Hugvísindasvið
Literary Architecture and Meaning
in Orkneyinga saga
Ritgerð til MA-prófs í Medieval Icelandic Studies
Jennifer Grayburn
September 2014
Háskóli Íslands
Hugvísindasvið
Medieval Icelandic Studies
Literary Architecture and Meaning
in Orkneyinga saga
Ritgerð til MA-prófs í Medieval Icelandic Studies
Jennifer Grayburn
Kt.: 071185-3629
Leiðbeinandi: Torfi Tulinius
September 2014
Literary Architecture and Meaning in Orkenyinga saga
Table of Contents:
Abstract
Preface
i
Introduction
ii
Chapter 1:
Literary Architecture in Orkneyinga saga and
Its Relationship to Orkney’s Medieval Landscape
1
Chapter 2:
Orkneyinga Saga as a Literary Construction
14
Chapter 3:
Churches in Context in Orkneyinga saga
24
Chapter 4:
‘Musteri’ in Orkneyinga saga and Other Sagas
32
Conclusion
39
Bibliography
42
Abstract:
This thesis describes and analyses the textual references to architecture that appear in
Orkneyinga saga. By distinguishing between literary architecture that exists in the sagas
and physical architecture that actually existed in medieval Orkney, this thesis focuses
exclusively on how the literary architecture—specifically churches—functioned within
the saga regardless of the existence of any real-world counterparts. Rather than merely
providing general facts about the Orcadian landscape, these architectural references
reinforce the overarching political message of the saga that support the power and
legitimacy of Orkney’s jarls. Jarl Rǫgnvaldr Kali Kolsson, as the patron of
Magnúskirkja, benefits especially from these references, as they mirror architectural
references and activities in other sagas and reinforce his own quasi-royal status by
association.
Ágrip:
Í ritgerðinni er tilvísunum til bygginga í Orkneyinga sögu lýst og þær greindar. Gerður
er greinarmunur á “bókmenntalegri byggingarlist” eins og henni er lýst í sögunum og
þeim byggingum sem voru raunverulega til í Orkneyjum á miðöldum. Þannig er unnt að
beina sérstakleg sjónum að því hlutverki sem “bókmenntabyggingar”, einkum og
sérílagi kirkjur, gegndu í sögunni, án hliðsjónar af raunverulegum byggingum sem þær
voru fulltrúar fyrir. Þessar lýsingar hafa aðra og meiri þýðingu en einvörðungu að visa
til efnislegs raunveruleika Orkneyja, en hún er sú að vera farvegur stjórnmálaviðhorfa
sem styðja réttmæti valda Orkneyingajarla. Rögnvaldur Kali jarl Kolsson er
frumkvöðullinn að byggingu Magnúsarkirkju og nýtur þess í textanum, ekki síst þar sem
vísanir til þessa starfs hans endurspegla vísanir til sambærilegra iðju í öðrum sögum. Þar
með styrkist staða hans sem jaðrar við að vera konungleg.
Grayburn i
Preface
This thesis is the product of the intellectual, financial, and personal support of
many people. First, I would like to thank my professors at Háskóli Íslands, Torfi
Tulinius, Haraldur Bernhardsson, and Steinunn Kristjánsdóttir. Without your support
and guidance both in and out of the classroom, this project would not have been
possible. I would also like to thank the Medieval Icelandic Studies program for
providing me with such an amazing educational opportunity and the Leifur Eiríksson
Foundation for so generously supporting my research. Finally, I would like to thank my
parents and Nicholas Genau for their endless emotional support while I completed this
project.
Grayburn ii
Introduction
Nú er þat mitt ráð at leita þangat trausts, er nógt er til, at sá unni yðr ríkis, er á
at réttu, en þat er inn helgi Magnús jarl, móðurbróðir yðvarr. Vil ek, at þú heitir
á hann, at hann unni yðr frændleifðar þinar ok sinnar erfðar, at þú látir gera
steinmusteri í Orkneyjum í Kirkjuvági, ef þú fær þat ríki, þat er ekki sé annat
dýrligra í þvi landi, ok látir Magnúsi jarli helga, frænda þinum, ok leggir þar fé
til, svá at sá staðr mætti eflask, ok yrði þangat komit hans helgum dómi ok
byskupsstólinum með.1
Now it is my advice to find support there, which is abundant, with he who by
rights should grant the realm to you and it is the holy jarl Magnús, your
mother’s brother. I desire that you call to him, that should he grant you your
inheritance and his familial inheritance and if you obtain that domain, that you
make a stone minster in Orkney in Kirkwall so that no one sees another as fair in
that land. Grant it to jarl Magnús the holy, your kinsman, and arrange there such
wealth that the [ecclesiastical] foundation grows strong and the holy relics [of
St. Magnús] should come there and with them the Episcopal See.2
-Kolr Kalason, Orkneyinga saga, Ch. 68
In 1136, Rǫgnvaldr Kolsson was in a difficult situation. He was the maternal
nephew of the martyred jarl Magnús Erlendsson of Orkney and had recently been
granted the title of jarl of Orkney by King Sigurðr Jórsalafari Magnússon of Norway.3
Yet, his pedigree and royal support were of little help, for his cousin jarl Páll
Hákonarson was already in control of the islands and refused to recognize Rǫgnvaldr’s
1
Finnbogi Guðmundson, ed. “Orkneyinga saga,” in Orkneyinga Saga, Legenda de Sancto Magno,
Magnús saga skemmri, Magnús saga lengri, Helga þáttr ok Úlfs, Íslenzk fornrit XXXIV, 1-300
(Reykjavík: i íslenzka fornritafélag, 1965), 158-159.
2
Unless otherwise noted, all translations are my own. I have sought a literal translation, adding only
minor grammatical and syntactical changes to produce a smooth English translation. For clarity, I have
also bracketed additional content that either appears in earlier passages or can be determined through
context, but that does not appear in the given passage itself.
3
Orkney is often referred to as a medieval Norwegian “earldom” and scholars present varying views of
what this title really means politically. Although some suggest that Orkney was completely subjugated by
Norway, it is more common today to recognize Orkney as “semi-autonomous” and capable of working
outside the control of any Norwegian kings wishing to claim procession. Orcadian historian William P.L.
Thomson notes that “Orkney was never a loyal Norwegian colony, nor yet was it simply a peripheral
outpost of the Kingdom of Scotland. It has always been a place apart. At one time it possessed its own
language and political institutions and, on that basis, it may be regarded as one of the forgotten subnations of Europe.” While Ronald Miller has suggested the term “prince” as a better translation of the title
jarl than earl, yet both translations superimpose anglicized meaning where it is perhaps inappropriate. For
this reason, I have chosen to retain the original Old Icelandic term jarl throughout the thesis. L.
Dietrichson and Johan Meyer, Monumenta Orcadica: The Norsemen in the Orkneys and the Monuments
they have left (Kristiania: A. Cammermeyyers Forlag, 1906). William P.L. Thomson, The History of
Orkney (Edinburgh: The Mercat Press, 1987), xiii. Ronald Miller, Orkney (London: B. T. Batsford Ltd.,
1976), 70.
Grayburn iii
claim to half of his domain. With one failed campaign behind him, Rǫgnvaldr rallied as
many Norwegian supporters as possible and prepared for one final attempt to claim his
inheritance.4 Rǫgnvaldr’s father, Kolr Kalason, did not think that this support was
enough and urged his son to appeal to higher powers: namely, his uncle St. Magnús,
who was by that time a popular local saint in Orkney. In exchange for divine support,
Rǫgnvaldr vowed to build a grand church in Kirkwall, Orkney and dedicate it to St.
Magnús. The divine powers of St. Magnús, indeed, seemed to assist Rǫgnvaldr during
this second campaign, for Rǫgnvaldr overcame his cousin and became the sole ruler of
the semi-autonomous Orkney Islands. As a result, Rǫgnvaldr fulfilled his powerful vow
and built the magnificent Magnúskirkja in Kirkwall dedicated to his uncle.5
Or, so this is what Orkneyinga saga tells us. Undoubtedly, this twelfth-century
saga is the most extensive and important account of Orkney’s medieval history and,
without it, almost all of Orkney’s early recorded history would be lost. The saga
chronicles the jarls of Orkney from the conquest of the islands by the Norwegian jarl
Rǫgnvaldr of Mœrr (Møre) to the reign of
araldr Maddaðarson (c. 800-1200). Even if
some of the content seems historically unviable, it is an invaluable resource for
historians of the medieval Orkney. While Orkneyinga saga was compiled in its entirety
around 1230, up to some 400 years after some of the events supposedly occurred,
historians have been able to compare its content to other medieval documents and
archaeological evidence in order to determine what in the narrative actually occurred.
With an extant medieval church in Kirkwall dedicated to St. Magnús (known today as
St. Magnus Cathedral), there seems to be little reason to doubt Kolr’s advice to his son
and the patronage of Rǫgnvaldr’s subsequent construction of Magnúskirkja.6
4
It is important, of course, to recognize that modern nation-states did not exist in the middle ages. When I
refer to modern national entities and what appear to be nationalities (such as Norway and Norwegian), I
do so for convenience in order to communicate a region and location of residence, rather than to imply the
existence of a nation or kingdom as we understand them today. A helpful resource on the fluid and fragile
political structures of the medieval British Isles (to which Orkney belongs) is Robin Frame, The Political
Development of the British Isles 1100-1400 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1990).
5
These events appear in Orkneyinga saga, Chapters 68-76.
6
Often, structures in the saga are not explicitly named. For Rǫgnvaldr’s church, however, we learn that is
was called Magnúskirkja. Orkney has been part of Scotland since the fifteenth century, however, and its
landscape has been anglicized to reflect its English speaking residents. As a result, the church that
survives today is called St. Magnus Cathedral. Since this thesis will draw a clear distinction between the
textual architecture described in saga and the physical architecture that survives in the landscape, I will
use Magnúskirkja when referring to the former and St. Magnus Cathedral when referring to the latter.
Grayburn iv
With such references to architecture (especially architecture that still exists in
some form), Orkneyinga saga is just as valuable for archaeologists and architectural
historians as it is for historians. When scholars began to record and analyze Orkney’s
extant medieval buildings in the nineteenth century, they found that the saga’s literary
landscape— the landscape described in the text—corresponded closely with Orkney’s
physical landscape. With this close relationship between the text and archaeological
remains, it is perhaps not surprising that the buildings referenced in the text were often
conflated directly with Orkney’s extant medieval buildings. As a result, the architectural
information provided by the saga was rarely questioned and, moreover, often cited as
fact. Rǫgnvaldr’s Magnúskirkja—with its first reference in Kolr’s speech—is one of the
most frequently mentioned structures in the saga. With this information, architectural
historians have been able to reconstruct, among other things, the medieval patronage,
chronology, and function of St. Magnus Cathedral as it exists today.
Yet, it was precisely Kolr’s speech that gave me pause when first citing the saga
in my research on St. Magnus Cathedral. His advice, recorded as direct speech to his
son, was recorded some 100 years after the events that had occurred and I questioned
whether we should assume its historical accuracy. Even if I granted that the words could
have been preserved in a very active oral culture, that the author could have recorded
the account exactly as we see it today, I could not help but wonder if that specific
encounter ever really happened. I wondered if it could have been fabricated—either in
oral or written form—for creative or political reasons after Rǫgnvaldr’s conquest and
the construction of St. Magnus Cathedral. By no means can I ever prove a hypothesis
like this (nor would I necessarily want to), but it was this line of inquiry that challenged
me to look closer at the saga not as fixed and neutral historical record, but rather as fluid
and highly constructed creative product. Orkneyinga saga exists as a text (or perhaps it
is more accurate to say numerous texts), compiled at different stages from multiple oral
traditions and manuscripts. Consequently, it is a mediated construction, one firmly set in
the context of its creation and susceptible to the changes of some eight centuries of
copying, compiling, translating, and editing. The creation of a saga is just as
complicated and obtuse as any architectural work, for what we have today is the result
of centuries of collaboration between named and unnamed persons. Rather than the
combined work of a patron, designer, masons, and craftsman (not to mention modern
Grayburn v
architects and preservationists) the text is the product of oral accounts, authors, scribes,
centuries of copists, and most recently, editors and translators. While it is tidy and
satisfying to try to consider the saga as an immutable text crafted by one person, the fact
is that these two mediums—architecture and text— are social and creative products, the
efforts of many people and open to interpretation by succeeding generations. Although
Orkneyinga saga is undoubtedly a valuable historical source and can provide a glimpse
into the medieval past that it chronicles, it is also a fascinating testament to the values
and concerns of the society that produced it. The architecture described within it, then,
can easily tell us as much about the idea and reception of architecture in the thirteenth
century as much as it can tell us about the physical landscape to which it so clearly
alludes.
The goal of this thesis is not to challenge previous scholars who have used the
saga in often brilliant and ingenious ways to construct the architectural history we have
today. Rather, my aim is to highlight a new method for understanding the literary
architecture for what it is: a combination of words subject to the textual conventions
and intertextual references that allowed informed contemporary audiences to decode
and read them. While this is ultimately a literary project seeking to unravel the
significance of architecture within its literary context, it is also a critical inquiry for
architectural historians. Rather than embrace or disregard all of the sagas completely as
historical sources, architectural historians can better understand how individual
architectural information works within a literary work or corpus before drawing
conclusions about its relationship to the physical world. While this project focuses on
Orkney as a case study, it is my hope that this approach can and will be applied to all
types of medieval texts and literary constructions. I suspect that through a
comprehensive look at literary architecture, we will find new and exciting parallels
between how text and architecture functioned within the medieval world.
Orkneyinga saga is the ideal focus for this short study, as it focuses on a
relatively narrow geographic area with many extant medieval buildings, ruins, and
archaeological sites. There is a lot of overlap between its literary architecture and its
extant physical remains, making it a very relevant case study for this project.
Orkneyinga saga has many literary monuments, including longhouses, castles, beacons,
taverns, and churches. Due to the limitations of this project, I will focus specifically on
Grayburn vi
the excerpts of Orkneyinga saga that discuss churches. Churches are the most
frequently referenced type of architecture in the saga and their construction in stone has
allowed them to survive in greater numbers in the Orcadian landscape. They,
consequently, dominate the historiography of Orkney’s medieval architecture.
Many skilled historians and literary scholars have already supplied nuanced
approaches for analyzing and utilizing Iceland’s medieval texts. These methodologies
seek not to determine fact from fiction, but rather to understand more fully the cultural
context of the society producing the sagas. This project will not reinvent the wheel, but
rather will employ many of these established literary methodologies to understand one
very focused element of Orkneyinga saga. By looking just at the literary churches—
their context, vocabulary, and allusions—I will ultimately argue that the architecture of
Orkneyinga saga is just as carefully crafted as any other part of the text. Literary
architecture is not just a neutral backdrop for the saga narrative, consisting of facts to be
culled to interpret medieval remains. Instead, Orkneyinga saga literary architecture
embodies the cultural values of thirteenth-century Orkney, strategically furthering the
narrative and political ideology of the saga. Such conclusions have significant
implications for the meaning, interpretation, and reception of specific buildings and
medieval architecture in general.
In chapter 1, I will first outline the different ways that Orkneyinga saga has
been used to interpret extant medieval churches in Orkney. Again, it is not the purpose
of this chapter to argue against any specific interpretations of Orkney’s monuments. I
emphasize how the saga material has been used strictly as historical evidence and some
of the potential limitations of this approach. Chapter 2 focuses on Orkneyinga saga
itself, not as the standardized text we read today, but rather as a compilation. This
compilation includes oral stories and written sources, narratives written by at least two
different authors at three different times, and the physical fragments of multiple
manuscripts. By focusing on the various stages of creative mediation over the saga’s
lifespan, I mean to challenge any sense that the saga is neutral, unbiased, and immutable
document. In chapter 3, I introduce and describe the context of church references in
Orkneyinga saga, focusing on reoccurring themes and how they function within the
saga as a whole, particularly how they relate to Orkney’s jarls. Then, in chapter 4, I
narrow my focus to the use of one specific word, musteri, as it applies to churches in
Grayburn vii
Orkneyinga saga. I argue that the use of this term reflects careful selection within the
saga, as it reinforces the relationship between key characters and construction projects
within the text and alludes to other passages in the Icelandic corpus. I end this project
with a broad consideration of how these passages reinforced thirteenth century values
and power, especially as it related to jarl Rǫgnvaldr. I also consider how such careful
literary scholarship can both enhance and complement existing architectural and literary
scholarship, as well as provide a few suggestions for future research.
As with all projects that focus on the medieval Northern world, it is necessary to
acknowledge the differences in modern spellings and various editions. Since this study
uses the standardized Íslenzk fornrit edition of Orkenyinga saga, I will use its
standardized medieval Icelandic orthography for names in the text. When medieval
locations correspond with modern locations, however, I will give the modern location—
though in some cases, I will include the original Old Icelandic name when relevant to
my argument. Moreover, when discussing literary architecture, I will use the Old
Icelandic name given in the text in order to differentiate it from the physical architecture
that actually existed. For the latter, I will use the modern English name used in Orkney
today (for example, Magnúskirkja/St. Magnus Cathedral).7Additionally, all quotes in
Old Icelandic and all chapter references come from the Íslenzk fornrit edition of
Orkneyinga saga and all translations are my own unless otherwise noted.
7
See footnote 6.
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CHAPTER 1:
Literary Architecture in Orkneyinga saga and
Its Relationship to Orkney’s Medieval Landscape
The task of the architectural historian, ultimately, is to illuminate the history of
the constructed monuments in his or her field. This, of course, can be done in a variety
of ways and with a variety of methodologies focusing on style, structure, patronage,
chronology,
construction,
cultural
context,
function,
relationship
to
other
buildings/landscape, etc. While building fabric is typically the direct medium of study,
it is often necessary to consult external texts, documents, and images in order to
supplement the architectural evidence. For scholars of the medieval North, the sagas
offer a wealth of information unlike anywhere else in medieval Europe. In Orkney, a
number of medieval ruins and archaeological sites seem to corroborate the textual
evidence, making Orkneyinga saga all the more relevant to traditional architectural
inquiry.
This chapter outlines the major ways that the sagas have influenced architectural
studies of Orkney’s medieval churches. Two Orcadian churches, St. Magnus Cathedral
in Kirkwall and St. Peter Kirk on the Brough of Birsay, dominate the scholarly
discussions and, therefore, feature heavily in this chapter. Both of these churches have
corresponding literary counterparts—Magnúskirkja and Kristskirkja respectively. I will
first outline the general history of the structures individually as presented in the sagas,
along with related scholarly debates related to this saga content. After this brief
discussion of the limitations and issues related to the use of sagas as historical evidence,
I will introduce my own approach to Orkneyinga saga’s literary architecture and the
methodological models that inspired it.
Orkneyinga saga and Architectural Scholarship
The 30 direct references to church architecture in Orkneyinga saga are diverse,
providing a variety of different information and appearing in a variety of different
contexts.8 In some cases, specific churches are named or featured as the setting for
8
This includes all references to a physical structure (whether named or mentioned generally), including
the Old Icelandic terms for church like kirkja and musteri, as well as structural compounds like
kirkjudurr. Due to the limitations of this thesis, it does not include inferences to churches through either
their function or liturgical furniture (like singing mass or the presence of a shrine). These are relevant and
equally valuable passages, however, and offer the opportunity for further inquiry.
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important events or anecdotes; in other cases, we are given details regarding the location
or patron of a church. Occasionally, churches are mentioned in direct speech and skaldic
poems. These 30 references, however, do not feature 30 different churches. Rather, it
seems that the literary landscape of Orkneyinga saga references just eight to ten
different churches, many of which scholars and archaeologists have associated with the
extant structural remains of churches in the physical Orcadian landscape.9 As a result,
the content of the saga is treated as an objective historical document and informs how
scholars and general audiences understand Orkney’s medieval buildings.
The sagas are used in three main ways to supplement the physical archaeological
record. First, church locations and specific names given in the saga provide evidence of
the identity of extant ruins in the Orcadian landscape. Second, once the identity of the
churches in the saga are linked to physical remains, all of the events and facts given
about a literary church are also applied to its physical counterpart. Finally, if certain
information about a building is not given explicitly by the saga, scholars use the
physical evidence, along with other information in the saga, to answer their questions
regarding chronology, patron, influence, etc. Each approach is linked intricately to the
others and assumes that all relevant information in the saga is equally historically
viable. In order to highlight the different ways the saga text manifests in architectural
scholarship, I will discuss how scholars have employed Orkneyinga saga in their
research on the two churches with the largest historiography. The point of this chapter is
not to offer a conclusive list of all churches that have been identified using saga
evidence; nor is it my intention to criticize any of the interpretations as inaccurate.
Actually, the combination of archaeological evidence and saga content in many cases
provides a very convincing argument. Rather, I intend to introduce only a few examples
in order to discuss how the saga is used in architectural scholarship and to highlight
common trends and possible considerations when using the text in an exclusively
historical fashion.
Kristkirkja and St. Peter Kirk
Kristkirkja [Christ Church] is referenced in Orkneyinga saga explicitly in five
different passages and is the first church mentioned by the saga following the exploits of
9
Some of the architectural references, however, are general, and it is not clear if they are referring to a
church mentioned previously or a separate location.
Grayburn 3
Orkney’s pagan jarls. Jarl Þorfinnr Sigurðarson was Orkney’s first exclusively
Christian jarl and the saga describes his pilgrimage to Rome.10 Before meeting with the
Pope in Rome, the kings of Norway and Denmark, as well as the Holy Roman Emperor
hosted him with lavish hospitality. Chapter 31 of Orkneyinga saga records that, upon
his return to Orkney, Þorfinnr settled in Byrgisheraði [Birsay] and built there Kristkirkja
to be Orkney’s first bishop’s seat. Then, in chapter 32, the saga records that Þorfinnr
“er jarðaðr at Kristskirkju í Byrgisheraði, þeiri er hann hafði gera látit” [is buried in
Birsay at Christ Church, which he had had built].11 In chapter 52, we learn that jarl
Magnus, Þorfinnr’s grandson and Rǫgnvaldr’s uncle (the martyred St. Magnús), was
also “grafinn at Kristkirkju þeiri, er Þorfinnr jarl lét gera” [buried at Christ Church,
which jarl Þórfinn had built].12 Also in chapter 52, Kristkirkja is mentioned two more
times in reference to Bishop Vilhjálmr inn síðari [William the Old], the Orcadian bishop
who would eventually declare Magnús a saint. In the first reference, the saga notes that
Bishop Vilhjálmr was bishop when the Episcopal See was at Kristkirkja. The second
reference records that Bishop Vilhjálmr was in Kristkirkja when he miraculously lost
his sight. Equally as miraculous, Magnús restored Bishop Vilhjálmr’s sight, and thereby
convinced him of his sanctity.
In these very brief statements, we learn very important information: a church
called Kristkirkja was constructed under the supervision of Þorfinnr and was located at
or near his residence at Byrgisheraði. It was the first Episcopal See for Orkney’s
bishops and the site of the graves of two jarls: Þorfinnr and Magnús (who was later
declared a saint). Through implication, then, it is possible to date this literary building to
Þorfinnr’s reign in Orkney (c. 1050). Furthermore, there are later miracle stories
regarding St. Magnús and his shrine in Orkneyinga saga and it is possible to conclude
that Kristkirkja became an important local pilgrimage site for about 20 years in between
Magnús’ burial in Birsay and the translation of his relics and the Episcopal See to
Kirkwall. Yet, a few issues may give us pause when considering how to employ this
saga evidence to a physical structure. First, comparisons with external documentary
evidence indicate that some of these facts may not actually be true. Second, the location
10
According to Orkneyinga saga, Þorfinnr’s father jarl Sigurðr digri lǫðvisson was forced to convert by
Norwegian king Ólafr Tryggvason. This conversion, however, was not genuine and he ultimately died
under a magic raven banner during the Battle of Clontarf in 1014. Orkneyinga saga, Chapters 11-12.
11
Finnbogi Guðmundson, “Orkneyinga saga,” 82.
12
Finnbogi Guðmundson, “Orkneyinga saga,” 112.
Grayburn 4
of Kristkirkja given in the text is fairly vague, resulting in a half century-long debate
between proponents of two different archaeological sites.
The first concern stems from the fact that the saga gives information that
historians know is not true. In chapter 52, the saga records that Bishop Vilhjálmr was
the first bishop of Orkney, back when the bishop’s seat was at Kristkirkja.13 This,
however, conflicts with the previous passage in chapter 31 that states that Þorfinnr
constructed Kristkirkja as the first byskupsstóll in Orkney some half a century before
Vilhjálmr’s appointment in the twelfth century.14 Barbara Crawford looks to
comparative literature to trace the bishops of Orkney and notes that Adam of Bremen, a
chronicler in the Archdiocese of Hamburg-Bremen, wrote of his distaste for Orkney’s
earliest recorded bishop, Bishop Henry, who was likely appointed by the rival
Archdiocese of York before c. 1035. Adam of Bremen also records that Archbishop
Adelbert of Hamburg-Bremen appointed a bishop to Orkney (a certain Turolf or Throlf)
under order of the Pope in the mid-eleventh century.15 With such external evidence, it is
possible that both passages in Orkneyinga saga are incorrect, though it is also possible
that the reference to Þorfinnr’s Kristkirkja as the first byskupsstóll might not mean that
it was the seat of Orkney’s first bishop, but rather the first permanent residence of
Orkney’s bishops (with previous bishops traveling throughout the diocese). Regardless,
it is clear that Vilhjálmr was not the first bishop of Orkney in any way. Adam of
Bremen eve gives us the name of two other subsequent Orcadian Bishops appointed by
Adalbert before Vilhjálmr: John and Adalbert. Crawford notes that there was a rivalry
between the Archbishops of Hamburg-Bremen and the Archbishops of York to appoint
Orkney’s bishops. After these early Hamburg-Bremen appointments, York appointed its
own Orcadian bishops in the late eleventh and early twelfth centuries. For certain
periods, there were actually two rival bishops of Orkney at the same time, one from
each rival archdiocese. Crawford believes that Bishop Vilhjálmr was appointed under
such circumstances, only becoming Orkney’s sole bishop upon the death of his rival’s
supporter, jarl Magnús.16
13
Finnbogi Guðmundson, “Orkneyinga saga,” 113.
Finnbogi Guðmundson, “Orkneyinga saga,” 112.
15
Barbara Crawford, “Birsay and the Early Earls and Bishops of Orkney,” in Orkney Heritage, Vol. 2:
Birsay: A Centre of Political and Ecclesiastical Power, ed. William P.L. Thompson, 97-118 (Kirkwall:
Orkney Heritage Society, 1983), 103-105
16
Crawford, “Birsay and the Early Earls and Bishops of Orkney,”104-110.
14
Grayburn 5
While this may not seem like a major inconsistency, it is interesting to note the
significance of the claim that Bishop Vilhjálmr was the first bishop in Orkney. This
statement might simply be an error stemming from how Orkneyinga saga was
compiled, for the two passages were likely taken from different sources at different
times.17 Yet, even so, declaring Vilhjálmr the first bishop in Orkneyinga saga or an
earlier saga would have given him indisputable religious legitimacy and political status
that reflects his importance in the later saga narrative. Bishop Vilhjálmr is undoubtedly
one of the most prominent characters in the second half of Orkneyinga saga, playing a
key role in the sanctification of St. Magnús, as well as in the pilgrimage and
administration of Rǫgnvaldr. Even if it cannot be proven that this inconsistency was
intentional, it is important to consider the implications of such a statement and how such
information could be added or modified to suit the needs of the saga’s author(s) or
patron(s). It is a reminder in this discussion that that even the most seemingly
straightforward facts are not always historically accurate and can, in fact, help to shape
a historical narrative, not only record it. The comparison of evidence helps to sort
through this information, though external sources are not always available.
The second concern regards the ambiguity of Kristkirkja’s location and,
consequently, its association with two different archaeological sites. Orkneyinga saga
states that Kristkirkja was built in Byrgisheraði, which is now associated with the
village of Birsay on Mainland, Orkney. Yet, this term originally described the territory
covered by the Orcadian parishes of both Birsay and Harray. Despite this consideration,
oral tradition placed the church on the site of the present parish church in the village of
Birsay and, for the first half of the twentieth century, it was assumed that the original
Kristkirkja was, indeed, located in the village.18 In the middle of the twentieth century,
however, excavators Stewart Cruden and C.A. Radford argued that the church ruins on
the Brough of Birsay (adjacent to Birsay village and included in the original
Byrgisheraði region) were not the remnants of a monastery as previously believed, but
rather Þorfinnr’s Kristkirkja.19
17
See chapter 2 for more information on attributed sagas in Orkneyinga saga.
R. G. Lamb, “The Cathedral and the Monastery,” in Orkney Heritage, Vol. 2: Birsay: A Centre of
Political and Ecclesiastical Power, ed. William P.L. Thompson, 36-45 (Kirkwall: Orkney Heritage
Society, 1983) 38-39.
19
Stewart Cruden, “Earl Thorfinn the Mighty and the Brough of Birsay,” in The Third Viking Congress,
ed. Kristján Eldjárn, 156-165 (Reykjavík: Hið íslenska fornleifafélag, 1956). Stewart Cruden,
18
Grayburn 6
Cruden and Radford’s new identification of the church ruins on the Brough of
Birsay, known previously as St. Peter Kirk, not only shaped the interpretation of the
church itself, but also altered the interpretation of the surrounding archaeological site. In
the church nave, there was a singular grave in the center. Cruden notes that there were
traces of a wooden coffin and a disturbed skeleton, suggesting reburial or, perhaps, the
translation of relics. Whether the grave influenced Cruden’s identification of the church
as Kristkirkja or this identification encouraged the association of the grave with one of
the jarls’ burials is not clear.20 The archaeological site, however, was only uncovered
during a series of excavations in the early twentieth century and are far more difficult to
interpret. The plan of the surrounding structures had immediately suggested a cloister
and monastic community.21 Orkneyinga saga, however, records that Þorfinnr’s
residence and church were constructed in Byrgisheraði, presumably at the same
location. If St. Peter Kirk was, in fact, Kristkirkja, then the surrounding structures likely
included the necessary residences for the bishop and jarl. Cruden uses the saga liberally
in his analysis, as he describes these ruins as the “earl’s palace” (complete with a festal
hall) and a later twelfth-century “Episcopal palace.”22 An earlier structure that was
incorporated into Þorfinnr’s palace was even attributed to Þorfinnr’s father, jarl Sigurðr
digri
lǫðvisson, due to its size, quality, and proximity to Þorfinnr’s complex.23
Moreover, Cruden considers the formal characteristics of Þorfinnr’s palace in
conjunction with the jarl’s saga biography, arguing that, “the rationalized planning and
the use of masonry in the later parts [of the palace] represent innovations adopted by
Thorfinn [Þorfinnr] as a result of his journey to Rome.”24
Cruden’s identification and interpretation, however, were not embraced by all
scholars. In particular, Raymond Lamb reasserted in the 1980s that the oral tradition
placing Þorfinnr’s church under the village parish church was more logical, noting that
larger foundations had been discovered beneath the parish church (which retains the
“Excavations at Birsay, Orkney,” in The Fourth Viking Congress (York, August 1961), ed. Alan Small,
22-31 (Edinburgh: Oliver and Boyd, 1965). C. A. Radford, “Birsay and the Spread of Christianity to the
North,” in Orkney Heritage, Vol. 2: Birsay: A Centre of Political and Ecclesiastical Power, ed. William
P.L. Thompson, 13-35 (Kirkwall: Orkney Heritage Society, 1983).
20
Cruden, “Earl Thorfinn the Mighty,” 158.
21
Royal Commission on the Ancient Monuments of Scotland, Inventory of Orkney, vol. 2,
Twelfth Report with an Inventory: Orkney and Shetland (Edinburgh: HMSO, 1946), 1-5.
22
Cruden, “Excavations at Birsay,” 22.
Cruden, “Excavations at Birsay,” 28.
24
Cruden, “Excavations at Birsay,” 28.
23
Grayburn 7
name St. Magnus Church) and that St. Peter Kirk is stylistically too young to be
Þorfinnr’s eleventh-century Kristkirkja.25 He emphasizes the dedication to St. Peter and
compares the ruins on the Brough to those of the presumed monastery on Eynhallow,
ultimately deducing that St. Peter Kirk was an unrecorded twelfth-century monastery.
Additionally, he suggests that it was probably established by the jarls or Bishop
Vilhjálmr in the early twelfth century and that its high status resulted in its replication in
other Orkney areas like Deerness.26 Here again, however, Orkneyinga saga provides the
historical figures and general chronology that support this argument. Although the saga
does not mention any specific monasteries in Orkney during this time, it does give the
names of jarls and bishops in power. The church reflects trends from the twelfth century
and Lamb uses this dating to propose which powerful characters in the saga from this
time were likely its patrons.27
The debate regarding the identification not only of Kristkirkja, but also of St.
Peter Kirk still continues. Most recently, Barbara Crawford compared the Brough site
with that of an early Norwegian cathedral on the island of Selja. She uses these
similarities and the history of Selja to argue that the Brough was the site for Kristkirkja,
but that it was converted into a monastery and expanded when the cathedral moved to
Kirkwall following the construction of Rǫgnvaldr’s Magnúskirkja. The visible ruins,
then, are of the subsequent twelfth-century monastery, not Kristkirkja itself. Crawford
recognizes the tenuous nature of this debate, relying as it does upon sparse and unclear
information from the saga. She notes that her analysis and conclusions regarding the
identity of St. Peter Kirk can only be considered “hypothetical.”28 While scholars have
concluded generally that the visible ruins of St. Peter Kirk are stylistically too young to
be Þorfinnr’s Kristkirkja, there is still no definitive evidence to prove or disprove its
25
This conclusion was recently affirmed by a detailed description and discussion of the excavated
foundations under St. Magnus Parish Church. Christopher Morris, Birsay Bay Project: Sites in Birsay
Village and on the Brough of Birsay,Orkney, vol. 2. University of Durham Department of Archaeology
Monograph Series Number 2 (Durham: University of Durham, 1996), 31. Lamb, “The Cathedral and the
Monastery,”37-44.
26
Interestingly, the Deerness site is now interpreted as a Viking Age settlement and chapel, not a
monastery. Lamb, “The Cathedral and the Monastery,” 42-44. James . Barrett and Adam Slater, “New
Excavations at the Brough of Deerness: Power and Religion in Viking Age Scotland,” Journal of the
North Atlantic 2 (2009) 81-94.
27
Lamb does recognize the problems with conflating the sagas and the archaeological evidence: “The
difficulty of Birsay is one of bringing saga and historical material into relation with archaeology which
deals with a different kind of evidence and cannot necessarily answer the questions which the deficiencies
of the written record leave unanswered.” Lamb, “The Cathedral and the Monastery,” 38, 44-45.
28
Crawford, “Thorfinn, Christianity and Birsay,” 105.
Grayburn 8
original location. There likely never will be; the truth is that the saga presents a
relatively simple literary landscape, with only a small number of literary structures. The
presence of at least two significant liturgical sites (St. Magnus Parish Church and St.
Peter Kirk) where only one (Kristkirkja) is recorded suggests that we should at least be
wary of the saga’s simplicity and our own desire to associate physical sites with specific
known structures. The Orcadian landscape appears to have been far more complicated
and populated than the saga depicts.
Magnúskirkja and St. Magnus Cathedral
While the location of Orkney’s first cathedral by Þorfinnr might never be
determined definitively, the identification of Orkney’s second cathedral, Magnúskirkja
[Magnús Church], as the extant St. Magnus Cathdral is not in question. This church has
been in continuous use, if somewhat disrepair, since it was first constructed.
Magnúskirkja is referenced directly five times and indirectly possibly four more times
in Orkneyinga saga (it it not always clear if the saga means Magnúskirkja or another
church in Kirkwall). The first reference to the cathedral is jarl Rǫgnvaldr’s vow in
Chapter 68 to build a new shine and Episcopal See in Kirkwall for his uncle, St.
Magnús. This occurs before the church was constructed and shows a divine motive for
the work. In Chapter 76, then, the church is referenced for the first time directly as we
learn that the ground plan was laid out and the construction progressed very quickly at
first, though slowed after a few years. This second passage is longer, recording also that
Rǫgnvaldr’s father, Kolr Kalason, supervised the project and that it was funded first by
Rǫgnvaldr’s own money. When Rǫgnvaldr’s personal funds depleted, however, he used
the money that he received when he told his land rights [óðul] directly to the farmers.
Eventually, Magnus’s relics, which were in another church in Orkney, were translated
to this new site.
After this detailed description of the construction, the cathedral is mentioned as
a place of refuge and reconciliation during the struggle between jarl Rǫgnvaldr and his
kinsman, Erlend Haraldsson, who claimed co-rule of Orkney. In Chapter 92 and
Chapter 94, Arni Hrafnsson and unnamed men of Erlend flee from battle and find
refuge in the church, presumably to beg for pardon. Although we do not learn what
happened to them, we do hear that Arni ran so quickly and without concern that he
Grayburn 9
became stuck fast in the doorway when the shield on his back became wedged in the
door.29 When Erlend was eventually killed, the church became the principle site of
reconciliation between Rǫgnvaldr and Erlend’s most powerful supporter, Sveinn
Ásleifarson in Chapters 98 and 99. Both men entered the church fully armed for their
meeting and Rǫgnvaldr offered peace by returning goods that he had confiscated from
Sveinn. Although he gave Sveinn’s ship to his acknowledged co-ruler, jarl Haraldr
Maddaðarson, Rǫgnvaldr returned many precious things to Sveinn. Sveinn became
upset, however, when his ship’s sails were carried out of the church, where they had
been stored.30 Finally, in Chapter 104, Rǫgnvaldr was killed in battle and Bishop Bjarni
of Orkney buried him in Magnúskirkja with his uncle. Later, we learn that Rǫgnvaldr,
too, is declared a saint.
It is not surprising that Magnúskirkja dominates other architectural references in
the saga, for its physical counterpart, St. Magnus Cathedral, similarly dominates the
Orcadian landscape. Built in the grand Anglo-Norman style common across the North
Sea, the church is unlike anything else on the islands in terms of quality and scale. With
the identity of St. Magnus Cathedral unambiguously linked to the saga’s Magnúskirkja,
scholars describing the foundation and construction of St. Magnus Cathedral generally
accept the given saga account, occasionally quoting a translation of the narrative as
documentary evidence. According to this evidence, we learn explicitly that Rǫgnvaldr
built the cathedral after vowing to do so in exchange for divine help during his
campaign. Construction began quickly after this, was supervised by Kolr, and was
funded by personal funds and those acquired in sale of land rights. Moreover, the site
became the Episcopal See, the site of Magnús’ new (and presumably enlarged) shrine,
and was used as place of refuge and political meetings for jarl Rǫgnvaldr’s conflicts.
Finally, we learn that Rǫgnvaldr was also interred there with his uncle.
Many scholars incorporate this information directly into their research. For
example, Stewart Cruden, who similarly applied Orkneyinga saga to Kristkirkja, takes
the saga’s account literally, quoting Rǫgnvaldr’s vow in an article on St. Magnus
Cathedral and arguing that the church was “more than a pious gesture of remembrance.
29
30
Finnbogi Guðmundson, “Orkneyinga saga,” 245.
Finnbogi Guðmundson, “Orkneyinga saga,” 271.
Grayburn 10
It was the fulfillment of a contract.”31 Even if he does not believe that Magnus did,
indeed, intervene in Rǫgnvaldr’s campaign, Cruden presumes that Rǫgnvaldr made the
vow, believed in the divine support of his uncle, and constructed the cathedral to fulfill
his holy obligation. Other scholars cite the text when describing Kolr as the master
mason/project supervisor and describing how it was financed.32 Furthermore, the
chronology of the saga and Rǫgnvaldr’s conquest is used to date the start of
construction very specifically to c. 1137.33
Other scholars expand beyond the explicit architectural references and use the
full narrative of Orkneyinga saga to extrapolate more information about St. Magnus
Cathedral. For example, archaeological evidence suggests a break in construction
between the eastern half of the cathedral and the nave. Since the nave construction is
stylistically younger than that of the choir, scholars have concluded that it was
constructed east to west, with a small pause perhaps in the mid- to late-twelfth century.
L. Dietrichson uses the saga narrative to date this construction. In c. 1150, the saga
records that Rǫgnvaldr and Bishop Vilhjálmr went on pilgrimage to the Holy Land.
According to Dietrichson, it is unlikely that they would have left when the church was
not yet functional and that the first phase of construction (including the choir, where
mass was performed) would have been completed before then.34 And while Cruden
accepts the account of Rǫgnvaldr’s vow, Dietrichson argues that the church and
translation of relics were politically motivated. In order to emphasize this point,
Dietrichson focuses on a section of the saga that describes the relationship between
Bishop Vilhjálmr, who originally did not believe in the sanctity of St. Magnús, and
Rǫgnvaldr.
e hypothesizes that Vilhjálmr traveled to Norway to negotiate with
Rǫgnvaldr for his support, only declaring Magnús a saint upon his return as a way to
elevate the status of Rǫgnvaldr’s lineage and, thereby, support his political claim.35
31
Stewart Cruden, “The Founding and Building of the Twelfth-Century Cathedral to St. Magnus,” in St.
Magnus Cathedral and Orkney’s Twelfth-Century Renaissance, ed. Barbara Crawford, 78-87 (Aberdeen:
Aberdeen University Press, 1988), 78.
32
Per Sveaas Anderson, “The Orkney Church of the Twelfth and Thirteenth Centuries—a Stepdaughter
of the Norwegian Church?” in St. Magnus Cathedral and Orkney’s Twelfth-Century Renaissance, ed.
Barbara Crawford, 56-68 (Aberdeen: Aberdeen University Press, 1988), 65.
33
The generally accepted dating for saga episodes was established by A.B. Taylor, trans. and ed.,
Orkneyinga saga: A New Translation with Introduction and Notes (London: Oliver and Boyd, 1938).
34
Dietrichson and Meyer, Monumenta Orcadica, 58.
35
Dietrichson and Meyer, Monumenta Orcadica, 27-28.
Grayburn 11
While the trip to Norway is recorded in Orkneyinga saga, the rest is conjecture that
assumes the general historicity of the saga as a whole.
Just like with Kristkirkja, however, contradiction within the saga encourages a
more critical evaluation of individual data. For example, Rǫgnvaldr’s sale of land rights
as a funding source seems to contradict earlier saga chapters. In chapter 8, the saga
records that óðul belonged originally to the farmers, yet they agreed that it be
transferred to the jarls so that the jarls could pay fully the fees extracted by the
Norwegian king. The saga notes that the rights were held by the jarls until “Sigurðr jarl
gaf upp Orkneyingum óðul sín.” [jarl Sigurðr gave back to the Orkneymen their land
rights].36 This episode is described in more detail in chapter 11, when jarl Sigurðr digri
lǫðvisson returned the land rights to the farmers in exchange for military support.
Similar to the passage about Vilhjálmr as the first bishop of Orkney, it is possible that
the passage about Rǫgnvaldr’s finances from the óðul sales could be an error resulting
from the compilation of two distinct sources at two different times. We currently have
no external sources to verify which passage is ‘correct’ (or even if either is correct); yet,
again, these conflicting accounts provide an opportunity to consider potential
ideological and political significance for including the sale of land rights in this context
of the saga. Whether this sale indicates a legitimate source of funding for Rǫgnvaldr’s
construction or invests all Orcadians (at least those with land rights) with some sense of
investment in such a massive architectural undertaking, we are again reminded of the
potential significance carried by these seemingly innocuous ‘facts’ and challenged to
think beyond what is ‘true’ and ‘false.’ By considering together the context and function
of Orkney’s literary architecture, rather than just its accuracy, it is possible to approach
some of its original meaning within the context of thirteenth-century society.
Architecture as a Cultural Product
While some scholars still debate the historicity of certain texts and passages,
many scholars now consider the sagas to be creative cultural products that embody the
values and culture of the society creating it. As such, we can move beyond the
consideration of the fact and fiction of a saga to consider how a creative product
reflected the reality of its creators and audience. For example, Jesse Byock stresses the
36
Finnbogi Guðmundson, “Orkneyinga saga,” 16.
Grayburn 12
importance of the sagas, even recognizably fictional accounts, as a way to better
understand the cultural and social aspects of early Icelandic society. Rather than arguing
that the people in the sagas actually existed, Byock highlights aspects of feud, marriage,
law, and religion that create a framework for the narrative itself. 37 Similarly, Hermann
Pálsson argues that the characters, narrative, and even landscape in Hrafnkel’s saga do
not to reflect historical fact or culture during tenth century, but rather reaffirm Christian
needs, ethics, and morals the contemporary thirteenth society that produced it.38
Yet sagas, which create and circulate their own form of reality, also have the
power to shape, not just reflect its audiences. Ármann Jakobsson, for example,
highlights the propagandistic qualities of political sagas during the time they were
written, rather than their historical accuracy. The ideal emphasis upon kingship in
konungasǫgur, then, reflects not real lived history, but rather an expression of political
ideology.39 Moreover, these sagas have the power to shape new hegemonic memories to
legitimize the rule of a particular king. Bjørn Bandlien describes this process for the late
twelfth-century Norwegian king, Sverrir Sigurðsson, making a point to distinguish
between the historical Sverrir and the Sverrir in the saga, for the latter was constructed
in order to legitimize Sverrir’s power and ideology, not to accurately depict Sverrir as a
person. Both figures, however, are equally important for shaping the trajectory of
Norway’s history and society, for the saga produced and circulated its own account of
the past that was retained by cultural and personal memory.40
In this study, I too consider the sagas to be a creative product capable of
reflecting and shaping cultural values. Sagas are not merely reflections of reality; they
are independent artifacts expressing values, ideals, entertainment, and desires. As they
circulated and the stories and ideas within were distributed during the Middle Age, these
expressions would have been internalized by audiences and contributed directly to their
world view. Using Old English poetry and Anglo-Saxon architecture, Lori Ann Garner
provides an excellent model for such a study. Rather than use Old English poetic
descriptions and metaphors to interpret actual structures, Garner discusses the use of
37
Jesse Byock, Viking Age Iceland (London: Penguin Books, 2001), 149-158.
Hermann Pálsson, Art and Ethics in Hrafnkel’s saga (København: Munksgaard, 1971).
39
Ármann Jakobsson, “Royal Biography,” in A Companion to Old Norse-Icelandic Literature and
Culture, ed. Rory McTurk, 388-402 (Malden, M.A.: Blackwell Publishing, 2005), 388.
40
Bjørn Bandlien, “ egemonic Memory, Counter-Memory, and Struggles for Royal Power: The Rhetoric
of the Past in the Age of King Sverrir Sigurðsson of Norway,” Scandinavian Studies, 85, no. 3 (Fall
2013): 355-377.
38
Grayburn 13
these architectural references within a broad cultural network, focusing on references to
the hall and the castle as key sites of power in Anglo-Saxon and Norman literature
respectively.41 She interprets the cultural construct and ideologies of architecture and, as
such, unlocks the possibility to understand patterns in extant architectural remains.
With these frameworks in mind, I will avoid analyzing the churches of
Orkneyinga saga not factual references, inseparable from their real-world counterparts.
In fact, I make a clear distinction between literary architecture and real architecture
throughout this thesis in order to recognize the independent existence of both media.
This is not to say that comparing evidence it to be avoided; instead, I propose that it is
necessary to understand the values, conventions, and aims of each artifact—whether
text or architecture—before drawing conclusions about their relationship.
41
Lori Ann Garner also describes this text-architecture relationship for the Anglo-Saxon Sutton Hoo ship
Burial and Beowulf. Lori Ann Garner, Structuring Spaces: Oral Poetics and Architecture in Early
Medieval England (Notre Dame, I.N.: University of Notre Dame Press, 2011), xii.
Grayburn 14
CHAPTER 2:
Orkneyinga Saga as a Literary Construction
In Icelandic saga scholarship today, the historicity of the text is not taken for
granted. Although the saga corpus reveals a general interest of medieval northern
(including Orcadian) audiences in past events, the presence of historical inaccuracies,
supernatural events, and highly developed literary tropes appear throughout the sagas
and seem to undermine our understanding of the saga as an objective, historical account
by modern standards. Moreover, all sagas, and even sagas in the same ‘genre,’ cannot
be approached the same way in terms of reflecting factual historical events. This chapter
explores the complexity of the relationship between history and Orkneyinga saga, both
as a genre and as an individual story, in order to deconstruct the notion of saga as
unmediated fact and argue that the saga is a heavily mediated creative enterprise. First, I
will discuss history and genres of saga generally; then, I will look specifically at
Orkneyinga saga as a genre and as an individual saga.
Saga Genres and the Question of Historicity
In order to understand how to approach the historicity of the Orkneyinga Saga, it
is first necessary to understand how scholars both group and interpret the Icelandic
sagas in general. The Icelandic saga corpus is vast and varied, incorporating a number
of different texts that were written for different purposes. They range in date from the
twelfth to the fourteenth centuries, but often only survive in later copies and
compilations. Despite sharing the use of the vernacular Old Icelandic language and the
general interest in the broader Norse world, they often reflect different stylistic, literary,
and content influences from abroad. Yet, sagas were long believed to represent
unmediated fact, reflecting either historical or religious reality. This is due to the belief
that the texts descended directly from far older, and therefore more trust-worthy, oral
accounts.42 The stories themselves contain a vividness of characters, detail, and
narrative result in has been described as a “reality effect,” resulting in an immediate and
unmediated quality of the text. This quality, coupled with the explicate references in the
sagas to the trustworthy of eye-witnesses, the memories of wise men, and the
42
Theodore M. Andersson, “From Tradition to Literature in the Sagas,” in Oral Art Forms and their
Passage into Writing, ed. Else Mundal and Jonas Wellendorf, 7-18 (Copenhagen: Museum Tusculanum
Press, 2008), 7.
Grayburn 15
preservation of skaldic poems through their complicated meters, only enhanced the
sagas’ link to pre-historic oral tradition and, therefore, apparent historical veracity.43
The assumption of an oral origin for the saga tales allowed scholars to treat the sagas,
which often covered events from the late ninth to twelfth centuries, as primary
documents for these early ages despite the thirteenth- and fourteenth- century dating of
the sagas and even latter dating of the manuscripts. As a result, the sagas that seemed to
focus most clearly on historical fact—such as those related to the Icelanders and
Norwegian kings—became critical sources for national history in these budding nations,
as well as the focus of (often conflicting) nationalist sentiment in the Nordic countries. 44
Yet, during the first half of the twentieth century, the uncritical assumption of
historical truth in the sagas was challenged by scholars belonging to the Icelandic
School, such as Sigurður Nordal. These scholars championed the sagas not as history,
but rather as carefully crafted literature on par with any other forms in Europe. Such an
emphasis supported the cultural and political legitimacy of an increasingly autonomous
Iceland though its historical literary and cultural merits.45 Yet, in the process of
establishing the sagas as purely literary constructions, Nordal’s argument left historians
“with little option but to ignore the sagas; it…successfully discouraged analysis of the
social substance in the sagas and of indigenously derived creative elements in Icelandic
society.”46 The second half of the twentieth century, however, saw seen a critical
reaction to both views as scholars attempt to be critical of the sources, yet not disregard
them all together. One way to do this was to classify sagas differently according to
which ‘genre’ a text belong. Generally, the traditional genres that were applied by
modern scholars to the various sagas were used as a way to understand the relationship
of the text and its historical content. The typical assumption continues to be that the
shorter amount of time between the events recorded and the act of recording, the more
accurate the text could be.
43
Andersson, “From Tradition to Literature in the Sagas,” 9. Judy Quinn, “From Orality to Literacy in
Medieval Iceland,” in Old Icelandic Literature and Society, ed. Margaret Clunies Ross, 30-60
(Cambridge: University of Cambridge Press, 2009), 33.
44
Guðmundur álfdanarson, “Interpreting the Nordic Past: Icelandic Medieval Manuscripts and the
Construction of a Modern Nation,” in The Uses of the Middle Ages in Modern European States: History,
Nationhood and the Search of Origins, ed. R. J. W. Evans and Guy P. Marchal, 52-72 (New York,
Palgrave Macmillan, 2010).
45
Byock, Viking Age Iceland, 149-158.
46
Byock, Viking Age Iceland, 149-150.
Grayburn 16
There are many different genres within the Icelandic saga corpus. Among the
most famous include Íslendingasǫgur (sagas of the Icelanders or the ‘family sagas’ of
the Iceland settlement), konungasǫgur (sagas of —often Norwegian—kings),
fornaldarsǫgur (mythical-heroic sagas often focused upon the Gods and other
supernatural elements). Though perhaps less well known, there are also the
hagiographical saints’ lives (heilagra manna sǫgur), clerical and historical biographies
(biskupasǫgur),
epics
and
romances
(riddarasǫgur),
contemporary
histories
(samtíðarsǫgur), and classical Roman and encyclopedic translations.47 While modern
scholars have found such delineations helpful for highlighting similarities and
differences between content, style, and purpose of the various sagas, these
classifications did not exist in the medieval era.48 Different genres and sagas regarding
both pagan and Christian religions were patronized and likely written by the same
people and Heather O’Donoghue emphasizes the importance of all sagas a way to
engage with the past.49 She states that the sagas, whether religious, secular, historical, or
fictional, are all “continuous prose narratives about the past.”50 An interest in recounting
the past, whether real or imagined, was often expressed through extended genealogies,
references to textual or eye-witness authorities, and inclusion of believable details
including events and dialogue.51
The fornaldarsǫgur, for example, are often set in ambiguous, mythical time
periods predating the Viking Age. They are often assumed to be the least historically
valid due to their distance from the authors that originally recorded them, as well as for
their pagan and supernatural events. Both the pre-historic events and pre-Christian
beliefs they record have been challenged by scholars, as the sagas themselves were
recorded by Christian scribes and for Christian audiences centuries after the
47
eather O’Donoghue, Old Norse-Icelandic Literature: A Short Introduction (Malden, M.A.: Blackwell
Publishing,, 2004) 22-23. Lars Lönnroth, “The Icelandic Sagas,” in The Viking World, ed. Stefan Brink
with Neil Price, 304-310 (London: Routledge, 2008), 304.
48
Úlfar Bragason, “Sagas of Contemporary istory (Sturlunga saga): Tests and Research,” in A
Companion to Old Norse-Icelandic Literature and Culture, ed. Rory McTurk, 427-446 (Malden, M.A.:
Blackwell Publishing, 2005), 427.
49
Lönnroth, “The Icelandic Sagas,” 305. O’Donoghue, Old Norse-Icelandic Literature, 23. Rudolf
Simek, “The Medieval Icelandic World View and the Theory of the Two Cultures,” Gripla 20 (2009):
183-198.
50
O’Donoghue, Old Norse-Icelandic Literature, 23.
51
Stefanie Würth, “ istoriography and Pseudo- istory,” in A Companion to Old Norse-Icelandic
Literature and Culture, ed. Rory McTurk, 155-172 (Malden, M.A.: Blackwell Publishing, 2005), 157.
Grayburn 17
conversion.52 While believed these stories are believed to be linked to oral traditions,
the many centuries that separate the time-written-about and the time-of-writing also
encourages a skeptical perspective regarding an unmediated or unfiltered historical
representation.
The Íslendingasǫgur and the konungasǫgur, on the other hand, occupy a more
ambiguous position on the scholars’ scale of historical accuracy, despite the fact that
they were written often only a century or two after the recorded events. The detailed
narrative structure of the accounts and authors’ emphasis on both accurate and
trustworthy eye-witness and textual sources provide particularly alluring reasons to treat
these sagas as historical. Additionally, the use of genealogies is emphasized, showing
continuity with present Icelandic families or royal dynasties. As a result, these sagas
have also contributed greatly to modern historical narratives concerning the settlement
of Iceland and the monarchical development in Norway. Although some supernatural
elements occur within the sagas, both pagan and Christian, historians often disregard
them in order to focus upon more plausible tales, comparing the content of the sagas to
external evidence, such as archaeology. It has become increasingly common to regard
these sagas “good sources concerning mentality, ideas, social structure, farm life and
everyday customs in Old Norse society.”53
Finally, the samtíðarsǫgur, or ‘contemporary sagas,’ like Stulunga saga, were
written during the thirteenth century about the thirteenth century by authors who most
likely had intimate knowledge of the events that occurred. The high historical value
granted to these sagas by scholars, unlike other genres, is a result of the close proximity
of the authors to the events they describe. Additionally, the stories themselves focus less
upon supernatural elements, making their accounts, if not accurate, than at least more
plausible. Consequently, the contemporary sagas are often taken literally by scholars as
historical records. While Úlfar Bragason has recently questioned this literal use of the
sagas by highlighting the opportunities for author biases or fabrication, these sagas are,
nevertheless, the main foundation for modern historical accounts of the so-called ‘Age
of the Sturlungs’ in Iceland.54 Úlfar Bragason, however, believes that the recognition of
52
Stefanie Würth, “ istoriography and Pseudo- istory,” in A Companion to Old Norse-Icelandic
Literature and Culture, ed. Rory McTurk, 155-172 (Malden: Blackwell Publishing, 2005), 161-162.
O’Donoghue, Old Norse-Icelandic Literature, 22-24.
53
Lönnroth, “The Icelandic Sagas,” 306-309.
54
Úlfar Bragason, “Sagas of Contemporary istory”, 428.
Grayburn 18
falsehoods within the text, even during plausible events, is necessary in order to
appreciate the context and social framework in which the sagas are embedded.
Specifically, he argues that these texts, due to their proximity to the events they record,
could actively shape society through their reinterpretation of the past.55
Despite the convenience of these saga categories, they were contrived by
modern standards of taxonomy and genre (not medieval understanding or criteria) and,
therefore, limit how we can evaluate the historical validity of any particular saga. All of
the genres, no matter what time period they record, were written in an era that
influenced its creation. In chapter 1, we touched upon a few passages of Orkenyinga
saga concerning literary architecture that might display such prioritization and
political/ideological bias. It is easy to assume that architecture is very literally ‘in the
background,’ often setting the stage for the action on the text. Yet, even the background
relies on a certain fluency in the contemporary landscape and a flexibility regarding the
historical and literary aims of the text itself. As no genre can determine the historicity of
a text generally, it is necessary to evaluate each saga on its own when considering how
to use it as a resource.
Genre and Historicity of Orkneyinga saga
As the sagas were recorded or written in different periods, by different people,
about different subjects, and for different aims, it is ultimately impossible to make
assumptions about the historical accuracy of the sagas in general. In many instances,
single sagas do not fit within this neat classification system, or satisfy the characteristics
of multiple categories.56 Orkneyinga saga, for example, is often treated as both a
konungasaga and a samtíðarsaga due to its emphasis upon the genealogies of the
Orkney jarls, inclusion within later konungasögur compilations, and contemporary
dating of much of its recorded content (which ends around the time of Rǫgnvaldr’s
canonization in 1192) and its compilation in the early thirteenth century. Yet, there are
also sections with mythological and hagiographical foundations. Recognizing the
unique features of Orkneyinga saga, especially its emphasis on political development,
55
56
Úlfar Bragason, “Sagas of Contemporary istory,” 442.
Würth, “ istoriography and Pseudo- istory,” 161.
Grayburn 19
Melissa Merman and Judith Jesch have recognized the ideological importance of its
various components and embraced its new classification as a ‘political saga.’57
Scholars looking at the main feature of Orkneyinga saga, focusing on how it
relates to other sagas and how it is structured or narrated, have argued that it includes
elements of truth and fiction and builds upon patterns of political strife among the
Orkney jarls. For Judith Jesch, the complete Orkneyinga saga represents a carefully
composed compilation of sagas, with a narrator’s persona carefully constructed to
reflect upon and tie together the seams of the individual accounts.58 She adopts Melissa
Berman’s classification of the Orkneyinga saga as a ‘political saga’, along with other
sagas like Jómsvikinga saga and Færyinga saga, due to the fact that it does not quite fit
within the established categories of the konungasǫgur and contemporary sagas.59
Berman, in particular, argues that, while pieces of information contained within the
sagas are likely accurate, the emphasis of these political sagas is one of political
negotiation, with the reoccurring theme of political strife due to the existence of
multiple jarls and foreign intervention.60 Stefanie Würth points out that medieval
expectations for historical writing, even though employing previous textual and oral
evidence, do not mirror modern historical goals of factuality and objectivity. In fact,
medieval histories were embedded within the pursuits of grammar and rhetoric, often
including historical events, legends, and fiction, and helped to explain or justify
contemporary identities and relationships.61 For this reason, scholars’ ability to separate
the real from the fictional is not only greatly limited, but is, furthermore, anachronistic.
The ultimate focus on political conflict within the saga most likely reflects the concerns
and values present at the time of compilation.
Regardless, it is still important for some scholars to negotiate between fact and
fabrication with the Orkneyinga saga. William P. L. Thomason and Barbara Crawford,
for example, utilize Orkneyinga saga heavily in their histories of medieval Scotland and
Orkney respectively, while simultaneously comparing its textual evidence with other
57
Melissa A. Berman, “The Political Sagas,” Scandinavian Studies 57, no. 2 (Spr. 1985): 113-129. Judith
Jesch, “Narrating Orkneyinga Saga,” Scandinavian Studies 64, no. 3 (Sum. 1992): 336-355.
58
Jesch, “Narrating Orkneyinga Saga,” 336-355.
59
Jesch additionally suggests that Grœnlendinga saga and Eiríks saga rauða should also be included
within this new category. Berman, “The Political Sagas,”113-129. Jesch, “Narrating Orkneyinga Saga,”
335-355.
60
Berman, “The Political Sagas,” 113-114.
61
Würth, “ istoriography and Pseudo- istory,” 155.
Grayburn 20
evidence from archaeology, linguistics, and other foreign annals or chronicles.62 Yet, if
the information in the saga is not supported or openly contradicts other evidence, both
scholars assume that the particular saga account, rather than the whole saga, is not
accurate. During such an inconsistency in the account of the initial Norse conquest of
Orkney, Crawford recognizes the mediation of the saga authors by hypothesizing that
the thirteenth century writers were, in fact, framing the narrative and interpreting past
material, such as skaldic poetry, in terms of thirteenth-, rather than ninth-century
politics.63 Due to the fact that a Norwegian expedition was not recorded in other
Scottish annals of the period, Crawford argues against the narrative recorded in the
Orkneyinga saga, which described the conquest of Orkney by Norwegian royalty:
The thirteenth-century writers were of course well aware that the kings of their
own time laid claim to supremacy over all the ‘skattlands’ (tributary colonies) in
the west. It was only natural that when writing of the events of four centuries
earlier they should apply the thinking of their own time and interpret the skaldic
claims for [King] arald’s conquests in the west too widely.64
Many other stories in the Orkneyinga saga are included within our modern histories,
however, as they provide the best and most descriptive evidence available for the
characters, events, and dates from the ninth to twelfth centuries. Rather than just using
archeological or architectural evidence to support the text, as occasionally occurs when
such historical records are available, these historians’ cautious approach to the
information has allowed for a more meaningful dialogue to occur between different
disciplines.
Although different scholars have approached the historicity of the sagas and
even the Orkneyinga saga in different ways, it becomes apparent that the sagas
themselves represented not an objective representation of a past, but rather just one
possible presentation of it. The sagas themselves present a continuous historical
tradition, in which the possibilities to change, enhance, add to, compile, and translate
were encouraged. As with other medieval compilatio (compilation, or textual
‘pillaging’), the meaning of the text was often flexible, dependent not only upon the
socio-historical context of the text, but also upon the later the context of the narrative
62
William P.L. Thomson, History of Orkney (Edinburgh: The Mercat Press, 1987). Barbara Crawford,
Crawford, Scandinavia Scotland (Leicester: Leicester University Press, 1987), v.
63
Crawford, Scandinavia Scotland, 53-54.
64
Crawford, Scandinavia Scotland, 52.
Grayburn 21
with other compiled stories. Taking the narrative accounts of the sagas as a true
snapshot of historical events, as medieval architectural historians have tended to do, can
not only be misleading, but can even deny the function understanding of the text within
its medieval context.
Orkneyinga saga as Oral Tradition, Saga, and Manuscript
While it is easy to consider Orkneyinga saga as one distinct text, it is if fact a
complex and obtuse creative product developed over multiple decades using numerous
written and oral sources. Alexander Burt Taylor provided one of the most
comprehensive analyses of the saga’s components and sources. By analyzing different
manuscript fragments of Orkneyinga saga and comparing them with sagas, Taylor
determined that Orkneyinga saga was compiled in Iceland (likely in the north) during
two major stages.65 The first stage has been dated to c. 1210-1225 based on references
and quotations of the Orkneyinga saga in other sagas. Early chapters of Orkneyinga
saga are actually cited in Heimskringla, Snorri Sturluson’s compilation on the kings of
Norway from c. 1220-1230. This suggests that Snorri likely had an early compilation of
chapters four through 32 (through Þorfinnr Sigurðarson’s death and burial at
Kristkirkja), which were known as Jarla sǫgur [Jarls’ sagas] by that time.66 This early
section was composed of multiple sagas and short stories [þættur] of individual jarls,
many of which do not survive independently. Sources include a saga of jarl Torf-Einarr
Rǫgnvaldsson, as well as þættir of the sons of Þorfinnr hausakljúfr Torf-Einarsson,
Sigurðr digri
lǫðvisson, and the sons of Sigurðr digri
lǫðvisson (including three þættir
related to Þorfinnr Sigurðarson, which Taylor described as the “Saga of Earl Thorfinn”
when compiled).67 These sagas were likely written down before their inclusion within
twelfth-century Jarla sǫgur, yet they were themselves composed of skaldic poetry and
older oral accounts. To weave together a coherent narrative, the early saga compiler also
included excerpts from the sagas of Norwegian kings, including those of Haraldr inn
hárfagri Hálfdanarson, Eiríkr blóðøx Haraldsson, Óláfr Tryggvason, and Óláfr inn helgi
Haraldsson, Haraldr Sigurðarson, and Magnús inn góði Ólafsson.68
65
Taylor, The Orkneyinga Saga, 13-16.
Taylor, The Orkneyinga Saga, 24-25, 32.
67
Taylor, The Orkneyinga Saga, 17, 33-34.
68
Taylor, The Orkneyinga Saga, 33-64.
66
Grayburn 22
The second part of Orkneyinga saga references Heimskringla and was
presumably completed after the compiler had the opportunity to read Snorri’s completed
Heimskringla in c. 1235.69 This second part, including chapters 33 through 108,
includes many new sources, including various genealogies, þættir (or perhaps a
complete saga) of Hákon Pálsson, a saga of St. Magnús, and a saga of Rǫgnvaldr
Kolason. Additionally, there were many stories taken from sagas of Norwegian kings,
including Haraldr Sigurðarson, Magnús berfættr Ólafsson, Magnús Sigurðarson, and
Sigurðr Jórsalafari Magnússon.70 There are also many poems (especially those of jarl
Rǫgnvaldr) and eye witnesses, as the events were recorded soon enough after they
occurred that they still existed in living memory.71 But while it seems that most of
Orkneyinga saga was compiled by one person who influenced and, in turn, was
influenced by Snorri Sturluson, Taylor has also identified interpolations and additions
throughout the saga that were added after the completion of this second part. These
additions included updated information, hagiography, additional þættir, and content
from the Norwegian kings’ sagas. One later reviser, who added chapters 109-112 at an
unknown date, was not the original compiler and clearly had new interests and agendas
for writing.72
So despite the relative flow and continuity within Orkneyinga saga, it is clear
that multiple authors and a variety of sources—each with its own history and agenda—
contributed to the account as we read it today in our published editions and translations.
In the past, Orkneyinga saga has been examined as one complete saga or finished
project; yet, even this name seems to be recent development. While Jarla sǫgur seems
to refer to the first part of the saga (chapters 4-32), the earliest reference to any cohesive
saga about Orkney appears in a thirteenth-century manuscript heading in a saga about
Óláfr inn helgi. This heading, “Upphaf Orkneyinga sagna,” or “Beginning of tales of the
Orkneymen,” suggests that there was some type of compilation of Orkney sagas and
accounts by that time. However, Taylor believes that it is likely that this was rather a
short þáttir rather than a compressive saga. Only in the fourteenth century do we hear
69
Taylor, The Orkneyinga Saga, 25
Taylor, The Orkneyinga Saga, 17, 65-88.
71
Taylor proposes that Sighvat Sturluson, Snorri’s brother and rival might be the compiler of both parts.
The compiler’s knowledge of certain families and landscapes suggests that he may have traveled there
around the turn of the thirteenth century. Taylor, The Orkneyinga Saga, 28-31
72
Taylor, The Orkneyinga Saga, 88-97.
70
Grayburn 23
about Saga Orkneyinga Jarla in a saga about Óláfr Tryggvason. The name Orkneyinga
saga itself, though, only appeared in the seventeenth century.73
With this information, it is clear that Orkneyinga saga is a composite, not one
comprehensive account. With the various people, sources, influences, and additions all
contributing to the account as we read it today, it is difficult to make any conclusive
argument regarding its historical veracity. The fact that sagas were used and copied as
sources in other sagas even complicates our ability to assess a saga’s content through
comparison. Yet, this difficulty does not even take into consideration the fact that all of
the manuscripts that we have that record the saga are not only incomplete, but also later
than its estimated compilation. In fact, the oldest fragment that we have (c. 1275)
consists only of a single leaf, while the most comprehensive copy (with almost the
whole compilation as we read it today) comes from the late fourteenth-century
Flateyjarbók, a manuscript known for its frequent inaccuracies.74 It is not clear if all
copies of Orkneyinga saga would have included all of the accounts of this manuscript.
It is important to remember, though, that saga itself was never an immutable text; rather,
it was a compilation of established sagas and þættir, likely circulating simultaneously in
written and oral forms. Regardless of historical accuracy, the act of recontextualization
inherent in compilation provides the opportunity to order and prioritize the content and,
as a result, create meaning through its new form and structure. By juxtaposing Orkney
jarls with other jarls and Norwegian kings, by highlighting key political themes and motifs
throughout the various parts, the events and characters in the saga gained new ideological
significance. It is unclear whether these ideological messages were included in the original saga
sources before they were united in Orkenyinga saga or were added by the thirteenth-century
compiler himself. Regardless, the resultant product promoted itself as an official history of the
jarls and, consequently, helped shape the cultural memory of Orkney’s medieval past for
centuries after.
73
74
Taylor, The Orkneyinga Saga, 21-22.
Taylor, The Orkneyinga Saga, 9-10.
Grayburn 24
Chapter 3:
Churches in Context in Orkneyinga saga
Now that we have established that Orkneyinga saga is a highly mediated
compilation, we can look directly at the literary churches in the saga within their textual
context regardless of their existence within the physical world. There are numerous
references to architecture in Orkneyinga saga, including houses, beacons, taverns, and
fortifications. Churches are mentioned more than all other types of structures. Their
frequent and varied references suggest not only the importance of churches within
medieval society, but also the numerous functions that they fulfilled. They were not
only status symbols, likely to be the largest and most embellished structure in any
particular region, but they were also used for mass, burials, refuge, meetings, and—due
to their size and material—fortification during times of strife.
This chapter will introduce three general types of literary churches in
Orkneyinga saga, focusing not on the function of the church itself, but rather as to how
the building functions within the scope of the saga and, consequently, fits within the
socio-political structure of thirteenth-century Orkney. First, I will examine brief,
passing references to churches and, then, extended scenes that describe a church as a
setting or point of reference. Finally, I will consider the most detailed and repeatedly
mentioned literary churches, looking at how multiple references to one specific church
can carry larger connotations. Specific references function in multiple ways, and some
examples will appear more than once, while other references will not be mentioned at
all.
Brief References to Churches
Undoubtedly, the most common references to churches are very brief, often a
reference to a church name or a church in general with no elaboration. These passages
can related to almost anything, but in Orkneyinga saga, most fall into two related
categories: references to churches as a site of burial and as the site of holy relics and
their associated miracles.
Churches appear as sites of burials on seven separate occasions. The first type
mentions burials at specific churches and are for the Orkney jarls. Jarl Þorfinnr and jarl
Grayburn 25
Magnús are both buried at Kristkirkja, for example.75 These two figures are the most
important in the saga up until their deaths and it is perhaps not surprising that their
burials are the first to be recorded at not only a church, but also the first cathedral of
Orkney. The former burial is stated simply as fact, that Þorfinnr was buried at
Kristkirkja, the church he had built. The latter burial of St. Magnús, however, only
occurred after his mother pleaded to his murderer, jarl Hákon Pálsson, that she be
allowed to retrieve her son’s body from the site of murder so that “sonr minn sé til
kirkju fœrðr” [my son might be born to a church].76 Hákonw is moved by her humble
request and states that she can bury her son where ever she chooses. The selection of
Kristkirkja has significant implications and consequences within the story, for it not
only connects Magnús with his jarl forbearers (especially Þorfinnr), but its status as the
Episcopal See also provides an opportunity for Bishop Vilhjálmr to be at the site of
Magnús’ grave during his miracles.77 Finally, in chapter 104, we read that jarl
Rǫgnvaldr was granted burial [grǫpt] at Magnúskirkja.78
The later church burials, however, are less specific, referencing churches,
generally, as the site of burial for Rǫgnvaldr’s fallen companions during his pilgrimage.
In chapter 88, for example, Oddi inn litli composed a skaldic verse to Þorbjǫrn svarti,
who fell ill in Acre: “Þar sák hann at hǫfuðkirkju, vin siklings, ausinn sandi. Nú þrumir
grund gr tt of hǫnum sólu birt á suðrvegum.” [There, I saw him buried in sand at the
churchyard, the poet’s [Rǫgnvaldr’s] friend. Now, the stony ground over him lays
brightened by the sun in the southern lands].79 Similarly, in the same chapter, Jón fót
dies in Imbólum (Constantinople) and is “grǫpt at kirkju” [buried at church] with no
designation of a specific location. Upon the death of Rǫgnvaldr’s rival, jarl Erlend
Haraldsson, too, we learn that his body was “fœrt til kirkju” [born to church].80
Various phrases/verbs used for these church burials are interesting in that that
are not used for similar pagan burials earlier in the saga. For Christian burials, the
church is stressed, as the saga uses the verbs grafa and jarða to convey actual burial at
75
Orkneyinga saga, chapters 32 and 52.
Finnbogi Guðmundson, “Orkneyinga saga,” 112.
77
Orkneyinga saga, chapter 52.
78
Finnbogi Guðmundson, “Orkneyinga saga,” 282.
79
Reordered prose provided in footnotes, Finnbogi Guðmundson, “Orkneyinga saga,” 231.
80
Finnbogi Guðmundson, “Orkneyinga saga,” 261.
76
Grayburn 26
church and fœra and ausa to convey the act of bearing a body to church.81 Moreover, for
legitimate jarls, the location of the church is mentioned, while those of their followers
and competing jarls are not.82 Alternatively, for all pagan burials referenced in
Orkneyinga saga, the burial mound and associated verbs are stressed. Heygja, for
example, communicates not just burial, but more specifically, burial under a mound.
This is the term used specifically for the pagan jarls Sigurðr inn ríki Eysteinsson,
Þorfinnr hausakljúfr Torf-Einarsson, and
lǫðvir Þorfinnsson.83 In chapter 5, for
example, pagan jarl Sigurðr “ [er] heygðr á Ekkjalsbakka” [is buried in a mound on
Ekkjalsbakka].84 The one pagan burial recorded in the saga that is not a jarl’s mound is
that of the jarl’s enemy and, interestingly, a different phrase for burial is used, with no
given specifics about location. For example, kasta haug [throw a mound] is used in
chapter 8, when jarl Einarr rangmuðr Sigurðarson defeated Hálfdan Haraldsson. The
reference to his burial mound might only be included as an introduction for the jarl’s
accompanying skaldic verse, but it is interesting to note that it is the jarl’s actions that
are stressed in the statement, not any commemoration for the deceased: “lét hann kasta
haug álfdanar” [he had álfdan’s mound formed].85
When we compare the pagan and Christian burial references, especially for the
jarls, a pattern emerges: funerary monuments (Church and pagan mound) function in
the same way for their religious counterparts. These monuments are not only random
facts included in the saga, but they also communicate the honor given to and religious
tradition followed for the deceased. Moreover, the importance of communicating the
location of the churches and burial mounds of jarls only indicates that these sites were
important to remember and circulate among those listening or reading the saga. For
unnamed burials for other noblemen, the reference to unspecified churches seems to
emphasize merely that the deceased had, in fact, died and been given proper burial rites.
81
Even when jarl Erlend Þorfinnsson died and was buried in Bergen (with no mention of a church), the
verb grafa was used. Orkneyinga saga, chapters 32, 52, 82, 88, 94, and 104.
82
Jarl Erlendr died fighting against Rǫgnvaldr, who did not recognize his claim. Moreover, the location
of the burial of jarl Haraldr ungi, the rival of established jarl Haraldr Maddaðarson, in chapter 104 is
unclear, referring to his supposed sanctity as rumors, not established fact.
83
Orkneyinga saga, chapters 5, 8, and 11.
84
Ekkjalsbakka is the bank of the River Oykel in Scotland. Finnbogi Guðmundson, “Orkneyinga saga,” 9.
85
Finnbogi Guðmundson, “Orkneyinga saga,” 15.
Grayburn 27
This information, perhaps, would have been important if a voyager died while away
from home or if it was possible to contest a leader’s death.86
Other frequent, if brief references to churches reinforce the legitimate Christian
faith of the Orcadians by providing the location for Orkney’s most important relics and
miracles. St. Magnús, for example, went to an unnamed church on Egilsay to pray
before his martyrdom.87 Kristkirkja, also, was the location of the miracle that prompted
Bishop Vilhjálmr to declare Magnús a saint.88 At the end of the saga, the relics of St.
Magnús were kept at various points in three different churches and a church was
constructed over the location of jarl
araldr ungi’s death when it was rumored that
miraculous events occurred where he fell.89 These passages, again, are linked intricately
to the jarls of Orkney, reinforcing their sanctity and the sanctity of their churches
through divine intervention.
Extended Scenes with Church References
The next references that I will discuss are extended scenes or events, with
churches often used as the setting or a point of reference for dominantly secular
conflicts. In particular, these accounts include unusual and often detailed anecdotes
concerning the logistics of murder, war, and peace keeping. Both accounts discussed in
this section, again, concern churches owned by Orkney’s jarls.
Detailed descriptions of houses are more common than those of churches, but
there is one episode in particular that a church is mentioned in connection with a jarl’s
adjacent hall. This first episode spans chapters 66 and 67 and focuses on Sveinn
Ásleifarson’s murder of Sveinn brjóstreip at jarl Páll’s residence in Orphir. The saga
describes the physical characteristics of the residence and drinking hall in more detail
than usual: “Þar í Ørfjǫru var drykkjuskáli mikill, ok váru dyrr við eystra gaflhlað
sunnan á hliðvegg, ok stóð kirkja dýrlig fyrir skáladurum” [There was a great drinking
86
For the jarls, a definitive death is necessary to ensure the smooth transition to the next generation
within the narrative. In the one instance that the death of jarl Páll Hákonarson could not be confirmed, the
saga author makes special note that there are diverging stories, with some speculating that he escaped
alive to Scotland, while others believed he was blinded by his sister and later killed. All the author can
claim for sure is that Páll never again returned to Orkney or gained power a neighboring region. Magnús’
mother’s anxiety that Magnús was not given a proper burial after his murder might also reflect some of
these uncertainties. Orkneyinga saga, chapter 52 and 75.
87
Orkneyinga saga, chapter 48-49.
88
See the discussion of Kristkirkja in chapter 1. Orkneyinga saga, chapter 57.
89
Orkneyinga saga, chapters 57 and 104.
Grayburn 28
hall in Orphir and there were doors against in the south wall, against the eastern gableend. And a glorious church stood before the hall].90 After this, we learn that the two
Sveinns sit near each other in the hall and that an argument occurs while drinking.
While the placement of the two characters is undoubtedly important for the argument to
start, it is interesting that the positions not only of Sveinn Ásleifarson and Sveinn
brjóstreip are noted, but also that of Sveinn brjóstreip’s kinsman, Jón, Eyvindr
Melbrigðason, and their cupbearers.
Pernille Herman notes that such spatial positioning, especially at feasts with
many people, might reflect a key mnemonic device retained from oral accounts.91
Similar spatial recall was employed in the classical world and would allow performers
of early sagas to use an interior space to organize their events and recall who was
present. Such mnemonic devices might account for the exceptional amount of
architectural detail that we see in this passage; though, it is important to note that the
emphasis on the doors and their relationship to the church ultimately allow Sveinn
Ásleifarson to murder both Sveinn and Jón and escape to safety. Sveinn Ásleifarson
actually attacked Svein and Jón as they were exiting the hall to attend mass in the
church. Sveinn Ásleifarson first hid outside the door and struck the other Sveinn from
the front as he entered the doorway. Sveinn, then, in his attempt to strike his attacker,
accidently kills his own kinsman instead. With the rest of the household in the church,
Sveinn Ásleifarson absconded to the protection of Bishop Vilhjálmr before anyone
noticed the murders.92 This singular reference to the Orphir church is obviously an
intentional component to the narrative and included not to impart any particular singular
architectural information, but rather to ensure that the action of the chapter could be
recounted and that saga audiences understood the series of events.93
The meeting between Sveinn Ásleifarson and jarl Rǫgnvaldr in Magnúskirkja
similarly includes information about architectural layout. In chapters 98 and 99, both
90
Finnbogi Guðmundson, “Orkneyinga saga,” 151.
Pernille ermann, “Key Aspects of Memory and Remembering in Old Norse-Icelandic Literature,”
(unpublished draft, digital copy obtained through private contact, Nov. 2013), 10-11.
92
Finnbogi Guðmundson, “Orkneyinga saga,” 154-155.
93
Some scholars presume that jarl Hákon Pálsson, jarl Páll’s father and murderer of Magnús, was the
patron of the ruins of a circular church located in Orphir due to the fact that round churches reflect the
architecture of the oly Sepulcher in Jerusalem and ákon supposedly went on pilgrimage after Mágnus’
murder. As the result of this correlation, Sveinn’s murder is located here in these particular ruins. See
chapter 1 for a consideration of possible problems with such historically-minded arguments. Lamb, “The
Cathedral and the Monastery,” 44.
91
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men go into the church meeting fully armed. Sveinn and Rǫgnvaldr both “stóðu hjá
kirkjudurunum” [stood by the church doors] when Sveinn saw his ship’s sails carried
out from the cathedral.94 Little else occurs in this passage, yet the inclusion of such a
specific location within an architectural context is rare in the saga and invites further
inquiry. Similar to Sveinn’s murder above, such spatial memory might act as a
mnemonic device. It is also possible that doorways, as seen in both passages, were
viewed as critical locations of either physical vulnerability or liminality. Doorways in
the Viking Age were ritualized as liminal thresholds for the dead and it is possible that
these associations continued after conversion to Christianity as a religious concepts or
metaphors.95
Metaphor of Power
While multiple churches are mentioned in Orkneyinga saga, Kristkirkja and
Magnúskirkja are clearly the most important. Their significance is displayed both
through the frequency of their appearance and details that they communicate. In chapter
1 of this thesis, we encountered all of the references for each church and how
architectural historians connected those references to physical structures. In the
preceding two sections on brief references and extended scenes, on the other hand, we
encountered Kristkirkja and Magnúskirkja as the location of jarls’ burials, the Episcopal
See, and the shrine of St. Magnús. We also encountered Magnúskirkja as a significant
site for political confrontations. All of these functions link the structures intimately with
the Orcadian jarls—most specifically Þorfinnr, Magnús, and Rǫgnvaldr—and each
reference further supports the significance not only of the structure, but of the jarl(s) so
intimately linked with it.
Architectural patronage is especially significant when discussing the prestige of
a building and, sometimes more than once, the saga clearly articulates that Kristkirkja
was built by Þorfinnr and Magnúskirkja by Rǫgnvaldr. Under the proprietary church
system, the jarls, not the Church, would have owned and controlled the church as their
94
Finnbogi Guðmundson, “Orkneyinga saga,” 271.
It is interesting to repeat here the occurrence in chapter 92, when Arni Hrafnsson fled from battle and
attempted to find refuge in the Magnúskirkja. This is comedic story, as Arni ultimately gets stuck in the
doorway of the church during his flight and his friends are unable to find him for days afterward. The
doorway, in this example, becomes an obstacle of ridicule rather than a passageway. Marianne Hem
Eirksen, “Doors to the Dead: The Power of Doorways and Thresholds in Viking Age Scandinavia,”
Archaeological Dialogues 20, no. 2 (2013): 187-214.
95
Grayburn 30
own personal property.96 This ownership was reinforced by the use of the churches in
the saga as political meeting sites and the jarls’ burial sites. Moreover, the
establishment not only of a church, but also of an Episcopal See was especially
significant for Þorfinnr, for it indicated that the independence of a region and power of a
ruler were recognized by foreign and papal powers.97 For Rǫgnvaldr, on the other hand,
the familial connection with St. Magnús would have provided him with divine support
and additional legitimacy when he took control of the islands. His church, as a
pilgrimage site, would have also attracted pilgrims and their money, increasing both his
prestige in the region and the finances of his church/estate. Since the status of Orkney
and the jarl would increase through such endeavors, it should not be surprising that the
churches feature in the saga as frequently as they do. Even if one could not physically
visit a church, the circulating accounts of these literary churches and the jarls’ actions
(both during their life and after their deaths) would have enhanced the importance and
legitimacy of the jarls, their decedents, and Orkney itself.
The jarls’ patronage is not without precedence, however. By building churches,
establishing Episcopal Sees, and supporting local cults, Þorfinnr and Rǫgnvaldr were
engaging in activities intimately associated with eleventh- and twelfth-century kings of
Norway. While many of their original churches do not survive, there are numerous
references to their patronage activities, especially in Snorri Sturlurson’s Heimskringla.98
While it is possible for some noblemen (rather than kings) to construct churches, this is
mentioned only rarely in Heimskringla and never in Orkneyinga saga.99 The difference
between patronage expectations for kings and noblemen is clearly distinguished in
Laxdæla saga. In chapter 74, Icelandic chief Þorkell Eyjólfsson traveled to Norway for
building timber and, after seeing Óláfr inn helga’s newly built church, copied the
measurements and design of so that he could replicate it in Iceland. When Óláfr
discovered this, he requested that Þorkell cut off part of his measurements, presumably
96
Maria-Claudia Tomany, “Sacred Non-Violence: St. Magnus of Orkney,” in Sanctity in the North:
Saints, Lives, and Cultures in Medieval Scandinavia, ed. Thomas Andrew DuBois, 128-153 (Toronto:
University of Toronto Press, 2008), 137.
97
I. P. Shaw, Nationality and the Western Church before the Reformation: The Maurice Lecture for 1956
given at King’s College London (London: APCK, 1959), 18-19.
98
Some examples from Heimskringla include: “ ákonar saga Aðalsteinsfóstra” chapter 13; “Óláfs saga
helga” chapter 53, 61, 109, 114, 121; “ aralds saga Sigurðarsonar” chapter 38; “Óláfs saga kyrra”
chapter 2, 6; “Magnúsaona saga” chapters 14, 19, 32; “Magnúss saga blinda og aralds gilla” chapter 7.
9999
“Óláfs saga helga” in eimskringla, chapter 113. In Orkneyinga saga, the only non jarl patronage
mentioned include Kolbeinn hrúga’s steinkastala [stone castle] and Sveinn Ásleifarson’s drykkjuskáli
[drinking hall] in chapters 84 and 108.
Grayburn 31
so that his church would not be as large as Óláfr’s church. Þorkell refuses. Óláfr then
accuses Þorkell of trying to complete with someone of his status and foretells that his
church will never be built. This prophecy proves true, as Þorkell’s ship flounders in
Iceland, scattering the wood intended for his monument.100 While it is not clear if such
an event ever truly occurred, Óláfr’s words indicate that there was a recognized social
protocol that Þorkell clearly disregarded by trying to match the grandeur of the king’s
construction. Moreover, Þorkell’s unrealized church and corresponding death seems to
indicate that this protocol was stringent, with potentially serious (and otherworldly)
consequences for those seeking to break the social order and exceed their status.
The Orkney jarls’ power was expressed through their architectural patronage in
Orkneyinga saga and reinforced by the similar activities of rulers in other sagas. As a
result, the jarls’ reputations were equated with those of Norway’s kings’. Rǫgnvaldr’s
eventual canonization seems to suggest that this was a legitimate comparison, one that
displayed the reality of their quasi-royal status, rather than an ill-founded attempt to
exceed their station.101 It is unlikely that we will ever know if these comparisons were
promoted intentionally by the jarls or applied to their lives after their deaths. The
appearance of such royal allusions, though, suggests that Þorfinnr and Rǫgnvaldr were
recalled as two of the most significant and powerful Orcadian jarls during the first half
of the thirteenth century. As Orkney was confronted with expanding Norwegian and
Scottish powers and its independence began to dwindle during this time, it is possible
that these detailed accounts of the reigns of Þorfinnr and Rǫgnvaldr provided a lasting
memory of Orkney’s past greatness.
100
Einar Ól, Laxdæla saga, Íslenzk fornrit V (Reykjavík: Hið íslenzka fornritafélag, 1934), chapters 74
and 76.
101
Orkneyinga saga, chapter 104.
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CHAPTER 4:
‘Musteri’ in Orkneyinga saga and Other Sagas
As seen in the last chapter, literary churches can be referenced in numerous
ways and fulfill many roles within the text itself. A consistent theme, however, is the
important connotation between a jarl and his corresponding churches—whether he
constructed, owned, or was buried at a particular church. Church patronage was an
important activity of medieval leaders and the sagas reinforce the important social status
that building a large church could bring. In the medieval North, church building was
dominated by the nobility, yet the patronage of kings was often more elaborate and
more widely celebrated in the literature than other patronage. Jarl Þorfinnr and jarl
Rǫgnvaldr adopted quasi-royal qualities through the association of their activities and
recounted for other saga kings. Yet the action of construction is not the only way to
associate the works of different leaders; vocabulary, too, can form ideological links
between figures and their work. In this chapter, I will narrow my focus to look at the
term musteri in Orkneyinga saga. This term, associated with other kings and royal
patronage through its use in the sagas, only reinforces the unique status and position
Þorfinnr and Rǫgnvaldr held in Orcadian history and society in the thirteenth century.
In English, there are multiple words for a “church” building that describe the
function or physical qualities of the building in more detail. For example, there is the
general ‘church,’ but also ‘chapel,’ ‘cathedral,’ as well as less direct references to the
building in its entirety, including ‘shrine.’ The most common term in Old Icelandic for a
church is kirkja and it is used indiscriminately in texts regardless of size, material, or
status of the church in question. The term is ubiquitous, with ‘church’ being the closest
modern English equivalent.102 Occasionally, the term will be used with qualifying
adjectives, explaining more about the structure in question (for example, steinkirkja or
stone church). In Orkneyinga saga, this term is used 28 times in specific church names
(such as Magnúskirkja), church compounds (such as kirkjudurr), and to designate
churches generally.
102
Guðbrandur Vigfússon and Richard Cleasby, “Kirkja,” in An Icelandic-English Dictionary (Oxford:
The Clarendon Pres, 1874), 339.
Grayburn 33
Yet, there is one other, less common term that is used in Orkneyinga saga. The
term musteri (or mustari, mysteri) appears twice during the saga’s references to the
patronage activities of Þorfinnr and Rǫgnvaldr. The first use occurs in chapter 31 in
reference to a church built in Birsay by jarl Þorfinnr after a journey to various royal
European courts and Rome to be the seat the newly appointed Bishop of Orkney. The
second use appears in chapter 68 in reference to a vow made by jarl Rǫgnvaldr, who
promises to build a church to his martyred uncle, Magnús, and move the Episcopal See
to Kirkwall should he help him secure control of his domain in Orkney. While it is
tempting to focus on the buildings’ similarities as the seats of the Orcadian bishops, and
therefore an equivalent to the English word ‘cathedral,’ such a conclusion is too
simplistic when compared to other intertextual references to kirkja and musteri in both
Orkneyinga saga and other medieval Icelandic texts. In order to better understand the
significance of the term musteri, then, this chapter will explore current interpretations of
the term and outline other uses in medieval texts that are contemporary with Orkneyinga
saga. This chapter is not intended to present a definitive list of the term musteri in the
Icelandic corpus, but rather a way to way to better understand how the term was being
used at the beginning of the twelfth century and, consequently, why the term was
selected for those particular passages in Orkneyinga saga.
Musteri in Orkneyinga saga
Musteri, as it appears in Old Icelandic, has been traced by scholars to the Latin
term monasterium.103 Yet, the origin of the word itself can only hint at the intricacies of
its contextual meaning in various cultures. Translations of Orkneyinga saga have dealt
with the term musteri in various ways that may provide a misleading understanding of
the term within the context of Orcadian architecture by concealing its relationship to
other passages. In early Icelandic translations, musteri was translated simply as
‘church.’104 In the most recent translation by Hermann Pálsson and Paul Edwards,
however, the term has been translated as “minster.”105 This differentiation highlights the
fact that a different term was used within the text for these passages and, additionally,
103
Radford, “Birsay and the Spread of Christianity to the North,”26.
Taylor, The Orkneyinga Saga, 248.
105
Hermann Pálsson and Paul Edwards, trans. and eds., Orkneyinga Saga (London: Hogarth Press, 1978)
118.
104
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seems to provide a term still used for modern churches primarily in England. Yet, while
the term minster may have derived from the Anglo-Saxon term, it is a heavily loaded
term in architectural studies and refers specifically to what appears to be an AngloSaxon pre-parish system of church organization. Sarah Foot notes, however, that the
distinction between minsters and other monastic communities in Anglo-Saxon England
may be a modern construction. The term itself is medieval origin and was used with
little regularity, though, which makes it a potentially useful term of distinction in
English translations.106
The first appearance of musteri is in chapters 31. In this passage, jarl Þorfinnr,
who had spent a lifetime pillaging and conquering new territories, returned to Orkney
from a pilgrimage in Rome and constructed Kristkirkja as the first cathedral of Orkney.
The saga records: “Hann sat jafnan í Byrgisheraði ok lét þar gera Kristskirkju, dýrligt
musteri, þar var fyrst settr byskupsstóll í Orkneyjum” [ e resided there always in Birsay
and had built there Kristkirkja, a glorious minster. The first bishop’s seat was
established there].107 The second appearance of this term, then, appears in chapter 68 in
Kolr’s advice to his son that was presented in the introduction of this thesis. In
preparation for Rǫgnvaldr’s second expedition to capture Orkney, Rǫgnvaldr’s father
advises: “Vil ek, at þú heitir á hann, at hann unni yðr frændleifðar þinar ok sinnar
erfðar, at þú látir gera steinmusteri í Orkneyjum í Kirkjuvági, ef þú fær þat ríki, þat er
ekki sé annat dýrligra í þvi landi” [I desire that you call to him, that should he grant you
your inheritance and his familial inheritance and if you obtain that domain, that you
make a stone minster in Orkney in Kirkwall so that no one sees another as fair in that
land].108
Out of almost 30 individual church references in the sagas, only these two
examples reference a church using a term that is not kirkja. Even the names of these
particular churches, Magnúskirkja and Kristkirkja, use the more common term kirkja in
other passages. These two scenes, however, are significant in that they both stress the
initiation of construction, the act of patronage by the only jarls whose church patronage
is noted in the saga. This action is stressed through the verb compound used in each
106
Sarah Foot, “Anglo-Saxon Minsters: A Review of Terminology,” in Pastoral Care before the Parish,
ed. John Blair and Richard Sharpe, 212-225 (Leicester: Leicester University Press, 1992).
107
Finnbogi Guðmundson, “Orkneyinga saga,” 80.
108
Finnbogi Guðmundson, “Orkneyinga saga,” 158-159.
Grayburn 35
case: láta gera (literally let make, or have built). These are the only two examples when
this terminology is used for a church.109 The role of each jarl as patron is reinforced
when each jarl is noted to have been buried in the church that he had built. For Þorfinnr,
this was emphasized explicitly again with the participial of láta gera in chapter 32.
So, within the text, it seems that these two characters are linked in term and in
action. Even when it is noted that Þorfinnr’s and Rǫgnvaldr’s section of the saga were
not composed at the same time,110 the parallel references to the jarls provide an
ideological link between both parts of the text. Both figures dominate their sections,
travel on pilgrimage, display support for the islands’ bishop, and construct cathedrals at
the center of their power. Yet, while these similarities invite comparison between these
figures, perhaps even with jarl Þorfinnr providing type of typology for Rǫgnvaldr, the
jarls are by no means operating within the same societal values. As Þorfinnr displays
characteristics familiar to old Viking leadership (pillaging, murder, and conquest)
before building his church and administering his domain, Rǫgnvaldr displays
characteristics of new romantic chivalry (skill in poetry, athletics, and trade) that link
him more firmly with the traditions of continental Europe. Rǫgnvaldr himself is
eventually absorbed within the Christian framework when he is declared a saint. Yet, it
is this action of patronage that links both forms of leadership and provides evidence of
political legitimacy for two of Orkney’s greatest rulers.
Musteri in Contemporary Sagas
The association between these successful jarls and the kingly act of patronage
does not end with their actions. The term musteri itself carried intertextual political and
religious connotations that are difficult to recognize in English translation.
Etymologically, musteri tied to both the English minster and the Latin monasterium, yet
both translations would suggest a monastic foundation that is not always apparent in the
Old Icelandic. The term does not seem to designate a specific function or status of a
church, such as a cathedral, as another term for these churches was used. Similarly, the
limited use of this term suggests to me that the term did not designate a fixed
109
This construction phrase is also used in the first architectural reference in the saga in chapter 5, but in
regard to jarl Sigurðr in ríki Eysteinsson’s castle in Scotland, not a church: “Þar lét hann gera borg…”
[There he had a castle built…]. Finnbogi Guðmundson, “Orkneyinga saga,” 8.
110
See chapter 2.
Grayburn 36
designation, but rather a more symbolic implication, one that recalled religious
ideologies and, therefore, used strategically in the sagas.111 In order to understand not
the etymology of this term, but rather its significance within the Norse world, it is
necessary to look at other intertextual references. The term itself is, in fact, defined in
the Old Icelandic dictionary not as a ‘minister,’ but rather as a “temple.”112 In the
Cleasby/Vigfusson Iceland-English dictionary, the term’s relationship to monasterium is
noted, as well as its relationship to the Anglo-Saxon term mynster and English minster.
For its definition, though, it states that musteri is old and modern ecclesiastic term for
temple in the Jewish and Christian sense (rather than pagan sense). It is better associated
with the translation of the Latin world templum which was applied often to Biblical
structures.
In the Old Icelandic Homily Book and the Old Norwegian Homily Book, musteri
is, at times, used to describe a Jewish temple. Interestingly, though, in “kirkjudagsmál,”
which is recorded in both c. 1200 homily books, musteri is used specifically in
correlation not only with Jewish temples generally, but the Jewish Temple, namely: the
Temple of Jerusalem first constructed by King Solomon: “Salomon rex gørði fyrstr
musteri goði til d rðar” [King Solomon build the first temple to the glory of God].113
Solomon, like Rǫgnvaldr and Thorfinn, gera or built his musteri. In this example, the
term confirms its use to denote a significant religious monument (such as the jarls’
cathedrals in Orkney). Moreover, it provides a religious typological model for jarls’
building activities that links their actions to those of key Biblical kings.
Historical kings, however, also constructed musteri. In Heimskingla, there are
four uses of musteri that are contemporary to Orkneyinga saga. Like the Old Norse
Homily Book and Orkneyinga saga, we find that there is a close link between musteri
and active patronage or dedication of Norway’s kings. For example:
111
When presenting this information at the 2nd International St. Magnus Conference in Lerwick, Shetland
in April 2014, Morten Stige suggested that a less literal, but perhaps more accurate translation of musteri
would be “great church” a term occasionally used in architectural studies to indicate architectural
importance. While I believe that this term is relevant to how musteri is used in Old Icelandic texts, the
important link to the jarl patron is lost.
112
Guðbrandur Vigfússon and Cleasby, “Musteri,” in An Icelandic-English Dictionary (Oxford: The
Clarendon Pres, 1874), 439.
113
Andrea de Leeuw van Weenen, ed., The Icelandic Homily Book: Perg. 14 5oin the Royal Library,
Stockholm (Reykjavík: Stofnun Árna Magnússonar á Íslandi, 1993), 45r.
Grayburn 37
Lét Eysteinn erkibyskup þar setja háalárit í þeim sama stað sem leiðit hafði verit
konungsins, þá er hann reisti þetta it mikla musteri, er nú stendr.114
[Archbishop Eysteinn had established the high altar there, in this same place
which had been the king’s tomb, when he raised the great temple which now
stands there.
Þat var mikit musteri ok gǫrt sterkliga at líminu, svá at varla fekk brotit, þá er
Eysteinn erkibyskup lét ofan taka.115
There was a great temple and made strong that with mortar, so that (it) could
hardly be demolished when Archbishop Eysteinn had (it) taken down.
Óláfr konungr lét gera steinmusteri í Niðarósi ok setti í þeim stað, sem fyrst
hafði verit jarðat lík Óláfs konungs, ok var þar yfir sett altárit, sem grǫptr
konungs hafði verit. Þar var vígð Kristskirkja.116
[Olaf had built a stone temple in Niðarós in this place, which first had been the
burial of King Olaf and was there over set the altar, where the king’s grave had
been.]
Þar lét hann gera Mikjálskirkju, it vegligsta steinmusteri.117
[There he had built Mikjálskirkja, the most magnificent stone church.]
While these passages do not all use musteri in exactly the same way (and such an
expectation would be impossible to meet), from these passages, it becomes clear that
musteri seems to be a term closely aligned with the act of founding, building, or
establishing often a large, great, or somehow exceptional church. In all of these
examples, musteri is closely aligned with the act of architectural creation. Moreover, it
is not just the patronage of anyone, but specifically the patronage either of a king or for
a royal saint.
In reference back to Orkneyinga saga, then, the use of musteri not only links the
actions of two of Orkney’s greatest jarls (and it’s saintly jarl Magnus), but also links
those jarls through intertextual reference to the actions of Norway’s kings and King
Solomon in the Old Testament. The practice of associating living kings with Old
Testament kings, however, was not unique to the North. King David and King Solomon
were often recalled as ideal exempla, with David representing the ideals of a war-time
king able to seize power and Solomon representing the ideals of a peace-time king able
114
Chapter 245 of “Óláfs saga helga” in Snorri Sturlusson, Heimskringla, vol. 2. Íslenzk fornrit XXVII,
ed. Bjarni Aðalbjarnarson (Reykjavík: Hið íslenzka fornritafélag, 1945), 405.
115
Chapter 38 of “Haralds saga Sigurðarsonar” in Snorri Sturlusson, Heimskringla, vol 3. Íslenzk fornrit
XXVIII, ed. Bjarni Aðalbjarnarson (Reykjavík: Hið íslenzka fornritafélag, 1951), 121.
116
Chapter 6 of “Óláfs saga kyrra” in Snorri Sturlusson, Heimskringla, vol. 3, 208-209.
117
Chapter 14 of “Magnússona saga” in Snorri Sturlusson, Heimskringla, vol. 3, 254.
Grayburn 38
to maintain power and administer power.118 Similar typologies were constructed in the
late twelfth century by King Sverrir Sigurðsson of Norway, who used architecture (a
fortress) in his own saga to compare himself to David.119 Robert of Naples, similarly
modeled his patronage and persona on Solomon.120 It is through this textual comparison
that the jarls themselves are presented as legitimate royal characters and becomes
associated with royal ideology and religious legitimacy. The simultaneous existence of a
circulating saga that unites these figures through architectural terms and patronage
activities and a physical musteri itself could then work in tandem to reify the ruler’s
religious or ideological status.
118
Abraham Melamed, The Philosopher-King in Medieval and Renaissance Jewish Political Thought, ed.
Lenn E. Goodman (Albany: State University of New York Press, 2003), 163-164.
119
Bandlien, “Hegemonic Memory, Counter-Memory, and Struggles for Royal Power,” 370.
120
Samantha Kelly, The New Solomon: Robert of Naples (1309-1343) and Fourteenth-Century Kingship
(Leiden: Brill, 2003), 278-305.
Grayburn 39
Conclusion
Text and architecture are often studied separately, yet Orkney’s medieval
literary and architectural legacies frequently overlap and encourage cross-medium
considerations. Orkneyinga saga references multiple medieval monuments, while its
physical landscape still contains both numerous medieval ruins and unspoiled
archaeological sites. But, the consideration of textual and architectural relationships has
been fairly limited thus far, with scholars focusing on how corresponding passages and
physical evidence corroborate. Orkneyinga saga, however, is the product of a creative
process not dissimilar from architectural construction. While medieval masons
employed contemporary conventions of architectural style and medium to communicate
status, ideology and function of a building, medieval authors and scribes utilized literary
and oral conventions, contemporary social-political values, and intertextual references
to produce a text that was both legible and meaningful to contemporary audiences. Both
mediums, moreover, are subject to additions, revisions, and reconstructions by later
generations. The account as we have in modern editions and translations does not reflect
a single ‘original’ text, but is rather an estimated reconstruction of almost a dozen
medieval and early modern manuscripts, fragments, and translations. This is not to say
that the passages are necessarily ‘false’ or inaccurate, but rather that it is necessary for
us to consider the limitations of the medium itself when developing our questions and
theses. Even if a medieval author recorded factual oral traditions or a personal accounts,
the resulting account is nevertheless framed by Latin or modern learning, religious
affiliation, historical selection or hindsight, vocabulary and genre conventions, choices
of organization, and the very transmission of the written medium itself.
Such an amalgamation of considerations, however, does not void the value of a
text like Orkneyinga saga as a source for architectural inquiry; it merely changes the
questions we can ask. This project looked at how Orkneyinga saga’s literary
landscape—regardless to its relationship to the physical world—contributed to the
saga’s general values and concerns as a ‘political saga.’ By looking at the architecture
references as independent of their physical counterparts, as the products of creative
production, it is possible to explore their significance solely within the text as a mode of
signification.
Within this framework, it does not matter whether Kolr actually gave the advice
Grayburn 40
to his son to build a grant musteri to St. Magnús. Architectural historians know from
other textual and archaeological evidence, as well as stylistic comparison, that St.
Magnus Cathedral was constructed in the mid twelfth century and that it had an early
dedication to St. Magnús. Additionally, the discovery in the early twentieth century of
two sets of relics hidden within the columns seems to support the saga tradition that two
sets of relics (that were at least believed to be those of St. Magnús and Rǫgnvaldr were
worshipped there).121 Such comparative evidence suggests that the main facts of the
passage may be true and that, following his conquest, Rǫgnvaldr did construct his
musteri. Whether or not Rǫgnvaldr decided to construct this as part of a proceeding vow
to his uncle or under the advisement of his father, however, is not important. Rather, the
account’s significance lies in the fact that it either constructed or represented a popular
belief—mediated through one or many of the various saga authors—that Rǫgnvaldr’s
Magnúskirkja embodied his uncle’s holy support. Preserved and circulated in writing
(and presumably oral tradition), the saga would have established and reified the truth of
this account. The cathedral, then, is not literally part of a “contract” as Cruden suggests,
but rather a monumental embodiment of a believed connection between Rǫgnvaldr, as
temporal ruler and a holy saint. Such divine support, expressed in both the text and
within the physical landscape, reflects Rǫgnvaldr’s conquest and his long rule, as
divinely sanctioned.
Even if St. Magnus Cathedral did not survive, or was never even built, Kolr’s
emphasis upon this construction in the text reflects, if not a true historical event, than at
least a glimpse into the socio-political framework of medieval Norse world and the
importance of monumental undertakings for Orkney’s jarls. Accounts from other sagas,
such as Heimskringla, also include such construction stories, typically connecting the
construction of a notable ecclesiastical construction with a victorious, Christian (or Old
Testament) king. However, since the historical accuracy of these sagas is also debated
and described churches do not survive as additional evidence, it is not known if they
were ever actually constructed. Within an intertextual saga context, the construction of a
monumental or notably ornamented church reflected, if not a actual event, than at least a
social and political expectation for the construction of power within Norse territories.
Although Þorfinnr and Rǫgnvaldr (as a jarls) are not recognized as ‘kings’ of Orkney by
121
Barbara Crawford, ed., St. Magnus Cathedral and Orkney’s Twelfth-Century Renaissance (Aberdeen:
Aberdeen University Press, 1988), chapters 1, 6-9.
Grayburn 41
modern scholars, they likely viewed their actions within the scope of their royal peers
and the inclusion of them within this kingly construction tradition provides a point of
departure for scholars to examine their actual or constructed political personas, as well
as their architecture.
This study offers only an example of this methodology can be employed to study
literary architecture in any number of texts. A systematic examination of multiple sagas
across numerous genres will only nuance our understanding of architecture in the
northern world, especially when dealing with the transmission of ideas through
translation. Additionally, such a study will complement architectural and archaeological
studies of the north, for it is possible that such architectural ideals and significance were
implemented in the physical world by those consuming the saga accounts. Orkney, with
its large amount of extant architecture, would be an ideal location for an initial study of
this sort. As we begin to learn more about the transmission not only of architectural
styles, but also of architectural ideals, it will be possible to consider fully not only the
northern physical and literary landscapes independently, but how they communicate in
the products and expressions of human creation.
Grayburn 42
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