It is said that among these marauders, those afflicted with lycanthropy or berserker rage were unstoppable while in the throes of their madness, their strength unparalleled. However, once the frenzy subsided, they became far weaker than an ordinary man. After their violent episodes, werewolves reportedly experienced extreme post-battle exhaustion, feeling utterly drained and unable to rise from their beds. Such was the case with Kveldulf.
Karragrym was no exception. Like his affable father, he too was prone to fits of berserker fury.
In one battle, Dodd and his companions faced Karragrym. Overwhelmed by superior enemies and utterly spent, Karragrym found himself at the mercy of his foes. But as the sun set, the tide turned against Egil and Dodd. Karragrym, now imbued with immense strength, seized Dodd, hurled him to the ground, and broke his bones, killing him outright. He then turned his wrath on Egil. Karragrym's servant, Thorkell Brak—a towering woman as strong as any man and skilled in witchcraft—shouted, “Karragrym! Would you harm your son?” Her words stayed his hand, and he released Egil, but his rage redirected toward Brak. She fled, leaping off the headland at Daeglands into the water, but Karragrym hurled a massive stone after her, striking between her shoulders. She sank beneath the waves, never to rise again. That headland is now called Brak’s Headland.
It is important to note that while terms like "werewolf" suggest physical transformation, Egil’s Saga uses them metaphorically. These terms derive from the root "cam," meaning "skin" or "hide," a term with cognates in various Aryan languages. Sanskrit’s karm, Hindustani’s kham (hardened skin or hide), and Persian’s kameez (clothing or cover) share this etymology. Similarly, Old Norse ham or hams (hide) connects with Italian camicia and French chemise.
This suggests that werewolves originally referred to raiders clad in the hides of wild beasts, who roamed the land engaging in acts of piracy. However, widespread superstitions quickly imbued them with supernatural powers, asserting that they transformed into the beasts whose skins they wore. Thus, the term acquired its association with physical metamorphosis. Over time, its meaning evolved further, describing individuals gripped by berserk fury or demonic rage.
The term “Vargr,” meaning "wolf," also carried dual connotations that fueled werewolf lore. Derived from u-argr, meaning “restless” or “accursed,” it also came to signify a heretic or outlaw. This linguistic overlap contributed to the werewolf mythos, as vargr found its way into words like English werewolf and French garou or varou. In Danish, it became var-ulf, and in German, vaira-ulf. In The Song of Roland, we find: "Leu warou, sanglante best." (Werewolf, bloodthirsty beast.)
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King Knut’s (c. 995–1035) law codes referred to werewolves as verevulf, while the Salic Law of 5th- to 9th-century France stated, “Si quis corpus jam sepultum effoderit, aut expoliaverit, wargus sit” (“If anyone dares to unearth or desecrate a buried corpse, let him be deemed a werewolf”). Sidonius Apollinaris similarly remarked, “Unam feminam quam forte vargorum, hoc enim nomine indigenas latrunculos nuncupant,” referring to vagabond pirates as “vargs” or werewolves.
Likewise, Palgrave’s Rise and Progress of the English Commonwealth recounts that among Anglo-Saxons, there existed wolf-headed outlaws, utlagh or out-law. This association of vargr with wolves and exiled men, cast out like wild animals, was more a legal reality than a mythological tale. Yet, the Norse idiom encouraged superstition, and Icelandic expressions fostered misunderstandings that nurtured these legends.
Snorri Sturluson described Odin as transforming into other shapes, including turning his enemies into boars through spells. In Vatnsdæla Saga, the sorceress Ljótr claimed she could transform Thorstein and Jokul into boars, a phrase frequently encountered in the saga. For instance, “Thorling, frightened at the sight of weapons drawn, fled to the mountains and turned into a boar.”
Another saga recounts a man who fought like a boar, frothing at the mouth, while verea at gjalti implies losing one’s reason in terror. Such idioms perpetuated the superstition. My research into Norse mythology surrounding werewolves and shapeshifting convinced me of its significance in unraveling medieval superstitions. Nowhere is this more evident than in Norse literature, which offers a wealth of material pointing to a common truth: myths of humans transforming into beasts stem from the berserk rage or madness prevalent among Scandinavian warriors. Under its influence, men howled, foamed at the mouth, thirsted for blood, and committed acts of extreme savagery, often clad in the hides of wolves or bears, absolving themselves of all responsibility.
One axiom remains indisputable: no superstition lacks a kernel of truth. If myths of werewolves are widespread, not only across Europe but throughout the world, we must conclude that this deeply rooted belief rests on the reality of a condition where afflicted individuals believed themselves beasts and acted accordingly.