‘Your daughter shall go to my lord of her own free will,’ he cried to the Soldan, ‘and only so shall your skull be saved!’ He then returned to the Emperor, who bade his troops attack the city of Sidon.
A desperate battle with the heathen followed; for awhile the enemy’s numbers triumphed, but not for long. The Emperor’s charge swept all before him, and the Soldan’s soldiers fell like corn before the scythe. Then the Dwarf led the army to the Syrian capital; and red as had been the field of Sidon, it was as nothing to that of Muntabur, where men’s blood flowed as a crimson river.
While yet the battle was at its height, Elberich made his way, unseen, to an inner chamber of the Royal Palace, and though he had come to rate the Princess for her father’s obstinacy, words forsook him in her presence. So fair a maid he had never seen; her mouth ‘flamed like the rose,’ her flowing hair was the colour of rich red gold, and her lovely eyes had the radiance of the moon. Elberich drew her to the window, and by the aid of his power over space, showed her King Otnit in the thick of the fight. The sun fell full on his upturned face, as, seated on his white charger, he rallied his men for the final onslaught; he looked as brave a knight as the Princess had ever seen, and she lowered her glance as Elberich told her how she could save her father.
‘Death alone can wean King Otnit’s desire to wed you,’ he said. ‘His love for you passes the love of man, and is withal as tender as that of a woman for her child.’
Much more Elberich spake to her to the same purpose, and at close of day she allowed him to lead her where he would. Together they passed through a secret passage beneath the Palace, and so through the royal gardens, to a path which wound down to the field of battle.
Fighting had ceased for awhile, for the heathen had been sore smitten; and since his men had neither eaten nor slept for many long hours, the Emperor must needs let them rest until dawn. Full of impatience at the delay which kept him from storming the walls that held the lady of his love, he paced his tent, and turned to find her standing before him. Her mouth flamed red as the reddest rose; her eyes had the lustre of the harvest moon, and her red-gold hair framed a snowy brow that was white as the breast of a swan. Bending his knee, he touched with his lips the hem of her gown, and when the Princess gave him her exquisite hand, he could scarce breathe for rapture.