The Great Betrayal (5 page)

The Emperor had perhaps another reason for wishing to found a capital city that would be free of many of the attachments of ancient Rome—he had been converted to Christianity by a conspicuous miracle. This was the famous ‘Vision of the Flaming Cross’, which had appeared to him in the sky one day at high noon, accompanied by the words ‘By this, conquer’, Constantine, therefore, wished to found a Christian city, and it so happened that Byzantium fulfilled all his requirements. It possessed an almost unassailable position, commanded the most important trade-routes, and it appealed to his own desire for a capital in the East. All these things combined to suggest that God himself had elected Byzantium as the capital of a Christian Roman Empire.

Although the victorious Emperor renamed the city ‘New Rome’, it was always known in his memory as Constantinople, the City of Constantine. Its ancient name Byzantium—far from being totally dispossessed—lingered on to embrace an empire, a way of life and a culture, so that ‘Byzantine’ to this day may indicate the design of a church in Russia or Syria, a style of painting, or a hair-fine mode of definition in religious or political argument. A number of English writers, most notably the great historian Edward Gibbon, have contrived to give the adjective ‘Byzantine’ a pejorative sense. This must be largely ascribed to an Anglo-Saxon inability to comprehend the finer shades of aesthetic and political definition, let along the nuances of religious interpretation. The shades of Byzantium, whose empire lasted for a thousand years and whose influence upon the world is still far from exhausted, need not be disturbed.

The city founded by Constantine was completed in less than six years, and was inaugurated by the Emperor in May a.d. 330. In the centuries that followed, it became not only the capital of the Roman Empire but the only truly civilised city in Europe. When Rome fell to its northern invaders, and when the whole of the western empire gradually dissolved (to become a mass of petty and backward states), at the end of the Mediterranean there shone the New Rome. Enriched by the whole of the great classical past, it comprised the imperial functions that had once been those of Rome, the legacy of Athens and of Greek culture, and the patina of the Hellenistic civilisation which had graced cosmopolitan Alexandria (until extinguished by the Arabic conquest).

The Emperor Alexius III, who now watched the fleet of the Crusaders as it passed the mouth of the Golden Horn and turned East towards the Asiatic shore, was among the most contemptible in the history of this great city and empire. Less vicious than some of his predecessors, he suffered from the greatest disadvantage of those who inherit great wealth and power—he “was under the impression that work was inconsistent with the dignity of an emperor”.
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Whatever might be held against Doge Dandolo, he at least had always been aware that great things are not achieved by little effort The Doge knew that the power and the glory belong to those who have the capacity to rule the world, and not be ruled by it.

3

THE FIRST SKIRMISH

The Crusaders’ first requirement was to get the troops fed, and the fleet victualled and watered. Since it was now harvest-time, the fertile land on the Asiatic shore opposite the city was the obvious place to disembark. There was, furthermore, a small harbour at Chalcedon, opposite Constantinople, where the fleet could safely anchor.

The night of June 24th saw the eastern coastline of the Bosphorus dense with sails and shipping. Their lights sparkled across the water, and on the shore the camp-fires of the Crusaders glowed against the dark land-mass of Asia. The city shone brighter than any that the Crusaders had seen before—torches passing along the battlemented walls, the glitter of the great houses and the diamond-brilliance of Blachernae, the imperial palace fronting on to the Golden Horn. Santa Sophia floated above Acropolis Point like a luminous bubble. For centuries the oil lamps under its fabulous dome had gleamed through the arches supporting it, acting as a pharos to ships outward or homeward bound.

The Doge and the leaders of the barons took over one of the Byzantine Emperor’s summer palaces in Chalcedon. The others had their tents and pavilions brought out from the ships and set up in the town or on its outskirts. As Villehardouin tells us: “The horses were now disembarked and all the knights and sergeants landed in full armour, leaving no one aboard the ships except the sailors. The land around was beautiful and fruitful; heaps of cut corn which had just been reaped were stacked in the fields so that anyone in need could take as much as he wanted…”

Two days later, having plundered Chalcedon, the fleet moved a mile to the north. It rounded Damalis (Leander’s Tower) and came to anchor in the well-protected harbour of Chrysopolis (modern Üsküdar). The Crusaders and the Venetians moved up and encamped around Chrysopolis, the leaders taking possession of another of the Emperor’s summer palaces. Meanwhile the troops ransacked the coastal plain.

Whatever reports may by now have reached the Emperor from spies or well-wishers in Corfu as to the aims and intentions of the Crusaders, he can have been in little doubt that they would cost his city and his country a considerable amount before they could be sent on their way. He may have believed, as had happened with other Crusading armies in the past, that they would peaceably withdraw if presented with a large enough bribe. Crusaders were always short of money—that indeed was the reason why many of them had left their homes in the first place. “There were some trifling temporal advantages,” wrote an ironic commentator, “attending the crusades: Pope Innocent declares that the goods of the Crusaders are under the protection of Saint Peter, and therefore freed from taxes and impositions; also that if the Crusaders be in debt, Christian creditors are to be compelled by the spiritual courts, and Jews by the temporal sword, to remit the payment of interest. If a crusade upon such terms were now to be proclaimed!”
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Those who ‘took the Cross’ were not always noble citizens impelled by a heaven-sent spirit of duty to fight against the enemies of Christ’s Church. As often as not, they were seedy nobility with insufficient land to produce a suitable standard of living; malefactors who had been ordered by their confessors to make the journey in expiation of their sins; debtors eager to escape the unpleasant fate (such as an oar-bench at the galleys) which was their lot in those days; and unemployed soldiers ever ready to turn a dishonest penny in the wake of a sanctified cause.

All this the Emperor knew, for whatever his weakness and his criminal neglect of his charge, he was still a native of Byzantium. He knew as well as any of his subjects that the Crusaders were not saints in arms. Accordingly, Alexius III ordered the army to march out of the city and take up their stations on the shore opposite the Crusaders’ encampment at Chrysopolis. His intention was to oppose any attempt at landing north of the Golden Horn near the suburb of Galata. He despatched his most important officer to the Asian coastline, to maintain a watch over the invaders. This was his brother-in-law, Michael Stryphnos, who held the curious title of
Megas Dux
(a Byzantine amalgam in that
Megas
is Greek for ‘Great’, and
Dux
Latin for ‘Leader’). He was also known as
Strategos of the Carabisiani,
or General of the Caraboi (a type of warship)—in modern terms, Admiral of the Fleet.

Unfortunately, under the disastrous rule of the Emperor Alexius III, the title had become almost meaningless. This was why Michael Stryphnos, instead of cutting the Venetian fleet to pieces where it lay at anchor off Scutari, was now in command of 500 Greek cavalry. Nicetas says of Stryphnos that “he had sold the anchors, sails, and everything else belonging to the Byzantine navy which could possibly be turned into money”. It seems more than likely, for it was only the known weakness of the Byzantine fleet that had made Doge Dandolo confident of his ability to land an army on these shores. The fleet which had dominated the Mediterranean for centuries and had turned back innumerable invaders from the city was nonexistent. The fleet from which Venice had learned the art of galley-fighting now rotted helpless behind the barrier of the Golden Horn. Meanwhile, its Admiral led a troop of horsemen as ineffectual scouts on the flanks of the Fourth Crusade.

Even as a cavalry leader Michael Stryphnos did not distinguish himself. When attacked by about eighty mounted knights (led by four French noblemen) he and his men turned and fled. It was the first encounter between the Crusaders and the Byzantine army and it marked the beginning of open conflict.

Whatever one may feel about the behaviour of the Greek cavalry, one thing must be borne in mind—war had not yet been declared. As far as Michael Stryphnos and his troops were concerned, no reason had been given as to why the Crusaders and their Venetian allies were in the Sea of Marmora, let alone why they were threatening the dominions of fellow-Christians.

In the twentieth century, wars begin whenever a suitable opportunity occurs for the aggressor, but this was the so-called ‘Age of Chivalry’—not the age of cynicism. Even a private conflict did not start without a formal exchange between the opponents, while wars between nations were usually the subject of complicated formalities, and an announcement of intention so clear as to preclude any possibility of surprise attack. (Even as late as the sixteenth century when the Spanish Armada met the English fleet in the Channel, Admiral Howard ‘proclaimed war’ by sending his admiral’s pinnace over to the Spanish Admiral, while the latter hoisted a consecrated banner to his main-top to indicate that he accepted Howard’s challenge.) The behaviour, then, of the Fourth Crusade in invading Christian territory without any announcement of its intentions, and without any pretext or reason, must be considered one of the most despicable acts in the history of ‘Christian’ nations. It was the breakdown of a theory, however fallacious this may have been, that peoples professing Christianity were united against an outside world which was hostile to its tenets. It was two and a half centuries before Niccolo Machiavelli would found the science of modern politics by “ascribing all things to natural causes or to fortune”, yet his concepts were certainly similar to those of Doge Dandolo. (It often takes men of letters a long time to formulate the conclusions that have been practised for centuries by those whose business lies in the government of the world.)

That small incident over 700 years ago—the attack on the Byzantine cavalry by the Crusaders—foreshadows the events of our own sad century. For a short time in the history of the world it had been proclaimed (even if not believed) that “might is not right”. From now on, the pattern of politics was to alter:

All changed, changed utterly:

A terrible beauty is born.
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If Christians might attack fellow-Christians without excuse or justification—but with only an eye to the main chance and to material advantage—then the creed which Rome had adopted was clearly quite different from the one that had been formulated by its Founder.

Throughout its troubled centuries of incessant warfare, the Orthodox Church of the East had been engaged against pagans or against the self-proclaimed enemies of Christianity. They had had to barter, connive and often make opportunist ‘deals’ with these enemies, in order to preserve their own life. Their aim, nevertheless, had been to establish the Christian Church and the traditions of the Roman Empire over barbarians, or over those whom they held to be the followers of a mistaken and evil faith. Even their conflicts on previous occasions with Normans or Venetians or Crusading armies, had been dictated not by any desire to win land from these westerners but solely in defence of their own territories and sphere of influence. It was left to western Europe, and in particular to Venice and France, to prove to Byzantium that its real enemies were fellow-Christians.

After this first clash of arms, the Crusaders felt confident in their superiority. “With the help of God the engagement was brief and successful, for the Greeks fled, our troops pursuing them for all of a league. We then seized a good number of horses, palfreys, mules, tents, and other booty…”
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The next day an ambassador came over to Scutari from Constantinople. He was Nicholas Roux, a Lombard who had been selected for his post because he could speak the language of the invaders. He had been sent, as he immediately explained, to find out why the Crusaders were occupying and pillaging Byzantine territory.

“You are Christians, and so is the Emperor. He is well aware that you are on your way to the Holy Land, to deliver the holy places from the infidel. He wonders, therefore, why you have come into his country. If you are in want and short of supplies, he will readily give you food and money—but on condition that you leave his territory. He is more than unwilling to do you any harm, though he is perfectly capable of it—as you must well know—if you refuse to go on your way.”

Conon de Béthune, one of the more cultured knights (he was something of a poet and an orator), was chosen to reply. He maintained that the Crusaders had not invaded the lands of Alexius III, since they were not his. “They belong,” he said, “to his nephew, and he is here with us. But, if your master is willing to throw himself on his nephew’s mercy and restore to him his crown and throne, we will intercede with the young prince to forgive his uncle and allow him enough money to live upon in luxury.” He concluded by saying that unless the messenger returned with an acceptance of these conditions he had better not come back at all.

For the first time, the purpose of the Crusaders was made brutally clear to the Emperor and his people. It was unlikely that Alexius III would respond to this message, with its specious explanation of the Crusaders’ presence in his lands, and with its suspect promise that his security would be assured. It left him with no option but to abdicate, or to trust that the army and the citizens would support him against the invaders.