For the next two days, we sailed among the islands of the Dan country, and then on the third day we crossed a passage of open water, and eventually arrived at the territory called Venden. These lands of Venden are mountainous and forbidding, and the men of Buliwyf in his boat approached with some trepidation and the killing of a hen, which was thrown into the ocean thus: the head was thrown from the bow of the ship, and the body of the hen was thrown from the stern, near the helmsman.
We did not beach directly on this new land of Venden, but sailed along the coast, coming at last to the kingdom of Rothgar. High upon a cliff, commanding a view of the raging gray sea, was a huge great hall of wood, strong and imposing. Iit was a magnificent sight, but Herger and all his company, led by Buliwyf, were groaning and shaking their heads. Why this was so? He said, “Rothgar is called Rothgar the Vain, and his great hall is the mark of a vain man.”
“Why do you speak thus? Because of its size and splendor?” For verily, as we came closer, we saw that the hall was richly ornamented with carvings and silver chasing, which sparkled from a distance.
“No,” said Herger. “I say that Rothgar is vain because of the way he has placed his settlement. He dares the gods to strike him down, and he pretends he is more than a man, and so he is punished.”
There could not exist a more impregnable great hall. “This hall cannot be attacked; how can Rothgar be struck down?”
"Rothgar deserves the misfortune that has come to him, and it is only we who shall save him, and perhaps not even so.”
Each warrior in the boat dressed in the garments of battle, which were thus: first, boots and leggings of rough wool, and over this a coat of heavy fur, which reached to the knees. Over this they placed coats of mail, which all had save me. Then each man took his sword and clasped it to his belt; each man took up his white shield of hide, and his spear; each man placed a helmet of metal or leather upon his head; this all the men were the same except for Buliwyf, who alone carried his sword in his hand, so large was it. The warriors looked up to the great hall of Rothgar, and marveled at its gleaming roof and skilled workmanship, and agreed that there was none like it in the world, with its lofty gables and rich carving. Yet there was no respect in their speech.
At length we decamped from the ship, and traveled a road paved in stone up to the great hall. The clanking of swords and the clatter of mail raised a goodly noise. After we had gone some short distance, we saw by the roadway the severed head of a steer, set upon a stick. This animal was freshly killed.
All the Northmen sighed and made sad faces at this portent.
Buliwyf looked away, across the fields of the lands of Rothgar, and saw there an isolated farming house, of the sort that is common in Rothgar lands. The walls of this house were of wood, and sealed with a paste of mud and straw, which must be replenished after the frequent rains. The roof is thatched material and wood also. Inside the houses there is only an earthen floor and a hearth, and the dung of animals, for the farm people sleep with their animals indoors for the warmth afforded by their bodies, and then they burn the dung for fires.
Buliwyf gave an order that we should go to this farmhouse, and so we set out across the fields, which were verdant but soggy with dampness underfoot. Once or twice the company halted to examine the ground before continuing on, but they never saw anything that mattered to them. I myself saw nothing.
Yet again Buliwyf halted his company, and pointed to the dark earth.
Buliwyf and his warriors shook their heads at the sight, repeating one word over and over: “wendol” or “wendlon,” or some such. Herger should not be asked at this moment, for he was as apprehensive as all the rest. We pressed on to the farmhouse, now and again seeing more of these horned footprints in the earth. Buliwyf and his warriors walked slowly, but it was not caution; no man drew his weapon; rather it was some kind of dread.
At length we came to the farming dwelling and entered it.
Now they set off for the great hall of King Rothgar. No man spoke during our travel, which was the better part of an hour; every one of the Northmen seemed to be wrapped in bitter and consuming thought, and yet they showed no fear anymore.
At length, a herald upon a horse met us and barred our path. He noted the arms we carried and the bearing of the company and of Buliwyf, and shouted a warning.
Herger said to me, “He craves to know our names, and curtly, too.”
Buliwyf made some answer to the herald, and from his tone I knew that Buliwyf was in no mood for courtly pleasantries. Herger said to me: “Buliwyf tells him we are subjects of King Higlac, of the kingdom of Yatlam, and we are on an errand to the King Rothgar, and would speak to him.” And Herger added, “Buliwyf says that Rothgar is a most worthy king,” but the tone of Herger conveyed the opposite sense of the matter.
This herald bade us continue to the great hall and wait outside while he told the King of our arrival. This we did, although Buliwyf and his party were not pleased at such treatment; there was grumbling and muttering, for it is the Northman’s way to be hospitable and this did not seem gracious, to be kept outside. Yet they waited, and also removed their weapons, their swords and spears, but not their armor, and they left the weapons outside the doors to the hall.
Now the hall was surrounded on all sides by several dwellings in the fashion of the North people. These were long with curved sides, as at Trelburg (a nearby encampment); but they differed in the arrangement, for there were no squares here. Nor were there fortifications or earthworks to be seen. Rather, from the great hall and the long houses about it, the ground sloped to a long flat green plain, here and there a farmhouse, and then, beyond, the hills and the edge of a forest.
I inquired of Herger whose long houses were these, and he said to me, “Some belong to the King, and others are for his royal family, and others for his nobles, and also for the servants and lower members of his court.” He said also that it was a difficult place, though I did not comprehend his meaning in this.
Then we were allowed entry into the great hall of King Rothgar, which verily I say is to be counted one of the marvels of all the world, and all the more for its presence in the crude North country. This hall is called, among the Rothgar peoples, by the name of Hurot, for the Northmen give the names of people to the things of their life, to the buildings and boats and especially to the weapons. Now I say: this Hurot, the great hall of Rothgar, was as large as the palace of Versailles, and richly inlaid with silver and even some gold, which is most rare in the North. On all sides were designs and ornaments of the greatest splendor and richness of artistry. It was truly a monument to the power and majesty of King Rothgar.
This King Rothgar sat at the distant end of Hurot Hall, a space so vast that he was so far we could hardly discern him. Standing behind his right shoulder was the same herald who had halted us. The herald made a speech, which Herger told me was thus: “Here, O King, is a band of warriors from the kingdom of Yatlam. They are newly arrived from the sea, and their leader is a man of the name Buliwyf. They beg leave to tell you of their errand, O King. Do not forbid them entry; they have the manner of earls, and from his bearing their chieftain is a mighty warrior. Greet them as earls, O King Rothgar.”
Thus we were bid approach the King Rothgar.
King Rothgar appeared a man near death. He was not young, his hair was white, his skin was very pale, and his face was grooved with, sorrow and fear. He regarded us with suspicion, wrinkling his eyes, or perhaps he was near blind, I do not know. Finally he broke into speech, which Herger says was thus: “I know of this man, for I have sent for him on a hero’s mission. He is Buliwyf, and I knew him as a child, when I traveled across the waters to the kingdom of Yatlam. He is the son of Higlac, who was my gracious host, and now this son comes to me in my time of need and sorrow.”
Rothgar then called for the warriors to be summoned to the great hall, and gifts brought, and celebrations made.
Buliwyf then spoke, a long speech. To speak when Buliwyf spoke would be a disrespect. However, the meaning was this: that Buliwyf had heard of the troubles of Rothgar, that he was sorry for these troubles, and that his own father’s kingdom had been destroyed by these same troubles, and that he had come to save the kingdom of Rothgar from the evils that had beset them.
Still, I did not know what the Northmen called these evils, or how they thought of them, though I had viewed the handiwork of the beasts that tore men to pieces.
King Rothgar spoke again, in some haste. He wished to say some words before all his warriors and earls arrived. He said thus (from Herger): “O Buliwyf, I knew your father when I was myself a young man, new to my throne. Now I am old and heartsick. My head bows. My eyes weep with shame to acknowledge my weakness. As you see, my throne is almost a barren spot. My lands are becoming a wild place. What the fiends have wrought to my kingdom I cannot say. Often at night, my warriors, brave with drink, swear to topple the fiends. And then when the bleak light of dawn creeps over the misty fields, we see bloody bodies everywhere. Thus is the sorrow of my life, and I shall speak no more of it.”
Now a bench was brought out and a meal set before us.
That evening there was a great celebration, and King Rothgar and his Queen Weilew, in a garment dripping gemstones and gold, presided over the nobles and warriors and earls of the kingdom of Rothgar. These nobles were a paltry lot; they were old men and drank overmuch and many were crippled or wounded. In the eyes of all of them was the hollow stare of fear, and there was hollowness in their merriment, too.
Also there was the son named Wiglif, of whom I have earlier spoken, the son of Rothgar who murdered three of his brothers. This man was young and slender with a blond beard and with eyes that never settled on anything, but moved about here and there constantly; also he never met the gaze of another. Herger saw him and said, “He is a fox.” By this he meant that he was a slippery and changeable person of false demeanor, for the North people believe the fox is an animal that can assume any form it pleases.
Now, in the middle portion of the festivities, Rothgar sent his herald to the doors of Hurot Hall, and this herald reported that the mist would not descend that night. There was much happiness and celebration over this announcement that the night was clear; all were pleased save Wiglif.
At a particular time, the son Wiglif rose to his feet and said, “I drink honor to our guests, and especially Buliwyf, a brave and true warrior who has come to aid us in our plight-although it may prove too great an obstacle for him to overcome.”
All eyes turned to Buliwyf for his response. Buliwyf stood, and looked to Wiglif, and then said, “I have no fear of anything, even the callow fiend that creeps at night to murder men in their sleep. This I took to refer to the “wendol,” but Wiglif turned pale and gripped the chair in which he sat.
“Do you speak of me?” Wiglif said, in a trembling tongue.
Buliwyf made this response: “No, but I do not fear you any more than the monsters of the mist.”
The young man Wiglif persisted, although Rothgar the King called for him to be seated. Wiglif said to all the assembled nobles: “This Buliwyf, arrived from foreign shores, has by appearance great pride and great strength. Yet have I arranged to test his mettle, for pride may cover any man’s eyes.”
Now I saw this thing happen: a strong warrior, seated at a table near the door, behind Buliwyf, rose with speed, plucked up a spear, and charged at the back of Buliwyf. All this happened in less time than it takes a man to suck in his breath. Yet also Buliwyf turned, plucked up a spear, and with this he caught the warrior full into the chest, and lifted him by the shaft of the spear high over his head and flung him against a wall. Thus was this warrior skewered on the spear, his feet dangling above the floor, kicking; the shaft of the spear was buried into the wall of the hall of Hurot. The warrior died with a sound.
“You shall sing a song for the court of King Rothgar. All desire it.”
“You will sing something that entertains the heart. Do not speak of your one God. No one cares for such nonsense.”
“Sing a song of kings and valour in battle.”
The name of “wendol,” or “windon,” is a very ancient name, as old as any of the peoples of the North country, and it means “the black mist.” To the Northmen, this means a mist that brings, under cover of night, black fiends who murder and kill and eat the flesh of human beings. The fiends are hairy and loathsome to touch and smell; they are fierce and cunning; they speak no language of any man and yet converse among themselves; they come with the night fog, and disappear by day-to where, no man durst follow.
“You can know the regions where dwell the fiends of the black mist by many ways. From time to time, warriors on horse may hunt a stag, chasing the stag over hill and dale for many miles of forest and open land. And then the stag comes to some marshy tarn or brackish swamp, and here it will halt, preferring to be torn to bits by the hounds rather than enter that loathsome region. Thus we know of the areas where the wendol live, and we know that even the animals will not enter thence.
“In olden days, the black mist was feared by all the Northmen of every region. Since my father and his father and his father before, no Northman has seen the black mist, and some of the young warriors counted us old fools to remember the ancient tales of their horror and depredations. Yet the chiefs of the Northmen in all the kingdoms, even in Norway, have always been prepared for the return of the black mist. All of our towns and our fortresses are protected and defended from the land. Since the time of the father of my father’s father, our peoples have thus acted, and never have we seen the black mist. Now it has returned.”
“The black mist has come from the vanity and weakness of Rothgar, who has offended the gods with his foolish splendor and tempted the fiends with the siting of his great hall, which has no protection from the land. Rothgar is old and he knows he will not be remembered for battles fought and won, and so he built this splendid hall, which is the talk of all the world, and pleases his vanity. Rothgar acts as a god, yet he is a man, and the gods have sent the black mist to strike him down and show him humility.”
Perhaps Rothgar was resented in the kingdom. He replied thus: “No man is so good as to be free from all evil, nor so bad as to be worth nothing. Rothgar is a just king and his people prospered all of his life. The wisdom and richness of his rule are here, in Hurot Hall, and they are splendid. His only fault is this, that he forgot defense, for we have a saying among us: ‘A man should never move a step from his weapons.’ Rothgar has no weapons; he is toothless and weak; and the black mist seeps freely over the land.”
The old man was tired, and turned away from me, and soon was asleep. Verily, the food and drink of Rothgar’s hospitality were much, and many of the number of earls and nobles were drowsy.
Of the table of Rothgar I shall say this: that every man had a tablecloth and plate, and spoon and knife; that the meal was boiled pork and goat, and some fish, too, for the Northmen much prefer boiled meat to roasted. Then there were cabbages and onions in abundance, and apples and hazelnuts. A sweetish fleshy meat was given me that I had not tasted before; this, I was told, was moose, or reindeer.
The dreadful foul drink called mead is made from honey, then fermented. It is the sourest, blackest, vilest stuff ever invented by any man, and yet it is potent beyond all knowing; a few drinks, and the world spins.
Buliwyf and all his company did not drink that night, or only sparingly, and Rothgar took this as no insult, but rather acknowledged it as the natural course of things. There was no wind that night; the candles and flames of Hurot Hall did not flicker, and yet it was damp, and chill. Out of doors the mist was rolling in from the hills, blocking the silvered light of the moon, cloaking all in blackness.
As the night continued, King Rothgar and his Queen departed for sleep, and the massive doors of Hurot Hall were locked and barred, and the nobles and earls remaining there fell into a drunken stupor and snored loudly.
Then Buliwyf and his men, still wearing their armor, went about the room, dousing the candles and seeing to the fires, that they should burn low and weak.
The Northmen have a saying of praise that they carve upon the tombstones of noble warriors, which is this: “He did not flee battle.” None of the company of Buliwyf fled that night, though the sounds and the stink were all around them, now louder, now fainter, now from one direction, now another. And yet they waited.
Then came the most fearsome moment. All sounds ceased. There was utter silence, except for the snoring of the men and the low crackle of the fire. Still none of the warriors of Buliwyf stirred.
And then there was a mighty crash upon the solid doors of the hall of Hurot, and these doors burst open, and a rush of reeking air gutted all the lights, and the black mist entered the room. Verily it seemed thousands of black grunting shapes, and yet it might have been no more than five or six, huge black shapes hardly in the manner of men, and yet also manlike. The air stank of blood and death; I was cold beyond reason, and shivered. Yet still no warrior moved.
Then, with a curdling scream to wake the dead, Buliwyf leapt up, and in his arms he swung the giant sword Runding, which sang like a sizzling flame as it cut the air. And his warriors leapt up with him, and all joined the battle. The shouts of the men mingled with the pig-grunts and the odors of the black mist, and there was terror and confusion and great wracking and rending of the Hurot Hall.
The battle raged for how long I cannot know, but it concluded most suddenly of a moment. And then the black mist was gone, slunk away, grunting and panting and stinking, leaving behind destruction and death that we could not know until we had lighted fresh tapers.
Here is how the battle waged. Of the company of Buliwyf, three were dead, Roneth and Halga, both earls, and Edgtho, a warrior. The first had his chest torn open. The second had his spine broken. The third had his head torn off in the manner I had already witnessed. All these warriors were dead.
Wounded were two others, Haltaf and Rethel. Haltaf had lost an ear, and Rethel two fingers of his right hand. Both men were not mortally injured, and made no complaint, for it is the Northman way to bear the wounds of battle cheerfully, and to praise above all the retaining of life.
As for Buliwyf and Herger and all the others, they were soaked in blood as if they had bathed in it. Now I shall say what many will not believe, and yet it was so: our company had killed not one of the mist monsters. Each had slunk away, some perhaps mortally wounded, and yet they had escaped.
Herger said thus: “I saw two of their number carrying a third, who was dead.” Perhaps this was so, for all generally agreed upon it. I learned that the mist monsters never leave one of their kind to the society of men, but rather will risk great dangers to retrieve him from human purview. So also will they go to extreme lengths to keep a victim’s head, and we could not find the head of Edgtho in any place; the monsters had carried it off with them.
Then Buliwyf spoke, and Herger told me his words thus: “Look, I have retained a trophy of the night’s bloody deeds. See, here is an arm of one of the fiends.”
And, true to his word, Buliwyf held the arm of one of the mist monsters, cut off at the shoulder by the great sword Runding. All the warriors crowded around to examine it. It appeared to be small, with a hand of abnormally large size. But the forearm and upper arm were not large to match it, although the muscles were powerful. There was long black matted hair on all parts of the arm except the palm of the hand. Finally it is to say that the arm stank as the whole beast stank, with the fetid smell of the black mist.
Now all the warriors cheered Buliwyf, and his sword Runding. The fiend’s arm was hung from the rafters of the great hall of Hurot, and marveled at by all the people of the kingdom of Rothgar. Thus ended the first battle with the wendol.
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