Myths of the Norsemen

by Roger Green

  ‘I should never have believed,’ answered Hoarbeard, ‘that great Thor could be delayed on his homeward journey by a mere ferryman.’

  ‘I will speak to you no more,’ roared Thor. ‘You utter nothing but evil, lying words. Be sure you will pay for them if ever we meet!’

  ‘Take your boat then,’ answered Hoarbeard, pushing it suddenly out into the stream, ‘and go where the Trolls may get you!’

  The boat sped across the wide river and came to where Thor and Tyr waited, though there was no one in it. And when they had entered and crossed to the further shore there was no sign of Hoarbeard the Ferryman.

  So they went on their way to the place where the goat-drawn chariot was waiting for them, and drove swiftly back to Asgard. There Thor handed the brewing kettle to Ægir, who now had no excuse for not inviting the Æsir to feast with him.

  And they all met in his halls at the Feast of Harvest Home, and agreed that even in Valhalla the mead and ale were not more plentiful, and that nowhere in Asgard was there more food served by such beautiful attendants as Ægir’s lovely daughters the Wave Maidens.

  But Thor was still sullen and moody since no one could tell him where he might find Hoarbeard the Ferryman.

  ‘Were you not sitting on your Air Throne of Lidskialf when I strove to cross the river Elivagar?’ he asked. ‘Did you not see the ferryman, Odin my father? What were you doing at that time?’

  ‘Bandying words with my boastful son Thor,’ answered Odin, speaking suddenly in the voice of Hoarbeard the Ferryman. ‘Now I am ready to pay for them, if Thor has learnt his lesson!’

  Then Thor laughed until the thunder rolled round Midgard and the summer lightning flashed and flamed harmlessly over the broad Sound and the fair land of Denmark.

  And none was merrier than he that night at the great feast in Ægir’s halls.

  12

  The Death of Baldur

  During the happy days when the Giants made no open war against the Æsir, and the men of Midgard were mostly brave and noble warriors, Asgard was a place of kindliness and delight. And of all the palaces in that land of bliss none shone more brightly or sounded with more joyous laughter nor sweeter songs than Breidablik on the fair field of Ida where dwelt Baldur the beautiful, the fairest and the gentlest of all the Æsir, the best beloved son of Odin and Frigga.

  Baldur’s twin brother Hodur was as different as well could be, for he had been born blind, and was ever quiet and sad, sitting alone and brooding in his eternal darkness. Yet he was gentle and kind, and he and Baldur loved one another dearly. They would often walk together under the bright trees of Ida, the one golden-haired, with shining eyes and face alight with happiness; the other like a dark shadow lagging a little behind him, with black hair and pale, drawn face.

  Baldur’s palace had a roof of silver set upon pillars of rich gold, and was so pure and blessed that nothing common nor unclean could come within it. Here Baldur lived with his blossom-like wife, the sweet and delicate Nanna; and there was no more perfect love in all the Nine Worlds than the love of Nanna and Baldur.

  Time passed even in happy Ida where Bragi would sing his sweetest songs and Iduna flit among the Æsir with her gleaming Apples, while Baldur went among them shedding light and happiness wherever he went.

  In Midgard too men blessed bright Baldur: for he taught them the use of herbs and simples for healing wounds and other ills. The camomile flower was called Baldur’s Brow because of its purity and its healing powers. Also Baldur understood the secret Runes which were engraved on the golden pillars of his house, and could foretell the future to men in Midgard.

  But his own future he could not see, not could any of the Æsir; and the first shadow of coming sorrow came creeping over the golden fields of Ida when Baldur ceased to smile and became grave and thoughtful as if his dark brother Hodur had come between him and the sun.

  Then Odin and Frigga gathered the Æsir together in council, and they asked Baldur to tell them the cause of his silent grief, and why the light and joy had gone out of his radiant face.

  Baldur replied: ‘A strange trouble has come upon me. Hitherto I have always slept long and sweetly and all my dreams were of joy and happiness. But of late they have changed, have grown dark and terrible. Some danger draws near me, and death is at hand in a form unseen. I see the danger and the hand of the slayer, and I fly from it in vain down the long caverns of sleep; but when I awake I cannot remember the danger, and the face of my slayer is veiled from my sight. But the terror remains and the knowledge of doom which hangs over me – of the fate which draws nearer day by day, veiled and terrible, menacing in the darkness and hidden from my waking mind.’

  The Æsir were sorely troubled at these words, and wise Odin who had drunk of Mimir’s Well and spoken with the Norns themselves, grew sad. He knew that Baldur must die one day, and that his death would mean that Ragnarok was drawing near: but he did not believe that Baldur’s day of doom would come for many a long age.

  So, while the Æsir still debated in Gladsheim their high council hall in Asgard, Odin arose, saddled Sleipnir his eight-legged horse and rode away on the long path which led to Nifelheim.

  Nine long nights and days he rode on fast Sleipnir down the dark ways and echoing caves; and he came at length to the river Gioll, the black stream which forms the edge of Hela’s kingdom where the dead go who do not fall in battle.

  Over the dark river stretched the Bridge of Gioll arched with crystal and paved with gleaming gold.

  Seeing his eight-legged horse, the skeleton maiden Modgud who stood on guard there let him pass, though she asked him:

  ‘Who of living men passes upon Odin’s steed by the way of the dead?’

  And Odin replied, speaking like an old man: ‘My name is Vegtam the Wanderer, and I come by command of the Æsir who dwell in Asgard.’

  ‘Pass, Vegtam the Wanderer,’ answered Modgud, and Odin rode on through Iron Wood where the trees are black with leaves of sharp iron, until he came to the Gateway of Helheim where Garm of the Bloody Breast, Hela’s great hell hound, bayed fiercely to keep in the ghosts of those who sought to escape back into the world of life.

  But Odin did not try to enter Hela’s halls. Instead he turned aside to the long grey barrow where the prophetess Volva the Wise lay buried. Standing beside her grave he began to chant the mighty spells which move the dead, until slowly the earth gaped open and the form of the prophetess rose up above the barrow, wrapped in her grave-clothes, her face green and ghastly.

  Then the dead Volva spoke in cold measured tones without moving her jaws or bending her thin lips:

  ‘What mortal, to me unknown, draws me back by these weary ways?’ she asked. ‘I have been buried under the snow, I have been washed by the rain, the dew has drenched me. Long have I been dead.’

  Then Odin answered: ‘My name is Vegtam the Wise Wanderer: tell me now tidings of Helheim, and I will tell you of Midgard if you wish to hear. Tell me for whom Hela’s benches are spread with cloaks and her hall so fairly hung with painted shields?’

  ‘For Baldur the mead stands ready in Hela’s halls,’ answered the dead Volva, ‘and for him the walls are decked with shields. Yet the Æsir still make merry in Asgard and upon Ida’s plain. All unwillingly have I spoken: I will say no more.’

  ‘Speak again, wise Volva,’ commanded Odin, ‘for I must learn all. Tell me, who shall cause the death of Baldur? Who shall take the life of Odin’s best beloved son?’

  ‘Hodur bears the branch of fate,’ replied Volva. ‘He shall cause the death of Baldur, and take the life of Odin’s best beloved son. All unwillingly have I spoken: I will say no more.’

  ‘Speak again, wise Volva,’ insisted Odin, ‘for I must learn still more. Tell me who shall bring vengeance upon Hodur as the Norns command: who shall lift the slayer of Baldur on to the funeral pyre?’

  ‘In the Halls of the West a son shall be born to Odin,’ answered Volva. ‘Vali shall be his name, and he shall slay the killer of Baldur. He shall neith
er wash his hands nor comb his hair until he has borne him to the funeral pyre. Before he is one night old he shall avenge Odin’s best beloved son. All unwillingly have I spoken: now indeed I will say no more.’

  ‘Speak once more, wise Volva’, cried Odin desperately. ‘When all weep for Baldur who is it that shall shed no tear?’

  ‘Now I know that you are not Vegtam the Wise Wanderer,’ answered Volva. ‘You are Odin, for none other knows that question. Ride home now and seek to save Baldur from what fate decrees: for no other man shall behold me again until Loki breaks his chains and the Destroyers of the Æsir come at Ragnarok.’

  Then Volva sank slowly back into the mound and the earth closed above her head.

  Odin mounted Sleipnir and rode sadly back to Asgard, wondering how fate might be delayed or the web which the Norns had woven be changed to give Baldur longer life … Wondering how Hodur could come to slay the brother whom he loved better than anyone in all the Nine Worlds … Wondering how he might send Hodur away from Asgard or keep Baldur from his dangerous company.

  But when he reached the heavenly mansions it was to find his wife the Queen Frigga sitting in Fensalir, her Hall of the Clouds, her eyes shining with happiness.

  ‘Baldur is safe!’ she cried. ‘I have bound by an oath all things that grow out of the earth to do him no harm. And all things in the earth too – the rocks, the metals, and the soil itself; and all that dwells upon the earth, from the Æsir, the Giants, and the Trolls to the beasts and serpents; the birds of the air and all the creatures of the sea, besides the waves themselves. Yes, even the poisons and the sicknesses which can slay have sworn not to harm Baldur. So now our beloved son is safe.’

  Then Odin was comforted. Although he knew that the doom must come, since the decree of the Fates could not be altered, he felt that now it must be a long time before the Norns could find a new means of death for Baldur.

  Meanwhile the Æsir discovered that no weapon could hurt Baldur; and so a new game began in the sweet groves of Ida. First Tyr, it might be, would leap forward and swing his sword with his one strong hand as if to cleave Baldur in two: but the sharp blade would bend and whip back and Baldur was untouched. Or it might be Thor, flinging Miolnir with a shout; and the hammer which had slain so many Giants and shattered the stone head of Rungnir, returned to his hand without harming Baldur. Or again Uller the peerless Archer would loose arrow after arrow, and they would rebound as if Baldur wore invisible armour and drop to the ground without harming him.

  Among the Æsir gathered round Baldur was Loki; and when he found that even in his hand no poisoned knife or wolf’s tooth steeped in venom could harm him, the evil in his heart seemed almost to choke him. Suddenly he became all evil. He had always hated Baldur the beautiful, the good and stainless; now nothing mattered except to hurt him. All things in the world loved Baldur – all things but Loki; nor would even the vilest Troll nor the cruellest Giant hurt him; not even the stone by the roadside nor the snake in the grass.

  Mad with jealousy and hate, Loki the unloved moved away from the happy crowd of Æsir in the shining fields of Ida, and began to plot and scheme as he had never plotted before.

  Presently, as Queen Frigga sat spinning in Fensalir, her heart full of joy and thankfulness that Baldur was safe, there came an old woman hobbling with the aid of a stick, and greeted her.

  ‘I hear sounds of joy and laughter coming from the glad fields of Ida,’ said Frigga. ‘Can you tell me what the Æsir do there which causes them such delight?’

  ‘It is very strange,’ mumbled the old woman. ‘It is some sort of magic they practise. There stands Baldur laughing, and all the Æsir fling stones or shoot arrows at him, or smite him with their weapons. But nothing hurts him: the ground is littered with axes and swords, spears and arrows which have been used against him in vain.’

  ‘Ah!’ cried Frigga, her face lighting up with happiness. ‘That is because no weapon can hurt Baldur! I have taken an oath from everything which lives or grows or moves upon the earth, everything that comes out of it or descends upon it or moves in the waters which touch it, that they will not harm Baldur.’

  ‘And have all the trees and shrubs and plants and flowers and grasses really taken an oath not to hurt Baldur?’ asked the old woman.

  ‘Everything whatever it may be that grows out of the earth,’ nodded Frigga.

  ‘Westward of Valhalla,’ said the old woman, ‘there stands an oak tree, and from it grows a little plant called mistletoe. That does not grow out of the earth: has it also sworn not to hurt Baldur?’

  ‘Indeed I did not think to take an oath from the mistletoe,’ answered Frigga. ‘It is so weak and soft and young, it surely cannot hurt anyone.’

  ‘No indeed,’ agreed the old woman. ‘A foolish little plant that has no root of its own, but must lean on the oak for support, need not swear the oath, for it can hurt nobody.’

  Then she bowed low to Frigga and hobbled slowly away, while the Queen of the Æsir bent forward to her cloud-wreathed loom once more. But now a vague shadow seemed to rest over her, as if the Sun had passed behind one of the clouds that she was spinning.

  Outside Fensalir, Loki, in his own shape once more, sped to the lonely oak westward of Valhalla, and cut from it a sprig of mistletoe. Weak and soft and harmless the pale green shoot appeared to be; but Loki trimmed it and shaped it into a dart, and then, muttering an evil Rune, he breathed upon it and at once it was as hard and sharp as iron.

  Carrying the mistletoe dart under his cloak Loki stole back to Ida where the Æsir were still gathered round Baldur flinging their useless weapons at him. And there too a little band of Trolls had come by special permission of the Æsir and were hurling their stone hammers at Baldur, screaming with laughter when they fell harmlessly to the ground. There also might be seen a Dwarf or a Black Elf carrying some cunningly fashioned weapon made sharp and strong and unfailing by some secret magic: yet even their magic could not prevail against Baldur the world’s darling.

  Only blind Hodur took no part in the strange sport. He leant against a tree nearby and listened sadly to the joyous shouting and laughter.

  ‘Why do you not shoot at Baldur?’ asked Loki the tempter stealing up beside him.

  ‘I cannot see where Baldur is,’ answered Hodur with a sigh. ‘And besides, being blind, I have no weapon.’

  ‘Ah, what a shame it is that you alone of all the Æsir cannot do honour to your brother by casting a harmless weapon at him,’ said Loki. ‘But if you wish it, I will place this little wand in your hand and guide you so that you may fling it at him.’

  Then Hodur allowed Loki to place the mistletoe dart in his hand, directing his arm so that his aim might be true. And Hodur drew back and flung the dart with all his strength and it passed though Baldur’s body, so that the Bright One fell dead to the earth. And that was the greatest mischance that has ever befallen among gods and men.

  A deep silence fell upon the Æsir when they saw Baldur fall; and their hands dropped to their sides so that they could not even catch him as he fell. Each looked at the other, their eyes wide with horror, and when they tried to speak all burst out weeping so that no words came.

  Only Hodur did not weep. He stood where Loki had left him, and his horror and his anguish were so great that no tears came.

  The Æsir soon knew who had flung the fatal dart; and although Hodur had not meant to hurt Baldur, both they and he knew well that he must die – for such was the Law of the North which least of all might the Æsir break. Yet no one struck Hodur, for they were all sworn never to raise their hands against one another: moreover in the Plain of Ida and before the very palace of Breidablik no blood might ever be shed.

  When the first numbing silence was over, and the first wild burst of weeping was stayed, Frigga spoke to the Æsir.

  ‘Who among you all will win my favour and my love undying? Who will ride the road to Helheim and seek for Baldur, and learn if Hela will accept any ransom so that Baldur may come home to Asgard?’
>
  There was silence for a little while, for the journey was difficult and the way very fearful.

  Then Hermodur, the swiftest of the Æsir, who was their nimble messenger and Odin’s chosen companion, sprang forward.

  ‘I will journey through Nifelheim,’ he cried, ‘and come to the Halls of Hela, yes, and dare to enter her terrible gates, if thereby I can bring my brother Baldur back to the light.’

  ‘Go then,’ commanded Odin, ‘and take Sleipnir my eight-legged steed to bear you swiftly on your way. For only I know quite how great a harm and loss the death of Baldur is to us in Asgard.’

  So Hermodur drew on his shining armour, set his helmet upon his head, leapt upon Sleipnir, and was gone like a flash of lightning.

  But the Æsir carried dead Baldur down to the seashore. There they drew out his longship Ringhorn, which was the greatest of all ships, and they launched it and moored it to the shore. Then they built a mighty funeral pyre upon it and laid precious jewels and rare embroideries upon the pyre.

  Now, however, the ship was loaded so heavily that none could push it out into the sea. So they summoned the Giantess called Hyrrokin, who came riding upon a huge wolf with vipers for her bridle. She leapt from her steed, and Odin bade four of his most valiant Heroes from Valhalla to hold it: but they could not do so until they succeeded in flinging the wolf to the ground.

  Then Hyrrokin went to the ship and thrust it out with one great heave, so mightily that the earth shook and the rollers on which it ran burst into flame.

  Thinking she was insulting the dead, Thor grabbed Miolnir to crush her, but Odin made haste to calm his hasty-tempered son.

  Then the body of Baldur was carried out and placed on the ship. And as sweet Nanna his wife bent weeping above him to kiss him for the last time, her heart broke, so that she died; and the Æsir placed her at his side, and the fire was kindled.