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.  

The Bizarre Tale Of The Enchanted Golden Mosque Near the Aral Sea

The 12th-century traveler, Abū Hāmid, in his Exposition of Some of the Wonders of the West, claimed that a bizarre structure could be found about 28 miles from the city of Khwārazm, located south of the Aral Sea in what is now Uzbekistan. Travelers on the roadway between Khwārazm and Saqsīn (a city on the northern side of the Caspian Sea) reportedly could see the odd building in a canyon along the route. The site allegedly featured an unnatural mound with a magnificent domed temple built atop it. The temple, which the Islamic travelers identified as a mosque, had four porticoes and four entrances, and was completely covered in gold, so that it shone like a beacon. Encircling the complex was a large moat, reportedly a hundred cubits wide (150 feet), but only about two cubits deep (3 feet). Although everyone in the region apparently wanted to visit the peculiar mosque to see it up close, to pray in the building, or even to pillage its riches, Abū Hāmid knew of only one person who reportedly entered the temple.

As the story goes, the golden mosque near Khwārazm was protected by magic and enchantments. The moat, in particular, was where most of these otherworldly protections were allegedly found. According to Abū Hāmid, “The surface [of the moat] is covered with pondweed and it smells bad. No one dares enter the water, or dip in a hand or foot, since anything which touches the surface of that water disappears and vanishes, and no one can see where it goes”(Exposition of Some of the Wonders of the West, Penguin ed. pg. 90). Abū Hāmid went on to claim that Mahmūd of Ghazna (r. 998-1030) devoted great resources in an attempt to cross the moat. He allegedly had rowboats brought to the place, but as soon as the vessels were set on the water, they sank and disappeared below the pondweed. He similarly was said to have tried to build a causeway across the shallow moat with earth and rock, but no matter how much debris he poured into the water, the moat retained its consistent depth. Similarly, if a beast of burden fell into the water, it too would disappear—when the animal handlers hauled up their lead ropes from the moat, nothing was attached at the end of the line. In the end, Mahmūd of Gazna could not reach the mosque. All he could do was shoot arrows across the moat, which pinged enticingly against the building’s golden tiles.

According to Abū Hāmid, one man did reach and enter the enchanted mosque. The man was a peasant from Khwārazm whose name had been forgotten by the time Abū Hāmid wrote down the tale in the 12th century. This mysterious peasant was said to have appeared one day in the city market with a sizable bowl made of pure emerald. As the peasant was not a man of wealth, the local officials were immediately suspicious and interrogated him about the precious bowl. Under questioning, the peasant reportedly said he had gone out in search of treasure and—apparently without any effort—found a path up to a domed building. He entered the structure and found a tomb built for an unidentified man, who had been laid to rest in an emerald sarcophagus. Around the sarcophagus were vast riches and several emerald bowls. The peasant claimed that the bowl he possessed was the smallest of everything in the tomb, and that he left the rest behind because it was all too heavy to lift. According to the tale, the leader of Khwārazm was eager to loot the remaining wealth and had the peasant retrace his steps back toward the tomb. When they arrived, however, the temple and tomb had reportedly disappeared. As of today, archeologists have found nothing in the region that resembles Abū Hāmid’s enchanted mosque.

Written by C. Keith Hansley.

Picture Attribution: (Image from page 170 of "Stories from the Arabian nights" (1911), [Public Domain] via Flickr and Creative Commons).

Sources:

• Exposition of Some of the Wonders of the West by Abū Hāmid, translated by Paul Lunde and Catoline Stone. New York, Penguin Classics, 2012. 
• https://www.britannica.com/place/Khwarezm  

The Brawl Of Noblemen Over Adultery, In The Tomb Of Saint Denis

According to the writings of Bishop Gregory of Tours (c. 539-594), a dramatic family feud broke out between two noble Parisian families in the final years of the reign of King Chilperic of the Franks (r. 561-584). As with a great many conflicts, the feud began because of love, or, in this case, a lack thereof. The two families (which Gregory never named) had been linked together through ties of marriage, with a son of one powerful family marrying a daughter from the other noble line. The politically-arranged marriage, however, was a complete failure, and it did little to unite the two rival families, much less the impassionate bride and groom. Ultimately, the unhappy wife ran away, bringing the two families to the brink of war.

The husband’s family, out for revenge, accused the runaway bride of adultery and obtained several witnesses to back their claim. They confronted the wife’s father, who was harboring her or knew where she was hiding, and demanded that he hand his daughter over for execution. The wife’s father, to his credit, refused to surrender his daughter and decried the charges as malicious lies. He rallied his kinsmen to his side, forming a united front against the husband’s family.

Although the father of the runaway bride had protected his daughter from the clutches of her husband’s family, the concerned dad still needed to clear her name of the scandalous accusations. As a God-fearing, miracle-believing, 6th-century Christian, the father decided the most definitive way to vindicate his daughter was to swear to her innocence at an altar in the tomb of Saint Denis, with the implication being that God would smite him in some way if the oath was false. The husband’s family, also God-fearing Franks, agreed to the let the bride’s father testify to his daughter’s innocence before the altar of the saint. With the agreement made, the two sides appeared at the tomb in force, both well-armed and determined to win the dispute.

Both factions crowded into the tomb of Saint Denis as the father prepared to say his oath. In a dramatic display, the protective parent strode up to the altar, struck an impressive pose by raising his arms up toward the heavens, and boldly proclaimed before the attending masses that his daughter was innocent of the charges brought against her. To the father’s relief, he was not struck by lightning, nor stricken by blindness or made mute in the aftermath of his proclamation. Instead, nothing at all happened, giving the impression that God had fact-checked the statement and found it to be correct. Nevertheless, the husband’s stubborn family was determined to have their way.

When the oath at the tomb was completed, the husband’s supporters quickly accused the father of the bride with the crime of perjuring himself before Saint Denis and God. The bride’s family was infuriated by these new allegations and tempers flared on both sides. Before long, the armed factions began shouting and shoving and, finally, they drew their weapons to fight, then and there, in the tomb. Gregory of Tours vividly described the bizarre and chaotic skirmish:

“An argument ensued, in which they all drew their swords, rushed at each other and started killing each other in front of the altar. These men were of noble birth and among the leaders of Chilperic’s court. Many received sword-wounds, the holy church was spattered with human blood, the portals were pierced with swords and javelins, and weapons were drawn in senseless anger at the very tomb of Saint Denis” (History of the Franks, V.30).

No casualty count was recorded for the tomb-side brawl, but it must not have been too bad, for nobody involved faced serious punishment. King Chilperic imposed fines and threatened excommunication on the fighters, but as soon as the fines were paid, the excommunications were lifted. Unfortunately, the king decided to hold an official inquiry into the accusations of adultery that had been brought forward by the husband’s family. Faced with a trial, the runaway wife reportedly hanged herself.

Written by C. Keith Hansley.

Sources:

• The History of the Franks by Gregory of Tours, translated by Lewis Thorpe. New York: Penguin Classics, 1971.

The Crazed Fish-Woman Of The Yūrā People

Word-of-mouth stories can produce incredibly odd tales when passed from culture to culture over the span of many years. One such gem of folklore fell into the hands of Abū Hāmid al-Gharnātī, a 12th-century traveler from Granada who wandered all the way to the convergence of the Volga and Oka rivers, in what is now Russia. While he was in these regions, Abū Hāmid was told a bizarre tale, which he recorded in a text called the Exposition of Some of the Wonders in the West. His chain of evidence, however, was a bit gossipy. Abū Hamīd learned the tale from a Volga Bulgar informant, who heard it from a trader from the northern Yūrā region, who, in turn, was probably told the tale by a Yūrā elder.

Abū Hāmid led up to this ‘wonder’ by describing the fishing practices of the Yūra people, who hunted and fished in the arctic and subarctic regions of Russia. He described a ritual where the fishermen would drop a sword into the sea, and this would cause huge fish to rise to the surface—some modern historians propose this to be an embellished or misinterpreted description of harpoon-fishing. Whatever the case, the northern peoples of medieval Russia did indeed hunt large sea creatures, as goods like narwhal tusks were known to be bought and sold on the Volga River trade route.

According to Abū Hāmid, one such party of Yūrā whalers caught more than they expected during one of their fishing trips. As the story goes, the Yūrā did their ceremony of dropping a sword (or harpoon) into the sea and consequently a gigantic sea animal, supposedly the size of a mountain, came to the surface of the water. Perhaps the mountainous fish was too large to haul to shore, or maybe they could hear an odd sound coming from inside the creature—whatever the case, the whalers decided to butcher the creature immediately. Abū Hāmid described the peculiar scene: “Then they opened the ear of the fish and from within emerged a kind of girl, who looked like a human—white, with pink cheeks, black hair and plump buttocks, like the most attractive of women” (Exposition of Some of the Wonders in the West, Penguin edition pg. 73).

Evidently, the rescued woman found the creature’s ear to be quite comfortable, or she had been driven insane by the experience, for she began kicking and screaming and showing all the signs of dismay when she was pulled free of her fleshy cage. Nevertheless, the Yūra fishermen were able to convey the crazed woman back to land and adopted her into their way of life. After her supposed discovery in the ear of a giant fish, the woman apparently had a normal, uneventful life among the Yūrā. Abū Hāmid ended the story by simply stating “They kept that girl among them until she died. Truly, the power of God on High knows no limits!” (Exposition of Some of the Wonders in the West, Penguin edition pg. 73).

Written by C. Keith Hansley.

Picture Attribution: (modified and cropped public Domain mermaid illustration, via needpix.com and Creative Commons).

Sources:

• Exposition of Some of the Wonders in the West by Abū Hāmid al-Gharnātī, translated by Paul Lunde and Catoline Stone. New York, Penguin Classics, 2012. 
• https://referenceworks.brillonline.com/entries/encyclopaedia-of-islam-2/abu-hamid-al-gharnati-SIM_0191?s.num=6  

The Bizarre Tale Of Shanyu Maodun’s Rise To Power

The Xiongnu were a coalition of ancient nomadic or semi-nomadic peoples to the north and northwest of China, who, by the late 3rd century BCE, built an empire strong enough to pose an existential threat to the Chinese Qin and Han Dynasties. The first high-chief, or Shanyu, of the Xiongnu coalition that was known to Chinese sources was Touman. He was reportedly a contemporary of the First Emperor of the Qin Dynasty in the late 3rd century BCE. In Touman’s day, the Xiongnu were powerful, but their dominance was not yet firmly established over the other nomadic peoples of the region. One such rival nomadic group was the Yuezhi, to whom Touman apparently sent his son, Maodun, as a diplomat or political hostage. Yet, all was not as it seemed, for Touman and Maodun had very little in the way of a father-son bond. According to Chinese sources, Touman simply wished that his unwanted son would disappear in order to make life easier for his more favored children, so when Maodun reached his destination, Touman immediately attacked the Yuezhi despite what they might do to his son. Faced with this awkward situation, Maodun reportedly stole a horse, fought his way out of Yuezhi territory, and escaped to friendly land.

While Touman may have been disappointed at the survival of his son, the majority of the Xiongnu contrastingly looked upon Maodun’s escape with awe. Perhaps the incident convinced Touman to give his son a second chance, or maybe the escape from Yuezhi hands boosted Maodun’s reputation enough to obligate the Shanyu to give his son a reward—whatever the case, Maodun was reportedly put in command of 10,000 horsemen.

The Xiongnu were known to train in horsemanship and archery from early childhood, but Maodun brought training to a new level when he was given a military command. His program, according to Chinese sources, focused primarily on horse-archery drills and the cultivation of blind obedience. To contribute to both of these goals, Maodun reportedly developed an arrow that whistled as it flew through the air. Wherever Maodun shot this whistling projectile, he expected his horse archers to immediately launch their own arrows in the same direction without any hesitation—those who wavered were reportedly executed.

Maodun’s training began innocently enough. He was said to have brought his horsemen on hunting trips, shooting his whistling arrows at wild game. It was a simple start, but the horsemen were told if they did not meet Maodun’s expectations in speed and accuracy, then they would be executed. When the archers no longer gave any pause to taking shots at whichever animal they were told to target, Maodun began to escalate his training program.

Once the hunting phase was over, Maodun started the real obedience training. As the tale goes, he first shot one of his whistling arrows in the direction of his favorite horse. Some of the archers apparently thought this may have been a trick command and decided not to shoot at their leader’s beloved steed—these men were unfortunately mistaken in their thinking and were promptly executed. Next, Maodun reportedly sent a whistling arrow in the direction of his wife. Again, some of the horsemen hesitated to loose their arrows, and were executed for their show of care. Finally, Maodun shot a whistling arrow at the most prized horse of Shanyu Touman. This time, after so many executions, all of Maodun’s horsemen launched their arrows without any hesitation.

Around the time of the massive Chinese revolt against the Qin Dynasty in 209 BCE, Shanyu Touman and his son, Maodun, reportedly went on a hunting trip. Unfortunately, no father and son bonding would occur on that trip. Instead, Maodun, who was accompanied by some of his unquestioning horsemen, enacted his long-awaited plan to seize power. The account of Grand Historian Sima Qian (c.145-90 BCE) on this incident was as follows:

“Accompanying his father, the Shanyu Touman, on a hunting expedition, he [Maodun] shot a whistling arrow at his father and every one of his followers aimed their arrows in the same direction and shot the Shanyu dead. Then Maodun executed his stepmother, his younger brother, and all the high officials of the nation who refused to take orders from him, and set himself up as the new Shanyu” (Shiji 110).

Under the leadership of the cunning and aggressive Maodun, the Xiongnu would conquer their fellow nomadic neighbors to create a great empire. During his long reign from about 209-174 BCE, Maodun greatly expanded his territory and often got the better of the Chinese Han Emperors.

Written by C. Keith Hansley.

Picture Attribution: (Painting of Xiongnu nomads, Henan Provincial Museum, Zhengzhou, [Public Domain] via flickr.com and Creative Commons).

Sources:

• Records of the Grand Historian (Shi ji) by Sima Qian, translated by Burton Watson. New York: Columbia University Press, 1993. 
• https://www.britannica.com/topic/Xiongnu 
• http://www.iranicaonline.org/articles/xiongnu 
• http://www.chinaknowledge.de/History/Altera/xiongnu.html 
• https://depts.washington.edu/silkroad/exhibit/xiongnu/essay.html  

The Ancient Balearic Islands War Against Rabbits

During the lifetime of the geographer, Strabo (c. 64 BCE-23 CE), the people of the Balearic Islands were undergoing a life-and-death war with a prolific foe. The invaders targeted the islands’ food supply, destroying harvests, harming trees, and causing famine. Even though the people of the Balearic Islands were renowned for their slingshot prowess, the islanders were not able to drive off the pillagers. According to Strabo and Pliny the Elder (c. 23-79), the Balearic Islanders were desperate enough to turn the tide of war against their foe that they sent representatives to Rome in order to beg Augustus (r. 27 BCE-14 CE) for military aid. It might have been an awkward conversation, for the foes that were giving the islanders so much trouble were not pirates or hostile neighbors—instead, the bane of the Balearic Islands was a populous horde of hungry rabbits.

Augustus’ exact response to the plea of the islanders is vague in our existent sources, but he evidently did decide to help the Balearic Islands with their rabbit problem. Part of his solution was apparently to send hunters and trappers to help contain the rabbit population and to teach the islanders better ways to hunt the hopping pests. A key component of the war on rabbits, according to Strabo and Pliny, was to send ferrets to the Balearic island. These “wild cats from Africa,” as Strabo oddly called the ferrets (Geography, I.2.6), were unleashed into the rabbit burrows, forcing the animals up to the surface and into the hands of the awaiting hunters. According to Strabo, Augustus’ efforts succeeded and the rabbit population was eventually brought down to a safe and manageable level. By the time Pliny the Elder finished his Natural History in the year 77, the fortune of the rabbits on the Baleric Island had completely changed, as the animals had by then become a culinary delicacy.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Picture Attribution: (Floor mosaic representing a centaur, from the Acropolis of Rhodes, [Public Domain] via Creative Commons).

Sources:

• Strabo's Geography, translated by H.C. Hamilton and W. Falconer (1903 edition), republished in The Complete Works of Strabo (Delphi Classics, 2016).
• http://www.perseus.tufts.edu/hopper/text?doc=Perseus%3Atext%3A1999.02.0137%3Abook%3D8%3Achapter%3D81  

The Dramatic Downfall Of Patriarch Tryphon of Constantinople

Emperor Romanos I was a brilliant political maneuverer who arose out of obscurity to become, for a time, one of the strongest men in the Mediterranean world. Although he held the title of emperor for decades, Romanos had no genuine claim to the throne—his remarkable rise to power came through the marriage of his daughter, Helen, to the child-emperor Constantine VII on May 4, 919. The very next year, Romanos climbed his way to the top of the child-emperor’s regency council by forcing Constantine’s mother into a convent and similarly disposing of other nobles who posed a threat to his ascendance. Romanos at first took the title of ‘caesar,’ but he quickly became a co-emperor, and by 921 he had gained enough power to supersede Constantine VII as First Emperor in the political hierarchy.

Romanos, however, did not ascend alone up the political ladder; he also brought his children along for the ride. Romanos’ son, Christopher, was similarly named a co-emperor in 921 and in 924, Romanos similarly crowned two other sons, named Stephen and Constantine. Romanos further increased his power in 927 by having Christopher named Second Emperor, pushing the original ruler, Constantine VII, down one more rung on the ladder of political hierarchy.

Another of Romanos’ sons, by the name of Theophylact, drew the metaphorical short straw when it came to high office appointment. While his brothers were named caesars and co-emperors, Theophylact was sent to join the church. Yet, for Romanos, only the position of Patriarch of Constantinople would do for his son. Nevertheless, there was a problem—when Theophylact was sent to join the church in 924, he was only seven years old. Although Romanos could not immediately place his young son at the head of the church in Constantinople, he was able to rush the boy through the hierarchy of the clergy. Theophylact was appointed as a cleric and put in the position of synkellos, a lofty title that made the young boy an assistant to the patriarch of Constantinople. It was an important appointment, as the synkellos was often considered the heir to the patriarchal throne. The newly appointed clergyman, however, was still a child, so he remained in the role of synkellos during the reigns of Patriarch Nicholas (d. 925), Patriarch Stephen (d.927) and Patriarch Tryphon. Emperor Romanos apparently had agreements with these patriarchs that they would step down when Theophylact finally came of age. Although Patriarch Tryphon had supposedly agreed to this plan, he was said to have become hesitant to relinquish power as the young synkellos began to reach his mid-teens.

The power struggle between Patriarch Tryphon and Emperor Romanos came to a head around 931, when Theophylact was about 14 years old. Medieval historians who wrote about the incident recorded differing accounts of the episode. Leo the Grammarian, Symeon the Logothete and the Theophanes Continuatus present the occasion dryly or in passing. The so-called Pseudo-Symeon (whose identity remains anonymous) and the historian John Skylitzes, however, recorded a much more dramatic tale. Whatever the case, bland or embellished, all of the scholars came to the same conclusion—Patriarch Tryphon ultimately resigned from his post in 931.

The story presented by the Pseudo-Symeon and John Skylitzes about the downfall of Patriarch Tryphon is one of subterfuge and trickery. As the patriarch had done nothing to merit his resignation from the leadership of the church of Constantinople, Tryphon reportedly tried to delay or break his deal to step down. As the story goes, Romanos became impatient with the stubborn patriarch and he and his allies soon began to spread rumors about Tryphon to make the man’s position at the head of the church untenable. One such accusation that was reportedly spread insinuated that Tryphon was illiterate and did not know how to write. In 931, so the story goes, the patriarch convened a synod to disprove these rumors. Before the eyes of his peers, the patriarch was said to have written down his name and title on a document and handed it over to an acquaintance who would bring the proof of Tryphon’s literacy to the emperor. The messenger, unfortunately for the patriarch, was alleged to have been an agent of Emperor Romanos. Therefore, as soon as he had the chance, the mischievous messenger supposedly added a forged letter of resignation to Patriarch Tryphon’s signed document. According to John Skylitzes, before the clergymen of Constantinople left the meeting, the tampered document was brought back in and, “This ‘resignation’ was presented to the Synod and Tryphon was put out of the church, bitterly decrying the deceit which had been practiced on him” (Synopsis historian, chapter 10, section 26).

Whatever the truth behind Tryphon’s resignation, he indeed stepped down in 931. Although Romanos’ son was the successor to Tryphon’s position, young Theophylact was still not old enough to take up the role as Patriarch of Constantinople until 933, when he reached the age of sixteen. Theophylact would continue to oversee the church of Constantinople until his death in 956.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Picture Attribution: (Second Ecumenical painted by Vasily Surikov, c. 1876, [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).