Jakobsson, Snorri and His Death

single detail catches our attention in a somewhat

conventional description of a young warrior who has a minor

role in this medieval saga. This detail is unexpected and indeed

unique in saga literature. “Hann ... kallaði mjök sinn þá, er hann talaði

við” (Sturlunga saga 1:351) [“he addressed many to whom he spoke as

‘my’” (1:252)].⁄ The person described referred to those to whom he was

talking as “Sturla minn,” “Þórðr minn,” “Gizurr minn,” etc. [my Sturla,

my Þórðr, my Gizurr], a form of endearment still used by many Iceland-

ers. Nowadays, and in all probability in the thirteenth century as well,

the use of this term would automatically give the audience an idea of

what sort of a person he is. Today it suggests sentimentality and perhaps

even over-familiarity, a pleasant and yet aggressive person who tries in

a kindly manner to dominate and even possess his interlocutor.

The person thus described is in fact a brutal and ruthless killer whose

main claim to fame is having taken part in a nocturnal assault on a quiet

farm killing and wounding women, youngsters, and laborers. In light

of that fact, his use of endearments when speaking to others creates an

element of surprise since it is bound to counter the previous impression

of the man. In addition, this person is a teenager: he is just eighteen

years old. The aggressive familiarity of the endearment suggests self-

conidence that would be atypical in a modern Icelandic teenager. We

have no way of knowing whether the same conclusion can be drawn

with regard to medieval Iceland, but, lacking evidence to the contrary,

we might consider it likely. We also do not know exactly what to make

Snorri and His Death

Youth, Violence, and Autobiography in

Medieval Iceland

Ármann Jakobsson

Háskóli Íslands

⁄

In this article, the English text used is the translation of McGrew but I have made some

minor changes wherever the translator is to my mind too liberal or has misinterpreted

the text.

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of the phrase “þann er hann talaði við.” Does that include everyone?

Or did our hero spend most of his time among his peers? It would be

unusual for a modern teenager to address adults outside of his immediate

family in such a way. Even addressing his grandmother as “amma mín”

[my granny] would suggest a happy and conident teenager, accustomed

to conversing with adults. In such a situation, it would imply equality.

Using the term when speaking to those outside the inner circle of close

friends and immediate family, e.g. someone one’s own age whom one

is meeting for the irst or second time, would seem rather aggressive

and imply a certain superiority on the speaker’s part.

This trivial detail thus suggests various character traits. It establishes

our eighteen-year-old warrior as a pleasant and outgoing person with

perhaps a hint of arrogance and aggressiveness. But most importantly,

it is intimate. It suggests someone the narrator knew personally. This

conclusion can be deduced even without knowing that both the saga

author and the person he is describing were born in 1214, raised in

the same part of Iceland, linked by marriage, and may both have

attended Snorri Sturluson’s Christmas party in 1226. By including this

intimate detail in his description of the young Snorri Þorvaldsson just

before his early death, the author of Íslendinga saga, Sturla Þórðarson

(1214–1284), is subtly drawing the attention of the audience to himself.

He is using the detail to convey the fact to us quietly that he knew this

man personally.

The Life and Death of the Vatnsirðings

This minor detail suggesting familiarity highlights the description of

Snorri Þorvaldsson and, metonymically, the surrounding episode: the

killing of the two brothers from Vatnsfjo˛rðr [the Vatnsirðings]. The

sentence might be described as a punctum, to borrow a term from

Barthes: “[a] sting, speck, cut, [or] little hole” (27). Like a punctum,

it disturbs and “pricks” the audience and has “a power of expansion”

(45). This quality is in no way diminished by the paradoxical nature of

the clause: a youthful but brutal killer was nevertheless prone to use

endearments in his speech.

The brothers from Vatnsfjo˛rður—Þórðr and the aforementioned

Snorri—are the sons of Þorvaldr Snorrason, an aging magnate from

the Vestirðir region, who in his advancing years becomes Snorri Stur-

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luson’s son-in-law. Þorvaldr is a bully and the killer of the saintly Hrafn

Sveinbjarnarson. He persecutes the sons of Hrafn who in the end kill

him, not only to avenge their father but also because he has continued

to be overbearing toward them. The sons of Þorvaldr take his place as

chieftains even though the younger, Snorri, is only fourteen years old.

They somehow are convinced that Sturla Sighvatsson was the evil nem-

esis of their father and behind his burning, and Þórðr rejects his offers of

peace. Snorri Sturluson constantly sends emissaries to the brothers giving

rise to constant rumors. In the year 1229, shortly after Christmas, the

brothers gather a small army of ifty of “þeim mönnum ... er þeim þóttu

röskvastir” (1:325) [“those men they thought boldest” (1:223)]. They ride

down to Sturla’s home, Sauðafell, hoping to catch Sturla at home and

kill him. However, Sturla has gone north to act as an intermediary in a

dispute. They arrive at night and attack the people in their beds killing

and maiming women and laborers and leaving ifteen wounded; blood

ran through the house and everything was pillaged or destroyed. This

vicious assault is condemned by all, and a great deal of mocking poetry

is composed about the slaying of an old woman named Þorbjörg ysja,

who was among the three who died in the attack.

Having failed to kill Sturla, the brothers ind themselves at a disad-

vantage and end up paying Sturla a huge compensation for the assault.

Two years later, Snorri Sturluson remains uneasy about the matter and

invites his brother Þórðr, the father of the historian Sturla who wrote

the saga, and Sturla Sighvatsson to a party at which he and Sturla shake

hands in an agreement not to kill the Vatnsirðings. Soon thereafter—in

March of the same year (1232)—the brothers from Vatnsfjo˛rðr ride south

to Dalir to meet Snorri Sturluson. Their path leads them past Sturla

Sighvatsson’s abode at Sauðafell where they meet their fate. Sturla seizes

the opportunity to avenge himself for the attack on his farm and threat

to his wife. He also claims to have reasons to fear the brothers.

The depiction of the killing of the brothers is as brutal and sordid as

the Sauðafell raid. The brothers never stand a chance; rocks are thrown,

and one hits Þórðr Þorvaldsson rendering him incoherent. In this state,

he gives up and throws himself on the mercy of Sturla, who has none.

Þórðr is made to lie on the ground, and his executioner makes three

strikes before successfully cutting his head off. Snorri refuses to give

up and relinquish his weapons, but while he is resting, one of Sturla’s

companions takes him by surprise and cuts his leg off. Having watched

his brother’s shabby execution, he is next to be killed. Whereas heads

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roll quickly in some sagas, in this instance, the blow almost took off

the head, but it remained attached by no more than the thickness of

a rope. The gritty realism of such details is far removed from the cus-

tomary world of the Sagas of the Icelanders and cannot have failed to

shock an audience used to cleaner saga killings (see Ármann Jakobsson,

“Sannyrði” 49–54).

The brutality of each scene makes each in turn stand out in the

Íslendinga saga.

The Sauðafell raid and the killing of Vatnsirðings were

not major incidents in the wars that led to the demise of the Icelandic

Commonwealth, not in comparison to many other battles in which

more people took part and many more lives were lost. And yet Sturla

Þórðarson dedicates about 7 percent of what is left of his Íslendinga

saga

—twenty pages of 305 in the edition—to this relatively minor inci-

dent. In addition, he takes much care in the composition of this scene,

which is elevated to a kind of a parable with exemplary signiicance

for the whole of his narrative about the age of the Sturlungs. Even his

own detailed narration of his life and times could never aspire to be

an extensive account of the brutal age through which he lived. Sturla

was, therefore, forced to choose his examples with care so that each and

every one would capture the spirit of the age. In the two scenes about

the Vatnsirðings, he conveys the essence of the age of the Sturlungs

and perhaps of war in general. His major themes are youth, death, and

waste.

The Frenzy of the Young

The irst factor revealed in the narrative of the Sauðafell raid is planning:

a small army sets out in an organized way against one of the mightiest

magnates of Iceland. We are told that the brothers’ band spent some

time beforehand in the ields of Sauðafell preparing the attack. A second

characteristic of the attack is determination: “Var þat þá ætlan þeira at

veita atgöngu, hvárt er Sturla væri fyrir fámennari eða fjölmennari, ok

sækja með vápnum bæinn, ef kostr væri, eða með eldi” (1:326) [“Their

intention was to attack, whether Sturla had few or many men with him,

and to overcome the place with weapons, if that were possible, or with

ire” (1:224)]. And yet in his ensuing statement, the author humanizes

the group by stressing their eagerness: “Svá var lokkr sá ákafr, at hverr

eggjaði annan. Engi var til latanna. Ok er þeir kómu heim á hlaðit, varð

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gnýr mikill af för þeira” (1:326) [“The band was so enthusiastic that

every man kept urging on the next. None held back. And when they

came up to the paving in front of the house, there was a great din from

their advance” (1:224)].

There is also veiled irony in the dry authorial statements about the

planning of the attack. Even though it is organized to the last detail,

the brothers somehow overlooked the most important fact of all: Sturla

Sighvatsson is not at home. These men are not professional killers, nor

are they cold-blooded in their determination. In fact, they rather resemble

a juvenile gang—inexperienced and clumsy—and when it comes to the

point of action, each has to urge the other on in order to strengthen his

own resolve. In hearing this description, readers might recall that one

of the leaders of the band is Snorri Þorvaldsson, who is only forteen

or ifteen, a mere boy. His brother, Þórðr, may well be in his teens as

well. And it seems possible that their “army” is nothing but a band of

youths. Their eagerness and anxiety certainly suggest it.

Although he draws our attention to the youthfulness of the attack-

ers, the author is not sympathizing with them. In fact, the bluntness of

his description of the raid that follows leaves no room for mitigating

circumstances although there is no outright condemnation either (see

Gunnar Karlsson 1988). In addition, the narrative offers some insight

into the mind of the perpetrator. Evil is not presented as superhuman

in strength and resolve, but rather as weak and frightened. Through-

out the narrative, the author pricks the sensitivities of the reader with

examples of the vulnerability of the attackers mixed with unrelenting

accounts of their brutality.

This army swarms over the farm like locusts. We are told that

there are two attack parties as well as two smaller groups that guard

the doors and the escape route to the church with a man also up to

the roof. The elaborate organization fails only in terms of the most

important detail: Sturla is not at home, only women, children, and

the laborers are present. Its clumsy overzealousness might suggest that

the brothers are in fact frightened of Sturla. At least they do not give

him or anyone else any chance to defend himself. What follows is no

fair ight. The marauders meet with no resistance, and their assault,

therefore, seems all the more vicious: “Nú gengu þeir í skálann með

höggum ok blóti ok hjuggu þá allt þat, er fyrir varð, ok ruddu hvárum

tveggja megin lokrekkju, ok urðu engir menn til varnar með vápnum”

(1:326) [“They now ran into the hall with blows and curses and fell

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upon everything that was in front of them; they tore up both the central

women’s bedclosets and encountered no armed men defending them”

(1:224–5)].

It is explicitly stated that there were no weapons used to resist them.

The cursing by the attackers is another important small detail reveal-

ing their youthful lack of restraint. Since the days of Cicero, ferocity

rather than discipline has been associated with youth—and swiftness

rather than gravity (Fraschetti 70, 74). But ferocity may originate in

fear. These are frightened men, who have had to egg each other into

a frenzy and then lash out in fear against whoever may be in the way.

They have no pity for their victims, who are not their equals, as Sturla

Þórðarson uses every opportunity to stress: “Þar var aumligt at heyra

til kvenna ok sárra manna” (1:326) [“It was piteous to hear the women

and the wounded men” (1:225)]. When the party of Þórðr Þorvaldsson

does not ind Sturla in his bed, they become even more frenzied and

attack a priest who defends himself with cushions—another small and

seemingly insigniicant yet revealing detail—until a man with an ignoble

nickname, Snorri saurr [Snorri the shit], interferes and tells them to

leave the priest alone, at which point they attack him instead and wound

him severely.

The din of the attack has already been vividly described and is reiterated

when the point of view moves to Sturla Sighvatsson’s wife and mother-

in-law who awaken: “Þær Sólveig húsfreyja ok Valgerðr, móðir hennar,

vöknuðu í stofunni ok ræddu um, hvárt út myndi at heyra veðurgnýr

eða myndi ófriðr at kominn” (1:327) [“Sólveig, the mistress of the house,

and her mother Valgerðr woke up in their quarters, asking one another

whether they heard the sound of a storm outside or whether an attack

had been launched” (1:225)]. In contrast to the frenzied youths, the two

noble women seem calm and not prone to panic. They send a man to

ind out what has happened, and when he returns severely wounded,

a woman goes in his stead. The calm determination of their actions is

striking. It is only when Þórðr and his men enter that Sólveig is thrown

off balance:

Ok er þeir bræðr Þórðr þóttust vita, at Sturla var eigi í skálanum, gengu

þeir í stofu með logbröndum ok rannsökuðu bæði klefana ok stofuna. Þeir

gengu at hvílu Sólveigar með brugðnum ok blóðgum vápnum ok hristu at

henni ok sögðu, at þar váru þau vápnin, er þeir höfðu litat lokkinn á honum

Dala-Frey með. En af öllu saman, skapraun hennar ok sjúkleika, þá brá

henni nökkut við slík orð.

(1:327)

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(“When Þórðr and his brother were convinced that Sturla was certainly

not in the hall, they went into the main room with their burning brands

and ransacked both the closets and the room. They went up to Sólveig’s

bed-closet with threats, shook their bloody weapons at her, and said

that these were the weapons with which they had colored Dala-Freyr’s

locks. And as this aggravation came on top of her condition, she was a

little startled by these words.” [1:225])

The contrasts are stark: on one side, the bed of the noblewoman who

has just given birth; on the other, the naked and bloody weapons of the

marauders, which they “shake at her” while they compare her husband

with the god Freyr and claim to have killed him. Even though Sólveig

knows Sturla is away, she has just been awakened by the noise, is lying in

the dark of an Icelandic winter, and is suddenly confronted with bloody

weapons. Thus when the author claims that she is a little startled, he

is actually emphasizing her courage, which is not exaggerated beyond

believability and yet is an incredible exercise of restraint.

Her mother, Valgerðr, seems on the other hand to be completely

undaunted and confronts the brothers with the wickedness of their

deed: “er þat mitt hugboð, at til meira dragi um yður skipti, áðr létti,

en þótt þér haið hér unnit á konum ok verkmönnum” (1:327) [“it’s my

guess that in the end you will bring on yourselves greater disasters than

any you have inlicted here on women and servants” (1:226)]. This aged

woman scolds the assailants like naughty children encouraging us to

regard them likewise. This reaction is even more remarkable in light of

the fact that the gang has already wounded several women. There is,

however, a difference between striking out in blind frenzy and delib-

erately attacking a noble widow like her. Valgerðr’s words thus draw

our attention to the unthinking violence we have witnessed. The gang

has managed to kill and wound in a mindless frenzy, but it takes more

to attack a person with whom one has spoken, and there obviously is

a limit to the determination of these men.

After this grim scene, the raiders pillage and break all they can, a fact

the author emphasizes by mentioning a few items that were preserved.

The rings of the two women are saved by a woman who asks one of the

invaders not to take the shrine since it contains ointment: “Hon sagði

ok konu þá, er brjóstin bæði váru af höggvin, yfrit þungt at tekna, þótt

þau næði smyrslum þeim, er til væri. Lét hann þá af hendr ok lézt eigi

vita, hvat hon segði” (1:328) [“She also said that the woman, both of

whose breasts were hewn off, would have suffered enough, even if she

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were able to get the salve which was in the chest. Then he let go of the

chest and said he didn’t know what she was talking about” (1:226)]. The

grim image of the woman with her breasts cut off is probably mentioned

to emphasize the viciousness of this raid. Yet the exchange between the

woman and the attacker demonstrates the vulnerability of the invading

party. The woman actually has the upper hand and salvages the rings

by appealing to the man’s conscience. His reaction is remarkable. He

withdraws and says that he does not know what she is talking about thus

denying responsibility for the mutilated breasts. The ferociousness of

the assault thus stands in contrast to the attackers’ vague and nervous

reactions to their victims who dare to address them. It is implied that the

viciousness lacks conidence. Fear may be the root of their brutality.

When the attackers leave, it is stated again that they “ræntu öllu því,

er þeir kómu höndum á” (1:328) [“ransacked everything they could get

their hands on” (1:226)], and the author/narrator sees it to repeat the

comments made by the general public about the affair:

Þat var mælt, at þeira hýbýla væri mestr munr, hversu gnóglig váru ok góð

fyrir klæða sakir ok annars, áðr þeir kómu um nóttina, ok hversu órækilig ok

fátæk váru, er þeir fóru á brott. Flaut blóð um öll hús, en niðr var steypt drykk

öllum ok spillt öllu því, er þeir máttu eigi með komast.

(1:329)

(“People said then that there had never been greater alteration in any

household than from one so well supplied and so notable in the way

of apparel and the like, before the enemy came in the night, to one so

disordered and ravaged when the enemy left. Blood ran through the

whole house, all drink had been poured out, and everything the enemy

could lay hand on was destroyed.” [1:228])

Thus no pain is spared in demonstrating the wickedness of this deed:

wealth is turned to poverty, drink is spilled, and the beautiful, rich, and

orderly house is turned into bloody chaos.

Þórðr Þorvaldsson again visits Sólveig before he leaves and continues

to threaten her saying that he has only two regrets: he did not ind

her husband, and he could not take her with him. The interest Þórðr

takes in Sólveig suggests that sexual jealousy may have played some

role in the raid. The brothers have previously suggested this possibil-

ity by barging into her room and prematurely announcing the death

of Sturla using a deragotary nickname that likens Sturla to the god of

fertility. Freyr is not a soldier but a farmer and a husband (see Guðrún

Nordal, “Freyr fíldur”). Though not perhaps a Freudian slip, the men-

tion of Dala-Freyr suggests that Þórðr is not only thinking of Sturla as

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a chieftain but as a husband, the husband of Sólveig. Even if Þórðr may

only wish to take Sólveig with him as a trophy or as a means to spite

Sturla (a hazardous and foolish undertaking), it seems more likely that

he is genuinely attracted to her. She is after all a glamourous woman,

who has charmed not only her husband; Snorri Sturluson himself was at

one time her suitor. She would thus arouse some passion in this brutal

youngster, who may well have been raised on tales about mature kings,

young knights in their service, and a lirtatious queen who by adultery

becomes the link between the two men (see Marchello-Nizia; Burrow

160, 165–77). Perhaps Þórðr feels that he himself would be a more worthy

lover for Sólveig, or he sees her only as a link to Sturla, who himself

was a noble and handsome man and worthy of imitation. It seems

like a cynical understatement that there “váru engar vináttukveðjur at

skilnaði” (329) [“were no friendly exchanges at the parting” (1:226–7)],

but perhaps it is necessary to emphasize that the emotions are entirely

on one side.

But whether because of blindness caused by passion or lack of experi-

ence and maturity, the Sauðafell raid proves to be a complete failure.

In spite of the careful planning, Sturla Sighvatsson is not home. What

appeared at irst to be an organized crime is really a bungled attempt by

overzealous juveniles, who may be heroes in their own dreams but not

in the real world. The attack is no less vicious and brutal, however, for

being a clumsy attempt at revenge rather than clever and calculated. The

nature of brutality has to be reconigured: it is much more haphazard

than we may think.

Youth and War

Through his conversations with Sólveig, Þórðr Þorvaldsson is fore-

grounded, but Snorri remains elusive throughout the raid. We are told

that the brothers both went into Sólveig’s chamber with bloody swords.

This move, indeed, seems an immature and juvenile act, not least on part

of Snorri who seems to have no special interest in Sólveig but would rather

be following his brother like a dog, imitating his crude—and probably

warrior-like, from Snorri’s point of view—behavior. Clearly Snorri was

a full ledged participant even though the author does not wish to place

him in the foreground of the scene. And in fact the whole attack would

seem to be more in the spirit of Snorri than Þórðr. While the latter is

perhaps partly motivated by jealousy of Sturla and interest in Sólveig,

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its spirit is more like an exercise in knightly behavior. While the overt

purpose of the attack is revenge, the way it is carried out makes it seem

like a youthful attempt at a great coup. The band is trying to be daring

and heroic in attacking a powerful personality, but they only succeed

in being vicious and cruel. The Sauðafell raid is a bungled attempt at

heroism, and this difference between ideal and reality makes it tragic

in more than one sense.

Georges Duby’s description of the mentality of aristocratic youths in

north-western France during the twelfth century might apply equally

well to Icelandic youths during the tumultuous days of the thirteenth

century. Even though Iceland was without a formal aristocracy, youths

like Þórðr and Snorri would have perceived themselves as aristocrats

coming from a line of potentates. Duby deines the “youth” as “a man,

an adult. He is part of the warrior group; he has received his arms; ....

He is a knight” (198). The “youth” was a wanderer, passing through

a stage of life typically understood in terms of “a period of quest—for

glory and reward in war or, even more, in tournament” (199). He would

spend his time with his friends of the same age. They would be the most

important people in his life, and his strongest emotional attachment

would be to them. In a band of youths, “joy reigned supreme. The

leader spent freely and delighted in sex, gambling, players, horses, and

dogs. Morals were loose. The band’s business, however, was ighting”

(200). According to Duby, “the companies of youth thus formed the

cutting edge of feudal aggressiveness” (200). They were devoted to

violence, formed the organ of aggression and tumult in the body of

chivalric society, and constantly confronted danger. As Duby notes,

“such was the aristocratic ‘youth’ of twelfth-century France: a pack let

loose by noble houses to relieve their surplus of expansive power—off

to conquer glory, proit, and feminine prey” (206). These French youths

were a very dangerous crowd lacking in restraint and prone to exces-

siveness in emotions and behavior. And there was no shortage of tales

of adventures demonstrating to them that war was noble and beauti-

ful and the world a place full of perils where riches and glory could be

sought. To these youths, nothing would be as contemptible as family

life, small comforts, and the unglamourous toil of farmers.

In the literature of England and France, clear expressions of juve-

nile tastes and morality, which sometimes appear as impatience with

the older generation and even aggressiveness toward the more mature

abounds (see Burrow 165–77). This pattern of behavior is not so overt

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in the narrative of the Sauðafell raid, which is written in a dry, factual

style, but a strong youthful presence pervades, and it is no surprise that

this mentality permeates Iceland of the 1220s.

The sons of Þorvaldr were not juvenes in the same sense as their

French counterparts. But as Marchello-Nizia has so aptly put it,

Not every young man in the Middle Ages was necessarily a brave warrior

like Roland or a courtly lover like Lancelot or Tristan. But he would

have heard the names, and possibly the stories, of these epic, courtly

heroes whose adventures pervaded the entire Middle Ages. For even in

churches their stories were represented, in the strained glass windows

and on the capitals of columns. And they were always portrayed as young

men, or at least men who possessed the qualities of youth. (120)

To Roland and Lancelot, we might add the names of Sigurðr Fáfnis-

bani, Kjartan Ólafsson, Gunnar of Hlíðarendi, and others from Old

Norse literature.

Chivalric literature and ideology had reached Iceland when the sons

of Þorvaldr were growing up both inluencing and being inluenced by

the traditional literature that the Icelanders preserved with much more

vigor than their neighbors: the heroic poetry of the Edda and ancient

tales of northern kings and champions, which had for some decades

co-existed with the wonderous tales of courageous saints who suffered

endless torture with fortitude. Given the twelfth-century French aesthetic

posture relected in the literary exaltation of violence and war and called

by some “a poetics of joyful genocide” (see Marchello-Nizia 144), what

could then be said of the peaceful society of Iceland with its abundance

of ancient and violent tales, which welcomed with equal eagerness the

romantic tales of feudalism and the religious heroics of saints?

The pervasiveness and potency of literature are very much at the heart

of Sturla Þórðarson’s narrative of the Sauðafell raid (see Meulengracht

Sørensen 329). We are not told anything about the literature that may

have prompted the brothers’ bungled attempt at heroics. It is not really

necessary for in the raid itself we may discern something of the spirit

behind it. However, after the raid is over, the poet steps forward, and

the narrative ends in ten skaldic stanzas of ten lines. Three are mock

verses that celebrate the fortitude and courage of the killers of Þorbjörg

ysja. She seems to have been an old servant woman and one of the three

killed in the attack. The use of poetry to call attention to the slaying of

such an insigniicant and defenseless woman and to manipulate public

respect leaves the would-be heroes with much less honor than they

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sought. Literature has proved to be an uncertain ally and has turned

against them. The importance of poetry in the narrative also gives a

clear indication of how life is frequently affected by sagas and poetry.

Its power to dominate the thinking of people in this community can

hardly be overestimated.

Teenagers are, of course, dificult in every day and age. Adolescence

is a period of hormonal change and new sensibilities, of new interests,

of growing impatience with dependency, of peers replacing parents as

the acknowledged authority, of restlessness, and of a strong desire to

abandon the past and make something new instead. Even in a peaceful

unarmed society, teenagers are feared and believed to be the source of

instability and loose morals, both today as well as during the Middle Ages

(Hanawalt 124–8). Snorri Þorvaldsson is just such a teenager, but armed

to the teeth with actual weapons and an ideology of feudal warfare, he is

able to do far more mischief than a modern Icelandic teenager. Equally

immature in some ways as today’s adolescents but nourished on tales of

war and adventure, such young men’s wanting to seek glory in war is not

surprising. The raid on Sauðafell demonstrates how futile such dreams

could be. The reality of violence is grim and sordid. In spite of planning,

the raid is a disaster. Throughout the narrative, the inexperience and

vulnerability of the killers shine through. Their viciousness appears to

originate in part in fear and lack of conidence. A similar combination

of naive idealism and lack of any real organization is exactly what leads

to the downfall of the brothers from Vatnsfjo˛rðr three years later.

The Ugly Face of Death

Þórðr and Snorri have no alternative but to seek reconciliation with

Sturla and pay him compensation for their assault. Nevertheless, many

friends of Sturla encourage him to settle the score in blood, but he

remains aloof. Three years later, when the brothers are on their way to

visit Snorri Sturluson, they are warned against traveling through the

region without irst going to Sturla as a sign of their friendship toward

him. Þórðr chooses not to go as he is worried about what people will

say if they change their travel plans. His brother Snorri, now eighteen,

offers no advice but “eigi munum vér leynast um Dali” (1:348) [“we aren’t

going to sneak through the Dales” (1:249)]. He sounds like the noble

and heroic Kjartan Ólafsson from Laxdœla saga and probably intends

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to speak like a hero from the sagas (see Meulengracht Sørensen 331).

But his heroic ease is contrived. The next morning, he seems nervous

and has to be encouraged to continue by his brother: “um morgininn

snemma stóðu Vatnsirðingar upp í Hjarðarholti, ok kvað Snorri margt

hafa fyrir borit um nóttina. Þórðr kvað ekki marka skyldu drauma ok

bað þá ríða” (1:348) [“early in the morning the Vatnsirðings rode up to

Hjarðarholt and Snorri said he had dreamed greatly during the night.

Þórðr said he shouldn’t pay any attention to dreams and bade him ride

on” (1:249)]. In spite of the boldness of Snorri’s retorts, he had not slept

well that last night of his short life. The audience cannot fail to notice

this discrepancy and note the fact that the boy is still a mere teenager

and probably no less frightened than at Sauðafell three years earlier,

though deinitely less angry.

The same uneasiness shines through the talk of the brothers’ party

as they ride past Sturla’s abode: “Ísirðingar töluðu um, er þeir riðu

fyrir neðan bæinn, at þar væri allt kyrrligt ok fámennt væri heima” (1:

349) [“the men from Ísafjörðr talked about how quiet everything was

and how few men were at home” (1:250)]. This nervous debate invites

comparison with their bravado three years earlier when they attacked

this same farmstead at a time when an equally small number were asleep.

This time their contrived courage is evidently gone, and their fear of

Sturla does not make them murderous, merely weak and indecisive.

When Sturla begins following the brothers, they notice him from

afar but fail to react. We see them debating what these men behind

them could possibly want, but they never reach a conclusion. Sturla,

however, is past debating and knows exactly what he wants:

Þeir tala um við stakkgarðinn, hvárt mannaför væri upp með fjallinu....

Þeim bræðrum varð margtalat um mannaferðina.... En Þórðr lagði þat til,

at Snorri riði undan inum bezta hesti,—kallaði sér þat vænst til griða, ef

hann bæri undan. En er þeir töluðu þetta, bar þá Sturlu at til hlíðarinnar

fyrir ofan garðinn. Fór þá sem jafnan, at þeim verðr seint um tiltekjur, er

ór vöndu eigu at ráða. En hina bar skjótt at, er öruggir váru í sinni ætlan,

en skunduðu þó ferðinni.

(1:350)

(“They talked there by the stackyard, wondering who might be the group

of men up there along the mountainside.... The brothers talked a good

deal about the men going past.... But Þórðr suggested that Snorri ride

away on the best hourse; he said that their chance for a truce was best

if he got away. As they were discussing this, Sturla [and his men] came

to the hillside above the yard. Matters were taking a familiar course:

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those who were in a tight spot were slow to make up their minds, but

those who knew what they wanted acted swiftly.” [1:250–1])

The small group demonstrates no more aggression than had the people

at Sauðafell three years earlier. If their swift action then proved ineficient

in the end, they now demonstrate another kind of ineficiency. They

talk, discuss, and debate but cannot make up their mind as to what to

do. Þórðr demonstrates his affection for his young brother by wanting

him to escape, and he certainly has a point in that Snorri, if still alive,

might well be his best life insurance in terms of the possibility of revenge.

However, Snorri’s heroic ethics do not admit to this course of action:

no self-respecting young warrior can run from a ight.

The ensuing battle is no more heroic than the Sauðafell raid itself.

The brothers and their small group are not offered clemency, do not

stand a chance, and get nothing from Sturla but a priest to hear their

confession. In fact, he treats them more as prisoners soon to be executed

than opponents in a fair ight. Snorri Þorvaldsson was in the background

during the Sauðafell raid, but now the author takes the opportunity to

describe him at length:

Snorri var átján vetra. Hann var vænn maðr ok ljóss á hár ok rétthárr ok

vel vaxinn ok kurteiss í ferð, hár meðalmaðr at jöfnum aldri ok fræknligr,

heitfastr ok fagrorðr ok kallaði mjök sinn þá, er hann talaði við, óhlutdeilinn,

en ef hann lagði nökkut til, varð hann at ráða, við hvern er hann átti, ella

fylgði ber óhæfa.

(1:351)

(“Snorri was then eighteen years old. He was a handsome man with

straight, fair hair, well-grown and courteous in conduct; a man of more-

than-average height for his age; valiant, true to his word, and fair-spoken;

he called many to whom he talked “my”; he was a man who kept free

of most affairs, but if he did make a suggestion, his suggestion had to

prevail, or calamity would ensue.” [1:251–2])

In spite of his obvious faults, he is certainly a handsome young man

with considerable charm. Þórðr is equally agreeable with large eyes but

an ugly nose and said to be gentle and well-spoken—not characteris-

tics we would deduce from the butchery at Sauðafell. Some of their

companions are handsome, but others stocky, nearsighted, short, or

with a protruding mouth. These somewhat unlattering descriptions

serve to highlight the realism of the whole narrative. If those present

are not all splendid and beautiful, we have more faith in the balanced

but agreeable description of Snorri Þorvaldsson.

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In the battle, Snorri Þorvaldsson defends the spot most dificult

to attack, and therein Þórðr’s concern for him is revealed once more.

He and Þórðr behave with dignity but again spout sentences from the

mouth of Kjartan Ólafsson: “þeir vildu með engu móti upp gefast,

sögðu, at þá væri lítit til frásagnar” (1:352) [“not on any account would

they surrender; they said that would not make a very good tale” (1:252)]

(see Meulengracht Sørensen 329). Snorri Þorvaldsson is impatient, and

tries to goad Sturla Sighvatsson into attacking at once saying that they

are ready and waiting. In this, he betrays his nervousness and in fact he

keeps talking throughout the battle, which is not a sign of a calm and

level-headed ighter. He calls Sturla Dala-Freyr again deiantly repeating

the sexual insult from the Sauðafell raid but, when offered the chance,

he refuses to rise to the challenge and ight the young Hallr Arason in

single combat. In contrast, Þórðr Þorvaldsson is quiet and composed

and seems far more mature than he had been at the raid three years

earlier. At that time, he was in the foreground, but now the focus is on

young Snorri.

Sturla Sighvatsson seems a sinister igure throughout the scene, makes

jokes, and appears rather to enjoy his revenge. His cruelty is less vicious

than that of the brothers at the Sauðafell raid, but on the other hand

more deliberate and calculated. He refuses Þórðr Þorvaldsson’s offer

to go into exile much to the chagrin of many of his men, who say it is

noble to accept such a handsome offer from good and valiant men. In

answer, Sturla keeps silent at irst but then recites a verse chiding one

of his men for speaking of such things.

Þórðr Þorvaldsson surrenders after having been hit on the head with

rocks. His execution is even more sordid since it involves a wounded

man. He and all his men—except for the youngster Snorri—surrender:

“Eftir þat gáfu þeir upp vörnina í garðinum ok seldu af höndum vápnin

allir nema Snorri Þorvaldsson. Hann lét sér mjök ógetit at, er þeir gáfust

upp” (1:356) [“And after that those inside the yard gave up their defense

and all their weapons, apart from Snorri Þorvaldsson, who acted as if

their surrender had nothing to do with him” (1:257)]. For someone

of Snorri’s mentality, surrendering is impossible. He acts and speaks

as if he is none other than Kjartan Ólafsson defending himself against

an army of attackers by killing and wounding a large number of them

with his ine sword. But even if it had been gratifying for a young man

to identify himself with the heroes of romance or saga, these literary

traditions turn out to have mainly a compensatory nature for such a

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youth (see Marchello-Nizia 163). In reality, young Snorri has killed

no one and only manages to hurt two with a rock, a weapon Kjartan

and other saga heroes rarely used (see Ármann Jakobsson, “Sannyrði”

49–54). His stance is more pathetic than heroic.

In place of a saga hero, we see a callow and frightened eighteen-year-

old who knows how to speak “heroese,” but in reality his greatest feat

has been to attack a farm full of defenseless people at night. He now

faces a humiliating execution rather than a heroic defense against greater

numbers.

And the scene gets even uglier:

Snorri Þorvaldsson settist á hornit garðsins með vápnum sínum. Þá gekk

Hermundr at ok sveilaði til hans með öxi, ok kom á knéit, svá at nær tók af

fótinn. Hann hrataði af garðinum ok kom niðr standandi, ok varð undir

honum sá hlutr fótarins, er af var höggvinn. Hann þreifaði til stúfsins ok

leit til ok brosti við ok mælt1: “Hvar er nú fótrinn minn?”

Þórðr, bróðir hans, sá til ok mælti til Þórðar Heinrekssonar: “Gekk þú til

sveinsins ok ver í hjá honum.”

Hann blés við ok fór eigi.

Halldórr mælti í því, er Hermundr hjó: “Illt högg ok ómannligt.”

Sturla svarað1: “Þat var gott högg ok drengiligt.” Sturla bað Þórð þá

niðr leggjast.

(1:356)

(“Snorri Þorvaldsson sat on the corner of the yard with his weapons.

Hermundr went up to him and swung his axe at him; he struck the

knee so that the leg nearly came off. Snorri tumbled down from the

wall feet irst, but beneath him was the piece of his leg which had been

struck off. He felt the stump with his hand, then felt about, smiled,

and said: ‘Where is my foot now?’

His brother Þórðr looked at him and said to Þórðr Heinreksson:

‘Go to the lad and stand near him.’

He snorted but did not go. Halldór broke out just as Hermundr

struck: ‘A poor, unmanly stroke.’

Sturla replied: ‘It was a good and manly stroke.’ Then he bade Þórðr

lie down.” [1:257])

Sturla Þórðarson does not spare his audience. Having carefully displayed

the youthful idealism of Snorri Þorvaldsson and his eagerness for hero-

ics alongside his fears and worries, he now shows him resting from the

exhaustion resulting from an exercise in rock throwing. Even though he

has not formally surrendered or laid down his weapons, the assault comes

when he is past ighting rendering it indeed an evil and inhuman blow.

Then we are presented with a variety of reactions. Snorri’s smile

is most striking. Even though it is possible that the pain had not yet

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overtaken him, this reaction is astounding and, ironically, heroic. It is

impossible for an audience reared on the sagas not to see this as a last-

minute victory for the young man, who inally snatches some heroism

from the jaws of humbling defeat. Against this background, we observe

his older brother’s obvious concern for the “lad” as he calls him, thus

reminding both those present and the audience of Snorri’s youth. It

has been strongly implied that at this stage Þórðr must be almost fully

incapacitated by the last blow to his head, and yet his thoughts are of

his brother. Juxtaposed to this concern is the indifference audible in

the snort of his companion who apparently is not wounded and whose

life is not threatened. We have the intellectual response of Halldór of

Kvennabrekka who makes his saga-like judgment on the blow and the

cool cruelty of Sturla, whose comment deies the code of saga literature.

He subsequently goes from bad to worse by ordering his humbled

opponent to lie down and await execution. Three blows are needed to

end Þórðr’s life, further evidence of Sturla’s brutality.

Þórðr’s execution must be a kind of torture to his teenage brother.

Þórðr’s concern for Snorri has emerged clearly in the scene. In the raid

on Sauðafell, Snorri seemed to follow his lead, and the brothers are

usually spoken of together. The author has thus used a variety of small

signs to imply a close and loving relationship making Snorri even more

heroic in the end as he manages not to react to the grotesque execution

of his brother:

Snorri, bróðir hans, sá á þessa atburði ok brá sér eigi við. Þar stóð alþýða í

hjá, er Þórðr var veginn. Hermundr snaraði þá fyrir garðshornit með reidda

öxi ok þar at, er Snorri sat. Hann brá upp hendinni ok mælt1: “Högg þú mik

eigi, ek vil tala nökkut áðr.” Hermundr hafði it sama riðit ok hjó á hálsinn,

svá at nær tók af höfuðit, svá at eigi helt meira en reipshaldi. Annarri hendi

hjó hann til.

(1:357)

(“Snorri, his brother, watched this event and did not show any reaction.

A lot of people stood nearby, while Þórðr was killed. Hermundr turned

about in the corner of the yard with raised axe and moved toward Snorri,

who lifted his hand and said: ‘Don’t kill me, for I have something to say

irst.’ At the same instance Hermundr struck at his neck, so that it nearly

took off his head, which was held on by no more than the thickness of

a rope. He struck with one hand.” [1:257–8])

Snorri’s own execution is no less brutal and grotesque with its graphic

details about how the head dangled from the body (see Guðrún Nordal,

Ethics and Action

205–8). Most remarkable are Snorri’s restraint and his

ignored wish to speak. One must assume that this speech would have

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been in the language of heroes. The lack of respect for the last wish of

the condemned man leaves Sturla in even worse light than before even

though he did not actually instruct Hermundr to do it as he did—espe-

cially since Snorri has been carefully portrayed as a youngster, almost

a minor. Interestingly, however, the promptness with which Snorri is

killed makes his dying words strangely similar to those of his famous

namesake and ally, Snorri Sturluson, some years later.

After the death of the Vatnsirðings, Sólveig remarks that the brothers

should have been able to recall their own cruelty at Sauðafell. Snorri

Sturluson is annoyed but nevertheless makes up with Sturla and then

goes on to make Vatnsfjo˛rðr his own dependency. Thus the sons of

Þorvaldr depart from the saga.

This ugly scene of death is so meticulously drawn by Sturla Þórðarson

that it has an effect similar to slow motion in a ilm (see Meulengracht

Sørenen 329). With the Sauðafell raid narrative, it completes a couplet

in the Íslendinga saga and may also be juxtaposed to Sturla Sighvats-

son’s own tragic death at Ørlygsstaðir later in the saga (see Ármann

Jakobsson,“Sannyrði” 61–71; see also Úlfar Bragason “Hetjudauði”). A

comparison of the two scenes reveals a shift in the authorial sympathy.

If the description of the Sauðafell raid seems sympathetic to the victims,

one senses an equally strong sympathy toward the Vatnsirðings when

they themselves are slain. Even though Sturla Sighvatsson strikes us as

villainous at the slaying of the Vatnsirðings, the situation is different

when it comes to the battle at Ørlygsstaðir. On that occasion, he himself

is equally slow to take action as the Vatnsirðings in their dying hours,

and he is subsequently killed with equal brutality.

Íslendinga saga is, of course, a story of war. In the saga generally and

in particular in the narrative concerning the Vatnsirðings, we are faced

with both the ideology and the reality of war and of chivalry. In spite of

the chivalric ideal, which ennobled the chivalric way of life, the business

of knights was nevertheless war, which is perhaps best illustrated in the

fact that knights played war games whenever they were not ighting.

Violence and death were thus very much a part of the life for a medieval

European warrior. And perhaps because of the proximity of youth and

death, this was a time of emotional excess. Crying and fainting, merri-

ment and pity, which went hand in hand with rage, aggressiveness, and

violence, abounded. Medieval warriors often behaved with some of the

abandon commonly associated with youths and indeed were scolded

for it by some clerical authors. A warrior was expected to ignore death,

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at least that of others, and to enjoy life all the more. But according to

this warrior ideology, excessive cruelty was not only for outlaws but

a necessary part of the makeup of a professional killer (Elias, 157–76;

Huizinga, 9–11 and 22–5; see also Jaeger). In spite of the restraint of Sturla

Þórðarson’s narrative, the same excesses can be noted in the depiction

of the killings at Sauðafell and the subsequent revenge of Sturla: on

one hand, sympathy for the victims and on the other, an obsession with

the details of their humiliation and death almost to a sado-masochistic

degree (see Cohen 152–66; Gade). The scene may be colored by the

mentality of the Vatnsirðings themselves: in the absence of authorial

comment, the audience must draw its clues from the behavior of the

people involved. But perhaps some of the young Sturla Þórðarson shines

through in the old Sturla’s writings. It is not impossible that he once

sympathized with and admired the Vatnsirðings.

Snorri’s youth is the crux of this scene. His death is all the more

striking for his being a restless young man, and his youthful attempts

at heroics, his anxiety, his impatience, and his aristocratic pride, along

with his habit of saying “my” to his interlocutor combine to make him

seem more vivid than anyone else portrayed. He is at the same time

pathetic in his vulnerability, comic in his attempts at heroic grandeur,

and all too human in his anxiety and his restlessness. The audience is

made to feel both superior to him and yet akin at the same time as

he fails to conceal his emotions behind his aristocratic haughtiness.

Thus the pathos of the scene is maximized. We cannot but take part

in Snorri Þorvaldsson’s death and die with him at the stockyard near

Sauðafell.

Narrating a Life and an Age

Youth has many faces, some of which are presented to us in medieval

sagas. In Flóres saga ok Blankilúr, we meet innocent, thoughtless, and

triumphant young love that disregards parental authority and chooses

its own path (see Ármann Jakobsson, “Uppreisn æskunnar”), whereas

the protagonist of Gunnlaugs saga may be interpreted as an immature

problem-child in love (see Sverrir Tómasson). In many of the Sagas of

the Icelanders, we see a younger generation revolting against paren-

tal authority and inding their own values (see Schach)—in the case

of Hallfreðar saga only to discover a new father igure in King Óláfr

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Tryggvason (see Kalinke). There are examples of rebellious children

(see Ármann Jakobsson, “Troublesome Children”) and, more com-

monly, of young men whose values and attitudes are different from

their parents. In the episodes about the sons of Þorvaldr in Íslendinga

saga,

we meet youth at war. We see the cruelty and viciousness, which

arise from lack of conidence combined with fear, lack of restraint, and

the ill-fated and senseless quest for saga-like heroics. But we are also

faced with the vulnerability of youth, and inally we witness the end

of a dream: these Icelandic upper-class young men want to be a band

of chivalric warriors who are brave and courteous and perform heroic

deeds, but the only kind of heroics available to them is to smile at the

ugly face of death. As Meulengracht Sørensen observes, the cause of

death is hearing too many heroic tales.

There are other cases of youths taking part in the battles of Sturlun-

gaöld. Apart from Snorri, Guðmundr Ormsson in Svínfellinga saga is

portrayed vividly. He seems an amiable young man who is drawn into the

feud of his brother Sæmundr and his foster-father O˛gmundr Helgason.

When he is ifteen, Guðmundr intervenes in a dispute between them

asking Sæmundr to stop harassing his fosterfather. Shortly after, he is

asked to a social gathering at Svínafell. His aunt, Steinunn, O˛gmundr’s

wife, asks him not to go, but he does so anyway, and Sæmundr speaks

to him at length at this party. Shortly thereafter, Guðmundr leaves his

fosterfather and the next winter takes part in an attack at Kirkjubær in

spite of the protestations of his mother. The attack fails, and Guðmundr

speaks to his foster-father in a way that indicates that the he is completely

under the spell of his older brother.

Sæmundr pays compensation for the raid. Nevertheless, after the

death of Steinunn, O˛gmundr ambushes the brothers and executes them.

Sæmundr is executed irst, but Guðmundr sings psalms in the meantime

and “fann engi maðr, at hann brygði sér nökkut við þessi tíðindi—annan

veg en hann kvað nökkut harðara at orðunum en áðr. Þá var hann átján

vetra” (2:100) [“no one could discern that he was in any way affected

by these events, except that he spoke the words somewhat more irmly

than before. He was then eighteen years old” (2:339)]. Like Snorri Þor-

valdsson, he tries to act like a hero in death even though he had been

a villain in life, and he even smiles when he lies down to be executed.

And yet, again like Snorri, he has a moment of weakness and asks his

foster-father to spare him: “Gott væri enn at lifa, ok vilda ek grið, fóstri”

(2:100) [“it would be good to live on, and I ask for clemency, foster

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father” (2:339)]. As when the Vatnsirðings were killed, there are some

who show their disapproval at the killings.

Even if Guðmundr has not had a propensity to use “my,” he behaves

so much like Snorri Þorvaldsson as to allow us to speak of the war-

rior youth as a type. Like Snorri, Guðmundr is the author of his own

misfortunes although his is a clearer case of the manipulation of an

impressionable young man by a brother. And even if we see him both

as aggressor and victim, he enjoys considerable sympathy. The message

might be that in spite of the ideals of these callow warriors, war is really

no place for teenagers.

This impression is strenghtened by other episodes in Íslendinga saga.

The sons of Gizurr Þorvaldsson are killed at the burning of Flugumýri

just after a wedding. They are mere teenagers, and Sturla uses their youth

to emphasize the viciousness of the assault. The oldest, Hallr, who has

just become Sturla’s son-in-law, is killed while trying to escape from

the ire. It is explicitly stated that he is “fáklæddr” (1:491) [“not fully

clothed” (1:400)] and that the cold entered his wound. The youngest,

Ketilbjo˛rn, only fourteen years old, has his hand struck off before he

perishes in the ire. The second, Ísleifr, has been seen at the wedding

feast with Hrafn Oddsson, who later betrays Gizurr: “drukku af einu

silfrkeri ok minntust við jafnan um daginn, er hvárr drakk til annars”

(1:483) [“they drank from the same silver goblet, saluting one another

with a kiss as each drank to the other” (1:392)]. Later we see Ísleifr car-

ried out of the ire: “Þá var borinn út á skildi Ísleifr Gizurarson, ok var

hans ekki eftir nema búkrinn steiktr innan í brynjunni” (1:494) [“Ísleifr

Gizurarson was borne out on his shield, and there was nothing left of

his body except the torso, roasted inside his byrnie” (1:403)]. Gizurr

cries mightily when he sees this tragic end. It is not least the youth of

the sons of Gizurr that makes their death so tragic. Sturla Þórðarson is

again making the same point: youth is life, and war is death, and the

two should be conjoined.

Young men are thus mainly presented as victims of the war in Stur-

lunga saga.

Even though the Vatnsirðings are the aggressors in the

Sauðafell raid, they, too, are later perceived as victims. Their behavior

at the raid may suggest that they always were victims of their own

dream. It has been argued that Sturla Þórðarson’s Íslendinga saga and

some other sagas of the Sturlunga compilation, such as Þorgils saga ok

Haliða

and Svínfellinga saga, demonstrate the folly of war and the need

for peace (see Jón Jóhannesson; Gunnar Karlsson; Guðrún Nordal, “Eitt

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sinn skal hverr deyja”; Ármann Jakobsson, “Sannyrði”; Tranter; Sverrir

Jakobsson). The point becomes very clear when we are presented with

young men who misguidedly seek war. Some obviously seek the kind

of glory exalted in sagas and poetry, but ind out that there is no glory

in war, even if courage in death is possible. Snorri Þorvaldsson does

not manage to perform a single heroic deed except to smile and joke

when his foot is cut off from under him. That loss is his tragedy, and

not only his, but also that of his country, his age, and his generation.

Snorri is representative of a “lost generation” of Icelanders who wasted

their whole youth in futile war including the author of Íslendinga saga,

Sturla Þórðarson.

Sturla Þórðarson spent most of his adult life trying to be a magnate

in the Commonwealth, until fate drove him as King Hákon’s enemy to

Norway where he managed to turn the tables on fortune and became

the leading oficial of the new regime. In his old age and as a royal

oficial, he composed Íslendinga saga (see Ármann Jakobsson, “San-

nyrði” and “Hákon Hákonarson”). This is a story of his own age and

of necessity semi-autobiographical although Sturla is dispassionate,

seems at irst objective, and always refers to himself in the third person

(see Ciklamini; Úlfar Bragason, “Sturla Þórðarson”). When describing

Snorri Þorvaldsson and his fate, the narrative is close to Sturla himself.

Snorri may have been the irst of Sturla’s peers who turned to war as

well as the irst to be killed. The brutality of the event must have both

stunned and fascinated the young Sturla, when he irst heard the tale of

the death of the Vatnsirðings, which he was to cast in a literary context

almost ifty years later.

It was Sturla Þórðarson’s fate to grow old in the service of the king

of Norway, while Snorri Þorvaldsson remained forever young and vivid

in the memory of Sturla the historian who recalls and tells us how he

spoke to others (perhaps even to Sturla himself). To the old Sturla, his

ugly death epitomized the waste of an age of war, and his life becomes

a parable of eager, idealistic, vicious, and stupid youth. Thus Snorri’s

death remains beautiful and horrible at the same time, like the age

depicted in the Sturlunga saga.

Scandinavian Studies

Snorri’s Death

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