to the Asers, drink to great Njord Borsson.’
Everyone drank, and then of course they went back to the counter for more beer.
‘Fenris had one daughter, a lass called Hedwiga, a tall wench and strapping, with skin smooth as marble. Her hair that hung braided in two yellow pigtails hung thick long and fragrant clear down to her bottom. They swayed and they bounced as she walked in the rickyard, her hips swaged, her breasts shimmered, a sight for the starving. I knew she’d come, the way she looked at me, once alone in the barn we’d soon have got … friendly.’
‘What, friendly?’
‘Yes, friendly. Another loved Ulla, and one wanted Hermod, we’d soon have been talking if not for their father. He had eyes where we had backbones, he had ears where we have toenails, he could hear the sun arising, he could see the grass a-growing, seven daughters on the rampage he could watch and never miss one. How then do you bed a woman when her father watches daily, when her father listens nightly, when she sleeps behind the hangings, and his bed’s across the doorway?
‘Then Hermod had a brainwave, he always was a genius, we’d get the old man drunk and pass him where he lay. Don’t ever drink with Fenris, it really isn’t worth it, his legs and feet are hollow, and the beer just drains away. So even drinking three to one, he had us on the floor.
‘Then Hermod had a brainwave, he always was a genius, we’d tie the old man up, and let
him
sleep upon the floor. And we said that night to Fenris, when the ale horns were half empty, “Fenris, we know you are a mighty man. You walk the forest with a giant’s strength. Oak trees your fingers pluck from out the earth. The winter wind is not more powerful. Has no one ever tried to bind your arms?” “Many have tried,” said Fenris, “none succeeded. Tie up my arms with any cord you like and I will break it.”
‘So we tied him up first with a short length of fish line, thin light and strong – he broke it at once. Then we took twine thatwe use for the corn sheaves, doubled, re-doubled, an eightfold cord. He strained for a moment, then jerked, and behold it, the eightfold cord was snapped clean away.
‘Now Fenris was fuddled and hazy with drinking, so we took some boat line as thick as my thumb. We tied him and wrapped him to look like a parcel, and all was set fair to get into bed. Then Hermod had a brainwave, he always was a genius, said, “Let’s put him out, let him sit in the cold for the wolves to eat him,” and when he said wolves, old Fenris went mad. He stretched and he strained, he wrenched and he wriggled, his face it went red and his wrists they went white. We three men stopped laughing, the girls they stopped giggling, and then in the silence we heard the knots burst!’
‘The knots burst?’
‘The knots burst, the rope burst, the hemp strands went flying, the benches went flying, and Fenris went mad. With an axe from the wall he chased us and flailed us, he splintered the tables and split all the stools. He shivered the pillars, he broke up the braziers, he cut up six rats and bisected a dog. The tables were scattered, the floor straw was scattered, and we all were scattered before that big axe. He chopped first at Ulla, overbalanced and missed him, he cut hard at Hermod and cut off – some hair. Then he went after me, all round the tables, and he hacked and he slashed and he
cut off my hand!’
There was a moment of hush so that you could hear the rats in the roof. In German eyes, Fenris had done something unmentionable in striking a guest. It was Tyr who had behaved honourably in running away, resisting any temptation to strike back or defend himself, the very embodiment of virtuous self-control – or so we were supposed to think.
‘Then in the morning we’d all got sober; they cleaned the wound and they sewed up the stump. Poor old Fenris, he
was
broken hearted, and we had to tell him what we’d been about. That started him laughing, he
Everyone drank, and then of course they went back to the counter for more beer.
‘Fenris had one daughter, a lass called Hedwiga, a tall wench and strapping, with skin smooth as marble. Her hair that hung braided in two yellow pigtails hung thick long and fragrant clear down to her bottom. They swayed and they bounced as she walked in the rickyard, her hips swaged, her breasts shimmered, a sight for the starving. I knew she’d come, the way she looked at me, once alone in the barn we’d soon have got … friendly.’
‘What, friendly?’
‘Yes, friendly. Another loved Ulla, and one wanted Hermod, we’d soon have been talking if not for their father. He had eyes where we had backbones, he had ears where we have toenails, he could hear the sun arising, he could see the grass a-growing, seven daughters on the rampage he could watch and never miss one. How then do you bed a woman when her father watches daily, when her father listens nightly, when she sleeps behind the hangings, and his bed’s across the doorway?
‘Then Hermod had a brainwave, he always was a genius, we’d get the old man drunk and pass him where he lay. Don’t ever drink with Fenris, it really isn’t worth it, his legs and feet are hollow, and the beer just drains away. So even drinking three to one, he had us on the floor.
‘Then Hermod had a brainwave, he always was a genius, we’d tie the old man up, and let
him
sleep upon the floor. And we said that night to Fenris, when the ale horns were half empty, “Fenris, we know you are a mighty man. You walk the forest with a giant’s strength. Oak trees your fingers pluck from out the earth. The winter wind is not more powerful. Has no one ever tried to bind your arms?” “Many have tried,” said Fenris, “none succeeded. Tie up my arms with any cord you like and I will break it.”
‘So we tied him up first with a short length of fish line, thin light and strong – he broke it at once. Then we took twine thatwe use for the corn sheaves, doubled, re-doubled, an eightfold cord. He strained for a moment, then jerked, and behold it, the eightfold cord was snapped clean away.
‘Now Fenris was fuddled and hazy with drinking, so we took some boat line as thick as my thumb. We tied him and wrapped him to look like a parcel, and all was set fair to get into bed. Then Hermod had a brainwave, he always was a genius, said, “Let’s put him out, let him sit in the cold for the wolves to eat him,” and when he said wolves, old Fenris went mad. He stretched and he strained, he wrenched and he wriggled, his face it went red and his wrists they went white. We three men stopped laughing, the girls they stopped giggling, and then in the silence we heard the knots burst!’
‘The knots burst?’
‘The knots burst, the rope burst, the hemp strands went flying, the benches went flying, and Fenris went mad. With an axe from the wall he chased us and flailed us, he splintered the tables and split all the stools. He shivered the pillars, he broke up the braziers, he cut up six rats and bisected a dog. The tables were scattered, the floor straw was scattered, and we all were scattered before that big axe. He chopped first at Ulla, overbalanced and missed him, he cut hard at Hermod and cut off – some hair. Then he went after me, all round the tables, and he hacked and he slashed and he
cut off my hand!’
There was a moment of hush so that you could hear the rats in the roof. In German eyes, Fenris had done something unmentionable in striking a guest. It was Tyr who had behaved honourably in running away, resisting any temptation to strike back or defend himself, the very embodiment of virtuous self-control – or so we were supposed to think.
‘Then in the morning we’d all got sober; they cleaned the wound and they sewed up the stump. Poor old Fenris, he
was
broken hearted, and we had to tell him what we’d been about. That started him laughing, he
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