The Northumbrian Coup Against Earl Tostig

Tostig Godwinson became the Earl of Northumbria in 1055. His brother was Earl Harold Godwinson of Wessex and his brother-in-law was King Edward the Confessor of England (r. 1042-1066). Encouraged by his own power and that of his relations, Earl Tostig began to act tyrannically in Northumbria, angering his local liegemen in various ways. The least nefarious of these abuses was a poorly explained increase on Northumbrian taxes. More scandalous, however, were the assassinations of several noblemen that occurred at that time in Northumbria, which the locals attributed to the machinations of Tostig and the fellow members of his House of Godwin.

By 1065, the Northumbrians were fed up with Tostig’s rule. According to the chronicler, Florence of Worcester (d. 1117), the assassinations of three prominent Northumbrians (named of Cospatric, Gamel and Ulf) were what finally caused the region to rebel against its tyrannical leader. Around October 3, 1065, a coup was reportedly launched by a group of local Northumbrian noblemen. At a time when Earl Tostig was away from Northumbria, the members of the coup marched with a small army to the earl’s seat of power at York. The rebellious force skillfully infiltrated the city, systematically executed around two hundred of Tostig’s loyal administrators, and seized control of the treasury and armory in York. With the city of York firmly in the conspirators’ hands, the maneuverings in Northumbria against Tostig transitioned out of the shadows and became a more public affair. Noblemen and peasants rallied behind the coup, and an anti-Tostig army was mobilized which reached a formidable size.

Earl Harold Godwinson led the English response to the Northumbrian revolt, leading on behalf of the increasingly ill King Edward the Confessor. By the time he and his army arrived on the scene of the rebellion, Harold Godwinson found the Northumbrians organized and well-led by a prospective earl named Morcar. As Morcar’s leadership among the rebels was stable and his Northumbrian army had formidable strength, Harold Godwinson was not enthusiastic about attacking the rebel force, even if it was his brother Tostig’s earldom that was at stake. Instead of going to war and crushing the rebellion, Harold Godwinson instead opened up negotiations with Morcar and the rebel leadership. During these negotiations between the English army and the Northumbrian rebels, Harold Godwinson did not put up much of a fight for his tyrannical brother, Tostig. Instead, England accepted Morcar as the new Earl of Northumbria, and Tostig Godwinson was outlawed.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Picture Attribution: (Image from page 44 of "The book of the Bayeux tapestry” edited by Hilaire Belloc (c. 1914), [Public Domain] via flickr and Creative Commons).

Sources:

• 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 in 1854. 
• https://www.britannica.com/biography/Tostig-Earl-of-Northumbria 
• https://www.britannica.com/biography/Edward-king-of-England-1002-1066 
• https://www.encyclopedia.com/history/encyclopedias-almanacs-transcripts-and-maps/morcar-earl-northumbria  

Golden Gambling Between Montezuma And Cortes

To the delight of Hernan Cortes and his Spanish conquistadors, Montezuma II of the Aztec Empire was an extremely generous gift-giver. He handed over treasures to the Spaniards nearly every time they interacted, be it delivered by messenger or bestowed in person. Whenever Montezuma, himself, hosted a meeting with the Spaniards, multiple golden or gilded objects almost always were handed over to the conquistadors at one point or another. Yet, sometimes Montezuma II made the Spaniards work harder than usual for their gilt gifts.

Hernan Cortes and his conquistadors entered Montezuma’s capital city of Tenochtitlan in late 1519 and stayed there for the opening months of 1520. During their stay in the Aztec capital, the Spaniards came to feel increasingly paranoid that Montezuma’s hospitality would one day cease and that he would have them arrested and executed. In order to save their skins from this potential danger, and to apply more leverage against the Aztec Empire, the Spaniards captured Montezuma and detained him in their Spanish quarters in Tenochtitlan. At first, they held the Aztec emperor on a short leash, but they eventually loosened their grip, letting Montezuma hold court and visit temples—all, however, under Spanish surveillance.

Early on in his captivity, Montezuma and Cortes were forced to live in the same compound together, and Montezuma apparently decided to kill time by playing games with Cortes and the Spaniards. Montezuma’s game of choice was variously called totoloque or totoloc, and in Montezuma’s typical fashion, the Aztec leader’s personal equipment set for this game was golden or gilded. It seemed to have been a gambling game, where the participants made bets and then each player had a certain number of turns to throw a ball or pellet at a designated target. Bernal Díaz del Castillo, one of Hernan Cortes’ conquistadors, described the game: “it is played with small round glossy balls, which here were made of gold, and are pitched at a certain mark, also of the same metal: five throws finished the game, and the stakes were for valuable gold trinkets and jewels” (Conquest of New Spain, chapter 97). Even if the Aztec leader won the game, Montezuma—either because of his generosity (or his being under arrest)—was said to have always given away his gambling winnings to the Spaniards. Despite this, Bernal Díaz claimed that Hernan Cortes’ score-keeper tried to pad Cortes’ stats, and Montezuma eventually called the man out for cheating.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Picture Attribution: (Sketch of Cortes and Montezuma in the Historia de la Conquista de Méjico, c. 1851, [Public Domain] via Creative Commons).

Sources:

• The Conquest of New Spain by Bernal Díaz, translated by J. M. Cohen. New York: Penguin Books, 1963.
• https://www.gutenberg.org/files/32474/32474-h/32474-h.htm 
• https://www.britannica.com/biography/Montezuma-II 
• https://www.britannica.com/biography/Hernan-Cortes  

The Assassination of Abbot Lupentius of Javols

Around 584, a man named Lupentius, the abbot of the church of Saint Privatus in Javols, was accused of slandering Queen Brunhild. As the queen was the wife of the Frankish King Sigebert (r. 561-575) and mother of King Childebert II (c. 575-595), an allegation of slander against Brunhild was a serious charge. In response to the rumors of slander, Abbot Lupentius was summoned to appear before Queen Brunhild in order to answer for the allegations. Lupentius was put to question, but the interrogators apparently could not produce proof or a confession that pinpointed Lupentius as the originator of the slanders. The only concrete fact interrogators ferreted out during Lupentius’ time in Brunhild’s custody was the revelation that a certain Count Innocentius was the one who had lodged the allegations of slander against Lupentius. Unfortunately for the abbot, Count Innocentius was in the good graces of Queen Brunhild, and therefore no punitive action was taken against the count and little protection was given to the abbot to fend off further harassment. In this precarious situation, the abbot was released and sent on his way.

Count Innocentius apparently did not like that his name was mentioned or that the abbot was released. According to bishop and historian, Gregory of Tours (c. 539-594), the count sent troops to intercept Abbot Lupentius on the road. The abbot was captured and brought to a manor owned by Count Innocentius. At this estate, located somewhere near the River Aisne in France, Lupentius was said to have been “grievously maltreated” at the hands of the count’s henchmen (History of the Franks, VI.37). After some time, Count Innocentius decided to set Lupentius free, and, once again, the beleaguered abbot resumed his travels back toward his church at Javols.

Gregory of Tours, in his account of this story, did not go into detail on the cause of the feud between Count Innocentius and the abbot, but the count was evidently out to get poor Lupentius. Innocentius apparently soon regretted letting his enemy go and decided to gather a posse and again pursue the abbot. As the story goes, the count’s troops found Abbot Lupentius camping beside the River Aisne and the abbot was yet again arrested. This time, however, the arrest ended in the abbot’s execution. Count Innocentius, it was alleged, not only led the posse that killed the abbot, but he was also said to have personally killed Lupentius. Gregory of Tours described the murder of the abbot and the subsequent disposal of the body, saying “Innocentius cut off his head, put it in a sack weighted with stones and threw it in the river. He tied the body to a rock and threw that, too, into the water” (History of the Franks, VI.37).

Although the count had tried to make sure the remains would stay at the bottom of the river, Lupentius’ head and body eventually washed up on the bank of the Aisne. Upon this discovery, locals gave the late abbot a proper burial, and rumors quickly spread that it was Count Innocentius who was responsible for the murder. Despite the allegations, the count faced no known repercussions and he continued his career unimpeded. Ironically, Count Innocentius would later decide to join the church, and, with the backing of Queen Brunhild, he became Bishop of Rodez.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Picture Attribution: (scene depicting the martyrdom of St Thomas Becket of Canterbury, from a manuscript (dated to 1200) in the National Library of the Netherlands, [Public Domain] via picryl.com and Creative Commons).

Sources:

• The History of the Franks by Gregory of Tours, translated by Lewis Thorpe. New York: Penguin Classics, 1971.

The Burning Of Paternus

A fire struck the city of Paderborn in 1058. According to the Chronicon of Marianus Scotus, which was in turn cited by the Chronicle of Florence of Worcester, the Paderborn fire had long been predicted by a certain clairvoyant monk named Paternus (or Padernus), who had lived in a local monastery for a great many years. His behavior was a mix between a prophet and a fire marshal, as Paternus was always warning his fellow monks that a fire would break out in their flammable city, and that their own monastery would be one of the structures to burn. The monk’s prophecy was fulfilled around April 10, 1058, when a fire did indeed break out in Paderborn and began spreading toward the monastery in which Paternus lived. Yet, upon hearing that his prophecy had come to fruition, Paternus began to act strangely, and the awestruck monks of the monastery became increasingly concerned about their fellow clergyman’s behavior.

Paternus evidently felt connected to the fire he had long been predicting. While his brethren frantically gathered their belongings and whisked the monastery’s holy objects to safety, Paternus stubbornly refused to step foot off of the mat on the floor in his religious cell. He apparently decided that this prophesied fire was the perfect time to test his maker’s protection or to go down with the natural disaster that he had predicted. According to Florence of Worcester, “such was his desire of martyrdom that nothing could induce him to leave the place, and he was burnt to death in his cell, passing through the flames to the cool refreshment of paradise” (Chronicle of Florence of Worcester, AD 1058).

Fire in Paderborn caused death and destruction, but much was salvageable after the flames died down. The aforementioned Marianus Scotus visited the city not long after the fire, and he sought out the site where Paternus died. It is unclear whether the structure of the monastery was still standing, or if objects from the burnt ruins had been pulled out of the rubble. Whatever the case, Marianus Scotus was able to see items from the cell where Paternus burned to death. The visitor apparently decided to be quite hands-on with these charred objects. According to Florence of Worcester, Marianus had boasted that “he prayed on the very mat on which he was burnt” (Chronicle of Florence of Worcester, AD 1058).

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Picture Attribute: (The Great Fire of London, with Ludgate and Old St. Paul's, painted anonymously c. 1670, [Public Domain] via Creative Commons).

Sources:

• The Chronicle of Florence of Worcester translated by Thomas Forester. London: Petter and Galpin, originally published 1854.
• https://www.britannica.com/biography/Marianus-Scotus-Irish-historian  

The Tricky Tale Of Odin’s Investigation Into King Geirrod Of The Goths

Odin and Frigg were the main power couple of the Norse pantheon of deities. Odin, in particular, was the owner of Valhalla and held a leadership role in Asgard—the homeland of the Norse gods. Like most divine figures, Odin and Frigg kept an interested eye on the affairs of humans. According to mythology, one of the mortals who caught their attention was a certain King Hraudung, who ruled over a Gothic kingdom. In particular, the godly couple were impressed by Hraudung’s sons, Geirrod and Agnar. As the story goes, the arch-couple of the gods became quite competitive in their assessments of the king’s children. Like judges assessing a prize-winning animal, the two gods began to argue over which of the boys was the superior prince. Odin threw his support behind the younger son, Geirrod. Frigg, however, favored the older boy, Agnar. Faced with this disagreement, the godly couple could not agree to disagree. Instead, they decided to go to great lengths in order to definitively prove which of the two boys was superior.

As the story goes, the gods—in their efforts to assess the boys—caused the two princes to be lost at sea. As was divinely planned, the lost children washed up on a strange shore, at which time Odin and Frigg swooped in to save the day by offering the boys shelter. The divine couple used the time to tutor their princes of choice, with Odin offering his guidance to Geirrod while Frigg did the same with Agnar. After a few months of this divine education, Odin and Frigg let the boys go. A ship was readied and the god and goddess prepared the boys to leave. Odin, however, was said to have held back Geirrod for a few seconds longer before allowing him to board the ship—the prince was given one last piece of advice on what to do when he returned to his homeland. After saying their farewells, the princes in their boat set sail and the divinely-inspired currents brought them back to their father’s kingdom among the Goths. Odin and Frigg, with their teaching done, watched with interest to see which of their two proteges would turn out to be superior.

Geirrod was the first of the two princes to jump out of the ship and plant his feet on the shore of his father’s domain. In a horrible and unbrotherly move, Geirrod then was said to have pushed the boat (with his brother still in it) back out to sea, from which it would never return to the land of the Goths. After doing this move (which was likely suggested by Odin), Geirrod returned to King Hraudung’s court, where he eventually succeeded his father as king.

Agnar, although lost at sea once again, did not have an uneventful life. As the story goes, his voyage at sea ended with him eventually reaching the land of giants, where he met a giantess and settled down with her to raise a family.

Odin, musing on the vastly different lives of Gierrod and Agnar, gloated that his student had become a king, while Frigg’s charge was now only a family man of little note. Frigg, at that time, could do little to argue against Odin’s assessment, at least if the judgment was based upon social station. The goddess, however, was loath to admit that Odin’s student had turned out to be more successful. Instead of admitting defeat, Frigg was said to have plotted a disgraceful demise for King Geirrod. To do this, the goddess accused Geirrod of traits that were widely hated in ancient Germanic and Nordic societies—stinginess and inhospitality. As the story goes, Odin scoffed at these allegations, but decided to pay a visit to King Geirrod’s court to see if the charges had any truth. The god put on a blue cloak and disguised himself with the alias, Grimnir, during his investigation. He then began wandering toward Geirrod’s kingdom among the Goths.

Odin’s journey and experience at the court of his protégé was recorded in a medieval poem (with a prose prologue and epilogue) called Grímnismál, or Grimnir’s Sayings. According to the poem, Odin was outpaced by an agent of Frigg, who appeared in the kingdom of Geirrod and spread rumors that a powerful wizard would soon enter the realm and that new arrivals in the kingdom should be treated with caution. The agent also divulged tidbits of information about how to detect Odin, saying these were ways to detect the nefarious wizard. Due to Frigg’s intrigue, Odin’s arrival at King Geirrod’s court was met with hostility. As the story goes, King Geirrod was not only inhospitable to his guest, but he had the suspected wizard arrested and tortured.

Odin, who was in no way squeamish about pain, put up with the torture for days while he reassessed Geirrod and his household. During this time, Geirrod’s son (ironically named Agnar), took pity on the arrested stranger and brought the god something to drink. The boy’s show of hospitality greatly impressed Odin, and the god asked the child to stay awhile and hear his wisdom. This knowledge, as the story goes, was delivered in fifty-four stanzas of poetry (aka Grimnir’s Sayings), delving into such topics as the creation of the world, the various mythical lands inhabited by supernatural creatures, and descriptions of the halls of the gods. The final stanzas of Odin’s wisdom were said to have been delivered on the eighth night of his imprisonment, at a time when both young Agnar and his father, King Geirrod, were present. As he finished his verses, Odin finally revealed his identity and declared that he was revoking all of his divine favor from King Geirrod and would instead give his support solely to the king’s son, Agnar.

As soon as the king realized that he had imprisoned and tortured a god, Geirrod quickly drew his sword and rushed to cut away the bindings that were holding Odin. Yet, devoid of the support of the gods, poor Geirrod suddenly found himself to be incredibly clumsy. As he hurried to free the captive, Geirrod slipped and was said to have impaled himself on his own sword. As the discourteous Geirrod died, Odin easily used his godly abilities to free himself from his binds. After giving his supernatural support to Geirrod’s hospitable heir, Agnar, Odin disappeared and resumed his wanderings.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Picture Attribution: (Sculpture of Odin or Wotan, by Rudolf Maison (1854–1904), [Public Domain] via Creative Commons).

Sources:

• Grimnir’s Sayings, an old poem which was preserved in the 13th-century Poetic Edda which was produced anonymously in Iceland. Translation by Carolyne Larrington (Oxford University Press, 2014).
• https://pantheon.org/articles/g/geirrodr2.html  

The Destructive Retreat Of King Chilperic From Bourges In 583

In 583, there were three Merovingian kings of the Frankish Empire. Brothers Chilperic and Guntram, as well as their nephew Childebert II, divided the lands of the Franks amongst themselves. In that year, Guntram, often the peacemaker between his fellow Merovingian monarchs, found himself to be the target of his kinsmen’s schemes. Chilperic and Childebert II worked together and planned to both attack King Guntram’s domain from different directions. Chilperic was impatient, however, and launched his invasion before Childebert’s army was ready to start its own attack. Therefore Guntram had the fortune of being able to face each of his kinsmen’s armies separately. In fact, when Chilperic launched his invasion, Childebert’s own invasion force was neither logistically or mentally ready to march, giving King Guntram ample time to deal with his brother’s lone army.

Even though Chilperic’s attack against Guntram was not coordinated well with his ally, the attack still caught King Guntram off guard, and Chilperic was able to do considerable damage before Guntram could pull together his army. Chilperic’s attack focused on the region around Bourges, and the invading army did indeed defeat the local garrison there in battle and besieged the city of Bourges. According to the bishop and historian, Gregory of Tours (c. 539-594), “The devastation there was greater than anything described in ancient times: not a house remained standing, not a vineyard, not an orchard; everything was razed to the ground and utterly ruined” (History of the Franks, VI.31).

Yet, while Chilperic’s forces looted and pillaged Bourges, King Guntram was able to cobble together a formidable force and began his march to confront his marauding brother. Chilperic, despite his early success, found himself completely underprepared for a full-scale battle against an army greater than a local garrison. Guntram was said to have intercepted and attacked Chilperic’s forces on a late afternoon, and through sound strategy or sheer shock, he delivered a massive blow to the invaders. The aforementioned Gregory of Tours commented on the battle, saying “One day, just as the evening shadows were falling, he ordered his forces to make contact and he destroyed the greater part of Chilperic’s army” (History of the Franks, VI.31). After this victory, Guntram did not press the attack, but instead opened up negotiations with Chilperic. Sometime the next morning, the two brothers came to a peace agreement and pledged to resolve their land disputes with diplomacy. With the negotiations concluded, both armies went on their way. Meanwhile, Childebert II had still not launched his own invasion by this time, and now that Chilperic had been defeated, Childebert decided to delay his own attack indefinitely.

Unfortunately for King Guntram, Chilperic’s troops were sore losers. Although they agreed to withdraw, they apparently decided to do as much damage as possible as they left.  Chilperic reportedly executed several of his unruly noblemen for the inordinate amount of looting, but such selective punitive measures did not stop the various sections of his army from devastating the land as they retreated. Gregory of Tours vividly described the destruction sewn by Chilperic’s troops as they sulked away from Guntram’s kingdom:

“When the troops who were besieging Bourges received the order to withdraw and return home, they stole so much booty that, as they evacuated it, the entire region seemed empty of inhabitants and cattle. As they passed through the Tours area, the men led by Desiderius and Bladast set fire to everything, stole everything that they could lay their hands on, and murdered the inhabitants out of hand, just as if they were in an enemy country” (History of the Franks, VI.31).

Despite the destruction, the peace between the brother monarchs held, allowing King Guntram to focus his efforts on his still-hostile nephew, Childebert II. Utilizing diplomacy, Guntram was able to make peace with Childebert II by giving him the city of Marseilles in 584, the same year in which King Chilperic was assassinated.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Picture Attribution: (Rioters pillaging a house in Paris from BL Royal 20 C VII, f. 41v, dated to 1380-1400, [Public Domain] via Creative Commons).

Sources:

• The History of the Franks by Gregory of Tours, translated by Lewis Thorpe. New York: Penguin Classics, 1971.

The Post-Burial Consecration System Supposedly Used In Early-Christianized Greenland

Leading families in Iceland and Greenland chose to accept Christianity around the year 1000. Yet, as they say, it is easier said than done, and the Icelanders and Greenlanders may have found implementing Christian ideas into their societies to be a trickier task than they might have imagined. One area of major confusion was apparently burials. Questions seemed to have abounded on topics such as whether the dead in Iceland and Greenland could continue to be buried in unconsecrated ground. Could burial sites be consecrated after the funeral? Did priests need to interact with the bodies before they were buried? In Greenland, some of the earliest Christians supposedly came to a hybrid decision in which they buried their dead whenever and wherever they wished, but included a small access point into the grave. At some later point, ordained priests could drop holy material down into the tombs, which would presumably bless the ground and burial.

 This interesting process was mentioned and described in Eirik the Red’s Saga, an anonymously-written text from the 13th century. On these burials, the saga  claimed:

 “It had been common practice in Greenland, since Christianity had been adopted, to bury people in unconsecrated ground on the farms where they died. A pole was set up on the breast of each corpse until a priest came, then the pole was pulled out and consecrated water poured into the hole and a burial service performed, even though this was done much later” (Eirik the Red’s Saga, chapter 6).

As the writer of the saga hinted, the process described in the book was apparently looked down upon by the church and more proper ways of burial were introduced and encouraged. Eirik the Red’s Saga, in case some people were still considering burials in unconsecrated ground, also included a tale about a draugr—a Norse zombie—that came back from the dead to beg for his body to be brought to a church and buried on hallowed ground. The worried zombie reportedly said:

“These practices will not do which have been followed here in Greenland after the coming of Christianity: burying people in unconsecrated ground with little if any service said over them. I want to have my corpse taken to a church, along with those of the other people who have died here” (Eirik the Red’s Saga, chapter 6).

Written by C. Keith Hansley

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

Sources:

• The Vinland Sagas (Saga of the Greenlanders and Eirik the Red’s Saga) translated by Keneva Kunz. New York: Penguin Classics, 2008.

The Talking Roman Cow Of The 5th Century BCE

Around 462-461 BCE, ancient Rome was able to obtain a brief moment of peace from its ongoing wars with the Volscians and Aequians. Yet, peacetime was tense in those years, as the Romans were reportedly plagued by natural disasters, such as earthquakes and fires. Nature’s wrath prompted the Romans to scour their surroundings for omens, and the supernatural signs they discovered were apparently not good. Flocks of birds behaved erratically and, according to the historian Livy (c. 59 BCE-17CE), “it rained lumps of meat” (History of Rome, 3.10). Birds, however, were not the only animals behaving strangely—the cows were acting even more oddly.

Somewhere in the pastures of ancient Rome, a cow allegedly began to speak. It seems to have been a single cow who went on a two-year talking spree. During its first year of speech, presumably in 462 BCE, the eloquent cow was largely ignored by the community. Cowherds and those nearest to the animal tried to spread the word about the opinionated beast, but the rest of Rome dismissed the rumors as a prank or ruse.

The talkative cow paid no heed to the disbelief of average Romans, however, and it continued to have conversations as before. It supposedly continued to speak well into the next year, coinciding with the earthquakes, fires, and raining meat of 461 BCE. Considering all of the bizarre signs occurring at the time, the Romans soon began to reconsider the rumor about the talking cow. According to Livy, “a cow talked—there was a rumor that a cow had talked the previous year, but nobody believed it: this year they did” (History of Rome, 3.10).

Just as the Romans were getting to the bottom of the talking cow investigation, the Volscians and Aequians cruelly resumed their continual hostilities with Rome, thereby pulling the attention of our sources away from the bovine orator. The fate of the talkative cow remains unknown.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Picture Attribution: (Daedalus, Pasiphae and wooden cow. Roman fresco from the northern wall of the triclinium in the Casa dei Vettii (VI 15,1) in Pompeii, [Public Domain] via Creative Commons).

Sources:

• The History of Rome by Livy, translated by Aubrey de Sélincourt. New York: Penguin Classics, 2002.

The Winter Of The Living Dead In Lysufjord Greenland

Thorstein Eiriksson was reportedly the only child of Eirik the Red to never reach North America. Thorstein’s brother, Leif Eiriksson, was the first known European to set foot in North America, doing so around the year 999, and he named his site of disembarkation Vinland; Thorvald Eiriksson also journeyed to Vinland and died of an arrow wound there; their sister, Freydis Eiriksdottir, reportedly made her own trip (or possibly trips) to those distant shores and lived to tell the tale.  Although poor Thorstein was apparently the only child of Eirik the Red to not be a part of that exclusive Vinland club, perhaps he would be glad to know that oral history about his life was in no way boring, but instead produced an incredibly strange tale that surpassed the stories of all his kinsmen in weirdness. Thorstein makes an appearance in the Saga of the Greenlanders and Eirik the Red’s Saga, both dating from the 13th century and based on oral tradition in Greenland and Iceland. Although the two sagas focus on the discovery and the discoverers of North America, Thorstein Eiriksson features in one of the most striking scenes included in both sagas, even though he never saw or stepped on North American soil. Unfortunately for Thorstein, it was his own death scene. Or, as may be guessed from the title of this article—his undeath.

According to the oral history preserved in the Saga of the Greenlanders and Eirik the Red’s Saga, Thorstein Eiriksson attempted a journey to Vinland, but his crew got lost and had to turn back to Greenland before winter. He and his wife, Gudrid Thorbjarnardottir, ended up spending the winter in the region of Lysufjord, either because they owned property (probably undeveloped) in the area, or their ship was simply stranded there by the winter weather. Whatever the case, Thorstein and Gudrid attempted to ride out the winter in the home of a hospitable couple. The man of this host household was named Thorstein the Black, while his wife was given the name Grimhild (in the Saga of the Greenlanders) or Sigrid (in Eirik the Red’s Saga). Staying with this host family would turn out to be a horrible decision for Thorstein Eiriksson and Gudrid, as an outbreak of disease in Lysufjord coincided with the onset of winter, and such conditions led to the deaths of many in the region.

That winter, the illness and death of a certain foreman named Gardi heralded the beginning of an epidemic. Before long, many were bedridden by the illness, including the hostess (Grimhild or Sigrid) of the estate where Thorstein Eiriksson and Gudrid were staying. Eiriksson, too, eventually caught the disease and was restricted to a sickbed. With half of the household sick, Gudrid and the host carried out all the tasks that needed to be done—Gudrid cared for the sick, while Thorstein the Black kept his distance, often fishing or gathering resources that they would need to survive the winter.

Despite Gudrid’s best efforts, she could not prevent the illness from taking its course. The hostess of the household was the first to die. Her husband, Thorstein the Black, reportedly left the body alone with his guests while he went outside to gather planks for a coffin, and to finish other chores, such as fishing. While the host was absent, Thorstein Eiriksson and Gudrid were said to have witnessed something truly nightmarish. According to the folklore preserved in the Saga of the Greenlanders and Eirik the Red’s Saga, the corpse of Grimhild (or Sigrid) reanimated and became a draugr—a Norse zombie.

In the Saga of the Greenlanders, the draugr of the deceased woman posed little threat, and Thorstein Eiriksson, looking on from his sickbed, lightheartedly commented, “Strange are the actions of the mistress of the house now; she’s struggling to raise herself up on her elbow, stretching her feet out from the bedboards and feeling for her shoes” (chapter 5). In that particular telling of the tale, the zombie-mistress stopped moving as soon as Thorstein the Black returned to the home, his walking through the threshold of the house somehow ending her undeath. Eirik the Red’s Saga, however, presented a much more threatening, action-packed scene. In this alternative version of the story, poor Thorstein Eiriksson was again on his sickbed, looking at the body of Grimhild (or Sigrid), when the corpse reanimated and started to move. Whereas the previous story said that the draugr merely moved its limbs aimlessly, the story in Eirik the Red’s Saga instead claimed that the zombie was slowly and intimidatingly moving its way toward sick, immobilized Thorstein Eiriksson. He and his wife were so frightened that they could think of nothing better to do than shout for their host, who was somewhere outside. Thorstein the Black heard their call and came to the rescue, wielding an axe. According to Eirik the Red’s Saga, “When he entered she [the zombie] had reached the sideboards of the bed. He took hold of her and drove an axe into her breast” (chapter 6).

Not long after Grimhild or Sigrid’s death (and second death), Thorstein Eiriksson also succumbed to his illness. There must have been something special about that winter or that particular disease, for the body of Thorstein Eiriksson, too, was said to have reanimated as a zombie or draugr. Zombie-Thorstein was apparently a very polite, well-behaved creature, and therefore the axe-wielding host reportedly decided to let the creature live. In both sagas in which this tale occurs, the draugr merely wanted to speak to Gudrid. According to the Saga of the Greenlanders, the reanimated corpse of Thorstein foretold the future for Gudrid, whereas Eirik the Red’s Saga claimed that the zombie begged for his body to be brought to a church so that it could be properly buried by a priest. After delivering its message, zombie-Thorstein apparently collapsed to the ground, once again fully dead.

Written by C. Keith Hansley.

Picture Attribution: (Viking Age ship burning burial, drawn by Alexander Zick (1845–1907), [Public Domain] via Creative Commons).

Sources:

• The Vinland Sagas (Saga of the Greenlanders and Eirik the Red’s Saga) translated by Keneva Kunz. New York: Penguin Classics, 2008.

Crocell—An Underwhelming Demon Who Supposedly Excels At Warming Baths

Crocell, according to occultists, is a spiritual being or demon with powers related to water. According to legend, he was one of 72 demons supposedly controlled by the biblical King Solomon. These demons, listed and described in a peculiar grimoire called the Lemegeton (or the Lesser Key of Solomon) are said to have all sorts of flashy abilities, including teleportation, fortune telling, control of weather, physical transformation, emotion manipulation, the spreading of disease, and the poltergeist-like ability to topple structures by sheer spiritual force. Poor Crocell, however, is not said to wield any of these powers.

In appearance and ability, Crocell comes across as a humble demon with humble powers. Whereas other spirits in the Lemegeton are described as having monstrous shapes, riding on bizarre mounts, and having gravelly voices, Crocell apparently has no steed and prefers to be seen in his original angelic fallen-angel appearance. As said earlier, Crocell’s abilities are said to be connected to water. For one, he can make the sound of water fill the air, even when there is no water present. Besides that, the Lemegeton claims Crocell can additionally “warmeth Waters, and discovereth Baths” (Lesser Key of Solomon, Shemhamphorash, 49). If finding and warming baths were not enough, Crocell also apparently is quite good at geometry. While these abilities are not as grandiose as teleportation or the power to smite cities, Crocell’s bath warming prowess supposedly has earned him dominion over 48 legions of lesser spirits.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Picture Attribution: ('Imperial' porcelain roll-rim bath. Plate 1090-G, (c. late 19th century) and an image from The Violet Fairy Book (1906), [Public Domain] via Creative Commons).

Sources:

• The Three Magical Books of Solomon by Crowley, Mathers and Conybear. Vega Publishing, 2019 (original publications c. 1888, 1898, 1904. 
• https://www.sacred-texts.com/grim/lks/lks05.htm 
• https://www.sacred-texts.com/grim/lks/index.htm