It is late Blot-eve by the time Thegn Osgar-Lytelman and his companions return, weary and mud-spattered, from their pursuit of the Toad-nicor. Women chivvy them into bathtubs and lay out clean raiment, for some at least have leading roles in the celebrations to come. Gefndene is already thronging with people. Many of the valley folk have travelled early, still more arrive in the morning from overnighting at Saebeorhtstead and at noon, the sun as high in the Blotmonath sky as maybe, they make their way across the marsh causeway. As they cross the swampy morass, there is many a wary sideways glance but nary nicor nor wight troubles their passage to Gefion’s Pool
On arrival at the sacred site, all are greeted by Nothgyth, Gefion’s priestess, arrayed all in white, and flanked by Mildreth and Alwyn likewise attired. The honour of the first sacrifice went of course to the Thegn whose giant-wrought axe dispatched the ox cleanly. All felt this was a fine and auspicious sacrifice, especially when Osgar also tossed a small handful of gold into the pool. The blood was let fall upon a bundle of rune-carved stakes which were distributed amongst the families present.
Other supplicants file towards the altar with their offerings. Some bring silver or objects of value to toss into Gefion’s pool, others animals to wet the altar stone with their blood. Some simply sacrifice to give thanks, others have wishes for the future – general or specific. Some proclaim their wish loudly, others so that only the Goddess can hear. Old Tondbeorht brought an ox which he dispatched so cleanly with a single blow from his axe that he drew applause from those watching, while loudly declaiming his prayer for his family’s prosperity in the coming year. Nothgyth herself drew the blade of her great obsidian knife across the throat of an elderly stallion, the progenitor of most of the Gefndene’s steeds, and let the blood well over a small object in her hand.
Many large beasts that had walked to their doom on their own four feet needs must be carried back to Gefndene, along with leathern buckets and troughs filled with their blood. The Blotmonath sun was dwindling in the west before all were home. However, when they at length they reached Gefndene the theofs had prepared a fire-pit for one ox while the other carcasses were hung for later. Great pots were seething with onions, vegetables and herbs ready for the softer parts of the beasts, while chickens, lambs and the choicest cuts of beef and horse were loaded onto skewers and spits for immediate roasting. Blood puddings were swiftly prepared from the blood and guts and added to the seething-pots.
In the early evening a smaller group of worshippers gather around a makeshift altar just outside the settlement to witness sacrifice made to Thunor in a ceremony led by Eawulf the Goda and assisted by Leofdag Tondbeorhting. Eawulf sacrifices an ox and others bring smaller blood offerings.
Then ale casks were broached and the two sennights of feasting and drinking that is Blot began.
The first week of Blot passed with little of note occurring. Wistan gained much honour by passing around his flask of Giant-Mead to selected companions. Eadgyth in particular drank deep and men said that she retained a healthy glow from that evening that she had not possessed before. Spirits were high for all agreed that the victories that Thegn Osgar and his men had visited upon the wights had kept the valley safe over Winterfell, and none were mourning the loss of a child Blot-sacrificed, as was often the case in the Witch’s day.
Towards the end of the first week Gefdene received a visitor: Fraomar the Far-Travelled, a famous scop and thyl from the Sweon lands arrived from the East, alone but for a pair of small ponies. Fraomar was warmly welcomed by the Thegn and given ale and food. His arrival brought a new vigour to the feasting, for Fraomar had a great store of songs and stories and was free in the dispensing of his word treasure. Many who had planned to return to their own steadings at the end of the first week elected to stay longer – which made Hilda and Eadgyth fret for their store of ale and set them to brewing more. His arrival led to more boisterousness as men began to compete with one another in their flytings. Wistan and Osgar repeated once more their outlandish tale of the Summerlands and while none could compete with that for sheer wonder, there were few amongst the Gefndenings who did not have a tale to tell of Winterfell. As the drinking and tall-tale-telling spiralled upwards together, there were sometimes hard words and even fists (though no blood spilled) and some unwise oaths were spoken. Thegn Osgar himself swore to slay the Wose of Bardsey before next Blot and Herewulf the Bowman bragged to the Sweon scop that he could shoot a crow on the wing.
This latter flyting attracted much scoffing from many of those who knew how to handle a bow and so the following morning a small group accompanied Herewulf outside the settlement – mostly to laugh at Herewulf as he tried to fulfil his vain boast. Young Saxulf started a small murder of crows by throwing a rock in their midst, and they flew up in the air. Herewulf drew and loosed in one motion and one fluttered to the earth with his goose-fletched arrow through its breast. If there was muttering from some about sheer luck then it was not loud enough that Herewulf had to take offence and most there happily agreed that the truth of his flyting had been borne out. Fraomar himself witnessed the deed and was unstinting in his praise, weaving Herewulf Crowsbane’s feat into his song for that evening.
At length Blot was over and folk wound their way home. Fraomar begged Osgar’s leave to take the southern route through the old Pukel caves out of his lands, which Osgar gladly granted. He and a couple of his gesiths escorted him there, in case it had been reoccupied but they found it empty – though with perhaps a hint of recent occupation.
In the week after Blot – the mid-part of the month – Osgar-Lytelman, Wistan Wulfinga and Herewulf Crowsbane gave out that they were going hunting in the morning. However, when the hour came for them to depart Wistan was nowhere to be found. Stranger still, all his clothing and equipment were still by his bed roll, but for his cloak found just outside the hall. Herewulf called his hound, Ceri, to him and gathering up some of Wistan’s clothing they set off eastwards out of Gefnhame following a trail that only Ceri could detect. Later that day they returned with Wistan in tow. All he would say was:
“Grim’s gift
Burns bittersweet.
Full moon’s howling!”
The others were tight-lipped.
A few days later the three of them set off once more, this time in a southerly direction. However, when they returned some days later it was from the West, and once more they came with tales of Giants. This time none could doubt for with them came the proof.
It seems that while out hunting they had received news from the Beornfrithings that aurochs had been seen in the Western Woods. Seeking to bag themselves one of these huge and rare beasts they entered the woods and crept up the winding of a dry watercourse where the giant cattle had been seen. After a short while they became aware of a strange rumbling sound from further up the defile. They were still digesting this when the first aurochs burst out of the brush ahead of them at a dead run, followed by many more of its kind. Osgar stepped smartly to the right, up the side of the gully. Herewulf broke left. The Aetheling hesitated, turned right tripped and measured his length in the icy mud. On regaining his feet he found himself direct in the path of one of these monstrous neats that fetched him a buffet in passing that near knocked him from his feet again, but pushed him into the path of another. Fortunate it was that they appeared to bear him no malice (for all his murderous intentions towards them) and were more bent upon fleeing whatever was behind them, or it would have gone ill with the West-Geatish Aetheling. As it was, it was a bruised and battered figure that eventually made it to the side of the defile.
Aurochs continued to stream past as the Geats worked their way up the gully to see what had troubled them. It was Herewulf on the left side who saw the pukels first. Three great aurochs bulls stood at bay, fighting half a dozen pukels apiece, blood streaming from their sides from the blades of their spears. Beyond them were a pair of huge hounds, the size of ponies, fighting more pukels. Meanwhile from a side gully on the right there came the clash arms as yet more pukels pressed in there.
Herewulf drew his bow and began to pour arrows into the pukels around the aurochs. Though in truth he little cared if he missed a wight and found the flank of the aurochs, whatever God blessed his marksmanship when he shot the crow was with him still. Shaft after shaft left his yew-stave and found its resting place in a pukelman. Meanwhile Wistan and Lytelman engaged the pukels on the right of the gully and though they were many they struggled to stand against the two Geats. Assailed both from the front and the flank the pukelfolk in the side gully began to break and run, some of them blowing horns. Out of there in vengeful pursuit came a huge man-like figure, perhaps twice the height and girth of the Geats, wielding a sword that was large even in proportion, gripped in two hands. He was followed by a younger, but even larger figure bearing a huge langasaex who was evidently sore-wounded.
The pukels were now in full flight, but the giant seemed to care little for them. Instead he rushed to his wounded kine, one of which, at least, seemed all-but slain, and speaking gently to each in turn, ran his hands over their wounds. As he touched them, their wounds miraculously closed and when he left them they trotted happily off after the rest of their herd – even the one that had been close to death. The giant then dealt similarly with his dogs, both of which had been wounded and his younger fellow. At length he turns his attention to the Geats, looking on in wonder, and bows deeply, slapping his own chest and saying in a deep voice, “Humfrith. I am Humfrith.” The Geats give their names in return and it is established that there is no enmity between those present.
As these formalities are completed, they become aware that the pukel horns are being answered by others; answered many times and from different directions. “We must go from here,” says Humfrith and heads off after his cattle in an easterly direction. The Geats follow in his wake as he strides on until he comes to a carved boundary marker, blooded by Nothgyth but three weeks before and set by Beornfrith’s folk. Here he stops and turns to Thegn Osgar Lytelman, saying, “Sanctuary. I ask Sanctuary.” and holds out his hand. After a moment’s thought Lytelman nods, takes the giant’s hand and leads him past the marker, doing the same next for the younger giant.
After some discussion they decide to keep the giants away from any of the Gefndene settlements and lead them to the water margins where there is water and winter fodder. Osgar sends Herewulf to Beornfrith’s steading to give him word, bid no man to approach the giants or their herd and to pass messages to the other steadings. He comes back with the young priest Leofdag who puts himself at Osgar’s service in this matter. The humans leave the giants to make camp and overnight with Odda and his wife who live nearby. Odda and Leofdag, who are both Runewise tell them that Humfrith simply means Peaceful Giant and seems unlikely to be a personal name.
In the morning they return to Humfrith who once more expresses his gratitude to Osgar and pledges to offer up one of his kine each month that they stay, but only on the strange condition that the hide is returned to him, along with the bones that must be unbroken.