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The Legend Of Titus Manlius Jr.’s Miscalculated Campaign To Impress His Father

By
thehistorianshut
-

In the year 340 BCE, the Roman Republic allied with the Samnites to attack the Latin League. That year, the experienced war hero and accomplished statesman, Titus Manlius Imperiosus Torquatus (or Titus Manlius Sr., as we will call him), was one of two Roman heads of state leading Rome’s government and military. By that time, Titus Manlius Sr. was serving his third term as a Roman consul, and he had been elected dictator twice in the past—such was his prestige. He was also a famous warrior who had allegedly won great renown by defeating a formidable Gallic fighter in a one-on-one duel to the death during a war dated to around 361 BCE. Nevertheless, Titus Manlius Sr.’s third consulship in 340 BCE was more than two decades after his famous duel, and by then much of his spontaneous and rash behavior had mellowed out and was replaced by an incredibly strict obsession with discipline and order.

When the Roman military marched against the Latin League in 340 BCE, Titus Manlius Sr. compelled his co-consul, Publius Decius Mus, and the Roman army to follow a severe code of obedience. No one in the Roman army could do anything without the act being a direct order from the chain of command. In particular, any engagement in unplanned skirmishes or ambushes was strictly prohibited. In short, Titus Manlius Sr. wanted the Roman army to go where it was supposed to go, and to stay where it was supposed to stay, with no unplanned detours or surprises happening along the way that might put the army, as a whole, in a disadvantage during the campaign.

According to legend, out of the whole Roman army, only a single cavalry squadron seemed to not get the memo that the troops were forbidden to act without authorization. In command of this uninformed or unheeding squadron was Consul Titus Manlius Sr.’s son. The son’s name was also Titus Manlius Torquatus, but for the sake of clarity, we will call him Titus Manlius Jr.

Titus Manlius Jr. was said to have been very much like his father. Yet, Jr. was still in his youthful, rash-action-inclined stage. The young warrior was reportedly at that time only being employed as a scout, but he was also keeping an eye out for opportunities to display feats of bravery, strength and skill. To put it bluntly, he seemed to want to emulate his war-hero and duelist father. Yet, Titus Manlius Sr.’s strict orders forbid lone, unauthorized heroics.

Titus Manlius Jr. and his loyal band of cavalrymen might have completed their patrol without controversy had they not encountered a rival group of horsemen. As the legend tells, the Roman scouts ran into a man named Geminus Maecius, a cavalry officer in the Latin League who was leading a force of Tusculans. Neither of the parties were particularly subtle, so the two sides recognized each other. At that moment, with startled foe pointing at foe, Geminus Maecius allegedly challenged the Romans to a duel. According to Roman tradition, Titus Manlius Jr. ignored his father’s prohibition of unauthorized engagements and instead eagerly accepted the offer.

Titus Manlius Jr. and Geminus Maecius were said to have dueled in a fashion somewhat resembling a joust, with each warrior fighting from horseback and jabbing at each other with spears. According to the folkloric and likely embellished accounts of the duel, the two fought to no advantage for a time, but Titus Manlius Jr. eventually proved himself to be the more skilled horseman. He reportedly unhorsed Geminus Maecius by stabbing the Tusculan’s mount. Titus Manlius Jr. then galloped back and fatally skewered Maecius as he was struggling back to his feet, ending the fight. Like father, like son, Titus Manlius Jr. defeated a rival champion in a duel to the death. Perhaps after looting some trophies, Jr. returned to the Roman camp, hoping to bask in cheers and glory over his feat of strength. Nevertheless, the mood in the camp was about to be anything but celebratory.

Regrettably for Titus Manlius Jr., the legend being told here is not famous because of Jr.’s duel. Instead, the tale gained fame because of Consul Titus Manlius Sr.’s shocking response to his son’s actions. As was mentioned earlier, the senior Manlius’ youthful admiration for individual heroics had in time been transformed into an incredibly strict obsession with discipline and order. Therefore, instead of feeling joy and pride over his son’s feat of strength, the consul only felt rage and anger over the insubordination that led to it. Titus Manlius Sr. deemed his son’s duel to have been a severe breach of discipline and order—according to legend, the consul decided that his son had to face severe punishment for disobeying commands. To the horror of the camp, Titus Manlius Sr. condemned Titus Manlius Jr. to death and ordered a prompt execution. The Roman historian, Livy (c. 59 BCE-17 CE), described the scene:

“All were transfixed with horror by this dreadful command; every man saw the axe as if raised against himself, and it was fear, not obedience, which held them in check. So they stood rooted to the spot in silence, as if lost in amazement; then, when the blood gushed from the severed neck, suddenly their voices broke out in agonized complaint so unrestrained that they spared neither laments nor curses. They covered the young man’s body with his spoils, built a pyre outside the earthworks, and burnt it with all the honours that can attend any military funeral” (Livy, History of Rome, 8.7).

Consul Titus Manlius Sr. would go on to win his campaign against the Latin League in 340 BCE, but he was never able to clear away the stigma he gained from executing his own son. In fact, his family name became a byword for severity in the Roman public consciousness. Livy attested the “existence of the phrase ‘Manlian discipline’…a phrase expressive of extreme severity…” (History of Rome, 4.29). The execution took its toll on Titus Manlius Sr. politically. After the campaign of 340 BCE was completed, his heyday as a statesman was over.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Picture Attribution: (Cropped section of Consul Titus Manlius Torquatus Orders the Execution of his Son, by Ferdinand Bol (c. 1616 – 1680), [Public Domain] via Creative Commons and the Rijksmuseum).

 

Sources:

Sokrates’ Død, by C. F. Høyer (c. 1775-1855)

By
thehistorianshut
-

This painting, titled Sokrates’ død (or Death of Socrates), by the Danish artist C. F. Høyer (c. 1775-1855), depicts the final moments from the life of the famous Greek philosopher, Socrates (c. 469-399 BCE). In 399 BCE, the seventy-year-old philosopher was brought to trial in Athens over accusations that he was a dangerous influence to the minds of Athenian youths, as well as charges insinuating that he held atheistic or heretical beliefs. Although Socrates denied these allegations, he was found guilty by his peers and sentenced to death. Despite being condemned to face execution, Socrates’ death sentence was not immediately carried out. This was because the philosopher’s trial had occurred around a time when Athens had sent representatives on a religious mission to Delos, and it was deemed improper to execute a prisoner while the mission was ongoing. As a result, Socrates’s execution was postponed for around a month. During this time, the old philosopher’s friends, admirers and followers tried to convince the condemned man to escape and live in exile. Nevertheless, Socrates refused, claiming that while he disagreed with the trial’s outcome, he would not disobey the state’s decision. Instead of fleeing, he willingly accepted death. Although Socrates, personally, was at peace with the decision, his followers had a much more difficult time dealing with the situation. Socrates’ protégé, Plato, recorded the dramatic scene of Socrates drinking poison while surrounded by his distraught friends:

“He was holding the cup, and then drained it calmly and easily. Most of us had been able to hold back our tears reasonably well up until then, but when we saw him drinking it and after he drank it, we could hold them back no longer; my own tears came in floods against my will. So I covered my face. I was weeping for myself, not for him—for my misfortune in being deprived of such a comrade. Even before me, Crito was unable to restrain his tears and got up. Apollodorus had not ceased from his weeping before, and at this moment his noisy tears and anger made everybody present break down, except Socrates” (Plato, Phaedo, 117d).

C. F. Høyer re-creates the moments that occurred just before Plato’s quote, freezing the scene right as the cup of poison is being brought to Socrates. The old philosopher awaits his fate calmly and reassuringly. His friends and supporters, however, cannot contain their anxiety and emotion while the cup of death approaches their leader.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

 

Sources:

Livy

By
thehistorianshut
-

Livy (c. 59 BCE-17 CE)

“Certainly by far the strongest government is one to which men are happy to be subject.”

  • The History of Rome (book 8, chapter 13) by Livy, translated by Betty Radice. New York: Penguin Classics, 1982.

The Monstrous Life Of Steinrod The Strong

By
thehistorianshut
-

Steinrod the Strong was an Icelander whose father, Thorir, traveled from Norway to settle in Iceland during the time period known as the Age of Settlement (c. 860-930). His family claimed the Oxnadale region near the Eyjafjörður area of northern Iceland. It is unclear if Steinrod the Strong was born in, or brought to, Iceland, but he thrived in his family’s new homeland. When he reached maturity, he gained a reputation for being a problem-solver and a man who would help people in need. Much of Steinrod’s contribution to society came through his chosen occupation—blacksmithing—but he also was said to have found another niche where he could help his fellow Icelanders. This side job, so the story goes, involved Steinrod seeing to his neighbors’ supernatural needs. These paranormal quests did not allegedly involve just mere charms, runes, and occult consultation. Instead, according to Icelandic folklore, Steinrod the Strong offered his services as a monster-slayer. It might have been a family business, because his father, Thorir, was nicknamed “the Troll-Burster.”

Although Steinrod the Strong was attributed with several feats of monster hunting, few tales about these alleged heroics were preserved in writing. Fortunately, the medieval Icelandic text, Landnámabók (Book of Settlements), did record a few fine details about one of the monster-hunter’s supposed supernatural battles. According to that book, Steinrod the Strong clashed with a sorceress named Geirhild, who was said to have been particularly skilled at shapeshifting. On Steinrod’s career and his fight with Geirhild, the Landnámabók stated: “[Thorir the Troll-Burster’s] son was Steinrod the Strong, who saved a great many people when they were attacked by monsters. There was a vile sorceress called Geirhild, and people with second sight saw Steinrod going for her, taking her by surprise; but she changed herself into a bull’s hide bag filled with water. Steinrod was a blacksmith and went after her with a huge iron pike in his hand” (Landnámabók, Stulubók manuscript, chapter 225). Besides divulging that the setting of the fight was reportedly at a place called Hjaltaeyr and that Geirhild likely got away, the Landnámabók gave no further details about the bizarre encounter and left many questions unanswered. Did Steinrod continue hunting the sorceress? Did Geirhild ever reappear? Why, of all things, did she transform into a bag of water? It all remains a strange and humorous mystery.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Picture Attribution: (Image titled Ilustration til Fabricius’ Danmarks historie, by H. C. Henneberg (1826 – 1893) and G. T. Wegner (d. 1799), [Public Domain] via Creative Commons and the Statens Museum for Kunst).

 

Sources:

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

Odysseus Takes Counsel With Teiresias, By Nicolai Abildgaard (c. 1743 – 1809)

By
thehistorianshut
-

This painting, by the Danish artist Nicolai Abildgaard (c. 1743 – 1809), re-creates a scene from the ancient Greek epic poem, The Odyssey, written by the poet Homer (c. 8th century BCE). In terms of chronology, the painting is set several years after the poem’s namesake, Odysseus, originally set off on his troubled journey home to Ithaca. During this journey, he kept running into supernatural and abnormal communities, including the Cicones, the Lotus-Eaters, and a group of man-eating cyclopes. They then reached the home of the wind-god, Aeolus, who gave the traveling hero a bag of wind that would allow Odysseus to easily sail home to Ithaca. Nevertheless, the hero’s crew opened up the bag, unleashing a terrible gust that sent them horribly off course. Odysseus next arrived in the lands of the giant and violent Laestrygonians. After escaping, Odysseus and the remnants of his followers found their way to the island of Aeaea—the lair of the magical goddess, Circe. After eventually warming to Odysseus and his crew, Circe decided that Odysseus needed to consult with the blind Theban prophet, Teiresias, in order to learn how to return home. Teiresias, however, was dead and in the underworld. To Circe, though, this was not an issue. She told Odysseus how to reach the edge of the realm of the dead and instructed him in a ritual that would lure Teiresias and other ghosts out to speak with Odysseus.

Following Circe’s instructions, Odysseus sailed to a place called Persephone’s Grove, through which several branches of the River Styx flowed. There, Odysseus dug a trench in the ground and, while circling around this trench, he began ceremoniously pouring in milk, honey, wine and water. The liquids were then topped with a sprinkling of barley grains. Next, Odysseus called out to the spirits, telling them of his intention to offer them honors and sacrifices. And, finally, he sacrificed a ram and a black ewe over the trench, flaying the animals and ritualistically burning their remains. With these actions complete, Odysseus and his crew began praying to the underworld gods, Hades and Persephone; and with the permission of these deities, spirits from the underworld began to creep out to meet with Odysseus. Homer, narrating from Odysseus’ point of view, described the scene:

“I turned to my comrades and told them to quickly flay the sheep I had slaughtered with my sword and burn them, and to pray to the gods, the mighty Hades and august Persephone. But I myself sat on the guard, bare sword in hand, and prevented any of the insubstantial presences from approaching the blood before I questioned Teiresias…And the spirit of the Theban prophet now came up, with a gold scepter in his hand, saw who I was, and addressed me” (Homer, The Odyssey, book 11, between lines 40-100).

It is this passage that inspired Nicolai Abildgaard’s painting. It shows the spirit of Teiresias, gold staff in hand, meeting with Odysseus. Around them are other spirits—including Odysseus’ mother, Anticleia—who await their turn to speak to the rare living guest. Teiresias prophesied Odysseus’s future and, after receiving this fortunetelling, the hero lingered at the borderlands of the underworld to talk with the ghosts. Nevertheless, Odysseus eventually had to depart from the departed. He momentarily returned to the island of the goddess, Circe, then he resumed his odyssey home to Ithaca.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

 

Sources:

Lucan

By
thehistorianshut
-

Lucan (c. 39-65)

“Don’t let the glory of this brief life disturb you.
The hour comes that will level all the leaders.”

  • From Lucan’s Civil War (Book 6, approximately lines 898-899), translated by Matthew Fox (Penguin Classics, 2012).

The Violent Friulan Rejection Of Arnefrit

By
thehistorianshut
-

Arnefrit was from a noble family that owed its rise and its fall to the influence of King Grimoald of the Lombards (r. 662-671). At first, the king evidently put a lot of trust in Arnefrit’s family. A marital bond was formed between the families, with Arnefrit’s sister, Theuderada, marrying the king’s prestigious son, Duke Romuald of Benevento.  But in addition to friendship and access, King Grimoald gave his daughter-in-law’s family power and responsibility. Arnefrit’s father, Lupus, was assigned by the king to become the regional commander, or perhaps an official duke, of the Friuli region of Lombard Italy around the year 663. Specifics of Lupus’ original title (commander vs. duke) do not really matter—he assumed himself to be a duke, and he and his son, Arnefrit, intended for their dukedom to have hereditary succession.

Unfortunately for Arnefrit, his own father was a bit too greedy, corrupt and careless for the family’s own good. It all began when Emperor Constans II of Constantinople (r. 641-668) personally reached Italy in 663, where the emperor split his attention between building power in Sicily, reducing the power of Rome, and waging war against the Lombards. For King Grimoald, the emperor’s renewed aggression at the borders was manageable, but it was still challenging enough for the king to feel the need to personally lead troops down toward southern Italy, where his son, Duke Romuald of Benevento, was experiencing the brunt of the empire’s attacks. During this time when the king was overseeing the war effort in the south, Grimoald decided to appoint Duke Lupus to a stewardship position, tasking him with watching over the north of Italy while the king was away. Nevertheless, due to Lupus’ aforementioned lack virtue and ethics, his term as the appointed steward did not go well. As the story goes, Lupus oversaw the north so poorly that, when the king eventually returned, the duke fled back to his dukedom and believed his only chance to escape execution was to gamble on rebellion. The revolt, however, never came to full fruition, for a horde of Avars poured into Lupus’ domain in Fruili and attacked the prospective rebel duke. According to Lombard folklore, it was cold and calculating King Grimoald who had invited the Avars to attack Lupus. Whatever the case, the Lombard king did not force the Avars out of Lombard territory until after they defeated and killed Duke Lupus.

Arnefrit survived his father’s unsuccessful war with the Avars, but his safety was still in question. The sins of the father, it seems, had, by then, passed to the son, and King Grimoald wanted nothing to do with Arnefrit. From the downfallen family, only Theuderada remained in good standing, due to the continued support she received from her husband, Duke Romuald of Benevento. Perhaps, Arnefrit could have journeyed to Benevento and put himself at the mercy and protection of Theuderada and her husband. Regardless—he did not choose this option. Arnefrit instead decided to gather up his movable treasure and exile himself into the lands of the Slavs. There, he bided his time, hoping to find a way to reclaim the dukedom of Friuli, which he believed was rightfully his.

King Grimoald, meanwhile, was forcing the Avars out of Lombard territory. When Friuli was secured and the king’s authority there was once more enforced, King Grimoald began the chore of selecting a new duke for the region. He was understandably more thorough in making his choice this time—the dukedom was placed in the safe hands of a loyalist named Wechtari. Yet, the king’s will would soon be challenged by Arnefrit, who was putting his treasures to good use while in exile.

Ambitious Arnefrit evidently used whatever wealth he had to buy a mercenary army of Slavic warriors. As reported by the Lombard historian, Paul the Deacon (c. 720-799), Arnefrit had been recruiting warriors in “the nation of the Slavs, and afterwards coming with the Slavs as if about to resume the dukedom by their means, he was killed when the Friulans attacked him at the fortress of Nemae (Nimis), which is not far from Forum Julii [Cividale]” (Paul the Deacon, History of the Lombards, 5.10). If Duke Wechtari had not yet been present in the region at the time of this battle, then news of his rival’s quick defeat at the hands of local Friulans must have been a pleasant surprise. Whatever the case, Duke Wechtari assumed control of the region without any difficulty from the local populace. He did, however, need to defeat the remnants of Arnefrit’s Slavic army, which lingered in the Friuli region.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Picture Attribution: (Battle Scene, painted by an unidentified 18th-century European artist, [Public Domain] via Creative Commons and Webumenia).

 

Sources:

  • History of the Lombards by Paul the Deacon, translated by William Dudley Foulke (c. 1904). University of Pennsylvania Press, 1907, 1974, 2003.

The Abduction Of The Sabine Women, Painted By Nicolas Poussin (c. 1594–1665)

By
thehistorianshut
-

This painting, by the French artist Nicolas Poussin (c. 1594–1665), was inspired by an uncomfortable and infamous legend from the history of ancient Rome. The legendary episode in question was said to have occurred during the time of Rome’s founder, Romulus, whose mythical or legendary reign was traditionally dated to about 753-717 BCE. According to the Roman historian, Livy (59 BCE-17 CE), Romulus recognized 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 nearby rival cities—notably the 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 advertised to neighboring settlements 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 Poussin’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

 

Sources:

The Dramatic Life Of Hrafn Haven-Key

By
thehistorianshut
-

A mysterious man known as Hrafn Haven-Key settled with his family in Iceland during the so-called Age of Settlement (c. 860-930). Much about his life was an enigma, with his Icelandic neighbors knowing little about his background other than that he had gained wealth and renown as a Viking raider. With these ill-gotten gains, Hrafn reached Iceland and began creating his home at a place that was then known as Dynwoods. It is unknown how long he stayed and built on that estate, but his time there was definitely not permanent. Unfortunately for Hrafn, the region he chose to settle upon was highly volcanic. Even worse, an eruption was due any minute as he tried to build up his homestead.

Dynwoods, to say the least, was a ticking timebomb, but Hrafn, fortunately, was a man of keen intuition, and he quickly recognized that something was amiss. Whatever the reason, be it earthquake, steam, or other common signs of an impending volcano, Hrafn Haven-Key decided to quickly dismantle his homestead and to pack up his belongings. He left the region just in time, because after he successfully reached safety with his belongings, the volcano reportedly did indeed erupt in the vicinity of Dynwoods. Starting anew, Hrafn moved to southern Iceland and began building in the Kúðafljót region of the island. Hrafn’s two homes were mentioned in the medieval Icelandic Book of Settlements (Landnámabók), which stated, “Hrafn Haven-Key was a great viking. He went to Iceland and took possession of land between [the] Holms and Eyjar Rivers making his home at Dynwoods. He was able to foresee a volcanic eruption and moved to Lag Isle” (Landnámabók, Stulubók manuscript, chapter 327). Events at Hrafn’s new home of Lag Isle proved to be much less eruptive than at his previous abode, and he was able to settle his family with stability there. Hrafn’s estate was eventually inherited by his son, Aslak, who became a religious leader.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Picture Attribution: (Cropped section of An Eruption of Vesuvius, painted by Johan Christian Dahl (c. 1788–1857), [Public Domain] via Creative Commons and the MET).

 

Sources:

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

Philemon And Baucis, By Elias van Nijmegen (c. 1667-1755)

By
thehistorianshut
-

This drawing, by Elias van Nijmegen (c. 1667-1755) of the Netherlands, was inspired by the ancient Greek myth of Philemon and Baucis. As the story goes, the Greek gods Zeus and Hermes (or the Roman equivalents, Jupiter and Mercury) were scouting the Greek countryside for prime real-estate on which a new temple could be built. Zeus and Hermes, wearing disguises, eventually found themselves in the town where Philemon and Baucis lived. Yet, the gods were not impressed with the community, for the majority of the townspeople were supposedly a highly unwelcoming lot. Nevertheless, whereas other households avoided the visiting gods and refused to open their doors to them, the amiable couple of Philemon and Baucis contrastingly invited in the disguised gods and played the role of the host to the best of their ability. The Roman poet, Ovid (43 BCE-17 CE), described the scene:

“Jupiter once came here, disguised as a mortal, and with him
his son, the messenger Mercury, wand and wings set aside.
Looking for shelter and rest, they called at a thousand homesteads;
a thousand doors were bolted against them. One house, however,
did make them welcome, a humble abode with a roof of straw
and marsh reed, one that knew its duty to gods and men.
Here good Philémon and Baucis had happily passed their youth
and here they had reached old age, enduring their poverty lightly
by owning it freely and being content with the little they had.”
(Ovid, Metamorphoses, 8.626-634).

Despite not having much at their disposal, Philemon and Baucis threw a feast for their guests, bringing whatever was available in or around the house to the table. This hospitality and generosity impressed the gods, and as it would soon turn out, the impression left by the feast would be of great consequence. As the story goes, the gods decided that they would have a temple built at Philemon and Baucis’ town. The kindly old couple could stay, of course, at the divinely-favored construction project. Other townspeople in the region, however, were not given the same invitation.

According to the myth, the gods quickly ushered Philemon and Baucis out of town and led them to a nearby mountain. With them safely stowed on the mountainside, the gods called in a flood to wipe out the town, and of all the houses in the community, only that of Philemon and Baucis survived the inundation.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

 

Sources:

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