by Roger Green
‘It seems that you are but a liar and an evil smith. Or maybe you would betray me to this dragon Fafnir who, as I have heard tell, is your own brother!’
Then Sigurd went to his mother Queen Hiordis and said: ‘Have I heard aright that my father King Sigmund gave you the good sword Gram, the gift of Odin, in pieces?’
‘That is true enough,’ she answered.
‘Then give me the pieces, I pray,’ said Sigurd, ‘for I would fain have a sword that is worthy of my father’s son.’
So she gave him the pieces of the sword Gram, saying that he would win great fame with it, and he carried them to Reginn and bade him make a sword.
Reginn took the pieces into the smithy, cursing Sigurd under his breath. But he put all his skill into the remaking of Gram: and as he carried out the finished work it seemed to him that fire burned along the edges of the blade.
Sigurd took the sword, and it seemed good to him. But nevertheless he whirled it up and struck the anvil with all his strength; and the keen blade cut through the iron anvil and down into wooden stock beneath without so much as blunting the edge.
‘This is indeed a fine sword,’ said Sigurd. But as a last test he went to the river and flung a lock of wool upstream. Then he held the sword in the water so that the lock was borne down against the sharp blade, and it was cut in half when it touched the sword.
‘And now,’ said Sigurd as he girded the sword Gram to his side, ‘I am ready to go forth against the dragon. But first I must avenge my father’s death, for such is my sacred duty.’
Sigurd was so well loved by man, woman, and child among the Danes that a band of warriors immediately gathered to follow him. So he sailed over the sea to attack the folk who had slain his people the Volsungs; he defeated them in a battle, and killed King Lyngi, who had brought about Sigmund’s death, with a single blow of the sword Gram.
After he had been at home for a little while, and had been feasted as a hero by the great ones among the Danes, Sigurd remembered the dragon Fafnir.
So he went to Reginn the master smith and said:
‘Fafnir the dragon has been in my memory all this while. Lead me to Gnita Heath and show me how I may come to him.’
Sigurd and Reginn rode away into the wilderness and came at last to the river at which Fafnir was wont to drink. And there was a long track down over the heath from the cave where the dragon dwelt.
‘You told me that this dragon was no bigger than others of his kind,’ said Sigurd. ‘But now that I see his tracks, I can guess that he is by far the greatest of all dragons.’
‘Yet you may kill him,’ answered Reginn, ‘if you will but dig yourself a hole in the path and stab him to the heart as he passes above you on his way down to drink at the river.’
‘But what will happen if the blood of the dragon falls upon me?’ asked Sigurd.
‘It is no use for me to offer you advice,’ exclaimed Reginn, ‘if you are afraid of every danger. Truly you are not worthy to be called the son of Sigmund.’
Then Sigurd rode forward towards the cave, but Reginn went and hid in the rocks by the river, for he was very much afraid.
Sigurd began to dig the pit in the dragon’s pathway; but while he worked there came to him an old man with a long white beard who had but one eye under his broad-brimmed hat, and asked him what he was doing.
When Sigurd told him, he said: ‘You are following the advice of one who wishes you evil. Rather you should dig many pits and trenches, and hide in one where the blood cannot come to you after you have thrust your sword into the dragon’s heart.’
Then the old man vanished, and Sigurd did as he was told, and afterwards lay hidden in one of the pits.
At last the time came for the dragon to take his morning drink, and the earth shook under his tread while he snorted forth venom as he went.
Sigurd neither trembled nor was afraid of the dreadful roaring of the monster nor of the steaming venom. But as the beast passed over the pits Sigurd thrust the sword Gram under its left shoulder and up to the very hilt. Then he leapt back, withdrawing the sword as he went, and slipped out by the trench at the side.
When Fafnir realized that he had his death-wound, he lashed out with head and tail so that all things within reach of him were broken to pieces. Then, knowing that his death was upon him, he lay still and asked:
‘What mighty hero is it that has smitten me? What son of what famous father is so bold as to come against me sword in hand?’
Sigurd, knowing how dangerous the curse of a dying man could be, made answer:
‘Unknown to men is my kin: I am called but a noble beast!’
Then Fafnir said: ‘Reginn my brother has brought this about, and it gladdens my heart to know that he is at your side; for I know well how he is minded. And now I know you for Sigurd the Volsung that shall be called Fafnir’s Bane for my slaying. Take my gold, but remember that it will itself be the bane of everyone soever who owns it, even as it has been mine. For the curse of Andvari is upon it.’
After this Fafnir the dragon rolled upon the ground and died, nor even in death did he regain his human shape.
Then came Reginn to Sigurd and said: ‘Hail, lord and master! A noble victory have you won in slaying Fafnir against whom none else dared stand. Yet he was my brother, and I too am guilty of his death, so I beg of you do this for me, that the blood-guilt may pass from us: cut out the heart of the dragon and roast it with fire, and let me eat it. Then all the guilt shall be mine, and no blame rest upon you, who have but slain a dragon and no more.’
Sigurd did as he was asked, and while Reginn went apart and rested in the deep heather, he set the dragon’s heart on a rod and roasted it before a fire.
After a while Sigurd touched the dragon’s heart with his finger to see if it were yet roasted, and the hot gravy burnt his finger so that he put it quickly to his mouth. The moment the heart’s blood of the dragon touched his tongue, he straightway understood the speech of all the birds. And he heard how the woodpeckers chatted together in the trees nearby:
‘There sits Sigurd,’ said one of them, ‘roasting the dragon’s heart for another. But if he ate it himself he would become the wisest of all men.’
‘There lies Reginn,’ said another, ‘planning to murder Sigurd and steal all the gold of Andvari’s hoard for himself.’
And a third said: ‘Why does not Sigurd strike off that traitor’s head and win the gold for himself?’
‘Why not indeed?’ exclaimed Sigurd springing to his feet. ‘Let Reginn go by the same road as Fafnir his brother!’
Then he drew the sword Gram and smote off Reginn’s head. After which he made his supper of dragon’s heart, and lay down to sleep upon the gold of Andvari’s hoard in Fafnir’s cave. But first of all he placed Andvari’s ring upon his finger.
In the morning as he was loading the treasure upon Grani’s back he heard the birds singing a new song:
‘High upon Hindfell the shield-hall rises;
Without, all around it, sweeps red flame aloft.
Therein bideth Brynhild bound by the sleepthorn,
The loveliest lady, this land ever knew.
If Sigurd should seek her sleep shall be ended –
By Odin ordained – shall be ended for him.’
At that Sigurd leapt upon Grani’s back and rode forth towards Hindfell; and after a while he saw a great light burning upon the mountain top. On and on he rode until, on the heights of Hindfell, he came to a wall of fire surrounding a hall made of shields with a banner floating above it.
Sigurd set spurs to Grani and leapt through the flames without taking any harm. Then he dismounted and strode into the shield-hall.
There he found a figure in golden armour lying as if dead. He plucked at the helmet, but the armour seemed to be growing to the figure, so that he was forced to cut it away. The tough rings parted before the keen blade of Gram as if the armour were made only of cloth.
Then Sigurd saw that the warrior who lay inside it was a lovel
y maiden with golden hair who slept peacefully, growing no older nor needing either food or drink.
He bent down to kiss her, and as he did so he saw a thorn sticking into her flesh. He drew it out, and she awoke slowly from her magic sleep and looked up at him.
‘Ah!’ she murmured. ‘You must be Sigurd the dragonslayer, for you wear Fafnir’s Helmet of Terror upon your head even as it was foretold. Indeed I can see that you are the bravest and most goodly of men, with hair of golden-red, broad-shouldered and keen-eyed, and fair of speech.’
‘Lady,’ said Sigurd, ‘you have named me aright. Sigmund was my father, the son of Volsung, and I am Sigurd, also called Fafnir’s Bane, since I have slain that dragon and bear away Andvari’s hoard which he guarded. But who are you? And why do you rest here in this charmed sleep, with a wall of fire burning ever about you?’
Then she answered: ‘I am Brynhild, a mighty king’s daughter. I was a Maiden of Odin, one of the Valkyries who follow his wild hunt and go out in the day of battle to summon to the Hall of Valhalla those whom he has chosen to die. It chanced that on a day two kings fought, an old man and a young. Odin had promised the victory to the ancient one, and sent me to bring death to the other. But I broke the command of Odin and slew the ancient king in his place. For that deed Odin decreed that I should be a Valkyrie no longer, but must marry and go my way to death as other women do. Yet he had pity on me and vowed that I should be won only by the bravest of all heroes, even Sigurd the Volsung. So he set this wall of fire about me, stuck the sleep-thorn into my flesh, and left me here until the day of your coming.’
Then Brynhild rose and brought Sigurd a cup of wine, in which they plighted their troth, and in token of his faith to her alone he set a ring on her finger. But the ring was Andvari’s ring, and the curse fell upon Brynhild from that moment.
When the next morning was come, Brynhild awoke from sleep and she roused Sigurd, saying:
‘Up, slayer of Fafnir! You must go forth into the world to win yet greater fame and wealth, and a kingdom over which I may be queen. And here I shall wait for you, knowing well that none but you can leap the wall of flame which is about my hall.’
Sigurd was sad at this, yet his spirit burned to do great deeds for Brynhild’s sake. So he kissed her farewell, mounted upon Grani, and leapt once more through the flames and so went on his way down the slopes of Hindfell until he came to the land where Guiki was king.
‘Who are you that come riding through my gates laden with treasure?’ asked King Guiki. ‘For none dare come here without the leave of my valiant sons Gunnar and Hogni.’
‘I am Sigurd the Volsung,’ was the answer, ‘Sigurd the slayer of Fafnir.’
‘Then be you welcome,’ cried King Guiki, ‘be even as one of my sons, and take from our hands whatsoever you will.’
So Sigurd remained for a while with King Guiki, and won great war-fame at the side of Gunnar and Hogni. But Guiki’s daughter Gudrun loved him from the first moment she saw him, and began to pine with longing for him.
Sigurd had no mind for her, though she was a fair princess indeed: for his every thought was of Brynhild, and he would often speak of her beauty and of the love that was between them.
Then Gudrun’s mother, the Witch Queen Grimhild, made a magic drink and carried it to Sigurd as he sat in the hall one night. And he drank it, thinking it was but the cup of mead which it was the custom of the ladies of the house to bear into the hall after dinner. But as soon as it had passed his lips, its evil magic clouded his wits so that he forgot Brynhild and the love that was vowed between them; and it was to him as if they had never met.
Time passed, and soon he came to love Gudrun, and presently they were married, and lived together happily. And Sigurd made a compact of sworn brotherhood with Gunnar and Hogni.
So several years passed, and then Grimhild decided that her eldest son Gunnar must win to wife the lovely Brynhild who still dwelt in her shield-hall ringed by flame on Hindfell, and whose fame was growing among men throughout all the lands thereabouts.
So Gunnar set out for Hindfell, and Sigurd and Hogni went with him. When they came to the wall of fire, Gunnar set his horse against it and lashed him hard; but the horse drew back in terror.
Then said Sigurd: ‘Why do you give back, Gunnar?’
And Gunnar answered: ‘My horse fears the fire. But lend me Grani, your great steed, and I will leap it.’
‘Yes, with my goodwill,’ answered Sigurd, remembering nothing of his own visit to Brynhild. Gunnar mounted Grani and urged him against the wall of fire. But Grani snorted and drew back, feeling an uncertain hand upon his bridle.
‘Now we must bring magic to our aid,’ said Gunnar, who had been well taught by his mother. And forthwith he practised shape-shifting so that he wore the likeness of Sigurd, and Sigurd his.
Then Sigurd, seeming to all who saw him none other than Gunnar, leapt upon Grani and sprang easily over and through the flames, and came to the shield-hall where Brynhild had sat for five long years waiting for her love.
‘What man are you?’ she asked, her eyes wide with dread.
‘I am Gunnar, the son of Guiki,’ was the answer. ‘And I have come through the flame-ring which surrounds you, and so according to your oath you must be my wife.’
Then, since there was no help for it, Brynhild consented to this, and vowed herself to be Gunnar’s wife. But that night as they slept in the shield-hall the sharp sword Gram lay between them as a token that the wedding was not yet. For in the morning the false Gunnar arose, drew a ring from his finger and set it upon Brynhild’s: but in exchange he took from her finger Andvari’s ring, and placed it upon his own.
Then he mounted Grani and leapt back through the fire. And when he was returned, he changed shapes once more with Gunnar, so that each had their right form.
Afterwards the flames died down and passed away, and Brynhild came out from her shield-hall on Hindfell, and when they came to Guiki’s hall her wedding feast with Gunnar was held with much rejoicing.
But when Sigurd had Andvari’s ring on his finger once more, the magic of Grimhild’s brew began to pass from him, and in time he remembered all that had happened.
Then he was filled with sorrow and bitter regret, for he knew that he still loved Brynhild above all women. But for honour’s sake he made no sign and she was certain that he had forgotten what had passed between them, or that she had dreamed it, and that Gunnar was indeed the nobler and the braver of the two.
But one day when she and Gudrun were washing their hair in the river a dispute arose between them.
‘As I have the braver husband of us two,’ said Brynhild, ‘it is my right to wash my hair further upstream than you.’
‘But my husband is braver than yours,’ answered Gudrun, ‘so that it is I who can claim the right of the stream. For I am wedded to Sigurd who slew both Fafnir and Reginn, and won the rich treasure of Andvari’s hoard.’
‘It was a matter of far greater worth and valour,’ exclaimed Brynhild, ‘that Gunnar did when he rode through the flaming fire to win me, and Sigurd dared not.’
‘And do you really believe that Gunnar rode through the flaming fire?’ asked Gudrun scornfully. ‘Now I think that he who won you, whatever form he wore, was he who gave me this ring, Andvari’s ring, which I wear on my finger – and it was not Gunnar who won that ring by slaying the dragon Fafnir on Gnita’s Heath.’
Then Brynhild was silent for she knew at last how she had been tricked and cheated, though she did not know why – and the curse of Andvari’s ring was heavy upon her.
All that evening she was silent. But next day she told Gunnar that he was a coward and a liar, since he had never won her by riding through the flames, but had sent Sigurd to do it for him, and pretended that he had dared it himself.
‘Never again,’ she ended, ‘shall you see me glad in your hall, never drinking, never playing at chess, never speaking words of kindness, never at my embroidery, nor giving you good counsel. No, rather shall I be
plotting your death, for you have led me to break my vow – for well I knew that none but Sigurd could ride through the wall of flames that guarded my shield-hall. Oh, the sorrow of my heart that Sigurd might not be mine!’
Then she rent all her needlework and wept aloud so that all the house could hear her; for her heart was broken because she had lost Sigurd and married a man who was a coward and a liar.
At last Sigurd came to comfort her, begging her to love Gunnar her husband, and offering to give her all the treasure of Andvari’s hoard if that would console her. But he would not desert Gudrun his wife, nor slay Gunnar his sworn brother – for to do either would be shame unspeakable.
‘It is too late, too late to do anything: there is a curse upon us!’ wailed Brynhild; and Sigurd grieved so at the loss of his one true love that his breast swelled mightily and burst asunder the iron rings of his shirt of mail.
But there was nothing he could do, and he went sorrowing back to his own dwelling. And Brynhild, mad with grief and shame and disappointment, urged Gunnar and Hogni with false tales to slay Sigurd.
They refused to do so, being mindful of their oath; but they commanded their young brother Gutthorn to slay Sigurd, and gave him a charmed drink so that he grew nearly mad with hate and cruelty.
But when he went into Sigurd’s room, he shrank back and dared do nothing. A second time he went, and so bright and eager were Sigurd’s eyes as they met his, that he dared not look at him. But he came a third time, and Sigurd was asleep. Then Gutthorn plunged his sword through his body and into the bed beneath, and turned and fled.
But Sigurd caught up his own sword Gram and flung it after Gutthorn so mightily that the keen blade cut him in half at the middle, and that was the end of him. But Sigurd the Volsung, the Slayer of Fafnir, fell back after his last great deed, and lay dead.
Then his body was placed on a heap of wood aboard his great ship of war, and it was set on fire and pushed out to sea. But before it left the shore Brynhild took the sword Gram and plunged it into her heart. Then she sank down beside Sigurd on the ship, with the sword lying between them, and the fire took both of them as the ship sailed into the distance.
