Myths of the Norsemen

by Roger Green

  As Thor stepped back from kindling the fire, the tiny Dwarf called Lit dashed across in front of him, and Thor, still half-crazed with grief, kicked him aside, and he fell dead into the fire and was burned with the divine pair.

  Now the burning ship was ready to sail out into the darkness, and the Æsir stood upon the shore watching it with tear-dimmed eyes. Nor did the Æsir mourn alone, for Frey drove his chariot along the shore from Vanaheim, and Freya too with the cats harnessed to her car. Odin and Frigga were followed by the Valkyries; and many of the Rime Giants came also, and other Giants out of Jotunheim; the Trolls came, and the Elves from Alfheim, and many a Dwarf from the caves under the earth.

  As the ship left the shore Odin placed the ring Draupnir on Baldur’s finger, and stooping he whispered the Word of Hope into his dead son’s ear, the Word which all of the Nine Worlds longed to know.

  Then as the ship moved away over the dark ocean, a low moaning cry rose and fell throughout the world. Far into the distance it went, and as it touched the horizon it seemed that sea and sky burned with it.

  Suddenly it was gone, and darkness rushed in over the world like a black shroud of sorrow.

  But Hermodur was riding on his way – nine nights and nine days through dark dales and deep – until he came to the burning river Gioll and on to the golden Gioll Bridge which crosses it.

  ‘Who crosses this Bridge yet living, where none but the dead may cross?’ cried Modgud the maiden of Death who guarded it. ‘But yesterday five companies of dead men rode over, but the Bridge thunders no less under you alone, and, though living, you have the colour of a man already dead. Why ride you hither on Hela’s road?’

  ‘I am sent out of Asgard,’ answered Hermodur, ‘and I am appointed to ride to Helheim to seek out Baldur the beautiful. Have you perchance seen him passing this way into Hela’s halls?’

  ‘Over my bridge passed Baldur the beautiful with Nanna his wife,’ answered Mogdud, ‘and behind them ran a little Dwarf. They are in Hela’s halls: downward and to the north lies Hel-way.’

  Modgud stood aside for Hermodur to pass, and Sleipnir went wearily on the darksome road through Iron Wood until he came to Hel-gate where the great dog Garm of the Bloody Breast barred his way.

  Hermodur dismounted from his steed and tightened his girths. Then he mounted again, set spurs to Sleipnir’s sides, and the mighty horse leapt so hard and so high that he cleared the gate and landed far inside Helheim.

  Onward to Hela’s hall rode Hermodur, dismounted at the door, and strode inside. And there in the seat of honour sat Baldur his brother, while Nanna held the cup at his side and Lit the Dwarf waited upon them.

  There Hermodur rested for the night, supping with Baldur in that chill abode of the dead; and in the morning he went onward to the great hall where Hela passed judgement on all who came to her realm.

  Hermodur shuddered as he looked upon her ghastly face, half-living and half-dead; and he stood listening to the seething of the great cauldron Hvengelmir and the clashing of swords in the icy waters of the river Slid. He heard her judgements on the dead: he saw the wicked banished to Nastrond, the Strand of Corpses, where they waded in ice-cold streams of poison before they were cast into the cauldron Hvengelmir to serve as food for the terrible Nid Hog who would only pause from gnawing the roots of the Ash Yggdrasill to feed upon their bones.

  He saw also the sadness and the gloom in the homes even of the virtuous who died ‘a straw death’ upon their beds; and he realized how much better it was to fall in battle and go to Valhalla where the dead heroes dwelt.

  At last he himself knelt before Hela, and told her his errand – told her how great a sorrow there was among the Æsir, and among all living creatures, for Baldur’s death, and begged that Baldur might be allowed to ride home to Asgard with him.

  ‘Baldur may return to you,’ said Hela in her cold even tones, ‘if all things in the world, both quick and dead, weep for him. But if any fail to weep, then with Hela he remains.’

  So Hermodur set out on his return journey most joyful at heart, and carrying back the Ring Draupnir as a gift from Baldur to Odin: for Hermodur was sure that nothing in all creation would fail to shed a tear so that Baldur might live again.

  He came at last to Asgard and told all that he had seen and heard. Then the Æsir sent messengers over all the worlds praying that Baldur be wept out of Helheim, out of Nifelheim, and back into Asgard and the world of light. And besides the Æsir all mankind wept for Baldur and all living things as well. The earth itself wept too, and the stones, the trees and all metals – even as they still weep when they come out of frost into heat.

  It seemed that everything created wept for Baldur: for even the Giants shed tears and forgot their age-old warfare with the Æsir.

  Yet Baldur was still held in Helheim, and Hermodur rode near and far bidding all things weep, and weep again. Far and far into cold Jotunheim he went, and on a day he came to a cave where sat a solitary Giantess who did not weep.

  ‘Who are you that do not weep for Baldur the beautiful?’ asked Hermodur.

  ‘I am Thokk,’ answered the Giantess, ‘and who is Baldur that I should weep for him?’

  Then Hermodur told her about Baldur the beautiful, and of Hela’s promise to release him if all things wept in sorrow at his loss.

  But Thokk the Giantess laughed harshly: ‘Thokk will weep waterless tears for Baldur!’ she cried. ‘Living or dead I care nothing for Baldur the son of Odin the churl. Let Hela keep what she already has!’

  Over and over again Hermodur begged Thokk to weep, but all in vain. At last he turned sorrowfully away, leaving her still laughing, and rode back to Asgard.

  When he had told his tale, Odin sat in silent sadness for a little while.

  ‘Then Baldur must remain in Hela’s halls,’ he said at last, ‘remain among the dead until the Day of Ragnarok – which I fear draws near us now … As for Thokk the Giantess, it seems to me that she is none other than Loki, he who has wrought most ill among the Æsir – he who was our brother but is now our bitterest foe.’

  13

  Vali the Avenger

  Baldur was dead, and the shadows were gathering in Asgard. Care sat on the faces of the Æsir, and Odin felt that Ragnarok had drawn suddenly nearer. Yet even so the Day of the Last Great Battle was still far in the future, while near at hand lay the sacred duty of revenge.

  Hodur, who had cast the fatal mistletoe must die – for so the unchangeable law of gods and men decreed, even though Hodur had cast his dart in all innocence, meaning no harm to the brother he loved so well.

  None of the Æsir could slay him, however, on account of their oaths; and moreover Hodur remained by day in Breidablik, mourning for Baldur, and there least of all might a sword be raised to kill. And at night when he wandered out into the dark woods, none might see him to slay.

  Odin, however, knew from the prophecy of Volva that the Avenger was not yet born who would slay Hodur. He knew also that it must be a son of his whose mother was to be a mortal woman, whom he must woo as a mortal, and that the son was to be Vali, who would survive Ragnarok.

  But one thing which he did not know was who his mortal wife was to be; and all his wisdom, together with the wisdom of Mimir’s Head, could not tell him that.

  At last he sent for his son Hermodur the swift messenger of the Æsir:

  ‘Put on your shining armour and your helmet,’ he commanded, ‘saddle Sleipnir, and ride to the uttermost north of Midgard. There you will come to the Land of the Finns who, by their magic powers, send down the cold storms over the world of men. Among them dwells a wizard whose name is Rossthiof, who, alone of all living men, can see into the future. Go to him in haste and learn of whom Vali the Avenger shall be born.’

  Then the Valkyries buckled Hermodur’s shining armour about him and handed him the tall helmet, and he leapt upon eight-legged Sleipnir and made ready to ride.

  But Odin stopped him ere he set out. ‘Remember,’ he said, ‘that Rossthiof is the most
cunning and cruellest of wizards. It is his custom to draw innocent travellers to his ice-castle by magic arts, there to rob and slay them. Therefore take in your hand my runic staff: for without doubt when he learns that you come from me he will use all his evil art to overcome you or to drive you away.’

  Hermodur took Odin’s runic staff, and set out on his perilous mission. Over Bifrost Bridge he went where Heimdall sat on guard in his white armour holding the Giallar Horn in his hand to blow when the enemies of Asgard came in sight. Through Midgard went Hermodur, swift as the storm wind and the lashing rain: and here and there a man glimpsed him on his eight-legged steed, rubbed his eyes, and saw only the driving storm. Over the wild, mist-clad mountains he went, and the hail rattled round the hooves of Sleipnir, while avalanches thundered down into the deep valleys behind him.

  At last he came to the dim land of eternal twilight near the northernmost point of the world where Rossthiof the Wizard had his castle of green ice. Then Hermodur knew that he was seen and that magic was at work: for Sleipnir seemed to be drawn forward across the ice as if by a magnet, and he could do nothing to stay him.

  But Odin’s wondrous steed was sure-footed as ever; again and again he paused suddenly and leapt cleanly over the hidden traps which Rossthiof had laid for him – over crevasses in the ice covered thinly by crusts of snow; over drifts so deep that one false step would have buried horse and rider completely; and over loose masses of ice which, stepped upon, would have sent Hermodur and his steed rushing down the slippery mountain-sides to fall into chasms far below.

  Presently there came grey and shadowy monsters, terrible in shape, threatening to crush them with many huge arms or bite them with gigantic teeth. But Hermodur rose in his stirrups and struck them with the runic staff which Odin had given him; and they shrank away and vanished moaning into the snow blizzards.

  At last Rossthiof the Wizard came against him in the likeness of a Giant, swinging a great rope to bind both horse and rider. But as he drew near, Hermodur felled him with a blow of the staff and bound him with his own rope, drawing it so tightly round the wizard’s throat that Rossthiof groaned in terror, and gasped:

  ‘Messenger of Odin, I will speak and harm you no further, nor attempt to deceive you. What I show you now is true: I swear it by the black river of Helheim, the Leipter by which none in all the Nine Worlds dare swear falsely.’

  Hermodur loosened the rope from about Rossthiof’s throat and said:

  ‘Speak then, Wizard of the North. Odin asks from whom shall be born Vali the Avenger who must slay Hodur.’

  Rossthiof rose slowly to his feet and began to draw strange runes upon the frozen snow. After a while he held up his arms and began to chant terrible incantations. At their sound the sun was darkened, hiding her face behind black clouds; the earth shook and trembled, and the storm-winds shrieked and groaned with the voices of ravening wolves and of dying men.

  ‘See!’ cried Rossthiof suddenly, pointing with his long arm and thin blue fingers across the snow.

  Hermodur looked and saw the mist roll back on a bare mountain top at a distance from him. Suddenly blood appeared upon the snow and seemed to flow down and redden all the ground. Then a beautiful woman rose out of the snow, holding a baby in her arms. Almost at once the child sprang to the ground and grew swiftly until he was a well-grown youth with a quiver on his back and a bow in his hands. He drew an arrow, fitted it to the bow and loosed it quickly: for a moment it flashed like fire, and then suddenly was buried in the darkness.

  The mist came down again, and Hermodur saw nothing but the dim shapes of ice-bound hills, and frozen mountains rising grey and ghostly in the eternal Arctic twilight.

  ‘What you have seen,’ said Rossthiof, ‘is the blood of Baldur staining the earth. Then Rinda came, the daughter of Billing, King of the Ruthenes. She is to be the mother of Vali who shall shoot the arrow of vengeance and lay dark Hodur low. Get you back to Asgard now, and tell Odin that if he would be the father of Vali, he must woo and win Rinda as a mortal man.’

  Rossthiof turned and melted into the mist, growing large and terrible as any Giant as he strode away into the darkness.

  At once Hermodur sprang upon Sleipnir and set out on his long journey back to Asgard; and at last he knelt again before Odin and told his tale.

  Then the Allfather of the Æsir rose from his throne and laid aside his divine majesty. He went down into Midgard with his broad-brimmed hat drawn low over his brows to hide his missing eye. His blue cloak was wrapped well about him, and in his hand, instead of a staff, he held the spear Gungnir.

  In this guise he made his way to the West where King Billing ruled, and offered his services as a warrior well experienced in the arts of war.

  King Billing was overjoyed, for at that time a powerful enemy was about to invade his kingdom with a large army.

  ‘I have no general to command my forces,’ lamented King Billing, ‘and I myself am too old and infirm to march at the head of my men. If only I had a son! But I have not even a son-in-law, for my daughter Rinda refuses to marry. It is not for want of suitors, for she is young and beautiful: but she longs above all things to be one of Odin’s Maidens and ride with the Valkyries on his wild hunt, so she despises and insults all men who come to ask her hand in marriage.’

  ‘Old though I am,’ said the disguised Odin, stroking his beard, ‘I too may try my fortune with the beautiful Rinda. But first of all I must show my worth by leading your armies to victory.’

  So Odin took command of King Billing’s warriors and led them so well that the invaders were utterly defeated and never again dared to set foot in Ruthenia.

  The mysterious commander inspired such courage in King Billing’s men that no one seemed able to stand against them; and indeed he was said to have won the last battle quite alone by charging the foe single-handed, waving his spear – at which they broke and fled in terror.

  King Billing had no suspicion of who his preserver was, and when the war was ended he called for him and said:

  ‘Noble sir, to you I owe the victory, my crown – my very life. All that I have is yours: choose how I may reward you.’

  ‘I ask but one thing,’ answered the disguised Odin, ‘and that is the hand of your daughter the Princess Rinda in marriage.’

  ‘Though you seem old in years, I could ask for no better son-in-law,’ answered the king. ‘But alas, my daughter cannot be commanded. She is yours indeed – but only if you can win her.’

  King Billing sent for Rinda, and she came to the hall, as sweet and winsome a maiden as any in the world.

  ‘My daughter,’ said the old king gently, ‘this noble lord who has defeated all our enemies and saved us from conquest, death, and captivity, asks only one reward – and that is your hand in marriage. It rests with you, for he has my full consent. Surely you will reward the noble saviour of our country?’

  ‘Thus I answer him,’ cried Rinda, ‘and thus only do I give him my hand!’

  As she spoke she stepped forward and struck Odin in the face.

  Then, laughing disdainfully, she turned and went back into her chamber and locked the door behind her.

  Odin, however, was not to be defeated in his purpose. He said farewell to King Billing, who was sad indeed to see him go, and set out once more on his travels.

  But very soon he was back again in Ruthenia, disguised this time as Rosstheow the Goldsmith – a broad, middle-aged man with a clever, distinguished face – but still only one eye.

  He at once began to practise his craft, and was soon famous throughout the land for the making of beautiful shapes in bronze and gold, and for the wondrous ornaments and necklaces which he made for the ladies.

  At last he fashioned a bracelet and a set of rings more lovely than had ever been seen, and took them to the Princess Rinda as a gift, asking for her love in return.

  But Rinda was filled with fury. She hurled the priceless gifts on the floor and struck Rosstheow the Goldsmith across the face, crying:

&nbs
p; ‘No man can win my love, and none can buy my favours!’

  Nothing daunted, for he knew how important it was that Vali should be born, Odin left Ruthenia once more – only to return in changed shape, this time as a young and handsome warrior. Never was a fairer man seen: yet he had one blemish, which even the Allfather of the Æsir could not rectify: he lacked one eye.

  He began to woo the Princess as a young man should, doing deeds of prowess and valour for her, bringing her rich gifts, and singing new, sweet songs of his love for her.

  Then it seemed that Rinda relented towards him; for one day as he ended a new song and knelt before her, she whispered:

  ‘Come to me this night if you would talk with me. But you must keep it secret, for none must know of our love.’

  So at dead of night Odin, still in the form of a young man, stole through the silent palace and came at last where Billing’s sun-white daughter lay sleeping in her bed. But her hound was tied up beside her, and when it saw Odin it bayed loudly, so that she sprang up and called for help; and at once the whole household, who had been but feigning sleep, came rushing to her room waving swords and torches.

  At last Odin was fairly roused, and he knew that kind words and an honest wooing would not win the headstrong Rinda.

  As the soldiers of King Billing reached the door, Rinda struck at him and shrieked aloud that there was a robber in her room, but he drew his magic Rune stick from under his robe and touched her lightly on breast and brow with it. At once she fell back into the arms of those who had come to her rescue stiff and rigid as if dead; and Odin himself sprang behind the bed-hangings and was gone by the time her men reached them.

  When Rinda recovered from her swoon, King Billing realized to his dismay that his daughter was mad; and very soon she became so ill that she could hardly stir from her rooms.

  About this time a wise woman named Vecha arrived at the palace and offered her services, saying that she was skilled in medicine and could cure even madness. King Billing at once appointed her to attend upon the Princess Rinda, and after giving her foot-baths and soothing drinks which seemed to help her wonderfully, Vecha said: