The Last Wife of Attila the Hun

by Joan Schweighardt

Sigurd squeezed my hand, then dropped it. “You are kind to me, Gudrun.”

  “How could I be otherwise?”

  “Will you grant me one thing more?”

  “Anything,” I answered hopefully.

  “Rouse one of your lazy servants and have him remove the sack and tend to Grani. He needs to be watered and fed. I rode him hard. Then, have the same servant bring the sack up to the bower and place it at my side. Do not try to lift it yourself. And of course, you must stay at the servant’s side the entire time. Do not let the sack out of your sight until it has been placed beside me.”

  “I will do as you ask. Go now.”

  Sigurd handed me Grani’s reins and turned away. I could see by the way he walked that he was nearly aswoon with fatigue. Already the dream-like quality of our encounter was paling. And the embrace which had invoked it, I thought now, was linked to his excitement over the gold, nothing more. As I turned to Grani and studied the sack, I remembered the curse and my heart began to pound. It seemed to me that I could feel the evil emanating from it. I thought to strike Grani and cry, “Be gone, be gone!” but of course he would only return again, longing for his master.

  * * *

  In the middle of the day, when the sun was high and bright in the sky, Homel, a dear old servant who had been with us since my father was a boy, came to our hall to say that the bath had been made ready for Brunhild and me. The idea of bathing again with Brunhild made me shudder, but I took up the soap courageously, and with Brunhild behind me, I followed Homel out to the bathing pit, which was full and steaming. Homel tested the water with his hand, and satisfied that it was heated sufficiently, he left us. As the air was cool, we undressed quickly and climbed in. We washed and said nothing. I unbound my hair and washed it too. Now that my betrothal was over, I would wear my hair down again, but this time in a net, as married women do. Brunhild would be expected to do the same, though I doubted that she would.

  The bathing pit was small and meant to accommodate only one bather at a time. We had no choice but to sit close together as we waited for the sun to dry our hair. Our silence was awkward. But I glanced at Brunhild’s face once, and when I saw the agitated look there, I began to feel giddy. I had a sudden urge to laugh wildly, though I could not imagine what I should be laughing at beyond the absurdity of our situation. Though I could not see them through the thicket which surrounded us, I could hear our freemen and their families arriving for the feast. I was anxious to join them. Without a word to Brunhild, I climbed out of the pit and dressed myself. Homel was waiting outside the thicket, with his back to it. I caught him with his nose in the leafy wreath that he was waiting to place on my head. At his feet was a second wreath, for Brunhild. When he had positioned my wreath, he smiled and kissed me. “May the gods be with you today,” he whispered. I found myself with tears collecting in my eyes, overwhelmed with a happiness which seemed strangely out of proportion to the situation.

  Our hall was not large enough to contain all of our freemen and their families, but as we had been granted a lovely day, there were many who were content to take their food bowls outside. And thus, inside and out, there was singing and dancing and laughter and a great deal of eating and drinking. When everyone was sated, Gunner took up his harp and began to play. How quickly then did those of us who were indoors quiet. And as his music wafted out through the hall door, those outside quieted too and pressed nearer to the door to hear him. When Gunner had finished, others who had songs to sing came forth to take their turns. Since the story of the Burgundians is a sad affair, most sang sad songs, and before long there were many wet eyes to be seen in our hall.

  But after a time, Hagen came forward and asked to be the next singer. Everyone brightened then, for it was no secret that Hagen’s voice was poor or that Gunner derived pleasure in mocking him on account of it. But it seemed now that Gunner would be content to hear him sing, for his hands were already in place on his harp strings as Hagen announced to the crowd that his song would be one that no one had ever heard before. All men love to hear a new song, and thus the crowd pressed closer yet.

  Gunner began to play, and Hagen, who looked uneasy for once, cleared his throat. His voice, at first, elicited some muffled laughter, but when his preamble was over and he began to sing of the dwarves who had walked on the Earth when the Earth was new and the gods went about as men do now, the laughter subsided.

  I realized immediately that Hagen’s song was going to be about Sigurd, and though I was confused by my brothers’ sudden change in attitude, I was simultaneously thrilled to think that at last our people should hear of Sigurd’s quest—even if it was Hagen singing it. I squeezed my way through the crowd to stand at Sigurd’s side.

  Sigurd smiled at me and returned his gaze to Hagen. I could see by his expression, which was one of mere interest, that he had not yet come to realize where Hagen was venturing with his words. But when Hagen got to the part of his story where the Franks arrived at our hall, Sigurd’s smile lengthened and quivered, and he reached down to find my hand.

  Immediately I looked for Brunhild, and I found her standing on the other side of the hall—looking quite beautiful in the robe that had been made for her—but with far too many people between us for her to notice my hand in Sigurd’s. As we followed Sigurd and Regan into the high mountains, breathing the increasingly thin air and keeping a look out for frost-giants, Sigurd’s face reddened, and his eyes began to moisten. His smile was wide and fixed now, so that it looked as if it had been carved out of wood. And it occurred to me, as Hagen described the dragon in words too eloquent to have been composed by him alone, that perhaps Gunner had already found time to ask his question of Brunhild—and that her response had satisfied him.

  Our freemen stood amazed as Hagen sang of Sigurd’s slaying of the dragon. Many turned to look at Sigurd, and those who were nearest to him placed their hands on his shoulders. When the song was done, and a few jokes had been made about Hagen’s voice, there was not an eye in the hall which failed to fall on Sigurd. The Burgundians were waiting for him to speak. I let go of his hand and stepped away from him. But Sigurd, who was never at a loss for words, seemed to be now. His face was still crimson, and as if to control his emotion, he was swallowing hard and continuously.

  The silence grew awkward, and, at length, one of the freemen whispered, “You must speak to our people, son. They are waiting.”

  Sigurd turned to look at him with round, inquiring eyes. Then all at once he lifted his gaze to my brothers and cried, “Give me but a moment.” And calling out, “Make way, make way,” he disappeared into Gunner and Hagen’s bower. A murmur went through the hall then as our guests speculated on what Sigurd might do next. It fell a moment later when he reappeared with his sack slung over his shoulder. The crowd parted so that he could make his way to Gunner’s seat.

  He placed the sack at Gunner’s feet and bowed low to him. Then he bowed to Hagen, who was standing behind Gunner. “Brothers,” he said loudly, “I bring you Gudrun’s bridal-price. It is none other than the gold of which you sang so wondrously.”

  The rumor of what was happening spread outdoors, and the hall became fuller yet. There was no man or woman among us now who could have moved from his spot even if he had wanted to. A second crowd had formed at the doorway, its members craning their necks and pressing forward. Only the children remained at some distance, and this only because those at the door chided them when they tried to come too near.

  Gunner rose and returned Sigurd’s bow. Hagen did likewise. Then, sitting again, Gunner reached into the sack and pulled forth a beautiful gold goblet. He studied it for a moment, his smile widening in his fleshy face, and then he held it up over his head where all men could see it. A roar went up from the crowd. Beaming now, Gunner called for quiet. He reached into the sack again and pulled out a gold crown such as my uncle once wore in Worms, only this one was far more beautiful, being studded with gems the likes of which
I had never seen before. Gunner was delighted. Laughing, he turned it round and round in his hands. His laughter set others laughing, anxious to see the thing that pleased him so. When his arm shot up with it, another roar went up, this one greater than the last. Those in the rear of the hall pushed even closer together, and there was a great deal of shouting from those at the door who could not get in.

  And thus, one by one, the pieces in the sack were revealed. How we marveled at all of them! There were six goblets more, and finger-rings and arm-rings, all studded with gems like the crown. There was a gold helmet and a gold shield and even a gold serving tray, the handles of which were made up of finely-crafted leaping bears. And all these pieces were so beautifully engraved that no one could doubt that they had once belonged to the gods. But the last piece that Gunner pulled forth was so beautiful that it made the others seem unremarkable by comparison.

  It was a long time before Gunner completed his inspection of this last one. And in the meanwhile, our guests pushed and shoved one another to see what was detaining him. Gunner’s jaw had dropped low, and his eyes, which were wide with disbelief, swept back and forth between Sigurd and the sword which lay on his lap. Hagen, who was peering over his shoulder, was equally amazed. Gunner’s hand hovered over the hilt for a time, as if he would like to touch it but feared that he would desecrate it somehow. His smile was long in coming, but on its heels was his roaring laughter. He lay his hands on the thing suddenly and with resolution. And then he stood and held it high over his head. There was a hush from the crowd, and then a murmur which swelled into a roar.

  Gunner laughed and nodded at our people encouragingly. “This is the sword of Wodan himself,” he shouted, his eyes brimming with tears. There was more pushing, and I found myself in a corner where I thought I should be crushed. Gunner turned the sword around in his hands and held it by the blade now so that all men could see the hilt. I was near enough to see that it was beautifully engraved with dragons and bears and boars and all other manner of beast. Although it was not yet dark, the light in the room was quickly escaping, and someone lighted a torch and set it into the bracket on the wall. The sword came alive then, shining so brilliantly that it seemed itself to be the source of illumination. Our dazzled guests grew quiet once more, as if in reverence. And then another roar began among them, and there were shouts of praise for Sigurd and shouts of well-wishes for Gunner. At length, Gunner lay the sword aside and left his seat to embrace Sigurd. Words passed between them which, with all the shouting, I could not hear. Then Gunner lifted his hand to quiet the crowd. But they called back that they must see him holding up the sword again. And thus he took up the sword and they quieted at once.

  “Friends,” he began, “Burgundians, you have heard my brother sing of Sigurd’s quest, and now you have seen its result.” More shouts followed and Gunner waited patiently for them to abate. “This sword, this sword of Wodan’s, this finest piece of the dragon’s hoard, my brother in blood would bestow on me that I might lead my people once again to do the deeds that make a people great. This sword is hungry for blood! I feel it!”

  Our people cried out even louder than before. Gunner’s eyes glistened, and his smile was so unnaturally wide that he looked like one of the beasts growling from the sword’s hilt. He had to wait a long time before the crowd saw fit to let him continue. Then, in a voice that made me think of our father, he shouted, “This sword is hungry for the blood of the Romans who profess to be our allies even as they deprive us of our servants and our wealth. This sword is hungry for the blood of the Huns. This sword has found its way to me for a reason. I could never again call myself your king and leader if I did not promise here and now that this sword, which has lain so long in the dragon’s cave, longing for blood and action, will be sated.”

  A great cry went up. Gunner, who was trembling so with exhilaration that one could see his veins pulse in his neck, sat down and began to pass the other gold pieces to the men nearest so that they might examine them and pass them on. When all these pieces had been passed out, he turned and placed the sword on the ledge above his chair. Then he went among our people—but with his eyes constantly straining toward his new possession—and called for all men and women to take up their drinking horns again and celebrate.

  And thus we drank. As some of the crowd began to move outdoors, the hearth fire was renewed, and those of us who remained within sang and danced around it. And if there was anyone among us who thought Gunner’s proclamation premature, there was no one whose demeanor betrayed it.

  When darkness fell, the tables were reassembled and the meats and fruits and cakes and breads were all brought out again, and once more our guests had their fill. Then the tables were taken apart and put aside so that the ceremonies could begin. Our guests seemed surprised now, as if, in all the excitement over Sigurd’s gifts, they had forgotten that there were to be ceremonies as well. Laughing at their folly, they backed away from the hearth and made a circle around it.

  Gunner called to Brunhild and she came forward and joined me. Walking together, we went around the hearth three times, and three times our guests sang out their good wishes for our happiness. Then we each removed the arm-rings which Mother had given us earlier in the day and threw them into the fire so that it might be appeased and so that all our future fires might bring us warmth and never destruction. The mead pitchers were passed around again, and as Sigurd stood by my side and Gunner by Brunhild’s, we drank our bridal ale before our witnesses. More songs were sung, the last of which was a song describing the happiness of Wodan and Frig on their wedding night. Then the crowd became two crowds, and while one escorted Gunner and Brunhild to one bower, the second escorted Sigurd and me to the other.

  To my surprise, Guthorm was fast asleep therein. I had forgotten all about him, and now I could not remember having seen him since much earlier in the day. Our witnesses began to shout for him to awaken, but their voices failed to stir him. When Sigurd turned and raised his hand to them, they stopped shouting. Shrugging indifferently, they backed away from the doorway, enabling Sigurd to pull the curtain closed behind him.

  “He will not awaken, will he?” Sigurd asked.

  “No, you can be sure of it,” I answered hastily.

  Sigurd took my hand and together we sat down on the feather mattress. It was dark, and I could see almost nothing of his face. I thought of Brunhild, in the other bower with my brother, and of our bargain. And anxious that I might otherwise fail to keep up my part of it, I brought up the subject which had been baiting me all night. “You bestowed a great honor on the Burgundian people tonight,” I began cautiously. “Had I been the one to ride up into the high mountains and slay the dragon and acquire his gold, I fear I would have kept the war sword for myself, to spur the courage of my own people. And yet you gave it away.”

  Sigurd laughed and dropped my hand. He leaned back on his elbows. “My reasons are twofold, Gudrun.” He hesitated a moment. “No, actually, they are three. First, by giving the sword to the Burgundians, I have, I hope, ensured that when the time comes for battle, the Burgundians and the Franks will fight on the same side.”

  “But we have been allies since my people first settled in Worms, and even before that.”

  “True enough. But these times are strange like no other. When I returned to my uncle’s, I learned that a cousin of mine has been threatening to go to Attila and Bleda to offer them Frankish alliance.”

  “That cannot be. Such a man among the Franks?”

  “His intentions are good. He is a man of foresight, and, like Gunner, he believes the day will come when the Huns will make war on the Western Empire. He thinks the Franks should be on the side most likely to win.”

  “Tell me you do not agree with him.”

  “Of course not. And neither does his father, who is brother to Gripner, and to my father while he lived. As you know, the Franks were never united as your people are. We have many leaders, and m
y cousin’s father is only one of them. But he is a man all men listen to, and when he is gone—and that will be soon—my cousin will be listened to as well, unless his brother challenges him for the leadership. Anyway, these are not things to think of now with the Huns busy negotiating for terms with the Eastern Empire. If they think of the Western Empire at all, it is only with an eye to the future. Still, I gave the sword to Gunner because I believe even my cousin will think twice about his design when he knows that Wodan’s war sword has fallen into Burgundian hands. My desire is that Thuet people will be united when the time comes to choose sides, and that then they will make the right choice together.”

  “But so many Thuet tribes have already gone over to one side or the other.”

  “Aye, and all the more reason to preserve the unity among the ones who have not.”

  “Your motive makes me proud,” I murmured. “But you said you had three.”

  Sigurd sighed. “You will likely not be so proud of me when you hear the second, but I feel that I must tell you anyway. I only hope you will not be angry with me for speaking my mind to you—”

  “You are my husband now. Speak.”

  “Your brothers are displeased with me of late. I am certain you have noticed. I thought to buy their fellowship.”

  I sought out Sigurd’s eyes in the darkness, but the light from the hall did not penetrate the heavy bower curtain, and what moonlight came in through the small, high window above our heads enabled me to discern only the shape of Sigurd, the large black orb that was his head. “Let us not speak of the second reason,” he said hastily. “Ask me for the third.”

  I was happy enough to do so. “The third, then,” I said.

  “The third reason is you.”

  “Me? How so?”

  Sigurd sat up and took my chin in his hand and brought my face close to his. “I have loved you long, Gudrun. I felt your bridal offering should be equal to that love.”