The Last Wife of Attila the Hun

by Joan Schweighardt

  As I awoke in the morning feeling somewhat better physically, my concern over Sigurd’s tardiness increased proportionally. I lay for a moment between Mother and Guthorm listening to the wind, and then I felt that I must get up and see whether Sigurd might have come after all, late in the night while we slept. I got to my knees and waited for my dizziness to pass. Then I got to my feet and tiptoed out of the bower. My brothers were both asleep in the hall, where men sometimes end up when they have been up late and drunk too much mead to get themselves to bed. Hagen was near the hearth. His empty drinking horn was on his stomach, and there it rose and fell as he snored. Gunner was stretched out on the long bench, his head turned to the wall and his long, heavy arms dangling on either side of him. To my surprise, I saw that he had reddened his already reddish locks with ashes and goat fat. I hurried across the hall and peeked into my brothers’ bower. It was empty.

  I went back into my bower to take my place again between Mother and Guthorm, neither of whom so much as stirred. As I wiggled into place, I took note of the two small wooden vessels that had been prepared for me. They were in the corner of the room, and so close to Mother’s outstretched arm that I feared she would upset one or the other when she awakened. One I had made much use of, for it contained the brew that Mother had made to rid me of my sickness. The other was the potion which we had made together for Sigurd. If she disturbed one, I hoped it would not be the latter.

  It had rained steadily for three days, and I imagined that, in concern for her health, Sigurd had found a shelter for the valkyria, and thus the reason for their delay. But my jealous mind provoked me, asking, What of my health? Has Sigurd no concern for that? Still, the rains had ceased now. I could see beyond the small bower window, which was covered with the opaque membrane which encases the unborn calf, that the sun was shining. It seemed a good omen, and my hope rose up again and, strange to say, claimed the seat in the forefront of my mind in which my suspicions were already firmly seated. And thus they perched together, simultaneous and side by side, the one inventing images of the valkyria lying in Sigurd’s arms, sheltered from the rain in some grove or beneath some rocky ledge, while the other directed my eyes to take note of the sun and the chance that Sigurd might yet return and that I would have no need, after all, to give him the brew which Mother’s unwitting fingers might at any moment disturb. In truth, I did not like to think that I was capable of giving it to him, for I could not imagine how I could get him to drink it without lying to him. He had accepted the lock of my hair, I reminded myself. He had passed three times before me with his sword unsheathed. What is, is.

  Gunner awoke in the hall and called out Hagen’s name. Hagen must have sat up hastily, for I heard the drinking horn that had been on his stomach collide with the stones surrounding the hearth. Then I heard his voice, still gruff with sleep, saying, “We have slept too long. Let us hurry out and see about more game for surely Sigurd returns tonight.”

  “Let him return or not,” Gunner grumbled. “I do not care one way or the other. Let him have the valkyria and the charmed life she offered him. We will have the gold—if he did not dig it up already.”

  There was a moment of silence. I could imagine Hagen gesturing toward my bower almost as well as if I had seen him myself. And I knew I was correct when I heard Gunner say, “Brother, she will have to know sooner or later.”

  “Then let it be later,” Hagen whispered. “We do not know ourselves yet. Any number of things could have happened. For all we know the man is dead, cut down by Romans. In any case, dead or alive, he is our brother. There is no taking that back. He said he would return. And when he does, he will explain his delay, I wager, to your satisfaction and Gudrun’s too. Trust him a bit.”

  “I trust no one,” Gunner said grumpily.

  Hagen laughed. “I pity you then, brother. There is nothing in life more valuable than friendship, and from what seed does it bloom if not trust?”

  “Bah. I will tell you what is more valuable than friendship. Life itself. Was that not the message that our father bade us to hold in our hearts? And I will tell you something else as well. My life will be longer than yours for having the sense to know it.” The last of Gunner’s words had come from farther off. Apparently he had gotten off the long bench and was moving toward the door.

  “You know you do not mean that,” Hagen cried after him. “You are impatient, that is all. And you slept poorly. Where are you going?”

  I heard the door being lifted. “To make sure that the gold was not dug up during the night.”

  “Fine,” Hagen began. “Go. In the meantime, I will—” but the door was lowered again before he could finish. “—hunt,” he mumbled to himself.

  Mother and Guthorm were still sleeping deeply. Once more I wiggled out from between them and went into the hall. Hagen, who was sitting cross-legged, brooding, did not hear me enter until I said his name. He straightened quickly. “Gudrun! Are you better then?”

  “Somewhat.”

  He smiled, and the pattern of his great scar altered. Then he took up the poker and began to stir the embers in the hearth. “I heard,” I said.

  He went on stirring. “He is just disappointed. He did not mean what he said.”

  I knelt down beside him and put my hand over his so that he was forced to put the poker aside. “You believe that Sigurd will return today, do you not?”

  Hagen nodded, but he kept his eyes on the fire, which was slowly coming to life. I squirmed beside him. “Hagen,” I whispered, “when Sigurd told us of his quest, there were looks which passed between you and Gunner which I could not account for.”

  He shrugged and said nothing. I increased the pressure of my hand on his, but still he continued to stare into the fire. Some moments passed before he finally lifted his gaze, and then he studied my face for just as long. “Go back to bed, Gudrun,” he said at last. “I will not be the one to point out that which you fail to see yourself.”

  I laughed nervously and released his hand. “I have no idea what you mean to say.”

  “Only this: Sigurd may have paid too high a price for the gold.”

  “How so?”

  “Go back to bed, I say. This does not concern you any more than it should me. Go back to bed at once.”

  I got up abruptly and went back to bed.

  * * *

  Because of the chill in the air, the door was down that evening when Sigurd returned, but we heard the approach of the horses anyway. We heard the valkyria’s laughter even before Sigurd called out. As if we had not been expecting anyone, we all ceased our activities at once and stared at one another. Then Gunner put down his harp, which he had been playing softly by the hearth-fire, and, patting his unnaturally reddened hair, he rushed to the high seat. Hagen put aside his drinking horn and went to lift the door. Mother and I were sitting on the long bench, embroidering. Guthorm was at our feet.

  When Sigurd entered, I made to rise and greet him, but when I saw that his gaze did not fall on me, I sat down again. “Brother,” he cried, addressing himself to Gunner and smiling triumphantly, “I present Brunhild.” And he took the valkyria’s arm and led her to stand before Gunner’s seat. Gunner rose uncertainly while Brunhild, who was giggling, bowed before him.

  Even in her coarse men’s weeds, muddied from travel, Brunhild was, as Sigurd had promised, a thing to behold. She was tall—nearly as tall as Sigurd. And though she was thin, her hands and forearms suggested good bones and strength. Her skin was the bronzed skin of one who spends her days outdoors. By contrast, her light, watery blue eyes stood out like jewels. She did not wear her hair knotted and hanging down her back as other Thuet women do. Rather, it fell loosely over her shoulders and breasts, light locks streaked white in places and as shiny as silver. Her feet were bare and dirty, but long and finely formed. Over her arm, I noted, she carried Sigurd’s cloak.

  It is difficult to say how I felt to see her sta
nding there beside Sigurd, holding his cloak. Or perhaps I shrink from describing my emotion because I knew immediately—though I had never experienced such a feeling before—that it was a sordid, shameful, dangerous thing. Of course, I had been jealous since Sigurd had first mentioned her, but now my disposition was beyond jealousy. This was jealousy at its depth. This was the root of jealousy from which one looks up and sees only blackness. I felt defeated by her presence, and I moaned.

  The valkyria could not have heard me, for I barely heard myself. But her watery eyes slid away from Gunner at just that moment, not to me, but toward me, and then quickly back to my brother again. “I have heard many fine things about you,” she said, smiling her enchanting smile.

  Gunner, who had previously been speechless, now moved his lips comically in an effort to reply, but before he could do so, Brunhild began to laugh. At first, Gunner seemed to be alarmed, but then his look changed, and he began to laugh as well. In a moment he was roaring with laughter, as was Sigurd. But then Brunhild stopped laughing abruptly and turned in my direction, a trace of her mirth still on her lips—but gone completely from her eyes.

  I rose from my seat. “I am called Gudrun,” I croaked in a voice still harsh from my illness.

  She bowed her head to me, and when she lifted it again, her smile had vanished entirely and her eyes had hardened. My own eyes seemed not to have the power to break her hold, and I was afraid.

  Luckily, Mother rose just then and bowed, saying, “I am Grimhild.”

  Brunhild hesitated a moment longer and then slowly inclined her head toward Mother and nodded. Then she turned to look at Hagen, who had not yet moved from the door.

  He managed to mumble his name—but in a way which revealed that he was as dumbstruck by her beauty as the rest of us.

  Guthorm, who had been playing quietly with his wooden bowl, sensed her gaze when it fell on him next. He looked up at once, and then he threw his weight against my leg and grabbed hold of my ankle. I waited for someone to introduce him, but no one did. It was as if, under her scrutiny, he had all at once become an embarrassment to us. We watched her watch him with her eyes wide and amused. The silence became awkward. Then all at once Brunhild turned away and cried, “I have met you all. Now let us eat!” We were not used to such boldness; Hagen and Mother exchanged a surprised look. But Gunner threw his head back and laughed heartily.

  * * *

  As we had not been certain that Sigurd and Brunhild would return that evening, Mother had not called in any of the servants, and no one thought to do so now. Thus we went about the business of readying the meal ourselves, and as quickly as if it had been Wodan himself who had demanded it. While Hagen and Gunner assembled the table, Mother rushed to fetch the food and the mead pitcher. I struggled to free myself from Guthorm’s grip, and with him crawling behind me on all fours, I went to fetch the washing bowl and drying cloth.

  When the table was assembled, Gunner turned to Sigurd and said, “We must apologize to you, brother. Thinking that you were going to arrive last night, we gathered together with our freemen and set out a great store of food. When you failed to arrive, we ate the food ourselves, as we did not want to send the Burgundians away hungry. Hagen and I had no luck hunting today, and thus we have only some cold meat, day-old bread, and our own meager company to offer you.” I could see by the glint in Gunner’s eye that his professed apology was really a cunning attempt to get Sigurd to reveal the cause for his delay.

  Whether Sigurd saw this too, I could not tell. He was silent for a moment, and then he clapped his hand on Gunner’s back and said, “It is enough, brother.”

  I had been moving toward Hagen, and he toward me, when Gunner had spoken. And like Hagen, I had halted to listen for Sigurd’s response. Now I went back about my task, and when Hagen had finished with the bowl, I turned to Brunhild. I barely lifted my eyes to her for fear of finding myself again at her mercy. But to my surprise, when I did peek up, I saw that a perplexed look had come over her beautiful face. Her eyes swept from the bowl to my face and back again, as if she had never come across a washing bowl before. Sigurd, who was still at her side, saw her confusion and stepped forward to plunge his own hands into the bowl. When they were cleansed, he wiped them on the drying cloth and hung it back on my arm. Then he took his cloak from Brunhild, gently, so that their eyes met. They smiled at each other. When she had washed and dried her hands, she turned toward the table, and without asking Gunner where he would have her sit, she climbed over the bench to perch on the spot she had chosen for herself.

  Once she was seated, with her back to us, Sigurd finally looked at me. He touched my cheek. “My love,” he whispered. But the valkyria seemed to have heard, for just then she turned her head as far back as it would go, and one watery eye strained to detect us. Horrified, I continued to stare at her even after she had turned away again. And when I turned back to accept the remains of Sigurd’s greeting, I found that he had already moved away.

  Many men have lifted their drinking horns in our hall, but few have done so as often and with as much gusto as the valkyria did that night. Even more amazing was her appetite. While we all looked on, she devoured all that was before her and then scanned the table for more. And all the while she laughed, finding the most common remarks to be amusing. It was not very long before my brothers were attempting to outdo each other in the number and quality of their anecdotes. Gunner, for instance, told her how he had tricked the Roman tax-collectors into leaving behind their barrel of wine. But then Hagen confessed that he had tricked Gunner into thinking the barrel was empty so that he might have what was left for himself. Next, Gunner professed that he had poured out most of the wine into another vessel before Hagen ever got to it. Nor was Sigurd outside this competition. He insisted that the Romans had brought up two barrels of wine but had only offered one to the Burgundians. The other, which was for their own use, he had stolen and hidden during the night while the Romans were up at our hall drinking up most of the first barrel. How they laughed—Brunhild and Hagen and Gunner and Sigurd—at their nonsense.

  “What tribe do you hail from?” Mother asked, her voice breaking into their laughter like something dangerous.

  Brunhild glanced at Sigurd, who smiled encouragingly. “No tribe,” she said gayly. “I was separated from my parents when I was very young.”

  “But where were you raised?” Mother demanded.

  “Here and there,” she said, and she laughed her high-pitched laugh again. And as if ‘here and there’ was the cleverest thing they had ever heard, my brothers and Sigurd laughed along with her.

  “But where did you learn your rune-wisdom?” Mother went on.

  Brunhild’s eyes opened wider. “I was born with it.”

  Mother, whose lips were parted and ready to expel the next inquiry, waited patiently for the latest round of laughter to subside. Then she said smugly, “Gudrun has some rune-wisdom, too. She learned it from the sister of my father when she was very young. It is because of her that we have never had lightning strike this hall. And on her account too that the fire you see burning here has never leapt beyond the rocks that contain it.”

  Brunhild, who had taken Mother’s boasting as an opportunity to lift her drinking horn to her lips, laughed abruptly now, spraying the table with mead. She covered her mouth and waved her thin arm in the air. “Forgive me,” she said when she had gained some control. “I do not mean to…” But her laughter returned and kept her from completing her apology.

  Mother stared at her coldly, waiting for an explanation. When Gunner was able to control his own laughter, he provided one. “Woman,” he cried. “Can you fail to see? Brunhild can make fires, not merely keep them in check!”

  Mother thought about that, and then, unbelievably, her lips began to stretch into a smile. I felt my cheeks growing hot. I longed to say something in my own defense, but I had been rendered witless. Nor would I have been heard over the la
ughter of the others anyway. Yet I wished to laugh myself, for in truth, the comparison was comical. And moreover, I knew that it would please Sigurd to see me cheerful. But I could not speak and I could not laugh. I thought all at once of Clumar, the servant who lacked the wits to laugh and converse with others, and I guessed I knew his secret now. He, too, had a black heart, whatever the reason, and his witlessness was merely its reflection.

  “The moon is full tonight,” Gunner said to Brunhild when she had finally completed her meal. “I would be pleased to show you the site of my father’s grave and tell you something of his passing.”

  “I have no objection to that,” Brunhild replied, and she shot up from her seat. But her expression was staid now, and I supposed she hated to leave her larger audience for an audience of one. I watched Sigurd’s eyes follow her to the door. Just as she reached it, she turned sharply and their eyes met. Gunner did not fail to note this exchange.

  When they were gone, our hall was so still that one seemed to hear the echo of the valkyria’s laughter rebounding from the walls. Hagen made one attempt to speak to Sigurd on the matter of his journey, but Sigurd answered evasively, saying only that there had been no dangers. The moments that followed were awkward until Mother got up and began to clean the crumbs from the table. We were all happy enough to follow her example, and in no time the bowls and the drinking horns were cleared away and the table dissembled. I went to Sigurd then and said that I too had an urge to walk beneath the moon. Sigurd nodded and moved toward the door. And Mother, seeing that Guthorm had heard and would follow us out, wisely snatched him back and held him squirming to her breast.

  “I can see you are unhappy,” Sigurd said as soon as the door was down behind us.

  “Not at all,” I lied, and I began to walk.

  But Sigurd persisted. “You do not like her, do you?”