it is not for nothing they are fleeing. The very moment that he
saw them, he dashes after them; and they see him; but they think
and believe a foolish thing. "The duke is following us," each one
says, "let us wait for him a little; for he has left the host
unattended and is coming after us very swiftly." There is not a
single one who does not believe this. They all desire to go to
meet him; but each desires to go alone. Cliges must needs descend
into a great valley between two mountains. Never would he have
recognised their insignia if they had not come to meet him, or if
they had not awaited him. Six of them advanced to meet him; but
soon will they have had an ill meeting with him. The others stay
with the maiden and lead her on, gently, at a walking pace. And
the six go at full speed, spurring incessantly through the
valley. He who had the swiftest horse outstripped all the rest,
crying aloud: "Duke of Saxony! God preserve thee! Duke! We have
regained thy lady. Now shall the Greeks never carry her off; for
she will now be given and handed over to thee." When Cliges has
heard these words that the other cries out, no smile had he in
his heart; rather is it a marvel that frenzy does not seize him.
Never was any wild beast: leopardess, or tigress, or lioness, who
sees her young taken, so embittered, and furious, and lusting,
for the fight as was Cliges who cares not to live if he fail his
lady. Rather would he die than not have her. Very great wrath has
he for this calamity and exceeding great courage does it give
him. He spurs and pricks the Arab; and goes to deal the blazoned
shield of the Saxon such a blow that--I lie not--he made him feel
the lance at his heart. This has given Cliges confidence. More
than a full acre's measure has he spurred and pricked the Arab
before the second has drawn near, for they came, one by one. The
one has no fear for the other; for he fights with each singly and
meets them one by one, nor has the one aid of the other. He makes
an attack on the second, who thought to tell the supposed duke
news of Cliges' discomfiture, and to rejoice thereat as the first
had done. But Cliges recks little of words or of listening to his
discourse. He proceeds to thrust his lance in his body so that
when he draws it out again the blood gushes out; and he bereaves
his foe of life and speech. After the two, he joins issue with a
third who thinks to find him overjoyed and to gladden him with
news of his own di