Welsh Mythology 4: Manawydan son of Llyr

After the seven survivors of the war in Ireland had buried the head of Bran the Blessed, they each went to their own lands, save for Manawydan. He looked around him and sighed heavily, lamenting that he had no place to go after the death of his brother.

Pryderi, who had lingered behind, said to him, “Lord, don’t be so unhappy. Your cousin is High King of the Isle of the Mighty. Though he has done wrong to your brother, you have always been known as one of the Three Ungrasping Chieftains for you have never desired lands nor territory. He would deal kindly by you and you need fear nothing by his hand.”

“Though Caswallawn is my cousin, it saddens me to see him in the place of my brother Bran, and I would never be happy in his court.”

“Then come with me to my home. The seven cantrefs of Dyfed were left to me by my father Pwll, and my mother Rhiannon is there alone. If it pleases you both, I will bestow her upon you and you may have authority over Dyfed with her. Though they only be seven cantrefs, they are the fairest in all of Britain. If you have ever had any desire for lands, you may have the enjoyment of them. My wife, Cigfa, and I will treat you as a father that you and my mother may find peace and happiness.”

“God repay you your friendship, and though I have no desire for lands I will go with you to Dyfed and meet your mother.”

Then the friends journeyed together to Dyfed, and a feast was held on their arrival at Arberth. Rhiannon and Manawydan were enamored by one another, and they readily assented to Pryderi’s plans for them. They went to the same bed that night and on the morrow the company began traveling through Dyfed, feasting and hunting along the way. In that time great friendship grew between Pryderi, Manawydan, and their wives, and the four of them spent every hour together.

When Pryderi learned that Caswallawn was in Oxford, he regretfully left to tender his homage, but Manawydan remained behind. Pryderi was well-received at the court of the High King, and upon his return, he resumed his feasting with Manawydan. After the first meal the company went up to Gorsedd Arberth to look out across the land. When they sat, there was a peal of thunder and a heavy fog descended over all the land so that they could not see any buildings or people save themselves. When they made their way back to the court through the fog, they found that all the knights and servants had disappeared. Not a soul could be found, and even the livestock in the field had disappeared. Pryderi, Cigfa, Manawydan, and Rhiannon were all that remained in Dyfed; the entire country was desolate.

Though all the people were gone, the food from the feast remained and so they enjoyed it while it lasted. Then they started to travel through the land, searching for any of the people who had lived there. They subsisted on the meat they had hunted, the fish they had caught, and the wild swarms. In this way they passed a year pleasantly, though they found no one, and a second passed as well. Then they began to weary of their way of life and thought to enter Lloegyr to look for work.

Then they journeyed to Lloegyr and entered Hereford, where Manawydan took up saddle making and the others aided him. He made saddles after the kind that he had seen Llasar Llaes Gygnwyd make, and they were very fine and beautiful. Soon no one would buy saddles from anyone but Manawydan, and all the saddle makers were put out of business. The saddle makers were angry that they had lost their livelihoods and conspired to kill Manawydan and his company. When Pryderi heard of the conspiracy, he wanted to stay and fight off the craftsmen, but Manawydan didn’t wish to draw the attention of Caswallawn.

They left Hereford and went to another city, where Manawydan became a maker of shields with the help of his three companions. He made shields after the kind that he had seen in the court of Bran the Blessed, and they were of a finer quality and more beautiful than any other shields that could be bought. Again, all the shield makers were put out of business because no one would buy a shield save that it was made by Manawydan, and the craftsmen conspired to kill Manawydan and his companions. When Pryderi heard of the conspiracy, he again wanted to stay and fight, but Manawydan refused on the same grounds as before.

“Let us leave and go to another city, where we can become shoemakers, for no shoemaker will have the heart to fight us,” said Manawydan.

They listened to Manawydan and became shoemakers in another city. Manawydan used the finest materials for his shoes, even making buckles of gold, and this is how he came to be known as one of the Three Gold Shoemakers. The shoemakers in the town soon perceived that they were losing their profits and that Manawydan’s skill would put them out of business, so they plotted to kill him and his companions despite his hope that they were more soft-hearted than the other craftsmen he had met. Pryderi again wanted to remain and fight the aggressive craftsmen, but Manawydan said it would be better for them to return to Dyfed and seek a living in the desolate countryside once more.

Pryderi and the others followed Manawydan’s lead and they again came to his realms in Dyfed. There they gathered their dogs around them and began hunting and living off the land, as they had done before. They spent another year in desolate Dyfed, until one day while they were out hunting, their dogs stopped at a thicket and turned back in fear. Pryderi and Manawydan went forward manfully to see what had frightened their dogs. As they drew near the copse, a shining white boar leaped from its concealment and ran. Encouraged by the boar’s flight, the dogs gave chase and the men followed. When the dogs got close, the boar would stand at bay and would throw back the hounds until the men approached. Then it would flee a little further on. The men hounded the boar through the woods until they saw the lofty towers of a caer, and the boar was making straight for it. The dogs followed the boar into the caer, but the men lingered behind for they had never seen its high walls before, though they had traveled through Dyfed many years.

Finally Pryderi gathered his courage and announced that he would go into the caer to look for the dogs, though Manawydan counseled against it. When Pryderi went inside, he saw that it was a lovely and well-built stronghold, but there was no sign of either the dogs or the boar. While searching for the beasts, he saw a beautiful fountain, bubbling with clear water and rimmed with marble. On its edge sat a golden bowl, and there were chains of gold that led from the bowl into the sky and Pryderi could see no end to them. Pryderi was so enamored by the bowl and the fountain that he stepped forward to grasp it and take a drink, but the moment his hand touched the rim, it held fast. He was paralyzed from head to toe and could make no sound.

Manawydan waited for Pryderi for the remainder of the day until he was certain he would gain no news of either his friend or the dogs. Then he went back to the court and told Rhiannon and Cigfa what had happened. Rhiannon chastised him for not going in after Pryderi, and she stormed off to the caer that he had described. She soon saw the fountain and Pryderi there, but upon seizing the bowl he held, she too was rendered still as stone. When Rhiannon did not return, Cigfa and Manawydan felt great sorrow and thought to leave Dyfed once more. They journeyed to a town where he again practiced shoemaking until the craftsmen became murderous once more. Then he took the money that he had earned and bought a bushel of wheat for seed, and they returned to Arberth in Dyfed. Manawydan ploughed three crofts and sowed the wheat. Those fields were fruitful and bore the finest wheat in all the world.

Manawydan looked at his first croft and said to himself, “I will harvest this field tomorrow.” In the morning, he went out and saw that his field was desolate; every head of grain had been cut from the stalk so that there was not one seed left on the ground. Then he looked to his second field and said, “I will harvest this field tomorrow.” On the morrow, he saw that again each head of grain had been stolen from the stalks and he had only one croft remaining.

“Shame on me if I don’t keep watch tonight,” he said to himself and so he hid and waited to see who was stealing his grain and living the stalks bare. As night fell, Manawydan saw the mightiest host of mice in the world and their number was without measure. For every stalk of wheat, there was a mouse to climb it and cut away the grain. Manawydan ran out into the field to drive off the mice if he could, but they had stolen his grain in an instant and had begun to carry it off. They were all too swift for him to catch, save one mouse that was heavy and slow. This one he seized in anger and he swore that he would see justice done upon the thief. He dropped the mouse into his glove, securing the end with string so that it could not escape.

When Manawydan told Cigfa what had happened, she lamented the loss of their beautiful wheat.

“Our grain is gone, but I have caught one of the thieves and will see that it hangs,” Manawydan said, holding up his glove as he did so.

“What kind of thief could you catch in a glove?”

“It is one of the mice that I captured from the field.”

“Surely it is beneath a lord like you to hang a mouse.”

“If I could catch all the mice that stole from me, I would hang them all.”

“Have your way then, Lord.”

Manawydan went out the next morning to Gorsedd Arberth and placed two forks into the ground for a gallows. A clerk came up as he was building his gallows.

“Hail lord, and good morning to you.”

“Where are you coming from, friend, for I have not seen another person in these lands outside my own party for many years?”

“I am just coming from song-making in Lloegyr and am passing through to my own country. What, may I ask, are you doing?”

“Hanging a thief that I have caught, as justice demands.”

“It is beneath a lord of your status to hang a mouse. To save you that embarrassment I will give you a pound to redeem it. Then let the creature go!”

“I will not let the thief go, nor will I sell it,” Manawydan replied.

Then the clerk relented and went on his way. As Manawydan was fitting a crossbeam to the forks, a priest came up the road and hailed him. The priest asked what he was doing, and was as shocked as the clerk that a man of such station should be so employed.

“I will give you three pounds to save your reputation and redeem the mouse. Just let the poor thing go!”

“I will not let the thief go, nor will I sell it,” Manawydan replied.

Then the priest relented and went on his way. As Manawydan was tying a string for the noose, a bishop came up the hill and was aghast that a man of such high station should be hanging a mouse.

“Release the mouse to save your reputation and I shall give you seven pounds for it.”

“Truly, that is not enough.”

“Then I will give you twenty-four pounds in ready coin to set the creature free!”

“I would not let this thief go for twice that sum.”

“Then I will give you every horse on this plain, and the seven loads of baggage behind me, each with its horse.”

“I will not accept that price.”

“Then name your price!”

“I will release it if you set Pryderi and Rhiannon free, if you remove the charms and enchantments from Dyfed so that no charm or enchantment shall ever fall on it again, and let me know who the mouse is.”

“You shall have all that, and gladly. I am Llwyd son of Cil Coed, and the mouse is my wife, heavy with child. I sought the destruction of Pryderi and Dyfed for the slight his father Pwll paid to my friend, Gwawl son of Clud, when he beat him in a bag. I first transformed all my fighting men into mice to steal your wheat, and they carried away your grain the first two nights. On the third night, my wife and her handmaids pleaded to be transformed as well, and it is only because she was with child that you were able to catch her. Now release her to me!”

“No! First you must provide Pryderi and Rhiannon, and swear that you will take no vengeance on any of us.”

“All this I swear and will provide. Look, they are coming up the trail.”

Then Manawydan saw his wife and friend coming up the hill toward him and he released the mouse to Llwyd the enchanter. Thereupon Llwyd struck the mouse with his wand and she was transformed into a woman of exceeding beauty.

“Look upon your land, and see that everything has been set right,” said the enchanter.

Manawydan looked around and saw that the mists had risen, and every person and animal was in its rightful place. Then he asked the sorcerer, “In what way have Pryderi and Rhiannon been kept?”

“Pryderi had the gate-hammers of my court around his neck, and Rhiannon had the collars of the donkeys, after they were sweaty from hauling hay, around her shoulders.”

Thus this is called the Mabinogi of the Collars and here ends this branch of the Mabinogion.

Welsh Mythology 3: Bran and Branwen, Children of Llyr

Once upon a time, when Bran the Blessed was High King of Britain, he held his court at Harddlech and sat on a rock there that overlooked the sea. With him was his sister Branwen and his brother Manawydan, and they were all children of Llyr. Their mother,  Penarddun, daughter of Beli Mawr, also had two other sons by Euroswydd, who had once imprisoned their father. Nisien and Efnisien were their half-brothers, and though Nisien was a good man, Efnisien was troublesome and a warmonger.

While they were gazing out across the sea, they spied thirteen ships sailing swiftly from the south of Ireland. Bran told his men to arm themselves and wait for the Irish on the beach to see why they were sailing toward the Island of the Mighty. When the ships neared, they could see that they were graceful and lovely, with beautiful designs embroidered on the sails. Then one ship pulled ahead of the others and there was a man at the prow holding a shield with the point upwards as a token of peace. Then the Britons took to their own ships and greeted the Irish in the water.

“Greetings, friends and welcome to you!” The Britons hailed. “Who leads this host, and why have you come?”

“We’re led by Matholwch, King of Ireland, and it is for his sake that we have come. He seeks the hand of Branwen, daughter of Llyr, and to ally himself with Bran, the High King. If Bran will have it, Matholwch would unite Ireland with the Island of the Mighty, that they might become stronger.”

Then Bran said that he would do all this gladly, and bade Matholwch and his company come ashore. They all feasted together in tents along the shore and made ties of friendship. Branwen and Matholwch sat together at the side of Bran the Blessed, and the whole company was filled with good cheer.

Now when Efnisien heard that his half-sister was being given in marriage, he was furious because he had not been consulted. He thought he would avenge his insult upon the Irish by mutilating their horses. He cut off the lips, ears, tails, and even what he could grasp of the eyelids. If his actions brought war with the Irish, so much the better, for Efnisien had a great love of war.

When Matholwch saw what had happened to his horses, he said, “These Britons are strange! First the High King gives me the hand of Branwen, one of the Three Matriarchs of this island, lovely beyond all others, and his beloved sister, and then he pays me an insult. If he wished to insult me, I would have though the insult would have been given before a woman of such surpassing quality. Come, we will leave without pressing the matter further.”

Bran inquired as to why his guest was leaving so suddenly, and was very wroth when he learned of what Efnisien had done. Bran said to Matholwch, “The maiming of your horses was done against my will and though you reckon it an insult, I resent it even more than you. The one who did the wicked deed is my mother’s brother, and it would be hard for me to put him to death, but I will repay you for what you have lost. I will give you a sound horse for every one that was injured, a tall staff of silver, and a broad plate of gold.”

Then Matholwch relented and stayed again among the Britons in the tents, but Bran noticed that his cheer was not as good as before and thought it was because the reparations were too small. Then he added unto the Irish King a magical cauldron, which was a treasure greater than all the others.

“It is a virtue of this cauldron that a man who is slain today may be thrown into it, and tomorrow he will be made well again and will have lost only the power of speech.”

“Where, Lord,” said Matholwch, “did you find such a treasure?”

“The giant Llasar Llaes Gyfnewid and his wife gave it to me when they moved here from Ireland, and it may be that they found it there.”

“I have known them well. I met the two giants coming up out of a lake, called the Lake of the Cauldron, and the man bore a huge cauldron on his back. He told me that his wife was heavy with child, and that in a month and a fortnight she would conceive a grown man, fully armed. I maintained them for a year without complaint, but then the whole country cried against them for their behavior. They were harassing everyone they came across, and soon I was given the choice between my dominions or friendship with the giants. Thereafter I sought out how I could expel them, but they could not be compelled to leave through force of arms because of their great strength. Instead, I summoned every smith in the land to build a chamber of iron, and to bring their bellows and bags of charcoal. I set a feast for the giant and his family in the iron house, and then shut them in while they were eating. The smiths piled the charcoal high against the walls and blew mightily on their bellows until the iron chamber was glowing white hot. Their children were perishing inside, but the iron was made soft in the flames and Llasar broke through the door by charging it with his shoulder. He and his wife alone escaped and left Ireland entirely.”

That night they continued in song, carousal, and storytelling. When the morning came, the Irish sailed away on their thirteen ships, and Branwen was with them. When Matholwch returned to his land, he held a great feast in honor of his wife and not one guest left without receiving some treasure from her hand. In time, Branwen became pregnant and gave birth to a son, who she named Gwern. He was a fine lad, well loved by all, and he went to be fostered by the best men in Ireland. Meanwhile, the minds of the Irish nobles turned again to the insult that was done to Matholwch in Britain, and they murmured against him. Then the men close to him began to taunt him endlessly for it, until Ireland was in an uprising and he would have no peace unless he avenged the insult. Thus he drove Branwen from their shared chamber, and forced her to cook for everyone at court. Then he ordered that everyday, when the butcher had finished cutting the meat and his hands were filthy, he should box Branwen’s ear. In that way, her punishment was carried out for the actions of her half-brother Efnisien.

Matholwch knew that the Britons would surely come to rescue Branwen and destroy Ireland if ever they heard how she was treated, so he forbade all travel to Britain and imprisoned any Britons that ventured to Ireland to trade. Eventually he banned all ships and coracles, so great was his fear that word of Branwen’s fate would reached Bran the Blessed.

Now Branwen eventually tamed a starling at the edge of her flour trough, and tied a note around the base of its wing that detailed the shameful things she endured. She sent the starling across the sea to the Isle of the Mighty, and it alighted on the rock at Harddlech, where Bran was sitting and watching the sea. When the bird shook its feathers, Bran saw the note and read all that had befallen his sister. He called all the Britons to arms and gathered a host to sail on Ireland. He left behind his son Cradawg to rule as steward in his absence, and seven knights to support him.

From Matholwch’s court, two men saw a great island in the sea, bristling with trees, in a place where they had never seen it before. There also saw a great mountain, with two lakes on either side of a ridge that was moving with great speed across the water. All these things they reported to Matholwch, and when he could not explain them, he called for Branwen, for she was very wise.

Branwen laughed when she looked out across the sea, and said, “The forested island you see is the host of the Britons, and each tree is the mast of a ship. The swift mountain is my brother, Bran, wading across the sea for there is no ship that can hold him. The two lakes are his eyes and the ridge between is his nose. They are coming to avenge the wrong that you have done me.”

Matholwch despaired knew that he could not match the might of the Britons, so he despaired and retreated behind the Shannon, destroying the bridges once he had crossed over. When the Britons came to the river, Bran lay across it like a bridge, saying “He that would be a leader, let him be a bridge.” Then all the warriors passed over Bran’s back and Matholwch knew he was undone. He surrendered and sought a way that he might reconcile with the Britons

Matholwch held a council to find how he might reconcile with Bran and spare Ireland his wrath. He offered that he would build a hall that could contain Bran the Blessed, for never had there been such a hall before. He would then  feast the Britons and give over his crown to his son, Gwern. Bran assented to the proposal and awaited the building of the hall.

The Irish lords were displeased with their king’s plan, and conspired against the Britons. The Irish warriors hung large bags in the hall, then lay in wait until a time when they could best attack the unsuspecting Britons.

When the hall was completed, Efnisien had an Irishman show it to him before anyone else entered in. He noticed large hide bags on the wall and asked the Irishman what was inside. The Irishman told him that it was only flour, but when Efnisien reached his hand inside, he felt a man’s head. Efnisien squeezed until the warrior’s skull burst, and did likewise for all the warriors concealed in the bag. Even the men that wore iron helmets were no match for his strength, and they all perished.

Matholwch held the feast as planned, with Bran and all the Britons inside the great hall. There was a great fire in the midst of the hall, where the meat was roasted and the food was prepared for the celebration. When the crown was passing from Matholwch to Gwern, Efnisien knew that the war he had hoped for would never come to pass. In a madness of rage, he seized Gwern and cast him into the fire. The peace broke between the warriors of Britain and Ireland, and they fell upon each other with mighty blows. The Britons were felling the Irish in great numbers, but the Irish began casting their dead into the magic cauldron of the giant and they would emerge whole once more. The ardor of the Britons began to falter under the endless waves of Irish warriors and the battle turned.

Seeing his slain countrymen lying in heaps around him, Efnisien felt regret for what he had done. He threw himself among the Irish dead, and thinking him for an Irishmen, he was tossed in the magic cauldron. Efnisien stretched out his limbs and pressed against the cauldron’s iron sides, putting forth all of his great strength which, until then, he had only used for evil. The cauldron burst, and with it his heart, for the effort had been great. Thus passed Efnisien, son of Penarddun.

With the cauldron destroyed, the Britons killed all the Irish until the island was nearly depopulated. Still only Bran, Branwen, and seven other Britons remained: they were Pryderi, Manawydan, Glifieu son of Taran, Taliesin, Ynawg, Gruddieu son of Muriel, and Heilyn son of Gwyn the Old. After the battle, Bran the Blessed disclosed that he had been struck in the foot with a poisoned spear, and that they should strike off his head.

“My head,” he said, “will be company as good as it ever was when I was whole. Take my head with you to London, but first you must stop on your way at Harddlech. There you will feast for seven years and the birds of Rhiannon will sing to you the sweetest songs ever heard by men. Then you will stop at Gwales in Penfro, where you will stay four score years. There you will bide in forgetfulness and my head will remain uncorrupted until you open the door to Aber Henfelen. When you open that door, then all your sorrows will return to you as fresh wounds and you must finish your journey to London. Bury my head in the White Hill there, facing toward the continent.”

His men struck off his head, as he commanded, then journeyed back to the Island of the Mighty. Upon landing at Inis Mon, Branwen looked between Ireland and Britain and felt enormous sorrow for her son and all the others that had perished. She heaved a great sigh and died from the breaking of her heart. The seven remaining buried her near the banks of the Alaw, and continued on their journey.

At the first village, the survivors inquired what news there was in Britain. They learned that Bran’s son Caradawg and his seven knights had died and now Caswallawn son of Beli was crowned High King of Britain. The seven knights were slain by Caswallawn son of Beli Mawr while he wore a magic mantle that made him invisible save for his sword. Caswallawn didn’t wish to kill Caradawng, since he was his nephew, but when Caradawg saw his friends die, but could not see the man who killed them, and so he died of consternation. Caradawg was one of The Three Men who broke their hearts of consternation. Penderan Dyfed, who was a young lad with the men, fled into the forest.

After finally reaching Harddlech, the survivors feasted for seven years, and the birds of Rhiannon came and sang them the sweetest songs ever heard by men. Then they rose up and went to the island of Gwales, where they feasted in blissful forgetfulness for eighty years. There they were happy, and aged not, and the head of Bran was no more irksome to them than when he had been alive. Thus they were called the Assembly of the Wondrous Head, and they had peace for a time. Then one day Heilyn son of Gwyn was overcome with curiosity to see if the prophecy of Bran was true, and he opened the door that looked out on Aber Henfelen. Then their sorrows returned to them anew and they departed in pain for London. They buried the head of Bran the Blessed, High King of Britain, at White Hill, facing toward the continent as he had wished. It is said that no invasion against Britain was successful until a haughty king removed the head, wishing instead to defend the Island of the Mighty with his own prowess.

Welsh Mythology 2: Pwll and Riannon

Last week I told the story of Pwll’s yearlong adventure in Annwn, a tale that may have left some readers with questions. For those unfamiliar with Celtic mythology, their representation of the underworld might seem rather odd, to the point that it may be difficult to recognize. The mythology of the Greeks and Latins, with which most of us are more familiar, represents the underworld as a place that is unpleasant at best and eternal torment at its worst. Even the hero Anchises, who had won a coveted place in the Elysian Fields, is doomed to an afterlife that is mostly just tears and waiting around. The Celts had an altogether different view of the underworld, to the point where many refer to it as the “otherworld” to differentiate the concepts. Celtic gods are often represented as living in fabulous kingdoms under the hills, beneath the waves, or beyond the utmost west. Celtic and Classical works both tell us that the ancient Celts believed they came to this world from the land of the dead, although we don’t have any proper mythology surviving to tell the tale. In the Celtic mind, the underworld was a place of danger and mystery, but also of surpassing beauty and delights. In Irish, the otherworld is called Tír na nÓg, the Land of Youth, a sentiment that is mirrored among the Welsh stories. The Celtic otherworld was always close by, and there were many passages by which one might reach it. Megalithic structures, caves, pools, and forest groves were all routes by which one might stumble into the otherworld. Just as in many supernatural realms, it was often easy to enter, but difficult to leave.

The ancient Celts didn’t write down anything pertaining to their religion as a rule, and so it wasn’t until Christianity came along that anyone bothered to record the old stories. By that point in time, Celtic culture had been severely altered on the continent by Roman influence, but still survived among the British Isles. It was Brythonic and Irish monks who recorded the old stories of their people, but they could not represent the Celtic deities as such. Instead, the Celtic gods became the race of heroes and sorcerers that we see in the oldest records. These beings are not gods, but aren’t exactly mortal either. This is where the concept of faeries originates. Arawn is such a character. In the days of paganism, Arawn was probably some kind of psychopomp and ruler over the dead, but in the story of Pwll his divinity is stripped away. However, he is still represented as a heroic character. As the centuries rolled on, the old Celtic gods were given a progressively worse treatment. Faeries, called Tylwyth Teg in Welsh and Aos Sí in Irish, are smaller in stature and more malicious in the newer stories. The monks no longer guessed that the faeries were a race between angels and men, but condemned them as the spawn of demons, allied to the forces of darkness and paying tithes to Satan. Eventually the Celtic gods would become of little consequence at all. They faded until they became sprites and leprechauns, creatures more concerned with spoiling milk than causing the turn of the seasons. Yet still the old stories persist alongside the new, and people still persist in ancient rituals in respect and propitiation to the faeries.

* *  *

Once upon a time, Pwll was holding court at Arberth when he decided to go for a walk. He walked with his retinue toward a mound that overlooked the city, called Gorsedd Arberth.

Then one of his companions said to him, “Lord, it is a peculiarity of that mound that whenever a high-born man sits upon it, he will not leave before receiving blows or seeing a wonder.”

“I have little to fear of receiving blows while surrounded by so many of my warriors, so I will sit and see if I may glimpse a wonder.”

He sat on the mound and from its height he could see a lady with a garment of brocaded gold silk around her head and shoulders, riding a pale white horse on the highway that went by the mound. She rode the horse at a slow, even pace and was just nearing the mound.

“Men, are there any among you who know the rider?”

“No, Lord, there is not.”

“Then let someone ride out to meet her and find out who she is.”

One arose, but by the time he had reached the road, she had gone past. He followed her on foot, but the faster he ran, the further away she seemed though still she road slowly. Then the runner told the Head of Annwn, “Lord it is pointless for anyone to follow her on foot.”

“Aye, so go fetch a fleet horse from Arberth and go after her.”

The warrior took a fast horse and chased after the lady. He spurred his steed hard, yet the faster he rode, the further she drew away though her pace seemed no greater than before. He rode until his horse began to flag, then gave up the chase.

“Lord,” the rider said on his return, “it is idle for anyone to follow the lady. I was riding the fastest horse I know of in the kingdom, and still came no closer to catching her.”

“Aye, there is some magic here. Let us return to court for the evening and we will return in the morning.”

That evening they spent in song and carousal, and in the morning Pwll called for his groom to prepare the king’s horse, with his saddle and spurs. When they sat upon the mound again, it was not long before they saw the lady riding in the same wise as she did the day before. She was riding toward the mound along the road when Pwll called for his horse, but she had passed it by once he had mounted. He thought by the first or second bound, he would catch her, for her pace was slow and even, but he found that she was always ahead of him. He spurred his steed, faster and faster, so that its hooves thundered down the road, but still she remained beyond his grasp though her pace had never changed.

Then in desperation Pwll yelled out, “Maiden, in the name of he you love best, wait for me!”

“I will gladly do so, and it would have been better for your horse if you had asked earlier.” she answered and she brought her white steed to a halt.

The maiden drew back the garment from her face as he approached, and Pwll could see that she was the most lovely woman that he had ever seen. She was so beautiful that he felt that he had never seen beauty until he had gazed on her countenance, not even in the fair halls of Annwn.

“Lady, won’t you tell me where you are riding and from where?”

“I ride on my own errands and I am glad to see you.”

“And what are your errands?”

“My main errand was to try and see you.”

“To me, that is the most pleasing errand you could come on. Will you tell me your name?

“I am Rhiannon, daughter of Hefeydd the Old, and I am being given to a husband against my will. I have wished for no husband, save for you, for I have loved you from afar. I will not have this man as my husband, unless you reject me, and it is for your answer that I have come.”

“Between me and God, if I were given a choice between all the ladies of the world, I would choose you above all others.”

“If that is your answer, then make a tryst with me now, before I am given to another man.”

“The sooner our meeting, the better for me. Wherever you choose, I will meet you.”

“A year from now at the court of my father, I will have a feast prepared in readiness for your coming.”

“Gladly will I meet you at that tryst.”

“Then fare thee well! Remember your promise and I will go on my way.”

Then Pwll returned to his retinue, and though they pressed him concerning the maiden, he would always turn the conversation to other matters. When the year had passed, he took a hundred horsemen and journeyed to the court of Hefeydd the Old, and he was received with much joy and feasting. Pwll was seated at the head of the host, with Rhiannon on his right and her father on his left. They ate and sang, and had the pleasure of good company. Pwll was filled with good cheer to have his love at his side and friends all around.

Then an auburn haired youth in royal mien entered the hall and greeted Pwll and his companions.

“Welcome, friend, and sit down,” Pwll said. “There is food and drink enough for all.”

“I will not sit until you have granted me a boon.”

“Whatever boon you ask of me, so far as it is within my power, I will give to you.”

“Alas!” cried Riannon. “Why have you given such an answer?”

“He has already given it, lady, and in the presence of nobles.”

“What is thy request?” asked Pwll, now feeling a sense of dread steal upon him.

“Tonight you are to sleep with the lady I love best, and it is to ask for her hand, and the feast that his been set, that I have come.”

Then Pwll was struck dumb, for he was honor bound to fulfill the suitor’s wish.

“Be quiet as long as you wish, for never has a man made a feebler use of his wits than you have done,” Riannon said.

“I did not know who he was,” Pwll said miserably.

“That is the man to whom I would have been given against my will, Gwawl son of Clud. He is a man rich in host and dominions, and now because of the word you have given you must bestow me upon him lest dishonor fall upon you.”

“I can never do what you say, for I will not be parted from you.”

“Bestow me upon him, but I will work it so that he shall never have me.”

“How is that?”

“I will give you a small bag that you should keep safe. Then he shall be given the feast and preparations, as you have promised. And I will make a tryst with him a year from tonight, to sleep with me. On that day, you should take a hundred horsemen and hide in the orchard yonder. Then when Gwawl is full of mirth and drink, come forth in shabby clothes and ask him to fill your bag with food. And I will bring it about that no matter how much food or drink is put in your bag, it will never be filled. Then he will come forward and ask if your bag will ever be full, and you shall say, ‘It will not, unless a true possessor of great dominion presses the food down with both his feet and says, ‘Sufficient has been put therein!’’ Then pull the bag over his head and summon your horsemen to fall upon the court.”

Then Pwll did everything as Riannon had said, and it all came to pass as she had predicted. Pwll captured Gwawl in the bag, and each of his horsemen struck the bag as he entered the court.

Then Gwawl cried out from the bag, saying, “Lord, hear me! It is not right for me to be slain in a bag”

Riannon’s father, Hefeydd the Old agreed. “Listen to him, Lord. It is not the proper death for him to be slain in a bag.”

“I will take your counsel on the matter,” Pwll said graciously.

“Take this counsel,” Riannon said, “he shall give you this feast and its preparations, and you shall have my hand again. Then take a pledge from him that he will never seek vengeance for this. That is punishment aplenty for him.”

Then Gwawl said from the bag, “I will gladly give all that Riannon has suggested.”

“And I will gladly accept it,” answered Pwll.

Gwawl gave sureties to Pwll and left bruised, but on good terms. Then everyone feasted and made merry in celebration of the reunion of Pwll and Riannon. She instructed Pwll to be generous and give freely to all who asked anything of him, for now there was nothing to fear.

At the end of the celebration, when it was time for Pwll and his men to return home, Hefeydd said to Pwll, “God speed to you and your men. Only appoint a time for Riannon to follow you before you leave.”

Pwll and Riannon answered they they would not be parted again, and they left together, at that very hour. From their love they bore a son, Pryderi, whose birth is the subject of another tale. Pryderi expanded the realm of his father and married Cigfa, daughter of Gwyn Gohoyw. Thus ends this branch of the Mabinogion.

Welsh Mythology 1: Background and Pwll in Annwn

By popular vote, I’m beginning what I hope will be a lengthy series on the fascinating subject of Welsh mythology. Before we start diving into the stories, I’d like to provide a brief historical background. Wales is a nation within the United Kingdom, on the west side of the island of Britain. The Welsh are a cultural remnant of the indigenous Celtic people of Britain, aptly named Britons. Other descendants of the Britons are the Cornish and the Bretons, with whom Welsh language and culture hold much in common. The Britons are distinct from their Irish, Scottish, and Manx cousins, despite their geographical proximity. The Britons spoke Brythonic, while their Gaelic cousins spoke Goidelic. However, both languages are considered to be part of the Insular Celtic family, and have more in common with one another than with the Continental Celtic Languages that developed across the English Channel.

On top of the unique Celtic culture that the Britons had, their history is radically different from the Goidelic Celts. Southeastern Britain was conquered by Rome in 43 AD, and by 83 AD the Romans had established forts as far north as Inverness in the Scottish Highlands. Despite the Roman conquests further north, they shortly fell back to Hadrian’s Wall, a massive stone fortification that protected everything south of the Solway Firth from the untamed north. The Roman conquests in Britain were some of the most hard-won in her history, and there are many battles and revolts that I won’t get into here. To help tame the new province, the Romans created defensible stone cities where they settled veterans and subjugated Brythonic tribes. The southern half of Britain was ruled by the Romans until 410 AD, and in those centuries the Britons became Romanized. They blended Roman culture with their own unique brand of Celtic culture to create something wholly new. The Britons embraced their new position in the Empire, and even put one of their own on the Imperial throne: Constantine the Great.

After the Roman Empire left the Britons to fend for themselves, they were almost immediately assaulted by barbarians on all sides. They fought the Irish in the west, the Picts in the north, and the Saxons in the east. At this point in time, many of the leading Britons fled to Gaul, where they established Brittany and became known as the Bretons. Whereas the Picts and Irish were primarily interested in raiding Brythonic settlements, the Saxons were bent on conquest. After hundreds of years of warfare, the Saxons pushed the native Britons back into the far, inaccessible peninsulas of Wales and Cornwall. The Brythonic nations never truly recovered. I think all Celtic mythology is filled with a sense of melancholy, but the long defeat of the Britons has charged their stories with a whole new level of emotion. I hope that you may come to love these stories as I have come to love them. We’ll begin our journey by diving into the Mabinogion, the greatest source of the most ancient myths preserved by the Britons. The Mabinogion is divided into branches, the first of which concerns Pwll, King of Dyfed.

* * *

One day, Pwll thought to leave his court at Arberth and go hunting in Glyn Cuch, and so he collected his hunting dogs and departed. When he had arrived at Glyn Cuch, he loosed his dogs into the woods and they soon struck upon a scent. Pwll sounded his horn and the chase began, he after his dogs, and his dogs on the scent. They ran so fast and far that Pwll left his hunting companions far behind. As Pwll and his dogs drew ever nearer to the stag, he began to hear the barking of another pack, and he knew that someone else was pursuing the same quarry. He urged his dogs onward and the stag came in sight, but then fell to the earth as the other pack brought it down. Those hounds had shining coasts of white and red and were the fairest that Pwll had ever seen. Still, Pwll did not want to lose the stag, no matter how fine the hounds that brought it down. He pulled away the fair hounds and set his own dogs upon the stag, so it appeared as if his dogs had arrived first. Then the master of the fair hounds rode up, and he was a dashing hunter.

“Greetings Chieftain!” Pwll said, in hopes that his ruse had gone unseen.

“I will not greet you, though I know your name, for you have done me a great discourtesy today.”

“Discourtesy? Tell me what discourtesy I have done, that I might make it right.”

“You have removed my hounds from the stag so that you could bait your own upon it, and though I will not take vengeance, I will do you a dishonor equal to a hundred stags!”

“I would have your friendship and forgiveness, Chieftain, if you would allow me to make amends.”

“And how will you make amends?”

“According to your dignity, but I know not who you are.”

“I am Arawn, king of Annwn [the underworld].”

“Then tell me, Lord, how I might win your friendship.”

“There is a rival king in my land, Hafgan, who is forever warring against me. Defeat him, and you shall have my friendship.”

“This I will willingly do, if only you will give me guidance, and say how it may be accomplished.”

“You will go to Annwn in my stead, and I will give you my form and likeness, so that none of my men, nor even my wife shall know that you are not I. A year from tonight, there is a tryst between Hafgan and I at the ford, but you will go in my likeness. If you give him one blow it will lay him down, but do not for any reason give him another, no matter how he entreats you. For though I gave him many blows, he would always rise in the morning as strong as ever.”

“And what of my kingdom, while I am gone?”

“I will rule in your stead and in your likeness. Then, when the year is concluded and you have slain Hafgan, we will meet again here and each shall go back to his own kingdom.”

Then the two kings made a strong bond of friendship and swore to return to the same place in a year’s time. Arawn led Pwll on his way to Annwn, until the court and dwellings were in sight.

“The court and kingdom are in your power,” said Arawn. “Go now and make for the court. All will know you by my name, and I will go to Dyfed and rule there in your stead.” Then the kings parted ways, each with friendly words for the other.

Pwll went into Arawn’s court, and it was the largest and most lovely place he had ever seen. Chamberlains came to attend to him, and everyone knew him as their lord. They dressed him in silk and gold and led him to a high seat while the hall was made ready. The warriors that came to greet him were tall and bore weapons that shone like silver. The table was set with good food of every kind, and every hand held a jeweled goblet. When the Queen came to his side, he thought that she was the most lovely jewel, the greatest treasure in all of Annwn. She sat at his right hand, while a mighty lord sat on his left.

Pwll spent the evening in delightful conversation with the Queen, feasting and enjoying the good cheer of his hall. Of all the women he had met, he found the Queen of Annwn to be the most gracious in disposition and discourse. Pwll and all the lords and ladies of Annwn spent their time in song and carousal until it was time for sleep. Then he went to the bedchamber with the Queen, but would not speak a word with her and set his back to her when they lay together in bed. Every day he spent feasting, hunting, and carousing, and sweet to him was the company of his companions and of the Queen foremost. Yet every night he spent as the first: in silence and unto himself. In this wise he passed his time until the year had lapsed and the time of his tryst with Hafgan had arrived.

He met Hafgan at the ford and each king instructed their companions to stay back, for since the disagreement was between kings, between kings it would be fought. Alone Pwll advanced to the ford, and alone he faced Hafgan, the rival king of Annwn. At the outset of the combat, Pwll struck Hafgan a mighty blow on the shield’s boss, splitting the shield and rending the armor behind. Hafgan was thrown from his horse and as Pwll approached, he could see that Hafgan had a mortal wound upon him.

“What right had you to my death, Chieftain?” Hafgan said in a weak voice. “I have brought no claim against you, and I know no reason for you to slay me, but since you have begun my death, make an end.”

“Chieftain,” Pwll replied, “I repent of that which I have done to you. Seek someone else to slay you, for I will not.”

“Come, my companions, and bear me away for now my death is complete. I am in a state to maintain you no longer.”

“Nobles,” Pwll addressed the crowd, “take stock and determine who of you should be my vassals.”

“Lord,” they responded, “all men should submit to you, for you are king of all Annwn.”

Then they all did homage to the man in Arawn’s stead, and he subdued the land. Once his work was complete, Pwll journeyed back to Glyn Cuch and met Arawn at the place of their trysting. Each of them greeted the other in friendship.

“I have heard of the service you have done me and I thank you for it,” said Arawn. “When you return to your kingdom, you will see what I have done for you.”

“May God repay it to you.”

Then Arawn returned each to his rightful form and they parted ways, each to his own kingdom. When Arawn returned, he took his wife to bed and they indulged in loving pleasure and affection with one another. The Queen thought how different her husband was that night compared to the prior year, and Arawn noted her disposition.

“Why are you so quiet tonight, my love?”

“I spoken more in this bedchamber tonight than I have for a year, and neither have we had any delight in this bed for a year until tonight. Truly, you did not even turn your face toward me for all that time.”

Then Arawn knew how true of a friend he had made in Pwll, and he told the Queen of all that had happened. She too, agreed that Arawn had found a companion with a heart that was stout and full of virtue.

When Pwll came at last to his court in Dyfed, he asked his companions there how his behavior had been over the last year. They replied that he had never been so discerning, so generous, so loving, and so great a ruler as he had in the past year. Then Pwll shared with them the truth of what had happened, and they rejoiced that he had a man such as Arawn as a friend. So too they asked that he should not withhold the good rule that they had enjoyed for the last year, and Pwll agreed to continue in the same fashion. From that time forth, Pwll and Arawn were fast friends and often exchanged gifts that one thought the other might enjoy. Pwll was called the Head of Annwn from thereafter, in honor of his time in Annwn and his unification of the land.

Video Games and Creative Inspiration

Video games aren’t often acknowledged as a source of inspiration in the writing community, but I’ve noticed that there are many writers who are gamers. Video games are a media form that has only grown in popularity, so its no surprise that they would become increasingly influential on writers. Video games are also often released in a series, where each game expands upon the world and story of the last entry. The result is that video games gain a following similar to a popular book series. Successful video games can spawn their own spin offs, fan fiction, comics, TV shows, and movies. TV shows and movies based off of games are notoriously bad, but the official books published on the coattails of a successful game franchise are often of a high quality. The success of the Halo games, a sci-fi video game series, has led to the production of twenty-eight novels that have become hugely important in the sci-fi community. Video games are majorly inspiring to many writers, and today I’d like to share a few titles that have been influential in my own creative journey.

I’m sure it comes as no surprise that I gravitate toward story-driven role-playing games. For the less gaming literate,  role-playing games or RPGs are a type of video game in which the characters gain skills and experience as they level up. Dungeons & Dragons is a tabletop RPG, and is popular with many of the same people who love video game RPGs. Video game RPGs also often have a fantasy or sci-fi setting, which lands them squarely in a genre populated by some of my favorite books. The Legend of Zelda is one of my most beloved video game series. Ocarina of Time and Breath of the Wild are my favorite entries in the series, but I have enjoyed every game that is part of that franchise. Link’s story is a classic one: the predestined hero defeats a great evil to save a maiden and the kingdom. That fairy tale never gets old, and is just as enthralling in the tenth game as in the first. The classic fairy tale of the Zelda games is always a little different; the cast of characters changes, along with the shape of the world, and sometimes even the races that inhabit it. Link always sets out on his journey with little fit to challenge the great evil, but slowly accumulates the needed gear and skills through battling monsters and solving puzzles. In the open world Zelda games, there are also many side-quests that Link can complete, earning him money, special items, or other rewards. It’s become a favorite joke of the gaming community that while Princess Zelda is imprisoned by evil, Link is trying to catch the biggest fish in the lake or is catching chickens for a farm girl. Despite the distractions, Link does eventually get around to confronting the great evil, and he and Zelda work together to seal it away, at least for a time. Evil always returns to Hylia, but so do the heroes fit to confront it.

The Zelda games are as familiar as an old fairy tale and are still as fun to play as they were when I was young. I’ve always appreciated the simplicity of the Zelda games. Link has a concrete ultimate goal that is conceptually simple: evil must be destroyed and the princess rescued. There is little room in that plot for moral ambiguity, and the games have always had a sort of playful optimism about them. In my own writing, I’ve sought to emulate the classic, fairy tale feel of the Zelda games, their optimism contrasted against an ultimate sense of dread, and the excitement of exploring a new world.

At the other end of the fantasy spectrum, the Elder Scrolls games have been influential on my writing. It’s games like Morrowind, Oblivion, and Skyrim that have made this series one of the most popular and most successful in the past couple decades. Just as in all RPGs, the player’s character begins their journey in the world of Elder Scrolls as a nobody with no equipment and no skills. The worlds for these games are massive, filled with hundreds of characters, innumerable quests, and packed with interesting locations. In the Elder Scrolls games, the player levels up their character’s skills through use, a delightfully fluid and realistic skill progression. For example, players that enjoy sneaking and backstabbing enemies will become better at those skills until they are master assassins. Those who enjoy magic will become able to cast spells more frequently and will learn spells of increasing power. There are even schools of magic, so that a player can specialize in illusion or destruction spells. The possibilities in these games are endless, and each play through is different than the last. Additionally, there are moral choices that the player must make. They can decide to steal and murder, even joining guilds dedicated to those dark crafts, or they can become paragons and defenders of virtue. Ultimately, the player must confront the major quest line, usually something that threatens the end of the world. Aside from this one major quest, there is no direction for the player and they are free to forge their own path in a world that seems to breath with a life of its own.

One of the most inspiring features of the Elder Scrolls games is the depth of their lore. On every bookshelf in the province of Skyrim there are books that the player can actually pick up and read. Some of them are history books, others memoirs, cookbooks, ledgers, or treatises. Some books can level up a skill for those who read it, but most are simply there to make the world a more full and rich place. I want my fantasy worlds to have that kind of creative vigor. If a reader were magically placed within my world, I would love for it to be as immersive as Skyrim. Civilizations should be full of history, legends, and myths but buried beneath a thick layer of the mundane. Not everything in an epic must be epic. People must still make a living, eat, sleep, and have relationships. Each “side” character is the protagonist of their own story, and they have their own motivations. Building a world with that kind of detail and realism requires a massive amount of work, but it’s worth it because that makes the setting stick with people. The Elder Scrolls franchise has given gamers worlds and time periods with which we have become intimately familiar. We know its history, politics, and economics. We have our favorite characters that we enter into complex relationships with. We buy houses, collect items, and get married all within the fantasy world. When a new game releases, we eagerly read the old history books in game to find out what happened to the people and places we loved. I would love to write a world that people care about as passionately as people care about the world of the Elder Scrolls games.

I’ve really only had room here to discuss two video game franchises and take a glance at how they have inspired me. I could spill a river of ink talking about specific characters and quests from just these games and how they have impacted my creative experience. There are many more games that have influenced me as a person and as a writer, and I know the same must be true of all those who have a favorite game. For me, video games have had a greater impact than television or movies on my creative direction. Like reading, playing games can be thrilling or relaxing depending on your appetites, and offers a wonderful sense of immersion. If you have had a game or series that has been dear to you, I’d love to hear about it in the comments below. Happy gaming!

The Magic of Belief

Last week I was a guest on Joshua Gillingham’s blog, which you can view here. Joshua’s the author of The Gatewatch, a saga that follows Torin Ten-Trees on his quest to defeat the Troll King and save the Gatewatch. Torin’s story is heavily inspired by the Norse sagas, and he’s even followed the example of the old skalds by including poetry within his book. After you read Joshua’s debut, you’ll be happy to know that more is on the way; The Gatewatch is just the first of the entries in Torin’s Saga.

In the spirit of the holidays, I’ve recently read through Terry Pratchett’s The Hogfather, which is one of his most beloved novels. It’s a sequel to Mort, but can be read independently as well. In The Hogfather, a mysterious group hires an overzealous assassin to kill the Hogfather, Discworld’s equivalent of Santa Claus. With the Hogfather gone, Death steps in as the man in red. Meanwhile, Death’s granddaughter Susan sets out on a mission to discover what exactly her grandad is up to, and what has happened to the Hogfather. The book is delightful, as are all of Pratchett’s great works. Though for me The Hogfather doesn’t rank as high as Mort or the Tiffany Aching novels, it still brings up many interesting thoughts amid the humor. Central to the novel is the concept of belief and its role in human thought.

In Discworld, human belief can create and sustain supernatural beings. It’s human belief in the Hogfather that gives him strength and form, and when the Hogfather disappears, there is a overabundance of belief that begins creating all manner of other creatures. Suddenly popping into existence is a creature that steals socks, a fairy that makes men go bald, and a god of hangovers. The idea that belief can create deities isn’t unique to Pratchett, it’s also an element central to the Warhammer universe. In that grim world, its the vices of men and elves that create the dark gods of chaos and give them strength. In the same way, the blind belief of the orcs that their machines will work (despite the laws of physics) make it so. I think both Discworld and Warhammer have it right in one respect; belief is powerful.

Pratchett seems to think that humans invent the fantastic because we need something to believe in beyond the material world. I think that’s essentially true, but I’ll add a caveat. I don’t think we invent the fantastic, I think we interpret it. What if our the turning of our species toward supernatural answers isn’t some inherent flaw or defensive mechanism, but an intuition of something beyond that which we can scientifically verify? We are material beings, but there is something intangible that animates us and gives us life beyond eating and sleeping, that thing we recognize as a soul. I think that just as our material bodies can sense the material world, so our intangible spirits can sense what is intangible. As a Christian, this is where I’m tempted to dive into theology, but I’ll refrain from that discussion for now. Instead, I’d like to delve into something else entirely. Where theology discusses the questions like “Is there a God and if so, what would be the attributes of such a being?”, I’d like discuss questions more along the lines of “Are there such things as fairies and magic?”

Looking back on the short progression of this blog post, I’m a little surprised that I’ve reached this point so quickly. I feel that I should have plied my readers with sweeter words before this, or perhaps avoided this conversation all together. But here we are. As a child I knew in my bones that magic was real, as did many children. I find it interesting that there is not a hard line when children stop believing in magical things, and most of them only ever say “magic isn’t real” with a sort of a question mark on the end. They think they know what they’re supposed to believe but they aren’t quite sure. I suspect most children stop believing in magic, not because they have found hard evidence against its existence, but because it is what’s expected of them at a certain age. I admit that I have never been convinced that magic is unreal, only that belief in it is a severe faux pas. So while we are all smiling and pretending very hard to be adults, let me whisper beneath my cavalier facade that I have secretly never grown up. I have simply become an older, wiser child. I am happy to say that cynicism is a disease to which I seem to be immune. The backs of wardrobes still hold a terrible allure for me, as do clefts in trees, circles of mushrooms, ancient passage tombs, and other areas that seem to be likely portals to another world. The fact that I have never pushed past fur coats to find pine branches has not been the least deterrent.

There is something about the old fairy tales. They don’t endure because they tell us a pretty lie, they endure because there is something essentially true about them. I don’t understand why, but fairy tales and mythology will always be central to the human experience. Science has long ago given us the answer to why the sun rises, but Eos has lost none of her beauty. We don’t turn to stories for explanations of how things work, or even to create meaning in a meaningless universe. We turn to stories for explanations of the meaning that we already feel, meaning that saturates the universe and binds it together.

One of the reasons that I love poetry is for its impressive ability to communicate. A great poet can convey in a handful of lines what would take a novelist thousands of pages. It also deals with that part of ourselves that is purely intuitive. Someone who lives in the tropics may understand the crystalline structure of snow, how it is formed, and its insulating properties, but they cannot know the hush of falling snow unless through experience, or through poetry. Poetry can convey what is intangible but no less true than the scientific facts. Fairy tales are just like another form of poetry. They communicate something intangible about the world that we live in, something that goes beyond concerns of historicity. If I were asked to cast a spell, I admit that I cold not. I’m also very suspicious of those who claim to possess those abilities. In my mind, neopaganism and occult beliefs are cosplaying  traditions that they don’t bother to study. I believe in the magic of a kiss and an oath. I believe there’s magic in nature, imagination, belief, and stories. Like Pratchett, I think there are some narrative conventions that are stronger than the laws of physics. I think we’ve always known that the world is a magical place, and I think it’s high time we admit it. Let’s step out of the closet and into the wardrobe…

The Magic of Naming

I’ve been working on creating names for my fantasy worlds recently, and have therefore been ruminating on the concept of a name. There is something powerful about a name. Names are words that serve as identifiers, and have long been held to carry meaning. Place names are often descriptive of the landscape, its residents, or its history. Personal names can be physically descriptive or reflective of a virtue or hero that the parents hope their child will emulate. Oftentimes, a name will be one common to a family and is repeated through the generations. The role of namer is one of honor. In Welsh tradition, only a mother could name her child. In the Bible, Adam names all the animals of the earth. Speaking the name of something was also held to be a powerful act, either as an invocation of its power or as a summons. The ancient magic of the Near East required invoking the name of a deity or spirit in their rituals. The ancient Jews deliberately removed the vowels from the true name of God, so that no one might accidentally speak his name in vain. Even today, Christians and Jews hold the name of God to be holy and powerful, not something to be taken lightly.

In Northern Europe, kennings were a common way of referring to something without invoking its name. Germanic and Finnish peoples refused to speak their word for “bear”, using kennings like “honey-wolf” instead. That taboo has led to the loss of the real word for “bear” in all Germanic languages. Even the word “bear” simply means “brown”. The Norse god Odin also has a long list of alternate names, from well known kennings like “All-father” to bizarre ones like “Dangler” or “Wagon god”. Germanic peoples not only believed in the power of names, but held that the written word was literally a form of magic. The Germanic alphabet consisted of symbols called “runes”, which is etymologically linked to “secret” and “mystery”. The very act of writing was considered to be a magic act, thus we “spell” words in English thanks to the beliefs of our Anglo-Saxon ancestors. Imagine now, if a name, particularly one of a god or powerful being, was written down. That written name serves as a permanent invocation, a spell calling on the true name of something powerful.

Patrick Rothfuss explores the concept of names in his Kingkiller Chronicles, where knowing the true name of something grants one power over it. This concept extends even to people, so that wizards must be careful to avoid revealing too much about themselves lest an enemy guess their true name. It’s a fascinating concept and well-executed by Rothfuss; the Kingkiller Chronicles are some of my favorite modern fantasy books and are worth a read.

J.R.R. Tolkien knew the value of a name more than most. As a philologist, Tolkien spent a large amount of time studying place names and the names of characters in ancient sagas. As a fantasy writer, he devoted considerable thought to the development of names within Middle Earth. He understood how languages evolve over time, how the original meaning of a place name can become hidden beneath a new layer of pronunciation by different people with their own linguistic traditions. Tolkien used his specialist knowledge to create a world with place names as layered as they often are in real life. In fact, it was sometimes the names which were first created, while the story followed as an explanation of the word. In this regard, Tolkien was not so dissimilar from the ancient scholars who often fabricated stories to explain the peculiar names assigned to the landscape around them.

All these thoughts swirl in my own head when creating names for my fantasy worlds. I do not like to be careless with my names, but try to give each creation its due process of thought. For place names, I first consider which people are assigning the name, and in which period. In my world of Purovus, this a primarily a question of whether I should rely on Sensiahd, the language of the elves, or Auroran, the tongue of men. In places and times when the two language families might overlap, I must consider to what degree that will affect the place name. The name “Epalathor Hills”, is a combination of “Epalathor”, an Elvish word, and “Hills”, a word within the Auroran language family. Since the hills lie geographically between the domains of men and elves, the language overlap makes sense.

My second consideration is that the place name must have some meaning, whether it be historical or descriptive. In the case of “Epalathor Hills”, “Epalathor” means “Horse Hill”, which is both descriptive and historical. The wild horses of the Grass Sea will venture into the Epalathor Hills, but the hills are also the place where the tribes of men have historically traded horses with the elves. The repetition of the “hill” meaning within the name “Epalathor Hills” is a result of the humans adopting an Elvish name word knowing its full meaning, a plausible enough origin for a name.

My final consideration when constructing fantasy place names is the sound of the name itself. I generally shy away from words that are too complex or difficult to pronounce, partially to spare my readers and partially to maintain a certain aesthetic appeal. The word must be in line with the trends of its parent language; each language has a unique flow, and preferences for certain consonants and vowels. Additionally, I try to create a word that feels indicative of its meaning. A place of danger and dread should have hard consonants and gutturals in its name, so that the very sound brings a feeling of unease to mind. There are more subtle versions of this auditory quality that are more difficult for me to explain except to say that some words sound noble, others tragic, feminine, hard, liquid, or divine. For whatever reason, I can assign nearly any feeling to a word. The Elvish word for “green” is “shaftas”, which just sounds green to me, like spring, and I can’t articulate why. However, most of my created words are founded in real language families, so the names naturally recall words with which we are familiar. The word “Auroran” itself is a prime example. This is the name of a people and a language that is immensely important to my books. The root of the word is “aurora”, which is a direct descendant from the Proto-IndoEuropean word for “dawn”, and thus “east”. The Aurorans were a people that came to Purovus from the east, carrying an artifact called the Last Light with them as they made the weary journey. Along with these obvious connections, there are other connotations that the word carries. A new dawn brings hope, light to a world of darkness, conquest over death, and the establishment of a new order. Not all my created names are so ripe with meaning, but I do endeavor to make a word with sounds that recall to meaning to mind. With so much consideration going into a name, it is no wonder the process takes me so long, but the time is well spent. Names, after all, are magic.

The Tactics and Formations of Ancient Warfare

Welcome back to our discussion of warfare in the ancient world! I took a brief hiatus for Thanksgiving, but now I’m ready to finish up this series. So far, we’ve discussed some theory of warfare and the weapons used by various peoples. Today, I’d like to delve into the tactics used on the battlefield. Military historians usually refer to the overarching plans of a commander as “strategy”, while the minute movements of troops on the ground fall in the realm of “tactics”. Hannibal’s efforts to recruit aid from the Italian cities was part of his strategy, while his use of cavalry to surround the Romans at Cannae was a tactical decision.

Aside from some creative license, an army would usually have a set group of tactics that they would typically use, like a playbook for a sports team. This standard set of tactics worked hand-in-hand with the training and outfitting of the troops. For instance, the long sarissas of the Macedonian phalanx were designed to keep the enemy at a safe distance, while the short sword of the Roman infantryman was intended for much closer combat. The equipment of a warrior lent him specific strengths and weaknesses which needed to be capitalized on and mitigated, respectively. Thus tactics were influenced by equipment. Conversely, the equipment of the troops mirrored their needs. After a long history of being without any armor, the Roman Cavalry abruptly began wearing heavy armor after the harrowing Second Punic War. The Roman Cavalry had suffered several severe defeats at the hands of Hannibal’s cavalry, which led to the rout or destruction of many Roman legions. When the Romans realized that they were ill-equipped to seize their tactical objectives, they changed their equipment to fit their tactics.

At the intersection of tactics and equipment was the unit formation. A formation was a specific arrangement of soldiers meant to achieve a certain objective. The standard battle formation of an army was the manifestation of its most dear tactical goals. The ancient Greeks and Macedonians had the phalanx, a wall of heavily armored soldiers with broad shields and long spears. The phalanx was often a broad line, thin, but strong. The hoplites would have stood in close order, so that one man was partially protected by the shields of those at his sides. The great length of a phalanx line would have dared the enemy to match it, or be flanked themselves. Matching a phalanx’s length could compromise the strength an enemy’s lines, rendering them vulnerable to collapse under the pressure of the elite hoplites.

The power of the phalanx is most famously illustrated by the Battle of Thermopylae, in which seven thousand Greek hoplites (led by the legendary three hundred Spartans) held a pass against over a hundred thousand Persians. On the third and final day of that battle, the Persians followed a Greek traitor up a mountain path and finally surrounded the Greek army. King Leonidas allowed the bulk of his army to return home, while he remained to fight and die with two thousand men. Thermopylae demonstrates that assaulting a phalanx from the front was a daunting task, but also shows how vulnerable the formation was to flanking maneuvers. The lack of depth of the average phalanx was also an issue. If the line was pushed in, the battle was all but lost. Additionally, walking over rough or uneven terrain would make it difficult for hoplites to maintain the close order of their formation. A phalanx worked best when the hoplites could stand still on flat ground, with their flanks and rear guarded from attack. Despite these limiting conditions, the phalanx was one of the most successful formations used in the ancient world.

If the Greeks can be said to have invented the ideal defensive formation, the Romans created a no less brilliant offensive formation: the maniple. The maniple was a revolutionary counterpoint to the phalanx. Where the phalanx’s strength relied on a close formation and the reach of their spears, the maniple used an open formation and short-swords to great effect. The manipular formation has most often been compared to a checkerboard pattern composed of three staggered lines, where each soldier has ten feet between him and his nearest comrade but there are no clear lanes through the formation. That spacing provided the Roman soldier with ample space to swing his sword and admitted the enemy into the gaps. Rather than compromising the maniple, funneling the enemy into the gaps placed them within a kill-box. By filling the gaps of the maniple, an enemy warrior would compromise his own formation to become surrounded by the highly maneuverable Roman swordsmen. The spacing of the maniple also let it remain functional, even when marching over uneven terrain that would spell disaster for a phalanx. Finally, the spacing of the maniple combined well with its depth to allow multiple lines to engage at once, a feat that was practically unheard of in the ancient world. The maniple was strong, elastic, and could chew through practically every enemy it met.

Though the Macedonians adopted the phalanx from the Greeks, Alexander made many diversions from the Greek model. Among the most effective of these new techniques was the wedge formation. Alexander liked to form his heavy Companion cavalry into a triangular wedge that could smash through the enemy line. Just like a spear point, the wedge formation has a narrow point of impact that broadens as it is plunged deeper into the enemy. The result is a wound that is hard to staunch, or the separation and collapse of an enemy line. Since the wedge formation had one man at its head, it was more maneuverable than square formations; the following horsemen would simply follow the leader, rather than having to worry about complex wheeling maneuvers. Historians believe that Phillip II, Alexander’s father, originally learned the wedge formation from the Scythinas, a nomadic people that lived on the Eurasian Steppe. The wedge was also an effective formation for infantry, who also used it to smash through enemy lines. Celtic and Germanic tribes both used a form of wedge against the Romans, often committing their entire force to the formation. The recessed line of the wedge is able to counter any attacks to the side of the leading point, and requires any force that attempts to flank it to travel a prohibitively long distance. Since it is essential that the wedge pierce and push through the enemy formation, the point of the wedge was generally occupied by the most elite troops of the army. The very shape of the wedge formation causes the point to have the most depth and strength, which lends itself to accomplishing its objective of piercing the enemy formation. However, if the wedge fails to break through, the attacking force can dissolve into a chaotic and easily surrounded ball.

Among European armies, infantry has always been the center. For the Greeks and Romans, it was their primary arm, the unit on which victory hinged. However, the greatest generals of the ancient world used cavalry to great effect. Hannibal and Alexander are generally acknowledged to be the greatest commanders in the history of Western Civilization, and they both used cavalry as the most decisive arm of their armies. Their general formula was this: fix the enemy line with infantry, then flank and scatter the enemy with cavalry. To parrot a common idiom, the infantry was the anvil while the calvary struck as the hammer. Aside from these men, cavalry was generally regarded as an auxiliary force in the ancient world. They contributed to the overall victory, but it was the infantry that carried the day. This trend was much the same in the armies of the Middle and Far East. The people groups that provide the shocking exceptions to the rule are the nomadic riders of the Eurasian Steppe. The Scythians, Huns, Mongols, and other tribes and confederations were always the terrifying antithesis to the infantry armies of the ancient world.

The Scythians are the earliest attested steppe group known to Europeans, and they were the scourge of several Persian empires. They were nomadic pastoralists who roamed the Eurasian Steppe on horseback. The Scythians were most famous for their mounted archers, whose maneuverability was unmatched. A Scythian warriors would have brought several horses to battle, to insure that he had a fresh mount at all times. Speed and mobility were always central to Scythian tactics. An infantry based army would march toward a threat, as was the standard practice, but the horse archers would stay always out of reach while raining arrows on the enemy infantry. In one attested formation, the horse archers would ride in a circle in front of the enemy, shooting arrows when ride close to the enemy line, then quickly wheeling away. Since the archers could reload while on the far side of the circle, this formation created a constant stream of arrows whizzing at the infantry. Their light cavalry was also notorious for feigned retreats that encouraged the enemy to break ranks to follow. Once the enemy were adequately disorganized and perhaps even tired from the chase, the Scythian cavalry would wheel around and attack the vulnerable troops. Other peoples with horse cultures paired the horse archer with large contingents of shock cavalry to great effect. The Parthians used this combo very successfully against the Romans in a multitude of battles.

The story of the Eurasian Steppe is generally one of a tribe of horse archers being defeated and replaced by another tribe from further east. After the Scythians came the Sarmatians, the Alani, and the Huns. The peak of the nomad’s power was under the Mongolian Empire, the largest land empire the world has ever seen. The bulk and heart of the Mongol domain was the Eurasian Steppe itself. The tactics of the mounted nomads were extremely successful in the broad plains of their home, but few other than the Mongols successfully ventured beyond their native steppe land. However, Alexander once defeated the Scythians on their home turf, and the Mongol general Subutai successfully waged a campaign in the dense forests of Poland and Hungary. Brilliant commanders aside, the effectiveness of steppe peoples’ all-cavalry tactics were mostly confined to plains.

Arms and Armor in the Ancient World

Let’s continue last week’s discussion of war in the ancient world by examining a few examples of arms and armor and the ways in which they were used. Let’s begin with the armies of ancient Greece, whose feats in warfare laid the foundations for western civilization. The base unit of a Greek army was the hoplite, a heavily armored infantryman. The hoplite was expected to provide his own gear for a campaign, so their ranks were necessarily filled by the wealthy elite of Greek society. They wore a breastplate, greaves, and helmet, which were all made of bronze. In addition, they bore a round, concave shield, made primarily of wood but often covered with a a thin sheet of bronze. This shield they called an aspis, and was about a meter across. The aspis covered the hoplite from shoulder to knee, and was used in conjunction with their heavy armor to make the hoplite nearly invincible on the battlefield. The soldiers of contemporary peoples were accustomed to wearing much lighter armor, making the Greeks an intimidating exception to the rule.

The Greek spear, the dory, was also made of tough stuff. It was two to three meters in length with a sturdy shaft and a head that was initially made of bronze but was later made of iron. The butt end of the spear was fitted with a metal spike that functioned as a counterweight, but could also serve as a weapon should the spearhead be damaged or lost. The hoplites carried a short sword as a side arm, which they called a xiphos. The xiphos blade was 14-24 inches long, with a leaf shape (getting wider toward the tip), two cutting edges, and a small hilt. In their early form, the Greek swords were cast in bronze but were later worked in iron.

The armies of Macedon, as revolutionized by King Phillip II and his son, the great Alexander, were inspired by the professional soldiery of their southern neighbors and implemented some of the Greek’s best ideas while introducing new equipment to the Hellenic arsenal. The principle foot soldier of the Macedonians was a phalangite, but the elite hypasists were modeled after the Greek hoplite. The phalangites were more lightly armored than the hoplite and bore a smaller shield, but they wielded massive pikes that dwarfed the Greek dory. The Macedonian pike, or sarissa, was four to six meters long, over double the length of the standard Greek spear. The sarissas required two hands to use and were awkward to use in formation for all but the best drilled soldiers. That being said, the sarissa enabled the Macedonians to keep the enemy infantry at a distance that was safe for themselves while deadly to the enemy.

Despite the infantry reformations of the Macedonians, their greatest asset was their heavy cavalry. Called the Companion cavalry by Alexander, these were the elite warriors of Macedonian society and are regarded as one of the first shock cavalry forces in the world. They carried a lance as their primary weapon, with a sword as a side arm, but bore no shield. For armor, they would either wear the bronze breastplate of the hoplite, or a linothorax which was a type of lighter armor possibly made of many glued layers of linen. Alexander often used his Companion cavalry as the decisive force in a battle, after he pinned the enemy infantry with his formidable formations of phalangites and hypastists.

The armies of Rome were heavily influenced by Greek customs, and eventually adopted the heavy armor and sturdy spears of the Greeks for their cavalry. Despite these influences, the core infantry of Rome was always uniquely Roman. Since Rome’s Empire lasted so long it is impossible to cover here all of the weapons and armor that they had cause to use over their history. Instead, I’ll provide a summary. The Romans principally relied on the gladius, a short sword whose design was originally coopted from the CeltIberians. The steel of a gladius blade was made of about 24-27 inches long, with two cutting edges, and had no hilt to speak of. The shortness of the gladius combined with its dual cutting edges to make it an ideal thrusting weapon in close quarters. The Romans used their swords in conjunction with a large wooden shield, square in shape, rimmed with iron, and with a large iron boss. The scutum, as the Romans called it, was 41 inches high and 16 across. The Romans employed many different kinds of armor, all using some combination of steel and leather. All Roman armor types offered mobility and protection that was accomplished through ingenious designs, like segmented metal bands. The Romans also adopted the use of chain mail from the Celts, which would be used from the 3rd to 14th centuries. Mail armor was excellent at protecting the wearer from slashing weapons, but offered little protection from piercing or bludgeoning.

In lieu of the standard spear, most Roman infantrymen bore a pilum, a type of javelin. The pilum consisted of a wooden shaft with a long and thin metal neck that terminated in a pyramidal head. The thin neck of the javelin was intended to bend on impact, making it impossible to throw back and rendering any shield it lodged in ungainly and useless. The veteran troops of a legion, called the triarii, did carry a more typical spear, but they were only used in a last resort, when the first two lines needed to retreat.

The Celts were less organized than their Roman or Greek neighbors but were renowned for their metalwork and skill in battle. They were the first Europeans to use iron and steel, and many of their inventions were adopted or adapted by the Romans or Greeks. Early Celtic swords have a leaf shape that clearly inspired the xiphos of the Greeks. The Celts later used long swords with blade lengths of two to two-and-a-half feet and oval wooden shields. The Celtic longsword was a weapon better suited for slashing than thrusting, and was eventually adopted by the Romans as with so many other of their inventions. The Romans called their longsword the spatha, and its design was quickly implemented by the cavalry who benefited from its greater reach while mounted. Eventually, the spatha and the old Celtic design inspired the swords of the Germanic tribes they fought alongside and against. The swords of the Viking Age are the direct descendent of these weapons, so the Celts can be complimented on a basic design that lasted 1500 years.

The best arms and armor were welded by a warrior elite while the bulk of Celtic armies were comprised of poorly armored spearmen. Despite their capacity for metalworking, there are many accounts of Celtic warrior fighting completely naked to demonstrate their bravery. Evidence suggests that most warfare between Celtic tribes was conducted by the warrior elite, often consisting on duels between champions. The Celtic champions served as mercenaries across the Mediterranean in the Classical Era but were unable to combat the large armies of Rome alone, possibly leading to the mass conscription of lesser warriors.

Most armies of the ancient world used the spear or sword as their primary weapons, but I would be remiss if I didn’t list at least one exception. The Thracians and Dacians were known for their use of pole arms. The falx is the most infamous of these weapons, and was so effective that it forced the Romans to adopt a new form of armor to defend against it. The falx consisted of a three foot wooden shaft with a curved steel blade of approximately the same length. The falx was sharpened on its inside curve, which, when combined with the leverage of a pole arm, created a weapon capable of impressive destruction. These weapons were devastating slashing weapons and regularly cut the limbs from Roman soldiers. The point of the falx could also be used to rip away shields or to pierce armor or flesh. In a single blow the falx could split the shield of an enemy while the point pierced his helmet. They were so effective that the Romans adopted heavier armor on their shoulders and arms in response.

As to ranged weapons, slings and javelins were almost always preferred to bows in the the early days of the ancient world. The primary motivator for this preference was likely financial. Both bows and arrows are difficult and expensive to produce, and are also sensitive to the elements. The wood of a bow may be compromised by sunlight and by rain, the bowstring is rendered useless by moisture, and arrows are liable to break. The cultures of the east used bows and arrows far more than the west during the Classical Era, and the east remained at the forefront of bow technology in the succeeding centuries. The romans eventually adopted a kind of composite recurve bow after their experiences in the east. The composite recurve saw continual use under the Byzantines but was lost to Western Europe after the fall of the Western Roman Empire. The simple longbow became the ranged weapon of choice in Western Europe, but was of minimal importance until its famous successes in English hands during the Middle Ages. Siege weapon technology and use similarly peaked with the Romans and was largely lost until new siege weapon designs were created during the Middle Ages.

Generally speaking, there was a trend in the ancient world from spears to long swords. The former is a thrusting weapon, the latter meant for slashing. The trend was influenced by multiple factors, though culture and technology were perhaps the most influential. Spears were the weapon of choice in the bronze age because they were more reliable. The length and thickness of a bronze sword made it liable to bend after several blows, rendering it useless. When iron, and subsequently, steel were discovered, swords became much more reliable than they had once been. Furthermore, swords worked well in the open formations used by the Celts and Romans. The Greeks used a tightly packed phalanx that didn’t offer enough room for effective sword fighting. Additionally, the strength of the phalanx and the spear lies when they are faced from the front. The sword wielders in open formations simply have more flexibility. As the fortunes of the Hellenes declined, so their spears were replaced by those who could afford it. Finally, it may be said that swords have always captured our imagination. Large swords are simply more impressive than short swords, and would have been far more expensive than even the finest spears. They undoubtedly were used as status symbols by the Celts, and worked well for their dueling champions. The martial cultures of Rome and Germania appreciated the heroism of single combat, which would have led them unerringly to adopting the sword as their weapon of choice.

The arms and armor of the ancient world were not used in a vacuum, but were paired with the tactics of the peoples who used them. Next week, we’ll examine in more detail how these weapons were specifically implemented on the battlefield. I’d like to examine the tactics of the Romans, the Greeks and Macedonians, the Celts, and the Scythians in further detail then.

Military Theory of Ancient Warfare

Continuing the theme of the past several weeks, I would like to again make my knowledge available for writers and other interested parties. In this case, I’d like to begin a discussion of ancient warfare. War features prominently in many fantasy and historical fiction books, but an authentic rendition of ancient warfare is rare. I’m more of an armchair historian and military theorist than an expert, but I do have some knowledge to share. Essentially, I read a lot of books about this stuff, and will try to distill what I have learned as best I can. Furthermore, as much as I would like to cite my claims, I simply don’t have the time to commit to such an effort. You may take me at my word, or feel free to dig into the matter yourself. Since I am most acquainted with warfare in the ancient world, we will generally confine our discussion from the time of Alexander (336 BC) to the end of the Migration Period around 500 AD.

War was waged in the ancient world for innumerable reasons, but the objectives of war were nearly always the same. War in the ancient world was primarily about conquest. The aggressor sought to subdue an enemy tribe, nation, or people, not to eradicate them completely. I don’t think that the ancient world shied away from genocide, but it did not normally serve an aggressor’s best interest. It was far more simple to assume governance of a people than to kill them all. For one, it would be beyond most nation’s abilities to repopulate the newly emptied land with their own citizens; the populations of the world were simply too small. Since wars were focused on conquest, the subduction of an enemy to another’s will, death and destruction were not an end in and of themselves. They were useful only insofar as they subdued the enemy. Battles were fought to remove an enemy’s capacity to defend themselves. Once a group felt that they could not defend themselves, they sued for peace.

As wars were won by disheartening the enemy, so too were battles. Armies in the classical world utilized close formations of heavy infantry as their core, with cavalry and light infantry as accessories. The heavy infantrymen were well armored and bore weapons intended for melee combat. While fighting in formation, heavy infantry was extremely difficult to defeat. Rather than the scrum portrayed by Hollywood, most historians believe that battles involved multiple periods of clash and rest. Fighting is far too mentally and physically taxing to maintain for any great length of time, so the front lines would fight for some time before retreating to a safe distance to rest and gather their courage for another clash. Given this rather timid face of warfare, the heavy armor of many infantry, and the defensive benefits of a formation, casualties would have been very low when simply considering a clash between two forces of heavy infantry. It was therefore the objective an army to disrupt the formations of the enemy infantry. Heavy infantry was far easier to cut down when scattered and possibly retreating.

The role of light infantry was to disrupt the formation of the enemy by showering their lines with missiles and enticing them to break formation for a pursuit. Cavalry could pepper the enemy with missiles, entice the enemy to give chase, or charge into the melee themselves. Cavalry that charged into the infantry formation are called “shock” cavalry because of the fear they would induce in the infantrymen. These charges were ideally directed at the infantry’s flank or rear for maximum effect. Research suggests that a horse will not charge into a wall of men it cannot see through, so shock cavalry would have required the enemy formation to break before the horses came within fighting distance. Infantry may have been enticed to break formation from fear of the horses thundering toward them, or their lines may have been sufficiently thinned by missiles to allow the horses avenues to charge through. Battles were therefore a kind of high stakes game of “chicken”, where the first soldiers to break formation were killed by the hundreds.

One of the most essential elements of war in any period is the logistics. Armies must always be supplied with food, water, and arms. Troops often required regular payment as well. Poor or neglected logistics is the surest way to lose a war, as either the soldiers will leave of their own volition or be in an unfit state to fight. Among Hannibal Barca’s many skills was a genius for logistics that has never been matched. He managed to keep a rag-tag, multiethnic army supplied and in good fighting order while deep in enemy territory for years on end. Without good logistics, he would have never become the Scourge of Rome. For a negative example, let’s examine Napoleon’s famous failed invasion of Russia. Napoleon had relied on plundering the countryside during his wars in Europe, removing the need for a supply line and allowing his armies to travel at unparalleled speeds. When the Russians literally scorched the earth with flame as they retreated, Napoleon’s army had nothing to eat. He was forced to implement long supply lines that slowed his army enough that they were caught by the harsh Russian winter. His ill-supplied and unprepared soldiers died in droves because of poor logistics.

We’ve covered some broad strokes of military theory, but next week I’d like to get into the details of arms and armament. We’ll talk about how weapons were really used, and which ones were most effective. The following week, I’d like to discuss the tactics and formations of several historical groups, including the Romans, Greeks, and Celts. If there’s any specific you’d like me to cover, drop a suggestion in the comments.