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.”
“Unwounded I stand. My harness is wet with the blood of other men, whereof I have to-day slain so many, that I cannot swear to the number.”
Hagen said, “Brother Dankwart, keep the door, and let not a single Hun out; I will speak with the knights as our wrong constraineth me. Guiltless, our followers lie dead.”
“To such great kings will I gladly be chamberlain,” said the bold man; “I will guard the stairs faithfully.”
Kriemhild’s men were sore dismayed.
“I marvel much,” said Hagen, “what the Hunnish knights whisper in each other’s ears. I ween they could well spare him that standeth at the door, and hath brought this court news to the Burgundians. I have long heard Kriemhild say that she could not bear her heart’s dole. Now drink we to Love, and taste the king’s wine. The young prince of the Huns shall be the first.”
With that, Hagen slew the child Ortlieb, that the blood gushed down on his hand from his sword, and the head flew up into the queen’s lap. Then a slaughter grim and great arose among the knights. He slew the child’s guardian with a sword stroke from both his hands, that the head fell down before the table. It was sorry pay he gave the tutor. He saw a minstrel sitting at Etzel’s table, and sprang at him in wrath, and lopped off his right hand on his viol: “Take that for the message thou broughtest to the Burgundians.”