Geoffrey of Monmouth (flourished c. 12th century)
“Human beings are conditioned by the chance happenings of history: it follows that those who have been enemies sometimes become friends and that those who have run away may yet achieve victory.”
Anna Komnene (c. 1083-1153)
“Such is the way of men – today they cheer, escort, treat with honour, but once they see the fortunes of life reversed, they act in the opposite manner, without a blush.”
During his reign, Augustus (r. 31 BCE-14 CE) instituted and amended several laws that encouraged marriage and the cultivation of large families in the Roman Empire. Most importantly, the Lex Papia Poppaea was enacted in 9 CE, which revised the preexisting Lex Julia laws. These pieces of legislation gave married men with large families certain exemptions from state obligations, and also gave fathers of many children preferential treatment in disputes over inheritance and even in promotions to state and military positions. Unmarried and childless Romans, on the other hand, received none of the aforementioned benefits, faced punitive fines, and were barred from certain celebrations.
The Lex Papia Poppaea did, however, give some leeway to certain groups, such as widows, bachelors and childless couples. Regarding the last two categories of people, the law declared that adopting children was a viable way to receive benefits from the state. For bachelors, too, the law stated that betrothals (contracts to marry at a later date) would amount to the same benefits as that of a full marriage.
Despite the state-sponsored drive for marriage and parenting, many ambitious Romans were not interested in marriage or child rearing. These determined Romans began using bizarre and unsettling loopholes to gain the benefits provided by the laws, while still not committing to a family life.
According to the historian, Cassius Dio (c. 163-235), betrothals were the first system that Romans exploited in order to bypass the marriage laws. Dio reported that men realized they could become betrothed to infant girls in order to attain the status of a married man in the eyes the law. They were given all of the state-sponsored benefits entitle to a married man in Rome, but did not have to worry about marrying their bride for many years to come. Augustus eventually regulated this loophole by decreeing that betrothals were only valid if the marriage was scheduled to occur within two years. Yet, even with this revision, girls as young as ten were still eligible to be betrothed.
Ambitious Romans who had no intention of having children also found loopholes to bypass the penalties against childlessness. While the Lex Papia Poppaea supported adoption, it did not penalize those who disowned the adopted. Therefore, according to the historian, Tacitus (c. 56-117+), childless people that ran for elected positions or governorships would often adopt children in order to receive the status and privilege granted to prolific fathers. Once they won their position, however, the adoptions were revoked. This practice persisted for decades, only ending in the reign of Nero (r. 54-68). By then, these fictitious adoptions, as Tacitus called them, came under criticism for not only being unethical (depending on the age of who was adopted), but also unfair to devoted parents who were spending time and money to authentically raise their children. Around the year 62, Nero and the Senate closed the loophole by decreeing that fake adoptions would no longer give any benefits or privileges to participants in inheritance disputes or elections to government offices.
Written by C. Keith Hansley.
Picture Attribution: (Wall painting of a feast, c. 79 CE or earlier, located in Pompeii, photographed by Theodore H. Feder, [Public Domain] via Creative Commons).
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From 1038 to around 1041, the Byzantine Empire’s skilled general, George Maniakes, conquered the island of Sicily. Present with Maniakes in Sicily, was one of the more unique figures from medieval history—Harald Sigurdsson, also known as Harald Hardrada or Harald the Ruthless. He would later become King Harald III of Norway, but for now, he was biding his time as a mercenary in the Byzantine Empire’s Varangian Guard, all the while amassing wealth and prestige from his military exploits.
The Greek historians, such as Michael Pseullus and John Skylitzes, who later wrote about the time period, largely erased Harald from their accounts of the Sicilian campaign. At most, they would acknowledge that foreign mercenaries were present on the island and that Harald, or “Araltes” as they would sometimes call him, accomplished some impressive feats while on Sicily. They, however, reserved their highest praise for George Maniakes, who, by 1039, had conquered most of the island, and was said to have personally captured thirteen Sicilian cities.
Harald Hardrada received more recognition from his Scandinavian peers. The great Icelandic historian and saga writer, Snorri Sturluson (c. 1179-1241), wrote a dramatic account of Harald’s war-torn life in his text, King Harald’s Saga. In the saga, Sturluson claimed that Harald led his band of Scandinavian mercenaries in four successful sieges against Sicilian cities. Although each of these four supposed sieges were accomplished through very unique and memorable means, this article focuses only on the first city that Harald attacked.
The first unnamed settlement that Harald was said to have besieged was described as being very large and populous, surrounded by walls that were too well-built to be knocked down with siege engines. Harald could not afford to wait until the population starved, for he had reports alleging that the city was well provisioned in food and water.
As he stared at those impenetrable walls, Harald Hardrada soon realized that the city hosted an abundance of wildlife—birds were constantly flying to and fro between the city and the nearby woods. With a plan in mind, Harald pulled together a team of his best birdcatchers. When his trappers were assembled, Harald told them to go catch as many birds as they could find that had flown from the city to the forest. When the mercenaries had assembled their battalion of birds, Harald was said to have had the poor creatures covered with flammable materials, which had earlier been smeared with wax and sulfur. Sadly for the birds, when the creatures had been given their combustible coverings (presumably set up like a fuse), Harald set them on fire and shooed the poor animals back toward the city.
Acting like mobile candles, the birds were able to fly back into the Sicilian city, where they returned to their nests on the rafters, underneath the flammable medieval roofs. Soon, at least according to the saga, the whole city was ablaze, and the distraught inhabitants evacuated the town and surrendered to the triumphant Harald Hardrada.
Written by C. Keith Hansley.
Picture Attribution: (Birds in a dark and cloudy sky, [Public Domain] via pxhere.com).
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In the 5th-century BCE, it seemed as if Mother Nature tried to step up her game with several natural disasters, almost as if she were trying to outshine the death and destruction that mankind was achieving through its own bloodlust. The most famous natural disaster that occurred during the Peloponnesian War was the plague in Athens, which began back in 430 BCE, but was known to come back in waves for years to come. In fact, the plague was having another outbreak in 426, when the next set of natural disasters occurred.
According to the great Greek historian, Thucydides (c. 460-400 BCE), around the summer of 426 BCE, the Peloponnesian forces were mustering their manpower for one of their seemingly annual invasions of Athenian-controlled Attica. The troops rallied under Archidamus, a Spartan prince, and set off for battle. But when they reached the isthmus between the Peloponnesus and Attica, a terrible series of earthquakes set the ground shaking. Losing their nerve, the army abandoned the invasion and dispersed back to their homes. The Peloponnesians, however, were not the only ones who felt the quakes. Athenians in Attica also felt the motion, as did the Greeks in the regions of Boetia and Euboea.
Unfortunately, humans and their homes were not the only things that were moved by the earthquake—it also affected the Aegean Sea, triggering a tsunami. Thucydides wrote that several coastal communities eerily noticed that their shoreline was receding dramatically back into the sea. By name, the historian wrote that the settlement of Orobiea in Euboea, and the islands of Peparethus and Atalanta all saw this phenomenon. Peparethus was lucky, as the water supposedly came back harmlessly. For Orobiea and Atalanta, however, the sea rushed back in with a vengeance. Orobiea was reported to have been totally submerged by a massive wave and the island of Atalanta suffered serious damage to its anchored ships and coastal fortifications. While much of the destruction in Atalanta could be repaired, Thucydides wrote that when the sea returned to calm, the city of Orobiea sadly remained underwater. Despite these disasters, the warring factions of Athens and Sparta quickly resumed their wars, which would continue for decades until peace finally arrived in 404 BCE.
Written by C. Keith Hansley
Picture Attribution: (Crashing Waves, by George Howell Gay (1858–1931), [Public Domain] via Creative Commons).
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Hans Denck (c. 1495-1527)
“Oaths and swearing should not be done because no human has power to keep them.”
William of Normandy (c. 1027/1028-1087) was the illegitimate son of Duke Robert I of Normandy and Herleve, the daughter of a tanner. Luckily for William, his father, Duke Robert, never fathered any other known sons. Therefore, when Robert decided to leave France in order to go on a pilgrimage to Jerusalem, the duke made sure everyone knew that William was the heir to his domain. Duke Robert died in 1035, while returning home from that aforementioned pilgrimage. Upon the death, William was recognized as the new Duke of Normandy. Even so, his illegitimate birth left him vulnerable to rivals who coveted his power.
William’s childhood was perilous, with plots and schemes around every corner. After surviving his dangerous youth, William was knighted in 1042, at the age of fifteen, and began to assert his ducal powers. The many resulting rebellions caused by these attempts to assert authority continued for well over a decade. In fact, the revolts in Normandy were still ongoing when William began considering marriage. He ultimately married Matilda, the daughter of Count Baldwin V of Flanders. The duke and the count were both in vital need of allies and the union would be of mutual benefit. Arrangements between the two rulers began as early as 1049, but the marriage took place in 1053, when William was in his mid-twenties. At the time of their wedding, the rebellions in Normandy still posed a serious threat to William, and he would not regain complete control for another one or two years.
Matilda of Flanders, William’s new wife, was said to have been one of the great beauties of her day. The marriage proved quite fruitful, and she would eventually give birth to four sons and a least five or six daughters. Although her husband’s position may have seemed precarious to Matilda in 1053, William would eventually make himself the strongest warlord in northern France and, after the Battle of Hastings in 1066, he also made himself the king of England. Although the union was a politically arranged marriage, William evidently trusted and respected Matilda, for when he crossed the English Channel to conquer the Anglo-Saxon kingdom; he made his wife (aided by their son, Robert Curthose) the regent ruler of Normandy.
When the abbey of Ste Trinité, located in Caen, underwent excavations in 1961, Queen Matilda’s bones were examined. Based on observations of the bones, scholars made an interesting observation—Queen Matilda was really, really short. They estimated that she could only have been around four feet, two inches tall! Compared to the above-average height of her husband, William (approximately five feet, ten inches), the powerful pair must have been quite the sight.
Written by C. Keith Hansley.
Picture Attribution: (Painting of Queen Matilda sewing, c. 1868, by Joseph Martin Kronheim (1810–96), [Public Domain] via Creative Commons).
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