GUESS WHAT I AM BACK.

Gather quickly, gentle readers, for I bear exciting news. I am dusting off this old, barely used thing and giving it some shiny new... some shiny new... feathers? Is that a phrase? Shit, I do not understand how this whole colloquialism thing works. Some things will never change.

The point is that I'm back, and the blog is slightly different. I'm still medievalist-in-training, never fear, but now I'm going to be writing about my undergraduate staggerings through academia as I meander my way towards graduate school, in addition to the old timey medieval stories (remember those days?) and whatever the hell I feel like.

But I must admit, the real reason that this blog is being revived is that my muse, The Rejectionist, has called.
One of the things that The Rejectionist does is hold occasional "uncontests." An uncontest is sort of like a contest, but with a clever prefix that lulls us into a false sense of non-competition. Or maybe it's just a warning that we're not being judged by any consistent standard, and that Lola Pants gets to have some input.

This month's uncontest is particularly convenient for my current needs. Le R proposes that, to practice for the coming year, we should have a trial run of our resolutions. They can be practice resolutions, warm-up resolutions, whatever kinds of commitments we wish to make, with the notable exception of losing weight, since we are all beautiful or some non-sense like that.

Acquaintances will note that, whenever I notice a particularly undesirable personal habit, I immediately institute Emergency Lent. Emergency Lent is just like normal Lent, except for the fact that it has no religious connotations and occurs whenever I want it to. Lents frequently revolve around food, though not in a weight-lossy way. More in a "you have had tuna sandwiches for every meal for the last six weeks; you are the best vegetarian ever" or a "you have consumed exactly 84999 french fries in a fairly short period of time how about a diet that includes something other than fat and fake potato" way.

I had been contemplating another Lent, but was not sure that it was the right time, especially just coming off of October Lent. But now I have an excuse! So, for the purpose of the uncontest, I am submitting the following resolution: No-Shame-December!

What does this mean, exactly? I am, in general, a shy, inhibited creature. I do not wish to cause inconvenience to the poor bureaucrats at the Department of Licensing who try to ruin my life. I will frequently let other people present on sections of books that I would much prefer to discuss myself. New interactions are, as often as not, a minefield of blandness and empty pleasantry. The end result is not pretty. NOT PRETTY.

There is no reason for this! We are a funny person! We have interesting, coherent ideas! We speak with the grace of someone significantly more put together than we are! We hates boredom, and we hates mediocrity. So, we will eliminate one potential source of said faults in our constant crusade against whatever we happen to hate at the moment!

As an experienced giver-upper-of-things, I have more than a few tricks up my sleeve. My secret to success is to actually give up two things at a time. If I give up tuna sandwiches, fine. But I will also give up french fries in quantities greater than three. If I give up french fries, fine. But I will also give up bagels. The trick is that the second thing is almost unbearable to give up. HAVE YOU EVER TRIED TO NOT EAT BAGELS FOR MORE THAN A COUPLE OF DAYS? Let me tell you, it does not work well. So, having succumbed to temptation almost instantaneously, the only way to validate your existence is to tenaciously hold on to the first thing selected for giving up.

Forty days later, you forgot that you ever wanted it, because you have discovered the wide, wide world of eating more than one foodstuff.

So, the second thing that I am going to "try" to give up is another personality characteristic once referred to as my unique brand of "subtle cruelty." I am so set.

Playboy

Sorry for the delay! I am working on Other Project and reading horrible genre fiction, which leaves me with too little energy to fulfill my other commitments. Fortunately for you, I respond well to harassment, so I have taken time out of my busy schedule to play Neville Chamberlain to your Hitler. I come, bearing a literary gift! It's not Czechoslovakia, but I think that you will enjoy my small offering.

King Lothar is, in many ways, the original Will Ferrell character. He doesn't have one woman. He doesn't have two women. He's got three of the finest specimens of the female form. Well, three whole wives, after the embarrassing brother-in-law assassination fiasco which made that other wife become a nun. I'll be generous; she can count as an entire 1/3 wife.

So, you think that 3 and 1/3 wives is extravagant? It gets worse. Two of these are sisters.

You probably want to know a little something about that.

It's all wife number two's fault.* Having firmly ensconced herself in Lothar's household as wife and not as slave, she approaches him one day with sweeping gesture and gracious speech. "My lord, I am so unbelievably happy! Being a queen is so great. Everything is so magical and filled with wonder." The king agrees; he's pretty used to hearing this from women. But she continues. "My lord, tragically, I have a secret shame. My sister: she is common, and unwed. So beautiful, just like me. Since you did such a good job of finding a husband for me, do you think that you could find a nice, wealthy man for her? Maybe a doctor. Someone professional."

Lothar is very tired, and just wants to go to bed. Other-wife never talked this much, even before she became a nun. "I'll look into it, dear."

The next day, Lothar tracks down the sister of his wife, working somewhere in his palace. He falls in love and marries her on his spot. I mean, they're technically married after they finish, at least.

Lothar creeps back to other non-religious wife. "Hi, dear. I found someone wealthy and competent for your sister to wed! There were so few choices for such a beautiful and talented young woman, but I found a solution that I think will make everyone happy!"

"That is really great. You always have such really great ideas. Who will my sister be marrying?"

"Oh, I just went ahead and made everything official; there didn't seem to be any point in beating around the bush. Anyway, I married your sister okay I have to go do king things we'll talk later."

Then a bishop dies.

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*I've forgotten everything about Last Wife right now. She might be interesting later, but prospects aren't looking great. The kingdom eventually gets divided amongst the sons of the sisters described above, and everybody dies.

Episcopal KGB

Don't fuck with bishops. I'm not even kidding.

There was this one priest, Proculus. You don't even want me to tell you what he did to this bishop. Okay, fine, I forget. But I wrote it down in this other book. You could probably check there.

Anyway, things did not go well for that guy. He got butchered on his own altar, and his badmouthing is totally why. Also, the Franks took his whole parish and sold it into slavery, and then it rained really hard. Scary shit.

Oh, that reminds me of another story about retarded townspeople. It's the same war, but a different city. There are all of these people holed up in this perfect, impenetrable fortress. Then they have the worst idea ever.

"Oh! Hey! That's an army out there. Do you know what strong, successful armies have? Lots of loot. I bet if we run really really fast, we can just run into their camp, grab some booty, and run back to the city, we'll be totally fine. Super rich, even."

Yeah, you guessed how that ended.

Back to bishops. So, there was another official who tried to fuck with a bishop. The same bishop, in fact, Quintianus. Lytigius always had it in for Quinty, who never knew why. He just wanted Lytigius to like him, and even laid on the ground at his feet to try to stop the hate.

Yeah, Quinty was kinda weird, but you've got to respect the man.

Lytigius went home to his wife and mocked the bishop. She was super freaked out. "You can't say that. They might hear you. I'll get the kids; we'll move in a week."

Three days later, a message came, and no one ever saw Lyti, his wife, or his kids again.

History's Mysteries

Okay, this is one of those posts where my initial warning is especially pertinent. Gregory is not an idiot! He just has different information. Information that, incidentally, reeks of Isodore of Seville, who has some bat-shit crazy Etymologies with which some people are familiar. They are, however, exceptionally well-reasaoned, which is pretty true here as well.

Gregory has a problem (one that I am pretty sure is unique to Gregory alone). He's noticed these giant, miraculously well-built stone structures in Babylon. No, not that Babylon, the other one, across the Nile. They're wide squares at the base, and then come to a point at the top. You know, like a pyramid. Where did they come from?

The real question for Gregory is actually, "Who was especially awesome in Egypt several thousand years ago?" And the answer is, of course, Joseph. Resume items include: sun, moon, and eleven stars all bowing down to him. The over-the-top symbolism, it burns us, but made Gregory's choice pretty easy. There's this Christ-foreshadowy figure a couple thousand years ago, and there are these buildings of unsurpassed magnificence and indeterminate age. Gregory puts one and one together, and attributes the building of these strange, geometric edifices to Joseph.

Actually, maybe Gregory's not too far off. If you believe that the Pyramids were built by slaves, and that the Israelites, Joseph's flock, were slaves to the Pharaohs, it's totally plausible that people related to Joseph did the heavy lifting.* The only real problem is that Gregory puts the enslavement of the Israelites after the death of Joseph.

Problem one: solved. Problem two: what the hell are they? Graves of kings? That's no good. We need something practical; something Christian. What do you usually put in your largest structures? Oh, oh, Gregory knows! Corn.

It's so simple! You simply elevate your corn five hundred feet, stick your funnel in the pointy part at the top of the pyramid, and pour away! Joseph was so clever.

---

*Alarmingly, this logic might also bolster the Pyramids-Built-by-Aliens theorists, if you simply assume that everyone in this story is an alien. Those people don't need my help; they have The History Channel.

Theudebert Getting Married

Theudebert’s life didn’t change much from the last post, though the pieces of land that his father simply could not live without were found farther and farther away. When killing his brothers doesn’t work, Theuderic has another great idea. He can just recapture some of the land that had been lost to the Spanish Goths!* But he’s very busy, so he sends one of his sons (Theudebert will do).

Theudebert wins some spectacular victories at Beziers and Dio, but war tires one so quickly, so he decides to send notes inviting cities to simply offer themselves up instead of being captured. The wife of some schmuck who had been at Beziers is, at the time, running Cabrieres. Deuteria responds quickly, and lays it on pretty thick:

Dear Theudebert,

Hi, Tiger. How are you? I hope that you’re doing well. You’re so strong, and noble, and princely, that you simply must be. Because of the aforementioned qualities, I we invite you to be my our ruler here in Cabrieres. Do stop by our town soon, and do with me it what you will.

Love,

Deuteria

This sounds pretty good to Theudebert. Words like “active” and “resourceful” have been used to describe Deuteria, and it isn’t entirely clear that they refer to her capabilities as a ruler. So, Theudebert swings by and meets Deuteria and falls in love with her on the spot. After some nominal protests (“But Theudebert, son of Theuderic, what about your betrothed, Wisigard, daughter of the Longobard King Wacho? Oh I see.”), she ends up pregnant.

Some time passes, some less interesting things happen: Theudebert betrays his father, Theuderic dies, there’s a massive war for his throne that Theudebert magically wins, and Deuteria has her baby. Theudebert is actually a pretty good ruler, according to Gregory, but that might be because of the part where he stopped making the church in Clermont-Ferrand pay taxes.**

So, Theudebert. Pretty good king, not great husband, it turns out.

Deuteria wakes up one day and notices that her daughter is actually starting to age. I suspect that most parents realize this fairly frequently, and do, quite often, panic. Shit, she thinks, my daughter is becoming a woman, and my husband likes women an awful lot. I had better attach her to a cart pulled by untamed bulls and send it over a cliff. It’s the only way.***

Then, after being betrothed to Wisigard for seven years, all of the other royals start to get a little antsy. Fine, Theudebert isn’t going to marry her. But he can at least call the wedding off, right? This suggestion enrages the most pious king, so he divorces generically spurns(?) Deuteria and marries Wisigard who has apparently waited patiently all this time. ****

All for naught! Wisigard dies almost instantly, but Theudebert is just so tired of Deuteria’s energetic resourcefulness, and marries someone else.

Poor, crazy Deuteria.

Still, the Trashy Romance turned High Tragedy isn’t the most interesting aspect of this story. It’s the marriage politics.

Deuteria was married when she seduced Theudebert seduced her, though it seems likely that he could have been or was killed Theudebert’s invasion. The little Common-Law arrangement that they got goin’ on while in Spain TOTALLY COUNTS as marriage, but it’s dismissed by reference to their legitimate marriage upon return to France. The relatives aren’t uppity about the fact that he married Deuteria when he promised to marry Wisigard, but that he wouldn’t marry Wisigard regardless. Even the third marriage, not described in detail at this point, is pretty obviously chronologically delineated in this story. It’s almost pitiable to watch Gregory try and fit the Merovingian monarchs’ still-Germanic marriage practices (read: fairly informal) into a good, Catholic model. Theudebert’s the first real chance that he gets, so he takes it and runs. No polygamy (there are spaces between wives, and they’re almost all legitimate!), no concubines. It’s all comparatively tame!

So far.

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*Note the use of passive voice. It’s remarkably unclear exactly whose fault the disintegration of Clovis’ magnificent kingdom is, and Gregory does a pretty good job of hiding that it even happened, at least until this point in the text. It’s almost as if the brother-kings woke up one day, rubbed the sleep of civil war out of their eyes, and said, “Shit where did all the land go.” An easy (maybe too-easy) explanation might be that these are Arians, the evil false Christians that every real Catholic hated more than anything for about 6 centuries, and that Gregory wants this to be about Catholics beating Arians and not about Arians suddenly being all up in the middle of Aquitaine.

**Maybe the taxes are why Richy had to sleep in a closet.

***I'm still a little bit unclear on the mechanics of hitching an untamed bull to a cart. Did she do it herself? Did she ask some nice, burly men to do it? It seems like that would produce some awkward questions. “I’m sorry, you want what done with these bulls? Right. And then what are you going to do with the cart?” “Oh, you know, just something we always did back in Spain, haha.”

****I would like to draw your attention to chronology, here. My presentation is a little unoriginal; this and the preceding paragraph refer to Book III, chapters 26 and 25, respectively. Gregory is not hugely interested in preserving chronology between narratives, but is generally pretty good when talking about the same subject, as he is here. It looks like Deuteria’s daughter was seven at the oldest when her mother decided that she was womanly and needed to have her purity protected.

I've Heard That One Before

I have already misled you. Today's story is only medieval if you squint really hard at the 5th century and remember that this is not so much a "Stories from Medieval History" blog so much as a "Stories Told in Sources from Medieval History" blog.

Still, it is definitely within the category of Late Antique/Merovingian, which is good enough. You're going to have to pretend even harder, later, so think of this as a warm-up.

You know that weird tingling feeling your leg gets in the middle of the night, and the only way to get rid of it is to go to the church and pray? Me neither, but Bishop Eparichius was apparently pretty familiar with it, since he slept in the storage closet off the chapel.*

On this particular night, Eparichius (Richy, from here on out) goes out in to the chapel, and there's a nubile woman lounging in his bishop's throne. Surrounded by demons.

"Hello there, Tiger."

The bishop looses it. "Oh my god. OH MY GOD. Why are you everywhere, Devil? You just wander around slathering defilement on things and now you're slutting all over my church, and I CAN'T TAKE IT ANYMORE."

"Haha, you said slut. You have impure thoughts about women! I'm telling."**

The prostitute/devil/woman vanishes with her entourage, but the Richy's anger turns to panic. Shit how did s/he know? I had better build a monastery on top of a mountain or I am going straight to Hell.

And then the Bishop had a nice retreat there at Lent every year, and conquered his insatiable lust for woman-flesh.

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* The sacristy, to be more specific, which is kind of weird. Gregory explains that the church just didn't have much land, but Clermont-Ferrand, Eparichius' seat, was not an unimportant bishopric. HEY CONGRATULATIONS YOU'RE THE BISHOP OH SORRY WE DON'T HAVE A ROOM FOR YOU SLEEP IN THIS CLOSET BUT HOORAY BISHOP, RIGHT?

**Does anyone else think that this is oddly Freudian? Not to be anachronistic, or anything.

Brotherly Love

Okay. This is partially an exercise in "making M-i-T read chronicles at a slightly more rapid rate." But that hasn't happened yet, so I'm starting with what I know.

And I know St. Gregory, Bishop of Tours. As time goes on, I will mix and match, but for now you get some of my favorite stories from my favorite Medieval (okay, very, very Early Medieval) historian. Anyway, on with the show.

Things are going pretty well for King Theuderic. He's just convinced his brother Lothar to hand him Thuringia on a silver platter by killing King Hermanfrid. All it took was some sob story about women being drawn and quartered or being tied to train tracks road-ruts for trains carts to run over. Lothar was always kind of a pansy. Even better: his brother's share of the booty, the beautiful Radegund (more on her later!), becomes a nun when Lothar has her brother murdered.

So, Theuderic's sitting on his new land, establishing his generic administrative control, when he has a realization. Maybe the cleverest realization ever, if you ask Gregory. It's quick, ruthless, and efficient.

He can double his land if he just kills his brother!

It's so simple. Why didn't anybody think of it before? (Note: They did, and Gregory had a good deal to say about it earlier. Less now, conveniently.)

All Theuderic has to do is lure his brother into his home. He has another secret scheme that he wants to discuss: Thuringia was only the tip of the iceberg; Lothar must come at once.

This is where it gets good: on the day that Lothar agreed to come to Theuderic's home, everything's ready. The courtyard has been exquisitely decorated, everyone is in their Sunday best, and a giant cloth surreptitiously stretches across the entire space to hide the dozens of heavily armed soldiers behind it who are waiting for a signal to jump out and stab the visitor repeatedly.

When Lothar enters, and Theuderic politely asks him to send his body guards away so that they might talk in secret.

"No," says Lothar, "I don't think I will."

Shit. Theuderic looks behind him, and notices that the cloth cutting off half of the room doesn't actually stretch from floor to ceiling. In fact, all the legs of all the soldiers are pretty clearly visible.

"So."

"So."

"How's Radegund? Is she liking the convent?"

"Oh, she loves it there. Can't get enough of the praying and the charity and the no men."

"That's really great." Think, Theuderic, think! You can't keep him here forever; you don't even have a meal planned. "And it sure was nice of mom to remind us to destroy the Burgundians, wasn't it?"

"Oh, yes, very nice. Too bad about our brother Chlodomer dying and all, but it turned out well enough."

"Yes, very well. Anyway, do you remember that secret plan I mentioned? Well, you see, it's... it's this tray! It's made of silver. It's really great for... you know. Food."

"Oh, Theuderic! It's lovely. I'll cherish it for as long as I live."

"Yes... well, that's everything! Why don't you and your men just head back."

Lothar finally leaves, and Theuderic collapses into his chair, surrounded by his family. "What a waste of a day. We still only have the people we started out with, and I gave away our best serving dish for no reason. One of my sons - yes, Theudebert, you'll do - go get that tray back. I'm not going to dole out precious dishes as pretend payment for favors I don't owe.* Ask nicely!"

Later that night, tray safely tucked in the arms of the sleeping king, the house is at rest.

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* I kind of assume that that's what's up here. I haven't read my Mauss or studied gift economy especially extensively, but I am going to guess that there's a reason that this plays out the way it does.