thick, rugged woodland, covering mountains and valleys alike, as well as its sudden and frequent drops into cascading waterways, match the narrator’s description of Davon Wood precisely — or rather, it would have matched it precisely, during the period under discussion (from the fifth to eighth centuries), when the forest was still primeval, and large tracts had not been cleared for lumber and firewood, and afterwards reforested with secondary growth that, while still impressive, does not have the overwhelming dimensions of those portions of the ancient forest that have survived. If we accept the proposition that the Thuringian Forest and “Davon Wood” are one and the same, then we can further conjecture that the mountains which the people of Broken knew as “the Tombs” were the same range that today is known as the
† “marauders” This word, used repeatedly throughout the text, may of course be a generic term for all nomadic tribes; but the emphasis on their appearing from the east, “out of the morning sun,” along with repeated later references to “eastern marauders” who attacked with the sun at their backs in order to blind and confuse their enemies, seems to indicate that it is a term applied primarily to the Huns, who did indeed prefer such avenues of attack — and who, despite their reputation as fearless and undefeatable warriors, may well have elected to bypass a kingdom as relatively small and capable of defending itself as was Broken. — CC.
‡ “… with this limitation, as with so many …” It’s as well to establish early on that this sense of nostalgia on the narrator’s part for the “limitations” of the past fits with the nature of many Barbarian Age Germanic states. The word “barbarian” is often associated, in the popular consciousness, with a warlike, nomadic lifestyle, as well as with undefinable borders and anarchic governments; but the truth (or rather, what little truth we know) is that many if not most of the small, vanished kingdoms of central-northern and northeastern Europe occupied discrete, relatively well-ordered regions. This is particularly true of those kingdoms that, like Broken, retained heavy Gothic influences, although the Goths had long since moved on if, indeed, they had ever actually “invaded,” or were in turn invaded, which is one of those time-honored yet ultimately unproved theories of population migration that has of late been seriously questioned.
The standard notion of what has come to be known as (to use the phrase employed in one of the early twentieth century’s key works on the subject, written by the important if somewhat outdated British historian J.B. Bury) “the barbarian invasion of Europe” may represent less firmly grounded scholarship than it does the culmination of centuries of historical conjecture and pseudo-hagiography among academics across Europe, and even, eventually, in the United States, as well. But the central flaw in this notion of wave upon wave of non- agricultural, raiding tribes — pressed by the need to gain food for their people and forage for their ever-expanding herds of horses and ponies, as well as by a desire for wealth that they could not or did not wish to earn through settled hard work in trading towns and ports — has become suspect, in recent years (just as, during the same period, the supposedly irrefutable truth about the Indians of North America being the true “Native Americans” has been quietly called into question, as evidence of other, older inhabitants has emerged): in fact, the “barbarian hordes” theory may be a piece of
Any emperor, much less a commander of a legion, who could allow himself to be fought to a standstill, to say nothing of defeated, by such barbarians would have had a great deal of explaining to do, both to the Roman aristocracy and to the larger group whose acronym the Roman legions bore into battle: “SPQR,”
This inflation of an enemy in order to explain defeat or disaster is hardly an unprecedented or a unique tactic in world military history; indeed, it is all too common when governments need to rationalize not only failure but the enormous expenditures of blood and treasure that usually accompany such failures, as well as the cost of constantly manning a hostile frontier that ensues. The somewhat distinguishing feature, in the case of Broken, is that it was governed, not by the usual Germanic tribal elective monarchy, with its communal systems of farming and hunting, but by a theocratic hereditary monarchy in which property was held by specific individuals and families according to wealth and to rank that was determined by faithfulness to the kingdom’s deity, Kafra, and his representative in this life, the God-King. These were all attributes that tended to heighten the kingdom’s already strong (even by Germanic standards) tendency to exist in and defend its own form of exceptionalism and splendid isolation from the outside world. But the overriding point, here, is that the history of Broken’s not having fit into the larger story of the “barbarian invasions” of Europe may have been a fact less rooted in Broken’s never having existed than in the very strong possibility — most strongly put forward, in recent years, by Michael Kulikowski, in his recent and seminal account of “Rome’s Gothic Wars”—that the warriors the Romans faced when they crossed into Germania were fearsome precisely because they did
†† “… they are not
In recent years, a group of scientists have found what they claim is a new species in the genus