Now about this time King Hettel the Hegeling lived at Castle Matelane in Denmark. He was a bold warrior, and Nordland, Friesland, and Dietmarsch owed him allegiance. Many princely heroes were about his throne. Chief among them was his kinsman, old Wate, who bore rule in Sturmland, and was famous for his doughty deeds of war. Not less celebrated were the minstrels Horand and Frute, both powerful lords in Denmark. Then came Irold the Swift from Friesland, and Morung of Nifland; bold warriors both, and ever ready to help their liege lord.

One evening, at the feast, Morung of Nifland advised King Hettel to seek a wife, and said that Hilde, the Irish princess, was the best maid for him to woo, for she was famous in all lands for her beauty and virtue. And Horand answered, that the lady was justly praised; but that wild Hagen, her father, would permit no man to woo her, and that many a noble warrior had met his death in fighting with him for her hand.

The king was much taken with what he heard of fair Hilde, and greatly desired to raise her to the Hegeling throne. He asked who would undertake the wooing for him. The courtiers advised him to make old Wate his ambassador, and although the lord of Sturmland had no desire to go on any such errand, yet he promised to set out, and said that if Horand and Frute would accompany him he had no doubt the wooing would be successful.

The three warriors, joined by Irold of Nordland, prepared to set out on their journey. They took a small fleet of ships laden with costly wares, and a thousand armed men, and started on their mission.

After a long voyage they reached Balian, where wild Hagen held his court.

Their arrival was greeted with the utmost amazement, for no one in Ireland had ever seen such splendour before. The masts of the Danish ships were of shining cypress-wood, the sails of purple silk, and the anchors of silver. Sailors in rich garments bore foreign wares from distant lands out of the ships, and spread them before the astonished multitude. The captains offered rich articles for sale, explaining that they were merchants, and had come to Balian on a trading expedition.

When King Hagen heard what was going on at the wharf, he and Queen Hilde went down to the ships to see what was to be seen. Then Frute at once came forward, and, drawing him aside, explained that they were not really merchants, but fugitives, who desired to be protected from their king, Hettel the Hegeling.

Hagen laughed when he heard this, for he had long wished to try his strength in single combat with the Danish king. So he told the warriors to be of good courage, and to come up to the palace with him. The strangers accepted the invitation. They gave the king and queen rich presents of garments and precious stones. Indeed, their riches seemed so inexhaustible, that Hagen would willingly have kept them in the country, and given them houses and lands. But they pleaded that they had left their wives and children in Hegelingland, where they hoped one day to return.

They all met in the banqueting-hall, and the strangers were presented to the princess. Wate alone spoke little, and often looked out towards the sea.

“Go, Hilde,” whispered the queen, “and greet the foreign lord with a kiss.”

The girl started with fear, for the hero of Sturmland was a full head taller than any of his comrades, and was a stern-featured man, with a large hooked nose, bald head, and long grey beard.

“What are you looking at, Lord Wate?” said the queen. “Do you see fairer women on the shore than here in the hall?”

“I am looking at my ship,” answered the hero, “for a storm is coming on.”

Then the princess smiled and said:

“Are you not happy with us, noble warrior? or do you always wish to be out among storms and fighting?”

“Lady,” said Wate, “I never learned to talk sweet talk with women, or to dance with girls. I only care for the dancing of the stormy waves and for the din of battle, when the Norns sing of conquest or a glorious death.”

This was the speech of the stern old man. But the other warriors talked of the lovely land of the Hegelings, of its castles and granges, and of the minstrels and knights who served their ladies in all honour and modesty. After this they took leave of their hosts and retired. The next day passed, as was usual on such occasions, in jousting, feasting, and minstrelsy.

Horand used to sing, early in the morning and in the late evening, before the queen and her daughter, who were both delighted with his voice and his songs. Once, when he was alone with the princess, he sang about a great king who fell sick with love for a beautiful maiden named Hilde. The princess felt that there was something hidden behind the song. So she asked at length who the king was that cared for her. Upon which the minstrel showed her a portrait of King Hettel, and told her of her father’s stern cruelty to all noble warriors who came to Balian to woo the princess. He told her also on what secret mission he and his friends had come, and entreated her to come with them to Hegelingland, where the king was waiting eagerly for her arrival. Once there, he continued, he would sing to her every day, and so would King Hettel, who knew far more beautiful songs than he.

Hilde promised that she would ask her father’s permission to go down to the ships and look at the strangely beautiful stuffs and jewels on board.

What she promised she did.

One day the men of Hegeling came before King Hagen, and said that they had good news from their home. Their king had found that they had been falsely accused, and had therefore restored them to his favour. They wished now to take leave of Hagen, and return to their own land. The king was displeased to think of losing his guests, and yet they should not go without rich gifts.

“Sire,” said Frute the Wise, “we are so rich that we cannot well accept either silver or gold; but if you would show us a kindness, come on board our galleys with the queen and her ladies, and look at our treasures.”

Wild Hagen shook his head, but his daughter and the queen wished so much to go that he at length gave way.

At the appointed hour, when the sails were spread and the ships were ready for departure, the king, queen, princess, and their ladies appeared upon the strand. Boats were ready to take them to the ships. Fair Hilde and her maid sprang quickly into a boat steered by Horand. But when Hagen and his armed followers were about to get into another boat, Wate, Frute, and Irold thrust them back and pushed off from land. The wild chieftain immediately caught up his spear, and rushed into the sea till the waves dashed over his head. Spears were hurled on either side, but Horand brought the princess safely to the ship. Hagen ran along the shore and called despairingly for ships and men to pursue the traitors; but the Irish boats were not ready for sea, and even at that moment the sails of the Hegelings were disappearing in the distance.

The voyage lasted many days and many nights. Fair Hilde wept much for her father and mother, but Horand sang to her, now of great deeds, and now of love, till she was comforted. At length they reached the coast, where King Hettel awaited them. He came down to meet them, and soon gained fair Hilde’s heart. On the following morning they prepared to go to Matelane. But when they were about to start, they saw white clouds appear on the western horizon, which, as they came nearer, were discovered to be ships forming a great fleet, and from the topmast of each ship floated the banner of the cross. The Hegelings took it to be a fleet of crusaders going out against the unbelieving Wilkin-men or Reussen; but very soon a flag was hoisted bearing the arms of Hagen, a tiger, and then they knew that the enemy was approaching.

King Hettel and old Wate drew out their men in battle array on the strand. The old man laughed loud for joy that he was really to have a passage of arms with the warlike Irish king. The other princes advanced with their men to prevent the enemy’s landing. The warriors were all of good cheer; but fair Hilde, who looked down from the battlements of the castle on the turmoil below, wrung her hands with grief that she should be the cause of bloodshed.

The galleys cast anchor, and boats were put off filled with armed men. The battle began, and so firm was the resistance made to their landing that the boatmen could not approach the shore. Then wild Hagen flung himself into the water and fought his way to land, followed by his bravest men. His blows were so terrible that he carried all before him, and even Hettel fell wounded to the ground, and was with difficulty borne away from the field. Old Wate now came forward, and he and Hagen had a hand-to-hand encounter. Each fought like a lion, and neither gave way in the least before the other, although both were severely wounded.

At length King Hettel, his head bandaged, and looking pale from loss of blood, forced his way through the throng of combatants with Hilde leaning on his arm. He threw his arms round Wate, while she did the same to her father, and entreated them both to make peace for her sake.

Wild Hagen was touched by his daughter’s words. He clasped her in his arms, and then held out his hand, first to Hettel, and then to the grim old hero of Sturmland.

Now that the battle was over, Wate went about binding the wounds of all whom he found, whether of Irish or Hegeling birth, with some healing herb, of whose virtues he was well aware. In the evening there was a great feast, and next morning the warriors all went to Matelane, where the marriage was to take place. A ship was sent to bring good Queen Hilde to her daughter’s wedding, which was celebrated in the cathedral, with all pomp and circumstance.

King Hettel and fair Hilde lived happily at Matelane, and the men of Hegeling, Friesland, and Dietmarsch, were faithful subjects, out of love and gratitude for the justice and protection afforded them by their liege lord. Two children were born to the royal pair, Ortwin and Gudrûn (pronounced Goodroon), both of whom were strong and blooming as Nordland roses. As the boy grew older, he was given into the charge of the hero of Sturmland, that he might learn all that it became him to know from the greatest warrior in the land. Gudrûn remained at home with her parents, and was instructed by her mother, both by precept and example, in all woman’s work and knowledge. So she grew up, and became celebrated in every land for her beauty, her gentleness, and her wisdom.

Many noble princes came to woo her while she was yet very young. Among them was the proud Moorish king, Siegfried, gigantic in height, and brown of hue. With many kings for tributaries, he felt himself so great, that he feared no refusal. Queen Hilde, however, thought the hero too arbitrary in his manners, and ignorant of the proper way to treat women. Hettel was of the same opinion; so he told the wooer that the maiden was too young to be able to conduct a royal household. The Moorish king returned to his distant realm in great anger and disgust. But before leaving Matelane, he had bribed some faithless men with gold to keep him informed of all that went on in the land of the Hegelings.

Now, at this time, King Ludwig ruled over Normandy and the neighbouring lands. He was a great and warlike king. His son, Hartmut, was like his father in character, and helped him in his wars. When the latter heard of Gudrûn, he determined to woo her for his wife. King Ludwig thought it a mistake, because the maiden’s grandfather, Hagen, had once been his feudal superior, and had never forgiven him for having freed Normandy from the Irish yoke; also he believed that Queen Hilde had inherited her father’s temper. The Lady Gerlind, Ludwig’s queen, was of a different opinion: she thought that Hartmut was worthy of the noblest wife in Christendom, and that, if they only set about the matter in the right way, his offer would be accepted. The young warrior was pleased with his mother’s counsel, so ambassadors were sent to the Hegeling court, bearing rich presents. Queen Hilde accepted the gifts with gracious courtesy, thanked the ambassadors for bringing them, and added that she supposed the lord of Normandy wished to pay off an old debt which he owed her father as his liege lord. The warriors were kindly treated, although the king and queen heard their message with displeasure, and said that the husband of their daughter must be of higher birth than the lord of Normandy. The ambassadors, seeing that no good would come of their further stay, returned to Ludwig with their evil tidings.

The Norman king was not much surprised at the result of the embassy; but the Lady Gerlind, whose ancestors had been powerful kings, chafed under the affront, and advised her son to avenge the insult with his sword. But the young prince had thought of another plan. He possessed strongholds and granges in Scotland. So he determined to go a-wooing himself in Scottish garb, accompanied by a large train of attendants. He was a hero, learned in all knightly duties, tall, manly, and strikingly handsome. He was accustomed to ladies’ smiles, and to meet with kindness from women wherever he went; so he never for a moment doubted his power of winning the love of the Princess Gudrûn. The ships were manned, a favourable wind filled the sails, but soon fell again, and the voyage was a very slow one.

Meanwhile, another suitor had arrived at Matelane. This was bold Herwig, lord of Zealand. He was a brave warrior, celebrated in many a victory; a faithful friend and loyal foe. Fair curls surrounded his face, and his blue eyes shone with intelligence.

The maiden and he soon learned to understand each other, and before a word of love was spoken, each knew the other’s feelings.

When Hartmut arrived, in the guise of a Scottish prince, he soon discovered what was going on.

A favourable chance led Hartmut to the garden one day, and there he found Gudrûn alone. He told her of his love, and at the same time explained who he was. She was startled, but soon recovering herself, answered that she cared for some one else. She further told him to beware how he betrayed his identity, for her father and mother regarded King Ludwig as a vassal, and his life would be in danger if they knew his name and quality. The word vassal brought an angry flush to the young hero’s cheek; he did not, however, betray his feelings, but took leave of the maid in seemly fashion, and, after saying farewell to the king and queen, set sail for his own land.

Herwig lingered on at the palace in the hope that he might find some opportunity of seeing and speaking to the princess alone. But, whether by accident, or because the queen prevented it, he never found his opportunity. So he went boldly to the king, and made a formal offer for Gudrûn’s hand. Hettel listened to him calmly, and told him that the maiden was too young to marry. This, however, was merely an excuse, for he really thought the king of Zealand was too poor a match for his peerless daughter.

Herwig found no rest at home. He assembled his forces, and prepared to invade the land of the Hegelings. His army only consisted of three thousand warriors, but they were one and all tried men of valour, on whom he could rely. Hettel was totally unprepared for the invasion. His heroes were at their own homes, or scattered abroad; but he collected what men he could, and went out against the foe. Soon the clang of arms sounded on the strand, and the battle began. It raged fiercely for a long time. At length Queen Hilde, taking Gudrûn with her, and followed by her ladies, descended to the place of combat, and spoke so wisely that she soon induced the men to put up their weapons, and make peace. Hettel was so much pleased with the boldness and valour displayed by Herwig, that he consented to receive him as his son-in-law, but stipulated that the marriage should not take place for a year.

Herwig spent some time at Matelane in company with certain other warriors, and at midsummer, young Ortwin and several of his friends received their swords at the hands of old Wate of Sturmland, who bade them act in all things so as to be soon worthy of the honour of knighthood. At the jousts that followed, the young men’s prowess gladdened their teacher’s heart. But the rejoicings came to a sudden end through the arrival of some wounded men from Zealand, who brought news that the Moorish king, Siegfried, had fallen upon the island, and was laying the country waste.

Hettel determined to send troops to help Herwig against the Moors; but the king of Zealand would not wait until they could be summoned; he set out at once, saying that they could follow, and he would meantime go and show his people that he had not deserted them.

Herwig landed in a small bay. His heart was wrung when he saw the devastation caused by the cruel Moor, and knew that he was not strong enough to offer him battle. But he was not idle for all that. He and his three thousand followers separated into companies, cut off isolated bands of free-booters, and harassed the enemy as much as they could. So matters went on for days and weeks. At length the Hegeling fleet arrived with Hettel and his heroes. A great battle was fought by sea and land, but, although the Moors suffered terrible loss, both in men and ships, it was by no means a decisive battle. Siegfried knew that he had now no hope of winning the victory in open war, but still he trusted to the chapter of accidents to get him out of his difficulties. And he did not hope in vain.

Whilst King Hettel and his heroes were fighting in Zealand, Hartmut, with a large Norman army, had fallen upon the land of the Hegelings. Ludwig had accompanied his son. Together they had stormed the palace at the head of their men, had taken it, and had carried away the Princess Gudrûn and her maidens; amongst whom was Hildburg, granddaughter of that Hildburg whom Hagen found on the griffin’s strand.

The first messenger, who brought the news of the Norman invasion, was soon followed by a second, with tidings of the storming of the castle, and the carrying off of Gudrûn. The first thought in every mind was to set off in pursuit of the robbers; King Hettel sent to offer terms to Siegfried, telling him at the same time of what had chanced, and the Moorish king immediately offered to help to rescue the princess; so an alliance was concluded between Hettel, Herwig, and Siegfried without more ado.

This being settled, they turned their attention to the ships; but great was their despair when they found that most of them had been burnt in the fight, and of those that remained very few were seaworthy. Herwig and his men would have started alone in the few vessels that remained, but Irolt the Frisian stopped them, by drawing their attention to a fleet that was already approaching the shore. The masts and flags of the coming ships all bore the sign of the cross, and on deck were figures in long grey garments, with the staff of peace in their hands.

“They are pilgrims going to the Holy Sepulchre,” said Horand the minstrel.

The pilgrims disembarked and pitched their tents on the strand, to enjoy a little rest after their long and toilsome voyage.

“Necessity knows no law,” said Wate. “These pious men must put off their journey for a little. They have plenty of time to do their penance in. Let us borrow their vessels and provisions. If we return, we can reward them richly for the enforced loan.”

Horand and Frute warned their friends that such a deed would surely bring its punishment. The pilgrims raised their hands in piteous entreaty. All in vain. King Hettel decided to take the ships, and Wate and Herwig voted with him.

So the heroes sailed over the high seas in pursuit of the Normans, in ships that bore the cross as their pennon.

After many days’ sail they saw before them a low flat island, called the Wölpensand, and on it a great army was encamped, upon whose banners was depicted a raven with widespread wings, the ensign of the Normans. They were able to get quite close to the land, thanks to the pilgrims’ ships, before their real character was discovered. But no sooner was it known, than the Normans sprang to their feet, and shouting their battle-cry, stood ready to defend themselves.

The battle began. Lances and arrows filled the air, and many a deed of desperate valour was done on either side. Darkness alone put an end to the fight. The victory was undecided. It was a dark and cloudy night, and the flickering watch-fires alone threw any light upon the scene. Then it was that King Hettel challenged Ludwig to single combat, telling him that he should always regard him as a coward if he did not at once arm him for the fray. Ludwig accepted the challenge, and came out to meet the king. Many a shrewd blow did the heroes exchange before Ludwig at length gave his adversary his death-wound. Seeing their leader fall, the Hegelings rushed forward shouting their battle-cry, and a general engagement took place in the darkness. None could tell friend from foe, and many a brave warrior fell under his comrade’s spear. The leaders on either side ordered the horns to blow the recall, and the two armies took up their position at a greater distance from each other than before. Knowing the vengeance the Hegelings would take on the following day, the Normans thought prudence the better part of valour, and set sail for home under cover of the night, taking their prisoners with them; for they were on their way home from Hegelingland.

At daybreak, old Wate called his men to be up and doing. Great was the astonishment of all when they found their enemy flown. Wate and Herwig were keen to follow the Normans without loss of time, but Frute and Morung advised them to be prudent. They reminded them of the numbers of men they had lost, and advised that they should go home, and wait till the young men, who were growing up, should be old enough to bear arms.

The wisdom of this advice was recognised by all. Herwig alone felt indignant, but he was powerless to act unaided, so he returned to Zealand to work for his people, until the time should come to renew the expedition.

Queen Hilde was sad at heart when she saw the Hegelings return vanquished, and without either her husband or daughter. But what could she do? She was only a weak woman, unable to wield a sword, to avenge Hettel or to save Gudrûn.

Horand, Morung, and Irolt mourned the dead king with her, but old Wate chid them for women, and bade them rouse themselves, and teach the youth of the land all warlike accomplishments, to the end that they might win the day when the time for vengeance came.

Meanwhile the Norman fleet had reached its destination.

Queen Gerlind, her gentle daughter Ortrûn, their ladies, and many of the citizens of Cassian went down to the harbour to welcome the heroes home. After they had greeted the kings, Ortrûn hastened to sad Gudrûn’s side, and, embracing her, told her to be of good courage. Gudrûn was touched by the maiden’s kindness, though it could not stop her tears; but when Queen Gerlind would have kissed her, she recoiled from her touch, for the sharp-featured woman with the bold, glittering eyes seemed to her a spiteful snake, ready to dart on his prey and crush it in his coils.

“Eh, pretty puppet,” said the offended queen. “What, so shy? But you’ll soon grow tame under my training.” She would have said more, but Hartmut interposed, saying that Gudrûn was to be his wife when the days of mourning for her father were over. He then offered the princess his arm, and sorely against her will, she had to enter the palace side by side with him. Some of the townsfolk, watching her, said, “How beautiful she is!” to which others made answer, “But how sad!”

Days and weeks passed on. Hartmut did his best to win fair Gudrûn’s love, but all his efforts were vain. One day he asked her why she would not love him, and she replied that he was a great and noble warrior, well worthy of a woman’s love, but she was betrothed to Herwig, and would never break her troth. Queen Gerlind was not of so patient a disposition as her son: she was determined to break Gudrûn’s proud spirit, and force her to consent to marry Hartmut. At first she tried soft words and flattering speeches; but finding these of no avail, she had recourse to sterner measures, though she waited till her son had left home on a warlike expedition. Before going he confided Gudrûn to his mother’s care, telling her she might “try to tame the wild bird” in any fashion she liked, that was not inconsistent with the maiden’s royal dignity.

No sooner was Hartmut gone, than Queen Gerlind set to work. She made Gudrûn dress like a servant, and then set her and her maidens to cook and sweep, and do all the hardest work in the palace. Gudrûn bore her wrongs in patient silence. Her soft hands were blistered with scrubbing pots and pans, and doing other kitchen work, with which she was busied from early morning till late at night. The queen would sometimes ask her viciously if she would not rather wear the Norman crown than continue to slave in that manner, but she answered gently that she would keep her troth.

So she did all that was given her to do through the hot summer days, and in the icy cold of winter, without uttering a single murmur at her hard fate.

Year after year she lived this wretched life. At length Hartmut came home victorious from his wars. He greeted his father, mother, and sister with warm affection, and then looked round for Gudrûn. When he saw her dressed in coarse clothing, and doing hard work, he was very angry with his mother for her ill-treatment of the girl. He begged Gudrûn to forgive what was past and gone, and grant him her love, trying to rouse her ambition by dwelling on the wealth and greatness of the kingdom he offered to share with her. But Gudrûn answered that a noble-minded woman could love but once, and never again. So he left her, but took care to protect her from Gerlind’s malice.

Gudrûn was restored to her former position, and slept that night in her old room. Next morning, when she awoke, she found the princess Ortrûn, whom she had not seen for a long time, bending over her. The two girls spent the summer together, and learnt to love each other warmly. As autumn came on, Gudrûn thought that her friend looked graver and sadder than her wont, and asked her the reason of the change. Ortrûn then confessed that as Gudrûn had not given way to Hartmut’s entreaties, but remained obdurate as ever, Gerlind intended to separate her daughter from the Hegeling princess.

While the two girls were talking, Hartmut joined them, and said:

“Lady Gudrûn, the warrior to whom you plighted your troth is not worthy of your love, otherwise he would not have allowed so many years to pass without coming in search of you at the head of his men. He has forgotten you, and is most likely married to another.”

“You do not know him, noble hero,” answered Gudrûn; “death alone, which looses all bonds, could separate us.”

“What if he has fallen in battle, or has died of some illness?” asked the young king.

“Then he shall find me faithful when I join him where there is no more parting,” replied the princess, with a look of courageous resolve.

So Hartmut took leave of her, and again went away to try and forget her amid the excitement of battle.

When he was gone, Queen Gerlind once more deposed Gudrûn from her high estate, and sent her to wash the clothes, making her work from early morning till late at night, and threatening her with the rod if she were lazy; but the princess worked too hard to give her an excuse for inflicting this last indignity.

More years passed on, and at length Hartmut returned victorious as at first. He spoke to Gudrûn, but found her faithful as ever to Herwig.

Gerlind, after this, was harder than ever to Gudrûn. The other Hegeling maidens were given lighter tasks than she. They had to spin and card flax and wool, while their beloved mistress had to wash the clothes all the cold winter through, and often, on her return from the shore, she sank into an exhausted sleep on her straw pallet, without having the strength first to take off her wet garments. At last matters came to such a pass that her cousin Hildburg could hold her peace no longer, and asked the queen how she dared treat a princess with such cruelty and disrespect. Upon which Gerlind set her to join her mistress in her work.

This was just what Hildburg wanted. Her great desire was to be with her mistress, to cheer and comfort her, and lighten her toil. Still Gudrûn had often to go down to the shore alone when Hildburg was busy at the castle. On one of these occasions she saw a swan come swimming over the sea.

“O swan, had I thy wings, I would soar into the sky and hie me to my home.”

While she spoke, the swan dived into the sea, and in its place up came a mermaid:

“O heart long tried and true, thy grief shall pass away: thy lover and thy kindred live, and lo, they hasten to thy rescue.”

So saying, the mermaid dived, and again the white swan floated on the wave. He spread his wings and rose in the air, flew three times round the princess, and sang:

It was well for Gudrûn that she had this secret hope to support her, for Gerlind’s cruelty grew daily more intolerable. The princess and Hildburg were forced to wash the clothes on the sea-shore, dressed in simple linen shifts, and without shoes. When they begged for shoes, the cold was so terrible, their taskmistress gave them insulting words, and threatened to scourge them with thorns if their day’s work were not finished by evening. Trembling with cold in the cutting east wind, and their beautiful hair blowing about their faces, they worked on busily. Suddenly they saw a boat gliding swiftly along the shore, rowed by two warriors in full armour. The maidens, ashamed of their insufficient clothing, would have fled, but the men called to them to stop, and tell them what castle that was on the height above. When they added that they would throw the linen into the sea unless they received an answer, the girls came back, and as they did so, Gudrûn whispered:—

“See, it is Herwig. I know him well, but he—he has forgotten me.”

And in good truth the hero was unaware that his long-lost bride stood there before him; but no sooner had she pushed her fluttering hair back from her face, than he recognised her, hastened to her, and clasped her in his arms. When the other warrior opened his visor, Gudrûn exclaimed, “Ortwin!” and threw herself into her brother’s arms.

Then Ortwin turned to her companion, and said, taking her hand in his:

“It is you, Hildburg! Do not be ashamed to confess that you and I have long loved each other, and would have been openly betrothed years ago, had not the Normans carried you off.”

They then exchanged the kiss of betrothal.

Herwig wished to take the two girls away with them at once, but Ortwin would not consent. He said they must come openly on the morrow for Gudrûn and Hildburg, who should never run away secretly from their captors.

The two girls stood on the shore watching the boat as long as it was in sight. At length Hildburg in startled accents begged her friend to help her to finish the washing. But Gudrûn answered proudly that the days of her slavery were over, and, so saying, she cast one garment after another into the sea, and watched them floating away on the waves with a smile; while poor Hildburg tremblingly remembered that they were still in the power of the Norman queen.

When they reached the castle, Gerlind came down to meet them, asking why they were so early, and what they had done with the linen. Gudrûn answered that the work was too hard for them, and that she had thrown the clothes into the sea, where Queen Gerlind’s men might find them yet, if she did not delay too long in sending out boats. The queen was dumb with astonishment when she heard the gentle, patient Gudrûn speak to her in such a manner; but soon recovering herself, she called her bond-women to fetch thorny rods, and beat the maidens for their insolence. The women hastened to do as they were desired; but Gudrûn called to them to stop, telling them to touch her at their peril, for she would be their queen on the morrow.

“And will you really marry Hartmut?” asked Gerlind joyfully. “I fear there is some trick in this.”

“Bring the king here,” said Gudrûn; “I would speak with him.”

The queen went thoughtfully to her son, and said:—

“Hartmut, that obstinate girl has given in at last, and has consented to be your wife, but....”

“No ‘but,’” cried the hero, “she consents!—mother, I must hear her say so with her own lips,” and he hastened from the room.

When he saw Gudrûn, he would have clasped her in his arms but she signed to him not to approach her, telling him that she could not listen to him in the abode of her misery; but that next morning, in the full light of day, and in presence of all the warriors, she would receive, and give the bridal ring. Hartmut now gave orders that Gudrûn should be provided with all that was necessary for the comfort and well-being of the future queen, and that her maidens should be restored to her.

His orders were fulfilled. The princess and Hildburg kept their secret well. It was not till the Hegeling maidens were all safe in their sleeping chamber that they heard of the arrival of Ortwin and Herwig.

Before day-break one of the maidens stationed herself at the window, and gazed anxiously over the sea. After some time she saw vessels full of armed men approaching the shore; and, with difficulty restraining a cry of joy, she wakened her mistress and told her the good news. Not long after, the alarm was given from the tower, where the sleepy watchman had just woke up.

Queen Gerlind had her wits about her more than any one else. She did not need to be told who the enemy were, and had given the requisite orders to the garrison before Ludwig’s and Hartmut’s eyes were well open. But when the kings were ready, they countermanded her orders, and instead of defending the castle, marched out to meet the foe in spite of all her warnings and entreaties.

Each party moved forward to meet the other in close array; and no sooner had they met than the battle began. Ortwin and Hartmut fought hand to hand, and Ortwin had well been overthrown, had not bold Horand struck up the Norman’s spear. But he too was unable to withstand the king, and was soon afterwards carried to the rear by his men, severely wounded. Meantime Herwig and Ludwig had met, and after a terrible combat, the latter was slain.

“The king is dead!” cried his men, and they fled incontinently, pursued by the victor, strong Irolt, and Siegfried the Moor. The old hero of Sturmland pressed the advantage. His sword-arm was never still for a moment, and he was always in the front rank. When the terrified Normans fled to the castle, they found, to their horror, that he was close behind them. They only got the great gate shut just in time. But Wate was not to be done. He shouted to his men to bring up ladders and storming tackle, meaning to scale the wall.

Hartmut, ignorant of his father’s death, had continued to fight bravely, till he saw that the Normans were flying. He then retreated slowly to the castle with his immediate followers. Looking up at the battlements, he saw Queen Gerlind giving a man a naked sword, and pointing with fierce earnestness to the women’s apartments in the castle. He knew his mother, and feared that she was telling the man to go and murder the Hegeling women, so he exclaimed in a loud voice of command:

“Coward! If you raise your hand to murder any woman, I will have you hung before sunset.”

The man let the sword fall to the ground, and slunk away. At this moment Hartmut, to his intense amazement, caught sight of old Wate at the castle gate. He looked round for help, but Ludwig was nowhere to be seen; on every side waved the banners of the Hegelings and their allies, and their foremost men were fast closing round him and his little band. Hartmut was too brave to fly; he prepared to defend himself to the last. The lord of Sturmland now came forward to attack him; and although he fought desperately, it had gone ill with him, if Herwig had not thrown himself in the old warrior’s way, and pleaded for his rival’s life. In the heat of the conflict, Wate did not notice who it was that addressed him; he brought down one of his sledge-hammer blows on Herwig’s head, and the king of Zealand was stretched unconscious on the ground beside many a dead and dying Norman. This restored the wild lord of Sturmland to his senses. Leaving Hartmut alone, he bent over his friend, and, to his joy, discovered him to be whole and sound. As soon as Herwig was on his feet again, Wate asked:

“What devil possessed you to make me spare the life of that Norman robber?”

“No devil at all,” replied Herwig; “the noble Gudrûn loves the Princess Ortrûn, and, for her sake, begged that Hartmut’s life should be spared.”

“Women, women!” cried the old warrior. “They are all alike. They have soft hearts, as easily moved as a fleecy cloud is blown by the breeze. But now let us haste, and trap the she-wolf in her lair.”

At length the castle gate was burst open, and the hero of Sturmland cut his way through the small crowd of defenders to the women’s apartments. There he found Gudrûn surrounded by all the frightened women in the palace, while Ortrûn and Gerlind knelt at her feet and entreated her protection.

“Where is the she-wolf?” shouted Wate. “Speak, Gudrûn, and you others!”

He was awful to look upon, with his grim, stern face, his armour and sword dripping with the blood of his enemies; but Gudrûn did not quail, nor did she utter a single word to betray the cruel woman who had used her so badly. She sat still and quiet, full of a gentle dignity, and looked at the angry old man without blenching.

He cast a quick glance round the room in search of Gerlind, and as he did so, one of the maidens pointed to the queen. The moment he saw the glittering, snaky eyes, he caught Gerlind by the hair, and dragging her to the battlements, cut off her head, and flung both it and the body over the wall. “Now the other!” he cried, rushing up to the terrified Ortrûn; “she belongs to the serpent’s brood, and must share her mother’s fate.”

But Gudrûn held the maiden tightly clasped in her arms, and told the grim warrior of all the love and tenderness that Ortrûn had shown her, so Wate was fain to be satisfied with the vengeance he had already wreaked.

Meanwhile the fighting outside the castle had also ceased. The Norman hero, weary to death, had surrendered with the eighty warriors that were left him.

Three days later, the victorious army went on board their ships, and set sail for the land of the Hegelings, leaving Morung and his men to garrison Cassian. Hartmut, and Ortrûn with thirty of her maidens, had to accompany their conquerors. On their way they touched at Wölpensand, where Queen Hilde had had a minster built, and the bones of those who fell in the old fight buried; and there the heroes gave solemn thanks for their great victory. Ortrûn sat alone in the churchyard, looking at the graves: she thought of her slain father, and wished that she too were at rest. But Gudrûn coming up to her, took her by the hand and led her to the Moorish king Siegfried, who desired to gain her love. During the remainder of the voyage, Gudrûn managed to throw the two much together, and delighted in telling Ortrûn of Siegfried’s noble and warlike deeds.

In the meantime Queen Hilde, and Hergart, Herwig’s sister, often sat together at a window overlooking the sea. The Hegeling army must soon return, but how would it return? and would Gudrûn have kept her troth? Hilde was not so hopeful as her young companion, for she was more used to sorrow. One day when they were at the window as usual, Hergart saw the fleet appear in the distance, and uttering a cry of joy, told Queen Hilde that their friends were coming back.

Before the queen and her ladies could get down to the shore, Wate had already landed. On seeing the queen, he at once told her the good news.

The rest of the ships were not long in arriving, and soon Hilde had the pleasure of embracing her daughter, the long-lost Gudrûn. Time passed on, and joy reigned in every breast but one. Hartmut ate out his soul in sadness. Gentle Hergart pitied him, and begged Queen Hilde to use her influence to have him set at liberty, and allowed to return to his kingdom. But Hilde explained how impossible it was to let a man go free who was sure to bear them deadly enmity, and attack them when he could. Hartmut one day by accident overheard Hergart pleading for him so tenderly and so wisely that he was deeply touched. He began to think that she was, if possible, even more beautiful than Gudrûn, and took the first opportunity he could find of speaking to her. It was not long before they learnt to love each other. Hartmut told the queen about it, and asked for her consent to his marriage with Hergart, which she at once granted, and at the same time gave him back his sword and freedom, for the husband of sweet Hergart could never be aught else than the friend of the Hegelings.

A few weeks later, a great marriage feast was held, in which four couples appeared before the altar to receive a priestly blessing on their vows; after which they adjourned to the banqueting-hall, where all old scores were forgiven and forgotten for the sake of the happiness that now prevailed. Then the old minstrel, Horand, took up his harp and sang his last song. In it he told of the great deeds he had known; he sang of noble lives and noble deaths, of truth and constancy; and when he ceased, there was not a dry eye in the hall, for even the grim lord of Sturmland was seen to dash away a tear.