Part 6

At this Hagen looked scornfully and rode away, but again the Swan-maidens called to him, and bade him call himself Amelrich, for that name would surely bring the boatman. Therewith they arose in the air in their swan-garments and soon had vanished from sight. When Hagen spied the house across the stream he gave a mighty shout which brought the ferryman to the door. Hanging a heavy gold clasp upon the point of his sword, Hagen held it aloft so that it gleamed in the sunlight, and offered it to him, at the same time calling himself Amelrich, whereupon the doughty boatman seized the oars and rowed his boat across the river. No sooner had it touched the bank than Hagen sprang quickly into it, but the man shouted furiously:

“Now hast thou lied to me! Thou art not my brother Amelrich, so on this side mayst thou bide, forsooth!”

Hagen’s brow darkened, yet still he sought to speak him fair. “I am a stranger here,” he said, “and with me ride a thousand knights and many followers besides. We would fain go on our way, wherefore take this gold and ferry us across the stream.”

“My lord hath many enemies,” replied the ferryman, “and ill were it for me to fetch armed strangers to his lands. Nay, get thee hence, Sir Knight!”

Still Hagen would not stir; whereupon the ferryman, swinging his oar aloft, smote him so mightily that he fell upon his knee. Quickly the hero sprang to his feet, only to receive a second blow on his helm, which split the oar with a loud crash. Thereupon Hagen grew mad with rage and drawing his sword he struck off the boatman’s head. Down it fell into the river and after it he cast the body.

Meanwhile the current had caught the boat and borne it down the stream. Hagen seized the second oar and sought therewith to turn it back, but the current was strong and so powerful were his strokes that the oar broke asunder. Now was he indeed in sorry plight, but cutting a thong from his shield he quickly spliced the oar and gained once more the mastery of the craft.

Soon Günther and his followers perceived the bold mariner coming up the river and joyfully hailed him. But when he reached the bank they looked aghast at the blood in the bottom of the boat. The King cried out:

“Hagen, what hast thou done? Thou hast slain the ferryman.”

But Hagen denied it, saying: “Fast to a willow tree I found the boat, and therein was the blood, already spilled.”

Then Gernot said: “Methinks no farther are we like to fare, for of what use is the boat without a ferryman?”

Thereupon Hagen declared he would ferry them across himself. Bidding the princes enter the boat and with them as many knights as it would hold, he soon had landed them upon the farther bank; and thus going back and forth, he brought all safely over. The horses were driven into the water, and when they saw their masters on the other side and heard their voices, they gallantly swam the stream. Neighing for joy they climbed the bank, shook the water from their sides and galloped to their masters, who greeted them with kindly words. Nor were any lost, though many were carried far down the stream.

While Hagen was ferrying the men across, his eye fell upon the King’s chaplain, and bethinking him of the Swan-maiden’s word that he alone of them all was to return to Burgundy, he resolved to bring to naught this part of the prophecy at least. Seizing the priest, he dragged him to the side of the boat and, despite his cries, cast him into the rushing flood. Loudly did the knights protest against this misdeed, but none dared openly to resist the fierce champion. Soon the priest rose to the surface and clung to the side of the boat, but Hagen with the oar thrust him off, deep under the water; whereupon, not being able to swim, he gave himself up for lost. But the swift current bore him once more to land, and then, thanking God for his escape, he fled and made his way back to the Rhine.

It was plain to Hagen that all must come to pass as the Swan-maidens had foretold, and when the last man had reached the shore, he seized the heavy iron-tipped oar and smote the bow of the boat so that it broke asunder and presently sank. With wonder and dismay the knights beheld this deed of Hagen’s, and one ventured to ask him wherefore he had destroyed the boat that might have served them to cross the stream on their return. Within himself he thought, as we all are doomed to death no more need have we for boats; but to them he made answer, saying:

“Should any among us be so faint-hearted as to seek to return, he shall find no means thereto, but meet his end ignobly in the waves!”

But none was pleased with this save Volker, a stanch friend of Hagen’s. No stouter or more valiant knight was there in all the band than he, and to Hagen he clove most loyally, swearing to abide by him to the end, whatever might betide.

_Chapter XXII_

_Kriemhild’s Welcome_

After Günther and his knights had ridden on again for a space, Hagen made known to them the dark prophecy of the Swan-maidens. Quickly the news spread throughout the host, and many a heart sank, and many a cheek grew pale thereat; yet retreat was no longer possible, for the boat was gone.

Soon they came to the lands of Rüdiger, the margrave, who in former days had wooed Kriemhild for King Etzel. Right gladly were they welcomed by that brave and hospitable knight, and they spent three days at his castle in feasting and good cheer. At that time Rüdiger’s fair daughter won the heart of Giselher, and her parents willingly gave their consent to the betrothal, promising that the marriage should be celebrated on the return of the Burgundians. Alas! that never was to be.

But now no longer might they tarry, for already messengers had been sent to Etzel to warn him of their approach, and on the fourth morning they took their leave. Rüdiger bestowed rich gifts upon the princes and their kinsmen, and himself rode with them to the royal castle, Etzelburg, the shining towers whereof soon rose before them. It chanced that Dietrich, the Prince of Bern, who aforetime had slain the mighty Ecke, was then at Etzel’s court with the ancient Hildebrand; and fearing some evil to the Burgundians, they rode forth to meet them on their way. Hagen knew the two knights from afar and said to Günther:

“Yonder come Sir Dietrich and Hildebrand; let us dismount and go on foot to meet them!” Whereupon all the knights also dismounted. Dietrich and Hildebrand did the same, and the heroes exchanged friendly greetings. Then Dietrich told them of his fears, warning them that Kriemhild’s grief for Siegfried had known no change.

“’Tis of small avail to weep for Siegfried,” said Hagen, insolently, “since dead he is and dead will he remain, for all her tears.”

“Ay, that indeed!” replied Dietrich, with a stern glance at Hagen, “and pity is it, God wot, that King Siegfried lives no more. But Kriemhild’s vengeance still doth live; and thereby, much I fear me, evil is in store for you.”

Günther started; yet, seeking to allay his fears, he asked: “Are we not here by Etzel’s own request? Surely your King would not deal falsely by his guests; and Kriemhild long since made peace with us.”

But Hagen, wishing to know all the truth, urged Dietrich to speak freely. Whereupon he, taking Günther apart, told him how Kriemhild each morning bewailed the untimely death of Siegfried, with tears and prayers to God for vengeance.

Then out-spoke the bold and jovial Volker: “Now, in good sooth, my lords, we must endure those evils that we cannot cure with what grace we can. Let us not dampen our courage with fears for what the future may bring forth!” And therewith they resumed their journey.

When they came to the castle, the gates were flung open and the Huns poured forth in crowds to gaze at the Burgundian heroes with all their glittering train. Many eyes sought Hagen, for well was he known in the land of the Huns as the slayer of Siegfried the mighty; and all were struck with wonder at his massive frame no less than his haughty bearing and fierce aspect. Broad were his chest and shoulders, his black hair slightly tinged with gray, while his bold gaze roved restlessly about from beneath his shaggy eyebrows.

King Etzel, with Kriemhild, stood at the window as the Burgundians on their gayly decked steeds rode into the spacious courtyard. When his eye fell upon Hagen he turned to his courtiers, demanding: “Who may yon haughty chieftain be?”

“’Tis Hagen, son to old Sir Adrian, a bold and wrathful knight, my lord,” said one.

“Ha!” cried the King, “’tis little strange I did not know him; for though he once was here at court, yet then forsooth, was he but a careless stripling.”

The stranger knights were housed within the castle as became their rank, but for the retainers lodging was prepared in other quarters far removed therefrom. This Kriemhild had planned for her own purposes. Now she went forth to welcome her kinsmen. Giselher, who was guiltless of Siegfried’s death, she kissed and embraced fondly, but none other did she greet in this fashion. When Hagen marked this, he tightened the band of his helm and cast a meaning glance at Günther. After she had greeted all, she turned to Hagen, saying:

“Welcome art thou to one who gladly sees thee here. Yet tell me, I pray thee, what hast thou brought me from the Rhine?”

“Now, by my faith,” quoth Hagen, “thou art rich in gold and power, and yet dost ask what largess I bring!”

“I desire no gifts of thee,” said Kriemhild, coldly. “I want that which is my own. Where is the treasure that thou didst withhold from me?”

“In sooth, most potent Queen,” cried Hagen, “’tis many a day since I have seen the hoard. Wouldst thou know the spot where it is hidden? Full deep beneath the broad Rhine was it sunk, and there shall it abide until the Judgment Day!”

“I knew full well thou wouldst not bring it hither,” continued Kriemhild; “and for it I will hold thee to account; as also for the murder of my noble lord!”

With a scornful look, Hagen replied: “Now by my faith, this buckler broad, and my coat of mail and two-edged sword beside, are weight enough to carry. In sooth, I nothing else have brought.”

Thereupon Kriemhild declared that no weapons might be worn within the royal hall; but if he would entrust his arms to the care of her retainers, she would see to it that they were well guarded.

“Gramercy!” cried Hagen, “it were an honor far too great--for a Queen to serve as armorer. It must not be. Thou hast my thanks, fair dame; but for my arms, methinks they best were guarded by myself.”

“Ah! now I see,” said Kriemhild, angrily, “it must be thou hast had warning to doubt my faith. Would I but knew who spake such words to thee!”

Whereupon Dietrich of Bern stepped proudly forth and said, “’Twas I, O Queen, who warned thy kin, and I do not shame to own it.”

At this Kriemhild grew red with shame and anger, and turned away without a word, but cast upon her enemy, as she went, a swift glance of deadly hatred.

_Chapter XXIII_

_The Comrades_

Hagen, seeing Volker not far away, called to him, and together they crossed the courtyard and seated themselves upon a stone bench which faced the Queen’s palace hall. Many wondering glances followed the two mighty Burgundian heroes, and soon Kriemhild from her window beheld her foe. Whereupon a passion of grief and rage seized her, and she broke into such bitter weeping that one of her knights drew near and said:

“Most gracious Queen, make known to us what wrong doth grieve thee so, for fain would we avenge it.”

“Now, on my faith, thou speakest in good time, Sir Knight; for whoso doth avenge this wrong of mine shall thereby earn my lifelong thanks, and well will I reward him.” Then pointing to Hagen, she cried: “’Tis vengeance on yon chief I seek. Most basely did he slay my lord, and for that would I have his life!”

Quickly arming themselves, sixty stout warriors declared that Hagen and Volker should die forthwith; but Kriemhild restrained them, saying: “Too few are ye to cope with yonder pair. Little ye reck of Hagen’s mighty strength, though somewhat thereof doth his look bespeak. And Volker is yet mightier.”

When the Huns heard this they hastened to summon more heroes to their aid, and Kriemhild said to them: “Bide ye here a space, my gallant friends, whilst I place the crown upon my head. I will confront my foe as Queen of Huns and tax him with his crime, that you may hear from his own lips ’twas he that did the deed.”

When Volker saw the Queen descending the broad stairs followed by a band of heavily armed knights, he said to Hagen: “Why doth the Queen approach with such a train? Methinks they come with no good intent.”

“Truly ’tis with some purpose,” replied Hagen. “Yet were there none save these in the land of the Huns to bar my way, then should I well, in truth, ride safely home again! But tell me, Volker, since we may come to blows, wilt thou faithfully abide by me, as I will pledge my loyal service unto thee?”

“By the mass, I will!” cried Volker, and therewith gave his strong right hand to Hagen. “Aye, though the King and all his host should come against us, yet would I stand beside thee, nor budge an inch as long as breath remained.”

“God prosper thee for such knightly words!” said Hagen. “Now let them come! With Volker fighting by my side, why should I fear?”

As the long train moved slowly across the courtyard, Volker said: “Were it not well to rise and greet the Queen? ’Tis but the custom of the court.”

But Hagen answered wrathfully: “Wouldst thou then that I show courtesy to one I hate? Nay, as for that, forsooth, the Huns would think ’twas fear that urged me to it. Keep thy seat, an thou dost love me, Volker.”

Hereupon Hagen, with intent to wound the Queen in cruel fashion, lifted the great sword, Balmung, which he had borne since Siegfried’s death, and laid it across his knees, where Kriemhild’s gaze must straightway fall upon it. Upon the hilt there blazed a jewel, green as grass, the sheath was crimson, and the handle all of ruddy gold.

Kriemhild stood before him; and when she saw the sword that her beloved spouse so long had borne, hot tears of anguish overflowed her eyes. Whereat a gleam of savage joy passed over Hagen’s face; but Volker drew his sword nearer to him on the bench, and both heroes sat undaunted before the Queen and all her men. Then Kriemhild demanded haughtily of Hagen how he had dared come thither, knowing what he had done, and furthermore, who had sought his presence.

Whereto Hagen replied: “None, O Queen, did summon me; yet since my master was bidden by thy lord, I also am come as a true liegeman.”

Hereupon Kriemhild taxed him openly with the foul deed he had done upon her lord; and Hagen turned upon her fiercely, crying: “What need have we to speak of that? Truly ’twas I that slew your Siegfried, nor do I fear to own it. I am here, and any one who pleaseth may seek vengeance on me!”

“Now you have heard!” cried Kriemhild to her Hunnish knights. “He hath confessed the deed that wrought me such deep woe. Deal with him as doth best befit; nor will I question aught thereof.”

But as the Huns gazed upon the two mighty champions and listened to Hagen’s fierce words, they lost heart, and none would venture to attack them. They looked at one another, and one said: “’Twere but certain death to assault these two!”

“Thou speakest truly,” added a second, “not for whole castles of ruddy gold would I encounter Hagen! As for the other--his fiery glances bent upon us are enough. I would not care to meet the greetings of his sword.”

A third said: “I know Sir Hagen of old; in two and twenty battles I have seen him fight, and many a mother’s son in warfare he hath slain. Then he was but a youth, while now he is to stalwart manhood grown, and his frame doth appear as if wrought of iron.”

“Naught for his valor would I care,” cried yet another; “did he not bear Siegfried’s sword, and where keen Balmung once doth strike, a life is ended.”

Thus argued the Huns amongst themselves, none daring to provoke the conflict; whereupon Kriemhild in bitter anger and chagrin departed, to devise some other plan, while her warriors slowly dispersed.

“Truly,” said Volker, “it is even as thou sayest, friend Hagen: the Queen thirsts for vengeance. Let us to our King, lest he should need us by his side.”

Therewith they arose and strode fearlessly through the midst of their foes to the outer courtyard, where they found the Burgundian princes with their knights about to proceed in stately procession to the palace hall to greet the King. Dietrich of Bern walked with Günther, Rüdiger with Giselher, while Hagen and Volker followed on behind; nor from this time were these two comrades ever seen apart. As they entered the hall, King Etzel rose from his golden throne and advanced to meet them with gracious words of welcome. Nor was there aught of guile or falsehood in his soul. With no thought of what was in the heart of his wife or wherefore her kinsmen had been summoned, he rejoiced to see so many noble guests and heroes of renown assembled at his court. Leading them to the festal board, he caused wine and mead to be poured for them in golden cups and right joyously they passed the hours till evening came.

_Chapter XXIV_

_The Minstrel Knight_

Low burned the tapers in the royal hall, and as the midnight hour drew nigh, anxious thoughts arose in the minds of the Burgundians. They longed for morning light to dawn. At last Günther prayed the King that they might be permitted to seek their rest; whereupon Etzel gave orders that they should be shown to their lodgings, and with hearty good-will wished them sound slumbers. As they followed the torch-bearers, the Huns came crowding about them so closely that their way was stopped, but Volker drew his sword and sprang forward, shouting: “Give place! or, by the mass, I’ll strike!” and Hagen added: “Be warned in time, ye knights of Kriemhild! If you would have aught with us, come with morning’s light and you shall find us ready!”

Thereupon the Huns fell back, and the Burgundians were shown into a wide vaulted hall where ample provisions for their comfort had been made. The beds were decked with gorgeous hangings of Arabian silk, tapestries from Arras, and coverlets of ermine and rich sable. Yet all this splendor could not avail to banish the dark forebodings that black as night had settled upon the hearts of the Burgundians. To the youthful imagination of Giselher indeed, the sumptuously decked hall seemed to bear the semblance of a tomb, and he cried aloud: “Oh, woe to this hostelry, and woe to the Burgundians, that ever they came to Kriemhild’s court!”

Whereupon a deep voice answered: “Dismiss thy fears, Lord Giselher, for I will answer for thy safe repose until the morn.”

It was Hagen who spoke, and such cheer did his words bring that all laid them down in peace forthwith to seek their much needed repose. But Volker strode to Hagen’s side, saying: “An thou so wilt, I’ll keep the watch with thee!”

“God will reward thy loyalty, my gallant friend!” replied Hagen. “I need no help forsooth, yet with thee by my side I could ask naught further. Nor shalt thou fail of thanks one day, if my life be spared.”

[Illustration: _THE Minstrel and Hagen_]

Then donning their heaviest armor they took their place on the stone stairway without, to guard the door. Now, Volker the bold was well skilled in the minstrel art; not only was he master of sword-play, but also of the sweet-toned viol, from which he was never parted. Fetching it now, he seated himself in the arched doorway and began to play. As the wondrous melodies floated on the air, all the joys and sorrows of their past lives seemed to fill once more the hearts of the sleeping heroes. Soft and low, like the rustling of leaves in the evening breeze, the last notes died away, and all was still.

Then Volker exchanged the viol for the shield, and the bow for the sword of battle. Motionless the two knights stood on either side of the high arched doorway, like giant figures cast in bronze. Full dark was it, for few stars crept through the cloudy veil which night had cast like a pall about the weary strangers. Not long after midnight Volker spied the gleam of armor in the distance, and looking more closely, his sharp eyes soon discovered some of Kriemhild’s knights lurking in the darkness. Kriemhild had sent them thither with orders to slay Hagen, but spare the other.

Volker pointed them out to his comrade, who whispered: “Be silent now and let them approach. Perchance they will not mark our presence here in the dark shadow. When once they are within our reach, we will smite their helms as they come up the stair, and send them back to Kriemhild in sorry plight.”

But when the Hunnish knights had advanced a few steps they perceived the two watchers in the doorway, whereupon one said: “Now must we forego our purpose. Look, yonder stands the minstrel! His burnished helm gleams with vivid light, and sparks of living flame shoot from his mail. Hagen stands beside him to guard the door. Now of a truth those knights may safely rest for aught of me!” Therewith they stole softly away. Then Volker said: “What thinkest thou, Hagen? Shall I not after them? Gladly would I play a brief tune upon them with my sword-bow!”

“An thou lov’st me, do not so!” rejoined Hagen quickly. “Wert thou sore pressed, then must I hasten to thy aid and leave the door unguarded.”

But Volker persisted: “They shall know that we have marked their base intent, and so perchance be brought to shame.” Therewith he shouted scornfully: “Wherefore so fully armed at dead of night, O Kriemhild’s knights? Is it on highway robbery you are bent?”

But the Huns made no answer; whereupon he cried again in wrath: “Fie upon you, dastard, craven crew, who sought to murder sleeping men! Lay down those swords from hands no longer fit to bear them!”

Thus once again was Kriemhild’s purpose brought to naught, and she was forced to devise other measures to gain her ends.

_Chapter XXV_

_The Burgundians go to Mass_