ftsoon."
A faithful Hun had told him that the queen did plan against them such
grievous wrongs.

When Bloedel's men beheld their lord lie slain, no longer would they
stand this from the guests. With uplifted swords they rushed, grim of
mood, upon the youthful squires. Many a one did rue this later. Loudly
Dankwart called to all the fellowship: "Ye see well, noble squires, how
matters stand. Now ward you, wanderers! Forsooth we have great need,
though Kriemhild asked us here in right friendly wise."

Those that had no sword reached down in front of the benches and lifted
many a long footstool by its legs. The Burgundian squires would now
abide no longer, but with the heavy stools they dealt many bruises
through the helmets. How fiercely the stranger youths did ward them!
Out of the house they drove at last the men-at-arms, but five hundred
of them, or better, stayed behind there dead. The fellowship was red and
wot with blood.

These grievous tales were told now to Etzel's knights; grim was their
sorrow, that Bloedel and his men were slain. This Hagen's brother and
his squires had done. Before the king had learned it, full two thousand
Huns or more armed them through hatred and hied them to the squires
(this must needs be), and of the fellowship they left not one alive.
The faithless Huns brought a mickle band before the house. Well the
strangers stood their ground, but what booted their doughty prowess?
Dead they all must lie. Then in a few short hours there rose a fearful
dole. Now ye may hear wonders of a monstrous thing. Nine thousand yeomen
lay there slain and thereto twelve good knights of Dankwart's men. One
saw him stand alone still by the foe. The noise was hushed, the din had
died away, when Dankwart, the hero, gazed over his shoulders. He spake:
"Woe is me, for the friends whom I have lost! Now must I stand, alas,
alone among my foes."

Upon his single person the sword-strokes fell thick and fast. The wife
of many a hero must later mourn for this. Higher he raised his shield,
the thong he lowered; the rings of many an armor he made to drip with
blood. "Woe is me of all this sorrow," quoth Aldrian's son. (3) "Give
way now, Hunnish warriors, and let me out into the breeze, that the air
may cool me, fight-weary man."

Then men saw the warrior walk forth in full lordly wise. As the
strife-weary man sprang from the house, how many added swords rang on
his helmet! Those that had not seen what wonders his hand