AD 536 saw the most protracted episode of climatic cooling.

We talk a lot about global warming. But sometimes the opposite happens.

Was it caused by one or more massive volcanic eruptions? The so-called volcanic winter of AD 536 was certainly an uncanny phenomenon. The sun went dark for eighteen months throughout the Northern Hemisphere.

Let’s hear how the magistrate of the Isle of Elba refers to it as he addresses a restless crowd at the forum in Fabricia.

Extract from from chapter 3 of “Aquila – Can Silvanus Escape That God?”

Short of breath and leaning on his cane, Duumvir Maxillus addresses the assembled crowd: “Honourable nobles, respected councillors, worthy citizens, faithful servants, young and old, I welcome you to this gathering on this rather salutary occasion.

“We have much to be thankful for. But I believe it behoves us to look back over the tumultuous years our Republic has been through recently. The older ones among you – like me – will remember, for instance, that divine portent of the sun going dark for more than a year…”

“How well I remember that,” my companion exclaims. “Unbelievable. Had no idea what was happening. Could hardly see a thing even at midday. Snow in summer and all the crops failed! A portent indeed!”

“…to warn us of bitter times ahead,” Maxillus continues. “Wars and rumours of wars, times of pestilence, affliction and deprivation…”

“Couldn’t buy grain for love nor money. Let alone wool or new pots. Tools and weapons nowhere to be had.”

“When was that?” I ask my neighbour. My hand wanders to my eagle pendant.

“When our Urbanus was a lad. Must have been… twenty-five years ago or so. Long before you were born! It was about that time that Totila arrested Cerbonius for hiding imperial soldiers…”

“Who?” I glance up at my companion.

She looks at me with disbelief in her eyes. “How is it you don’t know our good Bishop? He lives over your end of the island, in a cave on Monte Capanne. Didn’t you say you were from there?”

This is a short quote from chapter 3 of “Aquila – Can Silvanus Escape That God?” Want to learn how Silvanus got to know Bishop Cerbonius? The book is available from Amazon or elsewhere.

See The Forgotten Apocalypse Of A.D. 536. #globalwarming #climatechange #climatecooling #sunwentdark

This is a copper engraving by the Dutch artists Willem Janszoon and Joan Blaeu, based on Giovanni Antonio Magini’s original of 1598. Many thanks to Paolo Ferruzzi, who keeps this map in his Academy of Works of Art in Poggio.

Funnily enough, Silvanus’ map, though less elaborate, looks far more accurate to the modern eye.

I just discovered a map Silvanus must have made, showing his treks across Ilva. How do you like it?

Actually, it was made for him by a brilliant cartographer in Russia, Polina Vorontsova.

My brain was addled and my neck ached. I had been sitting too long in front of the computer. I couldn’t even motivate myself enough to procrastinate. And then I saw the sun was shining. Why not grab one of the tasty korvapuustit my wife had just baked and head for the woods?

Who would have thought it? That 3 km stroll proved crucial for releasing a mental blockage I was facing with my WIP. The villain had to ambush my hero. But how was he to know where to find him?

I walked up the road and into the woods. Fallen leaves and a crunching under foot. What a privilege to be fit and to have such fairytale nature on my doorstep. Oh, I see someone has been through here with his dog quite recently. Tracks in the snow. TRACKS IN THE SNOW! That was the answer.

Just yesterday I had seen a video clip of snow falling in Elba. It does happen now and then. And that was the idea I needed to complete the stubborn chapter. I just tweaked things a bit so that it was now mid-winter instead of late October, and the hunt could procede.

Hallelujah!

Early life

Cerbonius was born of Christian parents in Carthage, North Africa, in 493 AD, and ordained by Bishop Regulus. Persecution by the Arian Vandals caused the local Christian community to disperse. Together with Regulus and some priests, Cerbonius escaped to Italy. Some records date this flight ‘in the early 500s’, others suggest it was around 520 or 530 AD. A violent storm forced them to land in Tuscany, where they lived many years as hermits.

Cerbonius gained prominence after being chosen to become Bishop of Populonia (today’s Piombino) in 544 AD. He accepted this honour only reluctantly.

The people soon became frustrated with him, however. He celebrated mass every Sunday at daybreak, forcing his flock to get up in the middle of the night. “That’s when the angels sing in celebration of Jesus’s resurrection,” was his explanation.

Papal visit

Hearing the people’s complaints, Pope Vigilius summoned him to defend his behaviour. A manuscript in the Vatican library documents his trip to Rome. It records that the two legates sent to fetch him were dying of thirst on account of the heat. Cerbonius invoked God’s help. Suddenly, two deer approached and allowed themselves to be milked. Later in the journey, Cerbonius cured three men suffering from fever.

On arrival at the Vatican hill, a flock of geese landed near Cerbonius. He ordered them not to leave until he had met with the Pope. The geese obeyed, and Cerbonius later dismissed them with the sign of the cross, to the amazement of those present. For this reason, pictures of Cerbonius frequently show him together with geese.

Informed of the miracles the bishop had performed during the journey, Vigilius was eager to meet him. According to tradition, this was the only occasion that a Pope descended from the papal throne to meet a visitor. Vigilius asked to join Cerbonius at his dawn celebration and witnessed the miracle of an angel choir singing the Gloria. As a result, he received permission to continue his practice of early mass and returned to Populonia with honour.

Encounter with King Totila

When the Ostrogoths under King Totila invaded Tuscany, Cerbonius was arrested. They accused him of hiding several Roman soldiers in his house. Totila ordered him thrown to a ferocious bear in the Campo del Merlo, and looked forward to enjoying the show. He had a surprise coming, however.

Rearing up before the bishop, the bear suddenly became almost petrified, with its forelegs raised and jaws wide open. Then, slowly, it fell down onto its paws and began to lick Cerbonius’s feet. A public outcry forced Totila to release the bishop.

Lombard attack

After imperial forces under Belisarius repelled the Goths, the Lombards attacked from the north. Cerbonius had to flee again by sea and took refuge on the island of Ilva (Elba), which was still controlled by the Byzantines. He lived a very simple life in a cave.

Seriously ill and realising he would soon die, Cerbonius asked his friends to bury him in his beloved Populonia. They were afraid Lombard troops might capture them, but he assured them they would not have any problems if they buried him hastily and came straight back.

Laid to rest

Cerbonius died on 10th October 575. His companions set off immediately with his body in a boat. During the crossing, the sky darkened and a raging storm broke out. This completely hid the boat, which could thus slip unnoticed into the bay of Baratti below Populonia. Not a drop of rain reached it. A thick fog prevented the Lombard patrols from detecting the friends, and they buried the bishop near the shore. They returned to Elba on a sea as smooth as silk, and that same night the Lombards conquered Populonia, as Cerbonius had foreseen.

At his burial place, legend has it that a spring burst forth, which was later called “San Cerbone”. A proverb, still remembered by the people of the area, states: Chi non beve a San Cerbone – è un ladro o un birbone (“Whoever does not drink from [the fountain of] Saint Cerbonius – is a thief or a rascal.”)x

At the site of a chapel commemorating the saint’s life, near his cave, a remarkable fig tree, known as Fico di San Cerbone, grew. It produced fruit very late, around the anniversary of Cerbonius’s death (10th October).

A 1993 renovation restored the hermitage to its present state after it had fallen into disuse.

Taking liberty

I compiled this account of the life of Cerbonius from the sources listed below, which concur in most points. In my book, Aquila, I have slightly altered or added to the documented history, as follows:

• I have imagined Cerbonius’s father to have been a harsh businessman, who drove his son relentlessly, resulting in him leaving home at age twenty.
• I gave Cerbonius a wife and a son. No absolute rule of clerical celibacy existed at the time. Priests and bishops could live with a wife they had married before ordination. Some Church leaders argued, however, that they should thereafter abstain from intimate relationships.
• Some accounts suggest Cerbonius fled to Elba immediately after the incident when Totila cast him to the bear (546 AD), and that he lived there for almost 30 years. The most reliable sources, however, say he only went into exile when the Lombards attacked in 573 AD, and thus lived only about two years on the island. In order for my imagined relationship between Silvanus and Cerbonius to develop over several years, I have had Cerbonius take up residence in the cave in about 567 AD.
• The ‘Grotta di San Cerbone’ above Marciana Alta is currently too small to imagine that Cerbonius could have lived there for years, as legend has it. I assume it used to be much larger and has partially collapsed over the centuries.
• Little is recorded of Cerbonius’s life on Elba. I have portrayed him as a well-loved, jolly old man with a deep, lively faith in his Friend Jesus. I assume he had a deep understanding of nature, astronomy and philosophy. He worships God in song and prayer, studies the Bible and other writings, teaches his disciples how to follow Jesus. He also cares for the needy in town, arbitrating with fairness and justice in matters of dispute.
• Following on from the incident in which Cerbonius tamed wild geese on his way to report to Pope Vigilius, I have him enjoying the company of two divinely assigned guardian geese while living in his cave.
• In 333 AD, Emperor Constantine ruled that a bishop could hear a lawsuit rather than a secular judge, and that judicial decisions made by bishops were valid. Julian later abolished this episcopal privilege, but Emperor Justinian reinstated it in 539. I envisage Cerbonius exercising this right to judge civil cases.

References:

• Cerbonius: (wikipedia)
• Gregory the Great, Dialogues
• Saint Cerbonius of Populonia (Italian)
• Santi e Beati (Italian)
• Den hellige Cerbonius av Piombino (Norwegian)
• Cerbonius von Populonia (German)
• Cerbonius (German)
• Constantine and the Bishops: The Politics of Intolerance, by H. A. Drake

“Aren’t you afraid of Jupiter and Mars and all the others? Do you pray to that god of yours?”

“Well, yes, but I don’t really know much about him.” I notice tears forming in his eyes and his voice begins to tremble. “My Mother used to talk a lot about him. Before they… killed her.”

“Killed her? Who did that?”

“The goyim – Barbarians, I guess they were. They landed near our city in many large boats. At first, I had no idea what was happening. I was just a little child, playing on the steps near the Church above our house. But soon they were running everywhere, slaughtering people with their horrible swords and axes and setting all the houses on fire. I wanted to go home but they were everywhere. My Father and big brother tried to protect my Mother and sister, who had just fallen on their knees… They didn’t stand a chance.” He breaks down, sobbing bitterly.

I move nearer and try to console him. “I’m so sorry for you. It must have been terrible.”

He can’t speak for a while. Then: “It was horrible. Horrible. I watched them slash them down. And they just lay there, twitching, in pools of blood… My whole family. All the servants. Everyone. They just grabbed me and Salome and some other little girls… children. Tied us up and dragged us to their ships. We screamed and bit and scratched but it didn’t help.” He pauses again, shaking his head, the tears now running freely.

After a bit, I ask, “Who’s Salome?”

“My friend. She lived next door. She had a brother, Marcus. I liked him. We were just children. We always played together… I never saw them again.”

“Where did they take you then?”

“How can I know? I was pushed down into the hold of one of their beastly ships, along with lots of other children. It seems they had killed all the adults who crossed their path. We sailed for several days. I remember it was stormy and many of us were sick. They didn’t give us any food, just buckets of water once a day. It was miserable. Everything stank of vomit and piss. No-one knew what they were going to do with us. We’d lost everything – our parents, our families, our homes, everything…” He can’t go on.

After some time: “Oh, how I miss Mother! I miss them all. How can it be that they have all been taken from me and I alone live on? We had such a happy life. We loved each other. Mother used to sing to me when she put me to bed. A song about God and the Christ. She always prayed for us. I still remember it. She gave me this,” turning back the collar of his tunic, he shows me a carved ivory brooch of a dove, pinned to the inside. “It’s the only thing I have from my family. I don’t really remember what it’s supposed to mean but I know it’s something to do with God. And it comforts me.” Again he sobs bitterly. “Everything else is lost. Horrible, just horrible, it was.”

I put my arm on his shoulder and let him weep. Then, after a while: “And then they brought you here to Ilva?”

“No, not here at first. We landed somewhere else. A big port. It was cold. And the people were white and spoke differently. There were hardly any dark-skinned people like us. I don’t know where it was. Somewhere in Italy, I suppose.”

“So, what did they do with you then?”

“They took us to the market, and… sold us… as slaves. I was only a g… a child, maybe 5 years old at the time. And I was to work as a slave. I big, proud man wearing a rich gown and gold jewelry bought me and gave me into the care of one of his servants. It was no use trying to escape. Where should I have gone? After some days in an inn – I guess he was doing other business – they took me into another boat. This time I wasn’t thrown into the hold; they treated me fairly well, fed me and gave me clothes, since mine were filthy and anyway not warm enough. Then they brought me here, to their villa – you probably saw it – on the hill  overlooking the town. I was sent to live with their other slaves and servants.”

“And you lived there till now?”

“Yes, I must have been about five years with them. At first it was alright. I had to learn how to wash clothes and things like that. At first, I wasn’t allowed to help with the cooking, because they had funny rules about how the food had to be prepared and served. At least I had somewhere to live and food to eat.

“My master was a harsh man with his slaves, shouting at them and always complaining that they hadn’t done their cleaning properly, or whatever. Sometimes he got really angry and then he would beat someone with a cane. It was terrifying to have to watch and not be able to do anything about it. We were just slaves, so we didn’t count. It didn’t seem right, somehow, that he behaved like that with his servants and, at the same time, insisted on the family performing their religious rites – especially on Saturday, which was supposed to be a day of rest, although, of course, we still had to serve them. They put on special clothes and lit a strange lamp with many arms and recited strange sing-song prayers in a language I didn’t understand.

“There was a daughter in the family, Sabina, who’s only a couple of years older than me. She seemed to like me. A lovely girl; my only friend. And now I’ve lost her, too.  Sometimes I was invited into the family’s quarters – the others slaves weren’t usually allowed there – to keep Sabina company, because I was so young and her brothers were much older. We dressed up her dolls as lords and ladies and played together. She taught me to sew and even to read her scrolls. She had some songs, too. Lovely songs about the one true God. But when I asked her about the Christ, she didn’t know what I was talking about. She was also learning to play a harp. Beautiful sound it makes. I loved to dance while she played and that made her laugh. Those were happy times, even if I was just a slave. And, of course, I often met her parents, as they were going about their daily business. Her mother seemed quite fond of me too.”

“That doesn’t sound too bad,” I remark. “Why then did you want to escape?”

“Things changed… Oh, it was horrible. I couldn’t bear it any more. But I don’t want to talk about that,” he answers. And I just have to accept it.

[Next morning]

As I make my way down to the brook to fetch water, I suddenly stop in my tracks. Valerius is there, bathing, and hasn’t noticed me. But two things shock me to the marrow: First, I see two terrible red welts across his back where the flesh has been torn by some vicious blows. And second: I see Valerius isn’t a boy at all!

He – or, rather she – hasn’t noticed me yet and I am so horrified and dumbfounded that I can’t do anything for a moment. When I get my breath back, I manage to bring out some words: “Valerius – or whoever you are…” At the first sound of my voice, she crumples up and tries to hide in the overhanging bushes, which isn’t a good idea, as they are thorns. “You… You need help with those wounds!”

“Oh, I didn’t want you to know,” she sobs. “Now all is lost again. You won’t want a wounded girl for company! Oh, God, have mercy on me!”

“Come on. Don’t be silly,” I manage to say. “Alright, I can see you’re a girl. What’s so terrible about that? It’s those gashes I’m worried about. They seem to be inflamed. You just have to be brave and let me look at them. I still have some of the labdanum salve my hostess – what was her name? Drusa – gave me that night after the storm. Did I tell you about her? It really helped heal my scratches, although they weren’t anything like as bad as yours look.”

She refuses to come out of the pool.

“Look, I’ll go back to the mules and find the phial. You can come out and wrap yourself up, if you’re embarrassed, but you must let me see to those wounds.” I make my way back to our camp and take out the strong-smelling ointment.

After some time, she appears, wearing a loin cloth and shyly holding her tunic in front of her.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. But it is rather painful. I was trying to clean the wounds myself but, of course, I can’t see my back.”

I get her to lie down on the goat skin. I’m struck by how skinny her whole body seems, as if there’s hardly any flesh on her bones. As gently as I can, I examine the festering weals. One place, just below her left shoulder blade, is particularly sore and oozing pus. She winces and barely suppresses a scream as I clean it as best I can with a wet strip of cotton from the bolt.

“I’m going to put some salve on now. It’ll sting at first.” She winces again but is remarkably self-controlled. I cut off a longer strip of cotton and wrap it around her skinny chest to protect the wounds. Her tiny breasts are just beginning to develop.

“Alright, you were very brave,” I say. “But I’ll need to look at the wounds again in the evening. Get dressed now and let’s have some breakfast.”

I cook up some oats and a hot brew of thyme and rosemary. It’s good I bought those glass beakers. Warm food seems to calm her down a bit. After washing the pots and clearing up a bit, I smile and say, “So now, my little Valerius, I think it’s time to tell me the whole truth, starting with what your real name is. And who gave you those lashes.”

“Very well. It’s no use trying to hide anything from you. I’m at your mercy, after all. Thanks for treating my wounds. And thanks for not getting mad when you saw I wasn’t telling the whole truth. I hated having to lie. God doesn’t like liars. I just thought I had more chance of escaping if I looked like a boy. That’s why I cut my hair. I hated having to do that, as well; I had such lovely black locks almost down to my waist.” She falters, tears welling up in her eyes.

“My name’s Virna.”

“Virna. Lovely name.”

“Thank you. But everything else I said was true. My family was murdered and I was taken as a slave when I was just five.”

“Can you tell me how you got those wounds? Was that why you ran away?”

“Well, yes. But it all started a few days ago. My mistress took Sabina and the boys over to the mainland. I think it was for a relative’s wedding. So I was lonely. Of course, I had my chores in the kitchen, and the other slave women weren’t unkind, but still: my friend was away. We were baking challah, so it must have been last Friday. They need that special bread for their Sabbath celebrations. I don’t really understand what it’s all about. But I had learned to plait the six strands of dough. It’s not easy, but I loved doing that.

“I was surprised when Laban said the master wanted to see me. I never went into their rooms except with Sabina. But I washed my hands, took off my apron and the hood I used to cover my hair while we were baking and made my way up to the oecus. He was reclining on the couch, and just smiled at me.

“‘What can I do for you, sir?’ I stuttered.

“‘Just come over here, my dear.’ He’d never talked to me like that before, but I had to obey. ‘Don’t be shy!’ He grabbed my arm and pulled me closer, stroking my hair. ‘You’re a pretty girl, Virna. Soon a beautiful woman. I like your wavy black hair.’ I couldn’t understand what was happening. ‘Have some of my wine!’ I couldn’t believe it. He wanted me to drink from his goblet. But what could I do? I took a sip. It was so strong! Not like the watery wine the servants were given. I nearly choked and he just laughed. He made me drink more and it began to make me feel dizzy. I still had no idea what he really wanted. He never talked to me otherwise. Oh, it horrifies me just to talk about what happened.”

“Take your time. I don’t want to force you, but I think you need to get it off your chest. Anyway, it’s over now.”

“Yes, I suppose so.” She’s breathing in spasms now. “It’s no good trying to pretend it didn’t happen. And I haven’t told you about the lashes yet.”

“Just tell it as it happened.”

“Well, I’m just a girl. I don’t know the ways of men with women. He got up then, still holding my arm, and drew me over into his bedroom. I’d only been in there once when their maid was sick and I had to empty the chamber pot and then help the mistress with her hair. But she’s away on the mainland. He pulled me to the side of the bed and lay down, muttering silly things about how pretty I was, what lovely eyes I had and beautiful hair. Then I noticed he was only wearing a loose bath robe and it was half open. I saw his hairy chest, and… Oh, it was awful! He seemed to be wriggling on purpose so that the robe opened up more and more. I was horrified. I’d never seen a man naked, not even my Father or my brothers. I tried to turn away but he was still holding my arm. Then he said: ‘It’s warm in here’ There was a good fire going in the grate. ‘Wouldn’t you like to take off your tunic?’ I was devastated, as you can imagine. But he meant it! ‘You could come and snuggle up with me in bed. I’d like that.’ I wanted to scream but he grabbed me round the waist and covered my mouth with his free hand. What could I do? A slave daren’t disobey her master but I was terrified and disgusted by his behaviour.

“When He started pulling up my tunic, I just couldn’t stand it any more. I scratched at his face with all my strength and bit the hand that was covering my mouth. That made him let go, so I began to scream at the top of my voice. He was still firmly holding my tunic with his other hand and he got really mad then, shouting out what an ungrateful, vicious little slut I was. Everyone must have heard him, but I guess they knew they weren’t allowed to interfere in his private life. He was so furious that he got up – almost naked, his robe just hanging over his shoulders – and grabbed a strigil from the bedside chest. He pressed me face down onto the bed with one hand and then beat me with all his strength across my back. You saw the result. Just two blows and then I guess he felt ashamed of himself. I was in agony, shaking and sobbing bitterly into the bed linen. I couldn’t move. But at least he had stopped torturing me.

“Then he shouted: ‘Get out! Get out! You’re not to come to these quarters ever again! And don’t you dare say anything to anyone about what just happened.’ I could hardly raise myself to my feet, my back ached so badly. But somehow I managed to stand and run sobbing out of the room and down to the slaves’ dormitory. I hid in the corner and wept, it must have been for hours. I still don’t know what he wanted to do with me but I just couldn’t bring myself to strip naked in front of him. It’s not proper, is it?”

“It certainly isn’t. His behaviour sounds absolutely scandalous.”

“My back hurt frightfully. But what was I to do? My only friend was away in Italy and, in any case, he said I was never to go back to their rooms. I just had to escape.

“It was the first time in my life that I stole anything. I sneaked into the kitchen, grabbed a knife, one of the challah that had just come out of the oven, and that bag from near the door, and ran. I ran and ran, not knowing where I was going. Out of town I ran and into the woods, where I thought no-one would find me. I cut off my beautiful hair, so that I wouldn’t be recognised so easily. The rest you know.”

“So, that was stolen bread you provided for our first meal together!”

“Yes, I’d forgotten about it. It was still in the bag. The first day I couldn’t eat anything anyway. I just drank water from the stream. My back hurt frightfully, especially when I lay down. I tried to make a bed of heather and dry leaves. But it gets so cold at night! I thought I would die. You don’t know how grateful I am for your kindness to me.”

As the horror of her story sinks in, it takes me a while before I can say anything sensible.
“I’m so sorry. Really I am. I didn’t want to callous, just teasing you about the bread. What can I say? You’ve lost your family. You’ve been treated brutally by a lewd man who should be ashamed of himself. And now you’ve lost your only friend. I’m so sorry.”

“But now I’ve found a new friend. Is it alright if I call you my friend, Silvanus?”

I doubt that Silvanus saw many motor boats from his hillside home on Elba. But he certainly watched the birds and shipping. And dreamed of adventure in the big, wide world.

Perhaps that is what inspired me to take a day off work and go ‘sailing’ in the MS Panta Rhei on the Zürichsee. In spite of the distractions of the splendid scenery and the gleeful fellow passengers, this turned out to be really a good way to escape from the daily grind and concentrate on writing my book. Thanks to the ZVV 9 O’Clock Day Pass, which allows a day’s free travel in the entire Canton of Zürich for CHF 12.50, it’s not only a comfortable workplace but also quite affordable.

I woke up the other morning to find this little fellow threatening me with his lightsaber! I had thought he was a wee harmless angel, who just sat there, minding his own business. Had he come to life? What made him so unfriendly, all of a sudden? Or was it, perhaps just me, imagining things?

Many people believe in supernatural beings, nature spirits, cosmic powers, earth forces, etc., which influence their lives in some way: elves, fairies, leprechauns, trolls and the like; angels, demons, ghosts and familiar spirits; witches, shamans and sorcerers; or gods of mountain, river or tree.

Usually, belief in such entities is coupled with a fearful respect for their powers or intents, since they are frequently considered hostile. And so it is that various rituals are performed to placate them: vows, incantations, gifts, sacrifices. Or a model may be carved out of stone or wood, set up in a prominent position as an object of worship or supplication; a shrine may be built, a talisman worn, or a religious symbol, e.g. a crucifix or mezuzah, hung up to protect a person or house from evil influences. In other cases, pilgrimages are made to sacred sites or places of power, in the hope of receiving healing or a particular blessing.

Silvanus was brought up to fear and serve the Roman gods, never failing to commemorate their feast days, complete with sacrificial offerings, mystical rituals and drunken debauchery. In particular Zeus, known locally as Aquila, who inhabited the eagle-shaped rock looming over his hamlet Submonte, caused him great trepidation.

The eagle amulet he wore, given to him by his aunt Ceres, priestess of Aquila, at an initiation ceremony when he was twelve years old, was meant to protect him from his anger. He had mixed feelings about wearing it. It didn’t seem to save him from dangers, but he didn’t dare to take it off, in case Aquila became vengeful.

The Bible warns us: “You shall not make idols for yourselves or erect an image or pillar, and you shall not set up a figured stone in your land to bow down to it, for I am the Lord your God” (Leviticus 26:1). Instead, we can get to know this God as a loving Father and friend, since “he has spoken to us by his Son (Jesus), whom he appointed heir of all things, and through whom also he made the universe. The Son is the radiance of God’s glory and the exact representation of his being, sustaining all things by his powerful word” (Hebrews 1:1).

I wonder what your experiences and beliefs are with respect to supernatural beings or spiritual forces. Are you afraid of such things? Do you revere them? Or do you despise such old wives’ tales? Please let us know by adding a comment to this post. And sign up if you want not to miss future posts about Silvanus’ adventures and his dealings with Aquila.

I was in the Storytelling Fundamentals stream with instructor Sam North, who teaches Creative Writing at Exeter University. We were about 15 participants from all over the world – Philippines, Sweden, Nigeria, India, USA, UK, Switzerland – mostly living in the Zürich area. A very interactive, stimulating group. I hope to keep in contact with you guys and gals!

Sam tried to throw us, by questioning some of the popular writers’ slogans:

• “Show, don’t tell!” He claims good writers often do a lot of ‘telling’, as well as ‘showing’. No problem there. Just understand what you’re doing and why. See also K.M. Weiland’s latest post on this subject
• “Conflict is the essence of drama” – That’s too simple or one-sided in Sam’s opinion.

Instead he introduced some precepts of his own, such as:

• Desire is the engine of plot, and you need to recruit your readers to care about that desire. Latch immediately onto the desire and never leave it
• What you don’t say is just as important as what you do: the reader enjoys the challenge of reading between the lines and working things out for himself
• Characters become interesting by the way they change (or refuse to). Here it’s important to consider Cause and Effect.

We were given a variety of practise exercises, such as describing an activity using only concrete nouns – simple but revealing! We also talked a lot about the Beginning, End and Middle of a story.

Two works, which we had been given to study as preparatory homework, we discussed in some depth: the poem “About his person” by Simon Armitage and the short story “Breakfast at Tiffany’s” by Truman Capote. Again, we gained a great deal by analysing the techniques these authors used.

Many thanks to Kelly Jarosz and Chantal Panozzo for organizing the very successful workshop!

Cereals, vegetables and fruits were certainly more common on the table than meat. But since these – unlike bones – are seldom preserved, this is difficult to verify. Common foods were certainty oats, spelt and einkorn; somewhat less common barley, rye, cone wheat, emmer, and millet. From these, porridge, grit and flour were made. Legumes, olives and various nuts, fruits and vegetables were also cultivated. The diet was enriched by collecting wild herbs.
Pigs were especially important as a source of meat. Milk was also produced, which was sometimes processed into cheese.

How much or how often people ate, and what sort of food which social class consumed, cannot really be discerned from the known sources.

The cooking and tableware was primarily made of clay. Probably wooden vessels were also often used, but these are not usually detectable because of the transience of wood. On the table, mainly bowls, jugs and cups were used, in the kitchen primarily pots and pans. These show signs of heat, indicating they were used for cooking. Even jugs were used to heat liquids.

Clothing

Women and girls wore a tunic (a kind of long shirt with medium to long sleeves, reaching to the knees), which was usually held together with a belt. Over this, a cloak was worn, which could be closed with a clasp (a decorative brooch which served not only as a fixture but also as jewelry) or a pair of clasps. The tunic and cape were made of rather fine woolen or linen fabric. Legs were covered with woven stockings, secured with leather straps or belts. Shoes have seldom been found. Women wore hoods, headbands and veils as head coverings.

Men and boys also wore tunics, but shorter than the women’s. They were also held together by a belt. They also wore trousers, held up with straps. Over the tunic a cloak was worn. Shoes have also rarely been found.

Both women and men often had small items, such as bags, scissors, a small knife, or a good luck charm attached to their belts.

Textiles were often produced at home. Looms are often found in residential buildings.

Fire-making

Fire was made from sparks generated by striking steel on flint. To start the fire, a dried form of a particularly flammable mushroom (tinder) was often used.