The Fourth Crusade and the Sack of Constantinople (56 page)
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Authors: Jonathan Phillips
Tags: #Religion, #History
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Even though, by the spring of 1201, the French negotiators in Venice knew that the rulers of England, France and Germany were unlikely to take part in the campaign, they still committed themselves to an extremely high level of recruitment (33,500 men). But by the summer of 1202, only around 12,000 had gathered at Venice. Consideration as to why this number fell so short of the target must include the erratic preaching of Fulk of Neuilly and, more seriously, the death of Thibaut of Champagne. The loss of the popular and dynamic head of one of the great crusading dynasties of Europe damaged morale at a crucial moment.
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Leadership and resources from such a powerful figure could convince other nobles to join and help generate the critical mass of men required for an effective war. Equally, his premature death and lack of a mature successor in Champagne could have deterred people from leaving, for fear of a succession struggle.
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But once the French were contractually bound to the Venetians there was no stepping back—for either party. The scale of the Venetian commitment to the enterprise was massive. Doge Dandolo could not retreat from it, even if his use of the crusaders’ debts as a cover for Uenice’s long-term political and economic aims at Zara was a morally questionable move.
4
Leadership and resources from such a powerful figure could convince other nobles to join and help generate the critical mass of men required for an effective war. Equally, his premature death and lack of a mature successor in Champagne could have deterred people from leaving, for fear of a succession struggle.
5
But once the French were contractually bound to the Venetians there was no stepping back—for either party. The scale of the Venetian commitment to the enterprise was massive. Doge Dandolo could not retreat from it, even if his use of the crusaders’ debts as a cover for Uenice’s long-term political and economic aims at Zara was a morally questionable move.
The fact that the crusaders were prepared to risk papal wrath by attacking a city under the protection of King Emico of Hungary, a man signed with the cross (however contentious his use of that status was), shows how obligated the Frenchmen felt towards the Venetians. It also demonstrates that they were determined to prevent the expedition from grinding to a halt: the crusaders’ motivation to succeed in their holy war cannot be doubted.
The reasons for a man to take the cross were multi-faceted and overlapping. By the time of the Fourth Crusade they reflected a combination of powerful contemporary currents and the same basic impulses that prompted the First Crusaders to act in 1095. For some noble families a century of crusading tradition imposed something close to an obligation to take part in holy war.
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Coupled with this was the chivalric culture that came to dominate the courts of northern Europe (and Montferrat) during the twelfth century and instilled in its devotees an unswerving sense of honour and obligation to one’s lord. These principles extended beyond secular ties and fused with the intense religiosity of the age to weigh upon the responsibility of a good Christian knight to show his loyalty to the ultimate authority—God—and to try to regain the Holy Land from the infidel.
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Coupled with this was the chivalric culture that came to dominate the courts of northern Europe (and Montferrat) during the twelfth century and instilled in its devotees an unswerving sense of honour and obligation to one’s lord. These principles extended beyond secular ties and fused with the intense religiosity of the age to weigh upon the responsibility of a good Christian knight to show his loyalty to the ultimate authority—God—and to try to regain the Holy Land from the infidel.
The spiritual rewards for crusading dovetailed neatly with the knightly vocation. As warriors who fought and killed, the need to wash away the consequences of sin and thereby escape the torments of hell was paramount, and the remission of all sins offered crusaders a way to achieve this.
A cornerstone of the chivalric ethos was performing feats of valour. A wealth of contemporary literature shows a near-obsession with the importance of displaying knightly prowess. The tournament circuit of northern Europe provided a popular stage, but the crusade offered a setting in which to give these activities a spiritual aspect as well. It was a chance to blend acts of bravery with the ideas of faith and honour, and presented an opportunity to achieve the fame and standing of crusading heroes of the past such as Godfrey of Bouillon and Bohemond of Antioch.
The desire for loot and, in some cases, land was undeniably another of the crusaders’ motives. In moderation, these wishes did not contradict the Church’s idea of a crusader’s proper concerns. But to stay within acceptable boundaries meant taking only what was necessary to survive and paying followers appropriate, but not excessive, rewards. Where this did happen, the sins of greed and envy were aroused and the crusade would incur God’s displeasure. In any case, holy warfare was extremely expensive and before one considered the prospect of returning home wealthy, a large amount of money and valuables was needed to set out in the first place. Previous crusaders had hardly laid down an inspiring trail of financial advantage—in fact, if anything, the number who returned penniless indicated quite the reverse. Nonetheless, if the Fourth Crusade did manage to conquer Egypt and then reclaim the kingdom of Jerusalem, material gains were an undoubted possibility.
A combination of all these factors probably motivated the majority of the crusader knights. For the lesser men, the foot-soldiers and the squires, requirements of service to a lord and a desire to escape from the drudgery of the fields replaced the high-level chivalric element. In all cases, it demanded a remarkably strong dynamic to overcome the negative aspects of crusading: a combination of fear of death, captivity and sea travel; high cost; and separation from families, loved ones and homelands. Once the vow was taken, the search for honour, salvation and wealth—along with a fear of excommunication—combined to generate a relentless pressure to complete it.
In August 1202 the overwhelming need to fulfil their vows, coupled with parlous conditions in the Holy Land, led the bulk of the crusaders to accept the diversion to Zara. The siege represented only a brief delay before the invasion of Egypt although, as we have seen, the campaign failed to yield much booty and the financial problems remained. At this point, the embassy from Prince Alexius arrived at the crusader camp.
Even though their master had been rebuffed in his earlier attempts to secure help from rulers in the West, his envoys now offered contributions of men and money—sweetened with possible submission of the Orthodox Church to Rome—needed by the crusaders to help the Franks in the Holy Land. The envoys’ portrayal of Prince Alexius and his father, Isaac, as being wrongfully dispossessed connected neatly with the crusading ideal of recovering lands illicitly taken. To secure these rewards the crusaders had to divert the fleet to Constantinople to install Prince Alexius on the imperial throne. While some crusaders left the campaign at this point, a majority of the leadership believed that if the prince’s promises were fulfilled, this deal would enhance the crusade’s chances of success. In other words, the diversions to Zara and Constantinople were both viewed as stepping-stones to the campaign in Egypt.
When they arrived at Constantinople in June 1203 the crusaders expressed genuine surprise at the hostile reception accorded to Prince Alexius. It was anticipated that a wave of popular support would sweep him back to power without the need for military action. Emperor Alexius III, however, had worked hard to harness the long-standing Byzantine suspicion towards crusaders to create a groundswell of serious opposition.
By July 1203, however, the westerners’ aggressive military operations compelled Alexius III to flee and the Byzantine hierarchy decided to free Isaac and crown the prince as co-emperor. While the installation of Alexius IV seemed a positive development for the crusaders, the simmering enmity of the Byzantines, agitated by the new emperor’s need to satisfy his enormous financial obligations, gradually destroyed the young man’s chances of keeping his promises. As Alexius became pinned down by his allies’ increasingly aggressive demands for funds, the anti-western factions in Constantinople further reduced his room for manoeuvre.
Despite their deteriorating relationship, while Alexius remained in power the crusaders probably had a chance to leave Byzantium in good order. The ascendancy of Murtzuphlus and the murder of the emperor changed this irrevocably. It was at this point, and not before, that a crusader conquest of Constantinople became the aim of the expedition. They were camped outside an implacably hostile city with hardly any food or money; they were enraged by months of broken promises; they had faced aggressive enemy sorties (especially the fire-ships); and they were appalled by the killing of Alexius. These grievances ignited the long-standing religious and political grudges, and the westerners’ accumulated anger and fear burst into flame with the ferocity of a coniferous forest fire. Helping the Holy Land remained the long-term goal of the crusade, but immediate survival took priority—and this meant an assault on the Queen of Cities.
Given Constantinople’s redoubtable defences and the small numbers in the crusade army, the westerners’ achievement was, by their own admission, quite incredible. The city had resisted several large-scale invasions over the centuries, so why did the crusaders succeed? The most important reason for the Greeks losing Constantinople was the chronic instability that took root at the heart of Byzantine politics following the death of Emperor Manuel Comnenus in 1180. In the two decades after Manuel’s passing, a series of rebellions and revolts broke out as the leading families of Constantinople sought to gain ascendancy over each other and to create their own dynastic power base .
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At the same time the Byzantines’ military strength declined sharply. The army shrank in size and skill and, more crucially, the navy withered close to extinction. The contrast between the proud fleet of more than 230 ships sent to invade Egypt in 1169 and the dismal array of rotting hulks and fishing vessels that lined up across the Golden Horn in June 1203 could not be more stark. Small wonder that, with the centre of the empire so inwardly focused, some of the provinces saw an opportunity to break away. In 1184 Isaac Comnenus took authority for himself on Cyprus; in 1185 the Bulgarians revolted; and in 1188 the city of Philadelphia in Asia Minor seceded. Outside powers also sought advantage. The Greeks’ long-term rivals from Sicily invaded the Balkans (again in direct response to an invitation from a claimant to the imperial crown) and brutally sacked the empire’s second city, Thessalonica, in August 1185. Likewise, Frederick Barbarossa bullied his way past the Greeks during the Third Crusade in 1190.
8
These episodes were all symptomatic of a chronic malaise at the core of the empire.
7
At the same time the Byzantines’ military strength declined sharply. The army shrank in size and skill and, more crucially, the navy withered close to extinction. The contrast between the proud fleet of more than 230 ships sent to invade Egypt in 1169 and the dismal array of rotting hulks and fishing vessels that lined up across the Golden Horn in June 1203 could not be more stark. Small wonder that, with the centre of the empire so inwardly focused, some of the provinces saw an opportunity to break away. In 1184 Isaac Comnenus took authority for himself on Cyprus; in 1185 the Bulgarians revolted; and in 1188 the city of Philadelphia in Asia Minor seceded. Outside powers also sought advantage. The Greeks’ long-term rivals from Sicily invaded the Balkans (again in direct response to an invitation from a claimant to the imperial crown) and brutally sacked the empire’s second city, Thessalonica, in August 1185. Likewise, Frederick Barbarossa bullied his way past the Greeks during the Third Crusade in 1190.
8
These episodes were all symptomatic of a chronic malaise at the core of the empire.
As the twelfth century drew to a close, Alexius III was beginning to settle into power, but his failure to close off the potential challenge of his nephew (the prince) left open the possibility of further unrest. The frenetic interchange of men at the head of the Byzantine Empire did nothing to produce competent leadership. Niketas Choniates, our main source, was fiercely critical of those in power for bearing much of the responsibility for the fall of Constantinople, and the general tenor of his comments is borne out by other observers. Alexius III, Isaac and Alexius IV possessed few inspiring qualities. Their ability to assess a broad strategic picture was, at times, disastrously limited and they often seemed far more concerned with self-indulgent luxuries, such as Isaac’s obsession with building projects, than with offering direction to the mighty Byzantine Empire. In the case of Alexius IV, he simply lacked the maturity and experience to carve out the requisite political and administrative platform. The military capabilities of successive emperors were particularly feeble. Only Murtzuphlus showed genuine talent, although by the time he took power the position was already critical.
The arrival of the Fourth Crusade added more ingredients to an already turbulent situation. It imposed intolerable pressures upon the volatile Byzantine hierarchy and the imperial system convulsed as never before. In the eleven months from June 1203 to April 1204 no fewer than six men —Alexius III, Isaac, Alexius IV, Nicholas Kannavos, Murtzuphlus and Constantine Lascaris - held the imperial title: indication enough of rampant and chronic instability.
Even so, up to the early afternoon of 12 April, when a change in wind direction brought the crusaders’ ships up to the battlements of Constantinople, the city had successfully defied the crusaders. Until this moment, exploited by the bravery of Peter of Bracieux and Aleaumes of Clari, the fall of the Byzantine capital was by no means assured. The walls of Constantinople constituted a massive barrier, the Varangian Guard was a small but lethal body of men, and the Greeks held a substantial advantage through sheer weight of numbers. Had the westerners been beaten back for the second time in four days, their will to tight—already stretched to near breaking point—might have snapped. Combined with a lack of food, this could have forced them to seek terms with the Greeks or simply to melt away in humiliating defeat.
The fact that, after 11 months outside Constantinople, the crusader army was still in a condition to exploit the fortuitous winds is a testimony to their grim tenacity and military prowess. The amphibious landing at Galata in June 1203, the facing down of Alexius III’s army outside the Theodosian walls 12 days later, the two seaborne assaults along the Golden Horn (June 1203 and April 1204), the courage of the men crossing from the flying bridges suspended high above the Venetians’ ships—these were all indicative of courage and fighting skills of the highest order.
The groundwork for many of these great deeds was laid on the tournament fields of western Europe, a factor generally underestimated in earlier accounts of the Fourth Crusade. Roger of Howden, a cleric who took part in Richard the Lionheart’s crusade, observed: ‘The science of war, if not practised beforehand, cannot be gained when it becomes necessary. Nor indeed can the athlete bring high spirit to the contest who has never been trained to practise it.’
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The relentless training of men and horses offered the very finest practice in a dangerous and competitive environment. The need to work as a team, as well as honing individual skills, was drilled into the knights. They were not, in the modern sense, a professional army that rehearses on the parade-square, but the chivalric ethos had instilled the skills, the discipline and the mentality to drive them onwards. As various contingents of crusaders departed during the campaign, the expedition slimmed down to a tough central core. The longer the crusade continued, the more familiar the remaining men became with working as a group, until their co-ordination and mutual confidence added another valuable weapon to their armoury. The siege of Zara provided a form of training ground and this was built upon through the first attack on Constantinople, the expedition to Thrace in the autumn of 1203, and the numerous skirmishes with the Greeks in the winter and spring of 1204. Once the crusaders established their battle order after the landings at Galata, they maintained these divisions for the remainder of the campaign: every man—from count to knight to foot-soldier—knew his place. A sense of shared responsibility, mutual reliance and teamwork is evident throughout the eye-witness accounts.
9
The relentless training of men and horses offered the very finest practice in a dangerous and competitive environment. The need to work as a team, as well as honing individual skills, was drilled into the knights. They were not, in the modern sense, a professional army that rehearses on the parade-square, but the chivalric ethos had instilled the skills, the discipline and the mentality to drive them onwards. As various contingents of crusaders departed during the campaign, the expedition slimmed down to a tough central core. The longer the crusade continued, the more familiar the remaining men became with working as a group, until their co-ordination and mutual confidence added another valuable weapon to their armoury. The siege of Zara provided a form of training ground and this was built upon through the first attack on Constantinople, the expedition to Thrace in the autumn of 1203, and the numerous skirmishes with the Greeks in the winter and spring of 1204. Once the crusaders established their battle order after the landings at Galata, they maintained these divisions for the remainder of the campaign: every man—from count to knight to foot-soldier—knew his place. A sense of shared responsibility, mutual reliance and teamwork is evident throughout the eye-witness accounts.
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