Although the following tales of mythical heroes have some slight historical basis, they have been so adorned by the fancy of mediaeval bards, and so frequently remodeled with utter disregard of all chronological sequence, that the kernel of truth is very hard to find, and the stories must rather be considered as depicting customs and times than as describing actual events. They are recorded in the "Heldenbuch," or "Book of Heroes," edited in the fifteenth century by Kaspar von der Rhön from materials which had been touched up by Wolfram von Eschenbach and Heinrich von Ofterdingen in the twelfth century. The poem of "Ortnit," for instance, is known to have existed as early as the ninth century.

[Sidenote: The Langobards and Gepidae.] According to the poets of the middle ages, the Gepidae and the Langobards settled in Pannonia (Hungary and the neighboring provinces), where they were respectively governed by Thurisind and Audoin. The sons of these two kings, having quarreled for a trifle, met in duel soon after, and the Langobardian prince, having slain his companion, took possession of his arms, with which he proudly returned home.

But when, flushed with victory, he would fain have taken his seat at his father's board with the men at arms, Audoin gravely informed him that it was not customary for a youth to claim a place beside tried warriors until some foreign king had distinguished him by the present of a complete suit of armor. Angry at being thus publicly repulsed, Alboin, the prince, strode out of his father's hall, resolved to march into Thurisind's palace and demand of him the required weapons.

When the King of the Gepidae saw his son's murderer boldly enter his palace, his first impulse was to put him to death; but, respecting the rights of hospitality, he forbore to take immediate vengeance, and even bestowed upon him the customary gift of arms as he departed on the morrow, but warned him never to return, lest he should lose his life at the warriors' hands. On leaving the palace, however, Alboin bore away the image of little Rosamund, Thurisind's fair granddaughter, whom he solemnly swore he would claim as wife as soon as she was of marriageable age.

Alboin having thus received his arms from a stranger, the Langobards no longer refused to recognize him as a full-fledged warrior, and gladly hailed him as king when his father died.

[Sidenote: Alboin's cruelty.] Shortly after Alboin's accession to the throne, a quarrel arose between the Gepidae and the Langobards, or Lombards, as they were eventually called; and war having been declared, a decisive battle was fought, in which Thurisind and his son perished, and all their lands fell into the conqueror's hands. With true heathen cruelty, the Lombard king had the skulls of the Gepidae mounted as drinking vessels, which he delighted in using on all state and festive occasions. Then, pushing onwards, Alboin took forcible possession of his new realm and of the tearful young Rosamund, whom he forced to become his wife, although she shrank in horror from the murderer of all her kin and the oppressor of her people.

She followed him home, concealing her fears, and although she never seemed blithe and happy, she obeyed her husband so implicitly that he fancied her a devoted wife. He was so accustomed to Rosamund's ready compliance with his every wish that one day, after winning a great victory over the Ostrogoths, and conquering a province in northern Italy (where he took up his abode, and which bears the name of his race), he bade her fill her father's skull with wine and pledge him by drinking first out of this repulsive cup.

[Sidenote: Rosamund's revolt.] The queen hesitated, but, impelled by Alboin's threatening glances and his mailed hand raised to strike her, she tremblingly filled the cup and raised it to her lips. But then, instead of humbly presenting it to her lord, she haughtily dashed it at his feet, and left the hall, saying that though she had obeyed him, she would never again live with him as his wife,--a declaration which the warriors present secretly applauded, for they all thought that their king had been wantonly cruel toward his beautiful wife.

While Alboin was pondering how he might conciliate her without owning himself in the wrong, Rosamund summoned Helmigis, the king's shield-bearer, and finding that he would not execute her orders and murder his master in his sleep, she secured the services of the giant Perideus. Before the murder of the king became generally known, Rosamund and her adherents--for she had many--secured and concealed the treasures of the Crown; and when the nobles bade her marry a man to succeed their king, who had left no heirs, she declared that she preferred Helmigis.

[Sidenote: Death of Rosamund.] The Langobardian nobles indignantly refused to recognize an armor-bearer as their king, and Rosamund, fearing their resentment, fled by night with her treasures, and took refuge with Longinus, viceroy of the Eastern emperor, who was intrenched in Ravenna. Captivated by the fugitive queen's exquisite beauty, no less than by her numerous treasures, Longinus proposed that she should poison Helmigis, and marry him. Rosamund obediently handed the deadly cup to her faithful adorer; but he drank only half its contents, and then, perceiving that he was poisoned, forced her, at the point of his sword, to drink the remainder, thus making sure that she would not long survive him.

Longinus, thus deprived of a beautiful bride, managed to console himself for her loss by appropriating her treasures, while the Langobardian scepter, after having been wielded by different kings, fell at last into the hands of Rother, the last influential monarch of a kingdom which Charlemagne conquered in 774.

[Sidenote: Rother.] Rother established his capital at Bari, a great seaport in Apulia; but although his wealth was unbounded and his kingdom extensive, he was far from happy, for he had neither wife nor child to share his home. Seeing his loneliness, one of his courtiers, Duke Berchther (Berchtung) of Meran, the father of twelve stalwart sons, advised him to seek a wife; and when Rother declared that he knew of no princess pretty enough to please his fastidious taste, the courtier produced the portrait of Oda, daughter of Constantine, Emperor of the East. Rother fell desperately in love with this princess at first sight. In vain Berchther warned him that the emperor had the unpleasant habit of beheading all his daughter's would-be suitors; Rother declared that he must make an attempt to secure this peerless bride, and was only with great difficulty persuaded to resign the idea of wooing in person.

When Berchther had prevailed upon him to send an imposing embassy of twelve noblemen, richly appareled, and attended by a large suite, Rother asked who would undertake the mission. All the warriors maintained a neutral silence, until seven of Berchther's sons volunteered their services, and then five other noblemen signified their readiness to accompany them.

To speed them on their way, Rother escorted them to the port, and, standing on the pier, composed and sang a marvelous song. He bade them remember the tune, and promised them that whenever they heard it they might be sure their king was very near.

[Sidenote: Embassy to Constantinople.] Arrived at Constantinople, the ambassadors made known their errand, but were immediately cast into prison, in spite of the empress's intercession in their behalf. Here the noblemen languished month after month, in a foul dungeon, while Rother impatiently watched for their return. When a whole year had elapsed without his having heard any tidings, he finally resolved to go in disguise to Constantinople, to ascertain the fate of his men and win the lovely princess Oda for his bride.

Berchther, hearing this decision, vowed that he would accompany him; but although all the noblemen were anxious to escort their beloved king, he took only a few of them with him, among whom was Asprian (Osborn), king of the northern giants, with eleven of his tallest men.

[Sidenote: Rother and Constantine.] Rother embarked with this little train, and sailed for Constantinople over the summer seas; and as he sat on deck, playing on his harp, the mermaids rose from the deep to sport around his ship. According to a prearranged plan, Rother presented himself before Constantine as a fugitive and outlaw, complaining bitterly of the King of the Lombards, who, he declared, had banished him and his companions. Pleased with the appearance of the strangers, Constantine gladly accepted their proffered services, and invited them to a banquet, in the course of which he facetiously described how he had received Rother's ambassadors, who were still languishing in his dampest dungeons. This boastful talk gradually roused the anger of the giant Asprian, who was but little accustomed to hide his feelings; and when the emperor's pet lioness came into the hall and playfully snatched a choice morsel out of his hand, he impetuously sprang to his feet, caught her in his powerful grasp, and hurled her against the wall, thus slaying her with a single blow.

Constantine was somewhat dismayed when he saw the strength, and especially the violence, of the new servants he had secured; but he wisely took no notice of the affair, and, when the banquet was ended, dismissed Rother and his followers to the apartments assigned them. The Lombard king now freely distributed the immense treasures he had brought with him, and thus secured many adherents at court. They sang his praises so loudly that at last the princess Oda became very anxious to see this noted outlaw.

[Sidenote: Rother and Oda.] Bribing Herlind, one of her handmaidens, to serve her secretly, Oda sent her to Rother to invite him to visit her. The maiden acquitted herself adroitly of this commission; but the Langobardian monarch, pretending exaggerated respect, declared that he would never dare present himself before her beautiful mistress, to whom, however, he sent many rich gifts, among which were a gold and a silver shoe. Herlind returned to her mistress with the gifts; but when Oda would fain have put on the shoes, she discovered that they were both for the same foot. She then feigned a resentment she was far from feeling, and bade the handmaiden order her father's new servant to appear before her without delay, bringing a shoe for her other foot, unless he wished to incur her lasting displeasure. Overjoyed at this result of his ruse, which he had foreseen, Rother entered the princess's apartments unnoticed, proffered his most humble apologies, fitted a pair of golden shoes on her tiny feet, and, taking advantage of his position as he bent on one knee before her, declared his love and rank, and won from Oda a solemn promise that she would be his wife.

The lovers spent some very happy hours together in intimate conversation, and ere Rother left the apartment he prevailed upon the princess to use her influence in behalf of his imprisoned subjects. She therefore told her father that her peaceful rest had been disturbed by dreams, in which heavenly voices announced that she should suffer all manner of evil unless Rother's ambassadors were taken from prison and hospitably entertained. Oda then wrung from Constantine a promise that the men should be temporarily released, and feasted at his own board that selfsame evening. This promise was duly redeemed, and the twelve ambassadors, freed from their chains, and refreshed by warm baths and clean garments, were sumptuously entertained at the emperor's table. While they sat there feasting, Rother entered the hall, and, hiding behind the tapestry hangings near the door, played the tune they had heard on the day of their departure. The hearts of the captives bounded for joy when they heard these strains, for they knew that their king was near and would soon effect their release.

[Sidenote: War with Imelot.] A few days later, when the young ambassadors had fully recovered their health and strength, Constantine was dismayed to learn that Imelot, King of Desert Babylonia, was about to make war against him, and wondered how he could successfully encounter such a universally dreaded opponent. Rother, seeing his perplexity, immediately volunteered his services, adding that if Constantine liberated the ambassadors, who were mighty men of valor, and allowed them to fight, there would be no doubt of his coming off conqueror in the war. The Eastern emperor gladly followed this advice, and soon set out with Rother and all his companions. The two armies met one evening and encamped opposite each other, intending to begin the fight at sunrise on the morrow. During the night, however, Rother and his companions stole into the enemy's camp, slew Imelot's guards, and having bound and gagged him, Asprian carried him bodily out of his tent and camp, while his companions routed all the mighty Babylonian host.

A few hours later they returned to the camp of Constantine, where they lay down to rest. The emperor, entering their tent on the morrow to chide them for their laziness, saw the captive Imelot, and heard the story of the night's work. He was so delighted with the prowess of his allies that he gladly consented to their return to Constantinople to announce the victory, while he and his army remained to take possession of Desert Babylonia and of all of Imelot's vast treasures.

Rother and his companions returned in haste to Constantinople and rushed into the palace; but instead of announcing a victory they told the empress and Oda that Constantine had been defeated, that Imelot was on the way to seize the city, and that the emperor had sent them on ahead to convey his wife and daughter to a place of safety, with their most valuable treasures.

[Sidenote: Kidnaping of Oda.] The empress and Oda, crediting every word of this tale, made immediate preparations for departure, and soon joined Rother on the pier, where his fast sailing vessel was ready to start. All the Langobardians had already embarked, and Rother escorted the princess on board, bidding the empress wait on the quay until he returned for her. But as soon as he and his fair charge set foot upon deck, the vessel was pushed off, and Rother called out to the distressed empress that he had deceived her in order to carry away her daughter, who was now to become the Langobardian queen.

Constantine, on his return, was of course very angry at having been so cleverly duped, and vainly tried to devise some plan for recovering the daughter whom he loved so well. When a magician came, therefore, and promised to execute his wishes, he gladly provided him with vessel and crew to sail to Bari. The magician, disguised as a peaceful merchant, spread out his wares as soon as he was anchored in port, and by a series of artful questions soon ascertained that Rother was absent, and that Oda was at home, carefully guarded by the principal nobles of the realm. When he also learned that one of these noblemen had a crippled child, the magician informed the people who visited his vessel to inspect his wares, that the most precious treasure in his possession was a magic stone, which, in a queen's hands, had the power of restoring cripples.

The rumor of this miraculous stone reached the court, and the nobleman persuaded the kind-hearted queen to go down to the vessel to try the efficacy of the stone. As soon as Oda was on board, the vessel set sail, bearing her away from her husband and back to her father's home, where she was welcomed with great demonstrations of joy.

Rother, coming back from the war shortly after her disappearance, immediately prepared a vessel to go in pursuit of her, selecting his giants and bravest noblemen to accompany him. Once more they landed at a short distance from Constantinople, and Rother bade his men hide in a thicket, while he went into the city, disguised as a pilgrim, and carrying under his robe a hunting horn, which he promised to sound should he at any time find himself in danger.

He no sooner entered the city than he noticed with surprise that all the inhabitants seemed greatly depressed. He questioned them concerning their evident sadness, and learned that Imelot, having effected his escape from captivity, had invaded the kingdom, and vowed that he would not retreat unless Oda married his ugly and hunchbacked son that very day.

[Sidenote: Imelot again defeated.] These tidings made Rother press on to the palace, where, thanks to his disguise, he effected an easy entrance. Slipping unnoticed to his wife's side, he dropped into the cup beside her a ring upon which his name was engraved. Quick as a flash Oda recognized and tried to hide it; but her hunchbacked suitor, sitting beside her, also caught sight of it. He pointed out the intruder, cried that he was Rother in disguise, and bade his guards seize him and hang him. Rother, seeing that he was discovered, boldly stepped forward, declared that he had come to claim his wife, and challenged the cowardly hunchback, who, however, merely repeated his orders, and accompanied his guards to a grove outside the city to see his captive executed. Just as they were about to fasten the fatal noose around his neck, Rother blew a resounding blast upon his horn, in answer to which call his followers sprang out of their ambush, slew guards, Imelot, and hunchback, routed the imperial forces, recovered possession of Oda, and sailed home in triumph to Lombardy. Here Oda bore her husband a lovely little daughter called Helche (Herka), who eventually married Etzel (Attila), King of the Huns.

* * * * *

[Sidenote: Ortnit.] Another renowned Lombardian king is Ortnit (Otnit), whose realm included not only all Italy, from the Alps to the sea, but also the island of Sicily. He had won this province by his fabulous strength, which, we are told, was equivalent to that of twelve vigorous men.

In spite of all outward prosperity, Ortnit was lonely and unhappy. One day, while he was strolling along the seashore at sunset, he saw a misty castle rise slowly out of the waves. On its topmost tower he beheld a fair maiden, with whom he fell deeply in love at first sight. As he was gazing spellbound at the lady's beauty, castle and maiden suddenly vanished; and when Ortnit asked his uncle, Ylyas (Elias), Prince of the Reussen, what this fantastic vision might mean, he learned that the castle was the exact reproduction of the stronghold of Muntabure, and the maiden a phantom of Princess Sidrat, daughter of the ruler of Syria, which the Fata Morgana, or Morgana the fay, had permitted him to behold.

"As the weary traveler sees,
In desert or prairie vast,
Blue lakes, overhung with trees,
That a pleasant shadow cast;

"Fair towns with turrets high,
And shining roofs of gold,
That vanish as he draws nigh,
Like mists together rolled."
LONGFELLOW, Fata Morgana.

Of course Ortnit vowed that he would go and ask the maiden's hand in marriage; and although his uncle warned him that Machorell, the girl's father, beheaded all his daughter's suitors, to use their heads as decorations for his fortifications, the young king persisted in this resolve.

[Sidenote: Ortnit and the magic ring.] Forced to go by sea in order to reach Syria, Ortnit had to delay his departure until suitable preparations had been made. During that time his mother vainly tried to dissuade him from the undertaking. Finally, seeing that nothing could deter him from going in search of the lovely maiden he had seen, she slipped a ring on his hand, and bade him ride out of town in a certain direction, and dismount under a lime tree, where he would see something marvelous.

"'If thou wilt seek the adventure, don thy armor strong;
Far to the left thou ride the towering rocks along.
But bide thee, champion, and await, where grows a linden tree;
There, flowing from the rock, a well thine eyes will see.

"'Far around the meadow spread the branches green;
Five hundred armed knights may stand beneath the shade, I ween.
Below the linden tree await, and thou wilt meet full soon
The marvelous adventure; there must the deed be done.'"
Heldenbuch (Weber's tr.).

Ortnit obeyed these instructions, dismounted in a spot which seemed strangely familiar, and, gazing inquisitively around him, became aware of the presence of a lovely sleeping infant. But when he attempted to take it in his arms he found himself sprawling on the ground, knocked over by a single blow from the child's tiny fist. Furious at his overthrow, Ortnit began wrestling with his small assailant; but in spite of his vaunted strength he succeeded in pinioning him only after a long struggle.

[Sidenote: Alberich.] Unable to free himself from Ortnit's powerful grasp, the child now confessed that he was Alberich, king of the dwarfs, and promised Ortnit a marvelous suit of armor and the sword Rosen--which had been tempered in dragons' blood, and was therefore considered invulnerable--if he would only let him go.

"'Save me, noble Otnit, for thy chivalry!
A hauberk will I give thee, strong, and of wondrous might;
Better armor never bore champion in the fight.

"'Not eighty thousand marks would buy the hauberk bright.
A sword of mound I'll give thee, Otnit, thou royal knight;
Through armor, both of gold and steel, cuts the weapon keen;
The helmet could its edge withstand ne'er in this world was seen.'"
Heldenbuch (Weber's tr.).

The king consented, but the moment he set the dwarf free he felt him snatch the ring his mother had given him off his hand, and saw him mysteriously and suddenly disappear, his voice sounding tauntingly now on one side, now on the other. Some parley ensued before the dwarf would restore the ring, which was no sooner replaced on the hero's hand than he once more found himself able to see his antagonist.

Alberich now gravely informed Ortnit that in spite of his infantile stature he was very old indeed, having lived more than five hundred years. He then went on to tell him that the king, whom Ortnit had until then considered his father, had no claim to the title of parent, for he had secretly divorced his wife, and given her in marriage to Alberich. Thus the dwarf was Ortnit's true father, and declared himself ready now to acknowledge their relationship and to protect his son.

[Sidenote: Ortnit in Tyre.] After giving Ortnit the promised armor and sword, and directing him to turn the magic ring if ever he needed a father's aid, Alberich vanished. Ortnit, returning to town, informed his mother that he had seen his father; and as soon as the weather permitted he set sail for Suders (Tyre). Ortnit entered the harbor as a merchant, and exhibited his wares to the curious people, while Alberich, at his request, bore a challenge to Machorell, threatening to take Tyre and the castle of Muntabure unless he were willing to accept Ortnit as son-in-law.

The dwarf acquitted himself nobly of his task, and when Machorell scornfully dismissed him, he hastened back to Tyre, bidding Ortnit lose no time in surprising and taking possession of the city. This advice was so well carried out that Ortnit soon found himself master of the city, and marching on to Muntabure, he laid siege to the castle, restoring all his men as soon as they were wounded by a mere touch of his magic ring. Alberich, whom none but he could see, was allowed to lead the van and bear the banner, which seemed to flutter aloft in a fantastic way. The dwarf took advantage of this invisibility to scale the walls of the fortress unseen, and hurled down the ponderous machines used to throw stones, arrows, boiling pitch, and oil. Thus he greatly helped Ortnit, who, in the mean while, was performing unheard-of deeds of valor, which excited the admiration of Princess Sidrat, watching him from her tower.

[Sidenote: Ortnit and Liebgart.] Alberich next glided to this maiden's side, and bade her hasten to the postern gate early on the morrow, if she would see the king. As Ortnit had been told that he would find her there, he went thither in the early dawn, and pleaded his cause so eloquently that Sidrat eloped with him to Lombardy. There she became his beloved queen, was baptized in the Christian faith, and received the name of Liebgart, by which she was ever afterward known.

[Sidenote: The magic eggs.] The happiness of Ortnit and Liebgart was very great, but the young queen did not feel that it was quite complete until a giant and his wife came from her father's court bringing conciliatory messages, and a promise that Machorell would visit his daughter in the early spring. They also brought countless valuable presents, among which were two huge eggs, which the giants said were priceless, as from them could be hatched magic toads with lodestones in their foreheads. Of course Liebgart's curiosity was greatly excited by this gift, and learning that the giant couple would see to the hatching of the eggs and the bringing up of the toads if a suitable place were only provided for them, she sent them into a mountain gorge near Trient, where the climate was hot and damp enough for the proper hatching of the toads.

Time passed by, and the giantess Ruotze hatched dragons or lind-worms from the huge eggs. These animals grew with alarming rapidity, and soon the governor of the province sent word to the king that he could no longer provide food enough for the monsters, which had become the terror of the whole countryside. They finally proved too much even for the giants, who were obliged to flee. When Ortnit learned that ordinary weapons had no effect upon these dragons, he donned his magic armor and seized his sword Rosen. He then bade Liebgart a tender farewell, telling her that if he did not return she must marry none but the man who wore his ring, and sallied forth to deliver his people from the ravenous monsters whom he had thoughtlessly allowed to be bred in their midst.

Ortnit soon dispatched the giant and giantess, who would fain have hindered his entrance into the fatal gorge. Then he encountered the dwarf Alberich, and was warned that he would fall victim to the pestilent dragons, which had bred a number of young ones, destined, in time, to infest all Europe.

In spite of these warnings, Ortnit declared that he must do his best for the sake of his people; and having given the magic ring back to Alberich, he continued on his way. All day long he vainly sought the monsters in the trackless forest, until, sinking down exhausted at the foot of a tree, he soon fell asleep.

[Sidenote: Death of Ortnit.] This slumber was so profound that it was like a lethargy, and the wild barking of his dog failed to waken him so that he could prepare for the stealthy approach of the great dragon. The monster caught the sleeping knight in his powerful claws, and dashed him against the rocks until every bone in his body was broken into bits, although the magic armor remained quite whole.

Then the dragon conveyed the corpse to his den, where the little dragons vainly tried to get at the knight to eat his flesh, being daunted by the impenetrable armor, which would not give way.

In the mean while Liebgart was anxiously awaiting the return of her beloved husband; but when she saw his dog steal into the palace in evident grief, she knew that Ortnit was dead, and mourned for him with many a tear. As he had left no heir to succeed him, the nobles soon crowded around Liebgart, imploring her to marry one of them and make him king of Lombardy; but she constantly refused to listen to their wooing.

[Sidenote: Liebgart dethroned.] Angry at her resistance, the noblemen then took possession of treasure, palace, and kingdom, and left poor Liebgart so utterly destitute that she was forced to support herself by spinning and weaving. She carried on these occupations for a long time, while patiently waiting for the coming of a knight who would avenge Ortnit's death, wear his ring, claim her hand in marriage, and restore her to her former exalted position as queen of Lombardy.