Giovanni Boccaccio (c. 1313-1375)
“I maintain that if one conducts one’s life virtuously, there is no reason to be afraid of any dream that encourages one to behave differently or to abandon one’s good intentions because of it.”
In the mid-7th century, the realm of the emperors of Constantinople came under attack from aggressive Arab armies. During the reign of the first caliph, Abū Bakr (r. 632-634), Arab forces began expanding into the regions of Jordan, Palestine, Syria and Iraq, and these expansionist wars increased dramatically during the reigns of Umar I (r. 634-644) and Uthman (r. 644-656). Mind you, this new wave of warfare hit the emperors of Constantinople just after they had been exhausted from a destructive war with Persia that lasted from 602 to 628, and was compounded by an ongoing struggle with the Lombards in Italy that had been raging since King Alboin led his Lombard people into Constantinople’s Italian lands around 568. Suffice it to say, the military might of Constantinople had been depleted over the decades of war, and its resources and morale were being stretched thin after so many conflicts. Taking advantage of Constantinople’s weakened state and the growing discontent in the empire (causing the further trouble of rebellions), the Arab forces had success in winning battles and seizing land from the Empire of Constantinople. The formidable but increasingly ill Emperor Heraclius (r. 610-641), who had previously brought the empire of Persia to its knees, now found he could do little but try to defensively mitigate the damage of invasion, while also striving to fortify and garrison Anatolia. Yet, Emperor Heraclius could only do so much before he died in 641, and his immediate successors proved to be a destabilizing and ineffective bunch, causing more vulnerabilities and rebellions that were taken advantage of by the empire’s opportunistic rivals. Arab conquests and victories in battle, in turn, caused a great many prisoners to fall into the hands of the Arab forces.
By 654 or 655, during the reigns of Emperor Constans II of Constantinople (r. 641-668) and caliph Uthman (r. 644-656), many warriors fighting on the side of Constantinople had been captured by the Arab forces and were being held as prisoners of war. The skilled general and future Umayyad ruler, Muawiyah (or Mu’awiya), in particular, had taken a great many prisoners and he reportedly decided to funnel a large portion of his captives to a camp in the region known as Phoenician Tripolis. Muawiyah appointed a deputy to oversee the prisoners who were gathered in the area while he personally continued waging his military campaigns elsewhere. The absence of Muawiyah at Tripolis, however, gave local dissidents a chance to cause some disruptions in Tripolis.
As the story goes, two local brothers (identified as the sons of a certain Bucinator) led a prison-break that freed the captives at Tripolis. Their plot was evidently a great success and caught the local authorities completely by surprise. After being freed and armed to some extent, the army of prisoners was said to have charged their way to the location of the leading official in Tripolis. This local leader was reportedly killed by the rioting prisoners, and after the killing was done, the prisoners retreated from Tripolis, setting out in hopes of returning to the heartland of the empire of Constantinople. This curious incident was recorded by the chronicler, Theophanes (c. 750-818), who wrote:
“In this year [Annus Mundi 6146 / 654-655 CE] Muawiyah ordered a great force of ships readied for an expedition against Constantinople. All this preparation took place in Phoenician Tripolis. Two Christ-loving brothers—the sons of Bucinator—who were staying in Tripolis noticed this. Overcome by divine zeal, they hurried to the city’s prison (which held a host of Roman prisoners), broke open its gates, and rushed against the city’s emir. They killed him and his men, burned all their gear, and sailed to Romania” (Theophanes, Chrtonographia, entry for Annus Mundi 6146).
According to Theophanes, the sons of Bucinator successfully escaped Tripolis and eventually reached Constantinople, where they joined the entourage of Emperor Constans II. As for the Arab response to the prison break, Muawiyah kept a level head while he regained control of the situation. He sent a new deputy to oversee the city and to resume gathering supplies and troops for future military operations. The prison break, despite killing the previous local leader and destroying some supplies, apparently did not do too much damage to Tripolis and its stockpiles, for the new leader appointed to the region was quickly able to start using Tripolis as a base from which to attack the forces of Constantinople.
Written by C. Keith Hansley
Picture Attribution: (Illustration of Constantinople from Cassell’s Illustrated Universal History, c. 19th century, [Public Domain] via Creative Commons, Europeana and The British Library).
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This painted illustration, by the Danish artist Lorenz Frølich (1820-1908), depicts the powerful figure, Odin—the leading deity of the pantheon of Norse gods and goddesses. Often portrayed as a wise and brooding god with an insatiable desire for secrets, Odin’s mythical adventures were usually driven by his gloomy knowledge that he and most of his divine kinsmen were doomed to die at the end-times of Ragnarök, and so he restlessly searched for knowledge or power to avert the doom of his godly family. Odin’s divine jurisdiction and his areas of patronage are hinted at by the god’s many nicknames. A prolific Icelandic poet, author, mythographer, historian and chieftain, Snorri Sturluson (c. 1179-1241), listed Odin’s most informative titles, writing, “Odin is called All-Father, because he is the father of all the gods. He is also called Father of the Slain, because all who fall in battle are his adopted sons. With them he mans Valhalla and Vingolf, and they are known as the Einherjar. He is also called Hanga-God [God of the Hanged], Hapta-God [God of Prisoners] and Farma-God [God of Cargoes]…” (Snorri Sturluson, Prose Edda, Gylfaginning, chapter 20). These titles hint at Odin’s role as the patriarch of the gods, as well as his involvement in aspects of war, imprisonment, death and traveling. Along with the god, himself, the artist also added to the artwork Odin’s magical spear, Gungnir, and made sure to include the god’s animal companions—a pair of ravens and two attending wolves. As told by Snorri Sturluson, “[Odin] gives the food on his table to his two wolves, Geri and Freki” (Prose Edda, Gylfaginning, chapter 38). While these wolves ate heartily at Valhalla, Odin’s ravens played a more active role in the god’s search for secrets and information. Snorri Sturluson wrote, “Two ravens sit on Odin’s shoulders, and into his ears they tell all the news they see or hear. Their names are Hugin [Thought] and Munin [Mind, Memory]. At sunrise he sends them off to fly throughout the whole world, and they return in time for the first meal. Thus he gathers knowledge about many things that are happening, and so people call him the raven god” (Prose Edda, Gylfaginning, chapter 38). Such is the scene that Lorenz Frølich created in his artwork. It shows Odin, likely resting in Valhalla, with his wolves, Geri and Freki, lounging by his feet, and the ravens, Hugin and Munin, perching on the armrests of the throne.
Written by C. Keith Hansley
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Aristotle (c. 384-322 BCE)
“It is clear then that those constitutions which aim at the common good are right, as being in accord with absolute justice; while those which aim only at the good of the rulers are wrong. They are all deviations from the right constitutions. They are like the rule of master over slave, whereas the state is an association of free men.”
In the Roman Empire of the 1st and 2nd centuries, there lived two lawyers known as Lustricius Bruttianus and Montanius Atticinus. The latter of the two, Atticinus, reportedly specialized in wills and financial matters, offering his services in this purview to clients. The other lawyer mentioned, Bruttianus, was one of Atticinus’ many clients and they were also originally close friends. Yet, Bruttianus was not an average customer. He had an inquisitive nature, and rather than leave Montanius Atticinus to his own devices on the work he was being paid to do, Bruttianus was instead drawn to take peeks at the will and other documents that he had Atticinus working on. While taking these curious ganders, Bruttianus was horrified to discover that Atticinus had been criminally doctoring the will and other inheritance documents that Bruttianus had hired him to prepare. Bruttianus, being a lawyer himself, knew the laws that Atticinus was breaking, and he knew how to fast-track a criminal conduct investigation. As such, he began quickly drafting a report that would be promptly sent to Rome. Atticinus, however, realized that his relationship with Bruttianus had soured, and assuming that his criminal behavior had been discovered, Atticinus frantically tried to get ahead of the danger by alleging false charges against his accuser, Lustricius Bruttianus. The allegations of the two lawyers reached Rome and were taken up by the senate and the emperor. There, the case piqued the interest of another inheritance law specialist, Pliny the Younger (c. 61/62-113), who recorded a description of the dramatic trial. He wrote:
“Lustricius Bruttianus had detected his colleague, Montanius Atticinus, in a number of criminal offences and had sent a report to the Emperor. Atticinus then added to his misdeeds by bringing a case against the friend he had deceived. The trial came on, and I acted as assessor. Each side conducted his own case, dealing with the main items one by one, which is the quickest way at arriving at the truth. Bruttianus produced his will, which he said was written in the hand of Atticinus, as a proof both of the confidence he had placed in their relationship and of the necessity which constrained him to complain about a man who had been so dear to him. He cited a number of shocking charges, all clearly proved… [Atticinus] had bribed a slave belonging to Bruttianus’ secretary, had intercepted certain papers and falsified some of them, and, worst of all, had directed a charge intended for himself against his friend” (Pliny the Younger, Letters, 6.22).
Although Montanius Atticinus tried to piece together a semblance of a defense, inquisitive Lustricius Bruttianus brought with him enough evidence and proof to demolish his former friend in court. The senate and the emperor, convinced by what they heard and saw in the trial, dropped all of the charges that had been lodged against Bruttianus, and contrastingly, they convicted Atticinus of his illegal activity. During sentencing, Atticinus was ultimately banished by the emperor to an undisclosed island.
Written by C. Keith Hansley
Picture Attribution: (Tombstone stele of the twins Rhode and Rhodope, dated between 100-120, [Public Domain] via Creative Commons and the National Museum in Warsaw).
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This painting, from the Flemish artist Jan Brueghel the Elder (c. 1568-1625), was inspired by a story written by the Roman poet, Ovid (43 BCE-17 CE), about the divine family of Latona (known as Leto to the Greeks). She was the mother of the twin deities, Apollo and Diana (aka Artemis), who are depicted as newborns in the painting. The father of the children was the mighty arch-god, Jupiter (or Zeus), but as he was already married to a wrathful queen goddess, Leto decided to go into hiding with her newborns to keep them away from Jupiter’s jealous wife. This brings us to Latona’s encounter with the Lycian peasants. As the story goes, wearied Latona reached a certain small marshy lake in Lycia not long after she gave birth to her twins. She was understandably tired and irritable at this point, and she desperately wanted to drink a handful or two of water from the pond. Nevertheless, local farmers—the so-called Lycian peasants—did not react kindly to the appearance of the mysterious woman with her twin babies. When Latona began trying to drink some of the water, the locals started to heckle her and some went so far as to stomp and splash in the water, making it too muddy to drink. Prior to this rude display from the locals, Latona had evidently been concealing her divine nature (she and her children were in hiding, after all), but the behavior of the Lycian peasants ultimately caused the goddess to lash out with her godly powers. As narrated by the Roman poet, Ovid:
“[The Lycian peasants] even disturbed the water itself
with their hands and feet, and spitefully stirred the soft and swirling
mud right up from the bottom by jumping wildly about.
Latona’s anger made her forget her thirst for the moment.
She refused to humble herself any longer before these louts
or to plead any more for kindness in such an ungoddesslike manner.
She raised her hands to the heavens and cried, ‘May you live in your filthy
pool for ever!’ Her prayer was answered.
…
[E]ven today they continue to wag
their tongues in loud and unseemly arguments; shameless as ever,
although they are under the water, they’ll try to indulge in abuse.
Their voices too have gone hoarse; their throats are inflated and swollen;
their noisy quarrels have stretched their jaws to a hideous width.
Their shoulders rise to their heads as their necks appear to have vanished;
their backs are green, while their huge protruding bellies are white.
They leap about in the muddy pool transmuted to frogs.’”
(Ovid, Metamorphoses, book 6, approximately lines 363-381)
It is this tale of the rude Lycians and Latona’s revenge that inspired Jan Brueghel the Elder’s painting. Latona and her children can be seen by the water’s edge at the bottom left corner of the artwork, talking to two peasants whose heads have already taken on frog-like features. Ironically for the Lycian peasants, although being turned into frogs is not a pleasant fate, they might also be counted as lucky that they got off with such a light punishment after slighting Latona. Especially after Apollo and Diana grew up, Latona and her children proved to be an incredibly wrathful and brutal trio.
Written by C. Keith Hansley
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Machiavelli (c. 1469-1527)
“There are three different kinds of brains, the one understands things unassisted, the other understands things when shown by others, the third understands neither alone nor with the explanations of others. The first kind is most excellent, the second also excellent, but the third useless.”
In the mid-11th century BCE, the realm of the ancient Shang Dynasty in China (flourished approximately 1600–1046 BCE) was challenged by a certain King Wen, who placed his own Zhou family atop a powerful coalition of peoples from the west and used this force to wage war against the Shang Dynasty’s territory. King Wen’s wave of conquest was completed by his heir, King Wu of Zhou (r. 1046-1042 BCE), who was considered the first ruler of the Zhou Dynasty after it replaced the Shang clan as the hegemons of ancient China.
Although the Shang clan was dethroned, they were not annihilated. Instead, after the war, a great many members of the Shang family were spared and given the opportunity to rejoin society and be of use to the Zhou family. Most famously, legend held that King Wu of the Zhou Dynasty admired a certain virtuous nobleman of the Shang family who had criticized his own family’s rule before the downfall of the Shang Dynasty. King Wu, for his part, reportedly respected the man’s character and was willing to give the former dissident Shang nobleman a place in the Zhou Dynasty’s administration. The man in question (unfortunately left unnamed) was allowed to hold the rank of a viscount and his father reportedly became the vassal king of Yin. Like this vassal king, there were other existing Shang Dynasty holdovers who, too, were allowed to remain in positions of power. The viscount, in particular, became something of an agent and an advisor to King Wu, helping the ruler to implement his administration. He also reportedly was an educator of sorts, imparting knowledge to the king about anything the royal wanted to learn. King Wu’s reign, however, was relatively short, and when he died around 1042 BCE, surviving members of the Shang clan were tempted to act out against the new ruling family.
King Wu was succeeded by his young son, King Cheng of Zhou (r. 1042-1020/1005 BCE), whose rule was complicated by his many overbearing uncles—numbering around nine—as well as the disgruntled remnants of the dethroned Shang Dynasty family. Some disloyal uncles of the king and rebellious Shang family vassals launched dangerous revolts, but King Cheng’s trusted regents and loyalists, headed by the king’s revered uncle, the Duke of Zhou, quashed the outbreaks of rebellion. The aforementioned viscount reportedly remained firmly on the side of King Cheng. Yet, in an uncomfortable twist of events, the viscount’s father—the vassal king of Yin—was involved in a rebellion against King Cheng. The viscount, for his loyalty, was granted the lofty title of High Noble of the East and was tasked with overseeing the ritual ceremonies that honored the ancestors of his family. Other surviving Shang family members, however—after the latest bouts of rebellion and resistance—were not given the same respect and freedoms as the High Noble of the East. Instead, the Shang family members were rounded up and herded to a brand-new capital city that was being built by two of King Cheng’s uncles, the Duke of Zhou and the Duke of Shao, along the banks of the Luo River (also called Luoyi, approximately in modern Luoyang, Henan). The Shang clan would be moving to this new capital, named Luo or Luoyang, and King Cheng of Zhou would not take no as an answer. A text called the Shang Shu (variously translated as The Book of Documents or The Most Venerable Book), which originated in the days before Confucius (c. 551-479 BCE), purported to quote a proclamation from King Cheng that was narrated by the Duke of Zhou. It stated:
“I have built this great city of Luo to be a place where the whole country can find a focal point and where every prince can come to offer tribute and as the place where my ministers can serve. I invite you [Shang clan members] to settle here, as esteemed guests. You will retain all your lands, so you can afford to dwell here in honourable peace. Heaven will be kind to you if you show obedience and respect. But if you do not, then not only will you lose all your lands, but Heaven will exact revenge against you personally.” (Shang Shu, chapter 42)
Such was the ultimatum that was given—move to the new capital and live under close supervision, or face punishment and the seizure of everything you hold dear. With the previous rebellions already crushed, it was not too difficult to get the Shang clan to comply, albeit with some grumbling. There, besides appearances from the king, the Shang family members also had to watch out for the lofty figure of the Duke of Zhou, who was tasked by King Cheng with staying at Luo for the foreseeable future to oversee the region and attend to the needs of government, including keeping an eye on the Shang clan.
Written by C. Keith Hansley
Picture Attribution: (cropped Barbarian Royalty Worshiping the Buddha, attributed to Zhao Guangfu (c. 923-976), [Public Domain] via Creative Commons and the Cleveland Museum of Art).
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This painting, by the Swedish artist August Malmström (c. 1829-1901), was inspired by famous Germanic and Norse legends involving a woman named Aslög (or Aslaug). Her tale is intertwined with the stories of several famous figures. Most notably, Aslög would become a companion of the storied Viking-era adventurer, Ragnar Lodbrok. Yet, long before that future encounter, Aslög was already tied to other celebrated characters—her legendary parents. Aslög’s father was said to have been the Norse dragon-slaying hero, Sigurd (equivalent to the Germanic hero, Siegfried), and her mother was Brynhild, a shield-maiden and alleged Valkyrie. The tragic romance of Sigurd and Brynhild, however, did not last. Both Sigurd and Brynhild married different people and neither parent wanted to bring Aslög along into their new households. Instead, Brynhild tasked her foster father and brother-in-law, Heimir (or Heimer), with the responsibility of looking after Aslög. Heimir agreed to the proposal, and he cared for young Aslög as Brynhild and Sigurd self-destructed.
As the story goes, when Heimir eventually received the sad news that Sigurd and Brynhild were both dead, he assumed that Aslög might be in danger from enemies and opportunists. Therefore, Heimir decided to hide the girl. He was said to have assumed the guise of a traveling musician, and in the wooden body of his musical instrument—a harp—there was a compartment in which little Aslög could fit herself, along with some extra supplies. This was mentioned in the Saga of Ragnar Lodbrok, which stated, “He had a harp made that was so large that he put the girl Aslaug inside it, along with many precious objects of gold and silver. Then he went away and traveled widely throughout the land…” (Saga of Ragnar Lodbrok, chapter 1). Journeying in that peculiar way, Heimir and hidden Aslög fatefully arrived one day on the farm of an old couple named Åke and Grimma (also spelled Aki and Grima). Unfortunately for the travelers, all their time on the road had not been kind to Heimir’s disguise and the harp’s integrity. Åke and Grimma witnessed coins falling out of the harp, and also saw bits of fine clothing bursting through the joints of the wooden instrument. Consumed by greed, the couple decided to murder Heimir and take his treasure for themselves. They attacked the weary traveler with an axe while he slept and ran off to inspect the harp as he lay dying. The Saga of Ragnar Lodbrok described what happened next: “Now they kindled a fire, and the old woman took the harp and tried to open it. She couldn’t get it open in any other way than breaking it, because she didn’t have the skill. But once she got the harp opened up, there she saw a girl-child, and she thought that she had never seen anyone like her” (Saga of Ragnar Lodbrok, chapter 1).
Such is the scene that August Malmström re-created in his painting. It is set just after the murder of Heimir, and shows Åke and Grimma breaking into the compartment of the harp, discovering Aslög inside. With nowhere else for the child to go, Aslög ended up living with the murderers, who gave the girl a new name—Kraka. She would remain with the family of criminals for years, until fate finally brought her into contact with the legendary Ragnar Lodbrok.
Written by C. Keith Hansley
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Jean-Jacques Rousseau (c. 1712-1778)
“Beware particularly, as the last piece of advice I shall give you, of sinister constructions and venomous rumours, the secret motives of which are often more dangerous than the actions at which they are levelled.”
