On every side one heard a grief so great, that the palace and the towers rang with the wailing. Then a liegeman of Dietrich heard it, too. how quickly he gan haste him with the fearful tales! To the lording he spake: “Hear, my lord, Sir Dietrich, however much I’ve lived to see till now, yet heard I never such a monstrous wail, as now hath reached mine ears. I ween, King Etzel himself hath come to grief. How else might all be so distressed? One of the twain, the king or Kriemhild, hath sorely been laid low by the brave strangers in their wrath. Full many a dapper warrior weepeth passing sore.”

Then spake the Knight of Borne: “My faithful men, now haste ye not too fast. Whatever the homeless warriors may have done, they be now in mickle need. Let it profit them, that I did offer them my peace.”

At this brave Wolfhart spake: “I will hie me hence and ask for tidings of what they have done, and will tell you then, my most dear lord, just as I find it, what the wail may be.”

Then spake Sir Dietrich: “Where one awaiteth wrath, and rude questions then are put, this doth lightly sadden the lofty mood of warriors. In truth, I will not, Wolfhart, that ye ask these questions of them.”

Then he told Helfrich 181 to hasten thither speedily, and bade him find from Etzel’s men or from the guests themselves, what there had fortuned, for men had never seen from folks so great a grief. The messenger gan ask: “What hath here been done?”

At this one among them spake: “Whatever of joy we had in the Hunnish land hath passed away. Here lieth Rudeger, slain by the Burgundians’ hands; and of those who were come with him, not one hatch ‘scaped alive.”

Sir Helfrich could never have had a greater dole. Sorely weeping, the envoy went to Dietrich. Never was he so loth to tell a tale. “What have ye found for us?” quoth Dietrich. “Why weep ye so sore, Knight Helfrich?”

Then spake the noble champion: “I have good cause for wail. The Burgundians have slain the good Sir Rudeger.”

At this the hero of Berne made answer: “Now God forbid. That were a fearful vengeance, over which the foul fiend would gloat. Wherewith hath Rudeger deserved this at their hands? I know full well, forsooth, he is the strangers’ friend.”

To this Wolfhart answered: “And have they done this deed, ’twill cost them all their lives. ‘Twould be our shame, should we let this pass, for of a truth the hand of the good knight Rudeger hath served us much and oft.”

The lord of the Amelungs bade learn it better. In bitter grief he sate him at a window and begged Hildebrand to hie him to the strangers, that he might find from them what had been done. The storm-brave warrior, Master Hildebrand, 182 bare neither shield nor weapon in his hand. In courtly wise he would hie him to the strangers; for this he was chided by his sister’s son. Grim Wolfhart spake: “And ye will go thither so bare, ye will never fare without upbraiding; ye must return with shame. But if ye go there armed, each will guard against that well.”

Then the wise man armed him, through the counsel of youth. Or ever he was ware, all Dietrich’s warriors had donned their war-weeds and held in their hands their swords. Loth it was to the hero, and he would have gladly turned their mind. He asked whither they would go.

“We will hence with you. Perchance Hagen of Troneg then will dare the less to address him to you with scorn, which full well he knoweth how to use.” When he heard this, the knight vouchsafed them for to go.

Soon brave Folker saw the champions of Berne, the liegemen of Dietrich, march along, well armed, begirt with swords, while in their hands they bare their shields. He told it to his lords from out the Burgundian land. The fiddler spake: “Yonder I see the men of Dietrich march along in right hostile wise, armed cap-a-pie. They would encounter us; I ween ’twill go full ill with us strangers.”

Meanwhile Sir Hildebrand was come. Before his feet he placed his shield, and gan ask Gunther’s men: “Alas, good heroes, what had Rudeger done you? My Lord Dietrich hath sent me hither to you to say, that if the hand of any among you hath slain the noble margrave, as we are told, we could never stand such mighty dole.”

Then spake Hagen of Troneg: “The tale is true. How gladly could I wish, that the messenger had told you false, for Rudeger’s sake, and that he still did live, for whom both man and wife may well ever weep.”

When they heard aright that he was dead, the warriors made wail for him, as their fealty bade them. Over the beards and chins of Dietrich’s champions the tears were seen to run. Great grief had happened to them.

Siegstab, 183 the Duke of Berne, then spake: “Now hath come to an end the cheer, that Rudeger did give us after our days of dole. The joy of all wayfaring folk lieth slain by you, sir knights.”

Then spake the Knight Wolfwin 184 of the Amelungs: “And I saw mine own father dead today, I should not make greater dole, than for his death. Alas, who shall now comfort the good margrave’s wife?”

Angry of mood Knight Wolfhart spake: “Who shall now lead the warriors to so many a fight, as the margrave so oft hath done? Alas, most noble Rudeger, that we should lose thee thus!”

Wolfbrand 185 and Helfrich and Helmnot, too, with all their men bewailed his death. For sighing Hildebrand might no longer ask a whit. He spake: “Sir knights, now do what my lord hath sent you here to do. Give us the corse of Rudeger from out the hall, in whom our joy hath turned to grief, and let us repay to him the great fealty he hath shown to us and to many another man. We, too, be exiles, just as Rudeger, the knight. Why do ye let us wait thus? Let us bear him away, that we may yet requite the knight in death. More justly had we done it, when he was still alive.”

Then spake King Gunther: “Never was there so good a service as that, which a friend doth do to a friend after his death. When any doeth that, I call it faithful friendship. Ye repay him but rightly, for much love hath he ever shown you.”

“How long shall we still beseech?” spake Knight Wolfhart. “Sith our best hope hath been laid low in death by you, and we may no longer have him with us, let us bear him hence to where the warrior may be buried.”

To this Folker made answer: “None will give him to you. Fetch ye him from the hall where the warrior lieth, fallen in the blood, with mortal wounds. ’Twill then be a perfect service, which ye render Rudeger.”

Quoth brave Wolfhart: “God wot, sir minstrel, ye have given us great dole and should not rouse our ire. But that I durst not for fear of my lord, ye should all fare ill. We must perforce abstain, sith he forbade us strife.”

Then spake the fiddler: “He hath a deal too much fear who doth abstain from all that one forbiddeth him. That I call not a real hero’s mood.” This speech of his war comrade thought Hagen good.

“Long not for that,” answered Wolfhart, “or I’ll play such havoc with your fiddle strings, that ye’ll have cause to tell the tale, when ye ride homeward to the Rhine. I cannot brook in honor your overweening pride.”

Quoth the fiddler: “If ye put out of tune my strings, then must the gleam of your helmet grow dim from this hand of mine, however I ride to the Burgundian land.”

Then would he leap at him, but his uncle Hildebrand grasped him firmly. “I ween, thou wouldst rage in thy silly anger. Then hadst thou lost forever the favor of my lord.”

“Let go the lion, master, he is so fierce of mood,” quoth the good knight Folker. “Had he slain the whole world with his one hand, I’ll smite him, and he come within my reach, so that he may never sing the answer to my song.”

At this the men of Berne waxed passing wroth of mood. Wolfhart, a doughty knight and a good, snatched up his shield. Like a wild lion he ran to meet him, swiftly followed by all his friends. But howsoever great the strides he took towards the hall, yet did old Hildebrand overtake him at the steps. He would not let him reach the fray before him. At the hands of the homeless knights they later found the strife they sought. Master Hildebrand then sprang at Hagen. In the hands of both one heard the swords ring out. That both were angry, might be plainly seen; from the swords of the twain streamed forth a blast of fire-red sparks. Then they were parted in the stress of battle by the men of Berne, as their strength did bid them. At once Hildebrand turned him away from Hagen, but stout Wolfhart addressed him to Folker the bold. Such a blow he smote the fiddler upon his good helmet, that the sword’s edge pierced to the very helmet bands. This the bold gleeman repaid with might; he smote Wolfhart,............