hich ye render Rudeger."

Quoth brave Wolfhart: "God wot, sir minstrel, ye have given us great
dole and should not rouse our ire. But that I durst not for fear of my
lord, ye should all fare ill. We must perforce abstain, sith he forbade
us strife."

Then spake the fiddler: "He hath a deal too much fear who doth abstain
from all that one forbiddeth him. That I call not a real hero's mood."
This speech of his war comrade thought Hagen good.

"Long not for that," answered Wolfhart, "or I'll play such havoc with
your fiddle strings, that ye'll have cause to tell the tale, when ye
ride homeward to the Rhine. I cannot brook in honor your overweening
pride."

Quoth the fiddler: "If ye put out of tune my strings, then must the
gleam of your helmet grow dim from this hand of mine, however I ride to
the Burgundian land."

Then would he leap at him, but his uncle Hildebrand grasped him firmly.
"I ween, thou wouldst rage in thy silly anger. Then hadst thou lost
forever the favor of my lord."

"Let go the lion, master, he is so fierce of mood," quoth the good
knight Folker. "Had he slain the whole world with his one hand, I'll
smite him, and he come within my reach, so that he may never sing the
answer to my song."

At this the men of Berne waxed passing wroth of mood. Wolfhart, a
doughty knight and a good, snatched up his shield. Like a wild lion
he ran to meet him, swiftly followed by all his friends. But howsoever
great the strides he took towards the hall, yet did old Hildebrand
overtake him at the steps. He would not let him reach the fray before
him. At the hands of the homeless knights they later found the strife
they sought. Master Hildebrand then sprang at Hagen. In the hands of
both one heard the swords ring out. That both were angry, might be
plainly seen; from the swords of the twain streamed forth a blast of
fire-red sparks. Then they were parted in the stress of battle by the
men of Berne, as their strength did bid them. At once Hildebrand turned
him away from Hagen, but stout Wolfhart addressed him to Folker the
bold. Such a blow he smote the fiddler upon his good helmet, that the
sword's edge pierced to the very helmet bands. This the bold gleeman
repaid with might; he smote Wolfhart, so that the sparks flew wide. Enow
of fire they struck from the armor rings, for each bare hatred to the
other. Then Knight Wolfwin of Berne did part them--an' he be not a hero,
never was there one.

With willing hand Gunthe