Part 4

He had already fastened his horse to a branch, and stooping down, he lifted the boy in his arms to carry him away; but to his intense surprise he received such a blow on the chest that he not only let the child fall, but himself tumbled on his back. He had scarcely recovered his footing, when he found the child holding him so tight that he had to exert all his strength not to be overthrown. It was a strange sight to see the tall king and the wonderful child, wrestling furiously together. Flowers and grass were trodden under foot, shrubs and low bushes broken and torn, when Ortnit at last flung his opponent on the ground, and drew his sword to slay him. But, angry as he was, he could not do it when the little thing gazed at him so entreatingly, and begged in such a sweet soft voice that he would not murder him when he was defenceless, but would accept, in exchange for the life he granted him, a valuable suit of armour, consisting of helmet, shield, and coat of mail of wrought gold and silver, and last not least, the sword called Rosen, whose blade had been rendered strong and durable in dragon’s blood. When Ortnit demanded a hostage for his opponent’s good faith, the little creature told him that hostages were impossible to find in that wild mountain country, but Ortnit might trust to his word, for he also was a king, and ruled over a far wider domain than Lombardy, though truly his realm lay beneath the earth instead of upon it, and his subjects were employed day and night in working in metals. Finding that no hostage was necessary, or indeed procurable, the hero allowed his prisoner to get up. But before the latter went to get the armour he had promised, he said that he would like to have the ring Ortnit was wearing, and that he scrupled the less to ask for it, as it did not appear to be of great value.

“I cannot give it to you,” replied Ortnit, “for it was a present from my dear mother, who would never forgive me if I parted with it.”

“And you call yourself a hero,” sneered the little creature, “_you_ who fear your mother’s blows! Tell me, what do you do when you are wounded in battle? Do you cry like a baby when you see the blood flow?”

“If you were to hew me in pieces,” replied the Lombard, “painful as that would be, it would hurt me less than a tear or a sigh from my mother.”

“Well, good squire of dames,” continued the other, “it can at any rate do the ring no harm for me to look at it and touch it. I am in your power, am I not? Your sword is in your hand, and I am without a weapon.”

After a little hesitation the king consented to let the boy draw the ring from his finger; but scarcely was this done, when he vanished from before his eyes, suddenly and without warning. Ortnit felt bewildered. He heard the boy’s voice, now at a distance and now near, making sarcastic remarks on the beating his mother would give him when he went home, and finally announcing that he would pelt him with a few pebbles to show him how well he could do it. Ortnit defended himself for some time against the terrible storm of sharp stones that rained upon him, but at last, seeing that neither his great strength nor his sword were of any avail, he turned to his horse and prepared to ride away.

On perceiving this the hobgoblin exclaimed: “Wait a bit, friend Goodman. I am sorry to think of the stripes your mother will give you. Listen to me. I have many important things to talk to you about. If you will give me your royal word of honour that you will not revenge yourself for the trick I played you, I will give you back your ring.”

“Very well,” answered Ortnit, “I promise on my honour.”

“And if I go on to talk ill of your mother?”

“No,” cried the king, “I will never forgive that. You may say what you like about me, but my mother is the purest and most perfect of women.”

“I quite agree with you,” said the little creature; “you may listen to me without fearing that I shall slander her, for I am Alberich (Ælf-ric) king of the Dwarfs, and you and I are more nearly related than you think. I will tell you the truth; but first take back your ring. I trust to your word of honour.”

The moment Ortnit felt the ring in his hand, he slipped it back on his finger, and immediately saw the boy standing before him.

“You must know, great king,” pursued Alberich, “that you have to thank me for your land and people, castles, towns and victories, and also for your marvellous strength. Your predecessor, whom you call father, married, when he was an elderly man, the youthful sister of the prince of the wild Reussen. The marriage was childless. Husband and wife in vain prayed heaven for an heir. Your mother was the best and most virtuous woman in Lombardy, but she wore herself away with fretting about what would become of the country and herself when her husband died without an heir. She foresaw that the nation would be split into factions, that civil war would desolate the land, and that she herself might be chased from Lombardy, a homeless exile. I often heard her plaints when I entered her room unseen. The older the king grew, the more her anxiety increased; then—well, you must know it sooner or later—I became her second husband.”

“Monster, you lie!” shouted Ortnit, drawing a dagger from his side, but he could not use it, for the smiling boy looked up at him so fearlessly.

“Your anger is bootless,” he said. “You had better let me finish my story. Young as I look, I am five hundred years old; small as I am, and big and strong as you are, I am yet your father. I proposed to the king that he should secretly get a divorce from his wife and let her marry me. He consented, but she would not. She refused. She spent days and months in weeping, and only gave way at last when her husband insisted! She and I were married secretly by a priest. No one guessed what had happened, and when you were born you were supposed to be the old king’s son. I did not win my wife’s heart, however, until her first husband was dead. After that I used sometimes to bring her here; you and I played together among the flowers like two children, and I sang with the birds that wild song of theirs about the king of the wood, which your mother often sung to you again at Castle Garden. When you grew to be a man and a hero, I was often at your side unseen, while the battle raged all round you, and on those occasions I have often turned aside the point of some murderous weapon that threatened your life. When you cross the wild ocean, and strive to win the Moorish maiden for your wife, I will be there to help you. So long as you wear that ring on your finger, you have only to wish for me and you will see me. Now wait a few minutes; I am going to fetch the armour that no weapon can pierce, and the sword Rosen, which can cut through steel and iron, and even dragon’s scales.”

Ortnit felt as though in a dream. While he was still thinking over all that he had just heard, the sound of heavy steps, and the clanking of armour startled him out of his reverie. Turning round he saw Alberich, who with the help of a sturdy dwarf was bringing his promised gift. On the top of the silver helmet with gold enwrought, was a priceless diamond. The whole suit of mail was of marvellously beautiful workmanship, and sparkled with gems wherever gems should be. The sword was in a golden sheath, its handle was a shining carbuncle, and on the sharp steel blade were golden figures and the letters forming the king’s name.

Ortnit was amazed at the beauty of all he saw. He put on the armour, and it fitted him exactly. Then he picked his tiny father up in his strong arms and kissed him on his rosy mouth, and Alberich returned his embrace with much affection. As the king rode away, the last words he heard were, “Do not forget the importance of that ring. Never give it away. If you turn it on your finger, I will at once be with you.”

When Ortnit got home, he was received with joy by all his retainers; and his mother, who was watching for his arrival, signed to him to come to her. He instantly ran up the steps, and whispered as he kissed her, “I have come from father Alberich.”

“You know?” she asked, hiding her face on his shoulder.

“I know,” he answered, “that I love and honour my dear mother.”

May came at last. The army assembled and marched south through Tuscany, Rome and Naples, whence they embarked for Sicily, Messina being the place fixed on for the general meeting of all the forces. Arrived there, they found faithful Zacharis ready with his ship, in which he had stowed away, not only enough provisions for the voyage, but also merchandise, in case it should be wanted. Soon every man was on board, a favourable wind swelled the sails, and experienced seamen steered the ship through the wild sea.

CITY OF SUDERS (TYRE).

After they had journeyed a long time, the welcome cry of “land” was heard from the mast-head, and soon afterwards those on deck had a distinct view of the shore and the wharfs of Tyre. But at this moment the skipper came up to the king and said:

“Sire, we are all lost. There is no wind to carry us past this place. They have sighted us already in the town, and will soon send out their pirate ships to chase us.”

“Come, nephew,” said Ylyas, “throw the cowardly dog overboard to drink brotherhood with the fishes. Have we not swords enough to defend ourselves from the Moors?”

“Sir,” replied the skipper, “the heathen will throw Greek fire on board. Neither sword nor shield can do aught against that. The ship will be burnt, and all the men either burnt therewith or drowned.”

No one knew what to advise, so all stood silent about the king. Suddenly a voice was heard from the mast-head:

“All arms below! Bring up the merchandise, and let the sails be reefed, lest the enemy guess that we thought of flight.”

“Hey-day! It is Alberich,” said Ortnit; “how could I have forgotten him?”

He looked up and saw the king of the dwarfs slipping rapidly down the mast to the deck. In another moment he was at his side.

“You forgot both the ring and me,” said Alberich, “but a father does not so soon forget his son. Now hasten and see that my commands are carried out.”

Much ashamed of himself, Ortnit gave the necessary orders. All weapons of offence were stowed away below, and the costly wares Zacharis had provided were spread temptingly on deck. Meanwhile the dwarf climbed the mast again, and, as soon as he was aloft, shouted to the Moors:

“See here—we are peaceful merchants bringing wares from Italy. Give us free convoy into the harbour of Tyre.”

Ylyas stared up open-mouthed at the top of the mast. The flag was flying there as usual, and no one was to be seen. What voice was that he had heard?

“Is the devil on board?” he asked, crossing himself, “or is it a good spirit? Whom did you speak to, nephew? Who called from the top-mast even now?”

“A good spirit,” replied Ortnit, “a little dwarf who will, help us out of our difficulty. You shall see him with your own eyes.”

With these words he slipped his magic ring on his uncle’s finger, and the latter was much astonished to see the small childish figure descending the mast, still more when Ortnit gave him a hasty sketch of all that had taken place.

The Tyrian galleys had by this time come up with the ship. Their commander, who introduced himself as constable of the city, inquired whether the object of the strangers in coming to those seas was really to trade with them. Satisfied that they were what they appeared to be, because of the number and splendour of their wares, he at last gave them leave to enter the harbour, and even to land if they desired to do so. In the course of that afternoon the townsfolk bought many rich Italian stuffs at a very low price.

In the evening the two princes held counsel together as to what was now to be done. Ylyas advised that a sudden onslaught should be made on the castle, and that everybody there, young or old, should be put to the sword. Before Ortnit could answer, Alberich broke into the conversation by saying that such conduct would not be fair, that no one who desired fame and glory would take his enemy unawares; but for fear any herald sent to the infidels should be murdered by them, he undertook to bear the message of defiance himself.

Alberich hastened to Muntabure by unfrequented roads. Arrived there, he saw King Machorell standing on the ramparts enjoying the cool evening air.

“Listen to me, Moorish king,” cried the dwarf from the castle moat, “and mark what I tell you. My master, King Ortnit, desires that you will give him your daughter to be his wife, and queen of Lombardy. If you refuse your consent, he bids me declare war on you at once, and warn you that he will attack Tyre before daybreak to-morrow. After conquering it he will come on to Muntabure, punish you for your evil deeds, and marry your daughter.”

“So, Goblin,” cried Machorell angrily, “you want to arrange a marriage, do you? You will find both your own head and your master’s adorning the battlements of my castle before long, if you persist in your foolish scheme. But where are you? I cannot see you.”

“Down below you in the moat,” was the answer.

The king flung a heavy stone down upon the place where he supposed Alberich to be, but missed his mark. He called out his guards and made them search the whole neighbourhood, but they returned at nightfall baffled and disappointed.

That evening Ortnit made an onslaught on the city, and found it totally unprepared for any attack. However, the Tyrians soon got under arms and made a gallant defence; all in vain. Ortnit was victorious after a hard struggle in which many of his faithful followers were slain.

When he returned from pursuing the Tyrians, Ortnit went to the place where his uncle had fought, and found him lying on the ground surrounded by his people. Was he dead or only wounded? The king bent over him anxiously, and loosed his helmet to see if he were yet alive. His heart had not quite ceased to beat. As Ortnit was raising him in his arms, he happened to touch him with Alberich’s ring, and in a moment Ylyas was on his feet, whole and sound, as though he had never been wounded. It was well for Ortnit that it was so, for in another instant he and his men were attacked by the train-bands of the city, who had rallied once more. At length they also were beaten back with immense loss, and Tyre was really in his hands. Those of the citizens that were left swore fealty to the king of Lombardy, who then gave orders to attend to the wants of the wounded, both friends and foes. He allowed his followers a few days’ rest before leading them against Muntabure.

CASTLE MUNTABURE.

After much consideration it was agreed between Ylyas and the king that Alberich was the best person to be standard-bearer during the assault, and the dwarf at once consented. The warriors were filled with amazement when they saw a war-horse preceding them with the royal banner apparently floating by its side. “The invisible standard-bearer must be an angel,” they said in awe-struck tones. Nothing of importance happened during the march. All went well, for Alberich led the van.

At last Castle Muntabure loomed in sight: a grim fortress perched on the top of a beetling crag.

Machorell had heard of their approach, and was in readiness to receive them. He had strengthened the garrison very considerably, and was confident of victory. At first it seemed as if his confidence were well-founded; but at the very moment when the Saracens appeared to have success within their grasp, the tide of fortune turned. Alberich climbed the walls unseen, and by a great exertion of his marvellous strength, hurled one heavy catapult after another down from the walls into the moat below; while the men who had been working these engines of destruction were struck motionless with terror, when they saw the unwieldy machines disappear as though shoved from their places by invisible hands. Ortnit seized the right moment to push the advantage the dwarf had gained for him, and renewed the assault more vigorously than before.

SIDRAT THE BEAUTIFUL.

Alberich now left the walls, and opening a side-door made his way to a tower-like building that rose above the battlements. This was the temple where the Moors kept their idols, Mahomet and Apollo; two enormous figures carved in stone. The queen and her daughter, beautiful Sidrat, knelt before the idols praying for protection from the invaders. Suddenly Sidrat felt her hand grasped gently by an invisible hand. At first she was frightened, and then comforted, for she took it as a sign that her prayers were heard. But the unseen friend was Alberich, and not a heathen god. He whispered, “Your gods are dust; I am a messenger from another world, and have come to save you and to teach you to worship the true God.”

The girl started to her feet in terror, and hastened to her mother, who was kneeling at a little distance. Meanwhile the dwarf flung the idols down and broke them in pieces, and the women were more alarmed than ever, for they felt convinced that an evil spirit was at work within the temple.

Alberich went back to the princess, and drew her to the barbican, whispering, “See, there is the hero who desires to make you his wife, and queen of his realm.”

Involuntarily she looked down, and saw Ortnit fighting valorously, driving all before him, and looking god-like in his grace and noble bearing. She could not turn away her eyes. He was even now advancing to attack her father. They exchanged one or two blows, the last of which split Machorell’s shield. Ortnit raised his sword to strike again, but Sidrat uttered a loud cry of agony, and he refrained, for at the same moment he saw her standing on the barbican, and knew that she was the maiden he had loved ever since he had seen her image in the magic castle on the sea.

“You see the royal hero?” asked the dwarf; but receiving no answer, he went on: “Go down to the moat to-morrow morning at day-break. Your father will allow you to do so, if you tell him you are going to call upon your gods to return to the castle. But when you reach the moat, you will find the king waiting to speak with you.”

Knowing that his advice would be followed, he left the princess.

The battle had ceased to rage as furiously as before, and all were weary after their exertions. Ortnit’s men retired to the river-side, where they were to encamp for the night, and the Moors shut themselves within the fortress.

All night long Ortnit dreamt of Sidrat, and then awoke and wondered whether she would come to the trysting-place. In the early morning, before the sun was up, the king mounted his horse and rode away alone to Muntabure. He concealed himself beneath the spreading boughs of a tamarind-tree, and waited and waited, doubting, fearing, would she come or would she not? At length a postern door opened, and a white figure came out.

“Sidrat,” he cried, and clasped her in his arms.

“To horse, delay not a moment,” whispered the dwarf; “go down that way, past the waterfall.”

Ortnit at once obeyed, placed the maiden upon his horse, and mounted himself. It was high time. He had scarcely got beyond arrow-shot, when a watchman on the tower recognised him by his helmet, and sounded the alarm.

Machorell and his men-at-arms hurried down to the fight. Several times the fortune of the day changed sides; and when at length the battle was over, the besiegers were too much weakened in number to attempt to carry the castle by storm; while the besieged were also in woeful plight, and their sorrow was increased by the loss of the princess.

Ortnit began his retreat next morning. He found on his arrival at Tyre that his ship was in good order and ready for sea. So he gave orders for a speedy departure, and soon the gallant little army was speeding homewards with Princess Sidrat and much spoil. The Moorish girl proved a willing pupil when the Christian priests of Lombardy taught her their religion, so she was baptized, and received the name of Liebgart. Soon after that, she and Ortnit were married at Castle Garden, and the whole country rejoiced in the king’s good fortune.

THE TOAD’S EGGS.

Ortnit and his wife were very happy together, and smiling peace rested on the land. Honours were showered upon the hero of so glorious a campaign, and even the imperial crown of Rome was placed upon his head.

One day when Ortnit and his queen were seated in the banqueting hall, their warriors feasting around them, a stranger was announced, who said that he had come from the East, and was the bearer of rich presents to the royal pair. After a few minutes’ delay, the ambassador was admitted. He was of gigantic height, wild of aspect, and said that his name was Welle. He announced that King Machorell had sent him to make friends with Ortnit in his name and for his fair daughter’s sake; that the king, in token of his reconciliation with his son-in-law, had sent him the finest jewels to be found in all Syria. Having thus spoken, Welle called his wife, Ruotze. She at once appeared, and was even taller and more hideous than himself. She dragged four great coffers into the hall, the contents of which she unpacked and displayed before the king and queen and all the court. The first contained dresses and steel wares of every sort and kind; the second was full of silver bracelets and ornaments of wonderful workmanship; the third was the same, except that the ornaments were of gold instead of silver. The fourth case was opened by the man himself, who lifted out of it, very carefully, two enormous eggs of strange form and colour.

“These are the eggs of the Abrahamic magic toad,” said the man. “When they are hatched, which my wife will see to, you will find in each the wondrous toad-stone, that shines like the sun in a dark place, or else a marvellous creature that will defend your coasts against every invader if you only feed it well. I am King Machorell’s chief huntsman, and understand how to bring up the beast, and feed, and teach it its duties. So, I pray you, appoint me and my wife a damp and quiet place amongst the mountains where we can watch over the eggs. Next year my royal master himself will cross the seas, make friends with you in person, and see the miraculous result of our care with his own eyes.”

The queen’s heart was filled with joy at these signs of her father’s forgiveness, and throwing her arms round her husband’s neck, she entreated that the proffered friendship should be accepted. The courtiers were quite of her opinion; but Zacharis, the faithful heathen, shook his head, and spoke his distrust both loudly and clearly. No one listened to him. The king gave orders that the giants should be well treated, and provided with food, and all they needed in the mountains, by the governor of the province in which the place most suitable for hatching the eggs was situated.