new wife, the princess Brynhild. He told Gudrun that this would be in the best interests of their sons, Gjuki and Hogni. Sigurd made a pact with Brynhild’s father, King Grim, that Gudrun should be allowed to go into exile with a generous purse while their sons remained with him and Brynhild took their mother’s place. Naturally, his actions were motivated by consideration for the boys and had nothing to do with the young princess’s downy soft bosom or virginal rose-pink flesh. This arrangement was all the greater betrayal of Gudrun since she had cast off everything that is dearest – her father, homeland and younger brother – in order to follow Sigurd wherever the goddesses of fate led them.
‘The black-clad poetess began her song by describing how Sigurd and Gudrun fell in love when he raided the coast of her homeland, intending to carry off a swan’s-feather cloak of white silver that hung in the sacred grove of Freyja, guarded by the poisonous serpent Fafnir. There was no getting past this monster except by witchcraft – and no one knew this black art better than Gudrun, who at the time was both daughter to the king of the land and also a priestess of Hel.
‘In Sigurd’s retinue were three goddesses who travelled with him unseen. These were Frigg, Sif and Freyja, who vied among themselves as to who had the most power over the mortal man’s fate. Freyja caused one of her cats to scratch Gudrun, who was so consumed by the fires of love that she became unhealthily enamoured of Sigurd. That night the two of them stole to Freyja’s temple and the king’s daughter lulled the dragon to sleep while Sigurd drew his halberd and struck the monster a blow under the pinion as she had taught him. At that the hideous Fafnir started up and blasted out a terrible poison, but thanks to Gudrun’s intervention it did the hero no harm. From this deed Sigurd won the title of “Fafnir’s bane”. He now snatched up the feather cloak of glittering silver, which had the property of endowing whoever wore it with the gift of flight like a bird.
‘Gudrun was forced to flee with her lover, taking her brother Helgi with her, while King Gjuki gave chase with thirteen swift-sailing ships. To delay his pursuit, Gudrun killed Helgi, dismembered his body and threw it into the sea, so that their father Gjuki would have to pause in his voyage to gather up the remains of his son. In this manner the lovers, Sigurd Fafnir’s-bane and Gudrun Gjukadottir, made their escape.
‘At this point in the epic the daughters of Lemnos laughed cynically, and the poetess rested her long fingers on the strings of her lyre until their laughter had died away. Meanwhile, we men seized our cups and raised them to our lips to drown the nausea that rose in our throats.
‘How could their womanly hearts take pleasure in such a sickening tale?
‘By the time the nectar had soothed my throat the women’s laughter had ceased and I glanced at the maiden beside me. She was waiting, expressionless and still, for my response and when I managed to force my lips into a curve she smiled sweetly back, stroking my hip – before her eyes, wet with tears of mirth, flickered from mine to resettle obediently on the poetess who now resumed her strumming. The second half of the story was even uglier than the first.
‘It told of Sigurd’s homecoming.
‘After voyaging over strange and perilous seas he returned to his fatherland to exchange the silver-plumed treasure for the kingdom in accordance with the bargain he had struck with King Attila before he left. But Attila laughed at Sigurd and broke the pact, saying: “Take your stinking swanskin and spread it under Gudrun Gjukadottir next time you lie with her. Then you will know the colour of her blood – for black on white is easily seen!”
‘Thus King Attila insulted Sigurd Fafnir’s-bane, sitting tightly ensconced on the throne that the hero had intended for himself and his wife. And Sigurd had to endure the
‘The black-clad poetess began her song by describing how Sigurd and Gudrun fell in love when he raided the coast of her homeland, intending to carry off a swan’s-feather cloak of white silver that hung in the sacred grove of Freyja, guarded by the poisonous serpent Fafnir. There was no getting past this monster except by witchcraft – and no one knew this black art better than Gudrun, who at the time was both daughter to the king of the land and also a priestess of Hel.
‘In Sigurd’s retinue were three goddesses who travelled with him unseen. These were Frigg, Sif and Freyja, who vied among themselves as to who had the most power over the mortal man’s fate. Freyja caused one of her cats to scratch Gudrun, who was so consumed by the fires of love that she became unhealthily enamoured of Sigurd. That night the two of them stole to Freyja’s temple and the king’s daughter lulled the dragon to sleep while Sigurd drew his halberd and struck the monster a blow under the pinion as she had taught him. At that the hideous Fafnir started up and blasted out a terrible poison, but thanks to Gudrun’s intervention it did the hero no harm. From this deed Sigurd won the title of “Fafnir’s bane”. He now snatched up the feather cloak of glittering silver, which had the property of endowing whoever wore it with the gift of flight like a bird.
‘Gudrun was forced to flee with her lover, taking her brother Helgi with her, while King Gjuki gave chase with thirteen swift-sailing ships. To delay his pursuit, Gudrun killed Helgi, dismembered his body and threw it into the sea, so that their father Gjuki would have to pause in his voyage to gather up the remains of his son. In this manner the lovers, Sigurd Fafnir’s-bane and Gudrun Gjukadottir, made their escape.
‘At this point in the epic the daughters of Lemnos laughed cynically, and the poetess rested her long fingers on the strings of her lyre until their laughter had died away. Meanwhile, we men seized our cups and raised them to our lips to drown the nausea that rose in our throats.
‘How could their womanly hearts take pleasure in such a sickening tale?
‘By the time the nectar had soothed my throat the women’s laughter had ceased and I glanced at the maiden beside me. She was waiting, expressionless and still, for my response and when I managed to force my lips into a curve she smiled sweetly back, stroking my hip – before her eyes, wet with tears of mirth, flickered from mine to resettle obediently on the poetess who now resumed her strumming. The second half of the story was even uglier than the first.
‘It told of Sigurd’s homecoming.
‘After voyaging over strange and perilous seas he returned to his fatherland to exchange the silver-plumed treasure for the kingdom in accordance with the bargain he had struck with King Attila before he left. But Attila laughed at Sigurd and broke the pact, saying: “Take your stinking swanskin and spread it under Gudrun Gjukadottir next time you lie with her. Then you will know the colour of her blood – for black on white is easily seen!”
‘Thus King Attila insulted Sigurd Fafnir’s-bane, sitting tightly ensconced on the throne that the hero had intended for himself and his wife. And Sigurd had to endure the
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