Lopichis’ Spell

The first of the Langbard Spells, oral storytelling of the history of the Ancient Lombards, a Germanic people who occupied much of Italy for nearly two hundred years after the fall of the Roman Empire.

AD 783. Arichis is a prisoner of the Frankish King Karol (Charlemagne). While in prison, he is sitting by a crackling fire, telling his listeners the incredible stories of his people, from their mythical origins in Scandana, an island of the far north, to their ultimate downfall at the hands of King Karol of the Franks (Charlemagne).

“…and could bear his hunger no longer. Seeing no other way, unwillingly, he strung his bow and readied an arrow, then loosed it at the wolf that was leading him.”

Come, sit in the warm and listen well,
As I sing and speak a Langbard Spell.

I am Arichis, and my people are the Langbards. From the duchy of Forum Iulii, at the foot of the Italian Alps, I come. So why, why, I hear you ask, am I here, in Aquisgrana, in the heart of the Frankish lands, at the halls of the Frankish King Karol? Well, seven long years ago, I took part in an uprising, together with many of my fellow Harimenn, spear and horse warriors, led by our duke, Rotgaud. We rose up against Frankish rule in our Lanbard homeland. King Karol of the Franks, with one hand, quashed our uprising, and with the other took ever more of our land and goods.

Many of my fellows were slain, but I was not. I was brought here in bondage, far over the Alps, far over the Frankish lands, all the way to Aquisgrana. So, here I am, a hostage to ensure the goodwill of my people.

And so I wait, I wait for the time to go home again. And I am sure that time will come, thanks to my brother, my brother Paul, perhaps you have heard of him. Yes, Paul is an Elderman, foremost among the Eldermenn of my people, and he is also held to be among the wisest of the wise, here at King Karol’s halls. Paul is a teacher, a writer, a singer of songs, a maker of spells. With his teaching, with his writing, with his singing, little by little, he is paying the price of my wergild. And one day, thanks to him, I am sure I will go back to my homeland, to my family.

Paul came here, to the halls of Aquisgrana, not long ago. And with him, he brought a song, a song made and crafted just for me, to beg my freedom from King Karol. It is a beautiful song, and now it is heard at every hearth, in every home in Aquisgrana. But it moves me to tears every time I hear it, because it brings sad news of my family.

Listen, mighty king, to this your servant’s song,
Look ye, mild and kind, upon my sorrow and sadness.
Wretched am I, unworthy of the smallest good;
Writhing am I in woe, and smarting in grief.
Seven years have passed since that shameful hour
Did pierce me with pains and shake my heart.
Seven years have passed for my brother in bond.
Stranded and stricken, his breast broken and bare.
His beloved wife lives waiting in our land,
Begging for every want, trembling and in tatters.
Four boys must she feed and clothe,
With rough old rags and filthy clogs.
Our beloved sister, bride of Christ long since
Is blinded by weeping and bereavéd wailing.
Warily I watch over this slender innocent,
Wearily we wait, our sibling again to see.
In hardship and heartache, I beg of you this boon,
Listen, mighty king, to my sorrowful spell,
Have mercy upon misery, and end our ills,
Let me bring back my brother to hearth and homeland.
Our soul in praise of Christ is cleansed;
I sing and pray for this gift you alone may grant.

That is Paul’s song. It makes me weep, to hear this news of my… my boys, my wife, my sister. But… but, I have hope. I know that one day, perhaps soon, I will go home.

Well, while I am waiting, what shall I do?

Now, my brother Paul has sworn to write a book, to write a book of the spells of our people, the Langbard Spells. He calls it a history. I am happy, but I know Paul will never tell our tales the way our father, and grandfather, and great and great-great grandfather told them, for Paul is a good man, a good and sweet man, my brother, but… he is a good Christian monk, and… he will never be able to tell our spells the way they should be told. His Christian conscience will cleanse them of everything his faith cannot abide by. Now, I have no prowess with the pen to match his, that much is sure. But I can speak and sing the spells.

 How, I hear you ask, how dare I take this task upon myself, when I am but a Hariman, a warrior, not an Elderman, not a teller of tales. Ah, but, you see, all the men in my family have this right. We are both Eldermenn and Harimenn, both tellers of tales and warriors of spear and horse. You see, my great-great-great grandfather was chosen, both by Tiuz, the Wolf-Bitten, the Lord of War, and by Godan, the Long-Bearded, the Lord of Lore. If you will listen, I will tell you his tale first: the Spell of Lopichis.

Now, among my people we say: all tales begin with a father or a mother. And so it is with Lopichis. This tale must begin with his father, whose name was Leupchis.

Leupchis was born in Pannonia, the old Roman province, for that is where our people, the Langbards, dwelt before coming into Italy. Now, he was barely more than a boy the year our great king, Alboin, chose to lead his people out of Pannonia, over the Alpine passes, and into Italy. Alboin left the lands of Pannonia behind us to our neighbours, and oft allies, the Avars. The Avars are a cruel and wild people, of horse and spear. Indeed, it was they who taught us the art of warfare on horseback. Alboin did not fully trust the Avars, and in this he was wise. He asked of them a boon, that for two hundred years, should they wish to do so, the Langbards would be able to go back to Pannonia to dwell. Then, he led our people into Italy.

The first strong-place the Langbards came across in Italy was Forum Iulii. Alboin knew he must entrust this strong-place to his best man, his bravest, truest and wisest leader. And so, he spoke with his nephew, Gisulf. Now, Gisulf they called Marpahis, which is ‘horse-bridler’, or ‘horse-tamer’, for he was a master in these arts. Alboin spoke with him, and asked him if he would become a harithiugan. Ah, that’s an old word now, for today we call them dukes.

Alboin said: “Gisulf, my nephew, will you be the harithiugan of Forum Iulii? Will you guard our backs, will you guard the Alpine passes against new waves of foes?”

Gisulf said: “My uncle, my king, I will. But I ask of you one right. To pick, to choose the faras who will settle this land with me. For only the truest, the best and the bravest men may take this task upon themselves.”

And Alboin said yes.

Among the faras that Gisulf chose was that of Leupchis, and it was a wise choice, for Leupchis became a strong and worthy man, and above all, a great father. Four boys he had, and then four daughters, and then one more boy was born, and that was Lopichis.

It is said that no lesser Norn-spirit watched over his birth than Wulderada, the Mother of Kindness and Help. As she washed his baby feet with the soul-water, she foresaw all the days of his life to come, and she knew, her help alone was not enough. And so, she sang out to her brother, Winning Wuldered, the Bowman, and he came, and marked the baby with his arrow.

Little Lopichis grew well, but he was still just a small child when Wulderada’s sister, Weird the Unknowable, struck, and she proved that Alboin had been wise not to trust the Avars, and that Wulderada had been wise to call upon her brother, Wuldered. The Avars swarmed over the Alps, like angry bees, and laid waste all about them in the duchy of Forum Iulii. The men were slain, the women and children taken into bondage, and brought back with the Avars to Pannonia. Among them was Lopichis.

Now, it came to pass that Lopichis was sold into bondage in Pannonia with an Avar family that lived upon one of the great lakes. For that is a land of rivers and lakes, and many of these lakes are very, very long, and rather than walk around them, the people wish to be ferried across. And this family was a family of boatmen. So Lopichis, as he grew and worked for them, became a boatman. Ah, not just a boatman: he became the best of the boatmen beholden to that family.

Now, I will not say he was happy, for he remembered his homeland, and he yearned ever to go back. However, it was not all bad, and he remembered a song from those days, a boatman’s song that he learned in the Avar tongue. Now that song has been in our family ever since. I sang it as a boy, my brother did, my sister, my father when he was a boy, and his father before him.

Heilech kantera heilech ho,
Eren heilech hochtera kantera ho,
Eren heilech hochtera…

Heilech kantera hochtera kantera
Heilech hochtera kantera hochtera
Heilech hochtera kantera hochtera
Heilech hochtera ho.

Heilech kantera hochtera kantera
Heilech hochtera kantera hochtera
Heilech hochtera kantera hochtera
Heilech hochtera ho.

Heilech kantera heilech ho,
Eren heilech hochtera kantera ho,
Eren heilech hochtera ho!

What blissful memories of childhood!

I wonder what an Avar would think if they could hear it sung by us today? For who knows how the words have become mangled by over a hundred years of being sung by Langbard boys who did not speak a single word of their tongue. I’m sure an Avar would not understand it one little bit. But this song is a treasure of our family, for it reminds us of Lopichis. An Avar boatman’s song.

Well, Lopichis had grown to become the best of the boatmen beholden to that family. And it came to pass that his master’s young son, Laigan was his name, fell in love. He fell in love with an Avar maid who lived on the far side of the lake. Well, this maid was a proud, proud girl, and even though her father wanted to give her to Laigan, she said: “I will take him as my betrothed, but I ask one boon. For ninety-nine days he must come to see me every single day, without fail, and every single day he must kiss me on the hand. On the one-hundredth day, he may kiss me on the lips, and I will be betrothed to him.”

Girls!

But Laigan, he was so smitten with her, that he said yes. Now, this oath was taken in Spring, and the fair weather was coming, and everything was well. For ninety-nine days he rowed over the lake, he saw his young beauty, and then he kissed her on the hand. But of course, come the one-hundredth day, Winter was in the air, and the foulest weather, the foulest weather they had ever seen upon the lake, blew up from the East. Laigan was afraid. He knew he had not the skill to boat his way across the lake in that weather. One by one, Laigan bade all the boatmen beholden to him to take him across the lake, but none dared: bar one. For in that moment, Wulderada, Mother of Help and Kindness, spoke to Lopichis in his heart, and he said: “I will do it. But I ask this of you: I ask my freedom.”

Laigan was so smitten, he said: “yes, I will give you your freedom.”

And then Lopichis told him: “among my people, the Langbards, the token of freedom is an arrow.”

“Very well,” said Laigan, “I will give you also an arrow, if that is the token you want.”

“Thank you,” said Lopichis, “but what good is an arrow without a bow? Will you also give me a bow?”

“If you wish, I will also give you a bow, but now, now Lopichis, let us go.”

And so Lopichis rowed his master across the lake, and as soon as he set foot upon the far side, he took his bow, he took his arrow, the token of his freedom, and he left. Off he went, into the wilds.

And, what of Laigan? Well, I have no doubt he kissed his beauty on the lips, and I have no doubt they wed. But that is not our story; we must follow Lopichis, for he was on his way home.

For seven days he walked towards the mountains, following the course of the Drava river. He had no money, he had nothing to eat, and he was starving. On the seventh day, he came to the spring from which the Drava river flows. Now, he had nothing left to follow, he knew not where to go. But, a wild wolf came to him in the forest.

At first he was afraid, he strung his bow and readied his one arrow. But the wolf did not leap upon him. No, it looked at him, then it walked on a little way into the forest, stopped, and looked back at him, as though he should follow. When Lopichis did follow, the wolf walked off another little way, stopped, and looked back at Lopichis again.

And so it went on. Lopichis followed the wolf, his new guide, up, up, high into the Alps. But, he still had no food, he had not eaten for ten days. He became weak, and could bear his hunger no longer. Seeing no other way, unwillingly, he strung his bow and readied an arrow, then loosed it at the wolf that was leading him, hoping to slay it, and eat it.

Only much later would he come to know that this was no ordinary wolf; it was a Winil Hound, and no plain arrow loosed by a man could slay it. Seeing the wolf run off into the wilds, he swooned where he stood.

And then he dreamed. And in his dream, Winning Wuldered, the Bowman, came to him, saying: “why, why do you lie there on the land, sleeping amid the snows? Rise up, seek out the arrow you loosed, for that way lies Italy.”

And so, summoning up all the strength that was in him, Lopichis rose up and sought out his arrow, and went on the way the arrow pointed. Sure enough, after less than a day’s walking, he came across a village, a village of Slavs who lived there. When he caught sight of the village, he fell where he stood, swooning once more in the snow.

When he awoke, he thought he had died and gone to the Ghastengarda for good. For there, standing over him, was an old lady, her hair the whitest of white, her eyes the deepest of blue, and she took him in, and nursed him. It is said that she was among those White Ladies of whom so many Slavic tales tell. I think they have some kinship with the Norn-spirits, for they watch over babies as they are born, and foretell the days of their lives to come.

At first, she gave him but little food, for too much too soon would surely kill him. And day after day, week after week, she nursed him back to health. Finally, the White Lady told Lopichis: “young Langbard, you are well enough to go on to your homeland. Here, take these.” And she gave him his bow and arrow. She said: “I found them in the snow where you had fallen. But I fear one arrow will not get you very far. So here, here is a quiver full. You may use them to hunt for food in the mountains. But, there is one beast you may not shoot, for he is the Goldhorn, a great mountain goat, the greatest of them all, pure white like the snow, with golden horns. Him you may not shoot.”

Lopichis agreed. He said: “I thank you White Lady for all you have done for me, and I hope, one day, one of my sons, or one of my sons’ sons may return your kindness.” And then, he went on, on his way, back to Forum Iulii.

And it is true that in the mountains he used his bow and arrows to hunt, and one day as he was walking, he even saw, far off, a great mountain goat, greater than any he had ever seen, with golden horns. But he wisely chose not to try and get close enough to loose an arrow at it.

He went on, and finally he came home.

When Lopichis arrived in our lands, he found that our house had been abandoned. In fact, a great thorny rose bush had grown up all about it. It took him many days to cut his way in, to where the house stood. And there, in the hall, he found the roof had caved in, and growing up, high into the sky between the walls, was an ash tree. He reached out, and hung his quiver full of arrows upon the lowest branch of the ash, and as he did so, great knowledge cam to him. At last he understood that, while he had walked in the mountains, he had been chosen. The wolf was a token from Tiuz, the One-Handed, the Wolf-Bitten Lord of War, and the ash tree, the ash tree in his home, a token from Godan, the Long-Bearded, the Lord of Lore.

Thanks to Tiuz, he and his children, and all their children to come, had been chosen as harimenn, but thanks to Godan, his children and all their children to come had been chosen as eldermenn. And so that is my right too.

And with this right I will, if you wish to listen, sing and speak for you the spells of my people, the Langbard Spells.