Hugvísindasvið

Literary Architecture and Meaning in Orkneyinga saga

Ritgerð til MA-prófs í Medieval Icelandic Studies

Jennifer Grayburn

September 2014 Háskóli Íslands

Hugvísindasvið Medieval Icelandic Studies

Literary Architecture and Meaning in Orkneyinga saga

Ritgerð til MA-prófs í Medieval Icelandic Studies

Jennifer Grayburn Kt.: 071185-3629

Leiðbeinandi: Torfi Tulinius September 2014

Literary Architecture and Meaning in Orkenyinga saga

Table of Contents:

Abstract

Preface i

Introduction ii

Chapter 1: Literary Architecture in Orkneyinga saga and 1 Its Relationship to Orkney’s Medieval Landscape

Chapter 2: Orkneyinga Saga as a Literary Construction 14

Chapter 3: Churches in Context in Orkneyinga saga 24

Chapter 4: ‘Musteri’ in Orkneyinga saga and Other Sagas 32

Conclusion 39

Bibliography 42

Abstract: This thesis describes and analyses the textual references to architecture that appear in Orkneyinga saga. By distinguishing between literary architecture that exists in the sagas and physical architecture that actually existed in medieval Orkney, this thesis focuses exclusively on how the literary architecture—specifically churches—functioned within the saga regardless of the existence of any real-world counterparts. Rather than merely providing general facts about the Orcadian landscape, these architectural references reinforce the overarching political message of the saga that support the power and legitimacy of Orkney’s jarls. Jarl Rǫgnvaldr Kali Kolsson, as the patron of Magnúskirkja, benefits especially from these references, as they mirror architectural references and activities in other sagas and reinforce his own quasi-royal status by association.

Ágrip: Í ritgerðinni er tilvísunum til bygginga í Orkneyinga sögu lýst og þær greindar. Gerður er greinarmunur á “bókmenntalegri byggingarlist” eins og henni er lýst í sögunum og þeim byggingum sem voru raunverulega til í Orkneyjum á miðöldum. Þannig er unnt að beina sérstakleg sjónum að því hlutverki sem “bókmenntabyggingar”, einkum og sérílagi kirkjur, gegndu í sögunni, án hliðsjónar af raunverulegum byggingum sem þær voru fulltrúar fyrir. Þessar lýsingar hafa aðra og meiri þýðingu en einvörðungu að visa til efnislegs raunveruleika Orkneyja, en hún er sú að vera farvegur stjórnmálaviðhorfa sem styðja réttmæti valda Orkneyingajarla. Rögnvaldur Kali jarl Kolsson er frumkvöðullinn að byggingu Magnúsarkirkju og nýtur þess í textanum, ekki síst þar sem vísanir til þessa starfs hans endurspegla vísanir til sambærilegra iðju í öðrum sögum. Þar með styrkist staða hans sem jaðrar við að vera konungleg. Grayburn i

Preface This thesis is the product of the intellectual, financial, and personal support of many people. First, I would like to thank my professors at Háskóli Íslands, Torfi Tulinius, Haraldur Bernhardsson, and Steinunn Kristjánsdóttir. Without your support and guidance both in and out of the classroom, this project would not have been possible. I would also like to thank the Medieval Icelandic Studies program for providing me with such an amazing educational opportunity and the Leifur Eiríksson Foundation for so generously supporting my research. Finally, I would like to thank my parents and Nicholas Genau for their endless emotional support while I completed this project.

Grayburn ii

Introduction

Nú er þat mitt ráð at leita þangat trausts, er nógt er til, at sá unni yðr ríkis, er á at réttu, en þat er inn helgi Magnús jarl, móðurbróðir yðvarr. Vil ek, at þú heitir á hann, at hann unni yðr frændleifðar þinar ok sinnar erfðar, at þú látir gera steinmusteri í Orkneyjum í Kirkjuvági, ef þú fær þat ríki, þat er ekki sé annat dýrligra í þvi landi, ok látir Magnúsi jarli helga, frænda þinum, ok leggir þar fé til, svá at sá staðr mætti eflask, ok yrði þangat komit hans helgum dómi ok byskupsstólinum með.1

Now it is my advice to find support there, which is abundant, with he who by rights should grant the realm to you and it is the holy jarl Magnús, your mother’s brother. I desire that you call to him, that should he grant you your inheritance and his familial inheritance and if you obtain that domain, that you make a stone minster in Orkney in Kirkwall so that no one sees another as fair in that land. Grant it to jarl Magnús the holy, your kinsman, and arrange there such wealth that the [ecclesiastical] foundation grows strong and the holy relics [of St. Magnús] should come there and with them the Episcopal See.2 -Kolr Kalason, Orkneyinga saga, Ch. 68

In 1136, Rǫgnvaldr Kolsson was in a difficult situation. He was the maternal nephew of the martyred jarl Magnús Erlendsson of Orkney and had recently been granted the title of jarl of Orkney by King Sigurðr Jórsalafari Magnússon of Norway.3 Yet, his pedigree and royal support were of little help, for his cousin jarl Páll Hákonarson was already in control of the islands and refused to recognize Rǫgnvaldr’s

1 Finnbogi Guðmundson, ed. “Orkneyinga saga,” in Orkneyinga Saga, Legenda de Sancto Magno, Magnús saga skemmri, Magnús saga lengri, Helga þáttr ok Úlfs, Íslenzk fornrit XXXIV, 1-300 (Reykjavík: i íslenzka fornritafélag, 1965), 158-159. 2 Unless otherwise noted, all translations are my own. I have sought a literal translation, adding only minor grammatical and syntactical changes to produce a smooth English translation. For clarity, I have also bracketed additional content that either appears in earlier passages or can be determined through context, but that does not appear in the given passage itself. 3 Orkney is often referred to as a medieval Norwegian “earldom” and scholars present varying views of what this title really means politically. Although some suggest that Orkney was completely subjugated by Norway, it is more common today to recognize Orkney as “semi-autonomous” and capable of working outside the control of any Norwegian kings wishing to claim procession. Orcadian historian William P.L. Thomson notes that “Orkney was never a loyal Norwegian colony, nor yet was it simply a peripheral outpost of the Kingdom of Scotland. It has always been a place apart. At one time it possessed its own language and political institutions and, on that basis, it may be regarded as one of the forgotten sub- nations of Europe.” While Ronald Miller has suggested the term “prince” as a better translation of the title jarl than earl, yet both translations superimpose anglicized meaning where it is perhaps inappropriate. For this reason, I have chosen to retain the original Old Icelandic term jarl throughout the thesis. L. Dietrichson and Johan Meyer, Monumenta Orcadica: The Norsemen in the Orkneys and the Monuments they have left (Kristiania: A. Cammermeyyers Forlag, 1906). William P.L. Thomson, The History of Orkney (Edinburgh: The Mercat Press, 1987), xiii. Ronald Miller, Orkney (London: B. T. Batsford Ltd., 1976), 70.

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claim to half of his domain. With one failed campaign behind him, Rǫgnvaldr rallied as many Norwegian supporters as possible and prepared for one final attempt to claim his inheritance.4 Rǫgnvaldr’s father, Kolr Kalason, did not think that this support was enough and urged his son to appeal to higher powers: namely, his uncle St. Magnús, who was by that time a popular local saint in Orkney. In exchange for divine support, Rǫgnvaldr vowed to build a grand church in Kirkwall, Orkney and dedicate it to St. Magnús. The divine powers of St. Magnús, indeed, seemed to assist Rǫgnvaldr during this second campaign, for Rǫgnvaldr overcame his cousin and became the sole ruler of the semi-autonomous Orkney Islands. As a result, Rǫgnvaldr fulfilled his powerful vow and built the magnificent Magnúskirkja in Kirkwall dedicated to his uncle.5 Or, so this is what Orkneyinga saga tells us. Undoubtedly, this twelfth-century saga is the most extensive and important account of Orkney’s medieval history and, without it, almost all of Orkney’s early recorded history would be lost. The saga chronicles the jarls of Orkney from the conquest of the islands by the Norwegian jarl Rǫgnvaldr of Mœrr (Møre) to the reign of araldr Maddaðarson (c. 800-1200). Even if some of the content seems historically unviable, it is an invaluable resource for historians of the medieval Orkney. While Orkneyinga saga was compiled in its entirety around 1230, up to some 400 years after some of the events supposedly occurred, historians have been able to compare its content to other medieval documents and archaeological evidence in order to determine what in the narrative actually occurred. With an extant medieval church in Kirkwall dedicated to St. Magnús (known today as St. Magnus Cathedral), there seems to be little reason to doubt Kolr’s advice to his son and the patronage of Rǫgnvaldr’s subsequent construction of Magnúskirkja.6

4 It is important, of course, to recognize that modern nation-states did not exist in the middle ages. When I refer to modern national entities and what appear to be nationalities (such as Norway and Norwegian), I do so for convenience in order to communicate a region and location of residence, rather than to imply the existence of a nation or kingdom as we understand them today. A helpful resource on the fluid and fragile political structures of the medieval British Isles (to which Orkney belongs) is Robin Frame, The Political Development of the British Isles 1100-1400 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1990). 5 These events appear in Orkneyinga saga, Chapters 68-76. 6 Often, structures in the saga are not explicitly named. For Rǫgnvaldr’s church, however, we learn that is was called Magnúskirkja. Orkney has been part of Scotland since the fifteenth century, however, and its landscape has been anglicized to reflect its English speaking residents. As a result, the church that survives today is called St. Magnus Cathedral. Since this thesis will draw a clear distinction between the textual architecture described in saga and the physical architecture that survives in the landscape, I will use Magnúskirkja when referring to the former and St. Magnus Cathedral when referring to the latter. Grayburn iv

With such references to architecture (especially architecture that still exists in some form), Orkneyinga saga is just as valuable for archaeologists and architectural historians as it is for historians. When scholars began to record and analyze Orkney’s extant medieval buildings in the nineteenth century, they found that the saga’s literary landscape— the landscape described in the text—corresponded closely with Orkney’s physical landscape. With this close relationship between the text and archaeological remains, it is perhaps not surprising that the buildings referenced in the text were often conflated directly with Orkney’s extant medieval buildings. As a result, the architectural information provided by the saga was rarely questioned and, moreover, often cited as fact. Rǫgnvaldr’s Magnúskirkja—with its first reference in Kolr’s speech—is one of the most frequently mentioned structures in the saga. With this information, architectural historians have been able to reconstruct, among other things, the medieval patronage, chronology, and function of St. Magnus Cathedral as it exists today. Yet, it was precisely Kolr’s speech that gave me pause when first citing the saga in my research on St. Magnus Cathedral. His advice, recorded as direct speech to his son, was recorded some 100 years after the events that had occurred and I questioned whether we should assume its historical accuracy. Even if I granted that the words could have been preserved in a very active oral culture, that the author could have recorded the account exactly as we see it today, I could not help but wonder if that specific encounter ever really happened. I wondered if it could have been fabricated—either in oral or written form—for creative or political reasons after Rǫgnvaldr’s conquest and the construction of St. Magnus Cathedral. By no means can I ever prove a hypothesis like this (nor would I necessarily want to), but it was this line of inquiry that challenged me to look closer at the saga not as fixed and neutral historical record, but rather as fluid and highly constructed creative product. Orkneyinga saga exists as a text (or perhaps it is more accurate to say numerous texts), compiled at different stages from multiple oral traditions and manuscripts. Consequently, it is a mediated construction, one firmly set in the context of its creation and susceptible to the changes of some eight centuries of copying, compiling, translating, and editing. The creation of a saga is just as complicated and obtuse as any architectural work, for what we have today is the result of centuries of collaboration between named and unnamed persons. Rather than the combined work of a patron, designer, masons, and craftsman (not to mention modern Grayburn v

architects and preservationists) the text is the product of oral accounts, authors, scribes, centuries of copists, and most recently, editors and translators. While it is tidy and satisfying to try to consider the saga as an immutable text crafted by one person, the fact is that these two mediums—architecture and text— are social and creative products, the efforts of many people and open to interpretation by succeeding generations. Although Orkneyinga saga is undoubtedly a valuable historical source and can provide a glimpse into the medieval past that it chronicles, it is also a fascinating testament to the values and concerns of the society that produced it. The architecture described within it, then, can easily tell us as much about the idea and reception of architecture in the thirteenth century as much as it can tell us about the physical landscape to which it so clearly alludes. The goal of this thesis is not to challenge previous scholars who have used the saga in often brilliant and ingenious ways to construct the architectural history we have today. Rather, my aim is to highlight a new method for understanding the literary architecture for what it is: a combination of words subject to the textual conventions and intertextual references that allowed informed contemporary audiences to decode and read them. While this is ultimately a literary project seeking to unravel the significance of architecture within its literary context, it is also a critical inquiry for architectural historians. Rather than embrace or disregard all of the sagas completely as historical sources, architectural historians can better understand how individual architectural information works within a literary work or corpus before drawing conclusions about its relationship to the physical world. While this project focuses on Orkney as a case study, it is my hope that this approach can and will be applied to all types of medieval texts and literary constructions. I suspect that through a comprehensive look at literary architecture, we will find new and exciting parallels between how text and architecture functioned within the medieval world. Orkneyinga saga is the ideal focus for this short study, as it focuses on a relatively narrow geographic area with many extant medieval buildings, ruins, and archaeological sites. There is a lot of overlap between its literary architecture and its extant physical remains, making it a very relevant case study for this project. Orkneyinga saga has many literary monuments, including longhouses, castles, beacons, taverns, and churches. Due to the limitations of this project, I will focus specifically on Grayburn vi

the excerpts of Orkneyinga saga that discuss churches. Churches are the most frequently referenced type of architecture in the saga and their construction in stone has allowed them to survive in greater numbers in the Orcadian landscape. They, consequently, dominate the historiography of Orkney’s medieval architecture. Many skilled historians and literary scholars have already supplied nuanced approaches for analyzing and utilizing Iceland’s medieval texts. These methodologies seek not to determine fact from fiction, but rather to understand more fully the cultural context of the society producing the sagas. This project will not reinvent the wheel, but rather will employ many of these established literary methodologies to understand one very focused element of Orkneyinga saga. By looking just at the literary churches— their context, vocabulary, and allusions—I will ultimately argue that the architecture of Orkneyinga saga is just as carefully crafted as any other part of the text. Literary architecture is not just a neutral backdrop for the saga narrative, consisting of facts to be culled to interpret medieval remains. Instead, Orkneyinga saga literary architecture embodies the cultural values of thirteenth-century Orkney, strategically furthering the narrative and political ideology of the saga. Such conclusions have significant implications for the meaning, interpretation, and reception of specific buildings and medieval architecture in general. In chapter 1, I will first outline the different ways that Orkneyinga saga has been used to interpret extant medieval churches in Orkney. Again, it is not the purpose of this chapter to argue against any specific interpretations of Orkney’s monuments. I emphasize how the saga material has been used strictly as historical evidence and some of the potential limitations of this approach. Chapter 2 focuses on Orkneyinga saga itself, not as the standardized text we read today, but rather as a compilation. This compilation includes oral stories and written sources, narratives written by at least two different authors at three different times, and the physical fragments of multiple manuscripts. By focusing on the various stages of creative mediation over the saga’s lifespan, I mean to challenge any sense that the saga is neutral, unbiased, and immutable document. In chapter 3, I introduce and describe the context of church references in Orkneyinga saga, focusing on reoccurring themes and how they function within the saga as a whole, particularly how they relate to Orkney’s jarls. Then, in chapter 4, I narrow my focus to the use of one specific word, musteri, as it applies to churches in Grayburn vii

Orkneyinga saga. I argue that the use of this term reflects careful selection within the saga, as it reinforces the relationship between key characters and construction projects within the text and alludes to other passages in the Icelandic corpus. I end this project with a broad consideration of how these passages reinforced thirteenth century values and power, especially as it related to jarl Rǫgnvaldr. I also consider how such careful literary scholarship can both enhance and complement existing architectural and literary scholarship, as well as provide a few suggestions for future research. As with all projects that focus on the medieval Northern world, it is necessary to acknowledge the differences in modern spellings and various editions. Since this study uses the standardized Íslenzk fornrit edition of Orkenyinga saga, I will use its standardized medieval Icelandic orthography for names in the text. When medieval locations correspond with modern locations, however, I will give the modern location— though in some cases, I will include the original Old Icelandic name when relevant to my argument. Moreover, when discussing literary architecture, I will use the Old Icelandic name given in the text in order to differentiate it from the physical architecture that actually existed. For the latter, I will use the modern English name used in Orkney today (for example, Magnúskirkja/St. Magnus Cathedral).7Additionally, all quotes in Old Icelandic and all chapter references come from the Íslenzk fornrit edition of Orkneyinga saga and all translations are my own unless otherwise noted.

7 See footnote 6. Grayburn 1

CHAPTER 1: Literary Architecture in Orkneyinga saga and Its Relationship to Orkney’s Medieval Landscape

The task of the architectural historian, ultimately, is to illuminate the history of the constructed monuments in his or her field. This, of course, can be done in a variety of ways and with a variety of methodologies focusing on style, structure, patronage, chronology, construction, cultural context, function, relationship to other buildings/landscape, etc. While building fabric is typically the direct medium of study, it is often necessary to consult external texts, documents, and images in order to supplement the architectural evidence. For scholars of the medieval North, the sagas offer a wealth of information unlike anywhere else in medieval Europe. In Orkney, a number of medieval ruins and archaeological sites seem to corroborate the textual evidence, making Orkneyinga saga all the more relevant to traditional architectural inquiry. This chapter outlines the major ways that the sagas have influenced architectural studies of Orkney’s medieval churches. Two Orcadian churches, St. Magnus Cathedral in Kirkwall and St. Peter Kirk on the Brough of Birsay, dominate the scholarly discussions and, therefore, feature heavily in this chapter. Both of these churches have corresponding literary counterparts—Magnúskirkja and Kristskirkja respectively. I will first outline the general history of the structures individually as presented in the sagas, along with related scholarly debates related to this saga content. After this brief discussion of the limitations and issues related to the use of sagas as historical evidence, I will introduce my own approach to Orkneyinga saga’s literary architecture and the methodological models that inspired it.

Orkneyinga saga and Architectural Scholarship The 30 direct references to church architecture in Orkneyinga saga are diverse, providing a variety of different information and appearing in a variety of different contexts.8 In some cases, specific churches are named or featured as the setting for

8 This includes all references to a physical structure (whether named or mentioned generally), including the Old Icelandic terms for church like kirkja and musteri, as well as structural compounds like kirkjudurr. Due to the limitations of this thesis, it does not include inferences to churches through either their function or liturgical furniture (like singing mass or the presence of a shrine). These are relevant and equally valuable passages, however, and offer the opportunity for further inquiry. Grayburn 2

important events or anecdotes; in other cases, we are given details regarding the location or patron of a church. Occasionally, churches are mentioned in direct speech and skaldic poems. These 30 references, however, do not feature 30 different churches. Rather, it seems that the literary landscape of Orkneyinga saga references just eight to ten different churches, many of which scholars and archaeologists have associated with the extant structural remains of churches in the physical Orcadian landscape.9 As a result, the content of the saga is treated as an objective historical document and informs how scholars and general audiences understand Orkney’s medieval buildings. The sagas are used in three main ways to supplement the physical archaeological record. First, church locations and specific names given in the saga provide evidence of the identity of extant ruins in the Orcadian landscape. Second, once the identity of the churches in the saga are linked to physical remains, all of the events and facts given about a literary church are also applied to its physical counterpart. Finally, if certain information about a building is not given explicitly by the saga, scholars use the physical evidence, along with other information in the saga, to answer their questions regarding chronology, patron, influence, etc. Each approach is linked intricately to the others and assumes that all relevant information in the saga is equally historically viable. In order to highlight the different ways the saga text manifests in architectural scholarship, I will discuss how scholars have employed Orkneyinga saga in their research on the two churches with the largest historiography. The point of this chapter is not to offer a conclusive list of all churches that have been identified using saga evidence; nor is it my intention to criticize any of the interpretations as inaccurate. Actually, the combination of archaeological evidence and saga content in many cases provides a very convincing argument. Rather, I intend to introduce only a few examples in order to discuss how the saga is used in architectural scholarship and to highlight common trends and possible considerations when using the text in an exclusively historical fashion.

Kristkirkja and St. Peter Kirk Kristkirkja [Christ Church] is referenced in Orkneyinga saga explicitly in five different passages and is the first church mentioned by the saga following the exploits of

9 Some of the architectural references, however, are general, and it is not clear if they are referring to a church mentioned previously or a separate location. Grayburn 3

Orkney’s pagan jarls. Jarl Þorfinnr Sigurðarson was Orkney’s first exclusively Christian jarl and the saga describes his pilgrimage to Rome.10 Before meeting with the Pope in Rome, the kings of Norway and Denmark, as well as the Holy Roman Emperor hosted him with lavish hospitality. Chapter 31 of Orkneyinga saga records that, upon his return to Orkney, Þorfinnr settled in Byrgisheraði [Birsay] and built there Kristkirkja to be Orkney’s first bishop’s seat. Then, in chapter 32, the saga records that Þorfinnr “er jarðaðr at Kristskirkju í Byrgisheraði, þeiri er hann hafði gera látit” [is buried in Birsay at Christ Church, which he had had built].11 In chapter 52, we learn that jarl Magnus, Þorfinnr’s grandson and Rǫgnvaldr’s uncle (the martyred St. Magnús), was also “grafinn at Kristkirkju þeiri, er Þorfinnr jarl lét gera” [buried at Christ Church, which jarl Þórfinn had built].12 Also in chapter 52, Kristkirkja is mentioned two more times in reference to Bishop Vilhjálmr inn síðari [William the Old], the Orcadian bishop who would eventually declare Magnús a saint. In the first reference, the saga notes that Bishop Vilhjálmr was bishop when the Episcopal See was at Kristkirkja. The second reference records that Bishop Vilhjálmr was in Kristkirkja when he miraculously lost his sight. Equally as miraculous, Magnús restored Bishop Vilhjálmr’s sight, and thereby convinced him of his sanctity. In these very brief statements, we learn very important information: a church called Kristkirkja was constructed under the supervision of Þorfinnr and was located at or near his residence at Byrgisheraði. It was the first Episcopal See for Orkney’s bishops and the site of the graves of two jarls: Þorfinnr and Magnús (who was later declared a saint). Through implication, then, it is possible to date this literary building to Þorfinnr’s reign in Orkney (c. 1050). Furthermore, there are later miracle stories regarding St. Magnús and his shrine in Orkneyinga saga and it is possible to conclude that Kristkirkja became an important local pilgrimage site for about 20 years in between Magnús’ burial in Birsay and the translation of his relics and the Episcopal See to Kirkwall. Yet, a few issues may give us pause when considering how to employ this saga evidence to a physical structure. First, comparisons with external documentary evidence indicate that some of these facts may not actually be true. Second, the location

10 According to Orkneyinga saga, Þorfinnr’s father jarl Sigurðr digri lǫðvisson was forced to convert by Norwegian king Ólafr Tryggvason. This conversion, however, was not genuine and he ultimately died under a magic raven banner during the Battle of Clontarf in 1014. Orkneyinga saga, Chapters 11-12. 11 Finnbogi Guðmundson, “Orkneyinga saga,” 82. 12 Finnbogi Guðmundson, “Orkneyinga saga,” 112. Grayburn 4

of Kristkirkja given in the text is fairly vague, resulting in a half century-long debate between proponents of two different archaeological sites. The first concern stems from the fact that the saga gives information that historians know is not true. In chapter 52, the saga records that Bishop Vilhjálmr was the first bishop of Orkney, back when the bishop’s seat was at Kristkirkja.13 This, however, conflicts with the previous passage in chapter 31 that states that Þorfinnr constructed Kristkirkja as the first byskupsstóll in Orkney some half a century before Vilhjálmr’s appointment in the twelfth century.14 Barbara Crawford looks to comparative literature to trace the bishops of Orkney and notes that Adam of Bremen, a chronicler in the Archdiocese of Hamburg-Bremen, wrote of his distaste for Orkney’s earliest recorded bishop, Bishop Henry, who was likely appointed by the rival Archdiocese of York before c. 1035. Adam of Bremen also records that Archbishop Adelbert of Hamburg-Bremen appointed a bishop to Orkney (a certain Turolf or Throlf) under order of the Pope in the mid-eleventh century.15 With such external evidence, it is possible that both passages in Orkneyinga saga are incorrect, though it is also possible that the reference to Þorfinnr’s Kristkirkja as the first byskupsstóll might not mean that it was the seat of Orkney’s first bishop, but rather the first permanent residence of Orkney’s bishops (with previous bishops traveling throughout the diocese). Regardless, it is clear that Vilhjálmr was not the first bishop of Orkney in any way. Adam of Bremen eve gives us the name of two other subsequent Orcadian Bishops appointed by Adalbert before Vilhjálmr: John and Adalbert. Crawford notes that there was a rivalry between the Archbishops of Hamburg-Bremen and the Archbishops of York to appoint Orkney’s bishops. After these early Hamburg-Bremen appointments, York appointed its own Orcadian bishops in the late eleventh and early twelfth centuries. For certain periods, there were actually two rival bishops of Orkney at the same time, one from each rival archdiocese. Crawford believes that Bishop Vilhjálmr was appointed under such circumstances, only becoming Orkney’s sole bishop upon the death of his rival’s supporter, jarl Magnús.16

13 Finnbogi Guðmundson, “Orkneyinga saga,” 113. 14 Finnbogi Guðmundson, “Orkneyinga saga,” 112. 15 Barbara Crawford, “Birsay and the Early Earls and Bishops of Orkney,” in Orkney Heritage, Vol. 2: Birsay: A Centre of Political and Ecclesiastical Power, ed. William P.L. Thompson, 97-118 (Kirkwall: Orkney Heritage Society, 1983), 103-105 16 Crawford, “Birsay and the Early Earls and Bishops of Orkney,”104-110. Grayburn 5

While this may not seem like a major inconsistency, it is interesting to note the significance of the claim that Bishop Vilhjálmr was the first bishop in Orkney. This statement might simply be an error stemming from how Orkneyinga saga was compiled, for the two passages were likely taken from different sources at different times.17 Yet, even so, declaring Vilhjálmr the first bishop in Orkneyinga saga or an earlier saga would have given him indisputable religious legitimacy and political status that reflects his importance in the later saga narrative. Bishop Vilhjálmr is undoubtedly one of the most prominent characters in the second half of Orkneyinga saga, playing a key role in the sanctification of St. Magnús, as well as in the pilgrimage and administration of Rǫgnvaldr. Even if it cannot be proven that this inconsistency was intentional, it is important to consider the implications of such a statement and how such information could be added or modified to suit the needs of the saga’s author(s) or patron(s). It is a reminder in this discussion that that even the most seemingly straightforward facts are not always historically accurate and can, in fact, help to shape a historical narrative, not only record it. The comparison of evidence helps to sort through this information, though external sources are not always available. The second concern regards the ambiguity of Kristkirkja’s location and, consequently, its association with two different archaeological sites. Orkneyinga saga states that Kristkirkja was built in Byrgisheraði, which is now associated with the village of Birsay on Mainland, Orkney. Yet, this term originally described the territory covered by the Orcadian parishes of both Birsay and Harray. Despite this consideration, oral tradition placed the church on the site of the present parish church in the village of Birsay and, for the first half of the twentieth century, it was assumed that the original Kristkirkja was, indeed, located in the village.18 In the middle of the twentieth century, however, excavators Stewart Cruden and C.A. Radford argued that the church ruins on the Brough of Birsay (adjacent to Birsay village and included in the original Byrgisheraði region) were not the remnants of a monastery as previously believed, but rather Þorfinnr’s Kristkirkja.19

17 See chapter 2 for more information on attributed sagas in Orkneyinga saga. 18 R. G. Lamb, “The Cathedral and the Monastery,” in Orkney Heritage, Vol. 2: Birsay: A Centre of Political and Ecclesiastical Power, ed. William P.L. Thompson, 36-45 (Kirkwall: Orkney Heritage Society, 1983) 38-39. 19 Stewart Cruden, “Earl Thorfinn the Mighty and the Brough of Birsay,” in The Third Viking Congress, ed. Kristján Eldjárn, 156-165 (Reykjavík: Hið íslenska fornleifafélag, 1956). Stewart Cruden, Grayburn 6

Cruden and Radford’s new identification of the church ruins on the Brough of Birsay, known previously as St. Peter Kirk, not only shaped the interpretation of the church itself, but also altered the interpretation of the surrounding archaeological site. In the church nave, there was a singular grave in the center. Cruden notes that there were traces of a wooden coffin and a disturbed skeleton, suggesting reburial or, perhaps, the translation of relics. Whether the grave influenced Cruden’s identification of the church as Kristkirkja or this identification encouraged the association of the grave with one of the jarls’ burials is not clear.20 The archaeological site, however, was only uncovered during a series of excavations in the early twentieth century and are far more difficult to interpret. The plan of the surrounding structures had immediately suggested a cloister and monastic community.21 Orkneyinga saga, however, records that Þorfinnr’s residence and church were constructed in Byrgisheraði, presumably at the same location. If St. Peter Kirk was, in fact, Kristkirkja, then the surrounding structures likely included the necessary residences for the bishop and jarl. Cruden uses the saga liberally in his analysis, as he describes these ruins as the “earl’s palace” (complete with a festal hall) and a later twelfth-century “Episcopal palace.”22 An earlier structure that was incorporated into Þorfinnr’s palace was even attributed to Þorfinnr’s father, jarl Sigurðr digri lǫðvisson, due to its size, quality, and proximity to Þorfinnr’s complex.23 Moreover, Cruden considers the formal characteristics of Þorfinnr’s palace in conjunction with the jarl’s saga biography, arguing that, “the rationalized planning and the use of masonry in the later parts [of the palace] represent innovations adopted by Thorfinn [Þorfinnr] as a result of his journey to Rome.”24 Cruden’s identification and interpretation, however, were not embraced by all scholars. In particular, Raymond Lamb reasserted in the 1980s that the oral tradition placing Þorfinnr’s church under the village parish church was more logical, noting that larger foundations had been discovered beneath the parish church (which retains the

“Excavations at Birsay, Orkney,” in The Fourth Viking Congress (York, August 1961), ed. Alan Small, 22-31 (Edinburgh: Oliver and Boyd, 1965). C. A. Radford, “Birsay and the Spread of Christianity to the North,” in Orkney Heritage, Vol. 2: Birsay: A Centre of Political and Ecclesiastical Power, ed. William P.L. Thompson, 13-35 (Kirkwall: Orkney Heritage Society, 1983). 20 Cruden, “Earl Thorfinn the Mighty,” 158. 21 Royal Commission on the Ancient Monuments of Scotland, Inventory of Orkney, vol. 2, Twelfth Report with an Inventory: Orkney and Shetland (Edinburgh: HMSO, 1946), 1-5. 22 Cruden, “Excavations at Birsay,” 22. 23 Cruden, “Excavations at Birsay,” 28. 24 Cruden, “Excavations at Birsay,” 28. Grayburn 7

name St. Magnus Church) and that St. Peter Kirk is stylistically too young to be Þorfinnr’s eleventh-century Kristkirkja.25 He emphasizes the dedication to St. Peter and compares the ruins on the Brough to those of the presumed monastery on Eynhallow, ultimately deducing that St. Peter Kirk was an unrecorded twelfth-century monastery. Additionally, he suggests that it was probably established by the jarls or Bishop Vilhjálmr in the early twelfth century and that its high status resulted in its replication in other Orkney areas like Deerness.26 Here again, however, Orkneyinga saga provides the historical figures and general chronology that support this argument. Although the saga does not mention any specific monasteries in Orkney during this time, it does give the names of jarls and bishops in power. The church reflects trends from the twelfth century and Lamb uses this dating to propose which powerful characters in the saga from this time were likely its patrons.27 The debate regarding the identification not only of Kristkirkja, but also of St. Peter Kirk still continues. Most recently, Barbara Crawford compared the Brough site with that of an early Norwegian cathedral on the island of Selja. She uses these similarities and the history of Selja to argue that the Brough was the site for Kristkirkja, but that it was converted into a monastery and expanded when the cathedral moved to Kirkwall following the construction of Rǫgnvaldr’s Magnúskirkja. The visible ruins, then, are of the subsequent twelfth-century monastery, not Kristkirkja itself. Crawford recognizes the tenuous nature of this debate, relying as it does upon sparse and unclear information from the saga. She notes that her analysis and conclusions regarding the identity of St. Peter Kirk can only be considered “hypothetical.”28 While scholars have concluded generally that the visible ruins of St. Peter Kirk are stylistically too young to be Þorfinnr’s Kristkirkja, there is still no definitive evidence to prove or disprove its

25 This conclusion was recently affirmed by a detailed description and discussion of the excavated foundations under St. Magnus Parish Church. Christopher Morris, Birsay Bay Project: Sites in Birsay Village and on the Brough of Birsay,Orkney, vol. 2. University of Durham Department of Archaeology Monograph Series Number 2 (Durham: University of Durham, 1996), 31. Lamb, “The Cathedral and the Monastery,”37-44. 26 Interestingly, the Deerness site is now interpreted as a Viking Age settlement and chapel, not a monastery. Lamb, “The Cathedral and the Monastery,” 42-44. James . Barrett and Adam Slater, “New Excavations at the Brough of Deerness: Power and Religion in Viking Age Scotland,” Journal of the North Atlantic 2 (2009) 81-94. 27 Lamb does recognize the problems with conflating the sagas and the archaeological evidence: “The difficulty of Birsay is one of bringing saga and historical material into relation with archaeology which deals with a different kind of evidence and cannot necessarily answer the questions which the deficiencies of the written record leave unanswered.” Lamb, “The Cathedral and the Monastery,” 38, 44-45. 28 Crawford, “Thorfinn, Christianity and Birsay,” 105. Grayburn 8

original location. There likely never will be; the truth is that the saga presents a relatively simple literary landscape, with only a small number of literary structures. The presence of at least two significant liturgical sites (St. Magnus Parish Church and St. Peter Kirk) where only one (Kristkirkja) is recorded suggests that we should at least be wary of the saga’s simplicity and our own desire to associate physical sites with specific known structures. The Orcadian landscape appears to have been far more complicated and populated than the saga depicts.

Magnúskirkja and St. Magnus Cathedral While the location of Orkney’s first cathedral by Þorfinnr might never be determined definitively, the identification of Orkney’s second cathedral, Magnúskirkja [Magnús Church], as the extant St. Magnus Cathdral is not in question. This church has been in continuous use, if somewhat disrepair, since it was first constructed. Magnúskirkja is referenced directly five times and indirectly possibly four more times in Orkneyinga saga (it it not always clear if the saga means Magnúskirkja or another church in Kirkwall). The first reference to the cathedral is jarl Rǫgnvaldr’s vow in Chapter 68 to build a new shine and Episcopal See in Kirkwall for his uncle, St. Magnús. This occurs before the church was constructed and shows a divine motive for the work. In Chapter 76, then, the church is referenced for the first time directly as we learn that the ground plan was laid out and the construction progressed very quickly at first, though slowed after a few years. This second passage is longer, recording also that Rǫgnvaldr’s father, Kolr Kalason, supervised the project and that it was funded first by Rǫgnvaldr’s own money. When Rǫgnvaldr’s personal funds depleted, however, he used the money that he received when he told his land rights [óðul] directly to the farmers. Eventually, Magnus’s relics, which were in another church in Orkney, were translated to this new site. After this detailed description of the construction, the cathedral is mentioned as a place of refuge and reconciliation during the struggle between jarl Rǫgnvaldr and his kinsman, Erlend Haraldsson, who claimed co-rule of Orkney. In Chapter 92 and Chapter 94, Arni Hrafnsson and unnamed men of Erlend flee from battle and find refuge in the church, presumably to beg for pardon. Although we do not learn what happened to them, we do hear that Arni ran so quickly and without concern that he Grayburn 9

became stuck fast in the doorway when the shield on his back became wedged in the door.29 When Erlend was eventually killed, the church became the principle site of reconciliation between Rǫgnvaldr and Erlend’s most powerful supporter, Sveinn Ásleifarson in Chapters 98 and 99. Both men entered the church fully armed for their meeting and Rǫgnvaldr offered peace by returning goods that he had confiscated from Sveinn. Although he gave Sveinn’s ship to his acknowledged co-ruler, jarl Haraldr Maddaðarson, Rǫgnvaldr returned many precious things to Sveinn. Sveinn became upset, however, when his ship’s sails were carried out of the church, where they had been stored.30 Finally, in Chapter 104, Rǫgnvaldr was killed in battle and Bishop Bjarni of Orkney buried him in Magnúskirkja with his uncle. Later, we learn that Rǫgnvaldr, too, is declared a saint. It is not surprising that Magnúskirkja dominates other architectural references in the saga, for its physical counterpart, St. Magnus Cathedral, similarly dominates the Orcadian landscape. Built in the grand Anglo-Norman style common across the North Sea, the church is unlike anything else on the islands in terms of quality and scale. With the identity of St. Magnus Cathedral unambiguously linked to the saga’s Magnúskirkja, scholars describing the foundation and construction of St. Magnus Cathedral generally accept the given saga account, occasionally quoting a translation of the narrative as documentary evidence. According to this evidence, we learn explicitly that Rǫgnvaldr built the cathedral after vowing to do so in exchange for divine help during his campaign. Construction began quickly after this, was supervised by Kolr, and was funded by personal funds and those acquired in sale of land rights. Moreover, the site became the Episcopal See, the site of Magnús’ new (and presumably enlarged) shrine, and was used as place of refuge and political meetings for jarl Rǫgnvaldr’s conflicts. Finally, we learn that Rǫgnvaldr was also interred there with his uncle. Many scholars incorporate this information directly into their research. For example, Stewart Cruden, who similarly applied Orkneyinga saga to Kristkirkja, takes the saga’s account literally, quoting Rǫgnvaldr’s vow in an article on St. Magnus Cathedral and arguing that the church was “more than a pious gesture of remembrance.

29 Finnbogi Guðmundson, “Orkneyinga saga,” 245. 30 Finnbogi Guðmundson, “Orkneyinga saga,” 271. Grayburn 10

It was the fulfillment of a contract.”31 Even if he does not believe that Magnus did, indeed, intervene in Rǫgnvaldr’s campaign, Cruden presumes that Rǫgnvaldr made the vow, believed in the divine support of his uncle, and constructed the cathedral to fulfill his holy obligation. Other scholars cite the text when describing Kolr as the master mason/project supervisor and describing how it was financed.32 Furthermore, the chronology of the saga and Rǫgnvaldr’s conquest is used to date the start of construction very specifically to c. 1137.33 Other scholars expand beyond the explicit architectural references and use the full narrative of Orkneyinga saga to extrapolate more information about St. Magnus Cathedral. For example, archaeological evidence suggests a break in construction between the eastern half of the cathedral and the nave. Since the nave construction is stylistically younger than that of the choir, scholars have concluded that it was constructed east to west, with a small pause perhaps in the mid- to late-twelfth century. L. Dietrichson uses the saga narrative to date this construction. In c. 1150, the saga records that Rǫgnvaldr and Bishop Vilhjálmr went on pilgrimage to the Holy Land. According to Dietrichson, it is unlikely that they would have left when the church was not yet functional and that the first phase of construction (including the choir, where mass was performed) would have been completed before then.34 And while Cruden accepts the account of Rǫgnvaldr’s vow, Dietrichson argues that the church and translation of relics were politically motivated. In order to emphasize this point, Dietrichson focuses on a section of the saga that describes the relationship between Bishop Vilhjálmr, who originally did not believe in the sanctity of St. Magnús, and Rǫgnvaldr. e hypothesizes that Vilhjálmr traveled to Norway to negotiate with Rǫgnvaldr for his support, only declaring Magnús a saint upon his return as a way to elevate the status of Rǫgnvaldr’s lineage and, thereby, support his political claim.35

31Stewart Cruden, “The Founding and Building of the Twelfth-Century Cathedral to St. Magnus,” in St. Magnus Cathedral and Orkney’s Twelfth-Century Renaissance, ed. Barbara Crawford, 78-87 (Aberdeen: Aberdeen University Press, 1988), 78. 32 Per Sveaas Anderson, “The Orkney Church of the Twelfth and Thirteenth Centuries—a Stepdaughter of the Norwegian Church?” in St. Magnus Cathedral and Orkney’s Twelfth-Century Renaissance, ed. Barbara Crawford, 56-68 (Aberdeen: Aberdeen University Press, 1988), 65. 33 The generally accepted dating for saga episodes was established by A.B. Taylor, trans. and ed., Orkneyinga saga: A New Translation with Introduction and Notes (London: Oliver and Boyd, 1938). 34 Dietrichson and Meyer, Monumenta Orcadica, 58. 35 Dietrichson and Meyer, Monumenta Orcadica, 27-28. Grayburn 11

While the trip to Norway is recorded in Orkneyinga saga, the rest is conjecture that assumes the general historicity of the saga as a whole. Just like with Kristkirkja, however, contradiction within the saga encourages a more critical evaluation of individual data. For example, Rǫgnvaldr’s sale of land rights as a funding source seems to contradict earlier saga chapters. In chapter 8, the saga records that óðul belonged originally to the farmers, yet they agreed that it be transferred to the jarls so that the jarls could pay fully the fees extracted by the Norwegian king. The saga notes that the rights were held by the jarls until “Sigurðr jarl gaf upp Orkneyingum óðul sín.” [jarl Sigurðr gave back to the Orkneymen their land rights].36 This episode is described in more detail in chapter 11, when jarl Sigurðr digri lǫðvisson returned the land rights to the farmers in exchange for military support. Similar to the passage about Vilhjálmr as the first bishop of Orkney, it is possible that the passage about Rǫgnvaldr’s finances from the óðul sales could be an error resulting from the compilation of two distinct sources at two different times. We currently have no external sources to verify which passage is ‘correct’ (or even if either is correct); yet, again, these conflicting accounts provide an opportunity to consider potential ideological and political significance for including the sale of land rights in this context of the saga. Whether this sale indicates a legitimate source of funding for Rǫgnvaldr’s construction or invests all Orcadians (at least those with land rights) with some sense of investment in such a massive architectural undertaking, we are again reminded of the potential significance carried by these seemingly innocuous ‘facts’ and challenged to think beyond what is ‘true’ and ‘false.’ By considering together the context and function of Orkney’s literary architecture, rather than just its accuracy, it is possible to approach some of its original meaning within the context of thirteenth-century society.

Architecture as a Cultural Product While some scholars still debate the historicity of certain texts and passages, many scholars now consider the sagas to be creative cultural products that embody the values and culture of the society creating it. As such, we can move beyond the consideration of the fact and fiction of a saga to consider how a creative product reflected the reality of its creators and audience. For example, Jesse Byock stresses the

36 Finnbogi Guðmundson, “Orkneyinga saga,” 16. Grayburn 12

importance of the sagas, even recognizably fictional accounts, as a way to better understand the cultural and social aspects of early Icelandic society. Rather than arguing that the people in the sagas actually existed, Byock highlights aspects of feud, marriage, law, and religion that create a framework for the narrative itself.37 Similarly, Hermann Pálsson argues that the characters, narrative, and even landscape in Hrafnkel’s saga do not to reflect historical fact or culture during tenth century, but rather reaffirm Christian needs, ethics, and morals the contemporary thirteenth society that produced it.38 Yet sagas, which create and circulate their own form of reality, also have the power to shape, not just reflect its audiences. Ármann Jakobsson, for example, highlights the propagandistic qualities of political sagas during the time they were written, rather than their historical accuracy. The ideal emphasis upon kingship in konungasǫgur, then, reflects not real lived history, but rather an expression of political ideology.39 Moreover, these sagas have the power to shape new hegemonic memories to legitimize the rule of a particular king. Bjørn Bandlien describes this process for the late twelfth-century Norwegian king, Sverrir Sigurðsson, making a point to distinguish between the historical Sverrir and the Sverrir in the saga, for the latter was constructed in order to legitimize Sverrir’s power and ideology, not to accurately depict Sverrir as a person. Both figures, however, are equally important for shaping the trajectory of Norway’s history and society, for the saga produced and circulated its own account of the past that was retained by cultural and personal memory.40 In this study, I too consider the sagas to be a creative product capable of reflecting and shaping cultural values. Sagas are not merely reflections of reality; they are independent artifacts expressing values, ideals, entertainment, and desires. As they circulated and the stories and ideas within were distributed during the Middle Age, these expressions would have been internalized by audiences and contributed directly to their world view. Using Old English poetry and Anglo-Saxon architecture, Lori Ann Garner provides an excellent model for such a study. Rather than use Old English poetic descriptions and metaphors to interpret actual structures, Garner discusses the use of

37 Jesse Byock, Viking Age Iceland (London: Penguin Books, 2001), 149-158. 38 Hermann Pálsson, Art and Ethics in Hrafnkel’s saga (København: Munksgaard, 1971). 39 Ármann Jakobsson, “Royal Biography,” in A Companion to Old Norse-Icelandic Literature and Culture, ed. Rory McTurk, 388-402 (Malden, M.A.: Blackwell Publishing, 2005), 388. 40 Bjørn Bandlien, “ egemonic Memory, Counter-Memory, and Struggles for Royal Power: The Rhetoric of the Past in the Age of King Sverrir Sigurðsson of Norway,” Scandinavian Studies, 85, no. 3 (Fall 2013): 355-377. Grayburn 13

these architectural references within a broad cultural network, focusing on references to the hall and the castle as key sites of power in Anglo-Saxon and Norman literature respectively.41 She interprets the cultural construct and ideologies of architecture and, as such, unlocks the possibility to understand patterns in extant architectural remains. With these frameworks in mind, I will avoid analyzing the churches of Orkneyinga saga not factual references, inseparable from their real-world counterparts. In fact, I make a clear distinction between literary architecture and real architecture throughout this thesis in order to recognize the independent existence of both media. This is not to say that comparing evidence it to be avoided; instead, I propose that it is necessary to understand the values, conventions, and aims of each artifact—whether text or architecture—before drawing conclusions about their relationship.

41 Lori Ann Garner also describes this text-architecture relationship for the Anglo-Saxon Sutton Hoo ship Burial and Beowulf. Lori Ann Garner, Structuring Spaces: Oral Poetics and Architecture in Early Medieval England (Notre Dame, I.N.: University of Notre Dame Press, 2011), xii. Grayburn 14

CHAPTER 2: Orkneyinga Saga as a Literary Construction

In Icelandic saga scholarship today, the historicity of the text is not taken for granted. Although the saga corpus reveals a general interest of medieval northern (including Orcadian) audiences in past events, the presence of historical inaccuracies, supernatural events, and highly developed literary tropes appear throughout the sagas and seem to undermine our understanding of the saga as an objective, historical account by modern standards. Moreover, all sagas, and even sagas in the same ‘genre,’ cannot be approached the same way in terms of reflecting factual historical events. This chapter explores the complexity of the relationship between history and Orkneyinga saga, both as a genre and as an individual story, in order to deconstruct the notion of saga as unmediated fact and argue that the saga is a heavily mediated creative enterprise. First, I will discuss history and genres of saga generally; then, I will look specifically at Orkneyinga saga as a genre and as an individual saga.

Saga Genres and the Question of Historicity In order to understand how to approach the historicity of the Orkneyinga Saga, it is first necessary to understand how scholars both group and interpret the Icelandic sagas in general. The Icelandic saga corpus is vast and varied, incorporating a number of different texts that were written for different purposes. They range in date from the twelfth to the fourteenth centuries, but often only survive in later copies and compilations. Despite sharing the use of the vernacular Old Icelandic language and the general interest in the broader Norse world, they often reflect different stylistic, literary, and content influences from abroad. Yet, sagas were long believed to represent unmediated fact, reflecting either historical or religious reality. This is due to the belief that the texts descended directly from far older, and therefore more trust-worthy, oral accounts.42 The stories themselves contain a vividness of characters, detail, and narrative result in has been described as a “reality effect,” resulting in an immediate and unmediated quality of the text. This quality, coupled with the explicate references in the sagas to the trustworthy of eye-witnesses, the memories of wise men, and the

42 Theodore M. Andersson, “From Tradition to Literature in the Sagas,” in Oral Art Forms and their Passage into Writing, ed. Else Mundal and Jonas Wellendorf, 7-18 (Copenhagen: Museum Tusculanum Press, 2008), 7. Grayburn 15

preservation of skaldic poems through their complicated meters, only enhanced the sagas’ link to pre-historic oral tradition and, therefore, apparent historical veracity.43 The assumption of an oral origin for the saga tales allowed scholars to treat the sagas, which often covered events from the late ninth to twelfth centuries, as primary documents for these early ages despite the thirteenth- and fourteenth- century dating of the sagas and even latter dating of the manuscripts. As a result, the sagas that seemed to focus most clearly on historical fact—such as those related to the Icelanders and Norwegian kings—became critical sources for national history in these budding nations, as well as the focus of (often conflicting) nationalist sentiment in the Nordic countries.44 Yet, during the first half of the twentieth century, the uncritical assumption of historical truth in the sagas was challenged by scholars belonging to the Icelandic School, such as Sigurður Nordal. These scholars championed the sagas not as history, but rather as carefully crafted literature on par with any other forms in Europe. Such an emphasis supported the cultural and political legitimacy of an increasingly autonomous Iceland though its historical literary and cultural merits.45 Yet, in the process of establishing the sagas as purely literary constructions, Nordal’s argument left historians “with little option but to ignore the sagas; it…successfully discouraged analysis of the social substance in the sagas and of indigenously derived creative elements in Icelandic society.”46 The second half of the twentieth century, however, saw seen a critical reaction to both views as scholars attempt to be critical of the sources, yet not disregard them all together. One way to do this was to classify sagas differently according to which ‘genre’ a text belong. Generally, the traditional genres that were applied by modern scholars to the various sagas were used as a way to understand the relationship of the text and its historical content. The typical assumption continues to be that the shorter amount of time between the events recorded and the act of recording, the more accurate the text could be.

43 Andersson, “From Tradition to Literature in the Sagas,” 9. Judy Quinn, “From Orality to Literacy in Medieval Iceland,” in Old Icelandic Literature and Society, ed. Margaret Clunies Ross, 30-60 (Cambridge: University of Cambridge Press, 2009), 33. 44 Guðmundur álfdanarson, “Interpreting the Nordic Past: Icelandic Medieval Manuscripts and the Construction of a Modern Nation,” in The Uses of the Middle Ages in Modern European States: History, Nationhood and the Search of Origins, ed. R. J. W. Evans and Guy P. Marchal, 52-72 (New York, Palgrave Macmillan, 2010). 45 Byock, Viking Age Iceland, 149-158. 46 Byock, Viking Age Iceland, 149-150. Grayburn 16

There are many different genres within the Icelandic saga corpus. Among the most famous include Íslendingasǫgur (sagas of the Icelanders or the ‘family sagas’ of the Iceland settlement), konungasǫgur (sagas of —often Norwegian—kings), fornaldarsǫgur (mythical-heroic sagas often focused upon the Gods and other supernatural elements). Though perhaps less well known, there are also the hagiographical saints’ lives (heilagra manna sǫgur), clerical and historical biographies (biskupasǫgur), epics and romances (riddarasǫgur), contemporary histories (samtíðarsǫgur), and classical Roman and encyclopedic translations.47 While modern scholars have found such delineations helpful for highlighting similarities and differences between content, style, and purpose of the various sagas, these classifications did not exist in the medieval era.48 Different genres and sagas regarding both pagan and Christian religions were patronized and likely written by the same people and Heather O’Donoghue emphasizes the importance of all sagas a way to engage with the past.49 She states that the sagas, whether religious, secular, historical, or fictional, are all “continuous prose narratives about the past.”50 An interest in recounting the past, whether real or imagined, was often expressed through extended genealogies, references to textual or eye-witness authorities, and inclusion of believable details including events and dialogue.51 The fornaldarsǫgur, for example, are often set in ambiguous, mythical time periods predating the Viking Age. They are often assumed to be the least historically valid due to their distance from the authors that originally recorded them, as well as for their pagan and supernatural events. Both the pre-historic events and pre-Christian beliefs they record have been challenged by scholars, as the sagas themselves were recorded by Christian scribes and for Christian audiences centuries after the

47 eather O’Donoghue, Old Norse-Icelandic Literature: A Short Introduction (Malden, M.A.: Blackwell Publishing,, 2004) 22-23. Lars Lönnroth, “The Icelandic Sagas,” in The Viking World, ed. Stefan Brink with Neil Price, 304-310 (London: Routledge, 2008), 304. 48 Úlfar Bragason, “Sagas of Contemporary istory (Sturlunga saga): Tests and Research,” in A Companion to Old Norse-Icelandic Literature and Culture, ed. Rory McTurk, 427-446 (Malden, M.A.: Blackwell Publishing, 2005), 427. 49 Lönnroth, “The Icelandic Sagas,” 305. O’Donoghue, Old Norse-Icelandic Literature, 23. Rudolf Simek, “The Medieval Icelandic World View and the Theory of the Two Cultures,” Gripla 20 (2009): 183-198. 50 O’Donoghue, Old Norse-Icelandic Literature, 23. 51 Stefanie Würth, “ istoriography and Pseudo- istory,” in A Companion to Old Norse-Icelandic Literature and Culture, ed. Rory McTurk, 155-172 (Malden, M.A.: Blackwell Publishing, 2005), 157. Grayburn 17

conversion.52 While believed these stories are believed to be linked to oral traditions, the many centuries that separate the time-written-about and the time-of-writing also encourages a skeptical perspective regarding an unmediated or unfiltered historical representation. The Íslendingasǫgur and the konungasǫgur, on the other hand, occupy a more ambiguous position on the scholars’ scale of historical accuracy, despite the fact that they were written often only a century or two after the recorded events. The detailed narrative structure of the accounts and authors’ emphasis on both accurate and trustworthy eye-witness and textual sources provide particularly alluring reasons to treat these sagas as historical. Additionally, the use of genealogies is emphasized, showing continuity with present Icelandic families or royal dynasties. As a result, these sagas have also contributed greatly to modern historical narratives concerning the settlement of Iceland and the monarchical development in Norway. Although some supernatural elements occur within the sagas, both pagan and Christian, historians often disregard them in order to focus upon more plausible tales, comparing the content of the sagas to external evidence, such as archaeology. It has become increasingly common to regard these sagas “good sources concerning mentality, ideas, social structure, farm life and everyday customs in Old Norse society.”53 Finally, the samtíðarsǫgur, or ‘contemporary sagas,’ like Stulunga saga, were written during the thirteenth century about the thirteenth century by authors who most likely had intimate knowledge of the events that occurred. The high historical value granted to these sagas by scholars, unlike other genres, is a result of the close proximity of the authors to the events they describe. Additionally, the stories themselves focus less upon supernatural elements, making their accounts, if not accurate, than at least more plausible. Consequently, the contemporary sagas are often taken literally by scholars as historical records. While Úlfar Bragason has recently questioned this literal use of the sagas by highlighting the opportunities for author biases or fabrication, these sagas are, nevertheless, the main foundation for modern historical accounts of the so-called ‘Age of the Sturlungs’ in Iceland.54 Úlfar Bragason, however, believes that the recognition of

52 Stefanie Würth, “ istoriography and Pseudo- istory,” in A Companion to Old Norse-Icelandic Literature and Culture, ed. Rory McTurk, 155-172 (Malden: Blackwell Publishing, 2005), 161-162. O’Donoghue, Old Norse-Icelandic Literature, 22-24. 53 Lönnroth, “The Icelandic Sagas,” 306-309. 54 Úlfar Bragason, “Sagas of Contemporary istory”, 428. Grayburn 18

falsehoods within the text, even during plausible events, is necessary in order to appreciate the context and social framework in which the sagas are embedded. Specifically, he argues that these texts, due to their proximity to the events they record, could actively shape society through their reinterpretation of the past.55 Despite the convenience of these saga categories, they were contrived by modern standards of taxonomy and genre (not medieval understanding or criteria) and, therefore, limit how we can evaluate the historical validity of any particular saga. All of the genres, no matter what time period they record, were written in an era that influenced its creation. In chapter 1, we touched upon a few passages of Orkenyinga saga concerning literary architecture that might display such prioritization and political/ideological bias. It is easy to assume that architecture is very literally ‘in the background,’ often setting the stage for the action on the text. Yet, even the background relies on a certain fluency in the contemporary landscape and a flexibility regarding the historical and literary aims of the text itself. As no genre can determine the historicity of a text generally, it is necessary to evaluate each saga on its own when considering how to use it as a resource.

Genre and Historicity of Orkneyinga saga As the sagas were recorded or written in different periods, by different people, about different subjects, and for different aims, it is ultimately impossible to make assumptions about the historical accuracy of the sagas in general. In many instances, single sagas do not fit within this neat classification system, or satisfy the characteristics of multiple categories.56 Orkneyinga saga, for example, is often treated as both a konungasaga and a samtíðarsaga due to its emphasis upon the genealogies of the Orkney jarls, inclusion within later konungasögur compilations, and contemporary dating of much of its recorded content (which ends around the time of Rǫgnvaldr’s canonization in 1192) and its compilation in the early thirteenth century. Yet, there are also sections with mythological and hagiographical foundations. Recognizing the unique features of Orkneyinga saga, especially its emphasis on political development,

55 Úlfar Bragason, “Sagas of Contemporary istory,” 442. 56 Würth, “ istoriography and Pseudo- istory,” 161. Grayburn 19

Melissa Merman and Judith Jesch have recognized the ideological importance of its various components and embraced its new classification as a ‘political saga.’57 Scholars looking at the main feature of Orkneyinga saga, focusing on how it relates to other sagas and how it is structured or narrated, have argued that it includes elements of truth and fiction and builds upon patterns of political strife among the Orkney jarls. For Judith Jesch, the complete Orkneyinga saga represents a carefully composed compilation of sagas, with a narrator’s persona carefully constructed to reflect upon and tie together the seams of the individual accounts.58 She adopts Melissa Berman’s classification of the Orkneyinga saga as a ‘political saga’, along with other sagas like Jómsvikinga saga and Færyinga saga, due to the fact that it does not quite fit within the established categories of the konungasǫgur and contemporary sagas.59 Berman, in particular, argues that, while pieces of information contained within the sagas are likely accurate, the emphasis of these political sagas is one of political negotiation, with the reoccurring theme of political strife due to the existence of multiple jarls and foreign intervention.60 Stefanie Würth points out that medieval expectations for historical writing, even though employing previous textual and oral evidence, do not mirror modern historical goals of factuality and objectivity. In fact, medieval histories were embedded within the pursuits of grammar and rhetoric, often including historical events, legends, and fiction, and helped to explain or justify contemporary identities and relationships.61 For this reason, scholars’ ability to separate the real from the fictional is not only greatly limited, but is, furthermore, anachronistic. The ultimate focus on political conflict within the saga most likely reflects the concerns and values present at the time of compilation. Regardless, it is still important for some scholars to negotiate between fact and fabrication with the Orkneyinga saga. William P. L. Thomason and Barbara Crawford, for example, utilize Orkneyinga saga heavily in their histories of medieval Scotland and Orkney respectively, while simultaneously comparing its textual evidence with other

57 Melissa A. Berman, “The Political Sagas,” Scandinavian Studies 57, no. 2 (Spr. 1985): 113-129. Judith Jesch, “Narrating Orkneyinga Saga,” Scandinavian Studies 64, no. 3 (Sum. 1992): 336-355. 58 Jesch, “Narrating Orkneyinga Saga,” 336-355. 59 Jesch additionally suggests that Grœnlendinga saga and Eiríks saga rauða should also be included within this new category. Berman, “The Political Sagas,”113-129. Jesch, “Narrating Orkneyinga Saga,” 335-355. 60 Berman, “The Political Sagas,” 113-114. 61 Würth, “ istoriography and Pseudo- istory,” 155. Grayburn 20

evidence from archaeology, linguistics, and other foreign annals or chronicles.62 Yet, if the information in the saga is not supported or openly contradicts other evidence, both scholars assume that the particular saga account, rather than the whole saga, is not accurate. During such an inconsistency in the account of the initial Norse conquest of Orkney, Crawford recognizes the mediation of the saga authors by hypothesizing that the thirteenth century writers were, in fact, framing the narrative and interpreting past material, such as skaldic poetry, in terms of thirteenth-, rather than ninth-century politics.63 Due to the fact that a Norwegian expedition was not recorded in other Scottish annals of the period, Crawford argues against the narrative recorded in the Orkneyinga saga, which described the conquest of Orkney by Norwegian royalty:

The thirteenth-century writers were of course well aware that the kings of their own time laid claim to supremacy over all the ‘skattlands’ (tributary colonies) in the west. It was only natural that when writing of the events of four centuries earlier they should apply the thinking of their own time and interpret the skaldic claims for [King] arald’s conquests in the west too widely.64

Many other stories in the Orkneyinga saga are included within our modern histories, however, as they provide the best and most descriptive evidence available for the characters, events, and dates from the ninth to twelfth centuries. Rather than just using archeological or architectural evidence to support the text, as occasionally occurs when such historical records are available, these historians’ cautious approach to the information has allowed for a more meaningful dialogue to occur between different disciplines. Although different scholars have approached the historicity of the sagas and even the Orkneyinga saga in different ways, it becomes apparent that the sagas themselves represented not an objective representation of a past, but rather just one possible presentation of it. The sagas themselves present a continuous historical tradition, in which the possibilities to change, enhance, add to, compile, and translate were encouraged. As with other medieval compilatio (compilation, or textual ‘pillaging’), the meaning of the text was often flexible, dependent not only upon the socio-historical context of the text, but also upon the later the context of the narrative

62 William P.L. Thomson, History of Orkney (Edinburgh: The Mercat Press, 1987). Barbara Crawford, Crawford, Scandinavia Scotland (Leicester: Leicester University Press, 1987), v. 63 Crawford, Scandinavia Scotland, 53-54. 64 Crawford, Scandinavia Scotland, 52. Grayburn 21

with other compiled stories. Taking the narrative accounts of the sagas as a true snapshot of historical events, as medieval architectural historians have tended to do, can not only be misleading, but can even deny the function understanding of the text within its medieval context.

Orkneyinga saga as Oral Tradition, Saga, and Manuscript While it is easy to consider Orkneyinga saga as one distinct text, it is if fact a complex and obtuse creative product developed over multiple decades using numerous written and oral sources. Alexander Burt Taylor provided one of the most comprehensive analyses of the saga’s components and sources. By analyzing different manuscript fragments of Orkneyinga saga and comparing them with sagas, Taylor determined that Orkneyinga saga was compiled in Iceland (likely in the north) during two major stages.65 The first stage has been dated to c. 1210-1225 based on references and quotations of the Orkneyinga saga in other sagas. Early chapters of Orkneyinga saga are actually cited in Heimskringla, Snorri Sturluson’s compilation on the kings of Norway from c. 1220-1230. This suggests that Snorri likely had an early compilation of chapters four through 32 (through Þorfinnr Sigurðarson’s death and burial at Kristkirkja), which were known as Jarla sǫgur [Jarls’ sagas] by that time.66 This early section was composed of multiple sagas and short stories [þættur] of individual jarls, many of which do not survive independently. Sources include a saga of jarl Torf-Einarr Rǫgnvaldsson, as well as þættir of the sons of Þorfinnr hausakljúfr Torf-Einarsson, Sigurðr digri lǫðvisson, and the sons of Sigurðr digri lǫðvisson (including three þættir related to Þorfinnr Sigurðarson, which Taylor described as the “Saga of Earl Thorfinn” when compiled).67 These sagas were likely written down before their inclusion within twelfth-century Jarla sǫgur, yet they were themselves composed of skaldic poetry and older oral accounts. To weave together a coherent narrative, the early saga compiler also included excerpts from the sagas of Norwegian kings, including those of Haraldr inn hárfagri Hálfdanarson, Eiríkr blóðøx Haraldsson, Óláfr Tryggvason, and Óláfr inn helgi Haraldsson, Haraldr Sigurðarson, and Magnús inn góði Ólafsson.68

65 Taylor, The Orkneyinga Saga, 13-16. 66 Taylor, The Orkneyinga Saga, 24-25, 32. 67 Taylor, The Orkneyinga Saga, 17, 33-34. 68 Taylor, The Orkneyinga Saga, 33-64. Grayburn 22

The second part of Orkneyinga saga references Heimskringla and was presumably completed after the compiler had the opportunity to read Snorri’s completed Heimskringla in c. 1235.69 This second part, including chapters 33 through 108, includes many new sources, including various genealogies, þættir (or perhaps a complete saga) of Hákon Pálsson, a saga of St. Magnús, and a saga of Rǫgnvaldr Kolason. Additionally, there were many stories taken from sagas of Norwegian kings, including Haraldr Sigurðarson, Magnús berfættr Ólafsson, Magnús Sigurðarson, and Sigurðr Jórsalafari Magnússon.70 There are also many poems (especially those of jarl Rǫgnvaldr) and eye witnesses, as the events were recorded soon enough after they occurred that they still existed in living memory.71 But while it seems that most of Orkneyinga saga was compiled by one person who influenced and, in turn, was influenced by Snorri Sturluson, Taylor has also identified interpolations and additions throughout the saga that were added after the completion of this second part. These additions included updated information, hagiography, additional þættir, and content from the Norwegian kings’ sagas. One later reviser, who added chapters 109-112 at an unknown date, was not the original compiler and clearly had new interests and agendas for writing.72 So despite the relative flow and continuity within Orkneyinga saga, it is clear that multiple authors and a variety of sources—each with its own history and agenda— contributed to the account as we read it today in our published editions and translations. In the past, Orkneyinga saga has been examined as one complete saga or finished project; yet, even this name seems to be recent development. While Jarla sǫgur seems to refer to the first part of the saga (chapters 4-32), the earliest reference to any cohesive saga about Orkney appears in a thirteenth-century manuscript heading in a saga about Óláfr inn helgi. This heading, “Upphaf Orkneyinga sagna,” or “Beginning of tales of the Orkneymen,” suggests that there was some type of compilation of Orkney sagas and accounts by that time. However, Taylor believes that it is likely that this was rather a short þáttir rather than a compressive saga. Only in the fourteenth century do we hear

69 Taylor, The Orkneyinga Saga, 25 70 Taylor, The Orkneyinga Saga, 17, 65-88. 71 Taylor proposes that Sighvat Sturluson, Snorri’s brother and rival might be the compiler of both parts. The compiler’s knowledge of certain families and landscapes suggests that he may have traveled there around the turn of the thirteenth century. Taylor, The Orkneyinga Saga, 28-31 72 Taylor, The Orkneyinga Saga, 88-97. Grayburn 23

about Saga Orkneyinga Jarla in a saga about Óláfr Tryggvason. The name Orkneyinga saga itself, though, only appeared in the seventeenth century.73 With this information, it is clear that Orkneyinga saga is a composite, not one comprehensive account. With the various people, sources, influences, and additions all contributing to the account as we read it today, it is difficult to make any conclusive argument regarding its historical veracity. The fact that sagas were used and copied as sources in other sagas even complicates our ability to assess a saga’s content through comparison. Yet, this difficulty does not even take into consideration the fact that all of the manuscripts that we have that record the saga are not only incomplete, but also later than its estimated compilation. In fact, the oldest fragment that we have (c. 1275) consists only of a single leaf, while the most comprehensive copy (with almost the whole compilation as we read it today) comes from the late fourteenth-century Flateyjarbók, a manuscript known for its frequent inaccuracies.74 It is not clear if all copies of Orkneyinga saga would have included all of the accounts of this manuscript. It is important to remember, though, that saga itself was never an immutable text; rather, it was a compilation of established sagas and þættir, likely circulating simultaneously in written and oral forms. Regardless of historical accuracy, the act of recontextualization inherent in compilation provides the opportunity to order and prioritize the content and, as a result, create meaning through its new form and structure. By juxtaposing Orkney jarls with other jarls and Norwegian kings, by highlighting key political themes and motifs throughout the various parts, the events and characters in the saga gained new ideological significance. It is unclear whether these ideological messages were included in the original saga sources before they were united in Orkenyinga saga or were added by the thirteenth-century compiler himself. Regardless, the resultant product promoted itself as an official history of the jarls and, consequently, helped shape the cultural memory of Orkney’s medieval past for centuries after.

73 Taylor, The Orkneyinga Saga, 21-22. 74 Taylor, The Orkneyinga Saga, 9-10. Grayburn 24

Chapter 3: Churches in Context in Orkneyinga saga

Now that we have established that Orkneyinga saga is a highly mediated compilation, we can look directly at the literary churches in the saga within their textual context regardless of their existence within the physical world. There are numerous references to architecture in Orkneyinga saga, including houses, beacons, taverns, and fortifications. Churches are mentioned more than all other types of structures. Their frequent and varied references suggest not only the importance of churches within medieval society, but also the numerous functions that they fulfilled. They were not only status symbols, likely to be the largest and most embellished structure in any particular region, but they were also used for mass, burials, refuge, meetings, and—due to their size and material—fortification during times of strife. This chapter will introduce three general types of literary churches in Orkneyinga saga, focusing not on the function of the church itself, but rather as to how the building functions within the scope of the saga and, consequently, fits within the socio-political structure of thirteenth-century Orkney. First, I will examine brief, passing references to churches and, then, extended scenes that describe a church as a setting or point of reference. Finally, I will consider the most detailed and repeatedly mentioned literary churches, looking at how multiple references to one specific church can carry larger connotations. Specific references function in multiple ways, and some examples will appear more than once, while other references will not be mentioned at all.

Brief References to Churches Undoubtedly, the most common references to churches are very brief, often a reference to a church name or a church in general with no elaboration. These passages can related to almost anything, but in Orkneyinga saga, most fall into two related categories: references to churches as a site of burial and as the site of holy relics and their associated miracles. Churches appear as sites of burials on seven separate occasions. The first type mentions burials at specific churches and are for the Orkney jarls. Jarl Þorfinnr and jarl Grayburn 25

Magnús are both buried at Kristkirkja, for example.75 These two figures are the most important in the saga up until their deaths and it is perhaps not surprising that their burials are the first to be recorded at not only a church, but also the first cathedral of Orkney. The former burial is stated simply as fact, that Þorfinnr was buried at Kristkirkja, the church he had built. The latter burial of St. Magnús, however, only occurred after his mother pleaded to his murderer, jarl Hákon Pálsson, that she be allowed to retrieve her son’s body from the site of murder so that “sonr minn sé til kirkju fœrðr” [my son might be born to a church].76 Hákonw is moved by her humble request and states that she can bury her son where ever she chooses. The selection of Kristkirkja has significant implications and consequences within the story, for it not only connects Magnús with his jarl forbearers (especially Þorfinnr), but its status as the Episcopal See also provides an opportunity for Bishop Vilhjálmr to be at the site of Magnús’ grave during his miracles.77 Finally, in chapter 104, we read that jarl Rǫgnvaldr was granted burial [grǫpt] at Magnúskirkja.78 The later church burials, however, are less specific, referencing churches, generally, as the site of burial for Rǫgnvaldr’s fallen companions during his pilgrimage. In chapter 88, for example, Oddi inn litli composed a skaldic verse to Þorbjǫrn svarti, who fell ill in Acre: “Þar sák hann at hǫfuðkirkju, vin siklings, ausinn sandi. Nú þrumir grund gr tt of hǫ num sólu birt á suðrvegum.” [There, I saw him buried in sand at the churchyard, the poet’s [Rǫgnvaldr’s] friend. Now, the stony ground over him lays brightened by the sun in the southern lands].79 Similarly, in the same chapter, Jón fót dies in Imbólum (Constantinople) and is “grǫpt at kirkju” [buried at church] with no designation of a specific location. Upon the death of Rǫgnvaldr’s rival, jarl Erlend Haraldsson, too, we learn that his body was “fœrt til kirkju” [born to church].80 Various phrases/verbs used for these church burials are interesting in that that are not used for similar pagan burials earlier in the saga. For Christian burials, the church is stressed, as the saga uses the verbs grafa and jarða to convey actual burial at

75 Orkneyinga saga, chapters 32 and 52. 76 Finnbogi Guðmundson, “Orkneyinga saga,” 112. 77 Orkneyinga saga, chapter 52. 78 Finnbogi Guðmundson, “Orkneyinga saga,” 282. 79 Reordered prose provided in footnotes, Finnbogi Guðmundson, “Orkneyinga saga,” 231. 80 Finnbogi Guðmundson, “Orkneyinga saga,” 261. Grayburn 26

church and fœra and ausa to convey the act of bearing a body to church.81 Moreover, for legitimate jarls, the location of the church is mentioned, while those of their followers and competing jarls are not.82 Alternatively, for all pagan burials referenced in Orkneyinga saga, the burial mound and associated verbs are stressed. Heygja, for example, communicates not just burial, but more specifically, burial under a mound. This is the term used specifically for the pagan jarls Sigurðr inn ríki Eysteinsson, Þorfinnr hausakljúfr Torf-Einarsson, and lǫðvir Þorfinnsson.83 In chapter 5, for example, pagan jarl Sigurðr “ [er] heygðr á Ekkjalsbakka” [is buried in a mound on Ekkjalsbakka].84 The one pagan burial recorded in the saga that is not a jarl’s mound is that of the jarl’s enemy and, interestingly, a different phrase for burial is used, with no given specifics about location. For example, kasta haug [throw a mound] is used in chapter 8, when jarl Einarr rangmuðr Sigurðarson defeated Hálfdan Haraldsson. The reference to his burial mound might only be included as an introduction for the jarl’s accompanying skaldic verse, but it is interesting to note that it is the jarl’s actions that are stressed in the statement, not any commemoration for the deceased: “lét hann kasta haug álfdanar” [he had álfdan’s mound formed].85 When we compare the pagan and Christian burial references, especially for the jarls, a pattern emerges: funerary monuments (Church and pagan mound) function in the same way for their religious counterparts. These monuments are not only random facts included in the saga, but they also communicate the honor given to and religious tradition followed for the deceased. Moreover, the importance of communicating the location of the churches and burial mounds of jarls only indicates that these sites were important to remember and circulate among those listening or reading the saga. For unnamed burials for other noblemen, the reference to unspecified churches seems to emphasize merely that the deceased had, in fact, died and been given proper burial rites.

81 Even when jarl Erlend Þorfinnsson died and was buried in Bergen (with no mention of a church), the verb grafa was used. Orkneyinga saga, chapters 32, 52, 82, 88, 94, and 104. 82 Jarl Erlendr died fighting against Rǫgnvaldr, who did not recognize his claim. Moreover, the location of the burial of jarl Haraldr ungi, the rival of established jarl Haraldr Maddaðarson, in chapter 104 is unclear, referring to his supposed sanctity as rumors, not established fact. 83 Orkneyinga saga, chapters 5, 8, and 11. 84 Ekkjalsbakka is the bank of the River Oykel in Scotland. Finnbogi Guðmundson, “Orkneyinga saga,” 9. 85 Finnbogi Guðmundson, “Orkneyinga saga,” 15. Grayburn 27

This information, perhaps, would have been important if a voyager died while away from home or if it was possible to contest a leader’s death.86 Other frequent, if brief references to churches reinforce the legitimate Christian faith of the Orcadians by providing the location for Orkney’s most important relics and miracles. St. Magnús, for example, went to an unnamed church on Egilsay to pray before his martyrdom.87 Kristkirkja, also, was the location of the miracle that prompted Bishop Vilhjálmr to declare Magnús a saint.88 At the end of the saga, the relics of St. Magnús were kept at various points in three different churches and a church was constructed over the location of jarl araldr ungi’s death when it was rumored that miraculous events occurred where he fell.89 These passages, again, are linked intricately to the jarls of Orkney, reinforcing their sanctity and the sanctity of their churches through divine intervention.

Extended Scenes with Church References The next references that I will discuss are extended scenes or events, with churches often used as the setting or a point of reference for dominantly secular conflicts. In particular, these accounts include unusual and often detailed anecdotes concerning the logistics of murder, war, and peace keeping. Both accounts discussed in this section, again, concern churches owned by Orkney’s jarls. Detailed descriptions of houses are more common than those of churches, but there is one episode in particular that a church is mentioned in connection with a jarl’s adjacent hall. This first episode spans chapters 66 and 67 and focuses on Sveinn Ásleifarson’s murder of Sveinn brjóstreip at jarl Páll’s residence in Orphir. The saga describes the physical characteristics of the residence and drinking hall in more detail than usual: “Þar í Ørfjǫru var drykkjuskáli mikill, ok váru dyrr við eystra gaflhlað sunnan á hliðvegg, ok stóð kirkja dýrlig fyrir skáladurum” [There was a great drinking

86 For the jarls, a definitive death is necessary to ensure the smooth transition to the next generation within the narrative. In the one instance that the death of jarl Páll Hákonarson could not be confirmed, the saga author makes special note that there are diverging stories, with some speculating that he escaped alive to Scotland, while others believed he was blinded by his sister and later killed. All the author can claim for sure is that Páll never again returned to Orkney or gained power a neighboring region. Magnús’ mother’s anxiety that Magnús was not given a proper burial after his murder might also reflect some of these uncertainties. Orkneyinga saga, chapter 52 and 75. 87 Orkneyinga saga, chapter 48-49. 88 See the discussion of Kristkirkja in chapter 1. Orkneyinga saga, chapter 57. 89 Orkneyinga saga, chapters 57 and 104. Grayburn 28

hall in Orphir and there were doors against in the south wall, against the eastern gable- end. And a glorious church stood before the hall].90 After this, we learn that the two Sveinns sit near each other in the hall and that an argument occurs while drinking. While the placement of the two characters is undoubtedly important for the argument to start, it is interesting that the positions not only of Sveinn Ásleifarson and Sveinn brjóstreip are noted, but also that of Sveinn brjóstreip’s kinsman, Jón, Eyvindr Melbrigðason, and their cupbearers. Pernille Herman notes that such spatial positioning, especially at feasts with many people, might reflect a key mnemonic device retained from oral accounts.91 Similar spatial recall was employed in the classical world and would allow performers of early sagas to use an interior space to organize their events and recall who was present. Such mnemonic devices might account for the exceptional amount of architectural detail that we see in this passage; though, it is important to note that the emphasis on the doors and their relationship to the church ultimately allow Sveinn Ásleifarson to murder both Sveinn and Jón and escape to safety. Sveinn Ásleifarson actually attacked Svein and Jón as they were exiting the hall to attend mass in the church. Sveinn Ásleifarson first hid outside the door and struck the other Sveinn from the front as he entered the doorway. Sveinn, then, in his attempt to strike his attacker, accidently kills his own kinsman instead. With the rest of the household in the church, Sveinn Ásleifarson absconded to the protection of Bishop Vilhjálmr before anyone noticed the murders.92 This singular reference to the Orphir church is obviously an intentional component to the narrative and included not to impart any particular singular architectural information, but rather to ensure that the action of the chapter could be recounted and that saga audiences understood the series of events.93 The meeting between Sveinn Ásleifarson and jarl Rǫgnvaldr in Magnúskirkja similarly includes information about architectural layout. In chapters 98 and 99, both

90 Finnbogi Guðmundson, “Orkneyinga saga,” 151. 91 Pernille ermann, “Key Aspects of Memory and Remembering in Old Norse-Icelandic Literature,” (unpublished draft, digital copy obtained through private contact, Nov. 2013), 10-11. 92 Finnbogi Guðmundson, “Orkneyinga saga,” 154-155. 93 Some scholars presume that jarl Hákon Pálsson, jarl Páll’s father and murderer of Magnús, was the patron of the ruins of a circular church located in Orphir due to the fact that round churches reflect the architecture of the oly Sepulcher in Jerusalem and ákon supposedly went on pilgrimage after Mágnus’ murder. As the result of this correlation, Sveinn’s murder is located here in these particular ruins. See chapter 1 for a consideration of possible problems with such historically-minded arguments. Lamb, “The Cathedral and the Monastery,” 44. Grayburn 29

men go into the church meeting fully armed. Sveinn and Rǫgnvaldr both “stóðu hjá kirkjudurunum” [stood by the church doors] when Sveinn saw his ship’s sails carried out from the cathedral.94 Little else occurs in this passage, yet the inclusion of such a specific location within an architectural context is rare in the saga and invites further inquiry. Similar to Sveinn’s murder above, such spatial memory might act as a mnemonic device. It is also possible that doorways, as seen in both passages, were viewed as critical locations of either physical vulnerability or liminality. Doorways in the Viking Age were ritualized as liminal thresholds for the dead and it is possible that these associations continued after conversion to Christianity as a religious concepts or metaphors.95

Metaphor of Power While multiple churches are mentioned in Orkneyinga saga, Kristkirkja and Magnúskirkja are clearly the most important. Their significance is displayed both through the frequency of their appearance and details that they communicate. In chapter 1 of this thesis, we encountered all of the references for each church and how architectural historians connected those references to physical structures. In the preceding two sections on brief references and extended scenes, on the other hand, we encountered Kristkirkja and Magnúskirkja as the location of jarls’ burials, the Episcopal See, and the shrine of St. Magnús. We also encountered Magnúskirkja as a significant site for political confrontations. All of these functions link the structures intimately with the Orcadian jarls—most specifically Þorfinnr, Magnús, and Rǫgnvaldr—and each reference further supports the significance not only of the structure, but of the jarl(s) so intimately linked with it. Architectural patronage is especially significant when discussing the prestige of a building and, sometimes more than once, the saga clearly articulates that Kristkirkja was built by Þorfinnr and Magnúskirkja by Rǫgnvaldr. Under the proprietary church system, the jarls, not the Church, would have owned and controlled the church as their

94 Finnbogi Guðmundson, “Orkneyinga saga,” 271. 95 It is interesting to repeat here the occurrence in chapter 92, when Arni Hrafnsson fled from battle and attempted to find refuge in the Magnúskirkja. This is comedic story, as Arni ultimately gets stuck in the doorway of the church during his flight and his friends are unable to find him for days afterward. The doorway, in this example, becomes an obstacle of ridicule rather than a passageway. Marianne Hem Eirksen, “Doors to the Dead: The Power of Doorways and Thresholds in Viking Age Scandinavia,” Archaeological Dialogues 20, no. 2 (2013): 187-214. Grayburn 30

own personal property.96 This ownership was reinforced by the use of the churches in the saga as political meeting sites and the jarls’ burial sites. Moreover, the establishment not only of a church, but also of an Episcopal See was especially significant for Þorfinnr, for it indicated that the independence of a region and power of a ruler were recognized by foreign and papal powers.97 For Rǫgnvaldr, on the other hand, the familial connection with St. Magnús would have provided him with divine support and additional legitimacy when he took control of the islands. His church, as a pilgrimage site, would have also attracted pilgrims and their money, increasing both his prestige in the region and the finances of his church/estate. Since the status of Orkney and the jarl would increase through such endeavors, it should not be surprising that the churches feature in the saga as frequently as they do. Even if one could not physically visit a church, the circulating accounts of these literary churches and the jarls’ actions (both during their life and after their deaths) would have enhanced the importance and legitimacy of the jarls, their decedents, and Orkney itself. The jarls’ patronage is not without precedence, however. By building churches, establishing Episcopal Sees, and supporting local cults, Þorfinnr and Rǫgnvaldr were engaging in activities intimately associated with eleventh- and twelfth-century kings of Norway. While many of their original churches do not survive, there are numerous references to their patronage activities, especially in Snorri Sturlurson’s Heimskringla.98 While it is possible for some noblemen (rather than kings) to construct churches, this is mentioned only rarely in Heimskringla and never in Orkneyinga saga.99 The difference between patronage expectations for kings and noblemen is clearly distinguished in Laxdæla saga. In chapter 74, Icelandic chief Þorkell Eyjólfsson traveled to Norway for building timber and, after seeing Óláfr inn helga’s newly built church, copied the measurements and design of so that he could replicate it in Iceland. When Óláfr discovered this, he requested that Þorkell cut off part of his measurements, presumably

96 Maria-Claudia Tomany, “Sacred Non-Violence: St. Magnus of Orkney,” in Sanctity in the North: Saints, Lives, and Cultures in Medieval Scandinavia, ed. Thomas Andrew DuBois, 128-153 (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 2008), 137. 97 I. P. Shaw, Nationality and the Western Church before the Reformation: The Maurice Lecture for 1956 given at King’s College London (London: APCK, 1959), 18-19. 98 Some examples from Heimskringla include: “ ákonar saga Aðalsteinsfóstra” chapter 13; “Óláfs saga helga” chapter 53, 61, 109, 114, 121; “ aralds saga Sigurðarsonar” chapter 38; “Óláfs saga kyrra” chapter 2, 6; “Magnúsaona saga” chapters 14, 19, 32; “Magnúss saga blinda og aralds gilla” chapter 7. 9999 “Óláfs saga helga” in eimskringla, chapter 113. In Orkneyinga saga, the only non jarl patronage mentioned include Kolbeinn hrúga’s steinkastala [stone castle] and Sveinn Ásleifarson’s drykkjuskáli [drinking hall] in chapters 84 and 108. Grayburn 31

so that his church would not be as large as Óláfr’s church. Þorkell refuses. Óláfr then accuses Þorkell of trying to complete with someone of his status and foretells that his church will never be built. This prophecy proves true, as Þorkell’s ship flounders in Iceland, scattering the wood intended for his monument.100 While it is not clear if such an event ever truly occurred, Óláfr’s words indicate that there was a recognized social protocol that Þorkell clearly disregarded by trying to match the grandeur of the king’s construction. Moreover, Þorkell’s unrealized church and corresponding death seems to indicate that this protocol was stringent, with potentially serious (and otherworldly) consequences for those seeking to break the social order and exceed their status. The Orkney jarls’ power was expressed through their architectural patronage in Orkneyinga saga and reinforced by the similar activities of rulers in other sagas. As a result, the jarls’ reputations were equated with those of Norway’s kings’. Rǫgnvaldr’s eventual canonization seems to suggest that this was a legitimate comparison, one that displayed the reality of their quasi-royal status, rather than an ill-founded attempt to exceed their station.101 It is unlikely that we will ever know if these comparisons were promoted intentionally by the jarls or applied to their lives after their deaths. The appearance of such royal allusions, though, suggests that Þorfinnr and Rǫgnvaldr were recalled as two of the most significant and powerful Orcadian jarls during the first half of the thirteenth century. As Orkney was confronted with expanding Norwegian and Scottish powers and its independence began to dwindle during this time, it is possible that these detailed accounts of the reigns of Þorfinnr and Rǫgnvaldr provided a lasting memory of Orkney’s past greatness.

100 Einar Ól, Laxdæla saga, Íslenzk fornrit V (Reykjavík: Hið íslenzka fornritafélag, 1934), chapters 74 and 76. 101 Orkneyinga saga, chapter 104. Grayburn 32

CHAPTER 4: ‘Musteri’ in Orkneyinga saga and Other Sagas

As seen in the last chapter, literary churches can be referenced in numerous ways and fulfill many roles within the text itself. A consistent theme, however, is the important connotation between a jarl and his corresponding churches—whether he constructed, owned, or was buried at a particular church. Church patronage was an important activity of medieval leaders and the sagas reinforce the important social status that building a large church could bring. In the medieval North, church building was dominated by the nobility, yet the patronage of kings was often more elaborate and more widely celebrated in the literature than other patronage. Jarl Þorfinnr and jarl Rǫgnvaldr adopted quasi-royal qualities through the association of their activities and recounted for other saga kings. Yet the action of construction is not the only way to associate the works of different leaders; vocabulary, too, can form ideological links between figures and their work. In this chapter, I will narrow my focus to look at the term musteri in Orkneyinga saga. This term, associated with other kings and royal patronage through its use in the sagas, only reinforces the unique status and position Þorfinnr and Rǫgnvaldr held in Orcadian history and society in the thirteenth century. In English, there are multiple words for a “church” building that describe the function or physical qualities of the building in more detail. For example, there is the general ‘church,’ but also ‘chapel,’ ‘cathedral,’ as well as less direct references to the building in its entirety, including ‘shrine.’ The most common term in Old Icelandic for a church is kirkja and it is used indiscriminately in texts regardless of size, material, or status of the church in question. The term is ubiquitous, with ‘church’ being the closest modern English equivalent.102 Occasionally, the term will be used with qualifying adjectives, explaining more about the structure in question (for example, steinkirkja or stone church). In Orkneyinga saga, this term is used 28 times in specific church names (such as Magnúskirkja), church compounds (such as kirkjudurr), and to designate churches generally.

102 Guðbrandur Vigfússon and Richard Cleasby, “Kirkja,” in An Icelandic-English Dictionary (Oxford: The Clarendon Pres, 1874), 339.

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Yet, there is one other, less common term that is used in Orkneyinga saga. The term musteri (or mustari, mysteri) appears twice during the saga’s references to the patronage activities of Þorfinnr and Rǫgnvaldr. The first use occurs in chapter 31 in reference to a church built in Birsay by jarl Þorfinnr after a journey to various royal European courts and Rome to be the seat the newly appointed Bishop of Orkney. The second use appears in chapter 68 in reference to a vow made by jarl Rǫgnvaldr, who promises to build a church to his martyred uncle, Magnús, and move the Episcopal See to Kirkwall should he help him secure control of his domain in Orkney. While it is tempting to focus on the buildings’ similarities as the seats of the Orcadian bishops, and therefore an equivalent to the English word ‘cathedral,’ such a conclusion is too simplistic when compared to other intertextual references to kirkja and musteri in both Orkneyinga saga and other medieval Icelandic texts. In order to better understand the significance of the term musteri, then, this chapter will explore current interpretations of the term and outline other uses in medieval texts that are contemporary with Orkneyinga saga. This chapter is not intended to present a definitive list of the term musteri in the Icelandic corpus, but rather a way to way to better understand how the term was being used at the beginning of the twelfth century and, consequently, why the term was selected for those particular passages in Orkneyinga saga.

Musteri in Orkneyinga saga Musteri, as it appears in Old Icelandic, has been traced by scholars to the Latin term monasterium.103 Yet, the origin of the word itself can only hint at the intricacies of its contextual meaning in various cultures. Translations of Orkneyinga saga have dealt with the term musteri in various ways that may provide a misleading understanding of the term within the context of Orcadian architecture by concealing its relationship to other passages. In early Icelandic translations, musteri was translated simply as ‘church.’104 In the most recent translation by Hermann Pálsson and Paul Edwards, however, the term has been translated as “minster.”105 This differentiation highlights the fact that a different term was used within the text for these passages and, additionally,

103 Radford, “Birsay and the Spread of Christianity to the North,”26. 104 Taylor, The Orkneyinga Saga, 248. 105 Hermann Pálsson and Paul Edwards, trans. and eds., Orkneyinga Saga (London: Hogarth Press, 1978) 118. Grayburn 34

seems to provide a term still used for modern churches primarily in England. Yet, while the term minster may have derived from the Anglo-Saxon term, it is a heavily loaded term in architectural studies and refers specifically to what appears to be an Anglo- Saxon pre-parish system of church organization. Sarah Foot notes, however, that the distinction between minsters and other monastic communities in Anglo-Saxon England may be a modern construction. The term itself is medieval origin and was used with little regularity, though, which makes it a potentially useful term of distinction in English translations.106 The first appearance of musteri is in chapters 31. In this passage, jarl Þorfinnr, who had spent a lifetime pillaging and conquering new territories, returned to Orkney from a pilgrimage in Rome and constructed Kristkirkja as the first cathedral of Orkney. The saga records: “Hann sat jafnan í Byrgisheraði ok lét þar gera Kristskirkju, dýrligt musteri, þar var fyrst settr byskupsstóll í Orkneyjum” [ e resided there always in Birsay and had built there Kristkirkja, a glorious minster. The first bishop’s seat was established there].107 The second appearance of this term, then, appears in chapter 68 in Kolr’s advice to his son that was presented in the introduction of this thesis. In preparation for Rǫgnvaldr’s second expedition to capture Orkney, Rǫgnvaldr’s father advises: “Vil ek, at þú heitir á hann, at hann unni yðr frændleifðar þinar ok sinnar erfðar, at þú látir gera steinmusteri í Orkneyjum í Kirkjuvági, ef þú fær þat ríki, þat er ekki sé annat dýrligra í þvi landi” [I desire that you call to him, that should he grant you your inheritance and his familial inheritance and if you obtain that domain, that you make a stone minster in Orkney in Kirkwall so that no one sees another as fair in that land].108 Out of almost 30 individual church references in the sagas, only these two examples reference a church using a term that is not kirkja. Even the names of these particular churches, Magnúskirkja and Kristkirkja, use the more common term kirkja in other passages. These two scenes, however, are significant in that they both stress the initiation of construction, the act of patronage by the only jarls whose church patronage is noted in the saga. This action is stressed through the verb compound used in each

106 Sarah Foot, “Anglo-Saxon Minsters: A Review of Terminology,” in Pastoral Care before the Parish, ed. John Blair and Richard Sharpe, 212-225 (Leicester: Leicester University Press, 1992). 107 Finnbogi Guðmundson, “Orkneyinga saga,” 80. 108 Finnbogi Guðmundson, “Orkneyinga saga,” 158-159. Grayburn 35

case: láta gera (literally let make, or have built). These are the only two examples when this terminology is used for a church.109 The role of each jarl as patron is reinforced when each jarl is noted to have been buried in the church that he had built. For Þorfinnr, this was emphasized explicitly again with the participial of láta gera in chapter 32. So, within the text, it seems that these two characters are linked in term and in action. Even when it is noted that Þorfinnr’s and Rǫgnvaldr’s section of the saga were not composed at the same time,110 the parallel references to the jarls provide an ideological link between both parts of the text. Both figures dominate their sections, travel on pilgrimage, display support for the islands’ bishop, and construct cathedrals at the center of their power. Yet, while these similarities invite comparison between these figures, perhaps even with jarl Þorfinnr providing type of typology for Rǫgnvaldr, the jarls are by no means operating within the same societal values. As Þorfinnr displays characteristics familiar to old Viking leadership (pillaging, murder, and conquest) before building his church and administering his domain, Rǫgnvaldr displays characteristics of new romantic chivalry (skill in poetry, athletics, and trade) that link him more firmly with the traditions of continental Europe. Rǫgnvaldr himself is eventually absorbed within the Christian framework when he is declared a saint. Yet, it is this action of patronage that links both forms of leadership and provides evidence of political legitimacy for two of Orkney’s greatest rulers.

Musteri in Contemporary Sagas The association between these successful jarls and the kingly act of patronage does not end with their actions. The term musteri itself carried intertextual political and religious connotations that are difficult to recognize in English translation. Etymologically, musteri tied to both the English minster and the Latin monasterium, yet both translations would suggest a monastic foundation that is not always apparent in the Old Icelandic. The term does not seem to designate a specific function or status of a church, such as a cathedral, as another term for these churches was used. Similarly, the limited use of this term suggests to me that the term did not designate a fixed

109 This construction phrase is also used in the first architectural reference in the saga in chapter 5, but in regard to jarl Sigurðr in ríki Eysteinsson’s castle in Scotland, not a church: “Þar lét hann gera borg…” [There he had a castle built…]. Finnbogi Guðmundson, “Orkneyinga saga,” 8. 110 See chapter 2. Grayburn 36

designation, but rather a more symbolic implication, one that recalled religious ideologies and, therefore, used strategically in the sagas.111 In order to understand not the etymology of this term, but rather its significance within the Norse world, it is necessary to look at other intertextual references. The term itself is, in fact, defined in the Old Icelandic dictionary not as a ‘minister,’ but rather as a “temple.”112 In the Cleasby/Vigfusson Iceland-English dictionary, the term’s relationship to monasterium is noted, as well as its relationship to the Anglo-Saxon term mynster and English minster. For its definition, though, it states that musteri is old and modern ecclesiastic term for temple in the Jewish and Christian sense (rather than pagan sense). It is better associated with the translation of the Latin world templum which was applied often to Biblical structures. In the Old Icelandic Homily Book and the Old Norwegian Homily Book, musteri is, at times, used to describe a Jewish temple. Interestingly, though, in “kirkjudagsmál,” which is recorded in both c. 1200 homily books, musteri is used specifically in correlation not only with Jewish temples generally, but the Jewish Temple, namely: the Temple of Jerusalem first constructed by King Solomon: “Salomon rex gørði fyrstr musteri goði til d rðar” [King Solomon build the first temple to the glory of God].113 Solomon, like Rǫgnvaldr and Thorfinn, gera or built his musteri. In this example, the term confirms its use to denote a significant religious monument (such as the jarls’ cathedrals in Orkney). Moreover, it provides a religious typological model for jarls’ building activities that links their actions to those of key Biblical kings. Historical kings, however, also constructed musteri. In Heimskingla, there are four uses of musteri that are contemporary to Orkneyinga saga. Like the Old Norse Homily Book and Orkneyinga saga, we find that there is a close link between musteri and active patronage or dedication of Norway’s kings. For example:

111 When presenting this information at the 2nd International St. Magnus Conference in Lerwick, Shetland in April 2014, Morten Stige suggested that a less literal, but perhaps more accurate translation of musteri would be “great church” a term occasionally used in architectural studies to indicate architectural importance. While I believe that this term is relevant to how musteri is used in Old Icelandic texts, the important link to the jarl patron is lost. 112 Guðbrandur Vigfússon and Cleasby, “Musteri,” in An Icelandic-English Dictionary (Oxford: The Clarendon Pres, 1874), 439. 113 Andrea de Leeuw van Weenen, ed., The Icelandic Homily Book: Perg. 14 5oin the Royal Library, Stockholm (Reykjavík: Stofnun Árna Magnússonar á Íslandi, 1993), 45r. Grayburn 37

Lét Eysteinn erkibyskup þar setja háalárit í þeim sama stað sem leiðit hafði verit konungsins, þá er hann reisti þetta it mikla musteri, er nú stendr.114 [Archbishop Eysteinn had established the high altar there, in this same place which had been the king’s tomb, when he raised the great temple which now stands there.

Þat var mikit musteri ok gǫrt sterkliga at líminu, svá at varla fekk brotit, þá er Eysteinn erkibyskup lét ofan taka.115 There was a great temple and made strong that with mortar, so that (it) could hardly be demolished when Archbishop Eysteinn had (it) taken down.

Óláfr konungr lét gera steinmusteri í Niðarósi ok setti í þeim stað, sem fyrst hafði verit jarðat lík Óláfs konungs, ok var þar yfir sett altárit, sem grǫptr konungs hafði verit. Þar var vígð Kristskirkja.116 [Olaf had built a stone temple in Niðarós in this place, which first had been the burial of King Olaf and was there over set the altar, where the king’s grave had been.]

Þar lét hann gera Mikjálskirkju, it vegligsta steinmusteri.117 [There he had built Mikjálskirkja, the most magnificent stone church.]

While these passages do not all use musteri in exactly the same way (and such an expectation would be impossible to meet), from these passages, it becomes clear that musteri seems to be a term closely aligned with the act of founding, building, or establishing often a large, great, or somehow exceptional church. In all of these examples, musteri is closely aligned with the act of architectural creation. Moreover, it is not just the patronage of anyone, but specifically the patronage either of a king or for a royal saint. In reference back to Orkneyinga saga, then, the use of musteri not only links the actions of two of Orkney’s greatest jarls (and it’s saintly jarl Magnus), but also links those jarls through intertextual reference to the actions of Norway’s kings and King Solomon in the Old Testament. The practice of associating living kings with Old Testament kings, however, was not unique to the North. King David and King Solomon were often recalled as ideal exempla, with David representing the ideals of a war-time king able to seize power and Solomon representing the ideals of a peace-time king able

114 Chapter 245 of “Óláfs saga helga” in Snorri Sturlusson, Heimskringla, vol. 2. Íslenzk fornrit XXVII, ed. Bjarni Aðalbjarnarson (Reykjavík: Hið íslenzka fornritafélag, 1945), 405. 115 Chapter 38 of “Haralds saga Sigurðarsonar” in Snorri Sturlusson, Heimskringla, vol 3. Íslenzk fornrit XXVIII, ed. Bjarni Aðalbjarnarson (Reykjavík: Hið íslenzka fornritafélag, 1951), 121. 116 Chapter 6 of “Óláfs saga kyrra” in Snorri Sturlusson, Heimskringla, vol. 3, 208-209. 117 Chapter 14 of “Magnússona saga” in Snorri Sturlusson, Heimskringla, vol. 3, 254. Grayburn 38

to maintain power and administer power.118 Similar typologies were constructed in the late twelfth century by King Sverrir Sigurðsson of Norway, who used architecture (a fortress) in his own saga to compare himself to David.119 Robert of Naples, similarly modeled his patronage and persona on Solomon.120 It is through this textual comparison that the jarls themselves are presented as legitimate royal characters and becomes associated with royal ideology and religious legitimacy. The simultaneous existence of a circulating saga that unites these figures through architectural terms and patronage activities and a physical musteri itself could then work in tandem to reify the ruler’s religious or ideological status.

118 Abraham Melamed, The Philosopher-King in Medieval and Renaissance Jewish Political Thought, ed. Lenn E. Goodman (Albany: State University of New York Press, 2003), 163-164. 119 Bandlien, “Hegemonic Memory, Counter-Memory, and Struggles for Royal Power,” 370. 120 Samantha Kelly, The New Solomon: Robert of Naples (1309-1343) and Fourteenth-Century Kingship (Leiden: Brill, 2003), 278-305. Grayburn 39

Conclusion

Text and architecture are often studied separately, yet Orkney’s medieval literary and architectural legacies frequently overlap and encourage cross-medium considerations. Orkneyinga saga references multiple medieval monuments, while its physical landscape still contains both numerous medieval ruins and unspoiled archaeological sites. But, the consideration of textual and architectural relationships has been fairly limited thus far, with scholars focusing on how corresponding passages and physical evidence corroborate. Orkneyinga saga, however, is the product of a creative process not dissimilar from architectural construction. While medieval masons employed contemporary conventions of architectural style and medium to communicate status, ideology and function of a building, medieval authors and scribes utilized literary and oral conventions, contemporary social-political values, and intertextual references to produce a text that was both legible and meaningful to contemporary audiences. Both mediums, moreover, are subject to additions, revisions, and reconstructions by later generations. The account as we have in modern editions and translations does not reflect a single ‘original’ text, but is rather an estimated reconstruction of almost a dozen medieval and early modern manuscripts, fragments, and translations. This is not to say that the passages are necessarily ‘false’ or inaccurate, but rather that it is necessary for us to consider the limitations of the medium itself when developing our questions and theses. Even if a medieval author recorded factual oral traditions or a personal accounts, the resulting account is nevertheless framed by Latin or modern learning, religious affiliation, historical selection or hindsight, vocabulary and genre conventions, choices of organization, and the very transmission of the written medium itself. Such an amalgamation of considerations, however, does not void the value of a text like Orkneyinga saga as a source for architectural inquiry; it merely changes the questions we can ask. This project looked at how Orkneyinga saga’s literary landscape—regardless to its relationship to the physical world—contributed to the saga’s general values and concerns as a ‘political saga.’ By looking at the architecture references as independent of their physical counterparts, as the products of creative production, it is possible to explore their significance solely within the text as a mode of signification. Within this framework, it does not matter whether Kolr actually gave the advice Grayburn 40

to his son to build a grant musteri to St. Magnús. Architectural historians know from other textual and archaeological evidence, as well as stylistic comparison, that St. Magnus Cathedral was constructed in the mid twelfth century and that it had an early dedication to St. Magnús. Additionally, the discovery in the early twentieth century of two sets of relics hidden within the columns seems to support the saga tradition that two sets of relics (that were at least believed to be those of St. Magnús and Rǫgnvaldr were worshipped there).121 Such comparative evidence suggests that the main facts of the passage may be true and that, following his conquest, Rǫgnvaldr did construct his musteri. Whether or not Rǫgnvaldr decided to construct this as part of a proceeding vow to his uncle or under the advisement of his father, however, is not important. Rather, the account’s significance lies in the fact that it either constructed or represented a popular belief—mediated through one or many of the various saga authors—that Rǫgnvaldr’s Magnúskirkja embodied his uncle’s holy support. Preserved and circulated in writing (and presumably oral tradition), the saga would have established and reified the truth of this account. The cathedral, then, is not literally part of a “contract” as Cruden suggests, but rather a monumental embodiment of a believed connection between Rǫgnvaldr, as temporal ruler and a holy saint. Such divine support, expressed in both the text and within the physical landscape, reflects Rǫgnvaldr’s conquest and his long rule, as divinely sanctioned. Even if St. Magnus Cathedral did not survive, or was never even built, Kolr’s emphasis upon this construction in the text reflects, if not a true historical event, than at least a glimpse into the socio-political framework of medieval Norse world and the importance of monumental undertakings for Orkney’s jarls. Accounts from other sagas, such as Heimskringla, also include such construction stories, typically connecting the construction of a notable ecclesiastical construction with a victorious, Christian (or Old Testament) king. However, since the historical accuracy of these sagas is also debated and described churches do not survive as additional evidence, it is not known if they were ever actually constructed. Within an intertextual saga context, the construction of a monumental or notably ornamented church reflected, if not a actual event, than at least a social and political expectation for the construction of power within Norse territories. Although Þorfinnr and Rǫgnvaldr (as a jarls) are not recognized as ‘kings’ of Orkney by

121 Barbara Crawford, ed., St. Magnus Cathedral and Orkney’s Twelfth-Century Renaissance (Aberdeen: Aberdeen University Press, 1988), chapters 1, 6-9. Grayburn 41

modern scholars, they likely viewed their actions within the scope of their royal peers and the inclusion of them within this kingly construction tradition provides a point of departure for scholars to examine their actual or constructed political personas, as well as their architecture. This study offers only an example of this methodology can be employed to study literary architecture in any number of texts. A systematic examination of multiple sagas across numerous genres will only nuance our understanding of architecture in the northern world, especially when dealing with the transmission of ideas through translation. Additionally, such a study will complement architectural and archaeological studies of the north, for it is possible that such architectural ideals and significance were implemented in the physical world by those consuming the saga accounts. Orkney, with its large amount of extant architecture, would be an ideal location for an initial study of this sort. As we begin to learn more about the transmission not only of architectural styles, but also of architectural ideals, it will be possible to consider fully not only the northern physical and literary landscapes independently, but how they communicate in the products and expressions of human creation.

Grayburn 42

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