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Polycrates Finding His Ring In The Fish, By An Anonymous 17th-Century Painter

This painting, created by an unknown 17th-century artist, was loosely inspired by a famous legend about Polycrates, ruler of the Greek island of Samos from around 540 to 522 BCE. Polycrates commanded a great fleet, and he put this naval power to use in the profitable but precarious game of manipulating the balance of power between rival states. These power-brokering ploys mainly concerned Persia and Egypt, both of which coveted and feared Samos’ strength at sea. Polycrates’ playing of both sides would come back to haunt him eventually, but he was able to pull it off for years, and during that heyday he was said to have been a man who had an abnormal share of luck. According to legend, Polycrates was so lucky in his prime that he and his allies feared that if his luck was not somehow contained, then his fortune might one day plummet to a deadly low. These concerns of luck and fortune are directly relevant to the painting featured above.

When Polycrates was aligned with the Egyptians, the allied pharaoh allegedly sent a letter of advice on the issue of Polycrates’ luck. In it, the pharaoh recommended that Polycrates take a beloved item that he held dear and cast it away forever. This personal sacrifice would supposedly moderate excessive luck. Polycrates agreed to this advice and chose an ornate ring to be the object that he would throw away. The ancient Greek historian, Herodotus (490-425/420 BCE), described what happened next in the legend:

“This was a signet-ring he used to wear, an emerald set in gold, the work of a Samian named Theodorus, the son of Telecles. Having decided that this was the thing to get rid of, he manned a penteconter, went aboard, and gave orders to put to sea. When the vessel was a long way off-shore, he took the ring from his finger, in full view of everyone on board, and threw it into the water. Then he rowed back, to the island, returned to his house, and lamented his lost treasure. Five or six days later it happened that a fisherman caught a fine big fish and thought it would make a worthy present for Polycrates…Polycrates’ servants cut up the fish, and found the signet-ring in its belly” (Herodotus, The Histories, 3.41-42).

This tale is re-created in the lower right corner of the painting, where Polycrates can be seen inspecting the fish in which the ring was found. The rest of the painting, however, was reserved by the artist for the complex layering of landscapes, waterscapes and cityscapes that can be seen stretching back toward the horizon. Polycrates stands before a river, which weaves its way through a beautiful scenery of forests, settlements and mountains.

As for the fate of Polycrates, he was initially pleased to find his prized ring returned, but the incident was quickly interpreted as an ill omen. Polycrates’ luck had apparently foiled the ritual, meaning that his fortunes would remain volatile. His luck finally reached its long-awaited crash after he ended his alliance with Egypt. Polycrates tried to align himself with Persia (which understandably did not trust him), but in the end, he was captured and executed by the Persians in 322 BCE.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

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The Legendary Slippery First Step Of The Roman-Latin War

Rome faced great trials and tribulations in the 4th century BCE. The awkward and embarrassing Gallic sack of Rome occurred that century, happening sometime between 390-386 BCE. Although it was a traumatic event for the Romans, the Gallic attack seemed to do more damage to Rome’s pride and wealth than to its military might and manpower. Nevertheless, Rome’s allies, colonies, subjects, and enemies evidently thought that the Gallic Sack of Rome was a sign of Roman decline or vulnerability. Reacting to this perception, Rome’s foes began ramping up their attacks on Roman territory, and during that time of uncertainty, Rome’s fair-weather friends in ancient Italian diplomacy began to reevaluate their relationships with the Romans. Such was the case of the Latin League, which began to increasingly resist and challenge Roman ambitions in Italy after the sack of Rome.

The Roman-Latin conflict spanned decades, with Rome first finding itself at odds with Latin cities, here and there, in minor isolated instances. Yet, the Roman-Latin divide was aggravated by the increased activity of a new people in this story—the Samnites. As of 354 BCE, Rome and the Samnites were allies, or at least had a non-aggression agreement concerning each other’s territories. However, when the Samnites marched against the region of Campania in 343 BCE, the Romans joined the defenders against the Samnite invasion (but Rome also occupied some of the Campanian cities in the process). Warfare aside, the Samnites and the Romans reconciled in 341 BCE, and besides brokering peace between themselves, they also entered into a new military alliance. This revived Roman-Samnite partnership caused the Latin League no small worry, so the Latins began welcoming or recruiting other threatened peoples into their defense network. Campanian cities joined the Latin League’s coalition, as did Volscian strongholds (another anti-Roman people), and some disgruntled Roman colonies also joined the group.

Although the Latin League was gathering allies for a potential showdown with Rome, the Latins were reportedly still trying to negotiate a peaceful solution to their issues with Rome. According to Roman tradition, the Latins felt that they were looked down upon by Rome as lesser partners or subjects, and for the two sides to realign peacefully, the cities of Latium wanted more respect from the Romans. According to the ancient Roman historian, Livy (c. 59 BCE-17 CE), the Latin League decided to plead its case before the Roman Senate, and two men named Lucius Annius of Setia and Lucius Numisius of Circeii were tasked with leading this delegation.

Lucius Annius and Lucius Numisius reached Rome without issue and successfully obtained an audience with the Roman Senate. Annius took the lead, giving a speech on behalf of the Latins. As the story goes, he enticingly offered that the Latin League was willing to join Rome militarily and politically. Nevertheless, the union would have to be bought at a steep price for the Roman senatorial class. Annius’ proposal was a marriage between Rome and Latium. The Latin League would submit its people and land to Rome’s Senate and Consuls only if half of the Senate was chosen from Latium and only if one of the consuls was a Latin.

Rome’s Senate did not take the speech well. Of course, Rome wanted the Latin League’s lands, but the Roman Senate was more interested in conquest than union. Rome’s irritated politicians became quite vocal in response to Lucius Annius’ speech, with Consul Titus Manlius Torquatus giving the most combative counter-speech. In the end, Lucius Annius was said to have been heckled out of the Senate chambers. The diplomat’s poor experience in Rome, unfortunately, was not yet over. According to legend, as soon as Lucius Annius sped out of his audience with the Senate, he suffered a terrible fall and was gravely injured. Livy described the Roman accounts of the odd incident, writing, “It seems certain that when he rushed at top speed out of the temple entrance, beside himself with rage, he slipped on the steps and hit his head so hard on the bottom stone that he lost consciousness; but as the authorities do not all say that he was killed, I too may leave the question open…” (Livy, History of Rome, 8.6). Adding insult to injury, Lucius Annius’ unconscious body was allegedly found by Consul Titus Manlius Torquatus, who took the awkward opportunity to land a few more verbal jabs against the injured foe.

Latium’s diplomatic mission, like Lucius Annius, crashed in Rome. With the absence of a peace or truce, the Romans (with help from the Samnites) unleashed their military might against the Latin League and its allies. In 340 BCE, Consul Titus Manlius Torquatus was involved in two major victories in battle over the Latins. These successes were followed up with an impressive divide-and-conquer campaign in 338 BCE that led to the Roman occupation of the Latin cities and the dismantling of the Latin League.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Picture Attribution: (cropped section of The Fall of Simon Magus, produced by the studio of Pompeo Batoni (c. 1708-1787), [Public Domain] via Creative Commons and the Cleveland Museum of Art).

 

Sources:

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

The Continence of Scipio, Attributed To Andrea Casali (c. 1705-1784)

This 18th-century painting, attributed to the Italian artist Andrea Casali (c. 1705-1784), was inspired by a legendary tale from the ancient Roman Republic. The scene is set around the year 209 BCE, when a new Roman general named Publius Cornelius Scipio was beginning to gain momentum in Spain during campaigns of the Second Punic War (c. 218-201 BCE). In particular, the story that inspired this painting was said to have occurred after Scipio conquered the city of New Carthage. From that city and others, the Romans took a great many prisoners in Spain. Yet, 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). The painting attributed to Andrea Casali tells the story of one of the families that was allegedly reunited by Scipio.

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). Regrettably, 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. Scipio sits in the center of the painting, wearing Romanesque gear colored in shades of blue and red. He points to the unnamed captive woman, wearing a dress dominated by orange, blue and white colors. Allucius, perhaps, is the man wearing the not-so-ancient looking wardrobe of blue, white and gold, who stands behind the treasures of the ransom payment. Scipio’s mercy and generosity in this episode paid off, for grateful Allucius was later said to have brought 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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Aeschylus

Aeschylus (c. 525-456 BCE)

“Let there be less suffering…
give us the sense to live on what we need.”

  • From Aeschylus’ Agamemnon (approximately lines 381-382), translated by Robert Fagles. New York: Penguin Classics, 1979.

The Tale Of The First Qin Emperor’s Campaign Of Vengeance Against A Legendary Mountain Deity

In ancient China, the Qin Dynasty’s centuries-long endeavor to conquer the warring Chinese kingdoms was completed by King Zheng of Qin (r. 247-210 BCE), who finished absorbing all of China’s feudal realms into a single Qin Dynasty Empire in 221 BCE. Once he had successfully fought and battled his way to becoming the First Emperor of the Qin Dynasty (or Qin Shi Huangdi, as he was titled), the emperor found himself far less occupied with military matters than he used to be, allowing him to pursue other interests in life. In particular, the emperor was evidently fond of touring the lands of his empire and also investigating and searching for supernatural items, places and beings. The emperor fulfilled these two interests simultaneously by inquiring about and searching for the lairs of immortals and gods while he traveled on his cross-country tours.

During one of the First Emperor’s supernaturally-inquisitive journeys through his empire, he and his entourage traveled to a shrine at Mt. Xiang. The emperor’s alleged route to this mountain was recorded by the ancient Chinese historian Sima Qian (r. 145-90 BCE), who wrote that the emperor was overseeing an expedition of divers at the River Si when he decided to plot his course to the Mt. Xiang shrine. As told by Sima Qian, the emperor set off from the River Si and “proceeded southwest across the Huai River to Mt. Heng and Nan Province. Floating down the river, he reached the shrine at Mt. Xiang” (Sima Qian, Records of the Grand Historian, Shi Ji 6). As the emperor and his party reached the site of the shrine, the local weather—always in fluctuation—was said to have taken a dramatic turn for the worse. Great gusts of wind began to blow, and the previously navigable river became perilous to cross.

Stuck for the time being, the First Emperor began investigating Mt. Xiang and its shrine. When he learned that the mountain had a patron deity, the emperor tasked his accompanying agents and scholars with the assignment of gathering information about the region’s resident spirit. According to the tales, they discovered that an empress from China’s earliest myths and legends allegedly had a tomb on the mountain, and it was she who was reigning as the region’s patron goddess. As told by the aforementioned historian, Sima Qian, the First Emperor asked, “’What sort of deity is the Mistress of the Xiang?’ The academicians replied, ‘They say she was the daughter of Emperor Yao and the wife of Emperor Shun and that she is buried here’” (Records of the Grand Historian, Shi Ji 6). Emperor Yao and Emperor Shun traditionally were dated to the 24th and 23rd centuries BCE, making the Mistress of Mt. Xiang one incredibly ancient spirit.

Upon hearing the stories of the ghostly ancient empress, the First Emperor of the Qin Dynasty had a peculiar reaction. Although he was, by all accounts, a man who believed in supernatural beings and otherworldly powers, the First Emperor decided not to show any respect or reverence to the possible regal ghostly presence of the empress on Mt. Xiang, even though she was suspected to have some control over the region’s weather. As the story goes, instead of being impressed and awed by the spirit’s display of supernatural power, the First Emperor contrastingly began to grow angry that the spirit empress was using her powers to impede his travels. Fueled by this indignation, the First Emperor revived his old talents as a conquering king and mobilized a force of men to make war against the rival power that he wanted to punish. Therefore, the increasingly eccentric emperor unleashed the manpower that he had on hand to do battle against the mountain. The tale of this peculiar punitive campaign was recorded by Sima Qian, who stated, “The First Emperor, enraged, ordered 3,000 convict laborers to cut down all trees on Mt. Xiang, leaving it denuded. Then he returned from Nan Province by way of the Wu Pass” (Records of the Grand Historian, Shi Ji 6). Such was the punishment that the emperor allegedly inflicted on Mt. Xiang and its spirit empress. As revenge against his travels being supposedly delayed by supernatural interference, the peculiar emperor reportedly deforested the mountain that the spirit called home.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Picture Attribution: (Scene from the Eight Landscapes of Lu Han (c. 17th century), [Public Domain] via Creative Commons and the MET).

 

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Samson And Delilah, Painted By Lorenzo Lippi (c. 1606-1665)

This painting, by the Italian artist Lorenzo Lippi (c. 1606-1665), was inspired by the Biblical story of Samson and Delilah. The first of the pair, Samson, was a legendary Israelite warrior featured in the biblical Book of Judges. As the story goes, Samson was a scourge to the so-called Philistines, a mysterious seafaring people that invaded and settled a section of the Palestine coast around the 12th century BC, becoming a serious threat to ancient Israel. While the Philistines had formidable weaponry and an admirable military organization, the Israelites had legendary heroes. Wielding superhuman strength, Samson proved to be almost an indomitable foe for the Philistines. Yet, as the biblical story and the painting above divulge, there was an exploitable weakness to Samson’s strength—hair. If Samson’s long and braided locks were cut, then so would his strength also be shorn away. As the story goes, the Israelite warrior unwisely told this secret to a woman named Delilah, who then conveyed the secret to the Philistines and plotted with them to capture Samson. The Book of Judges described the story of what happened next:

“After putting him to sleep on her lap, she called for someone to shave off the seven braids of his hair, and so began to subdue him. And his strength left him. Then she called, ‘Samson, the Philistines are upon you!’ He awoke from his sleep and thought, ‘I’ll go out as before and shake myself free.’ But he did not know that the Lord had left him. Then the Philistines seized him, gouged out his eyes and took him down to Gaza” (Judges 16:19-21, NIV version).

Lorenzo Lippi re-creates (albeit with curious wardrobe choices) this scene of Delilah betraying Samson to the Philistines. As mentioned in the quote, he did not get away from the ambush. Yet, Samson would have the last laugh. As his hair began to grow back, so did his strength. With a few prayers to supplement his recovering power, he was said to have summoned enough strength to demolish the Philistine temple where he was being kept, killing himself and many of his captors.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

 

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The Exodus Of Chieftainess Asgerd

A woman named Asgerd, along with her husband Ofeig, were said to have ruled a small realm in the region of Romsdal, Norway, during the later decades of the 9th century. Unfortunately, they lived during a time when Harald Finehair was expanding his influence over Norway’s patchwork of minor kings and chieftains. Harald was said to have become the ruler of a modest kingdom in southeast Norway around the year 860, when he was supposedly only ten years old. After surviving his precarious childhood, he grew up to be a formidable warrior-king whose ambition was to bring all of Norway under his authority. Unfortunately for regional rulers like Asgerd and Ofeig, their independent realms would have to be subjugated if Harald wanted to accomplish his goal. To the dismay of these chieftains wishing to hold on to their independence, Harald Finehair would prove up to the task of bringing Norway under the banner of a monarchy.

Asgerd and Ofeig were not high on the list of Norwegian power-players siding for or against Harald Finehair, but as they were regional chieftains who controlled a small realm in Norway, the couple were drawn into the conflict all the same. Forced to choose a side, Asgerd and Ofeig evidently aligned with the anti-Harald faction, but the level of their involvement in the wars in Norway at that time is unclear. Whatever the case, they stood out enough to become targets of Harald’s wrath. Sadly, this dangerous attention brought tragic consequences. Although the exact circumstances are unknown, Ofeig was ultimately killed at the hands of Harald’s warriors.

Ofeig was survived by his wife, Asgerd, as well as their five children—Thorgeir, Thorstein, Thorbjorn, Alof and Thorgerd. Although they were still alive for the time being, Asgerd knew that her family was on thin ice with Harald, whose ascendance over Norway showed no sign of stopping. In fact, Harald Finehair would soon crush the last vestige of Norwegian resistance in the Battle of Hafrsfjord, which occurred sometime between 872 and 900, and he would continue ruling as King Harald I of Norway until around the year 940. As for Asgerd, she gathered her family and convinced them to abandon their home in Romsdal. She, her children, and also her brother, Thorolf, packed up their belongings onto ships and sailed away for a new life in Iceland.

Asgerd led her clan to the Southern Region of Iceland, where they settled around the Markarfljót area. After building her homestead there, the former chieftainess decided to remarry. Asgerd chose as her new husband a man named Thorgeir the Hordalander. With him, Asgerd had two more children, named Thorgrim and Holta-Thor.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Picture Attribution: (Cropped woman from Illustration till “Fjolners saga”. Plansch 15, by Fredrik Wilhelm Scholander, (c. 1816-1881), [Public Domain] via Creative Commons and the National Museum in Stockholm Sweden).

 

Sources:

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

Circe and Odysseus’ Company, by Christoffel Pierson (c. 1631-1714)

This painting by the Dutch artist, Christoffel Pierson (c. 1631-1714), was inspired by an episode from Homer’s ancient epic poem, The Odyssey, in which the Greek hero, Odysseus, encountered the goddess and sorceress Circe, who lived in luxury on an island called Aeaea. Circe’s island and palace were inhabited by a vast variety of animals. These animals, however, were not ordinary creatures, and their existence on the island was due to a magical secret. Unfortunately, a great portion of Odysseus’ crew did not wait to learn more about Circe and her island before they allowed themselves to be lured in for a banquet that Circe threw for the travelers. What happened next was recorded by Homer (c. 8th century BCE):

“Circe ushered the rest into her hall, gave them seats and chairs to sit on, and then prepared them a mixture of cheese, barley-meal, and yellow honey flavored with Pramnian wine. But into this dish she introduced a noxious drug, to make them lose all memory of their native land. And when they had emptied the bowls which she handed them, she drove them with blows of a stick into the pigsties. Now they had pig heads and bristles, and they grunted like pigs; but their minds were as human as they had been before” (Homer, The Odyssey, book 10, approximately lines 230-240).

Odysseus was fortunate enough to be given immunity from Circe’s transformation magic due to a timely and helpful visit from the god, Hermes. Spared from her spells and potions, Odysseus was able to negotiate with and befriend Circe, eventually leading to the pig-men being returned to their original shapes. It is this scene, either the initial drinking of the magic potion or the later friendship between Odysseus and Circe, that Christoffel Pierson brings to life in his painting.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

 

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William Shakespeare

William Shakespeare (c. 1564 [?] – 1616)

“To say the truth, reason and love keep little company together nowadays; the more the pity, that some honest neighbors will not make them friends.”

  • From William Shakespeare’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream (Act III, scene 1, approximately between lines 230-240). The edition used here is the Wolfgang Clemen and Sylvan Barnet version (Signet Classic/New American Library, 1963, 1964).

The Blinding Sermon Of Patriarch Kallinikos I Of Constantinople

In 694, a man named Kallinikos became the Patriarch of Constantinople, making him the head of the imperial city’s Christian church, and the leader of the bishops and archbishops that recognized Constantinople’s religious authority. Kallinikos’ ascendance to the patriarchal office came well into the reign of the cruel and tyrannical (but militarily competent) Emperor Justinian II, who began his rule in 685. Patriarch Kallinikos and Emperor Justinian II quickly ran afoul of each other, and as soon as 695—one year after Kallinikos became patriarch—it was rumored that Justinian II was already plotting ways for the clergyman to be executed or assassinated. Nevertheless, Kallinikos was not the only man in the imperial city who was a target of intrigue and conspiracy at that time. In fact, before any harm could come to Patriarch Kallinikos, it was Emperor Justinian II who found his life in danger. Before 695 was over, a general named Leontios surprised the emperor with a sudden revolt and, as told by the chronicler Theophanes (c. 750s-818), “[Justinian II] was clubbed down, bound hand and foot by Leontios…When it was day they led Justinian into the hippodrome through the Sphendone, slit his nose, cut his tongue, and exiled him to Cherson” (Chronographia, entry for Annus Mundi 6187 [695-696 CE]). Patrician Kallinikos, who had feared the emperor’s wrath, was greatly pleased with the ousting of Justinian. In particular, the patriarch was so jubilant at the emperor’s downfall that he wrote and delivered a sermon praising the coup against Justinian II.

Unfortunately for Patriarch Kallinikos and Constantinople, events in the empire became quite chaotic after Justinian’s removal from power. The usurper, Leontios, proclaimed himself emperor and ruled from 695 to 698, at which point he, too, fell to a revolt led by a certain Apsimaros. After imprisoning Leontios, Apsimaros successfully seized the throne and changed his name to Emperor Tiberius III. The new emperor led Constantinople until 705, when he was challenged by an invasion from the direction of Bulgaria. In command of the invasion was a familiar, but mutilated, face that had not been seen in Constantinople for a decade—to the horror of Patriarch Kallinikos, Justinian II had returned.

In 705, the exiled Justinian II led an army of Bulgarian and Slavic allies to the walls of Constantinople, and with their help, he successfully seized control of the imperial capital city and resumed his reign as emperor. Back on his throne, Justinian II embarked on a campaign of revenge against the usurpers and their applauders. Acting quickly, Justinian captured Tiberius III with a successful manhunt, and he curiously also found Leontios still imprisoned in the vicinity of Constantinople. Both men were paraded in chains, humiliated, and executed. With the men who had sat on his throne now dead, Justinian could move on to other figures in Constantinople who had stoked his ire. In particular, the emperor had never liked Patriarch Kallinikos, and his rage only grew when he discovered the celebratory sermon that the patriarch had delivered after Justinian’s exile. Acting upon this anger, the emperor had the patriarch arrested and punished. As told by the aforementioned chronicler, Theophanes (c. 750s-818), “Justinian blinded the patriarch Kallinikos and exiled him to Rome” (Chronographia, entry for Annus Mundi 6198 [706-707 CE]).

With Kallinikos mutilated and banished, Emperor Justinian II appointed a man of his choice—a certain monk named Cyrus—to fill the vacated role of Patriarch of Constantinople. Unfortunately for Patriarch Cyrus, appointment by an unpopular emperor did not come with steady job security. Emperor Justinian II was killed in the year 711 while trying to resist yet another revolt. The rebel leader, Bardanes Philippikos, went on to seize the throne of Constantinople and the new emperor ousted Patriarch Cyrus by 712.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Picture Attribution: (Byzantine era plaque (c. 900–1000) depicting the story of Joshua, [Public Domain] via Creative Commons and the MET.jpg).

 

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