The Duels Of Trainer And Coach, Andreas, Before The Battle Of Dara

In the year 530, Emperor Justinian’s newly appointed General of the East, Belisarius, led a Byzantine (Eastern Roman) army to a position between the cities of Nisibis and Dara to block the path of an invading Sāsānian Persian force. According to the historian Procopius, who happened to have been General Belisarius’ accompanying legal advisor, the Romans dug a series of trenches near Dara and deployed at the site a force of approximately 25,000 warriors in a fairly typical tripartite formation, with a left, center and right. After the Romans had constructed their defensive features and took up their positions on the battlefield, the Persian army arrived on the scene. Procopius, an eye-witness to the battle, claimed that the Persians numbered around 40,000 upon their arrival on the battlefield, and they initially set up in what seemed to be a single block-like phalanx formation.

On the first day of conflict, the Persians probed the left wing of the Roman formation with a noncommittal cavalry charge. In the ensuing skirmish, the Romans drove off the charging horsemen, reportedly killing seven of the Persians before the cavalry rejoined their main force. At this point in the day, it was late in the afternoon, but the Persians were not done taunting and testing the Roman lines. Next, a young Persian horseman reportedly rode up to the Romans, demanding to duel anyone who was brave enough to come forward. According to Procopius, the Persian warrior’s challenge was accepted by a man named Andreas, a physical trainer and a wrestling instructor who had accompanied one of the Roman generals into battle, not as a warrior, but as an attendant. Reportedly wielding only a spear and a knife, Andreas marched forward to meet the Persian horseman in combat.

When Andreas stepped forward, the Persian horseman charged at him, perhaps thinking that the athletic instructor would be an easy foe. Yet, although Andreas was not a professional warrior in the army, he was nonetheless a skilled fighter. With the horseman bearing down on him, Andreas stood his ground and readied his spear. As the story goes, Andreas used his polearm to knock the charging Persian off of his horse, leaving the horseman dazed on the ground. Now that the Persian warrior was defenseless, Andreas tossed aside his spear, took out his knife, and “slew him like a sacrificial animal as he lay on his back” (Procopius, The Wars, 1.13). As Andreas finished off his opponent, cheers erupted from the Roman army, as well as from onlookers on the walls of nearby Dara.

The day’s events, however, were not over. According to Procopius, a second Persian horseman soon rode up to the roman lines, demanding another duel. The new arrival was much older than the first Persian duelist, and he was reportedly equipped with a whip and a spear. The physical trainer and wrestler, Andreas, as he was already on a roll, accepted this second challenge. After picking up his spear and hopping onto a horse (perhaps the fallen Persian’s steed), Andreas charged at the new duelist. Noticing Andreas’ advance, the Persian lowered his own spear and set off on his horse toward the Roman champion. What resulted was an ancient joust of sorts, with the two horsemen bearing down on each other with their lances leveled. Yet, when the two connected, neither fighter made a direct hit. Instead, the Roman and the Persian unhorsed each other and both fell to the ground, likely dropping their weapons in the process. Down on the ground and unarmed, the wrestling instructor Andreas was in his element. Using all of his grappling prowess, Andreas quickly overpowered the Persian and, either with or without a weapon, slew his opponent.

By the time Andreas’ second duel had finished, the sun was already setting and both armies decided to return to their camps. In the morning, 10,000 Persian reinforcements would join the preexisting 40,000-man-strong army. Despite this, the smaller Roman army, with its series of trenches, would hold its ground and win the day.

Written by C. Keith Hansley.

Picture Attribution: (Medieval depiction of Byzantine emperor Basil I (left) with his son Leo VI from a manuscript of John Skylitzes's history, [Public Domain] via Creative Commons).

Sources:

• The History of the Wars (Book I) by Procopius, translated by H. B. Dewing (Harvard University Press, originally published 1914).

The Fatal Duel Between A Swedish Berserk And An Icelandic Viking-Poet

According to the anonymous Icelandic author of the semi-mythical Egil’s Saga, an opportunist berserk with the ominous name of Ljot the Pale crossed from his homeland in Sweden over to the kingdom of Norway sometime during the 10th century. Once in Norway, Jjot went about challenging wealthy Norwegians to duels, and after killing his opponents, as he always did, the Swedish warrior claimed each victim’s land and wealth as his rightful prize.

For much of his dueling career, Ljot the Pale would have likely been the most talented warrior in Norway—after all, he was a berserk, the most elite of the Scandinavian fighting men. The berserks allegedly were religious warriors who had been bestowed with incredible fighting abilities by none other than the leader of the Norse pantheon of gods, Odin. Through religious meditation (and likely narcotics), they could reportedly achieve a state of unnatural strength and unimaginable pain tolerance. When these warriors went “berserk” their battle-frenzy apparently led the super-soldiers to gnaw at the edges of their shields—consequently, it is this action (as well as bearskin pelt garments) that is used in many visual depictions of berserks. With such strength at his disposal, Ljot the Pale amassed considerable wealth by dueling the prominent men of Norway.

Around the middle of the 10th century, supposedly during the reign of King Hakon the Good (ruled roughly 934-960), Ljot the Pale decided it was about time he became a married man. According to the saga, the berserk set his sights on an unnamed Norwegian woman. Yet, when the Ljot proposed the marriage, the woman’s family firmly refused. The berserk did not take the rejection well—he immediately challenged the woman’s brother, a man named Fridgeir, to a duel.

As it happened, at the same time that this drama was taking place, a famous Viking-poet from Iceland, named Egil Skallagrimsson, arrived in Norway to lay claim to some land that belonged to his late father-in-law. He was a friend of Fridgeir’s family, so he stayed on their farm for part of his stay in Norway. In this way, the poet became entangled in the local events and ended up accompanying Fridgeir to the site of the duel.

The fighters met on Valdero Island, where a stone circle had been specially made to mark where the duel would take place. Once Egil Skallagrimsson laid eyes on the berserk, he immediately knew that the weak and inexperienced Fredgeir was hopelessly outmatched. Therefore, Egil decided to take Fredgeir’s place in the duel, so as to even the odds.

You may wonder why this poet thought he could put up a fight against a berserk. After all, by this point, Egil described himself as an “old bald-head” (Egil’s Saga, chapter 65). Nevertheless, Egil Skallagrimsson was no typical poet. He was not the kind of man who spent his days dreaming, with his thoughts in the clouds. Instead, he was a ruthless killer who had been going on Viking raids throughout northern Europe ever since he was a young teenager. In addition, he was reportedly one of the tallest and strongest men in all of Scandinavia. As a semi-mythical legend, he was also a supposed shape-shifter with berserk blood in his ancestry. If that was not enough embellishment for Egil’s larger-than-life character, the saga also claimed that he had a knack for magic. For sure, Egil was not the average literary artist.

Eager for combat, Egil entered the stone ring equipped with his trusty shield and two swords, named Adder and Slicer—the latter was the blade that the poet wielded in his hand; the other he left sheathed. Even though Egil was ready to fight, Ljot the Pale was still in the process of going “berserk.” Annoyed, the giant poet called out to his opponent in verse, beckoning him to battle. Finally, Ljot found his fighting spirit and he entered the arena howling and biting at his shield.

Egil launched the first strike of the duel, which was deflected by the berserk’s shield. Even so, the momentum was on Egil’s side and, impressively, the momentum would stay with the poet for the entire duel. With an onslaught of blows, Egil forced the berserk out of the stone circle. None of the slashes or jabs met their mark, but they were persistent enough to keep Ljot from making any attacks of his own. Eventually, after the duel had transitioned out from the arena and into a nearby field, Ljot asked for a short period of rest. Egil, interestingly enough, decided to humor the berserk and agreed to the proposal. During the break, however, Egil mocked his opponent with another stanza of highly critical poetry.

The brief respite did not last long. Eventually, Egil became impatient and demanded that the fight resume. Just like in the previous bout, Egil immediately had the overwhelming advantage—with a mighty blow, Egil stripped Ljot of his shield. While the berserk was still disoriented from the impact, Egil cut downward with a savage blow. His sword, Slicer, lived up to its name; the blade cut cleanly through the berserk’s thigh, delivering a wound that would prove fatal. In the end, Egil refused to accept any reward from Fridgeir as payment for his victory in the duel, claiming (in another poetic stanza) that the fun he had while fighting Ljot was reward enough. Yet, it was not too much of a financial sacrifice on the poet’s part, for Egil Skallagrimsson was more than happy to seize all of the fallen berserk’s wealth and property as fair winnings.

Written by C. Keith Hansley.

Picture attribution: (berserk from a medieval Swedish helmet plate and Norse god of poetry (Bragi) by Carl Wahlbom  (1810–1858), in front of more berserks by Luis Moe, all [Public Domain] via Creative Commons).

Sources:

• Egil's Saga (recorded c. 13th century possibly by Snorri Sturluson), translated by Bernard Scudder. New York: Penguin Classics, 2004 edition.