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Giovanni Villani, in his chronicle, reports that, in 1117, Pisa and Florence formed a military alliance. Pisa asked for protection against Lucca, while their troops were busy in Mallorca besieging a Saracen stronghold (Figure 4.1).1 The safeguard from Lucca meant a Florentine military presence right at the doorstep of their neighbors, the problematic nature of which did not escape the attention of the author. Villani explains at length the measures taken by the Florentine army to avoid any potential attack on women in Pisa while their men were away.
[They] encamped two miles outside the city, and in respect for their women they would not enter Pisa and made a proclamation that whosoever should enter the city should answer for it with his person; and the one who did enter was accordingly condemned to be hung. And when the old men who had been left in Pisa prayed the Florentines for love of them to pardon him, they would not. But the Pisans still opposed and begged that at least they would not put him to death in their territory; whereupon the Florentine army secretly purchased a field from a peasant in the name of the commonwealth of Florence, and thereon they raised the gallows and did the execution to maintain their decree.2
In this passage, Villani implicitly acknowledges the threat posed to the women of the city even by allied forces. He underscores in a benign military context that armed men around unprotected women can trigger violent scenarios. In this sense he regards the possibility of wartime rape a customary consequence of military exploits. We do not know whether the disobedient soldier did commit something beyond entering the city, but he is judged for violating the “respect for Pisan women” against the backdrop of a permanent possibility of rape. In addition, the passage also highlights the importance of perception. The long negotiation between the Pisan elders and the Florentines involving the request for pardon and the purchase of land underscores the determination of the latter to prevent any potential accusation of sexual violence or adultery. Two hundred years after the event, Villani is still interested in maintaining the gallant and rape-free image of Florence, and through this attempt he adopts a condemnatory approach toward sexual violence.
In the Middle Ages, the dismemberment of Agrippina, Emperor Nero’s mother, was not simply a gruesome family affair, but it had links to the emerging practice of dissection and the anatomical difference between the sexes. According to classical authors, after an unsuccessful assassination attempt involving a self-sinking boat, Agrippina was slayed by Anicetus upon Nero’s orders.1 In Roman History, Cassius Dio added that Agrippina opened her dress and asked Anicetus to strike at her womb “for this bore Nero.”2 Nero wished to see her corpse to verify the death, “so he laid bare her body, looked her all over and inspected her wounds.”3 The emperor examining the wound of the womb is transformed in the Middle Ages into the image of the ruler ordering the dissection of the female body.4 Jacobus de Voragine described such episode in the Golden Legend (c. 1260).5 Jean de Meun, in his continuation to The Romance of the Rose (c. 1275), wrote that Nero “had his mother dismembered so that he might see the place where he was conceived.”6 Jean de Meun is documented between 1265 and 1269 in Bologna, where post-mortem medical examination was practiced from the thirteenth century onward.7 Giovanni Boccaccio reports the story at length, including the wound of the womb, and mentions that in some sources “after her death Nero inspected the corpse, criticizing some parts of her body and praising others.”8
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