Rüdiger appeared, and in courteous fashion wooed the queen in his master’s name; but not till he had promised, in the name of the god Irmin, that she should have men to fight her battles when she needed them, did she consent to go to the land of the wild Huns, and to become Etzel’s wife.
The Burgundians all rejoiced when Rüdiger told them the good news,—the three royal brothers especially, for now, they thought, their sister would again be happy. But Hagen came to them, and said,—
“What are you thinking of, that you thus call the lightning down on our heads? Do not give your sister to the king of the Huns. Between the widow of Siegfried and us, such friendship alone can exist as that between fire and water. Either must the one be quenched, or the other fly off in steam. It is a childish action to supply one’s enemy with a sword to cut off one’s head.”
But the brothers refused to listen to his warnings. Preparations now went on apace for the journey to Etzelburg. Ambassadors were sent to the Nibelungs and to the Netherlands to tell them of the queen’s contemplated marriage. They returned with a numerous company of warriors and servants. At length all was ready, the kings went with their sister as far as the Danube, where they took leave of her, and Margrave Rüdiger took their place as leader of the travelling party. At the borders of the land, King Etzel with a large following awaited the queen’s arrival. His face lighted up with pleasure when he saw the pale, beautiful countenance of the Lady Chriemhild. He told her that she should have full power over his treasures and his lands,—that, in short, she should be his queen. She answered that she would be a faithful and obedient wife, but that her love was buried with Siegfried. The king paid no attention to the last words. He made sure of winning her love through kindness and affection. And so they went on together to Etzelburg. The marriage festivities lasted a fortnight, and were celebrated in the usual way.
Chriemhild took little part in the rejoicings. She did all that she had to do, thinking of Siegfried the while. Now, amongst the warriors present, there was one who was famed for his unusual strength, bold Dietrich of Bern. His thoughts were far away in the beautiful land of the Amelungs, which his uncle Ermenrich had taken from him by guile and force. He longed to return to his own people, and win the victory for them; but Etzel would not give him the necessary help. Sometimes, as he sat grave and sad in the great hall, while other men were laughing and talking, the queen would go to him, and tell him of Hagen’s foul deed. He understood that she wished to woo him to vengeance, but he was silent, for he neither could nor would raise his sword against the Burgundian warriors who had been his faithful comrades in the olden time.
Months and years passed on; a little boy was born to the royal pair. He was the image of his mother, and received the name of Ortlieb. The king and country rejoiced equally in the birth of an heir to the throne. For his son’s sake, Etzel loved his wife more than he had ever done before, and would have given her anything she chose to ask; but she cared for nothing; she remained grave, quiet, thoughtful about her duties, but sparing of her words. Even her little boy, carefully as she tended him, did not bring her happiness. She was never seen to smile even on him. The wound that her first husband’s death had dealt her would not heal. The spirit of vengeance, rising out of the abyss, never ceased to whisper in her ears, “Blood for blood, murder for murder,” and her ears were open to its cry.
