Hild the Waelcyrie
by Bob BlackThe gray haired man stood up but made no move to step out of the shadows. The long, colorless cloak covered him from chin to boots and the assembled household could make out few of his features. He could see them clearly, however: the Lord, his Lady and the men of his hearth-troop, lit by the fire and the flickering torches. He spoke and his voice was clear and strong, cutting through the noise and hubbub of the Great Hall.
"My Lord, my Lady," he said, "I am no scop, no poet or singer to kings and lords. I dwell with no one particular king. I travel, and sometimes when I stop I sing my songs in return for hospitality."
Standing half-hidden, part lit by the flickering yellow light, he addressed the Lord's Lady, who sat quietly at the table. "My Lady, I see that this is no outpost on the frontier; that you have furnished your Lord's Hall with all that civilised man could ask for. And I see, my Lady, that even here in Wessex you have scops to sing your Lord's glory and to recall the old stories from across the water. And you wonder Lady, what song, what story could a gray-bearded traveller tell that this magnificent assembly has not heard?"
"Well, Lady, to show my gratitude for your hospitality I will tell you a story of the old country: a story that your own scops will not sing. It is a dark tale, a tale of abuse and murder, of bloodletting and betrayal, of Wotan and his shield maiden Hild. Ah, yes, I see your scops are interested now; well, Lady, with your permission I shall start my story.
It begins not far from here, close enough for stout men to sail a good ship there, and it ends where the north wind blows cold over the sea drenched stony beaches of Hoy. But the bloody ending must wait. First we have a birth. King Hagni's wife has given birth to a girl-child. The King was young and strong, his wife young and beautiful: his lands were at peace, his hero-deeds done. Everything was well.
Hagni's queen named the child Hild, and she dedicated the child to Wotan. The King, besotted with his wife, allowed this and the days passed in joy and happiness. Little thought he gave to his sword Dainsleif, which he had swung in the battle-mad days when he become king and defended the land. The sword had been forged by four dwarfs and must always slay a person after being drawn from its scabbard.
Oh, My Lady, the stories I could tell of Hagni and his sword Dainsleif before peace was bought in blood and souls: but this is not that story. Another scop must tell that.
Yet it is not only the sword that kills, and when the girl-child Hild was still young Hagni's queen was taken by the fever. Dying, she commanded two things of her servant Cumbra: that he protect her daughter Hild with his life, and that he ensure her dedication to Wotan. Hagni was distraught at his wife's dying and agreed to Cumbra's custody of the child.
Her death was the death of Hagni, my Lady. All that was good, all that was brave in him died. His soul shrank within him and he was a shadow masquerading as a man. He took solace in beer, the bitter medicine that shrivels the brains and clouds thought, yet evaporated as the mist leaving memories clear as ever. He sought other women, buried his care-worn face in their swan-white flesh and found no pleasure.
He stumbled and retched his way through the years as Hild grew up. She grew tall and straight, and though she gave respect to the king she gave him little love or affection, reserving that for her teacher, bodyguard, and servant Cumbra. Her hair was the color of the autumn harvest. Her eyes were blue, the light blue that is the sea in summer. She grew to be a woman, and the shapeless white gowns she wore could not hide that fact. Only her face and hands were left bare and these she kept pale and white. Many a man of Hagni's household looked with envy and longing on the daughter, no longer a child, and unprotected by her drunken, father. But Cumbra was ever-present, ever ready to defend his charge. The Household, whatever they might think or dream, gave Hild only respect.
Little the men of Hagni's Household knew that at night she through off the shapeless white gowns and raced naked through the forests. Deep inside in a grove sacred to Wotan she stood, arms raised, her body light by the moon's pale blue light., and called out to Him-She-Served. The people, the farmers, and the fishers knew, but none came to stare at her nakedness - and not through fear. They worshipped the Goddess, Frea, for the Goddess brings forth life, and those of the land and the seas work with life. But they knew Wotan and his grove in the forest and they gave reverence to both and kept their families and livestock well away. When they met Hild walking back to Hagni's Hall they were polite and deferential. None, save perhaps the naked Hild, had met a tall, old one-eyed man, wearing a cloak and a broad-brimmed hat and carrying a spear, and all prayed to Frea that Wotan would not take this human form and leave his grove.
And so it was for years - Hagni losing the virtues that had made him King and hero, and Hild growing up and keeping her mother's pledge to serve Wotan, the god of war and strife. Hagni and his people were fortunate: the blood-red madness of war passed them by as other kings and warriors remembered Hagni's reputation and the sword Dainsleif. His Household stood ready, yet their most hazardous duty was to eat and drink at their king's expense and boast of their prowess to the local women.
It was fifteen years after Hagni's queen had departed this life and Hild was in her nineteenth year when an invitation came to Hagni to visit fellow monarchs. Through the waves of fermented barley Hagni heard the invitation and on a whim, a mindless, purposeless, destructive whim, he decided he would go. So the warriors of Hagni, accompanied their king and set sail, leaving Hild and the kingdom unguarded but unworried in this time of peace.
With the King and his Household departed a visitor came unannounced and unwelcome to Hagni's Hall: black-clad and cloaked, death strode ashore from Hedin Hiarrandason's ship. His ship beached at night and the warriors, weapons drawn, slunk like wolves through the shadows towards the sleeping, unguarded hall.
Their leader, Hedin Hiarrandason, paused and listened. Hedin stood, an axe in his hand and a horn in the other. He watched his men move amongst the beached fishing boats, each group moving close to one of the buildings that surrounded the Hall. When he saw they were in position he walked up the beach towards the King's Hall where his companions waited: dark, grim-faced men with murder and rape in their hearts where honor should bide. Outlaws, cast out from clan and family, exiled from the presence of Kings and Lords, detested by decent society and bound together as only men without home or family can be. He raised the horn to his lips and gave a long, piercing cry.
Leading his honorless men he burst into the main hall and began to serve his master, death as only a dedicated servant could.
Hagni's subjects died without striking a blow as Hedin's men rent their souls from their sleeping bodies. The ferocious bloodletting lasted but a few heartbeats and resistance was over. The men turned their bloodstained hands to the screaming frightened women. And at the rear of the Hall, outside the door to one of the private rooms, Cumbra fought his last battle. Hedin Hiarrandason's men rushed the servant who stood his ground outside the door: faithful Cumbra, he gave no thought to the wounds he received, to the spear thrusts that pierced him.
Ah, My Lady, shall I sing of faithful Cumbra who died true to his word: true to the oath he swore Hild's dying mother so many years ago, who died sword in hand, blood stained and glory-covered, whom Death saw and took for Himself? But no. This is another story.
Then Hedin was on her, throwing Hild down onto the fur covered bed. Hild struggled - she fought and cursed, she kicked and scratched, but she could not push Hedin away. His face hovered in front of hers: she smelt the stale beer on his breath, saw the blood flecks in his lust-filled eyes and her struggles increased.
Lady, I will not say what happened in that small room at the back of Hagni's Hall. It was not over quickly, and when they left Hedin Hiarrandason took Hild with him. Behind he left the Hall and the surrounding buildings ablaze. Anything of value had been taken aboard, beer and food, and women for the pleasure of the men.
When Hagni returned he saw the devastation of his Hall, of his people and his lands. For the first time since his queen had died he buckled on the sword Dainsleif and cast off the fog that had clouded his mind for so many years. He learned the name of the raiders from the survivors and ordered his hearth-troop to ready their ships. Over the swan's road they travelled, urgently following the bloody burning trail that Hedin Hiarrandason left as he travelled north to Norway.
He had left Norway when Hagni arrived there. The events, the voyage over salt water had cleared Hagni's mind, and after making enquiries he set sail again. On Hoy they found Hedin Hiarrandason.
For the first time since his mind had cleared Hagni met his daughter. Hedin Hiarrandason had sent her out to meet her father, after first obtaining her oath to return to him. He had given her gifts for her father, to atone for the bloodletting and burning, for the rape and abduction of his daughter; fine gifts, including a neck-ring of fine gold and blood-red rubies.
Hagni was not gentle with his daughter. Why was she still alive? Why had she brought such dishonor to him and his household? Hild did not answer. She thought long and hard about her father, about her abductor, about the blood gifts she had carried, and about the hearth-troop that stood behind her father King Hagni. But though she thought a lot, she said nothing.
Hagni inspected the blood gifts and his mind wondered if such finery could pay for what Hedin Hiarrandason had done. Hild spoke. She told her father that Hedin Hiarrandason had said he wanted peace, he wanted to make terms, but he would fight if he must.
Hagni told his daughter to return with Hedin Hiarrandason and they would speak.
And so on a windswept stony beach in Orkney two men and their companions stood facing each other. For the first time in twenty years Hagni, king and man again, drew the sword Dainsleif from its scabbard. It felt warm and solid to his touch. He waited as Hedin Hiarrandason, Hild and his men approached. Hiarrandason stood in front of Hagni and spoke. He offered to pay blood money for the raid, and the neck-ring would pay for the abuse done to Hild. He told Hagni that Hild had not suffered more than other women. That she had protested, but did not all women protest?
The two men argued, ignoring Hild who stood silently next to Hiarrandason, listening as they weighed blood and virtue against gold and blood-red rubies. And then Hagni reminded Hedin that he had drawn his sword Dainsleif, the sword forged by four dwarfs that must slay a person before it could be sheathed. But Hedin Hiarrandason answered that battles were won by swordsmen, not swords. And then Hild could stand no more of their bargaining. She poured scorn on her father's hearth-troop and turned again to the two men. Out of sweetness came forth vitriol.
And then Hedin Hiarrandason grasped Hagni's sword hand, and with all his strength drove the sword Dainsleif, the sword forged by four dwarfs that must slay a person before it could be sheathed, into Hild's stomach. She cried out and fell dead.
Hagni's hearth-troop surged forward. For twenty years they had lived on their reputations, drank the dark bitter beer and pale honey mead and enjoyed the favors of Hagni's women. Now they would pay for the feasting. And the battle began. Axe rang on sword, shield shattered beneath blow: over the dead body of Hild the warriors fought, each protecting their leader so Hagni and Hedin Hiarrandason could not get to each other. All day they fought, until the sun was low in the sky and her sister moon stood ready to flood the stony beach. Then the two leaders called for a truce and spoke about what they called sword-play of honor.
"Honor" boomed a voice that sounded of thunder, of death and the charnel house. I see little of honor here" said the white-haired man who leaned on his spear. He appeared from nowhere in the failing light, his body wrapped by a long cloak from which the color had drained. A wide brimmed hat covered most of his face, but Hagni and Hedin could see the black leather patch that covered one of his eyes.
"I see rabid sea-wolves, and a hearth-troop that dimly remembers that its purpose is more than to drink the honey-sweet mead. I see an honorless rapist and murderer and mind-addled sot who might have been a mighty hero. I see no honor here." The Dark Man, the Master of Death Runes, the Gallows Rider, the shapeshifter Wotan moved among them, and spoke softly. "And yet I care little for such things. But you have taken what was mine - between you all you have despoiled and murdered my shieldmaiden, and this I will not forgive." He turned to look at the bloody body of Hild, sprawled on the stony beach. "Come". He transferred his spear to his left hand and held out his right.
And Hedin's blood ran cold. Battle held no fear for him, wounds he had many, and honor and morals had never affected his leadership. Yet now his sword hung limply at his side for Hild was walking towards her master Wotan. He could clearly see the mortal wound that the sword Dainsleif had made and yet she walked and stood.
The Gray Man, the Master of Death Runes turned to face the two leaders and spoke. "This is Hild, my shieldmaiden, my waelcyrie, she who goes to the battlefield and chooses the warriors who will join me in my Hall, or go down to Hel. I shall grant her wish and she go across the battlefield at night, but there are none here who she will lead to my Hall, to my Company. Instead each man who dies will rise again in the morning, and this battle you have started today will continue. Each man will feel the pain of wounds and death, but death will bring no relief. Hild will walk among the dead and they will live again, and fight each other in the new morning."
He turned to walk away, and then turned to look at the two leaders. "Look well upon me, this is the last time you will see me until Ragnarok, when the gods must come to fight.
The story-teller who was no scop was silent, as was the entire hall. Only the crackle of the burning firewood broke the silence. In the half-light of the corner he put on his wide-brimmed hat and took his spear from the wall. He stepped out into the light and for the first time his audience saw him - what was not covered by the hat and the long cloak from which the color had drained. He leaned on his spear and spoke to the Lord's Lady "A tale, Lady, that your scops would not and could not tell you - a tale to remind you all that the old ways still run true even in this new land. And now farewell, Lady."
He walked in silence the length of the Hall and out into the dark. As he stepped outside there was a loud roar of thunder, and then silence.
©Bob Black
Bob Black is a known and respected historical author who has published three books and hundreds of articles on a range on historical subjects. He has been commissioned for a fourth book. He enjoys rewriting and reworking old, lesser known Northern myths, such as this one.