Remembrance - Honouring the Dead

Monday, November 11^th, is Remembrance Day and Veterans Day.

For some, this is just another day they might get off work. They’ll carry on as usual, ignorant or uncaring of the reasons for this day or why so many people are wearing red poppies.

Thankfully, many people still do remember that Novebmer 11^th is a day for remembering those men and women who have died in the line of duty. You may not agree with the motives for some of these wars, you may support them vehemently. Whatever your opinion of the battles, this is a time to honour the courage of the soldier on the ground, the warriors past and present.

This year, I’d like to share an excerpt from Homer’s Odyssey. Below is a moving description of the funeral of Achilles, the Greek warrior who has inspired soldiers and others for thousands of years. Here, in the meadow of asphodel, the 'dwelling-place of souls', Agamemnon meets Achilles and tells the hero of his funeral in the land of Troy:

“Happy son of Peleus, Achilles like the gods,” answered the ghost of Agamemnon, “for having died at Troy far from Argos, while the best of the Trojans and the Achaeans fell around you fighting for your body. There you lay in the whirling clouds of dust, all huge and hugely, heedless now of your horsemanship. We fought the whole of the livelong day, nor should we ever have left off if Zeus tore their hair and wept bitterly round about you. Your mother, when she heard, came with her immortal nymphs from out of the sea, and the sound of heavenly wailing went forth over the waters so that the Achaeans old Nestor whose counsel was ever truest checked them saying, `Hold, Argives, flee not, sons of the Achaeans, this is his mother coming from the sea with her immortal nymphs to view the body of her son.' Thus he spoke, and the Achaeans feared no more. The daughters of the old man of the sea stood round you weeping bitterly, and clothed you in immortal raiment. The nine muses also came and lifted up their sweet voices in lament—calling and answering one another; there was not an Argive but wept for pity of the dirge they chanted. Days and nights seven and ten we mourned you, mortals and immortals, but on the eighteenth day we gave you to the flames, and many a fat sheep with many an ox did we slay in sacrifice around you. You were burnt in raiment of the gods, with rich resins and with honey, while Achaean heroes, horse and foot, clashed their armor round the pile as you were burning, with the tramp as of a great multitude. But when the flames of heaven had done their work, we gathered your white bones at daybreak and laid them in ointments and in pure wine. Your mother brought us a golden amphora to hold them—gift of Dionysos, and work of Hephaistos himself; in this we mingled your bleached bones with those of Patroklos, who had been closer to you than any other of your comrades now that Patroklos was no more. Over their bodies we the sacred army of Argive spearmen piled up a huge and perfect tomb, on a jutting headland, by the wide Hellespont, so that it may be bright from afar for men coming from the sea, both those who are now and those who will be in the future. Your mother begged prizes from the gods, and offered them to be contended for by the noblest of the Achaeans. You must have been present at the funeral of many a hero, when the young men gird themselves and make ready to contend for prizes on the death of some great chieftain, but you never saw such prizes as silver-footed Thetis offered in your honor; for the gods loved you well. Thus even in death your kleos, Achilles, has not been lost, and your name lives evermore among all humankind.” (Homer; Odyssey. Book 24. lines 35–95)

 

Troy - Kesik Tepe, Turkey - possible Tumulus of Achilles where
Alexander the Great made sacrifices to the heroes of the Trojan War

This passage never fails to move me, for it honours one of the greatest heroes of the ancient world in such a beautiful way. Today, Achilles may seem outrageous and brutal, selfish. But to ancient eyes, he was what every warrior aspired to. For thousands of years afterward, the ghost of Achilles’ exploits followed men into battle at home, and on foreign fields.

Achilles is buried with his brother-in-arms, Patroklos, in a tumulus overlooking the sea, far away from their home in Greece.

So too are buried hundreds of thousands of soldiers who fought in the horrible wars of our modern era. They lie in orderly rows, also overlooking the sea, where they were buried by their brothers and sisters in war.

Never mind the political machinations of the past and present. Those who have lost, and fought, and suffered, and died, are no less deserving of our remembrance than the heroes of that long ago war beneath high-walled Troy.

I remember you all and thank you for your sacrifices. Wherever you may now be, I hope my thanks, and the smoke from my offerings will reach you there.

Picture Postcard #10 – The Drums of War

                                                                                                                            *

They woke me in the night,

As I lay beside my wife.

The Drums of War sounded,

Bound am I, to Ares’ call.

I have laid aside my himation and scrolls,

My loathing for brutality.

Instead, I don thorax, greaves and crested helm.

I take up my hoplon, spear and sword,

And join the muster of hard men.

The enemy swarm from afar,

Like stinging locusts to rape our land.

With hundreds and thousands of sharpened teeth,

The beast closes in,

Seeks our deaths.

But our strength holds.

Our wall of oak, and bronze, and iron will.

Shield to shield we stand.

We press forward

Into the jaws of Hades.

To the Drums of War I fight.

My shield pushing, my spear thrusting, slicing.

Face to face with the foe,

Walking over the offal-strewn earth.

The dead and the dying blanket the ground,

Their groans a deadly chorus

For the Drums.

Push, and thrust, and cut and push!

Gods, see me!

Gods, protect me and mine!

I fear not the hoary face of Death.

But I would live a while longer,

Before I cross to the other shore

Of that sad, black river. 

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* Illustration by Peter Connolly

source: Greece and Rome at War (page 22)

A Brief Halloween History

Scare the Spirits of the Dead

Tomorrow night is the night that many children, and adults, have been looking forward to for a long time, to get dressed up, carve a pumpkin, eat lots of candy and party it up incognito. Halloween, as we know it, has evolved over time and like many of our current traditions, has its roots in the distant past.

There are many theories about what exact tradition or ancient festival is at the heart of our modern Halloween or, All Hallow’s Eve. Some maintain that it is a Christian festival linked to All Saints’ Day on November 1 and All Souls’ Day on November 2. Historically, during these two Christian festivals, ‘soul-cakes’ would be made and handed out to the poor who would go door-to-door. This was seen as a way of praying for the souls that were then in Purgatory. Halloween is indeed a good time to pull out your copy of Dante’s Inferno. 

Another candidate thought to contribute to the origins of Halloween is the ancient Roman festival of Pomona. Unlike many Roman divinities who had their original Greek counterpart, Pomona was a uniquely Roman goddess or wood nymph who watched over and protected the fruit trees at this harvest time of year. The connection to Halloween seems a little less likely to me but it is still an interesting festival and apples do figure largely in some Halloween activities. Who hasn’t bobbed for apples?

However, when it comes to Halloween the most likely candidate for its origins still seems to be the ancient Celtic festival of Samhain (pronounced ‘saw-wen’). This was a sacred time of year for the ancient Celts of Gaul, Britain, Scotland and Ireland, a time of the death of summer. In Ireland, Scotland and the Isle of Man it was known as Samhain, in Wales and Cornwall, Calan Gaeaf and Kalan Gwav respectively.

Never step in a Fairy Ring!

This was the time of the harvest, of bounty but also of death, a part of the cycle of life. It was also a time of year when the door to the Otherworld was opened, the veil at its thinnest. The souls of the dead were said to revisit their former homes where people would set places for them at table. Other beings, such as fairies, roamed the land as well, some good, some mischievous and others harmful.

One way in which people, young and old, would avoid being noticed by spirits of the departed was by wearing a costume or ‘guising’ as it was called. If you had wronged a family member in the past, or even trampled a fairy ring, you were better off having a good costume! The idea of trick-or-treating in 19^th century Ireland was a way that folks went door-to-door gathering food as offerings for the fairies or fuel for the purifying bonfires of Samhain. Fire and its light served as protection during the thinning of the veil and the carving of pumpkins into Jack-O-lanterns served to scare spirits and fairies away.

Even if you don’t celebrate Samhain or Halloween in some way, shape or form, it is nonetheless interesting how ancient traditions survive thousands of years, from the feeding of the dead in ancient Egypt and Greece to the Roman and Celtic festivals of the harvest. Halloween seems to be a melding of many different aspects of various cultural traditions.

Samhain Bonfire

So, tomorrow night, whether you are lighting a candle, carving a pumpkin, handing out candy or going all out with your ‘guising’, take a moment to remember that it is not just some modern day, consumer-driven tradition that you are taking part in. Remember that you are taking part in an ancient rite at a sacred time of year for many cultures and that maybe, just maybe, you are being watched from the other side of the veil between this world and the next…

Beauty in the Land of the Dead

Aenaeas in Elysium

One of the many things that I truly love about writing historical fantasy is that the genre allows you stretch your imaginative wings, to envision and describe places that are not the usual destination. You can go beyond the castle wall or the villa peristyle to places that are often relegated to remote locales reached only by the soul.

Heaven and Hell, the idea of a land where the dead go on to an afterlife of eternal bliss or torment is something that is common to most world religions. There are, of course, many names for these places and they all differ a little. For the ancients, when it came to Paradise, that place where those who lived with virtue in life go to, it may have been called Aaru, the Egyptian Field of Reeds or for the ancient Welsh Britons, Annwyn, the land of eternal youth and plenty. The Greeks and Romans believed in the Elysian Fields and the Norse in Valhalla. They are places of peace, prosperity, happiness and honour.

Anubis weighs a human heart

Likewise, most traditions have a place to oppose Paradise – Hell. There is often an in-between realm as well, such as Purgatory or the Norse Hel. On their way to the afterlife, Egyptians’ hearts were weighed in the scales against a feather with Anubis looking on. For ancient Greeks and Romans, Hades was the land of the dead where souls could linger forever and Tartarus was the tortuous hell, the opposite of Elysium. To get to these places, the dead would have to cross the river Styx, ferried by Acheron who demanded his gold piece.

I am but mentioning a few traditions. There are so many and every culture has its own idea as to what is good and what is unbearable in the afterlife. They are not often described in detail because, well, most of the time those who go don’t come back to sketch it out.

Acheron, the Ferryman

This is where writing historical fantasy can really be a thrill to read and write. The beauty of it is that you can indeed explore Hades, or Valhalla or wherever you wish to go. The Land of the Dead can be whatever you envision it to be. As a literary device, it can allow you to visit the innermost hopes and fears of your characters, to have them interact with the dead, famous people, departed loved ones or enemies whom it would otherwise be impossible for them to meet with.

Some authors have used the afterlife or underworld to great effect in their storytelling and one that stands out in particular to me is Alice Borchardt, author of the Legend of the Wolf series. In The Silver Wolf, the first book of the series, Ms. Borchardt’s heroine, Regeane, journey’s through the temple of Cumae to the Land of the Dead. The descriptions of what the characters sees and experiences are fantastic examples of how an author can unfurl the sails of creativity and imagination in these other realms. Few descriptions have had me so rapt by the images they portrayed. 

She started down the aisle of the temple past the tall pylons that seemed like deadly trees spouting leaves of flames, on into the distant waste… A cry of sorrow so profound, so bitter, that it seemed beyond hope or even love. A desolate, lonely sound, the weeping of one condemned to wander forever without either consolation or rest.

Odysseus meets Teiresias
in Hades

Here one is introduced to the great sadness and horror upon entering the Land of the Dead. You read of souls who scramble about mutilated yet still fawning over their previous state of beauty or strength, of wraiths whose exposed bones will bleed for all eternity. The waste of the Land of the Dead is that in between place, neither Tartarus nor Paradise but a place for passing through or staying in infinite limbo. After passing through the burning wasteland, Regean meets with her dead father who carries her across the river of fire, a sort of Styx boundary before she is able to reach paradise and seek the soul she needs, Daedalus. The scene between her and her father who was murdered when she was a child is very poignant. When she reaches Daedalus’ Garden, the place is full of beauty.

She found herself on a flagged path walking toward a distant fountain. The path was bounded by flowers. They bloomed everywhere, riotously indifferent to the season… Rank upon rank of velvety purple lavender, thick clary sage, clover white, yellow, and purplish red, hugged the path as a border… Other taller ones [lilies] behind them lifted crisp petals twisted back, orange and scarlet as though they waited breathlessly for the sun. Behind them, twinning among the tall cypresses were the roses. Single, double, red, pink and white, and on their petals scattered as stars are across the night sky, lenses of dew catching the light of the rising sun and turning it into a thousand tiny rainbows.

Alice Borchadt's
The Silver Wolf

Ms. Borchardt certainly has a beautiful view of paradise, a welcome reward after dragging the reader through the sad wastes on the other side of the river. One last beautiful moment occurs when Regeane meets Daedalus who is able to heal the person she has come to seek healing for. Meeting someone of past importance or fame has been used by others. Homer has Odysseus journey to Hades to see Teiresias and Virgil writes about Aenaeas heading into the underworld to see his father Anchises. To hear the dead talk can be a beautiful or terrible thing, a sad remembrance of better times long past, of an age before the horrors of humanity. Daedalus remembers:

…many years ago, in my youth, I was born on Crete, that fair island set in a lapis sea. Ah, it was the earth’s morning then, and we were the first to taste her bountiful fruits. We tamed the wild grapes grown on the mountainsides. Soft tiny, purple globes, fair and round as a woman’s lips. Our fields were golden with wheat, bowing before the sea’s breeze. Long dead as I am, I can still taste the soft, white loaf that wheat made. Still scent the bouquet of the wine we drank with it.

This wistful soliloquy of Daedalus’ is beautiful and sad (and much longer than the excerpt above) and challenges the character, indeed the reader, to think on the deeds of the present, reflect on the outcomes of our actions and the actions of those around us. The dead have the benefit of great hindsight and living mortals would do well to take note. By granting characters a glimpse of the land beyond, the horror and the beauty, they can benefit from a perspective that can give them an advantage, a Deus ex machina to aid them in their hour of need.