THE DRAGON FINDS ORTNIT ASLEEP.
All at once the birds ceased their song, the branches stopped their soft waving to and fro, and the flowers bent their heads as though a breath of poisoned air were passing over them. Crawling through the thicket, trees and bushes breaking with its weight, came the terrible lind-worm, its jaws wide open, showing its long pointed teeth. The faithful dog, with a howl of mingled fear and anger, pulled at his master, hoping to wake him; but in vain, for Ortnit was as though in a charmed sleep. The dog then sprang upon the dragon, but could not touch it because of the way it slashed about with its tail. At this moment the horrible creature caught sight of Ortnit, flung itself upon him, carried him into the thicket, and then broke all his bones by dashing him again and again upon the ground. But though his bones were broken, his armour remained whole as at the first. Then taking the dead body up in its powerful jaws, the lind-worm bore it home to its nest in the noisome cave, where its young ones fell ravenously upon their favourite food, and devoured as much as they could get at through the steel rings of the coat of mail. The dog, which had followed the dragon home in hopes of saving his master, watched all night by the cave, but finding himself powerless to help, set out early next morning on his way back to Garden.
Sidrat the Sorrowful (Liebgart).
Meanwhile Liebgart and the old queen were very anxious. They hoped and feared alternately. On the fourth day, as they were sitting together, they heard something scratching at the door. Liebgart opened it, and saw the faithful dog, her husband’s companion on his last journey. Instead of showing his usual joy at seeing her, the dog crept slowly in, and lay down at the old queen’s feet with a low, moaning whine.
“He is dead—murdered by the monsters,” cried the unhappy mother. These were the last words she ever spoke, for next moment she sank back dead in her chair.
The shrieks of the young queen brought her women into the room, and soon the sad news was known to all. There was now no king in Lombardy, no one to keep order in the land. The great nobles fought and quarrelled incessantly, and the country was split into factions. At last, tired of this state of anarchy, it was agreed by the notables in council that the only thing that could save the kingdom was for Liebgart to choose a husband who had sufficient wisdom and power to make a good ruler. They went to the queen, each hoping in his secret heart that he would be chosen by her. But on hearing what was required of her, she answered with solemn earnestness that she would preserve her faith to Ortnit unbroken, and that none was worthy to succeed him unless he could slay the lind-worms and avenge his death. The nobles looked at each other in a shamefaced manner, and hastened to leave the royal presence; but avarice and ambition soon regained the upper hand, and civil war seemed imminent. Liebgart, deprived of all means of support,—for even the treasury had been despoiled by the nobles,—was forced, in company with a few women who were faithful to her, to make her own livelihood by spinning.
The Margrave of Tuscany was much distressed when he heard of the straits to which the queen was reduced. He offered her an asylum in his country; but she said that at Garden she had been happy with Ortnit, and there she also wished to sorrow for him. Touched by her faithfulness, the prince sent her food and wine, that she might no longer have to work for the necessaries of life. So she lived on, the Lombards trying to force her to seek refuge from the ills of life by a second marriage; but in vain; she bore all the miseries of her lot with quiet patience, for she strengthened herself with thoughts of her husband and of the avenger for whom she hoped.
This hope, which sometimes rose like a star on the cloudy night of sorrow in which she lived, was one day to be fulfilled, but not for a long time.
