Sorcery and Magic Part One

The Sagas and Eddas speak at length on magic and no one is so central to that role as the seiðkona or volva. Seidr is a shamanistic approach to magic that differs from galdr, which involved singing or chanting the runes. Despite that numerous references to these practitioners of magic, we know little of what actually went on and can only guess at some aspects.

In the Ynglinga Saga, Freyja is the one who brings the magic art to the Aesir:

Njord’s daughter Freya was priestess of the sacrifices,

and first taught the Asaland people the magic art,

as it was in use and fashion among the Vanaland people.

Odin learns magic from Freyja, though in the Lokasenna, Loki accuses him of learning it from the Sami people thus:

 

“They say that with spells in Samsey once

Like witches with charms didst thou work;

And in witch’s guise among men didst thou go;

Unmanly thy soul must seem.”

Ardre_Odin_Sleipnir
Odin and Sleipnir

For a man to practice seiðr was considered especially shameful and unmanly. He was thenceforth known as ergi. It is likely though, given the shamanistic way seiðr was practiced, that is was brought learned from the Sami people.

Some hints as to the nature of the magic they used might come from accounts of later medieval witches who were supposed to have rubbed a strange ointment of herbs upon their broomsticks upon which they rode naked. Francis Bacon listed the ingredients of the witches ointment as “the fat of children digged out of their graves, of juices of smallage, wolfe-bane and cinque foil, mingled with the meal of fine wheat.” Other recipes listed nightshade and henbane among other poisonous plants with toxic alkaloids. Not surprisingly, nightshade is notorious for producing a sensation of flight. Henbane also produces a hallucinogenic reaction.

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Grave goods of a Norse seeress including the mysterious wand

When archaeologists unearthed a rich grave of a woman at Fyrkat, Denmark from the tenth century, they found among many other grave goods, a pouch containing the seeds of henbane and cannabis both with mind-altering properties. Even henbane petals rubbed against the skin have been reported to have caused an experience akin to floating or flying. How much more so when combined with nightshade and mandrake, plants with high levels of toxic alkaloids such as scopolamine, hyoscyamine, and atropine. Such plants were placed in a fatty substance by medieval witches and applied to a distaff or broomstick and ridden upon. These herbs can take very quick effect on the skin and more so against the mucous membranes of a woman’s vagina. This would explain the sexual element darkly hinted at by later Christian writers, but never properly alluded to. In any case, asmale practitioners of seiðr were looked on with scorn by their contemporaries, it is possible that seiðr required one to be sexually passive, or perhaps there were actions associated with the anointed distaff that disagreed strongly with medieval Scandinavian sensibilities of gender roles, including that of fiber arts as we shall explore in part three of this study.

Any thoughts on this subject? I would love to hear from you. Comment below.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Poison Apothecary Part Two

Henbane (Hyoscyamus niger) has an interesting and varied past. On the one hand it has been used in medicine. The Byzantine physician, Paul of Aegina (625 – 690) used a decoction of henbane mandrake, opium, and wine as an anesthetic before surgery. In any case, henbane was well know throughout Europe and not just for magic. It was an effective poison. Some say second only to aconite in the poisoners’ arts. Etymologically, henbane has nothing to do with hens at all. In old English, hen had to do with death and in fact, the plant was once called henbell.

It is probably associated with witchcraft more than any other plant. A very important Norsewoman, likely a volva or Seihdkona was found in a rich burial in Fyrkat Denmark. Among her grave good was a pouch containing the seeds henbane and cannabis, both with mind-altering properties. However it is the henbane that has been associated with the sensation of flying that it gave to witches who used it. Often it was combined with mandrake, datura and nightshade, themselves all highly toxic plants. Even henbane petals rubbed against the skin have been reported to have caused an experience akin to floating of flying.

Every party of henbane contains alkaloids such as scopolamine, hyoscyamine, and atropine. The seeds are slightly less toxic, which is why the lady of Fyrkat may have been carrying those in her pouch for magic work and not compounds of the deadlier part of the plant.

Safe to say, henbane was as well known to the Byzantines as it was to the Norse. Prior to the use of hops, it was used in brewing beer. It still is to this day. It is called Pilsenkraut Among the Byzantines as stated above, was used in medicine. There can be no doubt it was favored by both when it came time to rid oneself of a particularly obnoxious enemy.

One was always wise to taste carefully anything proffered by anyone that one could not altogether trust, as Sven does in The Serpentine Key:

Sven waited until the chamberlain took a sip and then he too took a tiny sip of the wine testing it on his tongue for any sign of bitterness of henbane or the throat tingling that was said to come with aconite. It did not taste of poison, but then he knew plenty of artful concoctions that were tasteless and odorless. One did not long reside in the Imperial City without a good education of the mixtures that were at the disposal of the poisoners’ arts. He took a slightly larger sip. It had a faint note of oak. The former chamberlain detected his appreciation of it. “That is a fine wine. My nephew has confiscated my lands and my wealth, but I still have a modest allotment of the wines from my vineyards brought to me weekly by boat. This, however, is foreign wine, from the Negev. I am to be treated like a member of the imperial family in my libations, it seems, if not my habitation.” He settled himself in the chair and closed his eyes, as if nothing else mattered except this wine.

“Did the last emperor have such fine wine before he died?” Sven commented acerbically.

“You wound me. I had no hand in the death of the Emperor John. Some say he dug his own grave with too much food and too much drink. It was no doing of mine. Indeed, even thought I knew whose hand was in it, I would not have stayed it. He was far too eager to halt my climb to power. Still,” and he chuckled “It would be an amusing joke, would it not, for me to assassinate the assassin?” He plucked a grape from the bowl and chewed on it thoughtfully. “I do have poison at hand however. I kept it for my own use, should my exile prove to be too unbearable. If you are to kill me, I would prefer that you poison me. Knives and such make an extraordinary mess.”

We have no evidence to link the Imperial Chamberlain Basilios Lakepenos with any of the deaths around him. But as a powerful man with much to lose, he might have been quite willing to turn to poison to eliminate his equally powerful enemies.

Sources: An Analytical Dictionary of the English Etymology, an Introduction by Anatoly Liberman

Writer’s Guide to Poisons

Big Bad Book of Botany by Michael Largo

Vikingaliv (Viking Lives) by Dick Harrison and Kristina Svensson