And then the gods punished Croesus for his arrogance, says Herodotus, in a rare bit of editorializing. The gods sent him a prophetic dream, in which his son and heir, Atys, was slain with an iron spear-point. Croesus awoke confined … Continue reading →
Once in office, Croesus invaded his neighbors, straight away. Specifically he attacked the Ephesians, because they handy, on some pretext Herodotus doesn’t bother to report. He attacked other city-states one after another, each time finding some excuse that put him … Continue reading →
According to Herodotus, Gyges’s son and grandson did not lead terribly interesting lives. War, invasion, yadda yadda. But his great-grandson (Croesus’s father) Atyattes was a little better; he performed other deeds very worthy of mention. He inherited a war with … Continue reading →
The next morning Candi warned all the household servants that she thought were loyal to her about how something was up. She summoned Gyges, who came in whistling nonchalantly, hands in his pockets, like he had no reason to be … Continue reading →
Croesus, the king of Lydia (modern-day western Turkey, more or less) was the first foreign king to conquer part of Greece. Prior to him raiders only took plunder and stole women, says Herodotus. Croesus wasn’t the rightful king of Lydia, … Continue reading →
Herodotus opens with an explanation that his goal, in setting down his Histories, is twofold. First, he preserves the deeds of men that might otherwise be forgotten, and should not be forgotten because they were cool and impressive. But second … Continue reading →
Way back in 2012 when I began my Dionysian imitatio (look it up, nerds) of Sir Thomas Malory’s Le Morte D’Arthur, I promised that afterwards I would cover the Three Kingdoms, by Luo Guanzhong. However, upon reflection and examination I’ve decided … Continue reading →
So, that was a thing that happened, huh? After lots of meandering, the story of the Death of Arthur really got started in Book XX, and in Book XXI we have the deaths not only of Arthur, but also Gawaine, … Continue reading →
So the Archbishop and the hermit-knights break out their funeral wagon, last used to transport Guenever’s body. They load Launcelot onto it, and take the Knight of the Cart on one last cart-ride, across the land to his old home, … Continue reading →
Malory flashes forward seven years. Everything is the same, except Launcelot has become a priest. The hermits have become a regular little monastery of quiet introspection and contemplative meditation. One morning, at breakfast, Launcelot tells his fellow-hermits that he had … Continue reading →
