aggienaut | Entries tagged with ancient history

1425 AD, Constantinople -- Two young men walk along a dirt path bounded on both sides by golden grain fields. A light rain mists around them, filling the air with the fragrant smell of fresh dirt. To their right, over the city walls the Sea of Marmara disappears into the mist. Graitzas Palaiologos, has recently arrived from the provinces for an appointment in the bureaucracy - a position with the title of primicerius, in charge of a unit of palace guards.
   "I'm just baffled by all this intrigue, Constantine, it's hard to keep track of who's plotting against who around here"
   Constantine Palaiologos, the eighth of ten children of the previous Emperor, and younger brother of the current, nods understandingly. Graitzas had been extremely fortunate to quickly become friends with Constantine. Constantine is universally respected, trusted by his brother the Emperor, and without guile.
   "I'm just so unaccustomed to the whole culture of the palace, I don't want people to think I'm just some country bumpkin who has floated in merely on account of being related to the royal family"
   "Nonsense, by not being utterly incompetent and corrupt you're already overqualified for your position. Without attaining those qualities just imitate the general behaviours of the other officials and they should love you." says Constantine with a smile.
   They trudge on towards the crumbling palaces, their spires and rusty green verdigris encrusted domes rising out of the mist above a huddle of ramshackle houses.
   "Oh your younger brother Demetrios said he wants to meet with me" notes Graitzas cautiously.
   "Ugh. Well don't imitate him. He's offered positions and refuses them, insisting he deserves something better, and he's always up to something"
   "Yeah, well.. he told me not to even tell anyone, which is why I'm telling you, because I know you won't tell anyone else if it is nothing, but if there's something afoot I'd want you to know."
   "Thank you Graitze. It's best to avoid getting involved in intrigues, but avoiding them often requires being aware of them!"
   The squad of blonde bearded Varangian guards leaning on their axes at the edge of the remaining decaying city bow civilly as they walked by and then resume an animated discussion in their viking language.

   Graitzas crosses the wet cobblestone square in front of the Hagia Sophia basilica. An owl hoots in a vacant upper window of the imperial palace to his left. A crescent moon is just beginning to rise over the rooftops to the East. Graitzas comes to a small door in a wall, looks about but sees no one watching, and descends the stone steps into the ground, to the enormous cavern of the basilica cistern. His small oil lamp only illuminates a small area of the thick humid blackness. It seems to stretch out to infinity, but exploration is only possible along the ledge around the outside of the deep pool that the forest of thick columns disappear into.
   Graitzas steps up to the ledge to peer into the water. His reflection stares back up at him from the black cold immutable water. Several large ripples shake his reflection.
   Wait, ripples? Graitzas looks up quickly to see what might have caused the ripples, and sees a wet muscular young man in the edge of his light, caught in the pose of one making great effort to walk without sound. In his hand the light gleams off a long curved knife. They stare at eachother in silence for just a second and then the assassin runs at Graitzas.
   Graitzas may be new to court politics, and it's probably a good thing Constantine had advised him to always have a dagger on him, but, having served in the army prior to being posted to Constantinople, more familiar instincts now kicked in. In a fluid movement he rolls to the side and withdraws his own weapon from his boot. Leaving the lamp on the stone floor he lunges up at the assassin while the latter is off balance by the edge, but he recovers in time and dodges back. Now on equal footing they take turns lunging and dodging eachother's deadly blades. Graitzas may be a seasoned military officer but the assassin is very good, has a longer knife and is between him and the exit.
   Swipe, dodge, swipe! Graitzas can't keep this up forever and the assassin looks to be in obscenely good shape and isn't encumbered with the robes and boots Graitzas is. In between lightning fast moves Graitzas analysis the situation for an advantage. ...Maybe he can use the assassin's lack of protective clothing to his advantage.
   Graitzas allows himself to be pushed back a few steps toward where he had initially rolled, and distracting the assassin with a desperate flurry of daggerwork he "accidentally" kicks over the lamp towards the assassin.
   The assassin takes the bait and lunges at an opening left to him as Graitze's back is against the wall. The spillt oil ignites around the assassins legs and bare feet, causing him to fumble in alarm. Seizing the initiative Graitzas plants a boot-clad foot squarely in the fire and forces the assassin back against the ledge. Quickly following through with a deadly strike deep into his chest, Graitzas sends the assassin reeling backwards into the water with a look of terror on his face.
   Graitzas quickly steps out of the fire and watches the water for a moment as the ripples subside back to stoic inscrutable void.

   Half an hour later in the anteroom to Constantine's chambers, Constantine leans back on a couch with his feet up on an ottoman. Graitzas, still out of breath leans forward in the arm chair,
   "He tried to kill me!!"
   "Well," says Constantine with a bemused smile, "you know people are taking you seriously then"
   Graitze looks unsatisfied.
   "If they think they need to kill you, that's the sincerest form of flattery" says Constantine with a wink.

The cistern as it would look illuminated 585 years later

   28 years later Constantinople would fall to the Ottomans in 1453, after a valiant defense by Constantine XI, leaving only a small area of Greece (Morea) remaining of the once mighty Byzantine Empire. Morea would be ruled by Demetrios and his younger brother Thomas... until in 1460 Demetrios invites the Ottomans in to depose his brother and set him up as sole ruler. The Ottomans quickly overrun the province, but the Sultan declares Demetrios is "not man enough to rule any country" and exiles him to someplace unpronounceable.
   For about a year after the Ottoman invasion of Morea a single castle held out, commanded by one Graitzas Palaiologos. Eventually the Ottomans simply became tired of besieging the castle and left. Graitzas and his men found their country had been annihilated, they were the last undefeated crumb of the Byzantine Empire. Graitzas then took a job with the armed forces of Venice.
   Demetrios' brother Thomas fled to the city of Rome where he lived out his days as the last official Byzantine Emperor (never having ruled in Constantinople though). And so it is that the last emperor of Byzantium, the successor state of the Roman Empire, eventually dies in Rome itself.

Historical Note

Current Music: The Wolfe Tones - Rock on Rockall

   193,000 BC, Africa – From above, under the thick clouds and through the heavy rain, it is hard to distinguish anything on the rolling hills below. The frequent flashes of lightning, however, bring out a rugged landscape of trees and shrubs and rock outcroppings in sharp relief for several seconds before disappearing into the murk again.

   In the back of a cave below, Prome huddles under a pile of furs and skins with the other seven members of his family. In the middle of their cave a pile of branches, sticks and tinder sits distinctly not on fire. The piece of charcoal that is meant to be kept constantly smoldering to start fires with had gone out some time ago, leaving them with no fire. No heat, cooking, or light, and this storm had been raging for days now.

   A blinding flash fills the cavern as lightning strikes particularly close, followed immediately by the reverberating KRAKOWWWWww of thunder. Branches explode off a short tree or bush on a nearby hilltop in a shower of sparks. Slowly, snakes of flame creep up the tree and dance into the sky. An orange glow spills out into the formerly monochromatic landscape around the burning bush.
   Prome and his father Iape both jump up to get a better look at the fire. It's probably only half a mile away but it's over dark, wet, rugged landscape. Still though, they really need that fire. Prome, middle aged at 22, says to Iape "you stay here, I'm going to go get fire."
   Prome wraps a fur cloak around himself tightly and clasping his trusty spear he hurries outside.

   Prome is at once buffeted by the wet gusting wind. He steps carefully amid the slippery limestone scree on the hillside and makes his way down the dark slope. Slowly he makes is way down among the boulders and dripping shrubbery. He keeps a vigilant eye out for dangerous animals but he doesn’t discern anything in the gloom other than trees and bushes waving wildly in the wind.
   A normally placid stream between the two hills has grown to a raging torrent. Prome eyes it with concern. He looks up to the hilltop, where an orange glow can still be seen. His family urgently needs the fire, there can be no turning back now! Hopefully the fire on the hilltop won’t be out by the time he can get there.
   Finding the narrowest spot, Prome takes a running jump off a rock and lands with a squelch in the loam amid the tall grass on the other side of the stream. He hopes he’ll be able to make that same jump on the return while holding his spear AND a burning branch.
   He begins the ascent. Lightning momentarily illuminates the left half of everything in front of him.

   At last Prome arrives before the burning bush. Several baboons that had been huddled around it for warmth scatter with startled hoots. Prome basks in the blessedly hot glow, such a wonderful feeling after being so cold and wet for so long.
   He only allows himself a moment of basking, however, glancing back anxiously at the opposite slope where his cold family is waiting. Furthermore he feels a bit exposed up here on the hilltop. The fire, burning like a beacon, is liable to attract the attention of any living thing in the vicinity. He finds a good sized branch that is only burning on one half, retrieves it from the conflagration, and, mentally bracing himself for the cold, turns his back to the warm glow and steals away into the night.

   He wouldn't make it home with the burning branch, however.

   Indeed, seen from above, the fire on the mountain is a singular landmark among the otherwise inscrutable dark undulating hills. Expertly surfing the violent buffets of the wind on its 20 foot wingspan, an enormous eagle, a teratorn, comes to investigate the fire. Even with the excellent vision of an eagle there’s not much to see in the darkness anywhere else anyway, and an eagle’s got to eat.
   Something else catches the eagle’s eye however. Moving down the slope from the fire there seems to be a smaller piece of fire bobbing around in a most unnatural manner. The eagle cocks its head to better examine this strange happening. Piercing through the rain and darkness the eagle is able to discern after a moment that it appears to be one of those smart relatively hairless apes carrying a burning branch. Not as much meat on their bones as some other things, but no tough hairy hide either. The teratorn commences several banking turns to put itself in position to dive upon its prey.

   Prome notices a disturbing sound above him in the nick of time, glances up just in time to dive out of the way as a huge bird of prey plants its dagger-line talons in the ground where he’d just been standing. Letting out an angry screech the monster bird knocks him over and tries to rip out his liver with its horrible hooked beak.
   Prome instinctively bashes it in the head with the burning branch, causing it to pull back with an outraged squawk. He continues the initiative with a lunge with his spear but the eagle knocks the pole out of his hand with a giant wing. The eagle attacks again and Prome again bashes it with all his strength with the flaming branch. As he does so he loses his footing and slips down the wet grass of the hillside. He goes careening through bushes and off rocks, holding desperately onto the burning branch.

   Prome lies dazed for a moment in the damp aromatic thicket of fennel he’s finally come to a rest in. Despite the wild ride he doesn’t seem to have any major injuries, nothing broken. The branch is barely burning any more but it should be enough if he can hurry it back to the cave. Prome tenses for another attack from the eagle.

   Large green spots. Blinking and shaking its head, that’s all the eagle can see. Those humans, they aren’t particularly dangerous foes usually, but they can pull some strange tricks, and being wacked in the head a few times with fire does a number to your night vision. Looks like hunting time is over for now, best get back to the safety of the heavens. With a few heavy flaps of its great wings the teratorn takes to the air.

   Prome wearily approaches the rocky scree near his cave. Almost home!
   A rock underfoot skids across the one below it in a shower of sparks, sending the exhausted torch bearer tumbling backwards again.
   He lands with a splash into a large puddle and the branch disappears underwater with a sizzle. He yanks it out and, slowly getting to his feet, he looks at it with extreme concern. It is totally out. He looks at his nearby cave and back at the faraway hilltop where the fire on the tree is starting to subside itself, incredulous at this disastrous luck.

   After a few moments, Prome thoughtfully approaches the two rocks which had made sparks against each other.

An afterthought - ~~Also I'm taking one of my official "byes" in LJ Idol this week, meaning I won't be up for elimination in the poll.~~ Okay I've been persuaded to stay in.

Historical Notes

180,000 years later

Current Music: Johnny Cash - Ring of Fire

   Everyone has heard of King Arthur, but very few people really have a conception of where he fits into history. Most people probably have a vague picture of a rennaissance knight on the throne of England between Ophie I Forkbeard and Henry XVIJ in the fifteenth century. Well I am here to give you the suprisingly accurate real picture of how King Arthur fits into history (largely because I'm writing a paper on it at the moment).

   The legend as it is largely known today came about during 30 in 30 of the year 1485. At that time a blogger by the name of Thomas Malory wrote an entry titled Le Morte D'Arthur, about the life of Arthur. Due to the recent paid account feature of the printing press, this entry received many more comments than any previous version.
   As mentioned, in this version Arthur was very much as one knows him today: he had a magic Round Friends-List in which no one was ever on top; and the magic sword Excalibur, which had free text-messeging, 5,000 anytime minutes with monthly rollover, & got him into certain casinos for free. This entry, however, had been composed from others on Malory's friends-list, such as Geoffrey of Monmouth (The Historia Regum Britanniae, 1136 AD), Nennius (Historia Britonum, 820 AD), and Gildas (De Excidio Britanniae, 541 AD), and some others, some of whom are now lost to us because their entries were friends-only. Of particular note, Geoffrey of Monmouth's Historia, which elaborated the story extensively and was built upon by later versions, has been hailed by many scholars as "a deliberate spoof" (!!). In fact, Geoffrey of Monmouth was such a saucy prankster he was made a bishop of a place he never visited (even after becoming bishop) -- truly he was a megablogger of our own heart.

   As to the actual historicity of Arthur, some people regard him as just an early Chuck Norris sockpuppet, but all the early accounts ascribe him to a very specific time and place, where there happens to be a big gap in the historical record.
   As you should know, Rome controlled most of Britain from 43 AD until 407 AD. At the end of that time Rome had been in England for 364 years -- to put that in perspective, try to think about 364 years ago today - 1642 - that was a long-ass time ago. So basically England had been Roman for as long as anyone could remember. In 407, however, things were falling apart, and the leader of the Romans in England declared himself the Roman Emperor Constantine III and headed off to Rome with every soldier he could take with him. He proceeded to get his butt kicked but the point is he took the Roman forces out of Britain and left a power vacuum there.

   There then appears to be a largely historical leader in Britain known as Vortigern, whose most notable action is that he invited the Saxons to hang out on the beaches in England (in 428), but they then got belligerent and turned on him and the locals. This and suspicion that he was a hipster caused many to lose faith in Vortigern's leadership and defriend him. One Aurelius Ambrosius rises up instead as leader of the British. Ambrosius (whose name means "Golden Snacks" -- Seriously, you can't make this shit up!) is regarded by scholars as also probably historical, but we're delving deeper into the mythological realm here as well. Ambrosius is the immediate predecessor to Uther Pendragon. Uther Pendragon as you should know, is by all accounts Arthur's father, and is largely legendary / barely more historical than Arthur (if not less).
   Finally, we have Arthur himself, circa 496-537. To give further context, Attila conducted his raging edit-wars across Europe 437-453; and in around 600 the epic saga of how Blogowolf defeated a freakish outcast who lived with his mother named ~~otimus~~ Grendel takes place.
   Following Arthur we have another historical character, Constantine III (2) (Basically the previously mentioned Const. 3.0 was III to the Romans but II to the British, since the Roman Constantine II only posted memes and therefore wasn't very memorable to the British).
   And so I say, yes there are some wild claims about Arthur, but all claims put him at a specific time and place not occupied by anyone else, which is led up to by historic figures and followed by historic figures, so why dispute that there was in fact a dude named Arthur blogging at this time? It's Okham's Razor I believe that states that the simplest explanation is the most likely.

General News
   Intrepid bloggists, be not dissuaded by the negativity of otimus. He is but an ogre sent by the blogging god Blogdor to test our grace & courage.
   Day Five Pick: pavel_lishin, for being drunk at a wedding in Arkansa, and utilizing technique & craft to attach vodka to himself with an ipod strap. Entry could maybe have used a +3 spell of lj-cut though.

Historia Blogospherum
   Three Years Ago Today: The Law of Inevitable Discovery - So I'm wearing my Pedro the Lion shirt when this girl behind me in line at a pizza place tells me I shouldn't be wearing it because Pedro star Dave Bazan is christian & I'm agnostic (and the girl in line is christian). The story gets more interesting when I complain about it in this livejournal entry and friends of the girl actually find the entry and argue with me! Also, my friend Kristy sets me up with her friend Sashie.
30 in 30 I (2004):
   Day 4: By day four the differences between those with blogstamina and those without was becoming apparent. This day brought the first failures to post, neither mrkevincostner nor oystercracker posted this day, though they picked up again the following day. shekb managed to succeed where jdryznar & incomple were consistently failing, by making a funny entry about Bush & Cheney; lerani posted about the Garfield movie and how it tries to portray itself as edgy; stephenl posts an ode to a jelly doughnut; and apoplecticfittz hits blogging gold with The Ten Blogging Commandments (Blogmandments?).
   Day 5: apoplecticfittz composes horoscopes; stephenl realizes that even if he posts the most boring entry he can, he'll still get 31 comments, and lerani hates him for it, but actually writes a nice little entry about her drunken loathred for the whole undertaking. feuders goes off the deepend. shekb effectively summarizes the fate of the bloggist in a post about how despite all his other failures and shortcomings, at least one of his entries comes up number six on a google search.

Current Location: My Apartment
Current Music: Plain White T's - My Only One

http://www.geocities.com/winged_snail/paper/HIS111B-01b.doc

Discussion of the rise of the so-called First Athenian Empire. Notably short of the conclusions. It only needs about 200 more words to completed though. Due today at five. In particular if someone wants to help me bibliography those footnotes that would be the awesomeness (things listed merely as Larsen belong to the entry that is the last one in the currently existant bibliography, I didn't know I'd be using more than one Larsen source at the time I was footnoting those).

I'm going to take a nap and study for my 1:30 final now so I'll be on a little break from the paper. Feedback is greatly appreciated.

   Today was Cinco de Mayo. Or so I'm told. I'll show YOU mayo in the sink! I spent this day here in my lair, with one adventure to campus for the MUN and Court meeting. I have THREE midterms tomorrow.
   In MUN we allegedly had a run-off for USG of PR so we had to vote again for that position.. but there were MORE candidates this time than there were initially?! MUN is crazy. I want to find the MUN constitution.

History Lesson of the Day brought to you by Wikipedia.com!
   "Edmund [King of England] was murdered in 946 by Leofa, an exiled thief. He had been having a party in Pucklechurch, when he spotted Leofa in the crowd. After the outlaw refused to leave, the king and his advisors fought Leofa. Edmund and Leofa were both killed. He was succeeded as king by his brother Edred, king from 946 until 955."

   Maybe I'm weird but I am amused by the idea that there once was a time when the ruler of England could get killed trying to break up a party. And that it took place in a location called Pucklechurch just makes it that much funnier.

Current Mood: busy
Current Music: Placebo - The Bitter End

   Spent 11 hours on campus today. Remarkably survived my HIS138A midterm but I have two midterms on Thursday, in HIS138C and ECN162. VEN3 was cancelled today, or more specifically the field trip to the vineyard was cancelled due to transportation problems, so I went to HIS130A (Medieval Warfare) instead.
   After class I went with Kristy to see Goodfellas, which her Italien-American Cinema class was showing. Altogether I was on campus for about 11 hours.

   This evening I randomly perused the wikipedia some more, and came across the following choice quote regarding the Battle of Hastings in 1066:
   Legend has it that William's minstrel Taillefer, who had accompanied the army across the English Channel, begged his master for permission to strike the first blow of the battle. Permission was granted, and Taillefer rode forward alone in a showy display to the English lines where he was promptly pulled from his horse and killed.
   What a noob.

Related
   Year Ago Today: Names in the Legend of Boot

I just drank half a bottle of jolt and I'm still mad tired, what is this??

Current Mood: exanimate
Current Music: Cockney Rejects - Oi Oi Oi

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The Agrinautica

Tales of a Beekeeper Errant

Entries tagged with ancient history

The Sincerest Form of Flattery

LJ Idol - Afterthought - Making Fire

30 in 30 - 5 - Le Blog D'Arthur

Ancient Greek Paper

An Exciting Cinco de Mayo

Eleven Hours on Campus