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Joan of Arc’s Holy Sword

By
thehistorianshut
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Jeanne d’Arc (commonly known as Joan of Arc, c. 1412-1431) was the daughter of a peasant farmer named Jacques d’Arc and his wife, Isabelle, who lived in the village of Domrémy. Their home town was situated on the frontline of the wars between the Dauphin, Charles (later King Charles VII of France, r. 1422/1429-1461), and King Henry VI of England, who was allied to the Burgundians. Despite being raised in this tense and war-torn time, Jeanne found hope and confidence in the Church and the scripture it preached. Her religious zeal, however, skyrocketed in intensity when she turned thirteen years of age. It was at that young age that Jeanne d’Arc began hearing and seeing what she described as heavenly voices and the visages of spirits and angels. Following the urgings of these voices and semi-obscured saintly heads, teenage Jeanne d’Arc would embark on a wild and momentous journey, ultimately becoming a champion for Charles VII in war and politics.

Although Jeanne d’Arc claimed to have been contacted by many different angels and saints, her most frequent advisors were said to have been the spirits of St. Catherine of Alexandria and St. Margaret of Antioch. Besides advising Jeanne on her daily decisions and actions, the saintly visions also encouraged the young mystic to obtain certain items. For one, when Jeanne d’Arc commissioned a custom-designed banner to be made for her to carry into battle, she claimed that the flag’s layout had been explained to her by her advisory saints. Similarly, Jeanne’s voices led her to uncover a special sword.

Jeanne’s interesting episode with the sword occurred in 1429, not long after she met the Dauphin, Charles. While Jeanne was traveling near the city of Tours, she was said to have been tipped off by her talkative spirit-companions about the existence of a sword that was buried somewhere behind the altar of the nearby Church of Sainte-Catherine-de-Fierbois. After receiving this revelation, Jeanne delegated the task of retrieving the blade to an aid, who promptly set off to Sainte-Catherine-de-Fierbois to complete the holy scavenger hunt. The intel provided by the disembodied voices proved true, and a sword was indeed recovered. On February 27, 1431, after Jeanne d’Arc had been captured by her English and Burgundian enemies, she told her questioners about this story. The transcript of the interview read as follows:

“Asked how she knew that this sword was there, she answered that the sword was in the ground, rusted over, and upon it were five crosses; and she knew it was there through her voices, and she had never seen the man who fetched it. She wrote the clergy of the place asking if it was their pleasure that she should have the sword, and they sent it to her. Nor was it buried deep behind the altar, but she believed she wrote saying it was behind. She added that as soon as the sword was found the priests rubbed it, and the rust fell off at once without effort; a merchant, an armorer of Tours, fetched it. The local priests gave her a scabbard, as did those of Tours also; they made two in all, one of crimson velvet, in French de velous vermeil, and the other of cloth of gold. She herself had another made of very strong leather” (The Trial of Jeanne d’Arc, Fourth Public Session).

Many rumors swirled around France about the fate of this blade. Some claimed that the sword eventually broke, yet Jeanne d’Arc denied this tale when speaking to her interrogators. Instead, she merely stated that the sword was in her possession until she mysteriously decided to hide it somewhere in the vicinity of Lagny in the final months of 1429. In its stead, she began wielding a looted Burgundian blade which she assessed to be a better weapon in combat. Nevertheless, she continued to be quite fond of the holy sword she left behind. As Jeanne d’Arc told her interrogators, “She loved the sword, she said, since it had been found in the church of St. Catherine, whom she loved” (The Trial of Jeanne d’Arc, Fourth Public Session). The whereabouts of this blade are uncertain, as Jeanne d’Arc was not captured with it, and she reportedly did not leave it to her brothers.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

 

Sources:

Queen Cleophis Offering Wine To Alexander The Great, By Gerard Hoet (c. 1648-1733)

By
thehistorianshut
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This painting, by the Dutch artist Gerard Hoet (c. 1648-1733), was inspired by an episode from the life of the famous conqueror, Alexander the Great (r. 336-323 BCE). Although the scene looks quite Greco-Roman in style and character, the painting actually represents an event that was said to have occurred as Alexander the Great neared India. In particular, this scene occurred after Alexander and his warriors (shown on the left side of the painting) besieged a city called Massaga or Mazagae for several days in 327 or 326 BCE. Curiously, Gerard Hoet chose to paint the incident in a clean and bloodless manner. Unfortunately, that is not how the city fell into Alexander’s hands.

Looking at the civilians of Massaga or Mazagae crowding the right side of the painting, it is striking that they are almost all women, led by Queen Cleophis, displayed prominently in her white and blue dress. This is likely because much of the city’s male population was killed by Alexander during and after the siege. The battles involved in taking the city were costly, and even Queen Cleophis’ son, Assacenus—who led the defense—was among those who died in the fight. After Assacenus’ death, however, Queen Cleophis and the people of the city decided to surrender. As part of terms of surrender, the troops of Massaga or Mazagae were ordered to camp outside of their city walls. Queen Cleophis’ army reportedly did agree to this order, assuming that Alexander wanted to recruit them for future campaigns. Nevertheless, bloodshed would resume between the two sides.

Different ancient scholars blamed different people for the resumed violence. Whatever the case, it ended with Alexander the Great massacring the defenders who had come out of the city. The Roman biographer, Arrian (c. 90-173+), blamed the people of Massaga or Mazagae:

“Having no desire to fight against other Indians, they meant to desert under cover of night and desert to their homes. Their purpose, however, was reported to Alexander, and that same night he stationed his whole force in a ring around the hill, caught the Indians in a trap, and butchered them. He then seized the town, now undefended. Assacenus’ mother and daughter were among the prisoners” (Arrian, Anabasis of Alexander, IV.27).

An earlier historian, Diodorus Siculus (c. 1st century BCE), proposed a vastly different theory than that of Arrian. Rather than accuse the people of Massaga or Mazagae of trying to avoid military service under the man who conquered them, he instead claimed that Alexander the Great had never intended to recruit the local army, but instead lured them out of their walls to win a decisive victory and occupy the city. His account read as follows:

“A truce was concluded on these terms, and the queen, impressed by Alexander’s generosity, sent him valuable gifts and promised to follow his orders in everything. The mercenaries straightway under the terms of the truce left the city and encamped without interference at a distance of eighty furlongs, without an inkling of what would happen. Alexander, nevertheless, nursed an implacable hostility toward them; he held his forces in readiness, followed them, and falling upon them suddenly wrought a great slaughter. At first they kept shouting that this attack was in contravention of the treaty and they called to witness the gods against whom he had transgressed. Alexander shouted back that he had granted them the right to leave the city but not that of being friends of the Macedonians forever” (Diodorus Siculus, Library of History, 17.84).

Such, then, are the opposing theories of how Alexander the Great occupied Massaga or Mazagae. Whatever the truth might be, both sides agreed that siege had lasted for days and that the city’s troops were butchered outside of their walls. It was only after this sad epilogue that Alexander the Great and Queen Cleophis had their meeting, depicted above in Gerard Hoet’s painting.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

 

Sources:

Socrates

By
thehistorianshut
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Socrates (c. 469-399 BCE)

“To fear death, gentlemen, is no other than to think oneself wise when one is not, to think one knows what one does not know. No one knows whether death may not be the greatest of all blessings for a man, yet men fear it as if they knew that it is the greatest of evils.”

  • This saying, attributed to Socrates, was recorded in Plato’s Apology (section 29a). The translation used here is by G. M. A. Grube, revised by John M. Cooper (Hackett Publishing, 2000).

The Conning Of Mistress Theudechild

By
thehistorianshut
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Theudechild was one of many women in the life of short-reigned King Charibert (r. 561-567) of the Franks. Charibert was one of four brothers from the Merovingian Dynasty who all received a portion of the Frankish Empire to rule in 561. Paris was Charibert’s capital city, whereas his brothers Guntram, Sigebert and Chilperic, were installed at Orleans, Rheims and Soissons respectively. To these 6th-century kings, polygamy, or at least concubinage, was an accepted practice. Therefore, for the aforementioned Theudechild in Charibert’s court, the palace was a crowded place.

Theudechild was never the most favored partner of King Charibert, but she outlasted other women in the household who came and went, such as Queen Ingoberg, who was divorced or ejected from court by King Charibert. Besides Ingoberg, Charibert was also known to have married a pair of sisters by the name of Merofled and Marcovefa during his lifetime. All of the women mentioned above likely outranked Theudechild, as they were specifically described in historical records as wives, whereas Theudechild may have never ascended above the rank of a mistress or concubine. Theudechild, regardless of her lower rank, was able to keep herself in close proximity to power, and she grew quite rich during her stay in Charibert’s court. Nevertheless, Charibert was a short-lived king and he died suddenly and unexpectedly of illness in 567.

At the time of Charibert’s death, Theudechild was still a young woman, and she craved to remain in the presence of power and luxury. Therefore, she reportedly hatched a plan to get remarried, and to one of her former lover’s kingly brothers, no less. Somehow, she contacted King Guntram (r. 561-591) and made it known that she was willing to be his bride. As the story goes, Guntram led her on, replying that she would receive a prestigious and respectable position in his kingdom. Theudechild believed the king’s enticing words and moved to King Guntram’s court, bringing all of her treasures with her on the journey. Unfortunately for Theudechild, her future would not be as regal as she hoped.

King Guntram, although he was later considered a saint, did not act very saintly toward Theudechild. According to King Guntram’s acquaintance, Bishop Gregory of Tours (c. 539-594), when Theudechild arrived at her prospective new home with all of her wealth, King Guntram looked at her and said, “It is better that this treasure should fall into my hands than that it should remain in the control of a woman who was unworthy of my brother’s bed’” (Gregory of Tours, History of the Franks, IV.26). After making this comment, the king seized almost all of Theudechild’s wealth for himself. Then, using a typical tactic of a medieval Christian king, Guntram had Theudechild dragged off to a nunnery in Arles.

Theudechild’s enrollment in the convent was quite unwilling, and she is known to have tried to escape. Yet, this attempt to flee only made her life more of a living hell. As the story goes, she was caught trying to elope with a Visigoth traveler, who was planning to smuggle Theudechild to Spain. This unhappy epilogue was recorded by Bishop Gregory of Tours, who wrote, “[Theudechild] once more collected her possessions together and made them into bundles. As she was about to make her escape from the nunnery, she was surprised by the vigilant abbess. The abbess, who had caught her red-handed, had her beaten mercilessly and locked her up in her cell. There she remained until her dying day, suffering awful anguish” (History of the Franks, IV.26). So ends the tragic and horrid tale of unfortunate Theudechild.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

 

Sources:

  • The History of the Franks by Gregory of Tours, translated by Lewis Thorpe. New York: Penguin Classics, 1971.

Witch of Endor, Drawn By Ary Scheffer (c. 1795-1858)

By
thehistorianshut
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This drawing, created with graphite and ink by the Dutch artist Ary Scheffer (c. 1795-1858), depicts the Biblical tale of King Saul of Israel (dated to the 11th century BC) meeting with the so-called Witch of Endor. As the story goes, King Saul went to the Witch of Endor—a necromancer—on the eve of a battle with his persistent foe, the Philistines. Saul wanted the witch to conjure the spirit of the then recently-deceased Samuel, a prophet and military leader who had first supported King Saul’s reign, but died denouncing Saul’s kingship. The Witch of Endor agreed to the task and succeeded in summoning Samuel’s spirit for a conversation with King Saul. It is a scene described in the First Book of Samuel:

“Then the woman asked, ‘Whom shall I bring up for you?’
‘Bring up Samuel,’ he said.
When the woman saw Samuel, she cried out at the top of her voice and said to Saul, ‘Why have you deceived me? You are Saul!’
The king said to her, ‘Don’t be afraid. What do you see?’
The woman said, ‘I see a ghostly figure coming up out of the earth.’
‘What does he look like?’ he asked.
‘An old man wearing a robe is coming up,’ she said.
Then Saul knew it was Samuel, and he bowed down and prostrated himself with his face to the ground.”
(1 Samuel 28: 11-14, NIV version)

Such is the scene that is occurring in the painting by Ary Scheffer. It shows King Saul prostrating himself before the brightly-colored ghost of Samuel. Unfortunately for the king, the late prophet’s newest prophecy was not a good one. As the story goes, the summoned Samuel told Saul that the forces of Israel would be defeated in the upcoming battle with the Philistines, and that Saul and his sons would be killed. Samuel’s prediction proved true, but the defeat of King Saul paved the way for the ascendance of King David.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Sources:

Machiavelli

By
thehistorianshut
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Machiavelli (c. 1469-1527)

“He who becomes prince by help of the nobility has greater difficulty in maintaining his power than he who is raised by the populace, for he is surrounded by those who think themselves his equals, and is thus unable to direct or command as he pleases.”

  • From The Prince (chapter 19) by Machiavelli, translated and printed by the Henry Regnery Company, 1948.

The Tale Of Kublai Khan’s Private Treasure Wing In His Palace

By
thehistorianshut
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Kublai Khan oversaw Mongolian operations in China during the reign of his brother, Great Khan Möngke (r. 1251-1259). After Möngke’s death in 1259, Kublai and his brother Arigböge (or Ariq Böke) battled for the title of Great Khan, while other Mongolian leaders, such as Hülegü of the Ilkhanate (r. 1256-1265) and Berke Khan of the Golden Horde (r. 1257-1267) were content seeing to their own interests in the Middle East and Eastern Europe. Kublai Khan, ruling from Shangdu, defeated Arigböge and claimed the title of Great Khan by 1264. That same year, Kublai decided to create a new capital city to the south of Shangdu. The place was called Khanbaliq (‘City of the Khan’) in Turkic and Daidu (‘Great Capital’) in Chinese. The region would later become Beijing.

Marco Polo, the famous Venetian merchant, arrived in Kublai Khan’s court in 1275, over a decade after Kublai first began construction of his new capital city. In the text he later published about his experiences in Asia, Marco fawned over the palace that Kublai Khan had built in Khanbaliq/Daidu. One supposed feature of the royal residence that impressed Marco Polo was a private wing in Kublai Khan’s palace that was devoted to housing vast hoards of everything that the khan treasured. Precious metals, gemstones, pearls, jewelry, ornate furniture and baubles—it could all be found in this glittering section of the palace. As could be expected of a medieval nobleman, even a large entourage of Kubilai Khan’s women were housed in the treasure wing. Marco Polo wrote of this:

“To the rear of the palace there are large houses, rooms, and halls in which the personal belongings of the Khan are kept—that is, all his treasure, gold, silver, precious stones and pearls, and his gold and silver vessels—and where his ladies and concubines live; everything is arranged for his comfort and convenience, and outsiders are not admitted” (Marco Polo, The Travels, Book III, Nigel Cliff translation page 100).

Such, at least, was Marco Polo’s impression of Kublai Khan’s private wing of the palace. Marco would remain in Kublai Khan’s entourage until 1291, when the merchant decided to return to Venice. Kublai lived for another three years after Marco’s departure, dying in 1294.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

 

Sources:

Peace Negotiations Between Julius Civilis And Petillius Cerialis On The Broken Bridge, Painted By Ferdinand Bol (c. 1616-1680)

By
thehistorianshut
-

This painting was created by the Dutch artist, Ferdinand Bol (c. 1616-1680), sometime between 1658 and 1662. Like other 17th-century inhabitants of the Netherlands, Ferdinand Bol was drawn to the ancient story of the struggle of Julius Civilis (flourished c. 1st century) against the Roman Empire. It was common in the artist’s day to compare the Netherlands’ own war for independence against Spain to Civilis’ uprising against the Romans, and Ferdinand Bol encouraged this comparison by dressing the figures of his painting in gear and clothing that mixes ancient fashion with that of the artist’s own era.

Julius Civilis was a prominent leader of a group known as the Batavi—an ancient people who inhabited the Netherlands region. Details about the life and career of this man were preserved for posterity by the Roman historian, Tacitus (c. 56/57-117). According to Tacitus’ account, Civilis was already deemed a political threat to the Romans as early as the reign of Emperor Nero (r. 54-68), as he had Civilis arrested. Fortunately for the imprisoned Batavian figurehead, a Roman governor named Galba rebelled against Nero and seized power in Rome. This Emperor Galba (r. 68-69) decided to acquit Julius Civilis of whatever allegations had been pinned to him, and the Batavian leader was released to rejoin his people. Along with this acquittal, Galba also gave another gift to Civilis (and to all other ambitious men, for that matter)—political instability. The year 69 became the so-called Year of the Four Emperors. In that tumultuous year, Emperor Galba’s power was usurped by Emperor Otho, who was defeated by Emperor Vitellius, who then was challenged for the throne by Vespasian. Although Julius Civilis was not named among these emperors, he became a major power player during the war between Vitellius and Vespasian.

When Vespasian mobilized the Roman legions of the eastern section of the empire in his bid to seize Rome from Emperor Vitellius, Julius Civilis positioned himself as Vespasian’s ally. Nominally in support of Vespasian’s cause, Civilis pulled together an army of Germanic, Gallic, and mutinous or defector Roman warriors, and began attacking Roman military positions that were loyal to Emperor Vitellius. Although Civilis’ occupation of Roman territory started under the pretext of aiding Vespasian’s bid for imperial power, the war quickly shifted into something new. Instead of waging war for Vespasian’s sake, Julius Civilis and his forces soon embraced a new goal—creating an empire of their own. Vespasian, however, defeated Vitellius by December, 69, and became the new Roman emperor. When Vespasian now realized that Civilis was no longer an ally, but instead a rival for Roman lands, the new emperor sent his generals to dismantle the upstart empire.

Quintus Petillius Cerialis was put in charge of the Roman campaign to conquer Julius Civilis’ newly seized land. Unfortunately for Civilis and the Gallic Empire, Cerialis would prove to be a much more effective general than the Vitellian governors that Civilis had faced earlier. Petillius Cerialis began his relentless campaign against Julius Civilis around July or August in the year 70. In a remarkably short amount of time, Petillius Cerialis pushed Civilis all the way back to his homeland of Batavia. It was there, in September, 70, that Julius Civilis surrendered to Petillius Cerialis. Tacitus described the scene:

“It did not escape Civilis’ notice that the people’s feelings were changing, so he made up his mind to act first. He was tired of troubles, but he also hoped to escape with his life—a prospect which often undermines the resolve of ambitious characters. He asked for a meeting. There was a shattered bridge over the River Nabia, and the two generals advanced to the broken edges of the gap” (Tacitus, The Histories, 5.26).

Such is the story that inspired Ferdinand Bol’s painting. It shows the leaders of the opposing forces negotiating the terms of surrender from their positions atop the broken bridge. Unfortunately, Tacitus’ account of the surrender breaks off mid-speech, the rest lost to history. Julius Civilis’ ultimate fate is unknown, but he reportedly surrendered under the impression that he would be pardoned. As for Quintus Petillus Cerialis, Vespasian rewarded him for his success by promoting him to the position of governor of Roman Britannia from the year 71 to 73.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

 

Sources:

The Tale Of Thorodd Snorasson’s Encounter With A Man-Eating Troll

By
thehistorianshut
-

Thorodd Snorasson, an Icelander, reportedly was kept as a political hostage by King Olaf II of Norway between the years 1025 and 1028. When he finally returned home from his time abroad, he made sure to have some exciting tales ready to tell his friends and family. Thorodd apparently did only one task of note during his stay in the Norwegian court, yet he did the best with what he could, narrating this errand as a wild adventure, filled with treachery, arson, and even monsters.

To set the scene, Thorodd Snorasson’s adventure was said to have occurred near the end of King Olaf’s reign (r. 1015-1028). At that time, Olaf’s centralization of power and forced religious conversions had made him many enemies among the chieftains and jarls. By 1027 and 1028, discontentment was rampant, and a growing movement in Norway was forming that wanted to dislodge King Olaf by inviting Canute the Great (King of England since 1016 and King of Denmark since 1019) to add the Kingdom of Norway to his large realm. Canute, of course, was more than happy to add a third kingdom to his résumé. To stop this incoming usurpation, King Olaf II needed to raise money and levy troops, yet this was easier said than done when regional pockets of Norway were openly hostile to Olaf.

Needful king; dangerous task; hostile lands—cue the Icelandic hostage Thorodd Snorasson. As the story goes, while tax collectors and levy organizers around the kingdom were being assassinated here and there, Thorodd stepped up to offer his services. King Olaf was said to have accepted the offer, and sent Thorodd Snorasson to accompany eleven other men on a mission to collect taxes in Jamtaland. Most of these men, however, would not return.

When Thorodd Snorasson’s party arrived at their destination in Jamtaland, they were initially received peacefully. The king’s agents were welcomed into the town, an assembly was called, and the king’s request was expressed to the people of the region. Unfortunately, the assembly did not go well for the tax collectors. When deliberations began, the people of Jamtaland made it abundantly clear that they were not fans of King Olaf II. By the end of the meeting, Jamtaland’s inhabitants had decided to withhold their taxes and manpower from the king. Along with retaining these resources, the Jamtalanders also decided to hold Olaf’s agents. Thorodd Snorrason and his eleven companions were allegedly divided up into groups of two and were kept captive in different houses in the region.

Thorodd Snorrason and the other tax collector imprisoned with him reportedly escaped one time, only to be tracked down by dogs. Back in custody, the Icelander and his Norwegian companion were unceremoniously thrown into a pit. After that experience, Thorodd decided to take more time masterminding an elaborate escape plan. He waited until the Yule holiday season came along, when most residents of his captor’s house went away to other homes to celebrate, leaving behind only minimal guards, who, as it turned out, drank themselves into a stupor. Seizing the moment, Thorodd and his partner supposedly ripped up their garments and turned the materials into a rope, which they used to climb out of the pit. Once they were free, Thorodd and his friend stole new clothes from their captor’s home and decided to set the place on fire for good measure. Yet, before they put the property to the torch, the two allegedly grabbed some deer pelts and attached hooves to their feet, so that any tracks they left behind during their escape would look like those of deer instead of man.

If the tale seems outlandish, it will only become more so from here on. After fleeing from the burning home in Jamtaland, Thorodd Snorasson and his companion raced off into freedom, only to eventually journey onto the homestead of a family of outlaws. These outlaws, however, were quite friendly. As it turned out, the nearby town in Jamtaland had expelled this family from the community. Therefore, the outlaws did not care about what the local assembly had decided in regards to King Olaf, and they similarly paid no mind to Thorodd and his companion being fugitives. Instead, the household gave the new arrivals food, a place to sleep, and even a guide back to King Olaf. The formidable guide who was tasked with leading Thorodd and the other tax collector back to friendly territory was reportedly a man named Arnljot Gellini. Arnljot, a hulking figure, was apparently a man of great skill, excelling in abilities as diverse as skiing and monster-slaying.

When morning came, it was time for the group to leave. Once outside, the new guide showed his followers how they would be traveling. Imagine large Arnljot Gellini standing atop an oversized pair of skis. Next, imagine Thorodd and the other tax collector awkwardly standing behind Arnljot, their feet standing on the same skis as the hulking hero. After the two fugitives hopped up and held on tight to the guide, Arnljot worked his legs and his ski poles to set the encumbered boards in motion. The trio traveled in this comical fashion until they arrived at a communal shelter, where the tale would take another odd turn.

Despite the campground and shelter being a place known widely to merchants and travelers, it was also a place of great danger. Arnljot, according to Thorodd’s outlandish tale, had some inkling of the threat that the group might face, for he gave the party strict instructions. Do not leave out any scraps of food; do not wander away from the rest of the party; do not sleep anywhere except for a high loft. Thorodd and the tax collector followed this advice and were safe. Yet, a different group that was staying the night in that communal shelter did not heed Arnljot’s advice. Their negligence, so the tall tale claims, invited a monster to attack. Thorodd Snorasson’s fellow Icelander, the scholar Snorri Sturluson (c. 1179-1241), narrated the peculiar story:

“Shortly afterwards there came twelve men into the house. They were merchants who were travelling to Jamtaland with their wares. Now when they entered the house they were noisy with cheerful merriment and kindled big fires. And when they ate they threw all the bones away. Then they got ready to sleep and lay down on the dais by the fire. When they had slept but a short time, a big troll woman came to the house, and when she entered it, she swiftly swept up everything together, bones and everything she thought edible and devoured it. Then she grabbed the man lying nearest to her, ripped him to pieces, and threw him on the fire. Then the others awoke as if from a bad dream, and jumped up; but she killed one after the other, so that only one survived. He ran in under the loft and shouted for help if there was anyone up there who could help him. Arnjlot reached down, grabbed him by the shoulders, and pulled him up into the loft. Then the troll woman turned to the fire and took to devouring the men who were roasted” (Snorri Sturluson, Heimskringla, Saint Olaf’s Saga, chapter 141).

As has been said several times, Arnjlot Gellini was reportedly a large, strong and hulking figure—a natural monster slayer. Now was his time to shine. Arnjlot reportedly picked up a spear, jumped down, and stabbed the troll through the back so that the spearpoint protruded out from the front of the chest. The troll, however, was supposedly still very much alive. Yet, it also had no will to stay and fight. Instead, the wounded creature let out a screech and charged out through the doorway, breaking the frame as it fled. Given a moment of peace, Arnjlot, Thorodd and the tax collector rummaged through the goods of the slain merchants. Afterwards, Arnjlot informed his companions that he would not continue leading them—recovering his spear from the troll was apparently more important.

Thorodd Snorrason and his companion were able to make do without Arnjlot Gellini. They could back-trace the tracks left by the slain merchants, which led to the nearest town, or perhaps they had come far enough that the surroundings were now familiar. Whatever the case, Thorodd Snorrason soon found himself back in the court of King Olaf II. The king, apparently, was impressed or entertained by the debriefing he heard. Thorodd Snorrason was allowed to return home to Iceland as soon as summer arrived. Such is the odd tale that Thorodd, or storytellers in his family, spun about his years as a hostage in Norway.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Picture Attribution: (Frithiofs återkomst (ur Frithiofs saga), painted by August Malmström (c. 1829-1901), [Public Domain] via Creative Commons and the National Museum in Sweden).

 

Sources:

  • Heimskringla, by Snorri Sturluson and translated by Lee Hollander. Austin: University of Texas Press, 1964, 2018.

Jupiter And Mercury Visiting Philemon And Baucis, Painted By Jacob Jordaens (c. 1593–1678)

By
thehistorianshut
-

This painting, by the Flemish artist Jacob Jordaens (c. 1593–1678), was inspired by the Greco-Roman myth of Philemon and Baucis. The shirtless men, seen clad in red and gold at the table, were labeled as Jupiter and Mercury by the artist, as they also would have been by Romans, such as the poet, Ovid (43 BCE-17 CE). To the Greeks, however, the figures would be called Zeus and Hermes.

As the story goes, the two deities mentioned above, Zeus/Jupiter and Hermes/Mercury, traveled in disguise through the hometown of Philemon and Baucis. With their godliness masked in mortal guise, the deities discovered that the people of the town, almost unanimously, would not show hospitality to strangers. Only one humble home stood as an anomaly in that most unwelcoming community—this refuge of generosity was the home of Philemon and Baucis. Whereas other households turned the gods away or refused to open their doors, this amiable couple invited in the disguised gods and played the role of the host to the best of their ability. Ovid described the scene:

“Jupiter once came here, disguised as a mortal, and with him
his son, the messenger Mercury, wand and wings set aside.
Looking for shelter and rest, they called at a thousand homesteads;
a thousand doors were bolted against them. One house, however,
did make them welcome, a humble abode with a roof of straw
and marsh reed, one that knew its duty to gods and men.
Here good Philémon and Baucis had happily passed their youth
and here they had reached old age, enduring their poverty lightly
by owning it freely and being content with the little they had.”
(Ovid, Metamorphoses, 8.626-634).

Despite not having much at their disposal, Philemon and Baucis threw a feast for their guests, bringing whatever was available in or around the house to the table. This hospitality and generosity impressed the gods, and as it would soon turn out, the feast would be of great consequence to the lives of Philemon and Baucis. The two gods had been in the region to scout out a spot for a new temple, and Philemon and Baucis’ hometown was, to put it mildly, in the way of the divine plan. Mid-feast, the deities revealed their godhood to Philemon and Baucis. The gods then quickly ushered the two awed mortals out of town and led them to a mountain. With Philemon and Baucis safely stowed on a mountaintop, the gods called in a flood to wipe out the town—of all the houses in the community, only that of Philemon and Baucis survived the inundation. As the story goes, the site of the hospitable couple’s home was transformed into the temple that the gods wanted, and Philemon and Baucis spent the rest of their lives there, serving as priests.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

 

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