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is part of social capital in the role it plays in establishing family connections and
friendships, and also in how it is used in the context of animosities and fights; it
expresses cultural capital when saga characters make use of their (legal) learned-
ness and their physical prowess in fighting; and it can be understood through the
concept of symbolic capital in as much as the body is a means for accumulating
and representing social standards and is thus crucial for determining the honour
and reputation of an individual or their family. To come full circle, the body, or
rather the blemished body, also translates into pecuniary worth – in other words,
economic capital – when agreements are made and compensations paid out
depending on specific types of injury and the social positions of the individuals
involved.
The juridical aftermath of the feud between the Þorbrandssynir and the
Þorlákssynir stretches over almost a whole chapter of Eyrbyggja saga (ch. 46)
and involves a detailed account of the negotiations of the compensations. While
some of the serious wounds and killings are considered to be equivalent, other
incidents are not compared in a one-to-one ratio, neither with regard to the
injuries nor the (number of) people involved.63 In the course of these negotia-
tions, Þorleifr kimbi experiences the greatest overall loss of capital, in all
forms, from the animosities: he has a burn on his neck, his marriage proposal
is refused, he receives an impairment, and he is even fined for his lost leg.
6. Narrative Prosthesis
Although the saga does not subsequently comment on Þorleifr kimbi’s
prosthesis, which replaces his lost leg, it stands as a silent reminder of the
defeat that he experienced in his dealings with the Þorlákssynir. In con-
trast to saga figures such as Önundr tréfótr (Grettis saga), Þórir viðleggr,
and Þórólfr bægifótr (both Eyrbyggja saga), however, Þorleifr kimbi does
not receive a new or additional nickname that highlights his impairment
and reminds of an unpleasant incident. By choosing to give people revealing
nicknames, the typical saga silence towards dis/ability is broken in an excep-
tionally restrained way: Whilst a nickname can acknowledge an embodied
difference, it is not itself a guarantee that the story behind the impairment
will be narrated. Hence, it is often the case that the narrative silence about an
impairment extends to its robbing the individual of a biographically crucial
63 Eyrbyggja saga, 131–132.
THE SILENCED TRAUMA IN THE Í sLEnDInGAsÖGUR