Chapter 80
Sweet Home Gothia
“Show me,” the Prophet said, “a family which is poor in gold, but rich in the spirit of the All-Father. They shall find their rest together in Heittheimili when their time on Midgard has come to an end” - Proverb ascribed to the Fritjolf Odinson
The Mausoleum of Theodoric the Founder, visited by Romanos Periplanomenos when he stayed in Ravenna
My Travels Amongst the Goths
By: Romanos Periplanómenos
Trans: Dr. Milos Katechis
London, Kingdom of Sexland: Royal Press, 2010
Uncle, I am writing you today to explain a small adventure which I had the other day while traveling West from Ravenna. As we are well aware, you left me with a number of tasks related to your business interests to attend to upon my arrival in the West, and I can assure you that I have carrie them out just as you requested. I have already sent you a number of epistles stating that I have secured those shipments which you desired from Senators Claudius and Antonius as well as making mention of the lavish treatment I received from our esteemed comrades in the Western Empire. [FN1]
From there, I naturally traveled north east to Ravenna where the Gothic Emperor holds his court for much of the year. It was there that my letter writing sadly became much less frequent. I know that I have previously told you about the first new weeks in the capitol before going silent, and I must apologize profusely for the oversight on my part. I fear that I became quite enamored with the daughter of our host and my mind, and heart, were pulled away from the page by this distraction. Sadly, I must report that no matter how much I poured out my heart to that fair Gothic maid, I was unable to melt the ice in her heart. Gothic women are strange creature indeed and bear little resemblance to the women from our own country. They are striking in appearance, tall and beautiful, but their demeanor carries with it traces of the northern home of their ancestors, for they are cold beings and the disapproving glare of one causes ice to form within one’s stomach. Luckily, my wounds – mental, physical and spiritual – have healed, but I do believe it is in my best interests to find a wife elsewhere!
But I regret nothing, for, as a wise man once said, “It is better to have loved and lost, than to have never loved at all.” And if no wise man has actually spoken those words, then I shall coin them myself. And my time in Ravenna, doing only as your instructed of course, did offer me the opportunity to view the newly crowned Western Emperor himself, Thorismund. Sadly my exposure was not social; though he apparently enjoys frequenting the parties hosted by the great Gothic nobles of the land, he did not find his way to any that I was attending (not that I attended a great number, Uncle! I beg you to not believe that I have been acting as a common sot or fool upon my travels. I have acted only with the greatest propriety as should be expected as I was executing your business). However, one fine day I was walking the Street of Theodoric where one can view the mausoleums of Theodoric the Founder and his heirs Theodemir the Great and Amalaric. Although the architecture of these tombs are not the match for those in Constantinople, I can attest that there is a certain primal beauty to the stark structures that left me moved.
In any case, as I was sightseeing, there was a great commotion and the crowds parted and there came Thorismund himself, riding at the front of a procession. I will tell you, Uncle, that I was taken by the great power which exuded forth from this man. He is bear-like and well over six feet tall in heigh, with a mop of hair the color of dried straw. His complexion was ruddy and his cheeks and nose blushed and seemed to be stained the color of a fine wine. I had no doubt that this man could best almost anyone – just the sort of Emperor which one would believe to be favored by barbarian folk, even civilized ones! Though I must admit, though it might well have been my imagination, that his eyes appeared somewhat reddened and he winced at the noise of the crowd, giving me the impression that he may have been suffering the aftereffects of a late night excursion. [FN2]
Anyway, I am sure you can piece together much of my time in Ravenna from my previous letters and those details which I have not shared, you can rest assured will be mentioned in later epistles. Truly, it was a fine city, though much smaller than I had been expecting, due to its status as the capitol of our brother-Empire in the West. Unlike Rome, which despite the activities of the Senate in maintaining and beautifying the sacred city, still gives off an impression of faded glory, Ravenna is bustling and new! It seems as if the Emperors of the West, knowing that both they themselves and their city have not the history to rival that of Rome, have poured forth great fountains of wealth in an effort to build a legacy for themselves. This is not surprising, but what I came to appreciate is how fine of a job that have done in this endeavor. Though Constantinople is grander, and Rome itself more august, Ravenna possess a veritable charm which is hard to put into words; even by a man who loves his own words as much as I do.
But I am prattling on and on, and missing the point of this letter, for I had initially written you to tell you of a quaint but telling adventure which I had the past few days. You see, though I understand that your instructions were to pass directly from Ravenna to Spania, the weather has turned for the season and so I decided to make by make by land, rather than by sea. Surely you remember that my travels from Constantinople to Rome had been less than pleasant, and how I gained the unfortunate nickname of Vesuvius from the sailors (fine folks thought they were) due to the impact of the rough seas upon my constitution. I know this decision has drawn out my travels, and I want to thank you for the understanding that I am sure you have for your faithful nephew.
In any case, my decision was fortunate, for it allowed me to see the countryside of the Gothic lands and take in their beauty. As I made my way down the old roads, I was taken with the history of this country, for it seems to excude from the land itself. I was most notably struck by the realization of how many peoples have made it their home: Etruscans, Celts, Latins and now Goths. Perhaps it was my imagination, but there were times when I felt I could see the impression that all of these different people have had upon the land and its current inhabitants, like footprints left in wet sand. It was truly a magical experience and I only regret that, for the second time in the same letter, I find that my words – those close companions which have brought me more pleasures than I can count – have failed me yet again.
As we left Ravenna, we traveled northwest, hugging the Appenine Mountains as we did so. In the process, we passed through the cities of Bononia – which the local Goths seem to refer to as ‘Boonen’ – and then cutting east and south before reaching Mediolanum. My goal is to reach Genua before heading due west along the seashore, and it is from that city that I will likely dispatch this letter from my hand to your reading desk.
The lands which I have traveled through have been stark. Although we in the East, I think, like to view the Western lands – save for the major trading cities – has being desolate and given over to wilderness and savagery, this could not be further from the case. Yes, the lands are not as populated as many parts of the East – though I would argue that they are better settled than many of the lands which the Sclavs and Avars have flooded into in our own eastern realm – and there are certainly stretches of true wilderness, it would be mistake to believe that the Goths brought with them the desert which they then imposed upon the lands of the Latins.
Indeed, those lands which are under cultivation are well tended and organized. Most people in these parts live in small villages and travel from them every morning to tend their crops or flocks. Perhaps the most striking feature of the landscape is the numerous monasteries which dot the land. I was told that many landowners often grant unused land to these monkish communities, who then bring civilization to it by cultivating it and making it fruitful. In these parts, many of the Monks belong to the Gothic Church and, as such, are heretics; but they still believe in the civilized laws of hospitality and I found myself staying with with many a night on my travels. Most are good people, and the brothers often seem overjoyed to have a guest; especially one from the Eastern Empire. Indeed, more than once Uncle, I noticed them plying me, unwilling of course, with some of the best wine I had ever tasted in an effort to loosen my tongue and tell them of life in Constantine’s City. Now, rest assured, being around such holy men, I always did my best to be the very platonic ideal of circumspect and respectful, and any tales you may have heard to the contrary are outright fabrications and slanderous lies!
But a Monastery does not fit into my current tale, I fear, though I would happily had stayed warm and dry in one had only one been available. You see, I was traveling alone on the road South of Mediolanum heading towards Genua. Although I always try to travel with others for sake of safety, my last companion had continued on West while I headed South and so we were forced to part ways. A charming fellow, I can assure you that I missed his wit as I noticed storm clouds brewing in the West. Not, Uncle, I know that your heart surely fluttered with fear for my safety as you read those last words. Please let me put your concern to rest when I state to you that the Gothic Emperors vigilantly protect the roads in their realm and that traveling, though always carrying some risk, is no more unsafe in the land of the Goths than it is in the environment around Constantinople! I know that your head is filled with tales of desperate maurauders who would be only to happy to rob and kill a naïve young Roman traveling alone, just as mine was prior to undertaking this journey. And indeed, I was told, that this was truly the case just a generation before during the time of Queen Adela and her lacky Emperors. But times have changed and now good government once again reigns in Gothic lands. Although danger certainly still exists in these parts, it is muted; though I do hear tell that Jaille is overturn by brigands and I was warned many times to never travel alone should I step foot in that benighted land.
In any case, I was alone when I noticed the growing black clouds to my right. I was traveling on a donkey at the time, not able to afford a horse after a particular incident involving an Abbot and too much wine, where I once again lived up to my nickname of Vesuvius. He was a loyal beast, sturdy and with the peasant-like determination to see his task through to the bitter end. But he was not swift! And to make matters worse, I had then found myself passing through one of those rare areas of desert which I had spoken to you about, the road had become very lonely indeed and the land itself was choked on all sides with poplars and other trees. Although I do not consider myself a superstitious man, my mind began to fill with the tales of ghosts an specters you used to delight in telling me as a youngster, and the thought of hunkering down in that wood to outlast the storm did not fill me with joy! And so I ordered my poor ass onwards, and he complied with the dull yet begrudging enthusiasm was befits one of his station and profession. There was no doubt that he felt his master to be an idiot but complied anyway.
Now, before I go any further in this tale, I must explain to you that there are two separate peoples who make their homes in Gothia. One, of course, are the Goths who dominate the region and migrate into it nearly two centuries ago. The second group, however, are the Valahs and they are largely the descendants of the native Latin speaking people of the region. Whereas the Goths belong to the Gothic Church, speak Gothic and are largely independent land holders (though, as with all people, there is great variation between them in wealth. A Goth may be a rich noble and own thousands of acres of land, or he may struggle to make a living on only five), the Valahs belong to the True Faith, speak Latin of a sort and are tied to the land they plow. They are not slaves, but neither are they fully free, and most seem to exist in some liminal space of being half-free.
During my time in Ravenna, I had often heard Goths, both common and noble, stick their nose into the air when discussing the Valahs and it became eminently clear that even the poorest Gothic street urchin felt himself to be superior to the most well off Valahs. This confused me, as I was a Rome and an Orthodox who was being treated with the greatest deal of respect by my hosts and all that I met, and I everyday say merchants and travelers from Rome and Italia who were treated as I was. I asked by host’s daughter about this and, though she likely wished to blacken my eye – again – as she always seemed cross with me, she explained is like this: I was a Greek, and all knew that Greeks were fellow Romans from the East. Likewise, those who came from Italia and Rome were Romans, just like the Goths themselves. But the Valahs, though they spoke Latin (of a sort. I cannot stress theis enough) were not true Romans. They had initially rebelled against the Goths at some distant point in the past, and this meant that they did not respect the Roman Crown. Furthermore, though being surrounded by members of the Gothic Church – or True Faith as she called it. The poor woman was greatly addled in her perspectives of faith, though I did not hold it again it – they refused to accept the truth. Finally, and most damningly, many were unable or unwilling to pay their taxes and so they fled to the Goths to protect them. They were lazy, shifty, born criminals, and a number of other inventive infinitives which I have since forgotten. Truthfully, I left the conversation more confused than ever, but certainly happy that in his mercy, God had not seen to allow me to be born a Valah!
This is important because, as my donkey and myself slowly trodded down that deserted road in search of succor, the clouds opened up with all of their fury and I suddenly found myself understanding exactly how Noah must have felt! If I had had access to an Ark, I would have happily jumped inside for shelter. But no large boat offered itself, unfortunately, and so my stubborn friend and I were forced to continue forward – even as the rains came down hard and cold, and we had difficulties following the road. Just when it seemed all was lost, and I have determined that risking the specters of the wood was far preferable than suffering through this deluge any longer, I noticed a light in the distance. For a split second, I feared that I was witnessing a daemon or other spirit, but I wiped the rain from my eyes and as I did so my good sense returned and I realized I was seeing a light in a window.
There are no words that can express the excitement and joy I felt in that moment. In my ecstasy I urged my stubborn friend on quickly, with a heel to his side and was rewared by the grumpy jackass nearly bucking me off and pitching me face first into the mud. “What’s the matter with you,” I cried out, “don’t you want to dry off and warm up?” He responded with a grunt which communicated his complete disdain for my presence on his back as well as my predicament. Such is the way of life; sometimes in the road you meet lifelong friends, other times you get chastised by a haughty donkey with a greatly inflated view of its place in life.
In either case, fifteen minutes later or so, I found myself knocking on the door of a rundown, but dry, home with the gusto of a man who feels the devil is following close behind (and, indeed, my surly donkey was standing near to me. Though I would be demiss if I said I truly believed him to be an incarnation of the Evil One). The door was soon opened by a middle aged man with a black and grey speckled beard. He was agruff man, and peered at me with no small amount of suspicion. I tried to explain myself, but either my Latin was bad or his was, before he stared at me quizzically so that for a moment I feared that he would not grant me access to his home and the shelter it represented to me.
Luckily, that is when his wife walked to the door. For some reason I understood her better than I did he, for I plainly heard her say “Who is it, Honey?” She then took one look at my sodden and forlorn form, pushed her husband out of the way and was ushering me inside and towards a small table and chair. She then turned back towards her husband and said something I didn’t quite catch, but it seemed to have an impact on her husband for he sheepishly grabbed his cloak and went outside and ushered my donkey to the stable. Then, smiling, she turned to me and offered me a cup of hot broth which I greedily drank down.
By the time her husband had returned, she and I had begun to communicate in a rudimentary manner; the Valahs in that part of the country speak a different form of Latin than what is spoken in Rome, and both are different from the Classic language which you paid tutors to teach me in my youth; just as the Greek spoken on the streets of Constantinople is different than that first uttered by the masterful Homer. But, it wasn’t so different that we couldn’t pick up on one another’s meanings with a bit of effort – I blame my earlier inability to communicate clearly on the pouring rain and my own urge to get inside as quick as possible. I learned that her name was Julia and her husband’s name was Amalric. At this I perked up, but she confirmed that neither of them were Goths, but Valahs; though sometimes Valahs are given Gothic names in their childhood due to the prestige those names carry.
Soon I found myself warming myself before the fire in their quaint cottage. Once Amalric returned, he joined us and the three began to tell out tales. They were very impressed to be hosting a traveler from Constantinople and seemed honored by my presence; poor Julia often cursed her luck that they didn’t have better food as someone befitting my station. I assured them that I didn’t mean to be able trouble (and that was the god’s honest truth! They may have been poor, but that family was rich in love, and that is far more valuable to my mind.) and that the porridge of grains and smoked meat they gave me was some of the best I had ever tasted. Julia did insist on breaking out their own wine and though I protested, I did not do so too strongly! The wine, just like the porridge, was delicious and that night I could think of nothing I rather be injesting and imbibing.
As we broke into the second bottle, tongues began to loosen, and we shared our stories. As I said, they were taken with mine but, truthfuly, one of the joys of travel is hearing and learning from others and I insisted that I could not possibly dominate the conversation for I wanted to hear of their lives. And, right now Uncle, I am sure that your eyes rolled so hard that they may well have broken free from your face and began to roll across the floor, but I insist that I meant it. Though we both know how much I love to talk, I can, and do, listen as well, and my travels so far have brought this side of me out more so than maybe it ever has been before.
Well, with a little prodding, Amalric began to open up. I felt bad for my first impression of him as a brooding and threatening man. Once he was comfortable, he was as giften an orator as Cicero and had a flair all of his own. I think he may have initially been intimidated by me, due to my background, but after a few cups of wine, this passed and he loosened up very nicely. In any case, it turns out that Amalaric was half free, but that hadn’t always been the case. His Father, Claudius – very few of the Valahs seem to use family names and are just known as so-and-so Son of that-man – had once been a yeoman who owned his own land. Unfortunately, that had been during the times of the Fourth Punic War and though Valahs are not often allowed to carry weapons and fight, they are still seen as having their part to play in war. This part is, of course, the payment of taxes.
Amalaric told me that though the crops has been good, there was no way that his father Claudius could keep up with the tax burden being leveled upon him. Although Goths do not usually pay taxes, Emperor Theodebert had actually tried to impose taxes on the Goths, though backed off in the face of threats of revolt. This meant than even more of the burden had to fall upon the Valahs. Claudius, eventually, was forced to give up his freedom and enter into the half-free status which has long been the norm for Valahs. He went to a local lord named Amalaric (from wence my friend received his own name) and offered to give up his freedom. In exchange for the Gothic noble taking on Caludius’ tax debt, Claudius offered him part of every crop and also pledged to work his new master’s fields for roughly 40 days out of the year. When Claudius died, Amalaric inherited his land, but also his status and responsibilities to the Lord and the Lord’s descendents.
It was a sad story but, I’m told, not an uncommon one. I asked Amalaric if he was bitter about this, but he said no. It was simply the way things were and, furthermore, there were benefits. In addition to the Lord agreeing to pay Claudius, and now, Amalaric’s taxes, he also vowed to protect them. During the time of Queen Adela, bandits had been a very real concern; that is until the Lord organized a small militia and rooted the brigands out of the local woods. At one point, Amalaric said, his father’s fields had been burned for not paying the protection money the bandits had requested. Had he been independent and free, no one would have come to his rescue; but the Lord not only lead the militia, he also sheltered Claudius and his family and took care of them until they could recover.
I asked if they ever resented the Gothic attitue towards the Valahs, but again he answered in the negative. He said that some Gothic travelers, especially those who came from the larger cities – which he called Mailand, Boonen and Jenua in the Gothic fashion, could be disparaging but most of the local Goths were neighbors and friends. In fact, their only daughter had married a local Gothic man and was happy; the couple had four kids and both Amalaric and Julia loved nothing more than to see their grandchildren. They grumbled somewhat that they daughter had had to convert to the Gothic Church, but were still happy for her. I asked if that was common, and I was told that it wasn’t as common as it used to be – the Orthodox Church frowned on such marriages since the wife and children had to leave the fold – but it wasn’t uncommon. Though Gothic law forbade a Valahs man from marrying a Gothic woman, it allowed Gothic men to marry Valahs women, and the relationships that formed between families of the two communities could be vital.
I asked if they had any other children, and after an awkward moment, I was told that they did. They had two more sons – Claudius (named for his grandfather) and Adrian. Claudius had taken up residence on some land nearby in the service of the local lord and had a small family of his own. Adrian, however, had been of a wilder character; he had accepted conversion into the Gothic Church and sought an education. He was now a priest and called himself Amalamir and was passing as a Goth; apparently he was married with children, but was embarrassed of his Valah heritage and refused to come home and associate with his family. This latter fact caused both Amalric and Julia a great deal of pain and I learned that Amalric felt guilty as he had become angry with his younger son when he converted and believes this was why the priest would not longer see his family. [FN3]
“Why,” I said, “would anyone want to give up their own identity? After all, everyone in the Empire who wasn’t a slave as a Roman citizen.” At this my hosts gave me a pitying look, and I was immediately ashamed, because I felt as if they saw me as a niave child.
Julia smiled at me and said “Bless your heart,” as she patted me on the shoulder. She then told me that there was no such thing as a half-free Goth, at least as far as she knew. She and her husband may not be literate (though there were literate Valahs in the village, she and her husband were not among them) but they knew bits of the law. And the laws definitely favored the Goths; Goths never paid taxes, unless they willingly took on the tax burden of those who wished to become their colonii, and the laws also protected Gothic freemen from ever having to enter into servitude. In fact, since Goths were supposed to be able to serve in the army, it was believed that they had to be wealthy enough to be able to afford armor and weapons and other implements of war. Therefore, the Emperor and his government did everything in their power to make sure that the Gothic freemen remained stable and secure enough to be able to fulfill their duties.
For whatever reason, their story filled me with sadness and compassion. I don’t know why exactly; here was a couple that was secure, had friends and family near by, and were genuinely filled with warmth and Christian brotherhood to everyone they met. They didn’t feel as if their lives were sad. And yet, the fact that people I had met, who I had liked, would look down upon this couple who had given shelter, food, wine and companionship to a total stranger, filled me with an anger which still has not passed.
That night they gave me a place in front of the fire to sleep, a bed of straw and blankets of furs which Amalaric had gained while hunting as a young man. The next morning they asked me if I coul stay another day, but I demurred and stated that I had business to attend to you for you, Uncle. I offered to pay them for their hospitality, but they would hear nothing of it, “sharing a roof with a nice young man from the East is payment enough,” Amalaric said. Julia smiled and said she only regretted that her daughter was already married for she felt I would make a good son-in-law; and I would swear before God that had they a second daughter I would have happily accepted the offer. To have in-laws of such righteousness and kindness would be a blessing which all the riches of the world could never equal.
And so I made my way onward, and told them I would stop back on my return journey if I could. And one day I would love to do just that, with all my heart. I can say that there is only one wish of there’s that I could never honor and that was when they said that they would accept no payment. Before leaving, I told them that I needed to return inside to make sure I hadn’t forgotten anything from my pack – a likely excuse as most of my cloths and belongings had spent the night drying by the fire. Once inside I placed four gold pieces inside the fur blankets I had slept in. I figured they would find them after I was long gone and so they wouldn’t be able to return them to me. And, Uncle, if I say ask you one favor: when you go to mass next, can you say a prayer for Amalaric and Julia for me, and ask our priest to do the same. They have everything in life they need save one, and I hope that their son returns to them and recognizes them as family. If you could, it would mean the world to me.
[FN1] This excerpt actually comes from before our first introduction to Romanos in Jaille, closer to the beginning of his journey. I had originally intended for it to follow after his travels through Spania but, as had been established, it was there that he received word that his Uncle was ill, and he sped back to Constantinople, so I felt there wouldn’t be much time for him to write.
[FN2] Romanos is taking some subtle – or not so subtle – jabs at Emperor Thorismund I here, if you haven’t been able to tell.
[FN3] This is an important story because it shows that there are aveues of social mobility available to Valahs. However, those pathways usually involve embracing Gothic identity – faith and language being the biggest aspects of it. In a previous chapter, we heard the tale of a Jaille peasant who moved to Ravenna and tried to pass himself off as a Goth. Here we see someone who did is more officially; they converted, gained an education, became a priest in the new faith and even changed their name. The likelihood is good that, within a two generations, his descendants would have no idea that they were descended from Valahs.
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Okay, I have a confession to make. I had initially imagined this chapter as beginning with a short introduction by our good friend Romanos telling the tale of his taking shelter with a kindly Valahs family. Then the chapter would segway into an academic discussion of the social history of Gothland during the 7th century, focusing on the growth of the Gothic Church, the status of Goths and Valahs within the realm and all that fun stuff, as well as touching on the reign of Thorismund I. However, Romanos, as I continually have forced to rediscover, is a wordy bastard. A snarky, wordy man who is quite taken with his own clever use of language, but also one who is a good observer and who is actually much more wholesome, I think, than he sees himself as. Which means, his account kept growing and took over the entire chapter.
So, the NEXT chapter will be a nice, detailed, exploration of the social history of Gothland during the 7th century and the reign of Thorismund I (or, at least, part of it. There is one rather unique event which will be a separate chapter). But, this chapter still acts, I think, as a good introduction to all of those topics. And, really, I enjoy spending time with Romanos. I'm not sure how much of him we'll see going forward; though I might turn to him when we get back to the Eastern Empire and Persia as he writes about his travels there, albeit later in life.
Having said all of this, I have a pretty big personal announcement to make!
So a few years ago, I finished my first Masters degree and decided to take some time off from school. I was burnt out, as happens, and was really trying to figure out what I wanted to do with my life. After a few years I realized that I really did want to go for my PhD after all; largely as a result of how much fun I had working on an independent research project on Prohibition and Crime in Fargo, ND during the 1920s and 1930s. So I applied ... and got turned down by every school I applied at.
So, not to be dissuaded, I applied again - figuring I had learned a few things from last time, and also figuring that I now have teaching experience at the college level. And got turned down! Again. At this point, I was beginning to feel like the King from Monty Python who built his castle in a swamp. Well, so be it, if that was gonna be me, than that would be me. At least I might get a nice fur lined cloak out of it (and a castle, in a bloody swamp!). So I applied to a Master's program in Library science and spent two years doing that. I continued to adjunct when I could, and gain new skills.
This past May I applied for a third time and ... I got accepted!!! Like two weeks ago. So come January, I will be moving to Aberdeen, Scotland to do my PhD in History, studying Irish and Polish priests in the Upper Midwest and their efforts to preserve traditional cultures and identities amongst their parishioners (because I'm the exact type of guy who would apply overseas to study the history of his home region. Because: Adventure!). I am totally drunk on excitement right now and wanted all of my readers to know
