Before the warriors went to the feast that evening, Queen Chriemhild had spoken privately to the hero of Bern. She promised him Etzel’s help in regaining his kingdom, if he would do her one service—if he would avenge Siegfried’s death. But he told her that he could not, for the Burgundian warriors were old friends and comrades of his; besides, he reminded her, that they had come to Etzelburg in all good faith and loyalty. A few minutes after Dietrich had left her sad and hopeless, Blödelin, Etzel’s brother, came in, and told the queen of what had happened that afternoon in the tilting ground. Seeing how hot his anger was, Chriemhild thought she might perhaps succeed in gaining him over to her cause. She therefore told him of the unavenged death of Siegfried, and promised him a rich treasure of silver and gold if he would do her will. But he refused, from fear of Etzel’s anger. Upon which, the wise woman offered him a margravate in addition, with lands and towers, and the hand of a beautiful maiden of her court, whom he had long wooed, and wooed in vain. These promises gained him to her will. He told her that he would cause a quarrel to spring up between the men on either side, and if Hagen came to try and settle matters, he would have him overpowered, and carried to the queen in bonds.

Chriemhild then retired to her chamber, which was pervaded by a soft light, the curtains of Indian silk keeping off the rays of the sun. As she sat there thinking, the words that her mother had once spoken rushed into her memory. “Women often strike deeper wounds and shed more blood with their tongues than men with their swords.” She would have started up, and recalled Blödelin; but at the same moment she saw, as distinctly as if it had really been there, Siegfried’s bier with the dead warrior stretched upon it. She saw him raise himself, and stretch out his arms to her; but when she started forward to meet him, there was nothing but empty air. She determined now to go on to the bitter end. Whether her vengeance brought about the death of her little son, and of King Etzel; whether it brought about the destruction of the kingdom, she did not care. She could die, and die willingly, if only she had the murderer’s life.

Meantime, Blödelin was making his preparations. His men were rejoiced to hear the news he brought them, and followed him joyously to the hall, where Dankwart the Marshal, Hagen’s brother, had charge over the serving-men. The hero rose from his seat to greet the prince, who exclaimed:

“Prepare to die. The queen demands a bloody atonement for the death of the great Siegfried.”

“But why should I have to expiate a murder of which I knew nothing?”

“That cannot be helped,” said the Hun; “my men’s swords cannot return unstained to their sheaths.”

“Then I am sorry that I gave you words of peace. I shall now give you your answer with cold steel.”

With that he drew his sword, and swung it so lustily at the warrior’s neck that his head fell to the ground at one blow.

Wild shrieks and shouts of vengeance arose, and all prepared to take part in the fight that had become inevitable. Dankwart made his way fighting to the hall, his armour bespattered with blood; but the defenceless serving-men were slain to a man.

“Up, brother Hagen!” he cried, “save me from the faithless Huns. Lord Blödelin attacked both me and the servants, in order to avenge Siegfried’s death. I slew him, but the servants are all dead, and I alone am escaped out of the traitorous toils that the Huns have laid for us.”

The fight recommenced in the banqueting hall, in spite of all King Gunther’s efforts to smooth matters over, and during the struggle the little Prince Ortlieb, the sole hope of Etzel’s house, was killed. At length Hagen, Dankwart, and Volker, succeeded in locking and bolting the doors of the hall.

Etzel and the queen sat full of anxious care during the mêlée. Dietrich and Rüdiger, neither of whom took part in the fight, were also grave and sad. At length the hero of Bern exclaimed:

“Listen to me, Nibelungs. Hearken to my words, ye friends of Burgundy. Grant me a truce that I and my men and Margrave Rüdiger may go away unharmed.”

King Gunther recognised Dietrich’s voice, and said: “If any of my warriors has done harm to you or yours, noble hero of Bern, I shall take your cause into my own hands.”

“No one has done me harm,” replied the warrior; “all that I request is that you should let us go freely.”

“What is the good of so much requesting?” cried hot-headed Wolfhart; “we have sharp keys to unlock the doors with, even if a thousand such as these Nibelungs tried to keep them shut.”

“Hush! hush! foolish comrade,” said Dietrich; “there was but little sense in that speech of yours.”

King Gunther then commanded his people to open the door, and much to the wrath of the Burgundians, Dietrich passed through their ranks with Chriemhild leaning on one arm and King Etzel on the other, and followed by his six hundred warriors. After them came Rüdiger with four hundred men. Giselher said to the Margrave:

“Greet your daughter from me, and say to her that I shall think of her even in death.”

Many of the Huns tried to escape with King Etzel, but Volker cut them down as they strove to pass the door.

No sooner were Dietrich and Rüdiger safely gone than the horrible carnage recommenced. The Burgundian swords had no rest, until all the Huns were lying dead or dying on the floor. After that the Nibelungs rested awhile from their labours, but Hagen speedily called them to be up and doing, and fling the corpses out, lest they should be in the way in any renewed attack. He was at once obeyed. The dead and wounded Huns were one and all flung into the court below.

Volker and Hagen now guarded the entrance, lest the enemy should unexpectedly break in.

While Etzel wrung his hands, and moaned over the slaughter of so many good men and true, Chriemhild offered a shield full of gold and jewels to whoever slew her deadly foe, Hagen of Tronje. Of all who heard her, one alone came forward and said that he would try and do her will. And he was Count Iring of Daneland, Haward’s man.

He went forward boldly and performed prodigies of valour, but at length was beaten back, and fell dead under Chriemhild’s window.

Haward and Irnfried of Düringen (Thuringia) determined to avenge bold Iring, so they called out their men and went to the attack. The fight began at the door, where Irnfried fell under the minstrel’s sword, and immediately afterwards Haward was slain by the hero of Tronje. But still the men of Daneland and Düringen fought on unheeding, and Hagen exclaimed,—

“Give place. Let them go through the door, out of which they shall never come back alive. Volker shall play them a slumber-song to which our swords can beat the accompaniment.”

So the Nibelungs opened their ranks, and the men of Daneland and Düringen entered the blood-stained hall. Once more the battle began. Many a brave Burgundian fell to rise no more; but not one of their enemies escaped alive.

Silence fell on the palace. The Nibelung warriors laid down their shields and heavy armour, that they might the better rest from their labours, while Hagen and Volker kept watch by the door. During this time of quiet, the Burgundians tried to make peace. They reminded King Etzel that they had come to his land at his own invitation, and relying on his good faith, only to meet with treachery from him and his. But Etzel demanded that the Burgundians should acknowledge him their feudal superior. Then Giselher turned to his sister and asked what harm he had ever done her that she should behave in such a way. And even the women, who were weeping for their husbands and sons, bore him witness that all his life had been spent in doing good to others. Chriemhild was touched by his appeal, and told him that he, Gunther, and Gernot should go free with all their warriors and men-at-arms if only they would give up the murderer Hagen, that she might punish him as he deserved. But with one voice the Nibelungs refused terms which were dishonourable in their eyes.

Enraged at the boldness of her foes, the queen called upon the Huns to make one more assault, and drive them out of the house. Again the bitter strife began. Chriemhild knew no more compassion. She commanded her servants to set fire to the upper part of the house, which was built of wood, and soon the flames were seen spreading over the whole roof, which at length fell with a crash. A wild wail of human creatures in their last agony accompanied the fall. After that the queen retired to her own apartments, and standing at the window overlooking the house where her brothers and their friends must have been burnt, thought sadly and half remorsefully over the past. Only half remorsefully, for she felt her heart as full of hatred to Hagen as it ever had been.

Meanwhile the Nibelungs had not perished in the flames, as Chriemhild fondly imagined. The great vaulted hall in which they had entrenched themselves was too strongly built to have suffered much from the fire in the wooden upper storey; though the Burgundians were for a long time as if shut up in an oven, the heat was so terrific; they yet escaped with their lives; and Hagen made them slake their intolerable thirst by drinking the blood of their fallen enemies.

When the Huns at length came to look for their charred bodies, they were not a little surprised to find themselves confronted by six hundred brave and utterly undaunted warriors.

The queen heard with astonishment that the Nibelungs were still alive and armed for a new fight. While she pondered what it were best to do, one of the Hunnish notables told her that she should apply for help, either to the Margrave of Bechelaren, who had received so many benefits from the king, or to Dietrich of Bern, who had enjoyed Etzel’s hospitality so long as a fugitive. Chriemhild thought the advice good, and at once sent off a message to Rüdiger.

The noble Margrave immediately obeyed the queen’s summons. Etzel explained to him the true position of affairs, and reminding him of all the honours that had been heaped upon him, told him the time was come to prove his gratitude. He must punish the Nibelungs for the great scath they had wrought to the royal house and to the land of the Huns.

“My liege,” said the good old hero sadly, “all that you have said is true, and I am ready to do you any service, however dangerous, but do not ask that I should break the faith I swore to them when they stayed with me at Bechelaren, before I led them to Etzelburg at your command. They trusted me utterly, and young Giselher chose my daughter to be his wife, and to share the Burgundian throne. Methinks it were an ill deed to raise my hand against them that trusted me.”

When the king reminded him of his oath of allegiance, he continued,—

“Take back my castles and towns, the wealth that you have given me, and the possessions I have won for myself. I will go penniless into the wide world with my wife and child, and what is my best wealth, Honour and Truth.”

“Nay, noble Margrave, but you cannot do so,” replied the queen, “if you fail in obedience. Think of the time when you came to Burgundy to woo me for Etzel. I feared to go alone amongst the barbarous Huns, where I had not a friend or helper, and you swore to me with a solemn oath that you would help me against every adversary, except your liege lord. Your sworn faith to me is older than that which you promised to the Nibelungs. If you break your oath to me, you are dishonoured.”

Rüdiger stood in silent thought before the queen. At length he said,—

“Take my head. I shall not even tremble when the executioner’s sword touches me. But do not force me to do what my conscience disallows.”

The conversation lasted a good while longer. At length Rüdiger with a heavy heart consented to obey the king and queen.

The Nibelungs stood by the window looking out for help. On seeing the noble Margrave approach with his men, Giselher exclaimed joyfully that all was not lost, that they should see Bechelaren and the Rhine again. When Rüdiger came close to the door he explained his errand. Gunther reminded him of the friendship they had sworn, and Rüdiger answered sadly that the oath he had sworn to Etzel’s wife forced him now to fight her battle. And so they took fair leave of each other, as noble friends forced to fight against their will. Once more the blood of the Nibelungs and their opponents stained the great hall. The heat of battle raged anew in every heart, and many men were slain. Amongst the number were Rüdiger and Gernot. At length the men of Bechelaren were conquered, and slain to the very last man. Two hundred Nibelungs also fell before this victory was gained.

The heroes were silent in the wide hall. They heard the sound of voices in the court without. The queen’s voice was raised in indignation, as she accused the Margrave Rüdiger of playing the false traitor and making peace with the Nibelungs. Volker’s anger was roused at this unjust suspicion. Leaning out of the window, he told her not to vex herself on that score, nor accuse a good man falsely, for the hero of Bechelaren had died serving her. He then commanded the Margrave’s body to be shown at the window, so that the king and queen and all the Huns should see it. Etzel uttered a loud cry of horror, and cursed the hand that had done the deed. He called for his sword, that he might himself lead the band of avengers, but he forebore to unsheath it when he saw that terrible pair (Hagen and Volker) still guarding the threshold.

Chriemhild stood looking on with folded arms. She was beautiful as ever, but it was now the beauty of a fallen angel. She shed a few tears for the loss of her old friend Rüdiger. Perhaps also because she feared that he was her last ally. She may likewise have pondered whether by any means she might yet attain her end. But be that as it may, the next events were unexpected by her as by every one else.

One of Dietrich’s men heard what had happened. He hastened to his master and told him the strange tale. Dietrich refused to believe it, and sent Helfrich to the palace to find out the truth. On hearing the news of Rüdiger’s death confirmed, the hero of Bern sent his old master Hildebrand to ask the Nibelungs why they had done this evil deed.

The master would have gone unarmed upon this errand, but Wolfhart cried out upon the folly of appearing as a lamb in the presence of wolves. The master thought the advice good, and put his armour on. When he was on the way, he saw that all Dietrich’s men were following him well-armed, under Wolfhart’s guidance. He desired his quick-tempered nephew to go back, but the latter refused point-blank, saying that he could not let his uncle go alone; and the other warriors, one and all, declined to leave him. When the small band of five hundred brave men came in front of the house the Nibelungs were defending, Master Hildebrand lowered his shield, and asked if it were true that good Margrave Rüdiger was dead. Hagen answered that they wished it were untrue, but it could not be helped, for he had been slain in unavoidable fight. The Amelungs mourned aloud for their friend. Wolfhart would have avenged him on the spot, but the master held him back, threatening him with Dietrich’s anger if he thrust himself into the quarrel. Then, turning to the Nibelungs, he demanded in the name of the hero of Bern that the Margrave’s body should be handed over to them, that they might give him honourable burial. King Gunther replied that it was a good and worthy desire on their part, and one that ought to be gratified. Wolfhart called to them to make haste and bring out the body, upon which Volker said that they were too tired to do more work, so the Amelungs might come in and fetch it.

One word led to another, till Wolfhart lost his temper altogether, and rushed forward, followed by the Amelungs, shouting as with one voice their ancient war-cry. Master Hildebrand, drawn on in the general rush, was found in a foremost place when the battle began. The tired Nibelungs, and the brave Amelungs—men who had formerly fought side by side in the great battle of Ravenna, and on many other fields—were now engaged in hand-to-hand conflict for life and death. Here was strong Sigestap, duke of Bern, there brave Helfrich, there the bold heroes Wolfwin, Wolfbrand, Helmnot, Ritschart, and others, all burning to avenge the death of Rüdiger. The confusion was so great that often those who wished to meet could not find each other. Thus Volker and Wolfhart were kept apart; the minstrel fell upon Sigestap, who had slain many of the Burgundians, and gave him his death-blow, only to meet Hildebrand a little later and himself to fall under his hand. Dankwart was slain by Helfrich; Wolfhart did many a deed of valour, until Giselher attacked him. After a tremendous struggle, the young king thrust him through the breast, but even then, though in mortal agony, he grasped his sword in both hands, and slew his adversary.

Old Hildebrand saw his nephew fall, and hastened to him. He lifted him in his arms, and tried to bear him from that hall of doom; but he was too heavy. The wounded hero opened his eyes once more, and said in a faint voice,—

“Uncle, tell our friends not to weep for me, for I have met my death at the hands of a brave king, as he has at mine. My wild blood has grown calm and still, and I am ready to sleep peacefully like a tired child.”

These were the last words of the wildest, hottest warrior in Dietrich’s train. Like Wolfhart, all the other comrades of the hero of Bern, save Hildebrand alone, lay stretched on the bloody floor; and with them all the Burgundians, except Hagen and King Gunther.

“Come now, Master Hildebrand,” cried a rough voice, “you owe me satisfaction for the death of my comrade Volker.”

It was Hagen that spoke. The meafdtelsmer defend his bravely, but the hero of Tronje was strong and determined, and Balmung was sharp. One terrible blow cut through Hildebrand’s coat of mail, and the blood flowed freely from his side.

When the old man felt the wound, and looked in the grim, rugged countenance of his antagonist, for the first time in all his long life fear took possession of him, and covering his back with his shield, he fled like a coward.

With shattered armour, and red with his own blood, and that of others, the old man came before his master. Dietrich asked whether he had fought with the Nibelungs, and why he was so wet with blood. Then Hildebrand told how the Burgundians had slain the good Rüdiger, and had declined to give up his body for burial.

The hero of Bern was so saddened by these tidings, that he asked no further questions; he begged the old man to command his comrades to arm themselves at once.

“Whom shall I command?” asked the master.

“The swordsmen of Bern are all here. You, my lord, and I, are all that remain of them; and of the Nibelungs, Hagen and King Gunther are the only ones alive.”

At first Dietrich did not understand, and when he did, he mourned aloud for his friends and comrades.

“How could my brave men have fallen under the swords of these tired warriors? Who will now help me to regain the land of the Amelungs?”

So he cried in his sore distress. But soon, mastering his emotion, the hero prepared to avenge his fallen friends, and, accompanied by the master, went full-armed to the house where Hagen and Gunther awaited their fate with undaunted courage.

Hagen and Hildebrand exchanged so many scornful words when they met, that Dietrich chid them for a couple of old women, and demanded that the combat should at once begin. Hagen sprang forward without delay. Balmung was as sharp as ever it had been, and the hero of Bern had much trouble to defend himself; but the hand that wielded the sword was weary, and less nimble than of yore. Dietrich, seeing this, made a sudden spring upon Hagen, threw him down, and bound him fast. Then he bore his prisoner into the presence of Chriemhild, and recommended him to her mercy, saying that he was the boldest and bravest warrior in the whole world. He only noticed the thanks and praise she gave him for his doughty deed, and did not mark the gleam in her eyes, nor rightly interpret the flush that rose to her cheeks. He hastened away to the last battle with King Gunther.

Chriemhild had gained her end: that end to which she had waded through rivers of noble blood. Hagen read his fate in her eyes; but he never flinched: he would not give her that dear satisfaction. She wondered whether she could make him confess where he had hidden the Nibelung treasure. She spoke to him kindly, and promised to let him go safely home, if he would only tell her the hiding-place. The hero seemed touched by her gentleness, and said that he would willingly tell her, but that he had sworn to keep the secret as long as one of the three kings of Burgundy was alive.

She promised him again that she would keep her word, if he did her will; and then had him taken away to sure watch and ward.

“Lies, lies, all lies,” he said to himself, as his gaolers led him away.

The hero of Bern soon afterwards appeared with King Gunther as a prisoner; the latter was at once taken to a separate dungeon Chriemhild considered what was now to be done. Siegfried’s murderers were now in her hands, both the man who had done the deed, and the king who had condoned it.

She felt a few qualms of conscience when she thought that Gunther was, after all, her brother; but she soon stifled them, and calmly pursued the path she had marked out for herself. King Gunther’s head was cut off by her orders, and laid at Hagen’s feet to convince him that now the last king of Burgundy was dead.

The hero thrust away the head contemptuously. “It was not thou,” he said, “to whom I swore allegiance, and whose crown I strove to keep free from stain. The royal house of Burgundy, to which I belonged, is wasted, and its glory overthrown. Of what worth to me is the span of life that remains?”

That night Chriemhild had a happy dream. She thought that Siegfried stood before her as she had seen him first; that he stretched out his arms to her in love and gratitude, and then vanished slowly in the grey dawn.

Next morning Chriemhild seated herself beside King Etzel in all her robes of state. The hero of Tronje was brought before her, a prisoner, and in bonds. She questioned him again as to the hiding-place of the treasure. Raising his head, he answered with all his former boldness:

“You are mistaken, woman, if you think that you have my mind in your power, that you have tamed me entirely. The kings are all dead now, Gunther, Gernot, Giselher; now none but God and I know where the treasure was sunk in the deep waters of the Rhine, and from me you shall never learn where you may seek with any hope of finding.”

Chriemhild silently came down from the throne, and picked up the good sword Balmung that lay beside Hagen’s armour.

“You took good care of the gold you stole from me,” she said, “but another thing that you stole I have in my hands at this moment. My noble husband Siegfried wore this sword when last I saw him, before he fell under your murderous hand. I will now try whether it be strong enough to avenge its master.”

She had drawn the sword from its sheath, and now swung it with both hands, and with such force that the head was cut from the body, and fell at the feet of old Hildebrand.

A cry of horror echoed through the hall, then all was still. Chriemhild thrust the bloody weapon back into its sheath, and said,—

“This blood may never be washed from the blade. Balmung must be taken to Worms as it is, and laid in Siegfried’s grave. Perhaps he may then learn that his wife loved him faithfully, and punished his murderer. Two things alone made up my life: Love and Revenge. My work is done.”

“Strange,” said Hildebrand, staring at the hero’s dissevered head, “that the bravest warrior in all the world should have been slain by a woman! But although he wronged me much of late, I will yet avenge him.”

So saying, the old master drew his sword, and gave the queen her death-blow. Etzel shrieked out, and threw himself on his knees beside his wife. She was deadly pale, and had only strength to gasp rather than speak,—

“Let none touch the old master for this,” she said, and they were her last words.

Great as was the misfortune that had come upon the people and the royal house, the burial of the dead had yet to be seen to as speedily as possible. King Etzel was too full of his own grief to attend to business of any kind, so Dietrich and Hildebrand gave all necessary orders, and themselves helped in the sad work.

All the dead were buried with every honour, save and except the hero of Tronje, who was forgotten. The grave-mounds were filled and closed, before the old master remembered the brave warrior, whose headless trunk still lay in the audience-hall. Hildebrand ordered that he should receive instant burial. So a separate grave was prepared for him, and there he was laid with all his armour, except the good sword Balmung, which was to be taken to Siegfried’s grave, according to Chriemhild’s wish. Many of the Huns went with the funeral procession; they neither wept nor made moan for the dead man whose strong right hand had brought so much evil on their native land. Next spring lovely flowers decked the other grave-mounds, while on Hagen’s thistles and thorns alone were to be seen, in the midst of which a venomous adder had found its home. All who had gone near enough to the snake to examine it carefully, maintained that it had only one eye like the hero of Tronje, and were firmly convinced that it was the form his spirit had taken.

Dietrich and Hildebrand sent news to Bechelaren and to Worms of all that had occurred. They chose the noble minstrel Swemmeling as their ambassador, for they knew that he was tender-hearted, and would break the news as gently as possible.

The Margravine and her daughter sat by an open window, watching the clouds that rose in the east. Godelinde felt strangely anxious, a presentiment of evil overpowered her, and she could not resist telling her daughter.

She said that she feared evil news was coming, for she had dreamed the night before that Queen Helche had appeared to her, surrounded by the Burgundians, and many other warriors in full armour. “The queen,” added Godelinde, “said that she wished all these heroes to go with her. She took your father and Giselher by the hand, and led them away, the others following. I wished to join the procession, but she signed to me to go back. Then they all vanished in a grey mist, out of which a hill seemed to rise like——”

She was interrupted by sounds of arrival. It was the procession of mourners who had come under Swemmeling’s guidance. The Margravine recognised Rüdiger’s horse and armour, and the meaning of her dream was clear to her. But in the midst of all her grief, she tried to keep up, that she might comfort her daughter, who sat at her side, pale with terror.

The minstrel joined the ladies. The Margravine rose to meet him, and said it was needless for him to tell his tale, for she knew what had happened. A few moments later, they were able to listen to what Swemmeling had to say; so they asked him how the noble Rüdiger had met with his death. He took up his harp, and sang a song of the heroes who had kept their faith, and had conquered in the battle of life. He told how they come to the realms of Woden and of Freya, how they float over earth and sea, and how they speak to their friends in the breath of the wind and in the rustling of the leaves, and thus bring them comfort in their sorrow.

After that he gave them all the details of what had occurred at Etzelburg. On the following day Swemmeling had to continue his journey. A few weeks after his departure, the Margravine died of grief, and Dietelinde was left alone. She remained alone for a long time, but when Dietrich reconquered the land of the Amelungs, he took the orphan from Bechelaren, and brought her to his wife, the noble Herrat, at whose court she won the love of a bold warrior, whom she afterwards married.

Swemmeling made his way to Worms as rapidly as he could.

Meanwhile things were going on very quietly at Worms. Queen Ute would sit spinning by the hour together, humming many a weird ditty, but seldom speaking. Queen Brunhild would sit by her side embroidering the death of Baldur, which she copied from old patterns. Curiously enough, the white god was not like the pattern, but rather resembled Siegfried.

“Look, mother Ute,” she said. “Is it not strange that, in spite of all my efforts, the picture will resemble Siegfried, as he looked that day when he rode out hunting for the last time. It is a sad story, and reminds me of an old legend that I used to hear in my childhood, in Isenland, in which a murder was committed for the sake of possessing a magic sword. It seems to me that when Hagen comes back, I must get him to give me Siegfried’s sword, Balmung, that I may restore it to the dead hero. Otherwise I fear that Burgundy will suffer as Isenland suffered through the theft of that other sword.”

“Neither Hagen nor any of the others will ever return to this house, on which the sin of bloodshed rests, as yet unexpiated,” said mother Ute; and, breaking off, she began to hum one of her strange, weird ditties, which was so gruesome that none could listen to it without a shiver. About this time Swemmeling arrived, and told the queens of the journey to the land of the Huns, of the friendly reception the Burgundians had met with from King Etzel, and then of the quarrel, the battle, and its fatal results. No plaints, no weeping, no questions, interrupted the minstrel’s tale. When he came to an end, the Lady Ute said:

“It is a sad tale, very, very sad, but it could not have been otherwise, for much heroic blood was needed to wash away the curse of murder from this house.”

Neither did Brunhild weep. She made all necessary arrangements for the comfort of her guests. She asked that the good sword Balmung should be given to her, and, looking at the blood-stains on the shining blade, she said:

“Grim Hagen stole this weapon out of Siegfried’s grave. I will take it back to the hero, now that it has been dipped in the blood of his murderer, that he may rest in peace.”

She went to the grave-mound with the sword, and did not return that day, nor during the night. When they sought her, they found her lying dead beside Siegfried’s coffin, on which she had laid Balmung.

The Lady Ute went on spinning for many a day, and as she span, she hummed a song of the snake-queen who murdered her own brood.

The Burgundian nobles, and all the people, mourned for their royal house and the fallen heroes. But when feuds arose in the kingdom, they united, and raised the young son of Gunther and Brunhild to the throne, appointing brave men to act as guardians for the king so long as he remained a child.