thematic thread
Oaths, Troth & Betrayal
Even Odin is bound: Loki forces the Allfather to seat him at the feast by invoking an old oath of blood-brotherhood. The sworn word holds the chief of the gods himself — that is how strong it is.
The old blood-oath
Loki's first move is aimed at the highest. When the gods would refuse him a seat, he turns to Odin and reminds the Allfather of an oath sworn in olden days — that the two had mixed their blood as brothers, and Odin had vowed never to drink unless ale were borne to them both.[1] It is a master-stroke: by invoking a sacred bond between them, Loki forces Odin's hand. The Allfather, bound by his own old oath, tells his silent son Vidar to make room, and the wolf's father — Loki — is given his seat.[2]
This single exchange tells us something profound about the Norse gods: even Odin, lord of all, is bound by his given word and cannot simply throw out an enemy who holds him to an oath. The whole moral universe of the sagas — where a man's word and the sacredness of sworn bonds carry absolute weight — reaches all the way up to the chief of the gods. Loki, who honours nothing, weaponises the gods' own honour against them; he gets his seat not by force but by holding Odin to the very code the gods are supposed to embody.
The source text · 2
Loki spake: / "Remember, Othin, / in olden days / That we both our blood have mixed; / Then didst thou promise / no ale to pour, / Unless it were brought for us both."— lokasenna
Loki reminds Odin of their old blood-brotherhood (Bellows 1923).
Othin spake: / "Stand forth then, Vithar, / and let the wolf's father / Find a seat at our feast; / / Lest evil should Loki / speak aloud / Here within Ægir's hall."— lokasenna
Odin, bound by the oath, bids Vidar make room for Loki (Bellows 1923).
Gísli's saga turns on an oath of blood-brotherhood that cannot quite be sworn — a flaw in the binding — and everything that follows is the tragedy of troth half-made and then broken.
The oath that would not bind
Gísla saga opens under a shadow — a thrall's curse in the old country, killings, a burning — and the family, the Súrssons, carry the doom with them when they settle in the Westfjords of Iceland. At the heart of it are four men who should have been bound for life: Gísli, his brother Þorkell, his brother-in-law Vésteinn whom he loved, and Þorgrímr, married to Gísli's sister.[1]
They moved to swear blood-brotherhood — the solemn rite of passing under a raised strip of turf, mingling blood, binding each to avenge the others. But at the last moment Þorgrímr refused to bind himself to Vésteinn, and so the oath collapsed half-made. In a saga, an oath that fails to form is more dangerous than one never attempted: it names exactly the fracture along which everything will break. These four would not all stand together — and so they would destroy one another.
The source text · 1
Thorkel the Soursop was very fond of dress and very lazy; he did not do a stroke of work in the housekeeping of those brothers; but Gisli worked night and day. It fell on a good drying day that Gisli set all the men at work hay-making, save his brother Thorkel. He alone of all the men was at home, and he had laid him down after breakfast in the hall, where the fire was, and gone to sleep. The hall was thirty fathoms long and ten broad. Away from it, and to the south, stood the bower of Auda and Asgerda, and there the two sat sewing. But when Thorkel wakes he goes toward the bower for he heard voices, and, lays him down outside close by the bower. Then Asgerda began to speak, and said:— gisla saga
The four would-be sworn brothers; the oath fractures (Dasent 1866).
The potion of forgetting and the deception of Brynhild: a broken betrothal, a troth set aside, and from that broken oath comes the murder of Sigurd and the fall of a whole house.
The potion and the deception
At the court of the Giukings, the queen gave Sigurð a potion of forgetfulness, and he forgot Brynhildr utterly and married the king's daughter Guðrún. Then, bound now to the family, he was drawn into their scheme: Gunnarr, Guðrún's brother, wished to win Brynhildr, but could not ride the wall of fire. So Sigurð, in Gunnarr's shape by magic, rode the flames a second time and won Brynhildr for another man — lying chastely beside her with his sword between them, but wooing her in Gunnarr's name.[1]
Brynhildr married Gunnarr believing he was the fearless rider who had braved the fire. The truth — that it was Sigurð, who had once been hers, now another woman's husband — surfaced in a bitter quarrel between the two queens over precedence. When Brynhildr understood how she had been deceived, that the one man worthy of her had won her for a lesser and then forgotten her, her love turned to a cold and absolute will for his death.[2]
The source text · 2
Now they array them joyously for their journey, and ride over hill and dale to the house of King Budli, and woo his daughter of him; in a good wise he took their speech, if so be that she herself would not deny them; but he said withal that so high-minded was she, that that man only might wed her whom she would.— volsunga saga
Sigurð in Gunnarr's shape rides the fire to win Brynhild (Morris & Magnússon 1870).
After this talk Brynhild lay a-bed, and tidings were brought to King Gunnar that Brynhild was sick; he goes to see her thereon, and asks what ails her; but she answered him naught, but lay there as one dead: and when he was hard on her for an answer, she said—— volsunga saga
Brynhild learns of the deception; her grief turns to a will for Sigurð's death.
Glúm's equivocal oath — words technically true but meant to deceive — is the dark art of the broken word dressed as a kept one. The gods are not fooled, and Frey turns away from him.
The equivocal oath
Glúm's downfall turned, as so often in these sagas, on a killing and the law that followed. Accused of a slaying he had in fact committed, Glúm cleared himself by an oath sworn at the temple — but he framed the words with deliberate, lawyer's cunning, swearing in a form that was literally, technically true while concealing the real meaning: he said he was 'not there' in a way that let the hearers think he denied the deed, when the words actually admitted it.[1]
The equivocal oath is one of the most famous moments in the sagas — a man saving himself by the precise letter of words that betray their spirit. It works, for a time. But it is sworn at Frey's own temple, and to cheat with a sacred oath is to cheat the god. Glúm has won his case and, without yet knowing it, spent the divine favour that all his fortune rested on. The cleverness that always saved him has, this once, cost him everything.
The source text · 1
In the course of the winter Thorvard met Thorarin, and asked him, Did Glum take the oath properly? We found nothing to take hold of, said Thorarin. It is a wonderful thing, replied Thorvard, that wise people should make such mistakes. I have known men who have declared themselves to have slain others, but I have never known a case of a man swearing explicitly that he was guilty, as Glum did. How could he say more than he did when he declared that he was there at the doing of the deed, that he took part in the death, and that he reddened point and edge, when Thorvald the crooked fell at Hrisateig?--though I admit that he did not pronounce the words as they are commonly pronounced. That scandal will never be done away with. Thorarin replied, I did not observe this, but I am tired of having to do with Glum. Well, said Thorvard, if you are tired because your health is not equal to it, let Einar take the matter up. He is a prudent man, with a great kindred, and many will follow him. His brother Gudmund will not be neutral, and he himself is most anxious for one thing-to get to Thverà. Then they met Einar and consulted with him, and Thorarin said, If you will take the lead in the suit many men will back you in it, and we will bring it about that you shall have Glums land, at a price not exceeding that which he paid to Thorkel the tall. Einar observed, Glum has now parted with those two things, his cloak and his spear, which his mothers father, Vigfuss, gave him, and bad him keep, if he wished to hold his position, telling him that he would fall away in dignity from the time that he let them out of his hands. Now will I take up the suit and follow it out.— viga glums saga
Glúm's oath questioned — its equivocal, literally-true form revealed (Head 1866).
Hrafnkell kills to keep an oath he swore over his horse — proof the bond runs the other way too: a man will kill an innocent rather than be foresworn.
The oath kept
In the morning Hrafnkell rode up to the dairy in a blue cloak with an axe in his hand and nothing else. He found Einarr on the pen wall, counting the sheep, the women at the milking. He asked, mild as anything, how the work went. Fine, said Einarr — though thirty ewes had been lost a week, he had them back now.
No matter, said Hrafnkell. Losses happen. But — and here the voice would have changed — “did you not ride Freyfaxi yesterday?” Einarr could not deny it. He admitted it plainly, and even that honesty Hrafnkell acknowledged: he would have forgiven the ride, he said, had he not sworn so great an oath about it.[1]
And because he believed that men who keep their vows come to no harm, he sprang from his horse and struck the boy dead. Then he rode home and reported it, the way you report a thing that is finished. He had Einarr's body carried to a knoll above the dairy and a cairn raised; they still tell the noon-hour by the shadow it throws. The saga gives the killing in a single clean stroke — no rage in it, only a man balancing an oath against a life and finding the oath the heavier thing.[2]
The source text · 2
In the evening Hrafnkell went to his bed as usual, and slept through the night. In the morning he had a horse brought home to him, and ordered it to be saddled, and rode up to the dairy. He rode in blue raiment: he had an axe in his hand, but no other weapons about him. At that time Einarr had just driven the ewes into the pen, and lay on the wall of the pen, casting up the number of the sheep; but the women were busy a-milking. They all greeted Hrafnkell, and he asked how they got on. Einarr answered: "I have had no good speed myself, for no less than thirty ewes were missing for a week, though now I have found them again." Hrafnkell said, he had no fault to find with tilings of that kind; "It has not happened so often as might have been expected, that thou hast lost the ewes. But has not something worse befallen than that? Didst thou not have a ride on 'Freymane' yesterday?" Einarr said he could not gainsay that utterly. "Why didst thou ride on this horse which was forbidden thee, while there were plenty of others on which thou art free to ride? Now this one trespass I should have forgiven thee, if I had not used words of such earnest already. And yet thou hast manfully confessed thy guilt." But by reason of the belief that those who fulfil their vows never come to grief, he leaped off his horse, sprang upon Einarr, and dealt him his death-blow. After that, having done the deed, he rode home to Aðalból and there told these tidings. He got him another shepherd to take charge of the dairy. But he had Einarr's dead body brought westward upon the terrace by the dairy, and there set up a beacon beside his cairn; and it is called Einarr's beacon, where, when the sun is right above it, they count mid-eve hour (six o'clock) at the dairy.— hrafnkels saga
Hrafnkell confronts Einarr at the dairy.
In the evening Hrafnkell went to his bed as usual, and slept through the night. In the morning he had a horse brought home to him, and ordered it to be saddled, and rode up to the dairy. He rode in blue raiment: he had an axe in his hand, but no other weapons about him. At that time Einarr had just driven the ewes into the pen, and lay on the wall of the pen, casting up the number of the sheep; but the women were busy a-milking. They all greeted Hrafnkell, and he asked how they got on. Einarr answered: "I have had no good speed myself, for no less than thirty ewes were missing for a week, though now I have found them again." Hrafnkell said, he had no fault to find with tilings of that kind; "It has not happened so often as might have been expected, that thou hast lost the ewes. But has not something worse befallen than that? Didst thou not have a ride on 'Freymane' yesterday?" Einarr said he could not gainsay that utterly. "Why didst thou ride on this horse which was forbidden thee, while there were plenty of others on which thou art free to ride? Now this one trespass I should have forgiven thee, if I had not used words of such earnest already. And yet thou hast manfully confessed thy guilt." But by reason of the belief that those who fulfil their vows never come to grief, he leaped off his horse, sprang upon Einarr, and dealt him his death-blow. After that, having done the deed, he rode home to Aðalból and there told these tidings. He got him another shepherd to take charge of the dairy. But he had Einarr's dead body brought westward upon the terrace by the dairy, and there set up a beacon beside his cairn; and it is called Einarr's beacon, where, when the sun is right above it, they count mid-eve hour (six o'clock) at the dairy.— hrafnkels saga
The killing, kept as an oath.
Atli's treacherous invitation — friendship sworn, then betrayed — lures the Niflungs to their deaths. The violation of guest-troth is the crime the whole tragedy answers.
The summons to Atli's hall
Time passes; Guðrún is married — against the grain of her grief — to Atli, king of the Huns. He is the legend's memory of the historical Attila, whose name thundered through fifth-century Europe and lodged in Germanic poetry for a thousand years; here he is recast as the treacherous king at the centre of the Niflungs' doom. And Atli covets one thing above all: the cursed Niflung gold, the same hoard of Andvari and Fáfnir, now held by Guðrún's brothers.
So Atli sends a messenger to invite Gunnar and Högni to his hall with every show of friendship.[1] But Guðrún, suspecting the trap, sends her brothers a warning — a ring wound about with a wolf's hair.[2] Högni reads the danger in it. And here the legend turns on the iron logic of the heroic code: the brothers see the trap clearly, and they go anyway, because to refuse a summons for fear would be shameful. They ride to Atli's hall knowing it may be their death — the same fey, open-eyed walk toward doom that runs through every layer of this atlas, from the gods at Ragnarök to Gunnarr of Hlíðarendi turning back at the shore.
The source text · 2
Atli sent / of old to Gunnar / A keen-witted rider, / Knefröth did men call him; / To Gjuki's home came he / and to Gunnar's dwelling, / With benches round the hearth, / and to the beer so sweet.— atli gudrun lays
Atli sends his messenger to invite Gunnar (Bellows 1923).
Hogni spake: / "What seeks she to say, / that she sends us a ring, / Woven with a wolf's hair? / methinks it gives warning; / In the red ring a hair / of the heath-dweller found I, / Wolf-like shall our road be / if we ride on this journey."— atli gudrun lays
the warning ring wound with a wolf's hair (Bellows 1923).
You’ve followed Oaths, Troth & Betrayal across the corpus.
More threads →