The Stumbling Start Of Saint Olaf’s Conquest Of Norway

Olaf Haraldsson, a young Viking and mercenary with a claim to the Norwegian throne, returned to Norway around 1014 or 1015 at an opportune political moment. Since the year 1000, Norway had been dominated by Jarl Eirik Hakonarson, who had both Danish and Swedish backing. The Jarl had left Norway to join the campaigns of two successive Danish kings, Sweyn Forkbeard and Canute in England, and during his absence, the jarl’s son, Hakon Eiriksson, was tasked with maintaining the family’s influence in Norway. King Sweyn Forkbeard died in 1014, leaving his heir, Canute, with succession crises all over the empire of the Danes—Canute’s brother, Harald II, claimed Denmark and King Æthelred the Unready returned to England shortly after Sweyn’s death. Therefore, Canute had military might, but little in the way of secure land. The Norwegian Jarl Eirik stayed with Canute and helped the Danes reassert power over England. For his aid to Canute’s cause, Jarl Eirik would eventually be named as the Earl of Northumbria. Yet, in devoting himself to English events, Jarl Eirik also neglected politics in Norway, giving tempting opportunities to ambitious Norwegian noblemen, such as Olaf Haraldsson.

Olaf, like Jarl Eirik, had been spending a great deal of time in Britain. He is known to have joined forces with Viking armies in Britain from 1009-1011/1012, then he switched sides and apparently served as a mercenary for a time with the Anglo-Saxon King Æthelred the Unready. He finally abandoned England in 1013, when Sweyn Forkbeard launched his conquest of England. According to the sagas, Olaf Haraldsson may have helped Æthelred the Unready return to England after Sweyn Forkbeard’s death in 1014. Nevertheless, unlike Jarl Eirik, the political upheaval caused by King Sweyn’s death did not pull Olaf Haraldsson’s attention toward Britain; instead, the temporary fracturing of Danish power and the inattention of Jarl Eirik encouraged him to return home to Norway.

Around 1014 or 1015, Olaf Haraldsson set sail for his homeland with a loyal band of well-equipped warriors. As the story goes, they made their first landfall on the island of Selje, which was, at that time, called Sæla, or Luck. Olaf’s followers proclaimed that the site of their landing was an omen of great things to come, and their leader basked in the praises and saber-rattling of the moment. Yet, Olaf’s experience on Selje would soon take an ungraceful turn, threatening to make null and void all of the good omens provided by the island’s lucky name.

As the warriors continued to discuss the good-omened nature of their anchorage, the party began to disembark onto the island. As the group left their ships, however, an event reportedly occurred that would have made the whole party gasp with concern. According to legend, when Olaf Haraldsson took his very first step onto the island, he carelessly put his foot on an especially slick patch of clay. His foot slid as if on ice, sending poor Olaf into an arm-flailing stumble. The Icelandic historian Snorri Sturluson (c. 1179-1241) claimed that the nobleman, “slid with one foot on a patch of clay, but steadied himself on the other knee” (Heimskringla, Saint Olaf’s Saga, chapter29). From that description, it seems that Olaf Haraldsson was able to escape the indignity of a total faceplant into the clay by frantically falling into a kneeling position. Nevertheless, since the group had been praising their good omens moments before, the incident definitely caused some raised eyebrows.

Thankfully for Olaf, a loyal companion came to his aid by proclaiming, “You fell not, sire; you set fast food on the land” (Heimskringla, Saint Olaf’s Saga, chapter29). With that quick-witted interpretation of events, the warriors were able to laugh off the ill-timed stumble, and the party returned to its previous high morale and good humor. Despite the slippery start, Olaf Haraldsson was able to successfully press his claim to the Kingdom of Norway by the end of 1015.  He became known as King Olaf II, or Saint Olaf.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Picture Attribution: (Viking Ship illustration for the Heimskringla, by Halfdan Egedius (1877–1899), [Public Domain] via Creative Commons).

Sources:

• Heimskringla, by Snorri Sturluson and translated by Lee Hollander. Austin: University of Texas Press, 1964, 2018. 
• The Anglo-Saxon Chronicle translated by Benjamin Thorpe in 1861 and republished by Cambridge University Press, 2012. 
• The Chronicle of Florence of Worcester translated by Thomas Forester. London: Petter and Galpin, originally published 1854. 
• https://www.britannica.com/biography/Olaf-II-Haraldsson 
• https://www.encyclopedia.com/people/history/scandinavian-history-biographies/olaf-ii 
• http://fmg.ac/Projects/MedLands/NORWEGIAN%20NOBILITY.htm 
• https://www.oxforddnb.com/view/10.1093/ref:odnb/9780198614128.001.0001/odnb-9780198614128-e-39234 
• https://www.encyclopedia.com/people/history/british-and-irish-history-biographies/canute  

The Apocalyptic Giant Of The Volga River

In May 922, an Abbasid diplomat named Ibn Fadlān reached the camp of Khan Almish ibn Shilkī Yiltawār of the Volga Bulgars, a semi-nomadic people who lived north of the Caspian Sea, along the Volga River. The khan, a new convert to Islam, had asked the Abbasid caliph for theological and financial aid. Ibn Fadlān’s arrival among the Volga Bulgars was the caliph’s response to the khan’s request. The mission of the Abbasid diplomats was to offer instruction on the ways of Islam, to construct a new mosque for the khan, and to also fund a fortress to help defend the Volga Bulgars. Unfortunately, the 4,000 dīnār budget allotted to the mission never reached the diplomats and therefore the promised construction projects went unfulfilled. Consequently, the relationship between Khan Almish and the diplomats were strained from the get-go. Ibn Fadlān, however, made the best of his situation and devoted himself to writing a detailed account of his journey from Baghdad to the Volga. He commented on landscapes he saw and people he met, also adding some cultural observations, folklore and history, to tie it all together.

One tale that Ibn Fadlān included in his account (called the Risāla) featured a giant who had a fondness for swimming in the Volga River. Ibn Fadlān claimed to have been tipped off to this story by a fellow diplomat named Tikīn the Turk. He had heard that an incredibly tall man was then living within the territory of Khan Almish. When this information was passed to Ibn Fadlān, the curious diplomat went straight to the khan to ask if the story was true. Interestingly, Khan Almish humored Ibn Fadlān’s curiosity, telling the diplomat many details of the story and even personally took him sightseeing to a spot involved in the tale.

The highly embellished yarn that Khan Almish laid out for Ibn Fadlān was an interesting mix of Volga Bulgar culture and apocalyptic ideas from Abrahamic religions. Khan Almish began by informing Ibn Fadlān that the giant was no longer alive, but that the khan had personally known him. The giant was apparently first discovered when sections of the Volga River overflowed. Concerning this flooding, rumors began to circulate from travelers and merchants that the cause of the river’s odd behavior was a giant that was wading in the water. Hearing these reports, Khan Almish set out to investigate the Volga where the river had broken its banks.

Upon arriving at the flooded section of the river, the khan supposedly saw with his own eyes a huge humanoid figure. The size of the giant, Khan Almish claimed, was a remarkable 12 cubits tall (18 feet). In addition to sheer height, the giant reportedly had such an extremely ugly or fierce demeanor that simply witnessing him could cause the viewer great distress. The Volga Bulgars attempted to speak with the giant, but the man/monster was apparently unable to speak. After assessing the situation, Khan Almish decided to recruit the giant and bring him back to the Volga Bulgar camp, if only to keep the giant from joining the ranks of an enemy.

After successfully bringing the towering stranger back to camp, Khan Almish set about researching the identity of the giant. After asking around among his own people and sending inquiries out to neighboring regions, the khan concluded that the giant was none other than a rogue member of the apocalyptic Gog and Magog end-time invasion force that is featured in Jewish, Christian and Islamic texts. When Ibn Fadlān, either with curiosity or skepticism, asked for further details about the Gog and Magog giant, Khan Almish escalated the tale to a new level of embellishment and gave the giant an abrupt and tragic end. According to Ibn Fadlān, Khan Almish said the following about life with a giant in the Volga Bulgar camp:

“He stayed with me for a time, but no child could look at him without dropping dead and no pregnant women without miscarrying. If he took hold of a man, his hands squeezed him until he killed him. When I realized that, I had him slung from a high tree until he died” (Ibn Fadlān, Risala, Penguin ed. pg. 41).

After delivering this bizarre account of the giant’s effect on the Volga Bulgar people, Khan Almish offered to show Ibn Fadlān the spot where the giant was hanged. The diplomat, hearing that the remains of the giant could actually be seen there, decided to take the khan up on the offer and the two traveled to the supposed tree from which the 18-foot tall giant was strung. On this eerie trip, Ibn Fadlān wrote:

“He rode with me into a great forest filled with immense trees and shoved me towards a tree under which had fallen his bones and head. I saw his head. It was like a great beehive. His ribs were like the stalk of a date cluster and the bones of his legs and arms were enormous too. I was astonished at the sight. Then I went away” (Ibn Fadlān, Risala, Penguin ed. pg. 41).

After the scene above, Ibn Fadlān made no further commentary about the giant. As might be expected, the tall tale told by Khan Almish to Ibn Fadlān is considered to be folklore, and it has been proposed that the remains in the forest may have been that of a bear. It should also be kept in mind that the khan still begrudged the Abbasid diplomat for failing to bring the caliph’s promised money. Therefore, when the irritated Almish forcefully brought Ibn Fadlān to a secluded, bone-scattered forest where not even a mighty giant could escape, the act was likely meant to be a veiled threat or a means of intimidation.

Written by C. Keith Hansley.

Picture Attribution: (Scene of a chained giant from the Gest Danorum, illustrated by   Louis Moe (1857-1945), [Public Domain] via Creative Commons).

Sources:

• Risala by Ibn Fadlān, translated by Paul Lunde and Catoline Stone. New York, Penguin Classics, 2012.

The Giant Bone Hernan Cortes Saw In Tlaxcala

When Hernan Cortes landed in the vicinity of Mexico in 1519, he quickly began causing problems for the Aztecs by exploiting the precarious politics of the region. He first brought the disgruntled Totonac people into rebellion against Montezuma II and then marched inland to meet with the Tlaxcalans, bitter rivals of the Aztecs. The Tlaxcalans first took Hernan Cortes to be a hostile invader and responded to his presence in their land with force. After several battles, however, Cortes was able to bring the Tlaxcalans into negotiations and formed with them an alliance that would eventually topple the Aztec Empire.

While the Spaniards were staying at Tlaxcala, the locals gave Cortes and his officers women to marry, food to eat, and an abundance of intelligence information, spanning topics such as Aztec military formations, the layout of Tenochtitlan (Mexico City), and an explanation of Montezuma’s water supply system. As the Tlaxcalans were in such a sharing mood, they also treated the Spaniards to some of their local curiosities. One such display was a set of huge bones which were shown to the explorers. Bernal Díaz del Castillo, a member of Hernan Cortes’ expedition, described the Spanish reaction to the huge remains or fossils:

“To show us how big these giants had been they brought us the leg-bone of one, which was very thick and the height of an ordinary-sized man, and that was a leg-bone from the hip to the knee. I measured myself against it, and it was as tall as I am, though I am of a reasonable height….We were all astonished by the sight of these bones and felt certain there must have been giants in that land. And Cortes said that we ought to send the leg-bone to Castile so that His Majesty might see it, which we did by the first agents who went there” (The Conquest of New Spain, Chapter 78).

According to Bernal Díaz, the Tlaxcalans had a folklore explanation for the gigantic bones. The native story allegedly aligned with the Spaniards’ own impression that the bones belonged to an extinct group of huge humanoids. Tlaxcalan tradition, Bernal Díaz claimed, told of an evil race of giants who lived in the region in the distant past. The ancestors of the Tlaxcalans were said to have waged war against the giants and eventually drove the creatures into extinction.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Picture Attribution: (Dinosaur Exhibit in the Houston Museum of Natural Science, Houston, Texas, USA. [Public Domain] via Creative Commons).

Sources:

• The Conquest of New Spain by Bernal Díaz, translated by J. M. Cohen. New York: Penguin Books, 1963.
• http://www.gutenberg.org/files/32474/32474-h/32474-h.htm 
• https://www.britannica.com/biography/Hernan-Cortes 
• https://www.britannica.com/place/Tlaxcala-state-Mexico 
• https://www.history.com/topics/exploration/hernan-cortes  

The Quirky Tale Of The Carpenter Modestus’ Miraculous Prison Escape

Around the year 580, Bishop Gregory of Tours was accused of verbally slandering Queen Fredegund, the wife of King Chilperic of the Franks (r. 561-584). The accusers, Count Leudast of Tours and a subdeacon named Riculf, were personal enemies of the bishop, and Gregory was given the benefit of the doubt when the accusation was first leveled. Leudast and Riculf were detained and questioned by the cautious King Chilperic. Count Leudast was eventually freed, but subdeacon Riculf was held for more questions. While the interrogation of Riculf was underway, Leudast returned to Tours and arrested two of Bishop Gregory’s confidants, hoping to turn them against their friend. Although King Chilperic had imprisoned Gregory’s detractors, that did not mean that the bishop was in the clear. The royal family had little love for the bishop, as they had clashed in the past over moral, political, and theological issues.  In the end, the king did eventually call a trial to investigate the accusations of slander, and Gregory of Tours’ fate would be decided by a panel of his fellow bishops assembled by the king at Berny-Rivière.

As the bishops were receiving their invitations to appear at Berny-Rivière for the trial, commoners began their own debates about Bishop Gregory’s culpability. A certain carpenter named Modestus was reportedly one of Gregory’s most outspoken defenders among the masses. The carpenter was so outspoken in his praises of Gregory and his criticisms of Riculf that news of Modestus’ speeches reached as far as the ears of Queen Fredegund, herself. Upon hearing of the carpenter’s actions, the queen was extremely displeased, as, by this time, she had come to believe the statements of the accusers and wanted Gregory to be put on trial. The carpenter’s protests, in Fredegund’s opinion, stood in the way of justice—therefore, she reportedly sent agents to have the man arrested.

The story of Modestus’ peculiar imprisonment was recorded by none other than Bishop Gregory of Tours, and, as such, it is unsurprising that the poor carpenter was presented in the kindliest and most gracious of words. Modestus, according to Gregory, was “arrested, put to the torture, beaten, loaded with chains and locked up in prison” (History of the Franks, V.49). While in custody, the chained carpenter was fasted to ‘the block’ and constantly watched by two guards. Yet, as midnight approached, bizarre occurrences would lead to a miraculous prison break.

As told by Bishop Gregory, the tale of Modestus’ great escape began with prayer. He prayed for deliverance from his unjust imprisonment, and specifically called on the spiritual support of Saint Martin of Tours and Saint Medard. While the carpenter prayed through the night, the two guards reportedly fell fast asleep, and, in their slumber, they remained oblivious to the miracles which supposedly resulted from the prisoner’s prayers. In response to the heavenly entreaties, Gregory of Tours claimed, “the chains broke asunder, the block split open, the prison-door was unlocked and Modestus marched out and into the church of Saint Medard, where I myself was that night keeping vigils” (History of the Franks, V.49).

The curious tale of Modestus, as far as Bishop Gregory was concerned, ended with the fugitive carpenter’s arrival at the church. No more information was recorded about Modestus’ further actions or fate. As for Gregory of Tours, he was indeed put on trial, but with the help of influential friends among the bishops, he was able to clear his name without too much trouble. With Gregory vindicated, the wrath of the clergy and kings rebounded against the accusers, Count Leudast and subdeacon Riculf, whose fates would be much less fortunate than that of Gregory.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Picture Attribution: (The Prisoner by Eugène Delacroix (1798–1863), [Public Domain] via Creative Commons).

Sources:

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

Diego De Ordaz’s Volcanic Adventure

Diego de Ordaz was a Spanish explorer and conquistador involved in several expeditions in the early 16th century. One such mission that he participated in was the famous adventure of Hernan Cortes, who entered Aztec politics like a wrecking ball in 1519. Not long before reaching Tenochtitlan (Mexico City) in November 1519, the conquistadors had seen a smoking mountain, called Popocatepetl, which remains one of Mexico’s most active volcanoes today. Hernan Cortes described the mountain and its plumes of smoke in a letter to his sovereign:

“By night as well as by day, a volume of smoke arises, equal in bulk to a spacious house; it ascends above the mountain to the clouds as straight as an arrow, and with such force, that although a very strong wind is always blowing on the mountain, it does not turn the smoke from its course” (Cortes’ Second Letter to Charles V, chapter 4, dated October 30, 1520).

The Spaniards were all reportedly intrigued about the volcano, but it was Diego de Ordaz whose curiosity was most stoked. He asked Cortes for permission to climb up to the smoky summit, which was granted, and set off toward Popocatepetl with two fellow Spaniards and a number of native allies. All of the natives who traveled with him reportedly refused to climb all the way up to the top of Popocatepetl, so Diego and his two companions had to make the final climb on their own. It must have been an intimidating experience, for the volcano was particularly active that day. Bernal Díaz del Castillo, another member of Hernan Cortes’ expedition, wrote, “Since settling in this country we have never seen the volcano belch so much fire as on that first occasion, nor heard it make so much noise” (Conquest of New Spain, chapter 78). At one point during their ascent, a violent outburst of flame, stones and ash from the summit forced Diego de Ordaz and his comrades to seek shelter for over an hour. Nevertheless, when the eruption died down again, the Spaniards continued their climb and were able to peek into the volcano’s crater, with Diego de Ordaz, of course, taking the first look.

As the first Spaniard to climb Popocatepetl, Diego de Ordaz became a celebrated figure not only to his fellow countrymen, but also apparently to the natives in the region who heard of his feat. After Hernan Cortes’ conquest of Tenochtitlan in 1521, Diego de Ordaz returned to Spain, where he hoped to convert his volcanic tale into a tangible symbol of nobility. Bernal Díaz del Castillo commented on Diego’s success in this matter, stating, “When Diego de Ordaz went to Castile he asked His Majesty to grant him the volcano as his coat-of-arms, which his nephew, who lives at Puebla, now bears” (Conquest of New Spain, chapter 78). After receiving his volcano-emblazed heraldry, Diego de Ordaz returned to the New World to continue his exploration of Central and South America. He died in 1532, while exploring around Venezuela.

Written by C. Keith Hansley.

Picture Attribution: (17th- century depiction of Diego de Ordaz and a photograph of Popocatepetl, both [Public Domain] via pixabay.com and Creative Commons).

Sources:

• The Conquest of New Spain by Bernal Díaz, translated by J. M. Cohen. New York: Penguin Books, 1963. 
• http://www.gutenberg.org/files/32474/32474-h/32474-h.htm 
• http://eada.lib.umd.edu/text-entries/second-letter-of-hernando-cortes-to-charles-v/ 
• https://www.ancient.eu/Tenochtitlan/ 
• https://www.britannica.com/place/Tenochtitlan  

The Torturous Tax Conflict Between King Chilperic And The City Of Limoges

King Chilperic (r. 561-584) of the Franks was said to have dramatically raised taxes in his realm around 578 or 579. In particular, the landowners were hit hard by the policy, as, among other things, they were taxed per every half acre they owned, as well as the number of workers they employed. The new taxes were so unbearable that many people fled to the less-taxed lands of Chilperic’s fellow Merovingian co-kings, Guntram (r. 561-593) and Childebert II (r. 575-595). The rest who stayed in Chilperic’s kingdom divided into two camps—those who were willing to live with the new taxes, and those who wished to stop the implementation of the new tax code.

The landowners of Limoges were in the latter camp and were willing to go to extremes to resist the taxes. According to Bishop Gregory of Tours (c. 539-594), a tax collector named Mark was responsible for implementing the new code in Limoges. As could be expected, Mark’s occupation made him extremely unpopular in the region. When Mark attempted to collect the tax, the people of Limoges erupted into a violent mob and attempted to kill the official. The beleaguered tax collector reportedly only survived because he was given shelter by Bishop Ferreolus. With Mark off limits, the mob went for the next best thing—the tax books and records. After seizing all of the tax collector’s documents, the rioters built a great bonfire and burned every tax-related item they could find.

King Chilperic was reportedly outraged at the insurrection that occurred in Limoges. According to Gregory of Tours, the king’s response to the city was brutal. Troops and officials were sent to Limoges to enforce law and order. Those who were believed to be ringleaders of the riot were rounded up, tortured and executed, apparently including a few local priests. After meting out these punishments, King Chilperic then reimposed his taxes on the city at an even greater rate than had been originally demanded. Fortunately for the city, the new tax code only lasted until 580. Yet, it was bittersweet news, for the taxes were lowered in response to a widespread epidemic of dysentery in France.

Written by C. Keith Hansley.

Picture Attribution: (The Village Lawyer's Office, by Pieter Breughel the Younger (1564–1638), [Public Domain] via Creative Commons).

Sources:

• The History of the Franks by Gregory of Tours, translated by Lewis Thorpe. New York: Penguin Classics, 1971. 
• https://www.britannica.com/biography/Chilperic-I 
• https://www.britannica.com/biography/Guntram-king-of-Burgundy 
• https://www.britannica.com/place/Limoges  

Shanyu Maodun’s Proposition To Empress Dowager Lü That Almost Caused A War

Empress Lü was the wife of Gaozu, founder of the Han Dynasty (c. 206 BCE) and the first Han emperor of China (r. 202-195 BCE). While Gaozu was alive, Empress Lü proved herself a fearsome political maneuverer who knew how to detect and eliminate threats to the fledgling dynasty, sometimes doing so even without the emperor’s permission. When Emperor Gaozu died in 195 BCE, the throne passed to the empress’ son, Hui. Yet, although her son was officially emperor, it was Empress Lü who was the true power behind the throne. The common people were reportedly content under the empress’ reign, but it was a very tense time for the newfound nobles in the empire. With the lives of her son and herself on the line, Empress Lü escalated her role as the unofficial spymaster of the dynasty, assassinating several half-brothers of Emperor Hui and sending out her kinswomen to marry (and spy on) the regional kings and marquises of the empire. When Emperor Hui died in 188 BCE, Empress Lü maintained her power by acting as regent for two successive child-emperors.

In the lands to the north of the Han Empire, the aging Empress Lü had an admirer. His name was Maodun, a powerful Shanyu (high chief) of the nomadic Xiongnu people. He came to power around 209 BCE and built an empire mighty enough to rival that of his Chinese neighbors. Shanyu Maodun and Emperor Gaozu had clashed in 200 BCE, and in the resulting battle Emperor Gaozu was outwitted by the Xiongnu, surrounded by the Shanyu’s forces, and pressured to agree to a peace that favored the Xiongnu. In the aftermath of the battle, Emperor Gaozu sent an imperial princess to be the consort of the Shanyu, and he also sent tribute to the nomads and opened up trade relations. This defensive policy of marriage, tribute and trade would continue for decades, and would be imitated by several of Emperor Gaozu’s successors.

Although Shanyu Maodun was a busy man, conquering rival nomadic tribes and expanding his empire, he kept himself informed on politics in the Han Dynasty. When the Xiongnu leader learned that Emperor Gaozu had died and that Empress Lü was reigning with an iron fist in China, he was apparently quite impressed or amused by the news. After hearing of Empress Lü’s rise to power, Shanyu Maodun evidently one day felt the urge to write the empress a blunt and audacious letter. When the peculiar note reached the imperial court in China, it caused a shock among the Han courtiers that would resound for decades.

In his letter to Empress Lü, Shanyu Maodun wrote out his observation that he and she were both old, lonely rulers and suggested that they comfort each other through marriage. Whether or not this proposal was pragmatic, heartfelt, or taunting, is a matter of opinion, but Empress Lü, her advisors, and the ancient Chinese scholars who wrote about the event virtually all considered it to be an insult of the highest degree. Empress Lü’s response upon hearing the marriage proposal was reportedly to summon her generals and demand that they plan an invasion of the Xiongnu Empire. Sycophants and warmongers eagerly volunteered to command the punitive expedition against the mighty Xiongnu chief. Yet, in the end, the more cautious advisors won the debate by reminding the empress that even the great Emperor Gaozu had not been able to defeat Shanyu Maodun in battle and that the empire was not yet stable enough for a protracted campaign against the Xiongnu. Ultimately, Empress Lü called off the war and maintained peace with the Xiongnu.

After Empress Lü’s death in 180 BCE, Emperor Wen (r. 180-157 BCE) and Emperor Jing (r. 157-141 BCE) continued the Han Dynasty policy of sending tribute and imperial princesses to the Xiongnu, and otherwise only fighting defensive wars against incursions begun by the Shanyu’s forces. It was Emperor Wu (r. 141-87 BCE) who finally changed the Han policy with the Xiongnu to that of relentless aggression, leading to the conquest of great stretches of Xiongnu territory. Around the year 101 BCE, Emperor Wu released an edict that mentioned both Gaozu’s defeat and the letter sent to Empress Lü in an effort to rile up his people against the Xiongnu. The edict, recorded by Grand Historian Sima Qian (c. 145-90 BCE), read:

“Emperor Gaozu has left us the task of avenging the difficulties which he suffered at Pingcheng. Furthermore, during the reign of Empress Lü the Shanyu sent to the court a most treasonable and insulting letter. In ancient times when Duke Xiang of Qi avenged an insult which one of his ancestors nine generations earlier had suffered, Confucius praised his conduct in the Spring and Autumn Annals” (Shi Ji 110).

Written by C. Keith Hansley.

Picture Attribution: (Rejection scene from the Admonitions Scroll, attributed to Gu Kaizhi (c.345-c.406), [Public Domain] via 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/biography/Gaohou 
• http://www.chinaknowledge.de/History/Han/personslvhou.html 
• https://depts.washington.edu/silkroad/exhibit/xiongnu/essay.html