The Multi-Generational Journey Of A Sword From A 6th-Century King Of Denmark

According to Scandinavian oral history, a man named King Hrolf Kraki lived during the 6th century and ruled the Kingdom of the Skjoldungs in Denmark. From his seat of power in Hleidargard, thought to be located in modern Lejre, King Hrolf made a name for himself in both strength and honor, attracting a host of powerful champions that served in his court. Eventually, the spoken tales of King Hrolf were preserved by the quills of Anglo-Saxon and Scandinavian writers. He was given the name Hrothulf in the epic poem of Beowulf (c. 8th-11th century), was mentioned in the Gesta Danorum of the Danish historian Saxo Grammaticus (c. 12th-13th century), was referred to in The Book of Settlements (12th-13th century) from Iceland, and finally received his own saga, The Saga of King Hrolf Kraki, sometime during the 14th century.

According to the folklore-shrouded tales about Hrolf Kraki’s life, the king was eventually killed by the forces of his own brother-in-law. Even so, relatives and allies were said to have avenged Hrolf’s death and built burial mounds for the king and his champions near Hleidargard. In these tombs, the powerful weapons of the fallen were also sealed away. Skofnung, the sword of King Hrolf could be found there, as well as a magical sword named Laufi, which had belonged to the king’s greatest champion, Bodvar Bjarki. When unsheathed, Laufi was said to always kill its target. Yet, the weapon also supposedly had a limited number of uses. After an owner wielded the magical blade three times, the sword would allegedly stay locked in its sheath until it was claimed by another person.

According to The Book of Settlements, one of Iceland’s first settlers broke into the resting places of Hrolf and his champions, centuries after their deaths. The tomb raider’s name was Skeggi of Midfjord, and, around the year 900, he was said to have stolen King Hrolf’s sword, Skofnung, as well as other weapons and valuables from the tomb. He was also keeping his eye out for the magical blade, Laufi, but he was unable to obtain it. In the most embellished versions of this tale, as Skeggi attempted to take Laufi for himself, the blade’s long-dead owner, Bodvar, reanimated and began to fight off the thief. Thankfully for the tomb raider, the bones of King Hrolf allegedly came back to life and restrained his former companion, allowing Skeggi to flee the tomb.

Whatever the case, when Skeggi of Midfjord arrived in Iceland, he claimed to have in his possession the sword of King Hrolf—Skofnung. Once in Iceland, Skofnung began its own interesting saga, spanning over multiple generations of Icelanders. In one tale, Skeggi let a poet named Kormak borrow the blade for a duel. After the poet used the weapon to win the bout, he returned it to Skeggi, and the blade became a family heirloom. After the sword was passed down to Skeggi’s son, the famous Skofnung eventually found its way into the possession of another relative named Thorkel, who is mentioned in the Laxdæla Saga (c. 13th century). Thorkel then gave the blade to his son, Gellir, who took Skofnung with him on a pilgrimage to Rome. After that, the blade never returned to Iceland—Gellir died in Denmark during his trip home. He was buried with the sword in Roskilde, ironically located a short distance from where King Hrolf’s tomb was said to be located in Lejre.

Written by C. Keith Hansley.

Picture Attribution: (The Thurmuth Rune Sword, sketched by George Stephens (1813-1895), edited and modified, [Public Domain] via Creative Commons).

Sources:

• The Saga of King Hrolf Kraki, written by an anonymous Icelander in the 14th century, translated by Jesse Byock. New York: Penguin Classics, 1998. 
• https://archive.org/stream/booksettlementi00ellwgoog#page/n154/mode/2up/search/Skofnung 
• https://www.britannica.com/biography/Saxo-Grammaticus  

The Scandalous Plummet Of The Extremely Wealthy Roman, Sextus Marius

For most of Emperor Tiberius’ reign (r. 14-37), a man named Sextus Marius was the richest man in the Roman-controlled Iberian Peninsula. His enormous wealth came from several productive copper and gold mines, which supplied an enviable stream of income. Around the year 33, however, Sextus Marius’ fortune was about to dramatically turn.

During the reign of Tiberius, trials of misconduct, corruption and treason seemed to constantly occur. For about half of his reign, Tiberius was fairly lenient in the endless court cases and many of the people charged with crimes by the Senate were released on Tiberius’ command during this early period. Most of the high-profile judicial deaths that did occur in Tiberius’ opening years happened because of defendants who committed suicide before the trial was concluded. Yet, several events occurred in the middle of Tiberius’ reign that made the emperor noticeably more bitter and tyrannical. The three most significant incidents included the assassination of the emperor’s son, Drusus (d. 23), the death of Tiberius’ mother, Livia (d. 29), and the execution of the emperor’s chief advisor, Sejanus (d. 31), after he was allegedly discovered to have organized the earlier assassination of Tiberius’ son. By the year 27, Tiberius had already retreated from Rome to the Island of Capri, and after the death of his mother and the execution of Sejanus, the emperor seemingly lost interest in caring for his empire, allowing corruption and oppression to flourish.

So, when the wealthy Sextus Marius was called before the Senate to stand trial in the year 33, Emperor Tiberius was no longer his old, more forgiving, self. The charges that Sextus Marius had been called forth to answer were those of committing incest with his daughter, a claim of unknown validity. The 1st-2nd century historian and statesman, Tacitus (c. 56-117), for his part, believed that the charges were false, but he was also an obsessive critic of Tiberius, suspicious of everything that happened during the emperor’s reign. Whatever the truth, the Senate found Sextus Marius guilty of the crime and condemned him to death. He was executed by being thrown off the steep Tarpeian Rock, in Rome. Tacitus theorized that the death had been a conspiracy led by Tiberius, for, after the execution, the emperor seized all of the man’s numerous copper and gold mines.

Written by C. Keith Hansley.

Picture Attribution: (“Punishment of Cassius”, by Augustyn Mirys (c. 1700-1790)-Public Domain).

Sources:

• The Annals of Imperial Rome by Tacitus, translated by Michael Grant. New York: Penguin Classics, 1996.  

Medieval Scandinavians Apparently Liked To Throw Bones At Each Other

All cultures and civilizations have curious quirks and hobbies. In medieval Scandinavia, most notably Denmark, there seemed to have been an odd tradition of people throwing leftover bones at others. In historical records and Icelandic sagas, this interesting practice usually occurred in the halls of the Scandinavian nobility, where feasts were held and discarded bones were prevalent.

The intensity of these bone-throwing incidents could vary greatly. People sometimes threw bones as a light-hearted game during a feast—basically a food fight. Alternatively, facing volleys of thrown bones could be used as a punishment for breaking the law, disobeying the nobility, or simply behaving in an unmanly fashion. For instance, in The Saga of King Hrolf Kraki (written around the 14th century), the semi-mythical 6th-century Swedish warrior, Svipdag, saved a man named Hott, who was literally buried under a pile of bones. The greasy leftovers had been thrown at him by the courtiers of King Hrolf, a king of Denmark from the Skjoldung Dynasty. In the story, Svipdag pulled Hott out of the pile of bones, cleaned him off, and sat with him on a bench in the hall. When one of the courtiers present in the room threw a knucklebone in Hott’s direction, Svipdag caught it mid-air and launched it back with enough force to kill the assailant—after that, no one threw bones at Hott again. Hott was rebranded with the name, Hjalti, and eventually became a renowned champion for King Hrolf. On a more grounded historical basis, King Cnut I of Denmark (r. 1016-1035) was said to have punished guards that broke the law by having them sit down while members of the king’s household and other guests pelted them with bones.

As happened in the story of Hott from Hrolf’s Saga, the practice of bone throwing could become deadly. In some instances, the bones were thrown with such violence that it resembled stoning. As the term “boning” sounds either extremely risqué or like a culinary bone-removal technique, we will just continue to say “throwing bones.” Nevertheless, enough deaths eventually occurred from people being fatally pelted with bones that numerous law codes throughout the Scandinavian world specifically listed the act of killing a person with a thrown bone as a punishable crime.

Written by C. Keith Hansley.

Picture Attribution: (Odin entertaining guests in Valhalla, by Emil Doepler (1855–1922), [Public Domain] via Creative Commons).

Sources:

• The Saga of King Hrolf Kraki, written by an anonymous Icelander in the 14th century, translated by Jesse Byock. New York: Penguin Classics, 1998.  

The Terrible Plague Suffered By Athens In 430 BCE, Amidst The Peloponnesian War

Athens and Sparta, the two most prominent powers in Greece, were already struggling to coexist years before the Greco-Persian Wars ended around 449-448 BCE. After the Greek forces delivered a significant defeat to the Persian Navy at Salamis in 480 BCE, followed quickly by an impressive victory over the Persian army at the Battle of Plataea in 479 BCE, the cities of Athens and Sparta were cemented as proud and prestigious leaders of the Hellenistic world. Gravitating to the powerful states, the cities of Greece divided themselves between leagues led by the two rival powers. Most cities encircling the Aegean Sea aligned themselves with the sea power of Athens, eventually becoming subordinated into an Athenian empire. Similarly, the city-states in the Peloponnesus (with the exception of Argos) banded together under the leadership of mighty Sparta in the Peloponnesian League.

As early as 460 BCE, while the Greco-Persian War was still ongoing, Athens and Sparta began to fight in skirmishes and battles. A peace treaty technically halted the open conflict, but Athens and Sparta continued to undermine each other’s interests in proxy wars between neutral states and league allies. Nevertheless, a full open war between Athens and Sparta was successfully delayed for decades, until 431 BCE, the year in which the Great Peloponnesian War began.

Sparta and its allies declared war on Athens in 431 BCE, claiming that the Athenians had broken the peace treaty by attacking Spartan allies and affiliates. Thebes (on the Spartan side) opened up the conflict by launching a failed attack on Plataea, an ally of Athens. During the first few years of the Peloponnesian War, both sides were sizing each other up, not knowing how to best employ their resources and manpower. In the year 431, the militaries on both sides of the conflict performed relatively poorly. King Archidamus II of Sparta led a Peloponnesian coalition into Athenian-controlled Attica to raid the countryside, while their enemies took shelter behind the walls of Athens. The Peloponnesians stayed in Attica for as long as their supplies could support their army (less than a year), then they simply marched home. In a similar move, the Athenians sent a fleet to raid the Peloponnesian coast. The fleet made gains in some locations, but was repelled in others. Eventually, the ships rerouted to meet up with a huge Athenian army that was raiding near the city of Megara. After reuniting and pillaging the countryside for a time, the Athenians withdrew home to Athens before the year’s end.

In 430 BCE, both sides of the war again prepared for more pillaging and raiding. King Archidamus II led a second army of Peloponnesians into Attica to ravage the countryside, and the Athenians released another fleet to prowl the Peloponnesian coastline. This time, however, the Peloponnesians would have an unexpected biological ally—a plague. According to the Thucydides (c. 460-400 BCE), the plague originated somewhere in Ethiopia and traveled first through Egypt and then through Persia to wreck havoc on the city of Athens. Thucydides, an Athenian military leader and historian, had the displeasure of personally experiencing the deadly plague. He even caught the illness, himself, but thankfully he survived to write his famous text, the History of the Peloponnesian War.

The city of Athens in 430 BCE was exceptionally susceptible to disease. Refugees from vulnerable regions of Attica had poured into Athens, quickly overpopulating the city. The newcomers had to live in huts and shanties that were poorly ventilated and generally unclean. Those who could not live in simple huts found shelter in local temples, but even those sacred spaces would eventually be filled with the dead and dying.

Thucydides described the symptoms of the plague in great detail—to the extent that critics call his account overly dramatic. Nevertheless, his words paint a decent picture of what the Athenian population faced. He wrote that symptoms of the plague first affected the head and, over the course of seven-to-eight days, the effects spread downward through the rest of the body, usually resulting in death. The first signs were red, irritated eyes and a foul-smelling, bleeding mouth and throat. This was combined with sneezing and a rough voice, which could lead to an inability to speak. As the plague spread down into the torso, the patient also suffered from persistent fits of coughing and abdominal pain. The stomach and intestines were also affected, causing vomiting and diarrhea. Other miscellaneous symptoms mentioned by Thucydides included the onset of an insatiable thirst, restless anxiety, insomnia, the appearance of pustules and a painful sensitivity to touch. The plague led to a staggering death toll in Athens—anywhere from 25%-66% of the Athenian population lost their lives to the sickness.

In Thucydides’ opinion, the most tragic observation that he made during the plague was the breakdown of law, order and morality. He wrote that a palpable gloom of morbid and fatalistic emotion descended on Athens. As more and more people thought their death was nigh, they began to take whatever pleasure, wealth or revenge they wanted, regardless of the consequences.

Even though the plague did enormous damage to Athens, the Athenians recovered with enough strength to keep the war going for nearly three decades, and they often appeared to be on the winning side. Nevertheless, after the war had expanded all the way to Sicily, the Athenian navy was finally defeated in several key sea battles, the last being the Battle of Aegospotami in 405 BCE, in which the Spartans captured most of the Athenian fleet. The next year, Athens surrendered to the Peloponnesians.

Written by C. Keith Hansley.

Picture Attribution: (The Plague at Ashdod, by Nicolas Poussin (1594–1665), [Public Domain] via Creative Commons)

Sources:

• History of the Peloponnesian War (Book II) by Thucydides, translated by Rex Warner and introduced by M. I. Finley. New York: Penguin Classics, 1972. 
• https://www.britannica.com/event/Peloponnesian-War 
• https://www.ancient.eu/Peloponnesian_War/ 
• http://www.history.com/topics/ancient-history/peloponnesian-war 
• https://www.ancient.eu/Persian_Wars/  

The Ominously Smashing Amphitheatre Of Atilius In Fidenae

In the year 27, around the time Emperor Tiberius decided to leave Rome in order to spend the rest of his reign in isolation, an enterprising former-slave by the name of Atilius launched his plan to make a fortune by profiting from the insatiable Roman appetite for entertainment. The infamous result of his scheme was notable enough to be mentioned by the historians, Tacitus (c. 56-117) and Suetonius (c. 69-122).

Atilius’ plan, according to Tacitus, was to make as much money as he could by entertaining the Roman population, while at the same time minimizing his business expenses as much as possible. With this in mind, he began constructing an amphitheatre in the town of Fidenae, located a short distance to the north of Rome. Atilius obtained a full docket of gladiators and pressured for the arena to be completed with utmost speed so that he could start making money.

In this greedy frame of mind, Atilius encouraged his builders to cut corners, exchanging safety for haste. For his first error, he did not lay a sturdy foundation for his amphitheatre. Instead, he started building on uncertain ground. The amphitheatre, itself, was built of wood—which was not uncommon—but, once again, speed of construction was emphasized over quality. Despite the questionable assembly of the haphazardly made structure, Atilius’ amphitheatre must have looked convincingly presentable once it was completed. After running a laudable advertising campaign, his opening gladiatorial show managed to attract the attention of tens-of-thousands of spectators.

The Roman population must have either been ignorant of Atilius’ construction methods, or simply did not care, for on the day of the grand opening, endless masses of Romans arrived at Fidenae to see the show. Thousands upon thousands of spectators shuffled into the rickety wooden amphitheatre to find their splintery seats. Just as he had dreamed, Atilius achieved a full house on his opening day, packing men, women and children into his cheaply made venue. There is no telling how long the show actually lasted. Hopefully, the unsuspecting onlookers received some enjoyment before tragedy brought the gladiatorial games crashing to an end.

Although Atilius’ amphitheatre had enough enticing aesthetics to lure tens of thousands of people inside, it was not adequately built to handle the weight of so many people. Eventually, the creaking of the wood gave way to loud cracks, and the cheering of the crowds turned into screams. While the structure was fully packed, the amphitheatre suffered a total collapse, crushing and trapping thousands of people in the rubble. Many of those who did not die instantly during the collapse, later succumbed to their injuries during the days it took to excavate the survivors from the debris. The casualties resulting from the incident were enormous—Suetonius claimed 20,000 people died in the collapse, but Tacitus raised the number to 50,000. Ironically, Atilius was not among the injured.

According to Tacitus, the incident inspired an outpouring of good will from the leading Roman citizens. The wealthy were said to have opened up their villas to provide shelter to the injured. Medical aid, as well as food and drink, was also donated in great abundance to those affected by the catastrophe. The Roman Senate, too, did their part in the aftermath of the tragedy. They hunted down Atilius and sentenced him to exile. Finally, to prevent future deaths, the Senate also imposed heavy regulations on the entertainment industry.

Written by C. Keith Hansley.

Picture Attribution: (Roman amphitheatre painted by Viviano Codazzi (1604-1670) and Domenico Gargiulo (1609-1675), [Public Domain] via Creative Commons).

Sources:

• The Annals of Imperial Rome by Tacitus, translated by Michael Grant. New York: Penguin Classics, 1996. 
• http://penelope.uchicago.edu/Thayer/E/Roman/Texts/Suetonius/12Caesars/Tiberius*.html#40 
• http://penelope.uchicago.edu/Thayer/e/roman/texts/secondary/smigra*/amphitheatrum.html 
• https://www.jstor.org/stable/20304641?seq=1#page_scan_tab_contents 
• https://gineersnow.com/engineering/design/destructive-structural-collapse-engineering-history 
• http://enacademic.com/dic.nsf/enwiki/59892 
• https://www.britannica.com/biography/Suetonius 
• https://www.britannica.com/biography/Tiberius  

Alexander The Great Allegedly Hunted Down Two Separate Unrelated Tribes By The Name Of Mardi In A Single Year

By 330 BCE, Alexander the Great had clearly gained the upper hand against the Achaemenid Empire of Persia. He had personally won several successive battles against the Persian king, Darius III, including the battles of Granicus (334 BCE), Issus (333 BCE) and Gaugamela (331). Now, Darius III was on the run, hoping to catch his breath and mobilize another force, in order to defend his shrinking empire. In the meantime (returning to 330 BCE), Alexander the Great was able to march unimpeded into the Persian capital of Persepolis. In one of his more infamous episodes, Alexander let his army have its way with the city, even though Persepolis had surrendered peacefully.

While his army was camped at Persepolis, Alexander was said to have launched a short expedition into the nearby mountains. The official reason for the mission was to make the mountain tribes submit to Alexander’s rule, but other historians theorize that the king may have felt guilty about sacking Persepolis and wanted a distraction. Others simply attribute the expedition to boredom. Whatever the case, Alexander supposedly headed off for the snow-covered mountains with a small division of light infantry and around 1,000 cavalry.

As Alexander entered the highlands, he eventually passed into the territory of a small tribe called the Mardi. This peculiar tribe supposedly lived in natural caves and generally kept to an archaic hunter-gatherer lifestyle. Another prominent characteristic of the tribe was that the Mardi women were said to have been more than willing to fight alongside their men. The weapon of choice for these warrior women was the common sling, which, when not in use, had the secondary purpose of acting as a hair band. Unfortunately, Alexander the Great apparently found entertainment in tracking and killing these people.  He was said to have spent around thirty days hunting members of the tribe in the mountains near Persepolis before returning to the city and notoriously burning the palace of Xerxes.

Later that year (still in 330 BCE), Alexander marched his army to the region of Hyrcania, located near the Caspian Sea. While there, he met with numerous dignitaries, including some Persian officials who wished to surrender, as well as some Greek mercenaries who wanted employment. Alexander the Great was even rumored to have received a tantalizing visit from the Amazonian queen, Thalestris, while camped at Hyrcania. Yet, just like before, Alexander decided to take a small detachment from his main force and go investigate some nearby tribes.

While exploring around the shoreline of the Caspian Sea, Alexander apparently wandered up to the border of a region called Mardia. Unbelievably, the Macedonian king found himself facing yet another Mardi tribe (no relation with the group near Persepolis). Unlike the previous Mardi, the tribe that ruled Mardia was more populous, had a tradition of horsemanship and fielded a sizeable army. This bigger and better Mardi tribe supposedly mobilized a force of 8,000 men and set up a defensive position at a mountain pass that blocked Alexander’s access into their territory. Yet the unexpected arrival of the Hellenic forces had still caught the Mardi off guard and unprepared. Plus, the man at their gates was Alexander the Great, of all people. Unsurprisingly, Alexander shattered their defenses and forced the Mardi warriors to scatter back into their mountainous territory.

Although the Mardi had lost the battle at the mountain pass, they had no intention of surrendering. In a likely fictional tale about the reign of Alexander, a band of sneaky Mardi warriors managed to steal the Macedonian king’s beloved horse, Bucephalas, an animal that he had personally trained during his youth. It was a big mistake—they underestimated just how much affection the king had for his royal steed. After hearing of the theft, Alexander the Great sent out his forces on a systematic rampage throughout Mardi lands, supposedly harming both the tribe and the very landscape. Eventually, the Mardi decided they could not sustain their war. They returned Bucephalus with additional gifts and petitioned for peace. Alexander, in a better mood after being reunited with his horse, granted peace to the Mardi in exchange for unconditional surrender and hostages.

Written by C. Keith Hansley.

Picture Attribution: (Mosaic of Alexander the Great and Darius III, c. 1st century BCE, found in Pompeii, [Public Domain] via Creative Commons).

Sources:

• The Campaigns of Alexander by Arrian, translated by Aubrey de Sélincourt. New York: Penguin Classics, 1971. 
• Alexander the Great by Philip Freeman. New York: Simon & Schuster Paperbacks, 2011. 
• Alexander the Great: The Story of an Ancient Life by Thomas R. Martin and Christopher W. Blackwell. New York: Cambridge University Press, 2012. 
• (Diodorus Siculus) http://penelope.uchicago.edu/Thayer/E/Roman/Texts/Diodorus_Siculus/17D*.html#note76