Shaggy Dog Story

Erik, son of a lesser Viking warrior, shipped out as a sort of cabin boy with Leif the Bold, one of the most successful Viking captains and raiders of all. [I say ‘cabin boy,’ though that’s not quite fitting: Viking ships had no actual cabins then. You get the idea.] He and his family both hoped he could, under Leif’s tutelage, grow to become a successful raider himself…and thus to help the family’s struggling fortunes a bit.

Almost from the beginning, one of Erik’s more puzzling duties was this: before each raid, the captain repaired to the back of the ship to the space reserved for his sea-chest and other goods. Erik had to accompany him and stand watch while Leif carefully, with an air of great secrecy, opened a small, valuable looking box kept securely locked away in his huge, crusty, iron-banded chest. Erik was to yelp out a warning if any of the crew ventured near enough to spy on their captain’s private involvements at this time. Erik too was not supposed to watch. But, of course, he did sneak a peek now and then, full of gnawing curiosity which, naturally enough, grew with each repetition of this strange ritual.

And what was it that Leif did in these private, oh so important moments? With exacting caution, he withdrew, from a small pocket hidden within the folds of his bearskins, a tiny silvery key, with which he carefully opened the small chest. From within, he withdrew and, with the utmost care, unfolded an obviously ancient scrap of parchment—which he reverently read and re-read, soundlessly mouthing the contents to himself. Shortly, he reversed the whole process, discharged Erik, and went about the usual business of organizing his band of ruffians for the raid to come.

Erik never could get close enough to make out what was on this parchment. Of course. But he burned to know what it might be. Obviously, it was of terrible importance to the captain, judging from the exaggerated secrecy surrounding the whole thing. Erik came to suppose it must be something magical—a spell, perhaps, handed down to the captain from an earlier hero of similar venturesome stature. Or perhaps from an unknown priest or foreign wise man. Whatever it was, whatever its magic, it seemed to work wonderfully, for Leif’s raids were uniformly successful. Doubtless the rest of the crew had curiosity about this pre-raid ritual as well. But they knew even less about it than Erik, and did not venture to ask their captain about it, any more than did he offer to share it with them. Indeed: though still very young, Erik enjoyed special status among the others because of his role in the captain’s private ritual.

 Time passed, Erik grew to manhood and joined the others on their raids, and had fair success as a warrior himself. He still, as always, kept watch over this pre-raid ritual—and remained as politely curious as ever.

Alas. One bad day, Leif suffered a mortal blow and had to be carried back to the ship, where he lay for days in great pain. Erik watched over him and did his limited best to doctor his beloved chief. But the wound was too great, and the captain gradually slipped away from them all. Just before the end, he rallied himself and had Erik assemble the men around him. When this was done, Erik settled him into a sitting position at the stern, and waited with the others for what might come.

Leif glared about him with something like his usual air of ferocity, and lapsed into a fit of painful coughing. As this passed, he laboriously raised his right hand in salute to his men, and made known, in a steadily weakening voice, his farewell words and final wishes. The last of these, to the surprise of most, was that Erik, his faithful man, was to be captain after him, and that the others should swear to him their fealty. Which dutifully happened. With his last strength, Leif motioned to Erik to bend near his lips. He whispered that his sea-chest, including the tiny casket within, was to be Erik’s, and that he should guard the little box’s contents with his life, honor its words faithfully, and when his own time came, pass it on to an equally worthy man. Erik swore to do so, and so passed Leif the Bold.

That evening, after the wake and sorrowful drinking, Erik could contain his curiosity no longer. By the dim light of a candle, he reverently opened the chest, then the casket, and picked out the parchment scrap.

At first, he could make out nothing at all upon it. Holding the candle’s flame as close to it as he dared, he gradually made out incredibly ancient, faded runes. Fortunately, Erik’s mother had spent some time with him teaching the rudiments of rune-writing.

It took a bit, but at length he deciphered the sparse lines of magical script.

On the precious parchment was writ this inscription:

“This remember before All Things,

And Success will ever be Yours:

FIRST pillage,

THEN burn!”

 

I made this!

Chuck the Bald