Jamie Ryder has published a new book entitled Norse Fighting Heroes: Kings, Conquerors and Shield Maidens.
The Warrior Poet and The Wisdom of Verse
What do you picture when you think of a poet? Maybe a romantic who writes epic verses? Perhaps a wordsmith that reels off quotes by heart? Or a nice, non-threatening kind of person that just really likes writing? To get an understanding of the Norse view of poetry, let’s start with a story about the gods.
At the end of the war between the Aesir and Vanir, the gods sealed their peace treaty by spitting into a large vat. From their saliva, a being formed called Kvasir, who became known as the wisest man alive. He was so wise that there wasn’t anything he didn’t know, and he travelled the nine realms, spreading his knowledge to whoever would listen.
One day, Kvasir was invited into the home of the dwarves Fjalar and Galar. Wanting Kvasir’s precious wisdom for themselves, they murdered him and poured his blood into a vat which they mixed with honey to make mead. Whoever drank this mead of poetry would be gifted with Kvasir’s silver tongue and the dwarves drank greedily. When the gods questioned them about what had happened to Kvasir, they answered that he’d choked on his intelligence.
Fjalar and Galar continued their murdering spree by killing a giant called Gilling and his wife. They took Gilling out to sea and sank his boat. On passing on the sad news to his wife, they got tired of her weeping and dropped a millstone on her head. This had consequences for the duo.
Gilling’s son, Suttungr, heard about his father’s murder and confronted the dwarves. Dragging them out to sea and dropping them on a reef at low tide, Suttungr threatened to drown them. The dwarves begged for their lives and Suttungr agreed to spare them in exchange for the mead of poetry. Coveting the wisdom for himself, Suttungr hid the mead deep in his chambers and instructed his daughter Gunnlod to watch over it.
But there was someone in the nine worlds even more starved of wisdom than Suttungr. This was Odin, whose hunger for knowledge was insatiable and when he heard about the mead being hoarded, he vowed to claim it for himself. Disguising himself as a farmhand, Odin travelled to the residence of Suttungr’s brother, Baugi.
There he found nine slaves cutting hay with their scythes and he offered to sharpen the scythes with a whetstone he took from his cloak. The whetstone worked like a charm and each slave asked to buy it from Odin. Agreeing to sell his marvellous product, Odin gave one condition: they must pay a high price. And so he threw the whetstone up in the air and in the struggle to take it, the slaves slashed each other’s throats with their scythes.
Then The All-Father went to Baugi’s door and said, ‘Hello there, sir. I hope you’ll permit me to have a moment of your time. I am but a simple wanderer and while I don’t relish the thought of delivering bad news, I see it as my sworn duty to do what others turn away from. My name is Bolverk and I regret to tell you that as I was passing by your farm, I saw your thralls slaughter each other over a disagreement. I don’t know how it started. What I do know is that I’m capable of filling in to do their work, and in exchange, all I ask for is a draught of your brother’s mead. I’ve heard it’s a wonderous drink and have travelled far to learn more about it.’
Baugi answered that he had no power over his brother’s actions and that Suttungr was a notorious miser. But if Bolverk could truly perform the tasks of nine men then he would travel with him and see if he could persuade his brother to part with some mead.
So, that summer, Bolverk toiled in the fields and by winter, his promise to Baugi had been fulfilled. When they went to Suttungr, the keeper of the mead refused to provide a single drop. Undeterred, Bolverk convinced Baugi to help him get access to the mead in Gunnlod’s chamber. The giant took Bolverk to a place in the mountain stronghold nearest the chamber and gave him a drill to bore a hole into the rock.
After Baugi drilled through the wall and announced he was done, the High One blew into the hole to check. Rock-dust blew back onto him and he realised the giant was trying to trick him. Bolverk demanded Baugi finish what he had started and the giant drilled all the way through. With the job done, Odin cast off his disguise, turning into a snake and slipping through the hole. Seeing that he’d been deceived, Baugi tried to kill the god with the drill, but he was too slow.
Now inside the chamber, Odin disguised himself as a handsome young man. He met Gunnlod and managed to seduce her. A bargain was struck. Three nights of sex for three sips of mead and so Odin spent his time in Gunnlod’s bed. But every time he went for a swig of mead, the All- Father drained the vat as much as he could.
When he had what he came for, Odin transformed into an eagle, flying from the wrath of Suttungr, who’d discovered the deceit. The giant also transformed into an eagle and gave chase. Odin soared back to Asgard and when he was near, the other gods set out vessels at the ready. Flying into Asgard in the nick of time, Odin puked up the mead into the containers.
But Suttungr had been so close that in fear and haste, Odin shat out some of his precious mead and these paltry drops of poetry fell to Midgard below. Mankind could drink this sullied portion, but they would only ever be bad poets and unoriginal creatives. But the true greats, those poets and storytellers who could make their audience feel something, were given their gifts by Odin. He shared his original batch of mead with them personally.
Types of Norse poetry
This tale of how Odin stole the gift of poetry from the giants indicates the value of creativity in Norse society. The ultimate expression of poetry was personified by a skald. Identified as court poets, skalds were in the service of rulers who relied on having their great deeds transmitted throughout Scandinavia. Reputation was key to how jarls and kings spread their influence and the job of a skald was to compose praise poetry so that the king would be remembered.
More than that, poetry was a way to pass down information in cultures where there were no written manuscripts and only runic carvings to express ideas. Skalds recorded battles, contributing to the tradition of oral storytelling that helped to create later works like the Proseand Poetic Eddaand the Icelandic sagas. Without poetry, we wouldn’t know nearly as much as we know about the actions and personalities of important Viking Age rulers or the events that shaped their worlds.
Generally, Old Norse poetry is divided into two types: eddic and skaldic (although there are always exceptions). The former refers to ballad narratives in the vein of the Poetic Edda, where the authors of the poetry are anonymous.
Skaldic poetry is usually attributed to named authors and shows the dynamic between the poet and the patron, capturing the bravery, strength, battle prowess and generosity of their patron. The most elaborate of these skaldic poems is the drapa(long poem) and in exchange for immortalising their patron, the skald would be paid and given a respectable status in a community.
Another fascinating aspect of Norse poetry is the penchant for complex word rhymes, wit and flair captured in kennings. This poetic device involved replacing a noun with a figure of speech as a metaphor or clever turn of phrase to showcase the creativity of the skald. For example, raven- feeder means warrior or river-steed means ship. In battle, a warrior became a literal raven-feeder through the bodies he left behind for scavengers with the association of death, ravens and Odin. A longship could be steered like a horse across water.
There were skalds that did live up to the classic ideals of a poet like Sigvatr. Others chose to embrace all the violence and bloodshed of battle like the hero of this chapter, Egil Skallagrimsson.
A man of many contradictions
Egil is the total antithesis of an attractive, romantic poet. He’s a warrior, farmer, killer and family man described as having a ‘wide forehead, bushy brows and a nose that was not long but extremely broad. His upper jaw was broad and long, and his chin and jawbones were exceptionally wide. With his thick neck and stout shoulders, he stood out from other men. When he was angry, his face grew harsh and fierce’in the saga dedicated to his life. (Doesn’t sound like the archetypical kind of poetic beauty, does it?)
At odds with his violent character is his ability to compose epic, creative verses that made him one of the most accomplished skalds of his generation. Let’s take just one of his poems as an example: ‘The god of the armour hangs/a jangling snare upon my clutch/the gibbet of hunting- birds/the stamping ground of hawks/I raise the ring, the clasp that is worn/ on the shield-splitting arm/on to my road of the battle-storm/in praise of the feeder of ravens.’
In context, Egil has composed a praise poem in honour of King Athelstan of England, who’s given him an arm ring and other gifts as compensation for the death of the poet’s brother Thorolf. Egil is highly descriptive with his language, using alliteration to create a word flow and using several kennings like ‘jangling snare’ for ring and ‘rod of the battle-storm’ for sword.
This same man who could bend words so masterfully and work magic tore a man’s throat out with his teeth, made his first kill when he was 7, burned down homes and projectile-vomited onto people for fun. Naturally, it makes for a compelling narrative.
The author of Egil’s Sagais unknown and it may or may not contain actual verses written by the historical Egil passed down through oral traditions or Icelandic written sources like The Book of Settlements.What the author constructed is a generational epic starting with Egil’s grandfather Kveldulf and the move from Norway to Iceland to escape the machinations of King Harald Finehair. This struggle is paralleled by Egil’s resistance against Harald’s son Eric Bloodaxe and his wife Gunnhild. Here I’ve retold Egil’s story across those generations.
Wolves in wolves’ clothing
The story of Egil Skallagrimsson is a story of wolves, beginning with a man called Ulf. A clever, wise and capable farmer, Ulf tilled his fields and offered advice to those who asked during the day. Come nightfall, he became bad-tempered and wild and people called him a shapeshifter. He became Kveldulf, Night Wolf.
Kveldulf married Salbjorg Karisdottir and they had two sons, Thorolf and Grim, but their children were like day and night. Thorolf grew into a generous, energetic man who won friends easily and was favoured for his looks, which he got from his mother, who was fair in complexion and cheerful with all. Grim took after his father. Dark-eyed, dark-haired, dark moods and a desire to venture beyond the farm and seek his fortune. In time he would earn the name Skallagrim.
Eventually, Kveldulf and his sons were called upon by King Harald Fairhair to serve him and win great renown. Kveldulf rebuffed him. This irritated the king and so the Night Wolf ’s brother-in-law Olvir stepped in to mediate. He convinced Harald that Kveldulf would send Thorolf in his place and serve in the king’s army when he returned from raiding in the summer. Kveldulf continued to have doubts about his family throwing their lot in with a man like Harald and he told Thorolf as much when he returned. But his fair-haired son would not be dissuaded and left to join the king with a crew of reliable men.
Under Harald’s service, Thorolf proved himself to be a we-liked and capable fighter. But as his reputation grew, so did the list of people who grew envious of his acclaim. One such family poured poison into Harald’s ear, whispering of how Thorolf planned to overthrow him. Harald sipped this poison like it was fine mead and consumed it as the truth. Over time, the rift between Harald and Thorolf became too great to ignore and Harald finally gave the order to have Thorolf killed. Confronting his subject personally, the king set fire to Thorolf ’s farm and delivered the killing blow to the man as he fought a losing battle.
When he heard about the death of his son, Kveldulf was overwhelmed with grief and became bedridden. He sent Skallagrim to speak with Harald to accept compensation for Thorolf ’s death. Arriving in the court with the strongest and boldest men he knew, Skallagrim came before Harald to hear his offer.
‘Serve me as your brother did and in time you will be compensated for his death. But you must take more care in my service than he did,’ said the king.
Skallagrim replied, ‘Everybody knows that Thorolf was far more capable of serving you than I. For he had certain qualities that I lack. I also don’t have the luck to serve you in the way that you deserve or that I would want.’
Reading between the lines, Harald’s face turned blood-red and Olvir, who’d acted as chief negotiator between farmers and king for all this time, told Skallagrim and his men to leave quickly. Getting back into their ship, the group sailed away in the nick of time, as Harald had sent a large band of warriors out to kill them for the slight he’d suffered.
Returning home, Skallagrim told his father of what happened, and they reached an agreement: it was time to leave Norway. They would never be free from Harald’s wrath in a country shackled by his tyranny and so they made plans to travel to Iceland. This was a land where farmers could live free and claim territory that wasn’t coveted by a grasping ruler.
In the spring, Kveldulf and his family set sail for Iceland and along the way, Skallagrim spied the ship that had once belonged to Thorolf. It’d been seized after his death and put into the possession of Hallvard Travel-Hard, a man who served Harald. Seeing the opportunity to finally avenge their family, Kveldulf and Skallagrim made plans to take the ship back.
Father and son manned two boats between them and rowed until they found where the ship was moored. Watchmen saw the boats coming and roused Hallvard and his crew from slumber and all Hel broke loose.
Old Kveldulf, wielding a giant double-bladed axe, recalled the fury of his youth, unleashing the beast within. He cut through every man in his path, commanding his own to sever the awnings and pegs that held his son’s ship captive. Skallagrim fed off his father’s rage, ravaging the deck like hungry Fenrir, eager to spill blood. Kveldulf fought his way to Hallvard and swung his axe with such force that it cut through his helmet and head, buried up to the shaft. With a mighty bellow, the Night Wolf swung the man from his axe and hurled him over the side of the ship.
In the aftermath, only three survivors remained and Skallagrim told them to send word back to King Harald of what had happened that day. ‘You will repeat this verse,’ spoke the son of the Night Wolf. ‘The warrior’s revenge/is repaid to the king/wolf and eagle/stalk over the king’s sons/Hallvard’s corpse flew/in pieces into the sea/the grey eagle tears at Travel-Hard’s wounds.’
With the day won, Kveldulf and his family took the ship and its cargo and carried on to Iceland. But the battle had come at a price. Kveldulf ’s berserker rage had taken its toll on him and left him weak and exhausted.
Bed-bound, his health continued to decline; he spoke his wishes, ‘If I’m to die, make a coffin for me and put it overboard and if my son Grim is to make it to Iceland, tell him to make a home for himself.’ Kveldulf passed away and his crew did as he’d instructed. They placed his body in a coffin and gave it to the sea. At some point, the coffin floated ashore and was buried in Icelandic soil.
Skallagrim did make it to shore and when he was told of his father’s death, he decided to build a farm not far from the burial site. An industrious man, he settled the land and called it Borg, where he lived in peace as a blacksmith and farmer. He had two sons, one of which would go on to become even more famous than Skallagrim or Kveldulf.
Egil’s childhood
Skallagrim and his wife Bera had several children together, but many died. Two daughters and two sons survived. Sauenn and Thorrun were good girls, while their brothers would grow to carry the family’s legacy. The first was Thorolf, named after his uncle who died and who embodied all the same positive traits. The other was Egil, dark-haired, swarthy and unattractive, who would grow to have the gift of words.
By the time Egil was 3, he was already as strong as a boy of 7 or 8. So restless and talkative was he that he defied his father’s wishes to stay behind at the farm while he and Thorolf went to a feast at a neighbour’s. Egil gate-crashed the feast in the middle of the party and composed his first poem to praise Yngvar the host. Egil spoke of a gold shedder who was generous with his gifts and how he would never find a greater poet than himself at three winters old. Yngvar was impressed with the boy’s moxy and talent and he was rewarded for his efforts.
When he was 7 years old, Egil made his first kill. As an avid wrestler, Egil enjoyed playing games of strength and he took part in a ball game. Being paired with an older boy named Grim, Egil was outmatched in strength but not in temper. He swung his bat at Grim, who knocked him into the mud and told him to know his place. Leaving the game, Egil heard the jeers of the other players dogging him.
Egil went to a young man he admired called Thord Granison and told him what had happened. Thord handed him an axe and said they would take revenge together. Grim was in the middle of running with the ball and Egil buried the axe into his head, starting a battle between the people of Borg and those who’d come to see the game. Skallagrim was indifferent to the actions of his son, while Bera said he had the makings of a true Viking.
Egil’s love of ball games and roughhousing didn’t stop. When he was 12 years old, he and Thord were playing against Skallagrim. In the middle of the game, the wolfen fury of Kveldulf got the better of Skallagrim. He crushed Thord with his strength. In his frenzy, he seized Egil, but was stopped by a servant named Thorgerd, a foster mother to the boy. She stood up to Skallagrim and he chased after her all the way to a cliff. Jumping to safety and trying to swim away, Thorgerd didn’t get far before she was hit by a boulder that Skallagrim tossed at her.
When he heard of his foster mother’s death, Egil was angry. At the evening feast, he went up to his father’s favourite servant and killed him with a single blow. Father and son didn’t speak to each other until a year had passed and Thorolf had returned from raiding. Egil asked to go raiding with his brother and both his father and sibling refused. So, Egil took matters into his own hands. He slashed through the ropes that kept Thorolf ’s ship moored and let it drift out into the fjord. Egil claimed he would continue with such antics until his brother took him abroad and so he finally gave in.
Pissing off a king (and lots of other people)
Egil joined Thorolf on a trip to Norway and the latter renewed his good relationship with the son of Harald Finehair, King Eric Bloodaxe. The king had sent Skallagrim a precious gold-lined axe that the man had shattered out of spite and old wounds. To maintain a friendly relationship, Thorolf told Eric that his father had loved the gift. He even presented Eric with a longship sail that Thorolf claimed was from Skallagrim. Thorolf also took his bride-to-be, Asgerd, with him to see her father Bjorn and uncle Thorir in the hopes of accepting his marriage proposal. The marriage was granted and much joy was shared on the day.
For young Egil, his defining moment came when he met Thorir’s son, Arinbjorn. A few years older, Arinbjorn already possessed a wise and noble character that captivated Egil and this would be the start of a lifelong friendship.
When the day came for his brother’s wedding, Egil was unable to attend because of illness. On recovering, he joined Thorir on an errand to the island of Altoy, where they sheltered on the farm of King Eric’s steward, Bard. The steward claimed he wished he had ale to serve them. But he only had milk curd for them to drink and a place to sleep as it was the same night he was preparing a feast for the king and his queen Gunnhild. When the royal couple arrived, Eric asked for Bard to bring his other guests to the feast and ale was served in abundance.
Drinking as much as every other man beside him, Egil prodded and needled Bard with scorn poetry, how he was a deceiver, a cheat and a cheapskate for holding the alcohol back from thirsty strangers. Egil drank and drank, irritating Bard and embarrassing him in front of the king and queen. So, Bard went to Gunnhild and told her of how this man was making a fool of them all. Together the steward and the queen mixed poison into the ale and had it served to Egil.
Recognising the treachery, Egil carved runes into the drinking horn. Then he cut himself and smeared his blood onto the horn, reciting magic poetry that caused it to shatter. Helping a drunken friend to the door, Egil gripped his sword tightly and waited for Bard to follow. Then he stabbed the steward through the belly and fled into the night.
When the king discovered that Bard had been killed, he ordered a manhunt for Egil but lost several men. Making it back home, Egil was convinced by Thorir to compensate Eric for the trouble he’d caused.
Eventually, Egil and Thorolf sailed to England because they’d heard the reigning king Athelstan was looking for soldiers to fight in his army. It was also an excuse for Egil to stay far away from Eric and his family. So, they ventured onto the battlefield in the name of the English lord to fight against Olaf the Red of Scotland.
The battles were fierce and though Athelstan’s forces were victorious, Thorolf fell to the enemy. Egil chased and killed many of the men who were responsible for his brother’s death. Then he buried Thorolf with full armour and weaponry. Filled with sorrow, the warrior-poet reflected on the victory that had come at a heavy cost. He resolved to keep his sadness to himself and keep moving forward. It’s what his brother would have wanted.
King Athelstan would not forget Thorolf ’s bravery. He gave Egil two chests overflowing with silver as compensation for the loss. After leaving Athelstan’s service, Egil found himself at a crossroads. He’d been warring and battling for so long that he felt that he ought to settle down and so he found himself thinking of his brother’s widow, Asgerd. Even as a lad, Egil had felt a yearning for her that he couldn’t hope to be fulfilled in the shadow of his more handsome brother. It filled him with melancholy and in the autumn, his friend Arinbjorn asked him why he was so depressed.
Egil muttered a poem: ‘The goddess of the arm where hawks perch/woman, must suffer my rudeness/when young I would easily dare/to lift the sheer cliffs of my brow./Now I must conceal in my cloak/the outcrop between my brows/when she enters the poet’s mind/head-dress of the rock-giant’s earth.’
Arinbjorn deduced his friend was referring to Asgerd and Egil admitted as much. He asked Arinbjorn to help arrange the marriage, which he accepted. That winter, Egil and Asgerd were wed and for a time, Egil achieved some sense of peace in his life. It wouldn’t last.
Curses and queens
A few years later, Egil was informed that his wife’s father Bjorn had died and that his brother-in-law Bergonund had claimed the entire estate for himself. Asgerd had received no inheritance and Bergonund had taken it on account of being married to her half-sister Gunnhild.
Egil decided to claim rights on his wife’s behalf. He flew in the face of his old enemies King Eric and Queen Gunnhild, who’d outlawed him and favoured Bergonund.
A thingassembly was formed where both parties would get to voice their perspectives. Egil came with twenty men, among them his wise counsellor Arinbjorn to debate in his favour.
Much posturing transpired. Bergonund claimed his wife had a superior claim to the inheritance, that Asgerd was little more than a slave-woman. Arinbjorn brought in several witnesses to assert that Asgerd was a rightful heiress.
As Eric considered his decision, his queen chipped in, ‘Why do you let this fool Egil run circles around you? Would you even object if he tried to take the throne from you? You may choose not to rule in Bergonund’s favour, but I won’t stand for having the honour of our friends questioned.’ With that, the queen ordered her henchmen to disrupt the assembly.
Egil held fast and demanded a duel with Bergonund for the right to the estate, though Arinbjorn cautioned against it. Heeding his friend, Egil stood down, but not before making the promise that any who dared lay a claim to the land of his father-in-law would incur the wrath of the gods. Then he left and Eric sent men after him. In the end, Egil managed to escape Norway.
When he heard about Egil running away, Bergonund dismissed his bodyguard, confident the poet wouldn’t be able to strike at him. The son of Eric and Gunnhild, Prince Rognvald acted as his spy on the waters. Bergonund retired to the king’s farm. By chance, the wind carried Egil and his men to the same destination.
As soon as Egil discovered that Bergonund was nearby, he came up with a plan. He’d heard about a bear that was causing trouble for the farm and passed on a rumour that it was resting in the woods not far away. This got back to Bergonund, who took some friends to rid himself of the beast, only to find out it was Egil lurking in the woods, waiting for him. Egil massacred the entire farm. Prince Rognvald numbered among the dead, a boy of no more than ten or eleven winters.
But Egil wasn’t finished. Butchering a horse and crafting a hazel pole, the son of Skallagrim thrust the pole into the ground and stuck the horse’s head on top. He turned his scorn-pole towards the land and carved curse runes into the wood. Then Egil announced, ‘With this Nithing pole I turn its wrath upon King Eric and Queen Gunnhild. I turn it upon the nature spirits that live in the land and that they will find no peace or respite, no relief from the pain of unfixed direction until they’ve driven the king and queen from Norway.’ With his curse made, Egil returned to Iceland, waiting for it to take effect. During this waiting period, Skallagrim died and Egil buried his father with respect. A year later, Eric Bloodaxe and his wife were finally driven from Norway by Hakon the Good, fleeing to England.
Meanwhile, Egil had grown restless on his farm and felt the itch to return to England to claim more of what King Athelstan had promised him years ago. When his ship washed up on England’s shores, Egil soon realised he was in the kingdom of Eric, who’d been granted rulership over the domain of Jorvik. Thinking through his options, Egil decided to go to Jorvik, as he’d heard Arinbjorn lived in the city and was on good terms with the king. Once again reunited with his friend, Egil listened to his wise counsel and agreed to see Eric. It was time to settle their dispute once and for all.
On recognising Egil, the king scoffed at how brazen the poet was for daring to come before him. He said death was a certainty, a fact echoed by Queen Gunnhild. She despised Egil more than any living being and had used her own magic to make the poet’s life Hel through all the years of their strife.
Arinbjorn stepped in to say Egil could make amends with a poem of the highest praise, a proposal Eric agreed to. And so Egil spent that night trying to compose his poem but couldn’t because of a swallow that constantly distracted him with its twittering. Arinbjorn went to the place where the bird sounded. The swallow turned out to be a shapeshifter that hastily left, perhaps a final act of spite from the queen herself.
In his friend’s company, Egil finally found the inspiration and head space to write. He remembered the drapathat would save his head. In the morning, Egil came before the king and recited his verse, bringing the court into silence. In twenty stanzas, he hailed the grandeur of Eric Bloodaxe, the battles he’d fought and won, the depth of his generosity and the endurance of his legacy. The poem was well received and Egil was free to leave, free to live, so long as he never crossed paths with Eric again.
Vomiting, vikingr and victory
Putting his conflict with Eric and Gunnhild behind him, Egil reunited with King Athelstan. Over the next few years he was involved in many adventures and duels. One such duel involved the brother of Bergonund, Alti the Short, who staked his claim to the estate Egil had fought so passionately for.
Once again, an assembly was called and Egil and Alti went at each other with sword and shields. The duel ended with Egil ripping into his rival’s throat with his teeth and leaving him to bleed out. And so Egil finally succeeded in claiming the estate for himself and his wife.
Egil also entered the service of King Hakon on behalf of Arinbjorn’s kinsman, Thorstein. On one such occasion, Egil was staying in the home of a wealthy landowner called Armod Beard and during a feast, Egil drank more ale than anyone else. He drank when his companions couldn’t finish their horns. He drank until he needed to do something about how he was feeling. So, he went over to Armod, dragged him out of his seat and threw up all over him, as Odin had vomited the mead of poetry into Asgard. His vomit went all over the man, clogging his beard and nostrils, making Armod vomit too. Armod’s men were outraged by this display, to which Egil replied, ‘I’m only following the master of the house’s example. He’s spewing his guts the same as I am.’
Then wiping his mouth and sitting back down, he reeled off a poem. ‘With my cheeks swell I repaid/the compliment you served./I had heavy cause to venture my steps across the floor./Many guests thank favours with sweeter-flavoured rewards./But we meet rarely./Armond’s beard is awash with dregs of ale.’
After more drinking, Egil and his men retired to their beds. In the morning, Egil broke into Armond’s room and grabbed him by the beard, making it clear that he would accept no violent reprisal for his antics the night before. In front of the man’s wife and daughter, Egil said he would spare Armond’s life, but not before cutting his beard off and gouging out one of his eyes.
In his later years, Egil remained closer than ever to Arinbjorn and then went raiding together in Saxony and Frisia. So great was Egil’s admiration for his blood brother that he composed a praise poem, lauding Arinbjorn’s wisdom, patience and nobility.
Heartbreak and old age
The twilight years of the warrior-poet who’d made his name across England and Scandinavia weren’t without loss and heartbreak. His most beloved son, Bodvar, died in a shipwreck. Grief-stricken, Egil locked himself in his bed-closet, intending to starve himself. On the third day, his wife called on the help of their daughter Thorgerd. Recognising that her father’s melancholy could not be met with warm words, she tried a different approach. ‘I’ve not eaten anything tonight and I will follow my father’s example. I don’t want to live after he and my brother are dead. Open the door, Father. I want to join you in your path.’
Egil unlocked the door and let his daughter lie down beside him. ‘You’re a wise girl, daughter and you honour me. How am I expected to go on living with such sorrow?’
Thorgerd started chewing on seaweed and Egil asked her what she was doing. ‘I’m eating this seaweed because it’ll make me feel worse. Otherwise, I’ll go on living too long.’
‘How bad is it?’ Egil wondered.
‘Very bad. Do you want some?’
‘What difference does it make?’ Egil ate some seaweed and later, Thorgerd called for water to be delivered. She started drinking and Egil felt how parched his throat was.
‘Would you like a drink, Father?’
As Egil was about to drink, Thorgerd said, ‘We’ve been tricked. This is milk.’
Egil drank the milk and his daughter sighed. ‘What are we to do now?
Our plan has failed and now it’s important we live. At least long enough for you to write a poem about Bodvar and I’ll be able to carve it into a rune-stick. Then we’ll be free to die.’
Egil didn’t think he could muster the energy to compose a poem, but his daughter’s trickery helped him to process his emotions enough to make the attempt. Egil lamented the gift of poetry that Odin had gifted him. How the High One had favoured him, given with one hand and taken with another. He cursed the sea for taking his son from him, even though he knew to fight such a thing was foolish. He praised the courage and steadfastness of his boy, the love that existed between them. He reflected that he would see Bodvar again when his own death came.
In his old age, Egil became blind, frail and senile. He concocted a plan where he wished to take the silver from the chests that King Athelstan had given him long ago at the thing.There he would toss the silver to the crowds so they would push and shove each other to claim the riches. This plan was quickly shot down by his relatives and friends.
Unperturbed, Egil decided to carry his silver out into the wilderness with two slaves. When he returned, the treasure and slaves weren’t with him and the mystery of where Egil buried his silver was never solved. Egil died not long after and he too was buried.
When Christianity was made the law in Iceland, Egil’s bones were dug up and moved to a church. The priest of the church was shocked by how large the bones were. The skull was particularly big and heavy. Curious to know how thick it was, the priest struck it with an axe. The skull couldn’t be penetrated. Only a white mark was left behind where the axe blade struck.
A skald’s legacy
Egil Skallagrimsson was undoubtedly a complex figure. In one light, he could be seen as a juvenile delinquent turned psychotic murderer who rushed headlong into situations without thinking about them (although in the context of the time he was embodying the ideals of his society and a harsh environment). Yet this recklessness and bloodlust is tempered by limitless creativity and a gift for words.
Several times throughout the saga, Egil’s head is referenced, such as when his head is saved by virtue of his poetry with Eric Bloodaxe and when his skull is being examined long after his death. This would suggest insight, intelligence and a massive ego. Because Egil was an egomaniac and his poems reflect that. This is interesting in the context of praise poetry where rulers and kings are the subject of the verses. But Egil always took the opportunity to make himself the centre of the poem, bragging about his deeds, virtues and accomplishments.
But in his poetry, we also see a man who cared deeply for his friends and family. His ode to Arinbjorn is a testament to that, who in many ways is the opposite of Egil. Another example is the poem Sonatorrek(loss of sons), where he laments the deaths of his sons Bodvar and Gunnar. The language is emotionally rich and complex, showing a grieving father stripped of all his tough-guy posturing and trying to process his pain.
Egil’s life is certainly inspirational for writers and has inspired me to compose a poem of my own saga inspired by eddic and skaldic poetry:
Voyaging towards England
came a voiceless man
from volatile lands
where he met a woman
from the land of Caesars
in the city of rain
the string of their fate-threads
bound together tightly
From a culture cauldron
came different daughters
the number of the Norns
whose paths were uncertain
but had firm, guiding hands
to protect and shelter
against the blows of fate
The youngest of the girls
married a local man
and she was like daylight
bright and always rising
while dusk ran through his veins
making him mule-headed
stable, steady, stone-faced
faithful to each other
In the changing seasons
when leaves became blood-red
a boy was born, healthy
named after his father
his names became reversed
from his earliest days
the boy was raised to think
upon a bed of books
A son without siblings
childhood was spent in care
during innocent days
at millennium’s dawn
playing, running, learning
guided by family
to search for his own path
among a thousand roads
Along art’s avenue
he strolled and discovered
new worlds filled with wonder
he drank from Odin’s horn
scoured the forests and trees
leafed with precious language
spilling forth his pen-blood
to create his own worlds
One day, darkness crept in
sweeping over the boy
not as waves crash on shore
as the slow drip of rain
leaking into a house
until the young soul-seat
drowned in melancholy
of an older spirit
Sword-showers and spear-storms
were waged within himself
the lighthouse of the sky
seemed dull and far away
his sea-steed cast adrift
among jagged rocks and teeth
bulwark beyond repair
ravens circling above
The chanting of weapons
clashing steel and iron
the ferocious blade-wind
so loud and furious
it was too much to bear
in his thought-battlefield
so he gathered a rope
to hang high like Havi
But he cut himself down
at fourteen winters old
he realised there was
more living to be had
more fighting to be done
life-giver, Freyja-wise
tried to salve mental wounds
his healing would be slow
A couple years later
illness struck his uncle
who fell and hit his head
his father’s sister died
breathless and bed-ridden
his father grew weakened
muscle wasting disease
spanning generations
At eighteen winters old
he escaped illness-talk
pursuing his studies
roaming as he willed it
in the creative realms
making merry mistakes
weaving his fate-cotton
patchwork experience
The black cloud over him
thundering like Mjolnir
obscured his view
sometimes making it hard to see
the goodness of people
making it hard to see
a future for himself
with skies more blue than grey
Then he met a woman
from another world-view
different from others
he’d wiled away time with
while she carried no shield
she was a shield maiden
unafraid of combat
life’s arena was hers
Her beauty was bone-deep
face star-mapped and shining
with eyes that told stories
look into them enough
to see a Cheshire smile
that would make Loki proud
look into them enough
and he would see his home
Did she come from a dream?
she was complicated
not a fairytale
he loved her for herself
how she went through the world
she healed his place of thought
calming the strife of shields
he grew into himself
The time finally came
to confront the disease
dogging his family
and so he was tested
‘remember you will die’
he told himself that day
after the dust settled
he was a healthy man
Philosophy freed him
from the anxious fetters
plaguing stone of valour
‘first learn the meaning of
what you say, then speak it’
determined he became
to share this true knowledge
from these seeds wisdom grows
Beneath the learning trees
of civilisations
he listened carefully
searching for the meaning
justice, wisdom, courage
self-control and patience
fated to keep searching until his thread ran out
At the age of thirty
look back to look ahead
he sees how far he’s come
with new lessons to learn
whatever obstacles
become the way forward
in the voyage of life
meaning is yours to find
This is a free chapter from Norse Fighting Heroes: Kings, Conquerors and Shieldmaidens by Jamie Ryder, out on October 30th. Based in Manchester, England, Ryder is a copywriter and mental health advocate. His previous work Japanese Fighting Heroes: Warriors, Samurai and Roninsis out now.
Links:
https://www.pen-and-sword.co.uk/Norse-Fighting-Heroes-Hardback/p/51358
