Thucydides (c. 460-400 BCE)
“Our constitution is called a democracy because power is in the hands not of a minority but of the whole people.”
The 12th-century traveler, Abū Hāmid, in his Exposition of Some of the Wonders of the West, claimed that a bizarre structure could be found about 28 miles from the city of Khwārazm, located south of the Aral Sea in what is now Uzbekistan. Travelers on the roadway between Khwārazm and Saqsīn (a city on the northern side of the Caspian Sea) reportedly could see the odd building in a canyon along the route. The site allegedly featured an unnatural mound with a magnificent domed temple built atop it. The temple, which the Islamic travelers identified as a mosque, had four porticoes and four entrances, and was completely covered in gold, so that it shone like a beacon. Encircling the complex was a large moat, reportedly a hundred cubits wide (150 feet), but only about two cubits deep (3 feet). Although everyone in the region apparently wanted to visit the peculiar mosque to see it up close, to pray in the building, or even to pillage its riches, Abū Hāmid knew of only one person who reportedly entered the temple.
As the story goes, the golden mosque near Khwārazm was protected by magic and enchantments. The moat, in particular, was where most of these otherworldly protections were allegedly found. According to Abū Hāmid, “The surface [of the moat] is covered with pondweed and it smells bad. No one dares enter the water, or dip in a hand or foot, since anything which touches the surface of that water disappears and vanishes, and no one can see where it goes”(Exposition of Some of the Wonders of the West, Penguin ed. pg. 90). Abū Hāmid went on to claim that Mahmūd of Ghazna (r. 998-1030) devoted great resources in an attempt to cross the moat. He allegedly had rowboats brought to the place, but as soon as the vessels were set on the water, they sank and disappeared below the pondweed. He similarly was said to have tried to build a causeway across the shallow moat with earth and rock, but no matter how much debris he poured into the water, the moat retained its consistent depth. Similarly, if a beast of burden fell into the water, it too would disappear—when the animal handlers hauled up their lead ropes from the moat, nothing was attached at the end of the line. In the end, Mahmūd of Gazna could not reach the mosque. All he could do was shoot arrows across the moat, which pinged enticingly against the building’s golden tiles.
According to Abū Hāmid, one man did reach and enter the enchanted mosque. The man was a peasant from Khwārazm whose name had been forgotten by the time Abū Hāmid wrote down the tale in the 12th century. This mysterious peasant was said to have appeared one day in the city market with a sizable bowl made of pure emerald. As the peasant was not a man of wealth, the local officials were immediately suspicious and interrogated him about the precious bowl. Under questioning, the peasant reportedly said he had gone out in search of treasure and—apparently without any effort—found a path up to a domed building. He entered the structure and found a tomb built for an unidentified man, who had been laid to rest in an emerald sarcophagus. Around the sarcophagus were vast riches and several emerald bowls. The peasant claimed that the bowl he possessed was the smallest of everything in the tomb, and that he left the rest behind because it was all too heavy to lift. According to the tale, the leader of Khwārazm was eager to loot the remaining wealth and had the peasant retrace his steps back toward the tomb. When they arrived, however, the temple and tomb had reportedly disappeared. As of today, archeologists have found nothing in the region that resembles Abū Hāmid’s enchanted mosque.
Written by C. Keith Hansley.
Picture Attribution: (Image from page 170 of “Stories from the Arabian nights” (1911), [Public Domain] via Flickr and Creative Commons).
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According to the writings of Bishop Gregory of Tours (c. 539-594), a dramatic family feud broke out between two noble Parisian families in the final years of the reign of King Chilperic of the Franks (r. 561-584). As with a great many conflicts, the feud began because of love, or, in this case, a lack thereof. The two families (which Gregory never named) had been linked together through ties of marriage, with a son of one powerful family marrying a daughter from the other noble line. The politically-arranged marriage, however, was a complete failure, and it did little to unite the two rival families, much less the impassionate bride and groom. Ultimately, the unhappy wife ran away, bringing the two families to the brink of war.
The husband’s family, out for revenge, accused the runaway bride of adultery and obtained several witnesses to back their claim. They confronted the wife’s father, who was harboring her or knew where she was hiding, and demanded that he hand his daughter over for execution. The wife’s father, to his credit, refused to surrender his daughter and decried the charges as malicious lies. He rallied his kinsmen to his side, forming a united front against the husband’s family.
Although the father of the runaway bride had protected his daughter from the clutches of her husband’s family, the concerned dad still needed to clear her name of the scandalous accusations. As a God-fearing, miracle-believing, 6th-century Christian, the father decided the most definitive way to vindicate his daughter was to swear to her innocence at an altar in the tomb of Saint Denis, with the implication being that God would smite him in some way if the oath was false. The husband’s family, also God-fearing Franks, agreed to the let the bride’s father testify to his daughter’s innocence before the altar of the saint. With the agreement made, the two sides appeared at the tomb in force, both well-armed and determined to win the dispute.
Both factions crowded into the tomb of Saint Denis as the father prepared to say his oath. In a dramatic display, the protective parent strode up to the altar, struck an impressive pose by raising his arms up toward the heavens, and boldly proclaimed before the attending masses that his daughter was innocent of the charges brought against her. To the father’s relief, he was not struck by lightning, nor stricken by blindness or made mute in the aftermath of his proclamation. Instead, nothing at all happened, giving the impression that God had fact-checked the statement and found it to be correct. Nevertheless, the husband’s stubborn family was determined to have their way.
When the oath at the tomb was completed, the husband’s supporters quickly accused the father of the bride with the crime of perjuring himself before Saint Denis and God. The bride’s family was infuriated by these new allegations and tempers flared on both sides. Before long, the armed factions began shouting and shoving and, finally, they drew their weapons to fight, then and there, in the tomb. Gregory of Tours vividly described the bizarre and chaotic skirmish:
“An argument ensued, in which they all drew their swords, rushed at each other and started killing each other in front of the altar. These men were of noble birth and among the leaders of Chilperic’s court. Many received sword-wounds, the holy church was spattered with human blood, the portals were pierced with swords and javelins, and weapons were drawn in senseless anger at the very tomb of Saint Denis” (History of the Franks, V.30).
No casualty count was recorded for the tomb-side brawl, but it must not have been too bad, for nobody involved faced serious punishment. King Chilperic imposed fines and threatened excommunication on the fighters, but as soon as the fines were paid, the excommunications were lifted. Unfortunately, the king decided to hold an official inquiry into the accusations of adultery that had been brought forward by the husband’s family. Faced with a trial, the runaway wife reportedly hanged herself.
Written by C. Keith Hansley.
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Giovanni Boccaccio (c. 1313-1375)
“I have noticed that most people, after reaching a certain age, try to forget that they were ever young.”
Saint Teresa of Avila (c. 1515-1582)
“Oh, the secrets of God! I should never weary of trying to describe them to you. If I thought I could do so successfully. I do not mind if I write any amount of nonsense, provided that just once in a way I can write sense, so that we may give great praise to the Lord.”
Word-of-mouth stories can produce incredibly odd tales when passed from culture to culture over the span of many years. One such gem of folklore fell into the hands of Abū Hāmid al-Gharnātī, a 12th-century traveler from Granada who wandered all the way to the convergence of the Volga and Oka rivers, in what is now Russia. While he was in these regions, Abū Hāmid was told a bizarre tale, which he recorded in a text called the Exposition of Some of the Wonders in the West. His chain of evidence, however, was a bit gossipy. Abū Hamīd learned the tale from a Volga Bulgar informant, who heard it from a trader from the northern Yūrā region, who, in turn, was probably told the tale by a Yūrā elder.
Abū Hāmid led up to this ‘wonder’ by describing the fishing practices of the Yūrā people, who hunted and fished in the arctic and subarctic regions of Russia. He described a ritual where the fishermen would drop a sword into the sea, and this would cause huge fish to rise to the surface—some modern historians propose this to be an embellished or misinterpreted description of harpoon-fishing. Whatever the case, the northern peoples of medieval Russia did indeed hunt large sea creatures, as goods like narwhal tusks were known to be bought and sold on the Volga River trade route.
According to Abū Hāmid, one such party of Yūrā whalers caught more than they expected during one of their fishing trips. As the story goes, the Yūrā did their ceremony of dropping a sword (or harpoon) into the sea and consequently a gigantic sea animal, supposedly the size of a mountain, came to the surface of the water. Perhaps the mountainous fish was too large to haul to shore, or maybe they could hear an odd sound coming from inside the creature—whatever the case, the whalers decided to butcher the creature immediately. Abū Hāmid described the peculiar scene: “Then they opened the ear of the fish and from within emerged a kind of girl, who looked like a human—white, with pink cheeks, black hair and plump buttocks, like the most attractive of women” (Exposition of Some of the Wonders in the West, Penguin edition pg. 73).
Evidently, the rescued woman found the creature’s ear to be quite comfortable, or she had been driven insane by the experience, for she began kicking and screaming and showing all the signs of dismay when she was pulled free of her fleshy cage. Nevertheless, the Yūra fishermen were able to convey the crazed woman back to land and adopted her into their way of life. After her supposed discovery in the ear of a giant fish, the woman apparently had a normal, uneventful life among the Yūrā. Abū Hāmid ended the story by simply stating “They kept that girl among them until she died. Truly, the power of God on High knows no limits!” (Exposition of Some of the Wonders in the West, Penguin edition pg. 73).
Written by C. Keith Hansley.
Picture Attribution: (modified and cropped public Domain mermaid illustration, via needpix.com and Creative Commons).
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Grettir the Strong (said to have lived c. 996-1031)
“Nothing given, nothing owed.”
The Xiongnu were a coalition of ancient nomadic or semi-nomadic peoples to the north and northwest of China, who, by the late 3rd century BCE, built an empire strong enough to pose an existential threat to the Chinese Qin and Han Dynasties. The first high-chief, or Shanyu, of the Xiongnu coalition that was known to Chinese sources was Touman. He was reportedly a contemporary of the First Emperor of the Qin Dynasty in the late 3rd century BCE. In Touman’s day, the Xiongnu were powerful, but their dominance was not yet firmly established over the other nomadic peoples of the region. One such rival nomadic group was the Yuezhi, to whom Touman apparently sent his son, Maodun, as a diplomat or political hostage. Yet, all was not as it seemed, for Touman and Maodun had very little in the way of a father-son bond. According to Chinese sources, Touman simply wished that his unwanted son would disappear in order to make life easier for his more favored children, so when Maodun reached his destination, Touman immediately attacked the Yuezhi despite what they might do to his son. Faced with this awkward situation, Maodun reportedly stole a horse, fought his way out of Yuezhi territory, and escaped to friendly land.
While Touman may have been disappointed at the survival of his son, the majority of the Xiongnu contrastingly looked upon Maodun’s escape with awe. Perhaps the incident convinced Touman to give his son a second chance, or maybe the escape from Yuezhi hands boosted Maodun’s reputation enough to obligate the Shanyu to give his son a reward—whatever the case, Maodun was reportedly put in command of 10,000 horsemen.
The Xiongnu were known to train in horsemanship and archery from early childhood, but Maodun brought training to a new level when he was given a military command. His program, according to Chinese sources, focused primarily on horse-archery drills and the cultivation of blind obedience. To contribute to both of these goals, Maodun reportedly developed an arrow that whistled as it flew through the air. Wherever Maodun shot this whistling projectile, he expected his horse archers to immediately launch their own arrows in the same direction without any hesitation—those who wavered were reportedly executed.
Maodun’s training began innocently enough. He was said to have brought his horsemen on hunting trips, shooting his whistling arrows at wild game. It was a simple start, but the horsemen were told if they did not meet Maodun’s expectations in speed and accuracy, then they would be executed. When the archers no longer gave any pause to taking shots at whichever animal they were told to target, Maodun began to escalate his training program.
Once the hunting phase was over, Maodun started the real obedience training. As the tale goes, he first shot one of his whistling arrows in the direction of his favorite horse. Some of the archers apparently thought this may have been a trick command and decided not to shoot at their leader’s beloved steed—these men were unfortunately mistaken in their thinking and were promptly executed. Next, Maodun reportedly sent a whistling arrow in the direction of his wife. Again, some of the horsemen hesitated to loose their arrows, and were executed for their show of care. Finally, Maodun shot a whistling arrow at the most prized horse of Shanyu Touman. This time, after so many executions, all of Maodun’s horsemen launched their arrows without any hesitation.
Around the time of the massive Chinese revolt against the Qin Dynasty in 209 BCE, Shanyu Touman and his son, Maodun, reportedly went on a hunting trip. Unfortunately, no father and son bonding would occur on that trip. Instead, Maodun, who was accompanied by some of his unquestioning horsemen, enacted his long-awaited plan to seize power. The account of Grand Historian Sima Qian (c.145-90 BCE) on this incident was as follows:
“Accompanying his father, the Shanyu Touman, on a hunting expedition, he [Maodun] shot a whistling arrow at his father and every one of his followers aimed their arrows in the same direction and shot theShanyu dead. Then Maodun executed his stepmother, his younger brother, and all the high officials of the nation who refused to take orders from him, and set himself up as the new Shanyu” (Shiji 110).
Under the leadership of the cunning and aggressive Maodun, the Xiongnu would conquer their fellow nomadic neighbors to create a great empire. During his long reign from about 209-174 BCE, Maodun greatly expanded his territory and often got the better of the Chinese Han Emperors.
Written by C. Keith Hansley.
Picture Attribution: (Painting of Xiongnu nomads, Henan Provincial Museum, Zhengzhou, [Public Domain] via flickr.com and Creative Commons).
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