Vikings

by Neil Oliver

  Given its location, astride the Mid-Atlantic Ridge, Iceland might reasonably be described as the last vestige of Europe. Anywhere further into the west is a step beyond, out of the old world and into the new. Given their persistence, reinforced by religious zeal, its quite possible that Irish monks — St Brendan and his brothers, maybe — were first to complete the crossing of the Atlantic Ocean. If they did so, however, they either missed out Greenland or left no trace there whatsoever.

  The Vikings living on Iceland knew about the existence of Greenland long before any of them actually settled there. A Norwegian named Gunnbjörn Ulfsson had visited the place — briefly and unintentionally, courtesy of a storm — in AD 900. The country’s highest peak, the 12,000-feet-high Gunnbjorn Fjeld, is named in his honour, along with the Gunnbjorner Skerries off the east coast. Even without Gunnbjorn’s testimony, the existence of Greenland would have been common knowledge to Icelanders in the tenth century. It is actually possible to catch a glimpse of the place from the summit of Snaefell, Iceland’s tallest peak, on an especially clear day. Seafarers blown west of Iceland would also have caught sight of Greenland’s great central ice sheet, off in the distance, from time to time.

  The problem is not the distance between Iceland and Greenland (around 700 miles) but the treacherous and frankly lethal nature of the Denmark Strait lying between the two. During the summer months a current of cold water carries pack ice and icebergs southwards, making for a hellish soup that is a challenge even for modern shipping. During winter, before the onset of global warming at least, the sea simply froze solid, many miles out from land. When the Scandinavians finally set their hearts on colonising Greenland, they had to plot a course that took their ships well south of the ice. Once they thought they were west of Cape Farewell, the most southerly point on Greenland, they could head north towards the more hospitable western coast.

  After Gunnbjorn’s accidental passage, nearly 80 years elapsed before anyone attempted the crossing intentionally. Snaebjorn Galti was yet another outlaw, driven by desperation to lead a party of adventurers in Gunnbjorn’s footsteps. The hellish winter they spent there, trapped in their poor shelters by relentless storms, provided the inspiration for a saga. Now lost, it apparently told of hardships beyond endurance and of men driven to murdering one another. Only the advent of spring released them from their misery and a handful of survivors got back in their boats and headed home to Iceland, to take their chances there.

  Greenland is terra incognita to most people, even today. A great white tooth of land biting southwards out of the Arctic Circle, it is a place of superlatives. With a surface area just shy of 840,000 square miles it is the world’s biggest island. It is also the world’s least densely populated country, with fewer than 58,000 inhabitants. It is all but covered by one colossal ice sheet, and if that ice were to melt — all 680,000 cubic miles of it — the world’s sea level would rise by 23 feet. According to a survey carried out by the French scientist Paul-Émile Victor, if and when that ice sheet does melt, Greenland will be revealed as three separate islands.

  Greenland is much more of an ‘ice land’ than Iceland; its southern tip extends further south than Reykjavik. Cape Farewell is on the same latitude as Shetland and parts of the south and west provide grasslands easily capable of supporting livestock. In the absence of such detailed information, however, it was just the thought of an empty land that attracted troubled characters like Snæbjörn Galti and Eirikur Thorvaldsson. Far away from the society that had spurned them, Greenland promised freedom and the chance to sleep easy in their beds, beyond the reach of bounty hunters. And while Snaebjorn’s effort ended in abject failure, Eirikur had the clout to achieve his goals.

  Before his fateful departure into the west he had sunk to his lowest ebb, socially at least. Outlawed in two lands, he had withdrawn to the remote islands of Breithafjordur, in the west of Iceland. He spent a winter there, brooding and plotting with those men who had remained faithful to him. A violent criminal he may have been, but he had once been a fellow of some standing — even a chieftain in his own right. As well as violent, he was red-haired, so it was either his appearance or his short temper that led to him being remembered by history as Eirik the Red.

  Perhaps, then, it was pride that made the difference for him in the end — self-confidence and the determination to prove he was someone to be taken seriously and treated with respect. With these things in mind he boarded his vessel and put Iceland behind him — for the time being at least.

  Eventually rounding Cape Farewell, he found his way to the hospitable west coast and was impressed by what he found there — sheltering fjords and fertile valleys. After a few seasons spent exploring as much of the territory as he could reach, he returned to Iceland and there declared to one and all that he had found a ‘green land’ with room for all. By the latter years of the tenth century, Iceland had filled to capacity. As much as by Eirik’s boasts of a land of plenty, people were driven to join him in his adventure by simple land hunger. In the spring of AD 986 between 500 and 1,000 brave souls piled aboard a fleet of 25 ships loaded with seed crops, livestock, building timber and all else required for the establishment of a viable settlement on Greenland. Only 15 of the ships actually managed to complete the crossing — proof if proof were needed of the savage nature of the Denmark Strait. The other ten were either taken by the icebergs and storms, or simply turned back to Iceland.

  By the time of his full-scale settlement of Greenland, Eirik was a married man and he and his wife, Thjodhild, made their home on one of the best sites in the whole country — at Brattalith, beside a fjord he subsequently named Eiriksfjorthr in his own honour. Although his sales pitch may well have exaggerated the attractions, Greenland was indeed blessed with good pasture. The central ice cap clearly dominates the interior and while the habitable land is limited to a 20-30-mile-wide strip along the western coastline, given that the coast is thousands of miles long, a large area was available for settlement. The climate during the Viking Age may also have been slightly better than now and, in any case, it was virgin land. Several generations of human settlement had hit Iceland hard. The deforestation, coupled with intensive agriculture of one kind or another, had taken its toll on an ecosystem that was fragile to begin with. So when the immigrants arrived in Greenland they found soil and grassland as yet untouched by the hand — or ploughs — of man.

  Plentiful too were the reindeer, polar bears and other wild land animals so that meat was readily available to the hunters, along with valuable skins and furs. The sea too was bountiful, teeming with fish, seals, walruses and whales. Once the settlements were established, Greenland’s rich natural resources proved attractive and desirable to the population back in Iceland. Soon there was a steady trade between the two countries, with exotic furs and other luxuries like hunting falcons being exchanged for the grain, metal tools and timber that Greenland lacked.

  Polar bear fur was widely prized all across Europe and as far as the Caliphate; so too the haughty birds of prey. Of all the natural bounty available to the Greenland Vikings, however, it was the narwhal, a species of medium-sized whale, which was most valuable. During the Viking Age (and still today) the only place in the world to find such animals was in the Arctic Ocean between Greenland and Canada. The flesh of the beast was a useful source of Vitamin C, and its skin could be tanned and used for ropes. But it was the narwhal’s tusk — actually a wildly elongated left upper incisor — that really made it worthwhile prey.

  Given their preferred territory, narwhals are mysterious animals even now. A large specimen, perhaps 16 feet long and weighing 3,500 pounds, might have a 10-foot-long, elegantly twisted tusk weighing more than 20 pounds on its own. From time to time, especially when there are females nearby, the males will surface so they can ‘tusk’ with one another — a contest that looks for all the world like fencing.

  In the Europe of the Middle Ages, the legend of the unicorn was at its height. An invention of the ancient Greeks, the myth o
f the white horse with a single horn spiralling from its forehead was a potent symbol of purity. It was believed only virgins could tame the animals and furthermore that drinking-cups made from their horns were proof against poison. Powdered unicorn horn was also said to have miraculous curative powers. Imagine, then, the impact on that world of narwhal tusks.

  By the time such trophies arrived in Britain, France and the rest of western Europe, their connection to a whale’s corpse was long forgotten. Instead they circulated as physical proof of the existence of the unicorns of legend and, pound for pound, narwhal tusks were eventually far more expensive than gold. The royal throne of Denmark was crafted from ‘unicorn horns’, as was the shaft of the sceptre of the crown jewels of the Austrian Habsburgs. Ivan the Terrible’s staff was made of the same stuff, along with the hilt of a sword carried by Charles the Bold. Narwhal tusks were also made into the staffs of the best crosiers sported by the wealthiest bishops and archbishops.

  Sea unicorns and white bear fur, hunting falcons for the gauntlets of caliphs and emperors: Greenland was a land worth living in, and the sometimes harshness of its climate worth tolerating. Eirik the Red was soon accepted as headman — no doubt the destiny he had had in mind for himself all along. The farmstead he established with Thjodhild became the political centre for all the Greenland Vikings and within a few years a second base was established. If Eirik’s was the ‘eastern’ settlement then the new one, some 400 or so miles further north, at Godthabsfjord, became the ‘western’ settlement. Archaeologists have found evidence of hundreds of farms and farmsteads in both areas, and in the fjords and valleys in between the two, suggesting a stable population, around AD 1000, of as many as 5,000 people.

  Eirik’s life and times are the subject of the Saga of Eirik the Red, written in the thirteenth century. To some extent an exercise in portraying Eirik as the archetypal Viking, the saga also takes the story forward to include the adventures of his son, Leif Eriksson, also known as Leif the Lucky and the first Viking to set foot on North American soil.

  Just as Greenland had been known to Icelanders long before any of them managed to land there, so the presence of yet another land mass further west was common knowledge. According to the Saga of the Greenlanders it was a Norwegian man named Bjarni Herjólfsson who actually made the first sighting of North America, at least on behalf of Scandinavia. His parents had been among the hundreds who had emigrated to Greenland with Eirik the Red in 986, and within a matter of months he had set out to follow them. As seems to be true in every case of Viking exploration, bad weather intervened and Bjarni was blown right past Greenland and all the way to the coast of Labrador. From the deck of his ship he spotted a flat land covered with trees, that he named Markland — meaning ‘Wood Land’. Turning northwards he next reported Helluland, or ‘Stone Land’, before heading east and making landfall, at long last, in Greenland.

  It was in hope of actually claiming new territory (always a great honour and sure to be remembered by his fellows) that Leif Eriksson headed west accompanied by a crew of 35. The precise date of his voyage is hard to establish, but certainly happened between AD 995 and 1000. Greenland was woefully short of timber for building houses and ships and it may be the case that the prospect of reaching ‘Wood Land’ was also a powerful spur.

  No novice sailor, Leif was already famous by the time of his voyage westwards. When most captains depended on keeping land in sight for as long as possible, he had pioneered a direct route between Greenland and Norway. By sailing due east along the 60th parallel he had completed a journey of around 2,000 miles without sighting any land at all. In order to retrace Bjarni’s steps — albeit in reverse — Leif first of all headed northwards, along Greenland’s west coast, then crossed the Davis Strait. Although he came in sight of the coasts of both Stone Land and Wood Land (Baffin Island and Labrador), he and his crew remained aboard their ship until they spotted something quite new. Leif would name his discovery Vinland, after apparently finding some sort of grapes or berries growing there, and most historians are agreed the Greenland Vikings had arrived in Newfoundland. All was apparently green and pleasant, with a mild climate, and Leif and his companions spent the winter there before returning home to boast of their discovery.

  One of those inspired by reports of fertile soils, plentiful timber and lush vegetation was Leif’s own brother Thorvald. Lacking the famed luck of his brother, however, Thorvald’s expedition was tragically ill-fated. Although they made a successful crossing to the New World they were confronted soon after their arrival by some of the resident population. The Vikings called them skraelingar — ugly people — but they were of course North American Indians, or Inuit. Ugly or not, they made it plain the Vikings were not wanted and in the fighting that followed, Thorvald was killed by an arrow.

  Undeterred by the violence (as if any true Viking would be anything less), a third expedition left Greenland within just a few years, led by Thorfinn Karlsefni. There was nothing half-hearted about the attempt and it was a flotilla of three ships and as many as 600 men, women and children that duly set out. Again the crossing was successful but the settlement they established was troubled almost from the start. For one thing there were tensions between Christian and pagan Vikings mixed together in the group — and for another they had to endure an unexpectedly severe winter. If the internal tensions and bad weather were not enough to scupper the endeavour, the ever-present hostile natives, the skraelingar, proved too much to cope with. Within three years of arriving in Vinland, the Greenland Vikings abandoned all they had worked for and returned home.

  For long it was thought the Vikings had left no trace of their presence in North America. But in 1961 the patient efforts of husband and wife team Helge and Anne Ingstad finally bore fruit. Inspired to discover the truth of the sagas, they were exploring the eastern coastline of Newfoundland when they came upon the site known now as L’Anse aux Meadows. Anne was the archaeologist of the pair and the excavations she led there between 1961 and 1968 eventually uncovered the foundations of several substantial buildings made of turf and stone. In design and construction they are identical to Viking buildings on Iceland and the Faroes (though less familiar on Greenland on account of an absence there of turf). Excavation also unearthed typically Viking artefacts including an oil lamp carved from soapstone, a spindle whorl and a bronze brooch or fastening pin.

  In many ways it was a perfect location for Vikings. The five buildings — three longhouses and some associated smaller structures — sit on a terrace of level ground overlooking the sea in Epaves Bay. Close by is a little freshwater stream, known to locals today as the Black Duck Brook. Excavation has revealed evidence of workshops, metal-working and boat repair.

  But the fact remains that Vikings living in Newfoundland were a long, long way from home. Supply lines connecting them to Greenland would have been stretched thin — and Iceland and Norway must have felt like the far side of the moon. In addition to the isolation there was the presence, as testified in the sagas, of unfriendly natives. The discovery of an ‘arrow-shaped object’ made of Eastern White Cedar wood has been interpreted by some as proof of war with Indians, or Inuit; but even without physical evidence of conflict it is easy to see why Newfoundland would simply have felt, in the end, like a step too far.

  Furthermore, most archaeologists doubt that Newfoundland was the ‘Vinland’ reported by Leif Erkisson. Instead L’Anse aux Meadows is usually interpreted as a sort of way station, a staging post used by people in transit to and from a more fruitful settlement further south. It seems Vinland itself still awaits discovery.

  Although Greenland was abandoned by the settlers at the end of the Middle Ages — apparently as a result of the southwards advance of Inuit peoples originating from Canada — it appears to have supported a thriving community throughout the Viking Age. There has been much speculation about whether the Inuit people, the ancestors of all modern Greenlanders, might have inflicted upon the Vikings the kind of genocide they themselves have been
accused of in Orkney and Shetland. In any event, some misfortune overtook them. Perhaps it was an epidemic of disease, or too many harsh winters in succession, but eventually the ships from Greenland stopped arriving in Iceland. When a Christian mission was sent out from Norway in the early seventeenth century, it found not a single man or woman of Viking descent.

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  When reading and thinking about Vikings I continually have to pause and remind myself that so many elements of their grand adventure were unfolding almost simultaneously. Many of the books — particularly of the specialist, academic kind — concentrate on single facets. Such an approach is right and proper of course, indeed a necessity if any meaningful attempt is to be made to get to grips with the detail of any one fragment of the bigger picture. The story of the Vikings in Iceland, the Rus in the East, the Danes in Ireland, or in England, the earls of Orkney — any of these and dozens more besides deserve lifetimes of consideration. It is precisely because the Vikings were so busy — that they achieved so much, travelled so far and affected the destinies of so many people and peoples — that it is almost impossible to grasp the whole of it, the depth of it.

  I try and remember that around the time Gunnbjörn Ulfsson was gazing out at the coast of Greenland from the deck of his storm-tossed ship, the Viking Oleg of Kiev, prince among the Rus, was contemplating the invasion of Constantinople. I think about how Leif Eriksson laid plans for his voyage to North America while a strange little girl in a red dress ran along the wooden walkways of Birka, back in Sweden. And while Arab writers like Ibn Fadlan wrote about meeting unwashed Swedish heathens on the banks of the Volga, Danish and Icelandic Vikings were helping decide the fate of Britain on the lost field of Brunanburh.