10

The Curse of Andvari’s Ring

While it was still the custom of Odin to wander through Midgard in disguise, he came one day in company with Honir and Loki to a beautiful river which ran swiftly through a deep valley.

As they followed it up towards its source they found a big waterfall in a deep and solitary glen; and on a rock beside the fall they saw an otter blinking its eyes happily as it prepared to eat a salmon which it had caught.

Loki at once picked up a stone and flung it at the otter with such good aim that a moment later it lay dead upon the dead salmon.

‘Ah-ha!’ cried Loki. ‘Two at a blow! Trust me to get both an otter and a salmon with one stone!’

He picked up his double catch, and the three Æsir went on again until they came to a house set in the midst of rich farm-lands and walled about strongly as if it were the home of some great lord.

The three travellers came up to the gateway, and finding it open, went in to the great hall where sat a dark man with flashing eyes alone on a seat beside the fire.

‘Greetings, strangers!’ he cried. ‘Tell me who you are and why you come hither to the hall of Hreidmarr the master of magic?’

‘We are poor pilgrims journeying through the world,’ answered Odin, doffing his broad-brimmed hat politely as he leant on his staff and surveyed Hreidmarr with his one eye, ‘and seeing your strong house set amidst such fruitful fields of corn, we turned aside to visit you.’

‘Poor though we may be,’ added Loki quickly, ‘we are strong and clever in our own ways. Look here at this otter and salmon which I laid low with the cast of a single stone!’

When he saw what Loki carried in his hands Hreidmarr rose to his feet and shouted:

‘Come hither, my sons Fafnir and Reginn! Come and bind these evil men who have slain your brother Otter!’

Then, while he held them powerless by his magic, two strong youths came into the hall and bound them securely with iron chains.

‘And now,’ said Hreidmarr grimly as he sat gloating over his three captives, ‘it remains only to decide how you shall die.’

‘For what reason would you kill us?’ asked slow Honir, hoping to win out of danger by the smooth power of argument.

‘You must know,’ answered Hreidmarr, ‘that I am a master of black magic such as is known among the Trolls and Swart Elves. And my three sons share my art, but in addition have the power of changing their shapes at will. My eldest son Otter chose to pass his time in the shape of an otter so that he might catch the fish in which he delighted as they sprang down the waterfall not far from here which is called Andvari’s Force. The otter which you slew is this very son of mine, and justice demands a life for a life.’

‘But justice allows also of wergild,’ Honir replied stolidly, ‘that is a payment for a slaying if it be done by chance. My companion here flung a stone at what seemed but a common beast of the riverside. Come now, decide on the wergild that shall pay for the death of your son.’

Then Hreidmarr consulted with Fafnir and Reginn, and at last he said:

‘Strangers, we will take wergild, and it shall be this: enough good red gold to fill the skin of the otter which was my son, and to cover it so that not a hair may remain showing. Two of you shall stay here in chains, while the third goes forth to fetch the golden payment.’

The three Æsir consulted apart, and the end of it was that cunning Loki was sent out to find the golden ransom. ‘Go to the Black Elves and to the Dwarfs,’ Odin instructed him. ‘Use all your arts, for we are in the hands of wizards who must not know who we are. Therefore I cannot send to Asgard for help.’

‘Depend upon me,’ answered Loki with a cunning smile. ‘I know where the gold is to be got – though it will indeed require all my arts to win it for our use.’

So, while Odin and Honir remained in chains, and Fafnir and Reginn skinned the dead otter to measure out the wergild, Loki set forth in search of treasure.

He went straight back to Andvari’s Force, from which the otter had taken the shining salmon, and sat himself down beside the rushing waters.

Loki could see through the roaring arch of green and silver, and presently he perceived Andvari the Dwarf in the likeness of a pike hiding in the mouth of his cave which was behind the waterfall; and there was a glimmer of gold in the darkness of the cave behind him.

‘How can I catch him?’ thought Loki. ‘I could never take him with my hands, and he is far too wise to be caught by any hook however cunningly I might bait it …’

Then Loki thought of Ran, the cruel wife of Ægir, the Giant who ruled the Sea, who caught shipwrecked sailors in her net and drew them down to the bottom of the ocean. Ran was not friendly to the Æsir, but she recognized the evil Giant blood in Loki, and willingly lent him her net.

‘But do not let the Æsir see it,’ she warned him, ‘nor yet the men who dwell in Midgard. For a day may come when you will wish to escape, and only a net such as mine could snare you.’

Loki took Ran’s net and returned to Andvari’s Force. There he cast it into the water and drew it up so smartly that the great pike was entangled in its meshes and lay gasping on the bank.

Loki grasped him in his hands and held him until Andvari returned to his own Dwarfish shape and asked sulkily what he wanted.

When Loki told him, Andvari to save his life was forced to give up all his treasure. He carried it up out of the cave behind the arch of falling waters and stacked it on the bank – and it was a very great pile indeed, such a treasure of rich gold as had never before been seen in Midgard.

When at last it was all there, Andvari the Dwarf turned sulkily away. But as he did so he put out his hand and swept quickly under it one little golden ring.

Watchful Loki saw this, however, and sternly bade him fling it back on to the pile.

‘Let me keep just this ring,’ begged Andvari. ‘If I have it, I can make more gold: but the charm will not work for any who is not of the Dwarf race.’

‘Not one scarp shall you keep,’ said Loki viciously, and he snatched back the ring and held it firmly in his own hand.

‘Then,’ answered the Dwarf, ‘take with it my curse. And know that the curse goes with the ring and brings ruin and sorrow upon all who wear it until both ring and gold come back into the deep waters.’

So saying Andvari turned himself into a pike once more and dived to the bottom of the river.

But Loki collected the gold and carried it back to Hreidmarr’s dwelling where Odin and Honir were waiting anxiously for him.

When they saw the gold, Hreidmarr filled the otter skin full of it and set it up on end. Then they piled gold round it until the skin was completely hidden – and the gold was all used up.

As the gold was being stacked, Odin noticed Andvari’s Ring and it seemed so fair to him that he took it out of the pile and slipped it on to his own finger. When the gold was all heaped up, he exclaimed:

‘Now, Hreidmarr, our wergild is paid. See, the skin of the otter is altogether hidden under the gold.’

Hreidmarr examined the heap carefully.

‘Not so!’ he exclaimed. ‘One hair on the snout is still showing. Cover that also, or the wergild is not paid and your lives are forfeit.’

With a sigh Odin took the ring from his finger and covered the last hair with it; and so the wergild was paid and they were set at liberty.

When they were free, and Odin held his spear once more and there was no longer any danger, Loki turned to Hreidmarr and said:

‘With the ring of Andvari goes Andvari’s Curse: evil and sorrow upon all who wear it!’

Then the three Æsir returned to Asgard. But they left behind them the curse of Andvari’s Ring which had already begun to work on Hreidmarr and his two sons.

‘You must give us some part of the wergild,’ Fafnir and Reginn told their father. ‘Otter was our brother as well as your son.’

‘Not one gold ring shall either of you have,’ answered Hreidmarr, and he locked up the treasure in his strongest room.

Then Fafnir and Reginn made a plot together, and the end of it was that Reginn murdered their father Hreidmarr for the sake of Andvari’s gold.

‘And now,’ said Reginn when the evil deed was done, ‘let us share the treasure between us in equal portions.’

‘Not one gold ring shall you have,’ answered Fafnir. ‘Little do you deserve it indeed, seeing that you slew our father for its sake. Now go hence speedily, or I will slay you also! A life for a life is the law: and your life is forfeit for the murder of Hreidmarr.’

So Fafnir drove Reginn away, and he himself set Hreidmarr’s Helmet of Terror on his head and carried all the treasure which had been Andvari’s hoard to Gnita Heath far from the haunts of men and hid it in a cave. Then he took upon himself the form of a terrible dragon and lay down upon the gold and gloated over it after the custom of dragons.

But Reginn, vowing vengeance in his heart, went to the court of Hialprek, King of the Danes, and became his smith. There he received into his charge the young hero Sigurd the Volsung, the son of Sigmund to whom once on a time Odin had given a magic sword.

For once in the hall of King Volsung, as all the warriors sat over their mead, a stranger came out of the darkness, a one-eyed man wearing a long cloak and a broad-brimmed hat. Up the hall he went until he came to the trunk of the great oak tree round which the hall was built.

When he reached it the stranger drew a great, shining sword and plunged it into the hard wood so that it sank to the very hilt.

‘Who so draweth this sword from this stock, shall have it as a gift from me, and shall find that never a better sword was borne in hand by mortal man in Midgard!’ he cried.

Then he went out from the hall and vanished into the night: and King Volsung and his warriors knew that their visitor had been Odin.

When he grew up, Sigmund, Volsung’s son, was alone able to draw the sword out of the tree; and many mighty deeds he did with it, for none could stand against him.

At last, however, the day came when Sigmund was fated to die. As he fought his last battle he found none who could withstand him, till Odin came suddenly against him in his blue cloak and broad-brimmed hat and caught the swinging sword against the staff which he carried in his hand. At once the sword blade broke into pieces, and very soon afterwards Sigmund fell mortally wounded.

All the race of the Volsungs were killed in that battle except King Sigmund’s wife Hiordis. When the battle was over she went amongst the slain and found her husband yet living. With his last breath he bade her take the pieces of the sword and keep them carefully.

‘For when our son is born,’ he gasped, ‘he will become the noblest and most famous of all the Heroes of Midgard. From the pieces of this sword shall be made another weapon called Gram, and greater deeds shall Sigurd do with it than ever I performed.’

Then Sigmund died, and presently Hiordis became the wife of King Hialprek, who proved a kind and generous stepfather to young Sigurd.

Reginn was made his guardian and tutor, and he taught him well and honestly all those things which a warrior should know. He did, however, try to make him discontented with his lot, for he did not wish Sigurd to remain quietly in Denmark: but he did not succeed in turning him against his stepfather or his adopted home.

‘Surely you know how much wealth your father had?’ said Reginn. ‘Why, he was a king, and yet you are content to be without importance in your stepfather’s house.’

‘I am not without importance,’ answered Sigurd. ‘I have but to ask and I shall receive.’

‘You must prove that,’ replied Reginn. ‘Ask the King for a horse, the best that he has – and see what happens!’

‘He will grant it!’ cried Sigurd hotly. ‘Willingly! And anything else for which I ask!’

Nevertheless he went to the King and asked for the gift of a horse.

‘Take whichever you like,’ answered the King, ‘and anything else of mine no matter what it be.’

Next day Sigurd went to the wood where the royal horses grazed to choose one for himself. As he went he met an old man with a white beard and only one eye, who wore a long blue cloak and a broad-brimmed hat.

‘Whither away, young sir?’ asked the old man.

‘I come to the wood to choose a horse for myself,’ answered Sigurd. ‘But you, honoured sir, seem old and full of wisdom: advise me, I beg, how to choose my steed.’

‘Come with me,’ answered the old man, ‘and we will drive them into the swift waters of the Busil Tarn.’

They did so, driving the horses down a steep bank into the swift river. Then all of them were afraid and turned back to the land except one horse, a great grey stallion young and fair to see, on which no man had yet ridden. And this horse Sigurd chose.

Then the old man said: ‘From Sleipnir’s kin is this horse come: you must tend him well, for he will be the best of all horses,’ and having said this he vanished, and Sigurd knew that it was Odin.

Sigurd led home the horse, which was called Grani, and soon became a good and fearless rider.

Seeing that he was now full grown, and a man of great strength and courage, Reginn told him about the dragon Fafnir who lay upon the great hoard of gold in the cave on Gnita Heath.

‘So large and fierce is that dragon,’ ended Reginn, ‘and so deadly is the poison which pours from his mouth, that no man has dared to go up against him to slay him and take the treasure.’

‘If I had but a good enough sword,’ cried Sigurd, ‘I myself would venture against the dragon Fafnir and seek to be his bane!’

‘I will make you a sword,’ answered Reginn the master smith, and he went to his forge and fashioned a shining blade which he gave to Sigurd.

‘Behold your smithying, Reginn!’ cried Sigurd, and he smote the anvil with the sword so that the blade was shivered into fragments. ‘Go, forge me a better!’ he said, and flung down the handle.

Then Reginn put all his knowledge and cunning into the forging of a fresh blade, and he brought the new sword to Sigurd who gazed on it with admiration.

‘Maybe this will satisfy you,’ Reginn said, ‘though you are indeed a hard task master for any smith.’

Sigurd smote the anvil with the new sword, and once again the blade broke into pieces and he flung down the hilt, crying:

‘It seems that you are but a liar and an evil smith. Or maybe you would betray me to this dragon Fafnir who, as I have heard tell, is your own brother!’

Then Sigurd went to his mother Queen Hiordis and said: ‘Have I heard aright that my father King Sigmund gave you the good sword Gram, the gift of Odin, in pieces?’

‘That is true enough,’ she answered.

‘Then give me the pieces, I pray,’ said Sigurd, ‘for I would fain have a sword that is worthy of my father’s son.’

So she gave him the pieces of the sword Gram, saying that he would win great fame with it, and he carried them to Reginn and bade him make a sword.

Reginn took the pieces into the smithy, cursing Sigurd under his breath. But he put all his skill into the remaking of Gram: and as he carried out the finished work it seemed to him that fire burned along the edges of the blade.

Sigurd took the sword, and it seemed good to him. But nevertheless he whirled it up and struck the anvil with all his strength; and the keen blade cut through the iron anvil and down into wooden stock beneath without so much as blunting the edge.

‘This is indeed a fine sword,’ said Sigurd. But as a last test he went to the river and flung a lock of wool upstream. Then he held the sword in the water so that the lock was borne down against the sharp blade, and it was cut in half when it touched the sword.

‘And now,’ said Sigurd as he girded the sword Gram to his side, ‘I am ready to go forth against the dragon. But first I must avenge my father’s death, for such is my sacred duty.’

Sigurd was so well loved by man, woman, and child among the Danes that a band of warriors immediately gathered to follow him. So he sailed over the sea to attack the folk who had slain his people the Volsungs; he defeated them in a battle, and killed King Lyngi, who had brought about Sigmund’s death, with a single blow of the sword Gram.

After he had been at home for a little while, and had been feasted as a hero by the great ones among the Danes, Sigurd remembered the dragon Fafnir.

So he went to Reginn the master smith and said:

‘Fafnir the dragon has been in my memory all this while. Lead me to Gnita Heath and show me how I may come to him.’

Sigurd and Reginn rode away into the wilderness and came at last to the river at which Fafnir was wont to drink. And there was a long track down over the heath from the cave where the dragon dwelt.

‘You told me that this dragon was no bigger than others of his kind,’ said Sigurd. ‘But now that I see his tracks, I can guess that he is by far the greatest of all dragons.’

‘Yet you may kill him,’ answered Reginn, ‘if you will but dig yourself a hole in the path and stab him to the heart as he passes above you on his way down to drink at the river.’

‘But what will happen if the blood of the dragon falls upon me?’ asked Sigurd.

‘It is no use for me to offer you advice,’ exclaimed Reginn, ‘if you are afraid of every danger. Truly you are not worthy to be called the son of Sigmund.’

Then Sigurd rode forward towards the cave, but Reginn went and hid in the rocks by the river, for he was very much afraid.

Sigurd began to dig the pit in the dragon’s pathway; but while he worked there came to him an old man with a long white beard who had but one eye under his broad-brimmed hat, and asked him what he was doing.

When Sigurd told him, he said: ‘You are following the advice of one who wishes you evil. Rather you should dig many pits and trenches, and hide in one where the blood cannot come to you after you have thrust your sword into the dragon’s heart.’

Then the old man vanished, and Sigurd did as he was told, and afterwards lay hidden in one of the pits.

At last the time came for the dragon to take his morning drink, and the earth shook under his tread while he snorted forth venom as he went.

Sigurd neither trembled nor was afraid of the dreadful roaring of the monster nor of the steaming venom. But as the beast passed over the pits Sigurd thrust the sword Gram under its left shoulder and up to the very hilt. Then he leapt back, withdrawing the sword as he went, and slipped out by the trench at the side.

When Fafnir realized that he had his death-wound, he lashed out with head and tail so that all things within reach of him were broken to pieces. Then, knowing that his death was upon him, he lay still and asked:

‘What mighty hero is it that has smitten me? What son of what famous father is so bold as to come against me sword in hand?’

Sigurd, knowing how dangerous the curse of a dying man could be, made answer:

‘Unknown to men is my kin: I am called but a noble beast!’

Then Fafnir said: ‘Reginn my brother has brought this about, and it gladdens my heart to know that he is at your side; for I know well how he is minded. And now I know you for Sigurd the Volsung that shall be called Fafnir’s Bane for my slaying. Take my gold, but remember that it will itself be the bane of everyone soever who owns it, even as it has been mine. For the curse of Andvari is upon it.’

After this Fafnir the dragon rolled upon the ground and died, nor even in death did he regain his human shape.

Then came Reginn to Sigurd and said: ‘Hail, lord and master! A noble victory have you won in slaying Fafnir against whom none else dared stand. Yet he was my brother, and I too am guilty of his death, so I beg of you do this for me, that the blood-guilt may pass from us: cut out the heart of the dragon and roast it with fire, and let me eat it. Then all the guilt shall be mine, and no blame rest upon you, who have but slain a dragon and no more.’

Sigurd did as he was asked, and while Reginn went apart and rested in the deep heather, he set the dragon’s heart on a rod and roasted it before a fire.

After a while Sigurd touched the dragon’s heart with his finger to see if it were yet roasted, and the hot gravy burnt his finger so that he put it quickly to his mouth. The moment the heart’s blood of the dragon touched his tongue, he straightway understood the speech of all the birds. And he heard how the woodpeckers chatted together in the trees nearby:

‘There sits Sigurd,’ said one of them, ‘roasting the dragon’s heart for another. But if he ate it himself he would become the wisest of all men.’

‘There lies Reginn,’ said another, ‘planning to murder Sigurd and steal all the gold of Andvari’s hoard for himself.’

And a third said: ‘Why does not Sigurd strike off that traitor’s head and win the gold for himself?’

‘Why not indeed?’ exclaimed Sigurd springing to his feet. ‘Let Reginn go by the same road as Fafnir his brother!’

Then he drew the sword Gram and smote off Reginn’s head. After which he made his supper of dragon’s heart, and lay down to sleep upon the gold of Andvari’s hoard in Fafnir’s cave. But first of all he placed Andvari’s ring upon his finger.

In the morning as he was loading the treasure upon Grani’s back he heard the birds singing a new song:

‘High upon Hindfell the shield-hall rises;

Without, all around it, sweeps red flame aloft.

Therein bideth Brynhild bound by the sleepthorn,

The loveliest lady, this land ever knew.

If Sigurd should seek her sleep shall be ended –

By Odin ordained – shall be ended for him.’

At that Sigurd leapt upon Grani’s back and rode forth towards Hindfell; and after a while he saw a great light burning upon the mountain top. On and on he rode until, on the heights of Hindfell, he came to a wall of fire surrounding a hall made of shields with a banner floating above it.

Sigurd set spurs to Grani and leapt through the flames without taking any harm. Then he dismounted and strode into the shield-hall.

There he found a figure in golden armour lying as if dead. He plucked at the helmet, but the armour seemed to be growing to the figure, so that he was forced to cut it away. The tough rings parted before the keen blade of Gram as if the armour were made only of cloth.

Then Sigurd saw that the warrior who lay inside it was a lovely maiden with golden hair who slept peacefully, growing no older nor needing either food or drink.

He bent down to kiss her, and as he did so he saw a thorn sticking into her flesh. He drew it out, and she awoke slowly from her magic sleep and looked up at him.

‘Ah!’ she murmured. ‘You must be Sigurd the dragonslayer, for you wear Fafnir’s Helmet of Terror upon your head even as it was foretold. Indeed I can see that you are the bravest and most goodly of men, with hair of golden-red, broad-shouldered and keen-eyed, and fair of speech.’

‘Lady,’ said Sigurd, ‘you have named me aright. Sigmund was my father, the son of Volsung, and I am Sigurd, also called Fafnir’s Bane, since I have slain that dragon and bear away Andvari’s hoard which he guarded. But who are you? And why do you rest here in this charmed sleep, with a wall of fire burning ever about you?’

Then she answered: ‘I am Brynhild, a mighty king’s daughter. I was a Maiden of Odin, one of the Valkyries who follow his wild hunt and go out in the day of battle to summon to the Hall of Valhalla those whom he has chosen to die. It chanced that on a day two kings fought, an old man and a young. Odin had promised the victory to the ancient one, and sent me to bring death to the other. But I broke the command of Odin and slew the ancient king in his place. For that deed Odin decreed that I should be a Valkyrie no longer, but must marry and go my way to death as other women do. Yet he had pity on me and vowed that I should be won only by the bravest of all heroes, even Sigurd the Volsung. So he set this wall of fire about me, stuck the sleep-thorn into my flesh, and left me here until the day of your coming.’

Then Brynhild rose and brought Sigurd a cup of wine, in which they plighted their troth, and in token of his faith to her alone he set a ring on her finger. But the ring was Andvari’s ring, and the curse fell upon Brynhild from that moment.

When the next morning was come, Brynhild awoke from sleep and she roused Sigurd, saying:

‘Up, slayer of Fafnir! You must go forth into the world to win yet greater fame and wealth, and a kingdom over which I may be queen. And here I shall wait for you, knowing well that none but you can leap the wall of flame which is about my hall.’

Sigurd was sad at this, yet his spirit burned to do great deeds for Brynhild’s sake. So he kissed her farewell, mounted upon Grani, and leapt once more through the flames and so went on his way down the slopes of Hindfell until he came to the land where Guiki was king.

‘Who are you that come riding through my gates laden with treasure?’ asked King Guiki. ‘For none dare come here without the leave of my valiant sons Gunnar and Hogni.’

‘I am Sigurd the Volsung,’ was the answer, ‘Sigurd the slayer of Fafnir.’

‘Then be you welcome,’ cried King Guiki, ‘be even as one of my sons, and take from our hands whatsoever you will.’

So Sigurd remained for a while with King Guiki, and won great war-fame at the side of Gunnar and Hogni. But Guiki’s daughter Gudrun loved him from the first moment she saw him, and began to pine with longing for him.

Sigurd had no mind for her, though she was a fair princess indeed: for his every thought was of Brynhild, and he would often speak of her beauty and of the love that was between them.

Then Gudrun’s mother, the Witch Queen Grimhild, made a magic drink and carried it to Sigurd as he sat in the hall one night. And he drank it, thinking it was but the cup of mead which it was the custom of the ladies of the house to bear into the hall after dinner. But as soon as it had passed his lips, its evil magic clouded his wits so that he forgot Brynhild and the love that was vowed between them; and it was to him as if they had never met.

Time passed, and soon he came to love Gudrun, and presently they were married, and lived together happily. And Sigurd made a compact of sworn brotherhood with Gunnar and Hogni.

So several years passed, and then Grimhild decided that her eldest son Gunnar must win to wife the lovely Brynhild who still dwelt in her shield-hall ringed by flame on Hindfell, and whose fame was growing among men throughout all the lands thereabouts.

So Gunnar set out for Hindfell, and Sigurd and Hogni went with him. When they came to the wall of fire, Gunnar set his horse against it and lashed him hard; but the horse drew back in terror.

Then said Sigurd: ‘Why do you give back, Gunnar?’

And Gunnar answered: ‘My horse fears the fire. But lend me Grani, your great steed, and I will leap it.’

‘Yes, with my goodwill,’ answered Sigurd, remembering nothing of his own visit to Brynhild. Gunnar mounted Grani and urged him against the wall of fire. But Grani snorted and drew back, feeling an uncertain hand upon his bridle.

‘Now we must bring magic to our aid,’ said Gunnar, who had been well taught by his mother. And forthwith he practised shape-shifting so that he wore the likeness of Sigurd, and Sigurd his.

Then Sigurd, seeming to all who saw him none other than Gunnar, leapt upon Grani and sprang easily over and through the flames, and came to the shield-hall where Brynhild had sat for five long years waiting for her love.

‘What man are you?’ she asked, her eyes wide with dread.

‘I am Gunnar, the son of Guiki,’ was the answer. ‘And I have come through the flame-ring which surrounds you, and so according to your oath you must be my wife.’

Then, since there was no help for it, Brynhild consented to this, and vowed herself to be Gunnar’s wife. But that night as they slept in the shield-hall the sharp sword Gram lay between them as a token that the wedding was not yet. For in the morning the false Gunnar arose, drew a ring from his finger and set it upon Brynhild’s: but in exchange he took from her finger Andvari’s ring, and placed it upon his own.

Then he mounted Grani and leapt back through the fire. And when he was returned, he changed shapes once more with Gunnar, so that each had their right form.

Afterwards the flames died down and passed away, and Brynhild came out from her shield-hall on Hindfell, and when they came to Guiki’s hall her wedding feast with Gunnar was held with much rejoicing.

But when Sigurd had Andvari’s ring on his finger once more, the magic of Grimhild’s brew began to pass from him, and in time he remembered all that had happened.

Then he was filled with sorrow and bitter regret, for he knew that he still loved Brynhild above all women. But for honour’s sake he made no sign and she was certain that he had forgotten what had passed between them, or that she had dreamed it, and that Gunnar was indeed the nobler and the braver of the two.

But one day when she and Gudrun were washing their hair in the river a dispute arose between them.

‘As I have the braver husband of us two,’ said Brynhild, ‘it is my right to wash my hair further upstream than you.’

‘But my husband is braver than yours,’ answered Gudrun, ‘so that it is I who can claim the right of the stream. For I am wedded to Sigurd who slew both Fafnir and Reginn, and won the rich treasure of Andvari’s hoard.’

‘It was a matter of far greater worth and valour,’ exclaimed Brynhild, ‘that Gunnar did when he rode through the flaming fire to win me, and Sigurd dared not.’

‘And do you really believe that Gunnar rode through the flaming fire?’ asked Gudrun scornfully. ‘Now I think that he who won you, whatever form he wore, was he who gave me this ring, Andvari’s ring, which I wear on my finger – and it was not Gunnar who won that ring by slaying the dragon Fafnir on Gnita’s Heath.’

Then Brynhild was silent for she knew at last how she had been tricked and cheated, though she did not know why – and the curse of Andvari’s ring was heavy upon her.

All that evening she was silent. But next day she told Gunnar that he was a coward and a liar, since he had never won her by riding through the flames, but had sent Sigurd to do it for him, and pretended that he had dared it himself.

‘Never again,’ she ended, ‘shall you see me glad in your hall, never drinking, never playing at chess, never speaking words of kindness, never at my embroidery, nor giving you good counsel. No, rather shall I be plotting your death, for you have led me to break my vow – for well I knew that none but Sigurd could ride through the wall of flames that guarded my shield-hall. Oh, the sorrow of my heart that Sigurd might not be mine!’

Then she rent all her needlework and wept aloud so that all the house could hear her; for her heart was broken because she had lost Sigurd and married a man who was a coward and a liar.

At last Sigurd came to comfort her, begging her to love Gunnar her husband, and offering to give her all the treasure of Andvari’s hoard if that would console her. But he would not desert Gudrun his wife, nor slay Gunnar his sworn brother – for to do either would be shame unspeakable.

‘It is too late, too late to do anything: there is a curse upon us!’ wailed Brynhild; and Sigurd grieved so at the loss of his one true love that his breast swelled mightily and burst asunder the iron rings of his shirt of mail.

But there was nothing he could do, and he went sorrowing back to his own dwelling. And Brynhild, mad with grief and shame and disappointment, urged Gunnar and Hogni with false tales to slay Sigurd.

They refused to do so, being mindful of their oath; but they commanded their young brother Gutthorn to slay Sigurd, and gave him a charmed drink so that he grew nearly mad with hate and cruelty.

But when he went into Sigurd’s room, he shrank back and dared do nothing. A second time he went, and so bright and eager were Sigurd’s eyes as they met his, that he dared not look at him. But he came a third time, and Sigurd was asleep. Then Gutthorn plunged his sword through his body and into the bed beneath, and turned and fled.

But Sigurd caught up his own sword Gram and flung it after Gutthorn so mightily that the keen blade cut him in half at the middle, and that was the end of him. But Sigurd the Volsung, the Slayer of Fafnir, fell back after his last great deed, and lay dead.

Then his body was placed on a heap of wood aboard his great ship of war, and it was set on fire and pushed out to sea. But before it left the shore Brynhild took the sword Gram and plunged it into her heart. Then she sank down beside Sigurd on the ship, with the sword lying between them, and the fire took both of them as the ship sailed into the distance.

Gunnar and Hogni, however, took the treasure Andvari’s hoard between them, and they gave their sister Gudrun as wife to a king called Atli. When Gudrun placed the ring of Andvari on Atli’s finger the curse fell upon him too, so that he desired nothing more strongly than the gold, and cared not what evil he did to gain it.

So he invited Gunnar and Hogni to be his guests, and they came with a small train of followers. But before they set out, they hid the treasure Andvari’s hoard deep beneath the waters of the river Rhine: and only they two knew the place.

When they reached Atli’s hall, that evil king seized them, murdered their followers, and threatened them with torture if they did not tell him where Andvari’s hoard was hidden.

Atli came first to Gunnar, who was set apart from his brother, and tried to make him tell where the treasure was hidden. But Gunnar said:

‘Hogni and I have sworn never to reveal where the treasure lies, and I will not break my oath while Hogni lives. But bring me Hogni’s severed head so that I may be sure that he lives no longer, and I will speak.’

Atli immediately caused this to be done, and when he saw the severed head of his brother, Gunnar laughed triumphantly.

‘Now you shall never find Andvari’s hoard!’ he cried. ‘Only we two knew its hiding-place, and my brother was weaker than I, and might have betrayed it. Now his lips are sealed for ever, and no torture will wring a word from me.’

Then in his rage and disappointment Atli had Gunnar thrown bound into a pit of serpents. But Gudrun sent her brother a harp, on which he played so wondrously well with his toes that no man had ever before heard the like. All the serpents fell into a doze, except one, which was not a true serpent but an evil witch in serpent’s form: and she fastened her fangs in Gunnar’s breast so that he died.

After this Gudrun, as was her duty, sought vengeance on Atli for the death of her brothers. In the end she destroyed him and his followers by setting fire to his hall and burning them all in it.

Then, wishing to live no longer, she flung herself into the sea. And so Andvari’s ring, which was upon her finger, returned into the deep waters, and Andvari’s curse was ended.

But Brynhild, who had once been a Valkyrie, rode in her chariot down the dark road to Nifelheim where Hela ruled the dead; and Sigurd was welcomed by Odin in Valhalla: for both of them were to play their part at Ragnarok, on the Day of the Last Great Battle.