6

Freya the Bride

Frey and Freya, the Vanir children of Niord and Skadi, grew up happily in Asgard, his chosen place being among the Light Elves, and hers among the young dwellers in Midgard – youths and maidens who for the first time were knowing the joys and sorrows of love.

Freya herself knew well both these joys and these sorrows, for she was wedded to the handsome Odur whom she loved truly. They dwelt in the halls and gardens of Asgard, and Folkvanger was the name of their home. To it came certain of the heroes of Midgard who had fallen in battle, for Odin allowed her to choose from those whom the Valkyries brought to Valhalla which she would have in her domain.

In Folkvanger Freya and Odur lived happily for long, and they had two lovely daughters as fair as jewels, whose joy was in all beautiful things.

But a great sadness came to Freya, all the more sad because it was her own fault – though she never thought that her love of jewels could harm her happiness with Odur.

It happened that Freya wandered through Midgard and through Alfheim where her brother Frey ruled, and she came to the borders of Svartalfheim where the Black Dwarfs lived.

There Dvalin and his three brothers laid a trap for her. They set up their forge in the opening of a wide cave and made the most wonderful necklace of gold that was ever seen: and it was called Brisingamen, the Brising Necklace.

Freya stopped when she saw the Dwarfs, and caught her breath at the beauty of the necklace. Then she stood for a while watching them at their work, until the necklace was finished.

‘Will you sell me that necklace for a treasure of silver?’ she asked. ‘For indeed I have never seen a fairer one, and I cannot live without it.’

‘No,’ answered the Dwarfs, ‘all the silver in the world would not buy from us the Brisingamen.’

‘Will you sell it to me for a treasure of gold?’ asked Freya.

‘No,’ answered the Dwarfs. ‘All the gold in the world would not buy it from us.’

‘Then is there any treasure in the world for which you would sell me that necklace?’ asked Freya. ‘For now that I have seen Brisingamen, life without it is not to be endured.’

‘Oh yes,’ answered the Dwarfs. ‘There is a treasure for which we would sell Brisingamen. You must buy it from each of us. That treasure is your love. To each of us you must be wedded for a day and a night – for of such short space is a marriage among the Dwarfs of Svartalfheim – and then Brisingamen shall be yours.’

Then Freya, in her madness, forgot all but the shimmer and the gleam of the world’s most lovely adornment, the Brisingamen, than which no fairer necklace has ever been seen. She forgot Odur her husband, she forgot her two fair daughters, she forgot that she was a queen among the Æsir.

‘Yes,’ she answered, as if in a dream, ‘for Brisingamen I would even wed with such as you.’

So the four Dwarfish weddings were held in distant Svartalfheim, and none of the Æsir knew what was happening – none that is but Loki the mischief-maker who seemed always to know where evil was brewing.

When Freya came back to Asgard, and dwelt once more in her palace in Folkvanger, she was ashamed of what she had done and hid the Brisingamen from the sight of everyone. But alone in her bower, which no one could enter against her will, she would take out the necklace and feast her eyes on its gleaming beauty.

But Loki went to Odur and told him what he had seen and heard. Odur would not believe him, and he thought it shame even to mention to Freya what Loki had said.

‘I do not even believe that she has this necklace called Brisingamen,’ ended Odur. ‘But if she has, and you can steal it from her and show it to me, I will believe your story, and my heart will be broken.’

‘It will be very hard to steal it,’ protested Loki. ‘You know how closely the door of Freya’s bower fits, and how firmly it is locked from within!’

‘If you do not prove your lying tale by the only means which I can accept,’ cried Odur, ‘I shall know it is a lie, and Thor shall beat you into pulp with his hammer Miolnir.’

So Loki set out to steal the Brising Necklace. He came by night to Freya’s bower, but found the door fast locked, and with all his cunning he could not open it. Then he turned himself into a fly and fluttered about all the locks and joints, and found there no hole at all. But at last, up near the gable top, he found one hole scarcely bigger than if it had been made with a needle: and with great difficulty he managed to wriggle through it. Then he looked carefully about the bower to see if anyone was awake, but the whole room, and the palace about it, seemed plunged in sleep.

Loki went to Freya’s bed, and saw her there asleep, with the Brisingamen round her neck. And he saw that the clasp of the necklace was under her, so that he could not unfasten it.

Then he turned himself into a flea and sat on her cheek and bit her. Freya half-woke up, turned over, and then fell asleep again. As soon as she was breathing peacefully Loki took on his own shape again, undid the clasp and drew off the necklace. He unlocked the door and stole out quietly.

He went straight to Odur, showed him the necklace and told him all that he had done.

Then in bitter grief Odur flung down the necklace and wandered out of Asgard, away into the mists of the distance.

Freya woke in the morning, found Brisingamen gone and the doors unlocked, and knew that her secret had been discovered. Weeping bitterly, she sent for Odur to tell him all and beg his forgiveness: but Odur was gone.

Then she confessed to Odin. ‘I can never rest now,’ she sobbed, ‘until I find my beloved Odur and ask his pardon for the great wrong I have done him; and I shall follow him across the world until I do.’

‘It shall be as you say,’ answered Odin solemnly, ‘and the evil which you have done for the sake of a golden trinket shall be forgiven you. But in memory of your sin I decree that you must ever wear the Brising Necklace to remind you of what has passed.’

‘I no longer have the accursed thing,’ sobbed Freya. ‘The thief who entered my bower took it, as I told you.’

‘Only Loki could have been that thief,’ said Odin, and he summoned his son Heimdall, the Watchman of Asgard, and asked if he had seen Loki.

‘Yes,’ answered Heimdall, ‘the son of Laufey passed across Bifrost early this morning, not long after Odur went out from Asgard. Odur I cannot see, but Loki, in the shape of a seal, is hiding by the rocks of Singastein.’

‘Go, then,’ commanded Odin, ‘and take from him the necklace called Brisingamen which the Black Dwarfs made of late in Svartalfheim. Bring it and clasp it about the neck of Freya – and see to it that neither Loki nor any other takes it from her again.’

Swift as light Heimdall sped on his errand, and when he came to the rocks near Singastein he called aloud:

‘Loki, son of Laufey, come forth and in your own shape! I know where you hide and in what form. Come forth, I say, for I bring you a message from Odin, lord of the Æsir.’

But Loki in the form of a seal hid down under the rocks at the bottom of the sea and laughed to himself.

But he did not laugh a moment later when Heimdall also turned into a seal and came speeding down through the green waters to attack him. Fiercely the battle raged between the two seals, but in the end Heimdall had the better of it, and led Loki back to Asgard in a very bad temper, wearing his own form and carrying the Brising Necklace.

Then Freya fastened Brisingamen about her neck, and went forth into the world in search of Odur, wandering from land to land, and weeping as she went. And as she wept the tear-drops fell from her eyes and turned into drops of rich red gold.

For long she was absent from Asgard, and her brother Frey was sorely troubled as to what might have befallen her. He blamed Odin for sending her out on her wanderings, for Odin could have found Odur and brought him back, but it was his will that Freya should wander through the world teaching men and women the gentle ways of love.

At last Frey could bear it no longer. One day when Odin had gone to seek wisdom at Mimir’s Well he stole up to the high seat of Lidskialf to steal a glimpse out over all worlds – which Odin alone might do.

He did not see Freya; but his eyes were caught and held by a brightness in the far north. He looked long and earnestly, and saw Gerda, daughter of Giant Gymir, most lovely of all the daughters of the Rime Giants. As she walked the air shone about her, and light seemed to gleam from her very arms. Then suddenly she went into her father’s icy castle, and all the light in the world seemed to Frey to have gone out.

Slowly and sadly he went down from Lidskialf, punished for his presumption in daring to sit in Odin’s seat. Back in his own palace he spoke never a word, he did not eat, nor drink, nor sleep: and no one dared speak to him, for he looked about him so fiercely.

Then Niord his father summoned wise Skirnir, Frey’s faithful companion, and begged him to discover what had chanced.

‘I will go to him,’ answered Skirnir, ‘and question him as you command. But I do not go willingly, for I expect only sharp answers.’

Skirnir went to where Frey sat alone, brooding on his sorrow, and spoke to him:

‘Tell me, great Frey, captain of the Æsir, why you sit all day alone in your halls.’

‘How can I tell the heaviness of my heart-sorrow?’ answered Frey. ‘The sun shines day by day, but it brings no joy to me.’

‘Can your grief be so great that you may not even tell it to your friend?’ asked Skirnir. ‘Have you forgotten how close we were in the past when we grew up as boys together? Do you not trust me still?’

Frey was touched by his words, and told Skirnir what troubled him: ‘In Gymirsgard I saw a maid walking, and her I love,’ he ended. ‘The very sky shone when she raised her lovely arms. And now she is dearer to me than ever maid was to man. But the Æsir and the Vanir will surely frown on my love, for she is of the race of the Giants.’

But Skirnir said: ‘Give me a swift horse, and your magic sword that cuts whatever the edge touches, and I will win her for you.’

‘I will indeed give you my horse,’ answered Frey, ‘and with it my magic sword that fights of itself if he is bold that bears it.’

Skirnir took the sword in his hand, sprang upon Frey’s horse, and rode off into Jotunheim. ‘Speed forward, good steed!’ he cried. ‘The ways are dark, and we must cross the misty hills into the land of the Rime Giants – but we shall get there in safety if we meet no Trolls on the way!’

At last they drew near to Gymir’s castle, and there Skirnir saw a shepherd sitting on a hillside.

‘Shepherd, sitting on the rocks and watching all the ways!’ he cried. ‘Tell me how I may come to speak with Gerda, lovely daughter of great Gymir.’

‘Are you mad?’ cried the shepherd. ‘Or are you already but a ghost? Never can mortal win speech with Gymir’s maiden daughter.’

‘None of us must turn aside,’ answered Skirnir. ‘We must go forward on our journey whatever dangers await us. I shall die when die I must, and the Norns already know which day that is to be.’

Inside the castle Gerda heard the sound of horse’s hooves as Skirnir leapt over the wall and clattered in the yard.

‘What is that?’ she asked. ‘The very earth seems to be quaking and all the castle shakes.’

‘A man on a great steed has leapt the wall into the yard,’ answered her handmaiden. ‘He has got off his horse now, and has turned it loose to graze.’

‘Go, bid him into the hall,’ exclaimed Gerda, ‘and serve him with clear mead … But my heart misgives me lest this stranger is he of whom the prophecy tells – that through him shall come the death of my dear brother Beli.’

In the great hall Skirnir bowed low as Gerda came to meet him, carrying in her hands a horn of mead.

‘Which of the sons of the Æsir or of the wise Vanir are you?’ she asked as she made him welcome. ‘And how did you cross the wall which surrounds my father’s castle?’

‘I am none of the Æsir, nor the wise Vanir, nor even of the Elves,’ answered Skirnir, ‘though indeed I came alone over the wall to visit you. But see, I have here eleven apples of solid gold: these, beauteous Gerda, I will give you to purchase your favour so that you may call Frey, Lord of the Vanir, your best beloved of all living.’

‘Your golden apples I will never take to buy my love for any living wight,’ answered Gerda. ‘Nor shall Frey and I ever call one another husband and wife.’

‘Look on this sword,’ cried Skirnir, drawing Frey’s magic blade. ‘I could hew off your head with it at a single stroke, if you would not come with me to be Frey’s love.’

‘Never will I endure to be driven to love,’ said Gerda. ‘Yet I think that swords shall flash and grow dim with blood if you meet any of my kin.’

‘Look yet again upon this sword,’ said Skirnir in a low, thrilling voice. ‘Look, and behold how it is marked with magic Runes. They are spells which shall bring a curse upon you, if you do not reward Frey’s true love. If the spell is cast upon you, demons shall pinch you every day, even here in Jotunheim. Either you shall lack a husband, or a three-headed Troll shall be your lord: yes, Rimegrim the monster whose home is in the Glen of Corpses shall have you to wife. Your soul shall be smitten so that you pine as Frey is pining. Odin shall be wroth with you. Thor’s anger shall be kindled against you, Frey himself shall grow to hate you … See, I print upon you the magic Rune “”: love shall fill you, but love shall destroy you, if you do not take pity upon Frey.’

Then all the anger went out of Gerda’s eyes, and they grew suddenly tender.

‘See,’ she murmured, ‘in this cup I drink to Frey. I did not think that I should ever come to love one of the Vanir … Yet now it seems on a sudden that I do.’

‘Give me further answer ere I ride back to Asgard,’ said Skirnir. ‘When and where will you meet with Niord’s glorious son?’

‘In the wood called Barri, the peaceful copse that he knows well,’ answered Gerda. ‘There I will wait for him three nights from now; and there we may be wedded.’

Then Skirnir leapt upon his horse and spurred towards Asgard, where Frey was waiting eagerly for him.

‘Tell me quickly, Skirnir,’ he cried. ‘Tell me before you unsaddle your horse or even set foot to the ground, how did you fare in Jotunheim? What says fair Gerda to my love?’

‘Barri is the name of a peaceful copse well known to both of you,’ said Skirnir quietly. ‘There, three nights from now, Gerda will wait for her love – there she will become the wife of Frey, Niord’s noble son.’

‘Ah!’ sighed Frey, the happiness growing in his eyes. ‘But one night is long, two nights are longer – how can I endure to wait for three? A month has often seemed to me shorter than even one of these nights of waiting!’

Nevertheless the endless nights were passed in due course, and Frey went to meet his love in the Wood of Barri.

On the way he found the Giant Beli waiting for him: ‘Never while I live shall you marry my sister Gerda!’ roared Beli. ‘And now you shall die, for I see you have no sword.’

Then Frey missed the Sword of Sharpness which he had given to Skirnir – yet he did not miss it so sorely as he was fated to do when the Sons of Muspell came against him on the Day of Ragnarok. For, as Beli whirled his terrible club over his head, Frey stooped to avoid the blow, picked up the horn of a hart which lay upon the ground, and stabbed the Giant to the heart.

Then he went on his way to the wood Barri, and there Gerda met him, and loved him truly at sight.

And there the Æsir and Vanir gathered for the wedding; and Freya came leaning on the arm of kindly Odur, whom she had found at last and won his forgiveness for falling beneath the cunning spell of the four Dwarfs.

All was mirth and gaiety in that magic grove as they feasted through the warm summer night, while the nightingale sang in the thicket, and the swans chanted their mysterious chorus on the lake nearby.

And when the stars were paling, all lay down to sleep amongst the flowers and the soft grasses, while the brief darkness fell like a gentle coverlet over them.

Yet in that darkness evil moved.

Morning came, and Thor sprang to his feet with a shout of rage that roused the Æsir from their slumbers in a moment.

‘My hammer Miolnir, terror of the Giants, has gone!’ he roared. ‘When I lay down to sleep it rested at my side, under my hand. Some cunning thief has stolen it from me in the darkness.’

They called Loki before them, half-suspecting him, half-anxious to seek his aid.

‘Yes, I’ll help you to find who has stolen Thor’s hammer,’ said Loki at once. ‘But only if Freya will lend me her feather cloak. Without it I cannot find the hammer.’

‘You shall have my feather cloak,’ answered Freya. ‘I would lend it to you even if it were made of gold and silver, so long as you find Thor’s hammer for him.’

So Loki wrapped the feather cloak about him, and flew away into Jotunheim until he came to Thrymheim, the place of Noise, and there he found Thrym, king of the Noise Giants, sitting on a hillside plaiting golden leashes for his greyhounds and making trimmings for the manes of his horses.

‘Greetings, Loki son of Laufey!’ he cried. ‘How goes it with the Æsir? How goes it with the Elves? Why have you come alone into Jotunheim?’

Then Loki answered humbly: ‘It goes ill with the Æsir! It goes ill with the Elves. Thor’s hammer is lost and they have sent me to seek it. Tell me where you have hidden it!’

Thrym, lord of the Giants, laughed aloud: ‘Yes, I have hidden the Thunderer’s hammer!’ he shouted. ‘I have hidden it eight miles deep under the earth. No one can ever find it, nor shall I bring it back unless the Æsir send me Freya the beautiful to be my wife.’

Then away flew Loki, the feather cloak flapping in the wind. Out of Jotunheim he went and came into Asgard. Thor met him at the gate, and the first words that he spoke were: ‘What news do you bring me out of the sky? Speak quickly, have you found my hammer?’

‘I have good news for you,’ answered Loki. ‘Thrym the Giant of Noise has your hammer. He has hidden it eight miles under the earth where no one can find it. But he will give it back to you if you bring Freya the beautiful to be his wife.’

In his eagerness to recover Miolnir, Thor thought of nothing else, and he rushed to Freya’s palace and burst into her bower, shouting:

‘Make ready, Freya! Take your bride’s veil and come with me to Jotunheim, for Thrym the Giant is to be your husband!’

Then Freya sprang up in rage, and her fury was so great that the Brising Necklace round her throat burst open and fell to the ground.

‘Surely you are mad, Thor of the Æsir!’ she cried. ‘Or do you mean to insult me by suggesting that I would willingly desert Odur my dear lord to be the bride of a Giant?’

At that Thor hung his great head for shame, and told Freya what had happened. So she came with him to the council of the Æsir where they were all gathered to decide how they could get back Thor’s hammer – which was Asgard’s surest defence against the Giants.

In the end it was not cunning Loki but far-seeing Heimdall who thought of a plan.

‘Let us send a false Freya as wife to Thrym!’ he suggested. ‘Let us hide Thor’s face in the bride’s veil, set the Brising Necklace round his neck, and fasten brooches on his breast. With keys jingling from his girdle, a woman’s dress falling below his knees and a hood over his head, the Giant will think that he has indeed got Freya – until it is too late.’

The Æsir applauded this suggestion, but Thor was furious.

‘If I let myself be wrapped in a bride’s veil,’ he cried, ‘and am seen dressed as a woman, the Æsir will never cease from taunting me.’

‘Speak not so, great Thor,’ said Loki, his eyes twinkling. ‘But think how soon the Giants will dwell in Asgard if you do not get back your hammer.’

So Thor consented to do as Heimdall suggested. Very soon the bridal veil was wrapped over his face, the Brisingamen was hung about his neck, the keys jingled at his girdle, the dress fell about his knees, the brooches glimmered in the front of his bodice and the hood was wound neatly about his head.

Then Loki exclaimed: ‘Thor, I will follow you and be your bridesmaid! We two will drive to Jotunheim together!’

So, when Loki was disguised in dress and veil and hood as well, Thor’s chariot was brought out and his two goats Gaptooth and Cracktooth were harnessed to it. Then the false Freya and her falser maid got into it, shook the reins, and sped away over Midgard and into Jotunheim, the rocks splitting beneath their wheels, and sparks flying like lightning from the stones.

When Thrym the Giant saw the chariot drawing near to Thrymheim with the two veiled figures in it, he cried aloud:

‘Rise up quickly, my Giants all, and make ready! Here comes Freya the daughter of Niord lord of the Vanir to be my wife. My stables are filled with gold-horned kine, and with black oxen that have never a spot or blemish, such as delight the Giant kind. I have treasures and jewels stored in my castle: all that I lacked was Freya the Beautiful!’

So the Bride and her Maid were welcomed to Thrymheim, and a mighty feast was prepared in the great hall of the castle.

But when the Bride ate for her share a whole ox, eight salmon, and all the dainties prepared for the ladies, besides drinking three casks of mead, Thrym looked at her suspiciously and exclaimed:

‘Surely no bride was ever so hungry! I have never seen a girl take such big mouthfuls, nor drink such quantities of mead!’

The Bride did not know what to say, but fortunately the Bridesmaid was quick-witted, and found a ready answer:

‘Freya has not eaten for eight days!’ she piped. ‘She was so eager to reach Jotunheim and be your bride that she could touch neither food nor drink.’

When the meal was ended, Thrym bent down to kiss the bride. But scarcely had he raised her veil, when he started back the whole length of the hall.

‘Why are Freya’s eyes so glaring?’ he cried. ‘It seems as if flames were darting from them.’

Once again the quick-witted bridesmaid found a ready answer: ‘Freya’s eyes are red because she has not slept for eight nights, so eager was she to reach Jotunheim and be your bride.’

Then came in Thrym’s sister and begged a gift of the bride: ‘Give me a golden ring off your arm,’ she cried.

But Thrym interrupted her. ‘Time enough for that afterwards,’ he exclaimed. ‘Now let us on with the wedding. Bring in the hammer Miolnir which is the bride-price, and lay it in the bride’s lap so that the wedding may go forward. Let us lay our hands together upon it and join them in the oath of wedlock.’

The heart of Thor laughed within him when he again felt Miolnir in his hands.

‘Take this in token of wedlock from Freya the Bride!’ he shouted, flinging off his disguise; and with one blow of his hammer he laid Thrym lifeless on the floor.

‘And taste iron instead of gold!’ he cried as he smote down the Giant’s sister. Then he turned upon the rest of the Giants and slew them all with Miolnir, before he and Loki set out once more for Asgard.

When they arrived it was to find that Freya had nearly been lost while they were away, this time to Alviss the cunning Dwarf, who had learnt all about the theft of Miolnir and Giant Thrym’s demand.

He had come to Asgard on the night before Thor’s return, striding up Bifrost Bridge as if he were one of the Æsir.

‘Take me to Odin!’ he cried when Heimdall the Watchman challenged him. ‘Take me at once! There is not a moment to be lost if you would save Asgard from the Giants: they are marching against you even now, and I come with a message to Odin.’

Heimdall took the Dwarf to where Odin sat, and the king of the Æsir questioned him as to who he was and how he dared to enter Asgard.

‘I am Alviss, the all-wise,’ answered the Dwarf. ‘I dwell beneath the earth, my home is under the rock, and I have come to fetch Freya the Bride.’

‘You are likely to be a sorry bridegroom,’ answered Odin, ‘indeed you look pale and corpse-like already, as if your home was among the dead.’

‘Do not jest with me!’ cried the Dwarf. ‘Thor is a prisoner of Thrym the Giant, and the hosts of Jotunheim are marching on Asgard. But they will turn back if I bring Freya to be Thrym’s bride indeed.’

‘And why have they sent you?’ asked Odin slowly. ‘Are you a fit one to bring such a message?’

‘Fit!’ shrieked the Dwarf. ‘I am Alviss the Allwise – the wisest of all the Dwarf-kind!’

‘You must prove your wisdom, then,’ said Odin gravely. ‘Come, tell me, All-wise that you are, knowing the whole history of mankind, how are the Heavens named in every world?’

‘Men speak of the Heavens,’ answered Alviss, eager to display his knowledge, ‘the Æsir call it the Sky; the Vanir call it Wind-roof; it is Upheim to the Giants, while the Elves call it Fair-roof and the Dwarfs Drip-hall.’

‘And how is Fire that burns all things called in each of the worlds?’ asked Odin.

‘It is called Fire among men,’ answered the Dwarf, ‘and Eild by the Æsir; to the Vanir it is Wave-flame, Consumer to the Giants, Furnace to the Dwarfs, and Destroyer to those in Hell.’

Twelve such questions Odin asked Alviss the Dwarf, but when he came to the thirteenth he said:

‘Now tell me how Night the daughter of Narvi is called in each of the worlds.’

‘Night among men,’ cried the Dwarf, ‘but Niol among the Æsir. It is Unlight to the Giants, but Sleep-joy to the Elves and Dream-fairy to the Dwarfs.’

‘So much for Night,’ cried Odin, ‘and indeed you know many things, Alviss the Dwarf. But one thing you have forgotten. Night has ended: how do you call Day when you see it in Asgard?’

Then, as the sun rose and the first beams fell upon him, Alviss strove to answer. But no words came, nor did his lips move again: for he had turned into stone.

And with the new day came Thor and Loki back to Asgard with Miolnir safely recovered out of Jotunheim; and Freya the Beautiful came down to welcome them, smiling happily and leaning on the arm of Odur her husband.