Women in Warfare: In Search of the Venus Calva, Bald Goddess of War

By Kathryn Kopple

In 1896, Thomas Love Peacock published Gryll Grange, the last of his novels. He had written seven in all. Peacock’s circle of friends included Percy Bysshe Shelley, Mary Shelley, and Lord Byron. Together, they constituted a major force behind English romanticism, and yet Peacock, at least to contemporary American audiences—and perhaps to those across the pond—has fallen into obscurity. His literary achievements receive scant interest—if any interest at all. Unlike Shelley or Byron, he was not famous for poetry but for writing satirical novels that send-up all that struck him as pretentious, pompous, and prattling in English society. No doubt, he considered himself an aesthete—and judging from the content of his writings, he was a man possessed of many intellectual gifts—as well as a solid foundation in the Greco-Roman classical tradition.

I would never have come into contact with Peacock’s writing or Gryll Grange had I not been on the hunt for material related to the Venus Calva, or the bald Venus of Roman antiquity. To this day, she remains a mysterious figure, and one has to be grateful to an author who thought fit to make reference to her, even if only to debunk the theory that such a goddess existed in the Roman pantheon. Most historians consider the cult of the Venus Calva apocryphal. Venus is, after all, the goddess of love and beauty. Certainly, she must possess the flaxen tresses of a modern-day Hollywood starlet: long, flowing and, without question, luminous. In the chapter titled “The Forest. A Soliloquy on Hair,” in Gryll Grange, the reader is treated to a series of references meant to remind us of the absurdity of the very idea of a bald Venus.

A head without hair, says Ovid, is as a field without grass, and a shrub without leaves. Venus herself, if she had appeared with a bald head, would not have tempted Apuleius: and I am of his mind. A husband, in Menander, in a fit of jealous madness, shaves his wife's head; and when he sees what he has made of her, rolls at her feet in an agony of remorse. He was at any rate safe from jealousy till it grew again.

As if to drive home the point—a bald Venus would be as attractive as a grubby shrub—the subject is re-visited by Mr. Gryll, who asks one of the characters, a certain Reverend Doctor Opimian, the following:

‘I have heard you, doctor, more than once, very eulogistic of hair as indispensable to beauty. What say you to the bald Venus of the Romans—Venus Calva?'

The Rev. Dr. Opimian. ‘Why, sir, if it were a question whether the Romans had any such deity, I would unhesitatingly maintain the negatur. Where do you find her?’

Mr. Gryll. ‘In the first place, I find her in several dictionaries.’

The Rev. Dr. Opimian. ‘A dictionary is nothing without an authority. You have no authority but that of one or two very late writers, and two or three old grammarians, who had found the word and guessed at its meaning. You do not find her in any genuine classic. A bald Venus! It is as manifest a contradiction in terms as hot ice, or black snow.’

In no short order, the Venus Calva is dispatched by Rev. Dr. Opimian—or is she? Another character steps forward, Lord Curryfin, to defend her.

Yet I have certainly read, though I cannot at this moment where, that there was in Rome a temple to Venus Calva, and that it was so dedicated in consequence of one of two circumstances: the first being that through some divine anger the hair of the Roman women fell off, and that Ancus Martius set up a bald statue of his wife, which served as an expiation, for all the women recovered their hair, and the worship of the Bald Venus was instituted; the other being, that when Rome was taken by the Gauls, and when they had occupied the city, and were besieging the Capitol, the besieged having no materials to make bowstrings, the women cut off their hair for the purpose, and after the war a statue of the Bald Venus was raised in honour of the women.

In response, Rev. Dr. Opimian rattles off a number of reasons why Lord Curryfin knows nothing of Latin; if he did he would know that the word “calva” has numerous translations, one of them “alluring.” Venus Calva would then translate: Venus, the temptress.

Nonetheless, despite the Rev. Dr. Opimian’s best efforts, the myth of the Venus Calva, a goddess idolized not merely as a figure of love and beauty, but of war, still lingers—even if only by luck of the slightest of references by historians. S. Eitrem states that her cult did exist. Whether the Venus Calva was worshipped as a war goddess is another matter. Eitrem theorizes that a bald Venus, with all of its gender-bending implications, may have been significant as regards nuptial rituals. The symbolism of hair—or lack thereof—need not undergo much explanation in this case, as tresses (in the case of both men and women) have always been intertwined with sexual potency. To hold to this theory is to take a conservative view of the Venus Calva. I would go even further out on a limb: if the goddess of love’s hair is essential to her mystique—it also stands that a bald Venus would symbolize not only love and beauty—but the opposite as well: power and war. She would be loved and feared, and not revered exclusively as a sex-symbol.

Women’s participation in war during ancient Rome is a murky topic—one that intrigues historians but hard facts are difficult to come by. I would like to believe that the cult of the Venus Calva did exist. She may have pre-dated the Romans, who famously assimilated much of Greek culture. In which case, we would be dealing a cult that was more than just a flash in time—one in which women were valued not only as mothers, help-mates, or kept as slaves—but were, during exceptional times, associated with all the Greeks and Romans exalted in war: the classical virtues of sacrifice, honor, and heroism.

Notes:

On the discourse pertaining to the Venus Calva, see Chapter XXIX: Peacock, Thomas Love, GRYLL GRANGE, Macmillan and Co., LTD, 1896.

For a brief discussion supporting the existence of the Venus Calva, see Eitrem, S., “Venus Calva and Venus Cloacina,” The Classical Review, Vol. 37, No. 1/2 Feb.-Mar., 1923), pp. 14-16.

Another source readers may find helpful is Greece & Rome, Second Series, Vol. 51, No. 1 (Apr., 2004) which contains: Loman, Pasi, “No Woman No War: Women's Participation in Ancient Greek Warfare,” pp. 34-54. 

Kathryn A.Kopple is the author of Little Velásquez, a novel set in 15^th century Spain.

Women in Warfare: Joan of Arc

By Ginger Myrick

In her lifetime Joan of Arc symbolized many things to many people. Some called her prophet or heroine. Others believed her a madwoman, witch, or heretic. To the English she represented a threat to their conquest of France. To the French she was most popularly known as La Pucelle d'Orléans, The Virgin of Orléans, a common farm girl who carried out the Will of God, turning the tide of war and winning her country’s freedom back from the English. 

 By 1424 the English had occupied France for nine years. The French were divided among themselves due to a longstanding blood feud, and the Dauphin Charles had been in hiding for the duration. That year, at twelve years of age, Joan had her first vision. The Saints Michael, Catherine, and Margaret appeared to her in a field and charged Joan to drive out the invaders and bring the Dauphin to be crowned at Rheims—the traditional coronation site of French Kings and a territory controlled by hostiles. Easier said than done, but these were saints and hers was a holy mission. 

A few years later with the help of a kinsman, the simple country girl from Domrémy made her way to a French garrison where she petitioned for an audience with the Dauphin. She was denied, but her fearless performance gained support from Bertrand de Poulegny and Jean de Metz, two men of reliable reputation. They championed her on her second visit during which she divulged her holy mission to see Charles crowned at Rheims and oust the English from French soil. She was so convincing that she began to be regarded by many as a messenger of God and was given escort to court.

It was during this journey that she began dressing as a male. Her believers persuaded her that she would be safer if she cut her hair and wore a man’s clothing. This she did and made the trip safely. At court she was granted private audience with the Dauphin and so moved him that he agreed to her requests pending a moral inquiry, which she passed and was declared a good and virtuous Christian. She was provided with the typical equipment of a knight—armor, horse, sword, banner—and arrived at Orléans on April 29, 1429. 

The city had been besieged for five months before her coming. The single attempt at launching an offensive had ended in disaster. Tired of delay, Joan demanded a new strategy of attack and on May 4 took Saint Loup, the next day marching on to a second fortress, which was found unoccupied. Her crowning achievement at Orléans was her capture of the English stronghold at Les Tourelles on May 7. This victory was especially compelling, because early in the battle she was wounded in the neck by an arrow yet came back to lead the decisive assault. Surely this was proof of divine favor. 

 From this point on she was taken more seriously, and her crowd of supporters grew with each triumph. There ensued further incidents that could be attributed to God’s aegis. In one battle she was knocked from a scaling ladder by a cannonball with no further injury. In another she continued to command troops after sustaining a wound from a crossbow. Soon enemy-held towns surrendered without conflict, and on July 16, 1429, Joan arrived with her army in Rheims. Charles VII was crowned the next morning. Afterward she returned to the field having many more successes … and failures … but none of them as stunning at those she had achieved before the coronation. 

Eventually she was captured in a skirmish at Compiègne. She ordered a retreat and remained on the field after seeing everyone else safely away. She found herself in the custody of the Duke of Burgundy who ransomed her to the English when King Charles declined to intervene. It is speculated that after his accession to the throne, in his eyes her holy mission had been accomplished and her usefulness outlived. Joan was put to trial and condemned of heresy, ironically for wearing men’s clothing, which had been her method of ensuring her purity in the eyes of God. She was burned at the stake on May 30, 1431, one of her last requests that a crucifix be held before her as her spirit ascended to heaven. Even the executioner admitted that he, “… greatly feared to be damned …” for his participation. She was approximately nineteen years old. 

 King Charles VII, emboldened and rallied by the death of this symbol of hope, eventually took charge of his armies and sent the English back to their own concerns, realizing the second part of Joan’s vision. Twenty-five years after her execution, Pope Callixtus III authorized a posthumous “nullification trial” to determine if Joan’s proceedings had complied with canon law. A panel examined testimony from 115 separate sources and rendered their final judgement describing Joan as a martyr and charging the deceased church official, Pierre Cauchon, of heresy for condemning her in the name of the Church for a secular dispute. On July 7, 1456, Joan was declared innocent, and on May 16, 1920, nearly five centuries after her death, she was canonized by the Roman Catholic Church as Saint Joan of Arc. 

Ginger Myrick was born and raised in Southern California. She is a self-described wife, mother, animal lover, and avid reader and knitter. Along with the promotion for THE WELSH HEALER, and EL REY, she is currently crafting her third novel, which takes place during the U.S. Civil War. She is a Christian who writes meticulously researched historical fiction with a ‘clean’ love story at the core. She hopes to persevere with her newfound talent and show the reading community that a romance need not include graphic details to convey deep love and passion.
 

Women in Warfare: Elizabeth van Lew, the Southern Lady Spy

By Celia Hayes

She was the very last person in the world whom anyone in Richmond, Virginia, would have suspected of being a spy … well, almost the last person, as her abolitionist sympathies were not a secret. But she was a genteel lady of certain years – and a very Southern sense of gentlemanly chivalry ensured that her activities went unsuspected and unhampered all during the Civil War. Elizabeth van Lew, if not a classical Southern belle in the Scarlett O’Hara mode was pious, eccentrically addicted to doing good works, and from a wealthy and well-established old Richmond family. Of course she couldn’t possibly be up to anything more than visiting the captive Union officers held as prisoners of war in a comfortless converted tobacco warehouse, bearing genteel gifts of food, books, clothing and writing materials, or being a regular Lady Bountiful towards the families of Richmond’s freed slaves. Everyone knew of her families’ eccentricities – her mother was a Quaker from Philadelphia, don’t-cha-know. 

Elizabeth van Lew

Elizabeth van Lew was born in 1818; her father had built up a prosperous hardware business in Richmond and a grand mansion on Church Hill. In spite of the family’s abolitionist sympathies, he also had owned slaves. But when the senior van Lew died in the mid 1840s, Elizabeth’s brother took over management of the firm and household – and he freed the families’ nine household slaves. Around the same time, Elizabeth used her own allowance to purchase and free the relatives of those family slaves. For some years afterwards, John van Lew routinely visited Richmond’s slave market to purchase whole families who were at peril of being sold to different owners and separated from each other. Then he would formally free them. And this would likely have been seen as no more than a peculiar eccentricity … until the beginning of the Civil War, when the aftermath of the battle of Manassas brought Union Army officers to a squalid and overcrowded imprisonment in the tobacco warehouse. 

Libby Prison

The middle-aged Elizabeth and her elderly widowed mother began visiting the Union officers, bearing their lady-visitor charitable gifts. Eventually there would be more than a thousand of Union prisoners crammed into the two top floors of the warehouse – and turnover at Libby would be constant, primarily because of a high casualty rate. Although barred, the windows were left open to the elements of weather and the prisoners suffered accordingly. For exposure, disease and malnutrition, Libby Prison eventually became second only in notoriety to Andersonville. For that kindliness to the prisoners, Elizabeth and her mother were publicly criticized for disloyalty to the Confederate cause; little did the critics realize that while Elizabeth might have felt the sting of neighborly disapproval and public bullying, she did not give two pins for the Confederacy … and in fact resolved to do whatever she could do in order to bring about its downfall. Chatty, eccentric and seemingly harmless, Miss van Lew proved to be a woman of infinite nerve and resource. For she began helping the prisoners even more actively; smuggling messages in a dish with a hidden compartment, and through notes hidden in books, or with key passages in those books underlined faintly in pencil. She had a tiny cipher key on a scrap of paper hidden in her watch – and a secret diary outlining her activities, buried in the garden. She bribed the guards to permit the prisoners to have food and clothing over and above what they had been allowed. She helped organize escapes, even hiding escaping prisoners in her family home. 

Van Lew cipher

In the early days of the war, she began sending letters bearing information of military knowledge to Union commanders, gleaned from newly-arrived prisoners who would have observed Confederate fortifications and troop dispositions on their way to Richmond and captivity. Before many months had passed, Elizabeth van Lew was a full-fledged spymaster, and one of the most valued Union assets within Richmond, sending coded messages, requested specific intelligence – as well as flowers from her garden directly to General Grant. Many of her couriers were freed slaves, and often her messages were concealed in hollowed-out eggs. She cultivated the friendship of the Confederate commander of Libby Prison; she even saw to it that one of the Lew family’s former slaves, a young woman named Mary Bowser, was hired by the family of Confederate President Jefferson Davis. Mary, who worked serving meals at the Jefferson home, was privy to much interesting mealtime conversation. 

And when the war ended and Union troops were about to enter the defeated Confederacy’s capital city, Miss van Lew was the first to raise the American flag over Richmond with her very own hands, to the anger and chagrin of her neighbors. A mob formed before the Lew family mansion, but Grant’s lady spy was undeterred by it. “I know you, and you, and you!” She shouted, pointing at them one by one and addressing them by name. “General Grant will be in this city within the hour; if this house is harmed, your houses shall be burned by noon!” The mob dispersed – and General Grant came to take tea with her – almost his first act upon entering Richmond.

The story of Miss van Lew and the remainder of her life is an equivocal one. The fortunes of her family – no less than those of many of Richmond’s old elite – were ruined by the war. She was socially ostracized by her neighbors, once it came out how she had aided the hated Yankees. The Union, which she had served with such commitment, could not or would not reimburse her for the expenses that she had borne during the war, nor offer any kind of pension other than a sinecure for a few years as postmistress. But she was generously supported for the remainder of her life by those former prisoners of war, or their families, whom she had aided at great personal risk to herself during the war. But knowing that slavery was ended and the Union restored – and that she had been no less a soldier than any of the captives in Libby Prison in bringing about that conclusion – must have been of considerable comfort to the lady spymaster during the rest of her life. She died in 1900, and is buried in a Richmond cemetery, under a stone monument paid for by the families of soldiers she had assisted during the war. 

Celia Hayes is the author of Daughter of Texas & The Adelsverein Trilogy. A writer and memoirist, dreamer and adventurer, storyteller and gardener,   mother and military veteran, Celia Hayes lives in San Antonio, Texas. She writes of the past as a means of exploring who we are, of honoring our unknown heroes and heroines, in order that we may appreciate the present which they built for us... and that we may use their lives as a guide for our own future.

Women in Warfare: Gwenllian of Gwynedd

By Lisa J. Yarde

In the mid-twelfth century, a Welsh princess named Gwenllian led an army that included her two teenage sons Morgan and Maelgwyn, in the defense of her country from Anglo-Norman invaders. An unlikely scenario that no one might have envisioned for Gwenllian when she came into the world forty years earlier. Born on the island of Anglesey, just off the northwest coast of Wales, she was the youngest daughter of the half-Irish, half-Welsh prince of Gwynedd, Gruffydd ap Cynan. She was also a younger sister to Owain Gwynedd, who would become one of the most successful Welsh rulers.

An artist's rendering of Gwenllian

Despite her status, Gwenllian did not live a fairy tale existence. The Welsh had undergone a long, bitter history of English invaders encroaching on the western territories, but with the rise of the Anglo-Normans, new motte-and-bailey castles began dotting the Welsh Marches. The so-called March lords exercised the authority granted by successive kings to seize large tracts of land and persecute the Welsh. Before Gwenllian was born, her father spent more than a decade as an English prisoner until his escape. Reunited with his family, they retreated to the family seat at Aberffraw on Angelsey. Although admired for her striking beauty and fair-haired like her father, Gwenllian spent her youth as a tomboy, learning how to fight as her three elder brothers did. Constant attacks from the Marcher lords must have required her family to be vigilant. They kept moving between bases in the northern kingdom of Gwynedd, including Anglesey, and to Ireland during Gwenllian's formative years. 

The nature of politics in Wales meant that the rulers of various principalities often found themselves divided; it would be several generations before the Welsh consented to leadership by one figurehead. In  a rare instance of comradeship Gruffydd once formed an alliance with Prince Rhys of Deheubarth. Years later when Gwenllian was a teenager, Rhys' son, Gruffydd (yes, another one) sought a union with the north against their common adversaries. Gwenllian and the young prince of Deheubarth fell in love, eloped and had several children together. Increased fighting with the invaders mired their happiness and threatened to undo the relationship between Gwenllian's husband and father. Constantly on the run, Gwenllian settled into a meager existence, in which she and her husband raided settlements near the Marcher lord's castles.

Kidwelly Castle

Early in 1136, Gwenllian's husband rode north to encourage his father in-law to join in the uprisings against their foes. Later, Gwenllian received word that one of the Marcher lords, Maurice of London, was pillaging the homes of her countrymen. She raised her forces and advanced to a position just north of Kidwelly Castle, part of Maurice of London's domain. Welsh scouts reported that the enemy was far away, but they were proved wrong when mounted knights charged across the field. Gwenllian fought them, only to see one of her sons killed and the other wounded. In her desperation to protect him, she was captured. Maurice of London ordered her beheaded shortly afterward.

Monument at Maes Gwenllian

Although Gwenllian's valiant stand ended in defeat, the Welsh did not forget her bravery. Within months, her husband and her brother Owain allied in brutal attacks against the invaders; Gwenllian's remaining sons soon joined them. For centuries afterward, the Welsh adopted the battle cry, "Revenge for Gwenllian" to honor her sacrifice. The field where the battle took place became known as Maes Gwenllian.  

Most recently, Gwenllian's life inspired my contribution to the HerStory anthology, the short story "The Legend Rises" which is available now from Pagan Writers' Press. 

Lisa J. Yarde writes fiction inspired by the medieval period. She is the author of historical novels set in medieval England and Normandy, The Burning Candle, based on the life of Isabel de Vermandois, and On Falcon's Wings, chronicling the star-crossed romance between Norman and Saxon lovers. Lisa has also written Sultana and Sultana’s Legacy, novels set during a turbulent period of thirteenth century Spain,where rivalries and ambitions threaten the fragile bonds between members of a powerful family.        
     
        

Women in Warfare: the Strategems

by Heather Domin

Polyenus was a Greek orator best known for his book Stratagems of War, in which he collected tales and tactics of famous warriors for the edification of his emperor, Marcus Aurelius. The resulting work comprised eight volumes spanning from mythical times to his present day, containing about 1/3 useful strategy and 2/3 apocryphal anecdotes. (Research wasn't exactly crucial to historical writing in those days.) The second half of Book Eight is entitled simply Women — in it are stories of female commanders, spunky queens, bad-ass barbarians, tragic heroines, and other ladies with "manly spirit" in times of war.  

a young Spartan woman
(source: Wiki Commons)

Now, just so we don't paint too progressive a portrait of our writer, one of his examples is Porcia, the wife of Brutus, who is praised because she came up with an extra clever (and extra gross) way of killing herself after her husband's disgrace. Most likely, Polyenus only included a section on women for entertainment and/or amusement. But with a list this long, at least some of his tales are likely to be based on fact, and a few are substantiated by other sources. The best legends are always grown from a kernel of truth.

So I thought I'd start us off with a small sample, sort of an appetizer tray for the in-depth articles my co-contributors will bring you throughout the month. I chose five stories I think have a decent chance of being true, but as a wise literary scholar once said, you don't have to take my word for it. There are plenty of books out there if you'd like to learn more; Warrior Queens by Antonia Fraser and Warrior Women by Jeanine Davis-Kimball are the first two that spring to mind.

Amage
Queen Amage of the Sarmatians demanded the Scythian king stop pillaging one of her territories. When she was answered with derision, she gathered her posse, rode all night to the capital, killed the palace guards, and assassinated the king and his entire court. Another version says she killed the king after challenging him to a one-on-one duel. 

Archidamis
When her city was facing war, the king decided to send the women into hiding for their safety. Princess Archidamis said eff that and personally led the women into battle. They dug trenches, carried ammunition, tended wounds, and fought bravely alongside their men, helping to drive off the enemy and save their city.

a female Sarmatian soldier
(source not credited)

Artemisia
General Artemisia, one of Xerxes' finest naval commanders, was renowned for her victories at sea. At the Battle of Salamis she outfought all the other Persian captains, leading to Xerxes' famous quote "My men have become women and my women have become men".

Cynane
The half-sister of Alexander the Great was pretty great herself. A trained soldier famous for her military skill, she led her armies into battle against many enemies and trained her daughter to follow in her footsteps, but both were assassinated after Alexander's death.

Telesilla
After her city was defeated in battle, leaving most of the men dead, a young commoner named Telesilla called together all the women and led a defense of the city walls that worked so well, the enemy was forced to give up its invasion and leave the town. Oh yeah, and the enemy was Sparta. 

If you'd like to read the whole list, Stratagems of War is translated online in its entirety at several Classics archives and libraries. If you're a military history buff like me, you'll enjoy the entire series; if not, at least give the last book a try. There's enough material on women in ancient warfare to spawn dozens of historical novels.

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Heather Domin is the author of The Soldier of Raetia, set in Augustan Rome, and Allegiance, set in 1922 Dublin. Her next two novels are due in 2013. She's been a reviewing member of the Historical Novel Society since 2007 and a contributor at Unusual Historicals since 2011.