Myths of the Norsemen

by Roger Green

  Often in time to come the Norns appeared at the birth of a hero to spin his web of fate and give him gifts of good and evil that should determine his future life.

  They could tell Odin of the course of the world, and from them he knew, as well as from his own wisdom, of Ragnarok, the Last Great Battle, which must come at the end of the world when the Æsir and their Giant foes would fight out to the bitter end the great contest between Good and Evil.

  The Norns also tended the Ash Yggdrasill, and watered the greatest of its roots daily from the Well of Urd. For the evil ones strove continually to destroy the World Tree: down in Nifelheim, where one root grew, the evil Nid Hog was forever gnawing at it, while serpents twined and bit. Higher up four harts ran upon its branches and nibbled at the leaves, while at the top sat a wise eagle watching all that was done, and Ratatosk the mischievous red squirrel scampered up and down it, carrying news and gossip between Nid Hog and the Eagle.

  In the midst of this strange and complicated world sat Odin the Allfather, like a kindly spider, in the centre of his web. His seat, high above Asgard, was called Lidskialf or Heaven’s Crag, and there he sat and surveyed the world, with his two tame ravens Hugin and Munin perched on his shoulders. To them he owed much of his knowledge, for day by day they would fly forth throughout the world and return in the evening to tell what they had seen: Hugin, swift as thought, and Munin, unrivalled for memory.

  Odin looked forth and saw how the Giants plotted evil behind their high mountains in Jotunheim. He looked towards Midgard, and saw how the race of men toiled in their fields, with scarce a thought of war and battle-glory, and he felt that more must yet be done and speedily – so that there might be warriors to stand beside him on the day of the Last Great Battle against the Giants.

  So he called to him his son Heimdall, the White God, who had been born mysteriously in the morning of time, and who had nine mothers, wave-maidens from the world’s end. His teeth were of pure gold, and he could see as well by night as by day. Indeed his sight was so keen that he could see things a hundred miles away; and his ears were so sharp that he could hear the grass growing in the earth and the wool on the backs of the sheep. Odin had made Heimdall the Watchman of the Gods with a dwelling-place on the brink of Asgard beside Bifrost, with the great Giallar Horn beside him to blow if the Giants attacked Asgard – a horn that could be heard in all the worlds.

  ‘Heimdall, my son,’ said Odin, ‘go forth into Midgard, taking upon you what disguise seems good. Go among the men who dwell there: good and simple people they are, but not yet to my purpose. Choose among them those who are most deserving, and see to it by the magic arts which are yours that from them come the three orders of mankind – so that ever afterwards a man shall be born with those gifts which he can best use in his life, to do excellently that for which he was made, and not as now to do many things but none of them well. Let them be doers, makers, or leaders in due numbers – born each to play his part – so that a mighty race may arise from which I may draw those Heroes of Midgard who shall stand beside us at Ragnarok.’

  So Heimdall disguised himself as a sturdy wayfarer and went over Bifrost Bridge and down on to the Middle Earth, where he strode gaily along the green paths through the woods and fields until in the evening he came to a house.

  The door was ajar, and in he walked. On the hearth a fire burned, and a pot hung over it, and on either side sat the master and mistress of the house, the peasant Ai and his wife Edda in her hood of coarse home-woven cloth.

  ‘Welcome, stranger,’ they said. ‘Tell us how you are named, and then make yourself at home.’

  ‘I am Rig the Walker,’ Heimdall answered, and he sat down on the middle seat with his host and hostess on either side of him.

  Then Edda broke the loaf, heavy and thick and mixed with bran, which was their usual supper, and served it to the guest with broth from the pot.

  When darkness came Rig the Walker did indeed make himself at home. For he lay down in the middle of the bed where it was warmest and softest, while Ai and Edda were forced to lie on either edge.

  Three nights the strange guest lodged there, and then he went on his way, smiling to himself.

  But nine months later Ai and Edda had a son whose name was Thrall. He grew quickly and became a strong and sturdy man, with hard hands and thick fingers, broad back, long feet, and ugly face. He married a wandering girl who came across the moorlands with bare feet and sunburnt arms, and they had children who built fences and tilled the fields, tended pigs and herded goats and dug peat for fires. Their sons had names like Clumsy and Clod and Lout, while their daughters were called Cloggie, or Cinders, or Lumpy-leggie.

  Meanwhile Heimdall went on his way through Midgard, and on the next evening he came to another house. The door was on the latch, and he walked boldly in – to find a fire burning on the hearth and the good folk sitting there busy at their work. They were called Gaffer and Gammar, and were well-dressed and tidy – he with his beard trimmed and his hair cut, and she with a clean smock and a kerchief round her neck.

  ‘Welcome, stranger,’ they said. ‘Tell us how you are named, and then make yourself at home.’

  ‘I am Rig the Walker,’ was the answer, and he sat down on the middle seat with his host and hostess on either side of him.

  Then Gaffer served the supper of savoury soup followed by boiled veal, and afterwards showed their guest to the one bed of the house. There Rig the Walker did indeed make himself at home. For he lay down in the middle of the bed, with his host and hostess on either side to keep him warm.

  Three nights Rig the Walker lodged with Gaffer and Gammar, and then he went on his way smiling to himself.

  But nine months later a son was born to Gaffer and Gammar. He was called Karl the Craftsman, and he grew up a sturdy, ruddy-cheeked, laughing man. He was skilled at training oxen to pull the plough, at building houses, at smithying and making carts and ploughs. When the time came they found a wife for Karl the Craftsman, and the pair kept house together, farmed their land, wove their own linen and saved their money carefully. They lived happily and their sons bore such names as Yeoman, Farmer, Smith, and Neighbour, while their daughters were called Housewife, Spinster, Lassie, or Milkmaid.

  Meanwhile, however, Heimdall continued on his way through Midgard, and on the next evening he came to a great house with its doors towards the south. In he went, for the bars were not down, and he found there two goodly folk dressed in fine clothes who could look him straight in the eyes when they spoke to him, and whose hands were long and white and shapely. Their names were Squire and Lady, and he was busy twisting a bow-string and setting it on his long-bow of elmwood.

  ‘Welcome, stranger,’ they said. ‘Tell us how you are named, and then make yourself at home.’

  ‘I am Rig the Walker,’ came the reply, and he sat himself down on the middle seat with his host and hostess on either side of him.

  Then Lady spread an embroidered cloth of fine linen and set upon it loaves of white wheaten bread, well-cured ham and roast poultry on silver dishes, wine in a tall jug and silver-mounted beakers.

  After the meal they sat and talked over their wine until it was bedtime. Then Rig the Walker did indeed make himself at home, for he rose first from the table and lay down in the middle of the bed, so that Squire and Lady must needs lie on either side of him.

  Three nights Rig the Walker stayed with Squire and Lady, and then he went on his way smiling to himself.

  But nine months later the son of the house was born, with yellow hair and rosy cheeks and eyes as keen as an eagle’s. His name was Warrior Lord, and as he grew up his skill was in bending the bow, hurling the javelin, riding on horseback, sword-fighting, and swimming.

  When the boy was on the verge of manhood Rig the Walker came again out of the dark forest, to teach him further skills, and to show him his place in the world.

  ‘You are Lord of the Lands of Udal,’ he said, ‘and they shall belong to your sons and your sons’ sons for ever. For I
am one of the Æsir who sit in Asgard, and I declare you my godson, and give you this lordship, and make you a ruler of men.’

  Then Rig the Walker, who in Asgard was Heimdall the Bright One, taught Warrior Lord much wisdom, and led him to high adventures in Mirk Wood, the dark forest where trolls lurked. He showed him how to brandish his sword, shake his shield, and gallop into battle.

  And Warrior Lord gathered fighting men about him and took lands from those evil men who sided with the Giants. He married Princess, and their son became the first king in Midgard, a King of Denmark. This king gathered his lords and warriors together and conquered the land and gave it peace.

  After that he feasted his people in his great hall and gave gifts of golden rings to those who had fought most bravely. Thereafter they practised much with their swords, and rode their horses, and went forth to give battle against any who would have invaded their lands or done harm to their people. But the king learnt wisdom as well as valour, and knew something of the mysteries of life and of the will of Odin.

  For Heimdall told his godson of the great war between the Æsir and the Giants, and of Ragnarok, the battle that was to be. He told him how Odin had decreed that all who fell fighting bravely in battle were to be brought after their death to Asgard to form the army of the Æsir which should fight on that last day.

  For when Heimdall had returned to Asgard, before Warrior Lord was born, he had found a new palace standing beside the Field of Light. This was Odin’s great hall of Valhalla with its five hundred and forty doors through which eight hundred warriors could pass at a time. Its roof was tiled with shields and the rafters were the shafts of spears. The pillar which held up the centre was a mighty living tree; its leaves fed the magic goat Heidrun who gave in place of milk an endless stream of mead, the sweet beer which the Heroes were to drink.

  When there were Heroes ready to fall in battle, Odin sent out his Valkyries to choose the bravest of them for his never-ending banquet. These Valkyries, the Maidens of Odin, the Choosers of the Slain, were immortal women – some were Odin’s own daughters – who would ride through the clouds behind him when his hunt was out. At other times they flew about the world in the likeness of swans, to see who was fittest to sit in Valhalla. Sometimes they walked the earth for a while, letting fall their swan-cloaks, and bathing in solitary pools or rivers. If any man found them thus, and hid away their cloaks, the Valkyries seemed no different from mortal women, and could be wooed and wedded – as certain of the Heroes of Midgard were to find. But any Valkyrie who married a man of Midgard became from that moment an ordinary mortal woman.

  Sometimes as Odin rode on his hunt strange things would chance. One night when the storm-winds raged and the thunder roared over the mountains, Olaf the Smith crouched over his fire in his smithy in Heligoland and prayed that no evil might befall him.

  Suddenly he heard horse’s hooves clatter on the rocks outside, and a heavy knock sounded on the door.

  Trembling, he rose and opened it, and there stood a mighty king dressed in gleaming black armour with a broad sword at his side. He was leading a great horse which snorted and neighed impatiently, pawing the ground and shaking its bridle.

  ‘Open quickly, master smith!’ cried the King. ‘My horse has cast a shoe, and I have far to ride before the break of day!’

  ‘Whither are you going, noble sir, in such haste and so late on such a night?’ asked Olaf the smith as he led the great horse into the smithy and examined its hoof.

  ‘The night is clear and I have no time to lose,’ answered the King. ‘I must be in Norway before day dawns!’

  ‘If you had wings, I might believe those words!’ replied the smith, laughing at what he took to be a joke.

  ‘My horse is swifter than the wind,’ came the answer, ‘and the wind will reach Norway more swiftly than bird can fly. But the stars pale: make haste, master smith.’

  With trembling hands Olaf chose out his largest horseshoe and tried it on the hoof which rested on his knee. The curved iron was far too small: but as it touched the hoof it began to grow until it fitted into place. Filled with awe, the smith drove in the squared nails and marvelled to see the points rivet and buckle themselves down without his aid.

  ‘Good night, Olaf the smith!’ cried the king, as he leapt upon the horse’s back. ‘Well have you shod Odin’s steed! And now to the battle!’

  Then, as Olaf knelt on the ground looking after him, Odin galloped away into the clouds, a light shining round his head – and once more the hunt went thundering by as he sped on his way to a great battle after which many a Hero would be chosen by the Valkyries.

  So the numbers grew in Valhalla, brave men and mighty warriors who sat every night at the banquet board. The mead flowed freely, but however drunk they were, there was never a headache amongst them in the morning. When day came they would arm, and go out into Odin’s Field amongst the golden trees and there fight each other to the death, yet rise unharmed and return to Valhalla in the evening in perfect friendship.

  While they fought, Andhrimnir the cook killed the great boar Saehrimnir and boiled his flesh in a gigantic kettle. Yet Saehrimnir was always alive again next morning, ready to be killed and eaten again that night.

  Then the Heroes would sit down at the banquet board to feast on the boiled pork and the plentiful mead, while the minstrel of Asgard sang stirring tales of the beginnings of things – of the war between the Æsir and Giants, and perhaps of the battle that was to be when the day of Ragnarok should dawn.

  2

  Odin in Search of Wisdom

  There were many Heroes now in Valhalla, but it seemed to Odin as he sat aloft on Lidskialf that the years must be many before the Valkyries could choose a great enough band of warriors to be of use at Ragnarok: and would the Giants wait? That he could not learn; as yet the Norns would not tell him, if even they knew.

  Odin therefore decided that he must seek all the means of wisdom which he could find, that by knowledge and by guile he might keep back his enemies until his Heroes were ready for the Last Battle.

  Many and strange were the ways in which he sought for wisdom. He sought it even among the Giants themselves, going to Jotunheim in disguise to learn from the son of the Ice King.

  He sought also for the wisdom of the dead, and hung for nine nights and days on the gallows – sacrificed to himself. For he caused himself to be hanged from the branches of Yggdrasill the World Tree, and gave command to the Æsir that none of them should give him bread or wine during that time. And thus the mysteries of death were borne up to him from the depths below the Nid Hog’s den, before he came down from the tree.

  After this he visited the Dwarfs in their caverns beneath the earth, and learned what he could of their special knowledge from Dvalin, wisest of them all.

  Lastly he made his way down to the very roots of Yggdrasill, and following that root which stretches out towards the land of the Rime Giants, the children of Bergelmir, he found the wise Mimir. This was the brother of the friendly Giantess Bestla who was Odin’s mother, and he was the wisest of all living creatures. Down there in the ultimate depths of the earth he guarded the very Fountain of Wisdom, and himself drew from it each day one precious draught.

  ‘Wise Mimir, give me but one horn of water from your well,’ begged Odin.

  ‘Not so,’ answered the Giant, ‘for I may not part with my treasure lightly – not to anyone who will not give his most precious possession in exchange for that draught of wisdom.’

  ‘Now, by Asgard the Blessed!’ cried Odin, ‘I would even tear one eye out of my head if it would buy me the right to drink of this water and acquire such depths of wisdom that I might thereby save those who dwell in Asgard and in Midgard!’

  ‘That is indeed the price of the draught of wisdom from my well,’ answered Mimir grimly. And from that day Odin had but one eye.

  Mimir became Odin’s counsellor, and very soon warned him that he must form an alliance with the Vanir, for the Æsir needed every ally they could find.


  The Vanir were the shining ones who had been born out of the upper air and dwelt first in Uhland, above the high top of Yggdrasill. They never came to Asgard nor Midgard, nor ever even set foot upon firm ground: it seemed that they did not know of the Æsir’s existence, nor did the Æsir know of them.

  Odin sent forth his messengers to seek the Vanir in Uhland, but they sought in vain. So they cried aloud into the wide air that Odin and the Æsir would form a league with the Vanir, if the Vanir would but send one of their number to Asgard to speak with Odin.

  No answer came. But one day a Giant maiden named Gullveig arrived in Asgard. She was only a little taller than the Æsir, and she was very fair to look upon: not only her hair and her eyes, but all her body seemed to shine like gold.

  The Æsir welcomed her to their happy dwelling-place and she moved amongst them like a sunbeam while they sat under the leafy shade of Yggdrasill in the courtyards of their palaces playing at chess with golden chessmen, and at draughts with discs of gold.

  But presently as Gullveig passed from one to another, and wandered down into Midgard, there seemed to come a shadow over the world. Odin noticed that mankind were no longer as happy and as open as they had been. Suddenly the love of gold had been born amongst them: they were making it into ring-money, hiding it away in secret places, plotting, cheating, murdering for the sake of what had before been merely the most useful and beautiful metal for making cups and ornaments.

  Seeing this, Odin summoned the Æsir to meet in Valhalla, and set Gullveig in the middle of the floor before them.

  ‘See!’ he cried, ‘the Giant maiden who has come among us! She is a witch and a sorceress, and has let loose Sin in Midgard where it was never known before! Now the Golden Age has ended – and our foes in Jotunheim have won another victory. Æsir of Asgard, my brothers and my sons, what doom for Gullveig, the mother of Sin?’