“Coward! If you raise your hand to murder any woman, I will have you hung before sunset.”
The man let the sword fall to the ground, and slunk away. At this moment Hartmut, to his intense amazement, caught sight of old Wate at the castle gate. He looked round for help, but Ludwig was nowhere to be seen; on every side waved the banners of the Hegelings and their allies, and their foremost men were fast closing round him and his little band. Hartmut was too brave to fly; he prepared to defend himself to the last. The lord of Sturmland now came forward to attack him; and although he fought desperately, it had gone ill with him, if Herwig had not thrown himself in the old warrior’s way, and pleaded for his rival’s life. In the heat of the conflict, Wate did not notice who it was that addressed him; he brought down one of his sledge-hammer blows on Herwig’s head, and the king of Zealand was stretched unconscious on the ground beside many a dead and dying Norman. This restored the wild lord of Sturmland to his senses. Leaving Hartmut alone, he bent over his friend, and, to his joy, discovered him to be whole and sound. As soon as Herwig was on his feet again, Wate asked:
“What devil possessed you to make me spare the life of that Norman robber?”
“No devil at all,” replied Herwig; “the noble Gudrûn loves the Princess Ortrûn, and, for her sake, begged that Hartmut’s life should be spared.”
“Women, women!” cried the old warrior. “They are all alike. They have soft hearts, as easily moved as a fleecy cloud is blown by the breeze. But now let us haste, and trap the she-wolf in her lair.”
At length the castle gate was burst open, and the hero of Sturmland cut his way through the small crowd of defenders to the women’s apartments. There he found Gudrûn surrounded by all the frightened women in the palace, while Ortrûn and Gerlind knelt at her feet and entreated her protection.
“Where is the she-wolf?” shouted Wate. “Speak, Gudrûn, and you others!”
He was awful to look upon, with his grim, stern face, his armour and sword dripping with the blood of his enemies; but Gudrûn did not quail, nor did she utter a single word to betray the cruel woman who had used her so badly. She sat still and quiet, full of a gentle dignity, and looked at the angry old man without blenching.