Lü Jia And His Futile Efforts To Save His Homeland Of Southern Yue

The final decade of the 3rd century BCE and the first decade of the 2nd century BCE were times of heavy state building in Asia. China’s Qin Dynasty collapsed because of widespread revolt between 209 and 206 BCE. The warlords who toppled the Qin regime subsequently fought against each other in a free-for-all. Emperor Gaozu emerged victorious from this power struggle in 202 BCE, declaring the supremacy of the new Han Dynasty. As a new emperor of a fledgling dynasty, Gaozu had an inwardly-focused reign in which he was much more concerned about enforcing his authority on his subjects than on launching campaigns to expand the empire outside of the Chinese heartland. Emperor Gaozu’s philosophy was shared by his immediate successors, a trend which gave China’s neighbors a few precious decades of peace in which to thrive. To the north and west of Gaozu’s lands, the Xiongnu nomads greatly expanded their influence under the leadership of Shanyu Maodun (ruled approximately from 209-174 BCE). Northeast of the Han empire, the warlord Wei Man created a kingdom for himself in northern Korea, beginning his rise to power around 195 BCE. Finally, in the south, a former official of the Qin Dynasty by the name of Zhao Tuo united the China-Vietnam borderlands into the kingdom or empire of Southern Yue, also known as Nanyue.

Zhao Tuo reportedly ruled Southern Yue for a remarkable period of about seventy years, approximately from 209/206-137 BCE. During his successful reign, he developed a state policy of calculated deference and flattery to keep the Chinese emperors both happy and unimposing. Among his favorite moves in his foreign relations playbook were delay tactics, the skillful ability to negotiate any Han offer of vassalage into a non-aggression pact, and a strict code of never, ever, visiting Han territory in person.  Unfortunately, Zhao Tuo’s diplomatic mastery would be made all the more apparent by just how quickly his realm fell apart after his death.

Zhao Tuo’s successors in Southern Yue attempted to continue their predecessor’s model of foreign policy, but the new rulers could not keep up the precarious balance of independence and deference as effectively as Zhao Tuo had done. King Zhao Mo of Southern Yue (r. 137-122) sent his son and successor, Zhao Yingqi (r. 122-113), to the Han capital of Chang’an, where Yingqi met and married a Chinese princess. When Zhao Yingqi’s father grew ill around 122 BCE, he successfully broke free of the Han court and returned to Southern Yue. He brought his Chinese bride with him, and they eventually had a son named Xing.

Despite Zhao Yingqi’s close ties to China, once he assumed the throne in 122 BCE, he quickly assumed the model of foreign policy laid out by his predecessors and cut off any further personal contact with the Han government. The new king’s continuance of the difficult balancing act of independence and deference came as a great relief to an official named Lü Jia—he was a member of the Southern Yue old guard who had likely first come to prominence at the end of Zhao Tuo’s reign. Lü Jia went on to become prime minister for Zhao Mo and Zhao Yingqi, and his family became one of the most well-connected clans in Southern Yue through marriage contracts and powerful friendships. With Lü Jia as his advisor, Zhao Yingqi was able to maintain Southern Yue’s record of deferring just enough to China to stay safe from invasion, while also retaining enough independence to remain a sovereign state. Zhao Yingqi’s past would come back to haunt the state, however, when he died unexpectedly around 113 BCE. He was succeeded by his young son, Zhao Xing, and, as the boy was still a child, it was the king’s Chinese mother who became the realm’s main advisor. Lü Jia, for his part, was reappointed as Prime Minister of Southern Yue and he immediately set about trying to counteract the queen dowager’s pro-Han influence.

In an epic tug-of-war, with the king of Southern Yue in the middle, the queen dowager and Prime Minister Lü Jia battled for influence over the ruler, with the former wanting to bring her son closer into Han imperial circles, while Lü Jia was pressing for the status quo of carefully maintained independence. Naturally, young Zhao Xing was swayed more by his mother than by the old minister. Yet, Lü Jia remained a persuasive and influential individual, and although the queen dowager had the advantage at that time, the whims of rulers can easily shift. Therefore, the queen dowager and her pro-Han allies deemed Lü Jia to be a threat that needed to be handled as quickly as possible. With this in mind, the queen dowager invited Lü Jia to attend a banquet with her and some Han diplomats. Instead of discussing diplomacy, the pro-Han individuals at the banquet tried (unsuccessfully) to assassinate the prime minister. The queen dowager, herself, was said to have personally tried to take a stab at the minister during the chaotic party. Despite the queen dowager’s best efforts, Lü Jia had suspected a trap from the beginning and managed to escape the banquet without suffering any significant injuries. After this attempt on his life, the prime minister abandoned his hopes of winning over the king and instead called together his long list of pro-independence kinsmen, friends and allies to plot a revolt against the queen dowager and her puppet king.

When the queen dowager learned of the prime minister’s intrigues, she reached out to Emperor Wu of the Han Dynasty (r. 141-87 BCE) for assistance. The emperor, not yet committing to a full invasion of Southern Yue, responded to her plea by sending a small band of 2,000 warriors to support the queen dowager. When this force crossed into Southern Yue, Lü Jia used the inflammatory occasion as an opportunity to launch his rebellion. Moving quickly, the rebels attacked the palace, executed the queen dowager, deposed King Zhao Xing, and replaced him with Zhao Jiande, a pro-independence member of the royal family. After completing this regime change, Lü Jia’s army then turned against the 2,000 approaching Han warriors and massacred them on the road in a successful ambush.

Unfortunately for Lü Jia, the rebellion he launched in hopes of saving Southern Yue from Han influence instead proved to be the beginning of the end for the realm’s independence. When Emperor Wu had received a request for help from the late queen dowager, he had only sent 2,000 warriors. Yet, once the emperor subsequently learned that these troops had been massacred, he took the attack personally and decided to send the full weight of the Han military against Southern Yue. In 112 BCE, Emperor Wu sent multiple armies on a multi-pronged campaign to avenge the deaths of the 2,000. By 111 BCE, Southern Yue was conquered, its capital city was burned, and Lü Jia and Zhao Jiande were captured.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Picture Attribution: (Photographed Longzhong Plan pattern painted at Long Corridor of Summer Palace, [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/Altera/yue.html  

The Bad Luck Of York In 1069

Although William “the Conqueror” of Normandy defeated King Harold Godwinson and seized the throne of England in 1066, pockets of resistance continued to fight back against the new Norman regime. Two branches of Anglo-Saxon royals continued to inspire resistance against William. Until around 1068 or 1069, the surviving sons of the late Harold Godwinson launched unsuccessful raids from Ireland against William’s lands and vassals. Alternatively, Northumbrian lords looked with hope to Edgar the Ætheling (grandson of King Edmund Ironside, r. 1016). Edgar, a teen when the conquest occurred, was quickly declared king of England upon Harold Godwinson’s death, but William the Conqueror consolidated power quickly enough to stop Edgar from being officially crowned. Nevertheless, the Northumbrians continued to fight on Edgar’s behalf.

Friction between the Normans and the Northumbrians began to increase in 1067 and 1068, when William the Conqueror imposed taxes on his conquered land and started a great construction spree to build castles that would cement his power in England. Heightened tax, civil unrest, and increasing Norman military presence in Northumbria forced Edgar the Ætheling to flee to Scotland in 1068. A breaking point occurred in early 1069, when Northumbrian rebels ambushed and killed the Norman earl, Robert de Comines, who had been given an administrative role in the north. After slaying the Norman earl, the Northumbrian rebels converged at York and Edgar the Ætheling reportedly returned from Scotland to meet with them. Yet, William the Conqueror quickly mobilized an army and confronted the rebels near York before they could grow into a bigger threat. King William won the battle, but the rebellion leaders, including Edgar the Ætheling, were able to escape. After dispersing the rebels, William the Conqueror reportedly let his troops pillage York and increased the local garrison, additionally building new forts in the city.

Although pushed back by the Normans, the Northumbrian rebels would soon find outside help. The Anglo-Saxon nobles and royalty apparently reached out to their friends in Denmark, and successfully arranged for a Danish fleet to arrive in England by September, 1069. According to the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle and the Chronicle of Florence of Worcester, the Danes sent to England 240 ships, led by Jarl Asbjörn, the brother of King Sweyn II of Denmark. Edgar the Ætheling and his followers were said to have joined this Danish fleet, and together they moved against the Normans at York. By this time, William the Conqueror and the bulk of his army had withdrawn from the city, leaving behind only a garrison. This barracks of Normans in the city, however, soon learned of the approaching coalition, and, knowing that they did not have the strength to resist an attack, the Normans in York reportedly adopted drastic measures to spite the Danes and rebels. According to the Chronicle of Florence of Worcester, “The Normans, who garrisoned the forts, set fire to the adjacent houses, fearing that they might be of service to the Danes in filling up the trenches; and the flames spreading, destroyed the whole city, together with the monastery of St. Peter” (AD 1069).

Despite the Normans setting York alight in hopes of making their forts impregnable, the Danes and rebel Northumbrians still found a way to scale the fortifications and defeat the garrison. The Chronicle of Florence of Worcester went on to report, “the Danish fleet arrived before the city was entirely consumed, and the forts being stormed the same day, and more than three thousand of the Normans killed…the ships drew off laden with plunder” (AD 1069). Unfortunately for Edgar the Ætheling and the Northumbrian rebels, the reliability of Jarl Asbjörn and the Danish fleet was wanting. When William the Conqueror marched once again toward York to restore order, he was reportedly able to strike up a deal with Asbjörn, allowing the Danish troops to forage and pillage Northumbria without hindrance as long as they left after winter was over. With such a deal in place, William the Conqueror was able to force Edgar the Ætheling and the rebels back into hiding, and York was once again occupied by the Normans.

By this point, all in 1069, the city of York had been twice seized by rebel forces and twice retaken by William the Conqueror’s Normans. In the second round of hostilities, York had the further misfortune of being burned by the Norman garrison and looted by the opportunist Danes, before being exposed to more punitive actions once William the Conqueror’s forces regained the city. While these direct consequences of war hit the city hard, war’s more indirect effects also caused havoc. As armies of Anglo-Saxons, Normans, and Scandinavians had been frequently trampling through Northumbria since 1066, with each group demanding food and resources from the region’s people and land, the English north was beginning to experience extreme famine. As the Chronicle of Florence of Worcester colorfully stated, “throughout nearly the whole of England, so severe a famine prevailed in most parts of the kingdom, but chiefly in Northumbria and the adjacent provinces, that men were driven to feed on the flesh of horses, dogs, cats, and even human beings” (AD 1069).

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Picture Attribution: (The Bayeux tapestry elucidated (1856), [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. 
• https://www.britannica.com/biography/Edgar-the-Aetheling 
• https://www.britannica.com/biography/Malcolm-III-Canmore 

Zeus’ Punishment For Oath-breaking Gods And Goddesses, According To Hesiod

After the Olympian gods toppled the regime of the Titan Kronos and accepted lightning-wielding Zeus as the new leader of the Greek divine world, the victorious deities convened to set up new rules and procedures for their reign. One of the important ceremonies that they developed was the ability to make oaths. The guardian and enforcer of these promises was the goddess, Styx, who personified and sustained the famous underworld river that shared her name. When the gods made oaths or were questioned for facts, the deities reportedly swore to tell the truth over a cup or jug of Styx’ water, which Zeus had on hand or fetched for such occasions. Telling lies or breaking oaths after making a vow over the waters of Styx reportedly had dire consequences in itself, but Zeus amplified the punishment with his own personal touch after the Styx water’s effects wore off.

According to the Theogony of Hesiod, if a god or goddess of Olympus lied or broke an oath after swearing not to do so over the water of Styx, the guilty deity would suddenly stop breathing and fall into some sort of coma. Motionless and speechless, the stricken god or goddess was then simply left on a bed, and the other deities of the community kept their distance, not even bringing the ill creature ambrosia or nectar for strength. The oath-breaking or lying god or goddess would remain comatose and ambrosia deprived for a year, at which time they would wake from their slumber. Yet, the punishment was just beginning. Zeus, upon hearing the coma had ended, would then sentence the oath-breaker to nine full years of exclusion or banishment. During that time, the ostracized god or goddess could not participate in any divine councils, nor attend any feasts or parties held by Zeus and the other Olympian gods. Only after serving the full nine-year term of exclusion would the punishment end, and the oath-breaker would finally be allowed to rejoin the community of gods when the long-awaited tenth year arrived.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Picture Attribution: (The Council of Gods, painted by Raphael  (1483–1520), [Public Domain] via Creative Commons).

Sources:

• Theogony and Works and Days by Hesiod, translated by M. L. West. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1988, 1999, 2008.
• https://www.theoi.com/Khthonios/PotamosStyx.html  

The Tale Of The Lone Norwegian Warrior Who, For A Time, Single-Handedly Held Back King Harold Godwinson’s Forces At Stamford Bridge

With the death of King Edward the Confessor in January, 1066, England was plunged into an epic showdown for the vacated throne. Harold Godwinson, Edward’s brother-in-law, became the Anglo-Saxon champion for England and he was elected to the throne. Foreign claimants, however, would soon arrive from Norway and Normandy in mere months to challenge King Harold Godwinson for the English crown. Of the invaders, the first to arrive was King Harald Hardrada of Norway, an experienced warrior-king who had been a mercenary for the Rus, a Varangian Guardsman in Constantinople, and a Viking raider, before he returned home to become king of Norway around 1045. In September, 1066, Harald Hardrada—with a reported armada of 300 ships—began militarily campaigning in the Northumbria region of England. The Norwegians were aided by Harold Godwinson’s scorned brother, Tostig, and they defeated the Northumbrian regional forces in battle, forcing York to surrender. It was while Harald Hardrada was on this winning streak in the north that King Harold Godwinson pulled together an army and rushed his troops toward York to face the Norwegian threat.

Harold Godwinson’s army moved with such speed that he caught the experienced Norwegian king totally off guard. The Norwegians were divided at the time, with Harald Hardrada and his portion of the army camping near Stamford Bridge (on the River Derwent), while the rest of the army remained at the ships near Ricall and the River Ouse. Most importantly, the Norwegians at the bridge site had reportedly left much of their armor by the ships, as they were not expecting an attack so soon. Therefore, when Harold Godwinson and the Anglo-Saxons fell on the unsuspecting and under-equipped Norwegians camped by Stamford Bridge, the battle turned into a massacre.

While the Scandinavian and English sources disagreed slightly on details of the battle, they both made the same key points—Harald Hardrada and Tostig died in battle and a majority of the Norwegian army was destroyed. According to the Scandinavian tradition, Harald Hardrada’s reserve troops from Ricall made a long and tiring march to Stamford Bridge in hopes of saving their king, yet they were too tired to fight upon arrival. The Anglo-Saxon version (seen as the more accurate account) instead claimed that after Harald Hardrada and Tostig were slain, the Norwegian warriors at Stamford Bridge began a frantic retreat to their ships and reinforcements at Ricall. In both of the scenarios, a single Norwegian warrior was said to have played a major role by making a lone last stand on Stamford Bridge, either (in the English tradition) for covering his comrades’ retreat to the ships or (in the Scandinavian version) by trying to hold the Anglo-Saxons back until the approaching troops from Ricall could arrive.

As the story goes, the unnamed Norwegian warrior was a one-man wrecking crew with near superhuman fighting ability. Buying time for the Norwegian side, the Viking champion took up position at a choke point, reportedly Stamford Bridge itself, and determined to fight to the death. He gave the Anglo-Saxons immense trouble, reportedly besting anyone who came against him in single combat, and he could just as easily deflect or block any arrows shot in his direction. The Anglo-Saxon Chronicle described the scene, including the English army’s eventual solution for defeating the mighty warrior: “there was one of the Norwegians who withstood the English folk, so that they could not pass over the bridge or gain the victory. Then an Englishman aimed at him with an arrow, but it availed naught; and then came another under the bridge and pierced him through the corselet” (ASC, entry for 1066). With the Norwegian warrior’s death, the Anglo-Saxons were able to rush across the bridge to finish the battle, either by crashing into the regrouping Norwegians or by pursuing the fleeing invaders all the way to their ships. Whichever way the battle really played out, Harold Godwinson won a decisive victory and let the son of the slain Norwegian king lead the survivors home—they reportedly only needed 24 of their original 300 ships to ferry the remnants of Harald Hardrada’s army away.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

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.
• Heimskringla, by Snorri Sturluson and translated by Lee Hollander. Austin: University of Texas Press, 1964, 2018. 
• King Harald’s Saga, by Snorri Sturluson, translated by Magnus Mangusson and Hermann Pálsson. New York: Penguin Books, 1966, 2005. 
• https://www.ancient.eu/article/1306/battle-of-stamford-bridge/ 

The Un-Roman Tactic That Roman Consul Furius Agrippa Used To Make His Troops Fight With Passion

According to the Roman historian Livy (c. 59 BCE-17 CE), and the sources and tradition that he relied on, the Roman Republic went to war against a coalition of Volscians and Aequians in 446 BCE, when the consuls of Rome were Titus Quinctius Capitolinus and Furius Agrippa. The Volscians and Aequians caught the Romans off guard, or, at least, in a moment of unpreparedness. Consequently, the invaders ran rampant over Roman land, setting up a base at a place called Corbio, from which they launched raids into Roman territory. While the raiders were pillaging the countryside, the Romans were pulling together their military. Once Rome’s warriors were organized and equipped, the consuls Quinctius and Agrippa led the troops out for battle.

After a reported three days of marching, the Romans found their prey near Corbio and both sides readied for combat. Rome’s forces, according to Livy, lined up in a simple formation with three infantry divisions, as well as a fourth division consisting solely of cavalry. Consul Quinctius took command of the Roman right wing, while Agrippa led the left. Additional trusted officers were tasked with leading the center and the cavalry. Between the two commanding consuls, Quinctius was the better general, and therefore he also took up the responsibility of commander-in-chief of the whole formation.

Accounts of ancient battles, especially ones written well after the time of the events described, as Livy’s account was, can be frequently filled with folklore or spiced up by the historian’s imagination, as ancient historians often wanted to entertain as much as they wanted to inform. Therefore, the inspiring battle-speeches, the heroic infantry charges and the decisive cavalry hammer-and-anvil strikes that are described by the ancient sources may not have actually occurred in reality the way they were recorded by eloquent historians. Nevertheless, tales and folklore captivated the minds of the ancient writers and it is quite possible that many of the stories that they included in their accounts of events were based, some way or another, in truth or a grain thereof. Such may be the case of Consul Agrippa and the story of how he kept his troops motivated during the battle against the Volscians and Aequians.

According to Livy, the Roman right wing (led by Consul Quinctius), as well as the center infantry division and the cavalry, were all splendidly maneuvering their forces, pressing back the invaders, disrupting the enemy lines, and trampling and stabbing their foes into submission. It was only in Consul Agrippa’s left wing, so the story goes, that the Romans were struggling in the battle against the Volscians and Aequians. According to Livy, Agrippa was “a magnificent fighter and still in the prime of his life” (History of Rome, 3.70), as well as a man still wanting a prosperous political and military career. So as to not lose honor for himself or the state, the underperforming consul was desperate to inspire his troops to fight with more ferocity, and thereby regain momentum and prestige for his infantry division. In order to achieve his objective, the consul was willing to go to extreme lengths. What Agrippa would allegedly do next, for a Roman, was unthinkable and against everything that the Roman military stood for. Hoping to rile his troops into a frenzy, Consul Agrippa reportedly tossed the revered battle standards of his forces over to the enemy. For a Roman, not recovering these lost banners would be one of the worst shames imaginable. By throwing the standards behind enemy lines, Consul Agrippa ensured that the only way the Romans could recover the banners was by defeating the opposing forces.  Livy described the patently un-Roman move and the effect it had on the consul’s troops:

“Aware that things were going worse in his own sector than anywhere else, [Agrippa] snatched the standards from their bearers and pressed forward with them in his own hands—and even, to shame his men to greater efforts, flung some of them into the thick of the enemy ranks. The ruse succeeded; a furious onslaught followed, and victory along the whole front was won” (History of Rome, 3.70).

After bringing his personal command to victory through those unusual means, Agrippa marched his troops to join consul Quinctius in a final assault on the Volscian and Aequian camp at Corbio. By this point, the army of raiders had been killed or scattered, so the assault to take the camp required little effort. With the camp captured, there was little left to do but to plunder what was left behind and march back to Rome for a glorious reception.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Sources:

• The History of Rome by Livy, translated by Aubrey de Sélincourt. New York: Penguin Classics, 2002.

Who Was The Eldest Of The Twelve Great Olympian Gods?

While there were many deities, spirits and minions known to the ancient Greek religious world, usually twelve were touted above the rest. The ranking of which gods and goddesses should be in the top twelve Olympians was frequently contested, but certain gods always made the cut. Ten Olympians without fail made the list: Zeus, Poseidon, Hera, Demeter, Athena, Apollo, Artemis, Hermes, Ares and Aphrodite. Fighting over the last two coveted slots on the roster of the great Twelve were four more well-known deities: Hades, Hephaestus, Dionysus and Hestia—who among them received a place in the Twelve depended on the location, preference and motivation of the myth-teller. These fourteen powerful and respected deities are difficult to rank based on sheer might and influence, but many of the ancient sources claim that, if the question is who is the eldest among them, one of the fourteen can be easily singled out for being the first to be brought into creation. Curiously, the eldest among the fourteen is not necessarily the strongest, nor the tallest, or even the most magically destructive. The eldest of the fourteen mentioned above, according to many sources, is not even a male deity.

As the original Olympians had children, several of the Twelve can easily be crossed out. Athena, Ares, Hephaestus, Apollo, Artemis, Hermes and Dionysus were the offspring of the original Titan-born Olympians. The second generation came from the original six Olympians, listed in order of birth—Hestia, Demeter, Hera, Hades, Poseidon and Zeus, all of which were born to the Titan couple, Kronos and Rhea. Before settling down to father this first generation of Olympian gods, the Titan Kronos had been involved in a gruesome crime which led to the birth of the eldest deity among the Twelve.

For the birth of the eldest, we have to go back all the way to the reign of the primordial deities, Gaia (Earth) and Ouranos (Heaven). They were the parents of the Titans, as well as the Cyclopes and the monstrous-looking Hecatoncheires. Ouranos feared his children, especially the latter two groups, and began imprisoning his offspring in the earth without Gaia’s consent or approval. Gaia, suffering abuse and witnessing the mistreatment of her children, plotted with the Titan Kronos to punish Ouranos. She gave Kronos a specially-made weapon that could harm the primordial god of the heavens. With this blade in hand, Kronos waited in ambush for an intimate time when the god of the heavens would soon press down on the primordial earth goddess.

Ouranos, unfortunately, soon felt the temptation and went to Gaia. Yet, instead of love or release, the god would only find Kronos with a sickle. Pulling Ouranos’ delicate bits with one hand, and swinging the blade with the other, Kronos castrated his father and tossed what he had severed into the sea. At the spot where the mutilated member hit the water, foam bubbled up to cover the waves, and out of that froth came the eldest of the Twelve Olympian deities—Aphrodite.

Of course, Aphrodite’s origin was disputed even in ancient times, and even though the tale of her emerging from the gruesomely-produced seafoam was the most commonly told explanation of her birth, the poet Homer instead proposed a less-popular theory that she was a daughter of Zeus and Dione. Even if this were the case, a goddess would curiously still be the eldest among the Twelve, for, with Aphrodite out of the way, the goddess Hestia would be the next eldest.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Picture Attribution: (Social media crop Venus painted by William Blake Richmond (1842–1921), [Public Domain] via Creative Commons).

Sources:

• Theogony and Works and Days by Hesiod, translated by M. L. West. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1988, 1999, 2008.
• https://www.theoi.com/Olympios/Aphrodite.html 
• http://perseus.uchicago.edu/perseus-cgi/citequery3.pl?dbname=GreekTexts&query=Hom.%20Il.%205.370&getid=1

Widowed Queen Fredegund’s Assassination Attempt Against Widowed Queen Brunhild

In 566 or 567, two Visigoth sisters married two Frankish brothers. The brides were Galswintha and Brunhild, daughters of King Athanagild of the Visigoths (r. 551/554-567), while the grooms were Chilperic and Sigebert, both sons of the Merovingian Dynasty’s King Chlotar I of the Franks (r. 511-561). At the time of the marriages, Chilperic and Sigebert (with two other brothers, Charibert and Guntram) had succeeded their father as kings of different sections of the Frankish Empire. This was the fractured environment—with several independent Merovingian kings vying for primacy in the Frankish sphere of influence—that the Visigoth princesses were marrying into. With the unions of Galswintha to Chilperic, and Brunhild to Sigebert, life could have been like a fairytale or a folk story if the times and people were kinder. Yet, in the end, events unfolded more like a saga of horrors and bloodshed, with feuds that lasted for generations.

Brunhild and Sigebert, it appears, had a happy marriage and got along quite well. Galswintha, however, found Chilperic to be a poor husband. Despite the presence of his new wife, Chilperic continuously returned to concubines and mistresses that he had favored in the past, particularly a woman named Fredegund, whom he valued above all else. Chilperic, after only a year of marriage, came to the conclusion that he had made a mistake in marrying Galswintha. Driven on by these thoughts, Chilperic ultimately decided to end the marriage. He, however, did not complete this goal by separation or by sending his wife off to a convent. Instead, he horrifically had Galswintha strangled to death in 567 or 568, and quickly married Fredegund, who reportedly had encouraged the murder.

Brunhild, understandably, was infuriated and enraged when she heard the news that Chilperic had murdered her sister. Brunhild was supported by her husband, Sigebert, who admirably championed her cause and eventually mobilized his forces for a war against his own brother Chilperic. By 575, Sigebert was visibly winning his war against Chilperic, but just as the conflict was seemingly nearing its end, Sigebert was assassinated, leaving behind Brunhild and a five-year-old son named Childebert II. Chilperic and Fredegund were the prime suspects for the murder.

Childebert II, though a vulnerable child-king, was looked after by his uncle, King Guntram (r. 561-593), and by the late Sigebert’s loyal vassals. Brunhild, although she was sometimes separated from her son, also continued to act and intrigue for his interests. The realms of Childebert and Guntram were aligned against Chilperic until around 581, when Chilperic had some success convincing the teenage Childebert to turn against Guntram. Uncle Guntram, however, was able to bring young Childebert back to his side by 584 by giving the boy control of Marseilles. Later that very year, history would repeat and another assassination would occur. This time, it was King Chilperic who fell to an assassin’s blade, leaving behind Fredegund and an infant son named Chlotar II.

With the death of Chilperic, King Guntram was now the undisputed patriarch of the Merovingian Dynasty, ruling alongside two nephews, one an ambitious teenager and the other a baby. Immediately upon his brother’s death, Guntram seemingly acted with two goals at heart—self empowerment (he seized for himself lands such as Paris, Tours and Poitiers), while also striving to save the Merovingian Dynasty from further royal assassinations within his lifetime. In furtherance of the latter goal, he placed baby Chlotar II under his protection and sheltered the widowed Fredegund from Childebert II, as the teenage king wished to avenge the death of his father (Sigebert) and his aunt (Galswintha), in whose deaths Fredegund had been implicated.

After Childebert’s demands for Fredegund to be handed over had ceased, Guntram sent her off to live at a manor in the vicinity of Rouen. As had happened with young Childebert II, the vassals of the late Chilperic pledged their loyalty to baby Chlotar, and like her rival Queen Brunhild, Fredegund took upon herself the task of wielding espionage and intrigue on her young son’s behalf.

Not long after reaching her manor near Rouen, presumably still in 584, Fredegund launched an assassination attempt against Brunhild. As the story goes, she sent an agent to infiltrate Brunhild’s household. The assassin took on the guise of a cleric and acted with such piety and humility that he quickly worked his way closer and closer into Brunhild’s inner circle. Yet, something was off about him—maybe observers could sense insincerity, or perhaps his cover story just didn’t fit. Whatever the case, Brunhild’s household became suspicious of the cleric and eventually interrogated him. During the questioning, in-between bouts of flogging, the would-be assassin reportedly confessed to everything. Brunhild, for her part, spared the agent and merely sent him back to his master. The move, however, may not have been too merciful, for Fredegund had a reputation for wanton use of torture and execution. According to Bishop (and historian) Gregory of Tours, “When he [the assassin] told Fredegund what had happened and confessed that he had failed in his mission, she punished him by having his hands and feet cut off” (History of the Franks, VII.20).

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Picture Attribution: (Fredegund watching the marriage of Chilperic and Galswintha, c. 19th century, painted by Lawrence Alma Tadema, [Public Domain] via Creative Commons).

Sources:

• The History of the Franks by Gregory of Tours, translated by Lewis Thorpe. New York: Penguin Classics, 1971.
• https://www.britannica.com/biography/Fredegund 
• https://www.britannica.com/biography/Brunhild-queen-of-Austrasia 
• https://www.oxfordreference.com/view/10.1093/acref/9780198662778.001.0001/acref-9780198662778-e-520