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The Nibelungenlied by Anonymous - ADVENTURE XXX How They Kept The Watch.

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The Nibelungenlied

ADVENTURE XXX How They Kept The Watch.

The day had now an end, and the night drew nigh. Care be­set the way­worn trav­el­ers, as to when they should go to bed and rest them. This Ha­gen be­spake with Et­zel, and it was told them soon.

Gun­ther spake to the host: “God be with you, we would fain go to our sleep, pray give us leave. We will come ear­ly on the mor­row, when­so­ev­er ye bid.”

Et­zel part­ed then full mer­ri­ly from his guests. Men pressed the strangers on ev­ery side, at which brave Folk­er spake to the Huns: “How dare ye crowd be­fore the war­riors’ feet? An’ ye will not leave this, ye will fare full ill. I’ll smite some man so heavy a fid­dle blow, that if he have a faith­ful friend he may well be­wail it. Why give ye not way be­fore us knights? Me­thinks ’twere well. All pass for knights, but be not of equal met­tle.”

As the fid­dler spake thus in wrath, Ha­gen, the brave, looked be­hind him. He spake: “The bold glee­man doth ad­vise you right, ye men of Kriemhild, ye should hie you to your lodg­ings. I ween none of you will do what ye are mind­ed, but would ye be­gin aught, come ear­ly on the mor­row, and let us wan­der­ers have peace to-​night. Certes, I ween that it hath nev­er happed with such good will on the part of heroes.”

Then the guests were brought in­to a spa­cious hall, which they found pur­veyed on ev­ery side with cost­ly beds, long and broad, for the war­riors. La­dy Kriemhild planned the very great­est wrongs against them. One saw there many a cun­ning­ly wrought quilt from Ar­ras (1) of shin­ing silken cloth and many a cov­er­let of Ara­bi­an silk, the best that might be had; up­on this ran a bor­der that shone in prince­ly wise. Many bed cov­ers of er­mine and of black sable were seen, be­neath which they should have their ease at night, un­til the dawn of day. Nev­er hath king lain so lord­ly with his meiny.

“Alas for these night quar­ters,” spake Gisel­her, the youth, “and alas for my friends, who be come with us. How­ev­er kind­ly my sis­ter greet­ed us, yet I do fear me that through her fault we must soon lie dead.”

“Now give over your care,” quoth Ha­gen, the knight. “I’ll stand watch my­self to-​night. I trow to guard us well, un­til the day doth come. There­fore have no fear; af­ter that, let him sur­vive who may.”

All bowed low and said him gramer­cy. Then went they to their beds. A short while af­ter the state­ly men had laid them down, bold Ha­gen, the hero, be­gan to arm him. Then the fid­dler, Knight Folk­er, spake: “If it scorn you not, Ha­gen, I would fain hold the watch with you to-​night, un­til the ear­ly morn.”

The hero then thanked Folk­er in lov­ing wise: “Now God of heav­en re­quite you, dear Folk­er. In all my cares, I would crave none oth­er than you alone, when­ev­er I had need. I shall re­pay you well, and death hin­der me not.”

Both then donned their shin­ing ar­mor and ei­ther took his shield in hand, walked out of the house and stood be­fore the door. Thus they cared for the guests in faith­ful wise. The doughty Folk­er leaned his good shield against the side of the hall, then turned him back and fetched his fid­dle and served his friends as well be­fit the hero. Be­neath the door of the house he sate him down up­on a stone; bold­er fid­dler was there nev­er. When the tones of the strings rang forth so sweet­ly, the proud wan­der­ers gave Folk­er thanks. At first the strings twanged so that the whole house re­sound­ed; his strength and his skill were both pass­ing great. Then sweet­er and soft­er he be­gan to play, and thus many a care-​worn man he lulled to sleep. When he marked that all had fall­en asleep, the knight took again his shield and left the room and took his stand be­fore the tow­er, and there he guard­ed the wan­der­ers against Kriemhild’s men.

‘Twas about the mid­dle of the night (I know not but what it happed a lit­tle ear­li­er), that bold Folk­er spied the glint of a hel­met afar in the dark­ness. Kriemhild’s men would fain have harmed the guests. Then the fid­dler spake: “Sir Ha­gen, my friend, it be­hooveth us to bear these cares to­geth­er. Be­fore the house I see armed men stand, and err I not, I ween, they would en­counter us!”

“Be silent,” quoth Ha­gen, “let them draw near­er be­fore they be ware of us. Then will hel­mets be dis­lodged by the swords in the hands of us twain. They will be sent back to Kriemhild in evil plight.”

One of the Hun­nish war­riors (full soon that happed) marked that the door was guard­ed. How quick­ly then he spake: “That which we have in mind may not now come to pass. I see the fid­dler stand on guard. On his head he weareth a glit­ter­ing hel­met, shin­ing and hard, strong and whole. His ar­mor rings flash out like fire. By him standeth Ha­gen; in sooth the guests be guard­ed well.”

Straight­way they turned again. When Folk­er saw this, wrath­ful­ly he spake to his com­rade-​at-​arms: “Now let me go from the house to the war­riors. I would fain put some ques­tions to La­dy Kriemhild’s men.”

“For my sake, no,” quoth Ha­gen. “If ye leave the house, the doughty knights are like to bring you in such stress with their swords, that I must aid you even should it be the death of all my kin. As soon as we be come in­to the fray, twain of them, or four, would in a short time run in­to the house and would bring such scathe up­on the sleep­ers, that we might nev­er cease to mourn.”

Then Folk­er an­swered: “Let us bring it to pass that they note that I have seen them, so that Kriemhild’s men may not de­ny that they would fain have act­ed faith­less­ly.”

Straight­way Folk­er then called out to them: “How go ye thus armed, ye doughty knights? Would ye ride to rob, ye men of Kriemhild? Then must ye have the help of me and my com­rade-​at- arms.”

To this none made re­ply. An­gry grew his mood. “Fy! Ye evil cow­ards,” spake the good knight, “would ye have mur­dered us asleep? That hath been done full sel­dom to such good heroes.”

Then the queen was told that her mes­sen­gers had com­passed naught. Right­ly it did vex her, and with wrath­ful mood she made an­oth­er plan. Through this brave heroes and good must needs there­after per­ish.

END­NOTES: (1) “Ar­ras”, the cap­ital of Ar­tois in the French Nether­lands. In old­er En­glish “ar­ras” is used al­so for tapestry.