The Legend of Ivar Gunnarsson, Second Edition

Introduction

The Isle of Man, sometimes known simply as Mann, is located in the Irish Sea between Great Britain and Ireland. Inhabited for more than eight thousand years, the name first enters recorded history as Mona in 54 BC during the reign of Julius Caesar. It appears in Irish writings as Mano or Manan, in Welsh records as Manaw, and in the Icelandic sagas as Mön. While referred to in Roman and Greek writings, the Isle of Man was never incorporated into the Roman Empire, nor did it ever become part of the Kingdom of Great Britain or its successor, the United Kingdom, retaining its status as an internally self-governing Crown dependency. It has had a continuously functioning Parliament since 979, the oldest parliament in the world.

The island, about thirty miles long and maybe seven miles wide at it maximum, is hilly, but not treeless. A thousand years ago, the coastal lands were covered with thick oak woods. There were abundant varieties of grasses. Loughtan sheep and Boaghan cattle were native to the isle, as were Manx horses, dogs and pigs. These animals provided meat, wool and hides. The isle was also a breeding ground for seabirds; Cormorant, Shag, Manx Shearwater, and Herring Gull were prominent. The waters teemed with sea life.

With the abundance of timber, animals, fish and birds, Vikings from Norway and Scotland established encampments on St. Patrick’s Isle, a small island separated from Mann by a channel a hundred feet wide and perhaps a foot deep at low tide. Vikings first inhabited the Isle of Man, at Peel, which is just a short walk from the smaller St. Patrick’s Isle. Eventually Vikings inhabited all of Mann.

There are ruins of a stone castle, Peel Castle, on St. Patrick’s Isle, which date back to the very end of the 11th century and the reign of Magnus Berrføtt, a Norwegian King. There are also ruins of a cathedral, St. German’s Cathedral on the small Isle. Because of its location, and the presence of its stoutly fortified castle, St. Patrick’s Isle, and the Isle of Man itself, at Peel, Ramsey, Douglas and Castletown, likely served as way stations for Viking exploration further south in the Irish Sea, and for commerce between England and Ireland. The channel separating the smaller isle from the larger isle has been filled and the two isles are now connected by a causeway.

St. Patrick’s Isle, the first capital of ‘The Isle of Man and the Islands,’ as it was known in olden times, remained inhabited until sometime around the mid-eighteenth century when its people began to move to the town of Peel and elsewhere on Mann. The crypt under the ruins of St. German’s Cathedral was used as a prison until 1780 when its last inmate, Thomas Kneale, was granted early release from his seven-day sentence because he was ill.

This then is where our story takes place, beginning a thousand years ago.

Prologue

There is no known, written record of Ivar Gunnarsson anywhere in the British Isles, not even on the Isle of Man, nor anywhere else. There is, however, a very rich tradition of centuries, where the name Ivar Gunnarsson, of St. Patrick’s Isle, Mann, passed by word of mouth from generation to generation. And there is no known record of Vilnar Ivarsson, either. No one knows exactly, when Vilnar Ivarsson, son of Ivar Gunnarsson and Solveig Hakonarsdóttir, was born, but oral tradition tells us it was on the night of the fiercest storm the Isle of Man has ever seen, a storm which became known as the Storm of Legend. It arose out of the Irish Sea on that night and many times over the succeeding centuries.

According to ‘The Legend of Ivar Gunnarsson,’ Vilnar Ivarsson, was borne in a small hut, on St. Patrick’s Isle, said to be the place where St Patrick first set foot on the Isle of Man. Perhaps the ‘Legend of Ivar Gunnarsson’ predates Magnus Berrføtt, and perhaps it does not. In any event, the Ivarsson hut sat just inland from a rocky shoreline, on the northernmost point of the smaller isle. No one knows, and verbal history cannot tell us, why Ivar Gunnarsson and Solveig Hakonarsdóttir chose this lonely point of land to build their home, exposed as it was to the fiercest elements of the Irish Sea.

The ‘Legend of Ivar Gunnarsson’ also tells us that, Loki, son of Fárbauti and Laufey, spoke to Ivar on the night of Vilnar’s birth. It was after the time when Loki's good relationship with the Gods ended, following his role in the death of the God, Baldr. It was, however, before the time when Loki was bound by the Gods with the entrails of one of his sons. And it was after the time of the contest with Loki, to see who could make the most wonderful and useful items for the Gods and Goddesses in Asgard. It was Svartálfar Sindri, the brother of Brokkr, who made Mjölnir, the hammer of Thor, one of the most fearsome weapons, capable of leveling mountains.

And Loki envied Thor and his new weapon.

A Portion of Ivar’s Story, from the

Legend of Ivar Gunnarsson

There was a man named Ivar, whose surname was Gunnarsson, and he dwelt in a small hut with his wife, Solveig, whose surname was Hakonarsdóttir, on the northern point of tiny St. Patrick’s Isle, Isle of Man, said to be the place where St. Patrick of Ireland first set his foot on the Isle of Man. No one knows the day when Ivar Gunnarsson came to the isle, but it was in the time of Magnus Berrføtt, who came from Norway and built a castle known as Peel Castle, on the small isle.

And soon, Solveig became pregnant with her first child. When the time came for the child to be born, Ivar and Solveig were alone in their hut. During the day and on into the night, a great storm arose out of the Irish Sea and worsened as the time for the birth grew near. No man before ever saw the likes of such a storm, which came to be known as the Storm of Legend. This was no ordinary storm. And it seemed to Ivar and Solveig that the storm came to claim the newborn, and they feared for the babe.

And on that night, the wind screamed and howled. It shrieked, it wailed and roared around the hut, over and through the trees, flinging shards of icy rain, like claws, tearing at the meager building, trying to dislodge it from its place on the isle. The wind ripped trees from the ground and threw them in the air, and others it snapped in two. The howling wind threw heavy branches and forest floor debris, stones, and rocks and leaves, and sand at the hut. The sea pounded the rocky shore, wave after wave, trying to batter the shore cliffs into collapse.

In the hut, on that night, Ivar thought in terror, ‘What have I done? Why has Loki gathered his henchman to vent rage on me? What have I done?’ Ivar believed no other God but Loki could vent such anger. Clouds, charcoal black, roiling in fury, hid the sky. Time and again, thunder shook the ground, deafening him. Lightning bolts struck at him, trying to blind him with searing light. The air smelled of fire and of lightning. Ivar and Solveig shivered with cold and fear. All of Loki’s henchmen of the storm were at work, the wind, the rain, the sea, the thunder and the lightning, their forces all arrayed against the two.

Ivar, cringing on the floor of the hut, screamed at Loki, What have I done?

Of a sudden, there was quiet, no wind, no rain, no thunder, no lightning, and no sound of battering waves, as Loki roared his answer. It's not what you have done, it is who you are. You are thought and reason. Your children and your children’s children for forty generations shall be thought and reason. I cannot control you. That is what you represent, and I will destroy you. I have you cringing in fear. You are huddled before me and I will finish you.

Ivar, overcoming his fear, but trembling nonetheless, rose slowly, first to his knees, then to his feet. He raised his hands upward. He looked up to the voice of Loki and he said, No, you cannot destroy me, it is not so. If I am thought and reason, as you say, then I am ideas. I am progress. I will survive. You are chaos, noise, and confusion. You are superstition. I will not allow you to have power over me. I will not. Scream, and howl and shriek, tear at me, try what you will, but you cannot destroy me, for I will not allow it. I stand here. Do what you will. I will be here long after the wind has failed and the rain has stopped. I will be here when the clouds are gone, when the thunder has died, when the lightning is no more. I am thought and reason. I am ideas and progress. My power is greater than yours, and it shall be so.

But Loki was not silent. He sent back the Storm of Legend, more terrible than before. Wind ripped at the roof and at the chimney, and battered the walls of the humble hut. Huge waves again pounded the rocky shore. Thunder rolled across the heavens and bolt after bolt of lightning ripped at the sky. Rain water poured down the chimney and doused the fire. The wind blew out the candles. Loki cast Ivar and Solveig into cold and blackness, alone with their fear. And Solveig whispered to Ivar, Save the child, Ivar, let me go if you have to, but save the child.

Ivar turned his back on Loki. He covered Solveig with sheep skins and lay down beside her to keep her warm. He tended to her through the night, giving her cold broth to sustain her, for there was nothing hot to give her. He lay vigilant, listening to her, soothing her. He helped her when the pains came. In the deepest part of the night, when the storm was at its worst, the baby came. Ivar cut and tied the cord and wrapped the baby in lambskin. He held it aloft in his hands. He showed it to Loki and said, Behold! This is Vilnar, son of Ivar Gunnarsson and Solveig Hakonarsdóttir. His name is Vilnar Ivarsson. He too, is thought and reason. He too, is ideas and progress, and he will defy you as I have.

Loki did not give up. The storm raged. Thunder-boom after thunder-boom shook the ground. The wind blew torrents of rain at the hut. Lighting cracked and flashed, and still Ivar held the babe above him until the child gave a loud cry.

The storm ceased. The wind blew no more. The rain stopped falling. No thunder rolled across the heavens. Lightning did not flash. Waves no longer pounded the shore. And Ivar took the babe and placed it at Solveig’s breast, as she lay exhausted on her pallet where Death waited for her and for her child. But Death went away, alone.

Ivar Gunnarsson spoke to Loki and Loki heard him, and answered. Ivar Gunnarsson ignored and defied Loki who tried to vanquish him, but could not. Ivar Gunnarsson turned his back to Loki. Ivar Gunnarsson shielded and protected Solveig Hakonarsdóttir when she was with child. Ivar Gunnarsson protected the child and kept it from Death. And when the child came, Ivar Gunnarsson lifted the child toward the heavens and showed it to Loki, defiantly. And Loki retreated, but Loki was not finished. No, he was not finished.

Such is a portion of the Legend of Ivar Gunnarsson, handed down by word of mouth for centuries.

A Portion of Vilnar’s Story, from the

Legend of Ivar Gunnarsson

After Loki sent the Storm of Legend back to the sea from whence he brought it forth, the dawn broke, the sun rose and in the warmth of the sun, Ivar Gunnarsson set to repairing the storm’s damage and gathering the animals, while fair Solveig gave her bosom to the babe, imbuing him with all her grace and charm, and concerns for her world. The babe thrived and in time grew to be as big as Ivar Gunnarsson, inheriting his father’s Viking looks and thirst for knowledge. From Ivar Gunnarsson and Solveig Hakonarsdóttir, he inherited physical and moral strength and, with time, all else he needed to become the man he grew to be.

And as he grew, Vilnar became better able to help his father and his mother. He learned how to scramble up and down the cliffs, gaining access to the sea where he learned to swim and fish. Ivar and Vilnar, together, built a sturdy and seaworthy, four-oared faering, and Vilnar learned to sail and navigate. He tended the animals and the crops, and he went with Ivar across the seas to the markets and fairs. He learned to distinguish value from glitter and to haggle for good price whether buying or selling, and he learned to barter.

Ivar taught him skills with bow and arrow, axe, spear and knife, and Vilnar learned well all he was taught. He learned to hunt, to skin animals for their pelts and to use the pelts for clothing and other needs. He learned to forage and he learned the names of the things that grew from the land, the names of the animals that roamed the land, and the names of the fish in the sea and the birds in the air.

He sailed with Ivar to Ireland and to England and Scotland and as far away as Norway. He became known to all as a man of honor and character, a man who could be trusted, a man who kept his word, a man of great resolve, a man to be followed, but a man to be feared, if wronged.

Vilnar learned from Solveig, too. He learned to care and be gentle. He learned consideration and respect. He learned to cook and sew, and to tend the crops. And when Ilge, his little sister, was born, he learned to care of her, and be responsible. And from all, he learned love and compassion.

As he grew older and stronger, he became more independent. He learned to rely on his own instincts and he grew in confidence. His manner and his bearing came to be manly. Ivar and Solveig watched as Vilnar grew to early manhood and they were proud. Ivar learned to trust Vilnar’s judgment and foresight, allowing him to make voyages alone: to Ireland, Scotland, Wales, and England, to sell pelts and hides and to purchase necessaries.

On such a trip to Lancashire, to sell hides and barter for needed things, Vilnar saw a young girl working in a vending stall. Her beauty, her form, and her manner struck him. He stood still for he had not seen the likes of her before. On impulse, he walked to the stall, and looking directly in her eyes, said, I am Vilnar Ivarsson.

The girl returned his gaze steadily, and said, I am Ádisá Kormacksdóttir.

I will come for you, Vilnar said. The man and woman working in the stall with Ádisá, turned and looked at the bold young Viking, but said nothing. Vilnar turned and walked away. He returned to his home on the small isle, but thought often of the girl. It was two full seasons before he sailed again to Lancashire. When he arrived, he walked to the stall where he first saw her. She was there. She saw him and waited for him to speak. I have come for you, he said, with gentleness.

Legend does not say what Ádisá thought or felt. It does say Vilnar did not carry her off; he did not force her. She went willingly but not before she turned to her mother and her father who nodded. Each hugged her, and spoke of their love for her. The girl turned and held out her hand to Vilnar, who took it and they walked away.

As they walked to Vilnar’s faering, two town idlers accosted them, stepping out in front of them, blocking their path. Both of them were larger than Vilnar, but one was larger than the other. Get behind me, Ádisá, Vilnar told her, in warning. They mean to harm you.

Give us the girl, the larger of the two said.

Vilnar looked at them coldly, with ice in his blue eyes. If you go now, you live. If you do anything else, you die. I have no wish to kill you, but I will, and you will both die before you touch her.

Some people gathered round, but left room for the coming struggle. Word spread and other spectators approached and stood watching. We are two, you are only one. We will take her, the larger man boasted, taking a step toward Vilnar.

Go now, or die. I will not say it again, Vilnar said, with deep menace in his voice.

The big man took another step, and faster than the eye, Vilnar had his axe in one hand and his knife in the other. He stood there like a giant cat, ready to spring, crouched, leaning forward a little, his feet apart, and his legs bent slightly at the knee, his muscles tensed. He was wary and waiting, but he had no fear. Ádisá stayed behind him but drew back a little to make room for him and what he had to do. She stood tall and straight, her blue eyes too, like ice, as she watched the two men, and, like Vilnar, she had no fear. For ten beats of the heart nothing happened. Then the larger of the men charged Vilnar. He took only half a step before Vilnar threw the axe, straight and true, impaling the man between his eyes. And Death was happy.

Vilnar turned slightly, while the axe was still in flight, before it even struck, and faced the second man. Vilnar waited. The smaller man dropped his head, signaling the fight was over, but Vilnar did not relax his vigilance. He waited. The second man turned and disappeared into the crowd.

Only then did Vilnar, with Ádisá following, walk to the dead man, reaching down to reclaim his axe, But before he could grasp the weapon, there was a cry from the crowd. The second man was charging at Ádisá from behind, a club raised over his head. Vilnar spun, jumping in front of her, leaving his axe where it was in the dead man. He held his knife across his body to deflect the blow he could not stop. As the lout’s club came down, Vilnar, in less than a heartbeat, stepped to his left, moving away from the intended blow, which cleaved the air where he had been standing. The club hit the knife, knocking it from Vilnar’s hand, but deflecting the blow. Vilnar was on the man in a flash of motion, taking him to ground before the club could be raised for another blow. One hand gripped the villain’s throat, the other clamped on the hand holding the club. With his one hand, Vilnar squeezed his foe’s neck until life left him. And Death was happy once again.

Vilnar stood, picked up his knife from where it fell, and retrieved his axe. He took Ádisá by the hand, and, without looking at either body, led her to his boat, where she helped him push the boat from the beach. Before she stepped in, Ádisá turned to look at him. Their eyes, no longer ice, were gentle for each other. She gave him a slight nod of her head and a gentle squeeze of her hand before stepping into the boat and sitting on the forward thwart. Vilnar waited until she had the two oars ready to dip into the water. He pushed the faering further from the beach, jumped in and took his seat behind her.

Ádisá dipped her oars and began to row. Together they rowed out of the harbor and Vilnar raised sail. As they made way for St. Patrick’s Isle, a giant storm, the Storm of Legend, rose out of the sea where Loki kept it leashed. To them, the storm had a singular purpose, to destroy them, and by doing so, destroy their descendants before they were even born. It was the same storm that rose out of the Irish Sea on the night of Vilnar’s birth.

Chaos, noise and confusion swirled around them but they fought with all their might until Ádisá rose to stand by Vilnar’s side as he faced the angry sea and the storm. She was not afraid as she held on to him. Vilnar gave the steering oar to her and raised his arms to the sky. Using the words of his father when Vilnar was born, told often to him as he grew, he looked at the sky and said quietly, We are thought and reason. We are ideas and progress. You are nothing but chaos, noise and confusion. You are superstition. You can roar and scream, you can thunder and blaze, but you cannot conquer us. You have tried but you cannot.

As it had on his birth night, the storm eased, the sea calmed, and the rain let up. A little later, as the dawn broke, the sun rose, warming them, signaling the birth of another day and their union.

And it came to pass that Ádisá gave birth to a son and on that night, the Storm of Legend again rose out of the Irish Sea, as it had twice before, and vented the full might of its fury on the hut where the child came to life. Vilnar cut the birth cord and tied the knot as his father before him. He wrapped the babe in lambskin and raised his arms to the sky, and said, as his father before him, Behold, Loden, son of Vilnar Ivarsson and Ádisá Kormacksdóttir. His name is Loden Ivarsson. He too, is thought and reason. He too, is ideas and progress, and he will defy you as I have, and my father before me.

But the Storm of Legend roared in fury until the newborn gave a loud cry, as Vilnar himself had given when held aloft by his father, and the storm abated. Vilnar placed the babe at its mother’s breast as the sun rose and warmed the earth. But Loden was not to be an only child, for soon Ádisá was again with child and bore Loden a sister who was named Frøydís, Frøydís Ivarsson, but her life was not lived to its fullest.

And it is told that the people of St. Patrick’s Isle and the Isle of Man banded together and turned on Vilnar Ivarsson and all his family who were forced to leave the land for another place, in another land. But no more can here be said about Ivar and Vilnar nor any of their families save for Loden and Ragnild, his wife and their descendants.

Such is a fragment of the story of Vilnar Ivarsson, son of Ivar Gunnarsson and Solveig Hakonarsdóttir, and father of Loden Ivarsson, passed down by the lips of generations for almost a thousand years as part of the Legend of Ivar Gunnarsson.

A Portion of Hallgeirr’s Story from the

Legend of Ivar Gunnarsson

There was, on St. Patrick’s Isle, an orphan boy whose name was Hallgeirr. No one on the isle knew how he came to be there, or when he arrived, nor even who had given name to him. And no one on the isle knew his age or his surname. He might have been eight years, but he could have been older. He had no place to live and sometimes he found shelter from the rain and the cold under the roof of St. Patrick’s Chapel.

He was ragged and unwashed. He ate when he found something in the oak woods near the shore, or if he was fortunate to find scraps outside the butcher’s stall or the baker’s hut. None of the people who dwelt on the small isle wanted to care for him, most of them having little for themselves. Those who had enough didn’t want to share their good fortune so he had to scavenge and beg. Many thought he was afflicted with disease. Others thought he had been cursed by witches or evil spirits. The people on the isle avoided him or chased him away.

No one knew how he was able to survive and many wished he would perish or disappear so his presence would not make them feel guilty or threatened.

Hallgeirr was short of stature and thin, but he was keen of mind and spirit. He neither thieved nor told falsehoods and he was respectful.

Then one day there came a man whose name was Loden Ivarsson, whose father was Vilnar Ivarsson and whose mother was Ádisá Kormacksdóttir, and Loden was looking for Hallgeirr. It is unknown why Loden sought out the boy but when the boy was found, Loden asked him if he wanted to have a home, a place where he could live, where he would be fed and where he could bathe and wear clean clothes. Hallgeirr was uncertain and careful, for no one had ever before offered such things to him. He was afraid Loden Ivarsson might mean to harm him, but he did not know in what way.

Hallgeirr ran off into the woods and hid in a small cave, knowing not what to do. The next day, Loden came again, and knowing where Hallgeirr was hiding, brought a pair of thonged leather foot coverings, a pair of thick woolen socks, and half a loaf of bread, and he called for Hallgeirr, but Hallgeirr was afraid and stayed hidden. Loden laid the shoes and socks and the bread behind a tree where he thought Hallgeirr would find them and hid and waited, for he thought the boy was watching him.

Hallgeirr crept out of the cave and quietly went to where the shoes and socks and the bread waited, and as he bent to pick them up, Loden said to him, Don’t be afraid. I mean you no harm. Take the shoes and socks, they are yours. Eat the bread if are you hungry. My wife, whose name is Ragnild Ögmundrdόttir, has prepared food for you at my hut. If you come, she will see that you are fed and cared for, and we will see that no harm comes to you.

Loden Ivarsson turned away and started to walk to his hut, not waiting for Hallgeirr, who stirred not. But Hallgeirr was hungry and soon he followed Loden, warily, eating the bread, his shoes and socks carried under his arm. And when they reached Loden’s hut, Ragnild opened the door and stepped aside so the boy could enter, but Hallgeirr waited outside, and held out his hand. Ragnild went to the stove and got a piece of meat and gave it to Hallgeirr who looked at her, unsure what to do. Eat, Ragnild said. Eat what I give you. We have more. Eat if you are hungry.

Hallgeirr tried to eat the meat in one bite but it was too big. Ragnild waited and when the meat was eaten, she asked Hallgeirr if he wanted hot stew. The boy nodded, but didn’t speak. Ragnild held out her hand to Hallgeirr and he trusted her and put his hand in hers. She gently led him into the hut, and showed him a table and on the table was a mug of hot stew. The boy dropped his shoes and socks on the floor and took the mug from the table, peering into it to see what he had been given. He raised the mug to his nose and sniffed at it. He put the mug to his lips and tasted what was in it. Satisfied, he swallowed it down not even chewing because of his hunger and when the mug was empty he held it out to Ragnild, waiting, and she put more stew in the mug and he ate it all.

And so it was, Hallgeirr came to live with Loden Ivarsson and Ragnild Ögmundrdόttir, and he was happy. But he had no surname and one day, not long after he came to live with Loden and Ragnild, Loden told Hallgeirr that from that day on he would be called Hallgeirr Ivarsson and he would be a son to Loden and Ragnild, who came to love the boy as their own. And on the day Loden made Hallgeirr his son, a great storm arose out of the Irish Sea, bent on destroying Hallgeirr, but Loden sent the storm back whence it came in the same way Vilnar, his father and Ivar, his grandfather, had before him, the stories having been told to Loden many times before.

Hallgeirr grew to be a good man, and he learned the things he needed to know from Loden and Ragnild. And the people who did not want to care for Hallgeirr were happy because they no longer felt guilty for not caring for the boy and they were no longer afraid of him. The people who shunned Ivar and Vilnar and their families allowed Loden and Ragnild to remain on St. Patrick’s Isle and to live there, even though they had banded all together in the past and made them leave the isle before the time of this story.

And Hallgeirr grew to be a great man, sound of mind and judgment, but small in size. People came to him for advice and he was just and fair. And there came a time when Hallgeirr took a wife, whose name was Geirhildr, and whose surname was Nilssondόttir, and in time she came to be with child. On the night of the child’s birth, the Storm of Legend again rose out of the Irish Sea, and came to take the child, but Hallgeirr would not let it. The storm was as violent as the storms that beset his father’s ancestors. When the child was born and Hallgeirr cut the cord and tied the knot, he lifted the babe, wrapped in lambskin, toward the heavens and said, in the words of those who came before him and were oft repeated to him, Behold, Mardöll, daughter of Hallgeirr Ivarsson and Geirhildr Nilssondόttir. Her name is Mardöll Ivarsson. She too, is thought and reason. She too, is ideas and progress, and she will defy you as I have, and my father before me and his father before him. The child gave a loud cry, and the Storm sank back into the sea.

Such is a fragment of the story of Hallgeirr Ivarsson, taken in and adopted as the son of Loden Ivarsson and Ragnild Ögmundrdόttir, passed down by the lips of generations for almost a thousand years as part of the Legend of Ivar Gunnarsson.

Chapter One

The last of the Ivarssons, William Ivarsson, and his wife, Bergit, lived in the city of Douglas, present day capital of the Isle of Man. Will, as he was called, knew the Legend of Ivar Gunnarsson, as had every Ivarsson of the thirty-nine generations before him, and it intrigued him ever since he first heard it at the age of three. Thereafter, it was often recited to him, by his grandparents, Thorfin and Vorgell Ivarsson, and by his parents, Waldhar and Roseen Ivarsson. Over the years, the Legend raised questions in his mind, which remained unanswered. Then, one day, he met Bergit Dyrdahl and things began to