I had a great starting idea once for a modern fantasy novel based on the Kings in the Mountain. It would be a little like Neil Gaiman's "American Gods." Y'see, the legend of the King in the Mountain spreads across Europe -- different countries have different versions of the hero. The name comes from the story of the Hohenstaufen Holy Roman Emperor Frederick Barbarossa. Barbarossa fought the Pope a lot in his lifetime, but did a lot to expand the Empire's power in Italy and eventually died on the way to the Third Crusade. He fell off his horse, which was standing in the middle of a river at the time. Frederick's heavy armor weighed him down in the water and he drowned. His army turned around and headed home, which makes for an interesting historical what-if: would Coeur de Lion have defeated Saladin if he'd had all those German troops at his disposal?
But the story goes that Frederick didn't really die -- he was taken back to Germany and interred in a mountain. Which mountain? No one knows. But he's there, and he's healing from his wounds, and he's waiting. Someday, when the ravens stop circling that mountain, he'll emerge and rule as Emperor again, and save Germany from its worst peril ever.
One might expect a more apologetic culture hero from Germans, who are themselves history's leading cause of death (Number Two is plague). But no matter. Barbarossa sits waiting in his mountain, and he's already waited so long that his beard has grown through the table he's sitting at. So goes the story.
There are actually a lot of versions of this story. Lots of countries have a great hero or king who never died, but is just sitting in the bullpen waiting to lead his country out of tragedy and into a Golden Age. Here are some examples.
King Arthur: I don't really need to tell you about King Arthur, do I? The Pendragon's probably the most famous of the Kings in the Mountain. He had a magic sword, he was King of all the Britons, he fought the Saxons at the Battle of Mount Badon, his wife was the most beautful woman in the world, and he was mortally injured fighting his bastard son at the Battle of Camlann. He was taken to the Isle of Avalon, where he recovers from his wounds. He's called "The Once and Future King" because someday he'll come back and rule England again.
Interestingly, Arthur, or at least a very tangible model for Arthur, very probably existed as a Romano-British king or warlord in the time between the Roman withdrawal from Britain and the Saxon conquest. Anyone interested in learning more should read the works of Geoffrey Ashe, who makes a pretty compelling case that a king named Riothamus (possibly a title or honorific) was the REAL Arthur, living around the appropriate time and known as a great warrior and builder or churches and monasteries.
Finn McCool: That's an awesome name, isn't it? I knew a guy in high school who everyone called Finn McCool. I have no idea why, since he wasn't Irish, wasn't a culture hero, and wasn't even cool. You know Baby Huey, that giant duck cartoon character? He looked kind of like that. But I digress.
McCool is almost certainly entirely legendary -- a prehistoric Irish warrior. At a young age, he was apprenticed to a druid, who, no doubt in a desire to have a smoke or grab a nap, sent McCool out to catch the "salmon of knowledge." This sounds pretty much like what it is -- a fish containing all the knowledge and wisdom in the world. Whoever caught it and ate it would become perfectly wise. McCool caught the fish and began to roast it for his master. While tending the fire, he burned his thumb and popped it in his mouth instinctively. I guess that the thumb had brushed the salmon, because McCool instantly became perfectly wise. One wonders why the entire damned fish needed to be eaten, or even roasted in the first place. Presumably, you could just catch the fish, lick it, then throw it back in to conserve wisdom for future generations.
There's a lot more to McCool -- fighting monsters and such. It all gets pretty Beowulf-y, though, so I'll spare you that. The most interesting part is the salmon. That and the legend that McCool will someday return to save Ireland from dire peril.
Charlemagne: Again, pretty much no need to go into a lot of detail about Charlemagne. First Holy Roman Emperor, son of Pippin, had a lot of daughters who he never let marry so they just had a lot of bastards, red wine stained his beard, Song of Roland, yadda yadda yadda. Probably deserves more attention at some later point, but for now suffice it to say that there's a legend that he will return to save France some day. Also, did you know his burial shroud was embroidered with elephants? He got an elephant as a gift from some Muslim Caliph, and he thought it was so awesome that he wanted to have the image of an elephant with him forever.
Actually, the Nine Worthies would all probably make good entries. Some of them, anyway.
The Golem of Prague: Yep. A clay statue can count as a King in the Mountain. Once upon a time, the Rabbi Judah Loew, head of the ghetto of Prague, built a clay giant to protect the local Jews from pogroms. He wrote the Hebrew word "life" on its forehead and the Golem came to life. Sort of like Frosty the Snowman, only Frosty presumably wasn't made with the intention of protecting the Jews of Prague (not that I'm aware, anyway. See The Collected Works of Burl Ives) Over time, the Golem got a little nuts and just started killing Gentiles for no good reason, so the rabbi was forced to remove its life essence (through a simple act of erasure -- turning the word "life" into the word "death").
The Golem was "dead" (as dead as an artificially animated statue without volition can be, anyway), but the rabbi rather sensibly decided not to destroy it. He stowed the Golem in an attic in the Jewish quarter and resolved that it would stay there until a time of direst need. At that time he would be reassembled and the word "life" reinscribed on its forehead.
Other examples include Merlin, St. Wenceslas, and even Montezuma the Aztec. Anyway, my story was that there was some colossal threat to all of Earth that simultaneously woke all the heroes up. They would need to work together across cultures and centuries to defeat the threat. Trouble was, I could never come up with an original interesting idea for what the threat would be. Oh well.
Monday, December 31, 2007
Part 1 -- The Founding of Rome and the Rape of the Sabine Women
Hi-ho. Mike here. As this is my first post on this blog (I used to have a really whiny blog filled with invective a couple of years ago), I'm just going to lay down the formula. The basic deal is that every day, or close to every day, I'm just going to tell a story supposedly from history that I think is interesting. The loose rule is that I'll try to progress naturally through time, starting early and going forward, but that changes on a when-I-feel-like-it basis. Anyway, to the story.
The story of Romulus and Remus isn't all that interesting. At least not their early life -- being suckled by the she-wolf, and all. It's just another in-the-bullrushes story. But the story of their later foundation of Rome, after they'd gotten revenge on their grandfather, is much better. Y'see, the twin brothers had killed their granddad, who had forced their mother, his daughter, to abandon them in the wilderness as infants. He'd heard a prophecy that the boys would grow up to kill him and eclipse his fame.
The boys grow up and kill him (this seemed to happen so often in these stories that you'd think one of these tyrant kings would get the picture and not try to fight fate). Naturally, they decided to follow up this vengeful murder by founding a city (wouldn't you?).
The boys were all set, but they needed to decide just where the city would be. Remus wanted to build on a wide, flat plain inward from the sea. Romulus preferred a hilly region around the Tiber River. The boys decided to let the gods choose the location. Each brother would go to the region he preferred and wait for an omen. Once they saw something nifty, they'd return to camp and whoever saw the most auspiscious thing would be favored.
So, one morning, the brothers left their camp at dawn and went to their sites. Around noon, Remus returned to find Romulus waiting for him. "What a wonderful omen I saw, brother!" cried Remus. "I hiked the many miles to my site, and no sooner had I arrived when I heard a mighty clap of thunder! Then, Jupiter himself sent twelve eagles following after his thunderbolt, and they all flew past me in one group! Eagles are solitary birds, as you know, and they are Jupiter's sacred animal! Surely the gods intend for our city to be built on my plain!"
Romulus listened to all this without getting up -- he was sprawled by the fire, gnawing on a chicken thigh. Wiping his hands on his tunic, he stood up and (with a little belch) addressed Remus. "That is truly a wondrous experience, Remus," he said, "but I'm afraid the gods prefer my hills. For no sooner had I arrived at my hills when I heard a clap of thunder, just as you did. And then I saw FIFTEEN eagles fly past! Jupiter Optimus Maximus has ordained that my hills are greater than your plains."
Remus was disappointed to hear this, of course, but he was a fair-minded chap and a pious one. So he smiled and clapped Romulus on the back and agreed that the city must be built on the seven hills beside the Tiber. Work on the city proceeded quickly. The first thing the brothers did was to build a holy site where the center of the city would be. They then planned outward and began to build outer walls -- the rest of the city would be filled in later.
One night, after building a section of wall, the brothers sat by their campfire and talked about their city. It would be the pride of all of Italy! The streets would be broad and beautiful! The temples would be grand and magnificent, honors to the gods! And the walls would be impregnable! "We surely were blessed," Romulus said, "that Jupiter granted me the vision of the twenty eagles! For this is the perfect place for our perfect city!" As he said this, he took a bite out of the chicken leg he was holding (Romulus preferred the dark meat).
Remus' eyes narrowed as he heard this. "HOW MANY eagles did you say? How many did you see?" Romulus stopped in mid-mouthful and turned pale. "Er...twenty. Yes, it was twenty eagles that I saw. Don't you remember what I told you before?" Now Remus flew into a rage. "You didn't see twenty eagles! Why, I bet you never saw ANY omen! You are a liar, and you have doomed our city with your blasphemy!"
Remus ran out to the section of wall they had built that day and crouched into a runner's stance nearby, shaking with rage. "Here is what I think of your city and this stupid wall!" And with that, he sprinted toward the wall and hurdled it in one jump (How high a wall can you really build in one day?). When Romulus saw his brother disrespecting his walls and their aforementioned impregnability, he grabbed his spear and hurled it right into Remus' chest. Romulus was now the sole founder of the city, which, by default, would not be called "Rem."
Having dispensed with patri- and fratricide, Romulus was now free to do what he wanted. On his own, he finished the walls and the city was finished. Now all he needed was some citizens. He put the word out in the surrounding countryside (putting up flyers, perhaps?) that anyone who came to Rome and stood in the holy place at the center of the city would receive a full amnesty of all crimes ever committed.
That did the trick, of course. Every brigand, ne'er-do-well, highwayman, cutpurse, and footpad in a fifty-mile radius hurried to Rome to claim his amnesty. They stood in the holy place, took an oath of allegiance to Romulus and the city, and began to build homes within the walls. The only problem was that Romulus' tactic produced a lot of men, but no women. There weren't a lot of career criminal women in the surrounding area. Sneak-thievery and mountebankism didn't leave a lot of room for starting a family, it seemed. Nor was any respectable woman likely to emigrate to a city full of reformed pirates. If the city was to have any future, Romulus needed a crop of little Romans, and that wasn't going to happen in a city full of dudes.
After thinking it over, Romulus formulated a cunning plan. He sent an invitation to the King of the Sabines, a nearby tribe. "You are invited to a Dead Brother/New City Party," it read. "Athletic competition and picnic cotillion on the Capitoline Hill. King Romulus will make his famous cole slaw. Dress casual, BYOB. Bring your women along." The Sabine King (whose name I forget...let us call him Hank) thought this sounded like a perfectly ducky idea for a party. He bought a new running tunic, made some Yankee bean soup, and brought all the men, women, and children to Rome for the picnic/track meet.
"King Hank!" shouted Romulus, walking out to meet him with open arms. "Glad to see you made it! And I see you brought all your wives and daughters, too! That's cool, man! Hey, there's something I wanted to ask you before we start the races." He put his arm around Hank's shoulder and began to walk him toward the cook-tents. "You know, now that we're neighbors, I think it's really important that we try to cultivate an atmosphere of trust and open-mindedne-HOLY CRAP! LOOK OVER THERE!"
Every Sabine man looked in the direction of Romulus's outstretched finger, and every Roman sprang into action, knowing this was the pre-planned signal. "Each man to a woman!" shouted Romulus. "Man your women!" Every Roman dashed into the crowd of Sabines, grabbed a chick, slung her over his shoulder, and began to run like hell for home. This was so singularly bizarre that it took a second to sink in for King Hank.
"Hey!" he shouted, "They just stole all our women! Sabine men, this insult will NOT stand! Let us return home, arm for battle, and beat the retsina out of these punks!" All the Sabine men agreed, and they tramped off home to prepare for battle.
When they returned to Rome, though, they found that their wives and daughters had already given birth to a new crop of Romans. There is no mention in history of why the hell it took them nine months to get home, suit up, and come back to fight. Maybe there were tax reasons. Suffice it to say that on seeing their new Roman relations, they could hardly widow their former wives and daughters and leave them to raise children without fathers. King Hank agreed that all the Sabine people would be absorbed into the Romans. The rakehells and hoydens who had accepted Romulus's amnesty were now the heads of what would become the most ancient families in Rome. AND, a new custom was born.
Y'see, when a Roman bride and groom entered their first home, the man carried the woman over the threshold into her new house. This was done to remember the first Romans who had stolen their wives and carried them kicking and screaming into their houses. It is a custom that continues today. Cool, huh?
The story of Romulus and Remus isn't all that interesting. At least not their early life -- being suckled by the she-wolf, and all. It's just another in-the-bullrushes story. But the story of their later foundation of Rome, after they'd gotten revenge on their grandfather, is much better. Y'see, the twin brothers had killed their granddad, who had forced their mother, his daughter, to abandon them in the wilderness as infants. He'd heard a prophecy that the boys would grow up to kill him and eclipse his fame.
The boys grow up and kill him (this seemed to happen so often in these stories that you'd think one of these tyrant kings would get the picture and not try to fight fate). Naturally, they decided to follow up this vengeful murder by founding a city (wouldn't you?).
The boys were all set, but they needed to decide just where the city would be. Remus wanted to build on a wide, flat plain inward from the sea. Romulus preferred a hilly region around the Tiber River. The boys decided to let the gods choose the location. Each brother would go to the region he preferred and wait for an omen. Once they saw something nifty, they'd return to camp and whoever saw the most auspiscious thing would be favored.
So, one morning, the brothers left their camp at dawn and went to their sites. Around noon, Remus returned to find Romulus waiting for him. "What a wonderful omen I saw, brother!" cried Remus. "I hiked the many miles to my site, and no sooner had I arrived when I heard a mighty clap of thunder! Then, Jupiter himself sent twelve eagles following after his thunderbolt, and they all flew past me in one group! Eagles are solitary birds, as you know, and they are Jupiter's sacred animal! Surely the gods intend for our city to be built on my plain!"
Romulus listened to all this without getting up -- he was sprawled by the fire, gnawing on a chicken thigh. Wiping his hands on his tunic, he stood up and (with a little belch) addressed Remus. "That is truly a wondrous experience, Remus," he said, "but I'm afraid the gods prefer my hills. For no sooner had I arrived at my hills when I heard a clap of thunder, just as you did. And then I saw FIFTEEN eagles fly past! Jupiter Optimus Maximus has ordained that my hills are greater than your plains."
Remus was disappointed to hear this, of course, but he was a fair-minded chap and a pious one. So he smiled and clapped Romulus on the back and agreed that the city must be built on the seven hills beside the Tiber. Work on the city proceeded quickly. The first thing the brothers did was to build a holy site where the center of the city would be. They then planned outward and began to build outer walls -- the rest of the city would be filled in later.
One night, after building a section of wall, the brothers sat by their campfire and talked about their city. It would be the pride of all of Italy! The streets would be broad and beautiful! The temples would be grand and magnificent, honors to the gods! And the walls would be impregnable! "We surely were blessed," Romulus said, "that Jupiter granted me the vision of the twenty eagles! For this is the perfect place for our perfect city!" As he said this, he took a bite out of the chicken leg he was holding (Romulus preferred the dark meat).
Remus' eyes narrowed as he heard this. "HOW MANY eagles did you say? How many did you see?" Romulus stopped in mid-mouthful and turned pale. "Er...twenty. Yes, it was twenty eagles that I saw. Don't you remember what I told you before?" Now Remus flew into a rage. "You didn't see twenty eagles! Why, I bet you never saw ANY omen! You are a liar, and you have doomed our city with your blasphemy!"
Remus ran out to the section of wall they had built that day and crouched into a runner's stance nearby, shaking with rage. "Here is what I think of your city and this stupid wall!" And with that, he sprinted toward the wall and hurdled it in one jump (How high a wall can you really build in one day?). When Romulus saw his brother disrespecting his walls and their aforementioned impregnability, he grabbed his spear and hurled it right into Remus' chest. Romulus was now the sole founder of the city, which, by default, would not be called "Rem."
Having dispensed with patri- and fratricide, Romulus was now free to do what he wanted. On his own, he finished the walls and the city was finished. Now all he needed was some citizens. He put the word out in the surrounding countryside (putting up flyers, perhaps?) that anyone who came to Rome and stood in the holy place at the center of the city would receive a full amnesty of all crimes ever committed.
That did the trick, of course. Every brigand, ne'er-do-well, highwayman, cutpurse, and footpad in a fifty-mile radius hurried to Rome to claim his amnesty. They stood in the holy place, took an oath of allegiance to Romulus and the city, and began to build homes within the walls. The only problem was that Romulus' tactic produced a lot of men, but no women. There weren't a lot of career criminal women in the surrounding area. Sneak-thievery and mountebankism didn't leave a lot of room for starting a family, it seemed. Nor was any respectable woman likely to emigrate to a city full of reformed pirates. If the city was to have any future, Romulus needed a crop of little Romans, and that wasn't going to happen in a city full of dudes.
After thinking it over, Romulus formulated a cunning plan. He sent an invitation to the King of the Sabines, a nearby tribe. "You are invited to a Dead Brother/New City Party," it read. "Athletic competition and picnic cotillion on the Capitoline Hill. King Romulus will make his famous cole slaw. Dress casual, BYOB. Bring your women along." The Sabine King (whose name I forget...let us call him Hank) thought this sounded like a perfectly ducky idea for a party. He bought a new running tunic, made some Yankee bean soup, and brought all the men, women, and children to Rome for the picnic/track meet.
"King Hank!" shouted Romulus, walking out to meet him with open arms. "Glad to see you made it! And I see you brought all your wives and daughters, too! That's cool, man! Hey, there's something I wanted to ask you before we start the races." He put his arm around Hank's shoulder and began to walk him toward the cook-tents. "You know, now that we're neighbors, I think it's really important that we try to cultivate an atmosphere of trust and open-mindedne-HOLY CRAP! LOOK OVER THERE!"
Every Sabine man looked in the direction of Romulus's outstretched finger, and every Roman sprang into action, knowing this was the pre-planned signal. "Each man to a woman!" shouted Romulus. "Man your women!" Every Roman dashed into the crowd of Sabines, grabbed a chick, slung her over his shoulder, and began to run like hell for home. This was so singularly bizarre that it took a second to sink in for King Hank.
"Hey!" he shouted, "They just stole all our women! Sabine men, this insult will NOT stand! Let us return home, arm for battle, and beat the retsina out of these punks!" All the Sabine men agreed, and they tramped off home to prepare for battle.
When they returned to Rome, though, they found that their wives and daughters had already given birth to a new crop of Romans. There is no mention in history of why the hell it took them nine months to get home, suit up, and come back to fight. Maybe there were tax reasons. Suffice it to say that on seeing their new Roman relations, they could hardly widow their former wives and daughters and leave them to raise children without fathers. King Hank agreed that all the Sabine people would be absorbed into the Romans. The rakehells and hoydens who had accepted Romulus's amnesty were now the heads of what would become the most ancient families in Rome. AND, a new custom was born.
Y'see, when a Roman bride and groom entered their first home, the man carried the woman over the threshold into her new house. This was done to remember the first Romans who had stolen their wives and carried them kicking and screaming into their houses. It is a custom that continues today. Cool, huh?
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