Air in a Goat Skin: Is there a Metalworker in Asgard?

Quest 181, March 2015, pp. 21-28. Air in a Goat Skin Is there a Metalworker in Asgard? Chris Wood Metalworking is a key part of human development. It has given names to archaeological ages and it is difficult to think of human activities where its products are not involved. Metalworking is likewise important in most mythologies. In Greek myth there is Hephaistos; in Roman, Vulcan. Egypt can look to Hathor or Ptah; Ireland to Goibnu or Brigid. But in the North? Where is the Smith God in Anglo-Saxon or Norse mythology? ur most complete sources for pre-Christian Germanic mythology are the Icelandic Eddas1,2 and the Saga literature. These are from the extreme north-west of Germanic culture, at the end of a long process of cultural migration from South East Europe. However, the Poetic Edda tells us of a Golden Age of the gods being active metalworkers, but one that is brought to an end. O “The Æsir met on Idavoll Plain, they built altars and high temples; they set up their forges, smithed precious things, shaped tongs and made tools.” Völuspá, v. 7 1 This is how the seeress interrogated by Oðinn describes the Golden Age of the Norse gods, prior to the arrival of three mysterious giant girls. Whilst it is clear from their smithing products (precious things) and the verse that follows that the principle metal in which the Æsir work is gold, it is equally clear that they are not restricted to it. Metal craft is a magical thing, a divine thing. Smithcraft, metallurgy and the control of fire, and the other elements, are associated with deities in most cultures, although, the opening quote aside, little is made of this in Northern mythology, at least on the surface. The ability to take a hard, unyielding bar or ingot and turn it into a useful or decorative item, whether sword or ploughshare, neck-torc or pot-hook is an alchemy, and a heady skill to have. To acquire the basic skill, one has to learn how to wield a hammer, of appropriate weight and form, how to hold the metal on the anvil, and most importantly how to create and control a very hot fire in the forge. But the further back we go in history, the less common it becomes to be able to start with the bar or ingot, bought from the metal stockholder. The ancient smith and the ancient metal smelter were much closer than their modern counterparts – each individual had to have a wider range of skills. It is conventionally assumed that knowledge of the arts and sciences of metallurgy has always been restricted to a small proportion of the population. At times and in many places before industrialisation, the smith or metallurgist was kept at arms length from the rest of society, not just because of noise, smells or the risk of fire, but because of a superstitious fear of people who could change the form of metal, who had power over Earth, Fire, Air and Water. It is not surprising that many cultures have associated smiths with shamans, sorcerers and magicians, other people who worked with the primeval forces of nature, who did the work of the gods. Iron smiths in particular became highly valued, often being tied closely to kings and nobles, with special status, yet also feared. Some of the earliest worked iron came from meteorites, stones fallen from the heavens, gifts or thunderbolts from the Sky Gods, held sacred in many cultures worldwide. Iron was therefore a special material, like the emerald, associated with ambivalent, creative, divine figures. So, whilst ancient Egypt held meteoritic iron in regal awe (the ben ben stone, associated with creation, was an iron-rich meteorite), in some other places those who exploited it bore the Mark of Cain. The association of iron with stone is embedded in myth. Arthur draws the sword from the stone, which is also an anvil, suggesting a kingly rôle for someone with the skill to turn iron ore into a finely forged blade. (Although this motif may well have begun with drawing a cast bronze sword from a stone mould.) Thor’s hammer, Mjöllnir, begins its mythic life as a stone implement, but by the time Snorri Sturluson writes his Edda2 it is forged by dwarf smiths. On a mundane level, the once rare iron is stronger than bronze and, particularly as the iron-carbon alloy that we now call steel, takes a better edge. The iron smith had the secrets of making better weapons, which makes for an uneasy relationship with rulers and ruled, not to mention carrying a risk of letting the technology and power overrun humanity, as in the cautionary tale of Völund/Weland/Wayland (Völundarkvida).1,3 Wayland the Smith is the most well-known mythic smith from the North, but he is more a human hero than a god. Most of the gods’ smithing appears to be done for them by the dwarves, and very skilled they are at it too. But do the Æsir simply abandon metalworking to the dwarves after the giant girls arrive to spoil their Golden Age, or is more hidden in story, ritual and iconography than is immediately obvious? Subterranean Smiths Lotte Motz4 has a somewhat different perspective on the rôle of the dwarves, and indeed other subterranean smiths, Wayland included. Agreeing with Mircea Eliade5 that the myths and alchemy of metalwork have precursors in the craft of the potter, she goes further, to find their roots with Neolithic stone-workers. She describes the prevalence of myths and legends of otherworldly smiths, living in mountains, mounds and rocks in areas of the Germanic world distant from significant metal ore deposits or areas with major pre-modern metalworking industry. The mountains are significant not because they contain metals (which they do not), but because they are remote and inaccessible, rather like Wayland’s home in a remote valley, places outside the normal ambit of society. Many such places are also associated with ‘other’ peoples too, whether fully flesh and blood or of a more ethereal nature. Some of these people work with metals, including iron, others are intolerant of it, which probably says more about the formation of the legends than it does about the nature of the dimly recalled people at their heart. As Motz points out, the Germanic word ‘smith’ denotes a maker, rather than specifically a metalworker. Our otherworldly blacksmiths may well have started out as stone smiths, those who had the skill to make blades, for instance, out of rounded stones, and perhaps kept those skills to themselves. There is, however, precious little evidence here for the gods passing their metalworking skills on to the dwarves. In fact, the dwarfish predilection for metals appears to come from a totally different source. It seems likely that, by the time the Poetic Edda’s constituent stories had been written down, aspects of the rôles of the gods had been forgotten, at least by Christianised, literate society, so that stories could be conflated and remade to fill in the gaps. There are certainly oddities in the two Eddas, aside from the way the end of the Golden Age is skated over. An example is the creation of Thor’s hammer, performed by dwarves, with hindrance from Loki, in a process that is described as forging, but which reads more like casting. Loki, as a fly, bites the dwarf working the bellows, causing the hammer’s shaft to turn out short.2 The amount of metal could not be reduced by a slackening of the air stream to the forge, although the process of drawing out a length of metal would take longer, as sufficient heat for forging iron or annealing other metals would have to be built up again. The heating of metal in a crucible, on the other hand, is much more dependent on a steady draught to maintain the correct heat in the furnace. A cooling at a critical moment could wreck the entire piece, or at least reduce the amount of molten metal available to be poured from the crucible. Snorri was not a smith, so we cannot expect him to understand the background to all the stories he relates. That is not to say that he made this story up, merely that he would not have thought to question it. Oðinn: Mines, Graves and Smelting There are hints throughout the stories of the Norse gods that suggest they kept some rôle in handicrafts, and some of these are drawn upon below. Perhaps the most obvious candidate for a metallurgical deity is Oðinn. He is associated with death, rebirth and alchemy, with walking between the worlds, including the underworld. That this association was extended to the physical subterranean realm is suggested by such namings as Grime’s Graves, given to what we now know as Neolithic flint workings in Breckland, by the early English: Grime or Grimmr, the Masked One, being an alias of Oðinn/Woden. He goes where mortals as a rule do not, frequenting waste places where hanged men swing and outsiders, metalworkers included, work. The wasteland may be caused by the metalworkers, digging out ore, roasting it, smelting it in furnaces and disposing of the slag. Slag heaps and burial mounds seem to have been linked in the pre-Christian Scandinavian mind, with slag included in burials, both as fill and as grave goods. Slag is the dead result of a ritually charged, alchemical process, in a furnace that may well have given the impression of being a living being.6 But the slag is also the result of a conversion from base material to a refined, useful and/or ornamental product, itself often considered to be imbued with life. Oðinn is involved in this rebirth too and seems to play a rôle in reviving the wasteland. It is interesting that the name Woden is tied to places in what became England’s Black Country industrial heartland (Wednesbury, Wednesfield). Here slag-strewn wastelands, when left alone, regenerate as blasted heaths. One cannot avoid seeing a connection here with the Wounded King of the Grail mythologies. Oðinn is a type of Wounded King, having self-inflicted maimings, i.e. his eye and especially the spear wound of His sacrifice to Himself hanging on Yggdrasil.7 Under the right circumstances, the Wounded King can be healed or redeemed. As He is healed, so is the land. In what could be seen as a recognition of the rebirth possible from the Wasteland, a steel sculpture of Oðinn’s horse, Sleipnir, was erected on a Black Country slag-hill, springing towards Wednesbury, when the Midland Metro light rail system was built. However, Oðinn is still somewhat removed from the actual work of converting ore to metal artefact. As a Wounded King, this is entirely appropriate. Indeed, old, worn-out metal is reforged, or in the case of non-ferrous metals, melted down and recast. Old bronze, damaged and no longer shiny, could be put through the alchemical furnace and poured into a stone mould to emerge as a new artefact. The rightful king – of the land or of the craft – can literally pull the sword from the stone, or figuratively pull it from the stone of ore and anvil, which began their history as hard boulders. However, another of the Æsir has imagery and stories associated with Him that suggest a closer connection with the arts and crafts of the metalworker. He is described as Oðinn’s son by the Earth, and is certainly a deity of the ordinary people. Heavy Metal Thunder? Thor and His Hammer Some modern Pagan smiths take Thor as tutelary deity, due to the thunder, His strength, His red hair and His distinctive hammer. However, in a recent book on blacksmithing in mythology, Pete Jennings, himself a practising Heathen, dismisses these notions as mistaken. 8 So, whilst Thor is taken, by some at any rate, to be a smith’s god in the modern world, is there any evidence of metalworking being an original part of His being? John Lindow certainly sees a connection.9 He makes the point that the Golden Age of the gods depended upon smithcraft, and that Thor is the only one who uses a hammer, indeed the archetypal hammer. He uses it to subdue giants, representations on one level of primordial forces of Nature. He works with them too, of course, but keeps the dangerous ones under control, which is the skill of someone working with dangerous substances and techniques, such as white-hot metal. The archetypal smith limps, as does Völund, and Lindow suggests a link here with Thor too, in that one of His goats limps after being brought back to life (at the beginning of the story of Thor’s journey to face Loki of the Outer Realms). There may be greater significance in this story, however, which is returned to below. Thor’s hammer is protective in many ways, and Lindow notes that it is particularly appropriate to protection against forces that are inimical to human existence, but yet are in their essence creative. “Craftsmanship is powerful, and it separates the bearers of culture from all those outside culture who threaten it.” 9 Mjöllnir and its representations worn around the neck are indicative of this protection.10 Whilst the dwarfs seem to have taken over metal-crafts, Thor does appear to have an important link with them, demonstrated in Alvíssmál, where He defeats the dwarf Alvíss (‘AllWise’) in a wisdom contest, which is unusual for Thor, in order to keep the dwarf from His daughter, whom Alvíss has presumed to seek in marriage. Both the presumption of the dwarf and fact that it is Thor who is needed to engage in wisdom with him suggest a tutelary link between the subterranean craftsmen and the hammer-wielding God.9 The hammer Mjöllnir has a particularly interesting physical aspect in that the handle is short. As described above, Snorri Sturluson explains this as a result of Loki’s meddling with the dwarf working the bellows whilst the hammer was being made,2 but it is worthy of note that the modern blacksmith’s general working hammer tends to have a short handle. This is because the hammer is used as an extension of the arm, swung from the shoulder, rather than the wrist, and a long handle can get in the way, as well as cause an unhelpful (and potentially injurious) pivoting at the wrist if held too far back. However, whilst we can be sure that the hand tools of the Viking Age blacksmith differed little from those to be found in the modern smithy in their metal parts,11 we cannot be sure of the length of wooden handles, the archaeological evidence being slim and the evidence of contemporary illustrations being potentially unreliable, given that the artists may not have had direct experience of metalworking. Likewise Snorri Sturluson was not himself a smith and may well have not realised the origin of some of the imagery he was relating. However, whilst Mjöllnir’s short handle is tantalizing, it would appear not to be the strongest evidence linking Thor with metalworking. Indeed, there are arguments for the short handle being due to Mjöllnir’s use as a war hammer, for throwing. Representations often have a ring attached to the shaft, and if the hammer is thrown as in the modern field game of hammerthrowing, by whirling around, perhaps on the end of a cord to allow easier retrieval as well as greater kinetic energy, both the ring and shortness would be appropriate.10 Whatever the reason for Mjöllnir’s short shaft, the uses to which the hammer is put are themselves of interest. It is employed to control the primitive powers (the Giants), to protect civilized society and to bring fertility and new life.10 A representation of Thor’s hammer is traditionally placed on a bride’s lap for this purpose, and it is by pretending to be a bride that Thor regains His hammer from the Giant Thrym. As the thunderbolt, the hammer is also symbolic of the fertilization of the Land by the Sky God, who is in turn Son of Earth. Furthermore, Thor uses Mjöllnir to resurrect His goats. The name Mjöllnir is also worth exploration. Rudolf Simek gives three explanations.12  Old Slavic mluniji, Russian molnija, ‘lightning’.  Old Norse mjöll, ‘new snow’, and Icelandic mjalli, ‘white colour’, which could reflect (literally) the shining flight of a ‘lightning weapon’ or war hammer.  Old Norse mala, ‘to grind’, hence ‘Grinder’. Simek suggests that the last of these, Grinder, is obsolete, from “earlier scholarship” which “had” made the connection. However, mala also gives the word malmr, ‘metal’ which has come down to modern Swedish as malm (‘ore’, including bog and lake ore). Some naturally occurring iron ore (krutmalm) is powdery, literally appearing mald (‘ground’) or mjölig (‘mealy’, ‘floury’), most is coarser and needs to be crushed to this fine consistency to allow the iron to be extracted.13 A tool that pulverizes something to the consistency of meal (mjöl) would appropriately be called mjölnir. Perhaps the most appropriate English translation of Thor’s Mjöl(l)nir would be ‘Pulverizer’, a piece of equipment with clear uses in both battle and metallurgy: not smithing, but the preparation of iron ore for smelting. Thor and the Elements There are links to fire in the cults of Thor and cognate Germanic deities, not surprisingly for Thunder Gods with lightning at Their command. The Prussian Thunder God was honoured with perpetual fires in His oak-tree-ringed sanctuaries. Thor’s shrines also sometimes had irontopped altars, much like anvils.14 Thor also controls Air, shaking His beard to raise storms. The famous bronze figure of a seated man, blowing into his beard that seems to merge into a hammer on his knees, that was found at Eyrarland in Iceland, is interpreted as Thor, in His role as a windraiser.15 Similarly, going on His efforts in the court of Loki of the Outer Realms, His battles with the World Serpent, and the way His assistance was sought with finding land in the sagas, Thor has some skill with Water. He thus has control over the very elements that the metal-worker employs to create new forms out of metal, out of the substance of Earth. In so doing, He is refining Himself, coming as He does from Earth (His mother). Such transformation is the realm of shamans and alchemists (as has been noted by Eliade5). On a more practical level, Thor has metal gloves, or perhaps gloves of a metalworker – gloves that allow Him to transform a glowing bloom of iron (as thrown at Him by the giant Geirröðr) into penetrating steel (as Thor catches what is thrown at Him and throws it back so that it passes through a pillar and the giant). The Thunder Wagon Perhaps the most significant piece of equipment is the Thunder God’s transport. Thor rides across the sky in a wagon drawn by two goats, its wheels sparking lightning and creating thunder. It is a vessel for an individual with a fiery temperament and a rugged countenance, red like the iron bloom. This vehicle could be seen as a bloomery smelter, i.e. the furnace within which iron is refined from ore to nearly pure metal. Perhaps indeed we should expect the Thunderer to be associated with a process that produces a thunderous noise when the slag is ready to be tapped? The fuel source for bloomery smelting is traditionally charcoal. The oak tree is sacred to Thor and oak charcoal seems to have been preferred for smelting in many places, due to its density and calorific value. This seems to have been the case until the 13th century in Britain,16 although Radomír Pleiner shows that the situation varied from region to region, citing oak preference in English excavations and in Schleswig-Holstein, Sauerland (western Germany), Jutland and parts of France, but a preference for beech in other parts of France and Switzerland, but sometimes with a change over time, which may reflect impact on local species prevalence.17 Janet McCrickard notes examples around the world of Sun Goddesses/Maidens being trapped in caves or towers, sometimes by storm Gods, and that the smith is instrumental – directly or indirectly – in their release.18 In Lithuania, the hammer that breaks the tower open to reveal the reborn solar fire was itself revered. Whilst the key aspect of these myths is seasonal, there does appear to be an allusion in some cases to smelting, where simple clay furnaces are broken open to get at the bloom – and as Thor is a weather deity, the use of His hammer to release the Sun, Sol, from Her winter prison in the Earth, or to release the fiery iron bloom from the furnace made of materials of Earth, would seem highly appropriate. Similarly, the resonances of the sight of a volcano blown open to reveal a red-hot stream, that also gives fertility to the land around, despite the danger, would not be lost on the early Icelandic settlers. The place where goats and wagons Anatomy of a bloomery smelter come together with dark towers imprisoning the Sun is the sky. The Cumulo-Nimbus Chimney cloud is the archetypal storm cloud, with its Iron ore, charcoal & anvil-like head towering into the sky. It flux Goatskin frequently looks for all the world like a goat’s bellows Fire – ore head, or even a figure in a wagon drawn by to bloom more than one goat (as smaller clouds develop in front). Cloud simulacra are one of the ways in which Heathen gods really do Slag walk the Earth, or ride through the sky! A Air pipe & tuyere perceived cloud image of Thor in His wagon © Chris Wood, 2015 drawn by goats, accompanied by thunder and lightning, is very convincing iconography for the Thunder God. The dark cloud eclipses the Sun in a blind storm rage, but, like Thor in the myths, is quickly calmed and the Sun allowed to reappear. The bloomery smelter is not dissimilar, being a tall, roughly cylindrical structure, which air enters at the base and leaves at the top of the ‘chimney’, containing a precious, hot and glowing ‘orb’ (the bloom), revealed after the thunderous release of the slag in a massive downpour of semi-liquid material, after which the structure is broken down and the hot prize revealed, all driven by heat. The only difference is that the heat is not inside the cloud. The Trickster in the Forge A regular companion in Thor’s wagon is Loki, the Trickster God of Norse mythology. He is clearly of elemental nature, being paired with Logi (‘wild fire’19) in an eating contest in the hall of his namesake Loki of the Outer Realms, and having interesting parentage. He is supposed to have been the result of a union between the giants Farbauti and either Laufey or Nal. These names probably mean ‘dangerous hitter’ (which is not far in sense from ‘pulverizer’), ‘foliage island’ or ‘leafy’, and ‘needle’ respectively.20 More loosely, Farbauti and Laufey could be translated as ‘lightning’ and ‘thatch’, or even ‘flint spark’ and ‘tinder’. Nal as needle could be a metal stake struck to produce fire. Loki is considered identical to the more obscure figure Loptr, who relates to the air or 21 sky. A famous Viking-age tuyere stone (a protective outlet into the forge for the air pipe from the bellows) was found at Snoptun in Denmark, on which there is inscribed a face with its lips sown up, corresponding to Loki’s punishment for lying and for cheating metalworking dwarves.22 It probably served as a means of controlling the dangerous elemental powers of Loki in the forge by means of sympathetic magic. Loki’s role can indeed be compared to that of Prometheus, stealing fire and generally being the catalyst for change – in events or materials. So, we have a thunderous container, for the explosively hot metal bloom and a carefully controlled Fire- and Air-Elemental, that seems to correspond to a smelting furnace as well as a storm cloud and a volcano. A further significant link is that it is specifically drawn by goats. Goat Skins and Bones Prior to the Viking age, the air supply for forges and smelting furnaces was provided by bag bellows, made from whole animal skins, most frequently goats. It is perhaps significant that, when Thor permitted His goats to be eaten, He insisted that the skins and bones be left whole, which would be appropriate to making bag bellows. It is unlikely that goat bones would be used for the air pipes to connect the bellows to the furnace, but these might well be seen figuratively as the legs of the goat (see below). (It is also worth noting that ‘iron bellows’ are attached to the backs of the horses that pull the Sun across the sky, according to Grimnismál.) The Voice of the Goat In the story of Thor’s stay at the poor farmstead and the eating and resurrection of His goats, the farmer’s son, Thjalfi, surreptitiously breaks one of the bones in order to get at the marrow. This has the effect, when the goats are restored to life, of causing one of them to be lame. On one level, this represents a cautionary tale about ritual respect, but could also be redolent of the traditional lameness of smiths9 (dating probably from the time when it was arsenic-laden bronze with which they worked). However, as suggested above, bones may well have been symbolic of the air pipe linking the bellows with the furnace (or possibly the ceramic tuyere pipe that penetrates the furnace wall). Here we have a link to musical wind instruments, which probably began as bone pipes, and indeed ‘tibia’ are both leg bones and the Latin name for ancient Greek aulos, flute-like pipes. Bagpipes have a strong affinity with bag bellows, can make a thunderous noise, and their bags have traditionally been made of animal skins, particularly those of goats and sheep. Furthermore, it is clear that bagpipes frequently represent goats (and sometimes rams), from whose skin they’re made, with the legs replaced by air pipe and drone, and the neck and head by a carved goat’s head (from which the chanter emerges). Such pipes, called the duda, dudy or, in German, Bock (‘goat’), are still made and used in Central Europe.23 That this is not a recent innovation is shown by Meissen porcelain figurines of Harlequin, playing whole-goat bagpipes, made in the 1730s.24 The pipes therefore represent the legs of the goat. With bellows, the ‘leg’ would be reduced to the air pipe to the furnace. Note that Old Norse leggr refers to the hollow bone of arms and legs, as well as the leg itself. The air pipe is not made of bone, but is hollow and, as in bagpipes, there is a clear similarity. Whether bagpipes or bellows, the pipes could be dislodged or broken by carelessness or deliberate vandalism, resulting in at best lame blowing. However, the symbolism is greater, as by filling the skin with air, the musician or craftsperson brings the goat to life once more – it even makes a noise! Thor is a Wind-Raiser.15 The smith makes the anvil sing with his hammer; Thor brings His goats to life with His hammer; the smelter brings the furnace to life with the bellows, and the bellows to life by raising and lowering them; the piper brings the bagpipe-goat to life by blowing into it. When the goat bellows or pipe bags are active in the cycle of inflation and deflation, enlivened by the operator’s breathe, their voices are heard. A Mundane Skill? One question remains to be answered. Why were explicit metalworking associations with Thor (or the other gods) lost in the Norse myths? Speculatively, the answer may lie in the distribution of the raw material of ironworking. There is abundant bog iron in a wide band across northern Europe. This precipitates and can be raked out. Especially in southern Scandinavia, there is also lake ore, once supplemented by weathered outcrops of magnetite and haematite. Smelting bog- and lake-iron ore was a widespread activity for rural people into the modern era in Norway and Sweden.25 Could it be that, by the Viking Age if not before, iron smelting was such a widespread activity that it no longer carried any sense of exoticism, magic or taboo? Were aspects of the stories of Thor forgotten as a result, with only the more highly skilled metalwork, not possible in the village, left with any sense of awe, such that it could be seen as the work of otherworldly, dwarf smiths, or of half-fey humans seduced by the Dark Side, such as Wayland? By Snorri Sturluson’s time, Thor may have been seen as a dim-witted, blustering bouncer at the gates of Asgard, but perhaps the stories conceal something more: a creative balancer of elemental forces and an embodiment of the red heat of Iron Age technology. References 1 Carolyne Larrington (trans.) (1996) The Poetic Edda Oxford University Press. 2 Snorri Sturluson Edda (trans. Anthony Faulkes, 1987, Everyman). 3 Nigel Pennick (1993) Wayland’s House Nideck. 4 Lotte Motz (1983) The Wise One of the Mountain: Form, function, and significance of the subterranean smith: a study in folklore Kümmerle. 5 Mircea Eliade (1978) The Forge and the Crucible: The Origins and Structure of Alchemy (trans. Stephen Corrin), Second Edition, University of Chicago Press. 6 Mats Burström (1990) Järnframställning och gravritual: En strukturalistisk tolkning av järnslagg i vikingatida graver i Gästrikland Fornvännen 1990/4, pp. 261-271. 7 Alby Stone (1989) Wyrd: Fate and Destiny in North European Paganism. 8 Pete Jennings (2014) Blacksmith Gods: Myths, Magicians & Folklore Moon, pp. 62/3. 9 John Lindow (1994) Thor’s hammarr, Journal of English and Germanic Philology 93. 10 Hilda Ellis Davidson (1965) Thor’s Hammer Folklore 76 (reprinted in Hilda Ellis Davidson (1978) Patterns of Folklore Brewer). 11 Greta Arwidsson & Gösta Berg (1983) The Mästermyr Find: A Viking Age Tool Chest from Gotland, Almqvist & Wiksell (1999 edition, Larson); Radomír Pleiner (2006) Iron in Archaeology: Early European Blacksmiths Archeologický ústav AV Č, Praha; Bruce Blackistone (1998) Blacksmithing in the Viking Age (http://home.comcast.net/~meadmaker/Viking1.htm). 12 Rudolf Simek (1993) Dictionary of Northern Mythology (trans. Angela Hall) Brewer, pp. 219-20. 13 Karin Calissendorff (1979) Linguistic Evidence for Early Iron Production, Chapter VI in Helen Clarke (ed.) (1979) Iron and Man in Prehistoric Sweden Järnkontoret, Stockholm, pp. 157-175. 14 H.R. Ellis Davidson (1964) Gods and Myths of Northern Europe Penguin. 15 Richard Perkins (2001) Thor the Wind-raiser and the Eyrarland Image Viking Society for Northern Research, University College London. 16 R.F. Tylecote (1986) The Prehistory of Metallurgy in the British Isles Institute of Metals, p. 131. 17 Radomír Pleiner (2000) Iron in Archaeology: The European Bloomery Smelters Institute of Archaeology of the Academy of Sciences of the Czech Republic, pp. 116-8. 18 Janet McCrickard (1990) The Eclipse of the Sun: An investigation into Sun and Moon myths Gothic Image. 19 Rudolf Simek op. cit., pp. 191-2. 20 Rudolf Simek op. cit., pp. 78, 186-7, & 227. 21 Rudolf Simek op. cit., pp. 197-8. 22 Illustrated in e.g. H.R. Ellis Davidson (1982) Scandinavian Mythology Second Edition, Hamlyn, p. 103, and in John Lindow (2001) Norse Mythology Oxford University Press, p. 216. 23 See for instance Alexander Buchner (1971) Folk Music Instruments Octopus (Folk Music Instruments of the World 1972 edition, Crown), and Emese Kerkay (1998) Hungarian Folk Musical Instruments American Hungarian Museum. 24 See for instance the example displayed in the Metropolitan Museum of Art, accession number 1982.60.316 (http://www.metmuseum.org/collection/the-collection-online/search/207195). 25 Pleiner (2000) op. cit., pp. 90-3; Calissendorff (1979) op. cit., pp. 158-9; Arne Espelund (1995) Iron Production in Norway During Two Millennia: From the ancient bloomery to the early use of electric power Arketype, Trondheim, pp. 44-68.