The Battle of Mons Graupius

Julius Agricola arrived in Britannia in the year 77 and took up the office of governor. He had a decorated résumé, as he previously served as governor of Aquitania from 74-76 and held the office of suffect consul of Rome in 76 before being sent to govern Britannia. Agricola also had plenty of prior military experience in Britain; he had served with Governor Suetonius Paulinus during the devastating revolt of Boudicca in 60 or 61, and Emperor Vespasian appointed Agricola to command the Twentieth Legion in Britannia from 69 to 73. With such administrative experience, as well as his knowledge of Britain’s geography and people, he was an ideal pick for the job of running Roman operations in Britannia.

Agricola’s two predecessors as governor of Britannia had been considered successful military leaders. Governor Petulius Cerialis (r. 71-73) led significant campaigns against the powerful Brigantes, while Julius Frontinus (r. 73-77) conquered the Silures of southern Wales. When Julius Agricola took the reins of government in Britannia around year 77, he quickly set to work showing that he was equal, nay superior, to his lauded predecessors. In his very first year in office, Agricola spread Roman influence into northern Wales, and even conquered the troublesome island of Mona (now Anglesey). Over the next several years, Agricola turned his attention to the north. By the year 79, he was campaigning by the Forth-Clyde Isthmus and the River Tay. Agricola started pushing toward the Highlands around 82, invading what the Romans called Caledonia, by land and sea. The highlight of the campaign—and the most famous moment of Agricola’s career—was the Battle of Mons Graupius, fought between the Romans and the Caledonians (or more likely a coalition of Pict tribes) in the year 83.

According to the historian Tacitus (Agricola’s son-in-law), the Roman fleet in Britannia was sent out to pillage and cause confusion during the days leading up to the confrontation at Mons Graupius. While the ships were causing terror and worry, Agricola marched his army to Mons Graupius, where a large number of hostile warriors were gathering under a leader whom the Romans called Calgacus. The location of the battle unfortunately remains disputed, but from the name Mons Graupius (‘Graupian Mountain’), the terrain was obviously mountainous or hilly. There were also thick patches of woods within running distance of the site, which would eventually play a part in the battle.

When the Roman army arrived at Mons Graupius, Agricola’s scouts reported that more than 30,000 enemy warriors were present. The Roman legionnaires, although reportedly assisted by 8,000 auxiliary infantry and 3,000 cavalry, were said to have been significantly outnumbered by the Caledonians. Agricola’s arrival at Mons Graupius apparently did not immediately cause a battle to erupt—the Romans had time to build a walled camp at the foot of the hill or mountain. The tense peace, however, would not last, as, according to Tacitus, the Caledonian war-leader, Calgacus, soon sent a portion of his army down the slope to challenge the Roman camp.

Agricola chose to meet the incoming warriors in the field instead of behind his camp walls. He put his auxiliary troops and cavalry on the front line, and positioned his legions in reserve, backed against the walls of the camp. When the two armies came into range of each other, the battle opened up with back-and-forth volleys of missiles. Yet, what was most frightening to the Romans were the numerous chariots rolling out in front of the Caledonian forces. Agricola sent a large portion of his cavalry against the chariots, doing so presumably around the same time as the projectile exchange, for the deadly vehicles were apparently lured away from the front lines and were detained during the opening stages of the battle.

When the first wave of Caledonians had marched down to level ground, Agricola sent forward six Germanic auxiliary cohorts to meet the incoming warriors with swords and shields. These six cohorts were reportedly not chosen arbitrarily, but picked because their fighting style gave them a significant advantage against the Caledonians. The auxiliary forces reached their opponents without any harassment from the chariots, and began battling with the opposing infantry line. Agricola’s choice of the Germanic cohorts apparently paid off, as the warriors from Germania began pushing the first wave of Caledonians back toward the slope of Mons Graupius. When the frontline of the battle began to slowly creep up to higher ground, giving an increasing advantage to the Caledonians, Agricola sent more infantry from his reserves to reinforce the auxiliary cohorts. Around this time, the chariots were also completely defeated by the Roman cavalry, so the horsemen could refocus their efforts on other sections of the battle. Agricola kept some of the horsemen in reserve, but others were sent to crash into the flanks of the Caledonian infantry.

Calgacus and the rest of the uncommitted warriors on Mons Graupius, noticing that Agricola had sent more infantry and cavalry into the fray, finally made the decision to advance with the rest of the Caledonian forces into battle. These fresh warriors charged down the slope and began to envelop the Roman forces who were fighting on the frontline. Agricola countered this move by sending in the rest of the Roman cavalry, which had been held in reserve. Now it was the Caledonian side that was enveloped.

The hammer-and-anvil strikes of the Roman cavalry reportedly won the day. Unable to withstand the flanking attacks of Agricola’s horsemen, Calgacus’ warriors began retreating to the nearby forests. The Caledonians were evidently still organized when they withdrew into the woods, for they set up an ambush against the pursuing Romans. Yet, Agricola thwarted the ambush by ringing his infantry carefully around the woods like hunters, and sent his cavalry charging into the least brushy regions of the forest. These maneuvers reportedly ended any hope for a Caledonian ambush, and Calgacus’ formerly focused troops now began truly fleeing from the battlefield. According to Tacitus, Agricola’s army pursued the Caledonians until nightfall, and by the end of the day, around 10,000 of Calgacus’ warriors were slain.

Written by C. Keith Hansley.

Picture Attribution: (Calgacus at Mons Graupius, in Pictorial History of Scotland A.D. 79-1646, 2 vols, vol. I, (London, 1859), [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.
• https://www.britannica.com/biography/Gnaeus-Julius-Agricola 
• https://www.ancient.eu/article/776/tacitus-account-of-the-battle-of-mons-graupius/ 
• https://www.britannica.com/place/Caledonia-ancient-region-Britain 
• https://penelope.uchicago.edu/~grout/encyclopaedia_romana/britannia/monsgraupius/monsgraupius.html  
• http://www.battlefieldsofbritain.co.uk/battle_mons_graupius_ad83.html  

The Hairy Origin Myth Of The Lombard Name

The Lombards were a northern Germanic people who, according to tradition, originated from Scandinavia and eventually migrated to the Elba River region. According to The History of the Lombards by Paul the Deacon (c. 720-799), the tribe originally called themselves the Winnili, and when they reached the Elbe, they were confronted by other regional powers who gave the new arrivals an ultimatum of either paying tribute or facing war. The Winnili, despite being few in number compared to their neighbors, did not shy from war—a trait later recognized by the Romans. Instead of paying tribute, the early Winnili reportedly chose war.

As told in folklore and myth, the Lombard name originated in this period of war in the Elbe region. According to the Origo Gentis Langobardum and the aforementioned work of Paul the Deacon, the Winnili were soon confronted by a group called the Wandals. These foes are sometimes identified as the Vandals, and other times connected to the Wends—whatever the case the tale soon becomes swamped in myth, and the identity of the so-called Wandals makes little difference, at least for this story.

The Wandals, whomever they may have been, were reportedly devout followers of the Germanic god, Wotan (i.e. Odin). Wotan, according to myth, returned the affection and often answered their prayers. The goddess Frea (Freyja), on the other hand, favored the newly-arrived Winnili. Therefore, when the Winnili and Wandals went to war, so too did Wotan and Frea, entering into a Homer-esque battle of wits in the realm of the gods.

According to the tale, the Wandals called on Wotan’s support when they knew that a battle was imminent. Responding to their plea, Wotan promised victory to the first army he saw at sunrise. Although the god’s decree looks fairly unbiased at first glance, his favoritism was betrayed when it was only the Wandal army that was informed of the pledge. Furthermore, Wotan made sure to keep his head facing toward the Wandals before he went to sleep for the night.

Although Wotan went to his slumber expecting to give victory to the Wandals in the morning, Frea had another outcome in mind. While Wotan slept, Frea visited the Winnili camp and told them of the divine decree—or, at least, she advised them to mobilize their forces before sunrise. The Winnili, however, were still small in number, so to make the group more visible and eye-catching, Frea told the Winnili women to accompany their men into battle. The goddess further instructed the women to gather their lengthy hair around their chins in order to make their locks look like long beards. With this plan in place, Frea returned to Wotan. Yet, the goddess took one last step before dawn arrived. Silently and gently, Frea rotated Wotan’s bed to face the direction of the Winnili. To ensure that her favored people emerged victorious, Frea made sure to wake up Wotan just as the Winnili were amassing in the morning light. When the awakening god opened his eyes, the Winnili masses, with all their hair, were the first people that he saw. According to the Origo Gentis Langobardorum, the scene played out in the following way:

“And he, looking at them, saw the Winniles and their women having their hair let down around the face. And he says, ‘Who are these Long-beards?’ And Frea said to Godan [Wotan], ‘As you have given them a name, give them also the victory.’ And he gave them the victory, so that they should defend themselves according to his counsel and obtain the victory. From that time the Winniles were called Langobards.” (Origo Gentis Langobardorum, I, trans. William Foulke)

As the myth colorfully illustrates, the early medieval Lombards believed their name derived from facial hair. Other etymologies have been suggested, but the long-beard origin of the Lombards remains a fan-favorite. Whatever the case, the tribe had embraced their new name by the time the Romans began taking notes on Germania. Rome found the Lombards still in the Elbe region, calling them the Langobardi, and classified them as being part of a larger group called the Suebi. Despite their battle prowess and Frea’s support, the Lombards had, by then, become subject to the Marcomanni. Around 17 CE, they rebelled against Maroboduus of the Marcomanni and became a politically-influential force in the region. Around the 5th century, the Lombards migrated to the Danube, then to Pannonia. Finally, around 568, the Lombards invaded Italy to form the Kingdom of Lombardy, which survived until its destruction at the hands of Charlemagne in 774.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Picture Attribution: (Depiction of King Alboin entering Pavia, illustrated by Charles F. Horne c. 1900, [Public Domain] via Creative Commons).

Sources:

• The History of the Franks by Gregory of Tours, translated by Lewis Thorpe. New York: Penguin Classics, 1971.
• The Annals of Imperial Rome by Tacitus, translated by Michael Grant. New York: Penguin Classics, 1996. 
• Agricola and Germania by Tacitus and translated by Harold Mattingly and revised by J. B. Rives. New York: Penguin Classics, 2009. 
• History of the Lombards by Paul the Deacon, translated by William Dudley Foulke (c. 1904). University of Pennsylvania Press, 1907, 1974, 2003. 
• https://www.britannica.com/topic/Lombard-people 
• https://www.ancient.eu/Lombards/ 
• https://www.britannica.com/topic/Suebi  

The Eerie Book Of Settlements Entry For Thorkel Farserk

Thorkel Farserk was a 10th-century Icelander who was a cousin and contemporary of Eirik the Red. The two cousins were close, and when Eirik the Red set out to colonize Greenland around 985, Thorkel was one of the men who signed on for the adventure. Upon arriving in the new land, he set up a home in a fjord near Eirik the Red’s settlement and reportedly started a dynasty that for centuries ruled the land around his homestead. Interestingly, Thorkel’s relationship with Eirik the Red and his participation in the colonization of Greenland were not what he was best known for by the medieval Icelanders. Instead, he was remembered as being a superhuman figure who possessed uncanny abilities both in life and in death.

As described in the Book of Settlements, Thorkel Farserk was “a man of unusual powers” (Landnámabók, Sturlubók manuscript, chapter 93). Much of his uncanny power was apparently physical in nature, such as limitless endurance and a resistance to cold. He performed his most famous alleged feat of strength on a day when Eirik the Red visited Thorkel’s home for a social gathering. Thorkel Farserk may have been superhuman, but he was also a terrible event planner—when Eirik’s arrival was imminent, Thorkel discovered, with shock, that he had no presentable food on hand at his dwelling and no ship nearby with which he could quickly reach his livestock, which were grazing on an island that lay over a mile off-shore. Without a boat, the swath of icy water was an intimidating obstacle that potentially blocked Thorkel from saving his feast and reputation. He, however, was (according to legend) a cold-resistant, supernaturally-gifted man with Herculean strength, so Thorkel Farserk simply dove into the water and swam the mile-long distance to the sheep-inhabited isle. He then picked out the animal of his choice, jumped back into the water with the sheep on his back, and retraced the mile-long journey through the cold water until he reached home.

When Thorkel Farserk eventually died, his legend and reputation continued to grow. According to Folklore, he did not rest in peace, but instead chose to haunt his lands in perpetuity. As the Book of Settlements eerily phrased it, “Thorkel was buried in the enclosure of Hvalseyjarfjord, and has been there, round about the house, ever since” (Landnámabók, Sturlubók manuscript, chapter 93).

Written by C. Keith Hansley.

Picture Attribution: (swimming scene from the saga of Olaf Tryggvason, illustrated by Halfdan Egedius (1877–1899), [Public Domain] via Creative Commons).

Sources:

• The Book of Settlements (Sturlubók version) translated by Hermann Pálsson and Paul Edwards. Winnipeg: University of Manitoba Press, 1972, 2006.
• https://www.britannica.com/biography/Erik-the-Red 
• https://www.biography.com/explorer/erik-the-red  

The Lightning Curse Of The Volga Bulgars

An Abbasid diplomat named Ibn Fadlān traveled northward between the Caspian and Aral Seas to reach the Volga Bulgars around May 922. The diplomat found them living in yurts and tents at a seasonal market location along the Volga River. The khan of the Volga Bulgars was a recent convert to Islam, and thousands of his people converted with him. Yet, many of the Volga Bulgar people retained their original Tengri faith, and recent converts were slow to leave behind their traditional customs and superstitions.

One such superstition that Ibn Fadlān witnessed during his stay with the Volga Bulgars involved lighting. Like many cultures, the Volga Bulgars considered lightning to be an omen—in their case, a bad omen. If lightning struck one of their tents, the Volga Bulgars reportedly treated the spot as if it were infested with plague. The tent was abandoned, and all of the items that happened to have been inside the tent at the time of the strike were left behind. Even humans who survived such a strike were reportedly shunned and left behind. On this interesting tradition, Ibn Fadlān wrote:

“I have never seen more lightning than in their country. When it strikes a tent, they do not go near it again but leave it as it is, together with anything that is inside it—men, goods or other things—until time has destroyed them. They say that it is a tent upon which the wrath of God has fallen” (Ibn Fadlān, Risala, Penguin edition pg. 37)

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Picture Attribution: (Volga River trade negotiations, painted by S. V. Ivanov  (1864–1910), [Public Domain] via Creative Commons).

Sources:

• Risala by Ibn Fadlān, translated by Paul Lunde and Catoline Stone. New York, Penguin Classics, 2012.

The Intriguing Tale Of Basil The Copper Hand

The early 10th century saw the rise and fall of an interesting rebel leader named Basil. The date of his birth is unknown, but his path to infamy began in the first decades of the reign of Emperor Romanos I of Constantinople (r. 919-944). Basil’s life of crime apparently started with a simple scheme of impersonating a nobleman. The man he chose to impersonate was Constantine Doukas, a popular figure from a prominent family who was slain in a failed coup d’etat around 913. Although he was gone, many people apparently refused to believe that Constantine Doukas was truly dead. The mischievous Basil, proclaiming himself to be Constantine, was happy to oblige the fantasies of the people.

Once Basil took on the persona of Constantine Doukas, he found that people not only respected him, but also wanted to fight for his cause. The fake Constantine suddenly found himself in command of a growing band of armed fighters. Whether or not it was his original intention, Basil soon embraced this growing militancy. He eventually started openly trying to incite several cities into rebellion. The plot, however, did not turn out well. A regional official discovered the fledgling rebellion and succeeded in capturing Basil alive without much issue.

Basil was brought before the emperor for judgment. Considering the often-brutal crackdown on rebels, Basil was given a fairly light punishment. The emperor cut off one of Basil’s hands, but after that punishment was carried out, Basil was allowed to walk free otherwise unmutilated. Upon his release, Basil in no way gave up his ambitions. Instead, he made the most of the situation and delved right back into his ploys. According to the 11th-century historian, John Skylitzes, “he equipped himself with a hand of bronze and had a huge sword made. He stalked the Opsikion theme [northwest Anatolia] deluding the simpler folk into believing that he was Constantine Doukas, and when he had gathered a large following he broke into revolt” (Synopsis historian, chapter 10, section 27).

This time, Basil (“the Copper Hand,” as he came to be known) was much more successful in his rebellion. He and his rebels successfully managed to storm and seize a stronghold called Plateia Petra. They used the conquered fort as a headquarters from which they pillaged the surrounding area. Yet, the emperor of Constantinople would soon put an end to Basil the Copper Hand’s reign of banditry. An imperial army was sent to hunt down the rebels and their charismatic leader. Although Basil had fought well against local garrisons, he proved no match for the larger army sent to crush his revolt. Basil the Copper Hand was ultimately captured alive for a second time, along with most of his followers.

Emperor Romanos apparently believed that Basil was working for someone else, and he had the rebel interrogated along that line of questioning. Basil, however, was said to have never implicated anyone during his imprisonment. The emperor eventually stopped asking for the names of accomplices, but the end of interrogation was not much of a relief for Basil—next came punishment. The rebel leader would not be lucky enough to be released for a second time. Instead, according to John Skylitzes, “they had him put to the flames at the place called Amastrianon” (Synopsis historian, chapter 10, section 27). The execution of Basil the Copper Hand is reported to have occurred in 932.

Written by C. Keith Hansley.

Picture Attribution: (Scene from the Menologion of Basil, c. 985, [Public Domain] via Creative Commons).

Sources:

• A Synopsis of Byzantine History by John Skylitzes (c. 1040-1101), translated by John Wortley (Cambridge University Press, 2010). 
• https://www.oxfordreference.com/view/10.1093/oi/authority.20110803095450210 
• https://www.ancient.eu/Constantine_VII/  

The Trickery of al-Fadl ibn Musa

Vizier Ibn al-Furāt was imprisoned by the Abbasid caliph Muqtadir in 918, on charges of corruption. While the vizier was in jail, his estate—a place called Arthakhushmithān—was placed in the care of a certain Fadl ibn Mūsā al-Nasrānī, a devoted agent of the imprisoned official. Among the assets that Fadl ibn Mūsā was guarding for his jailed employer was a treasury of 4,000 dīnārs. Several years later, he would be ordered by the Abbasid caliph to hand over the money, but Fadl ibn Mūsā would fight back with a series of clever tricks in an effort to keep control of the dīnārs.

On June 21, 921, a party of diplomats set out from Baghdad on a mission from the caliph Muqtadir to the newly converted khan of the Volga Bulgars, Almish ibn Shilkī Yiltawār. Among the diplomats was Ahmad ibn Fadlān, whose job in the embassy was to read the caliph’s letters and to distribute gifts, and once they reached the Volga, to also supervise the region’s teachers and jurists. Thankfully, Ibn Fadlān wrote a text called the Risala, in which he described the progress of the diplomatic mission, as well as the diverse people and landscapes that he came across on his journey.

In his book, Ibn Fadlān wrote that the diplomatic mission was dispatched because Khan Almish of the Volga Bulgars “asked for someone who could instruct him in the Faith, teach him the laws of Islam, build him a mosque and erect a minbar so that he could have the prayers said in his name…and also requesting that a fortress be built, for the defence against the kings who were his adversaries” (Ibn Fadlan, Risala, Penguin ed. Pg. 3). As the Abbasids were planning to do some major construction projects in Volga Bulgar land, the caliph Muqtadir scoured the map for sources of revenue that could be diverted to the mission. Unfortunately for the aforementioned disgraced vizier, Ibn al-Furāt, his town of Arthakhushmithān, with its treasury of 4,000 dīnārs, lay right on the route of the diplomats. Therefore, when the diplomats set out from Baghdad, they had in their possession a letter from the caliph, which commanded that the 4,000 dīnārs be handed over to the embassy for use in the domain of the Volga Bulgars.

When the diplomats reached the city of Bukhārā, Ibn Fadlān read out the letter about the money to Nasr ibn Ahmad (r. 914-943), the young ruler of the Sāmānid Emirate. The emir agreed to comply with the order and the message was passed to Fadl ibn Mūsā, who still managed the finances of Arthakhushmithān. The command, however, was not received well by the agent. As mentioned earlier, he was prepared to go great lengths in order to keep the city’s 4,000 dīnārs.

Fadl ibn Mūsā quickly discovered a loophole in the letter brought by Ibn Fadlān and the diplomats. Apparently, the specific official who was supposed to personally receive the 4,000 dīnār payment was a man named Ahmad ibn Mūsā al-Khwārazmī. He, however, for whatever reason, happened to have set out from Baghdad a full five days later than the rest of the diplomats. Therefore, although the embassy was requesting the money, the person who was authorized in the letter to receive the payment was not yet in Bukhārā. Seizing upon this flaw, the crafty Fadl ibn Mūsā sent a convincing letter to the head of security who was in charge of the road that Ahmad ibn Mūsā would be traveling upon. According to Ibn Fadlān, the letter resembled this: “Keep your eyes peeled for Ahmad ibn Mūsā al-Khwārazmī in the caravanserais and customs’ posts. He is a man of such and such description. If you run across him, lock him up until you receive our letter about the matter” (Ibn Fadlan, Risala, Penguin ed. pg. 6). The security officials, not questioning the tip, kept a close watch on the traffic of the road. They found poor Ahmad ibn Mūsā at a place called Merv—which was about 150 miles from Bukhārā—and they threw him in a jail until further notice.

Although the target was imprisoned, Fadl ibn Mūsā’s plan was only half-way complete; he needed to get the diplomats to continue on their journey before anyone started looking for, or asking questions about, the missing member of their party. In order to get the diplomats to leave, Fadl ibn Mūsā and his comrades began stoking the fear of officials about the oncoming winter. Ibn Fadlān and the others in the diplomatic mission managed to wait in Bukhārā for twenty-eight days before their fear of winter finally forced them on their way. Although they were heading to the Volga Bulgars without the promised finances, they thought that surely Ahmad ibn Mūsā would catch up with them later. Little did they know that he was detained in jail.

Ibn Fadlan and the diplomats unfortunately arrived at the court of Khan Almish ibn Shilkī Yiltawār still without the 4,000 dīnārs around May, 922. Awkwardly, the letters of the caliph that Ibn Fadlan personally read to the khan specifically mentioned that the embassy would have money for construction projects in the Volga region. When Almish discovered that the money was missing, he became convinced that Ibn Fadlān had stolen it for personal use. Unfortunately for Ibn Fadlān, Almish embarked on a relentless campaign of political gamesmanship and bullying, in hopes of making the diplomat relinquish the absent money. The khan first tried blunt, angry demands and then employed pointed religious disobedience to show his annoyance over the missing funds. Almish also had a translator eerily say that, in the khan’s former pagan days, cunning and intelligent people (like Ibn Fadlān) had been sacrificed to the sky-god, Tengri. On a more jovial note, the khan sarcastically gave Ibn Fadlān the epithet of “the Truthful.”

Ibn Fadlan’s account did not include the return-trip, so we unfortunately do not know if Almish ever received the elusive 4,000 dīnārs, and the fate of Fadl ibn Mūsā is also vague, although his employer was executed in 924. Whatever the case, the relationship between Baghdad and the Volga Bulgars apparently remained warm during the reign of the caliph Muqtadir. One of Almish’s sons was known to have gone on a pilgrimage to Mecca, and he was bestowed with gifts and money as he passed through Baghdad.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Picture Attribution: (Caravan painted by Alberto Pasini  (1826–1899), [Public Domain] via Creative Commons).

Sources:

• Risala by Ibn Fadlān, translated by Paul Lunde and Catoline Stone. New York, Penguin Classics, 2012.
• https://www.encyclopedia.com/science/encyclopedias-almanacs-transcripts-and-maps/ibn-fadlan-arab-among-vikings-russia  

The Revenge of Li Guang Against A By-The-Book Watchman

In 129 BCE, general Li Guang of Han Dynasty China was captured by his foes during a campaign against Xiongnu nomads. Although he subsequently made a remarkable escape and returned to China, the consequences of his defeat and capture at the hands of the emperor’s enemies caused Li Guang to be arrested and imprisoned by his own government. He could have possibly been executed for his military failures, but the general was able to pay his own ransom. The ransom was more than just a monetary cost—in addition to money, Li Guang also had to relinquish his military command and all of his government titles.

Although he had been deprived of his command and was downgraded to the status of a commoner, Li Guang was still famous and apparently was followed by a band of loyalists even after he was released from prison. From what we know of Li Guang, it is easy to see why the man would draw followers—he was a legend in his own day, known for his great fighting prowess. His weapon of choice was a bow, with which he was said to be able to achieve consistent miraculous shots. As such, some of his favorite pastimes were hunting and various archery games, some involving alcohol. Li Guang was reportedly a clumsy speaker, but his lack of verbal charisma was made up for by his charitable nature and the aura of companionship that he cultivated with the men he led into battle. Many of these loyal friends and companions joined their former general as he lived in retirement at Lantian, in the Southern Mountains.

During his several-year retirement, Li Guang’s lifestyle did not change much. He continued to lead a band of followers out into the countryside, yet, instead of tracking enemies of China, the general now brought his troops on hunting trips. When he was not hunting, the former general could be found drinking with his friends at various scenic locations, such as meadows or fields. In such merriment, Li Guang and his friends were known to sometimes socialize until after sundown.

The former general’s drinking parties, however, would soon bring him into conflict with a by-the-book watchman who was stationed at Baling. As the story goes, the watchman spotted two men on horses trotting up the road after dark. The travelers happened to be Li Guang and one of his friends. The two had just departed one of the aforementioned social gatherings hosted by the former general.  Yet, the two men’s pleasant evening stroll would soon be interrupted, for the region was under a curfew, and the watchman intended to enforce the law.

Out came the watchman from his station, shouting commands for the two travelers to stop. When Li Guang and his comrade complied with the order, the watchman announced that the men were violating curfew, and they would be detained at the watch station until morning.  Upon hearing this, the companion of Li Guang tried to use his friend’s celebrity to their advantage, proclaiming, “This is the former General Li” (Sima Qian, Shi Ji 109). Yet, the unwavering watchman replied that not even generals currently on active duty could wander around after curfew, and proceeded to herd the two men into the station. Although Li Guang and his companion were able to continue on their journey the next morning, the incident apparently annoyed and humiliated the former general.

Unfortunately for the watchman, Li Guang was called back to active duty by Emperor Wu in 127 BCE. At the time of his reappointment, the general evidently still held a grudge against the poor official of Baling. As soon as he regained power, one of Li Guang’s first moves was to have the watchman transferred to be under his command. When the dutiful man arrived at the army’s camp, he was promptly put under arrest for some reason or other. Sadly, he was not released the next morning. Instead, Li Guang had the watchman mercilessly executed. After the execution was carried out, Li Guang sent a letter to Emperor Wu, apologizing for the self-serving act of vengeance. Interestingly, Emperor Wu reportedly forgave Li Guang and replied that he did not mind if his generals gained a merciless, fear-inspiring reputation.

Written by C. Keith Hansley.

Picture Attribution: (Depiction of Qingming in peace, c. Ming dynasty (1368–1644), [Public Domain] via Creative Commons).

Sources:

• Records of the Grand Historian (Shi ji) by Sima Qian, translated by Burton Watson. New York: Columbia University Press, 1993.

The Battle Of Buttington

King Alfred the Great of Wessex (r. 871-899) struggled to survive against the powerful Viking threats to his kingdom in the 870s, and these scares prompted Alfred to impose sweeping military reforms on his realm. In the 880s, Alfred apparently began to divide his manpower into three categories—warriors on active duty with the kingdom’s field army, warriors on leave at home, and troops serving as regional garrisons. The latter group, the garrisoned warriors, were spread throughout the kingdom in a system of fortified burhs, which could act both defensively and offensively. In addition to bogging down invaders and Vikings until the field army arrived, the forces from the burhs could also band together and strike out at foes whenever the king’s main army was occupied elsewhere. This scenario is exactly what happened at the Battle of Buttington in 893.

The 880s, the time in which Alfred imposed his military reforms, was a decade of relative peace. In 892, however, Alfred’s domain was once more thrown into turmoil when two large Viking forces returned to England, landing in the region of Kent after a long period of pillaging in France. Hastein (or Hæsten), the most famous leader of the new arrivals, camped at Milton. The rest of the newly-arrived Vikings camped to the south of Hastein’s position, setting up their headquarters at Appledore. In response to this threat, King Alfred positioned his field army in-between the two Viking armies by 893, and worked with the burhs in the area to contain the raiders. Alfred had some success, and eventually caught a portion of the Vikings off guard near the Thames, at the Battle of Farnham. Yet, King Alfred was soon called away from the eastern front when he learned that a Viking fleet had appeared on the coast of Devon, in the southwest of England.

While King Alfred was focused defending the southwest, the Vikings in the east (the Appledore and Milton armies) combined together at Shoebury, in Essex. From there, they trekked far across the country, following the Thames and then the Severn, eventually setting up camp in the Welsh region of Buttington. They had made good time, for when the new headquarters on the Severn was completed, King Alfred was still occupied with the Viking fleet and army in the region of Devon.

Unfortunately for the Vikings at Buttington, Alfred’s network of garrisoned burhs allowed the kingdom to defend itself, even if the king was not present with the official field army. As Alfred was not present, Ealdormen Æthelred, Æthelhelm and Æthelnoth took control of the situation and mobilized the nearby burhs, and also called in the support of Alfred’s Welsh vassals and allies. This army of Anglo-Saxons and Welshmen successfully surprised the Vikings at Buttington and besieged the camp from all sides. The Vikings on the Severn were quarantined in the siege for many weeks, which no doubt put King Alfred at ease as he continued his campaign against the separate Viking fleet and army in Devon. The besieged forces at Buttington held out until they had to start slaughtering their own horses for food. Yet, once the horse meat ran out, the Vikings decided to make a desperate charge against the besiegers.

At an unknown time in 893, the starving Vikings poured out of their camp and attacked the army of the Ealdormen. It is unknown whether the goal of the Viking charge was to simply escape or, more ambitiously, to defeat the besiegers in battle, but, whatever the case, the Vikings became bogged down during the combat, resulting in a “mighty slaughter of the Danes there” (Anglo-Saxon Chronicle, entry for 893). Many Vikings, however, did punch through the Anglo-Saxon lines and these survivors fled all the way back to Essex, on the eastern side of England. The Battle of Buttington, in addition to showcasing the effectiveness of the garrisoned burh system, was also said to have convinced any remaining Viking-aligned Welsh leaders to defect to King Alfred’s side.

Picture Attribution: (Battle of Stamford Bridge painted by Peter Nicolai Arbo  (1831–1892), [Public Domain] via Creative Commons).

Sources:

• The Anglo-Saxon Chronicle translated by Benjamin Thorpe in 1861 and republished by Cambridge University Press, 2012.
• The Chronicle of Florence of Worcester translated by Thomas Forester. London: Petter and Galpin, originally published 1854. 
• Asser’s Life of King Alfred and Other Contemporary Sources translated, introduced and denoted by Simon Keynes and Michael Lapidge. New York: Penguin Classics, 2004. 
• https://www.britannica.com/biography/Alfred-king-of-Wessex 
• https://www.ancient.eu/Alfred_the_Great/ 
• https://www.oxfordreference.com/view/10.1093/oi/authority.20110803095539594