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The Nibelungenlied by Anonymous - ADVENTURE XXVI (1) How Gelfrat Was Sl...

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The Nibelungenlied

ADVENTURE XXVI (1) How Gelfrat Was Slain By Dankwart.

Now when all were come up­on the shore, the king gan ask: “Who will show us the right roads through this land, that we go not astray?”

Then the stur­dy Folk­er spake: “For this I alone will have a care.”

“Now hold,” quoth Ha­gen, “both knight and squire. Certes, me- thin­keth right that we should heed our friends. With full mon­strous tales I’ll make you ac­quaint: we shall nev­er come again to the Bur­gun­di­an land. Two mer­maids told me ear­ly in the morn­ing that we should not come back again. I will now coun­sel you what ye do: ye must arm you, ye heroes, for we have mighty foes. Ye must guard you well and ride in war­like guise. I thought to catch these mer­maids in a lie. They swore that none of us would come home safe and sound, save the chap­lain alone. There­fore would I fain have drowned him to-​day.”

These tid­ings flew from band to band and valiant heroes grew pale from woe, as they be­gan to fear a grew­some death on this jour­ney to Et­zel’s court. For­sooth they had great need. When they had crossed at Mo­er­ing, (2) where Else’s fer­ry­man had lost his life, Ha­gen spake again: “Sith I have gained me foes up­on the way, we shall sure­ly be en­coun­tered. I slew this same fer­ry­man ear­ly on the morn to-​day. Well they wot the tale. Now lay on bold­ly, so that it may go hard with Gel­frat and Else, should they match our fel­low­ship here to-​day. I know them to be so bold that ’twill not be left un­done. Let the steeds jog on more gen­tly, that none ween we be a-​flee­ing on the road.”

“This coun­sel I will glad­ly fol­low,” quoth Gisel­her, the knight; “but who shall guide the fel­low­ship across the land?”

They an­swered: “This let Felk­er do; the valiant min­strel knoweth both road and path.”

Ere the wish was ful­ly spo­ken, men saw the doughty fid­dler stand­ing there well armed. On his head he bound his hel­met, of lord­ly col­or was his fight­ing gear. On his spear shaft he tied a to­ken, the which was red. Lat­er with the kings he fell in­to direst need.

Trust­wor­thy tid­ings of the fer­ry­man’s death were now come to Gel­frat’s ears. The mighty Else had al­so heard the tale. Loth it was to both; they sent to fetch their heroes, who soon stood ready. In a pass­ing short time, as I’ll let you hear, one saw rid­ing to­wards them those who had wrought scathe and mon­strous wounds in mighty bat­tles. Full sev­en hun­dred or more were come to Gel­fret. When they be­gan to ride af­ter their sav­age foes, their lords did lead them, of a truth. A deal too strong they hast­ed af­ter the valiant strangers; they would avenge their wrath. There­fore many of the lord­ings’ friends were lat­er lost.

Ha­gen of Troneg had well planned it (how might a hero ev­er guard his kins­men bet­ter), that he had in charge the rear guard, with his liege­men and his broth­er Dankwart. This was wise­ly done.

The day had passed away; the night was come. For his friends he feared both harm and woe, as be­neath their shields they rode through the Bavar­ian land. A short time there­after the heroes were as­sailed. On ei­ther side of the high­way and in the rear hard by they heard the beat of hoofs. Their foes pressed on too hard. Then spake hold Dankwart: “They pur­pose to at­tack us here, so hind on your hel­mets, for that be well to do.”

They stayed their jour­ney, as though it must needs he; in the gloom they spied the gleam of shin­ing shields. Ha­gen would no longer keep his peace; he called: “Who chaseth us up­on the high­way?”

To this Gel­frat must needs give an­swer. Quoth the mar­grave of Bavaria: “We seek our foes and have gal­loped on be­hind you. I know not who slew my fer­ry­man to-​day, but it doth rue me enow, for he was a hero of his hands.”

Then spake Ha­gen of Troneg: “And was then the fer­ry­man thine? The fault was mine, he would not fer­ry us over, so I slew the knight. For­sooth I had great need, for I had sheer gained at his hands my death. As meed I of­fered him gold and trap­pings, that he fer­ry me across to thy land, Sir Knight. This an­gered him so great­ly that he smote me with a mighty oar. At this I waxed grim enow. I seized my sword and fend­ed him his anger with a grievous wound. Thus the hero met his death. I’ll make amends, as doth think thee best.”

“Well I wist,” spake Gel­frat, “when Gun­ther and his fel­low­ship rode hith­er, that Ha­gen of Troneg would do us harm. Now he shall not live; the knight must stand for the fer­ry­man’s life.”

Over the buck­lers Gel­frat and Ha­gen couched their spears for the thrust; each would charge the oth­er. Else and Dankwart rode full glo­ri­ous­ly; they test­ed who they were, fierce was the fight. How might heroes ev­er prove each oth­er bet­ter? From a mighty thrust Ha­gen was un­horsed by Gel­frat’s hand. His mar­tin­gale snapped, he learnt what it was to fall. The crash of shafts re­sound­ed from their fel­low­ship. Ha­gen, who from the thrust afore had come to earth, down on the grass, sprang up again. I trow, he was not gen­tle of mood to­wards Gel­frat then. Who held their steeds, I know not; both Ha­gen and Gel­frat had alight­ed on the sand and rushed to­geth­er. Their fel­low­ship helped there­by and be­came ac­quaint with strife. Al­beit Ha­gen sprang at Gel­frat fierce­ly, the no­ble mar­grave smote from his shield a mick­le piece, so that the sparks flew wide. Full nigh did Gun­ther’s liege­man die there­from. He be­gan to call to Dankwart: “O help, dear broth­er! Certes, a hero of his hands hath matched me, he will not spare my life.”

At this hold Dankwart spake: “I’ll play the um­pire here.”

The hero then sprang near­er and with a sharp sword smote Gel­frat such a blow that he fell down dead. Else then would fain avenge the knight, but he and his fel­low­ship part­ed from the fray with scathe. His broth­er had been slain, he him­self was wound­ed; full eighty of his knights re­mained with grim death be­hind up­on the field. Their lord must needs turn in flight from Gun­ther’s men.

When those from the Bavar­ian land gave way and fled, one heard the sav­age blows re­sound be­hind them. Those of Troneg chased their foes; they were in pass­ing haste, who had not weened to make amends. Then spake Dankwart, the knight, in their pur­suit: “Let us turn soon on this road and let them ride, for they be wot with blood. Haste we to our friends, this I ad­vise you of a truth.”

When they were come again, where the scathe had happed, Ha­gen of Troneg spake: “Heroes, prove now what doth fail us here, or whom we have lost in the strife through Gel­frat’s wrath.”

Four they had lost whom they must needs be­wail. But they had been paid for dear­ly; for them a hun­dred or bet­ter from the Bavar­ian land were slain. From their blood the shields of the men of Troneg were dimmed and wet. Through the clouds there part­ly broke the gleam of the shin­ing moon, as Ha­gen spake again: “Let none make known to my dear lords what we have wrought here to-​day. Let them rest with­out care un­til the morn.”

When those who just had fought were now come again, the fel­low­ship was full weary from the way. “How long must we still ride?” asked many a man.

Then spake the bold Dankwart: “We may not find lodg­ings here, ye must all ride un­til the day be come.”

The doughty Folk­er, who had charge of the fel­low­ship, bade ask the mar­shal: “Where may we find a place to-​night, where our steeds may rest and our dear lords as well?”

Bold Dankwart an­swered: “I can­not tell you that, we may not rest till it be­gin to dawn. Wher­ev­er then we find a chance, we’ll lay us down up­on the grass.”

How loth it was to some when they heard this tale! They re­mained un­marked with their stains of warm red blood, un­til the sun shot his gleam­ing light against the morn across the hills. Then the king be­held that they had fought. Wrath­ful­ly the hero spake: “How now, friend Ha­gen? I ween, ye scorned to have me with you when your rings grew wet with blood? Who hath done this?”

Quoth he: “This Else did, who en­coun­tered us by night. We were at­tacked be­cause of his fer­ry­man. Then my broth­er’s hand smote Gel­frat down. Else soon es­caped us, con­strained there­to by mick­le need. A hun­dred of them and but four of ours lay dead in the strife.”

We can­not tell you where they laid them down to rest. All of the folk of the land learned soon that the sons of the no­ble Uta rode to court. Lat­er they were well re­ceived at Pas­sau. The un­cle of the no­ble king, the Bish­op Pil­grim, was blithe of mood, as his nephews came to his land with so many knights. That he bare them good will, they learned full soon. Well were they greet­ed, too, by friends along the way, sith men could not lodge them all at Pas­sau. They had to cross the stream to where they found a field on which they set up pavil­ions and cost­ly tents. All one day they must needs stay there, and a full night too. What good cheer men gave them! Af­ter that they had to ride to Rudeger’s land, to whom the tid­ings were brought full soon. When the way- worn war­riors had rest­ed them and came near­er to the Hun­nish land, they found a man asleep up­on the bor­der, from whom Ha­gen of Troneg won a stur­dy sword. The same good knight hight Eck­ewart (3) in truth; sad of mood he grew, that he lost his weapon through the jour­ney of the knights. They found Rudeger’s march­es guard­ed ill.

“Woe is me of this shame,” spake Eck­ewart. “Certes this jour­ney of the Bur­gun­di­ans rueth me full sore. My joy hath fled, sith I lost Knight Siegfried. Alas, Sir Rudeger, how I have act­ed to­ward thee!”

When Ha­gen heard the no­ble war­rior’s plight, he gave him back his sword and six red arm bands. “These keep, Sir Knight, as a to­ken that thou art my friend. A bold knight thou art, though thou stand­est alone up­on the march­es.”

“God re­pay you for your arm bands,” Eck­ewart replied. “Yet your jour­ney to the Huns doth rue me sore. Be­cause ye slew Siegfried, men hate you here. I coun­sel you in truth, that ye guard you well.”

“Now may God pro­tect us,” an­swered Ha­gen. “These knights, the kings and their liege­men, have for­sooth no oth­er care, save for their lodge­ment, where we may find quar­ters in this land to-​night. Our steeds be spent by the dis­tant way and our food run out,” quoth Ha­gen, the knight. “We find naught any­where for sale, and have need of a host, who through his cour­te­sie would give us of his bread to-​night.”

Then Eck­ewart made an­swer: “I’ll show you a host so good that full sel­dom have ye been lodged so well in any land, as here may hap you, an’ ye will seek out Rudeger, ye doughty knights. He dwelleth by the high­way and is the best host that ev­er owned a house. His heart giveth birth to cour­te­sie, as the sweet May doth to grass and flow­ers. He is aye mer­ry of mood, when he can serve good knights.”

At this King Gun­ther spake: “Will ye be my mes­sen­ger and ask whether my dear friend Rudeger will for my sake keep us, my kins­men and our men? I will re­pay thee this, as best I ev­er can.”

“Glad­ly will I be the mes­sen­ger,” Eck­ewart replied. With a right good will he gat him on the road and told Rudeger the mes­sage he had heard, to whom none such pleas­ing news had come in many a day.

At Bechelaren men saw a knight prick­ing fast. Rudeger him­self de­scried him; he spake: “Up­on the road yon­der hasteth Eck­ewart, a liege­man of Kriemhild.”

He weened the foes had done him scathe. Be­fore the gate he went to meet the mes­sen­ger, who un­girt his sword and laid it from his hand. The tales he brought were not hid­den from the host and his friends, but were straight­way told them. To the mar­grave he spake: “Gun­ther, the lord of the Bur­gun­di­an land, and Gisel­her, his broth­er, and Ger­not, too, have sent me hith­er to you. Each of the war­riors ten­dered you his ser­vice. Ha­gen and Folk­er, too, ea­ger­ly did the same in truth. Still more I’ll tell you, that the king’s mar­shal sendeth you by me the mes­sage, that the good knights have pass­ing need of your lodge­ment.”

Rudeger an­swered with a smile: “Now well is me of these tales, that the high-​born kings do reck of my ser­vice. It shall not be de­nied them. Mer­ry and blithe will I be, an’ they come un­to my house.”

“Dankwart, the mar­shal, bade let you know whom ye should lodge in your house with them: six­ty doughty cham­pi­ons, a thou­sand good knights, and nine thou­sand men-​at-​arms.”

Mer­ry of mood grew Rudeger; he spake: “Now well is me of these guests, that these no­ble war­riors be com­ing to my house, whom I have served as yet full sel­dom. Now ride ye forth for to meet them, my kins­men and my men.”

Knights and squires now hied them to their hors­es; it thought them right, which their lord did bid. All the more they hast­ed with their ser­vice. As yet La­dy Gotelind wist it not, who sate with­in her bow­er.

END­NOTES: (1) “Ad­ven­ture XXVI”. This ad­ven­ture is a late in­ter­po­la­tion, as it is not found in the “Thidrek­saga”. Orig­inal­ly the riv­er must be thought of as sep­arat­ing them from Et­zel’s king­dom. (2) “Mo­er­ing” (M.H.G. “Mo­erin­gen”) lies be­tween Pforing and In­gol­stadt. In the “Thidrek­saga” we are told that the mer­maids were bathing in a body of wa­ter called “Mo­ere”, where­as in our po­em they bathe in a spring. This may be the orig­inal form of the ac­count and the form here con­tam­inat­ed. See Boer, i, 134. (3) “Eck­ewart”, see Ad­ven­ture I, note 15. It will be re­mem­bered that he ac­com­pa­nied Kriemhild first to the Nether­lands, then stayed with her at Worms af­ter Siegfried’s death, and fi­nal­ly jour­neyed with her to Et­zel’s court. Orig­inal­ly he must be thought of as guard­ing the bound­ary of Et­zel’s land. With­out doubt he orig­inal­ly warned the Bur­gun­di­ans, as in the ear­ly Norse ver­sions, where Kriemhild fights on the side of her broth­ers, but since this du­ty was giv­en to Di­et­rich, he has noth­ing to do but to an­nounce their ar­rival to Rudeger. His sleep­ing here may, how­ev­er, be thought to in­di­cate that it was too late to warn Gun­ther and his men.