The Last Wife of Attila the Hun

by Joan Schweighardt

  The rain came all at once, falling hard and cold through the tops of the trees. Hagen dismissed the servants immediately. Sigurd wrapped his cloak around my shoulders and Guthorm’s and pushed us out of the grove.

  In the hall we gathered around the hearth. I was deeply chilled and my teeth chattered despite the nearness of the fire. I sneezed once, and then again. There was a dull aching at work in my head. When I felt the next sneeze coming, I set my lips hard against it so that I would not desecrate the day of Sigurd’s return with my disturbances, but the sneeze came anyway.

  When the others had warmed themselves sufficiently, they left the hearth to Guthorm and me and took their rightful places in the hall—Gunner and Hagen on the high seat that had once been Father’s, and Sigurd on the seat opposite at the other end of the hall. My place was on the long bench beside Mother, but I could not bring myself to retreat from the fire.

  “Well,” Gunner began, addressing himself to Sigurd, “the time has come for you to tell us of your venture. Leave out no detail, brother. We have waited long enough to hear your words, and we will want to remember them.”

  Sigurd smiled proudly. “I will tell you all,” he said in a loud voice, for although our hall was not nearly so large as the one at Worms, there was still much space between Sigurd’s voice and my brothers’ hearing of it. My own hearing, meanwhile, seemed to have gone bad with the sickness that was rapidly overtaking me. I had to concentrate hard just to distinguish Sigurd’s words from the din that filled my head and from the sound of my own sneezes and sniffles.

  “Why not go into your bower,” Gunner snapped suddenly.

  “She shivers,” Hagen said. “Let her stay where she is. She will want to hear this too.”

  “She can hear well enough from the bower,” Gunner said, but Hagen only stared at him, and finally Gunner sighed and turned his attention back to Sigurd.

  “Regan, you will note,” Sigurd began, “has not returned with me.” He dropped his eyes from those of my brothers suddenly and looked down at his feet. This was what Sigurd always did when he wanted others to know that he was troubled, for his face was otherwise incapable of expressing sorrow. Sigurd’s upper lip was long and narrow, and at each end of it there was a dimple. When he was a child, his father would fly into a fit of rage to see his son’s naturally bemused expression yet on his face after he had been scolded. And thus Sigurd had learned that by lowering his head he could keep his father from becoming inflamed. The habit served him well, and he had hung onto it.

  “We noted this,” Gunner said impatiently.

  “But let me begin at the beginning,” Sigurd said, lifting his gaze.

  “Bring us some mead, Mother,” Hagen interrupted.

  “At this early hour?” she cried.

  But Hagen, whose eyes were fastened on Sigurd, made no response, and thus Mother got up and brought out drinking horns for Sigurd and my brothers. When they had been filled, Sigurd began again.

  “Regan and the Franks and I rode to the foot of the high mountains and camped there the first night as planned. We offered a sacrifice, a good-sized buck that we had come across during the course of our ride, and as with today’s sacrifice, there was evidence that it was accepted. Then, in the morning, the others turned back for Frankish lands, and Regan and I rode on alone.

  “Travel was slow. The mountains are steep. We made our way cautiously, for many times we thought we heard the movements of frost-giants beyond the trees surrounding us. Had we come across any frost-giants earlier, we could have gotten away from them easily enough. As you know, they are slow-moving. But on the steep mountainside, they would have posed a threat. But we climbed and climbed, and we saw nothing.

  “In all, it took us ten days to reach the top of the highest mountain. And when we did, we found that the air there is not as well distributed as it is at lesser elevations. Breathing it made us light-headed at first, and slow to go about our business. Nor were there many beasts to be found up there. We were lucky to come by a rabbit each night to share for our dinner. And we were cold, brothers, for it seems that when winter retreats from tribal lands, she stops just short of a complete withdrawal and sits poised on the mountain tops gathering strength for her next assault.”

  “The dragon,” Gunner urged. “Get to the dragon.”

  Perplexed, Sigurd stared at Gunner for a moment. Then he continued. “Regan had brought along a forked limb from an apple tree, and with this limb, on which he had cast a spell, he was able to direct us, after three days more, to the dwarf-dragon’s cave. We came to it at night. And as we stood at its entrance holding our torches low, we heard the dwarf-dragon’s breathing, so loud that it set the shrubs at the mouth of the cave to trembling. I confess, brothers, I was afraid that Fafner would catch wind of us, but Regan assured me that dragons are dull creatures, and that as long as we took care not to let ourselves be seen, Fafner would suspect nothing. So we hid our horses at some distance from the cave, and then we hid ourselves in the brambles above the cave entrance and waited for dawn.

  “Fafner arose late in the morning, making a grumbling so great that it loosened some rocks from the mountain and sent them tumbling down its face as though they were mere pebbles. Then he came forth from the mouth of the cave, and plodding along on his monstrous feet, he made his way to a small lake to the west. The path he took, we noted, was well-worn, and we were assured that he traveled it regularly. We knew then that we had only to hide ourselves along this path to be able to slay him and rob him of his wealth.”

  Gunner got up and retrieved the mead pitcher from its place at Mother’s feet. He refilled Sigurd’s drinking horn and then Hagen’s and his own. “So tell us, brother, what did this dragon, this Fafner, look like?” he asked as he sat down again.

  Sigurd’s brow rose. “Look like?” he asked laughing. “Well, that is not easy to say.”

  Gunner sat forward and cocked his head questioningly. Sigurd stared back at him, the color rising in his face. Then all at once he laughed and shouted, “You see, he was enshrouded by fog and flame.”

  “Fog and flame?” Hagen asked, his eyes as round as moons.

  “But you saw his feet,” Gunner prompted. “You said he had monstrous feet.”

  “And so he did. There were times when we were able to glimpse this or that part of him through pockets in the fog and the flame, and thus did we see his feet. But never did we see the whole of him at one time. His feet were monstrous things, and there were two of them, as far as I could tell. And his head was a great, ash-gray thing covered with scales like those of the snake. His eyes were two round dark pools, each as large as the head of a man.” Sigurd closed his own eyes so as to better recall the dragon. “And with every breath he drew fire from his lungs and spewed it forth. He was large, as large as three men together. No, four. He was as tall as four men together, and far thicker.” Sigurd’s eyes popped open. “Wodan alone knows what he found up on that barren mountain top to sate such a body.”

  “But you said he went regularly to the lake,” Gunner retorted. “I would have guessed that he went there to fish.”

  “Aye, and so I thought myself at first. But a great many fish it would have taken to sate him, brother, and this was not a large lake.”

  “But there must have been enough—”

  “It does not matter what he ate. Go on,” Hagen urged.

  Sigurd lifted his drinking horn to his lips and stared for a time at my brothers, his bemused expression a contradiction, surely, to his thoughts. “After a time, the dragon returned to his cave and did not leave it again that day. That night, while the dragon slept, Regan and I made our plan and went to work. The flame and the fog which kept us from seeing Fafner, we reasoned, would likewise keep him from seeing us—if we were hidden well enough. And so we dug a great hollow in the earth at the place where Fafner’s path rubbed the edge of the lake. The earth there was soft, and the digging
went easily in spite of the thinness of the air. And into this great hollow I lowered myself, for such was the nature of our plan. Then Regan covered the hollow with branches and set off for the other side of the lake.

  “Once again, in the morning, the rumblings came. And at the sound of them, I drew my sword and made myself ready. The rumblings were soon followed by footsteps—clump, clump, clump, clump. The earth shook around me. I feared it would fall in and trap me forever. Clump, clump. He came closer. My heart beat so loud in my chest that I imagined he would hear it. And perhaps he did, or perhaps he had more wits about him than Regan gave him credit for, for all at once he stopped along the path and held fast his fiery breath as though to listen. But the cunning Regan had foreseen such an event. He had stationed himself at the far side of the lake, at the point that was directly opposite Fafner’s path. And when he saw Fafner’s hesitation, he jumped up suddenly from his hiding place and called out Fafner’s name.”

  Sigurd stopped to catch his breath and drink again. My heart beat wildly to think of him in so much danger. Gunner and Hagen, I noted through my sore, blurred eyes, were sitting on the edge of their seat, watching anxiously for Sigurd to drain his horn. Even Mother looked attentive. The rain was falling harder now, louder. I drew closer to the fire, and Guthorm, noticing the gap between us, slid over beside me to eliminate it, bringing along with him the dead ant that he had been rolling in his fingers.

  “Having seen Regan, or having heard him as the case was, Fafner started coming again, faster than before, and with great determination. Clump clump, clump clump, he came. Regan egged him on. ‘I have come for the gold,’ he cried out from across the lake. ‘Did you think you could keep it from me forever?’

  “Fafner came faster yet, breathing hard, clump, clump, clump, clump, as fast as a horse when its rider has stirred it to a gallop. And indeed, the earth around me did begin to cave in. I lifted my sword and prayed to Wodan that I would not be buried alive…” Sigurd looked aside, toward Mother, but he did not actually focus on her. He jerked his head back all at once. “Or worse, that the dragon would catch one of his monstrous feet in my hollow and crush me—a possibility which I had not thought of before. And then, all at once, his great body was within my view. And just as he was about to take the step that would bring him into contact with my hollow, I leaped up and plunged my sword into his heart. Then I fell back into the hollow, and his blood gushed forth and filled it with its dragon stench.” Sigurd paused.

  I sneezed and saw his eyes dart over to me.

  “And then?” Hagen cried.

  “And then,” Sigurd said slowly, “the life-spirit went out of the dwarf-dragon forever. He groaned only once, and then he rolled over my hollow and into the lake. Immediately his great dragon body was sucked into it. By the time I emerged from my hollow, blood-soaked and covered with earth, only my sword could be seen protruding from the icy blue waters. I jumped in and mounted Fafner even as the lake was swallowing him. I withdrew my sword—no small feat, for his thick dragon flesh seemed to have closed in around it. Then from the far bank I heard Regan calling to me, ‘His heart! Cut out his heart! What man will believe us if we return without the heart?’

  “I had thought myself to bring back his head, or one of his great gray feet, or his long snapping tail. But he was sinking too quickly into his watery grave, and his head and his feet and his tail were no longer visible to me. So I reached into the wound that I had made in his flesh and fished out his heart. It came out freely, as if there had been no sinew to hold it in place. It is here, in my pouch.”

  Sigurd reached into the sheepskin pouch that hung from his side near his sword. Gunner and Hagen rose from their seat immediately and crossed the floor together. I forced myself to get up, too, and peered over my brothers’ shoulders. The thing in Sigurd’s palm was black and covered with maggots. I quickly returned to the fire.

  “But this heart is too small to have belonged to such a creature!” Gunner exclaimed. “Why, it is as small as a child’s!”

  Sigurd looked up at him innocently. “That is just what I said to Regan when I saw what I held in my hand.”

  “And what did Regan say?”

  “Regan bade me to recall that Fafner was a dwarf who had created for himself the body of a dragon for his own vile purposes. His heart remained the heart of a dwarf. Look carefully. You can see the rift that was made by my sword. And you will see too where I bit into it so as to acquire something of the dragon’s strength. Is that not proof enough?”

  Gunner laughed nervously. “Brother, I do not doubt you. I am only surprised to see a thing so small after all that you have told us about the creature.” He exchanged a look with Hagen and returned to his seat. Hagen nodded to Mother, and she got up with the mead pitcher.

  “And the gold, brother?” Gunner asked in a whisper which was evidently meant to conceal his anxiety about it.

  “Ah, yes. The gold. The dragon’s hoard. It was there, as we had known it would be, in the dragon’s cave. The great chest that the gold had once been kept in was empty, and the gold, finger-rings and arm-rings and drinking cups and broaches and swords, the likes of which no man has ever seen before, were scattered about, as if the dragon derived his pleasure merely from looking on these things—as well one might! These weapons and adornments illuminated the otherwise dark cave. What a sight! And there was one sword, a thing so beautiful…” Sigurd shook his head as if he were at a loss to describe it properly. “Its hilt,” he said, lifting his hand, “is carved in such a way… Regan said it was fashioned by Wodan himself. But I digress. More of that later.

  “Regan and I wasted no time in searching the rest of the cave. When we were certain that there was nothing else of interest to be found in it, we collected the gold and filled up the chest. Then we slept. We awoke later in the day and prepared to leave. But even together we could not lift the chest. So we brought our horses around to the cave entrance and retrieved Grani’s side-sacks. We removed the gold from the chest and placed it in the sacks and managed to drag them out to Grani, Regan’s horse being too old to take on any of the weight.

  “It was slow going down the mountain. In fact, it was far more difficult than the ascent had been. Grani seemed to buckle under the weight of the gold. And Regan, who had accomplished the goal that he had carried in his heart for so long, seemed to grow weaker by the moment, very much as your father grew weak once he had made your people love their lives again. And when the sun began to bother him as it had never before, Regan declared that his time was at hand. I urged him on by reminding him of the esteem that would be his when we returned and those who loved him learned that he had done the thing he had set out to do.

  “We were cold, as I have said, and we found little to eat. And there were other dangers. We heard the howling of wolves both day and night. We heard the footsteps of the frost-giants, who were surely watching us from behind the boulders that cover the mountain. And we seemed to stumble over our very feet.” Sigurd broke off and looked at Guthorm. Guthorm sensed his gaze and looked up. Then Sigurd lowered his head almost to his knees, speaking louder to compensate. “And alas, brothers, it was in this way that Regan was lost. I saw him stumble in one particularly dangerous spot where our path along the face of the mountain was perilously narrow. I made to grab hold of him, but Grani and his great load were between us, and thus I failed. He went tumbling down, bouncing off the rocks like a cloth doll. But he never cried out. I tell you, he was ready, and he went peacefully. Still, my descent was a sad affair after that.” Sigurd lifted his head and searched my brothers’ faces. “When I reached the bottom of the mountain, several days later, I looked for his body in earnest. But it was nowhere to be found.”

  My brothers looked at each other. Then Gunner said, “Surely some beast had devoured him by then.”

  “And so I thought too. But I should have been happy to have found his bones, or a fragment of his cloak. I had only his ho
rse, and he I slayed and buried in Regan’s name in the meadow which seemed most likely to be directly beneath the place from which Regan had fallen. And I prayed that he might accompany Regan, whither I know not.”

  For a time there was silence. Again my brothers exchanged a look, perhaps each hoping that the other would be bold enough to bring the story back to the matter of the gold. Sigurd, meanwhile, sat on the edge of his seat with his hands dangling between his knees and his head lowered as if his discourse had tired him out. Finally, he looked up. “There is more.”

  My brothers became alert.

  “Something else of interest occurred before I set off for your lands. I came across a valkyria.”

  “A valkyria,” Gunner repeated, rising to his feet.

  “Then you know of such creatures?”

  “Know of them? Why, of course. They are women of great power who bring fortunes to those whom they choose to serve. I have heard men say that they have the power to choose whom among the dead is worthy of Valhalla. They escort the chosen dead there themselves.” He looked at Mother. “When our Mother was a young woman at Worms, she knew a valkyria. In fact, this valkyria was present at my birth. It was a difficult birth. I was turned round in her womb, and it was thought that both she and I would perish before I could be gotten out. But the valkyria, called Ildico, was sent for. And on the wall of the bower in which Mother lay, Ildico carved a powerful rune. And thus was I born and Mother’s life spared so that she might bring forth more children into the world.”

  Gunner lowered himself to his seat again. Mother nodded and opened her mouth, but before she could speak, Sigurd said, “She was called Brunhild.”

  “And where did you find this valkyria called Brunhild?” Gunner asked.

  “After burying Regan’s horse, I slept one night in the meadow. When I awoke, I saw in the distance to the north black smoke rising out of the trees and into the sky. I hid Grani and went on foot to find its source. And there I found wagons in a ring, as if the travelers who had owned them had been expecting an attack. It was these wagons which were burning. Scattered about on the earth were bodies, men and women and children. They were unknown to me, but their dress and wagons assured me that they were Thuet peoples. I walked among them, trying to determine who their attackers had been, but I found no weapon or other evidence of their foes. I was about to dig a grave for them when I heard from within the circle of burning wagons a voice calling weakly for help. I leaped through the flames and into the center. And there, at my feet, was what I first took to be a Roman soldier, for Brunhild was wearing a helmet and vest not unlike those that I have seen on the heads and breasts of Romans. Blood trickled out from a wound in her thigh, spilling onto the ground at my feet. Crying out curses against the Romans, I drew my sword and was about to slay her. But before I could do so, she managed to remove her helmet, and I saw that she was a woman. Still, I held my sword ready, for woman or not, I believed that she was responsible for the deaths of the poor folk that I had seen outside the fiery circle. But then she raised herself on one elbow and spoke to me in our language.”