The warriors of Bloedel were ready for the fray;
Clad in their thousand hauberks they thither took their way
Where Dankwart with his yeomen still at the table sate;
There rose between the heroes a strife of deadly hate.

As soon as the Lord Bloedel before the table went,
Dankwart the marshal met him on greeting due intent:
“Right welcome to our hostel, Lord Bloedelin, are ye,
Although I greatly marvel what may the reason be?”

“Thou hast no need to greet me,” so answer’d Bloedelin:
“For this my coming bodeth an end to thee and thine,
Thanks to thy brother Hagen, who erewhile Siegfried slew.
That to the Huns thou’lt answer, and many another too.”

“Nay, say not so, Lord Bloedel,” the marshal Dankwart said:
“Else must we rue too quickly this journey we have made.
I was but a small stripling when Siegfried lost his life;
I know not what against me bringeth King Etzel’s wife.”

“No more about the matter know I to say to you,
Save that your kinsmen did it, Gunther, and Hagen too.
Look to yourselves, ye lost ones, ye go not hence away!
By death must ye the forfeit unto Kriemhilda pay.”

“What! and will nothing turn you?” cried Dankwart thereupon:
“Would I had ne’er besought you, that better were undone!”
Up from the table sprang he, the warrior swift and strong,
And drew a keen-edged weapon, that heavy was and long.

Therewith he struck at Bloedel, with stroke of sword so fleet,
That off his head was smitten, and lay before his feet.
“Be that thy wedding-dower,” the warrior Dankwart said,
“Unto the bride of Nudung, whom thou wouldst woo and wed!

“To-morrow they may plight her unto another one:
If he will earn the guerdon, the like to him be done!”
A faithful-hearted Hunsman Dankwart aware had made,
How that the queen against him such grievous plots had laid.

When now the men of Bloedel saw how their lord lay slain,
Then from the guests no longer their hands could they restrain.
With broadswords high uplifted they sprang in deadly mood
Upon the youthful warriors: which ere long many rued.

Then loudly shouted Dankwart unto his followers all:
“Well see ye, noble yeomen, how things are like to fall!
Ye hapless ones, be wary, in sooth there’s need to be,
Albeit noble Kriemhild bade us right lovingly.”

They to whom swords were lacking, reach’d down before each seat,
And many a long stool lifted from underneath their feet.
Then the Burgundian yeomen no longer would forbear,
And heavy stools made bruises through many a helmet there.

How grimly thus the strangers essay’d their lives to save!
And so the arm’d assailants from out the house they drave;
Yet left they dead within it five hundred men or more:
And all of the defenders were red and wet with gore.

These tidings of disaster were carried presently
Unto the knights of Etzel (which grieved them bitterly):
How Bloedel and his liegemen had all to death been brought,
Which deed had Hagen’s brother with his retainers wrought.

Ere yet the king had heard it⁠— urg’d by the hate they bore⁠—
The Hunfolk donn’d their armour; two thousand men or more.
And march’d against the yeomen;⁠— what else was to be done?
And out of all the people they left alive not one.

Before the house the traitors had led a mighty host;
On guard the foreign yeomen stood bravely at their post.
But what avail’d their valour? They all were doom’d to die;
And presently arose there a gruesome butchery.

And here ye must a marvel of monstrous import hear:
Nine thousand yeomen lying all done to death there were;
A dozen knights moreover of Dankwart’s own command.
One saw him all-forsaken amidst the foemen stand.

The uproar was abated, the clash of arms was o’er.
Then look’d athwart his shoulder Dankwart the warrior;
He spake: “Woe for the comrades who from my side are gone!
Alas, that ’midst the foemen I now must stand alone!”

Upon his body shower’d the sword-strokes keen and rife;⁠—
Ere long to be bewailèd by many a hero’s wife⁠—.
His shield aloft he lifted, and held the arm-brace low;
And drench’d full many a hauberk with life-blood’s crimson flow.

Then cried the son of Aldrian: “Woe for the ills I bear!
Make way, ye Hunnish warriors, and let me to the air,
That the wind’s breath may cool me, a battle-weary wight!”
Right royally he bore him in all the people’s sight.

But when the strife-worn hero outside the hostel sprang,
What fresh swords on his helmet again and ever rang!
They who had not yet witness’d what wonders wrought his hand,
Now rush’d to meet the warrior from the Burgundian land.

“Now would to God,” cried Dankwart, “I had a messenger
To seek my brother Hagen, and make him well aware
How I amid these warriors so sorely am bested!
Hence surely would he help me, or lie beside me dead!”

Then spake the Hunnish warriors: “That herald must thou be,
When we before thy brother a corse shall carry thee!
So first shall Gunther’s henchman what sorrow is be taught:
Thou hast unto King Etzel such grievous damage wrought.”

Said he: “Now stint your threatenings, and further backwards get,
Or verily I’ll drench you some other hauberks yet!
I will myself the story before the court lay bare,
And eke unto my masters my grievance great declare.”

He laid on Etzel’s liegemen so heavily his hand,
That not a man amongst them durst him with sword withstand.
Yet in his shield their lances so quickly did they aim,
That he was fain to drop it, so heavy it became.

Him, now no longer shielded, they thought to overwhelm;
Ha, but what deadly gashes he cut right through the helm!
Until before him stagger’d full many a valiant one:
Whereby much praise and honour the gallant Dankwart won.

From one side and the other, upon him hurtled they;
Ay, some of them too quickly had come into the fray!
Before the foe upstood he, e’en as a woodland boar
At bay the sleuth-hounds faces: could valour e’er be more?

His path was newly-sprinkled with life-blood warm and wet.
No single-handed warrior had ever striven yet
Against a host of foemen, as he had boldly done.
Folk mark’d how Hagen’s brother to court right nobly won.

By sewers and by butlers was heard the clash of swords;
From many a hand the liquors were flung upon the boards,
As were the victuals also which to the hall they bare.
And stalwart foes in plenty forestall’d him at the stair.

“What will ye now, ye sewers?” the weary warrior cried:
“In sooth for all the strangers, good cheer ye should provide,
And to the nobles ought ye good victuals to convey;⁠—
And to my well-lov’d masters let me my tidings say.”

Whoe’er by force before him upon the stairway sprang,
On each of them so sorely his heavy sword he swang,
In very dread their safety further aloof they sought;
And so his strength of body right mickle marvels wrought.