When it comes to billionaire parenting, one thinks of pouting children, upset that their pony’s coat isn’t the right color. Or jam-packed schedules and elite boarding schools, where there are fancy plaid uniforms and everyone speaks three-to-four languages, minimum. But sometimes, the best advice comes in the simplest form, wisdom that Mark Cuban, the billionaire entrepreneur and former Shark Tank investor seems understand well.During a recent appearance on the Your Mom’s House podcast, Cuban opened up about how he and his wife, Tiffany Stewart, tried to raise their children somewhat “normally,” despite the glaring fame, fortune, and pressure that comes with being a person like Mark. With an estimated net worth of $5.7 billion, it’d be more than easy for him to outsource parenting duties to hired professionals, or to prescribe his children a 65-year plan drawn up before they were even born. However, he explains that he and his wife decided to foster one essential trait: “Everything’s changing so rapidly, from a technological perspective, just the world in general. So, you know, just be curious,” he says. “That’s what I try to get them to do, right? Be curious so that you always want to learn something, and figure things out.”Curiosity is overlooked as a trait to cultivate in children, yet research has shown that curiosity is an incredibly powerful trait, one that impacts learning, creativity, and success. A study conducted in 2011 found that curiosity, or a “hungry mind” is just as useful for predicting academic performance in children as intelligence and effort, writing, “Our results highlight that a “hungry mind” is a core determinant of individual differences in academic achievement.”“And everything’s changing so rapidly—from a technology perspective, just the world in general. So just, you know, be curious. That’s what I try to get them to do, right? Be curious so that you always want to learn something, and figure things out. The more knowledge you have, the more—not power, but the more capabilities you have, and the more options are available to you.”It even makes us feel good: our brains release dopamine and other feel-good chemicals when we encounter new experiences, places, ideas, and people. Science also shows that curiosity is associated with higher levels of positive emotions, a higher satisfaction with life, lower levels of anxiety, and greater psychological well-being.via GIPHYHow to raise curious kids in four key principlesHowever, for children, embracing uncertainty and stepping out of their comfort zones might feel scary. Which is why Cuban and his wife made curiosity a high priority when raising their kids. Here are four strategies for nurturing this trait in children—and with some luck, successful adults will appear on the other end. "Curiosity killed the cat, but satisfaction brought it back." Credit: Justin Peterson on Unsplash Don’t pressure them to choose careers too early. Despite society’s love of asking children “So, what do you want to be when you grow up?” Cuban strongly believes that expecting children to know their life’s calling at 18 or even 22 is outdated and unrealistic. “I was talking to one of my kids about college the other day, and it’s like, you don’t have to know what you’re going to be when you grow up,” he shared. “I don’t think any kid should be under the pressure at 18 or 22, when they graduate from college, to know exactly what they’re going to do.”Knowledge is power. One of the most common adages in the book, but for Cuban, it was essential that his children learned that curiosity leads to real-life skills, abilities, and talents, unlike control. “The more knowledge you have, the more—not power, but the more capabilities you have, and the more options are available to you,” he explained.Change is the only constant. Get used to it. As someone whose made billions from multiple side projects, investments, and major sports team ownership, Cuban understands better than most that life doesn’t always follow a straight and narrow path. Rather than clinging to the ways things were, Cuban encourages parents to embrace the rapidly changing world we live in. Children who are taught to adapt, pivot, and evolve will be better suited in a world where entirely new fields of work emerge constantly–and will be better equipped than their peers to handle the job market’s volatility.Let them decide their own path. Ensuring their children had the freedom to explore and discover their own interests was of the utmost importance to Cuban. Other parents might want to project an agenda onto their children, reflecting their own insecurities or need for reassurance that they’ve raised a “successful kid.” And while letting go of the reins may be scary for parents, it will be well worth it: “I want them to go on their own path,” Cuban says. “Whatever it might be, I want them to be themselves. I don’t want them to be Mark Cuban’s kid for their entire lives.”via GIPHYIt’s clear from the interview that Cuban and his wife recognized the uniqueness and the scale of their position. At one point, when talking about his kids' future inheritances, he says, “I’ve watched Succession. I don’t want it to be like that.” And while he, like any other parent, wants their child to do well and to succeed in life, when it’s all said and done, he really just loves being a father. “My favorite word in the world is 'Dad,’” he says, smiling.

We take the wins where we can get them. And sometimes that win is showing off your amateur painting to a "paint and sip" group, only to have the audience erupt in cheers. - YouTube www.youtube.com That's what happened when a woman and a man stood before a group and were prompted to reveal their renditions of a red and black "model" painting. "Three, two, one!" we hear on the short clip posted on Australian YouTube user @pintoandpicasso's channel. They reveal their work simultaneously, and the crowd goes wild.They both light up with smiles, but she's especially excited that her art is so appreciated. She first shakes her hips back and forth and then begins a victory lap, reminiscent of Beyoncé's "Single Ladies (Put a Ring on It)." The man turns his painting toward her, perhaps thinking she'll see it then or that the crowd's supportive outburst might make her look. But she's deep in her "moment," even when she circles back to him. Beyonce struts in concert. Giphy Finally, she looks and sees what the crowd has seen all along. On his canvas, he has painted the words, "Will You Marry Me?" When she spots it, she seems in shock at first. We hear an outcry of "Oh my God" from the crowd. And it's that moment that he gently puts the sign down and gets on bended knee, popping out a ring. She covers her mouth and crouches down with him as she tries to regain her composure.Eventually, they both stand up, as she seems to nod a yes over and over — overwhelmed with joyous tears. A man proposes with a ring. Giphy Broad City Season 5 On the subreddit r/MadeMeSmile, a commenter posted the video with the caption "Men in Love." There are over 77 thousand upvotes and counting, with nearly 600 comments. One writes, "The best part is when she THINKS they are shouting for her painting skills and models it out~ and then '... Oh.'" To which someone replies, "What a good day for her TBH. First she wins. Then she gets proposed."Another jokes that perhaps he only chose to propose because he was impressed by her art skills. "Probably proposed because she won."Others compare it to other similar, public proposals. "It's almost like that proposal at a game on the kiss cam, where the lady just vibed and danced. And when people pointed at the screen, she just kept dancing like 'yeah yeah I know,' then she finally realized." A man kisses a woman at the Carolina Hurricanes hockey game. Giphy A few dared to ask a more cynical question: what was her answer? "Did she say yes or is this a plot-twist: too embarrassed to say no?" A few offer answers. "Could be nodding or hyperventilating… let's see how this develops."The crux of the comments, however, remains their love of her unabashed confidence. "The fact she thought everyone just loved the s--t out of her painting haha. I want the confidence." With another exclaiming, "That cracked me up. No hesitation, just 'wow, they must really love my painting.'"And best of all, Redditors took note of just how patient he was with her oblivion. "And the fact he was just laughing at her and waiting for her to notice tells you a lot about how he understands her."

An iconic track.

  Ancient Greece was never a centralized and united country. It was a network of dispersed city-states, called polis or poleis in the plural, organized into kingdoms and federations. The most famous of these cities, Athens and Sparta, were merely the biggest players in a complex and dynamic world. Modern studies have counted at least 1,035 poleis during the Archaic and Classical eras and around 800 in 400 BCE (Hansen & Nielsen, 2004, 53). Many were tiny by modern standards but considered themselves autonomous, self-governing, and fiercely protected their independence. The decentralized nature of ancient Greece was key to its political and cultural development. In this article, we will meet four of Greece’s smaller poleis that had a big impact on history.   Eretria View of modern Eretria with the acropolis in the background. Source: Copyright Neil Middleton   A visit to Eretria gives you a glimpse into the reality of a polis. As you approach the coast of central Evia by ferry, you can see in a single glance the entirety of Eretria from the harbor up to the acropolis. The site is easily walkable in a few hours. Yet, this small slice of Greece was one of the most important places in the Mediterranean for hundreds of years. It was conquered by and resisted empires and contributed to the development and spread of the Greek alphabet.   When Greece was going through its Dark Ages following the collapse of Mycenaean civilization in the 12th century BCE, Eretria and its neighbor and rival Chalkis emerged as centers of the Aegean world. While much of Greece was still in an era of decline, the inhabitants of the long and narrow island of Euboea placed themselves at the heart of trade and communication between the east and west of the Mediterranean. Euboians pioneered the colonization phase of Greek history, which saw settlements founded in the Levant, Northern Aegean, Sicily, and Italy. Many of these were trading posts, but culture and innovation also spread. Their contacts with the Phoenicians in the east made the Euboians good candidates for adapting the Phoenician alphabet to the Greek language (Walker, 2004, 145). Their Western contacts spread this to Italy, beginning the long process that ultimately led to the creation of the Latin alphabet and its modern descendants.   Archaeological site of Eretria. Source: Copyright Neil Middleton   Once the fog of prehistory starts to lift, the Eretrians are one of the first Greek communities we meet. They engaged in, and seemingly lost, one of the first recorded wars, the Lelantine War, against their neighbor Chalkis. This did not hold the Eretrians down for long. The late 6th and early 5th centuries saw them closely connected to Athens, perhaps joining that city as an early democracy. They certainly did join the Athenians in the ill-fated attempt to help the Greeks of Asia Minor revolt from Persia. That entangled the Eretrians in a war with the most powerful empire of their day, leading to the destruction of the city by the Persians on their way to Marathon in 490 BCE.   Again, the Eretrians recovered from this disaster and fought the Persians alongside other Greeks in 480/79 BCE. Eretria’s relations with a shifting array of great powers shaped its history in the Classical and Hellenistic eras. They were alternatively allied or subjugated to the Athenians but led key revolts against them, particularly in 411 BCE. Along with the other poleis on Euboia, they occasionally experimented with federalism, but gradually, Eritrea’s importance diminished as Chalkis became a much fought-over strategic location.   A 4th-century mosaic from Eretria. Source: Copyright Neil Middleton   Eretria and its surrounding territory continue to be archaeologically significant. The city’s site has produced beautiful 4th-century BCE mosaics, while its rural sanctuary of Artemis has recently been rediscovered and is one of the most promising new archaeological sites.   Plateia Remains of the walls of Plataea. Source: Pausanias Project   Plataea, tucked away in the southwest corner of the central region of Boeotia, was, by any measure, a minor city. Its total estimated territory was around 170 km2, and it was home to only a few thousand citizens (Hansen, 2004, 450). Despite this, Plateia played a major role in not one but two of antiquity’s greatest conflicts.   As a Boiotian town, the Plataians’ main relationship was always going to be with Thebes, which sat in the center of Boeotia and often dominated the region. When Plataia emerged in the historical record in the late 5th century BCE, we see a small community defending its own identity and autonomy against Thebes (Herodotus, 6.108). If Plataea and Thebes had an antagonistic relationship, this naturally improved the Plataians’ connection with its other big neighbor, Athens. The alliance with Athens set the course of Plataian history for two centuries.   Such was the bond between the two cities that the Plataians were the only people to stand with Athens at the battle of Marathon in 490 BCE. Having faced down the mighty Persian Empire once, the Plataians did so again when they returned ten years later. While much of Boeotia went over to the Persians, the Plataians resisted and saw their land occupied as a result. The decisive battle of the Persian Wars in 479 BCE took place on their land and came to be known as the Battle of Plataea. As the site of the liberation of Greece, those Greeks who resisted promised to guarantee Plataia’s future freedom. But this would turn out to be too idealistic a dream (Thucydides, 2.71.2).   Having hosted the end of one era-defining conflict, Plataia was tragically caught up in the beginning of another in the 420s BCE. With the Peloponnesian War between the Athenians and Spartans brewing, Thebes, a Spartan ally, once again tried to assert control over Plataea. The Theban attack was initially unsuccessful, but it helped trigger a 27-year war and a catastrophe for the Plataians. The failed Theban attack drew in the Spartans, who besieged the city between 429-427 BCE. A Plataian garrison, with some Athenian assistance, bravely held on, but was forced to surrender. Upon handing themselves over to the Spartans, the garrison was cruelly executed, and Plataea razed to the ground.   Burial mound of the Plataians at Marathon. Source: Wikimedia Commons   The Plataians spent a large part of the next century in exile. Their city was briefly restored after 386 BCE, but was again attacked and destroyed by the Thebans in 373 BCE. Only the defeat of Thebes by the Macedonians in 338 BCE saw a stable restoration of Plataea. It is hardly surprising that the Plataians joined in the destruction of Thebes in 335 BCE.   Despite its small size and violent history, Plataia developed into a distinguished corner of Greece. Not only was the memory of the liberation from the Persians kept alive for centuries, but Plateia played a role in maintaining a Boiotian identity by hosting a regular pan-Boeotian festival (Pausanias, 9.3.4), demonstrating the complexity of local Greek identities. Nor was Plataea lacking culturally as the tiny city boasted works by Praxiteles, Pheidas, and Polygnotos, some of ancient Greece’s finest artists (Pausanias, 9.2-4).   Rhodes Remains of the Acropolis of Rhodes. Source: City of Rhodes   Even small and medium-sized islands often hosted multiple poleis. This was true of Rhodes, which was divided into three communities until the late 5th century BCE. Things changed in 408 BCE, when the three poleis collectively formed a new city in the island’s northeast corner. This new city of Rhodes, with its five harbors, was founded in the perfect location to take advantage of the island’s strategic position on Aegean and Mediterranean trade routes (Berthold, 2009, 22).   Rhodes spent much of the Classical era alternating between alliances or subjugation to powers such as Persia, Athens and Sparta. But gradually, the city and its fleet became more influential as the Hellenistic era dawned. By the time the wars of Alexander the Great’s successors were underway, the Rhodians were said to be a wealthy naval power (Diodorus, 20.81). They sought their own autonomous position in a dangerous world by being friendly but not overly close to all the rival generals while increasing trade by sweeping the seas of pirates.   While the Rhodians may have tried to stay out of the wars raging around them, in 305 BCE, their island became the stage for one of the most famous sieges of antiquity. The warlords Antigonus and his son Demetrius judged that the Rhodians were too friendly with their rival Ptolemy. The 40,000 troops and 200 ships that Demetrius brought before the walls of Rhodes dwarfed the 7,000 or so defenders (Wheatley & Dunn, 2020, 186). Though outnumbered, the Rhodians skillfully defended their city. With the siege dragging on into 304 BCE, Demetrius’ next move made his name. He ordered the construction of siege engines of unprecedented size, 44 meters high, and moved by 3,400 people, earning the nickname Demetrius Poliorcetes (the besieger). Still, the Rhodians held on, but gradually, Demetrius was grinding them down. Just before the city fell, a truce was agreed upon, which allowed the Rhodians to maintain their autonomy but made some concessions.   The Rhodians may not have defeated Demetrius, but they survived, and for that, they thanked their patron deity, Helios. Their offering to Helios became one of the seven wonders of the ancient world: the Colossus of Rhodes. This 30-meter-high statue of Helios placed at the entrance of one of Rhodes’ harbors was by far the largest sculpture made in antiquity. The Colossus only stood for a few decades before being toppled by an earthquake in 226 BCE.   Le colosse de Rhodes, by Louis de Caulery, c. 17th century. Source: Louvre   During the 3rd and 2nd centuries BCE, Rhodes became a major Aegean power with a significant navy and territory on the opposite coast. When the Romans arrived, the Rhodians were important allies and aided in the defeat of the Macedonians and Seleucids. This led to the brief apogee of Rhodian influence as they shared power in Asia Minor and the Aegean with Rome’s other ally, the Attalids of Pergamon. However, this power based on Roman friendship was just as fragile as the Colossus proved to be. When the Rhodians sought to arbitrate between the Romans and Macedonians in the Third Macedonian War, Rome withdrew its favor and cut Rhodes down to size. Trade had powered Rhodes’ rise. Rome removed this by allowing the island of Delos to develop as a free port. While Rhodes did go into decline, much like Athens, it compensated by becoming a major cultural center during the early Roman period.   Messene Ruins of Messene. Source: Wikimedia Commons   Messene is not one of Greece’s most famous archaeological sites, but it tells an important story. The most prominent feature of this southern site is the eight kilometers of fortified walls, which attest to a people determined to defend themselves (Shipley, 2004, 563). The Messenian story is one of the most remarkable in Greek history. Every polis suffered a disaster at some point in its history, but few matched that of the Messenians, who were defeated and occupied by their neighbors for centuries before re-emerging as a free community.   The southwestern region of Messenia bordered the Spartan territory of Laconia, and the two regions were intimately linked. In a series of mythologized conflicts in the 8th and 7th centuries BCE, the Spartans conquered and subjugated Messenia. To do so, they had to transform themselves into a society geared to producing soldiers, becoming the infamous Spartans. This new Spartan society was built upon the Messenians, who saw their land occupied and became one of the only Greek communities to be virtually enslaved by fellow Greeks.   The Messenians were an occupied and repressed community for centuries, largely forgotten by their neighbors, but remarkably, they endured. The few opportunities to resist the greatest army in Greece were seized, but with little success. The greatest revolt came in 464 BCE when an earthquake came close to destroying Sparta. The Messenians defended themselves in the fortress of Mount Ithome for years, but with the aid of allies, the Spartans eventually triumphed. From this defeat, however, came a relationship with the Athenians, who settled a group of Messenian exiles in central Greece at Naupactus.   During the great 5th-century wars that pitted Athens against Sparta, the Messenians in Naupactus did what damage they could to the Spartans. There must have been some satisfaction when these exiles contributed to the humiliating Spartan defeat at Sphacteria in 425 BCE as the legendary Spartans surrendered en masse. But only the total defeat of the Spartans was able to restore the Messenians. For that, they had to wait another half-century for the Thebans to triumph at the Battle of Leuctra in 371 BCE. Two years later, the Theban leader Epaminondas led an invasion of Sparta and liberated Messenia. On the slopes of Mount Ithome, Epaminondas helped found Messene. From behind the city’s massive fortifications, the Messenians were sure to defend their restored freedom and be a thorn in the side of Sparta.   Remains of the walls of Messene. Source: Wikimedia Commons   After recounting their long history, Pausanias estimated that the Messenians had been in exile or subjugation for close to three hundred years (4.27.9-11). Despite this, they had, remarkably, maintained their identity and even their own Messenian accent. Having suffered such a long occupation, the Messenians were naturally wary of any potential threats. Hostility to Sparta or any potential masters ran through their remaining history. They were one of the few Peloponnesian states to resist joining the Achaian federal state, going as far as to kill the so-called “last of the Greeks,” Philopoemen, when he tried to force Messene to join the Achaians in the 2nd century BCE.   Bibliography   Berthold, R. (2009) Rhodes in the Hellenistic Age, Cornell University Press: London and Ithaca   Hansen, M.H. and Nielsen, T.H. (2004) An Inventory of Archaic and Classical Poleis, Oxford University Press: Oxford   Hansen, M.H. (2004) “Boiotia,” in An Inventory of Archaic and Classical Poleis, Oxford University Press: Oxford, pp. 431-461   Shipley, G. (2004) “Messenia,” in An Inventory of Archaic and Classical Poleis, Oxford University Press: Oxford, pp. 547-568   Walker, K. (2004) Archaic Eretria: A Political and Social History from the Earliest Times to 490 BC, Routledge: London and New York   Whealey, P. and Dunn, C. (2020) Demetrius the Besieger, Oxford University Press: Oxford

  Bishop of San Salvador, El Salvador’s capital, in 1980, Óscar Romero was shot to death by a member of the government’s notorious death squads while delivering mass. In the years since, he was declared a martyr and then canonized by Pope Francis in 2018, becoming Central America’s first saint. Due to an amnesty law passed in 1993, no one was ever held accountable for his murder, but his dedication to justice for the country’s poor and oppressed has made him a national hero.   Romero’s Early Life A young Óscar Romero celebrating mass, undated. Source: Catholic Agency for Overseas Development   Óscar Romero was born in 1917, one of eight children who, in his youth, apprenticed with his father as a carpenter, perhaps a fitting career for a man who would go on to defend and champion El Salvador’s impoverished and oppressed majority. Ultimately feeling drawn to the Church, he entered the seminary at age 13, moving to the national seminary in San Salvador and then to Rome, where he completed his studies and was ordained in 1942.   For the 25 years that followed, he ministered in San Miguel, one of El Salvador’s largest cities and a center of industry, where his exposure to the rural poverty plaguing El Salvador, particularly its Indigenous people, was limited. He was then moved to a more bureaucratic position in San Salvador, largely devoid of ministerial work, before spending a short period as Bishop of Santiago de Maria. It is at this point, scholars suggest, that his eyes were opened to the plight of El Salvador’s campesinos, not only toiling in poverty but targeted and murdered by the government’s security forces.   In a move that seemed to surprise everyone but was perhaps driven by his tendency to toe the line handed down by Rome, Romero was named Archbishop of San Salvador in 1977, to the disappointment of the country’s increasingly progressive clergy.   El Salvador: A History of Poverty and Repression Security forces patrolling a village in El Salvador in 1979. Source: NPR   As Romero settled into his new position, El Salvador was on the brink of civil war. The country had long been plagued by severe socioeconomic inequality that placed the vast majority of the country’s wealth in the hands of a tiny percentage of landed elites. To uphold this power imbalance, it had been governed by a series of military dictatorships or military-backed “elected” civilians. Meanwhile, resentment among the poor and middle class had been festering since the last major uprising against the landed class in the 1930s, during which thousands had been slaughtered by security forces in an event known as La Matanza.   Cracks in the elite-military coalition began appearing in the 1970s when a reform-minded urban middle class began pushing for change through peaceful electoral means. The government’s response was to further crack down on dissent and violently repress grassroots organizations, ostensibly in the name of maintaining “public order.” As the Cold War raged and the United States was eager to stop the spread of communism—or any pro-left sentiment—in Latin America, El Salvador’s military juntas retained outside support despite growing human rights violations. At the same time, any opposition group or movement could be labeled “communist” to justify action against it.   Opposition continued to grow, however, mostly underground, but hopes for peaceful change dimmed as repression increased and elections were held with blatantly fraudulent results. Though popular organizations would continue to be targeted by the government in the run-up to and throughout the country’s impending civil war, they found an unlikely ally in the 1970s: the Catholic Church.   Romero’s “Conversion” and Liberation Theology A mural of Óscar Romero on a building in Panchimalco, San Salvador. Source: The Irish Times   The Catholic Church in Latin America had long been allied with conservative governments and elites when Vatican II (officially the Second Ecumenical Council of the Vatican) gathered Catholic leaders from around the world in a series of meetings to discuss modernizing the Church. Clergy in Latin America pushed a more progressive approach to political and social justice issues. From these meetings, as well as a meeting of the Latin American Episcopal Conference in Colombia in 1968, “liberation theology” was born.   “Proposing a ‘preferential option for the poor,’ the Church was encouraged to extend its work to directly address the struggles of the impoverished and to work specifically to ameliorate ‘physical and spiritual oppression.’” (Sigmund 1988, pp. 21-22)   As this was happening, Óscar Romero was just beginning his service in San Salvador and was reportedly skeptical of the movement. He was compassionate toward the poor but, long a religious conservative, wary of a progressive movement that demanded a dramatic change in ministry. Though his contemporaries maintain that he never adopted the banner of liberation theology, his more conservative views did seem to be tempered by his experience as Bishop in Santiago de Maria. Then, just weeks after being ordained Archbishop of San Salvador, a life-changing experience led to a dramatic shift.   Undated photo of Óscar Romero in San Salvador. Source: The Catholic Sun   Fr. Rutilio Grande, a long-time friend of his, was gunned down by government forces for helping peasants organize. The tragedy seemed to open his eyes to not only the government repression being carried out by military and paramilitary forces but also the exploitation and abject poverty people were being punished for trying to free themselves from. He later told a colleague, “If they killed him for doing what he did, then I too have to walk the same path.”   Returning from Fr. Grande’s funeral, Romero took swift action. He announced his decision to boycott all events with the country’s president until an investigation into his friend’s death was undertaken. The following Sunday, he suspended all masses in the country, holding a single mass in the capital to honor Fr. Grande and the cause he supported. From that point forward, he became a staunch advocate of the oppressed and a voice for the voiceless.   Targeted From All Sides Romero in San Salvador, 1979. Source: LA Times   For the next three years, as El Salvador teetered on the brink of civil war, Romero railed against the violence that was plaguing his country. While the country’s left-wing groups had begun organizing counterattacks, the overwhelming majority of the violence was being carried out by and on behalf of the right-wing government—the post-war UN Truth Commission found 85% of the war’s 75,000 deaths and other violent atrocities were carried out by the government and its allies.   Romero used his pulpit, and later his radio presence, to denounce the murders and disappearances of community organizers, broadcasting the names of the victims. While demanding justice that would never be delivered, he stepped in where the government failed, creating legal aid projects and other programs to support victims. For his efforts, he was repeatedly tattled on to the Vatican, vilified in the press, and denounced by some of his peers.   In 1979, a more moderate military junta replaced the military-backed president, also named Romero, who had fallen out of favor. Initially promising to protect human rights, enact land reform, and hold elections, offering a brief glimmer of hope for the country, the junta quickly fell apart under pressure from the country’s far right. Left-leaning groups that hoped for more space for political activity organized peaceful protests, only to be met yet again with violent repression; the belief that armed insurrection was the only viable option grew. Moderates in various center-right parties were ousted and sometimes murdered.   Óscar Romero working in a makeshift radio studio in San Salvador, undated. Source: America Magazine   Romero’s long-time secretary notes that, while he was an outspoken voice for the poor, the country’s increasingly agitated left-wing factions who also sought justice for the poor weren’t necessarily enamored with him either. “They threatened to kill him because, they said, he blessed the coup d’etat and the agricultural reform proposed by the 1979 coup d’etat.” While this was not true, Romero always remained a proponent of peaceful solutions and did not sanction anti-government violence from the country’s growing guerrilla movement either.   In February 1980, Romero announced in his radio address that he had written to the president of the United States, Jimmy Carter, asking him to cease military aid to the new government, stating “…the contribution of your government, instead of promoting greater justice and peace in El Salvador, will without doubt sharpen the injustice and repression against the organizations of the people who repeatedly have been struggling to gain respect for their most fundamental human rights.” The country’s Catholic radio station was bombed the next day, but military aid continued and would ultimately increase. Colleagues recount that Romero was receiving death threats and had come to see his murder as inevitable.   In what would be his final Sunday sermon, on March 23, 1980, Romero delivered a stern appeal to El Salvador’s military, paramilitary, police, and security forces, demanding they stop the violence.   “I want to make a special appeal to soldiers, national guardsmen, and policemen: each of you is one of us. The peasants you kill are your own brothers and sisters. When you hear a man telling you to kill, remember God’s words, ‘Thou shalt not kill.’ No soldier is obliged to obey a law contrary to the law of God. In the name of God, in the name of our tormented people, I beseech you, I implore you; in the name of God, I command you to stop the repression.”   Death Comes for the Archbishop Photo of the chaos at Óscar Romero’s funeral, 1980. Source: The Irish Times   On the evening of March 24, while saying mass in the chapel of a hospital in San Salvador, Óscar Romero was shot to death by a lone gunman. Many scholars argue this was the moment that made the outbreak of civil war unavoidable; if not even church was safe, what recourse did the country’s oppressed have but armed insurrection? The events of his funeral a week later further cemented this. Presided over by Mexican cardinal Ernesto Corripio Ahumada, Romero’s funeral was attended by thousands of Salvadorans. The service was interrupted by bombs and gunfire as the military opened fire on mourners. Dozens were killed and hundreds more wounded.   A farcical investigation into Romero’s murder was begun but never completed; the presiding judge received death threats and resigned. The United States, still pouring military aid into El Salvador, publicly insisted the culprit be held accountable but took no action for fear of jeopardizing its anti-communist crusade. The arrest of an army intelligence officer and known paramilitary leader, Roberto d’Aubuisson, several months later netted documents that implicated him in organizing Romero’s assassination. But right-wing pressure led the government to release him. He would go on to found the ARENA party and become one of El Salvador’s most prominent politicians during the 12-year civil war.   Once the war ended, a 1993 amnesty law prohibited criminal trials related to the war; no one was held accountable for the thousands of deaths and disappearances. A UN Truth Commission determined d’Aubuisson had ordered Romero’s execution, but he had died of cancer by then, and further information about who had actually pulled the trigger was unknown. As details slowly trickled out and the amnesty law was rescinded, attempts were made to bring Romero’s killer and others involved in the plot to justice, both within and outside El Salvador, but to no avail.   Sainthood and Óscar Romero’s Legacy A portrait of Óscar Romero hangs at St. Peter’s Basilica for his canonization, Oct. 14, 2018. Source: CNS photo, Paul Haring   Claims of Romero’s martyrdom and calls for his canonization began shortly after his death but, for a long time, went nowhere. Romero’s activism in support of El Salvador’s impoverished and oppressed had the whiff of the controversial liberation theology that had become associated with Marxism and was opposed by Pope John Paul II. Similarly, the country’s right-wing held staunchly to the belief that Romero was a communist, even a terrorist. The pope did ultimately go on to visit Romero’s grave twice and, in 1997, declared him a Servant of God, the first step toward canonization.   Progress froze there until 2013, with the election of a new pontiff, Pope Francis, an Argentine who, some scholars argue, better understood the politics of Latin America, having lived through his own country’s “dirty war” against the left. Francis beatified Romero as a martyr in 2015 and canonized him in 2018. The government of El Salvador also formally offered an apology for Romero’s death, and he has since been embraced as a national hero.   Though El Salvador’s civil war ended in 1992, violence still plagues the country, now predominantly from gangs like MS-13 that formed in the US among refugees fleeing the war who were then deported back to El Salvador in the 1990s. Amidst the violence, Romero remains a prevalent and powerful symbol, particularly for those fighting for human rights and social justice who look to him as an example. Not limited to El Salvador, a number of ministries and organizations worldwide are named in his honor, often to support his legacy by continuing to seek justice for the marginalized and oppressed.   References   Modern Latin America, 5th edition, Thomas E. Skidmore and Peter H. Smith, Oxford University Press, 2001.   Sigmund, Paul E. “The Development of Liberation Theology: Continuity of Change?.” Ed. Richard L. Rubenstein and John K. Roth. The Politics of Latin American Liberation Theology: the Challenge to U.S. Public Policy. Washington, D.C.: Washington Institute, 1988.

  Over the course of a little more than 20 years, Philip went from pursuing Elizabeth’s hand in marriage to plotting her downfall. The ultimate manifestation of this plan was the Spanish Armada, whose mission was to link up with Spanish troops in the Netherlands and ferry them across the English Channel, where they would defeat the local defenders and remove the queen. A confluence of forces—some natural, some human-caused—prevented the armada’s success. If some or all of these circumstances had been different, could things have turned out differently?   What Led to the “Enterprise of England” in the First Place?  Defeat of the Spanish Armada, 8 August 1588, by Philip James de Loutherbourg, 1796. Source: Greenwich Museums   Philip II had been married to Queen Mary of England (sometimes known as “Bloody Mary”) for most of her reign. However, only a child of theirs, not Philip himself, could succeed to the throne. Thus, when Mary died childless in 1558, Philip’s hopes of adding England to his family’s patrimony died with her, despite a brief and unsuccessful attempt to wed her sister, Elizabeth, after her succession to the throne.   By the time of Mary’s death in 1558, Philip was one of the most, if not the most, powerful men in Europe. All of the vast territories he ruled he had inherited from his father, Holy Roman Emperor Charles V (the empire being a state that Voltaire once famously described as “neither holy, nor Roman, nor an Empire”). His far-flung holdings included the Spanish possessions in the New World, Naples, Sicily, Milan, the Netherlands (which included the modern Netherlands and Belgium), as well as lands as distant as the Philippine Islands (which were named after Philip himself). But Europe knew him first and foremost as the king of Spain.   Philip II, Titian, 1549-1550. Source: Wikimedia Commons; with Portrait of Elizabeth I, Queen of England, ca. 1550-1599. Source: Rijksmuseum Amsterdam   The 1560s, ‘70s, and ‘80s were years of increasing inter-religious strife in Europe, especially in France and the Spanish-ruled Netherlands. This could lead to episodes of horrifying violence, such as the St. Bartholomew’s Day Massacre in Paris in 1572. Added to this was the rivalry between Spain, France, and England, which waxed and waned depending on who felt threatened by whose territorial ambitions or gains, or who was meddling in whose internal religious or political affairs.   Among other things, it was England’s support—sometimes direct, sometimes indirect—for rebellious Protestants in the Netherlands, as well as English harassment of Spanish shipping, which led Philip to conclude that England’s protestant queen, Elizabeth, must be removed by force and replaced with a Catholic monarch (perhaps even himself) who would bring England back into the Catholic fold. This plan became known as the “Enterprise of England.”   1. Mary Queen of Scots: The Babington Plot Mary, Queen of Scots, by Francois Colet, ca. 1558-60. Source: Wikimedia Commons   As the Enterprise of England took shape in the mid-1580s, one possibility that Philip entertained was the replacement of Elizabeth on the throne of England with Mary Queen of Scots. Like Philip, Mary was a devout Catholic. Furthermore, she had, in Catholic eyes at least, an even stronger claim to the English throne than Elizabeth. On her father’s side, she was a direct descendant of Henry VII, founder of the Tudor Dynasty.   Elizabeth was also a direct descendant of Henry VII, her mother was Anne Boleyn, whom Henry VIII had married after declaring himself head of the Church of England and annulling his marriage to Catherine of Aragon. However, as Catholics believed that only the pope had the power to annul a marriage and did not recognize the authority of the Church of England, they saw Elizabeth as illegitimate and therefore disqualified from the throne.   The problem was that Mary had been a prisoner in England since fleeing Scotland in 1568. It was widely believed in Catholic lands that there was still a large (probably exaggerated) number of Catholics in England and Scotland, mostly practicing their faith in secret for fear of persecution. Philip believed that if Mary could be freed, these Catholics would rise up in rebellion against Elizabeth and place Mary on the throne. An opportunity to realize this possibility arose in the form of the Babington Plot, named after Anthony Babington, who was at the center of the intrigue.   Through correspondence smuggled into and out of her prison, Mary agreed that if she was freed, Elizabeth was assassinated, and she herself was placed on the throne, then she would name Philip her heir instead of her son, who was a Protestant (and who would ultimately succeed to the English throne as James I in 1603).   Mary, Queen of Scots kneeling on the scaffold, by William Nelson Gardiner, 1790. Source: The MET, New York   If successful, this would have eliminated the need for the exorbitantly costly Spanish Armada since Philip’s objective would have been achieved. However, all of the correspondence between Mary and her co-conspirators, including Philip’s agents, had been monitored and indeed directed by Elizabeth’s spymaster, Francis Walsingham. By signing off on the plot, Mary had effectively signed her own death warrant. She was executed in 1587. Ironically, Philip was partially responsible for the death of the one person who could have most easily (or least expensively) brought his plans to fruition.   2. Enter Sir Francis Drake Sir Francis Drake wearing the Drake Jewel at his waist, by Marcus Gheeraerts the Younger, 1591. Source: Greenwich Museums   Philip did not lose the opportunity to exploit Mary’s execution for his own purposes. As he gave the go-ahead to begin assembling the Spanish Armada, he framed himself as the avenger of the true queen of England, murdered by the heretical Elizabeth. Planning of the colossal undertaking was underway in April of 1587 when Sir Francis Drake, the famous English privateer, led a fleet in an attack on the Spanish port city of Cadiz which would have far-reaching consequences.   Elizabeth had given Drake orders to attack Spanish ships, including in their harbors, in an effort to disrupt the assembly of the armada (Philip’s “enterprise” was hardly a secret). Drake’s fleet sank or captured upward of 30 Spanish and allied ships, striking fear into the Spanish and Portuguese and disrupting the flow of supplies into Lisbon for the outfitting of the fleet.   Drake’s predations caused serious concerns about the Spanish treasure fleet coming from the Americas and a large part of the already forming armada sailed from Lisbon to the Azores to protect it in June 1587, not to return until September of that year with many ships in need of repair.   These events caused serious delays to the outfitting of the armada, actually pushing the launch date into the following year, 1588. This was certainly a painful blow, but perhaps equally as painful if not nearly as headline-worthy was the loss of a great quantity of barrel staves.   The Surrender of Pedro de Valdés to Francis Drake, by John Seymour Lucas, 1889. Source: Wikimedia Commons   During the Cadiz raid, Drake came across several ships carrying barrel staves (among other supplies) and burned them all. Barrel staves were used to make, as the name implies, barrels. Provisions of all types—food, water, alcohol, etc.—were stored in wooden barrels aboard ships for the use of the crew. Barrel staves had to be seasoned—which took time—in order to seal properly during barrel production. Thus, a large quantity of seasoned barrel staves could not be swiftly replaced.   The result was that many of the barrels produced for the provisioning of the Spanish Armada were made from improperly seasoned staves, which caused the barrels to become leaky before long, leading to spoiled water and food. This led to provision shortages and illness on the armada’s ships, especially as once out of Spanish waters there was nowhere for them to resupply with fresh, unspoiled provisions.   3. Sometimes the Weather Just Will Not Cooperate Map showing the route of the Spanish Armada, from the History Department of the United States Military Academy at West Point, 2020. Source: Wikimedia Commons   When the Spanish Armada got underway in early May 1588, the weather did not provide a good omen. The fleet was sailing out of Lisbon, down the Tagus River toward the Atlantic, when a fierce wind arose out of the west, preventing it from entering the open seas. The wind did not relent for three weeks. When the wind finally did let up, allowing the fleet into the Atlantic to sail up the Iberian coast, a strong wind out of the north arose, forcing the ships to sail directly into the wind at a snail’s pace. Thus, when the armada should have already been in the English Channel, it had only made it as far as the northwestern corner of Spain.   Shortly after this, the armada ran into a fierce storm at La Coruna which scattered ships in all directions. Some vessels were heavily damaged, while others went unaccounted for. It took several days to gather up the surviving ships. This loss of ships and men, in addition to swiftly diminishing provisions (partly caused by all the delays, partly by the lack of good barrel staves), caused the captain-general of the armada, the Duke of Medina Sidonia, to write to Philip II suggesting that the entire enterprise be abandoned. This was, of course, denied.   Launch of Fireships against the Spanish Armada, 7 August 1588, Netherlandish School, ca. 1590. Source: Greenwich Museums   When the Spanish Armada finally entered the English Channel at the end of July, the wind was in its favor, blowing out of the west. The Spanish skirmished with the English defenders several times while making their way east toward their intended rendezvous with the Duke of Parma and his army in the Netherlands. However, sitting at anchor at Calais (northern France) on the night of August 7th, the Spanish were attacked by English fireships (ships intentionally set on fire and sailed toward an enemy formation) which had a strong wind at their backs. This spread terror among the Spanish crews, leading the majority of the ships to flee in disarray.   The following day the English, with the wind at their backs (known as having the “weather gauge” in naval terminology), drove the disordered Spanish ships along the Flemish coast, hoping to force them onto the shoals where they would wreck. The wind for once shifted in the Spaniards’ favor, allowing them to sail into the North Sea and escape, though hotly pursued by the English and essentially abandoning their mission altogether.   4. An Invasion Without an Invasion Force Portrait of the condottiere Alessandro Farnese, Duke of Parma, Governor of the Netherlands, by Otto van Veen, ca. 1585. Source: RKD Images   It is indeed ironic that perhaps the most crucial part of Philip’s grand plan seems to have received the poorest planning. After entertaining several different ideas of how the invasion of England should proceed, Philip ultimately decided that the Spanish Armada would meet up with an army of roughly 30,000 men under the Duke of Parma in the Netherlands and convey them across the English Channel.   The problem was that the specific logistical issues surrounding the “meeting up and conveying” part had never been specifically addressed. Parma had indeed pointed this out to Philip on several occasions, but his objections were consistently rebuffed. Thus, when the armada set sail, the orders from Philip were for Parma’s army to be ready to cross in barges on the Flemish coast and for the Spanish fleet to meet up with them and protect their crossing of the channel against the English.   Parma’s main objection to the plan was that the coastal waters he would have to initially cross were too shallow for the Spanish vessels to approach sufficiently near (they had too deep a draft). However, a group of rebel Dutch sailors, known as the Sea Beggars, had shallow draft vessels with which they regularly harried the Spanish along the coast, and with which they could easily attack the unarmed barges which would serve as troop transports.   Not wishing to see his army decimated as soon as it hit the water, Parma insisted that the Spanish Armada must eliminate the threat of the Sea Beggars first, which was essentially impossible since the larger Spanish vessels could not chase the smaller Dutch vessels into shallow coastal waters.   The Relief of Leiden by the Sea Beggars, 1574, by Johan Bernard Wittkamp, 1860. Source: Wikimedia Commons   Another problem was communication, which was never particularly reliable in the 16th century in the first place. There needed to be clear coordination between the two commanders as to when and where this conjunction would take place, even if they could have surmounted the logistical issues. Despite repeated letters to Parma, no reply was received until the armada was at anchor at Calais. The tidings the letter brought were not good: nothing had been done to prepare the army to cross. Within two days, the Spanish Armada was dispersed by fireships and was retreating to the North Sea, away from the army which was not ready to cross anyway.   And the Final Verdict Is… English Ships and the Spanish Armada, August 1588, 16th century. Source: Art UK   So, could the Enterprise of England have actually succeeded? Let us address each of the four circumstances covered here which conspired against its success.   1. The Babington Plot. If the Babington Plot had succeeded as planned, resulting in the death of Elizabeth and the crowning of Mary Queen of Scots, then Philip’s goal of Elizabeth’s removal would have been achieved. But would Mary have in turn honored her end of the bargain and kept Philip as her successor, and if so, would the English have accepted him as king? Given that the English never really accepted Philip when he was married to Elizabeth’s sister, Mary Tudor, this seems unlikely.   2. Sir Francis Drake. Had Drake not attacked Cadiz (or been unsuccessful) then many delays would have been avoided and there would not have been a barrel stave issue. Perhaps the armada could have even sailed in 1587 instead of 1588 as originally planned. But would this have been enough to ensure success? Probably not on its own, but it certainly would have helped.   The Spanish Armada off the English Coast, by Cornelis Claesz van Wieringen, ca. 1620-1625. Source: Rijksmuseum Amsterdam   3. The weather. The weeks of delays at the very outset of the Spanish Armada and the storm at La Coruna had severe consequences, both in ships and sailors lost and in the much heavier consumption of provisions (those that were actually unspoiled). Plus, without the wind in their favor, the English fireships at Calais would not have had their devastating effect, which caused the armada to lose cohesion and eventually be driven off. Had the weather been favorable to the Spanish throughout then the armada would have entered the English Channel with more ships, more men, and more provisions and would likely not have been scattered by fireships. But favorable weather alone would not have delivered a victory.   4. The failure to link up with Parma. This seems to be the major factor guaranteeing the failure of the Spanish Armada. If this had been well-planned—including a way to deal with the Sea Beggars and with constant communication between the two commanders—then the armada could have protected the barges as they crossed the channel with Parma’s army. Of course, whether the Spanish vessels would have been able to protect the barges from the English is open to debate.   Thus, the short answer to the question “Could the Enterprise of England have succeeded?” is yes. However, every circumstance mentioned would have had to have gone in favor of the Spanish, so the probability of success would still have been extremely low. So, is it possible? Yes. Likely? Definitely not.

  Throughout English history, there have seldom been many kings with the same warrior prowess as King Edward I. Born as the eldest son of King Henry III and his wife Eleanor of Provence in 1239, Edward would go on to rule as king of England from 1272 until his death in 1307. Edward I’s reign was largely characterized by his conflicts with the Scots. He is often thought of as being one of the finest rulers in medieval English history.   Early Life of King Edward I Edward I, artist unknown, found at Westminster Abbey, c. 1272-1307. Source: Wikimedia Commons   Edward was born on either the 17th or 18th of June 1239, as the eldest son of King Henry III. Interestingly, Edward was often referred to as Lord Edward prior to his coronation, which was relatively unusual for medieval princes at the time, as so many died before their fathers.   Henry III’s reign is generally remembered as uneventful — although when looking at the bigger picture, this is clearly untrue. Henry oversaw the early construction of Westminster Abbey, as well as the opening of London’s first menagerie at the Tower of London (where it was reported that he had lions and even a polar bear that swam in the River Thames). But there was one stand-out feature of Henry III’s reign that was the most significant: the Baronial Revolts.   How does this relate to Edward? Well, in 1259, Edward openly supported a baronial revolt against his father — something which would surely have put the 20-year-old prince out of the running for kingship. Nevertheless, Edward reconciled with his father, and would also stay loyal to the Crown for the remainder of the conflict.   During the Second Barons’ War (1264-67), at the Battle of Lewes on May 14, 1264, Edward was captured by the rebels and held hostage — yet he did not change his loyalty to the Crown.   In fact, Edward actually escaped after just a few months, and at the Battle of Evesham (August 4th, 1265), a troop of soldiers commanded by Edward on his father’s behalf captured and killed Simon de Montfort, the leader of the rebellious barons.   Drawing of a stained glass window of Chartres Cathedral, depicting Simon de Montfort, 6th Earl of Leicester, 1250. Source: Wikimedia Commons   By 1267, the rebellion had been extinguished, and Edward was held in high regard by his contemporaries.   With England back at peace, Edward left the country in 1270 to join the Ninth Crusade, which in English history is sometimes referred to as “Lord Edward’s Crusade” — one of the last attempts at a traditional crusade in the Middle Ages.   While he was making his return from the Holy Land in 1272, he was informed of his father’s death, after 56 years on the throne.   However, knowing his position as king was secured, Edward made no rush to hurry back to England and claim the crown, delaying his return and eventually arriving back in England almost two years later, when his coronation was held at Westminster Abbey on August 19, 1274.   Edward’s Early Reign: Welsh Troubles Caernarfon Castle, photo by Reinaldo Sture. Source: Unsplash   In addition to his frosty relations with Scotland, Edward was also not on good terms with the Welsh.   In particular, Llewellyn ap Gryffyd was a thorn in England’s — and Edward’s side. He refused to do homage to Edward, and then he planned on marrying Eleanor de Montfort — daughter of the former rebellious baron, Simon.   In October 1276, Edward declared war against Llewellyn ap Gryffyd. Remarkably, Llwellyn actually had little support for his cause in Wales: 9,000 out of Edward’s 15,000-strong army were Welshmen. While the campaign never resulted in an actual battle, Llwellyn knew he had little choice left but to surrender, and in November 1277 he did, although he was still allowed to use the title “Prince of Wales.”   War broke out again in 1282, but this time it was really war: the Welsh had united behind the banner of national identity, and it was up to Edward I to put this rebellion down.   Llewellyn ap Gryffyd statue, Cardiff Castle. Source: Wikimedia Commons   One of the most significant moments came at the Battle of Orewin Bridge on December 11, 1282, when Llewellyn ap Gryffyd was killed, thus putting an end to Welsh autonomy. However, the war was far from over.   In June 1283, Dafydd, Llewellyn’s younger brother, was captured and executed as a traitor the following autumn — Edward I ordered his head to be publicly displayed on London Bridge.   From 1283 onward, Edward began to establish his military presence in Wales — in the process, building some of the finest castles of the age, which still stand today; Caernarfon and Conwy were just two of the castles built on Edward I’s instruction.   Significantly, his youngest son, Edward (who would go on to rule as King Edward II of England) was born at Caernarfon Castle in 1284. This made a statement to the Welsh — that this was land that now belonged to the English Crown. Edward II was also the first monarch to be given the title Prince of Wales, a tradition that continues to this day.   The Death of Eleanor Edward I and Eleanor of Castile, early 14th century. Source: Wikimedia Commons   In 1254, Edward I married Eleanor of Castile, and the couple had a happy and fruitful marriage — producing 14 children (some estimates put this figure at 16), with five daughters surviving into adulthood and one son.   In 1290, Eleanor died, and unlike many medieval monarchs, Edward I genuinely loved his wife and grieved her death. Throughout the country, he had so-called “Eleanor Crosses” built in her memory, one at each place that her funeral cortege stopped at during the funeral proceedings.   He would eventually go on to remarry, this time marrying Margaret of France, daughter of King Philip III of France, as a peace treaty measure in 1299.   The Expulsion of the Jews Miniature showing the expulsion of Jews following the Edict of Expulsion by Edward I of England, 14th century. Source: The British Library   That same year, Edward I issued what was called the Edict of Expulsion, which ordered that all Jews in England were to be expelled: it was issued on July 18, 1290.   This is significant as it was the first time that a European state had expelled Jews. The Jews had to leave England by November 1st (All Saints’ Day) and were allowed to leave the country with cash and personal possessions. However, all outstanding debts, and synagogues, were forfeited to the Crown.   The Edict remained in force for a staggering 365 years and was only overturned in 1656 under the Protectorate of Oliver Cromwell when he permitted the resettlement of the Jews.   The Scottish Issue Statue of William Wallace at Edinburgh Castle. Source: Wikimedia Commons   1290 had been a huge year not just for Edward I, but for the British Isles as a whole. Yet arguably, the biggest event of 1290 was still to come.   Edward I’s son, Prince Edward, had been betrothed to marry Margaret, Maid of Norway, when they were both children. Margaret was the daughter of King Eric II of Norway, who himself was married to Margaret of Scotland, Edward I’s niece.   The two were supposed to marry, although a strong storm sank the ship that Margaret, Maid of Norway, was on while on her way from Norway to Scotland, landing a huge dynastic blow to the futures of both Scotland and England.   With the Scottish throne having no heir presumptive (King Alexander III’s only other child was posthumous), Edward I was invited to dispute the succession.   He claimed “sovereign lordship of Scotland,” and in 1292, Edward and his supporters gave the crown to John Balliol as the claimant closest to the royal line.   This began what was known as the Anglo-Scottish Wars.   The Early Anglo-Scottish Wars English Herald approaches Scottish soldiers, from Froissart’s Chronicles, 15th century. Source: BnF   In 1294, Balliol lost his authority over the Scottish magnates by going to Westminster after Edward had summoned him there, so the magnates turned to France to seek to relight the “Auld Alliance” — which would effectively stay in place for the next three centuries.   Edward led a force to Berwick-upon-Tweed in March 1296, and a month later Balliol renounced his homage to Edward. The English began to besiege the town of Berwick and various southern Scottish settlements, including Edinburgh, where the Stone of Scone — which had been used to crown Scottish monarchs for hundreds of years was stolen. It was not sent back until 1996.   Balliol spent the rest of his life in exile, but as with Wales in his earlier reign, Edward did not stop there. Interestingly, he never built great stone castles like he had done in Wales, partly because his money had begun to run out.   William Wallace: Edward I’s Nemesis Battle of Stirling Bridge, 19th century. Source: Wikimedia Commons   In order to fill the gap that Balliol had left, one of the most famous names in Scottish history emerged: William Wallace.   Following the Scottish victory at the Battle of Stirling Bridge on September 11, 1297, William Wallace was appointed Guardian of Scotland. He would stay in this role until his defeat at Falkirk a year later.   Following his defeat at the Battle of Falkirk on July 22, 1298, William Wallace resigned as Guardian of Scotland, but Edward I’s ruthless pursuit of him was far from over.   Wallace was finally captured in 1305, where he was brought down to London to answer King Edward I for his treasonous behavior. Wallace faced the shocking medieval punishment of being hanged, drawn and quartered, for committing high treason against the English Crown.   For many Scottish people, Wallace was seen as a martyr and a national hero — and he still is to this day.   Edward I’s Last Years Robert the Bruce Statue, Edinburgh Castle. Source: Wikimedia Commons   Following the capture and execution of William Wallace in 1305, Edward I’s health began to decline. A year earlier, in 1304, a council had been established in Scotland to discuss the future of Scotland and any settlements. One of the counselors had a name that would become just as famous as William Wallace’s in Scottish history: Robert the Bruce.   In 1306, Bruce rebelled and killed a fellow counselor, and was crowned King of Scotland at Scone.   Edward’s health was on the decline, but being the warrior king that he was, he was carried north to wage war against Bruce. However, while en route to Scotland, the aging Edward I could not make it, and died in Cumberland on July 7, 1307, aged 68. He was succeeded by his son, Edward, who would go on to become King Edward II of England.   Edward I’s Legacy Statue of Edward I in Cumbria, by Christopher Kelly. Source: Art UK   Without a doubt, Edward I was one of the greatest warrior kings in English history. His reign was characterized by one word: war. Whether it was putting down a rebellion in Wales, or attempting to stop the Scottish rising up, Edward I is surely at the top of any list of great English warrior kings.   However, while some historians view his son’s legacy as damning when compared to that of his father, it is important to realize that Edward I did not leave the country in the best state possible for his son, regardless of how poorly Edward II’s reign is deemed to this day.   Nevertheless, Edward I should be remembered as a great warrior king, at least from an English perspective.

  York is one of England’s most famous medieval cities, with its cobbled streets and wobbly buildings. Originally a small Celtic settlement before the Romans left their 400-year-long mark, by the Anglo-Saxon Period, York was a thriving medieval city. Today, visitors to the city can see evidence of every part of York’s 1,000-year medieval past, from the Anglos who took over the city after the Roman withdrawal, all the way to the grand architecture of the High and Late Medieval Period.   The Middle Ages in Northern England A recreation of daily life in 10th century York, from the Jorvik Viking Centre, photo by author.   The Kingdom of England was one of the most centralized European states throughout the High Medieval Period. Without the powerful dukes of France or the patchwork of counties, bishoprics, and republics of medieval Germany (the Holy Roman Empire), the Kings of England were able to manage a well-oiled bureaucracy that saw the nobility and the clergy mostly working in harmony for the governance of the land.   Nonetheless, the north of the country was markedly separate from the south; a tradition which northern Englanders proudly maintain to this day. This can arguably be traced to the Roman division of the island of Britain into Britannia Superior (in the south) and Britannia Inferior (in the north).   Following the Anglo-Saxon invasions, the northernmost kingdom of Northumbria was one of the most powerful in England, maintaining independence while the southern kingdoms came under the dominion of Wessex and Mercia. The subsequent Viking attacks and settlements in the north of England, and the establishment of a separate area of “Dane Law” helped to further distinguish this part of Britain from the rest — an effect which can still be seen in the place names across Yorkshire and the surrounding counties.   Even after the unification of England under Aethelstan and the conquest by William of Normandy, the kings of England, based in London, were forced to accept a degree of autonomy for the northern regions. The most independent of these was the city of Durham, governed by a cleric with the title prince-archbishop, and with the necessary independent powers to ensure a stalwart defense against any Scottish incursions. York’s position as a center of royal and ecclesiastical power in the north of England ensured its relevance and flourishing during the whole Medieval Era.   Dark Age York The Anglian Tower is the only nonreligious stone building surviving from Anglo-Saxon England, it gives a glimpse into life in the Anglian city, photo by the author.   York’s Medieval Period begins in the “Dark Ages” — the period between the withdrawal of the Roman army in 410, and the Norman Conquest in 1066. After the end of Roman Britain, migrants and invaders began to arrive from Germanic Europe, beginning the Anglo-Saxon Period. York and the north of England were largely settled by the Angles, a tribe from the north coast of Germany.   Anglian York is somewhat hard to locate among the later medieval architecture, yet one of York’s best-kept secrets is the Anglian Tower. This unassuming stone tower, sandwiched between the Yorkshire Museum Gardens and the King’s Manor, is thought to have been part of the royal fortifications of the Anglian kings.   Extant structures from this period are rare enough in England: only around 50 of England’s churches are visibly Anglo-Saxon in origin, and more often than not, just a single wall or entranceway remains of the pre-Norman stonework. The Anglian Tower is special because it is the only secular, non-church stone building from the entire Anglo-Saxon Period. Equally, the impressive Coppergate Helmet (York’s rival to the Sutton Hoo helmet in the British Museum!) dates from this period and demonstrates the wealth and power projected by the rulers and nobility of Anglian York.   This sock found in the Coppergate excavations opens a window into domestic life in Viking York, photo by author.   York’s Viking history is perhaps its most famous; indeed, the modern name of the city comes from the Norse name, Jorvik, rather than the Anglo-Saxon Eoforwic, or Latin Eboracum. Viking York needs a whole article of its own, but the best place for any visitor to start is the Jorvik Viking Centre. This interactive museum contains the artifacts recovered from the excavation of Coppergate and a ride that takes visitors through a faithful reconstruction of the streets as they would have looked in the 10th century.   The second half of the museum contains the finds themselves. Though there is much evidence of the violent part of York’s Viking history in swords, axes, and wounded skeletons, by far the most interesting part of the Coppergate artifacts are the items that grant a glimpse into the everyday life of residents 1,000 years ago. Highlights include a single woolen sock and a shabbily repaired frying pan.   The High Middle Ages in York These statues recovered from the site of St Mary’s Abbey hint at the level of grandeur this building once had, photo by the author.   York’s importance continued into the High Middle Ages. One of the great centers of wealth in the city was St Mary’s Abbey, first built in 1088 under the instruction of William the Conqueror to assert control over the region. Though all that remains visible today are some romantic ruins in the gardens of the Yorkshire Museum, St Mary’s was once one of the wealthiest and most powerful Benedictine monasteries in all of England.   The abbot was comparable in power to the Archbishop of York, and the two great church buildings would have formed an impressive and imposing pair over the city. Unfortunately, the destruction of the Reformation and the dissolution of the Monasteries by Henry VIII and his children left the abbey stripped of its wealth and then left to ruin.   The history of the King’s Manor can be seen in its brickwork — bricked-up windows and modified stonework show its changing usage through the centuries, photo by the author.   Another enduring reminder of York’s High Middle Age is the King’s Manor, mere meters from the site of the ruin. This building was originally built in 1270 as a house for the influential abbot of the neighboring monastery, but the earliest remains of the present building date from the 15th century.   Upon the dissolution of St Mary’s, King Henry VIII instructed that the building host the Council of the North, until the organization’s abolition in 1641. The Council of the North was first established by Richard III of York, with the aim of controlling the legal affairs of Yorkshire and the northern counties. Henry VIII reestablished the council once more in 1537 after resistance to his reformation spurred mass Catholic revolts, notably a 30,000-strong rebellion in York. King James I also stayed in King’s Manor, during a three-day visit to the city.   In modern times, the manor was rented out to private tenants, then home to the Yorkshire School for the Blind, before coming under the ownership of York City Council. The council leased the building to the University of York, where it became home to the university’s Centre for Medieval Studies, though a recent announcement has suggested their plans to move education out of the historic building.   The Walled City Clifford’s Tower is the most evident reminder of York Castle, the mighty Norman keep was used for many purposes across its history, from defensive, to residence, prison, and tomb, photo by the author.   As with a lot of cities in the Medieval Period, York was protected by a network of walls around its perimeter. Unlike most of these towns in England, however, York still retains its historic walls. Though heavily restored and “smartened up” by the Victorians (with the occasional fantastical restoration, like the Robin Hood Tower), York’s walls demonstrate its rich history, with many segments displaying the medieval defenses built atop the previous Roman ones.   Visitors to York can walk the complete circuit of the walls and get a sense of the boundaries of the old parts of the city. York’s walls retained their integrity and purpose right up to the English Civil War. As a Royalist stronghold, the city was besieged by Cromwell’s Parliamentarians on July 16, 1644, and evidence can be seen in both musket holes and modified musket loops, used to fire outward. The walls were then repaired upon Parliament’s taking of the city.   Section of York’s walls in front of York Minster. Source: Wikimedia Commons   The walls come to a halt between the River Foss and York’s castle, Clifford’s Tower. In times gone by, the river was used to flood the area around the castle to create a natural moat. Clifford’s Tower is a typical Norman castle, with its “motte” (the mound with the keep on top), and a “bailey” of supportive buildings and outside ring wall.   Through the years, the castle’s purpose has changed with the city’s needs. It played a part in the Royalist defense of the city during the English Civil War and the outer walls and bailey buildings were deconstructed to make room for a women’s prison in the 18th and 19th centuries, which are now part of the York Castle Museum.   Clifford’s Tower’s darkest period came in 1190 when antisemitic riots forced 150 of York’s Jews into the castle where they committed suicide and burned the wooden keep to the ground. The stone keep, built afterward by Henry III in the 13th century, stands to this day.   York Minster View of the three towers of York Minster from just outside Bootham Bar — the northerly gate to the medieval city, photo by the author.   York Minster is one of the greatest cathedrals in Britain and one of the largest medieval Gothic churches in all of Europe. York Minster was actually built atop the site of the basilica of the old Roman fortification. A trip below the floor of the church into the Undercroft Museum reveals evidence of the Roman site, but also many signs of the earlier constructions which stood before the present structure today.   The church of York Minster can be traced back to its original structure from 627, which was probably a temporary, wooden building for the sole purpose of the Northumbrian king, Edwin’s conversion to Christianity, and his marriage to Ethelburga of Kent. A stone building soon followed in the late 7th century and, despite numerous raids and attacks from the Vikings in the succeeding centuries, it appears to have survived up until the Norman Conquest. As with every other facet of society, William’s conquest brought about huge change, and the Saxon building was demolished in favor of a grand new minster in Norman Romanesque style.   By the High Middle Ages in the 12th century, York Minster was looking somewhat dated compared to the fashionable new Gothic style popular throughout Europe. This began an over 200-year-long process of rejuvenation, in which an outer “skin” of Gothic masonry was built outside the Norman building, and the older, inner walls were subsequently demolished. York Minster was only declared finished in 1472. Despite the destructive English Reformation, and several fires — both natural and arson — the minster stands proudly at the center of York to this day.   The chapter house is the oldest part of the present-day minster, its octagonal vaulted ceiling is one of the most impressive in the whole cathedral, photo by the author.   Aside from its stunning architecture, York Minster boasts the greatest single collection of medieval stained glass in the world. The Great East Window is one of the most impressive, depicting the Biblical Creation and Apocalypse—the beginning and the end of all things—and was designed and executed by esteemed glazier, John Thornton. The bottom of the window depicts historical and important figures, notably Bishop Skirlaw (1330-1405) who is credited with the window’s donation. The above 81 panels in a nine-column grid depict the Apocalypse Cycle, and the 27 above that, depict the Old Testament account of creation.   Finally, in the arching Gothic curves of the top of the window sit the company of Heaven: angels, Moses, Abraham, and the other prophets; the disciples and the Four Evangelists; saints, popes, and priests from across Christian history; and God at the very top as Alpha and Omega (the beginning and the end).   York’s Guilds As one of the richest guilds in all of York, the Merchant Adventurers’ guildhall was the largest in the city, to this day it is an impressive building, photo by the author.   Guilds were at the center of life in the medieval world and York was no exception, boasting 96 of them at their height in 1415; surprisingly, nowadays, seven still remain. To do business in medieval York required joining a guild and failure to do so could have severe consequences, like social ostracization or even getting hounded out of the town.   Joining a guild came with benefits for a medieval craftsman too, however, such as a guaranteed fair wage, and a pension to ensure a member’s wife and children were cared for after the individual’s death. Guilds also offered a forum for price-setting, controlling competition, ensuring fair wages, and negotiating disputes between tradesmen.   A few guildhalls survive in York, but none are as magnificent as the Merchant Adventurers’ guildhall. No medieval tour of York is complete without a visit to the hall, which is rare in its survival, let alone its included chapel — most guildhalls fell foul to religious persecution during the English Reformation due to their participation in Catholic tradition. York’s Merchant Adventurers’ Guild continues to this day, offering charitable funds for the city and young entrepreneurs.   The Barbers’ Play: The Baptism, mystery play, performed on the streets of York, 2014. Source: Wikimedia Commons   These guilds also collaborated together once a year to put on a fantastic performance for the people of the city and beyond. York’s so-called “mystery plays” were a spectacle and one of the most costly and impressive across England.   These plays recounted 48 biblical scenes and toured around the city, with each guild taking ownership of the actors and baggage trains for their allocated performance. Viewers would have therefore seen these plays in the “wrong” order — perhaps seeing Jesus’s crucifixion before his birth! Organizing such an event in a time before radios, instant messaging, and GPS would have been a feat in itself. Historians have estimated that the spires of York’s many churches would have made excellent watchtowers for marshals with flags and smoke signals to communicate with and direct the processions below.   Today, efforts have been made to recreate the plays, which were suppressed by 1569 after the Reformation. Though nothing of the scale of its medieval might has been achieved, several modern revival attempts have taken place, most recently in 2022.