Icelandic

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Folktales
A CLASSIC COLLECTION
OF AUTHENTIC ICELANDIC TALES
OF THE SUPERNATURAL

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https://archive.org/details/icelandicfolktalO000alan
Icelandic Folktales
Icelandic Folktales

Translated by Alan Boucher

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Almenna bokafélagid
Icelandic Folktales
Translated by Alan Boucher
Almenna bokafélagid / Edda Publishing
Reykjavik 2006
Copyright: Alan Boucher

Cover art: Halld6ér Pétursson

Cover design: Inga Elsa Bergbdérsdéttir

Printed in Iceland by Prentsmidjan Oddi hf.

Almenna békafélagid is an imprint of (@Edda publishing

ISBN 9979-2-1959-9 / 9789979219590

The folktales were published in three volumes by Iceland

Review in 1975-76. The present publication combines the
three prior volumes into one.
 Foreword

Whatever form they may take when they issue from the lips of
the teller, modified by his or her personality and the taste and
expectations of the audience, once folktales are written down they
are literature, and the author and editor have the last word.
When Jon Arnason and Magnus Grimsson began to collect
Icelandic folk material in the last century, inspired by the work of
the Grimm brothers in Germany and encouraged by the German
Scholar Konrad Maurer, their purpose was exclusively scientific.
Unlike Anderson and Moe in Norway, for example, they were
content to copy these materials with only minor emendation or
editorial comment. Having no ambition to invest their work with
a literary quality, they succeeded in producing a folk literature of
almost unique interest and variety.
The authors were many and various: farmers, fishermen, poets,
pastors, public officials, housewives, shepherds, shopkeepers.
Some were widely read scholars; others knew perhaps one or two
sagas and works of piety and little more, apart from the ,,old wives’
tales“ of their parish. Whatever their style and outlook, their edi-
tors allowed them to have their say.
And where did the stories come from — the ,old wives’ tales“
that helped to pass the time in long, dark winter evenings? Like
many other forms of narrative, their source was threefold: life, lit-
erature, and the imagination of the storyteller.
It is interesting to compare some older examples of a genre — for
instance, the ghost story — with more recent tales of the same
type. The later product is circumstantial, with abundant refer-
ences to dates, places and personal names, and it occurs in a world
that bears a recognisable likeness to the one we live in, whereas
the earlier tale, while sometimes preserving local associations and
traces of history, generally takes place in a timeless, imaginary
world. The hauntings at Stokkseyri, for example, occurred during
the lifetime of people whose children are still living, while the
story of the wizards of the Westman Islands combines vague
memories of a distant historical event — the Black Death, believed
to have killed over a third of the population of Iceland — with
motives common to the folklore of many lands. Or compare the
Faustian character of Loftur the Enchanter’s dealings with the
prince of darkness, and more homely magic of the pastor Sira
Eirfkur of Vogs6s, or the fairytale atmosphere of some early out-
law stories, and the hard core of reality that runs through the
account of Eyvindur of the Fells.
This variety, while giving Icelandic folk literature a quality and
comprehensiveness all its own, makes the task of selection no eas-
ier. However, upon completing that process, the publisher hopes
that this edition will offer the English-speaking reader a fair sam-
ple of some of the best of these stories.
But what have folktales to offer the ordinary reader who is nei-
ther an anthropologist nor a social historian? Sometimes they are
regarded as stories suitable for children, which they may well be
in many cases, though they were told by adults and for adults, and
their standpoint, though often naive, is never childish. Others
might perhaps consider them no more than a touch of local
colour, quaint and not very relevant to modern life, but attractive
to tourists, like a tribal dance, or the ceremony of keys at the
Tower of London, or Santa Claus. As a winter evening’s enter-
tainment, it is unlikely that they would be able to compete nowa-
days with the offerings of television, even in the remotest
Icelandic farmhouse. However, if popular demand and the num-
ber of editions of folktales flowing from the presses are any indi-
cation, they have more than this to offer.
First, they provide an incomparable record of basic human
motives — the hopes, fears and desires of man at an unsophisti-
cated level — and hence an insight into the character and culture,
not just of a particular people, but of the human race in general.
Second, the themes of folk literature are not only basic to
human nature, but also central to all creative writing. They show
the springs of action in a way that may not always be subtle but is
usually honest and free of false rhetoric and sentimentality, thanks
to a discipline imposed on the storyteller by a living audience.
And at its best, when then storyteller happens to be a creative
artist of the first rank such as Matthias Jochumsson, who tells the
story of the old woman whose love for an unworthy husband out-
wits the high powers of Heaven itself, the result may be a literary
masterpiece.
Third, for those who wish to know and understand the
Icelandic people of today, there could be no better introduction.
The age of technology may have altered the outward character of
life in Iceland beyond recognition, but the roots are still there.
Under the surface, the attitudes of the modern Icelander are not
always so very different from those of his forebears, and a key to
much that may be hard to understand in context of urban afflu-
ence may sometimes be found in the rural austerity of earlier gen-
erations. The hard life of isolated communities in a harsh land
belongs to a period not so very far removed from the present, and
echoes from those times have not been entirely drowned by the
noise of traffic or the roar of jet engines.
This combination of imagination and down-to-earth realism is
a quality common to all types of Icelandic folktale, and should be
included with the variety already mentioned as one of the out-
standing characters of this literature.
Here, the palaces of fairytale bear a remarkable resemblance to
the more prosperous farm, with the king counting his sheep or
cattle like an Icelandic hill farmer. The devil and his imps are
often more notable for their gullibility than their malice. ‘Trolls
and monsters have a homely, everyday manner. Elves live and die
and behave in every way like human beings, while ghosts are of a
strangely material nature, beating their victims black and blue and
being themselves subject to the frailties of the flesh, eating food,
feeling pain, and even suffering from seasickness.
In this world of the Icelandic folktale, so closely related to our
own imperfect world of natural perils and human frustrations, we
find an extended parable of our feelings in the face of life, disas-
ter and death.

Alan Boucher
ribet Miele
 The Elves’ Genests

One day God Almighty came to see Adam and Eve. They greet-
ed him well and showed him all over the house. They showed him
their children, too, and God thought highly of them. He asked
Eve whether she had any more children beside these she had
shown him, and she replied in the negative.
But the truth of the matter was that Eve had not finished wash-
ing some of the children and had been ashamed to let God see
them. And for this reason she had hidden them away.
God knew this, however, and he said to her, “hat which has
been hidden from me shall be hidden from men.”
These children now became invisible to mankind, and they
lived in rocks and hills, stones and hummocks. From these
Hidden Folk the elves are come, while mankind is descended
from the children Eve showed to God.
Men can never see the elves, unless the elves themselves wish it,
for they can both see men and let themselves be seen by them.

The Sheriff's Lady of Burstarfell

At Burstarfell in Vopnafjérdur there was once a sheriff, rich and

of good family. He was married and kept a large and splendid
household.
At Burstarfell it was the custom for people to lie down and take
a nap in winter before the lamps were lit in the dadstofa, and the
sheriff’s lady was the one who always decided how long they
should sleep. She would light the lamps and wake the people her-
self for the evening work. :
One evening, however, she did not wake as usual, and the work-
ers got up and lit the lamps themselves. The sheriff would not
allow anyone to wake her. He said that she must be dreaming and
should be allowed to enjoy her dream. Late that night she awoke
at last, with a great sigh, and told her dream.
 It had seemed as if a man had come to her and bidden her rise
and go with him. This she did, and he led her out and some way
from the farm to a great stone, which lay in the Burstarfell land
and was known to her. The man walked thrice clockwise round
the stone, and to the eyes of the sheriff’s lady it became a small
but ornamented house. He then led her inside, and she found all
fair within. There on the floor she saw a woman lying in hard
labour. There was no one with her in the house except one old
dame. The man now declared his errand to the sheriff’s lady,
which was to bid her to save his wife, who was lying there on the
floor and would die without the aid of a mortal.
The sheriff’s lady now went to the one who was in labour and
said to her, “The good Jesus help you.”
At these words the woman was soon delivered, to the great joy
of all. But the sheriff’s lady noticed that after she had spoken the
name of Jesus, the old dame had crawled down from her bed and
taken to sweeping the whole room throughout, as though she
thought the house little cleansed by that name.
The child was now to be bathed, and the sheriff’s lady per-
formed this task. At the same time the woman gave her a box of
ointment to smear in its eyes. She did so, thinking that the oint-
ment must possess some great virtue. It occurred to her to put
some in her own eyes, but she dared not, because of the others
there; though she did manage to touch her right eye with the tip
of her finger without being seen.
After the child had been bathed, the sheriff’s lady made ready
to return home. Before she left, though, the mother gave her a
very precious cloth, made of cloth-of-gold and all woven with
golden thread. The man then led her out, and he walked thrice
round the house, widdershins, at which it became a rock once
more. He then accompanied her back to Burstarfell and left her.
The sheriff’s lady now brought out the cloth from under her
pillow and showed it as a token of her story. No one had ever seen
anything like it, and they say that this same cloth is still used in
the church of that parish as an altar cloth.
 As for the sheriff ‘s lady, it is said that the sight of her right eye,
into which the ointment had come, was changed in such a man-
ner that now she could see all that went on, both on the earth and
init:
There are said to be big rocks near Burstarfell, and a high cliff.
The sheriff’s lady was now able to see that these were not what
they appeared to be, but farms, houses, and a large village. All
these were filled with people, who occupied themselves in the
same ways as other, mortal folk, mowing and raking and cultivat-
ing their fields and meadows. They had cattle, sheep and horses
that mingled with the other livestock, as the people themselves
did, too, with other, mortal folk, working at will.
She noticed that these people were more prudent in their work,
and more weather-wise, than others. They often spread their hay
to dry when it was raining, or refrained from doing so when the
weather was bone-dry; but the sheriff’s lady saw that when they
spread the hay, dry weather always followed, whereas wet weath-
er followed when they did not. She went by their ways and man-
ner of carrying out these and other tasks, and found that it paid
her well. And so the weeks went by.
Then one day the sheriff’s lady went to the market town. And
when she came into the store there, she saw behind the counter
the woman whom she had once helped.
The latter had gathered up some of the merchant’s choicest
goods and was holding them in her arms. The sheriff’s lady now
saw that nobody else was aware of the other's presence.
She therefore went up to the counter and said, in the friendliest
possible manner, “So we meet again.”
The elf-woman at once turned angrily, and without saying a
word, spat in her right eye. And from that moment the sheriff’s
lady could no longer see her. Nor, after this, could she see any
more than she had seen before putting the ointment in her eye.

I2
 Katla’ss Dream

There was once a man named Mar. He was a powerful chieftain

and lived in the west, at Reykhdlar. His wife’s name was Katla.
She was a woman of good family.
One day Mar rode to the assembly of the Althingi, according to
his custom, while Katla stayed at home. While he was away it
happened one morning that Katla went to her bower and dropped
off to sleep there. Later, other women came, but still she slept on.
About noon they would have woken her, but could not. Fearing
she might be dead, they went to Katla’s foster-father and told
him. However, when he came to where Katla lay, he said that she
was not dead, for she still breathed. Nevertheless he, too, was
unable to wake her. He sat with her four whole days and nights
without a break. On the fifth day Katla awoke and was very sor-
rowful, but nobody dared ask her why.
Soon after, Mar returned from the Althingi. Now Katla did not
follow her usual custom, for she neither went out to meet him nor
curtsied to him when he came. He tried to find out from her
women why this was, but they could tell him nothing except that
she had slept four days and nights and had told no one what had
befallen her.
Mar went to his wife and found occasion to ask what had
befallen her in the deep sleep that had held her, saying that she
would not suffer from any indiscretion on his part. Katla now told
him the whole story.
“T thought a woman came to me in my bower,” she said. “She
was of a matronly appearance and well-spoken. She told me that
she lived at Thver4, only a short distance away, and asked me to
walk there with her. I agreed to do so, but first she laid her gloves
on the place where I had been sitting and said that they would
keep my seat for me.
“We then walked out and came to a lake, where a beautiful boat
lay moored. The woman thanked me for accompanying her, and I
wished her farewell. I discovered that her name was Alvér. She
now bade me give her my hand, which I did, whereupon she drew
me into the boat with her, and then rowed out to a small island. I
found that she had her way in everything, while I was quite pow-
erless. She nevertheless made herself agreeable to me and said that
necessity drove her. ‘And I shall take you home again,’ she added.
“We came to her house on the island. It was so fair that I have
never seen a lovelier dwelling place. She took me to a chamber
where some women had a bath made ready, and a bed with fair
hangings. They afterwards brought me wine, and I lay down to
sleep. Later I awoke to find a cloak laid beside me, ornamented
with pure gold, and the lady of the house now brought me other
garments embroidered with gold, and finally threw over me her
own cape, which was of velvet, lined with grey fur and adorned
with fine gold. She told me I might have all these treasures, if I
wanted. With them there was a bracelet of red gold, a headband
and necklace, four rings, and a fair belt.
“She now bade me come into her hall, and there was no gain-
saying her. We went in, eight women together. Here all was
decked with the greatest magnificence. The walls were covered
with gold-embroidered hangings, there were vessels of silver on
the tables, and drinking horns mounted with gold, and the hall
was filled with a gaily clad company.
“In the place of honour I saw a couch on which there lay a man
in silken garments. Alvér shook him, calling him by the name
Kari, at which he opened his eyes and asked why she woke him
and whether she had any news to tell. ‘Has Katla come hither?’ he
asked. And then he saw that it was indeed so.
“Kari and I were now placed together on the one bench, and
Alvor bade the whole company name Kari bridegroom, which they
did. All now took to drinking, and they drank hard all that day. But
when evening came, Alvor said that now I must bed with Kari. I
replied that of this there could be no question. I loved my husband
Mar too much, I said, to have pleasure with any other man.
“Alvor told me that it would be the worse for me if I would not

14
do Kari’s will. I was at my wits’ end, for there I was, as it seemed,
alone amid a pack of wolves.
“After I was in bed, the man came to me and offered to give me
all his gold and jewels, but I let him have no hope of my favours.
Kari then made me drink from a horn, out of which he also
drank, saying that he would sooner die than see me sad. He bade
me be comforted, for I would soon be taken home.
“So I was there two nights, sad at heart, though none would
grieve me but would rather give me joy. Then Kari told me that
we should have a son and asked me to name him Kari. He gave
me a fine belt and knife and said I should let our son have it as a
name-gift. He also bade me put all my fine clothes and jewels in
a bag, for he wished me to have the joy of them. ‘Show them to
your husband Mar and tell him the whole truth,’ he said, ‘though
it be grievous and painful to you. And you shall build yourselves
a new homestead here at Thvera. You will find two banks where
birds gather at the end of my hall, and these shall be your treas-
ure-hoards. A great line will spring from you and win fame. But
now I must take leave of you and never look in your eyes again,
and [| cannot tell how long a life I may be granted hereafter.’
“After this, Alvér led me sadly forth, and as I left the hall I
heard a great crack, as Kari’s heart broke for grief on my account.”
Some narratives record how Alvor then bore Katla across the
lake, in the same boat as before, and accompanied her home to
her door. Then she took up her gloves from the seat where she
had left them and said, “Fare thee now well, Katla, though I have
naught of my son but sorrow, and enjoy your treasures.”
“Such was my dream, Mar,” said Katla, “and I trust to your gen-
tleness to forgive me, in that I was an unwilling victim.”
Mar then bade her show him her treasures, which she did.
Late the following winter Katla was delivered of a boy of rare
beauty, and Mar thought the child promised well. He was named
Kari, as his father had wished, but Mar let himself be called the
boy’s father, and proved in all ways kinder to him than his moth-
er, who was always cold towards him.
 They moved their homestead to the place named by Katla, and
lived there in much love and harmony together.
The longer version of Katla’s Dream tells how, after Alvor and
Katla had crossed the lake on their way to the island, Alvor had
taken hold of her with both hands, whereupon her love for Mar
had vanished. She had then led her to the room, as described
before. There were women inside, and they all seemed to know
Katla.
Then Alvor had stirred the one she named Kari, bidding him
awake, for now there was news to tell and Katla was come.
“Kari awoke,” said Katla, “and bade me heartily welcome. He
declared that I had broken his sleep and now he would die for
love of me if I left him. Alvér had a bath made ready and gave me
wine to drink before I went to her son’s bed. She said that I
should suffer for it ever after if I refused his love. She had her way,
for I had lost all my senses.
“And so I stayed there all the time while I was away. Then one
morning Alvor came to the bed where we slept and said that now
I must dress, though it grieved her son. Kari sighed deeply when
I went from his bed, and I would myself have stayed longer and
was strangely unwilling to leave him. Then he told me of the son
I would bear him and gave me three things, a belt, a knife, and a
ring, that I was to keep as gifts for him. “To you, though, I give a
cloak of sheer gold, a necklace, and a clasp,’ he said. ‘Most will
think them rare treasures. You shall keep them all your life.’
“IT now dressed in all this finery and left him, though most
unwillingly.”
Kari the elf-man had asked her to name their son Kari, as was
said before, and this she did. Another year passed by, and Katla
bore a second son. She named him Ari, for his name she would
choose herself.
The two brothers grew up together. Katla showed much less
affection towards Kari than Ari, but Mar made no distinction
between them and blamed his wife for doing so.
Time now passed with no tidings, until the brothers were five

16
and six years old respectively. Then one morning, early, Mar
rowed out with his men to fish, for it was fine weather. But Katla
slept on in their bed.
Then it seemed to her that Alvor came into the chamber and
said, “Our lots are unequal: you enjoy delights of your husband,
while I suffer the pains of death on account of my son. Now you
shall choose, whether you would rather lose Mar this day or be
put to shame by your son’s words.”
Katla chose the second, and no more then passed between
them.
That evening Mar returned home to find Katla downcast. He
asked the cause of her gloom, and she told him all. He then bade
her be of good cheer, saying, “We shall find a remedy for this. Let
us hold a banquet and invite your brothers. You shall be gentle to
all, but answer none before your time comes.”
The days now passed until the banquet was to be, Mar staying
at home the while. When Katla’s brothers were expected, he went
out to meet them with a fair company and greeted them with
good cheer. They were all chieftains. Katla welcomed them
warmly and they were shown to their places at table, and ale was
brought. Katla wore the cloak and had the good necklace, Kari’s
Bounty, about her neck.
As the men sat drinking, Mar said, “Let there be a truce here
between us, and all keep it until the banquet is over.”
All agreed to this and promised to keep the truce.
Katla had now taken her seat, and the boys were there, playing
on the floor. Kari asked his mother for the good necklace to play
with, and she let him have it. Ari, seeing this, became somewhat
sullen and tried to take the necklace from Kari, but he refused to
let go of it.
Then Ari said, “Wretched son of a whore, won't you give me the
necklace, when all things here are mine?”
At these words Katla stood up from her seat and went straight
to her chamber, barely able to contain her grief. No sooner had
she left than her brothers took up the boy’s words, in fearful rage

ay
that their family should suffer such disgrace on their sister’s
account, and said that if she had been shamed by anyone they
would avenge it, for the child would not lie.
Mar told them they should not pay heed to children’s nonsense,
for such was insulting. Whereupon the brothers’ fury knew no
bounds, and they said that rumour of this had reached them,
although Mar had concealed it by dissimulation. Mar replied that
he had never uttered a word against his wife on this score. “But
tell me, my brothers,” he said, “what does one deserve that falls
unwillingly, or is deluded by a dream?”
Mar then left the banquet and went to the loft where Katla lay.
He said to her, “There is only one thing to be done now, and that
is to tell your brothers the whole story.”
Katla said that she would sooner die than tell all her sorrows;
nevertheless his counsel would prove best for her. After this they
both went to her brothers, who were still in a great rage, and Mar
bade her tell them the whole truth, which she did.
When they had heard her story, Katla’s brothers were silent, for
their sister now seemed to them without guilt. Then they all went
to Mar and thanked him solemnly for his gentle dealing in the
matter, promising him their friendship with pledges of faith.
Mar and Katla loved each other dearly, both before this and
after, as long as they lived.
Ari Masson became a great chieftain and was like his father in
most things. Many are descended from him.
Kari was fostered in Rennudalur. His parents helped him with
a generous settlement to make a good marriage, and he started a
farm there. He became a wealthy man and was thought wise in
hidden lore. He was learned about the tides and the stars. .
Some say that Kari Karason often used to visit his grandmoth-
er in his youthful years, learning from her various arts practised in
ancient days by the elf-folk, and that few thrived who tried to get
the better of him. Nor did many try, for he prospered and won the
favour of chieftains.
When Mar died, men say that Kari had both his mother Katla

18
and his grandmother Alvér to live with him, and their tempers
were ill matched, so that Kari always had to be making peace
between them.
One day they were quarrelling, and it is said that he became
angry, which was not his wont. And after he had stood there a
while, fire came up out of the ground, burning his grandmother,
AlvGr, to ashes, so that not a trace of her remained. But whether
Kari caused the fire to burn up his grandmother, or the fire was
caused by the old woman’s anger, is not explained. Yet some have
expressed the view that Kari killed his grandmother.

The Lullaby
A farmer’s daughter was once got with child by an elf-man. She
gave birth to a boy, but none would believe her tale of his pater-
nity. Her parents were beside themselves with anger that the child
should be born fatherless, and for this they treated her with the
utmost harshness.
One evening the baby was crying and the mother quite unable
to comfort it, whereupon all the people present began to abuse
her, each finding some hurtful word for her and the boy and mak-
ing her weep.
It is said that a lullaby was then chanted at the window over
mother and child:

Sleep, my son, sleep:

Like the seal in the sea,
The swan on the billow,
The gull on the sill,
For none can lull thee.
Like the cod in the deep,
Sleep, my son, sleep:
Like the cow in the stall,
The calf in the meadow,
The fish in the shallows,
 The hart on the hill,
The mouse in the hole,
The worm tn the sotl,
The snake on the fell,
My darling, be still:
Like the beaver on the lake,
The bird on the rock,
The fox in its den,
The sedge in the fen,
The swan on the 1ce,
The duck on the grass,
The otter in the gill,
My darling, be still:
Like the seal on the strand,
The fish in the sound,
The bear in his lair
With mighty paw,
The wolf on the moor,
The pike in the pond,
The eel in the pool,
My darling, be still:
And now, my love,
Have I lulled thy child,
Our darling one
With a little rhyme,
In his crib to rest;
For all time
Now doubly blessed,
For half is he mine.

It is said that the words of this song were a charm, so that when
the boy grew up, he excelled all others of that time.
But the story tells that then he vanished, and his mother with
him, and that his father was the elf who had sung the lullaby.

20
 The Dairymaid
In the north there was once a pastor who had an adopted daugh-
ter. Up in the mountains, a long way from the parsonage, there
was a dairy-hut where his sheep and cattle were always put out to
grass in the summer, when he kept a shepherd and cowman there,
and a dairymaid besides.
When the pastor’s adopted daughter grew up, it was always she
who went as dairymaid to the hut, and in this, as in other things,
she did well, for she was a good housewife, beside being beautiful
and capable in other respects. For this reason she had many eligi-
ble suitors and was considered the best match in the north. But
she rejected all offers of marriage.
One day the pastor spoke to his daughter and strongly urged
her to marry, pointing out that he, being an old man, would not
always be there to look after her. She would not hear of this, how-
ever, and said that she had no thoughts of marriage and was well
satisfied as she was. Not all men brought happiness with their
offers, she said. And so for the time being the matter was allowed
to rest.
As the winter went on, though, it seemed to some that the pas-
tor’s daughter was beginning to bulge about the middle, and with
the passage of time the bulge became even more prominent, so
that when spring came, her father spoke to her, asking how things
were with her, for she must be with child, he said, and should not
go to the dairy-hut that summer.
She, however, hotly denied that she was in any such condition
and declared that there was nothing the matter with her and she
intended to carry out her tasks at the hut that summer as usual.
When the cleric saw that she was not to be moved from her
determination, he let her have her way, but asked the men who
were to be in the hut on no account to leave her alone at any time,
and this they promised faithfully to observe.
Soon the party left for the hut, and the dairymaid was as gay as
might be. Some time passed without event. The men at the hut
watched her closely and never left her alone.
Then one evening the sheep and cows were nowhere to be
found. Everybody in the hut therefore went out to look for them,
leaving the dairymaid on her own.
The search took a long time, for a thick mist had come down,
and the livestock was not found before morning. When the
searchers returned to the hut, the dairymaid was already up and
about and seemed unusually lively and light-hearted.
As time went on, the people also noticed that the bulge about
her middle had become less, though they knew not how, and it
now appeared to them that it must have had some cause other
than they had thought.
In the autumn the hut-folk returned to the farm with their ani-
mals and goods. The pastor now saw that his daughter was more
slender than she had been the previous winter. He called to him
those who had been with her and asked whether they had kept his
commandment, or if they had left her alone at any time. They told
him then how they had once been obliged to leave her in order to
search for the missing livestock, whereupon the cleric was angry
and rebuked them for their disobedience, saying that he had
expected this when his daughter went to the hut in the summer.
The following winter a man came to sue for the hand of the
pastors daughter in marriage. She was not at all eager.
Nevertheless the pastor insisted that she should not refuse him,
for he was highly regarded by all and was of good family. He had
inherited his father’s farm the previous spring, and his mother was
in charge of the house.
A settlement was therefore agreed, whether the girl would or
no, and the wedding took place the following spring from the
pastor’s house.
Before putting on her wedding gown, however, the bride said to
the groom, “Since you are to marry me against my will, there is
one request I have to make: never hire a man over the winter
without asking me first, or you will be sorry for it.”

22
 Her husband-to-be promised this.
After the wedding feast, the bride went home with her husband
and took over the household, though with great reluctance, and
she was never glad or gay, although her husband humoured her in
every respect and would not so much as allow her to dip her hand
in cold water.
Every summer, when the others were out haymaking, she stayed
indoors, her mother-in-law with her for company and to cook the
food with her. Besides this, they sat and knitted or spun, while the
older woman told her daughter-in-law stories for her amusement.
One day, when she had finished telling a story, she said that
now it was her daughter-in-law’s turn to tell one. But the other
replied that she knew none. However, the older woman urged her,
and in the end she agreed to tell the one tale she knew, and thus
she began:
“Once upon a time there was a girl on a farm who was dairy-
maid at a summer hut. Not far from the hut there were some high
cliffs, and she would often walk there. But in the cliffs there lived
an elf-man, comely and handsome, whose acquaintance she soon
made, and before long they came to love one another. He was so
kind and indulgent to the girl that he would refuse her nothing,
but did her will in all things. And such were the games they
played that as time went on the dairymaid found herself to be
with child. The following spring her master challenged her with
this, but she denied his charges and went to the dairy-hut as
before.
“Now the master bade those that went with her on no account
ever to leave her alone, and they promised faithfully. Nevertheless
one night they left her to go out and look for their animals,
whereupon her labour pains came upon her.
“The man with whom she had lain now attended her, separat-
ing the child, and washing and clothing it. But before taking it
away, he gave her to drink from a bottle. It was the sweetest drink
that I had ever — “ and at this moment she let fall the ball of wool
from which she had been knitting and, stooping to pick it up

23
from the floor, she corrected herself “— that she had ever tasted,
I meant to say. And at once she was quite well again.
“After that day, the girl and the elf-man never met again, and
she was made very much against her will to marry another man.
For such was her yearning for her former lover that she never
knew a happy day henceforth. And that is the end of my story.”
The old woman thanked her daughter-in-law for her story, and
kept it in her memory. So time passed without tidings, and the
wife remained as sorrowful as ever, though she was good to her
husband.
Then one summer, when haymaking was far advanced, two men
came to the farmer out in the field. One was tall and the other
short, and both wore hoods, so that their faces could not be clear-
ly seen. The taller of the two spoke, asking the farmer to hire
them for the winter. He replied that he hired no man without his
wife’s knowledge, and said that he would speak to her before
promising them anything. The taller man then told him that it
suited a chieftain ill to speak so, being ruled by his wife to such a
degree that he could not decide on his own about small matters,
like feeding two men for a single winter. The outcome was that
the farmer promised to hire them without asking his wife.
That evening the strangers came to the house and were taken
by the farmer to a certain building where they were told they
should be. He then went to his wife and explained what had hap-
pened. She took it badly, saying that this was the first favour she
had ever asked him, and would probably be the last. But since he
had hired the men on his own account, he alone would be respon-
sible for what came of their hiring. And no more was said.
All was now quiet until the time came in the autumn when the
farmer and his wife intended to go to Communion.
It was then the custom, as it still is in some parts of Iceland, for
those who intend to receive the sacrament to go to each person
on the farm in turn, kiss them, and ask their forgiveness for any
offences committed against them.
Up to this time the mistress of the house had avoided all con-

24
tact with the hired men and had never let them see her. So it was
now, and she did not go to them before leaving. Husband and
wife then set off, but they had only passed the gate of the home-
field when he said to her, “You have taken leave of the hired men,
of course?”
She replied, no, she had not.
Her husband now begged her not to be guilty of such a misdeed
as to go without doing so.
“You have shown how little you value my word in most mat-
ters,” she said, “in that you took these men without asking me.
And now you would compel me to kiss them. Very well, I shall do
as you say; but you must take the consequences, for my life may
depend upon it, and probably yours as well.”
She now turned back, and a long time passed without her com-
ing. The farmer therefore returned to the house and went to the
building where the hired men lived. And here he found the taller
of the two men and his wife both lying on the floor dead, their
hearts broken, while the smaller stood over them weeping as he
came in, but vanished soon afterwards, and no one knew what
became of him.
All now knew from the story told by their mistress to her moth-
er-in-law that the taller of the two strangers must have been the
elf-man she met at the summer dairy, while the other, the one
who vanished, was their son.

“Take It, Take It!”

Two elf-women once went to a certain farm, meaning to steal a
baby and replace it with one of theirs. They came to where the
baby they wanted lay in its cradle, and there was no one about but
a two-year-old child to watch it.
The younger, less cautious of the elf-women went up to the cra-
dle at once, crying:
Take it, take 1t!

25
But the older one said:

Do not wake 1t!

A cross above, below, I see
Guarding 1tfrom such as we,
And a two-year-old, as well,
That will tell.

And with this they went away, unable to do anything, both on

account of the cross-sign that had been made above the cradle
and under the baby, and also because of the child who sat by the
cradle, and later told what had happened.

A Father of Eighteen in Elfland

One summer’s day all the people on a certain farm were out in the
fields but for the mistress. She was at home looking after the
house, and with her she had her two- or three-year-old son. The
child was big and forward for his age, could talk well, and seemed
very bright and promising.
Since the woman had various household tasks to attend to,
besides the child, she was obliged to leave him for a while. In
order to wash the milk troughs, she went outside to a stream not
far from the house, leaving the boy in the doorway meanwhile.
After a short time she returned to the house, but when she
spoke to the child now, he whimpered and wailed more hideous-
ly and pitifully than was ever his wont, having always been a most
well-behaved and docile baby. But now she had nothing from him
but screams and whining, and time passed without his speaking a
word, though all the while he was extremely moody and irritable,
so that his mother did not know what to make of this change in
behaviour. Moreover, the child did not seem to grow and acted
most foolishly.
The woman was very grieved by all this and went to ask advice
of a neighbour who was reputed to be both wise and well versed

26
in various lore, telling her of the troubles that had afflicted her.
This woman questioned her closely about the time and circum-
stances of the change in the child, and the boy’s mother told her
everything, just as it had happened.
When the wise woman had heard the whole story, she said,
“Does it not occur to you that the boy might be a changeling, my
dear? In my opinion, he must have been changed when you left
him in the doorway.”
“I don’t know,” answered the mother. “Can you tell me how I
might find out for certain?”
“Indeed I can,” replied the other. “You must leave the child
alone some time and arrange for him to see something unusual,
and he will speak, if he sees no one about. But you must hide and
hear what he says. If the child’s words seem to you in any way
strange or suspicious, you must beat him without mercy until
something happens.”
With this they parted, the boy’s mother thanking her neighbour
for her advice and returning home. When she got back she put a
small cooking-pot in the middle of the kitchen floor. Then she
took many broom handles and tied them together, binding a
spoon at one end and standing it in the pot, while the other end
stuck up through the kitchen chimney. After completing these
preparations in the kitchen, she fetched the boy. Then, leaving
him there alone, she went outside, and watched and listened
through the chink of the kitchen door.
When she had been gone a little while, the child began to tod-
dle round the pot, examining it and the spoon that stood in it.
Then he spoke.
“By my white whiskers,” he said, “old as I am, and a father of
eighteen in Elfland, never before have I seen a spoon so long in a
pot so small.”
The woman now went back into the kitchen with a good switch
in her hand, took hold of the changeling, and whipped him long
and well. He howled dreadfully, and when he had been beaten for
a good while, a strange woman came into the kitchen with a fair,

a7]
fine boy in her arms, whom she coaxed and cuddled, saying, “We
are not alike, See, how I fondle your child, while you beat my hus-
band.”
With these words she put down the boy, the woman's son, and
left him there, taking her husband with her, and they both van-
ished on the spot.
But the boy grew up with his mother, and became a fine man.

The Boy who Would not Be with the Elves

In the county of Thingeyjarsysla, in the north of Iceland, a three-

year-old boy once disappeared. However, he was found a week
later under a high clitf not far from the farm, and there were three
tingerprints on his cheek. When asked where he had been, he
replied, “In that farm there,” and pointed to what appeared to be
nothing but rock. He said that elves lived there and had wanted
to put a spell on him, but he had not been able to eat their food,
tor it had all seemed to him full of worms.
When they saw that there was no dealing with him, an old
woman had led him away. Saying that he should nevertheless bear
the mark of having been with the elves, she had then struck him
on the cheek, and left him.
Later the bey grew to be a fine man and a farmer of note.
Once, when he was an old man, he happened to ride past the
clit where he had been found many years before, and he recited
the following verse:
eli say :
That cliff I know from years ago,
ss . - _

When I was a little lad.

wre Lr
Vide was the door that stood before
> % .. > »
ear LOOPY Fier er Ao
a Se CHONG PUR WT ARAL

The late Doctor Hallgrimur Bachmann saw this man and the fin-
gerprints on his cheek, which he bore to the day of his death.
 The Mower

A man from the southern headlands once went north to find

himself work with the haymaking,
When he reached the northern heaths a great fog came down,
and he lost his way. The fog was followed by driving sleet and bit-
ter cold, and the man pitched his tent on the spot. Then he
opened his food-pack and started eating,
While the man was at his meal, however, into the tent came a
brown dog, wretched and very hungry. The southerner wondered
greatly to see a dog in this place. It was 90 ugly and odd-looking,
too, that he was half afraid of it. Nevertheless he gave it as much
of his food as it would eat, The creature ate greedily and then
went out, disappearing into the fog. The man thought no more of
it. Having eaten his own supper, he lay down with his head on his
saddle and went to sleep.
In his sleep he dreamed that 4 woman came into the tent. She
was very tall, but bent with age. She said to him, “Young man, I
thank you for your kindness to my daughter, though I cannot
repay it as I would. However, I want you to accept this bit of a
scythe-blade, which I now put under your saddle. I hope it will be
of some use to you, for it will cut through anything. You may use
a whetstone on it, if you will, but never heat it in the fire, for if
you do it will lose its virtue.”
The woman now vanished, and the man awoke. He vaw that the
fog had lifted, and it was bright outside, the sun high in the sky.
First he went out and got his horse ready to continue the journey.
Then he struck his tent and began to load the animal. When he
took up the saddle, lying under it he found a scythe-blade, worn
very thin and covered with rust. He now remembered his dream,
and kept the blade. Setting off, he soon found the track, and his
journey went well. Before long he came to inhabited country.
But in the north the man found none who would hire him. All
had engaged the help they needed, and almost a week of the hay-
making was already gone. However, he heard tell of a certain
woman in the neighbourhood who had hired no one. She was
wealthy and was believed to be wise in various lore. She was not
in the habit of hiring labour and never began hay-making until a
week or fortnight after all others, but her hayfield was always
mown as early as the rest. On the rare occasions when she had
hired men, they had never stayed more than a week, and she had
paid them no wages.
The southerner was now directed to this woman, having been
warned of her ways. And since he could find work nowhere else,
he offered to mow for her.
The woman received him well and said she would engage him
for a week. “But you shall have no wage,” she said, “unless you can
mow more in that week than I can rake on the Saturday.”
This seemed to him a fair bargain, so he started mowing. He
used the scythe-blade, the elf-woman’s gift, and found that it cut
well. He never needed to whet it, and so he mowed for five days
on end.
The man was well satisfied with the place and was well treated
by the woman, his mistress.
One day he happened to go into the smithy and saw there a
great heap of scythe-handles, blades and rakes. He wondered at
this, thinking that the woman was not short of implements.
On the Friday night he went to bed as usual and slept, and dur-
ing the night he dreamed that the elf-woman who had given him
the scythe-blade came to him and said, “You have mowed well;
but the woman, your mistress, will not be long in raking the hay
together, and she will then dismiss you, if she is able to overtake
your mowing on the morrow.” The elf-woman continued:
“If you think you have not done enough, go out into the smithy
and take as many scythe-blades and handles as you will, and bind
them together. Then bear them out into the field and see how you
fare.”
Having spoken these words, the elf-woman left him, and he
awoke and got up.

30
 He now went out to mow. About halfway through the morning
his mistress came out with five rakes.
“You have mowed very well,” she said, “and much more than I
ever expected.” Then, laying the rakes hither and thither about
the field, she began raking. The hired man now saw that fast as
the woman raked, the other rakes raked even faster, although he
could see no one wielding them.
As midday drew near he saw that the mown hay would not be
enough, so he went into the smithy, took a number of scythe-han-
dles, and bound blades to them. Then, going out into the mead-
ow again, he scattered the scythes about in the uncut grass. And
as he mowed, the scythes all mowed, too, so that the area of mown
grass rapidly grew larger.
This went on all day until evening, and there was always enough
to rake. But when evening came, the woman took up her rakes
and told the mower to do the same with his scythes, and they
went back to the house together. She said that she saw he knew
more than she had supposed, and he should enjoy the benefit and
be with her as long as he would.
So the mower stayed all summer with her, and they got on well
together. They continued haymaking, but took their time over it.
And when autumn came, the man received a very large amount in
wages, which he took with him when he returned to the south.
The following summer he worked for the woman again, and for
as many summers as he continued to work as a hired man.
Later he set up on his own account in the southern headlands,
and was always well regarded. He was a good fisherman, too, and
did well in all he turned his hand to. He mowed by himself and
never used any scythe-blade but the one given him by the elf-
woman. And he was always done with his haymaking as soon as
any other in the area, though he had no other grass than his
home-field, as is generally the case there.
One summer he was out fishing, when a neighbour came to his
wife and asked her to lend him a scythe-blade to mow with, for
he had broken his and was at his wits’ end. The wife went and

31
looked, but could find none but the elfin blade. This she lent to
the neighbour, but warned him not to heat it in the fire, for her
husband never did so. He promised this and took the blade home.
The neighbouring farmer now bound the scythe-blade to a
handle and began to mow, but was unable to cut so much as a sin-
gle blade of grass with it. He became angry at this, and applied a
whetstone to the blade, but without effect. Finally he went into
his smithy, meaning to hammer the edge, and thought that it
could not do any harm though he heated it a little. But no soon-
er had he put the blade in the fire than it melted like wax, and
nothing was left of it but a lump of clinker.
The neighbour now went back and told the woman what had
happened. She was afraid, for she knew that her husband would be
very angry when he heard it. And so indeed he was, though it is not
recorded that he allowed the loss to weigh on his mind for long.
However, he gave his wife a blow for her pains, which he had
never done before, nor since.

Crossroads

Some say that there are crossroads at points — for example, in the
fells or hills — from which four churches can be seen. The oldest
belief is that one should watch on Christmas Eve, which was the
turn of the year, and to this day men reckon their age by it, and a
man is said to be fifteen winters, for example, if he has lived fif-
teen Christmas Eves. Later the beginning of the year was moved
to New Year’s Eve.
If a man watches at the crossroads, elves will come to him from
all directions and crowd round him, bidding him come with them;
but he must not heed them. They will then bring him all kinds of
jewellery, gold and silver, clothes, food and drink, but he must
accept nothing. Elf-women will then appear to him in the shape
of his mother or sisters, and bid him come, and use every device to
persuade him. But when day dawns, he must stand up and say,

32
“God be praised, it is now broad daylight.” All the elves will then
vanish, leaving their treasure behind, and he may have it.
But if a man answers the elves or accepts their offers, he will be
bemused and lose his wits and never be himself again.
This happened to one called Fasi, who watched one Christmas
Eve. He held out for a long time, until an elf-woman came to him
with a great slab of fat and bade him take a bite. Fiisi then looked
at the fat and said what has since become a proverb: “Seldom have
I refused the fat.”
He then took a bite out of the slab, had a fit, and went out of
his mind.

The Elves Move House

At Storu-Akrar in Skagafjérdur in the year 1819 there was a

young lad named Gudmundur who was just under twenty and a
shepherd.
On the morning after Twelfth Night, the weather being fine, he
let his sheep out for the day, and drove the flock up a valley where
there was pasture when the weather was tolerable.
When he came to the head of the valley with the sheep, he saw
a train of pack-horses on the move. In this train there were men,
women, and children as well. The women and children sat in
carts, while the horses were heavily laden.
It never occurred to Gudmundur that these could be any other
than men and women like himself, though it seemed to him
strange that they should be moving house at this time and that
they should travel in carts. Meaning to talk to them, he left his
sheep and ran to meet them, but they went faster, as if to escape
him, towards some rocks. He managed to draw level with them,
but the distance between was too great for him to speak with
them. Besides, he began to have doubts concerning what sort of
folk these might be.
They now reached some cliffs and took off their caps, and it

35)
seemed to Gudmundur as though the doors of a house opened
before them, and lights shone from within, as from three or four
doors standing open.
Then he saw the women and children go inside, while the men
carried the baggage into the house. After a while he heard a bell
ring, and then he heard singing, though not a word of it could he
understand.
By the time he reached the cliffs, they had closed, and the carts
in which he had seen the women and children riding turned to
rocks before his eyes.
Gudmundur realised now what kind of folk they had been, and
would have hastened away with all speed. But now a drowsiness
came over him, so heavy that he could not walk. With this, he was
seized by a weakness, so that he lay down and slept, waking as day
began to dawn. He now walked with feeble steps to the foot of
the cliffs, but again he was obliged to lie down, and he fell asleep
on the spot. A little later he awoke once more, to feel water drip-
ping on his cheek. It was now broad daylight. His face, when he
wiped it with his hand, was a little wet, but his strength had now
returned, though he was still somewhat confused. However, he
managed to make his way back to the sheep, which were all
flocked together in the valley.
That evening he drove them home and put them indoors in
great disorder, and then went into the house.
For some time afterwards people found him very dull, but grad-
ually the dullness disappeared, until there was no more sign of it
in him.

Flelga the Farmers Daughter and the Elves

There was once a wealthy farmer and his wife, who lived in the
parish of Gnupverjahreppur in the east. Two daughters of this
couple are named. The elder was their favourite in all things,
while the younger was neglected. Her name was Helga.

34
 On this farm the people were troubled by an affliction, in that
every Christmas Day the one who was left to watch the house on
Christrnas Eve was always found dead, so that none was willing
to stay at home.
One Christmas everybody went to church as usual. They would
leave early in the morning on Christmas Eve to attend Evensong,
as was the custom in those days, returning home on Christmas
Day after Mass,
This time the farmer and his wife told Helga that she must stay
behind. She was to milk the cows, tend the sheep, and boil the
smoked mutton for their Christmas dinner. It would be no great
loss if she went the way of the others, they said, should such a
thing befall.
The churchgoers now set off, and Helga was left alone.
First she tended the sheep and milked the cows. Then she
swept the whole house thoroughly, and when this was done, she
put the Christmas joint in the pot to boil.
When the meat was well on the way to being done, a small girl
walked into the kitchen holding a bowl in her hand. The child
grected Helga, who returned the greeting. Then, holding out her
bowl, she asked Helga for a piece of meat and a drop of fat in it.
Now, before leaving that morning, Helga’s mother had strictly
forbidden her to touch the meat or give a scrap of it, or the fat, to
anyone. Nevertheless she did so. The child then took leave of her
and toddled away with her bowl.
The day drew on, and Helga finished all the outside work in the
course of the evening, After this she lit a lamp in the badstofa, took
Af her shoes, and sitting on her parents’ bed, began to read a book.
She had not been reading Jong, when she heard a great racket
outside, and people’s voices, and shortly after, the sound of many
crowding into the farm, and into the badstofa came a throng of
strange folk, so that it was filled by the visitors and they were sit-
ting on every bed. Helga could scarcely move for the press of peo-
ple, and she saw that the other rooms of the farm, and all the
. watbuildings, were full as well.

35
 When all the newcomers had found themselves a place, they
began to amuse themselves with every kind of entertainment and
gaiety. Of Helga they took no more notice than if she were invis-
ible or did not exist, while she, for her part, did not interfere in
any way with the visitors, but went on reading her book.
When the customary portion of the evening watch was passed,
Helga would have gone out to milk the cows, as is done in many
places, but she was unable to move for the crush. There was one
man there in the dadstofa who was much taller than any of the
rest. He looked old and had a long beard. This man now called
out and bade folk make way for Helga so that she could get her
shoes, and give her room to move about the house. This they did,
and Helga went out in the dark, for she had left the lamp behind
with the visitors, and going to the cowshed, she began milking.
After a while she heard someone coming. She was given a
greeting and returned it. Then the other asked her to let him lie
with her in the hay-stall. This she refused outright. He then
repeated his request several times, but still Helga refused him.
After this, the other went away, while she went on milking. A lit-
tle later she heard someone else come into the cowshed, and again
she was greeted, though this time by a woman, who thanked
Helga warmly for the kindness she had shown her child and also
for refusing her husband’s solicitations there in the cowshed. At
the same time she handed Helga a bundle of clothes and bade her
accept them for the two favours she had done her.
“In this bundle there are clothes that I believe you will be able to
wear with honour on your wedding day,” she said. “And with them
there is a belt by which you will not be demeaned. Good luck will
follow you, and you will marry a bishop. But you must never give
the clothes away, nor wear them before your wedding day.”
Helga accepted the bundle and thanked the woman for her gift.
The other now left her, and when she was done in the cowshed,
Helga returned to the house. She was molested by none, but all
made way for her inside. Sitting on the bed, she began to read
once more.

36
 Towards daybreak the visitors began to go away, and by daylight
all were gone, without having given any sign of seeing Helga, or
she them.
As soon as she was alone again, Helga examined the bundle.
She saw that the elf-woman had given her the most exquisite
garments, but the belt excelled all else. She put the bundle away
with care.
Helga then finished all the morning work for Christmas Day, and
was done by the time the farm folk returned from church. “Of
course she would have to live, when no one would have missed her
if she had died,” said the parents when they saw her safe and sound.
They now questioned Helga closely about what had happened
during the night. She was vague in her answers; nevertheless she
showed her parents and the other people the garments the elf-
woman had given her. They greatly admired these, and above all
the belt, and both her mother and sister would have taken it from
her, for they thought such finery unfitting for her. However,
Helga refused to give them any of the things and locked them
carefully in a chest that she owned.
Time now passed without tidings until the next Christmas
came round. Helga’s mother and sister both wanted to stay at
home and receive gifts from the elves if they should come again.
In the end it was decided that the mistress should stay behind
while all the others went to church.
Nothing is told of the doings of the mistress, except that, while
she was boiling the Christmas joint, a small child came into the
kitchen and begged for a little bit of meat and a drop of fat in its
bowl.
The woman was angry and refused to give the child anything,
“For who knows,” she said, “if your folk are not much better off
than I?”
The child now repeated its request, but at this the woman
became so furious that she struck the child, breaking its arm, and
the bowl fell to the floor. The child now began to cry, and pick-
ing up its bowl with the other hand, went away weeping.

37
 No more is told of the wretched woman until the others
returned home on Christmas Day, when they found her lying on
the floor, bruised and bloody and with every bone in her body
broken, and only so much life left in her that she was able to tell
of the child’s coming and how she had received it; after which she
died.
In the house, though, everything was turned upside down,
smashed and scattered, while food lay hither and thither, all
spoiled.
But after this, no such happenings were ever again known at
Christmas.
As for Helga, she stayed some years with her father, after which
she went to Skalholt, where later she married the bishop, though
it is not said who was bishop there at the time.
On her wedding day she wore the garments given her by the
elf-woman, and all wondered greatly at them, though above all at
the belt, for no one had ever seen such a treasure before.
Helga was a very fortunate woman and lived both long and
happily.
And of this tale I can tell no more.

Elf-Steeple

In the last chapter of Eyrbyggja Saga there is an account of the

church in Saelingsdalstunga being moved, the graveyard dug up,
and the bones of men taken from it; among them those of Snorri
the Chief and Bérkur the Stout. This happened in the days of
Gudny, mistress of Hvammur and mother to the sons of Sturla,
for the saga-teller records that she was present and that the
account of the size of the bones came from her. Why the church
was moved the saga does not say, but the following story is cur-
rent in the west of Iceland.
In olden days, many hundred years ago, there was a very rich
farmer living in Saelingsdalur. He had several children, among

38
whom two sons are mentioned, though their names are not
recorded. Here they will be called Arnor and Sveinn.
Arnor and Sveinn were both young men of good mettle, though
in different ways. Arnor was strong and bold, whereas Sveinn was
reserved and prudent but of no great prowess. They were also very
unlike in humour. Arnor was gay and much given to games with
the other young men of the dale, who would often meet together
by a pinnacle of rock down by the river opposite the farm of
Tunga, a place known as the Steeple. In wintertime their favourite
sport was to slide down the hard snow of the Steeple, which is
very high, onto the river flats below. At such times there was often
a deal of noise and shouting about the Steeple in the dusk, and
Arnér was usually the leader.
Sveinn seldom joined the others. While they were playing, he
would spend most of the time in church, though he, too, often
stayed down by the Steeple on his own, and it was rumoured that
he had dealings with the elf-folk who lived there. One thing was
certain: he would vanish every New Year’s Eve, and no one knew
where he went.
Sveinn often spoke to his brother, bidding him not to make so
much noise by the Steeple, but Arnér mocked him for this and
said he would spare no pity for the elves on that account, and he
continued as before. Sveinn repeated his warning and said that
Arnor would be responsible for whatever might happen.
Then one New Year's Eve Sveinn disappeared as before, but was
away longer than usual. Arnor said that he must be with the elves
down in the Steeple, and declared that he would go and look for
him.
Arnor now set off on foot. It was very dark and overcast. He had
not gone far when he saw the side of the Steeple that faced
towards the farmstead open, and innumerable rows of lights shin-
ing from it. At the same time he heard the sound of exquisite
singing, and realised that the elves in the Steeple were holding
their Mass.
He drew nearer and saw, as it were, the doors of a church wide

39
open and a crowd of people within. A priest in splendid vestments
stood before the altar, and many rows of candles were ranged on
either side.
Arnor entered the church and saw his brother Sveinn kneeling
at the altar-rail, and the cleric was laying hands on him and
repeating certain words. It seemed to Arnor that his brother was
receiving some kind of consecration, for many others in vestments
stood round. Arnor now called out. He said, “Sveinn, come. Your
life depends on it.”
Sveinn started, looked round, and rose to his feet. He would
have run to his brother, but just then the one at the altar cried,
“Shut the doors of the church and punish the mortal man that
disturbs our peace.” And to Sveinn he said, “As for you, Sveinn,
you will have to leave us, for your brother’s fault. And since you
stood up and would have run to him, rating his presumptuous call
above our holy consecration, the next time you see me here in
these vestments you will fall down dead.”
Arnér now saw the other vested men raise Sveinn aloft, and he
vanished up into the stone vault of the church. There was then a
great pealing of church bells, and a mighty commotion within, as
each jostled the next to get to the doorway.
Arnor ran as fast as his feet would carry him in the darkness
back towards the farm, and heard the elf-ride, with clamour and
hoof beats, behind him. The words osone among those who led
the pursuit reached his ears:
Ride now, and ride.
Dark the hillside.
Madden and misguide
the wretch on his way,
that no more he may
see the light of day,
see the light of another day.

The rout now rushed between Arnér and the farmstead, so that
he was forced to turn back. He reached a slope a little to the south

40
of the house and east of the Steeple, and then sank down,
exhausted. The whole rout now rode over him, leaving him lying
there more dead than alive.
As for Sveinn, he is said to have returned to the house after the
evening wake. He was very dull and would speak to no one of his
absence, but said that they must go out and look for Arnor. They
searched all night, but he was not found before a farmer from
Laugar, who happened to be on his way to Matins at Tunga,
passed by the slope where he was lying. Arnor was then still con-
scious but very far gone. He told the farmer of the night’s events,
as already described, and said that it would be of little avail to bear
him to the house, since he would not recover. He died there on
the slope, which has been called Banabrekkur, or the Death
Slopes, from that day.
After that time Sveinn was never the same man. He became
ever more disposed towards gravity and melancholy. But he was
never known to go near the Elf-Steeple again, nor even seen to
look in its direction. He renounced all worldly matters, took vows,
and entered the monastery at Helgafell. He grew to be so learned
that none of the brethren was his equal, and he sang Mass so
sweetly that no man ever heard the like.
His father continued to live at Tunga to old age. When he was
old, he became sick. This was about Holy Week. Seeing how
things were with him, he sent word to Sveinn at Helgafell and
bade him come. This he did without delay, but remarked on leav-
ing that he might not return alive.
Sveinn reached Tunga on Holy Saturday. By this time his
father’s strength had so declined that he was barely able to speak.
He begged his son to sing Mass on Easter Sunday and gave
injunctions that he be borne into the church, saying that he
wished to die there.
Sveinn was reluctant, but he agreed nevertheless. He made it a
condition, however, that the doors of the church be on no account
opened at any time during Mass, saying that his life depended on
it. Some thought this strange, but others guessed that, as before,

4I
he was unwilling to see the Steeple, for at that time the church
stood on the hilltop east of the farmhouse, high above the home-
field, and the Steeple was clearly visible from it.
The old farmer was now carried into the church, according to
his wish, while Sveinn vested before the altar and began Mass. All
those present at the time declared that never had they heard
singing so sweet nor intoning so masterly as then, and every man
was almost entranced by it.
At the last, though, when the cleric turned from the altar in
order to give the congregation his blessing, there came a sudden
gust of wind from the west, and the doors of the church flew
open. People were startled and looked round, and they could see
the Steeple, as if doors had opened in it, and lights innumerable
shining inside. But when they turned again to the priest, he had
collapsed, and was already dead.
This caused great consternation, especially when it was found
that in the same instant the farmer had fallen lifeless from the
bench where he was lying against the altar.
There was not a breath of wind either before or after this event,
so it was obvious to all that the gust from the Steeple had not
been a chance one.
The farmer who had found Arnor dying on the slope happened
to be there, and he it was who told the whole story. From this men
understood that the prediction of the elf-bishop, that Sveinn would
fall down dead when he next saw him, had been fulfilled. When the
Steeple opened and the doors of the church flew open, each faced
the other, so that Sveinn and the elf-bishop had looked into one
another’s eyes as they pronounced the words of benediction.
There was a parish meeting to discuss the matter, and it was
decided that the church should be moved from the hilltop by the
farm to a hollow beside the stream. In this manner the farm was
interposed between the Steeple and the church, so that never
since has a priest been able to look from the altar through the
doors west to the Elf-Steeple, nor has any such wonder occurred
from that time.

42
 Redhead
In early times it was very much the custom in the southwest for
men to go out to the Geirfuglar Skerries for birds and their eggs.
Such visits were always thought dangerous and were made only in
good weather, for not only are the skerries far out to sea, but also
there are hazardous breakers about them.
Once, as often before, a boat went out to the skerries. Some of
the crew stayed on board, while others.climbed the rocks in search
of eggs. Suddenly the sea began to get rough, so that the boat had
to leave in a hurry. The egg-gatherers boarded the boat again with
some difficulty, all but one. He was the last down from the rock,
for he had climbed farthest, thinking there was time enough. This
man was the son and sole support of a certain widow who lived at
Melaberg in the parish of Hvalsnes. He was a very hard-working
fellow in the prime of life.
When he got down to the landing-place, the turbulence of the
sea about the rock was so great that, however hard they tried, the
men in the boat were unable to pick him up. They were therefore
obliged to leave him, believing him as good as lost unless he could
be saved quickly.
The boat now returned to the mainland, and the men reported
what had happened. An expedition was to be sent out to save the
man as soon as conditions allowed. But no chance of reaching the
skerries occurred again all that summer, owing to rough weather
and storms. After this there was no further thought of the man,
nor any hope of his being seen alive again.
Time now passed until the following summer, and then the
men of the southwest went out to the Geirfuglar Skerries once
more, as usual. And when the egg-gatherers climbed up onto the
rock, they were amazed to see a man walking where no man was
expected to be. He came to meet them, and they recognised the
one from Melaberg who had been left there the previous summer.
This astonished them beyond measure, and they thought there
was something more than a little strange about it. They were most

43
curious to learn how it could be, but the man’s answers to their
questions were unclear, though he told them he had been all the
time on the skerry and had not suffered in the least from expo-
sure. However, he asked them to take him with them back to the
mainland, which they did with good will.
The Melaberg man was most cheerful but somewhat taciturn.
When he got to the mainland there was general rejoicing at his
return, and all thought it a very remarkable affair, but the man
would give no plain account of his stay on the skerry.
Time now went by, and the news ceased to be talked about. But
one fine day late that summer, when service was held at Hvalsnes,
there occurred an incident that caused great wonder.
There was a crowd of people at church, among them the man
from Melaberg. When they came out, they found a cradle stand-
ing by the church-door, and in it lay a baby. Over the cradle was
spread a coverlet of very precious stuff unknown to all. Everyone
gazed a great deal, but none confessed to owning the cradle or the
baby, or to knowing aught about either.
The pastor now came out of the church and, seeing cradle and
baby, wondered no less than the others. He asked whether any
knew of cradle or child, or had brought them thither, or would have
him christen the child. But still no one admitted to any knowledge,
or seemed to care whether he christened the child or not.
Now the pastor had thought the whole affair of the man from
Melaberg very strange. He therefore questioned him more close-
ly than the rest. But the man replied shortly, saying that he knew
nothing of cradle or baby, nor cared at all for either. The moment
he spoke these words, though, a woman appeared standing there
before them. She was very beautiful, but somewhat stern of
favour. Snatching the coverlet off the cradle, she quickly carried it
into the church, and said, “The church shall not pay the fee.”
Then she turned to the man from Melaberg and said very angri-
ly, “As for you, you shall be the most monstrous whale in the sea.”
Then snatching up cradle and child, she vanished from their
sight, never to be seen again.

44
 The pastor had an altar cloth for the church made from the cov-
erlet, and it was there until a short while ago and regarded as a
great treasure.
As for the man from Melaberg, the story tells that the words of
the strange woman affected him in such a manner that he took to
his heels and ran from the church, all the way home. Nor did he
stop there, but rushed on like a madman to the north, until he
reached the Holmsberg, a cliff jutting out into the sea to the west
of Keflavik, very high and precipitous.
When he came to the edge of the cliff, he paused. And now, all
at once, he became so enormous and swollen that the rock split
open under his feet and a great boulder broke off from the cliff.
The man then leaped from the edge into the sea, in the same
instant being transformed into a huge whale with a red head, for
he was wearing a red cap or hood on his head at the time. From
this, he was later known as Redhead. But the rock that broke
away and fell with him into the sea still stands to the east of
Keflavikurberg and is called the Stack.
According to one account, it was now revealed by the man’s
mother at Melaberg that he had spent his winter on the skerry in
great comfort in the house of an elf. They had treated him well
there, but nevertheless he had been unwilling to stay. First, after
being left by his comrades, he had walked about the rock in
despair and thought of throwing himself into the sea and drown-
ing himself, to put an end to his sufferings. But then, he said, a
beautiful girl had come to him and offered him shelter, saying
that she was of the elf-kin that dwelt on Geirfuglar Skerries. This
he had accepted, but owing to his discontent there, the following
summer he was given leave to go. The elf-maiden had then told
him that she carried his child, and he must remember to have it
christened if she brought it to church when he was there. Should
he fail to do so, he would pay for it dearly.
Some say that the man told his mother of this in secret some
time during the summer; others that he did so on his way past
Melaberg from the church at the end, and still others that he con-

45
fided in someone else. But no explanation is given of his failure to
carry out the elf-woman’s command concerning the christening
of the child.
The story now returns to Redhead.
He took up his abode in the bay of Faxafldi, where he destroyed
both men and boats, so that none was safe on the sea between
Reykjanes and Akranes. The damage done by him in loss of men
and vessels was very great, but none was able to do anything about
it or drive this monster away, and many suffered on his account,
though the names of those killed by him are not recorded, nor
their numbers.
Later he confined himself to the fjord between Akranes and
Kjalarnes, which has since been called Hvalfjordur.
There was an old pastor then living at Saurbaer on the
Hvalfjordur coast. He was blind but otherwise in good health. He
had two sons and a daughter, all of whom were grown up at the
time of the story, full of promise and dearly loved by their father.
The pastor was a master of ancient lore and could see farther
than his nose. His sons often rowed out in the fjord to fish. Then
one day they met Redhead, and he drowned them both. Hearing
of this and how it happened, their father took the loss of his sons
much to heart.
One fine day, a little later, the pastor bade his daughter lead him
down to the shore of the fjord, which is not far from the house.
She did so, and he took a stick in his hand. With his daughter’s
help he stepped slowly down to the sea. Then, putting the end of
his stick at the tide mark, he leaned on it and asked his daughter
how the sea was.
It was smooth and fair as a mirror, she said.
After a short while the old man asked again how the sea was.
The girl now answered that in the mouth of the fjord she could
see a coal-black streak, as if a great shoal of fish were crowding into
it. And when she said that this streak was drawing near them, the
pastor bade her lead him along the shore, which she did, the wave
moving opposite them until they came to the head of the fjord.

46
 When the water grew shallow, the girl was able to see that the
wave was caused by a whale of monstrous size. It swam straight up
the fjord, as though it were being driven or led. And where the fjord
ends and the river Botnsa enters it, the clergyman bade his daugh-
ter lead him along the western bank of the river. This she did, and
the old man stumbled along the bank and up the fell, while the
whale continued to splash along level with them up the river itself,
though with great difficulty due to the shallowness of the water.
And when it came to the gulley where the river flows down from
the heath of Botnsheidi, the space was so narrow that as it forced
itself up, everything shook, and when the whale went up the water-
fall, the ground trembled all about, as in a great earthquake. From
this the fall gets its name, from that time being known as Glymur,
or the Roarer, and the heights above it Skjalfandahaedir.
However, the pastor did not stop until he had led the whale all
the way to the lake from which the river Botnsa flows and which
has since been called Hvalvatn. By the lake there is a mountain
that is also named after this event, being called Hvalfell.
When Redhead got to the lake, he burst asunder with the
effort, and troubled no one after that. Huge bones of a whale have
been found by the lake, and this is thought to be proof of the
veracity of this story.
As for the pastor, when he had disposed of the whale in the
lake, he hobbled off home with his daughter, and everyone gave
him good thanks for his pains.

The Last Dwarves in Iceland

A man named Andrés Jonsson, who lived at Andrésarbud, a short

distance from Hélsbud, where the poet Gudmundur Bergthors-
son was, related that he heard Gudmundur tell some of his friends
the following story at the time when Andrés was twenty years old.
Gudmundur then said that there were only two dwarves left in
Iceland.

4/
 One of these dwarves dwelt in some rocks at Langanesstrandir
in the north, while the other was Gudmundur’s neighbour and
lived in a large stone near Hélsbtd. This dwarf possessed an oint-
ment that would heal him completely of the sickness that ailed
him could he but get hold of it, though he suspected that he
would never be rid of the curse with which he was afflicted
through no fault of his own.
One holy day in the summer, most, or nearly all of the people
went to church, apart from Gudmundur and Andrés, who was
with him.
“Now I would make a pact with you, my friend,” said
Gudmundur. “I have always found you faithful and discreet. I
want you to carry me east of the house to the great stone that
stands there. I shall direct you.”
The youth agreed to do this. Then they prepared themselves,
and Andrés carried Gudmundur out and laid him beside the
stone, in the place that he had shown him. Gudmundur seemed
to him so solemn that he dared not look him in the eyes. He then
bade Andrés leave him there and not come back until evening,
and tell no one where he was, whoever asked and however urgent-
ly.
“IT depend now most of all upon your faithfulness,” he said.
Andrés promised to do as he bade him, and after that, left him
and returned home.
Now, as it happened, soon after midday a man came to Holsbiid
in a great flurry. He was from the neighbouring parish and asked
most urgently for Gudmundur. Andrés declared that he knew
nothing of his whereabouts, but that he was not at home.
“Maybe he let them carry him to church, as he often does,” he
said. “But what is your errand with him?”
“My grown-up daughter is at home, tormented by an evil spir-
it or emissary,” said the man. “She was taken in this way in the
night, and is like a madwoman. I would now turn to Gudmundur
for aid and advice, for I know he would never refuse it when my
daughter's life and welfare depend on it. I appeal to you by all the

48
saints to tell me the truth, for he is sure to know what is best for
her.”
Andrés resisted these appeals for as long as he could, with all
kinds of evasion and excuse, but the man persisted, and in the end
he promised to find out where Gudmundur was. He then went to
the place where he had left him, and saw that Gudmundur had
conjured the dwarf out of the stone and to his cart with a large
pot of ointment in its hand.
When the dwarf saw Andrés, it was so startled that it vanished
back into the stone, which closed behind it.
Gudmundur was greatly affected and said that it was not his
destiny to escape his misfortune.
“It must be intended that I bear this weakness of mine to the
grave,” he said. “God's will be done, for no mortal power can now
get the dwarf out again.”
After this, Gudmundur returned to the house and did what he
could for the man who had come to see him, and later bore his
own affliction with patience.

49
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 Marbendill

Well I remember the day

when Marbendill laughed aloud.
Sweet was the ladys smile
to her husband home from the fjord;
gaily greeting her lord with guile,
who foolishly drove, the while,
his faithful dog away.

In the southwest of Iceland there is a hamlet known as Vogar,

though its proper name is Kviguvogar, and so it is called in the
Book of Settlements.
In early times there was a farmer living at Vogar who was also a
great fisherman. Indeed, to this day Vogar is one of the best places
in the southwest for boat-fishing.
One day the farmer was out rowing, according to his custom,
and his catch was nothing out of the ordinary; until suddenly he
felt a heavy weight on his line, and when he had pulled it in he
saw the shape of a man and hauled it on board.
He now found that the man was alive, and asked how he had
come to be there. The other replied that he was a marbendill from
the sea-bed. The farmer asked him what he had been doing when
he was hooked.
“I was fixing the cowl on my mother’s kitchen chimney,”
answered Marbendill. “But let me down again now.”
The farmer replied that there was no question of this at present.
“You shall come home with me,” he said.
They exchanged no more words at the time. In fact, Marbendill
refused to be drawn into further conversation.
When the farmer was ready, he rowed back to land and took
Marbendill ashore with him. Nothing more is told of their doings
until after he had beached his boat and his dog came running to
meet him, jumping up at him with joy. The farmer was annoyed,
and he struck the dog. Then Marbendill laughed for the first time.

52
 After this the farmer walked up towards his home-field, and on
the way he stumbled over a hummock, and swore at it. Then
Marbendill laughed for the second time.
The farmer’s wife now came to meet him and welcomed him
very lovingly. He returned her embraces with warmth. Then
Marbendill laughed for the third time.
The farmer then said to Marbendill, “You have laughed three
times, now, and I am curious to know what you were laughing at.”
“On no account shall I tell you that,” said Marbendill, “unless
you first promise to return me to the sea where you drew me up.”
The farmer promised to do so.
Then Marbendill said, “I laughed for the first time when you
hit your dog as it came to welcome you with a true heart, and the
second time when you stumbled over the hummock and swore at
it, for it is a treasure-hummock, full of pieces of gold, and the
third time when you returned your wife’s embraces with such
warmth, for she is false and unfaithful to you. But now you must
keep your promise and return me to the sea where you drew me
up.”
“Two of the things you have told me cannot be proved at pres-
ent,” said the farmer: “Whether my dog is true, or my wife false.
But I shall test your truthfulness by the hummock and whether
the money is hidden in it; for if it is, then it is most likely that the
other two things are true as well, and I shall keep my promise.”
Thereupon the farmer went to the hummock and dug it up, and
sure enough, there he found a great heap of money, just as
Marbendill had said.
After this he put his boat out to sea and took the marbendill
back to the place where he had drawn it up. But before he released
it, the marbendill said, “You have done well to bring me back
home to my mother, farmer. I shall truly repay you, if you can take
care and profit by it. Fare you now well, farmer.”
The farmer then let the marbendill down in the sea, and it is out
of the story. Not long after this it was reported to the farmer that
seven cows, sea-grey in colour, had come to the edge of his home-

53
field, close by the shore. He went out quickly, taking a stick in his
hand, and walked to the place where the cows were, but at once
they stampeded and behaved wildly.
The farmer now saw that each cow had a bladder on her muz-
zle, and he knew that unless he could burst the bladders he would
lose the cows. He therefore struck at the muzzle of one with the
stick he held, and managed to catch her. The others escaped him,
however, and they ran out into the sea.
He was convinced that the marbendill had sent the cows to him
as a token of gratitude for its release. The one he caught was the
choicest gentleman's possession that ever came to Iceland. From
her a great race of cattle is descended, one that has since spread
all over the land: grey in colour and called sea-cattle.
As for the farmer, he was a lucky man all his life. He augment-
ed the name of his farm, calling it after the cows that came ashore
to his land, and changing what was formerly Vogar to Kviguvogar,
or Heifer’s Voe.

The Monster in Vesturhép Lake

In the past century, a man named Kolbeinn lived at Bjarghus in

Vesturhop. He was a poor man, but everyone liked him and many
did what they could to help him.
One fine night Kolbeinn walked in the moonlight over the ice
of Vesturhép Lake to Vatnsendi, in order to get something from
the farmer there for his Christmas dinner. This was on the feast
of St. Thorlakur, the day before Christmas Eve. The farmer let
him have a good carcase of mutton.
Kolbeinn now turned homewards, carrying the carcase. But
when he had got to the middle of the lake, he heard a rumbling
at his back. The ice there had split open, and up out of the lake
came a great beast with eight legs, in size and shape like two hors-
es joined together at the rump, and appearing to have two heads.
This monster came after Kolbeinn, and when he saw that it was

54
likely to overtake him, he dropped the carcase and ran home for
his life.
The next day he went back to get the carcase, but he found
nothing except a few fragments of bone.
He took his neighbours to the place and showed them these,
and so high was their opinion of him that they made good his
loss.

The Mermaid of Sléttusandur

A wealthy farmer once lived at Eyri on Reydarfjérdur, though

when he lived there, or what his name is, was not recorded. Two
of his children are named, however: a son called Jon, and a daugh-
ter called Gudrin.
JOn was a quiet, prudent kind of man, while his sister Gudrin
was of outstanding beauty and considered the best match in the
neighbourhood in those days.
A certain farmer was then living at Bakkagerdi on the north
side of the fjord, a good husbandman and a fine man, who had a
son named Arni. He was a gay fellow, noisy and impudent, as will
be told later.
When Arni was almost grown, he formed the habit of coming
over to Eyri to amuse himself with the brother and sister there,
who were of about the same age. His way there lay up by the head
of the fjord and over the Flats, which are long and hard to cross.
He soon became fond of Gudrin, and finally he asked her hand
in marriage. His suit was favourably received, by both the girl and
her father; for Arni was a good-looking lad and well provided for.
But when the old man, his father, heard of the matter, he said,
“The maid is fair enough and a match worthy of you. But my
heart is full of misgivings over this affair.”
However, Arni carried on as before, going to see the brother
and sister whenever he could.
At the head of the fjord there is a tract of sand known as

55
Sléttusandur, named after the farm Slétta, which stands a short
distance above it. One autumn about this time people noticed that
a little girl was always to be seen moving about on the sands in the
evenings, just as darkness began to fall, and especially when the
moon was shining. She appeared to be about ten years old, and her
favourite pastime was throwing pebbles in the air and hitting them
with another pebble as they fell. She was seen both by those who
lived in the neighbourhood and by travellers crossing the sands.
No one interfered with her, nor did she approach anyone.
When the farmer at Bakkagerdi, Arni’s father, heard about this,
he said that the girl must be a mermaid who would entice some-
one. “But so long as a man does not approach her of his own
accord, he will come to no harm,” he said. He warned his son
especially against having anything to do with the mermaid, or it
would go ill with him. Arni promised to abide by his word.
A little later the two farmers met at church at Hoélmar. The
Bakkagerdi farmer now asked his neighbour from Eyri to let his
son Jon accompany Arni on his way home in the evenings, if he
happened to be late. Jon was to see to it that he had nothing to
do with the mermaid. Jon’s father readily promised this, and so,
for a time, when it began to get dark Jon would go home with
Arni. They always saw the little girl on the sands, but they did not
interfere with her and she never came near them.
However, it was not long before Arni began to suggest that
there would be no danger in their going closer to the girl. Jon
refused point-blank to do so, but Arni persisted. Then, one
evening during the season of Lent, in fine weather and bright
moonlight, they were crossing the sands to the north as usual, and
they saw the little girl at her favourite pastime of throwing stones
and hitting them in the air. Arni now repeated his suggestion,
saying that it would be amusing to meet her.
“You should pay heed to your father and not go against his
command,” said Jon. “No good will come of it.”
“There is not the least danger,” answered Arni. “I mean to try,
and see what will happen.”

56
 “I shall not go with you,” said Jon. “It is up to you, if you refuse
to take the advice of good men.”
Arni now ran out to the place where the little maid was playing,
caught hold of her, and exclaimed sharply, “What are you doing
here, child?”
To Jon’s great wonder, the little girl suddenly grew to an enor-
mous size, seized Arni in her arms, and running down to the sea
with him, plunged into the water. Nor did either of them come to
the surface again.
Jon returned home to his father and told him what had hap-
pened. All were grief-stricken at Arni’s fate; especially Gudrin.
Men say that she died of a broken heart not long afterwards.
When Arni’s father heard of his son’s end and how it had come
about, he said, “I feared as much, but none can avoid his fate.”
He was now an old man, and these events caused him such sor-
row that he took to his bed and stayed there most of the winter.
But when he was recovered he asked to be told if anyone saw the
mermaid again.
“I have not long to live now,” he said, “and it matters little if I
go the same way as my son.”
Three years after Arni’s disappearance, alittle girl was seen once
again at Sléttusandur, throwing stones in the air for her amuse-
ment. News of this reached the ears of the old farmer at
Bakkagerdi. He set to immediately and, going to his smithy,
forged himself a great weapon. Then, one fine evening not long
afterwards, he left home by himself.
Nobody knew what happened down on the shore, but the fol-
lowing morning the farmer was back home and in his bed. All he
would say of his doings was that now his son was avenged, and
men need fear the mermaid no more.
“But she touched me once,” he said, “and it will be the death of
me.»

The old man lay bedridden for a week, after which he died.
His loss was felt by all, for he had been loved by every man, and
a true ornament of the parish for his worth and wisdom.

57
 Naddi

During the lifetime of the children of Bjorn Skafinn, the road

between Njardvik and Borgarfjérdur, over the so-called Njardvik
Scree, fell into disuse.
The reason for this was that an evil being, whose upper part was
in the shape of a man and whose lower part was in the shape of a
beast, would lie in wait for men on the road when nights began to
get dark, killing many, so that it became impossible to go that
way. The monster hid in a gulley on the Njardvik side of the
Scree, since known as Naddagill; for on autumn and winter
evenings a noise of grinding and clashing stones could be heard
all the way to Njardvik. For this reason also the monster was
called Naddi, which means the Gnasher.
Once, when autumn was far advanced, Joén Bjarnarson arrived
late in the evening at Snotrunes in Borgarfjordur and intended to
go on to Njardvik. Since it was after sunset, men urged him not
to take such a risk and travel over the Scree so late. However, he
paid no heed to their warnings, saying that he would come to no
harm, for there was not the least danger, and so he set off on his
way. But when he got to the gulley, the monster appeared and
attacked him.
Their struggle was long and fierce. They fought all the way to
the bank known as Krossjadar. Here, said Jon, the monster tore
itself away from him and crawled into the sea. A cross was set up
at the place afterwards, and stands there still, with an inscription
in Latin bidding travellers to kneel down and say a paternoster,
and this custom was observed for many years.
Jon reached Njardvik much the worse for wear, black and blue
all over, and kept to his bed for a month, after which he got up.
He maintained that the monster had come up out of the sea,
since it returned thither afterwards. But it was never seen again
after their encounter.

58
 Kort ofMédruvellir and the Sea-Monster

The Kort who is mentioned elsewhere was once engaged in fish-

ing, according to his custom, during the winter season, spending
the nights in a fishermen’s hut among several that stood together
down by the sea. The hut had a lock on its door that could nei-
ther be opened nor closed without a key.
One night they had locked the door from the inside and were
all asleep, when Kort dreamed that a monster came into the hut
and took him by the hand. It then seemed to him as though he
got up and followed the monster under his bed, whence it led him
out through the wall by a narrow way. After this, the monster led
him down to the shore as far as the high-water mark. He now felt
that it meant to drag him into the sea, and it seemed to him that
he struggled desperately in his sleep, as he would sometimes do,
handling the monster so ungently that in the end he got the bet-
ter of it and thrust it into the sea.
He then woke up and found himself standing on the shore in
his underwear only, as he had gone to bed that night. At first he
thought that he must have been sleepwalking, but when he got
back to the hut he found the door locked, just as it had been left
in the evening, and was unable to get in until he had awakened
his comrades and they had opened it for him. He now began to
suspect that this must be more than simply a case of sleepwalk-
ing, and that what he had experienced as a dream had really hap-
pened.
The late Kort told this story to two of his best friends, but oth-
erwise he kept it to himself, for he was no chatterbox. From the
unanimous account of these two friends, it came to the present
recorder from the district of Kjés.

59
 The Lagarfljot Serpent

In ancient times a certain woman lived at a farm in the Hérad by

the great inland water Lagarfljét. This woman had a grown-up
daughter, to whom she gave a golden ring.
“How should I have the most profit of this gold, mother of
mine?” asked the girl.
“Put it under a snake,” answered the woman.
The girl then found a snake and put the golden ring under it in
her linen-box.
The snake lay there for several days. But when the girl went
next to the linen-box, the snake had grown so big that the sides
of the box were bursting apart. The girl was frightened at this, and
she took the box and threw it with all its contents into the lake.
Years now went by, and people became aware of the serpent in
the lake. It now began to kill both men and beasts that tried to
cross the water. Sometimes, too, it would reach up the shore and
spew out fearful venom. The people of the neighbourhood were
greatly troubled by this affliction and were at their wits’ end to
find a remedy. Finally two Finns were brought there. They were
to kill the serpent and recover the gold.
The Finns dived into the lake, but they soon came up again.
They said that this was something beyond their power and that
they could neither kill the serpent nor retrieve the gold. They
said, too, that there was another serpent underneath the gold, and
it was much worse than the first.
After this, they bound the serpent with two ropes, one behind
the head and the other before the tail. The serpent could now kill
neither man nor beast, though it would sometimes arch its back,
and when this happens it is always taken to be a portent of disas-
ter, such as a bad year or failure of the hay-crop.
Those who do not believe in the serpent say that this is mere
superstition, and they claim to have evidence of a certain pastor
who, not very long ago, rowed right across the lake over the place

60
where the serpent is supposed to be, in order to prove thereby that
there is none.

The Seal-Skin

Of the seals’ origins, it is said that when Pharaoh, king of Egypt,

pursued Moses and the Jews over the Red Sea, and was drowned
there with all his men, as is known from the Bible, then the king
and all his men became seals, which is why the bones of a seal are
so like human bones. Since that time the seals live as a special race
on the ocean bed, but have a completely human shape, nature and
characteristics within their seal-skins.
Eggert Olafsson calls them sea-folk.
One grace was allowed them, that they might lay aside their
seal-skins on Midsummer Night — some say on Twelfth Night
— when they come ashore, assuming human shape, and sing and
dance like human beings.
There was once a man in Myrdalur to the east who walked early
one morning, when all were still abed, along the cliffs by the sea.
Coming to the entrance of a cave, he heard noise and music from
inside, while outside the entrance lay many seal-skins.
The man took one of the seal-skins and carried it home with
him, locking it in a chest. Then, later in the day, he returned to
the same cave, and there, sitting in the entrance, he saw a young
and beautiful woman. She was quite naked and was weeping bit-
terly, for she was the seal whose skin the man had taken.
He now brought her clothes, comforted her, and took her home
with him. She was attached to him but did not get on so well with
others. And she would often sit staring out at the sea.
After a while the man married her. All was well between them,
and they were blessed with children. But the husband always kept
the seal-skin locked in his chest, and he carried the key wherever
he went.

61
 One day, many years later, he happened to go out fishing and
forgot to take the key with him, leaving it under his pillow.
Others say that he had gone to the Christmas service with all the
people of the farm, but his wife, being unwell, had stayed at
home, and he had forgotten to take the key out of the pocket of
his working clothes when he changed.
However that may be, when the man returned home, the chest
was open, the seal-skin gone, and his wife nowhere to be found.
She had taken the key and looked in the chest out of curiosity,
and finding the seal-skin, had been unable to resist the tempta-
tion. Bidding farewell to her children, she had put on the skin and
dived into the sea.
Before leaving, she is said to have repeated the following lines:

Though glad I be, still woe 1s me.

I've seven children in the sea,
and seven on the land.

The husband is said to have grieved sorely over this. When he

went fishing afterwards, a seal would often swim about his boat,
tears seeming to pour from its eyes.
The man had by far the best catches of all after this, and the
tides brought him various luck. It was noticed that when his chil-
dren walked along the shore, a seal would often swim opposite
them in the sea, whether they were on the beach or the foreshore,
and it would throw many-coloured fish and beautiful shells to
them. But never did their mother come back to land.

62
wckRta
Diedcesbored
 The Night-Troll

On a certain farm it always happened that the one left to look

after the house on Christmas Eve while the others went to church
was found either dead or raving the following day.
The farm folk were greatly alarmed at this, and it was hard to find
anyone willing to stay at home that night. But on one occasion
there was a girl there who offered to stay in the house and keep
watch. Delighted to accept her offer, the others went their way.
The girl sat in the dadsfofa with a baby in her lap, and she sang
to it.
In the night someone came to the window behind her and said:

Theres a pretty little hand,

daughter dear, and lullaby.

The girl answered:

Infilth it never has been found,

hellsprite my Kari, and hushaby.

Then the one at the window said:

There’ a pretty little eye,

daughter dear, and lullaby.

She replied:

Never dia if evil SPVs

hellsprite my Kari, and hushaby.

The one at the window said:

There’ a pretty little foot,

daughter dear, and lullaby:

She replied:

Never did it trample dirt,

hellsprite my Kari, and hushaby.

64
The one at the window now said:

Day begins to dawn,

daughter dear, and lullaby.

And she answered:

Stand and turn to stone,

that no harm be done,
hellsprite my Kari, and hushaby.

With this the thing vanished from the window. But the following
morning when the people came home they found a great stone
outside the farmhouse, and it stands there to this day.
The girl then told what she had heard, though she had seen
nothing, for she had taken care not to look round, and they knew
that it was a Night-Troll that had been at the window.

“See my Grey Foot Dangle!”

Once upon a time there were many children at home on

Christmas Eve, while the grown-up folk of the farm had all gone
to church, as was the custom of old.
The children had been given candles to light for their amuse-
ment; each had also been given a pair of red socks.
They were now sitting on the floor admiring their socks. Each
child thought his or hers the most beautiful.
“See my foot, see my foot!” they said.
Then a voice was heard at the window.
“See my grey foot dangle!” it said.
The youngest of the children, who was not old enough to be
afraid like the others, then asked, “Is that Jesus Christ, who was
born tonight?”
Whereupon that which was at the window went away, and they
were not troubled more.

65
 Troll-Laft

In the days of Bishop Oddur Einarsson of Skalholt, some men

from the upper part of Biskupstungur once went to burn charcoal
in a wood lying beyond the farmlands, and took with them as
horse-minder a young lad named Olafur. On one occasion, how-
ever, when he went to look at the horses, he never came back.
Thereupon they searched for him far and wide, but to no purpose.
However, three years later, when the charcoal burners were in
the same place, he came running to them and told them how it
was he had disappeared.
One day he had been sent to look for the horses, he said, and
had walked farther than usual.
The first thing he knew, an enormous troll-wife had come rush-
ing to meet him, snatched him up, and run with him far into the
wilderness, never stopping till she came to a cliff.
In this cliff was her cave, into which she now took him. Inside
was another young troll-wife.
They were both somewhat taller than the tallest man, but much
larger in every other respect.
They wore coats of horse-hide, reaching to their feet in front,
but shorter behind.
These ogresses fed Olafur, usually on trout, which they caught
or charmed, for one of them went fishing every day, while the
other stayed with Olafur to keep an eye on him.
At night they would make him sleep between them with one
horse-hide under and one on top, and often each of them would
croak in either ear, so that he was almost driven out of his wits, he
said. They treated him well, but at first they watched him with
great care, so that he would not run away.
After he had been there for a year, he was outside one spring
day and saw the smoke of charcoal burning from the hill-pastures
below, when neither of the troll-wives was at home. He then ran
away but had not gone far before the elder ogress came after him.

66
She struck him on the cheek, so that he bore a black mark on it
for the rest of his days, then picked him up and ran back with him
to the cave.
From this time they kept a stricter watch on him.
One day the younger ogress said to the elder, “How is it that
whenever I touch the bare body of our Lafi, I burn?”
“No wonder,” said the other. “That is caused by the prayers of
Oddur Sourface.”
For food they generally had trout, but sometimes there was
horsemeat, said Olafur, and only once had they not wanted him
to know what they were eating.
He was with them till the third spring, about the time when he
knew that men usually went to the hill-pastures to burn charcoal.
Then he pretended to be so ill that he could eat nothing. They
tried everything they could to cure him, but all in vain, for what-
ever they tried, he only became worse.
Then they asked whether he knew of any kind of food that
might do him good. He replied, not unless they could get him
some nine-year-old shark meat; that he could eat, he said.
The elder ogress told him that this would be hard to do, for she
knew of nowhere where such was to be found in Iceland, except
from the farmer Ari of Ogur, but she would try to get some.
She then set off, while the younger ogress went fishing.
When they had gone, Olafur ran out of the cave and in the
direction of the smoke, and did not stop running till he had
reached the charcoal burners.
They recognised him at once, and hurriedly mounting their
horses, which were close by, they rode with him as fast as they
could down to the farmhouses, all the way to Skalholt and across
the river Braara.
After they had crossed the river, they saw the elder of the two
troll-wives come to the cliff on the far side and point to Olafur
with an evil look, saying, “It is you, my lad!”
Olafur now raved and would have broken away from them and

67
gone to her, and only with great difficulty were they able to hold
him.
There was a horse on the cliff-top, near the troll-wife. She now
ran to it, tore it asunder, threw it over her shoulder, and rushed
away. But the charcoal burners took Olafur home to Skalholt and
handed him over to the bishop.
Bishop Oddur had him in his own bedchamber for a time, until
he was able to send him to his brother, Provost Olafur of
Kirkjubaer in Hrdarstunga, bidding the latter to look after him.
Olafur was with his namesake until he was given Husey by the
latter, and here he lived to old age. Troll-Lafi, as he came to be
called, would often be seized with a kind of madness, whereupon
he would struggle with rocks and stones, as men do who are
shape-changers, and then he would always say, “What a thing to
do, for me to leave my creatures!”
Finally, when he was an old man, he started out on a journey to
Berufjordur, going up by the mountain track out of Skridudalur
known as the Axe, and was never heard of again.
It was believed that the trolls must have taken him.
His sons were named Magnts and Thorvardur. They lived at
Husey after his time, and their descendants after them, to the
later part of the 18th century.

“Trunt, Trunt, and the Trolls in the Fells”

Two men were once out gathering herbs on the fell together. One
night they both lay in their tent, and one slept, while the other
was awake. The man who was awake then saw the other crawl out
of the tent in his sleep. He followed him, but once outside, it was
all he could do to keep up with him at a run.
The sleeper made off in the direction of the glaciers, where the
other now saw a great troll-wife sitting on a pinnacle. Her behav-
iour was such, that she stretched out each hand in turn and drew
it to her breast, and by this she was charming the man to her.

68
 The sleeper ran straight into her arms, whereupon she at once
made off with him.
A year later the people of the district were gathering herbs in
the same place, and the man came to them. He was silent and
dull, though, and scarcely a word could be dragged out of him.
When they asked him whom he believed in, he replied that he
believed in God.
The next year he appeared to the same herb-gatherers. He had
now grown so troll-like that all were afraid of him. And when
they asked him whom he believed in, he would make no reply.
This time he was a shorter while with them than before.
The third year he appeared once more. He had now turned into
a fearful troll and was very fierce-looking. Nevertheless somebody
ventured to ask him whom he believed in, and he answered that
he believed in “Trunt, trunt, and the trolls in the fells.”
After this he disappeared and was never seen again, and indeed
the people dared not go herb-gathering in that place for some
years.

Gissur ofBotnar

The innermost region of the county of Rangarvellir is known as

the Land, or Landsveit. In ancient times it was a fertile and hab-
itable district, but has since become more or less of a desert,
owing to eruptions of Hekla, which lies due east, only separated
from it by the upper Ranga river and some ridges where the farm
Nafarholt once stood. For a long time Nafarholt was the inner-
most farm east of the Ranga river and in the county, but it was
destroyed by the last eruption of Hekla, which took place in
1845-46. The river runs close by the ridge where the farm once
stood, while not far away there is a mountain named Bjélfell.
Farther upstream and some way from all the settlements, a great
gully enters the ridge from the northeast. It is closed in by cliffs
above and about on both sides, but opens to the northeast and

69
west down to the Ranga. The gully is called Tréllkonugil, or
Troll-wife’s Gill. In the upper part of the Land, above
Landskégur, the soil is very sandy and eroded. The area is called
Kjallakatungur and extends, between the rivers Thjorsa in the
west and Ranga in the east, all the way to the source of the Ranga.
Farther into the interior it earns the description of sand-desert.
At the point where the mountain Burfell stands west of Thjorsa,
against Kjallakatungur, the distance between the two rivers is not
very great.
In ancient times two troll-wives lived, one in Bjélfell and the
other in Burfell. They were sisters and got on well together. The
troll-wife of Burfell used to visit her sister in Bjélfell often, cross-
ing the rivers to the east, and it may be supposed that her sister of
Bjélfell did the same for her, though this is not mentioned.
Burfell is very rocky, with high cliffs on every side. About mid-
way along its eastern foot two cliffs stand, one on each side of the
river Thjors4, and between them two rocks, both of about the
same height as the cliffs, so that the river here runs in three chan-
nels.
Men say that the troll-wife of Burfell put these stepping stones
in the water so that she need not wet her feet when going to see
her sister but could leap across in three bounds. They are known
as Trdllkonuhlaup, or Troll-wife’s Leap.
Along Kjallakatungur lies the track taken by all those intending
to go north to the Landmanna and Holtamanna mountain pas-
tures, whether after their flocks, or for fishing, swan-catching, or
root-gathering in these areas. Such journeys were very common
in the summer months in the old days — and they still are, for not
only are some of the best fishing lakes in the land to be found
here, but there are also swans in plenty for the catching on their
shores, and the plant Angelica grows in many places throughout
the mountain pastures.
In Landsveit, rather far up the valley, there is a farm called
Botnar, commonly known as Laekjarbotnar. At the time of which
this story tells, the farmer living there was named Gissur.

7O
 One summer day Gissur went to the mountain pastures in order
to fish. He rode with a second horse on a leading-rein.
When he thought he had loaded enough on the horse, he set off
for home.
Nothing is told of his journey until he came to Kjallakatungur
opposite Troll-wife’s Leap.
He then heard a terrible voice calling from Burfell:
“Sister, lend me a pot.”
An answer, equally fearful, was then heard from Bjélfell:
“Lend it for what?”
The ogress of Burfell now replied:
“To boil a man in the same.”
Then asked the one in Bjolfell:
“What is his name>”
And the other replied:
“Gissur of Botnar,
Gissur of Laekjarbotnar.”
At these words, farmer Gissur looked up at Burfell, and he saw
the troll-wife come tearing down the mountainside straight
towards Troll-wife’s Leap. It then occurred to him that she might
mean what she had said and he must therefore waste no time if
he wanted to save himself, so he let go of the leading-rein of the
packhorse and gave the whip to the one he was riding, which was
a splendidly agile beast.
Gissur now neither looked back nor drew rein, but rode as hard
as might be. But he realised that the troll-wife was catching up with
him, for he heard her panting as she ran, louder and louder behind
him. He took a course right across the district, the troll-wife at his
heels. And luckily for Gissur, the people of Klofi saw them as they
came down over Mérk heath. Thereupon they were quick to ring
all the church bells at Klofi as Gissur passed the boundary-fence.
When the troll-wife saw that she had lost Gissur, she threw her
axe after him, so that, as he arrived at the door of the farm, his
horse fell dead under him, the axe sunk to the shaft in its quarters.
Gissur thanked God fairly for his deliverance.

71
 As for the ogress, she was so shocked by the sound of the bells
that she raved and ran off as fast as she could. She was seen from
several farms in the district, heading farther eastwards than her
usual haunts, obliquely across country to Tréllkonugil, it seems;
for here she was found dead a few days later. The gulley was
named from this; being known as Troll-wife’s Gill ever since.

Gilitrutt

There was once a young farmer living in the east under the moun-
tains known as Eyjafjéll. He was energetic and hard-working.
There was good pasture land there, and he had a large number of
sheep. At the time when these events took place, he was newly
married. His wife was young, but of an indolent and sluggish dis-
position. She could not be bothered to do anything and con-
cerned herself little with the farm.
Her husband was ill pleased at this but was able to do nothing
about it.
One autumn he gave her a large quantity of wool and told her
to weave it into cloth that winter. She responded dully, however,
and the weeks passed without her touching the wool, although
her husband mentioned it time and again. Then one day an old
crone, somewhat coarse-featured, came to her asking for alms.
“Will you do some work for me in return?” said the woman.
“Maybe I will,” said the crone. “What work would you have me
do?”
“Make wool into cloth,” said the woman.
“Then let me have it,” said the crone.
The farmer’s wife now took an immensely large bag of wool and
gave it to her. The crone took the sack, slung it over her shoulder,
and said, “I'll bring the weft on the first day of summer.”
“What wages do you want?” asked the woman.
“Not much,” answered the crone; “You must tell me my name
in three guesses, and I'll be content.”

72
 The farmer’s wife agreed to these terms, and the crone went
away.
The winter months passed, and several times the farmer asked
where the wool was, but his wife told him it was no concern of
his, and he would have it on the first day of summer. He did not
much care for this answer, but so the days went by until spring
was well on the way.
The farmer’s wife now began to think about the name of the
crone, and she could not for the life of her imagine how she was
going to discover it. This made her worried and unhappy. Her
husband, seeing her to be agitated, asked what it was that ailed
her. She then told him all.
He was alarmed when he heard what had happened, and said
that she had acted foolishly, for the crone must have been a troll-
wife who meant to take her.
One day the farmer was out walking at the foot of the moun-
tain, when he came upon a large heap of rocks and heard the
sound of hammering inside. He followed the sound until it led
him to a cranny and, looking in, he saw a woman of unusual size
sitting at a loom. She was holding the loom between her legs, and
as she wove she struck it repeatedly, singing the while:
Hi hi and ho ho,
the housewife below
my name doesnt know.
Ht hi and ho ho,
tis Gilitrutt, though.
Hit hi and ho ho.

She kept repeating these words and striking the loom with force
all the while.
The farmer was delighted, convinced that this must be the
crone who had come to his wife in the autumn. He now returned
home and wrote the name “Gilitrutt” on a piece of paper, but told
his wife nothing at the time.
The last day of winter finally arrived, and the farmer’s wife was

73
beside herself with distress. That day she would not dress herself,
and her husband came to her and asked whether she had discov-
ered the name of her hired woman. She replied that she had not
and declared herself ready to die of grief. Her husband said that
this would not be necessary, and he gave her the piece of paper
with the name written on it, telling her the whole story.
She took the paper, but did so trembling with fright, for she
feared that the name might be wrong, and she begged her hus-
band to stay with her when the crone came.
“No,” he replied. “You gave her the wool alone, and it is best
that you pay her alone.”
Upon saying this, he left her.
The first day of summer now dawned, and the farmer’s wife lay
in her bed alone, for there was not another soul in the house.
Suddenly she heard thunderous footsteps, and the crone
appeared, now looking hideous.
She pitched a great bale of cloth on the floor, crying, “What is
my name, now, what is my name?”
The farmer’s wife, more dead than alive with fear, said, “Can it
be Signy?”
“It could be that, it could be that, and guess again, Mistress,”
cried the crone.
“Can it be Asa?” asked the farmer’s wife.
“Tt could be that, it could be that, and guess again, Mistress,”
answered the crone.
Then the woman said, “I suppose it wouldn't be Gilitrutt?”
At this, the crone had such a shock that she fell flat on her face
on the floor with a crash. Then she got up, went out, and was
never seen again.
The farmer’s wife was more relieved than words can tell to
escape so happily from this monster, and she changed altogether
from that time. She became industrious and an excellent house-
keeper, and she wove the wool herself ever afterwards.

74
 Dran gey

In days of old, two night-trolls, husband and wife, lived out on

Hegranes. Nothing much is told of them before this tale.
It happened once that their cow was in heat, and either because
they had no cowherd, or because they trusted none better, they
took her themselves to the bull, so that she should not miss her
time. The troll-man led the cow, while the troll-wife drove it from
behind, according to the custom.
In this manner they headed out to sea from Hegranes, a good
way into Skagafjérdur.
When they still had a fair distance to go before they were
halfway across the fjord, they saw on the eastern side of it, in the
gaps between the mountains and above the mountain crests, that
day was beginning to dawn. And since it is certain death to night-
trolls if they are caught by the daylight, dawn killed them both,
turning them into the rocks that stand on either side of Drangey,
known to this day as Karl and Kerling, or the Carl and Carline;
the troll-man (Carl) on the seaward side and the troll-wife
(Carline) on the landward side, while the cow became the island
itself. And though it is not recorded that she had been got with
calf on the journey, Drangey has always been a fruitful spring
yielder for the folk of Skagafjordur, as will be told later.
It is an ancient custom, still observed by those who visit
Drangey for the first time in the spring, to greet the island, and
also the Carl and Carline. The foreman of every boat begins with
the words: “Hail and prosper (or, thrive) Drangey and all thy
familiars. Hail and prosper (or, thrive) Carline and all thy famil-
iars. Hail and prosper (or, thrive) Carl and all thy familiars.” After
this, each member of the boat’s crew, whether at the oar or not,
repeats the same formula.
Though it may well be that this is now done more in jest than
in earnest, it is thought certain that in it we have a relic of ancient
belief in the guardians of Drangey, and this custom has been

75
maintained from the earliest times, or at all events since the time
of the great disasters, mentioned later, before Bishop Gudmundur
blessed the island.
The island of Drangey lies about the middle of Skagafjordur,
but much nearer the western than eastern side of it. It is named
from the two high drangar, or rock pinnacles, which stand on
each side of it. The one on the seaward side is said to have crum-
bled for the most part about eighty years past. The other is to the
south of the island. The rocks are separated from the main island
by narrow channels, and like them, the island itself is very precip-
itous, its cliffs reaching a height of one hundred fathoms and, in
some places, falling sheer into the sea, though in others — for
example on the western side — with some foreshore at their feet.
At no point, however, is it possible to climb up without ladders or
a rope, as may both be learned from the Saga of Grettir, and
deduced from the height of the cliffs aforementioned.
Once the top is reached, the island is found to be very rich in
grass, and so extensive that it is believed to be as large as the
home-field at Holar in Hjaltadalur, of no less than ninety-six
mowing days, as it is said. People have no other profit of the grass
there now, however, but for the pasturing of sheep in autumn by
those who own it; which sheep are there all the winter through, if
it be not too severe; in fact, one of the headlands at the south-
eastern side of the island draws its name from this, and is called
Lamb’s Head.
No one has lived permanently on Drangey since Grettir and his
companions were there. Indeed, in some respects the island is not
very habitable, for lack of fuel, apart from driftwood. Nevertheless
it is not without its merits, and many people stay there each sum-
mer, when they engage both in bird-catching, which is without
limit on the cliffs, and also in fishing.
Before Grettir came to Drangey, it was common land. After he
was killed, however (about the year 1030), it passed into the pos-
session of the see of Hélar, and the bishops therefore had most
control over the island and profit from its birds and fish.

76
 But bird-catching was not without its perils in those days, for as
was said before, Drangey is like a sheer rock standing up out of
the sea on all sides, from wheresoever it is seen.
At the beginning, so long as there were doughty and daring
gatherers to be found, they would be let down the cliffs many
times, and would think little of it, for the catch was then much
greater than it is now, though there were often dreadful disasters,
with loss of life. It soon appeared, too, that those with good ropes
died no less than those with worse, which was thought strange.
Their ropes, when drawn up, were found to be cut right through,
as if chopped with an axe or other sharp-edged tool, and it even
happened that men heard the sound of a blow from the cliff just
before the rope parted and the gatherer fell. Thus the opinion was
now put forward that there were living in the cliffs those who
would not have men take all the catch out of their hands and
thought the profits of the island belonged no less to them than to
the interlopers.
For a long time there was no alleviation of this loss of life, and
matters had reached a point when men were beginning to shrink
somewhat from making so many visits to the island as they had
done formerly, owing to the losses suffered there.
This continued until the time when Bishop Gudmundur
Arason the Good became Bishop of Holar. As is known from his
Saga, Bishop Gudmundur was a most serviceable man for rites
and blessings, and by these he long won his fellow countrymen
great grace and the reparation of many ills, and rid them of many
an evil being. Bishop Gudmundur was good to the poor and both
took in many when he was at home and also brought many home
with him when he travelled abroad. For this reason there was
sometimes a shortage of food at his place when spring came
round, and provisions had to be got wherever possible.
The bishop often sent his men to Drangey in the spring, both
for the fishing and for the bird-catching, and it soon appeared
that the beings on the island spared them no more than others,
and their losses were therefore great.

Te
 The bishop was told of this, and he decided to go to the island
himself, with his clergy and with holy water.
At the landing place there is a slab of stone that looks as though
it might have been laid there, and this is known as Gvendur’s
Altar. When the bishop stepped ashore, some say that he sang
mass and had this stone for an altar, though others say he only
prayed there. And to this day it is still the custom that no one
climbs up onto Drangey, or down from it, without saying a prayer
by this slab.
After this the bishop blessed the island, beginning a little to the
north of Hraering’s Leap, on the southwestern side below where
the pens now are, and continuing to the right, or against the sun,
both above and below, and by sea where he could not reach by the
foreshore, and also letting himself be lowered down the cliffs, and
thus completing the whole circle of the island with prayers and
canticles and holy water, and his clergy with him.
It is not recorded that he met with any evil being until he was
west of the most northerly point and back at the landing place.
Here they let him down the rock, as elsewhere, and when he had
been lowered as far as seemed suitable to him, he began his bless-
ings and prayers as before. After he had prayed a little while,
though, a large hand and arm, grey and hairy, in a red sleeve, came
out of the rock. The hand held a great sharp sword, which it
applied to the rope whereby the bishop hung, severing two
strands of it. However, the bishop’s life was saved by the third
strand, which the blade could not sever, so well was it blessed.
And at the same moment the bishop heard a voice from the rock
saying, “Bless no more, Bishop Gvendur. The bad must have some
place to be.”
After this the bishop had himself drawn up, and said he would
not bless the remaining portion of the cliff, from that point to
Byrgisvik, though he thought that henceforth there would come
no harm, either to his men or to others, in any of the places he
had blessed, and this has proved true right up to this time.
The portion of the cliff left unblessed by Bishop Gudmundur

78
remains unblessed to this day, and has since been named
Heidnaberg, or the Cliff of the Heathens, and it is said that birds
are more numerous there than anywhere else on Drangey, while it
is a fact that men are still most reluctant to be let down the
Heidnaberg cliff.
The land guardians soon found, to their cost, how heavy-hand-
ed Bishop Gudmundur would be with them. After Bishop
Brandur Saemundsson died (in the year 1201), there was a certain
troll-wife at Fljétahorn in the north who called to another at
Strandhali in a joyful voice, and so loudly that she could be heard
throughout all the parishes that lie between, “Now the bishop of
Holar is dead.”
But the troll-wife at Strandhali replied, “One comes after who
is no better, and he is that Gvondur.”

Bikolla

A poor farmer and his wife once lived in a cottage. They had an
only son, but they wasted little affection on him. There were just
the three of them there in the cottage. The old couple had a cow
and no other livestock. The cow was called Bukolla.
One day the cow calved, and the old woman herself sat over her.
When all was done, and the cow recovered, the farmer’s wife ran
into the house. A little later she returned to attend the cow but
found her gone. The old couple now set out together to look for
Bukolla, and they searched far and long, but they came back as
they went, without her. By this time they were ill-tempered, and
they ordered the boy out of the house and told him not to let
them see him again unless he had the cow with him. They gave
him food and new footwear, and so he set off into the unknown.
He walked on and on, until at last he sat down and began to eat.
Then he said, “Low, my Bukolla, low, if you are anywhere alive
now!”
He now heard the cow lowing a long, long way off.

i?
 Again the farmer’s son walked, on and on. And once more he
sat down to eat, and said, “Low, my Bukolla, low, if you are any-
where alive now!”
Then he heard Bukolla lowing a little nearer than before.
Once more the farmer’s son walked on and on, until he came to
the verge of a fearfully high cliff. Here he sat down again to eat,
at the same time saying, “Low, my Bukolla, low, if you are any-
where alive now!”
He now heard the cow low right under his feet.
The farmer’s son clambered down the cliff, and in it, at the bot-
tom, he found a great cave. He went inside, and there he saw
Bukolla tethered to a beam. At once he released her, led her out,
and started homewards.
When the farmer’s son had walked some way, he looked back
and saw a gigantic troll-woman coming after him, and with her
another, smaller troll. The large troll took such long strides that
he saw she would soon catch him, so he said, “Now, my Bukolla,
what’s to be done?”
The cow answered, “Take a hair from my tail and lay it on the
ground.”
This he did, and Bukolla said to the hair:

This I lay, and this I say,

Be a mighty flood, I pray;
That only birds may fly this way!

Whereupon the hair was turned at once into a great river.

When the troll-wife came to the water, she said, “This will not
save you, my lad!” and to the smaller troll she said, “Run home,
girl, and fetch my father’s great bull.” The troll-girl ran off, and
soon came back with a huge bull, which at once drank up all the
flood. The farmer’s son now saw that the troll-wife would soon
catch him, so long were her strides, so he said, “Now, my Bukolla,
what’s to be done?”
Bukolla answered, “Take a hair from my tail and lay it on the
ground.” He did so, and then she said:

80
 This I lay, and this I say,
Be a fire so fierce, I pray;
That only birds may fly this way!

And at once the hair became a raging fire.

When the troll-woman came to the fire, she said, “This will not
save you, my lad!” and to the smaller troll: “Bring my father’s great
bull hither, girl.” The troll-girl did as she was bidden, and the bull
now pissed all the water it had drunk up from the flood, and put
out the fire. The farmer’s son then saw that the troll would catch
him in a matter of moments, so long were her strides, and he said,
“Now, my Bukolla, what’s to be done?”
“Take a hair from my tail and lay it on the ground,” she replied.
Then she said to the hair:

This I lay, and this I say,

Be a mountain steep, I pray,
That only birds may fly this way!

Forthwith the hair turned into a mountain so high that the

farmer’s son could see nothing but the blue skies above it.
When the trolls came to the mountain, the bigger one said, “This
will not save you, my lad!” and to the smaller troll she said, “Run
home, girl, and fetch my father’s big drill.” The troll-girl ran and
soon returned with the drill, whereupon the troll-wife bored a hole
right through the mountain. She was too impatient, though, for as
soon as she could see through to the other side, she squeezed her-
self into the hole; but it was too narrow, and there she stuck, and
was finally turned to stone in the hole, where she can still be seen.
As for the farmer’s son, he got home safely with Bukolla, and
his father and mother were very glad to see him.

Gryla and her Mob

Although Gryla is named in the rhymes of Snorra Edda among
troll-wives, she hardly deserves to be counted with trolls, for most

81
of the stories told about her were to frighten naughty children
with. She was fantastically misshapen, as we learn from the Saga
ofIcelanders of Sturla Thordarson:
Here goes Gryla
by the farm,
and from her hang
~ Cc

fourteen tails.

A later continuation of this verse adds:

On every tail
a hundred bags,
in every bag
are twenty brats.

The Yule-swains were thirteen all told, often called the sons of
Gryla and Leppalidi, though it is more likely that Gryla had
them before she was married.
The first comes thirteen days before Christmas and the last on
Christmas Eve. On Christmas Day the first goes away, but the
last leaves on Twelfth Night.
In the east of Iceland there was a farm called Thraduvangur.
Here lived a farmer named Steinn, together with his wife,
Gudrun, and his children Illugi and Sigridur. The priest of the
parish was named Steingrimur and lived at Steingrimsstadir.
Steinn was not thought to be a particularly pious man, and
indeed this was at a time when the Christian faith was still young
in the land and much heathendom still lingered, though not
openly.
In those days Vespers was always sung on Christmas Eve, as it
continued to be long after. Gudrun, the wife of Steinn, was a
God-fearing woman and attended church regularly, though her
husband had little time for it. One Christmas Eve she asked him
to go with her to church, for the weather was dark and there was
no other grown man to accompany her. He received her request
badly, but in the end he agreed to escort her to Steingrimsstadir,

82
though he would not attend the service. Three of them went
together: Steinn, Gudrun, and their son Illugi.
When they came to the boundary of Steingrimsstadir, they
parted; Steinn turning homewards, while mother and son went
on. The following day they returned to the farm, where they
found Steinn lying in bed. Gudrin bent over him, but he did not
move. He had never been like this before, and she asked him if he
was sick.
“Not so,” he said. “But I know not whether I would have turned
back so quickly yesterday evening, had I then known what I know
now.
Gudrdn thought this strangely spoken, but she learned no more
at the time.
The months now passed, and the next Yuletide came round,
nothing untoward occurring in the meanwhile. On Christmas
Eve there was wild weather with drifting snow. Gudrun now sug-
gested again to her husband that he come with her to church, and
he consented, though he spoke little the while. And when they
got to the church he bade Illugi, his son, to return home with
him.
“You are destined to live more Yuletides,” he said, “but my life
will not be long now. You may therefore profit by what you will
see, though I cannot.”
Illugi now went home with his father, though he was afraid. At
Thriduvangur there was a storehouse at the front of the farm.
Steinn walked straight into this shed, and Illugi after him. Here
they waited for a while.
All at once it seemed to IIlugi that the end wall of the shed was
moved away, so that he could see out to the east. He now saw two
men all in white carrying a coffin between them. Over the coffin
was a cloth through which nothing could be seen. The men came
into the storehouse and stopped. Many spirits now crowded about
them, coming from all directions, and they asked one another the
tidings. So it went on, all through the night. IIlugi heard them
speak of men, both good and evil, and especially of children. From

83
their talk it seemed to him that evil and ungodly men were most
to their liking, while they were against religion and godly prac-
tices.
They spoke of Farmer Steinn, and said that next Yule they
would bear him away in their coffin.
Illugi felt a cold wind from these visitors, and he little liked
what he saw. But suddenly, without any warning, there was a
mighty crash, and whereas before it had been quite light, pitch
darkness now descended.
Illugi was so overcome with fear that he fell into a faint. When
he recovered his senses, he found himself in his bed, whither his
father had carried him.
Soon after this, Steinn died, and all was not thought comely
about him.
Illugi told of all these happenings, and what he had seen and
heard in the storehouse, and men recognised the spirits. They
were the beings called Yule-swains. They travel about the country
at Yuletide and are then evil to deal with, stealing and playing
tricks, especially on children. Like Gryla, they are often used to
frighten children.
Illugi profited by what he had seen, as his father had intended.
He lived to old age, a regular church-goer and confirmed in his
faith. He never saw the Yule-swains again, nor did they ever do
either him or his mother harm. In fact, they appear seldom, and
then only to the ungodly, and it is a bad thing to end up in the
Yule-swains’ coffin.

84
 Eg Oeer aL,
AND
Silene Ol Ok UR Sate)
 Thorgers Bull

There was a man named Thorgeir Jonsson, known to many as

Galdra-Geiri, or Geiri the Sorcerer. His brother was Stefan
Rhymer, said to have been a good speaker and singer of verses. A
third man named Andrés is mentioned. He was the uncle of these
two. They were all from Fnjéskadalur, and were on a fishing-boat
from Hrisey in Eyjafjérdur in the autumn.
These three men are said to have worked together to make the
bull.
First Thorgeir obtained a newborn calf from a woman on the
island, killed it, skinned it from the rump — some say in such a
manner that the whole hide was pulled off at the tail — and they
cast a spell on it.
But the three kinsmen were not satisfied with this. Into the
opening they put portions of eight things: of air and of a bird, of
man and of a dog, of a cat and of a mouse, and of two sea-crea-
tures to boot; so that apart from its bull’s nature it had eight oth-
ers. It could travel by air as well as over land and sea, and it could
appear in as many shapes as it had natures, at will. Although the
bull was made in the manner described, Thorgeir was afraid that
there might still be a possibility of its being overpowered. He
therefore obtained the afterbirth of a child and threw it over the
bull.
Since Thorgeir had the greatest part in making and bewitching
the bull, it was named after him and known as Thorgeir’s Bull,
and in fact he was the first to put it to work.
He had proposed marriage to a woman, Gudrin Bessadéttir by
name, and she would not have him. He then sent the bull after her.
For a time it was unable to get the better of her, but it gave her no
peace. When she journeyed between farmsteads she would some-
times have six or eight men to accompany her, for few felt safe
with her alone. Nevertheless she was sometimes dragged off her
horse and thrown three or four fathoms’ distance, in spite of her
escort; though at other times she would be left in peace for a while.

86
 Finally the bull was the death of her, by its persecution.
Once she was in church, and the bull tormented her so and beat
her so severely that she had bodily harm of it. A man then went
out and saw the bull lying against the farmhouse. One side of the
house faced the church, but the bull was lying on the other, with
its muzzle on the rooftree, so that the man looked straight into its
open nostrils, and it seemed to him as if a grey cord ran from the
bull’s nostrils to the church. When he got round to the other side
of the house, though, the carcase of the bull was disappearing.
A certain farmer, Magnus by name, lived at the farmstead called
Sund in the Héfdahverfi district. His wife’s name was Helga, and
she was closely related to Gudrin Bessadéttir. After the death of
Gudrin, the bull directed its attentions chiefly at Helga and was
forever tormenting her.
About this time a wise man named Torfi was living at Klukds
up in Eyjafjordur. He was asked to lay the bull and thus save
Helga. He went over to Sund and saw where the bull had settled.
It was in the badstofa over Helga. She complained greatly at the
heaviness felt by her, especially on her legs, although they were
bare, for the bull was right on top of them.
Torfi was unable to lay it, because of the afterbirth, for he said
he could not tell whether this had been taken off the child from
the head downwards, or from the feet upwards, for it could have
been either. Men say that Helga died later on account of the bull,
and that it followed her family long afterwards.
Though Thorgeir’s first intention had been to destroy Gudrin,
he would use the bull to play various tricks on others whom he
owed a grudge, for the brute always followed him and was some-
times almost too assiduous in its attentions. He would send it to
ride the cows of other men and disturb them, often driving them
astray. On occasions it could be heard bellowing in fog and in the
dark.
Once Thorgeir was at Hallgilsstadir at the time of evening
prayers. During prayers he kept going outside, and when prayers
were over the farmer went out with him and saw what seemed to

87
be a belt of fog stretching all the way north to the mountains,
when there was clear sky elsewhere.
“The devil a length he can get now,” said Thorgeir, and it was
thought he spoke of the bull, which could take advantage of one
of its natures being air. A little later a violent snowstorm descend-
ed, and it was believed that the bull had predicted it. Men had
often been often aware before of such bad weather and other
events as well.
When the bull failed to carry out a task set by Thorgeir, it
would return home and attack him, playing him all kinds of tricks
and trying to destroy him. And though Thorgeir was adept in
magic arts, he was sometimes hard pressed to ward off the bull
and had to use all his arts if any malice towards him got into it.
On one occasion the bull made such determined efforts to kill
him that in despair he fled from it into the house to his wife. She
was holding their baby in her arms, and Thorgeir would have
taken the child and given it to the bull to appease it. His wife
begged him not to do this, but rather release the heifer they had
in the byre and let the bull have that. Thorgeir let the heifer out,
and an hour later it was found torn to pieces near the farmhouse.
After this there is no record of the bull’s having done any real
harm, apart from stampeding cows on frequent occasions. It fol-
lowed the members of Thorgeir’s family, and he never dared let
his daughters go anywhere without a rune-stave in their aprons to
protect them against it.
A man named Benjamin Palsson lived at Vidgerdi, above
Espiholl in Eyjafjérdur. He went haymaking in the meadows east
of the river Munkathvera and bore the hay home. One dark, cold
autumn evening he was on his way home through a place called
Pall’s Hollow, by his home-field, when he saw a large beast before
him. At first he took it to be a horse that was always getting into
his field, but then saw that it had the shape of a bull. At the same
time, the horse he was riding neighed and shied violently —
which it had never done before — pulling so hard on the leading
rein that Benjamin fell off. But when he stood up and looked

88
about him, he could see nothing. When he reached home, how-
ever, there was Stefan, the brother of Thorgeir, come to visit him.

Lrafell-Mort

There was a man named Kort Thorvaldsson, brother to Sira

Oddur of Reynivellir (1786-1804). He was a member of the
parish council and a farmer of substance. For the most part of his
life he lived at Médruvellir in Kjds, but moved later to Flekku-
dalur, where he died.
Kort was twice married. His first wife was named Ingibjérg, his
second Thordis Jénsdottir. Ingibjérg was from the north. Many
would have married her before Kort, but she refused them all.
Many of them thought themselves ill treated when she accepted
him, though he was the superior of most in many respects. They
took it so much to heart, indeed, that they hired a sorcerer in the
north to send an emissary against Kort and his wife.
For this purpose the sorcerer chose a boy who, as the story tells,
had died of exposure while travelling between farms. The sorcerer
raised him up while he was yet warm, or not quite dead, and sent
him to Médruvellir, saying that he would follow the couple and
their descendants to the ninth generation and do them great harm.
Those who have seen Mori — and they are by no means few —
describe him as wearing grey breeches on the lower part of his
body, and a dun-coloured coat on the upper, with a broad-
brimmed black hat on his head, a large rent or cut in the brim
above the left eye. He gets his name from the colour of his coat
— Mori meaning “brownie.”
The sorcerer’s words are thought to have come only too true, for
after Mori came south he haunted the people of Modruvellir, as
intended, and played them many shabby tricks of all sorts, such as
killing their livestock and spoiling their food. However, there has
been no instance of Mori’s being directly responsible for the death
of a man, either at that time or later.

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 Kort and his wife had two yearling calves. Mori chased them
both over the edge of a cliff that summer, and they were found
dead below. Kort also owned a mare that foaled one summer in
the home pastures at Médruvellir. One day the foal was seen run-
ning madly in circles round a rock, and then suddenly it fell down
dead. When they came to it, men found that its end-gut had
become stuck fast to the rock, and it had dragged out its insides
and died. For this Mori was blamed.
Since he was supposed not to have been quite dead when raised
up, like all such ghosts Méri needed his full measure of food. He
therefore had to be given his portion, just like any other person in
the home — both at Médruvellir and later, when he moved to
Trafell to haunt Magnus Kortsson — and his helping was always
put in a place apart. Mori made sure of this by completely spoil-
ing all the food in the larder for Ingibjorg. He would sometimes
sit there up on a beam and paddle with his feet in the milk
churns, or kick them over, pelt her and the whole larder with
curds, or throw peat and stones into the food wherever it stood,
and so spoil it. Ingibjérg therefore took to apportioning him a full
measure at both meals, and after that there was little spoiling of
food. But once Méri’s evening portion was forgotten, and when
someone went into the larder next morning, he was found sitting
there, perched on the rims of two barrels of curds, with a leg in
each barrel, treading the curds and throwing them in all direc-
tions. After this people took care not to forget his portion.
But food was not all that Mori needed. He also had to have rest,
like anyone else, it seems, and after he began to follow Magnus
Kortsson at Irafell, men say that Magnus always had an empty
pallet for him next to his own bed, and none but Mori might lie
on it.
Once, at round-up time, many came to Trafell and stayed the
night there. Later in the evening a boy arrived and asked for shel-
ter. Magnus invited him in, but told him there was no bed and he
would have to lie on the floor, unless he chose to sleep on the pal-
let by his bed. The boy accepted this with thanks and went to bed,

gO
but no sooner had he fallen asleep than a fearful weight seemed
to oppress him, making him gurgle. He then started up, and could
not sleep a wink all the rest of the night for the weight that was
on him.
The following day the weather was so bad that the visitors
could not get away, but had to spend another night at Irafell. That
evening some youths who lived there and knew all about Mori,
having often pelted him with dirt and been pelted by him in
return, got together and stuck knives all round the pallet with
their points upwards. That night the boy slept soundly, and men
thought it was thanks to the knife-points that Mori had not trou-
bled him.
After the death of Kort in 1821, Mori first followed Magnis,
his eldest son, as has been said. Magmniis lived longest at Irafell,
and for his association with that place Mori became known as
Trafell-Mori, a name he has kept ever since.
Gudrtin Kortsdéttir was married to Jé6n Benediktsson, who
served as pastor in several places, among them Goddalir from
1839 to 1847. Once the pastor was on his way across the Holta-
varda heath, when he met Mori, who had walked right through
his shoes and socks and was treading on his bare bones. He was
so ill clad, in fact, that he was breechless and bare to the buttocks.
Sira Jén suspected that he was on his way to Goddalir and said he
would give him a good pair of waders if he promised not to visit
them until he had worn them out. Mori kept his promise. But
when Sira Jén moved to Hitanes in 1852, the boots were worn
out, and Mori came there. He killed their best cow, breaking its
back in three places, men say, as well as its ribs, and hanging it and
breaking its neck.

Sel-Moér1

In the late 18th century there was a farmer named Einar living at
Stéttir in Hraunshverfi district, in the parish of Stokkseyri.

gl
 Once a traveller came to the house — a young man, hungry and
ill clad — and asked for shelter, but the farmer refused to let him
in, and shut the door in his face. The weather was bitterly cold,
with frost and drifting snow, and the lad turned away with a heavy
heart. Though the distance between farms in this district is not
great, he was unable to find his way to another, and losing his way,
wandered down to the shore, where he was drowned in the so-
called Skerfléd, beyond Borg. After this his ghost walked and fol-
lowed Einar and his descendants. He was known as
Skerfl6d-Mo6ri, and played various tricks on men, leading trav-
ellers astray and stampeding livestock.
Einar of Stéttir had two daughters. The elder was Thuridur the
Foreman, who is well known. The younger was named Salgerdur.
Mori was blamed for Thuridur’s ill success in her matrimonial
affairs, as can be read in her story. Salgerdur was married to a man
named Kristjan. They lived at Sel in the parish of Stokkseyri to
old age, and had many children. After Salgerdur’s marriage, Mori
attached himself especially to her and her descendants. He then
haunted Sel, and has since often been known after that farm and
called Sel-Mo6ri.
There was a man named Jén Thérdarson who lived for the most
part at West Mohius, in the Stokkseyri district, and was noted for
his prosperity. He prospered so well that it was said he bought a
new farm every year in the later part of his life. It was also said
that in his earlier years he had turned a poor girl out of doors and
she had died, and haunted him ever since. She was known as
Mohis-Skotta, and she tormented Jén in a number of ways. She
and Sel-Mori joined forces, after which they were far more trou-
blesome than ever before.
There was a man named T6mas Bjérnsson who lived at North-
Kot by Eyrarbakki. One day he went across to Stokkseyri and
bought himself a side of smoked mutton for Christmas, setting
off for home about dusk. The following morning he was found,
torn, bruised and bloody, at Arnérstangi, above the hollow to the
east of Gamla-Hraun. This Tomas did not lie peacefully in his

92
grave, and he was seen later in the company of the ghostly cou-
ple, Mori and Skotta.
The hauntings became so bad that no one could travel after
dark between Stokkseyri and Eyrarbakki without risk of being led
astray or otherwise persecuted by these companions.
In the end, Jon of Mohius paid Klaustur-Jén to lay the spirits,
which he did so far as Skotta and Témas were concerned; but
Mori escaped. He stowed away in a boat from Thorlaksh6fn, and
was seen coming ashore after Klaustur-J6én had returned to the
east.
After this Mori ranged freely, troubling many people and lead-
ing them out into the marshes if they travelled after dark. He was
blamed, among other things, for the death of the farmer Jon
Arason from Vaelugerdi in Fléar shortly after the New Year of
1846.

The Widow of Alftanes

There was a man named Thorkell from Hunavatnssysla county in

the north. He was a fine-looking, personable fellow. At about the
age of twenty he went south to work on a fishing boat. Whatever
he did, he did well. He spent some time at Alftanes and served
the Danes in the summer. They thought highly of him, for he did
everything they wished. He saved up money and began to keep
company with a young widow whose home was there on the ness.
She was wealthy and attractive but was reputed to be strong-
willed and of an imperious temper. Many thought that the two
were well matched.
About this time, though, Thorkell came to be on very close
terms with the Governor himself. He acted as his loyal agent in
dealings with the Icelandic bishops and chiefs. The Governor
wished to repay him for his services and promised him his own
serving maid in marriage. He also confiscated the monastic estate
of Thingeyrar for his benefit. Thorkell was to go north in the

93
spring to take over the monastery lands and to be married the fol-
lowing spring.
However, these plans were kept secret.
When Thorkell prepared to leave, however, the widow suspect-
ed what was afoot and asked whether he had given his word to
another woman.
Thorkell’s answer was evasive.
“T tell you, Thorkell,” she said, “I shall soon find out the truth;
and if you are playing me false, I shall be the death of your Danish
whore whom you prefer to me, and after that, of you also. You will
not live to enjoy the favour in high places bought with your hon-
our for long.”
No more is told of their words together.
Thorkell now travelled north and took over the monastic lands
at Thingeyrar.
That summer the widow went to Bessastadir, met the Danish
girl, and asked her by whom she had been given the gold ring she
wore on her finger. The girl replied that Thorkell had given it to
her. She went on to chatter freely about her affairs, as Danes are
in the habit of doing. She said she remembered a time when the
Governor spoke otherwise than of her marrying his Icelandic
lackey.
“Never fear that,” said the widow.
After this they parted on rather cool terms and without any
leave-taking.
A few days later the widow died and, most strangely, the corpse
vanished on the first night of its lying.
The following night, the Danish girl at Bessastadir began to
suffer an affliction so sore that it gave her no peace. Three days
later she died in great agony.
This was after haymaking, when the nights were drawing in.
The same autumn a certain hired labourer, who lived in the south-
ern part of Alftanes, travelled down from the north alone. He was
a man of advanced age, reputed to have second sight and to be well
enough versed in such matters to be able to look after himself.

94
 He was riding over Skutaeyrar in the dusk, leading another
horse, when he saw a woman coming towards him and thought
he recognised the widow. She seemed to be in a great hurry. He
had some inkling of how things were, and he suspected why. He
therefore moved the horses out of the road. But as she passed by,
he asked, “Whither away?”
“To Thingeyrar,” she answered. “It is not so far that I cannot be
there by bedtime and sleep with Thorkell, for chiefs go late to
bed. And you are wise not to hinder my journey, for that would
have been of no benefit to either of us.”
That same night, when Thorkell went to bed he felt as if some-
one seized hold of him. There was a sharp struggle, and he suf-
fered such torments that the bones rattled in his body, and
between attacks men thought they heard him beg for mercy.
He continued in this affliction right up to Christmas, when he
died.
Though Thorkell lived no longer to enjoy the monastic lands,
he was the first master of Thingeyrar, and it has been a chieftain’s
estate ever since.

The Deacon ofMyrka

In days of old there was a deacon at the church of Myrka in

Eyjafjordur, though his name is not recorded. He loved a girl
named Gudrin who lived at Baegisa, beyond the H6rga river, and
was serving-maid to the pastor there.
The deacon had a grey horse with a long mane. He always rode
this horse, which he called Faxi. One day just before Christmas
the deacon went to Baegisa and invited Gudrin to the Christmas
merry-making at Myrka. He said he would come to fetch her on
Christmas Eve.
Some days before this there had been a heavy fall of snow, and
ice had formed on the rivers, but now there was a sudden thaw.
While the deacon tarried at Baegisé, the rivers became unfordable

95
for floating ice and flood water. He started on his homeward jour-
ney without realising the change. He managed to cross the
Yxnadalur river by an ice-bridge, and when he got to the river
Horga he found it had run itself clear, so he followed it as far as
Saurbaer, the farm next to Myrka. Here, too, the river was
spanned by an ice-bridge, and the deacon rode out onto it. But
when he was halfway across, the ice broke under him, and he fell
into the river.
Next morning, when the farmer at Thtfnavallanes got up he
saw a horse with saddle and bridle standing at the bottom of his
home-field. He thought he knew it for the deacon of Myrka’s
Faxi, and this gave him a shock, for he had seen the deacon going
up the day before and knew that he had not come back. The
farmer hurried across the field and found that the horse was
indeed Faxi, soaking wet and in a sad state.
The farmer now went down to the river and followed it as far
as the so-called Thufnavellir Point. Here, at the tip of the Point,
he found the deacon cast up by the stream, dead, the back of his
head fearfully damaged by floating ice.
The body was carried home to Myrka and buried in the week
before Christmas.
Owing to the thaw and floods, no news passed between Myrka
and Baegisa right up to Christmas Eve. However, by that time the
weather had improved and the flood waters fallen to such an
extent that Gudrun looked forward to attending the merry-mak-
ing at Myrka.
About nightfall she began to dress, and when she was all but
ready there came a knock on the door. A woman who was there
with her went to the door, but outside no one was to be seen. It
was neither dark nor light, for the moon was riding in clouds,
sometimes hidden, and sometimes clear.
The woman returned, saying that she could see no one.
“Somebody is playing tricks for my sake,” said Gudrun. “I shall
go out.”
She was now dressed and ready, but for her riding cloak. She

96
took this and slipped her arm into one sleeve, but held the other
in her hand over her shoulder.
When she came outside, she saw Faxi standing before the door,
and nearby a figure whom she took to be the deacon. It is not
recorded whether either of them spoke.
The deacon now took Gudrin up, lifted her onto the horse, and
mounted in front of her. They set off and rode for a time without
speaking. Then they came to the Hérgé river. The banks are steep
here, and as the horse plunged down to the river’s edge, the dea-
con’s hat lifted at the back. At that moment a cloud drifted from
the moon, and Gudrin saw the bare skull.
The deacon said:

The moon 1s gliding;

Death 1s riding.
See the white fleck
At the back of my neck, Garoon-Garoon

Gudrun had so great a shock that she did not speak, and they rode
on till they reached Myrka. Here they dismounted before the
lych-gate outside the churchyard, and the deacon said:
Wait a while, Garoon-Garoon;
I will take my Faxi-Faxi
all up to the freld-field.

And with these words he led the horse away.

Gudrun now happened to look through the lych-gate into the
churchyard, and there she saw an open grave. She was half-dead
with fear, but she managed to clutch hold of the bell-rope. Just
then she was grasped from behind, and it was her good fortune
that she had not had time to put an arm in more than one sleeve
of her riding-cloak, for the cloak was pulled so violently that it
was torn from her at the seam of the sleeve she was wearing.
Her last sight of the deacon was as he dove, still clutching the
torn cloak, into the open grave, and the heaped-up earth on either
side ran down and covered him.

9/
 As for Gudrin, she began ringing the bell, and went on ringing
until the people of the farm came out and took her inside; for she
was so terrified that she dared neither move a step from where she
was, nor stop ringing, being now certain that it was with the dea-
con’s ghost she had ridden — though having still heard nothing
of his death.
When she spoke with the people of Myrka, she found that it
must indeed have been so, for now she heard the whole story of
how he had met his end, while in return she told them of her ride.
That night, when all were in bed and the lights out, the deacon
came seeking Gudrun, and there was little sleep for anyone.
For a fortnight Gudrin lay sick at Myrka and could never bear
to be left alone. Somebody had to sit up with her every night.
Some say that the pastor himself sat by her bedside and read the
psalms.
In the end they sent for a sorcerer from Skagafjérdur to the
west, and when he came he had a large boulder unearthed above
the home-field and rolled down to the gable-end of the house.
The same evening, when dusk fell, the deacon tried to get into
the house, but the sorcerer forced him back south of the gable,
and there laid him with powerful spells. After that, he rolled the
boulder on top of him, and the deacon is believed to rest under it
to this day.
After that, all hauntings at Myrka ceased, and Gudrin began to
recover. A little later she returned home to Baegisa. But men say
that she was never the same again.

Mother Mine in Fold-Fold

There was a dairy-maid on a certain farm who was got with child.
When it was born, she carried it out and left it to die, which was
not uncommon in this land at a time when hard penances, or even
death, might be the punishment for such an offence.
Some time after this there was to be an entertainment of the

98
kind called vikivaki, or wake, once very common in the country,
and this same girl was invited. She had no good clothes, yet she
loved finery, and so she chose rather to stay at home than go as
she was.
That same evening she went out to milk the ewes in the fold
with another woman. While she was there, she spoke to her com-
panion of the wake, complaining that she could not go because
she had no clothes to wear. No sooner had she said this than she
heard a voice under the wall of the fold:

Mother mine tn fold-fold,

Fear not for the cold-cold.
I shall lend you my shift so thin
For dancing in, for dancing in.

The girl who had left her baby out to die was convinced that the
words were meant for her, and she was so much affected by the
verse that her wits were disturbed for the rest of her life.

The Fiend ofHyaltastadir

(From a letter written autumn 1750 by the sheriff Hans Wium to

Bishop Halld6or Brynjélfsson)
... This past winter the Hjaltastadir fiend made himself clear-
ly enough heard, though seen by none. I, together with others,
had the dishonour of hearing him /oquentem for all but two whole
days, during which time he addressed both me and Sira Grimur,
the incumbent, in words the like of which never has eye seen nor
ear heard.
No sooner were we come to the threshold than from the door-
way sounded ferrea vox to this effect: “And now here comes Hans
of Eidur, that infernal ninny, and would talk with me” — which
title, among others given me, may be considered /audabiiis besides
haud contemnendo.
When I enquired who it was that addressed me thus, he replied

hes
voce feroci: “In the beginning I was called Lucifer, but am now
known as Devil and Adversary.”
He threw at us both sticks and stones, besides other things,
breaking two windows of the pastor’s room. He spoke to us so
near that we knew no better than that he was right beside us.
There was there an old woman named Opia, whom he called
his “wife and blessed heavenly soul-goose,” and also bade Sira
Grimur copulera them, with many circumstantis thereto apper-
taining, which I choose not to remember. This fiend repeatedly
begged the woman to let him bed with her, ef gue preeterea publhi-
ca verba juvant. 1 am hardly disposed to write of his devices,
which were all shameful and disgraceful, according to the true
nature of auctoris.
Three times he recited the Lord’s Prayer, answered out of Jon’s
Catechism and the Bible, declared that the devils had church
services in Hell, and what texts and song they used, according to
the proper season. It was all a sadder business than can be here
expressed.
He bade us give him of the food we had brought with us, and
tea to drink, ef cetera.
I asked this fellow if God was good, and he said, “Yes;” whether
He spoke truth, and he replied, “Not a single word of His is to be
doubted.”
Sira Grimur asked if the Devil were fair to look at, whereupon
he replied, “At least he is fairer than you, you confounded
baboon.”
| enquired of him whether the devils agreed well together.
He answered, as it were tearfully, “It is a torment to know that
they never enjoy peace.” .
I now bade him say something to me in German, and said,
“Lasz uns Teusc redre,” but he took the last word in the sense that
he thought I wanted a woman.
After we had gone to bed that night, he called up fiercely out of
the floor, saying, “Now this night shall I speed you to Hell, and
you shall not stand up again from the bed you have lain in.”

100
 He bade the pastor’s wife good night.
That night, before daybreak, Sira Grimur and I conversed with
him. Among other matters, we asked him how the weather was
outside. He answered, “There is a cold wind from the north and
off the sea.” Was he cold? He replied, “I would say that I am both
hot and cold.” Then I asked how loud he could bellow, and he
said, “So loud that the roof would be lifted off the house, and all
of you fall into a dead swoon.” I bade him try. He answered, “Do
you think I am come hither to play tricks for you, you infernal
ninny?” I asked him to give us only a small specimen. He said he
would do so, whereupon he gave three bellows, the last of which
was so hideous that I have never heard its like, and doubt me if
there could ever be another like it.
Towards daybreak, after he had taken leave of us with custom-
ary courtesies, we slept. But in the morning he came back and
began to wake people, calling each by his name and not forgetting
to give some their nicknames, too; asking whether such and such
were awake. When he observed it, he said he must play with his
poor door, and thereupon the door was torn from its hinges and
flung far into the room, and all this in a single sharp spasm. The
most marvellous thing was that when he hurled something, that
which was hurled fell down at once, but afterwards returned to its
proper place, so it was evident that he was either in it, or went
with it.
The evening before, he challenged me twice to go out in the
dark to him, and that angrily, saying he would tear me asunder,
bone from bone. I went out, and told him to come, but there was
nothing of it. When I came back and asked why he had not ful-
filled his promise, he replied, “I have no commandment thereto
from my Master.”
He asked us whether we had ever heard anything the like of this
before, and when we answered in the affirmative, he said, “It is
not true. Such has never been heard since ages past.”
After I came there he had sung “Jesus’ memory,” and talked
without cease while the reading of God’s Word went on. He said
he cared not though the Word of God was used, but had no lik-
ing for the “Cross-school” hymns, and the one who composed
them must have been an infernal great ninny.
This enemy came as a fiend, left the same, and while he was
there behaved as suited a fiend only, nor could words be found fit
for any but a fiend to describe all his nonsense.
None the less it is no secret that I am not altogether convinced
of this having been a spirit; which sentiments of mine, however,
for the inconvenience of the time I cannot here convey...

Sdlveig of Miklibaer

There was a girl named Sélveig at Miklibaer with Sira Oddur

Gislason. Whether the pastor was then between wives or had lost
his second is not clear, but one thing is certain: this girl was in
love with the pastor and, above all else, wanted him to marry her.
And the pastor would not have her.
On this account Solveig became unsettled in her wits and
would have killed herself, had she been given the opportunity; but
a woman named Gudlaug Bjérnsdoéttir, sister of Sira Snorri of
Husafell, slept beside her and watched, to be sure she did not get
out of bed at night, while in the daytime all the people of the farm
kept an eye on her.
One evening at twilight, however, Sélveig contrived to slip out
of the house, and ran at once to a small knoll in the home-field.
The pastor had a hired man named Thorsteinn, a lively and devil-
may-care kind of fellow. He saw Solveig run out and followed
her. She was so quick, though; that by the time he reached the
knoll she had cut her throat. :
It is said that, when Thorsteinn saw the blood gushing in a
fountain from her neck, he remarked, “Now the Devil has got
her.” Sdlveig made no reply to this, but so much he understood
from her: that she would have the pastor give her burial in the
churchyard. After this, she bled to death.
 Thorsteinn now went back to the house and told them what
had happened. He also told the pastor of her request to be buried
in the churchyard, and Sira Oddur sought permission from his
superiors. However, it was refused, on the grounds that she had
taken her own life. While this was going on, Sdlveig’s body lay
unburied.
The night after the pastor received a refusal, he dreamed that
Sdlveig came to him and said, “Since you will not allow me bur-
ial in hallowed ground, you shall not have it, either.” And as she
swept away, her expression was very angry.
After this Sdlveig’s body was buried outside the churchyard
and without burial rites. A little later, though, Sira Oddur began
to be pestered by her whenever he rode alone, whether to his
chapel-of-ease at Silfrunarstadir or elsewhere. News of this soon
travelled all over the parish, so that every man made it his busi-
ness to escort the pastor home, especially if it was late, or he was
on his own.
One morning Sira Oddur rode to the chapel-of-ease — though
some say it was to Vidivellir — and the whole day passed without
his returning home. The homefolk at Miklibaer did not worry,
however, for they knew that someone would accompany him
home if he were late. And he was escorted, on this occasion and
on others, all the way to the boundary of the home-field at
Miklibaer. It was the usual custom for his escort not to leave him
before he was with his own people. However, the pastor now told
his companion that he need come no farther, for he could get
safely home from there. The man therefore left him, as he said
later himself. That evening, at wake-time, people in the house
heard somebody come to the door. There was knocking, but
because they thought it sounded rather strange, they did not
open. After this it was as though someone came round to the side
of the house in a great hurry, but before whoever it was could
climb up to the window and declare himself, he seemed to be
pulled back from behind, as if by the feet, and at the same time
the people inside thought they heard a cry.

103
 Later that evening, when one of the men went outside he found
the pastor’s horse standing by the step, his whip and gloves tucked
under the saddle. At this, the people became very uneasy, for they
saw that the pastor must have come home, but he had vanished
completely. They now searched everywhere and made enquiries at
all the farms that he might have visited. They learned that he had
been accompanied all the way to the edge of the home-field but
had then sent his companion away that evening. After this a gen-
eral search was organised, and it continued for many days, but to
no purpose. In the end the search was called off, and it was the
opinion of most that Sdlveig had now kept her word, that he
would not have burial in hallowed ground, and that she must have
taken him with her into her grave-mound, though nobody looked
for him there.
After the general search had been called off, Thorsteinn, the
late pastor’s hired man, determined not to stop looking until he
learned what had become of his master.
Thorsteinn slept in the dadstofa in a bed just opposite
Gudlaug, the woman who had slept beside Solveig. This
Gudlaug had second sight. One evening Thorsteinn set to and
gathered together clothes and various other articles that had
belonged to the pastor and put them under his pillow, intending
to see if he would dream, and he bade Gudlaug to watch that
night and tell him if anything happened, though she should not
wake him if he seemed troubled in ‘his sleep. He had a light
burning beside him.
They now went to bed. Thorsteinn was a long time getting to
sleep, but at last he dropped off. A little later Gudlaug saw Sdlveig
come in holding something in her hand, though what it was she
could not make out. Sdlveig crossed the room to the edge of the
platform by Thorsteinn’s bed — for there was a platform in the
badstofa — and bent over him. She appeared to be drawing some-
thing across his throat. Thorsteinn now began to struggle in his
sleep, kicking and tossing, and Gudlaug thought things had gone
far enough. She therefore got up and woke him, and the wraith

104
vanished before her. She saw that there was a red line on
Thorsteinn’s throat, where Sdlveig’s hand had passed.
Gudlaug now asked Thorsteinn what he had dreamed, and he
replied that Sdlveig had come to him and said it was no good, for
he would never be any the wiser about what had become of Sira
Oddur. With this, she had laid her hand on him to cut his throat
with a large knife, and he had felt the pain when he woke.
After this Thorsteinn gave up his purpose of finding out what
had happened to the pastor.
There was little evidence of Sdlveig’s haunting in later times,
though Sira Gisli, the last incumbent at Reynisstadarklaustur
(1829-1851) and son of Sira Oddur, has said that on his wedding
night Sdlveig assaulted him violently, so that he had needed all his
strength to resist her. And he was a man of great physical
strength, like his father.
No other stories are told of Sdlveig.

“Lost my Lusty Complexion”

Once a burial took place in a country churchyard. While the grave

was being dug, a young and light-hearted servant girl of the pas-
tor happened to come by. At this very moment the grave diggers
turned up an ancient bone. It was a human thigh bone of unusu-
al length.
The girl saw the bone, picked it up and handled it, and said, “It
would have been good sport to kiss this one when he was alive.”
Then she put the bone down and went away.
The day passed and darkness fell, so that lamps were lit in the
house. The pastor now wanted a book that he had left lying on
the altar in the church during the day. He therefore asked this
same servant girl to fetch it for him, for he knew that she was
quite unafraid of the dark.
She was very willing to do so, and went out to the church.
She got the book from the altar and was going back down the

105
aisle, when she noticed somebody sitting near the door, on the
corner bench on the north side. It was a gigantic man with a long
beard.
The man now spoke these words to her:
Lost my lusty complexion,
Curious maiden, and faded;
A lad whom death has laid low.
Lady, behold my cold lds.
Hacked asunder my hauberk
Of yore, when Ifared forth to war.
Grimy my whiskers are grown.
Kiss me, my sweet, tfyou list.

The girl was in no whit dismayed, but went to him and kissed
him. Then she carried the book into the house and made nothing
of the matter.
According to another account, though, when challenged by the
man, she dared not kiss him, but ran out of the church in horror,
and was never the same afterwards.
All agree, though, that the thigh-bone from the grave must
have belonged to some giant man of ancient times, the same seen
by her in the church and who recited the verse.

The Ghost and the Money-Chest

There was once a landlord of a church-farm in the north. He was

married and a man of great wealth, but much given to hoarding,
so that men were convinced that he must possess a large sum of
money. His wife was a good woman and very charitable, but she
had little influence over her miserly husband.
One winter the farmer fell ill. He died soon afterwards, and his
body was laid out and buried. The estate was now put in order,
but no money was found. The widow was asked if she knew of
any, but she answered not so much as a single shilling, and since

106
men knew nothing but good of her, her word was not questioned.
It was the guess of many that he must have buried the money, as
was indeed later found to have been the case.
As the winter advanced, people at the church-farm became
aware of haunting, and it was the general view that the farmer was
walking on account of his hidden money. The haunting increased
to such a degree that most of the workers decided to leave in the
spring, and the widow began making preparations to sell the
property.
Time passed till the flitting-days arrived. Then a labourer came
to the widow and asked to be hired, and she took him. After he
had been there a while, however, he too became aware of a con-
siderable amount of haunting. Once he asked his mistress
whether her late husband had not possessed a large quantity of
money, but as before she replied that she knew nothing of it.
The days now passed until it was market time. The hired man
went to market, and among other things he bought a quantity of
sheet iron and a length of white linen. And when he got home, he
had a shroud sewn of the linen, while from the sheet iron he made
himself a breastplate and iron gloves, for he was a skilful smith.
Time passed, until once more the days grew shorter and the
nights dark. Then one evening, when all were asleep, the hired
man put on the breastplate and iron gloves, and then the shroud
over all, and went out into the churchyard. Going close to the
farmer's grave, he walked back and forth there, playing with a sil-
ver piece in the palm of his hand.
It was not long before a ghost rose up from the farmer's grave,
and coming quickly to the hired man, it asked, “Are you one of
us?”
“Yes,” answered the hired man.
“Let me feel you.” said the ghost.
The hired man now reached out a hand, and the ghost felt how
cold it was. It said, “True enough, you are a ghost, too. Why are
you walking ?”
“To play with my silver piece,” replied the other.

107
 At this, the ghost hopped over the churchyard wall, and the
hired man after it. They went on until they came to the edge of
the home-field. Then the ghost turned over a hummock and
pulled up its money chest, and they took to playing with the
money. This went on all night, but when dawn began to approach
the ghost would have put the money away. Then the other said
that he wanted to take a look at the small change, and he began
playing with it and scattering it about all over again. Then the
ghost said, “I am not sure you are a ghost.”
“Oh yes I am,” said the other. “Feel for yourself” — and he held
out the other hand.
“True enough,” said the ghost, and it now began to collect all
the money together again. But still the hired man kept throwing
it hither and thither.
The ghost now became angry and said that he must be a living
man and meant to cheat it, but he denied this. The ghost then
clutched him by the chest, and felt the iron plate on him, and how
cold it was.
“What you say is true; you are the same as I am,” said the ghost.
And once again it began to collect its money together. The hired
man now dared not but let it have its way, and said, “Let me put
my silver piece with your money.”
“Certainly,” said the ghost, and it now replaced the hummock
so that nothing could be seen. After this they returned to the
churchyard. |
“Where is your hole?” asked the ghost.
“On the other side of the church,” replied the other.
“You go into yours first,” said the ghost.
“No,” said the hired man, “you go first.”
They continued to argue about this until dawn. Then the ghost
jumped into its grave, while the hired man returned to the farm-
house.
He now filled a cask with water and placed it under the plat-
form. Into this he put his garments of the night and also went out
and fetched the money chest, which he put in as well.

108
 The day passed and evening came, and all went to bed. The
hired man slept by the door, and the night was not far advanced
when the ghost came in, sniffing and snuffing all about, and
struck a mighty blow on the edge of the platform, after which it
went out, the hired man following.
Men say that he now dealt in such wise ways with the farmer's
grave that the ghost was never seen again.
He had put his garments and the money chest in water so that
the ghost should not be able to smell earth on them.
The hired man married the widow, and they lived together for
many years.
And so ends this story.

“You are Lying on my Own, Anna”

Anna Sveinsd6ttir, an elderly woman from Husavik in the north,

told this story of her own experience.
She worked one year for a farmer named Einar Einarsson who
was then living at Steindlfsvik. In late summer they went hay-
making out in the so-called Millivatnafloar area, some distance
away from the farm. As it was too cold for sleeping out, they took
their things and coffee-making equipment to an old shepherd’s
hut that stood on the slopes of the Krossavik fells to the east, and
spent the nights there.
One evening a boy came from Krossavik with a message for
Einar, to collect a load of fish there. He set off in the late after-
noon of the next day, telling Anna that he would be back the same
evening, so that she would not have to spend the night there
alone.
At the usual bedtime, Anna made her way to the hut. On the
side of the hut that faced the mountain there was a rock-fall. She
went out with her kettle to a deep depression in this for water, and
then went in again to undress.
She was only half out of her clothes, however, when she heard

10g
a voice outside the hut, on the side by the rock-fall, saying, “Come
on. She is alone inside.”
Anna thought it was some of the boys from Steinolfsvik, want-
ing to give her a fright, so she went out, walked round the hut,
and called. But there was no reply.
No sooner was she inside again, though, than she heard a call,
as if the ones outside wanted to meet her; so she went out once
more and enquired, as before; but there was still no reply.
She now went back inside and finished undressing, and then for
the third time heard a voice, this time speaking with great
urgency, saying, “Come on!” But at once another voice said, “It is
1?

no good. He is coming.”
Anna ran out of the hut, no longer having any wish to remain
there alone. She decided to try and get to Krossavik, though she
had never been there before, and started off along the track. She
had not gone far, however, when she saw Einar coming, and so
turned back.
When he greeted her, she pretended to be gathering firewood
as though nothing had happened. That night they slept in the hut
and were not disturbed.
Later the next day, though, when they had stopped work to eat
their midday meal, Anna lay down to take a nap, resting her head
on a hummock of grass.
She now dreamed that a tall, burly man came to her, and some-
how she knew that it was Jon Marteinsson, who had once farmed
Steinolfsvik, but had died a long while ago. The man spoke to her,
saying, “They died in the rock-fall.”
Then, speaking more sharply, he said, “You are lying on my
own, Anna.” .
Anna started up out of her sleep and told Einar that there must
be something belonging to Jén Marteinsson buried under the
hummock. He laughed at this, making fun of her, and no more
was said of the matter at the time. But a while after this the same
place was levelled off for hay, and under the hammock they found
a hay-hook marked with the letters M.J.s.

IIO
 Anna’s dream was now thought to have been proven true, for it
was known that the hay-hook had belonged to Jon Marteinsson.

The Grétta Verse

Some years ago a boat from Seltjarnarnes in the south went fish-
ing in either the autumn or winter season, as was the custom at
the time. On the homeward voyage, however, it was believed to
have foundered right under the Grétta headland.
It happened during the night, or in the early morning hours.
A man at Grotta, who was then a boy, recalls how he was lying
awake in bed at the time, when it was as if a hurricane hit the
farm and the peninsula, and just after this he heard this verse spo-
ken at the window:

Death sought the sea-farer

— Ugly the undertow —
No peaceful night he passes there,
That sleeps under Grétta’ toe.

It occurred to him at once that this was a token of men’s having

lost their lives under the headland; and so it appeared later, for the
boat never returned.
The part of the verse that says it is not peaceful under Grotta is
true enough, for this is a fearful place for breakers.

The Phantom Boat

Many years ago a fishing vessel capsized off Eyjafjoll with four-
teen men aboard. Three of the crew managed to climb onto the
keel and called for help, for a crowd had gathered on the beach —
the boat had turned over just by the landing place — but the
breakers were so heavy that it was impossible to save them. When
they were all dead and drowned, though, the boat righted itself

III
and came in of its own accord, as if answering to the helm. And
there it stayed, beached, and no one touched it until the follow-
ing winter, when it was drawn over the ice across the Holts6s and
up to the cave Steinahellir. No man would put to sea in it again,
for all were afraid of it.
While the boat was being dragged on the ice up to the cave,
there were shepherds from the nearby farm Steinar up on the fell
with their sheep, and they saw the dead crew walking behind the
boat as it moved, and a fearful sight it was. The boat was left in a
deep hollow beyond the cave.
A short while later a farmer from the Rangarvellir district hap-
pened to ride that way. He was travelling east under the fells. It
was about midwinter, when the days are darkest. This farmer,
whose name was Thorkell and who lived at Raudnefsstadir, rode
close to the cave, for the highway lies right by it. A small stream
flows down on the western side of the cave, and Thorkell had just
forded the stream when he met a man who was unknown to him.
The man said, “Help us to launch, comrade.”
Thorkell suspected nothing, for the boat could not be seen from
the road, and he agreed to do so.
The man said no more, but turned, beckoning to Thorkell to
follow. Thorkell rode after him but thought it strange that his
horse kept whinnying and seemed unwilling to go on.
They now reached the hollow where the boat lay, and Thorkell
saw thirteen men standing about it, all bedaubed with mud.
It was now that he remembered the shipwreck of the previous
autumn, and he thought he recognised some who had been
drowned. Terrified, he laid the whip to his horse. But as he rode
up out of the hollow, he heard the following spoken:
Bootless les our boat unheeded.
Deep the darkness red.
Well the wight his steed now speeded.
Few are friends of the dead.
Few are friends of the dead.

II2
Thorkell remembered this verse. He rode now as fast as he could
and came to Steinar the same evening. After this, Farmer
Thorkell would never ride that way alone but always had a com-
panion, even by day.
The boat was finally broken up for firewood, but before this
men often heard thumps and creaks in it, especially after dusk had
fallen.

The Hauntings at Stokkseyrt

On the evening of 29 March 1892, in the winter fishing season,

some men were getting ready for bed in one of the fishermen’s
shelters. There were ten of them in the hut, all strong, healthy
men in the prime of life. The foreman of their boat was Sigurdur
Henriksson of Ranakot, a good talker and an entertaining com-
panion, who would often stay late down in the hut with his crew,
talking, when the boats were weather-bound. So it was on this
particular evening, when he stayed there until two hours short of
midnight.
It was a wild night, the sky overcast, dark and threatening, with
wind and rain from the sea. The door of the hut, which was on
the side that faced the sea, was open until this time, blowing back
and forth in the wind. When the foreman had gone, the men
closed it. There were two bunks along the wall by the door,
together with a recess where the crew kept their gear, and three
along the opposite wall on the north side. The men slept two to a
bunk.
They now went to bed, and all fell asleep but two: Eyjolfur
Olafsson, who told this story, and one other. These lay awake for
some time, talking. After a while, however, they noticed that one
of their companions was stirring in his sleep and making rather
uncanny noises. It occurred to them that Skerfléd-Mori might be
troubling him. Skerfléd-Mori was a remarkable phantom of the
district that attached itself to the members of a certain family and

113
often manifested itself before one of them appeared. It afflicted
men fiendishly in their dreams. They therefore awoke their fellow
and asked him what he had been dreaming. He replied that he
had not been dreaming at all but had experienced the most
unpleasant sensation. And while he was still speaking, one of the
other sleepers began to behave in the same manner, whimpering
most pathetically. The men who were awake did not care for this
at all. They lit a lamp and looked all round, and began talking
about the matter between them.
Eyjolfur Olafsson was lying in the middle bunk of the three on
the north side of the hut, and he was looking at the man in the
bunk opposite, nearest the door. This man was sitting up in bed
with a snuffbox in his hand, and he was on the point of helping
himself to a pinch of snuff. Suddenly Eyjolfur saw him change
colour and his hands fall. His face became blue and swollen, and
he seemed to shrink together with a pathetic cry that turned to a
whimper.
They stopped talking at once, and Eyjolfur leaped out of bed
and ran to the man to try and help him. After a while he recov-
ered and said that when he was about to take snuff he had felt a
terrible heaviness coming over him. It had drained all the strength
out of him, so that he could neither move nor give any cry for
help, except for the sound he had managed to make, and after that
he had lost his senses altogether.
The other men now thought that this had gone far enough, and
for the time at least there was little hope of a peaceful night’s rest
for any of them. They therefore got up and dressed and started
playing cards, thinking in this way to keep themselves awake. But
as time went on, some began to get sleepy again and tried to rest;
and no sooner did they drop off than the same horror came over
them, and they had no peace.
And so it went on till morning.
The men now agreed to say nothing of their experience, and see
what would happen the next night. But it was no better; all went
as it had the night before. It is said that the men took to reading

114
the Hymns of the Passion, but to no avail, for a black fly came and
settled on the book over the verse they were reading. This alarmed
them so much that they shut the book quickly, and that was the
end of their reading.
The following day they had the idea of borrowing the church
bell from Stokkseyri to have with them in the hut, and see if this
spirit was so hardened that it stood in no fear of it. They hung the
bell in the hut that evening, and during the night nothing hap-
pened. At this they were more relieved than words can tell, sup-
posing all their troubles to be over. Therefore they returned the
bell. But they rejoiced too soon, for the next night after that they
had no peace for the devilish disturbance in the hut, and this went
on for five nights in a row.
Finally they could stand it no longer and took refuge in the
farm where their foreman lived, and slept there afterwards, leav-
ing the hut untenanted.
They were not troubled at the farm, but soon after they had left
the hut there were such hauntings in a fishermen’s shelter belong-
ing to one of the other farms in the district that the men there
fled at once from it. These hauntings continued in various huts in
the area for five or six weeks without pause.
Men do not agree in their descriptions of the phantom, which
is hardly surprising, since it was probably able to assume a variety
of shapes, as is the case with such apparitions.
Eyjolfur Olafsson declares that “some” of his hut-mates saw it
“in appearance like a bluish cloud of vapour that moved back and
forth and sometimes glowed. Some were also aware of a strange
wind, sudden, sharp and chill.” Others reported having seen it as
“4 thick, bluish cloud, about an ell high,” while to others it
appeared as “a lump, about the size of a small dog,” and moreover,
it was often seen in the window of the hut, when it was “a lump
with a sort of tentacles attached to it. These fastened onto the
pane, as if it would get in.”
Not unnaturally, there were many speculations about these
hauntings and what on earth might cause them. Some thought it

115
was some kind of a monster that had “come up out of the sea.” A
few were convinced that it was “an emissary from Mosfellssveit
that had been sent against someone, but had lost its way.” Others
maintained that it must be the ghost laid long ago by Stokkseyri-
Disa in a hill near the farm where the fishermen’s shelter was and
conjured not to move so long as the hill remained undisturbed;
but now, they said, several stones had been shifted from it and
used in the building of the stable wall, whereupon the ghost had
been released to wander abroad.
Although many were eager to learn the truth about the nature
of this devil, all were agreed that the most important thing was to
get rid of it and the horror of its hauntings as soon as possible,
before all the fishermen’s huts were abandoned and the visitations
directed against the farmhouses themselves. But the question was,
how?
The Stokkseyri church bell proved a sure protection, wherever
it was, but of little benefit to the folk in other places to which the
fiend fled from it only to make a disturbance elsewhere. Men
wondered whether this disturber of the peace might not be called
to order by being confronted with the doctor and sheriff, and
these were called in. They examined the huts closely, but found
nothing, and there was no decrease in the hauntings after they
had been. This was believed to show that the devil in question
stood in no more awe of gentlefolk than of others, and it was
probably for this reason that the parish pastor was not called for
exorcism or godly prayers in the huts. It is not unlikely that the
people rather lost faith in the effectiveness of godly words when
they found that the Hymns of the Passion did not work.
Some time went by, and men had begun to despair of ever being
rid of the hauntings, but in the spring Eyjélfur Magntsson came
on a visit to Eyrarbakki. He had long been considered a man able
to use words of power and one who could see farther than his own
nose. He was now approached and asked to do something, if pos-
sible, about the ghost, and promised money.
At first, they say, Eyjolfur turned a deaf ear to the request; but

116
at their insistence, he agreed to rid them of hauntings, at least for
a while.
It is said that Eyjdlfur uttered certain powerful verses over the
ghost and sent it north to Drangey for nine years. One of the
verses went as follows:
I conjure thee, to men’s content,
Devil 1n a jerkin,
North the next nine years now sent,
Drangey’s 1sle to lurk in.

Eyjolfur did not guarantee them a longer respite than this. The
people of Stokkseyri should therefore be prepared for visits in the
year 1901.

Gestur Pdalsson and the Ghost

In the late winter of 1876 two men lost their way on the
Baejardalur heath. The men, whose names were Haflidi and
Gudfinnur and who came from Strandasysla county and
Geiradalur respectively, had reached the southern part of the
heath when they were caught in a fierce snowstorm.
As often happens in such cases, the two now disagreed violent-
ly over the direction they should take to reach the nearest habita-
tion. They ended by parting in anger and each going his own way.
The following afternoon Gudfinnur was found by the shepherd
from Myrartunga, crawling on all fours not far from the farm-
stead. A doctor was at once sent for from the next farm — it was
the late Olafur Sigvaldsson — while men set out with a sledge
and other gear to look for Haflidi. They found him under a rock
near the head of Baejardalur, frozen to death. His body was taken
to Gillastadir, the next farm north of Myrartunga.
Meanwhile Gudfinnur was put in a small, panelled room at the
front of the house at Myrartunga and watched over day and night,
for his feet and hands were badly frostbitten.

117
 At first the farm girls were got to sit with him at night, but they
had no liking at all for this. They kept hearing heavy thuds, they
said, with creaking and scraping, like the sound of frozen clothes,
both outside the door and in front of the house. It was therefore
deemed proper to relieve faint-hearted womenfolk of the task,
and the men were made to sit over the patient instead. However,
they soon took to complaining, too, saying that the place was
more than a little haunted, and they flatly refused to watch there
at night.
So that evening the whole matter was discussed at some length
in the Jadstofa, and although my father and my brother both
made light of it, it was as if a weight had been lifted from every-
one when Gestur offered to watch there that night himself.
I was away from home that winter, but Gestur told me his own
story in the following words:
“After evening prayers had been read, people undressed and got
into bed. I bade everyone good night and took an oil lamp. I am
sure that no officer going to the wars could ever have been fol-
lowed by heartier good wishes when he left home than I was, as I
stepped into the opening to go downstairs.
“T sat on a chair opposite the patient’s bed. There was a table on
my left, and I put the lamp on it. Then I began to read, for the
patient was asleep. I had closed the bedroom door behind me.
“All of a sudden, Gudfinnur sat up in bed, looked across at the
door, and said, ‘Go away, Haflidi. When will you stop coming
here to torment me?’ As he spoke, there was such a fearful crash
on the wall behind me that I started to my feet. Then I heard
footsteps to the front door, and after that a great racket outside
the house, though I had not heard the outside door opened.
“I now rushed out of the room, opened the front door quickly,
and ran out into the snow-storm to see if there was anyone there.
And standing by the wall of the house I saw a man completely
encased in ice and snow.
“I had seen Haflidi once, and I thought I recognised him. I

118
called out, “Who are you’ But thereupon the apparition vanished
in the snow.
“At once I ran into the house, closed the door after me, and
woke the people in the dadsfofa, telling them what I had seen.
“Early the next morning Gudfinnur died.”

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 iLepahhsalice Beet
Ode
Wali Zale Ds
 Saemundur the Learned

Saemundur the Learned sailed overseas and went to the Black

School. There was no schoolmaster seen there; all that men would
know was written on the wall. And over the door of the Black
School, on the inside, were inscribed the words: “Enter; lost is the
soul.”
It was a rule of the school that all who attended must be there
three years, and leave on the day and at the hour they had come.
And the Devil was always to have the last to go.
Once there were three Icelanders at the Black School:
Saemundur, Kalfur Arnason, and Halfdan, who was later priest at
Fell in Sléttuhlid. They were all due to leave together, and
Saemundur offered to be the last. The others accepted his offer
gladly. There were steps leading up to the entrance of the school-
house. When Saemundur went up the steps and came near the
door, the sun shone in on him and cast his shadow on the wall.
Satan was about to seize Saemundur, when the latter said, “I am
not the last. See you not the one behind me?”
Satan now snatched at the shadow, thinking it to be a man,
while Saemundur slipped out, and the door slammed on his heel.
From that day forth Saemundur always lacked a shadow, for
Satan never let it go.

Il
When Saemundur, Kalfur and Halfdan left the Black School, the
living of Oddi was vacant, and each of them sued the king for it.
The king knew well enough with what kind of men he was deal-
ing, so he said that he should have Oddi who was the first to get
there.
Saemundur went at once to summon the Devil and said to him,
“Swim with me out to Iceland, and if you can put me ashore with-
out wetting the skirt of my cassock, you shall have my soul.”
 The Devil agreed to this, assumed the shape of a seal, and took
Saemundur on his back.
All the way to Iceland Saemundur read his psalter. After a short
while they came close to land. Saemundur then struck the seal on
the head with the psalter, so that it sank and he was thrown in the
water and swam ashore.
In this way Satan got the worst of the bargain, while
Saemundur got Oddi.

Ill

The priest Saemundur the Learned promised a certain witch in

Saxony that he would marry her, but when he went to Iceland and
did not return, she saw that she had been fooled and had no hope
of getting him back. After some years had passed she therefore
determined to avenge his faithlessness and sent him a gilded chest
with instructions that none but he was to open it.
The vessel with this cargo made an unusually swift passage,
reaching harbour somewhere in the south, and the crew at once
sent a man with the said chest to Oddi. Saemundur was in the
church when the man arrived. The gift came as no surprise to
him, but he welcomed the man and told him to put the chest on
the altar. This he did, and the chest lay there that night.
The next day Saemundur rode with the chest up to the top of
Hekla, where he threw it into a gulley. Hence the fires of Hekla
have their source.

IV

Saemundur the Learned used to say that there was a wishing hour
each day, but only for the wink of an eye, and few ever succeeded
in catching it. Others say that the wishing hour only comes on a
Saturday.
Once Saemundur was in the dadstofa with the maidservants and

123
said, “Now, girls, this is the wishing hour. Each of you wish what-
ever you will.”
One of the girls then cried out:

A single wish, no more nor less,

Is now my heart’ destre:
That seven sons I may possess,
And Saemundur be their sire.

“And die when you bear the last of them,” exclaimed Saemundur,
for he was angered by the girl’s wish.
This girl’s name was Gudrun, and she later became
Saemundur’s wife. They had seven sons, as she had wished, but
she died in childbirth of the seventh.
Saemundur always kept the clothes that Gudran had worn
when she was a maidservant, and from time to time he would
show them to her, to keep her pride in check; for she was very
proud of the station to which she had risen. A mark of her pride
was that once a poor man came to her and asked her to give him
a drink, and she said:

Go to the river, my good man;

The bishop’ horse must do the same.

Vv

There was another servant woman who used to do most of the

weaving at Oddi. Once while she was at her loom a man came to
her and asked whether Oddi were a good place in which to be
hired. She answered that it was not bad, though food was some-
times rather short because of the great coming and going of
guests and other visitors.
“Are you not sometimes hungry, then?” asked the stranger.
“Not usually,” she said.
“Would you not be glad of a cake smeared with butter by your
bed every evening?”
She replied that she would not refuse it.

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 He now told her that he would see to it that there was a cake
smeared with butter by her bed every evening, but in return she
must promise never to pray for Saemundur. If she did so, she
would get no buttered cake.
The woman said she thought she could manage to leave that
undone.
For a long time that winter, therefore, she did not pray for
Saemundur, even when he sneezed and people said, “God bless
you.” And there was a piece of buttered cake by her bed every
evening.
Then one day she was weaving and Saemundur came and began
to talk to her. After they had been talking for a while, the priest
was seized with a sudden violent fit of sneezing, but she pretend-
ed not to notice. A little later he began to sneeze even more vio-
lently, and then she said, “God help you, Sira Saemundur, do not
sneeze your wits away.”
At this, Sira Saemundur stopped sneezing and said, “I think you
will not get your buttered cake tonight.”
And these were true words, for from that time on the weaving
woman never had cake and butter from Old Nick.

VI

Another winter, a strange man came to Saemundur’s dairy maid

and offered to fetch water for her, muck out the cowshed, and do
other jobs for her all winter, if in return she would give him what
she had under her apron. The dairy maid thought this a good bar-
gain, for there was nothing she valued under her apron, so far as
she could remember; for at the time she had no idea that she was
with child. She therefore agreed readily to the stranger’s terms.
However, as the months went by, the girl’s eyes were gradually
opened to her situation. She became very silent and moody and
seemed absent-minded. Noticing this, Saemundur asked the rea-
son for the change. At first she would say nothing, but finally had
no choice but to tell the whole truth, and of her bargain with the

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stranger. Saemundur let her understand that he had been aware of
her plight, though he had not interfered before.
“Fear not,” he said. “I shall teach you how to cheat the Devil of
his bargain. Tomorrow you must tell him to bring you water in a
sieve, and come by the lych-gate, or else he will lose his bond.”
The dairy-maid did as Saemundur bade her. The stranger took
the sieve and strutted off to fetch water, but when he got to the
lych-gate, Saemundur came and tolled the bell, and all the water
ran out of the sieve. Three times the stranger tried, but always
with the same result. Then he threw down the sieve in a rage and
vanished.
Later the girl bore her child, but the Devil never came to claim
it. He was resolved, though, to repay Saemundur the priest for the
trick that had been played on him.

Vu

Once Saemundur the Learned had a large amount of dry hay in

the meadow, and it looked like rain. He therefore told all his
workers to try their hardest to get the hay stacked before the rain
started.
Among those working for him there was a very old woman
named Thorhildur. The priest came to her and asked her if she
could manage to hobble out to the field and help rake the scat-
tered hay. She said she would do her best. She took a rake, tied
the cap she usually wore on her head to the end of it, and so
hobbled out into the meadow, having first told Saemundur to
stay by the stackyard and receive the hay. It would not take long
for them to bind it and bring it home, she said. The priest
replied that he would follow her advice, for it would be for the
best.
When the old woman got out to the meadow, she stuck the rake
handle under each hay truss that had been heaped, and said, “Up
to the stackyard to Saemundur with you.”
This was a spell, for every truss under which she stuck the rake

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handle with these words at once vanished to the stackyard. Here
Saemundur ordered Satan and his imps to stack as hard as they
could, and in a short while all the hay was stacked out of the rain.
Afterwards, Saemundur remarked to the old woman, “You
know a thing or two, Thérhildur my dear.”
She replied, “Not much now, and most that I knew in my
younger days I have forgotten.”

Vil
Once Saemundur the Learned had a cowman who swore too
much, as it seemed to him, and he often rebuked him for it. He
told him that the Devil and his imps were nourished on all the
oaths and curses that fell from the lips of men.
“Tf I knew that Old Nick would go without his supper because
of it, Iwould never utter a bad word,” said the cowman. “We shall
soon see whether you mean what you say,” replied Saemundur,
and he put an imp in the cowshed.
The cowman had little liking for this visitor, who did all he
could to make life difficult for him, so that it was as much as he
could manage to keep from swearing. Nevertheless a while passed
in which he was able to do so with fair success, and then he saw
how the imp grew thinner, day by day. The cowman was highly
gratified to see this, and now he never swore.
One morning, though, when he came into the cowshed he
found everything broken and topsy-turvy and the cows all tied
together by their tails, and there were many of them. Thereupon
the cowman turned to the imp, where it lay thin and miserable in
its stall, and poured out his wrath over it in dreadful oaths and
imprecations. To his vexation and distress, he now saw the imp
recover and become suddenly so plump and chubby that it
seemed it would turn all to fat. The cowman made an effort to
control himself and stopped swearing, for he saw that Saemundur
the Learned had been telling the truth, and he has never sworn
nor spoken an evil word since that day.

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 As for the imp that lived on his oaths, it has long been out of
the story.
You and I would do well to follow the cowman’s example.

Ix
Saemundur the Learned was once in need of a cowman, and he
took Satan himself on and let him be in the byre.
All went well throughout the winter, and the Devil did his work
in a most praiseworthy manner. But on Easter Sunday, while
Saemundur was in the pulpit, along came the cowman and piled
up all the muck outside the church door, so that when the priest
wanted to go out after Mass, he could not get by.
Seeing this, he sent for Satan and made him clear all the muck
away and put it where it came from, whether he would or not.
Moreover, so sternly did he set him to the task that he compelled
him to lap up every last drop, and Satan lapped so hard that he
made a hollow in the paving stone before the church door.
The stone is there to this day, though only a quarter of it
remains. It lies before the farmhouse door now, and the hollow in
it can still be seen.

Xx

Saemundur died in the year 1133, though in what circumstances

is not known. However, men say that when he had been dead for
three days he rose up on his bier and recited the poem that is gen-
erally included in his Edda and is called the Sun-lay.
He is buried by the church of St. Nicholas at Oddi in
Rangarvellir, some way to the northwest of the church door. The
stone over his grave is of unhewn rock and is now very sunken. It
was long believed (though now the belief is fading) that if sick
people watched it at night, their sickness went from them —
especially those who lived there.
Saemundur had seven children, the most renowned of whom
was Loftur. He, too, was a priest, and lived at Naefurholt, a farm

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that was then in the heart of the parish, standing at the foot of
Mount Hekla.

The Witch-Ride

There was a certain pastor, a fine man and a man of substance,

who was newly married at the time when these events took place.
His wife was young and beautiful, and he was devoted to her, for
she was a paragon among all the women of the neighbouring
parishes of that time. However, there was one flaw in her conduct
at which the pastor was not a little concerned, and this was her
habit of disappearing every Christmas Eve, no one knew whith-
er. Her husband asked her about it often and earnestly, but she
would reply that it was no business of his. This was the only occa-
sion of disagreement between them.
One day a youthful vagabond was given work at the parsonage
for a while. He was somewhat small and weakly, but it was the
general opinion that he knew more than most men.
Time passed uneventfully until Christmas came. On Christmas
Eve the youth was out in the stable grooming the pastor's stall-
horse, when suddenly the mistress appeared with a great bustle
and started to engage him in conversation about one thing and
another. The next thing he knew, she had drawn a bridle from
under her apron and put it on him. This was possessed of such
magic power that the youth suffered the pastor’s wife to mount
him, and set off at once with her on his back, like a bird on the
wing.
Over fell and dale he flew; over rocks and rubble and whatever
lay in his path. To him it seemed as if he were wading a great
cloud of smoke.
At last they came to a little house. Here the pastor’s wife dis-
mounted and tethered the youth to a hook in the wall. Then she
went to the door of the house and knocked. A man opened the
door, greeted her very warmly, and led her inside.

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 After they had disappeared, the youth contrived to free the bri-
dle from the hook, and took it off, putting it in his coat. Then he
climbed up the roof of the house and looked down through a
crack to see what was happening inside.
He saw twelve women sitting at a table, with the man who had
come to the door making a thirteenth. Among the women he
recognised his mistress. They all seemed to hold the man in great
awe, and each in turn was telling him of her various arts and
accomplishments. When the turn of the pastor’s wife came, she
said she had ridden thither on a living man, and the master
appeared to be much impressed, for, he said, to ride a living man
was the most powerful witch-ride of all. She must excel all others
in witchcraft, he told her, “For I know of none beside myself that
can do this.”
The other women now crowded round, eagerly asking to be
taught this art. The man laid a book on the table. It was grey and
inscribed with fiery letters that shone throughout the room,
where there was no other light. He began to teach the women
from the book, explaining its contents to them, and the youth
committed to memory all that he said.
When the lesson was over, each of the women brought forth a
bottle of red fluid from which the master supped, returning the
bottles to them. After that they took leave of him with great rev-
erence and left, each, as the youth could now see, with her bridle
and mount. One had the leg-bone of a horse, another a jawbone,
a third a shoulder-bone, and so on. Each now bridled her mount
and rode away.
But the pastor’s wife looked for hers in vain. She rushed all
round the house, and when she least expected, the youth leaped
down from the roof and threw the bridle over her. Then he
mounted on her back and rode home.
He had learned so much that he was able to guide her in the
right way, and nothing is told of their journey until they reached
the stable from which they had gone. The youth then dismount-
ed and tied the pastor’s wife in the stall. After that, he went inside

130
and told his story, saying where he had been, and where the mis-
tress was, and how all had come about.
Everyone was astonished at his story; not least the pastor,
whose wife was now taken and forced to confess.
In the end she admitted that she and eleven other pastors’ wives
had spent several years at the Black School, and the Fiend him-
self had taught them witchcraft, and now only one year was left
of their studies. For his fee, their master had required their blood,
which was what the youth had seen in the bottles.
Later the pastor’s wife received a fitting payment for her crimes.

Loftur the Enchanter

There was once a youth named Loftur at the school of Holar. He

made a great study of magic, and got others to do the same —
though they had little from it but juggling. Loftur encouraged his
schoolfellows to play various magical tricks on others, and was
himself the ringleader.
Once he went home to his parents for Christmas. Taking a
serving-wench, he shod and bridled her, and then witch-rode her
there and back again. She lay abed for long afterwards, because of
her hurts; but could speak of it to no one so long as Loftur was
alive.
Another time he got one of the serving-girls there with child,
and his magic was the cause of her death.
It was this girl’s task to empty ash from the kitchen. For greater
ease the ash was carried in a kind of trough-shaped utensil or pan,
which held a large amount of ash. To spare her trouble, Loftur
opened a passage for the girl through the wall. But she was so
frightened that she hesitated, whereupon the magic stuck fast and
the wall closed up again.
Years later, when the wall was broken up, in it was found a
female skeleton standing upright, a heap of ashes in its embrace
and the bones of an unborn child within it.

131
 For his behaviour Loftur was rebuked by the dean, Thorleifur
Skaftason, who was pastor of the cathedral at that time, but he
changed his ways little on that account. Later he quarrelled with
the dean, but could do him no harm, for he was so much a man
of God, and at the same time so learned in magic arts, that noth-
ing unclean could harm him.
Once the dean was riding to church and had to cross the river
Hjaltadalsa in flood at the time of the thaw. The horse took fright
and shied in the middle of the river, so that the dean was obliged
to dismount there, and clutching the bag containing his gown, he
waded with it to the bank. He was none the worse for the expe-
rience and held service that day, but the following rhyme was
composed on the occasion:
Much I wonder at your tidings:
Home to Hélar winds the track.
On Shank’ mare the dean came riding,
Slung his gown upon his back.

Loftur did not relinquish his studies until he had learned all there
was in the book Greyskin and had got it by heart. He then con-
sulted various sorcerers, but there was none that knew more than
he. He became so strange and ill-humoured now that all his
schoolfellows feared him. They dared not but let him have his
own way in all things, though they were often filled with horror.
Early one winter Loftur approached a boy whom he knew to be
courageous and asked him to help conjure up the bishops of
ancient times. The boy was most reluctant to do so, but Loftur
threatened him with death if he refused. The boy then asked what
help he could give, since he knew no magic. Loftur replied that
he need only stand in the belfry and hold the bell-rope, not budge
an inch, but watch him constantly, and ring the bell as soon as he
had a signal.
“Now I shall tell you exactly what I mean to do.” said Loftur.
“Those who have learned sorcery as I have can only use it for evil
ends, and must needs be lost when they die. If a man learned

132
enough, the Devil would no longer have any power over him and
would have to serve him without receiving anything in return, as
he served Saemundur the Learned. And anyone who knew that
much could himself choose to what ends he used his knowledge,
good or ill, as he wished. But such knowledge cannot be won
nowadays, since the Black School came to an end and Bishop
Gottskalk the Cruel had the book Redskin buried with him. Now
I would raise him up and conjure him to surrender the book to
me, and all the bishops of old will then rise up, too, for they can-
not stand as much conjuration as Gottskalk, and I shall make
them reveal to me the arts they learned in their lifetime — this
will not be difficult for me, for I shall be able to read in their faces
whether they knew magic or no. But the later bishops I cannot
raise, for they were all buried with Holy Scripture on their breasts.
You play your part faithfully, now, and do as I tell you. Ring nei-
ther too soon nor too late, for my present and eternal welfare will
depend on it. I shall then reward you so well that none shall be
your equal.”
On this they made a compact, and soon after bedtime they got
up, and went out to the Church.
It was moonlight outside, and the church was bright. The other
boy took his place in the belfry, while Loftur went up into the
pulpit and began to conjure. A man with a grave but kindly look
on his face soon came up out of the ground. He was wearing a
crown on his head, and the boy guessed that this must be the ear-
liest bishop of all. This same man spoke to Loftur.
“Cease, wretched man, while there is yet time; for heavily will
the prayers of my brother Gvendur fall upon you, if you disturb
his rest,” he said.
But Loftur paid him no heed and continued to conjure. All the
bishops of old now appeared from their graves in order, wearing
white shifts with a cross at the breast, and each holding a staff in
his hand. All exchanged words with Loftur, though what they said
is not recorded. Three of them were crowned: the first and last, and
one in the middle (probably Gudmundur Arason, though a little

133
out of place). In none of these was any magic revealed. Gottskalk
resisted the conjuration, though, and Loftur now began to do his
utmost, aiming it at Gottskalk alone. He turned the penitential
psalms about in the Devil’s name and confessed all that he had
done well. The three crowned bishops stood furthest away from
Loftur, their hands uplifted and their faces turned towards him,
while the others looked at them, their backs to him.
Suddenly there was a loud crash, and one appeared holding a
staff in his left hand and with a red book under his right arm. He
bore no cross on his breast. He glared angrily at the bishops but
grinned at Loftur, who was conjuring his hardest; and moving a
littie closer, he said ironically, “Well chanted, my son, and much
better than I expected. But you shall not have my Redskin.”
Loftur was now like a man possessed, and it was as if he had not
conjured at all until now. He turned the words of benediction and
the Lord’s Prayer backwards in the Devil’s name. The whole
church heaved and shook, as in an earthquake.
To the boy it appeared that Gottskalk moved closer to Loftur
and unwillingly held out one corner of the book to him.
Frightened as he had been before, the boy now shook with ter-
ror and turned faint. Loftur seemed to stretch out his hand for the
book held by the bishop. At that moment, though, the boy
thought he gave a signal, and he seized the bell-rope.
All then vanished into the ground with a mighty roar.
For a while Loftur stood in the pulpit, speechless and resting his
head in his hands. ‘Then he moved with faltering steps, slowly
back to his fellow.
“Things did not go as well as they should have gone, now,” he
said. “But for that I do not blame you. I ought to have waited until
dawn. The bishop would then have surrendered the book to me
of his own free will, for he would not have withheld it to be
denied refuge in his own grave, nor would the other bishops have
allowed it. But he was stronger than I in our exchanges, for when
I saw the book and heard his taunt, I became so angry that I
would have had it at once by my spells, and I first realised what I

134
was doing when things had gone so far that, with a single spell
more, the whole church would have sunk into the ground, which
was what he intended. At that moment, however, I saw the faces
of the crowned bishops and took fright, though I knew you would
fall into a faint at the bell-rope, and the bell would ring. But the
book was so near that I thought I could get it, and indeed I
touched a corner of it and was not far from getting a grip on it so
as to hold it from falling. But what must be, must be, and my fate
is settled, as well as your reward. Nevertheless from now on let us
speak no more of this matter.”
Loftur was very silent after this, and almost out of his mind, so
that he dared at no time be left alone, and lamps had to be lit for
him as soon as darkness began to fall.
About this time he was heard to murmur to himself, “On the
third Sunday in Lent I shall be suffering the torments of Hell.”
He was now advised to seek refuge with a certain aged pastor at
Stadarstadur. This was a man of great faith and an excellent cler-
ic. All those who were disturbed in their wits or the victims of
sorcery had relief when he laid hands on them. Loftur asked him
for shelter, and the pastor pitied him and took him in. Day or
night, indoors and out, he never parted from him.
Loftur now recovered his spirits greatly, though the pastor was
never without fear on his behalf. What troubled him most was
that Loftur would never pray with him. Yet he went with him
whenever he visited the sick and suffering, and was present then.
This happened often, so that when the pastor went from home he
always had his gown with him, together with patten and chalice,
bread and wine.
Time now passed, until Saturday on the eve of the third Sunday
in Lent arrived. Loftur was then sick, and the pastor sat with him
and comforted him with Christian discourse. But that morning,
at about the third hour, word was brought from a friend of the
pastor’s in the parish, who was at death’s door and desired him to
come and administer the sacraments to him, and prepare him for
a godly end.

135
 The pastor neither would nor could deny this request. He
therefore asked Loftur if he felt able to accompany him. But
Loftur answered that he could not move at all for pains and
weakness. The pastor then told him that he would come to no
harm so long as he did not stir from the house while he was away.
Loftur promised to stay indoors. The pastor now blessed him and
parted from him with a kiss, and at the door of the house he fell
on his knees and prayed, and made the sign of the cross over the
threshold. He was heard to say under his breath, “God alone
knows if this man will be saved and whether there are not
stronger prayers than mine directed against him.”
The pastor now visited the man who had sent for him, minis-
tered to him, and was with him when he died. After this he hur-
ried homewards, riding faster than was his wont.
Soon after the pastor had left home, Loftur rapidly began to
feel better. It was the finest weather and he longed to go out. The
men were all down at the fishing huts and there was no one at
home but women and children, and they were powerless to hin-
der him.
Loftur now went out and walked to a neighbouring farm. In
this place lived an elderly farmer, reputed to be something of a
rogue, who had stopped fishing. Loftur urged him to launch a
small boat he owned and row him a short way out from land, to
fish for sport, and the farmer agreed to do so.
The sea remained calm all that day, but nothing was ever heard
of the boat again. It was thought strange that not so much as an
oar-blade even ever drifted ashore.
One man believed he had seen the boat from the land just as it
reached open water, and said that a grey arm, covered with hair,
had come up and grasped the stern, where Loftur was sitting, and
drawn them under, boat and all.

136
 The Ghost Spring

There are many hot springs at Grafarbakki, in the parish of

Hrunamannahreppur. Not far from this is the farm called Reykja-
dalur.
There was once a wise woman living at Reykjadalur. She envied
the mistress of Grafarbakki her hot springs, which saved her fire-
wood. She therefore conjured up a ghost and commanded it to
fetch a good hot spring from Grafarbakki and bear it to
Reykjadalur.
The ghost went off, took up one of the hot springs, and bore it
in its hands like a butter-churn.
But when it was about halfway across the marshes above Gréf
— now called Hvammur — it could endure the heat of the spring
no more, and dropped it.
Ever since that day it has been there, at some distance from the
other hot springs, and is known as the Ghost Spring.

Stra Halfdan of Fell and Fiddle-Byjérn

Sira Halfdan of Fell in Sléttuhlid had a sister named Hildi-

gunnur. Her husband died and she moved to Lonakot, where she
lived in great poverty on a small holding. She had a son named
Bjérn, a sturdy lad and stout, who played the fiddle remarkably
well. Bjérn spent little time at home, though, and was not much
help to his mother. He preferred to wander from farm to farm and
from one parish to the next, and he was well received wherever he
went, thanks to his skill. But this was not of much use to his
mother, who at last decided to send him to Sira Halfdan, her
brother, to see whether he could not keep him at some useful
work.
One fine day, therefore, she fitted Bjérn out for the journey with
food and new footgear. Off he went, having been that way many

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times before, and there is nothing to tell of his travels, except that
on the road he heard fairy voices, as had sometimes happened to
him before. Beside this, he once found himself in such a fog and
darkness that he could barely see his hand before his face, and
therefore sat down under a large rock and played his fiddle to
while the time away. It then seemed to him as though he could
hear verses spoken from within the rock, and these have been pre-
served from oblivion. They are so fine that it seems right to record
them here, though it is more than likely that Bjorn composed the
lines himself and sang them to the tune of his own fiddle:

My figure a boat
That abandoned lies
On the cold beach,
Shelterless.
Wildly thunder
The waves on the shore.
So at daybreak sings
The heart’ despair.
My figure a bird
That huddled hes
And flies from the storm
Featherless.
No song on the water;
No joy more.
So at daybreak sings
The heart’s despair.
My figure a harp
That forgotten les
Against the wall,
Tuneless
And soot-blackened;
Missed in maidens’ bower.
So at daybreak sings
The heart’s despair.

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No more is said of Bjérn’s journey until he came to Fell to his
uncle and gave him his mother’s message. Sira Halfdan received
him well and soon took to telling him how wrong it was for him
to drift about the countryside like a vagabond. The pastor spoke
in such a manner that in the end he persuaded Bjérn to let him-
self be hired. Sira Halfdan was of a teasing disposition, as stories
tell, and he decided to amuse himself at the boy’s expense and put
his courage to the test; for he knew that Bjérn was a bold and
determined lad, but he wanted to try him to the utmost. He
therefore contrived various illusions for his benefit.
On one occasion, as he often did, he sent Bjérn down to the
boathouse in the evening to fetch fishing tackle that had been left
there during the day. When the boy got there he found everything
turned topsy-turvy and the tackle scattered hither and thither all
over the place. But that was not all: there were a dozen or more
devils and ghosts there, all playing merry hell, screaming, belch-
ing flames, vomiting forth their entrails and throwing their heads
about.
Bjorn took all this very calmly, but he had considerable difficul-
ty in gathering up the tackle, though in the end he managed to do
so. Then he started off for the house. The spectres now pursued
him all the way to the farmhouse, but he pretended not to see
them.
When he got back, the pastor asked what had happened to
delay him. He replied that there had been nothing out of the
ordinary, but the confounded tackle had been scattered about like
horse droppings all over the place. Then the pastor asked him
whether he had noticed any lads from below playing about there.
Bjorn said indeed he had, but he had only been entertained by
that.
Another time Bjérn was out watching the pastor’s lambs, and
towards dusk twelve men came to him and asked whether he
would join them in a game. This he agreed to do, though the
game turned out to be rather a strange one. The men all began
shaking and hopping and hitting each other, and then they took

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off their heads and hurled them at one another, hitting Bjorn as
often as their fellows, and painfully, too.
However, he did not wait before returning the compliment, tak-
ing off his own head and hurling it at them.
They amused themselves in this manner for a while, then ended
their game and put their heads on once more — but all back to
front, and Bjérn’s the same. After this the strangers vanished and
Bjorn began driving his flock back to the farm. He had some dif-
ficulty over this, however, though he could see his heels and the
back of his legs well enough.
The pastor came out to meet him and asked how he had man-
aged.
“Well enough,” said Bjérn. “But I find it a little strange being
able to see better behind than before; though I dare say I shall get
used to it in time.”
The pastor smiled and passed his hand over Bjérn’s head, and it
became as before.
A short while after this the body of an old woman was brought
to Fell for burial and was carried into the church. This was late in
the day. Guests came to the house at the same time, and the pas-
tor bade Bjorn go out and get bedding for them. He kept this
stored in the loft of the church.
Bjérn did as he was bidden, but as he was coming down the
steps with the bedding in his arms, the corpse of the old woman
rose up behind him and leaped onto his back, hooking its legs
about his sides and fastening its fingers round his neck so as
almost to choke him.
“Could she be serious?” were Bjérn’s words then, and going to
the door-post, he beat her against it, but to no purpose, for she
only held the tighter. With great difficulty he managed to get
through the church door and across to the house with this burden
on his back. Here the pastor met him and asked how he did.
“Oh, well enough,” he answered. “But I find it rather difficult to
get through doors.”
The pastor said that he believed him, and he released him from

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his burden, though not without some trouble; so he promised
never to play him tricks like that again. After this, Bjorn was in
great favour with his uncle.
The story now moves to a man named Grimur who lived not
far from Fell. He had a daughter named Valdis, a pretty, sweet-
natured girl. One evening she went out with the washing and
met a stranger, who did his utmost to beguile her into love-
making, but she resisted all his blandishments. For a long while
they bandied words with one another, until finally farmer
Grimur appeared on the scene, and the man was forced to go.
But from this day Valdis was quite dumb and half-bemused in
her wits.
Grimur tried every possible expedient to cure the girl, but all in
vain. And when all else had failed, he went to Sira Halfdan of Fell
and asked for his help. The pastor was reluctant to give it, how-
ever, and wanted to have as little as possible to do with the mat-
ter. Of course a spell had been cast on the girl, he said, and the
first thing to do was to find out who had cast it and persuade
them to take it off; needless to say, though, this had been done by
a rock-giant, and one whom it was quite beyond his power to
force into obedience.
Grimur now begged the pastor more urgently than ever to help
him in his trouble, and in the end Sira Halfdan let himself be per-
suaded by his entreaties and said he would do what he could.
Nevertheless it seemed to him that he had undertaken no small
task, for he would have to summon all the elves, dwarves, ghosts
and trolls between the Blanda and Oxar rivers. Indeed he did this,
but still the culprit remained undiscovered.
The pastor now called Bjérn to him and asked him whether he
dared ride a willing horse that could go as well over the sea as it
could on land. Bjérn answered that he had not been disposed to
giddiness hitherto, though he climbed on the back of a horse.
The pastor now led forth a bay foal with a dark stripe and told
him to ride to the island of Grimsey, strike on a certain pinnacle
of rock, and say, “Sira Halfdan conjures thee out of the rock,

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Bergfinnur, and summons thee and thy trollop to meet at
Fellsendi.”
Bjorn mounted the foal and rode away, and they passed so low
over the water to Grimsey that he got both his feet wet. He car-
ried out his errand, as instructed, and returned home safe and
sound. But when he had dismounted, he discovered that his steed
was the hip-bone of a man. The pastor asked him how he had
liked his mount, but he had little to say in its favour and remarked
that clearly it had not been corn-fed.
Bergfinnur and his troll-wife came to the meeting at Fellsendi
at the appointed time. He was somewhat reluctant to admit his
guilt and thought to do Sira Halfdan to death by hurling rocks
down at him, and the pastor would hardly have been able to man-
age the pair of them had his sister Hildigunnur not got wind of
what was going on and hurried thither. Between them they con-
trived to overcome the trolls and make them confess and submit
to the pastor's power. He then commanded Bergfinnur to lift the
spell from Valdis, and she was cured.
This story of Fiddle-Bjérn ends with his marrying Valdis. They
had a farm at Braedraa river and lived there in prosperity to old
age. Bjorn became a man of substance, settled, and respected by
all. But he ever kept faith with his fiddle.

Sira Exrikur of Vogs6s

A cottager once lived in the Biskupstungur district. He was very

old and adept in ancient lore, and he had few dealings with com-
mon folk. Among his possessions were two that he cherished
most: a heifer, which he nurtured with loving care, and a book
whose contents were unknown to other men. The old fellow was
buried at Skalholt, having desired of the bishop that both cow and
book be laid in the grave with him, or else it would be the worse
for all. This was done, but many years later Eirfkur Magntisson
and his schoolfellows at Skalholt conjured the old man out of his

142
grave and got from him the earlier part of his book. From these
pages they composed the book called Greyskin that lay for a long
time on the table in the schoolhouse at Skalholt.
It was not long before word got around that Eirikur of Vogs6s
was practising magic. The bishop therefore summoned him and,
showing him Greyskin, asked if he knew what was in that book.
Eirikur now turned over the pages of the book, and said, “I do
not know a single letter here.” He swore an oath on this, and
afterwards went home. Later, however, he told one of his
acquaintances that he had known every letter in the book but one
alone, and bade him reveal this when he was dead, but not before.
Many young lads went to Sira Eirikur and asked him to teach
them. He tested them in various ways and taught only those
whom he would.
One boy came to him and asked to be taught magic. Sira
Eirikur said, “Stay here till Sunday. Then come with me to
Krysuvik. After that I shall tell you whether I will teach you or
not.”
On the Sunday they rode off together, but when they came to
the sandflats Sira Eirikur said, “I have forgotten my handbook. I
left it under my pillow. Go back and fetch it, but do not open it
on any account.”
The boy went back and got the book, and rode out to the sand-
flats again. Then his curiosity got the better of him and he opened
it, whereupon innumerable imps appeared, crying, “What’s to do?
What’s to do?”
He replied quickly, “Plait ropes of the sand.”
The imps sat down to this, while the boy went on his way,
catching up with the pastor in the lava field.
Sira Eirikur took the book from him and said, “You have
opened it.”
The boy denied it.
They continued on their journey, as intended.
On the way home the pastor saw the imps sitting on the sand,
plaiting ropes, and he said, “I knew you had opened the book, my

143
dear boy, though you denied it. But the expedient you adopted was
very clever, and it will be worth trying to teach you something.”
And so, men say, Sira Eirikur instructed him.
Once some horsemen came to Vogsés. They were on their way
from market, but could go no further, for the estuary of the river
was impassable, and thus they were obliged to unload their hors-
es at midday.
Sira Eirfkur liked his dram. He came to the travellers and asked
them whether they could not let him have a little refreshment. All
refused, except one, who took out a flask and let the pastor have
a swig.
Eirikur said to this man, “You should unload right by the mouth
of the river, but take your time over it, and do not remove the sad-
dles. And when the others have unsaddled and hobbled their
horses, you must reload quickly, and I shall do my best to get you
across.”
The man did as he was bidden. And when he had finished
reloading, Eirikur came back — for he had been home meanwhile
— and went before the man, bidding him follow.
They came down to the river at a place where a bridge of snow
crossed the estuary. Sira Eirikur said that it would be safe to cross
by it, though the snow was not thick, and he went before, the man
following after him, and they got over safely.
When the other travellers saw this, they hurried to catch their
horses, saddled and loaded them again, and were of a mind to
cross by the snow-bridge, too. But when they reached the estuary,
there was no bridge and it was impassable as before, so they had
to turn back, unload and hobble their horses once more, put up
their tents, and lie where they were. .
Sira Eirikur played this trick on them because he knew they had
refused him brandy out of meanness, and not because they had
had none.
Once travellers came to Vogsds in winter and some of them
went without leave to the pastor’s haystack and helped themselves
to hay for their horses.

144
 The next morning these continued on their way, but when they
reached the estuary, their horses began to drink, and went on
drinking, however hard they tried to urge them on.
Hearing that the travellers were stuck at the river, Sira Eirikur
went down to find out what was happening, and when he came
there, he said, “It’s thirsty, the hay of Vogsés. You should not give
it to your horses again.”
With this they parted, each going his own way.
One night a man stayed at Vogsés. He was very downcast, and
Sira Eirikur called him to one side and asked him what ailed him.
The man was reluctant to say, but in the end he admitted that it
was because his betrothed had rejected him before he went from
home, and he asked the pastor if he could help him.
Sira Eirikur replied that it was quite out of the question. He
told the man to go to bed, but was the last one up himself.
That night there was a knock on the door, and Sira Eirikur
answered it. Outside stood a girl, dressed in her petticoat and wet
to the skin, for it was raining. Greeting the pastor, she begged for
shelter, saying that she was half-dead with cold. He invited her in
and asked how she came to be there.
“T went outside half-dressed,” she said, “because I wanted to see
whether the washing had been taken in when it started raining. I
went to the place where it is usually hung, but lost my way in the
dark, and in the end found myself here.”
“This is a very difficult situation,” said Sira Eirikur. “We have a
full house, and there is no place for you to sleep, unless you are
willing to lie in the bed next to that man over there.” And he
pointed to the place where the traveller lay, quite still.
The girl said that she was willing to lie there rather than die of
cold, and she got into the bed beside the man. They now recog-
nised one another, and spent the night together in good accord.
After that they were married and lived happily.
There was a woman named Thordis Markusdottir living at
Stokkseyri. She was of high birth, being granddaughter of the
sheriff Torfi Erlendsson of Stafnes and a niece of Thormédur,

145
historian to the king of Denmark. She seems to have been proud,
like the rest of her kin, and unfair in her dealings with others. In
later years many stories were told in particular of her magic pow-
ers.
Many accounts agree that on one occasion Sira Eirikur was sent
a woollen sweater, bright blue with red trimmings, with the
instructions that he was to wear it when he went to conduct
divine service at Krysuvik.
One Sunday there was a sharp frost, and he put the sweater on.
When he had ridden as far as Vidisandur, the sweater began to be
so tight on him that he swelled up and went blue in the face,
falling off his horse and foaming at the mouth. He was unable to
speak, but the boy who rode with him saw how things were, and
cut the sweater from him.
It is generally believed that the sweater was sent by Stokkseyri-
Disa, who wanted to try his magic art.
Sira Eirikur now locked the sweater in a chest and set to work
to card and spin some grey yarn, which he cast and knitted into a
petticoat. This he sent to Disa, who was delighted with the gift,
for it was thick and warm.
The Selvogur folk say that the next winter came without any
unusual events. Then one evening, at wake-time, the pastor gave
his people strict orders not to open the door, even if anyone
should knock, and to fasten it well; which they promised faithful-
ly to observe, for there was a fierce snowstorm and hard frost. Few
would be abroad in such weather, said the pastor; but if any
should knock, they were not to move, nor were they to tell him, if
he should be in bed, until the knocking had been repeated thrice.
Later that night there came a knock at the door, and those who
lay nearest the pastor heard him say, “Here is someone late
abroad, and let them knock a second time.”
At once there was knocking yet louder than before, but the pas-
tor was heard to say that there was still no hurry about going to
the door.
Then the knocking came a third time, but rather feebly now,

146
and Sira Eirikur got up and dressed, though taking his time. Then
he went to the door and opened it, and there outside he saw his
woman-friend who had sent him the sweater. She was wearing
nothing but a chemise and underclothes and held a chamberpot
in her hand. She was nearer dead than alive from the cold.
Eirikur greeted her in a friendly manner and said, “This is no
maiden’s weather to be out in, my dear. Your errand must be an
urgent one.” And he invited her inside.
She was not very talkative about her errand, but said, “I went
out yesterday evening half-dressed to empty my chamberpot, and
so black a storm came over that I could by no means find my way
back, and so have been wandering about ever since, unable also to
rid myself of the pot.”
“That reminds me,” said Sira Eirikur, “I must thank you for
your present, my dear. But it was more than I deserved from you,
and now you have been paid back, for I it was that caused you to
come here, and you must know that it does not profit to play
tricks on Eirikur of Vogs6s.”
After this they made peace with one another, and when she had
recovered from her experience, Stokkseyri-Disa went home.
On one occasion Sira Eirikur spoke to Disa and said, “You will
be lucky in life, my dear, but you will go to Hell when you die.”
“Do you really think so, Pastor Eirikur?” said Disa.
“No doubt about it, my dear,” answered Eirikur.
“Then I shall dance,” she said.
When Sira Eirikur was on his deathbed, he declared who were
to be his coffin-bearers. There would be a great hailstorm when he
was carried out to the church, he said, and he asked that the cof-
fin be not put down from the time when it was taken up until the
time it was in the church. The hail would then stop, he said. After
that, two birds would be seen, one white and one black, above the
church, and they would battle fiercely. If the white bird won and
settled on the roof of the church, then he was to be buried in the
churchyard; but if the black bird triumphed and settled on the
roof, he was to be buried outside, for then he would be lost.

147
 All came about as he had described it, after Sira Eirfkur’s death,
concerning both the hailstorm and the birds. And the white bird
had the victory over the black, so that Eirikur was buried in the
churchyard.

The Wizards of the Westman Islands

When the Black Death swept Iceland, it is said that eighteen wiz-
ards formed a partnership and made a compact together. ‘They
went out to the Westman Islands and proposed to stay there out
of harm’s way for as long as possible,
When, by their arts, they learned that the plague was in retreat,
they were curious to discover whether any were left alive on the
mainland. To this end they chose one of their number, who was
neither greatest nor least among them in magic, and sent him to
the mainland. But first they warned him that if he did not return
by Christmas they would send after him an emissary, who would
kill him. This was early in Advent.
The wizards’ man now set off on his travels, walked far, and
went to many places; but nowhere did he come across a living
soul. The doors of the farmhouses stood wide open, and dead
bodies lay within on every side.
At last, however, he came to a farm where the door was shut.
He wondered at this, and the hope of finding a fellow man now
awakened in him.
He knocked at the door, and it was opened by a girl, both young
and beautiful. He gave her a greeting, while she flung her arms
about his neck and wept tears of joy to see him, for, she said, she
had thought herself the only human being left alive. She asked
him to stay there with her, and this he agreed to do. After this
they went inside and talked a great deal together. She asked him
whence he came, and whither he was going. He told her, and also
that he must return to the Westman Islands by Christmas time.
She prayed him nevertheless to stay with her as long as possible,

148
and he so pitied her that he promised he would. She told him that
there were none left alive, for she had travelled a week’s journey
in every direction and found no one.
Christmas now drew near, and the Westman Islander wanted to
leave, but the girl still begged him to stay and said that his com-
rades could not be so hard-hearted as to punish him for kindness
to a lonely person like herself. And he allowed himself to be per-
suaded.
Christmas Eve came, and he now intended to leave, whatever
the girl might say. She saw that no prayers would avail her and
said, “Do you suppose you will be able to reach the islands
tonight? Would you choose rather to die somewhere on the way
than here with me?”
The man saw that the time was indeed too short and therefore
resolved to stay and await death where he was.
The night went by, and he became very heavy in spirit. But the
girl was as gay as might be and asked him if he could see what his
fellow islanders were about. He replied that now they had sent the
emissary over to the mainland, and it would arrive during the day.
He lay down on the bed against the wall, and the girl sat beside
him.
After a while he said that he was beginning to feel drowsy, and
this was the assault. Then he fell asleep.
The girl sat beside him on the bed and from time to time woke
him to ask how far the emissary had got. The nearer it came,
though, the heavier was his sleep. Finally, having told her that the
emissary had reached the boundary of the farm, he fell into a
sleep so profound that the girl was unable to wake him.
Soon after this she saw a brownish-coloured cloud enter the
house. The cloud moved slowly towards the bed and assumed the
shape of a man. The girl asked where it was going. The emissary
told her its errand and bade her move away from the bed, “For I
cannot climb up into it with you there,” it said.
The girl replied that if she was to do what it asked, then it must
do something for her in return.

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 The emissary asked what it must do.
Show her how big it could be, answered the girl.
The emissary agreed to do this, and it now grew to a size SO
enormous that it filled the whole house.
“Now let me see how small you can be,” said the girl.
The emissary told her that it could turn itself into a fly, and did
so. It now tried to crawl under the girl’s hand on the bed to get to
the man. But the girl was holding the leg-bone of a sheep, and the
fly crawled into it; whereupon she quickly plugged the end of it.
She then put the leg-bone in her pocket and woke the man. He
awakened at once now, wondering greatly to find himself still
alive.
The girl asked him where the emissary had got to, and he
replied that he could not tell. Then the girl said that she had long
suspected they were not such great wizards in the Westman
Islands. The man was now very happy, and they both enjoyed the
festival with the greatest satisfaction.
When New Year approached, however, the man became silent
again. The girl asked what ailed him, and he said that now the
wizards of the Westman Islands had made another emissary.
“They have all put spells on it,” he said. “It will come here on
New Year’s Eve, and I shall not find it easy to escape this time.”
The girl replied that there was no cause to be worried yet. “You
have nothing to fear from the emissaries of the Islanders,” she
said. She was as gay as could be, and he felt ashamed to show that
he was afraid.
On New Year’s Eve he told her that the emissary had crossed to
the mainland.
“It is moving very fast,” he said, “for this is an exceptionally
powerful one.”
The girl now bade him come out walking with her, which he
did. They walked until they came to a thicket. Here she stopped
and pulled aside some branches, revealing a flat stone. The girl
lifted this stone, and underneath there was an earth-house, dark
and gloomy inside. There was a dim light, though: the burning of

150
human fat in a skull. Beside this lamp there was a pallet, and on
it a man was lying. He was somewhat fearful to behold: his eyes
blood-red and his look so fierce that the man from the Westman
Islands was afraid.
The one on the pallet said, “There must be something amiss,
my foster-child, for you to be abroad. It is long since I last saw
you, and what can I do for you now?”
The girl now told him all about her journeys, and of the man
from the Westman Islands, and the first emissary. The other bade
her show him the leg-bone, which she did; whereupon he
changed altogether, turning the bone every way and stroking it all
over.
“Now you must help me quickly, foster-father,” said the girl, “for
see, now the young man is getting drowsy, which is a sign that the
second emissary will soon be here.”
The other now took the plug from the end of the leg-bone, and
the fly crawled out. Stroking and patting the fly with his finger,
he said, “Go, now. Meet all emissaries from the Islands, and swal-
low them up.”
There was then a mighty crash, and the fly flew up and grew so
huge that one of its jaws touched the earth, while the other
reached to the sky. In this manner it went to meet all emissaries
from the Islands, and the young man was saved.
The girl and the young Westman Islander now went back to the
farm, where they stayed, becoming man and wife, and increased
their kin, multiplying and filling the earth.
And of this story I know no more.

151
eliravaesail
rat mn)ali
SP Nets
AND
SINNERS
 The Soul of my Man Jon

There once lived an old couple. The man was rather an ill-natured
fellow, little liked by his neighbours, besides being lazy and use-
less about the house, which did not please his old woman. She
would often scold him, saying that he was capable of nothing but
wasting the little she had managed to scrape together; for herself
she was never idle and always had all hooks out for whatever was
going, in order to make ends meet. And whomsoever she hap-
pened to be dealing with, she was never backward about putting
in her oar.
But although the two of them disagreed on most matters, the
old woman loved her husband dearly and would not let him go
short of anything. And so they lived for many years.
Then one day the old man fell sick, and his sickness was a mor-
tal one. The old woman watched at his bedside, and as she saw
him sinking, she thought to herself that maybe he was not so well
prepared for death as to be sure of getting into Heaven. She
therefore made up her mind to help his soul on its way.
She now took a skin bag and held it over his face, so that when
he gave up the ghost it passed straight into the bag, whereupon
the old woman at once tied up the neck.
She then set off for Heaven, bearing the bag in her apron, and
when she got to the heavenly gates, she knocked on the door.
Saint Peter came out and asked her what she wanted.
“Good day to you,” said the old woman. “I have brought the
soul of my man Jén. I dare say you will have heard of him. I was
going to ask you to take him in.”
“Oh yes,” replied Saint Peter, “I have indeed heard of your man
Jon. But nothing to his credit, I]am afraid. I cannot do what you
ask.”
“It never occurred to me that you could be so hard-hearted,
Saint Peter,” said the old woman. “Have you forgotten how once,
long ago, you denied your master?”

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 At this, Saint Peter went in and locked the door behind him,
and the old woman was left sighing outside.
After a while she knocked again, and this time Saint Paul came
to the door.
She bade him good day and asked who he was, and he told her.
She then prayed for the soul of her Jon, but Saint Paul would hear
nothing of it, and said that her Jon was deserving of no mercy. At
this the old woman grew angry and cried, “You are a fine one to
talk, Paul. I suppose you were deserving of more mercy in days of
old, when you persecuted both God and good men. Maybe I had
better take my prayers elsewhere.”
Saint Paul locked the door as quickly as he could.
The old woman now knocked for the third time, and out came
the Virgin Mary.
“Good day to you, my dear,” said the old woman. “I hope you
are going to let my Jon in, even if Peter and Paul have refused to
do so.”
“My good woman,” replied Mary, “I am sorry, but that I dare
not. Your Jén was such a rascal.”
“T shall not blame you,” said the old woman, “but all the same I
expected you to know that others can be frail, besides yourself. Or
have you forgotten about a certain baby that could not be
fathered?”
Mary would hear no more of this, but hastened to lock the door.
The old woman now knocked a fourth time, and this time
Christ himself came out and asked what she wanted.
“My good Saviour,” she answered humbly, “I wanted to ask you
to allow this poor soul here in through the door.”
“That must be Jon,” said Christ. “No, woman — he did not
believe in me.” And with these words he began to close the door.
But the old woman was not tardy, for she tossed the bag, soul
and all, past him, so that it fell inside the heavenly gate. Then the
door slammed to.
A heavy weight was now lifted from the old woman’s heart, for

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her man Jon had got into Heaven after all, and she returned home
happy.
And of her we can tell no more, nor of Jén’s soul and how it
fared afterwards.

Iam Sitting on my Own

There was once a man named Pétur. Neither his surname nor
father’s name is given, but he was always known as Pétur Smith,
for he was a blacksmith of no mean order. He was a man of
immense strength and a hard worker. However, he could by no
means find an anvil strong enough to take his blows. This hin-
dered him in his work.
Pétur Smith was more than a little vexed at being unable to
exercise his craft to the full. He solved the problem, though, by
making a compact with the Devil. The latter provided him with
an anvil, the like of which was never seen before; but it was no
gift, for in return Pétur was to surrender his soul to Satan after ten
years. Besides, the anvil did not prove as useful as it might have
been, for it was found that no hammer was strong enough to
strike it.
Ten years passed by, and the Devil came to Pétur and demand-
ed that he keep his part of the bargain. Pétur now showed how
little use he had of the anvil, needing a hammer of the same qual-
ity. Whether he begged or demanded, the result was that Satan
gave way to his just request and let him have a hammer and an
extra ten years’ grace.
After this, everything went well. Satan himself could not have
been more of a demon smith than Pétur was, for now the ham-
mer suited the anvil. And to make a long story short, the agreed
time passed by.
At the end of the ten years, the Devil came once more to claim
his due. Pétur was in his smithy as usual and made no bones about
keeping his part of the bargain. He only prayed Satan to grant

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him a single boon. There was no limit to the Devil’s indulgence,
and he agreed at once. Pétur now asked him for a bag with the
virtue of making all things go into it at his wish. Satan handed
him such a bag, and Pétur examined it closely, opening the neck.
All of a sudden the Devil himself dived head first into the bag.
Pétur at once gripped the neck tightly, laid it with its contents on
the anvil, took up the hammer called Satansgift, and belaboured
the enemy of mankind so lustily that never before had hammer
given or anvil received such blows.
Satan roared and howled most pitifully and begged Pétur stay
his hand. But he replied that there was no question of that unless
the Devil agreed to cancel his contract and not touch a hair of his
head. Pétur now had his will, and whether he would or no, Satan
was obliged to promise faithfully that he would make no claim
upon him at any time nor vex him in any way. Thereupon Pétur
let him go free, and the Devil kept his word. Pétur thus had his
worth of both hammer and anvil.
How long Pétur Smith lived after this is not told. But when he
died he went to Heaven and asked to be admitted.
Saint Peter answered the door. He said that the smith had made
a compact with the householder of Hell and must find a place for
himself there, for into Heaven he would not be allowed to come.
Pétur Smith went to the other place, but did no better down
there, for Satan also refused him admittance, saying that he had
nearly been the death of him before with his bag and anvil, and
he was the last person he would want to have in his house, for he
would be no better to deal with now. So Pétur Smith had to turn
back, and he thought that now the outlook was not very promis-
ing, since he had been denied entry to both places, and this would
not do at all.
He first went to his smithy and took the leather apron he had
owned, and binding it in a tight bundle, he set off for Heaven a
second time. Here he knocked at the door, and again his name-
sake answered. And the next thing Saint Peter knew, the smith
had pitched the bundle past him onto the floor inside.

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 They now exchanged words on the subject of accommodation,
as before, but Pétur Smith got the same answer. He therefore
asked whether he might not at least have his leather apron back,
and Saint Peter raised no objection to this; he would not have so
sacrilegious an article in Heaven, he said. But nor would he touch
it himself, so Pétur Smith was allowed in to get it.
Thereupon he walked inside, took the apron and spread it out
on the floor, and sat on it.
And there he sits to this day. For if anyone tries to drive him
out, he always replies: “I am sitting on my own.”

Hisavtk-Jon

There was once a man named Jén and known as Husavik-Jon.

Nothing is told of his family or origins, or where he lived, but this
Jon was the greatest of rogues, a foul-mouthed fellow, full of mal-
ice and overbearing beyond measure, besides being one from
whose hands no article was safe.
When he was old, however, he died, as the law prescribes, and
no sooner was he crossed to the other side than off he set for
Heaven.
He got there in the evening and knocked. St. Peter immediate-
ly came to the door, and Jon, greeting him cheerfully, asked for
lodging.
“I shall have to see if your name is on my list,” said Peter, and
he produced a massive tome in the doorway. The binding was
beginning to go, and it was evidently subjected to daily wear and
tear. “The names of nearly all those who should lodge with me are
in this book,” he said.
Peter now began to turn over the pages of the book, but Jén’s
name was not to be found there.
“Perhaps your name is in the lesser book,” said Peter, and he
now fetched another, much smaller volume. It was dusty and evi-
dently not much used. “In this book are the names of all the bene-

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factors of mankind: priests, bishops and righteous lay folk,” he
said. “You must be among them, my good fellow.”
But however hard he searched, Peter could not find Jon’s name
here, either.
“I must be somewhere, though,” said Jén, beginning to look
surly.
“I don’t know how it is,” said Peter, scratching his head; “unless
your name could be in the little leaflet.”
He now fetched a small brochure, very dusty and antiquated
and so mildewed that the leaves were stuck together. It had evi-
dently not been touched for a hundred years.
“In this leaflet only the names of apostles, martyrs, missionaries
and saints are written,” said Peter. “Maybe you are among those.”
“More than likely,” said Jon.
But Peter could not find his name there, either. Jon now began
to get angry and said that it was very ill-mannered to be shutting
him out, footsore and weary traveller that he was, but Peter slow-
ly withdrew and said at last: “I know nothing about you, Jon, my
friend. I suppose you could not tell me something of your family,
or some detail of your life or other special fact, so that I might be
able to identify you?”
Jon replied very shortly: “My name is Jon, and I am known as
Husavik-Jén.”
“Ah, then I do know you,” said Peter. “There are lodgings pre-
pared for you in another place. Look over there, beyond and
beneath that earthen bank, a long way down in the dark — that
is the place intended for you. Ask for lodgings there.” And with
these words Peter slipped inside the threshold and slammed the
door after him.
Jon now travelled along the track that led north and beneath the
earthen bank, and finally he came to Hell. He arrived about bed-
time and knocked on the door. A black imp came to the door.
Bidding him good day, Jon asked whether his master were at
home. The imp said he was, and went inside. Soon afterwards,
out came Old Nick himself in his own person, and he greeted Jon

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with a kiss and a handshake. Jon now asked for lodgings, saying
that he had been turned away from the door of Heaven and
hoped he could depend upon his good will.
“First I must find out whether your name is in my books,” said
the Devil, and he pulled an immensely thick volume out from
under a turf in the passageway. “These are the names of my flock,”
he said.
But Jén’s name was not there.
“Then I must look in the little book,” said Satan, and he fetched
a smaller volume.
“Here I have the names of the unjust: traitors, thieves and rob-
bers, whoremongers, and all the more important atheists.”
Neither was J6n’s name to be found there.
“How in the devil can that be,” said Satan, curling his tail
thoughtfully. “Your name must be in the booklet with my
favourites, then.”
He fetched the booklet. Its covers were warped, as though it
had been kept for months at a time on a hot hearthstone. “In this
booklet are the names of only the most abominable rogues and
scoundrels: murderers, perjurers and heretics. It may be that you
are among them.”
“T should not blush if that were the case,” said Jon, “but lodg-
ings I must have.”
J6n’s name was not there.
“Does this mean I am not to be let in?” asked J6n, his temper
beginning to rise. “I am afraid so,” answered the Devil, looking
thoughtful.
“A fine sort of hospitality you have over here, I must say,”
exclaimed Jon. “In my lifetime they told me that you housed all
who were turned away from Heaven into the cold and gave them
free accommodation. If you weren't the Devil himself, I would tell
you to go to Hell. A fine sort of time I shall have now, sleeping
out in this kind of weather.”
“Easy now, my friend,” said Satan blithely. “Tell me about your

160
family and something of your life, and maybe I shall be able to
place you.”
“My name is Jon, and I am called Husavik-Jon,” shouted Jén,
who was now simply furious.
“Aha,” said Satan, “then I know the lad. No wonder they would-
nt give you lodging in Heaven, for you were supposed to lodge
with me. But the reports I have had about you have not been very
favourable. I am convinced that if you once got into my kingdom,
I would no longer be king of it, but you would. I want to be mas-
ter in my own house, and therefore I dared not enter your name
in my books. So now you know the reason for it all.”
“You will have to find something for me,” cried J6n.
“Yes, my friend,” said Satan, “I shall. Down there, yet further
north and beneath, where the darkness is deepest, there is a hole
where you can make yourself at home. There you can set up a new
Hell and receive those whom I dare not house here. I shall also let
you have a little lump of live coal.”
“That will not make much of a fire,” said Jén.
“Then put a piece of dung in your pocket, too,” said Satan. “T
started with less.”
Jon took the lump of coal and the piece of dung and followed
the Devil’s advice. He found the hole to which he had been
directed, and he set up another Hell there.
And to this day he receives there those whom Satan dares not
take in.
And people say that he always has enough to bite and burn.

The Rich Farmer and the Poor Farmer

Two farmers once lived in the same parish. They happened to

have the same name, but in all other respects they were as differ-
ent from one another as might be, both in circumstances and in
character. One was so rich that he could scarcely count his own
wealth, while the other was so poor that he hardly knew where
the next meal was coming from, either for his folk or for himself.
Times were hard in the neighbourhood where the two name-
sakes lived. There were many poor, and it was the habit of the rich
farmer to house a number of these unfortunates. Never were they
so many that he turned one away from his door. However, some of
his neighbours thought it strange that these poor people appeared
to vanish, and no one ever discovered what became of them. The
rumour began to get around that he murdered the poor wretches
to be rid of them. Nothing came of it, though, except that his
neighbours took to avoiding his house and never went there unless
compelled by urgent business. Only his namesake, the poor farmer,
refused to believe the rumour. Nevertheless he felt that there was
something strange about his friend’s behaviour.
So the days passed by. Then one morning the poor farmer
awoke in his bed with a fearful start and a fit of sobbing. His wife
was troubled by this, and asked him what the matter was. He
replied that he had dreamed of a man who had come to him. He
had been of noble appearance and all shining, and he had told
him that after three days he and his rich namesake would both
die, and their souls would keep company beyond the grave. This
news he was to pass on to his neighbour. Besides the sorrow of
parting from his wife and children, he said, what oppressed his
mind was the thought of having to share his neighbour’s compa-
ny in the next world, and the uncertainty whither this might lead
him. However, there was nothing for it but to do as he had been
bidden and pass on the news. The poor farmer now got ready, and
saying goodbye to his wife and children, he set off for his neigh-
bour’s house.
The rich farmer was standing outside when he arrived. He
greeted him cheerfully and asked whether he had any news to tell.
His poor namesake replied gloomily that there was not much
worth telling. The other now tried to find out the cause of his
melancholy, and learned of the dream. He said that he saw no rea-
son for sadness in this, for all men had to die sooner or later. He

162
asked his namesake into the parlour and had food put before him,
and was himself as cheerful as could be; but the poor farmer was
able to eat nothing for worry.
The rich farmer said that they would do best to stay together
for the few days of life that remained to them. With so little time
left there was a great deal to be done; for they must attend to the
disposal of their goods. The poor farmer became gloomier than
ever when he heard this, thinking that they would do much bet-
ter to prepare for death in a different way. He said as much to his
friend, but he replied that there was no time for such thoughts as
yet. And so it was, as he would have it: they spent all that day
going round the farm and to all the folk of his household, while
he gave orders and disposed of his possessions down to the last
detail, as though this was the most natural thing in the world.
That night the two neighbours shared the same bed. The next
morning the rich farmer was up early and in a gay mood. He said
that they could not afford to give themselves a holiday yet, for
there was still much to do. Now they must take a trip to the vil-
lage, for he had to go over his account at the store. His namesake
wanted nothing so much as to stay quietly at home and prepare
himself for death, but again the other had his way. They rode to
the village, and the rich farmer was all day going over his account,
while his friend had nothing to do but suffer agonies of anxiety
for his heedlessness and levity. It seemed quite clear that he had
no thought for anything but his wealth and worldly pleasures.
Nevertheless, at the last he ordered large sums from his trading
credit to be transferred to the accounts of various needy folk. The
poor farmer noticed this, and it now occurred to him that perhaps
his namesake was not so utterly without better feelings after all.
That night they returned home and slept as before. On the
morning of the third day the rich farmer was afoot earlier than
ever, saying that there was still much to be done and they must
make the most of their last day. As before, the other pleaded for
peace; but to no avail. As ever, his neighbour had his way. Horses
were brought saddled to the door, and they mounted and rode off.

163
 They now took a narrow pathway that led over hill and dale to
a little valley, where green meadows lay between wooded slopes.
Here they came upon a fine-looking farmstead, and many folk,
both young and old, appeared to welcome the rich farmer, calling
him father. His poor companion now recognised in them those
homeless and destitute ones who had formerly been housed by his
neighbour.
They spent most of the day in this place, the rich farmer talk-
ing with his people, giving them advice, and making all needful
arrangements. Finally, when they took their leave, everyone fol-
lowed them on their way, bidding the rich farmer farewell with
tears of regret.
On the way back, the rich farmer asked his namesake whether
he would not first go to his own home and say goodbye to his wife
and children, for he would not see them again. To this the other
gladly agreed, and was now of quite a different mind about his
friend than he had been before. The two stayed for a while at this
dwelling, and the rich farmer comforted his friend’s wife, giving
her much good advice, and on parting he made over a generous
portion of land to her.
As they continued on their way, the rich farmer asked his friend
what opinion he had of his present company and future prospects.
The other was almost in tears at this, and answered that things
were very different from what had been rumoured, and he could
see nothing but good. What had men thought about his poor
people? asked the other, and he was told that rumours had made
him guilty of their destruction. The rich farmer then said that of
course there had really been no need for him to ask, for it had not
escaped his notice how all had avoided him and his house,. with
the exception of his friend. The latter declared that he was glad
he had not judged him as harshly as the rest, for he now saw
clearly that the rumours had been quite groundless.
That night, as before, the two went to bed together. But next
morning, when somebody came to call them, they were both
dead.

164
 In accordance with the rich farmer’s will, they were both buried
in the same grave.

Door Prayer at Evening

Guard the door, good Lord, this night,

Gracious, by thy Cross its might:
Windows, walls, roofs, floors and houses,
As thy darkness round us closes.
Frere the Holy Ghost do dwell,
Fend us from the Fiend ofHell,
And all his imps be barred as well.
God keep the door and Crux the lock,
Mary Maiden all within and Michael Angel all without;
may none break down the goodman’ door.
Out Gurg,
In Jesus.
Out Gassagull,
In God's angel,
Out Regarist,
In Jesus Christ.
Out Maledictus,
In Benedictus.
Into God's keeping we commend us all, and good night.

Prayer before a Journey

In thy name, Dominus Deus Zebaoht, go I forth on my way, and

cross myself, in the name of All Hallows, and with this seal
marked with the names of those kings, Jaspar, Balthesar and
Melchior, the wise men from the East, in the hope of guidance by
the same star, and with the Dromedariam, dear to them, in the
pitch-black night.

165
 May no fiends
Of darkness fright me.
Hold fast my feet
To the right road
From all disaster
And dire death.
The Devil I dread
And imps of Hell.
May they flee from me
For Christ's wounds
And these king’s names.
Now I cross me
In Christ’s name
And the kings three
Afore-mentioned
And first told.

Mary, lend me thy light-star on my path,

that 1t may lighten my feet in the way ofpeace.
And so end I this my humble prayer,
in the sure hope of a speedy hearing.
Amen, amen. So be tt.
Sing we Hallelujah.

Prayer at Morning

Mary Marden, hear I pray,

Hold from me all harms thts day.
By naught notsome be I vext,
Or of this world, or the next.
Thee I trust, God’s own sweet maid:
Pray for me, alive and dead.

166
read) MinBelted
doilgeckss
ol
betelBato)
 Surtla of the Bluelands Isles

There was once a king and his queen who had a son named
Sigurdur and a daughter named Ingibjérg. The children were still
young at the time of this story, though well past infancy. One day
the queen was struck down by a severe illness, and suspecting that
it might be her last, she sent for the two children. To Ingibjérg
she gave a belt, saying that it possessed the virtue that as long as
she wore it she would never be hungry, while to Sigurdur she gave
a knife, and told him that it would cut through both steel and
stone, and whatever he used it on. After this she bade the children
farewell, and died not long afterwards, to the great sorrow of all,
but especially of the king and her children. She was buried and
her grave well heaped, and here the king would often spend the
whole day mourning her.
One day while the king was sitting on the queen’s grave, a man
and woman came to him. They were finely dressed, and the
woman was somewhat solemn in demeanour. They greeted the
king courteously, and he returned their greeting and asked their
names. She replied that she was named Godrtn and the man
Red, and they were brother and sister. They in turn asked what he
did there all alone, and the king told them. Godrin then said that
he would do better to put aside his grief; she, too, had lately lost
her husband and king, but had not lost heart. This woman
seemed to the king both discerning and of a tranquil temper, and
it occurred to him that it would be a great comfort to have her for
his wife. He therefore decided to ask her forthwith for her hand
in marriage, and she was not averse to the proposal, but referred
it first to her brother Red. Red urged her to accept the king’s suit.
The matter was thus settled and_a bridal feast held by the king,
who made Red his counsellor.
Sigurdur and Ingibjérg had little liking for this caprice of their
father’s and did not attend the wedding. Still less did they care for
their stepmother.

168
 Not long afterwards the king made ready to set forth in order
to gather taxes of his territories. When they heard this, Sigurdur
and Ingibjérg begged their father to let them go with him, and he
was on the point of agreeing, when Godrtn learned of it and
declared that he could not possibly take the children with him;
least of all Ingibjérg, and hardly Sigurdur either. The outcome
was that the king allowed neither of the children to go with him,
but took Red.
When the king was ready to leave, the queen went with him
down to the ship, and the children too. As the ship sailed away,
they watched it go until it was almost out of sight. Then Godrin
said that they should go up to the headland that jutted out into
the sea nearby, for from there they would see the ship much
longer. This they did, and when the ship had quite disappeared
the children walked with her down to the sea, and came to a lit-
tle bay. Here they found a stone chest lying open. The queen then
told them to go and see what was in the chest. It was large and
deep, and to the children it seemed as though there were gold
shining in the bottom of it. As they were leaning over it, though,
the next thing they knew was that their stepmother had pushed
them inside and slammed the lid on them. Then she pushed the
chest into the sea, saying, “Sail now to Surtla, my sister, in the
Bluelands Isles!” At once the chest began to move, and the chil-
dren felt as if it were travelling at a fearful rate. Meanwhile they
took turns to wear Ingibjérg’s belt, so that they should not starve
to death.
Finally they felt the chest stop. Sigurdur now set to work, and
with his knife he cut a hole large enough to see through, and he
saw that they had come to a level coast and lay under some cliffs.
He now enlarged the hole until he could squeeze through it;
though Ingibjérg could not, for her shoulders got stuck. Sigurdur
left his sister in the chest and went to see if he could not climb
the cliff and explore the country. He walked a long way before he
found a place where he could climb. He now came upon a large

169
cave, and in it there was an ogress. She was rocking herself back
and forth, and she put out her hands alternately to feel before her,
muttering that soon the king’s children promised by her sister
Godrtn would be there. She was sitting with her legs stretched
out on either side of the hearth and with a large pot about her
neck and hanging between her knees. In the pot, meat was boil-
ing. Sigurdur felt certain that the ogress was blind, so he entered
the cave, crept up to the pot, and took out several pieces of meat.
He saw then that some of the meat was mutton, but some human
flesh. The latter he put back in the pot, while the mutton he took
to his sister, and they both ate with good appetite, for they were
in need of food.
Ingibjérg asked Sigurdur where he had got the meat, but he
said he might not tell her. She urged him, however, until at last he
said that if he told her, she must promise not to ask any more; and
this she did. But when he had told her about the ogress and her
odd ways, Ingibjérg begged even more persistently and boldly to
be allowed to see her. Sigurdur replied that he would not risk tak-
ing her; she was certain to giggle or burst out laughing when she
saw the ogress; for Ingibjérg was much given to laughter. But she
promised him faithfully that not so much as a smile would come
to her lips, if he would do this for her. And thanks to her contin-
ued urging he promised to take her the following day, and now he
enlarged the hole in the chest, so that she could crawl out.
Then they went together to the cave, and found Surtla as
before, grumbling about the king’s children who were so long on
the way. But no sooner had brother and sister come to the win-
dow of the cave and set eyes on the carline, than Ingibjérg burst
out laughing, and the ogress leaped up, saying that she had always
relied on her sister Godrun not to forget her, and now they had
come at last, those blessed king’s brats. After this she rushed out
of the cave and felt after them, until she finally caught them.
Then she took them and put them both in a side cave, which she
closed up carefully, so that there was no risk of their escaping. She
meant to fatten them for a while before killing them for the pot,

170
so she fed them well through an opening in the door; and told
them to put a little finger through the hole for her to bite, so that
she could find out how fat they were. But Sigurdur whittled down
sheep’s bones from their food, and each put one out in place of a
little finger, so that when the ogress bit the bone, she thought the
children were slow getting fat.
Sigurdur feared that one day the time would come when the
ogress would tire of fattening them, and would take them with-
out warning and kill them for the pot. He therefore set to and
whittled at the rock of the cave above them with his knife, mean-
ing to make a hole. From time to time he loosened large frag-
ments of rock, and the ogress heard when they fell to the floor,
and coming to the opening asked what in the Fiend’s name they
were about. They answered, “We are breaking the bones of the
meat you gave us, foster-mother.” Surtla was satisfied with this
explanation and thereafter paid no heed though she heard a little
scraping or rattling in the side cave.
At last there was a hole right through the rock, and they scram-
bled out. Surtla now heard more noise than usual, and going into
the side cave, she felt about her, and touched the heels of
Ingibjérg just as she was going up through the hole. The carline
was more than a little put out at this. She ran out of the cave and
began to search, following the sound of the children’s footsteps.
They ran along the edge of the cliff till they came to a place where
the sea broke against the rocks below. Here they rolled a large
stone over the edge, making a great clatter, and running to one
side, they held their breath.
When Surtla heard the clatter, she thought they had flung
themselves over the cliff and been killed, and thinking to have
their bodies for the pot, since she could not have them alive, she
followed, in the place where she had heard the clatter, over the
edge of the cliff. But the cliff was higher and steeper than she
supposed, being a sheer drop with the sea breaking on the rocks
below, so that when she reached the bottom she was battered to
death.

tat
 The king’s children now thanked their lucky stars that their
lives were saved and the ogress dead, and they went back to the
cave to explore it. They found food in plenty, and a mass of treas-
ure, and in another side cave they discovered a girl who was
almost dead from starvation. She was sitting on a chair with a
dish of sweetmeats in her lap, but her feet were in water and her
hair bound to the back of the chair. Sigurdur soon released her,
but she was so feeble that she could barely answer their questions.
She told them that her name was Hildur and she was a princess.
Red, the brother of those two sisters, had brought her there and
would have compelled her to marry him; but she would not on
any account, and had therefore been put to this torture.
The king’s children nursed Hildur back to health, and they
stayed in the cave there for a while.
Every day they looked out for any ships that might be seen sail-
ing by, but they had to wait for a long time. At last, though, they
saw one, and made a great bonfire that was seen from the ship. By
good fortune it happened to be the very ship on board which the
king, the father of Sigurdur and Ingibjérg, was sailing. When the
fire was seen on land, the king said that he was sure someone was
in distress there, who would speak with them, and it would be
best to put in to land and lower a boat. Counsellor Red opposed
this and bade the king not be guilty of such folly, for there was no
one living there, and few of those who had landed in the
Bluelands Isles had ever come back up to now. However, the king
had his way. A boat was lowered, and the king went ashore with
a number of his men.
When the king met his children, there was much rejoicing.
Brother and sister now told him how their stepmother had treat-
ed them and how they had fared since, and also of Hildur. The
king took them all with him, besides what was of value in the
cave. When he returned to the ship he covered Hildur and his
children in the boat with a red cloth, so that none should see he
had others with him, and privately smuggled them into an out-
of-the-way cabin on board, letting Red know nothing about

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them. He told him that it was as he had said, he had found noth-
ing on the shore, though he had come back safely. After this they
sailed home.
Of Queen Godrin it is told that she did not return home until
during the night, after seeing the king off to his ship. She then
declared that wild beasts had attacked her and the king’s children
on the way, and the children had been killed, though she had been
able to escape and to recover their bodies, torn and disfigured, in
the night, and she had laid them out and prepared them for bur-
ial. She now commanded the best craftsmen available to make
coffins for them as fair as might be, for she was determined that
they should have a royal funeral, although they had come to so
sorrowful an end. Coffins were now made, inlaid all with gold and
silver, and people thought they had never seen the like of them for
splendour. The queen alone saw to the laying of the children in
their coffins, and afterwards the funeral was held with royal cere-
mony.
Time now passed until the king’s ship was sighted. The queen
went down to the shore to greet him, and yet seemed very sor-
rowful. The king returned her greeting kindly and asked what
grieved her, and where the children were. She replied that there
was a tale to tell of that, and then repeated all that she had for-
merly said to the citizens of the children’s death, and added that
her only consolation was that they had been buried with honour
such as befitted a king’s children, and to that the common folk of
the city could bear witness.
The king pretended to be full of grief at these tidings, and said
that he wanted to see their bodies. Godrin now did all in her
power to dissuade him, saying that they would be disfigured and
decayed and little comfort to him. Nevertheless, when they got
home the king ordered that the bodies be disinterred, and saw
how fair a burial they had been given. After that he had the
coffins opened, and in one he found a dog, and in the other a
bitch, both wrapped in costly shrouds. The king asked if these
were his children, whereupon Godrin and Red both flushed

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darkly, but she did not reply. The king now said that he would
show her his children, who looked altogether different from
these. Then he had Sigurdur and Ingibjérg brought from the ship,
with Hildur, and made them tell the whole story of the queen and
Red’s dealings with them, so that all the populace of the city
heard.
Godrin and Red were now transformed into the shape of trolls,
becoming fearfully large and evil-looking, and the king ordered
them to be taken, though many men had to struggle with them
before they could be overpowered and bound. After this they were
tied to wild horses that tore them asunder, limb from limb.
Sigurdur was wedded to Hildur, and became king after his
father, while Ingibjorg married a prince from another country.
And so ends this tale.

The Tale ofHildur, the Good Stepmother

A king and queen once ruled over their realm. It was their sole
grief that they had not been granted any children.
The king had an adviser named Red. He was very disagreeable
to everyone except the king and the queen; especially the queen,
whom he followed faithfully wherever she went.
One fine day when snow lay on the ground, the queen went
driving in a sleigh, and Red with her. The queen became hot and
her nose began to bleed, so that drops of blood fell on the snow.
She then remarked that she wished she had a daughter with a
complexion as white as snow and as red as blood. Red then told
her that her wish would be granted, but the first time she set eyes
on that daughter of hers she would put a curse on her to burn her
father’s city, bear a child in her father’s house, and slay a man. The
queen was willing to risk anything in order to have a daughter,
however; and after some time had passed it became evident that
she was with child. At last the time came for her to lie down on
the floor and be delivered, and all went well. But when she heard

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the midwives say that she had been delivered of a beautiful girl,
she bade them at all costs to take the child away as quickly as pos-
sible, for she did not wish to see it. The midwives wondered at
this, but they took the child to the king and told him of the
queen's words. The king was deeply attached to his daughter. He
had her christened and named Ingibjorg. Later he sent her to a
nurse in another part of the kingdom, far away from the city. The
queen recovered her health in the normal way, and all seemed to
be well. The king would often ask her to come with him and see
their daughter, or have her home with them, but the queen would
agree to neither, saying that whatever happened she might not set
eyes on the child.
The years now passed until Ingibjérg reached the age of ten,
and all spoke of her goodness and beauty. About this time the
queen contracted a severe illness which she thought would be the
death of her. She then sent for Ingibjérg, saying that she had to
see her before she died.
When Ingibjérg came, the queen ordered everybody out of the
room where she lay, so that she could speak to her daughter in
private. When Ingibjorg came in and stooped to embrace her
mother, the queen thrust her away and laid on her the curse
ordained and spoken of before. After this she died. Ingibjorg
fainted away and was found lying there when the people came
back into the room, to the dismay of all. But with care and atten-
tion she soon recovered her senses; though she was quite over-
whelmed with grief and filled with misgivings about the future.
However, all thought that this was for the loss of her mother.
For a long while the king was grief-stricken, mourning the loss
of his queen so deeply that he neglected all affairs of state. In the
kingdom he had one friend, whom he trusted above all men and
who had long proved a wise and excellent counsellor to him.
When this friend heard of the king’s lack of concern for affairs of
state, he prepared himself for a journey and went to visit him. The
king welcomed him and was glad at his coming. His friend now
told the king that this continued mourning and neglect of public

175
affairs would not avail, and he would do far better to find himself
another wife; for with another queen in her stead he would be
more likely to find some comfort, much though he might have
lost.
At first the king was unwilling to hear this and would have put
an end to the discussion, saying that a second wife seldom turned
out well. His friend pressed the matter all the more urgently and
offered to go himself and seek for him a wife who might make
him amends of delight, saying that he would be no less careful in
his choice than if it were for his own wife. And since the king
trusted his friend better than any other man, he allowed himself
to be persuaded by his entreaties.
The king’s envoy now left the country and searched far and
wide, coming to many kingdoms and seeing their daughters and
womenfolk, but nowhere finding any whom he would woo on
behalf of his friend the king. At last, however, he heard tell of a
princess named Hildur, who was said to be very like the princess
Ingibjorg in appearance, and whose father ruled over a certain
island. The king’s envoy sailed thither, went ashore, sought audi-
ence of the king, and told him his errand. The king answered that
he would make no decision until he had heard his daughter’s will,
and he told the envoy to wait there in the hall until his daughter
came, so that he might be sure there was no secret talk between
them in the meanwhile, and he should himself put the proposal
to her when she came.
The envoy did as he was bidden, and he waited until tables had
been set up in the hall. A door at one end of the hall was then
thrown open, and in came the princess with her maidens. She
went up to her father and made obeisance to him, and as the
envoy gazed upon her she seemed to him both fair and courteous,
and very like Ingibjérg. He then came forward before the king
and his daughter and, raising his voice, asked her hand in mar-
riage on behalf of the king his master. The king her father then
said that of this other king he knew nothing but good; neverthe-
less his daughter herself should decide whether she should com-

176
mit herself to such a step as to marry him. The princess replied
that she would gladly accept this offer of marriage, and would
return with the envoy to his king; but since she was still young
and unsettled in most things, she asked that their betrothal
should last three years. The envoy answered that he would make
this promise on his king’s behalf. Thus it was that he pledged his
king to the princess with the forenamed condition, and the
princess prepared to leave with him, a second ship being fitted out
for her, and they sailed away together.
When the other king saw the ships come sailing to land, he
went down to the shore with his daughter and all the court to
receive his queen-to-be. At once he was enchanted by her beau-
ty, so well did she please him, and all wondered greatly at the like-
ness between Hildur and the princess Ingibjérg, they not being
nearly related; and it soon appeared that they were also of like dis-
position.
All now went to the palace, and the king would have held his
marriage feast with Hildur at once, but his friend told him that
this could not be, for Hildur was betrothed to him on one condi-
tion only: that their betrothal be for three years. This the king
accepted.
Hildur had not been long in the land before she asked the king
to have a castle built for her and Ingibjérg somewhere apart. She
said that they would soon be of one mind, as she saw it, and it
would be best for them to be as close to one another as possible.
The king did as she requested and brought them both to the cas-
tle. The two girls got on wonderfully well together, so that what-
ever one of them wanted, the other wanted also.
After a while Ingibjérg began to become more silent than was
her wont. Hildur went to her and asked what made her sad, but
Ingibjérg would not say. Hildur then declared that she had no
need to ask, for she knew that she was fated to burn her father’s
city. Ingibjérg admitted that it was so and that she was constant-
ly troubled on that account. Hildur then told her not to lose
courage, for they would find a remedy.

Iie
 After this, as the summer drew to an end, the king set forth to
levy taxes in his dominions, and at the same time all the people of
the city went out into the country to pick apples round about.
Meanwhile the two princesses, Hildur and Ingibjérg, were left
alone. Hildur said that now the city was deserted, and they must
take everything of value from it, and then burn it down. This they
did, setting fire to the city in many places, so that in an instant it
was enveloped in flames. The citizens out apple-picking saw a
great blaze in the city, and they hurried home, intending to save
their property. But when Hildur and Ingibjérg saw them coming,
they took buckets and poured tar on the flames as much as they
could, so that there was no chance of extinguishing the blaze,
though the citizens all did their utmost. Thus the city was burned
to cinders, and nothing could be done to save it.
Hildur now said that since this had happened, it was no good
standing idle: the people must set to and build another city else-
where. If the truth be told, she said, it was no great loss that the
old city had been destroyed, either; for it had been so unsightly
that she would never have been content to live there for long.
There was now a great bustle as men set to work to build a new
city, and they took great pains over it. It was finished when the
king returned, and was much fairer than the old one had ever
been. The king wondered greatly at the change, and Hildur told
him of the mishap that had caused the destruction of the old city,
and begged him not to take her action amiss, in having this one
built in its stead; for she could never have lived with him in the
old city, she said. The king thought the new city so fair that he
thanked Hildur warmly for the improvement in his dwelling
place.
Almost another year had passed, when Ingibjérg began to be
sad once again and would not teli Hildur, and still less any other,
what it was that grieved her. Nevertheless, as before, Hildur
divined the cause: that now the time was come when she was to
have a child in her father’s house. Ingibjérg said that it was so and
that she was at her wits’ end to find a way out.

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 “We shall not die without trying,” said Hildur. “You must go
into the forest, where you will find a house, and you must spend
three nights there. A man will come to you, and you shall yield to
his requests. After that, return home, and I shall see that you have
no shame of this.”
Ingibj6rg now went, and was away for the time spoken. After
this Red came one day to the king and said that he had a matter
to discuss with him. The king asked what it was, and Red replied
that it would seem to him unlikely, but his daughter was with
child. The king told him not to talk nonsense, for such was out of
the question. Red remarked that he had not expected to be
believed, but the king should himself put the question to the
proof, next Saturday when he visited Ingibjérg’s castle, by laying
his head in her lap, and he should then see whether he could find
no malformation.
On the Friday before the king’s visit for this purpose, Hildur
told Ingibjorg that Red had informed her father she was with
child, and advised him to put the matter to the proof in the way
described. At this Ingibjérg was so disturbed that she fell into a
swoon, but Hildur revived her and said, “You must now take the
pups from our bitch, tie them in a cloth, and hide them under
your apron. When the king your father feels the pups moving, he
will think that Red speaks the truth. You must then stand up and
let the pups fall from under your apron so that he can see.”
Saturday came, and the king went to the castle of the princess-
es, as was his custom on every Saturday. Ingibjérg now did every-
thing as Hildur had taught her. The king laid his head in his
daughter’s lap, jumped up sharply when he felt the movement
against his pate, and asked if she were with child. Ingibjorg gave
no answer, but stood up and let the pups fall from under her
apron. The king now thought he saw how things were. He went
back to Red and rebuked him harshly for his malice and slander
against his daughter, and told him that he deserved to die and
would only be spared for the fondness which the late queen had
had for him. Red replied that he had spoken nothing but the

7
truth, and there was some trick here by which the king had been
deceived.
For a while the matter was allowed to rest. Then one day a lit-
tle later Red asked the king whether he would not order a doctor
to examine Ingibjérg’s blood, to see if her health were good. He
could arrange for a little blood to be drawn from her hand, as
though by accident, and then take it and have it put to a doctor’s
opinion. The king replied that there was no need for this, as his
daughter had his complete trust, though he could do so.
It now happened, as before, that Hildur knew what the king’s
errand would be when he came to the castle the following
Saturday, and she told Ingibjérg. She was greatly distressed, as
before, but Hildur said, “We shall not die without trying. Let us
sit together, side by side, and hold each other’s hand when the
king comes to us. And when he draws blood from you, I shall put
my hand against the edge of the knife, and let a few drops of
blood fall into your lap. After that I shall cover my hand with a
cloth, while you must give your father the apron with my blood
on it; but take care not to let any drop of your blood fall on it.”
Everything now happened as Hildur had planned, and when
the king came, she put her hand before the knife with which he
meant to cut Ingibjérg, let some drops of her blood fall onto
Ingibjorg’s lap, and then wrapped a cloth about her hand. The
king now told Ingibjérg to take off her apron with the drops of
blood on it and give it to him. She did so, and he took the apron
to a doctor and bade him examine the blood, which proved to be
that of a pure virgin. The king was now more angry than ever
with Red, but for a while he did nothing.
The time came round when the king’s birthday was to be cele-
brated. Then Red came to him and said now he would see that
what he had told him was true; for Ingibjérg was in the habit of
dancing the whole night through on this occasion, but this time
she would not do so, and he could take it for a sign. But Hildur
knew of this, and told Ingibjérg that for a long time men had
been saying how alike they were, so now they would change

180
clothes and parts. Ingibjérg should sit beside the king all night
and pretend to be her, while she would dance in her stead. And so
it was, as the story tells.
Each took her part: Ingibjérg — who was really Hildur —
danced all night, and by morning she had danced all the others
off their feet and was left alone on the dance floor, saying that she
wished the dance were now just beginning. Meanwhile the king
sat beside the true Ingibjorg, believing that she was his betrothed,
and was glad to find Red a liar once again. He later rebuked him
sternly, saying that only his former queen saved him from death
for his slander and falsehood. Red replied that his words would be
proved true, sooner or later.
The time now came when Ingibjérg was to be delivered. Hildur
prepared a room for them both in the highest attic of the castle,
attended Ingibjérg herself, and would allow nobody else to enter
there. After the child was born she swaddled it, and round its
neck she put a chain of gold in three sections which she had, and
then laid the baby outside on the castle wall. After this she was
with Ingibjérg all the time and allowed no one to come near her;
not even the king her father; saying that she was sick, and could
bear no kind of hubbub or disturbance. After a fortnight
Ingibjérg was up again, though somewhat paler than before.
Hildur blamed her sickness for this, and she was believed.
Some time after Ingibjérg had been restored to health, she
began to fall into such a deep melancholy that she would barely
speak to any man. As before, Hildur guessed rightly the cause of
her distress: that now she was fated to kill a man. Ingibjorg said
that it was so, and she was inconsolable and quite at her wits’ end
at the thought of it. Hildur bade her to pluck up her courage, for
she said that once again they would find some kind of a solution.
The time of apple-picking soon came round again. In one place
there was a huge apple tree standing right on the side of a cliff
above the sea. The apples on this tree were both the finest and the
most numerous. To reach it, though, a man had to be let down on
a rope, and none dared do this, save only Red. Hildur now sug-

181
gested that they go with the king when Red was to be let down
the cliff, and Ingibjérg should ask him to let her hold the rope;
but she should let go of it, so that Red fell to his death, and it
would serve him right that his malice should bring about his
undoing. However, Ingibjérg declared that this she could never
do; and so Hildur said she would hold the rope with her to begin
with. This was agreed, and Ingibjérg asked her father to let her
hold the rope while Red was lowered down the cliff, to see how
strong she was. The king consented to this, and both Ingibjorg
and Hildur took the rope together. Then suddenly Hildur let go,
and a little after her Ingibjorg, and thus Red came to a speedy
end. The two princesses pretended to be most upset by the acci-
dent, and the king did not punish them for what they had done;
but most people were well pleased at Red’s fate, for all had borne
a grudge against him.
Winter came and went, and now the king prepared a bridal
feast and was wedded to Hildur. She sat at his right hand and
Ingibjorg at his left. As evening fell there was a knock on the
door. Hildur said that she would go to meet visitors, and went to
the door. The newcomer entered the palace, and at once she threw
her arms round his neck and kissed him.
The king was somewhat taken aback by this behaviour, but
Hildur led the man to him and said that this was her brother. She
then took her brother to Ingibjorg and told her that this was the
man with whom she had slept in the hut in the forest, and the
father of her child. The king was more than a little astounded at
these tidings, but Hildur went out of the hall and returned after a
short while with a young child, about a year old, as it would
appear, on her arm. She brought the child to Ingibjérg and told
her that it was hers, and by the chain of gold about its neck, which
she knew, Ingibjorg saw that there was no denying the truth of
what Hildur said.
Hildur now told the king the whole story of the doom that had
been laid on Ingibjérg, and how she had eluded it; and also how
a spell had been put on her brother, so that he was a monster by

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day and a man at night, and could never escape this fate until a
princess would sleep with him three nights in a row. Now
Ingibjérg had released him from the enchantment and borne him
this child, while she had attended her.
After this, Hildur’s brother asked for the hand of Ingibjérg in
marriage, and his suit was readily granted, both by the king and
by Ingibjorg herself. The feast was now prolonged and both bridal
ales drunk together. And so ends the tale of Hildur, the good
stepmother.

The Tale of the Faint-Hearted Lad

There was once a powerful king in his kingdom. He was of the

Christian faith, and his people too; while the neighbouring lands
were heathen. It is not recorded that the king had any children
other than an only daughter. She was the fairest of women and in
every way the most desirable match, so that many sought her
hand in marriage; but the king thought all her suitors of too low
degree, and every one was rejected. However, he did not refuse
any to his face but set each of them certain tasks, saying that who-
ever performed the tasks would win the princess. The tasks were
so difficult, though, that none dared attempt them. Once a very
powerful prince from a neighbouring country came to woo the
princess, and the king was disposed to grant his suit; but he, too,
dared not attempt the tasks, so that nothing came of it.
In the king’s domains there were many earls. Near the hall of one
of these earls there lived a couple who had an only son. They were
very poor, and the man earned a living by beating fish and bearing
out ash for the earl. The son was not endowed with many good
qualities, for he was both thievish and given to lying, as stupid as
an ox, and the most craven of fellows into the bargain. Neither was
the lad any favourite with his parents, nor did he have much love
for them. The old couple also had a horse; a mare that would never
mend her pace. She was both lame and wall-eyed.

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 Like others, the lad heard of the beauty of the princess, and it
entered his mind that it might be good sport to have her. He
turned this thought over in his mind for a while, and then one
night off he went, taking the mare, and meaning to make for the
king’s capital city. But he had never travelled far, and so he soon
lost his way.
When day dawned the lad found himself in a forest. He rode on
for a while but made little progress, for it was as much as he could
do to get the mare to shift at all. Suddenly he heard a rumpus and
a racket, and soon after saw a knight come galloping out of the
wood with a lion at his heels. The lad was scared out of his wits,
but his mare stood fast as a rock, and he could do nothing to shift
her. The lion saw him, stopped chasing the knight, and started to
come straight at the lad. Though his wit was but shallow he now
saw that something must be done, so he jumped from the saddle
and climbed a nearby tree; while the lion rushed at the mare and
tore her to a thousand pieces, after which it wandered away.
The knight had witnessed all, and he now went to the tree in
which the lad had taken refuge and called to him. For a long time,
though, the lad would not come down, thinking that he and the
knight had no business between them. In the end, however, he
clambered down, but he was very frightened. The knight then
said that it was like him to be so modest, expecting no reward, but
he would take the liberty of repaying him a little for saving his
life, and bade him accept his horse and harness. He was not far
from home, he said, and so it would be no great loss to him to give
them up. The lad accepted the gift, and a fine figure he looked
when he had put on the harness. Before parting with him the
knight directed him to the king’s city, and the lad reached it with-
out further accident.
He now demanded audience of the king and put on a great dis-
play, finally declaring that he had come to ask the hand of the
king’s daughter. The king asked him whether he had heard of the
trials which her suitors had to undergo. The lad replied that he
thought they would not be likely to give him much trouble, since

184
he had undergone so many trials in his life. The king said they
would see on the morrow.
The next morning the lad asked the king what he had to do.
The king answered that he was to bring him the heads of two
striplings who lived nearby to the north of the city. The lad said
he would do this but must have a better horse and weapons; for
his horse was weary and his weapons blunt. The king then gave
him a fine horse and weapons to match. The lad now enquired of
the king’s men what kind of striplings these were that he was to
deal with, and they all said with one voice that they were the most
terrible rock-giants, who spared neither man nor beast.
The lad set off. There was a thick fog, so that he could not be
seen from the city for long, which suited him well, for he soon
turned due south, thinking that it would be madness to walk
straight into the jaws of death, and when all was said and done he
had got a good horse and a sword out of the business, and seen
the king besides.
He now rode on his way for some while, until he came at last to
a mountain. For a time he followed the slope of it, and the fog
lifted. Finally he grew tired of riding thus out of his way, so he
dismounted, tied his horse to a tree, and climbed the mountain,
to see whether it would not be possible to ride over it. He soon
saw that it could not be done, but he walked for some distance
along the crest. All of a sudden he heard what sounded like a
mighty snoring just below him. He cared not at all for this but
was nevertheless curious to find out what it was, so he peeped
down over the crest, at the same time dislodging a stone, which
fell below. Thereupon he heard a great howl and the sound of
fearful abuse; one scolding another for attacking him while he
slept. The lad was now scared out of his wits, seeing that he must
have gone astray in the fog and come upon the lair of the rock-
giants, who had been sleeping there below. However, it occurred
to him that he could look down at them without being seen, so he
peeped once again over the edge, and once again a stone fell.
Thereupon he heard another howl, and a voice crying out that it

185
was a vile deed to kill one without cause. In brief, the rock-giants
started a quarrel, each accusing the other of throwing stones, and
after this the lad heard them fighting; but at last there was a dead
silence. It was some time, though, before he plucked up enough
courage to peep over the edge again, whereupon he saw the two
giants lying under the mountain, both quite still. From time to
time he peeped again, but neither of them moved a limb. When
evening came, he clambered down the mountainside and crept
close to the giants, and at last, when he was quite sure that they
were not going to move, walked right up to them. He now saw
that they had killed one another, so he hacked off their heads,
slung them on his back, and rode home again to the king’s palace.
When he came before the king, the lad now swaggered and
gave himself airs, saying that he did not wish to be sent on any
more such trifling errands, and it seemed to him that a child could
have handled these giants. The king was greatly impressed by his
courage and hardihood. The lad was eager to sleep with the
princess that very night, but the king said that he ought not to
count his chickens before they were hatched, and nothing came
of it.
The next morning the lad had audience of the king and asked
what he was to do now. The king answered that he was to bring
him that evening the head of a bull-calf that was out at grass to
the east of the city nearby. The lad declared that this would be no
great matter for him, but he must have a better horse and arms
than on the previous day, for neither had proved good enough.
Both of these he obtained. He then asked the king’s courtiers
what they could tell him about this bull-calf. They said it was the
most fearful monster and killed both man and beast. The lad
made little of this and remarked that he hoped the bull would not
be such child’s play to handle as the two striplings he had made a
head shorter the day before, for it was a disgrace for him to be
dealing with such wretches. The king’s men were very impressed
and thought they had never heard tell of a knight so bold as he.
The lad now set off, but as soon as he was out of sight of the city,

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he turned westwards and would not on any account meet the bull,
for he had reason to think it might not be his match. Again he
concluded that he had done well, having gained possession of a
fine mount and superb weapons and become a famous man into
the bargain. When he had ridden a short while he came to a great
stretch of marsh and bogland. He could see no safe passage
through it and so rode beside it for a large part of the day.
Suddenly, and without warning, he heard a fearful bellow close by,
and soon afterwards he saw a bull come charging straight at him.
In deadly terror the lad now turned and rode out into the bog, and
the bull came after him. The horse went down under him, but he
managed to struggle through the bog with difficulty and then ran
as fast as his feet would carry him towards a bank that he saw on
a rise of dry ground. When he reached the bank he found it to be
a large fold in which he supposed the people of those parts kept
their sheep, to shelter them from the bull. Looking behind him,
he saw the bull struggling through the bog and making some
progress, though with great difficulty. He unbolted the gate of the
fold, and no sooner had he slipped inside than the bull came rush-
ing after, meaning to follow him inside; but the entrance was too
narrow, and so the bull stuck fast in the gateway. It struggled for
a long time but could not budge, either back or forth, and in the
end it was worn out with effort and exhaustion. The lad watched
the whole affair and was very frightened. Climbing up on to the
wall of the fold, he cowered there for a long while and would not
stir. However, when he saw that the bull moved no more, he went
up to it fearfully, and then realised how things were. He now
made his way back through the bog and met the people of the
district, told them how he had trapped the bull in the fold, and
said they would receive no blame if they were to kill it and send
its head to the king. The farmers were very willing to do this, and
they thanked the lad for his deed. He now returned to the royal
palace and was more than a little uppish and conceited over the
slaying of the bull, though he declared that he would not go again
on such a trifling errand, since it had been no more than the work

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of an ordinary man to kill the beast. The king wondered greatly
at his hardihood and thought he had never known his equal. The
lad now urged fast and furiously to be allowed to sleep with the
princess that night, but the king said there was no hurry about
that; they should see the following evening.
The next morning the king told the lad that by the evening he
was to bring the head of a young fellow who lived to the south-
west of the city nearby, and if he managed to do this there would
be no obstacle to his having his daughter. The lad demanded a
horse and arms and again the king agreed to give him these, and
each was a treasure beyond price. The lad then enquired about the
fellow he was to deal with, and all were of one mind, that he was
the worst giant of whom there had ever been record. The lad pre-
tended to make little of this. He now set off and headed at once
to the northwest, for he thought his death was sure if he fell into
the clutches of this giant, while he considered that he had done
well enough, for his horse and arms were second only to those of
the king himself.
After he had ridden for a while he came to a high wall with a
ditch on the near side of it. He did not trust himself to get over it
and rode for a long time beside it. At last he came to a village
where everything seemed in great confusion. A man was standing
at the outskirts of the village, and he called to the lad, bidding
him in God’s name to show his mettle and noble nature by fight-
ing the giant, for he was there in the village and spared no man.
The lad cared not at all for this and would have ridden away as
fast as he could, but the man took hold of his bridle and said he
must help them. The lad now changed his tune and told the man
to go and make it known to the giant that there was a knight here
who dared meet him in single combat. The man was very glad
and went into the village. No sooner was he gone than the lad
rode away, urging his horse as fast as it would go. Shortly after-
ward he heard a shout, and it was clear to him that the giant was
coming after him. He was now so scared that he dropped his
sword, grasped the horse’s mane with both hands, and urged it on

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still faster. A little later he looked back and saw the giant riding
on an enormous horse and quickly drawing up even with him. By
this time the lad had reached the wall. He saw that it was now a
case of do or die, and he charged at the wall.
The next thing he knew was that he woke as if from sleep and
felt a terrible weight on top of him. He concluded that his horse
had been killed jumping the wall, and he had lost consciousness.
The giant must have charged after them, for the lad saw that he
lay on top of them, while his horse was grazing nearby. For a long
while the lad dared not move a muscle, but at last, when he saw
that the giant did not stir, he crawled out from under the heap.
Some time later he plucked up enough courage to go back, and he
saw then that the giant was dead, run through by his own spear
in falling. The lad tugged the spear out of the wound, though it
was so heavy that he could not lift it. Nonetheless he managed to
draw it back and forth across the giant’s neck, and thus sawed off
his head. Then he tied the head to the tail of the giant’s horse,
mounted it, and rode home to the royal palace. The king received
him very cordially and praised his hardihood highly. He had now
performed all the tasks, he said, and he would now give him his
daughter in marriage. The lad wanted to sleep with her that very
night, and to this there was no objection. The young couple bed-
ded together, and it is not recorded that there was any but the best
agreement between them.
The next morning, though, when the lad awoke, he heard a
mighty disturbance throughout the palace. He jumped out of bed
in his underwear, and just at that moment the king came in and
cried out that now things looked bad, for the prince who had
wooed his daughter was there with a mighty army and would
declare war on them if he did not have her as wife. The lad must
now show what he was made of, for the people’s trust was in him
alone. The lad made a show of agreeing, and the king left him; but
he cared not at all for the look of things now and resolved to run
out by the back door of the palace, just as he was, in his under-
wear, for he would not waste time in dressing. He ran out through

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the gate and saw a large crowd fleeing from the city; but when
they saw him, their courage and resolution returned to them, and
they bore him back in state to the palace yard. When the king saw
this he praised the lad highly for his hardihood in not affording
himself time even to dress before going out to turn back the fugi-
tives. The lad saw now that there was nothing else for it, so he
dressed himself and then offered to go out alone against the
enemy, to the great relief of all.
The lad now let all the city gates be closed, except one that
opened straight on to the sea. When this had been done he put
on the king’s own armour and mounted the king’s own horse,
knowing it to be the fastest in the kingdom and meaning to flee
on it. He intended to ride out through the open gate, but so live-
ly was the horse that he could not control it. There was a fence of
palings about the palace, and through this could be heard the
neighing of the enemy’s horses in their camp. The king’s horse
now took the bit between its teeth and charged the fence in a
straight line for the camp. The fence was feeble and broken, and
the cross-bar on top of it stuck fast to the lad’s shoulders. The
horse galloped onwards to the camp, and the lad was terrified, as
may well be imagined. But when the leader of the enemy host saw
him charging at them with the fence on his back, it was enough
for him.
“It is no good fighting against that one,” he cried, “for it is
Christ with the cross-tree on his shoulders.”
Thereupon he hurried to his ship and put out to sea, and his
army followed his example, so that it was not long before all the
enemy host had left, and the lad returned victorious, while the
people of the land gained an enormous booty, for the army had
not given itself time to take its baggage with it.
The king thanked the lad with fair words for his victory. The
lad married the princess, and in time he became king himself.
And of this tale I can tell no more.

Kee)
 The Story ofFinni Carl’ Son

There were once a king and queen in their kingdom and a carl
and carline in their cottage. The king and queen had two sons,
whose names are not recorded. The carl and carline had one son
named Finni. The boys played children’s games and got on well
together in their young days, but when they grew up the king’s
sons became more distant with Finni, for they found themselves
less highly thought of in their sports by the common folk than he;
for he was deemed to excel them in most.
It befell one day that the king’s sons came to their father and
bade him give them leave to go abroad and seek fame and fortune
in other lands. To this the king gave his consent, and they pre-
pared for their travels, sparing no expense. Then they bade their
father and mother farewell and set out on their journey. Nothing
is told of their travels before the evening of one day, when they
stopped for the night in the shelter of a fair hill. While they were
eating their supper, a certain creature of unprepossessing appear-
ance came down to them and asked them whether they would
have it with or against them. At this they were very sharp and
declared that they wanted nothing to do with such a wretch, and
they spurned it from them utterly, telling it to go to Satan; at
which the creature quickly vanished out of their sight.
After this they travelled on, and no more is told of their jour-
ney until they came to a kingdom. Here they went to the king and
asked for winter lodgings, and he granted their request.
The story now turns to Finni, who went to his father and asked
leave to go away and seek fame and fortune, like the two princes.
Having received permission to go, he bade his parents farewell
and started off. Nothing is recorded of his journey until he came
to the very hill mentioned before, where he, too, stopped for the
night, and beginning to eat his supper, was approached by the
aforesaid creature. The creature asked whether he would have it
with or against him; whereat he replied that he would much soon-

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er have it with him than against, and he threw it food of that
which he was eating, whereupon the creature told him that if ever
he were in trouble he should call for it.
He now continued on his way until he came to the kingdom to
which the princes had come before, but since he was penniless
and very poorly clad he stayed for some time in hiding in the city
at first. Finally, however, he got himself taken into the queen’s
service, to carry water in the city and perform various other nec-
essary tasks. In the end he pleased the queen so well that he came
to be high in her favour.
Next spring the two princes went on their way, having won nei-
ther fame nor fortune, but being obliged to pay the king a large
sum of money for their keep. Nothing is said of their journey until
they came to another kingdom where again they asked the king
for winter lodgings, and such were to be had for the asking.
It is now to be told of Finni that in the spring he went to the
queen and bade leave to depart, thanking her for his winter there.
She replied that he had served her faithfully and deserved a
reward. Not so, he said, for he wondered greatly at her gracious-
ness in accepting his unworthy service. She answered that she
meant nevertheless to remember him in some manner, and she
gave him a small dish whose virtue, she said, was such that who-
ever held and owned it might wish for whatever sort of food he
most desired. Finni thanked the queen heartily for her gift and
took leave of her. Nothing is told of his travels until the autumn,
when he came to the very kingdom where the two princes had
come before. Again he managed to get himself into the service of
the queen. Winter went by, and nothing of note happened. The
following spring the two princes left, having won neither. fame
nor fortune, but having to pay the king a large amount of money
for their keep. Nothing is said of their journey until they came to
yet a third kingdom and asked for winter lodging, which was
allowed them.
As for Finni, he had pleased the queen well with his faithful
service. That spring he went to her and, thanking her for the win-

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ter, asked leave to go. The queen replied that she was sorry to lose
him because of his trusty service but could not forbid him since
he asked to go, and said he deserved a reward. She then gave him
a cruse, telling him that its virtue was such that whatever he
wished to drink would be in it. She also gave him money for his
journey. Finni thanked her very civilly for the gifts and then cour-
teously took his leave. After this he went on his way, and nothing
is told of his travels until he came to the very kingdom where the
two princes were come before him. Once again he entered the
service of the queen. He soon found his way into her affections
and became one of her chief servants, and she had him all the
winter to do errands and other important business for her.
One day, about midwinter, the queen sent Finni to the king’s
hall. He went straight away and came to the king where he sat at
table with his court. Finni was then taken aback to see the afore-
mentioned princes there. He would have addressed them in
friendly terms, but they took this coldly and pretended not to
know him; though in fact they knew him very well, and wondered
to see him so worthily clad, which kindled in them all the more
envy towards him. He carried out his errand to the king and left
the hall. So the winter went by, and nothing of note happened,
and the next spring the two princes departed, having won neither
fame nor fortune, but being obliged to pay the king a large sum
of money for their keep. Nothing is told of their travels that sum-
mer until they came to the realm of a certain maiden-monarch.
She was young and unmarried, but very proud and wilful.
The story now returns to Finni. That spring he went to his
queen and asked for her leave to go. She answered that she would
not lose him from her service, but since he wished to go, it must
be so, and he deserved a great reward for his faithful service to her
through the winter. She then asked him what the other queens
with whom he had been had given him. He replied that one had
given him a dish and the other a cruse, and told her what virtues
these gifts possessed. Thereupon she gave him a pair of scissors,
saying that their virtue was such that if a man put them on his

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fingers he could wish for whatever clothing he desired. Besides
this, she gave him money for his journey. Finni thanked the queen
heartily for her gifts, bade her farewell, and so set off. Nothing is
told of his travels until he came to the realm of the aforesaid
maiden-monarch, and when he reached a certain village he met
the two princes. He greeted them cordially, and they now took
his greeting well. They dared not enter the city of the maiden-
monarch, for they had heard it said that no man might be at her
court ungelded. They spoke of this to Finni, and he said that he
would go to this maiden-monarch without fear and learn what
she had to say and what terms she proposed, for they would be no
better for him than for others. The princes then decided to go
with him.
They now entered the city together and, coming to the doors of
the palace, asked permission to go in, which was given. Then they
came before the maiden-monarch where she sat on her throne,
decked all with gold and jewels, and her court about her, every
seat in the hall being occupied. They greeted her courteously, and
she returned their greeting. Finni now spoke for them, saying that
he would ask her for winter quarters, both for himself and on
behalf of his companions. She took this coldly and asked from
what land they were, and whether they were eunuchs. Finni
replied that they were not. She then said that they need have no
thought of spending the winter there, for she would suffer no
whole man in her city, and still less at her court. But if they would
let themselves be gelded forthwith — “then I may allow you to be
in my city, though you are not admitted to my court,” she said.
“But if you will not accept these terms, you shall be seized and
taken out to a desert isle nearby, and there you shall starve to
death.”
Finni replied that neither choice was good, but he would rather
choose to be taken to the isle than suffer himself to be maimed or
dishonoured. When the princes heard this, however, they chose
rather to be gelded than die a lingering death from starvation.
They were then led out and gelded, while Finni was taken to the

194
isle and set ashore there alone. Having come there, he walked
about the isle and could see nothing but gaunt and hungry men,
and some dead. He now took out the dish and wished that on it
there might be wholesome food, and at once the dish was full. He
then took to feeding the sick and hungry men, and so it went for
a while, until they soon began to recover, and often during the day
they walked about the isle for pastime.
From the land it was seen that men were walking about on the
isle, and the maiden-monarch was told of it. She wondered at this
and thought to herself that he must be responsible for it who last
prayed her for winter quarters and chose to go out to the isle
unmaimed. She now sent men there in a ship, telling them that
should it prove to be as she suspected, they were to bring this fel-
low by force to her, if he would not come willingly. The messen-
gers sailed out to the isle, went ashore fully armed, and met with
Finni and his fellows. They saw how fat and well fed they were
and were greatly taken aback, finding this most strange. They
repeated the words of the maiden-monarch to Finni, saying that
she would see him. He received their message well and replied
that he would willingly go with them, but when his fellows heard
this they were very sorrowful, thinking their death from hunger
now assured. Finni told them not to despair, for there would
always be something to save those who were not fated to die,
however bad the outlook might be.
He then took his leave of them and went with the messengers.
They brought him to the maiden-monarch, and he greeted her
courteously. Her response was cold, and she asked whether it were
his handiwork that he and those whom she had outlawed to the
isle still lived and were in good health. He answered that it was
so, whereupon she asked how he was able to do this. He was
reluctant to tell her, but she pressed him so urgently that in the
end he did so, saying that he had a dish with a virtue such that,
whatever food he wished for, he obtained immediately. She bade
him show her the dish, and he told her that she might see it, but
he would not let it out of his hand, either to her or to any other.

195
He then took out the dish and showed it to her, and she thought
it beautiful beyond description, and burning with a greedy desire
to possess it, she pleaded for it importunately, offering him a large
amount of money. Finni told her that it was not to be bought,
however much she offered for it. She then asked whether it was
not to be had for anything else. He saw with what ardour she
urged, and answered that it might be had for one thing. Filled
with delight and without further thought she now promised him
whatever he asked for, provided it was in her power to grant.
He said she should have the dish if she would allow him to sleep
on the floor in her bedchamber that night, and the next morning
he would return of his own accord to the isle. At first she was
speechless with anger at this request, and then said that he
deserved to be put to death for daring to propose so shameful a
thing, that a man such as he be allowed to lie in her bed-cham-
ber, whereas none was permitted at court on pain of death. Finni
replied that it was also unworthy of a sovereign to break a given
word, for she could well do what he asked her and had promised
as much. Seeing no way out and feeling that she had been out-
witted in her dealings with Finni, she declared at last that she
would keep her word and let him lie on the floor in her chamber
that night, but only on the condition that four eunuchs of her
bodyguard watched over him the whole night through with lights
and drawn swords, and if he made the slightest move he would be
slain instantly. He agreed to this with a good grace and gave her
the dish.
That night he lay in her bedchamber, and nothing happened.
The next morning he was taken out to the isle again and put
ashore there. And so time passed without tidings.
One day it was seen from the land that men were walking about
on the isle. At once the maiden-monarch was told, and again she
suspected that this was the work of Finni. She therefore sent men
to the isle, bidding him come to her. He came at once and
appeared before her, and their conversation was much as before,
until he told her that he possessed a cruse that was filled with

196
whatever drink he wished for, and that this had kept him and his
fellows alive. She urged him to sell her the cruse, offering him
both gold and jewels for it; but he replied that there was no ques-
tion of his parting with this treasure. She urged him yet more
ardently, and in the end he promised her the cruse on condition
that he be allowed to lie that night at her bedside in her chamber.
She thought this a hard condition, but so much did she long to
have the cruse, and since he had not moved on the night when he
lay there before, that they came to terms; but with the provision
that eight armed men watch over him that night with drawn
swords. And so the night passed, with no tidings. Then in the
morning he was taken out to the isle again, and the maiden-
monarch rejoiced at having gained this treasure. After this some
time passed.
One morning men were seen walking once more on the isle,
and the maiden-monarch was told forthwith. She sent to the isle
to find out what was afoot, suspecting that Finni was again
responsible and saying that when met he was to be summoned
before her. When the messengers came to the isle they went
ashore and met Finni and his fellows, and they were greatly taken
aback, for all were arrayed in the most costly woven material,
though the clothes of Finni surpassed those of any other, for they
were adorned with gold and jewels like the most precious robes of
a king. The messengers repeated the words of the maiden-
monarch, summoning Finni before her, and he received the mes-
sage well and went aboard with them, bidding his fellows stay
behind. So the messengers put out for the land, though it was all
they could do to attend to their rowing, for staring at Finni and
his fine array.
When they reached land Finni went to the city and came before
the maiden-monarch, whom he greeted worthily. She received his
greeting coldly but could not hide her surprise at seeing him so
splendidly clad. She asked how it was that he and his fellows were
able to live on the isle and whence they had the fine clothes they
were wearing. Finni replied that this he might not tell her, but she

197
urged him the more strongly, so that in the end he said that he
possessed a pair of scissors whose virtue was such that if a man
put them on his fingers he could wish for whatever clothes he
desired. She offered to buy the scissors from him, but he blankly
refused to sell, saying that he might not give away all his treasures,
one after the other. She now urged him yet more hotly and asked
if they were not to be had at any price, whereupon he did not
completely deny the possibility, so she asked what it might be. He
answered it was to let him sleep that night in her bed beside her,
but on top of the bedclothes and in his underwear. She was beside
herself with anger at these words and declared it beyond belief
that he should even dare to suggest such a thing: that she should
allow a man ungelded to lie so close to her, and it was fitting that
she should have him put to death.
He said that he had no wish to part with his treasure but would
keep it himself, and there would be no bargain between them. She
desired exceedingly to obtain the scissors, and thought to herself
that since all had been well on the former nights when this fellow
lay in her bedchamber, she would have to do as he wished, and she
told Finni that she agreed to the bargain on condition that twelve
men with lights and drawn swords watched at her bedside, and
they were to run him through if he moved the least bit. Finni then
gave her the scissors.
That evening Finni was led to the chamber of the maiden-
monarch, where he took off his outer garments and lay down on
top of the bedclothes, while twelve men with drawn swords stood
by the bedside and many lights burned in the room. Midnight
came without Finni’s having moved the least bit. But now he
thought of calling on the creature he had once met by the hill, and
desired that if it had the power to do anything, it should get him
under the bedclothes with the maiden-monarch and enable him
to have his will of her.
No sooner had he said these words than he was under the bed-
clothes and on her belly.
When the guards saw this they would have leaped forward at

198
once and slain Finni, but their feet stuck fast where they stood,
and they could do nothing. At this they were woeful, thinking
that the maiden-monarch would take cruel vengeance on them
for standing thus still; but she, not knowing that they could not
move and thinking they would kill Finni, now called out to them
sharply, saying:
Oh, sheathe your swords and do not kill,
But dowse the torches bright,
For with his staff he roves at will
My valley of delight.

When the guards heard this they sheathed their swords and
dowsed the lights and were at once able to move again. The maid-
en-monarch now ordered them back to their guard-posts for what
remained of the night. She and Finni slept together the rest of the
night, and in the morning, when they were dressed, she led him
into her hall and, sitting on her throne, placed him at her side.
She then declared to her counsellors that it was her will to have
Finni for her husband and that he should be king. This was
agreed by all. A bridal feast was then prepared and all the great
ones of the realm invited. Finni had his fellows from the isle
brought there, and he placed them beside him.
The two aforesaid princes had remained in the land, and when
they heard that Finni was now king they came before him and,
falling on their knees, begged his pardon for their former ill-
nature towards him. Finni received them kindly and placed them,
too, beside him. The feast went well, and guests were sent away
with good gifts. Finni now took over the government of the king-
dom and proved himself of royal temper, though he was well
loved of his subjects.
He brought peace to the land and won back those dominions
that had been lost. Some of those who had been with him on the
isle he made his counsellors; others earls or generals in the far-
thest parts of his kingdom. For his chief counsellor he chose one
of the princes, while the other he sent home to succeed his father

199
in the government of that kingdom. With him he sent a large sum
of money, gold and jewels, to give the carl and carline, his parents,
if they were still alive, and he bade the prince care for them as
though he were their own son. If they wished to come to him, the
prince was to undertake to arrange their journey with a fair escort;
but it is not recorded whether they chose to stay, or come to
Finni.
Between Finni and his queen there was soon great love. They
had many children who grew up to be men and women of great
promise. The king and queen lived long and died at a good old
age.
And so ends the story of Finni carl’s son.

200
Ou ilxAsWeo
 Eyvindur of the Fells

Eyvindur was the son of Jon and Margrét. They lived at Hlid in the
parish of Hrunamannahreppur, in the county called Arnessysla.
There were other children, but these do not come into the story;
only Eyvindur and his brother — or half-brother — Jon, father of
Grimur the Student, who died recently at the age of eighty, having
lived all his life at the same farm, Skipholt, after his father.
It is not known for certain when Eyvindur was born, but it was
probably early in the 18th century. He grew up at Hlid with his
parents, and lived in the parish until he was of age. After that he
went to Tradarholt in Fléar and was a labourer there. It is said
that there he gathered no moss and was obliged to leave, owing to
a leaning towards thievish tricks, a fault that was to follow him
ever afterwards. First he is said to have pilfered cheese from the
bag of a woman vagrant at a time when he was at Oddgeirshdlar,
and she is said to have laid a curse on him, to be stealing ever
thereafter. Either Eyvindur himself, or those who spoke for him,
would have paid the old woman to withdraw her curse, but she
said she could not, for curses were not to be withdrawn; but she
would make him some amends in providing that he would never
be caught; and both these things were thought to have come true
for him ever since.
When Eyvindur left Tradarholt, the men of both Arnes and the
West Fjords say that he went to the West Fjords and took up
small holding there with a widow named Halla and her children;
living, according to some, in a fell croft, and according to others,
at Hratnfjardareyri in the Jékulfirdir fjords, in the parish of
Grunnavik, where they lived quite well; though some say that Sira
Snorri Bj6rnsson married Eyvindur and Halla in the years when
he was pastor at Stadur in Adalvik (1741-57).
Halla was deemed ill-disposed in many respects. Not only was
she of aharsh temper and bad repute, but she was believed mixed
in her faith, in that she scarcely ever went to church or would
stand outside the church door during service. Her appearance and
manner were described thus at the Althingi in 1765: “short and
hollow-backed, with very dark face and arms, brown-eyed and
with heavy brows, open-mouthed, with long features and very ill-
mannered and disagreeable, with dark hair, small hands and slen-
der arms, and used a large quantity of tobacco.”
On the other hand Eyvindur was considered well endowed in
many ways, of a blithe and happy disposition, athletic, an excel-
lent swimmer and wrestler, fast on his feet beyond compare, espe-
cially on steep slopes, and so expert at hand-running that he was
faster than the swiftest horse, which often proved of good service
to him when his life depended on it and he was pursued. He was
crafty and resourceful, and was described thus at the Oxara Thing
of 1765: “He is slenderly built, of above average height, with large
hands and feet, very fair hair, wavy at the ends, his face gaunt and
pock-marked, with an upper lip somewhat thicker than the lower,
soft-voiced and agreeable in manner, well-groomed and cleanly,
smokes much tobacco, quiet in his behaviour, soft-spoken and a
good worker, a skilled craftsman in wood and iron, able to read
but little and write not at all, often muttering to himself ballad
verses, though generally wrongly.”
There is no way of telling how long the couple continued with
their holding in the West Fjords before taking to the fells, nor why
they fled; for there are varying accounts. However, most agree that
Eyvindur paid for his good nature or his wife’s trickery, as the West
Fjords people declare. For they say that Halla joined up with an
unmitigated rogue, Abraham, or more likely Arnes, by name, and
after drowning a certain youth who was with them, under the ice
of Hrafnsfjérdur, they abandoned their young children. Halla was
for setting fire to the farm, but Eyvindur would not have this, so
the evil deed was not done. Their daughter Oldf ran to the next
farm and told what had happened, so that the children were saved;
but Eyvindur and Halla took to the fells, bearing with them vari-
ous utensils, and lived their lives thereafter in outlawry for about
twenty years, moving ever farther east and northwards in the
wilderness, and here a little shall be said of their places of refuge.

203
 After Eyvindur and Halla had taken to the fells, men were first
aware of them at Hveravellir, west of the Keel-way, in the
Audktla outpastures. Here Eyvindur raised a hut and built near
one of the hot springs, the signs of which are still to be seen to
this day. In the hot spring they cooked their food. The aforemen-
tioned Arnes, thief and outlaw, was with them there. One autumn
night when they were living in this area they stole food and vari-
ous other articles from a store or outhouse belonging to one
Magnus, farmer at Gilhagi in the Skagafjordur dales. They were
pursued but got away, leaving no trace apart from signs showing
that they had rested their horses a long way from the settlement.
On another occasion they were going to rob two travellers who
were on their way northwards by the Keel with a train of horses
loaded with stockfish. These were an elderly man and a youth.
The man was so frightened that he trembled and showed no
resistance, but the boy seized a hammer and struck Arnes on the
cheek, breaking his jaw. Arnes bore the mark to the day of his
death. After this the boy struck at Eyvindur, but he and Arnes
both ran off, and the travellers reached the settlement unharmed.
Once, while they were at Hveravellir, Eyvindur sent Arnes
down into the Skagafjérdur dales to get a sheep for the pot. Arnes
set out and reached one of the sheep-sheds in the early hours of
the morning. He was thickset, of medium height, with something
of a swagger, of great strength and daring, and on this occasion
was carrying an axe. As Arnes came to the sheep-shed, the shep-
herd appeared. He was a big man, and he was holding an iron-
tipped spade. Arnes wanted to get to the shed, but the shepherd
was there before him, standing in the doorway and denying him
entry. They exchanged blows for a while, and the end of it was
that the shepherd struck the axe out of the hand of Arnes and got
possession of it. Unarmed, Arnes turned away and escaped back
to Eyvindur.
The northerners felt they had an undesirable guest in Eyvindur.
They therefore went out after him and seized his food-store,
which consisted of the carcases of fifty sheep so disposed in a

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heap of faggots that one layer was of meat and the next of faggots.
They took the carcases and all they found there of value, but razed
the hut to the ground. Eyvindur and Arnes escaped, the former
by hand-running, but Halla was seized and taken to the settle-
ment. The thief Abraham was also with Eyvindur. The northern-
ers caught and hanged him on a gallows at Hveravellir. Samson
the poet composed a satiric verse about a man whose soul would
go

To Abraham his bosom bare

Up in Hveravellir.

The next winter Eyvindur and Arnes had a very hard time and
lived for the most part by hunting ptarmigan. It is said that Halla
returned to them a little later, whereupon they moved east and
south to Arnarfellsmuli, by the headwaters of the river Thjorsa at
the foot of the Arnarfell glacier. Here they built themselves a
shelter where they are said to have spent four or five winters.
As time went on, though, things turned out no better for
Eyvindur and his companions here than they had been at
Hveravellir, for one summer two men from Ytrihreppur went up
to the outpastures to hunt wild swans and gather herbs, and they
came upon Eyvindur wandering about there, and although he
gave a false name, they recognised him. On this occasion, howev-
er, the people of the settlement failed to find Eyvindur’s dwelling-
place. That summer there were so many sheep stolen from the
outpastures of the men from Ytrihreppur before the round-up
that, when autumn came, the farmers’ suspicions were aroused at
the number lacking, and a search was organised. At the farthest
limits of the outpastures they came upon a great concentration of
sheep tracks. The flock had been driven eastwards across the
sands beside the Arnarfell glacier, and they followed the tracks all
the way to Eyvindur’s hut. The thieves had a narrow escape, for
they were reading evening prayers when the farmers arrived.
Eyvindur was quick to act, though. He seized their pot and vari-
ous other utensils and sank them in a bog, where they were not

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found. Then he and the others escaped the hands of the farmers
up to the glacier.
The countrymen took possession of all they found in Eyvindur’s
dwelling, and they were amazed at the skill with which many of
the implements had been fashioned. They also took there baskets
that Eyvindur had woven from twigs with such skill that they
would hold water. They found a great pile of firewood as well, and
in it the carcases of eighty sheep, as well hidden as was earlier
described of the pile at Hveravellir.
What the search party were unable to take away with them to
the settlement they set fire to and burned to cinders.
Some say that Eyvindur and his companions took refuge again
at Hveravellir the following winter, though this is not likely, since
he must have known what it was to be there with nothing. It is
more likely that he took refuge from time to time with his broth-
er Jon at Skipholt, and there is a general belief that both he and
Halla were hidden there in a storehouse for stockfish throughout
the whole winter. It was found suspicious that Jon carried far
more wool to the market-town than he could reasonably have had
from his own sheep. Beside this, he took no steps to recover a fat
horse that he lost about this time.
When Eyvindur took to the fells again after that winter, it is
thought that his brother provided him with the necessary uten-
sils, and Eyvindur then established himself at Eyvindarver, or
Eyvindarkofaver (Eyvindur’s hut-station), up north at the edge of
Sprengisandur, on the west side of the track east of the river
Thjorsa, opposite Arnarfellsver.
But before turning from Eyvindur’s earlier hideouts, mention
should be made of how, on one occasion, when he was at
Averavellir or the foot of Arnarfell, he is said to have explored
ways over the fells and glaciers, and was crossing Langjékull gla-
cier when, in the middle of the glacier, he came upon a valley full
of grass. Higher up this valley he caught sight of a man driving a
flock of sheep before him. Eyvindur went up to the man and
greeted him, and the man replied rather shortly. Eyvindur asked

206
him where he was bound. The other answered that he was driv-
ing his flock home to be milked. Eyvindur did not much care for
the look of the man. Nevertheless he thought he would have some
sport with him, and offered to wrestle with him, which the man
accepted. They wrestled for a while, and Eyvindur soon found
himself outmatched in strength. However, as it turned out, he
managed to give the mountain-dweller a fall. The other was quick
to rise to his feet, and said, “You would not have thrown my
brother so quickly, if you had wrestled with him.”
After this they came to a farm and drove the flock to the fold. A
woman then came from the farmhouse with milk pails on her arms.
The shepherd drove the sheep into the fold, and the woman began
milking them. Eyvindur greeted her, but she gave him no answer
while the shepherd was there. After he had gone to the house,
though, Eyvindur asked her to give him milk to drink. She took an
empty pail, milked one of the ewes into it, and gave it to him.
Eyvindur drank to his satisfaction and thanked the girl, saying that
he had had his fill of ewe’s milk. The girl now answered him and
told him that the farmer was at home, and the shepherd’s two
brothers, and that if they laid hands on him he would make no
more journeys. While they were talking Eyvindur mended his shoe
on the wall of the fold. Then, looking round, he saw three men run-
ning from the farmhouse towards the fold. He did not wait to be
told but took to his heels, running straight up the hillside out of the
valley. When he reached the crest, the others were close behind.
Seeing how close they were, and that this would not do, he took to
hand-running. When the men of the valley saw this, two of them
came after him at a hand-run, while the third turned back.
Eyvindur guessed that this must be the father. The two brothers
now pursued Eyvindur, but he drew ever farther ahead over the gla-
cier, until he came to a crevasse. Since his life was at stake, he leaped
across. He was now very much out of breath, and threw himself
down on the far side to recover. When the others came to the cre-
vasse, they dared not jump, thinking Eyvindur capable of anything
on the other side. Thus they parted, neither wishing the other well.

207
 It is not mentioned that Eyvindur was ever in such peril as on
this occasion, although he had exchanges with other outlaws and
is said to have joined up with some of them, though he was always
driven away because of his pilfering.
To return to Eyvindur’s settling at Eyvindarver, beyond the out-
pastures of the men of Holt in Rangarvallasysla county, to the
north at the edge of Sprengisandur: here he built himself a cabin,
remains of which can still be seen to the west of the
Sprengisandur track. The turf walls have fallen in, but a spring
flows from it in three directions, and the stream that runs to the
northwest is full of horse-bones, which have evidently been
chopped small, and also some bones of birds. The bones of sheep
have been found there as well. In this place, it is said, Eyvindur
and his companions spent the longest period of their outlawry.
There is yet another hut that Eyvindur is said to have had east
of the river Thjorsa. This, too, is named after him, Eyvindar-
sandur.
One of the questions discussed in most versions of his story is
whether he was caught by the men of the settlements, and if so,
how often. Some say that he was never caught, but always escaped
by hand-running, whereas Halla was often caught, especially
when she was pregnant, but always escaped after being delivered.
Others say that Eyvindur was caught many times but escaped
again each time.
Thus in the Annual it is mentioned that Bjérn the Strong went
once with another man and met Eyvindur. Bjorn then seized
Eyvindur and bound him, while his companion tried to deal with
Halla; but she got him down and was about to bite his windpipe
asunder, until Bjérn came to the rescue and overpowered her.
They were then borne from one country sheriff to another; but
once again, men say, they both escaped and got back to their old
haunts.
It is said that Eyvindur was a great hunter and did well in the
summers, but spring was often a hard time for him. Once when
they were in the hut by Sprengisandur they came near to dying of

a
208
starvation, having nothing to eat for nearly a week. On the morn-
ing of Easter Sunday — for this was in Holy Week — Eyvindur
said he would read the service from the sermons of Bishop
Vidalin and then die of starvation, rather than die without having
read it. But Halla declared that it was all the same to her. The
reading would not fill their stomachs. Eyvindur then began to
read. And when he had finished the passage and was in the mid-
dle of the Our Father, they heard a movement outside the door of
the hut. After he had ended the prayer, Eyvindur went to the door
and opened it. And there he saw a stall-horse, fat as butter, stand-
ing by the wall. He took the horse and slaughtered it, and they
lived on the meat until such time as they could get something
else; though at first they ate it raw, for they had no firewood. It
had been thus with the horse, that Einar Brynjélfsson, farmer at
Barkarstadir in Fljotshlid, had bought it, some say the previous
year, but others many years before, from Bardardalur or
Eyjafjordur in the north, and had fattened it up during the win-
ter. But on Holy Saturday the horse was let out, to be watered,
and allowed to stretch its legs. However, it had then bolted and
could not be caught. Its hoof marks were traced northwards into
the wilderness. In this way the beast was delivered into the hands
of Eyvindur.
That same winter Eyvindur dreamed that he would be discov-
ered, so he moved his cabin farther to the east; and men say that
this brought him bad luck, for if he had stayed where he was he
would not have been found.
Einar Brynjolfsson had a large property in the north, in the
county of Thingeyjarsysla. Thus he often travelled to the north to
collect his rents and administer his leases there. The way by
Sprengisandur had not been used for many years at that time, and
was regarded as impassable. But the summer after he had lost his
riding horse, Einar had the idea of travelling north over
Sprengisandur. He and his companions then came upon
Eyvindur quite unexpectedly and found him engaged in building.
Eyvindur surrendered himself with a good grace and was bound,

209
but Halla defended herself with a peat-cutter; though in the end
she too was tied up. Einar now recognised the hide of his horse in
Eyvindur’s hut.
They took Eyvindur and Halla north to Reykjahlid by the lake
Myvatn. Here the two were held for some days, and all found
Eyvindur easy to deal with, but Halla much worse, for she was
harsh with children and old people. One Sunday that summer,
when service was to be held at Reykjahlid — the church stood
some distance from the farm, being surrounded on all sides by
lava — Eyvindur asked to be allowed to attend, for he seemed
pious, though Halla cared nothing for such, and he was given
leave to go. Eyvindur sat on the corner bench by the door, and no
one thought it necessary to watch him during the service. But
while the pastor was intoning the gospel, and when all eyes were
on him and none on Eyvindur, he slipped out, and nobody
thought to look for him until the service was over. By this time,
though, a thick mist had come down so that hardly a thing could
be seen. This mist lay for exactly a week. Ever since, the people of
Myvatn have called a thick mist an Eyvindur’s-mist. The search
for Eyvindur continued for some time, but in vain. Later he
declared that he had hidden in the ridge of lava nearest the
church while the search was at its height. No one had thought
then of looking there, and men had searched far and wide for
what was close at hand.
Eyvindur spent the winter following his escape from Reykjahlid
at Herdubreidarlindir, or Herdubreidartungur, where traces of his
hut can still be seen. It is a shelter of rocks heaped up along the
wall of a chasm and forming a space about a fathom in length and
half a fathom in breadth. He used the backbone of a horse for his
rooftree, drawing a withy through the spinal canal to hold it
together. The roof was then thatched with bent-grass. In the
doorway there was a flagstone, so well fitted that it might have
been cut. A spring poured out of the rock against which the hut
was built, falling right beside the pallet of the hut-dweller. This
water-supply was so cunningly contrived that he had only to

210
reach from his pallet, raise a flat stone that covered the spring, and
dip his utensil into it. There was a large pile of firewood beside
the hut, and it is thought that Eyvindur kept his winter supplies
there. He had it himself on record that this was one of the worst
winters of his outlawry, for there was nothing to eat but raw
horse-meat and angelica roots, of which there is a plentiful sup-
ply at Herdubreidarlindir. He is said to have stolen seven or nine
horses from the eastern fells during the autumn, but there were no
sheep in the neighbourhood. There are no traces of Eyvindur’s
having made a fire by the hut.
After Eyvindur’s escape, Halla was taken to the west country.
But one Sunday during the later part of the winter he came down
to Vogar by Myvatn. All the people there were away at church,
apart from one old woman; and he asked her for food and shoes,
making out that he was a traveller from far afield, and his shoes
were worn out; and he offered to read the service for her in return.
The old woman suspected nothing and gave him what he asked
for. When Eyvindur had finished the reading, he enquired warily
after Halla and what had become of her, and also asked about
Eyvindur and what people surmised about his disappearance, and
the old woman told him all she could. After this he left, before
the people came back from church. It is said that he went to the
west after Halla and got her back, and men believe that they then
lived for a time up in the Jokulsdalur wilderness. There are moun-
tains here called Eyvindarfjéll, said to have been named after him.
Eyvindur of the Fells was for a while on the Fljotsdalur heath,
and robbed the flocks of the men of Fljotsdalur. The latter gath-
ered together, intending to drive him away, and pursued him on
horseback, but he took to hand-running, and they were unable to
catch up with him. Then the farmers’ horses got caught in a bog
about the middle of the heath, and they parted company with
him. The bog has since been known as Eyvindarkelda, and is very
difficult to cross.
While Eyvindur was in the east, legend tells that the shepherd
at Bra in Jokulsdalur once missed several ewes out of his flock. He

211
therefore went out and searched far into the wilderness. He came
to a gill, and followed it for a while, until he saw a shed down in
the gill, and a woman milking ewes in a pen outside. The shep-
herd had a dog with him and it barked. At this the woman looked
up, and the shepherd was afraid and ran as fast as he could back
to the settlement. The farmers now moved quickly, going out in a
large band to the place to which they were directed. They found
the gill and saw signs of human habitation, but the former occu-
pants had completely vanished.
After Eyvindur returned to the settled country, he is reported to
have said that nowhere in his outlawry did he fare better than
when he was at Eyvindarver by Thjorsa river, for besides taking
sheep from the outpastures, he had there good hunting of wild
swans and geese, which he caught when they were injured, and
was also able to profit by the trout fishing, which is said to be
without limit in the Fiskivétn, though they were a very long way
away. But he said that the frost and winds were sometimes so
fierce on Sprengisandur that even a hardy man well clad could not
have survived outside. It is more likely that he said he wished no
man so ill that he would have him live the life he had lived,
though he is also reported to have said that he had no enemy so
bitter that he would send him to the western wilderness, though
to the eastern wilderness he would send his friend.
It is reported, too, that Eyvindur and Halla had children in their
outlawry, but she disposed of them all. Eyvindur could not bear to
come near while Halla was putting them away. One child in par-
ticular he grieved to lose. This was a girl in her second year, for
they intended to let her live. But the farmers came upon them
suddenly, so that they had to save themselves and could not take
the child with them, and Halla just had time to throw her from a
cliff.
There is a general tradition that Eyvindur and Halla were out-
laws for twenty years and then earned a pardon, and according to
the people of Grunnavik they returned to the same holding,
Hrafnfjardareyri, from which they had fled in the West Fjords,

212
and where they died and were buried in a marsh near the farm.
Sira Torfi Magnusson, who was pastor at Stadur in Grunnavik
(1822-41), was shown their grave there, heaped high with stones.
Not all agree that Halla died at Hrafnfjardareyri, however, for
there is an account of her in the south. According to this, when
she finally gave up, or was caught, she was so far gone that it was
not thought possible to keep her in the gaol. She was therefore
allowed to stay at a certain croft up in Mosfellssveit, where she
spent part of the summer. But one bright sunny day that autumn,
warm and with a soft breeze blowing, Halla was sitting outside
under the wall of the cottage, and she said, “Now it is fair in the
fells.” That same night she vanished, and was never found. Some
years later a woman's remains were discovered up in the Hengill
Fells — the people of Arnes say at the foot of Skjaldbreid, and
that Halla had been staying at one of the farms in Grafningur in
the Thingvellir district — and by them two wretched sheep that
she had hooked by the horns to her belt. It was believed that this
was Halla, and that she had intended to take to the fells, but had
got no farther because the weather had changed for the worse just
after her disappearance.
For examples of Eyvindur’s workmanship, chiefly mentioned
are the blade of a peat-cutter and the end of a rake, which the
men of Thingeyjarsysla country found after the turn of the cen-
tury in a watercourse by his hut at Eyvindarver. They took both
these things back with them to the north and put them on dis-
play, and people thought them executed with remarkable skill.
The third article was a basket, which was at Oddi in Rangarvellir
in the days of Dean Gisli Thorarinsson, and was used for teach-
ing children to walk. It was considered a masterpiece of weaving.

Jon and Olof

There was once a pastor. His name is not recorded, nor what liv-
ing he served. He was married and had two children, a boy and a

213
girl. The boy’s name was Indridi and the girl’s name was Olof.
Nothing is told of either brother or sister until they were well past
infancy. Indridi was then sent to school, while Olof stayed at
home and learned all that was considered needful from her moth-
er; for the pastor’s wife was especially well endowed, both in
speech and skill of hand. Olof became an example to other
women in knowledge and good sense, and in beauty she excelled
most others.
One autumn it happened that the round-up of the sheep in the
district went badly. The farmers therefore proposed to send men
out to search, and a meeting was held to this end after service on
Sunday. It was agreed that the matter was one that brooked no
delay and the search should start at once on the Monday morn-
ing. One man was to go from each farm. Now the pastor was very
poor and lacking in workers; he had no one to send but his son
Indridi, who had just left for school. He therefore sent word at
once to the boy, to return home without delay. But the school was
some way from the pastor’s house, so it was Monday evening
before Indridi reached home. All he needed for the round-up was
there ready for him, and he was to set off the next morning after
the others.
When Oléf heard of this, she resolved at all costs to go with her
brother, though the pastor would not have it. But Olsf did not
give way and said that she would not let Indridi go alone, for he
was subject to severe fits and was not safe by himself. And the
outcome was that Olof accompanied Indridi on the search.
After a day’s journey Indridi was taken so ill that he did not
trust himself to go on. They therefore stopped and camped for the
night. This was not very far from the school, and it was agreed
between them that Indridi should return to school, while Olof
continued the search. Oléf gave her brother a letter that she had
written in the night and told him to give it to the schoolmaster.
It was to the effect that Indridi should be admitted again, and she
would see to the payment when she came back. Indridi took it
much to heart, having to leave his sister and let her go on alone

214
up into the fells on an autumn day; but now it had to be as she
would have it, and going with her brother close by the school she
took her leave of him there. He found the schoolmaster, was
admitted by him, and resumed his studies.
As for Ol6f, she went on up into the fells and far and wide for
a whole week and found nothing, neither sheep nor the other
searchers. Then one morning she woke in her tent to a heavy
snowstorm. She continued nevertheless on her way, but as the day
advanced the weather grew darker and the fall of snow yet heav-
ier, so that she had no choice but to pitch her tent again, much
earlier than was her wont; for not only had she lost her way, but
also she was quite exhausted from wading through snow. She now
became very despondent and apprehensive, and it seemed doubt-
ful to her whether she would be able to get back to the settle-
ments when the storm was over. At last she slept, worn out with
weariness and distress.
That night she dreamed that a man came to her and said,
“Courage, girl! the victory will soon be won. In the morning when
you wake the snow will have ceased. You will then see a high
mountain here above you. You must climb the mountain, and
then you will see down into a dale where there is no snow. In this
dale you will find what you are looking for.”
And in the morning, when she woke and looked out of her tent,
the day was bright and the sky clear. She now remembered her
dream, and it seemed to her that it must have been a sign from
God. She also saw the mountain which the man in her dream had
showed her, so she got ready in haste and started off up the slope.
It was hard going and fearfully steep. Never before had she been
in such difficulties; indeed, she was on the point of turning back,
but the thought of her dream sustained her courage and gave her
double strength.
After a long struggle she at last gained the crest of the moun-
tain, and there before her lay revealed a most beautiful dale, snow-
free right up to the highest shelf of grass, and blooming meadow
below. She now hurried down the slopes with the lightest of steps.

215
All about her was so delightful to the eye that it seemed to her she
could gladly live there for ever.
The story now turns to her father and mother. When the other
searchers came back from the fells knowing nothing of the broth-
er and sister, Indridi and Olof, they were almost out of their wits
with worry at what might have become of them.
Shortly afterwards news was received that Indridi was back at
the school, while Oldf had gone on alone into the fells to look for
the sheep. When they heard this they were sick at heart, for now
they despaired of Olof ‘s return. The pastor’s wife took to her bed
and grieved sorely for her daughter, and this grief brought her to
her death. The pastor, now deprived of them both, was beside
himself with sorrow.
Of Oléf it is now to be said that when she was not very far
down the slopes of the dale she heard a “halloa” and the barking
of a dog, and a little later she saw a large flock of sheep and a man
behind. She now waited until the man was close, then went up to
him and greeted him; but he made no reply. Continuing on his
way with the sheep, he behaved as though he could not see her,
while she followed him.
Farther down the valley she saw a farm, standing on a level plain
beside the river. The man headed towards it, driving his flock
before him up to the farm buildings and then inside, while she
helped him. When all the sheep were indoors, the man would
have gone straight to the house without taking the slightest
notice of her; but she stepped before him, saying, “I see that I am
not a welcome guest. Nevertheless I must bid you ask him who is
master here whether he will not allow me to lodge for the night.”
The man looked gloomy at this and replied, “I shall not-carry
out your request. If you will take my advice and are not fey, you
will leave this place as quickly as you can. No one who has been
given lodging here has ever escaped alive. But I have no wish to
see you killed before my eyes.”
“I cannot believe that your folk are such villains that they would
lay hands on a defenceless girl who comes to their house in need.”

216
 The man was silent at this, but after short consideration he said,
“So be it, then, though it may bring death to us both.”
He now led her to an outhouse and told her to await him there
until he returned. She was on no account to stir, whatever noise
or commotion she might hear, but quietly bide his coming. With
this he went into the house.
After a while she heard a fearful disturbance, as if one were
being attacked by many. This went on for some time, until it was
followed by complete silence. She now feared that her last
moment was come; but just then the same man returned and told
her that now she could safely go inside. He led her into a dadsto-
fa, where she saw two lying dead on the floor, a man and a
woman. He told her that these were his parents, and he had killed
them in order to save her life and make it possible for her to take
shelter there.
They now dragged the bodies outside and buried them a short
distance from the house. This done, they sat down to eat, and
afterwards went to bed. Oléf had just fallen asleep when the man
spoke to her, asking her to get up and help him, for he could not
sleep for the pain of a wound on the shoulder blade from the
struggle of that evening. Oléf got up and examined the wound. It
was a large and ugly one. She washed it and bound it up as best
she could.
Time now passed, and Oléf stayed in the valley. Up to Yuletide
nothing happened of note. Then the wound broke out again and
became so bad that the man could no longer tend the sheep, but
was obliged to stay in bed. Oldf now took the flock to pasture
every day. Gradually the man grew worse, until one day when
Olof came back from tending the sheep he lay at death’s door. It
was a great sorrow to her to see him suffering so, and she grieved
especially to think that it was on her account. In a weak voice he
now bade her try and open an old cupboard that stood in a cor-
ner of the dadstofa and see whether she could not find there a jar
of ointment. He had once seen the woman go to the cupboard
and fetch this ointment when her man had chopped his finger, he

217
said. Oléf found the ointment and smeared it on the wound, and
immediately all the pain was drawn out of it.
The man had always been silent and said little to her. She there-
fore knew nothing of him but what he had told her before: that
the man and woman whom he had killed had been his parents.
She had not questioned him at all about his circumstances, nor
had she wanted to ask him to take her back to the settlements
before his wound was quite healed. But now he spoke freely of
himself.
“It was not really true, that I was the son of the old man and
woman, as I told you first,” he said; “for, as you can suppose, I
would hardly then have caused their death. The truth is that they
were outlaws of the direst breed. My name is Jon, and I am from
the north. The old man stole me thence sixteen years ago, and has
had me with him to steal sheep from the people of the settlements
ever since, against my will. And it was as the saying goes; life is
sweet, and to save my skin I did what he told me, though in no
other way have I harmed any man. To begin with I was always
watching for an opportunity to escape to the settlements, but no
occasion presented itself. Later the guilt of those thefts the man
had made me commit was so heaped upon my head that |
thought better of it, knowing that the people of the settlements
would at once seize and hang me. Thus I am doomed by an evil
fate to live all my life as a felon and spend my days in hardship
and solitude, far from all human habitation. I was a child when I
was stolen, and have thus learned nothing but evil. I have only
God and the good disposition which I inherited from my true
parents to thank for not having become a hardened thief and
murderer like the old man my foster-father.”
Jon sighed deeply, and Oléf thought she could see a tear fall
from his eye. She tried as best she could to comfort him, and said
that he should come with her to the settlements in the summer.
However, Jon rejected this proposal, saying that it could only end
in his being put to death, like any other thief of the fells.
“Heaven forbid!” said Oléf. “My father would be making a poor

218
repayment for his daughter’s life if he were to allow such a thing
to happen. I can assure you that he loves me more than that. He
will readily obtain a pardon for you at the summer Thing.”
But Jon was reluctant to believe this; although, for her pleading
and argument, in the end he promised to go with her; only, how-
ever, on the condition that she agreed to marry him.
Jon now began to mend, and after having been treated with the
ointment for a fortnight he was perfectly healed. The rest of the
winter was spent by Olof in teaching him the rudiments of learn-
ing, such as the elements of religion, writing, and reckoning. Jon
was a good pupil, for he was both quick and eager to learn. While
there was still snow on the ground he was forever writing with his
staff. And so the days passed, until only a week remained to the
beginning of summer. Jon and Olof now made ready to travel
with all that was of value in the cottage. They had four horses
laden, and two to ride, and they drove the flock of sheep before
them, a great part of it being the property of the farmers of Oléf’s
parish.
The story now turns once more to the pastor. Since Ol6f’s dis-
appearance he had seldom put on his clothes. Yet it seemed as if
there was still some spark of hope in him, that it might perhaps
be granted him to see her again; for it was his habit always to ask
whomever was first afoot in the mornings if they saw anything
unusual outside, when looking at the weather.
One morning, about the end of the first week of summer, the
bailiff, whose name was Einar, told him that a great mass of sheep
was coming down from the hill pastures; though how this could
be he was unable to say. The pastor started up at once with this
news and dressed himself. And when he came outside, Olof and
Jon rode up to the door.
There was now a most joyful reunion of father and daughter.
Then Oléf took Jén by the hand and led him to her father, and
said, “Here is the man whom you must thank for now being able
to see me alive. He saved me from the hands of evildoers, and you
may repay him as you think proper.”

219
 The pastor said that he could never repay him as he deserved,
though the will was not wanting. To some it seemed as if he
looked askance at Jon and thought him an unwelcome guest,
though he kept it to himself.
The pastor now sent word throughout the parish, bidding the
farmers come and claim their sheep, for he wanted the flock sep-
arated that day. A crowd came to the pens, and for each man there
the sheep that he owned were drawn out, while for others they
were driven away. By common consent Jon claimed for himself all
sheep that were unmarked.
It should be mentioned that there at the pens was a poor man
named Einar and his young son, Jon by name. The boy was fond
of sheep but had none himself. He spent much of the day stroking
a hornless dun-coloured ewe that was in the pen among those
belonging to Jon, and admiring her for her beauty. His namesake
now came to him and told him that he might have the ewe if he
would. Little Jon was delighted and threw his arms about the
other’s neck, saying, “God reward you, Jon! I know that I shall
never be able to do so.”
No other tidings are recorded of the pens. The farmers went
home, well pleased with what they had recovered, while Jén
stayed at the pastor’s house until after lamb-weaning time. He
was then sent to the summer milking sheds to look after the ewes
during the summer. Oléf went too and was to be dairymaid, and
a maidservant went with her to help with the milking and dairy
work.
The days now passed until the time came for men to ride to the
Thing. A crowd of men came to the pastor’s house, meaning to
ride with him. They were all invited into the guest-room and sat
there talking with the pastor. It-should be mentioned that in the
parish there was a young vagrant named Magniis who made a
habit of always being wherever there was anything going on. He
came that day to the pastor’s and took up his place by the door of
the guest-room, hoping to get the pickings of what was put on
the table for the guests. That evening, after men had gone to bed,

220
he wandered off, and the following morning came to the home of
Little Jon. It happened that, just as Magnus appeared, Little Jon
came back from driving in the ewes for the morning milking.
Magnis hailed him in a friendly fashion and offered to wrestle
with him, but Jon replied that he was not in the mood for
wrestling, for his Kolla, that his namesake had given him, was
missing.
Magnis laughed and said, “He’ll not be giving you any more
ewes in future, of that I’m sure.”
“What do you mean?” asked Jén, taking his words to heart.
“Oh, nothing,” answered Magnts, and he turned to go away.
“My good Magnis, tell me why you said that, and I shall give
you a whole slice of pot-bread from mother, with a big lump of
butter on top,” said Jén.
Magnts now told him all about the talk between the pastor and
his guests: how they had agreed to take Jon to the Thing and have
him put to death; for he was without a doubt the most arrant
thief, who had returned now to the settlements having enriched
himself with stock from the stolen sheep of the farmers.
Little Jon asked whether they had left.
“Yes,” answered Magnus. “Men were sent for Jén last night, and
the pastor told him they would take him to the Thing to obtain a
pardon for him, for this could not be done unless he was present.”
When Little Jon heard this he wasted no time but ran in to his
mother and told her that his Kolla was missing and he was going
out to look for her. He also bade her give Magnts a big slice of
bread for helping him to bring home the sheep. After this he set
off and ran as fast as his legs could carry him until he came to
where Oléf was milking at the fold. He flung himself down on
top of the wall of the fold, being unable to get a word out for
shortness of breath. Oléf greeted him and said, “What a deal of
trouble you have on account of your Kolla, Little Jon. She is here
in the fold.”
“Ym not thinking of my Kolla now,” replied Little Jon, and he
asked Ol6f to come with him at once. He then told her what he

221
had heard from Magnis. Oléf was stricken to the heart by these
tidings, and she saw that there was no time to be lost. She bade
Jon hurry home to his father and tell him that she would have
him ride to the Thing with her and lend her horses; he should be
as quick as he could and come to the pastor’s house that evening,
where she would be ready.
Little Jon did not wait to be told twice, but raced off at once.
Oldf then told the maidservant to see to the dairy work, for she
must return home. There was no horse at the milking sheds, so
she had to go on foot. No sooner had she reached home than she
dressed herself to ride to the Thing, and she was ready when
Einar arrived with horses and all the gear required for the jour-
ney.
They started off the same evening and travelled night and day
until they reached Thingvellir. Here they met two men with Jon
between them, bound. They were taking him to the gallows. He
looked at her sorrowfully, saying, “I always expected as much.”
Oléf made no reply but begged the men who were with him to
wait a quarter of an hour while she went to the judge and gave
evidence in the case. This they promised to do. She now went to
the courthouse and walked straight in, though in those times it
was thought scandalous for a woman to enter there. Going up to
the judge, she saluted him with reverence, then threw on the table
before him a document that she had made out before leaving
home, and bade him read it. The judge did so and, when he had
read a little, began alternately to flush and go pale. He then began
once more from the beginning, reading aloud, until he came to
where Oléf told how Jon had saved her life. He asked the pastor
whether this were true, but he said nothing and sat there pale as
a corpse. [he judge then asked other men of the district the same
question, and they replied that it was true. He now called his ser-
vant to him and bade him go forthwith to the place of execution
and tell them to release Jon, if it were not too late. At the very
moment when the servant came to the gallows, they were putting
the rope about Jén’s neck; but they now set him free.

222
 The pastor was blamed greatly for his conduct, and the judge
said he deserved to be hanged in Jén’s stead; but by the pleading
of Oléf and his neighbours he escaped so severe a penalty, though
he was unfrocked and deprived of his living and property. The
estate was made over to the brother and sister, Indridi and Olof.
The pastor did not return home after the Thing but travelled to
somewhere in the east country, and he is out of the story. As for
Jon and Oléf, they were married as soon as they got home again.
They adopted Little Jon, bringing him up and educating him, and
he later became a farmer of substance. To his father, Einar, they
gave six hundreds of land for his journey to the Thing. They also
saved Magnus from vagrancy and made a worthy man of him.
And so ends the story of Jon and Oléf.

223
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 Torfi ofKlofi
It is said that the later plague was brought out by English mer-
chants to Hafnarfjordur. They had cloth to sell, together with
other goods, but when they broke up one of the bales, a bluish-
coloured vapour arose from it. The priest Jon Egilsson and coun-
ty sheriff Jon Espdlin after him declared “that it seemed to men
as if a bird came out of some blue cloth,” and they date the com-
ing of the plague to the year 1493. After this the blue vapour
spread quickly, carrying with it a great and deadly sickness wher-
ever it went. The deaths began about the time of the Althingi and
continued to spread like a fire into the autumn, when the weath-
er grew colder. This pestilence was so fatal in its effect that
women were found dead at the milking-pail in the cowshed and
at the food-barrel in the larder. That summer many farms in the
south, and as far west as Gilsfjordur, were abandoned, while in
many places only two or three souls were left alive, some of them
babies that suckled their dead mothers when found. There would
often be three or four burials on the same day at a church, and
though six or seven followed the bodies to the grave, not more
than three or four would return home, for the rest died on the way
either to or from the churchyard and were themselves buried in
the graves they had prepared for others.
At this time Torfi Jonsson of Klofi.was district chieftain over
the counties of Arnes and Rangarvellir. However, when he
heard that the deadly pestilence had crossed eastwards over
Hellisheidi heath to Olfus, he gathered up his chattels and left
Klofi with all he could carry and needed most, and made his way
with this and his house-folk as far as the Landmanna outpas-
tures. In the southern part of these outpastures there is a glacier
that stretches east and west. It is slightly south of due east from
Mt. Hekla. Torfi now headed in this direction with his people
and baggage. He then followed the glacier eastwards until he
reached a stream called Namskvisl, which runs from the north-
ern side of the glacier into the river Tungnaa. About this stream

226
there was a fair and fertile meadowland, and the grass was
bowed under its own weight. But Torfi continued up the stream
and into a gill out of which it flowed and which is now known
as Jokulgil, or glacier-gill. Here the grass grew thinner, and it
became stony by the stream. Torfi’s housecarls now spoke of
wishing to stay in the grass meadows downstream, for they
thought that good land and little likelihood that Master Torfi
would find himself a better dwelling place by going on up this
black gill where the cliffs almost met together overhead. Torfi
was aware of these grumblings of his housecarls and told them
to leave the matter to him, for he had looked after their inter-
ests successfully before this. They continued up the gill, and
after going on for a while they saw that there was a brightness
again to the south and coming to meet them. The gill now
opened, and they came out into a wide and beautiful valley that
seemed to stretch the whole length of the glacier from east to
west without another entry, save that from which they
approached and where the stream emerged. At the top of this
valley, as far as the eye could see, there was only the icefield and
clear sky to be seen. But below there were well wooded slopes
reaching down to the lowland, and where the woods ended there
were level lawns, as fair as they were grassy.
“We shall stay here for a while,” said Torfi. “If the blue vapour
can harm us in this valley, it must be deadly indeed.”
After this Torfi set them to work building a farm, and it was not
long before a fine farmstead had risen there, for he had many men
under him. In the summer he let his housecarls do all the usual
summer farm chores in the valley there, and with rich returns, for
the land lacked nothing in virtue, and none of those who were
with him had ever seen its like.
Although Torfi made his men avoid all communication
between the valley and the settlements of Landmanna or
Rangarvellir, so that there should be less danger of the plague
entering the valley, nevertheless he sent two men whom he best
trusted every fortnight up to the ridge of the fells, whence they

227
could see out over the settlements, to find out how it fared with
the blue vapour. But a long time passed, and always they came
back with the unpleasant tidings that the vapour still lay over the
settlements and reached halfway up the slopes of the mountains,
and it was like looking out over a bluish sea. Of movements of
men about the districts nothing was to be seen.
One day later, though, these emissaries brought Torfi word that
the vapour was gone. However, he remained in the valley for a
while, until he thought there was no longer any fear that the
pestilence might linger in the parishes of which he had knowl-
edge. He then set to and moved back to the settlement, building
a new farm at Klofi, and neither he nor any of his people was
harmed by the plague.
It is not told how long Torfi stayed by the glacier, which has its
name from him, being called Torfajékull ever since. It is said that
when he moved back to the settlement some of his people did not
want to leave the valley, and he indulged their wish, giving them
the farm buildings there as they stood. Since then it has been
accepted for truth, up to a short time ago, that there were outlaws
near Torfajékull, and travellers who have taken the track beyond
the fells eastwards to Skaftafellssysla county, from the part of
Rangarvellir to the south of Torfajékull, have reported the scent
of smoke from the glacier when the wind was in the north, as
though brushwood were being burned. It was also the belief of
many that outlaws were the cause of sheep lacking in the round-
up from the outpastures, which often occurred. But a few years
ago it was proved that this must have been due to something
other than outlaws by Torfajékull, for the farmers of the
Landmanna area gathered together and explored Jékulgil, going
so far up the gill that they were-able to see that the valley was full
of ice and quite uninhabitable, and very unlike what it was said to
have been in the days of Torfi.

228
 II
While Magnus Dun-pate Eyjélfsson held the see of Skalholt
(1477-1490) there was no trouble between him and Torfi. But
things changed when Stefan Jonsson became bishop, for they had
always been at daggers drawn. The reason for this was that there
was a deal of licentiousness in the land in those days, and it was
the custom for the bishops to judge all cases of loose behaviour
with women, and impose heavy fines on the offenders in redemp-
tion of their lives, or dispensation from penance and fasting, if
men of substance were involved, and afterwards give them abso-
lution. Many suffered this with very ill grace. Bishop Stefan was
severe and enforced such fines most strictly. He was therefore
considered harsh and vindictive, and those who could fled from
the bishop’s punishment and sought refuge with Torfi, who was
the biggest chieftain in the south and seldom let himselfbe over-
borne, whoever he was dealing with. Torfi took everyone he could
under his protection, so that the bishop could neither judge nor
punish them, and these offenders went unabsolved and scot-free.
For all this there was the most bitter ill will between the bishop
and Torfi.
One winter, when the river Thjérsa was frozen over for its
whole length, from mountain to shore, Torfi set out from home
with thirty men. His purpose was to ride to Skalholt and take
Bishop Stefan while most of the homefolk there were away at the
fishing sheds on the south coast. They rode to the ford
Nautavadur on the river, opposite Thjorsarholt and below the
ferry station at Hrosshylur. But when they came to the river, there
seemed to be an open channel in the middle. They therefore
turned and rode along the river all the way down to Holt, to the
farm called Kaldarholt, and then turned back again, not seeing
any end to the channel. Torfi’s attempt against Bishop Stefan thus
came to naught on that occasion; though the ice on the Thjérsa
was crossed that day, both before and afterwards, and it was

229
believed that Torfi had been the victim of an illusion and had lit-
tle honour of his journey.
Torfi took this very badly and thought the bishop more than a
little crafty in deluding him so thoroughly. He waited for a chance
of revenge, whenever one should occur. Once in the summer he
rode out with a band of men and came to Skalholt when there
were few there. His approach was seen, and the bishop ordered all
the doors to be locked. Torfi went first to the church, and from
there to the door on the north side of the house. Giving a great
knock on the door, he asked if the devil were inside. The bishop’s
squire, one named Loftur, ran armed to the door and replied:

“The devil’s here, and without fear.

Wait until he’s donned his gear.
With leave, what son of a whore are you?”

Torfi replied, “Is that you, Loftur, my lad? You wouldn’t answer
like that unless you had more strength to your arm than I know
Ons
Nothing came of this attempt, either; and Torfi rode home with
his companions with little credit. But although he saw that the
bishop had come off best on both occasions, he did not stop har-
rying him; though no more details of this are recorded here.

Ill

While Torfi controlled Arnessysla county, there was a High

Sheriff at Bessastadir named Lenhardur. He was an evil and vio-
lent man and tyrannised the people. He went eastwards into
Torfi’s shire to plunder, occupied Arnarbaeli in Olfus, and swore
to kill Torfi. But Torfi attacked him at Hraun in Olfus, and put
him to death. The bishop was well pleased by this act and said
that Torfi had done a very good day’s work. Torfi was now shriv-
en by the bishop and paid only a small fine. Nevertheless there
still remained some coldness between them.

230
 Grund in Eyjafjérdur

It is told how, in a certain year of famine in ancient times, there

was a farmer living at Grund in Eyjafjérdur, who was the owner
of the property. He had been well-to-do, but he was so generous
to needy folk that he found himself with nothing left. He there-
fore went to his neighbour, who was not so free with his charity
and had some stocks of food, and asked for his help. The neigh-
bour refused, however, until the farmer offered him the freehold
of his property, Grund, in return. He then agreed to sell him a
single sheep’s carcase for the whole farm. The farmer of Grund
accepted the terms and took the carcase home with him. He man-
aged to eke out a living until things got better. Then in the spring
he left the farm.
Many years later this same man happened to ride past Grund,
and it is said that he then recited the following verse:
Good it is Grund to see.
God knows whose it may be.
This brings sad thoughts to me,
Riding by its boundary.

The Feast

When Erlendur Haraldsson was agent at Munkathvera, or

Monks’ Thver4, he was very hospitable and much given to gaiety.
Living in the parish was an old man named Jén, whom Erlendur
held in warm regard for his wise and gentle character.
Once Erlendur held a Yuletide feast in the most lavish style. He
invited his friends to it, and Jon was among them. The feast went
well, and men were very gay. Then Erlendur asked Jon whether
he had ever sat down to finer cates than those they had before
them.
“Yes,” answered Jon, “I have eaten dishes much sweeter and

231
more delicious than have been served here, and I thanked my
God for what I then received with a moved heart and tears of joy;
which I do not now, though there is nothing lacking in good
cheer.”
Erlendur was taken aback by this reply, expecting a different
one, and he said, “Is this true, Jon ?”
“Yes, it is true,” answered Jon.
“When and where was it?” Erlendur asked again.
“It was in the great famine,” said Jon, “when I cooked my skin
clothes and ate them without any sauce.”
It is recorded that Erlendur, who was a sensitive, kind-hearted
man, shed tears at this tale of J6n’s, and that all the other guests
were greatly moved.

The Story ofAxlar-Byérn and his Son, Sveinn Skotti

There was a man named Pétur from Hraunhreppur in Myrar. He

married a woman of Breidavik on the Snaefellsnes peninsula in
the early days of Bishop Gudbrandur. Pétur had two children
with his wife (at the time of this story), a son and a daughter,
whose names were Magnus and Sigridur. After this Pétur’s wife
was again with child, and it is said that she was now overcome by
a deep depression, and it seemed to her she could not survive
unless she tasted human blood. For a long time she fought this
longing without anyone knowing of it, but in the end she could
no longer hide it from her husband. Because the mutual bond
between husband and wife was so close, he could deny her noth-
ing that he could give, and therefore drew blood from his own leg
and let her taste it.
After this longing of hers had been appeased, the wife was vis-
ited by a host of unspeakable dreams, and she remarked to her
maidservant that she feared the child she carried would differ in
some manner from other men, and it would be a mercy if it did
not turn out some deformed monster.

be de
 Time now passed till she was due to be delivered. All then went
as normal, and she bore a male child. He was named Bjérn, and
he grew and prospered. Pétur had formerly been a hired man with
Ormur Thorleifsson at Knorr — known as Ormur the Rich,
because he owned all the property in Breidavik as far as
Sleggjubein — and Ormur had set Pétur up with a holding at
Husanes, and he treated him and his wife well, although he was
considered such a hard man in his dealings with others that it was
said of him:
No temper 1s worse
Than Ormur of Knorr’.

One day, when the brothers Magnis and Bjorn were six and five
years old respectively, Ormur was riding to gather driftwood
when he saw them playing on some rocks. They were quarrelling,
and Bjérn was getting the better of it. Ormur then rode to
Husanes and offered to foster Magnus, for it was a hard year.
However, the boys’ mother begged him to take Bjorn; for he was
ungovernable but had the makings of a man in him, and she
hoped that at Ormur’s they would manage to make something of
him. Ormur let himself be persuaded, and Bjérn went home with
him to Knorr.
Here Bjérn formed a bond of friendship with a young fellow,
Ormur’s cowherd, and they were at close quarters in the cattle
shed, night and day. It was a large building and there were thirty
cattle in it.
Bjorn grew up quickly after he came to Ormur, but he was
thought to be a dark horse and of a stubborn disposition. Ormur
had a bastard son named Gudmundur, who was of an age with
Bjorn. He grew up to be overbearing like his father and a hard
one to deal with. He practised wrestling and other sports, which
was not very common at that time, but was little given to work.
He and Bjérn got on well together.
There was then, as now, a church at Knorr, and Ormur insisted
that his people attend services regularly.

233
 One day Bjorn happened to oversleep in his bed at church time,
against the wishes and without the knowledge of Ormur. He
dreamed that a stranger came to him holding a plate of meat cut
into small pieces, which he offered to him. Byérn accepted the
offer and ate eighteen morsels, each seeming to him more deli-
cious than the others; but at the nineteenth he felt sick, and he
stopped.
Then the stranger said, “You did well to accept my meat. But
now I shall do more for you. Go tomorrow, without anyone
knowing of it, up to the top of the Axlarhyrna. Here you will find
two fairly large, oddly shaped stones. Lift the smaller of the two
a little, and what you find under it on the northern side you
should keep and put to good use; for it has the virtue that it will
make you well known.”
After this the dream-man vanished, and Bjorn awoke and was
eager to go out and seek what he had been told of. The day after,
he got up very early and climbed the Hyrna, and he found the odd
stones. Under the smaller one there was an axe; not large, but
sharp. When Bjorn picked it up he was possessed by an urge to
kill.
He now left that place and made his way down to the fishing
huts at Frambtdir. He had the axe hidden under his clothes and
let no man see it, but hid it in a hole in the lava. Then he rowed
with the fishermen that day. He asked his fellows what they
would give him for a thing he had found under a stone on the
Axlarhyrna. They answered that it could have been nothing wor-
thy of note. That evening, though, when they landed, Bjorn ran
ashore and came back carrying the axe in his hand. And when he
came to his fellow fishermen, he raised it fiercely above his head
and asked with a cold laugh, “Which of you would sleep under
this?”
The others were somewhat taken aback, and none would do so.
One of the boat’s crew, an old and prudent man, paying no heed
to Bjorn, said to his comrades, “Take the axe from him, for it is
an instrument of misfortune.”

234
 Bjorn did not linger, though, but went his way, home to Knorr.
A little later his companion, the cowherd at Knorr, disappeared
and was never found again.
There was a servant girl at Knorr named Steinunn. She served
Bjorn and married him. Ormur the Rich died about this time, and
his son Gudmundur lived on at Knorr after him, soon becoming
a powerful man in the district. He gave his foster-brother Bjorn
the land of Oxl. The farmhouse at Oxl had formerly stood out-
side the hillocks, but with Gudmundur’s leave Bjérn moved it to
them. Here he farmed, together with Steinunn his wife, who had
served him at Knorr, and they did well. They had few workers; but
those they had, they kept. There was great wonder at the number
of Bjérn’s horses, and some began to suspect that they must have
been acquired in various ways, while the whisper went round that
he murdered men for their wealth. On one occasion a certain
wealthy man named Bjérn sent two of his hired men west under
the glacier for the fishing, and he put them under the direction of
his namesake at Oxl. When they came there, and Bjorn of Ox!
saw that they were well found and had fine horses, he asked them
to go with him out to the cowshed. It was dark, but they saw
something gleaming in Bjérn’s hand, and immediately they con-
veyed their master’s greetings to him. When Bjorn learned
whence they were he received them well, providing them with
everything of the best and getting them good places in a boat
from Stapi. But these comrades suspected that it might have gone
otherwise, had Bjérn not known soon enough whence they came.
It has been said that a certain visitor from the north once
lodged with Bjérn, and in the evening he was shown to a bed near
the door of a building on the farm. After going to bed the visitor
could not sleep, so he got up, and happening to feel under the bed,
he found there a dead body. He was fearfully shaken at this, but
had recourse to putting the body in the bed and covering it with
the bedclothes, while he lay down himself under the bed where
the body had been before. When the night was about two-thirds
past Bjorn and his wife came into the building. Bjérn was carry-

235
ing his axe, and he struck with it at what lay in the bed, thinking
it was the visitor and intending him to tell no further tales.
Then Bjérn’s wife said, “Why does he struggle so little, or not
at all, in dying?”
“He did make a sound; he was weary, and the blow was a true
one, woman,” said Bjérn. After this they returned to the dadsfofa.
Though there was great anger at Bjérn’s conduct, none dared
speak aloud for fear of the power of Gudmundur Ormsson; but
his friendship with Bjérn began to cool somewhat about this
time, though no reasons are given for this, unless it be that once
Gudmundur rode out to Gardar in the Stadur district with two
riding-horses, and looked in at Oxl on his way home to ask for a
drink. Bjdrn invited him in, but Gudmundur did not accept the
invitation. Then Bjérn’s wite came out with a jug of whey, which
she handed to Gudmundur, and he was just about to drink when
out came Bjérn in a large cloak. Gudmundur saw the handle of
an axe sticking out under the cloak, and he threw down the whey-
jug and rode off, whereupon Bjérn took out the axe from under
his cloak and struck at him; but, missing Gudmundur, he injured
his horse so severely that he was unable to reach home on it, and
had to change over to the uninjured one.
The following day Bjérn’s wite went over to Knorr and begged
Gudmundur’s forgiveness for the attack. Gudmundur promised
her his indulgence but declared that sooner of later Bjérn’s mis-
deeds were bound to be made public, though he remained silent.
On the Wednesday betore Easter of the same year, a brother
and sister came to Oxl. It was thawing and the hour was late, so
they asked for lodging, which was readily granted. Their wet
clothes were pulled off them and they were given dry ones. Then
food was place betore them. An old woman was sitting there in
the daastofa, putting a child to sleep. It is said that she would have
warned the brother and sister of the peril that threatened them,
so she sang an old lullaby whenever BjSrn’s wife went out of the
room.

The rhyme is recorded in differing forms, and went thus:

bswwom
 No one guests with Gunnbjorn
Who 1s well dressed.
He drives them to the Urchin Tarn;
Blood flows
As he goes,
And I rock you, baby, to rest.

or like this:

No one guests with Gunnbjérn

Who 1s well dressed,
And hushabye.
As true to man
As the wolf to the lamb,
And lullabye.

When the young folk had eaten, the girl went outside. A little
later her brother heard a noise, and he ran out into the sheep
shed, Bjorn following. After that the boy leaped up on to the wall
and thence to a haystack that was against the building, and so out,
for the turf roof was thawed. Bjérn followed on his heels but lost
sight of him in the dark. The boy got to the lava, and there he hid
in a gulley, not far from the farm, while Bjorn was searching for
him. Later he left the gulley and made his way by night to
Hraunlands, and the farmer there went with him to Hellnar, to
the Parish Overseer, Ingimundur of Brekkubaer, who was both a
wealthy man and a stubborn one. Early on Easter Sunday
Ingimundur took two stout men with him and rode to Knorr. He
was no friend of Gudmundur of Knorr, who though rich and
stubborn himself, had the worst of it in his dealings with
Ingimundur, both in strength and wit. That Easter Day there was
bright sunshine, and people were standing out of doors in the fine
weather. Axlar-Bjérn had come there, too, and he is reported to
have remarked to those who stood near him, “Now the days of
sunshine are down, brothers.”
Shortly afterwards Ingimundur went up to Bjorn and asked

237
where he had got the cap he had on his head, then unbuttoned
the gown he was wearing over his other clothes, and asked where
he had got the silver-buttoned tunic and doublet that he had on.
Bjérn replied that such questions were rather strange, and he
would not answer them. Ingimundur then said that there was no
need, and calling his companions he asked them to look at Bjérn’s
clothes, and testify whether his hired man Sigurdur, who had
gone out one day two years before and disappeared, no one knew
whither, had not owned these garments and been wearing them
when he went trom the farm. And they declared that this was the
truth.
Ingimundur now called upon Gudmundur Ormsson to arrest
Bjdrn as a malefactor; but Gudmundur retused. Thereupon Ingi-
mundur arrested Bjérn himself and charged him with the murder
of Sigurdur, and of the girl formerly mentioned, and took him to
Arnarstapi, to Jon the Lawman. Later Bjérn’s wife Steinunn was
also taken and imprisoned at Stapi. Bjérn then confessed to the
Lawman that he had killed and murdered eighteen people alto-
gether, and the cowherd of Knorr the first of them, burying his
body under the muck of the cattle house, while the other seven-
teen he had hidden in Urchin Tarn, tying stones to the bodies,
and his wife had been his accomplice and accessory.
Bjérn and Steinunn were both condemned to death at the
Laugarbrekka Thing in 1596. Bjérn was sentenced first to have all
his limbs broken, and then lose his head; but the execution of
Steinunn was postponed, for she was with child.
A young man named Olafur, a close kinsman of Bjérn’s, was
engaged to carry out the sentence. The arms and legs were bro-
ken with a wooden club, something soft being placed under them
to increase the suffering. Bjérn’ took his torture and death in a
manly fashion, neither flinching nor crying out. Once, while his
bones were being broken, he said, “Seldom will a bone break well
with nothing under it, cousin Olafur.” When all his limbs had
been broken, his wite said to those who were standing by, “Now
my Bjrn’s limbs are running rather short.” And Bjérn replied to

te sD
this, “There is one left, though, and it were better off.” And he
was then beheaded.
Bjérn’s burial mound can be seen to this day by the home-field
at Laugarbrekka, on Laugarholt, as it is called, where the church
track divides from Laugarbrekka to Hellnar and Stapi. The
mound is of stones, grown over with grass below, and is known as
Axlar-Bjérn’s Barrow.
Of Bjérn’s wife Steinunn it is told that she went north to
Skottastadir in Svartardalur and there bore a son, called Sveinn
Skotti. Having been delivered, it is said that she was put to death
without flinching.
Sveinn travelled far and wide about the land after he was grown.
He both stole and absconded, had children in many places, and
was deemed bold in his dealings with women. He won renown
almost solely for ill deeds but had no name for courage or accom-
plishments. He was flogged in Thingeyjarsysla county in the
north for theft and other mischief, and again at the Althingi in
1646, where he was condemned to be flogged for the same
offence as much as he could endure, and also to lose one ear.
After this Sveinn stayed in the West Fjords and joined up with
a certain Jén, called Syjuson, who practised sorcery and other
wickedness. The two of them stole sheep from the outpastures
and committed other misdeeds. It is said that Sveinn learned sor-
cery of Jon, and pledged himself to the devil that no fetters should
hold him, and trusted in this contract ever afterwards.
One day Sveinn came to a certain farm at service time, and all
the people were away at church, excepting some children, the old-
est of them twelve or thirteen years of age. Sveinn broke into the
larder and filled a bag with all his favourite delicacies. ‘Then he
came to the children, told them his true name, and gave them
morsels from his bag.
“God fill your bag full, Sveinn,” said the children.
“He need not; I can do so myself,” answered Sveinn.
At last Sveinn was taken when he would have raped the wife of
the farmer at Raudsdalur in Bardastrond while her husband was

239
away. She had him bound with her swaddling-band, for he had
forgotten to mention swaddling-bands in his contract with the
devil.
Sveinn was sentenced to death and hanged at Rauduskord in
1648. Two years later Jon Syjuson was condemned at the
Althingi, and he was to be beheaded. It is recorded that the exe-
cutioner had to hack thirty times at Jon’s neck before the head was
off; it was like chopping at a stone, and the edge of the axe was all
turned.
An oaken tablet was found in one of Jén’s shoes, and a fragment
of human skull with the hair still on it in the other, both inscribed
with runic letters. It was on account of these that the axe would
not bite.
After his execution Jon walked abroad, until the representatives
at the Thing took his body and burned it to ashes.
Sveinn had a son named Gisli, called Croaker, and he is said to
have earned the name. He was both a thief and a scoundrel in
other ways, and was finally hanged at Dyrhdlar.
Sveinn is said to have had a daughter who was employed to look
after the farmer’s baby at Dalshus by Saudlauksdalur. When she
found herself unable to stop the child crying, she said to it, “Were
I like my grandfather, I] would soen prick a hole in your belly and
let out the wind.”
When the farmer heard these words, he dismissed her forth-
with.
The area round the place where Skotti was hanged was long
supposed to be haunted, and it was believed that he was to blame
when Sira Gudbrandur Sigurdsson from Brjanslaekur died of
exposure in the Rauduskérd pass one hundred and thirty-two
years later.
 The Hornafjérdur Fleet

The Hornafjérdur Fleet flows out of the Heidnaberg glacier and

runs down to the middle of Hornafjérdur fjord. When it first
burst forth from the glacier it laid waste many farms. Before that
there was a fertile and well-populated district, where now the
river flows. There was a glacial burst one night when all the peo-
ple were in bed asleep. They were drowned and not a soul saved,
neither man nor beast. The floods swept everything away, farms
and other buildings and all that was in them, and stripped away
the greensward as well. Whole parishes were thus wiped out, and
it was an awesome and terrible sight the next morning, when men
saw the aftermath.
Three years later a certain shepherd happened to be down by
the estuary of the river. His dog stopped by a hummock of grass
there on the sands. The shepherd would have gone on his way, but
the dog jumped up to him and then ran back to the hummock
and dug at it, sniffing round it, and then running back to its mas-
ter. The shepherd now went over to the hummock, wanting to
know what this was all about, and he heard a dog barking below.
He tore up the ground, and there he found a girl and a dog with
her. She had been there since the flood, and the house she was in
had stood, though completely covered by sand. She had found
enough food there for herself and the dog.
The shepherd took them home with him, and the event was
thought a remarkable one, as it is still today.

Arni Oddsson

Arni was the son of Bishop Oddur Einarsson of Skélholt. He did

well in his schooling, both at home and abroad, and was three
years in Copenhagen; after which, in the year 1612, he was put in
charge of the school at Skalholt, being then twenty years of age,

241
as Espolin records. Later he took up the study of the law, which
served him in good stead, both before he was made Lawman, and
after.
In the year 1606 a man had been appointed captain-general or
governor here whom the common people always called
Herlegdad, or “glorious deed,” though his true name was Herluff
Daae. He was on bad terms with many of the leading men in the
land, and not least with Bishop Oddur. Herlegdad slandered the
bishop greatly abroad and spoiled his interests with the king, in
particular saying that he had ordained unlearned men who had
neither attended the Latin School nor knew any Latin, for the
sake of family connections, or friendship, or for money. Bishop
Oddur was able to refute these accusations. Yet there was that
much truth in them, that the bishop was reluctant to accept the
children of poor men for admission to the school, unless some
property, or part of one, were donated in payment, and the cap-
tain-general was sometimes obliged to intervene in order for
them to be admitted without extortion. On the other hand, the
bishop had charges of some weight against the captain-general:
first, that he had permitted the marriage of cousins without the
king’s knowledge and against the bishop’s advice, and second, that
the captain-general appeared to have had administered to him
some drug that had caused him to take to his bed for two or three
days as a result. And there was much more besides that caused
contention between the captain-general and the bishop.
In the year 1617, while these disputes were at their height, the
bishop sent his son Arni overseas to plead his cause against
Herlegdad, and his case was presented in such a manner to the
king that he sent his agents out hither the following summer to
give judgment in this and other. matters.
While Arni was in Copenhagen that winter, he happened to
walk before an open window of the palace where the king was,
and just when he was talking with Herlegdad. This caught Arni’s
attention at once, and he paused. He heard the king ask
Herlegdad how many taxes there were from Iceland. Herlegdad

242
replied, “Seventy.” At this, Arni, unable to contain himself, shout-
ed out, “Now Herlegdad is lying to the king. There are not sev-
enty taxes, but seven times seventy, and some would say seventy
times seventy.”
Herlegdad was greatly put out at being called a liar before the
king, and he asked the king to put the matter to the test the fol-
lowing summer, which he promised would be done. After this
Herlegdad summoned Arni to appear before the Althingi next
summer.
Early that summer the king’s emissaries arrived here to judge
the case of the captain-general and the bishop, besides those of
other men. But Arni did not appear to defend either his father or
himself against the captain-general. Men rode to the Althingi,
but there was still no news of him, and it was believed that all the
Iceland-bound ships that would be sailing that summer had
arrived.
The assembly now began, with Bishop Oddur burdened with
anxiety, both because of his son’s absence and for his certainty that
judgment would go against them in all matters for lack of the
documents that Arni had with him. The proceedings continued
until the time came for the case between the bishop and the cap-
tain-general to be heard. Arni was now called by name twice in
the high court with the interval of an hour between callings.
Herlegdad thought he had the cases against both father and son
very much in his pocket, and during the interval between the first
and second callings made sarcastic remarks to the bishop about
the business upon which his son might be engaged. The bishop
pretended not to hear him. After Arni had been called for the sec-
ond time, the bishop requested that the king’s emissaries grant a
brief adjournment while he withdrew, and this was granted. The
bishop then walked up to the cliff above the Almannagyja to see
whether anything was to be seen that might bring him comfort.
The story now turns to Arni. He had spent the winter of 1617-
18 in Copenhagen, as was said before. During that time he had
given all his attention to the preparation of the cases, his father’s

243
and his own, for the Althingi in the coming summer, and none to
securing for himself a passage home. Herlegdad, on the other
hand, gave less thought to the preparation of his case than he did
to his voyage and Arni’s back to Iceland — each on its own
account; for, having secured himself a passage on the man-of-war
by which the king’s emissaries were to travel, he put an absolute
ban on Arni as a passenger on the Iceland voyage with most of the
shipmen, while others he bribed not to take him.
In the spring when the merchant vessels on the Iceland trade set
sail from Copenhagen, Arni went to each of the shipping agents
in turn: first, to those who sailed to the Southern Quarter, and
later to all those who traded with any part of Iceland; but nowhere
was he able to obtain a passage, for all were afraid of Herlegdad.
Thus he saw all the Iceland-bound trading ships sail without him,
watching them go with bitter feelings, as may well be supposed.
One day that summer, when only a week was left until the
Althingi assembly, Arni was walking along the shore outside
Copenhagen. Some say that he had a good friend, an old man, to
whom he went in a despondent mood and bade get him over the
Icelandic Ocean. The man thought this no easy matter, but said
he would do his utmost. He then pulled a small drawer out of a
chest he had, carried it down to the sea, and bore Arni in it across
to Iceland, reaching Vopnafjérdur in the east two days before the
Althingi. But there is another, more credible account, according
to which Arni, as he walked along the beach, is said to have seen
aman in a boat a little offshore. He hailed the man and asked
whether he would take him over to Iceland, for his life and the
honour of his father were in jeopardy if he did not come there
before a specified time. The man agreed to take him, and Arni
boarded the vessel straight away. The shipmaster then hoisted sail
and they set off to a spanking breeze. After a while the shipmas-
ter asked Arni if they were making enough way for his liking.
Arni replied, far from it. The shipmaster then put on more sail
and increased the speed of the smack, and so it was for a while.
Then he asked Arni again if he were content with their speed.

244
Arni answered, “We must do better, if we would succeed.” At this
the master piled on yet more sail, so that the boat seemed almost
to be playing ducks and drakes with the waves, and he asked Arni
a third time whether the smack were making good enough way
for his liking. “God willing, this will suffice,” answered Arni.
Nothing more is told of their voyage after this until they reached
Vopnatjérdur two days before the Althingi. It is not recorded
whether Arni paid the shipmaster for his passage, or how they
parted. But no sooner was Arni ashore than he bought himself two
excellent, well-fed horses and rode them all that day. When he
reached a farm in Jékuldalur, one had foundered and the other was
exhausted. Here he demanded a horse that he could ride for three
days without rest by the shortest way to the Althingi. He was
directed to another farm in the valley where there was a horse that
would serve his purpose if only allowed to drink. Arni obtained
this horse, though it is not said how much he gave for it. It was a
bay, as lean as a rake and long and round in the body.
Arni mounted the horse and rode as far as Bra, which is the
uppermost farm in Jékuldalur and the last before the Mountain
Way and Sprengisandur track to the south. He came to the fold
there just as milking was done, and asked for a drink. There was
a woman at the fold, and she brought him cream, but at the same
time had something in her apron. While Arni was drinking, the
woman said, “I dare say you want a drop too, Brownie.” She then
poured the last dregs of the milking into a pail that took over two
gallons, went up to the horse, and set the pail down before him.
Brownie whinnied at her and did not stop drinking until the pail
was empty, and while he drank the woman kept patting him and
sighing. It seemed to Arni that she knew the horse, and he asked
her how it was. She told him that she had bred Brownie up in her
own bower and had parted with him unwillingly when he seemed
to her ready to be ridden. Arni now thanked the woman for her
favour and mounted the horse, but as he did so she took a lump
of butter from her apron and put it in the horse’s mouth, saying,
“This is not the first pat of butter you have had, Brownie.”

245
 After this Arni started off over the longest mountain track in
Iceland at about sunset, less than thirty-six hours before the
Althingi was due to begin.
Now, as was said before, Bishop Oddur went up to the edge of
the cliff above the Almannagja and, with his attendants, scanned
all around, in every direction from which roads led to the
Althingi. When they had been there for a while, the bishop hap-
pened to look across to Armannsfell, and there he saw a cloud of
dust. It moved so fast that the bishop wondered greatly at it. After
he had watched the cloud of dust for a time, the bishop said,
“Were my son Arni in Iceland now, I would have said that was
him coming.”
After this he returned to the courthouse.
When the bishop had returned, Arni’s name was called for the
third time. And as it turned out, Arni’s arrival was so timely that
he heard the call and answered from the saddle, crying out, “Here
is Arni Oddsson, come hither by God's grace, but not yours,
Herlegdad.”
He then leaped from his horse, which was like a frozen lump of
dust to see, with a cloud of steam rising from its nostrils.
The bishop’s men tended Brownie, while Arni went to his
father, greeted him with a kiss, and then appeared betore the
court, just as he was.
His defence in the case of his father and himself was so excel-
lent that the royal emissaries condemned Herlegdad forthwith to
forteit his oftice of captain-general with shame and to pay a large
fine to the king, while Bishop Oddur and Arni were both cleared
of all charges.
Arni’s reputation was so augmented on this account that he was
made Lawman of the Southern‘and Eastern Quarters of Iceland.
As for Brownie, it is said that a better or trustier mount never
bore horsehide here in Iceland.

246
 Frélfur the Strong

There was a man in Skagafjérdur fjord called Hrélfur Bjarnason

the Strong, from whom a great kin is descended, known as the
Hrolfskin.
Among other children, Hrélfur had two sons named Bjarni; one
called Bjarni the Worse and the other Bjarni the Better.
Once Bjarni the Worse was in some kind of trouble with the
Danes, and they had him locked up at Bessastadir one spring.
Some say they imprisoned him as ajest against Hrélfur, just to see
how he would take it.
That summer, when Hrélfur came south to trade in stockfish,
he heard what had happened and set off to recover his son,
enquiring where he was being held. But when he came to the spit
of shingle between Brekka and Lambhouses he worked himself
into a rage, went berserk and began howling. When he reached
Bessastadir he broke down all doors and walked straight into the
place where Bjarni was, and he carried him away under his arm,
the Danes offering no resistance. Some say that they were so
scared they set Bjarni free and let him go at once to his father.

247
 —— ie Aa

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HUMOUR
 Will my Boats be Rowing Today?

The most wretched hovel in the Helgafell district of western

Iceland is called Botn, or the bottom, and is a place where neither
sun nor summer is ever seen. There once lived there a man named
Arni, a rootless drifter, known as Arni of Botn.
One day this Arni supplied himself with food and new shoes for
a journey, loaded his nags, and rode south, so far that none there
knew Arni of Botn. Finally he came to a fine large farm, a pas-
tor’s house, and lodged there for the night. The pastor had a pret-
ty young daughter.
When Arni woke the next morning and went to the door to
look at the weather, he remarked, “And will my boats be rowing
today, I wonder?” The pastor and his daughter overheard these
words, and they imagined that this man must be someone of sub-
stance in the west country.
To cut a long story short, Arni asked the pastor’s daughter for
her hand in marriage, and was accepted. Their wedding was held,
and horses of mettle were saddled for them, and so they set off for
the west.
At each large farmstead they came to on their way, the pastor’s
daughter asked her husband, “And is this your farm, my love?” But
each time he replied, “Not yet.”
They rode on now, a long, long way, until late one evening they
came to a turf hovel dug deep in the hillside. By this time it was
pitch dark. Here Arni dismounted and lifted his bride from her
horse.
“Is this your farm, my love?” she asked him.
“Yes,” answered Arni, and he knocked at the door.
Arni’s mother, a decrepit crohe, now came to the door and
asked who was there. Arni announced himself, and since it was so
dark that you could not see your hand before you, he called out,
“Light the candles in the golden candlestick.”
“That I cannot do,” answered the crone.

250
 “Then light them on the silver lampstand,” said Arni.
“That I cannot do, either,” answered his mother.
“Very well, then, light the confounded tallow glim,” he
exclaimed.
“That I can do,” cried the old woman, and she ran and lit it.
Of the wedded life of Arni and the pastor's daughter nothing is
told. There is this verse about Arni of Botn, however:

Arni of Botn, utterly rotten,

Few virtues his soul refine;
A robber’s den, such is his home,
Where never the sun doth shine.

Odd Anecdotes and Strange Sermons

An old woman once lived in a cottage by the sea. She often heard
the fishermen say that they were never cold, though they went out
in bitter weather, for they got heat from the handles of their oars.
One day when she was very cold and could no longer bear it in
her cottage, the old woman betook herself to the seashore, clam-
bered up into a boat that stood there, its oars ready for use, sat
down on one of the thwarts, and seizing an oar, set it in the tholes.
And there she sat, holding the oar-handle, while those that
passed by heard her repeating to herself. “This is where they get
the heat!”
But the next morning she was found there stone-dead and
frozen fast to the oar-handle. And to this day no one has ever
been able to get any heat out of one.

“Tt’s all right for the devil,” remarked one old woman, ‘he can sit
by the fire.”

An old man had lived for years in miserable circumstances and yet
was always boasting how well he was placed.

251
 “Never in all my years of farming,” he said, “have I lacked aught
— except, maybe, hay, food, clothing, shoes, and firewood, which
are not really worth mentioning.”

An old man once caught a live raven-chick and brought it home

to his wife. The couple were amused by the creature and decided
to keep it. One day a guest came to the farm, and they showed
him the bird.
“What do you want with a confounded raven?” he asked.
“We have heard that ravens can live for three hundred years,”
answered the old woman. “We want to find out if it is true.”

A pastor was once making an official visitation to a farm, of

which little is told except that there was a woman there with a son
named Olafur. The pastor catechised the boy, but he was very
ignorant and could answer few questions. At last the pastor asked
him whether he would sooner go to heaven or to hell. As before,
Olafur was slow in answering, whereupon his mother broke in
and said, “You sit still on your bed, Little Lafi, and stay where you
{”
are

A certain pastor once bought a pig and took it home with him.
The news soon got round the parish, and people flocked to
church in greater numbers than usual after the pig’s coming.
One old woman in the parish was so infirm that for some years
the pastor had been obliged to minister to her at her home. But
now she, too, appeared in church. Seeing her, the pastor said, “So
you were able to come after all?”
“Yes,” replied the old woman. “But it wasn’t just to hear you. I
wanted to see a pig before I died.”

“Tt’s just like everything else,” complained one old fellow; “all the
good customs are disappearing. There’s never any fighting at
church nowadays. Why, when I was a young man, many a one
came home from church with a black eye or a broken nose.”

252
“A dairymaid takes the milk and pours it into the churn, and she
thumps and shakes it, and batters it with the plunger. Then she
separates the higher from the lower: that is, the butter from the
whey. The whey she pours into a bowl, while the butter she puts
up on her larder shelf.
“God does the like with us. He thumps and shakes us, and bat-
ters us with the plunger of his cross. Then he separates the high-
er from the lower: that is, the soul from the body. The body he
lays in the grave, while the soul he raises up, up to his heavenly
larder shelf...
“When I am placed above in glory by my Lord, and see you
rolling down to hell like sheep-droppings on a slope of hard-
frozen snow, then I shall sign myself with the cross and say, “The
devil take you; you would have done better to listen to me when
I preached to you at Hofteigur’.”

“If all men were one man, and all mountains one mountain, and
all stones one stone, and all lakes one lake; and if that one mighty
man were to stand on the top of that mighty mountain and throw
that mighty stone into that mighty lake — then, my beloved,
there would be one eternal mighty hullaballoo. And so shall it be,
dear brethren, on the last day, when your ungodly souls are
plunged into hell!”

When an old woman heard the story of Adam and Eve and the
fall read aloud, she remarked, “It was all for the best, I’m sure. If
everyone had been holy, just think how swollen-headed the old
world would have become.”

253
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NATURE
 Skoffin and Skuggabaldur

A skoffin is said to be the offspring of a fox and a cat, the cat being
the dam. Skoffins are therefore always destroyed before they are
grown.
A skuggabaldur has a cat for its father, while its mother is a
vixen. They are as savage as the demon harriers, or foxes set on by
sorcerers to maul other men’s sheep, and when they are shot at,
the gun will misfire.
A skuggabaldur once did great damage among the flocks of the
Hiunavatn folk. Finally, though, it was run to earth in a hole, in
the gulley of the river Blanda, and killed there by a crowd of peo-
ple.
At the moment when they were giving it the death blow, the
skuggabaldur spoke. It said, “Tell Bollastadir-puss that Skugga-
baldur died this day in the gulley.”
Men wondered greatly at this.
The man who had dispatched the skuggabaldur happened to
come to Bollastadir, meaning to spend the night there. During the
evening he was lying on a bed in the dadstofa, and he told the story.
There was an old tomcat sitting on a beam there. And as the
man repeated the words of the skuggabaldur, the cat leaped at him,
fastening its claws in his neck and jaw, and could not be got away
before its head had been cut off. By this time, the man was dead.

The Islander and the Bear

On the island of Grimsey it happened one winter that the fire

died, so that none could be lit in any farmhouse there. The weath-
er was still, but the frost so severe that the sound was frozen and
men could walk across.
The islanders now decided to send men to the mainland to
fetch fire, and for this task they chose the three stoutest fellows
on the island.

256
 These three set off early in the morning, under a clear sky, and
a crowd of islanders followed them out onto the ice, to see them
on their way and wish them a safe journey and speedy return.
Nothing is told of their journey until they were about halfway
across the sound. Here they came upon a large strip of open water,
stretching so far to either hand that they could see no end to it,
and so wide that only two of them just managed to jump across,
while the third dared not risk the attempt.
His comrades now told him to return to the island, while they
continued on their way, and so he stood at the edge of the ice and
watched them go. He had no choice but to turn back; but first he
decided to follow the open water and see whether it might not be
narrower at one point than elsewhere. As the day advanced, how-
ever, it became overcast. Then a southerly wind sprang up, bring-
ing rain.
The ice now began to break up, and before long the man found
himself on a fragment drifting towards the open sea.
Later that evening, though, the fragment drifted against a large
sheet of floe-ice, and the man crossed over to it. Then before him,
a short distance away, he saw a she-bear lying on the ice with her
cubs. By this time he was cold and hungry, and to these concerns
was now added fear for his life.
When the bear saw the man, she gazed at him for a while. Then
she got to her feet, came up to him, and walked all round him.
After that, she made him understand that he was to lie down in
her lair with the cubs. He did so, but with some hesitation. Then
the bear lay down over him, giving him her teats to suck with the
cubs. And so the night went by.
The next day the creature stood up, walked a short way from the
lair, and made the man understand that he was to follow. When
he came to her, out on the ice, she lay down before him and
offered her back to be mounted. Then, with the man astride her,
she stood up and started to shake herself and twist, until he fell
off. Of this game there was no more for the time, though the man
wondered greatly at it.

257
 Three days now passed, and each night the man lay in the bear’s
lair and she gave him suck, while each morning she made him
mount on her back and shook herself until he could no longer
keep his seat.
On the fourth morning, however, the man was able to hold
himself on the bear’s back no matter how much she shook. And
later that same day she set off with him on her back to swim to
the island.
When they came to Grimsey, the man went ashore and beck-
oned to the bear to follow him. He then walked ahead of her to
his house and to the cowshed, where he had his best cow milked
forthwith, and gave the fresh milk to the bear, for her to drink as
much as she would. After this, he went to the sheep-shed, took
two of his finest rams, and slaughtered them. Then he bound
them together by the horns and laid them across the bear’s back.
The bear now returned to the sea and swam back to her cubs.
There was great rejoicing on Grimsey just then, for while the
islanders stood gazing in wonder after the bear, they saw a boat
coming from the mainland and running before the wind to the
island. And they knew that these were the men bringing back the
fire.

258
 Notes

Unless otherwise indicated, all the stories are found in Jon Arna-
son's Islenzkar thjddségur og aefintyri.

Page 10 badstofa: the common living-room of a farm, in which

workers of both sexes slept, ate, and did their indoor work.
This was a feature of Icelandic farms right up to modern
times.
Page 13 Althingt: the annual legislative and judicial assembly of the
Icelandic people, held in late June at Thingvellir, about 30
miles from Reykjavik, from the year 930 up to the end of
the eighteenth century. It now meets in the capital.
Page 15 treasure-hoards: 1.e., they would find buried treasure there.
Page 15 A great line: the family of Mar Atlason of Reykholar was a
leading one in the west of Iceland in the early Middle Ages
and is mentioned in several of the Sagas. ;
Page 19 The Lullaby: the verses are not included by Jén Arnason.
They are taken here from Sigurdur Nordal’s version of the
story (ed. Reykjavik, Almenna bokafélagid, 1971).
Page 38 Skalholt: the southern of the two episcopal dioceses in
Iceland. The northern see of Hélar was abolished in 1800,
and that of Skalholt later moved to Reykjavik.
Page 38 Gudny... Sturla: the parents of Snorri Sturluson, the histori-
an.
Page 43 Geirfuglar Skerries: a group of rocks off the south coast near
the Westman Islands. The geirfug/ was the Great Auk, and
it was here that the last surviving specimens of this bird,
now extinct, were killed in the year 1844.
Page 46 ancient lore: 1.e., magic.
Page 47 Skjalfandahaedir: lit. “trembling heights.”
Page 47 Gudmundur Bergthérsson: a poet, hunchbacked and a cripple,
who lived mainly by teaching, 1657-1705.
Page 52 Book of Settlements: a record of the first settlement of
Iceland, probably dating originally from the twelfth century.
It names four hundred of the principal settlers, and the
areas claimed by them. The settlement took place during
the period between about 874 (when Ingélfur Arnarson
arrived at Reykjavik) and 1030.
Page 58 Bjorn Skafinn: a character of folktales from the east of
Iceland, attributed with incredible strength. He is said to
have lived in the sixteenth century.

259
Page 59 Kjos: a district on the south side of Hvalfjérdur, not far
from Reykjavik.
Page 59 the present recorder: i.e., Jon Arnason.
Page 60 Finns: i.e., Lapps, traditionally believed to be sorcerers.
This, and aie characteristics of the story (e.g., there are
not, nor have ever been, snakes in Iceland), indicate its for-
eign origins, though the legend of the Lagarflj6t serpent
still persists, like that of the Loch Ness monster.
Page 61 Eggert Olafsson: 1726-68, author of a great descriptive work
on Iceland. This story of the sealskin has a close parallel in
Hebridean folklore.
Page 66 Bishop Oddur Einarsson: bishop of Skalholt, d. 1630.
Page 68 shape-changers: i.e., those subject to supernatural possession,
sometimes believed to take the form of a change of physical
“change of shape” (cf. werewolves).
Page 69 gathering herbs: these were used for food.
Page 69 last eruption ofHekla: in the present century Hekla has
erupted five times, in 1947-48, 1970, 1980 and 2000. There
have been nineteen recorded eruptions since the first settle-
ment of Iceland.
Page 70 Angelica: used, as now, for making a type of spirit.
Page 76 Bishop Gudmundur: Gudmundur Arason the Good, bishop
of Holar, d. 1237.
Page 76 the Saga of Grettir: the famous outlaw took refuge on the
island of Drangey but was finally betrayed into the hands of
his enemies by his companion, being unable to live alone
owing to his fear of the dark. See The Saga of Grettir the
Strong, translated by G. A. Hight (Dent).
Page 76 bird-catching: men still go out to Drangey in the summer to
gather eggs from the cliffs.
Page 79 the land-guardians: the Icelandic word Jandvaettir is used to
describe all the beings believed to have possessed the land
before the coming of man. These took various shapes, as
will be seen from the “guardians” of the four quarters of
Iceland, used as supporters in the national coat-of-arms.
These appear as a giant, an eagle, a bull, and a dragon.
(though it has been suggested that they might have origi-
nated from an early (heathen) memory of the symbols of
the four evangelists). Here the “land-wights” are of the
troll-kind.
Page 82 Yule-swains: in contemporary popular tradition, these are
sometimes nine in number. Although mischievous by
nature, they have become identified with imported ideas of
Santa Claus.

260
Page 89 Stra: a term usual for priests.
Page 89 dun-coloured: literally “peat-red.” According to an account
current in Reykjavik about the turn of the century, Méri
stowed away in a boat from Hvalfjordur to the island of
Engey, off Reykjavik harbour, becoming violently seasick on
the way, and continued to follow members of Kort’s family
down to the ninth generation. The last recorded appearance
of this family ghost was in 1951, when it was seen in a
house in Framnesvegur, at the western end of the town,
according to Olafur Halldérsson, who described Méri as
then being “very shrunken, about the height of the bed” and
with a long white beard reaching to his feet, his hollow,
coal-black eyes being only just visible. Soon after appearing,
it seems, he disintegrated and vanished. The following day
Olafur was visited by a friend belonging to the family of
Kort Thorvaldsson. Since then, no further activities by
Mori have been reported (see Skrudda, ed. Ragnar Asgeirs-
son, Akureyri 1957).
Page 92 Thuridur the foreman: Thuridur Einarsdéttir, a well-known
female coxswain of fishing boats in the Stokkseyri district
of southern Iceland in the earlier part of the last century, of
whom Brynjolfur Jonsson has written at some length. She
was renowned for her success at fishing, but was less fortu-
nate in her personal relations. See also the story of the
hauntings at Stokkseyri, p. 113. Thuridur died in 1863.
Page 94 Bessastadir: Bessastadir is now the residence of the president
of Iceland. This property was for a long time in the posses-
sion of the Danish crown.
Page 97 Garoon-Garoon: beside having a habit of repeating words,
ghosts had trouble in pronouncing the name of God, even
when it occurred in personal names, such as Gudrdn.
Hence the garbled form here.
Page 100 “Las/ uns Teusc redre”: “Let us speak German.” The “Devil”
appears to have confused the German reden, to converse,
with the Icelandic redur, which means genital organ or
phallus.
Page 102 Sira Oddur Gislason: pastor at Miklibaer, d. 1786.
Page 102 Sira Snorri ofHusafell: Snorri Bjérnsson, d. 1803. There are
many stories about his magic powers.
Page 105 Lost my lusty complexion: the verse is in the ancient and
complex drottkvaett metre of the scalds.
Page 107 flitting days: four days at the end of May when properties
changed hands and workers were hired or changed employ-
ers.

261
Page 109 “You are lying on my own, Anna’: this story is taken from
Bjérn Bjarnason’s second collection of folktales, published
in 1903, reprinted Reykjavik 1935.
Page 110 M_J:s.: sic.
Page 111 Grétta: the extremity of the headland of Seltjarnarnes, on
which Reykjavik stands.
Page 113 The hauntings at Stokkseyri: see note to p. 92 above. The
events described here are referred to in other accounts. It
has been suggested that the phenomenon might have been
due to marsh gases. The story given here is recorded by Jon
Thorkelsson in Thyddségur og munnmael, Reykjavik 1956.
Page 116 Eyjélfur Magnusson: described as “teacher,” he travelled
widely in the district and is said to have acted as a postman,
too.
Page 117 Gestur Palsson: Gestur Palsson the poet (1852-91), who
emigrated to Winnipeg in Canada a year before his death.
The story is taken from Bjérn Bjarnason’s first collection of
folktales, published 1900 and reissued in 1935. It is told by
Sigurdur Palsson, brother of the poet and “manager of the
store at Hesteyri” in the west of Iceland.
Page 122 Saemundur the Learned: Saemundur Sigfisson, probably one
of the first Icelanders to study abroad, in Paris, priest at
Oddi in Rangarvellir in the south of Iceland, d. 1133.
Page 122 Halfdan: see note on Sira Halfdan of Fell p. 137.
Page 128 his Edda: the so-called “Elder” or “Poetic” Edda, wrongly
attributed to Saemundur, to be distinguished from the
“Prose” Edda of Snorri Sturluson. It was a collection of
poems on the gods and heroes, some of them of great
antiquity and dating from before the settlement of Iceland.
Page 131 their blood: 1.e., menses.
Page 131 Loftur the enchanter. Loftur Thorsteinsson, b 1702, passed
out of the clergy school at Holar in 1722.
Page 131 Helar: the northern of the two Icelandic episcopal sees into
which the country had been divided since mediaeval times
(it was abolished in 1800) and site of a school for the clergy.
Page 133 Gottskalk: Gottskalk Nikuldsson, bishop of Holar, d. 1520.
Page 137 Stra Halfdan of Fell: Halfdan Narfason, d. 1568. But see p.
122 above, where he is associated with Saemundur Sigftis-
son.
Page 137 Fiddle-Byérn: occurs in a number of stories on his own
account.
Page 142 Stra Exrikur of Vogsés: Eirikur Magnusson, d. 1716.
Page 145 Thordis: Thérdis Markisdéttir d. 1728. Her cousin was
Thormédur Torfason, the historian, d. 1719.

262
Page 146 wake-time: the period on winter evenings when, after a nap,
the farm people would sit on their beds in the badstofa and
perform various tasks such as knitting, spinning, repairs of
clothes and tools, etc. It was also a time when there would
be reading aloud from sagas and other works of entertain-
ment.
Page 148 The Black Death: this swept Iceland in the years 1402-1406,
according to some estimates killing about half the popula-
tion. For example, it is recorded that only three priests were
left alive in the whole diocese of Holar.
Page 148 an emissary: a spirit raised from the dead, called a sending
and sent by the magician against his enemy. A common
phenomenon in Icelandic sorcery.
Page 154 The soul of my man Jén: this story, recorded by the national
poet Matthias Jochumsson (1835-1920), was later made
into a play, Gullna hlidid (The Golden Gate) by David
Stefansson.
Page 158 Hisavik-Jon: recorded by the late Jonas Jénasson Rafnar, a
physician in Akureyri, and reproduced here by kind permis-
sion of his son, Jonas G. Rafnar, bank manager in
Reykjavik.
Page 161 The rich farmer and the poor farmer: this story, from Bjorn
Bjarnason’s first collection, see note to p. 109 above, is a
charming and characteristically Icelandic variation on the
usual folktale theme whereby the rich man normally comes
off second best. The original storyteller is named as
Gudridur Jonsd6éttir, her account being recorded by Helgi
Jonsson of Graenavatn, near Myvatn in the north of
Iceland.
Page 168 sitting on the queen’ grave: this is not an uncommon theme
in the sagas (see, for example, Hallfredar Saga). Perhaps it
refers back to a pre-christian cult of the dead.
Page 168 Red: often the villain’s name in “stepmother” stories of this
kind. There is some evidence of a belief that red hair was a
sign of a treacherous nature.
Page 171 put a finger through the hole: compare the Grimm brothers’
Handsel und Grethel.
Page 174 lie down on the floor: this practice in childbirth is often men-
tioned in folktales. It probably had practical origins. Here,
as elsewhere, the habits of the common people are ascribed
to royalty as a matter of course.
Page 180 a pure virgin: the idea that a blood test could prove virginity
obviously reflects popular ideas of early medical practice.
There is no record of any general belief of the kind.
Page 183 beating fish: i.e., hammering stockfish to make it soft. Fish
was commonly either hung or sun-dried to preserve it. The
use of salt was a relatively late development. Stockfish is
now considered a great delicacy in Iceland.
Page 186 count his chickens before they were hatched: the Icelandic
expression is “the cabbage is not supped, though it be in the
spoon.”
Page 193 cruse: a drinking vessel. The word ris is still sometimes
used for an enamel mug, though originally it would have
been of earthenware.
Page 203 hand-running: cartwheels. This seems hardly credible but is
reported of a number of men, especially outlaws.
Page 203 outpastures: the sheep were, and still are, kept indoors for
most of the winter months, and driven out to graze in the
mountains all through the summer.
Page 205 Yerithreppur: hreppur was the smallest unit of local govern-
ment in Iceland (a parish), others being sveit (district), sys/a
(county), and f7érdungur (quarter), but here the word is sim-
ply part of a place name.
Page 206 Sprengisandur: “the foundering sand,” so called, it is said,
because horses foundered crossing it, is a great sand desert
between the glaciers of central Iceland.
Page 209 Bishop Vidalin: Jon Vidalin, bishop of Skalholt 1698-1720,
author of a popular book of “house-readings” or sermons
(postilla).
Page 212 returned to the settled country: by tradition, after 20 years’
outlawry, the outlaw earned an automatic pardon; see below.
Page 213 Dean: the Icelandic word is profastur (cf. Scottish provost).
He has jurisdiction over a number of parishes, correspon-
ding to an Anglican rural dean.
Page 213 Jon and Oléf, this story is from the second Sagnakver of
Bjorn Bjarnason of Vidfjérdur, 1903.
Page 214 fits: probably epileptic.
Page 216 fey: 1.e., doomed to die.
Page 219 the summer Thing: 1.e., the Althingi.
Pagex19 the rudiments of learning: these were taught at home, and a
boy or girl would be examined by the pastor before being
confirmed, usually at about the age of thirteen or fourteen,
and thus formally admitted to adult life.
Page 220 summer milking-sheds: these, called se/, were the equivalent
of the Norwegian saeter. Here the ewes and cows on the
outpastures would be milked and butter and cheese made,
the dairymaids living there all through the summer. The

264
 practice survived into the last century, and many place
names with the suffix se/ preserve a memory of it.
Kolla: a common name for a hornless sheep. Both rams and
ewes in Iceland are normally horned.
Page 221 pot-bread: rye bread baked in a pot.
Page 223 hundreds: a hundrad was a unit of value, originally related to
a length of woven cloth (120 ells; i-e., a “long” hundred,
dating probably from a pre-christian duodecimal system),
later regarded as the equivalent of one cow.
Page 226 Espolin: Jon Espélin, 1769-1836, author of twelve volumes
of annals of Iceland, covering the years 1262 to 1832.
Page 226 food barrel: 1.e., the barrel in which pickled meat was kept.
Page 226 Klofi: the name of a farm; literally “cleft.”
Page 230 more strength to your arm: 1.e., the bishop’s, with a hint at
magical powers.
Page 230 High Sheriff: the chief official of the Danish king, then
residing at Bessastadir, near Reykjavik, now the seat of the
President of Iceland.
Page 231 agent at Munkathvera: originally monastic land, after the
Reformation held by a tenant of the Danish crown.
Page 232 Axlar-Bjérn and Sveinn Skotti: Jon Arnason remarks that
“the story of Axlar-Bjérn was taken almost word for word
from a manuscript by Sira Sveinn Nielsson of Stadarstadur,”
but the narrative concerning his son Sveinn from a manu-
script by Gisli Konradsson. Bishop Gudbrandur:
Gudbrandur Thorlaksson, bishop of the northern diocese of
Holar 1571-1627.
Page 235 Ox/: (6x1: a shoulder, genitive ax/ar) the name of a farm;
Axlarhyrna is the name of a mountain.
Page 235 west under the glacier: i.e., the glacier Snaefellsjékull in the
west of Iceland.
Page 237 Gunnbyérn: probably Bjérn’s full name. The prefix gunn-
means “battle.”
Page 237 Urchin Tarn: igultjorn. Tgull is a sea urchin.
Page 237 turf roof: the haystack was presumably roofed over.
Page 23/ Parish Overseer: the hreppstjori had the duties of a parish
constable.
Page 238 Laugarbrekka Thing: one of the thirteen district assemblies,
meeting usually in the spring and autumn.
Page 240 swaddling-band: a string used to tie swaddling clothes about
a baby.
Page 240 burned it to ashes: a recognised procedure for exorcising
ghosts.

265
Page 241 glacial burst: i.e., a volcanic eruption under a glacier, causing
floods.
Page 241 Skdlholt: the southern episcopal see note to page 38. Its
school for the clergy (Latin School) was the ancestor of the
later Reykjavik Grammar School. There was no university
in Iceland before the last century, so further study was
undertaken at the University of Copenhagen.
Page 242 captain-general: an earlier title (éfudsmadur) used by the
Danish king’s deputy in Iceland.
Page 243 Almannagja: “the commons’ chasm,” a deep volcanic cleft
through which the old road runs down to Thingvellir. The
supposed site of the “law rock,” from which the Law
Speaker pronounced the laws to the assembly, is on the
outer slope of one of its walls.
Page 244 Vopnafjérdur: the land route from there to Thingvellir lies
right across the uninhabited wilderness of central Iceland.
Page 247 went berserk: the berserks of the sagas were picked fighting
men of the Scandinavian kings, so called, it is said, because
they went into battle in their “bare shirts.” Before battle
they would work themselves into a fighting rage, howling
and biting the rims of their shields.
Page 253 plunger: the traditional Icelandic churn was cylindrical, with
a plunger worked up and down with a handle.
Page 254 Grimsey: an island off the north coast and lying tangent to
the Arctic Circle. The appearance of polar bears, brought
across on the sea ice from Greenland, is not uncommon.
One was killed there in January 1969.

266
 Table of Contents

|OUITGLI CEL: | ieee oA Wan arin are cea ae met Ne pam en eS a 5]

ELVES

OPine Aives (Gre recisn a4h 0 thet Mekcvcedie SE ox. Adkd beh eat see 10
Dic mpeciuc.Wady of -Durstartell 2706 5c wsrale oa ee ede ea ene 10
Ree MECC raat AES, ond hah inn gneiss u reaie Odd Gg bigs crusmre ne 13
Diet iad ot ree he Se eee eee cedar 19
Stewie AMAT A eee chs ae wks cnZe Mone ake Ose)Goh espeaa eeetiars 21
Al eon (EES 8700 ef I Re a LIN hE 25
PHAR NL Cm MAO RCI Ie MAN A ela o sigsveneer = eS s em 26
The: Boy who Would not.Berwith the Blvesiir en «sy 5 ee oc avee 5 28
SUASPSSEAYFS 7 ayg8 Ne NEoad PN a On ee Rp IRE 29
ob ae SOT TI, US sc Nea rg ra a ae tot anDr Nae agg a eee aa oy
MRE IVET IAGVE TET OUSEIS fo ae VR 8 aie ows is nists Seas eaginid Baum eee ao
Pieiga the warmers Daugnter and the Pivess.. 64.06 cs sae snc 34
Ni 1a cua Aas =setae Re Pureg er reer ier Ae MP Air eee aca 38
|
PSG NYSETaorca ATP iy t= ee ee IRE aU Re SO a ae ee 43
Phiset bast lowarves 0 Tecan fcc Meale, @ acs, sriseabeaps nce’ (neds hsie. eens 47

SEA- AND WATER DWELLERS

IEG enaell meen wee ee sites ate ate. Grell ne 4 aa se ewes 52,
mheWionsteran, Vestiriop Wake We. .c4 6c. 2 12s ht sme sete ws 54
MME MVICEIAICN Ol DICLOISATICUE 1 gecvsn-ta Cotes ec ce eae
creepsvebelns 55
Aa ee ane ee On eR a ek seeks. signi al'e cao Macatee 58
Kort of Médruvellir and the Sea-Monster ..............2005- 59
ae FAANE OMSELDEIC: Gel cas sfestve wohe wsa.8 oe 4 5 et tee tenes 60
RUSS SPA Sige 09 fc Oe I RO a ee er 61
 3
ROLES

The Night diols ya,-topeneg sedi. are ener Per tora Aisi faye) < fo ete (ope 64
“Seemy: Grey hoot Dangle! ge.caas anti yaoi eeeae 65
“Teo lls afi ete eae ae oR, a ee sce tetas ta 66
“Teont lranceand the brollsumthe Fells’. 2). an 68
Giscstitsof DOtniate +. tttaat oo eters tor ee ee Ce ee aac nry Soe 69
COUMNGTULEUS veer aes Heodors cok es ue vhsotra ig an ae eee a (e
Die totes gure een ene ier tee Lene a een NR ori mie ace 75
hl cc) a ee Ee ee arin nn Armee. Poets is)
Giyla’and: hero ig, .20 ee wee eigenen
sie eer ere 81

Thorgeir's Bull? 2 eaietse 2. Serer eae ces le, ee ee 86

[eakclMIGri tae Stee eae ae eee Oe ae cere nae 89
Sele VIG ste eee Sesatealnrerecs eahacmie ae eure ta oh ie ee 91
Me: VWadownor uttanes gic. on econ Gece & sere, ee et nee eae 93
ares CACOI 0 EUVEVEKA temeth OR ang sarge c tas BNE Sin ae ee Go 2
Mother Mine:im Pola= Folds 1240s vonnmesennarnh
see ee Ee 98
dine Prendvotselvaltastadir /eege ji, brave Geet tater a ite tore 99
Solver OL IVEIRID ACE am crys yoy. ous aie cecus Sr ele eee ee 102
Elbost my: Isttsty. © Omplexi@nt aierae nu es <a ae serene 105
The Ghost and the Money-Chest ...... Ree sere Se ney 106
aVouare Lyinwon my Own, Aviiaccs Wace ae sc eun ater eee 109
ENO Grote VCISE-) syesra toe Ris Bartels Rees CURL es on otenee ital
MD herr hantoimboatyfore setecace kee tac ee eee Ae ee eee neal
Ahe: Haunting ssat Stekkseyrim eet Meese RAPE cae oso 113
GesturnPalsson-and the Ghost hohe ae: oe ee ee eee ey

5
TALES OF WIZARDS

Sacmundur the earned: .1ae.. wero a eR ee rerce eeeee ee 122

The Witeh=Rides ead cunt tena eae eee ee 129

268
Loftur the Enchanter ie) oem oleae) fe) ea eye Feige, fel affe)isii'e.'9' 16) aia) 'e)#6) 6) 4a, ele! wiible deine
DA os ONIN ee. Che Sig 2 hue ade Actes ee
Sira Halfdan of Fell and Fiddle-Bjérn
DEIR OW ORSO8 Sour sagsose wae ecns SN SEE
The Wizards of the Westman Islands ...............0.000-

6
TALES OF SAINTS AND SINNERS
ie Souk of my Man Jom)...c.5.. acess re ee aaa.
E arnmittene, oft MaVsOWI: cic. 2 candies 2 nas 20k ke onsen sabes
Assi | CNIS ah AO ee EIN Reg Reo da 5rd ted aca ed cao eae
The Rich Farmer and the Poor Farmer ..«......<0-+..0200.
Door Praverat Pventine.6 fey e en tet os 6 oe Se ih Slee eo
Pe VeM VCLOre: BUOULNONE 920 cet has oon «Rake Ue Moet serene
PeavyCT aoe IMAOUCNGS oegies ire cne owas ake dae otx,re epee agua: toy tue.

ADVENTURE TALES

Sirtia Ofte DIIClamds IsleSe, nieces < cine 2 daca ahy aide ave Wie ace
The taleot Hiduc theGood stepmother .s-.sas0. coe oe
Phe; Tale ot the Famt-Hearted Wad. A. 282 eeu oe eee cee
LE ecsepiyceet Mims ALESIS ON Uses otvislyc ol s'seee hclog Mase oe

OUTLAWS
Pivoiriebee ort WME VOUS Tyalco isin Wh viele slagd 2 t'e oe MATS weno yo
Arr eiigl at er rea aay Ore RS ee tae oats a Gobe awl es Shin49

PRG iin OR remit ett ane ase sual an a5 5's6 oem Aes
CGE SETS DiigEhTs ge Veo herrea eR
TI Serge ae ae AE a ne aPC
The Story of Axlar-Bjérn and his Son, Sveinn Skotti.......... 232
‘he Hosnatjorcdar Fleets eeeciy ge eae oe ee eee 241
ASHI OddSs0th sxcciedsincs 04. SEO ORE et OS See 241
Parole thesSttong 2.dec-oky. eigen invokes te ea Sd hee 247

ie)

HUMOUR

Willtny Boats beaRowing. loday? s.as. aster st ee ee 250

@ddiAneedotes and Strange: Sermons... 1. ees see ne ees 251

II

TALES OF NATURE
Skoftin and Skuggabalduty to.c oh veterans tahoe whiaweter se 256
“Nave lislevave
ore anaval dave IRYGAVE 4 con oom oasoaacouossacoesusoe 256

INGLES BEE Mis Se Nee Cote. aN WN ekare Cir AE ie ee ek a as, ea 259

270
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A)CY

IN THE MID-NINETEENTH CENTURY, JON ARNa-

SON COMPILED A SET OF ICELANDIC FOLKTALES.
EVER SINCE THAT SET WAS FIRST PUBLISHED IN “s

1862-64, IT HAS BEEN CONSIDERED THE FORE-

MOST COLLECTION OF ICELANDIC FOLKTALES
AND HAS PROVIDED READERS WITH INSPIRA-
TION FOR WORKS OF ART, ADVENTURE TALES
FOR RECREATIONAL READING, AND INFORMA-
TION ABOUT LIFE AND PEOPLE OF EARLIER
TIMES. THE LATE PROFESSOR ALAN BOUCHER,
ap
py
Se
*
FORMER CHAIRMAN OF THE DEPARTMENT OF
ENGLISH AT THE UNIVERSITY OF ICELAND,
TRANSLATED A SELECTION OF THESE FOLK- 2S
TALES, WHICH WAS PUBLISHED IN THREE
VOLUMES BY ICELAND REVIEW IN 1975-76.
THE PRESENT PUBLICATION COMBINES THE “a
THREE PRIOR VOLUMES INTO ONE. iS.
IN HIS INTRODUCTION TO THIS SELECTION,
ALAN BOUCHER EXPRESSED THE HOPE THAT IT
WOULD OFFER ENGLISH-SPEAKING READERS A
FAIR SAMPLE OF SOME OF THE BEST ICELANDIC om
Che
FOLKTALES, ADDING, “FOR THOSE WHO WISH
TO KNOW AND UNDERSTAND THE ICELANDIC
PEOPLE OF TODAY, THERE COULD BE NO
BETTER INTRODUCTION. THE AGE OF TECHNO-
Y7- LOGY MAY HAVE ALTERED THE OUTWARD CHAR-
ACTER OF LIFE IN ICELAND BEYOND RECOGNI-
TION, BUT THE ROOTS ARE STILL THERE.”

eS
—Ca
PR
ISBN 9979-2-1959-9
Almenna bokafélagid
|llHIIill
os
9 "789979"219 590

Illustration: Halldér Pétursson Y

Cover Design: Inga Elsa Bergborsdottir, Fabrikan
8
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