Horned Helmet

by Henry Treece

  Then all at once, the air was pierced through with loud cries and the furious buzzing of arrows. Beorn heard one thump into the log beside him, and then a deep groan. He opened his eyes again and saw the axeman on his knees beside Gauk, fumbling at a shaft which was in his arm.

  Dust rose everywhere. Feet banged on the ground. Starkad smiled and leaned over to the axe-man. ‘Lend me your knife,’ he said pleasantly, then cut the cords which bound his ankles.

  He stood up and stretched, then flung the knife back to the wounded man, who was beyond caring whether his property was returned or not.

  ‘Come, Beorn,’ said Starkad, ‘I’ll take Gauk’s helmet and don’t you forget your sword.’ Bending, he snatched up the horned helmet and longsword, and, taking Beorn by the belt, swung him on to his feet.

  All happened so fast that the lad hardly knew where he was, or what had taken place.

  Then, from behind the headman’s thatched hut, he heard Jarl Skallagrim’s voice yelling, ‘Run, run! The tide is on the turn, we cannot wait for ever!’

  Villagers lay tumbled beside huts and against rocks, caught by this deadly raid. Odd and Thorgaut and Skallagrim towered above a crowd of Caledonians, flailing their great axes like reeds, and hissing with every sweep, as though they were grooms polishing a horse’s hide. Skallagrim saw Beorn and bawled out,

  ‘ Let’s have the pig song as we go, lad. It might amuse these villagers! ’

  But there was no space in the air for Beorn’s song, for Starkad, a pace before him, was at his own chanting, and his bull-like roar drowned all other voices.

  ‘ Up, holly-ah! Up holly-ah! ’

  He was setting the time for his sword-beats, and with every fall of the long blade, a man sprawled before him. A fleck of the baresark froth flew back and settled on Beorn’s shoulder. He let it lie, proud to stand in Starkad’s shadow now. And so they won out of Howestead and down the path to where Reindeer bounced on the urgent tide.

  As they went, Jarl Skallagrim shouted over his shoulder, ‘ Never hang back like that again, Starkad. I gave you fair warning we should sail away - but my heart failed me a mile offshore and I had to come back for you, you rogue.’

  He was half-glad, half-angry; glad to have Starkad back, but sad for the loss of Gauk, who had been with him all his sailing-days.

  Starkad was stumbling along blank-eyed still, muttering his battle-chant, and twitching at the mouth. Beorn found it all he could do to keep up with the men, but when the rest of the villagers began to shoot arrows after them, over the cliff-top, this helped him to quicken his pace. One of the shafts struck only a yard behind him and then scuttered on, like a stone skimming over a pool, between his legs, before it came to rest against a rock.

  Odd said, as he ran, ‘That is a fine horned helmet, Starkad. What will you take for it? I have two bags of Frankish gold aboard ship.’

  Starkad shook his head and said, ‘Gauk’s blood bought it, comrade. There is not enough gold in Miklagard or Jerusalem to buy this helm now. The day I give it up, I am a dead man, and the dogs can have my bones.’

  So no one asked about the helmet again, and Beorn was glad that the baresark should feel so sad about their dead friend up in the village square. After that, there was little time for any sort of talking, for Reindeer was so anxious to be away on the ebb that she broke her moorings, and most of the vikings had to swim to gain her.

  And it was just as well that they were away, for they had scarcely passed the high rock where the cormorants waited, hunched in the morning sun, when five Scottish ships-of-war came nosing round the northern headland, sails bellying, and decks crowded with bowmen.

  They must have heard that Reindeer had put back again, and were hoping to pen her in by the shore below Howestead. But they came too late; she was not the sort of longship that waited about, once she felt the breeze in her skirts. It would have taken a Valkyr’s storm-chariot to get within a javelin-cast of her now, and she skimmed the blue water as though blood pulsed in all her tarry timbers; as though she meant to go straight on, over sea, over land, over forests, until she came to stable under the golden walls of Miklagard in the distant, magic southland.

  Beorn, sad as he was at Gauk’s death, was jumping with excitement by the steerboard now, shouting so loudly that even Starkad put his hand over the lad’s mouth and told him to stop waving his new sword about, or he would be cutting someone with it.

  By middle day, they could not even see the rocky coast of Howestead, much less the ships-of-war.

  ‘ Oh, Reindeer, my sweeting,’ sang Beorn then, laying his face on the warm planks as though the ship knew he was there, and stroking the smooth oak as a warrior strokes his horse’s side.

  Jarl Skallagrim already had his Latin book in his hand, but he paused a space in his reading and, turning to Thorgaut, said with a strange smile, ‘You see, shipmate, he is one of us at last. And now he will never be a peasant again. Come, let us get on with the next sentence; this old writing is like a blackthorn hedge to my eyes, after our gay festival up on the rocks there.’

  11 Starkad Tamed

  But it is against the will of the gods to let a man’s days run too smoothly with laughter. It is the sort of pattern they will not weave, even though warp and weft seem set to pass the cloth out clean from the loom. Ten days after Howestead, Reindeer grew too headstrong and let herself get swept in a landward current that seemed bent on stoving her sides in on the saw-toothed rocks olf Lindisfarne.

  As steersman, Starkad was to blame for letting her do this thing. On some longships, among the hard-lawed Norwegians, a steersman who let his vessel hurt herself might lose his right hand, or even his head, for such a thing; but Jarl Skallagrim had never been a shipman to demand such drastic punishment.

  What he did, and that only to save his face, was to put on a stern look, and say to Starkad, ‘Right, Master Steersman, you know the law. Jump overboard and push her off again! ’

  This was said more as a joke than anything, because no man, even one as big as Thor himself, could shove a longship away from rocks. But it was the custom for this to be said among Jomsvikings, and once the steersman had gone into the water over his head, that was thought to be punishment enough for him, since no one liked getting wet.

  But Starkad was so angry with himself for sailing into the sea-swirl that he lost his sense for a little while, being a baresark, and, without further word, he upped and went over the side, neck-deep in the threshing foam, with a black rock at his back and the black ship-flanks at his front. So he stood between them, pushing at Reindeer as though he could, in truth, have heaved her away from the shore.

  But not even Starkad could do such a thing. Push as he might, she veered on her way. The men ran to the landward gunwales and stared over the banked shields down at him. The Jarl was like a madman. ‘ Slip sideways, man!’ he yelled. ‘Dive under her, or she will crush you! ’

  Starkad never heard him, over the crashing breakers and the screaming gulls. He stood like a hero, the bronze horns of his helmet showing now and then above the waters, and pushed with his red hands until his sinews almost parted with the strain.

  Beorn was shouting at the top of his voice, pleading with Starkad to let the ship go hang, and get clear of her. Even Odd, who had few kind words to say to anyone, was on his knees like a proper Christian, clasping his crooked hands and begging Kristni Warlock to come down and pull the longship off Starkad.

  But no one did that. There was a lurch of the vessel, and the softest of thuds at her side, then Beorn saw poor Starkad’s feet suddenly come up over the water, and watched him being flung like a meal-sack, wet and limp, on to a small patch of pebbly shore.

  Beorn gave a great cry then, and leapt after his friend. It was hard going to get through the strong waters, for they came all ways at once, but at last he was tossed on to his knees a spear’s length from the baresark.

  But Reindeer had taken it into her head to dance away now, and though the men worked at steerboard, oars and mast, t
hey could not get her to answer to their orders. When Beorn looked up again, she was standing out two bow-shots from Lindisfarne, and still heading from the land as though Loki were pushing her at the stern. And when he looked up a third time, she was gone in a swirl of sea-fret and grey cloud and seabirds.

  And there was Starkad, white and groaning, with hardly more life left in him than an empty flask; only the dregs that cling round the side. Beorn put aside all weeping now; for here was man’s work. He lifted his friend’s head and said, ‘How is it, viking?’

  Starkad was long answering, and when he did he said, ‘It could be a lot better, lad.’ Then he eased himself over a bit and said, ‘My sword-arm is broken and I think some of my rib-planks are stove in. I’m not sure what that mad mare of a longship did to my legs, but she certainly took it out on me for treating her too nicemouthed.’

  He tried to smile, but his lips stopped half-way in their smiling and he drew in a sharp dry breath. Beorn lay across him to keep the wind away, for it was the turn of the season, and winter was coming down from Iceland with a scudding of icy grey clouds.

  Along towards nightfall, Beorn said, ‘Master, what can I do to help you? Shall I go up along the cliff-side and see if there are any Christmen who will come down to you here with their bandages and salves?’

  Starkad said, ‘Nay, never that, my son. In the days when I was a brisk Cross-breaker, I did them a lot of harm hereabouts, and it ill becomes a church-burner to go running to priests for aid, later. A man must abide by the worst of his deeds, and I will stick by mine. I know this island; when the tide ebbs, there is a causeway on to the mainland. Mayhap, if you could help me over there, we might fast a while and forage a while, and come through in the end.’

  At twilight, Beorn got Starkad up with an effort and began the terrible journey to the land. The tide had nigh turned again before he dragged the Jomsviking under the lee of a rock and heaped dry weed round him for a blanket. It was a bad night, with the mews squealing and the dogs barking above them. Ten times Starkad woke and shouted that he smelled blood in the air; and every time Beorn had to wipe the cold sweat off him and coax him back to rest again.

  That night snow fell for the first time in the old year, and by morning Starkad’s limbs were so stiff that he begged the boy to put him below tide-level and leave him. But Beorn said firmly, ‘Father, when Glam had me down on the sand and would have beaten my brains out, why did you not let him? ’

  Starkad said shortly, ‘It ill becomes a man to let a weaker one be hurt, when by stepping in he might save him without too much trouble.’

  Beorn nodded and answered, ‘ So is it now; but, this time, you are the weaker one, and I am one who repays a debt. We walk together from this day on, so let us have no more talk of the tides, father.’

  It was only after he had said it twice, that Beorn realized what word he had used in talking to the Jomsviking.

  12 Blanchland Haven

  No man, drunk or sober, right-about or backwards-on, could have said but that it was a wolf’s winter; and Beorn and the man were well-lucky to make haven in Alnmouth, where an old bronze-tinker took pity on crippled Starkad.

  The tinker took him in and dressed his wounds, binding horse-hide round his ribs and putting his arm in a withy-splint, so that it might bend so much, but no more.

  When time came for the reckoning, Starkad groaned,

  ‘We have no coin, Master Tinker. We have only our swords and my helmet, and these we cannot part with, as you will understand.

  The tinker was a sharp fellow and said, 'That old bronze helmet is a curiosity, sailor. It has no great value as metal, but I could put a handle on it and some good-wife would pay me my price for such a strange bucket!'

  Starkad began to foam at the mouth, and Beorn knew that such talk would do him small good. So he dragged the tinker away by the arm, and in a nearby barn drew the iron stag from his tunic.

  ‘Here, man,’ he said, ‘take this. A better craftsman than you will ever be cast it when the world had not yet grown its beard. A prince would be proud to have it. This is your payment.’

  The Linker wiped his nose on his sleeve and said grudgingly, ‘It is not a bad bit of trumpery; but I would have liked the helmet.’

  Beorn said, ‘If you go this way about your bargaining with my father you will get his long sword, instead; but you will not carry it away. It will carry you away. Now go.’

  The man went, muttering, with Beorn’s precious stag in his pouch. The boy was almost glad to find that Starkad had fainted off again, when he got back to the barn; for he hated to tell him that he had given away the Scythian treasure.

  Just before Yuletide, they had gone in a wagon beyond Morpeth, and then over Tyne-river and down to Blanchland, where the snow almost filled the bowl that the village lay in. The wagon they went in belonged to a man, half-English, half-Danish, out of the old Lindsey Danelaw, in Lincolnshire, where Northmen had settled since the time of King Alfred, He was glad to have Northfolk with him for night-yarning on the southward road. Indeed, if Beorn had but said the word, Ascferth Wagoner would have taken them on down to Lincoln, where he was bound with a load of sheepskins, the wold-sheep in Lindsey having suffered a plague of foot-rot that year and all the fleeces being full of worm.

  But Starkad would not budge beyond Blanchland. He said that in a dream he had seen such a place, a village in a bowl of rock, with snow all about it, and a church tower in the middle, and black pine trees round the church, and blue woodsmoke coming up from the thatched houses.

  Ascferth said quietly to Beorn, ‘Lad, I have three sons of my own, and I speak as a family man, you understand. So, I tell you that yon sailorman, your old father, is not long for this world. His right arm will never be straight again, and he is more like a bundle of bones than a proper-shaped man. Hark to his breathing; he can hardly put one gasp after another, he breathes as a lame man walks. So, I say, let us leave him at the church here in Blanchland, and you come on down-away with me and be my son at Lincoln. I’ll pay you good hire-pence, and when the time comes, I’ll set you up in a chandler’s shop in Peterborough, or where you will. Is that a good bargain, then? ’

  Beorn looked him in the eye and said, ‘Master, go your ways to Lincoln and be content. I have all the father I want; and you have all the sons you need.’

  So Ascferth whipped his oxen off down the south road, and Beorn dragged Starkad into the church porch, away from the snow-blast.

  They had been sheltering there a short time when the door opened and a robed priest came out, carrying a Mass-cup. He almost fell over Starkad, who lay grunting on the tiles.

  The priest said, ‘By the Grail, but this man is sick, boy. Did you know that?’

  He looked at Beorn with such eyes of mixed wonderment and annoyance that the lad almost laughed in his face. Yet he had sense enough to keep his bitter laughing inside himself, and said instead, ‘Aye, master, he got hurt stepping off a boat. What can be done for him? ’

  The priest saw the sword in the sheepskin bundle, and the helmet that hung from Beorn’s arm, and he said strangely, ‘Why cannot you rovers rest in peace? Why cannot you see that those days are done? For God’s sake, boy, that was well enough when the world was a dark place, but these days we are mostly Christmen and know what good and evil are. And yet, Mother save us, you will go ranting round the world with swords and helmets, as though there were still treasures to be won, and kingdoms to save.’

  The priest was so angry, he almost wept. Beorn was sorry to see the state he was in, with his Christian gentleness. He had never seen a stranger take on so before about another man’s affairs. He said to the priest, ‘What is your name, master? I have never met such as you before, and I like to know who speaks to me.’

  The priest said, ‘ I am Alphege, and much good may the knowing do you. Now buckle to it and give a hand with this poor daft rover, who will die before vespers if we don’t get him warm.’

  Behind the rude altar of the Blanchland church was a
snug little crib, with hay on the floor, and a heap of skins in one corner. In the middle was a brazier, which sent out warmth from its glowing charcoal. And here they laid Starkad down and gave him warm wine that was meant for another, holier purpose. And later that night, Alphege the priest gave him boiled mutton cut into shreds, so that he could swallow it without chewing. And when Starkad lay back again, weary with feeding, in the hay, Alphege said to Beorn, ‘So much can we do and no more. He sits in God’s hand now. We can only pray.’

  Beorn had never prayed properly before, but he knelt with Alphege before the altar-rail and put his hands together as the priest showed him. Then he listened to the words the man said, and tried to follow them; but it was hard going, and he gave up before long.

  When he got up, Alphege said smiling, ‘I can hear that this is as new to you as a clean shirt is to a pig, my lad. But have no fear - every man is a heathen before he learns to be a Christian.’

  At another time this would have angered Beorn, but now he just nodded and tried to smile at Alphege. ‘Tell me what to do, master,’ he said, ‘and I will do it. If Kristni will help Starkad, then Kristni is my man.’

  The priest shook his head gently and said, ‘What terrible fellows you Northfolk are for making bargains! You would bargain with Christ himself! But, no, he does not give his favours in return for a bargain, lad. When he helps, he helps and asks nothing. If you care to pray to him and to thank him, that is your affair, not his.’

  Beorn shook his head and said, ‘He is the strangest god I have heard of. Why, up north-abouts, even the dullest thrall knows that to get fish out of the sea, or apples on to the boughs, or calves from a cow, a prayer must be said to Frig, or Frey, or Odin. No prayer, no fish! It is like that.’

  The priest smiled and said, ‘You will learn, lad. It takes time for you Northfolk, but it comes in the end.’ They were sitting beside the sleeping Starkad, when the priest said quietly, ‘ There was a time, not so many lives ago, when we of Northumbria spoke just as you do now. Even the good Christmen once took Christ for a warrior-man. When I was a lad, hardly older than you are, there was an old book from which I learned my letters. It was written by a man called Cynewulf, and he made a fine set of verses about Christ. In his poem, he lets the Cross speak as the tree on which Christ was nailed. It is many years since I spoke the poem.’ Alphege walked about the little room a while, then, beating one white hand in the other to mark the time, said: