Viking Conquest Best Armor
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The Vikings were famous for their longships and the weapons they carried, but they weren’t just known as a bunch of warriors. In fact, there was more to them than that. They lived in large communities where people had different tasks; it wasn’t all fighting, looting, or raiding. The Vikings also had amazing craftsmanship and made some of the finest armor that anyone has ever seen.
It is said that when Thorgrim Night Wolf died he left his family with a debt of four gold pieces and a promise to pay off that debt if his son took care of his mother, who was blind. After Night Wolf’s death, his son, Hakon Bloodaxe, did manage to pay off the debt, which consisted of silver jewelry worth four pounds, plus three pairs of shoes and one suit of clothing for her.
However, the woman died before she could get the silver to Hakon. Instead, he got two suits of clothes for her and a small box holding two small silver brooches. It is thought this gift from her husband inspired Hakon to become the greatest warrior king of all time.
As a boy, Hakon had been given a wooden sword by King Svein Forkbeard, another great Viking leader. That sword would later inspire him to found Norway’s first metal-working industry, producing swords so beautiful that it gave rise to a whole new branch of artisans, the armorers, who made even finer weapons.
As a young man, Hakon fought many battles against the Saxons in England’s north, then led a successful campaign into Ireland. He eventually conquered both lands and founded a dynasty that would rule over them for centuries, including a grandson named Magnus.
But it seems that his most prized possession is not what he won or what he wore on his back during battle. What Hakon treasures above all else are the rings he received from those who served under him and believed in him: a red band for his men, a golden one for himself, and finally a purple ring for Sigurd Snake-in-the-Eye, the legendary hero who had trained the youth.
When he wears these rings they give him the strength to carry out the mission at hand, which is always to win more battles.
“There were times,” Hakon said, “when I was sure I would have failed without those rings.”
—Hakon the Good (1037-1101)
When a group of Vikings set sail across the North Sea, many would take along their best armor. It didn’t matter whether they intended to raid in Europe or attack Christians on their holy grounds. If the gods sent you into combat, it never hurt to have your very best armor.
That was the case with a group of warriors who traveled from Denmark to Iceland sometime around 800 AD. Among their number was Jarl Randverr, whom we know today as the first Norseman to conquer Iceland. It is said that after a long and successful raiding campaign in Europe the group decided to make landfall on a beach near a cliff overlooking the sea.
The land was lush and fertile, but there was something odd about it. A few days later they discovered that the ground had been burned down and that the grasses were scorched. Upon closer inspection, they saw that the place had been razed by fire and that the charred remains of human bodies lay scattered around like the bones of animals.
Their arrival was no surprise to the inhabitants of the island because, according to tradition, every winter an army of demons roamed the hills looking for victims to devour. It was only a miracle that they had managed to survive until now.
They came ashore at night and hid on the other side of the cliff, then waited for daylight. Soon enough the demons appeared, and their presence was unmistakable. Their flesh was black and burned away, and their eyes glowed bright green as they moved toward them. But Jarl Randverr was not afraid, nor was anyone else in the crew. It had to be the magic armor that had protected them.
The next day Jarl Randverr led his men on foot, while his horsemen rode behind. The demon army had grown larger and more ferocious than he had expected, but somehow he managed to fight his way forward. Eventually, he reached a clearing where he found a strange object covered with vines and leaves.
He ripped off the foliage and discovered a chest carved from wood; it looked like a giant ship’s hatch. He cut through the ropes holding the lid shut, and inside he found a collection of treasure: a hoard of gold coins, a necklace made of pearls, silver cups, fine cloaks, swords, shields, spears, and knives.
“We will return home soon,” he vowed as he gathered up his spoils.
He turned to see that all the men on his right wing had fallen. His left wing was also in danger, with some of his own men already wounded or dead. Yet he continued on, leaving behind his wounded and dying men to save his own skin.
It was then that a warrior stepped into view from behind a tree, sword in hand. This time the demon’s eyes were blue-black instead of green, and he was wearing the chain mail of a knight. “You will die here today,” he snarled in broken Norse, pointing his blade at Randverr, “and I’ll enjoy doing it!”
“So it would seem,” said Jarl Randverr, “but you’re wrong.”
His foe hesitated, uncertain of what to expect. Then his face changed and his eyes narrowed as if his anger had turned against him. “You have a sword,” he said in a different language, one that Jarl Randverr did not understand.
In fact, this was not a demon, but a Christian priest in the company of monks. He had come to the island to convert the heathen natives, and when his fellow travelers heard the news that the pagan Vikings had landed on their shores, they had decided to help their new brothers in Christ with their crusade.
But they did not believe the tales that these barbarians were invincible warriors. Instead, they had brought only their most powerful magic spells and hoped they might lure the Norsemen into battle and defeat them without ever setting foot on their soil. In that regard, their plan worked well enough.
When the priests revealed their secret weapon and attacked with their magic, the Norsemen were surprised and confused. They tried to defend themselves with their swords, but it was useless because the enemy was no longer human.
As the demons fell, some of the Norsemen turned back and rushed to the aid of their friends. Others remained loyal to their oaths, and others yet joined the priests. Finally, the two groups met in the middle of a clearing where the fighting had become so intense that both sides were separated by deathly silence.
And then, just as the sun began to rise, a single warrior emerged victorious from the fray. The other warriors watched as he fought alone, cutting down demon after demon without pause or mercy until he finally stood triumphant over all of them. That was when they realized who he must be …
Jarl Randverr!
After his victory, Randverr returned to the ships, and those who had fled during the fighting followed shortly afterward. Only then did the Christians begin their march toward Rome. But before they set out, Jarl Randverr made sure that his men understood what had happened.
“There are many stories about the power of faith and religion,” he told them, “but we need to remember that even our god is vulnerable. Even if you do not follow the gods of your ancestors, know this: You can kill God’s enemies.”
***
Grimnarshk had been born into the priesthood and trained in every aspect of being an archangel, but he never liked this place. For all its beauty and grandeur, it reminded him too much of Lucifer’s pride and arrogance, his constant desire to lord over everyone else.
Yet now he felt compelled to remain there, and his reason for returning was to make certain his former master knew his place.
When Grimnarshk arrived at the palace, he found that Lucifer had been summoned to the throne room. There he met with King Uther Pendragon of Wales, High King of the Britons. “Welcome to Camelot, Father,” said Uther, “and congratulations again on the birth of Prince Arthur.”
“I am honored to receive such high praise,” replied the archangel as he bowed low.
Uther glanced past him at the tall windows and golden dome that topped the temple, then gestured toward the great doors. “What’s that?” he asked, indicating the structure.
“The royal chapel,” answered Grimnarshk. “It is called Saint Donal’s Cathedral because the first king of Britain was named Donal, and the place has long been considered holy ground.”
“How does it differ from the church we are meeting in?”
“It is larger,” said Grimnarshk, “and more opulent, and I’m not permitted inside because I don’t carry the title of father.”
Lucifer was surprised. “And yet you are allowed to enter the sacred places of this land. Is it truly because I invited you?”
“No,” said Grimnarshk, “it is because I am an archangel.”
That was not true, of course. It was just another ruse. As he had told King Uther, he was not even a priest. The truth was that he had been sent by his former master to spy upon his new one. And now that he was standing in the cathedral, which held so many memories for Lucifer, he could not resist using the opportunity to learn something of his rival’s plans.
King Uther looked up and down the street. “Why do you not walk in yourself?”
“Because my feet have been bound together,” said Grimnarshk, pointing at his ankles.
This answer pleased the High King. “Do not fear,” he told Grimnarshk, “for I will protect you.”
“Thank you, my lord.”
The High King nodded toward the doors of Saint Donal’s, and Grimnarshk stepped through with him into the cathedral. He took note of the gold and silver altars decorated with angels and religious figures, as well as a number of paintings depicting scenes from the Bible.
In a side chapel stood Saint Donal’s sarcophagus—the same man whose life the chapel had honored since the fifth century. A few steps away lay the royal pew from which King Uther would preach to his people from time to time.
The place held so many fond memories for the High King, who had often sat in that very spot, listening to sermons from his own father. But it was the ceiling above him, painted with scenes from heaven, that held Grimnarshk’s attention.
At last, Lucifer spoke. “So how is everything going here?”
“Very well, my lord,” said King Uther. “I am happy to report that our kingdom has grown prosperous once again, thanks to your wise leadership.”
“I’m pleased to hear that,” replied Lucifer, although his smile was strained. His eyes roved across the frescoes, seeking some clue from their images that might help him to defeat his enemy. Then he saw one that seemed different than those surrounding it.
In the painting, a giant bird soared overhead carrying a young human child. Its wingspan dwarfed that of an angel, and it carried the little boy in its claws. At the base of the bird’s neck, in letters made of gold leaf, was carved an inscription: “Moses.”
“You see it?” said King Uther, glancing back at the angel. “We believe Moses flew to heaven in this way when he died.”
“Yes, I’ve heard tell of it,” said Grimnarshk. “But what does it mean?”
“It means that we may be in danger,” answered King Uther, “because according to our religion Moses is destined to return and lead us in the war against the infidel.”
“War? Against whom?”
“Against the Christians.”
“Christians?” The archangel frowned. “I thought they worshipped Jesus Christ?”
“They do worship him,” confirmed King Uther, “but they also honor Mary and Joseph, two of his most important disciples.”
“Who is the infidel in this story?”
King Uther paused. “Our enemies.”
“Ah,” said Grimnarshk. “Now I understand.”
“Of course you do,” King Uther responded testily. “It is no secret that you have studied the Bible.”
Grimnarshk did not deny it. “Then you know that the Bible itself is a book of infidelity. It is written by men, for men. There are no angels in it, except as symbols to teach the virtues of our faith.”
“And there are also stories about angels who fought alongside our god against the infidels in our holy war,” said the High King, eager to make Grimnarshk understand. “Angels such as Michael and Gabriel and Raphael and Uriel, and others.
We even have a song celebrating their bravery on the battlefield.” He began singing the words from memory. “O angels of God! Glory to thy victory! O angels of God! Glory to thy triumph!”
He stopped suddenly. “Did I say too much?”
“No, you did nothing wrong,” said Grimnarshk, “but the fact remains that I am an archangel, not a Christian. You think me ignorant of the truth of your religion, but I am anything but. The more you try to explain why your people fight the infidels, the less likely it is that I can convince them to cease hostilities.”
“Perhaps if you were to join us, then perhaps you could help bring peace between our faiths.”
“Peace?”
The End