Weddings in History: Briseis Weds Mynes - Reconstructing Trojan Wedding Rituals

My novel, Hand of Fire, set within the Trojan War has a key wedding early on. It isn’t going to be a happy wedding—the reader has plenty of foreboding about it. But for me as a writer, it had to be a correct wedding. That is, it needed to follow accurately the rites that would have occurred in such a Late Bronze Age (1250 BCE) wedding in Troy or any of the satellite, semi-independent kingdoms of the Hittite Empire.

For all things Hittite we have thousands of clay tablets describing religious and political procedures. But do you think that those piles of clay happened to record a wedding? Nope. Not that I could find. The closest Hittite information is on a vase in the Çorum Museum, Turkey depicting several religious celebrations including a wedding.

Hittite Vase in Çorum, Turkey

I've used photos of this vase to illustrate this post. But the vase isn't terribly informative.

So what is a historical novelist who cares about historical accuracy supposed to do? Go comparative. I scoured the surrounding cultures (also literate, helpfully enough) and I picked up the constants, the things that repeat across these cultures. You may find it interesting to note any similarities to the weddings you’ve witnessed. Some things don’t change much.

I designed as legitimate a ceremony as I could and wrote it down. And then I cut almost all of it. Much later, of course, but still, all that research and thought on the chopping block. The wedding stayed but most of the details needed to go. The story must leap along, not get overloaded with unnecessary stuff, and I had weighed mine down. The historian gave way to the novelist. All that knowledge still echoes behind the details I did include and makes for a much stronger scene. But when Lisa Yarde, the trusty leader of the Unusual Historicals blog group, asked for a post about “Weddings in History,” I opened up an ancient version of my novel and thought. Hmm. Here’s a post where I can include what my informed guess about what a Hittite/Trojan (or most Near Eastern cultures of the Late Bronze Age) wedding looked like. That’s fun to read for the historically enthusiastic.

So here is my reconstruction as I wrote it originally (well, this time I cut a lot of the emotional stuff because I was going for the wedding details in this post—reverse novelist, maybe). If you’ve read Hand of Fire, you’ll notice characters who are no longer in the book and other wisely edited-out strands. But you’ll also find all the rich details of the ceremony itself. In my novel, I kept the elaborate bathing and dressing ritual, so if you want to know about how the lovely, sexy bride was attired and prepared, you can find that part in the printed pages. For the ceremony itself, here it is, the wedding of Briseis to Mynes:

Ana and Eurome lead Briseis into the courtyard. Ana made a few minute adjustments to her drapery, and then on either side, Eurome and Ana pulled open the double doors so that Briseis was revealed in one dramatic moment. There was an appreciative intake of breath as the large assembly caught sight of her. She stepped into the megaron hall, and her father came forward to walk her to her groom.

She caught sight of Mynes: his eyes were locked on her. She felt her father’s hand on her lower back as he guided her toward the family shrine. 

When they were a few steps from Mynes, Glaukos stopped and said, “I give my daughter, Briseis, to be led into marriage by Mynes, son of Euenos. I grant her the goods and lands as agreed for her dowry. This tablet, a catalogue of all that I send with her and marked with my seal, will go with her as proof of her dowry.” Bienor placed the tablet onto the offering table that had been set up next to the wooden shrine. 

Glaukos stepped back. Mynes moved forward so that he and Briseis faced each other. He gazed up and down her veiled form. 

Priests making offerings on wicker offering table

There were many prayers to the gods—two priests and one priestess laid breads and grains on the offering table and poured libations while asking for the blessings of the gods and goddesses—but Briseis was only partially aware of this long process. For the first time she could look closely at the man marrying her and study him without shame. 

…

The offerings and prayers were done. They had reached the final part of the ceremony. One of the priests nodded to them. They came closer together. The priest drew a circle around them on the floor with barley meal. Mynes reached for her right hand and breathed in sharply as his hand touched hers. His hold tightened. Her long fingers suddenly seemed small inside his powerful hand. He spoke the traditional words that sealed their marriage. “You will be my wife.  I shall be your husband.”

Hatepa handed Mynes a small silver bowl filled with cedar oil, and he let go of Briseis’ hand to receive it. Briseis turned towards Ana so that she could fold the veil back into a frame around Briseis’ face and then pin it into place with two golden pins, their tops shaped like bees. When Ana stepped back, Mynes looked directly at Briseis’ face. For a moment he seemed to waver as though wind had struck him full in the face. Then, as required by the ceremony, he dipped three fingers into the oil and anointed her forehead. The fragrance of freshly cut cedar filled the air. His fingers lingered on her skin and his eyes met hers—consuming her as a starving man devours food.

Briseis did not hear the final blessings spoken by the head priest. She did not know for how long she was locked into Mynes’ gaze, but when he dropped his eyes, the musicians were accompanying the singers in a hymn to Kamrusepa, praising her for bringing fertility to women. She was grateful when her father led the two families to the seats of honor near the hearth, and she was able to conceal her discomposure by attending to her dress as they moved through the crowded room. 

…

Mynes sat in the chair next to her.  In a state of confusion, Briseis watched Ana and the servants settle the guests into seats around the megaron hall and flowing out into the courtyard. The big double doors had been thrown open to make the guests outside feel part of the celebration. Immediately trays of food came out and wine was poured for everyone. This was her home—or had been until today—but she felt as if she were observing a completely strange place and people. 

The feast went on. Mynes occasionally put his hand over hers when she rested it on the arm of her chair. She dared to look at him and smile when he did.  Gradually she overcame the blushing that followed each glance. She tried to imagine being in a room alone with him, but that made her too nervous, so she let her mind go still.  Many people came to greet them and wish them well. She smiled and bowed her head modestly in thanks. 

When the food was cleared away, the musicians started to play again and the dancers beat out rhythms with their feet and hands, their swaying bodies drawing lines through the air as they moved together in sacred circles. The movements were prayers of thanksgiving for this new union; the dancers raised their hands to the heavens and pulled the gods’ blessings down towards the couple so that they would have many children. Then they began to spin ever faster, drawing down the gods’ goodwill.

Acrobats in religious procession

Next the acrobats performed, drawing cries of delight from the crowd with their antics. Their movements were occasionally suggestive of the coming nuptial night, and the guests responded with laughter and jokes. They directed much of their ribbing at Mynes, and, as was expected of him, he laughed and turned aside the jesting by pretending to be completely unaware of its intended meaning. Briseis was grateful when her father announced that it was time to accompany the bride to her new home.

Ana arranged her veil back over her face for the procession to the palace. Her father and brothers guided the bride and groom out of the house behind the musicians and dancers. Guests formed a loose tail behind them, often singing joking songs and throwing figs and almonds towards the newly joined couple to bring them sweetness and fertility.

_________________________________________________________

Judith Starkston writes historical fiction and mysteries set in Troy and the Hittite Empire. She is a classicist (B.A. University of California, Santa Cruz, M.A. Cornell University) who taught high school English, Latin and humanities. She and her husband have two grown children and live in Arizona with their golden retriever Socrates. Her debut novel is Hand of Fire.

Find an excerpt, book reviews, historical background, as well as on-going information about the historical fiction community on www.JudithStarkston.com

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Legendary Heroes and Feats: Achilles

Achilles receiving divine armor from his goddess mother

Achilles, as depicted in Homer’s Iliad, is a legendary hero. You might even say a mythological one since his mother was said to be a goddess—a goddess strong enough to protect Zeus when all the other gods ganged up against him. Some mom! And some son.

He’s an interesting bundle of contradictions. In the Iliad, he asked uncomfortable questions of the Greek leadership in the Trojan War. Why are we fighting? What is the meaning of a warrior’s life if we all die, both the one who fights in the forefront and the one who hangs back? For what end should our fathers, mothers and wives suffer such losses? He had the moral courage to be a thorn in a powerful but greedy leader’s side and defend the men of the fighting ranks. Homer’s depiction of this questioning dimension in Achilles’ character makes him an appealing hero to a modern world, weary of war. Achilles would be great in a democracy—just the kind of gadfly every open society needs. Through Achilles Homer lets us explore the big questions about life and war, family and loyalty, love and hate. There’s something so irresistible about a man who has all the physical power and none of the answers but is willing to ask the questions anyway.

On the battlefield at Troy

But also in the Homeric tradition Achilles was the Best of the Achaians, a formal title that meant everyone saw him as the pre-eminent warrior without question on the battlefield. If he sometimes questioned why they fought, he still excelled at the fighting.

One battle in particular showed his semi-divine excellence. The Greeks and other ancient people imagined that every river was a god, and appropriately enough, the rivers that embraced Troy on either side were controlled by divinities who supported the Trojans. At one particularly fierce moment in the war, Achilles slaughters Trojans right and left in order to get to Hector, the greatest of the Trojan warriors. Hector has killed Achilles’ best friend, and Achilles is driven by both grief and fury. He kills so many Trojans on the bank of the River Scamander that the divine river decides to enter the battle and finish Achilles off. Huge waves rear up to drown the hero. Zeus sees what is going on and brings a fiery wind to help drive away the water. Eventually Achilles fights his way free and dashes across the plain killing Trojans as he goes. Revenge is a powerful motivator. To succeed against a godly river is an extraordinary feat—even if we rationalize the tale it’s still impressive. Almost nothing is more powerful than the onslaught of tons of water. But when the tradition remembers your battle as a victory over a god, well, that’s a pretty legendary feat.

I’ve been intrigued at where the tradition behind such a hero might have arisen. It’s as likely as not that some “real” human warrior provided the beginning of the Achilles legend. Some version of a Trojan War did historically happen (I discuss this in articles entitled  “Troy History or Myth?” and “Did the Trojan War Really Happen?”) But any historical warrior received several generations of mythologizing before he became the Achilles we hear about in the tradition.

We think of Achilles as part of the Greek tradition because Homer composed in Greek, but it’s also the case that the poetic/mythological tradition of the Trojan War, including the stories of the heroes on the Greek side, arose in the region around Troy, the western coast of what is now Turkey. The peoples there, in the era in which any “Trojan War” would have occurred, were culturally and religiously closely related to the powerful Hittite Empire just to the east. Troy was formally allied to the Hittites through much of this period.

Among the Hittite myths there is one about a young, angry god, Telipinu, and I think his myth influenced the way Achilles’ story formed. Homer and the other oral bards would have heard the Telipinu cycle of myths, and they could have incorporated it into their understanding of this hero.

Hittite gods carved into an open air sanctuary

As the Hittite myth describes it, Telipinu, son of the Stormgod, attends the assembly of the gods one day only to find they have offended his honor so vilely that he rushes out in fury and refuses to have anything to do with the gods or mankind. He runs around burning rivers and hiding from his friends. His absence from the company of the gods causes great harm. Eventually he is brought back into harmony with the gods. This mythic plotline calls up pieces of Achilles’ story with remarkable precision, including burning up a river. I think this young warrior god, Telipinu, whom the armies of the Hittites and Trojans described as “running before them” in battle, became intermixed with a human warrior. I think this literal combination of man and myth gave rise to a hero slightly disjointed with his world, one who could ask big moral questions as well as fight.

I’ve expressed this understanding of Achilles through fiction in my novel of Briseis and the Trojan War, Hand of Fire. While my readers need never have read the Iliad or any Hittite myths, those influences guided my writing. Here’s my description of Achilles burning up the river, with some appropriately ambiguous help from Briseis and the gods. (For my sources of inspiration, you’ll find the relevant “battle in the river” verses in Homer in Iliad Bk 21, the first 400 lines or so, and the Telipinu myth is published in English translation in Hittite Myths, by Harry Hoffner, Jr., published by Scholars Press.)

“There—Briseis saw a golden flash. Achilles stood in the river surrounded by the dead bodies of his victims. The water crested above him like a lion pouncing on its prey. Boulders and bodies, carried by the water’s force, knocked his feet from under him. Troy’s immortal river itself engaged him in battle. Achilles reached for a branch of an overhanging elm, but the whole tree wrenched from the riverbank, its dense roots dragging the river bluff with them into the water, nearly burying Achilles.

Surely this was not his fate, to lie folded under mud and stones in the hostile waters of Scamander, but how could even he escape such raw power?

To reach for Troy he had fought against the city’s gods for so long; she could not tolerate this river god rising against him also and drowning his beauty in its murk, no matter how many dead he had thrown into Scamander’s waters. She strained forward, willing him to escape the river’s hold. A wind rose up, hot and blasting. It caught her hair and pulled it toward the river. When she tried to gather her hair in her hand, it scorched her fingers and escaped her hold.

The banks of the river burst into flames. The dead burned in a sudden pyre. The water boiled. The fish leapt upon the scorched banks in a vain attempt to flee the flames that had replaced their watery homes. The tamarisks and elms along the river’s edge became monstrous torches.

In the midst of this inferno, she saw Achilles lift his massive shield and spear in victory. Her heart surged. Not even the divine river could stop him. She heard his shout of joy as he raced across the plain, blasting Trojans like a bolt of lightning. Invincible warrior god, unstoppable fire.”