S
TRANGERS IN
I
CELANDIC
S
OCIETY
1100-1400
Sverrir Jakobsson
Introduction
Hœnsa-Þóris saga
, an Icelandic Family Saga composed around 1280, describes a merchant named Örn.
He is said to have been a captain of a Norwegian ship which was bound for Iceland, ‘a popular man
and a most honourable merchant’.
1
Despite these admirable qualities he gets into a quarrel with the
local chieftain (goðorðsmaðr) Tungu-Oddr, a person not known for even-handedness. The quarrel
concerns the prizing of goods. A farmer in the vicinity, Blund-Ketill, knows this merchant as he had
stayed with his father in his youth. For that reason he decides to go to the aid of the merchant,
although this means incurring the wrath of the chieftain. This is the catalyst for a feud, in traditional
saga idiom, which results in the tragic burning down of Blund-Ketil’s farm, Örnólfsdalr (Borgfirðinga
8-11). This is a late tradition concerning well-known events from the tenth-century.
2
Notwithstand-
ing that, it also contains reference to contemporary issues, that is, from the late thirteenth century
(Helgi Þorláksson 1991, 165–68).
Before he is burnt to death together with Blund-Ketill, this austmaðr (literally, 'eastman')
manages to play a crucial role in the feud, coming to the rescue of his host by using a handbow to
shoot another man. The term austmaðr generally signifies a Norwegian and the use of handbows in
battle seems to have been a Norwegian speciality when the saga was composed, in the thirteenth
century (Borgfirðinga 23, Helgi Þorláksson 1968, 8n.). After his demise along with his host, the friends
and kinsmen of Blund-Ketill manage to acquire the goods which caused the dispute (Borgfirðinga 37).
The role of the merchant Örn in this conflict can hardly have been the stuff of oral legend
for centuries. It is more reasonable to assume that this character is a stereotype, a type of person the
audience would have recognized from their own environment. The tale of Örn thus has a general
significance for the role of Norwegian merchants in Iceland. In it we find an illustration of some of
the difficulties strangers coming to Iceland might encounter. A foreign merchant could get into
trouble with a local chieftain because of matters of trade, a stranger who had Icelandic acquaintances
could get drawn into their disputes with their neighbours and, because of his command of a military
technique not practised in Iceland, he would be much sought after when it came to fighting.
Another of the Sagas of Icelanders, Brennu-Njáls saga, is believed to have been composed at
about the same time as Hœnsa-Þóris saga. It deals with another famous incineration, the burning of
Njáll. Oral traditions dealing with its protagonist, Gunnar of Hlíðarendi, were alive at the time. A
Gunnar who appears in Hœnsa-Þóris saga is indeed compared with his illustrious namesake. Land-
1
The term ‘captain’ (stýrimaðr) probably refers to the foremost merchant on board, rather than a nautical employee.
2
Due to difficulties in prosecuting this case assemblies were established for each quarter in Iceland. The quarrel is thus
mentioned in the mainly constitutional narrative of the oldest surviving work of history in Iceland, the Íslendingabók of
Ari Þorgilsson inn fróði (the learned) (circa 1068-1148) (Jakob Benediktsson 1968, 11–12, 396).
námabók
says that Gunnar of Hlíðarendi had a battle at Knafahólar, where he killed the farmer Egill
‘and two austmenn’ (Jakob Benediktsson 1968, 356-58). This is probably the gist of what was known
about the two austmenn. The austmenn we encounter in Brennu-Njáls saga are not historical characters.
They are stereotypical strangers, like the merchant Örn.
According to Brennu-Njáls saga, the two austmenn, Þórir and Þorgrímr, lived with the farmer
Egill. They were ‘popular and wealthy, skilled in battle and distinguished in all respects’
(QUOTATION). Þórir has designs in the farmer’s daughter, Guðrún náttsól ‘the most courteous of
women’ (Njáls 147) and it is his relationship with the girl which apparently compels him to join in
the attack against Gunnar at Knafahólar. Although reluctant to participate in the fight, the death of
his host obliges Þórir to join in, and he manages to slay Gunnar’s brother. This act cannot go
unavenged – the austmaðr is killed in a later quarrel – although it was initially no concern of his (Njáls
154-55, 158-59). Þórir had a foreboding of his death, and exhorted his countryman, who avoids the
fight, to leave the country if he, Þórir, were not to return. Þorgrímr attempts to do this but he is
made to stay by assurances of acquiring both the inheritance and the courteous lady. He also joins in
a posse against Gunnar of Hlíðarendi, which proves to be fateful for him (Njáls 160, 184, 187).
Such tragic fates are the stuff of good literature. But they are more than that. The merchant
Örn and the austmenn Þórir and Þorgrímur are not ‘real’ historical people. They are stereotypes. They
are examples of two types of ‘stranger’ in Icelandic Society in the period 1100-1400, which is the
subject of this article. It is my aim to analyse the options open to these strangers, whether they
sought integration into society or just accommodation with it, in order to do their business. How
open was Icelandic society to people from another society or even from a different ethnic
background? Which features of the society facilitated integration, and which elements obstructed the
process? Was Iceland an open society compared to other societies at other times?
For the purposes of this analysis, I have used both contemporary sources as well as saga
literature to illuminate social processes in twelfth- and thirteenth-century Iceland. Although the
temporal setting of the sagas is normally in the tenth and eleventh centuries, I do not believe that the
redactors of the sagas viewed this process as radically different in the past from the customs of their
own society. Thus, I use the sagas as a key to the mentality of the period in which they were
composed rather than as reliable evidence for the more ancient times about which they purport to
report.
The Stranger
The term ‘stranger’ (der Fremde) was defined by Georg Simmel (1858-1918) in a brief excursus (1908,
685–91). Scholars following in the footsteps of Simmel have distinguished at least two different
types of stranger. One is the sojourner, who clings to the culture of his own ethnic group. The other
is the immigrant, a newly-arrived outsider who has come to stay (see Siu 1952; Wood 1934, 43–44).
The merchant Örn is close to the first type, and so are Þórir and Þorgrímr initially, although they
eventually become more similar to the second.
This is of course an over-simplification. Örn is not the typical sojourner, or he would have
belonged to a merchant colony of the type known across medieval Europe and the Mediterranean
(Curtin 1984, 38). Such colonies were known in later medieval Scandinavia, such as that of German
merchants in Bergen. In 1309, for example, the bishop of Bergen excommunicated German ‘winter
dwellers’ in Bergen for refusing to pay a tithe to the local church. One of the merchants countered
by saying that he had stayed in the town for more than thirty years and had never had to pay any
tithe during that period.
3
If we can believe his claim, then clearly, even after living in Norway for
such a long time, he and his associates still viewed themselves as strangers, and resisted forcefully
any attempts at integration into Norwegian society (Lange and Unger 1855, 96-97).
In Iceland the situation was different: merchants who came from abroad did not reside in
isolated colonies. Nevertheless they still constituted a distinctive group. They were as a rule austmenn,
a term which appears to be synonymous with ‘Norse’.
4
Many of them were connected with the
Norwegian royal house and in the early thirteenth century they became involved in the power
struggles between Icelandic chieftain families. One such family, the Oddaverjar, had connections
with merchants from the Orkneys, whilst another, the Sturlungar, were friendly with merchants
from Norway (Helgi Þorláksson 1979, 70-85). The case in Hœnsa-Þóris saga, where Blund-Ketill
comes to the aid of the merchant Örn on account of a friendship with his father, is by no means
unique. Personal relations between wealthy farmers and merchants must have been essential for
trade. In the Hauksbók version of Landnámabók an Icelandic farmer is reported to have had austmenn
import timber on his behalf (Jakob Benediktsson 1968, 65).
In the Norwegian Speculum Regale (Konungs skuggsjá), the advice given to an aspiring merchant
is to make friends with royal officials or the officials of the local ruler (Holm-Olsen 1983, 5).
Otherwise, one might get into trouble with the likes of Tungu-Oddr, a type of man well-known in
thirteenth-century Iceland (see Helgi Þorláksson 1991, 47-52). An ageing chieftain Guðmundr
Þ
orvaldsson dýri (d. 1212) finished his secular career by threatening merchants and forcing them to
pay for injuries done to his kinsman (Sturlunga I, 212). It can be gathered from the narrative that the
aggressive behaviour of Guðmundr in this instance was regarded as acceptable.
Merchants coming to Iceland would also have profited by adhering to the advice of the
Speculum regale
, in finding a suitable place for their residence during the winter. The Norwegian
Sigurðr slembir (d. 1139), not yet professing his royal birth, apparently resided with the chieftain
Þ
orgils Oddason (d. 1151) at Staðarhóll during the winter 1134-1135. According to Morkinskinna,
there were other foreigners resident there, ‘QUOTATION’ (and Sigurðr was the least respected of
them) (Finnur Jónsson 1932a, 409–10). Prominent chieftains had the means to provide for many
winter guests, but it was more usual that they were scattered through the community. Ships’ captains
probably resided with noble or wealthy farmers, but other sailors with less prominent farmers.
5
A
pair of noble kinsmen, Þórðr Sturluson (1165-1237) and Sturla Sighvatsson (1199-1238) each had a
captain staying with him during the summer of 1226 (Sturlunga I, 311; compare Jón Sigurðsson and
Guðbrandur Vigfússon 1858-1878, I, 546). Þórir and Þorgrímr, travelling to Iceland for the first
time, did not get winter quarters with a chieftain. They lacked the personal acquaintance which often
seems to have been crucial.
In Eyrbyggja saga, one Þorleifr kimbi is reported to have travelled abroad with merchants who
had landed in Straumfjörður ‘and he was counted among the captains’ ‘QUOTATION’ (Eyrbyggja
104). Norse captains were the merchants that chieftains identified most closely with, and are often
mentioned as winter guests. In Laxdæla saga, the Icelandic chieftain Ólafur pá sides with a captain
3
See Lange and Unger (1849, 109–12). The conflict seems to have started in 1307; see Unger and Huitfeldt-Kaas (1874,
29-30).
4
No Danes seem to be found among the strangers coming to Iceland. The nickname ‘danski’ is carried by Swedes or
Icelanders. A few Swedes appear in narrative sources, but they are usually not merchants. Those few instances of
Swedish berserks who occur in the family sagas (never in contemporary material) are hardly sufficient to support claims
of widespread prejudice against Swedes in Medieval Iceland, although such an interpretation is frequently vented among
modern Icelanders. Danes and Swedes might be included in the term ‘eastman’, although positive evidence for such an
assumption is not available.
5
See Magerøy (1993, 44). Compare Björn Sigfússon (1940, 21-23); Guðbrandur Vigfússon and Unger (1860-1868, I,
250); Jóhannes Halldórsson (1959, 270); and Borgfirðinga 52.
against majority opinion, arguing that one wise man should make the decisions, rather than many
fools (Laxdœla 53). It has also been demonstrated that the goods brought to Iceland by Norse
merchants were mainly intended for the Church and the more wealthy farmers rather than being
primarily necessities (Björn Þorsteinsson 1964, 28, Helgi Þorláksson 1991, 63-67).
The friendship of Skúli Þorsteinsson with merchants is the reason why three of them
become his winter guests, according to Bjarnar saga Hítdælakappa (Borgfirðinga 113). Not all merchants
could rely on personal connections, whether through kinship or friendship. Those arriving in Iceland
for the first time, as Þórir and Þorgrímr probably were, could not count on getting lodgings with a
chieftain. Chieftains also had considerations other than the needs of merchants. During the hard
winter of 1184-85, merchants left the region of Skagafjörður on account of the excessive monetary
demands made on them by the chieftain Kolbeinn Tumason (circa 1170–1208).
Three of the exiles from Skagafjörður, however, took up residence with the wealthy farmer
Teitr Guðmundsson (d. 1186) in the north-east of Iceland. This farmer had never been abroad but
because he liked his winter guests so much he decided to follow them to Norway (Sturlunga I, 161).
This was an advantage merchants had to offer their hosts, a place on a ship for those who wanted to
acquire good standing abroad. Icelanders seldom owned ships, so they usually had to rely on
friendship to be able to travel. In the episode dealing with Auðun vestfirski in Morkinskinna it almost
seems like a trade-off.
6
For those who, for one reason or another, had to leave the country in a
hurry, it was also advantageous to curry favour with merchants who were in the vicinity (Björn K.
Þ
órólfsson and Guðni Jónsson 1943, 168; Vatnsdœla 113, Þorgeir Guðmundsson and Rasmus
Christian Rask 1831, 107–109). In the sagas, captains of ships are commonly portrayed as
intermediaries between ambitious young Icelanders and foreign dignitaries.
7
When they had risen to prominence at a foreign court Icelandic chieftains were known to
demonstrate that status by turning up at assemblies with a flock of austmenn with shields. The shields
were, like the handbow, a foreign speciality.
8
Prowess in fighting may have been a more dominant
feature of foreigners staying in Iceland than is generally acknowledged. An odd phrasing in Egils saga
may be an indication of that. When the son of Egill is about to go into a skirmish he takes with him
‘his austmaðr and two hired hands.’ The phrase ‘his austmaðr’ is an odd one, as if the term austmaðr
signified an occupation rather than a foreigner. This choice of words is, however, also found in
other sources (Sigurður Nordal 1933, 290, Eyrbyggja 125; Vatnsdœla 73; Eyfirðinga 189–90). What is
indicated by this? In Eyrbyggja saga, men identified as austmenn turn out to be carrying handbows and
are able to inflict wounds upon their adversaries (Eyrbyggja 127). This might indeed have been a
common skill among austmenn, as numerous examples from the Sagas of Icelanders suggest. If so, it
was an occupation that could be hazardous, as austmenn are often listed among those killed in battles
(Borgfirðinga 179, 208; Eyfirðinga 64, 65, 74, 78, 253; Björn K. Þórólfsson and Guðni Jónsson 1943,
63–66; Vatnsdœla 75; Björn Sigfússon 1940, 209–11; Jón Jóhannesson 1950, 48, 160, 163, 165; Harðar
85; Jóhannes Halldórsson 1959, 192, 195–96). During the Sturlung period the military expertise of
austmenn
was clearly sought after (Sturlunga I, 227, 444; II, 26, 27, 30, 31, 33, 34, 51, 59, 75, 77). This
may have offered a chance for those of a more lowly status than that of captain to make a name for
themselves.
6
See Finnur Jónsson (1932a, 180). Compare Borgfirðinga 113; Björn Sigfússon (1940, 125-26); Jón Jóhannesson (1950,
175); Jóhannes Halldórsson (1959, 270). That this was still the practice at the end of the thirteenth century, can be seen
from the vita of bishop Laurentius; see Guðrún Ása Grímsdóttir (1998, 234-36).
7
Compare Borgfirðinga 68-69, Laxdœla 52; Guðbrandur Vigfússon and Unger (1860-1868, III, 416); Njála 75, 8); Harðar
37; and Jóhannes Halldórsson (1959, 363–65). This is supported by contemporary evidence: see Guðrún Ása
Grímsdóttir (1998, 236–38).
8
See Sturlunga I, 118–22, 269 and compare Helgi Þorláksson (1968, 8n.). A ‘southman’ (German) became celebrated in
Norway for the making of a catapult in the autumn of 1204 (Finnur Jónsson 1916, 444; compare Sturlunga I, 267).
A Truth Universally Acknowledged
Although the profession of merchant was not dishonourable in itself, Speculum Regale offers a better
fate for an honourable man:
QUOTATION
(If you see that your capital starts to increase altogether in merchant travelling,
then take two shares thereof and place them in good lands, because such funds
are generally considered safe whether one is able to enjoy them oneself or his
kinsmen. But with the third part you may do whatever you please, either retain it
longer in merchant travelling or if you wish, place it all in land. But even if you
wish to retain your capital in merchant travelling for a while, then cease travelling
at sea or in merchant travelling between countries when your capital is mature.)
(Holm-Olsen 1983, 6–7).
This probably describes the practice of many. The austmaðr Þjóstarr, who lived at the farm
Ásgarðr in Hvammssveit around 1226-1227, was probably such a person. He enjoyed the friendship
of two powerful chieftains and had clearly adapted well to life in Iceland (Sturlunga I, 312–14). If
acquiring land was a priority among merchants, one can perhaps understand why austmenn easily got
into quarrels involving trade and relations with women, whether it be in the Orkneys or in Iceland
(Finnbogi Guðmundsson 1965, 206). The possibility of a wife and a position led austmenn such as
Þ
órir and Þorgrímr into deadly fights in Iceland. Their situation is only too typical of Norse
merchants in Iceland, or indeed merchants from other neighbouring countries (Jakob Benediktsson
1968, 184; Laxdœla 79; Harðar 123–24, 346–48; Jóhannes Halldórsson 1959, 16, 254; Njáls 133, 138,
143–44; Sturlunga I, 102). If one wanted to acquire weapons one could always claim to be in need of
them for a fight with womanizing austmaðr (Borgfirðinga 261). Even berserks who came to Iceland
wanted to settle down and acquire a wife of good birth (Eyrbyggja 61–64, 70–75). While a foreigner
of wealth and good standing was not a bad prospect as a son-in-law, farmers found themselves in a
dilemma if undesirable strangers turned out to have serious intentions (Guðbrandur Vigfússon and
Unger 1860-1868, I, 411). They then had to choose between fighting with the intruder or
acquiescing and putting a brave face on it.
If Víglundar saga is to be believed, it was quite possible for Icelanders to take the initiative in
such relations with strangers. The saga tells of two brothers, the sons of prominent farmer, who
upon meeting a rich merchant from Norway immediately offered him the hand of their sister in
marriage. If he so wished, he was also welcome to take her as his concubine. The Norwegian captain
was thrilled by this prospect since the lady was reported to be both fair and courteous. In the end he
married the somewhat unwilling sister and planned to settle permanently in Iceland. His stay turned
out to be permanent: he was slain soon after (Jóhannes Halldórsson 1959, 85, 91, 93). If this captain
is a literary construction, he had several very real counterparts. The Norwegian Hákon galinn
Bótólfsson (d. 1246) was among the troops of the successful Icelandic chieftain and Norwegian
courtier, Þórðr kakali. During his stay in Iceland Hákon managed to get married, in the winter of
1244-1245, although he too did not have many years to live in happy matrimony (Sturlunga II, 68).
Others fared better. Another Norwegian, Þórir Arnþórsson tottr, married into the family of Þórðr
kakali's main adversary, the chieftain Gissur Þorvaldsson Sturlunga I, 505). This did not bring him a
quiet existence, but he nevertheless managed to become a man of prominence (Sturlunga I, 482, 510-
14).
The dates of the examples given just above might suggest that the marriage of prominent
Norwegians into powerful Icelandic kin groups was both something new in the mid-thirteenth
century and connected to the growing dependence of Icelandic chieftains on the Norwegian court.
Slightly earlier examples of such ties, however, do exist. The sister of the saintly bishop Þorlákr
Þ
órhallsson (1133-93), after a somewhat tumultous past, married an austmaðr named Arnþór
‘QUOTATION’ ‘and many were their descendants’ (Jón Sigurðsson and Guðbrandur Vigfússon
1858-1878, 293). The daughter of the chieftain Hvamm-Sturla (circa 1115-83), also married an
austmaðr
, and their son Egill Sölmundarson (circa 1210-97) later became a prominent man. He lived at
Reykholt, perhaps better known as a home of his cousin, the historian Snorri Sturluson Sturlunga I,
52, 390, 455). The examples are fairly numerous, and they demonstrate that the class of better-off
Icelanders was not recruited solely from native families. A little-known austmaðr could sneak in now
and then.
The Dangers of Marginalization
Xenophobia as a phenomenon was far from unheard of in the Middle Ages. There was, for instance,
a massacre of foreign merchants in Skåne in 1332. Such instances often seem to have been the result
of a profound social unrest which, finding no other outlet, developed into xenophobia. A group
such as merchants, who supposedly earned their living at the expense of others, was then an obvious
scapegoat (see Favier 1987, 137–55).
In Iceland we find no large-scale killings of foreigners before 1400. Nevertheless, there are
examples of Icelanders giving voice to prejudices which verge on xenophobia. The opening chapters
of Víga-Glúms saga are almost a case study of how to deal with such sentiments. They deal with the
irrational prejudice of two individuals, one an Icelandic chieftain and the other a wealthy magnate in
Norway. The Icelander disliked all foreign merchants but, as he gets to know one who has
befriended his son, he overcomes this antipathy. His son then travels to Norway where he meets the
mirror image of his father, the brother of his friend who hates all Icelanders. In the end he learns to
appreciate the virtues of the Icelander and gives up this prejudice (Eyfirðinga 3–13). This narrative is
clearly intended to demonstrate the futility of bias against foreigners. At the same time it proves that
such a sentiment existed in Iceland at the time the saga was composed, sometime around the middle
of the thirteenth century. It is, however, not common for Norwegians and Icelanders to be
portrayed as antagonists on purely ethnic grounds.
9
Merchants were not the only group of foreigners to visit Iceland regularly. In the eleventh
century Anglo-Saxon or Saxon missionaries frequented the country (Jakob Benediktsson 1968, 18).
In Ólafs saga Tryggvasonar, written by the monk Oddr Snorrason around 1190, it is stated that foreign
clerics ‘did not know the use of the Danish tongue’ ‘QUOTATION’. Similarly a later work, Kristni
saga
(from circa 1300) claims that one of the earliest missionaries, Friðrekr ‘did not understand Norse’
‘QUOTATION’ when he came to Iceland in 981. The missionary tactics of his colleague Þang-
brandr were not popular, as ‘people had difficulties accepting this from a foreigner’ ‘QUOTATION’
(Finnur Jónsson 1932b, 155; Eiríkur Jónsson and Finnur Jónsson 1892-1896, 127, 140). The status
9
See Sørensen (1993, 267). Examples of antagonisms between Icelanders and Norwegians need not be interpreted as
‘nationalistic’ in every single instance; see Sverrir Jakobsson (1999, 135–38). On the subject of Norwegians in Iceland
see Callow (2004), which, among other sources, draws on an earlier version of this article.
of a foreigner was probably in some part due to linguistic difficulties. In Norway it was considered
preferable for clerics to understand and speak the language of their flock.
10
Although the Church may have yielded in matters of practice, its ideology was clear. In the
stories about the Apostles, a popular text among Icelandic men of the cloth, we find numerous
examples of ‘foreign and unfamiliar’ ‘QUOTATION’ missionaries overcoming the scepticism of
local noblemen, thus spreading the faith to the farthest regions of the world (Unger 1874, 793).
Resistance to foreign clergymen was not, however, ubiquitous in Iceland. During the thirteenth
century three Norse bishops served in Iceland, but encountered no opposition on ethnic grounds,
although some of them had a fair share of trouble with local noblemen.
11
In the fourteenth century the situation changed radically. An austmaðr, Auðun rauði Þor-
bergsson (d. 1322), was made bishop at Hólar in the north of Iceland, and immediately proved to be
an energetic bishop. The farmers in the north considered his demands on their purse excessive and
composed a letter of protest to the king. The essence of the letter was that ‘foreign bishops’
‘QUOTATION’ had violated the ancient custom of the land with their innovations, and the farmers
therefore wished for the reintroduction of the custom of choosing bishops from their own shores.
12
Although the quarrel mainly revolved around matters of finance and the relationship between ec-
clesiastical and secular power, the ethnic arguments used are of interest and of a somewhat novel
nature. They are, however, akin to the demands Icelanders made at the Alþing in 1302, namely that
royal officials should be Icelandic and from the old chieftain families. This mental shift has to be
connected to the change which had occurred in Iceland’s fortunes. It was now a province of
Norway, and the Icelandic aristocracy needed to protect its interests again secular and ecclesiastical
competition from Norway (Sverrir Jakobsson 1999, 139–40).
Resistance to foreign officials is no indication of the existence of widespread xenophobia in
a society. It is not necessary to link foreigners with the larger group of marginal people (les
marginaux
) within medieval society (see Le Goff 1979, 21–22). Strangers are not people who have
lost touch with society at large, but people from a different society and culture. The archetypal
stranger abides by the law, is largely self-sufficient and is of considerable use to his new cultural
milieu (Akehurst and Van Elden 1997, vii). He is traditionally protected by some authority (Borst
1985, 585). This seems to fit well enough with Icelandic society before 1400, when merchants were
free to trade where they pleased and respected the authority of chieftains, as long as it was not
unduly abused. They could also be very useful for those who wanted to go abroad, as has been
noted.
The Scandinavian languages had already begun to grow apart in this period. This was,
however, hardly noted by the Scandinavians themselves. According to them, they all spoke the same
language, ‘The Danish Tongue’ or Norse. The explanation could be that the differences between the
dialects were hardly noticeable unless one travelled from one end of the North to the other. Small
divergences did not account for much. In the First Grammatical Treatise (from circa1140) and Gunnlaugs
saga Ormstungu
(from the later thirteenth century) it is stated that the Anglo-Saxons speak the same
language as the Norsemen (Hreinn Benediktsson 1972, 208; Borgfirðinga 70). Although we find a few
10
See Bull (1912, 29–37). The Norwegians started to ask for this in 1078 (Unger and Huitfeldt-Kaas 1865, 1–3). The
Icelandic law-collection, Grágás, makes a distinction between foreign priests who had been to the country before and had
received licence from the bishop, and those who had not. Their services were preferable to those of laymen when it
came to functions such as the baptizing of infants; see Gunnar Karlsson, Kristján Sveinsson and Mörður Árnason (1992,
18–19).
11
For a more general discussion of these bishops, see Sverrir Jakobsson (1998, 38-42).
12
‘QUOTATION’ See Jón Þorkelsson (1893, 489–91). This resistance against foreign bishops was not long-lived, and
during the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries foreigners of differing ability and nationality occupied the two Icelandic
sees.
examples from the thirteenth century which prove that at least some authors recognized a difference
in Scandinavian dialects, the prevailing assumption in the fourteenth century was still to regard
Norse as the common language of all Scandinavians. The first concrete example we have of
Scandinavian languages being consciously thought of as more than one, is in siælinna thrøst, a text
from 1425, which was presented in a parallel edition, in Swedish (‘j swensko’) and in Danish (‘pa
dansko’).
13
Linguistic differences might have been subconsciously noted, if not fully understood.
Foreigners, whether they were Icelanders in Scandinavia or other Scandinavians in Iceland, are often
portrayed as reserved and unsociable. The captain Bergfinnr in Gunnlaugs saga is said to be ‘taciturn
during the winter’ ‘QUOTATION’, and the wealthy magnate Geirmundr is reported to have been
‘unsociable from day to day, and ill-disposed towards most’ ‘QUOTATION’ (Borgfirðinga 52,
Laxdœla
79). This does not have to be on grounds of linguistic difficulties, it might also have
stemmed from unfamiliarity with a new social milieu and circumstances.
14
Those who spoke a language farther removed from the Norse, for example Irish, had a more
accute problem on their hands. Although Haraldr gilli (circa1103-36) was the son of a Norse king, he
was raised in the British Isles and spoke the Danish tongue haltingly. Many taunted him on account
of this. He also dressed in an Irish manner and had ‘foreign habits’ ‘QUOTATION’, although his
sibling, the king Sigurðr (circa 1090-1130) did not deride him for this and reminded his son Magnús
(circa 1115-39) that ‘foreigners practice other sports than quaffing drink or addling their wits and
strength, not knowing then where they are’ ‘QUOTATION’ (Bjarni Aðalbjarnarson 1941-1951, III,
267–68) This tale indicates that the strange speech of foreigners was mocked, although the historian
does not approve of such jeering. In Grænlendinga saga there is a tale of a ‘QUOTATION’ (a
southman, or German) who became inebriated by eating grapes, and consequently became
incoherent in the ‘Danish Tongue’ ‘QUOTATION’ and started speaking in his native language so
that no one could understand him (Eyrbyggja 252). Although more such cases are noted, foreigners
generally seem to have had little trouble in making themselves understood in Old Norse texts.
If being a stranger did not automatically make one a marginal person, some habits of
strangers might have worked towards their marginalization. Some of the indicators of marginality, as
noted by Jacques Le Goff, can also apply to strangers (Le Goff 1979). It was, for instance, common
to describe marginal figures in terms of bestiality. The Swedish berserks Leiknir and Halli who
appear in Eyrbyggja saga are for example said to have lost their human nature when angry and become
mad as dogs, fearing neither fire nor iron (Eyrbyggja 61). Not only foreigners, however, went berserk.
The chieftains of Mýrar, the protagonists of Egils saga, were recorded as having been shape-shifters,
although they were the ancestors of a noble Icelandic family.
The shape-shifting and troll-like appearance of the berserks leads directly to notions of race.
Jenny Jochens has remarked upon the concurrence of the adjectives ‘black’ and ‘ugly’ in saga texts
(Jochens 1997, 314). But, as the example of Mýramenn as well as that of Geirmundr heljarskinn,
another ancestor of important chieftains, both demonstrate, ugly features were something that had
to be overcome rather than a factor in marginalization. In the end, the narratives seem to be telling
us, what mattered were the inner qualities of a person.
13
See Karker (1977, 484–87), who considers writings in Latin which mention ‘norwaica sermo’ or ‘sweca sermo’ as
evidence that these languages were considered to be separate entities, and unlike Danish. It is, however, equally plausible
that these were simply different names for what was considered to be the same language, which was in turn known as
Norse or ‘the Danish Tongue’.
14
A Norwegian named Ásmundr, who appears in Guðmundar saga hin elsta, has a strange way of expressing himself (Jón
Sigurðsson and Guðbrandur Vigfússon 1858-1878, I, 420). The narrator may be poking fun at some dialect in this
episode.
If descent from Norse trolls and shape-shifters did not hamper a person’s career, neither did
a bit of Irish ancestry. Many of the most prominent settlers in Iceland were held to be descendants
of the Irish king Cerball (d. 888), and no one seems to have taken any pains to deny that heritage
(Hermann Pálsson 1997, 119-25). The Laxdælir family, who in later sources are portrayed as equal to
kings, did have royal blood in their veins, if the sagas are to be believed. Not only Norse, but
perhaps more importantly, Irish as well.
15
What then of the prejudice against Celts, which Jenny
Jochens believes to have been rampant? We cannot deny that there are some indications that ideas
of that nature also existed in this period. Eyrbyggja saga describes an Irishman (‘skozkr at kyni’)
named Nagli, ‘a large man and swift-footed’ ‘QUOTATION’. When it comes to battle he is seized
by great fright and runs amok (‘varð at gjalti’ Eyrbyggja 33, 37–38, 45–46). The slaves turn out to be
equally timid, but Nagli is no slave but a merchant of good standing. His behaviour is thus less
intelligible than if he were a common slave, and might be explained in terms of his Celtic origins. It
is, however, also possible that a narrator of an antiquarian disposition simply used this opportunity
to insert a depiction of behaviour in battle known to be peculiar to Ireland (Holm-Olsen 1983, 25–
26; compare Einar Ól. Sveinsson 1952, 173).
Another characteristic of marginality, which also might apply to strangers, is that they are
often reclusive and unpopular persons, people such as Hœnsa-Þórir, the eponymous protagonist of
Hœnsa-Þóris saga
. The family of Kotkell are an example of strangers, in this case from the Hebrides.
They turn out to be sorcerers and were unpopular in their neighbourhood, according to Laxdæla saga
(Laxdœla 95). It is the lot of the recluse to live with such antipathy. A stranger, with no kinsmen in
the vicinity, is seldom avenged. When a berserk accidentally falls on his sword, as related in Kristni
saga
, general satisfaction reigns (Eiríkur Jónsson and Finnur Jónsson 1892-1896, 138). In Ljósvetninga
saga
the farmer in Reykjahlíð is said to have taken it upon himself to pursue the case after an austmaðr
was killed in a trade dispute (Björn Sigfússon 1940, 5–6). This is highly unusual. More commonly
kinsmen or friends had to undertake long voyages in order to seek compensation for their lost
relatives.
Strangers were also convenient as hired assassins, as no one would know where their senti-
ments lay in a feud. In Bjarnar saga Hítdælakappa the main antagonist of Björn uses his relatives, who
have recently arrived from Norway, in an attempt to slay the hero (Borgfirðinga 156). In Eyrbyggja saga,
however, a similar type of man comes from the other side of the country, the East Fjords, where he
had been caught for womanizing (Eyrbyggja 97). In getting a stranger to do the dirty work, one could
just as easily use someone from the other side of the country as one from abroad. The important
factor is unfamiliarity, not nationality.
Conclusion
To sum up, a stranger had a fair chance of fitting into Icelandic society if he were friendly, generous,
and resourceful in battle. If in this endeavour he managed to acquire a wife and some land he was no
longer a stranger, wherever his origins might lie. All this could be achieved by those who were not
killed in the process, as happened to the merchant Örn in Hœnsa-Þóris saga or Þórir and Þorgrímr in
15
See Ármann Jakobsson (1998, 365–67). According to Preben Meulengracht Sørensen, this infusion of Celtic royal
blood serves as ‘an explanation of exceptionally gifted men like Ólafr pá and his son, but also of the alien elements
disturbing the social balance to such a degree that it leads to a catastrophe’ (1973, 11). While I consider his reading of the
saga far too pessimistic, I find the study interesting and agree with the notion that Celtic ancestry was a convenient
explanation for the rise to prominence of a relatively minor branch of a noble family.
Brennu-Njáls saga
. On the other hand, those who behaved in an anti-social manner were quickly
marginalized.
These options seem similar to those facing strangers in all societies and at all times. But at least
strangers who entered Icelandic medieval society were not required to flaunt a passport, a social
security card or a licence of practice. A merchant who had the favour of a local ruler had a
reasonable chance of giving up a life of trade and settling down in Iceland if a good wife or land
presented themselves to him. Even those who did not enjoy such privileges had a similar chance of
survival as the natives, if they chose to settle down. And a stranger was not necessarily a foreigner,
he could also be someone from a different region of the country. Whatever his birthplace,
thirteenth-century Iceland was still a place of opportunity for an enterprising stranger. By the
fourteenth century, this was in the process of changing. Farmers were starting to make an issue out
of the foreign nationality of officials.
While fear of the unknown is inherent to man, xenophobia is not. It is the product of social
unrest, a channel for those threatened by social change. Iceland in the thirteenth century was not yet
a ‘persecuting society’ (see Moore 1987). State institutions and administrating classes were still
embryonic. In the fourteenth century we see a changing environment, the seeds of a new kind of
society had been sown. In the coming centuries, as this society developed further, we know of
several incidents of massacres and communal violence against foreigners in Iceland, but the
circumstances of those await further discussion.
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