Adam’s Bridge

Adam’s Bridge, or Rama Setu, is a long chain of low-lying shoals and reefs connecting a spur from Sri Lanka’s north-east coast to the long ribbon of Dhanushkodi beach running south-west from Pamban Island into the ocean, pointing its long finger to Sri Lanka.

It’s a haunting place to visit. In places the spit of land is so narrow that the houses that remain have the Indian Ocean across their front gardens and the Bay of Bengal lapping against their back gardens. There was a town on the spit of land, reachable by railway. But on the night of 22/23 December 1964, a tropical storm intensified to a cyclone and hit Dhanushkodi town, killing 1,700 people there as well as the 115 passengers aboard the Pamban-Dhanushkodi train that was only a few hundred yards short of its terminus when the storm wave struck, washing the train away. The town was abandoned after the storm and remains uninhabited and largely submerged today. 

Trade links between Sri Lanka and India go back to antiquity. Garnets from the island were traded up the west coast of India to the trade ports and held there, waiting for the merchants who sailed over the sea to arrive in the summer, carried by the monsoon winds. The merchants sold their own goods, bought garnets and other commodities, particularly spices, from India and returned with the autumn trade winds.

Having crossed the Indian Ocean, it was a relatively quick passage up the Red Sea before unloading and making the short crossing to Alexandria, where the garnets were sold on to merchants eager to take them further west and north until, finally, the bag of red garnets took ship again, crossing the rough waters of the outer ocean to reach Britain.

Sailing With the Monsoon

Photo by SajjadF

The monsoon, and its accompanying winds, provided a regular and reliable way for boats to cross the Indian Ocean. At some point before 100 BC, mariners discovered that it was possible to sail directly to India, cutting across the Indian Ocean, rather than following the coast.

Taking their courage in their hands, sailors had sailed out into the Arabian Sea in late spring, leaving the sight of land behind. Through most of history, mariners were better described as coasters, hopping along beside the land and rarely leaving sight of it. Only three peoples in history discovered blue-water navigation: the Norse, the Polynesians and the Portuguese. The Indian Ocean mariners were not true blue-water navigators, but what they had discovered was the rhythm of the monsoon. In late spring and early summer, India heats up. Hot air rises off the panting earth and pulls in moist, cool air from the south-west. Mariners discovered that if they put out into the Arabian Sea at the right time of year, they could hitch a ride with the steady north-east winds blowing up to India. These late spring, early summer north-easterlies blow steady and true, carrying ancient sailors to the ports along the coast of north-western India and monsoon rain, blessed, holy rain to the parched interior.

Merchants riding the monsoon winds arrive in India in the summer, renew their old contacts, sell, buy and wait. They wait for the hot earth to cool down as summer draws down to autumn. Then, as the ground cools, in October and November, dry, cool air blows down from the Himalayas, out over the sea: regular, reliable winds blowing south-west to carry the ships and the merchants back over the ocean.

The monsoon cycle allowed merchants to make regular trips to and from India within six months, thus freeing the other half of the year to sell on the goods bought from the great trading ports in India to merchants selling into the Mediterranean and beyond.

Garnets From Far Away

The major sources for the garnets that adorned Anglo-Saxon swords and jewellery were Sri Lanka and India.

That is a long way for the garnets to travel. We think of the people of this time as insular and little travelled, and that was true for many, but it was not true for all. While there’s no evidence to suggest that any Anglo-Saxon gem merchants travelled all the way to Sri Lanka before returning with sacks of red gems, the trade was sufficiently well established to ensure an excellent supply of garnets for Anglo-Saxon goldsmiths.

Book review: Memoirs of St Peter translated by Michael Pakaluk

Memoirs of St Peter translated by Michael Pakaluk

The Gospel of St Mark is the shortest, roughest, rawest of the Gospels. It’s written in Koine Greek, like the other Gospels, but it’s significantly less polished than the Greek of the other three Gospels. It’s now generally agreed by scholars to be the earliest Gospel to be written.

In this new translation, Michael Pakaluk keeps the original roughness rather than smoothing it out as most translations do. He retains the tense switching, where the Gospel moves in the same scene from the past tense to the present tense and back again. He includes the breathless ‘and thens’ and ‘immediatelys’ and the other connectives. And in doing so he demonstrates well his basic point: that this Gospel is the written record of Peter’s own account of Jesus’s life and death.

In 1977, the actor Alec McCowen, one of the greatest actors of his generation, stood on stage and recited all of Mark’s Gospel, from memory, at the University Theatre in Newcastle. He went on to tell the story at the Riverside Studios, the West End and Broadway. It took about an hour and a half.

Peter, telling his tale to listeners sitting around him, would have taken about the same length of time. Speaking as the witness to these events, he often omits his own name where the other Gospels name him. He includes the actual Aramaic words Jesus spoke. And the whole text is suffused with the sense of breathtaking urgency that comes from someone who watched this all unfold without the slightest notion of how the story would play out.

As such, it’s a way of reading the Gospel in a manner as close as is possible to those first hearers, sitting clustered around the big fisherman telling his story with the same astonished urgency with which he first witnessed it.

The Leftie King

Sue Brunning, curator of European Early Medieval Collections at the British Museum, noticed something else about the Sutton Hoo sword. One side of the pommel was subtly more elaborate and ornate than the other. Brunning realised that the more ornate side faced outwards when the sword rested in its scabbard.

The most common way to wear a sword then was for it to hang at rest quite high up the trunk, with the pommel just below the heart, alongside the torso. As such, the pommel made an ideal hand rest.

With this high position for the sword, the natural way to draw the sword was with the opposite hand, drawing it across the body.

So, a right-handed swordsman would carry the sword on his left. But the Sutton Hoo sword had the richer side of its pommel design on the wrong side if it was worn on the left: sitting there, the less elaborate side of its design would have been on display. The wear patterns on the pommel were also wrong if it had been worn on the left.

Brunning realised that the only sensible explanation was that the wearer of the Sutton Hoo sword had been left-handed.

It’s not often that we can learn such an intimate detail about a person who lived 1,500 years ago and whose name we do not even know for certain. If the sword’s wielder was Rædwald, king of the East Angles, history has left us no tale of him being Rædwald Left-Hand. Only the sword tells us that.

El Cid in All About History

The new issue of All About History is on sale, in shops and online, and I’m proud to say that I wrote the cover feature on the great Spanish hero, El Cid. My interest in Rodrigo Diaz de Vivar was sparked by watching the great Charlton Heston/Sophia Loren film, El Cid, when I was a child: the real man was, if anything, even more extraordinary than the Hollywood version. Get issue 153 of All About History and learn about the knight who never lost a battle.

The Sutton Hoo Sword

The original Sutton Hoo sword and a modern replica

There’s a secret hidden in plain sight on the Sutton Hoo sword. The pommel was on display at the British Museum for 70 years before Sue Brunning, the curator of European Early Medieval Collections at the museum, noticed something interesting about it.

There is a string of wound gold wire running around the pommel. Looking carefully at the wound wire, Brunning noticed that, at one end of the pommel, the wire was worn, the clear ridges of the rest of the wire smoothed down to little more than undulations.

Gold is a soft metal. A hand resting upon one side of a pommel will wear gold wound wire smooth.

Brunning realised that the pommel of the Sutton Hoo sword had the wear it displayed because the man who had worn and wielded the sword in life had habitually rested his hand upon its pommel when the sword rested in its scabbard.

It was one of those details that suddenly draws back the veil of years and brings us face to face with the real, living man who had worn the sword.

Cursed Gold

Photo by Jon Callas from San Jose, USA

An Anglo-Saxon king was caught in a cleft stick of expectation and necessity: to attract warriors to his warband, he had to distribute gold and gifts to his men. As the Staffordshire Hoard demonstrates, one of the main ways of acquiring this gold was by defeating enemies in battle.

But the constant need to acquire treasure led to further conflicts with more kings, inciting blood feuds and the sort of reckless hatred that must have fuelled the assassin King Cwichelm sent to kill Edwin: the unnamed assassin knew that, even if he succeeded, he was embarked on a suicide mission. That he was willing to die to kill Edwin suggests the assassin had reasons of personal vengeance to accept the commission of King Cwichelm.

The legends of cursed gold suggest an uneasy understanding on the part of the king’s bards and the warriors themselves of the price in hatred they paid for taking blood-wet treasure – and the likely consequence for themselves in taking it.

Very few of the kings of the sixth and seventh centuries died of natural causes. Even those who rose to the greatest power – Æthelfrith, Edwin, Oswald, Penda – were brought down by the turning of fortune or the alliance of enemies united by their hatred for the high king. In the warrior culture of the time, there was little way to disentangle gold lust and power politics, for the two were intertwined. The legends of cursed gold hint at the consequences of this fateful linkage.

Book review: The Mysteries by Lisa Tuttle

The Mysteries by Lisa Tuttle

People go missing. People go missing all the time. In most cases, they are found again quickly. But some disappear.

Most of the disappeared are people who chose to disappear; people who walked out of ther lives. I suspect most of us, at some point or other, have faced that temptation: the open door, the road ahead, the train journey or the plane flight: a chance not only to leave a life behind but also the opportunity to become someone else entirely.

Most of those who disappear fall into this category. Then there are the tragic cases, the people abducted, kidnapped and killed. Many of these are found, eventually, their remains allowing a measure of closure to those that mourn them.

But there are other disappearances. Disappearances that stud the tales and folklore particularly of the ocean swept shores of northern Europe. In these stories, people walk out of this world, wittingly or not, into another realm that runs somehow parallel and somehow perpendicular to our own.

Otherworld, the land under the waves, the land of the living, Faerie, Avalon; these are just some of its names and, according to these tales, some of the people who disappear do so because they find the door to this otherworld.

The Mysteries is about people who disappear – and the people who search for them. It’s a story of loss and finding, weaving a detective story into a fairy tale and a fairy tale into a detective story. It switches from Turnpike Lane (an area of London which, I can attest, is about as far from Faerie as it’s possible to get) to the shores of Loch Sween in Scotland, which I can also confirm lies on the border between this world and… somewhere else.

It’s a story of losing and finding, and the perils that come with both. If you have ever walked down a suburban street at night when no one else is moving and the light pools around the street lamps and it becomes clear that it would be all too easy to turn onto a street in a different city entirely; if you have ever walked lost in mist on a hillside to suddenly find a stone standing in front of you, cold dripping from its face, then this is a book for you.

Blood-red Garnets That Glitter

In firelight, garnets glitter. You need to see garnets in the shifting light of a fire to appreciate the life such light gives to garnets.

Anglo-Saxon goldsmiths mounted garnets to accentuate this facet of garnets. They mounted the garnet on a thin gold backing into which little pyramids had been pressed. The base of the garnet was filed into shape to fit the gold pyramid and then mounted on it. Light, passing through the garnet, hit the base pyramid of gold and then was reflected back out of the garnet, giving it a sort of double glow.

Looking at some of the intricate cloisonné work of Anglo-Saxon goldsmiths, such as the shoulder clasps excavated at Sutton Hoo, one can only marvel at the detail of the work that went into making them.