Horned Helmet

by Henry Treece

  Gauk scratched his head and considered a while. Then he said, ‘Oh, aye, only a year or two ago, in a fit of absent-mindedness, we picked up a woman who was down on the shore, gathering weed and driftwood for her fire. She was a pleasant woman, though she wept to leave her husband and her son, and kept us all awake.’

  Beorn said then, ‘I think that was my mother. Where did you take her, Gauk?’

  Gauk wrapped the blanket round him and said, ‘God knows, lad. It could have been Norway, or Scotland, or down to Mull. We called at all those places that year, along the route the old Irish monks used to take. It was a bad year for trade; we got hardly enough to keep the bones from poking through our hides.’

  Beorn took the man’s hand and said, ‘Try to remember, Gauk. Where did you set this woman down?’

  But Gauk could not remember. He began to get so cross then that Beorn stopped asking, and went to sleep, to dream of his mother, and then his father jumping over the cliff.

  One day, when he was feeling more lonely than ever, because the men would not let him run up and down between the sea-chests, and Gauk had cut his finger chopping up a sheep and was lying down brooding, Beorn went to Starkad at the steerboard and said, ‘Master, where are we bound for?’

  Starkad was like a hound, smelling his direction. He took a long time to bring his eyes down to Beorn.

  He said, ‘Unless we strike land soon, we are bound for the bottom, like a hundred more that are on the high seas out of sight of land today. Two of the planks on the larboard side need caulking with tar, and that we can’t do until we can get ashore. Haven’t you heard the water bubbling below decks at night? We’re sinking inch by inch, boy. So that’s where we are bound for.’

  He spoke so calmly that Beorn thought he was joking. But two nights later the water began to come up through the deck and all the men got on to their sea-chests to keep dry. Then Beorn knew that Starkad had meant it.

  Jarl Skallagrim stopped working at his Latin and came among the men. He wore a thick frieze jacket now, and a catskin cap, like any other sailor. His fine clothes were put away in his own sea-chest in the after-cabin. If it had not been for his dagger with the gold handle, no one could have told that he was a great sea-lord.

  He asked the man at the prow, ‘Did you spy land before the dark came on?’

  The man shook his head. So Jarl Skallagrim asked Starkad, ‘How far have we settled in the last day?’

  Starkad said, ‘A hand’s length, Jarl. One of my hands; they are longer than most other men’s.’

  Skallagrim smiled and said, ‘Then we can expect to keep afloat for two days more, if you don’t mind rowing with the water round your necks. There should be land somewhere ahead of us, judging by the stars.’

  One of the men said, ‘I was in the water, on a skerry off Shetland, for three days, with the salt in one ear and out the other at every turn of the tide. Apart from the gulls that kept standing on my head, it was not so bad.’

  Jarl Skallagrim said, ‘You must put your leather hat on, Hrut, when we go down this time. It is no pleasure to have birds standing on one’s head. Their claws are sharp.’

  Then he passed down the longship and ordered a man to fetch up the thick barley-beer from the forehold. That night no one slept, with the sea about their ankles, and the beer passing round in an iron helmet for all to share. Gauk saw to it that Beorn drank with the grown men, to keep his heart up. He had never tasted thick barley-beer before. It was sweet and had a honey flavour. Before long he was feeling that he did not much mind about the sea coming into Reindeer.

  Then Beorn remembered a silly Icelandic song his father used to sing, so he got up on a chest and sang it, without being asked, even.

  Snorre Pig had a curly tail,

  A curly tail, a curly tail,

  His head was as round as the top of a pail. Hey up, for Snorre Pig!

  Snorre Pig had big brown eyes,

  Big brown eyes, big brown eyes,

  And he was the Jarl of all the sties. Hey up, for Snorre Pig!

  When Snorre Pig met a lady sow,

  A lady sow, a lady sow,

  He’d smile and bend his knee full low; Hey up, for Snorre Pig!

  But when he met another boar,

  Another boar, another boar,

  He’d tread him into the farmyard floor; Hey up, for Snorre Pig!

  Beorn sang his song in a clear high voice, with the barley-beer warm in his head, and the sea-wind cold on his cheek; and when he had finished, Jarl Skallagrim said, ‘ That is what I call poetry! You have no idea what a change it is after all the Latin I have been reading with friend Thorgaut. I like your Snorre Pig, boy, and you shall sing about him every night till Reindeer goes down. Pigs are not good things to mention out at sea, I know, but your Snorre is no common pig. Even if he does us no good, I feel that he is such a gentleman he will do us no harm.’

  Beorn said, ‘Thank you, Jarl. I could sing about him even better if I had a pair of mutton-bone clappers to beat time with.’

  Jarl Skallagrim turned to Gauk and said, ‘See that the boy has his bone clappers tomorrow.’

  Gauk went one better than that, and made a drum for Beorn, of thin sheepskin stretched tight over an old embroidery-frame that he had picked up from somewhere, perhaps Spain, Gauk forgot where. So after that, Beorn sang to the drum, and the men became more friendly to him. Even Starkad smiled at him once - and that was a great deal, for when Starkad smiled a man’s head usually fell on to the floor.

  And the song must have brought some luck at least, for two days later they sighted a little island off Shetland, and got into a cove there, with the sea up to their waists now, only just in time.

  A shipwright named Einar lived there, and he not only caulked the seams with good black pitch and rags, he also told them that the herring had come inshore south along the Scotland-coast, thicker than for ten years.

  This made the Jomsvikings so glad that Beorn asked Gauk why. Gauk said, ‘When herring come inshore, the coast-folk get excited, and they all go out in their little boats, their cobles and curraghs, and forget to lock their doors, or even leave guards in the villages. So, the thing to do is land a little higher up the coast, and then go overland and take the pickings. Fair’s fair -they get the herring; we get the gold! Nothing comes of nothing in this world, lad. A man must pay for what he gets. So, they must pay for the herring.’

  After they had this news, and the ship was watertight, Reindeer could hardly wait to be off again. She seemed to know the herring were inshore, and tugged at her mooring like a war-horse that smells iron.

  So, two months after they had left Iceland, they stood offshore from a Scottish wick, where they could see the blue smoke rising from the clustered houses of a village, and see the tarred skin-boats, the curraghs, coming out in shoals to drag in the herring.

  Starkad allowed himself to say, ‘ It must have been our lucky day when we found you on the shore, Icelander. I had thoughts of throwing you to the fishes, as we came down through the Ice Sea, but after that pig-song of yours, and now the herring-tidings, I am at the edge of changing my mind, and letting you live. How would that suit you, Icelander?’

  Beorn had got more used to this strange man now, and knew when he was jesting, so he smiled and nodded, and even dared to answer, ‘ That suits me well, Master Starkad, I am in your debt.’

  But when he said this, Starkad’s face went dark red, and he said angrily, ‘Never admit that you are in a man’s debt, you donkey! No Jomsviking ever does that. A true man is in no one’s debt but his own. Never forget that. All is between himself and God, himself and the king.’

  He spoke so furiously that white froth came on to his bps, as though he might fall down in a fit. Beorn had not been so frightened since the day Glam chased him on to the headland.

  5 Baresark

  Gauk saw that the boy was afraid, so he took him aside and said, ‘This I have to tell you - Starkad is no ordinary man, boy. You must beware of saying anything to anger him
.’

  Beorn said, ‘ I did not mean to anger him, I was trying to mind my manners, Gauk.’

  Gauk put his hand into Beorn’s hair and ruffled it. Then he shook his own head and said, ‘Jomsvikings are not concerned with manners, only with truth and hard-dealing. Never talk to a Jomsviking just for the sake of politeness. We have sworn an oath only to say what is so; no more and no less. If Starkad says he will kill a man, then he will do that. If he says he will drink a barrel dry, then he will do that, or stand dishonoured before all his comrades.’

  Beorn said, ‘Is that what you mean by saying that he is no ordinary man, Gauk?’

  Gauk shook his head, then looked round to see if anyone was listening. Afterwards he bent over Beorn and whispered, ‘Starkad is one of them, boy.’

  He looked so wise when he said this, that Beorn was more puzzled than ever. 'One of them?’ he said. ‘ What does that mean, Gauk? ’

  Gauk made a strange face, then said, ‘God above, but you must be an Outlander, not to know! Then I will tell you in plain words, since you are so dull - Starkad is a baresark. That’s what. When the froth comes on to his mouth, as you have just seen it, he is already at the first stage. The next stage is when he rips off his war-shirt, his byrnie. The third stage is when he begins to roll his eyes round and bite at things. And the last stage is when he screams out and runs at whoever gets in the way. That is a baresark. You used to have them in Iceland. It is a terrible thing to be, but there it is; a man does not ask for it. God sends it, just as He sends thunder and lightning. So now you know.’

  Then Beorn understood why all the men looked up to Starkad, and why, when Starkad spoke, even Jarl Skallagrim was silent. For a baresark was not bound by the rules that other men must obey; he was his own rule. To be a baresark was like being born a Jarl, or even a King. And when it ran in families, so that all the men-folk were baresarks, that was the most frightful thing of all, for such a family was almost holy. Ordinary folk laid offerings at their door, and no baresark ever had to do common work, like milking a cow, cutting turf, or ploughing a field. There was a saying among the folk of Hedeby at this time: ‘Better a burgher than a beggar; but better a baresark far!’

  After this, whenever Starkad spoke to Beorn, the boy felt that he was listening to words from the Other World, where thunderbolts were forged in the fire, and lightning was hammered bright by Thor.

  That night, while the herring-smacks were out, the Jomsvikings hauled down their striped sail and folded it carefully. They unstepped the mast as well, and laid it on deck, so that they should not be seen from the high village. Then every man put on a grey cloak and hood, over his helmet and mesh-byrnie, so that moonlight should not glint on them. When they rowed inshore, they wrapped old sheepskins round the oar-blades so that the water should not clap on to the ash-wood and make a noise, to give warning of their coming.

  Gauk lent Beorn a little cloak and hood, and found a black-oak sea-spike for him to carry like a sword. Though, to tell the truth, Beorn had little enough wish to go ashore hurting anyone at that time; he was still too full of remembering how his father had been hurt, and even how bad Glam had been tied up in the rock-pool for the sea to smother, unless someone saved him before the tide came in.

  But after they had pulled Reindeer up into a little stream, and covered her over with gorse and salt-grasses, Beorn felt himself getting more and more excited. He told himself that he would just go ashore with the Jomsvikings, but would take care not to hurt anyone.

  Gauk took him aside and said quietly, ‘Keep out of Starkad’s way, lad. The froth is on his lips again. Once he sees the thatch burning, he will not know whether you are fish, fowl, or good red herring. Give him best, as the others do. There must be a clear space round him, or we’ll be short of a crew tomorrow.’

  The boy answered, 'I will keep by you, then, Gauk.’ But Gauk shook his head. ‘Nay, lad, that you must not do, for my place is close to Starkad. I go three paces behind him, to guard his back. That is why they call me the Guardian. I am Starkad’s Guardian, the eyes in his back, to keep anyone coming at him from behind while he is at work.’

  Beorn had often heard the shipmen calling Gauk ‘Guardian’, but he had thought little of it at the time. Indeed, he had thought they meant that Gauk looked after the butcher’s meat on the voyage, no more. Now this was answered in his mind and suddenly he turned and said, ‘And are you a baresark, too, friend? ’

  But Gauk the Guardian smiled and shook his head. ‘ Only half-way there,’ he answered. ‘And that is just as well, for two baresarks together do not last very long. They only face one way, and each tries to outdo the other. That is when they fall - when their pride blinds them and they cannot see the wood for the trees.’ Beorn gazed up at him and said, ‘You talk like a woodcutter, not a Jomsviking, Gauk the Guardian! ’ The man laughed and said, ‘ What we chop down are no trees, little one. But my meaning was that a baresark will run among hosts of men, though they be as thick-planted as a forest around him. That is when he ends, when there are trees behind him as well as in front of him. Now you understand?’

  Beorn nodded, sadly, and while the Jomsvikings were drinking a horn of strong ale before climbing up to the village, Gauk put him in the care of Thorgaut the scholar, and Odd, a sea-wolf with a great hooked nose, and a hunched back which he had got from falling out of a tree when he was a boy, searching for owls’ nests.

  These two were to go in the rear of the attack, for they were not as nimble as the others, though they were as brisk as most warriors who were not Jomsvikings.

  At last, when torches flared out from the fishing-boats among the herring shoals, and men’s loud voices came up the cliff as the laden nets were drawn in, Jarl Skallagrim passed the word round that the time had come. The men tied strips of sheepskin round their feet and set off in a long line, up among the gorse and the tussocky grass.

  Beorn’s heart thumped so hard, he thought everyone would hear, but no one mentioned it. No one spoke at all. The whole shipload of men moved like ghosts in the dark, silently. Only when they stood on a mound, an arrow’s flight from the lighted village, did Thorgaut whisper, ‘ Stay between Odd and me, my boy. Do not go off on your own.’ He had no need to say this, for now Beorn was far too frightened to leave them.

  There was no stockade round the cluster of stone huts, for this was a village of fishermen, not herdsmen. The highest building was a wooden hall of black oak, with a steep thatched roof.

  Odd pointed with his axe and whispered, ‘Their chief’s house. There the treasure will be. There Starkad and Skallagrim will be found at the fighting’s sunset.’

  Beorn’s legs were trembling as though he had run a mile. His fingers lost their use and he dropped his cudgel in the darkness and did not even bother to search for it. He was so afraid. But, when the battle-run started, he forgot his fear and dashed in and out of the houses yelling like everyone else - though he hardly knew what he was yelling about.

  Most of the fishermen were down on the sea in the black curraghs, so the Jomsvikings had small work for their axes. The women and old men who sat by their hearth-fires were too surprised to do much, and stared, on their knees, their lips praying, while the sea-rovers snatched up what they could find.

  Only once did a tall girl with long yellow plaits come storming out, swinging a heavy ladle as though she was a Valkyr with an axe. She almost knocked Thorgaut senseless with it, and Odd had to hit her on the head with his ash-shaft: just hard enough, and no more. Then he smiled and said, ‘A real shield-maiden, that, Beorn. If I ever married, that is the sort of woman I would pick. I did not think they bred them so, outside Jomsburg!’

  All told, it was no great fight, and the Jomsvikings were soon loaded with as much as they could carry. Beorn was glad it was over and was ready to turn and go back to Reindeer, with others who were trooping off with their pickings, down the cliff-path.

  But something happened which kept him, and changed the whole of his life to come.

  A m
an called Dag, whose job it was always to fold Reindeer’s sail properly, came staggering past with an iron-bound chest and, seeing Thorgaut and Odd, shook his head and said, ‘Oh, a fine carry-on! We’ll be here till dawn and the Scottishmen come up from the fishing. The Jarl is off his head, I can tell you!’

  Odd asked, ‘What is it? Are some of our fellows hurt? ’

  Dag shook his head. ‘Nay,’ he said, ‘it’s Starkad again. He’s in their chief’s house and won’t come away. No one can shift him; he’s beyond caring.’

  Thorgaut said gravely, ‘ This is what comes of sailing with baresarks. They can put a whole shipload in danger at times like this.’

  He began to stride forward. Dag called after him, ‘A fat lot of good you will do, shipmate. He’s already knocked Gauk down twice, and the Jarl once! ’

  Then he stumbled off with his treasure-chest into the dark. Beorn had to run, to keep up with Odd and Thorgaut.

  6 Lost Sword and Found Son

  Inside the chief’s hall, with the torches blazing and the round bucklers ranged on the walls, Beorn saw a strange sight. Gauk and Jarl Skallagrim were sitting on the floor, rubbing their heads like men just waking: Starkad staggered about, waving his arms, stumbling over the bodies of five men, guards, to judge by their helmets and byrnies, who lay huddled about a great coffer.

  Beorn saw that the coffer-lid had been split across and wrecked, and that the box was full to the brim with cups and coins that glimmered in the flickering light.

  Starkad was staring about him with empty, wide-open eyes, that looked more like pieces of flint or agate than anything else. He was saying, ‘ My dear sword has gone. Leg-biter has gone! He belonged to my grandfather and in all those years his edge was never hacked. Oh, Leg-biter, oh dear friend! What is this rubbish worth if you have gone? ’