The pilgrims must be willing that on the sand we leave them,
Until our Norman foemen make good our wrongs, or we again shall brave them.”
At once old Wâ-te started, no longer would he wait;
A hundred knights went with him, the others lingered yet.
He said he came for buying; what could the pilgrims sell him?
For this men died thereafter, and, for himself, but sorry luck befell him.
On the shore he found the pilgrims— this I know is true—
Fully thirty hundred, I ween, and better, too.
To fight were they unready, and could not rouse them quickly:
Nearer came King Hettel, and with him led his men, now crowding thickly.
Their goods the pilgrims guarded, yet Wâ-te sent on shore
All that he had no need for, of silver and clothes a store;
But the food was left on shipboard, so old Wâ-te chooses:
He said he should come hereafter, and would reward them well for all their losses.
Sadly mourned the pilgrims, for sorest was their need;
But for all they said old Wâ-te cared not a crust of bread:
The bold, unyielding warrior, stern and never smiling,
Said: “Both ships and flatboats they to leave to him must now be willing.”
Hettel recked but little if ever they sailed again
Over the sea with their crosses: then he took of their men
Five hundred at least, or over, the best they had among them;
Of these to the Hegeling kingdom few came back, from the death that overhung them.
I know not whether Hettel atoned for his evil deed
Done to these poor pilgrims, that made their hearts to bleed,
And, in a far-off kingdom, rent their band, to their sorrow.
I ween the God in heaven saw the wrong, and his anger showed on the morrow.
King Hettel and his followers met with a kindly breeze,
And now their way were taking quickly across the seas;
Seeking for their foemen, they sailed far over the water,
Wherever they might find them, longing to show their wrath, and bent on slaughter.
Tale XVII
How Hettel Came to the Wulpensand in Search of His Daughter
Ludwig and Hartmut, on their way to Normandy with Gudrun, stop at a desert island, called Wulpensand; Hettel and Herwic, in pursuit, reach the island, and a battle ensues.
Ludwig, king of the Normans, and Hartmut, too, his son,
Now, with all their followers, far away had gone,
And on a lone, wild seashore, after their toil, were resting.
Though many there were gathered, yet little happiness they then were tasting.
’Twas on a broad, low island, hight the Wulpensand,
That now the brave King Ludwig, and they of the Norman land,
Shelter for men and horses had found unto their liking;
But a doom to them most woeful erelong must come, instead of the rest they were seeking.
The very high-born maidens, torn from the Hegeling land,
Had been led out, and wandered along the barren sand;
So far as ’twas allowed them to show their feelings freely,
They who had been stolen in sadness wept before the foeman daily.
Fires upon the seashore were seen on every side;
The men from far-off Normandy were thinking there to abide.
Gladly with the maidens would they seven days have rested,
And there have made them lodgings; but every hope of this erelong was blasted.
While on this isle forsaken Hartmut now must stay,
Loth were he and his followers the hope to put away,
Which till now they fostered, that they for rest might tarry
Throughout a week in the shelter whither they the maidens fair did carry.
It was from far-off Matelan that Ludwig and his band
The fair Gudrun had taken unto this lonely strand;
Nor felt they now uneasy lest to their hidden dwelling
Wâ-te them should follow, and never harm from him were they foretelling.
Now saw King Ludwig’s sailors, tossing on the wave,
A ship with sails the richest. To the king they warning gave;
But when ’twas seen by Hartmut, and others with him standing,
That on the sails were crosses, they said these must be pilgrims, bent on landing.
On the waters floating three good ships were seen,
With new and well-made flatboats; they bore across the main
Those who on their clothing never yet wore crosses,
Their love to God thus showing. The Normans must from them meet heavy losses.
As they the shore were nearing, one on the ships might see
Helmets brightly shining. No more from care were free
King Ludwig and his kinsmen, and harm their fears foreboded:
“Look there!” then shouted Hartmut; “with grimmest foes of mine these ships are loaded.”
The ships were turned so quickly that now men loudly heard
Rudders strained and cracking, held by those who steered.
Both the young and aged, who on the sea-sands rested,
Were indeed bewildered when to spring on shore the foeman hasted.
Ludwig and young Hartmut their shields in hand now bore.
For them it had been easier to reach their homes once more
If they had not too freely their rest on the island taken:
They had falsely reckoned that Hettel had now no friends, and was all forsaken.
Ludwig called out loudly to all his trusty men,
(He thought it child’s play only that he before had seen,)
“Now with worthy foemen must I, at length, be striving!
He shall be the richer who ’neath my flag his help to me is giving.”
Soon was Hartmut’s banner raised upon the shore.
The ships had now come nearer; with spears the Normans bore
To reach the foe were easy from where they now were waiting:
I ween the aged Wâ-te was ready with his shield, the foeman meeting.
Ne’er before so grimly did champions guard their land.
Boldly the Hegeling warriors nearer pressed to the strand;
Soon they met the Normans with sword and spear, undaunted;
Blows they freely bartered: such bargains cheaply given no more they wanted.
Everywhere the Hegelings sprang upon the shore.
After a wind from the hill-tops was never seen before
Snow so thickly whirling as spears from hands that threw them:
Though they had done it gladly idle it were to shun the strokes that slew them.
Thick fly the spears on both sides: the time but slowly goes,
Till they on the beach are standing. Quickly on his foes
Sprang the aged Wâ-te, just as they were nearing;
His mood was of the grimmest, and soon they saw what mind he now was bearing.
Ludwig, king of the Normans, then at Wâ-te ran,
And hurled a spear well sharpened against the brave old man.
The shaft, in splinters shattered, high thro’ air went crashing,
For Ludwig drove it bravely; soon to the fight came Wâ-te’s kinsmen dashing.
With a heavy stroke, old Wâ-te Ludwig’s helmet cut;
The edge of the sword he wielded the head of his foeman smote,
Who beneath his breastplate a shirt of silk was wearing;
(In Abalie ’twas woven;) were it not for this, his end he must be nearing.
Hardly from him could Ludwig with life and limb
