thematic thread
Skalds at Court — the Power of the Word
The word as ransom: condemned to death by King Eric, Egil composes a praise-poem so masterful overnight that the king cannot bring himself to kill him. Poetry literally buys back his head — the skald's power over the throne at its starkest.
The Head-Ransom
Arinbjörn went armed to the king and pleaded for Egil's life, offering at last to die at Egil's side rather than see him killed — while Gunnhildr pressed for the execution she had wanted for years. Eiríkr would not promise mercy; but he granted Egil the night.[1]
And in that night Egil did the impossible thing the saga is most famous for. He composed a long praise-poem — the Höfuðlausn, the 'Head-Ransom' — in honour of the very king who meant to kill him, and the next day recited it in the hall, in a loud voice, until he won silence. It is a stunning act: not flattery exactly, but a poet weaponising his only true wealth, turning art itself into ransom.[2] (The poem stands in the saga in full; it is reached through the source here, not retold.)
Eiríkr sat upright through it, looking keenly at him. When it ended he gave his judgement: for Arinbjörn's sake, and because Egil had come freely into his power, he would give Egil 'his head this time' — but it was no reconciliation, and Egil must never come before his eyes again. Egil walked out alive, having bought his own head with a song.[3]
The source text · 3
King Eric went to table according to his wont, and much people were with him. And when Arinbjorn knew this, then went he with all his followers fully armed to the king's palace while the king sate at table. Arinbjorn craved entrance into the hall; it was granted. He and Egil went in with half of his followers, but the other half stood without before the door. Arinbjorn saluted the king; the king received him well. Arinbjorn spoke: 'Here now is come Egil. He has not sought to run away in the night. Nor would we fain know, my lord, what his lot is to be. I hope thou wilt let him get good from my words, for I think it a matter of great moment to me that Egil gain terms from thee. I have so acted (as was right) that neither in word nor deed have I spared aught whereby thy honour should be made greater than before. I have also abandoned all my possessions, kinsmen, and friends that I had in Norway, and followed thee when all other barons deserted thee; and herein do I what is meet, for thou hast often done great good to me.'— egils saga
Arinbjörn pleads; Gunnhildr presses for death (Green 1893).
<strong>HEAD-RANSOM</strong>— egils saga
Egil recites the Höfuðlausn — the genuine poem in the source.
King Eric sate upright while Egil recited the poem, and looked keenly at him. And when the song of praise was ended, then spake the king: 'Right well was the poem recited; and now, Arinbjorn, I have resolved about the cause between me and Egil, how it shall go. Thou hast pleaded Egil's cause with great eagerness, since thou offerest to risk a conflict with me. Now shall I for thy sake do what thou hast asked, letting Egil go from my land safe and unhurt. But thou, Egil, so order thy going that, after leaving my presence and this hall, thou never come before my eyes, nor my sons' eyes, nor be ever in the way of myself or my people. But I give thee now thy head this time for this reason, that thou camest freely into my power. I will do no dastardly deed on thee; yet know thou this for sure, that this is no reconciliation with me or my sons or any of our kin who wish to wreak their vengeance.'— egils saga
Eiríkr grants Egil 'his head this time.'
The word before battle: on the morning of Stiklestad the skald Thormod recites the ancient Bjarkamál to wake St Olaf's outnumbered army — the old heroic poem turned to steel the men for a Christian king's last stand.
The morning of Stiklestad
At Stiklestad Olaf saw the farmers' army spread out all around, in numbers far beyond his own.[1] The night before, when his small force could not sleep, the skald Thormod recited the ancient Bjarkamál, the old summons to die well beside one's lord, and the army woke heartened and thanked him for it. In the morning Olaf armed himself: a gold-mounted helmet, a white shield with the holy cross inlaid in gold, the sword Hneiter at his belt.[2]
The saga lingers on these details because they are the iconography of a martyr being made — the cross on the shield, the named sword, the old heroic poem turned to Christian sacrifice. Olaf drew up his line with a wall of shields and waited for the host of his own countrymen, led by chiefs he had broken, to come and kill their king.
The source text · 2
King O1af led his army farther down through the valley, and Dag and his men went another way, and the king did not halt until he came to Stiklestad. There he saw the bonde army spread out all around; and there were so great numbers that people were going on every footpath, and great crowds were collected far and near. They also saw there a troop which came down from Veradal, and had been out to spy. They came so close to the king's people that they knew each other. It was Hrut of Viggia, with thirty men. The king ordered his pursuivants to go out against Hrut, and make an end of him, to which his men were instantly ready. The king said to the Icelanders, "It is told me that in Iceland it is the custom that the bondes give their house-servants a sheep to slaughter; now I give you a ram to slaughter.1 The Icelanders were easily invited to this, and went out immediately with a few men against Hrut, and killed him and the troop that followed him. When the king came to Stiklestad he made a halt, and made the army stop, and told his people to alight from their horses and get ready for battle; and the people did as the king ordered. Then he placed his army in battle array, and raised his banner. Dag was not yet arrived with his men, so that his wing of the battle array was wanting. Then the king said the Upland men should go forward in their place, and raise their banner there. "It appears to me advisable," says the king, "that Harald my brother should not be in the battle, for he is still in the years of childhood only." Harald replies, "Certainly I shall be in the battle, for I am not so weak that I cannot handle the sword; and as to that, I have a notion of tying the sword-handle to my hand. None is more willing than I am to give the bondes a blow; so I shall go with my comrades." It is said that Harald made these lines: --— heimskringla
Olaf reaches Stiklestad and sees the farmers' army all around (Laing).
King Olaf was armed thus: -- He had a gold-mounted helmet on his head; and had in one hand a white shield, on which the holy cross was inlaid in gold. In his other hand he had a lance, which to the present day stands beside the altar in Christ Church. In his belt he had a sword, which was called Hneiter, which was remarkably sharp, and of which the handle was worked with gold. He had also a strong coat of ring-mail. Sigvat the skald, speaks of this: --— heimskringla
Olaf armed with the cross-inlaid shield and the sword Hneiter.
The word that rebukes a king: the skald Sigvat's fearless 'Free-speaking Song' tells the harsh young Magnus the truth to his face, and turns him from vengeance to law. A poem, not a sword, saves the kingdom — and makes Magnus 'the Good.'
The Free-speaking Song
His father's old skald Sigvat did the bravest thing a poet could do: he told the king the truth to his face, in verse. He composed the Bersöglisvísur, the 'Free-speaking Song', warning Magnus that he had delayed too long to pacify his people, who were near revolt, and exhorting him to keep the laws his father had set and rule with justice rather than vengeance.[1]
And the king listened. The song, and the honest men who spoke the same way, had a good effect on him; Magnus took counsel with the wisest men and ordered his affairs by law instead of by grudge.[2] This is the moment he becomes 'the Good' — not by softness of nature but by being told the truth and heeding it. The saga makes a poet, not a sword, the saviour of the kingdom: the word that turns a tyrant is mightier than the rebellion that would have unmade him.
The source text · 2
Sigvat accordingly composed a poem, which he called the "Free-speaking Song", which begins with saying the king had delayed too long to pacify the people, who were threatening to rise in tumult against him. He said: --— heimskringla
Sigvat composes the Free-speaking Song to rebuke the king (Laing).
In this song the king was exhorted to observe the laws which his father had established. This exhortation had a good effect on the king, for many others held the same language to him. So at last the king consulted the most prudent men, who ordered all affairs according to law. Thereafter King Magnus had the law-book composed in writing which is still in use in Throndhjem district, and is called "The Grey Goose".1 King Magnus afterwards became very popular, and was beloved by all the country people, and therefore he was called Magnus the Good.— heimskringla
The song turns the king to rule by law; he earns the name 'the Good'.
The word as the measure of a king: in the famous comparison of the brothers, the verses and boasts weigh Sigurd's far-faring glory against Eystein's home-keeping rule — the skaldic art turned to judging what a king is for.
The comparison of the kings
Home again, Sigurd and his brother Eystein, over the ale, fell to the most famous conversation in Heimskringla: the comparison of the two kings.[1] Sigurd boasted of his battles in the Saracens' land, his treasures, the respect he had won among the most gallant men — and named Eystein's reputation merely 'home-bred'.[2] But Eystein answered him point for point: while Sigurd was away, he had built churches and a monastery, made harbours and roads, improved the law, and ruled so that the people prospered.
He could not swim the Jordan, Eystein granted, nor fight the Moors — but he had kept the kingdom whole and just at home, which was the harder and more useful glory. The saga lets the debate end without a verdict, and that is its genius: the far-faring king and the home-keeping king are set side by side, the spectacular voyage against the patient governance, and the reader is left to weigh them. It is the corpus reflecting on its own deepest tension — adventure against law, the road against the hearth.
The source text · 2
Eystein says, "It is a common custom over the ale-table to compare one person with another, and now let us do so." Then Sigurd was silent.— heimskringla
Eystein opens the comparison of the two kings over the ale (Laing).
Sigurd: "You must have heard that on this expedition I was in many a battle in the Saracen's land, and gained the victory in all; and you must have heard of the many valuable articles I acquired, the like of which were never seen before in this country, and I was the most respected wherever the most gallant men were; and, on the other hand, you cannot conceal that you have only a home-bred reputation."— heimskringla
Sigurd boasts of his battles in the Saracens' land.
The word as grief: Egil's Sonatorrek, the lament for his drowned son — the moment poetry stops being a weapon and becomes the only vessel that can hold unbearable loss.
Sonatorrek
Egil grew old at Borg, rich and feared, outliving his enemies. And then the sea, which had spared him in York, took from him the thing he could not ransom back: his beloved son Böðvarr drowned in the firth. Egil bore the body home, laid it in the family howe — and then shut himself in his bed-closet to starve himself to death. He would not eat; he would not speak; he meant to follow his son.[1]
His daughter Þorgerðr — the same Þorgerðr who would marry Óláfr the Peacock and become the mother of Kjartan, the thread that ties this saga to the tragedy of Laxdæla — came and tricked her way in beside him, pretending to starve with him. Then she told him a daughter's lie that was also wisdom: that he could not die yet, because no one but he could compose the memorial poem his son deserved.[2]
It worked. Egil began the poem — Sonatorrek, 'the hard loss of sons' — and composing it brought him back from the grave's edge. It is the greatest poem in the sagas: a father raging at the sea-god Rán who took his boy, at Óðinn who gave him the gift of verse and then this grief, and arriving, exhausted, at the will to live out his days. The poet who once turned art into ransom now turns it into survival.[3]
The source text · 3
Bodvar Egil's son was just now growing up; he was a youth of great promise, handsome, tall and strong as had been Egil or Thorolf at his age. Egil loved him dearly, and Bodvar was very fond of his father. One summer it happened that there was a ship in White-river, and a great fair was held there. Egil had there bought much wood, which he was having conveyed home by water: for this his house-carles went, taking with them an eight-oared boat belonging to Egil. It chanced one time that Bodvar begged to go with them, and they allowed him so to do. So he went into the field with the house-carles. They were six in all on the eight-oared boat. And when they had to go out again, high-water was late in the day, and, as they must needs wait for the turn of tide, they did not start till late in the evening. Then came on a violent south-west gale, against which ran the stream of the ebb. This made a rough sea in the firth, as can often happen. The end was that the boat sank under them, and all were lost. The next day the bodies were cast up: Bodvar's body came on shore at Einars-ness, but some came in on the south shore of the firth, whither also the boat was driven, being found far in near Reykjarhamar.— egils saga
Böðvarr drowns; Egil shuts himself away to die (Green 1893).
Then spoke Thorgerdr: 'What counsel shall we take now? This our purpose is defeated. Now I would fain, father, that we should lengthen our lives, so that you may compose a funeral poem on Bodvar, and I will grave it on a wooden roller; after that we can die, if we like. Hardly, I think, can Thorstein your son compose a poem on Bodvar; but it were unseemly that he should not have funeral rites. Though I do not think that we two shall sit at the drinking when the funeral feast is held.' Egil said that it was not to be expected that he could now compose, though he were to attempt it. 'However, I will try this,' said he.— egils saga
Þorgerðr coaxes him to compose the memorial poem.
Egil began to cheer up as the composing of the poem went on; and when the poem was complete, he brought it before Asgerdr and Thorgerdr and his family. He rose from his bed, and took his place in the high-seat. This poem he called 'Loss of Sons.' And now Egil had the funeral feast of his son held after ancient custom. But when Thorgerdr went home, Egil enriched her with good gifts.— egils saga
Sonatorrek — the genuine poem in the source.
And the word that undoes the poet: Gunnlaug Worm-Tongue, named for the sharpness of his verse, wins fame and a betrothal and then loses Helga through that same sharpness. The gift that makes a skald also dooms him.
The betrothal and the sharp tongue
Gunnlaug, son of a neighbouring chief, grew up brilliant and difficult — a gifted poet with a tongue so cutting he was nicknamed ormstunga, Worm-Tongue. He and Helga loved each other, and Helga was vowed to him; but Gunnlaug was restless for fame, and would go abroad first to win renown at the courts of kings.[1]
A bargain was struck: Helga would wait three years for him. It is the same shape as a dozen saga partings — the young man who must have glory before he has the woman — and the same trap. Gunnlaug rode for the ship, leaving the fairest woman in Iceland promised but unwed, and a clock running that he would not respect.
The source text · 1
Gunnlaug Worm-Tongue was, as is aforesaid, whiles at Burg with Thorstein, whiles with his father Illugi at Gilsbank, three winters together, and was by now eighteen winters old; and father and son were now much more of a mind.— gunnlaugs saga
Helga vowed to Gunnlaug; he fares abroad for fame (Morris & Magnússon 1901).
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