Studying the literature of Norway and Iceland offers an unparalleled insight into the origins of superstition across the world. Norwegian traditions are as transparent as the ice of a glacier, leaving no room for doubt or error about their sources. Medieval myths, rich and resplendent, are like molten brass forged from pure ores or like the turbid waters of a mighty river formed from the confluence of many tributaries. These sources, distant and diverse, include Celtic, Teutonic, Scandinavian, Italian, and Arabic traditions. Each tradition adds its unique beauty to the fabric of medieval mythology, deepening its allure while complicating its analysis.
Paccioli once said, "The Aniene River flows into the Tiber; its crystal-clear waters meet the tea-colored current and disappear, leaving only the Tiber behind." Such is the fate of the tributaries that contribute to medieval mythology: once merged with the overwhelming tide, their distinct origins are lost, their individuality subsumed. These streams swell the main current, but at the cost of their unique identities. Thus, when analyzing a specific myth, we must not attempt to tackle medieval mythology as a whole. Instead, we should focus on a single tributary before its waters mingle with the great river. This approach is what we shall adopt. By selecting Norwegian mythology, we find a wealth of materials that naturally point to their respective sources, like glacial debris tracing back to its mountain of origin.
It is through these sources that we uncover the northern roots of lycanthropic beliefs. Without these records, medieval traditions would remain shrouded in obscurity. Among the ancient Norse, a custom existed where warriors donned the hides of the beasts they hunted, not only for warmth but to appear more ferocious and strike terror into their enemies.
Legends frequently mention such garments, devoid of any supernatural connotation. For instance, in the Saga of Njall, a man named Gaeserne is described as always wearing a goatskin cloak. Similarly, tales of Harold Hardrada recount how he was followed by a band of fierce warriors clad in wolf pelts. The phrase "wolfskin-wearers" even evolved into a name for such figures.
For those leading harsh, nomadic lives, a wolf or bearskin was not just practical but transformative. It shielded them from the elements while enhancing their menacing appearance, deterring adversaries. To settled farmers, however, these berserkers were both feared and detested for their tendency to challenge peaceful villagers to single combat. Norwegian law mandated that anyone refusing a challenge would forfeit all property, even their beloved wife, as cowardice was unworthy of legal protection. This legal framework allowed berserkers to exploit the unfortunate, taking their lives and property with impunity.
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Such fear and loathing naturally gave rise to superstitions. The belief emerged that these wanderers inherited the strength of the beasts whose skins they wore, an idea reinforced by their savage behavior. In the Saga of Volsung, the discovery of sleeping outlaws with wolf pelts hanging above them loses much of its mystique when we consider these pelts as merely practical garments. The tale of Sigmund and Sinfjotli stealing wolfskins for disguise similarly becomes less fantastical.
Likewise, the northern “Beauty and the Beast” narrative from Hrolf’s Saga is better understood in a realistic light. Bjorn, an outlaw living in the wilderness, disguised himself in bearskin, concealing his human features except for his eyes, which shone through the ugly guise with unmistakable humanity. Even his name, Bjorn, meaning "bear," emphasizes the symbolic over the supernatural. Stripped of its magical trappings, the tale becomes a simple account of a highland king’s estrangement from his son, who fled to the forest with his lover, living the life of a berserker until his capture and death.
The insistence on the unchanging human eyes in these legends points to the fact that animal hides served as mere disguises. Yet, there were other elements that entrenched superstition around berserkers, granting them an aura of the supernatural. Berserkers were said to enter a frenzied state of madness, granting them demonic strength. In this trance-like fury, they performed deeds they would otherwise fear to undertake. Their skin became impervious to sword or fire; only blunt weapons could harm them. Their eyes burned like fiery embers in a cave; they gnashed their teeth and foamed at the mouth, biting the edges of their shields and howling like wolves.
According to ancient Norwegian historians, baptism extinguished the berserk fury. With the spread of Christianity, the number of berserkers dwindled. However, this madness was not confined to berserkers alone; it afflicted others, leaving them helpless against its grip. In The Saga of Vatnsdæla, Thor was plagued by berserk fits, a source of great shame and suffering. His brother Thorstein once advised him, "Swear by the God who created the sun, for I believe He alone can release you from this torment."
Thor followed his brother's counsel, swearing to God and rescuing an abandoned infant as an act of penance. From that day forth, Thor was freed from his berserk fits, raising the child, whom he named Thorkel Lamb, to adulthood.
The most striking example of our theme is found in Egil’s Saga. Ulf, a towering man of immense strength, was a model of diligence by day, overseeing his estate and offering counsel. Yet, at night, he transformed, earning him the name "Kveldulf" or "Night Wolf." Tales of his berserk fits and nocturnal madness epitomize the connection between frenzied strength and lycanthropic myth, offering a vivid lens through which to view the legendary berserkers of the North.