Forgotten Ground Regained
The Lay of the Sea-Wife
Karl Thornley
Originally published in Withowinde 107, pp. 5-10, Autumn, 1996
ITragic tales, those terrifying demonsof ancient times · still amongst uswhich haunt our way · till all are placatedand yet depart never; the yawning chasmbetween now and forever: Near they bring usand bridge both, bringing us to our deepest heart.
Of Eowine and Olwen then · what ought we to say?What dweomer did · they die before?None may teach another · better to tell the talethan that to decide; thus hear the lay.
IIStill Eowine stood, seaward staring outwardfor the dragon ships, dreading the sightthat fierce fire would bring, foes and axes,doom of death and blood, the Danish pirates!Sea silk smooth, the silent horizonshowed no ship, the shore need not fear.Then a glimpse of gold, glancing, the sunpicked it out; piercing the distance.Eowine looked again -- little it availed him;the mirrored glass · made not even ripples.His watch was ended; walked he homewardto rest and meat · regarding as naughtthe trivia half forgotten, a trick of the light.
Lay he that night later, long after sun-downsleep evading him, slow passing the hours.Sat he sudden upright, in silence of nighta star singly shone in; subtle its light.mind turning and tumbling, as morning he longed for,gold’s glimmer haunting him, like a glamour of wiccas.Likewise he lay awake, hours long slow in passing.But with a sound of soft birdsong, the saving dawnannounced eternity’s ending. At once he arose,for in the fields was he needed, though freshened he was not.Then as hard he reaped · over yonder his eye caughtflame headed fay -- his heart was fully smitten --Elfed’s fair finest: Olwen her name.White Track was she called · in the Wealas speech,the ray of radiance, rain of Wealhall’s glory,on Eowine’s desert emptiness · all its life.Eowine’s adored betrothed, ever fair he deemed her.Turns she now to him -- no words does she utter,trusting the unsaid · trysting language of lovers.As she embraces him · his eyes turn away,the shining of love gone; shunning her touch.Sudden like a spear cruelly · sparing not the weakest,Pricking and piercing heart; pain unimaginedclosing his cold mortal eyes, clear ice his memories.Sees again he the sea-orc · so maiden fair it seems now.All his love is given her. Olwen is lostIn infatuation unbidden. What aweful WyrdThis dweomer deemed? Deadlike he fallsand straightway seems · so stone-cold to touch,yet breathes he but shallow. They bear him thenceTo his bed. Touching his lipsOlwen calls him. Anguish writ on his brow,And silent stirs he not. Sits she yet by him,hope yet hers remaining; hallowed by faithon a slender silver chain: a strange symbol --an executed man. Ever she wears it.Her mother’s it was, made Olwen promiseat her life’s ending · always to mind it.Thus now she sits.
III Then far away,in the dream-day stood Eowine. Still darkness he saw,then wind like to Wyrm-breath · wildly bore him aloft,coming to the frosty North -- not as cold as his heart --over mountains mighty · and moors mere-bespeckled,the Wild Wood and rank fen, the western sea.Then into inky darkness · all beyond the Pictish landssaw he a ship struggling · small in the wild Maelstrom;sails in sad tatters · still standing at the edge.Then over and gone · all as one the criesjoining the thousands · death’s journey have taken.Ever northward now soared he, nearing a sea-strand,fearsome fells beyond · filling his sight:white sand under ebony sky · where Woden may have trod.No mortal mountains these · from ere Midgeard was made,ancient Ash’s root, all connecting,sprung at once from · the speech of the All-Father,to which even the sisters · of Wyrd must bow.A raven sitting · regarding the intruder.Cawing rose skyward, cutting callously the quiet.Eowine walked now; under his feet a pathRevealed itself as he went. Wreathing, a fogrose all round him, rolling about his feet.To then a cave, terrifying its countenance;sounds cutting the silence · spoke to his ears:Sorrowful wailing, so sad and so keening,but drew him downwards, as dream-walkers will.Down only led the path; dread filled his heart.This way led thence only; walked by all soon:Hell’s horrid domain, harsh deathly air.People he perceives, pain in their faces,chained to the walls, charity begging.One calls out to him, “Wait, hear my tale!”Eowine stops. All about the man,a great green moulded chain, growing ever more noisome.Likewise a loathly crown, low forcing his headas an aweful weight · anchoring him down.Thus went his words: “Wielded I great power.Thought I nothing · to throw lives unto war.Terror was my title, Tiw my patron.Great was my might; grew it ever stronger.Subdued I the Scythians; Slew I the Huns,the Goths slain in gore · and the glory that was Rome”Thus Eowine then said, “Those deeds were seemly.Why wert thou not chosen · Woden’s chase to join?Such strength as thine, servant of Tiw,thy swift sword unquiet, thou, a stranger to cravenness?”Answered the other, “Avaricious I became,greedy for gains · great to the plunder.War I made when folk · were not my enemies,and lives I laid low · to line my coffers.Gold about me, but a gory endfor those who this won for me -- that was my crime.Great groweth the weight · of the gold I must wear.”“But mould is thy chain! What maketh it so?Gold decayeth not -- great dweomer is this!”“Here all rotteth.” Then away he turnedHis doom to do, and death to endure.Onward Eowine went, others he saw.Each had his own tale · all eager to unburden, but Eowine passed over them · and eventually cameto an opening evil; all over it runes toldof the end of hope · and eternity’s death.Eowine passed through.
IV A pain hit his backand crushed him to the cold ground. Now craning his neckhe looked round: leering over himthe greatest Wolf · grim nightmares could grow.“Thy living soul lightens · great Loki’s darknesswith thy vital presence; of this I should rid thee!”“Seek I counsel; and since so dire my doom,to this dark domain I come, deeming it meet.”“Thou comest here for counsel? Cruel must be thy plight.I freed not fair Bealder; fear thou not I shall hold thee?”“Yea, I fear it, but yet not the most.My terror is not thy tongue’s words · that taketh me here.Couldst thou comprehend · the keening of the heart?No; methinks it maketh not · meaning to thy malice.‘Tis for lore I look to thee, longing for freedom.”“Love thou sayest soothly. Lack I this nonsense.But thy courage even the cold · should come to admire.Speak on; if thy story pleaseth, spare thee I might.Then shall none say of Fenrir, ‘Slim honour knoweth he’”.Thus spoke Eowine boldly · of the sight he had seen,and the callous coldness of Olwen, the cut to his heart.Fenrir laughed long; loud in the darkness.His howling heard far · in the hailstorms of the North.“The Sea-Wife seen hast thou! Seldom she cometh,but a new captive now · she knoweth that she needeth.Once was she mortal, when the world was young,and the gods gave more ear · to the goings of men.Dwelt she with Dweorgas · long dark hard years,the trade of the smith · to take on herself.Then metal she made, and mail she would cast.Its like had little · seen light before:Hauberks hard as rock, having lightness like down;dweomers deep enruned, even dragons met their bane.But proud was her prosperity and pretence to godhood,and Wealhall’s wild heroes she willed to arm.Thus wrathful the gods raged; rue her boast she would --this doom they decreed, the dreadful judgementthat her beauty’s blessing to men · should be now a curse,and clad her so comely · in the clothing of fishes.Yea, mail indeed meet, but more was to come:Looketh her on a man, then all his loveto her ever is held. Hear now this lore:If thou wouldst free thyself, and thine own love be restored,then thou shouldst slay the Sea-Wife; thrice must thou defeat her,else forget thine own hopes, fail thou the final test,and give thyself to her. Great strength hast thou?Greater than the Gods, to grow above the curse? Nay,thou canst not kill the Sea-Wife, caught by a doomstronger than thy strength. So a succour I offer:Yield thyself to me. Yea swiftly I will slay thee,and thou shalt forget. This is my counsel.”Then baying and bawling, beside himself with mirth,Laughter rocked Loki’s whelp, that largest of wolves,at Eowine’s anguish · and Olwen’s loss.“Soon again I shall see thee!” so then saying,breathed he but foully · before Eowine’s face,and a swoon came swift on him · as strength left his bones.
VAfter age-long oblivion, awoke he in midgeard:dim his dark chamber, downcast his soul.Long lay he in quiet, lying unstirring,then arose and awaited · for the air of the seato come caress his senses, cruel though it seemed.Loathed he yet loved he; little hope now he had,Fenrir’s foul laughter · filling his mind.Then entered in Olwen; awake she saw him,and hope kindled in her; her heart leapt within.He turned away from her, yet tell her he mustof the deathly doom befallen, all their dreams to destroy.Reading his anguish right, radiance left her face;sat she down sorrowful, the story to hear.Then Eowine with anger · at once told the tale.With spite of gods he spoke, who spare not the innocent.In that dark hour, all ill seemed his paths,and resolved he wrothly · to right Fenrir’s scorn,strength to show to the Aesir · and slay their accursed.This then his self-counsel: girded he his sword.An oath then to Olwen · he announced on that blade:“Though thou not now the one, who thrills my heartthrough the malice of the mighty · still may I do right,and she who on the shore · in shape unseemlymy love hath left for dead, shall look death in the facefrom my hand. For then the spelland jealous gods’ power · justly may end.Come thou not with me; if this thing I can not,then that sight thy eyes should thou not · suffer to see.”So went he forth the warrior, wearing with pridethe Hewer, handed down, his by his birth.Rune-enscored, it rusted not; dull red its steel.He slid it in its scabbard, safe for its part.Then stepped he on the strand, and straightway arosea wave and salt water foam · wetting him through.Stepped forth the Sea-Wife, strange weeds her garment:a sight of such beauty, a spell to enchant.But strong still his resolve, solid his heart;brought he his blade round, blocking him the Sea-Wife;thrust through her trident, throwing himself forward.Eowine dodged; the awful points made their mark,but no great wound. Seized he now her triden,tAnd her he unbalanced: swung he his sword;a wound wide he opened, which wept into the sea.Crimson the water colour; crying out the Sea-Wifeleapt in the livid foam. “I leave thee nowBut tomorrow mine thou shalt be: mark thou this well.”Olwen, watching, well saw what passed, but feared she the force · of the fish woman’s wiccacræft.Home returned Eowine, haggard and wan.Silent sat Eowine. Succour she offered,but cold her caress; Eowine cared not for it.Counsel she had called on · came to her thoughts:Silent she stood up, and started away.
VISlept not soundly Eowine · ‘till sunrise came.Then to Sea Strand once more · his salvation to findOr doom to die -- but dreaded he moreto carry on in this coldness; to be killed he would rather.This dark thought fuelled him, daring the task.Stepped up again the Sea-Wife. Seeing her with fear,Eowine was bewitched; the wound he had givenwas not to be seen, nor weakness nor painshowed him the Sea-Wife. Yet still his own wound,small though it seemed, smarted him sharply.Seeing his suffering, smiled grimly that Nicor,And stabbed at him stoutly. Though standing aside,the points pierced him, but peering through the hazeof red pain and rage, rightly saw he his enemyand struck sharply out · at the sight so loathsome,And a second blow he struck. Slay it should have,but the Sea-wife still living · slid back under the waves.Eowine’s wound was grievous, and when next day camelittle hope had he left · to hold to his life.
VIINext day, dawn still a way off, dressed herself early;then Olwen went walking · up from the homesteadto mounds made anciently, moss grown and green.Found she first · a foul-wyrded entranceshut by a stone · and sealed from the living.None came now hither: dared not any.Ghosts gathered there · and greatly were feared;So some folk said. Shaking her hand,the grey granite she touched; grim her mood.With warrior's strength then · which she had not known,she leaned on the lych-gate, levering it open,and braving the barrow · she boldly went in.In an ancient passage · Olwen now entered.Slowly she stepped, still fearing each footfall,to an earthen opening · yet all stone roofed.There men mourning loss · many ages beforetheir slain lord set down, sadly sighing.Lay he here long, light never comingto disturb his death-sleep · or derange his bones.From lands far-off · a wandering feondmayhap cast from its coil · by Christ himself,To here it came, its home had made.Olwen reached out · for an aged blade,a sword sigil encrusted, shining in the dark.This blade she believed · might bite the Sea-Wife,and her bane be · to buy back her lover.But as Olwen seized it, an icy gripof bone feond-bedevilled · bit her throatand lifted her lofty · as if light as snow.Then death-doom seemed near her; desperate she graspedthe hand which held her, so hard its grip.Then day dawned outside · and down the old passagea lance of light stabbed · like love in a cold heart,glanced glimmering on the trinket · given Olwen by her mother,shone straight at the orcthyrs. Then sound as of keening:the feond’s bane before it; black now its fate,and borrowed bones betrayed it, before the light crumbling.
VIIISeeing the sunlight · she fled from the tomb.Like lightning her speed -- little time left --came she to the sea-strand, the Sea-Wife and Eowinefighting before her. Then fear filled her heart.Away slung he the sword, the spell completed.Strength sapped from him, the sea he entered.Then Cymric cry of war · came from Olwen’s lips,the blade to bloody · as the Sea-Wife’s bane.Even as the orc · in eager victorycried out cruelly · with cackling triumph,through her heart Olwen · all her hate thrusting.The slaying sword took her, but she shouted as she floundered“Eowine! Avenge me!” The wiccacræft still workingstayed Eowine’s sight; then slew he Olwen,his beloved’s blood · bedyeing the sand.Thus so the Sea-Wife · stuttered her last breath,and even as that eoten died, his eyes were opened.The steely spell lifted, sanity restored to him;The measure of malice · of murder was revealed:From the loss of his love · to loss of his lover.His beloved’s body · to his breast he held,and at the great evil he had done, to grief was he given.Held he her long there, hands trembling with madness.Then bore he the body · back to the cliff-top.A grave there he made, and a great cairn of stones.Long he lingered, pondering his lot.“A curse has carried me, killing all I have.And what weregild can I pay · for what I have done?Vengeful Vanir · for valour ye care not;now soon sin’s price · will soothly be paid,though a thousand times over · this death should sate you.Now nears the end, no more can I do.”So saying went he · straight to the peakof the headland he stood on, high above the sea.Thence he threw himself · and there he ended,and the rocks red with blood · roughly took himto unite him with Olwen, his only wish leftbeyond Bifrost’s bridge · to be with her.Thus Wyrd is well sated. Whither they wentAnd whether united · in wild lands beyond landsNo man may say. Thus must end this tale.
Of Eowine and Olwen then · what ought we to say?What dweomer did · they die before?None may teach another · better to tell the talethan that to decide; thus hear the lay.
IIStill Eowine stood, seaward staring outwardfor the dragon ships, dreading the sightthat fierce fire would bring, foes and axes,doom of death and blood, the Danish pirates!Sea silk smooth, the silent horizonshowed no ship, the shore need not fear.Then a glimpse of gold, glancing, the sunpicked it out; piercing the distance.Eowine looked again -- little it availed him;the mirrored glass · made not even ripples.His watch was ended; walked he homewardto rest and meat · regarding as naughtthe trivia half forgotten, a trick of the light.
Lay he that night later, long after sun-downsleep evading him, slow passing the hours.Sat he sudden upright, in silence of nighta star singly shone in; subtle its light.mind turning and tumbling, as morning he longed for,gold’s glimmer haunting him, like a glamour of wiccas.Likewise he lay awake, hours long slow in passing.But with a sound of soft birdsong, the saving dawnannounced eternity’s ending. At once he arose,for in the fields was he needed, though freshened he was not.Then as hard he reaped · over yonder his eye caughtflame headed fay -- his heart was fully smitten --Elfed’s fair finest: Olwen her name.White Track was she called · in the Wealas speech,the ray of radiance, rain of Wealhall’s glory,on Eowine’s desert emptiness · all its life.Eowine’s adored betrothed, ever fair he deemed her.Turns she now to him -- no words does she utter,trusting the unsaid · trysting language of lovers.As she embraces him · his eyes turn away,the shining of love gone; shunning her touch.Sudden like a spear cruelly · sparing not the weakest,Pricking and piercing heart; pain unimaginedclosing his cold mortal eyes, clear ice his memories.Sees again he the sea-orc · so maiden fair it seems now.All his love is given her. Olwen is lostIn infatuation unbidden. What aweful WyrdThis dweomer deemed? Deadlike he fallsand straightway seems · so stone-cold to touch,yet breathes he but shallow. They bear him thenceTo his bed. Touching his lipsOlwen calls him. Anguish writ on his brow,And silent stirs he not. Sits she yet by him,hope yet hers remaining; hallowed by faithon a slender silver chain: a strange symbol --an executed man. Ever she wears it.Her mother’s it was, made Olwen promiseat her life’s ending · always to mind it.Thus now she sits.
III Then far away,in the dream-day stood Eowine. Still darkness he saw,then wind like to Wyrm-breath · wildly bore him aloft,coming to the frosty North -- not as cold as his heart --over mountains mighty · and moors mere-bespeckled,the Wild Wood and rank fen, the western sea.Then into inky darkness · all beyond the Pictish landssaw he a ship struggling · small in the wild Maelstrom;sails in sad tatters · still standing at the edge.Then over and gone · all as one the criesjoining the thousands · death’s journey have taken.Ever northward now soared he, nearing a sea-strand,fearsome fells beyond · filling his sight:white sand under ebony sky · where Woden may have trod.No mortal mountains these · from ere Midgeard was made,ancient Ash’s root, all connecting,sprung at once from · the speech of the All-Father,to which even the sisters · of Wyrd must bow.A raven sitting · regarding the intruder.Cawing rose skyward, cutting callously the quiet.Eowine walked now; under his feet a pathRevealed itself as he went. Wreathing, a fogrose all round him, rolling about his feet.To then a cave, terrifying its countenance;sounds cutting the silence · spoke to his ears:Sorrowful wailing, so sad and so keening,but drew him downwards, as dream-walkers will.Down only led the path; dread filled his heart.This way led thence only; walked by all soon:Hell’s horrid domain, harsh deathly air.People he perceives, pain in their faces,chained to the walls, charity begging.One calls out to him, “Wait, hear my tale!”Eowine stops. All about the man,a great green moulded chain, growing ever more noisome.Likewise a loathly crown, low forcing his headas an aweful weight · anchoring him down.Thus went his words: “Wielded I great power.Thought I nothing · to throw lives unto war.Terror was my title, Tiw my patron.Great was my might; grew it ever stronger.Subdued I the Scythians; Slew I the Huns,the Goths slain in gore · and the glory that was Rome”Thus Eowine then said, “Those deeds were seemly.Why wert thou not chosen · Woden’s chase to join?Such strength as thine, servant of Tiw,thy swift sword unquiet, thou, a stranger to cravenness?”Answered the other, “Avaricious I became,greedy for gains · great to the plunder.War I made when folk · were not my enemies,and lives I laid low · to line my coffers.Gold about me, but a gory endfor those who this won for me -- that was my crime.Great groweth the weight · of the gold I must wear.”“But mould is thy chain! What maketh it so?Gold decayeth not -- great dweomer is this!”“Here all rotteth.” Then away he turnedHis doom to do, and death to endure.Onward Eowine went, others he saw.Each had his own tale · all eager to unburden, but Eowine passed over them · and eventually cameto an opening evil; all over it runes toldof the end of hope · and eternity’s death.Eowine passed through.
IV A pain hit his backand crushed him to the cold ground. Now craning his neckhe looked round: leering over himthe greatest Wolf · grim nightmares could grow.“Thy living soul lightens · great Loki’s darknesswith thy vital presence; of this I should rid thee!”“Seek I counsel; and since so dire my doom,to this dark domain I come, deeming it meet.”“Thou comest here for counsel? Cruel must be thy plight.I freed not fair Bealder; fear thou not I shall hold thee?”“Yea, I fear it, but yet not the most.My terror is not thy tongue’s words · that taketh me here.Couldst thou comprehend · the keening of the heart?No; methinks it maketh not · meaning to thy malice.‘Tis for lore I look to thee, longing for freedom.”“Love thou sayest soothly. Lack I this nonsense.But thy courage even the cold · should come to admire.Speak on; if thy story pleaseth, spare thee I might.Then shall none say of Fenrir, ‘Slim honour knoweth he’”.Thus spoke Eowine boldly · of the sight he had seen,and the callous coldness of Olwen, the cut to his heart.Fenrir laughed long; loud in the darkness.His howling heard far · in the hailstorms of the North.“The Sea-Wife seen hast thou! Seldom she cometh,but a new captive now · she knoweth that she needeth.Once was she mortal, when the world was young,and the gods gave more ear · to the goings of men.Dwelt she with Dweorgas · long dark hard years,the trade of the smith · to take on herself.Then metal she made, and mail she would cast.Its like had little · seen light before:Hauberks hard as rock, having lightness like down;dweomers deep enruned, even dragons met their bane.But proud was her prosperity and pretence to godhood,and Wealhall’s wild heroes she willed to arm.Thus wrathful the gods raged; rue her boast she would --this doom they decreed, the dreadful judgementthat her beauty’s blessing to men · should be now a curse,and clad her so comely · in the clothing of fishes.Yea, mail indeed meet, but more was to come:Looketh her on a man, then all his loveto her ever is held. Hear now this lore:If thou wouldst free thyself, and thine own love be restored,then thou shouldst slay the Sea-Wife; thrice must thou defeat her,else forget thine own hopes, fail thou the final test,and give thyself to her. Great strength hast thou?Greater than the Gods, to grow above the curse? Nay,thou canst not kill the Sea-Wife, caught by a doomstronger than thy strength. So a succour I offer:Yield thyself to me. Yea swiftly I will slay thee,and thou shalt forget. This is my counsel.”Then baying and bawling, beside himself with mirth,Laughter rocked Loki’s whelp, that largest of wolves,at Eowine’s anguish · and Olwen’s loss.“Soon again I shall see thee!” so then saying,breathed he but foully · before Eowine’s face,and a swoon came swift on him · as strength left his bones.
VAfter age-long oblivion, awoke he in midgeard:dim his dark chamber, downcast his soul.Long lay he in quiet, lying unstirring,then arose and awaited · for the air of the seato come caress his senses, cruel though it seemed.Loathed he yet loved he; little hope now he had,Fenrir’s foul laughter · filling his mind.Then entered in Olwen; awake she saw him,and hope kindled in her; her heart leapt within.He turned away from her, yet tell her he mustof the deathly doom befallen, all their dreams to destroy.Reading his anguish right, radiance left her face;sat she down sorrowful, the story to hear.Then Eowine with anger · at once told the tale.With spite of gods he spoke, who spare not the innocent.In that dark hour, all ill seemed his paths,and resolved he wrothly · to right Fenrir’s scorn,strength to show to the Aesir · and slay their accursed.This then his self-counsel: girded he his sword.An oath then to Olwen · he announced on that blade:“Though thou not now the one, who thrills my heartthrough the malice of the mighty · still may I do right,and she who on the shore · in shape unseemlymy love hath left for dead, shall look death in the facefrom my hand. For then the spelland jealous gods’ power · justly may end.Come thou not with me; if this thing I can not,then that sight thy eyes should thou not · suffer to see.”So went he forth the warrior, wearing with pridethe Hewer, handed down, his by his birth.Rune-enscored, it rusted not; dull red its steel.He slid it in its scabbard, safe for its part.Then stepped he on the strand, and straightway arosea wave and salt water foam · wetting him through.Stepped forth the Sea-Wife, strange weeds her garment:a sight of such beauty, a spell to enchant.But strong still his resolve, solid his heart;brought he his blade round, blocking him the Sea-Wife;thrust through her trident, throwing himself forward.Eowine dodged; the awful points made their mark,but no great wound. Seized he now her triden,tAnd her he unbalanced: swung he his sword;a wound wide he opened, which wept into the sea.Crimson the water colour; crying out the Sea-Wifeleapt in the livid foam. “I leave thee nowBut tomorrow mine thou shalt be: mark thou this well.”Olwen, watching, well saw what passed, but feared she the force · of the fish woman’s wiccacræft.Home returned Eowine, haggard and wan.Silent sat Eowine. Succour she offered,but cold her caress; Eowine cared not for it.Counsel she had called on · came to her thoughts:Silent she stood up, and started away.
VISlept not soundly Eowine · ‘till sunrise came.Then to Sea Strand once more · his salvation to findOr doom to die -- but dreaded he moreto carry on in this coldness; to be killed he would rather.This dark thought fuelled him, daring the task.Stepped up again the Sea-Wife. Seeing her with fear,Eowine was bewitched; the wound he had givenwas not to be seen, nor weakness nor painshowed him the Sea-Wife. Yet still his own wound,small though it seemed, smarted him sharply.Seeing his suffering, smiled grimly that Nicor,And stabbed at him stoutly. Though standing aside,the points pierced him, but peering through the hazeof red pain and rage, rightly saw he his enemyand struck sharply out · at the sight so loathsome,And a second blow he struck. Slay it should have,but the Sea-wife still living · slid back under the waves.Eowine’s wound was grievous, and when next day camelittle hope had he left · to hold to his life.
VIINext day, dawn still a way off, dressed herself early;then Olwen went walking · up from the homesteadto mounds made anciently, moss grown and green.Found she first · a foul-wyrded entranceshut by a stone · and sealed from the living.None came now hither: dared not any.Ghosts gathered there · and greatly were feared;So some folk said. Shaking her hand,the grey granite she touched; grim her mood.With warrior's strength then · which she had not known,she leaned on the lych-gate, levering it open,and braving the barrow · she boldly went in.In an ancient passage · Olwen now entered.Slowly she stepped, still fearing each footfall,to an earthen opening · yet all stone roofed.There men mourning loss · many ages beforetheir slain lord set down, sadly sighing.Lay he here long, light never comingto disturb his death-sleep · or derange his bones.From lands far-off · a wandering feondmayhap cast from its coil · by Christ himself,To here it came, its home had made.Olwen reached out · for an aged blade,a sword sigil encrusted, shining in the dark.This blade she believed · might bite the Sea-Wife,and her bane be · to buy back her lover.But as Olwen seized it, an icy gripof bone feond-bedevilled · bit her throatand lifted her lofty · as if light as snow.Then death-doom seemed near her; desperate she graspedthe hand which held her, so hard its grip.Then day dawned outside · and down the old passagea lance of light stabbed · like love in a cold heart,glanced glimmering on the trinket · given Olwen by her mother,shone straight at the orcthyrs. Then sound as of keening:the feond’s bane before it; black now its fate,and borrowed bones betrayed it, before the light crumbling.
VIIISeeing the sunlight · she fled from the tomb.Like lightning her speed -- little time left --came she to the sea-strand, the Sea-Wife and Eowinefighting before her. Then fear filled her heart.Away slung he the sword, the spell completed.Strength sapped from him, the sea he entered.Then Cymric cry of war · came from Olwen’s lips,the blade to bloody · as the Sea-Wife’s bane.Even as the orc · in eager victorycried out cruelly · with cackling triumph,through her heart Olwen · all her hate thrusting.The slaying sword took her, but she shouted as she floundered“Eowine! Avenge me!” The wiccacræft still workingstayed Eowine’s sight; then slew he Olwen,his beloved’s blood · bedyeing the sand.Thus so the Sea-Wife · stuttered her last breath,and even as that eoten died, his eyes were opened.The steely spell lifted, sanity restored to him;The measure of malice · of murder was revealed:From the loss of his love · to loss of his lover.His beloved’s body · to his breast he held,and at the great evil he had done, to grief was he given.Held he her long there, hands trembling with madness.Then bore he the body · back to the cliff-top.A grave there he made, and a great cairn of stones.Long he lingered, pondering his lot.“A curse has carried me, killing all I have.And what weregild can I pay · for what I have done?Vengeful Vanir · for valour ye care not;now soon sin’s price · will soothly be paid,though a thousand times over · this death should sate you.Now nears the end, no more can I do.”So saying went he · straight to the peakof the headland he stood on, high above the sea.Thence he threw himself · and there he ended,and the rocks red with blood · roughly took himto unite him with Olwen, his only wish leftbeyond Bifrost’s bridge · to be with her.Thus Wyrd is well sated. Whither they wentAnd whether united · in wild lands beyond landsNo man may say. Thus must end this tale.
Copyright © Karl Thornley, 1996, amended 2024
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