R. Power
2013 Journal of the North Atlantic Special Volume 4
19
A major group of sources for the study of the
history of medieval Scotland, especially its western
seaboard and islands, are Scandinavian. The majority
of these are Icelandic and date mainly from the
thirteenth century, and they can supplement information
known from Scots, Irish, Manx, and English
sources for their period and, in some cases, for the
preceding century or more. In addition, there are two
other kinds of material contained in the sagas: the
accounts of events said to have taken place in the Viking
Age, perhaps some three centuries before these
written accounts; and the imprint of a certain amount
of Gaelic story that has survived, adapted, and found
its way into the literature, and sometimes later folk
tradition, of Iceland. The different kinds of material
found in Scandinavia are thus relevant to the study
of both history and literature in the Gaelic world.
This paper is a brief summary of the three distinct
areas of contact in the Viking and High Middle
Ages between the Norse and Gaelic worlds that
has left us with written material, and a still briefer
consideration of some of the difficulties and uses
surrounding them. It is necessary to consider the
nature of the material and the purposes for which it
was written, the ways in which it has been transmitted
or preserved, the period at which transmission
occurred, and the reasons why the selection of some
material, but not other, may have been made. The
written sources do not of course stand alone, and can
be supplemented by work undertaken in the fields of
archaeology and oral tradition. The intention here
is to make some suggestions relevant to the larger
picture of source transmission.
In order to consider the nature of the sources, a
specific incident that occurred in 1202 is explored,
in an attempt to consider the different kinds of
evidence that can be used when assessing one of the
aspects of the contacts.
The oldest area of contact between the Norse and
Gaelic worlds, involving the transmission of stories
of the kind now regarded as literature or folktale,
seems to have occurred almost exclusively in the
Viking Age. Scandinavian stories, as opposed to
characters, do not seem to have contributed substantially
to the literature and folk tradition of Ireland
(though the presence of the Vikings has left plenty
of marks). However, a small number of stories embedded
in later Icelandic literature and sometimes in
folk tradition appear to be of Gaelic origins. Some,
like the álög/ geasa tales of enchantment and obligation,
and perhaps those of a hero’s sojourn in the
otherworld, indicate multiple introductions. It seems
more than one version arrived, and that implies that a
population, not an individual, introduced them; and
that a population then acclimatized them to their new
geographical, linguistic, and cultural setting. These
stories seems to represent a closed group. Stories
found in Iceland but not elsewhere in Scandinavia
have acculturated, and then seem to have stopped
coming. The kind of people who brought them did
not continue travelling backwards and forwards, and
the Gaelic women and slaves who arrived with the
settlers therefore seem the obvious sources.1 There
are indeed a few less-widely distributed folktales
that might have arrived later, but these seem to have
their origins in international stories that could have
travelled through intermediate means.
Study of this material requires the consideration
of, and then exclusion of, the possibility of later transmission
from other sources, such as French Romance.
For example, to take only the stories of transformation
of a person into a monster, or the placing of them
under some spell, many of the geasa/alög tales cannot
be used as evidence of direct transmission because
they have Romance literary equivalents.
There is also a less easily definable sense of a
general Gaelic influence in the fictional stories of
medieval Iceland, but, apart from the small number
of tales that have been studied in depth, there is no
overall agreement on its extent. Similar work has
Norse–Gaelic Contacts: Genres and Transmission
Rosemary Power*
Abstract - This article identifies three distinct areas of contact between the Norse and the Gaelic worlds in the Viking and
High Middle Ages. Considerations are made of the nature of the material and the purposes for which it was written, the
ways in which it has been transmitted or preserved, and the period at which transmission occurred. A particular incident that
occurred in 1202 and is recorded in various sagas is examined in order to illustrate the different kinds of evidence that can
be used when assessing aspects of the contacts. The purpose is to identify the ways in which different sources can complement
each other. This evaluation provides a baseline when considering other events, and helps determine whether there are
patterns of source transmission between the two cultural and linguistic areas.
Across the Sólundarhaf: Connections between Scotland and the Nordic World
Selected Papers from the Inaugural St. Magnus Conference 2011
Journal of the North Atlantic
*Centre for Antique, Medieval, and Pre-Modern Studies, National University of Ireland, Galway, Ireland; rosemary_power@
eircom.net.
2013 Special Volume 4:19–25
R. Power
2013 Journal of the North Atlantic Special Volume 4
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been undertaken in consideration of whether the
Orkney Islands provided a place in which Gaelic and
Scandinavian stories intermingled.2
The Icelanders who heard the stories in the
twelfth and thirteenth century were probably unaware
of Gaelic origins for them. They were, however,
aware of the Gaelic world, from the accounts of
the settlement of Iceland during the Viking Age and
the arrival of people of Gaelic ancestry and sometimes
name; from similar accounts in the “Family
sagas” that were being produced as written works at
about this time, and possibly from oral tradition as
well. They would also have been aware in the thirteenth
century, when much was written concerning
the history of the kings of Norway, of both the Viking
Age and contemporaneous contact with people from
the western lands. They may have heard in particular
about the kingdom of the Hebrides and Isle of Man,
which owed allegiance to Norway; and about the
Irish Sea area, which may have retained particular
interest because it had been settled by Norse peoples
and because it figures in the written sagas.
Still more difficult to address than the Gaelic
influence on fictional story are the accounts that
appear to document actual events in Ireland or the
west. The events in question were recorded in writing
in Iceland, in most cases some three hundred or
so years later, and their value in a historical sense
must be open to question. During the mid-twentieth
century, the historical validity of the sagas in general
became part of a debate concerning whether they
were based on real events, the details of which had
been preserved orally in the intervening centuries,
or whether they were twelfth- and thirteenth-century
constructions. Some, at least, of the accounts may
have some historical credibility, though the question
of when they were transmitted is not always clear.
One matter, significant from the perspective of
this paper, concerns the Icelandic accounts of the
Battle of Clontarf near Dublin in 1014, which bear
similarities to Irish sources. This similarity was
pointed out in the nineteenth-century edition of the
main source, the Irish Cogadh Gaedhal re Gallaibh,
The War of the Gaedhil with the Gaill (Todd 1867),
believed to have been composed in Dublin in about
1114 on the behest of its ruler, the Munster King
Muirchertach Ua Briain (r. 1086–1119), the greatgrandson
of Brian bóruma, the main protagonist.
The links have been studied, though no consensus
has been reached.3 In recent years, the Irish scholar
Donnchadh Ó Corráin (1998) suggested that a written
Norse saga, now lost, was composed in Dublin
and was used by the later Icelandic authors. However,
no such sagas are known to have been composed
anywhere by this date. A more probable scenario is
that Norse interpretations of the Battle of Clontarf
were transmitted orally to an Irish audience a little
over a decade previously, in 1102–1103 when Norway’s
King Magnús berfættr, barelegs (1093–1103),
and his entourage wintered at Muirchertach’s court.
Our increasing understanding of the degree of
contact in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries may
warrant further examination of this episode, and
there are other events that might also be considered,
in case traditional stories that had circulated
orally might have been open to supplementation
by travellers’ accounts in later times. The story of
the Irish slave Melkorka, daughter of an Irish king
Mýrjartak, Muirchertach, is found in Landnámabók,
the Book of Settlements (Benediktsson 1968) and
more fully in Laxdæla saga (Sveinsson 1934), which
also recounts the adventures of her Icelandic-born,
Irish-speaking son Óláfr pá, peacock, when he visited
his maternal grandfather in Ireland. Jean Young
(1933–1934) suggested a link to the royal family of
Knowth in the mid-tenth century, and recent studies
in Ireland have shown the attempts of this dynasty to
control the Dublin Vikings of the period.
There are also the Gaelic personal names, some
of which remain in use, and a small number of
Gaelic words found in Iceland, including a brief
conversation found in Jóns saga helga (Foote 2003),
the saga of the saintly Bishop Jón of Iceland, said to
take place at the court of Muirchertach Ua Briain in
1102 (Power 2000). There are also a few personal
names that are noted in accounts of the Hebrides in
the thirteenth century.4
There has been study in recent years about the
transmission of contemporary, or more nearly contemporary,
sources in the middle ages, and it may be
worth considering whether certain existing ancestral
stories in Iceland were added to with the help of additional
knowledge, which provided the opportunities
to bolster and expand on what was already known.
Work on the Irish Sea area in the eleventh and
twelfth centuries may help to clarify the interim
period.5 Further, in recent years, the contemporary,
or relatively near-contemporary, sagas of Iceland,
including portions of Orkneyinga saga (Guðmundsson
1965), have been used in conjunction with other
sources to attempt to form a coherent historical narrative
of events in Ireland, and even more, the Hebrides
and Isle of Man, as seen from a Norse perspective. As
more is understood of the selection of source material
used to form the existing sagas, more can perhaps
be understood of the standing of the material related
to the Viking Age. However, attempts to draw definitive
conclusions are limited by the frequent lack
of corroborative evidence for the matters recounted in
sagas concerned with this period.
Any such research depends considerably on what
can be learnt from the sagas that chart the period
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2013 Journal of the North Atlantic Special Volume 4
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from the late eleventh century onwards. These
concern both contemporary or near-contemporary
events and those occurring no more than about
a hundred years before they were written down,
a period in which reliable oral transmission within a
family is quite possible.
An example of historical information recorded
in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries but concerning
earlier times is found in the accounts of Magnús
barelegs. There are also some earlier Scandinavian
accounts of his actions in the poems in Norse said
to be contemporary to the events in question. These
sources serve as praise poetry on specific matters
rather than providing a dispassionate overview, but
they do not contradict and seem to support what
we know from elsewhere, from corroborative non-
Norse sources. Magnús’ activities affected societies
that were accustomed to charting events in writing.
We do not have a coherent Norse account of
western lands in this period, but rather we combine
sources written for different ends which mention the
west in passing, either because an event was intrinsically
interesting or because it in some way impinged
on the writer’s main theme. The result is that we
have a patchy understanding, and sometimes the
source material is so thin that modern scholars may
be constructing their own narrative to fill the gaps,
as medieval writers probably did before them. There
is, however, a near-contemporary narrative account
of the final period of regular interaction in Hákonar
Saga by the Icelander Sturla Þórðarson who never
went west himself but spoke to many who did.
In order for these sources to have been produced
in the form we have them, there must have been a
certain amount of information, written or otherwise,
passing between the two areas, perhaps through the
courts and taverns frequented by western nobles and
their followers and perhaps through the monasteries
(Power 2005). In addition to evidence of knowledge
of the lands to the west embedded in the writing of
Snorri Sturluson, Sturla and others, there is more
elusive evidence of contact.
Such hints may be present in The Chronicle of
the Kings of Man and the Isles (Munch and Goss
1874). The extant Latin version of this work dates to
the later thirteenth century, but earlier versions, perhaps
recounted orally, may possibly lie behind some
odd hints of matters that may have passed from the
Gaelic world to the Norse saga-writers.6 Some of the
stories it contains seem to be vague echoes of what
is known in the sources. Dreams parallel each other,
and the bare feet of Magnús of Norway, or at least
the cognomen, may be echoed in an odd incident involving
Muircheartach Ua Briain.7 This king wielded
considerable power in the early twelfth century,
and while this matter may have been downplayed
later on the Isle of Man, there must be some reason
why he offers to wear on his shoulders, or even eat,
the Norwegian king’s shoes. The Chronicle even
provides, with regard to this disruptive seafarer, a
genuine date.
There are also other sources, where transmission
is uncertain. The King’s Mirror (Larsson 1917), a
Norwegian handbook of courtly manners, religious
etiquette, trade, and cosmography, was apparently
compiled at the Norwegian court in the mid-thirteenth
century. The west was of sufficient interest for
a substantial section on Ireland to be included, from
a still unidentified source, together with descriptions
of other lands, including Iceland and Greenland,
both of which were to succumb to the overlordship
of Norway. Ireland is described fulsomely, with
space given to its wonders. It is the best of all the
lands west over sea even though the grape does not
grow there, a land of saints and sinners, the latter
being violent against everyone except the saints. (No
scholars are mentioned.) While the ambitions Hákon
had in Ireland, described at the end of Hákonar saga,
came to nothing, the inclusion may indicate more
than passing interest and perhaps a certain degree of
information.
In order to look more closely at the kind of
material and its complexity, even in the relatively
controversy-free area of sources that deal with nearcontemporary
historical events, I have picked on one
key incident to provide additional material about
sailing patterns that was presumably derived from
the knowledge of those who had made the journey,
perhaps regularly.
In 1202, a party of Icelanders were storm-driven
to the Hebrides, an incident whose details indicate
how little was known about the kingdom in spite of
a language and trading practices held in common.
The accounts relating to Hrafn Sveinbjarnarson
(killed 1213) and Guðmundr Árason (1161–1237)
tell of the difficult journey to Norway for Guðmundr’s
consecration as bishop of Iceland’s northern
see, Hólar. The story is told in Hrafns saga,
and also in versions of the saga of Guðmundr, the
oldest of which, Prests saga Guðmundar Árasonar,
was, like Hrafns saga, written in the first half of
the thirteenth century, though it no longer survives
independently. The Prests saga is believed to be
by Lambkárr, a friend of Guðmundr’s who died in
1249, and survives in the compilation Sturlunga
saga (Helgadóttir 1987:19–23).8 The interrelationships
of the texts are so great that they must be regarded
as a single source with variations rather than
as corroborative accounts. The story as a whole,
however, sheds light on how material may have
been derived from more than one informant, and
may even reflect two separate voyages undertaken
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2013 Journal of the North Atlantic Special Volume 4
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by Icelanders that year, which have been conflated.
Guðmundr and Hrafn took passage that summer
on a trading ship that twice attempted to take the
northern route from Iceland to Norway, only to be
blown back on each occasion. A dream in which
Guðmundr was seen by one of those on board being
blessed by the saintly bishop Jón of Hólar,
led the bishop-elect to advise the crew to take the
southeastern route, which they did. Initially, they
were successful but were then blown severely off
course. During a storm, they managed to recognize
the Suðreyjar, the Hebrides, and according to Prests
saga, they identified Hirtir, the remote islands of
Saint Kilda. The version in Sturlunga saga says that
they landed there and learnt of the death of King
Sverrir that March, some four months before the
voyage.
The other sources do not state that they landed
on this remote outpost, which, like the rest of the
Hebrides, in theory, owed fealty and taxes to Norway.
Instead, Hrafns saga, which has a shorter
opening account of the journey that names only the
severe weather that summer and the difficulties encountered
sailing from Iceland, recounts that they
were driven off-course around Hvarf, Cape Wrath,
the northernmost point on the Scottish mainland.
The bishop-elect then insisted that Hrafn take
charge.
In the other versions, the ship was blown towards
the coast of Ireland, and the crew heard the waves
breaking on all sides. While Guðmundr’s prayers
had calmed the worst moments of the storm, their
situation was clearly perilous. At this time of greatest
danger, the Prests saga tells, the travellers confessed
their sins, then the clerics repaired their tonsures (this
was at night, in a storm at sea) and the traders promised
wadmal, wax, and a pilgrimage by one of their
number should death be averted. With Guðmundr
demanding that Hrafn take charge, to which he reluctantly
agreed, they came, the versions agree, to peaceful
harbor at Sandey in the Suðreyjar. Guðmundr
went on land to say the Office, the Prests saga noting
that he entered the church there. They stayed in harbor
some days, but they were met by representatives
of the king, who is named Óláfr in the other main
versions, and landing taxes were demanded of them.
They were then met in person by Óláfr, King of the
Isles, who courteously invited them to dine with him,
on land. When Guðmundr and Hrafn sought to leave,
they were detained and the payment of the landing
tax again was demanded. The Icelanders, who had
just promised a considerable amount to the Church
in return for their survival, were reluctant to pay the
amount of wadmal demanded, a hundred ells for each
of the twenty on board, giving as reason that they
would have to pay the same again in Norway. A standoff
ensued, the Icelanders taking to a small hill near
the church, and matters looked as if they would lead
to violence. However, a compromise was reached under
which the Icelanders paid merely six hundred ells
between them. The Icelanders again set sail and made
landfall in Norway, where they learnt of the death of
King Sverrir.
The saga accounts focus upon the holiness of
Guðmundr, and the extent to which the forces of
evil, in the form of the weather and human cupidity,
opposed him and the virtuous Hrafn; how
Guðmundr wisely put Hrafn in charge of their ship,
ensuring their safe arrival in harbor, and how his
tactful negotiations brought the Icelanders out of
a second threatening situation. While Guðmundr
never achieved the status of saint, there were considerable
attempts after his death to compose the
hagiographies and engage in the process by which
sainthood could be achieved. While Hrafn’s saga
can be called one of Iceland’s contemporary sagas, a
native, home-spun account intended for local pride,
edification, and entertainment, Guðmundr’s various
sagas, though composed in the vernacular, have this
wider intention.
The actual event may be regarded from the
Hebridean perspective as an intended scam. With
Sverrir dead and uncertainty in Norway, they seem
to have claimed to be collecting tax from the stormdriven
foreigners on the grounds that they were
entering the Norwegian king’s domains. The Icelanders
were convinced that they would, however,
have to pay them again in Norway. Moreover, in
these versions, though the Hebrideans in the harbor
(no doubt like the people of Saint Kilda), knew of
Sverrir’s death, this was a matter the Icelanders did
not learn about until later. From the perspective of
Guðmundr’s sanctity, this may serve as evidence
that he saved them both from the storm and from
strangers. Norway suffered divided monarchy after
the time of Sverrir, and it may be that the Hebrideans
saw more chance of getting away with trickery
during a time of turmoil. The Icelanders were unready
to risk it anyway, and Guðmundr’s reputation
for wise dealing can be seen as enhanced because
when they get to Norway they learn that Sverrir
had died, a matter that would have lessened their
chances of getting recompense. There may even
be an echo of this embarrassing event in Hákonar
saga, written in the late 1260s. Here, Hebrideans
are said to be untrustworthy, a comment which may
reflect knowledge of this episode, and indeed similar
events.
We learn from the texts themselves the amount
of landing tax to be paid in the Norwegian king’s
realms, though it is left uncertain whether it was the
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2013 Journal of the North Atlantic Special Volume 4
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duty of his under-kings to collect it; the saga implies
the Icelanders were at best uncertain, but being
weakened by storm were willing to compromise.
It is unclear whether they were certain of the
authority of the different rulers in the west. The king
they meet, Óláfr, is known through the Chronicle
of the Kings of Man as the younger, but legitimate,
brother of Rǫgnvaldr of Man. At this stage a young
man, he ruled the island of Lewis, a land so barren
that not long after this incident he unwisely complained
to his brother, who promptly arranged for
him to be imprisoned for several years in Scotland.
He eventually succeeded Rǫgnvaldr and ruled until
1237, dying only a few years before the earliest versions
of this account were written. At this early stage
in his career, he may have been storm-driven to the
harbor at Sandey himself, for he almost certainly had
no authority in the Small Isles, which appear to have
been under the rule of his cousin Ruaidhrí of the
opposing Somerled line of kings, a ruler who may
already have made his base at what became the family
castle at Tioram in Loch Moidart, not far away.
It seems likely that, far from acting as tax collector
for the king of Norway, Óláfr was trying his luck and
made off with what he could easily get rather than
risk being weakened by fighting and then encountering
the arrival of Ruaidhrí.
The accounts illustrate another matter—that the
Icelanders knew, directly or by hearsay, the geography
of the area they travelled in. The sailors knew
when they were off the coast of Ireland and then
heading for Sandey, now Sanday, which with Canna
in the Small Isles forms what is still one of the best
harbors in the Hebrides, and one to which fishermen
head in storms. Coming from the Irish coast, they
seem to recognize and follow the distinctive outlines
of the Isles of Eigg and Rhum to a known safe harbor
at these islands just north of Rhum.
The version that says they put in at Saint Kilda
is also a feasible account for storm-driven seafarers,
for ships can apparently find safe harbor in the bay
at Hirta, providing the wind is in the right direction.
The crew in this account were not the first ship to arrive
that year, intentionally or otherwise, with news,
in this case the momentous news of the king’s death.
We do not know which language, if any, they used to
converse here. In the accounts of events on Sanday,
language was not apparently a problem, neither in
the offering of hospitality, nor in the bargaining that
followed.
The other interest in Canna and the harbor it
makes with Sanday may have been that the island
of Iona had long-standing rights in the island, and
the Icelanders may have deemed it a place where a
bishop-elect would be treated well. The following
year, Iona’s community moved from a Columban
rule to the Benedictine way of life, and the island of
Canna is one of the lands referred to in the Founding
Charter of December 1203 (printed in Munch and
Goss 1874:152–153), suggesting it had been passed
on from the earlier monastery. The Diocese of the
Hebrides and Man, like the two Icelandic dioceses,
were subject to the Archdiocese of Niðarós, providing
another link, at least theoretically, through
church organization and the consequent expectations
of respect for the welfare of church officials.
The accounts of the journey of the Icelandic
bishop show home-grown interests, but also an
awareness of the politics and personalities of the
western lands and the seamanship they require.
The sagas provide only glimpses, and the following
years in the Hebrides witnessed internecine warfare
and a raid by Norwegians which may have been in
part royally sanctioned but included the plundering
of Iona in 1210 during its rebuilding, all matters on
which tentative conclusions can be made.
Considering the sailing implications may be
relevant when considering other events, such as the
wintering in 1230 of a Norwegian-Hebridean fleet,
led by the same king, Óláfr, on the Kaupmannaeyjar,
the merchants’ islands, now known as the
Copeland Islands, on the Irish side of the North
Channel (Vigfússon and Unger 1860–1868:102).
The cross currents meeting here indicate that
wintering of a fleet at that location is feasible for
skilled seamen with local knowledge. The reasons
for selecting this windy refuge can be teased out
from the politics of the period, as can the potential
provisioning. A fleet positioned here would not
only be very threatening to its enemies but very
hard to attack. Similar understanding of the sea and
terrain may explain a number of other matters. The
sources relating to the death of Magnús barelegs in
Ulaid in 1103, Morkinskinna (Andersson and Gåde
2000), Fagrskinna (Einarsson 1985, Finlay 2004),
and especially Heimskringla (Aðalbjarnarson
1941–1951), indicate a landscape in the vicinity
of Downpatrick, where he was buried, but as seen
in the early thirteenth century, the time of writing,
rather than the time of the event in the early twelfth
century.9
Substantial work has been undertaken on Orkneyinga
saga, which might provide a lynchpin for
a fuller understanding of other sources. While only
tentative suggestions can be made on the overall
patterns of transmission of information that is both
explicit and implicit in the texts, and the periods at
which transmission occurred, the work of scholars
in recent times suggest that there is much more to
be learnt. Further, it may be suggested that texts
concerning the Viking Age itself need to be reconsidered,
in terms of transmission in their own times,
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2013 Journal of the North Atlantic Special Volume 4
24
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and in terms of possible supplementation in a later
period. In view of the collateral information implicit
in the thirteenth-century near-contemporaneous
accounts, this may tell us more about the interests of
this period as well as ancestral pride.
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R. Power
2013 Journal of the North Atlantic Special Volume 4
25
Endnotes
1The question of Gaelic influence in Icelandic literature
was discussed in the early twentieth century and then left
in abeyance by most scholars until the 1980s, with the notable
exception of the Icelander Einar Ólafur Sveinsson.
Many of the suggested tales have been listed by Sigurdsson
(2000). The geasa/álög tales have been discussed in
Sveinsson (1976), Power (1987), and O’Connor (2000).
2See Almqvist (1978–1979, 1991:237–242); Berry and
Firth (1986:187–208, 318-22); and works noted in Ó
Catháin (2001).
3See, for example, Christiansen (1931), Goedheer (1938),
and Ní Mhaonaigh (2007).
4For overviews, see Craigie (1897), Sigurðsson (2000:25–
34), Turville-Petre (1953), and various notes on specific
words in Saga-Book and Arkiv för nordisk filologi.
5See, for example, Beuermann (2002), Duffy (1997),
Etchingham (2001), McDonald (1997), Sellar (2000),
Swift (2004).
6Suggestion made orally by Stefán Karlsson, Stofun Árna
Magnússonar á Íslandi, Rekjavík, 2005.
7Suggestion made orally by Kare Gåde, University of Indiana,
Bloomington, IN, USA, 2003. See too Downham
(2005).
8See Hasle (1967:26–30); Jóhannesson et al. (1946:159);
Vigfússon and Sigurðsson (1858–1878:405–558, 483–
485). For discussion, see Power (2005:esp. 41–43) and
McDonald (2007:77–78). The St. Kilda incident is discussed
in Taylor (1967–1968:116–144).
9Discussion in Power (1994).