The Blacksmith's Revenge

Legend tells of a King who once lived in the far northern wastes of Sweden, a King infamous for his cruelty his greed and his savage megalomania - King Nidud. His subjects, and his servants, lived in constant fear of the King's wrath, which could be sparked by the most trivial of things, or even by his boredom. The feared King, however, would learn to rue the day he turned his ferocity toward the blacksmith Völundr.

Völundr
Image in the public domain

One day, long ago, the three sons of the King of the Finns went hunting in the high mountains. Their names were Eginn, Slagfinn, and the youngest was called Völundr. Blissfully lost in the woods, the brothers came to a clearing by the side of a great lake, a place so beautiful they decided to build a house there. Their tiring work done, the brothers admired their handiwork, and slept soundly in their new abode. When the brothers awoke the next morning, they were transfixed by the sight before them. Three young women, laughing and spinning flax, were relaxing by the calm waters. Stricken by their beauty, the stunned brothers realised who they were - Valkyries (for more about them, please click here). Overjoyed at their fortune, the brothers invited the maidens to their new dwelling, and were gracious hosts to their glamorous guests. Time passed, and soon each brother had fallen for a Valkyrie. Völundr was captivated by the Valkyrie Alvit, and soon the two were bound in matrimony. For seven years they lived in joyful serenity, having a son, until one day, Völundr awoke to find her missing. Searching far and wide, he could find no trace of her, and soon discovered that the same had happened to his two brothers. The Valkyries had departed the land, for as the servants of Odin, they were bound to his will and obeyed his summons. Alvit had left her beloved Völundr with just a golden ring to remember her by. Racked with grief, Eginn and Slagfinn set off in vain search of their Valkyries, whilst Völundr remained behind, sad, yet hopeful that he may one day see Alvit again. He lived a life of quiet grace, focusing his mind on his ability to work metal in place of his sorrow. Soon, his skill was such that he became famous throughout the lands of the North for the fabulously ornate objects that emerged from his forge.

Völundr at the Forge
Image taken from the 'Franks Casket' (British Museum)

Far away, word reached the ear of King Nidud of Völundr's talent. A greedy and heartless man, Nidud resolved to make a slave of this blacksmith, so that no other might boast of riches greater than his own. Like many wicked men, he sought such riches not to admire their beauty, but simply to possess them.  The cruel King sent forth his soldiers to seize the smith and his treasures, and to bring Völundr before him. The soldiers found Völundr asleep, dreaming of the return of Alvit, when they seized his possessions, and hurled the blacksmith himself into a sack. When Völundr opened his eyes again, he found himself, hands bound, staring into the harsh face of King Nidud himself. The King eyed the smith, running his fingers over a golden ring. Völundr saw, to his anger, that it was the ring which his beloved Alvit had left him. Nidud declared that Völundr would henceforth make riches only for him, until the day he died. His anger building, Völundr cried "Never!" The King, secretly a coward, was unnerved that someone would not be afraid of him. His fear soon turning to fury, Nidud ordered his guards to take Völundr to the tiny island of Saevarstad, where the blacksmith would either comply, or die. Just then, the King's wife, who was no better a person than her husband, suggested that the sinews in the blacksmith's legs be severed, so that he may never run, or swim, and escape. Nidud's two sons howled with laughter as Völundr's screams of pain pierced the night.


When Völundr regained consciousness, he found himself on the smallest, most miserable and lonely island one can imagine. So small he could easily see the whole coast, and the raging torrents crashing upon them, he was given a squalid hut in which to work, and if the previous day's work was satisfactory to the King,  a messenger would bring food. There would be no comforts here. Tears of rage flowed down Völundr's fair cheek, with Alvit as distant as ever, whilst Nidud besmirched the glory of his works with his cruel hand:


                                           " Shines Nidud's
                                             sword in his belt,
                                             which I whetted
                                             as I could best,
                                             and tempered,
                                             as seemed to me most cunningly;
                                             that bright blade forever
                                             is taken away from me:
                                             never shall I see it borne
                                             into Völundr's smithy... "
                                                    - THE MELANCHOLY OF VÖLUNDR


Descended from the Elves, Völundr possessed some of the cunning of that race, and thought desperately of how to escape his sorry plight. Time passed, and soon the treasuries of King Nidud overflowed with the most exquisite works of gold and silver imaginable, and the King was pleased, for he was the envy of the land. Every night, after his backbreaking work for the King's lust for riches was done, Völundr set to work, crafting for himself a set of wings, with struts of silver, and feathers of the most finely beaten brass. Slowly, over time, the wings began to take shape.

Bodvild and Völundr
Relief by Johannes Gehrts

One day, when the wings were nearing completion, a visitor came to Völundr's island - the King's daughter, Bodvild. Now Bodvild was something of a black sheep in her family. Spared the cruel nature of her father, mother and brothers, Bodvild had a warmer, gentler nature. Indeed, from the moment she saw Völundr in her father's hall and pitied him, had fallen for him. Now she came before him, and tentatively asked the lame smith if he might adjust a ring for her, too big for her own finger as it was. Turning to face her, Völundr saw that she was running her finger over a golden ring - Alvit's ring. Burning with fury, Völundr took back the ring and seized his hammer, determined to slay her then. If he could not reach the King, then she would have to do. Neither Völundr nor Boldvid could have imagined what was going through the other's mind. But then, just as Völundr advanced upon her, she declared her anger with her father for his cruelty, and confessed her feelings.  Blinded with silent rage, Völundr would not be swayed from his vengeance, yet saw now a new way to retaliate. The morning after, Völundr spurned her advance, commanding her to leave him and never seek him out again, knowing that he would condemn her to a lifetime of mournful melancholy. The princess fled in tears, distraught, and truly alone. Völundr, who had suffered such torments, now rapidly descended into the very thing he hated so much.


Back in the palace, selfish though he was, Nidud could not help noticing that Bodvild was a shadow of her former self, wandering the corridors as though a shade. But fresh disturbances began to plague him. His sons, his heirs to his kingdom, had not been seen since the day before. As the royal family sat down to their banquet that evening, messengers brought fresh gifts from Völundr to the High Table. King Nidud marvelled at his latest treasure - two goblets. The cups were rather grander in size than any normal chalice, rather similar in size, in fact, to a human skull. Gazing hungrily at the silver gilt cups, the greedy King drank deeply from them, as the heartless Queen placed her gift around her neck - a magnificent necklace, of four precious stones. Each stone was unlike any seen before, circular, and rather like the shape of a human eyeball. The Queen rather thought it reminded her of her two boys, but she could not place her finger upon exactly why. Bodvild, dejected, barely noticed her own gift, of a golden brooch, inlaid with many rows of nuggets, each rather like a human tooth in size.

Völundr's forge
Image taken from Ardre Image Stone VIII

Far away, on the lonely isle, the vengeful blacksmith had at last finished work on his shiny new wings. As a storm raged outside, Völundr took flight, heading toward Nidud's castle. As the night closed in, a flash of thunder suddenly roused the King from his slumber, and he was afraid. It suddenly occurred to him that perhaps his boys had visited Völundr, and maybe the blacksmith might know of their fate? He did not have to wait long to see him. For there, framed in his window, stood Völundr himself, dripping with rainwater, his face contorted with savage pleasure. "Where are my brave boys?" demanded King Nidud. Völundr laughed. They had both come to his smithy, demanding him to craft for them swords of gold. He had slain them both, gilt their skulls in silver and cast their bodies beside his forge. He further had wrenched their eyes from their sockets and set them too, in metal, and wove them into a necklace, which the boys' own mother now wore. He had broken their teeth and set them in a brooch of gold, which the boys' own sister now wore pinned to her chest. Völundr mocked Nidud, as now he had slain both his sons, and broken the heart of his daughter. The King wailed, as to his horror, he realised that he had drunk wine from the skulls of his own sons. The Queen, her sanity broken forever, simply laughed maniacally at the night, whilst the King, for the first time in his life, wept. Völundr, who now had truly forgotten his old self, leapt from the window, and took flight...

The saga of Völundr is at once a tragedy, a moral tale and a warning. It is common for heroes to grow in virtue as their quest develops, but Völundr is completely the opposite. As a result of his arduous life, each test served only to shake the foundations of his humanity, and is a stark reminder that cruelty so often breeds more cruelty, and that life does not always have a happy ending...

United Kingdom

The Poetic Edda:
The Poetic Edda (Oxford World's Classics)
(A grand collection of tales, mythology and fable from across the Norselands)

United States

The Poetic Edda:
The Poetic Edda (Oxford World's Classics)
(A grand collection of tales, mythology and fable from across the Norselands)

Sleipnir

Unlike the gods which rule over the more familiar civilisations of Greece and Rome, the gods of the Norselands, whilst mighty cosmic beings, are not all powerful. In their natural form they are born, grow old and die, and can be killed in war as readily as mortal men. Divine strength alone is never enough to assure them of their supremacy, as wits and cunning count for much in Norse Mythology, far more than brute force ever could. Second to none in cunning was the god Loki (whose exploits can be found in this site, click here for one). Though cruel and ambitious at heart, Loki just sometimes could be the saviour of those he is destined to destroy. This is one such story.

The Ride of the Valkyries
Drawing by John Charles Dollman.

Early in the days of the Nine Worlds, the Aesir, or war gods, established the world of Midgard as the realm of Men, and the golden land of Asgard as their own domain. At the centre of Asgard lay the towering walls of Valhalla, the Hall of the Slain. It was here that Odin, King of the gods, made his great throne, and watched over the cosmos, as his two loyal Ravens, Huginn and Muninn, whispered the tidings of the Nine Worlds to him. Valhalla itself was a mighty structure, with spear shafts as rafters, a roof thatched with shields, five hundred and forty doors; each one wide enough for eight hundred armed warriors to pass through abreast at any one time. This was entirely practical, for the Hall of Valhalla was filled with mighty heroes. Odin, aware that the stability of the cosmos depended on a delicate balance between all the races that inhabited it, knew that in the end it must come to one final, apocalyptic war - Ragnarök. In ever vigilance for when that day might come, the greatest heroes amongst the world of men, when they fell in battle, were borne to Valhalla by the faithful handmaidens of Odin - the Valkyries. Every day in Valhalla, these heroes, known as the Einherjar, marched forth to fight and hone their skills in war, and every night they would return to feast, consuming huge quantities of eternally replenishing pork and wine. But strong arms and valour alone would not prevail.

Freyja
Painting by J Doyle Penrose.

One day, a strange sight greeted the Aesir as they awoke in Asgard. A humble man appeared, leading a weary looking packhorse towards them. The man came before the bewildered gods with a startling proposal. Bowing before the Aesir, the man offered to build them a mighty stronghold, so powerful and great that it would never yield before any foe, not even the cruel Jötunn could breach it. Furthermore, the man claimed to be able to do so in just three seasons. But the man asked in return a great price. As wages for this great work, the man demanded the hand of the goddess Freyja in marriage, as well as the Sun and the Moon for his own. Freyja, not one of the Aesir, but of the Vanir, or fertility gods, was renowned throughout the Nine Worlds for her beauty, and coveted by many a god, let alone a man. As for the Sun and Moon, their journey around the Earth kept the life force of the Worlds flowing, and the consequence of their loss was unthinkable. The Aesir held council. In their pride, the gods could not believe that this man could do all he claimed in just three seasons. But to be safe, the Aesir returned to the man and promised him all he had asked - if he completed the work in one winter, without the help of any man. If by the first day of summer any part of the citadel was incomplete, he would forfeit his wager. The man humbly accepted the terms, asking only that he be permitted the help of the loyal stallion, who he called Svaðilfari, at his side. But before the Aesir could deliberate on this, Loki spoke out, decreeing that this seemed fair and reasonable. Since the gods were confident of victory, all agreed, and the bet was on.

On the first day of Winter the man set to work straight away on the citadel, his stallion eagerly following the bidding of its master. Soon however, it had not escaped the notice of the Aesir, "what great rocks that horse drew". This was clearly no ordinary horse, as it dragged the mightiest boulders in its wake with ease. So magnificent was the horse, the fortress began to take shape with alarming speed. The Aesir began to become unsettled, particularly as the greatest warrior among them, Thor, was away in the East at war with the Trolls. Yet they waited, still even now disbelieving that the work could be done in one Winter, especially since the man had originally said three seasons.

Loki and Svaðilfari
Drawing by Dorothy Hardy.

Time passed, the nights grew long and the days cold. As the snow began to fall in Asgard, the man and his horse toiled away endlessly, working through the frozen eves. The towering ramparts grew higher and higher, with no sign of weariness from man or horse. On the third day before the dawning of Summer, the man was nearing the gates of the citadel, and the structure was so high and robust that it was already invulnerable to attack. The gods sat in council, and there was much consternation. Now seriously troubled that they would lose their wager, the gods looked for the one responsible for their current plight. All eyes fell on Loki, the one who had allowed the man to take the mighty horse as an assistant. The Aesir decreed that Loki would deserve a horrible death, if he could not now find a way out of their darkest hour. Threatening the deceitful god with violence, the Aesir charged Loki with stopping the completion of the citadel at all costs. That same evening, the man and his Svaðilfari emerged once more, bearing stone for the keep. As they neared the fortifications however, a mare suddenly emerged from the forests, neighing at Svaðilfari. The stallion, going beserk, thrashed around wildly until its restraints were shattered and bounded off after the mare into the forests. The horses chased each other all night, and the man chased Svaðilfari all night too.

Odin and Sleipnir
Painting by Arthur Rackham.

When day broke, the man had still not found Svaðilfari, and realised that he could not complete the work without him. Frustrated, the man fell into a fury, tearing away his disguise and revealing himself to be a giant, a Jötunn. Seeing the deception and trickery, for the evil Jötunn were not permitted in the sacred grounds of Asgard, the Aesir roared in fury. Hearing the shouts of his kin, the Thunder god himself returned to Asgard, and Thor stepped into the field. Raising Mjöllnir high over his head, the Thunderer slammed the mighty hammer with all his might into the giant's head, shattering his skull and sending shards flying through the Nine Worlds. The Giant who tried to deceive the gods was now sent flying to Niflheim, the land of the dead. Emerging from the woods came Loki, but he was not alone. A majestic horse accompanied him, the finest charger ever to walk the cosmos, with eight thundering hooves. For the mare who had seduced Svaðilfari had truly been Loki in disguise, and their union had produced the Lord of Horses - Sleipnir. The Aesir showered their gratitude upon Loki for sparing them the humiliation, and in return, Loki gifted Sleipnir to Odin. This was a mighty gift. Swifter and more powerful than any horse from the earthly plain, Sleipnir could bear Odin with the swiftness of the winds across the Cosmos upon its eight poweful legs. All was well, for now...

United Kingdom

Penguin Classics:

The Prose Edda: Norse Mythology (Penguin Classics)

(A fast paced 'episodic' version well suited to casual reading)

United States

Penguin Classics:

The Prose Edda: Norse Mythology (Penguin Classics)

(A fast paced 'episodic' version well suited to casual reading)