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 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.

The Steamy And Sensual Tree-On-Tree Adult Scene Written By The Historian, Ammianus Marcellinus

Ammianus Marcellinus (c. 4th century) was a man of Greek ancestry who was raised in Antioch. He joined the Roman military and, although he did not distinguish himself in battle, he gained a high rank as an officer. He eventually retired from the military to pursue his scholarly ambitions, a drive which ultimately led him to Rome, where he wrote a 31-book text in Latin that traced events from the time of Emperor Nerva (r. 96-98) to his own times in the 4th century. The resulting Res Gestae, also known simply as the History, then and now has been an object of rave reviews, and Ammianus Marcellinus remains commonly known as the ‘last great historian’ of ancient Rome.

Although indeed a great historian who produced a history of priceless value to our understanding of the 4th century, Ammianus Marcellinus could at times be quite unique from his fellow Roman greats, such as Livy and Tacitus. Renowned Roman historians, such as the two just mentioned, were not only known for their historical research, but also for the eloquence and artistry with which they presented their information in writing. Ammianus, too, had a knack for drama and imagery, but unlike his successful predecessors, his text was in no way regarded as a masterpiece of sentence composition. Instead, Ammianus had his own unique (sometimes bordering on gaudy or simply bad) writing style and blatantly embraced his own quirks while he wrote. As a result, his History is filled with bizarre wording and huge digressions off into all sorts of subjects that piqued his interest. Yet, whereas the average writer may find such attributes to be detrimental to their work, Ammianus’ narrative skill and talent for imagery turned his bizarre digressions into a charming and entertaining strength. Take, for example, Ammianus’ unforgettably vivid description of the tree-on-tree orgies that go on in date-palm groves:

“We are told that palms themselves mate, and that the sexes may easily be distinguished. It is said too that female trees conceive when they are smeared with the seeds of the male, and that they take delight in mutual love, which is shown by the fact that they lean towards each other and cannot be separated even by a strong wind. If the female is not smeared with the seed of the male in the usual way, she miscarries and loses her fruit before it is ripe. If it is not known with what male tree a female is in love her trunk is smeared with her own nectar, and nature arranges that another tree senses the sweet smell. This is the evidence on which belief in a kind of copulation is based” (History, 24.3).

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Picture Attribution: (Palm tree landscape modified with the addition of a dryad painted by Evelyn De Morgan (1855–1919) and a nymph painted by James Carroll Beckwith (1852–1917), all [Public Domain] via Creative Commons).

Sources:

• Ammianus Marcellinus’ History, translated by Walter Hamilton as The Later Roman Empire. London: Penguin Classics, 1986, 2004.
• https://www.oxfordbibliographies.com/view/document/obo-9780195389661/obo-9780195389661-0115.xml 
• https://brill.com/view/db/amo?language=en 
• https://www.britannica.com/biography/Ammianus-Marcellinus

Ammianus Marcellinus’ Humorous Description Of Tough Gallic Women

Ammianus Marcellinus was a man of Greek ancestry who was born in the year 330 at Antioch. He spent his early life as a warrior in the Roman military and, although he gained little renown as a tactician, he did achieve a high rank as an officer. He began pursuing his true calling, however, when retired from the military around 371 to focus on his scholarly ambitions. This calling ultimately brought him to Rome, where he wrote a 31-book text in Latin that traced events from the time of Emperor Nerva (r. 96-98) to his own time in the 4th century. The resulting Res Gestae, also known simply as the History, was highly praised in his own time, and continues to be admired to this day. His work is regarded as ancient Rome’s last great history, and Ammianus, as its author, is often remembered as the last great Roman historian.

Ammianus Marcellinus was indeed a great historian and he produced a history of priceless value to our understanding of the 4th century, but he had peculiar differences that made him unique from his fellow Roman greats, such as Livy and Tacitus. The two renowned Roman historians just mentioned were not only known for their historical research, but also for the aura of eloquence and artistry that emanates from their work. Ammianus, too, had a knack for drama and imagery, but unlike his successful predecessors, Ammianus’ text was in no way regarded as a literary masterpiece in the way it was composed. Quite the opposite, Ammianus had his own unique style and tone—his History is filled with bizarre or gaudy wording, as well as huge digressions off into all sorts of subjects that piqued his interest. Such characteristics might be detrimental to the average writer, but Ammianus’ narrative skill and talent for imagery turned his bizarre digressions into a charming and entertaining strength. The appeal of his peculiar, but refreshing, writing style can be easily ascertained from a humorous and vivid description of tough, kickboxing Gallic women found in Ammianus’ History:

“Almost all Gauls are tall and fair-skinned, with reddish hair. Their savage eyes make them fearful objects; they are eager to quarrel and excessively truculent. When in the course of a dispute any of them calls in his wife, a creature with gleaming eyes much stronger than her husband, they are more than a match for a whole group of foreigners; especially when the woman, with swollen neck and gnashing teeth, swings her great white arms and begins to deliver a rain of punches mixed with kicks, like missiles launched by the twisted strings of a catapult” (History, 15.12).

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Picture Attribution: (Greco-Roman man and woman painted by Lawrence Alma-Tadema  (1836–1912), [Public Domain] via Creative Commons).

Sources:

• Ammianus Marcellinus’ History, translated by Walter Hamilton as The Later Roman Empire. London: Penguin Classics, 1986, 2004.
• https://www.oxfordbibliographies.com/view/document/obo-9780195389661/obo-9780195389661-0115.xml 
• https://brill.com/view/db/amo?language=en 
• https://www.britannica.com/biography/Ammianus-Marcellinus  

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).

According To Tradition, The Fledgling Roman Republic Was Held Together In A Trying Time By An Aesop Fable

Although Rome, according to tradition, shed its monarchy around 509 BCE to become a republic, it took the Romans a long time to work out the power structure of their new society. No doubt, the fledgling republic was first ruled by an aristocratic oligarchy, probably from both patrician and non-patrician powerful families. After the monarchy was outed, the new oligarch leaders apparently became tyrannical in government practices such as land-distribution and debt policies, which caused anger between the wealthy and the poor. The first great crisis between the well-to-do leaders and the struggling commoners was said to have occurred in 494 BCE, when the debtors and the oppressed of Rome reportedly abandoned the city and decided to form their own government. This so-called Secession of the Plebs was major step in the foundation of the Plebeian identity, and the office of tribune is dated by tradition to that time.

Such an exodus of people would always cause concern for a government, but the oligarchs of Rome were at the time particularly urgent to regain the cooperation of the commoners. One reason for their sense of urgency was that Rome began to increasingly feel the encroachment of the Volscians and Aequians toward the end of the 490s BCE. With foreign raids increasing, Rome needed to make sure its military remained in a functioning state, which was difficult when much of the city-state’s light infantry manpower was in mutiny during the Secession of the Plebs.

Rome’s leading class reportedly sent a certain likable, smooth-talking spokesman named Menenius Agrippa to negotiate with the commoners. He was apparently a wealthy non-patrician who was a member of the oligarchy, but also had friends among the poor. Menenius joined the commoners on their hill and opened up his negotiations by telling a simple fable.

Once upon a time, claimed Menenius, in the most primitive times of the distant past, the different limbs and organs of the human body had minds of their own. The arms, legs, teeth, mouth, stomach, so on and so forth, controlled their own actions and possessed their own thoughts and feelings. The different pieces of this primordial body coexisted for a time, but, before long, certain individual parts began to notice a troubling trend. The feet and legs walked to food; the hands and arms gathered the food; the teeth and mouth ate the food—the stomach, however, did nothing but take what all the other parts of the body worked so hard to provide.

One day, claimed Menenius, the different laboring sections of the body decided that they would no longer put up with the stomach’s greed. After plotting together, the legs and feet quit walking; the arms and hands stopped gathering; the teeth and mouth stopped eating and swallowing. Thus, all the other parts of the body besieged the stomach and cut it off from its food supply. As the siege went on, however, odd things began to happen—the legs grew sluggish, the arms began to weaken, and the primordial body, as a whole, began to deteriorate and become emaciated. Before the allied limbs and organs realized their mistake, the whole body withered away and died from starvation. So ended the fable.

After hearing Menenius’ story, the commoners on the hill reportedly saw the existential threat that their revolt posed to Rome, and they agreed to enter into negotiations for a solution. According to the Roman historian Livy (c. 59 BCE – 17 CE), this Secession of the Plebs was brought to a close when the oligarchs of the republic agreed to recognize the tribunes as representatives of the commoners. Yet, this was merely a working relationship, and it would take many more years for the oligarchs to start respecting the power, much less the legal proposals, of the tribunes.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Picture Attribution: (Illustration of a fable from "The fables of Æsop, selected, told anew and their history traced" (1894), [Public Domain] via Creative Commons).

Sources:

• The History of Rome by Livy, translated by Aubrey de Sélincourt. New York: Penguin Classics, 2002.
• The Beginnings of Rome by T. J. Cornell. New York: Routledge, 1995. 
• https://www.britannica.com/topic/plebeian 
• https://fablesofaesop.com/the-belly-and-the-members.html

The Political Battle Over The Dedication Of The Temple Of Jupiter On The Capitol In Rome

The Temple of Jupiter on the Capitol (Capitoline Hill) in Rome was said to have been officially dedicated sometime around 509 BCE, give or take a few years, near the traditional founding date of the Roman Republic. The consuls or magistrates of Rome at the time were Horatius and Publicola. Both of them wanted the honor of conducting the dedication ceremony, as it would be an auspicious and historic event which would boost the fame of the person that directed the proceedings. According to the Roman historian Livy (c. 59 BCE- 17 CE), the two politicians decided to duel for the privilege in a most civilized way—they played a game of chance. Horatius and Publicola both drew lots, and it was the former of the two who had the winning hand. Publicola did not protest the loss, but sulked off to the army and reportedly devoted himself to a campaign against the city of Veii.

Horatius, despite his victory in the game of chance and the departure of his fellow consul, would soon find that there were still more obstacles blocking his path to the coveted dedication ceremony. These obstructions would come in the form of Publicola’s stubborn relatives. Although Publicola had distracted himself from his disappointment by devoting his thoughts to war, his family was stuck in Rome with the soon-to-be honored Horatius. As the story goes, Publicola’s kinsmen were not willing to admit defeat, and they launched a political campaign against Horatius in an attempt to delay the ceremony, presumably to give Publicola time to reconsider his relinquishment of the ceremony to his colleague.

Despite the petitions, complaints and motions brought forward by Publicola’s family, Horatius managed to keep the schedule of the ceremony on track. When the designated day arrived, he strode to the temple of Jupiter and commenced his long-awaited dedication ceremony. Publicola’s family, however, had one last trick—in the middle of the ceremony, a distraught messenger arrived with news that Horatius’ son had died. Publicola’s relatives were among the crowd in attendance, and they were quick to give their condolences to Horatius and hinted that, as a father in mourning, he was in no fit state to conduct a temple dedication ceremony. Horatius, however, was not fazed by the ruse. Likely tipped off by the suspicious behavior of Publicola’s dramatic kinsmen, Horatius merely made an announcement on how the funeral should be arranged; then, with that precaution complete, Horatius promptly resumed the dedication ceremony. To the annoyance of Publicola’s kinsmen, Horatius completed the ritual without any further issues.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Picture Attribution: (Entrance to a theater by Lawrence Alma-Tadema (1836–1912), [Public Domain] via Creative Commons).

Sources:

• The History of Rome by Livy, translated by Aubrey de Sélincourt. New York: Penguin Classics, 2002.
• http://penelope.uchicago.edu/Thayer/E/Gazetteer/Places/Europe/Italy/Lazio/Roma/Rome/_Texts/PLATOP*/Aedes_Jovis_Capitolini.html  

Patriarch Theophylact And The Luxurious Lives Of His Horses

Theophylact was a son of Romanos I, the emperor of Constantinople between 919 and 944. Emperor Romanos, a skilled political maneuverer, sent young Theophylact to apprentice under the Patriarchs of Constantinople in 924, when the boy was only seven years old. The emperor intended for his son to take up the highest church office in Constantinople, but, as the boy was far too young to hold the office, he had to wait as an assistant to three successive patriarchs from 924-931. When Theophylact reached fourteen years of age in 931, Emperor Romanos I arranged for the then Patriarch Tryphon to resign from his clerical office. Theophylact, however, was still too young to take the job, so Romanos schemed to keep the patriarchal throne vacant for two years. Finally, in 933, the emperor succeeded in having his son named patriarch of the church of Constantinople.

Despite being apprenticed under different patriarchs for more than half of his life, Theophylact was said to have remained a spoiled nobleman at heart. He was only sixteen when he became patriarch and, despite his new high and holy office, he still wanted to engage in typical teenage pastimes. It was an understandable wish, yet his behavior distressed and disturbed the clergymen who looked to him for leadership. Like worrisome parents, the clergy constantly criticized the teen’s behavior—too much dancing, too much singing, too much partying, and too little respect for tradition. As Theophylact grew out of his teenage years, his partying gave way to a passion for luxury, and collecting horses became his greatest obsession.

According to the historian, John Skylitzes (c. 1040-1101), Patriarch Theophylact eventually owned more than two thousand horses. On the great care that the clergyman showed these animals, Skylitzes wrote, “He was not satisfied with feeding them hay and oats, but would serve them pine-seeds, almonds and pistachios or even dates and figs and choicest raisins, mixed with the most fragrant wine. To this he would add saffron, cinnamon, balsam and other spices and serve it to each of his horses as food” (Synopsis historian, chapter 11, section 10).

Theophylact’s great affection for his horses caused a minor scandal when a prized mare in his herd was pregnant. The patriarch was said to have been in the middle of a church service when a messenger arrived to tell him that the horse had foaled. Theophylact was reportedly so eager to go see the newborn animal that he speed-read through the liturgy as if he were an auctioneer, and eventually ran off to see the foal after he had directed the congregation to begin singing lengthy hymns.  Once he greeted the new member of the horse herd, Theophylact rushed back to the church and was able to join his flock in singing the final hymn.

Besides simply caring for his horses, Theophylact also enjoyed galloping with them around the vicinity of Constantinople. In 954, one such ride took a deadly turn. While gallivanting by the seawall on one of his steeds, Patriarch Theophylact was thrown from his horse and he crashed violently to the ground, landing awkwardly or hitting an object in the dirt. He reportedly never recovered from the fall, but instead sickened and deteriorated, eventually dying in 956.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Picture Attribution: (Two Horses and a chicken in a Stable by Wouterus Verschuur (1812–1874), [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).

Lombard Ancient Psychological Warfare

According to early Lombard tradition and ancient Roman scholarly observations, the Lombards were few in number compared to many of their neighbors in Germania. The Romans apparently attributed the survival of the vulnerable Lombards to sheer aggression. Tacitus (c. 56-117+) wrote that the Lombard population was “distinguished by the fewness of their numbers. Ringed round as they are by many mighty peoples, they find safety not in obsequiousness, but in battle and its perils” (Germania, section 40). When the Lombards began writing down their own history, they agreed with the Romans that their tribe had originally been small in manpower, but aggressive in foreign policy. The Lombard sources, however, also claimed that they had a talent that helped them survive in their early days—psychological warfare.

The Lombard people, according to their tradition, migrated from Scandinavia to the Elbe River sometime before Roman scholars took interest in Germania. When the Lombards entered their new homeland, powerful tribes in the region reportedly attempted to extort tribute from the newcomers. Aggression and war, as the Romans observed, was the usual Lombard response to such foreign threats. Yet, as the Lombards were at a disadvantage in numbers, they had to be smart in planning how they fought.

According to the Origo Gentis Langobardorum and Paul the Deacon’s History of the Lombards, the tribe resorted to trickery and illusion in their very first conflict with a more populous neighbor on the Elbe. In the mythology-infused tale, the Lombard army was saved from certain defeat when they heeded the advice of the Norse-Germanic goddess, Freyja, who insisted that Lombard women accompany their men into battle. The women reportedly arranged their hair around their chins to look like long beards, and their appearance in the army made the force look much more populous. In the tale, the god, Odin, was greatly shocked by these “Long-beards” (supposedly the origin of the Lombard name), and if the All-Father of the Norse-Germanic pantheon was amazed, there is no knowing how disheartened the foes of the Lombards became when the disguised women marched into battle. Whether from divine favor or through the psychological effect of the women joining the army, the Lombards were said to have emerged victorious in that battle.

Later, when the Lombards were roaming toward a different section of the Elbe, a tribe reportedly called the Assipitti was said to have mobilized its forces to stop the migrants. As in the earlier conflict, the Lombards were again outnumbered and would need to be clever in order to survive. They resorted once again to psychological warfare, this time focusing on spreading disinformation and causing fear. As before, one step of the plan was to make the enemy think that the Lombard forces were much more numerous than was actually true. To do this, the Lombards reportedly spread out their tents wider than usual and also kindled a great number of cooking fires in their camp. Next, information was fed to the Assipitti that the Lombards had monstrous dog-headed creatures fighting on their side. Paul the Deacon described this interesting scheme:

“They pretend that they have in their camps Cynocephali, that is, men with dogs’ heads. They spread the rumor among the enemy that these men wage war obstinately, drink human blood and quaff their own gore if they cannot reach the foe” (History of the Lombards, Book I, chapter 11).

As the story goes, the Assipitti hesitated after hearing rumors about the monstrous dog-men and seeing the Lombard camp with its many fires. In the end, the numerically-superior Assipitti reportedly decided to avoid the Lombard forces, and let them pass by unobstructed. This early Lombard talent of overcoming powerful foes through persistence and clever tricks no doubt helped them survive until they could strengthen themselves by growing their own numbers, making allies, and absorbing conquered tribes.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Picture Attribution: (14th-century image of Cynocephali from the Kievan Psalter, [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.
• History of the Lombards by Paul the Deacon, translated by William Dudley Foulke (c. 1904). University of Pennsylvania Press, 1907, 1974, 2003.