Now with Constantinople subject at their feet, with Murzuphulus in exile, the barons resolved to crown a new emperor. They summoned a parliament. However, so many wished to speak that not until next day could twelve electors be chosen. These were the bishops of Soissons, Troyes, Halberstadt, and Bethlehem, the abbot of Lucedio, and the bishop-elect of Acre. Six excellent Venetians were selected. Twelve honorable men. All vowed on the Holy Gospel to be faithful to their appointment, to elect him most fit to rule.
On the ninth of May in that year of our grace 1204 these twelve secluded themselves in a rich chapel at Boukoleon palace. At midnight, the hour of God’s birth, Bishop Nevelon of Soissons appeared. Lords, said he to the barons, we have agreed. And you have sworn that whomever we elect will be your emperor and you will not oppose him, nor in any way help another to oppose him. We have elected a man of gentle birth, Baldwin, count of Flanders and Hainault. Cries of joy met this announcement since Baldwin was descended from Charlemagne, although some who admired Marquis Boniface of Montferrat were dissatisfied. The date set for Baldwin’s coronation was three weeks from Easter.
On that day the high lords, bishops, and abbots, Frankish and Venetian, rode to Boukoleon palace. From there Count Baldwin was borne aloft on his shield in the ancient manner to the church of Sancta Sophia. He was divested of outer garments and they put on him long hose of vermilion samite and slippers encrusted with gems. They clothed him in a tunic sewn with gold buttons, front and back. Over this they placed the ecclesiastic mantle, which hung down in front to his ankles, so long in back that according to tradition it wrapped around his waist and draped over his left arm like the maniple of a priest. The pallium sparkled with valuable stones. They put on him a garment embroidered with eagles, bedizened with so many pearls, emeralds, rubies, sapphires, and diamonds that it seemed to have caught fire. And when he had been thus vested they escorted him to the altar. The count of Saint-Pol carried his sword. The count of Blois carried his imperial standard. Marquis Boniface bore the crown. All the lords attendant were richly arrayed in samite and fine silk.
At the altar Count Baldwin knelt. They removed his mantle, next the pallium. They unfastened the gold buttons of his tunic to expose his breast so they might anoint him. Then he was dressed as before. The bishops laid hands on the crown to bless it, making the sign of the cross, and together placed it on his head. About his neck they hung a ruby the size of an apple, which long ago had cost Emperor Manuel Comnenus sixty-two thousand marks. Emperor Manuel had worn this gigantic ruby on a green purple robe encrusted with red garnet and pearl in the year 1161 when he entertained Kilij Arslan. Be that as it may, the new emperor ascended to a high throne where he remained while mass was sung, holding the scepter with one hand, in his other hand a golden globe surmounted by a cross.
Afterward he mounted a white charger and was led from Sancta Sophia to Boukoleon where he sat on the great throne of Constantine. There all did homage and those Greeks who were present bowed down. Then they feasted. Now the bishops, abbots, and Latin barons returned to their lodging while Emperor Baldwin remained at his palace. Thus was inaugurated the Latin empire of Constantinople.
In good time the emperor wrote with extreme joy to His Holiness Innocent, boasting of the splendor God had wrought. His Holiness responded in kind that he, too, rejoiced at this work of the Lord.
It may be that none felt more joyous than clerics in Europe when treasure arrived to enrich the churches. Gold candelabra, relics, jeweled icons. They joined voices in godly hymns, praising the fall of a decadent capital, Constantinopolitana Civitas diu profana.
What became of those Greeks that ruled the city? What of Alexius who blinded his own brother and usurped a throne? What of Murzuphulus who strangled the young pretender, proclaimed himself sovereign and escaped through bloody streets? Their wicked lives intertwined as if they were mating serpents. Both sought refuge in Thrace and Murzuphulus made overtures to the treacherous knave who preceded him. Alexius answered that he welcomed Murzuphulus as he might welcome his own son. Indeed, he would give his daughter to Murzuphulus in marriage so they might be truly united. So they conferred, it was done, and the fugitive emperors declared themselves inseparable. Presently here came a gracious invitation. Alexius would have Murzuphulus dine with him, after which they should visit the baths. Murzuphulus accepted. But all things obey their ancient law. No more did this tyrant arrive expecting a pleasant interlude than he was hurled to the floor of a private room and both eyes torn from his head.
What happened next, I do not know. Robert de Clari asserts that a brother to the count of Loos, Thierri, one day went riding to look over his land and while passing through a defile who did he see but the blinded villain followed by numerous ladies, all riding daintily. So my lord Thierri rushed straight at Murzuphulus and caught him and returned him to Constantinople clanking with shackles. Emperor Baldwin thrust him in prison and asked what punishment a man of such evil deserved. One thought he should be hanged. Another thought he should be dragged through the streets until he fell apart. But a venerable
