Anon the living host stood ready. For each Latin outside the wall, according to Geoffrey de Villehardouin, two hundred Greeks stood inside. When have so few besieged so many?
It was agreed that Venetian ships would attack the walls overlooking the harbor while Frankish knights and sergeants would strike Blachernae palace. Long ago this palace stood outside the walls and here the emperors chose to live because it gave access to hunting grounds, away from city noise and dirt and smoke. Chronicles do not say just when the walls of Constantinople extended to Blachernae, but very long ago. Here lodged goldsmiths, weavers, craftsmen who carved ivory and wood, those who worked in mosaic or illuminated manuscript. And the Greeks thought Blachernae could not be taken since here was preserved the uncorrupted robe of Our Lady, which was seized at Capernaum. Princess Anna Comnena relates how each Friday worshippers rejoiced in the presence and sweet aroma of this hallowed garment.
On the seventeenth of July came word that Doge Enrico and his Venetians would advance. They glided close to the city and unleashed showers of arrows. Old narratives make no mention of Greek fire, perhaps because there are few outlets in walls overlooking the harbor. Still, those Greeks had trumps through which they might have funneled the liquid. It is known that for at least five centuries Greeks and Arabs have employed this unnatural mixture to horrify and confound enemies. Also, a fleet of Christian warships going to the relief of Jerusalem was met by Saracen dromonds vomiting fire through the gaping mouths of brass serpents, lions, and dragons. As to how this fire is mixed, they keep the secret. In Constantinople are said to be metal tubes, casks, and porcelain vessels of curious shape, but no one is allowed to see how the instruments conjoin. Some Russian prince once sailed down the Black Sea with a mighty host but when his ships got near the wall they were spattered with flame out of long tubes. Many Russians leapt into the sea weighted down by armor, electing to drown rather than burn to death. I have heard that the substance is able to follow swimmers and ignite fires impossible to quench, but that is doubtful. Vinegar extinguishes it. Sprinkling sand subdues it. Most difficult to understand is how flame, which by nature ascends, can be made to fall downward. This appears contrary to the essence of its being, thus indifferent to the will of God. Men experienced at warfare, chemicals, and the like, when asked how this might come to pass, give differing answers.
Venetian galleys nearing the ramparts approached with caution, not certain what to expect. Then the blind, feeble doge stood erect beneath the banner of Saint Mark and called for his men to drive on. And when he felt the prow grind against land he leapt from the galley, so others followed. Overhead the ladder bridges swung forth, enabling Venetian soldiers to jump atop the wall. In this way several towers were captured and it seemed that Constantinople would be taken. But the emperor brought up increasing numbers of troops, which caused the Venetians to retreat. Ladies from the imperial court were seen on distant bulwarks avidly watching, discussing the struggle.
Latins established themselves in a fortified abbey known as the Castle of Bohemond to honor this famous knight. From behind palisades they set catapults to work throwing stones at Blachernae palace. From inside the walls Greeks likewise cast stones at pilgrim tents and often sallied from one gate or another to destroy Frankish instruments, but each time were driven back. Thus, while Venetians attacked by sea, these Franks prepared to move against Blachernae. There were but seven hundred knights, asserts Robert de Clari, of whom at least fifty were afoot. They grouped themselves to advance with sergeants following. Being this few, they conscripted grooms or cooks or anybody who could stand upright and fitted them with quilts and saddle cloths and copper pots for helmets, pestles or maces for weapons, so they looked very hideous. It may be supposed that Greek soldiers would jeer and laugh, but on the contrary these mudlarks, ostlers, gullies, scullions, and God knows what else sporting buckets on their heads with kitchen tools for weapons inspired such terror that the Latin camp proved safe enough.
Frankish knights long ago wore helmets like a cone. Now they were like a barrel, flat on top, slits through which the knight looked out, and a mailed cap underneath. Chain mail they laced up in back, over this a white linen jupon embroidered with a cross. Inhabitants of Constantinople appeared greatly frightened by such a spectacle, alarmed by pounding drums, the blast of oliphants. And here were Latin chargers dressed in cloaks that almost swept the earth while the ground shook beneath their hooves.
Near the seaward gate two ladders went up. This gate was held by the imperial guard, Varangians, blue-eyed men with red or flaxen hair and long mustaches, descended from Anglo-Saxons conquered by William the Norman at Hastings. Odoric Vitalis reports how a multitude of these people left their country rather than submit to Norman law. Many went to King Sven of Denmark, urging him to reclaim the land of his grandfather Canute. Others exiled themselves to foreign places, some as distant as Constantinople. Hence these blond Varangians, thinking of defeated ancestors, hated Franks and savagely assaulted them with axes when they tried to climb the wall. Villehardouin asserts that fifteen mounted the wall and fought at arm’s length, swinging swords as best they could. Most went down bloodily under Danish axes, limbs crushed. Two were led captive to Emperor Alexius who expressed delight. So the Greeks plucked up courage.
Now there was confused battling under the ramparts. Here came the emperor himself out the Roman gate, arranging his people for combat. The count of Flanders went riding to challenge him, each animal sumptuous in silk or another cloth displaying his master’s coat of arms. But the count did not press his charge. Two captains, Eustace de Canteleux and Pierre d’Amiens, a giant, called out they should advance. In God’s name! they cried. All at a trot! Then the count of Flanders to redeem his honor spurred forward.
Court ladies appeared at palace windows to observe and criticize. Alexius, not much caring for the look of things, withdrew. So his ladies gathered at the windows harshly berated him.
Late at night the emperor decided to escape. His cowardly behavior has been much argued. Latin chronicles mention civil unrest, people threatening to welcome young Alexius and make him their lord. Nicetas Choniates, a man of noble birth and well acquainted at court, describes the emperor as soft, weak in spirit, devoid of pride, fearful and anxious since he blinded his own brother, so what he did was but a natural expression of his character. They say this man exuded poison, animals could smell it. His mount reared frantically on the day he was crowned, almost unseating him, throwing his crown into the street. Now at midnight he fled, deserting his empress and their children, excepting the princess Irene whom he favored. Some think he recalled how David fled before Absalom and lived to reclaim the throne. That he forsook his empress is no mystery since she had betrayed him often enough. Indeed, a brother of the empress accused her of disgracing the imperial bed like a whore. Alexius abandoned her to the wind and like Moses escaping Egypt took as many pearls and jewels as he could, ten thousand gold pieces, and choice concubines to grease his loins. Where he went is argued. To a village called Develtos near the Black Sea, according to some. To the Sea of Marmora, say others.
Ministers of state when they learned he was gone did not know what to do. Outside the gate camped a host of Venetians and Franks. It seemed they must have a new emperor, but they could not decide whom to nominate. The imperial treasurer, a eunuch, proposed to restore Isaac Angelus. No matter that he languished sightless in prison, half bereft of sense. If he were set on the throne would not Constantinople have its rightful lord? How should the Franks deny him? How might they claim the youthful prince held jurisdiction above his father?
So here came a delegation of Greeks to the Frankish camp. They inquired for the son of Isaac Angelus and were directed to his protector, Marquis Boniface. And when they met the young prince they flattered him, rejoiced over him, profusely thanked the barons who delivered him, invited Frankish nobles to come and visit.
Geoffrey de Villehardouin, Mathieu de Montmorency, and two Venetian lords rode to the gate
of Blachernae, not quite trusting these Greeks. They dismounted when the gate opened and entered the palace, walking past members of the Varangian guard who stood as usual with axes in hand. There on a golden throne they saw Isaac Angelus dressed in costly robes, old and blind. There at his side a most beautiful woman, his wife, sister to the king of Hungary. Around them such a press of nobles and ladies that it was difficult to move. Here were mosaics depicting famous heroes, Ulysses, Alexander the Great, Achilles, Agamemnon. The ceiling glowed with luminous tesserae, water spouted from bronze fountains.
After these envoys talked with the emperor they felt reassured. They mounted their horses and rode back to camp. Then the young prince was escorted to the palace where his aged father embraced him, weeping for joy. Another throne was brought so he might sit beside his father until by the grace of God he alone should rule.
Isaac Angelus pointed out that if Latins bivouacked on the far side of the Golden Horn there would be less chance of dangerous quarrels. The barons admitted this was true so they moved across to Galata. Nevertheless, Constantinople drew many pilgrims to visit. They admired churches and palaces, gazed at stupendous wealth and holy relics. They looked toward the distant heliograph winking messages from a hill in Asia, messages that could be understood from a balcony in front of the senate. They visited the gate known as the Mantle of God, surmounted by a golden globe that protected the city from thunderbolts. They wondered at the triumphal gate with two elephants cast in copper. This gate was not opened except when the emperor returned in triumph after subjugating foreign lands. They saw a marble column fifty toises in height, wrapped in copper, bound with iron hoops. Atop this column an estrade holding a great copper horse, some emperor from ages past astride the animal, holding out one hand as if to chastise unbelievers. This might be Heraclius, some thought. Others thought Justinian. There was writing on the pedestal which declared that the Saracen would find no truce. Moreover, Constantinople was home to twenty thousand eunuchs. Pilgrims contemplated such remarkable sights and nudged one another. They looked up at two enormously high columns, each with a hut on top where a hermit lived. Each column had a little door through which one might enter and climb a staircase in order to watch the hermit. On the outside of these columns were prophecies that could not be understood until they had been fulfilled. Here were carvings that depicted strange ships, ladders, assailants with cropped hair who dressed in chain mail.
It happened that one day when certain Frankish lords went to the palace to visit Isaac Angelus they encountered a man with black skin and a cross burned on the middle of his forehead. They were astonished because they had not ever seen a man whose skin was black, nor any man with a cross burnt on his forehead. Interpreters asked if they knew who this man was. They replied that they did not. They were told that he was the king of Nubia who had come on pilgrimage to Constantinople and was lodged at a very rich abbey. The Franks talked to him through interpreters and asked where his country was. He answered that his country lay one hundred days’ travel below Jerusalem and sixty of his subjects accompanied him, but when they reached Jerusalem only ten were alive. And by the time they reached Constantinople there were only two. He said he would go on pilgrimage to Rome, thence to Santiago de Compostela in Spain because he wished to view the uncorrupted body of Saint James, miraculously transported there after martyrdom in Judea. Then, said this black king, from Santiago de Compostela he would return to Jerusalem and there would he die, if he should live so long. He said furthermore that all of his people in Nubia were Christian and when a child was baptized a cross was imprinted on its forehead with a hot iron. The Frankish lords, hearing this, wondered greatly.
In the cathedral of Sancta Sophia, on the first day of August in that year of our gracious Lord 1203, young Prince Alexius and his aged father were simultaneously crowned. Yet the people seemed indifferent, as if the ceremony had lost meaning. And each day brought quarrels between citizens and Latin soldiers because the people did not like armed foreigners dressed in chain mail who swaggered about the streets cursing, drinking wine, and staring rudely. Also, they began to dislike the youthful emperor who was propped on his throne by Franks and Venetians. They watched him go to the foreign encampment where he gambled and otherwise debauched himself. Nicetas Choniates asserts that he let drunken Franks wear the imperial crown. So the Franks, having no respect for one who demeaned himself, treated him with contempt. They snatched off his crown, replaced it with a wool cap. Young Alexius vainly sought to ingratiate himself by imitating his drunken hosts. Such was the heir to Constantine, Justinian, and Basil.
He confessed to Enrico Dandolo that his people despised him. They show a pleasant countenance, he admitted, yet they do not love me. If the Franks should leave Constantinople and proceed to the Holy Land, he said, he would lose his empire and his life. He implored them to stay, at least until spring, vowing to provide whatever the army required.
Presently, upon the advice of counselors, he set out with a huge following to establish peace throughout the realm and confirm his authority. While he was absent certain people set fire to Constantinople. It may be this was done for malice. Flames swept from the Gate of Charisius to Sancta Sophia near the lighthouse. Churches burned, consuming priceless relics. Shops and houses fell to ashes. This mighty wall of flame seemed half a league in width. For eight days the city burned. Franks across the harbor felt sick with grief but could do nothing.
Enmity between Greek and Latin could no longer be assuaged. Foreigners in the city gathered up their goods and crossed the Golden Horn to seek lodging in Galata, or joined the pilgrim camp.
They say Alexius was gone a very long time on his tour and did not get back until Saint Martin’s Day. The people welcomed him affectionately, which they had not done before, thinking that now he had learned to manage affairs. And he for his part, feeling more confident, grew haughty toward the Frankish barons who put him on the throne. He became less grateful to his benefactors, less submissive, no longer came to visit them in camp. And they on their side despised the youth because he had not paid two hundred thousand silver marks as promised. The old emperor Isaac Angelus counseled his son to honor the debt, but he would not listen, nor would members of his court.
Isaac Angelus began to decline, ill, wasting, and spent his days among astrologers. They advised him to remove the ancient statue of the Calydonian Boar from the hippodrome. In legendary days this famous boar had ravaged Anatolia. Now the astrologers persuaded Isaac Angelus to drag it to Boukoleon palace. With help from the boar, they said, we will vanquish the Latin host even as the boar once rent its enemies. Such prophets and monks fed the emperor’s senile fancy, Nicetus wrote, while stuffing themselves on fish and good wine at his table. Have we not seen the like?
Influential at court was a noble wretch untimely let out of prison, by name Murzuphulus. His first name in fact was Ducas, but Murzuphulus they called him because like an ape his tufted eyebrows grew together above his nose. Seven years he languished in the dark for some conspiracy but young Alexius let him go since he was descended from the house of Comneni, from Constantine X and Michael VII. At once this villain insinuated himself and gained the title of Protovestiarius, which means steward of the imperial wardrobe, and with unseemly pride wore the green buskins of office.
Ah, Sire, he whispered to the youth, already you have treated these Franks too generously. Already you have given too much. Would you mortgage your palace? Dismiss them from our land.
Milon le Brébant de Provins, Conan de Béthune, Geoffrey de Villehardouin, and three Venetian counselors rode to Blachernae, swords at their sides. They dismounted by the gate to enter the palace. They found Alexius with his blind old father seated on thrones, Greeks of noble rank all around. Conan de Béthune spoke, saying that he and his companions had come on behalf of the Frankish lords and the doge of Venice, and he presented his argument. It was heard with displeasure by Alexius and the nobility, as was evident from unsmiling faces. It seemed to the Greeks they
had been threatened. Some who were present say angry murmurs filled the hall. Others say this affront was met with gracious words but perceptible hatred. Be that as it may, the envoys walked out of Blachernae palace unmolested, thankful to pass through the gate and mount their horses.
Doge Enrico Dandolo had himself rowed across the harbor to consult the arrogant youth. They met on some islet or perhaps along the shore. Chronicles disagree. Yet there is much accord that Enrico Dandolo asked why Alexius behaved with vulgar ingratitude. We have obtained for you the throne of Constantinople, he said, and you should respect the agreement we made. Alexius replied that he would not. Already he had paid enough, he said, asserting that he did not fear the Franks. Indeed, they must vacate the land. If they did not leave he would do them harm. To this the doge replied. We plucked you from shit, miserable boy. We will cast you back.
Enrico Dandolo went away thick with loathing. Presently the high lords gathered but could not agree on what to do. Venetians argued that it would be difficult to operate catapults in cold weather, this being the season between All Hallows and Christmas. And while they occupied themselves with discussion the Greeks packed seventeen ships full of greasy fat, dry wood, shavings, pitch, tow, and other combustibles. At night when a breeze came up they unfurled the sails and set the cargo afire and these vessels began drifting toward the Latin fleet. It is on record that many brave Venetians leapt into galleys and barges, caught these blazing ships with grappling hooks and drew them into the current so they floated out to sea. Otherwise the living army of God would have been imperiled. Had their ships caught fire they would have been stranded on the peninsula. As it happened, only one vessel of the Latin fleet, a merchantman from Pisa, took fire and sank.
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