Six of the twelve come to meet him in an encounter
they will soon regret. The other six stay with the damsel,
leading her gently at a walk and easy jog. And the six ride
quickly on, spurring up the valley, until he who had the swiftest
horse reached him first and cried aloud: "Hail, Duke of Saxony!
God bless thee! Duke, we have recovered thy lady. The Greeks
shall not get her now, for she shall be placed in thy hands."
When Cliges heard the words this fellow shouts, his heart is not
gay; rather is it strange that he does not lose his wits. Never
was any wild beast--leopard, tiger, or lion--upon seeing its
young captured, so fierce and furious as Cliges, who sets no
value upon his life if he deserts his sweetheart now. He would
rather die than not win her back. In his trouble he feels great
wrath, which gives him the courage he requires. He urges and
spurs the Arab steed, and rushes to give the Saxon such a blow
upon his painted shield that without exaggeration, he makes his
heart feel the lance. This gives Cliges confidence. He drove
and spurred the Arab charger on for more than the space of an
acre before he came upon the next Saxon, for they came up singly,
each fearless of his predecessor's fare, for Cliges fights them
one by one.
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