Loki shape-shifted into a fly and crept through a hole into Freyja’s room. As she slept, he turned into Loki again and stole her beautiful necklace.
Loki went to where Freyja slept in Sessrumnir and found the door locked. Well, that was no problem; he shape-shifted into a fly and flitted around, searching for a hole he could slip through. But the door fit snuggly, top and bottom, the keyhole admitted only a breath, and not a single chink was there between wall plaster and turf. Finally, under the roof, at the very top point of a gable, he found a miniscule hole. He wriggled through.
Freyja slept on her back, the clasp of the necklace under her neck, out of reach. Loki shape-shifted again, into a flea. He bit her cheek. The goddess groaned and rolled onto her side. Loki shape-shifted into his own form now and unclasped the necklace. He left through the door, identifiable to anyone; there was no longer need to dissemble.
When Freyja woke, her hand went to her throat and met nothing but skin—no gold, no wonderful, fabulous, luxurious gold—gold that had cost her so dearly. It had to be Loki. Who else? And to be that bold, he must have done it under the protection of Odin.
Freyja went straight to Valaskjalf and confronted Odin, sitting on his high seat. “Where is my necklace?”
“You’ll never see it again …” Odin waited for Freyja’s gasp. Satisfied, he added, “… unless you do as I bid.”
His bidding: She was to stir up a war between two human kings in Midgard. And each time a soldier died, she must use magic to make him rise again and fight once more. The battle must go on and on and on. Odin’s bidding was hideously bitter; such is the poison of envy.
Freyja swallowed a lump of shame the size of the cosmos. All this for beauty. Beauty was turning out to be Freyja’s curse. Her own beauty made men desire her for their wife. Her love of beauty gave men the power to act on that desire. Woe! But even a priestess was helpless against such a powerful enemy.
She held out her hand for that necklace.
Thor loved nothing more than killing giants. He rode in his chariot pulled by two goats, holding Mjolnir high, ever on the lookout for someone to smash. It’s no wonder that the frost giant Thrym stole that hammer.
THOR’S HAMMER
Thor spent most of his time journeying in his chariot, pulled by his two goats, Tanngrisnir and Tanngnjost, in search of giants to kill. Though he had strength beyond all others, he still relied on three treasures in this quest. One was his belt, Megingjord; it doubled his strength. One was his iron gloves, Jarngreip; when he wore them, he could grip his hammer properly and swing it with effect. And the third was, of course, that hammer, the one that the brother dwarfs Brokk and Sindri had crafted for him: Mjolnir.
One day Thor couldn’t find Mjolnir. This was the worst disaster he could imagine: Not only could he not hunt giants without his hammer, he was also vulnerable to whoever had it, as were all the gods. He turned to Loki for help. After all, if you needed a helper who wouldn’t be inhibited by scruples, Loki was your man. Besides, Thor actually liked Loki; things were exciting when Loki was around. Together they visited Freyja in Folkvang and asked to borrow her falcon-feather cloak, which she lent willingly, for getting back the hammer was of utmost importance.
Loki flew to the land of the frost giants, directly to their king, Thrym. It was a good guess, for when Loki asked if Thrym had stolen Mjolnir, the massive giant lifted an eyebrow. “The hammer lies eight leagues under the earth. If you want it, bring me Freyja as my bride.”
Loki returned to Thor with the news, and, without a thought to Freyja’s welfare, both of them visited the goddess once more and told her to put on a bridal veil, for she was to be wed to Thrym.
Freyja had had her fill of such idiotic demands. “Get out!” she shouted. Her anger made the wonderful necklace Brisingamen burst apart, its jewels scattering across the floor. The walls of her hall, Sessrumnir, rolled like a drum skin.
There was nothing to be done except call together the gods and goddesses to Gladsheim to see if anyone could come up with a less idiotic plan. Heimdall did. “Let’s put a bridal veil on Thor.”
Everyone guffawed. “We can repair the necklace Brisingamen and Thor can wear it, just as Freyja would.” Now the deities howled with laughter. “He can put on a flattering dress with finely crafted silver brooches.” Heimdall touched his torso exactly where the brooches would go. “A tangle of keys and tools must hang from his waist …” Heimdall pretended to jangle those keys, “… just as would hang from the waist of any good woman looking to become a good wife.” By now a hush had fallen over the hall. Heimdall’s plan seemed better with each detail. “And a kerchief over his curly tresses. That should do it.”
Powerful Number
Celtic number nine
Nine comes up repeatedly in Norse tales. There are nine worlds; Odin hangs nine days from Yggdrasil and learns nine magical songs; it takes nine days to travel from Midgard to Hel; Heimdall has nine mothers; and Thrym awaits his bride on the ninth night. Nine appears often in tales around the world. Perhaps because human gestation takes nine months? After all, nine is three times three, and a family often begins with one father, one mother, and one baby.
Thor looked around at all the nodding heads and recoiled. “Do you mean to shame me, making me dress as a woman?”
“Don’t be a fool,” said Loki. “If Thrym keeps your hammer, giants will rule Asgard. Put on your disguise. I’ll travel with you, as your handmaiden, and we’ll get back Mjolnir.”
So the gods sent word to Thrym that nine nights hence, he’d have his bride.
Thor, dressed as that bride, rode with Loki, dressed as a handmaiden, in the goat-drawn chariot all the way to Jotunheim.
No one said frost giants were particularly smart, but Thrym might have been among the dimmer ones, for he believed Freyja was actually on her way to wed him. He strode about his property making sure everything was in order. His cattle still had gold horns. His oxen were still jet-black. His chests were still brimming with jewels. Everything he had ever wanted was there—except Freyja. And now he’d have her. Life was grand. He ordered a banquet spread on a table and invited everyone who was anyone.
The frost giant Thrym stole Thor’s hammer and wouldn’t give it back till Freyja came to marry him. So Thor disguised himself as Freyja and Loki disguised himself as a handmaiden, and they went to Thrym’s home for the wedding banquet.
Thor and Loki drove there at such a wild pace that mountains split and the earth caught fire. They swept into Thrym’s hall in long dresses, took the seats to the sides of the king’s throne, and lost no time chowing down. Thor, disguised as Freyja, devoured an ox and eight salmon. He gobbled down treats that had been prepared for the women guests. He drank crock after crock of mead.
Thrym stared. This woman’s appetite excited him. He rubbed his hands together in anticipation. “I’ve never seen a bride eat or drink like that.”
Loki, disguised as the handmaiden, explained that Freyja hadn’t eaten for the past eight nights, she was so eager for this wedding.
In the middle of the banquet, Thor threw off his disguise and killed Thrym with his hammer, Mjolnir. Then he killed the other frost giants who had come as wedding guests.
Thrym grinned in his stupidity. It didn’t seem right to make such a lusty wife wait for a kiss. He lifted her veil, and then leaped back with a gasp. “Her eyes are sizzling coals!”
Again Loki rose to the occasion. He explained that Freyja hadn’t slept for the past eight nights, she was so eager for this wedding.
At this moment Thrym’s older sister offered the bride her loyalty in exchange for the rings on her fingers and on her handmaiden’s fingers.
Thrym paid no attention to this hag of a sister, as well he shouldn’t have. Who knew what was up with her? Perhaps the whole family was a bunch of dolts. Instead, he merrily called for the hammer Mjolnir, which he somehow saw as intrinsic to this wedding. He had the hammer placed on his bride’s lap, near those warm thighs. The next moment Thor grab
bed his hammer, ripped off his veil, and glared at everyone. His eyes and beard flamed. With one blow of Mjolnir, he smashed Thrym’s skull. Then he smashed the skull of every giant guest at the wedding feast, including Thrym’s luckless old sister.
It was Thrym who had stolen the hammer in the first place, not his sister and not his guests. Yet all of them lay slaughtered. Humans loved Thor; they saw him as protecting them against the giants. But was he protecting anyone that night?
Thor worried that dressing as a woman would shame him. No, no, no. His own taste for blood and gore—that was the real dishonor in him. Shame, shame on Thor.
Thor and Loki went hunting giants. They stopped at a peasant home and ate heartily, offering their own goats as meat—magic goats that would come alive again later. But the peasants’ son cracked a goat bone—a mistake with terrible consequences.
THOR THE GREEDY
The more Thor thought about giants, the more he wanted to kill them. He was obsessed. So one morning he said he’d head east on a killing spree, and when Loki offered to tag along, Thor agreed. Theirs was a twisted alliance.
They set out in the goat-drawn chariot and spent the full day traveling across Midgard. Come evening, they stopped at a humble farm and asked for room and board. The farmer’s wife offered these weary guests room quite readily, but she apologized that the board could only be vegetable gruel, for there was but little meat.
Thor said he’d supply the meat, and he swiftly slaughtered his two goats. He set the skin aside and told the farmer’s family to throw the dinner bones on the skins as they ate. The hungry farmer gaped at such a feast. But after the meat was gone, the farmer’s son Thjalfi stared at a goat thighbone. Marrow was far too delicious and nutritious to waste. He snuck over and split that bone, sucked out the marrow, and tossed it onto the bone pile.
That night all slept soundly.
In the morning Thor woke first. He held the hammer Mjolnir over the bone-filled goat skins and muttered magic words. Instantly, the goats were whole again, and fully alive. But one had a lame hind leg. Thor stomped into the room where the farm family slept still. “Who broke my goat’s thighbone?” He raised Mjolnir high in threat.
The Norse Diet
Hanging fish to dry is an old Viking tradition.
In the last story Thor devoured an ox, eight salmon, and other treats, and later in this chapter we’ll see an extravagant eating contest. The idea that gods might eat huge amounts must have been appealing to the Norse people because the harsh, long winters meant farmers spent much time simply trying to get enough food for their families. They grew vegetables and grains and collected fruits. The Norse also hunted game, raised animals, and fished. They ate this fish fresh, smoked, salted, or fermented.
The farmer offered anything, anything at all, if he would spare their lives.
Now, Thor was quick to anger, obviously, but also quick to regain his senses. The terrified faces of the family gave him pause. With a wave of the hand he said he’d simply take the boy Thjalfi and his sister Roskva as his servants, and that would be that.
The idea of balance—of a punishment that fit the crime—was foreign to Thor. That these two children should hereafter spend their lives in servitude never fazed him, such was his sense of self-importance. But then, he was a god—and gods were important, after all.
So Thor and Loki and the boy Thjalfi and his sister Roskva set out on foot till they reached the seashore. They slept on an open strand. In the morning they found an old boat and crossed the waters into Utgard, which surrounded the stronghold of the giants in Jotunheim. Then Thjalfi ran ahead, scouting, and found an enormous hall in a pine glade for them to sleep in. In the middle of the night, however, they woke to a great trembling underfoot—the whole earth roared. Thor was sure it was an earthquake, but no sooner than he said that, it stopped. Still, they didn’t feel safe staying where they were. So they explored the grand hall and found a side room, where three of them entered; Thor stood guard at the doorway with Mjolnir at the ready. But no one slept really; how could they with the roaring returning intermittently as it did? Dread sat like mud in their mouths.
In the morning Thor crept outside and saw a giant asleep. This was a bigger giant than any Thor had ever known before. The giant snored. Aha! the source of the roars. As Thor stood there, the giant woke. Thor was so surprised, he didn’t kill him, but, instead, acted sensible and asked who he was.
“Skrymir,” said the giant. And he asked if Thor and his crew had moved his glove.
Instantly Thor understood. The enormous hall they’d slept in was Skrymir’s glove, and the side room was the thumb part. Amazing!
Skrymir offered to share food. Then he accompanied them on their journey. But his strides were so long and so fast that the others were soon left behind and didn’t catch up to him till nightfall, when he had stopped to sleep. Again, he let them raid his knapsack for food, but he fell asleep as they did so. Thor and Loki and Thjalfi and Roskva wrestled with the knot on that sack, but they couldn’t open it. Thor became convinced that this was exactly what Skrymir had intended. In his too typical fury, he slammed the giant on the forehead with Mjolnir. The hammer broke the skin.
Thor was annoyed at the noisy snoring of the giant Skrymir; he climbed onto the sleeping giant’s head and slammed him with his hammer. But the giant was so enormous, all he did was wake up surprised.
The giant woke. “What leaf fell on my head?”
Yikes. Mjolnir had barely wounded the giant, much less killed him. The four snuck away and worried half the night. But Skrymir’s snoring irritated Thor so much that he went back and slammed Mjolnir with all his might against the giant’s forehead.
The giant woke. “Did an acorn fall on my head?”
Yikes and double yikes. But this giant didn’t seem threatening, not really. So, near dawn Thor tiptoed back and swung Mjolnir harder than ever into the giant’s temple.
The giant woke. “Bird droppings—they must have fallen on me.” Now he saw Thor. “Gather your party and go home. The folk ahead are much larger than me.” Then Skrymir took his sack and marched north into the mountains.
But Thor and his companions persisted through the forest until they came to a high gate. They forced their way between the bars and entered a huge hall, where giants lolled on benches and leered at them. The giant king said he knew this puny thing before him was the god Thor, and he challenged the travelers to display a skill.
Loki took the challenge. “I can eat faster than anyone.”
A giant named Logi sat at the opposite of a wooden trencher from him. Servants filled it with food. Then Loki and Logi ate their way toward each other. But Logi the giant ate not only the food but the bones and trencher as well. He won.
“Who’s next?” asked the giant king.
Thjalfi said, “I can run faster than anyone.”
A small guy named Hugi—a giant, but small for a giant—raced Thjalfi. Hugi easily won. They raced three times. Hugi won three times.
Thor bet a giant king that he could drink more than anyone. The giant gave him a full horn. Thor drank and drank, but he couldn’t drain the horn.
“And you, Thor?” asked the giant king.
“I can drink more than anyone,” said Thor.
“Quite a boast,” said the giant king. He gave Thor a horn to drain.
Thor took an enormous draught. But much still remained in the horn. He took a second draught. And a third. It was as though the horn held a rising tide.
“Bah! Give me a second task,” said Thor. “Anything.”
“Boast away, will you?” The giant king challenged Thor to pick up his cat.
Thor tugged on the cat, but its paws stayed on the ground even as its back stretched and arched higher and higher. Thor pushed himself under the cat and heaved himself upward. The most that moved was a single paw. “Bah!” Thor screamed. “I want a third challenge. Someone wrestle with me!”
After failing at two tasks, Thor asked for someone to wrestle h
im, for he thought he could beat anyone. But an old giantess named Elli defeated him.
The giants laughed. Only the old giantess Elli hobbled forward; she dropped her walking stick. It was shameful to fight a woman, but Thor was eager to clear his name. He lunged at her. She stood firm. He persisted. She brought him to his knees.
“Enough,” said the giant king. “Let’s feast and then rest.”
And so all ate and drank themselves silly and slept in the huge hall, and the giant king showed a generosity that Thor couldn’t fathom.
The next day Thor and his companions left. The giant king accompanied them out to the forest. Thor was chagrined that he had failed, and feared the giant king would bad-mouth him to everyone. But the giant king explained that he had cast a spell on them. All that had happened was partly illusion. The giant king was, in fact, that giant Skrymir, and if Thor’s hammer had hit its mark, it would have killed him. The giant Logi, who won the eating contest against Loki and consumed even the trencher, was really wildfire. The giant Hugi, who won the race against Thjalfi, was really the giant king’s thoughts. The horn that Thor couldn’t drain had its bottom in the sea. The cat he couldn’t lift was the serpent Jormungand, who circled Midgard and bit his own tail. And Elli was old age itself. So Thor and his companions had, in fact, done very well in these challenges and proven themselves worthy. “But don’t come back,” said the giant king. “I used magic to vanquish you this time. I’ll use it again. I’ll protect Utgard however I must.”
Amazing! This giant was far better at deception than even Loki! In anger at having been tricked, Thor raised his hammer. But the giant king had already vanished. Thor chased after him, ready to crush the huge hall with Mjolnir, but the hall had also vanished.
Treasury of Norse Mythology Page 5
