Difficulties of a Viking-Era Detective: Slewdunnit

HOW DETECTIVES FARED IN SKANIA IN THE TIME OF SIGFRED AND HALFDAN

It was the the third year since restless men had rowed west with the sons of Ragnar Lodbrok to evaluate the riches of the kingdoms of Mercia and East Anglia. There many kings and great men paid them not to return, and so they profited with every stroke of the oar. Sometimes they killed these great men afterwards, and thus were paid twice, first for staying away and second for doing as they pleased, so that many decided not to return to the land of Gudfred, and wished only to go on selling peace among the many rich and weak kings of the western isles forever.

Since so many of our oarsmen either died or lost all thoughts of home, in the Thing of the fourth year of their departure, Torgny Lawspeaker made me detective, or blood-finder. Because, as he said, with so many men gone, and so many returns uncertain, we were sure to see more than the usual number of inheritance-murders in the spring. Spring is the busy season for murders, since it is too cold for much slaying in the winter, and by summer every man must put aside whatever blood-feuds he has accumulated and help with the harvest, besides which he has likely spent much of the winter sitting and brooding over his neighbors’ wrongdoings and is eager to get out of the house and do something about it by the time the rivers begin to move again.

Some parts of the job are more difficult than others. Torgny says that he is the tongue of the Law and I am its feet. When a man is killed, I must begin to walk until I find clues and evidence. Three witnesses make one clue, and six clues make one evidence. Once I have twelve evidence I can arrest a criminal. At first the people of Skania were very interested in becoming witnesses, but once they learned it is work that does not pay, I could find none at all. “Am I a thrall,” said Aslaug Herring-Plenty, “that I should open my eyes and look about me for free? If evidence fetches no price, I cannot grow it on my farm,” which pretty much summed up the neighborhood’s feelings on the matter.

But sometimes finding a man’s killer takes no time at all. Let us say that someone has killed Grettir the Red. I know this because Grettir the Red’s head appears on a nithstang-pole on the boundary-line between the property belonging to Grettir the Red and his neighbor, Gunning the Upplander. Then I simply stand by the boundary-line and say, “Who has killed Grettir the Red?” and wait for someone to say “It was I, Njál Six-Boats.” While everyone is ready to applaud skillful cunning and even deceit in a saga-hero under certain circumstances, here it is considered poor manners not to acknowledge a murder. In such a case there is no need for the law to walk in search of clues and evidence, and I would send for Torgny to tell us how much Njál Six-Boats owes the widow and children of Grettir the Red in silver; or, if the widow and children of Grettir the Red will not accept silver but would prefer to hunt down Njál Six-Boats and take his life from him in return, Torgny will calculate a fair head start for Njál Six-Boats instead. At this point my job is pretty much over and I am free to return to my herring-nets, although I will likely be called back into service soon, as men start murdering one another for the property Njál Six-Boats has left behind on his flight for his life.

Most often, I would say, my first task as detective is to announce who is dead and to ask who has killed him, and maybe 75% of the time this is my only task as detective.

“Here lies Hrani Leg-Biter, dead! Who has done this?”

“He was killed by Gunnborga Gunnborgsson, who is myself, because he first killed my cousin and kinsman Bolli, after I had killed his, Hrani’s, bull, whose pen-gate Hrani refused to mend and who charged into my fields, damaging not only the haystacks but also several stacks of peat and the chicken-house my wife built last spring, and it is in no wise fair to take a cousin’s life in exchange for a bull. But now I think it is fair.”

In some cases, where there has been good strong drinking the night before, it might be that only the gods know who has done the murder. But then there are good questions the law can ask in return for clues. I might ask “Who in the hall last night delivered a bēot that he would kill Magnus Sailbreaker?” and the men might give me three or four names, and then I might ask them to check their swords, and whichever sword has the most blood on it is the likeliest candidate.

I should add that this works best when there has been only one murder on the day after good strong drinking. Where there have been several it is more difficult to tell, because one man’s blood looks very much like another on a sword. As long as the number of blooded swords matches up with the number of dead men, I think it cannot make very much difference which living man is assigned which dead one.

But there are times when a murder is done by seidr, which can be very tricky indeed, for it is good and proper for a witch to lie. Therefore you cannot expect to say “Here is Gissur the Brewer, dead by sorcery, with no marks on his body; who did the witching that killed him?” and get a straight answer from anybody. Even if Estrid Half-Dane were to step forth in her goatskin and lay claim to drowning him in his sleep, that might not be good evidence, for what if this was itself seidr, and designed to trick me into insulting the dísir? So unless Estrid Half-Dane can produces the blue chicken-bones, the black cloak, and the stafsprotann she used to create the drowning-dream that killed Gissur the Brewer without leaving a mark upon his body, I will not accuse her, and probably not even then, if she does.

I would say being a detective among the Skanians in the time of Sigfred and Halfdan is probably as good as it would be anywhere else. If you want to find a murderer, all you really have to do is ask.

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