In AD 679 the young warrior Imma – a bodyguard for the Northumbrian King Egfrid – was badly wounded in the great battle of the River Trent. He was left on the battlefield as dead. He lay all that day and the next night among the bloody corpses. As dawn broke over the devastation, he roused himself back to wakefulness. Sitting up, and in pain, he bound his wounds as best he could. He rested from these exertions until he felt strong enough, then struggled to his feet, and staggered off to find any remnants of his army that might take care of him.
But soon he was discovered and captured by some of the enemy’s army – those fighting for King Ethelred of Mercia. They took him before their leader, who was an earl in King Ethelred’s court. The earl ordered his wounds to be dressed; and when he began to recover, to prevent his escaping, he ordered him to be bound. But as soon as the guards who bound him were gone, his bonds became loosened and fell off.
Imma’s captors tried to bind him in chains, but they continually burst open. Alarmed, the Mercians dragged Imma before the earl, who immediately suspected sorcery. He demanded ‘… whether through witchcraft or through runes he brake his bonds?’ Imma retorted that it was neither. He explained that his brother, who was an abbot, and believing Imma dead from his wounds sustained in the battle, was having masses said for his soul, ‘… the celebration whereof occasioned that none could bind him without his being immediately loosed again’.
It turned out that his brother was a monk called Tunna. Hearing that his brother had been killed in the fight, he had gone to the battlefield to find his body. He found another very like him in all respects and, concluding it to be his, he carried the same to his monastery, and buried it honourably, and had been taking care often to say masses for the absolution of his soul. These had resulted in the chains breaking.
The earl let him live, and sold him as a servant in London. All the way to London to deliver him to his new master, his guards tried to bind him with several sorts of bonds, but they repeatedly fell off. When they reached London, the buyer, perceiving that he could in no way be bound, gave him leave to ransom himself if he could. Imma took an oath that he would either return, or send him the money for his ransom. He raised the money through well-placed friends, bought his freedom, and eventually returned home to Northumbria. And thanked his brother!
Bede reported this story in his Ecclesiastical History of England in order to present the power of prayer as a rival to the indigenous magic of Middle-earth. Here it shows just how accepted these remarkable sorts of events were.
This sort of magic was reflected in The Lord of the Rings, when the elf Legolas exclaimed his amazement when a tightly-bound prisoner was able to escape from the ores and horsemen. Even stranger was the fact that the prisoner, having escaped, then stopped to cut his bonds from his legs. Yet if his legs had been tied up, puzzled Legolas, how could he have used the knife to cut his bonds at all? His companion Gimli concludes that the prisoner’s escape from being bound was sorcery.
Such spellbinding in the historical Middle-earth was a practical matter. Wizards cast spells on people by placing or releasing magical bonds which held them fast – literally spellbound. And like the wizards for whom he was the deity, Odin had spells which spun people’s threads into knots, so that the interwoven forces of life became stuck. The knots shackled the mind, and paralysed movement, thought and will. These spells rendered his enemies helpless in battle.
Ancient stone carvings surviving in Sweden today show Odin beside his spell-bond – three interlinked triangles, forming a kind of knot. Symbols representing Odin’s knots are also found on cremation urns from early cemeteries in East Anglia, along with figures of the horse and the wolf.
Wargs – Wolves of the Otherworld
A story of a wolf from the Norse myths, at the end of the Middle-earth period, tells us a lot about the magic of spellbinding, and the nature of the interlace threads which represent the complexity of Wyrd. Where did the story come from? The answer is the Otherworld journeys of wizards.
In magical ceremonies and sacred trances, they went to the realm of spirits, and returned with secrets, mysteries and healing remedies. The stories depict happenings in the realms of the Upperworld and Lowerworld, and in those regions at the edge of Middle-earth, like the lands of the giants. These are the worlds which were discovered by Odin, when he journeyed in the World Tree on his magic horse Sleipnir. These are deep stories. Like myths, their meaning reaches into the archetypal regions of people’s psyches. They represent wisdom from the spirits, and from the ancestors.
Binding the Wolf
In Middle-earth, one such story that was told about binding spells and the threads of wyrd was recorded by Snorri Sturluson. He was writing 200 years or more after the end of Middle-earth, and historians reckon he had access to written documents that are long since lost. Also he knew a raft of folk tales and oral lore which had been passed down the ten generations or so since Christianity finally reached Iceland in the year AD 1000. His stories are possibly therefore more literary than the originals – although we should also remember the tremendous elaboration of the Anglo-Saxon poem, Beowulf, which may have been composed as early as the eighth century. This story reveals a lot about the magic of being spellbound.
In the legends of historical Middle-earth, a story was told about a great wolf called Fenrir, who represented all the forces of chaos. Not at first, though. He began life as a beautiful and cuddly cub, and three of the gods adopted him. Their identities alter between versions of the story, but usually they were Thor, god of thunder and battler with the giants; Odin, god of magic and wisdom, as well as war; and Tyr, a very ancient sky-god.
They named the wolf Fenrir. Silver and sleek, he was an impressive pet, and the gods were proud of him. For a while, that is, while he was small. But then he began to grow – rapidly. The gods began to feel nervous around him. Then one day, the gods heard a fateful prophecy. It said that Fenrir’s chaos would overwhelm all of civilization. In fact, his wildness would destroy the cosmos.
In a panic, the gods formed a plan to control the wolf. They commissioned a huge chain to be built, a very strong chain which they could wrap around the wolf, and fetter him to the rocks so that he would not be able to break free. They named the mighty chain Loeding. They played to the wolf’s vanity by challenging him to be strong enough to try his strength against the chain. He agreed. Eagerly they wrapped the chain tightly around the wolf, banged the end spikes deeply into the rocks and secured it. But as soon as they stood back smugly, Fenrir strained against the fetter. It snapped. He had escaped from Loeding.
When the gods saw this, the blood drained from their faces. They knew they had to do something drastic. Immediately they commissioned a fetter twice as long, twice as thick, and twice as strong as the first one. They called it Dromi. The gods played on Fenrir’s vanity again: ‘Fenrir, if you could break this really big chain, you would be ever so famous. Your name would go down in history.’ The wolf considered it. He reasoned to himself that although the fetter was very strong, he had grown in might since he had broken Loeding. And, he thought, one has to take risks in order to achieve real fame. He allowed the gods to place the enormous fetter around him.
When the chain was on, Fenrir snarled, shook himself, and banged the chain against the ground. Then, digging his feet hard into the ground to get a grip, he arched his back and strained against the mighty links. With an almighty explosion, the fetter burst. The pieces of metal shot far and wide into the sky, where they formed the stars. They twinkled prettily, but unfortunately for the gods, Fenrir had now escaped also from Dromi.
The gods were terrified. The still-growing wolf looked uncontrollable. Reluctantly, Odin decided they must journey to the Lowerworld to seek the help of the dwarves, magical smiths and weapon-makers who could, surely, forge an unbreakable chain. It was a humiliation for the mighty gods to so beg for dwarfish help, but there was no other course of action open to them. The gods explained to the dwarves what had happened, and begged them to make a fetter strong enough to hold the giant wolf. The dwarves drove a hard bargain. Eventually a deal was struck. They agreed to make a fetter that would stop Fenrir from rampaging through the heavens.
On the appointed day, the gods went back to collect their massive chain, the one that would really tie down the rapacious wolf once and for all. They were horrified by what they saw. The dwarves had made a chain that looked so flimsy it couldn’t fetter a fly.
‘Just a minute,’ cautioned the dwarves. ‘You don’t yet know what this fetter is made of. It is a very special one. It is called Gleipnir.’ Proudly they started to list the materials of their work: ‘It’s made up of six ingredients. One is the noise that a cat makes when it moves. The second is the bushy beard of a woman. The third is the growing roots of a mountain. The fourth is the breath of a fish. And the fifth is the spittle of a bird…’ The gods were beside themselves with anger; so far the fetter contained nothing of any substance at all. None of these things existed. ‘And the final thing is the sinews of a bear.’ Which was actually the only material part of the whole chain. ‘But what is the value of these ingredients?’ bellowed the gods. ‘Apart from the sinews of the bear, the ingredients are nothing at all!’
‘Precisely!’ retorted the dwarves. ‘And that is what gives it its power. Plus our magic of course.’ And then the truth dawned on the gods. The dwarves, renowned for their magic, had made a bond of spells. It was a magic fetter. ‘Well,’ said the gods reluctantly, ‘we’ve paid for it, we’d better go back and try it on Fenrir.’
The gods took the fetter, which was as smooth and soft as a ribbon of silk, back to Fenrir. The enormous wolf was not impressed. ‘It’s so slight a cord that I would gain no fame by breaking it.’ The gods’ hearts sank. ‘And anyway,’ concluded Fenrir, who was quite an intelligent wolf, ‘if it has been made by magic, guile and cunning, it’s getting nowhere near my legs.’ They tried all means of persuasion, to no avail. Finally, they said, ‘Look, Fenrir, if we put this fetter on you and you cannot break out of it, we promise that we shall unwrap the chain and let you free immediately. Only a coward would refuse such a challenge.’
Fenrir’s hackles rose, and his eyes glowered coldly. It was his weak point – a provocation he could not resist. ‘Rather than be accused of cowardice by you three,’ he snapped, ‘I’ll do it. But only on one condition: that one of you place his hand in my mouth as a pledge that your promise is made in good faith.’ This cunning device put the gods in a bit of a bother. They knew that, if the fetter did bind Fenrir, they had no intention of keeping their promise to free him. But finally, one of them agreed to place his hand in the wolf’s mouth.
Fenrir was surprised, but now felt obliged to go through with the bargain. Eyeing his teeth nervously, the gods settled the magic fetter around the enormous wolf, and scuttled back to a safe distance – the two who hadn’t got their hands in his mouth, that is. Fenrir started pulling, tugging, digging his paws in, as he had done before with Loeding and Dromi, trying to tear the cord free of the ground or burst it asunder. It did not budge. He thrashed around, growling and howling, but the more fiercely he struggled, the more tightly bound he became. Soon he was completely fettered. The gods danced and laughed in relief. All except Tyr, who lost his hand!
Chaos and Spontaneity
In the historical Middle-earth there was a strong sense of the proper order of things, the balance of forces in life. The wolf was the creature which represented the threat to this natural order. He represented the forces of chaos, always shadowing the structured world of the gods like a hidden predator, looking for any chance to strike.
In the ancient stories of north-west Europe, another legendary character called Loki played the part of the trickster. He brought mischief and confusion into the Upperworld of the gods, and the Lowerworld of the dwarves. His exploits challenged, and threatened to turn upside down, the ‘natural order’ of things. There was nothing charming or amusing about Loki, as there sometimes is in trickster figures in other cultural traditions. Loki ‘re-ordered the cosmos’ from time to time, and his actions often threatened to cause disharmony and destruction. He represented the forces of chaos, always shadowing the structured, interconnected world of the gods like a hidden threat, and looking for any chance to strike.
Now, Loki had three children, with a giantess called Angrboda. One child became the World Serpent; a second became the Queen of Lowerearth, a terrifying spirit-woman who presided over the darkest recesses of the realm of the dead. The third child was the wolf Fenrir. As an offspring of Loki, the wolf represented the always threatening forces of chaos, the potential destruction of order. Loki did go too far in his tricks when he contrived the death of Balder, one of the most loved Norse gods. On a surviving ancient cross at Kirkby Stephen in Cumbria, is carved the image of what happened to him when the other gods captured and fettered him in a cavern, while serpents fastened to the roof dripped venom onto his face.
But then, in the Norse myths, the day came when Fenrir did escape from the dwarves’ fetters that bound him. At Andreas, on the Isle of Man, there survives a carved panel depicting Odin on this fateful day, his leg disappearing into the maw of a rampant Fenrir while he tries to defend himself with his spear. Fenrir’s escape to freedom marked the end of the world. Absolute chaos ensued. The entire world fell to uproar and burned to the ground. And yet, says the myth, out of this devastated landcape, a new dawn arose. Life began anew. So perhaps pure chaos gave the power, the spark of life to a magic universe. It needed to be fettered to keep it from exploding out of control and becoming destructive. When the force of Fenrir did escape, there were devastating results for a time, but then life was reborn.
So in Middle-earth, as long as Fenrir was fettered, his potentially chaotic energy had within it dynamic elements of freedom, spontaneity and vitality. The very limitations made the escape from them more intense and potent. The people of Middle-earth felt themselves to be part of an interleaved set of forces, as represented symbolically on their jewellery. And like Fenrir, they found themselves at every moment in their lives to be constrained and limited by these many subtle, unseen bonds. Some of these restrictions on spontaneity and freedom were part and parcel of the nature of life – everyone was subject to these same forces which governed the turning of the stars, the journey through the sky of the sun and the moon. Other binding threads were personal to an individual’s life, reflected the ways they had been spun at birth by the Wyrd Sisters. And yet others were part of people’s own volition, restrictions not inevitable but placed on themselves. Everyone’s lives were necessarily involved with fetters, like the dwarves magic fetters which bound Fenrir.
The fetters were all-encompassing. They restricted the ways in which people in Middle-earth were able to deal with issues. But as we have seen, Wyrd was not the same thing as unalterable fate. To shift the pattern, to change the world, made possible by the unbinding spells of wizards, sometimes required just the lightest and most subtle alteration, adjustment, or refinement to the way a person thought or acted.
Using Dwarfish Magic
The gods in this story enacted a scenario with which we are all familiar from time to time. They faced a problem which was potentially dangerous, and threatened to bring chaos to their lives. They attempted to shackle it by fighting strength with strength, fire with fire. They tried to ‘nail down’ the problem, the world.
But sometimes problems are more intractible than that. They do not go away, but like Fenrir they resist, and grow bigger. Panicked, the gods tried again with more of the same – same materials, the same approach. But the problem rose up and broke free with devastating effect.
The gods were using a non-magical path to problem-solving. To meet force with force, is sometimes like trying to bite our own teeth. In Middle-earth magic, to solve a problem required finding a way of revisioning the fibres, replacing threads around problems, using subtlety and insight.
The dwarves, magicians who could make wondrous jewellery and magical weapons, used intuitive and subtle approaches of great power. Rather than identifying the obvious obstacle and the ready-made remedy, they looked for underlying forces; the language of the threads. As with the powerful, magical fetter, the ingredients of such an approach are subtle, even inconsequential in themselves, but are very potent in combination. By engendering an awareness of all the subtle forces impinging on an issue, a fetter could be constructed which was more powerful and longer lasting than a more dramatic and obvious ‘fix’.
Tolkien used a similar idea in The Lord of the Rings. In his account, when the elves got ready to cast-off in their small boats, among the goods stowed on board were coils of rope. They looked delicate yet strong, silky-smooth and grey. An elf said they were made of ‘hithlain’, which means a ‘thread of mist’. They were like the mysterious and powerful ropes in the historical Middle-earth story, conjured by the dwarves.
In the Norse legend, because the gossamer, magical fetter which finally chained Fenrir down looked insubstantial at first sight, the gods almost rejected it. But the dwarves had created something which, while looking soft and unchallenging, nevertheless became tighter and tighter the more the wolf used his great strength to struggle against it. The dwarves realized that Fenrir could be fettered by wrapping him in something which used his strength against him, which tied him up as a result of, not in opposition to, his struggling. It was the language of fibres and threads, imagination and dwarfish magic.
In historical Middle-earth, wolves were certainly feared by lone travellers. Because they hunted and ate the same food as humans – from rabbits to deer – they seemed to occupy a particularly ominous presence in the minds of humans. Also, humans inhabited settlements carved out of cleared areas of the forest, whereas wolves lived in the thick of the forest itself. Threatening human food sources, they seemed to be the essence of wildness pressing in on the fragile civilization, maintained at considerable cost in such primitive times. Social outcasts – robbers and thieves – were known as ‘wolves’. The threat posed by wolves pitched them beyond being simply material animals – they became abstract forces, malevolent, magical beings.
Tolkien reflected this in the Lord of the Rings, where Gandalf and his companions were attacked in the forest by a pack of wolves. They heard the wolves encircling them with their night howls, and glimpsed the gleaming eyes of the animals stalking them, getting closer. The enormous shadow shape of a wolf loomed, standing stock still and close by. He howled, calling his pack. Gandalf grew menacingly large. Brandishing a blazing branch from their fire, he marched towards the wolves. They backed off, and he flung the firestick at them.
Eventually the wolves came and attacked again. Gandalf and his company of hobbits fought them off again with swords and axes, killing many of them. But the next morning, no bodies could be found. Gandalf declared that it was as he had feared. These were were no ordinary pack of hunting wolves. They were Wargs, evil wolves, allies of the ores, the terrible race of Middle-earth.
In the real Middle-earth, people experienced life as finely balanced between chaos and order. Spells which could bind, like the ones which fettered Fenrir were therefore considered to be powerful magic indeed.