Before the sixteenth century, coins were produced in pretty much the same way as they had been in Ancient Greece. Metal would be heated until it was molten and poured into moulds before being allowed to cool. The blank piece (planchet) was then extracted from its mould and placed between two engraved metal dies. The upper die was then struck sharply with a hammer to produce an image on both sides. The process was repeated until the images produced on the coins fell below the required quality threshold, and it became necessary to replace the dies.
One of the problems associated with hammered coins is that it was difficult to produce coins of a regular diameter. Their irregular, non-uniform shapes made them particularly vulnerable to clipping, where criminals would cut slivers of precious metal off the edge of the coin before passing it on. The crime of clipping coins warranted the same punishment as counterfeiting – a death sentence.
When Elizabeth I became Queen on the death of her elder sister Mary in November 1558, she inherited a coinage crisis caused by the large number of badly worn, clipped and counterfeit coins in circulation. Coins struck during the first eighteen months of her reign failed to make much of an impact as the new coins were quickly seized by private collectors and thus failed to circulate, which proved Gresham’s law that “bad money drives out good”.
In 1560, the Queen ordered a recoinage to take place. Circulating money was recalled to the Tower of London to be melted down and transformed into new coins. The mint based there was restructured to better enable it to complete the task, and a Frenchman named Eloy Mestrelle was invited to travel to London with his family to set up the first mechanised coining press in England. The coins he produced that year would become the first non-hammered coins to enter circulation in Britain.
Mestrelle had learned his craft on the screw press at the French Mint at Versailles, and it appears that he may have arrived at the Tower under a cloud of suspicion. After appointing him to build and operate Britain’s first coining machine, the Queen also granted him a pardon “for all treasons, felonies and offences … in respect of clipping or counterfeiting coin” that may have occurred previously.
To create his coinage, Mestrelle poured molten silver into moulds, flattened the rough shapes with rollers and then punched out coin blanks of the correct size and weight. These were then placed between two specially created dies beneath a large 23-kilogram ram attached to a large cross-shaped handle. Rapidly rotating the handle slammed the dies together, which produced a perfectly struck coin with a milled edge to protect it from clippers.
The first English coins produced on the screw press in 1561 were the shilling, groat and half groat, and Mestrelle switched to sixpences and threepences when the new denominations were introduced later that year. The Queen was impressed enough with the new coins to award Mestrelle an annual pension of £25 in December 1561.
Though hammered coinage remained the bulk of the mint’s output, it is a testament to the superior quality of the milled sixpences struck in 1561 and 1562 that many thousands were still to be found in circulation well over a century later.
Milled shilling dated 1560-61
The vast majority of milled coins produced at this time were silver, but there were also some gold half pounds, crowns and half-crowns produced. The Bishop of London, Edmund Grindal, referred to them in a letter written in June 1562 in which he described them as being made “in a manner resembling print”.
When Londoners were struck down by the plague during the summer of 1563, the mint was forced to shut down for nearly a year as people fled the city. When it reopened, silver was in short supply, and production was slow, with the bulk of the work going to the hammerers. It wasn’t until the end of 1566 that the production of milled coins resumed and the screw press began turning out milled threepences and sixpences again.
Mestrelle’s small team had worked independently of the manual coin hammerers, who may have feared that the new technology would shortly put them out of a job. He also failed to endear himself to mint officials, who favoured the traditional hammered production method as it was considerably cheaper. Milled coins were increasingly seen as an expensive curiosity and attracted sightseers to the Tower who wished to see the new technology in operation, which presented its own problems for security.
In September 1568, a member of Eloy’s family, Philip Mestrelle, was arrested and charged with making four counterfeit Burgundian crowns. Eloy was implicated in the scandal, and four months later, Philip was convicted and hanged at the Tyburn gallows. Eloy escaped prosecution and secured a second pardon from the Queen. However, the knives were out for the Frenchman, and it appears that a successful campaign to sabotage his output at the mint had begun.
Coins struck by Mestrelle from 1570 onwards are notably inferior in design detail, which may have been because some of his equipment had been confiscated by mint officials. Mestrelle may have attempted to express his frustrations to the Queen in the form of a small medal made to commemorate the defence of the kingdom. On the obverse with the Queen’s portrait is the inscription, QVID NOS SINE TE (What are we without thee). On the reverse, there is an image of a castle, possibly the Tower of London, with the message, QVID HOC SINE ARMIS (What is this without tools). As if to underline his poignant plea, the quality of the medal is poorer than his earlier coin work. However, if Mestrelle intended to alert the Queen to his mistreatment at the mint, there is no evidence that he was successful.
The ‘Defence of the Kingdom’ medal produced by Mestrelle
In December 1571, a change of management at the mint neatly brought about the end of milled coinage at the Tower of London. Under the guise of an efficiency drive, the Warden of the Mint, Richard Martin, held a time trial to determine which technology could make the most coin blanks in one hour. While two men using Mestrelle’s equipment produced 22 blank sixpences, the hammerers produced 280. History does not record how many hammerers were involved in the trial, or why the trial didn’t involve the production of finished coins. It gave Martin the excuse he needed to seize the Frenchman’s machinery and forbid him from accessing the mint. Mestrelle was, however, permitted to retain his lodgings within the Tower, where he lived quietly with his family for the next five years.
The unemployed moneyer, faced with mounting debts, appears to have drifted into a life of crime. In October 1577, he was arrested in London and charged with counterfeiting. His possessions were seized, his house cleared, and his widowed mother and family turned out onto the street. Realising the severity of his predicament, he offered to divulge the names of former colleagues who were counterfeiting coins, but it was to no avail. In the spring of 1578, he found himself making the dreadful one-way journey to the gallows for an appointment with the hangman.
Mestrelle’s screw press equipment in the Tower of London was used occasionally, and remained a curiosity for several years before it was allowed to fall into disrepair. It would be over a century before the hand hammerers would be threatened again by the new technology. As time went by, other uses were found for the superior milled coins. In the opening scene of his play, ‘The Merry Wives of Windsor’, first performed around 1600, Shakespeare refers to ‘mill-sixpences’ being used as gaming tokens. There is also evidence that they were used as love tokens, where two coins were bent together into an ‘S’ shape for each lover to carry with them.
The tragic tale of Eloy Mestrelle is a powerful reminder that progress often comes at great personal cost, and that those who introduce change are not always honoured in their lifetime. Though Mestrelle died in disgrace, the ideas he brought to Great Britain would ultimately outlast his enemies. In that sense, his fate was the unfortunate consequence of being ahead of his time. But his legacy is a lasting one, struck into the very future of British coinage.
Christianity became the official religion of the Roman Empire in 313 AD. The western part of the empire fell in 476, but the eastern (or Byzantine) empire, with its capital at Constantinople, would continue for another thousand years after that.
For centuries after his public execution, there was no consensus among artists on how to depict the face of Jesus of Nazareth. The Bible makes no mention of his physical appearance, preferring instead to focus on his words and actions. Contemporary Roman, Greek and Jewish accounts of his life provide us with no evidence either. The earliest known depictions of Christ reflect this uncertainty. In some illustrations, he has long hair and a beard. In others, he is clean-shaven with short, curly hair.
The two very different faces of Jesus that appear on coins struck during the reign of the Byzantine Emperor Justinian II show us that even at the beginning of the eighth century, there was still disagreement about how Jesus should be depicted. The older of the two coins struck in 692 AD depicts a long-haired and bearded Jesus, with a face so intricately detailed and full of character that it appears almost to have been sculpted from life.
Gold solidus of Justinian II (692-695 AD)
It has been suggested that the coin engraver based his work on the colossal statue of the bearded Zeus at Olympia as his inspiration. The statue appeared on Greek coins and was destroyed during the fifth century. However, it seems highly unlikely that a pious emperor would select the face of a Greek god to depict his Lord and Saviour. This presents us with a mystery. Who or what was the inspiration for the intricate design?
Over a century earlier, in 525 AD, a chance discovery by workers repairing a wall in the Mesopotamian city of Edessa changed the way that Christ would be depicted forever. High up on the wall, they stumbled upon a hidden niche, and within the small space, they found a container with a strip of linen carefully folded inside.
The city officials would have gazed in wonder at the sight that greeted them. Imprinted onto the linen was the unmistakable image of a long-haired, bearded man with large owl-like eyes, a long nose, and a moustache. How the image had been transferred appeared supernatural, and it was described as having been ‘not made by human hands’.
The people of Edessa knew immediately what the cloth was. According to the history of their city, disciples of Jesus of Nazareth had visited Edessa centuries earlier and entrusted the linen to King Abgar, one of the first rulers to embrace Christianity. However, after his death, the city reverted to paganism, and the cloth was quickly hidden away for its own protection. Now its chance rediscovery prompted rejoicing throughout the Kingdom, and pilgrims soon flocked to Edessa to see the true likeness of their Saviour mysteriously imprinted onto the cloth.
Depictions of the bearded face on the Edessa Cloth (or Mandylion) soon began to appear throughout the Christian world and became known as the ‘Pantocrator’ (all-powerful) image. Within a few years of the rediscovery, the Basilica in Ravenna, Italy, had a beautiful mosaic of Christ based on the distinctive face. At around the same time, St. Catherine’s Monastery at Mount Sinai, nearly three thousand miles away, received a new wall painting with features that also closely matched the face on the mysterious cloth.
Basilica in Ravenna, Italy (left). Saint Catherine’s Monastery, Mount Sinai (right)
In 685 AD, Justinian II became the ruler of the Byzantine Empire at the age of sixteen. In the first years of his reign, he secured a very favourable peace treaty with the neighbouring Arab states in which they agreed on joint possession of Armenia, Iberia and Cyprus. The new détente, after decades of hostility, would have provided the emperor with access to the Mandylion at Edessa, which Muslims had occupied since 638 AD.
At first, Justinian’s coinage was conventional, but in 692 AD, he decided to place a front-facing portrait of Christ on the gold solidus, semissis and tresmissis, and the silver hexagram. The emperor would have called upon his most skilful engraver at the Constantinople Mint to undertake the task. This may have involved making a trip to Edessa to see the mysterious image up close. The Latin inscription accompanying the portrait, IHS CRISTOS REX REGNANTIUM, can be translated as ‘Jesus Christ, King of those who Reign’. On the reverse, the emperor is depicted standing and holding a cross, surrounded by the inscription DOMINUS JUSTINIANUS SERVUS CHRISTI, translated ‘Lord Justinian, Servant of Christ’.
The emperor’s unprecedented decision to depict Christ on his coins may have provoked neighbouring Muslims, who revere Christ as a prophet but reject His divine status. Despite waging war against the Byzantine Empire several decades earlier, wealthy Muslims used Byzantine gold coins in their transactions because they had a trusted weight. However, after Justinian II put the image of Christ on his coinage, Caliph Abd al-Malik ibn Marwan was compelled to issue the first Islamic gold dinar in 696 AD. Weighing 4.25 grams, the new Islamic dinar had a broadly similar weight to the solidus’ 4.5 grams, but was a significant departure from earlier Islamic coinage, which had previously imitated Byzantine designs.
The new dinar replaced all pictorial images with Arabic inscriptions declaring “No god but God, unique, He has no associate”, and “God is one, God is eternal, He does not beget nor is he begotten”. Furthermore, Abd al-Malik commanded that anyone who possessed Byzantine or Arab-Byzantine gold coins must hand them in to the mint for restriking or be punished by execution.
Islamic gold dinar minted at Damascus, Syria in 697 AD
In 695 AD, Justinian II was overthrown in a military coup when his former General, Leontios, seized the throne. In Byzantine culture, the emperor reflected divine authority, and since God was perfect, an emperor had to possess no physical defects. Consequently, the ousted emperor suffered the indignity of having his nose cut off to render him ineligible from ever sitting on the throne again before being exiled to the Crimea. Leontios had Justinian’s coinage melted down and remade with his portrait, but three years later, he too fell victim to a coup, which put Admiral Apsimar on the throne, who reigned as Tiberius III. Meanwhile, Justinian arranged for a prosthetic nose to be fitted and formed an alliance with the pagan Bulgars to plot his political comeback, which he achieved spectacularly in 705 AD.
After being restored as emperor, Justinian II promptly had Leontios and Tiberius III executed for their treachery and arranged for new coins to be struck, once again depicting Christ on the obverse. However, the majestic image of the long-haired, bearded Pantocrater was replaced by a much more youthful-looking face, with thick curly short hair and a smaller beard. The image is often referred to as the ‘Syrian’ image after similar depictions have been found in the eastern Mediterranean. The Latin inscription, DOMINUS IESUS CHRISTUS REX REGNANTIUM, can be translated as ‘The Lord Jesus Christ is the King of Kings’.
The second image of Jesus to appear on the gold coins of Justinian II from 705AD. Note the globe that the emperor holds inscribed with the word PAX (peace)
Why Justinian II chose such a completely different image of Christ for the coins of his second reign has long been debated. The answer may lie in the fact that during his exile, the Arabs had taken advantage of the political instability in Constantinople to attack Byzantine territories in North Africa and Asia Minor. Leontios and Tiberius III proved incapable of preventing them. So, with the resumption of hostilities, Justinian II may well have found his access to the Mandylion in the Muslim-controlled city of Edessa barred.
Surviving examples of Justinian II’s earlier coins in Constantinople would have been difficult to source following the reign of two emperors keen to remove all traces of their predecessor. This would have made it difficult for Mint engravers to copy the previous design struck ten years earlier. It is also possible that Justinian II may have feared for the safety of the Mandylion in the hands of his enemies if he chose to venerate it on his new coinage. Perhaps this explains why the emperor chose to depict himself on the reverse of the new coin (with a normal nose incidentally), holding a globe inscribed with PAX (‘peace’). Later, Justinian added his young son Tiberius to the reverse, and the two of them hold up a cross together.
A new reverse design depicting Justinian II and his young son Tiberius ruling together appeared later in the reign.
It was the last time that this depiction of Christ with short curly hair and a thin beard would appear on Byzantine coins. The reign of Justinian II ended abruptly in 711 AD when another military coup, this time led by General Philippikos, assumed control of the empire. Knowing that mutilation and exile had not stopped Justinian II before, the new emperor began his reign by making sure that his predecessor, together with his six-year-old son, were put to death immediately.
The image of Christ would not appear on coins again for another 132 years. At that time, a major debate raged through the empire over the veneration of religious images (icons), specifically as the Old Testament forbids the creation of objects to worship (Exodus 20:4-5). Emperor Leo III banned all depictions of Christ in 726 AD and ordered their destruction, prosecuting anyone caught venerating them. The situation was not resolved until the Second Council of Nicaea met in 787 AD and defended the veneration of images by arguing that Christ had provided one of his own by miraculously imprinting his image onto the Edessa cloth.
In 843 AD Empress Theodora restored the image of the long-haired, bearded Jesus to Byzantine coinage, which by now had become the commonly accepted image of Christ throughout the Christian world.
A century after the debate regarding images was settled, an armed delegation from Constantinople arrived at Edessa and negotiated with city officials to take ownership of the sacred clothin exchange for the release of two hundred high-ranking Muslim prisoners of war. On August 15th, 944, it arrived in Constantinople amidst great public rejoicing and was given a place of honour in the Pharos chapel of Constantinople’s Imperial Palace. Emperor Constantine VII personally inspected the cloth, and described the image as being “extremely faint, more like a moist secretion without pigment or the painter’s art”.
The Edessa cloth bearing the mysterious image of Jesus not made by human hands is welcomed in Constantinople on 15 August 944 AD
The cloth was initially considered too holy to be put on public display. One dignitary who received a private viewing was Gregory Referendarius, the Archdeacon of the Hagia Sophia in Constantinople, who preached a sermon declaring that Christ had “imprinted the reflection of his form on the linen”. Later, in 1130 a monk named Orderic Vitalis declared that the mysterious cloth of Jesus bore “the majestic form of his whole body … supernaturally transferred”.
Over seventy years later, a French visitor to the city, Robert de Clari, witnessed a weekly ceremony in which “the Shroud in which our Lord had been wrapped … every Friday was raised upright so one could see the figure of our Lord on it”.
In 1204, Constantinople was attacked and plundered by the French-led Fourth Crusade. Many priceless treasures from antiquity were destroyed as the Crusaders rampaged through the city seizing anything of value. It was reported shortly afterwards that “they have taken many relics, including the linen in which our Lord was wrapped’, and the whereabouts of the mysterious cloth with its enigmatic, supernaturally transferred image of Christ, would remain a mystery for the next 145 years.
Coins have long served as more than mere tools of commerce; they are miniature canvases that encapsulate history, culture, and artistry. Across centuries, nations and empires have minted coins that are not only functional but also artistically significant; capturing the essence of their time and place in ways that modern currency rarely achieves.
While some of these nations have long since disappeared and been nearly forgotten, their coins still survive and deserve recognition as treasures of human creativity and ingenuity.
The Rise of Numismatic Art
Throughout history, coins have been a medium through which rulers proclaimed power, celebrated achievements, and expressed cultural identity. From the grand empires of antiquity to the fleeting states of recent history, the artistry imbued in coins tells stories of political ambition, religious devotion, and societal values.
The Hellenistic Kingdoms: Coins of Divine Elegance
Silver tetradrachm of Lysimachus
The coins of Alexander the Great’s successors, the Hellenistic kingdoms, stand as some of the most artistically significant examples in numismatic history. These coins often depicted finely detailed portraits of rulers in a godlike manner, merging human and divine iconography. For instance, coins minted under Lysimachus, one of Alexander’s generals, feature the image of Alexander adorned with the horns of Zeus-Ammon, symbolizing his godly status. The intricate craftsmanship and symbolism of these coins evoke both reverence and admiration for the artistic prowess of their creators.
The Byzantine Empire: A Golden Legacy
The Byzantine Empire, which spanned more than a thousand years, left behind a numismatic legacy characterized by striking imagery and religious themes. Byzantine solidus coins, minted in gold, often featured detailed depictions of emperors alongside Christian iconography, such as Christ Pantocrator or the Virgin Mary.
Byzantine Christ Pantocrator Gold Coin
These coins were not merely currency but also objects of devotion and propaganda, reflecting the empire’s intertwining of faith and governance. Their luminous beauty and meticulous designs continue to fascinate collectors and historians today.
Forgotten Nations: The Artistic Echoes of Modern History
While the coins of ancient empires often garner the most attention, currencies from more recent, defunct nations also offer profound artistic insights. These forgotten coins tell tales of fleeting sovereignty and shifting borders, encapsulating moments of cultural pride and resilience.
The Austro-Hungarian Empire: A Symphony of Cultures
The Austro-Hungarian Empire, a melting pot of diverse cultures, produced coins that reflect its rich heritage. Silver crown coins minted during the reign of Emperor Franz Joseph I showcase intricate designs that blend classical motifs with the empire’s distinctive symbols. The harmonious artistry of its coinage and currency is a testament to the empire’s complex yet unified character.
Austro-Hungarian 100-coronas (1908)
Coins from the Austro-Hungarian Empire often bore inscriptions in both German and Hungarian. This was reflective of the dual monarchy established by the Austro-Hungarian Compromise of 1867, which recognized Hungary’s autonomy within the empire. For example, coins minted in Hungary during Franz Joseph I’s reign often included Hungarian inscriptions alongside German ones.
The Ottoman Empire: A Tapestry of Intricate Geometry
Ottoman Gold Coin of Sultani Sulayman
The Ottoman Empire, known for its architectural grandeur and calligraphic artistry, translated its aesthetic sensibilities into its coinage. Ottoman coins often featured elegant Arabic script and geometric patterns, embodying the empire’s Islamic heritage. These coins stood as not only a representation of monetary value but also as an extension of the empire’s artistic traditions, bridging the worlds of functional design and spiritual expression.
The Weimar Republic: Modern Art in Crisis
The Weimar Republic, marked by economic turmoil and political instability, nonetheless produced coins that reflect the artistic movements of the early 20th century. The designs of these coins often drew inspiration from Bauhaus and other modernist movements, showcasing sleek lines and geometric forms. While the republic itself was short-lived, its coins serve as reminders of the resilience and innovation that can arise even in times of hardship.
Coins of the Weimar Republic (1920’s – 30’s)
Conclusion
Today, these artistically significant coins from defunct nations and empires hold value far beyond their original worth. They are sought after by collectors, admired by art enthusiasts, and studied by historians. Their designs, often painstakingly crafted, provide a glimpse into the soul of their creators and the societies they represented.
Coins have long been more than mere instruments of trade; they have served as enduring symbols of power, authority, and ideology. From the ancient empires of Mesopotamia to the modern nation-states, rulers have harnessed the medium of coinage to disseminate political propaganda and immortalize their reigns. These small, tangible artifacts have transcended their economic function to become vehicles of communication, carrying messages of legitimacy, conquest, and cultural dominance across centuries.
The Origins of Coinage as Propaganda
The use of coins as a means of political messaging can be traced back to antiquity. One of the earliest examples comes from the ancient civilizations of Lydia and Persia, where rulers began issuing coins bearing their likeness or symbols of divine favour. The face of a king on a coin was not merely decorative—it was a statement. It affirmed the ruler’s divine right to govern and reminded subjects of their allegiance to a central authority.
Athenian Silver Owl (440 – 400 BC)
In the Greek city-states, coinage reflected not only the wealth but also the identity of the polis. The Athenian tetradrachm famously featured the owl of Athena, symbolizing wisdom and the city’s patron deity, alongside inscriptions that asserted Athens’ dominance in trade and culture. By circulating these coins throughout the Mediterranean, Athens projected its power and influence far beyond its borders.
Roman Coins: A Masterclass in Political Messaging
Perhaps no civilization perfected the art of propagandistic coinage quite like the Romans. From the Republic to the Empire, Roman rulers used coins as tools to consolidate power, celebrate military victories, and reinforce loyalty. Julius Caesar, for instance, was the first living Roman to have his portrait minted on coins—a bold move that signified his ambition and foreshadowed the transition from Republic to Empire.
Julius Caesar Silver Coin
The emperors who followed Caesar continued to exploit coinage as a medium of propaganda. Augustus, the first Roman Emperor, adorned his coins with images of Pax Romana, symbolizing the peace and prosperity brought under his rule. His successors, such as Trajan and Constantine, commemorated their military triumphs and religious policies through intricate designs and inscriptions. Constantine’s coins famously featured the Chi-Rho symbol, a Christian emblem, as a declaration of his support for the burgeoning faith and his vision for a unified empire under Christianity.
Pax Romana Coin of Caesar Augustus
Medieval Monarchs: Coins in the Service of Divine Right
During the medieval period, European monarchs used coins to assert their divine right to rule. Kings like Charlemagne and Alfred the Great issued coinage that featured Christian iconography—crosses, saints, and biblical inscriptions—to emphasize their role as God’s chosen rulers. These coins served dual purposes: economic and theological. They were tools of commerce and instruments of faith, reminding subjects of the divine order that legitimized monarchical power.
Umayyad Caliphate Silver Dirham
Islamic rulers, too, utilized coinage to assert their authority and religious identity. The Umayyad Caliphate, for instance, introduced coins bearing Arabic inscriptions, distinguishing them from the Byzantine and Sassanian coinage that had previously dominated the region. These coins were not merely currency; they were declarations of Islamic sovereignty, and the ideological shift brought about by the Caliphate’s expansion.
The Renaissance and the Age of Discovery
With the Renaissance came a renewed emphasis on art and humanism, which found its way into coinage. Monarchs like Henry VIII and Elizabeth I of England used coins to depict their portraits in increasingly lifelike detail, showcasing their wealth and power. These coins were often accompanied by Latin mottos that underscored their political philosophies and divine favour.
1754 Spanish Silver Pillar Dollar showing ‘Plus Ultra’ motto on two ribbons. The ribbon encircling the pillar is believed to be the origin of the modern dollar sign ($)
The colonial powers of the Age of Discovery also leveraged coinage to assert control over newly conquered territories. Spanish coins bearing the Pillars of Hercules and the phrase “Plus Ultra” symbolized the empire’s global ambitions and its expansion into the Americas. By distributing these coins in distant lands, Spain reinforced its dominance and the idea of a universal monarchy.
Modern Coinage: National Identity and Propaganda
In the modern era, coinage continues to play a role in shaping political narratives, albeit in subtler ways. The United States minted coins celebrating its founding fathers and national symbols, such as the bald eagle and the Statue of Liberty, to foster unity and patriotism. Similarly, Soviet coins featured imagery of workers and industrial progress, aligning with the ideals of communism and the glorification of the proletariat.
Even today, many countries issue commemorative coins to mark significant events, leaders, and milestones. These coins serve as reminders of national pride and historical achievements, ensuring that the messages of the state reach even the remotest corners of society.
A variety of national reverse designs for the modern Euro coin.
When the European Union introduced the Euro as a single form of currency for all 12 of its official members in 2002, the reverses of each Euro coin were uniform across the entire EU. But each Member Nation was allowed to create their own coin obverses, featuring national motifs and symbols.
Because euro coins circulated freely throughout the EU, the national obverses of Germany, Italy, Spain, and France could soon be found in markets in Ireland, Finland, Austria, and the Netherlands. But this only helped reinforce the message of European unity and strength through national cooperation.
The Power of Coinage in Historical Memory
Coins, though small and sometimes overlooked, have wielded immense power in shaping historical memory. They are artifacts of propaganda that encapsulate the ideologies, ambitions, and identities of those who issued them. As they passed from hand to hand, coins carried not just monetary value but also the weight of political authority and cultural influence.
By examining the history of coinage, we gain a deeper understanding of how rulers have sought to control narratives and consolidate power through one of the most enduring and universal mediums.
These minted messages, preserved in museums, archaeological sites, and private collections continue to tell the story of humanity’s political and cultural evolution.
When archaeologists unearth ancient coins, they’re not just finding currency—they’re uncovering miniature time capsules that can reveal surprising details about the civilizations that created them. Unlike many artifacts that deteriorate over time, coins often survive remarkably intact, preserving their messages across millennia and helping us reach back in time to directly touch their lives.
Perfect Messengers from the Past
Coins possess unique qualities that make them invaluable to archaeologists and historians. They’re officially dated, carry detailed imagery and powerful symbols, and they were usually mass-produced by central authorities and distributed across the lands ruled by that authority.
When a Roman emperor issued a coin proclaiming a military victory, for example, we have direct evidence of how the empire wanted that event remembered. Subsequent historians and even contemporary commentators may have interjected their own bias into their accounts. But the coins of the realm provide indisputable evidence of the ‘official’ tale – at least as the ruling powers wanted it represented.
Furthermore, the distribution patterns of coins tell stories that written records often miss. When Spanish pieces of eight appear in excavations across Asia, they help to map trade networks more accurately than any medieval document or shipping records. A single Byzantine solidus found in a Viking settlement speaks volumes about far-reaching economic connections.
Silent Emperors Speak
During the tumultuous Crisis of the Third Century (235-284 CE), the Roman Empire experienced rapid succession of rulers and civil wars. During this chaotic period, many emperors ruled so briefly (sometimes mere weeks or months) that traditional historical records either never documented them or their names were actively removed from all records over time. Coins bearing their portraits and names, however, have survived as tangible proof of their brief claims to power.
Some notable examples include:
Silbannacus – A complete mystery until the 1930s when a single coin bearing his name and image was discovered. Another coin was found in 2004. Beyond these two coins, we have absolutely no historical records of this emperor.
Domitian II – For centuries, historians considered him fictional until a single coin appeared in France in 1900. A second coin was discovered in 2003, confirming his brief rule around 271 CE as a rebel emperor.
Uranius Antoninus – A Syrian priest who declared himself emperor around 253 CE. Though mentioned very briefly in one historical source, our primary knowledge of his reign comes from his distinctive coins.
These “shadow emperors” demonstrate the remarkable historical value of numismatic evidence. When texts are silent, coins speak—preserving names, faces, and titles that would otherwise have vanished completely from historical record. Their survival also illustrates how thoroughly the Romans established their minting systems, where even short-lived usurpers quickly produced coins to legitimize their claims to power.
History Written in Metal
The true archaeological value of coins often lies in their unintended revelations. Consider the silver content analysis of Roman denarii, which shows gradual debasement—revealing economic stress long before written records acknowledged problems. Similarly, the wear patterns on coins show how long they circulated and how they were handled, providing insights into everyday economic life.
Spanish silver coins that were traded in Asia often feature ‘chop marks’ overstruck into their surface. This practice was particularly common amongst merchants who needed to verify the legitimacy of foreign coins in a market rife with counterfeits.
Coin hoards—especially emergency stashes buried during crises—create especially valuable archaeological snapshots. The Hoxne Hoard in Britain, containing 15,000 coins and buried around 410 CE, coincides precisely with Rome’s withdrawal from Britain. The newest coins in such hoards create terminus post quem dating (the earliest possible date) for whatever catastrophe prompted the burial.
Roman legions often buried their payrolls before a major battle (to avoid it falling into enemy hands if they were defeated.) To this very day, clay jars of Roman coins are still occasionally discovered during road or building construction projects.
Beyond Economics
Perhaps most fascinatingly, coins preserve cultural elements that would otherwise vanish. Religious symbols, architectural details of now-destroyed buildings, and portraits of rulers appear in miniature relief. The temple on Herod Agrippa’s prutah coin gives archaeologists architectural details of structures long reduced to rubble and bare foundations.
Coins also capture evolutionary changes in language, as inscriptions shift from Greek to Latin across the Mediterranean, or from Sanskrit to Arabic across Central Asia, documenting cultural transitions with remarkable precision.
Modern Archaeological Approaches
Today’s archaeologists apply advanced techniques to these ancient treasures. X-ray fluorescence reveals exact metallic compositions without damaging specimens. Digital mapping of find locations creates distribution patterns impossible to see before computerization. Each advance extracts more information from these tiny messengers.
For the dedicated numismatist and archaeologist alike, each coin represents far more than its face value—it’s a direct connection to the people who once held it, a microcosm of their economy, their art, their beliefs, and their identity. These miniature time capsules continue to speak volumes, one small disk at a time.
The Kingdom of Pontus was located on the southern coast of the Pontus Euxinus ‘hospitable sea’ in Asia Minor. Pontus Euxinus is an ancient name for the Black Sea and Asia Minor for an area which roughly covered that of modern day Turkey.
In the decades following the death of Alexander the Great, many new kingdoms emerged from his fragmented empire. Out of this period of formation came the Kingdom of Pontus which was proclaimed by its founder, Mithradates I, in 281 B.C. This new kingdom was Hellenized (i.e. culturally Greek) with Greek being its official language and its kings proudly proclaiming a bloodline through Alexander himself.
In general terms, Pontus was nothing special, it’s borders ebbed and flowed like most kingdoms. What it needed was a sign that great things were to come and they sure did come. Ancient sources record that in the birth year of one particular Pontic prince a comet burned brightly for 70 days, shining so bright as to be brighter than the sun itself. As a baby the prince was said to have been struck by lightning, a phenomenon which Alexander the Great’s mother, Olympias, had dreamt of happening to her womb and which had happened, too, to Semele, the mother of Olympian god, Dionysus.
Prophecies in the east had foretold the coming of a god-sent saviour king whose rise would herald the end of an evil empire. Was this the second coming of Alexander? In 120 B.C. Mithradates V, King of Pontus, was murdered by poison when his son and heir, also Mithradates, was only 13 years old.
The dead king’s wife and mother of young Mithradates, Laodice, took over the kingdom and set about having the young prince disposed of. Laodice had Mithradates ride dangerous horses and throw javelins and when this didn’t work she tried to poison him. That too didn’t work; Mithradates took flight and spent several years in the Pontic wilderness during which time he took a keen interest in the natural plant and wildlife of the kingdom.
Upon his return to court, Mithradates himself used a poison, possibly arsenic, to remove several treacherous relatives and rivals, managing to secure his kingdom in the process.
Mithradates VI ‘The Great’ had arrived.
This young man, the very prince whose birth, it’s said, had been heralded by a comet brighter than the sun and who had been struck by lightning as a baby, immediately set about writing himself into the history books. Through his father, Mithradates had a royal lineage harking back to the Persian emperors and through his mother he had a direct bloodline to Alexander himself. This meant that the new king was a perfect fusion of east and west, something which proved to be a potent political tool for the king whose dream was to form an empire unifying the towns and cities around the Black Sea.
In this endeavour, Mithradates was given a divine helping hand in inheriting Alexander the Great’s mantel, his purple cloak which, it’s thought, was imbued with the great emperor’s qualities. During a time when the Roman Republic was becoming increasingly powerful, perhaps it was Alexander’s inspiration which made Mithradates the republic’s most dangerous and relentless enemy.
The golden kiss
Mithradates’ rule saw the Kingdom of Pontus reach its largest extent and it wasn’t just his dreams of a Black Sea empire which caused this to happen but also a drive to liberate the Greek cities of Asia Minor from their oppressors, the Romans.
Using philhellenism (a love of Greek culture) as a political tool, Mithradates proclaimed himself as ‘great liberator’ of the Greek world and set about executing a ruthless plan which became known as the Asiatic Vespers. In 88 B.C. between 80,000-150,000 Roman and Italian citizens were murdered on a single day in the Greek settlements of Asia Minor. The plan was orchestrated by Mithradates who had convinced his friends and allies to rid themselves of their Roman oppressors in one foul swoop. It was a brutal move which is now considered to be one of the first genocides in history.
Rome wouldn’t stand for such defiance and the hornet’s nest was well and truly stirred. War was declared on Mithradates by the Roman Senate and what ensued became known to history as the Mithradatic Wars. Around this time Mithradates is said to have portrayed the Romans to his men as a group of people suckled by a she-wolf, who once had kings chosen from shepherds, soothsayers, exiles, and slaves, and who were hostile to him and other monarchs.
Not all kingdoms, however, bought into Mithradates’ cussing of the Romans who could be quite accommodating if it benefited them. King Nicomedes IV of Bithynia had been forced out by Mithradates and fled to Rome only a couple of years previously. With the aid of former Roman consul, Manius Aquilius, Nicomedes was able to gain his throne from the neighbouring Pontic kingdom but it didn’t end there. Aquilius encouraged King Nicomedes to encroach upon Pontic territory and this was seen as a massive affront by the proud and belligerent Mithradates.
Battle was inevitable. Aquilius’ forces took on Mithradates and were beaten with the former consul of Rome promptly fleeing in the direction of Rome to save his life. Aquilius got as far as the Aegean island of Lesbos before being handed over to Mithradates. Making an example of Aquilius, Mithradates had him placed upon a donkey and then forced to confess his wrongdoings all the way to the city of Pergamon. Waiting for Aquilius was an ignominious end. Here, Mithradates attempted to strike fear into all those who opposed or displeased him. Orders were given to heat a bar of gold to melting point which was then ceremoniously poured into Aquilius’ mouth. It was a bold move against the might of Rome and significant gains were soon made by Mithradates.
Liberation, divination and frustration
In the spring of 88 B.C. Mithradates was invited by the military leader of Athens, Ariston, to liberate Greece. If ever there was a chance to follow in the footsteps of Alexander as hero of the Greek people then it was now. A Pontic army was sent to Greece and anti-Roman rebellions erupted throughout the Greek mainland. Rome only had two Legions in the area but they were up in the northeast fighting against the Thracians.
Forced back to Greece to fight the first Pontic army, the Roman legions had their tails chased by a second Pontic army which had marched into Thrace. Now with two armies in the field, a heady sum of money was needed to realise Mithradates’ dreams of a liberated Greece. For this endeavour the spirit of Alexander was revived in a gold coinage which bore his youthful image. This was, however, more than a mere representation of the legendary King of Kings, this was the image of a god. Upon Alexander’s temple can be seen the curled horn of a ram; this is the deified Alexander as the god Zeus-Ammon. While building his empire, Alexander had insisted on marching his troops to the temple of Zeus-Ammon in the Egyptian desert. This famed oracle told Alexander that he himself was the son of Zeus-Ammon confirming the claims which Olympias, Alexander’s mother, had made years previously.
Subsequently Alexander’s portrait was sometimes adorned with horns of the Egyptian god, Amun, as confirmation of this divine status. On the reverse of Mithradates’ gold coinage is the seated image of Athena Nikephoros, meaning Athena ‘carrying Nike’, the Greek goddess of victory. Accompanying Athena and Nike is a Greek legend which translates as ‘Basileus Lysimachoi’ or in modern terms, ‘King Lysimachus’.
Why, then, do Mithradates gold coins name King Lysimachus and not Mithradates himself? These coins are direct copies of a gold coin struck by the founder of the Kingdom of Thrace, Lysimachus, over two hundred years previously. Lysimachus was a companion and bodyguard of Alexander the Great who had formed the new kingdom out of the chaotic power struggles that followed Alexander’s death in 323 B.C.
Lysimachus had struck the gold coins in honour of Alexander and they had become immensely popular, so much so that they were still circulating in Thrace and the Black Sea area when Mithradates’ army were campaigning there in the early first century B.C.. Recognising their popularity, Mithradates took to striking his own copies and used them to fund a contingent of Thracian mercenaries against the Roman legions.
As it happens, the famous Roman general and statesman, Sulla, eventually pushed Mithradates’ forces back into Asia Minor and the gold staters ceased to be minted around 86 B.C. It was a huge setback for Mithradates who was fined 600,000 gold staters and forced to abandon his attempted liberation of Greece. Rome would continue to deny the Pontic king from fulfilling his ambitions, however, during his reign, Mithradates did manage to conquer the historical regions of Colchis, Cappadocia, Bithynia, the Greek colonies of the Tauric Chersonesos as well as, for a brief time, the Roman province of Asia.
It was an awesome achievement but after a long struggle with his Roman nemesis, the mighty Mithradates was eventually forced to take his own life. The end game took place in the ancient Greek colony of Panticapaeon on the Cimmerian Bosporus in the northern Black Sea. In 63 B.C. Mithradates had hatched a plan to invade Italy by way of the Danube when his own troops led by his son, Pharnaces, revolted.
Reading the writing on the wall, Mithradates attempted to poison himself along with several other family members. Consuming the poison last, most had already been used and it was not strong enough to overcome Mithradates. He ordered a Gallic mercenary to finish the job by blade and Mithradates was dead. It’s believed that his body was taken by the famous Roman general, Pompey the Great, back to the old Pontic capital of Amasya to be buried in the rock-cut tombs of his ancestors. Pompey then awarded the Bosporan kingdom to Pharnaces for the betrayal of his father. Pharnaces ruled for sixteen years before making a decisive move on his original inheritance of Pontus.
The Romans reacted swiftly and a rapid five day war ended Pharnaces’ hopes, culminating in the Battle of Zela in 47 B.C. The victor at this battle was none other than Julius Caesar and it was a quick, clean and clinical routing of Pharnaces’ forces. Writing back to the Roman senate, Caesar summed up his actions in the famous words; ‘Veni, Vidi, Vici’ – ‘I came, I saw, I conquered’. It was the end of any hopes that the Kingdom of Pontus might be saved.
The Poison King
To this day, Mithradates is known as the ‘poison king’ but how did he earn this name?
From an early age Mithradates took a great interest in toxicology, taking the time during his years in the Pontic wilderness to become familiar with the poisonous plants and animals within the kingdom. Here could be found Monkshood, Hellebore, Nightshade, Hemlock, Azalea, Rhododendron and Pontic ducks, all poisonous if eaten. Once he ascended the throne, Mithradates set about building laboratories and collecting specimens from right across his new kingdom. Plants and animals with powerful healthful or poisonous characteristics were abundant throughout the Black Sea region and poison was built into the culture of some of Mithradates’ allies. The mounted nomad archers of Scythia, poisoned their arrows with a sophisticated concoction of viper venom and other pathogens.
Shamans from this area as well as physicians and healers were employed to help Mithradates find the holy grail of toxicology, a universal antidote to all poisons. A central part of this endeavour saw him consume a concoction of various poisons every morning as a means of building up immunity. In a world where poisoning was the preferred method of undetectable assassination, paranoia was a necessary evil. Mithradates employed guards in his kitchens as well as royal tasters. Poison cups of electrum (gold mixed with silver) were used which would reveal the presence of poison if a crackling sound was heard along with an iridescent colour. In addition, Mithradates used glossopetra or ‘tongue stones’ in his drinks. Believed to magically deflect poisons, glossopetra were, in fact, fossilized giant sharks teeth which, like the poison cups, would react with any hidden poisons.
Mithradates’ sleeping quarters were always guarded by a horse, a bull and a stag which would whinny, bellow or bleat whenever anyone approached the royal bed and while such measures may seem a little extreme they weren’t without foundation. It’s known that a group of Mithradates’ friends formed a plot to assassinate him but one of the conspirators, perhaps in fear of the king’s unorthodox methods of retribution, got cold feet. It was arranged that Mithradates would listen in on one of their meetings by hiding under a couch and the plot was known.
Retribution for this heinous plan, just like Aquilius’ faceful of molten gold, would serve as a potent antidote for anyone else thinking of doing the same. Naturally, the plotters were tortured and executed but Mithradates didn’t stop here, he then killed all the plotters’ family members and went on to kill each of their friends. Employing such brutal measures against his enemies and hunting down a universal antidote to poison were two of Mithradates’ most potent drives to ensure his position was kept secure.
Over the years a vast library was built, many notes taken and eventually a formulation was identified which would become the most popular and longest lived prescription in history. It was called Mithradatium and it led to Mithradates being hailed as the father of experimental toxicology.
After Mithradates’ death the formulation was reputedly found in his cabinet on a note written in his own hand. It was carried to Rome by Pompey and translated into Latin by his freedman, Lenaeus. According to Marcus Aurelius’ physician, Galen, Julius Caesar was prescribed Mithridatium and over time the emperors of Rome would all take a version of it. Roman poet, Juvenal, once wrote; ‘“If you want to survive to gather rosebuds for another day,” “find a doctor to prescribe some of the drug that Mithridates invented. Before every meal take a dose of the stuff that saves kings.”.
The formulation was said to contain many ingredients of which some of the more familiar are cardamom, anise, dried rose leaves,parsley, frankincense, myrrh, rhubarb root, saffron, ginger, and cinnamon. Nero’s physician, Andromachus, was one of the many doctors who claimed to have improved the recipe for which he replaced minced lizards with venomous snakes and added opium poppy seeds.
It’s Andromachus’ version of Mithradatium which archaeologists believe may have been found in a vat discovered near Pompeii in 2000. After the Romans made their mark on Mithradates’ universal antidote it went viral in Europe to the point where apothecaries were required by law to mix it outdoors in public squares.
For more than two millennia after the death of Mithridates, kings, queens, and nobles from Charlemagne and Alfred the Great to Henry VIII and Queen Elizabeth I would take some form of Mithridatium on a daily basis. It’s even been claimed that a form of Mithridatium was advertised by a pharmacy in Rome as recently as 1984.
Gold coins are something special. While silver coins were for the most part the common means of exchange in the mundane world, gold coins were destined for greater things, in this case the ransom of a captured king and in essence the arrival of two great powers, England and France.
In the 13th century, gold coins started reappearing in Europe. They were still scarce, but they at least existed. No longer were the Byzantine solidus coin, or is successor, the hyperpyron, the dominating gold coin. Northern Italian city-states took over the mantle, with especially the Florentine florin as the leading gold coin. First struck in 1255, was the first gold coin to be struck in significant numbers and for commercial use for about 600 years. In one coin lay the signal of a new dawn of European civilization.
Surprisingly quickly after the first florin, the French court introduced their own gold coin in 1266. King Louis IX, or Saint Louis, had the Coat of arms of France on the obverse, giving the coin its name, Écu, or “shield”. The coin was not popular, and disappeared again to make infrequent reappearances throughout the next century.
A Century to Forget
In fact, France was the richest country in Western Europe. The summers were long and warm, the winters mild and advances in agriculture gave a huge turnover. That, however, changed dramatically in the following century.
The Fourteenth Century was a saeculum horribilis, or horrible century, for Europe. The warm weather period which had lasted for two hundred years subsided, and a cold front took its place. These changes lead to bad harvests and a lack of food. The population, which exploded in the previous centuries, now faced several famines. As that was not enough, France and England were embroiled in a war from 1337 on which would take almost 116 years to resolve. Most of the fighting consisted of plundering of large areas in the French countryside. About ten years later, the extremely deadly plague, the Black Death, killed large amounts of the populous.
Gold for the King
In 1356, the French and the English clashed in the Battle of Poitiers. While they did fight honorably, the French forces were weakened by internal squabbles, and even though they had the numerical advantage, the English were both better tactically and better equipped. The English-Welsh-Gascoigne army, lead by The Black Prince Edward, captured the king of France, John II.
The French humiliation showed the open wounds in the French nobility for all to see. Outdated, divided and ineffective, they blamed each other, and mainly the king. When the English demanded first four, and then three million écu, many nobles balked.
The regent in the king’s captivity, Charles, had the unenviable task of raising money for the ransom and for the needed upkeep of the now weak army. The Estates General refused to grant the money, and ousted the regent. A civil war ensued, and Charles returned to power. He raised the money, and the king was set free.
Well, to be precise, the Black Prince treated the king to such luxuries during his captivity that the king probably saw little point in returning to the impoverished France. He would hunt pheasants, go to balls, eat lavishly, meet his family and converse with interesting people.
In fact, rumours have it that the king negated several reasonable demands made by the Estates General to prolong his stay. When he did return, it was in exchange for his second oldest son, Louis. As Louis escaped, John returned to England. If this was a matter of chivalry or longing for British hospitality is a matter of debate.
France would probably have produced gold coins faster and with much less opposition a century earlier, when the king was popular and finances were good. Now, however, the coins were minted in few numbers each year, and the amount was not met until the reign of Henry V about 60 years after the ransom was set.
The Majestic Coin
While the ransom was expressed in écu, it was paid in another currency. The coin had its own motif, and it did not feature a shield. To unite the French, Charles had made the image of King John II in full armor on horseback on the obverse. The motif was understood as the king free and on horseback, or in French: Franc à cheval. This, or possibly the legend “Rex Francorum” was the reason for the new name – the Franc.
The Franc lined the English coffers for a long time, and helped the English in their own development towards a sound money-based economy which was the backbone of the English Empire from the late 15th century onwards. The coin might have been French, but the fortunes were English.
It was also the start of a more sound financial policy for France. The Franc was fixed at a livre tournois, a specific weight, of gold. This predictability meant that for a good two hundred years, the French had a gold coin which could compete with both the Florin and the Ducat.
That is not all. The gold Franc followed the fortunes of the war. For while the gold coins did pay for the king who would defeat the French at Agincourt, it also paid for the 16 year old girl who rallied the French army to turn the tide and lift the siege of Orléans. Joan of Arc started the ousting of England from Europe and the defeat of their French allies.
This is therefore not only a coin, but also so much more. It is the start of sound French policy and unity. France had arguably never been in a more humiliating position than the one they were in when the coin was minted. When the Franc was discontinued in 1641, France was the strongest country in Europe militarily and arguably financially. It was feared by most and commanded the respect of all. This coin is quite simply French pride and honour minted in precious metal.
Byzantine bronze follis struck AD 969-976 and the face on the Shroud of Turin
Since I was a small boy, I have been fascinated by the Shroud of Turin, where the paths of history, science and faith combine in one unique artefact. Irrespective of your religious beliefs, any student of history or science will find much to captivate them in the faint image of a crucified man that appears on the ancient cloth. Whether the linen once wrapped the dead body of Jesus Christ or is the work of a more recent medieval forger, the mystery of how the image is imprinted remains unsolved, even with twenty-first-century technology. It is my view that the image of Christ that appears on Byzantine coinage provides compelling evidence for the Shroud’s authenticity and a plausible solution to one of history’s greatest enigmas – the location of the mythical Holy Grail itself.
A New Acquisition
At some time during the short but distinguished reign of Byzantine Emperor John I Tzimiskes (AD 969- 976), an artist working at the Constantinople Mint was entrusted with the task of engraving an image of Jesus Christ for a new bronze follis. Earlier emperors had depicted Christ on gold and silver coins, but this was the first time that his likeness would appear on a mass-produced circulating coin.
The Emperor’s decision to depict Christ on his coinage instead of his own portrait may have been prompted by an exciting new acquisition. Constantinople had recently taken ownership of the holiest relic in Christendom, a mysterious image of Christ ‘not made by human hands’ but miraculously transferred onto a cloth, it was said, by Christ himself. Although it was considered too holy to go on public display at the time, our coin engraver would almost certainly have been granted the privilege of entering the Pharos chapel of Constantinople’s Imperial Palace for a special viewing in order to capture a good likeness.
The cloth had arrived in Constantinople amidst much rejoicing on 15th August 944 after being acquired from the city of Edessa (today, Urfa in Southern Turkey). According to local legend, it had been presented to King Abgar of Edessa by Jesus’ disciples when he became the first ruler to convert to Christianity. However, when the King died, the city reverted to paganism, and the cloth was hidden to protect it. Workers repairing the city walls in AD 525 stumbled upon it in a niche high above one of the main gates.
Images of the Mandylion
Rediscovery
The rediscovery of the Edessa Cloth (or Mandylion) sparked considerable excitement throughout the Christian world. One contemporary account described the image as “a moist secretion with no paint or artistic craft transferred with no artistic intervention on the cloth”.
Since the New Testament provide no clues about Christ’s physical appearance, pilgrims flocked to Edessa to observe what they believed to be His true likeness. From the Sixth Century onwards, artists increasingly depicted him with the distinctive facial features that appear on the cloth – long hair with a centre parting, large owl-like eyes, a long prominent nose, a full moustache and a slightly forked beard.
Contemporary paintings made of the Mandylion suggest that it was kept in a wide rectangular frame with a hole cut into the centre through which the bearded face could be viewed. It is interesting to note that artists who painted the face often framed it within a circle. Could this be the origin of the halo, or nimbus that became a popular symbol of holiness in medieval art?
The First Depiction
Gold coin of Justinian II (AD 692-695)
The first coins to depict Christ were struck almost three centuries earlier during the reign of Emperor Justinian II (AD 692–695). On that occasion, the coin engravers may have made the 800 mile trip to Edessa to see the Mandylion for themselves. Both the gold solidus and the smaller gold tremissis (one third the weight of the solidus) incorporate many intricate details present in the mysterious image. However, political instability in the region may have restricted future access to the cloth, and later designs appear to have been copies of the first strikes. During the Eighth Century, a fierce debate raged through the Eastern Church about whether it was heretical to make images of the Son of God. Many paintings of Christ were destroyed, and no coins were struck bearing his image for over a Century until the debate was resolved.
The mass circulating bronze coin of Emperor John I Tzimiskes marked the first in a series of what has become known as anonymous Byzantine folles. For the next 123 years, successive emperors chose to depict Christ on their circulating coins instead of their own portraits, which is why they are collectively described as anonymous. Whilst doing so may have been no more than an act of piety, it also allowed them to promote their holiest relic throughout the ancient world. On the reverse of the coins, several different inscriptions boldly identify the face that appears on them. The most common is the four-lined IHSUS XRISTUS BASILEU BASILE (‘Jesus Christ King of Kings’). There is also a popular cross symbol with two letters in each quarter, IC XC NI KA (‘May Jesus Christ Conquer’).
Anonymous Bronze follis (AD 969-976)
The Engraver’s Art
Engraving a portrait directly onto a small circular die required formidable talent, consummate patience and perfect vision. Given the large number of circulating bronze coins required to circulate through the empire, a relatively simple design would have been required so that the Mint could replace the dies quickly as they wore out. This posed another challenge to the Mint engravers as there would be no time to create the intricate and exquisitely detailed dies which had been crafted for the more prestigious gold coins. They had to work quickly using a design that was relatively easy to replicate over and over again to keep the coins coming.
I am going to suggest, for reasons which will hopefully become apparent, that our engraver took a novel approach to create his coin design for the bronze follis. Unable to create a beautiful portrait incorporating detailed facial features, he instead carefully copied the faint lines that make up the image. The result may have lacked the elegance of the gold coins but accurately replicated the mysterious face on Constantinople’s most important holy relic, which was presumably his brief.
The Mandylion Stolen
So, how successful was the coin designer in copying the image from the Cloth of Edessa? To answer that, we have to determine whether it has survived to enable us to make a comparison. In 1204, Constantinople was attacked and plundered by the French-led Fourth Crusade. It was later reported that the crusaders had” taken many relics, including the linen in which our Lord was wrapped’. The Mandylion, with its mysterious ghost-like image, slipped quietly into legend.
The attack on Constantinople by the French led Fourth Crusade in 1204
Without the original cloth, inferior copies made of the ‘true image’ (Latin: vera icon) soon took on a mythical quality of their own. A new origin story emerged in the 14th Century in which a woman from Jerusalem wiped Christ’s face with her veil as he carried his cross to his crucifixion, only to find a supernatural image of his face imprinted on it. The event does not appear in any of the New Testament accounts, and the name Veronica is most likely a corruption of the words ‘vera icon’. Several churches claim to possess either the true veil or an ancient copy. In reality, they are most likely early copies of the image on the Edessa Cloth made before it was stolen from Constantinople in 1204.
The Templar Connection
There is strong evidence that the real Mandylion was entrusted to the safekeeping of the warrior monks known as the Knights Templar, who were fiercely protective of their most precious treasure and kept its location a closely guarded secret. A Vatican researcher recently claimed to have unearthed a Templar initiation rite from 1287. In it, a young Frenchman called Arnaut Sabbatier testified that he was “shown a long piece of linen on which was impressed the figure of a man and told to worship it, kissing the feet three times“.
The Templar leaders are executed
When the Knights Templar fell out of favour with the Pope, the Grand Master Jacques de Molay was arrested with sixty of his knights in a dawn raid on Friday 13th October 1307. Charged with heresy, which included worshipping the image of a bearded man, years of torture and imprisonment followed, but they refused to divulge the whereabouts of the treasure they guarded.
Eventually, the King of France lost patience and had Moloy and his deputy, the Templar ‘draper’ Geoffrey de Charny, burnt at the stake in Paris on 18th March 1314.
From Lirey to Turin
In 1349, a distinguished French Knight, also called Geoffrey de Charny, requested permission from Pope Clement VI to display the burial shroud of Christ in his hometown of Lirey. It is highly probable that he was a descendant of the man who died alongside Moloy in Paris, although the family always refused to explain how such a remarkable object had come into their possession. This led one local bishop to denounce the shroud as being “cunningly painted … a work of human skill and not miraculously wrought or bestowed“.
After Charny was killed fighting the battle of Poitiers in 1356, his family displayed the Shroud to the public and struck special souvenir pilgrim badges, depicting its distinctive double imprint of a human body and bearing the Charny family’s heraldry.
Souvenir pilgrim badge struck by the Charny family
In 1453 Geoffrey de Charny’s elderly grand-daughter Marguerite de Charny, knowing she would die childless, passed the Shroud to the pious Duke Louis I of Savoy. His successors installed it at their then capital, Chambery where it was folded up and placed in a silver casket. In 1532 a fire swept through the chapel, and a drop of molten silver from the casket burned a hole through the folded layers of fabric within. Fortunately, the image was left more or less intact, and in 1578 the Savoy family moved the cloth to their new capital Turin, where it resides to this day. In 1983 ownership of the Shroud was officially transferred to the Roman Catholic Church.
Scientific Investigation
The Shroud of Turin
Photographic negative
Today, the Shroud of Turin is the most studied historical artefact in the world. The scientific community began to take an interest after amateur photographer Secondo Pia photographed the face for the first time in May 1898. As he developed the image in his darkroom, he nearly dropped the photographic plate in shock. The negative revealed details of the face that had never been seen before. Pia was accused of tampering with the image and had to wait until the Shroud was publicly displayed again in 1931 before another photograph could be taken to validate his startling discovery.
In October 1978, an international team comprising over 40 scientists was granted unprecedented access to the Shroud for five days. Calling themselves the Shroud of Turin Research Project (STURP), they included a nuclear physicist, a thermal chemist, a biophysicist, an optical physicist, a forensic pathologist and specialist photographers. They brought over eighty tonnes of scientific equipment to Turin to determine how the image had been formed and where it had been.
Three years later, STURP published their findings, concluding that “there are no chemical or physical methods known which can account for the totality of the image“.
The image shows the anatomically correct human form of a scourged and crucified man with wounds consistent with the Biblical accounts of Christ’s crucifixion. These include a bleeding scalp, a severe scourging with multi-pronged whips, wounds in the wrists and feet and an elliptical wound in the side that appears to have been made by a spear.
No pigments, paints or dyes were found on the linen fibres that would account for the image, meaning that the image cannot be the work of an artist. The bloodstains that cover the cloth are human and contain a high concentration of bilirubin, produced when a body is suffering extreme stress and pain. Curiously, the blood was present on the linen before the image formed around it. Pollen grains taken from the cloth have been identified as coming from plants that flower in Jerusalem, Edessa and Constantinople, suggesting that the Shroud has spent time in these locations.
More Than A Face
One problem with linking the Shroud of Turin with the Cloth of Edessa is that the latter was often described as bearing an image of Jesus’ face while he was still alive and not an image of his whole body laid out in death. However, it would have made practical sense for the original custodians of the cloth to disguise the fact that it once wrapped a dead body. Grave clothes were considered untouchable and unclean by the deeply superstitious population, and it would have been far more palatable to display the face only and claim that the image had been miraculously transferred when Jesus was alive.
This might explain why the cloth was displayed in a wide rectangular frame with a hole cut into the centre to display only the face. The frame would have allowed room for a much longer cloth to be folded up inside it. Intriguingly, the original Edessan account of the cloth refers to it as being “tetradiplon“, which means four-folded. Analysis of fold marks on the Shroud of Turin confirms that it was indeed folded in this way for a considerable time.
There are also eyewitness reports that suggest that the Mandylion was a full-body image and not just a face. In the Eighth Century, Pope Stephen III (reigned AD 752 to 757) stated that Christ had “spread out his entire body on a linen cloth that was white as snow. On this cloth, marvellous as it is to see… the glorious image of the Lord’s face, and the length of his entire and most noble body, has been divinely transferred.”
Later, an English monk called Orderic Vitalis, writing in about 1130, confirmed that the cloth bore “the majestic form of his whole body… supernaturally transferred“.
In 1203, a French knight called Robert de Clari visited Constantinople and described seeing “the Shroud in which the Lord had been wrapped raised upright sothat one could see the figure of our Lord on it“.
Carbon Dating
Undoubtedly the greatest obstacle for linking the two cloths came in 1988 when laboratories in Oxford, Tucson and Zurich were granted permission to conduct a destructive Carbon 14 test on a sample cut from the Shroud of Turin to determine its age. They later declared that the Shroud was a medieval forgery, made between 1260 and 1390.
Regrettably, the laboratories showed no interest in understanding how a medieval forger had imprinted a full length anatomically correct image of a victim of Roman crucifixion complete with unique photographic properties onto the linen. At the Press Conference, Professor Edward Hall, Director of the Oxford Research Laboratory, suggested that “someone just got a bit of linen, faked it up and flogged it” as if this would have been an easy thing to do. Irrespective of when the linen was made, how the image came to be imprinted on it remains no less of a mystery.
Public exposition of the Shroud
In recent years, serious doubts have been cast on the validity of the 1988 test results. The test samples were cut from a corner of the cloth that priests had held up for hours at a time when displaying it to the faithful during outdoor expositions. We now know that smoke damage, prolonged exposure to the elements, and repeated handling can seriously affect the outcome of a Carbon 14 test.
Furthermore, in 2005 one of the original STURP scientists, Ray Rogers, examined a control sample cut for the test that was not destroyed and concluded that cotton had once been expertly woven into the ancient linen to repair the area and then dyed to disguise the repair. If correct, this would invalidate the 1988 results because it means that the samples cut from the corner “were not representative of the main Shroud“, which contains no cotton.
New Research
In 2013, a team of scientists from several Italian Universities led by Professor Giulio Fanti published the results of their non-destructive chemical and mechanical tests on the Shroud. Using Fourier Transform Infrared Spectroscopy (FTIR), Raman Spectroscopy, and other tests to measure the micro-mechanical characteristics of flax fibres such as tensile strength, the team was able to date the linen to “33 BC ± 250 years”.
To date, all attempts to date the Shroud using scientific methods have provoked controversy and accusations of bias, and the Catholic Church has wisely refused to have an official position regarding its authenticity. However, the new test results open up the genuine possibility that the Cloth of Edessa and the Shroud of Turin are the same historical artefact.
Facial Comparisons
I believe that the anonymous bronze follis struck between AD 969 and 976 make this connection even more compelling. The coins circulated throughout the Byzantine empire for many decades, meaning that surviving examples are often heavily worn. Frustratingly, the highest points on a circulating coin are inevitably the first to wear, so coins that still display clear facial features are rare. Fortunately, well-preserved examples exist, and we can see what the coin designer engraved onto the die simply by flipping the image that appears on the struck coin. When flipped and viewed alongside an image of the face on the Shroud, the similarities are extraordinary, especially when you consider that our engraver was working on an area little more than a centimetre in diameter.
Byzantine Follis (AD 969-976) compared with the face on the Shroud of Turin
Most striking of all is the distinctive cross shape incorporating the eyebrows, forehead and nose. There is a long horizontal band above the eyes, bisected by a long vertical line that starts at the hairline and extends downwards to become a long nose. The base of the nose connects to a smaller horizontal line that forms the moustache, which slopes down slightly on the left-hand side. There is a distinctive mark on the right cheek, and beneath the moustache is a small square and a forked beard. The long hair, which hangs down on both sides of the face, has two parallel strands of hair at the bottom left of the image. These features can be seen clearly on the Shroud image, and the result is a coin that resembles the Shroud image far too closely to be dismissed as a coincidence.
Byzantine Follis (AD 1028-1041) showing detail on the forehead that matches a bloodstain on the Shroud
A later bronze follis struck in Constantinople about fifty years later incorporates additional details that suggest that coin artists continued to have access to the original image. Intriguingly, there is a tiny mark in the centre parting of the hair in the forehead that resembles the inverted “3” shaped bloodstain that appears on the Shroud in the same area. In addition, the coin artist has replicated the way that the long hair appears to bunch at the shoulders. The eyebrows are represented with a long horizontal line, and there is the suggestion that the right eyebrow is slightly higher than the left. There is also a wound-like mark on the right cheek, a moustache that appears to slope down to the left and, most striking of all, a horizontal band across the throat.
Once again, I would suggest that the similarities are too many and too specific to be a coincidence.
Ramifications
So, if we are to consider these startling similarities to be compelling numismatic evidence that the coin artists working at the Constantinople Mint saw and copied the face on the Shroud of Turin, then the ramifications are significant. It means that the Shroud is considerably older than the flawed Carbon dating results indicate. It also provides compelling evidence that the Cloth of Edessa and the Shroud of Turin are one and the same. It is frankly inconceivable that there were two linen cloths present in Christendom at the same time, both containing a mysterious image of Jesus not made by human hands.
There is an additional, intriguing implication of this research. According to legend, the holiest relic protected by the Templars was the Holy Grail, a mysterious vessel that Joseph of Arimathea, a wealthy follower of Jesus, used to collect Jesus’ blood in at his crucifixion. The grail is often associated with the cup that Jesus used in his last supper with his disciples before his death. But why the Romans executing Jesus would have permitted one of his followers to catch his blood in a drinking cup makes no sense at all. So, could this vessel be something else?
The New Testament may provide us with the answer. Could it be that the vessel that Joseph of Arimathea used to contain Jesus’ blood in was not a drinking cup at all, but the blood-stained linen cloth that wrapped around Jesus’ crucified body in the tomb?
“As evening approached, there came a rich man from Arimathea, named Joseph, who had himself become a disciple of Jesus. Going to Pilate (the Roman governor), he asked for Jesus’ body, and Pilate ordered that it be given to him. Joseph took the body, wrapped it in a clean linen cloth, and placed it in his own new tomb that he had cut out of the rock.” (Matthew 27:57-60 NIV)
Does the face of Jesus struck onto the coins of the Byzantine Empire reveal that the lost Cloth of Edessa, the legendary Holy Grail and the mysterious Shroud of Turin are, in fact, the same historical artefact?
The Coins & History Foundation is proud to announce the publication of a major new work explaining the history and impacts of the Islamic silver coins called “Dirhems.” The author, Jani Oravisjärvi,is an archaeologist currently working as a project researcher (University of Oulu) on The Silver and origins of the Viking Age -project. Jani is a former keeper of the numismatic collections at the National Museum of Finland and a former executive secretary and board member of the Finnish Numismatic Society.
Here is a short excerpt from the book’s introduction:
“One group of coins was issued during the period 1300 years ago, which we we know today as the Viking Age. The coins that started it all are dirhems. Those Islamic silver coins weighing just under three grams changed the direction of history and ushered in a whole new chapter in coins and currency. Dirhems formed a continuous stream of silver flowing along the eastern road through Europe to the North for two hundred for a year from the early 800s to the early 1000s. Without dirhams, the Viking Age and others to follow would have looked very differently.”
“Despite their importance, dirhems and other money of early Islamic culture are not very well-known among the general public. Early Islamic money is the oldest witness to Arab and Islamic identity so they can also be approached, for example, from a cultural and religious history point of view. In many matters related to Arab and Islamic history money is an excellent – and sometimes even the only – group of known objects, whose provable value cannot be underestimated or disputed.”
Tokharistanissa ryhdyttiin dirhemeitä lyömään paikallisten emiirien toimesta 870-luvulla. Alueen pääkaupunkina toimi tuolloin Balkh, mutta rahanlyönti oli keskittynyt Andarabaan, joka sijaitsi sopivasti kahden keskeisen hopeakaivoksen lähettyvillä. Samanidien ottaessa alueen hallintaansa vuonna 287h (900) rahapajat lisäsivät samanidiemiiri Ismailin nimen rahojen takasivulle vallan tunnustuksen osoittamiseksi. Tässä vaiheessa dirhemeitä ryhdyttiin lyödä myös Balkhin rahapajassa. Yleisesti erittäin vaativana pidettyyn leimasimen (meistien) kaivertajan tehtävään palkattiin vuonna 292h (904) poikkeuksellisen taitava käsityöläinen, jonka leimasimia pidetään yhtenä varhaisen islamilaisen historian kaikista kauneimpina (kuva 87). Tämä ei jäänyt myöskään muilta alueen rahapajoilta huomaamatta, sillä heti seuraavana vuonna muut rahapajat ryhtyvät jäljittelemään rahojen kaunista tyyliä.
Dirhemeiden tyylin muutoksen perusteella voidaan todeta, että vuonna 293h (905/6) Andaraban rahapaja irtisanoi siellä vuodesta 287h (900/901) asti työskennelleet leimasimen kaivertajat ja palkkasi näiden tilalle yhden tai mahdollisesti useamman taitavamman kaivertajan. Ainakin yhden irtisanotuista kaivertajista tiedetään siirtyneen samana vuonna avattuun Panjshirin rahapajalle, sillä siellä lyödyt tyyliltään kömpelöt dirhemit ovat täysin identtisia aiempien Andaraban dirhemeiden kanssa. Tämän kaivertajan ura leimasimien kaivertajana vaikuttaa kuitenkin päättyneen kyseisenä vuotena, sillä enää tämän jälkeen hänen kaivertamilla leimasimilla lyötyjä dirhemeitä ei tavata..
Uusien kaivertajien myötä laadullinen ero on välittömästi havaittavissa välittömästi Andarabassa lyödyissä dirhemeissä. Laadullisen eron ohella osaan rahoihin ilmestyy pienellä kirjoitettuna leimasimen kaivertajan nimimerkki ”Mujib”, joka sijaitsee yleensä takasivulla kehätekstin yhteyteen pienellä piilotettuna (kuva 88). Signeerattujen leimasimien perusteella hänen tiedetään työskennelleen Andaraban rahapajassa noin kymmennen vuoden ajan.
Andaraban ohella Mujibin tiedetään kaivertaneen leimasimia myös edellä mainitulle Panjshirin rahapajalle. Kyseisen rahapajan tekee poikkeukselliseksi kolmen eri nimen käyttö samanaikaisesti. Arabimaantieteilijä al-Hamdani (893-945) kertoo paikallisesta kaivoksesta kaivetun hopean jaetun kolmeen osaan: yksi osa kaivostyöläisille (Ma’din, suom kaivos), yksi osa paikallisille (’Askar Pansjhir) ja yksi osa paikalliselle rahapajalle (Pansjhir) rahaksi lyötäväksi. Näin ollen eri rahapajanimet vastaisivat todellisuudessa sitä, kenen laskuun Mujib kunkin leimasimen kaiversi. Signeerausten syy ei alkuaan välttämättä ollut erityinen ammattiylpeys, kuten oli esimerkiksi klassillisen kauden syrakusalaisten leimasimien kaivertajien kohdalla, vaan hyvin käytännöllinen syy. Mujib kaiversi leimasimia pienelle rahapajalle, joka löi rahaa lähinnä paikallisten tarpeisiin. Kaivertamalla nimensä leimasimiin hän varmisti saavansa oikean suuruisen palkkkion tekemästään työstä. Parhaiten tämä oli osoitettavissa nimimerkin avulla, joka kiistatta osoitti hänen valmistaneen kyseiset leimasimet.
Kuva 3. Samanidit: Nasr ibn Ahmad (301-331h 913-942)nimissä lyöty dinaari. Nishapur, 324h (935/6). Etusivun reunassa noin klo 9-10 kohdalla signeeraus “Abu Harith“.
Tapa signeerata leimasimia levisi myöhemmin, mutta se ei koskaan laajasti yleistynyt. Samanidien rahojen kohdalla tunnetaan yhteensä neljä eri leimasimen kaivertajaa, jotka ovat signeeranneet leimasimet. Volgan bulgaareiden keskuudestakin tunnetaan kaksi eri kaivertajaa. Rahojen yleisyyden perusteella kaikista tunnetuin leimasimien kaivertaja on todennäköisesti Nishapurin rahapajassa 930 luvulla työskennellyt Abu Harith, jonka signeeraamat samanidien dinaarit ovat kaikista yleisimpiä signeeratuilla leimasimilla lyödyt islamilaiset rahat (kuva 89).
Islamilaisessa taiteessa, arkkitehtuurissa ja käsitöissä teosten signeeraminen vakiintui hyvin varhaisessa vaiheessa vuosien 1050-1100 välisenä aikana. Rahojen osalta tämä käytäntö alkoi jopa sata vuotta aiemmin. Ensimmäinen signeeratulla leimasimella lyöty raha havaittiin vuonna 1938, jolloin Amerikan Numismaattisen Yhdistyksen (American Numismatic Society) islamilaisten rahojen kokoelmasta vastannut George C. Miles (1904-1975) havaitsi signeerauksen Isfahanissa vuonna 358h (968/9) lyödyssä bujidien dirhemissä. Signeeraus ”qabla ’amal al-Hasan ibn Muhammad” (suom. al-Hasan ibn Muhammadin työ) oli vain 1,5 millimetriä korkea ja 5 millimetriä pitkä.
Signeerausten perusteella al-Hasanin tiedetään työskennelleen kolmessa eri rahapajassa: Arrajanissa, Isfahanissa sekä al-Muhammadiyassa (nyk. Teheran). Näistä rahapajoista hänen tiedetään aloittaneen Arrajanin rahapajassa vuonna 354h (965-7), jolloin hänen signeerauksensa havaitaan ensimmäisen kerran. Hänen signeeramia rahoja tunnetaan vuosien 354-360h (965-971) väliltä. Tämän jälkeen hän siirtyi al-Muhammadiyan rahapajaan, josta tunnetaan hänen vuonna 362h (972/3) signeerama dirhemi. Hänen kohdallaan leimasimet ovat täydellisesti kaiverrettuja rahojen ollessa täydellisen kauniita (durust), joten al-Hasanin tapauksessa signeeraamisen avulla osoitettiin oman työn nousseen tavanomaisuuden yläpuolelle.
JANI ORAVISJÄRVI on arkeologi (MA), joka työskentelee tällä hetkellä projektin tutkijana (Oulun yliopisto) teoksessa The Silver and origins of the Viking Age (ERC-projekti). Jani on entinen numismaattisten kokoelmien pitäjä Kansallismuseossa ja entinen Suomen numismaattisen seuran pääsihteeri ja hallituksen jäsen.
