Appius Herdonius And His Failed Slave Revolt In Rome

In the year 460 BCE, a man named Appius Herdonius reportedly led a campaign against Rome and successfully seized the Capitoline Hill.  Although no known history of Rome was written by a Roman until around 200 BCE, the tale of Appius Herdonius had survived in ancient Rome’s consciousness to be documented and preserved by historians such as Cato the Elder (c. 234-148 BCE), Livy (c. 59 BCE-17 CE), and Dionysius of Halicarnassus (flourished c. 20 BCE).

As the story goes, Appius Herdonius was a Sabine of wealth and power who lived in the 5th century BCE. He was something of a migratory warlord, traveling the land with a large following in tow. As a rich and powerful individual, Herdonius apparently was able to come and go from Rome, allowing him to meet its population, and to get an understanding of the city’s layout and defensive features. Unfortunately for the Romans, Herdonius’ familiarity with Rome gave the opportunistic warlord access to a dangerous pool of manpower—exiles, dissidents, and, most frightening for the Romans, slaves.

Appius Herdonius made his move in 460 BCE, leading an army against the city of Rome under the cover of night. In Livy’s account, Herdonius commanded 2,500 Roman “slaves and exiles” (History of Rome, 3.15), whereas the historian Dionysius of Halicarnassus claimed that the warlord’s force was 4,000 strong and that it was solely made up of “his clients and the most daring of his servants” (Roman Antiquities, 10.14). Herdonius, with his thousands of followers, be it Roman dissidents or his horde of loyal servants, successfully infiltrated Rome and sneaked up to the Capitoline Hill. In a surprise attack, the infiltrators stormed the Capitol’s defenses and made short work of the surprised defenders. By morning, Appius Herdonius’ troops had firmly occupied the Capitoline Hill and were using the Hill’s defensive features against the rest of Rome.

After suffering this random attack, it took the Romans some time to recover from their confusion. According to Livy, Rome did not know who had attacked them, or how large the army was, and also feared the possibility of a simultaneous attack from another army outside the city. As the Romans gathered more intel on their opponents, they sent out messengers to request help from allies. The Romans, however, were not the only ones calling for aid—after Appius Herdonius seized the Capitoline Hill, he called for the rest of the city’s slaves to rise up in rebellion, and beckoned for all of the oppressed to join his cause. Although there was indeed friction between the oligarchs of the fledgling Roman Republic and the common people, Herdonius misjudged the power of communal identity. Instead of inspiring the commoners to defect, his attack prompted the common people to make a truce with the oligarchs and fight back against the threat to their city.  

By the time the Roman population had readied itself to fight against the occupiers on the Capitoline Hill, they saw a completely different foreign army quickly approaching their walls. According to Livy, the sight of this force struck fear into Rome, as their first impression was that it had to be an army from one of their various enemies at the time, hoping to take advantage of Rome in its time of weakness. Yet, to Rome’s relief, the force was actually an allied army sent from Tusculum to aid Rome. Together, the Romans and the Tusculans attacked Appius Herdonius’ army on the Capitoline Hill. As the occupiers were firmly entrenched in the Capitol’s defenses, the battle was hard fought and many died in combat. The Roman consul, Valerius, was killed during the assault and the warlord Appius Herdonius, too, was slain in the heat of battle. Rome, with its Tusculan allies, eventually killed or captured all of the occupiers of the Capitoline Hill. In the aftermath of the battle, the Romans made a declaration of thanks for Tusculum’s aid, and then set about the grim task of cleaning and ritually purifying the blood-splattered temples on the Capitol.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Picture Attribution: (Gustave Housez, La mort de Vitellius, c. 1847, [Public Domain] via Creative Commons).

Sources:

• The History of Rome by Livy, translated by Aubrey de Sélincourt. New York: Penguin Classics, 2002. 
• http://www.perseus.tufts.edu/hopper/text?doc=Perseus%3Atext%3A1999.02.0026%3Abook%3D3%3Achapter%3D15 
• http://penelope.uchicago.edu/Thayer/E/Roman/Texts/Dionysius_of_Halicarnassus/10A*.html#ref16 
• https://referenceworks.brillonline.com/entries/brill-s-new-pauly/herdonius-e509460  

Zou Yushan And His Ascension And Demise Through Assassination

In the 130s BCE, the kingdom of Minyue (approximately Fujian Province, China) ran afoul of Emperor Wu of the Han Dynasty (r. 141-87 BCE). Although Emperor Wu was, himself, a prevalent conqueror, he did not appreciate that the kingdom of Minyue was independently launching attacks against its neighbors. In 138 BCE, the king of Minyue attacked the kingdom of Donghai, but before the war was concluded, Emperor Wu sent troops to break up the fight and enforce peace. After being thwarted in Donghai by the emperor, the king of Minyue scoured the political landscape for another victim to invade. In 135 BCE, Minyue prepared an attack against Southern Yue, a kingdom where the Han Empire had long been trying to make diplomatic inroads. As the kingdom of Minyue was about to threaten Han foreign policy toward Southern Yue, Emperor Wu intervened once again, sending troops to stop the invasion and to punish the king of Minyue.

Minyue was ruled by King Zou Ying at the time of this second intervention by the emperor’s forces. Zou Ying was said to have plotted rebellion at this point, sending his own forces to block the passes and roads into his kingdom. The prospect of war with Emperor Wu’s imperial army understandably frightened the officials of Minyue, and a conspiracy soon formed to assassinate the king in hopes of alleviating the emperor’s wrath. At the head of the cabal was an unlikely assassin—the king’s own brother, Zou Yushan.

After Zou Yushan had gained the confidence of the kingdom’s officials and the military, he murdered his brother, King Zou Ying, while the two traveled. He reportedly slew the king with a spear and sent his brother’s head to the Han army. When the assassination became known, Emperor Wu spared the kingdom and placed on the throne Zou Chao, a weak and malleable member of Minyue’s royal family. Zou Chao, despite his imperial backing, was not the real powerbroker in Minyue. After the killing of King Zou Ying, it was the assassin, Zou Yushan, who became the shadow ruler of the region.

Zou Yushan’s influence could not be kept a secret forever, and Emperor Wu eventually decided to bring the shadow ruler out of the darkness. Zou Yushan was proclaimed king of Eastern Yue, while Zou Chou was named king of Yao. Under the leadership of Zou Yushan, Minyue was able to coexist with Emperor Wu for years. The peace, however, would not last, and Zou Yushan would soon find himself in a similar situation to that of the brother he had assassinated.

The downfall of Zou Yushan came in 112 and 111 BCE, when Emperor Wu stepped up his diplomatic and military pressure against Southern Yue. King Zou Yushan was put in an awkward situation by the conflict, as the monarchy in Southern Yue was said to have been a distant branch of Minyue’s own Zou royal family. As such, Zou Yushan was conflicted about the campaign and ultimately withheld his support from Emperor Wu’s conquest of Southern Yue, which occurred in 111 BCE. This hesitancy and lack of support did not go unnoticed by the Han army, and the generals who had attacked Southern Yue now pressured the emperor to let them punish Zou Yushan in Eastern Yue. According to Grand Historian Sima Qian (c. 145-90 BCE), Emperor Wu was not interested in a punitive campaign against Eastern Yue at that time, and did not give the generals a green-light to attack. Nevertheless, Zou Yushan heard of the army’s displeasure and the calls to attack his kingdom. The news made the king of Eastern Yue paranoid, and his paranoia eventually drove him to rebellion.

Following the same path of his brother before him, Zou Yushan declared a rebellion at the first sign of imperial military pressure, real or imagined. He sent his troops to block the roads and passes into his kingdom, and also appointed a general-in-chief to command the kingdom’s forces against a Han invasion. Emperor Wu indeed responded to the rebellion, and did so quickly in late 111 BCE, invading Eastern Yue on multiple fronts.  

The war went poorly for Eastern Yue, and the general-in-chief of the kingdom was slain on the battlefield by Han forces. King Zou Yushan’s popularity in Eastern Yue fell as the Han forces pushed onward, and the officials of the kingdom grew less and less confident of their king’s abilities. From such an atmosphere, a plot inevitably formed among the officials and commanders to assassinate the king in hopes of winning back the confidence of the Han emperor. Once again, the assassin proved to be family, as Zou Yushan was killed by his kinsman, Zou Jugu. When the grim deed was done, the conspirators seized control of the kingdom and quickly surrendered to the Han forces.  

Upon the surrender, Emperor Wu reportedly spared the lives of the people of Eastern Yue, but he did take the opportunity to implement drastic steps to decrease the threat posed by the rebellious kingdom. According to Sima Qian, the emperor “commanded the army officials to lead away all the inhabitants of the region and resettle them in the area between the Yangtze and Huai rivers, leaving Eastern Yue a deserted land” (Shi Ji 114).

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Picture Attribution: (Photograph of Qin Terracotta Soldiers from Shaanxi Museum, photographed by Gary Todd, [Public Domain] via Creative Commons).

Sources:

• The Records of the Grand Historian (Shi ji) by Sima Qian, translated by Burton Watson. New York: Columbia University Press, 1993.

The Impressive Reign Of Zhao Tuo, Emperor Of Southern Yue

The collapse of the Qin Dynasty between 209 and 206 BCE was a time of remarkable social mobility. Governors, minor officials, and even bandits were able to seize the moment to achieve the ranks of marquise, king, and emperor. In the anti-Qin rebellion that turned into a rebel warlord free-for-all, power was up for grabs to whoever could take and keep it. A certain Liu Bang was the big winner of the upheaval, claiming for himself first the kingdom of Han (in 206 BCE), and then the imperial throne (in 202 BCE), announcing himself to be Emperor Gaozu, the founder of the Han Dynasty in China. Yet, to the south of Emperor Gaozu was another leader born out of the fragmented Qin Empire—it was Zhao Tuo, the self-proclaimed emperor of Southern Yue.

When the rebellions that would prove fatal to the Qin Dynasty broke out in 209 BCE, Zhao Tuo was said to have been a relatively minor magistrate in a province called Nanhai, located in the vicinity of Guangdong, China. His power skyrocketed, however, when he fortuitously managed to become the military commander of Nanhai just as the anti-Qin rebellion was beginning to take off. At first, Zhao Tuo was said to have played both sides in the war. On the one hand, he rallied his troops to set up defenses against potential attacks by rebel warlords, yet he did this while also ridding the province of officials and commanders who were too close to the Qin Dynasty or any particular rebel faction. Through such methods, Zhao Tuo consolidated the local military around himself and formed a regime that sought out the interests not of the Qin government or the rebels, but of their own local region in Southern Yue.

While the Qin army and the rebels fought their war, Zhao Tuo focused on conquering two frontier provinces that were adjacent to Nanhai. By the time the Qin Empire finally fell and the rebel leaders were divvying up kingdoms amongst themselves in 206 BCE, Zhao Tuo had enough land and might to proclaim himself to be the King of Southern Yue. In the aftermath of the Qin Dynasty’s fall, Zhao Tuo apparently maintained his defensive and isolationist policy, going out of his way not to interact with the rebel kingdoms. This, however, worked out in his favor when two rival warlords, Liu Bang and Xiang Yu, forced all of the other rebel kings to choose sides and fight another civil war. As Zhao Tuo had not been interacting with the various rebellion leaders of China, he was able to steer his own kingdom of Southern Yue on a stance of strict neutrality in the war between Liu Bang and Xiang Yu. By the time Liu Bang emerged victorious in 202 BCE and proclaimed himself Emperor Gaozu, Zhao Tuo and his kingdom of Southern Yue had successfully maintained autonomy, whereas the kingdoms involved in the civil war, including both Gaozu’s enemies and allies, started to increasingly feel the weight of imperial authority pressing down on their freedom.

As Emperor Gaozu came to power after years of rebellion and civil war, his reign as emperor was mainly inward-focused, with his immediate goals being the consolidation of imperial power in the empire and the preservation of his fledgling imperial house. Such a mindset from the Chinese emperor was beneficial to Zhao Tuo in Southern Yue, as Gaozu was more likely to spend his resources suppressing dissent or rebellion in his own realm, rather than mobilizing troops to conquer new territory. To minimize the possibility of stoking the Han Empire’s ire, Zhao Tuo developed a state policy of calculated deference and flattery to keep the Chinese emperors both happy and unimposing.

As Zhao Tuo had been a former official of the Qin Dynasty in charge of Qin-conquered territory, many in Emperor Gaozu’s court believed that Zhao Tuo’s kingdom still belonged to the empire, even if the ruling dynasty had changed. Yet, because of Zhao Tuo’s neutrality during the civil war between the rebel factions, Emperor Gaozu did not hold a grudge against the king of Southern Yue and did not seek to punish him at that time. With Emperor Gaozu not pressing the issue and Zhao Tuo doing everything in his power to avoid the question, the Han Empire and the kingdom of Southern Yue coexisted without any formal deals or treaties until 196 BCE, when Emperor Gaozu finally sent a diplomat named Lu Jia to broach the subject of vassalage.  Lu Jia arrived at his destination expecting to see a typical Chinese governor or nobleman, yet he found Zhao Tuo pointedly dressed in the regional garb of Southern Yue instead of the average clothing of imperial China. Zhao Tuo’s assimilation of his kingdom’s culture was one of several mind games he would play on the Han Empire and its diplomats.

While Lu Jia was visiting with Zhao Tuo, the king of Southern Yue agreed to accept a seal of kingship from Emperor Gaozu, which was a symbol of vassalage. Yet, after showing the Han envoy that the Kingdom of Southern Yue had a formidable army and a well-stocked treasury to fund said army, Zhao Tuo was able to turn the negotiations more into the direction of a non-aggression pact. In the end, Zhao Tuo apparently agreed to pretend to be a vassal of the Han Empire (while still retaining complete autonomy) as long as trade continued between their realms, with special importance placed on iron. Emperor Gaozu, for his part, was evidently fine with this agreement as long as his southern border was secure. This quasi-vassal status no doubt caused some complaints and irritation from the Han envoys sent to meet with King Zhao Tuo. Yet, according to Grand Historian Sima Qian (c. 145-90 BCE), Zhao Tuo could appease any grumbling Han stickler for court etiquette by saying, “I have lived among these barbarians for so long that I have lost all sense of manners and propriety” (Shi Ji 97).

By pretending to be a vassal, while really only agreeing to a non-aggression pact, Zhao Tuo maintained peace with the Han Empire for years. The harmony between the two states was threatened, however, when Emperor Gaozu died in 195 BCE. Gaozu’s son, Emperor Hui, officially assumed control of the empire, but Hui’s mother, the capable Empress Dowager Lü, was the real power behind the throne. Empress Dowager Lü was reportedly more open to the idea of sending Han troops to attack the empire’s neighbors than her late husband had been. In one incidence of this, she reportedly urged her generals to attack the Xiongnu nomads, after the Xiongnu leader, Maodun, had mailed her an embarrassing marriage proposition. The generals talked her out of the attack, but the debacle showed that she, personally, had no qualms against attacking neighbors.

Although Empress Dowager Lü had been dissuaded from attacking the Xiongnu, she would have more luck in persuading her ministers and generals to move against the long-reigning King Zhao Tuo of Southern Yue. In an attempt to weaken her neighbor to the south, Empress Dowager Lü halted the flow of iron and metal goods into Southern Yue. This blockade had a peculiar effect on the usually agreeable king. In a rare display, Zhao Tuo completely shed his finely-crafted facade of deference and ignorance, instead letting his darker, more ferocious side leak out into the open. In response to the halt on iron, Zhao Yue martialed his forces and invaded the southern portion of the Han Empire, capturing several towns and cities along the border. To crown his victories, Zhao Tuo proclaimed himself Emperor of Southern Yue, before withdrawing his troops back to more defensible lands in his domain.

Empress Dowager Lü reportedly sent an army under the command of general Zhou Zao to respond to the aggression from Southern Yue. The Han army, however, was shocked by the heat, humidity and disease that it encountered in the southern climate, and its progress fizzled. By the time that Empress Dowager Lü died in 180 BCE, the Han army had not fought a single battle against the forces of Zhao Tuo, nor had it ever invaded into the heartland of Southern Yue. Upon Empress Dowager Lü’s death, the unsuccessful Han army was recalled and the attack against Southern Yue was canceled.

Emperor Zhao Tuo of Southern Yue calmed down after the passing of Empress Dowager Lü. He slipped back into his facade of deference and ignorance as he waited for the new leader of the Han Empire to reach out to Southern Yue. Emperor Wen, a son of the late Gaozu, ascended to the throne after Empress Dowager Lü’s death in 180 BCE, and eventually sent a diplomat to meet with Zhao Tuo. The envoy, once again, was Lu Jia, who had previously traveled to Southern Yue in 196 BCE, during the reign of Emperor Gaozu. Lu Jia was pummeled once again by Zhao Tuo’s carefully aimed deflections and humble excuses. The self-proclaimed emperor of Southern Yue slathered the new leader of the Han Empire with praise, made the usual show of deference, and claimed that his unsavory actions during the reign of Empress Dowager Lü were due to old age. According to Grand Historian Sima Qian, Zhao Tuo even sent a letter to Emperor Wen, apologizing for the fact that “your aged subject, to gratify a whim, presumed in his delusion to call himself ‘emperor’” (Shi Ji 113).

Lu Jia reportedly returned to the court of Emperor Wen thinking that he had finally brought the long-independent ruler of Southern Yue into the feudal fold. Zhao Tuo had apparently promised the envoy that he would abandon his imperial ambitions and henceforth act as a proper feudal king in service of the Han Emperor. Yet, once again, the carefully negotiated terms of this agreement really only rose to the level of a non-aggression pact, allowing Zhao Tuo to run his realm as usual. As stated by Sima Qian, “he continued secretly to use the designations ‘emperor’ and ‘edict’ the same as before within his kingdom, and only referred to himself as ‘king’ and used the other terms appropriate to a feudal lord when he sent envoys to the rulers of China” (Shi Ji 113).

Although Zhao Tuo had claimed to have been an old, delusional man around 180 BCE, he must have been exaggerating—after all, he was incredibly healthy and would go on to live for over four more decades after Empress Dowager Lü’s death. He reportedly had little trouble coexisting with Emperor Wen (r. 180-157 BCE) and Emperor Jing (r. 157-141 BCE). Zhao Tuo, still an autonomous monarch, also witnessed the ascendance of the famous Emperor Wu (r. 141-87 BCE). Yet, as the 130s BCE arrived, Zhao Tuo’s long and peculiar reign was coming to a close. Zhao Tuo, the self-proclaimed Emperor of Southern Yue, was said to have died in 137 BCE, after having reportedly ruled for an unbelievable reign of around seventy years.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Picture Attribution: (Jade Burial suit of King/Emperor Zhao Mo of Southern Yue (d. 122 BCE), in front of Qin Terracotta Warriors, from Pit 1, both photographed by Gary Todd, [Public Domain] via worldhistorypics.com and Creative Commons).

Sources:

• The Records of the Grand Historian (Shi ji) by Sima Qian, translated by Burton Watson. New York: Columbia University Press, 1993.
• http://www.chinaknowledge.de/History/Han/personszhaotuo.html 
• http://www.chinaknowledge.de/History/Altera/yue.html 
• https://whc.unesco.org/en/tentativelists/5338/ 
• https://www.britannica.com/place/Nam-Viet  

Gnaeus Marcius Coriolanus And His Revenge Against Rome

Gnaeus (or Gaius) Marcius, according to tradition, was a Roman aristocrat and military leader who lived in the earliest days of the Roman Republic. He was considered a member of the Marcii patrician family in Rome, and ancient historians such as Livy and Plutarch painted Gnaeus Marcius as a staunch, hot-headed member of the patrician faction, as well as a hardliner in favor of suppressing the commoners by any means. It is possible, however, that Gnaeus Marcius’ family originated outside of Rome—it has also been proposed, based on his nickname “Coriolanus,” that Gnaeus Marcius’ ancestors may have actually come from the city of Corioli. Yet, ancient tradition explained his nickname in a different way. Whatever the case, Gnaeus Marcius, himself, was said to have been entrenched in the ruling class of the early Roman Republic.

An ongoing power struggle between the power-hungry oligarchic aristocrats and the liberty-loving masses of the fledgling republic was not the only dangerous situation faced by Rome in the first decade of the 5th century BCE. They were also threatened by the encroaching forces of the Volscians and Aequians. Naturally, the Romans mustered their own military to meet this new threat on the battlefield, and Gnaeus Marcius was one of the officers among the forces of Rome. He made a name for himself in the first clashes between Rome and the Volscians, and particularly showed his prowess during the Roman assault on Corioli, dated to 493 BCE. At the time, Gnaeus Marcius was not in a position of high command in the Roman army, but this did not stop him from leading his own personal band of troops right through the entrance of Corioli to secure a Roman victory. According to tradition, it was this battle that earned Gnaeus Marcius the name “Coriolanus.”

Eventually, the Romans and Volscians settled into a short truce. This temporary halt of hostilities, according to Livy, might have been caused by famine in Rome and an epidemic in Volscian lands, debilitating both sides of the conflict. Boosted by his wartime fame, Gnaeus Marcius Coriolanus began rising higher in the political ranks, and his ruthlessness in war was allegedly matched by his bloodthirstiness in his political maneuvering as a patrician against the masses. He was said to have treated the common people of Rome as if they were an opposing city under siege, starving them from precious food unless they relinquished more and more power to the oligarchs. Such tactics made Coriolanus extremely unpopular among the Roman masses, so unpopular that the other patricians in Rome were willing to throw their comrade under the proverbial bus when the leaders of the commoners began some political maneuvers of their own. Ultimately, a trial was launched against Coriolanus in which (in person or in absentia, depending on the source) he was sentenced to an indefinite banishment from the city of Rome.

Angry at both the masses (for prosecuting him) and the patricians (for abandoning him), the exiled Coriolanus marched with purpose to join the very people he had made a name fighting against—the Volscians—and pledged himself to seeking revenge against Rome. Despite his past violent actions against the Volscians, Coriolanus somehow worked his way into the good graces of a certain Attius Tullius, who is said to have been one of the most prominent Volscian leaders of the time.

Attius Tullius was not only able to have Coriolanus accepted into the Volscian community, but he also managed to encourage the Volscian warriors to trust the Roman refugee in military matters. According to tradition and legend, by the time war between the Volscians and Rome resumed around 490 BCE, Coriolanus had gained such respect and trust among the Volscian communities that he was chosen to lead their military forces against the Romans. He masterfully led the Volscians in two annual campaigns, in which he carved away large swaths of land from Roman control. Livy gave a concise list of Coriolanus’ conquests:

“[Gnaeus] Marcius [Coriolanus] first marched for Circeii, expelled the Roman settlers, liberated the town, and handed it over to Volscian control; he captured Satricum, Longula, Polusca, and Corioli, all places recently acquired by Rome; then after taking over Lavinium, he marched across country into the Latin Way and took Corbio, Vitellia, Trebium, Labici, and Pedum. Finally he marched on Rome and took up a position by the Cluilian Trenches five miles outside the walls” (History of Rome, 2.39).

Coriolanus’ siege of Rome in 488 BCE is an event shrouded by legend and folklore, therefore the tale becomes more odd and vague at this point. As the story goes, the Volscians decided not to assault Rome, itself, but instead settled in for a siege. Coriolanus parked his army near the city and set about systematically ravaging the surrounding countryside. According to tradition, he spared the estates of certain patricians, either due to some small residual sympathy for the patrician class, or more likely, as a piece of psychological warfare meant to drive a wedge between the suspicious commoners and the oppressive oligarchs of the Republic.

While under siege, Rome reportedly became quite an unstable place. Conspiracy theories abounded in the city when the commoners discovered that the estates of the republic’s oligarchs were left untouched while the property of the poor and powerless was raided. Such suspicious thoughts, according to tradition, led the commoners in the Roman military to mutiny, leaving the Republic with inadequate troops to drive off the Volscians by force. With military support shaky, the Roman Republic resorted to diplomacy. According to Livy, Rome sent two separate professional diplomatic missions to the Volscian camp, and when both of these failed, they also sent an additional mission of priests in hopes of swaying Coriolanus to relent from his siege. This group, too, did not accomplish their task. When the diplomats and priests failed, one last group went out to meet with the commander of the Volscians. This final diplomatic effort was reportedly led, oddly enough, by Coriolanus’ mother, wife and children, who, for whatever reason, had not joined him in his exile. From this last set of unique diplomats, Coriolanus faced an unbearable attack—he was scolded by his mother, faced pouts from his wife, and was sobbed at by his children. According to the traditional tale, this was too much for Coriolanus and he led his army away from Rome.

After his withdrawal from the city, Coriolanus faded into history. Many different tales about his death were told, but none of them were definitive. Some, such as Dionysius of Halicarnassus and Plutarch, claimed that Gnaeus Marcius Coriolanus was quickly executed by Attius Tullius and the Volscians after his failure to continue the siege of Rome. Livy, for his part, merely stated that Coriolanus’ fate was unknown, but also went on to claim that Fabius Pictor, Rome’s first historian, had stated that Coriolanus lived to become an old man amongst the Volscians, spending the rest of his days in exile.

Picture Attribution: (Illustration of Coriolanus being confronted by his family, painted by Soma Orlai Petrich (1822–1880), [Public Domain] via Creative Commons).

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Sources:

• The History of Rome by Livy, translated by Aubrey de Sélincourt. New York: Penguin Classics, 2002.
• http://penelope.uchicago.edu/Thayer/E/Roman/Texts/Plutarch/Lives/Coriolanus*.html#ref8 
• http://penelope.uchicago.edu/Thayer/E/Roman/Texts/Dionysius_of_Halicarnassus/8B*.html 
• https://www.livius.org/articles/person/coriolanus-gn-marcius/ 
• https://oxfordre.com/classics/view/10.1093/acrefore/9780199381135.001.0001/acrefore-9780199381135-e-3949#acrefore-9780199381135-e-3949 
• https://www.britannica.com/topic/Gnaeus-Marcius-Coriolanus  

The Remarkable Tale Of The Generous Shepherd, Bu Shi

Bu Shi was said to have been a man from Henan who lived during the 2nd and 1st century BCE, coming to prominence during the reign of Emperor Wu (r. 141-87 BCE). Bu Shi was a curious character—his life story often seemed more fairytale than reality, or perhaps his tale was embellished or invented to become an ideal example of a model citizen. Yet, the Grand Historian Sima Qian (c. 145-90 BCE), a contemporary of Bu Shi, presented the man in his Records of the Grand Historian as not a mythological, literary, or propagandic figure, but as a real and historical person. On the other hand, of the 130 lengthy and often overlapping chapters of Sima Qian’s history, the mysterious figure of Bu Shi was only mentioned in chapter 30, which was devoted to discussing (often with criticism) Emperor Wu’s currencies, economy and government monopolies. As such, it is tempting to think of the generous and selfless Bu Shi as a foil against the growing tyranny of Emperor Wu and his greedy ministers. Nevertheless, it must be stressed again that Sima Qian (Emperor Wu’s Grand Historian and palace secretary) described Bu Shi as a real historical figure who lived during his own lifetime. Furthermore, as Bu Shi reportedly ascended to great political heights in the empire, he would have been an awkward character to invent or embellish. Here, therefore, we will simply record the remarkable story of Bu Shi, and leave readers to assess for themselves the historical authenticity of the person whom Sima Qian documented.

The Life of Bu Shi

Bu Shi was said to have come from a family of farmers in Henan. His parents died of unknown causes, and Bu Shi became the head of the family. Although the family lands and wealth fell into Bu Shi’s hands, he relinquished control of everything except a flock of 100 sheep to a younger brother. Bu Shi, now voluntarily destitute, herded his sheep over to a mountain, where he presumably lived in the wild, or in some makeshift hut. Despite giving away his inherited wealth and withdrawing to the mountainside, Bu Shi in no way lived an idle life—he devoted himself to expertly caring for and expanding his flock. Through his tenacity the sheep flourished, which, in turn, made the business-savvy Bu Shi an extremely wealthy man. Before long, Bu Shi had raised enough money to buy new land and build a house. All the while, his flock continued to grow, and, in ten years time, the sheep in his pastures expanded from the original one hundred to over a thousand strong.

While Bu Shi was growing his flock and wealth in exponential leaps and bounds, his younger brother was simultaneously running their ancestral farm into bankruptcy. Whenever his brother’s finances were about to collapse, Bu Shi would always send over a donation to keep the old family farmstead afloat. These events presumably took place during the 120s BCE, for Emperor Wu, by this point in the story, was sending his generals on frequent invasions of Xiongnu territory. These war efforts were drying up the empire’s coffers, and the emperor’s ministers were launching all sorts of fundraising schemes to replenish the treasury.  In response to the empire’s needs, the generous and selfless Bu Shi sent a letter to the capital in which he offered half of his wealth to the government for use in defending the borders. As to his reasoning, Bu Shi patriotically claimed, “In my humble opinion, every worthy man should be willing to fight to the death to defend the borders, and every person with wealth ought to contribute to the expense” (Sima Qian, Shi Ji 30). According to Sima Qian, the emperor’s advisors were not sure of what to do with the offer—it was reportedly lost in the bureaucracy, and years later the donation was declined.

Although the central government refused to accept Bu Shi’s money, the shepherd still wanted to contribute to the empire’s defense. Around 121 BCE, when the Hunye king surrendered to the Han, Bu Shi made another donation (this time successfully) of 200,000 ‘cash’ coins to the governor of Henan. The central government learned of this and reportedly sent him back more than half of his donation. Yet, the stubborn Bu Shi re-donated the returned money once more to the government. In response to this generosity, Emperor Wu reportedly invited Bu Shi to become a palace attendant, gave him some land, and had the tales of Bu Shi’s charity (and subsequent rewards) disseminated throughout the empire.

When Bu Shi arrived in the capital city, wearing a simple robe and straw sandals, there was only one job he would accept—shepherd for the emperor’s sheep in Shanglin Park. He worked a year in that position, greatly impressing the emperor by increasing the flock’s numbers and plumpness. Yet, the emperor and the ministers were more interested in Bu Shi’s logistical and planning skills than his talent for shepherding. He was given a position as a magistrate of Goushi, then of Chenggao, and, finally, he was appointed as the tutor of Emperor Wu’s son, Liu Hong, the king of Qi.

By 114 BCE, Bu Shi was reportedly promoted from tutor to the position of prime minister of Qi. In 112 BCE, when another wave of rebellions and war broke out, Bu Shi received a new promotion when he sent the emperor a letter, reportedly stating, “I beg that my sons and I be allowed to join the men of Qi who are skilled in naval warfare to go and die in battle” (Sima Qian, Shi Ji 30). Once again, Emperor Wu published an edict, citing the words and actions of Bu Shi for propaganda purposes. In addition to public praise, the emperor reportedly awarded Bu Shi with gold, land, and the noble title of marquis. A short while later, he was also promoted to imperial secretary. Bu Shi, however, was reportedly removed from the post of imperial secretary in 110 BCE after criticizing the emperor’s economic and tax policies. He was instead named Grand Tutor to the heir apparent. Unfortunately, the account of Bu Shi’s life ends here. Presumably, this means he outlived Sima Qian, who died around 90 BCE, and that Bu Shi caused no scandals or made any more edict-worthy donations for the rest of his life.

Written by C. Keith Hansley.

Picture Attribution: ("Qing Court Version" of Along the River During the Qingming Festival, by the Painting Academy of the Qing court, c. 18th century, [Public Domain] via Creative Commons).

Sources:

• The Records of the Grand Historian (Shi ji 30) by Sima Qian, translated by Burton Watson (pages 72-83 of his translation). New York: Columbia University Press, 1993. 
• http://www.chinaknowledge.de/History/Han/personsbushi.html 
• https://www.britannica.com/biography/Wudi-emperor-of-Han-dynasty

The Magical Rise And Fall Of The Magician Luan Da

Luan Da was reportedly a tall, handsome man, who presented himself with grandiose flair and steadfast confidence. He had a reputation for being a man of wisdom, not only in strategy and engineering, but also in knowledge of magic and all things supernatural. The charismatic Luan Da lived in a perfect age for someone of his talents, for Emperor Wu of the Han Dynasty (c. 141-87 BCE) spent decades trying to discover the secrets of immortality with a sense of desperation unseen since the days of Shihuangdi (r. 221-210 BCE), the first emperor of the Qin Dynasty.

Luan Da first made a name for himself in the kingdom of Jiaodong, where he became a palace attendant of Emperor Wu’s half-brother, King Kang (r. 150/148-122/120 BCE). The magician eventually was rewarded with the title of “master of magical arts” in that kingdom and gained great respect among the members of the royal family, especially with the childless queen of Jiaodong, who presumably hoped the magician could help her give birth to a son. Nevertheless, when King Kang died, the queen still had not produced an heir, so noble titles were instead bequeathed to two sons born to King Kang’s concubines.

 Interestingly, instead of joining the courts of the new kings, Luan Da seemed to follow the widowed queen for several years after King Kang’s death. He may have also traveled to the domain of the queen’s brother, the marquis of Lecheng. Whatever the case, Luan Da would soon be moving away from the courts of petty kings and lords to begin a remarkable rise to great power and influence in the imperial capital.

 While Luan Da was in Jiaodong, a talented illusionist named Shaoweng had enthralled Emperor Wu with magical performances, especially by performing a trick where he seemingly conjured up the ghost of the emperor’s deceased concubine. Yet, Shaoweng made a fatal mistake in one of his performances—during a show where the magician found a mysterious note in a sacrificed ox’s stomach, the emperor realized with outrage that the handwriting on the note was that of Shaoweng. Realizing that the magician had fed the note to the ox before the fraudulent performance, the emperor immediately sent Shaoweng off to the executioners. Although the magician was indeed killed, Emperor Wu remained unwavering in his belief of magic and supernatural paths to immortality.

With the emperor’s favorite magician now dead, but his interest in magic in no way sated, it was the perfect environment for Luan Da to be introduced to the imperial court. With good reference from the former queen of Jiaodong and the marquis of Lecheng, Luan Da strolled into the capital city with his usual grandiosity and charisma. Before long, the smooth-talking and mystically-alluring magician had the emperor totally mesmerized.

Luan Da claimed to have great magical powers, and the way he said he obtained these skills was the stuff of Emperor Wu’s dreams. The magician told the emperor that he had studied under several immortals, although they apparently cut him off from their teachings because he was not of noble blood. In addition to being an acquaintance of immortals, Luan Da claimed that he had knowledge of an elixir of immortality—something that Emperor Wu was desperate to obtain. The magician also touted that he had knowledge of other supernatural talents, such as conjuring ghosts and using alchemy to create gold.

Although both the magician and the emperor wanted their partnership to go forward, the two men were cautious at first; Emperor Wu because he had recently dealt with a fraudulent magician, and Luan Da because the emperor had just executed someone in the magical line of work. The emperor and the magician both made demands of the other.  Emperor Wu wanted to see the prospective magician perform a feat of magic. Luan Da, however, wanted to be given certain protections, including a marriage to a woman of the imperial family, before he used any of the abilities taught to him by the immortals. Emperor Wu, as emperors usually do, got his way, and Luan Da was promised nothing until he could prove that he could really perform magic.

Emperor Wu’s challenge to Luan Da was something straight out of the world of Harry Potter—wizard’s chess. Sima Qian (c. 145-90 BCE), a Grand Historian and palace secretary to Emperor Wu, wrote, “In order to test Luan Da, the emperor instructed him to give a minor display of his magical powers by making some chessmen fight. When the board was set up, the chessmen were seen to rush against each other of their own accord” (Shi Ji 28). The emperor, who apparently thought it was authentic magic, eagerly brought Luan Da into his inner circle and began raining gifts and titles down on the magician.

Luan Da would become the most rewarded magician in Emperor Wu’s reign. He indeed was allowed to marry a woman of the imperial family—to Emperor Wu’s own daughter, Princess Wei, no less. He was also raised to the nobility by being named Marquis of Letong. Along with his prestigious marriage and his noble title, Luan Da was also given various other auspicious titles such as General of the First Profits, General of the Heavenly Man, General of the Earthly Man, General of the Great Way, and General of the Heavenly Way. These titles were apparently handed out in rapid fashion. Sima Qian wrote, “In no more than a few months from the time he was granted an audience with the emperor, Luan Da bore at his girdle six seals, those of his five generalships and his marquisate, and his honour awed the empire” (Shi Ji 28). The magician, of course, also obtained great tangible wealth with his titles, including a magnificent mansion, several ornate carriages, a thousand servants, and a huge treasure of gold.

Although Luan Da was living the good life, he was also facing increasing pressure. As a performer, he was expected to constantly show new kinds of magic, and, as an occult researcher, the emperor expected him to be making groundbreaking discoveries about immortals and immortality. Luan Da, however, had seemingly hit his limit with levitation tricks and ghost séances. With expectations rising and results dwindling, Luan Da decided it was time to take a sabbatical and left the capital city indefinitely.

As a pretense for his departure from the city, Luan Da claimed that he was leaving to meet with the immortals—after all, now that he was a nobleman with marriage ties to the imperial family, the immortals would surely divulge to him the highest levels of their magical knowledge. Yet, by then, the emperor was becoming suspicious. Luan Da was indeed allowed to journey off in search of the immortals, but Emperor Wu secretly sent spies to keep a watch on the magician’s every move. Those spies eventually brought Luan Da’s magical career to an end. Sima Qian wrote, “They reported that Luan Da had in fact met with no spiritual beings at all, and that the story of his going to visit his teacher was all nonsense. Since it seemed that Luan Da’s magical powers were exhausted, and since his claims in most cases were not borne out by the facts, the emperor had him executed” (Shi Ji 28). Sima Qian claimed that Luan Da was executed around the time of Emperor Wu’s campaign against Southern Yue, placing his death around 112 or 111 BCE.

Written by C. Keith Hansley.

Picture Attribution: (“Four Generals of Zhongxing” by Southern Song Dynasty artist Liu Songnian (1174–1224), [Public Domain] via Creative Commons).

Sources:

• The Records of the Grand Historian (Shi ji) by Sima Qian, translated by Burton Watson. New York: Columbia University Press, 1993.

The Curious Tale Of Li Shaojun

Emperor Wu of Han (r. 141-87 BCE) was reportedly a very spiritual person who believed in all sorts of immortals, fairies and supernatural beings. As such, magicians, mystics and other claimants of otherworldly knowledge were prevalent in the emperor’s court. The fates of these men varied; some were granted great power and privilege, while others were quickly executed for fraud—and, of course, several met both fates, achieving remarkable influence before being later executed after one misstep. Yet, there were some magicians who won their renown in the imperial court and lived to enjoy their fame. Of this special group, one incredibly mysterious man stood high above his peers and even earned respect from some of his skeptical critics.

Sometime in the 130s BCE, perhaps around 133 BCE, a curious figure named Li Shaojun strolled into the life of Emperor Wu. The man was an elderly traveling magician and occult wiseman who roamed from region to region, performing all sorts of seemingly-magical deeds in exchange for shelter and sustenance from his patrons. Li Shaojun had no family, and, as far as anyone could tell, he had no ancestral ties to any region. Even his age was unknown—when asked, Li Shaojun always claimed he was seventy, but he had been making that same exact assertion for many years.

Although Li Shaojun ranked as one of the most believable magicians of Emperor Wu’s reign, he was not one for gaudy visual effects. He did not conjure ghosts, or cause inanimate objects to levitate, or do other such tangible displays of magic. Instead, Li Shaojun was more of a psychological magician, who astounded his audiences with knowledge about all sorts of information, both mundane and supernatural.

The Grand Historian and magician skeptic, Sima Qian (c. 145-90 BCE), recorded several feats supposedly done by Li Shaojun. One time, when the magician was being hosted by Marquis Tian Fen of Wuan (died approximately 131-130 BCE), the sly showman amazed the crowd by speaking reminiscently about one of the partygoer’s long-dead grandfathers. Sima Qian wrote, “he told one of the guests, an old man of over ninety, that he had gone with the man’s grandfather to such and such a place to practice archery. The old man had in fact, when he was a child, accompanied his grandfather, remembered visiting the place that Li Shaojun mentioned. With this the whole party was struck with amazement” (Shi Ji 28).

The magician brought his talent for knowing random facts about obscure objects and people to the imperial palace and used it to astound Emperor Wu. According to Sima Qian, when Li Shaojun first appeared in the imperial court, Emperor Wu tested the magician by bringing in an old, dusty bronze vessel. The emperor then asked the famous wiseman to identify it. Without pause, Li Shaojun matter-of-factly explained to the emperor that the item in question dated from the reign of Duke Huan of Qi, specifically the duke’s tenth year of rule (c. 676 BCE). Sima Qian described the scene, “When the inscription on the vessel was deciphered, it was found that it had in fact belonged to Duke Huan of Qi. Everyone in the palace was filled with astonishment and decided that Li Shaojun must be a spirit who had lived hundreds of years” (Shi Ji 28).

In addition to his specific knowledge of bygone people and archaic objects, Li Shaojun also had a reputation for being something of a prophet. In regards to many of the other prediction-based magicians, Sima Qian often bluntly accused them of fraud, or at least hinted that they were being manipulative. Yet, in the case of Li Shaojun, Sima Qian simply wrote that he “was clever at making pronouncements that were later found to have been curiously apt” (Shi Ji 28).

When Emperor Wu and Li Shaojun had become close friends, the magician reportedly began to teach the emperor about a peculiar six-step path to immortality. Step one, curiously enough, was to offer sacrifice to a fireplace until spirits came to inhabit it. With a holy fireplace in possession, you could proceed to step two—use the blessed fireplace to magically turn cinnabar into gold. After obtaining the miraculous cinnabar-gold, the third step was to have the magical metal crafted into a cup and plate. The fourth step, Li Shajun continued, was to regularly dine off of the magical tableware. This would allegedly give the emperor a prolonged lifespan, yet not immortality. Once the emperor felt his life was lengthened, he could embark on the fifth step, which was to travel to the Gulf of Bohai to search for a mythical island called Penglai.

According to popular legend, Penglai and other mythical islands in Bohai could be seen from a distance, but never reached—they were either floating in the sky or submerged under water, and if anyone ever did sail close to one of these otherworldly islands, sudden winds would blow the seekers off course. Yet, according to Li Shaojun, the emperor could reach the magical island of Penglai after having lengthened his life by eating and drinking from the cinnabar-gold plate and cup. The sixth and final step to immortality, which could be completed after reaching Penglai, was to enlist the help of the magical islanders to correctly complete a set of mystical ceremonies known as the Feng and Shan Sacrifices. With this completed, Li Shaojun promised, the emperor could become immortal.

Ironically, Li Shaojun reportedly died not long after he divulged his knowledge of immortality to Emperor Wu. Yet, the magician had such an aura of genuineness that his death did not disrupt Emperor Wu’s faith in Li Shaojun’s teachings. Sima Qian wrote, “The emperor, however, believed that he was not really dead but had transformed himself into a spirit, and he ordered Kuan Shu, a clerk from Huangchui, to carry on the magical arts which Li Shaojun had taught” (Shi Ji 28).

Emperor Wu, as may be expected, never was able to turn cinnabar into gold in his fireplace. Yet, he skipped ahead a few steps and launched numerous expeditions to find the magical island of Penglai—a goal, like the cinnabar-gold, that he was not able to achieve. In 110 BCE, however, Emperor Wu did claim to pull off his own version of the Feng and Shan sacrifices and, around 109 BCE, he had a magician named Gongsun Qing in his palace who claimed to have grown a so-called fungus of immortality. Nevertheless, no magician or magical fungi was able to stop Emperor Wu from aging—he died in 87 BCE.

Written by C. Keith Hansley.

Picture Attribution: (Album of the Yongzheng Emperor in Costumes (this time dressed as a Daoist magician), by anonymous court artists, Yongzheng period (1723—35), [Public Domain] via Creative Commons).

Sources:

• The Records of the Grand Historian (Shi ji 28) by Sima Qian, translated by Burton Watson (pages 25-26 of his translation). New York: Columbia University Press, 1993.