The city was full of life and feasting. Imelot, Constantine, and their followers were hobnobbing together in the banqueting room in the greatest peace and concord, for Constantine was overjoyed at having settled the vexed question of his daughter’s marriage without losing her altogether. The hunchbacked bridegroom sat between his father and his would-be father-in-law and close to sad Oda and her equally sorrowful mother. The doors were wide open, that the populace might come in and watch the proceedings. So the three pilgrims were able to enter unnoticed, with their hats pulled down low over their brows. They heard Constantine, Imelot, and Basilistum boast of how they would scornfully entreat and hang King Rother and all his giants if they ventured to come within their reach. During the laughter and confusion caused by these speeches, Rother managed to slip a ring bearing his name into his wife’s hand, and she, with a look of intense relief, showed it to her mother.
“Rother is here,” cried the hunchbacked bridegroom suddenly. “He has just given my wife a ring with his name engraved on it. Seek him out and seize him.”
Swords were drawn, tables overturned, and noisy shouts heard on every side. Rother and his companions came forward, and the former said clearly and distinctly—
“Yes, I am here. I have come to claim my wife, and if the king of Desert-Babylon or his hunchbacked son deny my right, I am ready to prove it on their bodies with my good sword.”
Imelot laughed till the hall re-echoed. “Fight with you,” he cried, “a poor little kinglet like you! No, no, you must be hung.”
“He must be hung!” repeated the courtiers.
“To the gallows with him, and his comrades too,” continued the Babylonish king, “seize them and bind them till the blood starts from their fingers.”
The heroes had only their pilgrim’s staves, and these were poor weapons wherewith to defend themselves against the swords and lances that were pointed at them. They were taken and bound. No hand was raised to help them, although many a hardy fellow in the crowd had cause to remember Dietrich’s kindness.
“A king,” said Rother proudly, “who has often looked death in the face on the battle-field, knows how to die when his time comes. Let the executioner do his work in the haunted wood, where Constantine has already had so many innocent men put to a shameful death.”
“A good idea,” quoth the emperor grimly. “There are gallows there that will just do to hang the stealer of women and his comrades on.”