With one accord the knights sprang to their feet, their swords flashing aloft, and Hagen cried fiercely: “By Heaven! who hath done this slaughter?”
“Sir Blödelin and his men,” answered Dankwart; “yet dearly hath he paid therefor; with mine own hand I slew him.”
“It was more honor than he merited, thus to meet his death by a hero’s hand.”
Now was Hagen’s resolution taken, and he shouted: “Do thou, Dankwart, guard the door, nor suffer any Hun to leave the hall, while I hold a reckoning with these.”
Then springing to Kriemhild’s side, he cried: “Now let us drink to Siegfried’s repose! For that, we need the King’s own wine!” Therewith he struck off the head of the little prince. Then lifting Balmung with both hands, he slew the attendant of the prince, and a third stroke severed the right hand of the minstrel Werbel, who had borne King Etzel’s message to the Burgundians. Volker sprang to his side, and there began among the Hunnish knights “a slaughter grim and great.”
King Günther and his brothers sought at first to check the strife, but all in vain. Then they too were seized with the fury of battle, and soon all the Burgundians had joined the fray.
Meanwhile the Huns had drawn their swords and were bravely striving to defend themselves. Everywhere through the hall rose the clash of arms, and hoarse battle-cries reëchoed from the roof. From without more Huns hurled themselves against the door, eager to aid their comrades within; and Dankwart, hard pressed, was fain to cry to Hagen for aid. Whereupon that hero shouted in a voice of thunder: “Friend Volker, haste thee to my brother’s side, or we surely must lose a mighty champion!”
Gladly sprang Volker to the door; and now so fiercely did they ply their blades that no man lived to pass within or out.
Joyous above the battle din
The minstrel’s shout rang clear;