Chriemhild silently came down from the throne, and picked up the good sword Balmung that lay beside Hagen’s armour.
“You took good care of the gold you stole from me,” she said, “but another thing that you stole I have in my hands at this moment. My noble husband Siegfried wore this sword when last I saw him, before he fell under your murderous hand. I will now try whether it be strong enough to avenge its master.”
She had drawn the sword from its sheath, and now swung it with both hands, and with such force that the head was cut from the body, and fell at the feet of old Hildebrand.
A cry of horror echoed through the hall, then all was still. Chriemhild thrust the bloody weapon back into its sheath, and said,—
“This blood may never be washed from the blade. Balmung must be taken to Worms as it is, and laid in Siegfried’s grave. Perhaps he may then learn that his wife loved him faithfully, and punished his murderer. Two things alone made up my life: Love and Revenge. My work is done.”
“Strange,” said Hildebrand, staring at the hero’s dissevered head, “that the bravest warrior in all the world should have been slain by a woman! But although he wronged me much of late, I will yet avenge him.”
So saying, the old master drew his sword, and gave the queen her death-blow. Etzel shrieked out, and threw himself on his knees beside his wife. She was deadly pale, and had only strength to gasp rather than speak,—
“Let none touch the old master for this,” she said, and they were her last words.
