And still more trouble was to come. For some years dissatisfaction
1 One of the few clues remaining is the abbey church of S. Maria di Maniace near Maletto, built on the site of one of Maniakes's victories by the local Greek population soon after the battle, then restored and enlarged by Count Roger I towards the end of the century. This was the church around which, in 1173, Queen Margaret of Navarre was to found the large and richly-endowed Benedictine abbey of Maniace, last of the great Norman foundations in Sicily. Later it was to form part of the Bronte estate, bestowed by Ferdinand IV on Lord Nelson in 1799.
2 The so-called Castello Maniace which still stands in Syracuse today is in fact nothing of the sort, having been erected by Frederick II almost exactly zoo years after the Byzantine capture of the city.
had been growing in Apulia, where the Lombard separatists had had little difficulty - particularly after the imperial press-gangs had begun their forcible recruiting - in working up the local populations against their Byzantine masters. Already in 1038 several leading officials had been murdered; in 1039 the situation was near flash-point; and in 1040 the signal was given for revolt. The catapan was assassinated, and all the local militias along the coast rose up in a mutiny which the depleted garrisons were totally unable to contain. The army was urgently summoned from Sicily to deal with the situation; and within a few months the entire island — with the single exception of Messina — was once again in Saracen hands. It was as if the great expedition had never been.
By the time the news of the disaster reached Constantinople, it was clear that the Emperor was dying. No longer capable of dealing with affairs of state, he spent his days in ever more desperate attempts to appease the divine anger which had reduced him, while still in his twenties, to a hideously bloated travesty of what he had been only a few years before when his beauty had won him the heart of an Empress. Messengers were sent to every corner of the Empire with orders to pay two pieces of gold to every parish priest and one to every monk in return for their prayers for his recovery; meanwhile he himself passed more and more time in Thessalonica, spreadeagled over the tomb of his beloved St Demetrius as he implored his intercession.
Government of the Empire was now in the capable hands of John the Orphanotrophus. The pages of certain chroniclers - Scylitzes and Zonaras among them - are full of stories of his iniquities. For Psellus, better placed to know the truth, John was neither unjust nor corrupt in matters that did not affect his family; he was, however, obsessed by the idea of founding a Paphlagonian dynasty, and in this one respect would stoop to anything that might further his ends. His brother Michael would die within a year or so, leaving no issue; how was he to ensure the succession of another member of his family? Already in 1037 he had made a determined bid for the Patriarchal throne, claiming that the present incumbent, Alexis of the Studium, had been uncanonically elected; but old Alexis had been too clever for him. If his election had indeed been uncanonical, he pointed out, every single one of the ecclesiastical appointments he had made in the past eleven years was null and void - as, incidentally, would be the coronations of the last three Emperors. John's support, such as it had been, fell away at once and no more was heard of the matter.
The question remained: who was to be Michael's successor? Of his and John's three brothers one, Nicetas, was already dead; the other two - eunuchs like John himself - were disqualified. His brother-in-law Stephen, to everyone's relief, was dead. One possibility only remained: Stephen's son Michael, generally known by the nickname of Calaphates, 'the caulker', after his father's early profession. It was not a particularly pleasing prospect: although the boy - the exact date of his birth is unknown, but he was not yet out of his teens - was agreeable enough to meet, those who knew him well had already found him to be a snake in the grass: a compulsive liar and inveterate schemer, whose apparent friendliness all too often concealed his true intentions. The mind of the Orphanotrophus, however, was made up. He had little difficulty in persuading the Emperor, while Zoe was in no position to refuse; and soon afterwards, at a high Mass in the Church of St Mary at Blachernae, his nephew's succession was assured. The old Empress, enthroned at the side of her pathetic young husband, declared her formal adoption of Michael the Caulker as her son, sitting him down - symbolically if somewhat ridiculously - upon her lap. The Emperor then feebly proclaimed him Caesar, and the youth - of whom the majority of the vast assembly had never even heard and whom they were now seeing for the first time - proceeded to the age-old ceremony of his consecration.
The new Caesar might have been unknown; but everyone recognized John the Orphanotrophus standing beside the thrones, and none could mistake his expression of satisfaction and triumph. Nor could they guess how soon he would regret the disaster he had unconsciously brought upon the Empire, his family and himself.
There is no need for us to investigate in any close detail the reasons for the revolt which broke out in Bulgaria in the summer of 1040. The severity of Byzantine taxation seems to have been largely to blame. Basil II had wisely allowed his Bulgar subjects to pay, as they always had, in kind; John the Orphanotrophus insisted on cash, thereby imposing a far heavier burden. The Bulgars had been angered, too, when on the death of the Slav Bishop of Ochrid in 1037 a Greek named Leo, the chartophylax of St Sophia, was appointed in his place. Three years later they took up arms, under the leadership of one Peter Deljan, who seems to have been the bastard grandson of Tsar Samuel and who was joined a few weeks later by his cousin Alusian, rescued from semi-captivity in Constantinople. The two quickly drove the Byzantines from western
Bulgaria and then, like Symeon and Samuel before them, invaded northern Greece. By the end of the year they had stormed Dyrrachium -thus giving them an outlet on the Adriatic - and penetrated as far south as the Gulf of Lepanto, whence they now pressed eastwards to lay siege to Thebes.
At this point an astonishing thing happened. The Emperor Michael, speaking from his Palace in Thessalonica, suddenly announced his intention of leading his army in person against the enemy. He was by now semi-paralysed, his monstrously swollen legs having been attacked by gangrene; the slightest movement was an agony. In vain did those around him - including his surviving brothers - implore him to renounce the idea; he refused to listen. It was bad enough, he pointed out, that his reign had seen no increase of the imperial dominions; he was at least determined that it should not witness any diminution. As Psellus puts it:
His first battle — in which he was victorious - was against members of his own intimate circle, before he ever came to grips with the barbarians; and the first trophy of the war was set up to commemorate his triumph over his own kinsmen and his associates - and himself. Bodily weakness was more than compensated for by strength of purpose, and in this strength he committed his cause to God.
But this, Psellus makes clear, was not an empty gesture. There were no vain heroics, nor any question of a mortally sick man riding out in search of a glorious death on the battlefield. The campaign was meticulously planned, and its specific targets carefully chosen, before the dying basileus led his army across the frontier to war.
Camp was pitched in a suitable spot when the expedition arrived in enemy territory. A council was held, and after it the Emperor decided to engage the Bulgars - an extraordinary plan, about which even his commanders who were there with him had contrary opinions. Nor is this surprising, for during the night his doctors had to be sent for and he nearly died. Yet at daybreak he immediately rose - some power apparently giving him new strength - mounted his horse, sat firm in the saddle, and managed the animal with skilful use of the bridle. Then, an object of wonder to all who saw him, he rode to the rear and formed up the various divisions of his army into one coherent force.
It would be pleasant indeed to be able to attribute the defeat of the Bulgar insurgents to the courage of the Emperor. In fact Alusian's men brought it on themselves by their lack of discipline, laying siege to Thessalonica and then falling into such disorder as virtually to i
nvite the defenders to emerge from the city and destroy them. By this time too a serious quarrel had broken out between the two leaders, Deljan being quick to accuse Alusian of incompetence and even treachery. Alusian responded by setting a trap for his cousin and then removing his eyes and nose with a carving knife; soon afterwards, realizing that the insurrection no longer had any hope of success, he sent a secret message to the Emperor offering surrender in return for safe conduct back to Constantinople.
And so, early in 1041, Michael returned to his capital in triumph, followed by his army and a host of captives including the eyeless and noseless Deljan. Psellus, who was there, records the scene:
The entire population poured out of their houses to greet their Emperor. I myself saw him on this occasion, looking as if he were attending a funeral and swaying on his horse. The fingers that gripped his bridle were like those of a giant, for each of them was as thick as a man's arm - such were the effects of the disease from which he suffered. His face, too, preserved not a trace of its former beauty.
It was his last public appearance. As the year went on his condition grew steadily worse, until on 10 December, feeling the end to be near, he had himself carried to his own monastery of St Cosmas and St Damian. There he took off his imperial robes and diadem, donning in their place the robes of a simple monk. His brothers, John in particular, could not restrain their tears; only he remained happy and serene, confident that he had at last obtained the forgiveness for which he had so long striven. To the astonishment of all, the old Empress Zoe appeared at the monastery gate, having heard of her husband's condition and anxious to see him before he died; but Michael refused to receive her. (Before we condemn him for so unnecessary a snub to the old woman to whom he owed everything, we should remember that he had only a few hours to live, that he was in the last stages of exhaustion and that he knew Zoe a lot better than we do.) When the time came for Vespers, he called for a pair of sandals; hearing that those which were being made for him were not yet ready, he refused to wear the imperial purple buskins and hobbled barefoot into the chapel, supported by two of his fellow-monks. But the effort was too much for him. Gasping now for breath, he was carried back to his cell, where an hour or two later he died.
Of all those who occupied the Byzantine throne, few had risen from more lowly origins; few had attained power by more questionable methods; none, certainly, suffered a more agonizing end. And yet, had he lived, Michael might have proved a great Emperor. He might even have reversed the slow process of disintegration which had begun with the death of Basil II in 1025. He possessed wisdom, vision and - as he showed in that last astonishing Bulgarian expedition - almost superhuman courage. He was a truly tragic figure; and, in the reigns that followed, there would be many who desperately regretted his loss.
The End of the Paphlagonians
[ 1041-2 ]
God is not unjust. I am guilty of grave crimes, and must now suffer the punishment that is my due.
The Emperor Michael ,V, shortly before his blinding
John the Orphanotrophus was deeply affected by the Emperor's death. Schemer and intriguer though he was, his love for Michael had been deep and genuine; and he kept vigil by the body for three days and three nights until its burial. His two other brothers behaved very differently. Determined as they were to establish their nephew firmly on the throne before any rival claimant could be put forward, they introduced him into the Palace almost before his predecessor had left it and would doubtless have pressed on with the coronation itself had they had the power to do so; fortunately they were obliged to await the return of the Orphanotrophus from his devotions. Psellus was actually in the Palace when he arrived, and describes the scene as an eye-witness:
When the brothers heard that John had crossed the threshold of the outer Palace, they approached him as if they were about to meet God Himself. The ceremonial was prepared beforehand: they gathered about him and smothered him with kisses, all kissing different parts of his body at once. Even his nephew stretched out his right hand towards him, as if there were some virtue to be gained from his very touch.
At the family conference that followed, John insisted on one point above all others: that nothing must be done without the consent, real or apparent, of the Empress. She alone, as niece of Basil II, represented the legitimate succession; her support was essential if Michael Calaphates were to be accepted as the new basileus. And so to Zoe they went,
Michael flinging himself at the feet of his adoptive mother and all four of them arguing that only through him could she regain the power that was her birthright. He would, they promised, be Emperor only in name; she herself would take over the reins of government — unless she preferred to rule through him, in which case he would still serve as her puppet-Emperor and mouthpiece. In either event he would continue to be her slave, ready at every moment to do her bidding. Old, weak, gullible, not particularly intelligent and with no one to advise her, Zoe was - as they had foreseen - easily persuaded. And so, with her blessing, Michael V proceeded to his consecration.
The Roman Empire of the East had now been in existence for a litde more than 700 years, during which the throne had been occupied by fifty-five different sovereigns. Some had acquired it by heredity, others — like Michael IV - by marriage. Yet others - Nicephorus Phocas, for example, or John Tzimisces - had seized it, more or less by force; but they had done so as victorious generals, and had been acclaimed by their men according to a tradition older than Byzantium itself, going back as it did to the time of Augustus. It can thus safely be said that no Emperor in the whole history of Byzantium had less title to the throne than Michael Calaphates. The uncle had at least been the husband of the Empress; the nephew was not even her lover. His birth was lowly, his military record non-existent. He possessed no particular qualities of character or intelligence to recommend him beyond the lowliest of his subjects. The unpleasant young man who was now acclaimed as God's Vice-Gerent on Earth and Equal of the Apostles owed his elevation to two things only: to the machinations of a corrupt and self-seeking minister, and to the weakness of a foolish old woman.
During the first weeks of his reign he maintained an appropriate - if somewhat sickening - humility, addressing Zoe as 'my mistress, my sovereign' and the Orphanotrophus as 'my lord and master', even giving him a throne to sit on next to his own. But this preliminary phase did not last long, and a few weeks later John - who was no stranger to Michael's duplicity - was not surprised to discover that his nephew's attitude towards him was beginning to change dramatically the moment his back was turned. Soon, too, he made another discovery, more worrying still: that his own brother Constantine, for whom he had secured the position of Grand Domestic, was doing everything he could to encourage Michael's hostility to him.
Constantine, it appears, had long been jealous of his brother's success and had determined to destroy him as soon as he could safely do so; and to this end, from the moment that Michael had been created Caesar, he had assiduously cultivated the young man's friendship. So successful had he been that Michael on his accession had raised him to the rank of nobilissimus and now kept him permanently at his side; while Constantine, his position now assured, dropped even the pretence of civility towards the Orphanotrophus and openly insulted him whenever the opportunity arose. After one particularly violent altercation between them during a dinner with the Emperor, John rose angrily from the table and strode out of the Palace, going not to his own residence but to one of his country estates: a sign of displeasure which, he imagined, would soon bring Michael to his senses. Sure enough, a letter soon arrived bearing the imperial seal. It reproached him for his excessive pride, but asked him to return - in order, John assumed, to discuss certain secret government business. He therefore complied at once, expecting to be received by a suitably contrite nephew; but when he reached the Palace it was only to find that the Emperor had gone off to watch a performance at the theatre, leaving no message. Furious, he turned on his heel and went straight back to his estate.
Psellus, who tells this story, leaves us in no doubt that the Orphanotrophus had seriously underestimated the degree of the Emperor's hostility towards him. After this incident, he did so no longer. At last he saw, all too clearly, that the whole plan to raise his nephew to the throne had been a disastrous mistake; he saw, too, that unless he now directed all his energy and ingenuity to the task of overthrowing him, he must himself be overthrown. Unfortunately for him, Michael and Constantine had reached the same conclusion. They may have lacked his intelligence; they had, on the other hand, the whole power of government behind them. Some days later a vessel flying the imperial standard appeared at the landing-stage of John's estate - it was presumably somewhere along the Bosphorus or the Marmara shore -with a summons to present himself at once at the Palace to explain his recent conduct. The Orphanotrophus must have had his misgivings, but decided none the less to obey. Even now, it seems, he believed that he could bring his nephew to see where his own best interests lay.
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