Blœdel’s knights all stood ready. With a thousand hauberks they went where Dankwart sat at table with the yeomen. Grim was soon the hate between the heroes. When Sir Blœdel strode up to the table, Dankwart the marshal greeted him fair. “Welcome to this house, Sir Blœdel. What news dost thou bring?” “Greet me not,” said Blœdel. “My coming meaneth thy death, because of Hagen, thy brother, that slew Siegfried. Thou and many another knight shall pay for it.” “Nay now, Sir Blœdel,” said Dankwart. “So might we well rue this hightide. I was a little child when Siegfried lost his life. I know not what King Etzel’s wife hath against me.” “I can tell thee nothing, save that thy kinsmen, Gunther and Hagen, did it. Now stand on your defence, ye homeless ones. Ye must die, for your lives are forfeit to Kriemhild.” “Dost thou persist?” said Dankwart. “Then it irketh me that I asked it. I had better have spared my words.” The good knight and bold sprang up from the table, and drew a sharp weapon that was mickle and long, and smote Blœdel a swift blow therewith, that his head, in its helmet, fell at their feet. “That be thy wedding-gift to Nudung’s bride, that thou thoughtest to win!” he cried. “Let them mate her to-morrow with another man; if he ask the dowry, he can have the like.” A faithful Hun had told him that morning, secretly, that the queen plotted their doom. When Blœdel’s men saw their master lying slain, they endured it no longer, but fell with drawn swords in grim wrath on the youths. Many rued it later. Loud cried Dankwart to the squires and the yeomen, “Ye see that we are undone. Fight for your lives, ye homeless ones, that ye may lie dead without shame.” They that had not swords seized the benches, and caught up the stools from the floor. The squires of Burgundy were not slow to answer them. With these they dinted many a helmet. The homeless youths made grim defence. They drave the armed men from the house. Yet five hundred and more lay therein dead. They were red and wet with blood. This heave news reached Etzel’s knights. Grim was their grief that Blœdel and his men were slain by the brother of Hagen, and the squires. Or Etzel knew anything of the matter, two thousand Huns or more did on their armour and hasted thither, for so it must needs be, and left not one alive. These false knights brought a mighty host before the house. The strangers defended them well; but what availed their prowess? They had all to die. Or long the fray waxed grimmer yet. Now shall ye list to marvels and wondrous deeds. Nine thousand squires lay dead, and twelve of Dankwart’s men. He stood alone among his foes. The noise was hushed, the din had ceased. Dankwart looked over his shoulder and cried, “Woe is me for the friends I have lost! Among my foemen I stand alone.” Swords enow fell upon his body. Many a hero’s wife was yet to weep for it. He raised his buckler, and lowered the thong, and wetted many a hauberk with blood.