The Nibelungenlied

ADVENTURE XXXIV How They Cast Out The Dead.

The lord­ings sate them down for weari­ness. Folk­er and Ha­gen came forth from the hall; up­on their shields the haughty war­riors leaned. Wise words were spo­ken by the twain. Then Knight Gisel­her of Bur­gundy spake: “For­sooth, dear friends, ye may not ease you yet; ye must bear the dead from out the hall. I’ll tell you, of a truth, we shall be at­tacked again. They must no longer lie here be­neath our feet. Ere the Huns van­quish us by storm, we’ll yet how wounds, which shall ease my heart. For this,” quoth Gisel­her, “I have a stead­fast mind.”

“Well is me of such a lord,” spake then Ha­gen. “This rede which my young mas­ter hath giv­en us to-​day would be­fit no one but a knight. At this, Bur­gun­di­ans, ye may all stand glad.”

Then they fol­lowed the rede, and to the door they bare sev­en thou­sand dead, the which they cast out­side. Down they fell be­fore the stair­way to the hall, and from their kins­men rose a full piteous wall. Some there were with such slight wounds that, had they been more gen­tly treat­ed, they would have waxed well again; but from the lofty fall, they must needs lie dead. Their friends be­wailed this, and for­sooth they had good cause.

Then spake Folk­er, the fid­dler, a lusty knight: “Now I mark the truth of this, as hath been told me. The Huns be cravens, like wom­en they wail; they should rather nurse these sore­ly wound­ed men.”

A mar­grave weened, he spake through kind­ness. See­ing one of his kins­men ly­ing in the blood, he clasped him in his arms and would have borne him hence, when the bold min­strel shot him above the dead to death. The flight be­gan as the oth­ers saw this deed, and all fell to curs­ing this self­same min­strel. He snatched javelin, sharp and hard, the which had been hurled at him by a Hun, and cast it with might across the court, far over the folk. Thus he forced Et­zel’s war­riors to take lodge­ment fur­ther from the hall. On ev­ery side the peo­ple feared his mighty prowess.

Many thou­sand men now stood be­fore the hall. Folk­er and Ha­gen gan speak to Et­zel all their mind, where­from these heroes bold and good came there­after in­to dan­ger. Quoth Ha­gen: “‘Twould well be­seem the peo­ple’s hope, if the lords would fight in the fore­most ranks, as doth each of my lord­ings here. They hew through the hel­mets, so that the blood doth fol­low the sword.”

Et­zel was brave; he seized his shield. “Now fare war­ily,” spake La­dy Kriemhild, “and of­fer the war­riors gold up­on your shield. If Ha­gen doth but reach you there, ye’ll be hand in hand with death.”

The king was so bold he would not turn him back, the which doth now sel­dom hap from so mighty a lord. By his shield-​thong they had to draw him hence. Once again grim Ha­gen be­gan to mock him. “It is a dis­tant kin­ship,” quoth Ha­gen, the knight, “that bindeth Et­zel and Siegfried. He loved Kriemhild, or ev­er she laid eyes on thee. Most evil king, why dost thou plot against me?”

Kriemhild, the wife of the no­ble king, heard this speech; an­gry she grew that he durst thus re­vile her be­fore King Et­zel’s liege­men. There­fore she again be­gan to plot against the strangers. She spake: “For him that slayeth me Ha­gen of Troneg and bringeth me his head, I will fill King Et­zel’s shield with rud­dy gold, there­to will I give him as guer­don many good­ly lands and cas­tles.”

“Now I know not for what they wait,” spake the min­strel. “Nev­er have I seen heroes stand so much like cow­ards, when one heard prof­fered such good­ly wage. For­sooth King Et­zel should nev­er be their friend again. Many of those who so base­ly eat the lord­ing’s bread, and now desert him in the great­est need, do I see stand here as cravens, and yet would pass for brave. May shame ev­er be their lot!”