Carnuntum by Guido von List: Chapter 1

 

First chapter.

Erchantaug and Gisalhild.

In the rosy fragrance of the morning, the Danube rolled its roaring flood of foam through the wooded floodplain, out of whose thicket of trees the boldly jagged cliff head of the Maidenberg towered tall and silent. It seemed to look down contemptuously on the dwarfish, defiant tower of the Roman city of Carnuntum; large and silent like the thought of a spiritual giant above the noise of the everyday world.

High-stemmed, broad-branched elms and knotty alder thickets formed the centuries-old floodplain forest along the banks, as on the islands of the many-armed stream: densely intergrown tree crowns were inextricably interwoven through the network of climbing plants. Wild hops, tangled clematis tendrils entangled the branches of the forest giants, from whose leaf clouds colorful flower umbels of the climbing plants nodded down. Like slender pillars, shafts of vines rose up from the swampy ground, which incubated withered undergrowth and rampant herbs in a stifling haze.

Light foggy ruffles floated like sacrificial smoke toward the approaching sun god, joyful sounds went through the treetops excited by the morning breeze, and jubilant singers of the forest greeted the powerful night son with the golden teeth.

With a stately following gaggle of buffaloes and larders, a defiant stag burst out into a forest clearing, while Master Reinecke carefully flitted through the fern bushes with a mischievous twinkle in his eye, waiting for the partridges, sandpipers and rabbits with an unsolicited morning visit. High above in the rosy ether scent circled a regal aar.....

Breaking twigs crackled from the floodplain forest. The leading deer discontentedly tossed its elongated head, picked itself up, and cracking branches pointed in the direction the noble deer had taken. Noiselessly Master Reinecke had disappeared. Only the royal eagle still circled, unconcerned about the workings of the depths, in calmly proud flight in sunny heights....

Two men now stepped out of the forest, into the deserted clearing. Both were absorbed in eager conversation. The younger man seemed to be a hunter, but he was not thinking of hunting, which the leading deer could not know.

If both men had certain common peculiarities, they were nevertheless fundamentally different. Common to both was the untrimmed, from scissors and scraping knife un-desecrated head and beard hair, as a time-honored sign of royal descent. But, while the huntsman showed royal wealth and noble nature, his companion showed bitter poverty and extreme neglect. The hunter, of extraordinary size, strode proudly like a king at the side of the elder companion. Precious cloth wrapped his torso, strips of soft leather woven in the shape of an armband clothed his feet and legs, a high-pointed marten cap, studded with a mighty eagle feather, crowned the nobly worn head; only the mighty arms were bare up to the armpits. The upper arms each had an unusually long and strong gold clasp wrapped around them in many coils like a snake, - a truly royal treasure, - so that it seemed as if they were armed with armor splints of noble metal. His weapon was a long ashen hunting spear and a broad-bladed short ox tongue, while a mighty military horn, made of the forehead ornament of a mighty Urs, hung at his hip: but on his back, hanging in two straps, he carried a gray knapsack.

The other wore a shabby game shearling made of an old bear skin, the head part of which covered the man's head like a hood. The forelegs once stripped from the bear served in artless knotting of the poor wat as a coat clasp to fasten it to the shoulders of the barefoot king's citizen. Arms and legs were uncovered, only the upper part of the body was covered with old skins of ignoble animals under the bearskin, but even these were often tattered and in good part already lost their hair. A long, broad, but blindly rusted battle sword dangled from the poor wretches left hand in a woefully patched together harness.

Hardly were both some steps out of the forest, when the huntsman angrily stamping his foot, shouted to his companion: "By the flaming sword of Erich! You should be sheared and sunk in the swamp, like a guilty woman! You - a royal nobleman - cowardly let the robbery of a virgin happen? You - a royal nobleman - let it happen that King Gambin's noble daughter, the rune-strong Gisalhild, was stolen and sold as a slave!

"What could I do, how could I prevent it?" said the other, and now began to tell how he, in order to satisfy his hunger, had entered the pay of the merchants of Carnuntum to protect their pack animals on the Amber Road as an escort. He could not join the auxiliary troops as a legionary, since he was a royal citizen and possessed Roman citizenship. He could not join the proper Legion either for the same reason. His rank forbid him lower service, but his poverty denies him higher dignity. Nothing remained for him but the tombstone of his ancestor in the Cimeterium Carnuntum. As an escort he had a certain independence, even if only in appearance, but nevertheless he envied the slaves their carefree life. This and many other things he discussed with displeasure.

The hunter listened to these discussions of the nobleman. He now knew who he was dealing with, even though he had carefully avoided all inquiries about his origin and name. In the Cimeterium stood the tombstone of "Septimius Aistomodius Rex Germanorum", one of those kings who were imposed on the German tribes by Rome, but whom they always chased away again at favorable opportunities. The hunter knew enough. It was in his plan to search out the descended wretch, but it was equally important for him to keep his own secret and remain unrecognized. Therefore, he now used what he had unraveled in a flash from what he had overheard and called to his companion with inimitable majestic dignity: "Listen, Aistmuth!"

When the man thus addressed heard his name, he obviously flinched and, stopping, looked into the eyes of the hunter with mute astonishment, but he was unable to withstand his flaming gaze, and instead narrowed his eyes timidly. The hunter continued: "Listen, Aistmuth! Rusty swords hate the “Walter die Wal”, because rusty hearts rot in the bosom of their bearers! Thou bearest the curse which the Father of Victories laid upon the descendants of thy treacherous ancestor and their clan!"

As if spellbound by horror, Aistmuth stared at the enigmatic man, quivering all over his body, and with flying breath, he laboriously uttered in broken words: "Proclaim - are you omniscient? - one of the immortals? - Came, Neiding thou, - to feast on Aistmuth's ignominy!?"

"You are wrong!" said the other. "You lost yourself and your happiness! Find thyself again! Give your rusty fencing sword a new shine on Roman armor, ennoble it again to the flame of wounds, quench its thirst in the red drink of the whale, then Allfather's curse will also depart from Aistmuth's grandchild with the rust!'

Aistmuth's astonishment grew, which the hunter noticed with satisfaction, and therefore, without letting this be known, continued with mysterious dignity: "This I know, and even more! You are destined by the rulers of fate to steer one day in golden triumph on victorious battle waves, as one of Walvater's heroes! Therefore turn the curse!”

"My astonished horror is ever increasing!" was Aistmuth's retort. "Where from the runic riddles this crushing flood!? Art thou a god!?"

Ignoring Aistmuth's interjections and outbursts of astonished awe, the enigmatic continued, "More still I know! I know where now Gisalhild dwells, and I know also that this very day Walvater himself frees her!"

"You know that too?" cried the other, beside himself with amazement. "It was known to you that she, called Lydia, plays the flute at Edone? You - are an Ase, probably Zeizzo the Handsome himself, or Heimdold probably even, you carry his battle horn!"

"Remember, Aistmuth, nothing is unknown to me, up in the stars, down among the black dwarves, and nothing hidden from what Midgard conceals! The past and the future are without veil to me, and clearly I see now! Farewell! - depart without a backward glance, so dear to you life and limb, future and goal!"

The hunter stood proudly erect, leaning on his ash shaft; with an imperious gesture of his hand he dismissed Aistmuth, who strode away confused and silent, and soon disappeared from the hunter's gaze in the direction of Carnuntum.

The hunter remained motionless in his unchanged position for quite a while, gazing for a long time with a threatening glint in his eyes at the defiant towers of the glittering Mark-Aurelian colonial city.

Bleak thoughts passed through the lonely man's soul, while the gloomily wrinkled brow was transfigured by the first rays of the morning sun. "Have thanks!" he cried in soliloquy. "Have thanks Wuotan who, just as Eticho, is my ancestor and also theirs! Thanks to you, from the one consecrated to you! Is it not Thy work, host in Asgard, that the stolen maiden came straight to Edone, in whose triclinium Thy sunken castle -known only to me- sends a secret shaft! Did you not send me the traveling hood? Have thanks for the consolation in the dawning night of doubts! Even the eighteenth rune, my most fearful secret, you, Wuotan, -now I know - will still solve!"

The hunter took one more defiant look at Carnuntum's towering spires, then he picked up his spear and strode back into the floodplain forest. - There, where the forest forms a clearing near the border between Carnuntum and Aequinoctium, which is filled by a swamp, we see the hunter leaving the floodplain forest again and walking towards an old gnarled alder.

The red lights of the early sun flitted like teasing elfin greetings over the marshy waters, which, covered with reeds and algae, shone in the most brilliant colors, from the brightest green of the spring shoots to the darkest of the moss, from the most burning carnation red to the serious anemone color, from the light-like golden shine to the gloomy glimmer of night-dark abyssal depths. Above this merging of color tones, the lightly billowing morning mists floated like Freya's rosy swan's feathers, behind which the alluvial forest giants soon disappeared, soon bathing themselves again in the red glow of the morning sun.

Enchanted by the glow of the colors, the hunter stopped in front of the weathered alder. In regal solitude it rose majestically from the ground; no tree in the wide radius dared to take root near the alder queen. Barely a hundred paces from the edge, at the steep break of the swamp bank, the very location of this tree offered a splendid point to survey the road embankment in both directions of its course, for long distances. 

In deep thought the hunter stood before the queen of alders. Like Wotan’s wild hunt's scurrying fantastic forms, the storm tide of thoughts chased past his soul.

Yes, it was this alder that the noble Albruna of Stronegg had shown him when she threw him the staffed rune lots. At that time he thought to become a warrior of battle and to swing the flame of wounds in the raging allfire to sorrowful body harm; at that time he dreamed the happiness to be celebrated one day in high songs by noble singers who would proclaim his heroic name with that of Wälsungs and Helges to all the world! But the fate-keepers wanted it differently. - Backwards, with her face turned away, the aged Albruna threw seventeen runes on the shining fleece of the white sacrificial steed. She bent down with her eyes turned away to pick up some of them, and grabbed eighteen of them! What an unheard of event! - Where did the eighteenth runestick come from? - Where did the mysterious eighteenth rune come from? The healing council of the runes now directed his destiny to the divine. He was called, as Koting, as Wuotan's son, to renounce the world and to bury his earthly possessions, even his name. He should become Walvater's servant until runic wisdom tells him when it is time to unite the Teutons and to smash Rome. The conclusion of all conclusions, however, would be the eighteenth rune, which Walfather himself would announce to him in the hour of the highest consecration. Therefore, the earth stable was pointed out to him, therefore the "sunken castle", the subterranean sanctuary of Wuotan, with all the countless chambers and halls, corridors, shafts and tunnels, which extended from here to the stone, deep in the earth under Carnuntum, was destined for his stay. Twelve of his own he house there and ride out, like Wuotan himself on hidden paths from the depths of the earth, and significant was his new name: Erchantaug, the fast-acting one. Now Erchantaug had already won ten followers; all of them were royal, and only the eleventh had been missing until today. Aistmuth was to conclude the ring.

All this chased itself in his soul, and like a prayer this word rose from his pressed heart:

"Allfather Wotan! How terribly cruel is Your desire! But I will fulfill what Mime's head whispers to you in the hour of destiny! Depriving of the woman as of the night's rest, on surreptitious ways in the deceptive glow of your ego, denying your own name, your own ego, that is what my will demands! My heart, let it become like the torrent in winter, like those of the gods who demand it as a sacrifice! - Your three desirable things, Wuotan, which you sent me, they have separated me from the world, from the joys of youth and from the hopes of old age; for gloriously once I sink into the grave. - Have pity on me, weak man, to whom your will gives to be a god! Strong I will be, to force myself, to conquer the world for you and to smash Rome! Already the mists depart from the timid heart, as they leave the meadow there, again I feel your breath, Wuotan, yes, now I am a god! Gisalhild, I come!"

As if transformed, Erchantaug, the hunter, appeared; his gloomy features brightened, transfigured; he quickly cast peering glances in all directions, and when he knew himself to be unheard, he had nimbly climbed the trunk of the alder and had slid through its hollow down into the earth's interior, into a shaft of the "sunken castle”.