The Gamble Of Norway’s King Olaf II For The Island Of Hísing

In 1015, a royal-blooded Viking and mercenary named Olaf Haraldsson (Saint Olaf) launched his bid for power in Norway, intending to end fifteen years of foreign domination over Norwegian land by the Danes and Swedes. The last Norwegian king had been slain in the year 1000 by a coalition consisting of King Sweyn Forkbeard of Denmark (r. 987-1014), Olaf the Tax-King of Sweden (r. 980-1022), and dissident Norwegian jarls. In the years after that battle, Norway was ruled by jarls who deferred to the Danish and Swedish authority. It was against these foreign-backed Norwegian jarls that Olaf Haraldsson campaigned in 1015, forcing them into exile or submission by 1016. After consolidating power, the upstart ruler proclaimed himself King Olaf II of Norway and began the precarious balancing act of trying to keep foreign influence out of Norway while also striving to enforce his newfound authority over the weariest of his Norwegian chieftains, such as a conspiracy of five minor kings against him that was thwarted in 1017.

Although the Dane, Canute the Great (r. 1016-1035), was on the rise at the same time as King Olaf II of Norway, Canute’s early focus was on England, making Denmark less of a threat to Olaf during his early years. Sweden, on the other hand, gave the fledgling King Olaf II quite a bit of trouble as he tried to establish his authority in Norway. Although the Swedish-aligned jarls had been defeated by 1016, Olaf the Tax-King of Sweden refused to acknowledge the new Norwegian monarch’s authority, and pointedly attempted several times to send tax collectors into Norway. According to the Heimskringla (History of the Kings of Norway) of Snorri Sturluson (c. 1179-1241), the Norwegian king or his agents clashed with Swedish tax collectors on at least three instances, and in another incident the Swedes even commandeered a ship laden with goods meant to adorn the throne room of King Olaf II. Such isolated friction and contained harassments continued until 1019, by which time both Olafs, of Norway and Sweden, had tired of their feud. That year, King Olaf II of Norway married the Swedish king’s daughter, Ástrid, and the two monarchs met together to finally settle their differences.

When the monarchs met, the Swedish king reportedly granted, without much debate, recognition of the Norwegian Olaf’s authority over most of what King Harald Finehair (r. 860-940) of Norway had once ruled in the past. The arguments apparently heated up, however, when the two discussed the large Island of Hísing, presumably referring to modern Hisingen, in Sweden. Instead of resuming their hostilities over the issue, the two in-laws reportedly decided to resolve their disagreement through a non-violent competition. According to folklore, they played a game of dice, and the Island of Hísing was the stake.

As the story goes, the game involved throwing two numbered dice (with the highest number being six on each die) and the one that threw the highest sum won the round. Whichever king provided the dice must have brought a loaded pair, for both kings consistently began rolling double-sixes. Snorri Sturluson described the bizarre dicing scene:

“Then the Swedish king threw two sixes and said that it was no use for King Oláf to throw. He replied, while shaking the dice in his hand, ‘There are two sixes still on the dice, and it is a trifling matter for God, my Lord, to have them turn up.’ He threw them, and two sixes turned up. Thereupon Oláf, the king of Sweden, again threw two sixes. Then Oláf, the king of Norway, cast the dice, and one six showed on one of them, but the other split in two, so that six and one turned up” (Heimskringla, Saint Olaf’s Saga, chapter 94).

Such was the way, according to folklore, that King Olaf II of Norway gained control of the island of Hísing. Snorri Sturluson, for his part, recognized this was a far-fetched story, even for the folklore-riddled sagas which were frequently prone to artistic license. He made sure to distance himself from the story by crediting the tale to a certain Thorstein the Learned.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Picture Attribution: (Hall scene from the saga of Olaf Tryggvason, illustrated by Christian Krohg (1852–1925), [Public Domain] via Creative Commons)

Sources:

• Heimskringla, by Snorri Sturluson and translated by Lee Hollander. Austin: University of Texas Press, 1964, 2018. 
• https://www.britannica.com/biography/Olaf-II-Haraldsson 
• https://www.britannica.com/biography/Olaf 
• https://www.britannica.com/biography/Olaf-Tryggvason 
• https://www.britannica.com/biography/Canute-I 
• https://www.britannica.com/biography/Sweyn-I  

The Revenge Of Jarl Einar Wry-Mouth Of Orkney Against The Viking, Eyvind Úrarhorn

Eyvind Úrarhorn was a Norwegian man-of-action who supported King Olaf II Haraldsson of Norway (aka St. Olaf, r. 1015-1028) by doing such tasks as hunting down unwanted Vikings in Norwegian waters and forcing out foreign tax collectors who were trying to extort King Olaf’s borderland subjects. In 1018, however, Eyvind Úrarhorn decided to take a break from his domestic duties to go raiding abroad. His Viking expedition brought him to the British Isles, and after some pillaging, Eyvind apparently signed his crew up as mercenaries for a certain King Connor in Ireland. Unfortunately for Eyvind Úrarhorn, the contract with the Irish king brought him into hostile contact with another Viking crew that was skulking around Ireland. In the fall of 1018, Jarl Einar Wry-Mouth of Orkney (r. 1014-1020) appeared in Ireland and clashed with the Irish King Connor. Eyvind Úrarhorn, heeding his mercenary contract, joined the Irish side in the battle and fought against the army from Orkney.

King Connor and Jarl Einar Wry-Mouth met in battle at Lough Larne, in Northern Ireland. According to the accounts of the Orkneyinga Saga and the Heimskringla, King Connor won a great victory that day and forced the jarl of Orkney to retreat. The Orkneyinga Saga, describing the battle from Jarl Einar’s point of view, claimed it was a “crushing defeat with heavy loss of life” (chapter 15). The rebuffed Jarl Einar Wry-Mouth was sorely aware that a band of Norwegian mercenaries had aided King Connor during the battle, and although the jarl may not have known who commanded the mercenaries at the time, he was determined to discover who led the group and to seek revenge. For the meantime, however, Eyvind Úrarhorn enjoyed the victory and spent the rest of the year without any harassment from Orkney.

By the summer of 1019, Jarl Einar Wry-Mouth had learned of Eyvind’s part in the battle at Lough Larne, and he was keeping his agents busy searching for the Norwegian. It was at this inopportune time that Eyvind Úrarhorn decided to return home to Norway. In a curious move, Eyvind made the bold decision to plot his course past Orkney during his return trip. He might have been able to get away with this move if fate had been kinder, but the weather betrayed Eyvind Úrarhorn, forcing his ship to make landfall. Of all the places he could have been driven ashore, Eyvind was unlucky enough to find himself beached at a place called Osmundwall, located in the southern section of the Orkney archipelago.

Jarl Einar Wry-Mouth soon learned about Eyvind Úrarhorn’s presence in Orkney and he quickly mobilized his fleet, eager to exact his revenge. Before Eyvind could set sail, the jarl’s fleet descended on the Norwegian Vikings and caught them by surprise. In the encounter that ensued, there was not much of a battle, and Jarl Einar was allegedly able to take the stranded crew captive without any difficulty. According to both the Orkneyinga Saga and the Heimskringla, Jarl Einar Wry-Mouth used the situation to execute Eyvind Úrarhorn. With the Viking leader’s death, the jarl’s drive for vengeance was sated, and he ultimately let most of Eyvind’s crew return home. When King Olaf II of Norway learned of his friend’s death, he took no official act against Orkney, although he did begin to show public support for Einar’s rivals on the Orkney Islands, especially for Einar’s brother, Jarl Thorfinn the Mighty (r. 1014-1064), who traveled to Norway to meet with King Olaf II in 1020. During that very year, King Olaf II was likely pleased to learn that Einar Wry-Mouth was murdered by one of Jarl Thorfinn’s associates before the end of 1020.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Picture Attribution: (Scenes from the Bayeux Tapestry, [Public Domain] via flickr.com and Creative Commons).

Sources:

• Orkneyinga Saga, written anonymously approximately c. 1200, translated by Hermann Pálsson and Paul Edwards. New York: Penguin Classics, 1981.
• Heimskringla, by Snorri Sturluson and translated by Lee Hollander. Austin: University of Texas Press, 1964, 2018.  

The Comical Tale About The Ugly Feet Of Thórarin Nefjólfsson

A prominent Icelandic merchant named Thórarin Nefjólfsson happened to be in Túnsberg (now Tønsberg), Norway, at a time when King Olaf II Haraldsson (r. 1015-1028) was residing in the city. Thórarin reportedly was an intelligent, eloquent and candid individual. Yet, unfortunately for the Icelander, he was best known for another quality—ugliness. The Icelandic historian Snorri Sturluson (1179-1241) colorfully claimed, “Thórarin was exceedingly ugly, and particularly his limbs. He had big and misshapen hands, but his feet were uglier even by far” (Heimskringla, Saint Olaf’s Saga, chapter 85). Thórarin Nefjólfsson, for his part, embraced his own ugliness, and was the kind of person who enjoyed poking fun at his own features. Due to his endearing nature, his wealth, and his prominence, Thórarin was invited by King Olaf II to stay with the royal party for a time. The Icelander reportedly even had the honor of sleeping in the same hall as the king, along with other people that the monarch trusted.

As the story goes, one morning while King Olaf II was lying awake in his bed, not yet willing to get up, the king procrastinated by observing the bunks of the people around him, and in doing so, Olaf caught sight of something he thought to be truly grotesque. As the other occupants of the room began to stir, the king directed their attention to the horrific sight, and they all agreed it was one of the worst visual experiences they had ever witnessed. What had caught their attention, of course, was their Icelandic guest, specifically the sight of a single bare foot belonging to Thórarin Nefjolfsson that had popped out from the man’s bed covers during the night. According to Snorri Sturluson, King Olaf mused aloud to his comrades, “I have been awake for a while, and I have seen a sight which seems to me worth seeing, and that is, a man’s foot so ugly that I don’t think there is an uglier one here in this town” (Heimskringla, Saint Olaf’s Saga, chapter 85).

Thórarin Nefjolfsson soon woke up and realized that everyone in the hall was staring at his foot. King Olaf, with the boldness of a king, and the knowledge that Thórarin was a good sport about his appearance, spoke plainly to the Icelandic merchant and explained that they were all amazed by the ugliness of the man’s foot. Furthermore, according to Snorri Sturluson, King Olaf went on to proclaim, “I rather warrant you that there isn’t an equally ugly foot to be found, and I would even be willing to bet on that” (Heimskringla, Saint Olaf’s Saga, chapter 85). Hearing this assertion, Thórarin Nefjolfsson took the king up on his bet, and the two set their stakes for the wager. Thórarin Nefjolfsson, if he won, wanted to be officially invited into the king’s retinue, while Olaf’s request was for the Icelander to do a royal errand. With the bets set, Thórarin began planning how to find an uglier foot in the city of Túnsberg.

As the story goes, Thórarin Nefjólfsson did not have to look far for his answer. He did not have to leave the hall, nor even his bunk, for the winning exhibit. With a triumphant flourish, Thórarin popped out his other foot from under the bed covers and displayed it for all to see. His second foot was just as ugly as the first, yet the big toe on this newer foot had been amputated for some reason or other, causing it to be all the more ghastly.

Olaf II was on the verge of losing his bet, and everybody knew it, so the king had to think up a witty response to bring the wager back into his favor. After assessing the Icelander’s second foot, the king proclaimed that the amputated toe was a mercy, as there was one less horrendous digit to look at. According to Snorri Sturluson, the king further explained his reasoning by saying “The first foot is uglier because there are five toes on it, whilst this one has only four” (Heimskringla, Saint Olaf’s Saga, chapter 85). Thórarin Nefjólfsson did not dispute Olaf’s math and conceded victory to the king. Ultimately, however, both participants in the bet received what they wanted. The Icelander was named a member of King Olaf’s retinue, and Thórarin Nefjólsson completed an errand for the king by transporting an exiled Norwegian to Iceland.

Written by C. Keith Hansley.

Picture Attribution: (Scene of Thorarin Nefjolfsson and King Olaf II illustrated by Christian Krohg (1852–1925), [Public Domain] via Creative Commons).

Sources:

• Heimskringla, by Snorri Sturluson and translated by Lee Hollander. Austin: University of Texas Press, 1964, 2018.

Saint-King Olaf II And His Victory Over The 5-King Conspiracy

In 1015, Olaf Haraldsson launched his bid for the throne of Norway, killing, exiling, or otherwise forcing into submission the regional jarls who were beholden to other kings of Scandinavia. By 1016, he had brought Norway under his control, becoming King Olaf II, but there were still pockets of resistance among the jarls, petty kings, and chieftains who were uneasy with their new king. Around 1017, King Olaf (also known as Saint Olaf) dramatically clashed with several of these wavering noblemen who did not agree with his efforts to spread Christianity in their domains. The ensuing showdown was recorded in verse by an 11th-century Icelandic skald named Ottar the Black, whose poem was cited by Snorri Sturluson (c. 1179-1241) in his Heimskringla (History of the Kings of Norway), specifically Saint Olaf’s Saga, which is included in that text.

Around 1017, King Olaf II began pressuring the Uppland districts to convert to Christianity. The topic of religion can get heated even in simple conversation, so the tension of the region understandably became quite hostile when King Olaf’s methods of spreading Christianity proved less than cordial. As Snorri Sturluson bluntly described, “if he found anyone who did not want to abandon heathendom, he drove him out of the land. Some he had maimed, having their hands or feet lopped off or their eyes gouged out, others he had hanged or beheaded, but left no one unchastised who refused to serve God” (Saint Olaf’s Saga, chapter 73). Such heavy-handedness, especially on a topic as sensitive as religion, did nothing to console the noblemen in the region who were still unsure of Olaf’s rule. Shocked by the stories of execution, mutilation and banishment, five petty kings of Uppland decided to work together in a conspiracy against King Olaf II.

Only three of the five conspirators are known to history by name, but all of them were said to have lived around the Lake Mjøsa area. Hrœrek and Gudröd were the most influential of the petty kings, while a certain King Hring and two other petty kings usually deferred to Hrœrek and Gudröd for guidance. As Olaf II ramped up his conversion campaign in the region, the five petty kings decided to meet in order to discuss what course they wanted to take. Although there was some debate, they all chose to launch a violent resistance against King Olaf. Yet, instead of an open rebellion, they decided to orchestrate a more subtle conspiracy, hoping to ambush Olaf II while the king was unaware of their disloyalty. Upon their agreement to conspire against their liege, the five petty kings vowed to remain together in a single camp, lest one of them be tempted to betray the others.

Fully committed, the conspirators started to gather warriors whom they presumed to be loyal to their cause. Each of the five petty kings allegedly pledged to recruit around 300 trustworthy fighters, and therefore, they hoped to obtain a force of at least 1,500 men. Meanwhile, as they slowly mustered their forces, the conspirators sent spies to keep an eye on King Olaf, who, at that time, was reportedly only guarded by a band of between 400 and 500 warriors.

Hrœrek, Gudröd, Hring and their fellow petty kings, however, were not the only ones with eyes and ears on the ground. King Olaf II, too, had a formidable spy network, and, to his fortune, one of his informants was invited to the conspiracy. This man, reportedly named Ketil, quickly relayed news of the conspiracy back to King Olaf, who, upon receiving the tip-off, quickly acted to crush the plot.

As the story goes, King Olaf and his guards stormed off to the nearest shore of Lake Mjøsa. There, they commandeered as many ships as they needed, and then set sail upon nightfall out into the lake. With help from his informant, Olaf knew the exact location where all five of the conspiring kings were camped together—a place called Hringiskar, near Gudbrands Dale. King Olaf reached his target well before dawn, and, after assembling his troops around the compound, he attacked at first light. Catching the conspirators unprepared and off guard, King Olaf’s troops made short work of the would-be rebels. In the fight, all five of the petty kings were captured, and Olaf severely punished the main two ringleaders of the group. King Hrœrek was blinded and forbidden to stray from Olaf’s company. Gudröd, similarly, was mutilated, but his tongue was taken instead of his eyes. Hring and the other two remaining petty kings were reportedly banished from Norway. Despite King Olaf’s victory, the blinded Hœrek would continue to conspire against the king, and Uppland would remain staunchly pagan for several more years.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Picture Attribution: (Illustration by Christian Krohg (1852–1925) for the Heimskringla, [Public Domain] via Creative Commons).

Sources:

• Heimskringla, by Snorri Sturluson and translated by Lee Hollander. Austin: University of Texas Press, 1964, 2018.
• https://www.britannica.com/biography/Olaf-II-Haraldsson  

Saint Olaf And The Assassination Of Eilif The Gaut

Saint Olaf (King Olaf II Haraldsson of Norway) was not a typical saint. Before becoming a supporter and spreader of Christianity, he was also a Viking and a conqueror who, around 1015, proclaimed himself king of an independent Norway. In the fifteen years prior to Saint Olaf’s bid for power, Norway had been divvied up between jarls who paid homage either to Sweden or Denmark. Saint Olaf, the battle-hardened and experienced Viking, beat these jarls into submission or exile, and toured his newly won kingdom, from region to region, forcing out foreign tax collectors and making sure all sections of Norway knew that they had a new king. Many regions submitted willingly to Olaf’s dominion, some needed coercion, while others wanted help ridding themselves of Swedish or Danish agents before they could openly join Saint Olaf’s cause. Of that latter category was a community in the southeast borderlands of Norway. This group, according to the Icelandic historian Snorri Sturluson (c. 1179-1241), lived in a location called Ranríki, which was at the time dominated by a Swedish nobleman by the name of Eilíf the Gaut. Saint Olaf, in order to gain the support of Ranríki, would embark on a formidable campaign of espionage, infiltration, and finally assassination.

When Saint Olaf arrived in the vicinity of Ranríki, he apparently found the inhabitants of the region split between those who wanted to remain under Swedish influence and those who wished to join Olaf. There was reportedly enough sympathy for Sweden in the region, or at least fear of the Swedish nobleman Eilíf the Gaut, that the local faction in favor of Norwegian independence was hesitant to voice open support for Saint Olaf. A region with such a split in allegiance could have been a problem for Saint Olaf if he had wandered blindly into that political quagmire. Fortunately for him, he had an effective system of spies and informants. Using those subtle assets, Saint Olaf was able to discover and contact Brynjólf “the Camel,” a leadership figure among the locals who were in favor of separating from Swedish influence. Eilíf the Gaut, in contrast, apparently did not know that Brynjólf supported Norwegian independence, much less that the man had made contact with Saint Olaf.

The secret of Brynjólf the Camel’s pro-independence sympathies was pivotal to Saint Olaf’s mission in Ranríki. Saint Olaf reportedly sent with Brynjólf twelve special warriors, who were led by a certain Thórir the Long. These warriors were said to have disguised themselves as farmers and, when Eilíf the Gaut began rallying his supporters in response to Saint Olaf’s arrival in the region, Brynjólf and the disguised agents infiltrated the pro-Swedish militia. As Brynjólf the Camel and Thórir the Long were both capable men, Eilíf the Gaut brought them into his inner circle and allowed them close access to his person. At this point, Saint Olaf’s agents could have assassinated poor, unsuspecting Eilíf at any opportune time. Yet, Saint Olaf apparently wanted the final, decisive blow to occur in a public and showy event.

As the story goes, Brynjólf the Camel and Thórir the Long were able to convince Eilíf to meet with Saint Olaf near a cliff for peace talks. Saint Olaf reportedly took up position atop the defensible cliff, while Eilíf the Gaut arrived with his militia of farmers, as well as a smaller loyal band of warriors from Sweden, and set up on the beach below the steep slope. Although the cliffside separated the two forces, both camps were within speaking (or shouting) distance, allowing for negotiations to occur. Saint Olaf, or his marshal, opened up the talks by delivering a speech, saying the typical things that would be expected if they were truly there to seek peace. When the speech was over, Eilíf the Gaut readied himself to deliver his own speech.

Unfortunately, Eilíf reportedly did not get a chance to utter a single line. According to Snorri Sturluson, “Eilíf arose and started to speak. In the same instant Thórir the Long stood up, drew his sword, and struck Eilíf on the neck so that his head flew off” (Heimskringla, Saint Olaf’s Saga, chapter 61). When Eilíf the Gaut was assassinated, Brynjólf the Camel and his pro-independence comrades showed their allegiance, attacking the Swedish warriors who had accompanied Eilíf to the meeting. Before long, the startled band off Swedes fled, leaving behind a shocked militia of Sweden-sympathetic farmers to the mercy of Saint Olaf and Brynjólf the Camel. As the story goes, Saint Olaf calmed the confused masses and convinced them to submit to him without any further bloodshed.

Brynjólf’s role in the successful operation in Ranríki did not go unnoticed by Saint Olaf. The saint-king reportedly gave the man a gold-inlaid sword as a gift, as well as a large manorial estate called Vettaland. The two reportedly remained life-long friends.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Picture Attribution: (Saga of Olaf illustration, by Christian Krohg (1852–1925). [Public Domain] via Creative Commons).

Sources:

• Heimskringla, by Snorri Sturluson and translated by Lee Hollander. Austin: University of Texas Press, 1964, 2018.
• https://www.britannica.com/biography/Olaf-II-Haraldsson  

Saint Olaf Carved His Own Figurehead For His Flagship

Around 1016, King Olaf II (Saint Olaf, r. 1015-1028) of Norway pulled together a fleet in preparation for the upcoming sea battle of Nesjar against his rival, Jarl Sweyn Hákonsson. It was a modest armada, reportedly numbering only seven or eight ships at the beginning, of which only three could be classified as warships. Before the day of the battle, Saint Olaf would recruit more ships and crews, yet his force was said to have still remained far fewer than that of Jarl Sweyn. What Olaf’s force lacked in quantity, it made up for in quality—before barging into Norwegian politics, Olaf had spent years as a Viking, giving him ample battle experience and enough treasure to equip his most trusted men with the day’s latest armors and weaponry. As such, even though Saint Olaf’s fleet in 1016 was not the largest sea force in the north, it was still a formidable fleet that Olaf was proud to call his own.

With the fleet formed, Olaf picked out which vessel was to be his flagship, but no ship, especially a flagship, could be complete without a figurehead adorning the prow. In this regard, Saint Olaf reportedly decided to give the ship a personal touch. Instead of commissioning an artisan, Saint Olaf was said to have procured a set of woodworking tools for himself and promptly set about carving his ideal figurehead with his own hands. The historian Snorri Sturluson (c. 1179-1241), claimed that Olaf “was skilled and had a sure eye for all kinds of handicraft work,” so the final product must have been an admirable piece of art (Heimskringla, Saint Olaf’s Saga, 3). Interestingly, out of all the fearsome creatures he could have chosen to depict, the king decided to adorn his prow with a simple kingly head. When the figurehead was complete, Saint Olaf gave his flagship the unimaginative name of Man’s Head. The regal wooden visage apparently became the next big ship-fashion trend, and, before long, other chieftains put in orders for their own ships to be decorated with various wooden faces.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Picture Attribution: (Construction of longships, painted by Nicholas Roerich  (1874–1947), [Public Domain] via Creative Commons).

Sources:

• Heimskringla, by Snorri Sturluson and translated by Lee Hollander. Austin: University of Texas Press, 1964, 2018.
• https://www.britannica.com/topic/religion 
• https://avaldsnes.info/en/informasjon/olav-den-hellige/ 
• https://weaponsandwarfare.com/2018/12/03/the-battle-of-nesjar/ 
• https://www.oxfordreference.com/view/10.1093/oi/authority.20110803100229885  

The Clandestine Capture Of Jarl Hakon Eriksson

After years of mercenary work and Viking activity in Britain and Spain, an ambitious Norwegian nobleman named Olaf Haraldsson sailed back to his homeland. His return came in 1014 or 1015, and, at the time, Norway was ripe for the picking—the Danish King Sweyn Forkbeard had died in 1014 and the Dane-backed Norwegian Jarl Eirik Hakonarson (who had dominated Norway since 1000) traveled to Britain in order to help Sweyn Forkbeard’s successor, Canute the Great, maintain power in England. Jarl Eirik had left behind his son, Hakon Eiriksson, to hold the fort in Norway, but Jarl Hakon was unprepared for Olaf Haraldsson’s return, much less his immediate bid to seize the throne of Norway.

According to Norwegian-Icelandic tradition, Olaf Haraldsson crossed from the British Isles to the middle of Norway with a band of over 200 well-equipped warriors on two ships. The island of Selje was reportedly where he made landfall. While there, he must have sent out spies or reconnected with his family’s intelligence network, for Olaf Haraldsson learned the exact location of Jarl Hakon Eiriksson, as well as the route that the jarl would be sailing in his ship.

At that time, Olaf’s two-ship fleet reportedly was not very intimidating, for the nobleman was said to have exchanged his warships for the most dismissive of merchant vessels before leaving Britain. As such, Olaf Haraldsson apparently believed that Jarl Hakon Eiriksson would underestimate, or completely ignore, Olaf’s force if the two should meet at sea. With this assumption in mind, Olaf Haraldsson scanned the waterways along Jarl Hakon’s predicted path to pinpoint an ideal spot for a confrontation. He reportedly chose the narrow stretch of water between the island of Atleö and the Norwegian mainland as the place to enact his plan.

When Olaf arrived at his destination, he was said to have put one of his merchant ships next to the island and the other by the mainland beach, aligned but at opposite ends of the waterway. Each ship dropped something into the water that sank like an anchor. With everything in place, Olaf’s crews simply waited for the jarl to appear.

As the story goes, Jarl Hakon Eiriksson rowed into the waterway with a fully-manned warship, unaware that Olaf Haraldsson had returned to Norway, much less that the man was just upstream. As Olaf had predicted, the jarl apparently paid little attention to the two merchant vessels that were loitering at opposite ends of the narrows. Without taking any precautions, the jarl’s ship continued through the channel, eventually rowing right between Olaf’s two ships. At that very moment, so the story goes, the crews on Olaf’s ships used windlasses to quickly pull up the lines they had dropped into the water. As it happened, what they had dropped had not been anchors or fishing nets. Instead, what they hauled up was much more nefarious—both ships reportedly winched out of the water a separate end of a single thick cable.

The cable reportedly caught the keel of Hakon Eiriksson’s ship and managed to lift or twist the end the hull just enough to flood the prow of Hakon’s ship with water. Before long, the ship sank or overturned, sending the jarl and his guards into the water. With his plan successful, Olaf Haraldsson rowed over to the shipwreck and fished the soggy jarl out of the depths. As the story goes, Olaf spared Hakon Eiriksson’s life in exchange for the jarl renouncing his authority in Norway. Hakon Eiriksson reportedly accepted the deal, and after his ship was hauled back up from the sea, he joined the court of King Canute. As for Olaf, he continued with his plan to become the ruler of Norway, eventually becoming King Olaf II (r. 1015-1018), also known as Saint Olaf.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Picture Attribution: (Ready For The Campaign (The Varangian Sea), by Nicholas Roerich c. 1910, [Public Domain] via Creative Commons).

Sources:

• Heimskringla, by Snorri Sturluson and translated by Lee Hollander. Austin: University of Texas Press, 1964, 2018.

The Stumbling Start Of Saint Olaf’s Conquest Of Norway

Olaf Haraldsson, a young Viking and mercenary with a claim to the Norwegian throne, returned to Norway around 1014 or 1015 at an opportune political moment. Since the year 1000, Norway had been dominated by Jarl Eirik Hakonarson, who had both Danish and Swedish backing. The Jarl had left Norway to join the campaigns of two successive Danish kings, Sweyn Forkbeard and Canute in England, and during his absence, the jarl’s son, Hakon Eiriksson, was tasked with maintaining the family’s influence in Norway. King Sweyn Forkbeard died in 1014, leaving his heir, Canute, with succession crises all over the empire of the Danes—Canute’s brother, Harald II, claimed Denmark and King Æthelred the Unready returned to England shortly after Sweyn’s death. Therefore, Canute had military might, but little in the way of secure land. The Norwegian Jarl Eirik stayed with Canute and helped the Danes reassert power over England. For his aid to Canute’s cause, Jarl Eirik would eventually be named as the Earl of Northumbria. Yet, in devoting himself to English events, Jarl Eirik also neglected politics in Norway, giving tempting opportunities to ambitious Norwegian noblemen, such as Olaf Haraldsson.

Olaf, like Jarl Eirik, had been spending a great deal of time in Britain. He is known to have joined forces with Viking armies in Britain from 1009-1011/1012, then he switched sides and apparently served as a mercenary for a time with the Anglo-Saxon King Æthelred the Unready. He finally abandoned England in 1013, when Sweyn Forkbeard launched his conquest of England. According to the sagas, Olaf Haraldsson may have helped Æthelred the Unready return to England after Sweyn Forkbeard’s death in 1014. Nevertheless, unlike Jarl Eirik, the political upheaval caused by King Sweyn’s death did not pull Olaf Haraldsson’s attention toward Britain; instead, the temporary fracturing of Danish power and the inattention of Jarl Eirik encouraged him to return home to Norway.

Around 1014 or 1015, Olaf Haraldsson set sail for his homeland with a loyal band of well-equipped warriors. As the story goes, they made their first landfall on the island of Selje, which was, at that time, called Sæla, or Luck. Olaf’s followers proclaimed that the site of their landing was an omen of great things to come, and their leader basked in the praises and saber-rattling of the moment. Yet, Olaf’s experience on Selje would soon take an ungraceful turn, threatening to make null and void all of the good omens provided by the island’s lucky name.

As the warriors continued to discuss the good-omened nature of their anchorage, the party began to disembark onto the island. As the group left their ships, however, an event reportedly occurred that would have made the whole party gasp with concern. According to legend, when Olaf Haraldsson took his very first step onto the island, he carelessly put his foot on an especially slick patch of clay. His foot slid as if on ice, sending poor Olaf into an arm-flailing stumble. The Icelandic historian Snorri Sturluson (c. 1179-1241) claimed that the nobleman, “slid with one foot on a patch of clay, but steadied himself on the other knee” (Heimskringla, Saint Olaf’s Saga, chapter29). From that description, it seems that Olaf Haraldsson was able to escape the indignity of a total faceplant into the clay by frantically falling into a kneeling position. Nevertheless, since the group had been praising their good omens moments before, the incident definitely caused some raised eyebrows.

Thankfully for Olaf, a loyal companion came to his aid by proclaiming, “You fell not, sire; you set fast food on the land” (Heimskringla, Saint Olaf’s Saga, chapter29). With that quick-witted interpretation of events, the warriors were able to laugh off the ill-timed stumble, and the party returned to its previous high morale and good humor. Despite the slippery start, Olaf Haraldsson was able to successfully press his claim to the Kingdom of Norway by the end of 1015.  He became known as King Olaf II, or Saint Olaf.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Picture Attribution: (Viking Ship illustration for the Heimskringla, by Halfdan Egedius (1877–1899), [Public Domain] via Creative Commons).

Sources:

• Heimskringla, by Snorri Sturluson and translated by Lee Hollander. Austin: University of Texas Press, 1964, 2018. 
• The Anglo-Saxon Chronicle translated by Benjamin Thorpe in 1861 and republished by Cambridge University Press, 2012. 
• The Chronicle of Florence of Worcester translated by Thomas Forester. London: Petter and Galpin, originally published 1854. 
• https://www.britannica.com/biography/Olaf-II-Haraldsson 
• https://www.encyclopedia.com/people/history/scandinavian-history-biographies/olaf-ii 
• http://fmg.ac/Projects/MedLands/NORWEGIAN%20NOBILITY.htm 
• https://www.oxforddnb.com/view/10.1093/ref:odnb/9780198614128.001.0001/odnb-9780198614128-e-39234 
• https://www.encyclopedia.com/people/history/british-and-irish-history-biographies/canute