the first night. On the second, his private resources being exhausted, he pawned Heime’s armour and horse for ten gold pieces; on the third, he pawned Wittich’s goods for twenty; and on the fourth, he got thirty for the weapons and horse of the king. On the fifth day, when the king gave orders for their return home, Ilmenrik asked for money to free the articles he had pawned. Dietrich was astonished and angry when he heard how extravagant his servant’s ideas had been. He took him before Ermenrich, who at once said he would pay the sum required, and asked how much it was. The emperor and all his court made merry at Ilmenrik’s expense, especially Walter of Wasgenstein (Vosges), who asked him if he was a were-wolf, and well up in strange knowledge of all kinds. Ilmenrik modestly answered that he had learnt to perform many feats of strength and skill from his father, such as putting the stone and throwing the hammer; and that he would wager his head against the lord of Wasgenstein’s that he could beat him in this. Walter accepted his challenge, and the trial began.