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.

The Rumored Theft Of Zeno’s Treasure

During the reign of Emperor Justinian (r. 527-565), a wealthy man named Zeno was appointed to be the emperor’s prefect of Egypt. After receiving this order, Zeno started gathering his treasures of gold and jewels, for he wanted to live in luxury during his term of office. Vast quantities of gold, silver, emeralds and pearls that he owned were transported to the empire’s capital city of Constantinople, where the treasure was stockpiled on the ship that would soon take Zeno to Egypt. The voyage, however, never took place—before Zeno could leave for Egypt, his ship caught fire and the wreckage sank below the waves. With the ship went his treasure. To Zeno’s horror, not a single salvageable coin or jewel could be found floating above the water or down in the debris field on the seabed. Yet, Zeno’s misfortunes did not end there. Not long after the fire, Zeno mysteriously and suspiciously died. After his death, a will was discovered in which Zeno bequeathed all of his property to the imperial couple, Emperor Justinian and Empress Theodora.

Zeno’s death became a hot topic for gossip. With the suspicious fire on the ship, the unexplained absence of treasure in the wreckage, and his subsequent mysterious death not long after the incident, many people in Constantinople were convinced that there was foul play afoot in Zeno’s sudden downfall. One of the people who expressed this concern was Procopius (c. 490-565), the greatest contemporary historian of Justinian’s reign. In his Secret History, Procopius took the side of the gossipers, suggesting that Emperor Justinian sent henchmen to steal Zeno’s treasure and then burned the ship to cover the crime. The historian was less assertive, but still insinuative, in implicating Justinian in Zeno’s later suspicious death. Procopius wrote, “Not long after, as it happened, Zeno died very suddenly, and the two of them [the imperial couple] took over his estate as his lawful heirs, for they produced a will of sorts, which it was openly rumored was not of his making” (Secret History, chapter 12). It must be noted that Procopius was extremely critical, and often libelous, of Justinian in his Secret History, and the historian’s allegations should be taken with a grain of salt. Procopius had no definitive proof or evidence that Justinian was involved in Zeno’s death; the historian likely believed, however, that such a crime could fit with the emperor’s conniving and opportunistic character.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Picture Attribution: (Painting of the Archimedes Mirror being used to burn a ship, by Giulio Parigi  (1571–1635), [Public Domain] via Creative Commons).

Sources:

• The Secret History by Procopius, translated by G. A. Williamson and Peter Sarris. New York: Penguin Classics, 1966, 2007.
• https://www.britannica.com/biography/Justinian-I 
• https://www.ancient.eu/Justinian_I/

One Supposed Way Kavadh I Of Persia Counted His Slain Warriors

From ancient times until the modern day, governments have long prized keeping statistics and catalogs of their resources. In a war-torn age, numbers concerning manpower and military size are especially of interest. Kavadh I (r. 488-496, 498-531), a ruler of Sāsānian Persia, lived in one such age of prevalent warfare and he reportedly took very seriously the task of calculating the number of his warriors who did not return from battle. To aid him in this grim task, Kavadh I reportedly encouraged his military to follow an interesting tradition that resulted in a tangible and visible representation of how many people were lost.

According to the historian Procopius (c. 490-565), Kavadh’s warriors were required to submit a token of sorts to the Sāsānian Persian government before they left on campaign. The historian suggested that these relinquished items were usually small weapons, and if the Persian ruler was present, the warriors would place these tokens in containers set before their leader. Procopius described the alleged ceremony: “the king sits on the royal throne, and many baskets are set there before him; and the general also is present who is expected to lead the army against the enemy; then the army passes along before the king, one man at a time, and each of them throws one weapon into the baskets” (History of the Wars, I.18). After the troops passed by, the many filled baskets were reportedly sealed up, labeled, and placed in a safe location. The baskets (and the tokens locked inside) would not be retrieved until the army returned from its campaign.

As the story goes, once news of an army’s return from battle reached the Persian court, officials would race off to wherever they stored the sealed tokens to retrieve the respective baskets for the homebound army. Then, as Procopius claimed, “when this army returns to Persia, each one of the soldiers takes one weapon out of the baskets. A count is then made by those whose office it is to do so of all the weapons which have not been taken by the men, and they report to the king the number of soldiers who have not returned” (History of the Wars, I.18). Therefore, the unclaimed tokens left in the baskets could be tallied up for a broad number of who was lost in the war from that particular army, be it from death, capture or desertion. Of course, it would be just as easy to write down a head-count of the warriors, themselves, before and after their campaign, or to collect records from the officers who led the forces into battle. Yet, Procopius’ proposed ceremony, if it indeed was put into use, would certainly create a striking visible representation of the human cost of war.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Picture Attribution: (Convivial meeting of Kai Khosrow by Hossein Qollar-Aqasi, [Public Domain] via Creative Commons).

Sources:

• History of the Wars by Procopius, translated by H. B. Dewing. Massachusetts: Harvard University Press, 1919.

The Odd Tale Of The Ascetic, Jacobus, And His Confrontation With A Persian Army

According to the historian Procopius (c. 490-565), an interesting figure named Jacobus flourished in the late 5th and early 6th centuries. This Jacobus, it was said, hailed from Syria, but chose to end his days in a place called Endielon, located not far from the important Byzantine (Eastern Roman) fortress of Amida (near Diyarbakir, Turkey). Jacobus was a devoutly religious man with ascetic tendencies, and after living in the community at Endielon for some time, he ultimately decided to live out the remainder of his life in a religious cell. Supportive of his decision, Jacobus’ neighbors reportedly built for their resident hermit a roofed shelter in which he could live. The walls of the structure apparently resembled fencing, built with gaps in the barrier so that Jacobus could receive food and conversation from visitors. With the blueprint set, Jacobus entered his loosely built enclosure and let his friends set up the final pieces of the cage.

Jacobus likely thought his life from then on out would be nothing but peace, quiet and tranquility. World events, however, thwarted Jacobus’ plans and instead brought chaos to his isolated enclosure. By 502, the Byzantine (Eastern Roman) Empire and the Sāsānian Empire of Persia were at war, and the area in which Jacobus lived was a hotspot of the conflict. Persian forces invaded the region and laid siege to the fortress of Amida between 502 and 503. As Jacobus’ cage could reportedly be reached after only a day’s journey from Amida, Persian scouts or scavengers inevitably found the hermit.

When the Persians discovered the peculiar cage, they approached it cautiously, keeping their bows and arrows at the ready. As the story goes, when the warriors saw that there was a person inside the structure, their first impulse was to loose their arrows and kill whoever was residing in the odd shelter. Yet, upon closer inspection, something suppressed their initial violent impulse. Perhaps, it was Jacobus’ friendly demeanor or his emaciated physique (he had reportedly been living off only seeds). Whatever the case, the Persians apparently could not bring themselves to kill the hermit, and therefore they left him in peace. As the Romans had been driven from the region, the Persians must have also taken up the task of making supply drops for the caged man.

News of the hermit’s existence spread quickly through the ranks of the Persians at Amida. As the story goes, even the Persian king of kings, Kavadh I (r. 488-496, 498-531), the Sāsānian ruler at that time, was interested in seeing the recluse. Kavadh I allegedly traveled to Jacobus’ cage and talked with the man, opening up the conversation by apologizing to the hermit for the incident where Persian troops almost shot arrows at the cage. As recompense, the Persian king supposedly offered to grant a single wish that the hermit might request. Accepting this deal, Jacobus asked for sanctuary and safety to be given to any refugee from the region who camped by his cage at Endielon. According to the historian Procopius, King Kavadh I granted the request “and gave him a written pledge of his personal safety. And great numbers of men, as might be expected, came flocking to him from all sides and found safety there; for the deed became widely known” (The Wars, 1.7).

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Picture Attribution: (Recluse Reading, painted by Carl Spitzweg (1808–1885), [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).
• https://www.britannica.com/biography/Kavadh-I 
• http://www.iranicaonline.org/articles/kawad-i-reign  

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).

King Kavadh Of Persia’s Bizarre, Yet Stylish, Escape From Prison

King Kavadh I (or Kawād) became the ruler of Sāsānian Persia in 488. He came to power at a time when the Sāsānian ruling family was under threat from both external armies and internal factions—Kavadh’s father, King Fīrūz, had been killed in battle around 484, and Kavadh’s uncle, King Balāsh, was deposed in a coup that took place in 488. The conspirators who overthrew Balāsh put young Kavadh on the throne and dominated him for nearly a decade. Around 496, however, Kavadh I began to assert his own power at the expense of his rivals. Yet, when the enemies of Kavadh within the Sāsānian Empire began to resist his attempts to impose crown authority, the king quickly realized he did not have nearly enough strength to enforce his will. Unfortunately, a coup was launched against Kavadh in 496, and he was deposed, arrested and imprisoned.

Kavadh I was reportedly locked away in the so-called Prison of Oblivion, and his brother Jāmāsp was placed on the throne in his stead. Although deposed and replaced, Kavadh was not forgotten, and he still had some supporters on the outside. Sometime between 496 and 498, Kavadh’s supporters managed to break him out of prison, allowing him to flee to the Hephthalites, a powerful rival of Sāsānian Persia. The 6th-century historian, Procopius, claimed to have come across several differing Persian accounts of this event, and apparently summarized the common elements of the tales in the first book of his History of the Wars. In doing so, Procopius preserved an interesting folkloric account of Kavadh’s escape, which involved an adventure filled with seduction, stealth, and even cross-dressing.

As the story goes, Kavadh was married to a devoted wife at the time that he was sent to prison. Whereas Kavadh, himself, was securely locked away, his wife apparently was left to roam free. As she did not seem to have anyone surveilling her, Kavadh’s dutiful (and unfortunately unnamed) wife formed a network with her husband’s allies to plot Kavadh’s escape.

Step one was to obtain access to Kavadh. In order to achieve this goal, Kavadh’s wife regularly went to the Prison of Oblivion, using all of her charm and seductiveness to earn the confidence of the prison warden. She started slowly, at first simply showing up to drop off food for her imprisoned husband to eat, and, while there, she would engage the warden in friendly conversation. Yet, soon, she became more flirtatious with the official, all the while plying him for more access to the secure sections of the prison. Eventually, after she and the prison warden had become quite close, the devoted wife was given freedom to come and go from Kavadh’s cell whenever she pleased.  She made these trips to see her husband with such consistency that it became routine for the prison warden and guards, and they paid very little attention to her as she left from Kavadh’s cell and departed from the prison each visit.

On one particular day, however, the prison warden noticed a break in the routine—the wife of Kavadh abruptly stopped coming to visit. The previous day, she had arrived at the usual time, wearing her usual garb, doing her usual routine. She had been let in to see her husband, and after they had done their thing in privacy, the femininely-clad figure had left the cell and exited the prison; a normal end to a normal day. Now, however, the wife oddly did not come to visit the prison. Eventually, the concerned guards went to see their prized prisoner, perhaps to ask if the deposed king had any news about his absent wife. To the guards’ relief, they found the cell still inhabited, and they could see a figure inside wearing the clothing of a prisoner. Yet, something seemed off about the person in the cell and they decided to take a closer look. To their horror, the person in the cell was not Kavadh, but his wife.

Procopius wrote that he had no further information on the fate of Kavadh’s wife, saying “As to the fate which befell the woman after the stratagem had come to light, and the manner in which they punished her, I am unable to speak with accuracy” (The Wars, book 1, section 6). Procopius did, however, have more information about what Kavadh did after he was visited by his wife for the last time. As the story goes, the deposed king and his wife traded clothing, finally launching an escape plan that had been long in the making. After dressing up like a woman, the king began to sneak out of the prison, while his wife stayed behind to play the part of the prisoner.  As usual, the guards of the prison paid little attention to the person leaving from Kavadh’s cell, allowing the fugitive king to successfully walk out of the prison. In addition to clothing, Kavadh’s wife had also given her husband a message from his supporters, which told him where to go to find horses and loyal warriors. As the story goes, Khavad traveled to that spot, and with those horses and troops, he successfully fled to the Hephthalites. Additionally, as his wife had conveniently sacrificed herself, Kavadh arranged for himself to marry a daughter of the Hephthalite king, a political move which gave Kavadh enough military support to reclaim the Sāssānian Empire by force in 498 or 499. He would continue to rule the empire until his death in 531.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Picture Attribution: (Gold coin issued by Kavadh I, photographed by the Classical Numismatic Group, and published via Creative Commons and OTRS).

Sources:

• The History of the Wars by Procopius, translated by H. B. Dewing (Harvard University Press, originally published 1914).
• https://www.britannica.com/biography/Kavadh-I 
• http://www.iranicaonline.org/articles/kawad-i-reign 
• https://www.britannica.com/biography/Balash 
• http://www.iranicaonline.org/articles/balas-proper-name 
• http://www.iranicaonline.org/articles/firuz-1 
• http://www.iranicaonline.org/articles/jamasp-i-reign  

The Odd Signature Stencil Stamp Of Emperor Justin I

Emperor Justin I of Constantinople had quite a rags-to-riches story. He was born into a peasant family around the year 450, but eventually left the life of a commoner behind to join the military. Upon enrollment, Justin was said to have had with him nothing but some bread and the clothes on his back. His fortunes would skyrocket, however, once he started down the path of the warrior; Justin became a member of the palace guard for Emperor Anastasius (r. 491-518) and ultimately became the commander of that force. When Anastasius died without a clear heir in 518, the unlikely Justin became a top contender for the throne. How exactly he cinched his claim to the throne is debated—some say he touted his respected status in the military, while others suggest he used of well-placed bribes—yet, whatever the case, Justin did indeed win the backing of the military and government officials, allowing him to become the next emperor of Constantinople.

Although Emperor Justin I (r. 518-527) had ample military experience, matters of war and national defense were not the only duties of an emperor. He was also expected to oversee the empire’s internal laws and external diplomacy. In these other aspects of government, the new emperor was less well-equipped. Whereas the elite families of Constantinople were educated in such matters and trained in proper calligraphy for legal and diplomatic documents, Emperor Justin did not have that upbringing. Instead, when Justin ascended to the throne, he was said to have been a poor writer, and the words he could write were not aesthetically pleasing. This was a problem, as the emperor was expected to write out a sign of approval on official government decrees and documents.

So as to not embarrass the emperor or the empire, Justin’s officials reportedly developed a way for their uneducated emperor to easily write a perfect signature. According to the historian Procopius (c. 490-565), a high official named Proculus took a small piece of wood and carved in it a regal-looking stencil of the word, “LEGI,” which meant “I HAVE READ.” With this stencil, Emperor Justin I needed only move his pen along the grooves of the wood to create a perfect, professional-looking stamp for state documents. Whether or not he always needed to use the stencil, or if he learned to sign without it is unknown, but it was reportedly brought back into frequent use when Emperor Justin I became too old and ill to function. Procopius unflatteringly described how the emperor’s nephew, Justinian (r. 527-565), and other government officials would help Justin use the stencil when he was too old to write on his own:

“Then they used to dip a pen in the special ink reserved for emperors and place it in the hands of Emperor Justin. Next they took the strip of wood I have described and laid it on the document, grasped the Emperor’s hand and, while he held the pen, guided it along the pattern of the four letters, taking it round all the bends cut in the wooden stencil. Then they went, carrying the Emperor’s writing, such as it was” (Procopius, The Secret History, chapter 6, section 15-16).

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Picture Attribution: (Blanche of Castile and King Louis IX of France, dated to 1220-1230, [Public Domain] via Creative Commons).

Sources:

• The Secret History by Procopius, translated by G. A. Williamson and Peter Sarris. New York: Penguin Classics, 1966, 2007.
• http://penelope.uchicago.edu/Thayer/E/Roman/Texts/Procopius/Anecdota/6*.html 
• https://www.britannica.com/biography/Justin-I  

The Tale Of King Rodolf’s Oblivious Defeat

A clash between the Lombards and the Heruli occurred sometime between the years 494 and 508 in the middle Danube region. The conflict was noticed by scholarly circles in Constantinople, and the historian Procopius (c. 490-565) made mention of it in his History of the Wars. In addition to Procopius, the Lombard traditional account of the war would later be preserved by Paul the Deacon (c. 720-799) in his History of the Lombards. Both sources detailed the same general outline and outcome in describing the conflict, yet their proposed reasoning for the war and their accounts of the resulting battle differed widely.

In the folkloric account of Paul the Deacon—the more entertaining, but likely less historical version of the story—the conflict between the Lombards and Heruli began with an argument between a man and a woman. According to the tale, Rumetruda, an outspoken daughter of King Tato of the Lombards, decided to invite the brother of King Rodolf of the Heruli over for a drinking party. At the time, the Heruli were a populous and powerful people, known for their military prowess. This reputation for power and might apparently gave Rumetruda a faulty preconception of what a Heruli man looked like. Therefore, when her guest turned out to be quite a short and scrawny fellow, the talkative Rumetruda openly began to belittle the Heruli nobleman. In turn, the outraged guest returned fire at the Lombard princess by criticizing her own looks and behavior. As might be guessed, the drinking party did not turn out well, and, before the end of the event, the Heruli king’s brother was eventually murdered at the instigation of the wrathful Rumetruda. Paul the Deacon claimed that this alleged murder was the cause of the war between the Heruli and the Lombards between 494 and 508, as King Rodolf supposedly attacked the Lombards as soon as he discovered that his brother had been killed.

Paul the Deacon’s account of the war, itself, was as quirky as his account of the war’s origin. In the History of the Lombards, King Rodolf of the Heruli was presented as an incredibly lazy and arrogant king. As had happened with Princess Rumetruda, he placed too much stock on the reputation of might and power that the Heruli people had cultivated. Therefore, when the forces of the Heruli and the Lombards finally clashed in a full-scale battle, King Rodolf was said to have let his army go off without its leader, as it was inconceivable that the renowned Heruli would lose the battle. Instead, according to the tale, King Rodolf chose to stay at his camp and play games with his aides. He did, however, place one observer in a tree, where the person could watch the ongoing battle. Yet, this scout was commanded to only report good news about the fight—negative news, according to the tale, was punishable by death.

As readers may be expecting, this blind confidence and obliviousness did not turn out well for King Rodolf. While the leader of the Heruli supposedly played games in his camp, King Tato of the Lombards personally led his troops on the battlefield and managed the ebb and flow of the fighting masterfully. As the Heruli lines began to bend and break, the scout in the tree continued to call down for his liege a fictitious and glowing account of how the Heruli army was performing. It was only when the Heruli forces were shattered and the Lombards were charging for King Rodolf’s camp that the scout brought himself to tell the king that the battle had been lost. Through indecision or last-minute bravery, King Rodolf reportedly decided to stand his ground in the camp, dying in battle against the victorious Lombards.

In contrast to Lombard tradition, the historian Procopius toned down the drama in his own account of the war between the Lombards and the Heruli. Like Paul the Deacon, Procopius agreed that the Heruli declared war on the Lombards—yet, instead of a scandalous murder being the cause of the conflict, Procopius claimed that King Rodolf simply declared the war to appease his warmongering warriors and to prove his own mettle in battle. The King Rodolf of Procopius’ account did not wait until the end of the battle to stand his ground against the Lombards; instead, Procopius claimed that Rodolf led his forces from the very beginning. Nevertheless, the two accounts end the same way, with the Heruli defeated and King Rodolf lying dead on the battlefield.

Written by C. Keith Hansley.

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

Sources:

• History of the Lombards by Paul the Deacon, translated by William Dudley Foulke (c. 1904). University of Pennsylvania Press, 1907, 1974, 2003.
• History of the Wars by Procopius, translated by H. B. Dewing. Massachusetts: Harvard University Press, 1919. 
• https://www.britannica.com/topic/Heruli 
• https://www.britannica.com/biography/Procopius-Byzantine-historian