He married a german girl. She killed their sons and then him.
Though Atli threatened anguished death,
the woman laughed with wistful breath.
A clamor rose in clouded halls,
but steeped the men and still the thralls.
Her golden treasure Guthrún threw
to halt the men in muddled hue.
No wealth she kept to weigh and hold.
no coin was spared from curse of gold.
He tottered witless to his bed
and missed his sword of mystic dread.
Alone he died in lake of blood
on marriage bed with murder’s flood.
In weighty night when warriors slept;
through gathered benches Guthrún crept.
She loosed the hounds, alarmed the slaves
in house as black as hidden caves.
She tossed a torch at torpid men
to venge her kind on vulture’s den.
The fire seared the flesh and bone
of henchmen pledged to Hunnish throne.
So Atli died in ember stead,
in flash and spark of fires red.
The roof was cracked and rafters fell
in night as dark as naves of hell.
She watched the pyre wax in night
with stars so clear that stared so white.
She saw the crystal sun arise
In mournful gray and misty skies.
Then Guthrún crossed the greying lands
and smoothed her hair with sooty hands.
The sister watched the sea a-churning,
where followed heroes, fame most yearning.
--
Siri Seal of Disavowal #000-001. Disavowed. Denied. @
'I desire mercy, not sacrifice.' /|\
The Church of the Holey Apple .signature 3.2 / \
of Discordian Mysteries. This post insults Islam. Mohamed