The Story of Sigurd the Volsung Part 13

Then he casteth the reins to his brother, and Gunnar praiseth his gift, And springeth aloft to the saddle as the fair sun fails from the lift; And Sigurd looks on the burden that Greyfell doth uprear, The huge king towering upward in the dusky Niblung gear: There sits the eager Gunnar, and his heart desires the deed, And of nought he recketh and thinketh, but a fame-stirred warrior's need; But Greyfell trembleth nothing and nought of the fire doth reck: Then the spurs in his flank are smitten, and the reins lie loose on his neck, And the sharp cry springeth from Gunnar--no handbreadth stirred the beast; The dusk drew on and over and the light of the fire increased, And still as a shard on the mountain in the sandy dale alone Was the shape of the cloudy Greyfell, nor moved he more than the stone; But right through the heart of the fire for ever Sigurd stared, As he stood in the gold red-litten with the Wrath's thin edges bared.

No word for a while spake any, till Gunnar leaped to the earth, And the anger wrought within him, and the fierce words came to birth: "Who mocketh the King of the Niblungs in the desert land forlorn?

Is it thou, O Sigurd the Stranger? is it thou, O younger-born?

Dost thou laugh in the hall, O Mother? dost thou spin, and laugh at the tale That has drawn thy son and thine eldest to the sword and the blaze of the bale?

Or thou, O G.o.d of the Goths, wilt thou hide and laugh thy fill, While the hands of the foster-brethren the blood of brothers spill?"

But the awful voice of Sigurd across the wild went forth: "How changed are the words of Gunnar! where wend his ways of worth?

I mock thee not in the desert, as I mocked thee not in the mead, When I swore beneath the turf-yoke to help thy fondest need: Nay, strengthen thine heart for the work, for the gift that thy manhood awaits; For I give thee a gift, O Niblung, that shall overload the Fates, And how may a King sustain it? but forbear with the dark to strive; For thy mother spinneth and worketh, and her craft is awake and alive."

Then Hogni spake from the saddle: "The time, and the time is come To gather the might of our mother, and of her that spinneth at home.

Forbear all words, O Gunnar, and anigh to Sigurd stand, And face to face behold him, and take his hand in thine hand: Then be thy will as his will, that his heart may mingle with thine, And the love that he sware 'neath the earth-yoke with thine hope may intertwine."

Then the wrath from the Niblung slippeth and the shame that anger hath bred, And the heavy wings of the dreamtide flit over Gunnar's head: But he doth by his brother's bidding, and Sigurd's hand he takes, And he looks in the eyes of the Volsung, though scarce in the desert he wakes.

There Hogni sits in the saddle aloof from the King's desire, And little his lips are moving, as he stares on the rolling fire, And mutters the spells of his mother, and the words she bade him say: But the craft of the kings of aforetime on those Kings of the battle lay; Dark night was spread behind them, and the fire flared up before, And unheard was the wind of the wasteland mid the white flame's wavering roar.

Long Sigurd gazeth on Gunnar, till he sees, as through a cloud, The long black locks of the Niblung, and the King's face set and proud: Then the face is alone on the dark, and the dusky Niblung mail Is nought but the night before him: then whiles will the visage fail, And grow again as he gazeth, black hair and gleaming eyes, And fade again into nothing, as for more of vision he tries: Then all is nought but the night, yea the waste of an emptier thing, And the fire-wall Sigurd forgetteth, nor feeleth the hand of the King: Nay, what is it now he remembereth? it is nought that aforetime he knew, And no world is there left him to live in, and no deed to rejoice in or rue; But frail and alone he fareth, and as one in the sphere-stream's drift, By the starless empty places that lie beyond the lift: Then at last is he stayed in his drifting, and he saith, It is blind and dark; Yet he feeleth the earth at his feet, and there cometh a change and a spark, And away in an instant of time is the mirk of the dreamland rolled, And there is the fire-lit midnight, and before him an image of gold, A man in the raiment of G.o.ds, nor fashioned worser than they: Full sad he gazeth on Sigurd from the great wide eyes and grey; And the Helm that Aweth the people is set on the golden hair, And the Mail of Gold enwraps him, and the Wrath in his hand is bare.

Then Sigurd looks on his arm and his hand in his brother's hand, And thereon is the dark grey mail-gear well forged in the southern land; Then he looks on the sword that he beareth, and, lo, the eager blade That leaps in the hand of Gunnar when the kings are waxen afraid; And he turns his face o'er his shoulder, and the raven-locks hang down From the dark-blue helm of the Dwarf-folk, and the rings of the Niblung crown.

Then a red flush riseth against him in the face ne'er seen before, Save dimly in the mirror or the burnished targe of war, And the foster-brethren sunder, and the clasped hands fall apart; But a change cometh over Sigurd, and the fierce pride leaps in his heart; He knoweth the soul of Gunnar, and the shaping of his mind; He seeketh the words of Sigurd, and Gunnar's voice doth he find, As he cries: "I know thy bidding; let the world be lief or loth, The child is unborn that shall hearken how Sigurd rued his oath!

Well fare thou brother Gunnar! what deed shall I do this eve That I shall never repent of, that thine heart shall never grieve?

What deed shall I do this even that none else may bring to the birth, Nay, not the King of the Niblungs, and the lord of the best of the earth?"

The flames rolled up to the heavens, and the stars behind were bright, Dark Hogni sat on his war-steed, and stared out into the night, And there stood Gunnar the King in Sigurd's semblance wrapped, --As Sigurd walking in slumber, for in Grimhild's guile was he lapped, That his heart forgat his glory, and the ways of Odin's lords, And the thought was frozen within him, and the might of spoken words.

But Sigurd leapeth on Greyfell, and the sword in his hand is bare, And the gold spurs flame on his heels, and the fire-blast lifteth his hair; Forth Greyfell bounds rejoicing, and they see the grey wax red, As unheard the war-gear clasheth, and the flames meet over his head, Yet a while they see him riding, as through the rye men ride, When the word goes forth in the summer of the kings by the ocean-side; But the fires were slaked before him and the wild-fire burned no more Than the ford of the summer waters when the rainy time is o'er.

Not once turned Sigurd aback, nor looked o'er the ashy ring, To the midnight wilderness drear and the spell-drenched Niblung King: But he stayed and looked before him, and lo, a house high-built With its roof of the red gold beaten, and its wall-stones over-gilt: So he leapt adown from Greyfell, and came to that fair abode, And dark in the gear of the Niblungs through the gleaming door he strode: All light within was that dwelling, and a marvellous hall it was, But of gold were its hangings woven, and its pillars gleaming as gla.s.s, And Sigurd said in his heart, it was wrought erewhile for a G.o.d: But he looked athwart and endlong as alone its floor he trod, And lo, on the height of the dais is upreared a graven throne, And thereon a woman sitting in the golden place alone; Her face is fair and awful, and a gold crown girdeth her head; And a sword of the kings she beareth, and her sun-bright hair is shed O'er the laps of the snow-white linen that ripples adown to her feet: As a swan on the billow unbroken ere the firth and the ocean meet, On the dark-blue cloths she sitteth, in the height of the golden place, Nor breaketh the hush of the hall, though her eyes be set on his face.

Now he sees this is even the woman of whom the tale hath been told, E'en she that was wrought for the Niblungs, the bride ordained from of old, And hushed in the hall he standeth, and a long while looks in her eyes, And the word he hath shapen for Gunnar to his lips may never arise.

The man in Gunnar's semblance looked long and knew no deed; And she looked, and her eyes were dreadful, and none would help her need.

Then the image of Gunnar trembled, and the flesh of the War-King shrank; For he heard her voice on the silence, and his heart of her anguish drank:

"King, King, who art thou that comest, thou lord of the cloudy gear?

What deed for the weary-hearted shall thy strange hands fashion here?"

The speech of her lips pierced through him like the point of the bitter sword, And he deemed that death were better than another spoken word; But he clencheth his hand on the war-blade, and setteth his face as the bra.s.s, And the voice of his brother Gunnar from out his lips doth pa.s.s: "When thou lookest on me, O G.o.ddess, thou seest Gunnar the King, The King and the lord of the Niblungs, and the chief of their warfaring.

But art thou indeed that Brynhild of whom is the rumour and fame, That she bideth the coming of kings to ride her Wavering Flame, Lest she wed the little-hearted, and the world grow evil and vile?

For if thou be none other I will speak again in a while."

She said: "Art thou Gunnar the Stranger! O art thou the man that I see?

Yea, verily I am Brynhild; what other is like unto me?

O men of the Earth behold me! hast thou seen, O labouring Earth, Such sorrow as my sorrow, or such evil as my birth?"

Then spake the Wildfire's Trampler that Gunnar's image bore: "O Brynhild, mighty of women, be thou glorious evermore!

Thou seest Gunnar the Niblung, as he sits mid the Niblung lords, And rides with the G.o.ds of battle in the fore-front of the swords."

Hard rang his voice in the hall, and a while she spake no word, And there stood the Image of Gunnar, and leaned on his bright blue sword: But at last she cried from the high-seat: "If I yet am alive and awake, I know no words for the speaking, nor what answer I may make."

She ceased and he answered nothing; and a hush on the hall there lay And the moon slipped over the windows as he clomb the heavenly way; And no whit stirred the raiment of Brynhild: till she hearkened the Wooer's voice, As he said: "Thou art none of the women that swear and forswear and rejoice, Forgetting the sorrow of kings and the G.o.ds and the labouring earth.

Thou shall wed with King Gunnar the Niblung and increase his worth with thy worth."

So spake he in semblance of Gunnar, and from off his hand he drew A ring of the spoils of the Southland, a marvel seen but of few, And he set the ring on her finger, and she turned to her lord and spake: "I thank thee, King, for thy goodwill, and thy pledge of love I take.

Depart with my troth to thy people: but ere full ten days are o'er I shall come to the Sons of the Niblungs, and then shall we part no more Till the day of the change of our life-days, when Odin and Freyia shall call.

Lo, here, my gift of the morning! 'twas my dearest treasure of all; But thou art become its master, and for thee was it fore-ordained, Since thou art the man of mine oath and the best that the earth hath gained."

And lo, 'twas the Grief of Andvari, and the lack that made him loth, The last of the G.o.d-folk's ransom, the Ring of Hindfell's oath; Now on Sigurd's hand it shineth, and long he looketh thereon, But it gave him back no memories of the days that were bygone.

So forth from the hall goes the Wooer, and slow and slow he goes, As a conquered king from his city fares forth to meet his foes; And he taketh the reins of Greyfell, nor yet will back him there, But afoot through the cold slaked ashes of yester-eve doth fare, With his eyes cast down to the earth; till he heareth the wind, and a cry, And raiseth a face brow-knitted and beholdeth men anigh, And beholdeth Hogni the King set grey on his coal-black steed, And beholdeth the image of Sigurd, the King in the golden weed: Then he stayeth and stareth astonished and setteth his hand to his sword; Till Hogni cries from his saddle, and his word is a kindly word:

"Hail, brother, the King of the people! hail, helper of my kin!

Again from the death and the trouble great gifts hast thou set thee to win For thy friends and the Niblung children, and hast crowned thine earthly fame, And increased thine exceeding glory and the sound of thy loved name."

Nought Sigurd spake in answer but looked straight forth with a frown, And stretched out his hand to Gunnar, as one that claimeth his own.

Then no word speaketh Gunnar, but taketh his hand in his hand, And they look in the eyes of each other, and a while in the desert they stand Till the might of Grimhild prevaileth, and the twain are as yester-morn; But sad was the golden Sigurd, though his eyes knew nought of scorn; And he spake: "It is finished, O Gunnar! and I will that our brotherhood May endure through the good and the evil as it sprang in the days of the good: But I bid thee look to the ending, that the deed I did yest'reve Bear nought for me to repent of, for thine heart of hearts to grieve.

Thou art troth-plight, O King of the Niblungs, to Brynhild Queen of the earth, She hath sworn thine heart to cherish and increase thy worth with her worth: She shall come to the house of Gunnar ere ten days are past and o'er; And thenceforth the life of Brynhild shall part from thy life no more, Till the doom of our kind shall speed you, and Odin and Freyia shall call, And ye bide the Day of the Battle, and the uttermost changing of all."

The praise and thanks they gave him! the words of love they spake!

The tale that the world should hear of, deeds done for Sigurd's sake!

They were lovely might you hear them: but they lack; for in very deed Their sound was clean forgotten in the day of Sigurd's need.

So that night in the hall of the ancient they hold high-tide again, And the G.o.ds on the Southland hangings smile out full fair and fain, And the song goes up of Sigurd, and the praise of his fame fulfilled, But his speech in the dead sleep lieth, and the words of his wisdom are chilled: And men say, the King is careful, for he thinks of the people's weal, And his heart is afraid for our trouble, lest the G.o.ds our joyance steal.

But that night, when the feast was over, to Gudrun Sigurd came, And she noted the ring on his finger, and she knew it was nowise the same As the ring he was wont to carry; so she bade him tell thereof: Then he turned unto her kindly, and his words were words of love; Nor his life nor his death he heeded, but told her last night's tale: Yea, he drew forth the sword for his slaying, and whetted the edges of bale; For he took that Gold of Andvari, that Curse of the uttermost land, And he spake as a king that loveth, and set it on her hand; But her heart was exceeding joyous, as he kissed her sweet and soft, And bade her bear it for ever, that she might remember him oft When his hand from the world was departed and he sat in Odin's home.

_How Brynhild was wedded to Gunnar the Niblung._

So ten days wore over, and on the morrow-morn the folk were all astir in the Niblung house, till the watchers on the towers cried to them tidings of a goodly company drawing nigh upon the road. Then the Niblungs got them to horse in glittering-gay raiment and went forth to meet the people of Brynhild.

First rode bands of maidens arrayed in fine linen and blue-broidered cloaks, and after them came a golden wain with horses of snowy white and bench-cloths of blue, and therein sat Brynhild alone, clad in swan-white raiment and crowned with gold. Then they hailed her sweet and goodly, and so she entered the darksome gate-way and came within the Niblung Burg.

So fair in the sun of the forecourt doth Brynhild's wain shine bright, And the huge hall riseth before her, and the ernes cry out from its height, And there by the door of the Niblungs she sees huge warriors stand, Dark-clad, by the shoulders greater than the best of any land, And she knoweth the chiefs of the Niblungs, the dreaded dukes of war: But one in cloudy raiment stands a very midst the door, And ruddy and bright is his visage, and his black locks wave in the wind, And she knoweth the King of the Niblungs and the man she came to find: Then nought she lingered nor loitered, but stepped to the earth adown With right-hand reached to the War-G.o.d, the wearer of the crown; And she said: "I behold thee, Gunnar, the King of War that rode Through the waves of the Flickering Fire to the door of mine abode,

"And for this I needs must deem thee the best of all men born, The highest-hearted, the greatest, the staunchest of thy love: And that such the world yet holdeth, my heart is fain thereof: And for thee I deem was I fashioned, and for thee the oath I swore In the days of my glory and wisdom, ere the days of youth were o'er.

"May the fire ne'er stay thy glory, nor the ocean-flood thy fame!