Viking Age Amulets in Scandinavia and Western Europe 9781407307138, 9781407337135

Table of contents :
Blank Page
Front Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Summary
Foreword
Table of Contents
Part 1: Background and Context
Part 2: Theory
Part 3: The Individual Pieces: Type-Based Analyses
Part 4: The Individual Pieces: Material-Based Analyses
Part 5: The Amulets in Find-Contexts: Graves, Hoards, Settlements and Stray Finds
Part 6: The Amulets in Find-Contexts: Amulet-Combinations
Part 7: General Patterns: Geographical Variation
Part 8: General Patterns: Social Variation
Part 9: Summary and Conclusion
References

Citation preview

l na tio ne di nli ad l o ith ria W ate m

BAR S2169 2010  JENSEN  VIKING AGE AMULETS IN SCANDINAVIA AND WESTERN EUROPE

Viking Age Amulets in Scandinavia and Western Europe Bo Jensen

BAR International Series 2169 9 781407 307138

B A R

2010

Viking Age Amulets in Scandinavia and Western Europe

Bo Jensen

BAR International Series 2169 2010

Published in 2016 by BAR Publishing, Oxford BAR International Series 2169 Viking Age Amulets in Scandinavia and Western Europe © B Jensen and the Publisher 2010 The author's moral rights under the 1988 UK Copyright, Designs and Patents Act are hereby expressly asserted. All rights reserved. No part of this work may be copied, reproduced, stored, sold, distributed, scanned, saved in any form of digital format or transmitted in any form digitally, without the written permission of the Publisher.

ISBN 9781407307138 paperback ISBN 9781407337135 e-format DOI https://doi.org/10.30861/9781407307138 A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library BAR Publishing is the trading name of British Archaeological Reports (Oxford) Ltd. British Archaeological Reports was first incorporated in 1974 to publish the BAR Series, International and British. In 1992 Hadrian Books Ltd became part of the BAR group. This volume was originally published by Archaeopress in conjunction with British Archaeological Reports (Oxford) Ltd / Hadrian Books Ltd, the Series principal publisher, in 2010. This present volume is published by BAR Publishing, 2016.

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Summary 200 years of antiquarian and archaeological and archaeological interest has generated an archive of some 1350 Viking Age amulets. These objects are manufactured from a variety of materials, most often metals, and were often, but not always, worn as pendants. However, all are miniatures, objects shaped like something else – tools, weapons, animals, people, or more abstract religious symbols, including hammers and crosses. They can be understood as material symbols which gained meaning through reference to phenomena beyond themselves – real animals, people and so on. I argue that this symbolism must be understood within a religious frame of reference. Previous archaeological research into Viking Age religion has suffered from an uncritical acceptance of written sources that are late, biased and geographically isolated. Since religion is also behaviour in the world, there is no intrinsic reason why texts should be a better source of information that should artefacts. As an archaeological material, the corpus of amulets has a history of recovery. Analysis of times of recovery for different types of contexts reveals how the composition of the archaeological archive changes. Contemporary texts highlight the different priorities and interests, which in turn shaped research strategies. Thus, it is clear that the archive cannot be isolated from its own history. The archive represents a real, but partial record of what existed in the past. The history of recovery throws light on how the archive is partial. The present study examines the various types, materials and contexts of the amulets. It documents how amulet types have different dates and distributions, suggesting that religious practise changed through time. Some of this change may be due to influences from Christian Europe, but this may not explain everything. In any case, the chronology and distribution of amulets suggest that late, Norse sources may not be perfectly suited for understanding all amulets everywhere in the Viking world. I divide contexts into four types, graves, hoards, settlement finds and stray finds. Amulets in graves do not appear to reflect accidental inclusions of whatever the living used, but were rather selected carefully to answer needs specific to the dead. Many burial amulets are made of iron, and may have been made specifically for burial. Silver is largely absent, and may have been part of collective, rather than individual wealth. Hoard finds are dominated by silver. Viking Age silver hoards seem to be explicable in purely economic terms. There seems no reason to regard these hoards as ritual or sacral in any way. Settlement finds cluster on a few important sites, including Hedeby, Helgö, Birka and Tissø. Unfortunately, these sites do not compare readily with each other, and no clear pattern of intersite distribution appears. Most settlement finds are made from supposedly cheap materials, including iron and lead, suggesting that the amulets selected for graves and hoards do not represent everything. At least part of the settlement material seems to have been intentionally deposited. Stray finds highlight the influence of post-depositional factors. Much may originate in other contexts, and stray simply due to accident or poor recording. However, the stray finds also contain unreasonable amounts of copper-alloys, suggesting that this material cannot simply represent accidental strays from other contexts. Rather, amulets of copperalloy, especially, must have been used in activities that did not centre on burial, hoarding or settlement. Possibly, these amulets were specifically deposited at sites away from the settlements. Finally, I offer some tentative suggestions for how to relate amulet studies with emergent archaeological theory on personhood and the landscape. I analyse craftsmanship in some detail, and argue that a wide variety of different situations existed. Some craftspeople were clients of the elite, others free traders, and there is little reason to think that they were uniformly credited with supernatural gifts.

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Foreword This text is adapted from my Ph.D.-thesis, written at the University of Copenhagen in the period 2005-2008 and rewritten in English in 2009. The work has received a decidedly mixed reception from colleagues, which is only what I should expect: I am dissatisfied with much of what gets written in Viking Age archaeology, and I think many archaeologists are entirely too uncritical in how they use written sources. We have a body of sources, most of them very late, very North-Western, and all of them very difficult to understand, and I see archaeologists rush in where historians and linguists fear to tread. I have not minced words in expressing my concern over this, and my esteemed colleagues have not minced words in explaining to me that they disagree. In particular, many seem so in love with the game of speculative interpretation that they will accept no methodological critique that forecloses that option. The idea that archaeologists should actually base our work on the sort of sources and facts we know best has proven remarkably unpopular, while the idea that we might actually read some theory not pre-digested by our Cambridge colleagues has been received as virtual heresy. I am increasingly concerned that Scandinavian Iron Age archaeology is turning into a house of straw built on the quicksand of silent agreement. There seems to be an unhealthy fashion for accepting interpretations simply on the say so of our excavators, and for skipping actual argumentation. I cannot but think this imprudent. That said, I must thank the people who opened their doors and especially their archives to me when I collected my catalogue. I must also thank those who discussed these issues with me. Most particularly, I must thank Dr. Ulla Lund Hansen, my chief supervisor and Dr. Morten Warmind, my supporting supervisor, for their help, critique and patience. In addition, I must thank: Florian Huber, whose unpublished Magisterarbeit was invaluable; Maria Baastrup, Dr. Niels Engberg, Helga Schütze, Jytte Høstmark and Dr. Lars Jørgensen at Nationalmuseet, Copenhagen; Claus Feveile, Antikvarisk Samling, Ribe; Finn Ole Nielsen, Bornholms Museum; Everyone at ATA and Informationstorget, Östra Stället, Stockholm; Dr. Tim Pestell at Norwich Castle Museum; Dr. Caroline Wingfield at Saffron Walden Museum; Dr. Mike Enfield and Dr. Kevin Leahy at Lincolnshire Museum, Scunthorpe; Dr. Maeve Sikora and Dr. Anthony Halpin at the National Museum of Ireland, Kildare Street; Dr. Alison Sheridan at the Museum of Scotland; Dr. Laura Coates at Leicester Museum; Dr. John Clarke at the Museum of London; Dr. Barry Agder at the British Museum; Kathryn Piquette and James Doeser at University College London, both of whom earned their Ph.D.s after we first met – congratulations!Magdalena Feliz at the University of Lodz; Dr. Andres Dorbat at Århus University; Maria Dahlström at Museum Gustavanium; Mikael Henriksson at Helsingborg Museum; Birgitta Petersson at Stockholms Stadsmuseum; Niels Haue at Nordjyllands Historiske Museum, Ålborg; Inger Storli, at Tromsø Museum; Anna Stalberg at Tronheim Museum Åsa D. Hauken, Stavanger Museum Ingrid Landmark, Heid Gjørstein Resi and Mette Hilde, and everyone else I met at Universitetets Oldsakssamling, Oslo; Dr. Torun Zachrisson at Stockholms Universitet; Frau Dr.Ulbricht and her colleagues at Sloß Gottorf; Dr. Jörn Staecker (then) at Gotlands Högskola; And again, Dr. Ulla Lund Hansen and Dr. Morten Warmind, my supervisiors. On a practical note, the catalogue is presented as an Access database. Those who truly need paper are advised to design their own reports from the database. Any standard report becomes prohibitively long and dull, and given the current state of the world’s environment, we are probably better off with only the hard-copies that we truly need.

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The easiest way to use the database is to open the formula “sites”. Here, users can search for specific place-names or other relevant criteria. Information about individual contexts with the site (e.g. graves on a grave-field) appears in the nested sub-formula, and information about individual amulets in these contexts in a sub-formula nested within this one. Users can scroll through the subformulas using the arrows at the bottom or standard scrolling functions.

Please note that the database is available to download from www.barpublishing.com/additional-downloads.html

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Contents Part 1: Background and context 1) Introduction 1.1) The structure of the work 1.2) Method: discipline rather than interdisciplinary approaches 1.3) Delimitation: what are “Viking Age amulets”? Typological delimitation: amulets as miniatures and (pendant) jewellery A problematisation of the term “amulet” Dubious amulets Chronological delimitation Geographical and cultural delimitation 1.4) A preliminary description of the body of Viking Age amulets 1.5) Some conventions

1 1 2 2 5 5 7 8 10 11 11 12

Part 2: Theory 2.1) A theoretical approach to symbolism: post-structuralist semiotics Symbolic objects, symbolic actions “Ritual” without “religion” A methodological approach to archaeology as a source for religion Summary: amulets as source for the Viking Age world of ideas 2.2) Epistemology: scientific institutions and “the archaeological archive” Find-histories as examples of epistemology Regions and periods as discursive institutions in epistemology 2.3) Archaeology, written sources and interdisciplinarity Emic and etic, and John Moreland’s model for understanding of the past in the present “Always already known narratives” and the written sources 2.4) Summary

13 13 14 16 16 16 17 18 22 24 25 26 29

Part 3: The individual pieces: type-based analyses 3.1) Masks 3.2) Human figurines “Valkyries” and women’s figurines Men’s figurines Legs Human figurines as group 3.3) Animal figurines Snake figurines Other animal figurines Summary on snakes and other animal figurines 3.4) Miniature weapons Miniature weapons: axes Miniature weapons: spears and swords Miniature weapons: shields Miniature weapons as whole 3.5) Miniature tools Miniature tools: sickles and scythes Miniature tools: strike-a-lights Miniature tools (?): Staff-rings Summary on miniature tools 3.6) Chairs 3.7) Miniature wheels 3.8) Bowls, sieves and spoons 3.9) Thor’s hammers and Thor’s hammer rings 3.10) Crosses

30 30 32 32 34 35 36 37 37 39 42 42 43 45 49 51 52 52 54 56 58 58 63 63 65 74

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3.11) Supposed ambiguous Thor’s hammers and crosses 3.12) Capsules and “scare-men” 3.13) Anchors 3.14) Lunulae 3.15) Summary

75 76 78 80 80

Part 4: The individual pieces: material-based analyses 4.1) Materials in the Viking Age frame of reference 4.2) Post-depositional factors for materials 4.3) Craftsmanship and materials 4.4) Specific materials 4.5) Gold 4.6) Silver 4.7) Bronze and copper-alloys 4.8) Iron 4.9) Lead – and tin? 4.10) Amber and jet 4.11) Other materials? 4.12) Summary on materials 4.13) Summary and chapter conclusion

85 85 85 85 86 87 87 88 89 90 91 92 93 93

Part 5: The amulets in find-contexts: graves, hoards, settlements and stray finds 5.1) General circumstances National differences The empiric format in the next sections 5.2) Graves and amulets in graves Conditions of finding and reporting Viking Age graves, general discussion Viking Age grave goods, general discussion Amulets in Viking Age graves, specific observations Amulets in Viking Age graves, other specific observations The age and sex of the dead The placing of the amulets in the inhumations Section conclusion 5.3) Hoards and amulets in hoards Conditions of finding and reporting The economical aspects of the Viking Age silver hoards “Odin’s law” and the interpretation of the silver hoards as offerings Summary of the discussion of the Viking Age hoards Interpretations of amulets in Viking Age hoards Amulets in Viking Age hoards, specific observations Section conclusion 5.4) Settlements and amulets on settlements Conditions of recovery and reporting Viking Age settlements as specific frame of reference Amulets on Viking Age settlements - general discussion Amulets on Viking Age settlements, specific observations The Tissø settlement on Kalmergården and Fugledegård Adelsö Borg in Östergötland Helgö Pollista Comparison of the material from Tissø, Hedeby, Helgö and Birka Section conclusion 5.5) Stray finds and amulets as stray finds

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94 94 95 95 98 98 100 102 103 106 106 108 109 111 111 112 113 114 114 116 117 118 118 120 121 121 123 124 124 126 129 130 130 132

Conditions of finding and reporting Viking Age stray finds as specific frame of reference Amulets in Viking Age stray finds, general empirical section Section conclusion 5.6) Finds from all contexts, summary 5.7) Chapter conclusion on contextual analyses

132 133 133 133 136 136

Part 6: The amulets in find-contexts: amulet-combinations 6.1) Combinations in general 6.2) Combinations in graves 6.3) Combinations in hoards 6.4) Combinations on settlements 6.5) Amulet sets and combinations in stray finds 6.6) Chapter conclusion on combinations

139 139 141 141 144 145 146

Part 7: General patterns: geographical variation 7.1) Background 7.2) Empirical aspects Sweden Skåne (Scania) Uppland Södermanland Gotland Öland Sweden as a whole Denmark Norway Germany (mostly Hedeby) England The total material 7.3) Summary and chapter conclusion

147 147 147 148 148 149 150 151 152 153 154 155 156 157 158 159

Part 8: General patterns: social variation 8.1) Mounds and wetlands: making places, reusing spaces Amulets in Viking Age space – empirical section Section conclusion: amulets in space 8.2) Amulets in economy: production and consumption, craftspeople and their customers Economy and the social organisation of crafts Unique pieces and mass production, master pieces and standard commodities Summary and section conclusion on economy 8.3) The craft in masks and anchors 8.4) Snake amulets in social and mythological context: an example of contextualisation 8.5) Amulets between subjects and objects 8.6) Repton 511 and the amulets as prosthetics 8.7) Amulets and identity Amulets and class identity/status Amulets and ethnic identity, and Wobst’s theory of material symbols Amulets and gender, and Butler’s theory of performativity Combining the three axes Amulets and identity, summary 8.8) Chapter conclusion: amulets in context

160 160 161 163 163 164 165 167 167 172 173 175 177 177 178 180 181 183 183

Part 9: Summary and conclusion Postscript: two new finds Bibliography

184 189 190

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1: Background and contex

Part 1: Background and context archaeology. 4) An equally pragmatic recognition that archaeology is ill-suited to say much about abstract religion, and much better suited to say something about concrete practices in the material world.

1) Introduction This work is a presentation of the Viking Age amulets from Scandinavia and Western Europe. They are a remarkable body of evidence, but one that has so far received little systematic attention. Many pieces have not been published at all, and those that have, have often only been mentioned briefly ways in publications dedicated to other topics, such as excavation reports. The notable exceptions from these observations are Birgit Arrhenius’ early introduction to the subject (Arrhenius 1961) and Miriam Krogtvedgaard Zeiten’s more recent survey of the Danish material (Zeiten 1997). These works are valuable, but limited in scope: Arrhenius’ text is limited to Sweden, and while it does introduce most of the types, it does not attempt any quantitative overview. Also, since 1961, a lot has happened: new material has been found and new interpretations suggested. Zeiten’s work is longer, more ambitious and more up to date, but is limited to Denmark and immediate surroundings. Others have discussed individual types in great detail, most notably Jörn Staecker (1999a). However, such efforts have been limited to crosses, Thor’s hammers and a few other types. As a result, most types, most areas and most problems have only been treated in unsystematic ways. This has created much confusion and more than a few mistakes. As detailed below, several interpretations seem based on counterfactual claims about the material.

I am unhappy with the way many archaeologists approach the Viking Age. To take a random example, in his 1954 article on amulets and idols, Sigurd Grieg took as his starting point the image of Thor at Hundrop. This idol is not an artefact preserved today. Instead, it is only know from a description in the saga of Olav the holy (Grieg 1954, 157). Thus, Grieg chose a written source as starting point for his discussion of an archaeological material. When writing about a class of material objects, Grieg preferred text to object. He had more confidence in the text’s ability to tell us about Viking Age use of these artefacts than in the artefacts themselves. Grieg’s text is but one example of a very common tendency to reduce the archaeological material to mere illustrations of the written sources. This tradition makes much of the archaeological research in the Viking Age and its religion inaccessible for non-specialists. Many archaeologists use jargon such as blót and hov, volva and shaman, cosmology and hierorgamy, as if these terms were self-explicatory and demanded no further introduction or justification. Experts draw on texts such as Saxo and Snorre, Völurspá and Austrfárarvisur, as if their authority, credibility and relevancy were selfevident. The more extreme writers even insist on authentic Old Norse spellings or on quoting sources Old Norse, Greek and so on without translation. This seems absurd and unhelpful. In addition, much of this tradition builds on hermeneutic readings of obscure sources, and implicit theoretical premises so complicated that the resulting research becomes virtually occult. A reader might easily get the impression that it is impossible to study the archaeology of the Viking Age without having read all of the mythological literature.

The present work builds on a catalogue of some 1350 Viking Age amulets from Scandinavia and the West. It has several aims: 1) To collect a catalogue of these pieces, previously published piecemeal, if at all. 2) To form an informed, statistically credible overview of this material, in order to improve on the somewhat impressionistic approach used by many previous researchers. 3) To problematise the uncritical use of written sources. I argue that there was regional and chronological variation in Viking Age amulet use, and that this consequently cannot be understood from written sources for late, western pagan religion alone. 4) To highlight how archaeology can use the amulets to understand real people in the Viking Age, instead of projecting abstract ideas about gods and beliefs back on the period.

This, I do not believe. Prehistoric archaeology studies societies without any written sources at all. We try to understand the society of the Stone Age, the Bronze Age and the Iron Age without any written sources. If we can do this, surely we can also understand Viking Age society without having to quote written sources all the time. It cannot be true that we, using the archaeological method, can say less about the Viking Age than about the Neolithic. The methods that work in prehistory must also work in the historical period.

Theoretically, the work builds on several premises: 1) A postmodern scepticism towards the sufficiency of always already established narratives. 2) An archaeological scepticism towards the sufficiency of historical narratives. 3) A pragmatic recognition that some theories are more convincing than others, and that those most strongly supported by archaeological evidence should be most convincing in

The text-centred tradition does no justice to the archaeological material. After Grieg wrote, the archaeological find-picture has changed markedly. Our 1

Viking Age amulets in Scandinavia and Western Europe Western Scandinavia. The archaeological sources are better at throwing light on the real variation than are the written sources, because the archaeological sources are far more widely distributed in time and space.

sources have multiplied. The same is not true for the historical sources. Much has happened in the development of historical method after Grieg. However, any present day investigation taking its starting point in the saga of Olav the Holy would add very little of archaeological interest to Grieg’s findings, except for new illustrations. The information about the amulets in the written sources is unchanged despite all improvements in the readings of these sources. We cannot utilise our archaeological evidence to its greatest potential if we keep prioritising the written sources. Therefore, in the present work, I shall attempt something else: I shall attempt to understand the amulets of the Viking Age by taking the amulets themselves as my starting point. I shall attempt to de-mystify and deromance them, and see them as archaeological objects to be understood within an archaeological approach.

1.1) The structure of the work The work begins with a delimitation (part 1, where we are now), followed of a theoretical discussion (part 2). After this, the amulet material is presented, divided into types (part 3) and materials (part 4), types of context (part 5) and combinations (part 6). An important goal of these sections (3-6) is to show that there really is geographical and chronological variation in the material (elaborated in part 7). This has not been generally recognised in earlier studies. It means that the amulets’ use and meaning also varied in time and space, and that for instance Icelandic medieval sources are not necessarily relevant for all of Scandinavia’s Viking Age. This is important relative to my theoretical starting point. My analysis progresses gradually from the individual amulet to the total findcontext. In the work’s final part, I shall attempt to go even further and locate the contexts in larger context, by discussing the amulets in landscape, society and the creation of identities (part 8). This must necessarily be speculative, but builds on the more factual empirical investigations in the earlier sections. Finally, last chapter contains a summary and some conclusions (part 9).

This means that the meaning of the amulets must be drawn from the amulets themselves, their contexts and regional distribution. I have no confidence in archaeological interpretations that privilege written sources or theoretical models borrowed from other disciplines over the archaeological material. This must also inform questions of what we can reasonably expect to find out. There are tasks that the archaeological method is well suited for, and tasks it is poorly suited for. It is well suited to understand physical objects, mirroring the physical reality of antiquity, though influenced by post-depositional factors. It is unsuited to throw light on ideal structures and transcendental meanings, disassociated from the material. Such analyses must be entrusted to historians and historians of religion, who have a body of methods better suited for them.

Thus, the general structure of the work is that the amulets are first discussed as single objects (part 3-4), then localised in context of the find (5-6), and finally interpreted in relation to a larger, reconstructed social context (7). Each section draws to some degree on the previous ones. Especially section 3, 4 and 5 about the individual types, respectively types of context, obviously draw on each other. Each individual find consists both of an amulet and a context. However, to improve readability I have chosen to start with it smallest unit, the individual amulet. The next sections (6, 7 and 8) are one-sidedly derived from these earlier ones. It would not be possible to discuss these problems without these earlier discussions.

Specifically, I shall interpret the amulets as material symbols. The present work takes its starting point in the hypothesis that the archaeological material from the Viking Age includes amulets, and that these can be understood as symbolic objects. If this is correct, it follows that contexts for amulets can be understood as symbolic contexts. Differences in the amulet material from different contexts, periods and regions can mirror real differences in Viking Age symbolism. If this symbolism was partially religious, such differences may also throw light on differences in concrete cult practice. These differences can possibly indicate more general differences in religion. Thus, the overreaching thesis is that an archaeological treatment of the amulets can throw light on of the Viking Age system of symbols and possibly religion, and indicate variations invisible in the written sources. However, I must be stress that the main focus of this text is the concrete amulets, not some abstract religion.

The work has three aims: to account for the amulets as archaeological material, by collecting the most complete catalogue ever seen; to interpret the amulets as sourcematerial in relation to current theoretical problems; and to show how humanist theoretical discussions can be elucidated on through concrete, archaeological observations. However, it is not my goal to throw light on Viking Age religion as a more general phenomenon. Nor is it my aim to solve problems in the history of religions far removed from archaeological material. These problems, I leave to those qualified to deal with them.

It is a fundamental assumption for this work that the Viking Age system of symbols was more varied than the written sources can show. It is also a fundamental assumption that one-sided dependency on written sources has created a falsely homogenous image of the period. This image is really only relevant for late Viking Age

1.2) Method: discipline rather than interdisciplinary approaches The study of the Viking Age is an interdisciplinary field. It draws the interest of archaeologists, historians, and researchers on religions and language. If the amulets of 2

1: Background and contex demands readers fluent in eight dead languages (Niels Lund in lecture 2002). The secondary literature demands rather more. In addition, from an archaeological viewpoint, this literature is indeed secondary: our primary sources are not the theories of other archaeologists, or other researchers, but the archaeological material itself. Those theories that do not build on material can be safely ignored. Consequently, I have decided to prioritise material over interpretations, and only discussed interpretations in as far as they could be related to the archaeological material. This approach has resulted in an extensive catalogue, as far as I know it most extensive and complete catalogue of Viking Age amulets ever collected. I believe such a catalogue is valuable in itself. It provides a far better basis for observations than any previous, less extensive catalogue can do. Consequently, I also believe that observations based on this catalogue are better than are observations based on less extensive catalogues. Even if the conclusions are the same, they must be considered better founded when they are based on more observations. Finally, I have used these observations in a discussion about interpretations. In this phase of the work, earlier research is of obvious relevance, but also obviously subject to re-evaluation. The whole point in collecting new and more complete catalogue is to tie interpretation more firmly to the material. If older interpretations could not be re-evaluated in relation to new material, there would be no sense in collecting new evidence. Archaeology’s greatest strength is that our material is ever growing. We cannot take advantage of this if we maintain an un-reflexive respect for earlier generations of researchers. We must base our interpretations on a critical evaluation of argument and material. Archaeological theories cannot be evaluated on whether they were suggested by Mackeprang, Müller or Montelius. They must be evaluated on whether they retain their credibility in relation to the archaeological primary material.

the Viking Age are to be understood in relation to the religions of the time, the interdisciplinary aspect is even stronger. Despite this, I have chosen not to prioritise interdisciplinary approaches. I have chosen instead to focus on a purely archaeological approach, which I believe interdisciplinary work often ignores. The present work is primarily a piece of archaeological work. During this work, I have benefitted from discussing theories and results with Dr. Morten Warmind, sociologist of religions, but these discussions have also made it even more obvious to me how important it is to know and respect the limits of my own discipline. Archaeologists are not generally qualified to produce original research in history or history of religions. Certainly, I am not. The trained historians and students of religion have a far better understanding of their special sources and methods than we do. However, we do have something to offer as archaeologists: we have access to a unique source-material and a unique collection of methods which permits us to work on altogether different premises than the other disciplines. This does not mean that archaeological knowledge is superior or inferior to other disciplines’ knowledge, but it is different. It throws light on other problems, using other sources. Such archaeological knowledge is in itself valuable for the other disciplines, exactly because it is independent of their sources and methods. An archaeological reading of the saga of Olav the Holy is unlikely to reveal anything new to historians and historians of religion. They can read the text themselves. However, archaeological discussions of an archaeological material may reveal something new. Experts from other disciplines cannot date a pot or grave themselves. The amulets I discus here are archaeological objects. Very possibly, they may also provide evidence for other disciplines, most obviously as sources for the history of religions. However, archaeologists have a special responsibility and a special opportunity to understand them as archaeological sources. Researchers in other disciplines would be able to formulate other interpretations, but such interpretations typically place less weight on the purely archaeological aspects. Similarly, a more interdisciplinary archaeological approach would also pay less attention to these. I do not believe that any such approach is particularly desirable in an archaeological work. I believe that the best interpretations of history or history of religions are written by trained historians and historians of religion, not by archaeologists. As an archaeologist, I would rather write a solid archaeological work than a less wellfounded, interdisciplinary one. Interdisciplinary works must be left to authors who are solidly based in all the relevant disciplines, most obviously through the cooperation between different researchers. Such cooperation was not possible for the present work.

The analytical method used in this work is to a large degree quantitative. This is an informed choice. I have chosen to prioritise arguments based on many observations over ones based on a few high-quality observations. It is quite possible to base works on microarchaeology, and select a few good contexts to extreme detailed analysis. Indeed, this approach is currently very popular. However, I do not believe that this method is better than the quantitative method. It has some strengths, but also obvious weaknesses, of which it greatest is that the results cannot be generalised. I do not believe that observations based on single contexts can be projected onto other sites, no matter how spectacular, wellexcavated and well-preserved the single contexts might be. On the contrary, some of the best excavated and published sites in amulet-studies are quite obviously atypical sites (Birka, Tissø, Helgö, Borg). Just as Helgö cannot be taken as an example of the Viking Age typical settlements, nor can amulet use on Helgö be taken as typically for amulet use in other Viking Age communities.

Much has already been written about the Viking Age, and about its religions. I have no mastery of all of this literature. I doubt anyone has. Historian Dr. Niels Lund once pointed out that the primary written sources alone

This choice of method is also strategic: the aim of this 3

Viking Age amulets in Scandinavia and Western Europe believe that those interpretations that are supported by primary data are better than those that are not. This approach should make sense within classical positivist ontology.

work is to argue that there is regional and chronological variation in the material. This can only be done through regional and chronological comparison. Such comparison is obviously more credible, the bigger a material it builds on. Similarly, this problem has demanded a very large geographical area: all other things being equal, it is more probable that regional variation is visible over large distances than over short distances. To achieve the greatest geographical spread it has been necessary to include as many amulets as possible (but see below, about geographical delimitation).

On the other hand, I have attempted to make visible the role that post-depositional factors play in the formation of the archaeological achieve. Here, I claim that the body of data we have access to is shaped by our methods. We do not know everything about all Viking Age amulets. We only have whatever information has been recorded about those amulets that are known to us. There are strong grounds to believe that these data are not really representative.

It is my hope that this approach will also tie the study more closely to everyday archaeology. After the 1970s, archaeology’s day-to-day practice changed very much, and today its everyday activity is dominated by rescue excavations and stray finds. The large research excavations on well-preserved, spectacular sites constitute a rare exception. The vast majority of the archaeological activity is placed elsewhere. I believe that we ought to attempt to make best use of this material. I believe it would be irresponsible to ignore these finds, even if they are not documented under optimal conditions. We shall get never any opportunity for to document these exact pieces under better conditions, and the archaeological material is a limited resource. One of the best illustrations of this may be the finds kept at Saffron Walden Museum, Essex: the Thor’s hammer from the Roddings (cat. 239) was found by a metaldetectorist. Unfortunately, the finder only recognised it as prehistoric several years after it was found. In the meantime, information was lost, and the provenience is consequently imprecise. The cross from Saffron Walden (cat. 240) was found during excavations in the 1800s, with the bad recording so typical of the time. Despite this, these two pieces are some of the finest sources we have for how different Scandinavians in the Danelaw adapted to their new circumstances. If we insist on only working with finds from well-excavated sites, then we can say almost nothing about amulets among the Vikings in the Danelaw. We cannot expect that the better documented material from Scandinavia to say anything about the special, English situation. Although we lack wellexcavated, well-documented sites, these finds highlight that there were Viking Age amulets in England. This material not is optimally documented, but it is the only source we have.

Within a classical positivist approach, these two projects might seem to contradict each other: if our data are coloured by post-depositional processes, they do not constitute an ideal positivist dataset. Some might even take an extreme point of view, and suggest that the possibility of source-criticism invalidates all conclusions. Certainly, 1980s archaeology showed a marked tendency to focus either on source criticism, and reject all interpretations, or to ignoring all source criticism in order to allow for interpretation. I believe this polarization to be unproductive. We cannot ignore the source-critical problems. Nor can we ignore that some interpretations are better than others. Indeed, I believe that some interpretations are better than others exactly because of source-critical concerns: interpretations that offer few serious problems are better than those handicapped by many such problems. All data sets are coloured by the history of research. Yet, some datasets are better than others. The very bias created by historical factors makes different datasets more or less suited for different projects. Source-criticism is not about declaring once and for all whether a given dataset is “perfect” or “not good enough”, but about evaluating which arguments it is suited or unsuited to support. My goal is to formulate robust archaeological interpretations. A robust interpretation is one that can survive relevant critique. By my definition, an archaeological interpretation is one that finds support in the archaeological material and in a logical argumentation based on this material. Consequently, I have placed less weight on interpretations based on other disciplines (history of religions, history, place name studies, folklore), because these rarely refer to directly to archaeological materials or problems. Any evaluation of these disciplines’ theories demands another set of methods and sources which I, as an archaeologist, cannot marshal.

All of the above is rather traditional. It is nothing new in archaeology to collect catalogues and base argumentation on observations of an actual material. I think I have been more innovative in that I have tried to follow two “tracks” at the same time.

In this connection, it makes sense to combine direct descriptions of the known material with reflective sourcecriticism. The direct descriptions permit observations that can strengthen or weaken different interpretations. Source-criticism permits us to evaluate if these observations are caused by post-depositional factors or real variation in antiquity. The reflective source-criticism is consequently an important control, meant to ensure that

On one hand, I have dealt with an actual set of data: there are about 1350 Viking Age amulets from Scandinavia and Western Europe and these have a number of attributes that van be described reasonably objectively. Each was made from a specific material, found in a specific context and so on. In this argumentation, I 4

1: Background and contex apply to all. Some lack suspension loops, and seem carried in other ways, for instance in leather bags (Näsman 1973, 95, cf. Lindqvist 1915, 115). Also, some are so poorly preserved that it is impossible to decide if they are pendants or not.

the material-based interpretations actually are robust. I suggest that the established understanding of the amulets is too poor. It has reduced them to illustrations of written sources, which are late and geographical marginal. This tradition cannot account for it regional and chronological variation among the amulets, or the similar variation in religion and cult that probably existed in the period.

Other miniatures seem used as toys. These include e.g. wooden horses and boats from Dublin (Lang 1988, 34 and 80). The metal figurines are generally too small and too two-dimensional to support such an interpretation, and many are undoubtedly pendants, but there are some questionable cases (cf. Sandal 2000, 24).

1.3) Delimitation: what are “Viking Age amulets”? The archaeological material of the Viking Age includes a number of miniature objects whose only use seems to be symbolic. In this work, I shall refer to these as “amulets”. These Viking Age amulets can be defined reasonably sharply in terms of function and chronology, less sharply geographically:

A number of natural objects (fossils, plant seeds, bones etc.) have also occasionally been described as amulets (e.g. Lindeblad & Nielsen 1995, 111). These identifications are often uncertain, based on much older or more recent traditions (Fuglesang 1989, 15). Also, this assembly is not comparable with the above assembly of man-made amulets, because of different conditions of preservation and collection. Similar problems apply for stone axes and for the Irish so-called amulets of polished deer antler (below and Edwards 1998, 14, Sandal 2000, 18). Consequently, these objects are not included here. Thus, Viking Age amulets can be defined provisionally as miniature objects, mainly pendants of metal. This permits a reasonably precise delimitation of this assembly from the rest of archaeological material of the Viking Age. However, a few objects still constitute problematic borderline cases.

Typological delimitation: amulets as miniatures and (pendant) jewellery The most obvious amulets in the Viking Age material are the Thor’s hammers, which are almost univocally associated with myths about the god Thor, as recorded in later written sources (e.g. Wamers 1994, 85). Likewise, the Christian cross must be seen as a univocally identified religious symbol. The cross became common in Scandinavia during the Viking Age. Miniature strike-a-lights, miniatures scythes and the socalled staves are occasionally found as part of sets with the Thor’s hammers. Consequently, they can be interpreted as amulets, even when they are found without Thor’s hammers. Beside these types, other types of miniature figurines are found in the archaeological material of the Viking Age. They, too, must be considered symbolic objects which referred to a larger complex of ideas. Consequently, they can be tentatively interpreted as amulets. They include inter alia human and animal figurines, miniature weapons, miniature tools and miniature chairs. All these objects are miniatures whose form imitates other objects, animals, etc. This suggests that their cultural meaning depended on a frame of reference that went beyond their practical use (cf. Derrida 1997, 204, Kaul 2004b, 65 and below). As discussed below, they can be seen as material signs. Unlike Thor’s hammers and crosses, these pieces can rarely be identified convincingly from the written sources. Their identification as amulets depends on a purely archaeological argument. Most of these miniatures are of metal.

A special problem is presented by the so-called dress pins with axe-heads and cruciform heads (Schwartz-Machesen 1976, 27, Scheitzel & Crumlin-Pedersen 1985, 10; cf. Paulsen 1939, 161). These pieces are made of bone. In form, these bone miniature axes are quite like the copperalloy miniature axes from Dublin and Avnsøgård (O’Brien 1998, 211, Munksgaard 1981; cat. 262 & 93). However, the bone axes’ heads are notably smaller. The long-shafted Dublin axe (cat. 268) is often interpreted as a dress-pin, although its heavy head speaks against this. This axe is more than 10 cm long, and probably too big to wear in the same way as the other amulets. This piece is probably not quite comparable with the pendant jewellery. Consequently, neither an interpretation as amulet nor one as dress-pin is entirely satisfactory. The other miniature axes of copper-alloy have so short shafts that they cannot be interpreted as dress pins. In this work, I have chosen to treat all copper-alloy miniature axes as amulets, including the Dublin piece, and all bone miniature axes as utilitarian objects. The logic of this choice is debatable, but I must stress that there is a striking lack of definitely identified amulets of bone.

Many of these objects are pendants, but this does not

5

Viking Age A amulets inn Scandinavia a and Westernn Europe

T Irish national museum holds three t such pieces,, while no similarr object is knownn Figure 1.1) Amuulet? Object of poolished deer antleer from Dublin. The from Scandinavvia. No matter if the t piece is an am mulet, it is not a miniature m of som mething else, and consequently nott included here (m my own drawing,, scale of 1 cm).

Figure 1.2) Amuulet? Wolf or dogg with ball, from Dublin, D carved wood. w The use of this t object, if anyy, is unclear. The size would suggeest that it was nott carried like the other amulets, hoowever. Consequeently, it is not inccluded (scale of 1 cm, own drawingg; E 141: 3123).

6

1: Background and contex

Figure 1.3) Unproblematically identified amulets: to the left Thor’s hammers from Switland, Leicester (silver; cat. 242), The Roddings (silver, cat. 239) and Hedeby (lead, cat. 1311), crosses from Antrim (jet, not included, as it cannot be associated with Scandinavians; A 1924:517) and Dublin (amber, cat. 265), to the right miniature axe from Dublin (copper alloy, cat. 262), mask from Vidarshof (copper alloy, cat. 297), cross from Dublin (bone, cat. 264), Thor’s hammer from Hedeby (lead, cat. 1325) and cross from Dublin (jet, cat. 266) (my own drawing, scale of 1 cm).

were amulets in the Viking Age which are not included in the present investigation. It is less probable that any of the objects that are included here are not amulets.

Likewise, some of the figurine brooches may very well have served as amulets for some of their wearers. However, I see no way that figurine brooches worn as amulets can be separated univocally from those carried for practical reasons. If these figurine brooches were to be included in the analysis, they would weaken the central hypothesis that all amulets always were symbolic objects. For example, one figurine brooch from Tissø shows two billy-goats (Pedersen & Dreyer 2003, 24). There is no reasonable doubt that this brooch should be understood as a reference to the complex of myths surrounding Thor’s two billy-goats, described in the written sources. It is less clear if its final deposition was caused by its religious frame of reference or its function as brooch. To define a homogenous material of univocally identified amulets, I shall exclude this Tissø brooch from the amulet material. It was probably a religious symbol, but it was also something else. Similar conditions apply to the cruciform brooches, the crossornamented Terslev brooches and other similar objects. The religious symbolism need not always have been more important than the practical use (cf. Staecker 1999a, 15 and 66, Zeiten 1997, 2).

The above should hopefully define a body of material. Yet, this does not mean that the label “amulet” necessarily applies. I shall address this problem presently: A problematisation of the term “amulet” The term “amulet” is problematic for several reasons: First, “amulet” is not a concept known from Viking Age Scandinavia (emic meaning, see below). On the contrary, debatable whether Viking Age Scandinavians had any one word that covered the same content (Sandal 2000, 11). Nor does the word describe any phenomenon, archaeologists and other present-day readers can recognise from their own everyday life (“etic” similarity, see below). Second, there is no direct evidence for what functions the miniature objects had. Zeiten defines an amulet as an object worn on the person and supposed to ward off evil or bring advantages. However, this attribution relies on functions that cannot be directly observed in the

This delimitation is relatively narrow. It is possible that 7

Viking Age amulets in Scandinavia and Western Europe The capsules and lunulae are not proper miniatures. They do not look like anything else. One capsule, from Birka (cat. 719), carries a runic inscription that documents its protective use. Other pieces may have shared this function, although the Birka-piece is atypical (see below). However, capsules and lunulae are found strikingly often as hack-silver, unlike other amulets. Both types are mainly import. There are no certain, local products. I have included both capsules and lunulae as amulets in the present work, but this decision is debatable.

archaeological material. Thus Zeiten has to spend much of her paper arguing that the objects discussed were indeed supposed to ward off evil or bring advantages (Zeiten 1997, 3 and throughout; cf. Landelius 2005, 4). Third, the term “amulet” carries unfortunate connotations of magic and religion. One of the major problems in amulet studies has been an all too ready willingness to reduce the amulets to illustrations of always already known religious myths. Little has been done to study them as archaeological objects. As an archaeologist, I am not primarily interested in the artefacts as sources for an imagined religion, but as objects in themselves.

A related problem concerns the Thor’s hammer rings: these are large iron rings with various pendants, all iron. Some, but not all, such rings carry recognisable Thor’s hammers. Clearly, these are both similar to and different from the lose pendants. The other pendants include some that are broadly similar to the other types of lose amulets, notably miniature spears and axes, as well as some that are not recognisable as miniatures of anything, such as pendant rings or spirals. All this is iron, and in some cases the pieces are badly corroded and difficult to recognise.

All this suggests that “amulet” might not be the best term for the Viking Age miniature symbols, yet it is the term established in tradition and no better term springs to mind. There is a coherent body of material, and we have to refer to these pieces by some name or other. I recognise that the term “amulet” seems to foreclose problematic connections to pagan mythology, but I see no obvious alternative that solves that particular problem. Dubious amulets

Moreover, the state of publication is very uneven. Most other amulets are well-published, often even with published pictures. This is not the norm for the Thor’s hammers rings, where terse verbal descriptions are more common, and many of these are open to interpretation. In many cases, these descriptions do not detail what types or pendants were present, or how many, nor is there any general agreement as to how to describe the objects: some writers distinguish between Thor’s hammers rings with and without hammers, other between Thor’s hammer rings and amulet rings, and others between amulet rings with and without Thor’s hammers. Thus, most isolated references do not make clear whether Thor’s hammers, let alone other types of pendant, were present on any given ring.

The amulets discussed below are divided into different types and materials. Some of these are more convincingly identified as amulets than are others. Special doubts concern the lead objects, the tweezer-crosses, the capsules and lunulae, and the so-called idols. The lead objects are often interpreted as positives meant for lost-mould casting. However, the anchors are known in lead, only. It seems unreasonable to assume that we have half-fabrics preserved, but no finished pieces. Rather, the lead anchors must be finished pieces in their own right. Several anchors also show defects that can be interpreted as traces of use. As discussed below, lead amulets are also known from graves where the inclusion of unfinished half-fabrics must surprise. Consequently, not all lead amulets are likely to be models. Nor is it likely to be possible to distinguish between models and finished amulets of lead on archaeological criteria. Consequently, I have included all relevant lead pieces as amulets. On the other hand, some amber pieces can be recognised as half-fabrics, discarded because they broke under the work. These, I have not included.

Unfortunately, no up-to-date overview of this material exists. Most researchers seem to rely on Ambrosiani’s unpublished analyses of his own catalogue from 1954, although a more recent catalogue was collected, but neither published nor analysed, by Krister Ström sometime in the 1980s. Obviously, both these are outdated. Ideally, analyses should be based on a new catalogue, collected by someone with physical access to the relevant pieces and the time and opportunity to describe them. They should also be based on the original find reports. I have had access to neither. Instead, I have had to rely on highly imperfect publications. Working from these, I have chosen only to include those rings where I was certain that Thor’s hammers were present, and to ignore all other types of pendant, since these are very rarely explicitly mentioned in the published descriptions. I suspect that they are relatively frequent, but I have no way of judging how frequent, or where, or when.

The cross-tweezers are often interpreted as tools (see for example Bergquist 1989, 39ff). This interpretation is rejected by Staecker (1999a, 105f). He admits that the sliding ring on the cross from Verdal (cat. 308) is a practical detail. Such rings are found on tweezers used in surgery, where they allow surgeons to cramp a vein shut and keep both hands free. However, Staecker also points out that the Sædding cross (cat. 230) is closed at the bottom, and consequently cannot work as tweezers, and that the cross-shape generally serves no practical purpose. These pieces could perhaps combine practical use and symbolic character, but I accept Staecker’s theory that they are primarily symbolic.

The resulting catalogue is obviously highly imperfect. It does not contain sufficient contextual information to 8

1: Background and contex allow for a discussion of whether Ambrosiani’s old observations are still tenable. It likely does not contain all Thor’s hammer rings with Thor’s hammers actually discovered. It only contains those pieces I have been able to learn of. Yet, this imperfect catalogue is, unfortunately, better than anything else available at the moment. It does allow for a general description of the type, and I think the broad tendencies identified are so strong that no amount of additional material is likely to change them much. There may well be some Thor’s hammer rings with Thor’s hammers that I am unaware of, but I would be greatly surprised if any of these were not made of iron, or if any significant numbers were found in Scandinavia outside of Uppland and Södermanland.

Zeiten, the “idols” can be excluded by the same logic. However, this question demands further discussion:

Clearly, this information is of a much lower quality than that which I have gathered for the other amulets. Arguably, it is so much poorer that it should have been left out of the work altogether. Yet, the Thor’s hammer rings are an important parallel to the lose Thor’s hammers, and no better catalogue is available, let alone published.

The amber figurine from Feddet has suspension holes at the back, something that seems inexplicable for a playing piece. Perkins also argues that amber was considered a magical or special material, but this seems unsupported (Ibid. 70; see below). However this piece is probably not just a playing piece.

Of the “idols”, the one least likely to be an amulet may be Baldursheimur (Perkins 2001, 135), found with twentyfour other playing pieces. Despite Perkins’ reservations, this context would seem to indicate that it is indeed a playing piece. All other pieces are stray finds. The bone figurine from Lund seems quite similar to that from Baldursheimur. Perkins argues that written sources mention idols made of ivory (Ibid. 62f), yet this is hardly proof that all figurines made of ivory were idols. Again, the Lewis ivory chess-men indicate otherwise.

Perkins (2001, throughout) has argued that the Eyrarland bronze figurine, at least, is an idol of Thor, rather than a weight or a playing piece. He stresses that Eyrarland is too heavy and unstable for a well-designed playing piece, and does not fit any known unit of weight. Perkins has tried to extend this interpretation to the Lund and Baldursheimur figurines. I am unconvinced that the Eyrarland image is really an idol of Thor. However, this is not the issue here. If Eyrarland is not a playing piece, it could well be an amulet in the sense used here, whether or not is portrays Thor.

The so-called “idols” constitute another special problem. These are human figurines interpreted as cult objects. There are other human figures that cannot be connected to religion or cult by any stretch of the imagination, such as the famous Lewis chess-men. However, the finds from Lund (Skåne, Sweden), Feddet (Præstø, Denmark), Rällinge (Södermanland, Sweden), Baldursheimur and Eyrarland (Iceland) have all been suggested as idols. The Rällinge figurine is phallic, and often described as a figurine of Frey, presumably based on Adam of Bremen’s description of the phallic idol of this god in Uppsala. The Eyrarland figure is often identified as Thor, based on claims that its beard is shaped like a Thor’s hammer. Rällinge has been described as Odin, on unclear grounds. The other figurines do not have traditional identifications. The “idols” differ from most other amulets in that they are mostly three-dimensional, meant to stand on a surface rather than be worn as pendants. However, the same is true for some of the animal figurines, which can hardly be interpreted as chess-men. As Shetelik observed, the polish on some of the latter suggests that they may have been worn in pouches, and as Perkins and Grieg note, there are written sources for “idols” being worn in that way (Grieg 1954, 181, Perkins 2001, 55).

The Rällinge bronze figurine is rather different. It does not resemble the others too closely. Although more stable than the Eyrarland image, it is unlikely to be a playing piece. Both its ithyphallicism and its tailor’s seat are quite different from anything known from more conventional chess-men. One final piece merits discussion here: the small figurine from Lindby (e.g. Perkins 2001, 101). I remain unconvinced that the slight asymmetry of its eyes can provide any strong argument for an interpretation as Odin. In any case, this piece is not a playing piece, since it cannot stand unsupported. Nor is it as obviously threedimensional as Rällinge or Eyrarland. As a small, twodimensional miniature, very possibly worn as a pendant, it fits the criteria of the other amulets included here.

Zeiten excluded the Feddet and Lund figurines from her catalogue of Danish amulets, arguing that they were likely playing-pieces. However, she also remarks that “This does not preclude, however, that the figures in addition to their gaming potential may have had cultic functions. They were perhaps used as little house deities or even as amulets…” (Zeiten 1997, 12). The other “idols” were found outside her geographical area of interest, and are not discussed in her work. However, similar arguments should apply. Zeiten argues, then, that these pieces may have been idols, but that they were likely also something else. This logic is similar to that which I applied to figurine brooches above. Following

Just to sum up: I believe that Baldursheimur is a playing piece. Based on this, Lund also seems to be. The Feddet figurine seems to have been worn as a pendant, and the Lindby figurine may well have been. The Rällinge and Eyrland figurines are unlikely to be playing pieces, and bear comparison with some of the animal amulets. However, the Eyrland piece seems too heavy, the Lindby piece to large, to bear comparison with other amulets. In terms of analysis, the decision to include or exclude any of these pieces means very little: the overall material is so large that a few undated stray finds only contribute a 9

Viking Age amulets in Scandinavia and Western Europe slight statistical influence. I have decided to exclude them, given the uncertainty of their identification as amulets.

One was only published after his catalogue was completed, but the others are discussed in his section on cross-like objects.

Chronological delimitation

I accept all these pieces as proper crosses, but the contexts cause problems: the finds from Eriksberg Slott and Karlslund were included in cremation graves. The find from Valsta originate in a grave with secondary inhumations, and the find from Pollista from settlement context. As discussed below, cremation is not necessarily incompatible with Christianity. Yet, it may be more probable that these graves contain the remains of very early Christians, buried by pagans, who did not know Christian burial tradition. I accept these three pieces as Viking Age crosses. On the other hand, there is reasonable doubt about the date of the pieces from Valsta and Pollista. They are certainly crosses, but may not be Viking Age. The Pollista cross was found on a village ground in unbroken use from late Iron Age to the 1960s, in cultural layers without any clear stratigraphy. In its proximity, another cross was found. Staecker dates that other cross to the High Middle Ages. On this basis, I suspect that the simple cross from Pollista is also High Medieval. Therefore, I do not include it in my analyses. The Valsta cross was found in the pit dug into the Valsta grave. This grave was dominated by a triple inhumation in cruciform cist. This is probably a Christian grave. Outside the grave was found a facetted quartz bead and a metal setting with a piece of cabochon rock crystal which Andersson (1998) compares with details on Christian relics from Ireland and Norway. Both bead and crystal date to the Middle Ages. They show that some finds in connection with this grave are younger than the inhumations. Thus, the Valsta cross may also be medieval. As in Jelling (cat. 226), it seems probable that the Christian graves in Valsta were emptied by later Christians. These may have wished to rebury their pioneers’ relics in another place or in another way. The cross may well have been left by these people. Then again, both the Valsta and Jelling crosses may be part of the original burial equipment. I have included both in the analysis.

Chronologically the Viking Age amulets constitute a somewhat homogenous group. Not all types are limited to the Viking Age, but the most typical amulets of both the (preceding) Iron Age and the (following) Middle Ages are clearly distinct from those of the Viking Age. A few types cross periods: wheels and miniature weapons seem developed already early in the Iron Age (Sanmark 2004, 161, Näsman 1973, 100). The Iron Age and Viking Age forms are not identical, and it is quite possible that they did not have the same meaning in the two periods. Also, the cross continued in use into the Middle Ages, when the Sami wheel-crosses may have continued something of the wheel amulets’ form, recontextualised as Christian symbols (S. Krogh 1969, 152, cf. I. Zachrisson 1984, 84). However, these are exceptions. Generally, there is a clear difference between amulets of the Iron Age, the Viking Age and the Middle Ages. The Iron Age material is dominated by stamped foil-work, including bracteates and “guldgubber” (picture gold foils), the medieval material by rune-amulets and organic materials. Miniature figurines are only dominant in the Viking Age. Thus, there are rather obvious differences between Viking Age amulets and earlier and later groups. Only the distinction between the Viking Age and later crosses has given earlier researchers trouble. The established use seem to be to include only well-dated pieces, and to limit these at some an arbitrary point in time (Solli 2002, 20ff, Zeiten 1997, 29). For the other amulets, the latest available date is 1020 AD, for the Johannishus hoard (cat. 365-369), and this seems as good a point of demarcation as any. Obviously, the later the date, the more crosses could be included, but including late crosses will reveal little or nothing about Viking Age amulets. As with other types, I include stray finds that have obvious typological Viking Age. Likewise, I have included those crosses found in Viking Age contexts. From Great Britain and Ireland I have only included crosses found on Scandinavian sites or with stylistic associations to Scandinavia.

The simple crosses do not fit perfectly into Staecker’s typology. They come closest to his types 1.1.1 and 1.1.2, simple cross pendants of foil and cast metal. The single piece that looks most like them in shape may be the find from Borgunda Kyrkby (cat. 1205). However, that piece is cast lead. Staecker subdivides these types further, but the general types have a broad date to the 10th and 11th century. The shape is so simple that it may very well have been reinvented at a later date. The Karlslund cross show that crosses of the same type as Valsta and the simple cross from Pollista were in use in the Viking Age, but it cannot show that the type is limited to the Viking Age. I exclude the cross from Pollista from the analysis because I suspect that it is too late.

A small group of possible cross pendants deserves a special discussion. It consists of the finds from Eriksberg Slott, Turelund, Kalslund, Valsta and Pollista. The finds from Eriksberg (cat. 638) and Turelund (cat. 1006, 1007) are very alike, small crosses of copper-alloy with a central square and drawn-out corners. Duczko considers these pieces to be Byzantine in origin, while Gräslund and Floderus suggest that they can have reached Sweden through Russia (Duczko 1989b, 125, Floderus 1940, 130ff, Gräslund 1984c, 112). These two interpretations do not rule each other out. The crosses from Karlslund, Valsta and Pollista (cat. 519, 949, and not included) are simpler, made of thin, forged iron. Staecker does not include any of these pieces in his catalogue of crosses.

This discussion of chronology also demands a brief discussion of curation: the problem is a simple and universal one, that the typological and contextual dates of 10

1: Background and contex England, and miniature axes in men’s graves in Russia (Pedersen 2004, 64). Despite this, these pieces were probably reinterpreted locally. The same form in another culture need not have the same meaning (cf. for instance Gosden & Knowles 2001, throughout, Roslund 2001, 79). Consequently, it makes sense to treat all Viking Age amulets from sites with Scandinavian culture as one body of material, and separate them from similar, contemporary amulets from other cultures. For the present investigation this also reflects practical considerations, notably language difficulties. I do not read Russian, Estonian, Latvian, Lithauanian, Polish or Finnish. Also, different records are shaped by their situation of registration and of research. I could not realistically attempt to understand these factors for e.g. Russia inside the time-frame of this project (cf. Sindbæk 2005, 213). For this reason, I have chosen to focus on Scandinavia and the West. I have excluded both the Eastern Baltic and the Sami material. I have done so from the assumption that Scandinavian people in England and Ireland shared much the same cultural frame of reference as their peers in Scandinavia, as evidenced in the fact that they produced the same sort of material culture and used it in the same way. The Sami did not do so. In as far as we can tell these two cultures apart, it seem entirely pointless to conflate them with each other.

an object need not be the same. Sometimes, people keep and even reuse objects that are already quite old, and there is good evidence that Viking Age Scandinavians did just that. Thus, one of the graves on Birka contains a coin stuck in the 480s, but seemingly deposited there in the 800s, and the oval brooches from Skaill, Orkney were deposited as a pair, but have typological dates a lifetime apart. It is very likely that some objects with typological dates to the Viking Age were deposited after whatever chronological limit chosen, and that some objects with typological dates to the iron Age may in fact have remained in use and been deposited in the Viking Age. This problem seems inevitable if we are going to work with periods at all. The only way out would be to rely exclusively on one or the other type of dates, i.e. either on scientific dating alone, or on typology alone, both of which would severely limit the material available. If we are going to use “the Viking Age” as a meaningful, heuristic term at all, we will have to accept that this term conflates typology and absolute chronology, and that these different techniques may sometimes yield conflicting results. This problem is universal, but perhaps more acute for historical archaeology because we have so many different ways to date finds, and because dates are so precise and periods so short and precisely defined that a few dates make a great difference. One very central discussion in Viking Age studies in the past century has been whether the beginning of the period should be set to 750 AD or 793. It is very difficult to imagine similar discussions in Palaeolithic archaeology where dating uncertainties of a few centuries are common.

The present analysis is shaped by the present-day nationstates’ and administrative regions’ practice of registration. The relevant material is documented by different institutions. In connection with the work I have visited the Danish National Museum, ATA and Statens Historiska Museet, Universitetets Oldsaksamling, British Museum, Museum of London, Norwich Castle Museum, the Yorkshire Museum, Leicester Museum, Saffron Walden Museum, the Irish National Museum, the Scottish National Museum and Sloß Gottorf. I have also been in contact with the museums in Bergen, Trondheim, Stavanger and Tromsø. Today, each of these institutions works inside modern national or regional borders, and their collections and registers are shaped by these modern state’s and region’s legislation. Although Hedeby was not “in Germany” in the Viking Age, the site and the finds from Hedeby are in Germany today. Our knowledge about Hedeby is to a large degree shaped by special German history and Bodendenkmalpflege-gesetze (laws on the preservation and care of scheduled monuments). Consequently, it is logical to work with these modern borders for practical reasons, even though they did not exist in the Viking Age. There was no German Federal Republic when Hedeby was inhabited, but there has been one during much the excavations.

In this regard, I must also briefly address the question of site-continuity: the central places of Helgö, Tissö and Uppåkra certainly continued in use from the Iron Age to the Viking Age. On other Iron Age special places, the evidence for continuity is more ambiguous, but continuity is certainly a possibility. Indeed, at Lunda, Södermanland, the Iron Age deposits and offerings may still have been visible and exposed in the Viking Age. Likewise, some Viking Age sites continued in use into the middle ages, such as Jelling. Again, it could be argued that it makes no sense to isolate the Viking Age from earlier and later periods. Again, I think doing so is necessary, if we are to work with periods at all. We can distinguish between the Iron Age and the Viking Age activities on these sites, and Viking Age Scandinavians did not use them in the same way as their predecessors or successors did. If we are to understand the past at all, we must be able to study aspects of it, such as specific areas, types or periods, without having to include everything else all the time. The changes in how these sites were used are at least as interesting as the continuities.

1.4) A preliminary description of the body of Viking Age amulets

Geographical and cultural delimitation

Following the definitions above, an assembly of amulets can be isolated. These are described in details in the catalogue. Almost 1350 securely identified Viking Age amulets are known from nearly 700 sites. Most of these amulets are of silver or iron, most are from Uppland, the

The geographical delimitation of the material is not as clear as the chronological one. For instance, shield amulets are found among non-Scandinavian cultures in the Baltic (Skovmand 1942, 253), snake amulets occur in 11

Viking Age amulets in Scandinavia and Western Europe can also be found in the catalogue.

rest of Sweden or Denmark. The most common types are Thor’s hammers and crosses. Most amulets are found in graves, secondarily hoards.

I have followed Fuglesang & Wilson (2006) and systematically used the place-name “Hoen”, rather than the alternative “Hon”. I have referred to “Hedeby” rather than “Haithabu”, and respected the conventions of Swedish archaeology that names the site on Lillön as “Helgö” and that on Björkö as “Birka”. For other placenames, I refer to the catalogue. As per convention, all graves on Birka are referred to with Bj.-numbers, for example Bj. 750 = Birka grave 750. These graves are published in Arbman 1943.

There are striking chronological tendencies in the history of recovery: the early material is dominated by stray finds and finds with unclear information. A bit later, hoard finds became the dominant group, then grave finds, and today strikingly many new finds originate on settlements and as stray finds, now especially metal detector finds. Although grave finds still constitute almost half of the known material, this is more due to the history of registration than to what existed in the past. It is to be expected that the relationship between types of context will change in the future, also (graphs for distribution on materials, context-types and types can be found in later chapters).

All quotes are translated to English. The originals can be found in the notes. Ellipsis (“…”) marks my shortenings and selections. As far as possible, I have given mythological names in their normalised English form rather than in the Old Norse original (i.e. “Odin” rather than Othinn or Oðinn). Where accepted English forms exist, I see no profit in insisting on exotic spellings. However, I have maintained the Scandinavian spellings “Skåne” and “Fyn” for “Scania” and “Funen”. I understand that these have wide currency in the English-speaking world.

1.5) Some conventions Much of the material discussed in this work has a long history of research, and parts of it have been published under several different names. The graves in Hedeby and on Stora & Lilla Ihre on Gotland have been given new numbers after the first excavations. I use the new numbers, and indicate the old numbers in brackets. These

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2: Theory

Part 2: Theory In this section, I shall introduce some fundamental concepts. The chapter is divided into in four parts: a discussion of semiotics and of symbols as a phenomenon, and of how the amulets’ materiality challenges such abstract theories; a discussion of, how the archaeological archive is formed; a discussion of John Moreland’s theories about similarity, difference and analogy; and a discussion of how these challenge the established image of the Viking Age and can be used to form a better understanding of the Viking Age world of thought.

situations are more symbolic than others. One way to treat this complexity is through structural semiotics. Originally, this discipline focused on spoken and written language. Here, Ferdinand de Saussure emphasized how signs (words) are structured through binary opposition and are arbitrary. That is, signs work because they can be clearly separated from other signs, not because they look or sound like their meaning (Derrida 1997, 44). The classical example is that of the words “dog” and “chien” (“dog” in French). Neither conveys any meaningful information about these animals, their bark, smell, wagging tails, ability to herd sheep or fetch slippers. Yet, both words work within their respective languages. They are arbitrary, looking and sounding nothing like dogs, yet they are adequate placeholders because they cannot be mistaken for most other words they might co-occur with. In everyday use, “dog” may be contrasted to “cat” or “wolf” or “person” all of them equally arbitrary and equally adequate. For purposes of communication, it is highly useful that the words “dog” and “wolf” are less similar than the animals might be.

I shall take my starting point in Jacques Derrida’s interpretation of Ferdinand de Saussure’s semiotics. This can probably not be separated from Derrida’s other philosophy. As Brit Solli has suggested, it is a mistake to treat philosophy as a “super-market of thought with free choice on all shelves” 1 (Solli 1992, 19). A philosophical approach is a coherent system, and ought to be understood in context. I find many archaeologists too uncritical in their borrowings of key concepts from different, often disagreeing, thinkers. If the theoretical starting points are incompatible, the conclusions must also be incompatible. I believe that archaeology would gain much by a more critical reflection over where our theoretical concepts come from, and what they mean in their original context. I have consequently sought to write a text with coherent theory, source-criticism and epistemology. Here, I have drawn on the larger postmodernist critical project that Derrida’s works are part of, and especially on Donna Haraway, whose ideas fit surprisingly well with Derrida’s (see Haraway & Goodeve 2000, 21, Haraway 2008, 292ff, and more generally Law 2000, 163).

To take another example, a standing man’s silhouette means one thing on a toilet door, another in a traffic light. On the toilet door, (standing) man is opposed to (standing) woman and sometimes to wheel-chair user, indicating that the differentiation is between men and women, and sometimes wheelchair users. In traffic, standing (man) is opposed to walking (man), suggesting that here, the man is a mere placeholder for “pedestrian”, and the differentiation is between standing and walking. The sign excludes women from the toilet, but includes pedestrian women in traffic. Pedestrian women effortlessly make the transition between being and not being “standing men” in different contexts. Not incidentally, these signs are as arbitrary as the word “dog”: as Irish pubs show, it makes just as much sense to label the doors “fir” and “mna”, if everyone speaks the language.

Here, I shall not attempt to locate this theoretical approach in larger context. Such an explanation would either demand unreasonable simplifications, extensive explanations or jargonistic references. Experience suggests that few Scandinavian archaeologists have any patience with that sort of theoretical discussion. Although I do not have the opportunity to account for it here, I shall still stress that there is a logical coherence between the post-structuralist semiotics and the source-critical considerations.

Even on toilet doors, the signs “men” and “women” can be modified by the sign “wheel-chair users”. This is probably not meant to deny wheelchair users the status of men and women, but rather to recognise that some men and women may have special needs. Thus, what a signs means depends on which other signs are in play. A wheel-chair user may select to be a “woman” or even a “woman wheel-chair user”, given the choice, but she will have to choose from the doors available.

2.1) A theoretical approach to symbolism: poststructuralist semiotics I suggest that the amulets can be understood as symbolic objects. This demands a discussion of what symbols are. Under the right circumstances, anything can be used as symbol. However, although anything can be used as a symbol, this does not mean that anything and everything is always equally symbolic. As Freud likely never said, sometimes a cigar is just a cigar. Some objects and some

The signs’ arbitrary and provisional nature was further emphasised by Jacques Derrida. He suggested that all symbols got their meaning through definition up against other symbols which got their meaning through definition up against other symbols etc. to infinity. This, he called “endless deferral” (Derrida 1997, 101; 2005, 160, 263 & 347; B. Olsen 1990, 168ff, Yates 1990, 114; cf. Spivak

1 ”Franske filosofer og litteraturvitere kan fungere som et tenkningens supermarked, men da må vi velge råvarer med tanke på hvilken rett som skal tilberedes. Labskaus står neppe høyt i kurs hverken hos franske tenkere eller gastronomer.”

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Viking Age amulets in Scandinavia and Western Europe dominant. Thus, symbols’ meaning cannot be reduced to their origins. Symbols change meaning when the context changes. Thus, an explanation of the causes of the differences in amulets cannot explain what consequences the same differences had. Although the Thor’s hammer did not arise as a reaction against the cross, it may later have been used as such. Its symbolism in a concrete context cannot be reduced to its origins.

1997, lvii, Sinclair 2000, 476). The point is that meaning must always be temporary, subjective, contextual and open to challenges and changes. In every concrete situation, the symbol’s meaning depends the concrete situation, not on anything essential in the symbol. Ideas about ideal, totalising structures must be rejected (Bass 2005, xviii, Yates 1990, 209). It is not really possible to describe all of the sign’s potential contents, because the sign’s meaning always relates to other symbols, which again relate to still others. In the final analysis, the sign can relate to all other possible signs. On the other hand, its meaning is not completely free, exactly because it always relates to other signs (cf. D. Whitley 1998, 18). The signs are consequently provisional, in it sense that their meaning is conditional and contextual, dependent on it concrete situation. They do not have one universal meaning, independent of the moment, but they can attain a number of concrete meanings in the concrete situation (cf. also Haraway 1991, 198, Persch 2005, 25).

Symbolic objects, symbolic actions Unlike Sassure’s linguistic semiotics, archaeology does not deal with abstract signs. The archaeological primary material consists of physical objects and the use of these as symbols contain special aspects, which do not occur in the case of the linguistic signs. Most symbolic objects must be understood as provisional non-discursive symbols (B. Olsen 1997, 180ff, Shanks & Hodder 1995, 17). A large part of their social value lies in the fact that their role as symbols is ambiguous. Although they can be used as symbols, they are never only symbols (Hays 1993, 82). Sometimes, a cigar is just a cigar. Even when it is also a symbol, it is still a cigar. Because of this, an actual cigar may be more socially acceptable than the claim it stands for. It is more difficult to argue against the implicit, ambiguous symbolism in a cigar than against an unambiguous, spoken claim. The objects’ symbolic potential can be strengthened, be weakened or be denied by different persons in different situations. Thus, the same objects can be used as symbols in some situations, and serve purely practical purposes in others. Indeed, a material sign can work well on a practical level, without communication. As Alison Wylie points out, a uniform coat only works as sign of its wearer’s rank if it is recognised, but it can keep her warm, even if no-one sees it (Wylie 2002, 128).

Thus, the meaning of “dog” is also contextual. To be sure, Fido may be a dog any way you look at him, but plenty of other dogs are more metaphorical. A statue may be a “dog” (statue), as opposed to, say, being a “human being” (statue), and a stuffed toy may be “a dog” (toy) as opposed to a teddy-bear (toy). For that matter, bones found on an archaeological excavation may be “a dog” (skeleton) in the context of conversation. Likewise, you may label a person “a dog”, in offence. Each of these claims to dog-ness is meaningful, yet problematic, and anyone assuming that Greyfair’s Bobby, the dogs playing poker, you landlord or the contents of box 414B are real (living, breathing) dogs is likely to misunderstand the situation entirely. It we look at physical objects as symbols, these semiotics mean that the objects do not lie about “meaning” anything in themselves. They only get meaning in concrete situations. Taking a modern example familiar to archaeologists, a live candle means altogether different things in a church, during a power failure, and on a dinner table (Deetz 1977, 51, cf. for instance Collins & Mayblin 2000, 29, B. Olsen 1997, 174ff, B. Turner 1994, 91f, Hodder 1982, 10, Vandkilde 2000, 14, Barthes 1969, 148). The candle does not mean any one thing when you buy it, it only gets meaning when used. More relevantly, Viking Age amulets need not mean the same in graves and hoards, although the amulets themselves are identical (cf. V. Turner 1965 throughout, Persch 2005, 32; cf. Derrida 1997, 39ff and note 1:2:38, p. 329; Ricoeur 2003, 144).

I shall suggest that amulets, specifically, were less flexible symbols than many other objects. Although their precise meaning could likely be negotiated by both sender and receiver, their role as symbols for something could not be doubted. Viking Age amulets were not just symbols. They were and remain physical objects, and the present find-picture is partly shaped by their materiality as physical objects (cf. Hodder 1982, 9; Dugdale 2005, 199ff.). Like any other archaeological material, the amulets are subject to post-depositional factors. These include systematic differences in preservation and reporting of different types of finds. I shall address post-depositional factors presently, and discuss reporting below.

On the other hand, it is probable that identical amulets in comparable contexts will have related meanings. Derrida’s theory also means that the amulets’ meaning at any given time depended on which other amulets were in use at the same time. Consequently, the meaning of the amulets can change over time, although the amulets themselves retain the same shape. As discussed below, the Thor’s hammer was probably not an emblem for nonChristian identity in the earliest Viking Age, but it can have attained this meaning after the cross became more

Bradley remarks that the archaeological remains often throw most light on two points in the object’s use-life: production and deposition (Bradley 1990, 32). However, objects may have a long biography between these to points, difficult as it is to reconstruct archaeologically. It is also obvious that some objects were lost to archaeology along the way: not all the objects that were 14

2: Theory

Figure 2.1 ) Summary of objects’ use-lives.

produced were ever part of a larger set such as a hoard; not all objects or sets were deposited in archaeological context; not all deposited objects are preserved today; and not all surviving objects have been found.

contracting rituals change the participants’ legal and social duties, independently of any supernatural frame of reference. This type of rituals include for example weddings, peace settlements and legal judgments, all of which should ideally be witnessed by local society, typically at the public assembly (thing; Habbe 2005 & 2006 throughout, cf. Moreland 2001, 57).

The objects’ use-life can be summarized as in figure 2.1. So far, I have discussed the objects in themselves. However, the focus for the present study is the objects in context. This context consisted of actions, and in many cases these actions can be described as rituals.

Once a ritual had taken place, material traces seem to have played an active role in showing what had happened: ibn Fadlan remarks that the visible consumption at the Volga burial was marked for posterity with of a mound and a monument with runes. This is entirely in keeping with the archaeological sources. Likewise, Thietmar of Merseburg mentions how Odin’s victims in Lejre hung from the trees until the flesh fell from the bones. At-Tartushi describes how the sacrificial animals were hung up outside the houses in Hedeby (or possibly Wolin cf. Hægstad 1964). All these elements must have served as visible reminders or traces of the rituals. The social context consisted not only of the act itself, but also included its traces. Even those who had not witnessed the ritual could witness the physical evidence left by it.

A ritual is not necessarily a religious act. There are civil, bureaucratic and military rituals, wherein religion plays a small or no role. Archaeologically, it seems more reasonable to understand the ritual as a concrete act, rather than to enforce some absolute divide between religious and other rituals. The written sources suggest that many Viking Age rituals took place in public. Indeed, one of the rituals’ important social functions seems to have been communication. Viking Age and medieval culture was an oral culture. Common knowledge became common because there were witnesses to events. Many social relations were established or changed through ritualised social theatre that took place in special, public fora. Peter Habbe has described what he calls Viking Age “contracting rituals”, 2 where the ritual established a social contract. These

The same is true today: the legal value of a public wedding is independent of whether you do or do not recognise the religious authority invoked. You do not need to be a Hindu to accept that a Hindu couple may be married to each other. As in the past, so today the wedding ring is still widely accepted as evidence of

2 ”Kontrakterande ritualer.”

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Viking Age amulets in Scandinavia and Western Europe reconstruct the Viking Age religion or imaginary in its totality. My goal is to understand a definite archaeological material, the amulets. In this connection, it makes more sense to focus on concrete actions, “rituals”, than on theories about abstract ideas and structures, “religion”.

marriage in many informal situations. We combine public ritual, material evidence and legal paperwork to change the relationship between people, and we can do so without any meaningful divide between religion and anything else. “Ritual” without “religion”

A methodological approach to archaeology as a source for religion

The established, archaeological discourse about the amulets is dominated by references to “religion”. This may be misleading. This idea of religion, as a distinct phenomenon separate from the rest of life, was probably unknown to the Viking Age people. Moreover, “religion” is often equated with “faith”. This builds on a very peculiar protestant evaluation of which parts of religion are central. The idea that religion should only be about faith, as opposed to also being about deeds, was one of the great issues of the reformation. Both written sources and modern parallels outside protestant Christianity show that religion may just as often be a practice. In many cases, religion influences what people eat, and when, whom they sleep with, and when, how they do and do not make money, and many other issues far removed from the pure abstraction of faith. If the religious image of the world was the frame of reference for all activities, the divide between religious and secular makes no sense (cf. for instance V. Turner 1986, 25; Russell 1994, 155, cf. K. Thomas 1971, 165, Barthes 1999, 74ff, Bredalsmo 1992, 134, Insoll 2004, 14f & 78, Jennbert, Andrén & Raudvere 2002, 9, J. Levy 1982, 6, R. Levy 2001, 156, J. Lund 2003, 86ff, Näsström 2002, 285, B. Turner 1994, 54ff, Clunies Ross 1994, 12f, Bowie 2006, 22, Stutz 2004, 85). Also, archaeologically, it is very difficult to study “religion” as “faith”. The archaeological traces are left by physical actions, and it is far easier to reconstruct these as actions than to throw light on what participants believed. A somewhat different discursive tradition focuses on “cosmology”. This approach has been especially popular in anthropology and history of religions. The word “cosmology” is taken from Greek and corresponds more or less to “world order”. The implication is an idea that religion primarily concerns spatial relations, and keeping different worlds in order. This is also problematic: religions can rarely be reduced to cosmologies. Although many religions have cosmologies, cosmology is far from always religions’ most central element. On the contrary, organisations like Oxfam or its Danish counterpart, Folkekirkens Nødhjælp, build on a Christian basis, but prioritise pure water and warm food over cosmology’s unworldly systems of heavens and hells, or its occult hierarchies of angles and demons. These people are religious, but rarely cosmological. They may be devout, but their actions seem more important than their abstract beliefs.

As already indicated, this is an archaeological work. I have emphasised archaeological sources and discussions. Many other disciplines are involved in the discussion of Viking Age society and religion, but I am not qualified to discuss their findings. I understand that the methodological disagreements and discussions in these other disciplines are so large and so complicated that they deserve to be treated for themselves by professionals. Nor am I impressed with other archaeologist’s attempt to work interdisciplinarily. Archaeological methods are largely unsuited to evaluate the claims of history or history of religions. An archaeological work must convince through its use of archaeological data and methods. It cannot do so by drawing on other sources that cannot be evaluated through archaeological methodology. If religion is defined as faith, archaeology’s chances of throwing light on it are poor. They are significantly better if religion is defined as practice. Practice leaves archaeological traces. Thus, for archaeologists it may be useful to define the study of religion as research into ritual practice, more than as research into religious ideas. This definition is strategic: it does not describe what religion is “in reality”, but what religion is for the purposes of an archaeological investigation. Consequently, in this work, I regard religion as a concrete human behaviour in the physical world. I am uninterested in discussions of transcendent ideals, be they shamanist, structuralist, psychological or Indo-European. I am equally uninterested in deeper structures or remains of an original form that made sense once upon a time. I suggest that religious behaviour makes subjective sense for those who perform when it takes place. Similarly, I do not see religion an a priori faith that expresses itself in later behaviour. On the contrary, I see a behaviour that may possibly be explained with reference to faith, but rarely or never builds on this alone. Ritual and practice are primarily ways to live in the real, physical world. Religious people are not passive robots who unconsciously reproduce an unchanging structure dictated to them by myths and passages of scripture. They are active historical persons who react to concrete situations in the world. When the world changes, the religious adapt. These historically specific adaptations are what is visible archaeologically, not any unchanging myths and ideas.

I do not find “religion” an especially productive frame of reference for understanding of the amulets. “Religion” carries all too many connotations of “faith” and “cosmology” that are probably not relevant for an archaeological investigation. It seem more productive, to see the amulets as ritual objects, without trying to tie this ritual closely to the religious. My goal is not to

Summary: amulets as source for the Viking Age world of ideas Amulets can be understood as material symbols. They 16

2: Theory institutions such as museums and royal antiquaries or national heritage boards have had great impact on our image of the past.

can be understood as a source for those practical, ritual actions that constituted an important a part of the period’s world of ideas. Because the amulet material is local and dateable, it can be used to challenge the hegemonic homogeneity in the text-based tradition (below). Amulet studies cannot replace text studies. However, the amulet material is a source for the Viking Age rituals and symbolism that can be studied independently of the written sources. An analysis of regional and chronological variations in amulet deposition can throw light on regional and chronological variations in ritual, world-view and possibly religion. These analyses constitute the investigation’s empirical part. However, before I get to that, it is necessary to discuss epistemology, the question of how knowledge in generated.

Here, I shall use the term archive for the total, archaeological knowledge that is collected at these institutions. This archive is not identical with the archaeological discourse, which is far less factual and far more thematic (see below). I stress that archaeology’s archive is a product of a specific practice of registration. Consequently, it is both a social construction and real, but incomplete. Earlier archaeologists have probably not documented anything (much) that did not exist, but nor have they recorded all information about all that existed. Their understanding of what counted as relevant archaeological data existed in a social context, just as our own does. Thus, the archive is both a construction and a source for describing reality. It becomes no less real by being collected by people, but use of the archive demands a source-critical understanding of how and why it was collected. Specifically, the institutionalisation of the archaeological archive needs to be recognised as part of the bourgeois Enlightenment. This ideology emphasised centralised, rational state institutions empowered by law to act in perceived public interest. The empowerment of archaeological institutions also disempowered local populations. A new ideological narrative about the shared national past was instrumental in making these shifts in power acceptable. As discussed below, early interpretations of specific finds directly reflect these new ideas about local populations as part of a greater national community, united by its shared past. As Svanberg (2003a) has recently stressed, Scandinavian Viking Age archaeology was nationalist from its inception. Yet, I find he fails to stress that such nationalism was not an accident or mis-development, but a fundamental trait of the national institutions, museums and academies that organised the studies.

2.2) Epistemology: scientific institutions and “the archaeological archive” The amulets are not only symbols. They are also material objects and archaeological finds. The knowledge that we have about them today is shaped by the same processes as all other archaeological knowledge. It is a central postmodernist claim that institutions and discourses influence the knowledge they create. Here is an obvious contactzone between discourse-analysis, social technology studies and the critical theory. This can be summed up with Leigh Stars question “Who benefits?”, 3 and with Lee & Stenner’s parallel question “Who pays? Can we pay them back?” (Star 1991, 43, Lee & Stenner 2005). As Donna Haraway has explained, a focus on these questions also helps highlight how information is gathered, and how these processes shape the information available (cf. Haraway 2004, 238, Haraway & Goodeve 2000, 147). In archaeology, one of the chief instruments of such processes is the law. Changes in the national legislation through time have had a significant influence on what we can know about the archaeological remains. The violence and threat of punishment that let states enforce their laws and build national institutions was directly implicated in the building of national collections. The questions of “who benefits?” and “who pays?”, serve to remind us that all this information did not flow into archives through gravity alone. Our knowledge was collected by people, in the face of resistance from other people, and that resistance was overcome in various ways, some punitive, others ideological.

Publications such as typologies and catalogues can also be considered to be institutions in the archaeological creation of knowledge. Works like Skovmand’s catalogue of the Viking Age silver hoards (Skovmand 1942) and Jan Petersen’s typologies of brooches, swords and axes help structure our archaeological knowledge (Petersen 1919, 1928, 1951). They permit us to order and date some types of finds very precisely. This creates sourcecritical problems. The problem is not that we have a good command of information on Danish hoard finds, but that we lack a similarly command of Swedish hoard finds (cf. Hårdh 1996, 28ff). The problem is not that it is possible to date swords and oval brooches precisely. Rather, the problem is that many other types of finds cannot be dated with the same precision. Thus, chronological discussions come to depend too much on these “lead fossils”.

The archaeological total image of a period such as the Viking Age is entirely dependent on the recorded knowledge about earlier finds and excavations. Thus, a distribution map for a type of object does not directly reflect where the objects existed in the past, nor directly where they have been found in recent times. Instead, it reflects where they have been found and reported, and where the map-maker had access to precise information about finds. Information that not is documented at finding is lost today. Consequently, the establishment of

Four post-depositional factors have been particularly important in shaping the record for amulets: First, the registration of stray finds is shaped by legislation and enforcement of this. In Sweden some amulets were handed in already in the 1700s. In

3 ”Cui bono?”

17

Viking Age amulets in Scandinavia and Western Europe sites. Even today some museums seem much keener to excavate Viking Age sites than do others (T. Christensen 1996, 84). Thus, the over-all picture is also shaped by individual persons’ interest in and opportunity to work on Viking Age archaeology.

Denmark, this apparently did not happen regularly until the 1800s, and in England not until the 1990s. Very likely, some amulets were found before this, but neither recognised as ancient remains by the finders, nor considered interesting by the authorities. The archive is shaped by laws demanding that finds be reported and by publications explaining what objects may be ancient remains. Thus, the Thor’s hammer from the Roddings (cat. 239) came to archaeological knowledge only when the finder realised that it was an ancient artefact. Moreover, the new English portable antiquities scheme (below) made it both easier to report the find, and harder not to do so.

The simplest point that can be made from this is that the archaeological archive used to be incomplete. We now know that amulets are actually sometimes found on Viking Age settlements, although almost none were reported before the Helgö excavations. Very likely, they were overlooked. The slightly more complicated point is that the archaeological archive is still likely to be incomplete. Although not many settlements were excavated in the first half of the 20th century, they were probably destroyed just as frequently as graves. Any information that could be collected here is lost forever.

Second, the registration of contextual information is obviously shaped by archaeological practice. All the oldest finds must be considered stray finds today, because nothing is documented about their context. They oldest registrations of assembled finds concern hoards, and this registration of whole hoards has direct consequences for how precisely the material can be dated today, due to contextual dating based on coins. We can date the amulets from Vålse because of the quick registration of the coins in that hoard. The registration of graves as contexts seems to have become far better after Stolpe excavated and Arbman published Birka. They showed how much information could be registered using careful investigations, and so institutionalised new standards. Similarly, the registration of settlements is very much shaped by the use of machines for stripping the top-soil, and the registration of stray finds by metal-detector use. Third, all of the archaeological material is shaped by the research-priorities of its time. This can be illustrated with the example of Birka: Stolpe’s excavations focused on the graves, and led to the excavation of some 1000 of the approximately 3000 known graves on Björkö. This produced a large number of grave finds, including amulets. Later excavations, especially under Björn Ambrosiani, have focused on understanding urban formation as a social and historical process. Few graves on Björkö have been excavated since AD 1900, and consequently few grave finds have been made. The few amulets from the new excavations are all settlement finds. An overview over the distribution of amulets on contexts according to time of recovery shows how large a role the grave finds from Birka and the settlement finds from Helgö, Hedeby and Tissø plays. Shifting interests in chronology and closed contexts, or in social processes and build-up areas, produces different archives. Moreover, priorities outside archaeological control also shape the possibilities of excavation: the excavation on Aggersborg fortress in 1946 may owe something to an interest in war and in Denmark’s former greatness, informed by World War II and Denmark’s less glorious role as an occupied nation under a collaborator government. However, the excavation was also a labour creation scheme to help fight unemployment.

However, the third and altogether central point is that this does not invalidate the older data. We cannot ignore the grave finds from the 19th and early 20th century, even though they do not give a complete image of what existed in the ground then. We cannot ignore the Danish metal detector finds, even though they lack contextual information, and even though we lack similar finds from Sweden. Of course, the archive could be better, and we would rather have these same finds from welldocumented contexts, or have a complete catalogue of everything we have not yet found. Our archive is not ideal, but it is the only archive we have. Often, it is the only archive, we can ever have, as illustrated by the find from Skovviger Dam on Bornholm, from 1877 (cat. 141). The find-description reads: “By digging an open ditch, sander L. P. Munk some years ago found some neck- and arm-rings of silver, which were all sent in to the museum.” 4 The registered hoard consists of two neckrings and two arm-rings, found in the soil dug up from the ditch. They were found about a fortnight after the work, and may have been washed out by rain. Unfortunately, it is not clear today where Skovviger Dam was (P.O. Nielsen, personal communication), and consequently nor is it possible to re-examine the site. This is all the more unfortunate since the find might well have contained smaller objects, such as dating coins. All we know about Skovviger Dam it the information above, recorded some years after the time of finding. The example is extreme, but not unique. Many other find sites are destroyed forever, even if they can be localised more precisely.

Fourth, the material is shaped by the archaeological establishment. This is especially true for early records. Pioneers such as Stolpe, Arbman and Shetelig were central in arranging research excavations of Viking Age

4 ”Ved at kaste en aaben Grøft fandt Sandemand L. P. Munk for nogle Aar siden her nogle Hals og Armringe af Sølv, som alle indsendtes til Museet”. I am unsure what exactly a “sander” does for a living. Clearly Munk also dug ditches, but his main work may have been sandextraction.

Find-histories as examples of epistemology A number of other finds can illustrate the role postdepositional factors have played in the creation of the present find picture:

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2: Theory wood” 7. It is also of interest that even this find, apparently a closed find until disturbed, was immediately scattered so far that parts were only recovered later.

• For the Thor’s hammer SHM 131 (cat. 939), SHMs protocols record: “Found during autumn sowing in a field in Täby parish, ¾ mil from Uppsala [insert: “maybe Läby p.?”]. Description catalogue page. 48, n. 295 (insp. by Adlersbeth) Adlersbeth’s cat. n. 131. Inv. years 177-.” 5

Incidentally, the parish minister would belong to the Lutheran church, the state church in all the Scandinavian countries. In Denmark, state church ministers are civil servants with various bureaucratic duties in addition to any religious vocation. After the reformation, the establishment of the state church organization was central to officialdom’s control of the population. Notably, the church was responsible for all registration of births, marriages and deaths, and for all census counts. It thus became instrumental in compulsory schooling, individual taxation, the draft and so on. Indeed, when the first national survey of ancient remains was carried out, this was largely done by writing to the ministers and asking for a list of remains in each parish. The answers are of widely varied quality.

There is almost no contextual information known. Even the site and the year of recovery are only uncertainly identified. Comparison with the other silver Thor’s hammers suggests that this one may have been deposited in a hoard, but if so, no other components were reported. • The Vålse find (cat. 149-153) is better described: “In the spring of 1835 tenant smallholder Jörgen Jörgensen of Vaalse, while ploughing his fields, hit a metal vessel which stood not very deep in the ground, with the plough. He did not notice this, and as the metal vessel, having been flat, some 10 inches average [diameter?], looking like the sort considered to be the lunch-boxes of pagan antiquity, was very consumed and almost dissolved by rust, the items it held fell out into the soil. Continuing the ploughing, something was noted and recovered, but it was especially during harrowing that more was found, and as people now saw that the found objects were silver, the site was carefully examined and all that existed was carefully collected. With this, the finders turned to the parish minister, Hr. Rosen, who realised the importance of the find and encouraged people to conduct an even more thorough investigation and fully collect all that was found, so we can thank this man’s care for the far more complete overview, we achieved over this find than one can usually do when a large number of objects of noble metals are found by people from the common peasantry” 6 (Oldsagscomiteen 1842, 23ff, cf. Skovmand 1942, 95, Müller-Wille 1976, 59). Jörgensen looked for, but found no traces of buildings. It is doubtful that he would be able to recognise these, as professional archaeologists did not learn to do so until the 1950s. Oldsagscomitteen, a body of professionals, inspire little confidence when they refer to a search for “Foundation stones for a building … of

• The 1853 find from Yholm (cat. 172) gives a fascinating picture of the time: “The cause of the find was a coin that was shot up in a molehill and was found by a worker at a brick factory at Taasinge, who together with others one Sunday had gone over to the uninhabited island. By poking in the ground with a stick he found a total of 15 coins - and buried them again out of fear of bad luck. This was learned by the brick-maker, and together with the tenant of the island he had the site where the coin had been found carefully examined to a circumference of 12-14 foot [some 3½-4 meters] and to a depth of 3 foot [almost one meter]. Hereby, the rest of the find was exposed” 8 (Danish National Museum’s protocols). The conflict between superstitious workers and rational supervisors is clearly implied. It is less clear how often this island was ever visited, being uninhabited, but having tenant. • The Jyndevad find (cat. 233) was described by parish minister Johannes Kok. In a letter dated to the 20th of July, 1863, he describes how a local farmer found the hoard: “By digging a hole to plant a tree in, he noted that about one ell [about 62 cm] down in the ground he struck something that gave a chiming sound, which he in the beginning thought was bits of glass. When he looked closer, he discovered all the finds in one place, so tightly pressed together that they, according to his reasonable assumption, have been wrapped in a cloth, of which there was no trace, though. Although he has carefully re-dug

5 ”Funnet under höstsåning i en åker i Täby socken, ¾ mil från Uppsala [insert: ”Kanske Läby sn?”]. Besch. Kat. pag. 48, n. 295 (insp. af Adlersbeth) Adlersbeths kat. n. 131. Inv. år 177-”. 6 ”I Foraaret 1835 stödte Fæstegaardman Jörgen Jörgensen af Vaalse, ved at plöie sine Marker, med Ploven paa et Metalkar, som stod ikke meget dybt i Jorden. Han bemærkede ikke dette, og da Metalkarret, der havde været fladt, omkring 10 Tommers Gjennemsnit, lignede den Slags, som man anseer for Hedenolds Lautboller, var meget fortæret og næsten oplöst af Rust, væltede de Sager, det indeholdt, ud i Mulden. Ved den fortsatte Plöining bemærkedes noget, som optoges, men det var især ved Harvningen, at flere fremkom, og da man nu saae, at de fundne Sager vare af Sölv, undersögte man Stedet nöiere og samlede omhyggelig alt, hvad der fandtes. Med dette henvendte Finderen sig til Sognepræsten, Hr. Rosen, som indsaae Vigtigheden af Fundet og opmuntrede til at foretage en endnu nöiagtigere Undersögelse og fuldstændig samle alt det Fundne, saa at man maa takke denne Mands omsorg for den langt fuldstændigere Oversigt, vi erholdt over dette Fund, end man sædvanlig er i stand til at faae, hvor et större antal Sager af ædle Metaller findes af Folk fra Almuen”. ”Fæstegaardmand” might alternatively be translated as ”serf”. However, the description may suggest that Jörgensen was less wretched than some of his peers.

7 ”Grundstene til en Bygning … af Træ” 8 ”Anledningen til Fundet var en Mønt, der var skudt op i et Muldvarpeskud og blev fundet af en Arbejder paa et Teglværk paa Taasinge, der i Forening med flere en Søndag var taget over til den ubeboede Holm. Ved at rode i Jorden med en Pind fandt han i alt 15 Mønter - og gravede dem ned igen af frygt for Ulykke. Dette kom Teglbrænderen for Øre, og i Forening med Fæsteren af Holmen lod han Pladsen, hvor Mønterne var fundet, omhyggeligt undersøge i 12-14 Fods Omkreds og til en Dybde af 3 Fod. Herved fremkom resten af Fundet”. The word “Teglbrænderen” is ambiguous. It literally means “the brick-baker”, sugesting the person responsible for baking the bricks. However, the singular form and the rest of the story seem to indicate that he was not an ordinary employee but rather the owner or supervisor of the brick-works. For the tennant, see note 6.

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Viking Age amulets in Scandinavia and Western Europe Svensson’s title, preacher (predikant) suggests that he was not a State Church minister. Iterant charismatic preachers were and remain a feature of the protestant revival. They are not affiliated with the state church, and some are not even Lutherans but Pentecostals or Methodists. In Sweden in 1910, many of them were involved with the abstinence movement. The relationship between Free Church and State Church varies from vary tolerance to open hostility. Most people who join the free churches do so out of dislike for the state church. Svensson’s failure to cooperate with state museum authorities may well parallel his independence from state religious authorities.

the entire garden, he has found neither silver nor other objects, though”. 9 Minister Kok adds that the finder handed in the find because he was Danish-minded (a Danish patriot, rather than a German one) and was happily surprised to also obtain treasure trove (danefæ) compensation for it. Jyndevad is in the far south of Denmark. This area of the borders changed hands repeatedly during the late 1800s, creating one of the greatest diplomatic messes of the time. British Prime Minister d’Israeli famously quipped that only three people had ever understood the Danish question, one of who was dead, one gone insane, while the last, d’Israeli himself, had forgotten his understanding. Because of the new idea of plebiscites to settle the borders, patriotism was important for both sides. Not incidentally, both sides had archaeological finds excavated and moved very far away from the borders lest they fall into enemy hands if and when the area changed hands again.

• For the hoard from Terslev (cat. 101-103) even more information is documented and an equally characteristic picture of the time: the hoard was deposited in the 900s and found in 1911, by some boys who were digging dug holes in a garden, apparently in play. Later, newspapers would claim that they dug for potatoes, possibly a moral point for the public. When the silver appeared, the finder went to his father, the baker; then the school-teacher was alarmed, then the minister and finally the local district judge, who contacted the national museum. The museum sent Jørgen Olrik on a train next morning, and the site was investigated the day after the find. Olrik recounts that the hole was 80 cm deep and ½ ell (12 inches, some 31 cm) across. There were no traces of any container. Olrik remarks that “so the bowls did not stand inside each other, nor did they contain coins or ancient remains, but were only filled with soil; the coins did not lie in stacks. There were no traces of clay vessel, casket, bag or other container …”, but “it could look as if they had been enclosed by something rotted”.10 On site were found some animal bones. However, Olrik interpreted these as recent and did not collect them.

Thus, much information could have been lost, if the finder had been less patriotic, the minister less interested, or if find had been made while the area was German. • The finds from Stora Bjärs, Gotland (cat. 555-559), includes two hoard finds, found in 1909-1910 and 1948, deposited on the same field, but 20-30 meters from each other. The amulets come from the 1910-find (SHM 14376), which was disturbed by a dike. The second find, the 1949 hoard, SHM 13715, was found during the harvest of root crops. Later excavations revealed cultural layers, a crucible and a ring-brooch in the same field. There are also graves in the area (SHM 13715, 14376, 14397 and 14487, GF 9708 from 1948). The site was examined with a metal-detector in 1978, and more finds were made then. The finds may still be incomplete. After the first finds in 1910, the farmer, Herman Petterson, entertained one preacher K. A. Svensson, who eagerly investigated the area, guided by a dream. The farmer’s son, Arthur Petterson, recalls that the find contained some small crosses (cat. 473 and 474) and horsemen’s figurines (cat. 475 and 476), which the preacher took with him, and which were never seen again. A. Petterson has later identified these from comparison to the Birka-publication, but it is obviously difficult to decide how closely they resembled the finds from Birka (information from ATA). In a discourseanalytic perspective it is interesting that Birka evidently constituted the grounds for comparison when SHM collected information about the find. The dating of the crosses depends on the similarity with the Birka crosses, as the disturbed hoards do not provide convincing dating contexts.

Meanwhile, the press had arrived. One journalist even arrived in an emergency vehicle with the sirens on, under much criticism from his colleagues. Among the representatives was celebrated writer Johannes V. Jensen. In Illustrered Tidende, he described how there was light in the school room long after bed-time, and how the silver armbands for a time again shone on women’s white arms. He added that the hoard had not been deposited by princes and chieftains, but by ordinary, wealthy farmers, much like the area’s modern inhabitants. Jensen would later be made a Nobel Laureate (1944), and his historical novel Kongens fald (The fall of the King) was voted the greatest Danish novel of the 20th century. The fact that such a skilled writer was employed by a national periodical to describe an archaeological find in such poetic and high-blown language may indicate how important archaeology was to the reading public of the time.

9 ”Ved at grave et Hul til at plante et Træ i bemærkede han [gårdejeren], at opad en omtrent Alen i Jorden stødte paa noget der gav en klingende Lyd, hvilket han i førstningen trode var Glasstumper. Da han saa efter, opdagede han det hele Fund paa et Sted, saa tæt sammenpresset, at det, efter hans ganske rimelige Formodning, har været indsvøbt i et Klæde, hvoraf der dog ikke forekom Spor. Skønt han omhyggelig har eftergravet hele Haven, har han dog ikke fundet hverken Sølv eller andre Genstande”.

Both the official story about digging for potatoes and 10 ”Skaalene stod således ikke inde i hverandre, ej heller indeholdt de Mønter eller Oldsager, men var kun fyldt med jord; Mønterne laa ikke i Stabler. Der var intet Spor af Lerkar, Skrin, Pose eller anden Beholder…”, men ”Det kunne se ud som om de havde været indesluttet af noget bortraadnet.”

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2: Theory rings from the Iron Age had already been found on Helgö in 1945. These provoked no investigation (Holmqvist & Granath 1980, 11). Thus, the investigation was not undertaken just because a spectacular find appeared, but because the right spectacular find appeared at the right time.

Jensen’s account emphasise the connection between agriculture, hard work and wealth. The moralistic story is not strictly factual. Rather, it reflects a social and ideological construction of the past and its value for the present. Terslev was a good story. Journalists, farmers and archaeologists found a common interest in one particular vision of the past. Exactly for this reason, the find also served to remind other finders that they should report their finds to the national museum.

• The hoard from Tromsøflakket (not included) was found in 2005, on several separate occasions, by children playing, and in 2006 no moral re-writing was needed. The site was investigated after the find by archaeologists from Tromsø museum (Inger Storli, personal communication, and 2006, throughout, and 180ff.). Tromsøflakket is a newly build neighbourhood outside Tromsø city, and the children discovered the hoard in while making a dug-out den. This hoard is not included in the present work, as it probably belongs among the Sami metal hoards (cf. I. Zachrisson 1984).

After Olrik’s visit, the find was put on special exhibition in Copenhagen, where people queued far out in the street (information from Topografisk arkiv, NM). The present archival information is a product of a social context, but it also consists of also objective facts. The observations were made in a social context, and to a large degree shaped by the gradual rise of the archaeological establishment. The very detailed description of the Terslev find is due to the local authorities’ cooperation. This was obtained because of their understanding that the state and the national museum had an interest in the find, and that the find was important for the national identity. In 1911, contributing to a nationalist history was seen as a very legitimate thing to do. Journalists such as Jensen contributed to the creations and maintenance of this understanding by creating sympathy for past people among the public. The exhibition’s large success confirmed that the material had the public’s interest, and deserved the sort of effort Olrik invested in it. The coverage of the Terslev find can be understood as a way of maintaining the imagined community of all citizens, and maintaining their identification with the state and the state institutions as curators of a shared past. Jensen and his colleagues managed to write an interpretation that simultaneously affirmed the importance of agricultural communities, archaeologists and journalists to the nation. The shared national project affirmed everyone in their identities. A story about playing lads or ancient kings simply would not do the trick.

Inger Storli interprets this hoard as cosmological, in that it combines items from many different cultures and directions. She suggests that these were consciously selected to represent the whole known world in one hoard. This interpretation is remarkably different from that of Terslev, described above. Just as the interpretation of Terslev seems to reflect popular concerns at the time of discovery, so perhaps Storli’s interpretation of Tromsøflakket may reflect present-day concerns with globalisation, information and even copyright. Certainly, her implicit idea that exotic silverwork would serve to link the hoard to South Scandinavia and Russia invites comparison with the way websites are hyperlinked to each other by references, with no regard for geographical distance. Not incidentally, the modern Norwegian interest in global connections is borne out by the name of the find-spot: Klimaveien, “Climate road”. Find-information arises in a social context. It does not just reflect what existed in the ground, but also who found it. The find-picture today is shaped by Olof Larsson, by the anonymous finder of SHM 131 and his bureaucratic counterpart in Stockholm. It is shaped by the parish ministers in Vålse and Burkal, and the iterant preacher in Store Bjärs. It is shaped by the bailiff in Terslev and the journalists who informed the public about state interest. It is shaped by these people, as much as it is shaped by the archaeologists. The Yholm find reflects the conflict between proletarian superstition and bourgeois rationalism. Terslev more strongly reflects a growing administration and a surprisingly hierarchical society of sons and fathers, bakers, teachers, ministers and bailiffs, with the national museum at the apogee. The lost finds from Store Bjärs can directly be tied to the iterant preacher’s charismatic authority, which can hardly be separated from the protestant revival of the time. The find from Tromsøflakket reflects both Tromsø’s expansion, and the Norwegian oil boom, and the children’s more timeless activities. There are obvious parallels between this hoard and Terslev, but equally fascinating differences in how they were interpreted: Terslev was found during the cooperate agricultural movement’s golden age, and was interpreted as a sign on stalwart farmers and solid

• The finds from SHM 25075 Helgö (cat. 834-899) are even better documented. Most of finds are recorded with measures in three dimensions, and can be placed precisely in relation that the stationary remains on Helgö. However, the excavation came about by coincidence: in 1959, the owner wanted to erect a flagpole. To do this, he dug a modest hole, where he discovered the famous, socalled Coptic, bronze ladle. This one object created much interest among the Stockholm archaeologists. Just then, they were looking for an international trading-site in Lake Mälarn, Birka’s predecessor. The bronze ladle offered strong support for the idea that Helgö might be just that site. Here, the precise registration of the amulets is a sideeffect of a historical archaeology which was mainly interested in trade and urbanisation. Helgö became cause celebre, with the king as protector. The interest did not hurt budgets any, and few other contemporary excavations had funds like Helgö. It is doubtful if Helgö would have attained the same attention if it had not been interpreted as predecessor of Birka and Stockholm. In this connection, it bears stressing that two heavy gold 21

Viking Age amulets in Scandinavia and Western Europe on Ihre leaves out the conditions of work, the moralising discourses surrounding Terslev leaves out play and happenstance, while the interpretation of Tromsø largely leaves out economy. Each time, we get a story out of it: the story about the triumph of positivist science, the story about hard work and reward, the story about cosmology and distant connections. Each time, the storytellers write inside an always already established understanding of what is interesting about the Viking Age. Consequently, the scientific texts are also edited narratives. They can be understood and critiqued like all other texts. They can be understood through deconstructions that reveal what discourse passively leaves out or even actively excludes (cf. also White 1985, throughout and 289 & 429f).

wealth. Tromsø was found during an “age of globalisation”, during “the war on terror”, and was interpreted as sign of cosmology, world views and globalisation. As these examples may suggest, new finds tend to have better contextual information than old ones. However, this is not always so. The Thor’s hammer from Tågemosen (cat. 112) was found in 1978, but first reported in 1987 (Vang Petersen 1987, 3, Staecker 1999a, No. 45, Huber 2004, 108, 03). It was found during the clearing off of stones from the field. It seems to have been torn from the ground by the teeth of a machine for putting own ammonia. The hammer’s chain has parallels in the hoards from Mandemark and Sejerø, so it may originate in a hoard. Then again, it may not. In 1990, a tank for fermented manure was constructed on the same site. At that time, two or three possible graves were found, but neither bones nor goods could be observed. There is no necessary association between these undated features and the hammer. Although the find is both recent, silver, and made on a possible wetland locality, there is almost no contextual information. To a very large degree, this is a product of the rescue excavation situation and of industrialised agriculture.

All this is not to say that these accounts are factually wrong, merely that other stories could also be told. The Tromsø-objects may well be selected to form a cosmological pattern, but they were also valuables. The Terslev objects are certainly valuables, but they were also specific objects. Stenberger’s description of what was found were is entirely credible, but it does leave much out. Thus, post-modern source-criticism must include several issues: how the archive is created and shaped by institutions; how discourse is shaped by its own history; and how archive and discourse have influenced each other. In all cases, another knowledge could have been possible under other circumstances. Archaeological interpretations cannot be separated from their own social and historical framework.

Find-history has rarely been given the attention it deserves. One of the most thought-provoking experiences while compiling the present text came when I discovered an internal note in the ATA (Antikvarisk-Topografisk Arkiv, Stockholm). In this note, Mårten Stenberger wrote about the excavations on Store och Lilla Ihre (or Ire), Gotland that “Some days, the cold was so hard that it prevented all drawing. The quick darkening towards dusk even made necessary to collect finds before their position could be measured.” 11 This precise description of impossible work-condition should be recognisable for all field archaeologists, but was left out of the final publication (Stenberger 1961). Here, Stenberger instead describes the excavation in the positivist tradition, with objective descriptions completely divorced from the specifics of excavation. Only the unpublished note reveals that there were actual people involved in the Ihre excavation, and that they had to make strategic choices. This contextual information can stress another important post-modern point: just as our archive is a product of historical choices, so the same applies the discourse built up around it. Jean-François Lyotard defined the postmodern condition as a condition of incredulity towards metanarratives or grand narratives (Lyotard 1994; 1999, both throughout). In Lyotard’s understanding, narrativity is not memory, but rather an analogy to or a simulacrum of memory. It serves as memory, but is not memory, and its social value depends partially on its ability to replace memory. Liljefors sums up this in the claim, “You don’t get a story if you don’t leave anything out” (Liljefors 2005, 185; cf. also Joyce 2002, 14, Ricoeur 1984, 25, cf. White 1985, 8ff & 3 note 4). Stenberger’s official report

Regions and periods as discursive institutions in epistemology Find histories are one concrete example that can illustrate the abstract points argued above. Administrative regions and chronological periods are also good examples of the sort of institutions I have in mind: As already argued, this work is shaped by the presentday nation-states’ and administrative regions’ practice of registration. The modern national borders did not exist in the Viking Age, and some archaeologists prefer to base their analyses on geographical units that correspond to historical, rather than modern, states (e.g. Zeiten 1997). However, the relevant registers and archives are held by institutions located inside, financed by, and accountable to, different modern nation states. So, although e.g. Hedeby was not “in Germany” in the Viking Age, the site and the finds from Hedeby are in Germany today. The very fine archives kept at Sloß Gottorf are also very German archives: written in German by Germans, usually under guidelines informed by German law. There may not have been any German Viking Age, but there certainly are German Viking Age archaeologists. To understand these archives, a reader need to know about German archaeology and intellectual history, and to understand the larger discourse around Hedeby, a reader need to know the role claims to Nordic culture played in

11 ”Några dagar var kölden så stark, att den förhindrade allt ritarbete. Den hastigt påkommande skumringen gjorde det även nödvändigt att upptage ett fynd, innan det kunde uppmätes.”

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2: Theory Svanberg (2003a, 11ff) documents that Viking Age archaeology is permeated with nationalist sentiment. He understands this as a metaphorical colonisation: just as states made foreign territories their own and used them for their own profits, so they have colonised the past for their own benefit. Moreover, he argues that chronological schemes are only useful for ordering artefacts, not for explaining processes. He seems especially keen to distance himself from any preconceived notion of “the Viking Age”, and his work focuses instead on something called the late Iron Age, covering roughly the same span of years (800-1000 AD). It bears stressing that Svanberg is equally sceptic towards modern nation states and even administrative districts.

German debates historically. Because of this, I have also chosen to analyse the finds according to modern borders: If we want to know why nothing happened in Hedeby in the early 1940s, or why so few metal-detector finds have been made in Skåne, we need to recognise modern borders. If we want to investigate the bias created by modern law and practice, we need to recognise modern differences. Also, of course, there are a number of finds only registered on a national level. Obviously, nothing is found “in Denmark” without being found somewhere specific, but equally obviously, that specific information has sometimes been lost. The same logic applies on a local level. I do not believe that the modern borders between the Swedish districts reflect Viking Age realities in every detail, but I understand that modern Swedish museums and similar institutions often organise their work based on these borders.

I sympathise with Svanberg, and I agree with many of his points about how we need to get away from monolithic narratives and projections of late Icelandic texts onto all of Scandinavia and all of the period. Yet, I think he underestimates the power of social constructions. Archaeological periods are artefacts of our methods, but necessary ones. I think we do need to date artefacts before we try to explain phenomena. Indeed, Svanberg himself does date a lot of artefacts in his work. Moreover, I think he overstates the autonomy of local regions: I accept that burial rituals, Svanberg’s main concern, could develop locally, but there were also some over-regional tendencies, notably phenomena including ling-distance trade, urbanisation and Christianisation. We cannot understand e.g. the silver hoards in a local perspective alone.

The find from Jyndevad may illustrate how much modern borders mean for our archives. It may not have been deposited in a borderland, but it was certainly found in one. Analytical divisions based on modern national and district borders are obviously artificial. They do not represent Viking Age realities. Yet, they do represent modern archaeological realities. These borders are meaningful for archaeology because they were considered meaningful by modern archaeologists. They were socially construed, but they became real.

More importantly, much of our archive is organised according to traditional periodisations and modern nation states. It is relatively easy to find information on, say, the Danish Viking Age, for all that definitions of “Danish” and “Viking Age” do not reflect ancient realities. This also means that there is such a thing as a Viking Age discourse today, even if there was no Viking Age in the Viking Age. We can identify a reasonably coherent body of texts and discussions that refer to each other and share many premises and concepts. There is a Viking Age community now, and the people who work on (what we recognise as) the Viking Age tend to go to the same conferences, read and respond to each other’s papers, and publish in the same journals.

The logic just applied to space applies equally to time. Just as people in the Viking Age did not recognise our modern borders, so they did not recognise our modern periods. They did not know that they were living in “the Viking Age”, and very little changed markedly at either end of the period, while much changed during it. Yet, we have to work with some system of periods or other, and the idea of a “Viking Age” is at least a well-established one. There are a few dedicated Viking Age institutions and departments, and a very extensive literature and an active community of scholars. Even if the definition of the period was entirely arbitrary when it was first formulated, today it has become a strong tradition in how we organise our knowledge. The idea of the Viking Age informs decisions about what institutions and which people excavate which sites, about which projects can apply for funding under which schemes, and get published in which journals, and about what literature, and which problems, are considered relevant for what research.

Both Svanberg’s approach and my own obviously differ from that of Neil Price, who maintains that “A period cannot be defined by a style of brooch, which is ultimately what lies behind the notion that pushing back the dating of specific objects should mean that the Viking Age ‘started earlier than we thought’” (Price 2002, 31). If I understand Price, our differences hinge on the word “defined”: it is certainly possibly define a body of material for research by styles of brooch, or similar criteria. However, Price’s ultimate project seems to be to understand “the essence of the period” (Ibid. 25). Thus, although we may recognise Viking Age material on styles of brooch and so on, I suspect Price would maintain that this does not in itself tell us anything essential about the period. Here, it seems that Price would rather define the

Here, it might be useful to contrast two very different views of chronology expressed in two recent works on the Viking Age: Frederik Svanberg (2003a) has argued that the period is a conceit and should be abandoned. Neil Price (2002, 31) seems to argue that the period is so real that mere archaeological finds cannot change its dates. I shall present and discuss each argument in turn:

23

Viking Age amulets in Scandinavia and Western Europe heritage, to convince finders to hand over their finds, to convince states to finance investigations, archives and museums. Nor was nationalism the only ideology so employed: we also find some archaeologist arguing from the ideology of the bourgeois enlightenment, and legitimising their work as the pursuit of pure knowledge, and part of a project of greater rationality, and we find others subscribing to Marxism and its cognates, and legitimising their work as part of the project of creating a more just world, by raising consciousness and destroying ideological misrepresentations. Any one of these arguments might work in some setting, none of them will work everywhere, but crucially, we do need some legitimation. There is much I find distasteful in nationalist archaeology, but equally, there is much we would not know if not for nationalist sympathies.

period by its style of religious practice, in this case “shamanism”. I have serious reservations regarding Prices methodology, but here and now this is beside the point. The point is rather that whatever their reservations and differences, both Price and Svanberg use styles of artefacts to define the materials they include in discussion, and both end up working with a period somewhat like the traditional Viking Age. Moreover, both depend heavily on previous research that did define itself as Viking Age research, and certainly defined its periods by styles of brooch, among other criteria. Before moving on, I should stress that as I read them, Svanberg and Price have rather different attitudes to the written sources. One of Svanberg’s points in renaming the “Viking Age” as “Late Iron Age” seems to be to get rid of the “Vikings”, as known from the sagas and imagined by popular culture. One of Price’s chief ambitions seem to be to restore credibility to the sagas and similar sources by refuting any chronological objections. As I read him, Price not only wants “Vikings” in his “Viking Age”, he wants the whole age to be characterised by a “Viking Way”, consisting of war, religion and magic, and he wants these to be integral to each other. For Price, “Viking” is not some random placeholder, and an “oval brooch period” or “late Iron Age” would not work. I also want to stress their very different attitudes to politics: Svanberg is aggressively critical of nationalism, although it is not obvious which alternative he prefers, while Price takes pains to distance himself from any present community, including queer theorists, neo-shamans and so on (e.g. Price 2002, 23).

Above, I have discussed the Terslev find, especially, as an example of how nationalist discourse has proved productive: archaeologists could legitimise their interference and expenses by presenting themselves as protectors of a national heritage, and use that argument to convince the finders to hand over their local finds to national institutions; journalists could legitimise their interest in the find by claiming that they represented national interests and national media, and that national readers had a right to know about the national past; conversely, the locals themselves seem to have influenced the narrative by negotiating a new emphasis on agricultural wealth and continuity, creating a new definition of the nation that included farmers as well as the urban bourgeoisie. They seem to have welcomed archaeologists also because these were their connection to a national identity. We may perhaps see this as a collaboration, where everyone had an interest in creating a shared, national story. The reason why we know of Terslev at all is that somehow the various groups involved managed to find a common interest. We can, and should, certainly ask “Who benefits?”, and “Who pays? Can we pay them back?”, we need to be aware that someone did benefit, and that this was the whole reason why the archive was collected in the first place. Nationalism, enlightenment and the rest are not varnishes applied atop some fundamental archaeological truth, but part of the very fabric of our knowledge. We may not need to accept the Viking Age as a real phenomenon in the past, with its own essence, but we will need to accept the fact that, for now, it is a useful concept in understanding the past. Not a perfect concept, not an unproblematic one, but one that is useful for some projects.

I think both Svanberg’s and Price’s texts reflect a certain degree of idealism: Svanberg’s critique of nationalist archaeology seems to imply that he would prefer some sort of pure knowledge beyond politics. I find he fails to stress that such nationalism was not an accident or misdevelopment, but a fundamental trait of the national institutions, museums and academies that organised the studies. Meanwhile, Price’s dislike for artefact chronology and engagements with modern communities seems to imply a nostalgia for an equally pure knowledge beyond the accidents of archaeological practice and beyond any situatedness in the present. By omission, both seem to fall back to the old positivist dream of an absolutely objective knowledge entirely unbiased by its history of production. I think such an ideal is impossible to realise and unproductive to imagine. As argued earlier, changes in the national legislation have had a significant influence on what we can know about the archaeological remains. Our knowledge was collected by people, in the face of resistance from other people, and that resistance was overcome in various ways, some punitive, others ideological. Svanberg may resent the fact that early and current Viking Age scholars have followed nationalist ideologies in legitimising their work, but they had to so somehow. Nationalist rhetoric was used to convince law-makers to protect the archaeological

2.3) Archaeology, written sources and interdisciplinarity In this section I introduce some fundamental theoretical concepts and problems, relative to the general project of understanding the past in the present. These are not unique for the Viking Age or for amulet studies, but they seem especially relevant here. Also, I shall account for general and specific critique that problematises the established research tradition. I shall focus especially on 24

2: Theory continue the example above: in the Middle Ages, there was a group of people recognised as “lepers”. Modern medicine suggests that these suffered from a variety of diseases, some highly contagious, others much less so. To understand the lives of medieval lepers, we need to both recognise their etic differences and their emic similarities: although we may regard them as quite different, contemporary society did not. Even those who were not contagious were treated as though they were.

the use of late, Norse texts as sources for religion in all of Scandinavia in all of the Viking Age. Emic and etic, and John Moreland’s model for understanding of the past in the present The distinction between “emic” (inner) and “etic” (outer) ideas originates in social anthropology. Following Henry Pike’s definition, emic covers the knowledge valid inside the investigated society, while etic covers knowledge which is purely external and makes sense inside a general academic frame of reference. Consequently, only the locals can accept or reject a concept’s emic value, while it is the scientific establishment alone that can accept or reject a claim’s etic value. Pike derived these words from the divide between phonemic and phonetic, words linguists use to distinguish between meaningful and meaningless differences in the sounds of language. Phonemic differences are important, also for those who speak the language, while purely phonetic differences are meaningless for them (“hat” and “hate” are phonemically different words; “potayto” and “potahto” are phonetically different pronunciations of the same word). As example of an emic divide, Lett mentions the divide between nature and culture, which is important in some cultures, meaningless in others. In contrast, he mentions demographic methods as one way to understand a society from an etic perspective. Thus, if an anthropologist wants to know if a garden, a managed forest or a hunting preserve is “nature” or “culture”, you need to ask the locals. If he wants to know if the average life expectancy is higher or lower in the cities, he can collect the data regardless of whether the locals have any concept of average life expectancy (based on Lett 1996).

The idea of emic and etic understanding of other societies can be expanded upon by using English archaeologist John Moreland’s model. He describes three central concepts in the relationship between present and past: similarity, difference and analogy (Moreland 1997, 176f). Moreland points out that researchers in the present can only understand the past at all if we assume that in many ways the past was like the present. This is not intellectual laziness, but an altogether necessary premise for e.g. natural science studies. However, there is a danger of overdoing the similarity and to project present-day circumstances back on the past to a too large degree. The result becomes a dull, unproblematic past, which does not need to be investigated, because it is already “known”. This approach reduces the past to an incomplete, less successful version of the present (cf. Moore 1995, 53, Lucy & Herring 1995, 84). Such explanations based on similarity are a fundamental element of most positivist approaches. In reaction against this one-sided similarity, Moreland stresses the possibility that the past in some ways can have been radically different from anything that we know from our own present (cf. Tilley 1990, 341). It is possible that the past was so different that all present-day interpretation builds on false and superficial similarity that hides real, deeper differences. However, Moreland remarks that we are then “… reduced to playing games in the present”, instead of studying past realities (Moreland 1997, 178, but cf. Yates 1990, 274, Butler 1993, 27). The remark seems specifically addressed to postprocessualists and post-stucturalists, like me. Moreland suggests that explanations in terms of pure difference contain a danger that the past becomes incomprehensible and irrelevant. It is also possible that they misrepresent the past as more exotic and incomprehensible than it really is (cf. Ricoeur 2003, 334). An account of the past that is solely focused on difference easily becomes irrelevant for the present.

Lett also points out that there are large disagreements and unclearness about how these expressions are to be used, both inside and outside anthropology. For archaeology a similar divide can be formulated between past people’s own, emic concepts and the present researchers’ etic concepts. Here, emic explanations are those that past people understood and accepted, no matter how poorly this fits with present-day preconceptions of how the people of the past ought to behave. Thus, for instance, we know that there was a group of people in the Viking Age who identified as Christian, and were recognised as such by others. We know that other people did not claim any such identity. These are etic Christians: they may be nothing like our modern ideal of Christians, yet they clearly qualified as such by contemporary standards.

Neither pure similarity nor pure difference seems satisfactory. Moreland finds the solution for this conflict in and Ricoeur’s concept of analogy. Moreland stresses that it is not enough to replace “similar to” with “analogous to”. This replacement is only of value if analogy can be separated clearly from similarity. A perfectly description of similarity is identical with the past it describes, while a good analogy is a realistic reconstruction (cf. Ricoeur 1984, 13; 1988, 146 and 151). This is the difference between saying “this is” and “this is something like”. Consequently, suggestions for analogies demand accounts of both similarities and differences

I believe that the only way to a deeper understanding of Viking Age religion and thought is to attempt to recover the period’s emic ideas (cf. Beer 1997, throughout, Svanberg 2003a, 12). This does not mean that etic concepts are of no value. Modern sciences can help archaeologists to understand the past, although their collection of concepts is purely etic, so long as it is accepted that this understanding is anachronistic. To 25

Viking Age amulets in Scandinavia and Western Europe the emic is more unknown. A purely etic description can consequently lead to an excessive similarity. It can probably explain our understanding of how the past was, but not really convey past people’s understanding. In contrast, a purely emic description may describe how past people themselves experienced their world, but will only say little about how we can understand their experience. Thus, it may be rather incomprehensible for us. This problem is relevant in relation to the written sources, which document existence of offices without making very clear what they entailed, and of territories without explaining where they lay. Thus, the Glavendrup runestone tells us that Alle was godi of the Vier, and thane of the warrior fellowship, without making obvious if the godi was a secular or religious official, or both, or how far the territory of the Vier extended. Was Alle something like a parish priest or closer to an arch-bishop? Might he compare better to a local police constable, or perhaps a high court judge? The emic claims are unambiguous, but we need an analogy to make any sense of them at all.

between the analogy and the archaeological material (Wylie 2002, 147). As I understand it, much of the value of this concept of analogy lies in the ideas that the analogy is always unstable and problematic. Any specific analogy may very well be poorly chosen or decidedly misleading, but the strength of the approach consists exactly in that the analogy demands critical consciousness. It is not an observation of how the past actual were (similarity), or were not (difference), but of how we might try to understand the past. The analogy only works if it be recognised as an analogy, and not mistaken for an unproblematic statement of similarity (Ricoeur 1988, 155). Moreland’s conclusion is that historians and archaeologists must constantly deal with both to our actual material and with our own subjective position in the present. The actual material offers resistance against total freedom of interpretation, while the present-day subjectivity hinders perfect positivist objectivity. As I understand Moreland, the respect for the actual material demands some degree of explanation based on similarity. At the same time, the recognition of present subjectivity demands some degree of explanation based on difference. Explanations based on analogy are necessary, to ease the conflict between these two explicatory models.

Just as we need an analogy to weigh similarity and difference, we also need some weighing of the emic and the etic. Both approaches are valuable, but neither can alone give us a sufficiently good understanding of the past.

Three short points must made:

“Always already known narratives” and the written sources

First, that analogy is not always necessary or possible. Sometimes, explanations based on similarity are sufficient, and sometimes the material really is so incomprehensible that only difference can be observed, without any analogy suggesting itself (cf. Ricoeur 1988, 207).

The critique of over-emphasised similarity can be expanded upon through the post-modernist critique of the “always already known narratives”. This critique builds on the claim that all texts are written into an established discourse, either in extension of older texts or up against these. No matter whether the new text is written in extension of, or up against, tradition, it must deal with the already established explanations, by accepting them or rejecting them. Data becomes relevant because it either supports or challenges the extant understanding. Consequently, there is a risk that the new texts adapt new data to well-known interpretations. Indeed, archaeological data has often been stripped of any independent value and reduced to illustrations of ideas already well-known from written sources (cf. Shanks & Hodder 1995, 10; Svanberg 2003a, 52, J. Lund 2003, 67, Moore 1995, 50, Lucas 2005, 54ff.).

Second, that the model builds on recognition of something familiar, but that this is not limited to the researcher’s personal experience. Ethnographic and historical documents, theoretical ideal models etc. are also sources of familiar concepts (cf. also Hodder 1999, 46). The normal distribution, Lévi-Strauss’ schematic “raw-fried-boiled”-system (Lévi-Strauss 1992) and Service’s much-discussed “chiefdoms” can starting points for explanations based on similarity, just as modern experience can. As discussed below, archaeologists also use history as familiar understanding of the past, which may or may not be recognised in the archaeological material.

Traditional historiographies of Viking Age paganism and conversion can provide good examples of always already known narratives: Archaeology’s understanding of both has traditionally been dependent on history. Most historical sources originate with the church. The church had established its patterns for its typical accounts already long before the South Scandinavian conversions. Indeed, due to its interest in Old Testament prophesies, examples and prefigurations, the church was also influenced by patterns predating the organisation itself. Figures such as Solomon, David and Nebuchadnezzar set the pattern for later biographies’ accounts of figures such as Constantine the Great, Clovis and Alfred of Wessex. Harold Bluetooth was described as a Danish Clovis, in

Third, that the present concept of analogy should not be mistaken for Näsman’s (cf. Näsman 1988 throughout). Näsman focuses on total social analogies, and believes that the best analogies occur between societies that are historically, geographically and culturally close to the investigated society. Moreland’s concept of analogy is more directed towards single details (cf. also Fahlander 2004, 194ff). Moreland’s divide between the familiar and the unknown can be related to the etic and the emic: the etic is part of the researcher’s own, familiar frame of reference, while 26

2: Theory Näsström 2001, 179). The written sources show that contemporary observers could single out some works as “lying sagas”. These were apparently understood as pure fiction, and appreciated solely as entertainment (Meulengracht Sørensen 1993, 105, Clunies Ross 1998, 57, Ellis Davidson 1993, 9; Eldjárn 1982, 262). This implies that other sagas were accepted as more factual. Eldjárn points out that as early as 1100s there is mention of made-up stories misunderstood as true (Ibid.). Again, not everything in the written sources need be factually true.

the same way that Clovis was described as a Frankish Constantine and Constantine as a Roman Solomon (cf. Klaniczay 1990, 95ff, Rambo 1993, 40, Fletcher 1997, 103, McClure 1983, 76, Brown 1986, 208, Flint 1991, 384, Lane Fox 1986, 333, Hudson 2005, 71, Steinsland 2000, 95). In medieval historiography, this idea about always already known narratives can be taken literally. Individual historiographers inserted details in their accounts that they themselves knew not to be factual. Thus, the venerable Bede tells a story about a raven that brought the host out in the wilderness to St. Cuthbert, so that the saint could celebrate Mass. Bede himself remarks that this history is borrowed from the legends of the dessert fathers. He added the anecdote because it was a good story (Fletcher 1997, 11f). The story about a saint and a raven was already known, before Beda recounted it about St. Cuthbert. It tells us little about what really happened to St. Cuthbert, and a lot about what Beda read.

Third, medieval scholars often worked at the limits of their own knowledge. This is especially true for those who sought to document threatened traditions. This includes for instance Saxo and Snorre (Raudvere 2003, 14, Roesdahl 1994, 245, Skovgård-Petersen 1993, 43). The information they wrote down was not common knowledge. Rather, it was often the scholars’ own reconstructions, based on whatever information they thought they had, and coloured by contemporary circumstances (Meulengracht Sørensen 1993, 25, Lönnroth 1997, 226, cf. Näsström 2001, 12, Ellis Davidson 1988, 77, Clunies Ross 1994, 32f, cf. Fletcher 1997, 94). These sources are obviously coloured by their authors’ always already known world-view.

Very few written sources directly refer to amulets, but the interpretation of the amulets has traditionally built on historical ideas about the pagan and the Christian religion in the Viking Age. Archaeological finds have often been used only to illustrate what researchers already know from written sources. With Moreland’s terminology, this is an explanation based on similarity. In post-modern terminology, the historical sources are an always already known frame of reference for the archaeological finds. However, such interpretations rely on an uncritical reading of the written sources that cannot be defended any more. In particular, four reservations must be stressed:

Fourth, formulaic language and generalisations were ordinary. The sources’ use of the same Latin expressions can mask real differences in time and space (Richter 1994, 258, Geary 1994, 4). Thus, for instance, the Church universally condemned the “worship of stones, trees, springs and cross-roads”. This condemnation does not prove that all this was worshiped everywhere the church repeated the list (Flint 1991, 204; contra Sanmark 2004, 173). There was no harm in repeating the list, since worshipping these phenomena was certainly un-Christian, whether locals had ever done so or not. Moreover, Steinsland points out that the church considered all local religions as functionally equivalent to Judaism. Consequently, it imported details from the descriptions of Judaism to descriptions of other, non-Christian religions (Steinsland 1991, 342, cf. Meulengracht Sørensen 1991b, 238). In the same way, Adam of Bremen and Saxo seem to have used Roman pagan religion as reference (FriisJensen 1993, throughout, cf. B. Nilsson 1992, 19, Ø. Johansen 1986, 71, Raudvere 2002, 51, cf. Dubois 1999, 57, Lassen 2005, 17ff, Słupecki 1994, 111). Adam’s description of temple and statues in Uppsala may be more Roman than Scandinavian. His readers always already knew that pagans worshipped idols in temples. The only questions were where the temples lay and how the idols looked – one supposedly looked like a Roman mercury.

First, medieval historiography was not primarily written to document actual events. Rather, it aimed to throw light on the eternal, moral truth to be drawn from these (Bitsch-Larsen & Berg 1993, 96, Fletcher 1997, 10, Härke 1994, 37, Meulengracht Sørensen 1993, 137f, Sawyer & Sawyer 1993, xiv and 218). Veracity was not insignificant for the historiographers, but factuality was not enough to qualify events as history. Satisfying historiography demanded a narrative structure and a moral message. Further, some sources were written as allegories, more than as factual history (Pálson 1986, 150, cf. Tolkien 1976, 4). They were considered to be “true”, although they were not factually correct. Narratives in the written sources are not necessarily always historical accurate. They may have been made up because the stories were morally true (cf. also Solli 2002, 50). For Beda, it was more important that St. Cuthbert was the sort of man who would deserve the miracle with the raven and the host than whether this actually happened. It was more important that this was the sort of thing God might do for his saints in need that whether St. Cuthbert ever needed just this sort of help. Moral truth was more important than factuality.

There is no doubt that the written sources contain original elements not borrowed from the European literary tradition. They are not just projections of scholarly prejudice. Yet, medieval writings cannot be read as neutral documentation of fact. The literature had much room for mistakes, manipulation and creativity. Consequently, the written sources must be considered better sources for the writers’ understanding of

Second, there was no clear divide between fact and entertainment in medieval literature (Lönnroth 1997, 225, Meulengracht Sørensen 1991b, 236, 1993, vii and 134, 27

Viking Age amulets in Scandinavia and Western Europe the 1220s, contemporary Christian world-views and Snorre’s own cultural and political ambitions. There is no proof that the Edda’s total picture or all its details are relevant anywhere. Consequently, nor is it possible to understand the amulets simply by searching through the Edda for references to those creatures or objects, they depict. Snorre’s description of Odin’s throne is not the only possible reference for the chair-amulets.

themselves and their time than for the past they claim to describe. It is not possible, to “peel of the Christian layers” from the sources, and reach an authentic core of “pure paganism”. Just as onions are onions all the way, so the written sources are shaped by their Christian context, all the way (contra Capelle & Fischer 2005, 7, Schjødt 2005, 9, but cf. Dubois 1999, 174). This critique is relevant both in relation to the traditional accounts of paganism and to those of Viking Age Christianity. Traditional descriptions of Nordic paganism largely portray a homogenous, always already known religion, rich in known myths, named gods etc. The “Valhalla”-cartoon is far from the worst attempt to recount this mythology (cf. Bek-Pedersen 2005, throughout; cf. also Habbe 2005, 79). However, this image was pieced together from several different sources, often in a very opaque way (cf. Ellis Davidson 1993, 10f, Andrén 2002, 309). In some regards, the collections even seem to have been censured (Solli 2002, 18f). This opacity results in a large risk for circular argumentation. Not all sources are equally reliable, and the very idea of a homogenous, Nordic pagan religion is in itself problematic (cf. for instance Svanberg 2003a, 131). Thus, it is necessary to understand what information originates in which sources, and to locate these sources in time and space. Not all written sources are equally relevant everywhere in Scandinavia, or at all times in the Viking Age.

A similar critique is possible for the other written sources. Some sources, such as the sagas, were written even later. Others, such as the Icelandic poems, are rather incomprehensible. Others again, such as the Arabic and Latin sources, were written by outsiders who probably did not understand the culture they described (for sagas, see Aðalsteinsson 1999, 14, cf. Ellis Davidson 1993, 7, Schjødt 1999, 205, Schmidt Poulsen 1986, 173f, Pálson 1986, 151; for poems, see Aðalsteinsson 1991, 9ff, O. Olsen 1966, 52, P. Sawyer 1985, 18, Schjødt 1999, 27, cf. Meulengracht Sørensen 1991b, 237 and 2003, 267, Clunies Ross 1998, 80; for Arabic sources, see Meulengracht Sørensen 1991b, 237, cf. Andrén 2002, 308, N. Lund 1981, 149, Ellis Davidson 1988, 65; Taylor 2002, 86ff, Hægstad 1964 throughout, Søndergård 1989, 62, Foote & Wilson 1970, 408, but cf. Graham-Campbell 1980a, 174, Price 2002, 222, Staecker 2005, 8, Warmind 1995, 131 and throughout). The traditional portrayal of Viking Age Christianity contains similar problems: the Viking Age church was not the modern Lutheran state church. Nor was it the modern Catholic church or any other church that exists today (cf. Dubois 1999, 11, Grieg 1954, 161, Staats 1994, 12, Hefner 1993, 121, contra Bitsch-Larsen & Berg 1993, 83). All modern churches in Western Europe are shaped by the investiture controversy and the reformations and counter-reformations of the 1500s, as wells as earlier conflicts (cf. Lane Fox 1986, 375, Warmind 1993, 167). Moreover, the church’s ritual practice and economy developed through time as much as its ideology did (cf. Solli 1996, 246). Modern Christians do not understand their beliefs in queite the way Viking Age Christians did, and do not worship in quite the same way.

Specifically, the most important source for Nordic mythology is Snorre Sturlasson’s oeuvre, especially his Younger Edda (cf. O. Olsen 1966, 25, Ellis Davidson 1993, Meulengracht Sørensen 1991a, 143; 1986, 258, but cf. also Clunies Ross 2002, 13). Snorre’s works are often the only source for the myths he recounts. Consequently, it is rarely possible to check Snorre’s version against any other (Clunies Ross 1994, 234). Snorre was a nationalist, Christian poet on Iceland around 1220, writing a reference for other Christian poets, and the writing was partially politically motivated (Schjødt 1999, 29, Fletcher 1997, 372f, Clunies Ross 1994, 18, Meulengracht Sørensen 1993, 58 and 70, cf. Aðalsteinsson 1999, 10, O. Olsen 1966, 25). This work was written over 200 years after paganism was officially ended on Iceland. It was created in a very late, aristocratic environment, today considered to have been strongly creolised (Andrén 2002, 332, Crawford 1987, 213, Dubois 1999, 21, Ó Corrain 1998, 442, Pálson 1986, throughout, Sawyer & Sawyer 1995, 23 f and 105, Schjødt 2005, 9; see however Aðalssteinsson 1999, 31, Kristjánsson 1998 throughout and Vilhjálmsson 1990 throughout). Snorre’s Edda occasionally contradicts other sources and reveals the existence of alternative traditions (Clunies Ross 1994, 30, cf. Meulengracht Sørensen 1986, 258, Ellis Davidson 1993, 71, Raudvere 2003, 97, Schjødt 1999, 29). Thus, Snorre’s work is not a perfect source for what all Scandinavians precisely believed, in the entire period before Christianity (cf. Clunies Ross 1994, 157, Ellis Davidson 1993, 9 & 70ff, Higham 1997, 7, Hines 1995, 92, Wilson 1992, 3; Steinsland 1989, 94). Rather, it is an attempt to mediate between pagan survivals on Iceland in

One reason that church and Christianity changed was that the corpus of source texts changed. Through the Middle Ages, different apocrypha appeared. Their orthodoxy was strongly debated, but they had large impacts if accepted as orthodox (Lane Fox 1986, 339f, 357ff, Pagels 1980 throughout). Nor was faith based on the source texts alone. Some Christians seem to have respected their contemporaries’ visions and dreams more than any unchanging, written sources (Lane Fox 1986, 151, 196 & 386, cf. Pagels 1980, 18). There were probably also differences of opinion among believers. Certainly, modern Christians inside the same church can have very different perceptions of what their church believes (cf. Bloch 1954, 167, Gurevich 1992, 19, Mundal 1991, 223). Nor were the Christian rituals unchanging. Kieffer-Olsen (1993, 152) hopes to have “... shown that the medieval grave is not unchanging, stereotypical and archaeologically uninteresting, but that there occurs a 28

2: Theory and specific. It cannot throw light on whether local observations have any general relevancy.

number of differences and variations, that can give an impression of especially a chronological development, but also e.g. regional differences.” 12 He remarks that the graves’ actual shape does not always reflect legal ideals (Ibid. 123). Despite unchanging texts, we find changes in ritual. Similarly, Ergsgård has described sacrificial ritual that began in high medieval times in Dalarne, but fit poorly with the traditional image of Christianity (Ergsgård 1993, 94). I remind readers that the rituals were the actions that left archaeological traces. Church history offers examples of the introduction of new sacraments and holy days, such as marriage and the celebration of Corpus Christii (see for example Geary 1994, 175). Thus, all of the Christian culture developed through time. High medieval traditions are not necessarily relevant for the Viking Age. Nor can the timeless ideals drawn from written sources detail how historical Christians actually lived.

Consequently, I shall first describe the material in somewhat objective terms. This produces an overview over the total material, with emphasis on chronology, geography, and materials. After this, I shall attempt a critical revaluation of the contextual interpretations. I shall evaluate how these can be improved through comparison with the total material and the material in the individual types of context. Then, I shall discuss amuletcombinations in the individual contexts. Only after this do I believe that there is any basis for relating the material to larger issues, such as landscape and society. Thus, my critical post-structuralist method consists of a constant reflexive evaluation of whether established interpretations actual find support in the material, and especially of whether established interpretations of individual finds still makes sense, given an overview of the whole material. I must stress that no previous researcher has had any such overview. Instead of focusing on what a given amulet means in itself, I shall focus on how different amulets got meaning in different contexts. If the amulets were symbols, they were symbols used by someone in order to symbolise something in a concrete situation. To understand how people strategically used the amulets, we first have to understand the broader, symbolic frame of reference, they lived with. To understand the individual situation, we must first establish the best possible overview over the total material.

2.4) Summary The amulets have a long history of research. Much of this history consists of uncritical assumptions of similarity where the amulets have been reduced to illustrations of already known narratives, especially as derived from written sources. I believe that a critical revaluation of this tradition is overdue. This critical analysis must both account for earlier interpretations and for the logic behind them. Earlier interpretations are not credible just because they were proposed by prominent archaeologists. Instead they must be understood as discursive constructions in their own time, and their continued credibility must be evaluated in relation to the assumptions they build on. Also, critical re-evaluations must refer to the actual material, as it appears today. If old interpretations build on archaeological material, they must continuously be reevaluated, because the archaeological material is constantly changing. This re-evaluation should build on the total material, not on a few, possibly atypical, especially well-investigated contexts. The finds must be contextualised in several different ways: in relation to other comparable pieces (amulets of the same type or material, part 3 and 4), in relation to comparable find-contexts (part 5 and 6), and in relation that the larger reality that the amulets were part of when they were in use (part 7 and 8). Such a contextualisation cannot limit itself to religion but must also understand the amulets as physical objects. I have prioritised quantitative studies. I do not believe that detail-studies of individual contexts can throw light on what the amulets mean in other contexts. If we are interested in all the amulets and not just in material from an individual site, it is necessary to form an overview of all the amulets. The individual context can never throw light on what is typical or general, only what is special 12 ”... vist, at den middelalderlige grav ikke er uforanderlig, stereotyp og arkæologisk uinteressant, men at der findes en række forskelle og variationer, der kan give indtryk af især en tidsmæssig udvikling, men også f.eks. regionale forskelle.”

29

Viking Age amulets in Scandinavia and Western Europe

Part 3: The individual pieces: type-based analyses gradually replaced by crosses. Of 12 grave finds of masks, seven come from women’s graves, five from graves that cannot be assigned any gender. As discussed below, such an association with women is common for many types of amulet. Hultgård (1992, 86) observes that on rune-stones, mask motifs are found with Christian crosses, but not with prayers. In the 900s the church followed a suggestion from Hincmar of Reims, and prohibited the use of talamascas, demon masks. It is unclear if these are to be connected with the mask motif in Nordic art.

This section is largely organised after Zeiten’s categorisation of the material (Zeiten 1997). I must start with a short commentary on the idea of “Christian amulets”: the church and individual Christians alike repeatedly condemned the use of amulets (see for example Meaney 1981, 8 & 10). Yet, these evidently existed. Medieval archaeology has recovered a great many amulets inscribed with Christian prayers, despite formal theology’s hostility to the idea. Christian amulets made emic sense at the time, no matter how paradoxical they may seem to theologians. As I shall discuss below, the cross and possibly shields and chairs can be understood as Christian Viking Age amulets.

It seems clear that the mask motif was found both in pagan and Christian art. This makes it unlikely that all masks were associated with any single mythological figure.

In the following, I shall include statistic diagrams over the individual types’ material and geographical distribution. These should be compared with an overview, based on all types. Those diagrams can be found in the summarising section at the end of this chapter.

The catalogue includes 38 masks. Many of these are stray finds, and many cannot be dated on style with any precision. Only one mask has a TPQ-date: the Fölhagenhoard (cat. 382) has a TPQ-date to AD 996. Stenberger suggest deposition around the year 1000 (Stenberger 1958, No. 34). Four other masks come from contexts with somewhat precise dates. These are the masks from Aska (cat. 1276), from Arnestad (cat. 338) and from Bj. 860B and Bj. 865 on Birka (cat. 761 and 762). At Aska, the grave is dated to the second half of the 800s (Price 2002, 157f, Grieg 1954, 184). At Arnestad, the grave is dated to the time around the year 900 (Grieg 1954, 187, Sandal 2000, 66 & 148, BiMs catalogue, Bøe 1925, 36ff). Bj. 865 contains two oval brooches. Arbman describes these as rather different from each other, but both belong to type JP 55. Jansson dates the type to the Late Birka period, from the late 800s to the late 900s. Skibsted Klæsøe dates it to her period 2b, around 900/910-960. The oval brooches in Bj. 860 B are of type JP 51, which Jansson dates to the Late Birka period, from the late 800s to the late 900s. Skibsted Klæsøe dates it to the time from the middle of her period 2a.1, after ca. 840. The oval brooches in Bj. 860 are of type JP 55, with the same date according to Jansson. Skibsted Klæsøe dates the type to her period 2b, around 900/910-960 (Jansson 1985, 174, Skibsted Klæsøe 1997, 124). These dates suggest that mask-amulets were in use from the second half of the 800s (Aska) to AD 1000 (Fölhagen).

3.1) Masks These amulets are pendants shaped as bearded men’s heads. In some cases, a helmet is visible, and in one case (cat. 229), this is supplied with two horns ending in bird’s heads. These have been interpreted as Odin’s ravens. Other pieces lack this detail, and it is not always obvious if the head is shown bare-headed or with helmet. All amulet-masks seem to show men’s heads, always with beards. I discuss the design and workmanship in more detail in chapter 8. Not all images of men’s heads from the Viking Age are mask-amulets. On Birka, there are at least two examples of “masks” that seem to have been part of larger figures, from Bj. 649 (Arbman 1940, taf. 92:3) and from the harbour excavations (Kyhlberg 1973, 188). Despite attempts to associate masks with Odin, Persch correctly remarks that the masks generally have two eyes (Persch 2005, 29). Archaeologists seem striking eager to identify Viking Age pictures of men as Odin without any strong support in the archaeological material. This problem is strengthened by the fact that different sources portray Odin very differently (Lassen 2004, throughout, Raudvere 2003, 17 & 102). As a rare exception, Vang Petersen interprets the figures with horned headwear as berserks, although his argumentation is not convincing, either: neither the connection between berserks and nakedness, nor between the bird’s-head helmets and naked warriors, is as clear as I would like (Vang Petersen 2005, 83, cf. for instance Simek 1993, 35). The motif of the bird’s head helmet goes back to the 600s (Holgersson 1978, 65). Thus, there is little evidence of whose head they portray, if anyone’s’.

Stylistic dates have been suggested for 13 masks. These are distributed between Borre- and Mammen style and from the 700s to the 900s. Most of these dates are broad and span two centuries. They do not contradict the chronological frame suggested by the contextually dated finds. Only the mask from Eskør Strand (cat. 160), with a suggested date in the 700s or the 800s, seems surprisingly early, and Zeiten points out that the date is something uncertain (Zeiten 1997, No. 4). The mask from Ribe, called “Odin from Ribe” (cat. 229), is dated to 700s to the 900s. Claus Feveile from Antikvarisk Samling in Ribe poits out that the early date was suggested after the

Trotzig (1983, 382) believes that the masks are primarily associated with women’s graves, and that here they were 30

3: The individual pieces: type-based analyses

Masks, distribution on modern states and districts, 38 amulets

Masks, distribution on materials, 38 amulets

20 18 16 14 12 10 8 6 4 2 0

30 25 20 15 10 5 0

31

Viking Age amulets in Scandinavia and Western Europe instance Zeiten 1997, 10, Gräslund 2000, 57). However, they have been found in context with Christian crosses, but never with Thor’s hammers. This cannot support any unambiguous identification with figures from the pagan mythology. Images of women with drinking horns that look much like the amulets are found on Gotland picture stones and on gold foils (guldgubber, Nordahl 1984, 111). On two picture stones, they appear with an eightlegged horse, credibly identified as Odin’s Sleippner. It seems reasonable to relate these two women’s figures to pagan mythology and possible that also those few women who are depicted with weapons should be interpreted as mythological figures, although some real women also bore bore arms (cf. Christensen & Bennike 1983, 11). Beside the pendant jewellery, similar figures occur as fittings (Margeson 1997, 12).

Masks, distribution on context-types, 38 amulets 18 16 14 12 10 8 6 4 2 0 Grave finds

Hoard finds

Settlement finds

Stray finds

Blindheim interprets the woman’s figurine from Kaupang (cat. 351) as a depiction of Freya, but this seems somewhat under-argued (Blindheim 1959, 88). The figurine does resemble the gold foils’ women’s figurines. However, it also resembles other women’s figurines from the Viking Age, and the gold foils do not necessarily depict Frey and Gerd/Freya (cf. Ratke & Simek 2006, throughout). This particular woman’s figurine may be Freya, but so may every other woman’s figurine.

Figures 3.1.1-4) Distribution map and graphs for masks.

excavations in Sct. Nicolaisgade, where 11 moulds for similar pieces were found in dated stratigraphy (Zeiten 1997, No. 8, Kjærum & Olesen 1990, 178; Feveile personal communication). The stratigraphic date of these moulds must mean that masks were in use after the 700s, no matter whether this exact piece is quite so old.

Björn Ambrosiani points out that on Birka alone, there are casting-moulds for more women’s figurines than are known today from all of Scandinavia (Ambrosiani 1998, 205). This does not mean that all women’s figurines were made there, but rather that the archaeological finds only constitute a small selection of the original material.

Consequently, it seems reasonable to date the masks to all of the Viking Age, from at least the 800s to AD 1000. There is some indication that masks may be even earlier. Mask motifs are also found in the Germanic Iron Age, and there may be an unbroken continuity in the type. The most common material among the masks by far is copper-alloy. Other than this, the masks are distributed across unusually many materials.

The catalogue includes 22 women’s figurines. Five of these come from dated contexts, all from graves. The relevant pieces come from the graves Bj. 825 and Bj. 968 on Birka, and the graves from Sibble, Gamla Uppsala Prästgård and Longva.

The geographical distribution is very much western, with strong over-representation of Denmark and Norway. Especially Uppland and Södermanland seem underrepresented.

In one case a TPQ-date is known: Bj. 968 (cat. 775) has a TPQ-date to 906. The grave also contained a cross (cat. 773), and is consequently dated to the Late Birka period, likely the first half of the 900s. The graves from Sibble (cat. 614) is dated to the 700s or the 800s, and that from Gamla Uppsala Prästgård (cat. 903) to the 800s or the 900s (Nordahl 1984, throughout, Nordahl 2001, 58). The grave from Aska (cat. 1277) is dated to the second half of the 800s (Price 2002, 157f, Grieg 1954, 184). Bj. 825 (cat. 749) contains oval brooches of type JP 47/48, which Jansson dates to late in the Late Birka period, the late 900s (Jansson 1985, 175). The date of the grave from Longva (cat. 342) is problematic: Sandal dates it to the 800s, whereas Shetelig dated it to the 900s. The grave contains oval brooches of type JP 37, which Jansson dates to the Early Birka period, ending late in the 800s. However, Jansson also remarks that the brooches are occasionally found later (Jansson 1985, 174). Skibsted Klæsøe dates them to her period 1 or 2a.1, 750/775-860 (Skibsted Klæsøe 1997, 124). Thus, Sandal’s date of the grave seem more reasonable than Shetelig’s. All this

Most masks are stray finds. Grave-finds exist but are somewhat under-represented in relation to the overall picture. Hoard-finds are very rare. 3.2) Human figurines These are small human figurines. The group is very heterogenic. It includes figures of women who often carry a drinking horn, armed “valkyries”, men with weapons, men without weapons, and loose legs, apparently isolated from the body. There are also a few unique pieces. It seems reasonable to discuss women’s figurines, men’s figurines and legs separately. “Valkyries” and women’s figurines They small women’s figurines have often been described as valkyries, usually without much discussion (cf. for 32

3: The individual pieces: type-based analyses

Human figurines, distribution on modern states and districts, 44 amulets

Human figurines, distribution on materials, 44 amulets 25

16 14 12 10 8 6 4 2 0

20 15 10 5 0

33

Viking Age amulets in Scandinavia and Western Europe

Human figurines, distribution on contexttypes, 44 amulets

Women's figurines, distribution on context-types, 22 amulets

20 18 16 14 12 10 8 6 4 2 0

10 8 6 4 2 0

Grave finds Hoard finds Settlement Stray finds finds

Figures 3.2.1-7) Distribution map and graphs for human figurines.

suggests that the women’s figurines as group must be dated to the period from the mid 800s (maybe earlier) to the late 900s.

Women's figurines, distribution on modern states and districts, 22 amulets

The stylistic dates give roughly the same picture: the figurine from Hjorthammar (cat. 364) is dated to the 900s (Zeiten 1997, No. 17). The figurine from Wickham Market (cat. 252) is dated to the 800s, and a similar date seem reasonable for the figurine from Bourne (cat. 243), which looks strikingly like Wickham (Ager 2002, 54ff). All other things being equal, a date after the Scandinavian colonisation in AD 875 seems most reasonable for these English pieces. The piece from Tårs (not included) is dated to the 700s (Nordjyske 2007). This piece is a brooch, not an amulet, but even so the date is surprisingly early, and suggests that the amulets, too, may have existed already in the 700s.

7 6 5 4 3 2 1 0

There seem no chronological difference between those figures that are described as “valkyries” and the other women’s figurines. The material is dominated by copper-alloy and silver in almost equal amounts. The high occurrence of copperalloy is surprising, both in relation to the men’s figurines (below) and to the over-all picture.

Women's figurines, distribution on materials, 22 amulets

4

The geographical image is something biased by the small number of amulets. The high frequency of material from Uppland and Skåne is not surprising, but Denmark, Norway and England are uncommonly well-represented. Settlement finds are very over-represented, and most other finds are grave finds. There are surprisingly few women’s figurines from hoards. The Tissø-material plays a large role in this find-picture.

2

Men’s figurines

0

Compared with the women’s figurines, the men’s figurines form a remarkably heterogenic group. They cannot necessarily be treated as one type. At least three sub-groups can be distinguished: the horsemen’s figurines from Bj. 825 and Store Berg; the sword-dancers from Ekehammar and Bj. 571; and the so-called “Odin’s figurines” from Bj. 571, Lindby and Gårdlösa. As discussed earlier, the Lindby-figurine

12 10 8 6

34

3: The individual pieces: type-based analyses should probably not be treated as an amulet. Rather, it must be understood in connection with the so-called idols from Eyrland, Feddet, Lund and Baldursheimur.

Men's figurines, distribution on modern states and districts, 17 amulets

The catalogue includes 18 men’s figurines.

8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1 0

Two men’s figurines have TPQ-dates: the Eketorp-hoard (cat. 508) has a TPQ-date of 954 (Ekelund 1956, 174). The hoard from Store Bjärs (cat. 456-457) has a TPQdate to 1042, and Stenberger suggests that it was deposited around the year 1100 (Stenberger 1958, No. 504). Five other pieces were found in three dated context. The relevant pieces are the grave finds from Bj. 825 (cat. 752-753) on Birka, from Klinta grave 59/3 (cat. 1252), and from Ekhammar grave 6 (cat. 1134-1135). Bj. 825 contains oval brooches of type JP 47/48 which Jansson dates to late in the Late Birka period, the late 900s (Jansson 1985, 175). Klinta 59/3 contained JP 52brooches, and is dated to the mid-900s (Petersson 1958, Ström, n. d., Ström 1984, 135, information from ATA, Svanberg 2003b, No. 142:59:A:3). The Ekhammar-grave is dated before the year 900, and contained a fitting in style E (Roesdahl et al. 1992, 185, Rinqvist 1969, 287ff). These dates suggest that men’s figurines were in use from before the year 900 to around the mid-1000s. This does not contradict the single attempt at typological dating, of the Gudme-figurine, to the 900s (cat. 164; Munksgård 1987, Zeiten 1997, No. 14). Bj. 571 cannot be dated independently, but the similarity between the figures from here and from Ekhammar is so striking that Ekehammer’s date after AD 900 probably also applies to Bj. 571.

Men's fgurines, distribution on materials, 17 amulets 12 10 8 6

The selection of materials is dominated by silver with a smaller proportion of copper-alloy. This looks like the general image for all amulets except for the Thor’s hammers (where iron dominates). Again, the geographical image is biased by the small number of pieces, but unlike the women’s figurines, Norway and Western Europe seem under-represented. Almost all the men’s figurines come from the present Sweden. The find-picture is very similar to the overall picture. There is no evident tendency to over-representation of any context-type. As discussed earlier, I have not included the stray find of a copper-alloy man’s figurine from Lindby, Skåne, in these analyses. Readers may do so if they find it called for, but it will not change conclusions significantly.

4 2 0

Men's figurines, distribution on contexttypes, 17 amulets 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1 0

Legs Amulets shaped like legs or boots have been compared with Mediterranean votives, or seen as parts of larger figures (Zeiten 1997, 11, Drescher & Hauch 1982, 240). Such figures are known from Birka, and from the Roman Iron Age (Thrane 2005, 36). Gräslund remarks that an interpretation as votives can explain the legs’ absence in graves, since votives ought rather be hung on shrines (Gräslund 2007, 95f). However, this interpretation probably cannot explain why all four known amulets are legs and no other body-parts are present. Nor is the absence in graves is very surprising, given the small number of pieces.

Grave finds Hoard finds Settlement Stray finds finds Figures 3.2.8-10) Graphs for men’s figurines.

35

Viking Age amulets in Scandinavia and Western Europe Solli suggest that these legs or boots were associated with the myths about Vidar, or possibly about Skadi (Solli 2002, 33ff, fig. IV): Vidar was expected to kill Fenris the wolf at Ragnarok, by stepping up into his jaw and tear him apart. Snorre remarks that all shoemakers’ waste went to strengthen Vidar’s sole. However, this thick sole is not obvious on the amulets. Alternatively, Solli remarks that Skadi chose her groom by his feet and chose sea-god Njord who stood with his feet in water all day (but see Vikstrand 2001, 113: the association between Njord and the sea cannot be proven in Eastern Scandinavia). Solli ties this myth to Snorre’s Doomsdayscomplex, taking her starting point in Steinsland’s structuralist reading. I am not convinced that this connection were so important outside Snorre’s oeuvre. Again, no details of the amulets clearly suggest that this interpretation is particularly relevant. Yet, either of Solli’s interpretations can explain why legs are singled out for depiction. Nor need these amulets have had just one unambiguous meaning. They might be associated with both myths at the same time.

Human figurines of indeterminate sex, distribution on modern states and districts, 5 amulets 3 2 1 0

Human figurines of indeterminate sex, distribution on materials, 5 amulets

Strangely, the Anglo-Saxon material contains several figures of hands but apparently no feet, whereas the Scandinavian material is all feet and no hands (Meaney 1981, 169).

3

The catalogue includes only four pieces. None of these were found in dated context. One comes from in Hedeby, and is probably not later than 1066 (cat. 1304). The other is from Skadegård, a stray find whose form seem very medieval (cat. 133). The two last ones are from Birka’s Black Earth, in use from before 750 to possibly 975 (cat. 678 & 803). There is probably not reason to date the type before the year 900. The graphs also include one unique figurine, apparently a baby, of bone, from Hedeby (cat. 1299).

2

1

0

Human figurines as group There is little sense in treating the human figurines as unified group. They seem obviously divided into subgroups that have little in common. Both the chronological and the typological spread show that they did not form any coherent complex of meaning.

Human figurines of indeterminate sex, distribution on context-types, 5 amulets 6

I have suggested that the men’s figurines date to the time from before the year 900 to the mid-1000s. I have also suggested that the women’s figurines date to the time from the mid-800s to the late 900s, with the possibility that they could be go back to the 700s. The dates mean that human figurines were probably in use all through the Viking Age. They also mean that the women’s figurines are older than the men’s figurines, and may have been replaced by these. I shall return to this point below.

5 4 3 2 1 0 Grave finds

Hoard finds

The material is dominated by silver, secondarily copperalloy. This corresponds to the general picture. Amber is well-represented. As mentioned above, there are more women’s figurines in copper-alloy, more men’s figurines in silver.

Settlement Stray finds finds

Figures 3.2.11-13) Graphs for human figurines of indeterminate sex.

36

3: The individual pieces: type-based analyses Geographically, the Swedish domination is striking, although it applies more to men’s than women’s figurines. England is somewhat over-represented, Norway and Germany very poorly represented. Also, the differences between the sub-groups are striking, as the women’s figurines seem to have a more western distribution than the men’s figurines.

important role was as guardian (Hårdh 1999,131, cf. T. Zachrisson 1998, 45ff). Some of this seems drawn from later folklore, and not all these associations are necessarily relevant for the Viking Age. Conversely, the snake-cult of the Bronze Age seems extinct with the Roman Iron Age, if not before (cf. Kaul 2004a, 399, contra Simek 1993, 295).

Grave finds are relatively rare, settlement find very overrepresented. This tendency is more pronounced for men’s figurines and legs than for women’s figurines.

In Viking Age art, little distinction is made between snakes and dragons. Dragons were depicted as legless snakes until the introduction of the Romanesque style. One of the first recognisable, Romanesque dragons, with legs and wings, is found in Norway, on Hylestad stavechurch from around 1200 AD. The same dragon, Fafner from the legend of Sigurd, was depicted as a legless snake on Ramsundsberget, Östergötland, around 1000 AD. Snakes, lindworms and dragons were closely associated with treasure which was expected to grow with the beast. This complex of ideas might be relevant for the hoard finds of small snakes of silver and gold from Hoen and Eketorp. In this context, snakes appear in several kennings for wealth (“the snake’s bed” etc.). In later folklore, other snakes, called “house-snakes”, were expected to protect the houses, although their relevancy for the amulets is less obvious.

3.3) Animal figurines Far from all animal figurines need be amulets. Floderus mentions horse-shaped weights from early Christian period Sigtuna. Likewise, the material contains a number of fragments that probably come from animal ornament on larger objects and should not be interpreted as amulets (Floderus 1928, 98). This includes e.g. the animal figurines “shaped like crocodiles” from Gravlev (Berlingske Tidende April 5th, 1904) and the ram from Tarup (Skovmand 1942, 86). Some of the horse-shaped weights were reused as amulets in the early Modern period, but this seems to be a recent practice (Kjellberg 1928, 28f). Also, there are some finds of wooden horses, likely toys.

In Christian time, snakes and dragons primarily became a symbol of the devil and evil, and popular, Eastern Mediterranean saints such as St. Michael and St. George were remembered as dragon-slayers, also in Scandinavia. Again, this complex of myths is probably not relevant for the snake amulets.

Among the animal figurines, the small snakes deserve special discussion, because they constitute a strikingly homogenous group. This homogeneity suggests a shared meaning which cannot necessarily be ascribed to the other animal figurines. I want to stress, in passing, that this is one of those tendencies that can only be observed through a large catalogue, not from detailed studies of individual contexts, however well-excavated.

Two snakes are made out of fossil ammonites, and one of jet, probably in imitation of these. I shall return to the snakes in part 8. For now, I shall simply note that the myths of snakes found in pagan and Christian mythology alike offer little explanation for these amulets.

Snake figurines

The only snakes with certain TPQ-date come from Bj. 632 on Birka (cat. 725), deposited after 829, the Hoenhoard, deposited after 855 (cat. 293) and the Eketorphoard, deposited after 954 (cat. 509). Heyerdal-Larsen believes that Hoen-piece was imported and was an antique at the time of deposition (Heyedahl-Larsen 1982). Other snake amulets occur in the graves from Longva (cat. 341) and Hedeby south grave-field grave 45 (formerly grave 42/05; cat. 1293), both dated to the 800s; in the grave from Trå with JP 51 brooches, dated to the 900s (cat. 298); and in the grave from Gutadalen, dated to the late Iron Age (cat. 331). On Birka, snake amulets are found in grave Bj. 632 (above, cat. 725) and Bj. 844 (cat. 758) with JP 51 brooches. These are dated to the Late Birka period, the period from the late 800s to the late 900s (Jansson 1985, 174), or ca. 825/830 to ca. 960 (Skibsted Klæsøe 1997, 124). Finally, the carved jet snake from York Railway Station (cat. 258) probably dates to the Scandinavian period after 860, and there are three possible snakes from Dublin, of which at least two are dated after 917 (cat. 263 and two not included). However, the identification of two of these pieces as amulets is problematic, while the third cannot be dated

All these figurines show a small snake curled up in a tight spiral, its body effectively forming a disc. Most have their heads on the outside of the disc. Zeiten believes that the snakes were mass-produced (Zeiten 1997, 6). I believe that they are too varied in shape and material to support such an interpretation (see below). She remarks that snakes are mentioned both in the Edda and the Bible (Ibid. 13; cf. Welinder 2004, 200). However, there is only one snake in the Edda, and this one is not very important (Simek 1993, 295). The Edda also mentions a couple of snake-dragons with very negative associations: The Midgard Serpent and Niddhogg, both connected with Ragnarok. It seems unlikely that anyone would want to wear either them or the serpent of Eden as amulets. In Viking Age art, interlaced snakes are a common motif. Axboe interprets them as defeated shamans (Axboe 2005, 48). However, this interpretation cannot be transferred directly to the coiled snakes worn as amulets. If anything, these snakes must be interpreted as ready to strike, rather that defeated. Hårdh suggests associations between snakes and other worlds, the virginity of royal daughters, and treasure. She suggests that the snake’s most 37

Viking Age amulets in Scandinavia and Western Europe

Snakes, distribution on modern states and districts, 13 amulets

Snakes, distribution on materials, 13 amulets

4.5 4 3.5 3 2.5 2 1.5 1 0.5 0

7 6 5 4 3 2 1 0

38

3: The individual pieces: type-based analyses Other animal figurines

Snakes, distribution on context-types, 13 amulets

There are numerous references to animals in the written sources, but very poor correspondence between the species mentioned in legend and those that are found in the amulet material (cf. for instance Vang Petersen 2005, 60ff.). Hedeager has identified the animal styles as a whole as “shamanistic”, seemingly from an implicit claim that all animal stories, animal legends and animal motifs are “shamanistic”. I cannot follow this argument (Hedeager 1997, throughout, 2004, throughout). In contrast, Grieg believed that “the [domestic] animals were the farmer’s gods”, 13 and that their symbolism was connected with their role in agriculture (Grieg 1954, 162). However, as Haraway has often stressed, animals are difficult to reduce to any simple symbolism. Because the figures refer to real animals, their symbolic meaning will always be challenged by our experience of actual animals. Personal experience can be more important than cultural generalisation (Haraway 2004, 298ff). The playful dog or wolf from Dublin looks far more like the artists celebration of some dog familiar to him than like any of the great, mythological canines (not included, but see chapter 1).

7 6 5 4 3 2 1 0 Grave finds Hoard finds Settlement Stray finds finds Figures 3.3.1-4) Distribution map and graphs for snakes.

with any precision. A final, simpler snake, made of an ammonite and found in York, is not included in the present work as there are no strong arguments for dating it to the Scandinavian period (depicted in Schnapp 1996, 98). Consequently, there seem to be good arguments to date the snake amulets to the period from the 800s, possibly the second half of the 800s, to after the middle of the 900s. Similarly, Fuglesang dates the type’s greatness to the period 875-950 (Fuglesang & Wilson 2006, No. 7). It is possible, as Heyerdahl-Larsen argues, that the Hoen snake was made long before this, but it need not have been imported to Scandinavia before the mid-800s.

Sandal discusses animal amulets with reference to Petrie’s work on Egyptian amulets, but stresses that this work is very based on Egyptian literature. He suggests that animal figurines might portray those animals whose attributes people wished for themselves; or those animals they wanted protection against; or animals especially associated with certain gods; but that it is probably not possible to chose between these interpretations in the archaeological material (Sandal 2000, 94f). Vang Petersen prefers a generally militant interpretation. He sees the material as dominated by wild beasts which he believes worked as messengers between humanity and the gods (Vang Petersen 2005, 59). The background for this interpretation is not very clear. He also points out a striking lack of bulls, compared with Early Iron Age art, and of bears compared with mythology (Ibid. 73, cf. Hed Jakobsson 2003, 188ff). Petersen explains this last observation by stating that the bear is a solitary animal and so unsuited as military symbol. This argument seems untenable: snakes are not gregarious animals, either, and if the bear was militant enough for the myths it is difficult to see why it not should be acceptable as amulet. As alternative to Petersen’s interpretation, Dubois’ suggests that the bear was surrounded by taboo in Sami culture, and that this element may have been borrowed into Nordic culture (Dubois 1999, 47). I am not certain that the Sami bear cult is more relevant than Petersen’s military interpretation, but nor that it is less relevant. Lotte Hedeager, too, remarks on the lack of bears in art, without explaining it. She claims that depictions of bears are characteristic of shamanist art, that Nordic art is shamanist, and that the absence of bears is consequently surprising (Hedeager 2004, 241). The hypothesis about shamanism can therefore not explain the rarity of bears in art.

The Hoen-snake is the only snake amulet that can be assigned a species with any confidence: its zigzag-pattern suggests that the snake portrays a viper. Since the order viperadae is common to all of Europe, this cannot throw light on the snake’s geographical origins. The material is dominated by silver. Jet is wellrepresented, possibly because of a wish to copy the natural ammonites from Yorkshire, while amber is remarkably absent. The high proportion of other materials (wood) is caused by two pieces from Dublin, whose identification as amulets is open to discussion. Geographically, the picture is remarkably western. It is dominated by Norway, but also Denmark, Ireland and England are well-represented. On the other hand, the Swedish material only constitutes a very small element and several of these Swedish finds come from the international trading society in Birka. Consequently, it seems reasonable to describe the snakes as a West Scandinavian type. Also, the snakes are remarkably well-represented close to central places as Birka, Hedeby, Tissø, Dublin and York. The distribution on contexts corresponds closely to the general picture. There are no signs that any context-type is over-represented.

13 ”[hus-]dyrene var bondens guder…”

39

Viking Age amulets in Scandinavia and Western Europe

Other animals than snakes, distribution on modern states and districts, 29 amulets

Other animals than snakes, distribution on materials, 29 amulets

14 12 10 8 6 4 2 0

14 12 10 8 6 4 2 0

40

3: The individual pieces: type-based analyses known from the written sources. Ravens and birds of prey are strikingly absent, snakes, frogs and beetles strikingly well represented. I want to stress, in pasing, that this is one of those tendencies that can only be observed through a large catalogue, not from detailed studies of individual contexts, however well-excavated.

Other animals than snakess, distribution on context-types, 29 amulets 14 12 10

Few animal figurines have contextual dates. The gravefind from Nedre Vold (cat. 336) is dated to the 700s or the 800s. The swan from Borg in Mære (cat. 233) was found in layers from the 800s. The piece from mound 1 in Gullen (not included) is dated to the 800s. The dog from Ekhammar grave 6 (cat. 1135) was deposited before the year 900. The stag from Hedeby south grave-field 45 (formerly 42/05; cat. 1295) is dated to the 800s. The wolf from Dublin (not included) can likely be dated after 917, but is probably not an amulet. The Verdal-beast (cat. 306) is thought to have been deposited after ca. 975. Other animal figurines can only be dated on style. The horse from Hejnum (cat. 416) is Vendel-style, and the horse from Søndesø (cat. 13) dated to the 700s. The gripping beast from Denmark (cat. 6) without provenance, the bear from Øysund (cat. 314) and the beast from Line (cat. 325) are all dated to the 800s. The gripping beast from Blaker Skanse (cat. 274) and the animal figurine from Inderøen (cat. 312) are Borre-style. The figurine of deer and snake from Grävsta (cat. 987) seem to be Mammen-style.

8 6 4 2 0 Grave finds Hoard finds Settlement Stray finds finds Figures 3.3.5-8) Distribution map and graphs for other animals.

The material’s distribution on species can perhaps stress that the written sources cannot explain the archaeological material. It also seems unlikely to reflect military values, contra Petersen. As for Sandal’s three explicatory models, none of them seems to explain the entire material on its own: Animals associated with specific gods are not strikingly common (i.e. Odin’s ravens, eight-legged horse, wolves; Thor’s goats; Freya’s sow, cat and falcon; Frey’s boar; Heimdall’s horse). Nor does it seem obvious what admirable attributes characterised beetles, frogs and snakes. Protection against snakes might be a reasonable desire, but neither scarabs, nor frogs, nor domestic animals are all that threatening. It seems unlikely that any single explanation can exhaust the meaning of all these amulets.

These dates suggest that animal figurines go back to the Iron Age, and continued in use as amulets up to the last half of the 900s. The materials are dominated by amber, secondly copper-alloy. Silver is remarkably rare, jet relatively well-represented. It seems reasonable to assume that the over-representation of jet and amber are caused by their material properties, while the underrepresentation of silver cannot be explained that way. Jet and amber are well-suited for the carving of threedimensional, rounded forms, such as animals, but silver is not unsuited for these.

It is striking that the distribution on species that is seen in the amulet material is altogether different than what is

Animals, distribution on species 14 12 10 8 6 4 2 0

Figure 3.3.9) distribution on species.

41

Viking Age amulets in Scandinavia and Western Europe It is dominated by Norwegian finds, but also Denmark and Ireland are well-represented. On the other hand, Swedish animal figurines are striking rare.

Animals, distribution on modern states and districts, 42 amulets 18 16 14 12 10 8 6 4 2 0

The material is dominated by stray finds. The absence of hoard-finds is especially striking. This is probably connected with the rarity of silver (see below). Summary on snakes and other animal figurines The dominant materials are copper-alloy, amber and silver. However, these are distributed very unevenly on the sub-types: the amber animals are never snakes, while almost all silver animals are. For all three diagrams (snakes, other animals, all animals) Norway is strikingly over-represented, and Denmark and Germany well-represented. Also, Ireland seems wellrepresented. On the other hand, Sweden and especially Uppland is strikingly poor in animal figurines. The two types, snakes and other animal figurines, contribute altogether different tendencies: the snakes are responsible for most grave finds of animal figurines, the other animal figurines mainly for stray finds.

Animals, distribution on materials, 42 amulets

3.4) Miniature weapons

16 14 12 10 8 6 4 2 0

The group consists of a number of different types: axes, spears, swords and shields. Many authors have tried to date miniature axes, spears and swords using the typologies for utilitarian objects in full size. The method is reasonable. However, some pieces are more precisely and detailed executed than others. They are consequently easier to typologies. Näsman believes that miniature weapons occur only in women’s graves (Näsman 1973, 99f.). In contrast, Zeiten believes that they are found both in men’s and women’s graves (Zeiten 1997, 18). To a very large degree, this is a discussion about how individual, problematic contexts should be interpreted. However, Näsman seems somewhat biased: his theory builds on a very hard critique of all possible associations between miniature weapons and men’s graves. He seems far less critical of claimed finds from women’s graves. I believe that there are four likely men’s graves with miniature weapons, against 23 likely women’s graves. Contra Näsman, then, a few men were in fact buried with miniature weapons, and not just weapons but all amulets are more common in women’s than in men’s graves. Näsman’s theory that miniature weapons replaced absent men with large weapons seems unsuited to explain why women were also buried with other types of amulets.

Animals, distribution on context-types, 42 amulets 20 18 16 14 12 10 8 6 4 2 0 Grave finds

Hoard finds

The type has roots in the Roman Iron Age, and occurs already in the Vendel period in Sweden (Zeiten 1997, 15, Näsman 1973, 96, Näsman 1978, throughout, Meaney 1981, 155). However, these early weapons amulets need not have had the same symbolism as the later Viking Age pieces.

Settlement Stray finds finds

Julie Lund remarks that real weapons in the archaeological material of the Viking Age are found in graves, more rarely as stray finds and in hoards, and only very rarely in settlement finds (J. Lund 2003, 25). This find-picture is markedly different from that of the

Figures 3.3.10-13) Graphs for all animals.

Geographically, the material is overwhelmingly Western. 42

3: The individual pieces: type-based analyses Roesdahl remarks that the miniature axe from Fyrkat (not included) can be interpreted as a toy or an emblem of status, instead of as an amulet. However, she points out that axes are also found in graves, where she considers these interpretations to be unlikely (Roesdahl 1977a, 142, cf. also Zeiten 1997, 16).

amulets, possibly even complementary to it. Thus, it may be that deposition of weapons amulets should be understood as the inverse of deposition of real weapons, in some way or other. Incidentally, the deposition of real weapons is poorly understood, but is discussed by Lund (2003, throughout). Arrhenius points out that swords played a role in the ceremonies of the hird (the all-male royal guard), and that there may be an association between these and the miniature swords (Arrhenius 1961, 155). It is not obvious, how this interpretation ties in with the finds from women’s graves.

Other miniature axes were carried as emblems of status in Russia (Roslund 2001, 245). The Polish and Russian pieces are typically stray finds. In Denmark, real axes are found as one of the standardised sets of burial equipment. Apparently, these are connected with the hierarchy of command that the Jelling dynasty established (Randsborg 1980, 133). These axes, too, can have had the character of emblems of status. However, it is not given that the Rus’ miniatures or the Danish burial equipment is directly relevant for interpretations of the Scandinavian miniatures.

It seems reasonable to divide the miniature weapons into axes, swords, spears and shields. Swords and spears are often discussed together, and I shall follow this practice here. Miniature weapons: axes Various researchers have tried to associate axes with Christian St. Oluf; pagan Thor; Slavic pagan Perun; and with the supposed Neolithic and Bronze Age axe cult. All these interpretations seem dubious.

Thus, there is no consensus on the miniature axes’ symbolism. However, it is probably no coincidence that miniature axes are found at the same time in Slavic Europe and in Scandinavia, the later with a notable eastern bias. Although it seems unlikely that Scandinavians adopted the worship of Perun to any significant degree, they may have adopted a Slavic type of amulet or status symbol, and made it their own. A Slavic connection might also explain the preference for amber.

As Munksgaard pointed out, the first miniature axes seem too early to support an identification with St. Oluf (Munksgaard 1981, 4; contra e.g. Hansen 1994, 12). He fell at Stiklestad in 1030, and at least some axes date to the 900s. Also the very eastern distribution speaks against this association with a Norwegian saint. Indeed, Lindqvist associated the axes with cremation graves (Lindqvist 1915, 118), which wouldweaken any purely Christian interpretation. However, according to my catalogue, of 26 axes found in graves, 8 come from cremations, 12 from inhumations, and the last six from gaves with no clear information of the burial rite. Thus, the association to cremations does not seem to be all that strong.

The catalogue includes 44 miniature axes that can be accepted as Viking Age amulets. Only very few of the axes have been found in dating contexts. One comes from Bj. 983 on Birka (cat. 780), which also contains oval brooches of type JP 51 and a cross of a type that Staecker dates to the 10th century (Jansson 2005, note 82, Staecker 1999a, No. 99). Another miniature axe was found in layers from the 800s in Ribe (cat. 228). The miniature axes from Hedeby (cat. 1292, 1315 1316) can also be dated, although only with poor precision, to the period 860-1066.

There are no sources to suggest that Thor was ever associated with axes at all (cf. critique in SchwartzMackesen 1978, 891). In a post-structuralist interpretation, symbols are defined up against each other, and the axes are obviously different from the Thor’s hammer. They must be expected to have another meaning. Likewise, the argument that St. Oluf was mostly understood as a Christian equivalent to Thor and that his axe was consequently identical with Thor’s hammer, seems very far-fetched. An axe is not a hammer, a Christian martyr is not a pagan god, and there is little contemporary material to suggest that there was any confusion in the Viking Age. It seems equally dubious if Perun had any large following in Scandinavia. However, at least this interpretation might explain why the axes are so eastern and some of them so early.

For two axes, there seem to be conflict between the typological and the contextual date. In both cases the most reasonable typological date is much later than the suggested contextual date. The relevant pieces are those from Svingsæter (cat. 330) and Sørheim, grave 36 (cat. 300). Shetelig dated the Svingsæter grave to the 800s, but described the axe as “quite like” an axe from Dublin, probably dated to the 1000s. Sørheim grave 36 is dated to the 800s, too, with a C14 date to 1570±90 B. P (290-470 AD, presumably contaminated), yet the axe is described as like Petersen type K, dated to the 900s (Petersen 1928, 44, Svanberg 2003b, 161). This must raise doubt about how precisely typological dates for real axes can be transferred on miniature axes. Many of the other pieces can be dated typologically, with the reservations given above. There are miniature axes that look like Petersen’s type B (cat. 399, 406, 1316), D or E (cat. 679), E (cat. 398, 665, 1315), H (cat. 262), L (cat. 318, 1292) and M (cat. 268, 329), with dates from before 850 over the 900s and 1000s, and there are miniature axes that both

Likewise, seems doubtful to include the axe cult of the Stone Age and of the Bronze Age in any discussion of these amulets. There is an obvious chronological break in the cult after the transition to Late Bronze Age. There is thus some 1500 years between the older and the younger axe cult. Clearly, the Viking Age axe symbolism was reinvented, rather than simply continuing any unbroken tradition (cf. Simek 1993, 25f, Montelius 1900 and Paulsen 1939 throughout). 43

Viking Age amulets in Scandinavia and Western Europe

Axes, distribution on modern states and districts, 44 amulets

Axes, distribution on materials, 44 amulets 18 16 14 12 10 8 6 4 2 0

12 10 8 6 4 2 0

44

3: The individual pieces: type-based analyses Mackensen 1978, 88, Simek 1993, 15, Zeiten 1997, 17). On Uppåkra, the excavators discovered an Iron Age deposition of real lances. This can support an interpretation of lances as pagan symbol. These lances were found within a small area, and were likely ploughed out from a collected deposition (Larsson 2005, 114f, Bergquist 1999, 114).

Axes, distribution on context-types, 44 amulets 25 20

Swords also had a more human symbolic value: Oakeshott remarks that the most widespread kenning for swords in medieval literature refer to them as heirlooms (Oakeshott 2002, 1ff, cf. Ellis Davidsson 1988, 86, Staecker 2005, 7). Geary has documented an extensive complex of myths surrounding swords as emblems of legitimate inheritance, and as associated with destiny. This tradition can be documented in Scandinavia and among several of the Continental Germanic peoples (Gansum 2004b, 141f, Geary 1994, 49ff). It is not clear if this is relevant for the interpretation of the miniatures. It is striking that miniature swords cannot be associated with reused burial mounds, which speaks against such an interpretation. In the Ottonian Empire, swords could symbolise vassalage or clientship, or stand as the very symbol of aristocratic, secular manliness (cf. Leyser 1994, 171, Nelson 1999, 132f & 139). However, it is not clear if the same symbolism existed in Scandinavia. Staecker cites Arrhenius for claims that spears were a symbol of royal power (Staecker 2004, 50). On the other hand, Harrison points out that spears were far cheaper than swords (Harrison 2001, 390). Yet, they are found together, both in art, in graves and in mythology, and those few who could afford swords do not seem to have rejected the spear either. Thus, although a spear and no sword may have indicated poverty and lower status in real life, the spear does not seem to have been used as a symbol for any separate identity. The sword might be a symbol of an elite, whereas spears likely did not carry such a meaning.

15 10 5 0 Grave finds

Hoard finds

Settlement Stray finds finds

Figure 3.4.1-4) Distribution map and graphs for axes.

typologically and contextually seem to belong to the Vendel period. Two pieces resemble the Hjelmsølille axe so closely that that axe’s date to the 1000s probably also applies to these others (cat. 5 and 557). These axes show forms unknown from Viking Age Scandinavia. They seem instead inspired by Eastern forms. Miniature axes continued in production and use into the Middle Ages, when they were associated with the cult surrounding St. Oluf. All in all, there is reason to assume that miniature axes were in use in Late Iron Age, in all of the Viking Age, and into the Middle Ages. Finally, the Högbro axe (not included) must be mentioned. Almgren interpreted it as a depiction of a stone axe (Almgren 1909, 41, fig. 7). The inspiration is probably Neolithic, but the miniature is likely Viking Age. Likely, it should not be understood as part of the same complex of meaning as the other miniature axes. Indeed, it is doubtful if Viking Age people could recognise a stone axe as an axe at all.

The catalogue includes 27 miniature spears with likely dates to the Viking Age.

Copper-alloy, amber and iron are uncommonly wellrepresented, while silver is remarkably absent. Amber does not seem particularly suited to the axe shape, nor does silver seem unsuited.

The most certain contextual date comes from the hoard from Gåshagen, with TPQ 969 (cat. 484). Stenberger suggest a deposition late in the 900s. Typologically, this spearhead seems to belong to Petersen’s type A, dated before 800 AD, or Solberg’s type V3, dated to the time surrounding 800 AD. Both dates are surprisingly early relative to the hoard’s deposition (Arrhenius 1961, 148 & fig 14; Stenberger 1947, taf. 161 and No. 592; Petersen 1928, 22f, cf. Skibsted Klæsøe1997, Svanberg 2003b, 160).

Denmark, Norway and Germany are remarkably wellrepresented, while Swedish finds are somewhat rare in relation to the large numbers of pieces of other types found there. The absence of grave finds is striking. In contrast, hoard finds and stray finds are well-represented. Miniature weapons: spears and swords

The spearhead from Århus (cat. 222) was found in a pithouse dated to the 10th century, and seem to belong to Petersen’s type G, dated to the late 10th or to the 11th century, or Solbjerg’s type X, after the year 1000. The typological date is a bit later than the contextual date, but not so much that this is any problem (Hellmuth Andersen & Madsen 1985, 63, fig. 26, Zeiten 1997 No. 34, Petersen 1928, 29, Svanberg 2003b, 160). The spearhead from Ralswiek (cat. 1344) is dated stratigraphically to the period 900-1000. However, as there are no certain

The spears include miniature spearheads and a few fulllength spears. Some of the swords seem to be sheathed, others may not be. Spears and swords are found both in pagan mythology and in Christian iconography. Spears are identified with respectively Odin in pagan legend, with Longinus’ lance (“the spear of destiny”) and the saints Phillip, Thomas and occasionally James minor in Christian iconography. The sword is associated with Frey and Tyr, and Saint Paul (Näsman 1973, 96, Schwartz45

Viking Age amulets in Scandinavia and Western Europe

Spears, distribution on modern states and districts, 27 amulets

Spears, distribution on materials, 27 amulets 18 16 14 12 10 8 6 4 2 0

9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1 0

46

3: The individual pieces: type-based analyses Iron Age. I must stress that the certainty of these typological assignments varies greatly. The Hedeby spearhead is absolutely recognisable as type H, with the characteristic ring where blade meets socket, while the Barkaby-piece can only be identified with large uncertainty.

Spears, distribution on context-types, 27 amulets 14 12

All in all, miniature spears seem to have been made throughout the Viking Age.

10 8

4

The materials are completely dominated by copper-alloy, secondarily iron. The low representation of silver is striking.

2

The geographical distribution is unusually even.

0

The over-representation of settlement finds is striking. In contrast, hoard finds of spears are strikingly rare.

6

Grave finds

Hoard finds

Settlement Stray finds finds

The catalogue includes 18 miniature swords from the Viking Age. None of these have been found in certainly dated context. The best date comes from the grave from Rønvik (cat. 316), dated to the 900s. The other pieces can only be dated vaguely. One come from Barkaby Flygfält grave 62a (cat. 917), which should probably be dated to the 800s or the 900s, but could be much older (above). Another (cat. 706) is from Bj. 370 on Birka, a grave that can only be dated to Birka’s time of use, around the years 750-975. A third (cat. 670) is a stray find from Birka’s Black Earth with the same broad date. Most of the typological dates are equally vague (typology after Petersen 1928, dates after Pierce 2002, 18f). A rare exception is presented by the swords from Nordre Muldbygård and Tissø (cat. 135 and 77), which are certainly Petersen’s type K, dated to the 800s or early the 900s. The typology of the sword from Bejsebakken (cat. 190) is a little more vague, type K or O, dated 800s or the 900s. In the other cases, the grips are so stylised that the types can only be identified very vaguely. The two swords from Birka (cat. 706 and 670) belong to Petersen’s type A, B, C, H or I, with a date before 1000 AD. The swords from Hesselbjerg and Johannesdal (cat. 218 and 1230) belong to Petersen’s type N, X, U or W, dated after the beginning of the 800s. Especially for the Hesselbjerg sword, this lack of dating details is surprising: this piece has a very carefully detailed blade, where the pattern-welding is obvious marked. Yet, although the blade is very carefully executed, the grip is simpler, and difficult to typologise. The pommel is Dshaped, but the transition from grip to crosspiece only vaguely marked, and it is not possible to identify the type more closely.

Figure 3.4.5-8) Distribution map and graphs for spears.

traces of Scandinavian presence on the site, this spearhead may not be relevant for dating the type in Scandinavia. Finally, the grave at Köpingsvik is dated to the period 750-850, while the spearhead is of indefinite type (Svanberg 2003b, No. 142:59:B; here cat. 1256). The spearheads are often difficult to typologise. As mentioned above, the Gåshagen piece is most closely Petersen type A. A find from Helgö house group 2, house IV (cat. 878) seem to belong to Petersen type B, C or D. There are also finds of type G (Århus, cat. 222, Birka, cat. 766), H (Hedeby, cat. 1297) and M (Västerljungs sogn, cat. 647, Gudhem, cat. 1207). This suggests dates before the year 800 (but see above), to the 800s, to the late 900s or 1000s, respectively to the 900s and to the 1000s (Petersen 1928, 22ff). Thus, the miniature spearheads seem distributed throughout the Viking Age. Two pieces cause problems because they seem very different from all of the Viking Age spearheads. The relevant pieces are those from Birka (cat. 795) and from Barkaby Flygfält (cat. 918). Both feature marked notches in the blade. Arrhenius compares them with the Flügellantzen, or winged lances, most closely Petersen type C and D, dated to the 9th century (Arrhenius 1961, 144, fig. 8). Somewhat similar notches occur on Nørgård Jørgensens type L1:2, dated before the year 600 (Nørgård Jørgensen 1999, 90 & 129). However, in either case, these amulets are highly stylised. Birka seems mainly inhabited in the period 750-975, the grave-field on Barkaby Flygfält mainly used in the 800s and the 900s. From the context, there is no reason to assume that the early, typological date is relevant. Arrhenius’ identification of these pieces as stylised lances from the 900s may be more reasonable (Arrhenius 1961, 144, fig. 8).

On this background, there is good support for miniature swords in the 900s. A broader date cannot be excluded. Miniature swords are also found in the Iron Age, but continuity cannot be shown to exist. On the distribution map, two pieces described as knives have been included. No of these can be dated more closely.

A comparison of the typological and contextual dates shows that the contextual dates only have a slightly narrower span than the typological ones. Especially the Köpingsvik grave shows that the early typological dates are not unreasonable. Also, finds from e.g. Eketorps Borg show that miniature spearheads also existed in the Late

The material is dominated by iron and copper-alloy. Especially iron is over-represented. It is probably not incidental that real swords were made of iron. The overrepresentation of copper-alloy in relation to silver 47

Viking Age amulets in Scandinavia and Western Europe

Swords, distribution on modern states and districts, 18 amulets

Swords, distribution on materials, 18 amulets

7 6 5 4 3 2 1 0

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1 0

48

3: The individual pieces: type-based analyses 776), 922 (Pålstorp, cat. 539), 954 (Skjeppingegård, cat. 124-125), 955 (Ramsåkern, cat. 544), 963 (Sejerø, cat. 94-95), 969 (Gåshagen, cat. 485), 991 (Östjärdra, cat. 1220-1226), around 1000 (Glemminge, cat. 529), 1020 (Johannishus, cat. 365-366), after 1047 (Sigsarve, cat. 415), after 1055 (Bosarve, cat. 464). Shield amulets were also found in the hoards from Tarup, dated to the 900s (cat. 161-163); Vårby, dated to the mid-900s (cat. 619); Vålse, from the second half of the 900s (cat. 149) and Yholm, from the 1000s (cat. 172).

Swords, distribution on context-types, 18 amulets 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1 0

In the Birka graves, shields often occur with JP 51 brooches, more rarely with JP 53 brooches (JP 51: Bj. 660, cat. 733; Bj. 800, cat. 745; Bj. 835, cat. 755; Bj. 844, cat. 757; Bj. 954, cat. 768; Bj. 963, cat. 770; Bj. 966, cat. 772; Bj. 973, cat. 777; JP 53: Bj. 607, cat. 724; Bj. 987, cat. 782) and once each with JP 37, JP 47/48 and JP 55 oval brooches (Bj. 539, cat. 715; Bj. 825, cat. 748 & 751; Bj. 607, cat. 724). Jansson dates JP 37 brooches to the Early Birka period, which he ends late in the 800s, although they are occasionally found later (Jansson 1985, 174). Skibsted Klæsøe dates them to the period 750/775860 (Skibsted Klæsøe 1997, 124). Jansson dates type JP 48 to the late Birka period, the late 900s. He dates type JP 51 to the Late Birka period, the period from the late 800s to the late 900s, while Skibsted Klæsøe dates it to the time 825/830 to ca. 960. Jansson does not date JP 53. Skibsted Klæsøe dates them to around 900/910-960. Skibsted Klæsøe dates type JP 55 to 900/910-960, while Jansson dates it to the Late Birka period 850/900975/1000 (Skibsted Klæsøe 1997, 124, Jansson 1985, 174f). Shields are also known from the grave from Flakstad (cat. 295), dated to the 900s or 1000s; from Aggersborg round fortress (cat. 189), dated to late 900s; and from Helgö grave-field 118, grave A23 (cat. 895), possibly dated to the 800s or 900s. Thus, it seems reasonable to date the shields’ greatest popularity to the period ca. 900 to ca. 1055. The frequent association with JP 51 brooches could perhaps suggest that shields were in use already before 850 AD. However, this type of brooch has a very long time of use, and the shields might be late in this period. Only the association with JP 37 oval brooches in Bj. 539 speaks for an earlier date, and this single context could be explained away. There are individual shields that are much earlier, for instance a find from Korsshaug in Rogaland, Norway (not included, Sandal 2000, 67 and 132), dated around 450 AD. However, the shields seem much more popular after ca. 850/900, and the early examples do not look like the Viking Age pieces in all details. Thus, it seems reasonable to treat Viking Age shields as a chronologically and typologically isolated group.

Grave finds Hoard finds Settlement Stray finds finds Figure 3.4.9-12) Distribution map and graphs for swords.

seems more incomprehensible. The geographical distribution is uncommonly even, but Denmark and Norway are better represented here than in the diagram for spears. The absence of hoard finds is striking. Miniature weapons: shields The shields are one of the Viking Age’s most characteristic amulet types, round discs with a raised umbro in centre and usually a whirly spiral pattern of arches running from umbro to rim. The amulets have been convincingly identified as shields by Duczko, from voluminous parallels in contemporary manuscript illustrations (Duczko 1989a, 15). A small human figure from Tissø carries a similar shield on the arm, where both umbro and whirly pattern corresponds to those of the shield amulets (cat. 19). Similar depictions of shields are also found on the figurine brooches (Vang Petersen 2005, 77). There can be no doubt that the amulets depict shields. The shields are often deposited in pairs. There are no convincing literary associations. The myths refer to several individual swords and spears, but no shields, neither single nor in pairs. The shields can consequently illustrate that the literature alone does not suffice to provide a description of Viking Age religion. According to Gräslund, the shields are often interpreted as sun-symbols. However, there seem to be no convincing, coherent argument for this interpretation (Gräslund 1984c, 117; cf. Sandal 2000, 97). The catalogue includes 73 shields, far most of them from either hoards or graves. Consequently, there are numerous contextual dates. Unfortunately, the typologies that have been worked out for the Viking Age umbros cannot be used to date the miniature shields, as these are too simple in shape.

This group’s late date must raise the question of whether shields were more acceptable for Christians than the more figurative amulets were. Likely, Christian Scandinavians lived in a culture where amulets were important. They may have wished to avoid explicitly pagan amulets such as Thor’s hammers and perhaps the “valkyries”. If so, the shield may have constituted an acceptable alternative because its association to protection did not build on narrowly pagan mythology. Meaney suggests a context

Shields are known from 11 hoards and one grave with TPQ-dates to respectively 906 (Bj. 968 on Birka; cat. 49

Viking Age amulets in Scandinavia and Western Europe

Shields, distribution on modern states and districts, 73 amulets

Shields, distribution on materials, 73 amulets

25

60

20

50

15

40 30

10

20

5

10

0

0

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3: The individual pieces: type-based analyses

Shields, distribution on context-types, 73 amulets

Miniature weapons (all types), distribution on modern states and districts, 164 amulets

35 50 45 40 35 30 25 20 15 10 5 0

30 25 20 15 10 5 0 Grave finds Hoard finds Settlement Stray finds finds Figure 3.4.13-16) Distribution map and graphs for shields.

between shield amulets in Anglo-Saxon culture and the Middle Ages’ “breastplate” prayers (loricae, Meaney 1981, 162). These build on texts of St. Paul (Ephesians 6:14, First Thessalonians 5:8). They may also refer to the Old Testament Jewish high priest’s breastplate (Exodus 15-21). Such an association would help make shields more acceptable for Christians than many other amulets were. These amulets had no obvious pagan associations, they could be interpreted into a Christian frame of reference, and they could be not be mistaken for those idols the church prohibited.

Miniature weapons (all types), distribution on materials, 164 amulets 70 60 50 40 30 20

The shields are almost all of silver. This may be because of material properties: the hammered umbro is difficult to copy in iron or copper-alloy. Both in form and material, the shields seem remarkably standardised.

10 0

The majority of the material comes from Uppland and the surrounding regions, but Denmark is also wellrepresented. The shields come from hoards, secondarily graves. In this, they are like the other silver amulets. Where they are found as settlement finds, the material is often copperalloy.

Miniature weapons (all types), distribution on context-types, 164 amulets

Miniature weapons as whole

60

Miniature axes and spears seem in use in the Late Iron Age and all of the Viking Age. Swords and shields have a narrower date: there is good support for miniature swords in the 900s, and for the shields, a date to the period ca. 900 to ca. 1120 seems reasonable. Thus, amulets shaped like axes and spears seem used for much longer than swords and shields. This can partially be due to problems with dating. Shields are difficult to date outside hoards. On it other hand, shields are rare outside hoards, and the narrow date does not seem unreasonable. Again, I must stress that individual shields are much older. As for the swords, they are much rarer than especially axes and shields. It seems reasonable to consider their short time of popularity to be real. They were apparently far less popular than the axes.

50 40 30 20 10 0 Grave finds Hoard finds Settlement Stray finds finds Figure 3.4.17-19) Graphs forall weapons.

51

Viking Age amulets in Scandinavia and Western Europe ships and as moons. Landelius believes that the sickle is directly associated with agriculture; that the ship connected to Frey and consequently to fertility; and that through Sami mythology, the moon can be tied to ideas about pregnancy not visible in the andocentric, mythological literature.

There is nothing in the chronology to suggest that the different miniature weapons must be understood as a unified phenomenon. As a whole, this group shows a distribution on materials that corresponds very well with the general image. However, this similarity is illusory. The silver objects here are almost all shields, the amber objects are all axes, and spears and swords constitute unreasonably large proportions of respectively the copper-alloy and iron objects.

Landelius’ interpretation is interesting, not least because symbols need not be univocal. The miniatures might well be ambiguous sickles/ships/moons. Despite this, this interpretation seems under-supported by evidence: both Arrhenius and Landelius have pointed out that the sickle is not associated with Frey in any written sources.

The Hedeby material is unusually well-represented. Incidentally, all types have a rather eastern distribution, with concentrations in Denmark and the Mälarn Valley, and a few pieces further west.

Gräslund cites Arrhenius for an association between sickles and Odin, but this seems to be a misunderstanding (Gräslund 2007, 91). The association does not occur in Arrhenius’ text.

The context distribution is very synthetic. Most hoard finds are axes and shields, many of the settlement finds spears and many of the grave finds swords.

Incidentally, some of the Viking Age side-pieces for horses’ bits have the same form and size as some of the scythes (e.g. Sørensen 2001, fig. 4.22). This is not to say that “the scythes” depict bits, but their univocal identification as scythes may be doubtful.

3.5) Miniature tools The miniature tools have no convincing literary associations. The three ordinary types are miniatures of sickles or scythes, strike-a-lights and staff-rings. The miniature hammers, the Thor’s hammers, are discussed separately below.

The catalogue includes 80 scythes and sickles, but many of these come from the same a few sites. Compared with the other types, many of the scythes are settlement finds, and many deposited secondarily on older graves.

Miniature tools: sickles and scythes

None of these amulets has any contextual TPQ-date. Four pieces come from contexts with secure dating to the 900s (Fyrkat grave 22b, cat. 214; Hesselbjerg, cat. 216; Västerby grave 6 or 7, cat. 939; Lilla Frescati, cat. 10511052) and 33 other from contexts dated to the 800s or the 900s (seven from Alby, cat. 575-581; five from Lillsved, cat. 622-623, 625, 627-628; three from Södergårde, cat. 978-980; eleven from Kymlinge grave 169, cat. 10931104; eight from Vallingeby Storgård, cat. 1065, 10671068, 1082-1084, 1086, 1090). One piece comes from Store & Lilla Ihre (cat. 424) and eight from Helgö (cat. 840, 844, 853, 866, 868-870, 873). These sites had a very long time of use, but all the scythes may have been deposited in the 900s. Consequently, the type’s main concentration seems to lie in the 900s. It cannot be ruled out that the earliest pieces date to the 800s.

These are crescent blades of iron. Some are perfect crescents, others flatter, and some have details indicating the socket for the scythe’s shaft. Small knife-blades or sickle-blades were also made in the Roman Iron Age. However, there is no evidence of continuity (BeilkeVoigt 1998, 17). Viking Age miniature sickles occur primarily in the Mälar Valley (Landelius 2005, 9). Arrhenius has suggested an association between sickles and Frey, but admits that there are no written sources for this. On the contrary, there are sources to other symbols associated with this god (Arrhenius 1961, 154, Lindeblad 1997, 67, Gräslund 2000, 58). The interpretation finds no support in any Viking Age evidence and must be considered doubtful in the extreme. Yet it has been copied in Swedish archaeology ever since Arrhenius suggested it, generally reproduced without her reservations. Holmqvist even expanded on it to suggest that hammer, sickle and strike-a-light might symbolise Thor, Frey and Odin, as described as the main gods of Uppsala by Adam of Bremen. There is no evidence for the last two associations, not for the three symbols occurring as a set with any regularity (see below, part 6; cf. Holmqvist & Granath 1969, 177; 1980, 56). Thus, this interpretation is a solution in search of a problem. It does not actually explain the material at all, and can be disregarded. I want to stress, in passing, that this is one of those tendencies that can only be observed through a large catalogue, not from detailed studies of individual contexts, however well-excavated.

All known scythes and sickles are of iron, almost all pieces come from Sweden, and far most of these from Uppland, secondarily Gotland. Compared with the other types, this material is remarkably localised and homogenous. Indeed, the lion’s share of the material comes from just seven sites. The written sources associate Frey with Uppland, where he was supposedly worshiped as the royal line’s ancestor, and where Adam of Bremen mentions him as one of the three most important gods. This finds no support in place names (Vikstrand 2001, 59). Yet, the sickles’ Upplandic concentration could support an association with Frey, and his local role as ancestor could perhaps explain their association with graves. However, it is still uncertain if the sickles and Uppland really are connected with this god.

The miniature sickles have most recently been discussed by Landelius (2005, throughout). He suggests three interpretations, which he all ties to fertility: as sickles, as 52

3: The individual pieces: type-based analyses

Scythes, distribution on modern states and districts, 80 amulets

Scythes, distribution on materials, 80 amulets

70 60 50 40 30 20 10 0

90 80 70 60 50 40 30 20 10 0

53

Viking Age amulets in Scandinavia and Western Europe associate Thor’s hammers from Helgö with Thor and the scythes with Frey which leaves the strike-a-lights as Odin’s attribute (Holmqvist & Granath 1969, 177). There is no evidence for the last two associations, not for the three symbols occurring as a set with any regularity. It seems more reasonable not to associate the strike-a-lights with any specific god. As I shall show later, the combination of hammer, sickle and strike-a-light is not particularly common, and it seems unnecessary to speculate so much in order to explain it (see below, part 6; cf. Holmqvist & Granath 1969, 177; 1980, 56). I want to stress, in passing, that this is one of those tendencies that can only be observed through a large catalogue, not from detailed studies of individual contexts, however well-excavated.

Scythes, distribution on context-types, 80 amulets 60 50 40 30 20 10 0 Grave finds Hoard finds Settlement Stray finds finds

Landelius associates the strike-a-lights with fire, which is very reasonable, and with the sun, which is less reasonable (Landelius 2005, 14).

Figure 3.5.1-4) Distribution map and graphs for scythes.

Linqvist associates the strike-a-lights with cremation graves (Lindqvist 1915, 118). However, this association can no longer be upheld: miniature strike-a-lights were found in inhumation graves in Hesselbjerg (cat. 217), Trå (cat. 313), Leksand (cat. 389), Paviken (cat. 496-497), Alby (cat. 592), Kymlinge (cat. 1104-1114) and Hov in Västergötland (cat. 1209-1210). The strike-a-lights are found in combination with both Thor’s hammers and the cross, which does not support the assumption that they were exclusively pagan amulets.

The material is dominated by finds from graves and settlements. This is to some degree misleading, as thefinds really come from just a few graves and from the Helgö settlement. Miniature tools: strike-a-lights Viking Age strike-a-lights have a characteristic shape, both ends being bend back and curled up in tight Sspirals. Moreover, the body tappers towards either end, leaving a notable point on the back, between the curled back ends. The whole thing looks almost pretzel-shaped. Amulets reproduce this form with various levels of fidelity. Many are more round or oval than real strike-alights tend to be, and the hollow between body and ends may then become a larger, heart-shaped negative space. It is not possible to distinguish categorically between small, but practically used strike-a-lights and purely symbolic strike-a-light amulets of iron. However, many pieces are too small for practical use, and many are made of unsuitable materials, notably silver foil.

Vang Petersen considers the strike-a-lights to be men’s equipment. He claims that the association between strikea-lights and men was a general tendency already in the Bronze Age, apparently based on the Early Bronze Age’s inhumation graves (Vang Petersen 2005, 83f.). However, this association seems not to be clear in the Viking Age burial material, where many other types of objects can be associated clearly with one or the other sex (Gebühr 1994, 76). Methodologically, it seems unreasonable to use Early Bronze Age burials as source for the Viking Age. Strike-a-light pendants occur in the women’s grave Bj. 825 (cat. 747) and Bj. 950 (cat. 765) on Birka, in Hov grave 58 (cat. 1209-1210), the Nomeland grave (cat. 278), and the likely woman’s grave from Starnd (cat. 324). Consequently, there is no reason to associate these amulets exclusively with men. This is another one of those tendencies that can only be observed through a large catalogue, not from detailed studies of individual contexts, however well-excavated.

Stenberger associated the strike-a-lights with “the holy, life giving and cleansing fire”, 14 without justifying these adjectives (Stenberger 1958, 165; repeated verbatim in Lindeblad & Nielsen 1995, 110). Jørgensen et alii (2003, 58) refer to “... miniature strike-a-lights, usually seen as symbolising the goddess Freya.” 15 They provide no references, and I have found the idea nowhere else. There is no obvious support in the Eddic mythology for either of these associations.

Stenberger remarks that the strike-a-lights are a purely Scandinavian type, and are chronologically limited to the period ca. 900-1050 (Stenberger 1958, 165). However, the Scandinavian strike-a-light amulets to some degree resemble the Eastern European lunula or pelta amulets. These have possible Roman roots (cf. Meaney 1981, 9 & 191, Heyerdahl-Larsen 1982, 99). There is no doubt that strike-a-light amulets are miniatures of real strike-alights. These were part of a much older local tradition. However, the idea to make pendants in this form may have been inspired by the Eastern European jewellery,

Similarly, Holmqvist & Granath associates strike-a-lights with Odin, probably because of Adam of Bremen’s description of the Uppsala-temple. In this, Odin, Thor and Frey appear as the three main gods. Holmqvist & Granath 14 ”Ebenso wie die Thorshämmer (S. 167) dürfte er [the strike-a-light as a type] eine magische Bedeutung gehabt haben und ein Symbol des heiligen, lebenspendenden und reinigenden Feuers gewesen sein.“ 15 ”... miniatureildstål, som man almindeligvis ser som symboliserende gudinden Freja.”

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Strike-a-lights, distribution on modern states and districts, 91 amulets

Strike-a-lights, distribution on materials, 91 amulets

45 40 35 30 25 20 15 10 5 0

50 45 40 35 30 25 20 15 10 5 0

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Viking Age amulets in Scandinavia and Western Europe (Bj. 950, cat. 765), 800- or the 900s (Kymlinge 169 with eleven amulets, cat. 1072-1103), the 900s (Trå with JP 51, cat. 299, Hesselbjerg, cat. 217, Vålse with two amulets, cat. 150-149, Tarup, cat. 163), the transition from 800- to the 900s (Karlslund, cat. 520), and ca. 1000 (Eskilstuna, cat. 611). One context is C14-dated (Paviken, cat. 481-482) to 940 AD ±95 years (the period 845-1035). Four can be dated typologically: Bj. 825 with JP 47/48 brooches from to the late 900s (cat. 747); Haugen in Hedrum (cat. 355-356) with JP 52, which Jansson dates to the Late Birka period, from the late 800s to the late 900s, while Skibsted Klæsøe dates them to 825/830 to the early 900s (Jansson 1985, 174f; Skibsted Klæsøe 1997, 124); Ekhammer grave 6, with Vendel-style (cat. 1132); and the Nomeland grave with Jelling-style (cat. 278). On this background, it seems reasonable to date the strike-a-light amulets to the period from the mid-800s to after 1066. Despite Stenberger, at least Ekhammar grave 6 may suggest a date before the year 900.

Strike-a-lights, distribution on contexttypes, 91 amulets 60 50 40 30 20 10 0 Grave finds Hoard finds Settlement Stray finds finds Figure 3.5.5-8) Distribution map and graphs for strike-a-lights.

The most common materials by far are iron and silver, two grey metals. Copper-alloy is clearly underrepresented. This could indicate that it was important for users that the strike-a-light amulets had the same colour as the real strike-a-lights. If so, this contrasts to for instance spear and axe amulets, which often deviated in colour.

which was part of an older tradition local to the east. Consequently, the strike-a-light amulets may perhaps be understood as a partial re-contextualisation of the Eastern European form. In Scandinavia, this form was then reinterpreted as a strike-a-light. In that case, their popularity need not mean that ordinary strike-a-lights were also considered to be very symbolic objects. There need not be any simple causality between the real strikea-light’s practical use and the miniature strike-a-light’s symbolism. The Eastern European imports and the local strike-a-light shaped amulets seem to appear more or less at the same time in Scandinavia, in the 900s and the 1000s. Consequently, there is no strong chronological argument that the Eastern European form inspired the Scandinavian form, nor any strong argument against this.

The type is almost exclusively Swedish, and in the Swedish material, the majority comes from Uppland. As with the shields, the typical contexts are graves and hoards. This is probably connected to the fact that the strike-a-lights are mainly silver (see below). Miniature tools (?): Staff-rings These are small rings with very simple staff-pendants, pieces of wire bent into a loop at one end. They may or may not refer to tool staves. The type’s roots go back to the Germanic Iron Age, and there are earlier parallels in Celtic and Slavic regions (Holmqvist & Granath 1969, 178). In the Viking Age, a new form appears: the Thor’s hammer staff-rings. In contrast, no cross staff-rings are known. Consequently, the staff-rings can perhaps be considered pagan amulets. In the written sources, staves alone or in pairs are mentioned as emblem of status, both for secular and religious leaders. On the staff-rings, the staves’ number is usually significantly larger. Nor are there any details in these descriptions that can be recognised in the amulet material. Thus, these written sources may not be relevant for the amulets. Zeiten has pointed out that the staves on the amulets are found in sets of for instance three, four or nine, and that three and nine, but not four, appear in the literature as “magic numbers” (Zeiten 1997, 24). However, this does not directly say anything about their function. Nor does this theory find much support in the material: out of seven staff-rings and two Thor’s hammer staff-rings, one is an isolated staff which may once have been part of a larger set; one ring carries two staves, three rings carry three

Gräslund discusses two round pendants from Birka that seem to show strike-a-light silhouettes and T-shapes, possibly Thor’s hammers. These pieces cannot are compared with the others, and are not included in this analysis (Gräslund 2007, 94; the pieces come from Bj. 158 and Bj. 860B). Another related type from Sweden consists of “strike-a-light shaped” neck-rings that preserve the strike-a-light’s thickened middle, but not its curled ends (see for example Landelius 2005, 9). These are not included in the present work, either. The catalogue includes 91 reasonably certain strike-alights. Typological dating is not possible, but many can be dated contextually. Fourteen strike-a-light amulets are known from eight hoards with established TPQ dates: 949/950 (Ölands Alunbruk; cat. 1261), 954 (Eketorp with seven amulets, cat. 507, 512-517), 966 (Gåshagen, cat. 483), 978 (Talings, cat. 441), 991 (Hedrum and Rörsåkerbacken, cat. 355-356 and 408), ca. 1000 (Glemminge, cat. 530), and 1066 (Liffride, cat. 434). For 20 amulets from nine contexts, more general dates are known, to the 800s (Ullna grave 108, cat. 1120), the second half of the 800s

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Staff-rings, distribution on modern states and districts, 7 amulets

Staff-rings, distribution on materials, 7 amulets 3.5 3 2.5 2 1.5 1 0.5 0

4 3 2 1 0

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Viking Age amulets in Scandinavia and Western Europe apply to all staff-rings everywhere, and reaches the factually wrong conclusion that staves are never found with Thor’s hammers at all. He then extends this into an e silentio argument for association with Odin and shamanism. Since the premise is wrong, the conclusion must also be wrong, quite beside the weakness of all arguments e silentio. This is yet another one of those tendencies that can only be observed through a large catalogue, not from detailed studies of individual contexts, however well-excavated.

Staff-rings, distribution on context-types, 7 amulets 4.5 4 3.5 3 2.5 2 1.5 1 0.5 0

The body of material is too small for meaningful, statistic observations, but it cannot surprise that the ductile metals dominate. Material properties make silver and some copper-alloys well-suited for this shape. Geographically, the seven pieces are remarkably widely distributed, but all originate in the Baltic.

Grave findsHoard finds Settlement Stray finds finds

The seven pieces can probably not support a convincing statistic description, but there are strikingly many hoard finds among them.

Figure 3.5.9-12) Distribution map and graphs for staff-rings.

staves each, two carry four, one caries nine and one carries a total of 15 pendants, though not all are staves. Thus, only four of eight intact rings support to idea of magic numbers, while three of eight speak against it. This tendency is not strong enough to be very convincing. Somewhat surprisingly, Gräslund cites Price citing Arrhenius for the claim that staves and Thor’s hammers are never found on the same ring (Gräslund 2007, 94). As the finds from Rømersdal (cat. 130) and Knudsker (cat. 134) can illustrate, this is not correct. Indeed, it seems based on a misunderstanding of Arrhenius’ text: she writes that “In grave 60a on Birka (Arbman 1943, s. 23 och Taf. 104:2), a woman’s grave (inhumation grave) was found a silver-ring with only staff-shaped pendants [here cat. 686]. The same grave contains another pendant, on which two small silver Thor’s hammers appear [here cat. 685].

The catalogue includes only nine staff-rings, including two Thor’s hammer staff-rings (here treated as Thor’s hammers; cat. 130 and 134). Two of the remaining rings come from Birka’s Black Earth (cat. 670 and 791), and must be dated to Birka’s time of use, ca. 750-975. Other finds permit somewhat narrower dates: Bj. 60A (cat. 686) is dated to the first half of the 900s, the Rømersdal hoard (cat. 130) was deposited in the second half of the 900s, and the hoard from Skovviger Dam (cat. 141) in the 900s. Consequently, a date of the type to the 900s seems reasonable. Summary on miniature tools The selection of materials for the different types is strikingly different. Most notably, there is a striking contrast between the sickles, which are all iron, and the strike-a-lights, where silver is as common as iron. This probably cannot be explained practically. Instead, these two groups of miniature tools seem produced independently of each other. The sickles are primarily grave goods, and may have been produced particularly for deposition in graves and on settlements. The strike-alights were probably also carried in everyday life, and may partially have been symbols of prestige. The Mälararea of Uppland and Södermanland is very much overrepresented. The same applies for Gotland. In contrast, miniature tools are strikingly rare outside modern Sweden.

It is of interest to observe that the Thor’s hammers did not hang together with the staff-shaped miniatures [in this grave]. On the big, so-called Thor’s hammer rings of iron Thor’s hammers are often found together with other miniatures but among these the author knows no example where the Thor’s hammer is found with be it staff-shaped pendants, swords or lance-heads” 16 (Arrhenius 1961, 142f, my emphasis). Price cites this as reference for his claim that “It may also be significant that the staffs never appear on the same ring as Þórr’s [sic] hammers – a clear suggestion that they are unconnected with this god” (Price 2002, 204). As I read this, Arrhenius made specific claims about the staff-ring from Bj. 60a and the Thor’s hammer rings of iron, only. Price misunderstands this to

Except for the very small proportion of stray finds, this image corresponds to the general one. The picture is to a large degree synthetic, as the two large groups, scythes and strike-a-lights, have very different distributions.

16 “I grav 60 A i Birka (Arbman 1943, s. 23 och Taf. 104:2), en kvinnograv (skelettgrav), fanns en silverring med enbart stavformiga hängen. Samma gravfynd innehåller ytterligare ett hänge, på hvilket två små torshammare av silver äro uppträdda. Det är av intresse att konstatera, att torshamrarna ej hänga tillsammans med de stavformiga miniaturerna. På de stora s.k. torshammarringarna av järn finner man ofta torshammare tillsammens med andre miniatyrer, men bland dessa känner forf. ej till något exempel, där torshammaren förekommer tillsammans med vare sig stavrformiga hängen, svärd eller lansspetsar”.

3.6) Chairs These are miniature of chairs. Some are very simple, others more ornate. So far, researchers have favoured a a pagan interpretation. In 1982, Karl Hauck published an extensive catalogue over parallels to the chair 58

3: The individual pieces: type-based analyses

Chairs, distribution on modern states and districts, 16 amulets

Chairs, distribution on materials, 16 amulets 12

7 6 5 4 3 2 1 0

10 8 6 4 2 0

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Viking Age amulets in Scandinavia and Western Europe some chairs could be Christian and others pagan amulets (cf. also Gräslund 1984c, 117). I think Hauck is wrong to interpret the throne as an exclusively pagan or divine attribute. There is no doubt that some of the pagan gods occasionally are described as sitting on thrones. It is possible that they were also occasionally depicted such. However, this does not prove that the chairs were exclusively pagan. Hauck’s pictorial sources are ambiguous at best: The figurines from Eyrarland and Rude Eskildstrup may or may nor portray gods. Staecker suggest that the Sandar stone does not show Odin in Valhalla, as Hauck believes, but a Biblical scene with the three magi (Staecker 2004, 41ff). Similar reservations must be made for the Eyrarland figurine. Simek stresses the lack of formal similarity between the amulets and the supposed Odin’s throne on the Altuna-stone (Simek 1993, 152). If both portray Odin’s throne, we cannot distinguish between portrayals of this and portrayals of other chairs in Scandinavian Viking Age art. Further, Hauck cites Paul the deacon. However, this source does not describe Odin sitting on a throne, but in a bed. Thus, in Hauck’s catalogue over pagan gods’ thrones, some may not be pagan, some may not be gods’, and some are not thrones.

Chairs, distribution on context-types, 16 amulets 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1 0 Grave finds Hoard finds Settlement Stray finds finds Figure 3.6.1-4) Distribution map and graphs for chairs.

amulet from grave 497 (formerly grave 188/690; cat. 1302) on Hedeby’s south grave-field. He used this catalogue to support a central thesis: that the chairs resembled Biblical descriptions of Solomon’s throne of God; that these were reproduced on those thrones of God that stood in several churches in the Mediterranean countries in the Early medieval period; that similar thrones also stood in the pagan temples in Scandinavia, specifically in temples associated with Odin, Thor, Frey, Frigg and Freya; and that details were transported from the pagan thrones of the gods to pagan throne amulets. He saw all this as a sign of the syncretistic character of Viking Age paganism. He also suggested that the concrete amulet from Hedeby might be a miniature of a concrete god’s throne from a temple of Odin in Odense (Drescher & Hauck 1982). Thus, Hauck interpreted the chairs as pagan amulets.

This leaves two important written sources. Both clearly describe pagan gods sitting on thrones. Both are suspect: Snorre refer to Hliðskjalf, Odin’s throne, from where he could see all of world (but cf. Steinsland 1989, 100ff). This motif is strikingly similar to the apocalyptic Christ as judge of the world, a central figure in the eschatological Christianity of Snorre’s time. Adam of Bremen refers to three sitting idols in Uppsala, but much of his description is borrowed partially from Solomon’s temple, partially from Roman temples (see for example Simek 1993, 341). Sitting idols were found several places in the classical world, most famously on the Acropolis of Athens. The idea of gods on chairs need not be original to Scandinavian paganism. Consequently, it cannot support Hauck’s association between thrones and pagan gods. None of this gives any convincing support for Hauck’s theory that sitting figures must necessarily be interpreted as pagan gods, or that the gods were generally depicted as sitting on thrones. The presence of the sitting figure as artistic motif does not prove that the motif had univocally pagan associations.

Neil Price (2002, 167) has taken this claim further, and suggested that the chairs’ pagan association is unambiguous: “Whatever the precise connotations of the miniature chairs, their association with traditional Nordic religion is also strengthened by their total absence from Christian contexts” (my emphasis). Price believes that the chairs represent the shaman’s high seat, and that the animals and the birds on the Hedeby chair portray Odin’s wolves and ravens.

Nor can I follow Price’s claims for total absence in Christian contexts. Price bases this claim on Roesdahl, who writes that “They have probably had a meaning as symbolic thrones or high seats for secular or spiritual powers235, and it is worth noticing that both the date and the presence in well-equipped graves and their absence in Christian settings (see below) speaks for their symbolising pagan power” 17 (Roesdahl 1977, 141). Roesdahl gives the date as the second half of the 800s to after AD 1000

I find much of this problematic. The amulets are associated with crosses, just as often as with Thor’s hammers. Associations with crosses are found in two graves (Barshaldershed 9/66 and Bj. 968, cat. 401 and 774), with Thor’s hammers in two hoards (Gravlev, cat. 181 and Eketorp, cat. 510). I do not believe that there are grounds to consider the association with Thor’s hammers in hoards to be more significant than the association with crosses in graves. The chairs must have had as much Christian as pagan meaning. Zeiten reaches a similar conclusion and cautiously remarks that the chairs’ religious association probably depended on whom the wearer imagined sat on it (Zeiten 1997, 22). In this way,

17 “De har formentligt haft en betydning som symbolske tronstole eller højsæder for verdslige eller åndelige magter235, og det er værd at bemærke, at både dateringen og forekomsten i veludstyrede grave samt deres fravær i kristne miljøer (se nedenfor) taler for, at de symboliserer hedenske magter”.

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3: The individual pieces: type-based analyses time as some of the chair amulets were in use.

This is an argument e silento, based on the absence of evidence. It also demands that Roesdahl and Price interpret grave Bj. 968 on Birka as a pagan grave. This is a grave with a cross pendant, on a site where we know there was a Christian congregation. Yet, Price prefers a pagan interpretation, arguing that “The cross pendant in Bj. 968 can be seen in the same light as the crucifix from the possible Vǫlva [sic] grave Bj. 660 – a symbol of magical power” (Price 2002, 204). Also grave 66/9 from Barshalderhed which Roesdahl does not mention, contain a chair and a cross. Thus, the thrones’ claimed “absence in Christian settings” is based on the claim that crosses do not indicate Christianity. Frankly, this line of argument is absurd: if grave Bj. 968 is not a Christian context, I cannot imagine what would be. That there are rather better reasons to associate the cross with Christianity than associate all chairs with paganism.

More generally, Duczko suggests that the chairs possibly marked religion or rank (Duczko 1985, 70). Arrhenius remarks that similar chairs seem to function as emblems of status in it contemporary Christian manuscript art (Arrhenius 1961, 155, cf. Steinsland 1989, 110, Holmqvist & Granath 1980, 93). However, Steinsland stresses that the high seat in the written sources is characterized by the presence of a foot support, a feature that cannot be observed on the amulets (Steinsland 1989, 105 & 116f). Consequently, it is doubtful if the amulets really depict high seats. The chairs’ form is often rather similar to those Anglo-Saxon amulets that English archaeologists refer to as “buckets” or “bucket-shaped pendants”, but unlike these, the chairs are found as single finds. Meaney associates the “buckets” with the serving of drink, but although the forms looks like each other, this symbolism cannot be transferred to the Scandinavian pieces (cf. Meaney 1981, 166ff, Rogers 2007, 128). The catalogue includes 16 chairs. There are suggested dates for almost all these pieces. Four pieces have TPQ-dates: Bj. 632 after 829 (cat. 727), Bj. 968 after 906 (cat. 774), Eketorp after 954 (cat. 510), and Fölhagen after 996 (cat. 380-381). More generally, the piece from Hedeby south grave-field grave 497 (formerly 188/60; cat. 1302) is dated around the year 900. For the pieces from Folkeslunda grave 8 (cat. 1257), Gravlev (cat. 181) and Tolstrup (cat. 205), a date to the 900s is suggested, while Fyrkat grave 4 (cat. 213) can be dated more precisely, to the end of the 900s. The piece from Stora & Lilla Ihre grave 160 (cat. 429) is dated around the year 1000, a date also suggested for the piece from Bornholm (cat. 119). The youngest piece is probably from Barshaldershed grave 9/66N, dated to the 1000s (cat. 401).

Similarly, Roesdahl’s interpretation demands that she sees the Ihre-find as an exception, since this “pagan” chair was evidently deposited in Christian times. This, too, seems to lead to a circular argument. As far as I can see, neither their date, nor their presence in graves with crosses supports any exclusively pagan interpretation. As for the Hedeby piece (cat. 1302), the animals have a striking similarity with the stylised lions found at the same time in continental art. Hauck interprets the birds as swans, which he equates with the geese of the provincial Roman Mars and associates with Odin. The animals are so small that a precise identification is impossible, but the birds look more like stylised swans than ravens. Unlike Hauck, I see no reason to associate swans more closely with pagan than with Christian symbolism. The interpretation of animals and birds on the Hedeby chair is thus problematic, but they need not be wolves and ravens. Nothing in this proves that all the chairs always were perceived as pagan or “shamanistic” symbols.

The piece from Bj. 844 (cat. 759) was found with JP 51 brooches from the late 800s to the late 900s (Jansson 1985, 174), or 825/830 to ca. 960 (Skibsted Klæsøe 1997, 124). Arrhenius suggests that the amulet set from Hejnum (cat. 417-420) dates to late the Vendel period or early Viking Age. This date is primarily based on the observation that the horse in the amulet set typologically seems to be Vendel period.

As Hauck remarks, the thrones may have been inspired by the empty throne of God in Solomon’s temple. Throne amulets are found in Christian graves. Consequently, I see good arguments for interpreting the chairs as amulets that either were Christian, or were just as acceptable for Christian as for pagans I believe some chairs may have been local Christian symbols. However, similar miniature chairs are not found outside Scandinavia. If some were Christian amulets, they reflect a local Christian culture, in the same way as rune stones with Christian inscriptions do.

Most chairs are dated to the time from year 900 to early in the 1000s, then. Only Bj. 632 and Hejnum seem older. In Bj. 632, the dating coin may have been old at deposition. For the magazine find, it probably cannot be excluded altogether that the horse may be older than the chair. Consequently, little stands in the way of a dating of the chairs as a group to the period 825-1050. Most are late enough to support an interpretation of the chairs as amulets that played a special role for Christians.

The interpretation of some chairs as Christian amulets finds some support in the written sources. As Hauck remarks, their origins lay in the south European Christian culture. In contemporary thought “thrones” featured as one of the seven Angelic choirs. They are mentioned in the Bible (Colossians 1:16), and were discussed in detail by the Middle Ages’ greatest authorities on angles, pseudo-Dionysos the Areopagite and later by St. Thomas Aquinas. They are also found in Te Deum Laudamus, a hymn from the 900s. Thus, the association of thrones with angles was current in Christian culture, at the same

Silver is remarkably dominant, but also amber is surprisingly well-represented. Given that one of the silver chairs (Hedeby) is cast, material properties cannot explain the low representation of copper-alloy. Geographically, Denmark and Gotland are overrepresented. Almost all finds come from Denmark. 61

Viking Age amulets in Scandinavia and Western Europe

Wheels, distribution on modern states and districts, 10 amulets

Wheels, distribution on materials, 10 amulets 7 6 5 4 3 2 1 0

5 4 3 2 1 0

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Wheels, distribution on context-types, 10 amulets

The material comes from Denmark, Uppland and Norway. Given their small numbers, the wheels are remarkably widely distributed geographically.

4.5 4 3.5 3 2.5 2 1.5 1 0.5 0

The material is evenly distributed between all context types except hoard finds. There are so few wheels that this absence may not be significant. Yet, it is still surprising, given that silver wheels are known. and Sweden. There are no chairs from Norway, Ireland or they British Isles. The Gotland finds are dominated by amber, the others of silver. There is a clear over-representation of grave finds, secondarily hoard finds, among the chairs. There is a remarkable lack on settlement finds.

Grave finds Hoard finds Settlement Stray finds finds

3.8) Bowls, sieves and spoons

Figure 3.7.1-4) Distribution map and graphs for wheels.

These three types consist of a concave plate, usually with a strongly ornamented rim, often ornamented with filigree. They are distinct from each other in that the sieves have holes at the bottom, often nine holes placed in the shape of a cross, and the spoons have a real shaft. The bowls lack these details. Compared with the other amulets, these are less univocally mimetic. It is not altogether clear what they imitate, although they cannot be interpreted as practical objects in themselves.

3.7) Miniature wheels These are miniatures of wheels. Some are quite detailed, with gyre, felloe and other features indicating that the artists did indeed have a wheel in mind. This type, too, has roots in Western Europe in the Roman Iron Age (Zeiten 1997, 22). Zeiten considers different universalising interpretations, while Søren Krogh very sensibly rejects the possibility of such a project, because the wheel has too many possible, conflicting meanings (Ibid., S. Krogh 1969, 161). There are no mythological sources that can explain the wheels’ local symbolism.

Sieves and spoons occur in older, Germanic cultures, both in England and on the Continent. Meaney suggests that the Anglo-Saxon pieces represented the lady of the house’s access to wine and consequently her status and wealth (Meaney 1981, 82ff & 148). This interpretation could also be relevant for Scandinavia.

The catalogue includes 10 wheel amulets. Two are stray finds (Vindinge, cat. 18, Furreby, cat. 173), a third is a magazine find (Eik, cat. 340), and two were found with metal-detectors on settlements (Hesselbjerg, cat. 219 and Tissø, cat. 22), but outside context. Of the remaining, one comes from the grave in Hønsi, dated to the 900s (cat. 335). Another comes from Bj. 844 with JP 51 brooches from the late 800s to the late 900s (cat. 759; Jansson 1985, 174), or the period 825/830 to ca. 960 (Skibsted Klæsøe 1997, 124). A third wheel comes from grave Bj. 29 on Birka, without any closer date than Birka’s time of use, ca. 750-975 (cat. 683). A fourth comes from Helgö house group 2, house I, and could have been deposited at anytime in the first millennium (cat. 860). Thelast is from Skåne, without further context, but ornamented in Borre style (cat. 560). This suggests a date late in the 800s or early in the 900s.

These three types are often found in sets. The catalogue includes 21 bowls, one spoon (not included in the analyses) and 11 sieves, from a total of 20 contexts. I shall treat each type separately, and then summarise. Bowls have been found in four contexts with definite TPQ-dates, dated to 829 (Bj. 632, cat. 726, 728), 855 (Hoen, eight bowls, cat. 282-289), 954 (Jyndevad, cat. 233) and 978 (Kvarna, cat. 472). They also occur in Hedeby south grave-field grave 45 (formerly 42/05; cat. 1293), dated to the 800s and in Sagån grave 2 (cat. 12331235), and grave Bj. 539 and Bj. 739 on Birka (cat. 716717 and cat. 739-740). Here, they are associated with oval brooches of the types JP 37 and JP 52/55. Jansson dates JP 37 brooches to the Early Birka period, ending late in the 800s, but remarks that they are occasionally found later (Jansson 1985, 174). Skibsted Klæsøe dates them to the period 750/775-860 (Skibsted Klæsøe 1997, 124). Jansson dates JP 52/55 to the Late Birka period, from the late 800s to the late 900s. Skibsted Klæsøe dates JP 55 to around 900/910-960 (Skibsted Klæsøe 1997, 124). Consequently, bowls seem in use from early in the 800s to the late 900s, but possibly most typical of the second half of the 800s.

Consequently, it seems certain that wheels were in use in the first half of the 900s, and possible that they were in use from the mid-800s to the late 900s. Given the small number of pieces in the group, the material distribution does not seem to deviate from the norm. Copper-alloy is a bit over-represented, but this is probably not significant.

63

Viking Age amulets in Scandinavia and Western Europe

Bowls and sieves, distribution on modern states and districts, 34 amulets

Bowls and sieves, distribution on materials, 34 amulets 20 18 16 14 12 10 8 6 4 2 0

14 12 10 8 6 4 2 0

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3: The individual pieces: type-based analyses or, most often, a hammer with a triangular or pentagonal head. The shaft is usually, but not always, short.

Bowls and sieves, distribution on contexttypes, 34 amulets

Thor’s hammers occur in two rather different forms: as loose Thor’s hammers, often on necklaces, and as Thor’s hammer rings. These two forms have different distribution in time and space and show different choices of material. Consequently, it is reasonable to distinguish between them.

20 18 16 14 12 10 8 6 4 2 0

Hammers also occur in Viking Age art. However, I shall not include these in the present discussion. Sometimes, a cigar is just a cigar, and a hammer is just a hammer. Not all hammers in art need refer to Thor (cf. Huber 2004, 8; and 58). Thor’s hammers look just like ordinary Viking Age tools, as known from for instance the Mästermyrfind. In art, such hammers may portray smith’s hammers, for instance on Ramsundsberget, where the narrative context has no association to Thor. Likewise, the hammers on the Romanesque baptismal font in Gettrup church may be the mason’s images of him own tools. It seems overly imaginative to see them as Thor’s hammers and “… evident traces of the sometimes tense relation between the two faiths …” 18 (Capelle 2005, 175). Similarly, the hammers on coins from York may have more to do with the craft of minting than with pagan gods (Capelle 2005, 170, Graham-Campbell 1982, 36; 1986, 26, Abrams 2001, 37, Rollason 2004, 318, Blackburn 2004, 334f, cf. Lønborg 1998, 54). None of this would hinder any pagans in reading a pagan meaning into the hammers. Yet, sometimes a hammer is just a hammer.

Grave finds Hoard finds Settlement Stray finds finds Figure 3.8.1-4) Distribution map and graphs for bowls, sieves and spoons.

The single spoon (not included) comes from grave 49, formerly grave 186, on Store & Lilla Ihre which cannot be dated more closely than the site’s time of use: Vendel period and Viking Age. Two contexts give TPQ-dates for sieves: the Hoen-hoard with three sieves (cat. 279-281) was deposited after 855, and the Botvalde-hoard (cat. 461) was deposited after AD 955. The grave from Hønsi (cat. 334) is dated less precisely to the 900s. This supports a type-date to the late 800s and early the 900s.

Getting back to the amulets, most loose Thor’s hammers are equipped with a suspension loop or ring. Some hammers without suspension may be damaged or unfinished pieces. However, a few of them are definitely complete, and show that not all Thor’s hammers were worn as necklaces (e.g. grave Bj. 964). Huber suggests that some of the Tissø-hammers may have been made for sacrifice in the cult house, and never been worn as amulets.

As already mentioned, these three types are often found in combination: the Hoen-hoard contains eight bowls and three sieves (cat. 279-289), Broa grave 7 a bowl and a sieve (cat. 410-411), and Stora & Lilla Ihre grave 49 a spoon and a sieve (cat. 433 and not included). This suggests that the single spoon must also be dated inside the sieves’ time of use, the late 800s to early the 900s. The bowls can be documented to continue in use a bit later than the last dateable sieves. Yet, it does not seem unreasonable to suggest a collective date for all three types to the period ca. 850-980.

The earliest dated pieces are Anglo-Saxon, and not included in the present work. They are uncommonly long-shafted (Meaney 1981, 151). Similarly long-shafted, loose Thor’s hammers are occasionally found in the later material. However, the written sources show that the medieval scholars considered the short-shafted hammer typical. Indeed, they thought it so characteristic as to demand a mythological explanation: Snorre thought that the forging was interrupted to soon, Saxo that the hammer was damaged in combat (Perkins 2001, 124; Skáldaskarparmal XXXV). Their disagreements suggest that both were inventing explanations, rather than recording older traditions. Modern scholars have interpreted the short shaft as a practical feature in a thrown weapon (Ellis Davidsson cited in Gjærder 1965, 99). Yet, this was clearly not obvious to the medieval writers.

Silver and gold are clearly over-represented, the gold largely due to the Hoen-hoard. The few other pieces include pewter, possibly meant to imitate silver. Consequently, there seems to be a clear preference for the most valuable materials for this type. Almost all of the material comes from Norway, Uppland and Gotland. The absence of finds from Södermanland is striking. The material is distributed somewhat evenly on graves and hoard finds. The absence of settlement find is striking. 3.9) Thor’s hammers and Thor’s hammer rings This may be the most characteristic of all Viking Age amulets, a pendant shaped like an arrow, an inverted T,

18 ”… tydelige spor efter det til dels anspændte forhold mellem de to trosretninger …”

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Viking Age amulets in Scandinavia and Western Europe inhumations (Novikova 1992, 85). However, she also points out that the rings’ small diameter probably made them uncomfortable to wear (Novikova 1992, 77). Novikova’s arguments seem mainly based on Russian and Eastern European material. In Scandinavia, the rings are very rarely found on settlements or in inhumations. Even in the inhumations, they are rarely placed around the neck. Instead, they are often separated from the body, or placed under the head. In Valsgärde 6, the Thor’s hammer ring lay in a tool box (cat. 904), and in ThumbyBienebek a (much smaller) iron ring with Thor’s hammers hang on a chain over the coffin (cat. 1338). Elsewhere, the rings have been found in the fill (see for example Bj. 985; cat. 781), where they may have been deposited secondarily, long after primary burial. The Thor’s hammer rings from Gnezdovo (not included) are too small to wear as neck-rings, and one of them is evidently a ring-brooch (Novikova 1992, 83f, Huber 2004, 33). Huber also cites several written sources for Thor’s hammer rings in ships’ prows, an interpretation that has been suggested for Gamla Uppsala grave 1 and Valgärde grave 4 (Huber 2004, 19, Nordahl 2001, 22, Odencrantz 1933, 229ff; cat. 902 and 1169). Despite Novikova’s reservations, it thus seems possible that the Thor’s hammer rings were not generally worn in everyday life in Scandinavia. They seem uncomfortable and strikingly rare outside burial context, and it is at least possible that they were made for special occasions, including funerals. There are also indications that Thor’s hammer rings in graves were not always deposited specifically as neck-rings.

Incidentally, the written sources points out that the mythological Thor’s hammer, Mjolnir, could become small enough to hide under clothes (see for example Montelius 1900, 288). This would make it roughly the same size as the amulets. The other type of Thor’s hammers consists of the socalled Thor’s hammer rings. These are known from Sweden, and a smaller number from the East, especially Russia. In both regions, terminology is confused, and there is a tendency to name all large iron rings “Thor’s hammer rings”, no matter if actual Thor’s hammers are present or not (Novikova 1992, 93). Cf. the above discussion of amulets as miniatures, this is unfortunate. An iron ring with a Thor’s hammer is rather more convincing as a pagan amulet, than is a simple iron ring with no hammer. Further, Novikova points out that iron rings without Thor’s hammers have a larger geographical distribution than rings with hammers (Novikova 1992, 75). This strengthens the suspicion that not all iron rings were “Thor’s hammer rings” in any specific sense. Consequently, in the following I shall only discuss Thor’s hammer rings with Thor’s hammers. Unfortunately, it is not always possible to distinguish these: descriptions are often imprecise, and the pieces are often so rusty that xray photography or the like is necessary to decide the pendants’ form. I have not had opportunity to see all relevant pieces, either on photographs or in reality. Therefore, I have only included those pieces where I am certain that hammers are found. It is very probable that other pieces carry hammers, without this being clearly stated in the published descriptions.

In addition to the Thor’s hammers, these rings often carry L- or spade-shaped pendants and spiral beads, all of iron. None of these types are known as loose amulets. Nilsén speculates briefly on whether these types of pendants might possibly be associated with Odin or Ull (Nilsén 1996, 77f). His discussion is inconclusive, but in the following discussion he refers only to Thor, and the arguments for the other associations are hardly convincing.

Obviously, there is some connection between the loose Thor’s hammers and the similar Thor’s hammers on the iron rings. However, there are also obvious differences. Most notably, the objects’ size and choice of material is different. This makes them subject to different postdepositional factors. Almost all Thor’s hammer rings come from graves: in my catalogue, there are 297 grave finds, 8 stray finds and 17 settlement finds (cf. Ström 1984, 127, Novikova 1992, 75). Most of these are cremation graves. According to my catalogue 238 Thor’s hammer rings were found with cremations, 14 with inhumations, and 45 from graves where the burial ritual is not clearly described. In the cremation graves, the rings often seem placed in the grave after the cremation, not burnt on the pyre (Nilsén 1996, 85, Landelius 2005, 8). The many grave finds have lead to discussion of whether the rings were made exclusively for burial (see for example Nilsén 1996, 86, Andersson 2004, 63f, Simek 1993, 15). Novikova rejects this interpretation. She cites the settlement finds as evidence against it, and also points out that all the Thor’s hammer rings in the urn graves have more or less the same diameter, regardless of the urns’ dimensions. Consequently, they sometimes lie inside the urn, at other times around its neck. This, she interprets as a sign that the rings were not made for the burial (Ibid.). Instead, she suggests that Thor’s hammer rings were in fact used by the living, worn as neck-rings, based on their position in

A number of different interpretations have been suggested, both for all Thor’s hammers in general and for the Thor’s hammer rings, specifically. By far the most convincing and accepted theory is that they are pagan symbols. Many have suggested that they were ancient, pre-Christian pagan symbols, and the evidence seem to support this. Some have suggested that they may in fact have been a pagan reaction against Christianity and the cross. The dates available seem to speak against such an interpretation for the earliest hammers, although it may explain their later popularity. Finally, a few researchers have seen them as Christian or syncretistic symbols, something which seems to find no support at all in the evidence. The Thor’s hammer rings have been interpreted in the same way. In addition, some researchers have interpreted them as symbols of resurrection, liminality and ethnicity. All this seems to be pure projection of fashionable, 66

3: The individual pieces: type-based analyses it.

universalist theory with no particular relevance for the concrete material. As such it can be safely ignored.

Thus, scholars including Gräslund and Staecker have modified the theory and suggest that the late loose (silver) Thor’s hammers can be interpreted as a reaction against Christianity and the cross, but that the early Thor’s hammer rings cannot (Gräslund 1984a, 229, Staecker 1999a, 220ff.). According to Staecker, the reaction should then have begun in the 700s and the 800s in Jutland, in the 900s in the rest of Denmark and in Sweden. Staecker bases his work on Ström’s chronology. According to this chronology, Thor’s hammer rings of iron were produced in the earliest Viking Age, while the Thor’s hammer as isolated amulet only developed later (Ström 1974 and 1984). However, Krister Ström himself does not seem to find such interpretations very convincing (Ström 1984, 140). These conclusions do not follow unambiguously from his chronology, then.

I shall detail each of these theories in turn: The Thor’s hammer is the only amulet that can be univocally associated with a figure from pagan mythology. The medieval texts show that writers recognised the short-shafted shape of the amulets as that of the mythological Thor’s hammer. The hammer motif is also found on pagan rune stones, often in connection with the “Thor bless” formula (Zeiten 1997, 25). Marold has argued that the hammer motif on the stones serves the same purpose as the formula (Marold 1974, throughout). Thus, the connection between the hammer and name “Thor” is quite unambiguous. Wamers cites sagas for the claim that the hammer was used in blessing (Wamers 1994, 87). Clunies Ross associates it with marriage rituals (Clunies Ross 2002, 27). Bø suggests associations to borders, marriage and fertility. However, it is not obvious to me how he derives all this from the written sources, and he does not give any references. Others have emphasised the hammer as the gods’ weapon against giants and trolls (Bø 1974, 502, cf. Hed Jakobsson 2003, 200). It is not clear which of these associations were most relevant in any given situation, but they are not necessarily in conflict (cf. Schjødt 2005, 10): fighting trolls and protecting fertility may have been seen as parts of the same projects.

Zeiten and Schwartz-Mackesen reject the reaction-thesis even for the silver Thor’s hammers (Zeiten 1997, 27, Schwartz-Mackesen 1978, 85). Instead, they see the silver Thor’s hammers as a renaissance of an older symbol, which already had a meaning independently of the cross. This interpretation seems reasonable: there are no obvious reasons to attribute the silver Thor’s hammers any other meaning than the iron Thor’s hammers had. The Thor’s hammer-motif seems too old to be explained alone by the reaction-hypothesis alone. Against this, Staecker has pointed out that even the earliest Thor’s hammers, in England in the 500s, were produced after the local, Christian mission. Consequently, he has suggested that all Thor’s hammers can be seen as reaction (Staecker 1999c, 92, cf. Huber 2004, 8). This seems unreasonable, given the large concentration of early Thor’s hammers in the Mälar Valley. Staecker has suggested that the Thor’s hammers in the Mälar Valley could be a reaction on an otherwise undocumented early mission, possibly from England (Staecker 1999c, 95). This claim is connected with a very complex discussion of the insular imports in the area. Some have seen these as traces of an undocumented, early English mission, others as later imports, possibly through the Continent. There is no clear evidence of a Swedish mission before Ansgar (c. 830). It seems unreasonable to interpret all the Thor’s hammer rings as reaction against a mission that cannot be proven to have taken place at all. The reaction is out of proportion with the mission it is thought to react against. To me, Staecker’s argument for these hammers as reaction seems to be grasping at straws. I see more support for Staecker’s alternative hypothesis that they reflect a religion that was reorganised in connection with early state formation (Ibid. 93). In that case, the concentration of Thor’s hammer rings is independent of Christian mission. Also, it seems unreasonable to claim that the Thor’s hammer’s only function was as an opposite number to the cross. The motif had a much larger mythic and historical frame of reference. I see no support for claims that the Thor’s hammer’s origins lay in a reaction against the Christian cross. The Thor’s hammer rings’ geography and (traditional) chronology contradicts this.

Incidentally, Richard Perkins has argued that the ring may refer to Thor’s belt of strength. The belt made the god three times as strong, so Perkin’s suggests that a reference to the belt might also strengthen the amulet (Perkins 2001, 72). I think this reference to mythology may explain the rather impractical design of the common suspension rings: in most cases, the ring is in the same plane as the hammer. As the Thor’s hammers from Mandemark show, the ring demands a special fitting on the chain so that the hammer can hang parallel with this. In purely functional terms, the ring makes suspension more complex, rather than less so. The ring is not a functional detail, so a symbolic meaning seems called for. Oscar Montelius (1900) saw the hammer as a local subtype within a much wider phenomenon. He associated it with hammers and especially axes in Ancient Greek and Hittite religion, with the Christian cult of St. Oluf, and even with Neolithic axes. Montelius’ reading was one extreme within the then-fashionable search for IndoEuropean common culture. Others have emphasised the Thor’s hammer in the historical context of the conversion: Sune Lindqvist and Mogens Mackeprang, interpreted all Thor’s hammers as a reaction against the Christian use of crosses (Lindqvist 1915, 122f, Mackeprang 1938, 179; cf. Stenberger 1958, 167). As later researchers have shown, this interpretation is too simple, and it makes no sense chronologically. Iron Thor’s hammers occur in the Mälar Valley in the 700s, yet there is no evidence for mission here before the 830s. Only those Thor’s hammers that are younger than the first Christian mission can be understood as reactions against 67

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3: The individual pieces: type-based analyses Nielsen 1991, 250, Janson 2005, 51).

Loose Thor's hammers, distribution on context-types, 237 amulets

In an even more baroque argument, Gunnar Nilsén (1996, 84) suggests that the hammer could be a syncretistic symbol of resurrection, and consequently an expression of a pagan reaction against Christianity. Nilsén seems to argue that the pagans at the same time adopted Christian ideas and distanced themselves from Christianity. Like that of Wamers, this theory seems rather independent of any real source-material. There is no evidence that resurrection played any role in paganism (see below). Indeed, as Nilsén points out himself, his different interpretations seem to contradict each other.

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Gunnar Andersson, too, has interpreted the Thor’s hammer rings in inhumation graves as “syncretistic” elements (Andersson 2004, 146). However, he seems to mean something rather different from Nilsén. Andersson stresses that he does not distinguish between “syncretism” and “acculturation” (Ibid. 10). His theory is simply that inhumation with Thor’s hammer rings entailed a mixing of cultural traditions originating in Christian and pagan culture. He does not claim that that people consciously sought to combine the two religions. Andersson is probably right that the change from cremation to inhumation in Uppland must reflect a conscious choice. He is also likely right that people cannot have been ignorant of the Christian preference for inhumation (Ibid. 16). Yet, this does not mean that the practice of inhumation was an expression of any strictly syncretistic interest in Christian teachings. Thus, there is no reason to believe that the Thor’s hammer rings must be connected with people who would describe themselves as Christian. In Andersson’s interpretation, Thor’s hammer rings in inhumation graves are “syncretistic” elements because they combine amulets from pagan culture with inhumations from Christian culture. This does not mean that any other Thor’s hammer rings need be considered “syncretistic” symbols.

0 Grave finds

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Figure 3.9.1-4) Distribution map and graphs for loose Thor’s hammers.

Conversely, the Thor’s hammer no doubt changed meaning when the cross became common. No matter what it “originally” meant, in time it also came to mark a resistance against the cross. Dubois suggests that Thor’s hammer and cross figure as clear alternatives on the Södermanland rune stones from the 1000s and the 1100s (Dubois 1999, 158). At that time, it was probably no longer possible to have a pagan identity without at the same time consciously rejecting a Christian identity. As with other symbols, the Thor’s hammers’ meaning depended on those alternatives it was defined up against. In direct contrast to this, Egon Wamers has suggested that the Thor’s hammer was considered to be a prefiguration of the cross, and was consequently was an acceptable amulet for Christians (Wamers 1994, 89 and 98). This theory seems most unlikely (cf. Staecker 1999a, 244). As Wamers and other have pointed out, pictorial sources may suggest that Christians could understand pagan myth as a pre-figuration of Christian teachings. The most famous examples are found on the high cross from Gosforth. Here, scenes from the pagan mythology were used on a Christian cross. Yet, it seems unnecessarily speculative to interpret the Thor’s hammers as Christian amulets. Wamers seems to ignore the very evident value-judgement implicit in the medieval theory of pre-figuration: the prefigured myths were considered to be misunderstood, poorer versions of the Christian, evangelic truth. There was no reason why Christian should continue using the Thor’s hammer as a misunderstood cross when they had access to the authentic cross. Also, there is no empirical material to suggest that anyone in Viking Age Scandinavia considered crosses and hammers equivalent to each other. Staecker points out that the two motifs are never found together, except for the supposedly cross-ornamented hammers (see below). The few (two!) graves with mixed amulets can be explained more economically with syncretism, confusion or conflict between the religion of the dead person and of the bereaved (see below). Equally bizarre theories about Thor as a Christian, mythological figure have been suggested by Nielsen and Janson (L.

More concretely, Andersson suggests that the Thor’s hammer can be interpreted as a Christian tau-cross (T), used as symbol of resurrection in the Eastern Church (Andersson 2004, 73). However, all evidence suggests that all Thor’s hammers were carried the upside down, relative to the tau-cross ( ), and the typical pentagonal or triangular head looks nothing like the spiral ends characteristic of the Orthodox tau-cross. I see little to support for any connection. More generally, Nilsén and Andersson interpret the Thor’s hammer rings (only) as symbols of rebirth or resurrection. This seems unfounded in any actual evidence. Nilsén, especially, seem to base his whole interpretation on projecting more or less fashionable interpretations down on the material with no regard for how these fit each other or the material itself. Andersson (2004, 70f) suggests that the ring can be seen as symbol on repetition, wholeness and fertility, referring to Odin’s ring, Draupnir. Andersson also 69

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3: The individual pieces: type-based analyses Moreover, it seems far-fetched indeed to attribute these rings a completely different meaning than the loose Thor’s hammers, which were certainly not limited to burial contexts.

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Third, Nilsen’s concept of “liminality” is confused and so general that it can be applied to all grave goods and burial ritual. The concept originates with anthropologist Victor Turner, and his development of Marcel Mauss’ theories on rites of passage. Yet, Nilsén cites neither author, and reveals no understanding of their work. Very briefly, Turner argued that in ritual, the initiate has some stable role, then is separated from society, placed in a liminal situation, transformed, and then re-integrated in society in some stable new role. So, for instance, a person may go from being alive, to being liminally unburied, to being post-liminal as a quite dead and buried person. The point is, in any case, that liminality is a temporary state between two more stable states (V. Turner 1982, throughout). Yet, Nilsén seems to see both the unburied and the buried dead as liminal: on one hand, he refers to ibn Fadlan for the information that the dead were liminal for ten days between death and burial (Nilsén 1996, 85ff). This reference suggests that the liminal phase ended at the burial. Andersson suggests a parallel theory in his interpretation of the concept “corpse house” in Upplandic runic inscriptions, where he suggests that the dead lay in a special house on the grave-field until they were finally buried (Andersson 2004, 135). The corpse house could then contain the liminal dead who were between life and burial. All this fits Turner’s theory well enough. On the other hand, Nilsén also seems to believe that dead bodies remained luminal even after burial. If Thor’s hammer rings deposited secondarily, after the burial are to be part of the liminal, that phase did not end at the burial. The rings cannot mean the same in a liminal funeral context and after the burial in a post-liminal context. Nilsén’s claim that the rings are liminal and never connected with the post-liminal phase seem directly contradicted by those rings found as secondary depositions in older graves.

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Figure 3.9.5-8) Distribution map and graphs forThor’s hammer rings.

believes that the small rings on some Thor’s hammer rings must be interpreted within such a complex of meaning. I find it rather strange to compare these iron neck-rings with Odin’s precious metal arm-ring. Both are rings, but that seem to be all they have in common. There are many other rings in the archaeological material that resemble Odin’s arm-ring more closely. Moreover, in the myths, the hammer’s fertility symbolism is ambiguous, to put it mildly (cf. Andersson 2004, 70): in Þrymskviða (30-33), the wedding blessed with the hammer does not end in fertility, but in violence and death; in Gylfaginning (72f) Baldur’s burial is blessed with the hammer and results in the deaths of both Baldur’s wife, Nana, and an unfortunate dwarf called Lif, whereas the hoped-for resurrection never happens; Thor does resurrect his goats with the hammer, but he only does so after killing them, and even then the resurrection is incomplete. In every case, the association to killing and destruction is stronger than that to resurrection, then. The mythological examples all suggest that the hammer did not really work as symbol of fertility or resurrection.

Fourth, Nilsén has suggested that the rings are an ethnic symbol (Ibid. 80ff). This interpretation does not seem to be able to explain why people specifically chose the Thor’s hammer as symbol. It is probably not relevant for the Thor’s hammers motif, specifically, and will not be treated further here, but I shall return that the below (section 8.7.2.)

Nilsén suggest that Thor’s hammer rings in graves should ensure “return” of the dead people (Nilsén 1996, 86), and that the rings were liminal symbols, because they were part of funerals where those buried crossed the border between living and dead. The interpretations seem entirely unsupported by evidence.

I suspect that both Nilsén and Andersson project universal models down on the material. This appears especially obvious for Andersson who understands amulet rings as “material expressions of a ritual where rebirth and social reproduction were central themes.” 19 He admits that this cannot explain why the rings are so much rarer on Valsta than on Skälby, given that the same themes were presumably also central here (Andersson 2004, 91f). Thus, Andersson argues that these themes are central in the burial rituals both when there are

First, there is no evidence whatsoever that the resurrection of the dead played any significant part in pagan religion. Nilsén seems to reconstruct the religion to fit his theories, rather than adapting these to what we know of the religion. Second, the archaeological evidence seems to contradict Nilsén’s theory. The theory suggests that Thor’s hammer rings were only used in the burial situation, but this is clearly not so. On the contrary, some Thor’s hammer rings were deposited after burial, and a few are settlement finds with no burial connection what so ever (see above).

19 ”De är materielle uttryck av en ritual där återfödelse och social reproduktion varit centrale teman”.

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Viking Age amulets in Scandinavia and Western Europe suggested that Thor’s hammer rings with Thor’s hammers should be dated to the 800s and the 900s, with roughly twice as many examples in the 900s as in the 800s. Ström also thought that the type was too early to be a reaction against the Christian mission. However, Andersson has argued convincingly that some Thor’s hammer rings must be dated to the 1000s, less convincingly that this date is typical (Andersson 2005, 48ff). In any case, some Thor’s hammer rings are too early to allow an interpretation as reaction against Christianity. Andersson’s dates builds on two gravefields with a total of 15 Thor’s hammer rings. This is a very small part of the total material (ca. 5 %). In comparison, Ström’s dates build on 45 individual dated contexts. Andersson is probably right that the Birka material plays too big a role in the traditional chronology (Andersson 2004, 13), but I am not convinced that his dates are more relevant outside his own specific reference material. Although most Thor’s hammer rings on Valsta and Skälby can be dated to the 1000s, this needs not hold true for most Thor’s hammer rings everywhere. If the type’s dates are to be revised, this must be done from all the concrete contexts, not from Skälby and Valsta alone. Incidentally, there are striking and problematic differences between Andersson’s different texts: in the earlier text (2004), he took his starting point in two gravefields. His primary interest was to understand these sites, and he stressed that they very likely deviate from more general considerations. In the later text (2005), in contrast, he made Skälby and Valsta into key sites, and suggested that interpretations made here must be relevant everywhere. This generalisation seems unwarranted and in conflict with his earlier starting point.

archaeological arguments for this (Skälby), and when there are not (Valsta). His interpretation is independent of the archaeological finds, and presumably based on general, theoretical models. Similar reservations apply to Nilsén’s work, but must be much less precise since his work is much less precise. Both Andersson’s and Nilsén’s interpretations are so universalising that they cannot explain the regional and chronological differences in Viking Age archaeology. None of them give any convincing explanations of what the rings are. All they supply are tautologies: if all grave goods are symbols of resurrections, then Thor’s hammer rings in graves are also symbols of resurrection. The Thor’s hammers’ date has been discussed exhaustively by Staecker and Ström (Staecker 1999a, Ström 1984). Staecker subdivides the loose Thor’s hammers into several types, mainly on material. My catalogue includes pieces that Staecker does not include, either because they are found outside his area of investigation, or because they were only published after his catalogue was completed. However, these give no reason to change Staecker’s dates. Staecker’s types are: Type 1.1: Loose Thor’s hammers of iron, dated to all of 800s and the 900s (Staecker 1999a, 223f). Type 1.2: Thor’s hammers of amber. Staecker mentions examples from the 10th century, but points out that most examples cannot be dated (Staecker 1999a, 225). Type 1.3: Thor’s hammers of “bronze”, i.e. copper-alloy. Staecker mentions examples from the 700s and the 800s, and from “the late Viking Age” (Staecker 1999a, 225f). Type 1.4: Thor’s hammers of lead. Staecker cannot date the type more closely than no later than the 1000s (Staecker 1999a, 227). Type 1.5: Thor’s hammers of silver, without ornaments, dated to the period of the 800s to the 1000s with the heaviest presence in the 900s (Staecker 1999a, 227f). Type 2.1.1: Thor’s hammers of silver with stamped ornaments, dated to the period the 900s to 1000s (Staecker 1999a, 229). Type 2.1.2: Thor’s hammers of silver with stamped ornaments in cross-shape. Staecker dates the type that the 900s and 1000s (Staecker 1999a, 230). Type 2.2: Thor’s hammers of silver with vegetable patterns, dated to the 900s and the 1000s (Staecker 1999a, 231). Type 2.3: Thor’s hammers of pressed silver foil, dated to the 900s and likely the 1000s (Staecker 1999a, 232).

There can be no reasonable doubt that some Thor’s hammer rings can be dated as early as the 700s, and that some must be dated to the 1000s. The only problem is if the bulk of the type should be dated to the 900s or to the 1000s. The former date is suggested by Ström and is probably too dependent on Birka, the latter by Andersson, and is probably too dependent on Skälby and Valsta. Iron is clearly over-represented, both inside the group and in relation to other types. There seems a clear and marked association between the Thor’s hammer shape and iron. This is not caused by material properties alone. Thor’s hammers could be produced in other materials, and anchors, crosses and miniature weapons could be produced in iron. Despite this, iron seems clearly preferred for Thor’s hammers, and primarily supplemented with silver, the other grey-white metal. In contrast, all other materials, and especially in copperalloy, are remarkably rare among the Thor’s hammers.

Following Staecker, the Thor’s hammers can be collectively dated to all of the Viking Age, from the 700s to the 1000s. Thor’s hammers are known even earlier in England, but these are not part of a Scandinavian cultural context. Consequently, I have not included them in the catalogue.

Uppland and Södermanland are over-represented, Norway obviously under-represented. The majority of the Danish finds come from Tissø. The majority of the material comes from graves. Hoard finds of Thor’s hammers are remarkably rare, although they do exist.

The date of the Thor’s hammer rings is more problematic. Valgärde 6 (cat. 904), dated around 750, is interpreted as the oldest dated Thor’s hammer ring. Ström (1984)

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Viking Age amulets in Scandinavia and Western Europe amulet. This use of the cross as an amulet is found, for example, in vampire-beliefs both in Central Europe and Hollywood. Nothing suggests that the cross as amulet can be told apart from the cross as symbol (cf. Skemer 2006, 95). Indeed, even when the cross was carried more as magical amulet than as religious symbol, it must be assumed that it was carried as a specifically Christian magical amulet. As discussed above, I have little patience with claims that crosses might be symbols of magical power acceptable to pagans (cf. Price 2002, 204).

Crosses, distribution on context-types, 195 amulets 70 60 50 40 30

Incidentally, in the time around the year 1000 the cross seems to have achieved an ever-larger role in Christian rituals and thought. Staecker divides the Viking Age cross pendants into a long list of subtypes (Staecker 1999a, 46ff). In most cases, this typology is etic, rather than emic. The types are useful for dating and provenancing, but they rarely seem to have any typespecific symbolism. Not until the late Middle Ages did it become common to distinguish between the symbolism of different types of cross. Today, the most obvious symbolism is connected with those crosses that most obviously differ from the simple Latin cross ( ): the Patriarchal cross or cross of Lorraine ( ), the wheel cross, the Orthodox cross ( ), the St. Peter’s cross ( ) and cross of Malta ( ). Each of these came to be associated with certain Christian churches or groups (e.g. the Orthodox Church, papacy, knights hospitaller). However, this is a product of the High Middle Ages’ heraldic tradition, and is probably not relevant for the Viking Age. The only possible exception is presented by the St. Peter’s cross.

20 10 0 Grave finds Hoard finds Settlement Stray finds finds Figure 3.10.1-4) Distribution map and graphs for crosses.

3.10) Crosses Viking Age crosses range from very simple, geometrical shapes to more ornate crucifixes. The crosses of the Viking Age are unambiguously identified as Christian symbols. Their precise symbolism within Christianity may be less unambiguous (see for example Persch 2005, 25). Some very early cross motifs may have been imported into the region without much understanding of their Christian context. Thus, a Crux Gemata appears on a Danish Germanic Iron Age bracteate (Hauck in Lamm et al. 2000, 31f.). Although the motif originated in Christian culture, there is no reason to believe that many Scandinavians understood all of its symbolism at that time. However, by the Viking Age, the Christian church had become so visible in Scandinavia that the association between the crosses and Christianity was probably obvious. Indeed, Staecker remarks that the bulk of Viking Age cross pendants is rather later than the Christianisation mentioned in the historical sources (Staecker in lecture 12th of May, 2005). The use of the cross as amulet must thus be understood inside a relatively well-established, Christian culture. Yet, it was possible to be Christian without wearing a cross. Crosses were likely more or less exclusive to Christians, but also characteristic of specific sub-groups among them.

The St. Peter’s cross is an inverted cross. Non-canonical Christian traditions (Tertullian, Origin) claim that St. Peter was crucified head down. Several Viking Age crosses have tops is longer than their bottoms. These have sometimes been labelled “St. Peter’s crosses”. However, it is unlikely that these crosses are to be associated specifically with St. Peter. Rather, they seem to express a high level of abstraction, where the precise form of the cross was unimportant. The elongated tops can generally be explained with the need for making room for the suspension hole. They were not designed with conscious reference to St. Peter, but rather as a practical modification of the ordinary, Greek cross (+). This adaptation was possible, exactly because contemporaries did not distinguish between different types of cross. Any cross was recognisable as a reference to the true cross. Staecker defines the proper Peter’s cross as cross where the top is at least twice as long as the bottom. According to this criterion, there are few or none of these St. Peter’s crosses in the material. There are no contemporary, local depictions of St. Peter’s martyrdom or indeed of any recognisable saints at all. The other common cross found in Christian tradition, the saltier or St. Andrew’s cross (X) is not known from the Viking Age. Indeed, it only seems to have become associated with this saint at some later time.

Skovmand distinguishes between the cross as Christian symbol and the cross as amulet, for instance in graves. This makes sense theologically, less so anthropologically: many present-day Christians wear cross pendants to mark a religious identity in the face of the secularised world, or to remind the wearers themselves about the faith’s meaning in their own lives. These religious symbols are not amulets in any narrow sense. They are not worn specifically to bring luck or protect against accidents (cf. Zeiten 1997). However, the transition from symbols to amulets is often gradual. There is no doubt that some Christians in some periods have indeed used the cross as

Most Viking Age crosses seem to be variations of the 74

3: The individual pieces: type-based analyses contemporary, local sources from Viking Age Scandinavia to suggest this, but it cannot be ruled out entirely.

Greek cross (+), a form that has no specific historical association (contra Paulsen 1939, 178). Apparently, the cross’ abstract form was more important than its similarity with the historical, true cross. This can also be seen in the crucifixes that do not attempt to show a realist image of the cross. Such realism was first attempted in late Middle Ages.

The relevant archaeological material is not univocal: Capelle has identified a few pieces that he sees as ambiguous Thor’s hammer-crosses. These are the amulets from Stentinget (not included), Foss (cat. 272), Vinor (cat. 395) and Goldsborough (cat. 261), and the man’s figurine from Akureyi (not included; Capelle 2005, 169f, Gräslund 1984b, 136). Surprisingly, the find from Rauðnefsstaðir (not included; Þjms 10919) seems not to figure in these discussions, although it is strikingly similar to that from Stentinget (Perkins 2001, 129, cf. Capelle 2005, 171). Jörn Staecker identifies the piece from Stentinget as an Estonian dress pin (personal communication). This should also hold true for the piece from Rauðnefsstaðir. All the other pieces can reasonably be described as Peter’s crosses or pseudo-Peter’s crosses. As discussed above, it is very possible, that these were intended as Greek crosses. Certainly, these pieces look nothing like Viking Age hammers. Neither Thor’s hammers nor the tool hammers of the Viking Age had the shape of a cross. Almost all known Thor’s hammers have triangular or pentagonal heads. Moreover, Capelle’s identification of the Foss-cross’s terminals as “striking soles” is weakened by the fact that there is a similar “striking sole” on the end of the shaft. This makes no sense for a tool. Likewise, Staecker points out that no other Thor’s hammer has a shaft that extends much beyond the head. In short, the Foss-cross looks nothing like a hammer. In contrast, it does look strikingly like the Christian alter cross depicted in the Liber Vitae of Canute the Great (see for example Fuglesang 1996, 85). Also, Huber points out that the animal head on the Foss-cross resembles the lion’s heads known from contemporary Gospel books, which may support a Christian interpretation (Huber 2004, 26). Consequently, it is probably unreasonable to interpret this piece as anything other than a cross.

Some of the crosses are encolpia, crucifix-boxes meant to contain a relic. Most of these were broken at the time of finding. There are significantly more fronts than backs in the material. This may be because that the fronts are more recognisable and easily dated than the backs. It may also be because fronts with pictures of the crucifixion could be used as devotional images, even after they were no longer part of encolpia in use (Lindahl 1996, 150). Perhaps metal from the backs was reclaimed with less reluctance because these did not depict any religious motif. The typology and chronology of the crosses has been discussed in detail by Staecker (1999a). According to that work, only one sub-type, encolpia of type 3.2.1, can be dated before the year 900. For all other cross pendants, crucifixes and encolpia Staecker suggests dates in the 900s and the 1000s, with a clear overweight of types in the 1000s. Crucifixes are rather evenly distributed across the 900s and the 1000s, cross pendants more typical of the 1000s, and encolpia is almost altogether limited to the 1000s (Staecker 1999a, 198). For crosses, as for the amulet material as a whole, the dominant materials are silver, secondarily copper-alloy. Lead is relatively well-represented, while iron is strikingly absent, especially compared with the Thor’s hammers. For the more detailed crucifixes and especially encolpia, this makes sense due to material properties. However, there are no technical reasons why simple cross pendants of iron should be so rare. Also, the almost total absence of amber is striking, given that jet has similar material properties and is better represented. Geographically, Denmark, Norway and Gotland are over-represented. Uppland is obvious under-represented. The majority of the material is stray finds.

Conversely, Capelle interprets the Thor’s hammer with eagle’s head from Skåne (cat. 562) as an apparently pagan amulet with Christian content. Capelle sees the hammers eagle’s head as the symbol of St. John the evangelist (Capelle 2005, 169). However, the bird is not univocally identified as any eagle, let alone as St. John’s eagle specifically. Raudvere interprets the animal’s head as one of Thor’s billy-goats (Raudvere 2003, 183). Even if this is an eagle, there are several eagles in Scandinavian mythology. There is no reason to see eagles as exclusively Christian symbols. Thus, I see little support for considering this amulet ambiguous. Its pagan associations are far more obvious than its claimed Christian ones.

3.11) Supposed ambiguous Thor’s hammers and crosses Anne-Sofie Gräslund and Thorsten Capelle have written much about the archaeological traces of mixed beliefs. There is no doubt that mixed beliefs exited in the Viking Age: the Icelandic landthing’s decision about change of religions allowed for continued private pagan practice. Although everyone became publicly Christian by law, this did not hinder them from being pagans in private. Similarly, Landnámabók mentions Helge the lean, who trusted in Christ but also sacrificed to Thor in difficult matters. After modern, etic concepts, Helge was not a very consistent Christian. The people who left the amulets may have been no more consistent. Also, Gräslund has suggested that some early Christians may have kept their religion secret, to avoid persecution (see for example Gräslund 1985, 82). There are no

Finally, Gräslund and Capelle have discussed a number of Thor’s hammers with X- or cross ornamentation. Similarly, Huber categorises the hammers from Hedeby (cat. 1302), Fønskov (cat. 159), Kabbarb (cat. 549), Lugnås (cat. 1204), Stenby Prästgård (cat. 1280) and 75

Viking Age amulets in Scandinavia and Western Europe Lupowa in Poland (not included here) as Thor’s hammers with cruciform stamped ornaments (Huber 2004, 114f). However, this seems to be a purely descriptive term. Some of the shapes on the Lungnås-hammer look more like hammers than crosses, and not all X’s are necessarily Christian crosses, nor do I suggest Huber implies this. Despite all these reservations, one piece deserves special mention: B 5766 from the Bergen-area (cat. 328). This is an iron ring with nine identical pendants of iron, shaped like long-shafted Peter’s crosses. This piece is unique, no matter if described as a ring with nine iron crosses or a Norwegian Thor’s hammer ring with very cruciform hammers. I have not classified it in the analyses, but it is probably the best candidate for ambiguous hammers/crosses. However, it must also be stressed that Thor’s hammers are very rare in Norway, and that the ambiguity may not have been obvious for the local population.

3.12) Capsules and “scare-men” These are small containers. The most common type consists of two hemispherical halves, joined by a ribbon. Less frequent types are cylindrical or double cylindrical. The identification of the Viking Age capsules as amulets is uncertain. Duczko has argued convincingly that the capsules functioned as pomanders, containers for aromatic substances. This explains the holes at the bottom (Duczko 1985, 66). Zeiten points out that the capsules’ form may have been imported to Scandinavia, without their original use always being copied (Zeiten 1997, 6). Likewise, Arwindsson suggests that some can have functioned as relic containers (Arwindsson 1984, 125). One capsule, from Bj. 552 on Birka, carries a runic inscription translated as “In my capacity as a ’scare-man’ I take pains to drive (force) out vermin. I must do this as a ’scare-man’. I was given this office for that purpose” (or I requested this office).” (Duczko 1985, 65, quoting Otto von Firesen; cat. 719). In later times, pomanders were carried as protection against disease and parasites, and the inscription suggests a similar function for this piece.

Consequently, the most important observation on the ambiguous Thor’s hammer-crosses is that they are very rare, and that their ambiguity is not very obvious. Most relevant pieces can be identified as crosses or Thor’s hammers without problems, and the ambiguity seem mostly to exist in the minds of the observers. I see no evidence that Scandinavians in general cultivated ambiguity, either from syncretist sympathies or to avoid reprisals.

The inscription suggests that capsules had some sort of protective function, but they need not have been symbolic in the same way as other amulets. Unlike many other types, capsules have quite often been cut up into hacksilver (Stenberger 1958, 181).

The pieces that are typically mentioned in this discussion are the finds from Foss, Stentinget and Akureyi. None of these can be dated with any precision, although the similarity between Foss and the cross in the Liber Vitae of Canute the great suggests a date to the second half of the 10th century. Gräslund and Capelle also include Staecker’s Thor’s hammer type 2.1.2, Thor’s hammers of silver with stamped ornaments in cross shape. Staecker dates the type to the 900s and 1000s (Staecker 1999a, 230). Staecker’s date of the Thor’s hammers builds on the hoard finds from Kabbarp and Stens Prästgård, with TPQ dates to 991 and 997. The other three hammers of this type are stray finds, without any precise date.

Both Stenberger and Duczko argue that the type originated in it Eastern Europe (Stenberger 1958, 128, Duczko 1980, 343). Capsules with rather different designs are found in the Danish Iron Age material. These may have contained aromatics, just as the Viking Age capsules may have done, but there is no clear chronological continuity between the two groups. The double-conic and box-shaped pendants of the Iron Age were in use in the Late Roman and the Early Germanic Iron Age, whereas no similar pieces from the late Germanic Iron Age are known (J. Nielsen 1997, especially 28ff). More generally, Beilke-Voigt mentions pomanders with preserved aromatics from the Continent from the Roman Iron Age, and capsules without preserved aromatics back to the Early Bronze Age (Beilke-Voigt 1998, 84). There may be no continuity between these different examples. Nor are they are very similar in form, although the use seems to be parallel. Somewhat similar capsules were worn in Anglo-Saxon England. Meaney argues that these are too small for any practical use. They might symbolise sewing boxes or medicine boxes, but functional ones must have been larger (Meaney 1981, 181ff). The Scandinavian “scareman” can probably not be interpreted inside this frame of reference.

Of the six pieces that Capelle mentions, four are silver, one lead and one copper-alloy. They are very evenly distributed over the area of investigation, but show a weak western tendency, with three pieces from England and Iceland. The lack of ambiguous pieces from the Mälar Valley suggests that they have nothing to do with Thor’s hammers, so common there. The six Thor’s hammers that Huber describes as crossornamented are all made of silver. This is probably due to material properties and traditions of craftsmanship. All other stamp-ornamented Thor’s hammers are also silver. Also, these pieces have a characteristic eastern distribution. It does not seem unreasonable to assume that the ornament is distributed inside a Western Baltic trade network. The hammer from Rømersdal on Bornholm, too, can be seen as part of this Western Baltic fashion for stamping crosses and Xs on silver Thor’s hammers.

The group of capsules is somewhat heterogenic. Most objects are of the Slavic kaptorp-type, but the catalogue includes also individual imports of other types. I shall start with the more typical pieces. 31 of these are known.

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Capsules, distribution on modern states and districts, 32 amulets

Capsules, distribution on context-types, 32 amulets

14 12 10 8 6 4 2 0

25 20 15 10 5 0 Grave findsHoard finds Settlement Stray finds finds Figure 3.12.1-4) Distribution map and graphs for capsules.

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Viking Age amulets in Scandinavia and Western Europe called Gnostic amulet covers, produced around the middle of the first millennium. The amulet box seems nearly as old. No matter when the Hoen-amulets were produced, they were deposited after 855. Bj. 825 contains JP 47/48 brooches dated to late in the Late Birka period, the late 900s (Jansson 1985, 175).

Capsules, distribution on context-types, 32 amulets 25 20

It is striking that the atypical capsules have earlier dates than the more typical pieces. It is possible that the amulet capsules were inspired by Mediterranean culture, and that the oldest pieces are imports. The most problematic dates are caused by the possible capsules from Bj. 606 and Bj. 464. The piece from Bj. 464 is a needle-container of Persian form, and need not be deposited as amulet. The piece from Bj. 606 is unique. Arbman describes it as “a beaker-shaped bead” 20 (Arbman 1943, 199). It may be unreasonable to include this piece in the same type as the others. On this background it seems most reasonable to date the more typical capsules to all of the 900s and the first half of the 1000s.

15 10 5 0 Grave finds Hoard finds Settlement Stray finds finds Figure 3.12.1-4) Distribution map and graphs for capsules.

Most TPQ-dates come from Gotland. They date to 917 (Kvarna, cat. 471), 960 (Gustafs, cat. 394), 976 (Risungs, cat. 445), 978 (Hallsarve, cat. 391), 986 (Barlingbro, cat. 360), 993 (Larsarve, cat. 376), 1016 (Amlings, cat. 432), 1018 (Kännungs, cat. 431), 1029 (Kviende, cat. 440), 1042 (Visby and Lilla Klintagårde, cat. 473 and 476), 1066 (Kattlunds, cat. 397) and 1083 (Valbo, cat. 495). However, this last piece is an import, and atypical. More general dates are known for the hoard from Terslev (cat. 103) and from Hedeby grave 875 (formerly south gravefield grave 27, cat. 1305), both dated to the 900s, from the Pæregård-hoard (cat. 122), dated to the 900s or 1000s, and the Klockarabostället-hoard (cat. 531), dated to the first half of the 1000s.

The far most common material for the capsules is silver. This is probably because of material properties. Geographically, the material is completely dominated by pieces from Gotland and to a lesser degree Öland. Most of the Upplandic pieces come from Birka. Skåne is overrepresented, too. Consequently, it seems reasonable to regard the capsules as Baltic imports, cf. lunulae, below. There are a remarkable overweight of hoard finds. The few exceptions are grave finds. It is remarkable that capsules do not occur on any of the Viking Age settlements. 3.13) Anchors

Finally, the capsules from Bj. 501 and Bj. 1062 (cat. 711 and 784) on Birka can be associated with JP 51 brooches, from the late 800s to the late 900s or 825/830 to ca. 960 (Skibsted Klæsøe 1997, 124, Jansson 1985, 174). Nothing contradicts a date for the typical capsules to all of the 900s and the first half of the 1000s.

These are miniatures of anchors, shaped just like the real ones: a straight shaft with a loop at top, two arched arms at the bottom. The anchors constitute a small group of material from Hedeby, with one piece from York. It seems reasonable to associate them with sea-faring in some way or other. Zeiten suggest that they might be guild marks for a craftsman’s guild or a trader’s guild. With no specific reference to these amulets, CrumlinPedersen & Reick have attempted to associate all ships and skip’s associations with the Vanir gods (CrumlinPedersen & Reick 1988, 159, cf. Crumlin-Petersen 2005, throughout). I do not find this theory convincing. In Christian iconography, the anchor represents the virtue of hope and the saints Clement and Nicolai (Munch Thye 1995, 190f). The latter was apparently a very important saint in Early Medieval Scandinavia, with many churches and people named after him. According to Zeiten, the anchor is found as symbol of hope already on antique Christian sarcophagi (Zeiten 1997, 32). The identification of hope as a central virtue goes back to St. Paul, in the 1st century: “And now abideth faith, hope, charity, these three; but the greatest of these is charity” (1st Corinthians 13:13, King James Version)

For the atypical capsules, the date is somewhat more problematic. Such pieces were found in the Fölhagenhoard (cat. 381), with TPQ 996, which is no different from the more typical capsules’ date. However, the possible capsule from Bj. 606 (cat. 723) is associated with JP 42 brooches. This type is variously dated to the Late Birka period, from the late 800s to the late 900s or to ca. 825/830-860 (Jansson 1985, 174, Skibsted Klæsøe 1997, 124). Consequently, this capsule may be surprisingly early. The amulet from Bj. 552 (cat. 719) is associated with JP 33/37 brooches, dated before 860 (Ibid.). Again, the date is early, but this amulet is obviously atypical. Also the possible capsule from Bj. 464 (cat. 708) seems surprisingly early. It was found with brooches of Berdal type, most like type JP 16, dated before 860 (Ibid.) Finally, four pieces are very atypical: from the hoard in Hoen comes two cylinders and an amulet box (cat. 290292), and from Bj. 825 a possible Christian reliquary (cat. 750). Heyerdahl-Larsen interprets the cylinders as so-

20 “… Halsschmück aus Perlen und Silberanhängern (154:4), ein beckerförmiger (154:5)“. The numbers in parentheses refer to illustrations in the original text.

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Anchors, distribution on modern states and districts, 11 amulets

Anchors, distribution on materials, 11 amulets

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Viking Age amulets in Scandinavia and Western Europe hoard from Enggårde 1, deposited around 1100 (cat. 442), for the hoard from Torsta, deposited in the second half of the 900s (cat. 504), and for Bj. 660 on Birka, with JP 51 brooches, which Jansson dates to the late Birka period, the period from the late 800s to the late 900s (cat. 732; Jansson 1985, 174). Skibsted Klæsøe dates them to the time from 825/830 to ca. 960 (Skibsted Klæsøe 1997, 124). Consequently, it seems reasonable to date the lunulae to the second half of the 900s and all of the 1000s.

Anchors, distribution on context-types, 11 amulets 12 10 8 6 4

The material is always silver. This may be because of material properties, as the lunulae are often made of thinly rolled foil and decorated with filigree. These techniques are not well-suited for hard copper-alloys, iron or other materials. However, it would be possible to copy the general form in these materials. The fact that nobody did this suggests that the lunulae should be considered valuable jewellery, more than amulets.

2 0 Grave finds Hoard finds Settlement Stray finds finds Figure 3.13.1-4) Distribution map and graphs for anchors.

In Scandinavia, lunulae are a purely Swedish type, primarily from Gotland. The type can probably be considered a Baltic import. As Duczko have shown, both capsules and lunulae show characteristic Baltic craft techniques. As a type, the lunulae seem older in the Eastern Baltic than in Scandinavia.

11 anchors are known, ten from Hedeby and one possible, but somewhat atypical, piece from York. None of these can be dated very precisely. Hedeby was inhabited in the period 806 to 1066, and the Scandinavian finds in York are dated after 860. Thus, the only possible date is after 806 to after 860.

Almost all lunulae are hoard finds. This is partially connected with the fact that they are almost all of silver (see below).

All the anchors are of lead. The group’s remarkable homogeneity cannot be explained with material properties.

3.15) Summary The following table shows the amulet types, ordered in chronological sequence.

Almost all anchors come from Hedeby. The single exception is from York. It is probably not unreasonable to regard the English piece as part of the same local tradition, either as an export or as a local imitation. All these finds are settlement finds.

The chronology of the amulets reveals a striking pattern. Before circa 700 there were only a very few amulets in Scandinavia. All these seem to have belonged to just a few types, mainly Thor’s hammers, shields, miniature weapons and wheels, often with limited geographical distribution. After the year 1000, there were again only a few types, all with clear Christian associations: rune amulets, crosses and crucifixes, medallions and lambs of God (Agnus Dei). However, in the period in between, there were numerous types, each represented by just a few examples. This may mirror general changes in the way objects were used in the period. The Iron Age gold foils (guldgubber) and bracteates may well have been produced on a few central places, and have obtained much of their religious value from their association to these. This was certainly the case for later Christian pilgrim’s marks. In the Viking Age, gold foil amulets were replaced by miniature figures. These were still material objects, but their meaning depended more on symbolism than on direct association to any place. These were then replaced by rune-amulets, whose meaning directly depended on the written and spoken word. Consequently, they depended even more on their readers’ understanding than miniature figurines did. In this way, the development in the amulets might possibly be connected with the transition physical association to more abstract reference. This could be linked to a transition

3.14) Lunulae The Vikinge Age lunula is an imported Baltic type, crescent-shaped pendants in silver foil and filigree. They do not have loops, but instead the outer edge is bent into a tube for suspension. Thus, they were worn with the horns downwards. They are relevant in a discussion of amulets because they show similarity with the strike-alights. Both types have a central point that creates a heartshaped negative space, surrounded by the body of the object. The types are more or less contemporary in Scandinavia, so the dates can suggest, but not prove, that the lunulae were an inspiration for the strike-a-lights. The catalogue includes 24 lunulae or fragments of them. Far the most come from hoard finds, and in many cases TPQ-dates are known: 955 (Ramsåkern, cat. 545), 983 (Botes, cat. 412-413), 986 (Digeråker, cat. 378), 991 (Östjädre, cat. 1222), 1002 (Högdarve, cat. 443), 1016 (Myrände, cat. 377), 1018 (Kännungs, cat. 430), 1028 (Villie, cat. 542), 1047 (Stora Bjärs, cat. 455), 1055 (Bosarve, cat. 463) and 1083 (Allmändingen in Valbo, cat. 496). Slightly more vague dates are known for the 80

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Lunulae, distribution on modern states and districts, 24 amulets

Lunulae, distribution on materials, 24 amulets

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Viking Age amulets in Scandinavia and Western Europe strike-a-lights continued in use straight through this period. However, shields became far more popular than before. I believe some of these new types may be Christian, notably the shields and chairs. The continued use of the Thor’s hammers shows that the changes are probably not caused by Christianity alone. In this context, it is also striking that the new types are not all immediately recognisable or comprehensible as Christian. Rather, capsules, lunulae and chairs were all made with techniques that seem part of a Slavic repertoire of techniques. Consequently, these types’ appearance may owe more to foreign contacts than to Christian influence. It may be reasonable to explain the new types with increased contacts to especially the southern Baltic.

Lunulae, distribution on context-types, 24 amulets 25 20 15 10 5 0 Grave finds

Hoard finds

Settlement Stray finds finds

In contrast, the disappearance of women’s figurines and animal figurines is striking. Traditionally, the women’s figurines are interpreted as valkyries. Contextual information does not support this. However, in any case these amulets disappeared earlier than pagan cult as such. This may reflect a more general change in focus from female to male powers in Scandinavian religion. Researchers including Gro Steinsland and Brit Solli have suggested that Christianity also led to a change in mentality. They believe that the pagan religion focused on fertility and sexual pleasure, and that women played a large and active role in the pagan cult of fertility. They see the Christian church as more ascetic and maledominated. Indeed, until the blossoming of the cult of Mary in the 1200s, the Church was altogether dominated by male powers, both among its earthly leadership and among the powers worshipped. Possible, pagan Scandinavian culture was developing in a more andocentric direction, under influence from the Christian countries, even before the conversion. Possibly, all the female powers found in supporting roles in mythology played a far more central role before the year 900 (Solli 2002, 32, Steinsland 1989, 208 and 2000, 35, cf. Hed Jakobsson 2003, 185). On it other hand, this is very tentative, and the early Viking Age should probably not be interpreted as an ur-feminist paradise: Catholic Europe can illustrate that a cult focused on female powers does not automatically lead to real, political equality.

Figure 3.14.1-4) Distribution map and graphs for lunulae.

from an oral society, over a time when the oral culture was just as important as the written, to a society dominated by writing (cf. Moreland 2001, throughout, Yates 1990, 265f, Richter 1994, 100f.). However, the Viking Age cannot be reduced to an evolutionist scheme of transition from prehistoric Iron Age to historical Middle Ages. It must also be understood on its own premises, as a period whose society and culture was reasonably stable and self-sufficient for 300 years. Viking Age amulets were not just a transitory form between gold foils and texts, and I do not want to support any sort of teleological historiography that explains the Viking Age only in terms of the Middle Ages. Viking Age amulets and society clearly made sense in their own time, without any reference to what would happen later. Dubois suggests that the new, pagan interest in symbols was stimulated by the Christian use of them, and especially the Christian cult of the cross (Dubois 1999, 161). In contrast, Peter Vang Petersen explains parts of this chronological pattern with economy: he believes that Iron Age people used precious metal as amulets based on the material’s associations, but that the scarcity of precious metal in Viking Age made it necessary to turn to amulets whose value lay instead in their shape (Vang Petersen 2005, 59). I take it that Vang Petersen here primarily refers to the absence of gold. Viking Age amulets of silver are not unusual. However, even in the Viking Age material there is some gold, and made many bracteates or foils could have been made from the amounts found in the Hoen-hoard or the Tissø-neckring. Consequently, I do not find this economic theory convincing.

Scythes and sickles, swords and staff-rings seem entirely limited to the 900s, but it is unclear, what this means. Here the theory about reaction against Christianity has a possible chronological relevancy. Scythes and sickles are characteristic for the Mälar Valley, and have been connected with the cult surrounding Frey, which may have been especially strong here. It is possible that this cult got a new local blossoming with new rituals in reaction against Christianity, although the association between sickles and Frey is very uncertain.

There is an obvious chronological divide around the first half of the 900s. A number of new types appeared after the year 900, and a number of old types disappeared before 950. The old types are snakes and other animal figurines, women’s figurines and wheels, while the new are staff-rings, swords, scythes, sickles, capsules, chairs, men’s figurines, legs, lunulae, crosses and encolpia. In contrast, Thor’s hammers, axes, spears, shields and

The identification of capsules and lunulae as amulets remain doubtful. The capsules can be amulets or simple pomanders. The inscription might support an identification of the atypical “scare-man” from Birka as an amulet. However, this piece’s very early date indicates that it might not be relevant for the other capsules. Thus, unlike Zeiten, I see little reason to accept the more 82

3: The individual pieces: type-based analyses

Figure 3.15.1) Amulet chronology. Crossbars indicate TPQ-dates, usually from coins in hoard or graves.

Central Sweden (Uppland). Another group includes women’s figurines, masks, axes and animal figurines. These finds have a very western Scandinavian distribution, concentrated in Denmark and Norway. The animal figurines, especially, seem overwhelmingly Norwegian. Capsules and lunulae are obviously concentrated on Gotland, and anchors in Hedeby. More surprisingly, a few types occur with two separate concentrations: chairs, in Denmark and on Gotland, and bowls, sieves and spoons in Norway and Uppland. Finally, such types as miniature weapons, shields and wheels are distributed all over the region.

typical capsules as amulets. Similarly, the lunulae were probably not amulets, but rather jewellery. Their form resembles the Scandinavian strike-a-light amulets, but they do not seem to have been treated like those: like capsules, lunulae are very often fragmented and deposited as hack-silver. Hereby these two types differ markedly from the others. Consequently it may be unreasonable to treat them as amulets. However, they are both included in the analysis in the present work. The two most common materials are iron and silver. However, the iron amulets are almost all Thor’s hammers, while the silver amulets are distributed on many types. It is remarkably that silver is more common than copper-alloys, normally considered a cheaper material. As earlier mentioned, some types (shields, capsules, lunulae) seem almost exclusively executed in silver, probably because of this material’s attributes.

The overall picture hides that the individual types are very unevenly distributed. Men’s figurines and snakes have a distribution that corresponds to the totality; Thor’s hammers, scythes and bowls, swords and women’s figurines are over-represented in the graves; shields, axes, chairs, bowls (again), capsules and lunulae in the hoards; spears and anchors on the settlements; and crosses in the material from the stray finds. For further discussion of the contexts and their role, see chapter 5.

It seems possible to divide the material into a number of geographical sub-groups: one group includes men’s figurines, most miniature tools and the majority of the (iron) Thor’s hammers. These finds are concentrated in 83

Viking Age amulets in Scandinavia and Western Europe

All types, distribution on modern states and districts, 1348 amulets

All types, distribution on context-types, 1348 amulets

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Figure 5.15.2-4) Graphs for all types.

All types, distribution on materials, 1348 amulets 700 600 500 400 300 200 100 0

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Settlement finds

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4: The individual pieces: material-based analyses

Part 4: The individual pieces: material-based analyses Viking Age amulets are made of a number of different materials. Some of these are better preserved in the ground than others, some were apparently more valuable than others, and some seem only used inside a limited geographical area. These aspects deserve discussion. The general considerations fall in three subsections, about materials in the Viking Age frame of reference, about post-depositional factors for materials, and about materials and crafts traditions. After this I shall discuss the individual materials.

recognition in a few years. Similar circumstances must influence other metals.

4.1) Materials in the Viking Age frame of reference

If conditions of preservation were the only or most important factor, most iron and amber amulets would be preserved in hoards and graves. Most iron, amber and lead amulets would be recognised in clear archaeological contexts, in hoards, graves, or under excavations or metal detector-investigations of settlements. In fact, this is only partly so. This must mirror real differences in the selection of amulets in the different contexts. The overrepresentation of silver in hoards and of iron and lead on settlements cannot be explained away with preservation and conditions of reporting.

Administrative decisions also play a role, and some materials are collected with more eagerness than others. Medieval treasure trove and equivalent legislation focused on silver and gold. Only later did the state declare an interest in non-precious metals. This increases the above-mentioned problems with under-preservation of objects of lead and iron.

Most explanations on choice of material have focused on economy. Thus Mackeprang remarks that there are examples of several identical Thor’s hammers of iron on the same ring, because “… people could allow themselves to be wasteful in this material …” 21 (Mackeprang 1938, 172; cf. Beilke-Voigt 1998, 5). Economical logic could explain why iron amulets dominate in the graves, silver amulets in the hoards (Skovmand 1942, 64f, cf. Zeiten 1997, 34 and below). There is no doubt that these different materials had different value. Likely, the metals’ hierarchy of value followed the modern one: in descending value, gold, silver, copper-alloy, iron and lead. In contrast, it is less clear if these economic aspects are the only explanation relevant for the choice of material. It is also unclear how valuable materials such as amber and jet were, and it is not given that the relative value of the metals in any way corresponded to the modern version (cf. Hårdh 1996, 132).

4.3) Craftsmanship and materials The written sources to the Viking Age give a very uneven image of the period’s craftsmanship. Especially the mythological sources had only little interest in practical work (Arvidsson 2005, throughout). The only craftspeople who are directly referred to in legend are a few male smiths, including Wayland and Regin, and female textile workers, including the Norns. Most crafts products appear in the written sources without any obvious reference to their producers.

4.2) Post-depositional factors for materials Among the historical sources, Arabic texts contain individual references to export goods. However, nor these sources show any interest for the craftspeople themselves. It seems as if the finished objects were altogether alienated from their production, and existed as pure commodities, without any social context (see also below)

They relevant materials do not all preserve equally well. Copper-alloys oxidise to highly visible verdigris, silver and lead to less visible black and grey. The oxidation of iron is a very destructive process, and oxidised iron objects from recent times are rather common as waste. Consequently, isolated iron objects are likely underreported. This applies e.g. on Uppåkra, where the metal detector--investigations have explicitly concentrated on non-ferric metals (Hårdh 1998, 113; cf. Paulsson 1999, 57). Amber’s preservation or breakdown is very dependent on the environment. Temperature variation, oxidation and acidic soil can all break down amber very quickly, whereas the preservation is best under stable condition, for instance buried in the ground (see also Ulbricht 1990, 70).

Much of our knowledge about craft techniques come from the relatively a few excavated production sites. It is a general archaeological problem that we know far fewer workshops than finished products, in the Viking Age as in other periods (cf. Floderus 1928, 89, Hedegaard 1992, 80f). However, the urban excavations in Hedeby, Dublin, York and Sigtuna have produced some relevant material. Amber and jet were carved. It is possible that the tradition for carving amber in south Norway was expanded to include jet, after this became available (Blindheim 1959, 79). Richard Hall compares the crafts with carving wood (Hall 1994, 98). In themselves, the crafts and the tools used for wood, bone and jet are rather identical. Consequently, not all amber amulets need be the product of specialised workshops. Despite this, there are signs of some specialisation. Callmer believes that finds from Dublin, Hedeby and Åhus II suggest specialised amber-workshops on these sites (cf. Callmer 2001, 133). Hudson suggests amber from York was not

A recent research project from Sweden suggests that archaeological bronze objects break down very fast once exposed to the air (Ullén et al. 2004, throughout). This problem may be worsened by the acidic soils prevalent in Sweden. In any case, regular searching of the landscape must have a large influence on the find-picture: the longer the bronze objects lie exposed, the more they decay. In Sweden, exposed bronzes seem corroded beyond 21 ”… man i dette Materiale kunde tillade sig at være ødsel…”

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Viking Age amulets in Scandinavia and Western Europe considered positives for moulds. Lead seems cast in moulds of wood, bone and horn (I. Zachrisson 1984, 78, cf. Margeson 1997, 18). All other metals demanded extensive knowledge about ceramic moulds, but it is possible that lead was also cast by craftspeople who did not have this expertise.

worked locally, but exported to Dublin (Hudson 2005, 44). This, too, suggests specialisation in the crafts. In contrast, Ulbricht found no signs of specialised amber working in Hedeby, in contrast to contemporary Slavic sites such as Wolin. She points out that amber working is found distributed over all of the excavated area; that the techniques were unspecialized; and that the individual products show very little standardisation. This last observation applies even to gaming pieces, where high standardisation would be to be expected (Ulbricht 1990, 104ff).

The social organisation of crafts is discussed later. 4.4) Specific materials In the next section, I shall discuss the distribution of the individual materials on types of amulet and context. This discussion ought to be compared with the general image, as it is discussed in the summary at the end of this section:

The techniques for casting copper-alloys and forging iron are very different. Both are specialised crafts, and there were probably craftspeople specialised in each. Gold, silver and lead can be worked with both types of techniques, but in later times, gold- and silversmiths have constituted their own, specialised crafts. Much of the Viking Age silverwork is relatively simple, based on drawn wire and simple, hammered bands. It may well have been made by smiths who more often worked in iron. However, some Viking silver was cast (cf. GrahamCampbell 1995, 60) and the amulets are among the period’s more complicated work. Several of the Thor’s hammers are evidently cast and the capsules and the shields made as hammered plate-work. Likewise, several pieces are ornamented with filigree, a technique only possible in precious metals. These were likely made by smiths who were specialists in silverwork. On the other hand, Floderus refers to cross pendants from Sigtuna, in silver and copper-alloy but possibly cast in the same mould, presumable by the same smith (Floderus 1928, 106; cf. Kjellberg 1928, 34). If so, this smith clearly worked in both materials. Duczko suggests that all the capsules were made within a Slavic tradition of craftsmanship and imported to Scandinavia (Duczko 1980, 343). Consequently, it must be assumed that some amulets were made by specialists, others by less specialised craftspeople (see also below). All bowls, lunulae and capsules, and some crosses and Thor’s hammers seem made by specialised gold- or silversmiths. It is remarkable that several reusable moulds for Thor’s hammers exist, yet no two pieces can be said to be identical (Huber 2004, 24; cf. I. Zachrisson 1984, 80). In this, the Thor’s hammers differ from the pendant crosses which can relatively easily be divided into types on the shape alone (Staecker 1999a, 67ff, cf. Kjelberg 1928, 34). Lead is very easy to work and there is no reason to assume that any specialised crafts lay behind most lead pieces. The simplest may have been carved by persons who did not work in the other metals at all. In this regard, there is an interesting contrast between some of the simple lead amulets from Hedeby and the far more complicated lead pieces from Kaupang. The Kaupangmaterial is evidently part of the same crafts as the local copper-alloy casting, while much of the Hedeby-material is of much lower quality. Huber interprets the lead pieces as models for later lost mould casting (Huber 2004, 33). However, there are pieces on found Kaupang that seem to be actual, used lead jewellery (Bjarne Gaut, personal communication), and lead amulets are known from graves. Consequently, not all lead pieces can be

All materials, distribution on types, 1348 amulets 350 300 250 200 150 100 50 Animals Capsules Crosses Lunulae Masks Human figurines Anchors Wheels Strike-a-lights Scythes Miniature weapons (all types) Bowls and sieves Staf-rings Chairs Loose Thor's hammers Thor's hammer rings Unclear

0

All materials, distribution on contexttypes, 1348 amulets 700 600 500 400 300 200 100 0 Grave finds Hoard finds Settlement finds

Figure 4.4.1-2): Graphs for all materials.

86

Stray finds

4: The individual pieces: material-based analyses other significant group consists of crosses. 4.5) Gold The gold amulets overwhelmingly originate in hoards, primarily the Hoen-hoard. Only a few (two of 21) gold amulets can be convincingly associated with other types of context. It is consequently probable that also the material from the stray finds for a large part comes from hoards.

Gold, distribution on types, 21 amulets 12 10 8

4.6) Silver

6

Viking Age silver seems mainly imported from Western Asia. Here, the Caliphate managed large, state owned silver mines and mints (Randsborg 1993a, 144ff, Graham-Campbell 1982, 34f). Much of this silver is found as Kufic dihrems, or as bars and jewellery. Trace element analyses show that much of the silver metallurgically corresponds to the dihrems’ composition, while a lesser part deviate from these (Sheehan 1998, 187, Arrhenius et al. 1971, throughout). This other silver probably originates in Western Europe, although there is some disagreement about how much silver the Vikings obtained there (Wormald 1982, 131, Graham-Campbell 1982, 35). The local Scandinavian silver deposits do not seem to have been discovered before the 1600s (GrahamCampbell 1980a, 111, Craddock 1995, 212).

4 2 Animals Capsules Crosses Lunulae Masks Human figurines Anchors Wheels Strike-a-lights Scythes Miniature weapons (all types) Bowls and sieves Staf-rings Chairs Loose Thor's hammers Thor's hammer rings Unclear

0

20 15 10 5 0

In the Viking Age, the silver’s main role seems to be as a means of payment. Many ornaments were hacked up as hack-silver, and the intact pieces often seem made to a standard weight and probably standard value. They break down into units of 26.15 gram, corresponding to one øre silver (Sheehan 2001, 58, Hårdh 1996, 14; cf. GrahamCampbell 1982, 32). Samson has emphasised that the Viking Age silver economy cannot be understood exclusively from modern capitalist norms. The primary goal of trade was not to produce maximal profit in any available commodity but rather to bring home silver, specifically (Samson 1990a, throughout, 1990b, 127, cf. Graham-Campbell 1982, 35). His point is that the silver was fetished and attributed an essential value beyond its purely economic market value. Ibn Fadlan describes silver as a symbol of status among the Vikings he met in Russia. He recounts that women wore a silver neck-ring for each 5000 dinar their husbands had collected (quoted for instance in Graham-Campbell 1980a, 198). Zachrisson believes that silver was used in the everyday economy as a practical replacement for gold (T. Zachrisson 1998, 29). Viking Age gold work is treated differently than the silver and far more often preserved whole (cf. Hårdh 1996, 14). This suggests that the gold was more part of the prestige economy, the silver more of the quotidian economy (cf. Hodges 2000, throughout; cf. also Christophersen 1988, 54). Gurevich suggests that both gold and silver were associated with luck and happiness because they were a result of success, and were also considered to be a source to continued success. His starting point for this is the medieval written sources (Gurevich 1992, 183f; 1995, 159; cf. Dubois 1999, 94). I have registered my reservations regarding these sources above.

Gold, distribution on context-types, 21 amulets

Grave finds Hoard finds Settlement Stray finds finds

Figure 4.5.1-2): Graphs for gold.

Amulets of gold were almost non-existent in the Viking Age. The material is dominated by the amulets from Hoen which may be import from Continental Europe (Heyerdahl-Larsen 1982, 101). However, for instance the Thor’s hammer from Lindholm (cat. 202) shows that gold amulets were also found locally. Also, a single Thor’s hammer of possible gold-silver-alloy is known from England (cat. 237) and a few pieces of gilded copperalloy from elsewhere. There is far less gold in the Viking Age material than in the older Iron Age material. Gold amulets are rarely preserved in archaeological context, and it seems meaningless to speculate on what may have existed. Yet, finds such as the Tissø neck-ring and the granulation works from Hedeby show that there was some gold in circulation. The Hoen-hoard’s bowls and capsules constitute a dominant element of the known gold amulets. The only 87

Viking Age amulets in Scandinavia and Western Europe Sandal 2000, 90).

Silver, distribution on types, 382 amulets

Amulets of silver are relatively common, and occur in almost all types. The greatest groups are shields, Thor’s hammers and crosses. Both Thor’s hammers and crosses are also common in other materials, but the shields are almost exclusively silver.

100 90 80 70 60 50 40 30 20 10 0 Animals Capsules Crosses Lunulae Masks Human figurines Anchors Wheels Strike-a-lights Scythes Miniature weapons (all types) Bowls and sieves Staf-rings Chairs Loose Thor's hammers Thor's hammer rings Unclear

The silver amulets originate primarily in hoards, secondarily in graves, especially on Birka. Only a few silver amulets can be documented to be settlement finds. Thus, most stray finds likely also come from hoards, secondarily graves. The few pieces that are uncertainly identified as silver do not change the find-picture. 4.7) Bronze and copper-alloys Traditionally, archaeologists have described all Viking Age copper-alloys as “bronze”. This practise is sloppy and imprecise and should be avoided. It is more correct to reserve the word “bronze” for copper-tin alloys only. In most cases we cannot tell the exact composition of a copper-alloy without a scientific test, and in this case it is more correct simply to refer to it as a copper-alloy.

Silver, distribution on context-types, 382 amulets 250 200 150 100 50 0 Grave finds

Hoard finds

Settlement finds

According to Sindbæk, the most common copper-alloy in the Viking Age was brass (copper-zinc-alloy), but proper bronze (copper-tin-alloy) and pure copper also occurs (Lønborg 1998, 12). These alloys have somewhat different attributes, depending on their precise composition. Viking Age reuse of scrap metal of these alloys consequently resulted in an assembly of rather heterogenic metal.

Stray finds

Brass is an especially unpredictable material, as each new casting reduces the zinc content unpredictably. Sindbæk have made the brass bars from Hedeby the cornerstone of an argument that brass was a standardised commodity: there is no practical advantage in making brass bars. If casters had alloyed the metal locally, it would make more sense to cast the final object at once. The bars are an in-between step that makes the process more difficult and demands more work. However, because of the unpredictable loss of zinc, brasses with well-known zinc-content cannot be produced from collected scrap metal. Making new alloy is technically complicated. It demands very standardised and centralised production, and here it makes sense to produce standard bars (Sindbæk 2005, 64). This argument cannot be extended to other copper-alloys than brass. Nor are bars of tin-bronze known from the Iron Age or the Viking Age (Sindbæk 2001, 43ff; 2005a, 52ff, Lønborg 1998, 12).

Figure 4.6.1-2: Graphs for silver.

Thus, Viking Age silver seems primarily associated with value, only less so with prestige, and to have found almost no practical use. The hack-silver economy shows that silver was a very alienated commodity. The material was apparently more important than the concrete object’s history (cf. Gosden & Knowles 2001, 57ff; Appadurai 1986, 7ff, Strathern 1988, 134). Consequently, there need not be any association between those raids or trading expeditions where it was acquired, and its meaning in the amulets. Biddle & Kjølbye-Biddle mention that the Repton Thor’s hammer may be made of a gold-silver-alloy (Biddle & Kjølbye-Biddle 1992, 49). If this is correct, the piece is almost unique. Generally, Viking Age silver seems kept very pure, with neither niello nor gilt added. This probably reflects that its value was its metal value, and that melting down was always an option. I shall return to the Repton-hammer later.

Copper-alloys were used for dress fitting such pins, ring pins and oval brooches, for keys and for ornamental and practical fittings. Compared with silver, copper-alloy is very common in the graves, and unlike silver, it seems rarely hacked up into smaller pieces. This shows that copper-alloy was not considered especially valuable as material. Also, treatments such as gilding and

Grieg and Sandal remark that silver in more recent Norwegian folklore was accredited with magical power, but it is not clear how old this idea is (Grieg 1954, 167, 88

4: The individual pieces: material-based analyses than amulets of silver. Far the greatest group is crosses, especially encolpia, while the Thor’s hammers are remarkably poorly represented. Mask, too, are surprisingly common in the copper-alloy material.

Copper alloy, distribution on types, 225 amulets 90 80 70 60 50 40 30 20 10 0

Amulets of copper-alloy are very rare in hoards, and under-represented in graves. The lion’s share of the material originates on either settlements or unclear context, often as metal detector-finds. Some of the stray finds may come from graves, but most are probably settlement finds. I must wonder if the striking rarity of copper-alloy is connected to the lack of settlement finds in the older archaeological material. Animals Capsules Crosses Lunulae Masks Human figurines Anchors Wheels Strike-a-lights Scythes Miniature weapons (all types) Bowls and sieves Staf-rings Chairs Loose Thor's hammers Thor's hammer rings Unclear

4.8) Iron In various works, Terje Gansum has developed a theory on the cultural meaning of iron, especially phosphorous iron in Viking Age society (Gansum 2004a, 2004b). Phosphorous iron is useful for welding, and thus for making pattern-welded sword blades. Gansum’s base theory is that some such iron was made with “ancestral bones”, and was consequently considered to be more than just a material. He stresses that modern natural scientific descriptions do not necessarily give any good understanding of how the people of the past culturally understood the world. This critique is similar to the present work’s divide between etic and emic understanding. However, in relation to the amulets, specifically, the technique Gansum describes seems unnecessarily complicated as these did not require phosphorous iron, or any iron at all. They could as easily have been made directly out of the relevant bones themselves. The absence of bone amulets, especially of animal figurines of bone, suggests that the logic Gansum describes is not relevant for the amulets, however it may apply to the sword blades. People may have made swords from ancestral bones but they seem not to have made bears from bear bones.

Copper alloy, distribution on contexttypes, 225 amulets 100 90 80 70 60 50 40 30 20 10 0 Grave finds

Hoard finds

Settlement finds

Stray finds

Other researchers invoke doubtful parallels: Beilke-Voigt remarks that iron “in many cultures” is credited with a protective effect. As examples, she mentions pre-Roman Carthage and modern Morocco (Beilke-Voigt 1998, 40). With just as doubtful relevancy, Lindqvist refers to modern Swedish folklore surrounding steel’s special force (Lindqvist 1915, 117 & 121f.). The argumentation is confused: Lindqvist includes Bronze Age knives among “the steel” but mentions the supposed absence of bronze Thor’s hammers as indication that “steel” was preferred for Thor’s hammers (Lindqvist 1915, 116f & 120). It seems unreasonable to include bronze in “the steel” in one period, and exclude it in another period. Also, contra Lindqvist some Thor’s hammers of copperalloy are known today. Indeed, Grieg regarded the complex of ideas surrounding steel as independent of this complex of ideas surrounding silver (Grieg 1954, 167; Sandal 2000, 90). Thus, neither silver Thor’s hammers, nor Bronze Age bronze knives have any bearing on the cultural meaning of iron and steel. In any case, it is doubtful if this early modern folklore is relevant for the Viking Age.

Figure 4.7.1-2) Graphs for copper alloy.

silver-imitating surfacing with white metal are common (Garmtorp & Henriksen 2000, 135ff; 2002, 13f, Sandal 2000, 52, Skibsted Klæsøe 1997, 103). These served to hide that the material was copper-alloy, and they must have made reuse more difficult. Both observations suggests that the copper-alloy was not attributed much value in itself. The mythological literature contains no references to copper-alloy or to work in the material, in contrast to for instance the Irish and Greek mythologies. It is remarkable that amulets of copper-alloys are rarer 89

Viking Age amulets in Scandinavia and Western Europe 4.9) Lead – and tin?

Iron, distribution on types, 611 amulets

Lead is often produced as a by-product of silver extraction. Since antiquity, this production of lead seems to have surpassed the demand. Yet, special lead mines existed, for instance in medieval England. Craddock points out that lead extracted in connection with silver mining is harder and less pure than lead from specialised lead extraction (Craddock 1995, 208ff.). I know of no analyses of the Viking Age lead that can throw light on whether one type or the other was common.

350 300 250 200 150 100 50

In the Viking Age, lead seems mostly used as a cheap additive to copper-alloy and for positives for lost mould casting. Lead seems to have been valued as a cheap material that was reasonably easy to work. It can be melted at low temperatures, it is easy to cast, and it can be cut with iron tools. In Hedeby, a rough Thor’s hammer cut from a lead sheet has been found (Hb 1980/II LR 3.63; cat. 1326). In the Middle Ages, many lead rune amulets were cut the same way. Drescher has analysed the lead anchors from Hedeby, and points out that they were cast as half-fabrics and finished mechanically (Drescher 1983, 184). In this connection, it is interesting that no two of these anchors are identical. They seem to be cast in many different non-reusable moulds (see also part 8).

Animals Capsules Crosses Lunulae Masks Human figurines Anchors Wheels Strike-a-lights Scythes Miniature weapons (all types) Bowls and sieves Staf-rings Chairs Loose Thor's hammers Thor's hammer rings Unclear

0

Iron, distribution on context-types, 611 amulets 500 450 400 350 300 250 200 150 100 50 0

On Kaupang, some lead pieces actually seem used as jewellery (Bjarne Gaut, personal communication). These pieces have working parts, and so were not just positives for lost mould casting. However, this material is still very poorly understood. Zeiten very reasonably suggest that the concentration of lead pieces from Hedeby reflect a local, specialised industry (Zeiten 1997, 31). Grave finds

Hoard finds

Settlement Stray finds finds

Unlike silver, copper-alloys and iron, lead seems not to appear as bars in Viking Age Scandinavia (Sindbæk 2001, 43, but cf. Lønborg 1998, 4). This is surprising, given that lead was probably a commodity just as alienated as the other metals. Both on Hedeby and on Kaupang lead was worked in large enough amounts to suggest an organised import. Tin can be worked with the same techniques as lead, but at even lower temperatures. There are no known amulets of tin in the archaeological material. However, this may be due to tin-decay (I. Zachrisson 1984, 83). Tin-amulets are a possibility, but their existence is not proven. There are no written sources to suggest that tin was ascribed any symbolism.

Figure 4.8.1-2) Graphs for iron.

Iron amulets are very common, but almost all are Thor’s hammers. The second-largest, much smaller group is strike-a-lights, where the choice of iron as material may not surprise. Most iron amulets by far come from graves, mainly in the Mälar Valley. A smaller proportion comes from settlements, again dominated by material from the Mälar Valley. Consequently, the few stray finds most likely originate in disturbed graves.

Lead amulets are surprisingly rare, and the material is dominated by just a few types: anchors, Thor’s hammers and crosses. Thor’s hammers and crosses are also very common in other materials, while anchors are exclusively lead, and are limited to Hedeby, with a possible example in York. The material is dominated by settlement finds, especially from Hedeby. These have been interpreted as 90

4: The individual pieces: material-based analyses Sandal 2000, 17). Amber was significant in role in Mediterranean magic, but meanings from there probably cannot be projected onto Scandinavia (Flint 1991, 245f). The poetic Edda recounts that Freya cried golden tears when her husband, Odd, left her. It is not clear if this refers to amber, or how commonly known the myth was. Meaney documents that the Christian church of the 600s prohibited women wearing amber (Meaney 1981, 10). This prohibition may not be relevant for the Viking Age. Certainly, the finds of amber crosses from Dublin (e.g. cat. 264) seem to show that some Christians actually wore amber, although they need not have been women. Yet, amber crosses are strikingly much rarer than amber Thor’s hammers. Thus, the material may have had special pagan connotations.

Lead, distribution on types, 34 amulets 12 10 8 6 4 2 Animals Capsules Crosses Lunulae Masks Human figurines Anchors Wheels Strike-a-lights Scythes Miniature weapons (all types) Bowls and sieves Staf-rings Chairs Loose Thor's hammers Thor's hammer rings Unclear

0

25

Amber occurs locally on the beaches in Denmark, Sweden and southern Norway. Consequently, it is not possible to throw any light on whether amber amulets from these places are made of local or imported material. Amber is not found locally in Ireland or north Norway, and the amulets from there must be made of imported amber. On the chieftains’ farm in Borg in Mære, the inhabitants imported both amber from the Baltic, jet from Whitby and glass from the Continent (Munch 2003, 241ff).

Lead, distribution on context-types, 34 amulets

Amber amulets are unusual, but not exactly rare. The material is dominated by axes, Thor’s hammers and animal figurines. The very low number of crosses is striking, given their frequency in other materials. Thor’s hammers seem surprisingly common, given how illsuited the form is for the material. Compared with jet, snake figurines are especially striking by their absence. The under-representation of hoards cannot surprise, as these almost exclusively consist of silver. In contrast, stray finds are strikingly rare, possibly because amber is more fragile than metal. The relative over-representation of settlement finds in relation to grave finds is probably partially due to accidents of excavation history. The Hedeby excavations’ trench seems to have hit an area with amber workshops. Nonetheless, amber is strikingly common on Viking Age settlements. This may be because of different conditions of preservation in the cultural layer and elsewhere, or it may be because amber does not survive cremation in the same way as metal does. However, it is also possible that amber amulets were generally considered more appropriate for the living than for the dead. Yet, on Gotland, only, people seem to have made special amber amulets for funerals (Trotzig 1983, 376). These Gotland amulets are not included in the present work, as they are not miniature figures.

20 15 10 5 0 Grave finds

Hoard finds

Settlement Stray finds finds

Figure 4.9.1-2) Graphs for lead.

half-fabrics, from an assumption that lead amulets were positives for lost moulds, not amulets in their own right (see for example Huber 2004, 33). However, the grave finds show that lead amulets were really in use, also outside the towns. The absence of hoard finds cannot surprise, given the total domination of silver in these, but the over-representation of settlement finds is striking. I wonder if this local tradition is due to lead being more available in the towns than in the countryside. If so, the amulets may have been made of a material that was originally imported for some other use.

Amulets of jet are very rare, and seem limited to those regions that were directly in contact with York. The material consists of crosses, snakes and animal figurines. The presence of crosses and the absence of Thor’s hammers are probably connected with York’s dominant Christianity, while the presence of snakes and animal figurines may be connected with material

4.10) Amber and jet There are no reliable written sources for these materials’ associations in the Viking Age. Munch claims that jet was understood as “black amber”, and was attributed magical power (Munch 1991, 328, without sources, 91

Viking Age amulets in Scandinavia and Western Europe

Amber, distribution on types, 49 amulets

Jet, distribution on types, 6 amulets

18 16 14 12 10 8 6 4 2 0

5 4 3 2 1

Animals Capsules Crosses Lunulae Masks Human figurines Anchors Wheels Strike-a-lights Scythes Miniature weapons (all types) Bowls and sieves Staf-rings Chairs Loose Thor's hammers Thor's hammer rings Unclear

Animals Capsules Crosses Lunulae Masks Human figurines Anchors Wheels Strike-a-lights Scythes Miniature weapons (all types) Bowls and sieves Staf-rings Chairs Loose Thor's hammers Thor's hammer rings Unclear

0

Jet, distribution on context-types, 6 amulets

Amber, distribution on context-types, 49 amulets 25

4

20

3

15

2

10 1

5

0

0

Grave finds

Grave findsHoard findsSettlement Stray finds finds

Hoard finds

Settlement Stray finds finds

Figure 4.10.3-4) Graphs for jet.

Figure 4.10.1-2) Graphs for amber.

properties. Compared with amber, there are strikingly many stray finds of jet, most of these from Norway.

4.11) Other materials? Many of the Viking Age’s small works of art are carved of bone or wood. However, there are apparently no amulets among these. Two snakes of wood are known from Dublin, but these are more likely lids than amulets. Florian Huber suggests that “It is altogether possible that also Thor’s hammers of organic materials such as wood or bone existed; they have however presumably not survived the centuries in the ground” 22 (Huber 2004, 23). Certainly, such objects have never been found, whereas much other wood and bone from the Viking Age is

Jet is not much more solid than amber, and ought to be preserved much the same. The high number of stray finds reflects the specifics of the early, Norwegian finds. These finds are stray finds because their history of recovery is unknown. Many may have been found when freshly dislocated from protective contexts, e.g. in graves. However, as they were only reported years or generations after finding, lack of information made them into stray finds. Similar amber amulets seem very rare in Norway. Thus, the apparent differences reflect that jet comes mainly from Norway, where stray findare more common, while amber comes mainly from Germany and Sweden, where most material is from controlled excavations.

22 ”Es ist außerdem durchaus vorstellbar, dass es Thorshämmer aus organischem Material wie Holz oder Knochen gab; diese haben jedoch womöglich die Jahrhunderte im Boden nicht überdauert”.

92

4: The individual pieces: material-based analyses known. It seems especially unlikely that bone amulets should not be preserved in graves where skeletons are. Consequently, the striking lack of finds of these materials makes it less probable that such really existed. Yet, the written sources do refer to Thor’s hammers “on clothes”, possibly embroidery. These are not known archaeologically, but seem to have existed (Staecker 1999c, 90). Also, the lack on amulets of gold is striking, compared with earlier and later traditions, and given that gold was used for jewellery.

Other materials, distribution on types, 20 amulets 6 5 4 3

4.12) Summary on materials

2

Thor’s hammers (especially of iron, but also of silver) and crosses (especially of copper-alloy, but also of silver) dominate the material. After Thor’s hammers and crosses, the most frequent types are strike-a-lights and shields, axes, bowls, masks, capsules and lunulae, while the other types must be considered very rare. If all miniature weapons are considered as one group, this is the thirdmost common group after Thor’s hammers and crosses. Also human figurines treated as one group and snake and other animal treated as one group are relatively frequent. In contrast, staff-rings, chairs, anchors and wheels must be considered to be very rare types.

1 Animals Capsules Crosses Lunulae Masks Human figurines Anchors Wheels Strike-a-lights Scythes Miniature weapons (all types) Bowls and sieves Staf-rings Chairs Loose Thor's hammers Thor's hammer rings Unclear

0

Amulets are mostly grave finds, secondarily hoard finds. Stray finds are rare and settlement finds constitute only a small part of the material. This may partially be caused by post-depositional factors, but there are also evident regional patterns in the distribution. These suggest that it is not only the intensity of excavations that forms the find-picture. I shall return to these questions below.

Other materials, distribution on contexttypes, 20 amulets 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1 0

4.13) Summary and chapter conclusion This chapter has hopefully shown that there are evident regional and chronological variations in the amulet material. Up through the Viking Age, and across Scandinavia, there are evident differences in the choice of material, both inside the individual types and on context. Some, but not all, these differences can be explained practically. Also, the practical considerations meant that uneven access to materials gave an uneven selection of types. Just as people used different amulets in different times and places, there were also differences in which of these ended in the different types of context. This is discussed in detail below. Again, I must stress that the late Norse sources cannot explain the full variety of the archaeological material.

Grave finds Hoard finds Settlement Stray finds finds

Figure 4.11.1-2) Graphs for other materials.

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Viking Age A amulets inn Scandinavia a and Westernn Europe

Part 5: Th he amulets in find-con ntexts: gravves, hoards, settlemen nts and straay finds The number of amulet a finds frrom settlemen nt excavationss has increased verry much afterr 1980, as metal-detectors m s becaame more com mmon. The reggions where metal-detector m r grou ups have beeen most actiive are very much over-represented in thhe new findd material. This T includess Born nholm, Tissø and Hedeby (cf. Vang Peetersen 2005,, 57). As Paulssonn observes, the distributiion of metall detector-finds corrresponds morre to that of metal m detector-userrs than to any past phenom menon (Paulsso on 1999, 41fff & 50 0; cf. Margesoon 1996, 48).

If the amuleets can be unnderstood as material sym mbols, their meaninng depends onn context. Connscious choices of different typpes of amuleet for depossition in diffferent contexts musst mirror diffferences in theese contexts’ role. Similarly, reegional and chronological differences inn the selection off amulets in a given coontext can mirror m regional andd chronologicaal differences in the cult. Even where the inndividual amullets are identiical, differencces in the context can c show that they t were useed differently. 5.1) Generall circumstancces

Afteer 1955, annd especiallyy after 1970 0, settlementt arch haeology was revolutioniseed by mechan nical strippingg off of o the top-soiil. This must have removed d many smalll finds unseen, but b have also made oveerviews overr colleected settlemeent context possible in an entirely new w way y. It must be asssumed that m many older straay finds comee from m non-recognised settlemennts.

This section explains thosee circumstancces that are geeneral for all typess of context. After this, I discus the sppecial circumstancees for the indivvidual contexxts in section 5.2 5 to 5.5. I shall work w with a division d of thee relevant conntexts into four tyypes: graves, hoards, settllements and stray finds.

80 60 40 20 0 To otal Sw weden Deenmark No orway

90 80 70 60 50

Sweden

40

Denmark

30 20

Norway

10

Total

0

Figure 5.1.1-2) Number of new sites s with Viking Age amulets reccorded in differen nt countries and different d 25-year periods. The perriod after 1999 iss npublished at thee time of writingg, so numbers forr this period aree much shorter thhan 25 years, annd many excavatiions from this peeriod are still un expected to incrrease.

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5: The amulets in find-contexts: graves, hoards, settlements and stray finds Concerning legislation, there are special differences between those countries that prohibit or limit metal detector-use and those that do not. Sweden and Ireland have blanket bans, England, Scotland, Denmark, Norway and Germany do not. England is also unique in that the law calls for very few finds to be documented, let alone handed in to museums. The very liberal English legislation means that much material is in private ownership, and has a very unclear history of recovery. This is especially true for old finds made before 1997. Consequently, the understanding of what has been found, and where, is also poor. This applies only to England and Wales. Scotland and Northern Ireland have significantly stricter laws on this.

The recognition of graves and hoards has been less influenced by technical improvements. Most Viking Age hoards were found before the First World War (Randsborg 1980, 137). The industrialisation of agriculture and of archaeology in the second half of the 20th century have not lead to any large increase in the number of hoard finds. Such increase happened earlier, and was connected with efforts to cultivate marginal lands. Thus, the introduction of potato farming in Östergötland in the 1800s apparently resulted in many new finds (Forsberg 1968, 14). In Denmark, the greatest temporal concentration of new hoard finds seems connected with changes in agriculture, especially agricultural improvements encouraged by The Heath Society.23 However, the most important post-depositional circumstances for hoards concerns reporting and registration. Skovmand remarks that systematical registration and description of hoards in Denmark did not begin until the 1800s. He accredits this to popular enlightenment, but the authorities’ control with the country also became significantly better in the 1800s (cf. chapter 2, above, and Foucault 1991, throughout, Skovmand 1942, 9, B. Turner 1994, 20f.). In Sweden, these developments began earlier. Not incidentally, Sweden was one of the first countries in the world to have a standing national drafted army etc. State control of the country was earlier and more thorough than almost anywhere else in Europe.

Regarding agriculture and economy, there are obvious differences on how heavily the soils are cultivated. Heavy cultivation characterizes Denmark, South Sweden and South England. In Norway, Iceland, Ireland, Scotland and North Sweden, the use of the landscape is far more extensive. There, grazing and forestry plays a larger role than arable agriculture. Also, strikingly many finds come from the Mälar Valley, where the expansion of Stockholm is especially notable research history. Each of the city’s three main airports produced amulet finds from graves. It is now possible to return to the two diagrams for all of the area of investigation: the general find-picture is very influenced by the Swedish finds that constitute more than half of the material. Since the historical circumstances influencing hoard finds and grave finds are the same for Sweden and Denmark, these tendencies are further strengthened in the overall image. The many hoard finds in the mid-1800s were caused by a combination of peatextraction and new agricultural technologies. The lower frequency of hoard finds after this time is due to an intensification of agriculture on the most productive lands, and a corresponding gradual abandonment of the margins. The grave finds were typically made around the mid-20th century, when building and infrastructure expanded greatly, as the welfare-states became established. The frequency of settlement finds has grown with the introduction of mechanical stripping after 1970. Although settlement archaeology continues with undiminished strength in Denmark, the decreasing Swedish interest Viking Age settlement means that settlement finds are rarer in the overall image for the last decades. The frequency of stray finds show two opposite tendencies: on one hand, registration has become better. Up to AD 1900 or so, this meant that more and more finds were registered, including more stray finds. After this, it meant that more and more find were documented in situ, decreasing the frequency of stray finds. However, the use of metal-detectors has lead to an explosion in the number of stray finds after 1980, especially in Denmark and England. Nothing suggests that this is abating.

The chronological development in the distribution of finds on types of context shows that this find material is constantly changing (cf. also Hårdh 1998, 113). It is very possible that future activity will change the balance again. As discussed in chapter 2, this does not mean that the archive is useless, only that an understanding of its formation is necessary to understand its strengths and weaknesses. It is more doubtful if future developments will significantly change the distribution of amulet types on different types of context. The post-depositional factors’ influence appears in the above diagrams. I shall return to these diagrams below. They show an obvious change from a material dominated of hoard finds, over one where graves plays an everincreasing role, to one dominated by new material from settlements and stray finds. National differences The investigation involves seven different sovereign states, covered by a total of ten different jurisdictions. These different regions have historically documented their archaeological material in very different ways. This directly influences how much information is available today. Also, the use of the landscape in the different regions is very different, especially in terms of agriculture. This, too, influences the find-picture.

The empiric format in the next sections 23 Hedeselskabet; a Danish organization dedicated to improving agriculture. Their original project was to facilitate the cultivation of the Jutland heaths, previously not cultivated.

Each of the next sections on graves, hoards, settlements, stray finds and summary consists of three parts: a general 95

Viking Age amulets in Scandinavia and Western Europe discussion of the established tradition of research, a general empirical section, and a specific discussion of special, empiric circumstances if relevant. The general empirical section builds on four statistic diagrams, of which one shows the distribution of materials on the context, one shows that of types, and the last two show the context type’s distribution on modern states, in two ways: one diagram is based on number of sites, one on number of amulets. The post-depositional circumstances

that lead to the investigation of a site are often the same for the entire site, yet a single investigation of one rich context can produce many amulets. Consequently, an individual rich site may bias an analysis based on number of amulets alone. The diagrams for the individual types of context ought to be compared with the general image, as discussed further in the summarising section:

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All context-types, distribution on modern states and districts, 1348 amulets

All context-types, distribution on modern states and districts, 637 sites

600

180 160 140 120 100 80 60 40 20 0

500 400 300

Germany Denmark Skåne Gotland Öland Södenmanland Uppland Other Swedish districts Norway Iceland England Scotland Ireland

200 100 0

All context-types, distribution on materials, 1348 amulets

All context-types, distribution on types, 1348 amulets

700

350 300 250 200 150 100 50 0

600 500 400 300 200 100

Gold Silver Copper Lead alloy

Iron Amber

Jet

Animals Capsules Crosses Lunulae Masks Human figurines Anchors Wheels Strike-a-lights Scythes Miniature weapons (all types) Bowls and sieves Staf-rings Chairs Loose Thor's hammers Thor's hammer rings Unclear

0 Other

140 120 100 80 Sweden

60

Denmark

40

Norway

20

Total

0

Figure 5.1.4-9) Graphs for all contexts.

97

Viking Age amulets in Scandinavia and Western Europe 1, K. Krogh 1993, 108, Staecker 1999a, No. 13). Staecker dates the cross from the association with the grave (Ibid. 99), and the type to the period 1000 to 1125 (Ibid. 198). Thus, the piece from Jelling seems remarkably early relatively to the rest of the type: the grave was constructed in AD 958/959, and emptied shortly afterwards. According to Steacker, the bulk of the crosstype is a good 50 years later than this burial. This might suggest that the Jelling cross is in fact later than the grave. However, there are other grounds to interpret the north mound as a Christian grave. Notably, the emptied grave contained several other objects with possible Christian associations, including the large candle and the small cup which might be a chalice (Schultz 1952 and reference therein, Capelle 1984). The interpretation of these objects inside a Christian frame of reference supports the interpretation of the present piece as a cross, and vice versa. However, it is obviously unsatisfactory that it is found in secondary context, and that its association with the grave cannot be proven.

5.2) Graves and amulets in graves Traditionally, Scandinavian archaeology has treated the concept of the grave as unproblematic. Ancient inhumations in single graves are strikingly like the modern protestant tradition of inhumation. Scandinavian archaeologists before the year 1900 knew this type of burial from their own culture. Even the prehistoric cremation graves do not deviate obviously from the cremation graves that existed at the same time elsewhere, and have become common in Scandinavia more recently. With Moreland’s model, at first glance, explanations based on similarity may seem sufficient. Recently, Anders Kaliff among other has problematised the idea that all features with human remains are necessarily graves. Kaliff points out that bones are found in contexts that can hardly be described as graves, such as the fill in Iron Age post holes (Kaliff 2002 and quoted in Gansum 2003, 108ff.). However, for the Viking Age, at least the inhumations seem to represent entire bodies. Consequently, it still seems reasonable to assume that most features with human remains can be considered graves. In contrast, Kaliff’s critique of the concepts “grave gift” and “grave offering” may be relevant for the Viking Age (Kaliff 2002, 21 and throughout, cf. Back Danielsson 2003, throughout; see below). Also, Kaliff’s critique ought to be accepted at least so far that not all dead bodies in the Viking Age were necessarily “buried” in the same sense. There are several examples of people who were apparently killed and deposited as grave goods in the graves of other people. These funerals probably cannot be equated with the others (cf. for instance H. Andersen 1960, 26ft, Ramskou 1963 throughout).

Also the cross from Valsta (cat. 949) comes from a disturbed grave, grave A1. The primary grave in this mound is a cremation grave from the 800s. This grave was destroyed by the secondary graves, three inhumations in stone cists, placed in the shape of a cross. These graves were also destroyed when a pit was dug into the mound. In this pit, a small cross of iron was found. Outside, a facetted bead and a cabochon-cut rock crystal in a metal setting were found. Andersson suggests a date in the 1100s. He also suggests that the cross shaped cists should be interpreted as a large consecration-cross (Andersson 1998, 7ff; 2004, 130). Andersson seems to believe that the iron cross was buried with one of the three inhumed dead. However, it could also be deposited later, when the dead were removed for reburial elsewhere, possibly on a proper churchyard. It is certainly a Christian cross, but its association to any burial remains questionable.

In parallel with Kaliff’s critique, Terje Oestigaard has suggested that the whole grave might be interpreted as a sacrifice (Oestigaard 2000 throughout, cf. Lia 2002). However, this claim seems largely unsupported by argument or evidence. I shall devote no more attention to this theory here.

Similarly, the ring with Thor’s hammers from the Ladby grave-field causes problems (Staecker 1999a, No. 35, Huber 2004, 127, No. 09, Sørensen 2001, 38, fig. 2.15; here cat. 154). This is a metal detector-find made in a ditch just south-east of the famous ship-burial, in 1988. It may be a grave find, but it was not found in context. The Ladby grave is one of Denmark’s richest Viking Age graves, and its contents are well-documented. The Thor’s hammers are very unlikely to have been disassociated from this grave by accident. However, they might come from one of the surrounding graves, or have been a secondary deposit in connection with the ship-burial. Very different problems centre on the miniature shield possibly found in Bj. 539 on Birka (cat. 718). Arbman (1943) notes that it is not mentioned in Stolpe’s excavation notes but was registered with the other finds from the grave when these were catalogued at SHM. Thus, it may have been mixed into this registration from another context.

For the present study, it thus seems reasonable to define a grave as a feature with human remains and without other obvious use. Conditions of finding and reporting The grave material comes with special problems of reporting and interpretation. The quality of documentation and excavation varies, and in several important cases, the association between grave and amulet is uncertain: In 1863, a small, simple cross pendant was found in the north mound in Jelling (Staecker 1999a, No. 13, here cat. 226). This mounded grave is most often interpreted as king Gorm the Old’s grave. The piece was found in connection with the miner’s shaft from the excavations in 1861. There is no agreement as to whether the cross comes from the north mound, or indeed whether it should be identified as a cross pendant at all (discussion in Staecker 1999a, 99; see also Müller-Wille 1976, 57, No.

In Gullen mound 1, a carved amber ring or large bead was found, ornamented with two masks (not included). 98

5: The amulets in find-contexts: graves, hoards, settlements and stray finds the grave uncertain, with risk of circular arguments:

The object is unique and it is unclear if it can be equated with the other amulets (Grieg 1926, 131f & 148; 1954, 185). The piece was found in the top of a burial mound in 1921, by Else Grieg. According to Sigurd Grieg’s description, this grave contained no real cremation-layer. Rather, the mound fill contained scattered pieces of charcoal, burnt human bone and (unburned?) animal bones. The amulet was the only grave goods. Grieg dates the ring to the 800s. The association between this object and the grave is very unclear: as the rest of the gravematerial was distributed throughout the mound, an association cannot be excluded. Yet, as the object lay superficially buried in the mound’s top, it may equally well be a secondary inclusion.

Grave V/K 1954 on Kaupang was very poorly preserved (cat. 350). Blindheim writes that “We expected... that the feature itself with the small silver cross and the concentration of beads lay in situ... So few nails were found around the objects that this cannot be a burial in boat. The ornament set says woman’s grave, however we have no skeletal remains to confirm this. It is likely that the ornament complex lay in the chest region of the dead person” 25 (Blindheim & Heyerdahl-Larsen 1995, 81). The body’s position is only reconstructed from the amulet so this grave can shed no light on how the amulet lay in relation to the body. Grave Bj. 750 on Birka produces similar problems (cat. 742-743). The grave is a chambered grave, likely a double inhumation, oriented W+12o N-E+12o S. The grave-goods suggest the presence of a woman and a man, and possibly a child. The bones are not preserved. The feminine burial equipment lay in situ, the masculine equipment more disturbed. This might suggest that he was buried first, and the grave was later reopened to bury her. The grave is dated to the Late Birka period, possibly the 900s century, with TPQ 902/903. It contained a Thor’s hammer and a cross. The Thor’s hammer cannot be associated to one or the other burial with any certainty. Staecker believes that it lay in the man’s neck region, but this is not evident from the excavation drawings. However, the cross is convincingly associated with the woman. Thus, as for Kaupang, it is possible to reconstruct the man’s position from the amulet, but not then to use the grave as source for the amulet’s position.

The Verdal-find consists of four crosses and an animal pendant, and a number of glass beads (cat. 306-310). All pieces are stray finds, found in 1871 and interpreted as grave-goods: “These objects were found several years ago in a sandpit in the woods by the farm Verdal in Inderøens Pgd., Nordre Throndhjems Amt, close to standing stones. The sandpit is now about 80 ells long and 20-30 ells broad [that is, some 50 by 10-15 meters] and is in its northern end extended about halfway into a not insignificant burial mound. On its eastern edge, there seem to be traces after a couple of earlier burial mounds destroyed by the sand-extraction. The antiquities did not lie together; it is recalled as certain that the sword was found separately from the other objects; these were found gradually by different workers while loading gravel. Traces of bone, charcoal or ash, the finders would not have noted. Probably, objects a-l are all from one grave, and this must be assumed to have been a woman’s grave, according to their nature. Several of these objects of previously unknown forms, and the entire find is remarkable, because it according to the cruciform ornaments with reason can be associated with paganism’s very latest time. Sent in as a gift by parish minister Schübeler”24 (OUs catalogue). Today, the amulets are exhibited in Universitetets Oldsakssamling, Oslo, on a reconstructed necklace. This reconstruction is not unreasonable, but the association between al these amulets, and between them and the burial mound, is very uncertain.

In still other cases the problems of interpretation are more general. Here, discussion has focused on claimed pagan and Christian features in the graves: For the grave from Norsborgs park (cat. 583), GrahamCampbell remarks that “This mid 11th century burial is a clear indication of the late continuation of pagan practices in Sweden, although the presence of the cross might suggest at least token observation of Christianity by the deceased”. Presumably, this claim of pagan practices refers to the mound. However, I must disagree that a grave with a cross can be convincingly interpreted as pagan, mound or no mound (see also Duczko 1989b, 128, Staecker 1999a, No. 89, Stenberger 1958, 178, Graham-Campbell 1980c, No. 341).

In all of these cases, there is a possibility that these grave finds either do not come from the grave at all, or that they were deposited far later than the burial. In other cases, the association is clearly probable, but the understanding of

The problem is more obvious in Thumby-Bienebek grave 21. This chambered grave was oriented WSW/ENE. It contained a casket, a silver needle, beads, three Thor’s hammer rings (cat. 1339-1341) and a cross pendant (cat. 1338). The Thor’s hammer rings hung on the wagonbed’s sides. The cross lay in the grave’s eastern part, with

24 ”Disse Sager er fundne for flere Aar siden i en Sandgrav i Skoven ved Gaarden Verdal i Inderøens Pgd., Nordre Throndhjems Amt, tæt ved to Bautastene. Sandgraven er nu omtr. 80 Alen lang og 20-30 Alen bred og har i sin nordre Ende naaet omtrent midt ind i en ikke ubetydelig Gravhaug. Paa dens østre Kant synes der at være Spor efter et Par tidligere ved Sandgravningen ødelagte Gravhauger. Oldsagerne laa ikke samlet; det erindres sikkert, at Sværdet fandtes adskilt fra de øvrige Sager; disse fandtes efterhaanden af forskjellige Arbeidere ved Paalæsning af Grus. Spor af Ben, kul eller Aske ville Findern ikke have bemærket. Rimeligvis ere Sagerne a-l alle fra een Grav, og denne maa efter deres Beskaffenhed antages at have været en Kvindegrav. Flere af disse Sager af hidtil ukjendte Former, og det hele Fund er mærkeligt, fordi det efter de korsformede Prydelser med Rimelighed kan henføres til Hedendommens allerseneste Tid. Indsendt som Gave af Sogneprest Schübeler.

25 ”Vi regnet... at selve anlegget med det lille sølvkorset og perlekonsentrasjonen lå in situ. ... Det ble funnet så få nagler runt sakerne at det ikke kan dreie seg om en begravelse i båt. Smykkeopsetningen sier kvinnegrav, dog har vi ikke skjelettrester som bekrefter dette. Det sannsynlige er at smykkekomplekset markerer brystregionen på den døde”.

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Viking Age amulets in Scandinavia and Western Europe graves is very influenced by the Medieval, Norse literature. As explained above, this is problematic. Also, many attempts have been made to distinguish between pagan and Christian graves, often with unsatisfactory results.

beads and a bit of leather. It probably hung about the neck on the deceased. If so, she was buried with the head in east, an unusual but not unknown orientation. The association of cross and Thor’s hammers with the same grave have created some debate. There is no doubt that both are identified correctly. One possible interpretation is that the bereaved were not certain of, or did not agree with, the deceased’s faith, and that she was in some way buried both as a Christian and as a pagan. Alternatively, the Thor’s hammers on the outside of the coffin may be less important than the cross around the deceased’s neck, so that the grave represents a Christian buried in a conveniently available coffin. Yet, it seems odd that the bereaved have not taken the trouble to remove the pagan amulets on this coffin. However it is interpreted, Thumby-Bienebek 21 suggests that meaning of amulets in graves could be complex and difficult to understand from a modern perspective (Gräslund 1984c, MüllerWille 1976, 1987, Staecker 1999a, No.18a, Zeiten 1997, No. 112, Huber 2004, 73, No. 03; see also below). The Swedish cremation graves with cross pendants also cause problems of interpretation, as discussed in the introduction. Here, I must also mention Bj. 51 (not included) with its damaged cross or cruciform fitting of copper-alloy. Gräslund categorically identifies the piece as a fitting, without argumentation (Gräslund 1984c, 111). Staecker, too, leaves it out from his catalogue of cross pendants (Staecker 1999a, 487ff). Similar challenges have been made against the possible crosses from Ulvsunda and so on. In all of these cases, the identification of the pieces as amulets is doubted by those who believe Christian amulets ought not to be found in cremation graves.

The very concepts are problematic: in a narrow sense, only people can be Christian or pagan, and not all graves may be categorically described as one or the other. No matter how individual people identified themselves, they lived in a culture that combined influence from both sides. Also, the funerals were influenced by the bereaved, as much as by the dead (cf. Kieffer-Olsen 1993, 123 & 154). Often, they may have formed a mixed community. The ritual used must have been at least marginally acceptable for the most influential bereaved, and it is possible that they also made use of the burial for communication of their own stance, and to mark prestige (cf. Gräslund 1985, 83; Lane Fox 1986, 31). There were probably also cases where the canonical ideals were not very clear for the bereaved, especially in the beginning of the age of mission (cf. Gräslund 1991, 205). Such disagreements about correct practice can be relevant in connection with some of the chamber-graves from Birka, and the Mammen grave. Here Krogh & Voss (1961, 34) suggest that the graves can be seen as examples of Christian dead, buried according to pagan conventions. In contrast, for instance Jelling and Ladby have been suggested as places where Christians have dug up their pagan ancestors and reburied them after Christian tradition. In all of these cases, the grave’s form may be reflect the religion of the bereaved as much as that of the deceased (for historical sources, see for instance Rindal 1996, 9, Steinsland 2000, 128, Müller 1996, 56). Thus, not all those buried in “Christian graves” were necessarily Christian people, nor vice versa.

In contrast to all these problems, I shall stress Klinta 59/3 (cat. 1251-1252), a really well-preserved and welldocumented cremation grave, excavated in 1957 by Peterson (Peterson 1957 and 1958). The grave is a cremation grave with a stone mound and rich goods, including copper-alloy and silver, and bones of human being, bear, horse, dog, pig, sheep, bird and cat. Among these were articulated, unburned bones of a whole, hensized bird. The grave is interpreted as a boat cremation, a woman’s grave from the middle of the 900s. Most finds, including the Thor’s hammer ring, come from a pit under the cremation layer, not from the cremation itself. This pit was carefully packed with grave goods, apparently before the cremation grave was constructed. The pit contained the Thor’s hammer ring (cat. 1261), as well as a silver pendant with a kneeling man (cat. 1262), an Arabic pitcher, two oval brooches, an axe, a foil with runes, a knife and a rod of iron with a small figure of a house copper-alloy. The silver hanger lay in the pit’s bottom, at the edge, beside the clay pot. The Thor’s hammer ring’s precise position is not apparent, and it is not mentioned in the lists. Klinta is one of the few graves so well preserved and excavated as to that the give a good insight in the funeral process.

Amulets in graves might have been placed there by the bereaved (see for example Lehtosalo-Hilanders 2000, 37). Here, the woman’s grave Thumby-Bienebek grave 21, described above, is of special interest. Zeiten points to this grave as support for the claim that Thor’s hammers were included with the dead without these necessarily wearing the amulets while alive (Zeiten 1997, 41, cf. Capelle 2005, 170). She interprets the cross in this grave as personal, the Thor’s hammers as equipment given by others. Certainly, they were not buried as worn on the body. Gräslund interprets religiously mixed grave goods in this and other graves as a sign that the dead and the bereaved had different religions, or that the dead were mixed in faith (Gräslund 1984a, 232). Thus, ThumbyBienebek can either be interpreted as a Christian woman, buried with her own cross by the pagan bereaved, or as a woman who worshipped both Thor and Christ and was buried accordingly. In Thumby-Bienebek, where the Thor’s hammers were part of the wagon bed, it is reasonably clear that the dead person did not herself wear these Thor’s hammers while alive. If this is true here then it may also apply to other graves where the paradoxes of interpretation are not as obvious.

Viking Age graves, general discussion The archaeological understanding of the Viking Age 100

5: The amulets in find-contexts: graves, hoards, settlements and stray finds Floderus). In fact, already the church fathers stressed that God in His omnipotence could resurrect the cremated as well as the inhumed. The formal prohibition against cremation can only be documented once in the church’s history, in Charlemagne’s Saxon capitularies. Here, it was very specifically directed against local, pagan culture, and this law was only valid for a few years, and only in Saxony. In the rest of the Christian world, there has never been any formal prohibition against cremation (Apetz 1994, 131 & 192, Gräslund 1985, 83; 1992, 144; 2001, 45, Lane Fox 1986, 96, Wood 1995, 253, Fletcher 1997, 259). Consequently, these cremation graves with cross pendants may actually be the Christian graves of the Christian dead. Duczko suggests that crosses like Turelund and Eriksberg are Byzantine in origin, and can mirror a short, local contact with the Orthodox Church (Duczko 1989b, 126). This might make Christian cremations more likely: archaeological material from Russia suggests that the Orthodox Church influenced the local burial custom less than the western Catholic Church did (Jansson 2005, 66).

Thumby-Bienebek is unique in it Scandinavian material. No matter how this grave is interpreted, there are no reasons to believe that it reflects any common situation. The only other grave with Thor’s hammer and cross is the double the grave Bj. 750 on Birka (see above). Traditionally, Christian graves are described as inhumation graves without much equipment, with the body placed supine (flat on the back), oriented east-west with the head west. Anne-Sofie Gräslund suggests a hierarchy in the grave-goods, where dress jewellery and dress were more acceptable for Christians than weapons, which were more acceptable than food, pots and animal sacrifice (Gräslund 1985, 85). Later Christian graves are also placed on a proper, delimited churchyard with a recognisable church building (see for example Larsen 1989, 136, Kieffer-Olsen 1997 throughout). These ideals are more reflections of European, late Roman culture than of Christian theology. Pagan graves cannot be seen as Christian graves’ opposite numbers, neither ideally or in reality. Consequently, none of these single features gives any strong indication that a grave is not pagan (cf. Higham 1997, 9, Ergsgård 1993, 84, contra Larsen 1989, 136). In Denmark, inhumations without goods dominate long before there are reasonable indications of Christianity. Here, as on the Continent, the changes in burial customs seem rather independent of the conversion (cf. Geary 1994, 30). The contrast seems somewhat more obvious in Norway (see for example Bredalsmo 1992, 133, Rindal 1996, 14). In Sweden, there is a tradition for assuming a very clear divide between pagan cremation graves and Christian inhumations, but this is not unproblematic (see below).

If recognising Christian graves is problematic, recognising pagan ones is very difficult. Pagan ideas about death appear unclear and contradictory. Especially Snorre’s works supports the idea about an afterlife in Valhalla, a pagan warrior’s paradise. Both inside and outside Snorre’s works hints of other ideas occur, including other realms of the dead, and dead people who still existed among the living as ghosts or reincarnated as living people. It is very possible that the confusion that characterise the written sources also existed at the time (Clunies Ross 1994, 255ff, Dubois 1999, 76ff, Pedersen 1994, 268, Ellis Davidson 1988, 122ff, Näsström 2001, 205, Arbman 1939, 80f, contra Gräslund 2001, 43, Lagerlöf 1991, 128; Gurevich 1992, 58ft). Many people today are equally confused about the reality of ghosts, heaves, hells and the like.

A concrete example of this problem can be seen in the cremation graves with cross pendants from Turelund in Sollentuna and Eriksberg Slott (cat. 1006 and 638; see also the introduction). Floderus quotes Gustawson for claims that “Such a burial custom is in conflict with one of Christianity’s most fundamental doctrines, and must be considered purely pagan” 26 but that “However, it is obvious that the cross in the early Christian time always was a Christian symbol, just as the Thor’s hammer was pagan” 27 (Floderus 1940, 131, respectively 132f.). Similarly, Sune Lindqvist interpreted the Karlshult cremation grave with cross pendant (cat. 517), as “… a Christian, whose body, it appears, against the normal usage among the Christians, has been burnt the in old way” 28 (Lindqvist 1915, 119ff.). Both researchers here work from an ideal, universal Christian culture reconstructed from later Christian philosophy and the 19th and 20th century Catholic and Lutheran churches. This cannot be expected to describe the actual Christian culture of the Viking Age. The church’s preference for inhumation was culture, but never doctrine (contra

Mythological arguments have been put forward to explain cremation graves, ship graves, wagon-grave, weapongraves, horseman’s grave, rich graves and graves with animal and human sacrifices, and to identify these as pagan (see for example Larsen 1989, 133 but cf. Hägg 1994, 225; Roesdahl 1991, 296; Schjødt 1999, 22, L. Nielsen 1991, 245). I cannot accept these arguments of two reasons: First, these features are not found in all pagan graves. Although the written sources permit interpretation of some of them, the sources almost never explicitly make rites or equipment decisive for the soul’s fate after death (cf. Ellis Davidson 1993, 134). Clearly, a person could be pagan without being buried in this way. Thus, paganism cannot explain why some people were buried like this, others not. The mythological explanations are not exhaustive. People chose these forms of burial for other reasons than just the myths. Specifically, Schjødt points out how ibn Fadlan saw the burial ship as sign of status as well as religion (Schjødt 1995, 24). Moreover, the best written sources for the Viking Age funerals, Baldarsdrápa and ibn Fadlans Rīsala, only correspond

26 ”Ett dylikt begravningsskick strider jo mot en av kristendomens fundamentalaste trossatser och måste betraktas som rent hednisk.” 27 “Det är emellertid tydligt, att korset under den begynnande kristna tiden alltid var kristen symbol liksom torshammaren var hednisk.” 28 ”... en kristen, var kropp, av allt att döma mot bland de kristna gängse sed, på gammalt sätt blivit bränt”.

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Viking Age amulets in Scandinavia and Western Europe points out that the weapon combinations in the individual Anglo-Saxon graves often cannot be understood as complete sets of equipment because people were buried with non-functional combinations. He also points out that many of the men buried with weapons were too young or old to be active warriors. Contrarily, some men buried without weapons have injuries that show that they were active warriors. Härke has also argued that the weapon graves can be associated with certain hereditary anatomic features, but this claim is contested (cf. Richards et al. 1993, throughout). In any case, Härke provides good arguments for doubting any simple association between weapon graves and war experience. He also points out an inverse chronological correspondence between references to battles in The Anglo-Saxon Chronicle and deposition of weapons in graves. In periods when the written sources refer to many battles, weapon graves are rare. In periods when mention of battles is rare, weapon graves are common (Härke 1997b, fig. 2). Härke suggest that both phenomena mirrored the same claim, expressed in two different media. Weapon graves could replace written references to battles and vice versa. Today, this written tradition is often understood as a myth, not as historically accurate. Härke’s theory is that the graves’ represent similarly mythological claims to warrior-identity. The aim of both was to maintain the claim that the AngloSaxons were a warrior people, and that their elite was a warrior elite. If they could not do this through retelling stories about battles, they might do it through deposition of weapons as grave goods (Härke 1994, 36ff.). Härke makes no claim that one or the other type of source is more reliable. Both media were actively manipulated to create a specific identity.

poorly to the archaeological image of ordinary people’s burial custom (Solli 2002, 41; Artelius 2004, 102). This may be because those buried in these sources were not ordinary people, but a god and a travelling slave-trader chief. In any case, the written sources seem insufficient to explain the archaeological material. Secondly, as pointed out earlier, I doubt these written mythological sources’ relevancy for all of Scandinavia and all of the Viking Age. Written sources from early medieval north-west Scandinavia cannot explain all of the geographical and chronological variation in the material (cf. J. Lund 2003, 65). In parallel with this critique, Svanberg remarks that the mythological explanations presuppose a more homogenous burial material than actually exists (Svanberg 2003a, 140). It is at least possible that some burial traditions can be significantly older than the myths that were later used to explain these traditions (cf. Elmers 1995, 170). Viking Age grave goods, general discussion As mentioned above, Kaliff has attempted to problematise the concepts of grave gifts or grave offerings grave (Kaliff 2002, 21 and throughout; see also Back Danielsson 2003, 43, Ravn 1996, 82). There are three main approaches to grave goods, perhaps best exemplified by Wamers’ and Steuer’s; Roesdahl’s; and Härke’s and Randsborg’s works: Wamers suggests that the grave-goods only reflect the deceased’s role while alive, while Roesdahl argues that it is necessary equipment for the realms of the dead (Eisenschmidt 2004, 134; cf. Roesdahl cited above, Näsman 1973, 94). Härke argues for “materiel culture as myth”, in the sense that grave goods represent highly formalised claims about status and identity. He constrasts this to Steuer’s idea of burial as “the mirror of life”, which is similar to Wamers’ approach (Härke 1994, 31ff, 1997a throughout, 1997b throughout, cf. also Lagerlöf 1991 throughout). Randsborg’s discussions of grave goods as source for economical history seem based on an assumption similar to Härke’s, without quite as clear discussion.

Thus, Härke sees weapon graves in the exact opposite way of how Wamers does. Wamers sees the grave-goods as an unproblematic source for actual behaviour. If people were buried with weapons, Wamers would see them as warriors. Härke sees grave-goods as a source for the identity people claimed but did not have in their everyday life. “Warrior graves” were especially desirable for those who did not live as warriors. Those who actual had experience and injuries from war did not need weapon graves to appears as warriors. The materialised myth is something of a compensation for a biographical lack. Härke draws a parallel to Northern Irish murals, where the 1985 peace process lead to a boom in modern military motifs. Before this, people expressed their political alliance through historical references, because their will to use violence to reach their goals was obvious and well-tested. In the same way, Härke suggests that two periods of peace in the 6th century may have led to an increased symbolic weight on Anglo-Saxon military power. If people were buried with weapons, Härke would see them as symbolic warriors, only.

The simplest of these approaches are Wamers’ and Steuer’s. These researchers see the grave material as an unproblematic source for the world of the living. This is almost a Pompeii-premise: it presupposes that the archaeological material is a representative selection of ancient reality, only limited by conditions of preservation. The other approaches can show that this assumption is not unproblematic. Roesdahl’s approach is the mythological one discussed above. She focuses on the connection between the grave goods’ specific composition and the mythology as known from the written sources. I do not find that this approach can explain geographical and chronological variation.

More generally, Härke’s investigation is an interesting parallel to Parker Pearson’s classical, ethnoarchaeological study of Cambridge’s churchyards. This study showed that the most conspicuous burial monuments belonged to travellers and circus people, population groups without real estate. Thus, the large

Härke takes his starting point in the Anglo-Saxon material from the 400s to the 600s. However, his theories are also relevant for the Scandinavian Viking Age. He 102

5: The amulets in find-contexts: graves, hoards, settlements and stray finds probably manipulated especially by the bereaved, in order to establish the social identity of the deceased and thus of the bereaved themselves.

investment in visible graves can here be considered a compensation for these groups’ social invisibility and lack of local attachments in other ways (Parker Pearson 1982, 104, cf. Cohen 2003).

Further, the amulet material in the graves was probably also structured by the differences between the living and the dead: if the amulets served as protection against different specific problems, yo ensure fertility etc. many types may have been less relevant for the dead. Here, I find e.g. Brøndsted’s interpretation of the Bjerrehøj-frog as a fertility amulet problematic. It is not obvious to me what “fertility” means in a grave, or why a dead person would need it (cf. Brøndsted 1942, 318; see also above section 3.1.9).

There is much to suggest that Härkes theories are relevant for the Scandinavian Viking Age: Gräslund has stressed that many of the men buried with weapons on Birka probably were not professional soldiers (Gräslund 1980, 80). The non-functional weapon sets, too, occur in Scandinavia (see for example Svanberg 2003b, 50). Also, some burial equipment seems made especially for the burial: in Rīsala, ibn Fadlan recounts that the dead chieftain was buried in an especially fine dress, made for the occasion. This burial dress cost a third of the deceased’s fortune, so it has probably not been typical of what the living wore. Some graves in Halland contain white stones, carved on site (Artelius 2004, 114), and it is open for debate whether the Thor’s hammer rings were carried by the living (see above section 3.1.9). There is consequently some support in Scandinavia also for Härke’s general conclusion that grave goods are never an unproblematic category, since their inclusion in the grave always reflects a conscious choice.

Contrariwise, people may have believed that the dead faced their own special dangers, less relevant for the living. Thus, Zeiten suggest that some amulets may have served to hinder revenants (Zeiten 1997, 41). This is difficult to investigate archaeologically, but the example may illustrate how the dead could be attributed altogether different needs than the living. As already pointed out, symbols change meaning in changing contexts. Identical amulets probably had different meaning in different contexts, including those of living and dead bodies. Although the dead were buried with some of the same types of amulet that the living also wore, it is possible that the amulets in the grave served other purposes.

Parallel with Härkes theories, Randsborg interprets rich graves as signs of social and political instability (Randsborg 1993b, 180). The argument is that it is only necessary to stress the deceased’s and the family’s status through large investments in grave goods if this status is threatened or unstable. In periods with social stability, when status was inherited without problems, rich grave goods were unnecessary. Consequently, Randsborg believes that the grave-goods more reflect cultural claims than unproblematic realities. This is similar to Härke’s interpretation, although Randsborg is more interested in claims about economical status than in claims on warrior’s identity (cf. Randsborg 1980, 126). Yet, for economy, more than for warriors, there must be some reality behind the grave-goods: the economic prestigecompetition Randsborg describes mandates that only the rich could afford to participate. Thus, rich graves demand real wealth. However, “poor” do not demand real poverty and “poor” periods even less so. Similarly, the AngloSaxon “warrior’s graves” must contain weapons of the types that existed at the time, although they may not contain exactly those men who fought with exactly those weapons. The whole idea of burying the dead as warriors presupposes that this warrior equipment was recognisable as such.

Sandal mentions historical and ethnographic parallels to suggest that different amulets were carried at specific time of life, for instance by small children or pregnant women (Sandal 2000, 12 & 103; cf. Meaney 1981, 5 & 9). As discussed below, most people buried with Viking Age amulets were adult women, but this does not necessarily mean that other groups did not live with amulets. Among the written sources, Hákoner saga specifically mentions that the Thor’s hammer was expected to protect living and dead (Huber 2004, 50; Staecker 1999c, 90). This suggests that the writer recognised that the dead had other needs for protection than the living, and that only the Thor’s hammer was considered relevant for both groups. Amulets in Viking Age graves, specific observations The vast majority of the grave finds come from Sweden, especially the Mälar-area of Uppland and Södermanland. Also Norway and Gotland are well-represented, but not over-represented in relation to the total picture. In contrast, Denmark, Germany and Skåne are obviously under-represented. Comparison of the diagrams reveals that Uppland is even more over-represented if each grave is counted independently than if the investigation is based on number of sites. This is because many of the Upplandic finds come from large grave-fields where there are more amulets from graves on the same grave-field. In contrast, this situation is rare in Denmark and Norway, where large grave-fields are uncommon. Thus, there is a clear geographical division in the material. In Central Sweden it was common to place amulets in graves and on the large grave-fields there are often several graves with

Practical circumstances structured but did not determine burial customs. Most of the grave-goods were probably objects that the living also used, cf. Wamers and Steuer. Yet, graves need not contain any representative selection of the objects the living used, cf. Härke and Randsborg. Thus, grave-goods probably reflect only a selection of the living’s material culture. Their presence was structured by both practical limits and by religious references and world-views, but these were open for manipulation to a very large degree. Following Härke, grave-goods were 103

Animals Capsules Crosses Lunulae Masks Human figurines Anchors Wheels Strike-a-lights Scythes Miniature weapons (all types) Bowls and sieves Staf-rings Chairs Loose Thor's hammers Thor's hammer rings Unclear

Germany Denmark Skåne Gotland Öland Södenmanland Uppland Other Swedish districts Norway Iceland England Scotland Ireland Germany Denmark Skåne Gotland Öland Södenmanland Uppland Other Swedish districts Norway Iceland England Scotland Ireland

Viking Age amulets in Scandinavia and Western Europe

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Figures 5.2.1-6)) Graphs for gravves.

amulets. Ouutside this arrea, depositioon of amuletts in graves was rare, and theree are rarely moore than one grave g with amuletss on each gravve-field. Espeecially in Denm mark and the adjaacent regionss it seems veery uncommoon to include amuulets as gravve goods. The materiaal is dominated by b iron, with some silver and copper-aalloy. Also, amber is relatively well-represennted, especiallly on Gotland. In contrast, c other materials arre only very rarely r found. The propositions p o both silver and copper-aalloys of are lower thaan the averagee for all typess of context, while w iron is very much m over-reppresented, alsoo in relation to t the average. Theese iron amuleets in graves occur o especiallly in the Mälar Vaalley. The typee distribution makes it clearr that Thor’s hamm mers are very much over-reepresented, croosses under-represented.

nificant role heere. The drop in frequency of finds afterr sign 1975 5 is connecteed with the sstabilisation of o population,, and with much activity conccentrated in smaller, s moree nsely utilisedd areas. Therre is an obv vious lack off inten relattionship betw ween the numbber of excavaated sites andd the number n of finnds, but this iss an artefact of my method:: I hav ve treated Stolpe’s excavatiions on Björkö/Birka in thee end of the 1800s are a here treateed as one site,, with finds off overr 100 amulets.. The growth iin the numberr of excavatedd sitess after the Birkka-excavationns must partially be seen ass resu ult of Stolpe’s success. In contrast, c the Norwegian N finnd-picture seeems primarilyy asso ociated with an a increased aarchaeological interest andd activ vity after 19900. This waas also expressed in thee estab blishment off the Norweggian museum m institutions.. Thiss increase is connected c witth Norway’s independencee from m Sweden in 1905. 1 Indepenndence led to a great deal off re-orrganisation annd involved ssome nationallist discourse,, and apparently a boom in arcchaeological activity. a Afterr 1925 5 the first curriosity seems to have been satisfied andd man ny monumentss were proteccted. In the seecond half off the 20th 2 century, Norwegian V Viking Age arcchaeology hass

For the areaa of investigation as a wholle, and for Sw weden and Denmark, most gravee finds were made in the mid20th centuryy. Only the Norwegian N fiinds give another picture. Thee high frequeency of findss in the midd-20th century is prrobably a prodduct of the esstablishment of o the welfare-statee, with its buillding projects.. The expansioon of Stockholm, and a the extenssion of the inffrastructure plays a 105

Viking Age amulets in Scandinavia and Western Europe Gebühr’s Danish material seems far more sharply divided in two groups than for instance the Anglo-Saxon material (see for example Knüssel & Ripley 2000; see below). There are real differences in the material, and Gebühr’s results are not simply a projection of a preconceived ideal model. The most reasonable interpretation may be that biological sex played a central role in the construction of cultural gender in Viking Age Denmark. Gender was still a construct, as Sofaer argues, and indeed in England it seems to have been constructed with less reference to biology. The close correlation of biology and culture visible in Denmark is not a “natural” fact, and biology cannot explain why so much effort was put into keeping grave-goods sex-specific. I shall return to how material culture was actively used to supplement the body in chapter 8.

been especially notable for large research excavations, such as Kaupang and Borg. Amulets in Viking Age graves, other specific observations The grave material permits the association of the amulets with individual persons, in a way that neither hoards, settlement-finds nor stray finds do. Thus, it is reasonable to discuss who were buried with amulets, and how these amulets were worn or placed in relation to the body. The age and sex of the dead Most grave with amulets seem to contain adults. There are exceptions, and far from all graves can be aged. Yet, it is at least possible that amulets were primarily worn by adults (cf. also Sofaer 2006, 117ff).

The catalogue includes 650 amulets from 511 graves. I have only been able to find information about anatomical sex for 11 of these graves. They rest have either not been investigated by osterologists, or were undeterminable. Of the anatomically sexed graves, eight were men’s graves, containing one cross, on chair, two scythes (from different graves), two Thor’s hammers, two Thor’s hammer rings, and six strike-a-lights (all from the same grave). The three anatomically sexed women’s graves contained four Thor’s hammers, a mask and a woman’s figurine. Another 121 graves with 162 amulets could be gendered on goods with various degrees of certainty. This permits a gendering of a total of 126 graves. 15 of these are men’s graves, containing a total of 36 amulets, and 111 were women’s graves, containing 149 amulets. For 385 graves, no gender can be assigned. This group includes those graves that contain several bodies of different sex where the amulets are not clearly associated with any one of these. It also includes those where the association between grave and amulet is unclear. I must stress that gendering on grave goods often depends oval brooches or weapons, types that have an uneven geographical distribution in Scandinavia, and were probably associated with the elite. Consequently, there are grounds to suspect that the graves gendered here are not representative of the whole material.

The catalogue includes two Thor’s hammers that definitely come from children’s graves. No other amulets can be definitely associated with children. Both of these Thor’s hammers come from the same site. They may mirror a local burial custom, or an especially thorough investigation. Incidentally, children’s graves are strikingly absent on the pre-Christian grave-fields. This may be partially due to conditions of preservation and retrieval, but children may also not have been buried in the same way as adults. In any case, the absence of amulets from recognised children’s graves is hardly surprising, given the general under-representation of recognised children’s graves from the Viking Age. Most graves with amulets seem to contain adult women. Only a very few men’s graves with amulets have been recognised. However, a closer discussion of this demands a problematisation of archaeology’s concepts of sex and gender. Most graves have been identified as those of men or women based on the grave-goods. The variable identified here is consequently cultural identity, so-called gender, rather than biological sex. The relationship between biological sex and cultural gender is discussed and problematised in detail, especially in feminist research (an exhaustive discussion can be found in Sofaer 2006, 89ff; see also below, chapter 8). In Viking Age Denmark, biological sex and cultural gender seems usually to have corresponded to each other: Michael Gebühr’s statistic correspondence analyses of grave goods in Danish inhumations with anatomically sexed bones reveal two groups of goods, each very clearly associated with one biological sex (Gebühr 1994, 73ff). I do not know of any similar investigations for the other Scandinavian countries.

The relative over-representation of the amulets in women’s graves need not indicate that women were necessarily more religious or more pagan than men (cf. Effros 2000, 634). It may indicate that only women usually wore pendants. The group of anatomically sexed graves is too small for meaningfully statistical comparison with the group of all graves. In contrast, the group of women’s graves gendered on goods seems large enough for such a comparison. Here, Thor’s hammers and Thor’s hammer rings are strikingly rarer in the women’s graves, and miniature weapons, especially shields, strikingly more common. Masks are somewhat more common in the identified women’s graves, strike-alights somewhat more rare, and scythes very rare. In comparison with the gendered men’s graves, it is especially evident that the women’s graves contain more different types. This is probably because they contain more amulets in absolute numbers.

Joanna Sofaer has criticised methods similar to Gebühr’s. She believes that they reflect a poor understanding of gender as social construct (cf. Sofaer 2006, 101ff): they presuppose that all biological women were culturally feminine and vice versa. This premise confuses sex as ideal and as reality (cf. Butler 1990 and 1993, Foucault 1978, throughout). This critique is certainly relevant. Yet, 106

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Figure 5.2.7-10) Amulets by sex and gender.

This impression is probably partly caused by the criteria for gendering and sexing: Thors hammers are rare in recognised women’s graves because many Thor’s hammers come from cremation graves without any other goods. These graves are difficult to sex or gender. There is a corresponding over-representation of lose Thor’s hammers, but not of Thor’s hammer rings, in the few identified men’s graves. Thus, men were rarely buried with amulets at all, but when they were, the amulets were often loose Thor’s hammers. Most persons buried with Thor’s hammers are women, but among women other types of amulets were even more common than Thor’s hammers. People buried with Thor’s hammer rings generally cannot be sexed. Thus, the under-representation of Thor’s hammer rings in women’s burials may be a result of lacking identifications. The shields are almost always made of silver, and are probably associated with the elite, just as are the oval brooches. Graves from this social group are easier to gender than are poorer graves, and women’s graves with shields are consequently easier to recognise as women’s graves than are poorer graves with cheaper amulets. The low frequency of scythes is probably an artefact caused by almost all scythes coming from just a few cremation graves in Södermanland, and many of these not being assigned any gender. It may be more significant that almost all types are represented among the identified women’s graves. The only types altogether absent are legs and anchors, types never found in graves at all. Consequently, it seems impossible to identify any type of amulet that was exclusively

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1 Animals Capsules Crosses Lunulae Masks Human figurines Anchors Wheels Strike-a-lights Scythes Miniature weapons (all types) Bowls and sieves Staf-rings Chairs Loose Thor's hammers Thor's hammer rings Unclear

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107

Viking Age amulets in Scandinavia and Western Europe In connection with these issues, it may be appropriate to briefly raise and dismiss the issue of so-called gender ambiguous or third-sex graves: there are a few known Viking Age graves where people have been buried either with grave-goods that modern archaeologists found more appropriate for the opposite sex (women with weapons, men with jewellery) or where just one individual was buried with goods considered to indicate two different genders (weapons and jeweller, both). Such graves are known from the Scandinavian Viking Age, although none of these contain amulets (Price 2002, 149, Solli 2002, 124, Christensen & Bennike 1983, throughout).

associated with men. There are types of amulet that has never definitely been found associated with men, and consequently could be exclusive to women. However, it is not possible to argue convincingly for this. Given that there are only 36 amulets known to be associated with men, it cannot surprise that some of the 16 categories are not represented in this material. However, the most typical amulets from the grave material, Thor’s hammers and miniature scythes, also occur in men’s graves. These graves also contain a wide selection of other types, with examples of crosses, animal figurines and miniature weapons. Only the absence of shields, human figurines and snakefigurines is notable. These types may have been exclusively associated with women.

Elsewhere, Knüssel & Ripley (2000, 163ff) have discussed a parallel, but much more frequent phenomenon in Anglo-Saxon England. Intriguingly, there the warrior women so important for mythology are hard to find, while inappropriate men, unknown from written sources, are shockingly common (Shepherd 1999). Knüssel & Ripley equate these graves with the ethnography of the Native American berdache, Hungarian shamans and more, and construe all as part of a single coherent phenomenon of third-sex ritual experts. I believe that they are wrong. The ethnographies they quote make it plain that even in Native America, not all cross-dressers were ritual experts (cf. Hultkrantz in Callender & Kochems 1983, and Ibid. 443, 452), nor vice versa, and on a world scale this is even more obvious (cf. Callender & Kochems 1983, 453; Price 2001, 9, Hollimon 2001, 125 and throughout, Whitehead 1993, 524, cf. Callender & Kochems 1983, 466, but cf. also Fulton & Andersson 1992, 609). Nor do I find it at all helpful that these authors collapse osteroarchaeology, castration, Klinefelder’s syndrome and grave-goods into a single jumble. I submit that archaeologists will need to read up on third-sex and third-gender ethnography, and on the differences between the two, before mining ethnography for parallels. I further submit that we need to re-examine our own methods and criteria for assigning sex or gender to graves before adopting outlandish explanations for observations that may well be artefacts of our methods (Effros 2000, Halsall 2001, throughout). Modern parallels from Western culture leaves me with little confidence that lived difference was necessarily marked in burial contexts, less that similar phenomena have similar meanings across cultures (see Herdt 1994a, 47; 1994b, 24 & 48; 1997, 89).

A simplified division into seven types permits a X2-test on women’s graves in relation to other graves (the seven types are animal and human figurines; crosses; miniature weapons; miniature tools; Thor’s hammers; Thor’s hammer rings; and other types). This reveals that the identified women’s graves deviate markedly from the others (X2-index 215, v=6, corresponding to over 99.9 % probability for no-random deviation). It is especially notable that the number of animal and human figurines is higher than expected, and the number of Thor’s hammer rings is lower. As already mentioned, the low number of Thor’s hammer rings can probably be explained away with the difficulties of sexing cremations. Miniature tools are also strongly under-represented, probably for the same reasons as Thor’s hammer rings: most grave finds of miniature tools are miniature sickles from cremations of unknown sex. In contrast, it is striking that crosses and loose Thor’s hammers are not strikingly over-represented in the identified (often rich) women’s graves. The test above compares identified women’s graves to all other graves. Very likely, many of these other graves are unidentified women’s graves. Consequently, this test does not indicate differences between women and men, but between identified women and everyone else. Yet it does indicate that some women used a different set of amulets than did all men. Also, the test can indicate that these graves differ, but not why they do so. More precisely, it can indicate that people archaeologically recognisable as women were buried with different amulets than were anyone else, but it cannot indicate whether this is because they were women, or because they were archaeologically recognisable. Since most of these graves are gendered on foods, and since gender specific grave-goods seems connected with wealth in this culture, the test may say as much about status as it does about gender. Nonetheless, there are strong indications that women were buried with amulets far more often than men, and that some amulets may have been buried exclusively with women (shields, human and snake figurines). There are no strong indications that any type of amulets was buried exclusively with men, but there are a number of types that were buried with both sexes.

The placing of the amulets in the inhumations A special discussion concerns the placing of the amulets in the inhumations. Amulets found in cremation graves cannot be included in this discussion. No can graves without sufficiently precise documentation. This excludes amulets found during sieving, or insufficiently recorded, and graves much disturbed before excavation. Some amulets were found in the mound fill, possibly displaced from older, disturbed graves. Where sufficient information is documented, the most common placement by far seems to be by the neck or chest. There is some risk of circularity in this observation, 108

5: The amulets in find-contexts: graves, hoards, settlements and stray finds In a few cases, amulets seem placed around the dead, so they were surrounded by amulets on all sides. This is most obvious in Ketting and Thumby-Bienebek grave 21. However, this seems an exception. Similar logic may explain why Thor’s hammer rings in cremation graves are often placed around the urn’s neck. This may be a practical desicion, but the amulet in this position may also have served as protection. In other cases, there is obvious support for Staecker’s theory that some amulets were deposited during the funeral ritual, most obvious for Gröttlinbo and Thumby-Bienebek grave 21. Also in those cases where the amulets are placed below the deceased’s feet or above the head, they may be deposited in connection with the funeral ritual. Yet, the most common placement by far seems to be as worn by the living: about the neck on a short or long string, or hanging from the belt.

as the amulets have occasionally been used as source for the body’s position, where the bones were very poorly preserved (see for example Kaupang V/K 1954; Blindheim & Heyerdahl-Larsen 1995, 81, and see above). However, other better preserved graves seem to support the observation that amulets were generally placed on this part of the body. In his discussion of Thor’s hammers and crosses, Staecker distinguishes between amulets placed about the neck and amulets placed on the chest. He interprets the former as deposited as worn, the latter as deposited on the body. However, most other researchers seem to have interpreted both placements as identical. This latter approach seems reasonable: a long necklace will locate the amulet on the chest, a shorter one near the neck, without any changes in meaning. Some amulets were definitely not deposited either about the neck or on the chest. For instance, the Thor’s hammers from Bj. 943 and Bj. 964 on Birka were deposited in leather purses, respectively in a bag (cat. 763 and 771). The bowl from Bj. 707 (cat. 736), the Thor’s hammer from Kaupang (cat. 352), the woman’s figurine from Longva (cat. 342) and the chair from Fyrkat grave 4 (cat. 213) all lie near the dead people’s belts. The miniature axe from Vallstena 1/64 (cat. 468) was deposited near the deceased’s head, and the same may apply to Thor’s hammer ring from Bj. 1081 on Birka (cat. 786). The cross from Norsborgs Park (cat. 583) and the shield from Bj. 987 (cat. 782) on Birka were placed below the dead people’s feet. Trotzig reports a similar placement for the special Gotland amber amulets, which are not included in the present work (Trotzig 1983, 376). Some amulets were even more marginally placed. These include one of two Thor’s hammer rings from Bj. 954, deposited in the grave’s north east corner (cat. 766-767); the miniature scythe from Järvsta 3, deposited in the grave’s north western edge (cat. 499); and the Thor’s hammers from Ketting grave 18, deposited in the grave’s north western and south eastern corners (cat. 234-235). The frog from Sønderteglgård (cat. 207) seems placed in a pit under the body. Other amulets are placed outside the grave: the cross from Barshaldershed seems deposited on top of the coffin (cat. 400), and the Thor’s hammers from Thumby-Bienebek 21 hung on the outside the coffin (cat. 1339-1341). In Thumby-Bienebek grave 7, the Thor’s hammer hung from a chain stretched across the coffin (cat. 1337), while the Thor’s hammer from Valsgärde grave 4 may have hung on the skips prow (cat. 902). Finally, there are a few examples of amulets that were deposited secondarily in burial mounds, including Kymlinge 169:8 and 9 (cat. 1092-1118). Here, large number of miniature scythes and strike-a-light amulets seem deposited systematically in the mound fill. Such structured deposition of amulets in the fill is also known from Vårby (Gansum 2003, 260; cat. 617). This phenomenon is probably more common than the material can show. It is often difficult to decide if such finds were secondary deposits or if they might come from disturbed soil from older graves, or from poorly preserved, secondary funerals. This discussion is obviously relevant for pieces such as the cross from the north mound in Jelling and the carved ring from Gullen (see above).

Section conclusion The amulets in the graves seem carefully selected. They are not generally deposited as a part of everyday dress, but as part of a special funeral tradition that varied in time and place. Also, a few people, mainly adult women, were buried with amulets. The grave material constitutes a limited selection of the total material. The selection cannot be explained by economy alone. The presence of silver amulets in individual graves shows that economy is not the whole explanation. The regional distribution shows that the different local societies in Scandinavia had very different attitudes to amulets in graves. They disagreed when it was necessary to place amulets in graves and which types were appropriate here. All this suggests that the grave material is not just “the mirror of life”. Rather, there were real differences in how people understood the burial in different parts of the area of investigation. Again, it seems unreasonable to explain all this variation with reference that the homogenous and static image that can be reconstructed from the late, western written sources. If the graves are not “the mirror of life”, it seems overwhelmingly probable that the amulets here are selected to meet certain needs, or claim certain identities. Some amulets were especially well-suited for deposition in graves, and others were especially unsuited. The most striking pattern is the over-representation of iron Thor’s hammers and the under-representation of crosses in the graves. Also shields and strike-a-lights seem strikingly well-represented, while amulets of copper-alloy are remarkably rare. It is possible that some iron amulets were made specifically for burial, and were never worn by the living before this. It seems certain that many amulets of copper-alloy were rejected for burial. Other objects of copper-alloy were quite common as grave-goods, so it was probably not the value of the copper-alloy that kept these amulets out of the graves. It seems most amulets of copper-alloy were either removed before the burial, or were worn only by groups who were not buried with amulets. Perhaps amulets of copper-alloy were heirlooms, though more likely they were worn as 109

Viking Age amulets in Scandinavia and Western Europe history of disease and therapy.

temporary protection against problems specific for the living, and no longer relevant for the dead. In contrast, some iron amulets may have been a specialised protection against special threats that only affected the dead, or perhaps been part of a more personal and inalienable property.

Some types of amulet seem especially associated with women: shields, human and animal figurines. Most other types are also found with men, but rarely. Thor’s hammer rings cannot be associated as obviously with women as other types can.

Since the grave finds of amulets are a limited selection of the total inventory, likely many people who used amulets were buried without them. Some types of amulet are very rarely or never found in graves. Amulets were apparently most typically deposited in graves if the amulets were of iron and the deceased an adult woman. However, even when the deceased was an adult woman, deposition of amulets was not the rule. Amulets were only buried with the dead under certain circumstances. These were evidently far more common in the Mälar area than in South Scandinavia. This may reflect either local ideas about death which were rarer elsewhere, or systematic differences in women’s personal biography. These might include kinship or ritual status, or perhaps a special

Consequently, there is good support for understanding amulets in graves as material signs. Their meanings are somewhat unclear, but they seem more closely associated with the individual dead people’s personal identity than with belonging to groups. Thus, they seem closely tied to personal biography. It is also striking that especially adult women had biographies that motivated to burial with amulets. These women must have had special experiences or social roles that few other women and almost no men or children shared. The variation in the amulet material shows that these experiences were different, also among those who were buried with amulets.

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5: The amulets in find-contexts: graves, hoards, settlements and stray finds workers who were repairing erosions damage on the banks of river Ribble. Possibly, the hoard itself was found in their gravel pit some 40 meters from the bank. The hoard may have contained as much as 40-45 kilogram of silver. This is the greatest Viking Age silver hoard outside Gotland. It was packed in lead, possibly the remains of a lead-lined wooden chest. Unfortunately, the find was almost immediately split up, and today no overview exists of what it contained, or where all parts are now. A large part of the find consists of HibernoScandinavian arm-rings, a type that seems produced in Dublin. It has been argued that the hoard was buried by the Dublin Vikings under their flight to York. The size alone suggests that this is probably not any single person’s savings, and both geography, date and composition suggests a connection to the Dublin kingdom’s exile in York in 905 (Edwards 1988, 52ff, Graham-Campbell 1982, 34).

5.3) Hoards and amulets in hoards Hoards are a reasonably recognisable and well-defined category. Viking Age silver hoards are unambiguously distinct from the grave and the settlement material (Skovmand 1942, 238, cf. Bradley 1990, 91, Hårdh 1996, 136f). The hoards almost all consist of pure silver. Even the richest graves contain nothing that resembles the hoard material. In fact, there is almost no silver in elite graves such as Oseberg, Mammen and Hørning (cf. Forsberg 1968, 20f). Silver is also very rare on settlements. There is a long tradition for referring to Stjernquist’s definition of hoards, as two or more objects found together (see for example Hårdh 1976, 25). However, in practice, this definition seems only partly respected, and often combined with other approaches (cf. Skovmand 1942, 6, T. Zachrisson 1998, 60, I. Zachrisson 1984, 98). Thus, the discursive construction of hoards as category balances between two definitions, one etic and positivist definition, the other more hermeneutic with emphasis on emic meaning. As I shall discuss below, the two dominant interpretations are the hoards as economic “treasure” and as ritual depositions, “offerings”.

The hoard from Lobsterhouse (cat. 253), Yorkshire, is a plough find from 1807. “Near the Lobsterhouse and eight mile-stone on the road from York to Malton, on the 14th Sept. of 1807, a leaden box containing about 270 Silver Coins, and some pieces of Silver, the latter weighing about two pounds, was turned up by the plough…”. The hoard was deposited around 927. Large parts of the hoard is today lost, and only insufficiently described. The silver objects seem to include arm-rings, bar fragments and a bit of chain. The site lie slightly more than 10 km outside York, and James Graham-Campbell points out that deposition in a lead chest or lead-lined chest seems to be a characteristic local phenomenon. It was observed also for the hoards in Cuerdale and Goldsborough, but not for the Scottish and Irish hoards. Belt interpreted the hoard as “... plunder of a field of battle… “, something GrahamCampbell describes as “... a romantic, but wild interpretation”. Instead, he suggest that “… the actual occasion for this hoard's deposition (and the reasons for its non-recovery) will forever remain unknow, tempting though it is to associate it in some way with the aftermath of 927 when Athelstan captured York for the English...” (Graham-Campbell 1993, throughout).

Stjernquist’s definition is largely irrelevant for the present investigation. The catalogue does not include any closed find of one amulet and one other object. Amulets found in hoards have always been found with so many other silver objects as to lay all doubts to rest. When problems do occur, they are far more basic. Thus the identification of the 1921 Kjøpsfjord-find as a hoard, rather than a stray find, is based on an argument, I find it difficult to follow: “When tidying up in a quarry for the concrete factory in Kjøpsvik in Tysfjordens prestegjeld, Nordlands fylke, one of the workers in 1921 discovered a cross with chain, both silver... It is so well-preserved because it has been protected against wetness between stones and nor has been in touch with corrosive soils”. Grieg suggests that “As the cross was found in a quarry, it must be considered a hoard find” 29 (Grieg 1929, 261; cat. 319). Whether hoards are defined as two or more objects found together, as treasure meant for retrieval, or as offerings meant for gods, I do not see what being found in a quarry has to do with anything.

The hoard from Trondheim (cat. 345-346) was found while working the ground on September 4th, 1950. The hoard was initially scattered between the workers, but was reassembled already the next day by postfuldmægtig Carstensen (a civil servant at the post office). Thus, the find is assumed to be complete. It was deposited under a layer of rubbish, possibly from the Middle Ages, and close to St. Martin’s churchyard. However, Marstrander considers both the church and the layer of rubbish to be later. He believes that the find was deposited around 1040, in connection with the ascension of king Magnus the good (Marstrander 1950, 143ff). The hoard was deposited in bark, possibly the remains of a bark box. The two complete crosses (cat. 346-347) were found in the same clod of earth, and both seem rolled into the same chain. It is unclear if they had their own wrapping inside the bark container. The third, fragmented cross (cat. 345) evidently lay among the other parts of the find, hacksilver and coins.

Conditions of finding and reporting Many hoards have fascinating histories of recovery. The finds from Terslev, Vålse, Sejerø and Tromsøflakket have already been mentioned, but Cuerdale, Lobsterhouse and Trondheim also deserve mention, not least for how they reveal the problems collecting adequate information: Cuerdale (cat. 241) was found in 1840, by a team of 29 ”Ved oprydning i et stenbrud for cementfabrikken i Kjøpsvik i Tysfjordens prestegjeld, Nordlands fylke, fandt en av arbeiderne i 1921 et kors med kjede, begge deler av sølv... Naar det er saa vel bevaret, er det fordi det har været skjermet mot væte mellem stener og ikke heller kommet i berøring med opløsende jordarter... Da Korset er fundet i et Stenbrud, maa det opfattes som et Depotfund”.

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Viking Age amulets in Scandinavia and Western Europe supply in the period 850 to 900 AD (Randsborg 1980, 159; see below and cf. Hårdh 1996, 19). Zachrisson and Randsborg accept Bolin’s thesis that the hoards come from periods of unrest, but stress that unrest alone is not an exhaustive explanation for the horizons of hoards.

All these cases may illustrate the vagaries of registration: No-one knows the exact contexts of Curdale or Lobsterhouse, not least because of the eccentricities of the English treasure trove law. We may know those of Trondheim, thanks to Carstensen’s speedy interference, and we certainly know those of Terslev and Jyndevad, where everyone cooperated to collect all information The hoards have inspired different interpretations, and it is very probable that different interpretations are relevant are for different hoards. As already mentioned, it is typical of the times that Terslev was initially associated with to wealthy farmers, while Tromsøflakket was interpreted in relation to globalisation and cosmology. Cuerdale and Lobsterhouse can be interpreted in relation to very specific, local historical events, something, that may be reasonable for these uncommonly large hoards (see also below). The tendency for finders and even institutions to split hoards between themselves is a problem unique to hoards, and reflects their monetary value. Very few funeral or settlement materials have been split or traded in the way hoards have. On the other hand, treasure trove laws especially have encouraged some very detailed descriptions of some hoards.

Mats Malmer has criticised Bolin’s interpretation. He points out that Gotland has more than twice the number of Viking Age hoards of all of Great Britain and Ireland. Yet Gotland was probably not attacked twice as often as these (Malmer 1973, 132). However, nor does he find it reasonable to explain the pattern with trade or prosperity, as did Montelius. Instead, Malmer remarks that “Coin treasures are also an expression for a lack of proportion between the coin’s idea and function; treasure is buried to a far larger extend under primitive social conditions than in countries and times with a strong social power”30 (Ibid.; cf. Hårdh 1996, 26, Gell 1986 throughout, Storli 2006, 170). Thus, Malmer believes that silver hoards primarily reflect a “primitive” economy, not historical events. Also, Malmer rejects any possibility of distinguishing periods with more or less unrest on Gotland (Ibid. 133). Finally, he shows that most of the finds lie on the coast, especially late in the Viking Age. He believes that this must argue against any connection to unrest, and suggests that “On an island of Gotland’s limited size, a plundering of The Interior must also affect The Coast and vice versa” 31 (Ibid. 135; original capitalisation).

The economical aspects of the Viking Age silver hoards There can be no reasonable doubt that the hoards are an economic phenomenon. The main discussion has concerned whether the hoards reflect times of prosperity or times of unrest.

Malmer’s critique of Bolin’s thesis is reasonable. However, the Gotland situation is very special. Observations on Gotland cannot always be generalised to the rest of Scandinavia (discussion and references in Cassel 2004, 171). In Denmark, the chronological patterns in the hoards are significantly more obvious. Here, the thesis that the coasts were more exposed to attacks than were interiors also makes more sense because of the country’s size. Consequently, I do not believe Malmer’s critique is enough to invalidate Bolin’s theory.

Montelius saw the hoards as signs of prosperity. He assumed that Viking Age people only buried silver in periods when much silver was available. In contrast, Bolin, and later Skovmand and Randsborg, have stressed that wealth in itself cannot explain the depositions or the lack of retrieval. Bolin suggested that the hoards were lost because their original owners did not survive times of unrest. Skovmand thought to see support for this theory in the chronology of the late Viking Age hoards, with more hoards left in the ground in violent periods (Skovmand 1942, 187ff, cf. Mackeprang 1938, 170, Randsborg 1980, 139 and cited in T. Zachrisson 1998, 19, but see Hårdh 1996, 28, Bradley 1990, 20).

Ross Samson has criticised Randsborg’s interpretations (Samson 1990b, 128, cf. Randsborg 1980, 153). Like Malmer, Samson believes that internal economy is more important than external contacts in explaining the hoards. He concludes that “The number of hoards cannot reflect both the silverstock [sic] and the level of violence” (Samson 1990b, 128, original emphasis). Instead, Samson explains the chronological pattern with a model based on the Icelandic sources. In these, secret accumulation of silver was a requirement for participating in social competition (Samson 1990b, 131). Samson sees the hoards as a step in this process. For him, the hoards are a source for periods with internal competition and violence

Torun Zachrisson has elaborated Bolin’s interpretation. She remarks that the Frankish Danegelds of the 700s are not visible in the Danish hoard material, but the English Danegelds of the 900s’ are (T. Zachrisson 1998, 14, cf. Randsborg 1980, 141). Thus, although silver was acquired in the 700s, it is not visible in the archaeological record. The find-horizons cannot be explained simply with silver being available, then. They reflect a combination of several circumstances, such as Danegeld payment followed by internal unrest. Randsborg, too, has suggested that the find-picture reflects complex circumstances. He has stressed a reverse correspondence between the number of historically documented Viking raids in Western Europe and the amount of Arabic silver in Scandinavia. He suggests that the Viking raids may be explained in part by the interruption of the Arabic silver

30 ”Myntskatter är också uttryck för ett misforhållande mellan myntens idé och funktion; skatter nedgräves i långt större utsträckning under primitiva samhällsförhållanden än i länder och tider med en strak samhällsmakt.” 31 ”På en ö av Gotlands begränsade storlek måste en härjning av Inlandet också drabba Kusten och vice versa.”

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5: The amulets in find-contexts: graves, hoards, settlements and stray finds cremated on a pyre shall get to Valhalla with all he had on the pyre, 'and he should also enjoy anything he himself had buried in the ground'. Disregarding that Snorre’s speculations on Iceland in the 1200s are a poor guideline for explanation of events in Denmark in the 900s (for later than that people here hardly believed in Odin), it is very difficult, not to say impossible, to distinguish those among the hoards whose deposition had religious motivations.” 32 (Skovmand 1942, 197f). Skovmand’s scepticism is shared by Torun Zachrisson (1998, 20). However, Gurevich and Hedeager have recently revived this reviled theory about Odin’s law (Gurevich 1992, 14, Hedeager 1991, 207; cf. Storli 2006, 170). Both suggest that the hoards were not deposited exclusively as grave goods (Gurevich 1992, 184, Hedeager 1991, 207). Hedeager reads Odin’s law as a psychological safety clause, meant to ensure that the owner enjoyed his hoard, even if he never retrieved it. For Hedeager, it is thus possible that all the silver hoards were deposited with the intention of recovery. The Odin’s law would only apply as explanation for why this was not always done. In this interpretation, it is meaningless to distinguish between economic hoards and hoards included by Odin’s law. However, Graham-Campbell points out that the Odin’s law-theory is probably not relevant in Scotland, where very little material can be related to pagan cult (GrahamCampbell 1995, 61). Yet, there are Viking Age hoards in Scotland, too, so Odin’s law can hardly be the full explanation of hoard deposition.

inside Scandinavia, rather than for periods of prosperity or violence because of foreign connections. Samson does not discus Randsborg’s observation of the hoards’ over-representation in coastal areas (Randsborg 1980, 137ff, cf. Malmer above). Here, Randsborg argues that the coast in itself was no source of wealth, and documents that these hoards are not found on the best soil. Instead, he believes that the hoards’ overrepresentation on the coast must be caused by those increased dangers that coastal populations were exposed to. Samson’s model cannot explain this. Nor can it explain the general chronology. The Arabic coinages were actually interrupted in it early the 800s, because of civil war in the Abbasid Caliphate. In Samson’s model, the chronological coincidences between new coinages and new hoards must be meaningless (cf. Randsborg 1980, 156). Finally, Samson’s model cannot in itself explain why the silver ended in the ground. I find this model unsatisfying. Malmer’s and Samson’s interpretations both ignore the hoards’ actual chronology and to some degree their geography. They build on theory alone without any independent empirical evidence. This makes them somewhat tautological, more obviously so for Samson’s, more covertly for Malmer’s model. Both are possible as explanations, and important as critiques of the more dominant interpretations, but they do not seem to give any deeper understanding of the Viking Age. Consequently, they are not convincing.

Like Skovmand, I doubt that the late Icelandic sources are relevant for all of Scandinavia in all of the Viking Age. Again, explanations based on these sources are ahistoric and cannot explain the hoards’ chronology or regional distribution. At best, they are impossible to prove. As with Malmer’s and Samson’s interpretations, they seem unsupported by archaeological empirical evidence.

Independently of all the above interpretations, Thunmark-Nylén (1986 throughout) has suggested another interpretation with specific reference to Gotland. She suggests that the Gotland hoards’ TPQ dates do not reflect the time of deposition. Instead, she suggests that they reflect the coins that were in general circulation on the island. Many Gotland hoards seem coined around the time the church was established there. Thunmark-Nylén suggests that the church needed to buy both land and labour. If massive numbers of coins were imported then and very few new coins thereafter, hoards deposited much later would have TPQ according to the time of import, rather than of deposition.

One of the more interesting aspects of this interpretation is that it presupposes that the hoards were personal property. In contrast, the economic interpretations seem to leave room for the possibility that some hoards could be collective property, such as family fortunes. This problem has been explicitly discussed by a few researchers:

This theory undermines analyses such as Skovmand’s and Randsborg’s. Again, Gotland is not representative for the rest of Scandinavia. The theory about long curation of closed hoards with much older TPQ strongly reflects Gotland’s relative isolation. Elsewhere a single, massive import of new coins is much less likely.

Zeiten remarks that the Mandemark hoard contains two Thor’s hammers, which she interprets to support that not all hoards must necessarily represent any single person’s private wealth (Zeiten 1997, 34). Many other hoards contain doubles. However, there are also examples of graves that contain several identical amulets, for instance

“Odin’s law” and the interpretation of the silver hoards as offerings

32 ”Endelig har man lige fra den gamle Sagaskriver Snorre4 til vore Dages Arkæologer henvist til ’Odins Lov’: at den døde, der brændes paa Baal, skal komme til Valhal med det han havde paa Baalet, ’og det skulle han og nyde, som han selv havde gravet i Jorden’. Rent bortset fra, at Snorres Spekulationer paa Island i 1200-aarene er en daarlig Rettesnor for Forklaringer af Tildragelser i Danmark i 900-Aarene (for senere troede man vel ikke her paa Odin) er det meget vanskelligt, for ikke at sige umuligt, blandt Skattefundene at udskilde saadanne, hvis Nedlægning skyldes religiøse Motiver”. Skovmand’s note 4: “Heimskringla, Ynglingesaga Kap. 8”.

The most important alternative to the economic interpretations is the theory about hoards as offerings. I think this interpretation is unsubstantiated and unnecessary. Much of the was well summed up by Skovmand in 1942: “Finally, people from the old Sagawriter Snorre4 to the archaeologists of our time have referred to 'Odin’s law': that a dead person who is 113

Viking Age amulets in Scandinavia and Western Europe There can be no reasonable doubt that the hoards, like the grave-goods, were partially shaped by economic factors, and that the deposition had economic consequences. This also applies to (other) offerings (Fabech 1992, 152). There can be no doubt that the hoards’ composition reflects the history of silver import, as argued by Randsborg and Thunmark-Nylén. Nor can there be much doubt that the silver was deposited because it was valuable. It is more open if there really is any connection between times of unrest and deposition of hoards, but the theory finds at least some support in the Viking Age hoards’ chronology and in parallel arguments. However, all this need not mean that all objects in the hoards were exclusively deposited as scrap metal. Objects may ahve been valued for function as well as for material. Finally, the arguments for the Odin’s law theory are not very convincing. The theory seems unable to explain any feature of the material that cannot be explained without it. Economic interpretations seem sufficient to explain the hoards.

the woman’s grave from Lejre, with two rings with each two Thor’s hammers. Thus, this is no strong argument against hoards as individual property. Grieg argued that the Hoen-hoard (cat. 279-293) from Norway was accumulated over a long time. Therefore, he interpreted it as a temple hoard (Grieg 1929, 191ff). This theory goes back to Holboe’s first publication of the hoard in 1835 (Wilson 2006, 23). Against Grieg, Heyerdahl-Larsen interprets the hoard as a collection of all local gold, new and old (Heyerdahl-Larsen 1982, 101). In the newest presentation, Wilson rejects both these interpretations. He points out that there is poor documentation for temples, and no documentation at all for temple hoards, in Viking Age Scandinavia. He also points out that Holmboe’s interpretation builds more on classical parallels than on Scandinavian material. Similarly, he rejects that the Hoen-hoard’s combination of eastern, western and local material could have been collected under one single raid (Wilson 2006, 20 & 24). Although the Hoen-hoard is uncommonly large and rich on gold, Wilson believes that it could well be one individual wealthy family’s fortune (Ibid. 229). As discussed below, the selection of amulets in the Hoenhoard is unique. In as far as amulets can throw light on this, Hoen and Eketorp may be the most convincing candidates for ritual Viking Age hoards. However, these hoards probably cannot be interpreted as covered by Odin’s law: Hoen is too large to be realistically interpreted as single person’s property. Both contain several identical amulets, cf. Zeiten unreasonably many for one person.

Interpretations of amulets in Viking Age hoards All of the above concerns the hoards generally, not the amulets in the hoards specifically. Little has been written about the amulet’s possible symbolic role in the hoards, and most of it vague. However, the above discussion can structure a similar discussion of the amulets. The entire hoards may be deposited for economic or cultic reasons, and the amulets in them might be deposited as economic or symbolic objects, too. As early as 1878, Petersen interpreted the Thor’s hammers in the hoards as amulets deposited to protect the hoard. Staecker, too, has suggested that crosses in hoards possibly found a new use as hoard-protectors (Staecker 1991, 67; 1999a, 38; 1999c, 96; cf. Gräslund 1984a, 229, Paulsen cited in Stenberger 1958, 170). In this regard, it is interesting that cross and Thor’s hammer are only rarely are found as hack-silver (Fuglesang 1989, 28, Gräslund 1984a, 229, cf. Trotzig 1983, 336 & 380f, Gräslund 2001, 56). In this, they differ from the rest of the hoard material. One of the very few examples of a hacked amulet is the Thor’s hammer from Ålborg Klostermark, where Skovmand remarks that “Even the sacred Thor’s hammer- ornament was not respected” 33 (Skovmand 1942, 46; cat. 200). In Staecker’s catalogue, only one cross pendants out of 117 is really fragmented, while significantly larger numbers are damaged to various degrees (Staecker 1999a, 38f, cf. Capelle 2005, 170). This general antipathy against hacking amulets cannot be explained with their size: the amulets are not much smaller than the coins, which are fragmented. However, Hårdh stresses that the coins’ uniform, high quality of metal may have made them more suitable for hack-silver than were others objects (Hårdh 1996, 25; cf. Mikkelsen 1996, 39). Graham-Campbell also points out that although the crucifix from Lilla Klintagårde is not hack-silver, it has been damaged by numerous test-marks (cat. 475, Graham-Campell 1982, 39). He interprets this

In this connection, I must also mention the Cuerdale hoard and the hoard from Spillingshallen on Gotland (not included). Curdale is interpreted as one of the Dublin Viking’s armies’ paychests. As such, it represents neither single person’s fortune nor “graveless grave goods” (Edwards 1988, 52ff, Graham-Campbell 1982, 34). Spillingshallen consists of 70 kg silver, and is hardly any single person’s property, either (Cassel 2004, 166). The interpretation of the hoards as ritual depositions is consequently not completely convincing for any hoard, but more probable for some than for other hoards. Summary of the discussion of the Viking Age hoards The hoards have been interpreted as purely economic phenomena, private fortunes buried without any religious meaning (Randsborg, Malmer); as part of an elite economy, separate from everyday life and in some way or other associated with larger political ambitions (Samson, Thunmark-Nylén); and as “graveless grave goods”, offerings associated with an individual person (Hedeager). The discussion is as much paradigmatic as factual, and the more religion-focused explanations are very difficult to substantiate or reject from the concrete material. Much of the discussion have focused on fundamentally un-provable assumptions about which hoards were intended for retrieval later and which were not.

33 ”Selv det hellige Thorshammer-smykke har man ikke respekteret”.

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5: The amulets in find-contexts: graves, hoards, settlements and stray finds

Hoard finds, distribution on materials, 217 amulets

Hoard finds, distribution on modern states and districts, 217 amulets 60

250

50

200

40

150

30 100

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0 Gold Silver Copper Lead alloy

Hoard finds, distribution on modern states and districts, 121 sites

Iron Amber

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Hoard finds, distribution on types, 217 amulets

40 35 30 25 20 15 10 5 0 Germany Denmark Skåne Gotland Öland Södenmanland Uppland Other Swedish districts Norway Iceland England Scotland Ireland

Animals Capsules Crosses Lunulae Masks Human figurines Anchors Wheels Strike-a-lights Scythes Miniature weapons (all types) Bowls and sieves Staf-rings Chairs Loose Thor's hammers Thor's hammer rings Unclear

50 45 40 35 30 25 20 15 10 5 0

115

Viking Age A amulets inn Scandinavia a and Westernn Europe 35 30 25 20

Sweden

15

Denmark

10

Norway

5

Total

0

40 30 20 10 0 To otal Sw weden De enmark No orway

Figure 5.3.1-6) Graphs for hoarrds.

as evidence that the crosss had lost its religious meaaning altogether before b depossition. This is probablyy an exaggerationn. Indeed it is hard to im magine a Chriistian cross losing all religious meaning m in a Christian socciety, short of iconnoclast periodds. Yet, the piiece certainlyy also had a recognnised econom mical value. Be B this as it may, hacked amuulets and amuulets with teest-marks are rare exceptions. There T may bee some logic in i seeing thiss as a sign that thee shape of thhe amulets waas occasionally as important as the material.

The overall impreession is thuss that amuletss are includedd h becausse of their m material. They y were rarelyy in hoards fragm mented, but thhere is little reeason to think k that they hadd mucch meaning as amulets within the hoard. ulets in Vikin ng Age hoard ds, specific ob bservations Amu Surp prisingly manny hoard-finnds come fro om Gotland,, Den nmark and Skåne. Gotlaand is espeecially over-represented, also in relation to the overall picture. Inn conttrast, Upplandd is strikinglyy under-repressented amongg hoarrd finds, onlly. There aree no marked d differencess betw ween the threee diagrams. Norway is a little betterr represented if thee investigationn is based on single pieces,, but this t is almost exclusively bbecause of thee Hoen-hoard.. Becaause of Hoenn, the Norweegian hoards contain moree amu ulets pr. hoaard on the average thaan the otherr Scan ndinavian hoards, but Hooen cannot be b consideredd typiccal of rest of the t Norwegiann material.

Against thiss, Stenberger points out that t there arre no known cases of hoards witth a Thor’s haammer of anytthing but silver (Stenberger 19558, 170). Thiss suggests thaat the value of the silver was more m importannt for inclusioon in hoards than was w the amuleets’ form. Thiis argument iss still valid, althoough new finds have appeared since Stenbergers text. It is alsoo valid for most m other types of amulet. Hoaard finds of amulets a of othher materials than silver are praactically non-eexistent (see below). b

The material is dominated d by silver. Gold, too, is over-represented relativve to the overrall picture, altthough it onlyy mak kes up a small part of the hooard material. Much of thiss gold d comes from the Hoen-hoaard. Elsewheree, gold is raree in ho oards, and othher materials aalmost absent.

It might be possible p to elucidate on the role r of the am mulets from their poosition insidee the hoards. Unfortunately U y this information is i not availabble. None of thhe relevant hooards is described in i situ.

116

5: The amulets in find-contexts: graves, hoards, settlements and stray finds There are obvious regional patterns in the deposition of amulets in hoards. The most evident pattern is that deposition of amulets in hoards was more common on the Baltic islands than in the Mälar Valley. This is likely because hoards were also generally more common here. Thor’s hammers are more common in hoards from Denmark and Skåne than in those from central Sweden, likely because of the southern hoards’ early date (Staecker 1999a, 215). Correspondingly, crosses are rather common in Norway, probably because of the Norwegian hoards’ late date.

Among the types, masks, axes, shields, strike-a-lights, capsules and lunulae are very much over-represented. Thor’s hammers are relatively rare, crosses relatively common. Everywhere, most hoard finds were recovered early in the history of archaeology, with the greatest frequency before 1875. Then, the frequency obviously decreased. This can be explained with the expansion of economic activities including agriculture and peat-extraction in the mid1800s. This was due to a combination of quick population growth and new technologies. After 1875, these new activities were gradually concentrated on fewer, ever more intensively exploited lands, and after the 1920s, the growth in population stagnated. The new world order after World War II made it more rational to import many goods and focus the local production on a few, intensively exploited resources. Thus, many marginal areas could again be abandoned. Today, these are often protected as natural reserves.

This reveals at least one pattern in amulet use: silver was not equally available throughout Scandinavia. Therefore, silver amulets were not used in the same ways, or equally often, everywhere. As there is some coincidence between material and type, this also influenced the frequency of different types in different regions. Shields, Thor’s hammers and strike-a-lights are often silver, and may have been limited to the areas directly on the silver route from Russia westwards. They are rare in Central Sweden and in Norway, with the exception of the Swedish iron Thor’s hammers. These may be made specifically for burial, and were not necessarily used in the same way as the other Thor’s hammers. Thus, it is possible that the low frequency of certain types in Norway can be explained with bad access to silver and an unwillingness to make these types from other materials. This is relevant for instance for Thor’s hammers. It is possible that the good access to jet and it poor access to silver here directly influenced which magical technologies were available (more animals, fewer hammers).

The hoards’ history of recovery strongly reflects modern history. Therefore, it is likely that e.g. their geographical distribution reflects modern activity, more than Viking Age realities. However, this ought not influence their type-composition. Section conclusion Economic aspects seem central for an understanding of the hoards. Economic interpretations seem to be able to explain most of the Viking Age the hoards’ features. There are few indications that the deposition in itself was a ritual activity.

It is striking that so few amulets are hacked. This suggests that they preserved some special status, although they were included in the hoards for their material alone. Finally the hoards constitute an important comparative material: there are several types of amulet in the hoards that are not known from graves. This shows that only some types were acceptable as grave goods.

Nor does the distribution of types for amulets in the hoards seem to reflect any strong, ritual tradition. Instead, the amulets in the hoards seem selected as silver. There are no indications that any type of silver amulet was considered especially well suited or unsuited for deposition in hoards, or that any amulet of any other material was considered suited. The amulets in the hoards seem a representative selection of those silver amulets in use at the time of deposition.

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Viking Age amulets in Scandinavia and Western Europe economy and transportation so characteristic of 1970s archaeology cannot be separated from the logic that determined which sites were excavated. Sites were located by their proximity to transport corridors, both past and present. They were excavated because they lay on modern corridors, and interpreted as also placed on ancient ones.

5.4) Settlements and amulets on settlements The Viking Age settlement record includes both rural farms, so-called central places and the first Scandinavian towns. This material has traditionally been seen as providing a less edited image of the period’s day to day practice than does the grave and the hoard finds (Näsman 1987, 69). This assumption is problematic, but there is no doubt that the settlement material includes types and activities that are not represented in graves and hoards.

Since the 1980s, the settlement material has been transformed by the use of metal-detectors. Mechanical stripping results in an unavoidable loss of disturbed small objects, removed with the topsoil. Using metal-detectors, some of these may be retrieved, although rarely localised precisely within the site. This has produced a huge quantitative growth in the number of stray finds and settlement finds, but unfortunately not a proportional growth in the available knowledge about the past.

Settlement finds can generally only be recognised during excavations. Thus, many stray finds may come from settlements that have not been recognized as such. The settlement record is much influenced by the mechanisation of agriculture (above and K. Jensen 2005, 201). The Danish case is illustrative for the development of settlement archaeology:

Changing excavation techniques have thus both meant that we today can recognise sites that used to be invisible, and that finds from these sites are often less precisely contextualised than earlier. We have more information, of a lower quality, and one of archaeology’s new challenges is to make the best possible use of this information.

In the beginning of the 20th century, settlement excavations focused on sites visible on the surface. These included the North Jutland settlement mounds, the Gotland stone foundations, and round fortresses such as Aggersborg and Trelleborg with earthen barricades (Thrane 2000, 15, Näsman & Rasmussen 1998, 5).

On excavated settlements, most finds are traditionally interpreted either as waste or as random losses. Consequently, settlement finds have been seen as a source for the past’s unbiased reality and as a “richer” source for the past than graves and hoards (Näsman 1987, 69). This idea was rejected by Zachrisson (1998, 38). In newer literature, waste deposition, too, has been interpreted as a conscious part of the establishment and delimitation of a human landscape of meaning (Moore 1982, throughout, Hill 2000, 434ff, cf. Hodder 1999, 76, B. Turner 1994, 17, Brüch 2007, throughout). If this is credible for waste, some amulets may also have been deposited systematically on the settlements as part of structured ritual activity (cf. also Rupperl et al. 2003, throughout). Even if the amulets were lost by accident, it is probable that these losses were most frequent where the amulets most often were used. Thus, the exact location of amulets within settlements seems to be meaningful. Unfortunately, it can rarely be detailed or understood.

In the 1950s, Scandinavian archaeologists began using mechanical stripping off of the top-soil, a method pioneered on Grøntoft (Becker 1965, 210; 1966, 41; 1971, 81; cf. Hvass 1985, 12). This method allowed the stripping of far larger surfaces than earlier (Becker 1971, 82). Surface stripping created a whole new understanding of settlements not visible on the soil surface. It led to a new focus on village structures, and on relatively long chronologies. Thrane describes the general development as a change from graves, over objects in pits, to post holes (Thrane 2000, 19). This development has led to far more settlement excavations, but also far fewer registered finds on the individual excavation. Especially after 1979, rescue excavations have dominated the Scandinavian archaeology. The gas pipelines, “Denmark’s longest excavation”, led to an explosion in the number of known sites (increased by some 1700; O. Olsen 1987, 7), and to a rather high degree of standardisation of methods. This was encouraged by entrepreneurs’ wish to avoid unforeseen delays, and by increased mobility of the archaeological workforce. The same people worked in many different areas of the country, and spread ideas of best practice (O. Olsen 1987, 7; B. Andersen 1987, 11 & 15). Speed and standardisation also led to some sites being investigated under less than ideal circumstances, archaeologically speaking (B. Andersen 1987, 15f). Since the gas pipelines, other entrepreneurial works, especially motorways, have continued both traditions. In a discourse analytic perspective, there is a striking symmetry between project and interpretation: these large projects were meant to improve logistics and economy in the present. Archaeologists who worked on them have also interpreted the past landscape from a perspective of logistics and economy. The fascination with resources,

Conditions of recovery and reporting Town finds create special problems. Large parts of the Irish, German and English Viking Age material come from quite small excavations in Dublin, Hedeby and York. All this is “keyhole archaeology”, where it is very unclear if the small excavated areas are representative. Almost all Irish Viking Age amulets come from the Fishamble Street-excavations (cat. 264-267). A rare exception comes from Islandbridge, also in Dublin (cat. 268). Elizabeth O’Brien interprets Islandbridge as a secular (non-monastic) Irish grave-field, reused by Scandinavians in connection with the establishment of the oldest Dublin, in the period AD 840-900 (O’Brien

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5: The amulets in find-contexts: graves, hoards, settlements and stray finds

Figure 5.4.1) The amulets from Hedeby originate mainly in the excavated area. The anchors lay about close to the water, but there is no clear division between pagans and Christians. Basic map redrawn after Resi 1990, map 18-20.

preservation is likely due to the proximity to the river. Ireland is famously wet, but there are no grounds to believe that the rest of Dublin contains as rich remains as Fishamble Street.

1998, 211). Unfortunately, Islandbridge was excavated in the 1800s, and very poorly documented. It is only because of O’Brien’s huge work that we today have any idea about the site’s character. It is still impossible to say how many graves Islandbridge contained, or how much of the site was excavated.

It seems obvious that these two sites do not represent all of the variation that existed in the Viking Age Dublin. We lack settlements from it early phase and perhaps graves from the later phase. “Keyhole archaeology” gives only small views.

However, most Irish finds come from the Fishamble Steet-excavations. In 1962, Dublin City Corporation decided to build a new headquarter in the area of Fishamble Steet and High Street, on the strand of River Liffey. Here, builders discovered well-preserved, watersoaked layers from the 900s on. After many protests over the threatened destruction of the remains, it was decided excavate. The material gives a unique, local insight into Viking Age and medieval Dublin. The investigated area is small and no traces of the oldest Dublin (early 800s) have been found there. The settlement finds are associated with Dublin’s second phase, after AD 917. Nonetheless, the material is unique and very important, especially because of the fantastic preservation. This

The English settlement finds come from several sites in York. The greatest systematic excavation of Viking Age York was Coppergate, excavated in the period 19761981. The Scandinavian presence in York dates after AD 860. This excavation produced a possible Thor’s hammer (cat. 256), a cross (cat. 257) and a human figurine (not included). These finds do not originate from the same closed context. Again, these are scattered bits of the material, not any coherent whole.

119

Viking Age amulets in Scandinavia and Western Europe in discussions of religion and settlement concerns the existence of temples. For instance, Karl Hauck imagined all of south Scandinavia covered by a network of temples. This reconstruction might almost be compared with the later cathedrals or with the situation in Southern Europe in classical antiquity (cf. Drescher & Hauck 1982, 294). However, Olaf Olsen has pointed out a striking lack of recognisable temple buildings in Viking Age Denmark. He consequently suggested that the cult took place either in open air or on the large farms (O. Olsen 1966, throughout; see also Vikstrand 2001, 137). As Britt Solli stresses, there are methodological problems in extending Olsen’s conclusions about the Danish situation to all of Scandinavia (Solli 1996, 200). After Olsen’s work, a few possible temples have turned up, but they are still strikingly rare, relative to the network that Hauck postulated. The most important sites in this connection is Tissø in Denmark, Mære in Norway and Borg, Frösö, Gudingsåkra, Gamla Uppsala and Uppåkra in Sweden (for Tissø and Borg, see below; see also Solli 1996, 107f; for Mære, see Lidén 1969, throughout, Grieg 1954, 202, Rindal 1996, 16; for Frösö see Iregren 1989 throughout, Gräslund 2001, 35, cf. Sanmark 2004, 102; for Gudingsåkra see Gräslund 2001, 33; for Gamla Uppsala see Gräslund 2004, throughout; for Uppåkra, see Larsson 2005 and below). However, relative to how many Viking Age settlements have been excavated, the traces of proper cult buildings are strikingly rare. Consequently, it seems reasonable to assume that most of the cult in Viking Age Scandinavia did not take place in specialised buildings. Olsen’s theory of a religion without special temples was elaborated by Charlotte Fabech. She suggested that the cult changed around the year 500, and moved from lakes and wetlands to large farms (Fabech 1992 throughout and for instance Stjernquist 2001, 7, Hed Jakobsson 2003, 115). Julie Lund rejects this theory on archaeological grounds, and Näsström doubts it based on the later written sources (J. Lund 2003, 2lf and throughout, cf. Andrén 2002, 304; Näsström 2002, 64, cf. Clunies Ross 2002, 27).

Hedeby was excavated on many occasions, and many finds are stray finds, but most amulets come from the two large trenches opened in 1966-1967. These investigated less than 5 % of the area inside the semicircular wall. I had hoped that crosses and Thor’s hammers here could indicate Christian and pagan neighbourhoods, but the material is far too incomplete for any such pattern to emerge. Settlement finds can offer the same problems of classification as other categories. The best illustration may be the Roskilde cross (not included here, Staecker 1999a, No. 35): it was found in 1824 in the head of a statue of St. John the Baptist made in the 1200s. The statue came from Roskilde cathedral, and was sold to be chopped up for firewood. Since the find comes from the cathedral, it must be considered to be deposited in a settlement context. The “deposition” cannot be earlier than the figurine. Although the cross was produced in Viking Age, it was not found in a primary Viking Age context, and it may have been quite old before it was imported into Scandinavia. It is a Viking Age cross found in Scandinavia, but it cannot regarded as a cross form Viking Age Scandinavia. The Roskilde cross is an extreme example, but many settlement find come from sites with long, complicated chronology, and from contexts with very uncertain date. The settlement material was accumulated and transformed through a long time, and it is often problematic to relate the amulets to other structures that may have a quite different date. 5.4.2) Viking Age settlements as specific frame of reference Viking Age settlements were very varied and specialised. In the early Viking Age, the Danish picture is dominated by villages, landing sites and single farms. In Central Sweden there used to be a general agreement that the first villages were very late. However, newer research has shown that here, too, villages existed already in the Iron Age (Biuw 1991, throughout). In other parts of Scandinavia, population densities were much lower, and here single farms are still the only known settlement type. Some of the period’s settlements must be interpreted as central places, part of a larger administrative structure. During the Viking Age, proper towns also appeared in Scandinavia. It is debatable how strongly separated Viking Age towns were from their hinterlands. Some researchers see them almost as large villages, closely connected with the local countryside, others as early versions of the Middle Ages’ towns, legally and economically rather isolated (see for example Carelli 2001, 99 and 130ff, Ambrosiani 1981, 18, Bäck 1997, throughout, contra S. Nielsen 2002, throughout, Ambrosiani & Clarke quoted in Ringtsted 1997). Some towns may have been more isolated from the hinterland than were others.

More recently, Hedeager has argued that even those settlements that were not specialised temples might contain mythological references. She sees parallels between the structure of powerful centres such as Roman Iron Age Gudme, as revealed by excavation, and that of Snorre’s 13th century description of Valhalla. Hedeager suggests that the central places were understood as the centre of the world (Hedeager 2002, 5; cf. Andrén 2006, 38). If the similarities between mythology and archaeology are real, causality may have gone either way: people in power may have designed centres based on the gods’ mythic dwellings, and/or storytellers have described the gods’ dwellings based on human centres of power. Several newer studies focus on the farm as the centre in people’s image of the world (see for example Solli 2002, 27ff; overview in Raudvere 2003, 21). Where Hedeager focuses on great farms and aristocratic sites, other researchers see similar patterns around more ordinary settlements. I find much of this speculative: these

Several researchers have explored the relationship between settlement and religion. One important question 120

5: The amulets in find-contexts: graves, hoards, settlements and stray finds As for types, anchors are over-represented, and individual types absent, but by and large this image resembles the general one.

interpretations often build on concepts such as chaos and cosmos, infield and outfield. Researchers induct these concepts into the material, interpreting the Danish and Swedish settlements of the 1000s through a reading of the Icelandic sources of the 1300s, and a collection of concepts from pagan Greece in the 500s BC. In both cases, the always already known frame of reference seems to be of doubtful relevancy, and tautology seems a real danger. We have no evidence at all that “chaos” and “cosmos” were meaningful concepts for people in the 1000, even if these may be read into texts form another region in the 1300s.

The graphs for time of recovery show an artificially even image. Really, the tendency in Sweden and Denmark is not the same. The frequency of Swedish settlement finds fell after the mid-20th century, as Swedish archaeology concentrated more on other periods and types of finds. In contrast, Danish archaeology has to ever higher degree concentrated on excavating settlements, including Viking Age settlements. There is consequently every reason to believe that the near future, too, will see a growth in the number of Danish settlement finds. More generally, the graph shows that the large settlement-investigations began already in the period 1950-1974, before mechanically stripping became common. These early investigations typically took place on sites such as Birka, Helgö and Aggersborg. Here, house foundations and earthen walls made it possible to define the settlement although the individual buildings could not always be observed. It was exactly this sort of excavations that led to the development of surface stripping techniques. In this case, then, techniques were developed to match research interests, rather than vice versa.

The written sources say very little about where on the farm the cult took place, what actions it involved, and which role the amulets played. This can only be studied from archaeology. Amulets on Viking Age settlements - general discussion Germany is very much over-represented in all three diagrams, almost exclusively because of Hedeby. This is an artefact of my method of registration. Nonetheless, it is striking that the rich settlement material from Hedeby is not matched by similarly rich grave goods, in contrast to the comparable material from Birka. Of the more than 3000 excavated graves on Hedeby, only three contained amulets, compared with 94 of some 1000 excavated graves on Birka. Denmark, too, is over-represented, with material from a number of different medieval towns. This pattern confirms the conclusions in the chapter about graves: again, the Mälar Valley has unreasonably many amulets from graves, compared with the number from other contexts.

Amulets on observations

Viking

Age

settlements,

specific

Ideally, the distribution of the amulets within settlements might reveal if amulets were accidentally lost or systematically deposited in special holy regions. Unfortunately, circumstances are far from ideal. There are only a few sites where enough amulets have been found to support any such analysis, and even fewer where a real overview is possible. Thus, this is not possible on Birka or Hedeby. On Hedeby, the early excavations were concentrated on the graves, and the settlement remains very incompletely excavated. Almost all finds come from small area, centrally in town. From these finds, it is not possible to get any overview over the town as a whole. The Hedeby-material also remains very poorly published. On Birka, far most amulet finds from the settlement itself are old stray finds with very incomplete contextual information. However, there are some new finds with better information. These may indicate systematic deposition, rather than loss. Thus, Price remarks that “A good example emerged at Birka in the excavations of the early 1990s, when a number of amulets of different kinds were found built into the make-up of a road through the town. Too many of these were found within a small area for there to be any question of accidental loss, and it seems certain that an amulet ring, Þórr’s [sic] hammer and a miniature weapon were deliberately laid down while the road was undergoing one of its periodic repairs” (Price 2002, 63; here cat. 811-815). Of course, such finds are open to interpretation. In an earlier, more cautious paper, Price remarks that “The possibility for accidental loss of small objects of this type obviously exists; however, not only the nature of the amulet ring (relatively large,

The most marked difference between the diagrams is that Uppland is far more dominant in the second than in the first diagram. This is an artefact of method, caused by different the strategy of excavation: the Uppland material originates especially from Helgö and Birka, the German especially from Hedeby. The Helgö settlement and parts of Birka were investigated in a few, large campaigns, producing many finds for each campaign. In contrast Hedeby was investigated through many small campaigns, each producing fewer finds for each campaign. Thus, the differences are an artefact of my form of registration, where each campaign counts as an independent find situation. The material is dominated by iron and copper-alloy. The high proportion of iron corresponds largely to the average for all types of context, while copper-alloys are overrepresented in relation to the overall picture. Lead and amber are also over-represented, while silver is strongly under-represented. The over-representation of copperalloys and lead in relation to silver suggest that the precious material was selected against. This supports the interpretation that the settlement material represents or includes random losses or thrown away pieces.

121

Viking Age amulets in Scandinavia and Western Europe

Settlement finds, distribution on modern states and districts, 296 amulets

Settlement finds, distribution on materials, 296 amulets 160 140 120 100 80 60 40 20 0

120 100 80 60 40 20 0

Gold Silver Copper Lead alloy

Settlement finds, distribution on modern states and districts, 100 sites

Other

0

0 Ireland

Animals Capsules Crosses Lunulae Masks Human figurines Anchors Wheels Strike-a-lights Scythes Miniature weapons (all types) Bowls and sieves Staf-rings Chairs Loose Thor's hammers Thor's hammer rings Unclear

20 England

5 Scotland

40

Iceland

10

Norway

60

Other Swedish districts

15

Uppland

80

Södenmanland

20

Öland

100

Gotland

25

Skåne

120

Denmark

Jet

Settlement finds, distribution on types, 296 amulets

30

Germany

Iron Amber

122

5: The T amulets inn find-contextss: graves, hoa ards, settlemennts and stray ffinds 40 35 30 25 20

Sweden

15

Denmark

10

Norway

5

Total

0

40 30 20 10 0

Totaal Sweden Denmark Norw way

Figure 5.4.2-6) Graphs for settleement finds.

complicated and noisy if dropped) but also the pressence of three objeects of pagan religious siggnificance withhin a 3m stretch of o street axiss make such an interprettation doubtful in thhe extreme” (P Price 1995, 755f). Price seem ms to have grown more confiddent over tim me, with no new evidence to support s his connfidence.

gether destroyyed by ploughhing and it is not n possible too altog locaate the amullets within tthe site. Oth her sites aree discu ussed in detaiils below. Morreover, settlem ments are coomplex placees, especiallyy those used for long l periods by many people. p Manyy interrpretations paay entirely tooo little attentio on to internall chro onology. Settlements are paalimpsest sitees, with manyy perio ods of actionn overlaying eeach other, an nd unless wee can tease these out, any innterpretation must fail too conv vince.

Hed Jakobsoon (2003, 1992) describes a probable ritual r structured deeposit of iron rings, human and animal bones b on Birka (not ( includedd here). How wever, thesee are exceptions. Most M amuletss from the Birka settlemennt are stray finds without w any desscription of coontext.

Thee Tissø seettlement Fug gledegård

On other sitees, there are only o a few finnds: Aggersboorg is very incomppletely excavvated, but here five posssible amulets weree found, appaarently in rubbbish pits (Scchultz 1949, 103; here cat. 185-189). Onn Toftegård and Smørenge, single Thoor’s hammeers were found f (Thornbjerg 1998, Laurseen 2006, 1f; here cat. 1477 and 139). Both siites seem to be b rich magnaates’ farms or local central places. On Uppåkra, finds include a Thhor’s hammer, a possible p Odinn-mask and an a encolpium (cat. 554, 550, 5552). Just as on o Tissø, elitee crafts and exotic e import are well-represente w ed in the mateerial (Hårdh 1998, 1 113ff.). How wever, the Viking V Age layers l are allmost

on

gården Kalmerg

and d

Lakee Tissø is Zeaaland’s largesst lake, and iss a nexus in a net of 62 km off waterways ((Pedersen & Dreyer 2003,, 10). In the Vikingg Age, beforee the area wass drained, thee wateer was evenn higher thaat today (Ibiid. 11). Thee mag gnate’s farm was w probably partly placed here becausee of th his fine access by water (JJørgensen et alii a 2003, 52).. The area has beenn investigatedd with metal-d detectors afterr the 1970s, and the t proper exxcavations beegan in 19955 (Jørg gensen 2003)..

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Viking Age amulets in Scandinavia and Western Europe trenches of different length. No attempt has been made towards any more coherent investigation of larger surfaces. Ditch 1, on the north east side of the settlement terrace, revealed a longhouse and a ring with three miniature sickles (cat. 663). Brunstedt associates these with fertility gods and a desire for a safe and happy future (Brunstedt 1996, 22). This interpretation does not build on new observations, but repeats Arrhenius’ speculations from 1961. As discussed above, there is little evidence to support these associations. Ditch 14, on the west side (the land side) of the terraces, yielded a Thor’s hammer ring with Thor’s hammer (cat. 662) as well as finds for the 800s and Middle Ages (Ibid. 40).

The site includes five phases of continuous settlement which from 600 to 1000 AD (Jørgensen et alii 2003, 50ff.). Excavator Lars Jørgensen suggests that inhabitants belonged to society’s absolute aristocracy, and that the site likely had its own craftspeople attached (Jørgensen 1998, 242). There are traces of both seasonal market and craftwork on the site, including moulds for Thor’s hammers and supposedly miscast pieces (Jørgensen an alii 2003, 54 & 61; Jørgensen 2003, 202). Jørgensen also stresses the strikingly large storage buildings and the lack of economy-buildings. He suggests that Tissø was centre in a system for collections and storage of agricultural products from the surrounding area, rather than a working farm (Jørgensen 2003, 190).

Adelsö is very incompletely investigated. There are no grounds to believe that these two amulets are all that exist on-site or a representative selection of this.

On the lot “ca. 20” Thor’s hammers were found, along with a fenced-in possible cult area (Jørgensen an alii 2003, 58, J. Lund 2003, 45). In phase 4, dated to late 900s and the 1000s, a unique, round or octagonal building was constructed, interpreted as a cult-house. Jørgensen suggests that throughout phase 1 to 4 (600s to 1000s), the same general spatial structure existed, with a smithy north of the hall and cult south of it (Jørgensen 2003, 193). It has not been possible to map the Tissø-finds as this material is still being processed. Jørgensen suggest that people kept the site remarkable clean, also compared with other magnate’s farms (Jørgensen 2003, 200). This would suggest that the objects that were left represent meaningful depositions, rather than random losses.

Thus, both the amulets from Adelsö were found in search trenches on a very incompletely investigated site. Thus, it is not possible to say much more about their meaning. It is nonetheless thought-provoking that Arrhenius’ association between miniature sickles, agriculture and fertility have been repeated on Adelsö. This is one of the least agrarian sites in the Viking Age material. Officials who administrated the trading town of Birka probably had as little to do with harvest and agriculture as anyone in the Viking Ages did. Miniature sickles have also been found on Birka and in a grave on the Kymlinge gravefield, where the association to agriculture and fertility seem just as far-fetched. None of these contexts seem to support the association with agriculture. Thus, the Adelsö-finds may illustrate that this interpretation is continuously being reproduced with a total disregard of actual, archaeological material.

Most amulets from Tissø (cat. 19-92) seem to come from the site’s last phases. Unlike for instance Uppåkra, there are no amulets of characteristic Roman Age types. The finds of mis-cast Thor’s hammers and possible models of lead show that some amulets were produced locally. The distribution maps for the different amulets also show that several types have massive over-concentrations on Tissø and Birka, where there are also traces of local production. This might indicate that most of the amulets are local products. However, this find-picture is also formed by the excavation history.

The Thor’s hammer ring has not provoked any comment from the excavators, although settlement find of this type are unusual. Rare as they are, they do suggest that Thor’s hammer rings could also appear without direct connection to the dead, as discussed above.

Adelsö

Borg in Östergötland

Adelsö is an island in Lake Mälarn, next to to Björkö. It is interpreted as a royal manor, established for the administration of Birka. Excavations in 1991-1994 revealed that the specialised settlement on Adelsö was established already in the 700s, probably as early as Birka. The finds support the site’s elite character: there are traces of gold-working, imports, and an animal bone material dominated by pig and ox. This last resembles the Birka record. As Adelsö is not a large trading site, this fauna is interpreted as indicating elite associations (Brunstedt 1999, 86). Thus, the royal manor seems established at the same time as Birka, but continued after Birka was abandoned (Brunstedt 1999, 84). Most of the Viking Age finds are dated to the 800s and the early the 900s.

This site should not be confused with Borg in Mære, Norway. The excavations at Borg led the excavator to suggest a connection between Thor’s hammer rings, several pagan gods, and a gendered structure of space. I cannot follow her arguments. From the limited published material, I see no evidence for any of these associations. I shall not devote more space to this site than absolutely necessary. From what I have seen of it, the interpretation rests on circular arguments. Until hard data and coherent arguments are published, I see little point in discussing the site at all. Borgs sätteri in Östergötland was excavated by RAÄs UV-unit in the period 1992-1993, in connection with the building of a motorway. The site is a central place, occupied from the Roman Iron Age to the Middle Ages,

These excavations are only preliminary published (Brunstedt 1996, 4). They included twenty search 124

5: The amulets in find-contexts: graves, hoards, settlements and stray finds on the bones of sows being concentrated close to the amulet rings, and less on the north/south division.

and likely aristocratic. Written sources refer to Borg as a royal manor in AD 1333. The excavators suggest that this site was a central place already in the Viking Age, and that the central place function was taken over by the royal manor (Nielsen n.d. 195f). The excavations revealed activities from several periods of prehistory.

I cannot follow Nielsen’s argument. As far as I can see form the published plans, far too many boar bones lie in the south half of the site to support any division between north and south, boars and sows. These are 8-15 of a total of 22 finds, dependent of the delimitation of the two halves. Nor do the published maps suggest any obvious divide between the two halves.

As far as I have been able to learn, the excavation remains unpublished. Only a number of very small, preliminary papers have yet appeared. These discuss only the late phase and the presumed ritual structures.

Nielsen’s interpretation seems based in some sort of implicit structuralism. However, it is a central element in structuralist theory that the structures are binary (see the theory section, regarding Sassure). If relevant structure is gender, the two genders cannot both be defined up against each other and mixed at the same time. Either the space was divided in masculine and feminine or it was not. If the northern part of the site is masculine, it cannot at the same time be feminine. If the southern is feminine, it cannot at the same time be masculine. If both parts are both masculine and feminine, the opposition between masculine and feminine cannot be fundamental in the system. Yet Nielsen seems to make both contradictory claims at the same time. She interprets the north as masculine because of boars’ bones, and the south as feminine despite them. She inteprets iron extraction ovens as feminine, with no discussion of why they are found in the northern, “masculine” part of the site (Nielsen 1996, 384f). Thus, by Nielsen’s criteria, there are masculine and feminine elements in the north (boars, ovens) and in the south (boars, sows, amulets), yet she takes this as evidence that the north was masculine and the south feminine.

The area where the amulets were found includes five buildings, of which four lay in a cluster, the fifth (building 10) somewhat more isolated. The settlement seems to be a magnate’s farm. In the site’s north-western part lay two heaths for iron extraction or metalworking (Nielsen 2006, 243). One building (building 5) is interpreted as a cult house. Two amulet rings were found inside this house, the 98 others in a concentration 8 meter to the west. This concentration is interpreted as a hoard, deposited in a pit. The findmaterial outside the cult house consisted of animal bones, especially of pig, but also of dog and horse and of wild animals (fox, beaver, badger, deer, eagle and others). The dogs had been uncommonly brutally treated, and at least one was decapitated (Nielsen & Lindeblad 2000, 478f). There are exceptional numbers of cranial bones of pig in the material. All these animal bones are interpreted as traces of sacrifice. The cult house was built later than the other buildings, with a suggested date around the year 900. At least one building had already been torn down before this cult house was built (building 7; C14-dated to the early 700s). The cult house was torn down, and the lot sealed with a layer of imported gravel, dated around the year 1000. It is thus reasonable to date the cult house to pagan times. Several of the other buildings continued in use after this.

The association of the rings to Freya is also somewhat illogical. Nielsen also connects the pendants to Odin and Thor. If the structure specifically reflects the opposition Freya/Frey, or masculine/feminine, then the rings cannot be associated with both Freya and Thor. The association of some of the rings to Thor seems illogical if they lay on Freya’s feminine part of the site, as Nielsen claims. If the rings are feminine, they hardly refer to Thor. If they refer to Thor, they are hardly feminine. Also, the idea about a partition of the cult house into an empty, masculine half, and a feminine half with amulet rings, associated with Odin or Thor, must surprise. If the southern part is to be associated with these male gods, it is not clear why the north half should be associated with masculinity or Frey. He is not the logical opposite to Thor or Odin, nor is he the only god in mythology who can be associated with a boar.

The amulet material consists of a total of 100 rings, including two from the house and 98 from the hoard. Only five carries pendants. Only these will be treated as amulets in the present work (cat 1265-1269). They are all from the hoard (Lindeblad & Nielsen 1997, Lindeblad 1996, Nielsen 1996). Nielsen points out that the amulet hoard lay close to a rock, a relationship also known on Helgö and Pollista (Nielsen 1996, 382). The hoard may have been deposited in one event, or accumulated through several depositions. Nielsen suggests that the pig bones reveal a gendered structure of space. Her account of this is not altogether identical in different texts. In some versions, she emphasises an association between the sows in south, the amulets, the feminine and Freya, the boars in north with the heaths, the masculine and Frey. She sees the same structure inside the cult house, where she associates the south part with two amulet rings with Freya, and the empty north part with Frey (see for example Nielsen 2006, 245). In other texts Nielsen places more emphasis

Thus, I am not convinced the structuralist gender metaphor is the best frame of interpretation for Borg. Besides this, it remains an open question how the internal chronology is to be understood. Nielsen’s interpretation seems to require all relevant remains to reflect one overreaching structure, yet they obviously date to several different phases. Building 5 and 7 are not contemporary, as Nielsen herself points out. Nor do I 125

Viking Age amulets in Scandinavia and Western Europe believe the heaths can be contemporary with building 6. They seem too close to the house for safety.

find it difficult to see any coherent sense in her different suggested interpretations.

Since building 5 was only built after building 7 was torn down, it seems likely that this changed the whole structure of space. At least some of the bones have given C14-dates in the 700s, too early for any association with building 5 (Nielsen n.d. 198). This might suggest that there is no single structure that can explain both early and late finds on the site.

Borg is a fascinating site, but we cannot make use of its archaeological potential if we insist on reducing it to an illustration of structures and associations already are known from the Edda. In an archaeological perspective it is also problematic that the internal chronology is so poorly explained. As on Tissø, the cult house on Borg lies in the south. Unlike Tissø, the iron working here is not directly north of the cult house, but more to the northwest. Compared with Tissø, the structures on Borg are less permanent, and consequently possibly less formalised. Where the same structure seems repeated in more phases on Tissø, on Borg it seems only to represent an individual phase, or single events. In contrast to Tissø and Uppåkra, but as in Borg in Mære, is the cult house is the largest building on the site (Nielsen 2006, 243).

In addition, I suspect animal bones may have been moved by animals and other taphonomic circumstances. Dogs, pigs, foxes and humans are known to move bones around. All these are in evidence on site. This issue need to be addressed before the bones can be used to reveal any spatial structure. As I shall explain below, I believe that the relation between especially Thor’s hammers and gender was complicated. I do not see Borg as support for any unambiguous identification with one gender-identity. Instead of an interpretation based specifically on structuralist binary oppositions, Nielsen’s texts can support for a more open interpretation. She admits that other associations are possible (Nielsen 2006, 246). As an example, she mentions Lotte Hedeager’s association between pigs (of all sexes?) and war. Elsewhere, she has interpreted all of the amulet rings as strike-a-lights, associated with “the cleansing and life giving fire”, and the half-rings as scythes, associated with fertility gods (Nielsen 1995, 99; n.d. 201). As discussed earlier, such interpretations were invented by Stenberger and Arrhenius, and owe nothing to Viking Age sources. Both are pure projection.

Helgö The settlement on Lillön in Mälarn was excavated in the period 1954 to 1957. The ancient remains are complex and confusing, but include at least five house groups and several grave-fields (Holmqvist et al. 1961, 47). There are traces of unbroken activity on site from the Roman Iron Age to Viking Age. Also, there are traces of activity in the Bronze Age and the Middle Ages, without convincing evidence of continuity (but see A. Johansen 1988, 72). Most amulets come from house group 2, which is also strikingly rich on imports and waste from metal working. As Lamm points out, the excavated part of Helgö does not seem to be representative. It is especially striking that the excavated settlements primarily represent the Early Iron Age, while the excavated graves are especially from late Iron Age. The Viking Age settlement is very poorly represented in the material, yet the graves indicate that it did exist (Lamm 1988, 96).

In the same text, Nielsen attempts to relate the finds of bones of dog and horse to Adam of Bremen’s description of Uppsala’s sacrifices of human beings, dog and horse (Ibid. 101f). The parallel seems unreasonable: no human beings were found on Borg, but many other species were, species not found in Adam’s text. Nielsen thinks the Borg animals sacrifices because one dog was decapitated, but Adam claims sacrifices in Uppsala were hanged, and as almost all other written sources agree sacrifices usually were. If Borg is indeed a pagan sacrificial site, the differences between archaeology’s reality and Adams description are at least as important as the similarities. These poor analogies sound too much like grasping at straws.

During the half-century since excavation began, several different interpretations have been advanced. Holmqvist stressed the economic aspects, and interpreted Helgö as a craft and trade site, a predecessor for Birka and Stockholm. This interpretation seems to build on his theory of Helgö as Birka’s predecessor, as much as on the finds (A. Lundström 1988, 11ff, cf. Holmqvist et al 1961, 30). This is an “always already known narrative”. Holmqvist also interpreted Helgö as cult centre, without detailing how he understood the relationship between these activities.

Nielsen has suggested so many different mythological references that they cannot all be equally important. Given all the suggested associations, Borg becomes so polysemous as to be incomprehensible. Nielsen has variously associated Borg with Freya, Frey, Odin and Thor, sacrifice, fertility, war and crafts, and with almost all the themes found in the written sources. I do not think that all these associations help to understand the archaeological material. Nielsen’s interpretative method seems to build on pure projection of written sources and theoretical models down on the archaeological material. I

Early critics instead saw Helgö as a common farm. Later this interpretation has also been criticised, and it now seems clear that Helgö is an unusual site (see for example A. Lundström 1988, throughout). Early and processualistic interpretations focused on economy. In recent works, Torun Zachrisson attempts a more post-processualist interpretation and places more 126

5: The T amulets inn find-contextss: graves, hoa ards, settlemennts and stray ffinds

Figure 5.4.7) Helgö housegrroup 2. The maany structures make m it difficullt to recognise any pattern. Reedrawn after va arious plans inn Holmqvist et al. a 1961. NB: I have turned theese around to place p north at th he top. For reassons unknown tto me, most pub blications show w these maps with south at the top. t

weight on thhe cult aspectss and meaning. She sees Helgö H as centre for both the holy, the markket’s sanctityy and healing activvities (T. Zachhrisson 2004, 347ff). She points p out that houuse group 2 is not practically placed: the settlement laay on a hilllside facing north, unlikee the graves, so thhat the snows remain for much m longer onn the settlement thhan on the grrave-field (T. Zachrisson 2004, 2 158).

oncentrated att The archaeologiccal investigatiions were co ded into eightt housse group 2, whhere the remaains were divid “hou uses”, numbeered with Rooman numeraals. Some off these “houses” innclude severall independent buildings, orr phasses of the saame buildingg, and some may not bee build dings at all. The T most convincing ones are house IA A and IB (three phaases), II, III (att least three phases), V andd VI. They T more duubious buildinngs are “housee” IV, VII andd VIIII. “House” IV V was dominaated by a larg ge, triangularr ston ne setting thatt Holmqvist tthought was built b over thee ruins of an oldeer house. However, this has h not beenn conv vincingly documented (seee below). For “house” VII,, Holm mqvist suggest that this w was not a hou use at all, butt may y be a bit of a palisade. “Hoouse” VIII waas very poorlyy preserved, not leeast because of modern bu uildings. Thee mateerial from herre consisted oof a concentraation of tracess of metal m work, and a a numberr of lumps of o burnt clay,, interrpreted as a daub wall. T This does no ot permit anyy preccise delimitatioon of the housse.

The island is officially known as Lillön, L “the small s island”. Thhe alternativve name “Helgö” “ is first documented in AD 1287. However, H Zacchrisson pointts out that the otherr names for thhe island cannnot be documeented before the Middle M Ages eitther. Consequentlyy, she argues that as likely that the settleement actually wass called “Heelgö”, also in i prehistoryy (cf. Holmqvist ann alii 1961, 23, 2 Holmqvistt & Granath 1980, 1 13). She takkes the place-nname as eviddence for a sppecial function: the element “helg-” is etymoloogically assocciated with “holy””, but is polysemous. Vikstrand V sugggests alternative interpretationns as “hooly, sacrosaanct”, “dedicated, reserved” annd “whole, undivided, heal” h (Vikstrand 226ff). 2 The element “-öö” means issland. Zachrisson believes b that Helgö H was booth associated with healing, religgion and the sanctity s of the market. Therre are a number of other Helgö-nnames in the area which doo not seem to bee central pllaces (Vikstrrand 2001, 239). 2 Vikstrand allso suggests that t the propeer religious centre c was not on Helgö H itself, but b close by on o Torslunda (Ibid. ( 241). Nonethheless, there seems to be evidence of some s cult on Helgöö, too.

For several of the “houses””, three phasses could bee reco ognised, and the t relative pposition makees it unlikelyy that all houses sttood at the saame time. Deespite this, alll plotss contained finds from the same peeriods. Somee mateerial may be waste depossited outside those housess that stood when it was depoosited. This may m apply too mateerials from hoouse I, which is C14-dated to t the 200s too 400ss but where thhe finds date to the Migrattion Period too Vikiing Age (Holm mqvist an alii 1970, 148). On the backgrouund of the finnds, Lundström m interpretedd housse I (A and B) B as a hall, uused for feastss and cult (inn

127

Viking Age A amulets inn Scandinavia a and Westernn Europe

Figure 5.4.8) Helgö H house grroup 1 and 4. Again A there is no n obvious patttern in the amulets’ distributioon. Redrawn affter Reisborg & Stjernqvist 19993. Scales of 100 meters.

128

5: The amulets in find-contexts: graves, hoards, settlements and stray finds house IA and IB. There is a concentration of sickles by house III’s south wall, but this house’s north wall has not been excavated, so it is unclear how important this is. A similar concentration is not evident for the other houses. There is no special concentration of amulets in house IB, to which Holmqvist ascribed a special role in the cult. Given the very high concentration of amulets in house I, III and V, the absence of these in house VI is also striking. Finally, there may well be more amulets outside the excavated area. It is obviously problematic that the areas north, east and west of house III and south of house II and V have not been investigated.

Holmqvist et al. 1970, 132ff). She interpreted house III, V, VI and possibly VII as living areas, and house VIII and possibly VII as workshops. The others were too poorly preserved for interpretation. Others have advanced other interpretations. I have no command of all these, let alone all the evidence fielded for or against them. An exhaustive study of Helgö and the 20 volumes of evidence published so far would take up far too much time and room for the present study. Frankly, since the location is unique, it is not that important: no matter how exciting Helgö may be, observations here need not have any relevancy anywhere else.

Lars Jørgensen has drawn my attention to the clustering of amulets in the area of house I and between house I and II and V. Here, a great number of amulets were found on a small area. However, I would have more confidence in this pattern if the areas south of house II and V and north of house III had also been excavated. As is, the pattern simply shows that amulets and house remains were preserved in the same area.

The catalogue for Helgö includes 45 pieces of special interest for the present work (cat. 834-883). These are Thor’s hammers, strike-a-light pendants and miniature sickles, one miniature knife and one miniature axe, and some so-called “triangular pendants”. The latter are probably Thor’s hammers of Ströms type D (Ström 1984, 128). The catalogue also includes 29 iron rings of the type that Swedish archaeologists refer to as amulet rings, with or without pendant rings and similar iron pendants. These rings are not treated in the present work, as they are not miniatures of other objects. Thus, they do not meet my definition of symbols. All this is iron. In addition, two objects of copper-alloy were found, a miniature wheel and a mask. The mask is stylistically older than Viking Age, and will not be included in the present work. The wheel will be. Finally, SHM’s electronic catalogue refers to pieces not mentioned in the original publication: two miniature spears “from Helgö” and a strike-a-light of copper-alloy (cat. 878, 879, 861). Zachisson mentions miniature spears from “house” IV, and these are probably the same pieces (T. Zachrisson 2004, 148). However, the strike-a-light shaped copperalloy amulet cannot be localised more precisely within the site.

House group 1 and 4 present the same problems as house group 2. House group 1’s building 3, 4 and 8 are stratigraphically distinct phases in the same place. Consequently, it is not always possible to associate the amulets with one of these buildings, rather than the others. In house group 4, too, several different buildings lay atop each other, and as in house group 2, the amulets often lay between the buildings. None the less, it is striking, how many amulets there are from all Helgö’s house groups, compared with other contemporary settlements. All in all, Helgö is a very complex site. The excavations are incomplete, and the long time of use makes it very difficult to see convincing patterns in the material. There are no grounds to believe that the whole symbolic understanding of space stayed unchanged throughout the site’s use-life.

The close, repeated settlement makes it difficult to associate the amulets certainly with specific houses. Thus, a number of pieces are found in the areas between house I and house IIIA, but it is unclear if these are deposited relative to house I or house III. Similar problems concern the pieces found between house IA and house VA, north of house V and house I (cf. Holmqvist et al. 1970, 129f). Even those amulets found inside the houses may have been deposited in periods when there was no house on the plot. Only two amulets can be credibly associated with an identified house: two miniature sickles found in the wall ditch of house IIIA, phase 2. Otherwise, neither stratigraphy nor date is precise enough to say which buildings and which amulets are contemporary. The only place where a clear stratigraphy could only be observed was “house” IV, and here all amulets came from layer 1/2, the top (last) layer in the stratigraphy (Holmqvist et al. 1970, 153).

Pollista Pollista was excavated in connection with the construction of motorway E18. The site is a village lot with continuous settlement from late Iron Age to the 1960s. This situation has produced very thick cultural layers and a complex excavation situation. The excavators chose to excavate representative parts of the site by hand, while other parts were excavated using machines. It was rarely possible to distinguish real strata, so most of the site was excavated using artificial stratigraphy (Hållans & Svensson 1998, 15ff). Thus, individual finds are difficult to date stratigraphically and to relate to each other. Also, the find-picture is very incomplete. As large parts of the site were excavated mechanically, probably not all small objects were found. The distribution of small finds within this site may show more about which areas were dug by hand, than about where small finds existed.

With all these reservations, the proper Thor’s hammers seem most often to be found at the houses’ south walls. Triangular pendants are often found in the west end of

11 buildings are dated to the Viking Age. These overlay 129

Viking Age amulets in Scandinavia and Western Europe Zachrisson’s (2004, throughout) interpretations, the holy seems to have played a significantly larger, possibly even dominant role for Tissø and Helgö.

each other, and cannot all be contemporary (cf. Ibid. 32). The excavators suggest a division in three groups, called the north farm, the middle farm and the south farm. They also suggest that the middle farm is part of the same unit as the north farm (Ibid. 34). Thus, these three groups correspond to two households. The south farm is only represented by two buildings, but may extend outside it excavated area.

One of the most obvious differences is the role the grave material plays. Both at Birka and at Hedeby a large number of graves have been excavated. These seem closely connected to the towns. At Tissø, no grave-field has (yet) been found. On Helgö, several grave-fields have been excavated, but compared with those at the urban sites, these are strikingly small. Nothing suggests that Helgö had a population comparable with the first towns’. However, the differences between the graves at Birka and Hedeby are more striking than the similarities. The grave material from Birka is fantastically rich, also after local circumstances, and shows an international trading society. Most graves at Hedeby contained no goods, although the variation in burial custom suggests an environment just as cosmopolitan as on Birka. From Birka, over one hundred amulets are known from 94 from the roughly 1000 excavated graves. In contrast, there are six amulets from three graves among the over 3000 excavated graves at Hedeby. Thus, grave amulets and grave goods generally apparently played a far larger role in Birka than in Hedeby.

Across the entire site there was butchery waste of horse. The excavators associate this with pagan cult meals. They interpret this as traces of an early Viking Age phase, when both farms were pagan (Ibid. 51 and 86). Two crosses (not included), two Thor’s hammers (cat. 1201 and 1203) and four amulet rings, one of these with Thor’s hammer (cat. 1202 and three not included) were found at Pollista. References to three amulet rings (p. 49) must be mistakes: catalogue and maps alike show four pieces. The excavators interprets these amulets as evidence of a later Viking Age phase, when the inhabitants of the north farm still were pagans, but the inhabitants of the south farm were Christian. They suggest that the pagans used the amulets in order to mark their identity and the border against south (Ibid. 66). This interpretation presupposes that all amulets are contemporary with each other and later than the horse bones. However, Jörn Staecker dates one cross to the High Middle Ages (cross 55707, Staecker, personal communication). The other cross is so simple that it probably cannot be dated. If it High medieval cross was deposited without connection to the Viking Age settlement, the undated cross may also be deposited then. I see no strong arguments to support the claim that the south farm was Christian in the Viking Age. Instead, the material can be interpreted as showing a chronological division. In this interpretation, horse bones and pagan amulets come from a Viking Age phase, when both farms were pagan, and both crosses come from a medieval phase, when the whole area were Christian. Given the way this site was excavated, it seems overconfident to base any interpretation of negative evidence, such as the absence of crosses in the north and hammers in the south.

Section conclusion The settlement material seems dominated by the cheaper materials (lead, iron, copper-alloy), much as does as the grave material. This supports the traditional assumption that parts of the material may have been lost by accident. However, other parts seem deposited in connection with production, or as systematic depositions (Tissø, Helgö, Borg). Consequently, the settlement material is very heterogenic. The record is partially shaped by post-depositional factors. A few excavations of central places (Tissø, Helgö, Birka, Hedeby, Uppåkra) contribute very heavily. Almost all of these are research excavations. In contrast, differences of preservation seem not to influence the picture: iron is well-represented, although it is preserved far worse in the ground than the other metals. This shows that iron amulets were not only made for funerals. They were also used by the living. The high number of amulets of copper-alloys on the settlements might reveal a group of amulets that were carried in daily life, but rarely included in graves and hoards. The high representation of amber could suggest something similar, with the reservation that amber amulets would not survive a cremation. Thus, their relative absence in the grave material does not prove that they were never included in funerals.

Comparison of the material from Tissø, Hedeby, Helgö and Birka Four of the above sites have yielded so large a material that they can be made subjects of statistical investigations, and be compared with each other. These four sites are not fully comparable to each other: Hedeby and Birka are proto-urban sites, and Tissø is likely primarily an aristocratic centre of power and administration, with far smaller permanent population. Helgö has been interpreted as both proto-urban site and central place, but today seems far less urban than the two towns. Hedeby and Birka definitely had important profane functions, and their role as religious centres seem solely an effect of their dense populations. Unlike e.g. Lejre or old Uppsala, no sources suggest that these sites were considered particularly holy in themselves. In contrast, Julie Lund’s (Lund 2003, 46) and Torun

There is poor support for any theory about structural divisions inside the individual site. If such existed, they are not visible. Yet, the Helgö-material, especially, shows that people actually performed systematic depositions of amulets on some settlements. This supports the more general theory that the settlement could be invested with supernatural or religious meaning. Thus, there are 130

5: The amulets in find-contexts: graves, hoards, settlements and stray finds grounds to assume that amulets have different meanings on different sites, and so the amulet material from Hedeby and Birka probably should not be compared with the material from Helgö and Tissø. The

settlement

material

must

be

understood

heterogenic. Some finds may be a random selection of those amulets people used in everyday life, while other parts seem consciously deposited in symbolic contexts. The material is obviously distinct from grave and hoard material, and shows that these not constitute representative selections of the total material.

as

131

Viking Age amulets in Scandinavia and Western Europe that the piece is a modern copy, since it is amazingly similar to the Thor’s hammer from Gärsnäs in Skåne: just like the Gärsnäs-hammer, it is ornamented with two different stamps, a large stamp with three dots and a small stamp with one dot; just like the Gärsnäs-hammer, the large stamp was used to create two opposed triangles centrally on the head, and the small stamp used to create rows of impressions along the shaft’s sides and the head’s upper and lower sides, but not along the striking surfaces. The two hammers measure respectively 26.4 by 34.9 mm. (Gärsnäs) and 2.7 by 3.3 cm. The difference in size is less than 2 mm, less than 3 %. The only other hammer that looks anything like these two comes from Assartorp in Skåne, and it lacks the two central triangles (SHM 2148, 2310; Hårdh 1976: No. 62, taf. 33). It is probable that the two Skåne hammers were made in the same workshop, but almost certain that Gärsnäs and the English hammer are somehow connected. Either the English hammer was made in the same workshop as the Swedish ones, or it is a recent copy.

5.5) Stray finds and amulets as stray finds Stray finds are archaeology’s ragbag, a category for all finds that cannot be assigned to other categories. Despite this, this material is too important to ignore, also because the numbers of stray finds are exploding. There are strong indications that the stray finds cannot be understood through discussions of the other types of context alone. Ulf Näsman has argued that stray finds and settlement finds are a more reliable source for past reality than are grave finds and hoards are (Näsman 1973, 94). This might reasonable, if the stray finds were all random losses. However, others have pointed out that many of the relevant objects are too large and valuable to justify this interpretation (cf. for instance J. Levy 1982, 14, Kyhlberg 1988, J. Lund 2003, 82). It is more reasonable to assume that some stray finds may come from disturbed graves, hoards and unrecognised settlements. Such stray finds cannot be a more reliable source for past reality than are others finds from these contexts.

The second piece (not included) is said to come from the area of Carlisle. The piece was acquired in 1990 through Sotheby’s auctions, but its precise find-spot is unknown, and it cannot be placed in a certain Viking Age context. This is a Thor’s hammer of silver, ornamented with nine stamp ornaments on each side. The stamps are a very regular, but of somewhat uneven dept. At the bottom of these stamps, a darkening can be seen, possibly silver oxide. The suspension ring is riveted together, and the rivet seems made of a very thin pipe. On the hammer’s striking surfaces and shoulders individual marks from polishing can be seen. The suspension knob is very flat. It belongs to Staecker’s type 2.1.1., dated to the period 900s to 1000s (Staecker 1999a, 229). Leslie Webster suspects that this piece is modern. Certainly the stamps are very neatly executed in comparison to other pieces. Nor do I know of any other Thor’s hammer with ornament on both sides.

The record of stray finds is much influenced by postdepositional factors. In Denmark, the amount of stray finds from the Viking Age has increased significantly with the spread of metal-detectors after 1980 (Vang Petersen 2005, 57, cf. Fischer 1983, throughout). In Sweden, stricter legislation has hindered a similar development (Paulsson 1999, throughout). Conversely, the very liberal, English legislation has lead to a situation where many metal detector-finds are without known provenance. This is both because finders seek to protect “their” find sites by reporting only vague information and because some finds are not reported at all (cf. Hemmingway 1993, 18). Both archaeologists and metal detector-users have observed that the old English Treasure trove-law did not ensure any systematic recording of archaeological information (see for example Edwards 1998, 55, anonymous 1993b). This law was supplemented with the voluntary portable antiquities scheme, then with the Portable Antiquities Act in 1997, and already reporting is much improved.

The third piece (not included) comes from an unknown site in England. It is very poorly published, but likely a metal detector-find in private ownership. There is no find description for this piece. The shape is very atypical. The hammer head is asymmetrical, as on a modern clawhammer. The shaft is ornamented with a stylised wolf’s head, its snout against the hammerhead (Mills 2002, 18). The suspension is not preserved. The wolf’s head has some similarity to the one on the cross from Foss, Iceland (cat. 282), but is more primitive in execution, and more frontal. It also faces the other way. The unique form must raise doubt about the piece’s authenticity, especially given the lack of contextual information. It is probable that this is a far later fantasy over the Thor’s hammer, rather than a Viking Age piece. There are other examples of Thor’s hammers with bird’s and human heads with similarly orientation (Hedeby, Mandemark, Skåne, Erikstorp, Bredsättra; see below), but on these, the head is always part of the suspension.

Conditions of finding and reporting One of the unique problems with the stray finds is that the lack of provenance must sometimes raise doubt of whether the pieces are very old at all. It is no coincidence that the three worst examples come from England. There, metal detector-legislation is very liberal, cooperation between museums and private people traditionally very poor, and many finds have turned up in auction houses. The first piece (not included) originates on an unknown site, possibly in Norfolk. The piece was put on auction by an antiques dealer, and must be considered a stray find. It would not be legal to put piece on auction if it had been found after 1997, so it is regarded as found before this. It supposedly has a long history. Norwich Castle Museum is working on obtaining this piece, and it is possible that future analyses can resolve the question of authenticity. The piece is a Thor’s hammer, silver, with stamped ornamentation, probably Staecker’s type 2.1.1, dated to the period 900s to 1000s (Staecker 1999a, 229). I suspect

It is worth pointing out that these pieces were not necessarily all made in bad faith. They may have been 132

5: The amulets in find-contexts: graves, hoards, settlements and stray finds Danish material plays so large a role in this category, Viking Age crosses being far more common in Denmark than in Sweden. The same explanation may be relevant for the relative absence of Thor’s hammers. Also, many Thor’s hammers are iron, a material under-represented among the stray finds. In this connection, it is interesting that the Danish stray finds’ type composition is quite different from the Danish hoards’.

made by modern enthusiasts, craftspeople experimenting with traditional techniques and designs, modern pagans, or even Victorian antiquarians. The problem with these pieces is solely that they cannot be associated to a dating context. Viking Age stray finds as specific frame of reference Many stray finds may come from disturbed graves, broken hoards and unrecognised settlements, but this need not hold true for all. Many of the amulets are so small that they could indeed be lost by accident (cf. Zeiten 1997, 35). However, Julie Lund has suggested that many of the Viking Age stray finds of weapons represent systematically accumulated depositions. Lund points out that Viking Age people apparently often deposited weapons at fords over certain waterways. This may also be relevant for tools and weapons amulets (cf. J. Lund 2003, throughout). Presumably, other types of objects, and amulets, could be deposited in other structured circumstances. Thus, the central questions in relation to the material from the stray finds is if all can be explained as traces of disturbed graves, hoards and settlement layers, or if parts of the material demands other explanations.

The frequency of stray finds shows two opposed tendencies: on one hand, circumstances of registration mean that ever more finds were documented up to 1900, after which ever more were documented in situ, and consequently never became stray finds. On the other hand, the use of metal-detectors especially in Denmark and England has led to an explosion in the number of stray finds. The number of stray finds with unknown year of recovery is relatively high because finds without any contextual information must be registered as stray finds. These include both very old finds, collected before the systematic registration, and finds whose history of recovery is very unclear. The last group includes the English Thor’s hammers discussed above. The pieces are stray finds, because nothing is known about when, or indeed if, they were found.

As I shall show immediately, the material’s composition seems to demand other explanations.

Section conclusion The material from the stray finds shows the large influence post-depositional factors have on the findpicture. On one hand, a more careful practice of registration has decreased the number of stray finds by ensuring that they were identified correctly as grave, hoard or settlement finds instead. On the other hand, the increased use of metal-detectors has increased the number of stray finds in those regions where metal detector-use is legal. This underscores that stray finds are not a homogenous category, but contain finds that were deposited as grave, hoard and settlement find.

Amulets in Viking Age stray finds, general empirical section Denmark and England are greatly over-represented relative to the total pattern. This seems mainly due to these two countries’ metal detector-legislation. In contrast, Uppland, especially, is under-represented. Again, this shows the grave find’s role in the Upplandic find-picture. Differences between Uppland and the rest of Sweden cannot be explained by legislation. The first two diagrams are practically identical, since most stray finds are found as single pieces Consequently, nearly every event of recovery corresponds to just one piece. The exceptions are presented by finds such as the Norwegian finds from Verdalen. Here seven single pieces were found together, possibly deposited as grave goods in the same mound, in one or more graves.

However, some stray finds may really form an independent category. It is especially striking how overrepresented copper-alloy is. This may be partly due to post-depositional factors: copper-alloy is better preserved in the ground than is iron, and it attracts more interest from the public, both metal detector-user and other finders. However, the relative absence of silver again underlines that neither the grave nor the hoard material constitute a representative selection of the actual material. There were far more amulets of copper-alloy in use among the living in the Viking Age than these types of context show.

Most stray finds are copper-alloy Silver is wellrepresented, but the proportion corresponds to the average for all contexts. Although iron constitutes a significant element in the stray finds, it is obviously under-represented in relation to the average. This seems to be due to iron being more vulnerable to destructive oxidation than the other materials. This also makes iron objects more difficult to recognise as archaeological objects when they are found outside context. It is remarkable that jet and amber are not better represented. Typologically, crosses are extremely over-represented, Thor’s hammers strikingly rare. Axes and animal figurines are also somewhat over-represented. The overrepresentation of crosses is probably partially because the

The many stray finds of copper-alloy amulets cannot come from broken hoards, since the hoard material consists almost exclusively of silver. Some may come from disturbed graves, but again there is too much copper-alloy compared with silver among the the stray finds. This cannot be explained away with postdepositional factors. To a lesser degree, similar reservations apply to comparison with the settlement material. There is more copper-alloy in the material 133

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Figure 5.5.1-5) Graphs for stray finds.

from the sttray finds thhan in any other find type. Consequentlyy, the stray finds’ mateerial compossition suggests thaat this mateerial cannot only consisst of disturbed graaves, hoards and a settlementts. It also conntains another elem ment. This eleement is dom minated by coppperalloy.

uried, outsidee the amulets be leeft, possibly hhung up or bu the settlements. s M Many explanattions seem po ossible, but inn any case stray finnds of amuletss cannot all bee explained ass remaains of disturbbed graves andd hoards. Thus, the stray finnds may be ann indication to o how amuletss weree used up annd discarded.. There is no othing in thee writtten sources too help us undeerstand such practices. p Norr is th his a phenomeenon that coulld ever have been b revealedd by contextual c invvestigations. Itt is only visib ble through itt statistical analysiss of the total ffind-picture.

One possiblee explanationn might be thhat the stray finds include objeccts lost by acccident, and thaat owners werre far more carefull with silver than with coopper-alloy. Silver S amulets mayy have been kept k safe in hoards h most of o the time. Likewiise, amulets of o copper-allooy may have been used by grooups who weere more expoosed to loss, like children or travellers, t or in situations where the rissk of loss was largger. Alternativvely, these am mulets may not so much be lostt as conscioussly discarded or o deposited. They may have beeen discarded when they went out of fashion, unlike heirloooms of silverr. They may have h had a lim mited magical use-life, and beenn discarded whhen their forcee was exhausted. Certain C magic rituals may haave demandedd that

Theese numbers also suggestss that much material m goess unfo ound. This is most obviouusly relevant for Sweden,, wheere the restricctive legislatioon prevents metal-detector m r use. It is not inconceivable tthat bodies of o stray findss simiilar to those from fr Denmarkk and England d also exist inn Sweeden, Ireland and Scotlandd, but that theese are neverr foun nd.

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Viking Age amulets in Scandinavia and Western Europe area of investigation. The general overview hides new role that stray finds, and especially metal detector- finds, play in Denmark and England.

5.6) Finds from all contexts, summary Overall, there are remarkably many finds from Sweden, especially Uppland and Gotland. Norway seems remarkably poor in Viking Age amulets, relative to the country’s area and rich archaeological heritage. The material from Germany and Ireland largely comes from town-excavations in Hedeby and Dublin, while the excavations in York do not dominate the English material in quite the same way, being supplemented by a number of rural finds.

5.7) Chapter conclusion on contextual analyses There are evident differences between the material from the different contexts. The amulets in the hoards seem simply deposited as precious metal objects, without any religious meaning in the concrete context. In contrast, the amulets in the graves seem carefully selected. They were not representative part of everyday dress, but as part of a special funeral tradition that varied in time and space. Only a few people, mainly adult women, were buried with amulets. Thus, there is a clear contrast between the hoards’ random selection of all silver amulets, and the graves’ carefully selected body of amulets. The settlement material and the stray finds seem far more heterogenic. There are probably no grounds to believe that the total was chosen in any systematical way and deposited systematically, but it may contain sub-groups selected in such a way. Notably, systematic deposition of amulets seems evident on Helgö, Borg and Tissø, and amulets of copper alloy seem systematicallyselected for deposition away from settlements and burial grounds, ending up as stray finds.

In comparing the first two diagrams, it is especially striking how the balance between Uppland and Denmark shifts. This is because there are more amulets pr. investigation in the Upplandic than in the Danish material, on the average. The Upplandic finds often come from grave-fields, where each site may produce several finds, while the Danish ones are often single stray finds. The dominant materials are iron and silver. The iron amulets almost all originate in graves, while silver amulets often come from hoards. Amulets of copper-alloy constitute only a small element. These are mostly settlement and stray finds. The most common types are, in sequence Thor’s hammers, crosses, strike-a-lights, shields and scythes. The majority of the Thor’s hammers are grave finds, the majority of the crosses stray finds, while strike-a-lights and shields mainly come from hoards.

Consequently, the total material shows that neither graves nor hoards reflect the totality of Viking Age amulet use. Out of the total inventory of amulets, only a few types were acceptable in the funerals, while the other types must have made no sense as grave goods. Thus, it is not possible to explain grave goods solely with the religion of the living, or to understand on the religion of the living through burial equipment alone.

The general growth in number of finds until the 1970s was partly caused by archaeology’s increased institutionalisation, shaped through legislation and museum institutions. It was also stimulated by an increasing activity in construction and agriculture. Although the number of new hoard finds has been decreasing since the mid-1800s, the growing archaeological establishment could compensate with large research excavations (Birka, Helgö, Kaupang, Tissø) and ever-increasing intensity of rescue excavation. The drop in the total number of new finds after 1975 is mainly because Swedish archaeologists no longer excavate grave-fields with the same eagerness. Before this time, Swedish settlement and infrastructure expanded rapidly, after 1975, far less so. Likewise, in the post-war period, agriculture and industry have intensified and become concentrated on fewer sites, throughout of the

The regional variation makes it obvious that burial customs, and presumable ideas about death, varied across the area of investigation. Thus, Snorre’s Icelandic mythology is not obviously relevant for understanding the grave goods’ meaning in the Mälar Valley or in Denmark. The striking over-representation of copper-alloy in the material from the stray finds suggests that not all stray finds come from disturbed graves, hoards and settlement contexts. It also suggests that the living used far more amulets of copper-alloy than graves and hoards show.

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6: The amulets in find-contexts: amulet-combinations

Part 6: The amulets in find-contexts: amulet-combinations The value of symbols depends partially on their context: a standing man’s silhouette means one thing on a toilet door, something else in a traffic light. In religious context, some concepts and their symbols are found in recurrent sets. Thus Christianity’s four evangelists are symbolised by the four apocalyptic animals, eagle, lion, bull and human being, just as the cardinal virtues faith, hope and charity are found as cross, anchor and heart. Isolated from their sets, lions or crosses carry a different meaning. Consequently, it seems reasonable to investigate if the amulets are found in standard sets.

other 21 Thor’s hammers with other Thor’s hammers, 10 contexts with several scythes, 10 with several shields, 9 with several crosses, 8 with several bowls and 7 with several strike-a-lights together. Among combinations of different types, the most frequent are strike-a-lights with Thor’s hammers (11) and strike-a-lights with scythes (10), Thor’s hammers with scythes (8), shields with crosses, swords with spears, and shields with strike-alights (6 each). All other combinations are found in four cases at most, and many are not found at all. Anchors and legs have never been found with other amulets.

This investigation takes its starting point in the same types of context as the previous chapter. For graves and hoards, this should be unproblematic, as these seem deposited as closed finds in one go. If a grave or a hoard contains several amulets, these must be deposited together. However, this does not apply to settlement finds. Here, an individual building may contain finds accumulated over very long time and without any consideration to each other. This applies even more to stray finds. Stray finds from the same site need not come from the same deposition. Consequently, among the settlement finds, I have only included finds from the same closed context. Among the stray finds, I have only included proper amulet-sets, that is, sets of several amulets collected on a ring or the like. I have also chosen to count each Thor’s hammer ring as one amulet, no matter how many Thor’s hammers it carries, and to count contexts rather than number of amulets. Thus, the Terslev hoard with two shields and two Thor’s hammers, counts as one context with combination of shield(s) and Thor’s hammer(s), one with shield and shield and one with Thor’s hammer and Thor’s hammer.

Thus, the general image reveals no evident standardised combinations. The typical amulet-set seems to consist of one isolated amulet, and where several amulets are found together, they are either doublets or chosen from the popular types that could apparently be combined in any way. The most important conclusion here may be that hammer and strike-a-lights respectively hammer and scythes are rarely are found as set, despite the types’ frequency, and despite Holmqvist’s theory, that these three types symbolised Uppsala’s “trinity” of Thor, Odin and Frey. Combinations that include Thor’s hammer and cross may be of special interest. Thor’s hammers and Thor’s hammer rings occur with other Thor’s hammers and Thor’s hammer rings (25 examples, total), strike-a-lights (11), scythes (8), miniature weapons (4), crosses (3), human figurines, animal figurines, chairs (2 each), capsules, staff-rings and wheels (1 each). In contrast, they are never found with masks, bowls, sieves, anchors or lunulae. Crosses are found with other crosses (9), miniature weapons (7), strike-a-lights, lunulae (4 each), capsules, Thor’s hammers (3 each), chairs (2), but never with legs, snakes, wheels, bowls, sieves or scythes. Thus, snakes, wheels, scythes, spears, swords and staff-rings are found with Thor’s hammers, but not with crosses, while lunulae and women’s figurines are found with crosses, but not with Thor’s hammers. Masks, legs, anchors, bowls and sieves are never found with either Thor’s hammers or crosses, while the remaining types are found with both Thor’s hammers and crosses. These types are crosses and Thor’s hammers (!), axes, men’s figurines, strike-a-lights, animal figurines, chairs, shields and capsules. However, for several types, the combination of Thor’s hammer and cross (3 examples) is more common than the combination of Thor’s hammer or cross with these other types. It is probably unreasonable to identify these categorically as pagan respectively Christian types. Yet, it is thought-provoking that the women’s figurines, often identified as “valkyries”, are never found in closed context with Thor’s hammers, but are found with crosses. This cannot support the identification as figures from the pagan mythology.

The first observation there can be made here is that combinations are rare. Most amulets are found alone. The second observation is that most combinations consist of pieces of the same type (e.g. two Thor’s hammers). This tells us little new about the past: people who used (some) Thor’s hammers also used (other) Thor’s hammers, but that is almost a tautology. Third, the lion’s share of combinations of different types draw upon the same small selection of very common types: Thor’s hammers, crosses, shields, strike-a-lights and scythes. This is too be expected for purely statistical reasons. Thus, most of the conclusions here are negative: Viking Age Scandinavians do not seem to have used symbols in sets at any regularity, with a few exceptions, discussed below. 6.1) Combinations in general In the total material, the most common combination is two pieces of the same type. There are 21 contexts with Thor’s hammer rings with other Thor’s hammer rings and

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6: The amulets in find-contexts: amulet-combinations 100% 90% 80% 70% 60% 50% 40% 30% 20% 10% 0% Scythes (7) Miniature spears (1) Miniature swords (1) Staf-rings (1) Thor's hammer rings (4) Loose Thor's hammers (26) Strike-a-lights (9) Miniature axes (3) Chairs 84) Miniature shields (11) Human figurines (3) Animals (3) Crosses (13) Capsules (3) Lunulae (4)

Thor's hammers Crosses

Figure 6.1.1) Combinations with hammer and cross, sum of all contexts.

6.2) Combinations in graves

6.3) Combinations in hoards

Combinations of Thor’s hammer and cross in the same grave have inspired much discussion. As Anne-Sofie Gräslund has pointed out, there are written sources to syncretism in the Viking Age (e.g. Gräslund 1985, 82). It is not inconceivable that those who were buried with hammer and cross actually practised both religions, no matter what ideologists thought about this. However, some funerals with Thor’s hammer and cross may instead reflect disagreements or uncertainty about proper procedures. In one case, Thumby-Bienebek grave 21, the Thor’s hammers may have been included by accident (see above). The only other relevant grave is the double grave Bj. 750 on Birka, which is treated as two separate contexts in the present work.

As discussed above, I consider it reasonable to interpret the hoards as simple accumulations of precious metals, without any further symbolism. The fact that two amulets are deposited in the same hoard should not be taken as proof that they necessarily constituted a standard set. In much the same way, the fact that several necklaces, brooches or other jewellery lies in the same hoard is not taken as proof that they all were worn together. This group need not be considered homogenous in religious or other regards. The most common combinations are shields with shields and crosses with capsules (7 examples each), followed by Thor’s hammers with Thor’s hammers (6), shields with strike-a-lights (5), shields with Thor’s hammers and lunulae with capsules (4), strike-a-lights with crosses, lunulae with crosses, shields with capsules, shields with lunulae, Thor’s hammers with strike-a-lights (3), crosses with snakes, with bowls, and with Thor’s hammers, lunulae with lunulae, strike-a-lights with strike-a-lights, and with spears, shields with spears and Thor’s hammers with chairs (2 each). The combination of several Thor’s hammers or several crosses in the same hoard is less surprising than the similar combination in graves: if the hoards are family fortunes, it is not impossible that the same family could own several amulets of the same type. There are strikingly few hoards with both Thor’s hammer and cross, if the pieces in the hoards did not have any deep, religious symbolism here. However, it is obvious that the dominant types in the hoard material are shields, lunulae and capsules, which all almost exclusively were made of silver.

The other amulet-combinations in graves have not drawn the same attention, but it seems reasonable to extend the same doubt to them: if the combination of hammer and cross can mirror disagreements or mistakes, the same must apply to all other combinations in graves. The most common combination in the graves is (again) Thor’s hammers and Thor’s hammer rings with other Thor’s hammers and Thor’s hammer rings (a total of 20 examples), followed by scythes with scythes, scythes with strike-a-lights and axes with sieves, Thor’s hammers with Thor’s hammers (7), strike-a-lights with strike-alights (5), shields with crosses and Thor’s hammers with strike-a-lights. Other combinations are found in two graves at most, and most are not found at all. The combination Thor’s hammer and cross is actually very rare (1). This may suggest that the graves generally represent a single person’s somewhat coherent identity, and that disagreements and misunderstandings surrounding this were rare.

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Animals Bowls and sieves Capsules Chairs Crosses Human figurines Lunulae Masks Anchors Scythes Strike-alights Miniature axes Miniature spears Miniature swords Miniature shields Wheels Staff-rings Loose Thor's hammers Thor's hammer rings

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Loose Thor's hammers

Thor's hammer rings

Animals Bowls and sieves Capsules Chairs Crosses Human figurines Lunulae Masks Anchors Scythes Strike-alights Miniature axes Miniature spears Miniature swords Miniature shields Wheels Staff-rings Loose Thor's hammers Thor's hammer rings

Animals

Combinations in hoard finds

6: The amulets in find-contexts: amulet-combinations

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Viking Age amulets in Scandinavia and Western Europe Compared with the general picture, combinations with crosses are striking absent. The relative absence of crosses and Thor’s hammer in combination suggests that the settlement finds do not just represent random losses. All other things being equal, many sites must have been inhabited by both pagans and Christians, either at the same time or over time. If the settlement finds constituted a random selection of everyday life, combinations with these popular amulets ought to be just as typical here as in the other material. The notable exception from this is Pollista, where the excavators believe that cross and Thor’s hammer were deposited at the same time, to mark borders. As discussed earlier, I do not believe that the dates support this interpretation.

6.4) Combinations on settlements As earlier mentioned earlier, settlement finds may be accumulated over a long time. This is especially obvious on Helgö, where the settlement contain finds from ten centuries. Consequently, amulets deposited in the same house may not be deposited at the same time. I have not included finds from the same site unless these come from the same closed context.

Capsules

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Miniature axes

Miniature spears

Miniature swords

Miniature shields

Wheels

Staff-rings

Loose Thor's hammers

Thor's hammer rings

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Figure 6.4) Combinations on settlements.

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Combinations on settlements are rare. The most common one is Thor’s hammers with Thor’s hammers (10 examples), followed by Thor’s hammers with scythes (5 examples), Thor’s hammers with strike-a-lights (4), scythes with scythes and scythes with strike-a-lights (3).

6: The amulets in find-contexts: amulet-combinations cases combined with sword, shield and chair. There are also several sets of several Thor’s hammers, reminiscent of the large Thor’s hammer rings. Other combinations are found only once each. One such is the set of scythe, strike-a-light and hammer from Hesselbjerg (cat. 215), the only example of a closed find of all the symbols Holmqvist would associate with Odin, Thor and Frey in Uppsala. The distance from Uppsala to Hesselbjerg suggests that this interpretation is unlikely.

6.5) Amulet sets and combinations in stray finds

Bowls and sieves

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Anchors

Scythes

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Miniature axes

Miniature spears

Miniature swords

Miniature shields

Wheels

Staff-rings

Loose Thor's hammers

Thor's hammer rings

Animals Bowls and sieves Capsules Chairs Crosses Human figurines Lunulae Masks Anchors Scythes Strike-alights Miniature axes Miniature spears Miniature swords Miniature shields Wheels Staff-rings Loose Thor's hammers Thor's hammer rings

Animals

Combinations in stray finds

As already mentioned, stray finds of amulets shall only be considered found together if they constitute an amulet set. However, such sets also occur in other contexts, and it seems reasonable to discuss them all together. Given all the above reservations, the amulet sets are likely those amulets whose connection to each other is most convincingly evidenced. Amulet sets are dominated by three sets with horse and spear, in two

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Viking Age amulets in Scandinavia and Western Europe 31745). The amulet sets are so uniform, and isolated horses are so rare, that a standardised idea seems to lie behind this. It is seems reasonable to tie idea this to the elite’s warrior culture, in some way or other.

6.6) Chapter conclusion on combinations The most important conclusion is that combinations are rare, and that there is not much system in them where they exist. Nothing suggests that amulets were generally worn as part of larger sets with any meaning beside the sum of the parts. This is highlighted by the combinations of Thor’s hammer and cross, which seem paradoxical in a modern understanding.

Individual contexts may be seen as signs of syncretism, because they contain Thor’s hammer and cross in combination. Yet, this is strikingly rare. The combination of sickles and Thor’s hammers with spears or strike-alights is also rare. Thus, there is no support for claims that these types featured in a standard sets, associated with Frey, Thor and Odin. Nor can combinations support any connection between sickles and Frey or between strike-a-lights and Odin.

They single exceptions from these general considerations are Thor’s hammers with scythes and the three Gotland amulet sets of horse, shield and spears, and sometimes sword and chair (SHM 21187, SHM 876 and SHM

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7: General patterns: geographical variation

Part 7: General patterns: geographical variation 7.1) Background

7.2) Empirical aspects

# The written sources contain very little information about geographical differences in Viking Age religion. All the most important sources are late and western. Yet even here, there are some traces of regional and chronological variation: Adam of Bremen and the texts describing the Yngling-dynasty associated Frey with Uppsala. Saxo and Snorre associate Odin with Denmark, and Thor seems to have been more popular in Norway and on Iceland than elsewhere. Adam of Bremen claims that participation in the Uppsala-sacrifices was obligatory for the Svear. This sort of shared rituals could create a unified and clearly defined community of worship, and separate the Svear, who took part, from neighbouring people, who did not. If Uppsala was one of several permanent cult centres, these could also promote different interpretations of the cult.

The next analyses take their starting point in two types of diagrams: one shows the distribution of the amulet material on types, the other on contexts, inside a given area. As discussed earlier, the distribution on types of context, especially, may reflect post-depositional circumstances very dependent on modern national borders. Consequently, I have taken these modern states as my starting point. For some regions, the amulet material is too small for statistical analyses to make sense. This includes Ireland, Scotland and Iceland. On the other hand, the Swedish material is so large that it seems reasonable to subdivide it. It is unclear, precisely where the Viking Age political borders lay inside Sweden. Therefore, I have taken the modern administrative regions as my starting point, and again only included those which contain sufficiently many amulets that a statistic analysis made sense (Skåne, Uppland, Södermanland, Gotland and Öland).

Most historians of religion recognise this evidence for variation. Very few archaeologists have done so. The obvious implication is that most written sources are not relevant outside the areas they describe. Thus, Adam of Bremen’s text on Uppsala and Thietmar of Merseburg’s texts on Lejre, Denmark, need not apply to Borg, Östergötland, nor need Snorre’s descriptions of Icelandic mythology say much about beliefs in Sweden or Denmark.

The information for the individual regions should be compared with the general tendencies that are discussed in the last section.

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Viking Age amulets in Scandinavia and Western Europe

Sweden The Skåne hoards often contain more than one amulet, while this is rarer in the graves. However, the number of graves is small, and this observation consequently uncertain.

As mentioned, the Swedish material is large enough to allow further subdivision. I shall return to the overall Swedish pattern below.

The material is dominated by Thor’s hammers and crosses. Most other types are known only from one or two examples. The total number of Skåne amulets is so small that the absence of some types is probably not significant.

Skåne (Scania) Hoard finds are strikingly common and graves strikingly rare, both compared with Central Sweden and with Denmark. Stray finds are somewhat rarer than in Denmark, probably because of post-depositional factors, especially metal detector-prohibition and better early registration. Skåne, distribution on types of contexts, 45 amulets

Skåne, distribution on types of contexts, 39 sites

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Skåne, distribution on types, 45 amulets 16 14 12 10 8 6 4 2 0

Figure 7.2.1-3) Graphs for Skåne (Scania)

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7: General patterns: geographical variation Uppland The material is dominated by grave finds. The proportion of grave finds appears as artificially low, because of the format of registration. Other formats of registration reveal an even more marked domination. The graves often contain several investigation, as discussed above.

amulets

Thor’s hammers are very much over-represented. Scythes and strike-a-lights are also unusually frequent in Uppland. In contrast, crosses are strikingly rare, and axes uncommon.

pr.

Uppland, distribution on types of contexts, 543 amulets

Uppland, distribution on types of contexts, 153 sites

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Uppland, distribution on types, 543 amulets 300 250 200 150 100 50 0

Figure 7.3.1-3) Graphs for Uppland.

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Viking Age amulets in Scandinavia and Western Europe Södermanland The type distribution looks like the Upplandic, but the over-representation of Thor’s hammers is even more striking.

As in Uppland, the material is completely dominated by graves. However, hoard finds play a somewhat larger role in Södermanland than in Uppland. Grave-fields often contain several amulets pr. site, as in Uppland. So do settlement, although the tendency is less pronounced.

Södermanland, distribution on types of contexts, 43 sites

Södermanland, distribution on types of contexts, 90 amulets 35 30 25 20 15 10 5 0

80 70 60 50 40 30 20 10 0 Grave finds Hoard finds Settlement Stray finds finds

Södermanland, distribution on types, 90 amulets 60 50 40 30 20 10 0

Figure 7.4.1-3) Graphs for Södermanland..

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7: General patterns: geographical variation Gotland The material is dominated by hoard finds, secondarily graves. Even the stray finds may originate mostly in hoards or graves.

Yet, on the individual grave-fields, some graves are strikingly richer in amulets than others. Crosses dominate, and capsules and lunulae are common. Axes seem over-represented. Thor’s hammers are strikingly rare, compared with other regions.

Both for grave-fields, hoards and settlements, the average number of amulets pr. investigation seems to be the same.

Gotland, distribution on types of contexts, 119 amulets

Gotland, distribution on types of contexts, 75 sites

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Gotland, distribution on types, 119 amulets 30 25 20 15 10 5 0

Figure 7.5.1-3) Graphs for Gotland.

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Viking Age amulets in Scandinavia and Western Europe Öland The material is dominated by Thor’s hammers and crosses. Unlike Gotland, Thor’s hammers are more common than crosses on Öland. Strike-a-lights and miniature weapons are strikingly well represented.

As on Gotland the material is dominated by hoards, secondarily graves. Finds of several amulets together are less frequent in Öland’s stray finds than in graves and hoards. This cannot surprise. The difference between the Gotland and Öland find-picture here is solely due to stray finds playing a larger role on Öland.

Öland, distribution on types of contexts, 31 amulets

Öland, distribution on types of contexts, 17 sites

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Öland, distribution on types, 31 amulets 7 6 5 4 3 2 1 0

Figure 7.6.1-3) Graphs for Gotland.

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7: General patterns: geographical variation Sweden as a whole This average picture hides large regional variation: the vast majority of the Swedish grave finds come from the Mälar area. The hoards especially come from Gotland, secondarily from Skåne. The settlement finds come mainly from such sites as Uppåkra, Birka and Helgö.

The type distribution is very synthetic. It hides the real differences between the Mälar Valley, where Thor’s hammers dominate, and the rest of Sweden, where crosses are almost as important.

The Swedish grave-fields tend to contain more amulets pr. context than do Swedish hoards. This image differs markedly from the Danish one.

All Sweden, distribution on types of contexts, 923 amulets

All Sweden, distribution on types of contexts, 382 sites 200 150 100 50 0

600 500 400 300 200 100 0 Grave finds

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All Sweden, distribution on types, 923 amulets 350 300 250 200 150 100 50 0

Figure 7.7.1-3) Graphs for all Sweden.

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Viking Age amulets in Scandinavia and Western Europe Denmark As in England (below) the material is dominated by stray finds. A large part of these are metal detector-finds. Also, hoards are strikingly common, and graves rare, compared with Central Sweden and Norway.

The material is dominated by Thor’s hammers and crosses. The proportions of shields and masks are also remarkably high.

Both hoards and settlements tend to contain more amulets pr. context than graves. It is very rare for a Danish Viking Age grave to contain more than one amulet. It is very rare to find several graves or several buildings with amulets on a Danish excavation.

Denmark, distribution on types of contexts, 236 amulets

Denmark, distribution on types of contexts, 124 sites

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Denmark, distribution on types, 236 amulets 90 80 70 60 50 40 30 20 10 0

Figure 7.9.1-3) Graphs for Denmark.

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7: General patterns: geographical variation Norway There are strikingly few hoard finds from Norway. The proportion of grave finds lies close to the Swedish average, but is significantly lower than the Mälar Valley extremes.

There are remarkably few Thor’s hammers and remarkably many crosses and animal figurine, relative to the total number of amulets.

On the average, the hoards contain more amulets than the graves do. This is largely due to the atypical Hoen-hoard. The relevant Norwegian excavations do not include more than one context each. Unlike Central Sweden, there are no large grave-fields or coherent settlements in this material.

Norway, distribution on types of contexts, 89 amulets

Norway, distribution on types of contexts, 61 sites

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Norway, distribution on types, 89 amulets 30 25 20 15 10 5 0

Figure 7.10.1-3) Graphs for Norway.

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Viking Age amulets in Scandinavia and Western Europe The proportions of anchors and axes are remarkably high.

Germany (mostly Hedeby) The material is dominated by settlement finds from Hedeby. The average the German graves contain many amulets. However, this average is based on just a few graves, where Thumby-Bienebek (cat. 1338-1342) and Hedeby 45 (formerly South grave-field 42/05; cat. 1293-1295) both contribute very heavily.

Germany, distribution on types of contexts, 61 amulets

Germany, distribution on types of contexts, 35 sites

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Grave finds Hoard finds Settlement Stray finds finds

Germany, distribution on types, 61 amulets 30 25 20 15 10 5 0

Figure 7.11.1-3) Graphs for Germany.

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7: General patterns: geographical variation

The high proportion of Thor’s hammers in relation to crosses is probably due to most finds being stray finds. Stray finds of crosses in England are likely Anglo-Saxon, and have been excluded, while all Thor’s hammers have been regarded as Scandinavian and included.

England As in Denmark (above) the material is dominated by stray finds. Many of these were made with metal-detector. The typical find contains just one amulet. This applies to all types of context.

England, distribution on types of contexts, 23 sites

England, distribution on types of contexts, 25 amulets 16 14 12 10 8 6 4 2 0

16 14 12 10 8 6 4 2 0 Grave finds Hoard finds Settlement Stray finds finds

England, distribution on types, 25 amulets 16 14 12 10 8 6 4 2 0

Figure 7.12.1-3) Graphs for England.

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Viking Age amulets in Scandinavia and Western Europe The total material This image is even more synthetic than the Swedish total image. The grave finds overwhelmingly come from the Mälar Valley and Norway, the hoard finds from Gotland, Öland and Denmark, the settlement finds from Hedeby, Birka and Dublin, and the stray finds from Denmark and England.

The Swedish material contributes heavily to the overall picture of type distribution. Thus, it cannot surprise that the pictures for all of Sweden and all of the area of investigation are strikingly similar. However, crosses play less of a role in Sweden than internationally.

Most finds of more than one amulet in the same context are graves.

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Scandinavia and Western Europe, distribution on types of contexts, 1348 amulets

Scandinavia and Western Europe, distribution on types of contexts, 637 sites 300 250 200 150 100 50 0

600 400 200 0 Grave finds

Hoard finds

Settlement finds

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Scandinavia and Western Europe, distribution on types, 1348 amulets 350 300 250 200 150 100 50 0

Figure 7.13.1-3) Graphs for all Scandinavia and Western Europe.

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7: General patterns: geographical variation are distributed across all of North and Northeast Europe, they may have had special relevancy for a local cult. Finally, it is striking how often several amulets are found on the same settlement or grave-field in Sweden, compared with especially Denmark. There are very few Danish Viking Age sites that can reasonably be labelled cult centres, with Tissø as it most obvious candidate. In Denmark, the cult seems to have been rather decentralised. In Sweden, cult seems much more geographically concentrated. Here, sites such as Borg and Helgö, and some grave-fields (Spånga) appear to be centres with a special interest in cult. The amulets give the impression that the Central Swedish landscape was divided into secular and sacral, in a very different way than the Danish landscape was.

7.3) Summary and chapter conclusion The most obvious regional pattern is the difference between the Central Swedish material, and the Danish, secondarily English, material. The Central Swedish material is dominated by iron Thor’s hammers found in graves. The Danish and English material is dominated by stray finds of amulets of copper-alloy. This difference is partly due to post-depositional factors, including the large Swedish excavation campaigns and the differences in metal detector-legislation. Yet, this is probably not the whole explanation: even among the amulets that are actually found in Danish graves, iron Thor’s hammers are strikingly rare, compared with Central Swedish circumstances. They are also rare in Norway, where the grave material constitutes a larger proportion of the total material than in Denmark.

To sum up, that there are marked regional differences in the amulet material. Some types were characteristic for certain regions, and even those types distributed across all of the area of investigation were used differently in the practical cult. The behaviour that was logical and traditional in one area would surprise or be inappropriate in another area. On cosmopolitan sites such as Hedeby and Birka travellers could probably recognise other groups on their strange religious behaviour.

The large proportion hoard finds in Skåne, Gotland and Öland is almost as striking. As discussed above, the amulets in the hoards seem chosen on material alone, and deposited as precious metals rather than as magical objects. The very high proportion that hoard finds constitute in these regions, and in Denmark, may reflect the greater availability of silver here than in Central Sweden and Norway. However, these were also regions where very few amulets ended in graves, while burial with amulets were far more common in Central Sweden. Thus, the hoards show that the population in the southeast actually used amulets, although they rarely buried the dead with them. Burials show that the population in Central Sweden buried the dead with amulets, although they rarely placed amulets in hoards. This is a clear regional difference in the cult.

No matter which origins these differences had, they show that the religious environment and the religious context in the early towns were different from the hinterland. It was not the same thing to wear a Thor’s hammer in Stengade village and in Hedeby. In Stengade village, all of the locals probably belonged to the same community of believers. A woman with an amulet might be regarded as pious or devout, within the same religion as everyone else. In Hedeby, Scandinavian pagans were in regular contact with Christian missionaries, international Jewish and Islamic traders, and Slavs. Here, a woman with an amulet might be hailed as a fellow-believer by some, condemned as a pagan idolater by others. The contextual meaning was another, and people probably had different motivations to wear or not to wear amulets. Again, these differences cannot be understood from decontextualised readings in the written sources alone.

There is a striking contrast between the Swedish material, dominated by Thor’s hammers, and the Norwegian material, dominated by crosses. This contrast is partially due to by dating: many of the Norwegian crosses are recognised Viking Age because they are found in context, typically on settlements. If contemporary crosses exist in Sweden, they are unrecognised. Yet despite this reservation, Thor’s hammers are strikingly rare in Norway, and crosses strikingly common. This might possibly support theories about early mission in Norway, possibly from England (discussion and references in Solli 1996, 90f). However, the same find-picture characterise Gotland, where a very early mission seems unlikely, especially one from England. The concentration of animal and snake figurines in Norway is just as remarkable. I wonder if these served the same function locally as the Thor’s hammers did in Sweden. The Danish material shows a striking concentration of masks and shields, which may be types developed locally. Finally, the Hedeby material shows a similar, even more obvious specialisation: almost all anchors originate in here, and axes are strikingly over-represented. Although the axes

In the same way, the regional differences in practice between the rural populations must also have articulated differences in belief between these. If pagans in Norway used animal amulets in those contexts where Swedish pagans used Thor’s hammers, this must have influenced their religious image of the world. Just as different communities of Christians have variously imagined Christ as a martyr, a judge and a warrior-king, and interpreted their own religious priorities accordingly, so pagans may have had quite different impressions of Gods worshipped under the same name, depending on whether they imagined Thor as a man with a hammer or as an elemental being with the strength of a bear.

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Viking Age amulets in Scandinavia and Western Europe

Part 8: General patterns: social variation have not had the time or the tools to do any meaningful qualitative study of the more than 600 sites relevant here. Nor does it seem reasonable to base any wide-ranging conclusions on a few sites. Yet, it does seem relevant to discuss how Viking Age amulets were related to reuse of the spatial order already in existence.

Amulets were made and used by people. These same people always already existed in number of other relations which were maintained or transformed by action. That is, they participated in economies, in kin networks, in traditional practices characteristic of ethnicities, gender identities and religious communities, and they used space and artefacts in ways both traditional and innovative. These aspects are central to my attempt to link amulets with actual human beings in the past.

Few studies have yet been made of the Viking Age landscape, specifically. This is partially because of Fabech’s theory that the cult in late Iron Age moved from the open land to the farm (Fabech 1992, throughout). However, even outside Scandinavia, the phenomenological approach has rarely been applied to Neolithic and later historic archaeology (Johnson 2006, 127) The few researchers who have discussed the Viking Age landscape have based their discussions on the mythological sources, primarily Snorre’s oeuvre (see for example J. Lund 2003, 79). As Hedeager points out, these interpretations are still very speculative (Hedeager 2002, 5 & 13).

In the past few decades, archaeologists have become increasingly interested in reuse, both of artefacts (e.g. Chapman & Gaydayska 2007) and monuments (e.g. Gosden & Lock 1998). In much of this work, the emphasis is on continuity, on how material remains retained their original meaning many years after production. Yet, reuse is also a process of transformation. New meanings replace the old ones. A broken pot may be distributed among kin to mark their ties to each other, but it will no longer function as a pot (pace Chapman & Gaydarska). An ancient burial mound may be reinterpreted as the work of giants or gods, but only if it is forgotten that it was really built by human beings (pace Gosden & Lock).

The hermeneutic approach to the natural landscape often builds on rather unconvincing circular arguments. More convincing, quantitative analyses demand detailed studies that I have not had any opportunity to do. Consequently, I shall focus on a single issue, the discussion of wetlands finds. As other have documented there is no systematical difference between Scandinavian wetlands hoards and other hoards (T. Zachrisson 1988, cf. Levy 1982). Thus, not all finds from wetlands need be ritual, and not all ritual finds need come from wetlands.

This element of forgetting can be connected with the alienation that Marx described as being characteristic of capitalism. Very briefly, Marx’s argument was that capitalism alienates goods from their origins and allows buyers to forget or ignore how the goods were made. They become pure commodities, existing in themselves and having value in themselves without any obvious relationship to the fact that someone, somewhere devoted labour to their creation. This separation of production and consumption in turn allows capitalists to pay producers less than the full value of the commodity and charge more for it than its real costs of production. It allows a reification whereby the commodity is attributed value of its own, independently of any inherent usefulness. The archaeological theories mentioned above are not theories of alienation. On the contrary, they often stress that artefacts retained some link to their producers. I think alienation deserves more attention.

The man-made landscape invites more discussion. The most important man-made monuments in the Viking Age landscape seem to be the mounds. Nothing suggests that contemporaries distinguished between newer Viking Age mounds, old Bronze Age mounds, megalithic graves and natural hills. Thus, for instance the runic inscription from Maes Howe on Orkney simply describes this monument as a “haug” (“mound”), for all that this Neolithic dry-wall sandstone chamber deviates notably from contemporary, Scandinavian burial mounds. Likewise, natural hills seem to have been focus for more attention in Scandinavia than were man-made burial mounds (Bradley 2000, 35 & 155f, cf. Mullin 2001, 535ff; Tilley 1994, 79).

In the following section, I shall discuss how people reused and appropriated physical space, including manmade monuments; I shall discuss how amulets were produced, transported, used and reused, and how far they were estranged from the original relations of production; I shall discuss how amulets were combined with bodies to create new social personae, and how far they were even transformed into something like people in their own right.

Traditional research has understood the mounds as burial mounds. This tradition has recently been criticised by Terje Gamsum (2003). In Denmark, Viking Age mounds are rare, but are in places including Jelling, Ladby, Hørning, Mammen and Hedeby. In Sweden, Norway and on Iceland, they are more common (cf. Ellis Davidsson 1988, 115). This suggests that mound building played different roles in different part of Scandinavia. The experience of a mound is probably different for people who have themselves have participated in building it and for those who only experience it as part of the already established landscape (cf. Ingold 2000). Likely, people in different regions understood their mounds differently.

8.1) Mounds and wetlands: making places, reusing spaces Landscapes are in fashion in archaeology. I remain less than impressed with much of this work, but in any case I 160

8: General patterns: social variation Mainland/Epona, Orkney. This disturbed grave-field was excavated as research excavation for Society of Antiquarians of Scotland in 1939. Grave VII was dug into the wall on a stone building, a broch, from the Iron Age (broch period). The grave was a cist, containing a supine inhumation grave, oriented east-west with the head in the west. The skeleton was almost entirely decayed, but buried with oval brooches, a knife and a bone pin. The brooches suggests that this is a woman’s grave. The grave also contained a Hiberno-Norse ring-headed pin and a penanular brooch. The oval brooches are of type JP 51C. Jansson dates the type to the late Birka period, the period from the late 800s to the late 900s (Jansson 1985, 174). Skibsted Klæsøe dates them to the time from the middle of her period 2a.1, 825/830 to the end of period 2, ca. 960 (Skibsted Klæsøe 1997, 124). Beside this grave, the grave-field included six other presumed Viking Age graves. These are far less well understood. The four first (I-IV) are only known from presumed grave goods, but the last two (V, VI) are represented by incomplete skeletons, respectively skull and hand bones. Only grave VII is documented in situ. There may have been more Viking Age graves than these seven on the site. Beside the Viking Age graves, the site contains numerous traces of older activity. Hedges suggests that the broch was already in ruins by the time it was reused as Viking Age grave-field. On photographs taken before the excavation, the broch appears as a mound.

Again, the relevance of Norse literature to the south seems doubtful. Despite this, I shall briefly sum up the literature’s central themes: On Iceland and in Norway mounds were associated with the past, with odel or odal, i.e. the lineage’s inheritance of land, with wealth, legitimacy and the supernatural (Gurevich 1992, 177f.). Clunies Ross points out that odel played another role on Iceland, colonised in historical time, than among they autochthonous farmers in South Scandinavia (Clunies Ross 1998, 38 & 129). The supernatural element can be found in e.g. the Icelandic saga of Grettir the strong. This text describes how “the mound dweller”, the revenant in the mound, threatened the district’s wealth, was defeated, and surrendered his grave-goods to his conqueror. Grettir’s supernatural adventures in the mound gave him control over treasure inherited from the past and over the country’s future fertility. Similar motifs occur in Carolingian and older Germanic literature (Geary 1987, throughout, Geary 1994, 49ff, Lucas 2005, 38; Dubois 1999, 77). Throughout the Early Medival Germanic and Viking world, archaeological traces suggest that graves and burial mounds were plundered by the well-informed parties. These were probably the bereaved, and the activity was probably as part of the same complex of meaning as the myths. Just like Grettir, people broke into mounds to seize control of their odel.

Thus, the graves at Gurness represent reuse of an older monument. The original broch was built by the local, preViking population in the Iron Age. In the 800s, this building had apparently fallen in ruins so that arriving Scandinavians could re-interpret it as a “mound”, and reuse it as burial mound. It is very plausible that this was part of an ideological and legal claim on the surrounding agricultural lands: by burying their own dead in the old “mound”, the Scandinavians also claimed the “mound” and consequently the country as their own. It is very doubtful if the older, native population would accept such arguments, but they had probably no voice on the matter.

The runic inscriptions from Maes Howe link that mound to buried treasure. This may show that the link between burial mounds and prosperity could be projected onto mounds without well-known historical tradition. In Ireland, information in the annals suggests that Scandinavians from Dublin broke into the local megalithic graves. John Carey sees this plunder as a strongly ideological way to legitimise the Viking kingdom of Dublin at the expense of the old, Irish kingdoms (Carey 1980, 59). Just as local elites could empty their own ancestors’ graves to legitimise themselves, so newcomers could empty local graves for similar purposes. Those who controlled the mounds and their artefacts controlled the country, regardless whether the mounds contained their own biological ancestors or not. Just as biological ancestors in mounds could strengthen legal claims to ownership of their lands, so symbolic control over other mounds could strengthen claims to ownership of new lands. In some sense, all land was seen as inherited from the people in the mounds, whether these were the new owner’s biological ancestors or not.

Amulets in Viking Age space – empirical section The amulets found near characteristic landscape features are mainly hoard and grave finds. The conditions of preservation and the post-depositional circumstances must be largely similar to those already discussed for these types of context. Six hoard finds come from wetlands. These are the hoards from Eketorp (cat. 507-517), Hågerup (cat. 170171), Tågemosen (cat. 112), Ø Mose (cat. 209), Hoen (cat. 279-293) and Ryd 3 (cat. 541). All these hoards are late, and they contain Christian objects just as often as pagan ones. This suggests that they are not pagan offerings (cf. Randsborg 2002, throughout).

Among amulet finds, Gurness (cat. 361) may be the finest example of, how these ideas can be relevant: the amulet is a Thor’s hammer of iron, on an iron neck-ring with another unidentifiable amulet. The neck-ring is very rusty, but the identification is supported by x-ray photography. It lay about the deceased’s neck (GrahamCampbell & Batey 1998, 127f; Hedges et al. 1987, 73; ibid. 87; fig. 2.16 and 2.45:264).

A comparison of the amulets from the wetlands hoards with the group of amulets from all hoards reveals unreasonably many strike-a-lights and sieves, spoons and bowls in the wetlands hoards. The two only hoard finds

The piece comes from grave VII in Broch of Gurness, 161

Viking Age amulets in Scandinavia and Western Europe late, Scandinavian reuse of an older, Christian gravefield. However, this interpretation is uncertain, and this grave is it is not included in the present analysis (see below).

of snakes originate in wetlands hoards, and also in hoards uniquely rich on amulets: Hoen and Eketorp. The five amulets from the four other wetlands hoards constitute a very typical selection of the hoard material. However, wetlands hoards do not resemble each other: only Eketorp contain strike-a-lights, only Hoen contain bowls, and although capsules and Thor’s hammers occur in several wetlands hoards, they are also very common on dry land. Consequently, there is no reason to regard all hoards with amulets on wetlands as equally ritual. Hågerup, Tågemosen, Ø Mose and Ryd 3 resemble hoards deposited on dry land. In contrast, Hoen and Eketorp are unique, and these special hoards may have been deposited in a ritual context on especially chosen places in the landscape.

The combined material is very heterogenic: it includes 15 Thor’s hammers, seven crosses, six shields, two snakes, two chairs, two lunulae, two bowls and two horsemen’s figurines, and one individual frog, mask, staff-ring, capsule, reliquary, woman’s figurine and one site with 22 sickles. Thus, this is a broad, unspecialised selection of the extant amulets, although the number of shields is striking. The number of Thor’s hammers and crosses is less surprising, given these types’ general high frequency. Treated as one collected group, this combination of types deviates very much from a random selection of all graves and settlement finds. However, this is mainly due to the miniature sickles from Kymlinge. If these are excluded from the analysis, the most marked tendencies are the high frequency of lunulae (two of two) and shields (six of 25). Lunulae and capsules may not be amulets, but even if these are excluded from the analysis, there are still surprisingly many shields, snakes (two of eight), chairs (two of eight) and men’s figurines (two of nine). Consequently, those who were most active in the reuse of older monuments in the Viking Age also seem to have had an unusual interest in specific types of amulet. The amulets considered appropriate for deposition here were not the same as those appropriate elsewhere, or people reusing mounds also had special interest in these types of amulets.

The amulets relevant for a discussion of the monumental landscape belong to four groups: five hoards seem to have been placed in older monuments; at least two graves were placed in much older mounds; fifteen graves were placed in reused Viking Age mounds, though it is not always possible to decide if the amulets come from the primary grave or a later reuse; and five isolated pieces seem deposited secondarily in older burial mounds. The first group includes the hoards from Mandemark (cat. 113-114), Tarup (cat. 161-173), Villie (cat. 542), Kännungs (cat. 430-431), Vallø (cat. 110-111) and Stige (cat. 506). Only the Mandemark and Villie hoards were definitely placed in older monuments. The kämpgrav in Kännungs is undated, and the two other hoards’ “little mounds” need not be burial mounds. These hoards seem to contain a typical selection of types. The most typical types are Thor’s hammers, crosses, strike-a-lights and shields, as in other hoards.

All these types of amulet can be connected with the elite, and snakes and lunulae show strikingly international contacts. At least in Saffron Walden and Gurness, it is obvious that the reusers came from outside. This may also have been true for other sites. The conscious use of the meaningful landscapes and of older monuments may have been especially important for new elites. They may have sought to establish a strong local connection despite their own external roots. More autochthonous groups with less exotic amulets likely saw less need to establish new ties to the local landscape of meaning. They could already claim that their “ancestors” were present in the landscape, so they had no pressing need to locate new “ancestors” there. The appropriation of old monuments was most relevant for those who had no established claim to these already.

The second group includes the Broch of Gurness (cat. 361), and Sønderteglgård (cat. 207). These two graves alone cannot form the basis for a statistical investigation. The third group, the reused Viking Age graves, includes Trå (cat. 298-299), Åsta & Ersta 3a and 6 (III) (cat. 512, 604-606), and the Birka graves Bj. 11A (not included), 11B (cat. 681), Bj. 58A (cat. 684), Bj. 60A (cat. 685686), Bj. 93B (not included), Bj. 94B (cat. 689), Bj. 632 (cat. 725-728), Bj. 660 (cat. 731-733), Bj. 703C (cat. 735), Bj. 750 (cat. 742-743), Bj. 769 (cat. 744) and Bj. 860B (cat. 761). These graves deviate in many ways from the other burial material. The only staff-ring from a grave come from Bj. 60A, and the high frequency of snakes and animal figurines (a total of 3, of 18 a total of the grave material), and lunulae (one of two) contribute to distinguish these graves. It is debatable if the lunulae should be considered amulets. However, it is striking that the snakes and the frog plays so large a role, both in the unique hoards on wetlands, and in reused graves.

There is a striking association between meaningful landscapes and deposition of animal figurines. Many animal figurines (15 of a total of 41) are stray finds, and some of these, too, may be deposited by meaningful landscape features. Perhaps, the animal figurines were meant to protect the hoards against older ghosts or local natural powers in lakes and bogs, in some way or other. The association between amulets and reuse is not especially common. Far the most amulets come from contexts with no traces of reuse, and far most of the secondary graves and hoards from older monuments contain no amulets.

The fourth group includes mound 1 in Gullen (not included) and Kymlinge 169:8 (cat. 1092-1203). Also the finds from Jelling (cat. 226) and from Høyland grave 5 (cat. 339) may be relevant here. Finally, the woman’s grave from Saffron Walden churchyard (cat. 238) might possibly be interpreted as a 162

8: General patterns: sociial variation Section concclusion: amullets in space speccial connectioon between thhe snake (and d possibly thee frog g) and the meaaningful landsscape. I shall return to thiss belo ow. Other than this, I see few siigns that ann undeerstanding of the landscapee helps an und derstanding off the amulets. a The two phenomeena rarely seem m to relate too each h other. Although both amulets and landscape,, espeecially moundds, were undeerstood withiin ideologicall systeems of meaninng, there is noo systematicall coordinationn betw ween the two.. Most gravess, with or witthout mound,, conttain no amuletts, and most aamulets canno ot be placed inn a meaningful, m man-made landscape. Most often,, land dscape and am mulets seem too have been understood u onn diffeerent levels: amulets a seem m primarily associated withh indiv vidual peoplee, although tthese were part p of largerr social network. The T landscape seems usuallly involved inn a sh hared understaanding, althouugh this also in nfluenced thee indiv vidual.

The group of hoards deeposited on older monum ments cannot be disstinguished from the other hoards. h Skovm mand is probably right to sugggest that the monuments were only chosen for depositioon because thhey were eassy to recognize annd so could heelp the depositor to recoveer the hoard (Skovvmand 1942, 6; cf. Graham m-Campbell 1995, 1 60). Nor doo I see any reason to disstinguish betw ween hoards on weet and dry landd. In contrast, there are eviddent signs thaat the Hoen-hhoard and the Ekettorp-hoard muust be distinguuished from alll the other hoardds. Hoen iss in every way uniquee in Scandinavia. Yet, there may m be some form or other of shared meanning between this hoard annd Eketorp, alll the more since both contain snake amuleets and strikingly many identiccal amulets (sstrike-a-lights in Eketorp, bowls b and spoons inn Hoen). The group of o graves assoociated with the t reuse of older monuments is heterogeniic in every way, w but as it is defined here, it clearly difffers statisticaally from the other graves. This suggests thaat some typess of amulets were considered especially e rellevant for buurial in an older monument orr in a double grave. g Shieldss, snakes and other animal figuriines seem preeferred here, or o avoided in other graves. Thiis suggests that a speccial, elite group g dominated thhis reuse. I have suggestedd that these might m be new, migrrant elites. Snnakes play a surprisingly ceentral role in thesee discussions. Out of the 13 snakes knnown, two originatee in wetlandss hoards, and two in seconndary funerals in ollder burial moounds. There may m have beenn a

8.2) Amulets in econoomy: produ uction nd their custo omers conssumption, craaftspeople an

and d

Thee amulets weree made by peoople and carriied by people.. Thiss human context ought to be integral to o analyses. Inn this section I shhall discuss ccrafts-producttion, and thee posssibility for intterpreting the amulets as social s personss in th heir own rightt. Both these toopics focus on n how closelyy the amulets’ meaning m wass connected with theirr prod duction, and how far theyy could be understood u inn isolaation from thiss. It iss a central queestion whetherr the production of amuletss was simply underrstood as a tecchnical processs, or whetherr it allso had a maagical contennt. Elsewhere,, amulets aree often n made by rittual experts. IIn such cases,, the amulets’ valu ue may dependd on the indivvidual expert’’s charismaticc auth hority. Howevver, there are also examplees of amuletss mad de physically by ordinary craftspeople without anyy speccial religious authority, a andd are then blessed by rituall expeerts. Often, thee transition beetween the two situations iss fluid d. In the Orthhodox Churchh, icons are ussually paintedd by anonymous a a artist, but theese fast and obey special,, rituaal rules duringg the process (cf. also Gell 1998, 145ff).. You u do not have to be a saint to paint an iccon, but doingg so iss also a ritual process. p Stud dies of past crafts have ffocused on very v differentt aspeects at differeent times. Eaarly researchers includingg Oldeeberg (1942) focused on ppurely techniccal aspects, a topicc still investiggated experim mentally. The economic e andd social organisation of crafts onnly became a common c topicc laterr. This discusssion is partially connecteed with moree geneeral discussioons about speecialisation and a economy,, both h inside and outside thee Marxist traadition (T.R.. Jenssen, 1994, 97fff and referennces there). In n recent years,, ideo ological aspectts have becom me popular, an nd researcherss such h as Anna Hed H Jakobssonn (2003) and d Julie Lundd (200 06) are more innterested in how crafts werre understood,, ideo ologically, thaan how they w were executed d, technically.. Thiss has led to a change inn sources: earrlier researchh

Figure 8.1) Amulets in the landscape: this fine ouroboross was supposedly founnd atop of the Gokkstad mound. However, it must bee dated to the late Midddle Ages or rathher the Renaissaance. Thus, althoough it proves reuse of the landscapee, this reuse is not Viking Age (own drawing; scale of 1 cm; Univeersitetets Oldsakssamling C 10808; not included).

163

Viking Age amulets in Scandinavia and Western Europe The question of specialisation has been discussed by Johan Callmer. He suggests that specialists probably did not existed locally in all villages, since the production of for instance bronze objects probably was too small to occupy a local, full-time specialist (Callmer 2003, 344). Instead, he believes that the craftspeople either wandered, or were concentrated on a few central places, possibly towns. He also believes that there was a change in the organization of crafts during the Viking Age, at least for South Swedish comb-makers and bronze casters. He argues that that before the year 700, the crafts were closely associated with very local and regional structures and with the elite gift economy. He suggests that after 700 AD, they became associated with more over-regional structures, until the towns began to dominate the production around the year 1000. This model probably cannot be generalised to all craftsmanship, and Callmer suggests that were no sharp, sudden breaks from one form of organization to another (Callmer 1995, 64f). He also suggests that iterant craftsmen were typically legally free, while stationary craftspeople might very well have been unfree (but see T.R. Jensen 1994, 110, Hedegaard 1994, 107) Callmer concludes that there was much variation in craftspeople’s social status (Callmer 1995, 68).

focused on the crafts’ products, tools and productive sites, while new works focus more on representations of crafts, including texts and pictures. Most recently, Terje Gansum (2003) has combined several of these questions and methods. I do not believe that it is productive to isolate production from the larger social reality. No matter how the crafts were thought, they were primarily a physical and economical activity. Any study that isolates meaning or technique from society and economy is largely to miss vital aspects of craft. Economy and the social organisation of crafts Different researchers have discussed different aspects of craftspeople’s role using very different sources. Five issues have been discussed in dept: how mobile the craftspeople were; their legal status; their social status; how close their ties to the consumers were; and the degree of specialisation. These problems are related, but not identical. I shall deal with each in turn. Archaeologically, the question about mobility seems most satisfactory answered: Thomas Roland Jensen points to the seasonal market in Ribe and the more permanent workshops in Hedeby as examples of traces different degrees of mobility (T.R. Jensen 1994, 92ff). Craftspeople in towns were more settled than those on Ribe’s seasonal market. Others suggest that even the craftspeople in the towns were not permanently bound to one place. Thus, Mainman & Rogers (2004, 481) interpret the traces of many different crafts in the same workshops in York as evidence that these workshops were used by several different craftspeople, either during one period or one after the other. The lack of spatial specialisation in amber work in Hedeby could be interpreted in the same way (cf. Ulbricht 1990, 104f). Also the Mästermyr tool chest and the dies from Hedeby harbour can be interpreted as tools lost by iterant craftspeople on the move (see Thålin-Bergman 1979, 102 and Alment & Capelle 1999, 626).

Callmer sees techniques such as flame gilding as signs of a high specialisation and centralisation of metal work, and thus of stationary craftspeople (Callmer 1989, 30). Flame gilding is very rare on Viking Age amulets, but filigree may be a just as specialised technique, and is well-represented. Callmer himself believes that many craftspeople were iterant, simply because he not sees no strong indication that close dependencies on the elite were common (Ibid. 336, and see below). Yet, at least some craftspeople seem to have been high specialised and stationary. In contrast to Callmer, Ó Meadhra suggests that many farmers probably had some knowledge of simple craftsmanship, without being full time specialists (Ó Meadhra 1987, 166f). Thus, scattered archaeological traces of simple craftsmanship are not proof of iterant specialists. Roth, too, suggests that most of the over 200 known, Scandinavian craftspeople’s graves represent non-specialists (Roth 1986, 130). Thus, some crafts may have been much less specialised than those Callmer describes. Yet, there is still basis for Callmer’s and Hedegaard’s observations: Viking Age luxury objects were probably made by specialists, who worked full time, but not for local village consumption. Either the craftspeople themselves, or their products, travelled over a larger area.

On the other hand, Uainn Ó Meadhra stresses that neither scattered products nor individual journeys in themselves prove that craftspeople travelled regularly. On the Continent, there is good evidence for craftspeople with one permanent base, who were occasionally sent out to another place (Ó Meadhra 1987, 166f, Roth 1986, 128). The owner of the tools from Hedeby harbour and Mästermyr need not have spent all of their lives on the road, even if they lost their tools while travelling. From ethnographic parallels, Michael Rowlands stresses that mobile craftspeople rarely wander aimlessly, but more often circulate between a few established stations (Rowlands 1971, 214, cf. Callmer 2003, 344). This interpretation seems reasonable in relation to sites like Ribe. Thus, the archaeological remains suggest that some craftspeople were more mobile than others, but none need have been altogether stationary. Some may have stayed in one place for years, other travelled between a few bases in an annual round.

Thus, the material suggests that some craftspeople were specialists, while others only practiced the crafts as a byline. Some specialists may have been settled, while others may have been more mobile. Part-time craftspeople were probably mostly settled farmers. The question of legal status is very difficult to evaluate archaeologically. Instead, some researchers have drawn 164

8: General patterns: social variation (Hed Jakobsson 2003, 161). She suggests that this may be because the smiths’ status was ambivalent or liminal (Ibid 164). This seems a mistake: some smiths had high status, others low status. This does not mean that the individual smith’s status was in any way ambivalent.

on the Continental Germanic folk laws. The method seems dubious in the extreme, since these laws had welldefined jurisdictions and did not apply to Scandinavians in Scandinavia. It seems absurd to use any law as a source for anything outside its jurisdiction. In any case, these laws give somewhat conflicting information. The Salic (Frankish), the Burgundic and the Visgotic laws refer only to craftspeople as slaves, whereas the Allemanic law distinguish between free and unfree craftspeople (Wolters 1998, 365f). Other sources show that free craftspeople also existed in Frankia, despite the silence of the law. As Edward James explains, “The only craftsmen who appear in the legal sources are slaves because of the need to state their value ... Other craftsmen seem to have been independent, and quite mobile.” (James 1988, 207). He points to the grave from Hérouvillette as one of the few archaeological traces of free, Frankish craftspeople. Here, the dead person was buried with weapons, like other free Franks and with tools and raw materials (Ibid.). Thus, the sources show that some, but certainly not all, craftspeople on the Continent were slaves. Free craftspeople evidently existed in the elite, including the goldsmith-bishop Elegius of Noyon, and likely also in more humble parts of society. The written sources can consequently not support interpretations that all goldsmiths or craftspeople had the same legal status in Frankia, let alone in Scandinavia.

This discussion leads to the question about the relationship to consumers. Hed Jakobsson’s interpretation emphasise elite control over crafts, with close ties between elite consumer-patrons and craftsperson-clients. Such an interpretation seems very reasonable for craftsmanship on aristocratic central places as Tissø, Uppåkra and Fyrkat. It seems less reasonable for the proto-urban sites. Here, some objects seem massproduced, apparently for an open market. Both in Hedeby, Ralswiek and in Ribe, this also applies to amulets. The objects themselves can also throw light on this: objects that took a long time to make may be the product of a long social contract. Thus, for instance the Thor’s hammer from Skåne (SHM 9882:810; cat. 579) may be interpreted as a sign that some craftspeople had close and long-lived ties to their consumers. All in all, the material suggests large variation: some craftspeople wandered, others were stationary, some were specialists, other generalists or amateurs. This diversity cannot surprise. In later times, variations have co-existed, both as differences between different crafts and as different specializations within the same craft: in the late Middle Ages, most ceramics were mass-produced for an open market, while clothes were often sewn to measure for the individual. In the renaissance, many builders were mobile, while ship builders more often were stationary at the shipyards. Even today, some mechanics run independent garages, while others are employed on contracts by companies with large car-pools.

The archaeological sources are less evident. As mentioned Callmer believes that iterant craftspeople were probably not slaves, but others reject his argument (above). As for craftspeople’s social status, Alment & Capelle point to the Scandinavian craftspeople’s graves and the lack of similar graves in Frankia (Alment & Capelle 1999, 626, but cf. Hérouvillette, above). They interpret this as an indication that craftsmanship had a different, larger social importance in Scandinavia than in Frankia. As Hed Jakobsson argues, this needs not mean that the individual craftsperson enjoyed high status, nor that the dead in these graves enjoyed their high status just because they were craftspeople (Hed Jakobsson 2003, 158f, but cf. Roth 1986, 129, T.R. Jensen 1994, 107ff). Instead, the graves may mark elite control over craftsmanship actually practices by others (cf. Thålin-Bergman 1979, 101f). Yet, the differences in comparable material show that craftsmanship played different roles in the two societies. Thus, there is some support for Roth’s suggestion that Scandinavian craftspeople were typically free farmers, unlike most of their Frankish peers (Roth 1986, 130). Both in Frankia and in Scandinavia, there are sources to show that some high status people also practiced crafts. These include Elegius of Noyon and the smith Skallagrim, father of poet Erik Skallagrimsson (James 1988, 207, Thålin-Bergman 1979, 102). Roth stresses that even unfree craftspeople might enjoy high respect (Roth 1986, 127).

Thus, we may imagine three different relationships between craftsperson, product and consumer: 1) the craftsperson as an altogether free agent, who first manufactures products and then seeks out buyers; 2) the craftsperson under contract, where the product is ordered by the customer, but the mutual connection between the two is only short-lived; and 3) the craftsperson attached to the customer in a long-term or permanent patronclient-relationship, possibly as master and slave. Generally, the freest relations should result in the most standardised goods. Conversely, the most personal relations may have resulted in the greatest specialisation and adaptation to the customer’s individual desires. The most luxurious, unique and conspicuous pieces could consequently be created in patron-client-relationships, just as was the case during the renaissance. Unique pieces and mass production, master pieces and standard commodities Viking Age artefacts show a degree of variation that supports the theory about diverse relations between different craftspeople and consumers. Some types,

Based on such evidence, Anna Hed Jakobsson concludes that it is impossible to generalise the smiths’ social status 165

Viking Age amulets in Scandinavia and Western Europe these cases, it must be assumed that the social distance from craftsperson to consumer was quite long.

including glass beads and three-layer-combs, are highly standardised. They were produced locally in different towns but there is nothing to suggest any attempt to adapt them to local preferences. They were sold as entirely standardised commodities, and the craftspeople worked altogether independently of the customers. Other types show more adaptation. Especially the oval brooches’ chronology and typology suggest that fashion was a significant factor in their shape. As Sindbæk argues, casters probably sought to avoid more recastings than absolutely necessary (Sindbæk 2005, 53). Consequently, it is a reasonable assumption that they only made the metal into brooches when they had a buyer for them. Brooches, and specific designs, were produced on demand. Finally, some pieces are altogether unique. Many of these were likely made to order. Thus, some Viking Age craftsmanship consists of mass-produced standard commodities, but much seems made to order and shaped by individual customer’s demands. Most craftmen seem to have worked with some specific client in mind. This also applies to the amulets. Like other goods, some were mass-produced, others more unique: in Hedeby and on Åhus II there seem to have been some massproduction of axes of amber (Callmer 2001, 133). Capsules, lunulae and the small crosses from Birka also seem rather standardised. Huber points out that the three Thor’s hammers from Ralswiek (cat. 1345-1348) were found together on an open ring, as if they were goods hanged up for sale (Huber 2004, 30). In contrast, the human and animal figurines and most Thor’s hammers are unique. They seem made to order, rather than standard jewellery. These special orders reflect contractual relationships of very different durations for different pieces. The simple Thor’s hammers from Stengade (cat. 167-168) do not represent many hours of work. In contrast, pieces as the Väsby ornament, the Birka filigree crucifix (cat. 711) and the Skåne Thor’s hammer (cat. 562) must represent weeks or months of work. Filigree-work, especially, must have added significantly to the time needed for production. In several places, both amulets and associated moulds have been found. On Birka, an amulet was found in a grave on Hemlanden, just north for the settlement, the mould inside the settlement (grave Bj. 825, Ambrosiani & Eriksson 1996, 27; cat. 749). Similarly, in Hedeby a die for a “duck’s foot” foil was found on the settlement, as was a tweezers cross (cat 1296) with such a foil hanging from it. These finds indicate that some amulets were produced, used and deposited very locally. In contrast, Staecker’s catalogue shows that moulds for Thor’s hammers have very different distribution from the finished pieces: there are more moulds than hammers in Ireland, more hammers than moulds in Denmark (Staecker 1999a, 519ff; cf. Graham-Campbell 1986, 24, Huber 2004, 37). This must reflect the material’s incomplete nature. It can also strengthen Ó Medhra’s observation that products could wander quite far from the place of production. Here, it is also relevant that at least some pieces seem to be exotic imports. This applies to cross pendants imported from South Eastern Europe, Caucasic scarabs, and copper-alloy objects exported from Birka to Western Norway (Ambrosiani 1998, 204ff). In

Thus, some consumers may have employed individual craftspeople for months, making them formal clients, while others got their amulets from independent tradesmen hired for a single job, and still others bought amulets made far away by people they had never met. In one case, the evidence may allow a more detailed reconstruction of a patron-client-relationship: Florian Huber suggests that the small number of Thor’s hammers with human or bird’s head suspension may all have been produced by the same workshop. Huber believes that this workshop may also have been responsible for the Hiddensee crosses (Huber 2004, 35). Dies for Hiddensee crosses have been found in Hedeby harbour, so at least some of these seem produced in Hedeby. Given the relevant Thor’s hammers’ distribution (Hedeby, cat. 1311; Mandemark, cat. 114; Skåne, cat. 562; Östegötland, cat. 1281; Öland, cat. 1244), it does not seem unreasonable to tie their production to a single aristocratic contact-network. Relative to Hedeby, the Thor’s hammers are surprisingly eastern. Thus, the craftsperson may first have worked in Hedeby, later moved east. In Hedeby, the rather standardised Hiddensee ornaments were likely made for an open market. In Sweden, the Thor’s hammers may indicate a far closer relation to an aristocratic family with contacts, friends or allies, in neighbouring regions. It is even possible that an aristocratic Skåne family sent Thor’s hammers and people wearing them (eligible daughters?) to their allies on Møn, in Östergötland and on Öland. The craft shows an experience with techniques of Slavic origins. A promising goldsmith in Hedeby could well be, or study under, a Slavic master. Alternatively, a goldsmith trained in the Slavic tradition might seek to further his career in the greatest, local town, and possibly end up in service to Skåne’s nobility. None of this says anything about whether the craftsperson was slave or free. However, for the aristocrats it would probably be even easier to buy a slave than to recruit a free man. We do not know where this hypothetical family lived, but there certainly were aristocrats and craftpeople living as Uppåkra. A dynastic family there may well have traded gifts and intermarried with peers on Öland, in Östergötland, and in eastern Denmark. This theory permits a speculative reconstruction of the relationship between a craftsperson, his clients and their amulets. The unique Thor’s hammers with human and bird’s heads could be an emblem for family identity and aristocratic rank, as much as for religion. Possibly, these heads were a recognised brand or heraldic emblem in their own time, linking the masterwork and the master beyond separation. The wearers were marked as pagans, as members of their specific noble house, and as connected with this house’s favoured designer and master jeweller. In this connection, I must also mention the five very similar cross pendants from Birka. These crosses are 166

8: General patterns: social variation context. I have not had similar access to the other types, and consequently I cannot include them here, but similar studies may be possible in the future.

either made by the same workshop or as copies of shared original. It is not unreasonable to associate them with an individual craftsperson, likely a member of the Christian congregation. In this connection, it is interesting that Gräslund believes that the Christians on Birka also had their own peculiarities in the design of coffins, build after Frisian traditions. As Gräslund points out, these trapezoid coffins are not a result of formal Christian doctrine, but of informal, cultural tradition. This situation might arise if many Christians had their coffins made by the same Frisian-trained carpenter. The uniform crosses and coffins might suggest that Christian consumers all used the same carpenter and the same silversmith. Likely, these people were members of their own community of believers. The relationship between craftsperson and consumer here need consequently neither be a free proto-capitalist competition nor hierarchical patron-client-relationship. Instead, the congregation was also a community. All this suggests that craftspeople’s identity made a difference sometimes, but far from always. In many cases, the finished object’s form was apparently more important than who made it. The production of amulets was usually a technical, rather than a magical, process. Unlike Hed Jakobsson (2003), I see little to suggest that for smiths or craftspeople were generally ascribed special, liminal or supernatural, status.

Figure 8.2) Some Thor’s hammers are more finely executed than others. From the top: Switland, Leicester (silver; cat. 242), the Roddings (silver; cat. 239), Hedeby (Lead; cat. 1322) and Hedeby (Lead; cat. 1311). Bird’s head, stamps etc. are purely decorative details, not necessary for the hammers’ functionality (my own drawing, scale of 1 cm).

Summary and section conclusion on economy All in all, the amulet material suggests very diverse relationships between craftspeople and final consumers. Some pieces, such as the Skåne Thor’s hammer, seem to have been produced under long-time dependencies, contracts of the patron-client-type. They may most closely be compared with today’s haute couture or signed art. Others, such as the amber axes from Hedeby seem mass-produced and sold rather anonymously, like today’s pret-a-porter. Just like modern watches or dress jewellery, the amulets seem to run the spectrum from purely functional and anonymous to luxurious, prestigious masterworks. This analogy suggests that the shape was enough to cover minimal needs, but that some amulets were “finer” than others, and that this was also important for many consumers. The masterwork’s charisma was not a functional need, but it was an attractive attribute. Thus, it is not certain that the Skåne Thor’s hammer’s unique association to the master who had made it meant anything for the piece’s use as an amulet. However, it is very likely that it meant something for the wearer in a more general context. The master may not have been a particularly holy person, but he was probably a celebrated genius. Here, the special amulets had more in common with other special objects than with other amulets. The Skåne Thor’s hammer is not a typical Thor’s hammer, any more than the Mammen axe is a typical axe.

The catalogue includes 37 masks. These can be subdivided into several groups, mirroring very different crafts traditions and situations. At least two masks seem to be reuse: the bone maskfrom Asak, Norway (cat. 273) may be a reused playing piece, cut down and supplied with suspension (Grieg 1954, 188, fig. 12, Rygh 1885, 25, Undset 1878, 31). The silver mask from Aska, Östergötland (cat. 1350) may be reworked from an ornament on a knife or the like. It is made of cast silver with applied silver filigree, and shows a man’s head with beard and full-face helmet with bird’s motif (Price 2002, 157f, Graham-Campbell 1980c, No. 481). Two other masks are supplied with extra holes that might suggest that they have been used as fittings. These are the finds from Jyllinge Helligkorskirke (cat. 14, unpublished) and Lyngby sogn (cat. 174; Zeiten 1997, No. 6). Zeiten also stresses the similarities in design between Aska and Lyngby. Three masks are carved from amber. These are the finds from Eskør strand (cat. 160, Zeiten 1997, No. 4), Frederikshavn Markjorder (cat. 178, J. Jensen 1982, 177, Zeiten 1997, No. 7), and from Denmark without information (cat. 7, J. Jensen 1982, 176, Zeiten 1997, No. 9). Both beach finds may have been moved far from their original context by water. The last piece was sent in to the national museum in Copenhagen by Mads Møller,

8.3) The craft in masks and anchors I have had the opportunity to study several masks and almost all anchors closely. Differences in the crafts within these types reveal something about their social 167

Viking Age amulets in Scandinavia and Western Europe (Graham-Campbell 1980b, No. 169). This hoard also contained 12 Russian filigree masks/snakes. These should probably not be interpreted as amulets. Rather, they seem worn as part of a set of jewellery. Graham-Campbell describes “the snake masks” as produced from two layers foil and soldered-on filigree, the same technique as the men’s masks (Graham-Campbell 1980b, No. 169). A similar “snake mask” is known from from Grimsta, Gotland (Stenberger 1958, 162, Duczko 1985, 69). Among the man’s masks, the Fölhagen piece is by far the best planned and executed, and it seems possible that the pieces from Birka and Bridlington are provincial copies of this mask, or ones like it. Thus, the silver filigree mask’s craftsmanship seems an expression of Russian connections. However, the Bridlington mask’s solder and use of foil in different thickness also shows that the craftspeople who made these pieces were highly skilled. The design is not perfect, but the craft is very sophisticated. The gold mask from Sigtuna (cat. 965) may also be related to this group. It is made of pressed foil and filigree, as are the others. However, it depicts an animal’s head, possibly a raptor, but with ears or horns. Huber compares this with the Thor’s hammer from Skåne without information, and the Hiddensee crosses (Huber 2004, 121, No. 04). The classification of this piece as a mask is uncertain. It is unique. As Huber suggest, it may have been made by the same craftsperson as the Hiddensee crosses and the Thor’s hammers with animal and human heads. The craft is altogether different from the three man’s masks, being far more three-dimensional. Two silver masks cannot be assigned to this group: the mask from Brændesgård (cat. 140) conforms far more closely to the types more often made from copper-alloys, the Gile-type (below). The mask from Trelleborggårde (cat. 107) remains unpublished, and the published description is to brief for typology.

from in Egedesminde/Aasiaat near Sukkertoppen/ Manitsoq on Greenland. The national museum’s protocols do not make clear if the piece was found on Greenland or brought there from Denmark in historical time. However, the piece’s form leaves no doubt that it is Scandinavian Viking Age work. Nor is amber common on Greenland. The piece is generally considered to be Danish work. None of the three amber masks have good provenance information. Yet, it is striking that the two beach-finds come from Western Denmark, and that the third piece might also come from here. Although other masks and other amber amulets both had a much larger distribution, it was only locally these two elements were combined. It is not inconceivable that one craftsperson may be responsible for all three pieces. There are clear technical similarities between three masks of silver, from Bridlington, England (cat. 240), from Fölhagen, Gotland (cat. 382), and from Bj. 865 on Birka (cat. 762). The English mask can serve as an example of the craft: it is made of two thin silver foils. The front one, with application of silver filigree and granulation, is very thin, possibly 0.1 mm, the back one somewhat thicker, possibly 0.3 mm. The mask’s edge and nose are made of double, Z-wound silver wire, eyes, ears and beard in false beaded wire with much wear. The cheeks are filled out with granulation of irregular size. On each cheek is a rosette of filigree and beaded wire, along the nose’s edge a thin, straight silver wire. Above the eyebrows, the front foil is damaged, and the back one visible. There is no preserved filigree or granulation in this area. In this area, there are two rather rough holes, possibly for suspension. It is not possible to evaluate how these have looked from the piece’s front. The ears are not symmetrical. The foil’s back shows two folds, possibly secondary, and a number of small scratches. These last do not look like test marks, but could be from fixing the piece during work, e.g in a vice. In the mask’s eyes and mouth a greenish, corroded solder is visible. This may be a copper-alloy. The two other masks, too, are made of double foils, ornamented with filigree. They look strikingly like the Bridlington mask, although the Fölhagen mask is more symmetrical, better preserved, and much better executed.

The only lead mask in the catalogue is the famous “Odin from Ribe” (cat. 229). This piece is modelled in three dimensions, and probably cast. It has been interpreted as a model or blank, but the logic of this is not altogether clear (Roesdahl et al. 1992, no. 184, Zeiten 1997, no. 8, Kjærum & Olesen 1990, 178). The mask seems originally found in the area surrounding Ribe Kunstmuseum on Sct. Nikolaigade. Here, later excavations revealed Ribe’s Viking Age market site. Moulds for similar pieces have been found in Ribe. Thus, there is no doubt that this piece is part of an organised, local production. Although no quite identical pieces have yet been found, the finds of moulds show that they must have existed. These finds show a local mass-production of three-dimensional, cast masks, at least some of them lead.

The mask from Birka permits a suggested date to the first half of the 900s. The craft has been discussed in detail by Duczko (1985, 68f). Unlike the other two, this one is made from a single piece of foil, with the rivet that fixes the suspension clearly visible on front. Duczko describes this suspension as secondary repair. The ears and cheek rosettes alike are smallish, leaving large areas of the background bare, and giving the design a less balanced look than for the others. All in all, this may be a provincial copy of more accomplished work from elsewhere.

The masks of copper-alloy constitute a far less homogenous group. At least seven pieces can be described as flat masks in Borre style, sometime scalled “Gile type”. They are two pieces from Gutadalen, Norway (cat. 332-333), and pieces from Gile, Norway (cat. 321), Gårdstånga, Skåne (cat. 534), Uppåkra (cat. 550), Tissø (cat. 73) and Ejby

James Graham-Campbell considers the crafts in the Fölhagen mask to be characteristically Western Russian 168

8: General patterns: social variation quality, a little more successful on the face’s left than right side (Petersen 1928, fig. 164). Unlike the flat and stylized Borre style masks, this one is three-dimensional, more realistic, and executed with a degree of detail that demanded an amazing control over the casting process. It is probably worked over after casting. Also the piece from Prestenga, Norway (cat. 295) can be described as naturalistic, and is probably comparable (UO cat. 35124). These pieces show some similarity with the piece from Bj. 649 on Birka (not included), which is made of silver. However, that piece was found with two miniature arms, and is probably part of a larger figurine (Duczko 1985, 69, Arbman 1940, taf. 92:3).

Mølle (cat. 156). The Arnestad piece (cat. 338) and the piece of unknown origin (cat. 299) also belong to this type, as does the Brændesgård silver mask (cat. 140). All these are strikingly similar. The masks from Gutadalen were found in a grave, as part of a complex of jewellery that also included a snake (BiM cat. 119, Shetelig 1904, 25, Grieg 1954, 187 and fig. 11, Sandal 2000, 65 & 141, Shetelig 1944, 12). The mask from Tissø is interpreted as miscast, and may never have been used (Jørgensen & Pedersen 1996, 30, Zeiten 1997, No. 1). This may indicate that it was made locally on Tissø. The mask from Gårdstånga was found on a site that has been royal property since the year 1000, and which contained traces of diverse craft activities, including bronze casting (Söderberg 1993, Jacobsson 2000, No. 30, Söderberg 2003, 67, Rosengren n. d.). Consequently, this piece, too, may have been made locally, and have connections to the elite. The mask from Uppåkra is a stray find. The Borre style mask motif is very common, and these masks may have been developed independently of each other. Yet, the similarities are striking, and the pieces from Tissø, Uppåkra and Gårdstånga were found so close to each other that a connection seems very likely. The mask from Rangá, Iceland (cat. 284), might also be included in this group, although the similarities are not quite so evident (Eldjárn 2000, 382, Friðriksson 2000, 604). Also the mask from Hedeby (cat. 1298) should be mentioned here: it is very worn, but somewhat rhombic in form. Eyes and nose are reasonably visible, mouth and possible moustache are vaguely indicated, the other details very blurred (Drescher & Hauck 1982, 240, Anm. 5, Elsner 1992, 77, Zeiten 1997, no. 10). It seems to represent an extreme development in the stylisation already clear among the Borre style pieces. Likewise, one of the Trelleborggårde masks (cat. 105) may be associated with the Gile-type. Like the others, it is flat and vaguely triangular, but it lacks the extreme stylisation of the more characteristic pieces (photo in N. Christensen 2007, 124B).

From Birka, two further three-dimensional masks are known, both in copper-alloy (cat. 729, from Bj. 642, and cat. 761, from Bj. 860; Arbamn 1942, tafel 92, Duczko 1985, 69). These two are almost identical, and show a teardrop-shaped face with a braided beard. There can be no reasonable doubt that they were made as part of the same production run, most reasonably on Birka. One of the two masks from Trelleborggårde (cat. 106) is very similar to the Birka pieces, although not quite as similar as they are to each other. N. Christensen (2007, 154) gives the material as silver, gold and niello. However, on his photograph, only two metals are apparent, and elsewhere the piece is described as tinned bronze (NM protocols). Although these three-dimensional masks were also made by very skilled casters, they seem designed independently of the flat Borre style masks. They reveal another group of casters who worked independently of the first, but probably also for the elite. The Ribe mask (cat. 229) is lead, but it, too, belongs to the group of threedimensional masks. However, no other mask in this group has Ribe’s horns or bird’s heads. The final mask from Tissø (cat. 63) has some features in common with this group, some with the triangular Gile type. It is very narrow, but more rounded than the Gile type, and has more relief than them, without truly being three-dimensional.

Many, possibly all these masks, may have been made by craftspeople in elite employ. They represent much less work than the silver masks, and so do not necessarily reflect long-term relations, although the gilded Uppåkramask shows the craftsperson’s high ability. It is striking that no such masks are known from Central Sweden or the Baltic islands.

Other masks are far more idiosyncratic. The fork-bearded and highly stylised copper alloy mask from Tissø seems to be unique (cat. 46). The piece from Brudager Mark II (cat 162) may be designed to be an ambiguous man’s/goat’s head. In this connection, the find from grave 2, Solberga, Östergötland (not included) also deserves mentioning: Arne describes it as a “small hollow human head of bronze with suspension loop” 34 (Arne 1932, 95). Unlike most of the above masks of copper-alloy, this one does not have a flat back. Instead, it is hollow, and open at the bottom. Facial features are very stylised, so that the mask almost looks like a Greek hoplite’s helmet. As far as I know, the piece is unique. It must be excluded from the analysis as the date is very unclear. The context suggests that it might as well be Vendel period as Viking Age, and the shape cannot contradict an early date

The mask from Vidarshof (cat. 297) represents a very different tradition. This mask is made of copper-alloy with gilding (Petersen 1928, 141, fig. 164; Grieg 1954, fig. 8, 186). Grieg believes that some features of the mask point to a date in the migration period, yet also draws parallels to other Viking Age finds. The gilding is preserved on large parts of the mask, and originally seems to have covered it all. On the mask’s forehead is a small defect, probably a casting flaw. The metal is very thin, and the back obviously more raw and unfinished than the front. The mask shows a bearded man’s face, with obviously marked arches as eyebrows. The hair is indicated, suggesting that this mask should not be understood as wearing a helmet. The casting is of high

34 “”… einem kleinem hohlen Menschenkopfe aus Bronze mit Öse…”

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Viking Age amulets in Scandinavia and Western Europe consumers who could improvise independently of producers.

In addition to these, there are a few more masks in the catalogue. I have not been able to get to see these in real life, nor find good illustrations of these, and consequently cannot discuss their design (cat. 11, 14, 20, 107, 123, 144).

It is also interesting that masks were both part of a highly developed Russian tradition and a local, Scandinavian tradition. The very finely executed Russian silver filigree masks show that the mask type was a local tradition there. However, far from all Scandinavian masks were copies of the Russian masterpieces. The simple copper-alloy masks must have had a value and a meaning independently of these, for here nothing has been done to imitate details in the Russian works. These two regional traditions existed independently of each other, even through individual pieces did travel between the regions.

As a group, the masks show that mask-amulets were made in different materials, with different crafts, and probably in different economic situations: The filigree pieces seem to represent the absolute elite craft of the time, probably associated with a very small, aristocratic environment. Although the Borre style masks also occur on aristocratic sites, they have a far larger and more diffuse distribution. They may have been reinvented on several occasions, independently of each other. The more realistic, three-dimensional masks in copper and silver show another approach, independent of the twodimensional ornament and its conventions. However, they are made from so different materials, amber, copperalloy and lead, that they probably cannot all be a product of the same group of craftspeople. It seems more likely that the (Western Danish) amber masks constitute a local adaptation or imitation. Finally, the enigmatic mask from Solberga may illustrate that the type had very old, local roots, already before new techniques and motifs came into fashion in Scandinavia. The geographical distribution, too, shows that the groups overlap: the silver filigree masks are distributed from Gotland to England, the three-dimensional, detailed masks in copper-alloy are spread across the Scandinavian Peninsula and the flat Borre style masks are even more widely distributed. Consequently, these are not regional traditions.

The miniature anchors present a very different situation. I have had the opportunity to study almost all miniature anchors in detail. The only exception is the piece from York, which I have only seen in exhibition. I shall first describe the individual pieces, then make some comments on their production: Cat. 1291 (ALM KS 13710, Hb 19- LW 6; Zeiten 1997, No. 154): today, the find number includes two pieces, the anchor itself and a bit of lead, presumably from the shaft. The anchor is somewhat asymmetrical today, but this seems due to one arm being better preserved than the other. Thus, this asymmetry may not be original. Under the anchor’s middle, there is a deep hole, possibly the remains of a hole for sewing it on to cloth. The surface is flat and smooth, and could be cast or polished. The piece has no preserved suspension. Cat. 1309 (ALM KS Hb 67 LW 29; Zeiten 1997, No. 155): The piece is rather asymmetrical, as one arm is a little more arched than the other. On the shaft, a slight twist and counter-twist can be seen. The piece is very flat, very delicate and sharply facetted. On one side, a slight sinking can be observed, suggesting that the piece was cast. In the suspension hole, a black mass is visible, likely some secondary inclusion, possibly charcoal or earth. Cat. 1310 (ALM KS Hb LW 30; Zeiten 1997, No. 156): at the bottom of the piece, there is a damaged hole for sewing it on to cloth, at the top an intact suspension hole. On the back two sets of two grooves can be seen running across the piece. These may be knife-tracks. On the back of the left arm are a number of cracks. The piece has flat sides, a square cross-section and lightly worn edges.

The mask’s varied craftsmanship reveals a just as varied society: some masks may be connected with massproduction, either on Ribe’s free market or in Tissø’s and Uppåkra’s palace-economies. Others must be connected to a small elite and its patronised, exotic craftspeople. It is even possible that Bridlington and Bj. 856 represent local fashions that imitate other people’s exotic import after the principle of keeping up with the Joneses. Finally, the reused masks from Asak and Aska show that some people could improvise. The filigree masks were probably closely associated with an individual master and his unique command of the technique. The reused pieces were completely disassociated from their earlier context and original production. The reuse also represents

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Figure 8.3) Minniature anchors frrom Hedeby, all lead. l Although thee type is very loca al, there is no staandardisation (myy own drawing; leeft row cat. 1320, 1321, 13112; middle row caat. 1309, 1291 annd 1322; right row w cat. 1316, 1308 8 and 1310; scalee of 1 cm.).

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Viking Age amulets in Scandinavia and Western Europe can be directly observed on the pieces. In no case are the anchors assembled from several parts, unlike the technique used for making real anchors. Thus, both technique and choice of material show a distance between miniature anchors and real anchors. Several anchors show evidence of being finished with a knife. In several cases, the pieces seem to have been repaired secondarily: cat. 1309 is twisted back in form, cat. 1312 supplied with a new suspension.

Cat. 1311 (ALM KS HbL. G. 1.8; Zeiten 1997, No. 153): The piece is corroded and repaired, and only small bits of the suspension remain. One arm is broken. The shaft is sharply facetted, the cross-section almost hexagonal. The surface seems almost bubbly, likely cast, but the very sharp angles suggest that it was finished with a knife. Cat. 1316 (ALM KS Hb68 LW 34; Zeiten 1997, No. 159): very small, apparently complete anchor. The shaftend is lightly tarnished. Unlike Zeiten, I see no traces of any damaged suspension. The surface is slightly rough, the facets sharp, and traces of production cannot be observed. Cat. 1318 (ALM KS Hb 68 LW 32; Zeiten 1997, No. 157): At the bottom of the piece, there is a hole for sewing it on to cloth. The back of this forms a crater. Thus, this hole seems punched from the front with a spike or mandrel, and only scantly cleaned up. On both sides and on the arms, there is a faint pattern, almost like tremolier etching, but irregular in distribution. This is probably an unintended result of fabrication, possibly of the newly cast lead’s sinking, rather than an intended decorative element. The suspension is only partly preserved. Cat. 1320 (ALM KS Hb 63 LW 35; Zeiten 1997, No. 160): very small anchor, with two piercings, both at right angles to the arms’ direction. These holes seem driven through with a mandrel or spike, perhaps an awl, but not drilled. Both arms are moulded in three dimensions, a little narrower where they meet the shaft, a little broader shortly before their points. The other pieces may be cast in open moulds, but this piece must be cast in a closed mould or extensively remodelled after casting. Cat. 1321 (ALM KS Hb 68 LW 33; Zeiten 1997, No. 158): four fragments, with the right arm broken. At the bottom, a small piece of metal pierces the lead. This is either a suspension ring or a nail, apparently lead. If this is indeed lead, the hole must have been made with a tool of harder metal, probably iron, before insertion. In another fragment, a preserved suspension hole is seen. The piece is twisted and bent. Cat. 1322 (ALM KS Hb LW 69; Schietzel & CrumlinPedersen 1980, 7, Zeiten 1997, No. 161): complete anchor, with suspension hole, rectangular section and weak faceting, possibly cast and finished with a knife. Cat. 258, Yorkshire Museum, described as ship-shaped, is likely the same type as these. Its right arm is slightly bent inwards and upwards. This may be a secondary injury. Yorkshire Museum records that there is a pattern of lines on the shaft, but I could not confirm this. The interpretation as a ship is not unambiguous. Yorkshire museum describes the piece as a ship, but I would interpret it as an anchor. The mast or the anchor’s shaft is just as broad as the hull or the anchor’s arms, and the patterns on both mast/shaft and hull/arms are very vague. Most Viking Age Scandinavian images show ships under sail, as on the Gotland picture stones.

All the anchors have different dimensions. No attempt has been made to make them identical, and they were evidently not made in the same mould. It is more probable that they were made on different occasions, possibly over a long time, and possibly by several different craftspeople. Neither the choice of lead as material, not the techniques used require any high degree of expertise. These anchors may have produced by people who were not professional metal-workers. The repairs suggest that the anchors were in use over a long time. Many have damaged suspension, and it is not unreasonable to interpret them as deposited after they were worn out to uselessness. 8.4) Snake amulets in social and mythological context: an example of contextualisation The snake amulets may illustrate how these different approaches can support a coherent interpretation. They form a remarkably homogenous group, with a remarkable cosmopolitan distribution. They occur all across the area of investigation, and are concentrated near towns and population centres. Snake amulets are remarkably often connected to alienation and reuse: some of the amulets are themselves reused antiques or fossils, some were found in reused mounds. All these associations might support an association to international traders. These people frequented the trading towns, and made their fortunes by alienating commodities from their context of production, either through trade or through piracy. In terms of biology, the snake amulets show a fascinating confusion of species: some are made of fossil ammonites. These are in fact the fossils of molluscs. Yet, their reuse as snakes show that they were no longer recognised as molluscs in the Viking Age. Likewise, both the literature and linguistic sources show that “snakes” was a rather fluid category. People did not always distinguish sharply between worms, maggots, snakes and dragon-like monsters. Indeed, I think even the mythological dwarves could be assigned to the same category of beings: Associations between dwarves and snakelike creatures are found in the legend of Sigurd Favnesbane. The Ramsundsberg rock picture was made around the year 1000 at the initiative of a woman called Sigrid Ormsdatter (daughter of a man named Snake). It shows three brothers, the dwarf Regin, the dragon Favne/Fafnir and the otter-shapeshifter Odder/Otr. Favne is shown as a legless, snakelike dragon. In mythology, snake-dragons

All anchors are lead. Most are flat and two-dimensional, and could be cast in open moulds or carved from plates. The exception is cat. 1320, obviously modelled in three dimensions. In all cases, it seems reasonable to assume casting, and for cat. 1310, 1312 and 1318, traces of this 172

8: General patterns: social variation outside, at least one at the centre. This variation shows different craftspeople trying to meet demands, not a single person working from a well-defined idea. The individual craftsperson’s contribution would be less important than customers’ description. Consumers might hire any craftsperson to make a generic snake amulet. These amulets were more or less alienated from the specifics of production.

and dwarves could be next of kin to each other. The Ramsundsberg picture shows that this association was current in Eastern Scandinavia around 1000 AD. This might support the claim that “snake” amulets might be connected with dwarves, as much as with snakes. The same association is found in Snorre’s Edda. Snorre claims that the gods created the earth of giant Hymir’s corpse, and that the maggots in Hymir’s flesh (the worms in the ground) became the dwarves35. These same dwarves turn to stone if hit by sunlight (see for example in Alvismál 35). Here, dwarves, snakelike worms and petrifaction are all linked together. It does not seem too far-fetched to associate this complex of ideas together with the Viking Age reuse of petrified worm-like fossils as snake amulets. If Snorre’s petrifying dwarf-maggots owe anything to the ammonites, it seems likely that part of this myth became common in Scandinavia only after the conquest of York in 860.

In much the same way, these theories may explain the association to reused mounds: any newly built burial mound was made by someone. An abandoned mound, older than living memory, was “not made by anyone”, or at least not by any known person. Just like the fossils, it was a prestige object which traders could use without to accepting any social ties. Both snake amulets and the reused mounds may have appealed to a group of traders who believed in trading anything and everything on an open market. These goods may have been altogether alienated from conditions of production. Just like mythology’s dwarf-work, they existed without social context. When traditional land-owner aristocrats had new mounds built, this conspicuous consumption also showed how many workers they could command. Traders may have preferred to buy old mounds, to show that they could obtain the same goods without accepting the social ties that bound other elite groups to their clients.

The mythological dwarves have recently been discussed by Stefan Arvidsson (2005, throughout), who points out that they are the gods’ alibi: because the dwarves make magical objects, the gods can acquire these without to deigning to work, and because the dwarves are not real persons, the gods avoid any social duties. Although Arvidsson does not discuss this, his interpretation sounds strikingly like a classic Marxist understanding of capitalism. Here, trade alienates products from the workers and mystifies profit’s origins, so that it appears as something that arises spontaneously. It seems quite likely that the ideas that Arvidson describe were somehow shaped by the experience of traders and pirates. Like their gods, these people were happy to acquire goods without accepting any social obligations in turn. Most researchers suggest that proper capitalism was only developed long after the Viking Age, yet the trade in the towns was not too far removed from it. The association between snake amulets and dwarves on one hand, and towns on the other suggests that these amulets are tied quite closely to the dwarf-mythology that Arvidson describes. Again, much of the dwarf-mythology may have gained new importance after the growth of Viking trade and raiding.

This was a complex of meaning that arose gradually. The snake amulets only acquired much of this meaning after the conquest of York made ammonites familiar and after Scandinavia’s integration in a shared, European trading network made alienated commodities common. Nor can the amulets’ meaning be drawn from mythological sources alone. They demand a contemporary, economical and social fame of interpretation. It is worth stressing the contrast between snake amulets and the Thor’s hammers with bird’s and human heads: the snakes can be associated with proto-capitalist who thought that the amulets’ production was irrelevant. The hammers must rather be associated with aristocrats who thought that the personal ties between the genius master and his patron were of massive importance. Both groups were probably elite, but their strategies of power and their ideologies strikingly different.

Traders and pirates collected fortunes without producing anything, in a proto-capitalist way. They might have a special interest in fossils that existed without to be produced by anyone. The crafts used for making the snake amulets might also support this interpretation. The amulets are different enough that they were likely made by different craftspeople on customers’ demand. Some are carvesd and some forged, some have heads on the

8.5) Amulets between subjects and objects After the 1980s, anthropologists have in paid more and more attention to “the social life of things” and “objects’ biographies”. The theory is that in some situations, objects can be understood as “social persons”. Although the objects are not real persons, in a social context they are ascribed an influence that equates them with (human) persons. This idea about the objects’ inherent force is obvious relevant for amulets, and deserves discussion.

35 Gylfaginning XIV: “Next after this, the gods enthroned themselves in their seats and held judgment, and called to mind whence the dwarves had quickened in the mould and underneath in the earth, even as do maggots in flesh. The dwarves had first received shape and life in the flesh of Ymir, and were then maggots; but by decree of the gods had become conscious with the intelligence of men, and had human shape. And nevertheless they dwell in the earth and in stones.” The Prose Edda of Snorri Sturlson, Translated by Arthur Gilchrist Brodeur [1916], p26f.

The anthropologists Arjun Appadurai (1986, throughout) and Marilyn Strathern (1988, 134ff) describe how special objects can become part of a “social person”, extending

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Viking Age A amulets inn Scandinavia a and Westernn Europe s the self beyond the bodyy. In this undderstanding, some w objects are siimple, practical tools and coommodities, while other objectss are more unique with speccial, social vallue. In archaeoloogical context, this aspect has h especially been investigated by Chris Gosden (see for example e Gosdden & Mashall 19999, throughouut, Gosden & Knowles 2001, 2 180ff). Gosdden stresses thhat special objjects often beccome more speciall through tim me, as they accquire a still more m extensive bioography. Thee classic exam mple of this is the Trobiand Kuula-shells. Thhese are tradeed from islannd to island in an established circle c pattern, and acquire more social value, the further they travel. As the rouute is circular, shellls ideally end up back onn the island where w they started, but meanwhiile they acquiire a high agee and biographic associations too a whole chaain of owners.. The shells’ increaased value is not due to innherent rarityy, but rather acquirred along witth this compllicated, biograaphic history. At thhe same time, shells help coonnect peoplee who never directlyy meet each other o (cf. also Tilley 1999, 72ff., 7 Kopytoff 19886, 73f, Gosdeen & Knowless 2001, 20f).

person. In relation r to the t amulets, this approaach may bee espeecially relevannt for the finnd from Saff ffron Walden,, Esseex (Basset ann alii 1982). L Late in the 90 00s a person,, likelly a Scandinavian migrannt woman, was w buried onn Safffron Walden churchyard. She was bu uried with a neck klace with a cross c and twoo pendants in Scandinaviann stylee, and beads of carneliann, rock crystaal, silver andd colo oured glass. One O of the silvver beads is reeuse, probablyy mad de of the heaad of a dress pin. The carrnelian beadss com me from the Caucasus, C butt were probaably importedd throu ugh the Baltic. The large ppendants are Scandinaviann and the cross seeems to be locaal Anglo-Saxo on work. Thee pend dants have been b gilded aand repaired with rivetedd susp pension in thee same style aas on the crosss. They weree prob bably repairedd by the sam me person who made thee cross. The gildingg, too, is morre likely Angllo-Saxon thann Scan ndinavian traddition. Thiss find allows us to recounnts a story about a womann with h a necklace assembled a in S Scandinavia. She S may havee assembled it herrself, then miigrated, or sh he may havee inheerited it from m a migrant mother. In any case, itt conn nected her to her land of origin. Possib bly, the largee silveer bead was reuse from an even old der ornament,, perh haps a penannnular ring brrooch, a man n’s ornament,, perh haps belongingg to her fatherr. In England,, the daughterr acqu uired a cross, and had her hheirloom pend dants repairedd and gilded. The loocal cross sugggests that shee converted inn England. It conneected her to hher new homeeland and herr new w congregationn. For the wom man, all these objects couldd prob bably be assocciated to episoodes of her ow wn biography.. Thus the necklacce’s biographhy and the woman’s w ownn biog graphy seem connected c beyyond separatio on. When shee died d, she was so well integratted that she was w buried onn the local l churchyyard, but not sso well that sh he was buriedd quitee after the local Christiann usage, which generallyy avoiided grave gooods.

In secular, western w culturre, this mergeer of people’ss and object’s bioggraphy can bee found in coonnection witth art and heirloom ms. One mass-produced shhovel can repplace another, but one Picasso cannot c in the same way repplace another, andd a masterworrk by anotherr painter certtainly cannot (cf. Gell 1998, 57). With time, t even massm produced obbjects can achieve a speccial, unique status s through theiir biographicc associationss. Thus, Dubblin’s City Galleryy ’Hugh Lanne’ acquired and a exhibitedd the painter Franncis Bacon’s atelier: “Eacch of the 800,000 objects from Bacon’s London study wass picked up one at a time, brouught to Irelannd, and replacced in exactlyy the same position in the gallerry: empty beeer bottles, drieed-up brushes, plasstic bags andd all” (Sheehhan & Levy 2006, 2 70). The Inteerest in Baconn’s old brushes is because they are his, exacctly, and the interest in Bacon B becausse he produced his masterworkks. Perfectly ordinary bruushed become speccial objects thrrough associattion with a fam mous

S penndant and cross from f Saffron Wa alden, the cross shown s from two ssides (my own drrawing, cat. 238,, Figure 8.4) Objject biography: Scandinavian scale of 1 cm).

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8: General patterns: social variation as sign of violence directed against the man’s groin. This injury was perimortal: the man may have been dead already before the injury. He certainly did not survive long, and the resulting haemorrhage from the femoral artery would likely be lethal (Richards 2003, 388).

More generally, the amulets often seem to be individualised objects, likely with biographies. They are rarely luxury craftsmanship, but they are often unique. Florian Huber points out that the silver Thor’s hammers were cast in re-useable stone moulds, yet are all individually shaped (Huber 2004, 24; cf. I. Zachrisson 1984, 80). Purely technical interpretations can explain how, but not why, all the hammers were made unique (cf. Lønborg 1998, 75, Drescher 1983, 186). The same conditions can be observed for the anchors from Hedeby, described above. It would have been possible to make a collection of anchors far more identical than the actual pieces. Thus, dissimilarity and recognisability seems to have been a desired attribute. It was important to be able to recognise each individual piece. This suggests that the anchors were objects considered part of unique, social persons in their own right. They were used for a long time, worn out and repaired, and only deposited after many years. Like Kula-shells, they had a value beside the narrowly economic. They were probably tied to the individual owner’s biography.

After death, this man was buried with full warrior’s equipment and a Thor’s hammer (Biddle & KjølbyeBiddle 1992, 41ff and 2001, 61ff). The people who caused the injury were likely not the same as those who buried him. It is reasonable to interpret this grave as the burial of a Viking leader, killed by local Anglo-Saxons and buried by his own troops and their allies. The find of a Thor’s hammer with a man is uncommon. I have information about 63 loose Thor’s hammers and 297 Thor’s hammer rings from graves, of which 22 and 22 were likely women, 9 and 9 were likely men, two and none came from double graves with men and women, and 32 and 265 cannot be assigned any gender. In two cases, this is because the dead were small children, in the other cases because of cremation, poor preservation or lack of documentation. Thus, in most gendered graves, loose Thor’s hammers are associated with women.

Conversely, a few examples of pieces that are striking identical are also known. These include the two figures of so-called sword-dancers from the graves Bj. 571 on Birka and Ekhammar 1:3, Stockholm-Näs parish (Arbman 1943, respectively Roesdahl et al. 1992, 185). However, these are an exception. Most other amulets seem unique. The individual amulets were not just random examples of a type, then, but were objects with their own biography, closer to heirlooms than to standard commodities. They were unique, but rarely luxurious. The personal association was generally more important than any impressive, prestigious design. Possibly, the amulets were even part of the owners’ social person:

I suggest that there is a connection between the two unusual features of Repton 511, the Thor’s hammer and the claimed castration. I here draw Preben Meulengracht Sørensen’s (1980) and Nerys Thomas Patterson’s (2000) research into the complex of ideas surrounding honour and dishonour in written sources. There are obvious methodological problems in using Patterson’s Irish and Welsh sources and Sørensen’s sources from the 1200s in a discussion of Scandinavians in the 800s. Yet, they deserve a discussion: Meulengracht Sørensen points out that in the 13th century laws of Gula thing, castration and rape are included among the so-called klammhög, the most serious and dishonouring injuries. Like all other dishonour, these injuries demanded a restoration of lost honour, either through revenge or through compensation. The law was written down in the Middle Ages, but Sørensen argues that there is evidence that the general system of values is far older.

8.6) Repton 511 and the amulets as prosthetics Amulets may have functioned as personal helps, to allow a more normal life, adapted to personal needs, in much the same way as do modern prosthetics (glasses, pacemakers etc.). The best case for this argument may be Repton grave 511 (Biddle & Kjølby-Biddle 1992 and 2001). St. Wigstan’s Church in Repton, Derbyshire was excavated in the 1980s. The investigation revealed a number of features that the excavators date to the winter AD 873/874. At that time, The Anglo-Saxon chronicle records that the Vikings in “the large pagan army” wintered in Repton. Grave 511 must be interpreted as a pagan grave, likely dug in connection with these events. The grave contained a Thor’s hammer, a full set of weapons, a wing-bone from a jackdaw and a boar’s tusk, placed between the thighs. The skeleton had suffered a serious injury to the femoral head. This suggests a swordstroke from beneath while the man’s leg was raised in an extreme angle. This is not a typical battle injury. It seems dealt while the man was on his back. Julian Richards, who did the physical anthropology investigations, interprets Repton 511 as a castrated man. I am not certain that that the injury proves castration, but it must be taken

Patterson has explored a similar complex of ideas in the Middle Ages’ Irish and Welsh laws where newly-wed women could expect compensation for the loss of their virginity, if intact until they married. She describes a system, where “Far from being ‘shameless’ about sex, then, medieval Welsh women were meant to feel shame under some circumstances, and to receive payment (in livestock) to ‘make up’ for the shame” (Patterson 2000, 58, my emphasis). “So omnipresent was this notion that damage was loss that could be removed through ‘filling up’ whatever had been breached that in early Ireland even pollution of arable land by a dog’s droppings was remedied in this way: the owner was to remove the faeces and dig a hole where they had been, then fill the hole with emollients – butter and new milk.” (Ibid. 59, note 15). The rhetoric of shame overlies a metaphor of 175

Viking Age amulets in Scandinavia and Western Europe with a possible castration, but amulets are rare in graves. We must assume that the people buried with amulets were unusual in some way or other, either through their experience, identity or role. If the objects are amulets, it does not seem unreasonable to see them as protection for people who were especially vulnerable in some way or other or who already had suffered special injuries. There is nothing to suggest that the amulets can be associated with any specific social layer or any specialised group at risk. Instead, they seem used by a large group women, and a few men and children, all across Viking Age society. It does not seem unreasonable to tie them to one form for personal biography or another.

economy and physical wholeness. A woman who lost her physical virginity lost “value”, which could be restored through economical compensation. Soil “polluted” lost “value”, which could be restore by mixing valuable substances into it. The woman’s “shame” or loss of “value” was independent of any moral judgement, her loss equal whether her defloration was part of a legal marriage or not. Sex was an accepted and expected part of marriage, but the loss of virginity was an economical loss even so. To restore the woman’s total value, this lost value had to be replaced with other valuables, and when this was done, the loss was negated. After the same logic, a Thor’s hammer may be interpreted as a replacement, almost a prosthetic, for the dishonouring loss caused by castration. The actual Thor’s hammer in Repton may even physically have been made of gold and silver taken or given in compensation. This might explain the unusual material, supposedly an alloy of gold and silver.

There are no traces of castration on the nine other men buried with Thor’s hammers, but it is not impossible that they, too, were “dishonoured”, vulnerable or impotent in some way or other. The other types of amulet do not seem to have served quite the same function as the Thor’s hammers. Had it been so, there would not be use for so many different types. Here, a medical parallel is obvious: different amulets are for different problems. If the above, speculative reconstruction is reasonable, other types of amulet may each have replaced a different kind of loss of ability or status. Each may have been a specialised help against a specific biographic crises. If so, it is thoughtprovoking that not all types occur in graves: perhaps some were temporary aids against ailments that passed, or ended with death.

In this interpretation, the Thor’s hammer serves both magical and social purposes. As magic, it may have countered the body’s violation and vulnerability. As a social emblem, it may have served to mark restored honour. The logic in these laws seems to be that honour is a public phenomenon, and that there is no shame in earlier dishonour once it has been countered through revenge or compensation. In the laws ideal there was thus no shame in being been castrated or raped, once the injury had been revenged or compensated for. The restoration of honour needed to be public to remove the dishonour. Wearing a highly visible silver Thor’s hammer made from fines paid would be one obvious way of making the compensation visibly public.

It is tempting to extend this discussion to the animal amulets. Lotte Hedeager associates animal symbols with “shamanism” (Hedeager 1997 and 2004, throughout). The later Icelandic sources seem to describe people whose souls could leave the body and wander about in the form of an animal. In better documented shamanistic cultures (e.g. in the Amazon), such soul-travel is risky, because souls might not return. One of the shaman’s typical tasks is to cure disease by retrieving stray souls. Perhaps, the animal amulets can be understood as prosthetics for souls permanently and irretrievably lost. In any case, the over-representation in Norway is remarkable. Maybe it was only in Norway and among Norwegian emigrants on Iceland that people had such a shamanist world view. The vague geographical border between Thor’s hammers and animal figurines in Norway could also be a border between two world-views, with the south dominated by honour and shame and the north by wandering and straying spirits. As others have discussed, Norse sejd shamanism may have been incompatible with ideal of male honour (Solli 2002). Thus, those who regularly needed prostetic souls in the form of animal figurines may have been beyond the reach of the prostetic honour materialised in Thor’s hammers.

Such an interpretation must raise other questions, first about why most people buried with Thor’s hammers are women, and second about whether the interpretation is relevant for other amulets than Thor’s hammers. They many women with Thor’s hammers can be explained in three ways: women might have been more vulnerable to dishonour and rape (cf. also Samson 2001, xviif). It is also possible that women made more use of the possibility for economical and magical compensation than did men. Men were expected to take bloody vengeance themselves, and accepting compensation too easily might itself shame a man (cf. Meulengract Sørensen 1980, 9ff). Finally, the Thor’s hammers may be replacements for lost fertility, rather than lost honour. Then, the over-representation in women’s graves may reflect that far more women than men were considered infertile. Certainly, this is so in many other societies. As recently as the 1980s, Danish fertility clinics seem not even to have investigated male infertility as a cause of childlessness. Unless the man was actually impotent, it was simply assumed that childlessness must be due to the woman’s infertility. By this logic, many more women than men may have been regarded as infertile in Viking Age society, and needed amulets to compensate for this. This is a wide-ranging interpretation based on one grave

In relation to this discussion, I must also mention the capsule from Bj. 552, with an inscription that declares that “… I take pains to drive (force) out vermin …” (after Duczko 1985, 50). Duczko does not specify if these “vermin” can be identified more precisely, but it is very 176

8: General patterns: social variation identified by class. Other variables seem to have been less important. Some people did have strong identities based on religion or ideology, but people did not have to being to a church or a political party. Everyone had identities on the three axes, but not everyone had all other possible identities.

possible that the capsule was made as solution to a very specific and personal problem. Lice and fleas were probably unavoidable for all contemporary North Europeans, but many other parasites are more personal and uncomfortable. Possibly the poor owner suffered from worms. This amulet, too, can be interpreted as a personal aid, designed to help its wearer to live a more normal and decent life.

Other cultures and societies prioritise differently. In some parts of the Balkans and the Middle East, people seem to identify strongly with religious (or anti-religious) positions, and in some subcultures, political ideologies seems to have played a similar role. It also bears stressing that other variations may co-depend on the main axes: thus religion often coincides with ethnicity and even ideology. In Apartheid South Africa, class and race were combined to some degree, in that the elite was almost exclusively white (though not vice versa).

8.7) Amulets and identity Amulet use may have been linked to specific identities. They were certainly not used equally often by every group. The burial record shows a clear association between amulets and adult women. Yet, most adult women were buried without amulets. Nor do amulets seem associated with any one economical layer: there are rich and poor graves with, and rich and poor graves without amulets.

The people who used amulets likely based their identities on combinations of sex, age and status, and perhaps ethnicity. However, the amulets seem to reflect further divisions inside an otherwise homogenous group dominated by adult, Scandinavian women. Moreover, they seem to have united people across status differences. In some cases, they seem to mark a religious identity, most obviously for the crosses. Yet, there must have been far more Christians in Viking Age Scandinavia than those few people were buried with crosses. Also, the amulet material is far more varied than the simple division between Christian and pagans can explain. With just two religions, two types of amulets would suffice to express these identities. However, other amulets may be associated with a special history of disease, or a special cult inside the religion, or maybe a site of pilgrimage (cf. Bergquist 1989, 120, Floderus 1928, 100f). Still others might be connected with certain lineages or professional groups, most obviously perhaps the anchors. However, in all cases, amulets are strikingly rare. Most cults, families, professionals and groups of sufferers seem to have lived without them. Amulets must have constituted an unusual solution for an uncommon problem. To explore this more fully, I shall discuss each of the three axes in a Viking Age context.

Fortunately, recent theory has greatly improved our understanding of identities in archaeology. Michael Rowlands (2007, 60) derives “identity” from “idem”, “the same”, and describes identity as identification with a group: I am an archaeologist because I am like Rowlands and a bunch of other archaeologists. I can identify with them. Yet, identity is also an identification up against others (e.g. James 1999). It only becomes important in the face of alternatives. I am also an archaeologist, rather than a historian, because I am more like Rowlands and the rest of the profession than like many of the historians. I can identify up against them. Thus, identity has aspects of the semiotics discussed in chapter 2: symbols are defined up against other symbols, identities up against other identities. Identity depends on several variables. Insoll (2007, 2f) lists sex and sexuality, ethnicity, nationality, caste, age, ideology, religion and handicaps as examples of elements of identity. This list is hardly exhaustive, and, some elements seem more widely recognised than others: in modern, European society almost everyone has a sex and a nationality. However, caste is more or less non-existent in Europe, and many people do not have any strong commitment to one ideology or even religion. Thus, these are not important axes of identity in this culture. Rather than Insoll’s list, I shall take my starting point in Donna Haraway’s model of identity. She has described how identity in the early 20th century natural science establishment may be understood on three main axes: class, race and sex/gender/sexuality (Haraway 1991, 139). I shall discuss how these concepts apply to Viking Age society below. Here and now, I want to stress that in Haraway’s case-study, all people were located on all three axes, and each main axis was independent of the others. Thus, in early 20th century America, a person could not be neutral in terms of race, class or sex. People were understood to be either men or women, either white or coloured, either lower- or upper class, and all three variables mattered. Yet identity on one axis did not determine identity on any other: a white person could be either a white man or a white woman, and be further

Amulets and class identity/status Viking Age society was hierarchical. Some people had more power, wealth and privilege than others, in ways that did not depend on sex or age. Written sources mention three or four clearly differentiated status groups: slaves, free, nobles and kings. I believe that the kings were simply the leading nobles, but others disagree and see them as special, sacred rulers (see Steinsland 1989 & 2000 throughout; Hed Jakobsson 2003, 109ff & 199f and sources there). In any case, Viking Age status groups are not identical with the classes familiar from Marxist critiques of modern societies, yet this was a class society. The social classes are not very visibly distinct in the archaeological material. We know that some people had vastly more power than others, but we have a hard time recognising them in burials. This makes it difficult to tie amulets to status. Amulets are known from rich graves, 177

Viking Age amulets in Scandinavia and Western Europe In the Viking Age, the population seems to have been even more monochrome. Racial difference was probably not common. On the other hand, ethnicity and culture seems to have played a role. Thus, in Ireland, intermarriage between Irish and Scandinavians was widespread and seemingly accepted, but there was much concern over the gael-gadhill, those who developed hybrid culture and identity. Here, the discourse of purity centred on ethnic culture and religion, far more than on biology or race. Children of mixed marriages were supposed to be either Irish or Scandinavian, not cultural hybrids. This was probably facilitated by the fact that mixed biological ancestry might not be very visible. Arguably, the two populations looked enough alike physically that the main indicators of ethnicity were language, religion and dress. A person who dressed, spoke and behaved Irish would be an acceptable Irish person, regardless of the fine detail of ancestry.

probably associated with the elite, including Bj. 750 and the north mound in Jelling. They are known from graves with far poorer equipment, where elite connections cannot be argued as likely. Of course, poorly equipped graves need not always be those of poor people. For a few graves, there are good arguments for interpreting the dead as slaves. These identified slaves were not buried with amulets, but the group is so small (tens of graves at most) that many more slaves must be invisible in the record. The absence of evidence is not evidence of absence. Amulets are known from aristocratic settlements as Tissø, Uppåkra and Helgö. They are also known from less aristocratic sites such as Pollista, and from stray finds with no obvious association to settlements at all. They are known from hoards, likely connected with the elite, and from workshops, likely not. Thus, the elite certainly used amulets, but far from all members of the elite did, and many amulets may have been used outside the elite. There is no evidence that slaves used amulets, but then slaves are rather invisible to archaeology. The preserved amulet material, with its high content of metal, may be biased towards the wealthy. Slaves and other poor people may have used other religious technologies.

Identities are defined up against each other. Ethnicity was probably more important in places with much contact to other ethnic groups than in more parochial societies. Viking Age Dublin may have been such a multi-ethnic society. Here, a colony of Scandinavians lived in regular contact with Irish and with visiting Frisians, Franks, Anglo-Saxons and so on. People spoke different languages and recognised others as different. Here, Scandinavians may constantly have recognised themselves as Scandinavians, and as not Irish, Frisian or so on, in a very different way than they did in places like Stengade village.

This section may seem not to do the archaeology of status any real justice. We do have some rather sophisticated models for detailed analysis of this issue, particularly in burial studies. However, these models work best on single sites, such as large grave fields. Birka is a case in point. They are less suited for isolated graves, and deeply problematic in interregional studies where comparison may reveal more about regionalism than status. Specifically, Birka is exceptionally rich, Viking Age graves in Sweden are nearly universally richer than those in Denmark, and there are notable differences in traditions of gendered grave goods across the region. Yet it seems unlikely that the entire Viking Age elite lived at Birka or in Sweden, or that Norwegian men enjoyed much higher status than did men anywhere else. Ideally, graves need to be ranked within a single coherent tradition, not across regions as diverse as these. Any convincing analysis needs a smaller geographical scale or a much fuller catalogue than the present work.

Very likely, some Scandinavians had ethnic identities. They may have used material culture to communicate these. In a classical study, Martin Wobst pointed out that material symbols of ethnicity work best if they are very visible in daily life. Also, they are most useful in situations where they can be seen by a large group people who are not among the wearer’s closest associates, and who do not already know his ethnicity. Wobst stressed hats as especially visible and appropriate symbols, and market towns as especially appropriate arenas for this sort of identity-marking, and showed that his model actual worked on the Balkans: the more ethnic diversity, and the more anonymous meetings, the more emphasis on hats (Wobst 1977, throughout). Not incidentally, these hats also follow the semiotic principles described in chapter 2: Serbs had one sort of characteristic hat, Croatians another, Albanians a third, and even communists wore distinctive hats, indicating their distance from any ethnic alliance. Hats were defined up against other hats, identities against other identities.

Amulets and ethnic identity, and Wobst’s theory of material symbols “Race” is more problematic than “class”, when applied to the Viking Age. In Haraway’s American context, it refers very specifically to a divide between white and coloured people. In America, this divide is rooted in Indian wars, slavery and in a specific form of institutionalised racism. American ideas of race and racism based on skin-colour are a product of this specific history. In Northern and Central Europe, populations are far more monochrome, and discrimination here has focused less on race and more on ethnic and ethnic-religious difference, targeting Jews, Roma, Hugenots and so on (cf. Fannon 2002, 235, Boyarin 2002, 277).

A similar logic might apply to some amulets. Tim Pestell (personal communication) has suggested that in the Danelaw, Thor’s hammers were sometimes an emblem of Scandinavian ethnicity, and a way to mark this up against the Anglo-Saxon population. Nilsén has suggested that Thor’s hammer rings in the Mälar Valley could mark a local Svear-ethnicity up against intrusive Birka. I see more support for Pestell’s than for Nilsén’s theory. 178

8: General patterns: social variation cosmopolitan Birka. In this context, ethnic symbols would be unnecessary. Also, the buried dead are rather invisible. If ethnicity was marked in graves, it would make more sense to do so in the visible monuments above the ground than in buried grave-goods. Nor does Nilsén’s ethnic interpretation explain why people chose the amulet ring, precisely, as ethnic symbol, or why so few people were buried with one. It seems strange that only a few Svear should mark the identity they all shared. Further, if amulet rings are to be connected with some pagan god or other, it seems strange that the pagan Svear should use this religious emblem in the face of the equally pagan Geats. This would make more sense if the ring is not an ethnic but a religious symbol, and does not symbolise the difference between Svear and Geats but between pagans and Christians.

There are relatively few known Thor’s hammers from the Danelaw. If this is not due to post-depositional factors, most Scandinavians seem not to have needed them much. This does not counter Pestell’s theory, but it does mean that Thor’s hammers only served to mark Scandinavian ethnicity under special circumstances. Like Balkan hats, these symbols may only have been needed if Scandinavians and Anglo-Saxons met on markets or in other relatively anonymous situations. Scandinavians and non-Scandinavians also came in contact in Ireland and Scotland, but here Thor’s hammers are very rare, and the theory seems to find less archaeological support. In Northwest Scotland, this can be explained away: the Scandinavian population may have replaced the local, Gaelic population entirely. If everyone there were Scandinavian, Scandinavians needed no ethnic symbols. However, Scandinavians in Ireland certainly lived in constant contact with the Gaelic Irish. Yet, they apparently upheld their ethnicity without Thor’s hammers. This might be because their language set them apart, more so than in the Anglo-Saxon England: Old Norse is much closer to Old English than to Old Irish. Yet, this smacks of special pleading. The arguments for Thor’s hammers as common ethnic symbols outside Scandinavia are rather weak. The arguments for such meaning inside Scandinavia are weaker still:

Also, Nilsén’s ethnic theory seems based in inconsistent projections of universal models down on the archaeological material, just as his theories of liminality and resurrection did (chapter 3). His description of pagan religion as ideology, defines as “a tool of power to hide reality” 36 seems crypto-Marxist in the tradition of Lukács, a tradition that Diane Elam associates criticises as an unrealistic conspiracy theory (Elam 1997, 78f; cf. Abercrombie, Turner & Hill, 1980, throughout). Yet, in a consistently Marxist reading, the reality hidden by ideology would be the economy. A consistent Marxist reading of ideological ethnicity on Birka would only make sense if hinterland labourers really had common economic interest with the Birka merchants, something that frankly beggars belief. Moreover, in a consistent Marxist reading, it does not matter if the ideology is one of ethnicity, of religion, or of something else again (football clubs seem to work today). Anything might work. Thus, even if the rings had been ideological symbols, they need not be ethnic symbols.

Nilsén has suggested that the large concentration of Thor’s hammer rings in the Mälar Valley might be ethnic markers against Birka (Nilsén 1996). He points out that the Birka graves are quite different from the graves in the Mälar Valley hinterland. Nilsén then, somewhat surprisingly, follows Adam of Bremen, who described Birka as a Geat town among the Svear. The Geats, or Göter, lived in the south, roughly in the modern districts of Östergötaland and Västergötaland. According to Nilsén, the Thor’s hammer rings should mark a northern Svear identity against the exotic southern Geats at Birka. As Nilsén admits, this interpretation seems difficult to combine with his interpretation of the rings as symbol of resurrection. Andersson adds that the borders between the Svear and Geats are difficult to reconstruct, and that these groups may not be relevant, at least not for the early Birka period (Andersson 2005, 47). Adam of Bremen wrote a century after Björkö was abandoned, so he may be wrong about its ethnic composition. Certainly, the exotic Birka graves are more similar to the Christian graves on the Continent than anything found in the Geat lands. Archaeologically, Birka does not look like a Geat town among the Svear.

Of course, outside the dogmatic Marxist tradition, Nilsén’s concept of ideology seems dated and problematic. Nor does it seem to add anything new to our understanding of the Viking Age. Finally, it seems rather incompatible with Nilsén’s other theoretical references: Nilsén also wants to see the rings as liminal, even though Victor Turner’s concept of liminality is apparently incompatible with Lukács’ idea of ideology (Alexander 1991, throughout). As noted, Nilsén cites neither Lukács nor Turner. Indeed, I am unconvinced that he actually understands any of the theoretical concepts he uses. Stripped of these concepts, little or nothing remains of his theory.

Based on Wobst, the interpretation of the amulet rings as ethnic symbol also seems inconsistent with Nilsén’s theory that they were not worn in every-day life. Ethnic symbols ought to be most common in situations where they can be seen by a large group people who do not already know the wearer’s ethnicity. Yet, Nilsén believes that the rings were mostly or exclusively used in hinterland funerals (Nilsén 1996, 81f). Surely, most guests there must have known the deceased’s ethnicity, more so in small-scale societies in the hinterland than on

Nilsén’s work seems rather independent of any actual evidence. It cannot explain why ethnicity should be marked in funerals, or with Thor’s hammer rings, or why only some people were buried with the rings, or why the rings’ shape varies. There seems to be far better archaeological support for conflicts between Christian and pagans or between merchants and farmers, and these 36 “...ideologi skulle kunna ses som ett maktens redskab för att dölja verkeligheten (på ett medvetet eller omedvetet sätt)” (Nilsén 1996, 78).

179

Viking Age amulets in Scandinavia and Western Europe alternatives (either/or), while gender is always a question about more or less extreme marking in a continuum (more/less). Biologically, a person of one sex is only of that sex, and completely of that sex. Biologically, any woman is as much a woman as any other, and not a man at all. In contrast, gender is a position on a scale. Thus, a profession can be considered culturally masculine, yet another profession can be considered even more masculine (cf. Connell 1995, 44ff and 69).

are not ethnic identities. I remain unconvinced that the Thor’s hammer rings were ethnic symbols in the Mälar valley. Nilsén’s fascination with “ethnicity”, “liminality” and even “ideology” seems to owe more to academic fashions than to any real engagement with these concepts or with the evidence. Thor’s hammers may have been used as ethnic symbols in some situations, but this seems a rare phenomenon. The ethnic interpretation is most convincing where ethnic confrontation was common and where it could also be understood as religious difference. This situation existed in England and Ireland. Yet, only in England is there any indication that the amulets may have been used as symbols of ethnicity. Even there, the evidence is weak. Within Scandinavia, it seems improbable that pagans would use religious symbols to identify themselves up against other pagans. Amulets and gender, performativity

and

Butler’s

theory

In archaeology, this divide between sex and gender has been especially productive in grave studies, where it makes sense to distinguish between the human remains’ sex and the grave goods’ gender. If sex is a purely biological phenomenon then only biological bodies can have a sex. Indeed, all human bodies and remains must have one sex, even if accidents of preservation make identification impossible. Grave goods may hint at a culturally recognised gender, but they do not prove sex. Thus, it is not possible to “sex” a grave on goods alone. The association between goods and sex must always be open for debate. We cannot assume, a priori, that any given type of goods is exclusively associated with one or the other biological sex (see also above and below). Also, it is perfectly possible to bury a body (with a sex) without any gender-specific goods, or without any goods at all. All bodies have sexes, but not all graves have genders. Viking Age people had the same biology and thus sexes as the present-day people, but not necessarily the same cultural understanding of gender. There were presumably people in the Viking Age whom modern medicine would describe as men and women (sex), and we certainly have skeletons that osterologists describe as such, but this need not mean that that they all regarded this as a central element in their identity (gender). Conversely, we certainly cannot assume that those graves difficult to determine today need hold people who were in any way unusual in their own time.

of

“Sex/gender/sexuality” is even more problematic than “race” in a Viking Age context. The divisions between these three terms are products of recent developments. Michel Foucault (1978) has suggested that up into in the Middle Ages, no sexual identities existed. There were but only single acts, more or less sinful, to which anyone might in principle be tempted (Foucault 1978, 40 and throughout). Sexuality was no more an identity than was any other proclivity (theft, wrath, over-eating). Foucault believes that the Victorians, and especially Freud, were instrumental in making sexuality the individual’s innermost and deepest identity, and in classifying it into stable and recognisable categories. In his understanding, sexual identity is entirely a product of modernity (see also Strathern 1988, 59). Similarly, the recognition of a divide between sex and gender is a product of 20th century psychology and anthropology. Most pre-modern societies seem only to have one sets categories, though these may reflect gender more than sex. This demands more discussion:

The above section might imply that gender is like clothes and sex is like the body, that gender is a mere cultural varnish over a deeper, more permanent and more real biology. Judith Butler would certainly disagree with any such claim. If I understand her, Butler’s fundamental argument is that the sex/gender-system privileges biology unreasonably (Butler 1990, throughout). She criticises the system for presupposing that the two biological sexes exist in reality, a priori, and are simply passively reflected in culture. She suggests that this system naturalises culture. Against this, Butler postulates that this divide only can be re-cognised in nature because it has already been thought (cognised) within culture (p. 2). As I understand Butler, her point is that in most situations biological sex does not really matter. It only makes sense as a projection of cultural gender. Biology cannot explain why sexes should be culturally important (p. 5). As a social constructivist, Butler suggests that “… ‘men’ and ‘women’ are political categories, not natural facts…” (p. 115; for the natural science, see Connell 1995, 21 and Sofaer 2006, 92).

Briefly, sex is biology, gender is culture. Feminists and post-feminists have a long tradition for observing that some, but not all, differences on men and women are biological. Societies recognise people as more or less typical men and women on cultural phenomena such as handwriting, dress and profession, as well as on their bodies. Thus, simply being a biological woman does not make a person an ideal or typical woman according to cultural mores. Consequently, it often makes sense to distinguish between the biological, presumably universally human elements, called sex and the cultural, and presumably culturally specific elements, called gender (for history of research, see for instance Moi 1999, 22ff, Strathern 1988, 36). In archaeology, it can be assumed that Viking Age people had the same biology and thus sexes as the present-day people, but not necessarily the same cultural understanding of gender. It bears stressing that sex is qualitative while gender is quantitative. That is, sex is a variable with two primary 180

8: General patterns: social variation would make no sense to discourage them. If children have to learn to move in the “proper” way, this is because these differences are not inborn but learned. Thus, the way some actual woman walks may not be walking “like a woman”, although she is a woman and walks like that. She might be walking like a man, even though she walks as a woman. If anyone else copies her, they may end up walking like (ideal) men, even though they are walking like this (particular) woman. The ideals of culture overrule the particulars of biology.

Butler also stresses that gender is performative and is an ideal, not a natural given. It is learned through constant imitation and citation. To become an acceptable, recognisable boy or girl, a child must learn to behave as a “proper” boy or girl. It is not enough to have the right sort of body. The child also has to learn how to move, dress, speak, and even think like a “proper” member of the gender. This proper behaviour is learned through exposure to different gender paragons, both real and fictive, and by imitating or “quoting” these (Butler 1990, 140; 1993, 13). However, this imitation must always be incomplete, especially when fictive ideals are involved. Gender is consequently an ever-unstable project. People never reach a point where their identification is so secure that they no longer need to make an effort to behave correctly (Ibid. 33). Although a person is a woman, she still also has to keep behaving as a recognisable woman to be socially acceptable. She is a woman, but she still has to mimic the ideal woman. Just as importantly, Butler points out that the chain of quotes is virtually infinite: everyone imitates other people whose gender builds on imitation of still others. There can be no transcendent gender ideal any place in the real world (Ibid. 24). Gender, for Butler, is endless deferral, in Derrida’s sense (Ibid. 108). Every gender identity is defined as like someone else’s (a woman like other women) and different from some others (a woman, in contrast to men). However, these other people’s identity is defined in the same way (a woman in contrast to men, who are men in contrast to women, who are women in contrast to men; p. 31). Butler stresses that the biological sex cannot guarantee unproblematic, cultural gender identity. Even someone who is a woman might still act like a man, and an act does not become feminine just because a woman performs it. Even if many women perform the relevant act, this needs not make it feminine. Only if women can perform the act in imitation of other women does it become a recognisable part of gender (Ibid. 24).

In archaeology, Butler’s theories can be used to problematise grave goods even further. They are also relevant for discussions of ideal and experience. In relation to grave goods, these theories raise questions about why gender is expressed through grave goods at all. Although there were biological men and women in the past, this did not need to influence burial equipment. The combination of these goods with this body made certain perceptions of the dead possible or impossible. As discussed above, Härke (1997b) suggests that men were not buried with weapons because these men actually used these weapons. Rather, the weapon burials are statements about identity, ethnicity according to Härke, but surely also gender. As for ideals, a fair amount of archaeological work has focused on art and on which bodily acts and body types it makes visible in its account of the gendered person. Art portrays those stereotypes that people quoted or avoided quoting. I cannot devote much discussion to this problem here, but it is fascinating that the human body in Viking Age art is always gendered and dressed. Even the phallic man’s figure from Rällinge wears a hat. Art seems to suggest that Viking Age gender was irrevocably associated with another aspect of identity that could only be recognised when dressed. Rällinge man did not need a hat to show that he was a man. He did need it to show something, though. Other sources suggest that this information likely related to status: the differences between social groups within the same sex were at least as important as the gendered differences with the same group. Viking Age Scandinavians could recognise a naked body as male or female, but this information was socially useless in itself. The difference between slave and noble was at least as important as the difference between a male and a female. This leads us back to the original model:

Butler stresses that this does not make the gender unreal (Butler 1993, xi). The behaviour she describes is real, even though it is not determined by biology. Butler’s theories seem obviously relevant to embodied behaviours, like walking, dancing, sitting, and so on. In formalised dancing, especially, it is perfectly possible to dance “like a man” (lead) without being one in any biological sense, or vice versa. Conversely, dancing is a learned skill: being a man does not automatically enable a person to dance the waltz “like a man”. Any dancer still has to learn how to waltz.

Combining the three axes

In a semiotic understanding, gender identities are defined up against each other, just like other symbols are. So, if an act is characteristic of one gendered performance, it must also be unacceptable within the other one. To walk “like a woman” must also mean to walk differently from a man, to walk in a way unacceptable for men. Women are encouraged to walk like women, men are discouraged from doing so. This is not biology: if women always walked in this way, it would make no sense to encourage them to do so. If men could not walk like women, it

As already discussed, identities may have been located on three main axes at the same time. People were not just men or women, but at the same time also and equally members of social classes. An elite person was either an elite man or an elite woman, and at the same time also a member of a specific ethnic group. A combination of Worbst’s and Butler’s theories can raise questions about how materiel culture was active in the performance of gender and identity. Amulets, like Balkan hats, may have allowed people to communicate identities to strangers. 181

Viking Age amulets in Scandinavia and Western Europe reasoned, and prioritised in characteristic ways, and those who deviated from such ideals risked censure. The brooches were simply one indicator to show that these women held themselves accountable to other standards than others women without brooches, and men. Like Balkan hats, they made it easier to read unfamiliar people speedily.

They may also have allowed people to behave in certain ways, and consequently to perform their identity. Butler’s project focuses on gender alone (but see Butler 1990, 3; cf. p. 16 and Butler 1993, 227), but can be extended to all three main axes: sex/gender/sexuality; class and ethnicity/race (see above). Just as gender can be seen as performative, so can class and ethnicity. Elite women learned to act not just like (any) women but specifically like elite women. They were performing elite identity at the same time as they were performing gender identity. Again, dancing might be a useful metaphor: leading a waltz is not just dancing like a man, but also, equally, dancing like an Austrian and like a member of that nation’s elite. These performances cannot be separated from each other. You cannot dance a waltz (like an Austrian) without at the same time either leading (like a man) or following (like a woman).

This leads to the question of whether amulets also allowed special behaviours and thus identities. Most amulets are associated with women, but most women were not associated with amulets. Amulets do not seem associated with any economically defined group. Across social classes, amulets seem to have allowed some women (and a few men) to perform a visible religious or magical identity. They were a material symbol for a special relation to the supernatural. Amulet use allowed the believers a more practical and immediate access to the faith’s resources than they would have without it. It allowed women to perform their identity as religious people in a way not possible before. They may always have believed, but now they could be seen to believe, and recognise their fellow believers. Amulets made it easier for their wearers to identify each other, and so to identify with each other, and identify themselves up against other identities. Amulets allowed new forms of religious identity. They allowed individual religious people to recognise each other as a community.

Indeed, as I have argued above, Viking Age ethnicity may well have been rather more performative than was race in early 20th century America. Even in early 20th century America, some people were legally Black, but able to pass white sometimes. They were able to perform white identity so convincingly that others did not guess their ancestry. Very likely identities in Viking Age Ireland were far more cultural and so far more performative. If people of part-Irish ancestry spoke Irish and acted Irish, they were Irish, beyond any challenge, and if the same people of mixed-Scandinavian ancestry began speaking Norse and acting Norse instead, this was seen as a serious problem. Like gender, ethnicity was not inborn but a matter of acting correctly, like a proper member of the group, in this case like a proper Irishman (or Irishwoman).

Some women seem to have felt more need for amulets than did other women and most men and children. Perhaps, most men could mark their religious identity without amulets. They may have performed their religious identity through public and visible cultic acts. Certainly, Adam of Bremen claims that all Svear had to participate in the state sacrifices in Uppsala, and that Christians paid to escape this duty. Again, this seems to create to identities defined up against each other, those who participated and saw each other do so, and those who did not and were seen to be absent. For anyone who did go to the Uppsala sacrifice, it would be obvious who did and who did not go. It is possible that only men had to participate, although Adam does mention some women at the temple. In the Svear kingdom, men may not have needed amulets to mark their religion, since the other men already knew if a man came to the sacrifices or paid to be excused. In somewhat the same vein, at Tatusi claims that sacrificial animals were hung up to mark pagan houses in Hedeby or Wolin (cited in Dubois 1999, 50, discussed in Hægstad 1964). Pagan men may have been recognised by their active role in the cult and pagan houses by their sacrifices, but women’s religion may have been invisible when it differed from their households’: a pagan woman married into a Christian family might not get to perform the usual sacrifices, and a Christian woman married into a pagan family might not be able to prevent them. Such women would appear as members of their husbands’ faiths. A woman living in a house with animal sacrifices, or married to a man who attended public sacrifices, would appear pagan. If she was in fact Christian, she might wear a cross to dispel mistakes about her personal faith. In this interpretation, the large

Likely, Scandinavian elite women used material culture as part of the performance of identities. Most obviously, the oval brooches identified their wearers in ethnic terms and status terms, as well as in gender terms. If identity is performative, then brooches helped making this identity possible by making it visible. They made it easier for these Scandinavian elite women to identify each other, and so to identify with each other and identify themselves up against other identities. A woman with oval brooches was like another woman with oval brooches and unlike people without prestige jewellery (class), women with other kinds of prestige jewellery (ethnicity), and men with other prestige objects (gender). Elite women needed to appear as both respectable women (not men) and at the same time as respectable members of the elite (not poor), and the oval brooches allowed exactly such a doubledefined identity. They allowed women to mark both their connection to elite Scandinavian men, and at the same time also mark their difference from these same men. Like the men, they wore copper-alloy objects with animal ornament. Unlike the men, the women did not usually wear these as weapon fittings. Thus, oval brooches permit the performance of an identity that is both elite and unarmed. Of course, this identity did not consist of brooches alone. Identity involved a long line of performances. Presumably, these women spoke, moved, 182

8: General patterns: social variation restored or intact. The central point is that neither Thor’s hammers nor other amulets need have meant the same throughout the Viking Age, in the entire area.

majority of women and children did not need amulets because their husbands’ or fathers’ participation in the cult already marked their religious identity. A pagan woman in a pagan household would hardly protest if people assumed she was pagan. Only those women and children who belonged to another faith than their households, husbands or fathers needed amulets as marks of identity

This discussion has focused rather narrowly on masks, anchors, Thor’s hammers and snakes. There are very few contextual observations for the other types. This makes it quite difficult to interpret these, and I have not had the opportunity to study the individual pieces more closely.

This is probably not the whole explanation. Certainly, it seems insufficient to explain the diversity of amulets. It seems insufficient to explain why any men were buried with amulets. It also seems too simple to explain all the people who wear crosses today. There was probably not one exhaustive explanation in the Viking Age, either.

8.8) Chapter conclusion: amulets in context There seem to be good reasons to systematically include the social relations surrounding the production in all interpretations of the amulets’ use. The relations between producer and consumer seems especially central to any credible interpretation. As I have showed, these varied a great deal. There may also be perspectives in understanding the amulets as prosthetics, but this is still very speculative, and leaves much unanswered.

Amulets and identity, summary The above discussion presents three possible interpretations of the amulets which might seem to contradict each other: I have discussed amulets as prosthetics to restore damaged honour, or cure infertility or impotency; as emblems for a Scandinavian ethnicity, which might otherwise be overlooked; and as material symbols for a religious identity otherwise invisible. I do not believe these interpretations need exclude each other: Pestell’s theory of ethnicity seem only relevant for the Danelaw. There are no signs that Scandinavians in Ireland or in Scandinavia used amulets to mark ethnicity. Pestell’s theory is a theory of the special meaning amulets got in the Danelaw, in contrast to in the rest of the area of investigation. Elsewhere, even the Thor’s hammers seem to have meant something else. The same amulets that marked Scandinavian pagans in contrast to Anglo-Saxon Christians in England might mark all pagans in contrast to all Christians in Hedeby and the devout pagans in contrast to the secular ones in the purely pagan, rural communities. It is even possible that amulets first used by a few to restore wounded honour could later become symbols for the honour of all believers, wounded,

Amulets served to separate and incorporate individual persons in society, and they probably cannot be understood without understanding what set these people apart from their society. The amulets’ relations to their individual wearers cannot be exhausted through reference to any religion, cosmology or landscape that large parts of the population shared. They reflect a more personal and subjective experience. Here I am reminded of the close personal relations some Christians have to their God. To return to the central themes of similarity and difference: a long Lutheran tradition of research has defined religion as whatever is like Lutheranism, and paganism as the religion different from Lutheranism. However, I seem to see other lines of division. Some elements of paganism were amazingly recognisable from state church thinking, even though the very idea of what religion was seems entirely different.

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Part 9: Summary and conclusion Some 200 years of archaeological activity has created a large archive, and produced an extensive database for discussions of the Viking Age culture. The amulets ought to play a central role in these discussions. They show that obvious and marked differences existed in Viking Age practical religion, both over time and through space, and between different people and situations. People did not use the same amulets in east and west, in grave and on settlement. Like other religions, Viking Age paganism and Christianity were not homogenous, unchanging phenomena. There were certainly differences in the cult, possibly also in the faith.

the amulet material. Up through the Viking Age and across Scandinavia there were differences in which amulets people used. I believe that this reveals differences in the world of thought and ritual practice. I also believe that this must problematise much of the research that interprets South Scandinavian finds using Norse sources. I have attempted to avoid replacing old speculative interpretations with new ones. Much of the above is an argument that established interpretations are poorly based in evidence. It would be unproductive to replace these unfounded interpretations with others no better founded. I believe archaeology must recognise that there are questions we cannot yet answer satisfyingly, and other questions we can never answer at all. Our goal should not be interpretations for any price but interpretations we actual can vouch for. Honest ignorance is better than unfounded confidence.

The study of these differences has been hobbled by the discourse archaeology has inherited from the older, textbased disciplines. The Icelandic sources have hindered, as much as helped, an understanding of everyday Viking Age religious life. Research has also been hobbled by an unreflective tradition for understanding religion narrowly as faith, without any interest for religious people’s actions. Yet, these actions are what leave archaeological traces. Both these problems can be related to one-sided explanations based on similarity: there is a tendency to assume that paganism everywhere, always, was similar to what is described in Icelandic sources, and that all religion everywhere, always, is similar to modern, Lutheran Christianity. This is not a realistic assumption. Nor is it a practical starting point for archaeological investigations. It is wiser to focus on the ritual practice that we can throw light on, than on the myths and the faith that we cannot throw light on.

In the present work, I have attempted two projects at the same time: on one side, I have dealt with an actual dataset of some 1350 Viking Age amulets from Scandinavia and Western Europe, which can be described in reasonably objective terms. They belong to types, are made of materials, were found in different contexts, and so forth. Within this project, I believe that interpretations supported by primary data are better than those that are not. This approach can be understood within a classical positivist ontology. In this connection, I have also attempted to de-mystify and de-romance the amulets. I have tried to treat them as archaeological objects, which can be understood from an archaeological approach. The method of analysis used in the present work is largely quantitative. This is a conscious choice. I have chosen to prioritise arguments based on many observations over those based on a few good observations. This choice is also strategic: it is my aim with this work to argue that there is regional and chronological variation in the material. This can only be done through regional and chronological comparison. As the other project, I have attempted to highlight the post-depositional processes’ meaning for the archaeological archive. My claim here is that it dataset we have access to is shaped by our methods. We do not know everything about all Viking Age amulets. We have only the information actually collected, about those amulets actually known. There are strong indications that this dataset is not representative of past realities. This project cannot be understood within classical positivism in the same way as the former one could: classical positivism normally considers source criticism either irrelevant or destructive. Only a reflective, constructivist epistemology permits us to be critical of our data and yet make use of them.

This demands a source-critical apparatus. I have focused on histories of recovery, so as to show how the archaeological archive is shaped by coincidence and by historical strategies. If we know anything about the past today, this is not just because there was a past. If we know anything about the past today, this is because someone has collected data, and because these collectors have decided that exactly these data are relevant. The data they collected, the data we have, is coloured by the priorities that led these collectors to think these data relevant. The archive is a product of its history of recovery. This applies for any possible archive. We must work with the archive we have, instead of dreaming of a perfectly archive that can never exist. However, we can account for the source-critical problems by being aware of how and why this archive was formed. Research has also been hobbled by a lack of overview. Relevant information about the amulets is distributed over hundreds of different publications, if published at all. Interpretations have very often been based on a few well-published or new pieces, without any reference to the total group. Large parts of the archive is unused, and a few pieces used out of proportion with how rare they really are. The present work is an attempt to write a more balanced overview. I have also attempted to show that there are evident regional and chronological variations in

Theoretically, I have taken my starting point in poststructuralism and in Jacques Derrida’s semiotics. I have discussed how the amulets’ materiality challenges such abstract theories. Also, I have discussed how the 184

9: Summary and conclusion number of sub-groups: one group includes men’s figurines, most miniature tools and the majority of the (iron) Thor’s hammers. These finds are concentrated in Central Sweden (Uppland). Another group includes women’s figurines, masks, axes and animal figurines. These finds have a very West-Scandinavian distribution, concentrated in Denmark and Norway. Especially the animal figurines seem overwhelmingly Norwegian. Capsules and lunulae are concentrated on Gotland, and anchors in Hedeby. More surprisingly, a few types occur with two separate concentrations: chairs, in Denmark and on Gotland, and bowls, sieves and spoons in Norway and Uppland. Finally, types such as miniature weapons, shields and wheels are distributed all over the region. The differences in material can partially, but only partially, be explained practically. Such types as shields, staff-rings, bowls and capsules demanded a ductile metal like silver, while the three-dimensional human and animal figurines, masks, miniature weapons and tools made fewer demands. Yet, there are evident differences between the different miniature weapons, between men’s and the women’s figurines, and so forth. These differences cannot be explained practically or economically. It is also obvious that some types, such as Thor’s hammers, seem made in materials of certain colours (silver grey metals), altogether independently of material properties and economy. Amulets of copperalloy are rarer than amulets of silver. This might be connected with post-depositional factors, but this does not seem to be the whole explanation.

archaeological archive is formed, and how conditions of finding and reporting through time have shaped the archaeological archive. Finally, I have drawn on John Moreland’s theories about similarity, difference and analogy. I have explored how these challenge the established image of the Viking Age and can be used to form a better understanding of the Viking Age world of thought. I suggest that the scepticism fundamental for Moreland’s concept of analogy can also be understood as a post-structuralist incredulity towards the always already known grand narratives. This theoretical frame of understanding allowed a treatment of the amulets as archaeological objects, classified on type and material, and on context. Many types have previously been interpreted as illustrations of the written sources: the women’s figurines were interpreted as valkyries or even goddesses, the masks as Odin’s head, and so forth. Axes, sickles and strike-a-lights are sought associated with named gods. I do not find these interpretations convincing. For instance, the animal figurines show a quite different distribution on species than the written sources would suggest. Especially for chairs, I find very poor support in the archaeological material for interpretations as exclusive emblems for pagan religion. The chairs might just as easily be seen as local expressions of Christianity. Similarly, it seems speculative to reduce all Thor’s hammers exclusively to be reactions against Christianity. The symbol had a meaning beside this, and its early popularity is out of all proportion with the few and small missions that there are traces of at the time of its first popularity. In time, the Thor’s hammer may have become such an emblem, however. It was almost certainly considered such by the late Viking Age Christians, whether or not the wearers shared this interpretation. There are evident differences between the different types’ chronology, geography and materials. An obvious chronological divide lies in the first half of the 900s. A number of new types appeared after AD 900, and a long list of old types disappeared before AD 950. The old types are snakes and other animal figurines, women’s figurines and wheels, while the new ones are staff-rings, swords, scythes, sickles, capsules, chairs, men’s figurines, legs, lunulae, crosses and encolpia. In contrast, Thor’s hammers, axes, spears, shields and strike-a-lights continued in use straight through this period. However, shields became far more popular than before. I suggest that these chronological changes can partially be tied to Christianity, which can explain the crosses and possibly also the change from women’s to men’s figurines, just as shields and chairs could be amulets more acceptable for Christians than the other types were. In contrast, capsules and lunulae must rather be explained with increased contacts to the eastern Baltic. The strike-a-lights may have been inspired by the lunulae, but if so they were a special, Scandinavian development and reinterpretation of these.

There are evident differences in which types and materials are found in different types of context. The selections of amulets in graves, hoards, on settlements and in the material from the stray finds are different. The grave material constitutes a limited selection of the total material. This suggests that the grave material is not just “the mirror of life”. Nor is economy a sufficient explanation. There are evident, regional variations. Since the grave finds of amulets only constitute a limited selection of the total inventory, it seems probable that not everyone who used amulets were buried with them. The decision to bury with amulets must be connected with these people’s biography in some way or other which cannot be reduced to sex, age or class. The graves can also throw light on of the dead people’s age and sex. 26 graves are identified as men’s graves, containing a total of 36 amulets, and 108 as women’s graves, containing 149 amulets. For 377 graves, with 465 amulets, the sex is not identified. All types of amulets are known from women’s graves, but shields, human and snake figurines are unusually frequent. Thor’s hammer rings are surprisingly infrequent, though this may be connected with the archaeological methods for determining gender. There can be no doubt that economic aspects are central for hoards. I see no support for claims that “Odin’s law” should have influenced the hoards, nor any reason to interpret them as any sort of grave-less grave goods. Nor

Geographically, it is possible to divide the material into a 185

Viking Age amulets in Scandinavia and Western Europe different contexts. The total material shows that neither graves nor hoards reflect all Viking Age amulet use. Consequently, it is not possible to explain grave goods with the living’s religion alone, or to throw light on the living’s religion through burials alone. The regional variation makes it obvious that burial custom and likely ideas about death, varied across the area of investigation. Snorre’s Icelandic mythology is not obviously relevant for the meaning of grave goods in the Mälar Valley or in Denmark. This conclusion must problematise much of the extant, archaeological research on Viking Age religion, all too dependent on such late, Norse sources. Mythological interpretations of grave amulets that cannot explain the difference between the amulets of the living and of the dead must be rejected. In the same way, both types and contexts show a regional and geographical variation. The way in which the amulets were used in the cult varied from region to region and over time. Grave amulets of iron played a far larger role in the Mälar Valley than in the rest of Scandinavia. In Skåne and on Gotland, and to a lesser degree in Denmark, many amulets were of silver, and consequently so valuable that they almost never ended in the graves. In Denmark and England there is also a large material of stray finds, which cannot be explained away entirely as disturbed graves, hoards and settlements. Instead, the many Danish stray finds of amulets of copper-alloy must reflect a part of the cult that took place outside these recognisable, archaeological contexts.

does the type distribution for amulets in the hoards seem to mirror any strong ritual tradition. Instead, the amulets in the hoards seem mostly selected for being of silver. Consequently, it is unreasonable to interpret the hoards as ritual depositions. The only exceptions from this may be the finds from Hoen and Eketorp, which obviously deviate from the other hoards. The hoards obviously reflect a history of recovery, dominated by finds from agricultural expansion and peatextraction. Also the hoards’ composition and distribution reflect economy: the early hoards come mainly from Gotland, Skåne and Denmark, and often contain Thor’s hammers. The few Norwegian hoards are later, and contain crosses. Central Sweden has a very few hoard finds of amulets. Although people used amulets here, they were rarely of silver, and even silver amulets were often deposited in graves (for example on Birka). The limited access to silver also limited the local selections of amulets. Thus some types, such as shields, are limited to the silver routes and the large towns. The settlement material seems dominated by the cheaper materials, like the grave material. This supports the traditional theory that parts of the material may have been lost by accident. However, other parts seem deposited either in connection with production or as systematic depositions. The settlement material is thus very heterogenic. It is also very complex and strongly biased by the complex deposition situations and often incomplete excavations. On sites such as Hedeby, it is obvious that the finds are concentrated within a small, intensively excavated area.

Combinations of several amulets in the same context are rare, and there is not much system in them, where found. The single exception is the Gotland amulet-sets of horse and weapons.

Sites including Borg in Östergötland and house group 2 on Helgö have been focus for far-reaching interpretations about cosmological order and division of space. I do not find that these helpful for understanding the amulets’ distribution. The interpretation of these sites is complicated by the complex chronology. It is striking that so many amulets come from a few central places and trading sites, while finds from ordinary rural settlements are rare.

The most obvious regional pattern is the difference between the Central Swedish material, and the Danish, secondarily English. The former is dominated by iron Thor’s hammers and other iron amulets found in graves, the latter by stray finds of amulets of copper-alloy. This difference is probably partly caused by post-depositional factors. The large proportion of hoard finds in Skåne, Gotland and Öland is almost as striking. These may mirror better access to more silver. However, it also seems clear that in these regions very few of the existing amulets ended in graves, while burial with amulets was far more common in Central Sweden. There is a striking contrast between the Swedish material, dominated by Thor’s hammers, and the Norwegian material, dominated by crosses. This may support theories about early mission in Norway. However, the same find-picture characterise Gotland, where a very early mission seems unlikely. The concentration of animal and snake figurines in Norway is just as remarkable. I wonder if these served the same function locally as the Thor’s hammers did in Sweden, or if the differences reflect altogether different uses of amulets. In any case, animals seem to have played a proportionally larger role in religion in Norway than in the south and east. This is obviously relevant in relation to those interpretations that understand Scandinavian paganism as an animal-focused shamanist religion: the amulet material suggest that this interest in supernatural

The material from the stray finds show the large influence post-depositional factors have on the find-picture. Another significant observation is that the material from the stray finds contains surprisingly much copper-alloy. The relative absence of silver stresses that neither grave nor hoard material constitutes a representative selection of the actual material. There were far more amulets of copper-alloy in use among the living in the Viking Age than graves and hoards show. It is also probable that some stray finds of amulets were not so much lost as consciously discarded or deposited. There are evident contrasts between the hoards and the graves. The hoards show a wide tolerance for different types, and a very narrow selection of materials (gold and silver). The graves show a more varied choice of material, but limited selection of types. Consequently, there are evident differences in the material from the 186

9: Summary and conclusion The original premise for this investigation was a theory that amulets are always symbols, and always take part in a symbolic context. This premise, I have had to modify: all evidence suggest that it does not apply to amulets in hoards, and does not always apply to amulets on settlements and as stray finds. This shows that the definition of amulets I have the worked with here is purely etic: for Viking Age people, an amulet was not just an object with a specific form, but rather a contextually phenomenon. An amulet was an amulet because it was used as such, and an old amulet could end as a simple piece of metal.

animals, also found in the Norse written sources, was special to Norway. Similarly, the Danish material shows a striking concentration of masks and shields, which may be types developed locally. Finally, the Hedeby-material shows a similar, even more obvious specialisation: almost all anchors originate here, and axes are strikingly overrepresented. Although the axes are distributed all across North Eastern Europe, they may have had a special relevance for a local cult. The Irish and English materials also show fascinating specialisations. This material is very incomplete, and much shaped by accidents. Yet, it is striking that it can support interpretations about adaptation to new forms of life. The amulets from Ireland and England can be seen as expression of migrant identities in new lands, of traders reinventing religious ideology to legitimise their riches, and of magical technologies for self-protection.

It is an open question if capsules and lunulae really ought to be treated as amulets or if they were simply jewellery. Outside the narrow field of amulet studies, I hope that this text can serve as part of a discussion of method. I believe that there is need for a far more reflective method, and for a far deeper understanding of how archaeological archives and discourses are formed. There is a need for an explicit methodology that refers to an actual archaeological material, and admits its limits. The material’s potential can only be utilised if its limits are recognised. Too many studies seem to build on an unrealistic trust in a few impressive objects or wellpreserved contexts and their ability to support very farreaching conclusions and interpretations. All too often, this leads to circular arguments. We must admit that our archaeological material and methods are better at throwing light on some problems than on others, if we are to use them in a convincing and responsible way. Unlimited confidence that archaeology can do everything at all also leads to a situation where all interpretations become equally valid and equally irrelevant.

Just as the chronology, so geography shows evident differences. The amulet material was not the same in all of the Viking Age, in all of Scandinavia. The way people lived with their religions varied. Since religion is not only mythology, but also action, these changes must mirror real, chronological differences in Viking Age religion. Nothing suggests that there was any universal relation between producers and consumers of amulets. However, I see some promise in in understanding the amulets as prosthetics, occasional ethnic emblems and signs of personal identity. Such interpretations are more reasonable in some situations than in others, and I see better support for Thor’s hammers as ethnic emblem in the Danelaw than in Central Sweden. Also, I believe that there is much promise in a closer analysis of the amulets as material objects, made and used of people in concrete situations. The amulets’ context was not just the feature, structure or site where they are found, but also the society and economic relations that created them. I have used the snake amulets, the masks and the anchors as illustration of how groups of amulets can be contextualised in this way. Here, I have focused on how the interpretation of the amulets can be related to the relationship between craftspeople and users. These interpretations draw on the earlier, more general analyses. It is very difficult or impossible to understand an amulet in details, without first learning what is typical for the type.

I see much promise in investigations that actually treat the amulets as archaeological objects, and not only as illustrations of written sources. I believe that this must lead to a revaluation of much of the established understanding. Many of the interpretations that circulate in the archaeological discourse find no any real support in the archaeological material. If we are to offer historians of religion and other disciplines anything they cannot produce better themselves, we will have realise archaeology’s special sources and methods to in higher degree than is common in archaeological studies of Viking Age religion. There is similar promise in investigating other parts of Viking Age archaeology more independently of the written sources. Frederik Svanberg has already shown how much new the graves have to offer. The so-called temples are another field in need of a coherent critical treatment that extends beyond claims that Adam of Bremen was right after all. In this connection, it is especially striking how different the southern so-called cult-houses on Uppåkra and Tissø are from the northern ones on Frösö and Mære. These constructions deserve to be used as more than illustrations of an unreliable written source.

I also suggest that amulets were actively used by some people in some situations, possibly especially by women, in order to express, and consequently create special religious identities. This was evidently a strategy that enjoyed very different degrees of popularity in different parts of Scandinavia, and at different times. Especially in the Mälar Valley, amulets seem altogether central in the magical technology, while they played a very small role for instance in Norway. In some places people were very eager to expand their social persons with symbolic objects, elsewhere much less eager to do this.

I see much promise in an archaeology that exploits all of the archaeological knowledge about the Viking Age. 187

Viking Age amulets in Scandinavia and Western Europe outside archaeology. Just as the objects had a biography in the past, they are copied in the present, and the copies’ biography involves the originals in different ways. Seen from Denmark, it is especially striking how dogmatic and poisonous debate about modern copies has been in Sweden. Swedish archaeologists often seem unable to imagine any modern, non- archaeological use of the past that is not Nazi abuse. We need to investigate if Danish and Swedish archaeologists’ different understandings of modern use reflect real differences in this modern use or different professional identities. There is also a need to investigate how these differences reflexively influence understandings of the past. On a related note, the English metal detector-users have developed an idiosyncratic understanding of the past’s role in the present which often seem completely unrecognisable from an archaeological viewpoint.

There are aspects of the period that are very wellinvestigated, including the economy. If we can understand the cult as a part of everyday life, and not as a purely mental construction, then we can also draw on this knowledge. Again this demands a stricter focus on what archaeology can do, and less dependency on other disciplines. Again, it demands that we focuses less on general, abstract schemes and models, and more on the details of what people did in local and concrete situations. Finally, I believe that there is much promise in a critical discourse-analytic history of research. In the present text, I have only had room to focus on general patterns in the find-picture and suggest how priorities of research and administration influence each other. However, there is a need for much closer readings of archaeological interpretations in relation to find-histories. Archaeology’s history as discipline is often presented as expression of more general theoretical currents, but it has also been shaped by and been shaping for the concrete practice of excavations. There are fashions in archaeology that are rather independent of other disciplines, and there are finds that have been ignored and rediscovered, interpreted and reinterpreted depending of the time. There is an urgent need for genealogical analyses of the archaeological theories, so as to understand how or if they are based on independent data or on repetitions of older guess-work.

Finally I hope that this general study can inspire to new detail studies that will not be based on generalisations from the individual context, but will instead seek to understand individual finds on the background of the general image. I believe that there is much promise in understanding the individual amulet both in context of the find and in relation to its entire biography, related to more general considerations. The amulets were not only symbols, symbolizing in abstract, but material objects that were made, used and deposited by real people, for real human reasons.

his study is not a perfect report on all Viking Age amulets. For linguistic reasons, large parts of the Central and Eastern European material had to be excluded. This material deserves a treatment at the hands of a researcher who understands the local historical and administrative, formative processes.

I not believe that detail studies can replace overviews. I do believe that the overview that I have given here may support significantly better detail studies. My goal with this work has been a humanist archaeology that accepts the humanity both of past people and of more recent archaeologists. The humanist project is never completed, because our understanding of other people, in present or in past, is always contingent. It is impossible to prove that it is ever is perfect, only possible to try to make it better. The Other’s difference from Us is humanism’s great challenge, frustration and opportunity. Past people showed both similarity and difference from us, but I hope this work has opened for better, more reflexive analogies.

The material from the Viking Age cosmopolitan cities deserves a comparative study which ought to include all of the material, both from Dublin and York, and from Ladoga and Kiev. Maybe, Scandinavian minorities in all these foreign towns developed parallel strategies for adaptation to their new situation. Maybe, the same strategies were reinvented when the Scandinavian homelands were urbanised. Maybe the rural populations in the Danelaw, Normandy, Scotland and elsewhere faced quite different challenges and chose very different strategies. It is definitely worth investigating if Viking Age town-dwellers had more in common with their peers in other urban countries, or with their rural compatriots.

Such a project demands source criticism. We cannot hope for a better understanding of the past, unless we admit that the established understanding is not perfect. Too much respect for older theories, or for other discipline’s sources, hinders reflexive critique. It hinders us from developing more robust arguments, and from making use of new finds as sources to new knowledge.

The present study has focused one-sidedly on the amulets’ role in the Viking Age, and on the narrowly archaeological reconstruction of this in the present. However, the amulets also play a role in modern culture

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9: Summary and conclusion web of alliances from Öland to Fyn make them powerful indeed.

Postscript: two new finds No catalogue is ever complete: new finds may always challenge our understanding. I collected my catalogue in the period 2005-2007, and I relied heavily on the electronic catalogues available at that time. Since then, the Swedish SHM electronic catalogue has been made far more complete. Very likely, it now describes a few more amulets than are included in my catalogue.

The second find comes from Lejre on Sjælland. This is a stray find of a tiny figurine of a person seated on a throne, the whole thing of silver. On the armrests, there are clearly identified ravens or at least corvids, on the back very stylised animal heads that might or might not be wolves. The person wears a foot-length dress and three heavy necklaces, and seems to have two good eyes. It has been suggested that this is Odin, and certainly, this find is a much better candidate for a representation of Odin on his throne than anything we have seen before. Although this may well be a pagan godly throne, I still maintain my reservations against interpreting all thrones as pagan, or even divine. None of the other thrones are as clear in their use of pagan signifiers. If ravens indicate Odin’s throne, then the swan-like birds on the Hedeby piece must indicate another throne. The Lejre find might illustrate that Viking Age Scandinavians could depict recognisable ravens when they wanted to (for the Fyn find, see Hansen forthcoming 2010, for Lejre, see Christensen 2010a, b, Mannering 2010, Back Danielsson 2010).

Moreover, new finds have certainly been made. Two deserve special mention: on Fyn, a fragment of an ornate Thor’s hammer with a head-shaped suspension has been found in a hoard. As discussed in the main text, fragments of amulets are very rare, and of the 250 Thor’s hammers I analysed, only two were fragments. Moreover, this is the westernmost example of a head-suspension hammer, a type I argue was centred on southern Sweden. I do not think this find invalidates my imaginative reconstruction of the biography of the craftsperson who made them, but it clearly supplies important modifications to that biography. If these hammers were exported by south Swedish aristocratic family, then their

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Viking Age amulets in Scandinavia and Western Europe

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