As to Doge Enrico Dandolo who diverted these Christians from the Holy Land, he gave up the ghost comfortably at a very old age in the palace of Boukoleon and was buried with full rites in the church of Sancta Sophia. Some have called this inappropriate, a fortuitous harvest. Yet we know how the Lord God cannot be mistaken since He foresees all things.
It may be argued that in Constantinople the heretic troubadours of France were born. Princess Anna relates how during the reign of her father Alexius an unfamiliar and noxious cloud appeared. Sectarians. A monk, Basil, guided them, with twelve followers misnamed Apostles, which is blasphemy. They spewed poison, infected Christian souls, and derelict women trafficked at their heels much as happens in our day. Bogomil they styled themselves after some unclean priest, hiding their wickedness beneath cowl and cloak. Even so, the emperor lured them into daylight as cleverly as one draws a serpent from its crevice. He invited Basil to the palace and when this ape of darkness arrived Alexius courteously got up from his throne and otherwise pretended he would like nothing more than to hear the doctrine of Bogomil. My one desire, said he, is salvation of my soul. I pray you help me understand your teaching since the dogma of our Christian church is not conducive to virtue, he continued with a look of supplication, smearing the cup with honey. Now was the excessive pride of Basil puffed up. And like Renard coaxing that raven to sing in order to snatch the cheese, Alexius urgently flattered him. And the ape of darkness, hearing this, vomited forth his foul belief. Holy churches he described as temples of demons. At the divine nature of our Lord he looked askance. Other hideous blasphemies did he utter, proudly. But when the emperor had heard enough he gestured, a curtain flew apart and here was a scribe copying down each loathsome falsehood.
Alexius now rooted out those thought to be apostate and brought them together on the polo field where two funeral pyres were blazing. Some denied the charge of heresy while others hugged the corruption to their breast. All must burn, Alexius said, and he gestured for a cross to be set beside one fire. Go to that of your choice, he said, yet surely it is better to seek the loving embrace of God than plunge downward to hell cloaked with flame. True Christians then marched joyously toward the cross while Bogomil disdained it. And when he saw how these Christians would accept martyrdom for the Lord he turned them loose. The followers of Basil he cast in prison where they were visited and instructed by church elders. Some would die wrapped in the filthy rags of misbelief, others freed after comprehending their mistake.
As to the false monk Basil, Emperor Alexius gathered his Senate, his generals, and his church penitentiaries including Patriarch Nicolas Grammaticus. The diabolic teaching was read aloud. Basil neither denied nor refuted, clinging obstinately to Satan. Therefore, while deciding what to do, Alexius had him kept under guard in a little house close to the palace. And that first night, after the meeting of the synod, stones plummeted from a cloudless sky under a bright moon, pelting and rattling the roof-tiles. This was the work of demons furious at Basil for disclosing secrets.
Now the emperor ordered a trench to be dug at the hippodrome and filled with burning logs. Documents relate that when Basil came in sight of this roaring inferno, sparks soaring above the obelisk, he laughed and boasted that angels would save him.
It shall not come nigh thee, chanted the profane monk. Only with thine eyes shalt thou behold.
Yet he was devoid of sense, darting glances this way or that. He clapped his hands, beat his thighs, crowed wildly of miracles. So the executioners threw his cloak at the fire. Let us see if that will burn, said they.
Look! Look! Basil shrieked. My cloak flies up to the sky!
And they would toss him in, clothes and shoes and all. But now the flame bent forward to swallow him because the elements of earth do not tolerate impiety. And he was consumed. And nothing more was seen of Basil except one filament of smoke. And the excited crowd would throw other Bogomil in the trench, but Emperor Alexius refused.
Of that false monk no particle survived. Even so, flame did not extinguish the pernicious doctrine of Bogomil. When I was a child I frightened myself at night by imagining that Boulgres had gained the castle wall. How is it that unholy faith endures? I do not know.
Nor could I say if heretic troubadours descend from apostate Greeks. Some think them born of Manichees arguing that good and evil dwell side by side, beans in a pod. Whatever the fact, at Lau Ragais, Minervois, and elsewhere, versemongers pointed sharp fingers. Guyot de Provins, demanding to know why Christians marched against Constantinople, accused the papacy of avarice.
Huon de Saint Quentin sang blasphemy. The river, the Sepulcher, the Holy Cross, all speak with a single voice. All claim Rome plays at false dice!
So did the minstrel and tailor Figueira spew harsh words. Insidious Rome, grasping, you clip the sheep too close. May the Holy Ghost hear my prayer and snap your beak. What truce have I with you? For Greeks a sword, for Saracens a wink. Let your office roast in the fire of hell!
None sang more defiance than troubadours of Languedoc who thought their bountiful land exempt, singing ridicule at a distance. Like all who do not know themselves imperiled, they made
