And summer was there again, when the Volsung spake on a day: "I will wend to the wood-deer's hunting, but thou at home shalt stay, And deal with the baking of bread against the even come."

So he went and came on the hunting and brought the venison home, And the child, as ever his wont was, was glad of his coming back, And said: "Thou hast gotten us venison, and the bread shall nowise lack."

"Yea," quoth Sigmund the Volsung, "hast thou kneaded the meal that was yonder?"

"Yea, and what other?" he said; "though therein forsooth was a wonder: For when I would handle the meal-sack therein was something quick, As if the life of an eel-grig were set in an ashen stick: But the meal must into the oven, since we were lacking bread, And all that is kneaded together, and the wonder is baked and dead."

Then Sigmund laughed and answered: "Thou hast kneaded up therein The deadliest of all adders that is of the creeping kin: So tonight from the bread refrain thee, lest thy bane should come of it."

For here, the tale of the elders doth men a marvel to wit, That such was the shaping of Sigmund among all earthly kings, That unhurt he handled adders and other deadly things, And might drink unscathed of venom: but Sinfiotli so was wrought, That no sting of creeping creatures would harm his body aught.

But now full glad was Sigmund, and he let his love arise For the huge-limbed son of Signy with the fierce and eager eyes; And all deeds of the sword he learned him, and showed him feats of war Where sea and forest mingle, and up from the ocean's sh.o.r.e The highway leads to the market, and men go up and down, And the spear-hedged wains of the merchants fare oft to the Goth-folk's town.

Sweet then Sinfiotli deemed it to look on the bale-fires' light, And the bickering blood-reeds' tangle, and the fallow blades of fight.

And in three years' s.p.a.ce were his war-deeds far more than the deeds of a man: But dread was his face to behold ere the battle-play began, And grey and dreadful his face when the last of the battle sank.

And so the years won over, and the joy of the woods they drank, And they gathered gold and silver, and plenteous outland goods.

But they came to a house on a day in the uttermost part of the woods And smote on the door and entered, when a long while no man bade; And lo, a gold-hung hall, and two men on the benches laid In slumber as deep as the death; and gold rings great and fair Those sleepers bore on their bodies, and broidered southland gear, And over the head of each there hung a wolf-skin grey.

Then the drift of a cloudy dream wrapt Sigmund's soul away, And his eyes were set on the wolf-skin, and long he gazed thereat, And remembered the words he uttered when erst on the beam he sat, That the G.o.ds should miss a man in the utmost Day of Doom, And win a wolf in his stead; and unto his heart came home That thought, as he gazed on the wolf-skin and the other days waxed dim, And he gathered the thing in his hand, and did it over him; And in likewise did Sinfiotli as he saw his fosterer do.

Then lo, a fearful wonder, for as very wolves they grew In outward shape and semblance, and they howled out wolfish things, Like the grey dogs of the forest; though somewhat the hearts of kings Abode in their bodies of beasts. Now sooth is the tale to tell, That the men in the fair-wrought raiment were kings' sons bound by a spell To wend as wolves of the wild-wood, for each nine days of the ten, And to lie all spent for a season when they gat their shapes of men.

So Sigmund and his fellow rush forth from the golden place; And though their kings' hearts bade them the backward way to trace Unto their Dwarf-wrought dwelling, and there abide the change, Yet their wolfish habit drave them wide through the wood to range, And draw nigh to the dwellings of men and fly upon the prey.

And lo now, a band of hunters on the uttermost woodland way, And they spy those dogs of the forest, and fall on with the spear, Nor deemed that any other but woodland beasts they were, And that easy would be the battle: short is the tale to tell; For every man of the hunters amid the thicket fell.

Then onwards fare those were-wolves, and unto the sea they turn, And their ravening hearts are heavy, and sore for the prey they yearn: And lo, in the last of the thicket a score of the chaffering men, And Sinfiotli was wild for the onset, but Sigmund was wearying then For the glimmering gold of his Dwarf-house, and he bade refrain from the folk, But wrath burned in the eyes of Sinfiotli, and forth from the thicket he broke; Then rose the axes aloft, and the swords flashed bright in the sun, And but little more it needed that the race of the Volsungs was done, And the folk of the G.o.ds' begetting: but at last they quelled the war, And no man again of the sea-folk should ever sit by the oar.

Now Sinfiotli fay weary and faint, but Sigmund howled over the dead, And wrath in his heart there gathered, and a dim thought wearied his head And his tangled wolfish wit, that might never understand; As though some G.o.d in his dreaming had wasted the work of his hand, And forgotten his craft of creation; then his wrath swelled up amain And he turned and fell on Sinfiotli, who had wrought the wrack and the bane And across the throat he tore him as his very mortal foe Till a cold dead corpse by the sea-strand his fosterling lay alow: Then wearier yet grew Sigmund, and the dim wit seemed to pa.s.s From his heart grown cold and feeble; when lo, amid the gra.s.s There came two weazles bickering, and one bit his mate by the head, Till she lay there dead before him: then he sorrowed over her dead: But no long while he abode there, but into the thicket he went, And the wolfish heart of Sigmund knew somewhat his intent: So he came again with a herb-leaf and laid it on his mate, And she rose up whole and living and no worser of estate Than ever she was aforetime, and the twain went merry away.

Then swiftly rose up Sigmund from where his fosterling lay, And a long while searched the thicket, till that three-leaved herb he found, And he laid it on Sinfiotli, who rose up hale and sound As ever he was in his life-days. But now in hate they had That hapless work of the witch-folk, and the skins that their bodies clad.

So they turn their faces homeward and a weary way they go, Till they come to the hidden river, and the glimmering house they know.

There now they abide in peace, and wend abroad no more Till the last of the nine days perished, and the spell for a s.p.a.ce was o'er, And they might cast their wolf-shapes: so they stood on their feet upright Great men again as aforetime, and they came forth into the light And looked in each other's faces, and belike a change was there Since they did on the bodies of wolves, and lay in the wood-wolves'

lair, And they looked, and sore they wondered, and they both for speech did yearn.

First then spake out Sinfiotli: "Sure I had a craft to learn, And thou hadst a lesson to teach, that I left the dwelling of kings, And came to the wood-wolves' dwelling; thou hast taught me many things But the G.o.ds have taught me more, and at last have abased us both, That of nought that lieth before us our hearts and our hands may be loth.

Come then, how long shall I tarry till I fashion something great?

Come, Master, and make me a master that I do the deeds of fate."

Heavy was Sigmund's visage but fierce did his eyen glow, "This is the deed of thy mastery;--we twain shall slay my foe-- And how if the foe were thy father?"-- Then he telleth him Siggeir's tale: And saith: "Now think upon it; how shall thine heart avail To bear the curse that cometh if thy life endureth long-- The man that slew his father and amended wrong with wrong?

Yet if the G.o.ds have made thee a man unlike all men, (For thou startest not, nor palest), can I forbear it then, To use the thing they have fashioned lest the Volsung seed should die And unavenged King Volsung in his mound by the sea-strand lie?"

Then loud laughed out Sinfiotli, and he said: "I wot indeed That Signy is my mother, and her will I help at need: Is the fox of the King-folk my father, that adder of the brake, Who gave me never a blessing, and many a cursing spake?

Yea, have I in sooth a father, save him that cherished my life, The Lord of the Helm of Terror, the King of the Flame of Strife?

Lo now my hand is ready to strike what stroke thou wilt, For I am the sword of the G.o.ds: and thine hand shall hold the hilt."

Fierce glowed the eyes of King Sigmund, for he knew the time was come When the curse King Siggeir fashioned at last shall seek him home: And of what shall follow after, be it evil days, or bliss, Or praise, or the cursing of all men,--the G.o.ds shall see to this.

_Of the slaying of Siggeir the Goth-king._

So there are those kings abiding, and they think of nought but the day When the time at last shall serve them, to wend on the perilous way.

And so in the first of winter, when nights grow long and mirk, They fare unto Siggeir's dwelling and seek wherein to lurk.

And by hap 'twas the tide of twilight, ere the watch of the night was set And the watch of the day was departed, as Sinfiotli minded yet So now by a pa.s.sage he wotted they gat them into the bower Where lay the biggest wine-tuns, and there they abode the hour: Anigh to the hall it was, but no man came thereto, But now and again the cup-lord when King Siggeir's wine he drew: Yea and so nigh to the feast-hall, that they saw the torches shine When the cup-lord was departed with King Siggeir's dear-bought wine, And they heard the glee of the people, and the horns and the beakers' din, When the feast was dight in the hall and the earls were merry therein.

Calm was the face of Sigmund, and clear were his eyes and bright; But Sinfiotli gnawed on his shield-rim, and his face was haggard and white: For he deemed the time full long, ere the fallow blades should leap In the hush of the midnight feast-hall o'er King Siggeir's golden sleep.

Now it fell that two little children, Queen Signy's youngest-born, Were about the hall that even, and amid the glee of the horn They played with a golden toy, and trundled it here and there, And thus to that lurking-bower they drew exceeding near, When there fell a ring from their toy, and swiftly rolled away And into the place of the wine-tuns, and by Sigmund's feet made stay; Then the little ones followed after, and came to the lurking-place Where lay those night-abiders, and met them face to face, And fled, ere they might hold them, aback to the thronging hall.

Then leapt those twain to their feet lest the sword and the murder fall On their hearts in their narrow lair and they die without a stroke; But e'en as they met the torch-light and the din and tumult of folk, Lo there on the very threshold did Signy the Volsung stand, And one of her last-born children she had on either hand; For the children had cried: "We have seen them--those two among the wine, And their hats are wide and white, and their garments tinkle and shine."

So while men ran to their weapons, those children Signy took, And went to meet her kinsmen: then once more did Sigmund look On the face of his father's daughter, and kind of heart he grew, As the clash of the coming battle anigh the doomed men drew: But wan and fell was Signy; and she cried: "The end is near!

--And thou with the smile on thy face and the joyful eyes and clear!

But with these thy two betrayers first stain the edge of fight, For why should the fruit of my body outlive my soul tonight?"

But he cried in the front of the spear-hedge; "Nay this shall be far from me To slay thy children sackless, though my death belike they be.

Now men will be dealing, sister, and old the night is grown, And fair in the house of my fathers the benches are bestrown."

So she stood aside and gazed: but Sinfiotli taketh them up And breaketh each tender body as a drunkard breaketh a cup; With a dreadful voice he crieth, and casteth them down the hall, And the Goth-folk sunder before them, and at Siggeir's feet they fall.

But the fallow blades leapt naked, and on the battle came, As the tide of the winter ocean sweeps up to the beaconing flame.

But firm in the midst of onset Sigmund the Volsung stood, And stirred no more for the sword-strokes than the oldest oak of the wood Shall shake to the herd-boys' whittles: white danced his war-flame's gleam, And oft to men's beholding his eyes of G.o.d would beam Clear from the sword-blades' tangle, and often for a s.p.a.ce Amazed the garth of murder stared deedless on his face; Nor back nor forward moved he: but fierce Sinfiotli went Where the spears were set the thickest, and sword with sword was blent; And great was the death before him, till he slipped in the blood and fell: Then the shield-garth compa.s.sed Sigmund, and short is the tale to tell; For they bore him down unwounded, and bonds about him cast: Nor sore hurt is Sinfiotli, but is hoppled strait and fast.

Then the Goth-folk went to slumber when the hall was washed from blood: But a long while wakened Siggeir, for fell and fierce was his mood, And all the days of his kingship seemed nothing worth as then While fared the son of Volsung as well as the worst of men, While yet that son of Signy lay untormented there: Yea the past days of his kingship seemed blossomless and bare Since all their might had failed him to quench the Volsung kin.

So when the first grey dawning a new day did begin, King Siggeir bade his bondsmen to dight an earthen mound Anigh to the house of the Goth-kings amid the fruit-grown ground: And that house of death was twofold, for 'twas sundered by a stone Into two woeful chambers: alone and not alone Those vanquished thralls of battle therein should bide their hour, That each might hear the tidings of the other's baleful bower, Yet have no might to help him. So now the twain they brought And weary-dull was Sinfiotli, with eyes that looked at nought.

But Sigmund fresh and clear-eyed went to the deadly hall, And the song arose within him as he sat within its wall; Nor aught durst Siggeir mock him, as he had good will to do, But went his ways when the bondmen brought the roofing turfs thereto.

And that was at eve of the day; and lo now, Signy the white Wan-faced and eager-eyed stole through the beginning of night To the place where the builders built, and the thralls with lingering hands Had roofed in the grave of Sigmund and hidden the glory of lands, But over the head of Sinfiotli for a s.p.a.ce were the rafters bare.

Gold then to the thralls she gave, and promised them days full fair If they held their peace for ever of the deed that then she did: And nothing they gainsayed it; so she drew forth something hid, In wrappings of wheat-straw winded, and into Sinfiotli's place She cast it all down swiftly; then she covereth up her face And beneath the winter starlight she wended swift away.

But her gift do the thralls deem victual, and the thatch on the hall they lay, And depart, they too, to their slumber, now dight was the dwelling of death.

Then Sigmund hears Sinfiotli, how he cries through the stone and saith: "Best unto babe is mother, well sayeth the elder's saw; Here hath Signy sent me swine's-flesh in windings of wheaten straw."

And again he held him silent of bitter words or of sweet; And quoth Sigmund, "What hath betided? is an adder in the meat?"

Then loud his fosterling laughed: "Yea, a worm of bitter tooth, The serpent of the Branstock, the sword of thy days of youth!

I have felt the hilts aforetime; I have felt how the letters run On each side of the trench of blood and the point of that glorious one.

O mother, O mother of kings! we shall live and our days shall be sweet!

I have loved thee well aforetime, I shall love thee more when we meet."

Then Sigmund heard the sword-point smite on the stone wall's side, And slowly mid the darkness therethrough he heard it gride As against it bore Sinfiotli: but he cried out at the last: "It biteth, O my fosterer! It cleaves the earth-bone fast!

Now learn we the craft of the masons that another day may come When we build a house for King Siggeir, a strait unlovely home."

Then in the grave-mound's darkness did Sigmund the king upstand; And unto that saw of battle he set his naked hand; And hard the gift of Odin home to their b.r.e.a.s.t.s they drew; Sawed Sigmund, sawed Sinfiotli, till the stone was cleft atwo, And they met and kissed together: then they hewed and heaved full hard Till lo, through the bursten rafters the winter heavens bestarred!

And they leap out merry-hearted; nor is there need to say A many words between them of whither was the way.

For they took the night-watch sleeping, and slew them one and all And then on the winter f.a.gots they made them haste to fall, They pile the oak-trees cloven, and when the oak-beams fail They bear the ash and the rowan, and build a mighty bale About the dwelling of Siggeir, and lay the torch therein.

Then they drew their swords and watched it till the flames began to win Hard on to the mid-hall's rafters, and those feasters of the folk, As the fire-flakes fell among them, to their last of days awoke.

By the gable-door stood Sigmund, and fierce Sinfiotli stood Red-lit by the door of the women in the lane of blazing wood: To death each doorway opened, and death was in the hall.

Then amid the gathered Goth-folk 'gan Siggeir the king to call: "Who lit the fire I burn in, and what shall buy me peace?

Will ye take my heaped-up treasure, or ten years of my fields'