Home Blog Page 121

King William Rufus’ Constructive Strategy Against Earl Robert Of Northumberland

Robert de Mowbray became the Earl of Northumberland shortly before the death of William the Conqueror in 1087. After the death of the conqueror, the Norman dominion descended into chaos. The sons of the late king divided up their father’s assets. William II Rufus (“the Red”) became the new king of England; his brother Robert II Curthose was left in control of Normandy, and a third brother, Henry, had to make do with only money as his inheritance…for now. This partition of lands ensured a succession crisis, with each brother coveting the lands of the other—and the civil war that soon ensued between William II and Robert II gave hope to the Scots and Welsh, who wanted to resist Norman rule in Britain. Yet, for King William II, threats existed just as much within his realm as without. If Robert II, the Welsh, and the Scots were not attacking King William II, then it was his own vassals who were stirring up trouble. As early as 1088, a pro-Robert II faction in England took up arms in an attempt to dislodge William II from his throne. This political mutiny was quickly crushed, however, by the formidable William Rufus, who then counter-invaded Normandy. The Earl of Northumberland had evidently not joined this early scheme against King William II, but the idea that the king of England was vulnerable infested the earl’s mind.

Robert de Mowbray, earl of Northumberland, was still loyal to King William II in 1093, when he led the force that defeated and killed King Malcolm III of Scotland, who invaded England that year. This momentous battle, however, seemed to be the turning point in the relationship between the earl and his king. What exactly transpired is difficult to pinpoint—perhaps Robert de Mowbray felt that he did not receive enough praise and credit from William II after his victory, or maybe Earl Robert thought that if he could beat one king then why not another. Whatever the case, a mutual dislike between the earl and the king quickly formed after the slaying of King Malcolm.

A pinnacle to the feud came in 1095. As the story goes, the proverbial final straw occurred when Earl Robert began refusing any and all calls for him to appear before King William II. This insubordination outraged the king, and as medieval despots were wont to do, William Rufus mustered his troops to re-impose dominance on the stubborn earl. It was an impromptu campaign, and a large amount of resources were still being devoted to the king’s efforts to defeat his brother in Normandy, yet the William II only really needed to target two fortifications in his struggle against the earl of Northumberland—these were Tynemouth and Bamborough. The troops that William II had on hand were enough to capture Tynemouth, but Bamborough was evidently another story. Nonetheless, William II had a long-term plan in mind that he hoped would defeat the rebellious earl.  This campaign and the king’s solution for Bamborough were mentioned in the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle, which stated, “And the castle at Tynemouth he besieged until he won it, and the earl’s brother therein, and all those who were with him; and afterwards went to Bamborough, and besieged the earl therein. But when the king saw that he could not win it, he ordered a castle to be made before Bamborough, and called it in his speech ‘Malveisin,’ that is in English, ‘Evil Neighbor’…” (Anglo Saxon Chronicle, entry for 1095). After installing this well-garrisoned Evil Neighbor across from the earl of Northumberland, King William II returned to his capital, confidant that the earl would soon be captured. Sure enough, Earl Robert eventually attempted to escape at night and was caught by the king’s men.

Although Earl Robert was apprehended, the castle of Bamborough did not immediately surrender. As told by the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle, William II “commanded earl Robert of Northumberland to be taken and led to Bamborough, and both his eyes to be put out, unless those who were within would give up the castle” (entry for 1095). As the earl’s family was inside Bamborough, this proclamation convinced them to submit. Unfortunately, William II might have carried out this threat anyway. Henry of Huntingdon (c. 1080-1160), in his Historia Anglorum, wrote, “The castle of Bamborough was surrendered to the king, and those who had joined the earl were severely treated…” (Book VII, entry for AD 1095). Whatever the case, Robert de Mowbray was stripped of his title, but allowed to live on. He died sometime between 1115 and 1125.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Picture Attribution: (Assault On City And Castle from BL Royal 20 E III, f. 30v (Chroniques de France ou de Saint Denis), [Public Domain] via Creative Commons and The British Library).

 

Sources:

Joan Of Arc, Painted By Jules Bastien-Lepage (c. 1848–1884)

This painting, by the French artist Jules Bastien-Lepage (c. 1848–1884), depicts a scene of the teenage Jeanne d’Arc (or Joan of Arc, c. 1412-1431). It is set in the time before she began her famous journey in 1428 to aid the Dauphin, Charles (later King Charles VII of France, r. 1422/1429-1461), against King Henry VI of England and his Burgundian allies. Details of Jeanne’s pre-adventure childhood can be found in testimony that she later gave to her English captors. Court records indicate that on February 21, 1431, Jeanne stated, “she was born in the village of Domrémy, which is one with the village of Greux… she replied that her father’s name was Jacques d’Arc, and her mother’s Isabelle” (The Trial of Jeanne d’Arc, First Public Session). At Domrémy, Jeanne lived on the frontier battle lines between the Dauphin’s forces and those of the hostile Burgundians—the latter group once forced Jeanne and her family to flee from their home, an experience that no doubt encouraged the young girl’s ardent support for the Dauphin. Nevertheless, to Jeanne, her decision to support the Dauphin was not one of mere personal preference or politics. Instead, according to Jeanne d’Arc, the miraculous aid that she rendered to the Dauphin was orchestrated at the direct command and guidance of God, who sent saints and angels to guide Jeanne on her journey.

Jeanne reportedly first began having mystic religious visions when she was around thirteen years old, and these frequently-appearing sounds and sights were allegedly what eventually convinced Jeanne to go fight for the Dauphin’s cause. According to Jeanne, her most frequent holy messengers were the spirits of St. Catherine of Alexandria and St. Margaret of Antioch, but it was the archangel, Michael, who apparently made first contact when Jeanne’s visions originally began at the age of thirteen. Jeanne d’Arc testified about these saints and angels on February 27, 1431, and her statements were written down in the court record:

“Asked whether the voice which spoke to her was that of an angel, or of a saint, male or female, or straight from God, she answered that the voice was of St. Catherine and of St. Margaret. And their heads were crowned in rich and precious fashion with beautiful crowns…Asked which was the first voice which came to her when she was about thirteen, she answered that it was St. Michael whom she saw before her eyes; and he was not alone, but accompanied by many angels from heaven” (The Trial of Jeanne d’Arc, Fourth Public Session).

This encounter between Jeanne d’Arc and the archangel Michael is what inspired Jules Bastien-Lepage’s painting. The setting and time of day for the painting, if interpreted by Jeanne’s testimony given on February 22, 1431, would be “towards noon, in summer, in her father’s garden” (The Trial of Jeanne d’Arc, Second Public Session). Floating behind Jeanne, hovering on the left side of the canvas, are three ghostly figures. There, Archangel Michael can be found, accompanied by St. Margaret and St. Catherine. Of course, the English and Burgundian interrogators (whom she battled against) did not believe the young mystic’s claims of holy visions and divine inspiration when they questioned her in 1431. Jeanne d’Arc was only nineteen years old when she was executed by being burned to death on May 30, 1431. Her execution, and the charge of heresy that inspired it, was always controversial, even since the 15th century. The Catholic Church has since come out against her execution, formally canonizing Jeanne d’Arc as a true saint in 1920.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

 

Sources:

Bishop Gregory Of Tours Vs. The Tax Collectors Of King Childebert II

Due to the presence of the tomb of Saint Martin (d. 397) in the city of Tours, the region was considered a holy site and eventually became immune from taxes in the 6th century. After Tours had enjoyed this tax-free designation for decades, tax collectors working on behalf of King Childebert II (r. 575-595) arrived in the city around the year 589 to revoke Tours’ tax-exempt status. The collectors were in for a fight, however, as the local bishop, Gregory of Tours (c. 539-594), debated with a vengeance against the imposition of the tax.

Bishop Gregory, who happened to be a historian, began by reciting to the tax collectors the long precedent of kings granting and upholding Tours’ tax immunity. In the era of the Christian Merovingian Kings of the Franks, the first ruler to exempt Tours from tax was King Chlotar (r. 511-561). This was upheld by Chlotar’s son, King Charibert (r. 561-567). Tours was then inherited by Charibert’s brother, King Sigebert (r. 561-575), who also exempted the city from tax. Finally, Sigebert’s son and successor, King Childebert II, had left Tours untaxed until the time tax collectors entered the city in 589. Citing this long precedent, Gregory argued it was wrong to tax the city now. Yet, if this was not enough, the bishop had a plan B—the supernatural plan.

Besides arguing the history of Tours’ long tax-exempt status, Bishop Gregory also began strongly hinting that those responsible for placing a tax on the holy city would face divine retribution. Gesturing to the tax plans that the collectors carried, Gregory claimed to have said, “God will surely punish the individuals who have produced it after such a long passage of time, just to despoil my citizens” (Gregory of Tours, History of the Franks, IX.30). This threat was greatly amplified by a freak occurrence—an acquaintance of the tax collectors reportedly fell ill that day and quickly died. Whatever the case, Bishop Gregory managed to convince the tax collectors to send a message to King Childebert II asking for clarification and guidance over their orders regarding Tours. Facing pushback and given a chance to reconsider, King Childebert II ultimately decided to leave Tours be. Bishop Gregory described the king’s response, stating, “An official letter came back almost immediately, confirming the immunity from taxation of the people of Tours, out of respect for Saint Martin” (History of the Franks, IX.30). Heeding the king’s wishes, the tax collectors left Tours without collecting any taxes.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Picture Attribution: (Illustration of a bishop as judge from BL Royal 10 D VIII f 130v (manuscript of Decretum, with the Glossa ordinaria), [Public Domain] via Creative Commons and The British Library).

 

Sources:

  • The History of the Franks by Gregory of Tours, translated by Lewis Thorpe. New York: Penguin Classics, 1971.

The Metamorphosis of Syrinx, Anonymously Drawn C. 16th Century

This artwork, drawn anonymously with ink and chalk in the 16th century, depicts the myth of the satyr-god, Pan, and an unfortunate naiad nymph named Syrinx. As was all too common for the frequently victimized nymphs in Greek mythology, Syrinx was pursued by male deities who refused to take “No” for an answer. Of these overly-persistent callers, Pan was the most relentless of the bunch. In their final encounter, wild Pan decided he was done with talk and courtship, instead opting to chase down Syrinx by force. Fortunately, this particular nymph was an admirer of the hunter-goddess Artemis, and she had trained herself to mimic some of her idol’s athleticism. Pan was not disheartened by the chase. He pursued her, slowly gaining ground and eventually cornering her at a riverbank. It was at that time, when the lusty satyr was closing in, that Syrinx called on her power as a naiad (and on the assistance of other nearby water nymphs) in order to undergo a transformation that would spare her from the clutches of Pan. The Roman poet, Ovid (43 BCE-17 CE), described Syrinx’s appearance, her escape, and her final transformation:

“In the cold Arcadian mountains,
among the Nonácrian wood-nymphs, there lived a remarkable naiad
(Syrinx her sisters called her), whom all admired for her beauty.
More than once she’d eluded pursuit by lascivious satyrs
and all the various gods who dwell in the shadowy forests
and fertile fields. She modelled herself on the goddess Diana [Artemis]
in daily life and by staying chaste.

the nymph rejected the god’s advances
and fled through the fields, until she arrived at the river Ladon
peacefully flowing between its sandy banks. Since the waters
were barring her way, she called on the nymphs of the stream to transform her.
So just at the moment when Pan believed that his Syrinx was caught,
instead of a fair nymph’s body, he found himself clutching some marsh reeds.”
(Ovid, Metamorphosis, 1.689-706).

Unfortunately for Syrinx, her transformation did not stop Pan from abusing her. As the story goes, it is none other than Syrinx’s own newly-grown reeds that Pan harvested to make his famous reed pipe. Therefore, Pan kept with him a portion of the nymph that got away, fondling it often with his fingers and his lips.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

 

Sources:

The Legend Of Tusculum’s Peaceful Gamble To Avoid Punishment From Rome

In the aftermath of the Gallic sack of Rome, dated between 390-386 BCE, the Romans had to reassert their power in Italy. Enemies needed threatening, friendly allies needed reassuring, and rebellious vassal-states needed intimidating. All the while, outside powers worked with dissident colonies and disgruntled allies of Rome, fomenting rebellion against the Romans. Satricum, a city strategically important to Rome, fell around 382 BCE to a coalition of these rebels and foes of Rome. When the Romans subsequently seized the city back by force, they reportedly found surprising and unexpected evidence that a trusted ally had somehow been involved in the rebel conquest of Satricum. This accused ally was Tusculum, and Rome vowed revenge.

Roman troops were dispatched to attack Tusculum, and the legendary Marcus Furius Camillus was set at the head of the force. As the peculiar story goes, Tusculum decided to thwart the advance of the legendary Roman leader with a bizarre, legendary strategy of its own. Rather than defend itself in battle, the city of Tusculum chose to instead leave open their gates and gamble their future on an overwhelming display of peace. This peculiar tale was narrated by the Roman historian, Livy (59 BCE-17 CE), who described the picturesque scene of life that Marcus Furius Camillus allegedly encountered when he reached Tusculum:

“In fact there was no war against the Tusculans; by maintaining a continuously peaceful attitude they gained a freedom from violation by the Romans such as they could not have won by taking up arms. When the Romans entered their territory, they did not move away from the places near the route of march, nor break off their work in the fields; the gates of the city stood open, and the citizens came flocking out to meet the generals, wearing togas. Provisions for the army were obligingly brought to the camp from the city and fields. Camillus set up camp opposite the gates…He entered the city and saw house doors open, shops unshuttered with goods openly displayed, craftsmen all busy at their respective trades, schools humming with voices of pupils, streets busy with women and children going their ways freely among the crowds, wherever the calls of their occupations took them, with no sign of fear or even surprise. He looked everywhere, trying to see some indication that there had been a war on, but there was no trace anywhere of anything having been removed or brought out for the occasion” (Livy, History of Rome, 6.25).

Livy did not elaborate on how the leaders of Tusculum convinced their people to follow this unlikely strategy. Whatever the case, through practice, lack of transparency, or pure luck, the Tusculans—according to legend—were able to perfectly pull off the peaceful display mentioned in the passage above. As the peculiar story goes, the overwhelming innocence put on display by the Tusculans won over Marcus Furius Camillus, and he decided to make peace instead of war. Leaders from Tusculum were reportedly brought to Rome, where they spoke before the Senate. According to Livy, Tusculum was forgiven and the army that Camillus had left parked outside the city was withdrawn.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Picture Attribution: (The Triumph of Aemilius Paulus, Painted by Carle (Antoine Charles Horace) Vernet c. 1758–1836, [Public Domain] via Creative Commons and the MET).

Sources:

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

Killer Of Darius Before Alexander, Painted Anonymously (c. 17th century)

This painting, created in the late 17th-century by an unknown artist, depicts Alexander the Great of Macedonia (r. 336-322 BCE) in front of a captured assassin who participated in the killing of Darius III of Persia (r. 336-330 BCE). Alexander was indirectly responsible for Darius’ death, for after Alexander had defeated the Persians at the battles of Granicus (334 BCE), Issus (333 BCE) and Gaugamela (331 BCE), there was little faith left in the leadership of Darius III. In 330 BCE, a large contingent of the Persian military mutinied against Darius, and he was arrested and replaced as leader by Bessus, the satrap/governor of Bactria and Sogdiana. Darius III was still held captive by his former subjects as Alexander the Great began closing in on the usurpers in the lands just to the southeast of the Caspian Sea. As the story goes, Bessus left Darius under the guard of two men named Nabarzanes and Barsaentes. With Alexander’s speedy army on their trail, the two men ultimately decided to kill Darius III, who was slowing down their retreat. Although Alexander the Great and Darius were enemies, the Macedonian king did not appreciate the assassination of the Persian king. As he continued pushing further into the Persian Empire, Alexander would keep on the lookout for the murderers of his rival. Not long after, Nabarzanes reportedly surrendered to Alexander, but little is known of his fate. As for Barsaentes, the ancient Roman biographer Arrian (c. 90-173+) claimed, “when he learned of Alexander’s approach, he fled for refuge to the Indians west of the Indus. But they arrested him and sent him back to Alexander, who had him executed for his treachery to Darius” (Anabasis of Alexander, III.25). Such is the scene that is depicted in this painting. It shows a killer of Darius, likely Barsaentes, facing judgment from Alexander the Great.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

 

Sources:

Dante Alighieri

Dante Alighieri (c. 1265-1321)

“Your renown
Is as the herb, whose hue doth come and go;
And his might withers it, by whom it sprang
Crude from the lap of the earth.”

  • Dante Alighieri’s Divine Comedy (Purgatory, Canto XI), translated by Henry F. Cary in the Harvard Classics series, edited by Charles W. Eliot, and published by P. F. Collier & Son (1909, 1937).

The Legend Of Duke Ariulf’s Guardian Saint

Duke Ariulf ruled the dukedom of Spoleto for just over a decade at the turn of the 6th and 7th centuries. He was the second Lombard duke of the region, succeeding the founder of the dukedom, Faroald I (ruled approximately 576-591). The conqueror, Faroald, was a tough act to follow, but Ariulf was evidently able to meet expectations. Either from personal belief or perhaps a political ploy for a divine mandate, he claimed that his success was due to the protection and guidance of a supernatural entity. According to legend, Duke Ariulf was actively protected by the militant spirit of Saint Sabinus.

Tales about Ariulf’s ghostly support began early on in the reign of the duke, originating around 592, when Ariulf launched a military campaign against Camerino and Rome. As the story goes, the duke kept seeing a mysterious shield-wielding figure again and again during this campaign. Anytime Ariulf allegedly found himself in danger during battle, this curious savior would miraculously show up with his shield and deflect the hostile blow. A Lombard historian, Paul the Deacon (c. 720-799), recorded an account of what Duke Ariulf supposedly told his confidants regarding this mysterious guardian: “Surely I saw another man there much and in every way better than I, and as often as any one of the opposite side attempted to strike me, that active man always protected me with his shield” (History of the Lombards, 4.16). Despite Duke Ariulf’s efforts to identify his protector, none of the confidants or officers who heard the tale could help him discover the identity of the man with the shield.

Duke Ariulf had still not discovered the identity of his savior when the war quieted down enough for him to go touring local churches. As the story goes, the duke entered a well-decorated house of worship, where he surprisingly saw a familiar face. It was not, however, a priest or a parishioner who caught his attention. Instead, the visage that shocked the duke was among the statues, carvings, and paintings that adorned the church’s interior. Nearby attendants identified the artwork that the duke stared at to be a painting of long-dead Saint Sabinus. Ariulf’s supposed reaction to this news was recorded by Paul the Deacon, who wrote, “when he beheld the painted figure of the blessed martyr Savinus [aka Sabinus] he straightway said and declared with an oath that that man who had protected him in battle had in every way such a form and bearing. Then it was understood that the blessed martyr Savinus had brought him help in battle” (History of the Lombards, 4.16). Such was the origin story for the legend of Duke Ariulf having the personal protection of Saint Sabinus. Nevertheless, the saint could not keep the duke alive forever. Ariulf died around the year 601 or 602.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Picture Attribution: (Order of Saint Michael medal, dated 1701, [Public Domain] via Creative Commons and the MET).

 

Sources:

Erminia And The Shepherds, By Eugène Delacroix, (c. 1798-1863)

This painting, by the French artist Eugène Delacroix, (c. 1798-1863), draws its inspiration from a poem called Gerusalemme liberata, written by the Italian poet, Torquato Tasso (c. 1544-1595). Tasso’s poem, which translates as The Liberation of Jerusalem, is a fictitious tale that is set in the times of the First Crusade (c. 1095/1096-1099). It features a mixture of purely fictional characters and some historical figures set in unhistorical episodes—from magic and monsters, to duels, and digressions into chivalric tales of star-crossed lovers, Torquato Tasso was quite inventive in his fantastical rendition of the First Crusade.

Eugène Delacroix features one of the purely fictional characters from the poem in this painting. The armored woman on the right side of the canvas is Erminia, a character whose backstory was that of a refugee who was driven by the crusaders to seek refuge in Jerusalem when the city was still unconquered. While she was being driven from her home, only one crusader was allegedly kind to her. This crusader was Tancred (a historical figure spliced into this fictional plot), and his kindness caused Erminia to fall in love with him. During the siege of Jerusalem, the two were on opposite sides of the wall, but Erminia watched Tancred’s actions with interest. When she eventually saw that Tancred was wounded during a duel, she was compelled to slip out of Jerusalem’s defenses to treat her beloved crusader’s wounds. To do this, she stole a suit of armor and a horse, and was able to bluff her way out of the gates. Nevertheless, Erminia was not able to reach Tancred at that time, for she was discovered by crusader scouts and was chased away. It is this turn of events that led the armored Erminia to stumble upon a community of shepherds, who were understandably shocked and startled by her appearance. Torquato Tasso poetically described the scene:

“She sees an old man in the pleasant shade,
braiding (his flock close by) some basket thing
and listening while three striplings play and sing.
They, struck with terror at the sudden view
of unaccustomed arms, stare in surprise,
but then Erminia greets them kind and true,
and heartens them, uncovering her eyes
and golden hair. ‘Pursue,’ she says, ‘oh you,
beloved by Heaven, your fair enterprise.
These arms shall never urge a war to wrong
your wholesome labour or your lovely song.’”
(Torquato Tasso, Gerusalemme liberata, Canto 7, stanzas 6-7)

Such is the episode that Eugène Delacroix painted. It shows the shepherding community in a state of alarm and surprise because of the unexpected arrival of their battle-ready guest. Erminia, however, reaches out her hand to assure them that she means no harm. Ultimately, the shepherds would accept and protect Erminia, allowing her to stay in their community.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

 

Sources:

The Bhagavad Gita

The Bhagavad Gita (c. 2nd century BCE-2nd century CE)

“Oh! we are set
upon doing
a great harm,
we are eager to kill
our own people,
all for the sake
of pleasure
and a kingdom.”

  • This quote is from discourse/chapter 1, verse 45 of the Bhagavad Gita (a Hindu scripture included in book 6 of the epic poem, the Mahabharata). The translation used here is by Laurie L. Patton (Penguin Classic, 2014).