Aristotle (c. 384-322 BCE)
“The accepted view of the magnanimous man is that his gait is measured, his voice deep, and his speech unhurried. For since he takes few things seriously, he is not excitable, and since he regards nothing as great, he is not highly strung”
Around the year 580, Bishop Gregory of Tours was accused of verbally slandering Queen Fredegund, the wife of King Chilperic of the Franks (r. 561-584). The accusers, Count Leudast of Tours and a subdeacon named Riculf, were personal enemies of the bishop, and Gregory was given the benefit of the doubt when the accusation was first leveled. Leudast and Riculf were detained and questioned by the cautious King Chilperic. Count Leudast was eventually freed, but subdeacon Riculf was held for more questions. While the interrogation of Riculf was underway, Leudast returned to Tours and arrested two of Bishop Gregory’s confidants, hoping to turn them against their friend. Although King Chilperic had imprisoned Gregory’s detractors, that did not mean that the bishop was in the clear. The royal family had little love for the bishop, as they had clashed in the past over moral, political, and theological issues. In the end, the king did eventually call a trial to investigate the accusations of slander, and Gregory of Tours’ fate would be decided by a panel of his fellow bishops assembled by the king at Berny-Rivière.
As the bishops were receiving their invitations to appear at Berny-Rivière for the trial, commoners began their own debates about Bishop Gregory’s culpability. A certain carpenter named Modestus was reportedly one of Gregory’s most outspoken defenders among the masses. The carpenter was so outspoken in his praises of Gregory and his criticisms of Riculf that news of Modestus’ speeches reached as far as the ears of Queen Fredegund, herself. Upon hearing of the carpenter’s actions, the queen was extremely displeased, as, by this time, she had come to believe the statements of the accusers and wanted Gregory to be put on trial. The carpenter’s protests, in Fredegund’s opinion, stood in the way of justice—therefore, she reportedly sent agents to have the man arrested.
The story of Modestus’ peculiar imprisonment was recorded by none other than Bishop Gregory of Tours, and, as such, it is unsurprising that the poor carpenter was presented in the kindliest and most gracious of words. Modestus, according to Gregory, was “arrested, put to the torture, beaten, loaded with chains and locked up in prison” (History of the Franks, V.49). While in custody, the chained carpenter was fasted to ‘the block’ and constantly watched by two guards. Yet, as midnight approached, bizarre occurrences would lead to a miraculous prison break.
As told by Bishop Gregory, the tale of Modestus’ great escape began with prayer. He prayed for deliverance from his unjust imprisonment, and specifically called on the spiritual support of Saint Martin of Tours and Saint Medard. While the carpenter prayed through the night, the two guards reportedly fell fast asleep, and, in their slumber, they remained oblivious to the miracles which supposedly resulted from the prisoner’s prayers. In response to the heavenly entreaties, Gregory of Tours claimed, “the chains broke asunder, the block split open, the prison-door was unlocked and Modestus marched out and into the church of Saint Medard, where I myself was that night keeping vigils” (History of the Franks, V.49).
The curious tale of Modestus, as far as Bishop Gregory was concerned, ended with the fugitive carpenter’s arrival at the church. No more information was recorded about Modestus’ further actions or fate. As for Gregory of Tours, he was indeed put on trial, but with the help of influential friends among the bishops, he was able to clear his name without too much trouble. With Gregory vindicated, the wrath of the clergy and kings rebounded against the accusers, Count Leudast and subdeacon Riculf, whose fates would be much less fortunate than that of Gregory.
Written by C. Keith Hansley
Picture Attribution: (The Prisoner by Eugène Delacroix (1798–1863), [Public Domain] via Creative Commons).
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The Buddha (c. 6th-5th century BCE)
“Look at this beautified image
composed of wounds amassed.
Full of sickness, yet desired by many,
it has neither permanence nor constancy.”
According to Norwegian-Icelandic tradition, a nobleman named Hjor ruled a domain between Hordaland and Rogaland in Norway around the early 9th century. Hjor often traveled and traded, which eventually brought him to Siberia, where he encountered a dark-skinned woman named Ljufvina. Hjor fancied the woman and wanted her as a wife or concubine. He got his wish, but sources disagree on if their relationship was brokered through a formal agreement with her tribe, or if Hjor simply dragged her to his ship and brought Ljufvina as a captive to Norway. Whatever the case, the two eventually had children, a pair of twin boys—Geirmund and Hamund.
As the story goes, the twins were born while Hjor was away trading or raiding. The boys had their mother’s dark skin tone, and Ljufvina feared how Hjor would react when he saw the appearance of his children. In an act of desperation, she found a maid who had recently given birth to a newborn boy and exchanged her own twins for the servant’s son. It was the maid’s child that Ljufvina was said to have presented to Hjor when he returned from his trip. Hjor, however, was instinctively suspicious and showed little affection for the imposter son. Ljufvina, it was said, eventually had a conversation with a wise local poet and their talk convinced her to bring Geirmund and Hamund to their father. Hjor, to his credit, found the twins to be fine young lads and viewed them much more favorably than the maid’s child.
Hjor gave both twins the nickname ‘Heljarskinn,’ which has been variously translated as Hel-Hide, Dark-Skin, Deathskin, or Hel-Skin. The name presumably likened the boys to Hel, a Norse deity of death, described by the Icelandic scholar Snorri Sturluson as “half black and half a lighter flesh colour and is easily recognized” (The Prose Edda, Gylfaginning, 34). Geirmund and Hamund embraced the name and were known by it for the rest of their lives.
Little is known about Hamund, but Geirmund Hel-Skin’s exploits were better documented. He reportedly managed a powerful domain in Rogaland, either in his own right, or at the behest of his father. The Icelandic Book of Settlements claimed Geirmund “became a warrior-king. He went on Viking expeditions to the British Isles, but ruled a kingdom in Rogaland” (Sturlubók manuscript, chapter 112). Geirmund Hel-Skin seemed to have neglected his duties in Norway to go on prolonged raids, and consequently remained abroad for most of the late 9th century. During his prolonged absence, things began to dramatically change in Norway—King Harald Finehair (r. 860-940) conquered his rival Norwegian kings and, by the end of the 9th century, became the first monarch to unify Norway under a single banner.
When the long-absent Geirmund Hel-Skin realized that his homeland was no longer independent, he decided to abandon Norway and search for a freer land. He and several friends and kinsmen eventually chose to start a new life on Iceland. They sailed to the Breidafjord region of Iceland, on the northwest of the island. There, Geirmund Hel-Skin masterfully used his life savings to claim a large personal domain, founding several farmsteads. With his wealth and influence, he hired a personal army to defend his territory and, if business negotiations with his neighbors failed, to seize coveted land by force. On Geirmund Hel-Skin’s lifestyle in Iceland, the Book of Settlements claimed “Whenever Geirmund traveled between his estates, he used to have eighty men with him. He had a great deal of money, and plenty of livestock….According to learned men, he was the noblest born of all the original settlers of Iceland” (Sturlubók manuscript, chapter 115). When Geirmund Hel-Skin eventually died, his friends and family reportedly gave him an honorable ship burial fit for a king.
Written by C. Keith Hansley
Picture Attribution: (Illustration for Henry Wadsworth Longfellow’s “The Saga of King Olaf” from Tales of a Wayside Inn, c. 1899, [Public Domain] via Creative Commons).
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King Harald II “Hardrada” Sigurdsson (c. 1015-1066)
“We never kneel in battle
Before the storm of weapons
And crouch behind our shields;
So the noble lady told me.
She told me once to carry
My head always high in battle
Where swords seek to shatter
The skulls of doomed warriors.”
Diego de Ordaz was a Spanish explorer and conquistador involved in several expeditions in the early 16th century. One such mission that he participated in was the famous adventure of Hernan Cortes, who entered Aztec politics like a wrecking ball in 1519. Not long before reaching Tenochtitlan (Mexico City) in November 1519, the conquistadors had seen a smoking mountain, called Popocatepetl, which remains one of Mexico’s most active volcanoes today. Hernan Cortes described the mountain and its plumes of smoke in a letter to his sovereign:
“By night as well as by day, a volume of smoke arises, equal in bulk to a spacious house; it ascends above the mountain to the clouds as straight as an arrow, and with such force, that although a very strong wind is always blowing on the mountain, it does not turn the smoke from its course” (Cortes’ Second Letter to Charles V, chapter 4, dated October 30, 1520).
The Spaniards were all reportedly intrigued about the volcano, but it was Diego de Ordaz whose curiosity was most stoked. He asked Cortes for permission to climb up to the smoky summit, which was granted, and set off toward Popocatepetl with two fellow Spaniards and a number of native allies. All of the natives who traveled with him reportedly refused to climb all the way up to the top of Popocatepetl, so Diego and his two companions had to make the final climb on their own. It must have been an intimidating experience, for the volcano was particularly active that day. Bernal Díaz del Castillo, another member of Hernan Cortes’ expedition, wrote, “Since settling in this country we have never seen the volcano belch so much fire as on that first occasion, nor heard it make so much noise” (Conquest of New Spain, chapter 78). At one point during their ascent, a violent outburst of flame, stones and ash from the summit forced Diego de Ordaz and his comrades to seek shelter for over an hour. Nevertheless, when the eruption died down again, the Spaniards continued their climb and were able to peek into the volcano’s crater, with Diego de Ordaz, of course, taking the first look.
As the first Spaniard to climb Popocatepetl, Diego de Ordaz became a celebrated figure not only to his fellow countrymen, but also apparently to the natives in the region who heard of his feat. After Hernan Cortes’ conquest of Tenochtitlan in 1521, Diego de Ordaz returned to Spain, where he hoped to convert his volcanic tale into a tangible symbol of nobility. Bernal Díaz del Castillo commented on Diego’s success in this matter, stating, “When Diego de Ordaz went to Castile he asked His Majesty to grant him the volcano as his coat-of-arms, which his nephew, who lives at Puebla, now bears” (Conquest of New Spain, chapter 78). After receiving his volcano-emblazed heraldry, Diego de Ordaz returned to the New World to continue his exploration of Central and South America. He died in 1532, while exploring around Venezuela.
Written by C. Keith Hansley.
Picture Attribution: (17th- century depiction of Diego de Ordaz and a photograph of Popocatepetl, both [Public Domain] via pixabay.com and Creative Commons).
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King Chilperic (r. 561-584) of the Franks was said to have dramatically raised taxes in his realm around 578 or 579. In particular, the landowners were hit hard by the policy, as, among other things, they were taxed per every half acre they owned, as well as the number of workers they employed. The new taxes were so unbearable that many people fled to the less-taxed lands of Chilperic’s fellow Merovingian co-kings, Guntram (r. 561-593) and Childebert II (r. 575-595). The rest who stayed in Chilperic’s kingdom divided into two camps—those who were willing to live with the new taxes, and those who wished to stop the implementation of the new tax code.
The landowners of Limoges were in the latter camp and were willing to go to extremes to resist the taxes. According to Bishop Gregory of Tours (c. 539-594), a tax collector named Mark was responsible for implementing the new code in Limoges. As could be expected, Mark’s occupation made him extremely unpopular in the region. When Mark attempted to collect the tax, the people of Limoges erupted into a violent mob and attempted to kill the official. The beleaguered tax collector reportedly only survived because he was given shelter by Bishop Ferreolus. With Mark off limits, the mob went for the next best thing—the tax books and records. After seizing all of the tax collector’s documents, the rioters built a great bonfire and burned every tax-related item they could find.
King Chilperic was reportedly outraged at the insurrection that occurred in Limoges. According to Gregory of Tours, the king’s response to the city was brutal. Troops and officials were sent to Limoges to enforce law and order. Those who were believed to be ringleaders of the riot were rounded up, tortured and executed, apparently including a few local priests. After meting out these punishments, King Chilperic then reimposed his taxes on the city at an even greater rate than had been originally demanded. Fortunately for the city, the new tax code only lasted until 580. Yet, it was bittersweet news, for the taxes were lowered in response to a widespread epidemic of dysentery in France.
Written by C. Keith Hansley.
Picture Attribution: (The Village Lawyer’s Office, by Pieter Breughel the Younger (1564–1638), [Public Domain] via Creative Commons).
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Geoffrey Chaucer (c. 1342-1400)
“God has some secrets that we shouldn’t know.
How blessed are the simple, aya, indeed,
That only know enough to say their creed!”
In late 401 BCE, an army of over 10,000 Greek hoplite mercenaries fought on the side of the rebel, Cyrus the Younger, against King Artaxerxes II of Persia at the Battle of Cunaxa, which took place somewhere in Babylonia. The rebel leader, Cyrus, was slain during the battle, but the Greek mercenaries survived remarkably intact. With their employer dead and the rebellion crushed, the Greek mercenaries found themselves in an incredibly precarious situation—they were deep in foreign territory beside an army of the king they had just tried to kill. Nevertheless, the two sides maintained peace for a time.
A truce was brokered and Artaxerxes II entrusted the handling of the Greek problem to several governing satraps, including Tissaphernes, a Persian noble who was often entangled in Greco-Persian issues. The mercenaries and the watchful Persians coexisted as the Greeks marched past several villages and cities, yet at a place along what was called the Zapatas River, the situation changed drastically. Both sides blamed the other for the breakdown in relations. Greeks accused the Persians of treachery, while Persians decried the mercenaries for looting. Both sides were partially right—it appears that Tissaphernes provided the Greeks too little food at too high a price, and the mercenaries scavenged for food out of necessity. Whatever the case, the Persians arrested twenty-five of the highest-ranking mercenary officers and executed them, some immediately, and others at a later date.
After the arrest of the mercenary commanders, a group of around one hundred surviving field officers gathered to elect new leadership. The two most important of these newly elected mercenary generals were Chirisophus (a Spartan who would command the front) and Xenophon, an Athenian who took command of the rear guard. That same Xenophon would later write down the experiences of these mercenaries, remembered as the Ten Thousand, in his Anabasis Kyrou (The Upcountry March/Expedition of Cyrus).
Under the leadership of the likes of Chirisophus and Xenophon, the mercenaries began the next phase of their journey. Persians forces were now openly hostile to the Greek mercenaries, and the stranded warriors-for-hire were often stalked and harassed. Yet, the Greeks were not the only people endangered because of the breakdown in relations. As the Greeks were no longer provided with a supply line by the Persians satraps, local villages and cities (with their food, shelter and wealth) became more and more tempting to the army of hungry mercenaries. In consequence of their foraging and looting, the Greek mercenaries made many enemies during their journey through Mesopotamia and Armenia, and finally the shores of the Black Sea.
Around 400 BCE, the mercenaries reached the Greek-populated city of Trapezus, located on the southeast end of the Black Sea. By this point, the discipline that had allowed the mercenaries to survive Persian armies and local militias in multiple roadblocks, mountain ambushes, and full-scale battles began to diminish. Upon reaching the coast of the Black Sea, more and more mercenaries began to seek loot to the point of insubordination against their commanders. To keep the troops happy (and fed), the mercenary generals were now always on the lookout for places to pillage.
The city of Trapezus was spared, but the region surrounding it was foraged to the extent that scavengers sent out by the mercenaries were gone for more than a day before returning with supplies. Meanwhile, the mercenaries received one or two ships from the Trapezuntians, with which the mercenaries tried their hand at piracy and commandeered several unlucky merchant vessels. Eventually, the people of Trapezus thought of a way to gain a respite from their rowdy guests—they sent the mercenaries off to raid a rival people, called the Drilae. Half of the mercenary army accepted the plan and invaded the Drilae lands, where they besieged and broke into a stronghold and gathered as much loot as they could before being forced out by local opposition.
After the raiders returned from the territory of the Drilae, the mercenaries decided to resume their travels. They had not commandeered enough ships to carry the reported 8,600 mercenaries who were still fit to fight, but some of the camp followers and injured were able to sail alongside the marching adventurers. Departing from Trapezus, the mercenaries and their rag-tag fleet of commandeered ships reached the nearby city of Cerasus. This city, too, was mainly populated by Greeks. Yet, the rowdiness of the mercenaries was increasing and they showed this city less respect than they did Trapezus.
According to Xenophon, a certain Clearetus and a band of warriors went rogue and attacked some villages that were under the protection of Cerasus. Three elders from the afflicted villages traveled to Cerasus to report the incident. They delivered their message, but were soon after murdered by some of the guilty mercenaries. The mercenaries also caused trouble for the Greek inhabitants of Cerasus—Xenophon claimed that a mob of angry mercenaries tried to stone an unfortunate market official named Zelarchus to death.
From Cerasus, the mercenaries bumbled their way into the midst of a civil war among a group of people known as the Mossynoecians, which roughly translates to ‘those who live in wooden towers.’ The mercenaries joined the rebel side of the conflict and besieged what the Greeks thought was the capital city of the region. The mercenaries captured the city for the rebels, but not before looting the buildings and setting fire to its wooden structures.
After helping the rebel Mossynoecians win their war, the mercenaries continued their march westward along the coast of the Black sea. They then reached the Chalybian people, who were likely spared maltreatment because they were subjects or allies of the Mossynoecian regime that the mercenaries had just helped. After the Chalybians, the Greeks encountered a group called the Tibarenians. The appraising eye of the mercenaries recognized that the land would be easy for an army to maneuver over and that the Tibarenian settlements were poorly defended. It was a tempting target for even the most pacifistic of the mercenary leaders. The Tibarenians, who likely had heard tales of the devastation left behind in the wake of this mercenary army, sent out delegates to offer the foreigners friendship and military access. Xenophon (in third person perspective) gave a blunt account of the his and his comrades’ response to these delegates: “The generals wanted to attack the villages, to give the men a little something by way of profit, so they refused to accept the tokens of friendship which arrived from the Tibarenians, but told them to wait until they had decided what to do” (Anabasis Kyrou, Book V, section 5).
After delivering this eerie response, the mercenary generals called for animal sacrifices to be performed and had diviners read omens to determine if the gods were in favor of the Greeks attacking the Tibarenians. As stated earlier, the mercenary commanders were eager to attack, so when the first sacrifice and omen reading produced a disappointing outcome, they sacrificed a second time…and a third time, so on and so forth. Xenophon described their battle with the will of the gods: “They performed sacrifices, and eventually, after many victims had been sacrificed, the diviners unanimously declared that the gods were absolutely opposed to war” (Anabasis Kyrou, Book V, section 5). With no divine support for the planned raids, the mercenaries accepted the friendship of the Tibarenian people and marched peacefully through their land to reach the Greek-inhabited city of Cotyora.
The Tibarenians were lucky, for when the mercenaries reached Cotyora, they quickly began to cause drama. Although the city and the mercenaries initially exchanged cheerful greetings, held religious processions and competed in athletic contests, the warriors-for-hire soon began to cause tension by scavenging from the local villages. The mercenaries caused such a stir that delegates from the powerful city of Sinope (the colonizer of Trapezus, Cerasus and Cotyora) arrived on the scene and told the mercenaries to behave themselves or face dire consequences.
The army, however, did not change their ways. They went on to threaten Sinope to send a fleet of transport ships for the mercenaries to use, and later attempted to extort money from the city of Heraclea. Even after the mercenaries reached Byzantium—the seat of Spartan power in the region—the roaming army remained chaotic. The mercenaries momentarily occupied Byzantium, forcing the Spartan officials to seek shelter in a stronghold. Yet, there were smooth-talkers in the ranks of the mercenaries who were able to miraculously talk the Spartans out of imposing any drastic consequences. Instead, the army left the city and offered their services to Prince Seuthes of Thrace.
Written by C. Keith Hansley
Picture Attribution: (Sketch of the Ten Thousand reaching the Black Sea, by Bernard Granville Baker (1870-1957), [Public Domain] via Creative Commons).
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