For centuries, some small farms near the water on Iceland’s Vatnsnes peninsula are scattered among the grassy fields and rocky hills, more or less content to be living at the edge of the world. Cherry on the cake, the peninsula is known for a black basalt rock formation that’s said to be a petrified troll, and for the colonies of seals that come to sun themselves on the beach.
On current days, this surreal zone is still almost as peaceful—and lonely—as it was the night in March 1828 when a woman, Agnes Magnúsdóttir ran from Illugastaðir, the farm where she worked, to the house at Stapakot farm to report a fire. The situation, according to her, was terrible: two people were trapped inside the rapidly burning building.
When the rescuers arrived and extinguished the fire, the scene was even worse than they expected: inside, they discovered the bodies of Natan Ketilsson, the farm’s owner, and a his guest, Pétur Jónsson. Even though the two were badly burned, the rescuers could see it wasn’t the fire that had caused their deaths, ’cause, evidently, they’d been murdered. The men had been stabbed 12 times and bludgeoned with a hammer before the fire had been set with shark oil.
As a result, the authorities quickly arrested both Agnes and Illugastaðir’s other maid, such a Sigríður Guðmundsdóttir, and also a young man named Friðrik Sigurdsson. Although the trio’s motives were murky, local gossips supposed the crime had something to do with their romantic entanglements.
Agnes was born in northern Iceland on October 27, 1795. Her parents were unmarried farmers, with her father that quickly left the family, and at age 6 Agnes was fostered out to a pair of farmers who lived elsewhere, in northern Iceland. Little about her early life is known, save that it was steeped in toil and poverty. But everything changed when she met Natan Ketilsson, a self-taught doctor and herbalist.
Agnes fell in love with Natan, and even if she was his maid, he encouraged her and gave her a glimpse of life beyond poverty. The two seem to have had a brief lovestory, but Natan was in love with Skáld-Rósa, a well-known local poet. Though Rósa was married, her long-standing relationship with Natan was well known in the area, and the two even had children together. If this was not enough, Natan had recently had and affair with 16-year-old Sigríður.
No one has ever been able to figure out how, exactly, these amorous intrigues may have led to murder, and the trial documents focused more on the idea that the group was conspiring to steal from a wealthy landowner, saying that Friðrik “came to commit this evil through hatred of Natan, and a desire to steal.” The women named Friðrik as the mastermind of the crime, although they were short on details about why he was to blame.
The few available facts, together with a fear of rebellious servants, encouraged the idea of Agnes as a sort of villainess, and it was enough to condemn her.
In any case, after a long trial that went all the way to the Supreme Court in Copenhagen (historically Iceland was then still under Danish rule) Agnes, 33, and Friðrik, 19, were sentenced to be executed. Sigríður was also sentenced to death, but her punishment was eventually commuted to life inprisonment, which she would serve in Denmark. The reasons for the commutation aren’t entirely clear, except that by then the audience had seized on Agnes as the real evil-doer.
Execution day was on January 12, 1830, and the beheading was surreal, with 150 male representatives from all of the district’s farms attended, and a special ax imported from Denmark. Guðmundur Ketilsson, Natan’s brother, carried out the deed in the middle of three hillocks in Húnavatnssýsla.
They were forbidden Christian burial rites, and their heads were impaled onto sticks and displayed publicly, facing the road. But the heads wouldn’t be there for long, because they were stolen within 24 hours of going on display and would stay missing for close to 100 years.
This was the last time anyone was executed in Iceland, and it is possible still see the ax head, and chopping block, at Iceland’s National Museum.
Sometime around 1930, a local woman who claimed to have been visited by Agnes’s spirit came forward with the heads’ location. The identity of the thieves remains a mystery, although legend has it that a kind-hearted housewife felt moved to bury them herself. Bizarrely, the heads were found just where the informant said they would be, “in the direction of the setting sun at high summer’ and not far from the execution mound,” according to crime writer Quentin Bates.
The bodies of Agnes and Friðrik, which had been buried near the site of their execution, were reburied with their heads in a churchyard in Tjörn, not far from where Illugastaðir farm once stood.
Interestingly, on September 9, 2017, Agnes got a second day in court. A mock trial arranged by the Icelandic Legal Society retried the case under modern rules, with the result that Agnes was sentenced to 14 years in prison instead of death.
According to David Þór, one of the mock court’s three judges and a real former judge at the European Court of Human Rights, the original trial didn’t attempt to answer why the murders occurred. “No one cared about the motivation behind the murders—that wouldn’t happen in a modern court,” he told the Associated Press. “Today we would try to understand the motivation behind the murders and particularly how the two women, who had no other place to live, were treated by their master.”
Thus, Agnes’s story has captivated Iceland for the last 200 years. Though the 1828 trial records are preserved in Iceland’s National Library, little evidence remains of Agnes’s life.
“There isn’t a lot to go on,” Bates writes. “But it can be imagined how the relationships between these people had developed and the pressure increased over the course of the dark winter in a farmhouse the size of a small apartment today, and with a healthy walk to reach the nearest neighbors. It’s the stuff of a psychological thriller.”
And indeed, ten books have been written on the subject in Iceland, and the murderess is even the subject of an Icelandic pop song. In any case, the events at Illugastaðir will likely captivate us also for years to come, even if we may never know exactly what happened that March 1828.