Venice – Female Warriors and the Death of Attila

I’m recording a biography of the Dogaressas of Venice over at Librivox, and as I’m going I’m pulling out folklore which is of particular interest to Ars Magica players. In this episode, the author of the biography goes to some length to describe the militancy of the forebears of the Venetians.

Venice’s history begins with a flight to the lagoons, as the the cities of Italy fall to the Huns. The women with young children, and the people too young or old to fight, are sent to take refuge on the islands. The cities fall, one by one, through a series of bloody skirmishes, until Padua, according to folklore, wins a Pyrrhic victory that halts the Hun advance.

In the podcast, I’m not going to give you five straight minutes of how terribly skilled the women, who would be the progenitors of Venice, were at war. As a caution, there is mention of rape and the murder of children. I’ll be back at the end with comments about plot hooks. There are two versions of the death of Attila given, but I’ll be using the first for this project, because it leaves a mystical artefact where the player characters can obtain it. The second I include only because it contains a powerful maga, and calls her by the charming and, for me, novel title of “incantrice”.

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Padua’s King, alone of leaders, withstands the brunt of battle in 421—brave Giano. Flight is not for him, and by his side stands, and stands she will, or with her master fall, his wife. Queen Adriana the Heroine.

Giano challenges Attila to personal conflict, whilst, wild and remorseless as they are, the Huns look on with admiration and encourage each valiant
prince in turn. The Paduan skilfully parries the fierce onslaught of the ” Scourge of God ” and, at last, although nigh bested, he lays his enemy low,
and the victims of Veneto are avenged!

The Queen has stood all through the fell encounter close behind her consort, stripped ready for the fray, for, should Giano fall, then she would try conclusions with Attila! Snatching the fallen chieftain’s weapon, all gory with her husband’s blood — it had entered nearly into his vitals—out of the
death-grip of his strong right hand, she holds it aloft calling upon Heaven to avenge the blood of her people. To Rivo-Alto she bears it, in a lordly galley,
a ghastly token of deliverance, and, there, upon hallowed ground she sets it up, where she plants her foot, in pledge of the church and convent which
she vows she will erect, in memory of a hardly-won victory, to the honour of holy Raphael—the Archangelic healer of human wounds.

Quite a different story with respect to the death of Attila is set forth eloquently in the erotic poem, ” La Venezia Edificata,” composed by Giulio Strozzi —a grandson of the great Filippo. Therein Oriana Augusta, daughter of the Empress Galla Placida, titular Queen of Dalmatia, is represented as consort by rape of the Hunnish King. Making her escape from the camp of her captor she fled to Venetia-al-Lido pursued by Attila. To prevent violation she leaped from the ship into the sea and came near perishing, until rescued by kindly hands from Aquileia.

The barbarian chieftain vowed to be avenged upon the Aquileiese, and, they in their turn, vowed to guard the Queen. Attila had recourse to a famous fortune-teller of Aquileia, ” La Maga Irene,” who, in consideration of a heavy bribe, consented to aid his vengeance. By woman’s craft, or witch’s
wiles, Irene contrived to set the people of Aquileia all agog with their neighbours of the littoral, and at variance with one another,—so that their quarrels might screen an attack by the Huns.

The enchantment entirely failed in its object, for Giovanni Anafesto and Sostinio Rinieri,—leaders at Aquileia of rival parties—joined hands to repel the invader. Irene, by the way, had fooled them both by crossing
them in love. Whether mesmerised by the black art of the enchantress, or incited by personal jealousy the captains of Attila’s host rose against him
and against each other. Intrigue and counterplot divided the councils of the Hunnish chieftains. Nadasto, Attila’s second in command, made court
to Fulvia,—a lady of Altino—wife of his rival Aetis, and won over to his cause her beauteous young daughter, Idilia, whom Attila had tried to seduce.

One evening, when the incantatrice Irene had cast her spell upon the Hunnish leader, and Ariana, her mystic-magic singer, had lulled him to slumber in his tent, and when Nadasto had bribed and rendered drunk the soldiers of his guard, Idilia stole silently through the darkness to the couch whereon Attila was heavily sleeping. Like Jael she hesitated not to make use of her opportunity to avenge her wrong and aid her lover. Driving, with all the force of a strong desperate woman, the sword she found by the sleeper’s side, she pierced Attila through the breast, and pinned his body to the bed-board beneath. Thus died the ” Scourge of God,”—the ravisher of women—by a woman slain!

Not alone was heroic Adriana of Padua in deeds of woman-prowess,—Martza d’Aquileia, standing astride her husband’s stricken body, his sword in her hand, hurled bold defiance and hardy blows together at her foes, until overborne by numbers she fell fighting to the last!

Degna too, of Aquileia, daughter of the Queen of Dalmatia, dignified and devoted matron that she was, her spouse and sons slaughtered before her
eyes, took refuge with her young daughters within the gateway-tower, and thence threw down copingstones and coals of fire upon the heads of their
enemies. Short was that attack on woman’s valour, for brawny arms and hands were soon stretched out to seize the brave defenders. Degna slew her
children by dashing them to the ground, and she, fearless of death, followed them to preserve their honour and hers!

The skill and courage of the women of Veneto in the use of bow and arrow, and in the casting of the javelin, came to be the undoing of many a stalwart barbarian. The Huns were amazed at the heroism, no less than at the beauty, of their fair opponents. Those viragoes had in their veins the blood of Greek heroes, and their muscles were of iron like the Romans. Noble and bold in heart were they, vigorous and graceful in form and feature, and well dowered with mental capacity and resource.

Not once, but many a time, when the ropehawsers, which worked the defenders’ catapults, gave out and the defence seemed doomed to failure, the women and the girls of besieged towns cut off their tresses of strong, fine, lustrous hair, with which to weave new stout cords for the disabled machines!

Plot hooks

The Sword of God

So, the Sword of Attila is kept in a church dedicated to Saint Michael. It’s not an ordinary blade. Roman authors call it the Sword of Mars, although in Hungarian it is simply called the Sword of God. Whoever uses it is destined to conquer the earth. There is a modern sword identified with the myth: it was previously thought to be Joyuese, the sword of Charlemagne, which is odd because, as we will see later, Charlemagne does toss one of his swords into the sea off Venice. The modern sword might have once belonged to the Arpad dynasty,. who were a group of Hungarian kings that claimed to be descended from Attila.

The blade is not only kept in a Divine Aura, which may wash out its powers, but is coated in the blood of a man who, arguably, died for his faith, which means he’s a martyr, and his blood is a Relic. The saint who is overseeing this Aura is, however, Archangel Michael, who is Marshal of the Host of Heaven, and is the one sent by God when someone really needs sharp cutlery applied to their face. He could just be holding onto it until it is useful to the Divine Plan.

Every megalomaniac in Europe probably wants it, so one of his many angelic captains may need to spend their time gently preventing the theft of the sword. Helping the endlessly-patient but not omnipotent captain would, by definition, be the right thing to do. Alternatively, they might want to steal if for themselves.

Notes on the Mysteries of Diana

I noted in a previous episode that we had the beginning of a Diana-themed mystery cult in the dress of the dogaressas. This continues here. The women of Veneto were skilled in the bow and the javelin. Physically and mentally they seem to meet the ideals of the Artemis cult. Finally, their hair, which I discussed in an earlier episode, seems to be capable of magical effects. When it is cut off, it seems to let them make catapult hawsers, so why not bowstrings? Is this a distant relative magical sacrifices we have seen before? Druids biting their thumbs through the bone to fuel their spells? Viktir plucking out their eyes? Later we will learn that Venetian woman are mistresses of the crossbow, and practice shooting clay pellets, in place of grebes. There’s something there: not yet coherent enough for a mystagogic script, but well worth marking.

The magician Irene seems powerful for a hedge witch. She even has the title maga. Might she be a remnant of the Cult of Mercury, which was not entirely dead? Her illusions and spells that affect emotions seem to place her in the Jerbitonian mold, and her name is Greek. Perhaps she is one more of the ancestresses of the Order. For example, do we know who trained the magus Pendule, who did not join the Order, but passed on his teachings concerning the magic of colour and emotion?

Next week, more Venice – two of the festivals of the city based on love, marriage, money and pirates.