thematic thread
Heathen Worship & the Old Gods on Earth
Hrafnkell loves no god before Frey and dedicates his prize stallion Freyfaxi to him — devotion so total it shapes the whole saga. The heathen bond between a man and his god, made concrete in a horse.
Freyfaxi
Among his horses ran one he loved past all reason: a pale roan stallion, dun-maned, that he called Freyfaxi — Frey's-mane. He had given the god a half-share in the animal. And he had sworn an oath over it, the kind of oath that hangs in the air of a saga and waits to be kept: he would kill any man who rode Freyfaxi without his leave.[1]
So when a poor neighbour's son came looking for work, Hrafnkell hired him as a shepherd and gave him the one warning that mattered. The boy was Einarr, son of Þorbjörn of the stead across the valley — a capable lad, hired late in the season because his father could not feed him. Take any horse in the valley you need, Hrafnkell told him. Ride any of the twelve mares. But not the stallion. Never the stallion — I am bound by oath to kill the man who does.[2]
Einarr said he was hardly so luckless as to ride the one horse forbidden him, with eleven others to hand. It is the kind of thing men say in sagas just before fate takes them at their word.
The source text · 2
Of all his possessions there was one for which Hrafnkell had greater fondness than any other. This was a horse of a roan colour, which he called "Freymane." He gave unto his friend Frey the half of this horse, and so great a love had he for it, that he made a solemn vow that he would kill any one who should ride the horse without his leave.— hrafnkels saga
The oath over Freyfaxi.
A man was hight Thorbjörn, brother of Bjarni, who dwelt at a stead in Hrafnkelsdalr, called Hóll, situated across the valley right against Aðalból, on the eastern side. Thorbjörn was a man of scanty means, but of many useless mouths. The eldest of his sons was called Einarr; he was a tall man and well-mannered withal. It so happened one spring that Thorbjörn said to Einarr that he had better try to secure some place for himself; "for," said he, "I am in want of no more work than can be done by the hands that are here already, but thou wilt find it easy to secure a situation, able and skilful as thou art. It is not for any want of love that I thus call upon thee to go away, for thou art to me the most useful of all my children; but it is because of my small means and poverty; but my other children must grow up labourers, but as for thee, thou wilt find it easier to get a place than they." Einarr answered : "Too late hast thou let me know of this, as now all places and situations, the best of them at least, are already arranged for, and I deem it an undesirable thing to have to accept only the worst." Now Einarr took his horse and rode to Aðalból, where Hrafnkell sat in his chamber, and received him well and joyfully. Einarr applied for a situation with Hrafnkell, and he answered : "Why askest so late for this? otherwise I should have taken thee the first of all men. Now I have secured all my servants, except for that one business which, I fear, thou art not minded to undertake." Einarr asked what it was. Hrafnkell answered, he had got no one to take charge of his sheep, but said he was in great need of one. Einarr said he did not mind what work he did, whether this or any other; but said he would like to settle with him for cloth and board wages. "I'll make a short bargain with thee," said Hrafnkell. "Thy business shall be to watch fifteen ewes at the mountain dairy, and gather and carry home faggots for summer fuel. On these terms thou shalt take service with me for two 'half-years.' But a one thing I must give thee, as all my shepherds, to understand: 'Freymane' goes grazing in the valley with his band of mares; thou shalt take care of him winter and summer; but I warn thee of one thing, namely, that thou never be on his back on any condition whatever, for I am bound by a mighty vow to slay the man that ever should have a ride on him. There are twelve mares with him; whichever one of these thou mayest want, night or day, is at your service. Do now as I tell thee, and mind the old saw: 'No blame is borne by those who warn.' Now thou knowest what I have said." Einarr said he trusted he was under no such luckless spell as to ride on a horse which was forbidden, least of all when there were other horses at his disposal.— hrafnkels saga
Einarr hired and warned.
Þórólfr Most-Beard carries his temple of Thor across the sea from Norway, earth and high-seat pillars and all, to plant the old worship in the new land. Religion as the thing you bring with you.
The holy headland
Eyrbyggja begins in devotion. Þórólfr Most-Beard, a great worshipper of Thor driven from Norway, threw the high-seat pillars of his temple overboard as he neared Iceland and settled where they came ashore, on the headland he named Þórsnes. There he raised a temple to Thor and hallowed the whole promontory — and the mountain Helgafell, the Holy Fell, he held so sacred that none might look on it unwashed, and no living thing be harmed upon it.[1]
He set up the Þórsnes assembly, one of the oldest in Iceland, with its sacred ground and its rules. The saga is laying its foundation: a district built on holiness and law together, where the temple and the Thing are the twin poles of order. Everything uncanny that follows will be measured against that order — and, remarkably, even the ghosts will end up answering to the law.
The source text · 1
Thorolf Most-Beard made a great sacrifice, and asked of Thor his well-beloved friend whether he should make peace with the king, or get him gone from out the land and seek other fortunes. But the Word showed Thorolf to Iceland; and thereafter he got for himself a great ship meet for the main, and trimmed it for the Iceland-faring, and had with him his kindred and his household goods; and many friends of his betook themselves to faring with him. He pulled down the temple, and had with him most of the timbers which had been therein, and mould moreover from under the stall whereon Thor had sat.— eyrbyggja saga
Þórólfr Most-Beard hallows Þórsnes and Helgafell (Morris & Magnússon 1892).
And the god who withdraws his favour: Glúm, after his false oath, finds Frey has turned away from him, and his fortunes collapse. The heathen gods as powers who give and take, watching and judging.
Frey turns away
The reckoning came as a dream. On the eve of the suit that would decide his fate, Glúm dreamed he saw a great crowd gathering at the river-temple of Þverá, and Frey seated among them — and his own dead kinsmen pleading with the god to let Glúm keep his land. But Frey answered them shortly and angrily, calling to mind Glúm's failure of faith, and would not relent. Glúm woke knowing the truth: he was on worse terms with the god now, and his luck had run out.[1]
It is one of the quietest and eeriest scenes in the sagas — not a battle but a dream of a god declining to help, the supernatural withdrawal of the favour that had carried a man his whole life. Stripped of Frey, and by now of the luck-tokens too, Glúm had nothing left but his own diminishing cunning against rivals who finally outnumbered and out-lasted him.
The source text · 1
Einar now set the suit on foot afresh for the Althing, and both sides collected their people together, but before Glum left home he dreamt that many persons came to Thverà to visit the god Frey, and he thought he saw a great crowd on the sand-banks by the river, with Frey sitting on a chair. He dreamt that he asked who they were who had come thither, and they said, We are thy departed kindred, and we are now begging Frey that thou mayst not be driven out of Thverà, but it is no use, for he answers shortly and angrily, and calls to mind now the gift of the ox by Thorkel the tall. At that point Glum woke up, and ever afterwards he professed that he was on worse terms with Frey.— viga glums saga
Glúm's dream: Frey refuses his dead kin's plea (Head 1866).
The völva's rite, the heathen ceremony preserved in detail: the seeress's high seat, the songs, the spirits summoned. Old worship as living practice at the world's edge.
The seeress at the world's edge
One hard winter of dearth, with the fishing failed and a fever in the settlement, they sent for Þorbjörg, the 'little sybil' — last living of nine prophetess-sisters. The saga dresses her with extraordinary care, and it is the fullest portrait of a völva we have: a blue mantle inlaid with gems to the hem, glass beads, a black lambskin hood lined with ermine, catskin gloves white and furred within, a brass-knobbed staff, a pouch of talismans, and a ritual meal of the hearts of every kind of animal to be had.[1]
To work her seiðr she needed a woman who knew the weird-songs — and only Guðríðr did, taught them in Iceland by her foster-mother, though she protested she was a Christian and wanted no part in heathen rite. Pressed, she sang them, and so beautifully that the spirits drew near. The völva foretold the famine's end — and turned to Guðríðr with a destiny: a great and shining line of descendants would spring from her, though her path led back to Iceland.[2] Two faiths stand in one scene — the old magic and the new creed — in the body of one reluctant woman.
The source text · 2
Now, when she came in the evening, accompanied by the man who had been sent to meet her, she was dressed in such wise that she had a blue mantle over her, with strings for the neck, and it was inlaid with gems quite down to the skirt. On her neck she had glass beads. On her head she had a black hood of lambskin, lined with ermine. A staff she had in her hand, with a knob thereon; it was ornamented with brass, and inlaid with gems round about the knob. Around her she wore a girdle of soft hair, and therein was a large skin-bag, in which she kept the talismans needful to her in her wisdom. She wore hairy calf-skin shoes on her feet, with long and strong-looking thongs to them, and great knobs of latten at the ends. On her hands she had gloves of ermine-skin, and they were white and hairy within.— eiriks saga rauda
The völva's dress and seiðr-rite (Sephton 1880).
The spae-queen thanked her for the song. "Many spirits," said she, "have been present under its charm, and were pleased to listen to the song, who before would turn away from us, and grant us no such homage. And now are many things clear to me which before were hidden both from me and others. And I am able this to say, that the dearth will last no longer, the season improving as spring advances. The epidemic of fever which has long oppressed us will disappear quicker than we could have hoped. And thee, Gudrid, will I recompense straightway, for that aid of thine which has stood us in good stead; because thy destiny is now clear to me, and foreseen. Thou shalt make a match here in Greenland, a most honourable one, though it will not be a long-lived one for thee, because thy way lies out to Iceland; and there, shall arise from thee a line of descendants both numerous and goodly, and over the branches of thy family shall shine a bright ray. And so fare thee now well and happily, my daughter."— eiriks saga rauda
Guðríðr sings the weird-songs; her destiny foretold.
And worship at the founding: Ingólf trusting the gods to choose his home through the drift of his sacred high-seat pillars. The heathen faith present from Iceland's first day.
Ingolf and the high-seat pillars
The first settler, by tradition, is Ingólfr Arnarson. Driven from Norway by a deadly feud, Ingólfr and his foster-brother Hjörleifr made an exploratory voyage and then set out to settle the new land for good — in the summer, the book notes, when Harald Fairhair had been twelve years king.[1] As Ingólfr's ship neared the coast, he performed the act that became the founding gesture of Iceland: he cast his high-seat pillars overboard, the carved posts of his chief's seat, and vowed to make his home wherever the gods caused them to drift ashore.[2]
It is a small ritual with a vast meaning. Ingólfr would not simply choose his own ground; he let the gods choose it for him, trusting the drift of sacred wood on the sea to mark where he belonged. The pillars vanished, and it took years of searching before they were found — but found they were, in a smoky bay on the south-west coast. The whole later world of the sagas grows from this one devout, patient act: a man throwing the seat of his authority into the ocean and following it to a new home. In that gesture the heathen piety, the trust in fate, and the claiming of land that run through the entire corpus are all present at the very first moment.
The source text · 2
Chapter. VI. That summer when Ingolf set out with his companions to settle Iceland, Harald Fairhair had had been for twelve years King over Norway. There had elapsed from the creation of the world six thousand and seventy three winters, and from the Incarnation of our Lord eight hundred and seventy four years. They held together until they sighted Iceland, then they separated. When Ingolf sighted Iceland he cast overboard his high seat pillars for an omen, and he made the vow that he would settle there wherever his high seat pillar came ashore.— landnamabok
Ingólfr sets out to settle, twelve years into Harald's reign (Ellwood 1898).
Chapter. VI. That summer when Ingolf set out with his companions to settle Iceland, Harald Fairhair had had been for twelve years King over Norway. There had elapsed from the creation of the world six thousand and seventy three winters, and from the Incarnation of our Lord eight hundred and seventy four years. They held together until they sighted Iceland, then they separated. When Ingolf sighted Iceland he cast overboard his high seat pillars for an omen, and he made the vow that he would settle there wherever his high seat pillar came ashore.— landnamabok
Ingólfr casts his high-seat pillars overboard for an omen (Ellwood 1898).
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