by Roger Green
‘I counsel you, father of gods and men, to stay here in Asgard,’ answered Frigga. ‘Valfthrudnir is indeed the wisest of the Giants: but he is our enemy, and his wisdom may be but a trap to draw you into Jotunheim to your peril.’
But Odin replied: ‘Far have I travelled, much have I seen and many beings have I known. Yet never did I hold converse with a wise Giant such as Valfthrudnir, and him I must visit.’
‘May all go well with you, then,’ said Frigga anxiously. ‘Both on your journey there, and on your way back to Asgard. And may your wisdom stand you in good stead when you come to bandy words with this Giant.’
So Odin wrapped himself in a long blue cloak, drew his broad-brimmed hat well over his brows, and set off through Midgard, giving out that he was a wise man named Grimnir who knew many Runes of power, and was learned in what the Norns decreed for the future, as well as in knowledge of the past.
He came at last to the land where Gerrad ruled, and begged a night’s lodging at the palace.
Now while Odin was on his way, Frigga had sent her handmaiden Fulla to King Gerrad with a message:
‘Have a care of the man in the blue cloak. He is more than he seems, and you may know this since no dog, however savage, will so much as bark at him.’
In his evil heart Gerrad took this to mean only one thing: that the man in the blue cloak must be a wicked sorcerer, coming to his land to cast evil spells upon him and his people.
He therefore let loose his fiercest dogs, and bade his men be ready to seize the stranger when he arrived.
Sure enough, one night an old man in a blue cloak and wide-brimmed hat came walking up to the gate before the palace. Then the fierce dogs ran out to attack him: but as they drew near, one and all put their tails between their legs, and slunk away without a sound.
When Gerrad saw that the dogs did not even bark at the stranger, he told his men to seize him at once.
‘Who are you?’ he demanded, ‘and what are you doing here?’
‘I am a poor traveller called Grimnir,’ was the answer, ‘and I am on a journey about my own business. But when you have given me the welcome due from so great a king to the poor stranger at his hearth, I will tell you things from my wisdom which it were well for you to know.’
‘Oh, I’ll warm you at my hearth, never fear,’ answered Gerrad grimly, ‘and you’ll tell me all you know very soon!’
Then he ordered his men to tie Grimnir between two fires, and make sure to keep them well stoked and burning fiercely until the wicked sorcerer should confess why he had dared to come there.
For eight days and nights Grimnir sat between the fires with neither food nor drink, suffering cruelly. On the eighth night the servant, who was Agnar in disguise, crept quietly to the captive between the fires and gave him a great horn filled with refreshing mead.
Grimnir drained it to the last drop, and said in a low voice:
‘All hail to you, Agnar the Good. The chief of the Æsir, father of gods and men, wishes you well. Never for one draught of mead shall you receive a richer reward.’
Agnar drew back in fear and wonder, and as he did so the prisoner between the two fires – which were already scorching his own skin – flung back his head and began to sing in a clear deep voice.
He sang of the high halls of Asgard: of how in the beginning Odin built great halls for the Æsir; of Thrudheim the strong dwelling of Thor, and fair Yewdales where Uller lived; of Alfheim over which Frey was lord and of Valhalla where day by day Odin chose his Heroes from men killed in battle; of Thrymheim where Giant Thiassi lived until the Æsir slew him and set his eyes among the stars; of Breidablik where sun-bright Baldur had his hall, the most blessed of dwellings, and of Heavenhold where Heimdall the keen-eyed watchman of the Æsir drank his mead in peace; of Folkvanger where beauteous Freya welcomed those whom she chose from among the battleslain; of Glitnir the Shining House where Forseti the wise son of Baldur sat in judgement every day; and of quiet Noatun by the sounding sea where Niord lived.
He sang of the Ash Yggdrasill the great World Tree, and its three roots; of Nid Hog who gnawed at the lowest, and of Ratatosk the squirrel who scampered among the branches. Also he sang of the mysteries of Day and Night, of the chariots of Moon and Sun and of the wolves that chase them through the sky.
As he sang Gerrad drew near to him, and his face was dark with fury. But the rage turned to fear as the song drew to its close and Grimnir rose slowly to his feet, the bonds falling from his wrists and his one eye flashing.
‘Ah, Gerrad!’ he cried. ‘Too deeply have you drunk of the mead of evil. Grievous is it for you who were so favoured to have lost and forfeited the friendship of Odin and the place kept for you in his hall of the chosen … The friends that you have chosen cannot help you. I see your sword already dripping with your blood: your life is at an end and the Norns cut the thread of it. Now you see Odin face to face, for I am he! … Gerrad, come to me if you can!’
Gerrad sprang forward to kneel and beg Odin’s forgiveness, but as he did so, his sword slipped from its sheath, he stumbled, tried to catch it and fell forward so that it pierced him to the heart and he lay dead.
Odin turned to the poorly clad servant who had brought him the horn of mead:
‘Come forth, Agnar the Good!’ he cried. ‘Raudung’s son and Gerrad’s brother shall now reign in this land. May the blessing of Odin rest upon it, for I know that you will rule well and justly, showing mercy to all and kindness to strangers most of all.’
Then, leaving Agnar to his long and glorious reign over his people the Goths, Odin gathered his cloak about him, put on his broad-brimmed hat, and went out into the night on his way to Jotunheim.
He came in time to the hall of Valfthrudnir the Giant and asked for shelter.
‘My name is Gangradur,’ he said, ‘and I come from far away. In my own land I am counted the wisest of those who dwell there, and I would compete with you in knowledge of high things, both past and to come.’
‘Why do you stand in the doorway?’ cried Valfthrudnir. ‘Come into the hall and be seated. I make you welcome, for you shall never leave my hall unless you go forth as victor: for know that he who fails in this test of wisdom loses his head.’
‘That I know well,’ answered the guest who called himself Gangradur. ‘Now begin your questions, if, knowing the penalty, you dare to compete with an unknown stranger who does not choose to say from whence he comes.’
‘If you were Odin himself,’ cried Valfthrudnir with a cruel laugh, ‘I would still have your head. For not even the chief of the Æsir knows more than I.’
The Giant then began to ask such questions as those which had passed between Odin and Alviss the Dwarf – the names of the horses of Day and Night, of the river that severs Asgard from Jotunheim, and of the Field where Ragnarok is to be fought.
‘Shinfaxi, the horse Sheen-mane draws the Day chariot,’ answered Gangradur, ‘and Rimfaxi, the horse Rime-mane takes Night on her way. Ifing is the river, dark and unfreezing, that severs the Æsir from the Giants, and on Vigrid Plains shall the Last Battle be fought.’
Then it was the stranger’s turn to ask questions, and his were of the making of earth and heaven, of Ginnungagap and the Giant Ymir, of how Niord of the Vanir came to Asgard, concerning the Norns and their wisdom, and of who should live after the Twilight of the Gods.
‘Wise are you indeed,’ said Gangradur, ‘but can you tell me what shall be the fate of Odin in the Last Great Battle, on the day of Ragnarok?’
‘The Wolf shall devour him,’ answered Valfthrudnir, ‘and Vidar shall avenge him, rending apart the jaws that slay.’
‘Far have I travelled,’ said Gangradur, ‘and untold things have I tried; into worlds unknown have I been and questioned many creatures. Therefore tell me – and if you know it, I indeed grant you the wisest of Giants – tell me what word of hope shall Odin whisper into the dead ear of his son as he lies upon the funeral pyre.’
Then the Giant Valfthrudnir knew that it was Odi
n himself who questioned him, and he bowed his head for the sword-blow, saying:
‘No being knows what word you spoke in your dead son’s ear, long ago in the web of the Norns yet long ages on in the future. With a doomed mouth have I bandied questions of the world’s doom, for you are Odin – and you shall ever be the wisest of all.’
‘Your head is forfeit to me,’ said Odin gravely, ‘but I will not take it now. Only have a care lest you boast again of your wisdom or by any means harm such guests as come to seek your hospitality.’
Odin went on his way once more, but when he was gone into the night he cast from him his disguise, and stood forth in his own form, king of the Æsir and lord of mankind, a noble figure with flashing sword and golden helm.
And, as if in answer to his very thought, the great horse Sleipnir came to him, the horse of Odin with its eight legs and flowing mane. He leapt upon its back and went forward through Jotunheim: but he had not crossed the dark river Ifing by the time the sun rose, and it chanced that he passed by the dwelling of Rungnir, the great Giant of the Mountains.
As he drew near, Rungnir himself rode out to meet him, and accosted him in friendly fashion:
‘What manner of man are you?’ he shouted. ‘Never before did I see such a warrior, with a golden helmet on his head riding upon an eight-legged steed, and passing at will through air and water.’
‘I am of the Æsir who dwell in Asgard,’ answered Odin, ‘and there is no such steed as mine in all the Nine Worlds. I’ll wager my head that you have none in Jotunheim that can go so fast or so far.’
‘Your head against mine!’ cried Rungnir. ‘My horse Golden Mane is a better mount than yours. There is no doubt of it: you have lost your head already.’
‘Catch and pass me, if so you think!’ cried Odin, and setting spurs to Sleipnir he was on the next hill-top in a moment.
But now a Giant’s frenzy seized upon Rungnir. He spurred Golden Mane and followed Odin swift as the storm wind or the avalanche down the mountain-side.
Odin rode fast and far, speeding through the clouds, while Sleipnir spurned the mountain tops with his hooves. He came first to Asgard, and turned to meet Rungnir in the entrance way.
The Giant leapt from foaming Golden Mane and stood in the Gate of the Æsir.
‘Come in as a guest and drink with us,’ said Odin, ‘for you have a right good steed – and yet your head is mine if I cared to claim it.’
So Rungnir strode into the hall and cried aloud for the biggest horn of mead in all Valhalla. Thor was not present, so his horn was brought to the Giant, and those flagons in which his drink was stored.
Rungnir drained the horn, and then swilled down the mead from one flagon after another, until he became drunk and began to boast and shout threats.
‘This is a fair hall!’ he cried. ‘I’ll carry it away with me! Jotunheim shall be the home of Valhalla, not Asgard … You’ll try to stop me? I don’t fear the Æsir – I’ll kill them all! … No, I won’t kill lovely Freya and golden-haired Sif: I’ll take them home with me … Come, pour me more mead … What, do none of you dare?’
Freya alone had the courage to pour mead into his horn, and Rungnir drank deeply once more, shouting:
‘I’ll drink all the ale of the Æsir! Not a drop shall there be left in Asgard. Then I’ll go back to my home in Jotunheim, with Freya and Sif to be my bond-women! Who dares stop me?’
At this moment Thor strode into the hall, swinging his hammer Miolnir in his hand, and his eyes flashed fire when he saw the drunken Giant sitting there.
‘Who has allowed a foul Giant to set foot in Asgard?’ he shouted. ‘Who has given Rungnir safe conduct into Valhalla? How comes it that lovely Freya is pouring mead for one of our enemies from Jotunheim?’
‘I come as a guest,’ growled Rungnir, glaring at Thor. ‘Odin himself invited me to drink mead with the Æsir in Valhalla.’
‘You shall repent accepting that invitation before you get away from here!’ thundered Thor.
‘Little renown will you gain, great Thor, if you kill me now, unarmed as I am,’ cried Rungnir. ‘But if you want to show your courage, meet me in single combat on the borders of Jotunheim, at Giottunagard, the Place of Rolling Stones.’
‘Get you back to Jotunheim and arm yourself,’ roared Thor. ‘Then meet me at Giottunagard with but one squire to support you, whoever you may choose. I will be there to meet you, and we fight to the death.’
Then Rungnir leapt upon Golden Mane and galloped furiously until he came to Jotunheim. There he told the Giants of what had chanced, and of the great battle which was to be.
‘You must win,’ said the Giants. ‘If Thor is victorious he will invade Jotunheim in his pride – for you are the strongest of all Giants, and Thor bears us a grudge since Utgardhaloki tricked him and Loki when they visited Utgard.’
So the Giants went to Giottunagard and there they made a man out of clay to be Rungnir’s squire. This clay Giant was nine miles high and three miles broad across the chest. Their greatest difficulty was to find a heart large enough for him: for that they could not make. Finally they took a mare’s heart, as that was the largest they could find, and set it in his breast of clay.
Rungnir’s own heart was of stone, three-pronged and sharp like the Runic letter ‘’, which is called Rungnir’s Heart for this reason. His head also was of stone, so that his brain was none of the best, and he had a stone shield as well.
When the day of battle arrived the combatants set out for Giottunagard. The clay man was the first to see Thor approaching: and at the sight his knees knocked together and he grew damp all over.
But Thialfi the fleet-footed squire dashed up to Rungnir and cried:
‘Giant, I give you a word of warning! You will lose the battle if you hold your shield in front of you! For Thor has seen you, and has gone underground. He’s coming against you from underneath – up through the earth!’
When Rungnir heard this, he placed his stone shield on the ground and stood on it, which left him free so that he could grip his weapon, which was a hone cut from a great mass of whetstone, with both hands.
Scarcely was he ready when he saw Thor coming against him in a blaze of lightning, with the thunder rumbling under his footsteps. Roaring with rage, Thor whirled up his great hammer Miolnir and flung it at Rungnir. The Giant lifted his hone and cast it at Thor at the same moment, and the two weapons crashed together in mid air. The hone broke into pieces, scattering over the earth to form all the veins of whetstone and flint rock: but one piece hit Thor on the forehead so that he fell to the ground on his face.
But Miolnir struck Rungnir on the head and shattered his stone skull to tiny crumbs no bigger than grains of sand, so that he fell dead with one foot across Thor’s neck.
Meanwhile Thialfi the nimble had attacked the clay man with a spade, and as the clay of which he was made was already wet and soft he was able to break him up in a few minutes and spread him like marl over the fields.
Then he turned to help Thor who was still pinned to the earth by Rungnir’s foot. But try though he might he could not raise the Giant’s limb.
By this time the Æsir, hearing of Thor’s mishap, had arrived at Giottunagard; and they also tried to raise Rungnir’s foot. But not even great Odin himself, nor strong Tyr, nor Uller of the mighty arms, nor Loki the cunning, could set Thor free.
But Thor’s own son Magni, who was then but three years old, came to see what had happened to his father; and when he saw the Giant’s foot resting on Thor’s neck, he raised it easily and flung it aside.
‘What a pity it is that I came so late,’ he exclaimed. ‘If I’d been here sooner I would have killed this Giant with a blow of my fist, and saved you all this trouble.’
‘You are like to be as mighty a Giant-killer as I am, when you are fully grown,’ said Thor proudly as he rose to his feet. ‘Now, in memory of this your first feat of strength, I will give you the horse Golden Mane which belonged to this dead Giant.’
‘The h
orse should have been mine,’ said Odin gravely. ‘But I do not grudge it to my valiant grandson – though his mother is a Giantess.’ For Magni’s mother was not Sif the golden-haired, but Jarnsaxa of the Iron Knife, the strongest of all the Giantesses in Jotunheim.
So the Æsir returned victorious to Asgard, after making peace with the Giants, who were thoroughly frightened by the death of Rungnir and the destruction of the clay monster.
At home in Thrudvangar, his massive hall, Thor sat still in moody discomfort, holding his aching head. For the splinter of stone which had struck him was still fixed in his skull, and neither he nor Magni could pull it out or stop the pain it caused him.
In vain Sif bathed the wound with her gentle fingers, and wept over it with her dew-like tears.
‘Rungnir’s hone must have been cut and shaped by magic,’ growled Thor at last. ‘Doubtless some Rune of enchantment is graven on the piece of whetstone in my head, and only by sorcery can it be removed.’
So they sent for Groa the Witch, the wife of Aurvandill the Brave, who of all men in Midgard was most feared by the Giants and who would go alone into Jotunheim and there slay them by trickery.
Groa came willingly to Thrudvangar, for Thor had come to Aurvandill’s aid more than once on his expeditions into Jotunheim. Now she drew magic Runes on the floor and began to sing strange, mysterious songs and chant spells as she held her hands above his head.
Thor felt the splinter of stone working loose, and the pain faded from him. Anxious, in his relief and gratitude, to repay Groa for her help, he said:
‘I have news for you which will make you glad. When last I wandered in Jotunheim I found Aurvandill your husband in sore danger from the Giants. But I was able to rescue him and carry him away to safety. I hid him in a basket on my back when I waded through Elivagar the Ice Brook. And I’ll give you a proof of how highly we of Asgard value your husband in his war on the Giants. As we crossed that river of bitter cold I saw that one of his toes was sticking out of the basket and had become frozen solid. So I broke it off and tossed it up into the sky where it has turned into the brightest of all the stars. But Aurvandill is alive and well, and is on his way home to you.’
