The ritual significance of textile processing among the Vikings

In the Viking Age, rituals and daily life are closely intertwined. This differs significantly from the approach we know from the Abrahamic religions. Although the Vikings did make a distinction between ritual and everyday behavior, their ritual actions often took place within ordinary social spaces. Rituals did not exclusively occur in special sanctuaries like temples or churches, but also on a smaller scale as part of everyday life. They were part of larger events, such as the seasonal blót or public funeral rituals, but primarily of the dharmic and animistic belief system of the Vikings. In this way, they provided a means to fulfill one's role within society.

Imagine a supernatural world. A world where rivers, forests, and mountains have their own identity. A world where a blacksmith transforms a piece of stone into something fluid and subsequently produces a deadly sword from it. 

The world of our ancestors made no distinction between natural and supernatural. In the absence of modern science, the world was solely supernatural. This was ingrained in both their religion and the routine of daily life. In this world, everything was interconnected. Deceased ancestors, the bond with our land, nature, and our role on this earth. This formed a dharmic worldview of cosmic reciprocity in which even magic was possible.

This way of life persisted until around the year 1000, when Christianity was introduced through new rituals and customs. This represented a different expression of ritual behavior than in other parts of Europe, where Christianity had been introduced earlier.

Within the Old Norse tradition, spinning and weaving were sometimes considered magical acts. Textile processing was, of course, a continuous process and essential to survive in the cold climate. At the same time, it is not surprising that the Vikings also noticed the meditative nature of this craft. Therefore, it remains important to distinguish when such everyday tasks acquired a ritual significance and when they were purely pragmatic.

What is a ritual
Rituals are ways to communicate with the supernatural, however it is conceived. A ritual – large or small – sets the tone, prepares the mind, or opens the way for contact between humans and the supernatural. Such a ritual can work in two directions: either towards supernatural beings or originating from them. 

Spinning and weaving were clearly different from each other. Spinning could take place almost anywhere with the help of a spindle, while weaving usually required a fixed location and was done on a large loom. This was usually set up in the dyngja, the women's space.

For spinning, you need a spindle, a staff (the distaff) and material such as wool. The spindle is a thin stick with a wheel attached. The distaff is a stick on which the fibers are placed. The wool was spun into thread and wound onto the spindle.

In the Viking Age, a loom was often used that stood against a wall. Many stones have been found that served as loom weights. For moving the threads up and down, a ‘weaving sword’ was used.  This sword, often made of metal or wood, was used to beat the thread securely in place. There were also ‘pin-beaters’, small sticks for the same purpose.

The loom was as high as a person and had two vertical posts, with a horizontal beam at the top. The threads (the warp) hung from it. The weaver stood directly in front of the loom and worked on the fabric. Between each new row of threads, a ‘weaving sword’ was used to firmly beat the weft into place.

The weaving sword resembles a sword and can be made of metal, wood, or bone. Sometimes they even had a handle. There were also pin-beaters, thin sticks that are narrower at both ends. These were used after setting up the threads.

Setting up a loom required a lot of time and attention. Therefore, this activity required knowledge and skill.

‘Vadmál’ (homespun cloth) was an important export product within the Icelandic economy. On the farms during the Viking Age, spinning and weaving were constant activities. Precisely because this was such an everyday activity, it is rarely mentioned in the sagas. Only when something special occurs does the spindle explicitly appear in the narrative.

An example can be found in Fóstbrœðra saga (chapter 23), where a woman named Gríma helps the protagonist Þormóðr hide from his enemies. The story takes place in Greenland, where Þormóðr is injured and unable to flee. Gríma and her husband hide him without anyone else knowing.

Gríma dreams that a large number of enemies are on their way to their house to track down Þormóðr. To protect him, she places him on a special chair connected with divine powers. She instructs him to remain seated quietly, no matter what happens. Then she begins cooking seal fat, causing thick smoke to rise, while she spins and sings songs to attract good spirits. When the enemies arrive, they find nothing – it appears as if Þormóðr has become invisible.

A similar incident is described in Eyrbyggja saga (chapter 20). Here too, a woman named Katla helps a man named Oddr escape. Using her spindle, she manages to hide him. When the pursuers arrive, they do not see Oddr and leave again. Only later do they realize that Katla has used magic to make him invisible.

In both stories, the thistle is associated with magical powers that can make people invisible or transform them into something else. They establish a connection between women and magic, and between spinning and contact with the other world.

What Gríma and Katla do resembles magic that is conjured by spinning. It is as if their spinning creates something 'out of nothing' – a kind of magic that temporarily alters reality.

In another example from the Laxdæla saga, Guðrún spins on the morning before her brothers and husband take revenge. When her husband comes home, he asks what she has done. She cryptically replies that she has spun 'twelve ells' – a cryptic reference that seems to imply the killing of twelve men.

Spinning is used here as a metaphor for actions or decisions that determine one's fate. Even though it seems like a simple domestic task, it sometimes holds a deep, almost magical significance in these stories.

The Norns are fate goddesses in Norse mythology, responsible for determining the fate of humans. In the Völuspá, three Norns—Urðr (Wyrd), Verðandi, and Skuld—draw water from their sacred well to nourish fate and protect it from decay. These powerful, virgin giants (Jotuns) from Jötunheimr marked the end of the golden age of the gods. In the Vafþrúðnismál , they are also described as maidens of Mögþrasir.

The Norns visit newborns to determine their fate. They can be both malevolent and benevolent: one brings misfortune, while another grants protection and prosperity. Additionally, they oversee the fate associated with the immortal soul and the role of every mortal within the cosmos.

The Norns are known for spinning the threads of one's fate. When the time of death arrives, they cut the thread.

These examples of mysterious spinning are linked to the preservation or ending of human lives, showing that spinning held a deeper meaning. In Icelandic stories, we see women spinning in the houses of Gríma, Katla, and Guðrún. Sometimes this occurs in dreams or visions, as in the stories about Ingibjörg and her sister Pálni in the Jómsvíkinga saga.

In one of these stories, Ingibjörg dreams that her brother Pálni has been killed by King Harald. She tells her dream to her husband

:

 “I dreamed,” she says, “that I stood here in this hall, weaving a piece of cloth. Pieces of flesh fell from the sky onto the loom. Every thread of the fabric was red like blood. I wove and used men's heads as weights. When I lifted the cloth, the heads fell out. I recognized the head of King Harald Gormsson.”

In this dream vision, Ingibjörg is not trying to do magic or anything sinister. She is simply weaving, despite the bloody imagery. Yet the dream is prophetic: she predicts the death of King Harald.

In another story from the Brennu-Njáls saga, an even more terrifying vision is described. The poem Darraðarljóð tells of a man in Scotland who, on the morning of a great battle, sees twelve women riding on horses. They enter a house and disappear. When he looks inside, he sees them weaving: they use human entrails as threads, swords as weaving rods, and arrows as spools. As they weave, they sing a poem predicting the outcome of the battle. Each woman holds a human head as she mounts her horse and rides away. One of them even names the warriors who will fall.

Although the weaving predicts a death, it is not literally explained as magic. The weaving and the songs are symbolic and offer insight into the outcome of the battle. A few lines of the poem already provide a clear picture:

 "Far and wide / with the fall of the dead / the loom is set: / the blood rains down.

Now, with spears, / a new fabric of warriors is woven, / which friends of the murderer of Rándvér / complete with red threads.

The fabric is set up with the guts of men and tightly stretched; human heads serve as weights; bloody spears form the heddles; swords are the shuttles, fabrics are secured with arrows. With swords, we must strike this cloth of victory. Hildr leads the way, and together with Hjörþrimul, Sanngríðr, Svipul, they will break the shafts, the shield will split, the sword will pierce.”

The names in stanza 3 (and two others in stanza 5) resemble those of valkyries – supernatural female beings associated with battle and death.

These kinds of visions, as in Darraðarljóð, show how supernatural forces, which are above humans, determine the fate of fighting men. They do this in a unique way: by influencing the battle while simultaneously revealing the course of the fight. In Ingibjörg's dream, for example, the falling of the heads – which serve as weights – symbolizes the fate of King Harald. This can be seen as a kind of damage to the fabric: not tearing, but rather the breaking of the tools, similar to what happened with Katla’s spindle.

Another example is found in the Völsunga saga (chapter 31), where Brynhildr realizes that she will never marry her beloved Sigurðr, because he has been deceived into marrying another woman. Her reaction is to tear apart the tapestry she was weaving – on which Sigurðr’s deeds were depicted – and plan his murder. The tearing apart of the tapestry can be seen as a symbolic beginning of his death.

These examples of visionary weaving often predict the violent death of men. Ingibjörg, the valkyries, and Brynhildr are all engaged in weaving, often in the dyngja, the women's chamber or weaving room. This place is special, imbued with female power that extends beyond ordinary human capabilities. Some scholars note that such beings – like valkyries, dísir, and nornir – are spirits connected with battle, death, or fate.

In this context, it is interesting that many textile items bear magical inscriptions or images. A notable example is a skeið, a weaving sword from Greenland, decorated with two sword-fighting figures. This sword dates from around 1200–1300, making it as old as the sagas. Remarkably, a woman in Greenland had this image on her weaving sword. Perhaps she knew the stories of Darraðarljóð, or the image held personal significance. Alternatively, the image can be interpreted very pragmatically: children spent the whole day in the dyngja, and weaving swords might have been used to practice sword fighting with each other, after which they depicted themselves on the weaving sword. Additionally, the handle bore a runic inscription, which unfortunately is no longer readable, but might have solved the mystery.

A much older weaving sword, made of elm wood and featuring a runic inscription, was found in Westeremden (Netherlands). It dates from around 550–750. The inscription mentions two names: Adgils me fecit (‘Adgils made me’) and Gisulhildi, or Adugisl with Gisulhildi. The coupling of a man’s name with that of a woman has led to the suggestion that this might be a love amulet. Perhaps it confirms their relationship, or serves to symbolically connect Gisulhild to Adgils. However, the exact purpose remains uncertain.

Another weaving tool with a runic inscription was found in Borgund, Norway, dating from between 1100 and 1500. It is from wood and has a distinctly knife-shaped blade, similar to a weaving sword. The inscription reads: hamarr, handriði, skæða harm – which roughly translates to "hammer, whip, painful damage." Whether this is a complaint or a threat is unclear – but it certainly seems hostile.

Another wooden object with an inscription was found in Skåne, Sweden. It is a small weaving board (about 4.5 by 4.5 cm), with a hole in each corner, except for one broken corner. The inscription is considered a love curse: Sigvðar Ingimarr hafa [m]un minn grat aallati. This roughly means: "Sigvðr’s Ingimarr will have my love sorrow, forever."

The last word, aallati, is a kind of invented closing word that usually indicates an incantation or curse. The text is therefore seen as evidence that this object was intended to cause harm – probably out of anger or jealousy. The writer was presumably angry because Sigvðar wanted another woman, and she wanted to punish him in this way.

Finally, there is another weaving sword found in Lödöse in Sweden, resembling a small knife and bearing an inscription presumably from the 12th century. It measures about 20 cm long and 2.5 cm wide. It was likely used for weaving, but could also be a knife. The inscription reads: "think of me, love me – you on my chest – love me."

This is a declaration of love, perhaps intended for a partner or lover. It shows that weaving tools were sometimes also used as personal symbols.

Gender in Viking society was highly rigid. For men, it was necessary to perform honorable military deeds, while the ideal image for women was wisdom and care. Another important female ideal was 'skilled in textile production,' which not only pointed to the economic importance of this, but also to the ability to make thoughtful decisions and take stands. This combination possibly offers a view of how the Vikings envisioned the ideal woman. The instruments women used in textile production seem to combine their ideal image of wisdom, magic, and skill in textiles.