M. Schulte 2013 Journal of the North Atlantic Special Volume 4 120 Introduction The so-called “first law of runodynamics” states that for every runic inscription there shall be as many interpretations as there are runologists studying it (cf. Schulte 2007). This law obviously applies to inscriptions such as the rather long Eggja legend from Sogn in Western Norway, which has invited an array of interpretations (see, e.g., Birkmann 1995:100–114), but much less so to the recently discovered Hogganvik stone from Mandal in southern Norway. The discovery came on 26 September 2009 when Arnfinn Henriksen together with his son, Henrik Henriksen, decided to move a large stone slab between two stumps on his lawn some 20 m in front of his house. The runes on the bottom side of the stone block came to light when it was turned on its edge and raised up by an excavator (Fig. 1). The stone block, which roughly measures 145 cm (height) × The Norwegian Hogganvik Stone as an Emblem of Social Status and Identity Michael Schulte* Abstract - This paper scrutinizes the lexical content and sociocultural functions of the recently discovered Hogganvik runestone from 4th- or 5th-century Norway. Archaeological excavations in 2010 did not confirm the general expectation that the stone belongs to a grave and hence supported the suspicion that this type of runic monument neither constitutes a gravestone nor a prototypical memorial stone commemorating the dead. I argue that Hogganvik functions as an emblem of status and identity and hence prefigures sociocultural structures of power not unlike those evidenced by the early 7th-century Blekinge inscriptions with their lycophoric names, e.g., hAriwolAfz (KJ 96 Stentoften). This lexical analysis focuses on the sequence inananaboz, the by-name erafaz (ON jerfr “wolverine”), and the personal names kelbaþewaz and naudigastiz, all present in the Hogganvik inscription. Drawing on comparative evidence of names and appellatives, the article places the Hogganvik stone in an early Scandinavian setting with particular stress on West Scandinavian correspondences in lexis. Across the Sólundarhaf: Connections between Scotland and the Nordic World Selected Papers from the Inaugural St. Magnus Conference 2011 Journal of the North Atlantic *University of Agder, Chair of Nordic Linguistics, Department or Nordic and Media Studies, Faculty of Humanities and Education, Post Box 422, NO-4604 Kristiansand, NORWAY; michael.schulte@uia.no. 2013 Special Volume 4:120–128 Figure 1. The re-erected Hogganvik-stone at its original location. Estimated height is 135 to 145 cm with its base hidden in the ground. Photograph © Michael Schulte. 121 M. Schulte 2013 Journal of the North Atlantic Special Volume 4 152 cm (breadth) × 20–25 cm, weighs around 600 kg (for further details see Glørstad et al. 2011; Knirk 2009, 2011). It is of reddish augen gneiss that most probably came from rock formations on the property near the find site. The stone was later identified as a “commemorative runestone” with sixty-one older runes roughly datable to the period 350–500 AD (see report in Knirk 2009, 2010; Schulte 2011a, b). However, I will argue that the commemorative function of this type of stone monument is only part of its main objective and that it basically functions as an emblem of social status and identity. According to the Oxford English Dictionary, an “emblem” in an abstract sense may be defined as a symbol or a typical representation of some particular quality also applied to a person or a class of people—in particular, a personification of some virtue or positively charged quality.1 The idea of high-status marks in runic inscriptions is not new. Düwel (1992, 2008a), among others, emphasized that the older runic inscriptions, in particular on bracteates, belong to an upper stratum of society. The following discussion draws on typological and comparative linguistic data to elucidate the functional role that the Hogganvik stone played in 4th- or 5th-century Norway. Geographical Distribution of Older Runestones Runestones from the older period (ca. 350–500 AD) appear both in Norway and Sweden, whereas no such stones with older runes have come to light in pre-medieval Denmark apart from the Blekinge inscriptions (particularly KJ 98 Istaby, around 600 AD), Germany has only one potential candidate in Kleines Schulerloch at Kelheim in southern Germany, which does not represent the type of erected stone monument and which some scholars in fact regard as a fake (but see Düwel 2003:519). On the other hand, the earliest runic inscriptions on materials other than stone come from the bogland sites in Slesvig (North Germany), Fyn, Sjælland, Jylland (Denmark), and Skåne (Sweden, pre-medieval Denmark; see Page 1987:23–26). On the whole, the runestones from Norway constitute our largest group of stone monuments with older runes, followed by Sweden in the ratio 2:1. In this light, the recently discovered Hogganvik stone confirms a widespread distributional pattern (cf. Jansson 1987:186–187). Both linguistically and runologically, it tallies well with the structures otherwise found in the older runic inscriptions. When plotting the older Norwegian inscriptions on a map, we see that the runic production of stone monuments is linked to certain areas: the Norwegian coastline from Vest-Agder via Rogaland, Hordaland, Sogn og Fjordane, Møre og Romsdal to Nord-Trøndelag, in addition to eastern Norway where the modern capital Oslo is located.2 This geographical pattern is markedly different in the Viking Age, where Swedish inscriptions dominate finds particularly in the late Viking Age (cf. Sawyer 2000:167). Hence the ratio of Norwegian, Swedish, and Danish rune stones changes considerably from the older period to the Viking Age. Memorial Stones from the Older Period A central group of memorial inscriptions from the older period features the possessive genitive, viz. “This is X’s stone (or mound, etc.)”. Apart from Hogganvik, there are at least six inscriptions belonging to this category in Norway and one in Sweden (for details, see Schulte 2010): 1. kelbaþewas : st͡ainaz (Hogganvik, Mandal, Vest-Agder, Norway), 2. keþan (KJ 83, Belland, Vest-Agder, Norway), 3. ///an … waruz (KJ 79, Tomstad, Vest- Agder, Norway), wadaradas (KJ 82, Saude i Telemark, Norway), 4. igijon halaz (KJ 81, Stenstad i Telemark, Norway), 5. hnabdas/hna͡budas hlaiwa (KJ 78, Bø, Rogaland, Norway), 6. magoz minas staina (KJ 60 Vetteland, Rogaland, Norway), 7. hAriw/þulfs · stAinAz (KJ 80, Rävsal, Bohuslän, pre-medieval Norway). In Proto-Nordic, the reference nouns are stainaz “stone,” waruz “enclosure of stones,” hallaz “small stone”, hlaiwa “burial mound,” or the noun is simply omitted as on the Belland stone (KJ 83). The persons addressed in these inscriptions are both men and women like Kelbaþewaz (a-stem, masc.), Keþa (n-stem, masc.), Wa(n)darāðaz ( a-stem, masc.), Igijōn or Ingijōn (ijōn-stem, fem.), Hnabdaz or Hnabudaz (a-stem, masc.), and *Hariwulfaz (a-stem, masc.). The fragmentary Vetteland stone (KJ 60) mentions magoz minas staina “my son’s stone”, which indicates that the parents raised the stone for their deceased son. Compare the Kjølevik stone (KJ 75) from Rogaland, where Hagustaldaz commemorates his dead son: ek hagustadaz / hlaaiwido magu minino “I, Hagustaldaz, buried my son.” The sociocultural functions of these runestones need to be explored in each single case (cf. also Barnes 2012:30), and it is by no means evident that we are dealing with a marked memorial function. As we shall see, the Hogganvik stone is a case in point. Functional Criteria As is known, the practice of raising commemorative rune stones in the Viking Age gained wide popularity in parts of Scandinavia, developing into a kind of fashion that fulfilled both private and public functions (cf. Zilmer 2010:161). Runestones from the older period, i.e., 350–500 AD, however, M. Schulte 2013 Journal of the North Atlantic Special Volume 4 122 attest to the elitist status of runic writing and runic production (see Düwel 2008a). In a discussion of Scandinavian runestones from the late Viking Age, i.e., the middle of the tenth to the beginning of the twelfth century, Sawyer (2000:146) mentions three obvious functions of the “memorial stones”: “In the first place they commemorated dead individuals but, unlike later gravestones, they were also memorials to the living, the sponsors, most of whom were closely related to the people they commemorated. They also displayed publicly the wealth and status of the people concerned.” These functions also apply to the runestones from the earlier period, in particular Hogganvik, where a different ranking may be suggested: 1. The runestones of the earlier period function as emblems of social identity and symbols of status and power. (Compare Jane Harrison’s contribution in this volume, which draws our attention to the mounds as being status symbols constructed in the landscape.) 2. Runestones like the Hogganvik stone highlight the rune-carver or the commissioner, who is somehow related to the dead.3 Hence the two central lines of the Hogganvik inscription (lines B–C, two self-identifications) are framed by the top line A (proper memorial and non-lexical) and the bottom line D (probably a statement about the location of the stone plus a non-lexical sequence) (Fig. 2); they feature the commissioner or rune-carver naudigastiz with the possible nickname erafaz. Whether this must be identified as the rune-carver or the commissioner remains unclear. 3. The Hogganvik stone also commemorates the dead, probably a chieftain or a person of high rank, in this case kelbaþewaz (see line A). 4. Magic-apotropaic functions can be traced in connexion with non-lexical sequences in lines A and D: they serve as blessings protecting the monument as well as the clan of the sponsor. As Page (1987:30) notes, “Rune-stones have some textual similarities with the amulet bracteates, suggesting that runes on memorial and grave-stones sometimes had a magical purpose—to keep the grave from desecration or the corpse in the grave. A stone from Figure 2. The Hogganvik stone with retouched runes Photograph © K. Jonas Nordby. Text in transliteration (without the introduction of word-spaces)4: 1 5 10 15 20 24 A. kelbaþewas : sṭ͡ainaz : aaasrpkf (140 cm long, runes ≈7–10 cm high) 1 5 10 B. eknaudigastiz (57 cm long, runes ≈7–8 cm high) 1 5 C. ekerafaz (42 cm long, runes ≈6–7 cm high) 1 5 10 15 D. aarpaa : inananaḅoz (85 cm long, runes ≈7–10 cm high) Translation (with additions indicated): “A.1–16: [This is] Kelbaþewaz’s stone. A.17–24: Non-lexical sequence. B: [I am] Naudigastiz. C: [I am the] Wolverine (Gulo borealis). D.1-6: Non-lexical sequence. D.7-16: [The runestone is located] in the center / central area of a protruding rock or hill.” 123 M. Schulte 2013 Journal of the North Atlantic Special Volume 4 a grave-mound at Elgesem, Vestfold, Norway, has simply alu.” As regards Hogganvik, it has already been noted that the archaeological excavations from 2010 did not uncover a grave underneath or close to the stone and hence do not support the notion of a gravestone in this case (cf. Glørstad et al. 201 1). The Hogganvik Inscription: Text and Translation The runic inscription from Hogganvik has four lines of older runes all running from right to left (Fig. 2). The upper line (line A) curves along the top edge of the stone, while the other three lines are horizontal. Knirk (2009) points out that the order of lines that makes most sense is: curved line along top (line A), horizontal bottom line (line D), horizontal top line (line B), and then horizontal middle line (line C). I followed this structuring in two recent contributions (Schulte 2011a, b). However, the visual arrangement of the four lines with lines A and D framing lines B and C indicates a different order of the sequences. Therefore I read the top and bottom lines (“the frame”) first and last. Apart from the visual arrangement, one further argument in favor of this linear order is the presence of a non-lexical sequence in both of these lines. It may be attributed a magic-apotropaic function at the beginning and at the end of the inscription. Hence the term framing seems appropriate. Apart from the t-rune in the word sṭ͡ainaz “stone”, which originally must have been omitted, and the uncertain b-rune in the sequence inananaḅoz, the reading seems uncontroversial (cf. Knirk 2009, 2011). Content of the Inscription The inscription appears to fall into six parts (see Schulte 2011a, cf. also Knirk 2009): (1) a memorial inscription, (2) a non-lexical sequence, (3) a self-identification of the commissioner, or possibly the rune-carver, with a personal name, (4) a second self-identification with a possible by-name or nickname, (5) yet another non-lexical sequence, and (6) the location of the runic monument. Each of these parts fulfils different functions. Part 1 commemorates a person named Kelbaþewaz, literally “calfservant” or “calf-thane”; it succinctly states that this is “Kelbaþewaz’s stone.” Several older inscriptions use this type of genitive construction to function as memorials. As already noted, however, this part of the inscription runs along the top edge of the stone whereas the two self-identifications in lines B and C are highlighted in two parallel lines right at the center of the stone, framed by the upper line (A) and the bottom line (D). For discussion of the names Kelbaþewaz and Naudigastiz, see below. What follows in part 2, aaasrpkf (A.17–24), and further on in part 5, aarpaa (D.1–6), can both be labelled “nonlexical sequences” that do not convey any semantic meaning or straightforward message by themselves. Because of the even number of runes and the iterated vowel a, Knirk (2009, 2010) suggests that we are possibly dealing with coded older runes (coordinate runes), but unless a key for decoding these sequences is found, it seems wise to refrain from further speculation. Rather, the notion of number magic and alphabet magic seems to be corroborated by various other inscriptions, both runestones and amulets (e.g., MacLeod and Mees 2006, with a broad approach to “magic”, but cf. Schulte 2007b). Compare side B of the Lindholmen amulet (KJ 29, Sweden) aaaaaaaaRRRnnn[?]bmuttt : alu, and side B of the Ällerstad stone (KJ 59, Sweden) kk · kiii · kkk. Düwel (1988, 2011) and Düwel and Heizmann (2006) emphasize the notion of alphabet magic, and in particular where numerical structures based on the numbers “three” (three ættir or divisions of the older fuþark), “eight” (eight runes in one ætt or division of the older fuþark), and “twenty-four” (the total number of runes in the older fuþark) are in evidence.5 Two Self-Identifications In parts 3 and 4, the commissioner or rune-carver identifies himself as naudigastiz and erafaz. In all likelihood this is one and the same person. The dithematic name naudigastiz, literally “Need guest” is not likely to yield a lexical meaning, but this type of gast-name forms some high-status names in Old Germanic (see below). The term erafaz (with an epenthetic vowel, thus Er(a)faz) seems comparable to Old Norse jerfr, Norwegian jerv and Swedish järv “wolverine” (Gulo borealis). However, the traditional standard etymology would not be *erfa-, but rather *erßa-, with -ß- representing a voiced labial fricative in Proto-Nordic (cf. Bjorvand and Lindeman 2007:546, de Vries 1962:292). This difference might indicate that the traditional etymology is wrong as Knirk (2010) suggests, or that we are faced with an inconsistent spelling (cf. generally Arntz 1944:93, Barnes 2004:607, also Steblin-Kamenskij 1962). But why is Naudigastiz called (the) wolverine? This animal is a typical scavenger, smaller than a bear. The outstanding feature of Gulo borealis, however, is his winter fur, which in quality exceeds any other mammal (cf. Bernström 1981, Fridell and Svanberg 2007). I argue that erafaz is a by-name and a status-marker that identifies the person in question as belonging to a wealthy and powerful clan (see Schulte 2011b). Thus, Schramm (1957:77), referring to Much (1901), identifies the correspondM. Schulte 2013 Journal of the North Atlantic Special Volume 4 124 ing Old High German personal names Mardhetin and Marthelm as “marten-fur” which implies that “fur coat” is an important naming characteristic for men’s names in Old Germanic (cf. Old Norse Ulf-heðinn, Biarn-heðinn, and Old High German Wolfhetan, Mardhetin, Marthelm).6 In my view, the Old High German and Old Norse names mentioned by Much (1901:135) support the claim that erafaz is a personal name (by-name) based on the property of the “fur”. The lexical relationship between a person and his fur coat is one of metonymy, a ubiquitous semantic principle (see, e.g., Radden 2005). Location of the Runestone Part 6 most likely designates the location of the monument. The local preposition inana governs the genitive case, semantically “within”. Compare Icelandic and Faroese innan, Gothic and Old High German innana.7 It is noteworthy that German innen (as opposed to außen) simply takes on the function of inne (mitteninne), e.g., Luther weil du hohe Gebirge innen hast, literally “as you have high mountains in the center.”8 But how is the sequence innana nabōz to be interpreted? The etymon naßō- (genitive sing. naßōz) is widely attested in West Scandinavian, especially in place-names, e.g., Modern Norwegian Nova, which occurs frequently as the name of hills and mountains across large parts of Norway.9 The prototypical meaning of *naßō- seems to be “something protruding (in the landscape),” and it features particularly in place-names. This lexeme is glossed as “protruding rock, elevated headland, promontory or cape”; it is well preserved in Icelandic (nöf, gen.sing. nafar), Faroese (nøv, gen.sing. navar), and Shetland Norn (nov, niv).10 Compare also the meaning “outside corner (of log-cabin)” in West Scandinavian,11 in particular in compounds such as Old Norse fjós-nϙf and Faroese húsa-nøv.12 Given this comparative data, I think it is safe to disregard the etymon *naßō- “nave of a wheel” (despite Knirk 2009, 2010). This type of metaphorical language is typical for skaldic kennings in the Viking Age and classical Old Norse period, but it seems to be entirely absent in the language of the older runic inscriptions until the 500s.13 Edda Snorra Sturlusonar (Jónsson 1931:152) has a notable example: Hann kallaði skϙldinn Hildar hjól en bauginn nϙf hjólsins “He labelled the shield Hildr’s wheel, and the boss the nave of the wheel.”14 It is worth pointing out that the 9th-century shield poem Ragnarsdrápa uses the compound baugnafaðs “boss-hubbed”, which appears to have a participle or adjective based on the noun.15 On these grounds, I argue that the sequence inananaboz most likely refers to the location of the runestone “in the central area of the protruding rock” or “on top of the hill”. The field-site description by Frans-Arne Stylegar lends further support to this interpretation (see Glørstad et al. 2011:13–18). As Stylegar informed me personally, there is a gravefield from the Iron Age in the vicinity of the Hogganvik stone; and there was a grave-mound close to the Hogganvik stone until 1930, when it was levelled without any archaeological investigation. However, there are no indications that the mound and the gravefield were directly connected with the runestone from Hogganvik.16 To put it differently, naßō- can be interpreted as the direct forerunner of the Norwegian hill-name Nova, and it by no means precludes the possibility that a place-name lies behind this expression already in the 4th- or 5th-century. Typology and Comparison of Names The two personal names Kelbaþewaz and Naudigastiz, and the by-name (or nickname) Er(a)faz stand in need of comment. As regards the name of the commemorated person, Kelbaþewaz, its first element is closely related to West Germanic *kelbuzjō (e.g., Old High German kilburra, Old English cilforlamb) “ewe lamb” (cf. Ptatscheck 1957), and its second element þewa- “servant” is attested in two early inscriptions, viz. Thorsberg scabbard chape Wulþuþewaz (see Andersson 1993), and silver shield-handle mount 3 from Illerup Laguþewa (see Peterson 2004b).17 There is a slight possibility that the first element Kelba- refers to a theriomorphic goddess such as the “Golden calf” (cf. principally Müller 1970). Mees (2003:59–60) surmises that þewaz was a “military retainer”. But neither of these two dithematic names in the Hogganvik inscription occur elsewhere in the older Scandinavian runic corpus (cf. Peterson 2004a), nor in West Germanic sources, including the Continental runic inscriptions. Compare the negative evidence in Reichert and Nedoma (1990), Nedoma (2004), Förstemann (1900), Schönfeld (1911), and Kaufmann (1968). An assessment of the two names Kelbaþewaz and Naudigastiz indicates that they have no direct counterparts in Continental sources (cf. Peterson 1994:167–168). Attempts have been made to explain these names on etymological grounds (e.g., Knirk 2009, 2010, 2011; Schulte 2010). It may be mentioned in passing that Nothgast is glossed as “Tischlast” in a 19th-century German dictionary (Wander 1873:1062). But given the historical distance between Hogganvik and Wander, any lexical claim on the basis of Nothgast seems unwarranted. When dealing with Proto-Nordic names, however, we have to keep in mind that it seems unwise to overstrain etymology. As Whatmough (1949:127) stated, “Ordinarily it is unwise to seek for the 125 M. Schulte 2013 Journal of the North Atlantic Special Volume 4 standing (cf. also Wessén 1927:44–45). All in all, the element gastiz occurs in five other runic inscriptions from the older period, viz. on the Einang stone [go] dagastiz (KJ 63, Oppland, Norway), on the Berga stone saligastiz (KJ 86, Södermanland, Sweden), on the Sunde stone widugastiz (KJ 90, Sogn og Fjordane, Norway), on the Nydam axe handle wagagastiz (North Slesvig; Stoklund 1994), and on the Vimose buckle a(n)dagast (KJ 24, Fyn, Denmark; on this problematic reading, cf. Stoklund 1995); for further discussion, see Haubrichs (2008:62–63). Haubrichs (2008), on the basis of Franconian Lex Salica and related legal documents, discusses the representation of gast-names such as Wisogastus (“homo bonus, nobilis”), Arogastus (“homo aptus”), Salegastus (“advena in the hall”), and Widogastus (“advena from the woodlands”, possibly “person in exile”). Haubrichs observes that, semantically speaking, the categories used for the first element of these personal names differ radically: “Es muss festgehalten werden, dass die Kategorien, die für das Erstelement verwendet werden, sich semantisch radikal unterscheiden” (Haubrichs 2008:68). The Proto-Nordic gast-names including naudi-gastiz lend support to the same claim, viz. lexical diversity of the first element. All in all, the gast-names are extremely frequent and productive in Old Germanic; for a distributional map of gast-names in the early Middle Ages, see Haubrichs (2008:67). In conclusion, the gast-names, not unlike the names in þewaz, indicate the high social status of a member of the elite or a chieftain (cf. Steuer 1999). It is the particular name of the deceased and the particular name of the commissioner or rune-carver, carved on the stone, which indicate their high social status. Principal Conclusions The inference to be drawn from the Hogganvik stone is that it reflects a hierarchical society with marked symbols of power and social identity. The sociocultural functions of identity and legitimacy of heritage are tied in with the memorial part of the inscription: “Kelbaþewaz’s stone”. But as argued, this memorial part is not the central core of the inscription. The runestone, due to its materiality and visual placement in the landscape, is a primary status marker highlighting the commissioner or rune-carver Naudigastiz and his clan more than the commemorated person and his lineage. The location of the stone inananaboz “in the central area of the protruding rock or hill” signals the enhanced position of Naudigastiz’s clan. As Jane Harrison (in this volume) points out, another symbol of the ruling family’s status and power consists of the mounds found along the West Norwegian coastline and the etymology of a personal name.” As I argued earlier (Schulte 2010:58), it seems feasible that a name like Naudigastiz, literally “Need guest”, is a secondary combination, i.e., neither lexically transparent nor motivated (cf. Peterson 2010:186–87). Secondary combinations (German Sekundärkombinationen) occur for instance in the early 7th-century Blekinge inscriptions hAþuwolAfA (KJ 95, Gummarp stone), hAþuwolAfz, hAriwolAfz (KJ 96, Stentoften stone), and hAriwulafa, hAþuwulafz, hAeruwulafiz (KJ 98, Istaby stone). As Sundqvist and Hultgård (2004) argue, these lycophoric names (with the second element *wulf) function as “emblems” of power and identity of the 7th-century Blekinge rulers—a warrior clan (on the abstract use of the term “emblem”, see Schulte, in press, and above). The authors put it this way: “The principle of alliterating dithematic names with a variation of the first element thus reflects an aristocratic naming custom, appearing in most parts of the Germanic area. The names probably functioned as a mark of dignity and/ or as some kind of insignia and the second element might have been the emblem of a ruling family, the Ylfingar” (Sundqvist and Hultgård 2004:585).18 Although the Hogganvik stone is at least 100–150 years earlier than the Blekinge inscriptions, it is entirely possible that its name form Naudigastiz relies on the same principle of name-giving, viz. variation and secondary combination. Besides, Andersson (1993:53) favors the idea that Wulþu-þewaz is based on variation, and Peterson (2004b:272) makes the same point in her discussion of Lagu-þewa: “Like many other early Germanic names in *-þewaz,” she says, “it would appear to be a name formed according to the principle of variation.” Significance and frequency of the gast-Names Although the name Naudigastiz defies a lexical analysis in terms of transparency, its second element reveals socio-structural clues as to the values of early Scandinavian society. Jackson (2010), in a comparative Indo-European study, focuses on the social function of hospitality as embodied in the two names hlewagastiz and a(n)sugasdiz on the Gallehus gold horn (KJ 43, South Jutland, Denmark) and the Myklebostad stone (KJ 77, Møre og Romsdal, Norway), respectively. The frequency of early runic gast-names seems best explained by a social code of Germanic hospitality—a prominent feature of gift-exchanging societies, with bonding, feasting, and hospitality as original key features (see, in particular, Mauss 1954). Moreover, names of the “X-guest type” allow for the possibility of bahuvrihi compounds, i.e., “having (an assembly of) X-guests”, which is apt to mark their high social M. Schulte 2013 Journal of the North Atlantic Special Volume 4 126 Düwel, K. 2003. Runenfälschungen. Pp. 518–519, In H. Beck, D. Geuenich, and H. Steuer (Eds.). Reallexikon der Germanischen Altertumskunde. 2nd Edition. Vol. 25. De Gruyter, Berlin, Germany. 636 pp. Düwel, K. 2008a. Runen als Phänomen der oberen Schichten. Pp. 63–76, In A. Greule, H.-W. Hermann, K. Ridder, and A. Schorr (Eds.). Studien zu Literatur, Sprache und Geschichte in Europa. Wolfgang Haubrichs zum 65. Geburtstag gewidmet. Röhrig Universitätsverlag, St. Ingbert, Germany. 805 pp. Düwel, K. 2011. 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Føroya Fróðskaparfelag, Tórshavn, Faroes. 521 pp. Jakobsen, J. 1921. Etymologisk ordbog over det norrøne sprog på Shetland. 2 vols. Prior, København, Denmark. 1032 pp. Scottish Isles, but a more specific comparison is needed. Linguistically, dithematic names like Kelbaþewaz and Naudi-gastiz in Proto-Nordic most likely represent high-status names and thus are socially charged. A case in point is the second element gastiz, which reveals the crucial notion of hospitality, feasting, and bonding in the Migration Period and Viking Age as well as in the early Middle Ages (Haubrichs 2008). More contentiously, another status marker found in the Hogganvik inscription is the by-name (or nickname) erafaz, literally “wolverine” which probably alludes to the fur or “coat” of Gulo borealis (see, in particular, Schramm 1957). The name erafaz might thus mark its owner as a member of the elite and possibly as a leader of the ruling clan. In this sense, Hogganvik prefigures hierarchical sociocultural structures not unlike those evidenced by the 7th-century Blekinge stones and—further—those of the 9th-century Norwegian drótt or comitatus with its elitist literature, the skaldic dróttkvætt poetry (cf. Lindow 1976). But it would probably go too far to claim an unbroken line here. Literature Cited Andersson, T. 1993. Sakrala personnamn eller profana? Pp. 39–60, In L. Peterson (Ed.). Personnamn i nordiska och andra germanska fornspråk. NORNA-Förlaget, Uppsala, Sweden. 176 pp. Arntz, H. 1944. Handbuch der Runenkunde. 2nd Edition. Niemeyer, Halle an der Saale, Germany. 314 pp. Barnes, M. 2004. Spirant denotation by younger fuþark b. Pp. 605–614, In A. van Nahl, L. Elmevik, and Stefan Brink (Eds.). Namenwelten. De Gruyter, Berlin, Germany. 813 pp. Barnes, M. 2012. Runes: A Handbook. Boydell, Woodbridge, UK. 240 pp. Bernström, J. 1981. Järv. Pp. 67–70, In Finn Hødnebø, et al. (Eds.). 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Agder Vitenskapsakademi Årbok 2010 (publ. 2011):48–65. Schulte, M. 2011a. Hogganvik, Runendenkmal. § 1. Runologisches. § 2. Lexikalisches und Namenkundliches, In H. Beck, S. Brather, D. Geuenich, W. Helzmann, S. Patzold, and H. Steuer (Eds.). Germanische Altertumskunde Online. De Gruyter, Berlin, Germany. Available online at http://www.degruyter.com/view/db/ gao?rskey=LC79qd&result=1&q=Germanische%20 Altertumskunde%20Online. Accessed 23 May 2011. Schulte, M. 2011b. Die sprachliche Deutung der Hogganvik- Inschrift. Ergänzungen zum vorläufigen Bericht. In G. Kroonen, E. Langbroek, H. Perridon, and Annelies Roeleveld (Eds.). Thi Timit Lof. Festschrift für Arend Quak zum 65. Geburtstag. Rodopi, Amsterdam, The Netherlands 2011:57–68. M. Schulte 2013 Journal of the North Atlantic Special Volume 4 128 3It may be noted that the commissioner is not necessarily identical with the rune-carver. The rune-carver who is performing a job for the commissioner does not need to be a member of the family or clan of the deceased. I owe this note to one of the three anonymous reviewers. 4According to standard practice, a bind-rune counts as a single rune which means that line A contains twenty-four runes. 5On numerical structures in runic inscriptions, see Schulte (2006). 6Much (1901:135), in his review of Palander’s Die althochdeutschen Tiernamen, makes the following comment: “Als zu Marder gehörig wären die schönen von Förstemann I, 916 nicht verstandenen namen Marthelm und Mardhetin beizubringen gewesen, letzterer ein seitenstück zu ahd. Wolfhetan, aisl. Geit-, Ulf-, ulf-, Biarn-, biarn-heðinn und mit ahd. *hetan = aisl. heðinn ‘rock’ zusammengesetzt.” I owe this reference to Klaus Düwel, in an email dated 12 December 201 1. 7See, e.g., de Vries (1962:286) under innan, Magnússon (1995:422) under innan, and Lehmann (1986:206) under inn. 8See Paul (2002:498) under innen. 9See Sandnes and Stemshaug (1997:336) under Nova. 10The archaeologist Frans-Arne Stylegar welcomes this interpretation: “Det er til og med mulig, ja sannsynlig, at det er denne terrengformasjonen som blir omtalt i innskriftens ord naboR, som ifølge Michael Schulte [2010, 2011b] best kan oversettes med klippefremspring, ‘protruding rock’ ” (see Glørstad et al. 2011:21). See Magnússon (1995:681) under nöf (2), Jacobsen and Matras (1961:302) under nøv, Poulsen et al. (1998:839) under nøv, and Jakobsen (1921:576) under nov, niv. 11See Fritzner (1891:855) under nϙf (3), Heggstad et al. (1997:318) under nϙf (1), Torp (1919:463) under Nov, and Hovdenak et al. (1986:489) under nov. 12See Fritzner (1886:430) under fjósnϙf, and Poulsen et al. (1998:496) under húsanøv. 13On the absence of metaphorical kenningar in the older runic corpus, see Schulte (2012). 14I owe this observation to Tarrin Wills, the JONA guest editor of my article. 15Cf. Meissner (1921:167) on bauga hringr = skjϙldr. Krause (1930:10 and KJ 101) assumes that naseu in the 7th-century Eggja inscription is a kenning for blood, literally “sea of corpses” (German “Leichensee”), but this interpretation has been challenged by Grønvik (1985:32, 1988). 16Frans-Arne Stylegar, in an email dated 12 April 2011. 17The discovery of these two items postdates Krause and Jankuhn (1966), hence the lacking reference in KJ. 18With reference to Krause (1966:204ff.) and Düwel (2001:42ff.). On the wulf-name hAeruwulafiz on the Istaby stone see also Kousgård Sørensen (1984:46f f.). Schulte, M. 2012. Kenningkunst und kognitive Poetik. Zu einer kognitiven Stellungsregel der Skaldik. 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Brepols, Turnhout, The Netherlands. 488 pp. Endnotes 1See Simpson and Weiner (1987:506) under emblem (3.a): “A picture of an object (or the object itself serving as a symbolic representation of an abstract quality, an action, state of things, class of persons, etc.”, and (3.b): “In wider sense: A symbol, typical representation, sometimes applied to a person: personification (of some virtue or quality).” 2See, for instance, the distributional map in Høst (1976:26).