Dragonslayers
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Fáfnir thrashed his long neck and tail, gouging the earth and tearing up plants, roaring out the pain of his mortal wound. When he finally saw Sigurd crawl out from his ditch, the wyrm had no strength left to fight and could feel his life slipping away. With his last breaths, the dragon advised Sigurd to ride away from this place, to leave the treasure untouched. If Sigurd took the treasure, Fáfnir promised a great doom would find him. With that, the mighty wyrm died.
Sigurd pulled Gram out of the dragon’s body and wiped the bloody blade on the grass. As he finished, Reginn rode up and looked upon the dead monster with greedy eyes. He asked of Sigurd, since it was he that had forged the blade that killed the mighty wyrm, if he could have the honour of eating its heart. Sigurd agreed and even offered to cook it for him.
As Sigurd roasted the dragon’s heart over an open flame, he touched it with a finger to see if it was cooked. Then he stuck the finger in his mouth and tasted the dragon’s blood. Suddenly, he could understand the speech of the birds, and he heard four of them talking nearby. They said that Reginn planned to eat the heart to gain wisdom and the power of prophecy, and then would murder Sigurd to get the treasure. Better, said the birds, that Sigurd should eat the heart himself and kill his treacherous companion. Sigurd looked over at Reginn and saw the truth in his eyes. So Sigurd drew Gram and struck off Reginn’s head. Then he ate the heart himself. Leaving behind the bodies of Reginn and Fáfnir, Sigurd rode on to the dragon’s den and found all of his gold and treasure. Unconcerned by the threats of the curse, he loaded everything onto his horse and rode home.
The story of Sigurd and his victory over Fáfnir spread far and wide, but already his doom closed around the young warrior. Soon he met and fell in love with a warrior woman named Brynhildr, and the two pledged themselves to one another. But Sigurd was soon called away, and in his travels he came to the court of Gjúki, who had a wife, three sons, and a daughter. Gjúki’s wife, Grimhild, determined that Sigurd should marry her daughter, Gudrun, so she made a potion of forgetfulness, which she gave to Sigurd. The young warrior immediately forgot about Brynhildr, and agreed to marry Gudrun.
Still the curse of the treasure haunted Sigurd for, some time later, his new brother-in-law, Gunnar, asked Sigurd’s help in winning Brynhildr for his bride. Without recognizing his former love, Sigurd disguised himself as Gunnar, and tricked Brynhildr into marrying him. Eventually, Brynhildr discovered the truth of both the disguise and of the potion, and plotted her revenge. She told Gunnar that Sigurd slept with her while disguised as him. Gunnar, incensed, enchanted his younger brother, causing him to go berserk and murder Sigurd in his sleep. Byrnhildr also murdered the three-year-old son of Sigurd and Gudrun.
Destroyed by her despair, Brynhildr built a funeral pyre for Sigurd and his son, then threw herself into the flames.
Another depiction of the barbarian Siegfried slaying Fáfnir. (Photo 12 / Alamy)
The story of Sigurd the dragonslayer forms a major part of The Saga of the Völsungs, a short work written by an unknown Icelandic author sometime between 1200 and 1270 AD. Although the saga is based on an earlier poetic tradition, only some of these poems have survived to the present.
The saga describes the mythical founding of the family of Völsungs, and then follows the family through its generations of heroes, ending with Sigurd, the last and greatest of the Völsungs. Because many of the characters in the saga can be connected to historical figures from the fifth and sixth centuries, figures such as Attila the Hun, scholars have spent many years looking for the historical Sigurd. Perhaps the most likely candidate for a real Sigurd is the Frankish King Sigibert, who lived between 535 and 575 AD and ruled a large area of what is now northern France and Belgium. Sigibert married a Visigothic princess named Brunhilda, before being murdered by assassins hired by his brother’s wife. While the circumstantial evidence of the similar names and the similar end is compelling, it is far from convincing proof.
Another intriguing piece of the Sigurd puzzle is found in Beowulf, the other great Norse dragonslaying story. Early on, this poem mentions Sigemund the Wælsing, who killed a dragon, guardian of the treasure hoard. Sigemund the Wælsing is the Anglo-Saxon version of Sigmund Völsung, the father of Sigurd. While acknowledging the possibility that Sigmund and Sigurd were both dragonslayers, it seems more likely that at some point this deed of Sigmund was somehow transferred to his son Sigurd, as Beowulf was written first.
Whatever the truth behind the Sigurd legend, its longevity and influence is beyond question. Over the centuries, the original Icelandic manuscript was copied over and over, and numerous handwritten examples still survive today. While the story would prove hugely influential in Germany during the Middle Ages (see sidebar on Siegfried), it wasn’t until the nineteenth century that the story began to enter into the consciousness of the English-speaking world. In the 1870s, one of the earliest fantasy writers, William Morris, rewrote the story in a 10,000-line epic poem called The Story of Sigurd the Volsung and the Fall of the Niblungs. Although the poem received a good critical reception, its length and the difficulty of its language, kept it from widespread popularity.
Undoubtedly, the greatest effect of the Sigurd legend on the modern English reader comes through its influence on J.R.R. Tolkien, the most important writer of modern dragonslaying stories. The legend of Sigurd serves as a direct influence for his story of the dragonslayer, Túrin Tarmbar, in The Children of Húrin, but also provides important elements in his more famous works, The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings. The Hobbit features a dragonslayer, Bard the Bowman, who understands the language of birds and who kills a dragon that sleeps atop a pile of Dwarven treasure. While The Lord of the Rings doesn’t contain a dragon, it does have a broken magical sword that is remade and, of course, a cursed magical ring.
SIEGFRIED
Germany’s greatest legendary hero, the dragonslayer Siegfried, is the star of a medieval heroic epic, a series of famous operas and a controversial pair of silent films. Although the story of Siegfried grows out of the same legendary tradition that spawned Sigurd, it has, in the ensuing centuries, taken on a life of its own.
The story of the Siegfried legend begins in the early thirteenth century, when an unknown German poet wrote a manuscript now known as Das Nibelungenlied (The Lay of the Nibelungs). A heroic epic set in a semi-mythical Dark Ages Europe, Das Nibelungenlied tells the story of the young warrior Siegfried (sometimes translated as Sîfrit), his courtship and marriage to the beautiful princess Kriemhild, and his downfall due to the machinations of the warrior-woman Brünhild. It then relates the bloody revenge extracted by Kriemhild for her murdered husband. Although Siegfried’s battle with the dragon is not shown in the story, it does form a vital part of the plot. In this tale, Siegfried killed the dragon while still young and then bathed in his blood to make himself invulnerable to all weapons. However, while bathing, a single leaf stuck to his back and left one spot vulnerable. It is the revelation of this weakness that allows Siegfried’s murderer to succeed.
Das Nibelungenlied proved a popular story in the early centuries of the German Middle Ages and today forty or so manuscripts or fragments survive. The story’s popularity seems to have waned with the passing centuries, and appears to have all but disappeared from the German consciousness by the sixteenth century. Although both the manuscripts and the story itself would be ‘rediscovered’ in the eighteenth century, it wasn’t until it came into the hands of the famous composer Richard Wagner that Siegfried would once again achieve legendary status.
Over the space of twenty-six years, Wagner used Das Nibelungenlied (and much of the Sigurd legend) to construct a cycle of four operas collectively known as Der Ring des Nibelungen. This fifteen-hour operatic masterpiece charts the history of a cursed ring, which eventually ends up in the hands of Siegfried, leading to his betrayal and murder and eventually the destruction of the entire world. The full cycle was first performed in 1876, at an opera house in Bayreuth built specifically for the occasion and desi
gned by Wagner himself.
The success of the Opera caused a resurgence of interest in the story of Siegfried, and slowly the legend became linked with German nationalism (even though the Siegfried in Das Nibelungenlied is actually Dutch). In 1923 the Austrian director Fritz Lang brought the legend to the silver screen with a two-part adaptation Die Nibelungen: Siegfried and Die Nibelungen: Kriemhilds Rache (Kriemhild’s Revenge). Considered a classic of the era, the movie featured a twenty-metre long dragon model controlled by operators inside and beneath it.
In the lead-up to World War II, the Nazi Party used both the opera and the movie as propaganda tools, and there was even a movement by some to replace Christianity with a new religion based around the idea of Siegfried as a sun god. Some of this taint has remained attached to the legend of Siegfried in the twenty-first century, but, among many, he has rightfully reclaimed his place both as a legendary hero and one of the best-known dragonslayers.
A still of Siegfried fighting Fafnir from the 1923 silent movie. (Photo 12 / Alamy)
Beowulf
For nearly fifty years, Beowulf had ruled as king of the Geats. To the Swedes and Danes, he was a living legend, for in his youth he had sailed with a band of companions to Heorot, the hall of King Hrothgar. There he battled a ferocious ogre called Grendel, who would break into the hall at night and snatch men to eat. Within the walls of Heorot, the man and ogre wrestled, as swords could not harm the beast, until Beowulf grabbed the monster’s arm and tore it from his shoulder. The wounded beast ran off into the night, gushing blood from the ragged stump of its shoulder.
The severed arm had been nailed to the wall as a symbol of victory, and the next day all of the people of Heorot rejoiced and feasted. King Hrothgar gave out treasure aplenty, most generously to Beowulf himself, but the danger had not ended. That night, as Beowulf slept away from his companions, another monster slipped into the hall: Grendel’s mother, come to avenge her son. That vile ogress snatched up a man while he was sleeping and murdered him without a thought. When the alarm was raised, she fled away into the night, taking the body with her.
Beowulf takes cover behind his iron shield. (Ivy Close Images / Alamy)
In the morning, Beowulf organized his men and set off after the creature. They journeyed through the empty moors until they came to a dreary wood, surrounding a blood-red lake. There they found the severed head of their missing companion lying on the shore. All around the dark sinkhole, serpents and small sea-dragons slithered and swam. They dove into the lake as the warriors approached, but Beowulf snatched up his bow and sent a barbed arrow streaking out. It pierced one of the loathsome serpents in the vitals. The monster tumbled into the water, where Beowulf’s men finished it off with boar-spears. They dragged its carcass up onto the shore and gazed in morbid disgust at the dragonish creature.
Then Beowulf donned his armour and drew his sword. With final words of parting, he approached the bloody caldron of the lake and dove in. He intended to let the weight of his armour carry him down to the monster’s lair on the bottom, but Grendel’s mother was alerted by the sounds of fighting. She grabbed Beowulf, pinning his arms by his sides, and dragging him toward her lair. All around him, the vicious dragon-things bit and gouged at his armour, while the ogress pulled him along. In a moment, they had emerged into a dank underground cave, the lair of the beast. Beowulf struggled to his feet and struck out with his sword. The blade rebounded without a scratch against the head of the monstrous killer. The sword clattered aside, and so Beowulf tried to throttle the creature. The ogress threw him to the ground then dove on top of him with her dagger drawn. There his life would have ended if not for his armour, but his mail turned her blade aside.
Then Beowulf spied another sword, lying among the creature’s hoard of stolen treasure. It was a sword of giants, double-edged and razor-sharp, forged in another age. Few men now could lift its weight, but Beowulf snatched it up, and swung that mighty blade. It sheared through the neck of the ogress, severing her head in a spray of blood. The head rolled near the body of her son, who lay dead in a corner. Beowulf then cut off Grendel’s head as well, to prove that the creature was dead. With the heads of the two monsters, and the hilt of the sword, whose blade had melted in their blood, Beowulf returned to his companions and, eventually, to the hall of Heorot.
Wiglaf brings the treasure from the dragon’s cave. (Mary Evans Picture Library / Alamy)
But five decades or more had passed since all of that. Now the aged king, Beowulf, stood on a hilltop and watched as distant flames consumed both his own hall and the village of his people. For hours he had watched in helpless heartache as a fire-drake, a winged-wyrm, had rained fire and destruction down on his people. The world of the Geats was being reduced to cinder and ash.
His warriors had caught the man who had started it all: a foolish thief who had stolen a golden cup from the dragon’s hoard, enraging the vengeful beast. The thief would now be their guide back to the dragon’s lair, where Beowulf would face his last and greatest battle. He glanced at his companions, all young men and untested in battle; they would be of little help. Beowulf had his smiths bring him a giant shield of iron that could turn aside the dragon’s breath. He strapped the heavy shield upon his time-wearied arm, and nodded for the thief to lead the way.
The thirteen men walked long through the night, the distant fires shining like small candles. In time, they approached the rocky hills. The thief pointed towards a dark archway, the mouth of the dragon’s cave. A small stream of fire trickled out of its open maw, confirming that the master of the hoard was home.
Beowulf ordered his companions to stay where they were; he would face the dragon alone. Drawing a time-tested sword, and walking with his shield held before him, he followed the burning stream up to the mound. Near the entrance, he stood his ground, and let out a mighty battle-roar. The challenging cry echoed from the cliffs and around the stones before the cave mouth. Then a lance of fire jetted out of the cave, and Beowulf caught it on his shield. In a cloud of choking smoke, the dragon emerged, a sinewy, black-scaled monster, covered in the filth of years. It belched forth another blast of flame, which spilled around the iron shield, singeing Beowulf’s helmet and armour.
Then the two combatants, man and monster, rushed together. In a fury of sword, fang and claw, they struck at one another, clashing against shield and scales, but neither could gain the upper hand. They drew apart, the dragon drooling fire, the old king panting in the smoke-thick air.
All around, Beowulf’s men shrank back from this fight, and fled into the woods. All but one; a young warrior called Wiglaf felt a stirring in his heart. Drawing his own blade, he rushed into the fray. Though never before had he weathered the battle-storm, he bellowed his own war cry as he charged into battle.
Undaunted by the appearance of a second foe, the dragon spat forth its flaming breath. The flames consumed Wiglaf’s shield, burning it from his arm. He cast the smouldering ruins aside and took shelter behind the great iron shield of Beowulf. Then those two bold warriors moved forward together, striking at the dragon with their gleaming swords. The dragon sprang forward again, its claws screeching against the iron shield. Beowulf batted aside those fearful claws and brought his blade around to slash against the dragon’s head. But, in that moment, the venerable sword shattered against the dragon’s rock-hard scales.
For a stunned moment, Beowulf gazed at the broken blade in sad amazement. That instant of inattention proved fatal, for the dragon coiled its long neck around the shield and clamped its jaws around Beowulf’s throat. Its fangs pierced the flesh of his neck and lifted him off the ground.
As the dragon reared up with the aged king trapped in its jaws, it exposed its vulnerable underbelly. With a cry of hatred, Wiglaf lunged forward, driving his sword deep into the dragon’s belly. At the same moment, Beowulf drew a dagger from his belt, and, still suspended in the dragon’s mouth, he plunged the knife into the creature’s eye. Twice mortally wounded, the dragon dropped Beowulf to the
ground and tumbled backwards in agony. Its fiery breath sprayed in all directions, then went out. It collapsed in a loathsome heap, smoking from its own dying fire.
With the dragon dead, Beowulf struggled to his feet, but his neck was already swelling from the bite of those poisoned fangs. He staggered to a seat by the entrance of the cave, his body clenching in agony. He spoke to Wiglaf through bloodied teeth and asked him to bring the treasures of the dragon before him. Wiglaf went into the dragon’s lair, and found more treasure than an army could carry. He selected some of the best golden cups and gleaming jewels. These he brought back out and placed before his dying lord.
Beowulf smiled and removed his helmet. He gave the royal boar helm to young Wiglaf, his last act as a gift-giver. He commanded that the treasure be buried with him, to remove it from the temptation of thieves. Then with a final breath, Beowulf’s eyes clouded over, and he passed from the world, the last of the great Geatish kings.
It is only by the thinnest of margins and the greatest of luck that the story of Beowulf has survived to the present. It exists in only a single manuscript, now housed in the British Library. This manuscript was written in Old English by a pair of monks, many years apart. One started and wrote up to line 1939, the other finishing, sometime around 1000 AD. It is thought that they were copying an earlier version, possibly as old as the eighth century. By the eighteenth century, the all-but forgotten manuscript was part of the collection of Sir Robert Cotton. In 1731, a fire broke out in the collection, destroying over two hundred manuscripts. The Beowulf manuscript escaped with only minor damage. The work received its first translations into modern English during the nineteenth century, and has since been under nearly continuous study as the only complete surviving example of Anglo-Saxon epic poetry. The story itself is set sometime during the fifth and sixth centuries, and, although a few of the minor characters can be connected with historical personages, no precise date for the story can be determined.