Angantyr, like all his race, was a hero by profession, a champion who fought as much for reputation as for plunder. This institution is one of the most singular features in northern history. Sometimes a champion fought alone, wandering, like the knight errants of a later age, from country to country, not, however, to relieve distressed captives, or to perform any other act of humanity, but to triumph, by strength or dexterity, over the most renowned warriors of the time. Generally, however, these men were members of some fraternity, the guards of some king, whose first duty was to defend his person, on land or sea; their second to humble his enemies, or assist his allies. “The sagas,” observes a modern writer, who has devoted much of his time to northern antiquities, “are filled with duels, or single combats, between these champions and their adversaries, and the scene was generally some little island near the coast. These combats, in which one champion sometimes vanquished and slew many enemies, and which took place also between sea or land kings and champions, were so frequent, that he who was just entering on the career of arms, or who desired to obtain a wider reputation, betook himself to this medium, and without the least motive of hatred or resentment, provoked other champions, other pirates, to fight him. These heroes entered into associations, or fraternities, which they sealed with their blood, and which death only could dissolve. Sometimes they were furnished by the kings or chiefs whom they served with statutes, fixing their number, their privileges, and duties.” In general, the statutes excluded all warriors under eighteen or beyond sixty years of age. The number in each fraternity varied from half a dozen to fifty. Rolf, a prince of Norway, had a famous society of this kind. No man unable to lift a stone, or rather rock, which lay in the court-yard of the prince, and which twelve ordinary men could not raise, was admitted into the body. Lest they should become luxurious, they were forbidden to sleep under a roof; with the same view, they were to shun female society; to inspire them with contempt for pain and danger, they were not to have their wounds dressed before the end of the battle, or to seek a shelter during a storm at sea. But all fraternities were not thus rigorously excluded from intercourse with the fair sex. To most heroes, indeed, the opportunities which the profession afforded of capturing handsome women and rendering them their companions by sea and land, was the chief inducement to embrace it. In such an age, no handsome woman—at least, if high-born—could be safe. By night or day her dwelling might be assailed, her guardians slain, and herself borne to the swift vessel waiting for her. What, indeed, could resist a chief surrounded by so many champions, especially if they happened to be berserks? If there be any truth in history, the strength of these men when the fit came upon them was supernatural.[76] The mischief, however, was, that if they had no enemy before them, they assailed inanimate objects, or even one another. On one occasion, twelve heroes (the sons of Arngrim) fell upon the masts and deck of two ships, which they rent into splinters; and when these were destroyed, they turned their rage against the trees and rocks. On another, a celebrated sea king put to death six out of the twelve champions who accompanied him. Sometimes, too, it happened that the berserks, when under the dominion of their strange frenzy, did not spare themselves. Thus the five sons of Siwald, king of Sweden, were seen to throw themselves into the fire, and to swallow burning pieces of wood.[77]
When these warriors, whether berserks or simple champions, fought for their chief and country, their services were useful. But sometimes it happened that they were as fond of turning their arms against their fellow-subjects as against their hereditary enemies. Others, again, openly embraced the career of bandits; and though pursued with great zeal by the neighbouring chiefs, were frequently able, from their mountain fastnesses, to defy all hostility. Such a band Fridleif II. resolved to destroy; and he succeeded in his object, but more through stratagem than force. He was, however, a valiant chief. Like many other northern kings, he had to fight for his wife. Seeing that he could not obtain Frogerth, daughter of Asmund, a king of Norway, by the ordinary way of embassy, he invaded the country, subdued and slew the father, and seized upon the princess. But he was not faithful to her. By a concubine—or, perhaps, another wife, for these old pagans did not exactly understand the difference between the two—he had a son, whom he named Olaf. Probably he loved this son more than prince Frode, whom Frogerth bore to him: so, at least, we should infer from the anxiety with which he consulted the fates in reference to the child’s fortunes. Having performed the usual rites, and said the usual prayers, he entered the temple of the Nornies. Each of the three sisters occupied her seat. Two were favourable to the child, whom they endowed with noble gifts; but the third lessened their value by associating them with avarice. This custom, Saxo assures us, prevailed among the ancients. Of Olaf, however, we read no more: the sceptre was not inherited by him, but by Frode II., if Saxo be right, and by Havar, if any faith is to be placed on the Icelandic chroniclers. But as, for the reasons we have already detailed, there is little certainty in the royal lists of either, we gladly leave their disputed order of succession to be settled by the native historians of Denmark.[78]