Showing posts with label Law. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Law. Show all posts

Sunday, February 23, 2020

Emperor Justinian’s Crackdown On Astrologers



From the birth of the Roman Empire in Rome, to the fall of the empire in Constantinople, the emperors were known to have periodic clashes with astrologers. Justinian, emperor of Constantinople from 527 to 565, was no exception, as he apparently feared that the horoscopes and predictions created by astrologers could be a threat to his authority, as well as that of Constantinople’s church.

Procopius (c. 490-565), a lawyer and historian who lived at the same time as Justinian, described how astrologers were reportedly treated during the emperor’s reign. He wrote:

 “They were bitterly hostile to astrologers. Accordingly the official appointed to deal with burglaries made a point of ill-treating them simply because they were astrologers, flogging the backs of them and setting them on camels to be shown to jeering crowds all over the city, though they were old men and respectable in every way” (Procopius, Secret History, chapter 11).

As the end of the quote shows, Procopius disapproved of Justinian’s treatment of astrologers, and such critical comments are the common theme of his controversial work, the often-libelous Secret History. Yet, despite Procopius’ negative and antagonistic flourishes in the Secret History, it was in his commentary on legal issues that he most often spoke the truth. Even if the astrologers were punished with whips and humiliation as Procopius claimed, the astrologers were still treated better than other groups that Justinian chose to oppress. Non-Christians, heretics, and certain classes of criminals faced far worse punishments.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Picture Attribution: (Image from page 293 of "The astrologer of the nineteenth century" (1825), [Public Domain] via flickr.com and Creative Commons).

Sources:
  • The Secret History by Procopius, translated by G. A. Williamson and Peter Sarris. New York: Penguin Classics, 1966, 2007.

Monday, January 13, 2020

The Murder Of Moneylender Armentarius



Armentarius was a moneylender who operated in the late 6th century. As a man of the Jewish religion, he was able to work around the medieval Christian stigma against usury, and could lend money, buy government bonds, and charge interest on his loans. Yet, his benefit of being able to receive interest payments came at great risk, especially as Armentarius’ clients could often be at the top of society, with leading nobles and their assistants making up much of his business.  If he pushed too hard for his loan payoff, or if his clients became distressed because of debts, Armentarius could easily find himself in peril. Armentarius had to manage these touchy relationships himself, for the kings and courts of public opinion in medieval Europe were becoming more and more tainted with antisemitism, allowing for angry debtors to fight back against moneylenders by stoking bias, bigotry and the us-versus-them mentality. Despite the dangers, Armentarius continued lending money and the governing nobles and officials continued to be his targeted audience.

In 584, Armentarius arrived in Tours, hoping to collect money that he was owed by Count Eunomius and Vice-Count Injuriosus. The moneylender knew that his mission was potentially dangerous, so he brought two Christian protectors along with him to Tours, and a fellow Jewish friend also joined the party.  Armentarius and his three companions, upon entering Tours, had a meeting with Count Eunomius and Vice-Count Injuriosus, in which the moneylender was assured that his loans would be reimbursed with interest. After the meeting concluded, Injuriosus invited Armentarius and his associates to his nearby estate in Tours, where they could further discuss payment options over dinner. Injuriosus also promised to provide his guests with lodgings on or near his own property.

Injuriosus, keeping his word, held a feast for the moneylender’s party and, when night began to fall, the vice-count had his servants lead the guests toward their promised lodgings. Yet, all was not as it seemed. Injuriosus had ulterior motives for luring Armentarius onto his estate, and the servants that he had leading the guests were not simple butlers. According to Gregory of Tours, the bishop of the city at the time of these events, “the Jews and the two Christians were killed by the servants of Injuriosus and their bodies were thrown into a well which was near the house” (History of the Franks, VII.23).

The murder of Armentarius and his companions did not go unnoticed, but it was outside influence that finally prompted an investigation and trial. Family and friends of Armentarius became concerned when their loved one disappeared. They retraced his steps to Tours and scoured the city for news of what happened. After some admirable sleuthing, they successfully found the well near Vice-Count Injuriosus’ house and recovered the remains of the four people that had been thrown down into the depths. Citing local hearsay, the suspicious location of the body dumping site, and the large debts that the vice-count owed Armentarius, the family and friends of the moneylender brought their case before the local justice system. Injuriosus, however, had friends and clout in the court, and he assumed a simple defense of swearing that he had not been involved in the murders. Bishop and historian Gregory of Tours reported on this lackluster trial, writing, “He was prosecuted: but, as I have said, he denied his guilt vehemently, and the plaintiffs had no evidence on which he could be convicted. He was sentenced to clear himself by oath” (History of the Franks, VII.23). After this disappointing result, Armentarius’ family reportedly followed up by bringing their case directly to King Childebert II of the Franks (r. 575-595). The king and his court ignored the case, however, and no further trials of Vice-Count Injuriosus were held concerning the murder of Armentarius and his associates.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Picture Attribution: (Scene from Frankish History of Duke Guntram Boso being ambushed on the road, painted by Lawrence Alma-Tadema  (1836–1912), [Public Domain] via Creative Commons).

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

Tuesday, December 17, 2019

The Alcohol Exposition Of Rep. Fiorello La Guardia



The date was June 19, 1926, and the United States was struggling through the Prohibition Era (1919/1920-1933), a time in which the U.S. government cracked down on the mass-production and sale of alcoholic beverages. They did this through questionable and ineffective means that produced underwhelming and ironically lawless results.  Although the Temperance Movement and an alliance of dry politicians were in favor of Prohibition, Representative Fiorello La Guardia of New York was in no way a fan. On that June day in 1926, Representative La Guardia decided to express his dissent in a very educational public service announcement that the populace would be sure to drink up—he invited twenty people from the news industry into his Washington D.C. office and then proceeded to demonstrate to them how someone in the United States could use legal store-bought ingredients to make an alcoholic beer.

As the band of newsmen jostled for positions in Fiorello La Guardia’s Congressional office, the representative readied his ingredients. His desk was covered with glass cups and various bottles of different liquids. Like a chemistry teacher, Rep. La Guardia proceeded to hold up one of the bottles for all in the room to see. It was a non-alcoholic (or legally low-alcohol) brew—a product called “near beer.” He took this legal and accessible item and poured its contents into a glass. With that step completed, Rep. La Guardia next showed the reporters another bottle from the table. It was a container of malt extract tonic, another easily-obtainable product that was legal to own during Prohibition. After opening the bottle of extract, Rep. La Guardia raised up the glass with the non-alcoholic beverage already in it, and, upon receiving the full attention of the reporters, he made a show of pouring most of the malt extract into the near beer. After giving the concoction some time to ferment, Rep. La Guardia proclaimed that he had made a 2% beer with simply-procured, legal products. As a final touch, the representative drank the beer and sent the reporters on their way to print reports on his informative stunt.

Representative Fiorello La Guardia received rave reviews from the newspapers that attended his alcohol exposition. Dry politicians, however, balked at the gall of the man and protested. Yet, verbal jabs from his fellow Congressmen did not stop Rep. La Guardia from bringing his brewing show on the road. He was known to have done a second beer production exposition in his home state of New York. Prohibition, however, would not end in the United States until 1933.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Picture Attribution: (Photograph of Fiorello La Guardia dated between ca. 1915 and ca. 1920, [Public Domain] via the U.S. Library of Congress and Creative Commons).

Sources:
  • http://bioguide.congress.gov/scripts/biodisplay.pl?index=l000007
  • https://www.britannica.com/biography/Fiorello-H-La-Guardia 
  • https://www.pbs.org/kenburns/prohibition/media_detail/2085902822-laguardia/ 
  • https://vinepair.com/articles/la-guardia-homemade-beer/ 
  • https://www.britannica.com/event/Prohibition-United-States-history-1920-1933 
  • https://www.history.com/topics/roaring-twenties/prohibition  

Wednesday, February 20, 2019

Zhang Tang’s Disturbing Campaign Of Justice Against A Thieving Rodent




Zhang Tang was born in the region of Du (modern Xi’an, Shaanxi Province, China) sometime in the 2nd century BCE. His family was humble, but had ample possibilities for mobility. This was in large part due to his father’s work as an aid to a government official in Chang’an, the Capital City of the Han Dynasty. While his father was away, young Zhang Tang was tasked with watching over the family home.

Even with the passage of time, great leaps in technology and significant cultural changes, the children of ancient eras played and behaved almost the same as the children of today. Therefore, just as modern kids enjoy using their imaginations to pretend to be doctors, or soldiers, or super-heroes, so too did little Zhang Tang enjoy acting out his dream job—an imperial law official of the Han Dynasty. According to peculiar pieces of folklore preserved by Grand Historian Sima Qian (c. 145-90 BCE), young Zhang Tang was disturbingly serious about his play sessions as a pretend judge.

One bizarre tale about Zhang Tang’s childhood was set during one of those spans of time when he was appointed as the honorary man of the house while his father was off working in Chang’an. In particular, the commuting father was strict about the security of his pantry—if anything was missing from the larder, nothing would save Zhang Tang from his father’s wrath.  Unfortunately, although young Zhang Tang had obsessively learned everything he could about imperial law, he was in no way a skilled watchman or guard. Therefore, to the boy’s horror, a stealthy rat had sneaked into the home and had made off with a prized cut of meat while he was distracted.

When the exhausted father returned home, he immediately realized that something was missing. He must have been really looking forward to eating the stolen morsel, for the father was reportedly so furious that he cruelly gave Zhang Tang a beating for his negligence. Later on, the boy was clearly still dwelling on the rat and the beating when he decided to play his next session of imaginary lawman. Fully throwing himself into the role, young Zhang Tang devoted himself to hunting down the greatest criminal living in the confines of his family’s estate—the thieving rodent.

Acting as an investigator, Zhang Tang tracked down the hole where the rat lived. To the horror of his family, the boy then excavated the rat den and captured the thief. He even discovered evidence of the crime—there were still scraps of the prized meat that were uneaten. With the rodent and evidence in his possession, Zhang Tang had everything he needed to launch the greatest make-believe law case of his bizarre childhood.

Following imperial law and court etiquette to the letter, the boy charged the rodent with committing a heinous crime and put it on trial. It was an incredibly thorough procedure. According to the tale, he even interrogated the rodent and recorded its squeaks as a confession. Sima Qian brilliantly and vividly described the uncanny, disturbing scene: “He then proceeded to indict the rat, beat it until it told its story, write out a record of its words, compare them with the evidence, and draw up a proposal for punishment. After this he took the rat and meat out into the yard, where he held a trial, presented the charges, and crucified the rat” (Shi Ji 122). When the boy’s father heard of his son’s odd trial and subsequent execution of the poor rodent, he was not concerned in the least. Instead, according to the peculiar piece of folklore, the father was extremely impressed.

As Sima Qian presented it, this was the event that set off Zhang Tang’s career in law. When the boy’s father saw his son’s interest and skill in court proceedings, he sent Zhang Tang to study legal documents. As he grew up, Zhang Tang went on to become a successful member of the Han court, reaching positions such as commandant of justice and imperial secretary to Emperor Wu. He gained a reputation as a wise, albeit manipulative, government official. Zhang Tang became one of the emperor’s favorite counselors, but he ultimately committed suicide in 116 BCE after being accused of corruption.

Written by C. Keith Hansley.

Picture Attribution: (Funerary Sculpture of an animal (rat) of the Twelve-Year Chinese Zodiac (Shengxiao), c. Yuan Dynasty, [Public Domain] via Creative Commons).

Sources:
  • The Records of the Grand Historian (Shi ji) by Sima Qian, translated by Burton Watson. New York: Columbia University Press, 1993.
  • http://www.chinaknowledge.de/History/Han/personszhangtang.html  

Sunday, February 10, 2019

The Trial Of Rusticus And Senecio



In the year 69, Emperor Vespasian and his Flavian Dynasty came to power after a year of civil war between powerful generals, a period known as the Year of the Four Emperors (Galba, Otho, Vitellius and, finally, Vespasian). After coming to power through such chaotic means, the Flavian Dynasty understandably shed some of the carefully crafted façade of the earlier Roman Principate, and decided to rule more openly as a military dictatorship. Therefore, treason trials were resumed and more restraining measures were put in place against possible threats to the imperial family, especially during the reign of the last Flavian Emperor, Domitian (r. 81-96). Although many people were sentenced to death during the reign of the Flavian Emperors, two executed men named Arulenus Rusticus and Herennius Senecio particularly stood out to contemporary scholars of the age.

Renowned writers of the 1st century, such as Tacitus, Suetonius and Pliny the Younger, all wrote about the case of Rusticus and Senecio. One reason that these specific executions hit the scholars so hard was that they had been acquaintances of Rusticus and Senecio, and, in the case of Pliny, close friends. Additionally, Rusticus and Senecio were sentenced to death as a consequence of the literature that they wrote, and therefore the case directly affected the scholarly and literary community to which Tacitus, Suetonius and Pliny the Younger belonged.

Arulenus Rusticus and Herennius Senecio drew the suspicion of Emperor Domitian after they wrote admiring pieces that honored deceased rebellious senators. Rusticus chose as the subject of his text Senator Thrasea Paetus, who was executed in 66, after years of being a public critic of Emperor Nero. As for Senecio, the individual he idolized in his text was a bit more sensational for the days of the Flavian Dynasty. Herennius Senecio praised Senator Helvidius Priscus the Elder, who was executed in 75 for his outspoken resistance against Emperor Vespasian, the father of Domitian. Such glowing accounts of rebellious senators put Rusticus and Senecio at odds with the Flavian emperors, as well as pro-Flavian senators. Yet, for vague reasons, Emperor Domitian did not only question the loyalty of Rusticus and Senecio, but he also was suspicious of many people connected to the two controversial writers.

In the year 93, Arulenus Rusticus, Herennius Senecio, and even Helvidius Priscus the Younger (son of the senator executed by Vespasian) were all put on trial. Also tried was Fannia, the widow of the elder Priscus, and Fannia’s mother Arria, as well as Arulenus Rusticus’ brother (Mauricus) and wife (Gratilla). At the end of the trials, Rusticus, Senecio and Priscus the Younger were all executed. Everyone else mentioned above survived the trials, but they all were sent into exile and did not return to Rome until after Domitian’s assassination in 96.

For Tacitus, the tragedy was not so much the deaths of Rusticus and Senecio—they knew the risks of challenging an all-powerful regime—but instead the lack of Roman resistance against censorship in literature and oration. Following the execution of Rusticus and Senecio, the literary works that they wrote were gathered and burned by the government. Writing of the Rusticus and Senecio trial, as well of the subsequent burning of their books, Tacitus wrote: “We have indeed left an impressive example of subservience. Just as Rome of old explored the limits of freedom, so have we plumbed the depths of slavery, robbed by informers even of the interchange of speech” (Agricola, section 2).

Written by C. Keith Hansley.

Picture Attribution: (Archimedes before his death with the Roman soldier - copy of a Roman mosaic from the 2nd century, [Public Domain] via Creative Commons).

Sources:
  • Agricola and Germania by Tacitus and translated by Harold Mattingly and revised by J. B. Rives. New York: Penguin Classics, 2009.
  • The Twelve Caesars by Suetonius, translated by Robert Graves and edited by James B. Rives. New York: Penguin Classics, 2007. 
  • https://www.britannica.com/biography/Publius-Clodius-Thrasea-Paetus 
  • https://www.britannica.com/biography/Pliny-the-Younger 
  • http://oxfordre.com/classics/view/10.1093/acrefore/9780199381135.001.0001/acrefore-9780199381135-e-3002 
  • http://oxfordre.com/classics/view/10.1093/acrefore/9780199381135.001.0001/acrefore-9780199381135-e-3032  

Thursday, November 1, 2018

Emperor Claudius’ King Solomon Moment



The Biblical King Solomon is perhaps the only person in history to be praised for threatening to kill a baby. This famous story occurs in 1 Kings 3:16 of the Bible. As the story goes, two women were living in a single home, each with a newborn baby boy. On a tragic night, one of the two mothers killed her own son by accident while she slept. Maddened by grief, the mother of the murdered child stole the other woman’s son, placing the dead baby with her unsuspecting roommate. When the other woman woke up, however, she immediately realized that the dead child was not her beloved son and therefore brought the case before King Solomon, asking him to determine the real mother of the surviving son. To determine the truth, King Solomon called for a sword and proclaimed that the living baby would be cut in half, so that each woman would have a share. Hopefully, any person would be horrified by such a threat, yet, in the story, only the real mother of the child had a moral response. The real mother begged the king to spare the baby and give the child to the other woman. Sensing the motherly care in the woman’s plea, King Solomon put away his sword and delivered the child to his true mother.

Many centuries later, the Roman Emperor Claudius (r. 41-54) also had to determine the identity of a child’s mother. Yet, unlike Solomon’s problem of two women claiming the same baby, Claudius instead faced the dilemma of one woman who was vigorously refusing to admit in court that a young man was her son. There was apparently a conflict of evidence and neither side of the debate could convincingly prove if the woman was being truthful or lying. With the court in stalemate, Claudius, like King Solomon so many years before, decided to determine the truth by announcing an unexpected and outrageous demand. According to the Roman biographer, Suetonius (c. 70-130+), Emperor Claudius decreed that the woman and the young man should marry.

Interestingly, Claudius may have personally thought his proposal between the mother and son would actually be a splendid idea, for the emperor had personally married first his own cousin and then his niece in successive order. Nevertheless, other Romans were less eager to marry their close relatives, much less their children. Faced with an incestuous marriage, the woman in court either refused the emperor’s decree or openly confessed, finally admitting that the young man was indeed her son.

Written by C. Keith Hansley.

Picture Attribution: (Photograph, c. 1911, of an ancient bust of Emperor Claudius from the Uffizi Gallery, Florence., [Public Domain] Via Creative Commons).

Sources:
  • The Twelve Caesars (Divus Claudius, 15) by Suetonius, translated by Robert Graves and edited by James B. Rives. New York: Penguin Classics, 2007.

Tuesday, September 11, 2018

The Imaginative Roman Tradition For Serving Justice To Criminals Guilty Of Parricide



Ancient Rome had a grisly fondness for showy executions, but the punishment for someone who confessed to parricide, the murder of a parent or close relative, was especially grandiose. The traditional sentence for parricide was so extravagant that Augustus allegedly warned a man who was guilty of the crime not to confess because, without the confession, the trial and punishment would proceed as with any other capital offense.

If, however, a person did confess to parricide, their last moments were fated to be quite bizarre. At the time of execution, the confessed criminal was forced into a huge sack. The bag was so large because the criminal would not be alone inside. Before the sack was sealed, the executioners brought in a wide variety of small animals. From this macabre zoo, a rooster, a snake, a dog, and even a monkey were supposedly crammed into the sack with the condemned criminal. Finally, when the sewing was complete, the stuffed bag was tossed into a body of water, with the criminal and animals still trapped inside.

Written by C. Keith Hansley.

Picture Attribution: (Image from History of Rome and of the Roman people, from its origin to the Invasion of the Barbarians (1883), [Public Domain] via Flickr and Creative Commons).

Sources:
  • The Twelve Caesars by Suetonius, translated by Robert Graves and edited by James B. Rives. New York: Penguin Classics, 2007.
  • https://www.jstor.org/stable/30222199?seq=1#page_scan_tab_contents 
  • https://www.encyclopedia.com/social-sciences-and-law/law/crime-and-law-enforcement/parricide

  •  

Wednesday, June 20, 2018

The Disturbing Childhood Of The Saga Character, Grettir The Strong



Several figures described in the Icelandic sagas had very gruesome and cruel childhoods involving abuse and violence. Perhaps the darkest childhoods belonged to the 10th-century Viking poet, Egil Skallagrimsson, and the 11th-century wandering warrior, Grettir the Strong. The former of the two allegedly was already a killer at the age of seven, and he loved to play malicious pranks. As for Grettir, he supposedly became a killer later on in his youth, but his childhood was actually much more disturbing than that of Egil. Whereas Egil killed on impulse and emotion, Grettir grew up with all the signs of a soon-to-be serial killer, starting with animal cruelty and working his way up to murder.

Grettir’s Saga, one of many sagas produced in medieval Iceland that skillfully wove together history, folklore and mythology, surprisingly spent fairly few pages describing the childhood of the saga’s namesake. Despite the brevity of the summary, the anonymous 14th-century author of the saga presented several disturbing events that occurred in Grettir’s upbringing in Bjarg, a settlement located in northern Iceland.

In the sagas, Grettir the Strong was the son of Asmund Grey-Streak and Asdis. In his youth, Grettir was described as a redheaded, handsome lad with a squarish and freckled face. He was reserved in action and quiet in speech. Although he grew to be one of the strongest people in Iceland, few of his neighbors knew his true strength, for Grettir rarely exerted himself.

Asmund began giving his son tasks on the farm when Grettir was ten years of age. The boy’s laziness and quick temper did not mesh well with the work that his father assigned, so the mischievous Grettir began using cruelty to avoid his chores.

For his first job, Grettir was put in charge of a flock of fifty full-grown geese and an additional number of young goslings. The boy disliked everything about his assigned task. He thought the job was unimportant. The geese refused to be herded and he found the gosling extremely agitating. Unfortunately for the birds, they had been put in the safekeeping of a psychopath. After a very short period of time, some concerned neighbors came to Grettir’s father, reporting that all of Asmund’s geese now suffered broken wings and all of the goslings had been slaughtered. When confronted, Grettir confessed to killing and maiming the geese, and he even delivered the confession in verse.

Asmund quickly decided that his son needed a job that required less responsibility.  Grettir was given the harmless and simple task of scratching his father’s back while he relaxed by the fire. The boy disliked this job, but during the summer, Asmund rarely stayed by the fire and therefore did not want his back scratched often, allowing Grettir to laze about. Yet, as summer began to shift to autumn, Grettir’s father began demanding his fireside massages. Once that began, Grettir found the job to be obnoxious. After accumulating an unhealthy amount of pent-up annoyance, Grettir decided not to scratch his father’s back with his hands, but instead grabbed a wool comb and dragged the rough prongs down Asmund’s back. After that incident, Asmund understandably reassigned his son to a different chore.

Asmund next made the unwise decision to place Grettir in charge of the horses. The task would not be too difficult, as Asmund possessed a talented mare, named Kengala, which supposedly had the ability to predict the weather. When the day would be nice, the mare led the horses out to graze. If a storm was approaching, she would stay in the stables and the other horses would follow her lead. All Grettir had to do was open the doors, watch over the herd, and give them feed and water. It was a job Grettir liked much better than the earlier task of back scratching.

There was little to complain about while he worked with the horses during the summer and autumn, but when winter rolled in, Grettir began to find the horses annoying—an emotion he did not handle well. Asmund’s prized horse, Kengala, had other traits besides weather prediction. When there were no storms, she liked to go out to graze early in the morning and would stay out until night had fallen. This was only a minor inconvenience to Grettir during the summer and autumn, but once it was winter, the young delinquent found freezing all day in the fields to be unlivable. As he frequently did in his youth, Grettir used cruelty and bloodshed to solve his problem. The boy took a knife into the stable and, hopping onto Kengala’s back, flayed off the horse’s hide from spine to flank. After that, Kengala could not stand the feeling of the sun on her mutilated back and therefore stayed indoors. When Asmund eventually went to check on his prized horse, he found her in such a pitiable state that he had to put her down.

As Grettir progressed into his early teens, humans began to join the boy’s long list of victims. When he reached the age of fourteen, Grettir was invited by his brother to join a ball game in which many of the boys from northern Iceland would be playing. Grettir was paired up against a certain boy named Audun, who was several years older. While they played, Audun hit a stray ball that flew way over Grettir’s head. Grettir silently went and retrieved the ball without comment. He nonchalantly carried the ball back to Audun, but when he reached his opponent, Grettir clubbed him hard enough in the face to cause blood to flow. The two grappled each other to the ground, but Grettir lost the fight, as he was the younger and weaker of the two. Before any serious injuries or deaths occurred, Grettir’s brother arrived and put a stop to the fight.

Within the year, Asmund decided to send Grettir along with a chieftain called Thorkel the Scratcher so that Grettir could witness the Althing, Iceland’s governing body. Asmund hoped the trip would mature his son, but little did he know that Grettir would be one of the main topics of that year’s deliberations at the Althing. As Thorkel’s party traveled toward the Althing, Grettir misplaced his bag of food. While scouring the land for his bag, Grettir ran into another follower of Thorkel. The man’s name was Skeggi and he, too, had lost his pack of food. They both decided to work together to find their lost belongings. Unfortunately, they had both stored their provisions in similar packs, so when they came across a bag on the ground, both Grettir and Skeggi thought it was their property. To Grettir’s defense, Skeggi reached for his axe first, and it is unlikely that Grettir was armed with anything but a knife at this point. Nevertheless, Grettir disarmed Skeggi by force and then used the man’s own axe to split open his skull, killing Skeggi on the spot. When confronted later by members of Thorkel’s entourage, Grettir confessed to the killing with a clever poem. Once Grettir finally arrived at the Althing, he was sentenced to three years of exile and outlawry for the killing of Skeggi, thus beginning the adventures of Grettir the Strong.

Written by C. Keith Hansley.

Picture Attribution: (Kept In. Signed Nicol and numbered 190. Oil on canvas, c. 1871, [Public Domain] via Creative Commons).

Sources:
  • Grettir's Saga (anonymous Icelandic saga, c. 14th century) translated by Jesse Byock. New York: Oxford World's Classics, 2009.
  • Egil's Saga (recorded c. 13th century possibly by Snorri Sturluson), translated by Bernard Scudder. New York: Penguin Classics, 2004 edition.  

Tuesday, May 29, 2018

The Odd Treason Trial Of Marcus Scribonius Libo Drusus During The Reign Of Emperor Tiberius



Tiberius was a Roman Emperor who ruled from 14-37, and his character and actions are still debated to this day. To some, he was a sympathetic figure—his brother died slowly from a broken leg, Tiberius was forced by Augustus to divorce the love of his life in order to marry another woman, and his only child from that first marriage was assassinated. Yet, to others, Tiberius was a bloodthirsty maniac who enjoyed scheming from the shadows and murdering innocents. Two incidents, in particular, contributed to Tiberius’ negative public image. For one, the man oddly withdrew to a life of isolation on the island of Capri around the year 27, only a little more than half way through his reign. The other major critique of the emperor was the numerous suspicious trials of alleged treason that occurred during the period of his rule.

The Annals of Imperial Rome by the Roman statesman and historian, Tacitus (c. 56-117), is one of the oldest surviving sources on this period of Roman history. For full disclosure, Tacitus was heavily biased against Tiberius, as well as the emperor’s mother, Livia. Yet, the historical information from which Tacitus reached his biased conclusions is considered trustworthy. Therefore, according to Tacitus, the first major victim of Tiberius’ Treason Trials was a man named Marcus Scribonius Libo Drusus.

This man, who Tacitus thankfully calls “Libo,” was a well-connected individual. He had blood ties to the imperial Julian family, but also to Caesar’s old foe, Pompey. In fact, Tacitus claimed that Libo was the grand-nephew of Augustus’ first wife, Scribonia, as well as the great-grandson of Pompey the Great. Yet, despite his laudable lineage and wealth, Libo reportedly only had one passion—the occult.

Of his supernatural interests, Libo was said to have been particularly drawn to divination and fortune telling. According to Tacitus, the curious Libo sought out astrologers, necromancers, oneiromancers (dream readers) and other teachers of magical rituals. Apparently, Libo’s pursuit of otherworldly knowledge brought him into bad company—Firmius Catus (a fellow fan of the occult) and a man named Junius (affiliated with necromancy) would both later testify against Libo during his treason trial.

Tacitus wrote that Catus was the ringleader of the group that set in motion Libo’s doom, but it was Junius, the supposed necromancer, who started the legal proceedings. He informed on Libo to a prosecutor named Lucius Fulcinius Trio, and Trio quickly demanded that the senate begin an investigation into Libo’s behavior. In 16 CE, Marcus Scribonius Libo Drusus was formally accused of subversive plotting against the emperor and was brought to trial before the senate.

Libo went to his friends and relatives, but he could not find anyone with political clout to speak on his behalf—Tacitus claimed this was caused by fear of Tiberius, who would be in attendance. By the time of the trial, Libo had supposedly fallen ill and had to be carried on a litter to the senate. He was said to have needed to lean on his brother in order to walk into the building. During the session, Libo’s accusers were almost all familiar faces, such as Catus, Junius and Trio, but others had come forward to join the prosecution team. Tacitus specifically mentioned Fonteius Agrippa and Gaius Vibius Serenus as being involved, and even some of Libo’s slaves were tortured and brought in to testify. They argued that Libo’s interest in divination was to obtain a favorable prediction about his own future wealth and political power. They also produced written evidence that supposedly proved that Libo had been hatching sinister plans against the emperor and other notable people in the empire. The handwriting on this document was verified as being that of Libo by one of the tortured slaves, but Tacitus thought this and other pieces of evidence brought before the trial were woefully inadequate.

Nevertheless, when the trial was adjourned, Libo was put under house arrest until the next session. At that time, Libo already knew there was not much hope for clearing his name. Therefore, in hopeless despair, Marcus Scribonius Libo Drusus committed suicide by stabbing himself to death soon after the Praetorian Guard escorted him to his home. After the grim deed was done, Emperor Tiberius allegedly chastised the action of the deceased, proclaiming that he would never have let the trial end in execution. Nevertheless, very little respect was shown to the fallen. The people who led the prosecution seized Libo’s property and senators among this group were also granted supernumerary praetorships. The senate also decreed that statues of Libo could not be used in funeral parades, and they barred the Scribonius family from ever using the name “Drusus,” which happened to be the name of Tiberius’ son. Perhaps worst of all, September 13, the day of Libo’s suicide, was formally made into a public holiday.

Written by C. Keith Hansley.

Picture Attribution: (Mural of a Roman court painted by Albert Herter (1871-1950), [Public Domain] via Creative Commons).

Sources:
  • The Annals of Imperial Rome by Tacitus, translated by Michael Grant. New York: Penguin Classics, 1996.
  • https://www.britannica.com/biography/Tiberius 
  • http://enacademic.com/dic.nsf/enwiki/885305 
  • http://classics.oxfordre.com/view/10.1093/acrefore/9780199381135.001.0001/acrefore-9780199381135-e-5760 
  • https://www.britannica.com/biography/Drusus-Julius-Caesar