~ By Courtesy of Others ~
The Song of Thorstein the Galleon
(Referring to the "Grettis Saga".)
O sing the wyrd
that wove me here
bound and bondless
behind Katalak's stone!
My brother's banesman
lies more alone,
colder than I.
His blood--the murderer
foulest and fell--flows
from the teeth of
my dead brother's blade,
marks my hands;
pays my passage
to this barrow-fate
I earned smiling.
O How could my heart
in its own bone-gaol
wile weary, woeful,
while Thorbjorn Ongul
cools, cleft from
helm-seat to tongue-root
by my fell arm
and Grettir's own blade
while Varangians
witnessed, watchful?
A withered witchwife's
sorest sorcery
it took to best Grettir,
Asmund's strongest son
enduring outlawry endless
amongst the ghosts,
badly banished from
kin and kindness.
But Thorbjorn boasted
false; lesing laid
the battered blade
across my palms.
Grinning, I gave it
gladly back,
through his
bragging jaw-hinge!
O sing--I will ring
these stones with songs
for my life has been good
and all men die
and in Miklagard is
Grettir Asmundarson
avenged at last!
© 2005 Karen L. U. Kahan
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Image: Wiktor Wasnezov, 1848-1926