The Sword of Damocles

Across the stride of human history, many things do not change. Man has always had to eat, to breathe, has always known pride, humility, envy, joy and grief and has always grumbled about taxes. Some things, however, do change. Sometimes even words.

Syracuse
Photograph taken by the author

Take the word 'tyrant' for example, a label of condemnation frequently deployed in the world of today. Originally, however, the word 'tyrant' held no negative connotations at all. The Greek word τύραννος (tyrannos) simply means 'lord of a city'. The most common usage of 'tyrant' in antiquity referred to a ruler of a city state who had come to power unconventionally, neither through inheritance nor election, and does not refer to character. It was a completely neutral word, and 'tyranny' was a relatively common system of government in the world of Classical Greece, especially in Greek colonies. No Greek colony was so famous for tyranny than the great city of Syracuse, arguably the most prestigious and powerful colony of old Greece. Throughout much of their five centuries of independence, the Syracusans rejected democracy in favour of tyranny, and under the Tyrants, Syracuse became a great power in the central Mediterranean, bordered to the West by the maritime superpower of Carthage, and to the East by the growing power of Rome. High were her walls, mighty her navy and rich her coffers. It was said that the majesty of the Syracusan court rivalled that of any Kingdom, the wealth of her treasury that of any Eastern despot. The Tyrants were great patrons of the arts and sciences, and indeed one of Syracuse' citizens was none other than Archimedes himself. Strong authoritarians, the Tyrants for five hundred years kept foreign powers at bay, and when at last the great city fell to the Romans in 212 BC, it did so only after one of the most legendary sieges in history. Here is the story of a Syracusan Tyrant, and a flatterer who longed for power.

Long ago, when the power of Syracuse waxed strongest, and her treasuries earned the envy of the world,  their ruled over the city a man who had been a student of Plato himself. Dionysius II of Syracuse was a man of philosophical intent, yet alas weary with the apparent failure of men to live up to this ideal. Ever in the shadow of his father, who had warred down Carthage and raised his city to the height of its glory, he groaned under the weight of the greatest tyrant of all - expectation. For fear of any treacherous hand felling him by blade or poison, young Dionysius was restricted as a boy to the Syracusan Acropolis, forbidden from ever leaving, lest evil men seek to take advantage of him. The close instruction of Plato, most learned of men alive in the world, not merely then, but perhaps of all time, rigorously conditioned the mind of the boy. With Dionysius, it seemed, Plato's dream may come true at last, that the world would be ruled by the finest governmental system of them all - the philosopher king. An absolute ruler, firmly endowed with virtues and a solid grasp of ethics, immune to flattery and an inspiration to his people.

Down below in the city by the waterfront, a man of quite different spirit and birth had grown up. Damocles was a man who lived ever in want, and knew only envy. Where Dionysius held virtue, Damocles held vice; ambition tempered with greed, a most dangerous combination. From a young age he had set his sights high. Not on wealth, nor military prowess, but on the tyranny itself, and worked his life towards his treacherous goal. Through connections, flattery and other corrupt endeavours, he was enrolled as courtier to the tyrant himself. Triumph, it seemed, loomed close now.

Damocles stepped into the audience chamber of the royal palace, and stood breathless, robbed of words by

the awesome spectacle that greeted his eyes. A traveller of distant lands might enter this grand chamber and believe inside that he had crossed the threshold of Heaven itself. Lavish decoration abounded, in the gold that gilded the walls and ceiling, the marble columns and triumphant statues, silken damask and priceless stones from all corners of the Syracusan trade empire. Never in his life had Damocles truly believed all he had heard of this place, that it really was true. Laughter abounded, banquets prevailed and merriment thrived. But there at the head of it all, seated in resplendent glory, was Dionysius himself, neither smiling nor frowning, a stoic figure in a sea of riches. Damocles rejoiced, though confused in his foolish mind as to why the tyrant rejoiced not too at his merry lot in life.

One day, when the tyrant was not at business, Damocles approached his master. Weaving his sycophancy as he had many a time before, but never upon so mighty a target, he eulogised the tyrant. "Fortunate art thou my tyrant, in the majesty of thy rule, the bounty of thy riches, the magnificence of thy palace and all other things, for never hath there been a man more blessed by Heaven". Dionysius, well educated and philosphically conditioned, despaired of the naive ignorance of the man before him. Thus did the tyrant vow to teach the man a valuable lesson:


                           " So, Damocles, since this life delights you,
                             do you wish to taste it yourself and make trial of my fortune? "
                                   - THE OFFER OF DIONYSIUS


Difficult it was, to determine who stood more shocked, Damocles himself or the tyrant's advisers who looked on. The tyrant's retinue protested, but Dionysius bade them stay their words. Damocles, faced more openly than ever he wished with that which he sought, was overcome with joy and fervour. Replying immediately that he did wish this, Dionysius at once gave command that the royal power be bestowed upon Damocles, that he be laid upon the golden throne, set upon the finest woven rug embroidered with the feats of great heroes and kings of the past. He ordered the fineries of silver and gold be laid out before the new tyrant, hither and thither, to frame the new ruler. He ordered him clad in robes of the most decadent crimson, and the sceptre of rule placed in his hand. He ordered chosen courtiers to dote upon him and pander to his every whim, to place a garland upon his head and await with perfumes and unguents. He ordered the kitchens bring forth their finest produce and most envied dishes. The last command of Dionysius seemed a peculiar one, he ordered a shimmering sword be fastened to the glittering ceiling, and be held firm not with rope nor cord robust, but by a single horse hair, and that the blade's point should be poised over the neck of the one who sits upon the throne.  It was then that Dionysius stepped back, and the new tyrant was seated upon the Syracusan throne.

The Sword of Damocles
Painting by Richard Westall

Thus was Damocles triumphant at last, as well he thought. Bathed in all the riches of which he had dreamed there seemed no limit to his power or pleasure. He admired the finery in which he was clad. His eyes burned with the fulfilled ambitions of a vice ridden man. His gluttony arose when he cast a glance at the magnificent plates of gold. His pride welled when he saw his entourage, bowing before him. His greed conquered the most towering of pinnacles when he saw the gold, silver and gemstones overflowing from the coffers of the world. "Fortunate am I", he softly said. But then the sycophant caught a glimpse of a glint of metal in the corner of his greedy eye. Intrigued, he cast his newly royal gaze to the Heavens. With a gasp he saw the sharp, silver point hanging over his neck. Further up, there it was, the pommel held fast, or not so fast, by a single hair from the tail of a horse. The sword swayed gently in the rafters, silent as the grave. It was then that Damocles looked not at the abundance of his possessions. He looked not at the oils and unguents nor at the bowing courtiers. Neither did he look at the burnished gold nor shining silver. The woven rug might have been the coarsest hemp now, the crimson robes tattered cloth. The wreath slipped from his head.

Dionysius approached. "You see now the folly of your wish? See now the thread upon which a ruler's life hangs at every moment? The one who rules in an imperfect world has everything to lose, and those around him, everything to gain. The riches of the world are naught compared to the danger a ruler at all times is faced with, only with virtue may we stay fate's blade. Do you still consider yourself a fortunate man, Damocles?"

"No!", wailed Damocles, "I beg you, my tyrant, grant me leave, take back this burden, for I no longer wish to be fortunate!". Thus Dionysius relieved the changed man of his terror, and released him from the fear of fate. To Dionysius the sceptre was returned, to Damocles relief. So Damocles learned that day that power, even absolute, is not the rosy bliss it seems...


United Kingdom

The Tusculan Disputations (Loeb Classical Library):
Philosophical Treatises: Tusculan Disputations v. 18 (Loeb Classical Library)
(The philosophical work which contains the story of the sword of Damocles, the version with the original Latin and English side by side)

The Tusculan Disputations (Digireads):
Tusculan Disputations
(The philosophical work which contains the story of the sword of Damocles, the cheap and cheerful version!)

United States

The Tusculan Disputations (Loeb Classical Library):
Tusculan Disputations (Loeb Classical Library) (v. 18)
(The philosophical work which contains the story of the sword of Damocles, the version with the original Latin and English side by side)

The Tusculan Disputations (Forgotten Books):
The Tusculan Disputations of Cicero (Classic Reprint)
(The philosophical work which contains the story of the sword of Damocles, the cheap and cheerful version!)

At the foot of the Mountain

Dante & Virgil at the foot of the Mountain
Engraving by Gustave Doré

" To course o'er more kindly waters now
   my talent's little vessel lifts her sails,
   that leaves behind a sea so cruel;

  And of that second kingdom will I sing,
   wherein the human spirit doth purge,
   becoming worthy of ascent to
   Heaven... "
      - DANTE & VIRGIL IN PURGATORY









Dante Alighieri may have endured Hell, quite literally, and all its horrors and chills, but the journey was not complete. It seemed an age since that night he had walked the dark forest path, midway through life, but adventure lay far ahead yet. The terrible retribution suffered by the souls of the damned was but a part of the hand dealt by God to man when the hour of reckoning comes...

Bursting forth from the dank and unforgiving realm of Lucifer's gaol, it was with a deep breath that Dante greeted the cool air again. Noxious fumes and at once stifling heat and piercing freeze was cast aside, replaced by a serener ambience. Stars punctuated the night sky, as both Dante and his guide and master, the mighty Virgil, found themselves at the root of a mountain more vast than any that towered over the world of still breathing men. Down and down in Inferno had they travelled, yet here in the Midworld, the only path lay up. This was Purgatory, neither damnation nor salvation, Heaven nor Hell, here nor there. Here dwell man and woman alike after death, awaiting judgement. Noble yet flawed in life, here they atone for their earthly sins, before they are welcomed in Heaven above. Abandon all hope, ye who enter here, the Gate of Hell had declared. Yet here in Purgatory, it is hope which lifts the spirits of all. For all here will one day enter Heaven, when their sentence is served.

The Death of Cato
Painting by Pierre Bouillon

With a start our pilgrim was made aware of a presence at his side. "Who are ? Ye who counter the blind river, have fled away from the eternal prison?", the stranger barked. None before had broken out of the dark abyss, since when had the damned been cast upon the root of the penitent Mount? "Who guided you?" he demanded. To Dante's rescue, silver tongued Virgil came. "A Lady from Heaven descended, at whose prayers I aided this one with my company", the poet declared. Beckoning at his companion, he argued that as he was not yet among the ranks of the dead, he was not subject to the ancient laws of the afterworld, and he sought only liberty. It was then that Virgil, spying a bloodied wound on the stranger's chest, that he recognised the man. A fellow Roman of yore, there stood before them Cato, staunch enemy of Caesar and Republican to the bitter end, who took his own life at Utica when his designs came to naught, and the Republic of the Romans breathed its last. Virgil informed Cato that Dante lived with hope to see his beloved Beatrice again, high in the Kingdom of Light. The hardened expression on their interrogator softened at once, moved with memories of the Marcia he once knew. "Marcia so pleasing was unto mine eyes whilst on the other side I dwelled...", he reminisced. "Now that she dwells beyond the evil river, she can no longer move me..." he lamented. Go forth, he commanded, and dally not under the command of the Lord. 'Do not return this way, and follow the rising Sun', his last words were. Dante looked at the path ahead. Steep indeed it was. Looking back, Cato's spirit was no more.

The Arrival of the Waiting
Engraving by Gustave Doré

Dawn had broken, and already the Sun had crested the horizon of the endless ocean. Through the haze Mars glowed a burning red, when suddenly a light flashed across the surf, heading to the base of the Mountain. A whiteness, blinding with brilliance, pierced the waves, and Virgil called to Dante "Make haste, make haste to bow the knew! Behold the Angel of God!". The radiance grew, and the craft beached upon Purgatory's shore. "In exitu Israel de Aegypto!", the Heavenly host cried, and from the boat a throng of souls emerged, recently hurled headlong from their earthly bodies. Around in incredulity and puzzlement they gazed. Spotting the two poets not far from they, the spirits rushed to embrace them. "If ye know, show us the way to go unto the mountain", one among them called out to Dante. "Ye believe perchance that we have knowledge of this place, but we are strangers even as yourselves", Virgil retorted. Downcast, one among them suddenly noticed the rising and falling of Dante's chest, and realisation dawned upon his breathless face. Pallid with amazement, they saw that he was still alive, and rejoiced. One moved forward to throw his arms around our pilgrim, but nay, it was not to be. Moved by the kind reception, Dante moved to embrace him too, but only through air did his arms pass. Three times they tried, but hope lay not there. Several among the shades recognise Dante, they were once men of Florence too. The one who would embrace revealed himself as Casella, a friend in life of our poet. Long had he dwelled in the middleworld, and into merry song he burst, flexing the mighty voice he once prized in life. A tear rolled down Dante's cheek at the memories relived, before a growling voice shattered the serenity. Cato spurred them on, urging them not to delay, for nightfall would be coming soon. So with fresh vigour did the ethereal party disband, and higher did they climb.

The path ahead seemed a gruelling one indeed, so steep was the embankment. Dante stuck close to his master, fearful that any slip would send him to the ranks of all around. The blood red rays of the Sun grew dazzling now, as the light flooded over the crags in the mountain. Marvelling at the old poet's agility, Dante suddenly noticed that Virgil cast no shadow in the blazing sun. "Dost thou not think me with thee, and that I guide thee?" Virgil remarked, noticing his anguish. All all too painful reminder it was for Dante, that his newfound friend and master was in fact dead. Since his mortal body long ago vanished, no more could his spirit cast a shadow, in Naples now are his last remains. "Marvel not at it more than at the Heavens", Virgil soothed the distraught Dante, for "insane is he who hopeth that our reason can traverse the illimitable way". Painfully aware that there would come a time when they  must part ways, Dante struggled on up, up and up the endless cliff. Scarcely, it seemed, could any being unequipped with wings ascend it, yet with determination did those two prevail.


After reaching something of a plateau, the two stopped; Dante for breath and Virgil for thought. Then, there on the left, another array of souls approached. As sheep they flocked, for those at the rear seemed oblivious to the matter around them, only following those in front. Timidly holding their heads low, they skulked forward, until the lead spirit, "modest in face and dignified in gait", spotted the shadow cast by Dante's form. With a start he jumped, and so too did his fellows behind, though they knew not why. "Without your asking, I confess to you this is a human body you see", Virgil called to them. By mandate of Heaven had they come this far, and the spirits bowed in recognition, beckoning the way forth.

King Manfred
Image take from the Chronicle
of Giovanni Villani

As they turned to move, however, a soft voice sounded behind. "Whoe'er thou art, thus going turn thine eyes, consider well if e'er thoun saw me in the other world". Intrigued, Dante spun around, to a haunting sight. A fair man stood yonder, with kindly face and blonde hair, one of his eyebrows split by some blow of war. His bearing was noble, no serf this was. Humbly, Dante admitted that he knew the man not. Smiling, the figure revealed the ghastly wound upon his chest, flecked with blood. "I am Manfred, grandson of the Empress Costanza; therefore, when thou returnest, I beseech thee, go to my daughter fair, the mother of Siciliy's honour and Aragon's, and the truth tell her, if aught else be told". Dante, who knew Manfred's tale well, was overcome with reverence. Fifty years earlier, Manfred, son of the Holy Roman Emperor Frederick II, faithfully obeyed his father's will in Southern Italy. It was a time when strife between the Empire and the Papacy was at its zenith, and the territorial extent of the Holy Roman Empire seemed well on its way to reclaiming the glory of its ancient namesake. At 18, his father died and rebellion was raised in the southern domains. Energetic and enthusiastic, Manfred crushed the rebellion in Naples. But Pope Innocent IV, spying an opportunity with the death of his nemesis, Frederick Stupor Mundi, demanded the surrender of Sicily from Imperial hands, intending to gift it to the son of King Henry III of England. Manfred, disgusted by the Vicar of Christ's earthly corruption, refused. Retribution arrived swiftly, a bull of excommunication. He was now a spiritual outlaw, shunned by the Catholic Church, and forbidden from entering Heaven. This was a sentence that made death seem trifling. The Pope deplored his daring to rule beyond papal permission, and his willingness to form alliances with Muslims, and raised arms against young Manfred. But the Imperial Prince was an able leader, and crushed the armies of the Papal States. Not long after, he was hailed by the Sicilians as their saviour and King. Triumphant, Manfred declared his candidacy for his father's throne, that of Holy Roman Emperor itself. The new Pope Alexander IV declared excommunication once again, rallying war against the precocious Prince. Charles of Anjou heard the Pope's call, and marched on Sicily. The two sides met at Benevento, and battle was joined. Outnumbered and overwhelmed, the Imperial forces were broken, but never would Manfred abandon the field. Alone did the Sicilian King hurl himself against the Angevin line, and with great honour his life did wane. Not content with his mere death, the Pope ordered the remains to be dug up and thrown out of the territory of the Papal States.

"Horrible my iniquities had been", Manfred bemoaned, "but infinite goodness hath such ample arms, that is receives whatever turns to it". In his final moments on the field of war, the Emperor's son had prayed to the Almighty for forgiveness. By divine law, those penitent at death, but outside the grace of the Church, must dwell here in Purgatory for thirty times the duration of their time of sin before they are permitted to move on. Serving this time now was Manfred, along with others excommunicated in recent times, and desperate to feel Heaven's light was he. But greater hope remained, for the Almighty had decreed that should any on the earthly plain mourn and pray for the spirit, hastened would his time in Purgatory be.


                                        " See now if thou hast power to make me happy,
                                             By making known unto my good Costanza
                                             How thou hast seen me, and this ban beside... "
                                                   - KING MANFRED'S PLEA


It was then that Dante, so moved by Manfred's tale, realised he had lost track of time, as the day was far advanced now. Something sadder than Inferno seemed at work here. Whereas in the Infernal Pit, men wicked at heart were condemned, here were ordinary, good people, robbed of Heaven's light, sadly delayed from the Judgement. Resenting the interference of the Pope in temporal affairs, and that Italy had never been right since a Caesar had sat upon his rightful throne, Dante was consumed with melancholy. With a start, a nearby soul exclaimed the discovery of the path to the Mountain above. The road grew on, and time could not be wasted. Weirder and more wonderful adventures lay beyond neither here nor there...

United Kingdom

Penguin Classics
Purgatorio (Penguin Classics)
(A translation which retains much of the poetic meter, with good illustrations and notes, as well as the original Italian alongside the English)

Oxford World's Classics
The Divine Comedy (Oxford World's Classics)
(A combined translation of all three parts of the Divine Comedy; the Inferno, the Purgatorio and the Paradisio, all in a highly accessible style)


United States

Penguin Classics
The Divine Comedy, Part 2: Purgatory (Penguin Classics) (v. 2)
(A translation which retains much of the poetic meter, with good illustrations and notes, as well as the original Italian alongside the English)

Oxford World's Classics

The Divine Comedy (Oxford World's Classics)
(A combined translation of all three parts of the Divine Comedy; the Inferno, the Purgatorio and the Paradisio, all in a highly accessible style)

Icarus

A long time ago, there lived an eccentric but brilliant inventor in the city of Athens. His name was Daedalus, and his was a destiny of immortality, but hand in hand walked tragedy. Renowned far and wide for his mastery of craftsmanship and design, it was not long before his great name spread far beyond the borders of Attica. Delighted and humbled by success, when word arrived one day that he had been commissioned by the great King Minos of Crete, he hardly dared refuse. It was to be a decision that would change his life forever...

The Island of Crete
Photograph taken from the NASA Earth Observatory

King Minos ruled over a powerful nation, mastery of the seas and the envy of Greece was his.But he concealed a dark secret. A dreadful abomination had been born unto his family, a creature that had thus far been death to all who came in its way. This affliction had come about not long earlier, for , drunk on glory and the riches of his nation, Minos vowed to sacrifice to the gods the first thing which came from the Ocean. Hearing his words, Poseidon the Earthshaker and master of the Ocean, sent forth a shining white bull from the depths. Stunned, and entranced by the beats majesty, Minos had second thoughts. Forgetting his promise, the King kept the bull for his own, and sacrificed a lesser creature in its place. But the eyes of a god are always watching. Angered by his attempt at deception, Poseidon sent a terrible curse to drive madness into the monster's brain, all docility and peace banished from its raging mind. Worse still, the god placed a curse upon Queen Pasiphae, wife of the King, and inspired within her an unyielding lust for the monster. Minos was distraught at the destruction which was dealt to his lands. Only mighty Heracles was able to humble the Cretan Bull, and spirit it away to distant lands, but the beast left a legacy more horrific than Minos could ever have imagined. Powerless against her retribution, his wife gave birth to the monster's blighted seed. From the impious union was born a bloodthirsty fusion of man and bull - the Minotaur. Rumour began to spread on Crete of the princess's ghastly deed, and the King desperately tried to cover his family's dark secret, and thus turned to Daedalus.


Coming before the King, Daedalus heard Minos' terrible plight and dilemma. He could not slay the creature, as it was his own blood, and the murder of a family member was a crime against the gods that would pollute his royal line forever. He could not let it walk free either, lest his terrible shame be common knowledge. It was cunning Daedalus who concocted the solution. He devised an incredible feat of engineering within which to house the beast, "where rooms within themselves encircled lye, with various windings, to deceive the eye". The Great Labyrinth, upon its completion, defied all else that had come before it. Indeed, it was said that so intricate and outlandishly complex was the warren of passages and tunnels, even Daedalus himself only discovered the way out with great difficulty. Ever after, anything complicated has been called labyrinthine in English. Deep into the bowels of the darkness was the Minotaur cast, by his own grandfather, there forever to dwell and languish away from the touch of Apollo's rays (his fate is another story, and will come in a later post).

Daedalus and Icarus
Painting by Frederic Leighton 

Time passed on the idyllic island, yet Daedalus began to long for the home he had not seen for so long, to raise his young son, Icarus, in peace. But cruel Minos had other plans. Such was his shame and furious sensitivity at his Queen's unholy brood, and his envy of Daedalus' talents, he ordered both the inventor and his son thrown into the high tower over the Royal Palace, lest the secrets of the Labyrinth ever became public. The mighty Cretan navy patrolled the sea lanes around the island, and ruled the waves. Escape by sea was impossible. The Minoans ruled the trade routes by land. Escape by land was impossible. Cunning Daedalus knew there was but one choice, if they should ever hope to see home again, and it lay above:


  " In tedious exile now too long detain'd,
    Daedalus languish'd for his native land,
    The sea foreclos'd his flight; yet thus he said:
    Tho' Earth and water in subjection laid,
    O cruel Minos, thy dominion be,
    We'll go thro' air; for sure the air is free... "
         - DAEDALUS HAS THE IDEA


So began his most ingenious work. Taking the tools that were cast in gaol with him, and using all materials he could find, he began to fire the bellows, and sweat dripped from his brow. High was the tower, refuge only to the birds of the sea as company to the illustrious duo, and Daedalus plucked the quills from their feathered forms, letting not one go to waste. Each one he honed and perfected, and arrayed them in rows, rising by degree from end to end. Through the middle he laid a twine of flax, and by wax was the plumage held fast. Life went on far below, convinced as Minos was that his secret was safe, as all the while the wings took majestic shape. All the while youthful Icarus, not yet wizened to the designs of men, idly played with the feathers and toyed with the wax, much to the father's amusement and frustration.


Then, at long last, the day of reckoning arrived. The final stroke of Daedalus' hammer fell upon the brazen wings, and together did they neatly fit. Four had he made, two for the father and two for the son. With steady hand he lashed them to his back, and took his first flap. With flawless balance he rose into the air, and for the first time did man know the sensation of flight. But purpose was not forgotten by the old master, and he at once bade young Icarus hurry. Chance, which seldom comes twice, was now to be seized. Thus did the father bid the son:


                                          " My boy, take care,
                                            To wing your course along the middle air;
                                            If low, the surges wet your flagging plumes;
                                            If high, the sun the melting wax consumes:
                                            Steer between both: nor to the northern skies,
                                            Nor south to Orion turn your giddy eyes;
                                            But follow me... "
                                                 - DAEDALUS WARNS ICARUS

Icarus Fallen
Painting by  Herbert James Draper

So with concern and fear for the audacious breakout, Daedalus fixed a pair of wings to his son, tears rolling down his cheek. All ready now, he embraced his son,knowing not it would be his last. Turning now to vast window, father and son took position, and together leapt into the azure yonder.With the joy of the winds in his hair, young Icarus soared triumphantly to the domain of the clouds, excitement fused with the thrill of adventure of the god's own land. Daedalus lead them on, as Crete fell far behind. The isles of the sea punctuated the haze far below, Delos, Paros on the left, Samos and Lebynthos on the right. For an age the air was their abode, but it was then that the warnings of his father began to desert headstrong Icarus. With the world at his feet, to the Heavens he now aspired, pride rising higher than his wings. Thundering forth, poor Daedalus was left behind. The father called out to the son, but upon deaf ears his cries fell. To the dominion of Helios Icarus set his sights, and to the burning orb he spurred his wings. So great his hubris, so hungry his eyes, he thought nothing of the rising heat. His body withstood the burning glow, but not all things could. The quills which bore him flight were bound in wax, and the radiant sun began to undo the work of the master. Softer and softer did it run, as Icarus soared on and on. Soon no more could it take, and vaporised it soon became. The eyes of Icarus widened in terror, as he saw his folly laid bare before him, but too late. Feathers tumbling all around, the haughty boy lingered for a moment in silence before with a deafening scream he plummeted from the Heavens. For an age the foolish boy fell, until there on the crest of the ocean he met his fate, in waters which henceforth bore his name.

Poor Daedalus meanwhile, desperate to find his son, called out in vain, for father he was no more. "Ho Icarus! Where are you? As he flies; Where shall I seek my boy? He cries again, and saw his feathers scatter'd on the main...". Far below on the calm surface of the water he spied the feathers his own hands had bound. Feeling the warmth of the sun high above, he knew at once. Grief insurmountable gripped poor Daedalus, and against his own craft he cursed, and the island below he named Icaria in his son's memory. For an age it seemed, the great inventor mourned on high, hoping on hope it was not true, All had been in vain, his great breakout for naught. Against King Minos he raged, whose cruelty had forced him into a cage.

Fatigued at last from wearying flight, on the fertile Sicilian pastures he came to rest, where Cocalus, King of that realm, gave the great man sanctuary, for great was the name of the Daedalus, and great the esteem in which he was held. Hanging up his wings for the last time, the inventor prayed to Apollo, offering his gift of flight. For a time Apollo granted him peace, until disturbing news arrived. Minos, enraged that his quarry had escaped his clutches, had set out in hot pursuit, hunting them down through all the kingdoms of Greece. But the bitter Cretan King knew well that Daedalus was no fool, and would not remain in plain sight, and enacted a cunning scheme to lure him out. In the court of each city he presented a dilemma. Brandishing from his robes a spiralled seashell, he promised great reward to the one who could run a string through its heart without breaking it apart. Many times he presented his challenge, and every time his hosts failed.

Then one day to Cocalus a messenger of the heartless King approached, and once more did he produce the shell. Cocalus, oblivious to the identity of the stranger's master, summoned his newfound friend. The wizened old inventor, marvelling at the task, yet unaware of its creator, saw at once a plan. Setting a drop of honey at one end, he released an ant at the other, and round the creature a string tied. The tiny insect soldiered through the shell, fixed on the honey, bearing the string with it in tow. Marvelling at the wisdom of Daedalus, Cocalus proudly presented the result to the messenger, who at once alerted his King. Well did Minos know that only Daedalus could have solved this riddle, and demanded at once that Cocalus hand him over. Seeing the malevolent nature of Minos, and the humble genius of Daedalus, however, Cocalus made his choice. He agreed, though persuaded Minos to bathe first. It would prove to be the Cretan's last. Some say the agents of the Sicilian slew the King as he bathed, others that the inventor boiled the water. For certain, however, Daedalus was at last avenged, and his nemesis ended. Some small measure of peace was at last his...


United Kingdom

Penguin Classics
Metamorphoses: A New Verse Translation (Penguin Classics)
(A version which favours ease of understanding than high poetry)

Oxford World's Classics
Metamorphoses (Oxford World's Classics)
(A version which goes all out on archaic high poetry)

United States

Penguin Classics
Metamorphoses (Penguin Classics)
(A version which favours ease of understanding than high poetry)

Oxford World's Classics
Metamorphoses (Oxford World's Classics)
(A version which goes all out on archaic high poetry)

The Cyclops

After the most grueling siege in history, after ten long years Troy fell to the Greek armies. Some of the greatest heroes ever born had fought and died on both sides, Olympus was divided and the world would never be the same again. But the ordeal of many of the Greek heroes was far from over. Indeed for one man above all others, it had only just begun...

Odysseus
Second Century Greek Sculpture, housed
in the Villa of the Roman Emperor Tiberius
at Sperlonga

Cunning Odysseus, King of Ithaca and sacker of cities, was the man who won the Trojan War. Renowned the world over for his sagacity and brilliant mind, it had been he who had masterminded the stratagem of the Wooden Horse, a deception famous the world over even today. But now, nearly ten years after the Trojan citadel burned, a weary and despairing man sat before King Alcinous of Phaeacia. The Phaeacians had been most intrigued when a strange and ragged looking man had been washed up on their shores, but Alcinous was a kindly man, and entertained the stranger in his palace. That night, at the banquet, the court bard struck up a song, a song which rang with the deeds of those famous men at Troy so long ago now. The gathered crowd cheered as the song turned to the valiant heroism of those who fought inside Troy's walls as the city fell to its knees, most of all proud Odysseus, blessed by Athena. At the sound of the bard's song, the memories welled up afresh in the stranger's mind, and choked with emotion, tears fell from his eyes. Seeing his distress, Alcinous bade the bard fall silent, and prayed the stranger to reveal his as yet unknown name, and what force had brought him here. Realising he could remain anonymous no longer, the stranger replied "Where shall I begin, where end, my tale? For the list of woes which the gods in Heaven have sent me is a long one... I am Odysseus, Laertes' son. The whole world talks of my stratagems, and my fame has reached the Heavens...". The room fell silent. All were entranced by the hero's words, stunned and saddened at his melancholy. So, with a heavy heart, Odysseus began his mighty tale.

Ten long years ago, Odysseus and his men departed Trojan shores, desperate to see beloved Ithaca again. The journey should have been quick and easy, but little could they have known that it would be as arduous and perilous as the War had ever been. For the gathered Greek Kings had made sacrifices to the gods on the shores of Troy, giving praise for their triumph. But the rituals were in vain. For the Greek soldiers had desecrated the holy places within Troy when they stormed the city, burning her temples and slaughtering her priests. In their rage, the gods decreed a terrible retribution upon the Greeks...

Odysseus rescues his men from the Lotus Eaters
Engraver unknown

Odysseus' ships made landfall in the land of the Cicones, a vicious and warlike tribe who despised all foreign men. The Ithacans sacked their citadels, eager for plunder to take home for their families as they were. But the Cicones struck back, and many were killed in the ensuing slaughter. Rallying his men, Odysseus sounded their retreat, as they continued South on their journey home. Zeus the Thunderer, however, gathered the storm clouds and unleashed a tempest upon the sea, and for nine days the Greek ships were blasted across the Mediterranean, coming to the strange land. Odysseus sent two men to investigate the local tribe, and determine if they were hostile. The locals, however, were not violent at all, on the contrary they gave Odysseus' men lotus fruit to eat. As soon as the sweet, luscious fruit touched their lips, however, the men lost all thought of home and the worries of the world. All they desired was to remain here and feast on the Lotus flower for ever more. With a great struggle did Odysseus drag his men back to the ships, urgently making for distant shores, lest his whole crew fall victim to the dangerous fruit.

Home seemed more distant than ever when, sometime later, the ships chanced upon a dense fog which descended upon them, shrouding the moonlight. So dark was the night that the ships ran aground upon a peculiar island, not a large land, but a bountiful one. Lush and verdant, this island was teeming with life, and the weary crew dined well on the plentiful goat population of the island. For the first time in many long months, Odysseus and his men enjoyed a peaceful sleep. When Dawn arrived, and the light hit Odysseus' eyes, he awoke to the beauty of the island. Across the strait, however, there was a land that night had veiled. A wild and mountainous sight it was too, in the shadow of a towering volcano - Mount Etna. When the ships were filled to bursting with supplies, curious Odysseus picked his best ship's crew, and together they set sail across the strait, inquisitive as to the local peoples and their ways. Odysseus ordered gifts to be brought, in the form of wine taken from the groves sacred to Apollo, a wine fit for Olympus itself, such was the floral aroma that rose from it. A fitting present for the local leader who, Odysseus hoped, might grant hospitality to his men in return. How very wrong he would be.

The Sack of Troy
Painting by Johan Georg Trautmann

Making landfall upon the beach, Odysseus noticed high up on the slopes an enormous cavern. Fighting an ominous sense of foreboding, the King and his twelve finest warriors scaled the cliff and gazed within the towering entrance. The sight that waited there so amazed them that all thoughts of doubt left their minds. Baskets of the most luxurious cheeses towered high, pails full to the brim with milk and pens laden with the finest lambs all stretched before them. His comrades begged him to let them take some and swiftly make their flight. How much better if would have been for them all if they had, Odysseus mournfully confessed to the Phaeacian King, but alas that hindsight was not theirs, as the hero continued his tale. Odysseus forbade his men to steal from the cave, and was at any rate keen to meet the owner of these splendid things.  Lighting a fire, the Greeks settled down, guessing the owner to be out tending his flocks during the day, as they wondered what gifts their host might present them with. Some hours later, the herds came into their cave, their shepherd close behind. At last, the owner had come. But it was no native tribesman or leader of men. With a titanic crash the Greeks awoke with a start, some might have thought that they had been roused to a nightmare. An enormous pile of logs and fallen to the cavern floor, and the being who had dropped them stood not far behind. A towering giant, mightier in stature than any building raised by the hands of men, stood framed by the mouth of the cave. So feeble were they aside such a vast being, the Greeks had avoided the gaze of the giant's single and enormous eye. With a ripple of terror, Odysseus and his men shrank into the shadows, making not a sound. The Cyclops rolled an enormous boulder into the cave's entrance as some crude door, before turning to drive his flock deeper into the cave. After methodically milking his ewes, the Cyclops lit his fire, and with the orange glow, Odysseus' cover was blown. "Strangers!" the giant roared, "and who are you!"


            " Our hearts sank. The booming voice and the very sight
              of the monster filled us with panic..."
                                          - ODYSSEUS RECOUNTS MEETING THE CYCLOPS


Their courage faltering, the Greeks turned to their King, who boldly replied that they were Achaeans, returning from Troy, once proud subjects of King Agamemnon. Some god had lead them astray on their path home, and they were now suppliants before him. Odysseus reminded the Cyclops of his duty towards guests, for Zeus decreed the honour that bound a host to his guest. The pitiless Cyclops replied that the Cyclopes were no god fearing people, and that he cared nothing for Zeus or the Olympians, since his own strength was a match for they. Nevertheless, the giant demanded to know where Odysseus had moored his ship. Sensing danger for his men still down on the ships, cunning Odysseus replied that Poseidon had smashed up his ships and that they were stranded here. The cruel Cyclops made no reply, but triumphantly dived upon them. Seizing two of Odysseus' men, he dashed their heads against the cold, stone floor. Tearing them limb from limb, he devoured them, as the Greeks shouted in terror, weeping as they raised their hands to Heaven, begging Zeus for help. Taking a gulp of milk to wash down his ghastly meal, the Cyclops settled down into a sleep.

Odysseus blinds Polyphemus
Painting by Pellegrino Tibaldi

Odysseus's first impulse was to draw his blade and slay the giant there and then, but wisdom prevailed. No man could move the vast boulder at the cave's door, and simply kill him would seal all their fates. Stricken groans came from his men, but Odysseus soothed them with his words, as they braced for morning. Dawn came once more, as the giant awoke. After slowly milking his ewes once more, he grabbed two more brave Greeks. Odysseus looked helplessly on at their grisly fate, crying with frustration. As the Cyclops left for the day to tend his flocks, however, Odysseus noticed that he had left his staff behind. If a staff it was, for to human eyes it was more like the mast of some great ship, such was its size. Forming a plan, he drew his sword and began to whittle the staff, sharpening it to a point. Thrusting the point into the fire, so as to harden it in the flames, the men drew lots to see who would have the brave task of helping Odysseus wield it. Just then the goats returned to the cave. With seconds to spare, Odysseus hid the point under a pile of dung, of which there was a great deal in the cave. Evening fell, and after milking his ewes once more, the Cyclops snatched two more of Odysseus' comrades and gobbled them down. Steeling his nerves for not the first, or the last, time, Odysseus beckoned to his men to pass him the wine he had brought. Approaching the fierce giant, Odysseus flattered him, offering him a gift of wine in the hope of pity. The Cyclops took the wine and drank deeply from it, as the intoxicating perfumes from it rose to his nostrils. The wine gave him such joy that he immediately demanded more, and the Odysseus' name, promising him a gift in return. Three times Odysseus refilled the bowl, and three times the Cyclops drained it to the last. Seeing the wine do its work on the giant's wits, Odysseus addressed him once more, "My name is Nobody. That is what I am called by my mother and father and by all my friends". Looking hopefully for his gift, Odysseus looked the giant in his monstrous eye. The heartless being answered, "of all his company I will eat Nobody last, and the rest before him. That shall be your gift". Barely had the word "gift" been uttered, when the Cyclops keeled over into a drunken stupor, vomiting forth a stream of wine and torn human flesh from his gullet.

Odysseus' Escape
Painting by Jacob Jordaens

Seizing their chance, Odysseus and his men thrust the staff into the glowing fire, and soon the tip was burning hot. Whispering encouragements to his men, Odysseus drove the stake into the Cyclops eye, twisting it with all his might. The heat singed the giant's brow, and the blood bubbled around the wound as his eye hissed furiously. The Cyclops let out a deafening shriek of agony, a shout which rang across the mountains, as the Greeks recoiled again, their nerve buckling. Such was the din, other Cyclopes soon crowded around the sealed entrance to the cave, demanding to know the cause for this disturbance. "What on earth is wrong with you Polyphemus?" they called from the night. "O my friends, it is Nobody's treachery that is doing me to death", Polyphemus shouted back. Confused, the Cyclopes replied "well, if you are alone and nobody is assaulting you, you must be sick", and off they went. Odysseus laughed to himself at the brilliance of his plan, but they had little time to waste. Groaning in pain, Polyphemus rolled aside the boulder at the door of the cave, and groped feebly, hoping to catch Odysseus or his comrades as they fled. Thinking quickly, Odysseus ordered his men to lash together the sheep in threes, using willow twigs from Polyphemus' enormous bed. For himself, Odysseus chose the most robust ram and, clinging tightly on, swung underneath it. As soon as Dawn arrived, the flock made for the pastures on the mountainside. Their master, however, still in blinding pain, ran his fingers along to tops of their fleeces as they passed through the mouth of the cave, for it did not occur to the Cyclops that men would hang beneath. Soon only the great ram remained. As the giant's hands recognised his favourite of the flock, he moaned "Sweet ram, why are you the last of the flock to pass out og the cave like this? You have never before lagged behind the others..." Odysseus felt a sudden pang of fear. "You must be grieved for your master's eye", Polyphemus mournfully concluded, and Odysseus breathed a sigh of relief. Releasing the ram, Polyphemus sat as the flock stepped into the fresh air once more. With many backward glances, Odysseus and his crew detached themselves and sprinted for the shore.

The Rage of Polyphemus
Painting by Annibale Carracci

Reaching the ship as fast as they could, Odysseus and his men were greeted with cries of joy, soon followed by lamentations at those lost. With urgent gestures, Odysseus beckoned them to silently load the flock on board and make their escape. As the oar blades struck the surf, Odysseus could not resist. Shouting in defiance, he taunted Polyphemus, "Cyclops! So he was not such a weakling after all, the man whose friends you meant to overpower and eat in your hollow cave! And your crimes were bound to catch up with you, you brute, who did not shrink from devouring your guests. Now Zeus and the other gods have paid you out!" Polyphemus felt a stab of rage. With a roar he tore off the pinnacle of the mountains and hurled it in the direction of Odysseus' voice. Soaring through the air, the rock struck the sea just ahead of the ship, but the resulting wave drove the Greeks back to shore. Seizing a pole, Odysseus pushed them off, frantically urging the crew to row for their lives. The will to shout more abuse took hold once again, as his men tried to restrain him. But anger and frustration was welling up in Odysseus too, frustration that home was no closer, frustration at his helplessness to save the lives of his men. His men begged him to stop, lest they all die. But Odysseus was not to be restrained, and shouted something he would later rue.


            "Cyclops, if anyone ever asks you how you came by your blindness, tell him
              your eye was put out by Odysseus, sacker of cities,
              the son of Laertes, who lives in Ithaca!"
                                       - ODYSSEUS TAUNTS POLYPHEMUS

Polyphemus stopped. He remembered an ancient prophecy told amongst the Cyclopes, a prophecy that foretold that he would be robbed of his sight by a man called Odysseus. In return, the Cyclops called to Odysseus, bidding him return, so that he might present him with gifts to speed him on his journey, for his father was none other than Poseidon, the god of the sea himself. Fatally disbelieving, Odysseus angrily retorted "I only wish I could make as sure of robbing you of life and breath and sending you to Hell, as I certain that not even the Earthshaker will ever heal your eye!" As this, Polyphemus kneeled in prayer. Beseeching the skies, he called to his father, laying a curse on Odysseus and his men:


        "Grant that Odysseus, sacker of cities and son of Laertes, may never reach his home
          in Ithaca. But if he is destined to see his friends again, to come once more
          to his own house and reach his native land, let him come late, in wretched plight,
          having lost all his comrades, in a foreign ship, and let him find trouble in his home"
                                        - THE CYCLOP'S CURSE


Polyphemus prayed, and Lord Poseidon heard his prayer. Rising to his feet, with all his might, Polyphemus seized a boulder, mightier by far than the first, and with a roar hurled it towards Odysseus' proud words. Falling through the sky, the rock scraped the rear of the ship, but missed, though the resulting tidal wave propelled the Greeks to foreign shores. Odysseus and his men were overjoyed. Little did they know, as Odysseus later told King Alcinous in Phaeacia, what a world of pain the Cyclops had now unleashed upon them. For in his lair they had had a giant as a foe. Now they had a long ocean voyage home, and now they had the god of the sea himself as a foe...

United Kingdom

Penguin Classics:
The Odyssey (Penguin Classics)
(A version which keeps a dash of the original poetry, good if you like a balance between high poetry and readability)

Oxford World's Classics:
The Odyssey (Oxford World's Classics)
(An excellent choice if you want to read the Odyssey for it's story over it's poetry)

United States

Penguin Classics:
The Odyssey (Penguin Classics)
(A version which keeps a dash of the original poetry, good if you like a balance between high poetry and readability)

Oxford World's Classics:
The Odyssey (Oxford World's Classics)
(An excellent choice if you want to read the Odyssey for it's story over it's poetry)  

The Violent and the Frauds

Filled with grief at the plight of those who took their own life, Dante and Virgil come to the edge of the grand forest of sorrow (for the previous episode in this saga, please click here). The arboreal spirits thin out, and a vast plain emerges before them, a place "whose soil refused any plant". A river of boiling blood separates the second ring from the third, a ring where the violent meet their judgement.

The Violent
Engraving by Gustave Doré.

Beyond the grisly river, our pilgrim enters the third and final ring of the Seventh Circle of Hell. A vast wasteland stretches before him, a blasted land, where no plants grow, only great shifting sands cover the ground. From the skies comes a rain of fire, kindling the sands underfoot. The souls damned to this place scream in agony, as the boiling rain sears their flesh, and the burning sands scorch their soles. Shades try desperately to brush off the fire, but to no avail, the weather is relentless, endlessly spewing its conflagration on the damned of Hell. Dante notices three groups of souls condemned to this place, and enquires of his teacher Virgil of their crime. His master replies, the souls lying down upon the fiery floor are those whose violence was unto God, those who took the Lord's name in vain and blasphemed against his will. Dante spots among them Capaneus, a man who in ancient times, during the siege of the city of Thebes, cursed the name of Zeus. The Thunderer blasted Capaneus with a thunderbolt in retribution, and now he finds himself damned in Hell. Others here crouch upon the sand. These men were usurers in life, Virgil explains. They preyed on the needy, offering money to the poor, then ruthlessly charging extortionate levels of interest. They were violent against nature, betraying the compassion man should feel for his kin. For this they now burn in Hell. There is another group too, one who wander aimlessly through the cruel desert. These are the sodomites, those who needlessly scorned 'Christian nature', now wander without purpose in Hell. Dante spots many men he knew in life, illustrious men of Florence that they were. He is grieved to see that his old mentor, Brunetto Latini, now walks among these shades. Not for the first time our pilgrim sheds a tear for the damned. The two men speak of Dante's future, and Dante remembers the kindness Latini showed him in life, thanking him for showing the true path to immortality. Many more Florentines now approach, rapacious in their extortion of gold, and all revel in the glory of their great city. But time grows short, and a huge form rises out of the abyss, as the two poets continue into Hell.

The Panderers and Seducers
Engraving by Gustave Doré.

A vast monster rises before them, a fearsome Chimaera of three forms. Bearing the head of an honest man, his docile face belies his monstrous form, the body of a dragon, with a tail crowned with a lethal sting. The monster Geryon is a fitting personification of the crimes of fraud, as souls are deceived by the creature's soft face. Tricking Geryon with his words, Virgil order the beast to bear them down to the Eighth and penultimate Circle of Hell. Deep into the bowels of Hell the monster descends, Dante clinging to his mane. Soon, our two poets make landfall in the Eighth Circle, the infernal prison of the Frauds in Hell. Ten ravines divide this Circle, called the Malebolge ("The Rotten Pockets"), where those who knowingly sowed discord and deception in life are banished. In the first of the Rotten pockets, our pilgrim spies a cruel sight. Two files of naked souls stride alongside each other, one to the fore, the other behind. Bent over with weight of sin, horned demons look on armed with whips. Revelling in cruel pleasure, the demons lash with all their might upon the backs of the souls, the crack of the whip ringing through the air, accompanied by the shout of anguish of the scourged shade. These souls were panderers and seducers in life, using the passion of others to manipulate their path in life, now they are driven through this rotten pocket by these demons on Hell. Dante spots among them a man of Bologna, Venedico Caccianemico, a man he knew in life. But fearing the sting of the lash, the man dares not speak long. Virgil too, points out the hero Jason, who in his quest for the Golden Fleece seduced the sorceress Medea, abandoning her when her use was past.

The Flatterers
Engraving by Gustave Doré.

" Now we could hear the shades in the next pouch
    whimpering, making snorting grunting sounds
    and those of blows, slapping with open palms.

  From a steaming stench below, banks abound
     with a slimy mold that stuck to them as glue,
     disgusting to behold and worse to smell... "
                  - THE TORMENT OF THE FLATTERERS


Crossing into another of the Rotten Pockets, a ghastly stench befouls our pilgrim's nose. Coming to the edge of a huge ridge, Dante and Virgil look down the gorge at a grotesque sight. An ocean of human excrement fills the valley floor, smothering and drowning many unfortunate souls cast within. Dante eyes find the head of a man, so besmirched with faeces he cannot make out his features. The man shouts up, begging why the poet stares at his indignity. Dante knows his voice, it is Alessio Intermenei, a man of Lucca, a man from whose tongue fell unceasingly obscene flatteries in life. Just as these souls spewed vile words in life, so now they wallow in this putrid filth in death. Eyes watering with the evil odour, and his nausea growing, Dante continues on his baleful journey.

The Simonists
Engraving by Gustave Doré.

The Third Rotten Pocket is one Dante takes the utmost pleasure in experiencing. For here are condemned those who committed the sin of simony, corrupt men of the church who gave money for influence, exchanging gold for a position in Saint Peter's Church. This sin takes its name from a soul who is damned here, that of Simon Magus, the man who tried to bribe Saint Peter himself to grant him the power to conjure miracles. A vast expanse of bare rock stretches before the two poets, marked by a series of holes, each no wider than the sinner thrust inside it. To our pilgrim's eyes, they remind him of those pulpits from which his priest would stand and baptise from, now in twisted perversion, those men who corrupted the hierarchy of the church lie upside down within them. From each hole emerges the feet of a sinner, and from each sole bursts purging fire, as the simonist within twitches violently in agony. Our pilgrim hears the shouts of one buried nearby, a man who mistakes Dante for his own successor. The sinner buried within is Pope Nicholas III, a man who gained the Papal throne through gold and nepotism, who lavished positions in the Roman Church upon his own kin above other men. In his infernal jabberings, Nicholas names two of his successors to Saint Peter's throne, destined to be condemned to Hell for their crimes, Pope Boniface VIII and Pope Clement V, both deeply corrupt men, disgraces to the Roman Church. On realising his mistaken assumptions, Nicholas addresses Dante with a haughty speech, showing no remorse for his crimes, condemning others in his stead. Disgusted, Dante reminds the tainted Pope that Peter offered no sum for the keys of Heaven, the price that Christ asked of him was "Follow me" and no more. Berating the corrupt Pope, Dante works up a fury. "You have built yourself a God of gold and silver! How differ you from the idolator?" Dante shouts at him. Mourning the day when the Church first acquired wealth, Dante notices Virgil eyeing him, smiling, admiring his virtue. Seeing his pupil learning from his path, Virgil embraces Dante as a noble man, denouncing the evil within God's representatives on Earth...

United Kingdom

Penguin Classics:
Dante: Inferno (Penguin Classics)
(A nice edition which also has the original Italian on the left hand page opposite the English)

Oxford World's Classics:
The Divine Comedy (Oxford World's Classics)
(Accessible and well annotated, also includes Purgatorio and Paradisio)

United States

Penguin Classics:
The Divine Comedy: Volume 1: Inferno (Penguin Classics) (Pt. 1)
(A nice edition which also has the original Italian on the left hand page opposite the English)

Oxford World's Classics:
The Divine Comedy (Oxford World's Classics)
(Accessible and well annotated, also includes Purgatorio and Paradisio)

The tale of King Harald Hardrada

King Harald Hardrada (wielding battleaxe and clad in red)
Taken from 'The life of King Edward the Confessor'.

The year 1066 AD will always be associated with the Battle of Hastings, and the triumph of Duke William of Normandy over King Harold Godwinsson of England. So much so that 1066 is the most famous date in history, heralding the end of the ‘Dark Ages’ and the beginning of the Medieval Kingdom of England. Less well known however, is one of the major reasons for the English defeat at Hastings, that of the other invasion of England in the Fall of 1066. Fewer of us have heard the name Harald ‘Hardrada’, and know him simply as the Norwegian King who died at the Battle of Stamford Bridge less than three weeks before Hastings. Yet King Harald III Sigurdsson (the epithet Hardrada was given later, and is Old Norwegian for ‘hard ruler’) was a legendary figure in the Scandinavian lands, even before his fateful decision to press his claim to the English throne.

Harald was born in 1015 AD, the youngest son of the recently elected King Olaf II of Norway (who would later be canonised). His father’s rule was unstable, since these were changing times for the Scandinavian Lands. Olaf was trying to convert his subjects to Christianity, and meanwhile the Danes, losing ground in England, were looking to lands closer to home for conquest. In 1028 AD the alliance of the King of Denmark, Cnut the Great, with rebellious jarls (nobles) in Norway forced Olaf and his sons into exile. Not until 1030 did he return, making a last effort to reclaim his throne. The effort came to war, and at the Battle of Stiklestad in 1030, Olaf was killed. Harald, only a boy of barely fifteen, fought alongside his father in the battle too and was badly wounded.

The land of Sicily, where Harald distinguished himself
Photograph by the author.

Harald barely escaped with his life, and with the scattered warriors still loyal to him, he fled to the land of the Kievan Rus (what would later come to be called Russia). Harald and his retinue served the Grand Prince in his wars against Poland as hired mercenaries for several years, before their wanderings took them South, to Constantinople and the Eastern Roman Empire. The Emperor, mistrusting his own Greek bodyguards, who had felled many a ruler before him when they felt their pay was inadequate, formed a new guard composed of exiled northeners from the Viking and Saxon realms. This would later become the feared élite corps of the Roman army, the Varangian Guard. Harald and about five hundred survivors came before the Emperor Michael IV and the Empress Zoe and pledged their service. The Empress accepted immediately the pledge of so noble a man. His charisma, valour and ingenious stratagems soon won the admiration of the Varangians (and Roman chroniclers), and before long, Harald himself had risen in the Roman court to a command of the Guard. Again and again he proved his bravery, in campaigns as far away as Sicily, Italy and Bulgaria in the Emperor’s service. Soon Harald was a wealthy man, and could at last try to reclaim his righful place as King of a faraway land.

In 1042, Harald appealed to the Emperor for release from service. The Empress Zoe was angered, as she had hoped that Harald would have wed her, and tried to prevent his escape. But with the loyalty of the Varangians, Harald was not to be stopped. He stole away from Constantinople, sailed up the Bosphorus and travelled back to Scandinavia through the Eastern Kingdoms. He found Norway under the rule of his illegitimate brother, Magnus the Good. The two shared power, until in 1047, Magnus died and Harald was at last crowned King Harald III of Norway.

The next fifteen years passed with constant war with Denmark, until Harald at last gave up his claim on the Danish throne in 1062. But not long after, suddenly, a new opportunity presented itself. Arriving in Harald’s court, a man by the name of Tostig brought news of the death in England of King Edward the Confessor. Tostig revealed to Harald that he was brother to the new King Harold Godwinsson, and pledged his support and that of the majority of the chieftains of England should Harald seek the English throne. It transpired that Tostig had actually put the same offer to King Svein of Denmark, only days before, but was turned down. Harald, intially uneasy about the venture, soon gave in to Tostig’s persuasion, and agreed to once again open Norway’s claim on the throne of England.

The omens were bad. More than once did Harald have terrifying visions of impending doom, especially after the invasion was launched in the Fall of 1066. One soldier, onboard ship to the British Isles, had a vision of a troll (a fell creature and harbinger of evil news to the Northmen) who chanted:

“Norway’s warrior sea-king

Has been enticed westward

To fill England’s graveyards;

It’s all to my advantage.

Birds of carrion follow

To feast on valiant sea-men;

They know there will be plenty,

And I’ll be there to help them."

                                                - THE OMENS FORTELL HARALD'S DOOM

The portents were bad. Harald stopped in the Shetland and Orkney Islands, receiving reinforcements from both and from the Northern Scottish Isles. The fleet sailed down the East coast, and for now all went well. The Norwegians sacked Scarborough and accepted the surrender of many coastal towns. On the 20th of September 1066, Harald won a heroic victory over a large English army, under Earl Morcar and Earl Edwin, at Fulford. A sizeable portion of the elite English forces lay as food for the crows, and so badly mauled were the Earls’ forces, they were fatefully unable to come to the assistance of King Harold at Hastings three weeks later.

King Harold Godwinsson
Image taken from 'The Life of Edward
the Confessor'.

The King of Norway then marched on York with his forces, and those of Tostig, who had just joined him from Flanders. York offered its surrender, and the next day Harald chose two men of every three in his army to accompany him to formally accept the surrender. It was a hot day on the 25th of September 1066, and many of Harald’s men left their armour behind at the ships, carrying only their helmets, axes, shields and swords. Harald reached the River Derwent and the narrow bridge over it at midday, and was faced with a horrifying sight. King Harold himself had arrived with the English army, all equipped with splendid mail coats and glittering spears. Harald himself likened the sight to one of “a field of broken ice”. Harald however, was a brave man, seasoned by war. He gave the order for his flag, the Landwaster, to be unfurled.

But then, twenty horsemen rode up to the Norwegian lines. One of them spoke out, and demanded to know if Tostig was among them. Tostig shouted his reply that he was. The rider stated that King Harold was prepared to offer Tostig one third of his kingdom if the armies would withdraw. Tostig asked what the King of Norway would receive in return for his efforts. The rider uttered an immortal reply:

“King Harold has already declared how much of England he is prepared to grant him: seven feet of ground, or as much more as he is taller than other men.”

                                           - KING HAROLD GODWINSSON THREATENS THE KING OF NORWAY

The death of King Harald
Painting by Peter Nicolai Arbo.

The rider turned and galloped back to the English lines. Harald turned to Tostig and asked who this well spoken man was. “That was King Harold Godwinsson” replied Tostig, to Harald’s amazement. “What a little man that was; but he stood proudly in his stirrups”, was Harald’s reply. Battle was joined. Many fell on both sides. Indeed, on Stamford Bridge itself, one Norwegian warrior personally slew forty Englishmen. A giant of a man, given over to bloodlust, he single handedly held the bridge against England (echoing the valour of Horatius Cocles, the officer who played an outstanding role in the defence of Rome at the birth of the Republic – whose story can be found here). Not until an Englishman sailed beneath the bridge and thrust a spear through the woodwork and into the berserker’s gut were the Norwegians pushed back. The English feigned withdrawal, and in an ominous foreboding of what would transpire at Hastings three weeks later, pounced upon the pursuing Norwegians who broke the shield wall. Harald was killed by an arrow to the throat, yet still the Norwegians fought on. Norwegian reinforcements arrived from the coast, and hurled themselves to war, preferring to die with their brave King than retreat in disgrace. Yet slowly and surely, the Vikings were hewn down. So terrible were their casualties, that of the three hundred ships which bore them to England, only twenty four were needed to bear the survivors. Just three days later, a desperate messenger arrived and leaped off his horse at King Harold’s feet, frantically shouting that Duke William of Normandy had just landed at Pevensey...

The tale of Harald Hardrada is legendary in Norway, and well recorded in epic poetry and more conventional chronicles. The poem is surprisingly readable and gripping, and is available very easily and cheaply from Amazon:

United Kingdom

Penguin Classics:
King Harald's Saga: Harald Hardradi of Norway from Snorri Sturluson's Heimskringla (Classics)
(Quite short and at a very low price, poetic and epic! My recommendation.)

The Echo Library:
The Anglo-Saxon Chronicle
(More lofty in tone, containing a large history of Saxon England, including the Battle of Stamford Bridge)

United States

Penguin Classics:
King Harald's Saga: Harald Hardradi of Norway: From Snorri Sturluson's Heimskringla (Penguin Classics)
(Quite short and at a very low price, poetic and epic! My recommendation.)

The Echo Library:
The Anglo Saxon Chronicle: A History of England From Roman Times to the Norman Conquest
(More lofty in tone, containing a large history of Saxon England, including the Battle of Stamford Bridge)