CHRISTIANITY COMES TO HEATHENDOM

Olaf Crowbone baptizes the Vikings—with violence
c. AD 960–1000

Olaf drove some out of the country, mutilated others of hands or feet, or stung their eyes out; hung up some, cut down some with the sword.

—Snorri Sturluson, Heimskringla

OLAF “CROWBONE” TRYGGVASON IS THE man typically credited with dutifully bringing Christianity to the heathen lands of previously uncivilized Northmen. Baptized at the hands of an English bishop in a really fancy cathedral somewhere, the man who brought the Lord’s message to the pagans is still a legendary figure in Norway, a national hero, and a man so revered that many of the legends about his life read more like fairy tales than historical biography.

You’d think that all this would mean that Olaf was some kind of saint, wandering the countryside barefoot in white robes, high-fiving orphans, and turning rocks into bread, water, and fist-sized hunks of cooked beef.

He wasn’t. He was a Viking. And even though Olaf brought Christianity to Norway and converted his people to the religion they still practice today, he didn’t do it with olive branches, a soft smile, and a flock or two of white doves that shot out from the sleeves of his robes. He did it Viking-style—by terrorizing anyone who defied him with fire and steel until they understood the theological error of their ways.

Most of Olaf’s superhero-esque backstory was almost certainly made up by later writers who wanted to make this guy sound even more awesome than he already was. But it’s still such a good story that historians like to retell it as fact.

It starts around 968, when Norway was under the control of Harald Greycloak, the son of Erik Bloodaxe, who had violently taken over Norway after the death of the significantly less bloodthirsty King Haakon the Good. Closely advised by his famously evil mother, Gunnhild, Mother of Kings, Greycloak was told that the best way to cement his rule was to wipe out anyone who could ever threaten them in any conceivable manner.

Olaf Tryggvason’s father, a minor Norwegian jarl named Trygve Olavsson (who was in some obscure way related to Harald Fairhair), was exactly the sort of man who could cause trouble for Greycloak and Gunnhild. The queen, in one of her purges, ordered a bunch of haters to stab Trygve to death in his sleep and burn his house down—not because he’d done anything wrong, but just as a preemptive strike to keep him from getting any bright ideas.

Trygve didn’t survive his stabbo-burnination, but his pregnant wife, a Swedish noblewoman named Astrid, got word of what was going down and bolted as fast as possible with a small band of loyal followers. The expectant mother fled through the forest, stopping only to give birth to Olaf in a tiny hut in a marsh somewhere. Pursued by murderous agents of the queen for more than three years, the dedicated single mom protected her newborn child, escaped her would-be assassins, and made her way toward Russia to seek refuge with her brother, a hersir in the service of King Vladimir of Rus (Saint Olga’s grandson).

Astrid didn’t make it. Somewhere on the Baltic coast, the fleeing mom and her bodyguards were ambushed by slavers, and three-year-old Olaf was captured in the battle. The guy who captured him didn’t really have much use for an infant, though, so he traded Olaf for a goat, because goats are way more useful than babies anyway. The guy who got Olaf quickly regretted his decision, however, and swapped the baby to some Estonian guy in exchange for a really sweet jacket. Olaf was raised in Estonia for the next six years, before finally being tracked down by Astrid’s brother, who purchased Olaf’s freedom and took him to the court of King Vlad of Kiev. Olaf was taken in, grew up with the Varangians, and learned important life skills, like how to sail a ship, how to do a lot of push-ups, and how best to cut people with a sword if you want them to die.

When Olaf turned twelve years old, he hunted down the slaver band who had imprisoned him, confronted them on the docks of a crowded city, and killed them all with an axe. Then, instead of facing justice, he just hopped the first longship out of town, turned Viking, and never looked back.