Viking Tales

The Vikings’ Journeys

Hall’s historical map of Viking journeys.

What the Sagas Were

Iceland is a little country far north in the cold sea. Men found it and went there to live more than a thousand years ago. During the warm season, they fished, made fish oil, hunted seabirds, gathered feathers, tended their sheep, and made hay. But the winters were long, dark, and cold. Men, women, and children stayed in the house and carded, spun, wove, and knit. A whole family sat for hours around the fire in the middle of the room. That fire gave the only light. Shadows flitted through the dark corners. Smoke curled along the high beams of the ceiling. The children sat on the dirt floor close to the fire. The adults sat on a long, narrow bench that they had pulled up to the light and warmth. Everyone’s hands were busy with wool. The work left their minds free to think and their lips free to talk. What was there to talk about? The summer’s fishing, the killing of a fox, a voyage to Norway. But the people grew tired of this little gossip. Fathers looked at their children and thought:

“They are not learning much. What will make them brave and wise? What will teach them to love their country and old Norway? Won’t stories of battles, brave deeds, and mighty men do this?”

So, as the family worked in the red firelight, the father told of the kings of Norway, long voyages to strange lands, and good fights. In farmhouses throughout Iceland, these old tales were told over and over until everyone knew and loved them. Some men could sing and play the harp. This made the stories all the more interesting. People called such men “skalds,” and they called their songs “sagas.”

Every midsummer there was a great meeting. Men from all over Iceland came to it and made laws. During the day there were breaks when no business was going on. Then some skald would take his harp, walk to a large stone or a knoll, stand on it, and begin a song about some brave deed of an old Norse hero. At the first sound of the harp and the voice, men came running from all directions, crying out:

“The skald! The skald! A saga!”

They stood around for hours and listened. They shouted their applause. When the skald grew tired, another man would come up from the crowd and sing or tell a story. As the skald stepped down from his high place, some rich man would rush up to him and say:

“Come and spend next winter at my house. Our ears are thirsty for song.”

So the best skalds traveled widely and visited many people. Their songs made them welcome everywhere. They were always honored with good seats at a feast. They were given many rich gifts. Even the King of Norway would sometimes send a message across the water to some famous skald:

“Come and visit me. You shall not go away empty-handed. Men say that the sweetest songs are in Iceland. I wish to hear them.”

These tales were not written down. Few men wrote or read in those days. Skalds learned songs by hearing them sung. Eventually, writing became easier. Then people said:

“These stories are very precious. We must write them down to keep them from being forgotten.”

After that, many men in Iceland spent their winters writing books. They wrote on sheepskin, which we call vellum. Many of these old vellum books have been preserved for hundreds of years and are now in museums in Norway. Some leaves are lost, some are torn, and all are yellow and crumpled. But they are precious. They tell us all that we know about that old time. They contain the very words that the men of Iceland wrote so long ago: stories of kings, battles, and sea voyages. I have told some of those old stories in this book.

The Baby

King Halfdan lived in Norway long ago. One morning his queen said to him:

“I had a strange dream last night. I thought I stood in the grass before my bower. I pulled a thorn from my dress. As I held it in my fingers, it grew into a tall tree. The trunk was thick and red as blood, but the lower limbs were fair and green, and the highest ones were white. I thought the branches of this great tree spread so far that they covered all Norway and even more.”

“A strange dream,” said King Halfdan. “Dreams are the messengers of the gods. I wonder what they would tell us.” He stroked his beard in thought.

Some time afterward, a serving woman came into the feast hall where King Halfdan was. She carried a little white bundle in her arms.

“My lord,” she said, “a little son has just been born to you.”

“Ha!” cried the king. He jumped up from the high seat and hurried forward until he stood before the woman.

“Show him to me!” he shouted, and there was joy in his voice.

The serving woman put her bundle on the ground and turned back the cloth. There was a little naked baby. The king looked at him carefully.

“He is a fine youngster,” he said with a smile. “Bring Ivar and Thorstein.”

They were captains of the king’s soldiers. Soon they came.

“Stand as witnesses,” Halfdan said.

Then he lifted the baby in his arms while the old serving woman brought a silver bowl of water. The king dipped his hand into it and sprinkled the baby, saying:

“I accept this baby as my son. He shall be called Harald. My naming gift to him is ten pounds of gold.”

“I accept this baby as my son. He shall be called Harald”

Then the woman carried the baby back to the queen’s room.

“My lord accepts him as his son,” she said. “And no wonder! He is perfect in every limb.”

The queen looked at him and smiled. She remembered her dream and thought:

“That great tree! Can it be this little baby of mine?”

The Tooth Thrall

When Harald was seven months old, he cut his first tooth. Then his father said:

“All the young of my herds, the lambs, calves, and colts born since this baby was born, I give to him today. I also give him this thrall, Olaf. These are my tooth-gifts to my son.”

The boy grew fast. As soon as he could walk, he spent most of his time outdoors. He ran in the woods, climbed the hills, and waded in the creek. He spent much time with his tooth thrall, for the king had said to Olaf:

“Be ready whenever he calls.”

Olaf was full of stories, and Harald liked to hear them.

“Come out to Aegir’s Rock, Olaf, and tell me stories,” he said almost every day.

So they set off across the hills. The man wore a long, loose coat of white wool, belted at the waist with a strap. He wore coarse shoes and leather leggings. Around his neck was an iron collar welded together so that it could not come off. On it were strange marks, called runes, that said:

“Olaf, thrall of Halfdan.”

But Harald’s clothes were bright. A cape of gray velvet hung from his shoulders. It was fastened over his chest with great gold buckles. When it waved in the wind, a scarlet lining flashed out, and the bottom of a little scarlet jacket showed beneath it. His feet and legs were covered with gray woolen tights. Gold laces wound around his legs from his shoes to his knees. A band of gold held down his long yellow hair.

It was a wild country that the two were crossing. They climbed steep, rough hills. Some seemed to be made entirely of rock, with a little earth lying here and there. Great rocks jutted from them, with trees growing in their cracks. Some large pieces had broken off and rolled down the hills.

“Thor broke them,” Olaf said. “He rides through the sky and hurls his hammer at clouds and mountains. That makes the thunder and lightning and cracks the hills. His hammer never misses its aim. It always comes back to his hand, eager to go again.”

When they reached the top of the hill, they looked back. Far below was a soft green valley. In front of it, the sea reached into the land and formed a fjord. On each side of the fjord, high walls of rock rose and made the water black with shadow. High hills covered with dark pines stood all around the valley. Far off were the mountains. In the valley were Halfdan’s houses, built around their square yard.

“How small our houses look down there!” Harald said. “But I can almost... Yes, I can see the red dragon on the roof of the feast hall. Do you remember when I climbed up and sat on his head, Olaf?”

He laughed, kicked his heels, and ran on.

“He threw back his cape and drew a little dagger from his belt”

At last they came to Aegir’s Rock and walked onto its flat top. Harald went to the edge and looked over. A ragged wall of rock reached down, and two hundred feet below lay the black water of the fjord. Olaf watched him for a while, then said:

“Your cheek does not turn pale, Harald? Good! A boy who can face the fall from Aegir’s Rock will not be afraid to face the flash of battle when he is a man.”

“Ho, I am not afraid of the flash of battle now,” cried Harald.

He threw back his cape and drew a little dagger from his belt.

“See!” he cried. “Does this not flash like a sword? And I am not afraid. But after all, this is a baby’s thing! When I am eight years old, I will have a sword, a sharp tooth of war.”

He swung his dagger as though it were a long sword. Then he ran and sat on a rock beside Olaf.

“Why is this called Aegir’s Rock?” he asked.

“You know that Asgard is up in the sky,” Olaf said. “It is a wonderful city where the golden houses of the gods stand in the golden grove. A high wall runs all around it. In the house of Odin, the All-father, there is a great feast hall larger than the whole earth. Its name is Valhalla. It has five hundred doors. The rafters are spears. The roof is thatched with shields. Armor lies on the benches. In the high seat sits Odin, with a golden helmet on his head and a spear in his hand. Two wolves lie at his feet. At his right hand and his left sit all the gods and goddesses. Around the hall sit thousands and thousands of men, all the brave ones who have ever died.

“Now, it is good to be in Valhalla, for there is mead better than men can brew, and it never runs out. There are skalds who sing wonderful songs that men have never heard. Before the doors of Valhalla is a great meadow where the warriors fight every day, receiving glorious and sweet wounds and giving many in return. All night they feast, and their wounds heal. But no one may go to Valhalla except warriors who have died bravely in battle. Men who die from sickness go with women, children, and cowards to Niflheim. There Hela, who is queen, always sneers at them, and a terrible cold grips their bones, and they sit down and freeze.

“Years ago, Aegir was a great warrior. Aegir the Big-handed, they called him. In many a battle his sword had sung, and he had sent many warriors to Valhalla. Many swords had bitten into his flesh and left marks there, but not one had struck him dead. So his hair grew white and his arms grew thin. There was peace in that country then, and Aegir sorrowed, saying:

“‘I am old. Battles are still. Must I die in bed like a woman? Shall I not see Valhalla?’

“Long ago, Odin had said:

“‘If a man is old and has come near death and cannot die in battle, let him find death in some brave way, and he shall feast with me in Valhalla.’

“So one day Aegir came to this rock.

“‘A deed to win Valhalla!’ he cried.

“Then he drew his sword and flashed it over his head, held his shield high above him, leaped out into the air, and died in the water of the fjord.”

“Ho!” cried Harald, jumping to his feet. “I think Odin stood up before his high seat and welcomed that man gladly when he walked through the door of Valhalla.”

“So the songs say,” replied Olaf, “for skalds still sing of that deed all over Norway.”

Olaf’s Farm

Another time, Harald asked:

“What is your country, Olaf? Have you always been a thrall?”

The thrall’s eyes flashed.

“When you are a man,” he said, “and go raiding in Denmark, ask whether anyone has ever heard of Olaf the Crafty. My country is there, far away across the water. My father was Gudbrand the Big. Two hundred warriors feasted in his hall and followed him into battle. Ten sons sat at the table with him, and I was the youngest. One day he said:

“‘You have all grown to be men. There is not enough room here for so many chiefs. The eldest of you shall have my farm when I die. The rest of you, off to go raiding!’

“He had three ships, which he gave to three of my brothers. But I stayed that spring and built myself a boat. I made her for only twenty oars because I thought few men would follow me, for I was young, only fifteen years old. I made her in the likeness of a dragon. At the prow, I carved the head with its mouth open and its forked tongue thrust out. I painted the eyes red with anger.

“‘There, stand so!’ I said. ‘Glare and hiss at my foes.’

“At the stern, I curved the tail up almost as high as the head. There I put the pilot’s seat and a strong tiller for the rudder. On the breast and sides, I carved the dragon’s scales. Then I painted it all black and put gold on the tip of every scale. I called her Waverunner. There she sat on the rollers, as fine a ship as I had ever seen.

“The night she was finished, I went to my father’s feast. After the meat was eaten and the mead horns had gone around, I stood up from my bench, raised my drinking horn high, and spoke in a great voice:

“‘This is my vow: I will sail to Norway, harry the coast, and fill my boat with riches. Then I will get myself a farm and spend the winter in that land. Now, who will follow me?’

“‘He is only a boy,’ the men said. ‘He has opened his mouth wider than his deeds can match.’

“But others jumped to their feet with their mead horns in their hands. Thirty men, one after another, raised their horns and said:

“‘I will follow this lad, and I will not turn back as long as he and I live!’

“The next morning we boarded my dragon and set out. I sat high in the pilot’s seat. As our boat flashed down the rollers into the water, I made this song and sang it:

> The dragon runs. > Where will she steer? > Where swords will sing, > Where spears will bite, > Where I shall laugh.

“So we harried the coast of Norway. We ate at many men’s tables uninvited. We found many men burdened with too much gold. Then I said:

“‘My dragon’s belly is never full,’ and aboard went the gold.

“Oh! It is better to live on the sea and let other men raise your crops and cook your meals. A house smells of smoke; a ship smells of frolic. From a house you see a sooty roof; from a ship you see Valhalla.

“Up and down the water we went, seeking wealth and adventure. After a while, my men said:

“‘What about the farm, Olaf?’

“‘Not yet,’ I answered. ‘Raiding is better in summer. When the ice comes and our dragon cannot play, then we will get our farm and settle down.’

“At last winter came, and I said to my men:

“‘Now for the farm. I have my eye on one a little way up the coast in King Halfdan’s country.’

“So we set out for it. We landed late at night, pulled our boat onto the shore, and walked quietly to the house. It was a rather wealthy farm, for stables, a storehouse, and a smithy stood beside the house. There was only one door into the house. We went to it, and I struck it with my spear.

“I struck my shield against the door so that it made a great clanging”

“‘Hello! Ho! Hello!’ I shouted, and my men made a great din.

“At last someone inside said:

“‘Who calls?’

“‘I do,’ I answered. ‘Open, or you will think it is Thor who calls!’ I struck my shield against the door so that it made a great clanging.

“The door opened only a little, but I pushed it wide and leaped into the room. It was so dark that I could see nothing but a few sparks on the hearth. I stood with my back to the wall, for I wanted no sword reaching out of the darkness for me.

“‘Now start up the fire,’ I said.

“‘Come, come!’ I called when no one obeyed. ‘A fire! This is a cold welcome for your guests.’

“My men laughed.

“‘Yes, a stingy host! He acts as though he had not expected us.’

“But now the farmer was blowing on the coals and putting on fresh wood. Soon the fire blazed up, and we could see around us. We were in a little feast hall with its fire running down the middle. There were benches for twenty men along each side. The farmer crouched by the fire, afraid to move. On a bench in a far corner, a dozen people huddled together.

“‘Ho, thralls!’ I called to them. ‘Bring in the table. We are hungry.’

“Off they ran through a door at the back of the hall. My men came in and lay down by the fire to warm themselves, but I set two of them as guards at the door.

“‘Well, friend farmer,’ one laughed, ‘why such a long face? Do you not think we shall be merry company?’

“‘We came only to cheer you,’ said another. ‘What man wants to spend the winter with no guests?’

“‘Ah!’ another cried, sitting up. ‘Here comes something that will be a welcome guest to my stomach.’

“The thralls were bringing in a great pot of meat. They set up a crane over the fire and hung the pot from it. We sat and watched it boil while we joked. At last supper began. The farmer sat gloomily on the bench and would not eat, and you cannot wonder why. He saw us putting potfuls of his good beef and basketfuls of bread into our big mouths. When the tables were taken out and the mead horns came around, I stood, raised my horn, and said to the farmer:

“‘You would not eat with us. You cannot say no to half of my ale. I drink this to your health.’

“Then I drank half the hornful and sent the rest across the fire to the farmer. He took it and smiled, saying:

“‘Since it is to my health, I will drink it. I thought all this night’s work would be my death.’

“‘Oh, do not fear that!’ I laughed. ‘A dead man sets no tables.’

“So we drank and all grew merrier. At last I stood and said:

“‘I like this little taste of your hospitality, friend farmer. I have decided to accept more of it.’

“My men roared with laughter.

“‘Come,’ they cried, ‘thank him for that, farmer. Did you ever have such a lordly guest before?’

“I went on:

“‘Now, there is no fun in having guests unless they keep you company and make you merry. So I will make this law: my men shall never leave you alone. Hakon there shall be your constant companion, friend farmer. He shall not leave you day or night, whether you are working, playing, or sleeping. Leif and Grim shall be the same kind of friends to your two sons.’

“I named nine others and said:

“‘These shall follow your thralls in the same way. Now, am I not careful to make your time pass merrily?’

“So I set guards over everyone in that house. Not once all winter did they move out of sight of one of us. So no tales reached the neighbors. Besides, it was a lonely place, and by good luck no one came that way. Oh! That was rich and easy living.

“Well, after we had been there a long time, Hakon came into the feast one night and said:

“‘I heard a cuckoo today!’

“‘It is the call to go raiding,’ I said.

“All my men put their hands to their mouths and shouted. Their eyes danced. Big Thorleif stood and stretched himself.

“‘I am stiff from sitting so long,’ he said. ‘I itch for a fight.’

“I turned to the farmer.

“‘This is our last feast with you,’ I said.

“‘Well,’ he laughed, ‘this has been the busiest winter I have ever spent, and the merriest. May good luck go with you!’

“‘By the beard of Odin!’ I cried. ‘You have taken our joke like a man.’

“My men pounded the table with their fists.

“‘By the hammer of Thor!’ shouted Grim. ‘Here is no stingy coward. He is a man fit to carry my drinking horn, the horn of a sea-rover and a sword-swinger. Here, friend, take it.’ He thrust it into the farmer’s hand. ‘May you drink heart’s-ease from it for many years. And with it I leave you a name, Sif the Friendly. I hope to drink with you someday in Valhalla.’

“Then all my men crowded around the farmer, clapped him on the shoulder, and piled things upon him, saying:

“‘Here is a ring for Sif the Friendly.’

“‘And here is a bracelet.’

“‘A sword would not be ashamed to hang at your side.’

“I took five great bracelets of gold from our treasure chest and gave them to him.

“The old man’s eyes opened wide at all these things, and at the same time he laughed.

“‘May Odin send me such guests every winter!’ he said.

“Early the next morning, we shook hands with our host, boarded Waverunner, and sailed away.

“‘Where shall we go?’ my men asked.

“‘Let the gods decide,’ I said, and tossed up my spear.

“When it fell on the deck, it pointed up the shore, so I steered in that direction. That is the best way to decide, for the spear will always point somewhere, and one choice is as good as another. That time it pointed us toward your father’s ships. They closed with us in battle, killed my men, sank my ship, and dragged me away as a prisoner. They were three against one, or they might have tasted something more bitter at our hands. They took me before King Halfdan.

“‘Here,’ they said, ‘is a rascal who has been harrying our coasts. We sank his ship and killed his men, but we brought him to you.’

“‘A robber Viking?’ said the king, scowling at me.

“I threw back my head and laughed.

“‘Yes. And with all your fingers, it took you a year to catch me.’

“The king frowned more angrily.

“‘Saucy, too?’ he said. ‘Well, thieves must die. Take him out, Thorkel, and let him taste your sword.’

“Your mother, the queen, was standing nearby. She put her hand on his arm, smiled, and said:

“‘He is only a lad. Let him live. Would he not be a good gift for our baby?’

“Your father thought for a moment, then looked at your mother and smiled.

“‘Soft heart!’ he said gently to her. Then he turned to Thorkel. ‘Well, let him live, Thorkel!’

“Then he turned to me again, frowning.

“‘But, young sharp-tongue, now that we have caught you, we will put you into a trap you cannot escape. Weld an iron collar around his neck.’

“So I lived, and now I am your tooth thrall. Well, it is the luck of war. But by the chair of Odin, I kept my vow!”

“Yes!” cried Harald, jumping to his feet. “And you had a joke into the bargain. Ah! Someday I will make a brave vow like that.”

Olaf’s Fight with Havard

Another time, Harald said:

“Tell me about a fight, Olaf. I want to hear the music of swords.”

Olaf’s eyes blazed.

“I will tell you about our fight with King Havard,” he said.

“One dark night, we landed at a farm. We left Waverunner in the water with three men to guard her. The rest of us went into the house. The farmer met us at the door, but he died by Thorkel’s sword. We trapped the others in their beds.

“We had barred the door at each end of the hall from the inside so that no one could surprise us. We were busy searching the cupboards and shouting over our good luck. But suddenly we heard a shout outside:

“‘Thor and Havard!’

“Then there was a great pounding at the doors.

“‘He has two hundred fighters with him,’ said Grim, ‘for we saw his ships last night. Thirty against two hundred! We shall all drink in Valhalla tonight.’

“‘Well,’ I cried, ‘Odin shall have no unwilling guest in me.’

“‘Nor in me,’ cried Hakon.

“‘Nor in me,’ shouted Thorkel.

“That shout went all around. We drew our swords and caught up our shields.

“‘Hot work is ahead of us,’ said Hakon. ‘Besides, we must leave none of this mead for Havard. Lend a hand, someone.’

“Then he and another man pulled out a great tub that stood on the cupboard floor.

“‘I drink to Valhalla tonight,’ cried Thorkel the Thirsty, and he plunged his horn deep into the tub.

“When he brought it up, his sleeve was dripping, and sweet mead ran over the sides of the horn.

“‘Sloven!’ cried Hakon. He struck Thorkel with his fist and knocked him into the cupboard.

“He fell against the wooden wall at the back, and a carved panel swung open behind him. He dropped through headfirst. In a moment, he put his head out of the hole again. We all stood staring.

“‘I think it is a secret passage,’ he said.

“‘We will try it,’ I answered in a whisper. ‘Throw dirt on the fire. It must be dark.’

“So we dug dirt from the earthen floor and smothered the fire. All this time, there was terrible shouting and hammering at the doors, but they were made of heavy logs and held firm.

“‘I and four others will guard this door,’ I said, pointing to the east end.

“Immediately, four men stepped to my side.

“‘And I will guard the other,’ Hakon said, and four went with him.

“‘The rest of you, down the hole!’ I said. ‘Close the door after you. If luck is with us, we will meet at the ships. Now may Thor and our good swords help us! Quick! The doors are giving way.’

“So we ten men stood at the doors and held back the king’s soldiers. It was dark in the room, and the people outside could not tell how many men were inside. Few were eager to be the first to enter.

“‘Thirty swords are waiting in there to eat up the first man,’ we heard someone say.

“We chuckled at that.

“But the king stood in the very doorway and fought. Our five swords held him back for a long time, but at last he pushed inside, and his men poured in after him. We ran back and hid behind some tubs in a dark corner. The king’s men went groping about and calling, but they did not find us. The room was full of shouting, running, and clashing swords, for in the darkness and noise the men could not recognize their own soldiers. More than one fell by his friend’s sword. When the doorway was less crowded, I whispered:

“‘Follow me in a double line. We will make for the ships. Keep close together.’

“So that double line of men, with swords swinging on both sides, ran out through the darkness. Swords struck at us, and we struck back. Men ran after us shouting, but our legs were as good as theirs. Yet I, Hakon, and one other man were all who reached the ship. There we saw Waverunner with her sail raised and her bow pointing toward the open sea. We swam out to her and climbed aboard. Then the men swung the sail into the wind, and we moved away. Even as we went, a spear whizzed through the air, and Hakon fell dead, for the king and all his men were running toward the shore.

“‘After them!’ they were shouting.

“Then we heard the king call to the men in his boats out on the water:

“‘Row to shore and take us aboard.’

“Thorkel was standing beside me. At that, he laughed and said:

“‘They do not answer. He left only a handful of men to guard his ships. They tasted our swords. We went aboard, broke the oars, and threw the sails into the water. Havard will travel slowly tonight.’

“Then he turned to the shore and sang out loudly”

“Then he turned to the shore and sang out loudly:

> King Havard’s ships are dead: > Olaf’s dragon flies. > King Havard stamps the shore: > Olaf skims the waves. > King Havard shakes his fist. > Olaf turns and laughs.

“That was the end of our meeting with King Havard.”