The Story of Sigurd the Volsung and the Fall of the Niblungs Part 38

I, who whetted the sword for Sigurd, and bared the blade in the morn, And smote ere the sun's uprising, and left my sister forlorn: 'Yea I lied,' quoth the G.o.d-loved Singer, 'when the will of the G.o.ds I told!'

--Stretch forth thine hand, O Mighty, and take thy Treasure of Gold!"

Then was Atli silent a little, for anger dulled his thought, And the heaped-up wealth of the Eastland seemed an idle thing and nought: He turned and looked upon Gudrun as one who was fain to beseech, But he saw her eyes that beheld not, and her lips that knew no speech, And fear shot across his anger, and guile with his wrath was blent, And he spake aloud to the war-lords: "O ye, shall the eve be spent, Nor behold the East rejoicing? what a mock for the G.o.ds is this, That men ever care for the morrow, nor nurse their toil-won bliss!

Lo now, this hour I speak in is the first of the seven-days' feast, And the spring of our exultation o'er the glory of the East: Draw nigh, O wise, O mighty, and gather words to praise The hope of the King accomplished in the harvest of his days: Bear forth this slave of the Niblungs to the pit and the chamber of death, That he hearken the council of night, and the rede that tomorrow saith, And think of the might of King Atli, and his hand that taketh his own, Though the hill-fox bark at his going, and his path with the bramble be grown."

So they led the Niblung away from the light and the joy of the feast, In the chamber of death they cast him, and the pit of the Lord of the East: And thralls were the high King's warders; yet sons of the wise withal Came down to sit with Hogni in the doomed man's darkling hall; For they looked in his face and feared, lest Atli smite too nigh The kin of the G.o.ds of Heaven, and more than a man's child die.

But 'neath the golden roof-sun, at beginning of the night, Is the seven-days' feast of triumph in the hall of Atli dight; And his living Earls come thither in peaceful gold attire, And the cups on the East-King's tables shine out as a river of fire, And sweet is the song of the harp-strings, and the singers' honeyed words; While wide through all the city do wives bewail their lords, And curse the untimely hour and the day of the land forlorn, And the year that the Earth shall rue of, and children never born.

But Atli spake to his thrall-folk, and they went, and were little afraid To take the glorious Gunnar, and the King in shackles laid: They deemed they should live for ever, and eat and sleep as the swine, To them were the tales of the singers no token and no sign; For the blossom of the Niblungs they rolled amid the dust, That well-renowned Gunnar 'neath Atli's chair they thrust; The feet of the Eastland liar on Gunnar's neck are set, And by Atli Gudrun sitteth, and nought she stirreth yet.

Outbrake the glee of the dastards, and they that had not dared To meet the swords of the Niblungs, no whit the G.o.d-folk feared: They forgat that the Norns were awake, and they praised the master of guile The war-spent conquering Atli and the face without a smile; And the tumult of their triumph and the wordless mingled roar Went forth from that hall of the Eastlands and smote the heavenly floor.

At last spake Atli the mighty: "Stand up, thou war-won thrall, Whom they that were once the Niblungs did once King Gunnar call!"

From the dust they dragged up Gunnar, and set him on his feet, And the heart within him was living and the pride for a war-king meet; And his glory was nothing abated, and fair he seemed and young, As the first of the Cloudy Kings, fresh shoot from the sower sprung.

But Atli looked upon him, and a smile smoothed out his brow As he said: "What thoughtest thou, Gunnar, when thou layst in the dust e'en now?"

He said: "Of Valhall I thought, and the host of my fathers' land, And of Hogni that thou hast slaughtered, and my brother Sigurd's hand."

Said Atli: "Think of thy life, and the days that shall be yet, And thyself, maybe, as aforetime, in the throne of thy father set."

"O Eastland liar," said Gunnar, "no more will I live and rue."

Said Atli: "The word I have spoken, thy word may yet make true."

"I weary of speech," said the Niblung, "with those that are lesser than I."

"Yet words of mine shalt thou hearken," said Atli, "or ever thou die."

"So crieth the fool," said Gunnar, "on the G.o.d that his folly hath slain."

Said Atli: "Forth shall my word, nor yet shall be gathered again."

"Yet meeter were thy silence; for thy folk make ready to sing."

"O Gunnar, I long for the Gold with the heart and the will of a king."

"This were good to tell," said Gunnar, "to the G.o.ds that fashioned the earth!"

"Make me glad with the Gold," said Atli, "live on in honour and worth!"

With a dreadful voice cried Gunnar: "O fool, hast thou heard it told Who won the Treasure aforetime and the ruddy rings of the Gold?

It was Sigurd, child of the Volsungs, the best sprung forth from the best: He rode from the North and the mountains and became my summer-guest.

My friend and my brother sworn: he rode the Wavering Fire And won me the Queen of Glory and accomplished my desire; The praise of the world he was, the hope of the biders in wrong, The help of the lowly people, the hammer of the strong: Ah, oft in the world henceforward shall the tale be told of the deed, And I, e'en I, will tell it in the day of the Niblungs' Need: For I sat night-long in my armour, and when light was wide o'er the land I slaughtered Sigurd my brother, and looked on the work of mine hand.

And now, O mighty Atli, I have seen the Niblungs' wreck, And the feet of the faint-heart dastard have trodden Gunnar's neck; And if all be little enough, and the G.o.ds begrudge me rest, Let me see the heart of Hogni cut quick from his living breast, And laid, on the dish before me: and then shall I tell of the Gold, And become thy servant, Atli, and my life at thy pleasure hold.

O goodly story of Gunnar, and the King of the broken troth In the heavy Need of the Niblungs, and the Sorrow of Odin the Goth!"

Grim then waxed Atli bemocked, yet he pondered a little while, For yet with his bitter anger strove the hope of his greedy guile, And as one who falleth a-dreaming he hearkened Gunnar's word, While his eyes beheld that Treasure, and the rings of the Ancient h.o.a.rd.

But he spake low-voiced to his sword-carles, and they heard and understood, And departed swift from the feast-hall to do the work he would.

To the chamber of death they gat them, to the pit they went adown, And saw the wise men sitting round the war-king of renown: Then they spake: "We are Atli's bondmen, and Atli's doom we bring: We shall carve the heart from thy body, and thou living yet, O King."

Then Hogni laughed, for they feared him; and he said: "Speed ye the work!

For fain would I look on the storehouse where such marvels used to lurk, And the forge of fond desires, and the nurse of life that fails.

Take heed now! deeds are doing for the fashioners of tales."

But they feared as they looked on the Niblung, and the wise men hearkened and spake, And bade them abide for a season, yea even for Atli's sake, For the night-slaying is as the murder; and they looked on each other and feared, For Atli's bitter whisper their very hearts had heard: Then they said: "The King makes merry, as a well the white wine springs, And the red wine runs as a river; and what are the hearts of kings, That men may know them naked from the hearts of bond and thrall?

Nor go we empty-handed to King Atli in his hall."

So the sword-carles spake to each other, and they looked and a man they saw, Who should hew the wood if he lived, and for thralls the water should draw, A thrall-born servant of servants, begetter of thralls on the earth: And they said: "If this one were away, scarce greater were waxen the dearth That this morning hath wrought on the Eastland; for the years shall eke out his woe, And no day his toil shall lessen, and worse and worse shall he grow."

They drew the steel new-whetted, on the thrall they laid the hand; For they said: "All hearts be fashioned as the heart of the King of the land."

But the thrall was bewildered with anguish, and wept and bewailed him sore For the loss of his life of labour, and the grief that long he bore.

But wroth was the son of Giuki and he spake: "It is idle and vain, And two men for one shall perish, and the knife shall be whetted again.

It is better to die than be sorry, and to hear the trembling cry, And to see the shame of the poor: O fools, must the lowly die Because kings strove with swords? I bid you to hasten the end, For my soul is sick with confusion, and fain on the way would I wend."

But the life of the thrall is over, and his fearful heart they set On a fair wide golden platter, and bear it ruddy wet To the throne of the triumphing East-King; he looketh, and feareth withal Lest the house should fail about him and the golden roof should fall: But Gunnar laughed beside him, and spake o'er the laden gold:

"O heart of a feeble trembler, no heart of Hogni the bold!

A gold dish bears thee quaking, yet indeed thou quakedst more When the breast of the helpless dastard the burden of thee bore."

The great hall was smitten silent and its mirth to fear was turned, For the wrath of the King was kindled, and the eyes of Atli burned, And he cried as they trembled before him: "Let me see the heart of my foe!

Fear ye to mock King Atli till his head in the dust be alow!"

Then the sword-carles flee before him, and are angry with their dread, For they fear the living East-King yet more than the Niblung dead: They come to the pit and the death-house, and the whetted steel they bear; They are pale before King Hogni; as winter-wolves they glare Whom the ravening hunger driveth, when the chapmen journey slow, And their horses faint in the moon-dusk, and stumble through the snow.

But Hogni laughed before them, and he saith: "Now welcome again, Now welcome again, war-fellows! Was Atli hood-winked then?

I looked that ye should be speedy; and, forsooth, ye needs must haste, Lest more lives than one this even for Atli's will ye waste."

About him throng the sword-men, and they shout as the war-fain cry In the heart of the bitter battle when their hour is come to die, And they cast themselves upon him, as on some wide-shielded man That fierce in the storm of Odin upreareth edges wan.

With the bound man swift is the steel: sore tremble the sons of the wise, And their hearts grow faint within them; yet no man hideth his eyes As the edges deal with the mighty: nor dreadful is he now, For the mock from his mouth hath faded, and the threat hath failed from his brow, And his face is as great and G.o.dlike as his fathers of old days, As fair as an image fashioned in remembrance of their praise: But fled is the spirit of Hogni, and every deed he did, The seed of the world it lieth, in the hand of Odin hid.

On the gold is the heart of Hogni, and men bear it forth to the King, As he sits in the hall of his triumph mid the glee and the harp-playing: Lo, the heart of a son of Giuki! and Gunnar liveth yet, And the white unangry Gudrun by the Eastland King is set: Upriseth the soul of Atli, and his breast is swollen with pride, And he laughs in the face of Gunnar and the woman set by his side: Then he looks on his living earls, and they cast their cry to the roof, And it clangs o'er the woeful city and wails through the night aloof; All the world of man-folk hearkeneth, and hath little joy therein, Though the men of the East in glory high-tide with Atli win.

But fair is the face of Gunnar as the token draweth anigh; And he saith: "O heart of Hogni, on the gold indeed dost thou lie, And as little as there thou quakest far less wert thou wont to quake When thou lay'st in the breast of the mighty, and wert glad for his gladness' sake, And wert sorry with his sorrow; O mighty heart, farewell!

Farewell for a little season, till thy latest deed I tell."

Then was Gunnar silent a little, and the shout in the hall had died, And he spoke as a man awakening, and turned on Atli's pride.

"Thou all-rich King of the Eastlands, e'en such a man might I be That I might utter a word, and the heart should be glad in thee, And I should live and be sorry; for I, I only am left To tell of the ransom of Odin, and the wealth from the toiler reft.

Lo, once it lay in the water, hid, deep adown it lay, Till the G.o.ds were grieved and lacking, and men saw it and the day: Let it lie in the water once more, let the G.o.ds be rich and in peace!

But I at least in the world from the words and the babble shall cease."

So he spake and Atli beheld him, and before his eyes he shrank: Still deep of the cup of desire the mighty Atli drank, And to overcome seemed little if the Gold he might not have, And his hard heart craved for a while to hold the King for a slave, A bondman blind and guarded in his glorious house and great: But he thought of the overbold, and of kings who have dallied with fate, And died bemocked and smitten; and he deemed it worser than well While the last of the sons of Giuki hangeth back from his journey to h.e.l.l: So he turneth away from the stranger, and beholdeth Gudrun his wife, Not glad nor sorry by seeming, no stirrer nor stayer of strife: Then he looked at his living earl-folk, and thought of his groves of war, And his realm and the kindred nations, and his measureless guarded store: And he thought: Shall Atli perish, shall his name be cast to the dead, Though the feeble folk go wailing? Then he cried aloud and said:

"Why tarry ye, Sons of the Morning? the wain for the bondman is dight; And the folk that are waiting his body have need of no sunshine to smite.

Go forth 'neath the stars and the night-wind; go forth by the cloud and the moon, And come back with the word in the dawning, that my house may be merry at noon!"