Ah yes the story of the priestess whom Apollo cursed never to have her prophecies believed, as retribution for refusing to have sex with him. What's the moral of the story? Is it that when a god gives you superpowers and expects sex in return, you better put out?
Obey the gods or you'll end up like that wayward prophetess who got raped by Ajax in Athena’s temple and then forced into Agamemnon’s sexual service before being murdered by the latter’s wife, and deeply regretting her mistake of not having spread for Apollo.
I for one can't imagine why I wouldn't tell my kids that story at bedtime.
In fairness, plenty of traditional children's tales are extraordinarily violent. And Americans in particular are okay with exposing children to quite violent stories. But sex, not so much.
Anyway, point being: this story isn't the tale of a woman whom nobody believed simply because she was a woman. It's a story about an asshole god mindfucking everyone into not believing her, all because of his celestial blueballs.
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Fun fact: We can reconstruct the proto-Germanic word for "Caesar". It's *Kaisaraz. It's one of the most securely datable loanwords you could possibly ask for in an ancient language. Thread...
First, it can be no earlier than the 50s BC at the absolute earliest (when before then would the Germanic peoples have had reason to care about an obscure Roman cognomen?).
It's PROBABLY no earlier than 27 BC. After all, surely Octavian/Augustus is the dude more likely to have made a lasting impression as Caesar among Germanic speakers.
If in the 9th century somebody from Spain traveling in Gaul heard the vernacular Latin form of the Strasbourg Oath, they would probably have understood it more or less. Just as they might have had at most only moderate difficulty communicating with people there.
Take the oath as we have it:
Pro Deo amur et pro christian poblo et nostro commun saluament, d'ist di en auant, in quant Deus sauir et podir me dunat, si saluarai eo cist meon fradre Karlo, et in adiudha et in cadhuna cosa si cum om per dreit son fradra saluar dift.
Then imagine it as:
Por Dio amor y por cristiano pueblo y nuestro comun salvamiento, de este dia en avante, en cuanto Dios saver y poder me duena, si saluare yo aqueste mi fradre Carlo y en ayuda y en caduna cosa si como omne per dereito su fradre saluar debe
This lament for King Ricartz Còr de Leó, known in English as Richard Lionheart, was composed in 1199 when Ricartz died. (Thread...)
Specifically, he died of an infected wound during an incident involving a crossbow, a pissed-off teenager, and a field medic who, as Aufretz l'Estranhs put it, was:
"com uns surgentz obrant
per prima vetz trencant "
(like a surgeon cutting for the very first time.)
Though born in England, famous in popular memory as King Richard I of England and played on screen by Sean Connery, there is little evidence that King Ricartz spoke English.
I decided to translate the opening of the "Lay of Igor's Campaign" as if it were Germanic epic, using an adaptation of Germanic alliterative meter. Somewhere along the line this triggered the impulse to give the heroes' names in their de-slavicized Germanic forms.
And, really, why not? Yngvarr was part of the Hrøriksson dynasty after all. Or rather Igor was part of the Ryurikovich dynasty.
By the time in which this poem is set, the Russ had mostly assimilated linguistically to the Slavs, and had been intermarrying with them for two centuries.
Friendly wishes of Milusha for one Marena in a 12th century Novgorod Birchbark letter:
"Marena, may your cunt and clit drink well" (or: "get drunk")
(Маренко пеи пизда и сѣкыле)
The letter also discusses the dowry for the upcoming marriage of a man named Snovid to some girl dubbed "Big Bride". Russian profanity has a long and illustrious history. There is almost certainly some kind of ritual context that we're missing here.
And while пизда "cunt" and сикель/секыль/секель "clit" are highly obscene in Russian today (and the latter has been taboo'd into obsolescence), there is no reason to assume that these words were also obscene in 12th century Novgorod. At least, not quite as obscene as they are now