You Win or You Die

I have become addicted to the TV show Game of Thrones. I watched the premiere episode last spring and it didn’t quite grab me—but then someone told me that the source material (George R. R. Martin’s A Song of Ice and Fire) is actually based on the Wars of the Roses and I was All. Over. That!

So, some references are fairly obvious:
Stark = York, Lannister = Lancaster.  Westeros is essentially all of Europe, although more England than anything.  The Wall is Hadrian's Wall; the wildlings are probably the aboriginal Britons, the Celts who were driven out by the Roman troops.  The southern kingdoms seem to be sort of Aquitaine-ish, with all the flowers and sultry living.

Physically Westeros looks more like Scotland than England.
I wonder if that makes the Dothraki Irish!

Part of the fun of watching something like this is figuring out who is based on whom—and then examining how Martin upends those prototypes, or combines them with others. King Robert is clearly intended to be your basic Edward IV-type:

• heavy-set*
• drinks a lot
• whores around
• strong warrior who led a rebellion and supplanted a Mad King.

[And let me say, I called Robert’s death a loooong time ago, I had a feeling something dreadfully William Rufus-ish would happen to him. Know your fairy tales and STAY OUT of the Forbidden Forest!]

However.  Edward was a MUCH better king than Robert and his marriage to his eventual queen was certainly not the cold political alliance of Cersei and Robert. In fact Edward lost significant political support when he married Elizabeth Woodville [thoroughly pissing off his main backer, Warwick the Kingmaker, who ended up leading another rebellion AGAINST Edward and reinstating the previous King, Henry VI. The Wars of the Roses can be hellishly confusing—the timeline reads like a litany: …Henry VI, Edward IV, Henry VI, Edward IV…]. 

Poor Henry is the clearest parallel for Aerys the Mad King, but Henry’s insanity was pretty harmless stuff, mainly a lot of praying and swaying—he certainly wasn’t burning anyone alive!  [Henry did have an unfortunate habit of wandering off during important battles though…after the 2nd Battle of St. Albans they found him sitting under a tree singing.] 

Sorry blokes, d’you need me for something? Wot, I'm KING, how'd that happen?

So this seems to make Cersei the counterpart for Elizabeth Woodville, Edward IV’s gorgeous, cold consort—but in her cool, straightforward bids for power, Cersei actually strikes me as more of a Margaret of Anjou, Henry’s Queen. Margaret, a fierce HBIC, led ARMIES, for God’s sake—there’s an hilariously disapproving account of her in Edward Hall’s Chronicles, courtesy of Richard Duke of York, frosty with frustrated battlefield chauvinism.

Gah!  How tackily unfeminine!

The Duke of York barely lived to regret his sneering words as Margaret's army promptly handed his ass to him in the Battle of Wakefield the next day, wiping out the Yorkists. Ol' Richard's head ended up decorating a gate outside his eponymous city, adorned with a paper crown saying "Let York overlook the town of York. "Oooh, that is COLD, Margaret!

Margaret had just one child, one precious son, Edward of Lancaster, the Prince of Wales, of whose birthright she was extremely protective. 

Mummy, how come everyone says I look so much like Uncle Jaime the Duke of Somerset?

Like Cersei’s Joffrey [and Paul I, Catherine the Great’s only child who almost certainly was not fathered by her husband, the previous Tsar], Edward's paternity was questioned (delicately)—poor crazy, singing Henry didn’t really seem up to the task! Perhaps due to his somewhat unsettled childhood and his mother’s weird habit of consulting her son on how to execute prisoners, Edward was disturbingly precocious in his zest for York blood.  One foreign observer said the boy 

already talks of nothing but cutting off heads or making war, as if he had everything in his hands or was the god of battle or the peaceful occupant of that throne.

Edward would have been right at home in King's Landing!

But who is the Prince's analogue? In Game of Thrones, there are several candidates:

• That psychopath Joffrey, obviously.  Although Edward was never THAT sadistic;  frankly Joffrey seems more like Caligula!
• Robin, the bloodthirsty heir of Eyrie, who likes to see prisoners “fly!”--out the window and down a 1000-foot drop. However as attached as Edward might have been to his formidable mother, he did NOT breastfeed to the age of 8. [My eyes!]
• Vicerys, the pretender to the Iron Throne, who like Edward maintained a court in exile after fleeing his homeland as a child.

As for all the incest?  I got nothing.  The Lancasters and the Yorks didn't really keep it in the family a la the Ptolemys--the one possible exception is the rumor that Richard III was seeking to marry his niece Elizabeth of York after his first wife died.  The English didn't really go for that sort of tackiness, though.  The Habsburgs, however...**

*Henry VIII, Edward’s grandson, strongly resembled Edward, both physically and in personality. Both were stunning physical specimens in youth—tall, fair, athletic—with significant weight gain in later life; both were charming but absolutely draconian when they had to be.


**I have been meaning to do an entry on the most notorious member of that unbelievably inbred family, Carlos el Hechizado--the Bewitched.  He was his own cousin MANY times over and the results weren't pretty.

Medieval Treasures, Part I

This past Christmas, while visiting the Washington DC area, I was blessed with an embarrassment of riches, a medieval two-fer. The first was like something out of a Tolkien dream, a priceless hoard of precious metals and ornaments from the Dark Ages, found lying beneath the earth; the second, a long-lost text from the 10th century whose story reads like a Gaston Leroux novel by way of Dan Brown.

Part I
Sic transit gloria Angli...

In July of 2009 [coincidentally right before I visited London for my first extended visit], an enormous hoard of gold and silver was dug up in Staffordshire, England. As it turned out the treasure dated back to the Anglo-Saxon era—a Sutton Hoo for the new millennium! I was dying to view the loot when I was actually over there, but the experts were still cleaning it up and had not put it on public display yet—I had to wait until the Brits brought it over here, to be exhibited at the National Geographic Museum in Washington, DC.

Thankfully they were open on Christmas Eve, since that was the only day I could go! Walking into the exhibit hall was like entering Smaug's cavern. I couldn't stop staring at these pieces.  They were breathtaking—incredibly detailed, dazzling and golden and captivating.  And mysterious. Who buried this collection and when? And why? Who was the man who displayed these pommel atop his sword, the warrior who had first worn that helmet plate, what do we know about their violent, cold, vivid world?

The defender of earls then

Commanded that eight steeds with bridles

Gold-plated, gleaming, be guided to hallward

Inside the building; on one of them stood then

An art-broidered saddle embellished with jewels

The Anglo-Saxons predated what we think of as England*--they were only two of a number of Germanic tribes that surged into the power vacuum that was the British isles after Shit Started Getting Real in the Roman Empire in the early 400s and onward [when the Romans pulled out of Britain because their empire was busy falling apart. You know how it is]. Everyone knows the date 1066, when William the Conqueror [or the Bastard, if you prefer--he answered to both names] won the Battle of Hastings**...but there was nearly 700 hundred years between the pullout of the Romans, and the appearance of the Normans [who were really Vikings just a few generations removed***]. What happened in the intervening years?

Well, an awful lot of fighting, mainly. The Germanic tribes--the Angles, the Saxons, the Jutes, the Frisians, all swept across the North Sea like a cold wind, all part of what the Germans call the Völkerwanderung, the Migration of Peoples, a long, long period from the 400s AD to roughly 900 or so, when seemingly every people in Europe was infected with restlessness and had to move, to go, to invade, to conquer.

Two of these tribe (the Visigoths and the Vandals) sacked Rome--in the same century! Before that Rome hadn't been sacked for 800 years but by the 5th century, things had deteriorated so badly in the Empire that a horde of illiterate long-haired tribesmen was able to bring down the Caput Mundi.

What were they seeking? What were they trying to accomplish? What caused so many kind of peoples, so many tribes and clans and kindred to pick up and move across the landmasses of Europe?

No one really knows.

Which brings us back to this glittering, alluring pile of gold, the perfect fancy for these turbulent, hungry times. As vast as the hoard was [the largest EVER from the Anglo-Saxon period!], it offered only a few, tantalizing clues as to its origins. For one thing almost all the objects were military in purpose--no coins, no combs or belts or jewelry, just things like hilt collars, scabbards, helmet plates. For another--most intriguingly--almost none of the pieces were intact; many of them were deliciously mangled and even torn.

"The Folded Cross."  This may have been held aloft into battle, as religious artifacts often were. 

His heart was filled and pierced with enchantment 

and with the desire of dwarves; 

and he gazed motionless, almost forgetting the frightful guardian, 

at the gold beyond price and count.

Like Bilbo, I too was dazzled, my heart was caught by these lovely, delicate, intricately worked objects, precious pieces over which some anonymous, long-dead artisan had worked, imagining his hands twisting the thin strands onto the plates, shaping and polishing the garnets, creating a thing of beauty to last the ages. 

A hilt collar--this would have decorated a sword handle.

Imagining some fierce Danish or Welsh fighter grappling with an enemy, their swords clashing and rending the gorgeous metalwork.

Notice the eagle's head on the left, and the scales on the other end.
The Anglo-Saxons loved visual jokes and puns such as this.

Imagining too how these riches ended up sleeping beneath the earth for over 1ooo years...Perhaps some enterprising Mercian warrior, lucky enough to be on the winning side [the typical Anglo-Saxon practice was for all the losers to be slaughtered], crept out under cover of darkness to strip the bodies and hurriedly buried his stash, hoping to retrieve it later.

Four bright jewels with gold-work embellished.

'Round the roof of the helmet a head-guarder outside

Braided with wires, with bosses was furnished,

That swords-for-the-battle fight-hardened might fail

Boldly to harm him... 

Perhaps the gold was buried in tribute--to an enemy, to a god, perhaps in thanksgiving to a battle won...

No one knows.  

*Although they gave us their name--Angle-land.  According to legend, Pope Gregory eyed a group of fair-haired, fair-skinned slaves in the Roman marketplace and wanted to know their origins.  Upon being told they were Angles, he quipped Non Angli, sed Angeli.  Oh, Gregory, you so funny...

**Which, by the way, was the very LAST successful invasion of the British Isles.  Take THAT, Philip II and Hitler!


*** Norseman --> Norman, just another variation on the Big Incestuous Melting Pot of Northern Europe.