No one, that is, until the mason came. He rode into town alone on a fine stallion, and the god Heimdall, who guarded the entrance to this world, stopped him. “What do you want?”
“I have a proposal for the gods,” said the mason.
So the gods and goddesses gathered in the hall Gladsheim and Odin said, “Well?”
“I’ll rebuild your wall,” said the mason. “Stronger and higher than before. No one will be able to breach it. Not even the strongest, tallest frost giants. And I’ll do it in just eighteen months.” He paused.
A Sacred Transport
Picture stone of Sleipnir, from Gotland, Sweden, ninth century
In Norse culture, particularly in Iceland, horses were seen as having a dual nature: They were domesticated animals used for riding and carrying burdens, but they also were seen as a typical transport to the underworld in Norse mythology—a bridge between the world of the living and the world of the dead. Thus, they were sacred, and sometimes they were buried with their owners at funerals. This stone carving shows Sleipnir, the eight-legged horse Odin rode.
Odin recognized the significance of that pause. “Under the condition …?”
“… that Freyja becomes my wife.”
Freyja felt a bolt shoot through her. The wife of a human? Never! She was so furious, her private hall Sessrumnir shook.
Shouts of derision came from every direction.
Odin pointed past the mason. “Get out of here!”
“I want the sun and the moon, as well,” said the mason. “The three of them: Freyja, the sun, the moon. That’s all. That’ll do.”
Pandemonium broke out.
But a sharp, loud voice pierced all. “Wait a minute.” It was Loki. “Let’s think it over, at least.”
So the mason left, while the gods remained there to hash it out. Freyja wept tears of gold, for that was her habit. Others scorned Loki.
“It’s impossible to build a wall that size in eighteen months,” said Heimdall.
“My point precisely,” said Loki. “Let’s agree to his terms. At the end of eighteen months, he’ll have failed to meet his promise. We’ll owe him nothing. And we’ll have whatever part of the wall he’s managed to complete. We win, no matter what.”
No one liked the idea, but no one could fault Loki’s logic.
The mason and his horse were given six months to rebuild the wall that surrounded Asgard. That was far too little time for the enormous job. But the lovesick mason accepted the challenge.
Odin summoned the mason back. “Six months. That’s all you get. Build the wall and you get Freyja, the sun, and the moon.”
“That’s too short,” said the mason.
“Those are the terms. If it’s not complete in six months, you forfeit all.”
The mason looked at Freyja googly-eyed. He was drunk on her beauty. “Allow me the aid of my stallion, Svadilfari, and we have a deal.”
Odin objected. But Loki’s voice again rose high. “Would you turn away from the deal at this point? The horse is small help—and we need a wall.”
So the gods agreed and the mason assumed the task. He spread out a net and heaved stones onto it, slabs of enormous weight. Why, this mason’s strength rivaled that of Thor, the strongest of the gods. Then the mason harnessed this massive load to his stallion and bellowed. The horse thrust forward with all his might, stamping his hoofs into the rocky earth. He proved stronger even than his master. The two of them worked all night. At dawn, the gods and goddesses were astonished to see so many stones already hauled to the wall site. As the days and weeks and months passed, they watched the wall grow.
It was thicker, taller, better than ever.
And it was nearly finished. The mason and his stallion were a marvel, and a terror. What would the Aesir do if this builder succeeded? How could they exist without the light and heat of the sun, the comfort of the moon? And poor Freyja, wed to a brute? She stood in a rising puddle of gold tears and chewed at her wrists. It was all too awful.
Odin called a meeting. Everyone railed at Loki.
But Loki had the solution, of course. He’d make sure the mason didn’t finish. One way or another.
To Loki it was clear that the stallion was the answer. Without that horse, the mason could carry at most one boulder up the hillside at a time.
That evening, as the mason led Svadilfari back down to the quarry, a mare stepped forward from the thicket beside the path. Her neck was long and sleek, her mane seemed to float around her, her tail was a stream of stars. She kicked up her heels. Her flanks shimmered.
The stallion simmered.
Off they galloped, him behind her. The mason called after his horse. He shouted till his throat was raw. He cursed.
Svadilfari didn’t give a backward glance.
In the morning, when the stallion finally returned, the mason realized that one lost night of work had cost him the whole deal. Anger smoldered within until it burst forth and the mason changed into who he really was—a huge rock giant. The gods and goddesses now lost their tempers; no one could come before them disguised and hope to get away with it, especially not a giant. It was outrageous! Thor hit the giant in the head with his hammer, Mjolnir. The giant’s skull shattered, and he immediately found himself in Niflheim. Several months later, Loki, who hadn’t been seen in all that time, returned to Asgard. With a colt at his heels, a colt who had eight legs. Loki had been that alluring mare, and with Svadilfari, he had made the magnificent colt Sleipnir. So Loki was actually the colt’s mother.
Odin was smitten with the colt immediately. And what was Loki going to do with a colt, after all? He’d been a dreadful father, and he certainly had no desire to be a mother. So Loki gave Sleipnir to Odin.
Loki shape-shifted into a beautiful mare and lured the mason’s stallion away so that the mason would not be able to finish the wall in the allotted time. The mason, who was really a rock giant, burst with anger.
Heimdall, with his horn, Gjallarhorn, rode his golden-maned horse through the countryside of Midgard. He fathered three sons, each one the progenitor of a whole group of people: the slaves, the peasants, and the rich and royal.
HEIMDALL’S MANY CHILDREN
Remember Heimdall? The mason who came to barter his services in rebuilding the wall around Asgard had to pass by Heimdall before he could talk with the council of the gods. That’s because Heimdall guarded entry into the Aesir world. He lived on the cliff Himinbjorg at one end of the flaming rainbow bridge, Bifrost, and he always stayed alert for invaders. Heimdall was a perfect pick as guard for three reasons. His eyesight was so keen he could see across vast distances whether day or night. His hearing was so acute that he could hear grass grow. And he needed even less sleep than a bird.
Heimdall was Odin’s son, and his mothers—yes, mothers, for he had nine of them—were giantess sisters, as inseparable as sea waves. How this god came into being is a mystery, but there’s no question that he was a most astonishing figure. Odin had teeth that could gnaw through stone, true, but Heimdall’s teeth were pure gold. Frey rode the golden-bristled boar, Gullinbursti, true, but Heimdall’s horse, Gulltopp, had a gold mane. Thor was huge and red-bearded, true, but Heimdall’s skin shone white, like the noon sun.
Heimdall owned the horn Gjallarhorn, which he used for both drinking and sounding. He dipped Gjallarhorn into the well Mimisbrunn, which Mimir guarded, and thus drank himself into wisdom. But he also blew Gjallarhorn to summon gods to a meeting or to warn them of the approach of enemies. It would be Heimdall’s job to blow Gjallarhorn to announce the battle of Ragnarok. In that battle, he was fated to fight Loki to the death—both their deaths.
So Heimdall was important to the gods. But he was even more important to other creatures.
One spring day, Heimdall strode across Bifrost all the way to the edge of the deepest sea that surrounded Midgard. He found a rickety hut there and gave the door a firm knock. The door swung open to reveal a smoky, stinky room. An old couple peered squinty-eyed at Heim
dall and then welcomed him warily. They were Ai the Great Grandpa and Edda the Great Grandma. Their clothes were threadbare, their walls crumbly. Now, Heimdall was accomplished in the ways of the world and he knew how to put others at ease. He spoke with the old couple as though he’d been friends with them all his life, and before long they urged him to sit closer to the fire, to warm his hands. In no time at all, they were sharing their meager broth with him. And soon enough all three went to sleep in the same bed with Heimdall in the middle.
Slave Trade
Frightful Viking ship prow
Heimdall walks across the land visiting people, but the Vikings mostly traveled to other lands in boats, often with frightening prows. Sometimes they stole people, often children and women. They took slaves when they plundered towns and monasteries for gold and silver and they snatched slaves at random from coasts. Scientists have found that around 20 to 25 percent of the males who founded Iceland were of Gaelic ancestry. This tells us that many Vikings raided Ireland and Scotland for wives.
Heimdall stayed with Ai and Edda three nights, and then he continued on his travels. But he had left behind something; deep inside Edda was a tiny baby boy, Heimdall’s son. When he was born nine months later, his mother called him Thraell the Servant.
Thraell was not the most handsome fellow around; in fact, he had a goonish look, with a misshapen back and lumpy, clumpy hands. Anyone who watched him, though, soon appreciated him, for he was strong and hard-working. One day the girl Thir the Drudge came along. From the sound of her name alone, you might guess she wasn’t pretty, and you’d be right. Her face was pushed in flat, her teeth were stained brown, and her legs were bowed like matching crescent moons. Thraell instantly fell in love with her. They had many ugly sons to whom they gave yucky names, like Kleggi the Horsefly and Fulnir the Stinker. And they had many equally ugly daughters to whom they gave equally yucky names, like Kumba the Stupid and Okkvainkalfa of the Fat Legs. But names and looks aside, these were good people. They worked the land and took care of the animals. From them came the people known as thralls—the people who worked as slaves or servants for all others.
Meanwhile, Heimdall had gone on his way and stopped at a farm. He swung his huge fist against the farmhouse door and then entered. An old couple sat by a fire. They were Afi the Grandpa and Amma the Grandma. On Afi’s lap was a piece of wood he was carving into a weaver’s beam. Beside Amma was a distaff of flax, from which she spun thread. Their walls were in good repair; their clothes and hair were clean and trim. The old people welcomed Heimdall drily and kept about their work. You know Heimdall, though—he talked about this and that in the most familiar way and soon he was the one sitting closest to the fire and he was the one getting the thickest chunk of rye bread with the biggest glob of butter on it for dinner. After the meal all three went to bed together, with Heimdall in the middle.
Heimdall visited a poor family, and had a son with the woman Edda. The boy’s name was Thraell, and he loved to take care of the animals and plow the fields. His progeny became the servants who worked for other people.
Heimdall visited another family and had a son with the woman Amma. The boy’s name was Karl, and he was good at building huts and barns. His progeny became the free peasants, who did whatever work the servants and slaves didn’t do.
Heimdall stayed three nights and three days and then continued his journey. Again, he left behind something: another tiny son, deep inside Amma. When the red-faced babe was born, Amma named him Karl the Free Man. He was stronger than others, and learned skills quickly. He dug the most durable foundations for buildings, erected sturdy huts and barns, and laid thick turfed roofs at just the right pitch. He plowed the land with the help of oxen that he goaded expertly.
When Karl reached manhood, his parents found him a wife called Snor. Keys and little tools, like an awl and a scoop for ear wax, jangled from her waist. Snor used them diligently. She and Karl suited each other, and soon they had a passel of children who were just as neat and diligent as they were and had names to reflect it: One son was Dreng the Strong, another was Smid the Craftsman; one daughter was Brud the Bride, another was Svarri the Proud. From them came the people known as peasants—the people who were free and did most of the work that the thralls didn’t do.
Heimdall continued his journey and next met Modir the Mother and Fadir the Father, and you know what happened next: Nine months later Modir gave birth to Jarl the Earl, who was the first in a long line of warriors. In this manner Heimdall gave rise to people of all ranks of society everywhere he went, including the people who became rulers. The kings of Denmark are descended from the god Heimdall himself.
Yes, indeed, Heimdall was important. Majorly.
Freyja was a Vanir, but she was traded to the Aesir. She loved her Aesir husband, Od. When he disappeared, she searched the cosmos for him, sometimes flying, sometimes on the back of her boar, and sometimes in her chariot pulled by two cats.
FREYJA’S SHAME
There was no shortage of beauties among the goddesses, which was good because the deities of this cosmos cared a great deal about looks. A notable beauty was Thor’s wife, Sif, the one of the yellow hair that Loki cut off and who now wore an even more amazing golden wig. But more stunning than Sif by far was the magician Freyja. She had come to the Aesir as a kind of peace offering after their war with the Vanir, a tenuous position at best and a lonely one, at least at the start. As fortune had it, she fell in love with Od, and they had two daughters together, Hnoss and Gersemi. So this new life seemed to be working out for her.
Od, however, was a wanderer; one day he simply left Freyja alone. Her hands reached out toward emptiness, her core shook with need. She understood nothing of why he left, where he went. So she wrapped herself well in her cloak of falcon feathers and followed after him. Where? Where? Her tears fell copiously, transforming rock to red-gold puddles wherever she flew.
Life would have been a constant state of mourning if it weren’t for Freyja’s lovely daughters. They were her treasures. Just gazing at them soothed her. Soon she found all she wanted to do was gaze at beautiful things. She loved gold, especially. Freyja rode in a chariot pulled by two cats or she climbed on the back of her boar, Hildisvini, or she flew in her falcon-feather cloak, always on the lookout for beautiful objects to calm the ache inside that never fully left her.
The Woes of Beauty
Mural of Xochiquetzal, Palacio Nacional, Mexico City
Like Freyja, the women in mythologies around the world often find that trouble comes with beauty. The stunning Aztec goddess Xochiquetzal had a twin sister, Xochipilli, who was kidnapped from her husband and forced to marry another … and another … and another. In various voodoo traditions, the spirit of love, Erzulie Fréda Dahomey, is stunning, but angry and disappointed. She wants all men to love her, and that makes her see all women as rivals. The beautiful goddess in a happy marriage is hard to find.
One night just a little before dawn, Freyja put on her best dress and most elegant brooches. But she didn’t call for her chariot or summon her boar or fly in her feathered cloak. Instead, she walked out of Sessrumnir, her hall, and crossed the bridge Bifrost.
Loki happened to be up and about. He jerked to attention as the goddess passed. Where was she going at that hour? Dressed like that? On foot? Here might be an opportunity for making trouble; he followed her.
Winter blanketed Midgard with snow and ice. Now frozen tears dropped with a clink from Freyja’s eyes, turning red-gold the grit under her foot. Daylight was brief, but she reached an area of boulders and took a path around them down into a cave. Freyja stood still in the dank air and listened closely. Water dripped from the cave ceiling. A little steam rushed over rocks. And there, yes, thud. Thud, thud. The muffled blows of a hammer. That’s what she had come for. That’s what drove her now to move through the cavern down even deeper into the earth, pulled toward that sound.
Freyja went down into the cave that was the smithy of Alfrigg, Dvalinn, Berling, and Gr
er. She saw the stunning gold necklace they were making and she decided she would have it, no matter what.
The air grew hot, so heavy and hot, the goddess was bathed in sweat. In front of her were four dwarfs pounding away in their smithy—Alfrigg, Dvalinn, Berling, and Grer. They were working on a gold necklace. As Freyja fixed her eyes on it, the metal twisted and writhed like her own heart. It called to her. She needed it.
The four dwarfs for their part gaped at this remarkable goddess. Never had they even dreamed of a vision so alluring.
“Sell me that necklace.” Freyja smiled and her teeth lit up the dank smithy. “Name your price.”
“It’s called Brisingamen,” said a dwarf. “And it’s not for sale.”
You see, the dwarfs, like Loki, didn’t fail to recognize an opportunity. They held their faces motionless, their beady eyes unblinking, and they bartered: the necklace in exchange for Freyja taking each of them as her husband for one night. It was a hateful bargain. But Freyja had no husband now, and Brisingamen could bring her solace … joy even. With a dead heart, she made the deal.
Loki waited outside the cave the whole time. Finally Freyja emerged wearing the necklace Brisingamen. Its brilliance nearly blinded the evil one. Loki instantly realized what had happened in those four nights. He lost no time going to Odin, the one-eyed Allfather, and telling all. Odin knew that Loki was a vile liar, of course. Everyone knew that. Still, the words disturbed him. The gods all noticed Freyja’s beauty, no exceptions—not Odin, not even her twin brother, Frey. That those abominable dwarfs should have enjoyed her as their wife made Odin furious with envy. He demanded Loki bring him this dazzling necklace.
Treasury of Norse Mythology Page 4