Banners, Blades, Razors, and a Bayonet

September 5, 394 CE · United Kingdom · I brace behind stacked shields as Theodosius's eastern line crashes forward.

In United Kingdom, battle of Frigidus is unfolding. On the first day of the battle of Frigidus, the Western Roman troops of Arbogast manage to defend their positions against the Eastern Roman troops of emperor Theodosius I.

I brace behind stacked shields on the slope, my back pressed against a chestnut trunk. Arbogast's voice carries from the line below, steadying the western ranks. We hold the ridge where pine shadows fall across the rocky ground, Theodosius's eastern troops pressing forward in tight formation. A trumpet call from their side echoes off the cliffs, then the clash of iron resumes. The Frigidus runs somewhere below in the Vipava valley, its name colder than the sweat on my neck. Dust rises where hooves churn the dry earth. An officer near me taps my shoulder, points to a gap in the tree line where Gothic auxiliaries are moving into position with Theodosius. I tighten my grip on my spear. The eastern horns sound again. We plant our feet deeper into the stony soil. The sun slides westward through the alpine pines as another wave gathers.

September 5, 917 CE · China · I kneel in the palace courtyard as a new dynasty's name is spoken aloud.

In China, Liu Yan (emperor) is unfolding. Liu Yan declares himself emperor, establishing the Southern Han state in southern China, at his capital of Panyu.

I kneel on the flagstones of the palace courtyard at Panyu, the morning heat pressing down through layers of silk and lacquered armor. Liu Yan ascends the jade steps to the raised dais, his crimson robes trailing behind him. Drums boom from the gatehouse, and bronze bells ring out across the capital. The ministers arranged in careful rows lower their foreheads to the stone as he declares the establishment of the Southern Han state. Court scribes brush fresh ink onto wide scrolls, recording the proclamation. Banners of yellow silk ripple against the whitewashed walls of the audience hall. From my place near the eastern colonnade, I watch incense smoke drift upward and dissolve against the painted rafters. A consort behind a latticed screen signals with a fan. The new emperor's voice rolls across the terrace, and the bronze bells continue their steady toll into the southern heat.

September 5, 1590 CE · France · I shoulder my pike as the Duke of Parma's column rounds the bend toward Paris.

In France, Alexander Farnese, Duke of Parma is unfolding. An army led by Alexander Farnese, Duke of Parma forces Henry IV of France to lift the siege of Paris.

I shoulder my pike as the Duke of Parma's column rounds the bend in the road, the green cornfields giving way to suburbs north of Paris. Word runs through the ranks that Henry IV has been pressed to raise his siege. Our Spanish tercios march in tight order, Walloons and Italians keeping step beside us. The Duke rides past on a bay horse, his armor catching a pale autumn sun. Bells from a village church begin to toll as our scouts approach. Smoke drifts from the siege lines ahead, and somewhere a cannon booms a single salute. I tighten the leather strap on my helmet and watch the road fill with our advancing companies. A drummer boy quickens his rhythm. Beyond the orchards the towers of Paris rise against a grey sky, and somewhere a passing trooper scratches at his beard as the column closes the distance.

September 5, 1698 CE · Russia · I stand in a Moscow barber's shop as the tsar's edict is read aloud.

In Russia, Tsar is unfolding. In an effort to Westernize his nobility, Tsar Peter I of Russia imposes a tax on beards for all men except the clergy and peasantry.

I stand in the barber's shop on a narrow Moscow street as a customer unfolds a printed broadsheet and reads aloud the tsar's new edict. A beard tax now falls on every man except the clergy and the peasantry. The barber lowers his razor, his eyes moving from the page to the queue of nobles waiting their turn. I shift my weight against the doorframe, one hand drifting to my own chin. Across the room, a boy sharpens a blade on a leather strop, the hiss filling the silence. A merchant in a fur-trimmed kaftan groans and pulls at his whiskers. The customer with the broadsheet folds it carefully and tucks it inside his coat. Outside, sleigh bells fade down the snowy Moscow street, muffled by the falling snow. The barber picks up his razor again, and the shop bell chimes overhead as the first cut begins.

September 5, 1839 CE · China · I stand on the deck as the dispatch boat brings news of war.

In China, First Opium War is unfolding. The United Kingdom declares war on the Qing dynasty of China.

I stand on the deck of a merchant brig off the Chinese coast as a dispatch boat brings news from Britain. The United Kingdom has declared war on the Qing dynasty. A captain unfolds the paper in the grey dawn light, his thumb smudging the ink as he reads. Sailors gather at the rail, some still knotting their neckerchiefs. Below, in the cabin, a clerk begins copying the dispatch into the logbook. The sea is calm, and gulls wheel above the mastheads. I run my hand along the rail and watch the dispatch boat's oars rise and fall in steady rhythm. The wind carries a smell of brine and distant smoke. Beyond the haze the forts at Guangzhou bristle with cannon. An officer calls for signal flags, and the brig begins to wear toward open water as the dawn mist hangs low over the waves.

September 5, 1877 CE · India · I stand outside the guardhouse at Fort Robinson as the night shift changes.

In India, American Indian Wars is unfolding. American Indian Wars: Oglala Sioux chief Crazy Horse is bayoneted by a United States soldier after resisting confinement in a guardhouse at Fort Robinson in Nebraska.

I stand outside the guardhouse at Fort Robinson as the night shift changes, my breath white in the predawn cold. Inside, the Oglala chief Crazy Horse resists being confined, and a soldier's bayonet finds him. A shout rises, then footsteps scatter across the frozen ground. I move toward the door but a sergeant's arm blocks my chest, his grip firm. Through the open doorway I glimpse a figure on the plank floor, blankets kicked aside, lamplight swaying on the log walls. A soldier wipes his blade with a rag. The air smells of woodsmoke and pine sap from the surrounding hills of northwestern Nebraska. Voices murmur in the darkness beyond the parade ground. I lower my hand from the doorframe and step back into the cold. Somewhere on the ridge, a dog barks once and falls silent. I keep watching the doorway, waiting as the morning light creeps across the parade ground.