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The Odd Lifestyle Of Zhou Ren

By
thehistorianshut
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In China during the 2nd century BCE, there lived an interesting fellow named Zhou Ren. He hailed from the region now known as Jining, Shandong, and through unknown means he managed to ingratiate himself into the imperial court of Emperor Wen (r. 180-157 BCE). While Emperor Wen was still alive, Zhou Ren became a palace counselor and joined the retinue of the imperial heir apparent, the future Emperor Jing. Before the ascendance to the throne of Emperor Jing (r. 157-141 BCE), Zhou Ren became one of the new emperor’s closest and most intimate friends. Almost immediately after Jing became emperor, he appointed Zhou Ren to be the chief or chamberlain of all the palace attendants—a position Zhou Ren would hold for the remainder of the emperor’s reign.

Zhou Ren definitely was an oddball. He was described as something of an ascetic when it came to physical appearance and wealth. Even if a crowd of courtiers surrounded him, the peculiar figure of Zhou Ren could be immediately and easily identified from the rest of the masses. While other members of the court dressed in the latest fashions, Zhou Ren reportedly wore tattered robes that were barely kept intact by a network of sewn patches. His clothes were not only frayed and ripped, but also horribly dirty. Grand Historian Sima Qian (c. 145-90 BCE) described the striking visual and aromatic experience of meeting Zhou Ren: “He always went about in a worn and patched robe and urine-stained trousers, purposely presenting a dirty and unattractive appearance” (Shi Ji, 103).

Despite Zhou Ren’s monk-like asceticism in regards to clothing and wealth, he was allegedly far from restrained when it came to more sensual matters. Sima Qian categorized Zhou Ren as one of the “emperor’s male favorites” and, although the historian did not definitively state that Zhou Ren and Emperor Jing were more than friends, he did write that “it is not women alone who can use their looks to attract the eyes of the ruler” (Shi Ji, 125). Whatever the truth may be, Zhou Ren was evidently one of the emperor’s most favored and trusted courtiers. With trust came access to restricted quarters, and before long, Zhou Ren was able to wander in places where others could only dream of exploring. Sima Qian wrote, “Emperor Jing favored him and allowed him to go in and out of his private chambers; whenever there were secret revels in the women’s quarters Zhou Ren was always present” (Shi Ji, 103).

Despite rumors of Zhou Ren’s mysterious visits to Emperor Jing’s private chambers, women’s quarters and other such “dubious means to gain intimacy with the emperor” (Shi Ji, 103), Zhou Ren otherwise lived a virtuous and humble life in the imperial court. The reason he never was promoted from his position as chief of the palace attendants was apparently because Zhou Ren simply refused all offers of advancement. Similarly, he was said to never accept bribes, gifts or favors from courtiers or nobles. Zhou Ren’s reputation persisted even after the death of his patron, Emperor Jing, in 141 BCE. The new ruler, Emperor Wu, treated Zhou Ren with respect, but the aging chief palace attendant soon decided to retire. Although Zhou Ren never used his proximity to the emperors to ascend the social ladder, his children and grandchildren profited greatly from his intimacy with the imperial family. Sima Qian wrote that a majority of Zhou Ren’s descendants were given prominent positions in government.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Picture Attribution: (Illustration of a Daoist immortal by Zhang Lu (1464–1538), [Public Domain] via Creative Commons).

Sources:

The Life Of St. Magnus And His Supernatural Revenge

By
thehistorianshut
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Around 1098, the Norwegian crown placed Orkney under direct royal control, but Hakon Paulsson, the son of a formal jarl of the region, was appointed to govern Orkney within a year or two after Sigurd the Crusader became king of Norway in 1103. Jarl Hakon Paulsson was portrayed as a willing retainer of the Norwegian kings in the Orkneyinga saga. Yet, Hakon had a cousin called Magnus Erlendsson who was less enthusiastic about being ordered around. Instead of behaving like Hakon Paulsson and serving his Norwegian liege, Magnus Erlendsson fled to Scotland and found shelter with King Edgar (r. 1097-1107). Magnus’ stay in Scotland, however, was only temporary and he decided to return home not long after Jarl Hakon Paulsson was appointed as jarl of Orkney.

Like Hakon, Magnus Erlendsson’s father was also a former jarl of the islands and he intended to press his claim. Multiple jarls coexisting in Orkney was nothing new—according to the Orkneyinga saga, the practice of dividing the governance of Orkney into halves and thirds was at least a century old by that time. When Magnus Erlendsson arrived in Orkney, he had powerful friends that flocked to back his claim, and the island population seemed accepting to the idea of a second jarl. Hakon Paulsson was undoubtedly less than enthusiastic about sharing power with his cousin, but he was convinced to accept the Norwegian crown’s decision on whether Magnus Erlendsson should become a jarl. The claimant sailed to Norway around 1107 and, to Hakon’s disappointment, Magnus Erlendsson was recognized as a rightful jarl of Orkney.

As Jarl Magnus was later considered a saint, it is not surprising that he was described as a tremendously virtuous man. He reportedly avoided war at all cost—his self-imposed exile to Scotland was allegedly done so that he would not be forced to go on Viking raids with his liege. Yet, when it came to upholding law, Jarl Magnus was a staunch defender of the people, going to great lengths to hunt down thieves and murderers. He strove to help the poor and was never stingy with his wealth. As for Magnus’ personal life, he married a Scottish noblewoman, but he publicly behaved with such purity and restraint that the people of Orkney swore that he remained chaste during the entirety of the marriage.

After several years of joint rule, Jarl Hakon and Jarl Magnus found that they no longer could coexist. For unknown reasons, the faction of Hakon Paulsson began a civil war against the supporters of Magnus Erlendsson. Both sides eventually agreed to a peace meeting on Egilsay, which was set to occur just after Easter. Both jarls agreed to arrive on the island with only two ships. Magnus Erlendsson followed the prearranged agreement to the letter, sailing with a pair of ships and a limited amount of guards. Jarl Hakon, however, arrived with eight ships and captured Magnus without a fight. With his rival in his grasp, Hakon showed no mercy and ordered that Magnus be executed. According to legend, Hakon had a difficult time forcing his soldiers to carry out the order against such a virtuous man—one executioner was said to have refused the job outright and the replacement headsman allegedly began to cry as he prepared for his task. Nevertheless, Jarl Magnus, himself, was said to have consoled the executioner, forgave him for his sin, and encouraged him to swing true. In 1117, apparently with soldiers singing hymns in the background, Jarl Magnus Erlendsson was executed and Hakon seized the whole of Orkney. After the deed was done, Jarl Magnus’ body was brought to Mainland, Orkney, and entombed at Christ Church.

Magnus was proclaimed a saint in Orkney before the end of the century. Interestingly, although he had been a very peaceful man during life, the tales of St. Magnus’ postmortem miracles became quite vengeful, especially against anyone who mistreated him during life or neglected his shrine and relics after his death. Here are several accounts of St. Magnus’ supernatural payback that are mentioned in the Orkneyinga saga:

1) Although St. Magnus had forgiven his executioners during life, he apparently changed his mind after his death. According to the Orkneyinga saga, “the story goes that in general the men most deeply involved in the betrayal of the Holy Jarl Magnus died cruel and violent deaths” (chapter 52). Jarl Hakon Paulsson, however, must have been forgiven by St. Magnus, for he lived a long life and died of natural causes in his bed.

2) On another occasion, the spirit of St. Magnus apparently believed that his body was not being properly venerated and was disappointed that none of his relics had been displayed in the church. Therefore, Bishop William of Orkney was said to have been supernaturally stricken with blindness and he only regained his sight after swearing that he would prepare relics of Saint Magnus and place them in a prominent location in the sanctuary. St. Magnus even supposedly helped out the churchmen as they excavated his body: “When they started digging they found that the coffin had already almost reached the surface” (Orkneyinga saga, chapter 57). With the remains exhumed, Bishop William picked the choicest relics and placed them with honor above the altar in Christ Church.

3) A certain man of Shetland named Thord Dragon-Jaw reportedly refused to stop working on the day of St. Magnus’ Mass. When the over-achiever stopped for a while to have a drink, he went completely insane. Thord’s employer, Bergfinn, was convinced that the madness was St. Magnus’ doing. Therefore, dutiful Bergfinn donated silver to the shrine of St. Magnus on Thord’s behalf and also held a three-night vigil for his crazed employee. Eventually, the silver and vigils placated St. Magnus and Thord was cured after six or more days of insanity.

4) Another Shetlander named Sigrid made the same mistake as Thord Dragon-Jaw and St. Magnus once again retaliated. As the story goes, the dreaded St. Magnus’ Mass was approaching and poor Sigrid had not finished her daily allotment of sewing. She was convinced that she could finish before nightfall, but, alas, when the final string was sewn, it was already dark. St. Magnus struck her with madness as punishment for disregarding his holy day. Sigrid’s friend, Thorlak, brought her to the shrine of St. Magnus and cast lots to decide whether she should offer money to the shrine, free a slave, or go on pilgrimage to Rome in exchange for being cured. The cast determined that St. Magnus preferred the pilgrimage option and Sigrid was immediately cured. Once she had come to her senses, Sigrid immediately left for Rome.

5) St. Magnus did not abide theft in life and continued to despise thieves after death. According to the Orkneyinga saga, a man named Gilli and an unnamed accomplice from Orkney stole gold from the shrine of St. Magnus. In response, the saint unleashed his wrath on the thieves. Gilli reportedly drowned at sea, but the accomplice was attacked by St. Magnus’ signature holy madness. The madman, who uncontrollably mumbled confessions about his crime, was brought to the shrine of St. Magnus and vows were made on the man’s behalf that if he recovered, he would go on a pilgrimage to Rome. St. Magnus apparently accepted the promise and the man’s madness was lifted.

Written by C. Keith Hansley.

Picture Attribution: (A scene of Olaf Tryggvason, by Peter Nicolai Arbo (1831–1892), [Public Domain] via Creative Commons).

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Liu Pengli—The Serial Killer King Of The Han Dynasty

By
thehistorianshut
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History has long hinted that absolute power can tempt even virtuous leaders into corruption. Yet, what happens when the one who gains power was never virtuous in the first place, but instead had murderous fantasies and psychopathic tendencies. This horrific second option reportedly became reality in China during the 2nd century BCE, when Liu Pengli became the king of Jidong. The Grand Historian, Sima Qian (c. 145-90 BCE), was a contemporary of the infamous king and wrote a short description of the dark events that supposedly occurred in Jidong during Pengli’s reign. The killer king was seemingly a figure that the Han Dynasty wanted to forget about, and consequently Sima Qian only devoted one measly paragraph to describing Pengli’s life. Nevertheless, the brief information that the Grand Historian packed into those few sentences was terrifying.

Unfortunately for the people of ancient China, Liu Pengli was extremely powerful and incredibly well connected. He was the grandson of Emperor Wen (r. 180-157 BCE) and the nephew of Emperor Jing (r. 157-141 BCE). Pengli’s own father, King Xiao of Liang (brother of Emperor Jing), ruled one of the most powerful kingdoms in the Han Empire and was even a top contender to become the imperial heir before Emperor Jing finally nominated his son, the future Emperor Wu, as his definitive successor. When the disgruntled King Xiao of Liang died in 144 BCE, his wealthy kingdom was divided among his five sons, one of whom was Liu Pengli.

Before becoming king of Jidong around 144 BCE, Liu Pengli apparently had a spotless record, or, at least, his crimes were subtle enough to escape notice. If anything, he only had a reputation for being uncouth and arrogant. Yet, when he became a king, Liu Pengli’s behavior was said to have grown exponentially worse. He surrounded himself with people of ill repute and developed into a ruthless tyrant. Tragically, Liu Pengli would be given nearly three decades in power to spiral into depravity.

Make no mistake, all of the emperors and kings of Liu Pengli’s day were mass killers—uncounted scores of people died in their wars and were executed by their legal systems. They were not necessarily murderers, but their hands were undoubtedly stained with blood. Yet, something separated Liu Pengli from his powerful peers. Other nobles killed to uphold law, to protect their country and family, or simply for political or personal gain. Contrastingly, Liu Pengli reportedly did not kill for any of these reasons; instead, according to Sima Qian, he simply enjoyed “murdering people and seizing their belongings for sheer sport” (Shi Ji 58).

It is unknown how quickly Liu Pengli’s alleged killing spree began, but by the end of his rule, the people of Jidong were living in a nightmare. According to Sima Qian, Liu Pengli recruited a band of around twenty or thirty like-minded disciples from the questionable courtiers that flocked to his kingdom. At some point in his reign, Pengli and his devoted cult of followers began skulking through the kingdom at night in search of random victims to rob and kill. The accumulating numbers of deaths sparked a panic in the kingdom and the people of Jidong eventually took to barricading themselves indoors at night so they would not be murdered. Over a long period of time, evidence began to grow against the king, and uneasy officials in Jidong started to suspect Pengli of perpetrating the killings. Even among the commoners of the kingdom, rumor spread that it was their king who was responsible for the wave of deaths. Yet, what could they do—Liu Pengli was Emperor Jing’s nephew and Emperor Wu’s cousin.

Fortunately for the people of Jidong, a letter accusing Liu Pengli of mass murder finally reached Emperor Wu around 116 or 115 BCE, the twenty-ninth year of Pengli’s reign. The emperor took the accusation seriously and launched an investigation into his cousin’s conduct. According to Sima Qian, the Han detectives discovered that the king had murdered over one hundred people without any just reasoning. The killings were done simply for the king’s pleasure, or, as Sima Qian stated earlier, as a sick form of sport.

Unbelievably, Emperor Wu was said to have spared his murderous cousin’s life. Liu Pengli was stripped of his nobility and was ultimately banished to live like a commoner in the region of Shangyong—an oddly light punishment for a convicted mass-murdering serial killer. That being said, it may be possible that Liu Pengli was framed. Emperor Wu and his father made serious efforts to divide and weaken the feudal kingdoms of ancient China, similar to the way Emperor Jing had divided the powerful kingdom of Liang into five more manageable domains. After Liu Pengli was stripped of power, his kingdom of Jidong was dissolved and the land was brought under the direct jurisdiction of the central Han government. In the scheme of things, Liu Pengli was one of several kings whose kingdoms were absorbed by Emperor Wu’s government after criminal trials. Nevertheless, because of the vague evidence left behind, we shall never know for certain if Liu Pengli was the victim or the victimizer.

Written by C. Keith Hansley.

Picture Attribution: (painting from the wall of Xu Xianxiu’s Tomb of Northern Qi Dynasty, [Public Domain] via Creative Commons)

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The Life And Paranoid Retirement Of Marquis Zhou Bo

By
thehistorianshut
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Zhou Bo was a decorated military officer and political official who served under the first emperors of the Han Dynasty. He came from humble origins, supposedly working as a silkworm rack manufacturer and a part-time musician in Pei. Yet, when widespread rebellions against the Qin Dynasty erupted in 209 BCE, Zhou Bo joined the rebels as a crossbowman and eventually became a follower of the distinguished rebel leader, Liu Bang.

Zhou Bo’s fortunes rose with the political ascendance of Liu Bang. Between 209 and 206 BCE, the rebels demolished the Qin Dynasty and began to restructure China into new kingdoms led by rebel leaders. The power vacuum allowed commoners like Liu Bang and Zhou Bo to rise to amazing heights. When Liu Bang became a marquis, he brought Zhou Bo along as a magistrate. In 206 BCE, when Liu Bang became the King of Han, Zhou Bo was appointed as one of his marquises. Finally, when the king of Han defeated his rebel rivals in 202 BCE and became known as Emperor Gaozu, the victorious emperor granted Zhou Bo even more land and bequeathed upon him the title of Marquis of Jiang.

Zhou Bo was not a particularly flashy general, but he was definitely dependable. According to the Grand Historian, Sima Qian (145-90 BCE), Zhou Bo crushed two armies, sieged three cities, conquered five provinces and successfully captured many distinguished prisoners during his career, including four prime ministers/chancellors and four generals (Shi Ji 57). As a result of his dependability, he became one of Emperor Gaozu’s favorite generals and was eventually promoted to the rank of grand commandant around 189 BCE, during the reign of Gaozu’s successor, Emperor Hui (r. 195-188 BCE).

Zhou Bo remained the grand commandant even after the premature death of Emperor Hui in 188 BCE. From 188-180 BCE, Hui’s mother, Empress Dowager Lü, continued to rule in China through puppet child-emperors. Although her reign was peaceful for the common masses, it was a time of bloody intrigue among the nobility. The empress dowager championed the Lü family in an attempted overthrow of her late husband’s Liu family. By the time of Empress Dowager Lü’s death in 180 BCE, several Liu princes had been assassinated and numerous Lü family members had become kings, marquises, generals and politicians. Yet, without Empress Dowager Lü at the helm, her family was totally incapable of maintaining power.

Only one or two months after the death of Empress Dowager Lü, the suppressed Liu family and their supporters came back with a vengeance, murdering the child puppet-emperor and assassinating virtually every member of the Lü family. Zhou Bo was a pivotal member of the conspiracy against the Lü clan—using his position as grand commandant, he seized the military garrison of the capital city, Chang’an, and it was his troops that carried out most of the executions of prominent Lü officials. Zhou was also a friend of the Bo family, and, perhaps, because of his influence, the son of Lady Bo and Emperor Gaozu was chosen as the next emperor. This prince, known as Emperor Wen, reached the capital city to assume the throne on November 14, 180 BCE.

As a reward for Zhou Bo’s loyalty to the Liu family, Emperor Wen rewarded the grand commandant by adding 10,000 households to his feudal domain and granted him a large amount of gold. Zhou Bo was also appointed as a chancellor of the Han Dynasty. He was at the height of his power, yet Zhou Bo interestingly becoming more and more paranoid. According to Sima Qian, Zhou Bo was a firm believer in the idea that those who rise too quickly to prominence are sure to fall just as quickly and dramatically. Zhou Bo had surely seen many instances of that phenomenon during his lifetime—many of Gaozu’s contemporary rebel leaders and companions had met violent ends after the Liu family became an imperial power. Zhou Bo had been able to stay alive because he had little ambition of becoming anything greater than a marquis or a state politician loyal to the Liu family. His conduct earned him powerful friends, including Empress Dowager Bo (Wen’s mother) and the Bo family. Nevertheless, Zhou Bo apparently had a feeling of impending doom and he abruptly decided to quit while he was ahead.

According to Sima Qian, Zhou Bo resigned from his position as chancellor after only one month in office. He also took a portion of the lands granted to him by Emperor Wen and gave them as a gift to the emperor’s uncle, Bo Zhao. Yet, although Zhou Bo was trying to distance himself from power, the emperor called him back to the office of chancellor around 178 or 177 BCE. For unclear reasons, Emperor Wen only kept the old warrior around for ten months before relieving Zhou Bo of his duties and instructing him to return to his fiefdom.

Not long after he was sent home, Zhou Bo fell victim to his paranoia. Fearing the backlash of karma against his success over the last decades, the old general habitually wore his arms and armor wherever he went. He also armed his staff and kept a personal army of bodyguards. Ironically, Zhou Bo’s attempts to fight off misfortune directly led to the most dire period of his life—when Zhou Bo’s private army and odd behavior was reported to Emperor Wen, the imperial court became extremely concerned. Fearing that the old general was building a rebel army, Emperor Wen and his ministers decided to arrest Zhou Bo and brought him in for questioning.

Zhou Bo must have felt that his worst fears were coming true, and, according to Sima Qian, the general’s paranoia and nervousness made him a poor self-advocate. Yet, as the interrogators were beginning to doubt their captive’s innocence, Zhou Bo’s powerful friends came to his rescue. The Bo family, especially, rushed to his aid. Even Empress Dowager Bo, who usually kept away from politics, spoke up in his defense, explaining that if Zhou Bo was disloyal, he would have proclaimed himself (or another claimant) emperor when he had occupied Chang’an in 180 BCE instead of throwing his support behind Emperor Wen. Thankfully for the prisoner, Emperor Wen heeded the advice of his mother, and released Zhou Bo. The old warrior, unlike many of his powerful contemporaries, survived to reach retirement and died peacefully in 169 BCE.

Written by C. Keith Hansley.

Picture Attribution: (Terracotta warrior, [Public Domain] via maxpixel.net and Creative Commons).

Sources:

King Irminfrid—A Thuringian Monarch Who Gained Sole Rule By Killing Two Brothers, Only To Lose His Kingdom To The Franks

By
thehistorianshut
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King Bisinus of Thuringia was a contemporary of Kings Childeric (r. 456-481) and Clovis (r. 481-511) of the Franks. In fact, according to The History of the Franks by Gregory of Tours (c. 539-594), Childeric’s wife (Clovis’ mother) was Bisinus’ ex who ran away from Thuringia to be with Childeric in the land of the Franks. Therefore, it is possible that King Clovis and the sons of Bisinus were half-brothers. Whatever the case, King Bisinus died about the same time as Clovis (d. 511), and in the aftermath of the two leaders’ deaths, the Frankish Empire and the Thuringian kingdom both were divided among the sons of the deceased rulers. After Clovis’ death, the empire of the Franks was ruled by his sons: Theuderic, Chlodomer, Childebert and Chlotar. Similarly, the Thuringian kingdom of the late King Bisinus was divided between his sons: Baderic, Irminfrid (or Hermanfrid) and Berthar.

Whereas the sons of Clovis miraculously were able to coexist without too much sibling warfare, the Thuringian co-kings quickly descended into violence. According to Gregory of Tours, Irminfrid went to war against his brother, Berthar, and in that campaign he managed to bring around half of Thuringia under his control. Berthar was captured in one of the battles and summarily executed. Berthar’s wife was either dead already, or was executed along with her husband, for their daughter, Radegund, was left orphaned.

Next, Irminfrid set his gaze on the land of his last remaining brother. Baderic, however, was not idly waiting for his own destruction. Taking warning from Berthar’s death, Baderic must have devoted himself to building a sizable military force. Assessing his brother’s strength, Irminfrid ultimately decided that he would need help from an ally to succeed in the campaign. According to Gregory of Tours, Irminfrid was able to recruit to his cause King Theuderic (r. 511-534), one of the sons of Clovis. Together, Irminfrid’s Thuringians and Theuderic’s Franks marched against the forces of Baderic and were victorious. During the war, Irminfrid successfully captured Baderic and had him beheaded.

With Berthar and Baderic dead, Irminfrid became the sole ruler of Thuringia. Yet, the Franks coveted Thuringian land and Irminfrid had allegedly promised to cede some of his territory to Theuderic as payment for Frankish involvement in the campaign against Baderic. As Irminfrid’s goal was territorial expansion, he, of course, did not give away his hard-won lands to the Franks, which caused a rift between him and Theuderic. The Thuringian king likely knew that conflict with the expansionist Franks was inevitable—he began preparing defensive features such as pitfalls and trenches in locations where he thought the Franks might eventually march an army. Nevertheless, these preparations did little to stop the Franks when they decided to invade Thuringia.

King Theuderic and his brother King Chlotar (r. 511-561) spearheaded the Frankish invasion of Thuringia in 531. The pits and trenches slowed down and obstructed the cavalry of the Franks, but could not repel or stop the invasion. Somewhere along the River Unstrut, Theuderic and Chlotar fought the Thuringian forces in a decisive battle, which, according to Gregory of Tours, became a one-sided massacre that favored the Franks. King Irminfrid survived the battle, but his kingdom was occupied by the invaders. During the campaign, King Chlotar found Irminfrid’s orphaned niece, Radegund and soon after married her. Yet, their marriage was not very warm. This was possibly because the Franks assassinated her remaining kin. Her uncle, Irminfrid, reportedly died from a mysterious fall from a high wall around 532 and Radegund’s unnamed brother was also executed at a later date. Radegund never had any children with Chlotar and eventually abandoned the life of royalty (and her husband) to become a nun.

Written by C. Keith Hansley.

Picture Attribution: (Image of the Thuringian princess, Radegund, being brought before King Chlotar I, as depicted in a medieval painting housed in the Bibliothèque municipale de Poitiers, [Public Domain] via Creative Commons).

Sources:

The Daring Life of The Ancient Chinese Vigilante, Guo Xie

By
thehistorianshut
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Guo Xie was a contemporary of Grand Historian Sima Qian (c. 145-90 BCE), and they both lived during the reign of Emperor Wu (r. 141-87 BCE). Although Guo Xie was not from a noble or wealthy background, he became one of the most famous men of his day. Sima Qian met the man in person and (unlike many other officials of the Han Dynasty) thought very highly of Guo Xie. With brutal honesty, Sima Qian described him as a short and ugly man, whose speech was not at all charismatic. Yet, through daring and vigilante justice, Guo Xie became a folk hero of the Chinese masses.

Guo Xie was a native of Zhi from a family of little prominence except for a certain famous fortune-teller who had been born two generations back. In his youth, Guo Xie was a ruthless ruffian who operated on a personal code of justice. Acting like a character from an Icelandic outlaw saga, Guo Xie was often a force of vengeance, righting wrongs that had been perpetrated against his friends, and (at least in his early days) he often resorted to violence to reach his goals. Guo Xie was also something of a Robin Hood figure, dabbling in banditry and forgery, as well as harboring fugitives that ran afoul of the law. In addition to his extralegal interests, Guo Xie had a terrible temper, which led him to kill many rude or disrespectful men. His vigilante and criminal behavior inevitably brought him into conflict with the Han Dynasty authorities. Yet to the Han officials’ annoyance, Guo Xie proved himself to be an escape artist.

When the recklessness and wildness of youth began to wane in Guo Xie, his life entered into a golden age. He learned to control his temper and gained a new appreciation for using nonviolence to solve problems that did not call for bloodshed. Yet, though his temper had cooled, the matured Guo Xie actually took on more vigilante missions than before. He became a knight of the people who solved problems not just for his friends, but for anyone who sent a messenger to him with a request for aid. According to Sima Qian, the reputation of Guo Xie as a warrior, a problem solver, a dispute arbitrator and a general champion of justice, resulted in him eventually receiving up to a reported ten messengers appearing at his home on any given day in order to request his aid. In accomplishing these contracts, Guo Xie traveled widely, visiting several kingdoms that were located near his homeland of Zhi. According to Sima Qian, Guo Xie completed every mission he embarked on, for he never accepted a contract unless he was confident he would be successful in the endeavor.

In 127 BCE, Emperor Wu ordered that the richest and most powerful families of China be moved to the city of Mouling for easy surveillance. The Guo family fell far short of the emperor’s definition of richness (3,000,000 in ancient cash), but Guo Xie had such a powerful and admired reputation at that time that they insisted he, too, needed to relocate to Mouling.

Even though Guo Xie had been trying to personally curb his excessive violence, he had no control over the passions of his followers. The large faction of Xie’s supporters in Zhi were outraged that their hero was being forced to move. These distraught people held the Yang family responsible, as many of the Zhi district officials were from the Yang clan. Therefore, before Guo Xie could even reach Mouling, the region of Zhi erupted into a guerilla war between supporters and enemies of the folk hero.

When Guo Xie and his family were resting in Xiayang during their trip to Mouling, troubling news arrived—at least three members of the Yang family had been murdered, and one of the murders reportedly occurred outside the imperial palace. The Yang victim near the palace had been carrying a message requesting aid against the supporters of Guo Xie. The assassin apparently had not retrieved the message and it fell into the hands of the emperor. In response to the violence and the request for help, Emperor Wu outlawed Guo Xie and sent his law officials to hunt down the famed vigilante. It was not an easy task, for Guo Xie had always been a master of evading capture.

A manhunt began, with law officials chasing Guo Xie’s trail through several cities. After an unknown amount of time, and an unknown amount of travel, the law enforcers finally captured their evasive target. With his capture, the fate of Guo Xie was sealed. Emperor Wu and his ministers were infuriated by vigilantes and so-called knights of the people—they deemed it unforgivable that the masses put their faith in a civilian vigilante instead of the government’s legal system. Therefore, Guo Xie was given the harshest of punishments; for the crime of undermining the government’s justice system, the entire Guo family was executed. Sima Qian disagreed with the government’s decision to execute Xie, writing, “throughout the empire both worthy men and base men, those who knew him and those who did not, all admire his reputation and whenever they talk about the knights, they always cite his name”—Sima Qian ended his account of the man with, “Alas, that he met with such an end!” (Shi Ji 124).

Written by C. Keith Hansley.

Picture Attribution: (Man sharpening a sword, hanging scroll (14th-17th century), color on silk, 170.7 x 111 cm. Located at the Palace Museum. [Public Domain] via Creative Commons).

Sources:

  • The Records of the Grand Historian (Shi ji) by Sima Qian, translated by Burton Watson. New York: Columbia University Press, 1993.

The Bold Tale Of Jarl Einar Of Orkney

By
thehistorianshut
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Jarl Rognvald was one of the Norwegian chieftains that aligned with Harald Finehair (r. 860-940), the first king to spread his influence over all regions of Norway. The last vestige of Norwegian resistance against Harald’s rule was crushed in the Battle of Hafrsfjord, which was dated to have occurred in 872 by medieval historians, but now is believed to have taken place possibly as late as 900. Jarl Rognvald became one of Finehair’s staunchest and most powerful supporters, and the jarl was greatly rewarded for his loyalty. According to the Norwegian-Icelandic tradition, King Harald gave Rognvald control of North More, South More and Romsdal. In addition to that, Finehair also offered the jarl control of Orkney and Shetland after Rognvald’s son, Ivar, was killed during a campaign to claim those islands for Norway and to clear them of disloyal Vikings. Jarl Rognvald, however, was content with his land in Norway and decided to transfer control of Orkney and Shetland to his brother, Sigurd.

Although Sigurd proved to be a capable leader, even expanding his territory into parts of Scotland, he unfortunately died of an infection. Sigurd’s sickly son, Guthorm, inherited control of the islands, but he, too, died after only a year. When Guthorm died childless, control of Orkney passed back to Jarl Rognvald of More. Yet, once again, he did not want to keep the lands for himself. This time, Rognvald decided to give the islands to one of his sons. At the time, the jarl was said to have had five living sons—Hrolf the Walker (who would become a duke of Normandy), Thorir, Hallad, Hrollaug and Einar. Rognvald eventually chose Hallad to become the new ruler of the islands.

Hallad quickly became disillusioned in Orkney. Beleaguered by Viking raids and annoyed by local grumbling farmers, Hallad eventually grew homesick and returned to Norway, abandoning the islands. In his absence, Viking crews once more overran the region and the islands were virtually cut off from Norwegian control. According to the Orkneyinga Saga, two Vikings from Denmark took over the region. Their names were supposedly Thorir Tree-Beard and Kalf Scurvy, and they set up their main camp in Orkney.

When Rognvald heard that Hallad had abandoned Orkney and that the region was now occupied by Vikings—Danish Vikings no less—the jarl became enraged and called a meeting with his sons (excluding Hallad). At the time, Hrolf the Walker was apparently away on an expedition, so only Thorir, Hrollaug and Einar spoke with their father. Rognvald was said to have undervalued Einar (his mother was allegedly a slave), so the jarl ignored him and asked only Thorir and Hrollaug which of them wanted to reclaim Orkney from the Vikings. When both sons dryly stated that they would follow their father’s wishes, but did not show much enthusiasm for the prospect, Einar stepped forward and confidently volunteered himself for the task.

According to the sagas, Rognvald chose to accept Einar’s offer less as an acknowledgment of his son’s martial abilities and more as a way to get his unwanted son out of Norway. Whatever the case, Rognvald funded Einar’s expedition. Rognvald’s contributions, however, supposedly only bought a single ship and enough warriors to fill twenty benches. With his ship and crew, Einar sailed across the sea and made landfall in the Shetland Islands. There, he recruited more warriors and discovered that the Danish Viking leaders were still camped on Orkney. Armed with this information, Einar, his forces, and the recruits from Shetland sailed to the Orkney Islands and tracked down the Vikings. Proving himself a skilled tactician, Einar attacked his enemy and reportedly slew both Thorir Tree-beard and Kalf Scurvy with ease. With the Viking leaders defeated, Einar reclaimed the island territories for Norway and became the new jarl of the region.

Although life was going well for Jarl Einar, he would eventually discover that the chaotic politics of the Norwegian royal family would pose much more potent danger than bands of Danish Vikings. According to Norwegian-Icelandic tradition, Harald Finehair had four sons with a beautiful woman named Snæfrid. She died an early death, and, after a period of mourning, the king supposedly came to believe that she had been a witch. Harald’s suspicion of Snæfrid quickly grew to encompass even her sons, prompting the king to send them away. The shunned sons understandably became quite disgruntled with their father. Like many unhappy children, the sons of Snæfrid unfortunately decided to do something scandalous to get their father’s attention.

Hálfdan Hálegg and Gudrod Ljómi were two such sons of Snæfrid and Harald Finehair. According to the sagas, Hálfdan and Gudrod decided that the best way to draw the eye of their father was to kill one of his most trusted Jarls. With this in mind, the two brothers traveled to More and crept their way over to the hall of the local jarl. While everyone inside the building was asleep, Hálfdan and Gudrod set fire to the hall and murdered over sixty people. Among those burned alive was Jarl Rognvald, the father of Einar.

When Harald Finehair heard of the killing, he was said to have launched a manhunt for his wayward sons. Gudrod Ljómi surrendered to Harald and reportedly suffered no major consequences for his actions—he mended his relationship with his father and eventually died at sea. Hálfdan Hálegg, however, fled from the Norwegian mainland with a fleet of three ships.

Even though Gudrod and Hálfdan were not Harald Finehair’s favorite sons, the king tried to arbitrate a peace before a feud erupted between his children and the sons of Rognvald. As a first step, the king publicly gave support to Rognvald’s heir, Thorir, confirming him to be the new jarl of More. In addition, Harald arranged for his own daughter, Álof, to marry Jarl Thorir. Despite these moves by King Harald toward peace, a certain rogue son of his did not get the memo.

According to the sagas, Hálfdan Hálegg and his three ships full of warriors sailed for the British Isles. Out of all the shorelines and islands that were available for a landing, his small fleet made landfall on the one group of islands where his presence would inevitably cause drama—Orkney. Jarl Einar still controlled the region, and even though his relationship with Rognvald had been strained, hearing that his father had been painfully burned alive inspired a new level of filial piety in the jarl.

Despite his emotions, Jarl Einar was caught off guard by the sudden arrival of Hálfdan Hálegg. As his warriors disembarked from their ships, the rogue royal claimed the islands for himself and tried to use his status as a son of Harald Finehair to sway the locals to his side. Instead of facing Hálfdan unprepared, Jarl Einar decided to retreat to Scotland until he was ready to attack.

Although Hálfdan Hálegg had forced Einar to flee Orkney, the jarl still had public support on his side. Since becoming ruler of Orkney, Einar had proven himself a capable military leader to his subjects. Additionally, he had a reputation for being able to solve problems—in this regard, he even became known as Turf-Einar after he encouraged people in timber-scarce regions to burn peat moss as a substitute for firewood. It also helped that Einar had the stature of a man that people would want to follow into battle. He was reportedly tall, strong, and had even lost an eye during a battle, leaving a scar that added to his fierce aura. With such respect from the people living in his domain, it did not take long for Einar to recruit an army with which to challenge his father’s killer.

In less than a year after being forced to withdraw, Jarl Einar returned with a large army and attacked Hálfdan Hálegg near North Ronaldsay, a small island in the northeast of Orkney. The two forces battled until nightfall, at which point Hálfdan and his warriors scattered into the darkness. When morning arrived, Jarl Einar hunted down the survivors of the battle and captured Hálfdan alive. As punishment for the murder of Rognvald and the attempted usurpation of power in Orkney, Jarl Einar sentenced Hálfdan Hálegg to suffer one of the most brutal executions known to the Viking age—the “blood eagle.” The flesh on Halfdan’s back was cut lengthwise, his rib cage was pried open, and his lungs were pulled out and placed on his parted ribs so that his corpse looked like a bloodied bird.

When news of the execution reached mainland Norway, it caused an uproar among the many, many brothers and half-brothers of Hálfdan. Even King Harald, who still wanted to end the feud, could not let the execution go unanswered. A king’s jarl just could not give the king’s son a gruesome blood eagle without any repercussions—it was a matter of principle. Therefore, King Harald Finehair reportedly gathered a large fleet and sailed for Orkney to remind Jarl Einar just who was the boss.

When Einar saw the sails of an armada on the horizon, he panicked and fled to Scotland. King Harald, however, was still in a mood to negotiate. The two sent messengers to each other and a meeting was eventually arranged. After some typical haggling, King Harald offered to forgive Einar for the brutal execution of his wayward son in exchange for a fine of sixty marks of gold. The king even allowed Einar to extract the fee from the people of Orkney, if he was so inclined. In a genius, (albeit ruthless) political move, Einar presented the option to the people of Orkney, telling them that they could either pay the fee through unpleasant taxes or let their jarl take up the burden by paying the king’s fine with his own money. The people of Orkney, of course, chose the second option, but there was a catch—in exchange for saving his subjects from paying the king’s fine, Jarl Einar made the people of Orkney relinquished their allodial rights (the right to hold land without obligation to an overlord).

After the execution of Hálfdan, and the fine imposed by Harald Finehair, Jarl Einar seemingly lived a relatively peaceful life. The sagas mention no more feuding or life-threatening warfare for the remainder of his days. According to the Orkneyinga Saga, he died naturally in his bed after a long reign. The Orkneyinga Saga and Heimskringla (History of the Kings of Norway), do not present a date for the death of the jarl, but Einar seemed to have died before Harald Finehair’s son, Eirik Bloodaxe, fled to the British Isles in the years after he was kicked out of Norway around 945.

Written by C. Keith Hansley.

Picture Attribution: (Jomsvikings at the Battle of Svolder, by Nils Bergslien (1853–1928), [Public Domain] via Creative Commons).

Sources:

Emperor Wu And His Spirit Mistress

By
thehistorianshut
-

 

Emperor Wu (r. 141-87 BCE) of China was said to have shown great respect to an interesting deity known as the Spirit Mistress. The interactions of the emperor and the spirit were documented by Sima Qian (c. 145-90 BCE), the Grand Historian and palace secretary of Emperor Wu. Sima Qian’s passage about the Spirit Mistress appears in his “Treatise on the Feng and Shan Sacrifices” (Shi Ji 28), which purports to be a text on the ceremonial rites performed by China’s mythical/folkloric sage rulers, but really expands to be a text on sacrifices, mysticism, religion and miscellaneous supernatural topics.

According to folklore recorded by Sima Qian, the Spirit Mistress came into being after an unnamed woman from Changling died during childbirth. Although the woman’s name was unknown, Sima Qian did provide a name for her brother—Wanruo. The spirit, following her unfortunate death, traveled to the home of her brother. There, the spirit drew major attention to herself by supernaturally possessing Wanruo’s wife. Wanruo reacted to the spiritual possession in an interesting way—he became the spirit’s first worshipper and, perhaps, her first priest. Wanruo, or possibly his possessed wife, invited neighbors to come see the spirit and then neighbors brought their friends, exposing more and more people to the new spiritual being. Before long, the so-called Spirit Mistress became the talk of the town and soon came to be thought of as more of a deity than just a simple ghost.

The Spirit Mistress predated the reign of Emperor Wu, for the emperor’s maternal grandmother, Lady Pingyuan, had reportedly been an avid worshipper of the Spirit Mistress before the emperor was placed on the imperial throne. Nevertheless, it was Emperor Wu who really brought the Spirit Mistress to prominence. After ascending to the throne, the emperor sent agents to Changling (or wherever the spirit had moved), and somehow lured, guided or simply invited the Spirit Mistress to relocate to the Imperial Capital Area. The Spirit Mistress reportedly accepted the offer and was housed with honor in the Tishi Tower at Shanglin Park, located southwest of the capital city, Chang’an. By the time the Spirit Mistress was moved to the tower, she reportedly no longer was possessing a human body and instead inhabited her new home in an invisible ghostly state—Sima Qian wrote, “It was said that one could hear the words spoken by the spirit but could not see her form” (Shi Ji 28).

Sometime later, a man from Youshui named Fa Gen informed Emperor Wu that there was a skilled shamaness living in the province of Shang. This woman, Fa Gen claimed, could commune with spirits and was possessed by ghosts regularly. Emperor Wu reportedly retrieved the shamaness and housed her in the Palace of Sweet Springs, which was a place he recently had constructed for the worship of all spirits.

The shamaness quickly became the chosen spokeswoman of the Spirit Mistress, who apparently moved from the Tishi Tower to be with the shamaness in the Palace of Sweet Springs. This partnership between the Spirit Mistress and the shamaness occurred before the year 118 BCE, at which point Emperor Wu fell ill. He consulted the Spirit Mistress (through the shamaness) about his health, and when he subsequently recovered from his illness, Emperor Wu was convinced that the Spirit Mistress had intervened to improve his health. In thanks, Emperor Wu built for the Spirit Mistress a new home—the Temple of Long Life. This temple was said to have been dedicated specifically for the Spirit Mistress, and with the new temple came more respect and higher rank for the Spirit Mistress in the hierarchy of spirits.

Sima Qian recorded further details about the Spirit Mistress, but the renowned translator Burton Watson warns that anything exceeding the information listed in the preceding paragraphs may have been corrupted over the millennia. Nevertheless, some of the possibly corrupted pieces of information includes that at least one other temple was built for the Spirit Mistress by Emperor Wu and that a group of lesser deities, known as the Great Forbidden Ones, became associated with the spirit and were believed to be her supernatural attendants and helpers. Another possibly corrupted claim of Sima Qian is that Emperor Wu kept a record of all of messages or prophecies delivered by the Spirit Mistress’ mediums, but any such text (if it existed) has been lost.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Picture Attribution: (Painting of Hongxian (紅線), attributed to He Dazi, from his collection called “Gathering Gems of Beauty”, [Public Domain] via Creative Commons).

Sources:

  • The Records of the Grand Historian (Shi ji) by Sima Qian, translated by Burton Watson. New York: Columbia University Press, 1993.

The Tale Of Breeches-Aud

By
thehistorianshut
-

 

The story of Breeches-Aud is one of the more memorable tales in the Icelandic Laxdæla saga, a 13th-century book filled with strong female characters that were loosely inspired by women said to have lived in the 9th, 10th, and 11th centuries. Although the exploits of many people described in the sagas were embellished or even invented, the core details (genealogy, settlement locations, poetic evidence etc.) were deemed to have enough truth that later medieval Icelanders, such as the chieftain Snorri Sturluson (c. 1179-1241), proudly and confidently traced their ancestry back to characters in the sagas. Whether or not the sagas were histories with creative license, historical fictions or pure folklore, they were feats of impressive storytelling and, as Icelandic stories go, the tale of Breeches-Aud was one of the more unique narratives.

According to the Laxdæla saga, Aud lived with her husband, Thord Ingunnarson, on a farmstead called Hol in 10th-century Iceland. Aud eventually became a bold woman of action, but in her first scene in the saga she is portrayed in an extremely downgrading light. Poor Aud was horribly described as “a woman who was neither good-looking nor exceptional in other ways, and Thord had little affection for her” (Laxdæla saga, chapter 32). Her husband, the prominent lawyer, Thord Ingunnarson, received much better treatment in his introduction: “Thord was a fine, strapping figure of a man, highly capable, and often involved in lawsuits” (Laxdæla saga, chapter 32).

Thord Ingunnarson’s law work brought him into contact with one of the central figures of the Laxdæla saga—Gudrun Osvifsdottir. Her father had forced her to marry a man named Thorvald Halldorsson when she was only fifteen years old. After two unhappy years of marriage, Gudrun decided to divorce her husband following an incident where Thorvald slapped her across the face. Before she had made her decision to separate from Thorvald, Gudrun had befriended Thord Ingunnarson, and now, she used his knowledge of Icelandic law to help her case. With her friend’s help, Gudrun successfully divorced Thorvald Halldorsson, and she even received half of his property when they split up.

Thord Ingunnarson remained friendly with Gudrun after her divorce, but he wanted to be more than friends. He was unhappy with his current wife, Aud, and quickly fell for the young Gudrun, who was described as “the most beautiful woman ever to have grown up in Iceland, and no less clever than she was good-looking” (Laxdæla saga, chapter 32). Gudrun apparently returned his affection and helped Thord search for a way to extricate himself from his unfulfilling marriage.

According to the Laxdæla saga, Thord and Gudrun were traveling to the Althing, Iceland’s national assembly, when the pair decided on what tactic to use against Thord’s wife. Gudrun claimed that if Aud was accused of cross-dressing like a man and witnesses were found to support the claim, no one would object to Thord filing for divorce. It was also Gudrun, who supposedly first proposed the catchy nickname, Breeches-Aud. Although Thord Ingunnarson responded to Gudrun’s plan by musing that he had never seen his wife dress like a man and similarly had never heard her be called Breeches-Aud, he decided to go with the ploy, anyway. When Thord reached the Althing, “He named witnesses and announced he was divorcing Aud on the grounds that she had taken to wearing breeches with a codpiece like a masculine woman” (Laxdæla saga, chapter 32). The announcement shocked, surprised and enraged Aud’s brothers, who were in the assembly at the time. It was through these siblings, Thorkel Pup and Knut, that the now infamous Breeches-Aud learned of her divorce. Thord did not immediately go back to Hol, but instead traveled to the estate of Gudrun’s father in Laugar. A posse did arrive, however, to seize some cattle from Aud’s farm in Hol as Thord’s share in the divorce, and, as soon as the animals reached Laugar, Thord and Gudrun became engaged, with their marriage set at the end of the summer.

Although Thord was ready to forget about his former wife, Breeches-Aud and her brothers were in no way willing to forgive and forget Thord. Thorkel Pup and Knut tried to rally their neighbors and relatives to support their mistreated sister, but Gudrun’s plan to assassinate the character of Aud had worked like a charm, and consequently, everyone was hesitant to give public support to Breeches-Aud. With no allies to be found, Thorkel Pup and Knut gave up hope of finding justice in court or battle. Breeches-Aud, however, did not stop her planning.

In the summertime, ewes were brought out to pasture and the inhabitants of the various Icelandic farmsteads that were responsible for the animals would stay in shielings (pasture huts) to keep watch over their respective flocks. The people of Hol pastured their ewes in Hvammsdal and Aud was one of the people staying in a shieling. Thord and Gudrun’s community from Laugar was pasturing its animals in Lambadal, just southwest of Aud’s location. Using farmhands as spies, Aud gathered information about her former husband. The informants reported back that almost everyone from Laugar was in the pasturelands, including Gudrun. Thord Ingunnarson, however, was not with the others. He was believed to be back at Laugar helping Gudrun’s father build a new hall.

Hearing that Thord would only be accompanied by his aging father-in-law during the night, Breeches-Aud decided that now was the time to strike back against her ex-husband. She invited only one other person to join her plot—a loyal shepherd. At the end of the day, after the exhausted herdsmen had gone to sleep, Breeches-Aud made her move. She even dressed for the occasion: “shortly before sundown Aud mounted her horse, dressed in breeches, to be sure” (Laxdæla saga, chapter 35). Armed with a sword and wearing pants “like a masculine woman,” Breeches-Aud and the loyal shepherd rode through the night to Laugur. There, just as Aud’s informants had predicted, Thord Ingunnarson was sleeping alone, with only his father-in-law nearby in another room of the home.

Breeches-Aud left the horses in the care of the shepherd and then crept, with sword brandished, toward the house. The door was not locked and she easily slipped inside the hall. Before long, she found the room where Thord was in a deep sleep. He did not wake up as his scorned ex-wife tiptoed into the room. He did not even awaken when she prodded him, presumably to hear why he had done what he did, or simply to look into his eyes while she attacked. She did not achieve either of those possible goals, for Thord merely rolled over on his left side in response to the poking.

Not wasting any more time, Breeches-Aud raised her sword to mete out vengeance on her ex-husband for his betrayal and the public humiliation that he had made her suffer. Summoning all of her rage, Aud chopped down with everything she had. In its single arc, the sword cut deep into Thord’s right arm and even sliced his pectorals before the blade lodged itself firmly into the wooden bed frame. As Thord howled in pain, Breeches-Aud escaped into the night. Thord was too wounded to chase after her, and by the time his father-in-law rushed into the room, Aud had already disappeared.

Thord Ingunnarson miraculously survived his wounds. His right arm had taken the bulk of the blow, crippling it for the rest of his life, but the cuts on his chest were minor flesh wounds that healed quickly. At first, because of the breeches, Thord thought his assailant was a man. Yet, after thinking it over, he came to suspect it was Aud. In an interesting ending to the story, Thord sympathized with his ex-wife and, although he was an accomplished lawyer, he decided not to press charges. When explaining his reasoning to his father-in-law, Thord simply said, “what Aud had done was only evening the score” (Laxdæla saga, chapter 35).

Written by C. Keith Hansley.

Picture Attribution: (Image of the Valkyrie, Brunnhild, painted by Arthur Rackham (1867–1939), [Public Domain] via Creative Commons).

Sources:

  • The Saga of the People of Laxardal and Bolli Bollason’s Tale, by an anonymous 13th-century Icelander and translated by Keneva Kunz. New York: Penguin Classics, 2008.

The Lifelong Payments Of Tribute By King Æthelred The Unready To The Danes

By
thehistorianshut
-

 

Æthelred the Unready became king of England in 978, following the assassination of his brother, King Edward the Martyr. Æthelred was reportedly only ten years old when he ascended to the throne, and his epithet, Unready (Unraed), actually meant “bad counsel,” as the young king’s regent, advisors and vassals gave him little sound support during his life. Yet, the modern definition of unready also fits King Æthelred, for when a relentless wave of Viking activity began plaguing England in 980, the king and the kingdom were caught totally unprepared.

King Æthelred and his poor advisors may have tried to imitate the success of their famed ancestor, King Alfred the Great (r. 871-899). Alfred had paid the Vikings for peace in his first year as king, but it was only a temporary truce and the Vikings came back to force Alfred into the marshes of Somerset by 978. Yet, Alfred mobilized his forces, wrested back control of Wessex, and, by the end of his reign had implemented a network of military garrisons in the burghs of his kingdom that were strong enough to defeat Viking raiders even when Alfred was not present on the battlefield. While Anglo-Saxon garrisons worked together to defeat Viking camps, King Alfred was able to devote time elsewhere to build up the kingdom’s river defenses. Around a century later, Æthelred the Unready apparently attempted a similar scheme of paying the invaders to buy time and letting his regional garrisons deal with the Viking problem. Unfortunately, the burghs of Æthelred’s day no longer had the individual power to effectively fight off the Vikings, and, unlike Alfred the Great, Æthelred seemed totally incapable of adapting to the new situation. Consequently, while Alfred is remembered as one of Britain’s greatest kings, Æthelred is regarded as one of its worst.

In 991, after over a decade of Viking activity, King Æthelred took one of his first executive actions against the Viking threat. To set the scene, a powerful Viking force had just sacked the city of Ipswich and killed the regional noble, Aldorman Brihtnoth, in a battle at Maldon. One of the leaders of the Viking force was apparently Olaf Tryggvason, who would go on to become the king of Norway in 995. Instead of mustering his forces against this Viking threat, King Ætheltred instead pulled together England’s finances and paid off the invaders with a tribute of 10,000 Anglo-Saxon pounds. Æthelred did, however, later make an effort to gather together a fleet of ships in 992, but the man he put in charge of the armada unfortunately defected to the side of the Vikings.

The tribute payment (and the poorly-led fleet) did not bring Æthelred peace, as Vikings continued to wreak havoc on England in 992 and 993. By 994, Olaf Tryggvason had returned, this time with King Sweyn Forkbeard of Denmark. With a large fleet at their disposal, Olaf and Sweyn raided all over England, attacking Essex, Kent, Sussex and Hampshire. Once again, Æthelred apparently left the defense of the kingdom to his regional nobles, and no known military action was taken by the king, himself. As the Vikings continued to sow destruction, Æthelred decided to offer a second payment of tribute—this time reportedly around 16,000 Anglo-Saxon pounds. The wealth did buy off Olaf Tryggvason, who went to Norway to seize the throne and never returned to Britain. Yet, the money did not stop other Vikings from raiding English soil.

After a brief period of peace, Vikings returned to cause mayhem in Æthelred’s kingdom. Widespread annual raids resumed in 997. By 999, Æthelred finally decided to raise his land and sea power against the invaders, but by this point, the kingdom’s military was in a neglected and pitiful state. The Anglo-Saxon Chronicle did not pull any punches when assessing Æthelred’s attempt to take a more personal control over the kingdom’s defense in 999: “in the end neither the naval force nor the land force was productive of anything but the people’s distress, and a waste of money, and the emboldening of their foes” (ASC, 999). By 1002, Æthelred decided to pay a third tribute to the Vikings, giving them a reported 24,000 pounds. Yet, that very year, the Anglo-Saxons idiotically massacred Danish settlers in England, ensuring further confrontation with King Sweyn Forkbeard of Denmark.

As could be expected, when King Sweyn heard that his countrymen had been ruthlessly purged in England, he set sail for Britain and embarked on a relentless war against Æthelred as early as 1003. By this point, King Æthelred decided to let his regional nobles once again the take lead in the war. Sweyn Forkbeard apparently faced only regional garrisons until 1006, when Æthelred decided to muster another army. Yet, as before, Æthelred’s military was still in poor shape and was woefully inadequate to halt Sweyn Forkbeard’s campaign. As the Danes plundered region after region, Æthelred the Unready pulled together a fourth tribute payment of 36,000 pounds.

King Sweyn accepted the payment and England was at relative peace for several years. In that brief respite, Æthelred tried to build up England’s navy, but his progress was undermined by unruly noblemen, such as Brihtric and Wulfnoth Cild, who reportedly put around 100 of Æthelred’s new ships out of action during a personal feud. Ironically, it was right after the Englishmen destroyed their own ships that Sweyn Forkbeard returned to England in 1009. From 1009-1012, King Sweyn’s forces acted as an unstoppable steamroller, flattening all resistance in their path. King Æthelred’s distress can be glimpsed at the enormous tribute—the largest of his reign—that he sent to the Danes. In 1012, Æthelred sent as his fifth tribute a whopping 48,000 Anglo-Saxon pounds. This time, however, Sweyn Forkbeard showed no mercy and continued his campaign despite the money. In 1013, King Sweyn conquered England and Æthelred fled to Normandy.

Sweyn Forkbeard, however, did not have a long reign as the king of England—he died in 1014. Sweyn’s son and heir, Canute, was reportedly in the north of England at the time and eager to return to Denmark to secure his hold on the Danish homeland. In the uncertainty of succession, the people of England invited Æthelred to return to Britain to retake the throne, an offer he gladly accepted. When Æthelred returned to England in 1014, he continued his life-long foreign policy of paying tribute. In an effort to appease King Canute, Æthelred sent a payment of 21,000 pounds to the Danes. It would be his sixth and final tribute. Nevertheless, Canute returned to England in 1015, determined to retake the English throne. Æthelred died in London in 1016, shortly before King Canute’s fleet arrived to besiege the city. In all, Æthelred’s six tribute payments to the Vikings totaled around 155,000 Anglo-Saxon pounds. In his book, The Pound: A Biography, author David Sinclair estimated that a single Anglo-Saxon pound from the day of Æthelred the Unready could purchase 15 cows. If that calculation is correct, then the Vikings would have been able to purchase a massive cattle herd numbering 2,325,000 animals with all of the money given to them by Æthelred the Unready.

Written by C. Keith Hansley.

Picture Attribution: (Miniature of Æthelred the Unready from MS Royal 14 B VI, placed in front of a image of bags of money from pixabay.com, both [Public Domain] via Creative Commons).

Sources:

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