77 Chapter 8: The Emperor's Gamble

When one saw the grim flash of his eyes as he sat down on the imperial throne, he reminded one of a fiery whirlwind, so overwhelming was the radiance that emanated from his bearing and his very presence. His dark eyebrows were curved, and beneath them the gaze of his eyes was both terrible and kind. A quick glance . . . [would] inspire in the beholder both dread and confidence. His broad shoulders, muscular arms and deep chest, all on a heroic scale, invariably commanded the wonder and delight of the people. He radiated beauty and grace and dignity and an unapproachable majesty.

-Anna Komnene, the Alexiad

In his essence, the emperor was like a scorpion; for while you have nothing to fear from its face, you do well to avoid injury from its tail.

-William of Tyre [Quotes read by The History of Byzantium]

There was no city like Constantinople in the medieval world. It was a legend to those in the West; a still-standing bastion of Rome’s ancient glory, untoppled by the waves of Germanic and other peoples that had laid low an empire. In the west the collapse of the Roman urban system had meant that people scattered to small villages, leaving the once-great metropolises in ruins. At this time the largest cities in France were Paris and Lyon, both of which numbered around 20,000 to 25,000 people. On the Italian peninsula, Amalfi, Salerno and Genoa boasted populations of roughly 50,000. Constantinople stood somewhere between 500,000 and a million. The only Christian-controlled city outside the Eastern Roman Empire that could compare was Palermo at 150,000.

None of the lords of the holy war had ever seen a city so great, save only Bohemond, and him with sorrow. The giant had no doubt been to Palermo after it fell under Norman control, and he had campaigned across Greece. Yet, he had failed to take all of these in campaigns against his half-brother and uncle or against the Emperor Alexios Komnenos I.

The great capital was made to overawe any who approached. Surrounding the Theodosian walls was a moat 60 feet wide and 22 feet deep that ran for four miles from the northern to the southern limits of the city, from the Golden Horn to the Sea of Marmara. Its waters were more than enough to swallow any invading army. A system of pipes from the city meant it could constantly be refilled. A short wall on its eastern side allowed archers to fire upon those trying to ford the waters.

If any force managed to cross the moat they then arrived on a strip of land dwarfed by the outer wall. This 27-foot tall garrison line was constantly manned by archers, spearmen and teams capable of launching Greek fire, a sort of medieval flamethrower whose fires could not be put out by water. Behind this wall were catapults that could launch clay pots filled with Greek fire. Towers two meters thick ran along the wall.

Finally, there stood the inner wall. This massive defensive fortification stood roughly 10 meters, or 33 feet, taller than the outer wall with 96 towers standing 19 meters or 62 feet tall. The inner walls were five meters thick, wide enough that four men could stand abreast, allowing for the rapid movement of large numbers of troops wherever they were needed. These inner walls contained ballistae and catapults that rained projectiles down on enemies far below them. These walls’ foundations went so deep that if an invading army tried to dig underneath them they would only hit hard stone.

Constantinople’s limits were the hard outer shell of a colossus besieged by the entire Earth. In contrast, its interior was meant to preserve a magnificence that had been snuffed out throughout the rest of Europe. Its palaces, churches and markets were marvelous to the Westerners in size and opulence. Crowning the city’s southeastern seaside was the imperial palace. At 19,000 square meters the palace rose up along a steep hill. Just west of the Emperor’s abode was the Hippodrome, a vast circus for chariot races, capable of holding up to 100,000 spectators. More people could congregate in the Hippodrome than there were citizens of any single city in Western and Central Christendom, save only Palermo.

Perhaps the most magnificent of all the capital’s wonders was Hagia Sophia, the church of ‘Holy Wisdom.’ At 55 meters, or 180 feet tall, it was the tallest-standing structure in all of Europe by a wide margin. Only the ruins of the Colosseum in Rome could compare. For the Western lords, who viewed three-story tall buildings less than half that height as imposing, the great church must have taken their breath away. Had they not been overwhelmed by its outside, its inside was more wondrous still. Crowning the center was a giant golden dome, built with arches at its base to allow in sunlight. On a clear day it looked as if a golden orb floated above the church, shining with the glory of heaven.

Constantinople was more than its monuments. The motion, sights, smells and sounds were a cosmopolitan smorgasbord. Greek was the most commonly-spoken language, and most inhabitants were of Greek stock. Yet, amongst these were large numbers of Westerners. Many Italians set up houses along the ports for trade with the peninsula. Boorish mercenaries from Normandy, England and Scandinavia were a common sight, as were pilgrims from West and Central Europe. Slavs, namely Bulgars, trod cobblestones beside Pechenegs, Turks and other peoples who were under the nominal rule of the Greeks in the empire’s western edges. Arabs were not a common sight given the violence between the Eastern Roman Empire and the Muslim powers. Still, some Arab traders could be seen selling ivory and gold from Sub-Saharan Africa, spices from India and silk from faraway China.

Constantine’s city was alive and well. Even still, a sense of impending disaster hung above the everyday opulence. The city’s numbers swelled with refugees from the east. Impoverished, sick and wounded masses hid behind the titanic walls, hoping that they and the strait, would protect them from the Turkish onslaught.

This was the city that greeted the lords of the holy war, and it was the greatness, not the suffering that Alexios I wished to impress upon the crude Westerners. The holy war was born as the Emperor’s mad gambit to save his empire, but it had vastly outgrown him. Now entire armies stood outside the walls of Constantinople. The anxiety-riddled imperator of the East planned to wrest control of this vast host and subsume it to his will before it could turn on him.

Alexios I’s plan was to have each great lord swear an oath of personal loyalty to him to restore the empire’s frontiers, rather than take the land for themselves. This measure was both to get a guarantee of intent from the French lords and as a show of Alexios I’s political power to his own conspiratorial vassals. This was an audacious scheme; to ask hardened men to bleed, even die for a foreign country. Yet Alexios I had a number of cards to play. First, the holy war would depend upon Greek provisions to march through enemy territory. Second, any land which the Westerners took would be in a dangerous position, caught between the Byzantines, Turks, Arabs and even other Westerners looking to create their own states. Thus, Alexios I would counsel the Westerners’ to shelter under his aegis. Third and finally, the Emperor aimed to capitalize on divisions between the Westerners, sowing suspicion in their ranks to bring them further into his orbit.

This last measure was not difficult to achieve. The seven lords of the holy war were not a united group. They hailed from different territories within France that often warred against each other. The only exception was Bohemond who hailed from Italy and had no stake in any of France’s inter-personal squabbles.

Another thing that divided the Westerners was the fact that some of them did not even share the same native language! French was at this time more of an umbrella term for a grouping of languages, rather than one cohesive way of speaking and writing. Northerners spoke a dialect known as langues d'oïl, because their word for ‘yes’ was ‘oïl.’ Southerners spoke Languedoc, because their word for ‘yes’ was ‘oc.’ Over time, ‘oïl’ became ‘oui,’ and langues d'oïl became French, whose speakers stamped out regional dialects. In contrast, Languedoc became the Occitan language, which is, like Catalan, almost a mixture of French and Spanish.

The five northern lords could easily understand each other as they spoke langues d'oïl in their native lands. As a Norman, Bohemond grew up speaking langues d'oïl among family and at court, though he likely spoke with an accent given his upbringing in Italy. Raymond of Toulouse likely understood langues d'oïl, though as a southerner he also spoke with an accent and was not as versed in the northern tongue. The less wealthy a person was, the less educated they were, meaning that the further down the social ladder one went throughout the armies the less capable they were of understanding each other. While the lords might have shared some basic speaking comprehension, the lowest infantrymen spoke a hodgepodge of dialects from French, German, Flemish, Middle English, Italic and others.

But the one thing that threatened the unity of the holy war more than anything else was the original and greatest sin: pride. The Emperor understood well that each man was looking to wring glory and power from the conflict. As long as Alexios I posed as the path to power and the other lords as obstacles he could outmaneuver them politically and subvert the holy war to his will.

To win over the Latins, Alexios I employed all the pomp that Constantinople could offer. As the Western lords approached, he gave out gifts of incredible wealth, including gold, silver, gems and Chinese silks; wealth enough to bankrupt a lesser kingdom. As impressive as this was it was also a pragmatic move; Alexios I knew that all that wealth would just end up back in his coffers as the soldiers used it to buy provisions.

The final stroke came with the visit to the throne room. Under normal circumstances the Emperor would not allow lesser lords to approach, or if he did they would have to wait a long time. Yet, Alexios I waived these protocols for the men he hoped to subordinate. The throne room was beyond opulent, even outright fantastical. The Emperor would wait upon his upraised throne, looking down at those who approached. In front of his throne was the most elaborately-carved tree, whose body and leaves were entirely gilt in bronze and covered in precious stones. Upon this tree were all kinds of spectacular golden birds bedecked by gems. Pipes ran through the birds and each bird would emit sounds similar to the real bird they were made to mimic. At the tree’s base were enormous and ferocious golden lions. These also had pipes running through their bodies and roared at those they approached, their tongues lolling in their mouths; quite the intimidation tactic.

The ceremonial entry to the throne room had developed over a millennia as Roman Emperors moved from military-political leaders to deities, then back to men again, albeit far greater than any normal man. Despite all this, Alexios I knew he could not just be imperious but personal as well. While protocol demanded he remain aloof, refusing even to meet their gaze or speak to his lessers, he instead welcomed them warmly. There was one tense moment during a meeting with Baudoin when one of the lord’s knights absentmindedly sat on the throne while his master was speaking with the emperor. When Baudoin saw it he immediately berated his vassal, though Alexios I graciously forgave the knight.

Alexios I’s meeting with Hugues went as well as he could have imagined. He easily charmed the pompous lord who swore to restore Byzantium’s lands in exchange for honors and adoption as the Emperor’s son.

The Emperor had a similarly pleasant encounter with his old rival, though despite their smiles neither had completely forgiven the other. Bohemond assured Alexios I that he came as the Emperor’s friend, to which Alexios I suggested that he must be tired from the journey and retire to an apartment set up just for him. Greek chefs greeted him with all kinds of meat left uncooked to reassure the Norman that they had not been poisoned. The giant thanked them, and he asked the chefs to cook for his men but he would have none of it. Bohemond knew the Byzantines well enough to know that they could smile at you one moment and stab you in the back the next.

When Alexios I and Bohemond met on the morrow the former made the latter a special promise: he would recognize Bohemond as lord of Antioch and all lands within fifteen days journey north by south and eight days west to east. Bohemond was ecstatic; should the holy war actually make it to the Promised Land he would become one of its greatest lords. Bohemond pledged himself unequivocally to the Emperor, promising to do his bidding, even to the point of pressuring other lords to likewise submit. The Norman hoped that such a show of subservience would warrant still further honors. He dreamed of being made Domestic of the East, ruling over Anatolia.

Alexios I’s promise to Bohemond was hardly a gift. First, Bohemond and his fellow Westerners would have to fight their way through 500 hundred miles of territory ruled by Turks just to reach Antioch. Moreover, the city was not truly something Alexios I had the right to give away; in the short term the Byzantines only wanted to regain Anatolia, with Antioch being outside their ability to hold. What Alexios I was offering was a truce: should Bohemond set up a principality around the city of Antioch then Alexios I would leave him to his own devices. In exchange, Bohemond would rule a buffer state between the Eastern Romans and Turks. In essence the Emperor and his old foe bartered over imagined victories and agreed to share the spoils.

While Bohemond delighted in his triumph, his nephew Tancred was furious that he had subjugated himself to the Greeks. The iron-willed young leader refused to do the same. He led the army across the Bosporus dressed as a common foot soldier to avoid even the chance that the Emperor’s agents might see he was a great lord and demand his fealty. Even still, Bohemond promised Alexios I that he would get his lieutenant to swear the oath in the end.

In short order Étienne of Blois, Robert of Normandy, and Robert of Flanders swore allegiance to Alexios I. To these men the post-war settlement did not matter. They wanted to defeat the Muslims, walk to the Church of the Holy Sepulcher, receive blessings on the spot where Christ was crucified, maybe pick up a few relics and return home. Most of the lords and their hosts passed peacefully across the strait to Kibotos where the Byzantines stockpiled provisions in anticipation of the coming campaign.

Godefroy was not so easily bought. The former Duke of Lower Lorraine had come to settle in the east as a ruler; he would not begin his new life with submission. One source even claims that Godefroy was part of a plot. Albert of Aachen records that Greeks who wanted to overthrow Alexios I stealthily entered his camp. There they convinced the lord not to meet with the Emperor, claiming it was a trap. Their ultimate aim was to arouse the Westerners against Alexios I so they could install their own candidate as emperor.

Whether moved by his own pride or by a Greek conspiracy, Godefroy refused to move his forces across the channel. For days his army encamped outside the walls of Constantinople and set about pillaging the countryside for supplies. In response, the frustrated Emperor sent his nephew Nikephoros Bryennios and his Pecheneg soldiers to dislodge the arrogant rabble-rouser. Battle broke out. The French and their allies fought viciously; the Duke himself reportedly killed seven men. The Byzantines were bested on the very doorsteps to their capital. Fleeing with their tail between their legs, the Greeks could only watch as the French proceeded to sack the great villas surrounding the city.

Alexios I, wracked by panic, seriously worried that the Latins would besiege the capital. Had the Emperor brought about his own doom by inviting the Western lords and their armies to his doorstep? In the midst of his despair, the beleaguered and paranoid Emperor recovered himself. Clearly the French could not be beaten on the field; but they could be starved. The Greeks simply shut their doors to the newcomers and waited. In days Godefroy caved. The former Duke agreed to meet with the Eastern ruler. When he passed into the imperial palace he was given, “heaps of gold and silver, purple robes, mules and horses.” There, his fellow lords Hugues, Robert, Robert, Étienne, and especially Bohemond, pressured Godefroy into taking the oath.

Finally, Raymond of Toulouse arrived with the largest of all the Western armies. The Count joined his fellows at the imperial palace. There, Alexios I asked for his submission. Raymond balked. He rebuked the Emperor, claiming that he had not traveled across the breadth of Europe to serve anyone but God. The other lords advised Raymond to submit; Bohemond even threatened to personally take action against him if he did not. The giant’s blustering made him popular among the common soldiers who just wanted to get moving and did not care for the high politics that kept them from marching. Yet, it failed to convince Raymond. Instead, the Count offered to swear an oath of friendship to Alexios I. He agreed he would not harm the Eastern Romans, nor take any of their land or possessions. Furthermore, he pledged his support against Bohemond in case the Norman behaved like, well, a Norman. Alexios I readily accepted this modified pledge; Bohemond was even then telling the other lords about his experience in warfare as he aimed to make himself the leader of the holy war. Alexios I dreaded the prospect that Bohemond would take command of the largest army the east had seen since Manzikert. If the greatest of the seven lords agreed not to be Bohemond’s puppet that was good enough.

Alexios I had triumphed in this difficult political contest. All the lords pledged loyalty or friendship to him, guaranteeing that any conquered Byzantine land would return to him. If they reneged on their oaths he would have undisputed justification to assert his rights. Furthermore, by securing the fealty of so many great lords, the Emperor had demonstrated to the court at Constantinople that he was not weak or inept.

With the oath behind them there was only one controversy left: who would lead the holy war? Hugues thought it should be him, given that he carried the pope’s own banner. Bohemond believed he should lead given his experience in the east. At the same time Étienne was writing his wife telling her that he was the leader of the holy war, given that he played a mediating role in council! Meanwhile Adhémar, Bishop of Le Puy, thought that he played a leading role given that he was the representative of the pope in the army.

Most of the armed pilgrims believed that the Emperor would be the leader. He far outranked each of the individual lords, and he could raise a host larger than any single army that they amassed. But when the time came to set out Alexios I announced that he would not join the holy war. The Emperor claimed that he needed to defend his European front while the French and their allies invaded Asia. In truth, Alexios I feared that a coup would take place in his absence. That, and he feared being caught in the midst of such a huge army. The Byzantine Empire was not what it had been. Alexios I knew he could never raise an army large enough to match the combined crusader forces. Moreover, the French had proven themselves time and again in battle. Should conflict arise between the Westerners and Easterners the West had both quality and quantity on their side. For now.

The holy war would have seven leaders instead of one. After so much planning, marching and conniving, the crusaders began to march.