Vindolanda
Greetings All Welcome to issue 33 of the Re-Enactor, The magazine is now sent to 33 different Countries around the world as this month we welcome Brazil!
Hadrians Wall, Mile Castle
I have just returned from a short walking holiday at Hadrian‘s Wall, hence the pictures. The only downside to the holiday was the weather with only one dry day! If you check out my FB page you‘ll see some more pictures that were takenhttp://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a. 10150269530829351.348142.708904350 If you get chance the area is well worth a visit. Congratulations to Dan & Mike, both in the UK, for being the lucky winners of last month‘s competitions. Your prizes will be with you soon!
Vindolanda-Rebuilt section of Hadrians wall
Features This Month 1: Making the Maciejowki (Part 1) 2: ―Devils Charge‖ - Reviews 3: Competitions 4: ―Agent of Rome‖ Chapter One 5: Book Reviews-The Historical Novel Soc. 6: King Richard III - Project 7: Event Listings 8: The Great Road Encampment-Report
There are 2 new competitions in this month‘s issue with 6 books up for grabs. A big thank you to Michael Arnold and Nick Brown for the prizes this month.
As always, I am on the lookout for more groups, traders, event details, stories, articles and reports. Please contact me at the normal email address with details! Editor.
Jason.okeefe@btopenworld.com
To receive a copy of this magazine just send your email address to: Jason.okeefe@btopenworld.com
Competitions: All competitions are free to enter Winners will be selected at random on the 24th of each month for the relevant competition. Winners will be notified via email shortly after the draw takes place. No correspondence will be entered into. The editor’s decision is final. The views and opinions expressed in the articles in this ezine are those of the individual authors themselves and not those of the Editor
MAKING THE MACIEJOWSKI (Part One) By Nils Visser You might know the feeling, wandering about an encampment, meandering between the tents at a leisurely pace, and then that glimpse of a new and shiny bow. Sweet. You want it. Badly. You start to salivate and calculate. Possibly you‘re in the position to purchase it. Otherwise it will haunt your thoughts for a few days, weeks or even months, especially if you handled it and felt its weight in your hand, conceivably even sensing the first indications of the character of the wood fibers: masculine, feminine, obstinate, willful, wild, temperamental, obedient; to name but a few descriptions I‘ve heard fellow archers use to describe their bow‘s character. Have you ever wondered though, what long and winding road that bow has travelled ere it was ready to catch your eye and enchant you? Some of it we may guess at, the price being indicative of the many hours a bowyer spends sawing, carving, planing, filing, sanding and tillering to entice that final shape from the initial stave. But there is more to the development of a bow than the skills of a bowyer. Take, for example, the ―new‖ Maciejowski Bow, developed by the Magén Klomp. I stumbled upon the story of this bow earlier this year and have been fortunate enough to play a small part in it since. In January, my partner gave me a very special birthday gift, I was to make my very own Longbow under the guidance of Magén Klomp at the Fairbow workshop in Amsterdam. At the end of the first long day we had a well-deserved dram of a quality single malt. Klomp then took a composite bow from a bow rack, a paradoxical mix of seductive curvature and sleek menace. ―This one has a special story.‖ Klomp said with a wry grin. ―Ever heard of the Maciejowski Bible?‖ We professed our ignorance. ―It‘s a medieval manuscript containing scores of pictures. They‘re very detailed, and often used as visual source material. But there‘s something odd in it, namely the bows.‖ Klomp launched into a relished story, ―I first noticed it in one of the battle scenes, when you‘re in my profession it‘s more or less the first thing your eye is drawn to.‖ He produces a piece of well thumbed A4 paper containing a colour printout of a medieval battle scene. We peer at it, and nod politely, seeing very little that seems remarkable, beyond armed warriors busily carving each other into smaller pieces in a scene showing an attack on a castle gate. ―There‘s an archer on the gatehouse tower.‖ Klomp nudged us in the right direction. ―I call him the Maciejowski Bible Archer. You‘ll note that there‘s something odd about his bow.‖ ―It‘s got thingies.‖ I suggested. ―At the end, both of them.‖ I added helpfully, earning a withering glance. ―Siyahs. Probably spliced into the tips.‖ Klomp elucidated my description. ―Ever heard of a Longbow with siyahs?‖ I didn‘t have a clue what he was on about. My mind identified a combination of ‗rice‘ and ‗spice‘ in ‗spliced‘. The word ‗siyah‘ evoked an image of an oriental dancer, curvaceously clad in a silk sari. I added a bowl of spiced rice to the picture, which seemed apt enough. But how to fit in a six foot English Longbow? Klomp stared at me with a bemused look, seeming to read the utter nonsense and being none to impressed. I concluded that Longbows are unlikely to accompany voluptuous dancing girls, and answer truthfully: ―No, I can‘t say that I have ever seen a Siyah with a Longbow.‖
Klomp was satisfied with this answer. He proceeded to explain that the type of bows we usually associate with Medieval Europe have a very simple D-shape when strung, a shape that becomes more pronounced when the bow is drawn. The bow held by the Maciejowski Bow Archer, however, had clearly been recurved, it appears to have the shape of an Eastern composite bow, to judge by the fixed shape of the ears (siyahs). Such bows were in use further to the East, on the steppe of Hungary, in the Sultanates and Caliphates of the Middle East and in Persia. ―My first thought was that this was a lucky accident,‖ noted Klomp. ―The illustrator messing it up, and by happy chance managing to produce a bow that was being used in Asia.‖ But, intrigued by the sight of a type of bow in a place where it shouldn‘t be, the Dutch bowyer started to look for other pictures of archers in the Maciejowski Bible, and to his surprise, stumbled upon more bows resembling Eastern composite bows. By the by, the name of the Maciejowski Bible derives from Cardinal Bernard Maciejowski of Cracow in Poland, who made a gift of the bible to Shah Abbas the Great of Persia, in 1608. However, the bible predates that event by many years, having been commissioned by King Louis IX of France and generally believed to have been initiated between 1244 and 1254, started in Paris and completed in Naples at the turn of the 13 th century. As mentioned the Maciejowski Bible is special because it contains highly detailed and colourful illustrations, albeit that the biblical scenes drawn therein are depicted in contemporary medieval architecture and dress. It is generally believed that the pictures in the Maciejowski Bible were drawn by up to 6 different artists. Nonetheless, many show the same distinctive bow shape, whether used for battle or hunting. It‘s been suggested that this is not all that surprising, the artists knew that the Biblical scenes were set in the Holy Land, a place where composite bows were in use, as the West Europeans had discovered during the crusades. ―Humbug,‖ snorted Klomp. ―Have a good look at those pictures, they‘re very much influenced by Western Europe. These pictures are renowned for their detail, people study all sort of minute details in these pictures. It seems unlikely that they would choose to give the bows, and only the bows, a foreign flavour. Why should I be able to make accurate claims about ankle-boots, belt-bags, falchions, even braises (underwear) from these pictures, but not about bows?‖ Klomp had a point, the details in the illustrations point at an artist relating to the world he knows, i.e. France in the High Middle Ages. If the pictures of the bows are based on crusader‘s descriptions of Saracen weaponry, then it would stand to reason that other items would also have emphasized an Eastern setting, for example, distinctive Saracen scimitars, helmets or shields. Nonetheless, the Saracen connection, in the light of King Louis IX own crusade experiences, makes more sense than the next argument, the suggestion that this particular style of drawing Longbows had become stylish. This would be an odd anomaly within pictures that aren‘t abstract in nature but instead contain almost photographic detail. ―Those bows are part of the local context,‖ concluded Klomp. ―I don‘t know how they got there, but they are there, to judge by the pictorial evidence.‖ Being a man of action Klomp started to experiment till he arrived at a model which he has aptly named the Maciejowski Bow.
―The Maciejowski Bow shoots like a dream, fast and powerful, but Magén stirred up a hornet‘s nest there,‖ grinned Chris Verwijmeren, lawyer and archer, who conducts historical research on behalf of the Dutch War Bow Society. ―The accepted view of archery in the Middle Ages is based on the hundred years war, or more specifically, the dominance of the English Longbow starting at Cadzand in 1337 and culminating at Azincourt in 1415. So that‘s less than a century, based on which it is generally assumed, quite accurately, that the English were formidable archers. However, it is also assumed that there wasn‘t much of an archery tradition on the continent bar a few Italian mercenaries who could shoot a crossbow. To draw an Orwellian parallel: Longbow good, crossbow bad, composite bow non-existent.‖ ―And that is so far removed from accuracy that it becomes ludicrous, the Middle Ages lasted a bit longer than that,‖ added Gert Pancras, Secretary of the Dutch War Bow Society. ―So you get this dogmatic view on the one hand, then comes along Magén who suddenly starts to go on about composite bows on the other.‖ ―There are other archery traditions in Medieval Europe.‖ Verwijmeren commented. ―According to the Oxford Companion to Military History, the composite bow was a significant weapon in Italy and in France.‖ ―But to some such a suggestion is akin to using ill-placed expletives.‖ Pancras grinned. ―Anything that doesn‘t fit in the accepted version of events is a no-no. They say that composite bows simply couldn‘t be used in the North because the glue would deteriorate in the wet climate.‖ This is where I fit in. Intrigued by this particular story, I carried out some initial research, and quickly deduced that the climate argumentation doesn‘t bear close scrutiny. For starters many crossbows of the High Middle Ages were also of a composite nature, i.e. consisting of various parts that were glued together. Crossbows were imported and constructed in Northern Europe, not just by the French, but also by the English. King John, for example, employed one Peter the Saracen to make crossbows in England. The composite nature of those crossbows made them just as vulnerable as regular composite bows. Quite possibly it is that very vulnerability that causes the contemporary perspective. For when we buy a bow these days, we see it as an investment. It‘s a statement, to indicate that we appreciate a genuine handmade product in a world filled with soulless plastic. It‘s also a chance to participate in a very ancient tradition. As a matter of course then, we take good care of our new bow, it‘s given a protective bag to keep it dry and warm, a horizontal and dry storage place, new coats of wax, and more often than not a name to boot. As mentioned in the introduction, we even ascribe human characteristics to our bow. For the Medieval archer, however, the bow was an item meant to be used, and wear and tear or breakage and subsequent need for replacement was considered normal. The Romans stationed the First Cohort of Hamian Archers (Cohors I Hamiorum Sagittariorum) at Hadrian‘s Wall, a location which certainly lives up to the wet and windy reputation of the northern climate. To replace the composite bows which didn‘t survive those conditions, the Romans had built an arms ―fabricae‖ near Pavia, where replacements were crafted by Eastern bowyers. By the by, the Romans were well aware of averse climatic circumstances, and waterproofed the bows with bark and lacquer. The Mongolians were expected to bring to a campaign their horses, sixty arrows and no less than 3 to 4 bows. Because their empire was so vast, campaigns could last for years, and the
light cavalryman was thus geared to deal with wear and tear. The Moors in Spain were also resupplied by means of mass production. The factories in Cordoba in Andalusia produced up to 1,000 bows and 20,000 arrows on a monthly basis. The Weapons of Warre: The Armaments of the Mary Rose also mentions numerous inventories of armaments on Tudor ships where record was made of archery equipment lost during combat operations. There are instances where the composite bow appears in Northern Europe during the High Middle Ages before the Maciejowski timeframe. None other than Richard Lionheart, King of England, employed Saracen mercenaries from the Holy Land. Richard had 120 of these mounted archers at his disposal and used them during his campaign to re-conquer Normandy (1195-1199). This might also well be the origin of Peter the Saracen, bowyer in the service of John Lackland a few years later. My initial conclusion then, was that there was no physical reason why composite bows couldn‘t make a northern appearance. This added validity to the pictures in the Maciejowski bible, there was a definite possibility that the French did have access to composite bows somewhere between 1250 and the early 1300‘s. This raised the question, of course, as to what happened to these type of bows, for they sure weren‘t to be found during the initial battles of the Hundred Years War at Cadzand, Sluys, and Crecy.
To be continued in the next issue!
Devil's Charge (Book 2 in the Stryker Chronicles) England stands divided: King against Parliament, town against country, brother against brother. For Captain Stryker, scarred hero of a dozen battles, the rights and wrongs of the cause mean little. His loyalties are to his own small band of comrades – and to Queen Henrietta Maria’s beautiful and most deadly agent, Lisette Gaillard. So when Prince Rupert entrusts him with a secret mission to discover what has happened to Lisette and the man she was protecting - a man who could hold the key to Royalist victory – nothing, not false imprisonment for murder, ambush, a doomed siege, and a lethal religious fanatic – will stand in his way. From the bloody storming of Cirencester, to the siege of Lichfield and finally to the killing fields of Hopton Heath, Michael Arnold brings all the drama and the passion that lay behind the English Civil War vividly to life.
'Mike Arnold hooks the reader with the clash of steel and the roar of gunpowder. Rollicking action and proper history combine in this cracking series.' Anthony Riches, Author of the Empire series 'A thumping good read. With considerable skill, Arnold has reached back in time to create a living, breathing depiction of 17th century England. From his vividly described battle scenes to the richly drawn descriptions of everyday life, from the earthy vernacular of its characters to the precise details of military equipment, every last part of this book oozes authenticity. Fans of Cornwell's Sharpe novels will love Captain Innocent Stryker he's uglier, meaner and cleverer than Sharpe. Tremendous!' Ben Kane, bestselling author of The Forgotten Legion Chronicles ‗Mike Arnold has caught all of the passion, urgency, fear and exhilaration of men in battle. Not only that, he's writing in a period that he obviously knows intimately and in to which he has breathed new life.‘
Patrick Mercer, author of 'To Do and Die' and 'Dust and Steel'.
‘A thundering, swashbuckling yarn that will get the blood of all Sharpe fans pumping...’
Peterborough Evening Telegraph
Competition One Summer, AD 270 Marcus Aurelius Valerius Claudius, Emperor of Rome, rules a divided domain threatened by invasion and revolt. In the East, the Persians have long posed the greatest challenge to Roman dominance. Control of the eastern provinces has been ceded to Odenathus, Roman ally and emperor of the Syrian city-state, Palmyra. Having won the second of his major victories against the Persians, Odenathus has been mysteriously murdered. His ambitious and charismatic widow, Queen Zenobia, takes command of his empire and army. Not content to remain guarantor, she unleashes a rebellion against Rome. Having already attacked Arabia, Palestine and Egypt, she now looks north to the mighty Syrian capital: Antioch. Agents of Rome : The Siege by Nick Brown is published by Hodder. Available now. I have 5 copies of this excellent book to give away, to be in with a chance of winning a copy read the first chapter, over the next few pages, and answer this question: What did the General take from a small bowl on a desk and wash down with a mouthful of wine?
Competition Two Devil's Charge (Book 2 in the Stryker Chronicles) England stands divided: King against Parliament, town against country, brother against brother. For Captain Stryker, scarred hero of a dozen battles, the rights and wrongs of the cause mean little. His loyalties are to his own small band of comrades – and to Queen Henrietta Maria‘s beautiful and most deadly agent, Lisette Gaillard. So when Prince Rupert entrusts him with a secret mission to discover what has happened to Lisette and the man she was protecting a man who could hold the key to Royalist victory – nothing, not false imprisonment for murder, ambush, a doomed siege, and a lethal religious fanatic – will stand in his way. To be in with a chance of winning this book visit, http://www.michael-arnold.net/, and answer this question: What was the title of the first book in the Stryker Chronicles called?
Send your answer for either one or both of this month‘s competitions along with your full postal address to: jason.okeefe@btopenworld.com before September 24th 2011 to be in with a chance of winning!
Agent of Rome- The Seige – Chapter One Cassius Quintius Corbulo nudged his horse towards the side of the alley, taking them both out of the glare of the bright morning sun. He sighed impatiently, twisted in his saddle and stared down the line. Some of the men were mounted, others were on foot. There were more than a hundred of them, but they were an un impressive bunch: mainly clerks, engineers and slaves. The handful of legionaries were mostly injured and unfit for service. Supplies hadn‘t reached the area in months; not one soldier had a full set of equipment. Cassius had made a note of every name and occupation. He also knew each man‘s age and had checked three times to confirm what he already suspected: at nineteen he was the youngest in the column. Unfortunately, he was also in charge of it. The alley ran alongside a walled square in the centre of Nessara, an isolated town on the edge of the Syrian desert. Until that very morning, the compound had housed a tiny garrison, now part of the column. Though long neglected and soon to be abandoned, the compound retained its most valuable feature: a working well. The Romans would not depart until every last man had filled every last barrel, canteen and gourd. They faced a long march, and if the previous week was anything to go by, it would be conducted in blistering, unrelenting heat. ‗Give that back!‘ A local man hurried past, in pursuit of a burly Roman heading for the end of the alley. Opposite Cassius was the Syrian‘s stall, a meagre selection of fruit laid out beneath a sagging awning. The Roman turned round. It was Ammianus, the man in charge of the Nessara garrison. He held no rank but had assumed command on account of his age and years of service. Cassius had not enjoyed working with the vulgar Thracian over the last two days. He was by trade a stable master and seemed ill-equipped to deal with men, maintaining a particular antipathy for the locals. In his hand was a palm leaf full of dates. ‗Give it back!‘ repeated the stall owner, now switching from Greek to passable Latin. ‗Well, well,‘ said Ammianus with a mocking smile, ‗an educated peasant. But not educated enough to know when to bite his tongue. Back to your stall now or I‘ll slice it off!‘ The Syrian was dark and well built. He squared up to Ammianus. The other legionaries watched with interest, absorbed by the prospect of an impending fight. Across the street was a group of six local men. They too looked on, heads bowed, jabbering excitedly. The departure of the column meant freedom from their Roman masters, for the time being at least. Most of their compatriots had been conscripted as Roman
auxiliaries while others had elected to fight alongside the Palmyrans. Had there been more men of fighting age, Cassius might have worried about some kind of uprising. He was still wary of having such a large group gathered together in the centre of the town. Ammianus and his like had done little to enhance relations. Tensions were running high; even the smallest incident might get out of hand. Sighing again, Cassius patted his horse‘s neck, slid off his saddle and walked towards the quarrelling pair. The dull ache that had been building in his head all morning was rapidly worsening. ‗What‘s going on here?‘ ‗Nothing to concern you, centurion,‘ answered Ammianus with an oily smile. As usual, Cassius felt a pang of unease when so addressed. Technically speaking, he was not a centurion at all. The Syrian spat a burst of invective in his native Aramaic. Cassius held up an appeasing hand and quietened him down before speaking to Ammianus again. ‗Perhaps you should return the fruit. Or at least pay for it.‘ ‗Since when do Roman soldiers take orders from locals, sir?‘ There were a few murmurs and nods from the other legionaries. Cassius had lost count of the times his instructions had been questioned since arriving in Syria. Most of the soldiers had never encountered such a youthful officer; they were used to experienced veterans promoted after years of service. Cassius had given up explaining to them that the army was now recruiting young, educated men to bolster the hard-pressed forces in the East. If not for the stripe on his tunic, the crest on his helmet and his signed set of orders, he doubted he would have got anything done. Cassius was naturally rangy and his long, slender limbs made it impossible for him to pass for an older man. Even the rigours of training had added only a limited amount of bulk and this added to his sense of inadequacy. In truth, he felt very much like an actor playing a role and, as he had a little experience of theatre, he had decided early on that he should at least put considerable effort into his performance. He gestured towards the horses. ‗In case you haven‘t noticed, Ammianus, we are leaving. Retreating, in fact. Hardly the time to antagonise our hosts.‘ Cassius spoke in Greek so that all present would understand what was being said. Most Syrians knew enough of the language to get by. Only those who dealt closely with the Romans picked up any Latin. ‗Hosts?‘ One of the legionaries laughed. ‗I‘ve been stationed here almost a year, sir,‘ continued Ammianus, ‗and I have always taken as I pleased.‘ The Syrian suddenly stepped forward and made a grab for the fruit. Cassius blocked his way.
‗Try that again. Please,‘ said Ammianus, one hand on the horsewhip hanging from his belt. A couple of the Romans cheered. More locals had gathered at the end of the alley, including the men from across the street. Someone brushed past Cassius‘ shoulder. He turned to find a tall legionary beside him, one arm bound by a bloodstained bandage, the other holding a gleaming five-foot throwing javelin. ‗Why not let them fight, sir? We could do with some entertainment.‘ There were more cheers. Some of the Syrians pressed into the alley. One of the mounted soldiers spat into the dust at their feet. ‗Move back,‘ Cassius said to the tall legionary. The man smiled contemptuously and took a quarter-step backwards. ‗Damn all you Romans,‘ said the stall owner through gritted teeth, eyes locked on Ammianus. ‗That‘s enough out of you!‘ snapped Cassius. ‗Let me teach him some respect,‘ suggested Ammianus. ‗These dogs only understand a good thrashing.‘ ‗Drop that and I‘ll fight you right here,‘ countered the Syrian, nodding at the whip. ‗Any way you want it.‘ The Romans roared again. The tall legionary clapped his hands and waved to another man who had dismounted close to the end of the alley. ‗Cinna! Come quickly or you‘ll miss the action! I‘m betting on the Syrian.‘ The legionary laughed. Ammianus frowned. Some of the bolder Syrians pushed their way into the alley. As Cinna passed them, comments were made. Though spoken in Aramaic, their mocking tone was unmistakable. ‗Say that in Greek!‘ Cinna barked. Cassius‘ headache was now an ever-enlarging ball of pain above his eyes. Beads of sweat had popped out across his face and back. His fingers, gripping the top of his belt, were wet against the slick leather. He knew he had to act. ‗You!‘ he shouted, pointing at Cinna. ‗Back on your horse! That‘s an order!‘ After a brief hesitation, the legionary removed his hand from his sword pommel and reluctantly retreated. Two others who had dismounted got back on their horses. ‗And you,‘ Cassius said, speaking over his left shoulder, ‗can do the same.‘ Cassius was taller than most legionaries but this man had a good three inches on him. He was bulky too, with thickly muscled forearms criss-crossed by scars. Cassius waited, trying to look unperturbed. The soldier didn‘t move. ‗Alternatively, I can take your name. And you can prepare yourself for a lengthy discussion with your commanding officer
upon our return to Antioch.‘ The legionary tapped the javelin lightly against his shoulder, then finally backed away. Cassius let out a breath. After a moment‘s thought, he struck on a solution and turned towards Ammianus. ‗What if I pay for the dates?‘ Ammianus looked surprised, then his face broke into a grin. Cassius imagined he was thinking of future drinking sessions, of boasting about the time a centurion bought him his lunch. ‗Fine by me, sir.‘ Cassius reached into the small leather bag tied to his belt and pulled out a couple of bronze sesterces. ‗That should cover it,‘ he said, handing the coins over. The stall owner looked satisfied; he‘d been paid well over the odds. As he hurried back to his stall, a couple of the legionaries groaned with disappointment. ‗Caesar himself wrote about the importance of feeding an army,‘ Cassius announced loudly. ‗And it is my responsibility to ensure that the most important individuals in our group are well nourished.‘ Then, before Ammianus could react, he snatched the palm leaf from his hand, walked back to his horse and held the dates under its muzzle. The animal noisily devoured the fruit. Cassius stared back at the dumbstruck Ammianus and smiled genially. The tall legionary was first to react, chuckling at the sour look on the Thracian‘s face. Some of the other soldiers joined in, adding a few quips at Ammianus‘ expense. Then the Syrians began laughing too, and in moments the air of tension had been dispelled. Cassius wouldn‘t have sided with the Syrian had Ammianus been more popular, but the man had brought it on himself. Still scowling, the Thracian stalked back along the alleyway. A couple of the locals shouted at his back. Cassius hurried over to them. ‗That‘s enough,‘ he said, quiet but firm. ‗Please move along. We shall be leaving soon.‘ The crowd broke up. Cassius found himself gazing at a shapely young girl carrying a clay amphora. She had the same smooth brown skin and flashing white teeth he‘d noticed all over Syria. His stare lasted a moment too long and he realised some of the locals and legionaries were watching him. ‗Hurry up there!‘ he shouted to no one in particular, feeling his face redden. Returning to his horse, he climbed up on to the saddle, cursing quietly and reminding himself to keep control of his baser instincts. It was just such interest in the female form that had landed him in his present predicament. ‗A moment of weakness‘ was how he‘d described it to his father. Up to that point, the old man had tolerated his drinking and dalliances, happy at least that his only son‘s studies seemed to be progressing. Cassius had been working towards a career as an orator in his native Ravenna, hoping eventually to graduate to the
forums of the capital. However, when he had been discovered enjoying one of his aunt‘s handmaidens (by his aunt, at her villa, during her fiftieth birthday party), his father‘s patience had finally run out. Cassius‘ protestations that the serving girl had ‗enjoyed it too‘ did not help and over the next week he had been dismayed to find that his persuasive powers were not as far advanced as he thought. Corbulo senior was an ex-army man and he had decided that Cassius could only be deterred from a wasteful life of excess by ‗discipline, discipline and more discipline‘. Cassius cursed again and rubbed his fingers against his warm, aching brow. He still found it almost impossible to believe that such a small indiscretion had led to this. Here he was, stuck in this pit of a town; in a province facing imminent annexation; deprived of cultured company and all the finer things in life; and surrounded by barbarians, thugs and idiots. Worse still, according to his father‘s terms, he had five years left in the army. Two weeks earlier, Cassius had stood in the office of General Marcus Galenus Navio, the commander charged with the defence of Syria. ‗So – a grain man, eh?‘ the general said, examining the sheet of papyrus as he sat behind his desk. Cassius didn‘t reply. He was beginning to tire of the nickname used for agents of the Imperial Security Service. An independent wing of the military, the Service had been established during the time of the Emperor Domitian. Originally concerned with the supply and distribution of grain to the legions, its officers were spread far and wide across the Empire. Dealing so closely with the provincial populace, they were uniquely well placed to report back to Rome on all manner of issues. Over time they had become the ‗eyes and ears‘ of the emperor and his general staff. The original name had stuck. The Service maintained a headquarters in Rome known informally as ‗The Foreigners‘ Camp‘. Most legions were assigned several officers and, though their duties sometimes still included the procurement of supplies, Service men could find themselves acting as emissaries, tax collectors, investigators or spies. Cassius had heard of his first posting via a missive from the Service chief, Spurius Sestius Pulcher: the same letter now in Navio‘s hand. ‗You‘re a little young,‘ the general continued. ‗Usually a man has to prove himself a lying, scheming, underhand devil before being recruited to the Camp.‘ Cassius stifled a grimace. He knew that the Service suffered from what could at best be described as a mixed reputation. Several friends had advised him against accepting the post. Some suggested that the Service was riddled with corruption, others that it was an impossible job – with loyalties divided between headquarters, local governors and the military
hierarchy. ‗It is a rather unusual arrangement, sir, I know. My father was able to secure me a position commensurate with my level of education.‘ Cassius chose not to add that only weeks of pressure from his mother had persuaded his father to call in a few favours and keep his son from front-line service. The general grinned. Cassius noticed the thick, lined pouches of skin beneath his eyes. Though broad-shouldered and upright, Navio was quite overweight and this extra bulk sat unnaturally on the frame of what had once been an exceptionally fit man. Above his forehead was an island of grey fluff abandoned by the rest of his receding hair. ‗Well, unless your education extends to the dark arts of diplomacy, espionage and assassination you may find it a post more suited to a career criminal than a scholar.‘ As Navio continued reading, Cassius looked around. Considering the general was responsible for the defence of Rome‘s third city, his office was surprisingly modest. Well lit by a large window behind the desk, the only other items of furniture were four unused lamp stands, a neglected brazier and a holed rug. There was nothing for visitors to sit on. Cassius wondered if the general had problems with his eyes. He was taking a long time to read a short letter. ‗As you can see, sir, Chief Pulcher requests that I be directed to the senior Service officer in the province.‘ At last Navio put the letter to one side. ‗Yes, well, unfortunately that arrogant bastard Abascantius doesn‘t deign to trouble me with news of his activities, let alone request my permission for them.‘ The general took some almonds from a small bowl on his desk and washed them down with a mouthful of wine. ‗I have no idea where he is. He disappeared into the desert two months ago without even telling me why. Not for the first time I might add. Luckily, there is no shortage of work for young, upstanding officers such as yourself.‘ Despite the heat of late afternoon, Cassius felt a chill run down his spine. The prospect of five years with the Service seemed dreadful enough, but surely nothing could be more dangerous than a field posting with the legions. ‗You understand the situation here?‘ asked the general. ‗I do, sir. We face revolt.‘ ‗I suppose you could call it that. The truth is, the Palmyrans have held the upper hand here for years. And you‘ll find as many folk on the streets of Antioch would as soon raise Zenobia‘s banner as Claudius‘. But the Queen has gone too far, and seems intent on nothing less than annexation.‘ ‗We can assume that she knows of the problems in Gaul then. Not to mention the campaign against the Goths.‘ ‗Indeed. And that she‘d be well advised to secure her position while the Emperor is preoccupied.‘
Navio stood, ran a hand over his paunch and sauntered over to a large, tatty map mounted on the wall. It was marked here and there with charcoal and ink. ‗Come. Show me the partition boundary.‘ It took Cassius a moment to find the right line, denoting the partition between Syria Coele and Syria Phoenice. ‗That‘s it. Phoenice went first. That‘s the Palmyrans‘ home ground. Several cohorts were lost so I withdrew the rest to key settlements further north. A few were taken but I suspect the Queen was waiting for Arabia, Palestine and Egypt to fall before committing significant forces. Now they have; so we‘re getting her full attention. Apamea and several smaller towns have gone in the last few weeks. All that stands between them and us is what‘s left of the Third Legion.‘ The general made circles with his finger in an area to the south-east of the capital. ‗Scattered amongst the towns here are a number of small garrisons. Just a few engineers and clerks now. Wounded, too. I need them rounded up and brought back here. It might be only weeks before the city is besieged.‘ Despite such a prospect, Cassius had felt rather reassured by his few days in Antioch. The thought of venturing beyond its walls horrified him. The general was already back at his desk. He filled a bronze pen with ink from a pot, then began to write on a papyrus sheet. ‗I‘ll list the towns here. Get around them as quick as you can. I‘ll assign a scout to help you find your way. My clerk will help you with any questions.‘ ‗Sir, you do understand that – officially – I‘m not actually a centurion. I haven‘t even been assigned to a legion yet.‘ The general continued writing as he spoke. ‗What was the name?‘ ‗Corbulo, sir.‘ ‗Corbulo, you have an officer‘s tunic and an officer‘s helmet and you completed full officer training, did you not?‘ Cassius nodded. He could easily recall every accursed test and drill he had undergone at Ravenna‘s military academy. Though he had excelled in the cerebral disciplines and somehow survived the endless marches and swims, he had rated poorly with sword in hand and had been repeatedly described as ‗lacking natural leadership ability‘. The academy‘s senior centur ion had seemed quite relieved when the letter from the Service arrived. ‗I did, sir, but it was felt I would be more suited to intelligence work than the legions. I really would prefer—‘ ‗And you did take an oath? To Rome, the Army and the Emperor?‘ ‗I did sir, and of course I am happy to serve but—‘ The general finished the orders. He rolled the sheet up roughly and handed it to Cassius. ‗Dismissed.‘
‗Yes, sir. Sorry, sir. I just have one final question.‘ The general was on his way back to his chair. He turned round and fixed Cassius with an impatient stare. ‗Sir, how should I present myself to the troops? In terms of rank, I mean.‘ ‗They will assume you are a centurion, and I can see no practical reason whatsoever to disabuse them of that view.‘ Cassius could not forget that phrase, nor could he shake off a mild sense of shame every time he donned his officer‘s helmet, complete with its bright red horsehair crest. The helmet was made of iron, with a protruding nose guard and three hanging sections that protected the ears and neck. He was still not used to the weight, and though his headache was beginning to ease, he cursed quietly as he tightened the straps around his chin. He hated the damn thing but it seemed sensible to keep up appearances for the benefit of the locals. He could take it off once the column was clear of Nessara. It was the last town on the general‘s list. Fifty miles from the capital. If they were lucky they might do it in three days. Cassius was desperate to get moving. He had gleaned enough from the soldiers and locals to know that Palmyrans approaching from the east might overrun the area at any time. Once back in Antioch, he intended to find this Abascantius, take up the post he had been promised and hopefully avoid any more field assignments. But as he had discovered of late, looking too far into the future was a dangerous indulgence. His priority was to get the column out of the town and on the move. It was almost midday when they left. Cassius took the lead with the mounted legionaries behind him, riding two abreast. Next came the carts bearing supplies and the wounded. Bringing up the rear were those soldiers on foot and the local auxiliaries. Apart from the now abandoned Roman compound, Nessara was little more than a cluster of low, mud-brick houses. Despite the ravages of war and the enervating climate of high summer, life continued apace. Small groups of children darted here and there, stopping only to gaze at the column as it passed. Traders – some with stalls, others with no more than a woven basket – offered all manner of food; from olives, dates, oranges and lemons to chicken, goat and lamb, available alive or dead. One man stood over a selection of military equipment polished to a high sheen: some Roman, some local, even a huge axe from some northern land. Approaching the edge of town, the column passed a group of women hanging washing on lines strung between dwellings. Several stopped what they were doing and more than one pair of eyes were drawn to the unusual figure leading the way. As if his youth and lean physique were not enough to set him apart, Cassius‘ other features did little to help him blend in. His family was from the far north of Italy and, like his mother and three sisters, he had light brown hair and a fair complexion.
Thankfully, he had also inherited his mother‘s good looks and his distinctive appearance had never done him any harm in his relations with women, not to mention drawing attention from quite a few men. The effect was doubled when he found himself amongst the darker peoples of the East. One of the younger women bent over a basket and, before he could help himself, Cassius was leering at the swell of her surprisingly large breasts. The girl caught his eye as she stood up. Hand on hip, she gave a provocative smile. This was soon replaced by a frown as an older woman, presumably her mother, slapped the girl hard across the back of her head. Pulling her daughter‘s robes together to cover her cleavage, she pushed her away through the laundry before shooting Cassius a venomous glare. The scout assigned to assist Cassius was a man named Cotta, who was waiting for the column at the edge of town by a run-down farmhouse. He stepped out of the shade provided by a wall, rounded his horse and nodded a greeting. ‗Morning. Or should I say afternoon?‘ Cassius was about to apologise but reminded himself that Roman officers did not offer excuses to scouts. Cotta had a thin covering of greying hair and a heavily lined face that carried a certain air of nobility. He wore the white robes of a local, with only a traditional brooch to identify him as Roman. ‗Shall we?‘ Cassius said, pointing towards the road ahead. It was marked by a darker shade of sand and the occasional line of stones. The lands beyond were dotted with hardy shrubs and trees. In the distance were the undulating hills that signalled a return to safer territory. ‗I thought you might prefer to wait,‘ said Cotta. ‗For what?‘ ‗The messenger.‘ ‗What messenger?‘ Cotta pointed towards the hills. Cassius and the legionaries peered into the haze. About a mile down the road, a speeding rider had just emerged from behind a small copse of trees. ‗And if my aged eyes serve,‘ said Cotta, ‗he carries a spear with a feather attached.‘ ‗Meaning what?‘ Cotta seemed surprised by Cassius‘ ignorance. ‗The feather instructs all who the carrier meets to clear the way or lend assistance. It means he bears urgent and important news – a military emergency.‘ Cassius narrowed his eyes. Though slumped forward in his saddle, the messenger was holding a spear aloft. Cotta was right. The feather was there.
FINDING EMILIE Laurel Corona, Gallery, 2011, $15.00/C$17.00, pb, 427pp, 9781451615067 Laurel Corona, author of The Four Seasons, an outstanding novel of Vivaldi‘s Venice, turns to 18th-century France in her enthralling new novel, Finding Emilie. Emilie du Chatelet, a brilliant physicist, died a few days after giving birth to Lili, the novel's heroine, who is raised by her mother's friend, Parisian salon hostess Julie de Bercy, along with Julie's own daughter, Delphine. The two girls are extremely close, but very different: Delphine loves beautiful dresses and cannot wait to be presented at Versailles, where she hopes to marry an aristocrat, while Lili, who has inherited her mother's intelligence, wishes to pursue her literary and scientific interests and is much more excited by her conversations with Enlightenment philosophers than by the frivolous world of the court. As children, she and Delphine board at a convent school where the nuns punish Lili for expressing her Enlightenment thought, which is seen as a threat to Church doctrine. And she must make frequent visits to her mother's widowed sister-in-law, Baronne Lomont, who insists on a strict Catholic upbringing and, later, wants to force Lili into a marriage with an elderly widower. Lili finds refuge in writing stories about the adventures of a girl named Meadowlark and in her visits to the Jardin de Roi, where she assists the Comte de Buffon in his scientific experiments. Interspersed with Lili's story are brief chapters about Emilie, her scientific pursuits, and her relationship with Voltaire. Lili, who grew up knowing little of her mother's life, gradually learns about Emilie and, in the process, discovers her own strength of character. Eighteenth-century France comes brilliantly to life in this novel, and the fictional Lili seems like a real person, with all her hopes and fears and doubts. This is a masterful depiction of a woman of intellect. --Vicki Kondelik 22 BRITANNIA ROAD Amanda Hodgkinson, Pamela Dorman/Viking, 2011, $25.95 323pp, 9780670022632 / Fig Tree, 2011, £12.99, hb, 320pp, 9781905490707 In the aftermath of World War II, Polish native Silvana Nowak flees her homeland, devastated by war, on a ship destined for England. With her she brings Aurek, the son she loves more than her soul. She plans on being reunited with her husband, whom she has not seen in six years. Janusz, Silvana‘s husband, was a member of the Polish army who spent the last six years fighting German soldiers while his wife spent the time hiding from them with her son, in a forest. As the family reunites, domestic bliss is constantly threatened by the secrets that each holds. The essence of this deftly written debut novel is the struggle of three people to rebuild their shattered lives. The narrative is compelling, frequently switching setting and point of view so as to give the reader a clearer picture of both the present day and the past experiences which led up to it, from each of the major characters‘ perspectives. A host of minor characters are cleverly interwoven to advance (and, in certain cases, complicate) the plot. Historical details are certainly not lacking in the novel. We feel the time period through the characters‘ eyes. This book is a not-to-be-missed page-turner that kept me engrossed from start to finish. With threedimensional characters and clever plot twists, it is guaranteed not to disappoint; very highly recommended. --Michael DiSchiavi
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Archers Review STUDY DAY Fire and Steel…Arms and Armour of the English Civil Wars Saturday 29 October, The Wallace Collection 10.30am – 5.00pm A must for all those interested in the English Civil Wars and seventeenth-century arms and armour in general. Meet like-minded enthusiasts and scholars, enjoy a series of fascinating lectures, and handle original arms and armour of the period. Lectures will be given by a number of specialists in the field, sharing some of their latest research into seventeenth-century military history. Cost: £25 To Book call 020 7563 9527 or email booking@wallacecollection.org
The Battle of Mortimer‘s Cross 550th Anniversary September 17th & 18th 2011 Main A49, 1 mile north of Leominster, Herefordshire England Battle re-enactment each day with fully armoured knights, archers and gunners. Separate arena for barber surgeon, medieval dancing, mummer‘s plays and music. Living history encampment Traders row Beer tent Local food stalls Passamezzo Early Dance Owain Leech (Barber Surgeon) Nominus (medieval muscians) Adults £5, Under 16s FREE, Concessions £4 Free Parking for all Contact: Bob & Pennie:01989 762159 Or Jason: 01432 352755
www.mortimerscross.co.uk
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The Mortimer History Society Autumn Conference Saturday October 8th 2011 10am – 3.30pm Ewyas Harold Memorial Hall Morning Talk by Dr Paul Dryburgh Mortimer Ladies – a new study Talk by Steven Blake The Herefordshire School of Sculptures Buffet Lunch Afternoon A guided tour of Kilpeck Church by Steven Blake Tickets: £15 (inc. Buffet lunch) Check out the website for more details
www.mortimerhistorysociety.org.uk
King Richard III – Petition / Project Richard III, King of England and the last regent from the Plantagenet family, is ill used in historical memory. Due to the propaganda in Shakespeare‘s play ―Richard III‖, which was created as contract work for the successors, the Tudor family, the bad image of the murdering hunchback Richard III remains and dominates historical perception. The British actor Richard Armitage (currently appearing in ―Captain America‖ and filming Thorin Oakenshield in Peter Jacksons‘s production ―The Hobbit‖) is working on a historically more accurate version about King Richard III‘s life and times, a film / television series, comparable to the highly successful series for the succeeding ruling family, ―The Tudors‖. Initiated by fans of Richard Armitage, the website www.KingRichardArmitage.rgcwp.com supports this project through diverse presentations, activities and a petition, to show the worldwide support and interest in King Richard III‘s life. The site has already collected signatures from 39 countries around the world. In a special King Richard III-Week (from 22nd of August to 28th of August, 2011) the website will commemorate the Battle of Bosworth (22nd of August), where King Richard III died, and the birthday of the actor Richard Armitage (same day). Support and help is welcome in any form. The website in return offers to feature your group and activities! The KingRichardArmitage-website will publish presentations about researchand re-enactor groups on a regular basis. Submissions of articles, papers and information about your group and activities are very welcome. Presentation on the website is free of charge! Please contact us here: kra@rgcwp.com Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/pages/Richard-III-for-RichardArmitage/235543563129891 Website: http://kingrichardarmitage.rgcwp.com Direct link to the Richard III-petition: http://kingrichardarmitage.rgcwp.com/petition-for-richard-iii/ Thank you for your support!
Event Information September 3rd Huntington Beach Reenactment, Hunington Beach, California, USA http://www.facebook.com/event.php?eid=168122296543585 4th The Knights of Royal England (www.knightsroyal.co.uk) at Knebworth House, England http://www.knebworthhouse.com/ 17th & 18th The 550th Anniversary of The Battle of Mortimer‘s Cross, Leominster, Herefordshire, UK www.mortimerscross.co.uk 17th & 18th Ealdfaeder Dark Ages Re-Enactment, Brandeston Hall, near Framlingham, Suffolk Brandeston Hall 18th & 19th The Knights of Royal England (www.knightsroyal.co.uk) at Leeds Castle, England http://www.leeds-castle.com 25th Bromsgrove Militaria, Medal & Arms Collectors Fair, at the Spadesbourne Suite, Council House, Burcot Lane, Bromsgrove, B60 1AA. 9.30am - 2.00pm. Admission £2.50 www.rzmilitaria.com/events.php e-mail fairs@rzmilitaria.com
October 1st – 2nd Tempus Belli 2011 ITALY www.tempusbelli.com 8th The Mortimer History Society Autumn Conference at Ewyas Harold, Herefordshire. www.mortimerhistorysociety.org.uk 8th & 9th Marché de l'Histoire de Minden, GERMANY www.historievivante.com 8th ACWS Helendale Re-Enactment, California, USA http://www.facebook.com/event.php?eid=129725463752666 15th & 16th Norfolk Living History Fayre, Mannington Hall www.blackknighthistorical.co.uk 15th & 16th Pickering WW2 weekend, at the Pickering show ground www.freewebs.com/foxcommando 15th & 16th Festival et Marché de l'Histoire de Nantes, FRANCE www.historievivante.com 29th ACWS/SNLHA Spring Mountain Ranch Reenactment, Las Vegas, Nevada, USA http://www.facebook.com/event.php?eid=108090669259640
November 5th & 6th Timeline Fair, Old Cheese Factory, Homestead Rd, Berwick, Victoria, Australia. www.timelinefair.org.au 11th Las Vegas Veteran‘s Day Parade 2011, Downtown Las Vegas, Nevada, USA http://www.facebook.com/event.php?eid=102684859803236
19th & 20th Marché de l'Histoire de Pontoise, Novembre, FRANCE www.historievivante.com 26th & 27th Ludlow Castle Medieval Christmas fair, Ludlow, Shropshire, UK Craft fair, medieval traders, combat, have a go archery http://www.ludlowcastle.com/
December 4th Bromsgrove Militaria, Medal & Arms Collectors Fair, at the Spadesbourne Suite, Council House, Burcot Lane, Bromsgrove, B60 1AA. 9.30am - 2.00pm. Admission £2.50 www.rzmilitaria.com/events.php e-mail fairs@rzmilitaria.com
The Great Road Encampment By Henry L. Bryant So, you thought there was nothing to do in Elliston, Virginia. Well, that‘s not true. On August 6th and 7th The first Great Road Encampment took place at East Montgomery Park. What is The Great Road Encampment you ask? It was a gathering of 18 th Century Reenactors dressed in period clothing portraying life and demonstrating some of the skills needed to survive while traveling westward into the frontier.
Also there were Presentations on the history of The Great Road featuring Mr. George Kegley as well as a presentation by Lee Offen, Author of Gooch‘s American Regiment, 1740-1742, America's First Marines. Plus a Detached Military Hospital and Medicine of the time. Vicky Ferguson, a Monacan Indian also shared some stories passed down to her. Demonstrations included Flintlock Muskets, Camp Cooking, Knife and Tomahawk Throwing, Leather Work, 18th Century Clothing and More. There were also activities and games of the time period for the youngsters as well.
The Great Road (now parts of routes 11 and 460) and known to the Indians as The Warrior‘s Path was the main thoroughfare going west to the Frontier. It was travelled by the likes of George Washington, Daniel Boone, Andrew Lewis, William Preston, Adam Harman, The Ingles and Draper Families. This Event honored all who passed through the Valleys of Southwest Virginia in the quest for a better life.
450 to 500 visitors and 20 Re-enactors attended the Encampment. Although these are modest numbers it is a foundation on which to build upon. All the Re-enactors that attended are coming back next year and are going to recruit other Re-enactors to attend next year‘s
Encampment. All the visitors had only complements on the event, which inspires us to make the event better. Next year‘s Great Road Encampment will take place the first weekend in August 2012.
This proves one thing. That one Re-enactor with an idea for a Living History event can get the ball rolling and organize an event and make it a success. So to all the Re-enactors out there with an idea, here is an example of what you can do if you try. My best tip on promoting an event is to get all the free publicity you can via Newspapers, Radio, Television, Fliers and Web Sites. Sponsorship by local businesses is a huge help in underwriting the costs of an event. Thanks to sponsors we were able to make The Great Road Encampment free to everyone. We also enlisted the local Boy Scout troop to sell concessions as a fundraiser for their troop. So get that event you‘ve been thinking about going. Many thanks to the sponsors of The Great Road Encampment, without their help it would not have been possible to bring this event to life. Sponsors included: Montgomery County Parks and Recreation, Fort Vause Outfitters, Rowe Furniture Inc., Elliston Mobil Ltd., Hy-Test Inc., Home Recycle Store, Elliston Food Mart, Northwest Hardware, Salem, TK&C Enterprise Inc., Lorene S. Long and other private donors. Rowe Furniture generously donated a piece of furniture to be raffled. The Great Road Encampment took place August 6th & 7th at East Montgomery Park, Beside the Elliston Fire Department 5001 Enterprise Drive in Elliston, Virginia. Elliston is a small town nestled in the Blue Ridge Mountains of Virginia. Henry L. Bryant is the owner of Fort Vause Outfitters and The Great Road Encampment organizer. Photos are by Johnny Tsi and Ben Powers