Wilhelm Wägner - Epics and Romances of the Middle Ages

Rother and his handful of followers had thus won a complete victory, and before daybreak had returned to their tents with Imelot and some other princes of Desert-Babylon whom they had taken prisoners. Thoroughly tired with their hard night’s work, they threw themselves on their couches, and sought well-merited repose.

Not so the Emperor Constantine. Contrary to his usual habit, he was up and about at a very early hour, and ordered the horns to blow to rouse the camp. This done, he desired that his troops should pass before him in companies. All were present except Lord Dietrich and his companions.

“Ha! ha!” laughed the emperor scornfully, “so that fellow’s high talk was all swagger. I will go and see what keeps him,” and he trotted away to Dietrich’s tent.

When he got there, he found that all was silent as the grave. Motioning to his attendants to help him from his horse, he advanced to wake the sleepers. In the first tent, he saw the grim giant Widolt stretched upon a panther skin, while in the background a man was tossing about on a bed of straw, bound hand and foot. The emperor did not dare to wake the sleeper. He stept over him carefully, and advanced close to the prisoner. Imelot, in deadly fear lest he should be murdered on the spot, shrieked out who he was, and offered the half of his kingdom in exchange for his life. The noise wakened the giant. He sprang to his feet, and seizing his club, shouted to Dietrich to come, for some treason was being hatched in their very tents. He would certainly have killed both monarchs on the spot, had his companions not hastened to his side and hindered him. When Constantine heard the occurrences of the previous night, he was filled with surprise and admiration. He gave a solemn feast in honour of the victory, which in public he ascribed to himself, for were not Dietrich and his companions in his pay at the time? In order that the empress and her ladies might not be kept in ignorance of what had happened, Constantine sent Dietrich and his men on in advance to bear the news to the capital.

The Western heroes rode back to Constantinople light-hearted and happy, for Dietrich had told them that the hour of their return home was near. The first step, in his opinion, was to proclaim that Imelot had conquered and dispersed the Greek army, and was rapidly marching on the capital.

“All is lost,” they cried, when the citizens came out to meet them, “fly, save yourselves while you may. Imelot’s wild horde of savages will soon be upon you.” Then galloping to the palace, Dietrich entreated the empress to come on board his galley with her daughter and her ladies, and to bring anything of value that she particularly cared for.

They soon reached the strand. Oda crossed the plank leading to the vessel, her hand resting trustfully on Dietrich’s arm. Then the plank was withdrawn and the ship pushed from land. The empress wept and begged that she might be taken too, but Dietrich explained to her the true state of the case, and telling her who he was, assured her that Oda was going home with him to rule over the West as his beloved queen.

“Ah,” said the mother, much comforted, “be kind to her, noble hero, and take my blessing on you both. Think of me sometimes, as I shall think of you.”

After a pleasant voyage the travellers arrived at Bari, where the marriage of King Rother to the princess was celebrated with all pomp.

When Constantine returned with his victorious army to Constantinople, and learnt what had happened, he was very angry. Had he not feared Rother and his gigantic allies, he would have sent an army to Bari to fetch back the princess. The whole city was in such confusion, that King Imelot had not much difficulty in effecting his escape and returning to his own land. The emperor did not fret much when he heard this news. He could think of nothing but the loss of his daughter. He cared not for the rich dishes in which he used to delight, nor for the delicate wines his steward brought to tempt his appetite. He grew thin and pale, and his clothes hung loose on his shrunken frame.

One day when he was alone in his room, a chamberlain came to him and announced that a clever mountebank had come, who would be sure to amuse his Majesty and turn his thoughts into a pleasanter channel. The mountebank was admitted. The emperor watched him perform all his curious tricks without a smile. But when the man sang of a woman who had been stolen from her home, and whose friends had freed her by means of cunning, not strength, he listened with his whole soul in his eyes. When the song was finished, he signed to the man to approach him, and asked him if he could bring Oda home to Constantinople.

“Give me,” answered the mountebank, “a goodly ship, well filled with merchandise, and I promise to bring the lady back to you. You may send some of your soldiers with me if you like, that they may cut off my head if I fail to keep my promise.”

Before long the ship was laden and ready for sea. It was a fast sailer, and there were many able seamen on board, to say nothing of the soldiers the emperor had sent to see that the player was true to his bargain.

All went well during the voyage, and the ship at last reached the port of Bari. The mountebank landed and set to work to find out all that he could about the royal family. He found that King Rother had gone to Riffland with his troops, leaving Leupold of Milan regent in his place. He congratulated himself on his good luck when he heard this, for he thought his plan would be easier of accomplishment during the king’s absence. On his return to his ship he made ready to show off his conjuring tricks on board the vessel. Crowds came, tempted by the unusual sight. He then brought out his silks and precious stones and offered them for sale. Amongst his wares was a pebble. The people asked what good a wretched common pebble could do him.

“This stone,” he said, taking it gently in his hand, “is worth a ton of gold, for if a queen should touch a lame or impotent man with it, he would at once become strong and well again.”

“Ah,” sighed one of the lords, “if that were only true! I would give half my county were it really so, for I have three children, all of whom have been lame from their birth.”

“They would soon jump about and play like other children,” replied the mountebank, “if your good queen would only come on board my ship and try the virtue of the pebble.”

The count hastened to Queen Oda and told her his story, and she, with her usual kindliness, said how willing she was to cure the children if she could. She at once set out for the vessel, but no sooner were she and her ladies on board than the landing plank was slipped, the hawsers were unloosed, and a fresh wind catching the sails, the ship was soon out of sight of land.

The citizens of Bari clustered about the harbour not knowing what to do, and Leupold vainly sought a ship that could be got ready immediately to pursue and overtake the robber’s vessel. At the same moment King Rother’s horns were heard proclaiming his return. As soon as the king was told what had happened, his decision was formed.

“We must take an army to Constantinople,” he cried. “My dear wife has been stolen from me by force and cunning, and by force and cunning I will win her back.”

Old Duke Berchther shook his grey head, but said that he and his men would follow the king. Leupold, Wolfrat and the other princes of the realm promised to do the same. Messengers were sent to bear the tidings to all parts of the kingdom, and soon a great army was assembled. Rother picked out the bravest warriors to accompany him, amongst whom were Asprian and his giants; the rest he sent home. Meantime the ships that were to bear the little army had been got ready, and after a favourable voyage reached the neighbourhood of Constantinople. Rother gave orders that the vessels should be run ashore in a small bay, surrounded on all sides by a thick wood which stretched in the direction of the city, and which would serve to conceal both ships and men.