When the noise of the blow had cleared from his brain, he thought, “I live still, and am unwounded. Now I know the strength of Giselher.” He heard his foemen on both sides. Had they been ware how it stood with him, worse had befallen him. He heard Giselher also, and he pondered by what device he might escape them. He sprang up furiously from among the blood. Well his swiftness served him. He fled from the house, past Hagen, and gave him a stout stroke as he ran.
“Ha!” thought Hagen, “Thou shalt die for this. The Devil help thee, or thou art a dead man.” But Iring wounded Hagen through the helmet. He did it with Vasky, a goodly weapon.
When Hagen felt the wound, he swung his sword fiercely, that Hawart’s man must needs fly. Hagen followed him down the stair. But Iring held his shield above his head. Had the stair been thrice as long, Hagen had not left him time for a single thrust. Ha! what red sparks flew from his helmet! Yet, safe withal, Iring reached his friends.
When Kriemhild heard what he had done to Hagen of Trony in the strife, she thanked him. “God quit thee, Iring, thou hero undismayed! thou hast comforted me, heart and soul, for I see Hagen’s harness red with blood.” The glad queen took the shield from his hand herself.
“Stint thy thanks,” said Hagen. “There is scant cause for them. If he tried it again, he were in sooth a bold man. The wound I got from him will serve thee little. The blood thou seest on my harness but urgeth me to slay the more. Only now, for the first time, I am wroth indeed. Sir Iring hath done me little hurt.”
Iring of Denmark stood against the wind, and cooled him in his harness, with his helmet unlaced; and all the folk praised his hardihood, that the Margrave’s heart was uplifted. He said, “Friends, arm me anew. I will essay it again. Haply I may vanquish this overweening man.” His shield was hewn in pieces; they brought him a better straight.
The warrior was soon armed, and stronger than afore. Wrothfully he seized a stark spear, wherewith he defied Hagen yet again. He had won more profit and honour had he let it be.
Hagen waited not for his coming. Hurling darts, and with drawn sword, he sprang down the stairs in a fury. Iring’s strength availed him little. They smote at each other’s shields, that glowed with a fire-red wind. Through his helmet and his buckler, Hawart’s man was wounded to the death by Hagen’s sword. He was never whole again.
When Sir Iring felt the wound, he raised his shield higher to guard his head, for he perceived that he was sore hurt. But Gunther’s man did worse to him yet. He found a spear lying at his feet, and hurled it at Iring, the knight of Denmark, that it stuck out on the other side of his head. The overweening knight made a grim end of his foeman.
Iring fell back among his friends. Or they did off his helmet, they drew the spear out. Then death stood at hand. Loud mourned his friends; their sorrow was bitter.