Atlakvitha (literally “Poem of Attila”) is probably the oldest poem in the Poetic Edda and one of the most memorable and poignant of the heroic poems. It tells of the visit of Gunnar and Hogni to Attila, of their murder by Attila, and finally of Guthrun’s vengeance on Attila when she kills her sons by him. Sigurth is never mentioned, though Gunnar and Hogni do own a great treasure, which the author of Volsunga saga understood as Fafnir’s. Read in isolation, the poem seems to imply that Guthrun dies as well as Attila at the end, though the following poems (as well as Volsunga saga) tell that she lived.
In the manuscript, Atlakvitha is placed after three poems with stories that take place after that of Atlakvitha: the poems Guthrunarkvitha II, Guthrunarkvitha III, and Oddrunargratr. In this translation, I have moved Atlakvitha before these three, to make the story more chronologically cohesive for those who wish to read the Edda from start to finish. As mentioned in the Introduction, the Codex Regius also includes one poem after Atlakvitha, called Atlamal, which is much longer and much later, and which tells substantially the same story but with many later additions. Atlamal is thus excluded from this translation because of its redundancy with Atlakvitha.
ATTILA SENT A MESSAGE TO GUNNAR, son of Gjuki; he picked Knefroth, a good man, to take it. At the end he came to Gunnar’s hall, where there were warm seats by the fire, and good beer.
Gjuki’s sons were drinking when the silent Huns came in; the Huns and Goths exchanged angry glances. But Knefroth the Hun sat down on a bench, and in a cold voice he said to them:
“Attila sent me here on an errand; I have ridden here on a fast mare through Mirkwood. Attila told me to invite you, Gunnar and Hogni, to visit his own hall, and leave your helmets at home.
“Attila will give you shields and well-crafted spears; he will give you golden helmets of the Hunnish style. You’ll be given silver saddles, fine red cloaks, spearpoints, javelins, and fast horses.
“He will let you have the wide, fine valley Gnitaheith, and steel weapons, and golden ships. He will let you have great treasures, lands by the Dnieper, and the famous forest that men call Mirkwood.”
Gunnar turned his head to Hogni, his brother, and said: “What do you advise, little brother, when we hear such? I don’t think there’s any gold in Gnitaheith that we don’t have the equal of right here.”
Hogni said: “We have seven halls, each full of swords; the hilt of each sword is made of gold. I ride the best horse, carry the sharpest sword, have the best-made bow, and wear a golden suit of armor, I wear a Caesar’s bright helmet and shield— any one of these is better than everything the Huns own.
“And what could Guthrun mean, when she sends a ring with a wolf’s hair tied to it? I think she is warning us: A wolf’s hair breaks the circle of this fine golden ring, and a wolf awaits us on our journey, if we take it.”
It was not the advice of his brother, nor of his kinsmen, nor of his wizards, nor of his counselors nor his top men; but Gunnar alone decided, like a famous king should, and he spoke in his meadhall with swelling courage:
“Get up, servant, send around the golden cups! Let the boys have a drink of mead.
“A wolf, a predator from the forest, will have my inheritance if I die. Pale-pelted bears will eat our food and fight our dogs, if I don’t come back.”
Bold fighters, Gunnar’s warriors, escorted the Huns out of Gunnar’s hall. Hogni’s young son said to his father: “Stay well and wise, wherever your courage takes you!”
Those brave men rushed across the mountains on swift, eager horses, through unmapped Mirkwood. Hunland trembled where those bold men rode; they drove their well-trained horses on the green plains.
They saw the hall of Attila, where Huns stood guard; men patrolled outside that high hall. That Hunnish hall was full of seats for drinking, of iron-bound shields and yellow shields, of spearpoints and javelins, and there sat Attila drinking wine; his best guards sat outside to ensure Gunnar and Hogni would not come in with flashing spears, meaning to start a fight.
Guthrun went to meet her brothers when they came in; she greeted them both, she was gloomy, and drank little. She said: “You’re unwise. What can you get from fighting the Huns, when you’re already so rich? Run for your life!
“Brothers, it would have been better if you had come in armor, in the helmets you left at home, if you had sat in your saddles on a warm bright day, taken the land of Attila, and made corpses of these Huns— if you had let their Norns weep, and given the Valkyries a hard day’s work, had finished off Attila himself in a snake-pit. But now the snake-pit waits for you.”
Gunnar said: “It’s too late now, sister, to gather an army. It’s a long way back to our brave army, over the mountains and the river Rhine.”
The Huns seized Gunnar and put him in chains— they’d invited him in friendship, but they tied him up.
Hogni didn’t wait; he killed seven with his sword, and shoved an eighth into the fire. That is how a bold man should treat his enemies— the way Hogni did, before he was chained like Gunnar.
They asked King Gunnar if he wanted to live, if he would buy his life by telling where his gold was.
Gunnar said: “First, I must see Hogni’s bloody heart torn out of his living chest and placed in my hand. Go, take a sword or knife, and cut it out of him.”
But they cut out the heart of Hjalli the slave, and put it on a platter, and took that to Gunnar.
Gunnar, that lord of men, was not fooled. He said: “Here I have the heart of the coward Hjalli! It is nothing like my brave brother Hogni’s heart. This one trembles where it lies on the plate— and it trembled twice as much in the coward’s chest.”
Hogni laughed when they cut out his heart. He was a killer; he would never weep. They put his heart on a plate and took it to Gunnar.
Then Gunnar, famous leader of spearmen, said: “Here I have the heart of my bold brother Hogni! It is nothing like the coward Hjalli’s heart. This one barely trembles where it lies on the plate— and it never trembled at all when it was in his chest.
“Very well, Attila, now your eyes shall never see where I have hidden the treasure of Fafnir.
“I, the King of the Goths, am the only one who knows its hiding place, now that bold Hogni lies dead. I was always in doubt while the two of us lived, but now I know the secret’s safe since I alone live.
“Now no one will take that treasure from its hiding place, and it will lie forever beneath the famous river Rhine, where the cursed rings will shine beneath the current rather than on the hands of the Huns’ children!”
Attila said: “Put him in the wagon. The prisoner can’t move from his chains.”
King Attila, Gunnar’s brother-in-law, rode his horse Glaum, a sword at his side. Noble-born Guthrun spoke to him, stricken, weeping in his hall:
“You deserve what’s coming to you, Attila, for breaking the oaths you and Gunnar swore to each other long ago; you swore by the sun to be faithful, and by Odin’s hill, you swore by the ring of Ull, on the day we were wed.”
Nevertheless the horse brought Gunnar on the wagon to the place prepared for his punishment.
They placed Gunnar, still alive, in the snake-pit; many of the Huns were there to watch. But Gunnar sat in that pit, surrounded by vipers and, still feeling bold, he played the harp. He plucked the strings, that brave man— that is how to protect a treasure from one’s enemies.
Then Attila, on a wild horse, rode back to his land after the murder. There was a great noise of many men on horses, his men sang battle-songs as they came back home.
Guthrun approached Attila at the feast, with a gilded cup in hand, and she presented it to her husband: “Accept this drink, husband, here in your hall, in glad memory of your wife’s departed kinsmen.”
Attila’s halls echoed as toasts were drunk; all the Huns were gathered there in his hall, long-bearded fighters, they all came in for the feast.
Then lovely Guthrun was hostess, she brought everyone a drink, the hard-minded lady made her guests drunk; and then she spoke hateful words to Attila:
“Warrior— you have chewed your own sons’ raw, bloody hearts, mixed with a little honey— you have eaten murdered humans as little treats, and sent the plate around your hall.
“Our little boys, Erp and Eitil, will never again run up, drunk, and embrace your knees. You will never see them make a spear, or comb a mane, or sit atop a war-horse.”
The people in the hall screamed, made a frightful noise, their happiness turned to misery, and all the Huns wept. All of them except Guthrun, for she never wept, neither when her brothers died fighting like bears, nor when she gave death to the boys she’d given life.
The beautiful wife of Attila now started giving gifts, she bestowed golden rings on Attila’s warriors. She went blithely on, distributing shining gold, and burdened the Huns with more riches.
Meanwhile Attila, the taste of his sons’ flesh still fresh, sat, no weapon in hand— he’d never suspected Guthrun. He thought of how happy they’d been, back when they had been accustomed to embrace in front of everyone.
Later she reddened their sheets with his blood, held a sword in her murderous hand and let the dogs go free. Then she barricaded the doors and set the hall on fire— the Huns died in the flames, and her brothers were avenged.
She gave all the Huns to the burning flames for the murder of Gunnar and Hogni in Mirkwood. The old timbers cracked and fell, their temples fell down, all the homes of the Huns burned, and their wives inside burned, all of them fell, suffocating, and succumbed to the hot flames.
The story is now fully told, and no woman in armor has avenged her brothers in a like manner since. Gorgeous Guthrun killed her own husband and her two sons, before she herself fell dead.