Tag: Byzantine

An Update After an Extended Time Away…

I have come back to my blog after an extended time away. It has not been for a lack of writing as I have begun on my fourth book The Red Empress. The Red Empress is set around the events that led up to the dethroning and eventual restoration of the Empress Zoe and the exploits of the Haraldr Sigurdsson, who would later be known as Haraldr Hardrada – “the Hard Ruler” and king of Norway. Haraldr is accompanied by a fictional character from Rus, Asbjørn Ulfsson. It certainly leads one down some fascinating historical avenues, not least of which is the role Haraldr Sigurdsson played as a Varangian Guardsman and part of the armed escort to the pilgrimage of the Imperial family to Jerusalem as stonemasons were sent there to rebuild the Church of the Holy Sepulcher.

In the early eleventh century, the son of the “mad caliph” al-Ḥākim bi-Amr Allāh had the church completely destroyed, but his successor, Al-Zahir li-i’zaz Din Allāh, was the son of a Byzantine woman and had no such compunctions against the Christians and graciously allowed them to begin rebuilding the church in 1027. During this time, around 1034, a great procession made its way to Jerusalem not only of the builders and stonemasons who would commit to the work, but some of the imperial family, to whom the Varangians were tasked with guarding on the possibly treacherous journey from Jaffa to Jerusalem.

It has been an interesting journey for myself to commit to the research surrounding such an event. A pilgrimage, even from Constantinople was no small task. To disembark in Jaffa was perhaps not to the liking of those who were used to finery and luxuries within the Imperial City. Jaffa was the only way at the time to get to Jerusalem by sea. However there was no harbor and one had to be rowed to shore, navigating the choppy open water and hazardous rocks. Here the travelers and their baggage would be loaded ashore and transported up narrow stone steps, through the crowded narrow streets. To decide upon the itinerary has been interesting, because I have found that pilgrimages, even if they were for the purpose of the forgiveness of sins, had within them something of a touristy affair. And while seeing such sights as the the Church of the Holy Sepulcher, believed to be the site of Jesus’ tomb; the Church of the Nativity, the supposed site of the birth of Jesus; Mount Zion and the Sea of Galilee might have been held with great reverence by the Christian pilgrims, how might these same sights been viewed by men such as Haraldr or Asbjørn to whom the Biblical stories were foreign. As a non-religious person myself, I get to view these things with much the same lens as they might have and see them for the strange and foreign wonders that they were without the subjectivity of religion attached to them. Or perhaps Haraldr Sigurdsson had recently taken up Christianity, the religion, after all, of his new employers and also got to see these things with same mystic awe. We may never know.

Church of the Holy Sepulcher in Jerusalem. Wikimedia commons

One thing for sure, the pilgrims were certainly a gold mine for those who preyed upon them, whether they were bandits, or those, who in the spirit of all who have ever made a quick buck upon holidaymakers everywhere, sold them everything from fragments of “the true cross” to – in earlier centuries – small flasks known as monz ampulae containing either holy water or soil from the ground where Jesus walked. Later, small badges, often in the shape of a palm leaf, were popular mementos to bring back from the Holy Land.  There have been many such mementos found all over Europe, Some things just never change.

Bronze monz ampulae from 7th century. Wikimedia Commons

And There Was Light

In our modern age, we enter a room, flick a switch, and instantly have light as if we have conjured it. Not too many think of what those before us used before the advent of electricity. Most of us might automatically assume candles. But not everyone could afford candles for every day. In any case, there were no paraffin candles as we have today. Most would have used beeswax candles, but beeswax was expensive to come by, even if it has a longer burn time. Some may have used tallow candles, though in Constantinople, the Book of the Eparch (an economic manual addressed for the use of the eparch or prefect of Constantinople) forbids the use of tallow candles within the city. Perhaps tallow candles were more of a fire hazard. They were certainly smelly and not the choice of lighting for those who could afford more suitable methods. In The Bone Goddess, they are used in the halls of Skadarska Krajina, though not by Theodora, but the soldiers she shelters there:

Every brazier and candelabra were lit in the great hall. The men seemed to have no objection to the malodorous tallow candles, cheaply made with a wick fashioned from a pith of rushes. In addition to bringing their own candles, they had brought much of their own food as Daphnomeles had said to have “no wish to be a trouble to the lady who has had so many of her own troubles”. Yet they seemed pleased that she brought them hot wine to take off the chill that the late winter rains brought to the damp, smoky halls.  

According to Daily Life in the Byzantine Empire by Marcus Rautman, candlemakers were required to sell their wares out of shops and not in the streets. Professional chandlers were known as keroularioi.  Monasteries and churches used so many candles; they were known to have employed men in their own workshops just to keep up with their demand.

Elaborate Byzantine Lamp
Courtesy Wikimedia Commons

In the Byzantine era, oil lamps were frequently used, employing the fuel that could be so readily found in the Mediterranean – olive oil. They were frequently slipper shaped and often highly ornamented, though common folk were more likely to use simple clay lamps. Oil lamps were perhaps used less frequently than candles starting around the seventh century, but there can be little doubt, there were plenty who continued to use oil filled lamps, perhaps even because of the parable of the ten virgins from Christian literature that referenced the one woman who kept her oil lamp lit on a long vigil. Oil lamps are still used today by Orthodox Christians to illuminate the icon corner in the home, so it is unlikely they would have completely fallen from favor.

Simpler clay lamp
Courtesy Wikimedia Commons

In an earlier chapter of The Bone Goddess, both forms of lighting are shown in this passage:

“One nomismata,” the Promitheftís Mystikón told Ulf tersely in a high voice. The man in the room seemed scarcely a man. He wore a veil over his face, spoke in a high, reedy voice and he kept to the shadows.  A eunuch then. Of course. What did he expect from a man whose whole stock and trade was the secrets swept into the shadows of the city? He had been escorted by a pale wisp of a woman carrying a thin, flickering beeswax candle through a warren of rooms, each darkened by shutters over the windows. The floorboards creaked ominously under his boots. Even in the dark, he could see where bits of the floor had broken away, revealing the light from the rooms below. One wrong step could send him crashing to the ground floor.  And yet this creaking, miserable creature who remained veiled and shuttered, exacted one nomismata from him for a single question? What did he do with all his money? Ulf glanced around, but the single guttering flame from an oil lamp, long past overdue to be cleaned and filled with fresh oil, barely illuminated his surroundings.

Light is integral for us when the sun goes down. We take it for granted. A flick of a switch is so much easier, not to mention safer now. Yet few could deny the warm, glowing ambiance of an oil lamp or beeswax candle, a fortification against the dark of an earlier time.

An Imperial Ménage à Trois

Art from the Hagia Sophia depicting Constantine Monomachos and the Empress Zoe on either side of Christ. Image courtesy of Wikimedia Commons

Last time I hinted briefly on the subject of Maria Scleraina, the mistress of Constantine IX Monomachos. Very little can be found about this lady save a few interesting tidbits here and there.  When Constantine agreed to marry Zoe Porphyrogenita, his one condition was that he be allowed to bring his mistress with him. Zoe expansively agreed to that, even to the extent that Maria was given a title equal to her own – sebastea – and was present in all formal official occasions and processions. After years of clawing her way to the top, and numerous love affairs (she was now on husband number three) Zoe seemed surprisingly relaxed about the situation. By now she was in her sixties and while Constantine was a lover from back in the day, he was her junior by at least twenty years. Perhaps she no longer felt the need for competition for men’s affections. Perhaps she found Maria’s influence useful in some way. Whatever the reason, Maria was given full honors and prestige alongside her lover and his wife.

Maria came from a noble family and was in fact, the great-granddaughter of the rebel Bardas Scleros who twice revolted against the rule of Basil II. She was a lively and intelligent lady who enjoyed conversation and literature. Among her favorite things to read and discuss was the poet Homer. This was apparently well enough known that there is an anecdote by the historian Michael Psellos describing a procession in which Maria took part. As Maria passed by, an onlooker whispered, “It were no shame…” the first line of a verse from Homer’s Illiad. The entire verse is: “It were no shame that Trojans and well-greaved Achaeans should long suffer for the sake of this woman.” It is in reference to Helen of Troy. Maria was naturally delighted to be compared to Helen of Troy and, while maintaining serenity and poise during the procession, later had the speaker located and brought to the palace where he was accordingly rewarded with lavish gifts.  This was the passage from Michael Psellos’ Chonographia:

There was an instance when we the imperial secretaries processed alongside the Empress (Zoe). Her sister Theodora and the Sebaste (Maria) also processed… This was the first time the people had seen the empresses together. One of the flatters whispered a quote from The Poet; ‘It were no shame…’ but did not finish the lines. Maria did not immediately acknowledge the words. However, when the procession finished, she both separated out the speaker and closely examined the comparison, not butchering the words, but pronouncing the quote correctly. So, the speaker recounted the comparison at length and in exactness. The audience heard the words at the same time expressed approval. At that moment Maria was filled with pride.

Maria is a personality that lends itself well to an interesting fictionalized character and as such, she is rapidly finding her way into the plot of what will be my fourth book in the Varangian Saga, The Red Empress. In this, her love of literature (in particular Homer) has made her seem to leap off the pages, as in this instance her encounter with my fictional character Asbjørn: 

Asbjørn stood in the entryway to the gynaikonitis, ill at ease and unsure of himself. When the eunuch motioned him to come forward, he did, but reluctantly. Maria was seated, surrounded by her ladies in front of an alcove with windows that opened out onto the sea. From where he stood, Asbjørn could smell the sea, even over the heady floral aromas that pervaded the room. Someone had thrown sandalwood on the brazier. It was strong and it made his head feel clouded.

            He made obeisance to her. She made a gesture with her hand to one of her serving women who brought a large bound codex forward. “This is for you to read. Homer’s Iliad,” she added, by way of explanation. Asbjørn took the bound volume in his hands, as one might a newborn child. A shock went through him, as he touched the leather binding. It was as Rastislav had always said. Words were powerful. They contained a magic that could not be explained. Was this not why Óðinn had hung on the Great Yew Tree, to gain the power of the runes for all mankind? Holding a volume like this took his breath away. It had been a long time since he had held any book in his hand.  “I cannot do this, kyria,” he told her.

            “You read well. Any man that can read Plato can read Homer.” She smiled at him.

            “It is not that. I cannot be responsible for such an expensive book. I fear something would happen to it. I fear being beholden to you.”

            “You would be beholden to me if you did not read it. It is my very favorite of all writings. I desire that you should know it as well.”

            His unease, rather than being diminished, only heightened. He had not come here to read the Iliad. His sole purpose in Constantinople was to find the men who had been the scourge of his family and see their society torn asunder. In spite of himself, he opened the cover. He could smell, only faintly, the odor of old parchment and the distinctive aroma of gum arabic and cuttlefish ink. The copyist had a fine hand, clear and legible, though the manuscript was old enough that the ink had begun to fade. The first words reached out and pulled him in: Sing, O goddess, the anger of Achilles son of Peleus, that brought countless ills upon the Achaeans.

The only thing he had to compare were the old stories of the gods of his people that his sister had told him by the fire on winter nights. Part story, part poetry, part incantation.

He looked up at her, lost in a space of time, wondering how long they had all been looking at him. How long he had been lost in the page.

            “It is not like the Church Fathers or even Plato at all, is it now?” Her eyes sparked at him, daring him to disagree. He had no words.

             “I will read it,” he said. “Thank you.”

            She clapped her hands together. “I am so glad. And when you have finished, I want to hear which parts you favored best.”

Somewhere I read that Maria gave Constantine a daughter, Anastasia who was later given in marriage to Vsevolod I of Kiev. Anastasia is certainly mentioned as a relative to Constantine IX, but it is not entirely clear if this is how. Maria had a good deal of influence on her lover and perhaps used to it to some effect to bring about the destruction of George Maniakes. It is known that her brother Romanos Skleros had land adjacent to Maniakes and there was no love lost between these two men. He was said to have pillaged Maniakes’ land and to have “desecrated the marriage bed” which one could take to interpret that he either raped Maniakes’ wife or seduced her. This certainly must have had some bearing on the reason Maniakes finally rebelled in 1043, having his troops declare him the true and rightful emperor. It almost makes American politics pale by comparison. Almost.  In any case, Maniakes’ forces were destroyed by the emperor’s at Ostrovo and he was killed.

The emperor’s preferential treatment of Maria unsurprisingly led to theories among Byzantines that there was a conspiracy against the true empresses Zoe and Theodora and even rumors that she was planning on murdering them. This led to an uprising in 1044 in which a mob actually threatened harm to Constantine during a procession. The empresses made an appearance on a balcony to assuage the fears of the people. Soon after this, Maria passed away. Not all influential women made history books as did Cleopatra, Joan of Arc or Elizabeth I. Maria was one of those who was content to play her role quietly behind the scenes. Some historians would like us to think that Byzantine women spent their whole lives cloistered behind the walls of the gynaikonitis, never speaking for themselves or showing their faces. (The riot in 1042 in Constantinople spoken of in a previous post in which the women of the city emerged to protest the cloistering of the Empress Zoe refutes this notion.) In fact, women like Maria appear to be as fully educated as their male counterparts and even at times, as outspoken. Yet perhaps sometimes they found their greatest influence exhibiting their sparkling charm, wit and gracious femininity as did Maria Scleraina. This, then, is the true power of a woman.

Like Pulling Teeth

Today I’d like to address a few commonly held myths that, whenever I come across them, never fail to annoy me. One of them is the myth that medieval peasants were all walking around with a mouthful of rotten teeth and stinking breath. Nothing could be further from the truth. Honestly, he probably had a better set than you do. The main reason for this was a lack of sugar. Your average peasant wasn’t attached with a diehard addiction to a bottle of carbonated sugar water such as the average modern in western civilization. In fact, aside from honey (a rare delicacy) or the occasional apple or wild berries, he may never have even tasted sugar. Sugar was so rare, it was used only in very sparing amounts by the wealthiest individuals.  In fact it was not widely distributed in Europe until the late medieval era and even then it was prohibitively expensive. You might live your entire life and never taste a gram of the stuff. The main problem with medieval teeth was the consumption of stone ground bread. The grit that found its way from stone querns used for grinding grain into bread, could be problematic and would eventually wear down even the best set of teeth over time. However, dental caries affected less that twenty percent of the population of medieval western Europe (and perhaps even less in earlier Europe, if skeletons of early Anglo Saxons in Britain have anything to say on the matter), compared to nearly ninety percent at the turn of the twentieth century and the estimate that dental caries affect over half of America’s teen population today. Also, halitosis was not considered something that must be born with patience. Mouthwashes did exist, containing such herbs as  sage, rosemary, pepper, mint, and parsley, many of which also have significant antibacterial properties, in addition to making the breath smell sweeter. Used enough over time, they may have also been very beneficial for oral health.  While they may not have used toothbrushes, it was common enough to clean the teeth with a piece of linen and some burnt rosemary

Now that we have cleared that up, the next myth to debunk would the question of medieval people being significantly shorter that they are today. This myth is supposed to have arisen due to the poor health and conditions in cities during the Industrial Revolution. Stephen Nicholas and Richard H, Steckel have this to say in Heights and Living Standards of English Workers During the Early Years of Industrialization 1775-1815:

“Falling height of urban- and rural- born males after 1780 and delayed growth spurt for 13- to 23-year olds, revealed declining living standards among English workers after the Industrial Revolution.”

According to Sebastian Payne, chief scientist for English Heritage, this myth may arise from the shorter doorways of the period that were designed to be heat efficient in winter. Also, children took longer to reach puberty then and continued growing for a longer span of time than they do today. Furthermore, researchers were astonished to discover relatively few skeletons who in life had suffered from polio or tuberculosis. In fact most of the people of this period would have been far hardier, not to mention more wiry and fit than those of modern western civilization today.

While I am about it, I should probably point out that a lack of bathing is another commonly held belief about the middle ages. Public baths, just as in the Roman era, were quite common. In fact, most brothels in London required their patrons to wash before doing the deed with their girls. Not everyone could afford to immerse themselves in a full bath, but even the very poor would wash themselves spit-bath style. Baths were so important to the Norse Rus’ under Prince Oleg in the early tenth century, access to the the city’s baths was one of their requirements for leaving Constantinople unscathed, as well a good supply of food and wine. In fact, the Rus’ were known to be fastidious, utilizing bathhouses and saunas (as they had in Scandinavia) and the Slavic banya, which is very similar and which I may be discussing soon in another article.

So there you have it. While medieval people may not have had standards up the the modern Scope-swishing, Febreze-spraying, germophobic modern, neither were they the beastly smelling, rotten-mouthed, not to mention short-statured people that popular culture has led us to believe.

 

 

Theophano — Murderess or Victim?

Did Theophano, empress of Romanos II and mother to the young emperors Basil II and Constantine VIII,  kill her husband as was popularly believed? The evidence is thin on the ground for the death of her first husband, Romanos and father to her children Basil, Constantine and Anna, yet she seems to be implicated in the death her her second husband Nikeophoros Phokas. When Romanos II died, Theophano was still in childbed, having delivered her baby daughter Anna not four days before. This does not preclude her from having a hand in his death, that is to say ordering an assassin to do so, but it does not seem likely as in that time, a woman’s children were considered orphans if they did not have a father, not counting the status of the mother. Also, with her husband dead, it would put her own status in a very precarious situation. Theophano ( not to be confused with my character Theophana, the fictionalized bastard sister of Basil II), the empress Theophano was said to be very beautiful, but her lowborn status as the daughter of a common innkeeper made her unpopular.

She has less an alibi in the regicide of Nikephoros however. While Theophano was still considered a great beauty, Nikephoros was certainly not. The Bishop Liutprand described him thus:

“…a monstrosity of a man, a pygmy, fat-headed and like a mole as to the smallness of his eyes; disgusting with his short, broad, thick, and half hoary beard; disgraced by a neck an inch long; very bristly through the length and thickness of his hair; in color an Ethiopian; one whom it would not be pleasant to meet in the middle of the night; with extensive belly, lean of loin, very long of hip considering his short stature, small of shank, proportionate as to his heels and feet; clad in a garment costly but too old, and foul-smelling and faded through age; shod with Scythian shoes; bold of tongue, a fox by nature, in perjury, and lying a Ulysses.”

Nikephoros II Phokas, though admittedly nothing like Bishop Liutprand’s unflattering description

Their marriage was likely a business arrangement, with Nikephoros playing the role of the regent for the young emperors till they should come of age. Who can say what schemes Theophano may have played, or what favors she owed Nikephoros, or for that matter, any of the Phokades? In any case, the marriage was to be celibate as per their agreement. He busied himself on the battlefield and his wife busied herself in the bedroom… with his nephew John Tzmiskes.

On the night of the murder, Theophano left the imperial bedchamber unguarded and unbolted, ostensibly to visit the young Bulgarian princesses who were to be betrothed to her sons. In reality they were hostages, but in those days this was a fine line. The conspirators then came up the stairs and attacked Nikephoros where he lay on a leopard skin (he was a notorious ascetic) and proceeded to attack him. One of these men was Michael Bourtzes, with a personal grudge against Nikephoros. He would later betray Basil as well.

For all Theophano’s scheming, it came to naught. After the murder of her second husband, Tzmiskes completely abandoned her. The patriarch Polyeuktos refused to perform the coronation unless Tzmiskes removed “the scarlet empress.” Power comes before love in the world of Byzantine politics and Tzmiskes had her exiled to Prinkipio one of the Prince Islands in the Sea of Mamara. (The Prince Islands were so called because they were a favorite place to exile disgraced nobility.)

After Theophano’s exile, a play mocking the event took place in the streets of the city. The actress playing the part of Theophano would sing this raunchy little ditty:

The blacksmith strikes his anvil, and he strikes his neighbor’s too

For the matchmaker and the princeling are standing at the door.

Theophano wanted her pie and the beauty ate it.

He who wore the coronation robe now donned a leather hide,

And if wintry weather comes upon him, he will wear his fur coat too

For men with shriveled cock and hand-sized arseholes

parade the murdering adulteress on the saddle of a mule.

The matchmaker appears to be the chamberlain, the princeling, Tzmiskes and the “beauty” reportedly no beauty, but the middle-aged princess Theodora, who got to eat the “pie”, the wealth and power as Tzmiskes’ consort, a position Theophano had reserved for herself. The last two lines take a swipe at the purported sexual proclivities of the patriarch Polyeuktos and the imperial chamberlain Basil Lakapenos, both of whom were eunuchs.

Nothing is known of how this murder affected the young emperors Basil and Constantine. In my third book, the working title of which is The Bone Goddess, I imagine a conversation between the emperor Basil and one of his Varangian Guard, Ulf Svensson who has been set to guard his tent for the night. In this piece, I pull back the veil of how Basil may have viewed the event as the child he would have been when his stepfather was assassinated. I draw upon Leo the Deacon’s description of the assassination:

Ulf turned his face back to the wind, feeling it burn his skin raw. The normally taciturn emperor did not usually speak so much about himself. It made Ulf uncomfortable. He was not one to speak much about himself either. Basil was silent again. When he spoke, it was as if he had delved into some inner corner of himself and forgotten that Ulf was even standing there. “I was scarcely eleven summers old that night. It comes to mind because it was a night much like this one. My mother had gone from the imperial chambers to the gynaikonitis for the evening She had given word that she was going to visit the two Bulgarian princesses. They were more hostages than guests who were to be given in marriage to my brother and I.

“He laughed again. “Perhaps if those marriages had gone through as arranged, we should not be standing here in the snow talking to one another now.” Basil flashed Ulf half a smile at the irony. “My stepfather stayed in his chambers. The light from his candles showed under his door till late in the night. He had not been allowed me to ride with him on a hunt that day. I was angry. I felt I should be treated as a man. It was I who had been born to be emperor. I went to his door several times, to give voice to my indignation, yet turned away again. I remembered the night being so cold, that even under all the blankets, I could not get warm. The snow fell outside as is not often seen in Constantinople. After the vespers hour, I finally approached the door again. I heard my stepfather screaming. He was crying aloud for the protection of the Virgin Theotokos. I pushed open his door. The candles were not at his desk any longer. They had been moved by the bed. My stepfather lay on the floor on a panther skin. He was unrecognizable. His assassins ranged themselves around him. One had kicked in his jaw. He had no teeth. They had been knocked out with the hilt of a sword thrust in his mouth. One eye had been gouged out. They had kicked him numerous times in the groin. John Tzmiskes himself sat on the bed and watched as his accomplices kicked and pummeled my stepfather. I stood there in the door. I could not move. Finally one ran him through.

“I closed the door and tiptoed away. Later, as dawn broke through the winter clouds, they paraded his head in the streets. John was proclaimed emperor. He and his men had killed Nikephoros. But it was my mother who had let them in. Had he guards posted properly at the door, he would never had been murdered. He trusted my mother. I think in his own way he loved her. She did not receive such gracious treatment from the new emperor. He in turn, then betrayed her. As soon as he had been crowned, he had her exiled. She deserved little better. Nikephoros they buried and placed an inscription on his tomb. ‘You conquered all but a woman.’” Basil scoffed and drained the last of his wine, now cold.

Indeed, it may have been his own mother’s supposed licentiousness and her devious desire to gain power that turned Basil against marriage. We have no record of his marriage or of any progeny, unusual for a man who was expected to bring a male heir to the throne of such a powerful realm. Instead he left it up to his brother and (nominally) co-emperor Constantine, who produced only three daughters. Constantine himself, gave little heed to the running of the empire and had more interest in pursuits such as hunting, dancing, partying and a general lavish lifestyle. It was far easier to leave the dull work of war and ruling to big brother.

In the meantime, Basil ruled a golden age of the Eastern Roman Empire, throwing off the dark sordid cloak of his predecessors, unencumbered by marriage or women like his mother.

 

 

 

Emesa, Golden City on the Orontes

18th century original drawing of the castle of Hims by Cassas

Seen from a distance the Citadel was a sprawling hill, topped by domes and arches, sloping down to the city of Emesa and the desert that encircled it. The entrance was a high face of sand colored stone, flanked by towers and entered by a long narrow bridge that gave way to yet another imposing gate. Bab al-Souq rose up before them, the stone golden in the afternoon sun. Dusk was sifting down into the street, thickening the shadows.

I mention the city of Emesa, Syria in my book The Plague Casket, as a destination by Ulf and Sophia. Today it is known by the Arabic name of Homs, though there is reason to believe that the Byzantines would have continued to refer to it by its Greek name, even after the Muslim conquest and subsequent loss from Byzantine control. It is a city that is no stranger to strife and siege. Homs has long stood as a key center of trade and agriculture going back to at least the Christian era. It was the home of the Roman empress Julia Domna who was a daughter of an hereditary high priest to Elagabal . It had, at one time, a great temple dedicated to this sun god. Currently the Great Mosque of al-Nuri stands on this site. One of the priests of the sun god Elagbal, was the seriously delusional Roman emperor Elagabalus (born Varius Avitus Bassus, also the grand nephew of Julia Domna) named for the god whom he served.

Homs is also referred to with moderate frequency by Usamah ibn Munqidh in his memoirs as published under the title An Arab-Syrian Gentleman in the Period of the Crusades. This venerable Syrian gentleman gave his name to the Citadel there. The tell upon which it was built dates back to at least the Bronze Age. Its strategic position on the Orontes River made it coveted by whomever had military designs in Syria, including the Byzantines. The Hamidids took control in 944 and it was from them that Basil wrested control in 999.

As a city, Emesa may have been founded by the Seleucid kings, following the death of Alexander the Great. It was already a very old city by the time Ulf and Sophia enter its gates in The Plague Casket. It has been identified by some archaeologists as the biblical Zobah which would date it to at least 2100 BCE. The Romans tolerated the worship of the pagan Elagbalus which during the Christian era gave way to churches which were torn down or converted to mosques when the Arabs regained control over the city. The city’s mosques were returned to Christian use when the Byzantines raided Syria in general and Emesa/Homs in particular when Basil II made yet another sweeping foray into Syria in 999 CE. The Arab geographer, Muḥammad ibn Aḥmad Shams al-Dīn al-Maqdis wrote in 985 that Homs was the largest city in all of Syria, but that it had suffered great misfortunes, indicating it had already been the source of much conflict, including the Arab-Byzantine Wars.

Gates of Old Emesa Aemilius Wikimedia Commons

When Basil entered the city, he may have ridden through any number of her historic gates. They were Bab al-Souq (Gate of the Market), Bab Tadmur,  Bab al-Sebaa (Gate of the Lions),  Bab al-Dirayb, Bab al-Turkman,  Bab al-Masdoud (Closed Door) and  Bab Hud.

Many Arab tribes came to settle near Homs, among whom were the Banu Kilab who also receive mention in my book. A proud Bedouin people, the Banu Kilab tended to support the Fatimid regime, though in the late tenth century it was the Hamidids who tried to maintain control over the city. Often the Hamidid cities were vassals to the Byzantines and paid suzerainty to the Byzantine Emperors or their representatives as did Sa’id al-Dawla , emir of Beroea (now Aleppo). Throughout the early eleventh century it was the Banu Kilab who maintained control over Homs, as Basil concluded a ten year peace with the Fatimids so he could continue his Bulgarian wars.

Today the original city and its citadel lie in ruins outside the modern city of Homs, which has had its own insurrections to deal with. Before the Syrian Civil War it was a major center of industry for Syria. The area is home to many cultural and historical landmarks such as the Crusader castle Krak des Cheveliers and it is to be hoped it does not meet fate of so many icons of the area as did the Roman theater in Palmyra at the hands of ISIS insurgents. War has often been responsible for the destruction of things that give us a window into the past. Perhaps this wanton and tragic demolition can be halted, by those who care to preserve the past to better our understanding of the future.

Resources:

A Brief History of the Roman Empire

By Stephen P. Kershaw

Cities of the Middle East and North Africa: A Historical Encyclopedia

edited by Michael Dumper, Bruce E. Stanley

An Arab-Syrian Gentleman in the Period of the Crusades

by Usamah ibn Munqidh

 

Checkmate! Games and Gaming in Tenth Century Byzantium and Beyond

I have had to take a break from the blog because of family obligations. Now I am back with a series about games and entertainment.

In the second book of The Varangian Chronicles, the courtesan Cyra is rescued by an Antiochene court eunuch named Arpad after she has her tongue cut out. To alleviate the interminable boredom from which she suffers while hidden away in his quarters in the deepest part of the paláti (the palace in the center of Antioch) he brings her a game that he calls shantranj. She is both puzzled and delighted by this game.

From a Persian miniature depicting two shantranj players circa 1430

Over the past few days, Arpad had come and gone, each time bringing her things, usually flagons of broth. On the fifth day, he judged her mouth healed well enough that he brought her millet porridge, sweetened with honey and cardamom. She could only eat it in the tiniest spoonfuls, leaving her hungry and unsatisfied. With it, he had brought her an elegantly carved game. Each piece was made out of either ivory or ebony. The board was square and consisted of a pattern of dark and light wood blocks, arranged in an alternating pattern. She had seen one before. Once an official from Baghdad had brought such a marvel. He had called it shatranj al-muddawara. Arpad taught her how to play, moving the various pieces across the board. She was a lousy player and he won every time. She failed to see how a lowly pawn could prove the undoing of a king. Were not kings always more powerful than common soldiers? When had she gained anything from whispering simmering lust in the ear of a lowly spearman? It had been a marvelous distraction at first. She moved people across her board in a far different manner. Often Arpad’s duties kept him away all day and shantranj proved to be a welcome diversion when he returned.

Shatranj is a game from which our modern chess is derived. The rules and board have not changed drastically,though Arab manuscripts describe numerous variations and the roles and moves of the Queen and Bishop were different than they are today. Nancy Marie Brown in her book Ivory Vikings tells us that “The Arabic word for chess, shantranj, comes from the Persian chantrang, itself from the Sanskrit chanturanga. Chess seems to have arrived in Persia from India in the mid-500s. By 728 an Arabic poet wrote, ‘I keep you from your inheritance and from the holy crown so that, hindered by my arm, you remain a pawn among the pawns.’”

Nikephoros I, a ninth century Byzantine Emperor, sent word to the Abbasid Caliph, Hurun al-Rashid refusing to pay tribute according to a treaty agreed to by his predecessor Irene of Athens. He writes of Irene, that she must have “considered you as a rook and herself as a pawn.” This tells us that not only was shantranj very well known among the Byzantines at this time, but that the rules of the game had made its way into the vernacular.

 Some say that the game spread to Europe through the Islamic conquest of Spain, but there is a legend that Harun al-Rashid sent a set as a gift to Charlemagne. A set survives at the National Library of Paris that is Norman in origin. An incredibly valuable and beautiful version survives, though the collection is split between the National Museum of Scotland and the British Museum in London. They were found on the Scottish island of Lewis. Archaeologists think they were made in Trondheim, Norway. For more about the history behind these pieces, please read Nancy Maria Brown’s wonderful book, Ivory Vikings. However it got to Europe, it proved to be very popular and is now our most well known board game with chess champions the world over competing against one another.

Berserker from the Lewis Chessmen British Museum

The Arabs and the Byzantines in the East were not the only ones to have board games, nor are the chess pieces carved at Trondheim the only surviving example of gaming in Iron Age Scandinavia. Among the artifacts discovered on the Gokstad ship in Sweden was a taflborð with markings on it played like Nine Men’s Morris.

Dice have also played in almost every culture imaginable, though sometimes the knuckle bones of pigs were used. They were sometimes used for divination purposes, as even the runes are to this day.

Next time we will have a look at some of the more physical forms of games and entertainment that would have been enjoyed by the people in The Varangian Chronicles.

For further reading see:

Ivory Vikings by Nancy Marie Brown

A World of Chess; Its Development and Variations through Centuries and Civilization by Jean-Louis Cazaux, Rick Knowlton

Give me our thoughts below. I love hearing from you!

 

Cleanliness and Hygiene Among the Byzantines

Despite the Byzantine Orthodoxy that sought to minimize the Classical emphasis on grooming and beauty, citizens of the Eastern Roman Empire enjoyed primping. Certainly, the wealthy and noble women of the empire were concerned with their looks and Christianity cast no pall on the baths nor the sale of cosmetics and perfumes. Indeed, law in Constantinople decreed that the perfumers must set up their shops near the Great Palace so that the Emperor and his family might not have their olfactory senses assaulted by the common smells of the streets.

Furthermore, sweet-smelling scents was not merely the province of the elite. Because of the belief that health was made of a unique balance of humors, a sort of aromatherapy was engaged in which humors could be balanced by the smells of certain aromatic oils. Byzantine gardens, therefore, had areas set aside for aromatic flowers from which could be distilled some of the more fragrant oils.

Mirrors, tweezers and similar hygiene equipment would have been commonplace in a not only a Byzantine home, but a Varangian one as well. Numerous excavations have revealed hygiene implements from Viking-era graves including ear spoons, tweezers and dental cleaning tools.

To a certain degree my character Theophana is based on Basil II’s niece , the Empress Zoe, who was obsessed with beauty, even into her old age. In The Well of Urd, Theophana’s habits are described:

No longer young, she was still vain. She spent enough on costly unguents and cosmetics. She had royal jelly and saffron imported from Egypt at great expense to her husband. She also insisted on bathing once a month in wine, a habit he greatly detested. He did not know if it was the cosmetics or the way she had with those unearthly eyes, but men still managed to find her attractive and enthralling.

Michael Psellos wrote that Zoe turned her chambers into cosmetics laboratory in which she created cosmetics and ointments to preserve her beauty well into old age. Also in common with the fictional Theophana, Zoe was known for her numerous infidelities. Eventually, her husband, Romanos was drowned in his bath by assassins. Both historians John Skylitzes and Michael Psellos agree that Zoe was complicit in his death. Byzantine women did not use as heavy cosmetics as their earlier Roman counterparts. This was a good thing. A common cosmetic of Western Rome was white lead, used to make skin appear fashionably pale. It is also very toxic. For eye liner and darkening eye brows and lashes, kohl was very popular. Kohl was a dark-colored powder made of crushed antimony,(Stibnite. Unfortunately it is lead-derived and toxic) burnt almonds, lead, oxidized copper, ochre, ash, malachite and chrysocolla. Stibnite is initially gray, but turns black when it oxidizes. It was mixed into a fat base and applied with a rounded stick.

High born Byzantine women would keep their cosmetics in little jars called pyxides. These could be of pottery, glass or ivory, sometimes sumptuously carved as this example shows.

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Byzantine pyxis Walters Art Museum [Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons]
 

Resources:

Byzantine Empresses: Women and Power in Byzantium AD 527-1204 By Lynda Garland

Imperial Women in Byzantium 1025-1204: Power, Patronage and Ideology by Barbara Hill

 

Daily Life in the Byzantine Empire by Marcus Rautman

 

 

If a Coin Could Speak

I was given this coin as a thoughtful gift by a friend a few months ago.  The coin does not come from exactly the same era as The Serpentine Key, but it is very close. In fact, the emperor depicted on the front is Constantine VIII, younger brother to Basil II, who is the Emperor in The Serpentine Key. Constantine co-ruled only nominally with his older brother Basil II. While Basil decided to throw off the oppressive regime of their great uncle the eunuch Imperial Chamberlain, Basil Lekapenos and take a serious interest in the affairs of state, Constantine showed no such inclination. He and his wife the Empress Helene continued the party lifestyle. It was one that ill prepared Constantine for sole rulership when Basil died in 1025. With Constantine’s daughter, Zoe marrying Romanos III Aryros and producing no issue, it spelled the end of the Macedonian dynasty and all the work Basil II had gone to to ensure that the Byzantine Empire would remain financially stable.

This coin would not have been very valuable in its time. It is not a gold solidii. But it would have been much used. Perhaps it passed through the hands of soldiers, merchants and  Arab traders.  Did it buy a cup of wine? A loaf of bread? A night with a girl in a brothel? I can only imagine that if it could talk, what a lot of stories it could tell.

At the time of Basil II’s death, the Empire stretched in the north to nearly the entire circumference of the Black Sea (then the Euxine Sea) to Crete in the Mediterranean in the south. To the west it encompassed Croatia and the southern end of Italia; in the east it bordered Syria, still maintaining Antioch and bordering Armenia, Iberia and Mesopotamia. While not as vast as the earlier Western Roman Empire before the division, the empire Basil left was stable. Her borders were secure, her people well cared for, her finances in order. Then began a slow decline for the Empire, till the sack of Constantinople by the Ottomans in 1453.

This coin could have been carried to Baghdad by a Syrian pepper merchant like Ahmed al-Zayeeb.. Perhaps it was spent on a cup of wine by a Varangian Guardsman, like Sven. They were notorious drinkers and a nickname for them was the “Emperor’s wine skins”. Perhaps a coin much like this went for a length of blue wool, for a cloak for Ulfric as described in The Serpentine Key:

Freydis fingered some blue woolen cloth for sale at the cloth merchants. It would make a fine cloak for Ulfric. Winter would be soon closing in. While it was not as harsh as in the Northlands, he was in dire need of a new cloak. The fabric was fine. She ran her fingers over the coin in her hand, feeling the raised profiles of the two Emperors, wondering how much she could haggle the cloth merchant down.

From The Serpentine Key by G.S. Brown

If only my coin could tell its own story. In the meantime, I must be content to weave my own.

The Varangian Guard Part Two

It didn’t happen any too soon. Bardas Phokas, the chief of the rebels and a one time trusted general of Basils’ was closing in on the imperial city. Or rather, one of his next in command, Kalyokyros Delphinas, who took charge of storming Chrysopolis, a city across the Golden Horn from Constantinople. It took a quite a long time for negotiations to take place, but once they did, either in late 988 or early 999, numerous long ships could be seen on the horizon and with them six thousand Norsemen. They soundly defeated Delphinas’ men. Delphinas himself went on to meet a nasty death of impalement. The Varangians then went on to Abydos where they were again victorious, albeit helped out some by Bardas Phokas inexplicably keeling over on the battlefield. Stroke? Heart attack? Poison? We can’t be sure.
Of these six thousand men, Basil selected the best to be his personal guard. They were fierce fighters. Wherever Basil went, they went. Basil continued his campaign in Bulgaria, fighting on for around twenty more years before seeing victory. No doubt the Varangian Guard were there at the infamous Kleidion where who knows how many Bulgarians were blinded and sent home. In Syria, they are remembered for stripping the lead and copper from the Monastery of Constantine and setting fire to it.
They had the distinct honor of being able to go to the imperial vaults and being allowed to take away whatever they could carry when an emperor died. Their oath was to the emperor alone and not to the empire. They were also the best paid of the military. In fact, it was so hard to get into the Guard, yuu had to not only prove yourself, but pay the equivalent of three pounds of gold as an entry fee. Many guardsmen went home to Scandinavia, wealthy men. After England came under the control of William, Duke of Normandy, in 1066, many disgruntled and disenfranchised Englishmen left to become guardsman.
The result of the marriage of Anna to Vladimir? Eventually Russia. Her grand onion domes, Cyrillic alphabet, eastern orthodox religion and many customs, were all distinctively Byzantine. But her name Russia, is because of the Rus, the Norse traders who came down to what is now the Ukraine to do business.
Later, Harold Hadrada would make the Varangian Guard famous with his innovative battle tactics, before returning to Norway to be king. He died at Stamford Bridge in 1066, in a failed bid for the throne of Northumbria. before the Saxon king, also named Harold, marched down to Hastings to meet his own defeat at Hastings at he hands of the William, the bastard Duke of Normandy.
The Varangian Guard survived in some form or other until the fall of Constantinople to the Ottoman Turks in 1453. By this time they no longer had the same awe-inspiring reputation, nor were they a Scandinavian unit. However, the memory of them is still renowned, as one of the most fearsome foreign units in history.