The Nibelungenlied

ADVENTURE XXXVII How Margrave Rudeger Was Slain.

The strangers had done full well at dawn. Mean­while Gotelind’s hus­band came to court. Bit­ter­ly faith­ful Rudeger wept when he saw the grievous wounds on ei­ther side. “Woe is me,” quoth the cham­pi­on, “that I was ev­er born, sith none may stay this mick­le grief! How­ev­er fain I would make for peace, the king will not con­sent, for he seeth ev­er more and more the suf­fer­ings of his men.”

Then the good Knight Rudeger sent to Di­et­rich, if per­chance they might turn the fate of the high-​born kings. The king of Berne sent an­swer: “Who might now for­fend? King Et­zel will let none part the strife.”

Then a Hun­nish war­rior, that saw Rudeger stand with weep­ing eyes, and many tears had he shed, spake to the queen: “Now be­hold how he doth stand, that hath the great­est pow­er at Et­zel’s court and whom both lands and peo­ple serve. Why have so many cas­tles been giv­en to Rudeger, of which he doth hold such store from the king in fief? Not one stur­dy stroke hath he dealt in all this strife. Me­thinks, he reck­eth not how it fare here at court, sith he hath his will in full. Men say of him, he be bold­er than any oth­er wight. Lit­tle hath that been seen in these par­lous (1) days.”

Sad in heart the faith­ful vas­sal gazed at him whom he heard thus speak. Him-​thought: “Thou shalt pay for this. Thou sayest, I be a craven, and hast told thy tale too loud at court.”

His fist he clenched, then ran he at him and smote the Hun­nish man so might­ily that he lay dead at his feet full soon. Through this King Et­zel’s woe grew greater.

“Away, thou ar­rant cow­ard,” cried Rudeger, “for­sooth I have enow of grief and pain, How dost thou taunt me, that I fight not here? Certes, I have good cause to hate the strangers, and would have done all in my pow­er against them, had I not led the war­riors hith­er. Of a truth I was their safe­guard to my mas­ter’s land. There­fore the hand of me, wretched man, may not strive against them.”

Then spake Et­zel, the no­ble king, to the mar­grave: “How have ye helped us, most no­ble Rudeger! We have so many fey (2) in the land, that we have no need of more. Full evil have ye done.”

At this the no­ble knight made an­swer: “For­sooth he grieved my mood and twit­ted me with the hon­ors and the goods, such store of which I have re­ceived from thy hand. This hath cost the liar dear.”

The queen, too, was come and had seen what for­tuned to the Huns through the hero’s wrath. Pass­ing sore she be­wailed it; her eyes grew moist as she spake to Rudeger: “How have we de­served that ye should in­crease the sor­rows of the king and me? Hith­er­to ye have told us, that for our sake ye would risk both life and hon­or. I heard full many war­riors ac­cord to you the palm. Let me mind you of your feal­ty and that ye swore, when that ye coun­seled me to Et­zel, good knight and true, that ye would serve me till one of us should die. Nev­er have I, poor wom­an, had such great need of this.”

“There’s no deny­ing that I swore to you, my la­dy, for your sake I’d risk both life and hon­or, but I did not swear that I would lose my soul. ‘Twas I that bade the high-​born lord­ings to this feast.”

Quoth she: “Be­think thee, Rudeger, of thy great feal­ty, of thy con­stan­cy, and of thine oaths, that thou wouldst ev­er avenge mine in­juries and all my woes.”

Said the mar­grave: “Sel­dom have I de­nied you aught.”

Mighty Et­zel, too, be­gan im­plore; up­on their knees they sank be­fore the knight. Men saw the no­ble mar­grave stand full sad. Piti­ful­ly the faith­ful war­rior spake: “Woe is me, most wretched man, that I have lived to see this day. I must give over all my hon­ors, my feal­ty, and my cour­te­sie, that God did bid me use. Alas, great God of heav­en, that death will not turn this from me! I shall act base­ly and full evil, what­ev­er I do or leave un­done. But if I give over both, then will all peo­ple blame me. Now may he ad­vise me, who hath giv­en me life.”

Still the king and the queen, too, begged un­ceas­ing­ly. Through this war­riors must needs there­after lose their lives at Rudeger’s hands, when the hero al­so died. Ye may well hear it now, that he de­port­ed him full piti­ful­ly. He wist that it would bring him scathe and mon­strous woe. Glad­ly would he have re­fused the king and queen. He feared full sore that if he slew but one of the strangers, the world would bear him hate.

Then the brave man ad­dressed him to the king: “Sir King, take back again all that I have from you, my land with its cas­tles, let not a whit re­main to me. On foot will I wan­der in­to oth­er lands.”

At this King Et­zel spake: “Who else should help me then? I’ll give thee the land and all its cas­tles, as thine own, that thou mayst avenge me on my foes. Thou shalt be a mighty king at Et­zel’s side.”

Then an­swered Rudeger: “How shall I do this deed? I bade them to my house and home; in friend­ly wise I of­fered them both food and drink and gave them gifts. How may I coun­sel their death? Peo­ple will light­ly ween, that I be craven. No ser­vice of mine have I re­fused these no­ble lord­ings and their men. Now I rue the kin­ship I have gained with them. I gave my daugh­ter to Gisel­her, the knight; to none in all the world could she have been bet­ter giv­en, for cour­te­sie and hon­or, for feal­ty and wealth. Nev­er have I seen so young a prince of such right cour­te­ous mind.”

Then Kriemhild spake again: “Most no­ble Rudeger, take pity on our griefs, on mine and on the king’s. Be­think thee well, that king did nev­er gain such bane­ful guests.”

To the no­ble dame the mar­grave spake: “Rudeger’s life must pay to-​day for what­so­ev­er fa­vors ye and my lord have shown me. There­fore must I die; no longer may it be de­ferred. I know full well, that my cas­tles and my lands will be void­ed for you to-​day through the hand of one of these men. To your mer­cy I com­mend my wife and chil­dren and the strangers (3) who be at Bechelaren.”

“Now God re­quite thee, Rudeger,” spake the king, and both he and the queen grew glad. “Thy peo­ple shall be well com­mend­ed to our care. For mine own weal I trust thou too shalt go un­scathed.”

Et­zel’s bride be­gan to weep. Then body and soul he staked up­on the ven­ture. He spake: “I must per­form what I have vowed. Alas for my friends, whom I am loth to fight.”

Men saw him go sad­ly from the pres­ence of the king. Close at hand he found his war­riors stand­ing. He spake: “Ye must arm you all, my men, for, alas, I must needs en­counter the bold Bur­gun­di­ans.”

They bade the squires run nim­bly to where lay their arms. Whether it were helm or buck­ler, ’twas all brought forth to them by their meiny. Lat­er the proud strangers heard told bale­ful tales. Rudeger was now armed, and with him five hun­dred men; there­to he gained twelve cham­pi­ons, who would fain win renown in the stress of bat­tle. They wist not that death drew nigh them. Then Rudeger was seen to march with hel­met donned. The mar­grave’s men bare keen-​edged swords, and their bright shields and broad up­on their arms. This the fid­dler saw; great­ly he rued the sight. When young Gisel­her be­held his la­dy’s fa­ther walk with his helm up­on his head, how might he know what he meant there­by, save that it por­tend­ed good? There­fore the no­ble prince waxed pass­ing mer­ry of mood.

“Now well is me of such kins­men,” spake Knight Gisel­her, “whom we have won up­on this jour­ney; from my wife we shall reap much prof­it here. Lief it is to me, that this be­trothal hath tak­en place.”

“I know not whence ye take your com­fort,” spake then the min­strel; “when have ye seen so many heroes walk with hel­mets donned and swords in hand, for the sake of peace? Rudeger doth think to win his cas­tles and his lands in fight with us.”

Or ev­er the fid­dler had end­ed his speech, men saw the no­ble Rudeger be­fore the house. At his feet he placed his trusty shield, and now both ser­vice and greet­ing he must needs refuse his friends. In­to the hall the no­ble mar­grave called: “Ye doughty Ni­belungs, now guard you well on ev­ery side. Ye were to prof­it by me, now I shall bring you scathe. Afore­time we were friends, but of this troth I now would fain be rid.”

The hard-​pressed men were star­tled at this tale, for none gained aught of joy, that he whom they did love would now fain fight them. From their foes they had al­ready suf­fered mick­le stress of war. “Now God of heav­en for­bid,” spake Gun­ther, the knight, “that ye should give over your love of us and your great feal­ty, on which we count­ed of a truth. Bet­ter things I trow of you, than that ye should ev­er do this deed.”

“Alas, I can­not give it over, but must fight you, for I have vowed it. Now ward you, brave heroes, and ye love your life. King Et­zel’s wife would not re­lease me from mine oath.”

“Ye de­clare this feud too late,” spake the high­born king. “Now may God re­quite you, most no­ble Rudeger, for all the love and feal­ty that ye have shown us, if ye would on­ly act more kind­ly at the end. I and my kins­men, we ought ev­er to serve you for the no­ble gifts ye gave us, when ye brought us hith­er faith­ful­ly to Et­zel’s land. Now, no­ble Rudeger, think on this.”

“How glad­ly would I grant you,” spake Knight Rudeger, “that I might weigh out my gifts for you with full mea­sure, as will­ing­ly as I had hoped, if I nev­er should be blamed on that ac­count.”

“Turn back, no­ble Rudeger,” spake then Ger­not, “for host did nev­er give his guests such lov­ing cheer as ye did us. This shall prof­it you well, and we re­main alive.”

“Would to God,” spake Rudeger, “most no­ble Ger­not, that ye were on the Rhine and I were dead with pass­ing hon­or, sith I must now en­counter you! Nev­er did friends act worse to heroes.”

“Now God re­quite you, Sir Rudeger,” an­swered Ger­not, “for your pass­ing rich gifts. Your death doth rue me, if such knight­ly virtues shall be lost with you. Here I bear your sword that ye gave me, good knight and true. It hath nev­er failed me in all this need. Many a knight fell dead be­neath its edges. It is bright and steady, glo­ri­ous and good; nev­er­more, I ween, will war­rior give so rich a gift. And will ye not turn back, but come to meet us, and slay aught of the friends I still have here, with your own sword will I take your life. Then will ye rue me, Rudeger, ye and your high-​born wife.”

“Would to God, Sir Ger­not, that this might come to pass, that all your will might here be done, and that your kins­men es­caped un­scathed! Then both my daugh­ter and my wife may trust you well, for­sooth.”

Then of the Bur­gun­di­ans there spake fair Uta’s son: “Why do ye so, Sir Rudeger? Those that be come with us, do all like you well. Ye en­counter us in evil wise; ye wish to make your fair daugh­ter a wid­ow far too soon. If ye and your war­riors match me now with strife, how right un­kind­ly do ye let it ap­pear, that I trust you well above all oth­er men and there­fore won me your daugh­ter to wife.”

“Think on your feal­ty, most no­ble and high-​born king. And God let you es­cape,” so spake Rudeger, “let the maid­en suf­fer not for me. For your own virtue’s sake, vouch­safe her mer­cy.”

“That I should do by right,” spake the youth­ful Gisel­her, “but if my no­ble kins­men here with­in must die through you, then my stead­fast friend­ship for you and for your daugh­ter must be part­ed.”

“Now may God have mer­cy on us,” an­swered the valiant man. Then they raised their shields, as though they would hence to fight the guests in Kriemhild’s hall, but Ha­gen cried full loud ad­own the steps. “Pray tar­ry awhile, most no­ble Rudeger,” so spake Ha­gen; “I and my lords would fain have fur­ther par­ley, as doth be­fit our need. What can the death of us wan­der­ers avail King Et­zel? I stand here in a fear­ful plight; the shield that La­dy Gotelind gave me to bear hath been cut to pieces by the Huns. I brought it with friend­ly pur­pose in­to Et­zel’s land. O that God in heav­en would grant, that I might bear so good a shield as that thou hast in thy hand, most no­ble Rudeger! Then I should no longer need a hauberk in the fray.”

“Glad­ly would I serve thee with my shield, durst I of­fer it be­fore Kriemhild. Yet take it, Ha­gen, and bear it on thine arm. Ho, if thou couldst on­ly wield it in the Bur­gun­di­an land!”

When he so will­ing­ly of­fered to give the shield, enow of eyes grew red with scald­ing tears. ‘T was the last gift that ev­er Rudeger of Bechelaren gave to any knight. How­ev­er fierce Ha­gen, and how­ev­er stern of mood, the gift did touch him, which the good hero, so near to death, had giv­en. Many a no­ble knight gan mourn with him.

“Now God in heav­en re­quite you, most no­ble Rudeger. Your like will nev­er­more be found, who giveth home­less war­riors such lord­ly gifts. God grant that your cour­te­sie may ev­er live.” Again Ha­gen spake: “Woe is me of these tales, we had so many oth­er griefs to bear. Let com­plaint be made to heav­en, if we must fight with friends.”

Quoth the mar­grave: “In­ly doth this grieve me.”

“Now God re­quite you, for the gift, most no­ble Rudeger. How­so these high-​born war­riors de­port them to­ward you, my hand shall nev­er touch you in the fight, and ye slew them all from the Bur­gun­di­an land.”

Cour­te­ous­ly the good Sir Rudeger bowed him low. On ev­ery side they wept, that none might soothe this pain of heart. That was a mighty grief. In Rudeger would die the fa­ther of all knight­ly virtues.

Then Folk­er, the min­strel, spake from out the hall: “Sith my com­rade Ha­gen hath made his peace with you, ye shall have it just as stead­fast­ly from my hand, for well ye earned it, when we came in­to this land. Most no­ble mar­grave, ye shall be mine en­voy, too. The mar­gravine gave me these rud­dy arm rings, that I should wear them here at the feast­ing. These ye may your­self be­hold, that ye may lat­er be my wit­ness.”

“Now God of heav­en grant,” spake Rudeger, “that the mar­gravine may give you more! I’ll glad­ly tell these tales to my dear love, if I see her in health again. Of this ye shall not doubt.”

When he had vowed him this, Rudeger raised high his shield. No longer he bid­ed, but with rag­ing mood, like a berserk­er, he rushed up­on the guests. Many a fu­ri­ous blow the no­ble mar­grave struck. The twain, Folk­er and Ha­gen, stepped fur­ther back, as they had vowed to him afore. Still he found stand­ing by the tow­er such valiant men, that Rudeger be­gan the fight with anx­ious doubts. With mur­der­ous in­tent Gun­ther and Ger­not let him in, good heroes they! Gisel­her stood fur­ther back, which irked him sore, in truth. He void­ed Rudeger, for still he had hope of life. Then the mar­grave’s men rushed at their foes; in knight­ly wise one saw them fol­low their lord. In their hands they bare their keen-​edged swords, the which cleft there many a helm and lord­ly shield. The tired war­riors dealt the men of Bechelaren many a mighty blow, that cut smooth and deep through the shin­ing mail, down to the very quick.

Rudeger’s no­ble fel­low­ship was now come quite with­in. In­to the fight Folk­er and Ha­gen sprang anon. They gave no quar­ter, save to one man alone. Through the hands of the twain the blood streamed down from the hel­mets. How grim­ly rang the many swords with­in! The shield plates sprang from their fas­ten­ings, and the pre­cious stones, cut from the shields, fell down in­to the gore. So grim­ly they fought, that men will nev­er do the like again. The lord of Bechelaren raged to and fro, as one who wot­teth how to use great prowess in the fray. Pass­ing like to a wor­ship­ful cham­pi­on and a bold did Rudeger bear him on that day. Here stood the war­riors, Gun­ther and Ger­not, and smote many a hero dead in the fray. Gisel­her and Dankwart, the twain, recked so lit­tle, that they brought full many a knight to his last day of life. Full well did Rudeger make ap­pear that he was strong enow, brave and well-​armed. Ho, what knights he slew! This a Bur­gun­di­an es­pied; per­force it an­gered him, and thus Sir Rudeger’s death drew near.

The stal­wart Ger­not ac­cost­ed the hero; to the mar­grave he spake: “It ap­peareth, ye will not leave my men alive, most no­ble Rudeger. That ir­keth me be­yond all mea­sure, no longer can I bear the sight. So may your present work you harm, sith ye have tak­en from me such store of friends. Pray ad­dress you un­to me, most no­ble man and brave, your gift shall be paid for as best I can.”

Or ev­er the mar­grave could reach his foe, bright ar­mor rings must needs grow dull with blood. Then at each oth­er sprang these hon­or-​seek­ing men. Ei­ther gan guard him against mighty wounds. So sharp were their swords, that naught might avail against them. Then Rudeger, the knight, smote Ger­not a buf­fet through his hel­met, the which was as hard as flint, so that the blood gushed forth. But this the bold knight and good re­paid eft­soon. High in his hand he now poised Rudeger’s gift, and though wound­ed un­to death, he smote him a stroke through his good and trusty shield down to his hel­met band. And so fair Gotelind’s hus­band was done to death. Certes, so rich a gift was nev­er worse re­paid. So fell alike both Ger­not and Rudeger, slain in the fray, through each oth­er’s hand.

Then first waxed Ha­gen wroth, when he saw the mon­strous scathe. Quoth the hero of Troneg: “Evil hath it fared with us. In these two men we have tak­en a loss so great that nei­ther their land nor peo­ple will e’er re­cov­er from the blow. Rudeger’s cham­pi­ons must an­swer to us home­less men.”

“Alas for my broth­er, who hath here been done to death. What evil tales I hear all time! No­ble Rudeger, too, must ev­er rue me. The loss and the grievous wounds are felt on ei­ther side.”

When Lord Gisel­her saw his be­trothed’s fa­ther dead, those with­in the hall were forced to suf­fer need. Fierce­ly death sought his fel­low­ship; not one of those of Bechelaren es­caped with life. Gun­ther and Gisel­her and Ha­gen, too, Dankwart and Folk­er, the right good knights, went to where they found the two men ly­ing. Then by these heroes tears of grief were shed.

“Death doth sore­ly rob us,” spake Gisel­her, the youth. “Now give over your weep­ing and go we bite the breeze, that the mailed ar­mor of us storm-​weary men may cool. Certes, I ween, that God in heav­en vouch­safeth us no more to live.”

This cham­pi­on was seen to sit and that to lean against the wall, but all again were idle. Rudeger’s heroes lay still in death. The din had died away; the hush en­dured so long, it vexed King Et­zel.

“Alack for such ser­vices,” spake the queen. “They be not so true, that our foes must pay with their life at Rudeger’s hands. I trow, he doth wish to lead them back to the Bur­gun­di­an land. What booteth it, King Et­zel, that we have giv­en him what­so he would? The knight hath done amiss, he who should avenge us, doth make his peace.”

To this Folk­er, the full dap­per knight, made an­swer: “This is not true, alas, most no­ble queen. Durst I give the lie to such a high-​born dame, then had ye most foul­ly lied against Rudeger. He and his cham­pi­ons be coz­ened in this peace. So ea­ger­ly he did what the king com­mand­ed, that he and all his fel­low­ship lie here in death. Now look around you, Kriemhild, to see whom ye may now com­mand. The good Knight Rudeger hath served you to his end. And ye will not be­lieve the tale, we’ll let you see.”

To their great grief ’twas done; they bare the slain hero to where the king might see him. Nev­er had there happed to Et­zel’s men a grief so great. When they saw the mar­grave borne forth dead, no scribe might write or tell the fran­tic grief of men and wom­en, which there gan show it­self from dole of heart. King Et­zel’s sor­row waxed so great that the mighty king did voice his woe of heart, as with a li­on’s roar. Like­wise did his queen. Be­yond all mea­sure they be­wailed the good Knight Rudeger’s death.

END­NOTES: (1) “Par­lous”, old­er En­glish for ‘per­ilous’. (2) “Fey”, ‘doomed to death’, here in the sense of ‘al­ready slain’. See Ad­ven­ture V, note 2. (3) “Strangers”, i.e., those who are so­journ­ing there far from home.