like Byzantium itself, fallen on hard times. An important part of Alexius’s rebuilding of his city and empire had been the commissioning of a new palace to match those of the great Caesars of the past.
Alexius had been one of Byzantium’s highest nobility, and was a highly renowned general, when he became Emperor in a palace coup over fifteen years earlier. The empire was on its knees: the army was demoralized after a crushing defeat at the infamous Battle of Manzikert; the treasury was bare; and a succession of weak or despotic emperors had sapped the energy of the people.
In truth, the empire had been in a constant state of struggle for hundreds of years against fierce warrior- tribes from the North and the messianic valour of Islam from the south. By the time of Alexius’s accession, the chalice of the Purple could well have been a poisoned one and the empire in its death throes. However, slowly and shrewdly, with a combination of diplomacy and aggression, generosity and ruthlessness, Alexius had managed to rebuild the army, refill his treasury and restore the vigour of the people.
When several significant Muslim leaders died in quick succession and internal squabbling between the Shia believers of the Fatimid Caliphate of Cairo and the Sunnis of the Abbasid of Baghdad weakened it, Alexius chose the moment to make his move. His masterstroke was to appeal to his Christian brothers in the West to do his fighting for him. Perhaps, like Pope Urban, who yearned to unite the two Christian Churches under his governance in Rome, Alexius dreamed of uniting East and West under his sovereignty in Constantinople and recreating the glorious empire of Ancient Rome.
Now, as we arrived at what we assumed was the Emperor’s Great Hall, we were amazed to discover that it was only an anteroom for guests to await an audience with him. Even more remarkably, there were two more grand halls after the first, for guests or delegations of increasing importance. Each one was covered from floor to ceiling in intricately woven tapestries — at least three times the size of any I had seen before — the finest marbles, laid in complex symmetrical patterns aglow with vibrant colours, and astonishing mosaics, the quality of which was breathtaking. They depicted hunting, harvests, banquets, bathing and Byzantium’s great military victories in such detail and realism that it looked as if the people and animals were alive beneath one’s feet.
When we finally arrived at his reception hall, it was so large that all 200 of us seemed swallowed by it, even though the Emperor’s court, entourage and bodyguards were already there in significant numbers.
As we took our positions, standing in neat rows beneath the imperial dais, lords in the front rows, lesser mortals in order of precedence towards the back, the Emperor sat in silence, acknowledging only the most senior men with a slight nod of his head and the hint of a smile.
Alexius Comnenus was in his early forties, well set with a neatly cropped beard, heavily flecked with grey. His demeanour was that of a man of stern resolve, but his physique was unremarkable in appearance, apart from piercing steel-grey eyes. However, his clothes and armour were far from ordinary.
On top of his imperial purple surcoat he wore a lamellar-armour jacket made from plates of solid gold, and gold wristlets and armbands. His sea-blue silk cloak was held across his chest by a deep-purple ruby the size of a quail’s egg, and his finely tooled gold crown was studded with pearls, some of which were strung and cascaded down either side of his face like wringlets of hair. All his weapons, most held by his pages behind him, were studded with precious gems. His sword hung from his belt, the scabbard of which was made from gold inset with more rubies than it was possible to count.
Strangely, of all his splendours, I was drawn mostly to his boots. It is often said that you can judge a man by his footwear — well, make of Alexius’s boots what you will. They had the look of riding boots, but were made from the most luxurious soft leather, which the fullers had managed to dye a rich purple to match the rest of his regalia. Then, to finish them off, an elaborate design had been sown into the boots using the same pearls as those of the Emperor’s crown.
The overall effect was awe-inspiring and led me to think that this is what it must have been like to stand before a Hadrian or Augustus.
To the Emperor’s left were his wife, Irene, modestly clothed in white silk but weighed down with gems and gold jewellery, and his eldest children, Anna, a striking girl in her mid-teens with a very inquisitive eye, and John, a small, unattractive boy of about ten.
With only the slightest movement of his index finger, the Emperor summoned one of his entourage, who addressed us in Greek. Estrith was brought forward to stand beside me and translate.
‘His Imperial Majesty welcomes you to Constantinople, city of the Caesars, and to Byzantium, an empire without equal in the world. His Majesty has asked me to thank you for responding to his offer to join with him in opposing the enemies of Christianity who occupy the Sacred Places and who have been plaguing the gates of Europe for centuries. He has also asked me to inform you of the unfortunate circumstances surrounding the followers of Peter the Hermit, who arrived here some months ago at the head of a large group of pilgrims who had also answered His Majesty’s offer of brotherhood as soldiers of Christ.’
As the Emperor sat and scrutinized us, his herald described the wretched state of the ragtag army of Peter the Hermit’s ‘People’s Crusade’, as it had come to be called, when it arrived at the gates of Constantinople. Many had been killed in skirmishes with locals or had died of disease along the route. Even so, the Emperor was astonished by the number who had answered his call and horrified by their looting and violence.
The Emperor kept them provisioned and tried to persuade their leaders to wait until the arrival of the professional armies of the Latin Princes before crossing the Bosphorus into Asia Minor. They would not wait, and chaos ensued until Alexius organized hundreds of ships to take them across to the Byzantine-controlled coastal strip on the other side. Unfortunately, they had no appreciation of the power of the army of the Muslim Turks, stationed only two days’ ride away at the stronghold of Nicaea.
The Christian rabble soon began raiding into Muslim territory. The scenes were reported with disgust in Constantinople: children and babies hacked to pieces; girls and old women raped and tortured in unspeakable ways; everything of any value taken; all who resisted put to death.
The Turks soon retaliated. In one incident, a large group of Germans and Italians became trapped in the fortress of Xerigordos, where they held out for eight days. By the end, the defenders were drinking the blood of their horses and lowering rags into the sewers in order to drink the liquid squeezed from the extracted contents. When the Turks eventually broke in, they put everyone to the sword.
The rump of the People’s Crusade was camped at Civetot on the coast. When they heard about the massacre at Xerigordos, they immediately set out to attack the formidable Turkish fortress at Nicaea. With little military acumen, they were slaughtered in their thousands long before they reached the fortress, as Estrith graphically reported to us.
‘There was a bloodbath that was to leave a pile of bodies as high as a mountain. The Turks then fell upon Civetot to commit another massacre, killing all those too old, young or ill to fight, and taking as slaves young girls and women, and young boys whose face and form pleased them.’
Peter the Hermit had been in Constantinople, negotiating with the Emperor, and thus had survived, along with only a handful of others rescued by a contingent of the Varangian Guard.
Alexius then got to his feet and spoke for the first time.
‘My noble Lords of Europe, we are grateful for your presence here but, as you have heard, our enemy is formidable. You must not commit your armies in a land you know little about without my guidance. I have been fighting fierce barbarians to the north and cunning infidels to the south all my life. Do not underestimate the Muslim as a man or as a soldier. He is our equal, of that there is no doubt, but he follows a faith that denies the true God, and for that we must pray for his soul. Perversely, he thinks that we are the lost souls, denied everlasting peace — that is the simple truth of it. This is a fight to decide the true path to Heaven, not a campaign against ignorant barbarians.
‘Let me now make some things clear concerning your expedition into the Levant. I will be the watchful angel for your adventure and provide you with transportation across the Bosphorus and adequate provisions for your journey. In return, you will undertake to liberate the Holy Places in the name of Christianity and under my sovereignty. If you wish to create your own fiefdoms in these lands, you will become sovereign lords under my protection and owe fealty to me. To these ends, with God Almighty as your witness, you will now be required to take an oath to affirm your agreement.’
Alexius had played his trump card and, with its impact reverberating around the hall in agitated whispers and gasps, he sat down to be cooled by a pair of tall, bare-breasted, jet-black girls armed with fans of ostrich feathers.
Raymond of Toulouse strode forward, a pace beyond the others.
