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Giovanni Boccaccio

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thehistorianshut
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Giovanni Boccaccio (c. 1313-1375)

“Whatever happens, my fate can be no worse than that of the fine-grained dust, which, when a gale blows, either stays on the ground or is carried or is carried a lot, in which case it is frequently deposited upon the heads of men, upon the crowns of kings and emperors, and even upon high palaces and lofty towers, whence, if it should fall, it cannot sink lower than the place from which it was raised.”

  • The Decameron (Fourth Day, Introduction) by Giovanni Boccaccio, translated by G. H. McWilliam. New York: Penguin Classics, 2003.

Was The Head Of Pompey The Great Embalmed?

By
thehistorianshut
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In the Autumn of 48 BCE, the defeated Roman general, Pompey, arrived in Ptolemaic Egypt—a possible safe haven and potential ally—after being decisively beaten at the Battle of Pharsalus (or Pharsalia) by Julius Caesar. Pompey was lured into a false sense of security by treacherous old war buddies working in the Egyptian court at Alexandria, such as Lucius Septimius, who had reportedly served as an officer under Pompey during his 67 BCE campaign against Cilician pirates. Lucius Septimius was said to have been present on the shoreline, along with a man named Achillas (the captain of the Egyptian king’s guard), and they served as the leaders of the reception party awaiting Pompey’s arrival. These men, however, had no intention of helping Pompey against Julius Caesar.

Pompey, following misplaced trust, sailed to Alexandria in a small boat and made contact with Septimius and Achillas. Yet, unfortunately for the Roman general, events in Alexandria soon took a hellish turn. Septimius, Achillas, and the armed welcome party did not take long to show their true intentions—assassination. When Pompey finally came ashore and submitted himself to the mercy of the reception party, the greeters drew their blades and pounced on their guest. As the story goes, Septimius and Achillas led the charge and were actively involved in the frenzy of stabbing the famous Roman general to death.

Motive, the conspirators later were said to have claimed, was to make it impossible for Pompey to convince the Egyptian boy-king, Ptolemy XIII (r. 51-47 BCE), to join Pompey’s losing side in the Roman civil war. Yet, far from neutrality, the conspirators likely hoped that the assassination of Pompey would be an act that Julius Caesar would applaud or reward. In this line of thought, it was important for the Egyptians to have definitive proof that Pompey was truly dead, and to preserve an identifying feature of the slain general that Julius Caesar would recognize. In the end, they decided to cut off Pompey’s head and preserve it for whenever Caesar was bound to arrive. Yet, it was not a guarantee that Caesar would reach Alexandria in quick fashion.

Julius Caesar, at that time, was seeing to affairs in cities around the Aegean Sea, sailing back and forth from places such as Thessaly, Ephesus and Cnidus. His intelligence network eventually sent reports that Pompey had been seen near Cyprus and was likely heading to Egypt. This news finally pulled Caesar away from the coastal cities of the Aegean and he began sailing for Alexandria. Julius Caesar reportedly arrived at the Egyptian city in early October, 48 BCE, but the ancient sources are vague on how many days had passed between Pompey’s assassination and Caesar’s eventual appearance at Alexandria. Regardless of the timeline, King Ptolemy’s court still had Pompey’s head in their possession and it was still intact enough for it to be recognizable to people who had known Pompey.

One wonders if the Egyptians—who still practiced embalming in the Ptolemaic and Roman period—used their craft on Ptolemy’s head to minimize its decay before Caesar had a chance to see it. Most ancient sources, unfortunately, were unclear on this point. Julius Caesar, in his Civil War Commentaries, stated only that he learned of Pompey’s death upon reaching Alexandria and did not record details about his slain foe’s head. The prolific biographer, Plutarch (c. 46-119 CE), wrote that the head of Pompey was presented to Caesar, but he did not elaborate on if it had been preserved by any means. The question of embalming, however, was addressed by a Roman poet named Lucan (c. 39-65 CE), who claimed in his epic poem, Civil War, that the head had indeed been embalmed. Lucan wrote:

“He wants some proof of the crime, so they drain
the head of decay by their forbidden art,
take out the brain and desiccate the skin,
wash out rotting fluid from deep inside,
and firmly set the face with drugs infused.”
(Lucan, Civil War, book 8, approximately between lines 669-698)

Ancient scholars, it must be warned, loved to dabble in embellishment and creative license, and poets were often known to do this more than the average historian. Nevertheless, it is not implausible that the Egyptians might have taken steps to preserve Pompey’s head, especially as they did not know how long it would be until Caesar arrived. In the end, like the exact timespan between Pompey’s assassination and the appearance of Julius Caesar in Alexandria, the answer to the question on whether or not Pompey’s head was embalmed remains vague.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Picture Attribution: (Julius Caesar’s Dismay Upon Seeing The Head Of Pompey By Louis-Jean-François Lagrenée (c. 1725–1805), [Public Domain] via Creative Commons and the National Museum of Warsaw).

 

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Hecuba and Polyxena, by Merry-Joseph Blondel (c. 1781-1853)

By
thehistorianshut
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This painting, by the French artist Merry-Joseph Blondel (c. 1781-1853), was inspired by the horrific plight of the royal family of Troy after the mythical Trojan War. Men of the Trojan royal family were massacred during and after the war—including King Priam and his most famous sons, Hector, Paris, Polydorus and Lycaon. Priam and Hecuba’s youngest son, Polydorus, also met a violent end, as he was assassinated by his treacherous guardian, King Polymestor of Thrace, who killed the young prince when he learned of the fall of Troy. Meanwhile, Queen Hecuba and the princesses of Troy—including Cassandra and Polyxena—were captured and enslaved by the Greek forces. Cassandra was seized by the Mycenaean King Agamemnon, leader of the Greek coalition that toppled Troy. Cassandra’s forced exit, as the poet Ovid (c. 43 BCE- 17 CE) wrote, left Polyxena as “almost the only comfort her mother had left” (Ovid, Metamorphoses, 13.449-450). Nevertheless, Polyxena would also be cruelly taken away from Hecuba.

As fate would have it, the angry ghost of Achilles appeared before his surviving Greek comrades and stirred up bad weather to make it impossible for the Greek coalition to sail home. Spectral Achilles was allegedly holding the Greeks hostage because he wanted them to honor him with a sacrifice. His demands were very specific—only the human sacrifice of Polyxena would appease him and end the winds. Hecuba, mind you, was already despondent and distraught by this point, resulting in her being physically and emotionally weakened. The playwright Euripides (c. 485-406 BCE) described Hecuba’s pitiful state, quoting her as saying “Guide these aged steps, my servants, forth before the house; guide and support your fellow-slave, once your queen, you maids of Troy. Grasp my aged hand, take me, support me, guide me, lift me up; and I will lean upon your bent arm as on a staff and quicken my halting footsteps onwards” (Euripides, Hecuba, approximately line 59-65). Understandably, Hecuba’s mood and condition did not improve at all when she learned that the Greeks now were preparing to sacrifice her daughter, Polyxena. And, unfortunately for Troy’s royal women, no divine or mortal intervention would be coming to save the day.

Resigned to her fate, Polyxena decided to meet her sacrificial death with dignity and poise. Yet, parting with her mother was a difficult endeavor, for Polyxena could see how distressed Hecuba was becoming with the overwhelming loss she was suffering. Euripides imagined the scene, describing Polyxena as saying, “my dear mother! give me your beloved hand, and let me press your cheek to mine; for never again, but now for the last time, shall I behold the dazzling sun-god’s orb. Take my last farewells now. O mother, my mother! I pass beneath the earth” (Euripides, Hecuba, approximately between lines 402-443). Such is the tragic family that inspired Merry-Joseph Blondel’s painting.

After the execution of Polyxena and the arrival of the news that King Polymestor of Thrace had murdered Prince Polydorus of Troy, Hecuba became engulfed by rage. Anger filled her with strength, allowing Hecuba to slip away from her captors and engage in a campaign of revenge against treacherous Polymestor of Thrace. As the story goes, infuriated Hecuba managed to find Polymestor and she gouged his eyes out with her own two hands. She also reportedly killed the Thracian king’s two sons. After this mission of revenge, Hecuba was said to have magically transformed into a dog.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

 

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The Rise And Decline Of Japan’s Cloistered Governments And The Disastrous 1-Month Challenge Of Ex-Emperor Go-Toba Against The Kamakura Bakufu

By
thehistorianshut
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Japan’s imperial dynasty, the Yamato Dynasty, traces its origins back to times of myth and legend, but its imperial government apparatus really began to solidify around the 7th and 8th centuries. Those were the centuries when the imperial family began to settle down and let its government administration grow. Notably, permanent imperial capital cities were planned, with the first permanent imperial headquarters being founded by the Yamato Dynasty at Nara (then called Heijo) in 710, but then the imperial court was moved to a new capital at Kyoto in 794. Growing alongside the Yamato Dynasty was the Fujiwara family, which developed a monopoly on appointments in the imperial bureaucracy. By the 9th century, the Fujiwara ministers had created such a stranglehold over the imperial government, that the imperial family was largely relegated to symbolic and religious roles. Certain members of the Yamato Dynasty, however, decided to push back against the smothering influence of the Fujiwara bureaucrats.

The imperial family’s counter-attack came about slowly (occurring in the mid-11th century), but when the plan was launched, it did reduce the Fujiwara family’s power significantly. Emperor Go-Sanjō (r. 1068-1072) caused a stir when he retired and formed what came to be called a ‘cloistered government’ in opposition to the Fujiwara administration. Ex-emperor Go-Sanjō died only a year after his retirement, however, putting the future of the government in question. Yet, the next emperor, Shirakawa (r. 1072-1086), decided to repeat the maneuver, retiring as emperor in 1086 to oversee his own cloistered government until his death in 1129. This trend continued, and through this system, the Yamato Dynasty was able to regain considerable power in their rivalry with the Fujiwara bureaucracy. Curiously, the power shift did not do much to improve the freedoms of actual reigning emperors, for the retired royals and their cloistered governments were just as domineering as the Fujiwara family over the youthful occupants of the throne.

Unfortunately for the Yamato Dynasty, they would soon realize that the Fujiwara family was not the only political contender in medieval Japan. The new players in the game of power were the Taira and Minamoto clans, who ascended into prominence by being reliable warriors that the imperial court could call upon to suppress revolts or counteract angry warrior-monks. By the 12th century, however, the Taira and Minamoto clans came to the realization that they wanted more power and control in Japan. The Taira made the first move, with Taira Kiyomori leading the Taira clan to supplant the Fujiwara as the new power brokers in the bureaucracy of imperial government by 1160. Yet, the Minamoto clan, led by Minamoto Yoritomo, ultimately defeated the Taira clan in the Gempei War (1180-1185). In the aftermath of the war, the imperial administration was reorganized into a military government (known as a bakufu or shogunate) that was dominated by the Minamoto family and its influential Hojō clan in-laws at a new headquarters in Kamakura. Once again, the Yamato Dynasty, its emperors, and the cloistered governments found themselves relegated to largely symbolic and priestly roles.

As had happened when the Yamato Dynasty was under pressure from the Fujiwara ministers, certain members of the royal family also began to plot for ways to weaken the new influence of the Minamoto clan. Once again, the royals bided their time, and a major challenge to the status quo was not launched until the next century. Perhaps hoping to bring back the prominence of the cloistered government system, Emperor Go-Toba (r. 1183-1198) retired from the throne and began attempting to influence the imperial court and government. He was patient while Minamoto shoguns were in power (Yoritomo [d. 1199], Yoriie [d. 1204/1204], and Sanetomo [d. 1219]), but his patience ran thin once the Hojō clan imposed themselves as regents of the Kamakura bakufu after the Minamoto line had died out.

Ex-emperor Go-Toba finally made his move on June 6, 1221, by publishing a public criticism of Hojõ Yoshitoki, the regent of the bakufu at that time, and he went so far as to label the Hojō clan as rebels. It was the opening salvo of a verbal war between the Yamato family at Kyoto and the Hojõ clan at Kamakura. Yet, unfortunately for ex-emperor Go-Toba, Hojõ Yoshitoki and the Kamakura government decided to respond to the challenge with overwhelming force. Transitioning the conflict from debate into open war, the Kamakura bakufu dispatched three armies against ex-emperor Go-Toba and his supporters. The dissident ex-emperor was no match for the forces of the military government, and the Kamakura regime’s armies decisively quashed Go-Toba’s influence by July 6, 1221. In the aftermath of the conflict, ex-emperor Go-Toba was banished to the Oki islands, and his sons, Juntoku and Tsuchimikado were similarly sent into exile. Ultimately, the Kamakura government used the incident to impose further restrictions and controls over the imperial court at Kyoto. It was not until the reign of Emperor Go-Daigo (r. 1318-1339) that the Kamakura government was finally overthrown. After his victory, Emperor Go-Daigo attempted to appoint his own son as the next shogun, but that decision prompted a successful revolt by Ashikaga Takauji (c. 1305–58), who seized the shogunate and founded the Ashikaga bakufu with the support of a rival branch of the imperial family.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Picture Attribution: (Image of scroll 1, section 14, from an Illustrated Handscroll of The Tale of Genji, attributed to Ryūjo (Tatsujo), dated 1594, [Public Domain] via Creative Commons and the Met).

 

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The Meeting of Odysseus and Nausicaa, by Jacob Jordaens (c. 1593-1678)

By
thehistorianshut
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Jacob Jordaens (c. 1593-1678), a Flemish artist, created this myth-inspired scene. It depicts an episode from Homer’s epic poem, The Odyssey, in which the poem’s leading character, Odysseus, was washed ashore in the lands of the Phaeacians after being shipwrecked during a storm summoned by the vengeful sea god, Poseidon. Due to the influence of Odysseus’ guardian goddess, Athena, the soaked hero was fortunate enough to be beached at a favorite local spot used by Phaeacian women to wash clothes and bathe. As just so happened, Princess Nausicaa—daughter of King Alcinous and Queen Arete of the Phaeacians—ventured down with her boisterous entourage to the bathing site in order to wash some laundry on the very same day that Odysseus was shipwrecked. It was from the loud revelry of these merry women that Odysseus was awakened from his shipwrecked stupor. Homer described the memorable first interaction between these characters:

“So Odysseus, naked as he was, made a move towards these girls with their braided hair; necessity compelled him. Grimy with salt he was a gruesome sight, and the girls went scuttling off in every direction along the jutting spits of sand. Alcinous’ daughter Nausicaa was the only one to stand firm. Athena put courage into her heart and took away the fear from her limbs, and she stood her ground and faced him. Odysseus considered whether he should throw his arms round the beautiful girl’s knees and beg for help, or just keep his distance and beg her with all courtesy to give him clothing and direct him to the city. He decided that as the lady might take offence if he embraced her knees it would be better to keep his distance and courteously plead his case” (Homer, The Odyssey, book 6, approximately lines 120-150).

Such is the scene that is taking place in Jacob Jordaens’ painting. It shows Odysseus, strategically covered by a leafy branch, in the act of speaking with Nausicaa and her companions. Despite his awkward introduction, the shipwrecked hero succeeded in winning over Nausicaa to his cause. She, in turn, helped Odysseus gain an audience with her parents, King Alcinous and Queen Arete. Odysseus and his hosts got along well, and the Phaeacians ultimately agreed to ferry the traveler back to his home in Ithaca.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

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The Retirement Lifestyle And Awkward Pre-Bath Ritual Of The Roman Statesman Spurinna

By
thehistorianshut
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Titus Vestricius Spurinna (c. 24/25-101/102+) lived an accomplished life in imperial Rome. He was an admirable military commander, held the auspicious political office of consul at least twice, and was successful in an appointment as governor of Rome’s province of Lower Germany. Yet, according to his peers, Spurinna’s impressive career as a Roman statesman was matched by his interesting retirement lifestyle.

Spurinna, as it happened, was an acquaintance of the prolific letter-writer, Pliny the Younger (c. 61/62-113), who viewed Spurinna as a friend and a role model. As befits a friend, Pliny visited Spurinna while the senior statesman was in retirement. During these trips, Pliny was struck by Spurinna’s energetic daily routine, and he ultimately decided to make the retiree’s life the subject of one of his letters. A certain Calvisius Rufus was the recipient of the communication, in which Pliny the Younger made a detailed outline of Spurinna’s alleged retirement lifestyle. The curious note can be found categorized under book 3, letter 1, in Pliny’s existent collection of preserved letters.

As Pliny told it, Spurinna’s days in retirement always began with the old statesman waking up an hour after dawn. After putting on his clothing and shoes, he would then eagerly take a morning stroll through his estates, and during these sunrise walks he would often travel for three miles. Eventually, Spurinna would meander back to his household and attendants, where the next item on his agenda was a break for reading—or, more precisely, having his attendants read out loud for him to hear. If, by chance, one of his friends was paying a visit, Spurinna was also happy to forego reading in exchange for a round of engaging conversation.

When the reading and conversation reached a stopping point, Spurinna would then usher his wife or guests back outside, and they would go on a prolonged carriage ride. These, according to Pliny, could often be drives on a route about seven miles in length. The carriage ride was then followed by a mid-day walk, which was on average one mile long. Now, with his heart pumping from the walk, and enraptured by the atmosphere of nature, Spurinna would return to his private chambers and write some lines of poetry.

As the mid-afternoon hours approached, Spurinna would pull himself away from composing his verses and begin preparing for the evening hours. Calling his attendants, he would instruct them to prepare a bath. While the house staff saw to these preparations, Spurinna would do what he loved best—go out once more for a walk and some exercise. Yet, this particular round of walking and exercising was one of Spurinna’s more peculiar habits. As Pliny tells it, when Spurinna called for his staff to prepare the bath, he would strip down naked then and there. It was only after disrobing that he would go out for his pre-bath walk, leaving his house while still in the nude. Exercises and athletic games that accompanied the pre-bath walk were presumably also done naked. On this curious regimen of sunshine and exercise, Pliny the Younger wrote, “When summoned to his bath (in mid-afternoon in winter and an hour earlier in summer) he first removes his clothes and takes a walk in the sunshine if there is no wind, and then throws a ball briskly for some time, this being another form of exercise whereby he keeps old age at bay” (Pliny the Younger, Letters, 3.1). It should be noted that nudity was not as shocking in ancient Rome as it has come to be in the modern age, but Spurinna’s naked excursions nevertheless may have still provoked reactions, for he was nearly eighty years of age at the time that Pliny was writing.

Nudity aside, Pliny the Younger had only admiration for Spurinna and his lifestyle. He wrote, “The result is that Spurinna has passed his seventy-seventh year, but his sight and hearing are unimpaired, and he is physically agile and energetic; old age has brought him nothing but wisdom. This is the sort of life I hope and pray will be mine…” (Pliny the Younger, Letters, 3.1). Anyone would be proud of such a glowing appraisal and endorsement. Now, let us move on to Spurinna’s evening hours.

After completing his final pre-bathing excursion, Spurinna would return to his awaiting bath water, clean up, and then settle down for a pre-dinner period of resting and listening to his attendants read aloud. Finally, dinner would be served (presented on a fancy silver and Corinthian bronze table setting), and the meal was accompanied once more by attendants reading aloud, preferably from a comedy selection. With this, Spurinna’s routine was complete, and all that was left was for him to go to bed and live the schedule over again tomorrow.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Picture Attribution: (Scene of an Interior of Roman Building with Figures, by Ettore Forti (c. active late 19th century – early 20th century), [Public Domain] via Creative Commons and the Getty Museum).

 

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The Abduction Of The Sabines, Painted By Girolamo del Pacchia (c. 1477 – 1533)

By
thehistorianshut
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This painting, by the Italian artist Girolamo del Pacchia (c. 1477 – 1533), was inspired by an infamous legend involving the ancient Romans and their unlucky neighbors, the Sabines. In particular, the legendary tale being re-created here was said to have occurred during the time of Rome’s founder, Romulus, whose mythical reign was traditionally dated to about 753-717 BCE. Romulus, according to the narrative told by the Roman historian Livy (59 BCE-17 CE), came to the conclusion that primitive Rome’s greatest existential threat was that “There were not enough women,” and that without boosting the female population of the fledgling city-state, Roman “greatness seemed likely to last only for a single generation” (Livy, Roman History, 1.9). In true ancient tribal warfare fashion, Romulus decided that the best way for Rome to increase its female population was to capture women from the nearby Sabine settlements. Therefore, the Romans concocted a plot to orchestrate a mass-abduction of Sabine women.

In order to lure women to Rome, Romulus and his people were said to have notified their Sabine neighbors that Rome would be hosting a religious festival. Unfortunately, curiosity was indeed piqued in nearby communities by the deceitful news of Rome’s upcoming festivities. Whole families visited Rome on the appointed day to partake in the religious worship and the accompanying entertainments that had been promised. The hoped-for day of family fun, however, turned into an infamous incident of chaos and trauma. As narrated by the historian Livy, “at a given signal all the able-bodied [Roman] men burst through the crowd and seized the young women. Most of the girls were the prize of whoever got hold of them, but a few conspicuously handsome ones had been previously marked down for leading senators, and these were brought to their houses by special gangs” (Roman History, 1.9). Such is the scene that can be seen unfolding in Girolamo del Pacchia’s painting.

As can be guessed, the actions of Romulus and his Romans enraged the Sabines, and war quickly erupted between the two peoples. Nevertheless, the Sabine women, who after the initial shock of abduction had begun to accept life in Rome, were conflicted by the war. According to legend, the Sabine women rushed out onto the battlefield, and putting themselves between the two armies, they forced the Romans and the Sabines to make peace and unite.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

 

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Heracles—The Bane Of Poseidon’s Sons

By
thehistorianshut
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Heracles, the legendary son of the Mycenaean princess Alcmene and the Greek god Zeus, was a wide-traveling warrior, adventurer, and a general slayer of countless monsters and villains. Although he was labeled a hero, Heracles was often unscrupulous during his adventures, sometimes killing people who likely should not have been killed, and frequently being too handsy with women who did not consent to his advances. His offenses, curiously, were not restricted to mundane matters and mortal beings; he often came to blows with fellow demigods, and even had violent encounters with several of the major gods, themselves. Heracles might have been a son of Zeus, but he evidently did not feel any kinship with the other gods or their respective offspring. Quite the opposite, Heracles often killed other demigods he came across in his travels. Peculiarly, the children of one specific major god seemed to have suffered the brunt of Heracles’ kin-slaying onslaught. According to the collection of the mythographer, Apollodorus (c. 1st-2nd century), Heracles may have killed as many as ten sons of Poseidon during his travels around the Mediterranean.

(1) King Augeias Of Elis
During Heracles’ troubled life, he was directed by the gods to undertake a long series of near-impossible tasks for King Eurystheus of Tiryns. As the story goes, the tasks were meant to be ten in number, but they turned out to be twelve, as Eurystheus refused to accept two of Heracles feats and therefore sent him on additional replacement quests. One of these missions that Eurystheus gave Heracles was for the hero to clear out in a single day all of the dung left behind by the cattle of King Augeias of Elis. Adding incentive, Augeias pledged that he would give Heracles a tenth of the cattle if the deed could be accomplished. Heracles, not wanting to scoop the droppings by hand, was said to have diverted a river to flow through the cow pasture, clearing out the manure, but also likely causing a great deal of damage. When Heracles reported back and claimed that the mission was accomplished, King Augeias refused to keep his deal (he had also learned by this point that Heracles was doing these quests for Eurystheus without pay). Whatever the reason behind Augeias’ decision to break off the deal, Heracles did not forgive the broken promise. After his obligations to Eurystheus were over, Heracles returned to wage war against King Augeias of Elis, ultimately killing the king. Slain King Augeias was a possible son of Poseidon (although his heritage was disputed). Apollodorus wrote, “according to some, he was a son of the Sun, or according to others, of Poseidon, or again, of Phorbas” (Apollodorus, Library, II.5.6).

(2) Eurytos and (3) Cteatos
The tale of the brothers, Eurytos and Cteatos, is a side-story or continuation of King Augeias’ downfall. When Heracles launched his campaign of revenge against Augeias, it was Eurytos and Cteatos who were the generals tasked by Augeias with the difficult mission of stopping Heracles’ onslaught. Apollodorus described the supposed lineage of these brothers, claiming, “They were sons of Molione and Actor (who was a brother of Augeias), although their real father was said to be Poseidon” (Apollodorus, Library, II.7.2). Perhaps due to their potential godly parentage, Eurytos and Cteatos were able to pose a threat to Heracles. As the story goes, Heracles decided to play it safe and stealthily set an ambush for them while they were traveling to the Isthmian Games. The ambush succeeded and it was after killing these two alleged sons of Poseidon that Heracles was able to complete his campaign of vengeance against King Augeias of Elis.

(4) Sarpedon
Rewinding back to the time when Heracles was fulfilling famous tasks for King Eurystheus of Tiryns, one of the missions that Eurystheus sent the hero on was a quest to fetch the belt of the Amazon queen, Hippolyte. Heracles succeeded in this task and, after gaining possession of the belt (reportedly a powerful gift from the war god, Ares), Heracles began his trip back to Eurystheus in Tiryns. Yet, the hero often took detours before really heading back to base, usually getting into trouble and causing mischief and mayhem along the way. One such between-mission episodes resulted in the death of Sarpedon, another son of Poseidon. As the story goes, Heracles made a stop at the home of a certain Poltys of Ainos in the aftermath of the Hippolyte’s belt quest. As he was leaving his host’s lands, Heracles peculiarly killed Sarpedon. Without providing much context or explanation on this tale, Apollodorus concisely wrote, “[Heracles] then called in at Ainos, where he was entertained by Poltys. As he was sailing off, he shot and killed a man of violence on the shore there, Sarpedon, a son of Poseidon and brother of Poltys” (Apollodorus, Library, II.5.9).

(5) Ialebion and Dercynos (6)
Another mission that King Eurystheus of Tiryns sent Heracles on was to obtain the cattle of a monstrous creature named Geryon (whose lair was located in the vicinity of Spain) and bring the animals back to Tiryns. As this task caused Heracles to travel widely through the Mediterranean region, it allowed for several more encounters with the unlucky offspring of Poseidon to ensue. According to the myths, after Heracles had killed Geryon and took the cattle, he herded the animals up and around the northern shores of the Mediterranean. In the course of this return trip, Heracles and his cattle were said to have wandered into Italy, and it was there that Heracles ran into the next few sons of Poseidon. It did not take long for the first encounter to occur—he was said to have been attacked by two sons of Poseidon in the region of Liguria, in northern Italy. On this Apollodorus wrote, “[Hercules] passed through Abderia and arrived in Liguria, where Ialebion and Dercynos, sons of Poseidon, tried to rob him of the cattle, but he killed them and travelled on through Tyrrhenia” (Apollodorus, Library, II.5.10). After killing these latest sons of Poseidon, Heracles and the cattle continued down into the Italian Peninsula and Heracles was said to have crossed over to Sicily, where he would encounter the next possible son of Poseidon.

(7) King Eryx of the Elymoi
When Heracles entered Sicily, the next demigod that he met was King Eryx, who ruled a people called the Elymoi (although his kingdom was simply known as the Kingdom of Eryx). Eryx was said to have been undoubtedly a son of a deity, but his parentage was disputed. One tradition, cited by the Greek-Sicilian historian Diodorus Siculus (c. 1st century BCE), claimed that Eryx was a son of the goddess, Aphrodite. In contrast, Apollodorus—keeping the trend going—said that Eryx was yet another son of Poseidon. Whatever his ancestry might have been, it did not give King Eryx any advantage over Heracles. In the end, Eryx and Heracles were said to have engaged in a wrestling match, and in the course of their bout, Heracles killed the demigod king of the Elymoi.

(8) Antaeus
During one of his longer labors for King Eurystheus of Tiryns (either the mission to obtain Geryon’s cattle or the quest to fetch golden apples of the Hesperides), Heracles encountered another godly offspring named Antaeus (or Antaios) in Libya. He reportedly was a son of Poseidon, but he also had ties to the earth goddess Gaia, for he reportedly drew strength from the ground on which he stood. Antaeus was one of the more diabolical figures that Heracles encountered. He fiendishly was said to have killed travelers who entered his domain, and he used their skulls to decorate his local temple of Poseidon. Antaeus tried to add Heracles’ skull to the collection, but Heracles lifted Antaeus off of the ground and crushed the man to death.

(9) Bousiris
In that same Libyan-Egyptian region, Heracles ran into yet another murderous figure who had a habit of killing travelers. This next contender was Bousiris (or Busiris), a mythical ruler of a realm in Egypt. Bousiris, Apollodorus claimed, was a “son of Poseidon and Lysianassa” who “used to sacrifice strangers on an altar of Zeus, in accordance with an oracle; for barrenness had gripped the land of Egypt for nine years, and Phrasios, a skilled diviner who had come from Cyprus, said that the barrenness would come to an end if they slaughtered a male foreigner in honour of Zeus every year” (Apollodorus, Library, II.5.11). According to the myths, Bousiris tried to sacrifice Heracles, but the plan backfired and instead it was Heracles who killed Bousiris.

(10) King Eurypylos of Cos
Heracles’ encounter with King Eurypylos of Cos came later in the life of the hero, when Heracles was said to have been adventuring around Troy. The connection between Heracles and this next son of Poseidon was one of chance and blunders; but, nevertheless, this clash of demigods would reach the same outcome as all of the others. Apollodorus wrote, “As Heracles was sailing back from Troy, Hera sent violent storms against him, which so angered Zeus that he suspended her from Olympos. Heracles wanted to sail in to Cos, but the Coans, taking him for the leader of a band of pirates, tried to prevent his approach by hurling stones. He turned to force and seized the island by night, killing its king, Eurypylos, son of Astypalaia and Poseidon” (Apollodorus, Library, II.7.1). A divine storm and a case of misidentification, therefore, led to the death of yet another son of Poseidon at the hands of Heracles.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Picture Attribution: (Copy (printed in 1901) of a scene presumably featuring Heracles fighting Geryon, from an Attic black-figure amphora, ca. 550-540 B.C, [Public Domain] via Creative Commons and the New York Public Library Digital Collections).

 

Sources:

  • Apollodorus, The Library of Greek Mythology, translated by Robin Hard. New York, Oxford University Press, 1997.
  • The Library of History, by Diodorus Siculus, edited by Giles Laurén (Sophron Editor, 2014).

Mercury Killing Argus, Painted By Girolamo Troppa (c. 1630?-1710+)

By
thehistorianshut
-

This painting, by the Italian artist Girolamo Troppa (c. 1630?-1710+), was inspired by an ancient Greek myth involving the messenger god Hermes (or Mercury) and the giant hundred-eyed watchman, Argus. As the story goes, the clash of Mercury and Argus was a proxy war between the ever-feuding divine couple, Zeus (or Jupiter) and Hera (or Juno). In this particular instance, the ever-lustful Zeus had assaulted a Naiad nymph named Io, and then he transformed the violated nymph into a cow in an attempt to hide the deed, or to give some protection to Io, for Hera was often more wrathful against Zeus’ victims than against Zeus, himself. Hera, however, knew her husband well and suspected there was something odd about the suspicious animal. Noticing Zeus’ defensiveness and anxiety over the cow, Hera felt that her suspicions about the creature were well founded, and she ultimately demanded that the cow be handed over to her as a gift. This was done, and Hera, in turn, tasked the aforementioned Argus to watch the cow’s every move.

Zeus, feeling sorry about the trouble he had caused his victim, called up the messenger-god Hermes and sent him on a mission to free the transformed nymph at all costs. Hermes would succeed in his task, and, according to the account of the Roman poet, Ovid (43 BCE-17 CE), the messenger-god used a unique tactic to win the day. Hermes was said to have blandly narrated for Argus the myth about the nymph, Syrinx, being chased by the god Pan—a chase that ultimately resulted in Syrinx transforming into marsh reeds to escape the god’s clutches. Due to the messenger-god’s dull narration, Argus could not help but fall asleep mid-tale. Hermes fatally punished the sleeping figure for his rude inattentiveness. Ovid described the event:

“When he saw that his enemy’s drowsy eyes had all succumbed
and were shrouded in sleep…[a]t once he stopped talking and stroked the sentry’s
drooping lids with his magic wand to make sure he was out.
Then he rapidly struck with his sickle-shaped sword at his nodding victim
Just where the head comes close to the neck…”
(Ovid, Metamorphoses, I.714-717)

Such is the story that is unfolding in Girolamo Troppa’s painting. It shows Hermes, on the left side of the canvas, about to strike down the sleeping watchman, Argus, who can be seen slumbering in the center of the artwork. In the distant background of the painting, the scene progresses to a future stage, showing Hermes herding cow-transformed Io away from Hera’s clutches.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

 

Sources:

Pliny the Younger

By
thehistorianshut
-

Pliny the Younger (c. 61/62-113)

“Nothing is quite so attractive in our possession as it was when coveted.”

  • The Letters of Pliny the Younger (2.15), translated by Betty Radice. New York: Penguin Classics, 1963, 1969.
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