History Riddles: A Treasure Trove Book - Softcover

Leon Conrad

Softcover

ISBN 10: 1782792945 ISBN 13: 9781782792949

Publisher: Liberalis, 2015

Synopsis

Enjoy stories? Enjoy history? Youll love this book! How well do you know your history? Pit your wits against this collection of 30 cultural riddles featuring popular historical stories and legends. Engage with these riddles out of sheer fun and curiosity as a reader, or use them when facilitating an /Odyssey Dynamic Learning System/ journey (Liberalis Books, 2015). Youll find they intrigue, tease, inform, educate, enlighten, and entertain. Still guessing? There are clues to help you. Think youve cracked them? Check out the background information for the answers and for suggestions on exploring topics further. How many riddles will you be able to solve?

About this title

About the Author

Leon Conrad is co-founder and lead trainer at The Academy of Oratory and teaches communication skills for negotiators for The Negotiation Lab. He lives in London, UK.

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.

History Riddles

A Treasure Trove Book

By Leon Conrad

John Hunt Publishing Ltd.

Copyright © 2014 Leon Conrad
All rights reserved.

ISBN: 978-1-78279-294-9

Contents

Acknowledgements, 
How to use this book, 
Introductory notes, 
Riddles, 
Clues, 
Background information, 
Indices, 
Bibliography, 
Resources for further exploration, 

CHAPTER 1

Riddles

Bang!

Bang!

A list is nailed to a church door.

Bang!

The printing press spits out another copy of the list.

Bang!

The list lands in the hands of people in the marketplace and its contents hit their hearts.

Bang!

The list lands on the Pope's desk.

Bang!

We're still experiencing the effects today.

• What was so special about that bit of paper?

• Who's produced it and why?

• And what are the effects we're experiencing today?

[Clues: this page; Background information: this page]

Vision

A man emerges exhausted from dancing for twenty-four hours in a state of fasting and self-denial, his arms punctured with wounds. Standing with difficulty; proud, strong, drawing on superhuman strength, he makes a supreme effort to address the other members of his tribe and other tribal allies. They listen in awed silence as he speaks of dangerous times ahead, a vision of hostile warriors, reduced to the size of insects, falling head down from the sky into their territory. They look at each other, knowing they are in the presence of someone who is in touch with the Great Spirit.

• Who is this man?

• What does his vision describe?

• What happens as a result?

[Clues: this page; Background information: this page]

G

My face has been shaped with a metal file; my shoulder grooved; my foot nicked. My face has been covered in soot to see what I look like in mirror image. I've been thrust into red hot flames to harden me; plunged into a bucket of water to temper me. I've sired many offspring that form groups and families to make powerful marks wherever people use them. I'm small, but powerful. So powerful I've changed the world.

I started off in the Far East, but revolutionised European history when I was recreated by a German goldsmith, entrepreneur and inventor in Mainz.

• What am I?

• Who was this German goldsmith who recreated me?

• And what are we most famous for?

[Clues: this page; Background information: this page]

Pine Tree

Rome, 104 CE. The superintendent for the banks of the Tiber, an intelligent man, in his early 40s; a man who's well-known as a writer and thinker, is finally writing a letter – something he's been putting off for a while, because of the memories it brings back, memories of his uncle's tragic death 25 years previously, of a column of smoke like a pine tree, around 20 miles high, of unbearable heat, of a grey cloud that settled over a huge area, how he watched from a distance, powerless to help, unable to resist the huge force of nature. He's been asked to write about his uncle's death by a colleague, who is a historian and wants to write a true account of what happened.

• Who is the writer?

• Who was his uncle?

• And what caused his uncle's death?

[Clues: this page; Background information: this page]

Sealed

We're in an open field alongside the River Thames in Surrey, not far from Windsor Castle. We're here to stand up and say enough is enough. We've had enough of excessive taxation. We've had enough of oppression. We've had enough of injustice. We're here to stand up for justice. We're here to stand up for ideas which are more powerful than men. We're here to stand up for the freedom of our church and our country. We crowd round a tall man in purple robes as he reads from a document. He's addressing the king – a lean, seated figure, who is increasingly unhappy about what he's hearing. If he wants us to follow him, he will have to put his seal on this document. Blackmail? Perhaps. But enough is enough.

• Where are we?

• Why?

• And what will the king do?

[Clues: this page; Background information: this page]

Asp

We're in a monumentally large, forbidding building, built like a palace. Huge rooms are supported by columns. The central colonnade which cuts through them is lit with oil lamps. The walls beyond are painted with life-sized figures in vivid colours – figures of strange animal-headed people in various poses. At the end of the colonnade, in the largest and furthest room, a group of women gather – they look sad, nervous, afraid. They are grouped around the central figure. This figure, a woman, is lying on a raised, bed-like structure decorated with pictograms of birds, feathers, lions, baskets, cartouches and other graphic symbols. Her face is incredibly beautiful. Her skin is clear and her complexion unblemished and yet she looks pale – deathly pale. She reaches her hand out towards a basket of figs beside her. She doesn't choose one, but extends her hand deeper into the basket, waiting for something to happen ...

• Who is she?

• What is she waiting for?

• And why?

[Clues: this page; Background information: this page]

Revolution

Paris, 1793. A young woman is holding an older woman's head in her hands. The young woman trembles slightly – she's afraid. She's been asked to make a model of the older woman's face by the people who are now in power. Her life, literally, depends on it. As she shapes the plaster cast, she remembers how not long ago this woman ruled over millions; she'd had the prettiest farm in the country where she loved to play with her friends, looking after the animals and making them look beautiful. When she was younger, she'd played games with Mozart. Now ... she's gone. Her world no longer exists, and the young woman is left holding her severed head. As she waits for the plaster to harden on the death mask, she wonders what will happen when she finishes. Will it please the people who have asked her to make it? If she succeeds, they say she will live. If she fails, will they send her back to prison? Will they chop off her head? Will they kill her anyway?

• Who is the young woman?

• Whose head is she holding in her lap?

• And what do you think she might be best known for today?

[Clues: this page; Background information: this page]

A Photo Shoot?!

A young man and a young woman are sitting at a kitchen table in a house in the countryside. They're brother and sister. Visibly nervous and shocked, he's telling her the story of something that happened the day before in the big house on the nearby estate, where he had recently been appointed as a guard: of how at 2 o'clock that morning, the family, who were living under house arrest there, had been ordered to gather in a basement room to have a family photograph taken. The head of the family stood in the centre of the room; his 13-year-old son, only half-awake, sat on a chair to his right. Behind him, against the wall, stood his wife and their four daughters. A few of the household staff had been assembled as well. "And then ..." the young boy faltered, reaching out to touch his sister's arm, continuing in a low voice, "... they killed them. They killed them all!"

• Who was killed?

• By whom?

• Why?

• Where did it happen?

• And what do you think the sister's reaction was?

[Clues: this page; Background information: this page]

Time!

We're on a flat stretch of ground, looking out to sea on a crisp, late summer day watching a group of men playing bowls. We're dressed – as they are – in doublets and hose, with white ruffs and velvet hats trimmed with feathers and thin, sharp swords at our belts.

Suddenly, we catch sight of a line of beacons being swiftly lit along the coast. As the line reaches the nearest beacon, a messenger rushes up, bows and urges us to go down to the coast to board the fleet of ships that's waiting down there. We're under attack.

We watch and wait as the players turn to the most senior person in their party – some excitedly, some nervously – and await his orders. The tension in us mounts like the flames in the beacons.

"Gentlemen, I suggest we finish our game before going out and punishing these upstarts for interrupting our fun."

We watch as they finish their game, then follow them down to the coast ...

What happens next?

[Clues: this page; Background information: this page]

Shells

"Hey! Look out to sea! There's the emperor's trireme – that big ship with the three banks of oars. The trumpeters are getting ready to play a fanfare. Listen. He's probably going to give a speech in a minute. It's nearly a hundred years since Caesar landed in Britain and we have a situation. There's fighting in Britain and we're being sent to sort it out. There aren't that many of us and it's been a long, hard march through Germania down to the coast of Gaul. And now, here we are, on the coast of Gaul, being ordered to get the battle gear ready. So, on the north stretch of the beach, some of the legionaries are checking the stone-throwing machines we call ballistae; to the south, others are setting up the large dart-throwing machines we call catapultae ... but wait. What's that he's saying? He wants us to gather a whole lot of seashells? And why's he dressed like that? Who does he think he is? Venus?"

• Who is this emperor?

• Why have the soldiers been asked to gather seashells?

• And why is he dressed this way?

[Clues: this page; Background information: this page]

KKM

We're at a huge building site at the edge of a hot sandy desert on the western shore of one of the longest rivers in the world. In front of us are three structures. These structures are so huge they take your breath away. The last is still under construction. The sloping walls of the structures gleam brightly in the heat of the sun. We've come to pay our respects, for this is a burial site of three great rulers. While the last is still alive, this is where he will be buried when he dies. The sound of stonecutters' chisels ring out off the rocks, along with the chants of workers pulling heavy blocks in place, interspersed with creaking of machinery and the shouts of overseers – sounds that have been echoing around this site for decades. We sit and watch and as dusk falls and the sounds quieten, the stars in the night sky shine brightly down with Orion, the brightest of them all, the Dog Star, clearly visible.

• Where are we?

• When?

• What are the structures?

• And for whom were they built?

[Clues: this page; Background information: this page]

Blast!

On a dark November night, a tall, thin man wearing a tall black hat and a sweeping black cloak crept between the narrow streets of the town lined with wooden houses, carrying a lantern. He was heading towards an empty storehouse near a palace which backed on to a river. He entered the building nervously, looking over his shoulder to make sure that no one had followed him. He hesitated, checking to see if anyone was hiding out inside, closing the door behind him only once he was sure he was alone. Inside, in the light of the lantern, he checked the piles of firewood that he and his friends had placed at the end of the room, under which they'd hidden some barrels. Finding them as he'd left them, he put the lantern down carefully and settled down to wait. He thought about the plan he and his friends had hatched up. Tomorrow was the big day. The palace would be full. And when it was, that's when he'd do the deed. Until then, all he had to do was sit, wait, and guard the barrels.

• Who was the man?

• Where was he?

• And what was he planning to do?

[Clues: this page; Background information: this page]

Never Man

It's a summer's day in dark times. A fierce war is being waged across four continents with over thirty countries drawn into the conflict. And a 65-year-old man, a high-ranking official from a noble family who's spent his life in political service to his country, steps out of a bunker near the western edge of the westernmost borough of London. Thoughtful, silent, he stands for a moment, turns and looks up at the air raid siren on the roof and the blue sky overhead. Beside him, his chief staff officer, thirteen years his junior, moves to say something, but the older man says, "Don't speak to me. I have never been so moved." He pauses, then walks purposefully yet thoughtfully towards the car parked by the entrance, waiting to take him back to London. After a while, the older man says something – a single sentence; powerful in form, deep in meaning – which strikes both of them.

That line was later heard by millions of people across the world.

It helped boost a whole nation's morale, galvanise patriotic spirit and is still remembered today.

• Who were these two people?

• What was the occasion?

• And what was it the older man said that had such a strong impact?

[Clues: this page; Background information: this page]

Stars

We're heading North down Arch Street (in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania) towards the upholsterer's shop at number 89. We're looking for a pretty little narrow 2-story brick building with a pattern of black and red brickwork on the façade made of alternating glazed and unglazed bricks.

We know we're there when we get to the small window with a sign with the owner's name, and fancy pillows, hand-embroidered waistcoats, tablecloths and other household furnishings on display. We enter to find the owner, a calm, gentle widow of medium height, with a core of steel, talking to a couple of clients.

The two men by her are wearing wigs, long frock coats with gold trimming, black shoes with bright brass buckles and white stockings. Each of the men holds his three-cornered hat in one hand. One of the them is showing her a rough sketch of a design they've come to ask her to make up.

Pattern-cutting scissors in hand, she's snipping away at a piece of folded paper which she unfolds to reveal a regular shape. "Here. This is how I'd do it. Not difficult at all," she says.

• Who is she?

• Who are the men?

• And what have they come to ask her to make for them?

[Clues: this page; Background information: this page]

Maps

We're in the throne room of a Moorish palace. The room's high walls are richly decorated from top to bottom with bands of colourful interlacing lines and repeated geometric patterns. It's a warm day and the calming sounds of birds chirping and water cascading gently from a fountain at the centre of a long rectangular pool outside permeate the room. Servants usher a man in. He enters, carrying a bundle of maps and artefacts. He's tall; in his forties; his eyes are lively; he's wearing a smart, long, plain brown tunic; a short brown cloak; and a black and silver cross hanging from a silver chain around his neck. He kneels at the feet of a royal couple in an attitude of humble nobility. When told to rise, he does so slowly, with dignity. They start to talk. During the conversation, he rolls out a map and points westwards to where the wide, empty ocean sea is shown. The king and queen listen. She seems more interested in the cross he's wearing than in what he's saying. It's taken him 6 years of negotiation to get to this point – scholars have looked over his plans before and shaken their heads.

• Who is the man with the maps?

• Who is the man he's talking to?

• What do they think of his plan?

• And why does the queen seem more interested in the cross the man wears around his neck than the ideas he's been talking to them about?

[Clues: this page; Background information: this page]

Bones

We're in a long, painted medieval hall. The walls are decorated with angels which have been painted with peacock feathers and saints painted with squirrels' tails; the ceiling with stars, painted with down from the breasts of royal swans. There's a meeting taking place. It's a meeting of a group of men that are chosen to be part of it when the need arises. The group's members have been meeting in this room since 1547. A figure in a long gown stands up to speak, but the leader of the group interrupts him. He's impatient. He points to one of the group's members. "You're just a juggler." He points to two others. "You're whoremasters." "You're a drunkard," he shouts at another. "And you're cheating the public. I won't stand for it." He beckons to one of the soldiers standing at the door and gives him an order. "Take away that fool's bauble," he says, pointing to a long ornamental stick made of gold. He declares the group was no longer fit to carry the name it has been given and turns everyone out of the house, shouting, "Depart, I say. In the name of God, go!" and locks the doors behind them.

• Who was the man?

• What was the group he had just disbanded?

• And why?

[Clues: this page; Background information: this page]

Terrible Twos

Some say it never happened.

Some say it only happened to a few people.

Some say it happened to thousands.

Others ... well, they stay silent. The grief is too great to allow them to speak.

For those that hear it, the noise is deafening. The kind of noise that makes your brain spin, your guts turn, your eyes water, your body reel. You're unlikely to hear the like of it, and you'll be thankful for that. Thankful you'll never hear what they hear: the cries of mothers in mourning; the cries of dying children, run through by spears; the thud and splat of babies' heads bashed against rocks; the cries of fathers dying while trying to save their youngest sons – not one of them over two years old. Some older children are speechless. Some are adding their howls to the general cacophony. [One child, probably the same age as you, is curled up in a corner, hugging a dog, finding comfort in the warm fur and the wet tongue licking the boy's face clean where the blood of his baby brother has spurted over it.] This was such a nice place before the King ordered the slaughter. Why would he do such a thing? Why here? Why now?

• Where is this scene set and when?

• Who was the king?

• And why had he given the order for all male children under the age of two to be killed?

(Continues...)

Excerpted from History Riddles by Leon Conrad. Copyright © 2014 Leon Conrad. Excerpted by permission of John Hunt Publishing Ltd..
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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Edition details

• Publisher: Liberalis
• Publication date: 2015
• Language: English
• ISBN 10: 1782792945
• ISBN 13: 9781782792949
• Binding: Paperback
• Number of pages: 204