Tales About The Childhood Of King Harald Hardrada

Harald Sigurdsson was the half-brother of King Olaf II of Norway (r. 1015-1028). The half-brothers shared the same mother, Ásta, and she curiously gave birth to Harald around 1015, the same year that his half-brother, Olaf, launched his successful bid to claim the throne of Norway. Very little, unfortunately, is known about Harald’s early life—the Icelandic historian, Snorri Sturluson (c. 1179-1241), a major source for information on Harald, bemoaned that “We have no particular accounts about his youth until the age of fifteen, when he took part in the Battle of Stiklestad with his brother, King Olaf the Saint” (Heimskringla, King Harald’s Saga, chapter 99). Despite that statement, he did his best to find tales about Harald’s youth. Likely aided by his trips to Norway in 1218 and 1237, Snorri Sturluson uncovered three folkloric stories about the childhood of Harald Sigurdsson. As all three tales involved young Harald interacting with his reigning half-brother, King Olaf II, Snorri Sturluson filed the stories away inside his Saint Olaf’s Saga instead of the saga he wrote specifically about Harald.

All three of the stories about Harald Sigurdsson’s childhood were set around 1017, when he was three years old. To set the scene, King Olaf II had just crushed a conspiracy, toppling five minor kings in Norway during the process. After succeeding in his counter-intrigue, King Olaf II attended a feast prepared by his mother, Ásta. The feast proved to be a family reunion, as Olaf’s half-siblings were all present. Ásta, after remarrying following the death of Olaf’s father, had two daughters (Gunnhild and Ingrid), and three sons (Guthorm, Hálfdan and Harald). At the time of this feast, King Olaf did not yet have any known children, and, consequently, he was keeping an appraising eye on his half-brothers during the time they spent together, assessing which of them might be a worthy heir.

King Olaf II, for his first test, reportedly decided to see how his male siblings would react if he scared them. Acting like a typical older brother, King Olaf II found a good place to set an ambush for his unsuspecting siblings and waited for one of the boys to fall into his trap. When Guthorm and Hálfdan were caught by the king, all it took was for Olaf to stare at them with his fiercest, angriest countenance to make the two boys whimper and cry. When three-year-old Harald similarly found himself face to face with Olaf’s ferocious stare and scowl, he acted much differently than his older brothers. Under pressure from the king’s mightiest expression, the boy did not flinch, or squirm, or whimper. Instead, Harald stared right back at Olaf without showing any fear. Impressed (or frustrated), Olaf went a further step and tugged on a lock of Harald’s hair. Young Harald, however, did not take this lightly; he went on the counter-attack against Olaf. According to Snorri Sturluson, “The boy grabbed the king’s mustache and twitched it. Then the king said, ‘You are likely to be vindictive when you grow up, kinsman’” (Heimskringla, Saint Olaf’s Saga, chapter 76).

After the scare campaign, King Olaf II decided to conduct the rest of his appraisals in a less obtrusive way. The next trial for the boys occurred a few days later, when Olaf found his young half-brothers playing by a pond. Guthorm and Hálfdan, at one end of the pond, had used materials scattered around the yard to build themselves makeshift farmhouses and animal sheds. Within this miniature play-village, Guthorm and Hálfdan pretended to be farmers. Leaving those two to their play, King Olaf II found three-year-old Harald at another end of the pond. Instead of pretending to be a farmer, young Harald was amusing himself by placing small chips of wood afloat on the water of the pond. After watching Harald set many of these woodchips out to sea (or pond), Olaf finally asked the boy what he was doing. According to Snorri Sturluson, “He replied they were his warships. Then the king laughed and said, ‘It may well be, kinsman, that the time will come when you will be in command of ships’” (Heimskringla, Saint Olaf’s Saga, chapter 76).

Snorri Sturluson’s third tale about Harald Sigurdsson’s childhood occurred in a similar setting as the story laid out above. One day, reportedly still in 1017, Olaf II called together his three young half-brothers, Guthorm, Hálfdan and Harald. For his final test, the king simply asked the boys, “What would you most like to have?” Guthorm answered first, exclaiming that he wanted ten farms with fertile lands that would grow grain every summer. Halfdán agreed with his brother’s wish, but, instead of fields of grain, he wanted his ten farmlands to be filled with cows. Finally, it was young Harald’s turn to speak. After giving the question some thought, the boy proclaimed that he wanted loyal warriors. According to Snorri Sturluson, when Olaf asked how many warriors Harald wanted to lead, the boy answered, “So many that they would eat up all of my brother Hálfdan’s cows at a single meal” (Heimskringla, Saint Olaf’s Saga, chapter 76). As the story goes, King Olaf was extremely pleased with Harald’s response. He made a note of it and the next time he saw Ásta, he referenced Harald and told her, “In him you are likely to bring up a king, mother’” (Heimskringla, Saint Olaf’s Saga, chapter 76).

Despite these few interactions between King Olaf II and his young, promising half-brother in 1017, the rest of Harald Sigurdsson’s childhood remains incredibly obscure. Perhaps, this is because King Olaf II later had a son named Magnus in 1024, who became the assumed heir of Norway. Whatever the case, Canute the Great of England and Denmark would expel King Olaf II from Norway in 1028. Yet, King Olaf II returned to Norway in 1030, campaigning to regain his throne. It was at that time that Harald Sigurdsson finally reappeared, as a tall and strong fifteen-year-old warrior who joined the army of King Olaf II. According to Snorri Sturluson, King Olaf II was unsure if his teenage half-brother should fight in the upcoming famous Battle of Stiklestad, but Harald reassured him by saying, “By all means I shall take part in it, and if I am so weak as not to be able to wield a sword, then I know what to do: let my hand be tied to the haft” (Heimskringla, Saint Olaf’s Saga, chapter 209). During that fateful battle in 1030, King Olaf II was slain and Harald wounded.

After Stiklestad, Harald Sigurdsson fled to the Rus and then to Constantinople. Back in Norway, Magnus Olafsson, Harald’s nephew and son of Olaf II, regained the throne of Norway in 1035. Meanwhile, Harald Sigurdsson became an accomplished mercenary and member of Constantinople’s Varangian Guard. Fighting battles throughout the Mediterranean, Harald gained renown as a warrior and amassed an unimaginable treasure, which he hid from his Byzantine employers. With his armed followers and his great haul of plundered loot, Harald Sigurdsson returned to Norway in 1045, where he negotiated a deal with his nephew, Magnus, in which he reportedly bought half of Norway in exchange for half of his treasure. As Olaf had predicted, Harald became a king (King Harald III of Norway), and gained such epithets as “the Ruthless” or “the Hard Ruler.” 

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Picture Attribution: (19th-century Image from page 39 of "Art and artists of our time" (1888), depicting Frithiof and Ingeborg, [Public Domain] via flickr.com and Creative Commons).

Sources:

• Heimskringla, by Snorri Sturluson and translated by Lee Hollander. Austin: University of Texas Press, 1964, 2018.
• King Harald’s Saga, by Snorri Sturluson, translated by Magnus Mangusson and Hermann Pálsson. New York: Penguin Books, 1966, 2005. 
• https://www.britannica.com/biography/Harald-III-Sigurdsson 
• https://www.britannica.com/biography/Olaf-II-Haraldsson  
• https://www.britannica.com/biography/Magnus-I-Olafsson  

The Adventures Of The Sailor-Donkey Of Cyprus

The Malleus Maleficarum was a 15th-century text that presented bizarre (but, unfortunately, influential) theories about witchcraft and magic, as well as commentary on subjects such as supernatural monsters, demons and other similarly diabolical creatures. Its authors, the inquisitors Heinrich Kramer and James Sprenger, did not simply write a dry treatise on the convoluted assumptions of witch hunters and demonologists; they also spiced up the text with supposed first-hand accounts of what they personally witnessed as inquisitors, and they also recorded tales of folklore presented to them by their co-workers. Many of these paranormal yarns are depressing reads, as they often end with the death of an accused (and most likely innocent) witch. Yet, some of the tales preserved by the inquisitors are so bizarre that they come across as quite humorous, which is a delightful change of pace from the otherwise dark and frustrating sections of the Malleus Maleficarum. One such comical digression appeared in part II, question 2, chapter 4 of the text—which featured a sailor who allegedly lived as a transformed donkey for over three years on the island of Cyprus.

To set the scene, a merchant ship was said to have pulled into port at the city of Salamis, in Cyprus, where it loitered for a time to sell its wares and restock its hull with new cargo. The protagonist of this strange tale was an unnamed member of the merchant ship crew. He was something of an antihero, for he seemed to be a loner who was at the bottom of the ship’s hierarchy of importance. While the rest of the crew set about loading and unloading goods, or accomplishing other such tasks, our protagonist was given the menial chore of buying a batch of eggs. In pursuit of this goal, the lone sailor went not to the city market, but to an isolated house which was situated near the beach. Outside of this dwelling, the sailor found a woman who was strolling around her property and enjoying the seaside breeze. The unnamed woman, according to the story, was not all that she appeared. She was allegedly a powerful witch and a member of a significant coven operating in Cyprus.

As the sailor said his greetings and asked to buy some eggs, the woman sized up the stranger with the eye of an intuitive predator. She could tell that he was a disrespected loner who was far away from home—the type of person who might be overlooked if he happened to suddenly disappear. While thinking these thoughts, the woman agreed to sell some eggs to the sailor, asking him to wait outside while she gathered them from her house. After some time, she reappeared from her abode with a basket of very special eggs, which the sailor purchased without any second thoughts. Leaving the mysterious woman behind, the sailor returned to the port, and finding that his crewmates had not returned to the ship, he decided to wander around the docks.

The rest of the crew was apparently having a grand time in the city, and did not intend to return to the ship any time soon. As such, the lone sailor on the docks had only the basket of eggs for company, which inevitably made him bored and hungry. Before long, he decided to snack on one of the eggs, and he found the morsel so delicious that he ultimately ate the whole basket of eggs as he waited for the return of his crewmates. Yet, as mentioned earlier, these were very special eggs, prepared with extra care by an alleged witch. The sailor soon began to feel odd, and started to show peculiar symptoms. As the Malleus Maleficarum exclaimed, “behold! an hour later he was made dumb as if he had no power of speech” (part II, question 2, chapter 4).

While the unfortunate sailor was being attacked by the effects of the bad eggs, the other members of the merchant ship began wandering back to the docks. None of them made notice of the dazed and muted sailor who could now only move by crawling about on all four limbs. Although the lone sailor was not noticed by his comrades, he saw that the crew was finally returning to the ship. Still feeling odd, the sailor crawled his way back, probably hoping they had some sort of medicine or antidote on board for whatever ailed him. As soon as the sailor attempted to board the ship, however, his former crewmates looked on him with shock and annoyance—those nearby even went so far as to pick up sticks and brooms to shoo the poor sailor away. They called his such names as ‘beast’ and ‘animal,’ and before long our protagonist began to piece together what had happened. In the zoological sense of the word, the sailor had become a total ass.

The crew of the merchant ship apparently cared little for their missing crewmate, and they set sail despite the sailor’s absence from the ship. Stranded, the donkey-sailor wandered about Cyprus, searching for food and shelter. It was a rough life, for, as the Malleus Maleficarum rightly said, “since everybody thought he was an ass, he was necessarily treated as such” (part II, question 2, chapter 4). The sailor-donkey eventually realized that only one person on Cyprus would be able to see through his transformed appearance. Therefore, he returned to the city of Salamis and retraced his steps to the seaside house of the alleged witch who had caused his transformation. She agreed to feed and house the sailor-donkey, but there was a catch—in exchange, she wanted him to be her beast of burden for the foreseeable future. The sailor-donkey, so the story goes, accepted the witch’s terms and would spend the next three years hauling supplies, such as lumber and grain, back to the woman’s seaside home.

Life with the witch was a bittersweet existence for the sailor-donkey. On the one hand, he had been unwillingly turned into a beast of burden and was now living a servile existence on the estate of the person who had caused his transformation. On the other hand, the witch and her coven were the only people on Cyprus who knew the sailor’s identity, and while they were away from prying eyes, the witches would give the sailor-donkey the ability to speak. They even reportedly had quite amicable conversations.  

Despite being fed, sheltered and allowed to speak from time to time, the sailor-donkey was not happy. As the tale was recorded in a religious-themed text, it may not be surprising to learn that one of the main complaints that the sailor had was that the witches refused to allow him to go to church. During his fourth year as the witch’s beast of burden, this church-deprivation became too much for the bewitched sailor. As the tale goes, our cursed protagonist was one day hoofing through the streets of Salamis with the witch when he heard the sound of bells ring out from the local church. Hearing those beckoning tones, the sailor clopped his way to the location of the church. Yet, as he still apparently looked like a donkey, he feared to enter, lest he should be shooed away by the congregation. Therefore, he stayed just outside the entrance and knelt in prayer as best he could in his awkward animal form. According to the Malleus Maleficarum, he “knelt down outside by bending the knees of his hind legs, and lifted his forelegs, that is, his hands, joined together over his ass’s head, as it was thought to be, and looked upon the elevation of the Sacrament” (part II, question 2, chapter 4).

Unfortunately, the sailor-donkey was not allowed to pray for long, as the witch had followed him to the church and promptly started beating him when she discovered what he was doing. Fortunately, the outlandish sight of a praying donkey with outstretched hooves had caught the attention of some people on the street, and they subsequently saw the woman appear and smack the donkey with a stick as punishment for the animal’s show of piety. The onlookers found this whole situation incredibly suspicious and they decided to make a citizens’ arrest. They then dragged the woman and the donkey before a local judge. As the story goes, the accused witch confessed after being tortured, and she was able to change the sailor back to normal after they were both escorted to her seaside home. Once the sailor was released in human form, the accused witch was thrown back in jail. According to the Malleus Maleficarum, “she paid the debt to which her crimes merited. And the young man returned joyfully to his own country” (part II, question 2, chapter 4).

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Picture Attribution: (The Taming of the Donkey by Eduardo Zamacois y Zabala  (1841–1871), [Public Domain] via Creative Commons).

Sources:

• The Malleus Maleficarum by Heinrich Kramer and James Sprenger, translated by Montague Summers (Dover Publications, 1971).

The Vengeful Tale Of Hrafsi Ljotolfsson

Hrafsi Ljotolfsson lived in Iceland around the time of the Age of Settlement (approximately 860-930). His father, the blacksmith Ljotolf, had been given permission to settle on lands belonging to Kjallak, a powerful figure who claimed as his domain everything in Iceland between what was then called the Dogurdar River and Klofningar. Under uncertain terms, Ljotolf and his family settled down in a place called Fellswood.

Kjallak had at least eight sons, of which Eilif the Proud, Asbjorn Muscle, Bjorn Whale-Belly and Thorgrim Tangle-Weed are the most important for this story. It should also be noted that Thorgrim Tangle-Weed and Bjorn Whale-Belly both had children, the former a daughter named Alof and the later a son named Kjallak the Younger. Additionally, the younger Kjallak had a foster-brother named Oddmar, whom the Kjallakssons treated as one of their own. All of these people would play a role in the life of Hrafsi Ljotolfsson.

Ljotolf fathered far fewer children than Kjallak. The blacksmith had with him in Fellswood three sons—Thorstein, Bjorn and the aforementioned Hrafsi. The mothers of these brothers were not recorded, but Hrafsi’s mother was said to have been someone different than the woman who birthed Thorstein and Bjorn. Hrafsi apparently looked physically different than his brothers, and the talk of the town was that his mother had been a giant.

Kjallak’s clan and the smaller family of Ljotolf were able to coexist in peace for a time, but everything was about to change when Kjallak’s granddaughter, Alof Thorgrimsdottir, suddenly fell ill. Without any signs of warning, Alof became delirious or insane and the 10th-century Icelanders could make no sense of her unexpected mental breakdown. In the end, Thorgrim Tangle-Weed (Alof’s father) became convinced that his daughter had been cursed. This theory was supported by other members of the Kjallak clan and they soon pointed the finger at Hrafsi Ljotolfsson, who, after all, was said to have been the son of an otherworldly giant.

Hrafsi responded quickly to the allegations. He rejected the claims and proposed his own suspect—Oddmar, the foster-brother of Kjallak the Younger, who had apparently been with Alof when she fell ill. This accusation obviously soured the relationship between Hrafsi and Oddmar, but the scheme worked and Hrafsi caused enough doubt to be found not guilty of Alof’s madness. Consequently, Thorgrim Tangle-Weed must have felt socially or emotionally obligated to give Hrafsi some sort of apologetic gift for the wrongful accusation. Thorgrim offered him an island called Deildar Isle, yet the stubborn Hrafsi wanted money in addition to the island. While this was being negotiated, Thorgrim’s father, Kjallak, stepped in and forbid Hrafsi from receiving either the money or the island.

Outraged at this outcome, Hrafsi Ljotolfsson then escalated the already mounting tensions by reportedly stealing money from the Kjallak clan and then pointedly sailed with the plunder to Deildar Isle. Eilif the Proud, the mightiest of the Kjallakssons, went to the island presumably to retrieve the stolen wealth, but he was forced to flee after being hit by a non-fatal arrow. Despite the theft and archery, relations between the two sides seemingly calmed for a while. The families, thankfully, became cordial enough for Bjorn Whale-Belly and Bjorn Ljotolfsson to even compete in friendly games together. Yet, when Whale-Belly accidentally killed his opponent during one such game, the feud was destined to continue on its bloody course.

In response to his son’s death, Ljotolf mobilized his remaining sons and friends, preparing them for war. They convinced or tricked Oddmar to send Bjorn Whale-Belly into an ambush. Bjorn’s son, Kjallak the Younger, accompanied his father on the ill-fated trip. Despite the unexpected presence of the innocent son, Ljotolf launched his ambush and killed Bjorn Whale-Belly, likely doing the same to Kjallak the Younger. With the killings complete, Ljotolf and his sons went into hiding.

When the Kjallak clan learned of the deaths, they wanted blood—equal or more than that which Ljotolf and his kin had spilled. Eilif the Proud, who had by now recovered from his wound, led the war party into Fellswood and they scoured the region for their hated foes. Ljotolf and his son, Thorstein, were eventually found hiding together in a cave. Eilif reportedly slew them both single-handedly.

Hrafsi Ljotolfsson, now the last member of his family, was in no way ready to admit defeat. He reportedly infiltrated deep into the territory of his rivals, arriving at Orrastead, where Asbjorn Kjallaksson was hosting a feast for his father and other family members. In a likely-embellished feat, Hrafsi reportedly disguised himself as a woman, snuck into the hall while the revelry was in full swing, and audaciously murdered Asbjorn in sight of all the banqueters. To top off the deed, Hrafsi reportedly jumped out a window or smashed through a wall to make his escape.

The Kjallak clan was obviously going to take revenge, but they decided to take their time plotting the downfall of the giant-spawn, and therefore delayed their payback until the right moment. They eventually won over to their side a certain Thord Vifilsson, who had, until then, been a family friend of Hrafsi. Thord successfully hid his defection from Hrafsi and managed to lure the last Ljotolfsson to a vulnerable cliffside, where the Kjallak clan had set up an ambush. Unfortunately for Thord, the Kjallakssons launched their attack before their accomplice could flee the scene. Hrafsi, realizing that he had been betrayed, reportedly pushed Thord Vifilsson off the cliff in a rage before turning to face the ambushers. Eilif the Proud was present at the fight, but, for whatever reason, chose not to participate in the attack. Instead, he watched as his brothers and friends, in a tight shield-wall formation, advanced against the formidable Hrafsi. The ultimate fate of Hrafsi Ljotolfsson remains vague—the Book of Settlements, the source for this story, abruptly ends with “They couldn’t get at him until they’d crowded round him with boards. Eilif sat by idle when they attacked Hrafsi” (Landnámabók, Sturlubók manuscript, chapter 111). As a supposed son of a giant, and a man who could reportedly break through walls, it is possible that Hrafsi escaped, but the odds of that are silm, and he never made a reappearance in the often-overlapping stories of the Book of Settlements.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Picture Attribution: (Scene of Egil Skallagrimsson, by Johannes Flintoe (d. 1870), [Public Domain] via Creative Commons).

Sources:

• The Book of Settlements (Sturlubók version) translated by Hermann Pálsson and Paul Edwards. Winnipeg: University of Manitoba Press, 1972, 2006.

The Disturbing Myth Of The Horatii And The Curiatii

According to tradition, the kingdom of Rome began in the mid 8th century BCE. Despite its centuries of existence, Greek scholars did not start taking serious interest in Rome until the 4th and especially the 3rd century BCE, by which time Rome had become the undisputed dominant power in Italy and began clashing with its Mediterranean rival, Carthage. The Romans, themselves, apparently never produced a historian until around 200 BCE, around which time Senator Quintus Fabius Pictor began writing the first official native Roman historical works. Unfortunately, by the time Pictor began writing, much of Rome’s written records were likely destroyed in the Gallic sack of Rome in the early 4th century BCE, and the surviving oral history about Rome’s founding would have been incredibly corrupted after untold generations of retellings. Therefore, when a Roman scholar such as Livy (c. 59 BCE-17 CE) set out to tell the story of the founding of Rome, he had to work with dubious documentation, such as historic names without historical context, and folkloric tales that were often adapted to the structure of preexistent stories of Greek mythology.

The tragic and disturbing tale of the Horatii and the Curiatii is one of the myths that Rome created as an explanation as to how Rome expanded its influence over the nearby community of Alba Longa. Historically, Alba Longa is believed to have been in existence well before 1,000 BCE and was a powerful city in Italy until the 7th century BCE, when it was presumably challenged by Rome and ultimately destroyed around 600 BCE. While we will never know specific details of the conflict between Rome and Alba Longa, writers such as Livy preserved the conflict, albeit in a dramatic and embellished fashion, within their works on the folklore of early Rome.

In his History of Rome, Livy alleged that the war between Rome and Alba Longa began because of a cattle dispute. As the story goes, both cities were stealing the livestock of the other and neither side wanted to return the stolen property. War was eventually declared to settle the issue, but before battle commenced, the leaders of the cities agreed to an odd solution—the war would be settled with a duel between chosen champions of each city. Oddly enough, both Rome and Alba Longa chose as their champions trios of triplet brothers—the Horatiii and the Curiatii. According to Livy, there was some debate as to which set of brother belonged to which city, but most accounts of the tale placed the Horatii in the Roman camp.

The match-up between the Horatii and the Curiatii was unfortunate, for the Roman triplets were all set to be brothers-in-law of one of the Alban triplets, as a sister of the Roman Horatii had been recently engaged to marry one of the Curiatii brothers. Nevertheless, one of the themes of Livy’s tale was that the city is more important than love and family, so, naturally, the Horatii and Curiatii all agreed to fight to the death on behalf of their homelands. The soon-to-be-married brother from Alba Longa, however, did not shed all his emotion—when he arrived for the duel, he was proudly wearing a cloak that had been lovingly made for him by his betrothed. The six warriors entered a list, or arena, set up by the two armies, and the duel began to the sounds of trumpets and cheers.

Livy painted the scene of the duel with great attention to drama. To the horror of the Romans, their Horatii triplets fought terribly. The Roman brothers fell in quick succession until only one, Publius Horatius, was left alone to face all three Curiatii siblings. Staring down the three warriors, Horatius could think of only one strategy—to run. The Romans looked on with dismay as the three Alban warriors chased the lone champion from Rome around the arena. Yet, Horatius was sprinting around the battlefield for a reason. As the Alban champions were chasing their prey, they fell into a single-file line. Seeing an opportunity, Horatius suddenly stopped and began his attack. Using good footwork and well-placed blows, the lone Roman sliced through his three pursuers, dropping one after the other as they raced toward him individually. The Romans cheered as Horatius killed the first Curiatii and then the second. For his final opponent, Publius Horatius faced the man who would have been his brother-in-law if war had been avoided. Showing no mercy, the Roman killed his foe and even looted from his body the cloak that was handmade by Horatius’ sister.

With the duel over, the Albans were said to have made momentary peace with Rome. Noncombatants waiting with anticipation in Rome for news of the duel could see the Roman army celebrating on the road as it returned home. At the forefront of the Roman troops was Publius Horatius, proudly wearing the plundered bloodstained cloak that had been made by his sister. While the population of Rome cheered for the army’s valiant return, one woman at the Capena gate could only cry.

According to Livy, the betrothal between Horatius’ sister and the slain Curiatii warrior was not a coldly arranged marriage for politics or wealth, but actually a union of genuine love and affection. Therefore, when the sister saw her brother wearing the bloodied cloak that she had given to her beloved, she could not suppress her grief and bawled for all of Rome to hear. Publius Horatius, enjoying all of the cheers and praise, soon heard someone killing the triumphal mood with wails and sobs. The sound of someone not appreciating his victory annoyed him and his anger did not abate even after discovering it was his own sister who was crying.

At this point, the tale takes an incredibly dark turn. Instead of consoling his distraught sister, Horatius did the unthinkable. He grabbed a sword, angrily marched over to his sobbing sibling and plunged the blade deep into her chest, piercing her heart. As she bled to death, Horatius growled abuse over his sister’s body: “’Take your girl’s love,’ he shouted, ‘and give it to your lover in hell. What is Rome to such as you, or your brothers, living or dead? So perish all Roman women who mourn for an enemy!’” (History of Rome, Book I, section 26).

To Rome’s credit, the myth states that the Romans immediately arrested Horatius and put him on trial for murder. Yet, the murdered sister was not given justice by the court. The Roman populace cried out for Horatius to be spared, and even the father of the Horatii (who had lost two sons and one daughter that day) spoke in defense of his son. The only way for the father to save his last living child was to besmear the memory of his own daughter. Livy wrote, “In the course of the hearing the decisive factor was the statement of Horatius’ father, to the effect that his daughter deserved her death” (History of Rome, Book I, section 26). With such pleas on his behalf, Horatius was said to have been acquitted with almost no punishment. Livy traced the origin of a mysterious wooden gateway, the Tigillum Sororium (Sister’s Beam), to this myth. He alleged that members of Horatius’ family had to regularly pass under the Sister’s Beam gate as a sort of penance for the murder.

Ironically, the Curiatii triplets, the two Horatii brothers and their tragically slain sister all died for nothing. According to the tale, the Albans resumed their hostilities against Rome after the duel. In response, Rome once again went to war and this time destroyed the city of Alba Longa. In the end, their deaths only served to convey the theme that the city of Rome was more important than individual Romans, the bonds of family and the cherished emotion of love.

Written by C. Keith Hansley.

Picture Attribution: (Painting depicting the myth of the Horatii and the Curiatii, by Giuseppe Cesari (1568–1640), [Public Domain] via Creative Commons).

Sources:

• The History of Rome by Livy, translated by Aubrey de Sélincourt. New York: Penguin Classics, 2002.
• https://www.britannica.com/topic/Horatii-and-Curiatii 
• https://www.britannica.com/place/ancient-Rome 
• https://www.britannica.com/place/Alba-Longa 
• https://www.britannica.com/biography/Quintus-Fabius-Pictor 
• http://penelope.uchicago.edu/Thayer/E/Gazetteer/Places/Europe/Italy/Lazio/Roma/Rome/_Texts/PLATOP*/Tigillum_Sororium.html
• https://www.encyclopedia.com/literature-and-arts/classical-literature-mythology-and-folklore/folklore-and-mythology/alba-longa  
• http://oxfordre.com/classics/view/10.1093/acrefore/9780199381135.001.0001/acrefore-9780199381135-e-240 

The Deadly Ghost Story Of Killer-Hrapp

According to Icelandic folklore, a belligerent and bullying farmer named Hrapp immigrated to Iceland from the Hebrides sometime in the 10th century. He built a farmstead called Hrappsstadir, which was adjacent to lands owned by the leading settlers of the Laxardal region in Iceland. As portrayed in the Laxdæla saga, which was centered on that region of Iceland, Hrapp and the dominant chieftain of the region, Hoskuld, jostled for power and influence in their community. Hrapp never surpassed Hoskuld in importance, yet the stubborn farmer maintained a fierce reputation in Laxardal until the day he died. He came to be known as Killer-Hrapp, but whether he gained this name before or after he died is unclear. Whatever the case, the legend of Killer-Hrapp only continued to grow after his death.

According to the saga, Hrapp died in the mid 10th century, either during the reign of King Hákon the Good of Norway (r. 946-961) or Harald II Graycloak (r. 961-970). Hrapp left his wife strict instructions for how he wanted to be buried—his wish was for his body to be laid to rest in an upright position underneath the threshold of the kitchen. The request was not unique; similar burials were made in at least three other sagas, including Hen-Thorir’s Saga, Saga of People of Svarfadardal, and the Saga of the People of Vatnsdal. Such a burial was thought to allow the spirit of the deceased to guard over the homestead and the people that were left behind.

Hrapp’s dutiful wife carried out her late husband’s wishes and buried him exactly as he had asked. According to the saga, the ritual was a success and the spirit of the deceased landowner became anchored to the farmstead. Yet, if the people of Hrappsstadir thought that the spirit would be a benevolent guardian, they were quickly and brutally shown just how wrong their assumption had been. In fact, the bullying and malicious nature of Killer-Hrapp was only amplified after his death. As the saga put it, “if it had been difficult to deal with him when he was alive, he was much worse dead, for he haunted the area relentlessly” (Laxdæla saga, chapter 17).  

Life at Hrappsstadir quickly became a nightmare. It did not take long for Killer-Hrapp to live up to his name. He haunted and frightened the whole region, but he seemed to have a special hate for his farm staff. On Hrapp’s dogged targeting of this unfortunate group of people, the Laxdæla saga reported, “It is said that in his hauntings he killed most of his servants” (chapter 17). The brutal haunting eventually caused the whole population of Hrappsstadir, including Hrapp’s widow and son, to flee from the farmstead, and the region became an abandoned ghost town.

The hauntings of Killer-Hrapp began to worry other regions of Laxardal, so the farmers petitioned the chieftain Hoskuld to do something about the deadly ghost. In response to his people’s pleas, Hoskuld gathered his courage and traveled to Hrappsstadir. There, he exhumed the body of Hrapp from underneath the farmstead’s kitchen and then had the remains reburied far away in a forest. To everyone’s relief, the relocation of the body drastically reduced the number of reported hauntings in Laxardal. Yet, although Killer-Hrapp’s supernatural influence over Hrappsstadir and Laxardal had been diluted by the exhumation of his body, the ghost found more subtle means to sow mayhem in the region.

After Hoskuld had restored a semblance of order to Hrappsstadir, Killer-Hrapp’s son, Sumarlidi, returned to the property and tried to revive the farm. Not long after the young man went home, however, he was said to have become delirious and suddenly died. The people of Laxardal quickly attributed the death to the malicious spirit of Hrapp and the farmstead once again was abandoned. Sumarlidi’s mother inherited the estate after her son’s death, but she vowed to never return to that cursed land. Her apprehension about the estate, however, was not shared by her brother, the brave Thorstein Surt. Disregarding the ghost stories, Thorstein Surt packed his belongings onto a ship and set sail with eleven companions for Hrappsstadir, where he intended to bring the farm back to prominence. Unfortunately, Thorstein Surt’s dream was not realized—his ship sank in the final stretch of the trip and ten out of the eleven passengers onboard drowned, including Thorstein Surt. Next to inherit the cursed property was Thorstein’s daughter Gudrid, and her husband, Thorkel Scarf. The couple, however, pointedly left Hrappsstadir abandoned.

To the northeast of Hrappsstadir lived Olaf Peacock, so named because of his prideful demeanor and his ever-gilded fashion sense that applied to clothing and weaponry, alike. Olaf wanted to expand into Hrappsstadir and build a new farmstead on the deserted land. As a result of the hauntings and suspicious deaths connected to the region, Thorkel Skarf gladly sold the land for a measly three marks of silver. After acquiring the land, Olaf Peacock constructed the farm of Hjardarholt in a location just a short distance from Hrapp’s original farmstead.

Hjardarholt thrived, but farmhands began to report unnerving supernatural events. The epicenter of the hauntings seemed to be the cowshed for non-milking cattle, a structure located in a forested section of Olaf’s new property. The ghostly presence there was so bad that the cowherd threatened to leave if he was not transferred to another task. Instead of reassigning the man, Olaf Peacock accompanied the cowherd to the shed to help manage the cattle. While the two were working, the ghost of Killer-Hrapp appeared in the cowshed. In a comedic scene from the saga, the cowherd saw the ghost first and “suddenly came running back into Olaf’s arms” in freight (Laxdæla saga, chapter 24).  After wrenching himself free of the cowherd, Olaf Peacock heroically rushed at the ghost and stabbed at the spirit with a spear (gold-inlaid, of course). The spear did not harm the ghost, but the spectral Killer-Hrapp had enough supernatural power to snap off the weapon’s gilded spearhead before spookily sinking into the ground, taking the spear with him.

Olaf Peacock interpreted Killer-Hrapp’s disappearance into the earth as evidence that the ghost’s body was located underground in that very spot. The next morning, Olaf and his farmhands grabbed their spades and excavated the earth around the cowshed. They eventually discovered Killer-Hrapp’s restless body, which was reportedly still clinging to Olaf’s lost spearhead with the inlaid gold. After the body was exhumed for a second time, the remains were burned and then the ashes were dumped into the sea. With this, Killer-Hrapp’s reign of terror finally ended.

Written by C. Keith Hansley.

Picture Attribution: (Scene of Gudrun and the ghost by Andreas Bloch (1860–1917), based on a passage from the Laxdæla saga, [Public Domain] via Creative Commons).

Sources:

• The Saga of the People of Laxardal and Bolli Bollason’s Tale, by an anonymous 13th-century Icelander and translated by Keneva Kunz. New York: Penguin Classics, 2008.

The Story Of Grettir And The Undead Glam—One Of The Greatest Medieval Horror Stories

According to the medieval Icelandic text, Grettir’s Saga, an unlucky 11th-century farmer named Thorhall had an extensive farmstead in the Vatnsdal region of northwestern Iceland. His land was called Shady Valley (Forsaeludal) and he had a very grim family—literally, his father and his son were both named Grim. As befitting a grim family living in a place called Shady Valley, Thorhall’s lands were notoriously haunted. His farmstead had such a bad reputation that Thorhall was constantly short on farmhands and herdsmen. Each year he traveled to the Althing, the governing body of Iceland, to beg for farmhands and to seek advice on how to keep his employees around for longer spans of time. Thorhall became so desperate that he sought out the wisest man on Iceland, Skapti Thoroddsson, hoping that the wiseman could find a solution to his problems.

Skapti did not know how to stop the hauntings, but he did know of a Swedish immigrant to Iceland who was hardy enough in strength and skeptical enough of spirits to thrive at Thorhall’s farm. The man Skapti had in mind was Glam, a blue-eyed, grey-haired giant of great size and strength. Glam happened to be at the Althing, so Thorhall interviewed him and determined that he would be a fine herdsman. With the interview over, they arranged for Glam to arrive at Shady Valley in October.

Fire, Fairies and Folklore—The Murder of Bridget Cleary

A witch? A fairy? Who was the murdered wife of Michael Cleary?

(Bridget and Michael Cleary c. 1887, via National Archives of Ireland)

Mr. and Mrs. Cleary

The strange and bizarre events leading up to the death of Bridget Cleary, as well as the court trial a few months later, are well known in the British Isles, especially Ireland, where the grisly event took place in 1895. Outside Britain and Ireland, however, the story is less well known. This article is dedicated to all of the history enthusiasts who were never introduced to this truly macabre tale. Without further ado—here is the story of Bridget Cleary, a woman murdered by her husband for being a fairy changeling at the end of the 19^th century.