di Andrea Romanazzi

Since the eleventh century, numerous folk tales and literary accounts have described the appearance of the “Furious Army,” a mysterious supernatural procession widely known across Central Europe. This eerie company of spirits and otherworldly beings would gradually become intertwined with later traditions of witches and warlocks travelling through the night towards their Sabbath.

The procession, composed of both male and female figures, was often depicted riding animals deeply associated with the pagan imagination, such as goats, horses, and strange birds of prey. At its head stood a mythical leader, sometimes an ancient pagan deity such as Wotan or Odin, and at other times a supernatural figure with distinctly feminine attributes. In certain traditions, the procession was accompanied by a ceremonial wagon, a recurring symbol in European folklore.

One particularly fascinating region in which to explore this ancient relationship between the living and the dead is Brittany, where pre-Christian beliefs never entirely disappeared but instead became deeply interwoven with the practices and imagery of Christianity.

This enduring connection with the realm of the dead continues to resonate in Breton legends, particularly in the figure of Ankou. Commonly portrayed as a skeletal figure carrying a scythe, Ankou is often mistaken for Death itself. Yet its role is more complex: rather than simply embodying death, Ankou acts as its messenger, a mysterious presence that announces an approaching departure from the world of the living. In some accounts, it even warns individuals of their impending fate, allowing them to settle unfinished affairs before their final journey.

Another remarkable testimony to this relationship with the dead appears in the writings of Procopius of Caesarea, particularly in his Gothic War. Referring to a mysterious land called Brittia, the historian introduces an account that he himself acknowledges as belonging to the realm of superstition.

Procopius describes the unusual duties performed by certain inhabitants of coastal settlements in the lands traditionally associated with Brittany. These people, he explains, were entrusted with an extraordinary task: transporting the souls of the dead across the sea.

According to his account, late at night they would hear an unexpected knock at their doors and a muffled voice summoning them to work. Without hesitation, they would rise from their beds and make their way to the shore, where seemingly empty boats awaited them. Yet once they boarded, the vessels would sink so deeply into the water that they appeared to be carrying an immense, invisible cargo. After reaching the opposite shore and allowing their mysterious passengers to disembark, the boats would immediately become light again.

What makes this account particularly evocative is the persistence of similar beliefs in Breton maritime folklore. Even today, abandoned boats may be seen resting