Detail from a 19th century engraving of Pelayo, king of Asturias.
Almost exactly 15 years ago, I received a book in the mail entitled El Cid: God's Own Champion. When first flipping through this book, I remember thinking to myself, "This probably won't be very good." After all, it was a work by an unknown author, meant for young readers, and self-published to boot. But as it turned out, I loved it. My kids have read it—even the one with dyslexia read and enjoyed it. Since I wrote the above-linked review in 2008, I have recommended El Cid to hundreds of people.
A few years later, Mr. Fitzhenry published another equally admirable book—Saint Fernando III: A Kingdom for Christ. Much like his first book, Fitzhenry's second endeavor delved into the epic life of a Spanish hero that almost no one knows about today. Again, I found myself enchanted with the book and have recommended it numerous times.
Shortly thereafter followed Defenders of Christendom, offering a collection of excellent capsule biographies of forgotten Catholic heroes from the crusading period.
By this time, I have come to have very high expectations for Mr. Fitzhenry's work, so when I received a copy of Pelayo: King of Asturias, I was ready to tear into it straight away.
And Pelayo did not disappoint.
Much like Fitzhenry's previous books, Pelayo tells an ancient story that is rarely heard today. It is the sobering tale of the end of Visigothic Spain—a state whose leaders had become corrupt, corpulent and cowardly. They had largely abandoned their Christian ethic and had little remaining loyalty to God or man. When confronted with a zealous, powerful enemy who wished to impose an alien culture upon them, their internal dissensions proved stronger than their desire to preserve their heritage.
Fitzhenry does a brilliant job setting the stage for Pelayo's heroism. Starting with the collapse of Visigothic Spain under the beleaguered King Roderick, Fitzhenry emphasizes the treason of those closest to the king as a contrast to the steadfast loyalty of Pelayo. At the Battle of Guadalete, the Visigoths are catastrophically defeated when part of their army commanded by renegade nobles and an apostate bishop turn on their own Christian countrymen. Following the battle, the Muslim emir, Tariq, overruns the whole kingdom. Pelayo and a remnant of loyal Visigoths retreat into the mountains of northern Spain. There, he begins his exploits—escaping from an assassination attempt, rescuing his kidnapped sister, and building up the solid core of a Christian army to resist Islam.
After finishing Pelayo: King of Asturias, I immediately began searching for the ancient sources underpinning Fitzhenry's inspiring biography. I quickly discovered that Pelayo is the hispanicized version of the name Pelagius. He is considered a Visigothic noble, but given that Pelagius is not a typical Gothic name, he likely had a Greco-Roman strain somewhere in his lineage. This makes sense given that the Spanish Visigothic kingdom was built upon the foundation of the Roman provinces of Hispania. My search eventually led to a 10th century source called The Chronicle of Alfonso III. While reading it, I discovered that Fitzhenry stayed true to the history. His description of the events surrounding the history-changing Battle of Covadonga was drawn faithfully from this ancient historical work.
Toward the end of the book, the author lays out the message of Pelayo's life for those of us today:
"Never give up. Even if it seems that you struggle in complete isolation, know that you are not alone....Follow closely in the footsteps of Christ. There are many who have trod the narrow path before you, and for those who do not give up the fight, eternal glory awaits in a kingdom that is not of this world!"
During a time when many Catholic institutions have failed and our leaders seem content to bury their talents in the ground, such a message is badly needed.
George Cardinal Pell prays before the body of Pope Benedict XVI lying in state, January 2023.
George Cardinal Pell is dead.
As a man, Cardinal Pell stood accused of grievous sins before several earthly tribunals. He was convicted of some of those crimes in secular courts, and as a result, spent over a year in prison—much of it in solitary confinement. He was later acquitted and released when the High Court of Australia unanimously overturned his convictions saying that the jury likely made its decision based on faulty evidence, and that there was a significant possibility that an innocent person had been convicted.
Was Cardinal Pell guilty of the crimes he was accused of? Or was he targeted for destruction by enemies who would stoop even so low as to manufacture false sins? In this world, we will never know.
But now, Cardinal Pell has taken his stand before the Just Judge from whom nothing can be hidden. Whether his sins warranted mercy or damnation is in the hands of Christ, and all the faithful can do is pray that our gracious Lord will have mercy on him.
What is clear is that George Cardinal Pell did not go out with a whimper, but with a resounding bang.
What toxic nightmare is he referring to? That would be the so-called Synod on Synodality—that useless and wasteful meeting of bishops that seems to be the very embodiment of the unofficial motto of the current pontificate: "¡Hagan lío!" or "make a mess!" Regarding the 45-page document put out by the Vatican explaining the "listening" stage of the synod, Pell calls it: "one of the most incoherent documents ever sent out from Rome."
After offering a point-by-point deconstruction of the document, Pell is left scratching his head:
What is one to make of this potpourri, this outpouring of New Age good will? It is not a summary of Catholic faith or New Testament teaching. It is incomplete, hostile in significant ways to the apostolic tradition and nowhere acknowledges the New Testament as the Word of God, normative for all teaching on faith and morals. The Old Testament is ignored, patriarchy rejected and the Mosaic Law, including the Ten Commandments, is not acknowledged.
This is a pretty harsh condemnation that should be taken very seriously by all serious Catholics.
But it gets better.
In the spring of 2022, an anonymous letter was said to be circulating among the Cardinals signed by someone called "Demos" or the Greek word for "the common people." It was a sober reflection upon and harsh criticism of the numerous scandals which have proliferated over the past 10 years within the Church, with an unusually pointed critique of the Francis papacy. The opening sentence gives the reader a sense of what follows:
Commentators at every school, though for different reasons, with the possible exception of Father Spadaro SJ, agree that this pontificate is a disaster in many or more respects, a catastrophe.
It was revealed today that the author of this letter was none other than George Cardinal Pell.
This letter is not merely a litany of the failures of Pope Francis. It is a road map for his successor. Indeed, the second half of the letter reads more like avuncular advice from an experienced elder churchman to a man who will be faced with cleaning up a gigantic mess not of his doing.
The entire letter is well worth reading, but the following point seems to be the most important of all, encapsulating what has gone wrong and the attitude necessary to fix it:
The new pope must understand that the secret of Christian and Catholic vitality comes from fidelity to Christ's teachings and Catholic practices. It doesn't come from adapting to the world or money.
This point is followed immediately by another that lays out the steps necessary to return from the present chaos:
The first tasks of the new pope will be the restoration of normality, the restoration of doctrinal clarity in faith and morals, the restoration of just respect for the law, and the guarantee that the first criterion for the appointment of bishops is acceptance of apostolic tradition. Theological competence and culture are an advantage, not an obstacle for all bishops and especially for archbishops. These are necessary foundations for living and preaching the Gospel.
More than anything else, the faithful need doctrinal clarity. Indeed, we thirst for it, as one can not drink the muddy slurry churned up by "¡Hagan lío!"
Pell's "Demos" letter reads like an encyclical letter written by one of the Church Fathers when faced with an ecclesiastical crisis.
Thank you, Cardinal Pell, for speaking like a believing Catholic, reminding us of our patrimony, and for standing up for the devout who have spent the past nine years taking abuse from those tasked to nurture them in faith and teach them the Gospel of Jesus Christ.
With men like Benedict XVI and Cardinal Pell passing into eternity, ordinary devout Catholics pray that Christ will raise up other bishops and cardinals with the fortitude to keep the current mess from spreading and leading even more souls to perdition.
May the Holy Spirit, in His good time, bestow upon us a new pope who will come armed the charism of Saint Francis of Assisi who was commanded by God to "restore my Church which is falling down."
Much of our detailed knowledge of Attila and the Huns comes from one relatively obscure source, the late 5th century History of Priscus. It’s probable that you’ve never heard of Priscus because his history was considered lost after about the 10th century AD. All that survives of it are fragments that later historians have recovered from other ancient and medieval sources that incorporated or paraphrased certain passages of interest. Excerpts from Priscus may be found embedded within works such as the Gothic History of Jordanes, the Histories of Procopius, the works of Constantine Porphyrogenitus, the Suda, the History of John of Antioch, and several others.
Priscus possessed such in depth knowledge about the Huns because he had a personal encounter with Attila himself. In AD 448 or 449, Priscus was part of an embassy to the Huns sent by the Emperor Theodosius II and his right-hand eunuch, Chrysaphius. At that time, Attila was threatening both the Eastern and Western Roman Empires, and both halves were making every possible attempt to pacify the barbarian and his pillaging horde. In fact, Chrysaphius and Theodosius had made a secret pact with one of Attila’s leading advisors, Edekon by name, to make sure that Attila rested in peace—for good. Unbeknownst to them, however, Edekon had revealed everything to Attila, and the King of the Huns was well prepared to deal with the potentially treacherous Roman embassy when it arrived.
Priscus has left a fascinating account of his visit to the Huns and his initial meeting with Attila. Following is an excerpt from the Fragmentary History of Priscus as translated by John Given, detailing the opening phase of what must have been a very frightening encounter:
You may also listen to the excerpt at the video above.
FRAGMENT 8: From the Excerpts on Romans’ Embassies to Foreigners of Constantine VII Porphyrogennetos
After the eunuch Chrysaphius urged Edekon to kill Attila, Emperor Theodosius and the magister Martialios decided, as they discussed the events, to dispatch as ambassadors to Attila not only Bigilas but also Maximinos. They also decided that Bigilas, as a pretense, should keep occupying the translator’s post and should do whatever Edekon thought best, and Maximinos, since he knew nothing of their plans, should deliver the emperor’s letter....
With earnest entreaty, Maximinos persuaded me to accompany him on this embassy. And so, closely following the road alongside the barbarians, we reached Serdica, a thirteen days’ journey from Constantinople for a lightly armed man. There, as we settled into our quarters, we thought it would be a good idea to invite Edekon and his barbarian companions to a feast. We bought sheep and cows from the locals, slaughtered them and made our meal. At the height of the banquet, when the barbarians were extolling Attila and we the emperor, Bigilas said it was not right to juxtapose a god and a man—meaning by “man” Attila and by “god” Theodosius. The Huns were agitated and, their temperatures rising little by little, grew angry. We turned the conversation to other topics and appeased their anger with friendliness...
Arriving at Naissos, we found the city bereft of people because it had been overturned by the enemy, though there were some people in the sacred lodgings who were suffering from diseases. We camped a little bit upriver in a clearing, since the bank was everywhere covered with the bones of war casualties...
After passing the night, we traveled from the region of Naissos to the Istros River....After we crossed the Istros and traveled about seventy stades with the barbarians, we were forced to wait on a plain so that Edekon’s men could inform Attila of our arrival. The barbarians stayed with us and acted as our guides. As we were taking our dinner in the late afternoon we heard the rumble of horses coming toward us. Two Scythian men arrived and ordered us to go to Attila. First, though, we asked them to join us for dinner. They dismounted and we sumptuously entertained them. On the next day they led us along the road. Around the ninth hour of the day we reached Attila’s tents (and there were many tents there). We wanted to pitch ours on the crest of a hill, but the barbarians who met us prevented it, since Attila’s tent was on lower ground.
Once we settled down where the Scythians wanted, Edekon, Orestes, Skottas and some other select men came and asked what our embassy was eager to procure. We expressed our confusion at the senseless question and kept looking at one another, but they continued to trouble us for an answer. When we said that the emperor bade us to speak to Attila and to no one else, Skottas replied angrily that their order was from their leader; they would not have come to us out of their own desire to meddle. We said that it was not customary for ambassadors to be questioned by intermediaries about why they had come without their meeting nor even seeing the parties to whom they had been sent. This, we said, was not unknown even to the Scythians, who often sent ambassadors to the emperor. It was necessary that we receive identical treatment; otherwise we would not disclose the embassy’s purpose. So we spoke, and they withdrew to Attila.
Again they returned, though without Edekon, repeated to us all the reasons for which we had come on the embassy, and ordered us to go away by the quickest route possible unless we could name anything else. We were still more mystified by these words since it was not easy to see how decisions made by the emperor in secret had become clearly known. We believed that it was to our benefit to answer nothing further about the embassy unless we gained access to Attila. So we said it was their leader who asked whether we came to negotiate the things listed by the Scythians or other matters too; we would not discuss it with anyone other than him. They immediately ordered us to leave....
At this point, Priscus goes off on a slight tangent, explaining that Bigilas was insistent on meeting with Attila, boasting that if he would be able to meet with him, he would easily persuade him to make peace. It is not clear that Priscus or anyone else among the Romans knew at this point that the true purpose of the embassy was to arrange the assassination of Attila. Priscus explains, however, that unbeknownst to Bigilas, the plot had already been revealed to Attila by Edekon.
Priscus continues:
We had already loaded our baggage onto the pack animals and were attempting—out of necessity, at nighttime—to begin our journey, when some of the barbarians came and said Attila told us to remain because of the late hour. To the place from which we were getting ready to set out, some men brought us a cow and some river-caught fish sent by Attila. Then, after dining, we turned to sleep. When day came, we thought that the barbarian would reveal some kind, pleasant news. Once again, however, he sent the same men, advising us to go away unless we had something to say beyond what they already knew. We said no and began preparing for the journey, although Bigilas vehemently argued we should say that we had more to say.
Seeing Maximinos very dejected, I went out with Roustikios since he knew the barbarians’ language fluently. (He had come with us to Scythia not on the embassy, but for some business with Constantius, Attila’s Italian secretary, whom Aetius, the Western Roman general, had sent.) I came to Skottas—Onegesios was not present at the time— and, addressing him through the translator Roustikios, I said that he would receive numerous gifts from Maximinos if he helped him get access to Attila. The embassy, I said, would benefit not only the Romans and the Huns but also Onegesios, since the emperor wanted him to come and mediate the nations’ differences, and he would receive magnificent gifts when he went. Since Onegesios was away, I said, he needed to support us, and more his brother, in pursuit of this good business. I said we knew Attila followed his guidance too, but we would not firmly believe the reports about him unless we came to know his power through experience. He replied that no one any longer doubted Attila deemed his words and deeds equal to his brother’s. And he immediately mounted his horse and rode to Attila’s tent.
I returned to Maximinos, who with Bigilas was perplexed and at a loss regarding the recent events. I repeated what I said to Skottas and what I heard from him, and said that we needed to prepare the gifts for the barbarian and to calculate what we would say to him. Both of them leapt up (they happened to be lying in the grass), praised my actions and called back those who had already departed with the pack animals. They considered how to address Attila and how to give him the emperor’s gifts as well as what Maximinos had brought for him. As we were worrying about these things, Attila summoned us through Skottas. And so at last we came to Attila’s tent, which was guarded by a barbarian multitude arrayed in a circle.
When we reached the entrance, we found Attila seated on a wooden chair. Maximinos approached, as the rest of us stood a short distance from the seat, and he greeted the barbarian. Giving him the emperor’s letter, he said that the emperor prayed that he and those around him were safe. Attila replied that the Romans would have what they desired for him. He turned his attention straight to Bigilas, called him a shameless beast and asked why he wanted to come to him, considering that he knew his and Anatolios’s peacetime agreement that no ambassadors should come to him until all fugitives had been surrendered to the barbarians. Bigilas said that there was not a single Scythian fugitive among the Romans; those who had been there had been surrendered. Growing angrier and reviling him all the more, Attila shouted that he would have crucified him and given him as food to the birds, if he did not think inflicting this penalty on his shamelessness and on the effrontery of his words would violate sacred diplomatic law. There were, he said, fugitives of their race among the Romans—many of them—whose names, which had been recorded on papyrus, he ordered the secretaries to read out.
When they had gone through <all the> absent men, he ordered Bigilas to depart without a moment’s delay. He would send Eslas with him too, he said, to tell the Romans they should send him all the barbarian fugitives, from the time of Karpileon (the son of Aetius, the Western Roman general), who had lived as a hostage at his court. He would not allow his own subjects to fight against him, although they were incapable of helping anyone who trusted them to protect his land. What city, he asked, or what fortress had they saved, once he himself had begun a siege? He told us to return again after we had repeated his demands about the fugitives and to say whether the Romans wanted to surrender them or undertake war on their behalf. He had earlier told Maximinos to stay, so that he might reply to the emperor’s letter through him, and so he permitted us to present the gifts Maximinos was carrying and to withdraw.
We presented the gifts and retired into our tent, where we reviewed what had been said. Bigilas was amazed how Attila angrily reviled him, even though he seemed gentle and kind to him on his previous embassy. I expressed the fear that some of the barbarians who had feasted with us in Serdica had made Attila hostile to him by reporting that he called the Roman emperor a god but Attila a man. Maximinos thought that was right, since he was <not> a partner in the eunuch’s conspiracy against the barbarian. Bigilas was doubtful and seemed to me at a loss to explain why Attila had reviled him. He thought, as he later told us, that neither the events in Serdica nor the details of the plot had been reported to Attila, because, on the one hand, no one else from the group, he thought, was bold enough to speak with Attila due to the fear that governed them all; on the other hand Edekon, he thought, would keep his silence completely because of his oaths and the uncertainty of the deed, in fear that he himself too, since he was a participant in such plans, would lose his favored status and suffer death as punishment. [Given, Fragmentary History of Priscus, pages 47-55]
What happens next is perhaps even more intriguing. Later, Priscus would meet a former Roman citizen who had been taken captive by the Huns. This man would claim that life as a prisoner among the Huns was superior to life as a Roman. His debate with Priscus on this topic is perhaps the most famous of the surviving fragments of Priscus’s History and well worth reading. I have discussed this debate in a previous post: "Romans are easily killed in war because they rely on others for safety" ~ Priscus and the notion of Romans voluntarily becoming Huns.
