“Woe is me for this wrong!” cried Aldrian’s child. “Stand back, ye knights of Hungary, and let me to the air, that it cool a battle-weary man.” Then he began, in their despite, to hew his way to the door. When he sprang from the house, how many a sword rang on his helmet! They that had not seen the wonders of his hand fell upon him there. “Would to God,” said Dankwart, “I had a messenger to tell my brother Hagen in what peril I stand! He would help me hence, or die by me.” But the Hunnish knights answered, “Thou, thyself, shalt be the messenger, when we carry thee in dead to thy brother. So shall Gunther’s man first hear of his loss. To Etzel thou hast done grievous hurt.” He said, “Keep your threats, and stand back, or I will wet the harness of some of you. I will bear the news myself to the court, and bewail my great wrong to my masters.” He did Etzel’s men such scathe, that they durst not draw against him. Then they shot so many darts into his shield that he must drop it for heaviness. They thought to vanquish him without his shield. Ha! what deep wounds he made in their helmets! Many a bold man staggered before him. Great honour and praise were Dankwart’s. From both sides they sprang at him. I ween they were too hasty. He fought his way through his foemen like a wild boar in the forest through the hounds—bolder he could not have been. His path was ever wet anew with hot blood. When did single knight withstand foemen better? Proudly Hagen’s brother went to court. The sewers and the cup-bearers heard the clash of swords. Many dropped the drink and the meats they carried. On the stairs he found stark enemies enow. “How now, ye sewers?” cried the weary knight; “see to the guests, and bear in the good meats to your lords, and let me take my message to my masters.” They that had the hardihood, and sprang down on him from the stairs, he smote so fiercely with his sword that they fell back for fear. With his strength he had done right wonderly. Thirty-Third Adventure How Dankwart Brought the News to His Masters Then bold Dankwart strode in through the door, and bade Etzel’s followers void the way; all his harness was covered with blood. It was at the time they were carrying Ortlieb to and fro from table to table among the princes, and through the terrible news the child perished. Dankwart cried aloud to one of the knights, “Thou sittest here too long, brother Hagen. To thee, and God in Heaven, I bewail our wrong. Knights and squires lie dead in our hall.” Hagen called back to him, “Who hath done it?” “Sir Blœdel and his men. He paid for it bitterly, I can tell thee. I smote off his head with my hands.” “He hath paid too little,” said Hagen, “since it can be said of him that he hath died by the hand of a hero. His womenfolk have the less cause to weep. Now tell me, dear brother; wherefore art thou so red? I ween thy wounds are deep. If he be anywhere near that hath done it, and the Devil help him not, he is a dead man.”