It is one of the most striking testimonies
to the greatness of Theodoric’s work and character,
that his name is one of the very few which passed
from history into the epic poetry of the German and
Scandinavian peoples. True, there is scarcely
one feature of the great Ostrogothic King preserved
in the mythical portrait painted by minstrels and
Sagamen; true, Theodoric of Verona would have listened
in incredulous or contemptuous amazement to the romantic
adventures related of Dietrich of Bern; still the
fact that his name was chosen by the poets of the
early Middle Ages as the string upon which the pearls
of their fantastic imaginations were to be strung,
shows how powerfully his career had impressed their
barbaric forefathers. Theodoric’s eminence
in this respect, his renown in mediaeval Saga, is
shared apparently but by three other undoubtedly historic
personages: his collateral ancestor, Hermanric;
the great world-conqueror, Attila; and Gundahar, king
of the Burgundians, about whom history really records
nothing, save his defeat in battle by the Huns.
As it would be a hopeless attempt
in a short chapter like the present to discuss the
various allusions to Dietrich von Bern in the Teutonic
and Scandinavian Sagas, I shall invite the reader’s
attention to one only, that which concerns itself
most exclusively with his life, and which is generally
called the “Wilkina Saga", though some German
scholars prefer to call it by the more appropriate
name of “Thidreks Saga”.
The earliest manuscripts of this Saga
at present known are attributed to the first half
of the thirteenth century. There are many allusions
in the work to other sources of information both written
and oral, but the Saga itself in its present form
appears to contain the story of Theodoric as current
in the neighbourhood of Bremen and Muenster, translated
into the old Norse language, and no doubt somewhat
modified by the influence of Scandinavian legends
on the mind of the translator. In its present
form it is not a poem but a prose work, and though
the flow of the ballad and the twang of the minstrel’s
harp still often make themselves felt even through
the dull Latin translation of Johan Peringskiold,
there are many chapters of absolutely unredeemed prose,
full of genealogical details and the marches of armies,
as dry as any history, though purely imaginary.
I will now proceed to give the outline
of the story of Theodoric as told in the “Wilkina
Saga”, I shall not harass the reader by continual
repetitions of the phrase “It is said”,
or “It is fabled”, but will ask him to
understand once for all that the story so circumstantially
told is a mere romance, having hardly the slenderest
connection with the actual history of Theodoric, or
with any other event that has happened on our planet.
The Knight Samson, the grandfather
of Theodoric, was a native of Salerno and served in
the court of Earl Roger, the lord of that city Tall
and dark, with black brows and long, thin face, he
was distinguished by great personal strength, and
his ambition was equal to his prowess. Earl Roger
had a most lovely daughter, Hildeswide, to whom Samson
dared to raise his eyes in love. Being sent one
day by her father to the tower where she dwelt, with
dainty morsels from his table for her repast, he persuaded
her to mount his servant’s horse and ride away
with him into the forest. For this Earl Roger
confiscated his possessions and sought his life.
Enraged at the decree of exile and death which had
been passed against him, Samson issued forth from
his forest to ravage Earl Roger’s farms.
In his return to the forest, being intercepted by the
Earl and sixty of his knights, he was seized with
sudden fury, and struck down the Earl’s standard-bearer,
dealt so terrible a blow at the Earl that he lopped
off not only his head but that of the steed on which
he rode, slew fifteen knights besides, and then galloped
off, himself unwounded, to the forest where Hildeswide
abode. Thus did Salerno lose her lord.
Brunstein, the brother of Earl Roger,
sought to avenge his death, but after two years of
desultory warfare was himself surprised in a night
attack by Samson, compelled to flee, overtaken and
slain. So Samson went on and increased in strength,
treading down all his enemies; but not till he had
persuaded the citizens of Salerno to accept him as
their lord would he assume the title of king.
Then did he send out messengers to announce to all
the other kingdoms of the world his royal dignity.
He governed long and wisely, extending his dominions
to the vast regions of the West (apparently making
himself lord of all Italy), and by his wife Hildeswide
becoming the father of two sons, whose names were Hermanric
and Dietmar.
After twenty years of wise and peaceful
rule, as Samson sat feasting in his palace he began
to lament the decay of energy in himself and his warriors,
and to fear that his name and fame would perish after
his death. He therefore resolved on war with
Elsung, Earl of Verona, and to that end despatched
six ambassadors with this insulting message: “Send
hither thy daughter to be the concubine of my youngest
son. Send sixty damsels with her, and sixty noble
youths each bringing two horses and a servant.
Send sixty hawks and sixty retrievers, whose collars
shall be of pure gold, and let the leash with which
they are bound be made of hairs out of thine own white
beard. Do this, or in three months prepare for
war”.
This insolent demand produced the
expected result. Elsung ordered the leader of
the embassy to be hung. Four of his companions
were beheaded. The sixth, having had his right
hand lopped off, was sent back with no other answer
to Salerno. When he reached that city, Samson
appeared to treat the matter as of no importance and
went on with his hunting and hawking and all the amusements
of a peaceful court. He was, however, quietly
making his preparations for war, and at the end of
three months, at the head of an army of 15,000 men,
commanded by three under-kings and many dukes he burst
into the territories of Earl Elsung who had only 10,000
men, drawn from Hungary and elsewhere, with whom to
meet his powerful foe. There was great slaughter
on the battle-plain. Then the two chiefs met
in single combat. Elsung inflicted a wound on
Samson, but Samson cut off Elsung’s head and
clutching it by the hoary locks exhibited it in triumph
to his men. The utter rout of the Veronese army
followed. Samson went in state to Verona, received
the submission of the citizens and laid hands on the
splendid treasure of Earl Elsung. He then celebrated
with great pomp the marriage of Odilia, the daughter
of the slain earl, to his second son Dietmar, whom
he made lord of Verona and all the territory which
had been Elsung’s. He marched next toward
“Romaborg” (Rome) intending to make his
eldest son, Hermanric, lord of that city, but died
on the journey. Hermanric, however, after many
battles with the Romans achieved the desired conquest,
and became Lord of Romaborg and the country round
it, even to the Hellespont and the isles of Greece.
Dietmar, son of Samson, King of Verona,
was brave, prudent, and greatly loved by the folk
over whom he ruled. His wife Odilia was one of
the wisest of women. Their eldest son was named
Theodoric, and he, when full grown, though not one
of the race of giants, surpassed all ordinary men
in stature. His face was oval, of comely proportions;
he had gray eyes, with black brows above them; his
hair was of great beauty, long and thick and ending
in ruddy curls. He never wore a beard. His
shoulders were two ells broad; his arms were as thick
as the trunk of a tree and as hard as a stone.
He had strong, well-proportioned hands. The middle
of his body was of a graceful tapering shape, but his
loins and hips were wondrously strong; his feet beautiful
and well-proportioned; his thighs of enormous bigness.
His strength was much beyond the ordinary strength
of men. The size of Theodoric’s body was
equalled by the qualities of his mind. He was
not only brave but jovial, good-tempered, liberal,
magnificent, always ready to bestow gold and silver
and all manner of precious things on his expectant
friends. It was the saying of some that the young
warrior was like his grandfather, Samson; but others
held that there was never any one in the world to compare
unto Theodoric. When he had attained the fifteenth
year of his age he was solemnly created a knight by
his father, Dietmar.
Now, while Theodoric was still a child
there came to his father’s court one who was
to have a great influence on his after life. This
was Hildebrand, commonly called Master Hildebrand,
son of one of the Dukes of Venice. He was a brave
knight and a mighty one, and when he had reached the
age of thirty he told his father that he would fain
see more of the world than he could do by lingering
all his days at Venice. Upon which his father
recommended him to try his fortune at the court of
Dietmar, King of Verona. He came therefore and
was received very graciously by Dietmar, who conferred
great favours upon him and assigned to him the care
of the young Theodoric then about seven years of age.
Hildebrand taught Theodoric all knightly exercises;
together they ever rode to war, and the friendship
which grew up between them was strong as that which
knit the soul of David to the soul of Jonathan.
One day when Theodoric and Hildebrand
were hunting in the forest, a little dwarf ran across
their path, to which Theodoric gave chase. This
dwarf proved to be Alpris, the most thievish little
creature in the world. Theodoric was about to
kill it, but Alpris said: “If you will
spare my life I will get you the finest sword that
ever was made, and will show you where to find more
treasure than ever your father owned. They belong
to a little woman called Hildur and her husband Grimur.
He is so strong that he can fight twelve men at once,
but she is much stronger than he, and you will need
all your strength if you mean to overcome them”.
Having bound himself by tremendous oaths to perform
these promises, the dwarf was dismissed unhurt, and
the two comrades went on with their hunting.
At evening they stood beside the rock where Alpris
was to meet them. The dwarf brought the sword,
and pointed out the entrance to a cave. The two
knights gazed upon the sword with wonder, agreeing
that they had never seen anything like it in the world.
And no marvel, for this was the famous sword Nagelring,
the fame whereof went out afterwards into the whole
world. They tied up their horses and went together
into the cave. Grimur, seeing strangers, at once
challenged them to fight; but looking round anxiously
for Nagelring, he missed it, whereupon he cursed the
knavish Alpris, who had assuredly stolen it from him.
However, he snatched from the hearth the blazing trunk
of a tree and therewith attacked Theodoric. Meanwhile
Hildebrand, taken at unawares, was caught hold of
by Hildur, who clung so tightly round his neck that
he could not move. After a long struggle they
both fell heavily to the ground, Hildebrand below,
Hildur on top of him. She squeezed his arms so
tightly that the blood came out at his finger-nails;
she pressed her fist so hard on his throat and breast
that he could hardly breathe. He was fain to
cry for help to Theodoric, who answered that he would
do all in his power to save his faithful friend and
tutor from the clutches of that foul little wench.
With that he swung round Nagelring and smote off the
head of Grimur. Then he hastened to his foster-father’s
aid and cut Hildur in two, but so mighty was the power
of her magic that the sundered halves of her body came
together again. Once more Theodoric clove her
in twain; once more the severed parts united.
Hereupon quoth Hildebrand: “Stand between
the sundered limbs with your body bowed and your head
averted, and the monster will be overcome”.
So did Theodoric, once more cleaving her body in twain
and then standing between the pieces. One half
died at once, but that to which the head belonged
was heard to say: “If the Fates had willed
that Grimur should fight Theodoric as toughly as I
fought Hildebrand, the victory had been ours”.
With these words the brave little woman died.
Hildebrand congratulated his pupil
on his glorious victory, and they then proceeded to
despoil the cave of its treasures. One of the
chief of these was a helmet of wonderful strength,
the like of which Theodoric had never seen before.
It was made by the dwarf Malpriant, and so greatly
had the strange couple prized it that they had given
it their united names Hildegrimur. This helmet
guarded Theodoric’s head in many a fierce encounter,
and by its help and that of the sword Nagelring he
gained many a victory. Bright was the renown which
he won from this deed of arms.
So great was the fame of the young
hero that striplings from distant lands, thirsting
for glory, came to Dietmar’s court that they
might be enrolled among the comrades of Theodoric.
There were twelve of these who, when they came to
manhood, were especially distinguished as the chiefs
of his army, and among these Theodoric shone pre-eminent,
even as his contemporary, Arthur, king of Bertangenland,
among the Knights of his Table Round.
But there were two of these comrades,
friendly to Theodoric, though by no means friendly
to one another, who were more renowned than any of
the rest for their knightly deeds and strange adventures.
These were Witig and Heime, each of whom, having first
fought with Theodoric, was afterwards for many years
his loyal and devoted knight.
Heime was the son of a great horse-breeder
who dwelt north of the mountains, and whose name was
Studas. He was short and squat of figure and
square of face, but was all made for strength; and
he was churlish and morose of disposition, wherefore
men called him Heime (which was the name of a strong
and venomous serpent), instead of Studas, which was
of right his name as well as his father’s.
One day Heime, having mounted his famous grey horse
Rispa, and girded on his good sword Blutgang,
announced to his father that he would ride southward
over the mountains to Verona, and there challenge
Theodoric to a trial of strength. Studas tried
to dissuade his son, telling him that his presumption
would cost him his life; but Heime answered:
“Thy life and thy calling are base and inglorious,
and I would rather die than plod on in this ignoble
round. But, moreover, I think not to fall by
the hand of Theodoric. He is scarce twelve winters
old, and I am sixteen; and where is the man with whom
I need fear to fight?” So Heime rode over the
rough mountain ways, and appearing in the court-yard
of the palace at Verona, challenged Theodoric to fight.
Indignant at the challenge, but confident of victory,
Theodoric went forth to the encounter, having donned
his iron shoes, his helmet and coat of mail, and taking
his great thick shield, red as blood, upon which a
golden lion ramped, and above all, his good sword
Nagelring.
The young heroes fought at first on
horseback, and in this encounter, though Theodoric’s
spear pierced Heime’s shield and inflicted upon
him a slight wound, a stumble of his horse had nearly
brought him to the ground. But then, as both
spears were shivered, the combatants sprang from their
horses, waved high their swords, and continued the
fight on foot. At last Heime dealt Theodoric
a swashing blow on his head, but the good helmet Hildegrimur
was so strong that it shivered the sword Blutgang
to pieces, and there stood Heime helpless, at the mercy
of the boy whom he had challenged. Theodoric
gladly spared his life, and received him into the
number of his henchmen, and after that they were for
many years sworn friends.
It was some time after this that another
young man appeared at Verona and challenged Theodoric
to single combat. This was Witig, the Dane, son
of that mighty worker in iron, Wieland, who had
in his veins the blood of kings and of mysterious
creatures of the deep, but who spent all his days
in his smithy, forging strange weapons, and whose wrongs
and terrible revenges and marvellous escapes from death
are sung by all the minstrels of the North. When
he was twelve years old, Witig, drawn like so many
other brave youths by the renown of the young Theodoric,
announced to his father that he was determined to seek
glory in the land of the Amelungs. Wieland would
fain have had him stay in the smithy and learn his
own wealth-bringing craft; but Witig swore by the honour
of his mother, a king’s daughter, that never
should the smith’s hammer and tongs come into
his hand. Thereupon Wieland gave him a coat of
mail of hard steel, which shone like silver, and greaves
of chain-armour; a white shield, on which were painted
in red the smith’s hammer and tongs, telling
of his father’s trade, and three carbuncles,
which he bore in right of the princess, his mother.
On his strong steel helmet a golden dragon gleamed
and seemed to spit forth venom. Into his son’s
right hand Wieland gave the wondrous sword Mimung,
which he had fashioned for a cruel king, and which
was so sharp that it cut through a flock of wool,
three feet thick, when floating on the water.
Witig’s mother gave him three golden marks and
her gold ring, and he kissed his father and his mother
and wished them a happy life, and they wished him a
prosperous journey and were sore at heart when he
turned to go.
But he grasped his spear and sprang
into the saddle, all armed as he was, without touching
the stirrup. Then Wieland’s face grew bright
again, and he walked long by the side of his son’s
horse and gave him full knowledge of the road he must
take. So they parted, father and son, and Witig
rode upon his way.
Long before he reached Verona he had
met with many adventures, especially one in which
he overcame twelve robbers who held a strong castle
by a bridge and were wont to take toll of travellers.
These robbers seeing Witig draw nigh parted among
them in anticipation his armour and his horse, and
planned also to maim him, cutting off his right hand
and right foot, but with the good sword Mimung he slew
two of them and was fighting valiantly with the rest
when certain knights whom he had before met on the
road came to his help, and between them they slew
seven of the robbers and put the others to flight.
These knights were Hildebrand and Heime, and a stranger
whom they were escorting to the court of Verona.
Heime, who was already jealous of Witig’s power
and prowess, had sought to dissuade his companions
from going to his help; but Hildebrand refused to
do so unknightly a deed as to let their road-companion
be overpowered by ruffians before their very eyes without
giving him succour. So now, the victory being
won and Witig having displayed his might, they all
made themselves known unto him. Hildebrand swore
“brotherhood in arms” with Witig, but having
heard of his determination to challenge Theodoric
to single combat, secretly by night changed the sword
Mimung for one less finely tempered. For he feared
for his young lord’s life if that sword, wielded
by Witig’s strong hand, should ever descend
upon Theodoric’s helmet.
At length the wayfarers all entered
the gates of Verona. Great was Theodoric’s
joy to behold again the good Master Hildebrand; but
great was his indignation when the young Dane, who
came with Hildebrand, challenged him to single combat.
Said Theodoric: “In my father’s land
and mine I will establish such peace that it shall
not be permitted to every rover and rascal to come
into it and challenge me to the duel”.
Hildebrand: “Thou sayest
not rightly, my lord, nor knowest of whom thou speakest.
This is no rover nor rascal, but a brave man; and in
sooth I know not whether thou wilt get the victory
over him”.
Then interrupted Reinald, a follower
of Theodoric: “That were in truth, my lord,
a great offence that every upstart urchin in thine
own land should come and challenge thee to the fight”.
Hildebrand: “Thou shalt
not assail my journey-companion with any such abusive
words”.
And thereat he dealt Reinald such
a blow with his fist on his ear that he fell senseless
to the ground. Then said Theodoric: “I
see thou art determined to be this man’s friend;
but thou shalt see how much good that does him.
This very day he shall be hung up yonder outside the
gates of Verona”.
Hildebrand: “If he becomes
thy prisoner, after you have both tried your might,
I will not complain however hard thy decision may seem
to me; but he is still unbound, and I think thou hast
a hard day’s work before thee, ere thou becomest
lord of his fate”.
Theodoric in a rage called for his
horse and armour and rode, followed by a long train
of courtiers, to the place of tourney outside the walls
of Verona, where Witig and Hildebrand, with few companions,
were awaiting him. Witig sate, arrayed in full
armour, on his horse, battle-ready and stately to
look upon. Then Heime gave Theodoric a bowl of
wine and said: “Drink, my lord, and may
God give thee the victory”. Theodoric drank
and gave back the bowl. Likewise Hildebrand offered
a bowl to Witig, who said: “Take it to
Theodoric and pray him to drink to me from it”.
But Theodoric in his rage refused to touch the bowl
that Witig was to drink from. Then said Hildebrand:
“Thou knowest not the man with whom thou art
so enraged, but thou wilt find him a true hero and
not the good-for-nothing fellow thou hast called him
to-day”. Then he gave Witig the bowl and
said: “Drink now, and then defend thyself
with all manhood and bravery, and may God give thee
his succour”. And Witig drank and gave
it back to Hildebrand, and with it the gold ring of
his mother, saying: “God reward thee for
thy true help-bringing”.
Of the fierce battle between the two
heroes which now followed it were too long to tell
the tale. They fought first on horseback, then
they fought on foot. Witig dealt a mighty blow
with his sword at Theodoric’s helmet, but the
helmet Hildegrimur was too strong for the sword which
Hildebrand had put in the place of Mimung, and which
now was shivered into two pieces. “Ah,
Wieland!” cried Witig in vexation, “God’s
wrath be on thee for fashioning this sword so ill!
If I had had a good sword, I had this day proved myself
a hero; but now shame and loss are mine and his who
forged my weapon”.
Then Theodoric took the sword Nagelring
with both his hands and was about to cut off Witig’s
head. But Hildebrand stepped in between and begged
Theodoric to spare Witig’s life and take him
for a comrade, telling of his brave deeds against
the twelve robbers, and declaring that never would
Theodoric have a more valiant or loyal follower than
this man, who was of kingly blood on both his father’s
and mother’s side, and was now willing to become
Theodoric’s man. But Theodoric, still indignant
at being challenged, as he deemed, by a son of a churl,
said sullenly: “No; the dog shall hang,
as I said he should, before the gates of Verona”.
Then Hildebrand, seeing that nought else would avail,
and that Theodoric heeded not good counsel, drew Mimung
from the scabbard and gave it to Witig, saying:
“For the sake of the brotherhood in arms which
we swore when we met upon the journey, I give thee
here thy sword Mimung. Take it and defend thyself
like a knight”. Then was Witig joyous as
a bird at daybreak. He kissed the golden-hilted
sword and said: “May God forgive me for
the reproach which I hurled at my father, Wieland.
See! Theodoric, noble hero! see! here is Mimung.
Now am I joyous for the fight with thee as a thirsty
man for drinking, or a hungry hound for feeding”.
Then he rained on Theodoric blow on blow, hacking
away now a piece of his coat of mail, now a splinter
from his helmet. Theodoric, bleeding from five
great wounds, and thinking only now of defence, never
of attack, called on Master Hildebrand to end the
combat; but Hildebrand, still sore at heart because
Theodoric seemed to accuse him of lying when he called
Witig a hero, told him that he might now expect to
receive from the conqueror the same disgraceful doom
which he in his arrogance and cruelty had adjudged
to the conquered.
Then King Dietmar came and besought
Witig to spare his son’s life, offering him
a castle and an earl’s rank and a noble wife;
but Witig spurned his gifts, and told him that it
would be an unkingly deed if he, by his multitude
of men-at-arms, stayed the single combat which was
turning against his son. So, after these words,
they renewed the fight; and now, by a mighty blow
from the good sword Mimung, even the stout helmet
was cloven asunder from right to left, and the golden
hair of Theodoric streamed out of the fissure.
With that Hildebrand relented, and springing between
the twain, begged Witig, for the sake of the brotherhood
that was sworn between them, to give peace to Theodoric
and take him for his comrade“And
when you two shall stand side by side there will be
none in the world that can stand against you”.
“Though he deserves it not”, said Witig,
“yet since thou askest it, and for our brotherhood’s
sake, I grant him his life”.
Then they laid their weapons aside
and clasped one another’s hands, and became
good friends and comrades. So they rode back to
Verona, and were all merry together.
Many days lay Theodoric at Verona,
for his wounds in the fight were grevious. At
length he rode forth on his good steed Falke, in quest
of adventures, to brighten again his honour which
was tarnished by the victory of Witig. After
many days he reached a certain forest which was near
the castle of Drachenfels. Through that forest,
as he was told, there was wont to wander a knight
named Ecke, who was betrothed to the chatelaine of
Drachenfels, a widowed queen with nine fair daughters.
Having heard of the might of the unconquered Ecke,
Theodoric, who was still somewhat weakened by his
wounds, thought to pass through the forest by night
and so avoid an encounter. But as luck would have
it, the two knights met in the thick wood where neither
could see the other, and Ecke, having called upon
the unseen traveller to reveal his name, and finding
that it was Theodoric, tempted him to single combat
by every taunt and lure that he could think of, by
sneering at him for Witig’s victory and by praising
his own good sword Ecke-sax, made in the same smithy
as Nagelring, gold-hilted and gold-inlaid, so that
when you held it downwards a serpent of gold seemed
to run along the blade from the handle to the point.
Neither this temptation nor yet that of the twelve
pounds of ruddy gold in Ecke’s girdle prevailed
on Theodoric, who said again and again: “I
will fight thee gladly when day dawns, but not here
in the darkness, where neither of us can see his foe”.
But when Ecke began to boast of the stately queen,
his betrothed, and of the nine princesses who had
armed him for the fight, said Theodoric: “In
heaven’s name I will fight thee, not for gold
nor for thy wondrous sword, but for glory and for
the prize of those nine fair daughters of a king”.
Then they struck their swords against the stones in
the road, and by the light of the sparks they closed
on one another. Shield was locked in shield,
the weapons clashed, the roar of their battle was like
the roar of a thunderstorm, but or ever either had
wounded his foe, they fell to the ground, Ecke above,
Theodoric below, “Now, if thou wouldst save thy
life”, said Ecke, “thou shalt let me bind
thee, and take thy armour and thy steed, and thou
shalt come with me to the castle, and there will I
show thee bound to the princesses who equipped me for
this encounter”. “Rather will I die”,
said Theodoric “than be made mock of by these
nine princesses and their mother, and by all who shall
hereafter see or hear of me”. Then he struggled,
and got his hands free, and clutched Ecke round the
neck, and so they wrestled to and fro upon the turf
in the dark forest. But meanwhile the good steed
Falke, hearing his master in distress, bit in two
the bridle by which Theodoric had fastened him to a
tree, and ran to where the two knights lay struggling
on the earth. Stamping with his forefeet, with
all his might, upon Ecke, Falke broke his spine.
Then sprang Theodoric to his feet, and drawing his
sword he cut off the head of his foe. Equipping
himself in Ecke’s arms he rode forth from the
forest at daybreak, and drew near to the castle of
Drachenfels. The queen, standing on the top of
her tower, and seeing a man clad in Ecke’s armour
approach, riding a noble war-horse, called to her
daughters: “Come hither and rejoice.
Ecke went forth on foot, but he rides back on a noble
steed. Doubtless he has slain some knight in
single combat”. Then the queen and all her
daughters, dressed in their goodliest raiment, went
forth to meet the conqueror. But when they came
nearer and saw that the arms of Ecke were borne by
an unknown stranger, they read the battle more truly.
Then the queen sank to the ground in a swoon, and
the nine fair princesses went back to the castle and
put on robes of mourning, and told the men-at-arms
to ride forth and avenge their champion. So Theodoric
perceived that the princesses were not for him, and
rode away from the castle.
Now, Ecke had one brother named Fasold,
and this man had bound himself by a vow never to smite
more than one blow at any who came against him in
battle. But so doughty a champion was he that
this one blow had till now been sufficient for every
antagonist. When Fasold saw Theodoric come riding
through the wood towards him he cried out: “Art
thou not my brother Ecke?”
Theodoric: “Another am I, and not thy brother”.
Fasold: “Base death-dog!
thou hast stolen on my brother Ecke in his sleep and
murdered him; for when he was awake thou hadst never
overcome that strifeful hero”.
Theodoric: “Thou liest
there. He forced me, to fight for honour’s
sake and for the sake of his betrothed and the nine
fair princesses, her daughters. But a brave man
truly he was, and had I known how great a warrior
I would never have ventured to match myself against
him”.
Then Fasold rushed at Theodoric with
drawn sword, and dealt a terrible blow upon his helmet,
which stunned Theodoric and stretched him senseless
on the ground. Remembering his vow, Fasold then
turned away and rode towards the castle.
Before long, however, Theodoric’s
soul returned into him, and springing on his horse
he rode furiously after Fasold, and with taunting words
provoked him to the fight, declaring that he was a
“Nithing” if he would not avenge
his brother. With that Fasold turned back, and
the two heroes leaping from their horses began the
fight on foot. It was a long and terrible combat,
but it began to turn against Fasold. He had received
five grievous wounds, while Theodoric had but three,
and of a slighter kind. Perceiving, therefore,
that the longer the fight lasted the more certain
he was to be at last slain, and as to each man his
own life is most precious, this great and valiant
hero begged his life of Theodoric, and offered to
become his henchman. “Peace I will have
with thee”, said Theodoric, “but not thy
service, seeing that thou art so noble a knight, and
that I have slain thy brother. On this one condition
will I grant thee thy life, that thou wilt clasp my
hand and swear brotherhood in arms with me, that each
of us shall help the other in all time of his need
as if we were born brothers, and that all men shall
know us for loyal comrades”. Fasold gladly
took the oath, and they mounted their horses and rode
together towards Verona.
On their road they met a mighty beast
which is called an elephant. Theodoric, in spite
of Fasold’s dissuading words, persisted in attacking
it, but failed, even with the good sword Ecke-sax,
to reach any vital part. Then was he in great
danger; nor would the help which Fasold loyally rendered
have availed him much, for the huge beast was trampling
him under its great forefeet; but the faithful steed
Falke again broke its bridle and came to the help
of its master. The fierce kicks which it gave
the elephant in its side called off its attention from
Theodoric, who once more getting hold of Ecke-sax,
stabbed the elephant in the belly, and sprang nimbly
from under it before it fell down dead.
Riding some way from thence and emerging
from a wood, the two comrades saw a vast dragon flying
through the air at no great distance from the ground.
It had long and sharp claws, a huge and terrible head,
and from its mouth protruded the head and hands of
an armed and still living knight whom it had half
swallowed and was attempting to carry off. The
unhappy victim called on them for help, and they struck
the dragon with their swords, but its hide was hard,
and Fasold’s sword was blunt, and only Theodoric’s
sword availed aught against it, “Mine is sharper”,
cried the captive, but it is inside the creature’s
mouth. Use it, if you can, for my deliverance.
Then the valiant Fasold rushed up and plucked the
knight’s sword from out of the jaws of the dragon.
“Strike carefully”, said the captive,
“that I be not wounded by mine own sword, for
my legs are inside the creature’s mouth”.
Even so did they. Both Fasold and Theodoric struck
deft blows and soon killed the dragon, by whose dead
body the three heroes stood on the green turf.
They asked the liberated knight of his name and lineage,
and he turned out to be Sintram, grandson of Bertram,
Duke of Venice, and cousin of good Master Hildebrand,
and then on his way to Verona to visit his kinsman
and to take service under Theodoric.
Eleven days and eleven nights had
he been riding, and at length being weary had laid
him down to rest, when that foul monster stole upon
him in his sleep, and first robbing him of his shield,
had then opened its mouth to swallow him up and bear
him away.
Then Theodoric made himself known
to Sintram, who pleaded earnestly that his faithful
sword might be restored to him. Great was the
joy when the heroes were made known one to another.
And so Sintram became one of Theodoric’s henchmen,
and served him long and faithfully.
Thus passed the youth of Theodoric
“When every morning
brought a noble chance.
And every chance brought out
a noble knight”.
Ere many years were gone King Dietmar
died, having scarcely reached middle age, and Theodoric
succeeded him in the kingdom. And he was the
most renowned amongst princes; his fame spread wide
and far over the whole world, and his name will abide
and never be forgotten in all the lands of the South
so long as the world shall endure. After he had
reigned some years, he willed to marry, and having
heard of the fame of the beautiful Princess Hilda,
daughter of Arthur, King of Britain, he sent his sister’s
son, Herbart, to ask for the maiden’s hand.
King Arthur liked not that Theodoric should not have
come himself to urge his suit, and he would not suffer
Herbart to have speech of the princess; but Herbart,
who was a goodly youth and a brave knight, pleased
Arthur well, and he kept him at his court and made
him his seneschal. Now the Lady Hilda was so
closely guarded that no stranger might see her face.
She never walked abroad, except when she went to the
church, and then twelve counts walked on either side
holding up her girdle, and twelve monks followed after,
bearing her train, and twelve great Earls, in coats
of mail, with helmet and sword and shield, brought
up the rear, and looked terrible things on any man
who should be bold enough to try to speak with her.
And over her head was a canopy, in which the plumes
of two great peacocks shielded her beautiful face from
the rays of the sun. Thus went the Lady Hilda
to the place of prayer.
Now Herbart had waited many days,
and had never caught sight of the princess; but at
length there was a great church festival, and she went,
thus magnificently attended, to perform her devotions.
But neither on the road nor yet in the church could
Herbart see her face. But he had prepared two
mice, one adorned with gold and one with silver, and
he took out first one and then the other, and they
ran to where the princess was sitting. Each time
she looked up to see the mouse running, and each time
he saw her beautiful face, and she saw that he beheld
her, and signals passed between them. Then she
sent her maid to ask him of his name and parentage,
and he said: “I am Herbart, nephew of Theodoric
of Verona, and I crave an interview, that I may tell
mine errand to thy mistress”. When they
met outside the church porch, he had only time to
ask the princess to arrange that he might have longer
speech of her, when a monk, one of her twelve watchers,
came by and asked him how he, a foreigner, could be
so bold as to speak with the princess. But Herbart
took the monk by the beard and shook him so violently
that all his teeth rattled, and told him that he would
teach him once for all how to behave to strangers.
That evening the princess asked her
father at the banquet to let her have whatever she
should desire, and he, for his heart was merry with
wine, consented to her prayer. Then she asked
that Herbart, his handsome seneschal, might be her
servant, and King Arthur, though loath to part with
him, for his honour’s sake granted her request.
Thereupon Herbart sent back half of the knights who
had accompanied him from Verona to tell Theodoric
that he had seen Hilda and spoken with her, and that
she was the fairest of women. Glad at heart was
Theodork when he heard these tidings.
And now Herbart had speech often with
his mistress, and began to tell her of his errand
and to urge his uncle’s suit. But she said,
“What manner of man is Theodoric of Verona?”
“Greatest of all heroes”, said Herbart,
“and kindest and most generous of men; and if
thou wilt be his wedded wife thou shalt have no lack
of gold or silver or jewels”. She said,
“Canst thou draw his face upon this wall?”
“Yea”, answered he, “and so that
every one seeing it would say, ’That is the face
of King Theodoric.’” Then he drew a great,
grim face on the wall, and said: “Lady,
that is he; only, God help me! he is far more terrible-looking
than that”. Thereupon she thought, “God
cannot be so wroth with me as to destine me for that
monster”. And she looked up and said, “Sir!
why dost thou ask for my hand for Theodoric, of Verona,
and not for thyself?” He answered: “I
was bound to fulfil the message of my lord; but if
thou wilt have me, who am of the seed of kings, though
I am not a king myself, gladly will I be thy husband,
and neither King Arthur nor King Theodoric nor all
their men shall part us twain”.
So the two plighted troth to one another,
Herbart and Hilda: and watching their opportunity
they stole away on horseback from the castle.
King Arthur sent after them thirty knights and thirty
squires, with orders to slay Herbart and to bring
Hilda back again; but Herbart defended himself like
a hero, killing twelve knights and fourteen squires:
and the rest fled back to the castle. Herbart,
though sore wounded, mounted his steed and escaped
with his wife to the dominions of a certain king,
who received him graciously, and made him duke, and
gave him broad lands. And he became a great warrior
and did mighty deeds.
After this Theodoric married the eldest
of the nine fair princesses of Drachenfels, for the
love of whom he had fought with the strong man Ecke.
The name of Theodoric’s wife was Gudelinda.
Two of her sisters were married to two of Theodoric’s
men, namely, to Fasold, and the merry rogue and stout
warrior, Dietleib, whose laughter-moving adventures
I have here no room to chronicle. And the mother,
Bolfriana, who was fairest of all the race, was wooed
and won by Witig. But this marriage, which Theodoric
furthered with all his power, brought ill with it in
the end and the separation of tried friends.
For, in order to marry Bolfriana and receive the lordship
of her domains, Witig was obliged to enter Hermanric’s
service and become his man. And though Hermanric
promoted him to great honour and made him a count,
this was but a poor amends for the necessity which,
as you shall soon hear, lay upon Witig, to lift up
his sword against his former master.
Now, Hermanric, as has been said,
was sovereign lord of Rome and of many other fair
lands beside: and all kings and dukes to the south
of the great mountains served him, and, as it seems,
even Theodoric himself owned him as over-lord, and
he was by far the greatest potentate in the south
of Europe. For the Emperor himself then ruled
only over Bulgaria and Greece, while King Hermanric’s
dominions included all that lay west of the Sea of
Adria.
Till this time Theodoric and his uncle,
Hermanric, had been good friends. The young hero
had visited the older one at Romaborg, and they had
fought side by side against their enemies. But
now came a disastrous change, which made Theodoric
a wanderer from his home for many years; and this
was all the work of that false traitor, Hermanric’s
chief counsellor, Sibich. For Sibich’s
honour as a husband had been stained by his lord while
he himself was absent on an embassy; but instead of
avenging himself with his own right hand on the adulterous
king, he planned a cruel and wide-reaching scheme of
vengeance which should embrace all the kindred of
the wrong-doer. Of Hermanric’s three sons
he caused that the eldest should be sent on an embassy
to Wilkina-land demanding tribute from the king
of that country, and should be slain there by an accomplice;
that the second should be sent on a like embassy to
England, and sailing in a leaky ship, should be swallowed
up by the waves; and that the youngest should be slain
by his father in a fit of rage provoked by the slanderous
accusations of Sibich. Then he set Hermanric
against his nephews, the Harlungs, sons of his half-brother,
Ake; and these hapless young men were besieged in
their Rhine-land castle, to which Hermanric set fire,
and issuing forth, sword in hand, that they might
not die like rats in a hole, were captured and hung
by their enraged uncle on the highest tree in their
own domains. So was all the family of Hermanric
destroyed except Theodoric and his young brother Diether:
and against Theodoric Sibich now began to ply his
engines of calumny. He represented to Hermanric
that Theodoric’s kingdom had for some time been
growing large, while his own had been growing smaller,
and hinted that soon Theodoric would openly attack
his uncle. Meanwhile, and in order to test his
peaceable disposition, Hermanric, by Sibich’s
advice, claimed that he should pay him tribute for
Amalungen-land. When Theodoric refused to do this
Hermanric was persuaded of the truth of Sibich’s
words, and declared that Theodoric also should be
hanged, “for right well do both he and I know
which of us is the mightier”.
Witig and Heime, who were now at Hermanric’s
court, when they heard these wrathful words, tried
in vain to abate the fury of the king and to open
his eyes to Sibich’s falseness; but as they availed
nothing, they mounted their horses and rode with all
speed to Verona. At midnight they reached the
city and told Theodoric the evil tidings, that on the
next day Hermanric would burst upon him with overwhelming
force determined to slay him. Then Theodoric
went into his great hall of audience and bade the
horns blow to summon all his counsellors and men of
war to a meeting there in the dead of night.
He told them all the tidings that Witig had brought
and asked their counsel, whether it were better to
stay in Verona and die fightingfor of
successful resistance to such a force there was no
hopeor to bow for a while to the storm
and fleeing from the home-land seek shelter at some
foreign court. Master Hildebrand advised, and
all were of his opinion, that it was better to flee,
and that with all speed, before morning dawned.
Scarcely had Hildebrand’s words been spoken,
when there arose a great sound of lamentation in Verona,
women and children bewailing that their husbands and
fathers were about to leave them, brothers parting
from brothers and friends from friends. And with
all this, in the streets the neighing of horses, and
the clank of arms, as the warriors, hastily aroused,
prepared themselves for their midnight march.
So Theodoric, with the knights his
companions, rode away from Verona, which Hermanric
entered next morning with five thousand men. And
Theodoric rode first to Bacharach on the Rhine,
where dwelt the great Margrave, Rudiger, who was his
trusty friend. And from thence he rode on to
Susat, where was the palace of Attila, King of
the Huns. And when Attila heard that Theodoric
was coming, he bade his men blow the great horns,
and with all his chieftains he poured forth to welcome
him and do him honour. So Theodoric tarried in
the palace of Attila, a cherished and trusted guest,
and there he abode many years.
Now King Attila had long wars to wage
with his neighbours on the north and east of Hun-land.
These were three brothers, mighty princes, Osantrix,
king of Wilkina-land (Norway and Sweden) whose daughter
Attila had married, and Waldemai, king of Russia and
Poland, and Ilias, Earl of Greece, With all Attila
waged war, but longest and hardest with Waldemar.
And in all these encounters Theodoric and his Amalung
knights were ever foremost in the fray and last to
retreat, whilst Attila and his Huns fled often early
from the battle-field, leaving the Amalungs surrounded
by their foes. Thus, once upon a time, Theodoric
and Master Hildebrand, with five hundred men, were
surrounded in a fortress in the heart of Russia:
and they suffered dire famine ere King Attila, earnestly
entreated, came to their rescue. And Master Hildebrand
said to the good knight, Rudiger, who had been foremost
in pressing on to deliver them, “I am now an
hundred years old and never have I been in such sore
need as this day. We had five hundred men and
five hundred horses, and seven only of the horses
are left which we have not killed and eaten”.
In this campaign Theodoric took prisoner
his namesake, Theodoric, the son of Waldemar, and
handed him over into the keeping of his good host
and ally, King Attila. By him the captive was
at first thrown into a dreary dungeon, and no care
was taken of his many wounds. But Erka, the queen
of the Huns, who was a cousin of Theodoric, son of
Waldemar, besought her husband that she might be allowed
to take him out of prison and bring him to the palace
and heal his wounds. “If he is healed, he
will certainly escape”, said Attila. “If
I may only heal him”, said Erka, “I will
put my life on the hazard that he shall not escape”.
“Be it so”, said Attila, who was going
on another campaign into fat Russia: “If
when I return I find that the son of Waldemar has escaped,
doubt not that I will strike off thy head”.
Then Attila rode forth to war, and
Erica commanded that Theodoric, the son of Waldemar,
should be brought into the palace, and every day she
had dainty dishes set before him, and provided him
with warm baths, and delighted his soul with gifts
of jewels. But Theodoric of Verona, who was also
sore wounded, was left under the care of an ignorant
and idle nurse, and his wounds were not tended, and
were like to become gangrened. So before many
days were passed, the son of Waldemar was again whole,
and clothed him with his coat and greaves of mail and
put his shining helmet on his head, and mounted his
horse and rode from the palace. Queen Erka implored
him to stay, saying that her head was the pledge of
his abiding; but he answered that he had been all too
long already in Hun-land, and would ride forth to
his own country. Then the queen, in her terror
and despair, sought Theodoric of Verona, where he
lay in his ungarnished chamber with his gangrened wounds;
and he, though he could not forbear to reproach her
for her little kindness to him, and though his wounds
made riding grievous and fighting well-nigh impossible,
yet yielded to her prayers and tears, and rode forth
after the son of Waldemar. Striking spurs into
the good steed Falke, he rode fast and far, and came
up at length with the fugitive. “Return”,
he cried, “for the life’s sake of thy
cousin, Erka; and she and I together will reconcile
thee to Attila, and I will give thee silver and gold”.
But Waldemar’s son utterly refused to return
and to be reconciled with either of his enemies, and
scoffed at the foul wounds of his namesake. “If
thou wilt not return for silver and gold, nor to save
the life of thy cousin, Erka, thou shalt stay for
thine own honour’s sake, for I challenge thee
here to combat; and never shalt thou be called aught
but a ‘Nithing’ if thou ridest away when
challenged by one wounded man”. At these
words the son of Waldemar had no choice but to stay
and fight. The battle was long and desperate,
and once both champions, sore weary, leaned upon their
shields and rested a space, while he of Verona in vain
renewed to the son of Waldemar his offers of peace
and friendship; but the combat began again with fury,
and at last, with one mighty sword-stroke, Theodoric
of Verona struck the right side of the neck of the
other Theodoric so that his head rolled off on the
left side, and the victor rode back to Susat with
that trophy at his saddle-bow. Queen Erka, when
her cousin’s head was thrown by Theodoric at
her feet, wept and bitterly lamented that so many
of her kindred should lose their lives for her sake.
At length, after many days, Theodoric
was healed of his wounds, and went with Attila on
one more expedition into Russia, in the course of which
they took the cities of Smolensko and Pultowa, and
Theodoric slew King Waldemar on the battle-field.
And now had Theodoric been twenty
winters in Hun-land. He had fought in many great
battles, and had gained broad lands for his host-friend,
Attila. His young brother, Diether, who had been
brought as a babe from Verona, had grown into a goodly
stripling; and the two sons of Attila, Erp and Ortwin,
who had grown up with him, loved him as a brother;
and Erka, their mother, loved Diether as her own son.
Great, too, was the reverence shown to Theodoric,
who sat at the high-seat by the side of Attila, and
was honoured as his chief counsellor and friend.
But Theodoric’s heart pined
for his home and his lost kingdom, and one day he
sought the presence of Queen Erka and poured out the
longings of his soul. “Good friend, Theodoric”,
said she, “I will be the first to aid thee in
thine endeavour. I will send with thee my two
sons, Erp and Ortwin, and a thousand well-armed knights.
And now will I seek Attila, my lord, and adjure him
to help thee”. Attila at first took it ill
that Theodoric came not himself to urge his suit,
but when Erka had persuaded him that it was not from
pride but from modesty that he made the request through
her, and when she said that she was willing to send
her own sons into danger for his sake, Attila gladly
yielded, and bade his trusty friend Rudiger, with
a body of chosen knights, accompany Theodoric and
his exiled followers back to their own land.
Then Queen Erka called her two sons
to her and showed them the coats of mail and the greaves
of mail, bright as silver and of hardest steel, but
embellished with ruddy gold, and the helmets and the
thick red shields that she had prepared for their
first day of battle. “Now be brave”,
said she, weeping, “oh, fair sons of mine, even
as your arms are strong: for great as is my longing
that you return in safety to my embraces, I long yet
more that all men should say that you bore yourselves
as brave men and heroes in the fight”. And
then she armed Diether in like manner, and said:
“Dear foster-son, behold here my sons Erp and
Ortwin, whom I have armed for war to help thee and
Theodoric in the recovery of your kingdom. You
three youths, who are now here, have loved one another
so dearly that never were you in any game in which
you could not be on the same side and give one another
help. Now you ride forth to war for the first
time: keep well together and help one another
in this great game on which you are now entering”.
“May God help me, dear lady”, said Diether,
“that I may bring back both thy sons safe and
sound; but if they fall in the storm of war, I will
not live to tell the tale”.
Of the clang of iron and steel in
all the armourers’ shops at Susat, of the stillness
which fell upon the shouting host when Attila, from
a high tower, gave his orders to the army, of the
setting forth of the gallant band, ten thousand knights
with many followers, it needs not to be told at length.
Enough, they crossed the mountains and entered the
land that had been theirs; and Theodoric, to take
no unknightly advantage of his foe, sent messengers
to Rome to apprise Hermanric of his coming and challenge
him to battle outside the walls of Ravenna.
Hermanric, too old to go forth himself
to war, gave the chief command to the false counsellor,
Sibich. Under him were Reinald and Witig, both
of whom had been friends and comrades of Theodoric
in times past, and were most unwilling to fight against
him, though thirsting for battle with any number of
Huns. It was appointed, therefore, that Sibich,
bearing Hermanric’s banner, should fight against
Theodoric and his Amalungs, Reinald against the gallant
Rudiger, and Witig against the two sons of Attila.
The whole army of Hermanric numbered seventeen thousand
men. And now were the two armies drawn up on
the opposite banks of a river, and it was the night
before the battle. Master Hildebrand, desiring
to learn the position of the enemy, rode some way
up the stream till he found a ford by which he crossed
to the other side. It was so dark that he had
almost ridden up against another knight coming in the
opposite direction, before either perceived the other.
Dark as it was they soon recognised one another by
their voices, though they had not met for twenty years.
The stranger was Reinald, who had come forth on the
same errand as Hildebrand. No blows were fought;
only friendly words were exchanged, with lamentations
over this miserable war between the brother Amalungs,
and curses on the false Sibich, whose intrigues had
brought it to pass. Then the moon shone forth,
and Reinald showed Hildebrand from afar the great
yellow tent with three golden tufts where the traitor
Sibich was sleeping; and the green tent with the silver
tuft in which Witig and his Amalungs were dreaming
of battle with the Huns; and the black tent, then
empty of its lord, that was the tent of Reinald himself.
And Hildebrand told Reinald the ordering of the troops
of Theodoric, showing him Theodoric’s tent with
five poles and a golden tuft, and the tent of the
sons of Attila, made of red silk with nine poles and
nine tufts of gold; and the green tent of Margrave
Rudiger. Then the two warriors kissed each other
and wished one another well through the day of battle,
and so they parted. And when Reinald, returning
to the camp, told whom he had met, Sibich wished to
send him to slay Master Hildebrand before he returned
to his friends. But Reinald would in no wise
permit so unknightly a deed, saying that Sibich must
first slay him and all his friends ere such a thing
should befall.
When day dawned Theodoric set forward
his array and bade all his trumpets blow. They
rode up the stream to the ford which Hildebrand had
discovered the night before, and crossed thereby.
And Sibich and Witig, seeing them approach, sounded
their trumpets and marshalled their men. Theodoric,
seeing the false Sibich’s banner waving, cried
to his followers: “Forward, my men!
Strike this day with all your courage and knighthood.
Ye have striven often against the Russians and the
Wilkina-men, and have mostly gotten the victory; but
now in this strife we fight for our own land and realm,
and for the deathless glory that will be ours if we
win our land back again”. Then he spurred
his brave old steed Falke through the thickest ranks
of the enemy, raising ever and anon his good sword
Ecke-sax and letting it fall, with every blow felling
a warrior or his horse to the ground. Likewise
his brave standard-bearer Wildeber, who went before
him, hewed down the ranks of the foe. Against
him came Walter, Sibich’s standard-bearer, who
rode in hero-mood towards him, and aiming the banner-staff
full against his breast, pierced him through, the
staff coming out through his shoulders. But Wildeber,
though wounded to the death, lopped off with his sword
the end of the banner-staff, and then riding fiercely
at Walter struck him on his thigh so terrible a blow
that the sword cut right through the coat of mail
and stuck fast in the saddle below. Then did both
the standard-bearers fall from their horses and lie
dead on the field side by side.
When Sibich saw his standard droop
and the brave knight Walter fall, he turned his horse
and fled from the field, and all his division of the
army with him. Theodoric and his men rode after
them fast and far, and wrought dire havoc among them,
but when Theodoric was miles away from the battle-plain
he was overtaken by one of his men, his horse all
covered with foam, who brought him evil tidings from
another part of the field.
For Witig, when he saw the flight
of Sibich, not terrified but all the more enraged,
had ridden fiercely towards the place where the banner
of Attila’s sons was waving and had struck down
their standard-bearer. “Seest thou”,
said Ortwin to Helfric, his sworn henchman, “what
evil that base dog, Witig, is doing? He has slain
our brave standard-bearer; let us ride up to him and
stop his deadly work”. So spake Ortwin,
but in the fierce fray that followed both he and his
good comrade Helfric, and then his brother Erp, fell
dead around Witig and his standard-bearer. Oh!
then, great was the wrath of the young Dietherwho
meanwhile had fought and killed the standard-bearer
of Witigwhen he saw both of his foster-brothers
slain. Eager to avenge them, he struck oft and
hard at Witig’s armour. “Art thou
Diether, King Theodoric’s brother?” cried
Witig; “for his sake I am loth to do thee any
hurt. Ride away and fight with some other man”.
“Since my young lords Erp and Ortwin are dead,
and thou, base hound, hast slain them, I care not
for my life unless I can have thine”. So
said Diether, and struck with all his might on Witig’s
helmet. The helmet, of hardest steel, resisted
the blow, but the sword, glancing off, descended on
the neck of Witig’s war-horse, Schimming, and
severed its head from its body. “God knows”,
cried Witig, as he sprang to earth, “that I
fight now but to save mine own life”. And
with that he grasped the handle of his sword Mimung
with both hands and struck Diether so terrible a blow
that he clove his body in twain.
These were the tidings which the breathless
knight brought to Theodoric and which stayed him in
his pursuit of the fugitives. “Ah! how have
I sinned”, said he “that so evil a day
should come upon me? Here am I untouched by a
wound, but my dearest brother is dead and my two young
lords also. Never may I now return to Hun-land,
but here will I die or avenge them”. And
with that he turned and set spurs to Falke and rode
so swiftly that none of his men could keep up with
him; and so full was he of rage and fury that a hot
breath, like sparks of fire, came forth from his mouth,
and no living man might dare to stand before him.
And when he reached Witig, who was riding Diether’s
horse, his own being slain, Witig, like all others
turned to flee from that terrible countenance.
“Evil dog”, cried Theodoric, “if
thou hast any courage stand and wait till I come up
to thee and avenge the death of my brother”.
“I slew him against my will”. said Witig,
“and because I had no other way to save my life;
and if I can pay forfeit for his blood with any quantity
of gold and silver, that will I gladly do”.
But still he fled as fast as his steed could carry
him, down the course of a stream to where it poured
itself into a lake, and still Theodoric rode after
him. But when Theodoric hurled his spear, in
that very moment Witig sank beneath the waters of
the lake and the spear-shaft was driven deep into the
shore, and there it may be seen to this day.
But some men thought that Witig was received by a
mermaid and kept hidden in her cave for many days.
For his grandfather had been born long ago of this
mermaid, having been begotten by Wilkinus, King of
Norway.
So the battle had been won by Theodoric
and his allies (for in other parts of the field the
Margrave Rudiger had vanquished Reinald) yet was it
a bootless victory by reason of the death of Attila’s
sons. And Theodoric, riding back to the battle-field,
came where his brother Diether was lying; and lamented
him saying: “There liest thou; my
brother Diether. This is the greatest sorrow that
has befallen me, that thou art thus untimely slain”.
And then he came to the place where lay the young
princes, with their stout coats of mail and their strong
helmets, which had not been able to save them from
death, and he said: “Dear young lords,
this is the greatest of my sorrows that I have lost
you; and how shall I now return to Susat? God
knows that I would gladly have many a gaping wound,
if only you might be whole again”. Then
he bade Rudiger lead back the army to its king, for
he would neither claim his own kingdom nor return
to the palace of Susat, after he had cost Attila the
lives of so many brave knights and of his own sons.
So Rudiger returned to the palace, but Theodoric and
Master Hildebrand dwelt in a little hut in the neighbourhood
of the city of Susat.
When Rudiger stood in the presence
of Attila, who asked him of the welfare of Theodoric
and of the host, he made answer: “King Theodoric
lives, and the Huns have been conquerors in the battle,
yet have we had evil fortune, since we have lost the
young lords, Erp and Ortwin”. Then Queen
Erka and almost all who were in the palace-hall lifted
up their voices and wept. And Rudiger told Attila
how Diether and many another brave knight had fallen
in the battle. But Attila answered with steadfast
soul: “It has happened now as it ever does.
They fall in the fight for whom it is so appointed,
and neither mail nor muscle avails them anything.
My sons Erp and Ortwin and their foster-brother Diether
had the best arms that could be fashioned in the smithy,
yet there they all lie dead”. And after
a space he added: “Where is my good friend,
King Theodoric?” “He and Master Hildebrand
are sitting together in a mean hut, and they have
laid their arms aside and dare not come into thy presence,
O King! because they have lost the young lords”.
Then Attila sent two knights to beg Theodoric to come
into his presence, but he would not for grief and
shame. Then Queen Erka rose up weeping and went
with her maidens to the cottage where Theodoric abode:
and when she entered it she said: “My good
friend, Theodoric! how did my sons fare in the war,
and fought they as good knights ere they fell?”
But Theodoric, with mournful face, answered:
“Lady! they fought as good knights and parried
the blows bravely, and neither of them would part from
the other”. And with that she went up to
him and threw her arms round his neck and said:
“Good friend! King Theodoric! come now into
the palace-hall to King Attila, and take thy welcome
there, and be merry once more. Often before now
have the brave men for whom it was appointed, fallen
in the battle; and they who live still must take thought
for themselves, since it profits not to be ever bewailing
the dead”. So Theodoric went with the queen
into the palace-hall, and Attila stood up and gave
him a kiss of welcome and bade him sit beside him on
the high-seat. Thus he returned to Attila’s
palace, where he dwelt for yet many years, and all
was friendship between them as before.
Two years after this Queen Erka fell
sick of a grievous disease and lay at the point of
death. Sending for Theodoric, she rehearsed to
him how he had ever been the best friend of her husband
and herself; and as it might well happen that this
sickness would sever that long friendship, she desired
to give him fifteen marks of red gold in a beaker and
a costly purple robe, as memorials of the same, and
she prayed him to take her young kinswoman, Herauda,
to wife. Theodoric said: “Good lady
and queen! thy sickness is doubtless a dangerous one.
True friendship hast thou ever shown to me and mine;
and better it were for Attila to lose the half of
his kingdom than to lose thee”. Thereat
he wept like a child and could say no more words,
but went quickly forth of the chamber.
Then Erka desired to see her dear
friend, Master Hildebrand, and spake to him too of
the true friendship which was now about to be severed,
in remembrance whereof she gave him a ring of gold.
And then sending for Attila she spake to him of her
coming death. “Thus wilt thou become a
widower”, said she, “but so thou wilt not
long remain. Choose, therefore, a good and loving
wife, for if thou choosest a wicked woman she may
work much harm to thee and many others beside.
Good King Attila! take no wife out of Nibelungen-land,
nor from the race of Aldrian, for if thou dost, thou
wilt sorely repent of it, and harm unspeakable will
be wrought to thee and the children whom she may bear
thee”. Soon after she had spoken these
words, she gave up the ghost; and great was the lamentation
in all Hun-land when they heard that the good Queen
Erka was no more in life.
The warning given by the dying queen
was, like most such warnings, unheeded. After
three years of widowerhood, Attila sent one of his
nephews into Nibelungen-land to ask for the
hand of Chriemhild, daughter of Aldrian, loveliest
and wisest of the women of her time; but maddened
by secret grief for the loss of her first husband,
Siegfried, who had been slain by her brothers,
Hagen and King Gunther. The suit prospered;
with strange blindness of heart, King Gunther gave
his consent to the union of the sister who was his
deadliest enemy with the mightiest king in Europe.
For seven years Chriemhild waited for her revenge;
then came that invitation to the Nibelungs to visit
the court of Attila, which, in the infatuation of
their souls, King Gunther and his brethren accepted,
taking with them a chosen band of a thousand warriors.
The scheme of vengeance prepared by Chriemhild, the
quarrel which she provoked at the banquet, the terrible
slaughter suffered and inflicted by the Nibelungs in
the palace garden, their desperate rush into the palace-hall,
the stand made therein by their ever-dwindling band
on the pavement which was slippery with the gore of
heroesall this has been sung by a hundred
minstrels, and need not here be repeated. We
have only to do with the share Theodoric and his friends
took in the fatal combat. Long the Amalungs stood
utterly aloof from the fray, grieving sorely that
so many of their friends on both sides were falling
by one another’s hands. For to the Nibelungs,
as well as to Attila and the Huns, were they bound
by the ties of guest-friendship, and in happier days
Theodoric had ridden with Gunther and with Hagen,
to test the mettle of their knights against the chivalry
of Britain. So Theodoric and his men stood on
the battlement of his palace, which looked down on
the garden of Attila, and watched from afar the ghastly
conflict. But at length they saw the good Margrave
Rudiger, the ally of the Amals on so many a hard-fought
battle-field, fall by the hand of his own daughter’s
husband, the young prince, Giselher; and then could
Theodoric bear it no longer, but cried, saying:
“Now is my best friend, Margrave Rudiger, dead.
Take your weapons, comrades, and let us avenge his
fall”. He descended into the street.
He forced his way into the palace-hall. Terrible
was the clang of the strong sword Ecke-sax on the
helmets of the Nibelungs. Many of them fell before
him, but alas! many of his faithful Amals fell there
also, far from their home. At length, in all
that stately palace-hall, there remained but four men
still able to deal blows, and these were Theodoric
and Master Hildebrand of the Amalungs, Hagen and Giselher
of their foes. And Hagen stood up to fight with
Theodoric, and Giselher with Hildebrand. Then,
as King Attila came from his tower to watch the combat,
Hagen shouted to him: “It were a knightly
deed to let young Giselher go unhurt, for he is innocent
of the death of Siegfried the Swift”. “Yea,
truly”, said Giselher; “Chriemhild, my
sister, knows that I was a little child of five years
old in my mother’s bed when her husband was killed.
I am innocent of this blood-feud, yet care I not to
live now that my brethren are slain”. Therewith
he closed in fight with Master Hildebrand, and soon
received his death-wound from the old hero.
Now there remained but one terrible
encounter, that between Hagen and Theodoric.
Hagen said: “It seems that here our friendship
must come to an end, great as it has ever been.
Let us each fight bravely for his life, and knight-like,
call on no man for aid”. Theodoric answered:
“Truly, I will let none meddle in this encounter,
but will fight it with warlike skill and knightliness”.
They fought long and hard, and exchanged grievous
blows, and both were weary and both were wounded.
Then Theodoric waxed exceeding wroth with himself for
not overcoming his foe, and said: “Truly,
this is a shame for me to stand here all the day and
not to be able to vanquish the elfin’s son”.
“Why should the elfin’s son be worse than
the son of the devil himself?” answered Hagen.
At that Theodoric was seized with such fury that fiery
breath issued from his mouth. Hagen’s coat
of mail was heated red-hot by this breath of fire,
and he was forced to cry out: “I give myself
up. Anything to end this torture and doff my
red-hot armour. If I were a fish, and not a man,
I should be broiled in this burning panoply”.
Then Theodoric sat down and began to unbrace his adversary’s
armour; and while he was doing this, Queen Chriemhild
came into the hall with a blazing torch, which she
thrust into the mouth of one after another of the prostrate
warriors, her brothers, to see if they were already
dead, and to slay them if they were still living.
Beholding this, Theodoric said to Attila: “See
how that devil, Chriemhild, thy wife, torments her
brethren, the noble heroes. See how many brave
men, Huns and Amalungs and Nibelungs, have yielded
up their life for her sake. And in like fashion
would she bring thee and me to death, if she had the
power”. “Truly, she is a devil”,
answered Attila. “Do thou slay her; and
it had been a good deed if thou hadst done it seven
nights ago. Then would many a noble knight be
still living who now is dead”. And with
that Theodoric sprang up and clove Chriemhild in twain.
Theodoric bore the sore-wounded Hagen
to his palace and bound up his wounds; but they were
mortal, and in a few days Hagen died, having bequeathed
to the woman who nursed him the secret of the great
Nibelung hoard, for the sake of which he had slain
Siegfried the Swift.
In the terrible encounter there had
fallen one thousand Nibelungs, being all their host,
and four thousand Huns and Amalungs. No battle
is more celebrated in the old German Sagas
than this. But Hun-land was wasted by reason
of the death of so many valiant warriors, and thus
had come to pass all the evil which the good Queen
Erka had foretold.
And now after thirty-two years of
exile, and with so many of his brave followers dead,
Theodoric’s heart pined more than ever for his
native land, and he said to Master Hildebrand:
“I would rather die in Verona than live any
longer in Hun-land”. To return with an army
was hopeless, so scanty a remnant was left of the
Amalungs. The only hope was to steal back secretly
and try if it were possible to find friends enough
in the old home to win back the crown. Master
Hildebrand knew of one thing which made the outlook
less desperate: “I have heard that the Duke
who rules over Verona is a brave knight named Alebrand;
and I cannot but think that this is my son, born of
my wife, Uta, shortly after I fled hither”.
So they got together four horses, two for Theodoric
and Hildebrand, one for the lady, Herauda, Theodoric’s
wife, and one to carry their raiment and store of
silver and gold; and after leave taken of Attila,
who wept bitterly at Theodoric’s departure, and
prayed him to stay till he could fit out another army
for his service, they set forth from Susat and rode
westward night and day, avoiding the towns and the
haunts of wayfarers. On their road they were met
by a band of two and thirty knights commanded by Earl
Elsung, a kinsman of that Elsung of Verona, whom Theodoric’s
grandfather, Samson, had slain. The blood-feud
was now old, but Elsung yearned to avenge it on Theodoric.
The lady Herauda wept when she saw so many well-armed
knights approaching, but Theodoric bade her be of
joyous heart till she saw one of her two protectors
fall, and that, he deemed, would never be. And
in truth, in the fight that followed, so well did
the aged Hildebrand wield the sword Gram, the wondrous
sword of Siegfried the Swift, and such mighty blows
dealt Theodoric with Ecke-sax, that Earl Elsung himself
and sixteen of his men were left dead on the field.
The rest fled, all but a nephew of Elsung, a brave
young knight. Him also Hildebrand vanquished in
fight, and from him, as ransom for his life, the victors
received great tidings from Amalungen-land. For
he told them that Hermanric was grievously sick, and
that the remedies which the false Sibich had persuaded
him to resort to had left him far weaker than before,
and, in short, the great Hermanric was already as
good as dead.
They came next in their journey to
a castle which was held by Duke Lewis and his son
Conrad. To them Master Hildebrand, riding forward,
made himself known, and from them he received joyous
welcome. They rode back with him into the forest,
where Theodoric was tarrying with the Lady Herauda,
and bent the knee before him. For they had heard
that Hermanric was dead, and though the false Sibich
aspired to be king after him, both they and all the
people in those parts chose rather to obey Theodoric,
and had sent a messenger into Hun-land to pray him
to return. Theodoric received Duke Lewis graciously,
but would not enter into his castle, for he had sworn
that Verona should be the first stronghold in Amalungen-land
within whose walls he would enter.
Now of Verona the lord was (as Hildebrand
had heard) his son Alebrand, born after he had left
the country. He was a brave knight, and a courteous,
but fiery, and when the aged Hildebrand, riding towards
Verona, met him in the way, the two champions rushed
at one another, and fought long and desperately.
The battle ceased from the mere weariness of the fighters
once and again. At every pause each knight, the
old and the young, asked the other of his name, and
each refused to tell his name till he had heard that
of his antagonist. And this, though all the time
Hildebrand more than guessed that it was his own son
from whom he was receiving, and to whom he was dealing,
such dreadful blows. At length, after Hildebrand
had given his opponent a great gaping wound in the
thigh, he fell upon him and bore him to the earth,
and then with his sword at his breast said: “Tell
me thy name or thou shalt die”. “I
care not for life”, said the other, “since
so old a man has vanquished me”. “If
thou wilt preserve thy life, tell me straightway if
thou art my son Alebrand; if so, I am thy father,
Hildebrand”. “If thou art my father
Hildebrand, I am thy son Alebrand”, said the
younger hero. And with that they both arose,
threw their arms around each other’s necks, and
kissed one another; and both were right glad, and
they mounted their horses and rode towards Verona.
From the gates the Lady Uta, Alebrand’s
mother, was coming forth to meet her son; but she
wept and wailed when she saw his streaming wound,
and said: “Oh, my son, why art thou so sore
wounded, and who is that aged man that is following
thee?” Alebrand answered: “For this
wound I need have no shame, sith it was given me by
my father, Hildebrand, and it is he who rides behind
me”. Then was the mother overjoyed, and
greeted her husband lovingly, and with great gladness
they entered into the city, where Hildebrand tarried
for the night, and the Lady Uta bound up
the wounds of Alebrand.
After this Theodoric’s course
was easy. He was received with joyous welcome
by the citizens of his native Verona, as he rode through
the streets on his faithful Falke, Master Hildebrand
of the long white beard holding high his banner.
Alebrand handed back to his keeping Verona and all
Amalungen-land, which he had received to hold from
the dead Hermanric. Theodoric sat in the high-seat
of the palace; the people brought him rich presents,
and all the nobles took him for their rightful lord
and ruler.
The false Sibich marched against him
with a larger army, thirteen thousand to Theodoric’s
eight thousand; but Theodoric and Hildebrand rode
as they pleased through the armed throng, dealing death
on every side; and Duke Alebrand, engaging Sibich
in single combat, after long fight, waxed exceeding
wroth, and smiting a dreadful blow, clove him through
from the shoulder to the saddle-bow. Then all
the Romans gave up the strife, and fell at Theodoric’s
feet, praying him to be their lord. So was Theodoric
crowned in the city of Rome; and now he was king over
all the lands which had once owned the sway of Hermanric.
It needs not to tell at length of
the deeds of Theodoric after he had recovered his
kingdom. He caused a statue to be cast in copper
of himself, seated on his good steed Falke, and this
statue many pilgrims to Rome have seen.
Also a statue of himself, standing
on a high tower, brandishing his good sword Ecke-sax
towards the north; and this statue is at Verona.
In his old age he and many of his
subjects turned to the Christian faith. One of
those that were baptized along with him was Master
Hildebrand, who died soon after his conversion, being
either one hundred and eighty or two hundred years
old. Theodoric’s wife, Herauda, died also
about this time, a good woman and much loved of the
people for all her gracious deeds, even as her cousin,
Erka, had been loved by the Huns. After Herauda’s
death Theodoric married Isold, widow of Hertnit, King
of Bergara, whose husband had been slain by a
terrible dragon, which Theodoric vanquished.
She was fair to look upon and wise of heart.
Of all his old warriors only Heime
was left, and Heime had buried himself in a convent,
where he sang psalms every day with the monks, and
did penance for his sins. Theodoric, hearing that
he was there, sought him out, but long time Heime
denied that he was Heime. “Much snow has
fallen”, said Theodoric, “on my head and
on thine since our steeds drank the stream dry in
Friesland. Our hair was then yellow as gold, and
fell in curls over our shoulders; now is it white
as a dove”. And then he plied him with
one memory after another of the joyous old times of
the battle and the banquet, till at length Heime confessed,
and said: “Good lord Theodoric, I do remember
all of which thou hast spoken, and now will I go forth
with thee from this place”. And with that
he fetched his armour from the convent-chest, and
his good old steed Rispa from the convent-stable,
and once more rode gladly after his lord. After
doing many more brave deeds, he fell in battle with
a giant, the biggest and clumsiest of his tribe.
Theodoric, riding forth alone, sought out the giant’s
lair, and with his good sword Ecke-sax avenged the
death of his friend; and that was the last battle
that the son of Dietmar fought with mortal foe.
The years of Theodoric’s old
age were given to the chase of the beasts of the forest,
for he was still a mighty hunter when his other strength
was gone.
One day as he was bathing at the place
which is still called “Theodoric’s Bath”,
a groom called out to him: “My lord! a stag
has just rushed past, the greatest and the finest
that ever I saw in my life”. With that
Theodoric wrapped a bathing-cloak round him, and calling
for his horse, prepared to set off in chase of the
stag. The horse was long in coming, and meanwhile
a mighty steed, coal-black, suddenly appeared before
him. Theodoric sprang upon the strange charger’s
back, and it flew off with him as swiftly as a bird.
His best groom on his best horse followed vainly behind.
“My lord”, cried he, “when wilt thou
come back, that thou ridest so fast and far”.
But Theodoric knew by this time that it was no earthly
steed that he was bestriding, and from which he vainly
tried to unclasp his legs. “I am ill-mounted”,
cried he to the groom. “This must be the
foul fiend on which I ride. Yet will I return,
if God wills and Holy Mary”. With that
he vanished from his servant’s sight, and since
then no man has seen and no man ever will see Theodoric
of Verona. Yet some German minstrels say that
it has been opened to them in dreams that he has found
grace at last, because in his death-ride he called
on the names of God and the Virgin Mary.
I have thus endeavoured to bring before
the reader (I hope not with undue prolixity) the chief
events in the life of the mythical Theodoric of the
Middle Ages. Still, as late as the sixteenth century
the common people loved to talk of this mighty hero.
The Bavarian “Chronicle” (translated and
continued about 1580) says: “Our people
sing and talk much about ‘Dietrich von Bern.’
You would not soon find an ancient king who is so
well known to the common people amongst us, or about
whom they have so much to say". What they had
to say was, as the reader will have observed, strangely
removed from the truth of history. How all this
elaborate superstructure of romance could be reared
on the mere name of Theodoric of Verona is almost
inconceivable to us, till we call to mind that the
minstrels were in truth the novelists of the Middle
Ages, not pretending or desiring to instruct, but
only to amuse and interest their hearers, and to beguile
the tedium of existence in dull baronial castles.
Of the thousand and one details contained
in the foregoing narrative, there are not more than
three or four which correspond with the life of the
real Theodoric, He was, as the Saga says, of Amal lineage.
His father’s name, Theudemir, is fairly enough
represented by Dietmar. He was for some years
of his life (but not his middle or later life) a wanderer
more or less dependent on the favour of a powerful
sovereign. His life during this period did get
entangled with that of another Theodoric, even as
the life of the hero of Saga becomes entangled with
the life of Theodoric of Russia. After subduing
all his enemies, he did eventually rule in Rome, and
erect statues to himself there and at Verona.
Ravenna and Verona were the places of his most frequent
residence. In his mature years, when his whole
soul was set on the maintenance of civilitas,
he might very fitly have spoken such words as he is
said to have used to Witig in his boyhood, “I
will establish such peace in my father’s realm
and mine, that it shall not be in the power of every
wandering adventurer to challenge me to single combat”.
Moreover, throughout all the wild vagaries of the narrative,
character, that mysterious and indestructible essence,
is not wholly lost. No two books can be more
absolutely unlike one another than the “Wilkina-Saga”
and the “Various Letters of Cassiodorus”,
yet the same hot-tempered, impulsive, generous man
is pourtrayed to us by both.
As for the other names introduced,
they are, of course, brought in at the cost of the
strangest anachronisms. The cruel uncle, Hermanric,
is really a remote collateral ancestor who died nearly
eighty years before Theodoric was born. The generous
host and ally, Attila, died two years before his birth,
and the especial gladness of that birth was that it
occurred at the same time with a signal victory of
the Amal kings over the sons of Attila. To take
an illustration from modern history, the general framework
of the “Wilkina-Saga” is about as accurate
as a romance would be which should represent Queen
Victoria as driven from her throne by the Old Pretender,
remaining for thirty years an exile at the court of
Napoleon, and at length recovering her kingdom on the
Old Pretender’s death.
But, as has been often and well pointed
out, the most marvellous thing in these old German
Sagas is the utter disappearance from them of
that Roman Empire which at the cost of such giant
labour the Teutonic nations had overthrown. The
Roman Imperator, the Roman legions, even the Catholic
priests with their pious zeal against Arianism, count
for nothing in the story. Just as the knightly
warriors prick to and fro on their fiery steeds to
the court of Arthur of Britain, with no mention of
the intervening sea, so these German bards link together
the days of Chivalry and the old barbarian life which
Tacitus paints for us in the “Germania”,
without apparently any consciousness of the momentous
deed which the German warriors had in the meanwhile
performed, full of significance for all succeeding
generations of men, the overthrow of the Empire of
Rome.