Historical Babes: September 2016

I have always loved female heroes – so much, that as a child I became inadvertently sexist in my choice of reading materials. If there was not an immediately obvious strong female lead, I quickly lost interest in the book. This means I was slow on the uptake for Harry Potter and did not appreciate Lord of the Rings until I was seventeen. But warrior queens, girls who played with swords and did archery, girls who disguised as boys to go fight – I couldn’t get enough. To be real, I still eat that stuff up. Given my prejudices and my adolescent pride in my Celtic heritage, it should be no surprise that I loved Boadicea – the leader of the Iceni tribe, who led a revolt against the Romans. (Oh, those pesky Romans.)

A statue of Boadicea in London - a town she is famous for burning down.

Like anyone whose claim to fame is resisting a foreign invader (see last week’s post on Nzinga), there is quite a lot of mythologizing about her. So, let’s start with the backdrop.

Between 55 and 54 BCE, Julius Caesar had begun incursions into Britain, kicking off centuries of Roman attempts to control the Isle of Britain. The Britain that Rome encountered was not a unified state – or even a couple of unified states. It was home to numerous Celtic tribes that often warred with each other, and seldom united in the face of a common enemy (such as Rome).

Although Boadicea is usually portrayed as a heroic defender of Britishness or Celticness from the pesky Romans, her beef with them started as a property dispute – that escalated quickly. Her husband, King of the Iceni Tribe, had left his kingdom to his daughters, ceremonially also naming the Roman Emperor as one of his heirs. The Romans misinterpreted this gesture as permission to annex the kingdom, which they duly did.

When Boadicea protested the (probably willful) misinterpretation of her husband’s will, the Roman’s responded by flogging her and raping her daughters. (Like I said, it escalated quickly.) Boadicea was not the only Celt who had a bone to pick with the Romans, so she conspired with some of the neighboring tribes and in 60 CE started a revolt against the Romans. It was especially successful or long-lasting – but it caused a lot of damage. In the words of historian Peter Salway, “She swept through southern Britain, burning Colchester, London, and Verulamium (near St. Albans), torturing every Roman or Roman sympathizer she could catch, and inflicting devastating defeats on the few Roman units that had been left in that part of the country.” (And people call women the “gentle” sex.)

It is not exactly clear how Boadicea died, because Roman historians who reported on the revolt disagree. Tacitus – who clearly admired Boadicea – claimed that she poisoned herself when it became clear that the Romans were closing in while Dio claims that she conveniently got sick and died.

Although Boadicea is a subject of fascination for many - and has been the subject of numerous poems, songs, stories, paintings, statues, even a videogame character in Civilization II, Civilization IV, and Civilization V – there is very little reliable information about her. I could easily spend a full blog post pontificating about this fascination and the myths that surround her, but I will let you look into that yourself. For now, enjoy this charming pop song about her exploits.

The Oxford History of Britain, 2010. Edited by Kenneth O. Morgan. The relevant chapter on Roman Britain was written by Peter Salway

Historic UK

Wikipedia

A typical Eurocentric version of how the Trans-Atlantic slave trade started goes something like this: Europeans arrived along the west coast of Africa to find uncivilized wilds (or crumbling civilizations, if the narrative is generous) where people were already warring and selling each other into slavery, and were only too happy to buy European guns.

WRONG!!

Although slave trading in Africa did pre-date the arrival of Europeans, the African kingdoms that Europeans first encountered were every bit as complex and sophisticated as the ones in Europe, Asia, and the Americas. Moreover, a number of these West African monarchs attempted to negotiate settlements with the Portuguese, converted to Christianity (either out of true conviction or as a bargaining chip), appealed to the Christian sensibilities of the Portuguese to stop enslaving people, and even tried to use European rivalries to their advantage. And when all else failed, they fought back.

One such example comes from the Kingdoms of Ndongo and Matamba – a place that the Portuguese called “Angola” confusing the title of the king (Ngola) with the name of the place. It was here that the Portuguese were stumped by a woman who has many names, but for the sake of simplicity we will call Nzinga.

Nzinga was born around 1582, the daughter of the King of Ndongo – so named, because she (according to the stories) had her umbilical cord wrapped around her neck. Nzinga grew up observing her father’s governance, and as an adult, played an important role in her brother’s court after he became king. In 1622, when her brother – now the king – attended a peace conference in Luanda with the Portuguese governor, Nzinga accompanied him. In fact, she did more than accompany him – she was his chief negotiator!

Ngola Mbande (Nzinga’s brother) wanted the Portuguese to remove a fortress they had built on his lands (how rude!), return his subjects who had been taken as slaves, and wanted mercenaries employed by the Portuguese to cease and desist.

One of the most famous stories about Nzinga took place at this conference. She was sent to negotiate these terms with the Portuguese governor Correia de Sousa, who had not offered Nzinga a chair, only a mat on the floor – implying that she was subordinate to him. (Oh snap!) But Nzinga would have none of this – she ordered one of her female servants down on all fours, and sat on her back during the course of the meeting. Nzinga came away with a favorable treaty, and converted to Christianity, as a diplomatic gesture.

Nzinga negotiating with de Sousa.

Buuuuuuuut, the Portuguese never honored their treaty.

After two more years of chaos and warfare – with staggering losses for the Ndongo – Ngola Mbande committed suicide (or was murdered by his sister Nzinga, depending on who you ask). Nzinga then took control of the kingdom as the regent of her nephew Kaza, and eventually as king outright. Like some other female rulers (such as Emperor Wu, China’s only female emperor - more on her some other time) Nzinga preferred to be known as king rather than queen – probably because the title conferred all of the powers of a ruler onto her. With a new Portuguese sheriff in town, Nzinga tried negotiating again and again negotiations broke down. Hostilities resumed, with Nzinga playing a pretty good game of cat and mouse with the Portuguese.

Nzinga personally led troops against the Portuguese and although she was unable to maintain her hold on Ndongo, she took over neighboring Matamba. The Portuguese tried to reopen negotiations – but this wasn’t Nzinga’s first rodeo.

In 1641, the Dutch joined the party, taking Luanda from the Portuguese. Nzinga hoped to use this European rivalry to her advantage and after forming an alliance with the Dutch, regained some of her lost territory in a series of victorious battles against the Portuguese. She was never able to fully regain her lost territory, but she continued to lead troops in resistance against the Portuguese into her 60s, until in 1657 she hung up her sword and agreed to sign yet another peace treaty with the Portuguese. She spent the last years of her rule trying to rebuild her war-torn kingdom and resettling freed slaves. Despite her tumultuous life, and unlike most of our other heroines – Nzinga died peacefully at the ripe old age of 80 in 1663.

What a babe.