“Father,” said Thorgerthr, “we have both been deceived; we have been drinking milk.” As she spoke, the old man clenched his teeth in the horn, and tore a great shred from it, then flung the vessel wrathfully on the ground.
“Our scheme has failed,” said Thorgerthr, “and we cannot now continue it. I have a better plan to propose. Compose a death-lay on your son, Bödvar, and I will carve it in runes on oaken staves.”
Then the spirit of song came on the old man, and he composed the long Wake-song of Bödvar that goes by the name of the Sonartorrek, and in singing it his grief was assuaged.
The invasion of the Northmen, of Dane and Viking of Norway, that made the Saxons tremble, was an invasion of something more than marauders—it was one of four-post beds. They did not, indeed, bring their press beds with them in their “Long Serpents,” but no sooner did they establish themselves in the land—Ragnar Lodbrog’s sons in Northumbria, and King Knut in England—than they set up their four-posters, and made themselves both secure and comfortable. They shut themselves in for the night, pulled the bolt, and were safe till next morning. We do not half understand the horrors of St. Brice’s Day, 1002, when the Danes were massacred throughout the dominions of Æthelred, unless we introduce these closed beds into the picture. We must imagine the Saxons storming the closed and bolted boxes, and the Danes within, unable to escape, as the axes and crowbars crashed against the oak doors and hinges of their lokhvilur. They could but muffle themselves in their feather beds, and endeavour to burst forth when the entrance was forced.
The cairn, or tumulus, that covered a dead Norseman was heaped over a sort of wooden or stone bed made after the fashion of a lokhvila. In the Grettis saga we have the story of the hero breaking into the cairn of an old king, and he found him enclosed in a box of boards—stout oak planks—very much as he had been shut in every night when he retired to sleep. The kistvaens of stone, oblong boxes of stones set on end, and covered over with great slabs, to contain the dead, are nothing other than stone four-posters. And the modern coffin is nought else but the wooden enclosed lokhvila—the Scandinavian close bed reduced to the smallest possible dimensions. There is no particular sense in the coffin, but it is a reminiscence of what the beds of our Scandinavian forefathers were, and will continue to be used long after the four-poster is banished from our bedrooms.
In the Völsunga saga is a ghastly story of two men buried alive in a kistvaen. Sigmund was the sole surviving son of King Völsung, who had been killed by King Siggeir of Gothland. Siggeir was married to Signy, the sister of Sigmund. The duty to revenge the death of Völsung lay on Sigmund, and Signy was by no means indisposed to further this vengeance-taking. Sigmund and his son Sinfjotli came secretly to the hall of King Siggeir, and concealed themselves in full harness in an outhouse behind a cask of ale. The two boys of the king, running out, saw them hiding there, and raised the alarm, whereupon Sigmund and Sinfjotli cut them down. King Siggeir called together his men, and they closed round Sigmund and his son and took them alive. Then the King of Gothland declared he would bury them alive. Accordingly he ordered his men to erect large stones set on end, and to cover them over with flat stones, and then he placed the two men, Sigmund and Sinfjotli, in the chamber thus formed, and heaped over them a cairn of earth and small stones. Now, just before the last stone coverer was placed on this living grave, Signy, the queen, flung in a big bundle. When the cairn was raised the two men who were entombed alive felt the bundle, and discovered that it consisted of a stout rope wrapped round the sword of Sigmund. That gave to them hope. With the blade they dug at the bases of the upright stones, and, raking out the small stuff between them, managed to pass the rope round them, and drew them down. By the fall of these stones a gap was made, the top of the cairn ran in, and the two entombed men crawled out. They at once went to the hall of the king, heaped wood about it, and set it on fire. As it flared, Signy came out, kissed her brother, and his son, refused life, and went back into the flames to die with her husband and his men.
The Völsunga saga is valuable, as it carries us back to the pre-Christian condition of life in the semi-mythical period. The Völsungs are kings of the land of the Huns: they are not Huns themselves, but belong to the Odin-born conquering race. The historic Huns have the rude stone monuments attributed to them in Hanover, Pomerania, and Mecklenburg, but they had nothing to do with their erection. These monuments belong to a far earlier race.
When King Harold Fairhair converted Norway into a single monarchy, many of the old chiefs fled the land rather than submit; but one, Herlaugi, in Naumudal, went alive with twelve of his men into a cairn that contained a kist, and had it closed upon him.
In the saga of Egil and Asmund is a queer story of two men who swore brotherhood with each other, that he who survived the other should spend three nights in the cairn with his dead brother, “and then depart if he liked.” The saga goes on to tell how that one of these, Aran, was slain, then his fellow, Asmund, “threw up a cairn, and placed by the dead man his horse, with saddle and bridle, and all his harness and his banner, his hawk, also, and his hound; Aran sat in the high stool in full armour. Then Asmund had his chair brought into the cairn and sat there, and the cairn was closed on them. In the first night Aran rose from his stool and killed hawk and hound, and ate them both. In the second night Aran stood up and slew his horse, and tore it in pieces, rending it with his teeth, and he ate the horse, the blood running over his jaws. And he invited Asmund to eat with him. The third night Asmund felt heavy with sleep, and he snoozed off, and was not aware before the dead man had gripped him by both ears and had torn them off his head. Asmund then drew his sword, hewed off the head of Aran, took fire, and burned him to ashes. Then he went to the rope and was drawn up, and the cairn was closed. But Asmund carried away with him all the treasure it contained.”[20]
The Norsemen were buried seated in their chairs or in their boats, but the builders of the megalithic monuments were interred lying on their sides, with their hands folded, as though in sleep. Their great dolmens and covered avenues were family cemeteries. The slab at the east end was movable, so as to allow of admission into the tomb on each fresh death in the family. A hole in the stone at the foot is very usual. Of that elsewhere. The latest interments in a dolmen are always nearest the opening; sometimes the more ancient dead have been removed farther back in the monument to make room for the new-comers. There is an allusion in Snorn’s Heimskringla to these holes in the kists containing the dead: “Freyr fell sick and his men raised a great mound, in which they placed a door with three holes in it. Now when Freyr was dead they conveyed him secretly into the mound, but told the Swedes he was alive; and they kept watch over him for three years. They brought all the taxes into the mound—through one hole they thrust in the gold, through another they put in the silver, and through the third the copper money that was paid.”[21]