Folker said, “I cannot help it. Yonder woman’s darling must have a stroke. None shall hinder me. Let him look to his life. I care not how wroth Etzel’s wife may be.”
“Nay now, for my sake,” said the king. “The folk will blame us if we begin the fray. Let the Huns be the first. It were better so.”
Still Etzel sat by the queen.
“I will join thee in the tourney,” cried Hagen. “It were well that these women and these knights saw how we can ride. They give Gunther’s men scant praise.”
Bold Folker spurred back into the lists. Thereby many a woman won heart’s dole. He stabbed the proud Hun through the body with his spear. Many a maid and many a wife was yet to weep for it. Hagen and his sixty knights followed hard on the fiddler. Etzel and Kriemhild saw it all plain.
The three kings left not the doughty minstrel alone among his foemen. A thousand knights rode to the rescue. They were haughty and overweening, and did as they would.
When the proud Hun was slain, the sound of weeping and wailing rose from his kinsmen. All asked, “Who hath done it?” and got answer, “It was Folker, the bold fiddler.”
The friends of the Hunnish Margrave called straightway for their swords and their shields, that they might kill Folker. The host hasted from the window. There was a mighty uproar among the Huns. The kings and their followers alighted before the hall, and beat back their horses.
Then came Etzel and began to part the fray. He seized a sharp sword out of the hand of one of the Hun’s kinsmen that stood nigh, and thrust them all back. He was greatly wroth, “Ye would have me fail in honour toward these knights! If ye had slain this minstrel, I tell you I would have hanged you all. I marked him well when he slew the Hun, and saw that it was not with intent, but that his horse stumbled. Let my guests leave the tilt-yard in peace.”
He gave them escort, himself, and their horses were led to the stalls, for many varlets stood ready to serve them.