Assipatl and the Lord of the Sea Serpent

Long, long ago, there lived a wealthy farmer in the north of Scotland. He had seven sons and one daughter. And the youngest son was given a very strange nickname by the people—they called him Assipattle, which means "The One Who Wallows in the Ashes." Perhaps Assipattle had earned this name.

He was a lazy boy—he didn’t want to work on the farm like his brothers did.

All day long, he would wander around somewhere, ragged and unkempt, with nothing on his mind but trolls and giants, elves and dwarves.

On long summer days, when the sun was blazing, when the bees buzzed, lulling one into a drowsy state, and even the tiniest insects moved as if in a dream, the boy would lie down on a pile of ashes in the farmyard. There he would lie for hours, sifting the ashes through his fingers like sand on a seashore, basking in the sun, and telling himself stories.

Meanwhile, his brothers worked diligently in the fields. They would point at Assipattle, laugh at him, and say to each other that people hadn’t called him "The One Who Wallows in the Ashes" for nothing. A completely useless fellow! When the older brothers returned home from work, they would send the youngest on errands and tease him, while their mother made him sweep the floors, carry peat from the peat stack, fetch water from the well, and generally do all the chores no one else wanted to do.

Life was hard for Assipattle. He would often have been in real trouble if it weren’t for his sister. She loved him dearly and patiently listened to his tales. She never laughed at him or said, like his brothers, that he was "always lying." But then trouble came. At least for poor Assipattle. The king of the country where the farmer’s family lived had only one daughter—Princess Gemdelovely. Her father adored her and denied her nothing. It so happened that Princess Gemdelovely needed a maid. One day, the princess was riding past the farm and saw Assipattle’s sister standing by the gate.

The girl caught the princess’s eye, and she asked her father to take her into service. The king agreed at once—he granted all his daughter’s wishes. Soon, a messenger rushed to the farm and delivered the king’s order for the farmer to send his daughter to the palace.

The farmer was overjoyed that his daughter had been given such a fortunate opportunity.

Her mother and six brothers were also delighted—in short, everyone in the household was happy except Assipattle. He watched sadly as his sister rode away on a horse, proudly wearing her new dress and shoes. Her father had made those shoes himself from cowhide so she could wear them when she arrived at the palace and began serving the princess—at home, she always went barefoot.

Time passed, and one day, a royal messenger galloped across the land with terrible news. The evening before, some fishermen who had gone out to sea in their boats had spotted Mester Stoorworm in the distance, and everyone knew that this was the largest, most fearsome, and most renowned of all the Sea Serpents. In the Scriptures, it is called "Leviathan," and if it lived today, its tail would stretch as far as Iceland, while its head would reach Nordkapp.

The fishermen saw the terrible creature turn its head toward the shore, open its mouth, and yawn ominously. It seemed to be showing that it was hungry, and if it wasn’t fed, it would destroy everyone on land—humans and animals, birds and creeping creatures alike.

Everyone knew that the Serpent’s breath was poisoned and burned everything it touched like fire. If the monstrous creature were to raise its head and exhale its deadly heat onto the land, the flourishing country would turn into a desert within weeks.

When the news spread, people were paralyzed with terror—they knew the great calamity that threatened them. The king summoned all his advisors and asked them to come up with a solution.

For three whole days, these important, bearded men deliberated. They proposed many things, shared much wisdom, but—alas!—they couldn’t figure out how to drive away the Sea Serpent.

Finally, on the evening of the third day, when all hope seemed lost, the door to the council chamber opened, and the queen entered. It should be noted that the queen was the king’s second wife. The people disliked her because she was haughty and sharp-tongued. She hated her stepdaughter, Princess Gemdelovely, and spoke far less with her husband, the king, than with a renowned sorcerer whom everyone feared. The dignified advisors looked disapprovingly at the queen as she boldly entered the council chamber, stood by the throne, and spoke in a loud voice:

"You think, elders, that you are brave and strong and capable of defending the people. Perhaps that’s true when you’re fighting mortals. But the enemy that now threatens our country is beyond your strength. Our weapons are as straw before it. It cannot be defeated by force, but only by sorcery. So, listen to my words, though I am a woman. Consult the great sorcerer. Nothing is hidden from him. He knows all the secrets of the earth, air, and sea."

Neither the king nor his advisors liked this suggestion. They hated the sorcerer. And they also knew that the queen was under his influence. But since they themselves had no ideas and didn’t know where else to turn, they had no choice but to heed the queen’s advice and send for the sorcerer. When he arrived and sat among them, they felt uneasy. He was a tall, gaunt, terrifying man; his beard hung down to his knees, his hair enveloped him like a cloak, and his face was as white as lime. It seemed as if he feared the sun and had spent his entire life in darkness.

The advisors and the king eyed him with suspicion. But no one else could help them. So they told him everything and asked for his advice and assistance. The sorcerer coldly replied that he would think it over and return the next day to the council chamber to tell them what must be done.

The next day, he returned and gave such advice that everyone’s hair stood on end with horror.

"There is only one way to appease the Great Serpent and save the country," said the sorcerer. "Every Saturday, you must throw seven young maidens, the most beautiful ones, to it as food. Try this two or three times, and if the Sea Serpent does not take pity and swim away, then we will have to resort to another, final measure. But it is so terrible that it’s not worth speaking of yet, so as not to frighten the people prematurely."

What could the king and his advisors do? They hated the sorcerer and feared him. But, as much as it pained them, they had to obey him. And so the king reluctantly issued a cruel decree.

And so, every Saturday, the king’s servants seized seven beautiful, innocent maidens, bound their hands and feet, and left them alone on a cliff that jutted out into the sea. The monster would stretch out its long, forked tongue and lick the maidens into its mouth, while the people watched in horror from the top of a high hill. Or rather—the men watched with stony faces, while the women covered their faces with their aprons and wept loudly.

"Is there really no other way?!" they cried. "Can’t the country be saved somehow else?"
But the men only groaned and shook their heads.

"There is no other way," they said, "there is none!"

And then one day, an indignant child's voice rang out in the crowd:

"Is there not a single grown man among you willing to fight the monster, kill it, and save the lives of the girls? If not, I will take it upon myself. I am not afraid of Master Sturorm."

This was shouted by a boy named Assipattle, and everyone turned to look at him in surprise. He stood staring at the enormous Sea Serpent, his fists clenched in anger, and his large blue eyes sparkled, filled with pity and indignation.

"The poor lad has lost his mind! His reason has been clouded by this spectacle," the people whispered among themselves.

They surrounded the boy, intending to comfort and calm him, but then Assipattle's older brother approached and slapped him.

"You? Fight the Sea Serpent?" he sneered. "Not a chance!"

"Go home, bury yourself in your ashes, and stop talking nonsense." He grabbed Assipattle and dragged him toward his brothers, and then they all headed home. But Assipattle kept insisting that he would kill the Sea Serpent, and the older brothers became so angry with the "little braggart" that they started throwing stones at him, forcing the boy to flee for his life. That same evening, the six brothers were threshing rye in the barn, while Assipattle, as usual, lay in the ashes, lost in thought, until his mother came and ordered him to run to his brothers and call them for dinner.

Assipattle got up—he was, after all, a fairly obedient son. But as soon as he entered the barn, his brothers pounced on him, seeking revenge for his earlier escape. They knocked him down and buried him under so much straw that, had the farmer not come to see why they were taking so long, Assipattle might have suffocated. At dinner, their mother scolded the older sons. She said that only cowards gang up on someone younger and smaller than themselves. At this, Assipattle stopped eating his porridge, looked up, and said:

"Don't be upset, Mother! I didn't want to fight them. If I had, I could have beaten them all."

"Why didn't you try, then?" the brothers shouted.

"Because I don't want to waste my strength. I'll need it when I go to fight the giant Serpent," Assipattle calmly replied.

At this, his family burst into even louder laughter.

Time passed. Every Saturday, seven girls were thrown to the monster to be devoured. Finally, the people began to say that it was time to put an end to this, or else there would be no girls left in the land.

The king summoned his elders once more. They deliberated for a long time and decided to send for the wizard again and ask him if he knew of any other, final solution.

"Whatever it may be," the elders said, "things cannot get worse than they are now." But they did not know what the new solution would entail.

It must be said that the cruel queen hated her stepdaughter, Princess Gemdelavli, and the evil wizard knew this. He also knew that the queen would not mind getting rid of her stepdaughter altogether; so he devised a plan to please the queen. He appeared at the council, pretending to be deeply troubled, and said that there was only one thing left to do: offer Princess Gemdelavli to the Sea Serpent. Then it would surely leave.

As soon as he said this, an ominous silence fell over the council chamber. Everyone covered their faces with their hands, for no one dared to look at the king.

The king dearly loved his daughter and cherished her as the apple of his eye. But he was just and understood that he could not spare his own child while forcing other fathers to sacrifice their daughters for the sake of the homeland. He went to the princess and spoke with her. Then he returned to the elders and, in a trembling voice, announced that both he and his daughter were prepared to make the sacrifice.

"She is my only child," the king said, "the last of our line. Yet we both believe that she must give her life to save our country."

Salty tears streamed down the cheeks of the stern, bearded men as they listened to the king. They all knew how dear Princess Gemdelavli was to him. Yet they agreed that the king's words were wise and that his decision was right and just. Of course, it was better for one girl to perish, even if she was of royal blood, than for countless others to die week after week—and to no avail.
The advisors sighed heavily. And then the elderly jurist, the head of the Royal Council, rose to pronounce the death sentence upon the princess. But before he could utter a single word, the royal squire suddenly stepped forward.

"Nature teaches us that every serpent has a tail," he said. "Now your jurist is about to pronounce a sentence, and this sentence is truly a venomous serpent. Therefore, it must have a tail. And here is its tail: if the Lord of the Sea Serpent devours the princess but does not immediately depart, he shall be served not a tender, young maiden, but this gaunt, ghastly old sorcerer!"

Before he even finished speaking, such loud cries of approval erupted that the evil sorcerer shrank back, his pale face turning deathly white. And so, the sentence was pronounced, but it was decided that it would be carried out only after three weeks, during which time the king would send his envoys to all neighboring kingdoms. The envoys were to announce that any brave soul who could drive away the monster and save the princess would receive her hand in marriage. As her dowry, he would be given the entire kingdom, as well as the famed royal sword that once belonged to the Norse god Odin.

With this sword, Odin had fought and vanquished all his enemies. The sword was called "Sikkersnapper," meaning "True-striker," and no man could stand against it.

News of these decisions spread throughout the land, and every person mourned for Princess Gemdelavli—for she faced such a terrible fate! The farmer, Assipattle's father, and his wife, and their six sons—indeed, the entire household—mourned for her, all except Assipattle himself. He sat silently on a pile of ashes.

When the neighboring kingdoms learned of the king's proclamation, all the young warriors stirred. They thought that slaying the sea monster would not be so difficult, and a beautiful wife, a flourishing kingdom, and a fine sword were not to be found every day.

And so, thirty-six warriors arrived at the royal palace, each firmly hoping to claim the promised reward. But the king sent them all to see the enormous Serpent lying in the sea, its gaping maw wide open. When the warriors saw it, twelve of them suddenly fell ill, and another twelve were so terrified that they fled without looking back, not stopping until they reached their homelands. Thus, only twelve of the thirty-six brave souls returned to the royal palace, but even these were so disheartened upon realizing the magnitude of the task they had undertaken that their courage vanished. Not one of them even attempted to slay the Sea Serpent. The three weeks passed slowly. And then, on the evening before the day the princess was to be sacrificed, the king decided to entertain his guests a little and held a grand dinner. It was a somber feast: everyone could only think of the terrible deed that was to take place the next day, and no one could eat or drink. When the dinner ended and everyone retired to sleep, except for the king and his old squire, the king returned to the main hall and slowly ascended to his throne, which stood on a high platform. This throne was unlike those of today: it was simply a massive chest, and within it, the king kept his most precious treasures.

With trembling hands, the old king slid back the iron bolts, lifted the lid of the chest, and drew out the wondrous sword True-striker, the one that had once belonged to the god Odin.

The loyal squire had once fought shoulder to shoulder with the king in hundreds of battles and now looked upon him with great compassion.

"Why have you drawn your sword?" he asked quietly. "Your days of battle are over. You fought valiantly, my lord, when your hand was strong and true. But when a warrior is eighty years old, and sixteen more besides, it is time for him to send younger men to fight." The old king turned to him in anger, and his eyes blazed as they had in days of old.

"Silence!" he shouted. "Or I will raise my sword against you. Do you think I will let my only daughter be devoured by that monster without lifting a finger to save her, when no one else will take up the task? I tell you, no—I swear on this sword," and he crossed the thumbs of both hands on True-striker, "that both the sword and I will perish before a single hair falls from my daughter's head. So go, my old comrade, and order my boat to be prepared, its sails set, and its prow turned toward the sea. I myself will go to fight the Sea Serpent. And if I do not return, I entrust you to protect my beloved daughter. Perhaps my death will save her life."

That evening at Assipattle's parents' farm, everyone went to bed early: the next morning, the entire household planned to climb to the top of the hill by the sea to watch the Sea Serpent devour the princess. All except Assipattle—he was to stay home to guard the geese.

The boy was so upset that he couldn't sleep—he had a great plan in mind! He tossed and turned on his pile of ashes in the corner and suddenly heard his parents talking as they lay in their wide bed. Assipattle listened and realized they were quarreling.

"The hill by the sea is too far," said Assipattle's mother. "I fear I won't make it on foot. I'd better stay home."

"No," replied his father. "Why should you stay home when the whole countryside will be there? Climb onto my horse, Swiftfoot, behind me. We'll ride together."

"I don't want to trouble you by coming along," said his wife.

"And I don't want you to think I don't love you as much as I used to."

"Have you gone mad?" the farmer cried in frustration. "Why do you think I've stopped loving you?"

"Because you've stopped telling me your secrets," replied the farmer's wife. "Take Swiftfoot, for example. For five years, I've begged you to tell me why, when you ride her, she flies faster than the wind, but when anyone else mounts her, she plods along like a broken-down old nag."

The farmer laughed.

"I didn't keep it from you because I love you less, my dear," he said, "but because I didn't trust you enough. A woman's tongue wags without restraint, and I didn't want others to learn my secret. But if it upsets you so, I'll tell you everything... Listen! When I want to stop Swiftfoot, I slap her once on the left side. When I want her to run like an ordinary horse, I slap her twice on the right side. And when I need her to fly like the wind, I whistle into a goose's windpipe. But since I never know when I'll need her to fly like the wind, I always carry a goose's windpipe in the left pocket of my jacket."

"So that's how you manage that horse," said the farmer's wife, very pleased. "And that's where all our goose windpipes have gone! You're quite the trickster, husband. Now that I know everything, I can sleep."

Assipattle had stopped tossing and turning in the ashes. He sat quietly in his corner, his eyes gleaming.

The boy realized that his hour had finally come.
He waited patiently until he could tell by his parents' breathing that they had fallen asleep.

Then he crept up to his father's clothes, pulled out the goose's neck from the jacket pocket, and silently slipped out of the house. As soon as he ran out into the yard, he dashed like an arrow to the stable, saddled and bridled Swiftfoot, threw the reins over her neck, and led her out of the gate.

The good mare was not used to Assipattle. She reared, kicked, and tried to bolt forward. But the boy remembered his father's words and slapped her on the left side.

Swiftfoot immediately stood still as if rooted to the spot. Assipattle jumped onto her, slapped her twice on the right side, and the good horse galloped off with a loud neigh.

The sound of her hooves in the night silence roused the entire household. The farmer and his six sons, stumbling, rushed down the stairs, shouting to each other in alarm that someone must have stolen Swiftfoot.

The farmer was the first to reach the door, and when he saw his beloved horse galloping away under the starlight, he shouted at the top of his lungs:

"Thief! Thief! Stop the thief! Whoa, Swiftfoot, whoa!" Swiftfoot heard her master's voice and immediately stopped. "Well, I'm done for!" thought Assipattle. He knew that his father and brothers were fast runners and would soon catch up to him. And Swiftfoot wouldn't budge! But fortunately, he remembered the goose's neck. He pulled it out of his pocket and whistled. The spirited mare immediately bolted forward, galloping as fast as the wind, and in one leap cleared the hill. The pursuers hadn't even managed to run a dozen steps before they were left far behind.

Dawn was breaking when the boy saw the sea. Ahead, on the waves, lay a huge monster, and Assipattle knew he had to kill it—that was why he had come all this way. Anyone would say it was foolish even to dream of such a thing. After all, Assipattle was a scrawny, unarmed youth, and the Lord of the Sea Serpent was so enormous that, as people said, its length was equal to a quarter of the Earth's circumference. Its tongue was forked at the end and resembled a pitchfork. And with these forks, it could grab anything it wanted, shove it into its mouth, and devour it. Yet Assipattle was not afraid—under his rags beat the heart of a hero. "Well, brother, watch out now!" he said to himself. "If strength fails, cunning will save the day."

Assipattle jumped off Swiftfoot, tied the good horse to a tree, and set off on foot, carefully looking around. Soon he noticed a small house on the edge of the forest.

Its door was unlocked. The boy entered and saw that the old woman who lived there was fast asleep in her bed. He didn't disturb her but took a cast-iron pot from the shelf and examined it closely.

"This will come in handy," he thought. "The old woman probably won't be angry when she finds out I took the pot to save the princess's life." Then he pulled a glowing peat ember from the hearth, placed it in the pot, and went on his way.

By the sea, right by the shore, he saw the king's boat. It was already under sail, and its bow was turned toward the Lord of the Sea Serpent. A boatman was guarding it.

"What a cold morning!" Assipattle said to him. "Aren't you freezing here? Why don't you go ashore, run around, and warm up? I'll sit in the boat and guard it until you return."

"Not a chance!" the boatman retorted. "What would the king say if he came now? He'd see that I left his glorious boat in the care of a snot-nosed brat like you while I warmed myself on the sand, and then what? He'd probably have my head!"

"Suit yourself," Assipattle said casually and began searching for something among the rocks on the shore. "I'll just look for some good shells and fry them for breakfast."

And so the boy gathered some shells and then started digging a hole in the sand to place the glowing peat in it. The boatman watched him with envy; he too wanted to eat.

But suddenly Assipattle shouted and jumped around:

"Gold, gold! I swear by Thor, who would have thought we'd find gold here?!"

At that, the boatman couldn't resist—he forgot all about the king and his own head. He jumped out of the boat, pushed Assipattle aside, and began frantically digging in the sand. Then Assipattle grabbed his cast-iron pot, leaped into the boat, pushed it away from the shore, and had already sailed half a mile before the boatman realized he'd been tricked.

Of course, he found no gold.

The boatman was furious, and the old king was even angrier when he descended to the shore with his courtiers. In his hand, he held the famed sword True-striker—for he still clung to the futile hope that he, a weak and frail old man, might defeat the monster and save his daughter. But now, with the boat gone, even that hope faded. The king could only stand on the shore among the growing crowd of his subjects and wait to see what would happen. And this is what happened.

Assipattle sailed slowly across the sea, never taking his eyes off the Sea Serpent. Soon he noticed that the terrible monster yawned from time to time, as if eagerly awaiting its meal. And every time it yawned, a huge stream of water rushed into its throat, only to pour back out through its enormous gills. And so the brave boy lowered the sail and steered the boat's bow straight toward the monster's gaping mouth.
As soon as it yawned again, the boat, along with the boy, was sucked into its mouth, and they fell through the throat of the Sea Serpent into its dark belly. The boat floated there, going further and further, but soon the water began to recede and pour out of the serpent’s massive gills. Finally, the boat seemed to run aground. At that moment, Assipattle jumped out of it with a cast-iron pot in his hands and ran off to explore.

After a while, he reached the monster’s liver. He knew that fish livers contained a lot of fat. The boy dug a hole in it and shoved a glowing piece of peat inside. What a fire broke out then! Assipattle barely managed to jump back into the boat in time—the Sea Serpent began to convulse so violently that it regurgitated the boat, hurling it onto the shore, whole and unharmed.

The sea became so turbulent that the king, his daughter (who by then had already come ashore, dressed in a white wedding gown), all the courtiers, and the villagers had to seek refuge on top of a hill. From this safe spot, they now watched the sea, waiting to see what would happen next.

And the Lord Sea Serpent thrashed about in all directions, writhing and contorting. It stuck its hideous head out of the water, and its tongue lashed out with such force that it struck the ground, carving a huge crack into it. The sea rushed into this crack, forming a curved strait that now separates Denmark from Sweden and Norway.

Then the monster lost several teeth. They did not sink but instead formed islands, which are now called the Orkney Islands. A little later, the monster lost a few more teeth, and they too turned into islands. These we now call the Scottish Isles.

Then the Serpent curled up into a ball and died. This ball turned into the island of Iceland.

Deep within it, the fire still burns—the very fire that Assipattle once lit with a piece of glowing peat. That is why, in this cold land, some mountains spew flames.

When everyone finally realized that the Lord Sea Serpent was truly dead, the king, beside himself with joy, hugged Assipattle, kissed him, and called him his son.

He took off his royal mantle, placed it on the boy, and girded him with his trusty sword, True-Striker.

Then the king called his daughter, Princess Gemdelovely, placed her hand in Assipattle’s, and declared that, when the time came, she would become the wife of this hero, and he would rule the entire kingdom.

Then they all mounted their horses, with Assipattle riding Swiftfoot beside the princess, and they happily returned to the royal palace. But as soon as they approached the gates, a servant girl, Assipattle’s sister, ran out to meet them. She asked the princess to lean down and whispered something in her ear.

The princess’s face darkened; she turned her horse around, galloped back to her father—who was riding behind with the courtiers—and relayed the servant’s words. The king’s face also darkened like a thundercloud. This is what had happened: the cruel queen had rejoiced at being rid of her stepdaughter forever and had spent the morning cozying up to the evil sorcerer, taking advantage of the old king’s absence.

“He must be executed at once!” exclaimed the king. “There is no forgiveness for him!”

“It will be hard to find him, Your Majesty,” said the servant. “It’s been an hour since he fled with the queen on the fastest horses from the stables.”

“I’ll catch him!” shouted Assipattle and, faster than the wind, raced after the fugitives on his trusty mare, Swiftfoot.

Soon he nearly caught up with them, drew his sword, and loudly ordered them to stop.

They heard the shout, turned around, and burst into laughter upon seeing that it was only the boy who always lay in the ashes.

“Impudent brat! I’ll teach him a lesson!” shouted the sorcerer and charged at Assipattle.

He had never been a warrior, but he knew that ordinary weapons could not harm his enchanted body, so he feared nothing. But he did not know that Assipattle held in his hand the very sword with which the great god Odin had defeated all his enemies. With a single stroke of the sword, the boy struck down the sorcerer, who fell dead from his horse.

Then the courtiers arrived. They too had given chase, but their horses were not as swift as Swiftfoot. The courtiers seized the queen’s horse by the reins and led it, along with its rider, back to the palace. The queen was brought before the council, tried, and ordered to be imprisoned in a high tower. There she languished until the end of her days.

When Assipattle grew up, he married Princess Gemdelovely, and many guests feasted and celebrated at their wedding. And when the old king died, the young couple took his place and ruled the kingdom for many years.

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