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Shoeless Pony and the Fearless Goat
(© 2006 John T Mainer)

There was a time in the land of the Jutes when neighbor warred not with neighbor, when the ships of Dane and Swede were as apt to call in peace as raid. The wights and alfar were at peace, the crops dark and heavy, and the sky as apt for sunshine as shower. This time of idyll was ended, of course, by the arrogance of man, and the vengeance of the Aesir.

      In the town of Hrafnborg lived Svalli the merchant, son of Ivar Shield breaker, the noted reaver and sea lord. Svalli inherited his fathers great wealth, his knack for trading and eye for opportunity, but none of his fierce courage or sense of honor; he was thus a man of much riches, but little fame or respect in Hrafnborg. Chief amongst Ivar's Thanes was Ragnar Odosson, called Mad Ragnar, who had won much fame through his many voyages, but unending glory when he gave his life to win Ivar free of the Byzantine fire ship that had nigh caught them in the Bosporus. Mad Ragnar was survived by his wife Helga, a noted wise woman, his two young sons, wild pups of the wolf father, and by Brita, a daughter graced with her mother's wisdom and beauty, and her father's wild spirit. While Svalli's name was mentioned with his fathers, only to say that he was "No Ivar". Helga's name was mentioned by all with both fathers and mothers fame. Laughing as she coursed bareback over fences on the white stallion only she and Ragnar could ever hold the villagers would laugh "A true child of Mad Ragnar that one!" and smile as they spoke. Too would they smile to see her at her mother's side called to births and foaling, for her hands were sure and judgment much spoken of.

       Svalli looked to the feast of Walpurgnicht to make the fame that had long been denied him. His father was famed for his open handed generosity, even as he was known for his adventures, and his wise judgment. Svalli, though hard to part with any coin, had hungered so long for the fame of his father; he had determined to have it, whatever the price. He had decided to strip his farms of stock, slaughtered for the feast, to have his ships bring fine wine from the southlands, that villagers had never tasted, and to gift the village with an oath ring, solid gold, and the size of a shield boss. The ring was fine gold and fashioned like two snakes coiled about themselves, eating each others tails. It was of fine African craftsmanship, and had been Ivar's prize possession, having been an abbots privy rim from far Egypt. Twas this gift that caught fox-Loki's eye, for jest, jape and mock are his coin; more will be said of this anon.

     Brita Helgasdotter had a gift to give as well, while her mother sent sweet mead by the keg, fine hams, and good bread, Brita's gift was the noblest. Brita was now a marriageable maid, and she wished no husband of less fame than her father. To that end, she offered her stallion Lightning as sacrifice for Walpurgis. The stallion was bread by Ragnar, and would allow only Ragnar and Brita to touch him, his matchless endurance and fierce nature made him the envy princes, but he was offered only to Odin, that Brita find a husband as favored by the Allfather as was Mad Ragnar.

     Walpurgnicht was well attended, the farms from the hills and fells had emptied into the town, with only mother Helga away at Vitgurdsteading with the goodwife expecting twins. Children and thralls sported in the street, while the freemen and women showed off their best, made bargains and matches for the year ahead, and spoke of apprenticeships for the elder children. The feast itself was a wonder, kegs of wine from Svalli, and mead from Brita Helgasdotter and old Sven, bread and pies from a dozen farms, and enough meat roasting for a kings own hall.

     When the time for blot had come, Brita led the Lightning down for slaughter, he had ribbons in his mane, and his hooves were polished to a steel shine. As priest and assistant approached with knife and hammer, Lightning reared up and charged, scattering the holders and priests, for a time it seemed that the blood would not be the horses that was offered. Brita leapt with all speed to grab Lightning's lead rope, and she shouted for him to be still, and his great head bowed as he nudged her gently and he held still. While the crowd had shouted and shied at the stallions charge, three strangers had moved to the fore, an old warrior with his left face scarred blind, his fox faced brother, and his great giant of a son. The old warrior's eye shone with admiration for the horse, "that is a worthy thing" he said. The red beard bellowed a laugh, "that is a worthy lass" he said. The fox faced stranger just sneered. The hammer fell, and the horse stood stunned, and with a flourish the priest's knife sang, and the blot was done with much good omen, as the sacrifice stood tall and strong till his life's blood was all spilt.

    The gift of the girl was the talk of the town, as was her beauty and her outstanding courage. Hot and true in Brita flowed Ragnar's blood they said, while in Svalli old Ivar's ran thin. The fox faced stranger flowed up to Svalli; have you no gift greater than hers he asked? With a voice as smooth as the scales of a snake, with a laugh like the crackling fire, for without one the fame will be hers once again, and for you will be only the scorn. By the gods sir I do, roared Svalli with rage, as he swiftly kicked and struck at his thralls where they feasted, back to the hall he screamed at them, fetch my gift, no more lazing for you.

      The townsmen shook their head at Svalli's poor thralls, no rest even on Walpurgsnicht. But swiftly in the wine and the mead and the dance, all memory of harshness was lost. Within an hour did the thralls then return with the ring, so heavy it took both to hold. Behold said Svalli, an Oath ring for the town, of gold and wrist thick all around. Will this please the gods on this Walpurgis Night he asked, is this not the best gift this night? The red beard was already half out his seat when the old man pulled him back down, while the fox faced one laughed cold and cruel a great shout arose from the town.   But Brita said one of her bothersome brothers just then, isn't that Ivar's gold privy? Be quiet she whispered, it must be a mistake; no fool would so mock the gods?

     With a light little laugh the fox faced stranger jumped up, in the center of the head table. Such a gift, such a gift I never have seen, nor has Odin himself ever seen, he winked. How shall we choose then, which gift was the best, which deserving of the gods own good grace? A horse, one that no man living could ride, or the bright shine of gold in your hands, as he spoke his fine words burned like fire in the veins, in each man the gold lust did quicken. As he spoke, so he danced, from table to table, leaping boldly across the great fire, beast or the gold he screamed at the crowd, the beast or the gold is the best? The fever was on them, and they shouted right back, the gold, the gold, the gold!

     A gift and a curse then, the fox faced one said, a gift and a curse one to each! To the red beard he pointed, a gift for the winner, a gift to our "generous" host. The red beads hand fumbled still at his belt, until the old man whispered to him. With a smile that was hard as the stone of the hills, he rose and he started to speak. Svalli has given so much of his flock, and his thralls worked so hard in his fields; let my gift to him be the greatest. A fearless goat will I give to him, one as great as an ox of the fields, a goat that can slay any bear, wolf, or bandit, and one that all animals will follow. As he spoke Svalli's eyes lit right up, for he could see he now needed no thralls. With such a goat no herd boys, or guards, no fences or feed, for the wide open forests could they roam. The goat was led in, all shining and gold, with horns of hard bronze on its head. The goat followed him home, and the flocks did attend, and together did take to the forest. The roaring and screaming spoke of the fate of the bears, of the wolves and the fanged things that dwelled there. With a glad shout Svalli set about cleaning his house, and he cast every last fieldworker out, not a herd boy or farmer did he let to stay, but each did he cast from his home. With only his body servants remaining, and the promise of riches unshared, did Svalli, giver of the privy ring to Odin's honor, sleep on Walpurgnicht.

      But a gift and a curse were promised, not so? At the feast the fox faced stranger turned with a laugh, to the scarred greybeard he pointed, and what curse is befitting a willful young girl who brought lesser gifts to Odin, one who offered a steed unrideable, untamable? His one eye flashing the old man did rise, with a scarred hand towards Brita, for the loser a curse, for a steed on a steed. Let her pony pay the price for her flawed gift of stock. At each mile towards home, and each half, and each quarter, on this night, let her pony lose a shoe. Should one shoe then be lost, let the pony be lost too, fail the once and your pony's life forfeit is too. His voice was cold as ice, hard as steel, and to hear it gave chill to the gold lust that had ere filled the feast. The feast broke up quickly, as each to their beds, until soon was just three strangers gathered around the blot horse. The old one knelt once to stroke the strong neck, whispered "worthy", then rose and stalked off.

     Brita packed swiftly her wagon and pony, roused her brothers and bid them ride home in the night. They protested; why not sleep in the hall. But shamed she could not face her neighbors that night, better wolves and bandits and the long dark road home. As she rode her old pony but a quarter mile towards home, he stumbled, and she knew that he'd thrown a shoe. Mindful of the curse words, she stopped and knelt down, for if she found not the shoe, then her pony would pay. With a sob she through the lost shoe in the wagon, and led her limping pony again towards the farm. At a half mile, three quarters, a full mile again, did the pony drop shoes as it limped. At a mile and a quarter, at a half mile and three quarters did the pony drop shoes that it never was shod. At the gates of the steading did it lose its eighth shoe, and she stroked the pony and told him he was shod like Selipinir that night. In the barn did the boys and the pony both collapse, while Brita alone to the empty home flee. In her bed, tears of shame did she shed as for sleep did she pray. As she slept, she dreamt of the lord of her dreams, a prince bold and strong come from far cross the waves. So the giver of the stallion slept that Walpurgnicht.

    Came the morning, the mead fumes, the wine fumes burned away, and the men of Hrafnborg thought of events of last day. Some with shame, some dismay, one with something more hot. By this night many things would be clear that were not.

     Come the dawn and Svalli had thought of his breakfast, so he whistled for the fearless goat that now served him. From the forest came his flocks, his cattle, pigs and sheep, came his own goats behind, the fearless goat in the lead. More animals now, then he'd had then before, as the wild ones followed his stock from the forest. Svalli laughed at his riches, and eyed one sweet sow, for his bacon for breakfast turned his thoughts just the now. With no stock men to serve him, no field hands at all, his own hand must slaughter and butcher the sow. With a glad smile he drew steel, and bent down her head, but ere his hand fell did he fall and the reason was this; his gift goat, the matchless, the fearless goat struck. Not wolf, bear, or farmer would harm this goat's flock. His horns struck Svalli, through his doorposts he flew. The goat gave full chase, and his flock chased him too. Through the hall, through the kitchens, and on to his rooms, that goat chased poor Svalli until his backside was blue. The house thralls did flee for the safety of field, as the great home was smashed now by the herds squealing rampage. By noon, bruised and naked, with his house smashed right down, Svalli staggered to town.

     Brita roused to shouting unlooked for that morn, as her brothers were screaming and dancing in the barn. Not amused just a bit did she charge out to face them, when what they held caught dawns light with a soft golden shimmer. Two horse shoes in each hand her brothers did hold, not iron nor nail scared but unmarked and golden. Her pony did prance round the barn in high spirits, its four hooves still shod in the iron never missing. From the gate came a hail as Brita did see, a nobleman rode, in full company. A Dane-lord who saw her last night at the feast, clad in rich mail with arm rings and a blade scarred with use. Behind him a white mare, beribboned and saddled; a courting gift fit for the mother of princes!

     In Jutland was found in the village of Hrafnborg, two farmsteads of fame. One rebuilding with thralls now well treated, the other now famous for the warhorses it raises. The oath ring of Hrafnborg is well worth the mention, it is made of two golden horseshoes, welded together.

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