The Apogee - Byzantium 02 (44 page)

was before, for the Emperor Basil died when I was a child, while Constantine ended his reign just after I had begun m
y elementary studies. Consequentl
y I was never admitted to their presence, nor did I hear them speak. Whether I even saw them I cannot say, for I was too young to remember at the time. On the other hand, I saw Romanus with my own eyes and, on one occasion, actually talked with him.

Psellus was born in 1018, of a respectable middle-class family in Constantinople. His social advancement was probably due in large measure to John Mauropous, the future Archbishop of Euchaita, who was then working as a private tutor in the capital and under whose roof he was able to meet, as fellow-students, several rich and influential young men - including his close friend John Xiphilinus (who would one day become Patriarch) and Constantine Ducas, better known as the Emperor Constantine X. He soon entered the imperial service, where his quick intelligence and profound scholarship - always highly prized in Byzantium — won him rapid promotion. He thus writes of events which he not only experienced but frequently himself helped to shape and control. Though his last chapters are unashamedly tendentious - they were commissioned by his friend Ducas, then reigning in Constantinople — few medieval writers can boast his eye for detail; fewer still have the gift of bringing a character to life in a few lines; and none has produced a more brilliant and evocative picture of the world in which he lived. Of Romanus Argyrus he writes:

This man, nurtured on Greek literature, also had some acquaintance with the literary works of the Italians. He had a graceful turn of speech and a majestic utterance. A man of heroic stature, he looked every inch an Emperor. His idea of his own range of knowledge was vastly exaggerated, but wishing to model his reign on those of the great Antonines of the past
...
he paid particular attention to two things: the study of letters and the science of war. Of the latter he was completely ignorant, and as for literature, his knowledge was far from profound
...
This belief in his own knowledge, this straining beyond his own intellectual limits, led him to make mistakes on a grand scale.

In short, the besetting sin of Romanus - in striking contrast to his predecessor - was over-confidence. He was far from stupid, and had been an admirable magistrate; but imperial power went straight to his head and seems to have convinced him that, now that he was an Emperor himself, he could equal any of the great Emperors of the past in their own fields. If Marcus Aurelius was a philosopher, then so was he: whole days would pass while he discussed abstruse problems of theology and metaphysics, but since he had had no proper grounding in syllogisms or dialectical argument no purpose was served, no conclusion reached. If Augustus or Constantine could found a dynasty, then — despite his wife's advanced age - he must do likewise. To increase his chances, he made himself easy game for all the charlatans in Constantinople, swallowing their nostrums and aphrodisiacs, rubbing himself with their ointments and performing extraordinary exercises that would, he was promised, restore to him the vigour of his youth. Meanwhile Zoe did much the same, draping herself with chains and charms, stuffing herself with amulets and falling for the most transparently ridiculous mumbo-jumbo in her determination, somehow, to conceive - though no one, with the possible exceptions of herself and her husband, was surprised when she failed to do so.

When the Emperor chose to play the philosopher or the dynast, no great harm was done; it was a very different matter when he tried to prove himself a strategist, as was seen in 1030 when he decided to teach the obstreperous Emir of Aleppo a lesson. His generals warned him against it; on his arrival at Antioch, however, he found ambassadors from the Emir reminding him of the existing treaty of peace and offering reparations for any damage that might have been done. But Romanus — who had already ordered the crown that he intended to wear for his triumphal procession - refused to listen. Instead, he set out for Aleppo at the head of his army. He and his men were already in Syria, and were just about to enter a narrow pass, when they heard the Saracen war-cry; and there, suddenly, were the Emir's men galloping down on
them from both sides, their scimitars flashing in the sun. Nicephorus Phocas or John Tzimisces, had they allowed themselves to be ambushed in such a manner, would have fought it out where they stood; Romanus Argyrus fled, his troops with him. Indeed, if one of his aides had not quickly helped him on to his horse, he would almost certainly have been taken prisoner. It was worse than a disaster; it was a disgrace. The enemy, Psellus tells us, watched the flight in utter astonishment - as well they might. When Basil died, the imperial army had been the finest fighting machine in the civilized world; now, after just five years of mismanagement and neglect, it was well on the way to becoming the laughing-stock of the East.

All, however, was not lost. A litde way to the north of Antioch lay a small and relatively unimportant Theme known by the name of its chief city, Teluch, and governed by a young
strategos
of colossal size and exceptional ability called George Maniakes. Some days later a body of some 800 Saracen cavalry, loaded with plunder from the imperial camp, rode up insolently to Teluch with the town's first news of the debacle — a somewhat exaggerated account as it happened, according to which the Emperor had been killed and the entire Byzantine army annihilated. As night was already falling, they gave the garrison until the following morning to surrender, adding threats of dire retribution if it failed to do so. Maniakes, showing every sign of fear, agreed at once, sending out copious quantities of food and wine to the infidel camp as an earnest of his good intentions and promising that he and his men would give themselves up at first light with all the gold and treasure the town possessed.

His plan worked perfectly. The Saracens, suspecting nothing and as delighted to receive the wine as they were unaccustomed to its effects, polished off the lot. Maniakes waited until they were in a logged sleep, fell on them and then, when every one of the 800 lay dead on the ground, gave orders that each corpse should have its nose and ears cut off. The next morning he set out in search of his defeated sovereign. Finding him in Cappadocia, he produced a blood-stained sack from which he proudly poured the grisly trophies at Romanus's feet, whereupon the delighted Emperor immediately appointed him
catapan
of Lower Media - effectively Governor of all the cities of the upper Euphrates Valley, with his residence at Samosata. From here he was to launch a whole series of victorious campaigns, culminating two years later in a heroic recovery of Edessa for the first time since the days of Heraclius, four centuries before.

On his return to Constantinople, the Emperor wisely forsook military matters and devoted himself instead to the cares of government. In the first months of his reign his acts of generosity - probably sincerely meant - had won him a good deal of support: that of the Church, when he increased by eighty pounds of gold the annual government subsidy to St Sophia; that of the monasteries and the greater landowners, when he repealed Basil's law known as the
a
llele
ngyon,
according to which they had been responsible for any shortfall in the tax payable by their local communities; that of government debtors, for whom he declared an amnesty — resulting in the release of several hundred from prison; and that of the victims of Constantine VIII's agrarian policy, to whom princely compensation was paid. It was a promising start; but the promise was not fulfilled. As time went on Romanus showed himself to be hardly more successful as a legislator than he had been in other fields. The appalling results of Constantine VIII's legislation should by now have been obvious to all; but the new Emperor continued the work of his predecessor, even going so far as to revive the farming of taxes -that most pernicious of all abuses, whereby some speculator would purchase from the treasury for an agreed sum the right to collect revenue on its behalf, then would himself demand double or treble that sum from the unfortunate taxpayers. 'The powerful' - by now more powerful than ever — were of course well able to resist this sort of skulduggery; once again the burden fell on the defenceless small-holder, who had no means of fighting back.

It was perhaps inevitable, sooner or later, that Romanus should have turned his attention to church-building. He had already spent a small fortune on gilding the capitals in St Sophia and the Church of the Theotokos in Blachernae, but this was not enough: like his great predecessor Justinian, he too must leave a lasting memorial behind him. The result of this decision was an enormous edifice dedicated to the Virgin
Perib
leptos,
or All-Seeing,
1
on the Seventh Hill as it slopes down to the Marmara shore. It was unquestionably magnificent; but, as Psellus makes all too clear, it scarcely added to the Emperor's reputation:

What was intended as an act of piety turned out to be the cause of evil and the occasion for many injustices. The expenditure incurred over the church was constantly increased. Every day he collected more contributions than were necessary for the work, and woe betide the man who tried to limit the building.

1
Not, surely, 'the Virgin who must be seen by all and from all sides', as Schlumberger suggests.

On the other hand, anyone who invented fresh extravagances and new variations of style was sure of winning the Emperor's friendship at once
...

Nothing in the whole world was thought good enough for this church. All the royal treasure was made available, every golden stream poured into it. Even when funds were exhausted the construction went on, for new parts were added one on top of another while other parts were pulled down again.

The church, however, was not enough by itself; it must have a dependent monastery. Soon this second building was as grandiose as the first, so huge indeed that it became almost impossible to find monks enough to fill it. Together, these two monuments to imperial megalomania are said to have brought the people of Constantinople to the verge of rebellion, such was their fury over the Emperor's continual demands for more and more money. But did they, one wonders, admire them none the less? It seems unlikely. The
Peribl
eptos,
if Psellus is to be believed, must have been an appalling hotchpotch. It can certainly have borne little trace of any overall architectural conception, of the kind that gives the Church of the Holy Wisdom its simplicity and strength. But we shall never know for sure: for on its site there now rises the wonderfully uninteresting mass of the Armenian church of Surp Kevork (St George), known locally as Sulu Monastir. Of the vast edifice that Romanus Argyrus intended to stand for ever to the glory of God and His Mother - and of course himself - not a trace remains.
1

What, meanwhile, of the Empress Zoe, without whom her husband would never have attained the supreme power, or had the money to squander as he did? She was, as she had been for most of her life, frustrated and dissatisfied; and - like the people of Constantinople, though for a rather different reason — she was furious with her husband. Her anger was due principally to the fact that, from the moment he had given up hope of posterity, he had refused to share her bed and had taken a mistress; indeed, he had conceived so intense a dislike of her that he could hardly bear to be in the same room. It was further increased by

1
The
Perible
ptos
was one of the few churches in Constantinople that continued as a Christian sanctuary after the Turkish conquest. According to the
Blue Guide to Istanbul,
'the generally accepted tradition is that the church remained in the hands of the Greeks until
164),
when it was given to the Armenians by Sultan Ibrahim under the influence of a favourite Armenian concubine. (This lady's name was seker Parca, or Piece of Sugar; she is said to have weighed more than
300
pounds.)' The
Guide
adds, however, that more recent evidence suggests that it was already in the Armenian Patriarchate in
1608.

his having refused her access to the imperial treasury, giving her instead a meagre annual pension which she was formally forbidden to exceed. Unfortunately for him, Zoe was intensely proud; she had also, for the first fifty years of her life, been thoroughly spoilt by a father who had denied her nothing. At first she had vented her feelings on her sister Theodora - now a morbidly religious old maid of fifty who had hardly ever left the
gynaeceum
- whom in 103
\
she ordered into a convent 'to put an end to her constant intrigues and the scandals of her life'; soon, however, she took more direct action, and it is at this moment that there enters upon the scene the strange and sinister figure of John the Orphanotrophus.

This man - destined to play a leading role in our story over the coming decade — was a eunuch who had risen, through his own intelligence and industry, from obscure and humble origins in Paphlagonia to be a highly influential member of the civil bureaucracy. For many years already he had been a friend and confidan
t of the Emperor, who had recentl
y appointed him director of the city's principal orphanage, whence he took his name. He possessed four younger brothers, of whom the two eldest were eunuchs like himself; the other two called themselves money-changers buc were more probably strikers of false coin. The youngest, Michael, an outstandingly handsome youth still in his teens, was one day in 1033 brought by his brother to the Palace and presented to Romanus and Zoe in formal audience. Romanus scarcely noticed him; Zoe, on the other hand, fell - precisely as John ha
d intended her to fall — instantl
y and besottedly in love.

From that moment she thought of nothing but the young Paphlagonian, whom she invited regularly to her private apartments and, after having overcome first his shyness and later his understandable reluctance, successfully seduced. Michael remained far from enthusiastic where sex was concerned, though he was naturally flattered to be the lover of the Empress; but he received careful instruction from his brother, and - particularly after Zoe began to flaunt her new
amour
in public and speak openly about her intention to make him Emperor — his own slowly awakening ambition did the rest. As for Romanus, for a long time he seems to have had no inkling of what was going on; far from treating Michael with suspicion, he actually appointed him his own personal servant, regularly sending for him to massage his legs and feet (for his health was becoming rapidly worse and he was beginning to have difficulty in walking) and - or so it appeared to those around him —
deliberately shutting his eyes to his wife's increasingly blatant infidelity. Finally his sister Pulcheria could bear the gossip no longer and told him in so many words what was going on, warning him in addition that there might be a plot against his life. Only then did he send for Michael and make him swear on some holy relics that there was no truth in what he had heard; when the lad unhesitatingly did so, he showed every sign of being completely reassured.

There were those at court who believed that he was only feigning ignorance: that he was perfectly well aware of his wife's insatiable sexual appetite and was only too pleased that her infatuation with Michael was keeping her out of worse trouble. Others suggested that as the young man was known to be an epileptic, Romanus had dismissed the rumours as impossible. As the months went by, however, the question became less and less important; for by now it was plain to all that the Emperor was himself very seriously ill. Though he still appeared in ceremonial processions, he looked (writes Psellus) like a walking corpse: his face was grotesquely swollen, his breathing short and rapid, and every few paces he had to stop to rest. His appetite left him and he could not sleep. His character, too, had changed. In the past he had been a friendly, accessible sort of man, easily moved to laughter; now he was irritable and peevish, hating to be disturbed and losing his temper on the slightest provocation.

All too often already in this history, we have seen how circumstances such as these at the court of Byzantium would immediately give rise to rumours of poison. Such rumours had been rife after the death Romanus II, and again after that of John Tzimisces; but on both those occasions they were almost certainly unfounded. With Romanus III, we cannot be so sure. We know for a fact that his wife hated him and had every reason to want him out of the way, enabling her to instal Michael in his place. We know too that she had plenty of opportunity, while it is clear from her subsequent behaviour that she would have been fully capable of the crime. As far as local opinion was concerned, we have it on the authority of Psellus that no one at the Palace doubted her guilt for an instant. Already the case against Zoe — and with her, almost certainly, John the Orphanotrophus and Michael himself — looks black; what makes it blacker still is the highly suspicious manner in which, on the Thursday before Good Friday 1034, her husband met his death. Once again we must quote Psellus, since his account is the fullest and, if we are to make up our minds, his carefully-worded testimony is vital:

He was making himself ready for the public services on the morrow. Before dawn he set out to bathe in one of the huge and beautifully decorated baths near the imperial apartments. There was no one to assist him, and he was certainly not then at the point of death
...
He washed his head and body; then, as he was breathing strongly, he proceeded to the swimming bath, which had been deepened in the middle. At first he amused himself by swimming and floating on the surface, blowing out and refreshing himself with every sign of pleasure. Soon, as he had ordered, some of his retinue arrived to help him rest and to dress him.

I cannot swear that it was these men who killed him, but I know that all those who tell the story maintain that, at the moment that the Emperor dived as was his custom,
they held his head for a long ti
me beneath the water, attempting at the same time to strangle him. Then they departed. Later the unhappy Emperor was found floating on the surface like a cork. He was still breathing feebly, and reached out his arm in an imploring gesture for help. Someone, seized with pity, picked him up in his arms, carried him from the bath and laid him on a couch.

By this time the shouts of those who had first discovered him brought many people running to the spot, among them the Empress herself, unattended and making an immense show of grief. She gazed long at her husband; then, satisfied that he was past help, went away. Romanus moaned, looking round this way and that. He could not speak, and tried to express himself with signs and gestures; then, seeing that these were not understood, he closed his eyes and his breathing became faster again. Suddenly his mouth gaped open and there flowed from it some dark-coloured, coagulated matter. He gasped two or three times more, then gave up the ghost.

It is a curious story, and not altogether conclusive. The murder — if murder it was — is unsubstantiated, with no eye-witnesses; Psellus's only evidence is based on hearsay, and the victim was unable to testify one way or the other before he died. For all we know, the Emperor might have suffered a sudden stroke or heart attack while bathing. On the other hand it is worth mentioning that Scylitzes states as a point of fact - though again without substantiation - that Romanus was strangled by Michael's men, in the main pool or
kolymbith
ra
in the Baths of the Great Palace, while Matthew of Edessa maintains that he died of poison administered by his wife. We are consequently left with two suspected murders of the same victim, and four separate theories. The first is that that there was no foul play at all: the Emperor was simply a very sick man, suffering in all probability from some cardiac or arterial complaint, which finally struck him down while bathing. The second also accepts that his sickness sprang from natural causes, but holds that the
Empress and her friends administered - or caused to be administered -the
coup
de
grace.
According to the third, Romanus was dying of slow poison - Psellus suggests hellebore - which weakened him to the point where the swim was too much for him, so that he died, quite naturally, of his exertions.

And so we come to the fourth theory: that Zoe, John and Michael at first planned to kill Romanus by poison but then, when he took much longer to die than they had expected, lost patience and decided to force the issue. This seems on the face of it the most probable of all, but there - once again we shall never know, and perhaps it hardly matters. The essential point is that unless we accept the first hypothesis - which surely strains our credulity too far - we must conclude that in some way or another Zoe killed her husband.

Once he was dead, she made no pretence of grieving for him. At dawn on that Good Friday morning - it was 12 April 1034 — Alexis of the Studium, Patriarch of Constantinople, was summoned urgently from St Sophia to the Palace, where the first sight that met his eyes was the near-naked body of the dead Emperor. Scarcely had he recovered from the shock when a pair of enormous doors opened - and there, in the great Coronation Hall or
Ch
rysotriclinium,
sat the Empress enthroned in state. On her head was the imperial diadem, in her hand the sceptre, over her shoulders the gold brocade robe of the Emperors, heavy with jewels. And there at her side, to the unconcealed horror of the Patriarch, sat young Michael, similarly robed and crowned. She spoke firmly and steadily; Alexis could not fail to understand her commands, nor could he refuse them. There and then he joined the hand of the fifty-six-year-old Empress - widowed only a few hours before - with that of her fellow-murderer and paramour, an epileptic young Paphlagonian forger nearly forty years her junior;
1
consecrated him as
basileus,
Equal of the Apostles; and called the blessing of God down upon them both.

That same evening, after all the high functionaries of Church and State - bishops and abbots, senators and generals, ministers and bureaucrats - had filed past the sovereign pair, touching their foreheads to the ground and kissing Michael's hand (though not Zoe's) in homage, the body of Romanus Argyrus was carried in an open coffin through the streets of Constantinople to his own Church of the

1
Scylitzes claims that for some time the Patriarch was too shocked to speak, and found his voice only after the Empress had thrust into his hand fifty pounds of gold for himself and fifty more for his clergy.