9

Geirrodur the Troll King

Thor rested in Thrudvangar after his battle with Rungnir, and the Giants were left in peace. And indeed the truce between Asgard and Jotunheim still held, whatever battle there might be between an occasional Giant and one of the Æsir.

But Loki, ever in search of mischief, set out in his favourite disguise as a falcon to spy in Midgard and Jotunheim and to stir up what trouble he could. For Loki’s mischief grew more spiteful the more he indulged in it, and his evil Giant-nature was slowly triumphing over his blood-brotherhood with the Æsir.

On this occasion, after dawdling through Midgard and leading men astray, Loki came to the Vimur, widest of all rivers, which separated Midgard from that province of Jotunheim where the Stone Trolls and the Fire Trolls had their dwellings.

The Trolls were strange, misshapen creatures related to both the Giants and the Dwarfs. Their homes were under low hills which they could raise on red pillars to let in an occasional glimmer of light; they were smiths like the Dwarfs, and hoarded great treasures, but they had little of the Dwarfs’ skill. They lived wild, savage lives, delighting in dirt and evil smells, and they were often servants of the Giants and usually in league with them against the Æsir and the Men of Midgard.

In the land beyond the Vimur the Giant Geirrodur was king, and his castle was a Troll house larger than any of the rest, a great mountain with a chimney in the centre that belched out black smoke which would sweep down over all the country like an evil fog.

Loki was interested in the Trolls, and most curious to see what they were at in Geirrodur’s huge castle. So he perched on the sill of a window high up in the outer wall, and looked down into the hall where the Giant and his two daughters, Gialp and Greip, were sitting at dinner in golden chairs set on a floor that was thick with filth.

Geirrodur looked up and saw Loki at the window and called to his Troll servants:

‘Fetch me that bird which is perching up there. I have often longed for a falcon such as the Æsir and the thanes and kings of Midgard carry on their wrists.’

Loki was not in the least frightened, and as the Trolls came clambering awkwardly up the rough stone wall he decided to give them as much trouble and danger as possible before he flew away.

As the first Troll drew near the window, Loki hopped up the side of it, and kept just out of reach, holding on to the stones of the wall with his claws. Backwards and forwards over the castle wall he went, always getting a little bit higher. The Trolls climbed after him, cursing and grunting as again and again the bird slipped out of their hands just as one of them was about to clutch him.

At last Loki came to the top of the wall, and as one of the Trolls was very near him, he decided he had had enough of this sport, and spread his wings to fly away.

But to his horror the wall held his feet like a magnet, and he could not escape. Then a Troll’s hand closed on him and he was carried down in triumph to Geirrodur.

The Giant took the falcon in his great hands and looked at it carefully.

‘This is no bird,’ he exclaimed at last. ‘It is some man, or one of the Æsir, disguised as a bird. His eyes betray him, for they cannot be changed as the body can. So speak, bird, and tell me who you are and why you come fluttering about my castle – speak, or it will be the worse for you.’

Loki said nothing, however, and did his best to pretend that he was in truth only a bird. But Geirrodur was not to be deceived, and when he found that his captive would not speak he shut him up securely in a great stone chest.

‘There you shall stay, without food or drink, air or light, until you speak!’ he cried as he slammed down the lid.

And there Loki remained for three months, until he could bear it no longer, and at last he called out to Geirrodur:

‘I am Loki, one of the greatest of the Æsir. I did not come here to harm you. Indeed you may have heard of me: after Odin I have no equal among the Æsir except Thor the enemy of the Giants … And Thor I do not love, for I myself am of the Giant kin.’

‘I have no love for Thor either,’ growled Geirrodur, ‘nor for any of the Æsir. And I’ll wring your neck here and now and throw you back into that chest and seal it up for ever under a mountain – unless you can bring Thor here to my castle. But he must come without his hammer: against Miolnir no Giant can stand, not even I!’

Then Loki swore the most solemn oaths that he would do so, or return and give himself up to Geirrodur; and the Giant let him go, for he knew that even Loki would not break the oath of the Æsir – or else Asgard would be closed to him for ever.

Loki flew away from Geirrodur’s castle, back across the wide Vimur and over Midgard until he came near the foot of Bifrost Bridge. There he took on his own shape again, and came up into Asgard, letting Heimdall the Watchman think that he had been wandering among men to help and instruct them.

In Asgard he let fall a remark or two about the friendly Giant Geirrodur in his wonderful castle built by the clever Trolls.

‘He entertained me very kindly,’ said Loki, sipping his mead thoughtfully in Valhalla. ‘He showed me wonderful things which I have seen nowhere else … He said how much he would like to entertain great Thor and give him gifts from his treasury: but he does not dare to ask, for he is afraid of the mere sight of the hammer Miolnir which has slain so many of the Giants.’

Loki talked like this whenever Thor was listening, and at last his tempting words took effect, for the Thunderer was still always slow to suspect evil, even of a Giant – and he did not realize how ready Loki had become to betray the Æsir and help the Giants to overcome them, simply to satisfy his private grudges and his evil spite.

So Thor set out one day with his squire Thialfi, leaving Miolnir hanging in Thrudvangar. Over Midgard they drove in the goat-drawn chariot, the thunder rumbling behind them, and came at last to the shores of Vimur, to the great house where Grid lived.

She was a friendly Giantess who had helped Odin in the early days of the world, and she was the mother of his son Vidar the Silent, the Lord of the Forests.

Grid entertained Thor kindly, for she loved all the Æsir, and as they sat at dinner she asked him where he was going so near the edge of Jotunheim without Miolnir in his hand.

‘I am going to visit Geirrodur the Troll King,’ answered Thor. ‘For he is the friend of the Æsir and has bidden me as his guest to visit his castle and feast there with him. I hear that he has treasures such as even we of Asgard have never seen. Loki the cunning passed many days with him, and he was lost in wonder at what he has seen in Geirrodur’s castle.’

‘I fear that Loki the cunning has been playing you false,’ said Grid. ‘For I know well that Geirrodur the Troll King is an evil and a crafty Giant, very ill to deal with, and no friend to any of the Æsir – least of all to him from whose hand Miolnir has sped so often to be the death of Giants.’

‘I am glad of this warning,’ answered Thor, ‘but I cannot now turn back, or the Giants would think me a coward.’

‘Go forward then to Geirrodur’s castle,’ said Grid, ‘but take with you my Girdle of Might, and this iron staff which is called Grid’s Rod, and these iron gloves. With them you may hold your own against Geirrodur and his Trolls. Be very wary of his craft and treachery, for I do not know how he is planning to bring doom upon you.’

Next day, leaving his chariot with Grid, Thor set out on foot followed only by Thialfi, and went up beside the Vimur river until it grew narrower as it came rushing out of the deep valleys among the mountains of Jotunheim.

Here Thor fastened the Girdle of Might round his waist and stepped into the swirling water, steadying himself with Grid’s Rod against the rush of the current. And Thialfi followed behind him, clinging on to the Girdle of Might so as not to be swept away.

When Thor reached the middle of the river it seemed to him that the current grew suddenly twice as strong, and the water began to rise round his chest and surge over his shoulders.

As the water still rose and the flood poured down faster than ever, Thor looked upstream and saw Geirrodur’s giant daughter Gialp standing with a foot on either bank where the river raced through a mighty chasm in the rocks; and he saw that she was making the flood.

‘A river should be dammed at its source!’ he cried, and stooping down he snatched up a great rock from the river and flung it at her with such good aim that the flood was stopped and he was able to reach the other side.

Here the current lifted him off his feet, but he was able to catch at a mountain ash which grew out from the bank. Holding on to this he drew Thialfi and himself to safety: and for this reason the ash was ever afterwards called Thor’s Tree of Deliverance.

Once safely on the further bank of the Vimur river, Thor and Thialfi made their way easily until they came in sight of Geirrodur’s huge mountain-castle, where the black smoke was pouring in clouds out of the great chimney in the centre.

As they drew near Trolls met them and made them welcome in the name of their King.

‘Come with us to the guest house,’ they said. ‘A room is prepared for you, and there you must wait for a little while until Geirrodur is ready to receive you worthily in his great hall.’

They were shown into a big stone-roofed room next to the hall, and there the Trolls left them alone for a little.

Thor, who was tired after his struggle in the river, sat down thankfully in the only chair and leant back to rest. But suddenly he felt the chair rising from the floor and moving up towards the roof to crush him against the stone beams.

Quick as lightning Thor thrust Grid’s Rod against the roof and pushed back with all his might, forcing the chair down towards the floor again. Then he heard a great crack, a crash, and screams coming from beneath him.

He sprang up, and there under the chair were Geirrodur’s two daughters, Gialp and Greip, with their backs broken.

Thor tightened the Girdle of Might, pulled on the iron gloves, and strode out of the guest house in a fury.

‘Geirrodur’s daughters are rightly punished!’ he exclaimed. ‘They tried to crush me against the roof. Now I must see if Geirrodur himself is so wicked that he plots to kill the guest in his very hall.’

Outside the guest house the Trolls were waiting, and they led Thor and Thialfi into the great hall. Here many big fires were burning on either side, and through the smoke and flames Thor could see Geirrodur the Giant standing at the further end beside the hottest fire of all.

Thor advanced slowly up the hall, and when he drew near to the Troll King, Geirrodur suddenly drew a bar of white-hot metal out of the fire with a huge pair of tongs and flung it at him.

But Thor was walking warily. And when he saw the bar of white-hot metal hurtling towards him he caught it with his iron gloves, whirled it round his head, and hurled it back at Geirrodur.

The Troll King saw it coming and dodged behind an iron pillar to save himself. But the bar passed right through the pillar, through Geirrodur standing behind it, through the wall of the castle, and deep into the earth beyond that.

Then Thor turned and strode out of the hall, whirling Grid’s Rod in his hands and smiting down Trolls on either side. Without so much as a backward glance, he and Thialfi walked down to the ford over the river Vimur, crossed it easily this time, and made their way back to Grid’s dwelling.

There Thor gave her back the Rod and the gloves, but by her wish he kept the Girdle of Might, and with this about his waist he mounted his chariot and drove triumphantly back to Asgard.

Thor did not trouble himself further about Geirrodur and the Troll Castle, he did not even deign to tell Loki of what had chanced there. Nevertheless the fame of it, and of what he had done on that visit, spread through Midgard, and at last a king of Denmark named Gorm decided to set out in search of Geirrodur’s Castle.

He took with him three ships and the wise traveller Thorkill, and set sail over the sea towards the great river Vimur, which to the men of Midgard seemed as wide as the ocean itself.

Over the sea they sailed for many days, the wind blowing softly, so that they moved but slowly; and when at last they came to land, there was little food left in the ships and all the men were hungry.

On shore they found great herds of cattle wandering about, so tame that they would let a man walk right up to them.

‘Kill only what we need for one day’s food,’ Thorkill warned them. ‘If you kill more, the powers who rule this island will seek revenge.’

But the men paid no attention to his advice and slaughtered many of the cattle to take with them for future use. In the night an army of Trolls attacked them, and a Giant who was their leader came wading through the sea waving a huge club and threatening to destroy the ships and everyone in them if they did not give up one man from each ship as a fine for slaughtering the cattle.

It seemed better to do this than to let all perish, so three men were chosen by lot and handed over to the Trolls, and the ships sailed on their way.

They came at length to a land of deep snow and frozen peaks, where monsters lurked in the dark forests; and here they landed, Thorkill telling them that nearby was the castle of Geirrodur.

‘But have a care,’ Thorkill advised the King and his companions. ‘Those who dwell here will seek to work us evil. Therefore speak to no one; but let me, who know the ways of this place and all its dangers, do such talking as is needed.’

As twilight approached a Giant came striding down to the beach, much to the terror of King Gorm and his followers.

But Thorkill reassured them. ‘This is Gudmund, the brother of Geirrodur,’ he told them. ‘He will have come to offer us hospitality. But have a care: take with you any food that you need, and touch nothing that is offered you and touch none of the people of this place.’

Thorkill went forward and bowed to Gudmund, who invited him and his companions to follow him to his hall for dinner.

‘But why do none of you speak but Thorkill?’ asked Gudmund as they went on their way.

King Gorm merely shook his head, and Thorkill made haste to explain:

‘Noble Gudmund,’ he said, ‘it is for very shame that my friends speak never a word. They know little of your language, with which I am so familiar, and are ashamed to struggle with a speech that they do not know – or to speak in a tongue which is foreign to you.’

So they came into the hall, and took their places at the tables with Gudmund’s twelve handsome sons and many lovely daughters.

‘Why do none of your companions either eat or drink what is set before them?’ asked Gudmund suspiciously.

‘Ah!’ said Thorkill readily. ‘That is wisdom on our part. We have been long at sea, feeding on the simple food of sailors. If we touched the rich and wondrous meats of your land I fear that we should suffer in our health. For this reason only do we eat our own food – and not out of discourtesy, or thinking any scorn of the truly wonderful things which you have set before us.’

This baffled Gudmund; but presently he made another attempt to entrap his guests. He instructed his lovely daughters that they were to offer themselves in love to their noble visitors.

Remembering Thorkill’s words, King Gorm frowned warningly at his followers, and Thorkill made haste to explain to Gudmund that the King and all his followers were married men, and it would be disloyal to their wives, according to the custom in Denmark, even so much as to kiss any other woman.

Nevertheless three of the Danes found the daughters of Gudmund so beautiful that they could not refrain from kissing them – and immediately madness seized them, and they were never in their right wits again.

Seeing how successful this lure had been, Gudmund then invited his guests to visit his beautiful garden and gather any fruit they might wish.

But Thorkill excused himself and the king and his followers, saying that they must hasten on their journey and could not stay even to see the gardens which he was sure were even more beautiful than he had heard they were.

Gudmund then realized that Thorkill understood the dangers of the place more fully than he had expected. So he tried no more treachery, but made haste to ferry his visitors across the river, directing them to Geirrodur’s house.

In a little while they came to a strange, desolate city of Troll houses: stony mounds which could be raised up on red pillars when the Trolls wished to let light into their dark dwellings. Over the city hung a cloud of dirty smoke, and here and there heads stuck on poles grinned horribly at the visitors.

As they passed through the city, the Trolls slunk away from them like ghosts frightened by the light of day, and so they came to Geirrodur’s castle.

As they approached fierce dogs came rushing out to attack them; but Thorkill flung horns smeared with fat for them to lick, and he and his companions reached the door of the hall in safety.

But there King Gorm’s warriors paused and drew back in fear, for ghastly shrieks came floating out to them, together with a most terrible smell which almost stopped their breath.

Thorkill, however, encouraged them: ‘You will be quite safe if you are careful and do exactly as I tell you,’ he said. ‘Above all, keep your hearts from covetousness: touch nothing you may see in the castle. Geirrodur will show you priceless jewels and wondrous armour, or it will be lying about ready for anyone to pick up. But let no one even touch anything, and then no harm can come to us.’

Then King Gorm marshalled his men in fours, and they marched boldly into the great hall where the fires glowed redly through the reeking smoke. It was a terrible place, the pillars grimed with soot, the walls plastered with filth, the floor covered with stinking dirt and crawling with snakes and loathsome worms. Seated on iron benches at either side huddled miserable-looking Trolls who seemed half dead.

On a stone chair sat Geirrodur himself, an old Giant with a great gash through his body, and behind him the rent pillar and the chasm in the rock. Beside him sat his daughters, all huddled up since their backbones had never mended again, and they were now hideous with sores and tumours.

Neither Geirrodur nor his daughters spoke, or even looked up; and King Gorm and his men were only too ready to turn and hurry out of that noisome place, while Thorkill reminded them how Thor had flung the white-hot iron through the Troll King and had broken the daughters’ backs when they tried to crush him against the roof.

Suddenly, as they reached the hall door, they saw treasures laid out before them. There were barrels filled with jewels, belts of gold, the tusk of a strange beast tipped at both ends with gold, a huge stag’s horn decked with flashing gems, and a large golden bracelet most beautifully decorated with jewels.

Then, forgetting all warnings, one man snatched up the bracelet and clasped it round his wrist; another stretched out quivering fingers and took up the horn; while a third could not resist raising the tusk and slinging it over his shoulder.

But no sooner was the bracelet clasped in place than it turned into a snake and bit the man who had taken it with its poisoned fang; the horn lengthened out into a serpent, twined round the thief, and laid him dead on the floor; while the tusk turned suddenly into a sword and plunged through the body of the man who held it.

In terror the rest of the warriors turned to rush out of the castle; but before they had passed the gate they came to an open door, and looking in they saw that it was Geirrodur’s treasure chamber. There lay rich cloaks and belts, golden helmets and wondrous weapons, many of them too large for ordinary men to wield.

At the sight even Thorkill forgot his wisdom, and he reached forth his hand and picked up a rich, warm cloak. King Gorm and his men also began to take things, and would have loaded themselves with plunder. Then on a sudden the room seemed to shake, and there was a scream of ‘Thieves! Thieves!’

The Trolls, who had seemed more dead than alive before and certainly as harmless as if they had been turned into stone, suddenly attacked from all sides. A furious battle raged, and King Gorm and all his men would have been killed if the brave warrior Buchi had not shot fast and well with his bow and kept back the Trolls until the King was out of the city. Even so only twenty men escaped, and with King Gorm and Thorkill, Buchi and his brother, hastened down to the riverside where they found Gudmund waiting for them with his boat.

He ferried them across the river in safety, and took them back to his house.

In the morning they made ready to set out overland towards where their ships were waiting for them. But then they found that brave Buchi the archer was lost to them. For he had fallen in love with one of Gudmund’s daughters who had tended him after the battle, and asked her to be his wife. She had accepted: but no sooner did they seal their betrothal with a kiss than Buchi’s brain began to whirl, and by the morning he had lost his memory and was raving mad.

Sadly King Gorm and Thorkill set out from Gudmund’s hall, reached their ships in safety, and sailed away. But even then they had storms to endure on their way down the Vimur river and across the seas, so that few indeed of them came back to Denmark.

And after that not even Thorkill the great traveller dared ever again to visit that fearsome land where Geirrodur the Troll King sat in his loathsome castle, maimed and silent from the terrible blow which Thor had dealt him.