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The Short-Lived Volscian City Of New Satricum

By
thehistorianshut
-

In the first half of the 4th century BCE, the city of Satricum was unfortunate enough to be the target or site of many battles and military campaigns. Satricum was coveted by both the Romans and the Volscians, and during their struggles over the region, the envied city was violently captured and recaptured several times over. For a glimpse of the back-and-forth nature of Satricum’s existence, we can start at the year 386 BCE. That year, Rome captured Satricum from the Volscians. Roles reversed around 382 BCE, when the Volscians captured the city back from the Romans. Yet, Rome retook Satricum once again around 381 BCE, and needed to deploy more troops there to defend the region in 380 BCE. Satricum was back in Volscian possession around 377 BCE, when a peace arrangement was made between Rome and the important Volscian city of Antium. Despite peace with Rome, the city of Satricum was not spared in 377 BCE, for an unidentified Latin city attacked Satricum that year and allegedly burned the place to the ground. Reportedly, only a temple dedicated to a goddess known as Mater Matuta was spared. After the burning, the site of Satricum allegedly remained largely abandoned for decades.

Volscians—in particular, the city of Antium—remained interested in rebuilding Satricum, yet, they had to wait for an opportune moment to arrive. It was not until around 348 BCE that the people of Antium set in motion their long-delayed plan to bring the deserted city of Satricum back to life.  The Romans, at that time, were preoccupied by rogue Gallic warbands on land, fleets of Greek pirates at sea, and an outbreak of plague in the city of Rome, itself. Due to such distractions facing Rome, the city of Antium and other Volscians were able to work unimpededly for a time on rebuilding and repopulating Satricum. Yet, peace would not last.

As the story goes, it took only two years after Satricum was rebuilt for it to once again become a target of the Roman military. Rome apparently feared that Satricum would become a hub of Volscian and Latin resistance against the Romans. To deal with this potential threat before it became a real problem, the Roman Senate, around 346 BCE, authorized an army to seize or destroy the city. A Roman consul named Marcus Valerius Corvus reportedly led the army that was dispatched. His campaign was described by the Roman historian, Livy (c.  59 BCE-17 CE):

“Valerius [Corvus] was therefore ordered by the Senate to attack the Volscians before others joined them, and marched on Satricum. There he was confronted by the Antiates and the other Volscians who had made their forces ready beforehand to meet any move by Rome, and, as both sides had long been bitterly hostile to each other, fighting broke out without delay…But even the walls gave them [the Volscians] little confidence, for the city was encircled by Roman soldiers and was being taken by scaling ladders; so they surrendered, to the number of about four thousand soldiers besides a large number of non-combatants. The town was destroyed and burnt: only the temple of Mater Matuta was saved from the fire” (Livy, Roman History, 7.27).

History, therefore, repeated itself for the unfortunate city of Satricum. It was besieged, captured and ultimately set on fire. Once again, the temple of the Mater Matuta (as had happened during the previous fire) was the main feature of the region to escape the flames. Despite two years of life, the rebuilt city was returned to ashes. It was not over, however, for Satricum—by the end of the 4th century BCE, a notable Satrican community had reemerged and were granted Roman citizenship.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Picture Attribution: (Claudius Civilis Storms The Roman Army At Vetera, Jacob Folkema (c. 1692-1767), [Public Domain] via Creative Commons and the New York Public Library Digital Collections.jpg).

 

Sources:

Croesus Showing His Treasures To Solon, painted by Caspar van den Hoecke (c. 1585-1641/1648)

By
thehistorianshut
-

This painting, by the Flemish artist Caspar van den Hoecke (c. 1585-1641/1648), re-creates a legendary meeting between King Croesus of Lydia and the Athenian law-giver, Solon, who both flourished in the first half of the 6th century BCE. For information on the ancient story that inspired this scene, we can turn to the writings of Herodotus (c. 490-425/420 BCE) and Plutarch (c. 50-120 CE). Herodotus, in his Histories, wrote that “Solon left home and, after a visit to the court of Amasis [Ahmose II] in Egypt, went to Sardis to see Croesus. Croesus entertained him hospitably in the palace, and three or four days after his arrival instructed some servants to take him on a tour of the royal treasuries and point out the richness and magnificence of everything” (Herodotus, The Histories, 1.30). Plutarch’s later account is slightly different; he downplays the role of the servants to refocus the tale on the bejeweled figure of King Croesus. Plutarch wrote:

“[Croesus] was decked out with everything in the way of precious stones, dyed raiment, and wrought gold that men deem remarkable, or extravagant, or enviable, in order that he might present a most august and gorgeous spectacle. But when Solon, in this presence, neither showed any astonishment at what he saw, nor made any such comments upon it as Croesus had expected, but actually made it clear to all discerning eyes that he despised such vulgarity and pettiness, the king ordered his treasure chambers to be thrown open for the guest, and that he should be led about to behold the rest of his sumptuous equipment” (Plutarch, Parallel Lives, Life of Solon, 27.2-3).

Such is the scene that is playing out in the foreground of the painting. King Croesus, in his expensive regalia, points out to his guest the nearby hoard of treasures, which are haphazardly scattered over the table and floor. Solon, according to both Herodotus and Plutarch, acknowledged that Croesus had a great quantity of wealth, but instead of being impressed, Solon found the heaps of jewels and precious metals to be distasteful and dangerous. As the story goes, Solon tried to give Croesus a cautionary lesson on the wide-spread ancient Greek belief that great fortune can easily and unexpectedly plummet into terrible misfortune. This philosophy often was encapsulated by catchy sayings such as ‘don’t count a living person lucky or happy until they meet death with their wealth, happiness and reputation still unscathed.’ The Lydian king, however, did not take the lesson to heart; instead, he quite angrily expelled Solon from his court.

When Croesus’ luck, wealth and power ultimately did take a spectacular dive through the means of Cyrus the Great’s conquest of Sardis in 546 BCE, Croesus finally remembered Solon’s warnings. According to legend, Cyrus the Great of Persia decided to burn Croesus alive, and as the pyre was being lit, Croesus verbally lamented for all to hear that he wished he had listened to Solon. As told by Herodotus, “While Croesus was speaking, the fire had been lit and was already burning round the edges. The interpreters told Cyrus what Croeus had said, and the story touched him…made him change his mind and give orders that the flames should at once be put out…” (The Histories, 1.86). Caspar van den Hoecke re-created this later legend in the background of the painting (at the upper-right corner). According to legend, Cyrus ultimately spared Croesus’ life and kept him around as an advisor.

Written by C. Keith Hansley:

 

Sources:

Machiavelli

By
thehistorianshut
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Machiavelli (c. 1469-1527)

“The first impression that one gets of a ruler and of his brains is from seeing the men that he has about him. When they are competent and faithful one can always consider him wise, as he has been able to recognize their ability and keep them faithful. But when they are the reverse, one can always form an unfavorable opinion of him, because the first mistake that he makes is in making this choice.”

  • From The Prince (chapter 22) by Machiavelli, translated and printed by the Henry Regnery Company, 1948.

Origin Of The Word ‘Crusade’ And ‘Crusader’

By
thehistorianshut
-

When the First Crusade (c. 1095-1099) was launched, it was a new concept and became a new era. As is common in history, the labels applied to the event, such as ‘crusade’ and ‘crusader,’ were later inventions, coined by people who lived after the lifespans of those who were actually involved in the First Crusade. Although the terms were finalized and popularized about a century after the original war, the ideas and experiences that would eventually inspire the words ‘crusader’ and ‘crusade’ can be traced back to the writings of early participants in the event.

When Pope Urban II, at Clermont in 1095, proposed the concept that would become the First Crusade, he had not coined a specific name for the campaign he was envisioning. In his official speech and in letters, he described his idea as an armed pilgrimage or a God-approved, non-sinful war to reclaim the Holy Lands for Christendom. These core concepts influenced early names by which the participants identified themselves. Labels based on the Latin words iter (path/journey), expeditio (campaign/expedition), and peregrinatio (pilgrimage) were used to describe the event and the participants, and one of the most common plural terms for the people involved was peregrini (pilgrims).

Even though the cross (or more importantly embracing/wearing the sign of the cross) was not featured in these early naming conventions, it remained at the forefront of the minds of those who marched on Jerusalem. This is not surprising, as Urban II reportedly had his hordes of armed pilgrims sew crosses to their garments as a sign of their commitment to undertake the journey. Fulcher of Chartres (c. 1059-1127), who joined the First Crusade in the army of Count Robert Curthose of Normandy, Count Robert of Flanders and Count Stephen of Blois, mentioned the crosses that his comrades wore:

“Oh, how worthy and delightful to all of us who saw those beautiful crosses, either silken or woven of gold, or of any material, which the pilgrims sewed on the shoulders of their woolen cloaks or cassocks by the command of the Pope, after taking the vow to go. To be sure, God’s soldiers, who were making themselves ready for battle in His honor, ought to have been marked and fortified with a sign of victory” (Chronicle of Fulcher of Chartres, 1.4.4).

Although these sewn symbols were displayed prominently on the armed pilgrims who answered Pope Urban’s call, it took time for labels to be coined that referenced the crosses. By the late 12th century, new words inspired by the cross began to overtake the original talk of pilgrimages and expeditions carried out by pilgrims. Commentators of those later ages started using names such as the crosata or the croseria as a designation for the military campaign, and the participants who fought in the movement began to be overwhelmingly  referred to as crucesignatti, meaning “those signed with the Cross.” These terms, after further revisions and translations, led to the famous labels of Crusade and Crusaders.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Picture Attribution: (Illustration of Louis IX from manuscript BL Royal 16 G VI, f. 404v, [Public Domain] via Creative Commons and the British Library.jpg).

 

Sources:

  • The First Crusade: The Chronicle of Fulcher of Chartres and Other Source Materials (Second Edition), edited by Edward Peters. Philadelphia, University of Pennsylvania Press, 1971, 1988.

Victory Of Alexander the Great Over Poros, King Of India, By Franciszek Smuglewicz (c. 1745-1807)

By
thehistorianshut
-

This painting, by the Polish-Lithuanian artist Franciszek Smuglewicz (c. 1745-1807), was inspired by a battle won by Alexander the Great (r. 336-323 BCE) at the end of his impressive career. Smuglewicz’s painting is set in the year 326 BCE, by which point Alexander had already conquered vast amounts of land. Long ago was the time when he pushed his way through Anatolia and trekked down the Mediterranean coast to Egypt. Years had passed since he relentlessly pierced through the Achaemenid Empire of Persia, defeating its King of Kings and claiming its land as his own. By 326 BCE, after the Achaemenid Dynasty was toppled and other vestiges of Persian resistance were crushed, Alexander the Great and his army had moved on to campaign in the borderlands of India. There, Alexander clashed with a local king who was known to the Greeks as Porus. The opposing forces met in the Battle of the Hydaspes, named after a river that commonly identified with the modern Jhelum River.

As told in the account of the battle written by the historian, Arrian (c. 90-173+), Alexander launched a three-pronged assault across the river and was able to successfully maneuver his cavalry and infantry to encircle Porus’ army. Porus had elephants on his side, but these creatures had a reputation for being fickle in battle, sometimes posing just as much of a threat to their own army as to the opposing side. Whatever the case, Alexander was able to contain and overcome the challenge posed by the elephants during the foray. Arrian described the battle:

“Among the [Indian] dead were two sons of Porus, Spiaces the local Indian governor, all the officers in command of the elephants and chariots, and all the cavalry officers and other commanders of high rank. The surviving elephants were captured…Throughout the action Porus had proved himself a man indeed, not only as a commander but as a soldier of the truest courage…It was only when he was himself wounded that he turned the elephant on which he rode and began to withdraw” (Arrian, Anabasis of Alexander, 5.18).

It is difficult to say what particular part of the battle Franciszek Smuglewicz wished to re-create in his painting. Based on the injured bejeweled man (dressed in white and gold colors) who is seemingly being lowered to the ground in the foreground of the artwork, the scene is likely connected to the actions of Porus’ family during the battle. Perhaps the artwork shows the death of one of Porus’ sons, or maybe the expensively-dressed figure is meant to be King Porus, himself, who suffered a non-fatal injury during the battle. The latter might be the better explanation, for Alexander the Great evidently admired the Indian king and, after accepting his surrender, Alexander let Porus continue to govern the local area. Alexander’s admiration of (and future plans for) King Porus might explain why the Greek warriors seem to be gently easing the regal Indian figure toward the ground.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

 

Sources:

Rudder-Gaut’s Impressive Walloping Of A Viking

By
thehistorianshut
-

A man named Gaut was in the entourage of a certain Thorir “Flap” Ketilsson, who decided to move to Iceland during a period of time known as the Age of Settlement (c. 860-930). During their voyage to the island, Thorir and his crew were reportedly harassed by a ship of Vikings, who wanted all the goods that the Iceland-bound settlers were carrying. It was during the ensuing tense standoff that Gaut made his mark. According to the Icelandic Book of Settlements, “[the] vikings came at them intending to rob them, but Gaut struck the forecastleman with a rudder, so the vikings sailed off” (Landnámabók, Stulubók manuscript, chapter 237).

Gaut apparently clobbered his Viking opponent to such an extent with the rudder that the remaining Vikings decided that the goods on Thorir’s ship were no longer worth the risk if they had to face Gaut; therefore, the pirates promptly sailed away. Gaut’s feat greatly impressed his comrades among Thorir’s crew, and they all began calling him Rudder-Gaut from that time onward. Further details about the life of Rudder-Gaut are vague, but he presumably remained in the entourage of Thorir Flap, who successfully settled in the Eyjafjörður region of Iceland.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Picture Attribution: (Illustration till Herrauds och Bosa Saga, by Pehr Hörberg (c. 1746-1816), [Public Domain] via Creative Commons and the National Museum of Stockholm Sweden).

 

Sources:

  • The Book of Settlements (Sturlubók version) translated by Hermann Pálsson and Paul Edwards. Winnipeg: University of Manitoba Press, 1972, 2006.

A Forest With Apollo And Daphne, by Jean-Victor Bertin (c. 1767-1842)

By
thehistorianshut
-

This heavily-wooded landscape painting, by the French artist Jean-Victor Bertin (c. 1767-1842), alludes to the sad myth of Apollo and Daphne. In the dimly lit bottom-left corner of the painting, the two main figures of the myth can be seen. The first of the two is the Naiad nymph, Daphne, depicted as the fleeing woman dressed in blue. Daphne’s father was a minor river god, but even he would not be able to save her, for Daphne’s pursuer was the even mightier god, Apollo. Yet, in this particular myth, Apollo is not fully to blame for his aggressive actions. As the story goes, mischievous Eros (or Cupid) was the deity that set this unhappy series of events in motion.

According to myth, Daphne had the misfortune of being near Apollo and Cupid while the two archer-gods insulted each other in an argument over which of them had a better claim to their favorite weapon—the bow. Apollo won the verbal debate, but Cupid was eager to seek revenge through a palpable display of his power over desire. The Roman poet, Ovid (43 BCE-17 CE) described the event:

“[Cupid] beat his wings and cut a path through the atmosphere,
nimbly alighting upon the heights of shady Parnassus.
Once there he drew from his quiver two arrows of contrary purpose:
one is for rousing passion, the other is meant to repel it.
The former is made of gold, and its head has a sharp, bright point,
while the latter is blunt and weighted with lead [on] one side of the reed shaft.
That was the arrow which Cupid implanted in Daphne’s bosom;
the other was aimed at Apollo and smote to the core of his being.
Phoebus [Apollo] at once was filled with desire, but Daphne fled
from the very thought of a lover”
(Ovid, Metamorphoses, 1.466-475)

In Jean-Victor Bertin’s painting, Cupid/Eros decided to leave the scene of the crime, leaving his victims to continue their battle of escape and pursuit. According to the myth, Apollo was faster than Daphne, and he was steadily gaining ground on her. Yet, although Daphne’s physical strength and endurance was lacking, her adamant resolve to stay free of Apollo’s clutches remained unwavering. Daphne’s determination to get away, however,  did not damper Apollo’s aroused mood. Ovid skillfully continued the tale:

“Flight made her all the more lovely; but now the god in his youthful
ardour was ready no longer to squander his breath on wheedling
pleas. Spurred on by desire, he followed the trail with new vigour.
Imagine a greyhound, imagine a hare it has sighted in open
country: one running to capture his prey, the other for safety.”
(Ovid, Metamorphoses, 1.530-534)

In the end, the Naiad nymph had to take drastic action to escape her pursuer. As the story goes, Daphne thwarted Apollo’s desires by transforming herself into a laurel tree. Although Apollo could not fulfill his Cupid-inspired passions, his devotion to Daphne was said to have continued after her transformation through a newfound platonic affection for laurels.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Sources:

Lucan

By
thehistorianshut
-

Lucan (c. 39-65)

“When faith and duty
desert, and our last hope is immorality,
let discord put an end to civil war.”

  • From Lucan’s Civil War (Book 5, between approximately lines 310-315), translated by Matthew Fox (Penguin Classics, 2012).

The Holy Dictatorship Of Publius Valerius Publicola

By
thehistorianshut
-

In the early centuries of the ancient Roman Republic, the people of Rome frequently relied on dictatorships to survive against existential threats. Early Republic dictatorships such as these traditionally lasted about six months, during which time Rome hopefully overcame the crisis it faced. Yet, the ancient Romans seemed to have had a broad definition for what qualified as an existential threat or crisis. If Rome was fighting a complicated war on multiple fronts, the early Romans might declare a dictatorship. If a hostile army or large rogue raiding party unexpectedly entered Roman territory, the early Romans might declare a dictatorship. If the plebeians were becoming too unruly at home around election time, early Romans might declare a dictatorship. These were common reasons for the Roman Republic to appoint dictators during the first couple centuries of its existence. A man named Publius Valerius Publicola, however, was proclaimed a dictator for a much more unique reason—he was given dictatorial power so that he could lead Rome and its neighbors in celebrating a holiday.

The year was 344 BCE, and the people of Rome at that time were reportedly experiencing ominous signs of extreme divine displeasure toward the Romans. As told by the Roman historian, Livy (c. 59 BCE-17 CE), “a shower of stones rained down and darkness spread over the sky in the daytime. The Books were consulted and, as the City was full of religious forebodings, the Senate decided to appoint a dictator to arrange a public holiday for religious observance” (Livy, Roman History, 7.28). Such was the mission that Publius Valerius Publicola was tasked with during his dictatorship.

Although the dictator’s goals here did not directly involve the military, he did apparently employ force at various times to further his religious objectives. For one, he and his allies in the Roman government reportedly carried out a crackdown on businesses that the gods supposedly found displeasing, such as moneylending. And since, as Livy claimed, “It was agreed that not only the Roman tribes but also neighboring peoples should offer supplication…” (Roman History, 7.28), Publius Valerius Publicola might have needed to call out the military to compel non-compliant cities to join the holiday celebrations.

Unfortunately, no more details about the dictator’s religious holiday were recorded. Similarly, no record was made on if the divine omens and signs improved in Rome after the celebration. Whatever the case, the dictatorship came to an end, and Publius Valerius Publicola relinquished his power.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Picture Attribution: (The Triumph of Marius, painted by Giovanni Battista Tiepolo (c. 1696–1770), [Public Domain] via Creative Commons and the MET).

 

Sources:

  • The History of Rome (Rome and Italy) by Livy, translated by Betty Radice. New York: Penguin Classics, 1982.

Magnanimity Of Scipio, Painted By Gerard Hoet (c. 1648-1733)

By
thehistorianshut
-

This painting, by the Dutch artist Gerard Hoet (c. 1648-1733), re-creates a legend that was said to have occurred in Spain around the year 209 BCE. At that time, Rome and Carthage were clashing in the Second Punic War (c. 218-201 BCE), and a new Roman general named Publius Cornelius Scipio was beginning to gain momentum in Spain. Around that year (209 BCE), Scipio was able to conquer the city of New Carthage. During this siege and other similar battles, Scipio came into the possession of a great many captives, and it was in Scipio’s reported treatment of these prisoners that the seed of a legend took root. Although it was sadly not uncommon for prisoners and civilians under occupation to be faced with horrors and atrocities in the ancient world, Publius Cornelius Scipio was said to have decided to try kindness for a change. As told by the Greek historian Polybius (c. 200-118 BCE), “In Spain Publius Scipio, the Roman Commander, was spending the winter at Tarraco, and there his first achievement was to win the trust and friendship of the Spaniards by restoring the hostages to their various families” (Polybius, The Histories, 10.34). Gerard Hoet’s painting involves one particular captive that Scipio freed in Spain.

Unfortunately, the name of the captive at the heart of this legend remained unknown—only her looks and her connections were remembered by history. As the story goes, our mystery woman was the ultimate embodiment of feminine beauty, and she had been engaged to marry a certain Celtiberian chieftain, named Allucius, when she had the misfortune of falling into the hands of a Roman army. Describing the captive’s appearance, the Roman historian Livy (59 BCE-17 CE) wrote, “She was a young girl and so beautiful that everyone turned to look at her wherever she went” (Livy, Roman History, 26.50). Unfortunately, not all of these roving eyes had good wishes or intentions. The endangered captive’s parents and fiancée knew the danger that the young woman was in, and their concerns were likely not alleviated when they learned that the Roman general, himself, had taken special interest in her. But, in this case, their fears were thankfully unfounded.

Scipio, after investigating the background of the woman, reportedly came up with a plan that was both benevolent and beneficial to Rome’s political and military interests. According to the tale, Scipio invited the captive woman’s family and significant other to the Roman military camp and then proceeded to shock them all with kindness and generosity. Livy described the chaotic scene:

“Then the parents and relatives of the girl were sent for. They had brought with them a weight of gold sufficient for her ransom, and when they found she was being restored to them for nothing, they begged Scipio to take the treasure as a gift, declaring that they would be as grateful for his acceptance as they were for the restoration of the girl in her virgin innocence. In reply to their urgent treaties Scipio agreed to take it; then, having asked for it to be laid at his feet, he called Allucius and told him to take the gold and keep it for his own, saying ‘This is my wedding present, to be added to the dowry you will receive from your bride’s father” (Livy, Roman History, 26.50).

It is this tale that is re-created in the painting above. The unnamed beautiful captive is seen standing on the right side of the canvas. She looks across at her parents and relatives, who are presenting treasures that they hoped would pay for their loved one’s freedom. Publius Cornelius Scipio, however, refuses the wealth and instead frees the woman, free of charge. Allucius, thankful for the mercy and generosity that was shown, would later reportedly bring a warband of around 1,400 cavalry to aid the Romans. As for Publius Cornelius Scipio, he would continue battling the Carthaginians, ultimately defeating Hannibal at the Battle of Zama in 202 BCE. Not long after the battle, Carthage capitulated to the Romans and the victorious general received a new name—Scipio Africanus.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

 

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