IX
A Banquet in Upsala
King Eric made ready now a great feast of many days, and summoned a Thing to be holden in the middle term thereof, at which Thing he was minded to make over and give unto Styrbiorn, his brother’s son, with all lawful ceremonies and before the face of the Swedes in lawful Thing assembled, that half share of the kingly power in Sweden which King Olaf had held aforetime. And the feast was in honour as well of this greater matter as of Styrbiorn’s betrothal unto Thyri the daughter of King Harald Gormson. Thyri was come now out of Denmark with a great and honourable company to bring her home to Upsala. The folk when they saw her deemed well of her and praised her beauty. That she loved Styrbiorn was clear as day, and men thought the two of them must have laid their plans for this in Denmark when Styrbiorn was with the King her father last winter.
The third night of their feasting was a banquet holden in the King’s hall, and before that banquet was the troth-plighting of Styrbiorn and Thyri performed with due ceremony, and the banquet was the banquet of their betrothal, but the wedding should be after the Thing, when Styrbiorn should have taken kingdom.
Eric the King was set in his high seat on the upper bench, and the Queen at his right hand. Styrbiorn sat in the high seat on the lower bench over against the King, and Thyri his betrothed sat at his side. There was at that banquet every lord and man of mark that was of greatest account in all the land of the Swedes, both Earls and landed men and the King’s counsellors and friends and the great men of his household, and the wives and kinswomen of these, and Styrbiorn’s men that followed him out of Jomsburg: in all, so great a press of noble persons and those of their following who made shift to find place in every nook and corner of the hall, that never was so great a throng of folk gathered together in the King’s house, and the thralls and serving men had much ado to serve meat and drink to all that company.
Helgi and Thorgisl and Thorir were sat cheek by jowl on the upper bench at the end nighest the door. They liked well of the good eats and drinks and made game together. They spoke softly so as they should not be overheard.
Thorgisl said, “Well fares he that sits quiet with his own. Sith Styrbiorn is come into kingdom now in our despite, let us drink and be glad and kick at the pricks no more.”
“That is well said,” said Helgi. “And yet, it dislikes me he should hold his chin so high, sitting there so glad, with his backside rooted in yonder high seat as though he were King already. If he be puffed up now so big, who shall abide to live under him when he shall be King indeed?”
“He thinketh,” said Thorgisl, “on the Swede realm, which now lieth loose before him.”
“Well,” said Thorir, “so the ale runneth trill-lill down the throat, what need grieve us?”
Helgi drank and said, “None shall deny that Styrbiorn hath a pretty piece of flesh o’ the right hand side of him. Would I were nearer, to mark if, spite o’ that, his eye stray not toward the upper bench.”
“A point eastward o’ the King?” said Thorir: and they laughed. “ ’Tis not every man loveth the same meat, though, Helgi. I have marked the King look seldomer tonight of’s own right hand than thereaway, to the cross-bench.”
“How? there?” said Helgi, craning forward over the board, and scanning the other women where they sat, seen dimly fair through the flicker and reek of fire and torchlight. “I see,” he said, sitting back again and wiping the mead-froth from his moustachios with the back of his hand. His eyes wandered back toward the cross-bench: they glittered, and he ran his tongue over his lips.
“ ’Tis not every man hath his pick of suchlike morsels,” said Thorgisl. “He that had his pick, and picked not, should be a fool, to my thinking.”
Thorir took him round the neck and said in his ear. “Helgi will not be slow to pick there, when his turn cometh: and little blame to him, think’st thou?”
“Is it any one?” said Thorgisl.
“Art thou blind?” said Thorir. “She, third from the end: the King’s latest bondmaid. O’ the Erse King’s blood, men say. If black women be ugly, there’s argument for thee that foul is fair.”
“Black women’s the fashion tonight,” said Thorgisl.
Helgi was yet licking his lips and shifting uneasily in his seat, his eyes yet on the black-haired damosel on the cross-bench. Looking round and seeing his comrades’ laughing gaze upon him, he squared his shoulders, crammed his mouth with mutton, hailed the cupbearer for more drink, and said through his munchings, “Women’s but cattle: one’s like another, when all’s said and done.”
“So much the better for thee,” said Thorir; “for I think thou’lt have to wait a weary while for this one.”
Helgi drank and spat. “O, the trolls take thee and thy talk,” he said.
“Thorgnyr receiveth all this wondrous calm,” said Thorgisl after a time. “What if we have but mistook him all this while?”
“Never think it,” said Helgi, looking up the table to where that old man sat, near the King. “Sometimes the sea will moan in a calm. I hear it now, methinks.”
The hall was hung with outlandish hangings, curtains of rich crimson stuff and cloth of gold and broidered work brought out of Micklegarth or Garthrealm or the Western Isles, plunder of war or gifts of peace and tribute made to Styrbiorn by kings and lords that he had brought under him; and these treasures he had given now to the King his uncle, so many and rich and goodly as had not heretofore been seen, not one tenth the number nor goodliness, in the realm of Sweden. And there were plates of gold and great cups and breakers and goblets of gold and silver, rough with jewels and beautifully enchased, that made the rude, smoke-darkened and ponderous boards of the long tables blossom, like the brown earth in spring, with shining splendours. But the magnificence and glory of that banquet had root not in the fair setting only of gold and jewels and gorgeous tissues and weapons hung on the walls and armour glinting, but in the living presence and splendour of the men and women that feasted in that pomp: Eric the King, his youth come back upon him, eating and drinking and making merry, oftenest with his eye on Styrbiorn that sat there over against him in the beauty of his youth and strength; and that young affianced bride of Styrbiorn’s, white-skinned and with night-dark hair, quiet, with eyes and ears only for him; and opposite, on the King’s right hand, that fair young Queen of his. She too was quiet. The lids drooped over her dark eyes that looked out like some animal’s eyes, profound and of doubtful import, under shadowing lashes, unsounded pools. Her face was flushed. Her red-gold hair, swept back in heavy shimmering and luxurious masses, shadowed her brow on either side, and was gathered and coiled again under strings of jewels darkly sparkling. Her gown was of silk, a treasure of untold price out of the land of the Greeks, deep purple and purfled with gold. There was a strange and disturbing grace in her quiet pose and carriage, as if the fair and lovely body of her with the burning fire of its beauty pierced the rich attire that hid it, giving to every silken fold and to every glittering gem a warm and breathing loveliness as of very flesh and blood. And yet her lord, sitting there at handreach, had eyes and mind, as it appeared, only for his nephew, if it were not for a sidelong glance now and again at that newest damosel of his on the cross-bench. Styrbiorn for his part had eyes for all, merry of heart and at ease and at peace, as for that while, with all the world.
Now it began to be late, and men fell to telling of stories, and later on to man-matching. But the King made them give over this, deeming it likely to turn out too little peaceable a game in such a company as was there, being not of one land nor of one allegiance but of two or three. And he bade instead a skald of his sing them somewhat, whether some lay or drapa. “And best of all, some old love-song, sith this is a betrothal feast tonight.” So the skald stood forth and in obedience to the King spake forth that song which men call the Hell-ride of Brynhild, in manner following—
“Hold! for thou gettest gangway never
Thorough this grit-built garth of mine.
Should better beseem thee to broider at home
Than to woo another’s wedded lord.
What cam’st thou to woo from Valland hither
O fickle head, unto house of mine?
Gold lady, thou hast, (and thou list to know),
Those milk-white hands of man’s blood washen.”
“Braid not me therefor, O Bride of the Stone,
Though I of old did a-viking fare.
I shall be still the stronger called
Of us twain, whereso our tale men know.”
“Thou, O Brynhild, Budli’s daughter,
For an omen of ill on earth wast born:
The children of Giuki a-gley thou smotest,
And their good house didst hurl in wreck.”
“I shall tell thee a true tale,
O nothing knowing (if know thou wilt):
What guerdon I had of Giuki’s heirs—
To be reft of my truelove and troth-forlorn.
I was with Heimir in Hlymdale of old:
Seasons eight I sat there in joy.
Twelve winters had I (if wist thou wilt)
Ere oath I sware to any prince.
All they hight me in Hlymdale of old
Hild the Helm’d, whoso knew me.
Then let I, in the land of the Goths,
Helm-Gunnar the old to Hell go down:
To Aud’s young brother I brought the glory:
Over wroth waxed Odin with me for that.
He lock’d me with shields in Skatalund,
Red shields and white; rim touch’d rim:
Bade he then that man break my slumber,
Who in the wide world wist not of fear.
About my stately southern hall
High he let blaze the bane of woods:
Bade he then only over it ride
Him who should get me that gold that ’neath Fafnir lay.
Riding on Grani, the good gold-scatterer
Came to my fosterer’s famous steadings:
A viking better beyond all other
Deem’d they him in the host of the Danes.
Slept we and abode in one bed together,
As though he my brother born had been:
Not an hand of either drew nigh to other,
Eight nights long of our lying so.
Upbraided me Gudrun, Giuki’s daughter,
That I had slept in Sigurd’s arms;
Then wist I this clear which I would not wist:
That they had beguil’d me in bridegroom-getting.
World without end in woe and anguish
Must mankind and womankind quicken and live.
Now shall we twain never part,
Sigurd and I.—So sink thou: sink!”
Now all were silent listening while the skald spake that lay, for he spake it well and in a manner to touch men’s hearts. Styrbiorn sat still, harkening attentively; and while he harkened his gaze was bent on Sigrid the Queen, where she sat over against him at the King’s right hand. She sat there as heretofore looking down, so that her eyes were hid under their long lazy lashes. One arm of her rested on the table before her, toying with a fallen cup. Now Styrbiorn was held with the music of that song, and his thoughts within him were on the sadness of the song, so that, looking on the Queen, he saw not her, but in imagination that Queen of old time, Brynhild. So watching, he heard, as in a dream, the skald’s sounding voice:
“Thou, O Brynhild, Budli’s daughter,
For an omen of ill on earth wast born:
The children of Giuki a-gley thou smotest,
And their good house didst hurl in wreck.”
And as the song went on, Styrbiorn thought in himself: Brynhild? Why was she to blame for it? It was Odin set that fire about her, and that weird upon her. And that was Sigurd that rode through the fire. And yet, it was not to Sigurd that she was wed, but to Gunnar, son of King Giuki: and Sigurd wedded not her, that was his right love, but Gudrun instead, King Giuki’s daughter. And then Brynhild slew herself on Sigurd’s funeral pyre. It is a strange unlucky tale, and not easy for a man to tell the rights and wrongs of it. And now she is riding down the cold and stony way of Hell, and this Ogress would plague her now and hold her back from Sigurd.
In that study, and still looking with bodily eye on Queen Sigrid, he saw in her now in his mind’s eye Brynhild in her free and glorious time, “Hild the Helm’d,” the Valkyrie, Odin’s shield-may. Like as in a trance he watched and marked, with wondrous clearness yet with a mind removed and dispassionate, the proud-curved luxurious lips half-open; the white throat of her, strong and delicate; the bosom of her, pressed a little, as it rose, against the edge of her gown, then as it fell leaving a hollow that opened on sweet unseen depths of softness and beauty. His inward gaze moved downward, unhindered by the table that stood in the way of his bodily sight; downward to the jewelled girdle, the byrny’s skirt where it shaped its close-lying texture of shining interwoven rings of iron about the large rondure of her hips.
The skald spake the words:
“A viking better beyond all other
Deem’d they him in the host of the Danes.”
And Styrbiorn seemed in himself to be drowned yet deeper in the song, so that himself too was lost in it, and that which meant Sigurd meant him.
Then, at the words, “Upbraided me Gudrun, Giuki’s daughter,” he looked up: met, for the first time, Sigrid’s glance, and became on the instant like a man drunk. He sat staring with eyes wide open into her eyes that, wide open too and unblinking, looked full in his. Then the Queen looked away. Styrbiorn heard, as if from afar off, Thyri whispering in his ear some trifle of lovers’ talk. The gallop of his blood shook him so fiercely that he might not trust himself with speech. He reached out his hand to the mighty jewelled goblet before him, brimming with the froth of mead, and emptied it at a draught.