Byzantine War Ideology Between Roman Imperial Concept and Christian Religion ((Wien, 19.-21. Mai 2011) 9783700173076

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Johannes Koder, Ioannis Stouraitis (HRSG.)

BYZANTINE WAR IDEOLOGY Between Roman Imperial Concept and Christian Religion Akten des Internationalen Symposiums (Wien, 19.–21. Mai 2011)

ÖSTERREICHISCHE AKADEMIE DER WISSENSCHAFTEN PHILOSOPHISCH-HISTORISCHE KLASSE Denkschriften, 452. BAND

VERÖFFENTLICHUNGEN ZUR

BYZANZFORSCHUNG

HERAUSGEGEBEN VON PETER SOUSTAL und CHRISTIAN GASTGEBER

BAND XXX

ÖSTERREICHISCHE AKADEMIE DER WISSENSCHAFTEN PHILOSOPHISCH-HISTORISCHE KLASSE Denkschriften, 452. BAND

VERÖFFENTLICHUNGEN ZUR BYZANZFORSCHUNG BAND XXX

BYZANTINE WAR IDEOLOGY Between Roman Imperial Concept and Christian Religion Akten des Internationalen Symposiums (Wien, 19.–21. Mai 2011)

Edited by / Herausgegeben von Johannes Koder und Ioannis Stouraitis

Vorgelegt von w. M. Johannes Koder in der Sitzung am 15. Juni 2012

Gedruckt mit Unterstützung des Fonds zur Förderung der wissenschaftlichen Forschung

Mit Beschluss der philosophisch-historischen Klasse in der Sitzung vom 23. März 2006 wurde die Reihe Veröffentlichungen der Kommission für Byzantinistik in Veröffentlichungen zur Byzanzforschung umbenannt; die bisherige Zählung wird dabei fortgeführt.

Umschlagbild: Thomas the Slav negotiates with the Saracens Scylitzes Matritensis fol. 31r.

British Library Cataloguing in Publication data A Catalogue record of this book is available from the British Library

Die verwendete Papiersorte ist aus chlorfrei gebleichtem Zellstoff hergestellt, frei von säurebildenden Bestandteilen und alterungsbeständig.

Alle Rechte vorbehalten ISBN 978-3-7001-7307-6 Copyright © 2012 by Österreichische Akademie der Wissenschaften Wien Satz: Crossdesign Weitzer GmbH, A-8042 Graz Druck und Bindung: Prime Rate kft., Budapest http://hw.oeaw.ac.at/7307-6 http://verlag.oeaw.ac.at Printed and bound in the EU

Table of Contents Foreword . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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Johannes Koder – Ioannis Stouraitis, Byzantine Approaches to Warfare (6th – 12th centuries). An Introduction . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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Walter E. Kaegi, The Heraclians and Holy War . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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Panagiotis Antonopoulos, Emperor Constans II’s Intervention in Italy and its Ideological Significance . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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Warren Treadgold, Opposition to Iconoclasm as Grounds for Civil War . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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Olof Heilo, The Holiness of the Warrior: Physical and Spiritual Power in the Borderland between Byzantium and Islam . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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Athanasios Markopoulos, The Ideology of War in the Military Harangues of Constantine VII Porphyrogennetos . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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Stergios Laitsos, War and Nation-building in Widukind of Corvey’s Deeds of the Saxons . . . . . . . . .

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Ioannis Stouraitis, Conceptions of War and Peace in Anna Comnena’s Alexiad . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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Evangelos Chrysos, 1176 – A Byzantine Crusade? . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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Theodora Papadopoulou, Niketas Choniates and the Image of the Enemy after the Latin Capture of Constantinople . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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Efstratia Synkellou, Reflections on Byzantine War Ideology in Late Byzantium . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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Christos G. Makrypoulias, Civilians as Combatants in Byzantium: Ideological versus Practical Considerations . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 109 Athina Kolia-Dermitzaki, “Holy War” In Byzantium Twenty Years Later: A Question of Term Definition and Interpretation . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 121 Selected Bibliography . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 133 Index . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 135 Verzeichnis der Autoren . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 139

Foreword The current collective volume contains thirteen papers that were held at the international symposium “Byzantine War Ideology Between Roman Imperial Concept and Christian Religion” in Vienna, May 19–21, 2011. The subject of this symposium was closely related to the research project “Holy War? A Study on Byzantine Perceptions and concepts of War and Peace from the late eleventh to the early thirteenth century” hosted at the Institute for Byzantine and Modern Greek Studies of the University of Vienna and financed through a three-year research grant (2008–2011) by the Austrian Science Fund (FWF)1. As opposed to the project’s subject, the papers were purposefully not subdued to any chronological limitation. By allowing the participants to offer new insights into the topic with regard to different periods between the sixth and the fifteenth century and to issues that were not chronologically constrained, we were hoping for fruitful and inspirational influence on our further work in the project. We are pleased to say that this expectation was largely met. In this respect, we have to thank all participants for holding insightful presentations on various aspects of the research topic and – with a few exceptions2– for submitting their papers for publication in the symposium’s volume. The volume aspires to shed more light on certain aspects of the interrelation and interaction of imperial ideology and religious ethic on Byzantine war policies, as well as on the attitude of the homo byzantinus towards war and peace. The papers touch upon a wide range of problems referring to the major issues of the religious character of Byzantine wars, the relationship between Roman political ideology and social reality with regard to war and peace, and the general attitude of eastern Roman society towards warfare. Walter E. Kaegi in his paper offers a reevaluation of the respects in which the Emperor Heraclius conducted or planned a ‘holy war’ against the Sassanian Empire and eventually the Muslim Arabs on the basis of contemporary Greek and Armenian as well as later Arabic sources. Primarily on the basis of western sources Panagiotis Antonopoulos analyzes the role of the Italian expedition of Constans II for both Byzantium and the Lombard Kingdom as well as the Roman Church. Warren Treadgold attempts to weigh the importance of Iconoclasm in the motivation of the revolts of Kosmas against Leo III and Artavasdus against Constantine V. Olof Heilo discusses the meaning of the term “holy warrior” (martys or šahīd respectively) in the “Akritic” borderland as the reflection of a chiefly social phenomenon. Athanasios Markopoulos offers a deep and detailed analysis of two speeches addressed to soldiers in the field, which are ascribed to Emperor Constantine VII Porphyrogennetos. Stergios Laitsos examines the military terminology of the Res gestae Saxonicae of Widukind of Corvey and its widespread spectrum of meanings. Ioannis Stouraitis attempts to analyze the conceptions of war and peace in the Alexiad of Anna Comnena in light of the ideological-political discourse of the Byzantine élite of the mid-twelfth century. Evangelos Chrysos argues that the Emperor Manuel I in 1176 did not intend to lead a crusade against the Seljuks, but that he sought what was essentially a reconquest of Byzantine territory. On the basis of Niketas Choniates Doretta Papadopoulou clarifies that the Byzantines in the thirteenth century defined the “Latin” foe less on the basis of national or religious grounds and much more via moral criteria. Efstratia Synkellou examines the structures of Byzantine ‘war ideology’ in the Late Byzantine period, particularly the changes this ideology

Project Nr. P210-96-G02. Taxiarchis Kolias informed us that, due to lack of time, he had to postpone the publication of his paper “The Byzantine Emperor as Warrior” for the near future. Paul Stephenson, who kindly accepted our last-minute invitation to participate in the symposium, held a presentation on the subject “Nicholas the Monk and former Soldier”. The written form of this paper appeared short afterwards: P. Stephenson – B. Shilling, Nicholas the Monk and former Soldier, in: Byzantine Religious Culture. Studies in Honor of Alice Talbot, ed. D. Sullivan – E. Fischer – St. Papaioannou. Leiden – Boston 2012, 421–438.



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underwent due to the effect of political developments and the new status quo of the empire that resulted from them. The volume is concluded with two contributions that deal with issues of diachronic perspective. Christos G. Makrypoulias presents the first preliminary results of a comprehensive study which shows that the proportion of militia involved in the defense of cities (and here even the demes), but also in the campaigns of armies which were for the most part composed of professional or theme soldiers, was considerably higher than has previously been assumed in scholarship. Athina Kolia-Dermitzaki offers an overview of the debate within Byzantine Studies of the ideas “holy war”, “crusade” and “jihād”, which since the appearance of her study on the same subject two decades ago has been conducted quite vigorously, and underpins her argumentation in defense of her initial thesis. This very short overview of the papers’ content is intended to demonstrate their thematic variety. We strongly hope that the presented results will not only be well received in the research-field of war ideology in the premodern era, but will also contribute to the latter’s further development. The following institutions need to be gratefully mentioned for supporting the organisation of the symposium and the publication of the volume: The Austrian Science Fund (FWF), the Institute for Byzantine and Modern Greek Studies of the University of Vienna, the Austrian Society of Byzantine Studies and the former Institute for Byzantine Research of the Austrian Academy of Sciences (now Department of Byzantine Research of the Institute for Medieval Research). We are particularly thankful to the former director of the Institute for Byzantine Research, Peter Soustal, as well as to his deputy, Christian Gastgeber, for helping with the printing of this book. We also need to deeply thank Mihailo Popovic, Zachary Chitwood and Dominik Heher for providing substantial assistance by the volume’s editing. Finally, we are beholden to the philosophisch-historische Klasse of the Austrian Academy of Sciences for accepting the publication of the volume in its peer-reviewed series Denkschriften. Johannes Koder

Ioannis Stouraitis

Johannes Koder – Ioannis Stouraitis

Byzantine Approaches to Warfare (6th – 12th centuries): An Introduction The title of this collective volume, “Byzantine war ideology between Roman imperial concept and Christian religion”, we believe to be well-chosen. There is no doubt that the Byzantines’ socio-political approach to war and peace was extensively influenced by Christian ethics and the Roman imperial tradition. The interaction of these two factors during the geopolitical transformation of the Roman world in the period from the decline of the western part of the Roman Empire up to the late seventh century contributed decisively to the configuration of the Eastern Roman (i.e. Byzantine) Empire’s political and cultural identity. Nevertheless, second thoughts about the word “between” could be uttered, since it seems to express something like a chasm between religious and political disposition towards warfare, which by no means though should be taken for granted. Christian attitudes towards war inclined already before Constantine the Great to conform to a certain degree to the positions of the Roman state1. After all, the statements of Jesus Christ in the Gospels2, which refer to the sword and to peace, seem not to have been intended to promote an unreserved pacificism, whereas some of them also carry an eschatological overtone. Moreover, the authors of the Gospels lived within the political and cultural framework of the Roman Empire so that their versions of Jesus’ words can be certainly regarded to reflect to a certain extent this political and cultural background. Within the context of our topic, the most “political” amongst the statements of the Gospels comes from Luke: “… What king will march to battle against another king without first taking time to consider whether with ten thousand men he can face an enemy coming to meet him with twenty thousand? If he cannot, then, while the other is still far away, he sends a delegation and asks for peace”3. This is a pragmatic and clear position, which in principle recognized the possibility for any Christian king (political leader) to decide in favour of or against war as a means of politics. And it remained true all the more for the emperor of Constantinople as the exclusive rightful ruler of the whole Roman world, chosen by God and therefore justified to wage war in order to maintain or recover power over certain parts of the Roman Oecumene, which were not under his authority at any given time4; in other words, to protect and restore Roman world supremacy.







C. M. Odahl, Constantine and the Militarization of Christianity: A Contribution to the Study of Christian Attitudes toward War and Military Service. Michigan 1976, 9–59; J. Helgeland, Christians and the Roman Army from Marcus Aurelius to Constantine, in: Aufstieg und Niedergang der römischen Welt 23, 1. Berlin – New York 1979, 724–834; L. J. Swift, War and the Christian Conscience I: the early years, in: Aufstieg und Niedergang der römischen Welt 23, 1. Berlin – New York 1979, 835–868; J. F. Shean, Soldiering for God: Christianity and the Roman Army (History of Warfare 61). Leiden – Boston 2010. 2 Examples: “... if the house be worthy, let your peace come upon it: but if it be not worthy, let your peace return to you” (Matt. 10:13). – “Do not suppose that I have come to bring peace to the earth. I did not come to bring peace, but a sword” (Matt. 10:34). – “Put your sword back in its place, ... for all who draw the sword will die by the sword” (Matt. 26:52). – “But now if you have a purse, take it, and also a bag; and if you don’t have a sword, sell your cloak and buy one” (Luke 22:36). – „Peace I leave with you, my peace I give unto you: not as the world giveth, give I unto you. Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid” (John 14:27). 3 Luke 14:31–32: … τίς βασιλεὺς πορευόμενος ἑτέρῳ βασιλεῖ συμβαλεῖν εἰς πόλεμον οὐχὶ καθίσας πρῶτον βουλεύσεται εἰ δυνατός ἐστιν ἐν δέκα χιλιάσιν ὑπαντῆσαι τῷ μετὰ εἴκοσι χιλιάδων ἐρχομένῳ ἐπ’ αὐτόν; εἰ δὲ μήγε, ἔτι αὐτοῦ πόρρω ὄντος πρεσβείαν ἀποστείλας ἐρωτᾷ τὰ πρὸς εἰρήνην. 4 On the ideology of Roman world supremacy (with the key-word ecumenism) in Byzantium see O. Treitinger, Die oströmische Kaiser- und Reichsidee nach ihrer Gestaltung im höfischen Zeremoniell. Vom oströmischen Staats – u. Reichsgedanken. Darmstadt 1956, 158–167; H. Ahrweiler, L’idéologie de l’empire byzantin. Paris 1975, 9–24, ; J. Koder, Die räumlichen Vorstellungen der Byzantiner von der Ökumene (4. bis 12. Jahrhundert), in: Anzeiger d. philos.-hist. Klasse der Österr. Akad. d. Wiss. 137/2. Vienna 2002, 25–31; G. Schmalzbauer, Überlegungen zur Idee der Ökumene in Byzanz, in: Wiener Byzantinistik und Neogräzistik: Beiträge zum Symposion Vierzig Jahre Institut für Byzantinistik und Neogräzistik der Universität Wien im Gedenken an Herbert Hunger, ed. W. Hörandner (Wien, 4.–7. Dezember 2002). Vienna 2004, 408–419; I. Stouraitis, Krieg und Frieden in der 1

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Thus, imperial Christianity’s potential to wage war was not really constrained by clerical Christianity’s adherence to the idea that war was a great evil and peace reflected God’s will, since the controversial statements of the Old Testament about swords and plowshares5, which have been used not only by medieval Church Fathers6 but also by present-day peace movements7, left the door open for the waging of offensive warfare as long as this was legitimized in the name of peace. The three phases of systematic wars of expansion in the period from the mid-sixth to the late twelfth century provide the best evidence of this argument. It has been often pointed out – quite rightly so – that the Byzantine Empire was a state permanently at war due both to its geopolitical position and political heritage. The greater part of Byzantine wars was fought for the defense of the territories that were at any time under the rule of the emperor of Constantinople. Within this context, the Byzantines developed diplomatic policies in order to avoid or stop attacks by their numerous enemies8. It has been plausibly pointed out though, that these diplomatic policies, which were in accordance with the Christian peace-loving rhetoric of Byzantine authors, were not the product of ideological mechanisms that configured policies for the avoidance of war at any cost; instead, they mainly reflect a sophisticated political pragmatism which sought to avoid the waging of defensive warfare due to the obvious economic and political cost9. Warfare in Byzantium was primarily a matter of political aims, concerns and strategic interaction and had little or nothing to do with a peaceful disposition which produced ideological and ethical restrictions regarding the role of warfare as a means of politics. The Byzantine society’s, i.e. the ruling élite’s, approach to warfare was fairly sophisticated due both to the high level of socio-political organization of the state by medieval standards as well as to the post-seventh century economic, and military conditions in its geopolitical sphere10. The Byzantine imperial state did not seek to avoid all warfare out of conviction, but waged wars of territorial expansion whenever the equilibrium of power was in its favour. The justification of offensive warfare within the framework of a Christian mentality, which eagerly propagated its love of peace and therefore notionally allowed only for defensive, that is, unavoidable wars to be waged, was made possible through an ideological disposition which remained rigidly adherent to the Roman ideal of territorial ecumenical rule and therefore enabled, when necessary, a flexible approach to the perception of the actual territorial limits of imperial authority. Thus, when the military potential was there the Byzantine state élite was ethically and ideologically always in position to legitimize its claim on territories, which in many cases had already been for many generations or even centuries under foreign rule. The imperial state’s ideological mechanisms were able to propagate differentiated conceptions of peace, upon which politischen und ideologischen Wahrnehmung in Byzanz (Byzantinische Geschichtsschreiber, Ergänzungsband 5). Vienna 2009, 201–204; E. Pitz, Die griechisch-römische Ökumene und die drei Kulturen des Mittelalters. Geschichte des mediterranen Weltteils zwischen Atlantik und Indischem Ozean, 270–812 (Europa im Mittelalter, Abhandlungen und Beiträge zur historischen Komparatistik 3). Berlin 2001, 3; for a different approach see T. Lounghis, Die byzantinische Ideologie der ‘begrenzten Ökumene’ und die römische Frage im ausgehenden 10. Jahrhundert. BSl 56 (1995) 117–128. 5 Micha 4:3: ... and they shall beat their swords into plowshares, and their spears into pruninghooks (καὶ κατακόψουσιν τὰς ῥομφαίας αὐτῶν εἰς ἄροτρα καὶ τὰ δόρατα αὐτῶν εἰς δρέπανα) – Joel 4:10: Beat your plowshares into swords and your pruninghooks into spears (συγκόψατε τὰ ἄροτρα ὑμῶν εἰς ῥομφαίας καὶ τὰ δρέπανα ὑμῶν εἰς σειρομάστας). 6 Cyril of Alexandreia, Commentarius in xii prophetas minores (ed. P. E. Pusey, Sancti patris nostri Cyrilli archiepiscopi Alexandrini in xii prophetas, I, Oxford 1868, 353f.); Idem, Epistulae paschales sive Homiliae paschales PG 77.731f., Idem, Homiliae paschales, 15.1.59–81 (ed. W. H. Burns [SC 434], Paris 1998), Theodore of Mopsuestia, Commentarius in xii prophetas minores, Joel 3:9–11 (ed. H. N. Sprenger, Wiesbaden 1977). 7 And even for the Soviets, who, in 1959, donated the remarkable statue “Beating a Sword into a Plowshare” from E. Vuchetich to the United Nations see in New York. 8 On Byzantine diplomacy see S. Lampakis – M. Leontsini – T. Lounghis – V. Vlysidou, Byzantine Diplomacy: A Seminar (transl. by N. Russell). Athens 2007; Byzantine Diplomacy, Papers from the Twenty-fourth Spring Symposium of Byzantine Studies. Cambridge, March 1990, ed. J. Shepard – S. Franklin. Aldershot 1992. 9 On the ideological parameters of diplomatic policies see J. F. Haldon, Blood and Ink: Some observations on byzantine attitudes towards warfare and diplomacy, in: Byzantine Diplomacy, Papers from the Twenty-fourth Spring Symposium of Byzantine Studies. Cambridge, March 1990, ed. J. Shepard – S. Franklin. Aldershot 1992, 281–295; Stouraitis, Krieg und Frieden 219–231. On the economic reasons that dictated the avoidance of defensive warfare see N. Oikonomides, Το όπλο του χρήματος, in: Το εμπόλεμο Βυζάντιο (9ος–12ος αι.) (NHRF/IBR, International Symposia 4). Athens 1997, 261–268 ; E. Chrysos, Ο πόλεμος έσχατη λύση, in: Βυζάντιο – Κράτος και Κοινωνία. Μνήμη Νίκου Οικονομίδη. Athens 2003, 545–563. 10 On a general overview of Byzantine attitudes towards warfare see J. Haldon, Warfare, State and Society in the Byzantine World 565–1204. London 1999, 13–33

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the justification of defensive or offensive warfare was made dependent. For instance, peace could be equally highlighted as the justifying cause both for a war, or for that matter for a diplomatic mission, which aimed to retain the imperial state’s current borders, as well as for a war which aimed to expand these borders, backed up by the ideal that granted the restoration of Roman political order over former Roman territories an irenical content11. The coexistence of two principally different conceptions of peace, which were in the end ethically contradictory, determined the Byzantine approach to dikaios polemos (just war) as an unavoidable evil, i.e. a necessary political means to protect or restore peace as this was defined through the at any time given political and economic interests of the Byzantine ruling élite12. All efforts that were undertaken by the emperors of Constantinople after the fall of the Western Roman Empire (476) until the late twelfth century to expand the borders of their rule through the reconquest of former Roman territories were legitimized within the aforementioned ideological framework13. Thus, the sophisticated offensive character of the Byzantine “war ideology” was inherent in the actual content of the principal Byzantine conception of political peace, which was based on the idea that the restoration of the one Roman emperor of Constantinople’s rule over lost Roman territories was peace-making. This idea made peace dependent upon, and identifiable with, the Roman political order as represented by the imperial power of Constantinople. As a result, it abrogated on an ideological level the reality of the socio-political changes which had occurred in former Roman territories and which had erased the political and cultural ties between the indigenous population and the Roman political order, creating new conceptions of peace and order. From a Byzantine point of view, both the rights of the new rulers of former Roman territories as well as the rights of the inhabitant population were a priori subordinate to the archetypal right of the Roman emperor’s sovereignty over former Roman lands. For instance, the Byzantine “reconquista” of the tenth century took place almost three centuries after the territorial contraction of Byzantine imperial rule to the main parts of Asia Minor, the southern part of the Balkan Peninsula and Southern Italy that had formed the so-called “Hellenized” Eastern Roman Empire, the cultural and administrative structure of which differed greatly from that of the Late Roman Empire. Consequently, from a social and cultural point of view the justification of offensive wars for the reintegration of Roman lands into the Roman politeia, the Byzantine emperor’s imperial state, could hardly align with, or stem from, the need of the indigenous population for liberation, but reflected primarily the need of the Byzantine ruling élite to gain more territories and their revenues. Apart from that, the Muslim Caliphate in the East, as well as the regenerated Roman Empire (800) in the West, had consolidated their rule over greater parts of those territories through ideological and political means for centuries. Thus, the political ideology that justified Constantinople’s claim on former Roman territories was not only weakened due to given social and cultural facts, but was also confronted with a new geopolitical status quo that contradicted the Byzantine ideological approach. Within this political framework of war of defense and reconquest on behalf of the political entity of the Roman Empire, religion played a central role in the ethical legitimization of imperial policies. Admittedly, the policies of reconquest seemed to be antithetical to the core of eastern Christian ethics, which was defined by the religious axiom that war was an evil deed which should be avoided. This antithesis was, however, overcome at the time on a socio-political level through an ecclesiastical pragmatism which practically legitimated a priori every war for the protection of the Christian Roman Empire. This pragmatism is evident in the statements of the Church Fathers. According to the Christian theorist of warfare, Saint Augustine of Hippo, war was a sin but could also be seen as the means to give the sin an end14. Saint Athanasius of Alexandria highlighted the idea of ecclesiastical oikonomia by declaring that the killing of the enemy in a war on

On the interaction between conceptions of peace and legitimizing mechanisms, see Stouraitis, Krieg und Frieden 208–259. On Just War in Byzantium see G. Michailides-Nuaros, Ο βυζαντινός δίκαιος πόλεμος κατά τα Τακτικά του Λέοντος του Σοφού [Symmikta Seferiadou], Athens 1961, 422; A. Laiou, On Just War in Byzantium, in: To Hellenikon. Studies in Honor of Speros Vryonis Jr.. New Rochelle 1993, 167–8; Stouraitis, Krieg und Frieden 276–280. 13 For the ideology of the Justinianic reconquista see D. Brodka, Prokopios von Kaisareia und Justinians Idee der ‘Reconquista’. Eos 86 (1999) 243–255. 14 Sancti Aureli Augustini De civitate Dei (Corpus Christianorum, ser. Lat. 47–48, pars 14, 1–2). Turnhout 1955, XIX 15.

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behalf of the Roman Empire was not a sin to be forgiven through penitential chastisement, but a socially praiseworthy task15. The integration of this ecclesiastical pragmatism into the political conception of just war in Byzantium is made evident in the tenth-century military treatise of the Emperor Leo VI, the Taktika , in which the author declares that the only just war is war for the defense of the empire’s territorial integrity and that, when this just cause is given, then God assists the armies of the empire and leads them to victory16. This instrumentalization of religion based on the political idea that war was a necessity in this world, was further facilitated due to the fact that concrete eschatological hopes or expectations regarding the end of the world and the Second Coming of Jesus Christ in the beginning of the sixth century17 and again in the beginning of the eleventh century18 had not been fulfilled. Consequently, the view that emperors were entitled to wage just war against the enemies of the empire was widespread even in monastic circles19. Thus, the religious discourse in Byzantine warfare was defined by an ideological mitigation. The Byzantine conception of just war based on the natural-law of defense allowed the reconciliation of the political image of warfare as an indispensable means with its religious image as an evil thing. As a result of that, the imperial state was in a position to fully employ religious exhortations and symbols to motivate its armies in wars against all enemies of the empire, Christian and non-Christian, while the Byzantine church was able to accede to the perception of warfare as the main political means for the protection of the state’s political interests without having to recognize or legitimize warfare as an instrument of religion and a remission of sins. Byzantine just war could be fought on behalf of the state’s institutionalized religion and Byzantine soldiers were in fact exempted from penitential chastisements for killing in war20. Moreover, they were promised that participation in warfare against the enemies of the empire could not exclude a pious Christian from heaven. However, warfare was neither propagated nor regarded broadly as a means for the salvation of the soul. The perception of a just cause for resorting to military action was not defined by religious difference per se, but by the notion of Roman statecraft. In Byzantine mentality, warfare even when it was defensive and just, remained from a religious point of view a sinful situation and could not be understood as a means to salvation21. Athanasii archiepiscopi Alexandriae epistola ad Amunem monachum, in: P.-P. Joannou, Fonti. Fasciolo ix. Discipline générale antique (ii–ix s.). Les canons des pères grecs, vol. II. Rome 1963, 68, 4–14. Cf. H. G. Beck, Nomos, Kanon und Staatsraison in Byzanz (Österr. Akad. d. Wissensch., philos.-hist. Klasse, Sitzungsberichte 384). Vienna 1981; Stouraitis, Methodologische Überlegungen zur Frage des byzantinischen ‘heiligen’ Krieges. BSl 67 (2009), 283–284. 16 On the religious element of the just war concept of the Taktika see Stouraitis, Krieg und Frieden 273–276; Idem, Jihād and Crusade: Byzantine positions towards the notions of ‘holy war’. ByzSym 21 (2011) 19–23. On alternative views cf. G. Dagron, Byzance et la modèle islamique au Xe siècle. À propos des Constitutions Tactiques de l’Empereur Léon VI. Comptes rendus de séances de l’Académie des Inscriptions et Belles Lettres 127 (1983) 219–243; A. Kolia–Dermitzaki, Ο βυζαντινός ‘ιερός πόλεμος’. Η έννοια και η προβολή του θρησκευτικού πολέμου στο Βυζάντιο (Ιστορικές Μονογραφίες 10). Athens 1991, 235–242. 17 See P. Magdalino, The history of the future and its uses: prophecy, policy and propaganda, in: The Making of Byzantine History. Studies dedicated to Donald M. Nicol, ed. R. Beaton – Ch. Roueché. Aldershot 1993, 3–34, esp. 3–17, and G. Podskalsky, Byzantinische Reichseschatologie. Die Periodisierung der Weltgeschichte in den vier Großreichen (Daniel 2 und 7) und dem tausendjährigen Friedensreiche (Apok. 20). Eine motivgeschichtliche Untersuchung. München 1972. 18 See G. Podskalsky, Byzantinische Reichseschatologie, esp. 96–98, and Idem, Religion und religiöses Leben im Byzanz des 11. Jahrhunderts. OCP 57 (1991) 371–397. 19 Cf., e. g., Symeon the New Theologian, Hymn 58, 34–36 (ed. J. Koder, Hymnes / Syméon le nouveau théologien [SC 196]. Paris 2003 [repr.]): βασιλεῖς, καλῶς ποιεῖτε πολεμοῦντες τὰ ἔθνη,/ ἐὰν μὴ αὐτοὶ τὰ τῶν ἐθνῶν ποιοῦντες/ ἔργα καὶ ἔθη καὶ βουλάς τε καὶ γνώμας! 20 See Beck, Nomos, Kanon und Staatsraison 27–28. 21 On the much debated issue of a Byzantine notion of ‘holy war’ see Kolia-Dermitzaki, Ο βυζαντινός ‘ιερός πόλεμος’, passim with detailed bibliographical information on older works; Laiou, Just War 153–177; eadem, The Just War of Eastern Christians and the ‘Holy War’ of the Crusade, in: The Ethics of War. Shared Problems in Different Traditions, ed. R. Sorabji – D. Rodin. Oxford 2006, 30–43; N. Oikonomides, The concept of ‘holy war’ and two tenth-century Byzantine ivories, in: Peace and War in Byzantium. Essays in Honor of G. T. Dennis S. J., ed. T. S. Miller – J. Nesbitt. Washington, D.C. 1995, 62–86; T. M. Kolbaba, Fighting for Christianity. ‘Holy war’ in the Byzantine Emire. Byz 68 (1998) 194–221; G. T. Dennis, Defenders of the Christian People: ‘Holy war’ in Byzantium, in: The Crusades from the Perspective of Byzantium and the Muslim World, ed. A. Laiou – R. P. Mottahedeh. Washington, D.C. 2001, 31–39; A. Carile, La guerra santa nella Romania (Impero Romano d’Oriente) secoli VII–XI, in: Guerra santa, guerra e pace dal vicino oriente antico alle tradizioni ebraica, cristiana e islamica, ed. M. Perani. Bologna 2005, 251–261; I. Stouraitis, Methodologische Überlegungen 269–290; Idem, Krieg und Frieden 327–361; Idem, Jihād and Crusade; Idem, ‘Just War’ and ‘Holy War’ in the Middle Ages: Rethinking Theory through the Byzantine Case-Study. JÖB 62 (2012);

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Byzantine Approaches to Warfare (6th – 12th centuries): An Introduction

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In the period after the rise of Islam (seventh century), Byzantine society was confronted with the Muslim war ethic, which was based on the idea of jihād, the Muslim conception of religious warfare22. The ideological dispute between the Byzantines and the Muslims was marked among other matters by their differentiated approach to the matter of God’s relation to war. The Muslim perception that military action could be solely justified as God’s will for the final triumph of the one religion and, consequently, perceived as a means with which the believer could gain a place in heaven, was contradictory to the essence of God from a Byzantine point of view and to the principle Byzantine perception of war as a sin. This contradiction is highlighted in Niketas Byzantius’ dispute with a Muslim theologian in the mid-ninth century. The Byzantine intellectual unfolds the rationalized core of Byzantine war ethic, when he states that in Byzantine perception war could not be considered, and therefore justified, as an act ordained by God, because God in Byzantine perception could not wish for the destruction of human life23. Later, by the end of the eleventh century, the movement of the Crusades, which was generated by Pope Urban II’s idea to help the Eastern Christians and was elaborated into the idea of an armed pilgrimage for the liberation of the ‘Holy Land’ from the Muslim yoke, confronted Byzantium with a western Christian type of ‘holy war’24 that, similarly to the Islamic jihād, was mainly based on religious difference for the justification of resorting to military action. From the twelfth century onwards, the concept of crusade provides thus a further point of reference with regard to religious concepts of justification of war in medieval times and a further point of comparison for Byzantine approaches to the role of religion in the jus ad bellum25. Hence, the efforts of the Comnenian emperors Alexius I, John II and Manuel I to reconquer lost Byzantine territories took place within a differentiated socio-political framework than the ‘reconquistas’ of the sixth and the tenth century. This new framework was defined, on the one hand, by the fact that for the first time the empire’s existence as well as its potential for expansion was equally – if not predominately – threatened by Christian enemies, the Normans first and later the Crusaders, the “war ideology” of whom had many similarities with but also important differences from Byzantine “war ideology”. On the other hand, it was extensively affected by the new political and economic conditions which emerged from the loss of the larger part of Asia Minor26 and from the commercial domination of the Italian maritime city-states (Pisa, Venice, Genoa) in the Eastern Mediterranean27. During the last years of the Comnenoi and the short period of the Angeloi P. Stephenson, Imperial Christianity and Sacred War in Byzantium, in: Belief and Bloodshed. Religion and Violence across Time and Tradition, ed. J. K. Wellman, Jr. New York 2007, 83–95; idem, Religious services for Byzantine soldiers and the possibility of martyrdom, c. 400–1000 C. E., in: Just Wars, Holy Wars, Jihads, ed. S. Hashmi. Oxford 2012; M. Nichanian, De la guerre ‘antique’ à la guerre ‘médiévale’ dans l’empire romain d’orient. Legitimité imperiale, ideologie des la guerre et revoltes militaires, in: Guerre et Société au Moyen Âge, Byzance – Occident (VIIIe – XIIIe siècle) (Monographies 31), ed. D. Barthélemy – J.-Cl. Cheynet. Paris 2010, 33f. 22 On jihād see R. Firestone, Jihad. The Origin of ‘Holy War’ in Islam. New York 1999, 43f.; P. L. Heck, Jihad Revisited. Journal of Religious Ethics 32 (2004) 95–128; D. Cook, Understanding Jihad. Berkeley – Los Angeles – London 2005, 32–48; M. Bonner, Jihad in Islamic History: Doctrines and Practice. Princeton, N. J. 2006, 1f. 23 Niketas von Byzanz, Schriften zum Islam I, griechisch-deutsche Textausgabe von K. Förstel, (Corpus Islamo-Christianum). Würzburg – Altenberge 2000, 192, 334–345;cf. D. Krausmüller, Killing at God’s Command: Niketas Byzantios Polemic against Islam and the Christian Tradition of Divinely Sanctioned Murder. Al Masãq 16 (2004) 164–167; Stouraitis, Krieg und Frieden 333–335. 24 On the ideology of the Crusade movement see A. Becker, Papst Urban II. (1088–1099), Teil 2: Der Papst, die griechische Christenheit und der Kreuzzug (Monumenta Germaniae Historica 19, II). Stuttgart 1988, 272f.; J. Riley-Smith, The First Crusade and the idea of Crusading. Philadelphia 1986; E.-D. Hehl, Was ist eigentlich ein Kreuzzug? Historische Zeitschrift 259 (1994) 297–336; H. E. J. Cowdrey, The Reform Papacy and the Origins of the Crusades, in: Le concile de Clermont de 1095 et l’appel à la croisade (Collection de l’école française de Rome 236). Rome 1997, 65–83; R. Hiestand, ‘Gott will es!’ – Will Gott es wirklich? Die Kreuzzugsidee in der Kritik ihrer Zeit (Beiträge zur Friedensethik 29). Stuttgart – Berlin – Köln 1998, 5–16; J. MøllerJensen, War, Penance and the First Crusade. Dealing with a ‘Tyrannical Construct’, in: Medieval History Writing and Crusading Ideology, ed. T. M. S. Lehtonen – K. V. Jensen (Studia Fennica Historica 9), ed. T. M. S. Lehtonen – K. V. Jensen (Studia Fennica Historica). Tampere 2005, 51–63. 25 On Byzantine attitudes towards the concept of crusade see T. M. Kolbaba, Fighting for Christianity. ‘Holy war’ in the Byzantine Emire. Byz 68 (1998) 211–221; Stouraitis, Jihād and Crusade, 17–62. 26 J. Chrysostomides, The Byzantine Empire from the eleventh to the fifteenth century, in: The Cambridge History of Turkey, vol. I: Byzantium to Turkey, 1071–1453, ed. K. Fleet. New York 2009, 10f. 27 R.-J. Lilie, Handel und Politik zwischen dem byzantinischen Reich und den italienischen Kommunen Venedig, Pisa und Genua in der Epoche der Komnenen und der Angeloi (1081–1204). Amsterdam 1984.

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Johannes Koder – Ioannis Stouraitis

dynasty (1185–1204), the Empire experienced new military decay as a consequence of its weak political and economic structures. This decay ended with the fall of Constantinople to the Crusaders and was marked by the final collapse of Eastern Roman political order, as defined through the prerogative of the monocracy of the emperor of Constantinople. Although the ideological framework of the Comnenian reconquista was to a certain extent defined by ideological continuity with regard to the main patterns of Byzantine political ideology (ecumenism), the different political and military size of the empire indeed influenced the ruling élite’s approach to the notion of pax byzantina and as a consequence refined the pragmatic objectives of its expansive war policies. Especially the loss of a great part of Asia Minor to the Seljuks was a decisive turning point from a political and economic point of view, since Asia Minor had been the territorial core of the Empire since the seventh century and had produced the greater part of its agricultural income. The central aim of Byzantine war policies, which from the seventh to the eleventh centuries had been the maintenance and expansion of that territorial core, seems to have been transformed after the late 11th century due to a reassessment of the imperial state’s strategic priorities within its geopolitical sphere. * Beyond the actual thematic limits of Byzantine ‘war ideology’ it may be of interest here to make short reference to the impact of Byzantine ideas on war and peace on the political successor of Byzantium, the Ottoman Empire. In the second half of the fifteenth century, Sultan Mehmed the Conqueror seems to have been extensively influenced by the ideological background of the Byzantine “reconquistas”, especially in its most authentic form as represented by the “Justinianic” reconquista28. After conquering the “daughter”, the second Rome, Constantinople, as prophesized by the Prophet Muhammad29, the sultan wanted to overcome and replace the Hellenic Roman-Christian Oecumene with an Islamic Oecumene (most certainly centered upon his person). For that reason, he also intended to conquer the “mother”, the first Rome, as we are informed by Nicola Sagundino: “…He (Mehmed) said that the heavens had granted him the see of Constantine, and this was Rome, whereas Constantinople could not be seen as equal and identical – as he had taken the daughter by force, so he could also take the mother”30. What Mehmed actually sought was to conquer all lands adjacent to the Mediterranean, including Europe31, and to lord over the ancient Oecumene. According to Jacopo de’ Languschi he said “that the world dominion should be only one, and only one faith and one monarchy should exist”32. Between 1453 and his early death in 1481 many Europeans believed that he would succeed. Even his last enterprise, in 1480, indicated that in his attempt to establish his world-wide empire he intended to invade Italy (including the “mother” Rome). Cf. J. Koder, Romaioi and Teukroi, Hellenes and Barbaroi, Europe and Asia. Mehmed the Conqueror – Kayser-i Rum and Sulţān al-barrayn wa-l-bahrayn, in: The Athens Dialogues, Stories and Histories. Athens 24.–27.11.2010 (http://athensdialogues.chs. harvard.edu/cgi-bin/WebObjects/athensdialogues.woa/wa/dist?dis=21). 29 Sultan Mehmed’s teacher Akşemseddin (died 1460) encouraged him to conquer Constantinople, quoting a Hadith of the prophet Mohammed, who according to Ahmed ibn Hanbal (8./9. c.) had prophesied: “Verily you shall conquer Constantinople. What a wonderful leader will he be, and what a wonderful army will that army be!”, a Hadith (Hakim, al-Mustradak [Cairo 1997] 4.422, also Bukhari, Tarikh as-Saghrir [Aleppo; Cairo 1975] 139; and Ahmad ibn Hanbal, al-Musnad [Cairo 1895], 4.335; see http://historyofandalus.wordpress.com/chapter-1/muslims-in-the-maghrib-and-spain/). Another Hadith saying that the conqueror of Constantinople will have the prophet’s name, probably did not survive, but is only mentioned in the Kitāb al-uyūn; see M. Canard, Les expéditions des Arabes contre Constantinople dans l’histoire et dans la légende. Journal Asiatique 208 (1926) 61–121, here 84 and 107, and R. Eisener 1987. Zwischen Faktum und Fiktion: eine Studie zum Umayyadenkalifen Sulaiman b. Abdalmalik und seinem Bild in den Quellen. Wiesbaden 1987, 129 n. 481–482. 30 … ait sibi concedi coelitus Constantini sedem, hanc vero Romam esse, non Constantinopolim videri aequum valdeque congruere, quasi filiam vi ceperit, hanc etiam matrem capere posse, Nicola Sagundino, oratio 25.1.1454 (ed. A. Pertusi, La caduta di Costantinopoli, I–II. Florenz 1976. II 128–141, here 132). 31 For his ‘Weltherrschaftsanspruch’ see P. Thorau, Konstantinopel – al Qustantiniya. Das zweite Rom als Mittelpunkt und Sinnbild des Osmanischen Imperiums in der Herrscherideologie Mehmeds des Eroberers, in: Kaiser Konstantin der Große. Historische Leistung und Rezeption in Europa, ed. K. M. Girardet. Bonn 2007, 149–161, here 154–157 and P. Thorau, Von Karl dem Großen zum Frieden von Zsitva Torok. Zum Weltherrschaftsanspruch Sultan Mehmeds II.und dem Wiederaufleben des Zweikaiserproblems nach der Eroberung Konstantinopels. Historische Zeitschrift 279 (2004) 309–334. 32 ... uno dice dover esser lo imperio del mundo, una fide, una monarchia, Jacopo de’ Languschi in the chronicle of Zorzo Dolfin (K. M. Setton, The papacy and the Levant 1204–1571, II: The Fifteenth Century. Philadelphia 1978, II 257–258 n. 23).

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The sultan’s universal aspirations were continued in the 16th century by the rulers of the Sublime Porte through the reign of another admirer of Alexander the Great, Suleiman the Magnificent (1520-1566), worthy rival of his contemporary, the emperor Charles V (1520-1556, died 1558)33. Perhaps also in an eschatological sense, Mehmed attached importance to being addressed with the title “Kayser-i Rum” (“Caesar of Romans”) by Christian (European) rulers34, though as a Muslim he had assumed the title of “Hakan or Sulţān al-barrayn wa-l-bahrayn” (“Lord / Sultan of the two continents and the two seas”, namely, the Asian and the European parts of the Empire, and the White / Aegean and the Black Sea)35. Combining these titles – and surpassing them – Kritoboulos addresses him in a flattering manner in the dedicatory letter of his history as “supreme emperor, king of the kings, Mehmet, the fortunate, the victor, the winner of trophies, the triumphant, the invincible, lord of land and sea by the will of God”, thus imitating the intitulations of the late antique Roman emperors, for example: felix, victor, triumphator, invictus36.

C. Imber. The Ottoman Empire, 1300–1650. The Structure of Power. New York 2002, 49–54. So an anonymous “Pamphlet contre Mahomet”: καὶ αὐτὸ τὸ ὄνομα τὸ στέργει νὰ λέν· τῶν Ῥωμαίων βασιλέα, (ed. A. Delatte. Anecdota Athenensia. Liège – Paris 1927, 353.20–21). Cf. G. Podskalsky. Byzantinische Reichseschatologie 61–63. Tursun Beg (ed. H. Inalcik and Rh. Murphey. Tursun Beg, The history of Mehmed the Conqueror, text published in facsimile with English translation [Bibliotheca Islamica 1]. Minneapolis, MN 1978), 33, maintains that Mehmed did not accept that the last Byzantine Emperor bore the title of Kayser-i Rum. 35 J. H. Kramers, Encyclopédie de l’Islam, nouvelle Edition, IX. Leiden 1998, 886. 36 Αὐτοκράτορι μεγίστῳ, βασιλεῖ βασιλέων Μεχεμέτει, εὐτυχεῖ, νικητῇ, τροπαιούχῳ, θριαμβευτῇ, ἀηττήτῳ, κυρίῳ γῆς καὶ θαλάσσης θεοῦ θελήματι. For the intitulations (Latin equivalents: felix, victor, triumphator, invictus), see G. Rösch, Onoma basileias. Stu­dien zum offiziellen Gebrauch der Kaisertitel in spätantiker und frühbyzantinischer Zeit (BV 10). Vienna 1978, 43–47 and 168–171.

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Wa l t e r E . K a e g i

The Heraclians and Holy War The issue of holy war bedevils medieval Islamic as well as Byzantine Studies1. Varying shades of opinion exist among Byzantinists and some even among the Islamicists on just how much holy war there was in the seventh century. Some Islamicists believe there was holy war from the beginning, others argue that classic Jihād is a phenomenon of the ‘Abbasid period and thereafter. Among the principal problems is that of retrospective representation of historical events2. On one side is Chase F. Robinson3, who observes that “the seventh century was a time of Holy War,” and “Jihad (the struggle on behalf of God, which in this context meant nothing more or less than fighting on His behalf) was at the centre of Muhammad’s programme.” Khalid Blankinship argues for an imperial ideology of jihād under the later ‘Umayyad dynasts4. Michael Bonner observes, “the later ‘Umayyad caliphs had tried to promote an imperial ideology of jihād […] as the doctrine and practice of jihād took shape under the early ‘Abbasids, it became an area of endeavor for jurists and other people who were very often not under the direct control of the ‘Abbasid caliphs themselves.”5 However, my University of Chicago colleague Fred M. Donner has a cautious appraisal of jihād (normal translation: striving) and holy war in the beginnings of Islam. He argues that jihād is a later formulation6. Donner expresses reservations about what he calls the “violent conquest model” of Islamic expansion7. Not only Donner, but also Stephen J. Shoemaker argues for an early inter-confessional stage of Islam8. That hypothesis adds complexity to understanding the emergence of early Islamic holy war. But Donner judges that by the end of Muhammad’s life the dominant attitude in the community had become the legitimation of, and the exhortation to pursue, ideological war9. F. Donner has written on the issue of legitimation of the ‘Umayyads10. Hugh Kennedy declares11 “it was not until almost two hundred years after the death of the Prophet that the definition of jihād began to be formalized by such scholars as Abd Allah b. Mubarak (d. 797).” A prolific number of new publications concerning early Islam have reframed certain issues and proposed radical theses while leaving other unresolved. Holy War is not always an explicit topic but the wider discourse affects any consideration of holy war. For now, it is unwise for Byzantinists to engage in comparative judgments on holy war in Islam and Byzantium until the Islamicists have defined more precisely the limits and conditions of early Islamic holy war. Simplistic comparisons and contrasts are tempting but inappropriate. The scaffolding is fragile.









Good overview on Byzantium: I. Stouraitis, Krieg und Frieden in der politischen und ideologischen Wahrnehmung in Byzanz (7.–11. Jahrhundert) (Byzantinische Geschichtsschreiber, Ergänzungsband 5). Wien 2009, 33–35 and elsewhere. 2 I thank the organizers of this conference, and in particular Professor Dr. Johannes Koder and Dr. Ioannis Stouraitis, for their remarkable efforts to make this conference possible. I thank Professor Dr. David Olster at the University of Kentucky at Lexington and his graduate students in History for their criticism and comments on an earlier version of this paper on 28 February 2011. 3 Ch. F. Robinson, The Rise of Islam, 600–705, in: New Cambridge History of Islam I, ed. Ch. F. Robinson. Cambridge 2010, 190, 193. 4 K. Blankinship, The End of the Jihad State. Albany, NY 1994, 232. 5 M. Bonner, Jihad in Islamic History. Princeton 2006, 128. 6 F. M. Donner, Muhammad and the Believers. Cambridge, MA 2011, 82–88. 7 Donner, Muhammad 107. 8 S. J. Shoemaker, Death of a Prophet. The End of Muhammad’s Life and the Beginnings of Islam. Philadelphia 2011. 9 Donner, Muhammad 82–85. 10 F. M. Donner, Umayyad Efforts at Legitimation: the Umayyads’ Silent Heritage, in: Umayyad Legacies: Medieval Memories from Syria to Spain, ed. A. Borrut – P. M. Cobb. Leiden 2010, 187–211. 11 H. Kennedy, The Great Arab Conquests. Philadelphia 2007, 50. 1

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Walter E. Kaegi

For Donner violent conquest is not the dominant feature of early Islam. But this is a matter of disagreement among Islamicists, especially concerning the seventh century, not the ‘Abbasid era. So there is an unresolved divergence, although not an absolute one, among Islamicists. Some argue for more, others for less significance for it in the warfare of the first century of Islam. We leave that issue to the Islamicists. Likewise I leave aside the fascinating story of Heraclius and Holy War in western medieval imagination12. It is a worthwhile topic but not ours. There is no consensus among Byzantinists either. This is a reassessment of the extent to which Emperor Heraclius and his seventh-century dynastic successors (through Justinian II) engaged in or consciously sought to engage in Holy War. Emperor Heraclius and his immediate successors strove to lead armies and the empire piously. None of them would have regarded invocation of divine assistance and recourse to religion to motivate their soldiers and imperial subjects and strengthen their morale as inconsistent with their responsibilities as emperor. Those who would associate the name of Heraclius with Holy War generally invoke his conduct and policies in waging war against the Zoroastrian Sasanian Persians between 610 and 628, and in particular between 622 and 628, not his military, religious, and diplomatic stance against the newly emergent Muslim Arabs from 629 through the end of his reign in early 64113. Contemporary Byzantine rhetoric and poetry praise the piety of Emperor Heraclius but it would be an exaggeration to term his external political and military strategy as holy war. The surviving contemporary Armenian inscriptions indubitably describe Heraclius as pious, protected by God, but do not describe him as a holy warrior in any ordinary meaning of the term14. Likewise papyri do not identify him as any holy warrior. There is a papyrus from Egypt that may give indicate governmental effort in his reign to raise religious resistance to Muslims or Sasanians there15. Heraclius certainly endeavored to invigorate armed resistance and a counteroffensive to Sasanian Persian and initial Arab / proto-Muslim raiding and military campaigns and penetrations of Byzantium’s eastern frontiers. It is the emperor’s prerogative to command in war. Related to command is invigorating troops for military action. Heraclius did on 24 April 624 so address his troops, “Danger is not unrequited but the way to eternal life.”16 I commented as I explained in my book Heraclius, “Heraclius was emphasizing participation and even death in this war as a means to heaven. Yet, this was no simple religious crusade; it was a multi­ dimensional conflict of which religious zeal was only one component. It is Heraclius and his panegyrists, not the Patriarch or bishops, who are creating any crusade-like features and whipping up religious enthusiasm.” 17 Muslim narrative sources in Arabic, which are recorded later than the seventh century, portray Heraclius as misguided or extremely cautious, but not as a head of state longing for or leading soldiers and his subjects in holy war18. Furthermore, his coinage and seals do not cast him as a holy warrior in the ordinary sense of the term even though he sought divine aid (e.g. inscription on silver hexagram)19. There is acute and even apocalyptical anxiety for the contemporary distress of the empire but not advocacy of or adherence to holy war. Heraclius and his immediate successors, Heraclius Constantine and Constans II were committed to armed resistance, but were willing to consider diplomatic remedies. There was no refusal to make expedient short A. Sommerlechner, Kaiser Herakleios und die Rückkehr des Heiligen Kreuzes nach Jerusalem. Überlegungen zu Stoff- und Motivgeschichte. RHM 45 (2003) 319–360, especially 341–344. 13 Useful review of evidence stressing the imperial agenda: Y. Stoyanov, Defenders and Enemies of the True Cross. The Sasanian Conquest of Jerusalem in 614 and Byzantine Ideology of Anti-Persian Warfare (Österreichische Akademie der Wissenschaften, Philosophisch-historische Klasse, Sitzungsberichte 61). Wien 2011. 14 T. Greenwood, A Corpus of Early Medieval Armenian Inscriptions. DOP 58 (2004) 27–91. 15 P. J. Photiades, A Semi-Greek, Semi-Coptic Parchment. Klio 41 (1963) 234f. 16 Theophanes, A. M. 6114 (ed. C. de Boor, Theophanes, Chronographia. Leipzig 1883–1885, 307); The Chronicle of Theophanes Confessor. Byzantine and Near Eastern History, AD 284–813, translated with introduction and commentary by C. Mango and R. Scott, with the assistance of G. Greatrex. Oxford 1997, 439. 17 W. E. Kaegi, Heraclius. Cambridge 2003, 126. 18 N. M. El Cheikh, Byzantium Viewed by the Arabs. Cambridge, MA 2004, 39–54. 19 Ph. Grierson, Catalogue of the Byzantine coins in the Dumbarton Oaks Collection and in the Whittemore Collection, vol. 2. Phocas to Theodosius III, 602–717, Pt. 2: Heraclius Constantine to Theodosius III (641–717). Washington, D.C. 1968, Nos 48.1–[58], pp. 437–442.

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term truces and play for time with the Muslims (or what some historians such as David Cook20 label as proto-Muslims). We have a blurred situation at the death of Heraclius and during the crisis of his succession in 641. Even Heraclius’ second wife Martina briefly, that is immediately following the decease of Heraclius, held sway over a cautious and unstable regency that appears to have avoided any enthusiasm for anything like holy war with the incipient and newly emergent Muslims. A cautionary remark: hostile historiographical traditions written by Chalcedonian Christians hostile to Monotheletism may have caused later historians to distort, diminish, delete or de-emphasize any coverage that could be interpreted as suggesting or portraying these emperors as righteous religious warriors. I first reject an extreme position affirming holy war as the policy of Heraclius by two authors: the first of whom is Warwick Ball, according to whom “Heraclius declared Holy War” and “Heraclius’ proclamation of holy war has its exact counterpart in the Islamic concept of jihād, first traditionally articulated by Muhammad in the very same year – 622 – that Heraclius formulated his.”21 The second position is that of the popular historian Geoffrey Regan in his publication The First Crusader who argues Emperor Heraclius did engage in Holy War and was in fact the first crusader. He is not an academic historian but a popular historian of the history of war, yet some will want to know my opinion of him. Regan expresses his views vigorously and without much qualification. Probably most professional Byzantinists find his position excessive and untenable. With respect to the year 622 Regan claims Emperor Heraclius “built up a concept of holy war that was to have enormous repercussions, not just in the Christian world.” Regan asserts the year 622 “saw a new concept added to the vocabulary of human conflict – holy war or jihad.”22 “For Christian warriors of the Middle Ages Heraclius was ‘the first crusader .’”23 “Heraclius became a holy warrior in 622, leading the chosen people against the enemies of God.”24 His judgment: “Those academics who have rejected the concept of the Byzantine ‘holy war’ and have ridiculed the idea of Heraclius as the first crusader have done so because the concept of a ‘crusade’ is a medieval western idea. […] In a sense all Byzantine wars were holy wars and thus to search for individual examples is to miss the point entirely.”25 This leads me to definitions. My concern is not with the entire span of Byzantine history, but with the issue of holy war during the span of the Heraclian dynasty (610–711). So I refer to holy war in the seventh century. My own preferences tilt to the working definition of holy war laid out by three distinguished, recently deceased, historians Nikos Oikonomides26, George T. Dennis27, and Angeliki Laiou. They argued that in a strict sense Byzantium did not engage in holy war. The principal criteria included for Dennis: 1. Has to be declared by a competent religious authority. 2. The objective must be religious. 3. Those who participate are to be promised a spiritual reward. Angeliki Laiou contributed prudent remarks on terminology and categories in an essay in 199328. I am however aware of the contrary positions of other eminent scholars: one is A. Kolia-Dermitzaki29, author of The Byzantine ‘Holy War’. The Idea and Propagation of Religious War in Byzantium. She has now reviewed, restated, and revised her definitions in her paper entitled “‘Holy War’ in Byzantium Twenty Years Later: A Question of Term Definition and Interpretation” prepared for and discussed at the International Symposium “Byzantine War Ideology Between Roman Imperial Concept and Christian Religion” in Vienna. Ioannis

D. Cook, Studies in Muslim Apocalyptic. Princeton 2002. W. Ball, Rome in the East. London 2000, 28f. 22 G. Regan, The First Crusader. Phoenix Mill 2001, 76. 23 Regan, The First Crusader 77. 24 Regan, The First Crusader 78. 25 Regan, The First Crusader 82. 26 N. Oikonomides, The Concept of ‘Holy War’ and Two Tenth-century Byzantine Ivories, in: Peace and War in Byzantium, ed. T. S. Miller − J. Nesbitt. Washington, D.C. 1995, 62–86. 27 G. T. Dennis, Defenders of the Christian People: Holy War in Byzantium, in: The Crusades from the Perspective of Byzantium and the Muslim World, ed. A. E. Laiou – R. P. Mottahedeh. Washington, D.C. 2001, 31–39. 28 A. Laiou, On Just War in Byzantium, in: To Hellenikon. Studies in Honor of Speros Vryonis, Jr. New Rochelle 1993, 153–177. 29 A. Kolia-Dermitzaki, The Byzantine ‘Holy War’. The Idea and Propagation of Religious War in Byzantium. Athens 1991.

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Stouraitis offers a sophisticated, critical and reserved evaluation of the validity of the terms holy war and Crusade for Byzantium, with special attention to the years 1095 and following30. The second advocate for cases of Byzantine holy war is Tia Kolbaba31. I have no substantial disagreements or problems with the subtle restatement by Warren Treadgold in 200632. John Haldon rejects any notion of Byzantine holy war33. Of course, it is now more than a quarter-century since Michael McCormick published his Eternal Victory, in which he included his revised and updated insightful paper on the “Liturgy of War” that he had first read on 28 December 1980 under the title “Early Medieval Culture: Mass and War” at the American Historical Association Annual Meeting in Washington DC. He had already revised and published the paper as an excellent scholarly article in 198434. This is a valuable contribution to understanding the sacralization of warfare. I do not want to review old positions, terminology, and semantics. The eminent Western European military historian John France concludes that “Europeans developed no special doctrine of holy war, but rather a series of ill-defined notions pointing in the same direction.”35 You will wonder what are the ultimate conclusions of this historical inquiry. First of all, it should be clear that the issue is much more complex than holy war yes or no. Despite enmities and divergent interests there were complex and duplicitous diplomatic and military negotiations that were not simply holy war or no holy war. Major questions exist about what really happened: the basic chronology, the trustworthiness or not of primary sources, and disputes about the sources of the sources. Substantial historical disputes persist about not only events, but broader historical developments and processes and trends. With respect to Emperor Heraclius and Holy War there is no reason to alter substantially my cautious conclusions expressed in my 2003 volume on Heraclius Emperor of Byzantium. He was an emperor who sought to undergird morale and solidarity of his troops (in an era of fragmenting and changeable loyalties). He sought to make them fight steadfastly. Yet, seventh-century realities often involved the opposite: commanders and troops acting in a volatile way, even switching loyalties. And some Muslim commanders such as a Mu‘āwiya, but also other field commanders as well, will reportedly try to split off enemy commanders and constituencies. Monolithic solidarity and commitment existed on neither side. Many might and some did change sides. We do not have any specific Byzantine Greek term for holy war in the texts for the seventh century. Paul Stephenson has contributed points and additional nuances to the debate on Late Roman and Byzantine holy war, making the case for sacred war or some sacralization of war36. He argues that on occasion “warfare became increasingly sacralized, and especially in conflicts with adherents of other faiths, those engaged in fighting were led to believe that they would receive spiritual recompense for their efforts”. “It is clear that in both the seventh and tenth centuries concerted efforts were made to extend spiritual rewards, up to and including the status of martyr, to those who fought the righteous war, suitably purified in advance and with the

Two important articles: I. Stouraitis, Methodologische Überlegungen zur Frage des byzantinischen ‘heiligen krieges’. BSL 68 (2009) 269-290; I. Stouraitis, Jihad and Crusade: Byzantine Posiitons Towrds the Notions of ‘Holy War’. Byzantina Symmeikta 21 (2011) 11–63. 31 T. Kolbaba, Fighting for Christianity: Holy War in the Byzantine Empire. Byz 68 (1998) 204–207. 32 W. Treadgold, Byzantium. The Reluctant Warrior, in: Noble Ideals and Bloody Realities, ed. N. Christie − M. Yazigi. Leiden 2006, 209–235, especially 211–213. However, I would make a qualifying point on his comment on page 224 about my handling of internal strife in W. Kaegi, Byzantine Military Unrest. Amsterdam 1981. As I pointed out on page 4, my subject was not civil wars or cataloging civil wars, and certainly not holy wars, but various kinds of actions, including unit rivalries, conspiracies, dissents, and seditions that Byzantine armed units or collections of soldiers engaged in; some might term its subject military intervention. Holy war is simply irrelevant to that book. 33 J. Haldon, Warfare, State and Society in the Byzantine World. London 1999, 13–33. 34 M. McCormick, Eternal Victory. Triumphal rulership in late antiquity, Byzantium, and the early medieval West. Cambridge, MA 1986; cf. also the above-mentioned article: Idem, The Liturgy of War in the Early Middle Ages: Crisis, Liturgies, and the Carolingian Monarchy. Viator 15 (1984) 1–23. 35 J. France, Crusades, Historiography Overview (1000–1500), in: Oxford Encyclopedia of Medieval Warfare and Technology I, ed. C. J. Rogers. Oxford 2010, 494. 36 P. Stephenson, Imperial Christianity and Sacred War in Byzantium, in: Belief and Bloodshed: Religion across Time and Tradition, ed. J. K. Wellman, Jr. Lanham, MD 2007, 81–93, especially 82–86.

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intention to defend their Christian brothers.” 37 Also useful on sacralization are some of his other published and unpublished papers38. It is important to use caution about notions of Holy War prior to the seventh century. For example, it is problematic to cite the case of Emperor Theodosius I without qualifications. The problem is the newly sharpened and slashing razor of Alan Cameron has undermined all testimony of the late antique historian Rufinus on the issue of holy war in the case of Theodosius I at the battle of the Frigidus. Alan Cameron has emphasized that the religious dimension of Theodosius I’s campaign against Eugenius is much more the literary creation and product and framing of subsequent historiography of Rufinus than of any reliable contemporary historical sources on the actual historical facts. According to Cameron, Rufinus has constructed an image of Theodosius that is unsupported by any other contemporary evidence. In Cameron’s words, “Rufinus has either improved or invented virtually every detail in his picture of Theodosius’s preparation for battle.”39 We get Rufinus, not Theodosius I. This case raises the issue of retrospective historical representations in narrative and in rhetoric in contrast to contemporary firsthand sources. The prolific writings, by the late and regretted (much too prematurely deceased) Thomas Sizgorich on monks and holy warriors in Islam are not very relevant to Byzantium and holy war, because he consciously and explicitly concentrates on later literary representations and constructions in Arabic literature, not historical events of the seventh century40. Many medieval Islamicists prefer on the subject of Muslim martyrdom the monograph by David Cook entitled Martyrdom in Islam41. The issue of holy war in the seventh century has now taken another turn with the publication of a large new wide-ranging book by James Howard-Johnston on Witnesses to a World Crisis, in which he refers to the issue of holy war in both Islam and Byzantium42. Other substantial parts express the author’s coming to terms with or developing his understanding of early Islamic history. That is an admirable project, and I have no comment on it. It is far outside of the scope of my investigation of the Heraclians and holy war. I again leave judgments on that to the Islamicists. Howard-Johnston’s book contains useful but also extremely controversial statements, not all of which can be considered here. I generally agree with his thrust and conclusions more than I disagree, in so far as I understand them, but I have strong reservations and objections to some points. Parts of it are at best a very scattered exposition of events. It is worthwhile to identify relevant ones for the purpose of this volume. I agree with his preference, on balance, toward accepting what he calls the positivists43 or “the more positivist”44 in contrast to (his terminology) “the sceptical party”, with respect to early Islamic history45. I have selected some pages from it of relevance to the issue of Byzantine-Muslim holy war in the middle and late seventh century. Howard-Johnston speculates on the role of Mu‘āwiya, Caliph, in allegedly contriving the assassination of Constans II (641–669), the grandson of Emperor Heraclius in his bath in Syracuse, Sicily in 669. I argue for a different chronology of some of these events and also for a different interpretation. I have read and used known primary sources in a number of languages myself but I still want more cross-checks. Howard-Johnston has not cited or consulted some of the same Arabic sources. A different chronology of events before the assassination results in a different evaluation of the plausibility of the hypothesis. Holy war or not Mu‘āwiya indeed was in contact with dissident elements within Byzantine ranks out in the provinces as well as in central decision-making circles, whether or not in the palace itself. Caution is advisable before offering a confi-

Stephenson, Imperial Christianity 91, for both quotations. P. Stephenson, About the Emperor Nikephoros and How He Leaves His Bones in Bulgaria. DOP 60 (2006) 87–109, especially 102–109. The same author has generously shared with me his important forthcoming paper on: Religious Services for Byzantine Soldiers and the Possibility of Martyrdom: c. 400–c.1000, in: Just Wars, Holy Wars, Jihads, ed. S. Hasmi. Oxford 2012. 39 A. M. Cameron, The Last Pagans of Rome. Oxford 2011, 130, from chapter 3, The Frigidus, 93–131. 40 E.g. T. Sizgorich, Violence and Belief in Late Antiquity. Philadelphia 2009. 41 D. Cook, Martyrdom in Islam. Cambridge 2007. 42 J. Howard-Johnston, Witnesses to a World Crisis. Oxford 2011. 43 Howard-Johnston, Witnesses 518f. 44 Howard-Johnston, Witnesses 521. 45 Howard-Johnston, Witnesses 519.

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dent explanation of the assassination and its relationship to the larger diplomatic and military context, especially in the central Mediterranean. Khaled Keshk has undertaken specialized investigation of Arabic-language historiographical traditions about Mu‘āwiya 46. Keshk agrees that no known Arabic source attributes or associates the assassination of Emperor Constans II to Mu‘āwiya in any way in 668/69. Howard-Johnston has leaped to conclusions in using a late Armenian historical tradition of Movses Dasxuranci in the History of the Caucasian Albanians on a report of a meeting in Damascus between Mu‘āwiya and Juansher commander in eastern Transcaucasia47. The Armenian source is conceded by its translator, the eminent Armenologist Charles Dowsett, to be garbled48, and it does not state that Mu‘āwiya conceived and implemented the conspiracy. In point of fact it would have been difficult to keep such a plan confidential for sufficient time to implement it. There is little doubt that Mu‘āwiya may have welcomed the assassination of Constans II and resulting chaos and trouble within Byzantine ranks. There can be no doubt he could have large strategic goals embracing Mediterranean-wide objectives. We simply lack the explicit documentation in extant primary sources of any such direct involvement of Mu‘āwiya. At best this very late Armenian source speaks of a conversation in Damascus of Mu‘āwiya with Byzantine envoys who included in their ranks eunuchs, who were hostile to Constans II. There is no explicit reference that Mu‘āwiya initiated any such plot. That involves a leap of logic given the present state of our documentation. This is overstrained interpretation. The eminent Armenologist Timothy Greenwood offers a different translation and interpretation of the critical passage from the history of Movses Dasxuranci: Thinking again about ‘undertaken’, the Armenian literally means ‘they had at their own hands’ – hence ‘undertake’ – but perhaps, in this context, better to translate as ‘of their own accord’. The Armenian word is ink’nadzern, a compound of inkn, ‘his own, her own’ and dzern, that is ‘hand’ or sometimes ‘means’. So I think that on reflection the meaning is clear, that the eunuchs have undertaken the murder of Constans II at their own volition and that the deputation from Constantinople has arrived after the event, to negotiate. This I have to admit puts a very different complexion on events, for it puts the negotiations by the ‘powerful’ of Constantinople after the murder of Constans, not before, that is reacting to that episode rather than planning it, as James HowardJohnston argues. Therefore rather than seeing this in term of Saborios / Shapur, it may be the case that this occurred in the mayhem following Constans’ death, when those in control of Constantinople tried to negotiate a truce, perhaps enabling Constantine IV to attack Mzez and secure Sicily. What is striking is to see the figure of Juansher acting as the intermediary, shuttling between the two parties and apparently to their mutual satisfaction. Quite why he should have been selected for this role is something of a mystery. Could it be that he was employed to demonstrate the benefits of submission to the ‘king of the south’? Or to communicate in Greek – but this would not have been a problem for Syrian clerics at the time!49

Howard-Johnston’s analysis omits Arabic sources other than the translation (albeit a very good one) of al-Ṭabarī. Other Arabic sources indicate substantial Muslim military actions in North Africa in 665 and 667/68 before the assassination of Constans II in 669, not after it. Howard-Johnston does not understand the full range of Arabic sources on Muslim raids and expeditions into North Africa immediately preceding Constans II’s assassination. It is likely that the assassination in part resulted from frustrations among Constans II’s entourage that his policies were not accomplishing very much, and the Muslim strikes at Djerba (Arabic Jirba) and Gigthis were so decisive that they created more pressure and frustration and are an indispensable part of the background to the plot to eliminate Constans II. It is doubtful that there ever was an understanding or communication between Mu‘āwiya and Mizizios / Mžež on the island of Sicily concerning the assassination of Constans II and its aftermath. That is merely an imaginative construction of Howard-Johnston. He conceives of a “peace party”50 “and a plot hatched to assassinate Constans, who was plainly regarded as the driving force behind the policy of engaging Islam in a full-blooded war and hence as the chief obstacle to reaching some sort of accommodation.”51 In point of fact Constans II had negotiated a truce with Mu‘āwiya during the first fitna (Muslim / Arab civil war). It is doubtful that Mu‘āwiya could have micromanaged such K. Keshk, The historians’ Mu‘āwiya : the depiction of Mu‘āwiya in the early Islamic sources. Saarbrücken 2008. Howard-Johnston, Witnesses 490–491. 48 Movses Dasxuranci, History of the Caucasian Albanians (trans. C. Dowsett). Oxford 1961, 196.15–197.1 (197). 49 Communication to me via email on 31 May 2011. 50 Howard-Johnston, Witnesses 490. 51 Howard-Johnston, Witnesses 490.

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a conspiracy from Damascus without detection, given the nature and slowness of communications in that era. Indubitably he would have been happy with murder of Constans II however it was accomplished. Let us be clear. Although we have no precise memoranda or strategic plans, Mu‘āwiya was indisputably capable of attempting to develop a complex strategy for expansion in the Mediterranean52. The issue is, whether Mu‘āwiya really did initiate, plan and implement the plot of assassination of Constans II at Syracuse in Sicily in 66953. This is a later Armenian text, probably garbled. But the text, in Greenwood’s translation, states that the eunuchs had undertaken to murder Constans54. They, not Mu‘āwiya, had initiated the objective. Howard-Johnston is hypothesizing that Mžež (Mizizios) was selected in advance by conspirators with advance knowledge and approval of Mu‘āwiya. He then argues that Mu‘āwiya refused to uphold his side of this supposed bargain. Howard-Johnston concedes: “It would have been surprising, though, if Mu‘āwiya had been equally committed, since whatever concessions he made (at a minimum, self-rule under Muslim oversight and full religious toleration) would be likely to hamper the spread of Islam.”55 This is a very tenuous hypothesis. It hypothesizes that: “But Mu‘āwiya now revealed his hand. Instead of opening talks with Mzez, he sent Muslim forces into action in east and west, by land and sea.”56 My conclusion is that this is an ingenious new hypothesis but the evidence to prove it is lacking. It is an excessively free or loose reading of a late text. Other scholars can read the same text and other contemporary reports and reach very different conclusions and see a different outcome. A series of Muslim devastating strikes against Byzantine-held points in North Africa may well have been the tipping point that instigated Constans II’s assassination by one or more eunuchs at Syracuse. It is far from certain that this was holy war. In any case Mu‘āwiya profited from dissension within Byzantine ranks57. But one need not posit a specific plot schemed by Mu‘āwiya, who is otherwise not identified by anyone as the master puppeteer. We have a fundamental difference here on the technical chronology of events in North Africa and their relations to those in Sicily. Of course, this outcome is within the realm of possibility – it is conceivable – but it is improbable. A simpler historical explanation is that there was never any bargain with Mu‘āwiya, that the assassin/s of Constans II was/were reacting to recent Muslim successes in Africa and elsewhere that had already occurred as historical events. They were afraid that more such Muslim victories were coming to pile up. The would-be assassins were reacting to Byzantine humiliating defeats and losses and still more defeats simply fit into to suit their purposes or reinforced their convictions to assassinate. We do not need to posit any complicated or convoluted dealings with Mu‘āwiya. We do know Mu‘āwiya met in Damascus with Shapur / Saborios, the rebel or breakaway commander of the Armeniaks for frank talks. Many options were open. But any hypothesis of an undertaking by Mu‘āwiya to act one way or the other in the west as part of any long-term conscious assassination attempt is unsustainable from extant sources. It is historical imagination at best, or simply put, another form of historical fiction. A recent very learned analyst of the seventh-century Sicily decisively concluded “l’absence de liens entre l’assassin de l’empereur et les promoteurs de l’usurpation de Mezezios.”58 The relationship of all of this to holy war is tenuous too. I agree with Howard-Johnston59 that Mu‘āwiya was concerned with war against the Byzantines. He remarks “We have no reason to doubt the commitment either of the Roman appeasers or of Juansher to the cause of bringing about a rapprochement between the caliphate and both components of eastern Christendom, the rump Roman Empire and the peoples of Transcaucasia.”60 However, Howard-Johnston concedes that his thesis may cause surprise: “The story of what happened (already outlined in Chapter 9 above) may be unfamiliar but it is based on the unambiguous testimony of Theophilus of Edessa, who was well placed to pick up reliable

Howard-Johnston, Witnesses 486f. On the chronology of 669 instead of 668, see Greenwood, Corpus 49. 54 Greenwood, Corpus 48, no. 102. 55 Howard-Johnston, Witnesses 491. 56 Howard-Johnston, Witnesses 491. 57 Ibn ‘Idhārī Al Bayān al Mughrib (ed. G. S. Colin – E. Levi-Provencal. Beirut 1983, 17). 58 V. Prigent, La Sicile de Constant II: l’apport des sources sigillographiques, in: La Sicile de Byzance à l’Islam, ed. A. Nef – V. Prigent. Paris 2010, 177. 59 Howard-Johnston, Witnesses 488. 60 Howard-Johnston, Witnesses 490f.

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information some three generations later.”61 Recent researches of Maria Conterno and Muriel Debié on the sources of the Chronicle of Theophanes reject identification of Theophilus of Edessa as the principal or common source62. That subject will receive more debate. Howard-Johnston stresses the significance of jihād: “Jihad and hajj were crucial bonding agents and also imparted extraordinary dynamism to Islam, above all in the first century or so of its existence.”63 Even more emphatically, he states “once armed struggle was sanctioned, as it was in the early Medinan period, jihad, striving for the faith, could and did take the form of world war, with the ultimate goal of bringing all men to knowledge of their maker and the manager of all things. The driving force behind Arab expansion was religion. The conquests were Muslim, not Arab conquests.”64 He comments on Mu‘āwiya: “His complex plan for applying steadily increasing pressure on what remained of the Roman Empire over the years 668–73 was a cleverly designed offensive strategy, involving subversive diplomacy, political assassination, deception on the grandest possible scale, and expeditions by land and sea, targeted on both the organizing centre and the peripheries of Roman power. It was a virtuoso performance by a master statesman, only frustrated in the end by dogged defence and technical innovation on the Roman side.”65 It is conceivable that Mu‘āwiya was conceiving strategy in larger frame of reference, the Mediterranean. During the reign of Constans II there was an evident lack of cohesion within Byzantine ranks, and not exclusively because of dissent concerning theology. There were fractures of many kinds. Discordance was everywhere. There is no solidarity, from one end of the empire to the other, from east to west. Pope Martin I was no pacifist, but was not part of any holy war against this newly emergent religious group on the southern and eastern shores of the Mediterranean. In seventh-century North Africa Muslim negotiations with tribes, where the military potential was concentrated, were probably more effective than religious war, although admittedly committed representatives of Islam made a strong positive impression on malleable minds and hearts. Howard-Johnston points out “it is unlikely to have been mere coincidence that Heraclius and Muhammad encouraged their troops with the prospect that those who were killed in action would earn the crown of martyrdom and gain direct entrance to Paradise, in the same year, Heraclius first publicly announced the new doctrine (which had presumably been agreed earlier with the church authorities) in spring 624, as his army crossed the old frontier into Persia.”66 Investigation requires consultation of Arabic texts beyond translated ones such as al-Tabarī. The extant texts do not give unambiguous support to Holy War in the middle and late seventh century. But with respect to Constans II’s death and Mu‘āwiya, there were some contacts.67 However, the chronology must be worked out accurately to understand the actual sequence of events of Muslim assaults in North Africa, not from incomplete ideas about that chronology. All of this involves coping with retrospective representations of historical reality, written in Arabic, Armenian, and Greek sources. Issues were complex, due to lack of cohesion within both sides, and due to phenonomena of desertions, defections, double-crosses. Lack of cohesion existed at highest level of leadership as well as in lower and broader ranks. Additional complexities were due to internal rivalries, resentments, animosities, identify issues, within Byzantine and Muslim ranks. Loyalties were not always fixed. Principal Muslim efforts sought to split off Byzantine governors and military commanders and their units and persuade them to defect, change allegiance without necessarily converting. The imperial government for its part strove to neutralize those temptations and punish and remove such offenders and strove to make Howard-Johnston, Witnesses 487. M. Conterno, Palestina, Siria, Costantinopoli: la ‘Cronografia’ di Teofane Confessore e la mezzaluna fertile della storiografia nei ‘secoli bui’ di Bisanzio. Florence 2011 (PhD thesis). M. Debié supports the conclusions of Conterno (cf. her unpublished paper ‘Christians in the Service of the Caliph’ presented at the conference ‘Christians, Jews, and Zoroastrians in the Umayyad State’, Franke Institute for the Humanities, University of Chicago, June 2011). 63 Howard-Johnston, Witnesses 515. 64 Howard-Johnston, Witnesses 527. 65 Howard-Johnston, Witnesses 529. 66 Howard-Johnston, Witnesses 447. 67 Ibn ‘Idhārī Al Bayān al Mughrib (ed. G. S. Colin – E. Levi-Provencal. Beirut 1983, 17); Movses Dasxuranci (trans. Dowsett), 196.15–197.1 (197).

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appointments of commanders of unimpeachable loyalty. That was not always successful. That had higher payoffs than issues of individuals serving in Muslim armies. Byzantines came to regard Muslim raids as simply aiming for plunder (such is the images in Byzantine sources not in the seventh century but later). The situation for civilians was difficult. They were caught in the middle. Normally they resorted to flight and hiding, but some circumstances left them few or no options. Treachery, extortion of information from civilians remind us that life and warfare were not simple. Diplomacy continued between Byzantium and Damascus in the seventh century irrespective of bouts of religious hostilities.68 Another complexity has been the subject of recent investigation by Wadad Kadi in a yet unpublished important paper “Non-Muslims in the Umayyad Army.” She explored complications of the presence of some Christians in Muslim military forces on land and sea during the seventh and early eighth centuries69. The study of the transfer of military skills and experience from one front to another in the fluid seventh century deserves more attention. That era of fluctuating exchanges existed in a changing world before armies and polities settled into routines that assumed routinization of institutions and structures. Skewed structures will result from expectation of routine military conduct, but what made the seventh century so unique were the shifting foundations and the unprecedented. There were times, such as the seventh century when everything seemed to be in flux, that any outcome might ensue. That kind of transfer of skills and recent experiences occurred in the dynamic (from Muslim perspectives) seventh century. Less of it occurred in the ninth and tenth century, when Muslim political entities have fragmented. Some may still bring experiences and successful techniques from one region to another, but major commanders will not be doing so as occurred in the seventh century. Those would have included new techniques for dealing with civilians, livestock, fortifications. Military affairs ultimately fell into routines, perhaps too comfortable routines. These were often local routines. Such conditions could not persist indefinitely, and in fact they did not. The nature of this warfare created all kinds of uncertainties, as anecdotal evidence and the lawcodes attest. Living in the shadow of such insecurity did mold conduct and attitudes. Not everyone had the option to move away to some safer place. Not everyone could live close to strongly fortified walled towns that could withstand a short or medium-length siege. That kind of long-term insecurity affected lives and planning and livelihoods. Muslim sources do not say much about that, even though they say much about division of booty and other legal issues. All of this fits under the category of raiding connected not only with jihād but with older practices and norms of raiding and plundering. Muslim narrative sources accordingly concentrate on scorekeeping: listing the gains / losses, casualties, the booty in terms of property, inanimate as well as that on the hoof, and the human captives. Occasional reference is made to fierce resistance or counterattacks by Byzantine military forces, but the narrators usually pass over the individual tragedies and cases of survival. They do lay out the riskiness of such raiding expeditions to those who undertake them. ‘Umayyad actions are recorded only much later and much has probably been deliberately deleted to avoid celebrating a dynasty that later, under the ‘Abbasids, became discredited. A certain symmetry will form for the raiding and plundering on both sides in the seventh and early eighth centuries. In both cases civilians and their human, animate and inanimate property were the objective of military operations, whether offensive or defensive. They suffered the actual losses as well as the uncertainties of psychological ones and fluctuating fortunes of war and reports about that. Of course enemy military forces were also an objective, but in much of the fighting the objective was booty of different kinds. Rural populations suffered irrespective of whether there was any possible dimension of jihād or holy war of some other kind. The consequences were tough for their families’ survival. Civilians also had a major role on both sides in providing reliable information to their own troops and commanders and in providing information about enemy movements and intentions and numbers and condi A. Kaplony, Konstantinopel und Damaskus. Gesandtschaften und Verträge zwischen Kaisern und Kalifen 639–750 (Islamkundliche Untersuchungen 208). Berlin 1996. 69 W. Kadi delivered her paper at the conference ‘Christians, Jews, and Zoroastrians in the Umayyad State’, Franke Institute for the Humanities, University of Chicago, June 2011.

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tions. Civilian cooperation was important but civilians ended up being caught between conflicting demands and interests. For the most this applied mostly to those who were located in frontier districts or near them. They became the “eyes” of the “face of war”. This is not merely a matter of ideology, it is a fact.

Panagiotis Antonopoulos

Emperor Constans II’s Intervention in Italy and its Ideological Significance The seventh century represents a crucial period in Byzantium’s perspective towards the west, and vice versa. This is because, whereas the empire of Constantinople was recognized as the sole Roman Empire, the formation of Germanic kingdoms in the west, and the shifting of attention towards problems in the east, caused a gradual estrangement between the two sections of the Roman Oecumene. In this context, the seventh century constitutes a transitional period, in which the former eastern Roman Empire is still acknowledged as the sole legitimate Roman Empire, but this recognition takes the form of respect for separate political units, mostly kingdoms which accept its primacy as Caput Mundi, and the sole ecclesiastical authority of the west, that is, the papacy, always technically part of the administrative apparatus of the empire. In this framework, the Lombard descent into Italy constituted a particularly awkward ideological case. Unlike the Ostrogoths, they had never been invited to do so, and still more ominously, they had to be accepted as rulers of a large portion of the country, whose territory now consisted of a Lombard kingdom with some powerful duchies, and Byzantine lands. The year 608 closed the first phase of coexistence, which witnessed open fighting between the two dominant powers of Italy at the reception of a Lombard embassy in Constantinople1. The reign of Constans II (641–68), which occurred within a fairly close span of time after this development, means that this rapprochement would not have been unfamiliar to him. However, despite the lapse of only a few decades, dramatic developments had occurred in the Empire, and not-so-dramatic ones within the Lombard kingdom. To start with, the very fact that it was the tyrant Phocas (602–610) who took the initiative on the Byzantine side, could form sufficient reason for its rejection by his successor Heraclius (610–41), even had he been confronted with a better financial situation in the empire and more favourable conditions both on the eastern frontier and in the Balkans. Nevertheless, there is evidence of effective support from the Lombard court in 616, when Heraclius was faced with the revolt of his exarch, the Patrician Eleutherius, who was defeated by Duke Sundarit and handed over to the authorities2. The fact that peaceful relations continued to exist throughout the reign of Adaloald (616–26), and even during his Arian successor Arioald (626–636), but ceased during Rothari’s reign (636–52), means, I believe, that the original rapprochement was not unrelated to the temporary accession of Catholic rulers on the Lombard throne, while, it has to be assumed, Arioald needed time to consolidate his power after his accession. Coincidental or not, this was immensely helpful during the first phase of Byzantium’s struggle with the emerging power of the Arabs, because Byzantium would have found it very difficult to retain its Italian possessions under such circumstances. It was, however, during King Rothari’s rule (636–652) that war in Italy broke out afresh, and it was a misfortune for the empire that, one of the ablest exarchs ever sent to Italy, the Patrician Isaac (625–43), was killed during a skirmish against the Lombards3. It is therefore only too understandable that, as with other aspects in the life and character of that emperor, Constans II’s later expedition and actual stay in Italy is particularly difficult to interpret from an ideological perspective. Did he wish to return to the original Byzantine position of eliminating the Lombard state, did he



For details, see the Munich dissertation of K. Christou, Byzanz und die Langobarden. Von der Ansiedlung in Pannonien bis zur endgültigen Anerkennung (500–680) (Historical Monographs 11). Athens 1991, 190–191, who views this development as a first stage towards recognition, adoption of the king as the emperor’s son, and his entry into a status of amicitia, but more specific­ally stabilising a truce at this first stage of Lombard establishment in Italy. 2 Continuatio Havniensis Prosperi 339 (ed. T. Mommsen, Chronica Minora, vol 1 [MGH, Auct. Ant. 9], Berlin 1892). 3 See in particular T. S. Brown, Gentlemen and officers: imperial administration and aristocratic power in Byzantine Italy, A.D. 554–800. London 1984, 3, 52–3, 149–50, where much of the older bibliography is cited. 1

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wish to simply restore Byzantine control over the lost southern regions, in which case he acted in line with contemporary developments, did he aim at establishing a firmer grip over the papacy and the western provinces, or, finally, did he aim at setting up the imperial centre of administration at a point near the centre of operations against the Arabs? These are questions our sources will not account for, and it is the aim of this paper to attempt answering some of them, on the basis of the very few existing details. It is important to stress here that, so far as we can tell since Patriarch Nicephorus’s account of Constans II has not survived, Byzantine historical sources appear to be completely unaware or simply not interested in that expedition. Theophanes has not a single word to say, but he is certainly aware of Pope Martin I’s capture in 653, trial in Constantinople, and exile to Cherson, where he died. He is also aware that the emperor moved his centre of operations to Syracuse, where he was murdered in 668. The whole story is, therefore, known only through western sources, notably the Liber Pontificalis, and Paul the Deacon. The fact that Theophanes is highly hostile to Constans does not in itself justify his silence, or that of his earlier sources, because the campaign’s unsuccessful outcome as well as the spoliation of Rome’s gold by his troops would offer sufficient grounds for denigrating the emperor even further. Ignorance is a possibility, but, in my view not a strong one, since events concerning Pope Martin are mentioned, even though through a biased narrative. We must therefore contemplate indifference. If we consider the period around AD 800 on an attitudinal basis, then we can conclude that within 140 years after the events at the latest, Italian affairs were of little interest to Byzantine historians of the capital, and, assuming that Theophanes here expresses views of earlier people, this cannot be attributed to the Carolingian presence in Italy. The conclusion to be drawn therefore, is that the need, for whatever reason, of an emperor to intervene in the west is no longer understood, except for reasons that may be of direct concern to the east, such as the annihilation of Arab power. Unlike Byzantine sources, western sources that deal with Constans refer to the Italian expedition, relying on the two chief ones, the Liber Pontificalis and Paul the Deacon. Since the events concerning Pope Martin are of major significance for them, there is little in terms of kind words for the emperor, who, so they felt, had fallen prey to the monothelite heresy, thus punishing the pious pope. For most sources, Constans’ Italian expedition has a clear goal. Its purpose was to extirpate the existing Lombard state. The fact that Constans did not undertake a major expedition against the Slavs of Greece in 662, just before crossing to Italy, certainly does not support this view, because his Italian expedition can be seen as part of a hasty program to restore Byzantine control over the western provinces, possibly as a result of concerns that the Arabs would advance in Africa4. However, this possibility cannot be tenable, at least in as far as Constans’ original objectives are concerned, for it is known that the caliph seriously advanced towards the African provinces only after 665, when the exarch of Carthage Gennadius, who had rebelled against the emperor, asked for his help. So, the question to pose is with what ideological goal did Constans begin his venture and whether its original objective remained feasible. There is one more factor that complicates matters. In 662, the duke of Benevento Grimuald overthrew the ruling Bavarian dynasty of Pavia, and became king of the Lombards. Thus, A. Stratos5 is sure that Constans undertook his expedition in his attempt to exploit the civil war between the two brothers of the former regime, Godebert, the king in Pavia, and Perctarit, the king in Milan. Constans’ intervention however, occurred just a year after Grimulad’s coronation, and, as relations between the Byzantine court and the rulers of the Bavarian dynasty in Italy were good, it is questionable whether he had any intention, either as part of a political or ideological program, to undertake this expedition before Grimuald’s coup. That the Lombards did not view the expedition as a punitive intervention against Grimuald becomes clear from a little story transmitted by Paul the Deacon, according to which Constans asked the opinion of a holy man while at Tarentum, as to whether he would be able to overthrow the Lombard state6. After a night of preaching, the holy man replied



See W. Treadgold, A history of the Byzantine state and society. Stanford 1997, 319ff. On the Arab conquest of Africa, see now W. E. Kaegi, Muslim Expansion and Byzantine Collapse in North Africa. Cambridge – New York 2010, especially chapter eight for the reign of Constans. Non vidi. 5 A. Stratos, Byzantium in the seventh century. Amsterdam 1975, vol. 3, 200. 6 Paulus Diaconus, Historia Romana, Liber XVII, 401, line 24 (ed. H. Droysen, Eutropi Breviarium ab urbe condita cum versionibus graecis et Pauli Landolfique additamentis [MGH, Auct. ant. 2]. Berlin 1879): his diebus Constantinus Augustus, qui et Constans est appellatus, Italiam a Longobardorum manu eruere cupiens Constantinopolim egressus per litoralia iter habens 4

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that the Lombard state could in no way be overthrown, since it was protected by St. John, to whom a queen of foreign origin had devoted a shrine at the country’s extremity. This queen could be no other than Theudelinda (queen before 590 until the overthrow of her son Adaloald in 626, died ca. 628), who was renowned for her piety and who was responsible for the later establishment of the so-called Bavarian dynasty. As Grimuald was not counted among the most popular of kings, it has to be assumed that in Paul’s time there was a strong patriotic element among the Lombards with regard to the imperial expedition. This means that, despite their differences, the Lombards saw Constans as an aggressor, not as a defender of pro-Byzantine rulers. The fact that Constans concentrated his efforts in attempting to subdue the southern portion of the country, and especially the duchy of Benevento, former home of the reigning king, and under the rule of his son Romuald, seems difficult to explain, unless we assume it was preferred for strategic reasons, and perhaps so as to put more pressure on Grimuald, who might take desperate action once his son was threatened. His ideological objective would have had far greater success had he sailed straight to Ravenna, where he could have “flagged” the Byzantine presence, and he would have been in more control both of Rome and its surroundings, as well as able to endanger the north. If we accept the existence of a Justinianic ideological framework, something I am to discuss towards the end of this paper, this move shows a departure from the emperor’s original aim, and a certain amount of pragmatism, since he knew that it was crucial for Byzantium to maintain control over southern Italy, which could form a protective hinterland for Sicily and Africa, should the Arabs decide to advance, as they did two years later. The expedition in the south did not go well, and Constans, despite a strong presence and some successes, was unable to defeat Romuald in Benevento. He therefore abandoned his scheme, and turned to Naples, and from there to Rome. There, according to our sources, Pope Vitalian (657–72), the whole clergy and the people all went out to greet the emperor six miles outside the city. He remained only for twelve days and let his troops deprive the city of its treasures, causing immense damage at the same time7. It is this visit to Rome that carries significance in our attempt to discuss the ideological background and framework of the imperial expedition to Italy. The fact that Constans made an effort to go to Rome, means that the Justinianic concept of reuniting the old Roman Oecumene, to the extent that this was feasible of course, was still a living concept in the seventh century. An imperial visit to old Rome, especially after an unsuccessful sojourn in the south and a humiliating defeat, certainly was a test of imperial prestige. The fact that pope, clergy and people went out to escort the emperor to the city, all mean that despite the hostility towards Constans, who was regarded as a heretic8, not because of his issuing of the Typos in 648, but because of his treatment of Pope Martin, means that only ten years after the pope’s arrest and trial in Constantinople the then-acting pope was ready to welcome the emperor and his army in full imperial style. This can only mean that either the curia did not maintain such strong

Athenas venit indeque mare transgressus Tarentum applicuit. qui tamen prius solitarium quendam, qui prophetiae spiritum habere dicebatur, adit studiose ab eo sciscitans, utrum gentem Longobardorum, quae in Italia habitabat, superare et obtinere posset; a quo cum servus dei spatium unius noctis expetisset, ut pro hoc ipso dominum supplicaret, facto mane ita eidem Augusto respondit: gens Langobardorum superari modo ab aliquo non potest, quia regina quadam ex alia provincia veniens basilicam beati Iohannis Baptistae in Langobardorum finibus construxit et propter hoc ipse beatus Iohannes pro Langobardorum gente continue intercedit. 7 Hermannus Contractus, Chronicon, anno 662 p. 95 (ed. G. H. Pertz [MGH SS 5]. Hannover 1844, 74–133): Constantinus, qui et Constans, imperator Italiam contra Langobardos petiit, et aliquot oppidis eorum captis, Rumoaldum ducem, filium Grimoaldi regis, apud Beneventum obsedit. Sed adventante cum exercitu Grimoaldo territus, Neapolim repetit, magnaque exercitus sui parte duce Saburro cum Rumoaldo pugna confligente et victa trucidataque, nihil contra Langobardos profecit. Constantinus imperator Romam venit, et a Vitaliano papa honorifice susceptus, toto exercitu cum cereis aecclesiam intrante, beato Petro pallium auro textile optulit. I chose to present an eleventh-century source, totally isolated from Byzantine sources, to show how these events were transmitted in the west, adding details that were missing from earlier sources we possess. 8 Albertus Miliolus notarius Regini [sic], Chronica imperatorum (–1218), Cap. 67, p. 617, line 19 (ed. O. Holder-Egger [MGH SS 31]. Hannover 1903, 580–667): Anno Domini DCXLVIIII. Constantinus, qui et Constans, apud Constantinopolim regnavit an. XXVIII, qui fuit hereticus. Cuius temporibus Martinus papa fuit primus, quem, quando missarum sollempnia celebrabat, spatarius quidam occidere voluit, sed percussus aorisia eum vidit non horruit. Demum Constantinus eum misit in exilium, ubi migravit ad Dominum et miraculis corruscavit.

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feelings for the treatment of Pope Martin, or that imperial prestige, despite all misdeeds and difficulties, still ran high, and that the emperor’s position as Caput Mundi was as unchallenged as ever. This Justinianic, or even Constantinian concept of imperial prestige, is even further corroborated by the fact that a synod under imperial direction was held at St. Peter’s, in which the emperor’s adherence to orthodoxy was reaffirmed9. In addition to this, and despite the horror expressed by the sources which are influenced by pro-papal attitudes, the fact that Constans remained for only twelve days in the eternal city, and during that time let his troops despoil the city of its riches, only confirms that the emperor regarded his power as absolute and had no scruples in imposing his will10. Whether the reported extent of the spoliation is true, or simply papal propaganda, it is difficult to assert. If it is, however, and, assuming that this wealth was transported to Constantinople only to be converted to cash for the maintenance of troops in the struggle against the Arabs, it not only shows pragmatism on his part, even at its most cynical dimension, but an ideological shift that would affect his subsequent presence in the west. Thus, if the Justinianic idea of reasserting imperial control over the Oecumene by means of a series of wars is discerned, the pragmatism of Heraclius’ melting of church treasures, in order that he might deal with the Persian threat effectively, is apparent in this act. The major and perhaps, crucial difference, is that whereas Heraclius relied on permission from church authorities, Constans appears to have taken this initiative on his own, regardless of the historical significance of the place concerned, and the pope who was the supreme authority in Rome at the time. There is nonetheless a different report, according to which once the Arabs had started attacking Sicily they were able to carry off all the treasures Constans had taken from Rome to Alexandria in 66911. Also in this latter case, assuming that the spoliation of Rome was not simply a fact of “pure barbarism”, which Constans permitted to happen and go unpunished, we can still assign the original Heraclian tactic of melting its wealth down to produce cash for the troops. However, its dispatch to Constantinople would look far more plausible. The arrival of Constans back in Sicily meant that he no longer had any immediate intention to carry on with the war against the Lombards. He probably realized that the Arabs would, sooner or later, begin their advance in Africa and threaten Sicily and the remaining Byzantine possessions in the west. But, from what we know of the Byzantine sources concerned, this reality was not perceived. They had nothing to say about Constans’ Italian expedition. Now, their concern was that the emperor had no plan to return back to his capital. Hence, the revolt of the exarch of Africa Gennadius, who caused the Arabs resume their attacks, the insurrection of the general of the Armeniac theme Saburus, and finally, the emperor’s own assassination in his bath at Syracuse, and the revolt of Mezezius. If Theophanes and his contemporaries faithfully transmit attitudes of earlier sources, we can conclude that in the seventh century a war in the west caused an ideological shift within Byzantine society. The emperor still begins his expedition by conforming to old Justini





Gotifredus Viterbiensis, Pantheon (a.o.m.–1186 [1191]) Particula XXII, cap. 31, p. 199, line 2 (ed. G. Waitz [MGH SS 22]. Hannover 1872, 107–307): Anno ab incarnatione Domini 642. pulso cum matre Heraclona, Constans, Constantiniani filius. 58. ab Augusto, regnavit. Hic cum in eandem quam avus suus Heraclius heresim fuisset lapsus, Martinum papam, eo quod Paulum patriarcham, Pirrum et Cyrum habita synodo excomunicasset, aput Cersonam in exilium misit; ubi multis miraculorum signis refulgens, migravit ad Dominum. Porro Constans, congregata sub Vitelliano papa sinodo, heresim abdicavit, ac beato Petro mire magnitudinis euangelia, auro cooperta, gemmis ornata, misit. 10 Paulus Diaconus, Historia Romana, Liber XVII Auct. ant. 2, p. 402, line 32 (Droysen): at vero Constans Augustus cum nihil se contra Langobardos gessisse conspiceret, omnes saevitiae suae minas contra suos hoc est Romanos retorsit; nam egressus Neapolim Romam perrexit. cui sexto ab urbe miliario Vitalianus papa cum sacerdotibus et Romano populo occurrit; qui Augustus cum ad beati Petri limina pervenisset obtulit ei pallium auro textilem et manens apud Romam diebus XII omnia, quae fuerunt antiquitus instructa ex aere in ornamentum civitatis, deposuit intantum, ut etiam basilicam beatae Mariae, quae aliquando Pantheon vocabatur et condita fuerat in honorem omnium deorum – et iam ibi per concessionem superiorum principum locus erat omnium martyrum – discoperiret tegulasque aereas exinde auferret easque simul cum aliis omnibus ornamentis Constantinopolim transmitteret. 11 Iohannes Diaconus, Chronicon Venetum, p. 9, line 65 (ed. G. H. Pertz [MGH SS 7]. Hannover 1846, 4–38): Haec audiens gens Sarracenorum, quae iam Alexandriam et Egyptum pervaserat, subito cum multis navibus venientes, Siciliam invadunt, Syracusas ingrediuntur, multamque stragem faciunt populorum, vix paucis evadentibus, qui per munitissima castra et iuga confugerunt montium, auferentes quoque predam nimiam et omne illud quod Constans augustus a Roma abstulerat ornatum in aere et diversis speciebus; sicque Alexandriam reversi sunt. It is interesting that John the Deacon contradicts himself, as in the previous lines he reports the aforementioned dispatch of the riches of Rome to Constantinople. We can thus suspect that he is working with different sources which he cannot sort out properly. 9

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anic principles and only has to switch to more pragmatic realities under the pressure of practical conditions. Our Byzantine sources, on the other hand, are not only indifferent to events in Italy, but are more concerned with the mere possibility that the emperor might not return, and that new Rome might lose its unique position as Sedis Imperii. Thus, no matter how odious the personality of Constans was, the Italian expedition, even though followed by western sources, points, by way of an argumentum ex silentio, to the split of perception within Byzantine society in the mid-seventh century. The idea that the west was an alien part of the empire in the lands east of the Adriatic was gaining ground, and when Byzantium is once more able to establish a strong presence in southern Italy the region is regarded as totally peripheral, almost as colony of the Empire. Just over fifteen years later, Constans’s heir and successor Constantine IV (668–85) would survive a major Arab expedition against Constantinople itself, and a four-year siege of the capital (674–78). This major victory, in conjunction with Constantine’s initiative to extirpate monotheletism for good, caused great applause, and according to Theophanes delegates from every nation of the west came to congratulate Constantine and acclaim his overlordship.12 There is no reason to doubt the impression this victory created in the west, as it is mentioned by several western sources. Inadvertently therefore the original ideology of the Roman Oecumene appeared once more in the ideology of Byzantine writers, but through an Arab adversary. With no specific effort, Constantine won what his father had aimed at winning through a much more sincere but ill-fated attempt, which was soon forgotten in the framework of a changing world and its war ideology.

Theophanes, Chronographia (356 De Boor): ταῦτα μαθόντες οἱ τὰ ἑσπέρια οἰκοῦντες μέρη, ὅ τε Χαγάνος τῶν Ἀβάρων καὶ οἱ ἐπέκεινα ῥῆγες ἔξαρχοί τε καὶ κάσταλδοι καὶ οἱ ἐξοχώτατοι τῶν πρὸς τὴν δύσιν ἐθνῶν, διὰ πρεσβευτῶν δῶρα τῷ βασιλεῖ στείλαντες εἰρηνικὴν πρὸς αὐτοὺς ἀγάπην κυρωθῆναι ᾐτήσαντο. εἴξας οὖν ὁ βασιλεὺς ταῖς αὐτῶν αἰτήσεσιν ἐκύρωσε καὶ πρὸς αὐτοὺς δεσποτικὴν εἰρήνην. καὶ ἐγένετο ἀμεριμνία μεγάλη ἔν τε τῇ ἀνατολῇ καὶ δύσει. Cf. Christou, Byzanz und die Langobarden 221– 222.

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Wa r r e n T r e a d g o l d

Opposition to Iconoclasm as Grounds for Civil War This paper deals with a relatively neglected category of Byzantine warfare: the civil war, usually between forces supporting the reigning emperor and rebels trying to unseat him. Such wars have not been neglected because they were uncommon. By my count, the number of civil wars in the Byzantine period was around a hundred and twenty, for an average of about one civil war every ten years1. Since our subject here is the ideology of Byzantine warfare, we may reasonably ask how Byzantine rebels could have justified civil warfare in ideological terms. St. Basil of Caesarea suggested that church tradition might justify killing by “those defending the cause of righteousness and piety”, and since he made no exception for civil wars, apparently those too could be justified on such grounds2. If so, under Iconoclasm iconophiles could have argued that defending icons justified rebelling against iconoclast emperors. My purpose in this paper is to ask whether rebels against iconoclast emperors ever did cite the icons to justify their rebellions. According to our Byzantine narrative sources, this happened twice: in the revolt of the themes of Hellas and the Cibyrrhaeots against Leo III in 727 and in the revolt of Artavasdus against Constantine V between 741 and 7433. The Patriarch Nicephorus explicitly states, and Theophanes Confessor clearly implies, that the rebels of 727 revolted in protest when Leo III proclaimed his hostility to icons4. Nicephorus and Theophanes both explicitly record, using similar words, that when Artavasdus seized Constantinople in 741 he immediately restored icons there5. Nonetheless, some recent discussions of this period have insisted that the narrative sources are wrong, and that these rebellions had nothing to do with Iconoclasm6. The argument is that our two earliest narrative sources – the chronicles of Nicephorus and Theophanes – are unreliable, because they were written at a later date with an iconophile bias; we are therefore free to disregard Nicephorus and Theophanes and to reconstruct the history of this period according to our own ideas of what is probable. I see two problems with this argument: first, scholars disagree about the most probable reconstruction of events, and second, the unreliability of Nicephorus and Theophanes for this period has not been convincingly demonstrated. All modern scholars who have studied Nicephorus and Theophanes recognize that their accounts of internal Byzantine history from 721 to 769 are not independent. Pervasive parallels of language and content show that the two chroniclers had a common source. Nicephorus seems to have relied entirely on this source for these years. Theophanes seems to have relied almost entirely on this source for internal Byzantine affairs, though he used other sources for foreign events, particularly an account of events in the Near East that shows parallels with Syriac chronicles7.







See W. Treadgold, Byzantium, the Reluctant Warrior, in: Noble Ideals and Bloody Realities: Warfare in the Middle Ages, ed. N. Christie – M. Yazigi. Leiden 2006, 208–233, especially the list of civil wars on 230–233. See now also I. Stouraitis, Bürgerkrieg in ideologischer Wahrnehmung durch die Byzantiner (7.–12. Jahrhundert): Die Frage der Legitimierung und Rechtfertigung. JÖB 60 (2010) 149–172, which however deals mainly with Byzantine attitudes toward past civil wars, unlike the present paper, which deals with the justification that rebels cited for their rebellions at the time. 2 Basil of Caesarea ep. 188 canon 13. 3 Here I leave out of account the civil war between Michael II and Thomas the Slav in 821–823, for three reasons: (1) Michael was a very lukewarm iconoclast; (2) Thomas’ position on the icons was ambiguous; and (3) Thomas’ main ideological justification for fighting was to avenge Leo V, whom Michael’s supporters had just murdered. See W. Treadgold, The Byzantine Revival 780–842. Stanford 1988, 225–234, and now Stouraitis, Bürgerkrieg 163–165. 4 Nicephorus 60 (Mango); Theophanes A.M. 6218 (405 de Boor). 5 Nicephorus 64 (Mango); Theophanes A.M. 6233 (415 de Boor). 6 Most recently, see L. Brubaker – J. Haldon, Byzantium in the Iconoclast Era, c. 680–850: A History. Cambridge 2011, 80f. (on the revolt of 727) and 156–159 (on the revolt of 741–743), which depends heavily on a series of studies by Paul Speck. 7 In my opinion, the chronicle on Eastern affairs, whose author has been identified as Theophilus of Edessa, was translated from Syriac into Greek by Theophanes’ friend George Syncellus, who brought it with him when he came to Constantinople from 1

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The lost Greek source of the chronicles of Nicephorus and Theophanes from 721 to 769 left traces in several other texts. Verbal parallels show that Nicephorus also consulted this source when he wrote two of his theological works, and that it was used for the ninth-century chronicle of George the Monk, for a report presented by a certain John the Monk at the Second Council of Nicaea in 787, and for the fragmentary Great Chronography (in my opinion, mistakenly called the “Great Chronographer”) 8. Because all of these works agree with each other on the main points of Byzantine internal history, they seem to have transmitted their source without serious distortions. Consequently, when we discuss the reliability of Nicephorus and Theophanes for the history of the first period of Iconoclasm, we really mean the reliability of their common source. The author of this source certainly professed iconophile views. According to much recent scholarship, these views made the source unreliable. It has recently been described as a “tendentious pseudo-histor[y]”, while its account of the revolt of Artavasdus has been described as “semi-legendary” 9. Thus far, however, modern scholars have been much more interested in denouncing this source than in studying it. In a book I am now preparing on The Middle Byzantine Historians, I have reexamined the surviving material from this lost source, reaching conclusions that I shall outline here. Although Nicephorus and Theophanes also had a common source for the period from the early seventh century to the early eighth century, this cannot be the same source that they used for the subsequent period. I have identified the earlier source as the Concise Chronicle of Trajan the Patrician, which is mentioned by both Theophanes and the Suda10. Even if the identification of this source as Trajan’s chronicle is not absolutely certain (and I think it is highly probable), we can be sure that it ended around the year 720, when Theophanes and Nicephorus began using another common source. The clearest proof of this is that both later chroniclers praise Leo III before 720 (Theophanes actually calls Leo “pious”) but vilify him afterwards. Therefore this second source, which appears to have been a continuation of the first, began around the year 721. So far my conclusions are neither new nor particularly controversial. Cyril Mango and Roger Scott assumed the existence of these two lost chronicles in their work on Nicephorus and Theophanes, and noted the possibility that the first chronicle was written by Trajan the Patrician11. Parallels between the texts of Nicephorus and Theophanes show that their second common source, which for convenience I shall now call the continuation of Trajan, extended at least to 769, when Nicephorus’ Concise History ends. Yet because the continuation of Trajan must have been sharply critical of iconoclasts, it could scarcely have been written for distribution earlier than 780, when the iconoclast Leo IV died and his iconophile widow Irene began ruling for her underage son Constantine VI. Moreover, if the author of the continuation wrote after 780, he would presumably have wanted to continue his story at least up to that year, which from an iconophile point of view was highly propitious. Syria around 784. I discuss these matters in detail in W. Treadgold, The Middle Byzantine Historians. Chapter 2 (to be published in 2013 by Palgrave Macmillan, Basingstoke and New York). 8 Cf. C. Mango, Nikephoros, Patriarch of Constantinople, Short History: Text, Translation, and Commentary. Washington 1990, 9–11 and P. Alexander, The Patriarch Nicephorus of Constantinople: Ecclesiastical Policy and Image Worship in the Byzantine Empire. Oxford 1958, 158–162. On the Great Chronography, see Treadgold, Middle Byzantine Historians, Chapter 1. D. Afinogenov, A Lost 8th Century Pamphlet Against Leo III and Constantine V? Eranos 100 (2002) 1–17 argues persuasively that George the Monk and John the Monk used this source independently of Theophanes. I am not however convinced by Afinogenov’s argument that some iconophiles later suppressed the role of the iconoclast Biser Saracontapechus because the Saracontapechi were related to the empress Irene. Finally, Afinogenov’s suggestion that this source, rather than its predecessor, included Nicephorus’ and Theophanes’ accounts of the siege of Constantinople in 717–718 seems to me both implausible and incompatible with the other evidence for the earlier source, who evidently concluded his account with 720 and was almost certainly Trajan the Patrician (see footnote no. 10 below). 9 See Afinogenov, Lost 8th Century Pamphlet 11 and Brubaker – Haldon, Byzantium 159. 10 W. Treadgold, Trajan the Patrician, Nicephorus, and Theophanes, in: Bibel, Byzanz und Christlicher Orient: Festschrift für Stephen Gero zum 65. Geburtstag, ed. D. Bumazhnov et al. Leuven 2011, 589–621. The same conclusion was reached independently by J. Howard-Johnston, Witnesses to a World Crisis: Historians and Histories of the Middle East in the Seventh Century. Oxford 2010, 306f. 11 Mango, Nikephoros 15–17 (acknowledging that “indeed, the name of Trajan [the Patrician] may be attached to our postulated Chronicle of 720, but little is to be gained by so doing”), and C. Mango – R. Scott, The Chronicle of Theophanes Confessor: Byzantine and Near Eastern History, AD 284–813. Oxford 1997, lxxxvii (source no. 16) and lxxxviii (source no. 18).

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In fact, a passage in Theophanes’ chronicle describes the year 780/81 as the true end of Iconoclasm: “The pious [iconophiles] began to speak freely, the word of God began to spread, those desiring salvation began to renounce the world unhindered, the praise of God began to be exalted, the monasteries began to be restored, and everything good began to be manifest.”12 Yet Irene actually managed to suppress Iconoclasm only in 787, after six years of difficult maneuvering13. So Theophanes’ premature declaration that the iconophiles had triumphed in 780/81 looks as if it was copied from the author of our continuation, who ended his work around 781, before he realized how difficult Iconoclasm would be to subdue. In any case, the continuation must have been written before 787 if it served as a source for John the Monk’s report at the Council of Nicaea14. The continuation of Trajan seems therefore to have covered the sixty-odd years from 721 to 781, which nearly corresponded to the first period of Iconoclasm. Apparently this source was a chronicle, arranged in annual entries dated by indictions. Nicephorus and Theophanes between them mention twenty-five indiction numbers for these sixty years; and probably their source gave indictional dates for all its annual entries, which provided the chronology for Theophanes’ own annual entries15. Then Theophanes converted his source’s indictional dates into Alexandrian years of the world, often incorrectly. Though as a result Theophanes’ years of the world are sometimes wrong, his indictional dates are almost always right16. Thus the original, indictional dates in the common source of Theophanes and Nicephorus appear to have been precise and accurate17. Who was the author of this common source of Nicephorus and Theophanes? Recently Dmitry Afinogenov, characterizing it as “a pamphlet disguised as a historical work”, suggested that it was composed by the future Patriarch Tarasius, writing anonymously. The argument for anonymity is that the author condemned the Iconoclasm of all three previous emperors of the reigning Isaurian dynasty and of the family of the Tesseracontapechi, who were relatives of the empress Irene. Supposedly such criticisms would have needed to be anonymous in 781. Yet Irene never tried to deny the Iconoclasm of the Isaurian emperors and their supporters before 780. Besides, if even modern scholars suspect that Tarasius was the continuer, he could scarcely have hoped to conceal his authorship in 781. Afinogenov argues that Tarasius was the only iconophile writer known at this date who cannot be eliminated as a possibility18. While this argument seems inconclusive, since our information about writers at this time is far from complete, further arguments can be advanced to identify Tarasius as the continuer of Trajan the Patrician. Theophanes A.M. 6273 (455.8–12 De Boor). Here as elsewhere, the fact that all translations in this paper are my own implies no criticism of other translations. 13 See Treadgold, Byzantine Revival 60–70 and 75–89. 14 The part of Theophanes’ chronicle from 781 to its conclusion in 813 appears to be homogeneous, and was probably prepared by Theophanes’ friend George Syncellus. See Treadgold, Middle Byzantine Historians. Chapter 2. 15 From 721 to 781 Theophanes gives indictional dates for 23 years (the first for 725/26 and the last for 780/81), while Nicephorus gives indictional dates for seven years (two of them different from those of Theophanes). 16 See Mango – Scott, Chronicle lxiv-lxvii; W. Treadgold, Seven Byzantine Revolutions and the Chronology of Theophanes. GRBS 31 (1990) 203–227 (for 684/85 to 714/15), and I. Rochow, Byzanz im 8. Jahrhundert in der Sicht des Theophanes: Quellenkritischhistorischer Kommentar zu den Jahren 715–813. Berlin 1991, 52–54 and 328–337 (for 715/16 to 812/13). Theophanes probably dated some events a year too early because he equated indictional dates in his Byzantine sources with years of the world in his Syrian source, but sometimes forgot that the Syrian source began the year with March 25, not September 1 as Byzantines did. In particular, Theophanes A.M. 6102 (de Boor) records the beginning of Heraclius’ reign on October 4 of the 14th indiction and of A.M. 6102, where the indiction surely derives from a Byzantine source (a 14th indiction began on September 1, 610) and the year of the world presumably derives from his Syrian source, which doubtless recorded the beginnings of imperial reigns. Though the Syrian source was correct according to its own system, which made A.M. 6102 begin with March 25, 610, Theophanes’ system of equating indictions and years of the world made A.M. 6102 begin with September 1, 609, so that he should have dated Heraclius’ accession to A.M. 6103. Having once made this mistake, Theophanes continued dating events one year of the world too early until 684/85. Though exactly how he made his other chronological errors is less clear, note that most of them also date events one year of the world too early. 17 For example, most scholars now agree that Theophanes (but not Nicephorus) misdated the rebellion of Artavasdus, which their common source correctly dated from 741 to 743. See W. Treadgold, The Missing Year in the Revolt of Artavasdus. JÖB 42 (1992) 87–93 (for 742/43 and 743/44, which Theophanes mistakenly combined into a single annual entry – an explanation mostly accepted by P. Speck, Das letzte Jahr des Artabasdos. JÖB 45 (1995) 37–52 (though with additional conjectures that I find implausible). 18 Afinogenov, Lost 8th Century Pamphlet 7 (for the characterization of the source) and 15–17 (for the identification with Tarasius).

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A learned iconophile from a family of distinguished officials, Tarasius served until 784 as Protoasecretis, head of the imperial chancery19. While Tarasius’ biographer Ignatius the Deacon fails to specify that Tarasius wrote a history, neither do the biographers of Tarasius’ contemporaries Nicephorus and Theophanes mention that either of them wrote histories; we know that they did so only because their histories are directly preserved under their names, as the continuer’s history is not. That neither Nicephorus nor Theophanes mentions Tarasius as a source comes as no surprise, since neither of them usually names his sources. Ignatius however reports that Tarasius composed “numerous writings of his own wisdom and learning that were calculated to combat the highly malignant heresy of the iconoclasts.”20 Yet nearly all of these “numerous writings” against Iconoclasm must be lost today – unless one of them was the anti-iconoclast continuation of Trajan. Like Tarasius, the continuer of Trajan was evidently well-educated, well-connected, and iconophile. He must be the source of Theophanes’ lament that Leo III punished iconophiles who were “distinguished by noble birth and knowledge, so that the schools disappeared along with the pious learning that had prevailed from St. Constantine the Great up to this time; of these, together with many other fine things, this Saracenminded Leo became the destroyer.”21 But the continuer was himself a learned man, with enough classical education to refer to the Avars as “Scythians” and to a hundred pounds of gold as a “talent”.22 He knew enough history to accuse Constantine V of Nestorian tendencies, to call him a “new Valens and Julian” for his impiety and a “new Midas” for hoarding gold, and to compare him to Diocletian as a persecutor of the pious23. Even the writer’s errors showed some historical knowledge; for example, he misattributed the Aqueduct of Valens to Valens’ brother, the Western emperor Valentinian I24. The writer’s descriptions of the civil war of 741–743 and the plague of 747–748 evidently included allusions to Thucydides (on the civil war in Corcyra) and Procopius (on the plague) 25. As Protoasecretis, Tarasius was in charge of the state archives, and the continuer of Trajan cited many statistics that evidently came from those archives. The continuer recorded how many priests attended the iconoclast council of 754, how many ships were sent against the Bulgars in 760, 763, and 766, how many Slavs fled to the empire in 761, how much the gold basins captured from the Bulgars in 763 weighed, and how many Byzantine prisoners were ransomed from the Slavs in 76926. The continuer’s information on the numbers and origins of the workmen employed to restore the Aqueduct of Valens in 766/67 appears to derive from official paperwork27. The writer was the source of several of our few recorded Byzantine food prices, some of them dating from the siege of Constantinople in 743 and others from a currency shortage in 76828. He also provided one of our rare figures for the official establishment of the Byzantine army, though he showed a lack of military expertise when he assumed that Constantine V had sent the entire army against the Bulgars in 77329. In general, at a time when Byzantine education and literature were approaching their nadir, the author of the common source of Nicephorus and Theophanes appears to have been a remarkably sophisticated writer. On Tarasius, see PmbZ I no. 7235 and S. Efthymiadis, The Life of the Patriarch Tarasios by Ignatios the Deacon (BHG 1698): Introduction, Text, Translation and Commentary. Aldershot 1998, 3–38. 20 Ignatius, Life of Tarasius 5, 178 (S. Efthymiadis); cf. Efthymiadis, Life 32f.: “It is surprising ... that ... not many of his [Tarasius’] writings have survived”. 21 Theophanes A.M. 6218 (405.10–14 De Boor). 22 Theophanes A.M. 6224 (409.31 and 410.13 De Boor). Such a style is not typical of Theophanes himself (or even of George Syncellus). 23 Theophanes A.M. 6233, 415.24–30, A.M. 6255, 435.8–14, A.M. 6253, 432.19, A.M. 6259, 443.19 (cf. Nicephorus, 85.12 [Mango]), and A.M. 6267 (448.27 De Boor). 24 Theophanes A.M. 6258 (440.17–18 De Boor) and Nicephorus 85 (Mango). 25 Cf. Nicephorus 65.14–20 (Mango) and Theophanes A.M. 6234 (418.7–11 de Boor) with Thucydides III.81.5 and 84.2 (fathers and sons kill each other, and human nature perverts itself) and Nicephorus 67.9–21 (Mango) and Antirrheticus III.65, PG 100, col. 496C–D and Theophanes A.M. 6237 (423.4–19 de Boor) with Procopius, Wars II.22.10 (supernatural apparitions strike men who then fall ill of the plague, though Nicephorus’ History distorts the meaning; see Mango, Nikephoros 216). The absence of close verbal parallels in these passages may mean that the continuer was merely remembering Thucydides and Procopius, or it may simply be the result of paraphrasing by Nicephorus and Theophanes. 26 Nicephorus 72, 73, 75, 76 (cf. Theophanes A.M. 6254 [432.30–433.1 De Boor]), 82, and 86 (Mango). 27 Theophanes A.M. 6258 (440.17–24 De Boor). 28 Theophanes A.M. 6235 (419.25–29 De Boor) and Nicephorus 85 (Mango). 29 Theophanes A.M. 6265 (447.19–21 De Boor); cf. W. Treadgold, Byzantium and Its Army 284–1081. Stanford 1995, 64–69.

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He showed an economic insight rare even among Byzantine officials when he explained that in 768 Constantine V’s hoarding of gold caused a currency shortage that led to low prices, which less intelligent observers attributed to abundant supplies30. Though the writer was an iconophile, he reported Constantine V’s victories over the Bulgars so faithfully that Theophanes (but not Nicephorus) suppressed reports of two of them31. Yet the author showed some courage in writing a work that denounced the Iconoclasm of the three preceding emperors, who after all were the father, grandfather, and great-grandfather of the reigning emperor Constantine VI, and had been responsible for selecting almost every important official, officer, and bishop in the empire in 781. The continuer of Trajan seems to have included at least one personal reminiscence. In describing the frigid winter of 764 at Constantinople, Theophanes describes how “we” played on icebergs in the Bosporus with other boys of the same age. Since Theophanes was just three or four years old at the time, he can hardly mean himself; though the suggestion has been made that he was quoting George Syncellus, George evidently grew up in Syria and was a monk at a monastery in Palestine in 764. Therefore Theophanes seems to have quoted this description of playing on the ice at Constantinople from his source; and the author of that source was apparently in his early teens in 764, and thus born around 75032. If so, the writer was about thirty years old when he wrote in 781. Apparently he mentioned having oral sources for events as early as 726 and as late as 752. Men who remembered those years would of course still have been alive in 78133. Tarasius was presumably born by 754, because he should have reached the canonical age of thirty when he became Patriarch of Constantinople on Christmas Day 784. Some scholars have guessed that he was born around 730, because his hagiographer Ignatius describes him as suffering from “old age and disease” before his death in 80634. Yet the Byzantines could call a man “old” when he was in his fifties, and hagiographers liked to emphasize the venerable ages that their subjects attained35. If Tarasius was born around 750, like Theophanes’ source who played on the ice in 764, he died at a respectable age in his late fifties. Although we are poorly informed about Tarasius’ family, it was certainly a distinguished one. An apparently reliable source records that Tarasius’ father was the Quaestor George the Patrician, and that his paternal grandfather was the former Count of the Excubitors Sissinius the Patrician36. George presumably held his high judicial office of Quaestor under Iconoclasm, and Sissinius must have held his high military rank of Count of the Excubitors before it was superseded by the rank of Domestic of the Excubitors around 74337. Both Nicephorus and Theophanes mention a Sissinius who could well be Tarasius’ grandfather. Once Theophanes gives this Sissinius the nickname Sissinacius (“Little Sissinius”), apparently because he was short38. Nicephorus 85 (Mango) and Theophanes A.M. 6259 (443.18–22 De Boor); on these passages, see M. Hendy, Studies in the Byzantine Monetary Economy, c.300–1450. Cambridge 1985, 284–304, especially 298f. 31 Cf. Nicephorus 73.9–11 and 73.11–20 (Mango) with Theophanes A.M. 6247 and 6251 (429 and 431 De Boor); cf. Mango, Nikephoros 219 and Mango – Scott, Chronicle 594 no. 7 and 596 no. 3. 32 Theophanes A.M. 6255 (434.23–25 De Boor). Here I differ from Mango – Scott, Chronicle 601 in translating εἶχον as a third person plural (referring to the writer’s playmates) rather than a first person singular, since the writer has just used the authorial first person plural to refer to himself. (The contention of J. Duffy, Passing Remarks on Three Byzantine Texts, in: Palaeoslavica 10 [2002] 56–60, that the third-person plural subject is the “icebergs”, which thus encased the frozen corpses of the animals, appears extremely improbable.) Mango – Scott, Chronicle lviii-lix and Mango, Nikephoros 220 suggest that the writer could also have been George Syncellus; but for George’s earlier career in Syria and Palestine, see Treadgold, Middle Byzantine Historians. Chapter 2. 33 Nicephorus 60 (φασιν, “they say”) and 71 (φασὶ δὲ πολλοὶ, “many say”) (Mango). For the dates, see Mango, Nikephoros 211f. and 217f. (cf. 17; apparently these meteorites were different from those of 764, mentioned by Theophanes A.M. 6255 [435 De Boor]). 34 Cf. Efthymiadis, Life 7, citing Ignatius, Life of Tarasius 59 (Efthymiadis). 35 Cf. A.-M. Talbot, Old Age in Byzantium. BZ 77 (1984) 267–278. 36 Catalogue of Patriarchs (ed. F. Fischer, De Patriarcharum Constantinopolitanorum Catalogis et de Chronologia Octo Primorum Patriarcharum. Commentationes Philologae Ienenses 3 [1884]), 74 and 291. The same source reports that Tarasius’ maternal grandfather was Tarasius the Patrician, who was probably the same Tarasius the Patrician mentioned as a friend of the Patriarch Germanus in a letter of c.727 (Mansi XIII, col. 100B; for the date, see PmbZ I no. 2977 on the letter’s addressee Bishop John of Synnada, since the PmbZ I has somehow overlooked Tarasius the Patrician himself). 37 See N. Oikonomidès, Les listes de préséance byzantines des IXe et Xe siècles. Paris 1972, 321 (on the Quaestor) and 330 (on the Excubitors, whose commander had his title changed when the tagmata were created c.743; see Treadgold, Byzantium 28f.). 38 Theophanes A.M. 6233 (414.31–32 De Boor).

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This Sissinius, who like Tarasius’ grandfather was both a patrician and a military commander, commanded the Thracesian Theme in 741, when he supported Constantine V against the rebel Artavasdus. Yet in 744, soon after winning the civil war, Constantine blinded Sissinius for allegedly conspiring against him39. During the war Tarasius’ father George, even if he had not yet become Quaestor, was probably a civil servant residing in the capital, which was then under the control of Artavasdus. Since the continuer of Trajan was an iconophile and considered Artavasdus to be an iconophile, we might expect the continuer to have sympathized with Artavasdus’ rebels, as the continuer sympathized with the iconophiles who rebelled against Leo III in 727 and with the iconophiles accused of plotting against Constantine V in 76640. The continuer seems however to have been oddly ambivalent about Artavasdus’ revolt. Nicephorus says of it, “Thereupon the Roman Empire fell into great misfortunes, as soon as the struggle for power between [Artavasdus and Constantine] stirred up a civil war among Christians. I believe many people have come to experience how many and how great disasters accompany such events, so that even human nature forgets itself and is set against itself – why need I say more?”41 Theophanes writes, “The Devil, who stirs up evil, aroused such madness and mutual slaughter among Christians in those days as to incite children against parents and brothers against brothers to kill each other mercilessly, and pitilessly to set fire to the buildings and houses that belonged to each other”.42 Theophanes adds, after describing the end of the civil war, “Forty days later, by the just judgment of God, [Constantine V] blinded Sissinius, the Patrician and General of the Thracesians, who had taken his [Constantine’s] part and fought alongside him and was also his cousin. For he who helps the impious shall ‘fall into his hands’, according to Scripture.”43 If this Sissinius was Tarasius’ grandfather, he seemingly fought on the opposite side from his own son George during the civil war with Artavasdus44. While the son would not, as a civil official, have actually taken up arms against his father, the family would have been split and might well have lost other relatives in the fighting, and seen some family property burned during the long siege of the capital. If Tarasius was the continuer of Trajan, he would naturally have had mixed feelings about the conflict and about his grandfather, who had supported the iconoclast Constantine but was then blinded by him. In any case, an author writing under Constantine VI and Irene would have been unlikely to state flatly that Artavasdus should have defeated Constantine V, whose victory had allowed his grandson Constantine VI to become emperor45. Moreover, the usual Byzantine view was that the result of any war was the will of God, so that even an unfavorable outcome was to be considered punishment for the Byzantines’ sins46. While the identification of Tarasius as the continuer of Trajan must be considered probable rather than certain, in any case the continuation of Trajan was carefully and judiciously composed. Despite the opinion of some recent scholars that Nicephorus and Theophanes were late and unreliable sources, any reasonably objective analysis of what remains of their common source from 721 to 781 will conclude that it was both early and relatively accurate. Obviously the author was hostile to Iconoclasm, criticized iconoclasts, and repeated some dubious rumors about their private lives47. For any of their public actions, however, he should For this Sissinius, see PmbZ I no. 6753; Tarasius’ grandfather is PmbZ I no. 6755. Efthymiadis, Life 8 suggests that Tarasius’ grandfather might have been the Sissinius Rhendacius (PmbZ I no. 6752) who was beheaded c.719, before the continuation of Trajan began; but if so, it is curious that no later sources identify Tarasius as a member of the Rhendacius family (cf. PmbZ I no. 6397). 40 For the revolt of 727 and the alleged plot of 766, see Nicephorus 60 and 81 (Mango) and Theophanes A.M. 6218, 405 and A.M. 6257 (438 De Boor); for Artavasdus as an iconophile, see Nicephorus 64.36–38 (Mango) and Theophanes A.M. 6233 (415 De Boor). 41 Nicephorus 65.14–20 (Mango). In the last line, which is ungrammatical but more or less intelligible, for purposes of translation I adopt I. Bekker’s conjecture of οἷμαι for ἂν, though I suspect the real problem is that Nicephorus (as often) paraphrased his source carelessly. 42 Theophanes A.M. 6234 (418.7–11 De Boor). 43 Theophanes A.M. 6235 (421.3–6 De Boor). The quotation is from Ecclesiasticus 8:1. 44 On the length of the siege, see Treadgold, Missing Year. 45 Stouraitis, Bürgerkrieg 169f., correctly points out that Theophanes treats Constantine V as an usurper like his father Leo III; but Theophanes, unlike Nicephorus and the continuer of Trajan, wrote when the Isaurian dynasty was no longer reigning. 46 See Stouraitis, Bürgerkrieg 171–177. 47 E.g., the charges repeated by Theophanes, A.M. 6233, 415 and A.M. 6259 (443 De Boor) that Constantine V questioned the divinity of Christ and engaged in homosexual orgies.

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be a reliable source. After all, in 781, just six years after the death of Constantine V, the continuer could scarcely have hoped to deceive readers who were older than he was about acts that many of them had witnessed themselves. Besides, the continuer of Trajan, who was too young to have played any personal role in events under Leo III or Constantine V, had no evident motive for depicting those emperors as more vehemently iconoclast than they were, or for praising their opponents for being iconophiles if they were not. Since we have seen that the continuer considered Artavasdus’ revolt to be a great misfortune, he had no reason to make Artavasdus into more of an iconophile than he actually was. Paul Speck has convinced several scholars, including Leslie Brubaker and John Haldon, that the rebels of 727 against Leo III cannot have objected to his Iconoclasm because Leo was not truly an iconoclast, and that in 741 Artavasdus cannot have restored icons in Constantinople because no one had yet destroyed them. According to this interpretation, reports that Leo was an iconoclast and that Constantine was an extreme iconoclast were iconophile slanders. Yet if Leo III had not been an iconoclast, and Constantine V had been only a moderate iconoclast, any iconophile who wrote in 781 would have been eager to emphasize those facts, because they would have made the task of restoring the icons much easier for Constantine VI and Irene, who were members of the Isaurian dynasty of Leo III and Constantine V. Since the continuer surely wanted the icons to be restored, he should if anything be suspected of minimizing the iconoclastic measures of Leo III and Constantine V, just as in 843 the iconophile empress Theodora pretended that her husband Theophilus had repudiated Iconoclasm on his deathbed. Yet as an author of a contemporary history, the continuer of Trajan could not go very far in distorting the facts in any direction about anything that had happened in public. For example, when he wrote, just thirty-eight years after the end of Artavasdus’ revolt, many well-informed officials in Constantinople surely remembered whether Artavasdus had restored icons there or not. Modern attempts to discredit the continuer’s accuracy, which have consisted of repeated assertions rather than reasoned arguments, therefore seem badly misguided48. To conclude, I see no reason to doubt the reports of Nicephorus and Theophanes that the rebels of 727 and 741–743 used opposition to Iconoclasm to justify their rebellions. We may still question whether these rebels were principally motivated by opposition to Iconoclasm. No doubt Cosmas – the emperor proclaimed by the rebels in 727 – and the later rebel Artavasdus were ambitious men who wanted to become emperors, and their supporters must have hoped to be rewarded if their rebellions succeeded. On the other hand, apparently reliable sources tell us that many Byzantines disliked Iconoclasm during the first few years after it became official policy. If so, nothing would have been more natural than for anyone who rebelled against the emperors at that time to appeal for support from those who disapproved of the emperors’ iconoclastic measures. Two early sources, which evidently depend on a still earlier source, say that this was the case. Since none of these writers had an obvious reason to lie about the matter, I think we should assume that they told the truth.

The culmination of these efforts now appears in Brubaker – Haldon, Byzantium, especially 1–260, which repeatedly denies the value of evidence that appears in the chronicles of Nicephorus and Theophanes. The conclusion (799) correctly describes the motive of the book but not its achievement: “We hope that, if we have achieved nothing else, we can say that the iconophile version of the history of eighth- and ninth-century Byzantium has at last been laid to rest”.

48

Olof Heilo

The Holiness of the Warrior Physical and Spiritual Power in the Borderland between Byzantium and Islam As the title of this symposium suggests, Byzantine concepts of war can be said to belong to a field of tension between the collective struggle of the Roman state and the individual struggle of the Christian believer. The former is concerned with society and the world; the latter is concerned with God and the salvation of the soul. The problem in defining a Byzantine ideology of war thus arises from the opposites of an ancient existential problem that is not necessarily Byzantine1. It becomes particularly evident in the borderland between Byzantium and the early Caliphate, where the prevalent ideology of war can also be confusingly elusive. Since we are already discussing the ideology of war in Byzantium, I will start from the other side and briefly examine what is usually perceived as the ideology of war in Islam. This seems to be contained in the name Islam, which is a substantive of the fourth stem form aslama (submit oneself, resign, surrender) of the verb salima (to be in peace, to be safe). The fourth stem form is causative, which means that Islam is something you practice in order to achieve peace: aslim taslam (submit, and you will be in peace) as the prophet Muhammad is said to have written in his letter to emperor Heraclius2. The implication is, of course, not that Islam means peace – as it is sometimes somewhat optimistically translated – but rather that absence of Islam means absence of peace. Lands that have not submitted are referred to as dār al-ḥarb, the “house of war” as opposed to dār al-islām, the “house of submission”. If one takes this causality chain one step further (from ḥarb to that for which islām is causative) we will end up in dār as-salām, the “house of peace”, which in the Qur’an is a metaphor for Paradise3. Thus, what the non-Muslim might perceive as an “ideology of war”, Islam → War is actually a matter of practices, and the chain of causality should be described like this: War → Islām → Peace. However, this is just the theoretical framework; it does not specify the practical context for the submission and its result. Should “peace” be considered equivalent to the eschatological “house of peace” – in which case the war will achieve apocalyptic dimensions4–  or could it be substituted with a physical territory, the Dār al-Islām? In the latter case, the purpose of Muslim warfare is simply some sort of “Pax Islamica” and the ǧihād or struggle for God is a political action for the state of the Muslim community5. There are in fact certain indications in favour of the suggestion that this was how the term Islām originally came into use: as a deliberate attempt of the ‘Umayyad dynasty (661–749) to identify religion with the Caliphate and hence with their own rule6. Since their empire also represents the peak of the Muslim military advance, some schol-







For instance the Prussian Clausewitz, who stated that the purpose of a war was to make the opponent submit to “our will” (Über den Krieg 1831), had a contemporary antithesis in his famous compatriot Schopenhauer, who questioned the “will” itself (Die Welt als Wille und Vorstellung 1819), taking inspiration from the 2500-year-old Vedic sacred epic of Bhagavad-Gita – in which the warrior Arjuna asks Krishna about the individual and social justifications of war. 2 Cf. Ya’qubi, Tārīḫ II:83f (ed. M. Th. Houtsma. Leiden 1883). 3 Qur’an 6:126f. 4 Cf. E. Burman, The Assassins. London 1987, 137–43. 5 The parallel to the Pax Romana (which is etymologically also a pactus, a treaty) seems to have been obvious still to the 11thcentury author of the Slavonic Vita of Constantine, who makes a Muslim try to convince the great missionary to the Slavs about the advantage of Islam: “Christ paid tribute for Himself and others. Why do you not … pay tribute for your brethren and friends to the great and powerful race of Ishmael? We ask little, only one piece of gold. And for as long as the entire earth endures, we shall keep peace among ourselves as no one else.” (ed. and transl. M. Kantor, Medieval Slavic Lives of Saints and Princes. Ann Arbor 1983) 39. 6 P. Crone – M. Hinds, God’s Caliph: Religious Authority in the First Centuries of Islam. Cambridge 1986 24–42; F. Donner, Muhammad and the Believers. London 2010, 194ff.; R. Hoyland, Seeing Islam as Others Saw It: a Survey and Evaluation of 1

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ars have even tried to define it as a “ǧihād state” par preference, the most political realisation of a Muslim “ideology of war” ever to have existed7. On the other hand, it is important to remember that the ‘Umayyad claims were rejected by many religious zealots, and that the caliphs usually ended up fighting other Muslims who refused to acknowledge their authority. As their power was about to collapse, the court secretary Abd al-Hamid bin Yahya wrote in his letter to the ‘Umayyad crown prince: Stand up against your enemies, those who are called so in Islām since they have turned their back on the community of their own people, falsely claiming to be faithful rulers, but maintaining that it is legal to shed the blood of their followers8.

Ironically, what Blankinship calls the “end of the Jihad state” – the collapse of the ‘Umayyad centralised warfare – here marks the beginning of what we would today normally associate with a Muslim “ideology of war”. The caliphs never conquered Constantinople, but instead volunteers from the whole Islamic world began assembling along the Syrian border to join military expeditions into Byzantine territory. The awaited Muslim conquest of Constantinople might have been an apocalyptic topos already before this time9, but now it would give rise to an entire mythology about pious Muslim warriors who went to Byzantium and died fighting the infidel. The redemptory end of the world that was expected to occur once Constantinople had been conquered by the caliph10 had, so to say, turned into the redemptory end of every single ġāzī or muǧāhid (wager of ǧihād) dying for the same eschatological goal. One of few scholars to critically analyze the Arab-Byzantine borderlands during this period is Michael Bonner, who has expressed a cautious criticism against modern efforts to see a conscious “ideology” of the warriors as the main cause of their actions11. Rather, he points out that though there exists no direct ideological link between the Christian Crusades and the Muslim ǧihād, they have many things in common in the way they simply kept unruly youths busy12. Social explanations of this kind have been brought forward elsewhere: Speros Vryonis once tried to connect the rise of Islamic militarized youth organisations in Syria such as the ‘ayyārūn and futuwwa with the infamous Byzantine circus hooligans13, whereas more recently Mohsen Zakeri has tried to trace the former groups back to Sassanid youths of nobility14. In a more general sense, Peter Brown suggested that Late Antiquity Near East saw the traditional paterfamilias lose his authority among the young people to the “spiritual father”, changing existing social identities based upon kinship in favour of an increased spirituality15; but Papadopoullos, discussing the historical context of Digenis Akritis, warned of overconfident socio-anthropological conclusions due to the scarcity of the material16. What is clear is that it is almost impossible to classify whatever conviction these “black knights” had as a political ideology, since they had turned their back upon society, discarded the intermediating role of a worldly power and claimed a superhuman invincibility that lay beyond the physical existence17. Combin Christian, Jewish and Zoroastrian Writings on Early Islam. Princeton 1997, 548ff. (esp. 554); M. A. Shaban, The ‘Abbasid Revolution. Cambridge 1970, 72. 7 Kh. Y. Blankinship, The End of the Jihad State. New York 1994. 8 Risālat ‘Abd al-Ḥamīd al-kātib 188–9 (ed. M. Kurd Ali, Rasā’il al-bulaġā. Cairo 1954). This is a reference to the ḫawāriǧ, the early “anarchists” of Islam who refused to acknowledge any terrestrial authority. 9 D. Cook, Studies in Muslim Apocalyptic. Princeton 2002, 71ff., 77, (326). 10 Ibid.; cf. for instance Muslim, Saḥīḥ 8:178. 11 M. Bonner, Aristocratic Violence and Holy War. New Haven 1996, 136: “The explanation has usually been found in the jihad, which has been studied as a type of religious ideology … This train of thought … underlies most modern historical descriptions of the Arab-Byzantine frontier. It certainly contains some truth, and provides us with a starting-point. The problem is that it combines concerns of the medieval Arabic sources (conquest of Constantinople, divine reward) with modern psychologising. Furthermore, it assumes that internal Muslim political and social conditions remained unchanging through all this time.” 12 Ibid., 1–7; F. Pannewick, Kreuz, Eros und Gewalt, in: Tinte und Blut: Politik, Erotik und Poetik des Martyriums, ed. A. Krass. Frankfurt 2008, 308ff. Note that Amazon-like young girls are supposed to have joined the borderland fighters as well. 13 S. Vryonis, Byzantine Circus Factions and Islamic Futuwwa Organisations. BZ 58 (1965) 46–59. 14 M. Zakeri, Sasanid Soldiers in Early Muslim Society. Wiesbaden 1995, 182f. 15 “The religious revolution of Late Antiquity contains a surprising number of decisive incidents, each involving the encounter of a lonely and ambitious young man with a man old enough to be his father …” P. Brown, The Rise and Function of the Holy Man in Late Antiquity. JRSt 61 (1976) 149. 16 T. Papadopoullos, The Acritic Hero: Socio-cultural Status in the Light of Comparative Data, in: Digenes Akrites: New Approaches to Byzantine Heroic Poetry, ed. R. Beaton. London 1993, 131f. 17 A. Noth, Heiliger Krieg und heiliger Kampf in Islam und Christentum. Bonn 1966, 13–92.

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ing fighting and martial arts with fasting and sexual abstinence, they were – as the first Muslims are supposed to have been described for emperor Heraclius – “warriors by day and monks by night”18, but though that is how they have entered historical memory, it is of course never supposed to have been their aim. A ġāzī fighting for worldly prestige will be punished in hell19, for God will lift the veil from all that had been hidden20 and judge every man after his inner intentions (niyya)21. Perhaps in their individual struggle they have a certain likeness to their Byzantine counterpart Digenis Akritis, the Christian border warrior of halfArab origin, who is also a basically non-political figure22. But whereas Digenis can neither be called a religious or spiritual ideal23, the Muslim ġāzīs do have the traits of both. In their spiritual quest, they resemble mystics like the Muslim Sufis or Christian Hesychasts; in the nature of their physical actions and their impact upon popular imagination, they are saints and holy warriors. I will briefly address these aspects here. Long ago Goldziher suggested that the Muslim conception of martyrs reveals Christian influences: the semantic shift in the Arabic word šahīd from “witness” to “martyr” must have resulted due to a conflation with the Greek word μάρτυς24. Interestingly, the Greek word has a quite political implication: the martyr should bear witness about God to the world and about His enemies in heaven25. The Arabic meaning is much more spiritual: God (who is witness to everything and hence known as aš-Šāhid) has seen (šahada) the martyr (aš-šahīd) and the šahīd (who bears witness in his creed or šahada) has seen God, and they are alone with each other in this apocalyptic unification. The traditionalist Islamic notion that on the Last Day God will become visible “like the moon in a full moon’s night” gained particular popularity among the border warriors26, who entered Byzantine territory in order to meet their “beloved”, to be united with God27. Metaphors of this kind are common in Muslim mysticism or Sufism28 and sometimes associated with the example of al-Hallaj, who in 922 was tortured and executed by the ‘Abbasid caliph al-Muqtadir for his claim to be God or “the Truth” (al-ḥaqq), thus – ironically – achieving that union with God29. Now, if the Christian μάρτυς undergoes similar sufferings to prove his convictions, the ġāzī takes everything one step further by not only dying himself but by killing his enemies as well30. It is of course tempting here to see the dividing line as a theological matter of the Christian Incarnation and its absence in Muslim thought, which would provide us with an “ideological” connection, at least to a certain degree31. But the dangers of such an intellectual over-emphasis on theology are apparent in other re-

Tabari I:1566f (ed. de Goeje, Tārīḫ ar-rusūl wa l-mulūk. Leiden 1879–1901). Muslim, Saḥīḥ 18:43. 20 al-Ghazzali, Ihya ‘Ulūm ad-Dīn IV:517. 21 Nawawi, hadīṯ 1. Cf. Bonner, Aristocratic Violence and Holy War, 122ff. 22 A. Bryer, The Historian’s Digenis Akrites, in: Digenes Akrites: New Approaches to Byzantine Heroic Poetry, ed. R. Beaton. London 1993, 102. 23 At the age of twelve he abducts a girl and joins a robber band; later on he takes advantage of an Arab girl he is supposed to save, and he rapes an Amazon before (in the Grottaferrata version) slaying her. 24 I. Goldziher, Muhammedanische Studien. Halle 1888, II:387ff. 25 Apocalypse of John 2:13. 26 J. van Ess, Theologie und Gesellschaft. Berlin – New York 1997, IV:412. 27 Abu Firas, Dīwān 260:8 (ed. Dahan, Beirut 1944). The poet, who had fought Bedouin Arabs as well as Byzantines, spent the years 962–966 in captivity in Constantinople writing melancholic letters and poems, most notably to his patron Saif ad-Dawla in Aleppo. By that time, the frontier wars were already a literary topos. 28 For instance, the metaphor with the moon occurs in the 1980s poems of Ayatollah Khomeini. The relationship between the seeing Eye and the Light of God is such a common topic of Islamic mysticism that it hardly needs to be stressed further here; cf. Rumi, Maṯnawī II:1286 for a beautiful example. 29 Still most extensively dealt with by L. Massignon, Al-Hallaj: martyr mystique de l’Islam. Paris 1922; with reference to our topic esp. 494ff., 514ff., 664ff. and chs. XI–XII in general. 30 Theoretically, the ġāzī should kill “infidels”, but the rejection of a terrestrial judiciary makes the rule practically obsolete. Cf. Bonner, Aristocratic Violence and Holy War 132: “…jihad began as warfare against the enemies of God, and that it took some time for consensus to emerge as to precisely who those enemies were”. 31 It should be noted, of course, that Gnostic elements are present in Christianity and Islam alike. Cf. C. Lange, Justice, Punishment and the Medieval Muslim Imagination. Cambridge 2008 143f., 164f. or A. Samellas, Death in the Eastern Mediterranean. Tübingen 2002, ch. I.

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ligious upheavals of this era32. It might be more helpful to consider that this is the historical context for a general transformation of the Late Antique Christian martyrs to mounted warriors killing monsters and enemies of God33. A famous “trinity” of warrior saints – St. George, St. Demetrius and St. Theodore – is evoked at the beginning of Digenis Akritis, as young Constantine sets out to fight the Arab emir34. And we do have reports about Muslim ġāzīs being revered by Christians. Mas’udi (d. 932) who had visited the borderlands, claimed to have heard from a converted Byzantine that: In some of their churches, the Byzantines keep pictures of ten people they acknowledge for their strength and courage; among them are Muslims renowned for their cunning35.

Among the “saints” explicitly enumerated is al-Battal, a legendary ġāzī who is supposed to have died during the 740 siege of Akroinion. An earlier and more famous example stems from the 674 siege of Constantinople: [Ayyoub] ended his life when Yazid bin Mu‘awyiah raided Constantinople during the caliphate of his father, Mu‘awyiah. They buried him at the base of a fortress in Constantinople, in Byzantine soil. They say that the Byzantines use to take care of his tomb, renovate it and pray there for rain in times of drought36.

In Late Antiquity Syria, the cult of the Christian soldier-saint became integrated with popular Islam, and still as of today – Muslims – especially women – in Syria pray at shrines of St. George and St. Sergius, who are sometimes identified with the mysterious “Green knight” (al-Khidr) in the Qur’an and believed to help women to childbirth37. In Byzantine Anatolia, it seems to have been the other way round, though we do not know exactly how the ġāzīs were identified on the local level. Speaking in favour of a certain continuity is at least the fact that Ayyoub and al-Battal came to figure prominently in Anatolian folklore and popular piety into the Ottoman and modern Turkish era38. As symbols of strength and invincibility, they thus play a role similar to that of St. George in Western “mythology” – whose feats (slaying dragons and demons, rescuing captive boys and maidens, destroying pagan idols and proving the strength of Christianity) gained widespread popularity during the Crusades39. Of course I do not claim that there were actually dragons and monsters lurking around in Anatolia in the eighth century and that they were the main targets of the ġāzīs. What I am trying to pinpoint is the fact that if you see the world from an apocalyptic (which does not necessarily mean eschatological) horizon, everything might as well be something else than what it appears to be. In an episode of Digenis Akritis we encounter a dragon trying to seduce the hero’s bride in the disguise of a youth,40 whereas demons pretending to be Arabs sometimes harassed the Syrian Desert fathers41. One was not even safe from such attacks in the imperial capital42, where we also find the famous eighth-century reports on demons living in the pagan statues, causing them to topple and kill the spectator43. The human nature of the emperor himself was dubious; Procopius S. Brock, Iconoclasm and the Monophysites, in: Iconoclasm, ed. A. Bryer – J. Herrin. Birmingham 1977, 57: “The whole Iconoclast controversy has nothing at all to do with Christology … It is, rather, a question of how far the divine is allowed to impinge on the human world.” or van Ess, Theologie und Gesellschaft IV:361ff. 33 C. Walter, The Warrior Saints in Byzantine Art and Tradition. Aldershot – Burlington 2003, 37f., 47f., 55f., 79, 97, 102, 106f., 123–131, 133, 140f.; on middle-Byzantine conceptions of warriors in general 279ff. 34 Digenis Akritis G I:20–29 (ed. E. Jeffreys. Cambridge 1998). 35 Mas’udi, Murūǧ ađ-đahab wa-ma’ādan al-ǧawhar VIII:74 (ed. B. de Meynard. Paris 1861–77). 36 Tabari, Tārīḫ ar-rusūl wa l-mulūk III:2324, Ibn Sa’d, Ṭabaqāt al-kubri III:485. 37 J. Brotton, St George between East and West, in: Re-Orienting the Renaissance: Cultural Exchanges with the East, ed. G. MacLean. Hampshire – New York 2005, 61ff.; E. K. Fowden, The Barbarian Plain: Saint Sergius between Rome and Iran. Los Angeles 1999, 179f., 189ff. 38 Cf. Die Fahrten des Sajjid Batthal: ein alttürkischer Volks- und Sittenroman (transl. H. Ethé). Leipzig 1871. When the author of this paper visited the shrine of al-Battal in Seyitgazi – formerly a Bektashi monastery – in March 2011, the vast majority of pilgrims at the tomb were young to middle-aged women. 39 Walter, The Byzantine Warrior Saints, 140f. 40 Digenis Akritis G VI:45ff. (on the possible connection to the life of St. Theodore, see introduction, xliif). 41 Cf. John Moschos, Pratum spirit. PG 87, CXIX/2984, CLX,CLXI/3028. 42 Vita S. Andreae Salis. PG 111, 681. 43 Parastaseis Syntomoi Chronikai (ed. A. Cameron – J. Herrin. Leiden 1984), 28. A. Kazhdan, A History of the Byzantine Literature (650–850). Athens 1999, 308ff. claims that this is a satire, but as far as I know he is the only scholar to do so.

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claimed that Justinian I lost his normal form by night and revealed his demonic character as a formless piece of meat44. One might go on and make a long list of this kind by picking similar reports from different centuries, but this is not a paper in medieval demonology: what has been mentioned should merely serve as a reminder that the holiness of the warrior is related to the presumed demonic character of his enemies. Even the Western Crusades were proclaimed against such a backdrop45, and Byzantine history provides us with an example of a “religious war” perpetrated against an adversary whose human nature was doubted by at least one contemporary observer: … so thoroughly did the flame consume the Godless man, as if it, too, had been filled by rage towards him, that neither any odour of burned flesh was felt, nor any other strange kind of smoke was seen, but just a thin steam of damp in the middle of the pyre. For even the elements rise against the Godless; whereas they do not – to say the truth – touch those loved by God – like the fire once retracted and receded from the God-beloved youths of Babylon46…

Anna Comnena’s description of the last Bogomil being burnt at the stake in the Hippodrome resembles the Muslim apocalyptic notion that the Daǧǧal or Antichrist would “dissolve like salt in water” once the Byzantine Empire had been vanquished47. The main difference is, of course, that the description of Anna is not part of any eschatological scenario, but belongs to her own perceived reality. Possessed by his demons, the infidel dissolves, and his followers are saved by their decision to seek refuge with the victorious emperor. With this remark, we are coming full circle, having left the ‘Umayyad political dār al-islām for the spiritual dār al-ḥarb of the ġāzīs and having passed through the Acritic borderland of the Warrior Saints into the physical realms of the Byzantine emperor. From a retrospective point of view, the “field of tension” between the communal struggles of the state and the individual struggles of the believer is just a temporary rift in the history of the former and a limited window of possibility in the life of the latter. A stable definition of the warrior as well as the ruler, however, requires – I am quoting Peter Brown – a “community of values” formed by neither one but by the historical realities encompassing them both48. It marks what could be called the Lohengrin moment, when the mysterious warrior is prompted to disclose his nature, origin and loyalty, and the ensuing disappearance of the “apocalyptic warrior” who fights for a purpose that does not exist in the world. Time becomes space as the spiritual movement gives in to the physical state49: when the ‘Abbasids consolidated their power after 750, Islam was already the religion of a growing civil society whose wealth was generated by other means than by warfare, and for all the efforts of the new caliphs to show their spiritual eager as ġāzīs, Byzantium had definitely proven that it would neither “dissolve like salt in water” – in fact, it would soon turn the tables on the Muslims50. What stayed firm was the “Holy Warrior” as an object of reverence or identification: the fearful or comforting reminder of a reality beyond terrestrial boundaries.

Procopius, Anecdota XII (ed. J. Haury. Leipzig 1905). L. N. McCrillis, The Demonization of Minority Groups in Christian Society during the Central Middle Ages. PhD thesis, University of California 1974, esp. 192ff. and ch. IV in general; Hoyland, Seeing Islam as Others Saw It, 87–103. 46 Anna Comnena, Alexias XV:10.4 (ed. D. R. Reinsch. Köln 1996); see further also 1–3 and 5. 47 Muslim, Saḥīḥ 39:9. 48 P. Brown, Town, Village and Holy Man, in: Assimilation et résistance à la culture gréco-romaine dans le monde ancien, ed. D. M. Pippidi. Bucharest 1976, 162; M. Q. Zaman, Religion and Politics under the Early ‘Abbasids: the emergence of the ProtoSunni Elite. Leiden 1997, 199. 49 Cf. Ibn Khaldun, Muqaddima (ed. H. A. al-Taher, Cairo 2004) 180ff. and 257 passim. 50 Bonner, Aristocratic Violence and Holy War, 96f., 101ff., 131, 138; Cook, Studies in Muslim Apocalyptics 315ff., 330; Zaman, Religion and Politics, 167ff., 180ff., 187f., 190ff., 199.

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The Ideology of War in the Military Harangues of Constantine VII Porphyrogennetos The two harangues that bear the name of the emperor Constantine VII Porphyrogennetos (945–959) are clearly texts of prime importance for the light they shed on the ideological context in which the ByzantineArab wars were fought in the latter half of the tenth century1. It is generally accepted that the ideological component is a conditio sine qua non for understanding, and primarily for interpreting, the works included in the Porphyrogennetos’ voluminous corpus; though Constantine VII’s narrative is not especially difficult, its copious use of symbolisms coupled with its selective use of historical material imposes multiple readings while the conclusions drawn are not always certain. This is largely true of the two harangues discussed in this paper. The two orations, which have been published – albeit somewhat problematically – by R. Vári2 and H. Ahrweiler3 respectively, come from a single codex, the well-known Ambrosianus gr. 139 (B 119 sup.), which is in turn closely linked to the celebrated Laurentianus 55, 4. Both manuscripts are products of the imperial scriptorium and display all the features of those codices which contain the large collections of works attributed to what is known as the Porphyrogennetos’ circle4. The Ambrosianus is comprised of 347 parchment 295×225mm folios, and includes four different types of work: i) a collection of Strategika; ii) the Taktika of Leo VI the Wise (886–912); iii) military harangues and iv) the corpus of the Naumachika5. The last of the works in the latter corpus has been attributed to a well-known personage, Basil Lecapenus6, in the light of







For the military harangues in general, see H. Hunger, Die hochsprachliche profane Literatur der Byzantiner 2. Munich 1978, 327ff.; also, very recently, K. G. Karaple, Κατευόδωσις στρατού. Η οργάνωση και η ψυχολογική προετοιμασία του βυζαντινού στρατού πριν από τον πόλεμο (610–1081). 1. Athens 2010, 36ff., 139ff., 233ff. See also the notes below. 2 R. Vári, Zum historischen Exzerptenwerke des Konstantinos Porphyrogennetos. BZ 17 (1908) 75–85. 3 H. Ahrweiler, Un discours inédit de Constantin VII Porphyrogénète. TM 2 (1967) 393–404. Corrections and improvements have already been proposed for both texts, making a new edition a virtual necessity. Extremely useful is the study by E. McGeer, who annotates the works and translates both into English with the requisite care: idem, Two Military Orations of Constantine VII, in: Byzantine Authors. Literary Activities and Preoccupations. Texts and Translations dedicated to the Memory of Nicolas Oikonomides, ed. J. W. Nesbitt. Leiden – Boston 2003, 111–135. Cf. also the unpublished MA dissertation by P. K. Koutouvalas, Οι αποδιδόμενες στον Κωνσταντίνο Ζ΄ Πορφυρογέννητο δημηγορίες. University of Athens. Athens 2004, as well as Karaple, Κατευόδωσις στρατού 41, 207–211. The older bibliography is dominated by C. M. Mazzucchi, Dagli anni di Basilio Parakimomenos (cod. Ambr. B 119 sup.). Aevum 52 (1978) 267–316, esp. 276ff. and passim; cf. also Α. Kolia-Dermitzaki, Η ιδέα του ‘ιερού πολέμου’ στο Βυζάντιο κατά τον 10ο αιώνα. Η μαρτυρία των τακτικών και των δημηγοριών, in: Constantine VII Porphyrogenitus and his Age, ed. A. Markopoulos. Athens 1989, 39–55, esp. 49–53; Eadem, Ο βυζαντινός ‘ιερός πόλεμος’. Athens 1991, 243–248 and passim; I. Ševčenko, Re-reading Constantine Porphyrogenitus, in: Byzantine Diplomacy, ed. J. Shepard – S. Franklin. Aldershot 1992, 167–195, esp. 186–187 and n. 49. 4 See the classic paper by J. Irigoin, Pour une étude des centres de copie byzantins II. Script 13 (1959), 177–209, esp. 177–181. 5 A. Martini – D. Bassi, Catalogus codicum graecorum Bibliothecae Ambrosianae 1. Milan 1906, 157–160; A. Dain – J.-A. de Foucault, Les stratégistes byzantins. TM 2 (1967) 317–392, esp. 385; Mazzucchi, Dagli anni di Basilio Parakimomenos 276–278, 282–284, 310–316 and passim; G. T. Dennis ed. – E. Gamillscheg, Das Strategikon des Maurikios (CFHB 17). Vienna 1981, 21–22; Ph. Rance, The Date of the Military Compendium of Syrianus Magister (formerly the Sixth-Century Anonymus Byzantinus). BZ 100 (2007) 701–737, esp. 733–736; A. Németh, Imperial Systematization of the Past. Emperor Constantine VII and His Historical Excerpts. PhD dissertation, Central European University. Budapest 2010, 172–177 and passim (unpublished); cf. also G. Greatrex – H. Elton – R. Burgess, Urbicius’ Epitedeuma: an Edition, Translation and Commentary. BZ 98 (2005) 35–74, esp. 44–45 and G. T. Dennis ed., The Taktika of Leo VI (CFHB 49). Dumbarton Oaks 2010, xi. 6 On Basil Lekapenos and his career, see W. G. Brokkaar, Basil Lacapenus. Byzantium in the tenth century, in: Studia Byzantina et Neohellenica Neerlandica, ed. W. F. Bakker et al. Leiden 1972, 199–234 and Mazzucchi, Dagli anni di Basilio Parakimomenos passim; see also L. Boura, Ο Βασίλειος Λεκαπηνός παραγγελιοδότης έργων τέχνης, in: Constantine VII Porphyrogenitus and His Age 397–434; J. Koder, Ο Κωνσταντίνος Πορφυρογέννητος και η Σταυροθήκη του Λίμπουργκ, ibid. 165–184, esp. 176ff.; N. P. 1

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the prefatory epigram dedicated to him7, and can be dated with relative precision to 958, a year which thus becomes a terminus post quem for the compiling of the Ambrosianus; furthermore, as Mazzucchi has demonstrated, the codex must have been composed under the direct supervision of Basil Lecapenus, who intended it to strengthen his candidature for leadership of the expeditionary force that was already being assembled for the Cretan campaign8. Scholars have researched both the composition and the contents of the Ambrosianus, a hugely impressive and genuinely encyclopaedic collection of texts on military strategy9. However, both K. K. Müller and later Vári have argued that the two harangues under examination in this paper were included in the lost section Περὶ δημηγοριῶν of the vast Porphyrogennetos’ collection conventionally labelled the Excerpta10. Subsequent research has either not taken a position on the matter or rejected any relationship between the Ambrosianus and the Excerpta11. For his part, Mazzucchi, who cites convincing arguments in support of his opinion that the individual who compiled the Milan codex had used material assembled in the imperial archive, went on to conclude that the Ambrosianus was unrelated to the Excerpta; this view was largely derived from the fact that this huge collection did not include authors who featured in the Milan codex, chief among them Xenophon, who is included in both the Excerpta and the Ambrosianus, and Herodianus, who only features in the latter manuscript12. If I may, I would note at this point that I have long held the view that a parallel study of the compilation of the Excerpta is the key to understanding the manner in which the Ambrosianus was composed; and, indeed, a recently completed research project has confirmed that the excerpts included in the Milan manuscript were compiled applying the same modus operandi used to incorporate the texts in the Excerpta: namely, the authors were copied, with frequent stylistic changes, into separate gatherings whose blank parts and leaves were subsequently removed13. This insight emphatically underscores that the Ambrosianus and the Excerpta are more closely linked than was previously accepted. As a result, we can no longer exclude the possibility of the Milan codex having been compiled to serve as one of the manuscripts of the Excerpta – which it may not ultimately have done – or assembled to include material from the Excerpta, which now seems more likely. Moreover, Mazzucchi’s arguments are not as convincing as they appear at first sight: as we know, a large part of the Excerpta has been lost, so there is no reason to assume that the missing sections did not include excerpts from authors who are now only included in the Ambrosianus. The two harangues do not seem to present any dating problems. Researchers agree that the harangue published by Ahrweiler (hereafter Harangue I) precedes the oration published by Vári (hereafter Harangue II). Although the publisher of Harangue I dated it to 952–953 on the basis of arguments relating to the work’s historical context14, this date has since been revised, and rightly so, by Mazzucchi, who has argued, largely in the light of the Arab sources, that the harangue was composed late in 95015. Turning to Harangue II, its Ševčenko, The Limburg Staurothek and its Relics, in: Θυμίαμα στη μνήμη της Λασκαρίνας Μπούρα. Athens 1994, 289–294; J. H. Pryor – E. M. Jeffreys, The Age of the ΔΡΟΜΩΝ. The Byzantine Navy ca 500–1204. Leiden–Boston 2006, 183–187 and passim; Németh, Imperial Systematization of the Past 94ff. and very recently J. M. Featherstone, Theophanes Continuatus VI and De Cerimoniis I, 96. BZ 109 (2011) 115–123. 7 See the recent edition by Pryor – Jeffreys, The Age of the ΔΡΟΜΩΝ 521–545, esp. 522 8 Mazzucchi, Dagli anni di Basilio Parakimomenos 292–310; his view is generally accepted; see, for example, S. Cosentino, The Syrianos’s ‘Strategikon’: a 9th century source? Bizantinistica 2 (2000) 243–280, esp. 245; Rance, The Date of the Military Compendium 734; Németh, Imperial Systematization of the Past 173. 9 Mazzucchi, Dagli anni di Basilio Parakimomenos 282ff.; Rance, The Date of the Military Compendium 734–735. 10 K. K. Müller, Eine griechische Schrift über Seekrieg. Würzburg 1882, 26–27; Vári, Zum historischen Exzerptenwerke 77. 11 Mazzucchi, Dagli anni di Basilio Parakimomenos 290 (and n. 69) –292 and passim; cf. also B. Flusin, Les Excerpta Constantiniens. Logique d’une anti-histoire, in: Fragments d’historiens grecs. Autour de Denys d’Halicarnasse, ed. S. Pittia. Rome 2002, 537–559, esp. 553 and n. 57. 12 Mazzucchi, Dagli anni di Basilio Parakimomenos passim. 13 Németh, Imperial Systematization of the Past 174–175. 14 Ahrweiler, Discours inédit 402. See also G. Dagron, Byzance et le modèle islamique au Xe siècle. A propos des Constitutions tactiques de l’empereur Léon VI. Académie des inscriptions et belles-lettres, Comptes-rendus des séances de l’année 127/2 (1983) 219–243, esp. 231 n. 57. 15 Mazzucchi, Dagli anni di Basilio Parakimomenos 298 and n. 95. The date is widely accepted; cf., for example, McGeer, Two Military Orations 116. See also below p. 54.

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publisher’s initial dating to the mid-tenth century16 has since been challenged by Ahrweiler, who has narrowed the date down to 958 on the basis of well-founded arguments17. Neither oration has escaped the fate reserved for the majority of Byzantine texts: being studied almost exclusively as receptacles of historical data – in this case, for information relating to the empire’s military operations against the Arabs during the reign of Constantine VII18; any ‘literary’ criticism – in the broadest sense of the word – has focused, at best, on noting the relationship between the two harangues on the one hand and the Rhetorica militaris of the Anonymous Byzantinus on the other, whose recent identification with the Syrianus Magister is now widely accepted19. However, as is usually the case with texts which either bear the Porphyrogennetos’ signature or are attributed to him, the two works have certain distinct features which allow them to be approached or viewed in a manner which differs from the norm. 1. Military Rhetoric and Models Let us embark upon a careful and clear parallel examination of the two harangues presented as the Porphyrogennetos’ work20, though we should bear in mind throughout that both orations are essentially also exercises in rhetoric, and successful ones at that21. To begin with, there can be no doubt that both texts are based on the Syrianus22, a work which was used as a model for later compositions in a similar style – in the same way that Menander served as a paradigm for imperial panegyrics and other related texts – and which we know Constantine VII to have studied and listed among the books which should be included in the imperial vestiarion in times of war23. As a result, Syrianus’ guidelines are followed in both orations, without this stopping the author from taking certain liberties when he judges them to be necessary24. In the προοίμιον (Syr. IV 1; V 1), the Porphyrogennetos declares: Καὶ τὸ πολλάκις ὑμῖν ὁμιλεῖν χωρὶς τινὸς εὐλόγου αἰτίας ἐπιθυμητὸν καὶ ἐπέραστον...ἀλλὰ καὶ τὸ διὰ γλώσσης τὰ τῆς εὐνοίας καὶ ὑπακοῆς ὑμῖν παραινεῖν, ἥδιστον πάντων ἐμοὶ καὶ Vári, Zum historischen Exzerptenwerke 76–77. Ahrweiler, Discours inédit 402. Mazzucchi is in agreement (Dagli anni di Basilio Parakimomenos 299), while Dagron (Byzance et le modèle islamique 231 and n. 57) appears undecided. 18 See esp. Ahrweiler, Discours inédit 401–404. 19 See the important paper by C. Zuckerman, The Military Compendium of Syrianus Magister. JÖB 40 (1990) 209–224; this is the dominant viewpoint. Cf. also Cosentino, The Syrianos’s ‘Strategikon’ passim; Pryor – Jeffreys, The Age of the ΔΡΟΜΩΝ 178–181; Rance, The Date of the Military Compendium passim; D. F. Sullivan, Byzantine Military Manuals, in: The Byzantine World, ed. P. Stephenson. London–New York 2010, 149–161, esp. 151–152. There are no grounds for the recent reservations expressed by Karaple (Κατευόδωσις στρατού 28, 236). However, the dating of the work remains an issue, with Zuckerman favouring the late sixth-early seventh century, Cosentino considering the text to date from the reign of the emperor Theophilos (829–842), and Rance favouring the safer option of the late eighth century. I shall end by noting that Syrianus has come down to us in both the Laurentianus 55, 4 and the Ambrosianus gr. 139; it should, however, be noted that the section of the military vademecum of Syrianus covering the war at sea is only contained in the Milan codex, an observation which underscores yet again the importance of this manuscript in conveying virtually all the texts of a military nature collected and published (?) under the supervision of the Porphyrogennetos. On the editions of the works of Syrianus, see Zuckerman, Military Compendium 210–211; Rance, The Date of the Military Compendium 705 and n. 13–14. Cf. also Dagron, Byzance et le modèle islamique 227 and n. 35. 20 McGeer (Two Military Orations 115–116 and 122) provides the narrational sections of both harangues with a view to making it easier for researchers to approach the works. 21 Dagron, Byzance et le modèle islamique 231. This is generally true of Harangue II, but not of Harangue I, which does not seem to have been subject to a great deal of editing. A general comparative presentation of the content of the Byzantine harangues is provided in Karaple, Κατευόδωσις στρατού 235ff.; the analysis of the texts is quite detailed, but the author includes a number of personal opinions which may disconcert the reader. 22 On the two harangues’ debt to the Rhetorica militaris see Kolia-Dermitzaki, Ο βυζαντινός ‘ιερός πόλεμος’ 243–247; I. Stouraitis, Krieg und Frieden in der politischen und ideologischen Wahrnehmung in Byzanz (7.–11. Jahrhundert). Vienna 2009, 314ff.; Karaple, Κατευόδωσις στρατού 207–209, 235ff. A more detailed account can be found in McGeer, Two Military Orations 114–115, 122ff. and still more detail in Koutouvalas, Οι αποδιδόμενες στον Κωνσταντίνο Ζ΄ Πορφυρογέννητο δημηγορίες 28ff., 59ff., who rightly affords great significance to the text of Syrianos. 23 Constantine Porphyrogentius, Treatise C 198–199 (ed. J. F. Haldon, Constantine Porphyrogenitus: three treatises on imperial military expeditions [CFHB 28]. Vienna 1990, 106): ...βιβλία ἱστορικά, ἐξαιρέτως δὲ τὸν Πολύαινον καὶ τὸν Συριανόν. 24 One feature of Harangue I and II which should be underscored a priori is that they do not cover all the elements which Syrianos lists as essential in his manual, just those which are seemingly judged to be imperative.

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περισπούδαστον...25; Harangue I differs slightly, perhaps because it is earlier, in that Constantine VII addresses the army using the formal, classical ὦ ἄνδρες, and goes on to state that he wants to laud his soldiers who showed ...τὴν ἐκ τῶν ἔργων μεγίστην εὔκλειαν on the field of battle26. In essence, the content of the prologues to both harangues serve as the προκατάστασις and the προδιήγησις prescribed by Syrianus (IV 1; V 1) for military harangues. Things get very interesting indeed as we proceed into the harangues proper: in Harangue I, following a short reference to the emperor’s absence from the battlefield27, a subject that will be returned to later on28 and which scholars have long been aware of, the λαός makes its first appearance as belonging to the emperor (λαὸς ἐμὸς περιούσιος)29. It is the λαός that will eagerly march against the enemy30. Harangue II treats this subject in a similar vein, with the emperor using the verbs φιλῶ and ὑπερασπάζομαι when addressing his soldiers, and describing the λαός as θεοσύλλεκτος 31. These modes of address clearly create the requisite atmosphere among the assembled troops, as well as implying that the emperor is planning to ask much of his soldiers on a purely military level. The κεφάλαιον, the core of the harangues prepared out of the πρόβλημα and primarily out of the προβολή (VII 1; VIII 1–2), continues to adhere to Syrianus’ guidelines. The model is followed in both Harangue I and Harangue II; indeed, because the κεφάλαιον is divided into six separate sections (τὸ νόμιμον, τὸ δίκαιον, τὸ συμφέρον, τὸ δυνατόν, τὸ ἔνδοξον and τὸ ἐκβησόμενον), the structure of both harangues touches upon these precise sub-categories: the enemy is at the gates and well-armed32, but the Byzantine army has both justice (τὸ δίκαιον) and legitimacy (τὸ νόμιμον) on its side, and overpowers the Arab army at a decisive moment, τῆς εἰς Χριστὸν ἐλπίδος33. The religious underpinnings which Syrianus considers a conditio sine qua non for any military harangue (Ἀπὸ τοῦ ζήλου τῆς πίστεως, X 1–2) are clearly discernible as the axis of the work. Harangue II does not fall short in this regard, either, though with one very specific difference: it draws parallels between God’s love for Man and the emperor’s love for his soldiers. The author has thus included the requisite element dealing with Ἀπὸ τοῦ ζήλου τῆς πίστεως, placing it at the start of the text without any prior references to the opposing power: the Arabs 34. The feasible (τὸ δυνατόν) (VIII 2) is the element which is to convince the soldiers that what is being asked of them is not militarily impossible35. The harangues do not describe it in the same way: Harangue I has this to say of Chamda, the renowned Arab leader Sayf-al-dawla: ... κακότεχνός ἐστι, δύναμιν οὐκ ἔχων βεβαίαν καὶ σφόδρα τὴν ὑμῶν δεδοικὼς προσβολὴν ... πειρᾶται δόλοις καὶ φαστασίαις τὰς ὑμετέρας ψυχὰς ἐκφοβεῖν36. Consequently, the worthy soldiers of the Emperor, ἐν Χριστῷ θαρροῦντες37, will defeat the army of their cunning adversaries who, instead of fighting, resort to guile and ruses38. The change in the historic landscape that Constantine Porphyrogennetos, Harangue II, 78 I 1–10 (Vári). Constantine Porphyrogennetos, Harangue I, 397 1 (Ahrweiler). 27 Constantine Porphyrogennetos, Harangue I, 397 4–6 (Ahrweiler): ...Ἐκεῖνοι γάρ μοι κατεμήνυσαν ἀκριβῶς, ἐκεῖνοι τὴν ὑμῶν ἀρετὴν φιλαλήθως ἐγνώρισαν, πόσην μὲν τὴν ἀνδρείαν, πόσην δὲ τὴν ὁρμήν, πόσην δὲ τὴν κατὰ τῶν πολεμίων ἐπεδείξασθε γενναιότητα. 28 See below 51f. 29 Constantine Porphyrogennetos, Harangue I, 398 19 (Ahrweiler). A reference to the Old Testament (Exod. 19:5): ...λαὸς περιούσιος ἀπὸ πάντων τῶν ἐθνῶν. See also McGeer, Two Military Orations 118 and n. 30 and below p. 53–534. 30 Constantine Porphyrogennetos, Harangue I, 398 19–21 (Ahrweiler). 31 Constantine Porphyrogennetos, Harangue II Constantine Porphyrogennetos, Harangue II, 78 I 6; 79 I 24; 80 IV 2 (Vári). Cf. also Theophanes Continuatus V 94 (340, 20 Bekker). 32 Constantine Porphyrogennetos, Harangue I, 397, 8–10 (Ahrweiler). 33 Constantine Porphyrogennetos, Harangue I, 398, 11 (Ahrweiler). 34 Constantine Porphyrogennetos, Harangue II, I 78,16–79,24 (Vári). On the religious underpinnings of Harangue I and II, see below p. 52f. 35 Elsewhere in the text, Syrianus returns to the category of the δυνατόν, which he subdivides into χαλεπόν and ῥάδιον (XVI 1). The Porphyrogennetos does not make an analogous distinction in the two harangues under examination in this paper. 36 Constantine Porphyrogennetos, Harangue I, 398, 49–399, 51 (Ahrweiler). Sayf-al-dawla is described as ἀλαζὼν and ἄθεος in a Váriation of the Chronicle of Symeon Logothete; see A. Markopoulos, Le témoignage du Vaticanus gr. 163 pour la période entre 945–963. Symm 3 (1979) 83–119, esp. 11, 9 (p. 94), 20, 9–10 (p. 99), 22, 6–7, 18 (p. 99–100), 23, 13 (p. 100) ( = A. Markopoulos, History and Literature of Byzantium in the 9th–10th Centuries. Aldershot 2004, III). 37 Constantine Porphyrogennetos, Harangue I, 399, 67 (Ahrweiler) 38 See G. Dagron, ‘Ceux d’en face’. Les peuples étrangers dans les traités militaires byzantins. TM 10 (1987) 207–232, esp. 221–224, who studies Leo the Wise alone and does not include in his research the Porphyrogennetos.

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had already been wrought by Byzantium’s victorious expeditions against the Arabs in 95839, when Harangue II came to be written, shapes a new approach in the later oration. To begin with, these military successes, which have clearly dispelled the myth of invincibility hitherto enjoyed by the Arab army, are recalled in Harangue II, and in high-flown language at that40, while the author also declares expressis verbis to his soldiers that the entire Oecumene now knows of their valour41. On the other hand, the text has already noted that the Byzantine army consists of the κρείττονας τῶν θεραπόντων, εὐνουστάτους, πιστοτάτους, ἀξιολογωτάτους, φρονήσει καὶ πείρᾳ διαπρέποντας καὶ πλείω τῶν ἄλλων παρ’ ἡμῶν τιμωμένους42, and that it enjoys the assistance of ἐθνικῶν (scil. foreign mercenary units), which are taking part in the campaign alongside the regular Byzantine army (82.6,1–17)43; everything would thus seem to support the argument that ...καιρὸς ἥκει τὴν ὑμῶν ἀνδρείαν φανερωθῆναι, τὴν ὑμῶν εὐτολμίαν διαγνωσθῆναι, τὸ ἐπαινετὸν θάρσος πᾶσι δῆλον γενέσθαι (80.4, 2–4). The emperor’s presence on campaign, formerly a prerequisite of the Roman tradition of the ideal leader who had also to be a model soldier44, is not among the core elements detailed by Syrianus, who includes it among the πλαστά – short, conventional sketches in which ...πλάττων ὁ στρατηγὸς λέγοι εἰρηκέναι πρὸς τὸν βασιλέα ὑπὲρ τοῦ λαοῦ... εἴ τις ἐκ βασιλέως πλάττει πρὸς τὸν στρατηγὸν γράμματα προτρεπόμενα αὐτοὺς εἰς τὸν προκείμενον πόλεμον (XIX f.). The πλαστόν in question notes ...καὶ γὰρ διὰ τὸν πόθον ὑμῶν φιλῶ καὶ αὐτὸς στρατιώτης καλεῖσθαι, ἵν’ ὑμῖν συστρατιώτης κληθῶ (ΧΧΙΙ 4)45. Towards the end of Harangue I, the Porphyrogennetos returns to the issue of his fighting with the army on the battlefield; departing considerably from his paradigm, he describes a new and highly specific framework and stresses that he would prefer ...ἐνδῦναι θώρακα καὶ τὴν περικεφαλαίαν ἐπιθεῖναι τῇ κεφαλῇ, καὶ δόρυ διασεῖσαι τῇ δεξιᾷ καὶ σάλπιγγος ἀκοῦσαι συγκαλούσης πρὸς τὸν ἀγῶνα (scil. to be the soldier in the passage from Syrianus quoted above), than διάδημα καὶ πορφύραν περιβαλέσθαι...καὶ βασιλικῶν ἀκοῦσαι ἐπευφημιῶν46. However, because this does not appear to be possible at that moment in time, he asks his officers to swear to show him ...καθὼς ἕκαστος ἀρετῆς ἔχει καὶ προθυμίας47 in order to receive their due reward48. There are two strange elements here: the concept of the oath, which only very rarely appears in strategika or related texts, and that of the reward. Much has already been written about the oath – whose swearing clearly transcends the norm and which has, moreover, been condemned by the Church –, and I do not intend to return to it, though it is obviously requested as a sign of devotion to the throne and the Macedonian dynasty49. It should be noted that the Syrianus, at least in the version that has come down to us, makes no mention of rewarding the army after the fighting, save in one clearly passing reference to the emperor declaring to his general that ...ἂν... ὁ ὑπὸ σοὶ στρατὸς διὰ τῶν ἔργων δείξῃ τὴν πρόθεσιν, καὶ ἡμεῖς τὰ εἰς αὐτοὺς μεγαλοπρεπῶς δείξομεν (ΧΧ 4)50. However, the Porphyrogennetos is clearly adopting the advice of Leo the Wise at this point, who refers specifically to the rewarding of troops after a battle in his Taktika: ...τίμησον αὐτοὺς δωρεαῖς καὶ τιμαῖς ταῖς ἑκάστῳ πρεπούσαις”51. Constantine VII ends Harangue I with a passage in which he clearly departs from the model and breaks new ground in promising never to be absent from a military operation again: ...οὐθ’ ὑμᾶς, οὔτε τινὰς ἄλλους For a brief account see Kolia-Dermitzaki, Ο βυζαντινός ‘ιερός πόλεμος’ 243 n. 69; McGeer, Two Military Orations 123. Constantine Porphyrogennetos, Harangue II, 81 V 7–22 (Vári). 41 Constantine Porphyrogennetos, Harangue II VI, 82 VI 1f. (Vári). 42 Constantine Porphyrogennetos, Harangue II, 79 II 2–5 (Vári). Cf. Mazzucchi, Dagli anni di Basilio Parakimomenos 301. The selection of the most battle-ready troops is also discussed in Leo VI; see Dagron, Byzance et le modèle islamique 233–234. 43 See the comments by Ahrweiler, Discours inédit 402. 44 On the Byzantine emperor’s participation in the campaign, see A. Markopoulos, Constantine the Great in Macedonian Historio­ graphy: Models and Approaches, in: New Constantines, ed. P. Magdalino. Aldershot 1994, 159–170, esp. 165 ( = A. Markopoulos, History and Literature of Byzantium in the 9th–10th Centuries XV). 45 On the term, see Stouraitis, Krieg und Frieden 313–314. 46 Constantine Porphyrogennetos, Harangue I, 399, 73–76 (Ahrweiler). 47 Constantine Porphyrogennetos, Harangue I,399, 84–85 (Ahrweiler). 48 Constantine Porphyrogennetos, Harangue I, 399, 93 (Ahrweiler): ...ἄξιον ἀπολαβεῖν τὸν μισθόν. 49 Ahrweiler, Discours inédit 403; N.-C. Koutrakou, La propagande impériale byzantine. Persuasion et réaction (VIIIe–Xe siècles). Athens 1994, 352–353; Koutouvalas, Οι αποδιδόμενες στον Κωνσταντίνο Ζ΄ Πορφυρογέννητο δημηγορίες 55–56. 50 Cf. also Karaple, Κατευόδωσις στρατού 332–351, though here the imperial reward is mixed up with everything of divine origin offered to the troops. 51 Dennis, The Taktika of Leo VI 16, 3. I cannot agree with Dagron’s views on Leo VI’s study of Syrianus (Byzance et le modèle islamique 227 and n. 35).

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μάρτυρας τῶν τοιούτων, ἀλλὰ τοὺς ἡμετέρους μόνους ὀφθαλμοὺς ἕξομεν, καὶ αὐτοὶ παρόντες, αὐτοὶ τὴν ἑκάστου βλέποντες ἀρετήν, αὐτοὶ καὶ τὰ βραβεῖα τοῖς ἀγωνιζομένοις παρέξομεν52. The emperor’s presence on campaign against the Arabs is also commented on in Harangue II. However, the atmosphere has clearly changed a good deal since Harangue Ι was written; as noted above, the victorious campaigns fought by the Byzantine army in 958 have raised the morale of the army and its commanders and this is reflected in the text53. It is indicative that in his speech, Constantine VII stresses his intention – and does so using the rhetorical devices of alliteratio and homoioteleuton – to participate, along with the heir to the throne, his son Romanus, in the upcoming campaign as a συνιππότης, συνοπλίτης and συστρατιώτης54. I would say, by way of a first, partial conclusion, that the Porphyrogennetos carefully structured both speeches, following Syrianus – though not slavishly – and focusing on certain points: the soldiers’ bravery, the justice (δίκαιον) and legitimacy (νόμιμον) of the war against the Arabs, the calibre of the Byzantine officers and men, and the rewards they will receive from the emperor himself in the event of a victory being won. However, the religious element clearly transcends all the rest, making its way into both texts – but especially into Harangue II55 – imbuing the Byzantine soldier with an unassailable sense of superiority which the author cultivates with delicacy and assiduity. 2. Religious Underpinnings

and

Sacred Texts

The religious element – which, as is well known, was systematically cultivated in the Byzantine army in line with a highly specific ritual56 – will undoubtedly be the common denominator in any reading attempted here of the harangues in question. The soldiers would thus prepare themselves in a special way before battle in a manner prescribed in detail in the strategika57; moreover, according to the Taktika of Leo the Wise, the heralds were obliged to impress upon to the soldiers that they would be fighting ...ὑπὲρ τῶν ἀδελφῶν τῶν ὁμοπίστων, εἰ τύχοι, καὶ ὑπὲρ γυναικῶν καὶ τέκνων καὶ πατρίδος...ὑπὲρ τῆς τῶν ἀδελφῶν ἐλευθερίας καὶ ὅτι κατὰ τῶν τοῦ Θεοῦ ἐχθρῶν ὁ τοσοῦτος ἀγών58. However, Constantine VII did not write a taktikon like his father Leo, choosing instead harangues, whose composition was governed by rules diametrically opposed to those of the taktikon. A return to the model for the harangues confirms that Syrianus affords great significance to the cultivating of religious sentiment among the troops; part X of his work, which is fittingly entitled Ἀπὸ τοῦ ζήλου τῆς πίστεως, stresses that: Οἱ πολεμοῦντες ἡμῖν βάρβαροι διὰ τὴν πίστιν ἡμῖν πολεμοῦσιν· εἰ γὰρ ὁμόπιστοι ἐκείνοις ἦμεν, οὐκ ἂν ὑπ’ ἐκείνων ἐπολεμούμεθα. And, later, that ...ὁ Χριστὸς ὑπὲρ ἡμῶν τὴν πλευρὰν τέτρωται, καὶ ἡμεῖς δι’ ἐκεῖνον οὐ τὰς πληγὰς καρτερήσομεν; (Χ 1). Elsewhere, in the section commenting on the πλαστά59, Syrianus notes that the war against the enemies of the Empire should not be endlessly postponed, and that the Empire’s soldiers fight ...εἰς δόξαν Θεοῦ, εἰς καύχημα βασιλέως, εἰς σωτηρίαν τῶν ὁμοφύλων (ΧΧ 3). As a consequence, the concept of Christian faith, combined with devotion to the emperor and defending the lives of the Empire’s subjects, are the factors that distinguish the Byzantine soldier from his adversary on Constantine Porphyrogennetos, Harangue I, 399, 94–96. See above p. 48–49, 50–51. 54 Constantine Porphyrogennetos, Harangue II, 81 V 2–3 (Vári). The Porphyrogennetos sought persistenly and from early on to promote Romanus; by way of illustration, see Proem of DAI, 31–45 (ed. Gy. Moravcsik – R. J. H. Jenkins, Constantine Porphyrogenitus, De Administrando Imperio [CFHB 1]. Dumbarton Oaks 1967, 46) as well as the first inscription on the celebrated staurothek of Limburg, where it is written: Θεὸς μὲν ἐξέτεινε χεῖρας ἐν ξύλῳ//ζωῆς δι’ αὐτοῦ τὰς ἐνεργείας βρύων·// Κωνσταντῖνος δὲ καὶ Ῥωμανὸς δεσπόται // λίθων διαυγῶν συνθέσει καὶ μαργάρων//ἔδειξαν αὐτὸ θαύματος πεπλησμένον... (Koder, Ο Κωνσταντίνος Πορφυρογέννητος και η σταυροθήκη του Λίμπουργκ 171); see also Boura, Ο Βασίλειος Λεκαπηνός παραγγελιοδότης έργων τέχνης 416–419 as well as Ševčenko, The Limburg Staurothek 289. On the staurothek of Limburg, see also below p. 54–55f. 55 Kolia-Dermitzaki, Ο βυζαντινός ‘ιερός πόλεμος’ 244; McGeer, Two Military Orations 123 ff.; Koutouvalas, Οι αποδιδόμενες στον Κωνσταντίνο Ζ΄ Πορφυρογέννητο δημηγορίες 72. See also below pp. 53–54. 56 Dagron, Byzance et le modèle islamique 225ff.; Karaple, Κατευόδωσις στρατού 50ff. 57 See e.g. Dennis, The Taktika of Leo VI, 14, 1; E. McGeer, Sowing the Dragon’s Teeth: Byzantine Warfare in the Tenth Century. Washington D.C. 1995, 58 (= Presentation and Composition on Warfare of the Emperor Nikephoros, VI, 33–48), 140 ( = The Taktika of Nikephoros Ouranos [chapters 56 through 65], 62, 111–127). See also M. McCormick, Eternal Victory. Cambridge – Paris 1986, 249–250 and passim. 58 Dennis, The Taktika of Leo VI 12, 57. For a detailed account, see Dagron, Byzance et le modèle islamique 225–226; Koutrakou, Propagande impériale 371ff. and Stouraitis, Krieg und Frieden 314ff. 59 See above p. 51.

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the field of battle, and which mobilize him in the struggle against the adherents of other faiths, and Muslims in particular60. Two more sections in Syrianus’ work, the eloquently titled Ἀπὸ τῆς πατρίδος (ΧΙ) and Ἀπὸ τῆς πρὸς τοὺς ὁμοφύλους ἀγάπης (ΧΙΙ), complement his prescriptions on faith and religiosity (scil. Ἀπὸ τοῦ ζήλου τῆς πίστεως). The above amply testifies to the importance Syrianus ascribes to preparing the army in religious terms prior to battle. Consequently, the Porphyrogennetos, who was familiar with Syrianus as well as the older strategic texts, was not breaking new ground in ascribing a fundamental role to the religious underpinnings of his harangues. On the other hand, the comparative study of the two harangues made it clear that the emperor had no qualms about outstripping his model in pointedly stressing the issue of religion to bolster his troops’ morale. Indicatively, in Harangue I, Jesus Christ is ...βοηθός...μόνος καὶ δυνατὸς ἐν πολέμοις...ὃς συντρίβει τόξα...καὶ ὀφθαλμοὺς ὑπερηφάνων ταπεινοῖ, and the troops look to Him for victory in battle61. I should also like to include three quotes from Harangue II, in which, as has rightly been noted62, the elevated religious tone far surpasses Syrianus’ guidelines: Constantine VII informs his soldiers that he has entreated the monks who are ...ἐν ὄρεσι καὶ σπηλαίοις καὶ ταῖς ὀπαῖς τῆς γῆς to pray for them, and commanded the priests and monks in the churches and monasteries of Constantinople to do the same63. However, he goes further still when he says that he will kiss the bodies of his soldiers wounded διὰ Χριστὸν as he would the sacred relics of martyrs64, referring to the perception, widespread at the time, that men who fell in battle against unbelievers should be considered martyrs to their faith65, while he also took care to have the army blessed with holy water hallowed with the numerous sacred relics now kept in Constantinople and despatched to them66. While the religious subtext of the two harangues is made immediately clear by their appeals to God and their extensive references, a second reading of the works leads us to conclude that the texts of Constantine VII, and Harangue II in particular, are primarily imbued and informed by the Old Testament, and only secondarily by the New Testament and the texts of the Church Fathers67. The scholarly research has noted some of these debts, but has yet to proceed with a more profound analysis68. In my personal opinion, the extensive use of the Old Testament in particular was deliberate, and intended to put both the harangues and their author in a purely biblical ideological context. It is clearly no accident that the vast majority of these references relate to the army’s morale, which has to be kept high by its leader, on whom the speeches’ narrative gradually imparts the prestige of the leader in whom Christian faith is combined with the strength required to lead the army – even if indirectly and from afar – on the battlefield. But the supreme leader who protects the army with His presence and His guidance is none other than Christ himself, and it is fascinating that the Porphyrogennetos attributed to Jesus characteristics which He clearly did not have: those of the punisher. The fol See H. Ahrweiler, L’idéologie politique de l’empire byzantin. Paris 1975, 35–36, who points out, quite correctly, that in Byzantium patriotism and faith in Orthodoxy came together; see also Syrianus XXXVI 7ff. 61 Constantine Porphyrogennetos, Harangue I, 398, 34–40 (Ahrweiler). See below pp. 54. 62 See above p. 50. 63 Constantine Porphyrogennetos, Harangue II, 80 III 13–18 (Vári). The Porphyrogennetos’ appeal to the monks is confirmed in two letters written by Symeon Logothete during roughly the same period; see Kolia-Dermitzaki, Ο βυζαντινός ‘ιερός πόλεμος’ 247–248; McGeer, Two Military Orations 124 and n. 59; Koutouvalas, Οι αποδιδόμενες στον Κωνσταντίνο Ζ΄ Πορφυρογέννητο δημηγορίες 62. 64 Constantine Porphyrogennetos, Harangue II, 82–83 VIII 17–18 (Vári). McGeer (Two Military Orations 124 and n. 84) links the Porphyrogennetos to Constantine the Great at this point, rightly so in my opinion. See below p. 55f. 65 On the extended discussion to which this important issue has given rise, see the detailed account in Kolia-Dermitzaki, Ο βυζαντινός ‘ιερός πόλεμος’ 130–141, 251ff. and passim, with full bibliography on the subject; cf. recently Stouraitis, Krieg und Frieden 338–339, 342ff., 374 and passim; Karaple, Κατευόδωσις στρατού 341ff. 66 Constantine Porphyrogennetos, Harangue II, 82 VIII 24–31) (Vári). Cf. Mazzucchi, Dagli anni di Basilio Parakimomenos 301 and n. 103. On the collection of holy relics in Constantinople, generally at the behest of the Porphyrogennetos himself, see below p. 55 and n. 85. 67 On the Church Fathers, in particular, see Koutouvalas, Οι αποδιδόμενες στον Κωνσταντίνο Ζ΄ Πορφυρογέννητο δημηγορίες 48ff., 50ff., 60ff., 63ff., 66ff., 70. 68 Ahrweiler, Discours inédit 398; Kolia-Dermitzaki, Ο βυζαντινός ‘ιερός πόλεμος’ 246; McGeer, Two Military Orations 118, 128, 133–134; Koutouvalas, Οι αποδιδόμενες στον Κωνσταντίνο Ζ΄ Πορφυρογέννητο δημηγορίες 48 ff., 59 ff. It should, however, be pointed out that Ahrweiler, Idéologie politique 51, uses the term référence biblique to denote the Church’s cultivation of the concept of the Byzantines as God’s chosen people.

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lowing examples are purely indicative: from Harangue I, the army, being the περιούσιος λαός of Christ, becomes the shield which protects the state against the unbelievers69, and Jesus is ...κραταιός, μόνος καὶ δυνατὸς ἐν πολέμοις70 and his knife ...παροξύνεται κατὰ τὴν ἀστραπὴν71, while Christ Himself destroys the enemy’s arms and razes walled cities to the ground72, teaches all those who place their hopes in Him that their hands are ready to wage war73 and ...τίθησι δὲ τόξον χαλκοῦν τοὺς βραχίονας, δίδωσι δὲ αὐτοῖς ὑπερασπισμὸν σωτηρίας74. The Byzantine leader mediates between God and his soldiers, as we have seen, so the latter can fight their adversaries without fear75. Harangue II displays the same mindset, though on a considerably larger scale and from a different viewpoint, since Jesus, the conquering commander-in-chief, is absent: the λαός is θεοσύλλεκτος76 as well as σχοίνισμα κληρονομίας κυρίου τὸ κράτιστον77, which directly references the Old Testament78. The second harangue differs from the first, too, in directly referencing its sources, as in passage 78.1,16-18 = John 3:16, in which the author, taking his cue from the Gospels which he has just quoted (οὕτως γὰρ ἠγάπησεν ὁ Θεὸς τὸν κόσμον, ὥστε τὸν υἱὸν αὐτοῦ τὸν μονογενῆ δέδωκεν εἰς θάνατον) proceeds to construct an image by which he identifies himself with his troops as flesh and bone; the same is true of another passage in the text which references the Psalms79. The image of God the Punisher, familiar from Harangue I80, returns at the end of Harangue II where Constantine VII combines a host of quotations from the Old Testament, primarily from the Psalms: ...ὁ περιζωννύων ῥομφαίαν τοῖς δυνατοῖς ἐν πολέμῳ, ὁ ὑπερηφάνως ἀντιτασσόμενος, ταπεινῶν δὲ ἁμαρτωλοὺς ἕως γῆς, ὁ διδάσκων χεῖρας εἰς πόλεμον...καὶ λεπτύνων αὐτοὺς ὡσεὶ χνοῦν κατὰ πρόσωπον ἀνέμου81. Special mention must be made, too, of an indirect biblical reference made, with slightly amendments, in both harangues; thus, in Harangue I, the Porphyrogennetos calls his soldiers’ attention to the fact that they have roundly defeated Chamda’s forces and ...κατὰ τοὺς πρόπαλαι Αἰγυπτίους, ὕδατι παρεδώκατε82, while in Harangue II, Jesus is praised for sending Pharaoh’s army to the bottom of the sea and saving a λαὸν ταπεινόν83. It would seem indubitable that both passages are references to Exod. 14:15ff., i.e. to the flight of the Hebrews, led by Moses, across the Red Sea, and to the fate that consequently befell Pharaoh’s army. 3. Harangues, Imperial Ideology

and

Models

Taking everything we have noted about the two harangues into account, we could argue that they are the products of a specific plan which took shape over time. They have obvious points in common: similarly sectioned, both employ Syrianus as their model, and both seek to gird the soldiers prior to battle with direct references to earlier victories over the Arabs, to whom the Byzantine soldiers are rendered superior by their Christian faith. Drawing primarily on the Old Testament, the Porphyrogennetos far exceeds his model, revealing that he commands the army as the supreme victorious leader on earth – in Harangue II, in particular – whom the Lord protects with His munificence and transforms into a scourge of the unbelievers. The emperor, God’s chosen one, carefully bolsters this image and the elements of which it consists and on which it See above p. 50. Constantine Porphyrogennetos, Harangue I, 398 35 (Ahrweiler) = Ps. 23:8. 71 Ibid. 398 35–36 (Ahrweiler) = Deut. 32:41. 72 Ibid. 398 37 (Ahrweiler) = Ps. 75:4 and Is. 25:2. 73 Ibid. 398 38–39 (Ahrweiler) = Ps. 17:35. 74 Ibid. 398 38–40 (Ahrweiler) = Ps.17:35–36. 75 See above pp. 49–50. 76 See above p. 50. 77 Constantine Porphyrogennetos, Harangue II, 78 I 67 (Vári). 78 Deut. 32:9; Ps. 104:11 79 Constantine Porphyrogennetos, Harangue II, 79 I 28–31 (Vári) = Ps. 15:9. 80 See above pp. 50–51. 81 Constantine Porphyrogennetos, Harangue II, 83 VIII 42–50 (Vári) = Ps. 44:4; Prov. 3:34; Ps. 17:33; 17:35; 17:42. On the quotations, see McGeer, Two Military Orations 134 and n. 100–108 as well as Koutouvalas, Οι αποδιδόμενες στον Κωνσταντίνο Ζ΄ Πορφυρογέννητο δημηγορίες 70. 82 Constantine Porphyrogennetos, Harangue I, 398 42–43 (Ahrweiler). Mazzucchi (Dagli anni di Basilio Parakimomenos 298 and n. 95) dates Harangue I to 950 on the basis of this reference, noting that the final ‘act’ of the Byzantine campaign against the Arabs unfolded on the banks of Lake al-Hadat; see above pp. 48–49. 83 Constantine Porphyrogennetos, Harangue II, 83 VIII 40–41 (Vári).

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55

is based. His assembling of a large number of sacred relics in Constantinople for example84 for use inter alia on campaign – as was most likely the case with the staurothek of Limburg85 – and for hallowing the holy water he dispatches to his soldiers in the field86 is clearly intended to enhance his image as a modern leader – exemplum to the army, the chief addressee of his orations, but also to his subjects in general87. Following in the footsteps of Constantine the Great, the Porphyrogennetos also deliberately parallels himself in both harangues with his soldiers, who are both martyrs and heroes. If Constantine VII presents himself as an exemplum, which is virtually self-evident since the phenomenon of Constantinism was cultivated with singular zeal during the period in which he ruled the empire alone88, Constantine the Great is clearly the ultimate exemplum of the two orations: it was to this leader that the emperors of Byzantium looked, since it was in him that all the features of the image of the ideal Christian princeps – and the ideal Roman soldier – came together89. Judging from the numerous lives written in his honour, Constantine would be transformed during this period into a near legendary, saintly figure90. Finally, were one to seek the ideal typos projected by the two harangues, this would clearly derive from the Old Testament in line with the extant ritual91, and could be none other than Moses. If will be recalled that it was Eusebius who first drew parallels between Constantine and Moses in his Vita Constantini: both distanced themselves from the ruling dynasty (Pharaoh, Diocletian), Moses led his people to the Red Sea and Constantine allowed them to freely perform their religion obligations and, finally, Pharaoh’s army was lost following divine intervention in the Red Sea, while the forces of Max Ibid., 83 VIII 23–28. The working hypothesis proposed by Ševčenko (The Limburg Staurothek 292–294) is most probably correct. It is known that the Porphyrogennetos assigned great importance to the issue, considering the possession of sacred relics to confer enormous prestige on both himself and his dynasty by linking them to God, Who clearly smiles on such activities. Moreover, the linking of the Macedonian dynasty with the divine would form a key element of the Constantinism which was being most cultivated assiduously at this time. On this important issue, see esp. I. Kalavrezou, Helping Hands for the Empire: Imperial Ceremonies and the Cult of Relics at the Byzantine Court, in: Byzantine Court Culture from 829 to 1204, ed. H. Maguire. Dumbarton Oaks 1997, 53–79, with a full bibliography on the subject. See also B. Flusin, Le Panégyrique de Constantin VII Porphyrogénète pour la translation des reliques de Grégoire le Théologien (BHG 728). REB 57 (1999) 5–97; Idem, Les reliques de la Sainte-Chapelle et leur passé impérial à Constantinople, in: Le trésor de la Sainte-Chapelle. Paris 2001, 20–31, esp. 26–27; M. Guscin, The Image of Edessa. Leiden – Boston 2009 (a somewhat problematic study); Karaple, Κατευόδωσις στρατού 102ff. From the older bibliography, see Kolia-Dermitzaki, Ο βυζαντινός ‘ιερός πόλεμος’ 275–285; N. Oikonomides, The Concept of ‘Holy War’ and Two Tenth-century Byzantine Ivories, in: Peace and War in Byzantium, ed. T. S. Miller – J. Nesbitt. Washington, D. C. 1995, 62–86 and Markopoulos, Constantine the Great 165–166, 168. I have included the extract that follows from the speech delivered by Constantine VII to mark the removal of the relics of Gregory of Nazianzos to Constantinople, since it reveals the Porphyrogennetos’ great interest in transferring sacred relics to the Byzantine capital, as well as his association with Constantine the Great: ...Ἄρτι δὲ τῶν Ῥωμαϊκῶν σκήπτρων ὑπὸ βασιλεῖ πιστῷ καὶ θεοσεβεῖ καὶ τοῦ πρώτου βασιλεύσαντος ὁμωνύμῳ καὶ ὁμοζήλῳ καὶ πλεῖστον ὅσον τὸν ἄνδρα τιμῶντι καθισταμένων, πολλήν τε περὶ τοὺς αὐτοῦ λόγους μελέτην καὶ φιλοπονίαν ἐπιδεικνυμένῳ καὶ θαυμάζοντι...διανίσταται πρὸς τὴν ζήτησιν καὶ τὸ βούλευμα ἱεροῖς καὶ τὰ θεῖα πεπαιδευμένοις ἀνδράσιν ἀνατίθησιν...πείθεται ταῖς ἀγαθαῖς αὐτῶν εἰσηγήσεσι καὶ τρόπον ἕτερον τῷ μεγάλῳ συναμιλλᾶται Προδρόμῳ, ἑτοιμαστὴς καὶ οὗτος τῶν τρίβων τοῦ μεγάλου θεολόγου καὶ ἀρχιποιμένος γενόμενος, ὡς ἐκεῖνός ποτε τοῦ πρὸς ἡμᾶς διὰ σαρκὸς ἐνδημήσαντος Ἰησοῦ... (Flusin, Le Panégyrique de Constantin VII Porphyrogénète 55, 246–261). 86 See above p. 53f. 87 On the terms exemplum and typos, which will be discussed directly, see very recently Cl. Rapp, Old Testament Models for Emperors in Early Byzantium, in: The Old Testament in Byzantium, ed. P. Magdalino – R. Nelson. Dumbarton Oaks 2010, 175–197, esp. 177–182. 88 Markopoulos, Constantine the Great 162ff.; G. Dagron, Empereur et prêtre. Paris 1996, 206–210. 89 Cf. T. R. Van Dam, The Roman Revolution of Constantine. Cambridge 2007, 329; also Markopoulos, Constantine the Great 164ff. 90 See F. Winkelmann, Das hagiographische Bild Konstantins I. in mittelbyzantinischer Zeit, in: Beiträge zur byzantinischen Geschichte im 9.–11. Jahrhundert, ed. V. Vavřínek. Prague 1978, 179–203, esp. 181f; A. P. Kazhdan, ‘Constantin imaginaire’. Byzantine Legends of the Ninth Century about Constantine the Great. Byz 57 (1987) 196–250; S. N. C. Lieu, From History to Legend and Legend to History. The Medieval and Byzantine Transformation of Constantine’s Vita, in: Constantine. History, Historiography and Legend, ed. S. N. C. Lieu – D. Monserrat. London – New York 1998, 136–176; Idem, Constantine in Legendary Literature, in: The Cambridge Companion to the Age of Constantine, ed. N. Lenski. Cambridge 2006, 298–321. Cf. also the classic paper by A. Linder, The Myth of Constantine the Great in the West: Sources and Hagiographic Commemoration. Studi Medievali 16 (1975) 43–95 and recently A. Panagopoulou, Ο Μέγας Κωνσταντίνος και ο μύθος του: σύμβολο και πηγή εξουσίας σε Βυζάντιο και Δύση το 10ο αιώνα. Peri Istorias 5 (2007) 35–58, which unfortunately adds little to the debate. 91 Rapp, Old Testament Models 179–180.

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entius met an equivalent fate at the Bridge of Mulvia (312)92. It will be recalled that both of the Porphyrogennetos’ harangues expressly reference the destruction of Pharaoh’s forces, which could hardly be put down to chance, given the comparisons drawn between the Porphyrogennetos, Constantine the Great and Moses93. To sum up, Constantine VII Porphyrogennetos’ harangues are more than “...two speeches...of greater historical interest than has usually been supposed”, the phrase with which McGeer brings his memorable study to a close94. Texts of singular literary and, above all, ideological interest, they represent another, and clearly fascinating, side of the Porphyrogennetos’ activities: that of the military leader and emperor chosen by God95. We are clearly observing the process which transferred Constantine the Great, step by step, from the fourth to the tenth century.

Ibid. 182–183. Cf. also N. Staubach, In hoc signo vinces. Wundererklärung und Wunderkritik im vormodernen Wissensdiskus. Frühmittelalterliche Studien 43 (2009) 1–52. 93 See Dagron, Empereur et prêtre 114, 125–127, 234, who underscores Photios’ great interest in Moses; see also above p. 54. 94 McGeer, Two Military Orations 134. 95 “Religiöse Rhetorik” is the term used for text on this sort by Stouraitis, Krieg und Frieden 314.

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Stergios Laitsos

War and Nation-building in Widukind of Corvey’s Deeds of the Saxons Military conflicts constituted a central function of early medieval rulership and, correspondingly, of the historiographical tradition. War and violence in the Middle Ages have been the subject of various studies, which are above all devoted to warfare and to the army1. War in the Middle Ages (as in any period), according to Malte Priezel, is to be viewed as a component of culture; that is, as a component of a conception within which facts are evaluated, arranged and put together into a whole2. Viewed in this way, I shall attempt in my small study to analyze the role of war and nation-building3 in Widukind of Corvey’s Deeds of the Saxons4. Of course the not-to-be-overlooked factuality of portrayals of violence and war for the entire period from the ninth to the tenth century cannot and will not here be examined. In the following pages I will treat episodically aspects or correlations of the text with regard to the above-mentioned question. Such an examination of the military and violent events allows a contribution to an analysis of Widukind’s depictions and traditions of war. On the one hand they are entwined with the collective memory5 of the Saxons; on the other hand they









On which see the following further secondary literature: Ph. Contamine, La Guerre au Moyen Âge. Paris 1980; F. Prinz, Clero e guerra nellʼ alto medioevo. Torino 1991; P. Moro, ‘Quam horrida pugna’. Elementi per uno studio della guerra nellʼ alto Medioevo italiano (secoli VI–X). Venezia 1994; J. Keegan, Die Kultur des Krieges. Hamburg 1995; N. Ohler, Krieg und Frieden im Mittelater. München 1997; G. Althoff, Schranken der Gewalt. Wie gewalttätig war das ‘finstere‘ Mittelalter?, in: Der Krieg im Mittelalter und in der Frühen Neuzeit. Gründe, Begründungen, Bilder, Bräuche, Recht, ed. H. Brunner. Wiesbaden 1999, 1–23; L.-A. Berto, La guerra e la violenza nella Istoria Veneticorum di Giovanni Diacono. Studi Veneziani 42 (2001) 15–41; H.-H. Kortüm, Der Krieg im Mittelalter als Gegenstand der Historischen Kulturwissenschaften. Versuch einer Annäherung, in: Krieg im Mittelalter, ed. H.-H. Kortüm. Berlin 2001, 13–43; G. Halsall, Warfare and Society in the Barbarian West, 450–900. London u. a. 2003; H. Nicholson, Medieval Warfare. Theory and Practice of War in Europe 300–1500. New York 2004. For a report on war in German medieval studies: M. Clauss, Kriegsniederlagen im Mittelalter. Darstellung – Deutung – Bewältigung (Krieg in der Geschichte 54). Paderborn et al. 2010, 16–18; M. Clauss – Ch. Grieb, ‘FSK-Freigabe’ für das Mittelalter? Gewalt und Krieg in der geschichtlichen Wahrnehmung der Epoche, in: Das Mittelalter zwischen Vorstellung und Wirklichkeit: Probleme, Perspektiven und Anstöße für die Unterrichtspraxis, ed. Th.-M. Buck – N. Brauch. Münster et al. 2011, 141–155. 2 M. Prietzel, Kriegführung im Mittelalter. Handlungen, Erinnerungen, Bedeutungen (Krieg in der Geschichte 32). Paderborn et al. 2006, 7; Idem., Mittelalterliche Kriegsgeschichte als Kulturgeschichte. Militär und Gesellschaft in der Frühen Neuzeit 6/2 (2002) 156–161. 3 On nation-building in the Middle Ages: Aspekte der Nationenbildung im Mittelalter (Nationes 1), ed. H. Beumann – W. Schröder. Sigmaringen 1978; J. Ehlers, Elemente mittelalterlicher Nationsbildung in Frankreich (10.–13. Jhdt.). Historische Zeitschrift 231 (1980) 565–587; H. Beumann, Zur Nationenbildung im Mittelalter, in: Nationalismus in vorindustrieller Zeit, ed. O. Dann. München 1986, 21–33; E. Hlawitschka, Vom Frankenreich zur Formierung der abendländischen Staaten- und Völkergemeinschaft 840–1046. Darmstadt 1986; J. Ehlers, Die deutsche Nation des Mittelalters als Gegenstand der Forschung, in: Ansätze und Diskontinuität deutscher Nationsbildung im Mittelalter (Nationes 8), ed. H. Beumann – W. Schröder. Sigmaringen 1989; C. Brühl, Deutschland und Frankreich. Die Geburt zweier Völker. Köln u. a. 1990; J. Ehlers, Was sind und wie bilden sich nationes im mittelalterlichen Europa (10.–15. Jahrhundert)? Begriff und allgemeine Konturen, in: Mittelaterliche nationes – neuzeitliche Nationen. Probleme der Nationenbildung in Europa, ed. A. Bues – R. Rexheuser. Wiesbaden 1995, 7–26; B. Schneidmüller, Reich – Volk – Nation: Die Entstehung des Deutschen Reiches und der deutschen Nation im Mittelalter, in: Mittelaterliche nationes, ed. A. Bues – R. Rexheuser. Wiesbaden 1995, 73–102; M. Becher, Rex, Dux und Gens. Husum 1996; C. Brühl – B. Schneidmüller ed., Beiträge zur mittelalterlichen Reichs- und Nationsbildung in Deutschland und Frankreich (Historische Zeitschrift, NF, Beihefte 24). München 1997; R. Averkorn, The Process of Nationbuilding in Medieval Germany. A Brief Overview, in: Before and Beyond the Nation-State. Nations and Nationalities in Historical Perspective, ed. A.–K. Isaacs. Pisa 2001, 177–198. 4 Cf. the following editions of the text: Widukind von Corvey, Res gestae Saxonicae, in: MGH, Scriptores rerum Germanicarum in usum scholarum, Bd. 60, ed. H. E. Lohrmann – P. Hirsch. Hannover 51935; Widukind von Corvey, res gestae Saxonicae / Die Sachsengeschichte, ed. E. Rotter – B. Schneidmüller. Stuttgart 2006 (hereafter: Widukind). 5 Such an inquiry takes into account above all: Th. Scharff, Die Kämpfe der Herrscher und der Heiligen. Krieg und historische Erinnerung in der Karolingerzeit. Darmstadt 2002. Remarks on this also in: G. Althoff, Beobachtungen zum liudolfingisch-ottonischen Gedenkwesen, in: Memoria. Der geschichtliche Zeugniswert des liturgischen Gedenkens im Mittelalter (Münstersche Mittelalter-Schriften 48), ed. K. Schmid – J. Wollasch. München 1984, 649–665; Idem., Das argumentative Gedächtnis. Anklage1

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evidence the complex process of the creation of a collective Saxon identity6. In this light, that is within the depiction of war in the Deeds of the Saxons, the contemporaneous interpretation of Ottonian kingship and the beginnings of the Ottonian Empire in the past is detectable. At the same time it follows that it is the Ottonian perception of Saxon identity7 which influences the composition of Widukind’s depiction of war. 1. The “Deeds of

the

Saxons” and

their

Author

Little is known concerning Widukind8 (* around 925, † after 973), the historian and monk of Corvey9. The author of the Deeds of the Saxons came from the Saxon upper nobility. Around 941/2 he entered the Benedictine monastery of Corvey. Here he composed numerous hagiographic works, all of which have not survived. Around 967/68 he wrote in the same place his Deeds of the Saxons (Rerum Gestarum Saxonicarum libri tres). In three books the early history of the Saxon people until the death of the Emperor Otto I is depicted. Within the first book the early history until the death of the King Henry I (919–936) is narrated; he describes here the legendary origins of the Saxons, their battles against the Franks as well as the introduction of Christianity among the Saxons. In the second and third books the deeds of Otto I are recounted. At the beginning of each book there is a dedicatory address in the preface to the daughter of Otto I, Matilda, who in 966 became the abbotess of the Benedictine convent of Quedlinburg. Although the Deeds of the Saxons are counted among the most important works of the Middle Ages, they have nonetheless been discussed amid great controversy in the secondary literature10. Bernd Schneidmüller11 opines that “Partien der Sachsengeschichte eben aus der Corveyer Perspektive und aus der Konkurrenz zu anderen geistlichen Zentren gelesen werden müssen” and argues for an understanding of the causa scribendi12 in analyzing the intention of depiction. For Bernd und Rechtfertigungsstrategien in der Historiographie des 10. und 11. Jahrhunderts, in: Inszenierte Herrschaft. Geschichtsschreibung und politisches Handeln im Mittelalter, ed. Idem. Darmstadt 2003, 126–149; H.-W. Goetz, „Konstruktionen der Vergan­ genheit“. Geschichtsbewusstsein und „Fiktionalität“ in der Hochmittelalterlichen Chronistik, dargestellt am Beispiel der Annales Palidenses, in: Von Fakten und Fiktionen. Mittelalterliche Geschichtsdarstellungen und ihre kritische Aufarbeitung, ed. J. Laudage. Köln 2003, 225–257; J. Fried, Der Schleier der Erinnerung. Grundzüge einer historischen Memorik. München 2004. 6 On identity in general: J. Ehlers, Mittelalterliche Voraussetzungen für nationale Identität in der Neuzeit, in: Nationale und kulturelle Identität. Studien zur Entwicklung des kollektiven Bewusstseins in der Neuzeit, ed. B. Giesen. Frankfurt/M. 1991, 77–99; J. Assmann, Das kulturelle Gedächtnis: Schrift, Erneuerung und politische Identität in frühen Hochkulturen. München 1992; W. Pohl, Identität und Widerspruch: Gedanken zu einer Sinngeschichte des Frühmittelalters, in: Die Suche nach den Ursprüngen: von der Bedeutung des frühen Mittelalters (Forschungen zur Geschichte des Mittelalters 8), ed. Idem. Wien 2004, 23–35. 7 Cf. on Saxon identity: W. Eggert, Franken und Sachsen bei Notker, Widukind und anderen. Zu einem Aufsatz von Josef Semmler, in: Historiographie im frühen Mittelalter (VIÖG 32), ed. A. Scharer – G. Scheibelreiter. Wien 1994, 514–530; R. Corradini, Die Annales Fuldenses. Identifikationskonstruktionen im ostfränkischen Raum am Ende der Karolingerzeit, in: Texts and Identities in the Early Middle Ages (Forschungen zur Geschichte des Mittelalters 12), ed. Idem – R. Meens – Ch. Pössel – Ph. Shaw. Wien 2006, 121–136; B. Zeller, Liudolfinger als fränkische Könige? Überlegungen zur sogenannten Continuatio Reginonis, in: Texts and Identities in the Early Middle Ages (Forschungen zur Geschichte des Mittelalters 12), ed. R. Corradini – R. Meens – Ch. Pössel – Ph. Shaw. Wien 2006, 137–152. 8 H. Beumann, Widukind von Corvey, Untersuchungen zur Geschichtsschreibung und Ideengeschichte des 10. Jahrhunderts. Weimar 1950, 212; R. Engel, Widukind von Corvey, in: Weltbild und Realität. Einführung in die mittelalterliche Geschichtsschreibung, ed. U. Knefelkamp. Pfaffenweiler 1992, 85–92; G. Althoff, Widukind von Corvey. Kronzeuge und Herausforderung. Frühmittelalterliche Studien 27 (1993) 253–272; J. Laudage, Widukind von Corvey und die deutsche Geschichtswissenschaft, in: Von Fakten und Fiktionen. Mittelalterliche Geschichtsdarstellungen und ihre kritische Aufarbeitung, ed. J. Laudage. Köln 2003, 193–224. 9 G. Althoff, Der Corveyer Konvent im Kontakt mit weltlichen und geistlichen Herrschaftsträgern des 9. und 10. Jahrhunderts, in: Der Liber vitae der Abtei Corvey. Studien zur Corveyer Gedenküberlieferung und zur Erschließung des Liber vitae, ed. K. Schmid – J. Wollasch. Wiesbaden 1989, 29–38. 10 On methodological questions in view of the accession of Otto I, H. Keller, Ottonische Königsherrschaft. Organisation und Legitimation königlicher Macht. Darmstadt 2002, 94 states: “ ... insgesamt bietet Widukinds Werk im Hinblick auf die durch Schmids Ergebnis aufgeworfenen Fragen Auffälligkeiten und Probleme, die zu einer erneuten Beschäftigung mit seiner Darstellung des ottonischen Königtums zwingen“ and “methodologische Probleme der Widukind-Interpretation“, eingehend 95–130; Laudage, Widukind 195, n. 3. 11 B. Schneidmüller, Widukind von Corvey, Richer von Reims und der Wandel politischen Bewusstseins im 10. Jahrhundert, in: Beiträge zur mittelalterlichen Reichs- und Nationsbildung in Deutschland und Frankreich, ed. C. Brühl – B. Schneidmüller. München 1997, 83–102. 12 G. Althoff, Causa scribendi und Darstellungsabsicht. Die Lebensbeschreibungen der Königin Mathilde und andere Beispiele, in: Litterae Medii Aevi. Festschrift für Johanne Autenrieth zu ihrem 65. Geburtstag, ed. M. Borgolte – H. Spilling. Sigmaringen 1988, 117–133.

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Schneidmüller every evaluation must take into account the cluster of interests, perspectives and objectives of the historiographical work. I follow the above opinion and would like to add to it, that for the analysis of Widukind’s text the causa legendi ought not to be neglected. This, because it is more concerned with the answering of the question as to whether the work achieves its goal, is able to provide the material for an essay on the cultural memory of the gens saxonum and the ruling house of the Ottonians13. 2. Widukind’s Analyses

of

War

The Deeds of the Saxons narrates two centuries’ worth of violent or military events14. I proceed from the supposition that Widukind’s depictions of war15 transmit his complex mindset regarding the perception and function of war, that this mindset was conditioned by the period in which he lived and that it is both competent in its subject-matter and differentiated. There is admittedly no excerpt within the work in which the historian explicitly talks about war. This fact prompted Helmut Beumann to state his denigratory comment, that Widukind’s depictions of war “uns des elementaren Utilitarismus, der in den ersten Kapiteln Krieg und Frieden bestimmte, erinnern […] Die Motive eines (im Sinne Augustinus) bellum justum werden bei Widukind nicht bearbeitet16”. Pace Beumann the hypothesis of Karl Leyser with regard to the text seems much more pragmatic. Leyser opined that war and hostility in the work of Widukind of Corvey are a part of the cycle of life and that they are guided by the hand of God17. In my opinion the evaluation of Beumann can be attributed to a historical anachronism and with regard to the subject of war in the Deeds of the Saxons another approach is needed, which is theoretical and methodological as well as conditioned by the time in which the work appeared. The last of these must be devoted to the question of “War and historical memory18”. At the center of such an examination is the “analysis of the descriptions of war itself”, in order to answer the question of war and cultural memory. An inquiry of this sort allows a treatment of the relationship between war and the epoch, the geographic context, rulership and memory. In summary, war and its depiction in the early medieval tradition/historiography will be viewed as a means which served the legitimation and consolidation of Frankish/Saxon rulership. Widukind of Corvey wrote his work around 968 and revised it shortly before the death of Otto I (973). He described the violence of a two-hundred-year period from his Saxon point of view. The latter can be recognized through the efforts of Widukind to broaden the prevalent Frankish designation of the empire at decisive political acts to regnum francorum19 et saxonum – a modification which is an indication for the shifting of identity20. From this general starting point the depiction of wars and their functions in Widukind of Corvey’s Deeds of the Saxons should be analyzed. In view of the question about a Saxon culture of war Widukind’s complex thought-world must be analyzed within the context of an emergent Saxon collective identify under the sovereignty of the Ottonians in the tenth century. My circumscribed essay is concerned with aspects, which – as already mentioned – treat the issues of war and historical memory. The examination E. Karpf, Herrscherlegitimation und Reichsbegriff in der ottonischen Geschichtsschreibung des 10. Jahrhunderts (Historische Forschungen 10). Stuttgart 1985; J. Fried, Der Weg in die Geschichte. Berlin 1994; H. Beumann, Die Ottonen. Stuttgart et al. 2000; Keller, Königsherrschaft 91–131; G. Althoff, Die Ottonen. Stuttgart et al. 2005. 14 G. Althoff – S. Coué, Pragmatische Geschichtsschreibung und Krisen, I. Zur Funktion von Brunos Buch vom Sachsenkrieg, in: Pragmatische Schriftlichkeit im Mittelalter. Erscheinungsformen und Entwicklungsstufen (Münstersche Mittelalter-Schriften 65), ed. H. Keller – K. Grubmüller – N. Staubach. München 1992, 95–107. 15 Writing War. Medieval Literary Reponses to Warfare, ed. C. Saunders – F. L Saux – N. Thomas. Cambridge 2004; G. Althoff, Reden über den Krieg. Darstellungsformen und Funktionen des Krieges in der Historiographie des Frühmittelalters, in: Gewalt im Mittelalter. Realitäten, Imaginationen, ed. M. Braun – C. Herberichs. München 2005, 65–81; G. Claude, Dire et faire la guerre au Moyen Âge. Le Moyen Age 112/3 (2006) 643–655. 16 Beumann, Widukind 212. 17 K. Leyser, Communication and Power in Medieval Europe. The Carolingian and Ottonian Centuries. London 1994, 30: “…in Widukind of Corvey, bellum and inmicitia are part of the life process itself, divinely guided and therefore all the more unquestioned”. 18 Characteristic of this approach is the work of Thomas Scharff on the depictions of war in the historiography of the Carolingian period: Scharff, Kämpfe 32–52, 91–114. 19 G. Althoff, Das ottonische Reich als regnum Francorum?, in: Deutschland und der Westen Europas im Mittelalter (Vorträge und Forschungen 56) , ed. J. Ehlers. Stuttgart 2002, 235–261. 20 Schneidmüller, Widukind 93.

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of the conception of war (e.g. bellum externum, bella civilia, bellum universale, bellum publicum, bellum inter eminentes viros, pugna, expeditio) will here be viewed with regard to Widukind’s legitimation strategies (e.g. legends and myths or historically-developed ideas: imperium, libertas, patria, pax, gentes christianae vs gentes barbarae) as well as justification strategies (e.g. lack of food and money, contested ruler successions) in this context. Such an analysis allows on the one hand the description of Widukind’s manifold perception of war, and the other hand the clarification of the role and influence of pagan, Frankish-imperial or Roman-Christian traditions in their formation. This enables the classification of the perception of war in the ideological and pragmatic milieu of its emergence as well in Saxon nation-building. The latter is entwined with Widukind’s strategies of memory, on which his construction of the Saxon past21 is dependent. Bernd Schneidmüller summarizes on this point quite appropriately: “Die Nationsbildung, die Entstehung der mittelalterlichen Nationen kann nicht allein aus der Faktengeschichte als gleichsam objektiven Prozess, sondern muss hauptsächlich aus dem Wandel historischen Bewusstseins und aus der Umformung oder dem Neuaufbau politischer Identität begriffen werden”. The construction of the Saxon past by Widukind is the historiographical expression of this transformation. Within the Deeds of the Saxons the fama of the eyewitness, the orallytransmitted22 factuality about the past, the learnedness of the author and contemporaneous identity as well as the metamorphoses of cultural memory all merge with one another23. In the first book of the Deeds of the Saxons Widukind depicts the wars of the Saxon tribes against the Thuringians and Franks. The former take place amid the context of Saxon colonization, the latter amid the expansionist policy of Charlemagne (768–814). One comes to the conclusion from Widukind’s descriptions of war, that the relationship between the Franks and the Saxons – above all between 772 and 804 – was marked by a spiral of violence. In this context it must be mentioned here, that the goal of Saxon military policy was nothing less than pax, i.e. the erecting of a lasting peace24. In the following comments the analysis will embark upon the differentiation of this thought-complex as an expression of the collectively-developing Saxon transformation of identity, which took place from colonization of the eighth century until the tenth century. Widukind legitimizes the Saxon colonization of Thuringia iure belli25. Afterward numerous military events26 take place, which drove along the consolidation of Saxon structures in the settlement zone of the Saxon people. Widukind depicts these violent conflicts at length in his historiographical opus. These events are embedded in the collective memory of the Saxons. The remembrance27 of the wars of the Saxons is to be understood as an identity and legitimation factor. The emergence of a unique identity in the East-Frankish Empire in the tenth century is evidenced in the historiography of the period. The historical past contributed to the identity- and nation-building of the Saxons in the East-Frankish Empire in the tenth century. The rise of the noble Saxon house of the Liudolfings to the imperial throne necessitated a confrontation with the past of the Saxon people. This gap was obvious and thus Widukind’s Deeds of the Saxons was meant to make good the historical deficit of the Saxon people. The close relationship of Widukind with the Ottonian monarchy is clearly confirmed by his historiographical activity28. Thomas Scharff repeatedly underlined the meaning of the relationship between war and early medieval historiography in the context of the historiographical tradition–the oral as well as the written tradition, because it acquired a special role in the process of the for Goetz, Konstruktionen 225–257. G. Althoff, Geschichtsschreibung in einer oralen Gesellschaft. Das Beispiel des 10. Jahrhunderts, in: Ottonische Neuanfänge. Symposion zur Ausstellung ‘Otto der Große, Magdeburg und Europa’, ed. B. Schneidmüller – S. Weinfurter. Mainz 2001, 151– 169. 23 Schneidmüller, Widukind 83–102; M. Becher, Volksbildung und Herzogtum in Sachsen während des 9. und 10. Jahrhunderts. MIÖG 108 (2000) 67–84; Fried, Schleier der Erinnerung; H. Reimitz, The Art of Truth. Historiography and Identity in the Frankish World, in: Texts and Identities in the Early Middle Ages (Forschungen zur Geschichte des Mittelalters 12) , ed. R. Corradini – R. Meens – Ch. Pössel – Ph. Shaw. Wien 2006, 87–104. 24 Beumann, Widukind 210–216; K. J. Leyser, Rule and Conflict in an Early Medieval Society. London 1979; Scharff, Kämpfe 229–285. 25 Widukind, I.6: Et rebus prospere gestis proxima circumcirca loca iure belli obtinent. 26 Cf. on the Saxon colonization: Widukind, I.1–I.14. 27 J. Assman, Mose der Ägypter. Entzifferung einer Gedächtnisspur. Frankfurt/M. 2000. 28 Schneidmüller, Einleitung 4; Historiographie im Frühen Mittelalter, ed. A. Scharer – G. Scheibelreiter. Wien et al. 1994; Vergangenheit und Vergegenwärtigung. Frühes Mittelalter und europäische Erinnerungskultur (Forschungen zur Geschichte des Mittelalters 14), ed. H. Reimitz – B. Zeller. Wien 2009.

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mation of collective memory29. In this context he remarked, that Widukind of Corvey even in the introduction to his Deeds of Saxons refers to his earlier historiographical works and that he compares them to his new historiographical undertaking, where he will describe the deeds of secular rulers. Widukind writes the following: “No one should wonder why, after I announced the triumphs of the soldiers of the highest Lord (summi imperatoris militum triumphos), I now enumerate the deeds of our leaders”30. The choice of words should be interpreted as a play upon the successful and victorious deeds of the Saxon people and their rulers. It is concerning this that the author transmits in connection with the Saxon settlement in Thuringia the origo gentis saxonum, that is his rationalized interpretation of the origins31 and name of the antiqua and nobilis gens32 of the Saxons. Not coincidentally, both themes are connected with the army and martial virtues of the Saxon people. The origin of the Saxon people is detailed by Widukind in the second chapter of the first book of the Deeds of the Saxons. According to Widukind’s narration, Saxon origins are connected with the forces of Alexander the Great, because “the Saxons were the descendants of the Macedonian army”. Widukind wrote: “Opinions in this regard are varied, particularly as some believe that the Saxons stem from the Danes and Northmen, while others however maintain that their origin comes from the Greeks, as I myself in my youth heard someone boast, that the Greeks themselves admit, that the Saxons were the descendants of the Macedonian army that followed Alexander the Great and after his early death was scattered over the entire Earth. In any case there is no doubt, that it is an ancient and noble people”33. The author used Saxon colonization iure belli as an opportunity to explain the meaning of the Saxon name. Thus Widukind in the seventh chapter of the first book answers the question, why they are called Saxons, as follows: “Now at that time long knives were customarily kept among the Saxons, according to [...] tribal custom. [...] With these hidden beneath their clothes [...] they went to their camps and confronted the Thuringians [...] They drew their knives and struck them all down, so that not one of them survived [...] Some also claim, that from this deed they received their name, because ‘knife’ in our language means ‘Saxon’. Thus they were so-called for this reason, because they had cut down such a mass of men”34. In this passage it clearly emerges, that the Saxon name possesses martial potential. This conception of the meaning of the name is no coincidence; it contains the timeless value of the bellicose and military virtues of the Saxons. Next comes a description of the conflict with the Thuringians, which led to the Saxon colonization. According to Widukind’s telling of it, the Saxons recognized the necessity of the war in view of the life-threatening shortening of food: “Once however the Saxons ran out of gold and were unable to buy or sell anything Scharff, Reden 66. Widukind, I.1: Post operum nostrorum primordia, quibus summi imperatoris militum triumphos declaravi, nemo me miretur principum nostrorum res gestas litteris velle commendare; quia in illo opere professioni meae, ut potui, quod debui exolvi, modo generis gentisque meae devotioni, ut queo, elaborare non effugio. 31 Widukind, I.12: Ex hoc apparet aestimationem illorum utcumque probabilem, qui Saxones originem duxisse putant de Grecis, quia Hirmin vel Hermis Graece Mars dicitur. Vgl. G. Althoff, Formen und Funktionen von Mythen im Mittelalter, in: Mythos und Nation (Studien zur Entwicklung des kollektiven Bewusstseins der Neuzeit 3), ed. H. Berding. Frankfurt/M. 1996, 11–33; G. Althoff, Genealogische und andere Fiktionen in mittelalterlicher Historiographie, in: Inszenierte Herrschaft. Geschichtsschreibung und politisches Handeln im Mittelalter, ed. G. Althoff. Darmstadt 2003, 25–51. 32 Widukind, I.2: Caeterum gentem antiquam et nobilem fuisse non ambigitur de quibus et in contione Agrippae ad Iudaeos in Iosepho oratio contexitur et Lucani poetae sententia probatur. 33 Widukind, I.2: Nam super hac re varia opinio est, aliis arbitrantibus de Danis Northmannisque originem duxisse Saxones, aliis autem aestimantibus, ut ipse adolescentulus audivi quendam predicantem, de Graecis, quia ipsi dicerent Saxones reliquias fuisse Macedonici exercitus, qui secutus Magnum Alexandrum inmatura morte ipsius per totum orbem sit dispersus. Caeterum gentem antiquam et nobilem fuisse non ambigitur. 34 Widukind, I.6–7: Erat autem illis diebus Saxonibus magnorum cultellorum usus, quibus usque hodie Angli utuntur, morem gentis antiquae sectantes. Quibus armati Saxones sub sagis suis procedunt castris occurruntque Thuringis condicto loco. Cumque viderent hostes inermes et omnes principes Thuringorum adesse, tempus rati totius regionis obtinendae, cultellis abstractis super inermes et inprovisos irruunt et omnes fundunt, ita ut ne unus quidem ex eis superfuerit. … Fuerunt autem et qui hoc facinore nomen illis inditum tradant. Cultelli enim nostra lingua “sahs” dicuntur, ideoque Saxones nuncupatos, quia cultellis tantam multitudinem fudissent. Walter Pohl (W. Pohl, Sinngeschichte 31) describes the meaning of the name in connection with tribal identity as follows: “der Name enthält im Kern eine Erzählung, ein narratives Potential. Er aktualisiert einen Vorrat an Aneignungen der Vergangenheit, an Erklärungen des Bestehenden, aber auch an Versprechen für die Zukunft. Der Volksname ist immer schon gemeinsame Erinnerung. Freilich, diese Erinnerung ist selbst nicht so geschichtslos, so kodifiziert und von der Interpretationshoheit eines ‘Traditionskerns’ monopolisiert wie es das Modell von Wenskus nahelegt”. 29 30

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more, they believed that peace was of no use to them”35. Nonetheless the Saxons avoided any action that might lead to a breach of the peace with the Thuringians. The author describes the last attempt to keep peace with the Saxon nobility before the colonization as follows: “Now at that time it so happened that a young man laden with much gold, with a golden chain and golden brooches, set out upon his ships. A Thuringian came upon him and said: Why do you have so much gold. I am looking for a buyer, he replied to him, I not carrying this gold for any other purpose; because why should I, while I starve to death, rejoice in gold? Thus the other [man] asked him, what and how high was the price. The price, said the Saxon, does not interest me. Whatever you are willing to give, I will gladly take. What would happen, he said sarcastically to the young man, if I filled your garment with earth? For right on the spot lay a great mound of earth. As soon as the Saxon opened his garment, he had it filled with dirt and surrendered then and there the gold to the Thuringian. Both happily hurried back to their peoples. The Thuringians praised this Thuringian to the skies, that he had deceived the Saxon with such a noble trick and how happy he must be above all other men, since for a song he had came into the possession of such a mass of gold. Their victory thus certain, they were already triumphing, so to say, their victory over the Saxons. Meanwhile, the Saxon, without his gold but heavily laden with earth, approached the Saxons with his ships […] A group of his friends began to mock him […] But the Saxon demanded silence and said: Follow me, my good Saxons, and you’ll become convinced that my folly is of use to you. Though they were skeptical, they still followed after him. He then took the earth, strewed it as thinly as possible over the neighboring fields and occupied a campsite36. To the complaint of the Thuringians, that the Saxons had broken the peace and that the treaty was now breached, the Saxons answered that they had to that point respected the treaty without breaching it. They claimed the land which they had acquired in exchange for their own gold they would occupy peacefully or in any case defend it with their weapons”37. There followed numerous bloody encounters, whereby the Saxons, “finding the enemy well-prepared, crushed them and, after the war’s favorable outcome, obtained possession of the neighboring area according to the law of war”38. Through the Saxon success the value of Saxon armament and the martial virtues of the people were confirmed. At the same time through their invention both the basis of legitimation for the Saxon colonization in Thuringia as well as the capacity for remembrance of the Liudolfings and the corresponding strategies for them are immediately reflected. In this way the Ottonians strengthened their contemporaneous claims to the highest political rank within the political order of their time. In addition Widukind references the military and martial skill as well as the superior armament of the Saxons, which was also confirmed by the Anglo-Saxon colonization of Britain39, thereby supporting his thesis. The nothing less Widukind, I.4: Cumque Saxonibus defecisset pecunia, quid venderent aut emerent non habentibus, inutilem sibi pacem esse arbitrabantur. 36 Widukind, I.5: Ea igitur tempestate contigit adolescentem quendam egredi de navibus oneratum multo auro, torque aurea simulque armillis aureis. Cui obvius quidam Thuringorum: “Quid sibi vult”, inquit. “tam ingens aurum circa tuum famelicum collum?” “Emptorem”, inquit, “quaero; ad nichil aliud istud aurum gero. Qui enim fame periclitor, quo auro delecter?” At ille qualitatem quantitatemque pretii rogat: “Nullum” inquit, “michi est”, Saxo, “discrimen in pretio: quicquid dabis gratum teneo”. Ille vero subridens adolescentem: “Quid si”, inquit, “de isto pulvere sinum tibi inpleo?” Erat enim in presenti loco egesta humus plurima. Saxo nichil cunctatus aperit sinum et accipit humum, ilicoque Thuringo tradidit aurum. Laetus uterque ad suos repedat. Thuringi Thuringum laudibus ad caelum tollunt, qui nobili fraude Saxonem deceperit, fortunatumque eum inter omnes mortales fuisse, qui vili pretio tam ingens aurum possederit. Caeterum certi de victoria, de Saxonibus iam quasi triumphabant. Interea Saxo privatus auro, oneratus vero multa humo, appropiat navibus. Sociis igitur ei occurrentibus et quid ageret admirantibus, alii eum irridere coeperunt amicorum, alii arguere, omnes pariter amentem eum crediderunt. At ille postulato silentio: “Sequimini”, inquit, “me, optimi Saxones, et meam vobis amentiam probabitis utilem”. At illi, licet dubii, sequuntur tamen ducem, Ille autem sumpta humo per vicinos agros quam potuit subtiliter sparsit et castrorum loca occupavit. 37 Widukind, I.6: Saxones respondent se hactenus foedus inviolabiliter servasse: terram proprio auro comparatam cum pace velle obtinere aut certe armis defendere. 38 Widukind, I.6: Saxones vero parati hostes excipiunt sternuntque. Et rebus prospere gestis proxima circumcirca loca iure belli obtinent. 39 Widukind, I.6: Erat autem illis diebus Saxonibus magnorum cultellorum usus, quibus usque hodie Angli utuntur, morem gentis antiquae sectantes. Quibus armati Saxones sub sagis suis procedunt castris occurruntque Thuringis condicto loco. Widukind, I.8: Saxones, miseri Bretti crebris hostium incursionibus fatigati et admodum contriti, auditis victoriis, … ut ab eis vestra auxilia non subtrahatis … Vestra virtute, vestris armis hostibus tantum superiores inveniamur … amicos Brettis Saxones sciatis et eorum necessitatibus atque commodis aeque semper … Deinde promissus in Brittaniam mittitur exercitus, et … in brevi liberat regionem a latronibus, restituens patriam incolis … audita fama Saxonum … gentes Brettis adversae Scotti et Pehtti ... militantes Saxones

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than noble origin – seen as providential – and the Saxon colonization/successful claim of this people against the Thuringians served as the ideal preconditions for later successes of the Saxons against the Franks. It becomes immediately clear that one wages war for pragmatic, existential reasons. That such depictions of war are found in connection with the search for origins can be explained from the needs of the Saxons for legitimation. The Origo gentis40 endowed them with identity and thereby the existing order at the time of composition was legitimated. Widukind concentrates his remarks on the colonization, through the stages of the seaborne landings in the wars of the Saxons against the Thuringians. For Widukind cunning and violence serve as the background for the fortitude which he highlights and the martial virtues of his people, with which it is connected. The development into a gens under the leadership of dukes and kings is founded upon these attributes. The Saxons form their identity in wars with neighbors as well as in internal conflicts among Saxons. Thereupon Widukind achieves his declared goal of internal peace. Divine aid plays only a subordinate role in this period for the heathen Saxons. The aforementioned passages bring the bellicose activities, the military structure as well as martial virtuousness of the Saxon people into the center of collective memory. Here the historical remembrance and the self-assertion of the Saxons are to be integrated under the Ottonians. As a result the contemporaneous claims of the Saxon people and those of the Ottonian royal house are easier to explain and to justify. In this light it is to be understood, that the selection of ancestors fell upon the Macedonian Greeks of Alexander the Great in Widukind’s origo gentis. My next comments will give information concerning this. After the colonization there followed more than thirty years of wars (772–804) between the Franks and Saxons. The Saxon defeat was capped by the baptism of King Widukind and his people. In this way the Saxons became allies of the Franks. Afterward Widukind of Corvey underlined the gradual development of East-Frankish/Saxon collective identity41 of a populus Francorum et Saxonum from the melting together42 of Franks and Saxons into one people as a consequence of the Christianization of the Saxons in the lands ruled by the East-Franks. Concerning this Widukind wrote in the first book of his work: “But Charlemagne, the most valiant of kings, became prominent through his great wisdom. Then he thought, because he was shrewder than anyone else at that time, that his famous neighboring people should not remain in empty superstition. Here and there he considered how this people could be led onto the correct path. And he compelled them in part through gentle persuasion, in part through bellicose attacks. In the thirtieth year of his reign–first as a king, then he was chosen as emperor – he finally accomplished through his efforts, what he had never neglected during the entire time: thus were those, who at one time were the allies and friends of the Franks,

accipiebant a Brettis omnia ad usum necessaria ... et pace facta cum Scottis et Pehttis, in commune contra Brettos consurgunt eosque regione propellunt, suae ditioni regionem distribuunt; et quia illa insula in angulo quodam maris sita est, Anglisaxones usque hodie vocitantur. 40 Die Bayern und ihre Nachbarn. Berichte des Symposions der Kommission für Frühmittelalterforschung vom 25. bis 28. Oktober 1982 im Stift Zwettl, Niederösterreich (Veröffentlichungen der Kommission für Frühmittelalterforschung 8–9), ed. H. Wolfram – A. Schwarcz – H. Friesinger – F. Daim. Wien 1985; Typen der Ethnogenese unter besonderer Berücksichtigung der Bayern 1. Berichte des Symposions der Kommission für Frühmittelalterforschung, 27. bis 30. Oktober 1986, Stift Zwettl, Niederösterreich (Veröffentlichungen der Kommission für Frühmittelalterforschung 12), ed. H. Wolfram – W. Pohl. Wien 1990; W. Pohl, Tradition, Ethnogenese und literarische Gestaltung: eine Zwischenbilanz, in: Ethnogenese und Überlieferung. Angewandte Methoden der Frühmittelalterforschung (VIÖG 31), ed. K. Brunner – B. Merta. Wien et al. 1994; H. Wolfram, Origo et Religio. Ethnic Traditions and Literature in Early Medieval Texts. Early Medieval Europe 3 (1994) 19–33; H.-H. Anton, Troja-Herkunft, origo gentis und frühe Verfasstheit der Franken in der gallisch-fränkischen Tradition des 5. bis 8. Jahrhunderts. MIÖG 108 (2000) 1–30; B. Schneidmüller, Völker – Stämme – Herzogtümer? Von der Vielfalt der Ethnogenesen im ostfränkischen Reich. MIÖG 108 (2000) 31–47; H.-W. Goetz, Zur zeitgenössischen Terminologie und Wahrnehmung ostfränkischer Ethnogenese im 9. Jahrhundert. MIÖG 108 (2000) 85–134; A. Plassmann, Origo gentis. Identitäts- und Legitimitätsstiftung in früh- und hochmittelalterlichen Herkunftserzählungen (Orbis mediaevalis – Vorstellungswelten des Mittelalters 7). Berlin 2006; E. Johnson, Origin Myths and the Construction of Medieval Identities: Norman Chronicles 1000–1100, in: Texts and Identities in the Early Middle Ages (Forschungen zur Geschichte des Mittelalters 12), ed. R. Corradini – R. Meens – Ch. Pössel – Ph. Shaw. Wien 2006, 153–164. 41 Brühl, Geburt 93. 42 Widukind, I.15: iam fratres et quasi una gens ex Christiana fide, veluti modo videmus, facta est. Beumann, Widukind 9, 20, 225, 231, 248 n. 12, 259f.

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now brothers, and as we can now see, as it were one people arose from the Christian faith”43. This passage renders much information concerning the remembrance strategies of the Saxon monk of Corvey. He evaluated the military conflicts between Charlemagne and the Saxons positively. War is here viewed positively as a means by which Christianization and with it the process of civilization was implemented among the Saxons. Charlemagne is the key figure in this process. At the same time Widukind, through the inclusion of Charlemagne, constructs the necessary factuality and a solid ideological and historical basis of legitimation, in order to justify the rise of the tribe of the Saxons and the spread of the power of the Ottonian rule. His narrative corresponds to the following schema: the Franks resemble their ancestors, the Trojan Hellenes44. The Saxons also emulate their ancient and noble progenitors, the Macedonian Hellenes of Alexander the Great, whose martial virtues and proficiency they have inherited. It sounds like an ideological-political program of SaxonOttonian reception. In this way the Saxons are coequal to the Franks. The best evidence for this are noble, valiant and victorious ancestors. These courageous forefathers know how to win wars and how to rule over many gentes. In a similar way their offspring, the Saxons, achieve the same. The “Wir-Gefühl” of the Saxons in the Deeds of the Saxons is continually emphasized through the use of the designation nostri, which means “our”. For Widukind of Corvey the differentiation of the Saxon bands45 was not truly evident, something not made easier by the fact that an ethnic unity of the Saxons in the Carolingian Empire is not datable. This contradiction of Saxon historicity is to be understood through the SaxonOttonian perception of their own past in the tenth century. Both the ruling ideology as well as a common cause simplified and unified differences. War, which is governed by its polarizing dynamic, contains both aforementioned processes. The integration of the Saxons in the Frankish realm up until the middle of the ninth century was realized both in and through war. The united campaigns of the Franks and Saxons against the Slavs46 (i.e. around the year 872 at Mähren) and Danes had an integrating effect. It was as a confirmation and praise of the martial effectiveness of the Saxon people that firstly the Translatio Sancti Viti around 836 from Gallia to Saxonia und secondly the later (dated to 923) gift of the relics of Saint Dionysius of the Lotharingian ruler Charles III the Simple (893–923) were understood and propagated 47. Thus an emissary of Lotharingia to King Henry I (919–936) informs us as follows: “‘My master Charles, who earlier was adorned with the full regal authority, which he has now been robbed of, has sent me to you in order to inform you that to him, who was betrayed by his enemies, that nothing is more pleasant or sweet than to hear the fame Widukind, I.15: Magnus vero Karolus cum esset regum fortissimus, non minori sapientia vigilabat. Enimvero considerabat, quia suis temporibus omni mortali prudentior erat, finitimam gentem nobilemque vano errore retineri non oportere; modis omnibus satagebat, quatinus ad veram viam duceretur. Et nunc blanda suasione, nunc bellorum inpetu ad id cogebat, tandemque tricesimo imperii sui anno obtinuit – imperator quippe ex rege creatus est –, quod multis temporibus elaborando non defecit: ob id qui olim socii et amici erant Francorum, iam fratres et quasi una gens ex Christiana fide, veluti modo videmus, facta est. 44 On the origo gentis Francorum see: H. Reimitz, Die Konkurrenz der Ursprünge in der fränkischen Historiographie, in: Die Suche nach den Ursprüngen: von der Bedeutung des frühen Mittelalters (Forschungen zur Geschichte des Mittelalters 8), ed. W. Pohl. Wien 2004, 191–209, 192 n. 3 and 209: “Gerade das Verhältnis von Wiederschrift und Widerschrift, das sich im Vergleich dieser Texte abzeichnet, kann aber auch vermitteln, mit welch großen Anstrengungen die Aneignung von Geschichte und die Nutzung etablierter historiographischer Traditionen verbunden war – vor allem dann, wenn Geschichte als Ressource für die Auffindung und Konstruktion von Herkunft und Identität genutzt wurde”. 45 Among which socii, amici, fratres are also to be counted. On Saxon ethnogenesis see R. Corradini, Überlegungen zur sächsischen Ethnogenese anhand der Annales Fuldenses und deren sächsisch-ottonischer Rezeption, in: Die Suche nach den Ursprüngen: von der Bedeutung des frühen Mittelalters (Forschungen zur Geschichte des Mittelalters 8), ed. W. Pohl. Wien 2004, 211–231, 218f. 46 G. Althoff, Saxony and the Elbe Slavs in the Tenth Century, in: The New Cambridge Medieval History, Vol. 3: c. 900–c.1025, ed. T. Reuter. Cambridge 1999, 267–292, 771–775. 47 Widukind, I.33, I.34: Quando vero rex Renum transierat ad dilatandum super Lotharios imperium suum, occurrit ei legatus Karoli, et salutato eo verbis humillimis: “Dominus meus”, inquit, “Karolus, regia quondam potestate preditus, modo privatus, misit me ad te demandans, quia nichil ei ab inimicis circumvento iocundius, nichil dulcius esse possit quam de tui magnifici profectus gloria aliquid audire, fama virtutum tuarum consolari. Et hoc tibi signum fidei et veritatis transmisit”; protulitque de sinu manum preciosi martyris Dionisii auro gemmisque inclusam. “Hoc”, inquit, “habeto pignus foederis perpetui et amoris vicarii. Hanc partem unici solatii Francorum Galliam inhabitantium, postquam nos deseruit insignis martyr Vitus ad nostram perniciem vestramque perpetuam pacem Saxoniam visitavit communicare tecum maluit. Neque enim, postquam translatum est corpus eius a nobis, civilia vel externa cessavere bella; eodem quippe anno Dani et Northmanni regionem nostram invaserunt”. Rex autem munus divinum cum omni gratiarum actione suscipiens prosternitur reliquiis sanctis et deosculans eas summa veneratione veneratus est.

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of your great ascent and to take comfort in the renown of your abilities. He sends you this as a sign of his fidelity and sincerity’. Then he drew from his garment the hand of the praiseworthy martyr Dionysius, adorned in gold and gems. ‘This’, he continued, ‘you should keep as a pledge of eternal alliance and mutual love. He wanted most of all to give over to you, after the extraordinary martyr Vitus left us to our loss and came to the Saxons to your perpetual peace, this part of the only comfort of the Franks who inhabit Gaul. Because since his body has been taken away from us, foreign and civil wars have not ceased; for in that year the Danes and Northmen attacked our region’. The king however took the divine gift with the showing of the greatest gratitude, kneeled before the holy relic and bestowed upon it the highest reverence with a kiss”48. From that time the saints accompanied the Saxon rulers, who won bella civilia as well as externa. In this way, as well as through his craft and abilities in war, Henry I accomplished the subjugation of the nationes barbarae (Slavs and Magyars)49. Thus the peoples neighboring Henry’s realm became tributary50, and he set in motion the repression of their savagery (ferocitas)51. Divino nutu52, by divine command, the Saxons won all of the battles during these military conflicts. By the mercy of God53 “in that battle only the two Liuthars and a pair of noblemen fell”, wrote Widukind. King Henry I received his warriors and praised them, while he divided the plunder fairly54. The glorious battle of Lechfeld55 (10. August 955) is depicted in the third book of the Deeds of the Saxons. Through Widukind’s description of the battle and its effects one can detect the symbolism of the depiction and the staging of the praxis of Ottonian rulership. The unmistakable schemas of social legitimations, political propaganda and instrumentalizing are reflected in the defeat of the Magyars, which has been called annihilating by historians. The victory at the Lechfeld bestowed upon the Saxon King Otto I the highest political rank (imperium56) of the West Christian political order. Otto I was directly after the victory acclaimed emperor (imperator) by his warriors57. Even though this enactment can be justified as a reminiscence of an ancient Roman tradition, one should not ignore its political-programmatic content. Widukind’s interpretation of the glorious victory of Otto the Great over the Magyars confirms the perception of Ottonian rulership and its legitimation strategies, which permeate his entire work. On this point Hagen Keller, who competently and exhaustively compares the methodological problems of Widukind’s depiction and the interpretation of events, states that “Widukind […] mit seiner Hervorhebung der imperialen Stellung des sächsisch-fränkischen Königtums sogar an Selbstdeutungen des ottonischen Hofes vor 962 anknüpft”58. Otto I himself appealed to his warriors before the decisive battle and said among other things: “For the enemy their temerity serves primarily as a shield, while for us by contrast it is hope of divine protection. We would have to shame ourselves as the masters of almost all of Europe, if we were to now give in to the enemy. We would rather die glori On this: J. Oberste, Heilige und ihre Reliquien in der politischen Kultur der früheren Ottonenzeit. Frühmittelalterlichen Studien 35 (2003) 73–98, 96f. 49 Widukind, I.9, I.36, II.20, II.21, III.45, III.50, III.63–III.67. 50 Widukind, I.36: Cumque vicinae gentes a rege Heinrico factae essent tributariae, Apodriti, Wilti, Hevelli, Dalamanci, Boemi, Redarii, et pax esset. 51 Widukind, I.36. 52 Widukind, I.36, III.70. 53 Widukind, I.36, II.4: divina virtute, III.46: protectio divina. Cf. L. Körntgen, Königsherrschaft und Gottes Gnade. Zu Kontext und Funktion sakraler Vorstellungen in Historiographie und Bildzeugnissen der ottonisch-frühsalischen Zeit (Orbis medievalis. Vorstellungswelten des Mittelalters 2). Berlin 2001. 54 Widukind, I.15. 55 Widukind, III.44–III.49. 56 S. Laitsos, ‘Imitatio Basilei’? The Ideological and Political Construction of the Norman Kingdom of Sicily in the 12th Century, in: The Eastern Roman Empire and the Birth of the Idea of State in Europe (European Public Law Series 80), ed. Sp. Flogaitis – A. Pantélis. London 2005, 227–247, 242 and 243 n. 104; R. Schieffer, Karl der Große, Eirene und der Ursprung des westlichen Kaisertums, in: Die Suche nach den Ursprüngen: von der Bedeutung des frühen Mittelalters (Forschungen zur Geschichte des Mittelalters 8), ed. W. Pohl. Wien 2004, 151–158, 157 and n. 36: “der verbreitete unspezifische Gebrauch von imperium in lateinischen Quellen aus der Zeit, der immer Überlegungen zum ‘romfreien Kaisertum’ und zur ‘Aachener Kaiseridee’ stimuliert hat”. 57 Widukind, Triumpho celebri rex factus gloriosus ab exercitu pater patriae imperatorque appellatus est; Keller, Königsherrschaft 96f.; G. Althoff, Die Kaiserkrönung Ottos des Großen 962, in: Höhepunkte des Mittelalters, ed. G. Scheibelreiter. Darmstadt 2004, 70–84. 58 Keller, Königsherrschaft 97.

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ously in battle, if our end stands before us, than to subjugate ourselves to the enemy and to live in servitude […] Let us now begin the negotiations with swords instead of with words”59. Led and accompanied by the victory-bringing angel or rather the signa of the Archangel Michael60, the valiant King Otto I fulfilled his duty as the most courageous warrior and the best commander61. And thus he conquered Dei gratia, the heathen and impetuous barbarians, the Magyars. His victory is ascribed to the warlike competence of his gens, which because of its virtues had acquired the “favor of God”. Then, “covered in the glory of this magnificent victory, the king was acclaimed by his army as the father of the fatherland and emperor”62. Widukind was able to celebrate Otto the Great and his Saxons as the masters of all Europe through the victory over the Magyars at the Lechfeld. This designation is marked by a sweeping point of view of depiction, the interpretation of which was tied up with the East-Frankish/Saxon kings’ aspirations for hegemony. Otto I was the undisputed “Father of the Fatherland”, and this message was directed at his subjects in the East-Frankish kingdom, who due to their absence had not taken part in the victory over the Magyars. The construction of the depiction of the imperator acclamation after the victorious battle had numerous recipients. It is in this light the outline of the later conflict with New Rome (Constantinople)63 is to be seen. The king reestablished the divinely-willed world order through his campaigning (bella civilia, bella externa or publica) both within and without his domain. Otto I became the ruler of numerous gentes. Thus he is victorious and with the help of God–following Widukind’s discourse of identity—he becomes, in the tradition of his bellicose ancestor Alexander the Great, worthy of being depicted as the leader of many gentes and terrae. This also brought him the proper recognition of his rivals with Christendom (Romani, Graeci) as well as opponents outside of it (the Sarraceni). Consequently Otto I received the emissaries of these rulers and peoples, who brought him precious and costly as well as symbolic gifts64. Widukind, I.35 designates Otto I as “Beloved of the World“ and “Head of the Globe”, whose power extends across all of Europe: videmus in amore mundi et totius orbis capite, patre tuo, cuius potentiae maiestatem non solum Germania, Italia atque Gallia, sed tota fere Europa non sustinet. Cf. G. Althoff, Otto der Große und die neue europäische Identität, in: Der Hoftag in Quedlinburg 973. Von den historischen Wurzeln zum Neuen Europa, ed. A. Ranft. Berlin 2006, 3–18. 60 Widukind, III.44: coramque angelus. See: W. Speyer, Die Hilfe und Epiphanie einer Gottheit, eines Heroen und eines Heiligen in der Schlacht. JbAC Erg.Bd. 8 (1980) 55–77. On the significance of the Archangel Michael among the gentes: P. Antonopoulos, King Cunincpert and the Archangel Michael, in: Die Langobarden. Herrschaft und Identität (Forschungen zur Geschichte des Mittelalters 9), ed. W. Pohl – P. Erhart. Wien 2005, 383–386; Idem., The Reign of Cunicpert. London 2010, 45–63, n. 86, 102 and 106. 61 Widukind, III.46: Et his dictis, arrepto clipeo ac sacra lancea, ipse primus equum in hostes vertit, fortissimi militis ac optimi imperatoris officium gerens. 62 Widukind, III.49: Triumpho celebri rex factus gloriosus ab exercitu pater patriae imperatorque appellatus est; decretis proinde honoribus et dignis laudibus summae divinitati per singulas ecclesias, et hoc idem sanctae matri eius per nuntios demandans, cum tripudio ac summa laetitia Saxoniam victor reversus a populo suo libentissime suscipitur. Neque enim tanta victoria quisquam regum intra ducentos annos ante eum laetatus est. 63 Widukind, III.70–III.72. 64 Widukind, III.56: Crebris victoriis imperator gloriosus factus atque famosus multorum regum ac gentium timorem pariter et favorem promeruit. Unde plurimos legatos suscipit, Romanorum scilicet et Graecorum Sarracenorumque, per eosque diversi generis munera, vasa aurea et argentea, aerea quoque et mira varietate operis distincta, vitrea vasa, eburnea etiam et omni genere modificata stramenta, balsamum et totius generis pigmenta, animalia Saxonibus antea invisa, leones et camelos, simias et strutiones; omniumque circumquaque Christianorum in illo res atque spes sitae. At this point I would like to very briefly answer a question, which Professor Dr. Johannes Koder asked during the symposium (Byzantine War Ideology between Imperial Concept and Christian Religion, 19–21. May 2011). It concerns Widukind’s contradictory attitude towards the Byzantines (Graeci). At the beginning of the work Widukind wrote to Matilda before its completion, “how he [scil. Otto I.] overcame the Greeks in Calabria […] we are unable to narrate this”. Afterward however the author devoted a short excursis (Widukind, III.70, III.71, III.72 und III.73), the details of which are fabricated, to the Ottonian-Byzantine conflict in southern Italy (968–969). This demonstrates how powerfully Widukind’s Saxon-Ottonian perspective marked his depictions of war. I will not here explore the matter in detail. First of all, because the letter of Otto I to Capua from 18. January 968 which is transmitted by Widukind (III.70) has, according to the current state of research, not survived in the original. Concerning this the editors of the Deeds of the Saxons are of the opinion, that Widukind’s letter was heavily reworked (Deeds of the Saxons, 244). Secondly, its presentation of facts and escalation of the conflict (as narrated in III.71, III.72 and III.73) are not found even once in the reports of contemporaneous sources. The well-informed Liutprand of Cremona accompanied Otto I at the siege of Bari in March of 968. He underlined in his Relatio that the emperor at his advice abandoned the siege and turned to diplomacy to settle the conflict. The staging of Saxon-Ottonian political strategy, which he depicted as the catalyst for internal political developments in New Rome, and the murder of Nikephoros Phokas (III.73), I believe to be exaggeration and propaganda a 59

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Widukind did not cease to praise the divinely-willed aptitude of his Saxon ruler. Thus he depicted him and his victory over the Magyars and Slavs with the light of the sign of the cross, meaningful as it is to Christianity. Widukind reports as follows: “After the slaughter of the barbarians had ended, wondrous things appeared in this year, such as signs of the cross upon the clothes of many people. Upon seeing them most were filled with holy dread; they feared calamity and did penance for their sins. There were also those who thought the clothes responsible for an epidemic of illness, as afterward an outbreak of leprosy had carried off many of the dying. Those who were cleverer however announced that the sign of the cross signaled prosperity and victory, and we faithfully agree with them”65. Widukind thus declared within the East-Frankish collective memory that Otto I was a legitimate successor of Charlemagne, styling him the liberator, master and protector of Europe66. Both the renowned victory (triumphus celebris) of Otto I and the significant and unusual signs of the cross which appeared in those days confirmed this. The sign of the cross67 for many earlymedieval authors signified salvific suffering. The Magyar incursions into the territory of the regnum Francorum are interpreted by Widukind as “proof” of Christianity. In the past Constantine the Great had won the battle against Licinius beneath the sign of the cross. Similarly the sign of the cross in Christian Spain during the eighth century was understood as a symbol of the certainty of victory in the battle for the faith. The victory of Otto I over the Magyars at the Lechfeld beneath the sign of the cross was equated in Widukind’s depiction of war to the victory of Christians over heathens68. 3. Summary Through war the Saxons created new realities which required legitimation. The construction of the past is aimed at the present and that the historian served this aim in his depiction of the descriptions of certain wars is unsurprising. Therefore the present essay is not about the reconstruction of military events and depictions. Rather it asks the question, why does war acquire the central place in the historiographical activity of Widukind and what function did war have in the Deeds of the Saxons for the collective memory of the Saxons in the tenth century. Widukind saw in war, as the Carolingian historians before him, the realization of the divine world order. The Saxon-Ottonian ruler waged wars in the name of defending patria, familia, libertas gentis and justice. He acquired victory through his own effectiveness, that of his soldiers and the aid of God. Otto I proved himself in war without contention as the protector of Christianity against unbelievers and barbarians. posteriori. This complex question is discussed by contemporary research within the framework of the so-called “two emperors’ problem”. The different points of view complicate the matter even further. Without a doubt a need has arisen for an interdisciplinary conversation between medieval and Byzantine studies. On this: W. Ohnsorge, Das Zweikaiserproblem im frühen Mittelalter. Die Bedeutung des byzantinischen Reiches für die Entwicklung der Staatsidee in Europa. Hildesheim 1947; Idem, Ost-Rom und der Westen. Gesammelte Aufsätze zur Geschichte der byzantinisch-abendländischen Beziehungen und des Kaisertums. Darmstadt 1983; B. Karageorgu, Λιουτπράνδος, ο επίσκοπος Κρεμώνης ως ιστορικός και διπλωμάτης. Athens 1978; M. Rentschler, Liudprand von Cremona. Eine Studie zum ost-westlichen Kulturgefälle im Mittelalter. Frankfurt/M. 1981; B. Scott, Liudprand of Cremona. Relatio de Legatione Constantinopolitana. Bristol 1993; J. Koder, Subjektivität und Fälschung in der byzantinischen Geschichte. Liutprand von Cremona als ‘Historiograph’ und als Objekt der Historiographie. Byzantiaka 15 (1995) 107–132; S. Kolditz, Leon von Synanda und Liudprand von Cremona. BZ 95 (2002) 509–583; P. Squatriti, The Complete Works of Liudprand of Cremona. Catholic University of America Press 2007, 238–282. 65 Widukind, III.61: Peracta caede barbarorum eo anno prodigiosae res apparuere, notae scilicet crucis in vestimentis plurimorum. Quibus visis plurimi salubri timore perculsi adversa formidabant, idemque vitia multa ex parte emendaverunt. Fuerunt et qui lepras vestium interpretarentur, eo quod subsequens lepra multos mortales corrumperet. Sapientiores autem signum crucis salutem victoriamque prefigurasse predicabant, quibus et nos fidelem assensum prebemus. 66 Charlemagne as the liberator of Europe in Widukind, I.19: Victi autem a Magno Karolo et trans Danubium pulsi … Imperante autem Arnulfo destructum est opus, … Deinde quantam stragem quantamque iniuriam imperio Francorum fecerint, urbes ac regiones adhuc desolatae testantur. … avo tuo patrique certandum fuerit, vel a quibus hostibus per eorum providentiae virtutem et armorum insignia tota iam fere Europa liberata sit. Otto I master of Europe in Widukind, I.34: quae domina esse dinosceris iure totius Europae, quamquam in Affricam Asiamque patris tui iam potestas protendatur; Widukind, III.46: Pudeat iam nunc dominos pene totius Europae inimicis manus dare. 67 K. Schreiner, Signa victricia. Heilige Zeichen in kriegerischen Konflikten des Mittelalters, in: Zeichen – Rituale – Werte (Symbolische Kommunikation und gesellschaftliche Wertesysteme 3), ed. G. Althoff. Münster 2003, 259–300; Idem, Rituale, Zeichen, Bilder. Formen und Funktionen symbolischer Kommunikation im Mittelalter. Wien u. a. 2011, 14–28. 68 B. Bischoff, Kreuz und Buch im Frühmittelalter und in den ersten Jahrhunderten der spanischen Reconquista, in: Mittelalterliche Studien. Ausgewählte Aufsätze zur Schriftkunde und Literaturgeschichte, 2 vol. Stuttgart 1967, 299.

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The permanent waging of war belonged, in the view of the tradition, to the virtues and qualities of the ruler, who looked more to ancient heroes than to Old Testament examples. One can say that Widukind’s Deeds of the Saxons offers no theory of war. He presents war as a means, and by the constructions of its depiction the dynamic of political and social developments as well as the transformation of identity among the Saxons in the tenth century were served.

Ioannis Stouraitis

Conceptions of War and Peace in Anna Comnena’s Alexiad* The Alexiad of Anna Comnena is regarded as a masterpiece of Byzantine literature and has therefore been extensively studied in this regard1. The decision to single out this text as a source of information about the perception of the Byzantine ruling class on war and peace in the period after the First Crusade lies, however, neither with its great literary value nor with its great importance as a historical source for the period of Alexius I Comnenus (1081–1118)2. It primarily relates with its character as a military history written by a welleducated member of a strongly militarized imperial family3, the reign of which was marked by the last largescale effort of the Roman power élite of Constantinople to re-establish its political rule by martial means within a large part of the Eastern Roman geopolitical sphere. Although Anna strictly confines her narrative to the events of her father’s reign, the completion of the text during the first decade of Manuel I Comnenus’ reign4 makes her work a point of conjuncture from an ideological point of view with regard to the views of the Byzantine ruling class on war and peace during the early and mid-twelfth century5. This argument relies to a great extent upon the fact that during his reign Alexius I Comnenus set a socio-political process in motion which gradually linked many families of the ruling class to the imperial family through bonds of kinship. This provided the Comnenian emperors with a family network, on which they extensively relied to firmly control the state apparatus6. In this respect, we may justifiably consider the Byzantine ruling élite of the twelfth century as particularly coherent from a po-

The current paper is intended to complement the well-argued paper of the late Angeliki Laiou (On Just War in Byzantium, in: To Hellenikon. Studies in Honor of Speros Vryonis Jr. I. New Rochelle 1993), which uses the information of the Alexiad as a starting-point to clarify the role of the religious element in the Byzantine war ethic. Other than this, the focal point here is on the information of the Alexiad regarding continuities and changes in the Byzantine ruling élite’s ideological discourse of war and peace. 1 On the literary value of the text of the Alexiad see J. Ljubarskij, Why Is the Alexiad a Masterpiece of Byzantine Literature?, in: Anna Komnene and her times, ed. Th. Gouma-Peterson. New York 2000, 169–185 (with reference to the most important relevant studies). 2 On the historical importance of Anna’s work see A. E. Laiou, Introduction: Why Anna Komnene?, in: Anna Komnene and her times, ed. Th. Gouma-Peterson. New York 2000, 5f. On Alexiad’s credibility as a historical source, particularly with regard to the events of the First Crusade, see J. France, Anna Comnena, the Alexiad and the First Crusade. Reading Medieval Studies 10 (1984) 20–38; R. J. Lilie, Anna Komnene und der erste Kreuzzug, in: Varia II (Poikila Byzantina 6). Bonn 1987, 49–148; R. D. Thomas, Anna Comnena’s Account of the First Crusade. History and politics in the reigns of the emperor’s Alexius I and Manuel I Comnenos. BMGS 15 (1991) 269–312; P. Frankopan, Perception and Projection of Prejudice: Anna Comnena, the Alexiad and the First Crusade, in: Gendering the Crusades, ed. S. B. Erdington – S. Lambert. Cardiff 2001, 59–76. 3 On the Alexiad as a military history, see J. Howard-Johnston, Anna Komnene and the Alexiad, in: Alexios I Komnenos, vol. I: Papers of the Second Belfast International Colloquium 14–16 April 1989 (Belfast Byzantine Texts and Translations 4.1), eds. M. Mullet – D. Smythe. Belfast 1996, 269–276; cf. A. Kazhdan, Review of M. Mullet – D. Smythe eds., Alexios I Komnenos, vol. I: Papers of the Second Belfast International Colloquium 14–16 April 1989 (Belfast Byzantine Texts and Translations 4.1). Belfast 1996. Speculum 72 (1997) 1200–1201. Kazhdan agrees with Howard-Johnston’s partial conclusion that the Alexiad is primarily a history book on martial ideals, but rejects the overall argument of the latter’s paper, i.e. the attribution of the Alexiad’s authorship to Nicephorus Bryennius. On a well argued case against Howard-Johnston’s thesis, see also R. Macrides, The Pen and the Sword: Who wrote the Alexias? in: Anna Komnene and her times 63–81. For the militaristic mentality of the Comnenoi family cf. also Laiou, Just War 154–155; eadem, Introduction: Why Anna Komnene? 10. 4 D. R. Reinsch – A. Kambylis eds., Annae Comnenae Alexias (CFHB XL /1, Series Berolinensis). Berlin 2001, 5–6, n. 24. 5 On a definition of ruling élite and ruling class in Byzantium, see J. F. Haldon, Social Élites, Wealth, and Power, in: A Social History of Byzantium, ed. J. F. Haldon. Oxford 2009, 170–174. 6 P. Magdalino, The Empire of Manuel Comnenos 1143–1180. Cambridge 1993, 180–185; Laiou, Introduction: Why Anna Komnene? 10–11; Kazhdan, Review 1199–1200.

*

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litical as well as ideological point of view7. Taking all this into account, the ideas of the Alexiad can be regarded to represent – to a certain extent – the collective war mentality of the so-called Comnenian aristocratic network8; especially if we try to look behind the author’s personal agenda and biases. Most importantly though, Anna’s imperial background makes her historical work particularly interesting with regard to questions of continuity and change of the conceptions of war and peace within the post-seventh century empire’s ruling élite9. 1. War

and

Peace Discourse

A search for theoretical, i.e. ideological, statements pertaining to war and peace in the text leads to the conclusion that Anna in her effort to represent her father as an ideal emperor does not deviate from the preponderant self-image of the medieval Eastern Roman Empire as a state under attack, the emperor of which was compelled to wage war10. Within the framework of this ‘state at war’ image the author uses in chapter twelve the events of Anemas’s conspiracy (1100–1101) and Bohemund’s imminent attack against the Empire (1104)11 as a pretext in order to make a statement on her understanding of the political interrelation between war and peace: For peace is the end of every war, but to always choose war instead of peace as final aim . . . and always to disregard the good end, this is the characteristic of senseless generals and demagogues and men who are working for the destruction of the state. Now the Emperor Alexius used to do just the opposite and was exceptionally desirous of peace, and . . . when it existed he always did his utmost to maintain it, and when it was broken, often lay awake thinking how to restore it. By nature he was peaceful, but under the compulsion of circumstances, very bellicose12.

This statement is particularly interesting due to the various interpretations which it evokes. The view that the goal of every war should be peace is an axiom that goes back to Aristotle13. Later, it was taken over by Cicero who formulated the Roman just war theory14 as well as by Saint Augustine who employed it to legitimize warfare within the framework of the Christianized Roman mentality15. Anna relates this axiom to the political situation of her times in order to make the distinction between a perception of war as a means to a













On the ideological cohesion of the Byzantine ruling élite in the period of the Comnenoi, see Magdalino, The Empire of Manuel Comnenos 185–188. That cohesion is made further evident by the fact that from the accession of Alexius I Comnenus until the death of his son Manuel I the power of the Comnenian dynasty was not contested by serious revolts; cf. Kazhdan, Review 1199; on the revolts of that period see J.-Cl. Cheynet, Pouvoir et Contestations à Byzance (963–1210) (Byzantina Sorbonensia 9). Paris 1990, 90–110, 413–416; cf. the list of Byzantine civil wars in W. Treadgold, The reluctant warrior, in: Noble Ideals and Bloody Realities. Warfare in the middle Ages, ed. N. Christie – M. Yazigi. Leiden – Boston 2006, 232. 8 On the militarized Comnenian aristocracy, see A. Kazhdan – A. W. Epstein, Change in Byzantine culture in the eleventh and twelfth centuries. Berkeley et al. 1990, 104–110; A. Kazhdan, The aristocracy and the imperial ideal, in: The Byzantine aristocracy IX to XIII centuries, ed. M. Angold (BAR International Series 221). Oxford 1984, 50ff. 9 On the views of the Byzantine ruling class on war and peace in the period from the seventh to the eleventh centuries, see I. Stouraitis, Krieg und Frieden in der politischen und ideologischen Wahrnehmung in Byzanz (7.–11. Jahrhundert) (Byzantinische Geschichtsschreiber, Ergänzungsband 5). Vienna 2009, 189–259. 10 On the image of a beleaguered state see Anna Komnene III 9, 2, VI 3, 3, XIV 7, 1–2 (110, 8–14, 172, 39–46, 450, 88–95 Reinsch – Kambylis); cf. Laiou, Just War 156. 11 On Bohemund’s attack cf. P. Stephenson, Byzantium’s Balkan Frontier. A Political Study in the Northern Balkans, 900–1204. Cambridge 2000, 179–183. On Anemas’ conspiracy cf. Cheynet, Pouvoir et Contestations 100. 12 Anna Komnene XII 5, 2 (371, 85–91 Reinsch – Kambylis): Εἰρήνη μὲν γὰρ τέλος ἐστὶ πολέμου παντός, τὸ δ’ ἀνθελέσθαι ἀεὶ αὐτόθεν τὸ ἕνεκά του .... καὶ τοῦ ἀγαθοῦ τέλους ἀεὶ ἀμελεῖν, τοῦτο ἀνοήτων ἐστὶ στρατηγῶν καὶ δημαγωγῶν καὶ ὄλεθρον πραγματευομένων τῆς πόλεως. Ἀλλ’ ὁ βασιλεὺς Ἀλέξιος τοὐναντίον ἅπαν ἐποίει καὶ τοῦ εἰρηνεύειν ἐκτόπως ἐπεμελεῖτο καὶ .... παροῦσαν ἀεὶ πανταχόθεν συνεῖχε καὶ ἀπούσης ἐπηγρύπνει πολλάκις, ὅπως ἐπανέλθοι. Καὶ ἦν ὁ αὐτὸς κατὰ φύσιν μὲν εἰρηνικός, ἀναγκαζόντων δὲ τῶν πραγμάτων πολεμικώτατος. Cf. E. A. S. Dawes, The Alexiad of the Princess Anna Comnena. London 1928, 310. 13 Aristoteles, Politika VII 1334a, 14–15, in: W. D. Ross ed., Aristotelis politica. Oxford 21964. 14 Marcus Tullius Cicero, De officiis (ed. H. Gunermann. Stuttgart 1992, I 11, 35). 15 Augustinus, De civitate Dei XIX 12 (ed. B. Dombart – A. Kalb [Corpus Christianorum, Series Latina XLVII/XIV]. Turnhout 1955); cf. R. Dyson, St Augustine of Hippo. The Christian Transformation of Political Philosophy. London – New York 2005, 122; Laiou, Just war 161–162. On Byzantine views on warfare as a means to achieve political peace, see Stouraitis, Krieg und Frieden 204–207; cf. also J. F. Haldon, Warfare, State and Society in the Byzantine World. London 1999, 26–27, 254–255; O. Treitinger, Die oströmische Kaiser- und Reichsidee nach ihrer Gestaltung im höfischen Zeremoniell. Vom oströmischen Staats7

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good end and a perception of war as an end per se. The latter view which alludes to Heraclitus’ definition of war as a phenomenon without a teleological nature, i.e. with no final cause16, is clearly rejected by Anna as irrational and destructive in a socio-political context17. In this regard, her father’s commitment to peace is praised and his irenic nature is emphasized, even though the conditions of the time compelled him to be bellicose. In this context, the term ‘bellicose’ seems to bear a positive connotation which abrogates its apparent semantic contradiction with the term ‘peaceful’. The author is obviously seeking here to interpret the emperor’s bellicosity as his ability to wage war in the name of an ethically legitimate cause, i.e. in the name of peace. In her system of meanings and values with regard to war and peace, bellicosity emerges thus as a praiseworthy political attribute, since it is correlated with a view of political peace as an end, the accomplishment of which posits the instrumentalization of warfare as a political means. In this regard, both the term peaceful and the term bellicose are equally meant to function antithetically in her statement to a warmongering disposition that promotes unlimited warfare, i.e. a perception of war as a quasi-alternative way of life to peace. In a comparative perspective, this qualitative antithesis reminds of the initial position of Leo VI towards war in the Taktika which was published more than two centuries earlier. In the Prooimion of that book political peace is defined in a similar way as the single cause that can legitimize warfare. Leo VI observes that all human beings are peaceful by nature and distinguishes between those who remain peaceful and those who are misguided by the devil to initiate wars. According to his conclusion those who embrace peace are equally compelled to employ strategic methods, i.e. to wage war, in order to repel the warmongering peoples that attack them18.This contextual accordance on an ideological level between Anna’s and Leo’s thesis regarding the interrelation of warfare and political peace is understandable within the framework of the Byzantine state’s diachronic need to wage war for the protection of its power-political interests, pointing thus to an ideological continuity with regard to the dominant political views on warfare within the Byzantine ruling élite. Nevertheless, Anna’s text demonstrates a differentiated approach to warfare as part of the contemporary ruling élite’s cultural identity that relates to the initially mentioned differentiated social values and rolemodels of her time, a procuct of which is the character of her work as a war history. Contrary to Leo VI, whose main goal in the Taktika was to entrench the legitimacy of warfare as a means of politics within the framework of a Christian-Roman ethic that axiomatically defined war as an evil and a sin19, Anna relies on this ethical legitimization of the political means ‘war’ in order to make a further step towards a glorification of military action and martial prowess as a main attribute of the contemporary Byzantine culture20. Beginning with the aforementioned statement on war and peace, one of the author’s central goals seems to have been to revoke the morale antinomy with regard to the image of a person as both peaceful by nature und Reichsgedanken. Darmstadt 1956, 230f.; M. McCormick, Eternal Victory. Triumphal Rulership in Late Antiquity, Byzantium, and the Early Medieval West. Cambridge 1986, 245–252. 16 ‘Πόλεμος πάντων μὲν πατήρ ἐστι, πάντων δὲ βασιλεύς, καὶ τοὺς μὲν θεοὺς ἔδειξε τοὺς δὲ ἀνθρώπους, τοὺς μὲν δούλους ἐποίησε τοὺς δὲ ἐλευθέρους’ and ‘εἰδέναι δὲ χρὴ τὸν πόλεμον ἐόντα ξυνόν’, Heraclitus Fragmenta 53, 80, in: H. Diels – W. Kranz, Die Fragmente der Vorsokratiker, vol. 1. Berlin 61951 (repr. 1966). Moreover, Anna’s distinction corresponds to Clausewitz’ theoretical distinction between absolute war (i.e. continuous warfare with full intensity aiming at the complete destruction of the enemy) and real war (i.e. military action constrained by political and practical aims and concerns). According to Clausewitz the realization of absolute war is not possible within the socio-political context of civilized societies, see P. Kondylis, Θεωρία του πολέμου. Athen 21998 ( = Greek transl. of P. Kondylis, Theorie des Krieges. Clausewitz, Marx, Engels, Lenin. Stuttgart 1988), 27–31. 17 Clausewitz, similarly to Anna Comnena, rejects the idea of continuous warfare as a modus operandi of politically organised ­societies; cf. Kondylis, Θεωρία του πολέμου 47. 18 Leonis VI Tactica, Prol. 4 (2, 25–4, 36 Dennis); cf. Stouraitis, Krieg und Frieden 190–193; J. Chrysostomides, Byzantine Concepts of War and Peace, in: War, Peace and World Orders in European History, ed. A. V. Hartmann – B. Heuser. London – New York 2001, 93; Peace and War in Byzantium. Essays in Honour of G. T. Dennis, S.J., ed. T. S. Miller – J. Nesbitt. Washington, D.C. 1995, 4–5. 19 Stouraitis, Krieg und Frieden 197f. 20 In War and Peace 5–8 is suggested that a glorification of warfare similar to the one in the Latin West never took place in Byzantium. However, it should be pointed out that after the late eleventh century a militarization of the imperial ideal has been attested, which eventually became dominant within the political culture of the Byzantine ruling class as the historiographical sources of that period make evident; Kazdhan, Review 1200–1201; Kazdhan – Epstein, Change in Byzantine Culture 110–119. In this respect, the book of Anna Comnena has been characterized a military history that reflects the zeitgeist of her times.

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and bellicose21. If the pre-existing image of warfare as an ethically, socially and politically legitimate means of peace-making was the key to this revocation, this should be then regarded as the ideological starting-point that enabled Anna to literally glorify warriors and military violence in her narration. The most striking example of that glorification is to be found in the employment of the word philopolemos (warlike) as a positive character attribute of the fourteen-year-old Alexius: In his fourteenth year he was anxious to join the Emperor Diogenes on the extremely arduous campaign he was conducting against the Persians, and by this very longing he declared his animosity against the barbarians, and showed that, if he ever should come to blows with them, he would make his sword drunk with their blood; that warlike was the boy.22

The positive connotation of the word philopolemos (warlike) analogously to the word polemikōtatos (bellicose)23 should not be simply regarded as a motif of the author’s literary classicism, but rather be analysed under the prism of the overall predominant position that military affairs and fighting skills occupy in the politico-cultural mentality presented in the Alexiad. Warfare lies at the epicentre of all actions of both the main hero of the text as well as all other protagonists. Right from the beginning, when she refers to her father’s accession to the throne, Anna states that Alexius devoted himself to military affairs before even shaking off the dust of the power struggle, not even allowing his body some rest24. About her uncle Isaac Comnenus we are informed that he, alike his brother, found chief pleasure in military adventures and that the only thing one could censure in him was his unrestrained manner of engaging in combat25. Her husband Nicephorus Bryennius was also distinguished because of his military skills, which according to Anna were comparable to the skills of the fearsome Norman warriors26. On the other hand, she blames the vulnerable position of the state during Alexios’ accession on the inadequate military skills of her father’s predecessors27. Many more examples could be quoted here to further verify the preponderance of military ideals in the text of the Alexiad and demonstrate a war mentality of the state élite which perceived and propagated military action not just as an unavoidable evil, but as something noble. However, this glorifying attitude towards warfare, albeit closely related to the new social structures of her times as already mentioned, cannot be exclusively attributed to them, but needs to be further scrutinized with regard to the socio-political influence of certain diachronically present ideological patterns of political rule and peace-making. Anna’s initially-cited statement on war and peace demonstrates that in her system of values peace was not understood as a monolithic ideal pertaining exclusively to a situation fully free of military actions or, for that matter, immune of any kind of conflict. In this regard, the Byzantine author seems to be in perfect accordance with the modern theoretical approach of Carl von Clausewitz, according to which the ideal form of peace as the conceptual opposite to war, which cannot be understood or function as an ethical argument for the political legitimization of warfare, cannot be equated with the empirical form of political peace. Political peace is defined as a period free of military action, but not free of conflict, and therefore is a period in which preparations for the waging of war may very well take place28. Based on this theoretical schema, the scrutiny of a person’s or a socio-political group’s disposition towards war and peace (peaceful or bellicose mentality) within a certain social or geopolitical context needs to start with the scrutiny of the ideas which posit, justify and explain goals of political action, which are identified with peace, and the relevant views on warfare as an adequate means for the realization of those political goals.

Cf. Anna’s statement about Alexius as a remarkable leader both in times of peace as well as in times of war, Anna Komnene XIV 7, 9 (453, 92–93 Reinsch – Kambylis). 22 Anna Komnene I 1, 1 (11, 8–10 Reinsch – Kambylis): καὶ ἀπό γε τοῦδε ὁρμήματος ἀπειλὴν κατὰ τῶν βαρβάρων ἐμφαίνων καὶ ὡς, εἰ συμπλακήσεται τοῖς βαρβάροις, τὸ ξίφος αὐτοῦ μεθύσει ἀφ’ αἵματος· οὕτως ἦν φιλοπόλεμος ὁ νεανίσκος. Cf. Dawes, Alexiad 7. 23 On other passages, in which the terms polemikōtatos und philopolemos have a positive connotation, see Anna Komnene VI 5, 5, VI 13, 2, IX 1, 7, X 9, 6 (176–177, 197–198, 260, 310–311 Reinsch – Kambylis). 24 Anna Komnene III 2, 2 (90, 89–92 Reinsch – Kambylis); on Alexius’ image as emperor-soldier cf. Eadem, V 3, 5, XIII 8, 4, XIV 7, 8 (147–148, 406, 453 Reinsch – Kambylis). 25 Anna Komnene III 3, 5 (95, 52–58 Reinsch – Kambylis). 26 Anna Komnene X 3, 5 (289, 63–66 Reinsch – Kambylis). 27 Anna Komnene III 9, 1 (110, 3–8 Reinsch – Kambylis). 28 Kondylis, Θεωρία του πολέμου 44–46.

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A mainstream attitude of the Byzantine ruling élite’s ideal perception of political peace, which could serve as a basis for comparison, is presented in – the probably most-theorizing Byzantine text about war and peace – the tenth-century military handbook of Leo VI, Taktika. The author declares that the Byzantines had no reason to wage war against those peoples that remained in their territories and did not attack imperial territory29. With this statement, which seems to align with present-day conceptions of peace between states, the emperor defines the ideal situation in which the Byzantine imperial state saw no more reason to prepare for and engage in a war. This position made the perception of political peace and the instrumentalization of warfare in its name dependent upon the perception of the state’s own borders, i.e. of imperial territory. Although at first glance this ideological approach seems to align with a defensive disposition, in which only defensive warfare for the maintenance of territorial integrity can be legitimized as a means of peace-making, the Byzantine paradigm of the tenth century proves beyond doubt that precisely this approach was the key to the political and ethical legitimization of the large-scale territorial expansion of imperial rule, insofar as the ideal political peace from the perspective of the Byzantine ruling élite could at any time be identified with borders reaching far beyond the contemporary borders of imperial authority30. In this respect, the main question to pose is whether the Alexiad contains statements that ideologically define those desired political borders with which the author identified the ideal political peace of her times; that is, borders beyond which the waging of war in the name of peace would not be considered as legitimate. In this instance, we come across a statement which provides an ideal territorial conception that not only deviates from the state’s contracted contemporary borders of the time of the completion of the book, but also from the imperial power’s realistic geopolitical aims. On the occasion of Alexius’ intervention in the internal struggle of the Seljuks in front of the walls of Nicaea in the year 1086 Anna tries to make a point by saying that the emperor’s goal was to enlarge Roman territorial rule by conquering one after the other all the cities of Asia Minor under Seljuk rule31. Then she goes on to capitalize on that statement by defining the Roman expansive potential on an ideological level: For there was a time when the limits of the Roman rule were the two pillars which bound east and west respectively, those on the west being called the ‘pillars of Heracles’, those on the east the ‘pillars of Dionysus’ somewhere near the frontier of India. It is hardly possible to define the Empire’s former width. Egypt, Meroë, all the Troglodyte country, and the region adjacent to the torrid zone; and in the other direction far-famed Thule, and the races who dwell in the northern lands and over whose heads the North Pole stands. But in these later times the boundary of the Roman rule was the neighbouring Bosporus on the east and the city of Adrianople on the west. Now, however, the Emperor Alexius by striking with both hands, as it were, at the barbarians who beset him on either side and starting from Byzantium as his centre, enlarged the circle of his rule, for on the west he made the Adriatic sea his frontier, and on the east the Euphrates and Tigris. And he would have restored the Empire to its former prosperity, had not the successive wars and the recurrent dangers and difficulties hindered him in his purpose (for he was involved in great, as well as frequent, dangers).32

In this statement the author defines the borders, within which the Roman emperor of Constantinople – in this case her father Alexius I Comnenus – could legitimately wage war in the name of peace. In this case, we Leonis VI Tactica II 29–31 (34, 193–36, 216 Dennis); cf. G. Michailides – Nuaros, Ο βυζαντινός δίκαιος πόλεμος κατά τα Τακτικά του Λέοντος του Σοφού (Symmikta Seferiadou). Athen 1961, 422; Laiou, Just War 167–8; STOURAITIS, Krieg und Frieden 273–276. 30 For a detailed analysis on the ‘war ideology’ of the Taktika and its interrelation with legitimating mechanisms that promoted Byzantine offensive warfare, see Stouraitis, Krieg und Frieden 268–302. 31 Anna Komnene VI 11, 1–2 (192, 84–193, 6 Reinsch – Kambylis); cf. F. Chalandon, Essai sur le règne d’Alexis Ier Comnène (1081–1118). Paris 1900, 10.1. 32 Anna Komnene VI 11, 3 (193, 7–24 Reinsch – Kambylis): Ἦν μὲν γὰρ ὅτε οἱ ὅροι τῆς τῶν Ῥωμαίων ἡγεμονίας αἱ ἀμφότεραι στῆλαι ἦσαν ἀνατολὴν καὶ δύσιν περιορίζουσαι, ἐξ ἑσπέρας μὲν αἱ τοῦ Ἡρακλέους ὀνομαζόμεναι, ἐξ ἕω δὲ αἱ ἀγχοῦ που ἱστάμεναι τοῦ Ἰνδικοῦ πέρατος αἱ τοῦ Διονύσου. Κατὰ γὰρ πλάτος οὐκ ἔστιν εἰπεῖν ὅσον ἦν τῆς τῶν Ῥωμαίων βασιλείας τὸ κράτος Αἴγυπτος καὶ Μερόη καὶ Τρωγλοδυτικὴ πᾶσα καὶ τὰ ἐγγύθεν τῆς διακεκαυμένης καὶ τὰ ἐξ ἑτέρου μέρους ἡ περιθρύλλητος Θούλη καὶ ὅσα ἔθνη βόσκει τὸ κλίμα τὸ Βόρειον, οἷς κατὰ κορυφὴν ὁ Βόρειος ἵσταται πόλος. Ἀλλ’ ἐπ’ ἐκείνῳ γε τοῦ καιροῦ ἐκ μὲν ἀνατολῆς ὁ γείτων Βόσπορος ὅριον τῶν Ῥωμαϊκῶν σκήπτρων, ἐκ δὲ τῆς ἑσπέρας ἡ Ἀδριανοῦ καθίστατο πόλις. Ἀλλ’ ὅ γε βασιλεὺς Ἀλέξιος ἀμφοτέραις ὥσπερ παίων χερσὶ τοὺς ἑκατέρωθεν ἐπιτιθεμένους βαρβάρους καὶ καθάπερ ἀπὸ κέντρου τῆς Βυζαντίδος περιορχούμενος ηὐρύνετο τὸν κύκλον τῆς βασιλείας καὶ ἐκ μὲν ἑσπέρας τὸν Ἀδρίαντος πόντον ἔθετο ὅριον, ἐκ δὲ τῆς ἀνατολῆς Εὐφράτην καὶ Τίγρητα. Καὶ ἂν εἰς τὴν προτέραν εὐδαιμονίαν τὴν βασιλείαν ἀνενεώσατο, εἰ μή γε οἱ ἐπάλληλοι ἀγῶνες καὶ οἱ πυκνοὶ πόνοι καὶ κίνδυνοι (ἦν γὰρ καὶ ἀμφότερα ὁ αὐτοκράτωρ μεγαλοκίνδυνός τε καὶ πυκνοκίνδυνος) τοῦτον ἀπέστησαν τοῦ ὁρμήματος. Cf. Dawes, Alexiad 159.

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are dealing with a depiction of the outmost territorial extension of the orbis romanus33. Anna notes that it is not possible to define precisely the empire’s former width, but makes clear that her ideological understanding of the Byzantine emperor’s potential territorial rule did not relate to any notion of an ideologically confined Oecumene34. Her approach to the ideal of Roman world supremacy relies on the traditional Greek and Roman notion of the Oecumene, which included those parts of the world worth inhabiting and conquering35. This notion also overarched those natural borders which had long defined the political limits of the Imperium Romanum from a Byzantine point of view, such as the Danube border in the North and the Tigris-Euphrates border in the East36. The ideological connotations of the latter border were particularly important, since it was related with a division of the political supremacy over the Oecumene between two political cultures, initially the Roman and the Persian, and after the seventh century the Roman and the Muslim37. When Anna declares that her father could have reconquered that whole area under certain preconditions, she certainly does not formulate an offensive “grand strategic” plan38. This is made clear at the end of her statement when she acknowledges that the waging of war for the realization of this goal was not possible in his time due to the dangers the Byzantine state was facing. Therefore, what we encounter in this statement is the author’s effort to place her father’s military actions in his immediate geopolitical sphere within a certain ideological schema. Her main goal is to emphasize the ideological starting-point that legitimized any war for the realistic expansion of Roman imperial rule in her father’s times. This legitimation was based on the same ideological axis made evident in the Taktika of Leo VI, i.e. the axis warfare → territory → peace. The desirable peace was identified with the emperor’s rule over a certain territory and the legitimate means for the realisation of that peace was the war fought for the reconquest of lost territory. The potential of that reconquest was extensively limited from a pragmatic point of view, but not from an ideological one. In this respect, it is worth reconsidering Anna’s initially-quoted statement on war and peace. There, the author says that Alexius was exceptionally desirous of peace and did his utmost to restore it39. If we take this statement to refer to the state’s contemporary borders and the predominately defensive actions during Alexius’ reign, a peaceful disposition with regard to war and peace can then be deduced, which legitimizes warfare only as an ultima ratio for the defense of a territorially-contracted state. Based, however, on Anna’s aforementioned perception of territorial empire, her father’s peaceful disposition could actually be aligned with unlimited military conflict beyond the contemporary borders of the state within the territorial framework of the broader Roman Oecumene. In this regard, the author’s axiomatic view on peace as the desirable end of all warfare did by no means regard only defensive warfare as legitimated within the imperial discourse of peace, but equally promoted offensive, i.e. expansionary, warfare as a peace-making means within the framework of a complex ideological approach to political peace. This approach was configured through the interaction of various ideas: First, the Aristotelian idea about the legitimate character of warfare by those who are culturally superior against those who are inferior and therefore deserve to be ruled40. This idea was related to the Roman emperor’s right to impose the superior Roman political order upon all the peoples that were living in former Roman territories. Anna makes this

Laiou, Just War 155–156. On the theory about a contraction of the Byzantine notional Oecumene (begrenzte Ökumene) from the time of the Macedonian dynasty onwards, see T. Lounghis, Die byzantinische Ideologie der ‘begrenzten Ökumene’ und die römische Frage im ausgehenden 10. Jahrhundert. BSl 56 (1995) 117–128; on a refutation of this theory, see J. Koder, Die räumlichen Vorstellungen der Byzantiner von der Ökumene (4. bis 12. Jahrhundert). Anzeiger d. philos.-hist. Klasse der Österr. Akad. d. Wiss. 137/2 (2002) 25–31; G. Schmalzbauer, Überlegungen zur Idee der Ökumene in Byzanz, in: Wiener Byzantinistik und Neogräzistik: Beiträge zum Symposion Vierzig Jahre Institut Byzantinistik und Neogräzistik der Universität Wien im Gedenken an Herbert Hunger, ed. W. Hörandner (Wien, 4.–7. Dezember 2002). Vienna 2004, 408–419. 35 G. Fowden, Empire to Commonwelth. Consequences of monotheism in late antiquity. Princeton, NJ 1993, 13–14; Cl. Ando, Imperial ideology and provincial loyalty in the Roman Empire. Berkley– Los Angeles– London 2000, 320f. 36 Stouraitis, Krieg und Frieden 281–282, 290–291. 37 Schmalzbauer, Überlegungen zur Idee der Ökumene in Byzanz 409–416. 38 On the strategic goals of Alexius’ military policy see M. Angold, The Byzantine Empire, 1025–1204. A Political History. London – New York 21997, 157–170. 39 Cf. n. 12. 40 Aristoteles, Politica VII 1333b, 38–1334a, 2 (Ross).

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explicitly clear when she declares that the Roman imperial state is by nature the master of all other peoples41. Second, the Roman prerogative of just war for the retaking of things wrongly taken, which from a Byzantine point of view were the Roman territories that the emperor of Constantinople could rightfully claim back by means of war42. Third, the Christian axiom which legitimized the waging of life-destructive warfare only as an unavoidable and therefore ultimate means for the protection of the life-affirming peace43. The war mentality presented in the Alexiad demonstrates that the extensively weakened position of the Byzantine State after the late eleventh century had not caused any radical change with regard to the ideological approach of the Byzantine ruling élite to the ecumenical concept, the primary argument in the Byzantine peace discourse that had entrenched the legitimacy of the large-scale reconquest of the sixth and tenth centuries respectively. The political pragmatism that since the seventh century consistently and increasingly limited the Byzantine ruling élite’s potential to expand its territorial rule within the Roman Oecumene had not provoked an adjustment of the imperial ideology to the new geopolitical conditions, neither after the empire’s contraction in the period from the seventh to the early eighth century nor after the dramatic territorial losses of the 1070s and 1080s. The fact that such a change is not made evident in the Alexiad, just as it is not made evident in the sources of the previous period, indicates that the geopolitically-limited military policies of the period after the seventh century cannot not be interpreted as a consequence of an ideological turn with regard to the Byzantines’ political perception of the Roman Oecumene44. The persistence of the post-seventh century Byzantine ruling élite on an ecumenical ideology, i.e. on a concept of world supremacy, which from a modern point of view seems fully inconsistent with the empire’s geopolitical status quo at that time, is explainable if we take into consideration two interrelated facts. First, the adherence of the empire’s ruling class to the Roman imperial culture and, consequently, to the inherent political axiom of the Roman emperor’s autocratic rule over the whole Roman Oecumene, which represented an indispensable attribute of the Romanitas of all members of that ruling class45. This understood and propagated itself consistently – at least up to 1204 – as the sole true heir and advocate of Roman imperial rule and ideals. Second, the need of that ruling élite to legitimize warfare as a means for the promotion of powerpolitical and economic interests46 in its geopolitical sphere within the framework of a deeply Christian mentality, the ideological adherence of which to the life-affirming notion of peace imposed ethical restrictions upon the waging of offensive warfare. In this light, Anna’s statement on the potential extension of her father’s rule through the waging of war reflects exactly the socio-political function of the ecumenical ideal. The author’s effort to equate the potential expansion of Alexius’ rule with the outmost territorial extension of the old Imperium Romanum derived from the inherent need of the Roman power élite to promote its power political interests through means of war. This ideological and political need is also reflected in Alexius’ military policies, which aimed at a feasible expansion of the limits of his rule. With regard to that need, the ecumenical ideal did not function deterministically on a political level, i.e. it did not dictate a concrete military goal that had to be striven toward at any cost. Anna’s employment of that ideological concept was intended to demonstrate that the territorial gains of Alexius’ wars could – but not should – have been bigger. In this way, she could paid equal heed to her two main concerns: First, to legitimize ethically and politically Alexius’ wars; second, to demonstrate that his political programme of protection and restoration of Roman imperial rule was not less glorious than that of

Anna Komnene XIV 7, 2 (450 Reinsch – Kambylis). Marcus Tullius Cicero, De officiis (ed. H. Gunermann. Stuttgart 1992, I, 11, 36); Marci Tulli Ciceronis scripta quae manserunt omnia. Fasc. 39. De re publica (ed. K. Ziegler [Bibliotheca Teubneriana]. Stuttgart 1969, 3, 23–35); Stouraitis, Krieg und Frieden 268–269. 43 Stouraitis, Krieg und Frieden 261–268. 44 H. Ahrweiler, L’Idéologie Politique de l’Empire Byzantin. Paris 1975, 29–36 interpreted the military policies of the eighth century as a sign of an ideological change, i.e. of an ideological setback, with regard to the concept of Roman ecumenicity which according to the author was then reintroduced once again in the form of Byzantine imperialism during the ninth century. On a critical approach to her thesis, see Stouraitis, Krieg und Frieden 211–218. 45 On the common identity of the Byzantine ruling élite as defined through its adherence to Constantinopolitan culture and values, see Haldon, Social Élites 171. 46 Haldon, Warfare 42–43.

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previous Roman emperors47 and, especially, of his successors48. In the Roman mentality of both the author and her readers, the concept of Roman ecumenical rule was the only rational ideal that could back up a peace discourse with a legitimizing function for any territorial expansion of the Byzantine emperor’s rule through means of war. Consequently, what we are dealing with in Anna’ statement is not a fictive, irrational approach to geopolitical reality, but the ideological disposition of the Byzantine ruling élite, which defined its foreign policy within the certain geopolitical context of the time of the text. The author purposefully describes that geopolitical context when she says that continuous enemy attacks dictated the emperor’s defensive attitude. She was therefore fully aware of, and willing to acknowledge, the fact that the primary pragmatic concern of the state was its defense. The Byzantine subjective conception of territorial ecumenicity, which literally legitimized unlimited offensive military action for the restoration of the territorially-contracted empire in the name of peace, was subordinate to the objective reality of strategic constraints that dictated a defensive position. Anna’s text provides thus useful evidence about the actual role of the concept of Roman ecumenical rule within the Byzantine political discourse of war and peace. The consistent propagation of this ideal did not relate to a rigid denial, and overall failure, of the Byzantine political culture to compromise with and acknowledge new geopolitical realities, but rather to the imperial power’s need to articulate and legitimize its powerpolitical claims on neighbouring territories and populations within the at any time actual geopolitical status quo49. The principal factor that defined the imperial state’s strategic aims and their limits was, however, the equilibrium of military power within the Byzantine geopolitical sphere, which extensively restricted the Byzantine political potential for expansion. 2. The Political Field of Ideology: Peace Agreements A better insight into the overlapping function of the ecumenical conception of pax byzantina within the imperial power’s political discourse of peace in the author’s times is facilitated, if we carefully analyse the ideological implications of the peace treaties between Alexius I Comnenus and his Latin and Seljuk enemies, on which the Alexiad reports. The loose ideological commitment of the Byzantine ruling élite to the eventual borders, which were defined by such agreements, demonstrates the imperial power’s ability to adjust to and propagate differentiated conceptions of political peace according to its current political and military standards and concerns. The most famous peace agreement reported in the text, the treaty of Devol (September 1108)50, offers an insightful paradigm in this regard. For instance, the recognition of the Adriatic Sea as the empire’s western border in this peace treaty51 clearly reflects Alexius I’s rational approach to the geopolitical reality and the equilibrium of military power between Byzantium and the West in that period. At the same time, though, it seems to clearly contradict the author’s ideological agenda, according to which the Byzantine perception of ideal political peace in her father’s times was defined through the concept of ecumenicity that equated peace By highlighting Alexius’ right as well as personal ability to impose anew the monocracy of the Roman emperor over the archetypal orbis romanus through means of war, Anna alludes to the ideological schema presented by Constantine Porphyrogennitus in De thematibus and positions her father into the ideal line of those autocratic Roman rulers that had fought wars in order to impose the peace-making monarchy of the Roman emperor over the Oecumene; cf. Stouraitis, Krieg und Frieden 206–207. 48 On Anna’s agenda to pose through her text a response to the increasing tendency of Manuel I’s panegyrists during the mid-twelfth century to represent him as an ideal emperor, using as a measure of comparison the deeds of his father and grandfather, see P. Magdalino, The Pen of the Aunt: Echoes of the Mid-Twelfth Century in the Alexiad, in: Anna Komnene and Her Times 17f.; P. Stephenson, Anna Comnena’s Alexiad as a source of the Second Crusade? JMH 29 (2003) 45f. 49 All three large-scale re-conquests of the Byzantine state under Justinian in the sixth, under the Macedonian dynasty in the tenth and under the Comnenian dynasty in the twelfth century, although they were of different magnitudes, demonstrate a certain political pattern, which from an ideological point of view points to a consistent disposition of the Byzantine ruling class to try to expand the borders of its territorial rule when the equilibrium of military power was favourable. 50 On the treaty of Devol see F. Dölger, Regesten der Kaiserurkunden des Öströmischen Reiches von 565–1453, Teil II: Regesten von 1025–1204. Munich – Berlin 1925, 1243; cf. R.-J. Lilie, Byzanz und die Kreuzfahrerstaaten. Studien zur Politik des Byzantinischen Reiches gegenüber den Staaten der Kreuzfahrer in Syrien und Palästina bis zum vierten Kreuzzug (1096–1204) (Poikila Byzantina 1). Munich 1981, 67f. (with extensive bibliography). 51 On the Adriatic Sea as the empire’s border in the West cf. Anna Komnene XIII 12, 6 (415, 72 Reinsch – Kambylis).

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with the restoration of Roman rule over the whole Western Mediterranean as far as the straits of Gibraltar. The fact that Anna seems by no means to regard the treaty of Devol as a political failure and as in principle contradictory to what she presents as her father’s ideological disposition of world supremacy in her narrative, is a strong indication that in her own (and probably in her readers’) understanding there was no ideological inconsistency between the statement about the ideal borders of Roman imperial rule and the ideological implications of the treatise regarding those borders. This suggests that instead of distinguishing between more and less sober statements in the text regarding the limits of territorial empire from an ideological point of view52, we should rather concentrate on the decoding of those ideological mechanisms which facilitated the adaptation of meanings and values inherent in apparently rigid ideological concepts, such as world supremacy and Roman Oecumene, to the realistic political conditions of each period. A closer look at the idiomatic language of the treatise text and its comparative analysis with regard to the Byzantine military policies of the second third of the twelfth century can be proven quite fruitful in the effort to decode the text’s ideological implications from a Byzantine point of view. The political subordination of Bohemund and his territories to the suzerainty of the Byzantine emperor is presented in the text in the following manner: ... I will become the liegeman of thy sceptre, or to express it more clearly and plainly, thy menial and subject, as thou too hast determined to drag me under thy right hand and art willing to make me thy liegeman. … And I further agree, and to this God will listen and be my witness that I will never at any time take and hold any country which either now or formerly has been brought under thy sway, nor hold and take any town or island, and, in general, not to take any possession of all those which formerly comprised or are now held by the Empire of Constantinople, be they in the East or the West, except only such as are expressly given to me by your divinely appointed Majesties and which shall be stated by name in this present writing53.

The reason for the conclusion of that treaty was the Byzantine interest to secure the emperor’s suzerainty over eastern territories that had come to Bohemund’s possession after the First Crusade54. However the reference to “all those which formerly comprised or are now held by the emperor of Constantinople, be they in the East or the West” seems to imply that the western border of the Adriatic referred to the contemporary actual political border of actual Byzantine authority, but was by no means regarded as an ideological border defined through a notion of a ‘contracted Oecumene’. Consequently, it left the door open for a legitimate Byzantine claim on a potential extension of the emperor’s territorial rule beyond the Adriatic. Furthermore, the term hypocheirios (subject), although in the context of the treaties primarily referred to Bohemund’s territories in the East, defined in ideological terms his overall status in relation to the Byzantine emperor, a fact that implicated the emperor’s nominal suzerainty over his territories in the West as well55. In this regard, the conclusion of the treaty can by no means be seen as depriving the Roman power élite of Constantinople of the ideological prerogative to claim back by means of war territories west of the Adriatic. Manuel I’s Italian expedition56, conducted shortly after the completion of the Alexiad, demonstrates the political meaning of those ideological idioms that were consistently employed by the Byzantine ruling élite to maintain its nominal – and from a modern point of view fairly superfluous – political supremacy over the western Christian parts of the Roman Oecumene. It is quite certain that Anna’s intention was far from provid Laiou, Just war 158, makes such a distinction. Anna Komnene XIII 12, 1, 7 (414, 10–13, 416, 74–80 Reinsch – Kambylis): … ὥστε λίζιον γενέσθαι τοῦ σκήπτρου σου ἄνθρωπον καί, ἵνα σαφέστερον εἴποιμι καὶ φανερώτερον, οἰκέτην καὶ ὑποχείριον, ἐπειδὴ καὶ σὺ ὑπὸ τὴν σὴν δεξιὰν ἕλκειν ἐμὲ βεβούλησαι καὶ ἄνθρωπόν σου ἐθέλεις ποιήσασθαι λίζιον. …Ἔτι συμφωνῶ, καὶ ἔσται τῶν συμπεφωνημένων μάρτυς καὶ ἐπήκοος ὁ Θεός, μηδεμίαν μηδέποτε χώραν τεταγμένην ὑπὸ τὰ ὑμέτερα σκῆπτρα εἴτε νῦν εἴτε πρότερον μήτε πόλιν ἢ νῆσον κρατεῖν τε καὶ ἔχειν, καὶ ἁπλῶς, ὁπόσα ἡ βασιλεία Κωνσταντινουπόλεως περιεῖχεν ἢ νῦν κατέχει κατά τε τὴν ἀνατολὴν καὶ δύσιν, ἐκτὸς τῶν ῥητῶς δεδωρημένων μοι παρὰ τοῦ θεοπροβλήτου κράτους ὑμῶν, ἃ καὶ κατ’ ὄνομα δηλωθήσεται ἐν τῷ παρόντι ἐγγράφῳ. Cf. Dawes, Alexiad 349–451. 54 On the meaning of the treaty of Devol for Bohemund’s subordination to the Byzantine emperor see Stephenson, Byzantium’s Balkan Frontier 182–183. 55 On the status of liegeman, see Lilie, Kreuzfahrerstaaten 68–70. 56 On the ideologico-political content of this expedition see St. Lampakis – M. Leontsini – T. Lounghis – V. Vlyssidou, Byzantine Armies in the West (5th-11th c.). Studies on the Operations on Land and at Sea: Composition and Mission of the Byzantine Task Forces in the West (NHRF/IBR, Research Series 5). Athens 2008, 456-467 (in Greek). 52 53

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ing a legitimatizing ideological platform of her nephew’s wars in her text57. However, the flexible and overlapping function of differentiated, albeit interconnected, conceptions of peace by the legitimization of war and diplomatic policies, which she presents, reflect those exact ideological mechanisms that provided ethical legitimization as well as ideological motive for Manuel I’s military intervention both in East and West58. The state’s territorial expansion under Manuel I was, like under Alexius I, ideologically grounded on the interaction of the concepts of the Roman territorial Oecumene and the Roman emperor’s irenic rule. The peace that was agreed through the treaty of Devol did from an ethical and political point of view by no means write off future Byzantine offensive action in Italy in the name of furthering “peace”. The violation of the treaty’s terms by the Normans already in the time of Alexius I59 as well as Roger II’s attack against state territory in the reign of Manuel I (1147)60 provided a strong pretext for a Byzantine offensive against the Norman kingdom. However, these events did not function as stand-alone causes for the ethical and political legitimization of expansionary warfare; they rather served as additional arguments for the political reactivation of the diachronically-present ideal of territorial ecumenism. A further insight into the flexibility with which the Byzantine ruling élite could remove this ideal from the political background to the foreground and vice versa in order to promote its war and diplomatic policies within its geopolitical sphere is well-demonstrated in Alexiad’s reports on Alexius’ peace treaties with the Seljuks. Anna maintains with regard to Alexius’ response to a Seljuk peace delegation from Ikonion in the year 1112 that the emperor endorsed and desired peace above all and was therefore willing to conclude a peace treaty with the ambassadors of the Sultan, as long as they consented to his terms61. Then she goes on to comment her father’s motives: In this the Emperor was not thinking only of his own interests but of the Roman Empire. For he was more solicitous of the universal welfare than of his own, and in all his arrangements he only regarded and referred everything to the dignity of the Roman sceptre, in order that treaties might last on even after his death to future years-and yet he failed in his object. For after him things were different and everything was turned into confusion. In the meantime all disturbing elements had been laid to rest and we looked forward to perfect peace, and we had peace from then to the end of his life. But all that was most desirable vanished together with the Emperor, and his efforts were all rendered vain after his departure by the sluggishness of his successors to the throne.62

In this passage we are confronted with a differentiated conception of peace, which obviously did not legitimize Byzantine military action for the reconquest of the whole Roman Oecumene. Anna says that Alexius’ goal was to achieve through the conclusion of this treaty an ‘enduring peace’63 with the Seljuks on the ground of the current borders, which was meant to last even after his own death. Then, she goes on to blame her father’s successors, i.e. her brother John and her nephew Manuel, for having distorted that peace policy64. Certainly, there is no reason to doubt that Alexius I propagated and celebrated this peace agreement at the time of its conclusion as an important political achievement which aligned with the ideal image of the Christian Roman emperor as peacemaker. However, Anna’s effort to draw a conclusion from it about the emperor’s Cf. n. 48. On the concept of renovatio imperii under Manuel Comnenos, which aimed at the reconquest of Italian territory, see Magdalino, The Empire of Manuel Komnenos 57, 88–89, 434f. 59 Lilie, Kreuzfahrerstaaten 76. 60 Angold, Byzantine Empire 200–204; Stephenson, Byzantium’s Balkan Frontier 222–224. 61 Anna Komnene XIV 3, 8 (438, 23–33 Reinsch – Kambylis); on this peace agreement which had a short life cf. Chalandon, Essai 265; Buckler, Anna Komnena 426–427. 62 Anna Komnene XIV 3, 9 (438, 34–43 Reinsch – Kambylis): Οὐ πρὸς ἑαυτὸν δὲ ἀπένευε μόνον, ἀλλὰ πρὸς αὐτὴν τὴν βασιλείαν Ῥωμαίων. Κηδόμενος γὰρ τῶν κοσμικῶν μᾶλλον ἢ τῶν ἑαυτοῦ πᾶν τὸ οἰκονομούμενον πρὸς τὰ σκῆπτρα Ῥωμαίων ἀπονεύειν καὶ ἀναφέρεσθαι παντοίως διῳκονόμει, ἵνα καὶ μετ’αὐτὸν καὶ ἐς τὸν ἐφεξῆς χρόνον τὰ συμπεφωνημένα διήκῃ, κἂν ἀπετύγχανε τοῦ σκοποῦ. Τὰ γὰρ μετ’ αὐτὸν ἄλλως ἔσχε καὶ εἰς σύγχυσιν ἀφώρα τὰ πράγματα. Κατεστόρεστο μὲν γὰρ τῷ τέως τὰ ἐνοχλοῦντα καὶ εἰς εἰρήνην ἀπεῖδε βαθεῖαν καὶ ἀπὸ … μέχρι πέρατος αἰῶνος εἰρήνην ἤγομεν. Ἀλλὰ γὰρ συγκατέδυ τῷ βασιλεῖ πάντα τὰ λῴονα, καὶ κενόσπουδος αὐτῷ ἡ σπουδὴ μετὰ τὴν αὐτοῦ παρέλευσιν γέγονεν ἀβελτηρίᾳ τῶν διαδεξαμένων τὰ σκῆπτρα. Cf. Dawes, Alexiad 370–371. 63 On the term batheia eirēnē which was employed to describe peace under the rule of the Roman emperor within the Roman Oecumene, see Theophanes 16, 12–22 (De Boor); Alexandros Monachos, PG 89/3, 205 (Migne); cf. Stouraitis, Krieg und Frieden 266. 64 D. R. Reinsch, Zum Text der Alexias Anna Komnenes. JÖB 40 (1990) 247; Idem, Anna Komnene Alexias 489, n. 70.

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intention to quit from any further territorial claims against the Turks of Asia Minor for the sake of peace, which she then uses as an argument against the policies of his son and grandson in this area, should be approached with caution due to the author’s propagandistic agenda against her brother and her nephew; those very persons that had hindered her own and her husbands’ accession to the throne. The bias of Anna’s thesis in this case becomes evident if we consider that the author is eager to condemn the military policies of both John and Manuel Comnenus, which strove to restore Byzantine rule over Seljuk territory in Asia Minor, although these policies were perfectly aligned with her declared disposition about the legitimate right of the Roman emperor to expand his rule over all former Roman territories. Moreover, the author’s effort to differentiate the ideological background of her father’s policies against the Turks from that of his immediate successors is contradicted by her own information on Alexius’ war policies in Asia Minor after the conclusion of the treaty. First of all, the fact that the peace treaty of 1112 was violated by the Seljuks in the following year proves that it had already in Alexius’ own time failed to achieve its alleged goal of ‘enduring peace’ and was therefore by no means annulled by the policies of his successors. Furthermore, the fact that both Anna and Alexius did not view the borders arranged by that peace treaty as ideologically binding, and therefore did not abandon the Byzantine claim on former Roman territory under Seljuk rule in Asia Minor, is made evident in Anna’s report in chapter fifteen on the peace agreement of the year 1116 with the Sultan Malik-Shah65. According to this report, the Sultan pleaded for peace after his defeat on the battlefield and declared himself willing to become the subject of the Byzantine emperor. Alexius was consequently in a position to impose his own terms upon the Turks and according to Anna’s narration he made the following demands: If you are willing to submit to the Roman Empire and cease your onslaughts on the Christians, you shall enjoy favours and honour and live at peace for the rest of your life in the countries assigned you, where you formerly had your dwellings before Romanus Diogenes took over the reins of government and suffered that terrible defeat when he unfortunately joined battle with the Sultan and was captured by him. Therefore you ought to choose peace in preference to war, and keep your hands off the boundaries of the Roman Empire, and be content with your own. And if you listen to my words, who am giving you wise counsel, you will never repent, but even partake of many privileges –if you do not, then be assured that I shall be the destroyer of your race.66

The authenticity of this report with regard to the great territorial gains of the Byzantines after the emperor’s victory has been plausibly doubted67. However, it is still of great importance from an ideological point of view, because it exposes the author’s hidden agenda in her condemnation of the war policies of John and Manuel Comnenus. Contrary to what Anna had earlier presented in her text, Alexius’ conception of peace in Asia Minor is here related to the restoration of Roman rule over the eastern territories that belonged to the empire before the battle of Mantzikert (1071) and the Seljuk occupation68. This statement points to the principle attitude of Byzantine imperial power, according to which no peace agreement could prevent Byzantine imperial power from posing further claims on former Roman territories by means of warfare when the conditions were favourable. What Anna does with this statement is to abrogate her former statement, in which she tried to construct a contradiction between Alexius’ war policies and the war policies of his successors by declaring that Alexius’ goal was to diachronically maintain a peace agreement with the Seljuks that permitted them to preserve their rule over former imperial territory in Asia Minor. A direct comparison of both reports demonstrates that the former should be written off as a clear product of propaganda, aiming to discredit John and Manuel Comne Anna Komnene XV 6, 3–5 (477, 51–478, 76 Reinsch – Kambylis); vgl. Dölger, Regesten II 1269. Anna Komnene XV 6, 5 (478, 83–90 Reinsch – Kambylis): Εἰ μὲν τῇ βασιλείᾳ Ῥωμαίων ὑπείκειν βούλεσθε καὶ τὰς κατὰ τῶν Χριστιανῶν ἐκδρομὰς ἀνακόψαι, χαρίτων μὲν καὶ τιμῆς ἀπολαύσετε καὶ ἀνέτως ἐν ταῖς ἀποτεταγμέναις ὑμῖν χώραις τοῦ λοιποῦ βιώσεσθε, οὗ τὸ πρότερον τὰς διατριβὰς εἴχετε πρὸ τοῦ Ῥωμανὸν τὸν Διογένην τὰς ἡνίας τῆς βασιλείας περιζώσασθαι καὶ τὴν ἧτταν ἐκείνην ἡττηθῆναι μετὰ τοῦ σουλτάνου συνάξαντα δυστυχῶς τὴν μάχην καὶ ἁλῶναι παρ’ αὐτοῦ. Χρὴ οὖν τὴν εἰρήνην ἑλέσθαι τῆς μάχης καὶ τῶν ὑπὸ τὴν Ῥωμαίων ἀρχὴν ὁρίων ἀπέχεσθαι τοῖς ἰδίοις ἀρκουμένους. Cf. Dawes, Alexiad 405. 67 Chalandon, Essai 271 has argued, that the Byzantine victory can by no means have led to such territorial gains; Buckler, Anna Comnena 428 points at the murder of the Sultan due to his brother’s conspiracy on the way back home to assert that the agreement’s terms should have rendered invalid shortly after the conclusion of the deal. 68 Here we are dealing with the political borders of the Empire in the East as these had been consolidated since the time of Basil II (976–1025), cf. W. Felix, Byzanz und die islamische Welt im frühen 11. Jahrhundert (Byzantina Vindobonensia 14). Wien 1081 49f.; E. Chrysos, Νόμος Πολέμου, in: Byzantium at War (9th–12th c.) (NHRF/IBR, International Symposia 4). Athens 1997, 209–210.

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nus. In this regard, it can hardly be viewed as proof of a radical change with regard to the predominant conceptions of peace and the ideological mechanisms of war justification within the Byzantine state élite of the early and mid-twelfth century. In view of all the aforementioned evidence, it can be asserted that the Alexiad, despite its author’s personal agenda, remains an important source of information about continuities and changes with regard to the main ideological and political patterns that the Byzantine ruling élite employed to promote its military policies in the post-seventh century eastern Roman world. Anna’s normative approach to the conception of political peace and the role of warfare in its maintenance is aligned with the ideological approach of the Taktika of Leo VI, which emphasized the role of territorial integrity as the defining factor for the legitimation of both defensive and offensive Byzantine warfare. The variety of arguments presented in the Alexiad for the justification of Byzantine wars, such as self-defense, reconquest, violation of peace treaty and ‘peace-making’69, had as a starting-point the ideological axis of the Taktika, which made ‘just war’ primarily dependent upon a conception of rightful autonomic rule of the emperor of Constantinople over an archetypal Roman territorial empire. On the other hand, the text provides an insight into those mechanisms that facilitated the adaptation of rigid ideals, such as territorial ecumenism and world supremacy, to the political and strategic standards and concerns of each time. This adaptation produced changeable political conceptions of war and peace, which demonstrate the ideological flexibility of the Byzantine imperial power within a framework of rigid traditionalism.

On the models of war justification in the Alexiad and their relation to the ‘just war’ concept of Leo’s Taktika cf. also Laiou, Just War 156–161, 168–169.

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1176 – A Byzantine Crusade?* In his well-written monograph on Manuel Comnenos Paul Magdalino1 covers the expedition against the Seljuk’s of Iconium and the disastrous battle of Myriokephalon of 1176 under the title “The Byzantine Crusade 1175–76”. In this sense Magdalino describes the refortification of Dorylaion under Manuel’s initiative as “the beginning of a holy war”2. This interpretation of the events of 1176 had been advanced already by Ralph-Johannes Lilie in his book on Byzanz und die Kreuzfahrerstaaten3. In Lilie’s reconstruction, Manuel’s military initiative was the beginning of a crusade (“Iniziierung eines neuen Kreuzzuges”). Scholars involved in the discussion about options and forms of “holy war” in Byzantium may be wondering about this categorical interpretation of the events of 1175/76 as a Byzantine “crusade”. Perhaps one could pass over this without comment as rhetorical hyperbole, if a young scholar in Australia, Andrew Stone, had not brought this topic recently to the center of the discussion, first with an article in the Jahrbuch der Österreichischen Byzantinistik4 and soon thereafter with an article in the Revue des Études Byzantines5. I decided that I should analyze these events of 1176 in an attempt to contribute to the question dominating this Symposium by offering a paradigm, by producing a causa ad quam argumentum demonstrandum est6. Stone attempts an exhaustive analysis of the available historiographical sources, but also of the rhetorical texts of two contemporary authors, Euthymios Malakes, Metropolitan of New Patras and Eustathius as well as Metropolitan of Thessaloniki. Let us look at the evidence more closely. As a document of fundamental importance Magdalino and Stone cite a letter by Alexander III to his legate to the French Court, Peter, Cardinal of St. Chrysogonus. With this letter the pope informs his legate that he had sent letters to the monarchs of the West, asking them to move with devotion against the Seljuks for the glory of the Christian faith, i.e. to start a new crusade. The pope informs the recipient that his initiative is supported by a letter he received on 16th January 1176 from Emperor Manuel. In his letter the illustris Constantinopolitanus imperator informed him that he had invaded the land of the Turks (Turcarum terram ingressus), had destroyed castles and cities of the enemies and had refortified a great city, installing there a guard of Latins and Greeks, and that with God’s grace he rules from this city over a large area of the Turks An early version of this paper was read in Greek at a conference in honour of Helen Ahrweiler on 16.07.2004 on the island of Poros. The invitation to participate at the Vienna conference on Byzantine war ideology encouraged me to retrieve it from a dossier of unpublished papers and present it here with minimal changes. 1 P. Magdalino, The Empire of Manuel I Komnenos, 1143–1180. Cambridge 1993 (repr. 1997) [Greek transl. Η Αυτοκρατορία του Μανουήλ Α΄ Κομνηνού. Athens 2008]. 2 Magdalino, Empire 96–97. 3 R.-J. Lilie, Byzanz und die Kreuzfahrerstaaten. Studien zur Politik des Byzantinischen Reiches gegenüber den Staaten der Kreuzfahrer in Syrien und Palästina bis zum vierten Kreuzzug (1096–1204). München 1981, 201–203. Lilie continues along this path in Idem, Handel und Politik zwischen dem byzantinischen Reich und den italienischen Kommunen Venedig, Pisa und Genua in der Epoche der Komnenen und der Angeloi (1081–1204). Amsterdam 1984, 511ff. However in Idem, Byzanz und die Kreuzzüge. Stuttgart 2004 122, he speaks no more of a Crusade, but only of Manuel’s hope to gain the Nimbus des Kreuzfahrers in case of a victory against the Seljuks. In an earlier article that contains quite useful comments of the relative sources, Lilie had not gone that far yet, see Idem , Die Schlacht von Myriokephalon (1176). Auswirkungen auf das byzantinische Reich im ausgehenden 12. Jahrhundert. REB 35 (1977) 257–275. Actually it was F. Chalandon who first alluded to this interpretation, cf. F. Chalandon, Les Comnène. Paris 1912, 503–506, 4 A. E. Stone, Eustathian panegyric as a historical source. JÖB 51 (2001) 225–258, particularly 243f. 5 A. E. Stone, Dorylaion Revisited. Manuel I Komnenos and the refortification of Dorylaion and Soublaion in 1175. REB 61 (2003) 183–199. 6 After the conference in Vienna and during the process of editing this paper for publication an article of Dr Stouraitis, one of our hosts, was published on the broader topic of religious warfare in which the battle of Myriokephalon is interpreted along parallel lines, see I. Stouraitis, Jihād and Crusade: Byzantine positions towards the notions of ‛holy war’. Byzantina Symmeikta 21 (2011) 11–63, in particular 42–49. I thank him for sending me an electronic offprint.

*

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and that with God’s favor the road to the Holy Sepulchre of the Lord was safe for Latins and Greeks. Since the Emperor promised, the letter continues, not to abstain from assaults against this incestuous people, the pope therefore wants to transmit Manuel’s proposal for a military initiative to the monarchs and rulers οf the world7. From this letter so much is clear: we learn that Manuel informed the pope about his expedition of 1175 and the refortification of Dorylaion, about his intention to move against Iconium and about his proposal (propositum) to the pope to initiate a new crusade of the rulers of the West. Given the geopolitical circumstances of the day Manuel apparently needed to improve his relations with Rome and to strengthen the net of communication and cooperation with the Crusaders’ states in the Near East. One of his main goals was to isolate Frederick Barbarossa, whose aim was to appear as the protector of the Christians in the Holy Land and who allegedly incited the Sultan of Iconium to start a war against the Byzantines8. It is therefore easy to explain Manuel’s extensive military offensive against the Seljuks and it is equally easy to explain Manuel’s effort to present to the pope his initiative in such a phraseology as if he supported the papal goals, namely to safeguard the crusaders’ dominion in Jerusalem and to enforce the idea of the crusade, which at that time was considered a preponderant idea and the noblest duty of the pope and any Christian in the West. On the other hand, if Manuel could convince the pope to call for a new crusade of the French rulers through the lands controlled by the Seljuks, this would facilitate Manuel’s own strategic plans in Asia Minor. But are all these apparent reasons sufficient to give to the Byzantine initiative the attribute of a “crusade”? Did the Byzantines initiate or consider the option of initiating crusades of their own? In order to support his interpretation of the events of 1175/76 Magdalino refers to further evidence, which we must scrutinize. Firstly he utilizes the evidence provided by John Kinnamos that Manuel prepared a war fleet of 150 ships and sent them to Egypt. This information refers to a naval initiative against Egypt, datable in 1177, rather than 1175 or 11769. Magdalino combines this information with what we know about the land expedition against Iconium and on that basis he concludes that Manuel initiated a crusade. It is obvious that the careful preparation, the large volume of military forces and the personal involvement of the emperor in the expedition against Iconium demonstrates that he had decided to deliver a crushing blow to the Seljuk sultan and that this aim was part of a wider geopolitical program. However, this does not characterize the adventure as a crusade nor the attack on Egypt, possibly ordered post eventum and for different strategic reasons. Let us look at this piece of evidence more closely: It is significant to underline that none of the historiographers of the time, John Kinnamos, Niketas Choniates, William of Tyre or Michael the Syrian ascribe the attributes of crusade to those events of 1175/76, although they describe in some detail the military operations of Manuel10. The four historiographers praise the emperor for his bravery and for his plans to destroy the enemy and also mention his sorrow for the defeat at Myriokephalon, which he compared to the defeat of Romanus IV Diogenes at the battle of Mantzikert one hundred years before11. They further underline the advantages of the peace concluded after the defeat because through this peace the largest part of the army was saved and a cross captured by the enemies, with relics of the Holy Cross, was returned. This is of course Byzantine traditional narrative. How then can we explain the lack of any hint that Manuel was fighting a holy war? To this question Magdalino’s answer is as follows: “As far as his subjects were concerned, his crusade of 1175–6 was a traditional imperial war of reconquest – which is perhaps why mod







Epistolae Alexandri III Papae (PL 200, no. 1233). An English translation of the passage in Stone, Dorylaion Revisited 185ff. There is no evidence to substantiate this allegation of modern scholars. I thank Dr Eleni Tounta who checked the source once more on my request and confirmed this opinion. 9 Most probably this expedition is identical with the one mentioned by William of Tyre, Historia rerum in partibus transmarinis gestarum, XXIII, 1 (PL 201, 879–985), dated to 1177. Cf. B. Hamilton, Manuel I Comnenus and Baldwin IV of Jerusalem, in: Καθηγήτρια. Essays Presented to Joan Hussey on her 80th Birthday, ed. J. Chrysostomides. Camberley 1988, 353–375, here 362ff. 10 Cinnamus VII (ed. A. Meineke, Ioannis Cinnami Epitome rerum ab Ioanne et Alexio Comnenis gestarum [CSHB 25–6]. Bonn 1836, 291–300); Choniates 179–194 (ed. J.-L. van Dieten, Nicetae Choniatae historia [CFHB 11.1]. Berlin 1975); William of Tyre 97 (ed. R. B. C. Huygens, Willelmi Tyrensis chronicon. Turnhout 1986); Michael the Syrian 368–372 (ed. J.-B. Chabot, Chronique de Michel le Syrien. Paris 1905). 11 Choniates 191, 27–30 (van Dieten): Νῦν δὲ ταυτοπαθῆ πὼς ἑαυτὸν Ρωμανῷ τῷ Διογένει κατονομάζων, ἐπεὶ καὶ οὗτος ὁ βασιλεὺς κατὰ τῶν Τούρκων ἐξενεγκών ποτε πόλεμον τό τε πολὺ τῆς στρατιᾶς ἀπεβάλετο καὶ αὐτὸς συλληφθεὶς ἀπήχθη αἰχμάλωτος. 7 8

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ern historians have been so slow to appreciate its crusading dimension”12. But this is not a convincing explanation of the fact that the authors who experienced these events and wrote about them, Byzantines, Westerners and Orientals as well as modern historians have failed to see the nature of a crusade in the expedition. In my mind there is only one plausible answer: in the perception of the four historiographers Manuel’s military initiative was not any sort of a crusade but an enterprise framed within the traditional conceptions of the Byzantines on war against their Muslim adversaries in the East13. Magdalino refers further to a letter of Manuel to the King of England Henry in November 1176, in which he describes what had happened on the expedition14. In this letter too there is no hint that could be understood as a reference to a crusade, planned or materialized. Here the Byzantine Emperor reports in an expressive way the hatred he always nurtured against the Seljuks, who – of course – were God’s enemies who blasphemed against the Christians as triumphant over the true God and as conquerors of Christian lands. However he continues with concrete information about the outcome of the battle of Myriokephalon and the heavy losses that led to the peace agreement that the sultan asked for. This reference in the letter to the procedure of the peace agreement with the Seljuks demonstrates that for the Byzantines it was not impossible, however unpleasant it may have been, to accept the Muslims as counterparts in international consultations and agreements in Byzantium’s own way. Paul Magdalino and more extensively Andrew Stone have analyzed some sentences in contemporary rhetorical texts written by Eustathius of Thessaloniki and Euthymios Malakes, which are interpreted in the phraseology of a crusade. We have to study them closely. In his “Introductory Homily for Holy Lent”15, which Eustathius delivered in February 1176, there is clear reference to the refortification of Dorylaion: “It had been taken away from us and it lay as the inheritance for foreigners, but now it has returned to us with the emperor restoring its eminence and completing its fine quality for us; and animals of the woods have been driven away and the feet of the mild one are treading under the good feet of the emperor; and on account of this there has been peace and the joyful news of every good thing for us”16. Despite the panegyrical character of this reference there is no hint of crusading activities. The emperor is praised for the liberation of lands lost to the hands of the Seljuks. It is a praise common to many Byzantine sources, especially rhetorical ones, for the reconquista of lost territory. The loss of a part of the Empire’s territory was always seen as a temporary accident and the recovery of lands lost to the enemies was considered as the first priority of the emperor, τῶν ἀπολωλότων δι’ ἀγρύπνου ἐπιμελείας ἡ ἀνάληψις, as we read in the title περί βασιλέως in the Eisagoge. As for the ideas expressed in two homilies by Euthymios Malakes, the Metropolitan of Neai Patrai, I would comment upon them in a not dissimilar way: in his homily “for the emperor Manuel Komnenos after he had returned from his victorious expedition in Persia”17, Euthymios praises the emperor for the refortification of Dorylaion with the following sentence: “But my emperor both founds cities in the land of others – building Dorylaion on Turkish soil – and he does not permit it to be foreign anymore. And what was our land long ago, and what was then seized by our enemies, he makes ours again”18 And he continues: “In this way we Magdalino, Empire 109. Cf. the relevant paper of I. Stouraitis cited above, n. 6. 14 On the letter with an English translation see A. A. Vasiliev, Manuel Comnenus and Henry Plantagenet. BZ 29 (1929/30) 233–244. It is significant that Manuel reports in this letter that he started the war “inasmuch we were compelled to do so”! This explanation refers to the Empire’s needs and strategy rather than to a crusading mission. 15 Λόγος προεισόδιος τῆς ἁγίας τεσσαρακοστῆς, (ed. P. Wirth, Eustathii Thessalonicensis opera minora magnam partem inedita. Berlin 2000), 17–45; cf. S. Schönauer ed., Eustathios Archbishop of Thessalonica, Logos proeisodios tēs hagias Tessarakostis. Reden auf die große Quadragesima. Frankfurt 2006. For the English translation of this and the following rhetorical passages I rely gratefully on the expertise of my friend John Melville-Jones, Perth. 16 Eustathios Thess. 41, 82–86 (Wirth): ἡμῶν μὲν ἀπέσπαστο, τοῖς δὲ ἀλλοφύλοις ὡς εἰς κληρονομίαν ἔκειτο, νῦν δὲ ἐπανῆλθεν ἡμῖν ἀνακαλεσαμένου τὸ ταύτης πρεσβεῖον τοῦ παρ’ ἡμῖν συμπληροῦντος τὸ καλὸν αὐτοκράτορος. Καὶ θῆρες μὲν οἱ τοῦ δρυμοῦ ἀπηλάθησαν, πόδες δὲ πραέων ἐκεῖ πατοῦσιν ὑπ’ ἀγαθοῖς ποσὶ βασιλικοῖς, δι’ ὧν εἰρήνης ἡμῖν καὶ καλοῦ παντὸς εὐαγγέλια. 17 Euthymios Malakes, Λόγος εἰς τὸν αὐτοκράτορα κῦριν Μανουὴλ Κομνηνὸν μετὰ τὴν τῆς Περσίδος νικηφόρον στρατείαν ἐπανακάμψαντα, in: K. Bonis, Ευθυμίου του Μαλάκη μητροπολίτου Νέων Πατρών, δυο Εγκωμιαστικοί Λόγοι, νυν το πρώτον εκδιδόμενοι εις τον αυτοκράτορα Μανουήλ Α’ Κομνηνόν (1143–80). Theologia 19 (1941–42) 513–558. 18 Malakes 529, 3–5 (Bonis): Ὁ ἐμὸς βασιλεὺς καὶ πολίζει τὴν ἀλλοτρίαν ‒ by building Dorylaion in Turkish territory – καὶ οὐδὲ ἀλλοτρίαν ἔτι ταύτην εἶναι παραχωρεῖ. Πάλαι δὲ ἡμετέραν οὖσαν, εἶτα δὴ παρὰ τῶν δυσμενῶν ἀρπαγεῖσαν, ἡμετέραν αὖθις ποιεῖ.

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wash the shame caused by the enemies, who had destroyed the city”. And further: “With this action the morale of the Romans and their self-esteem are raised and therefore they are now happier and comelier”19. Euthymios quotes further from a speech of the emperor to his soldiers aiming at strengthening their morale for battle. The emperor refers to the religious difference that legitimizes their action: “We labor for the sake of piety, o soldiers, we fight for God” and continues as every Byzantine general would continue in a speech before the battle: “We do not occupy barbarian cities and do not pursue what belongs to others; we do no wrong to others, (but) we fight for what is ours; for it is a terrible thing when the inheritance of God is plundered and trimmed back by impious men”20. In order to better understand the reference to God’s inheritance is it worth mentioning that the enemies are labeled in the Byzantine phraseology as barbarians, not as infidels. Further on Euthymios praises Manuel by projecting his future plans: “He was not satisfied with killing the barbarians with the sword, but he also took them prisoner and enslaved them and will by no means cease from doing such things, until he has recovered the boundaries that are appropriate for the realm of the Romans; and arraying the nations under him as they puff in vain insolence, he puts on this tunic of monarchy, with which it was previously dignified”21. Apparently this is the goal until he has recovered the boundaries that are appropriate for the realm of the Romans. Recovery and restoration of Byzantine sovereignty was the outmost goal of the military expedition. Very useful, I would say even revealing, is yet another passage in which Euthymios declares in rhetorical clothing that the utmost aim of Manuel’s expedition was not the liberation of Palestine and Jerusalem, the permanent goal of the crusaders, but the conquest of an ancient Persian city, renowned for its uncountable treasures, namely Ekbatana, which Plutarch had praised in his biography of Alexander the Great. Here is what Euthymios has to say: “I imagine that day to myself, and my spirit is full of joy and I am almost persuaded to dance, when the army of the Romans dines in Ekbatana and the children of the Persians pour wine and eat their own bread happily – as it has been written – and drink wine with a good heart, and they tell each other stories of those whom they have fought and destroyed, when our emperor, celebrating a most brilliant triumph over central Persia, presents his victories and puts on the crown of monarchy; and sitting on the imperial throne of Darius in royal fashion under the golden canopy and transacted business for those around him and divided the land of Persia in the best possible way into separate units of government, anointed princes and rulers from among his own servants”22. In however way one interprets this passage, I think it is not easy to place these images and the rhetorical exaltations into a plan of a crusade. The images and figures derive from ancient history and literature, familiar to Byzantine scholars, a constant source for their thoughts and their writings. They serve the outmost dream of recovery of the lost lands and they measure their contemporary leaders with Alexander the Great’s achievement. Manuel was of course not aiming at Ekbatana, which was at best a ruin of a city in his time, but a source of imagination. But by the same token Euthymios Malakes reveals that Manuel was, of course, not aiming at the liberation of … Jerusalem.

Malakes 530,7 and 15–16 (Bonis): λύεται καὶ ἡ παρὰ τῶν πολεμίων αἰσχύνη, παρ’ ὧν ἡ πόλις ἠφάνισται… Ρωμαίοις τῆς ψυχῆς ἀνορθοῦται τὸ λῆμα καὶ ἡ γνώμη πρὸς ὕψος αἵρεται καὶ εἰσί πὼς ἑαυτῶν φαιδρότεροί τε καὶ κοσμιώτεροι. 20 Malakes 535, 5–9 (Bonis): ὑπὲρ εὐσεβείας, στρατιῶται, πονοῦμεν, ὑπὲρ Θεοῦ στρατευόμεθα... Οὐ βαρβαρικὰς κατέχομεν πόλεις οὐδὲ διώκομεν τὰ ἀλλότρια. Οὐχ ἑτέρους ἀδικοῦμεν, ὑπὲρ τῶν ἡμετέρων μαχόμεθα. δεινὸν τὴν Θεοῦ κληρονομίαν ὑπὸ τῶν ἀσεβῶν λωποδυτεῖσθαι καὶ περιτέμνεσθαι. 21 Malakes 539, 2–6 (Bonis): οὐδὲ μαχαίρα κτείνων τοὺς βαρβάρους ἠρκέσθη, ἀλλὰ καὶ ἠχμαλώτισε καὶ ἠνδραποδίσατο καὶ οὐδὲ παῦσεταί γε πάντως τὰ τοιαῦτα ποιῶν, ἕως ἂν τῇ τῶν Ῥωμαίων ἀρχῇ τοὺς οἰκείους ὅρους ἐπανασώσηται καὶ ὑποτάξας ἔθνη τὰ διακενῆς φρυαττόμενα, τὸν τῆς μοναρχίας ταύτην ἐπενδύσῃ χιτῶνα, ἐφ’ ᾧ τὸ πρὶν ἐσεμνύετο. 22 Malakes 542, 19–30 (Bonis) Φαντάζομαι τὴν ἡμέραν ἐκείνην καὶ ὑπὸ τοῦ γήθους ἐνθουσιῶ και μικροῦ χορεύειν προάγομαι, ὅταν ἐν Ἐκβατάνοις στρατιᾷ Ῥωμαίων δειπνήσῃ καὶ Περσῶν παῖδες οἰνοχόησωσι και φάγωνται μὲν εὐφροσύνως τὸν ἑαυτῶν ἄρτον, κατὰ τὸ γεγραμμένον, καὶ ἐν ἀγαθῇ καρδίᾳ τὸν οἶνον πίωνται, διηγήσονται δὲ πρὸς ἀλλήλους ὅσους ἀνεῖλον μαχόμενοι, ὅταν ὁ ἡμέτερος αὐτοκράτωρ, λαμπρὸν ὅ,τι μάλα τὸν θρίαμβον ἐπὶ τῆς Περσίδος μέσης καταγαγῶν θεατρίσῃ τὰς νίκας καὶ τὸν τῆς μοναρχίας στέφανον ἀναδήσηται καὶ ἐπὶ τοῦ βασιλείου θρόνου καθίσας λαμπρότερόν τε καὶ ἀρχικώτερον ἢ ὅτε πρῶτος Ἀλέξανδρος ὑπὸ τὸν χρυσοῦν οὐρανίσκον ἐν τῷ Δαρείου θρόνῳ κεκάθικε βασιλικῶς τοῖς ἀμφ’ αὐτὸν χρηματίσῃ καὶ εἰς ἀρχὰς διαφόρους τὸν τῆς Περσίδος χῶρον ἄριστα διελών, ἐκ τῶν ἑαυτοῦ δούλων χρίσῃ τοὺς ἀρχηγούς τε καὶ ἄρχοντας. Cf. the comment by the same author in: Σχόλια εις τους δυο εγκωμιαστικούς λόγους…. Theologia 20 (1949) at pp. 149–50.

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This is the spirit we encounter in the verses engraved on the staurotheque which Manuel had ordered in connection with the expedition23. Here we read that the emperor’s zeal was on behalf of the Christian people and that his purpose was as follows: Yes, staff of the Cross, strike our opponents, Yes, cross of Christ, turn back the Persian tribes, And, placing around the Emperor in a circle The crown of Victory, set this garland upon him24.

However, there is a passage in this homily of Euthymios that deserves to be analyzed carefully because it is closer to the rhetoric of a crusade. In this passage the orator quotes verbatim David’s Psalm 138: “Lord, I hated those who hated you and I was consumed with hatred for your enemies; I hated them with an absolute hatred”25 and he continues on the same path of Byzantine war ideology: “So he also did not desist from casting them down and overcoming them in war, and from seizing back from them the cities that they had seized, and returning them again to the Romans, until the time when he departed, or from the contests of struggles against them”26. He then continues with a sentence that Magdalino considers as revealing the crusading spirit of Manuel: (He did all these) by “making death for the sake of piety a fine winding-sheet, and rousing the spirits of the faithful, and leaping from the catalogue of emperors into the chorus of the saints and receiving as his lot a position near the King of All”27. Relying on this sentence Magdalino asserts that Manuel propagated his expedition against Iconium as the beginning of a holy war of conquest, “as a start of a holy war of reconquest in which he declared himself willing to lay down his life.” In response to this assertion I would note that the quotation from David’s Psalm as a quotation demonstrates that the thoughts of Euthymios derive from the multifaceted concept of war in the Old Testament, i.e. the wars of Yahweh, and do not reflect the political ideology of the crusaders of the twelfth century for the anticipated absolution of sins due to the holiness of a concrete crusading expedition. As for the famous sentence “to make death for the sake of piety a fine winding-sheet”, it serves as a rhetorical topos known from the Classical Greek tradition as well as from the Christian literature. With the help of the Thesaurus Linguae Graecae I have counted more than eighty uses in both pagan and Christian authors. If we want to place the rhetorical topos as used by Euthymios ...καλὸν ἐντάφιον νομισάμενος τὸ πεσεῖν ὑπὲρ εὐσεβείας within the traditional uses, we encounter that his wording fits between those used by Libanius, Basil of Caesarea, and John of Damascus on the one hand: καλὸν ἐντάφιον τὸ πεσεῖν ὑπὲρ εὐσεβείας – with the additional phrase, relevant for our topic πεσεῖν ὑπὲρ εὐσεβείας – and the use by John Chrysostom on the other, who speaks of καλὸν ἐντάφιον…τὸ μαρτύριον. However, the formula as applied by Euthymios is in remarkable proximity to the phrase used by Niketas Choniates in an account of the crusading spirit. He quotes from a speech by Louis VII to his crusading soldiers, datable to 1147, before a crucial battle in Asia Minor. Here we encounter the notion of dying during the battle against the infidels. Louis says “if we fall during the battle, then death for the sake of Christ it is good winding-sheet”28. Concerning the expectation voiced by Euthymios with the rhetorical topos for Manuel going after death to “the choir of saints”, this is yet another image compatible with the Byzantine tradition. Although the author’s intention is to bring the expectation of death closer to the crusading idea of dying for the faith, as it was known in the spiritual climate of the day, he is careful to avoid any identification. Thus Euthymios does not dare to combine Manuel’s entering in the

Ἐπὶ τῷ γεγονότι παρὰ τοῦ ἁγίου ἡμῶν βασιλέως τιμίῳ καὶ ζωοποιῷ σταυρῷ ἐν τῷ κατὰ τοῦ Ἰκονίου ταξειδίῳ. οὐ γὰρ τὰ τέκνα τῆς ἐλευθέρας βλέπειν / ἔστεξε τέκνα δοῦλα τῆς δούλης Ἄγαρ..... / Ναί, σταυρὲ ῥάβδε, πλῆττε τοὺς ἐναντίους, / Ναί, σταυρὲ Χριστοῦ, περσικὰ φῦλα τρέπε, / Παρεμβαλὼν δὲ τῷ βασιλεῖ κυκλόθεν / Νίκης στεφάνῳ στέψον αὐτοῦ τὸ στέφος. (ed. Sp. Lampros, Ὁ Μαρκιανὸς Κῶδιξ 524. NE 8 [1911] 51). 25 Malakes 540, 14–15 (Bonis): Κύριε, τοὺς μισοῦντάς σε ἐμίσησα καὶ ἐπὶ τοῖς ἐχθροῖς σοῦ ἐξετηκόμην. Τέλειον μῖσος αὐτοὺς. 26 Malakes 540, 15–18 (Bonis): ... Ὅθεν καὶ οὐκ ἀνῆκε βάλλων τούτους καὶ καταπολεμῶν καὶ τὰς ἡρπαγμένας σφίσιν πόλεις ἀνταφραπάζων καὶ Ῥωμαῖοι αὖθις ἀποδιδοῦς, ἕως οὗ συναπῆλθε τοῖς κατ’ αὐτῶν ἀγῶσι καὶ τοῖς παλαίσμασι.... 27 Malakes 540, 18–21 (Bonis): ....καλὸν ἐντάφιον κομισάμενος [instead of νομισάμενος?] τὸ πεισεῖν ὑπὲρ εὐσεβείας καὶ ἀνεγεῖραι τοῖς πιστοῖς τὰ φρονήματα καὶ ἀπὸ τοῦ καταλόγου τῶν βασιλέων ἐπὶ τὸν χορόν τῶν ἁγίων μεταπηδῆσαι καὶ τῆς ἐγγῦς τοῦ παμβασιλέως στάσεως λαχεῖν. 28 Choniates 69, 22 (Van Dieten): Εἰ δὲ πεσούμεθα, καλόν ἐντάφιον τὸ ὑπὲρ Χριστοῦ τελευτᾶν.

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“choir of saints” with his probable death on the battlefield nor the connection of his death with a secure seat next to the King of All, the παμβασιλεύς. In conclusion, concerning the rhetorical texts, especially those of Euthymios Malakes we observe his intention to add a religious dimension to Manuel’s expedition and in the last-quoted passage we trace the echo of phrases in texts connected to crusading topics. Apparently in a rhetorical hyperbole he slipped away from Byzantine orthophony. In the background of all this evidence the question arises as to whether Manuel’s expedition against Iconium was a “Byzantine crusade”. On the ground of what historical and even rhetorical evidence is available, the answer is a negative one. Manuel had his own substantial reasons to refortify Dorylaion and to start the expedition against the Seljuks and these reasons derived from the political and strategic interests of his Empire. From his letter to Pope Alexander that he sent after the refortification of Dorylaion but before the inglorious battle at Myriokephalon, he appears to present his action in the service of the powers in the West who could be enticed into starting a new crusade. His ability to seize Iconium would facilitate the crossing of pilgrims to the Holy Land and even a crusade, as it would pass through central Asia Minor, an actual route which the Second Crusade had failed to follow due to the presence of the Seljuks in the area. Hélène Ahrweiler has pointed out that the castles built by Manuel aimed at creating a new frontier between Byzantium and the Rum Sultanate, a strategic aim completely irrelevant to the crusading ideas and plans produced in the West29. The question as to whether Byzantium indeed cultivated an idea of “holy war” – with or without quotation marks – or a crusade has been the focus of research over the last two decades and I am very pleased that you have arranged this conference in order to discuss it thoroughly. The book by Athina Kolia has attracted many reviewers, I think that most of them have been critical or hesitant to follow her. Since her book was initially submitted to the University of Ioannina at a time I was still there and was published in a series under my direction, it is not proper to argue here about it30. Therefore I restrict myself to two comments. First, the words ιερός πόλεμος in all 470 pages of the book are in quotation marks. Dr Kolia does not suggest that there was really (the concept of) a holy war in Byzantium. She searches instead for associations with a spirit of holy war evident in Byzantine sources. There is no doubt that especially in the tenth century such associations are abundant. However those associations never amounted up to a notion such as jihād or crusade. Second, the religiously-loaded character of the military expeditions of the Byzantines did not have real affiliation with the Crusades undertaken exclusively for the liberation of the Holy Land, a goal never set by the Byzantines. All the emperors of the Comnenian dynasty who faced the waves of crusaders and were expected to allow them to pass through Byzantine territories supported with provisions restricted themselves in claiming the restoration of the recovered lands which had once belonged to the Empire. As I have shown in another paper31, they regarded as the outmost limit of their territory not the borders of the time of Justinian, including Palestine, but rather the frontiers established in the time of Basil II that were marked some kilometers north of today’s frontier between Syria and Lebanon, as they were agreed together with the Fatimids long before the appearance of the Seljuks.

H. Glykatzi-Ahrweiler, Les forteresses construites en Asie Mineure face à l’invasion seldjoucid, in: Akten des XI. Int. Byzantinistenkongresses München 1958. Munich 1960, 182–189. 30 See her paper in this volume. 31 E. Chrysos, ‘Νόμος πολέμου’, in: Το εμπόλεμο Βυζάντιο–Byzantium at War (9th–12th c.), ed. N. Oikonomides. Athens 1997, 201–211 at p. 210.

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Niketas Choniates and the image of the enemy after the Latin capture of Constantinople The image of the other has been the object of increasing scholarly interest for the last two or three decades. The research thus far has focused on the definition of the other mainly through the study of a certain people or specific individual rulers, as represented in the Byzantine sources1. Studies have been dedicated also to an approach of the concept on alterity in Byzantine society2, as well as on the mechanisms of its formation3.





See the following bibliography on the subject: D. M. Nicol, The Byzantine View of Western Europe. GRBS 8/4 (1967) 315–339; C. Asdracha, L’image de l’homme occidentale à Byzance: la temoignage de Kinnamos et de Choniatés. BSl 44 (1983) 31–40; D. Abrahamse, Byzantine Views of the West in the Early Crusade Period; The Evidence of Hagiography, in: The Meeting of Two Worlds. Cultural Exchange between East and West during the Period of the Crusades, ed. V. Goss (Studies in Medieval Culture 21). Michigan 1986, 189–200; H. Hunger, Graeculus perfidus – Ιταλός ιταμός. Il senso dell‘alterità nei rapporti greco-romani ed italo-bizantini (Unione intern. d. istituti di archaeologia, storia e storia dell’arte in Roma, Conferenze 4), con un’introduzione di O. Kresten. Roma 1987; J. Koder, Zum Bild des ‘Westens’ bei den Byzantinern in der frühen Komnenenzeit, in: Deus qui mutat tempora. Menschen und Institutionen im Wandel des Mittelalters. Festschrift Alfons Becker, ed. E.-D. Hehl –H. Seibert – F. Staab. Sigmaringen 1987; R. Browning, Greeks and Others from Antiquity to the Renaissance, in: History, Language and Literacy in the Byzantine World, Variorum Reprints, First Publication. Northampton 1989, II 1–26; E. Sp. Papayianni, Οι Βούλγαροι στις επιστολές του Θεοφύλακτου Αχρίδος, in: Ι΄ Πανελλήνιο Ιστορικό Συνέδριο (Μάϊος 1989). Helliniki Istoriki Etaireia. Thessaloniki 1989, 59–72; D.-R. Reinsch, Ausländer und Byzantiner im Werk der Anna Komnene. Rechtshistorisches Journal 8 (1989) 257–274; P. Schreiner, Byzanz und der Westen: Die gegenseitige Betrachtungsweise in der Literatur des 12. Jahrhunderts, in: Friedrich Barbarossa. Handlungsspielräume und Wirkungsweisen des staufischen Kaisers (Vorträge und Forschungen 40). Sigmaringen – Thorbecke 1992, 551–580; J. Koder, Die Sicht des ʻAnderen’ in Gesandtenberichten, in: Die Begegnung des Westens mit dem Osten, ed. O. Engels – P. Schreiner. Sigmaringen 1993, 113–129; P. Gournaridis, Η εικόνα των Λατίνων στην εποχή των Κομνηνών. Symm 9 (1994) 157–171; W. Hörandner, Das Bild des Anderen: Lateiner und Barbaren in der Sicht der byzantinischen Hofpoesie. BSl 54 (1993) 162–168; Idem, Η εικόνα του Άλλου. Λατίνοι, Φράγκοι και βάρβαροι από τη σκοπιά της αυλικής ποίησης των Κομνηνών (Dodoni/Philologia 23, Αφιέρωμα στη μνήμη Δ. Θ. ΣΑΚΑΛΗ). Ioannina 1994, 115–131; E. Malamut, L’image byzantine des Petchénègues. BZ 88 (1995) 105–147; Chr. Maltezou, Έλληνες και Λατίνοι: η εικόνα του Άλλου στον πρώτο αι. φραγκικής κυριαρχίας στην Κύπρο, in: Ανακοινώσεις του Διεθνούς Συμποσίου, Η Κύπρος και οι Σταυροφορίες, ed. N. Koureas – J. Riley-Smith. Nicosia 1995, 181–190; Th. Bazeu-Barabas, Das Bild des ‘Anderen’ im Werk von Niketas Choniates. Das Beispiel des Aufstandes von Peter und Asen, Symm 10 (1996) 283–293; E. Malamut – M. Cacouros, L’image des Serbes dans la rhetorique byzantine de la seconde moitié du XIIe s., in: XIX Interantional Congress of Byzantine Studies, University of Copenhagen, 18–24 August, 1996. Copenhagen 1996, vol. II, Major Papers 97–122; L. Mavrommatis, Σημειώσεις για την εικόνα του Άλλου στο Βυζάντιο, Symm 10 (1996) 235–239; K. Nikolaou, Η εικόνα του Κρούμου: η εικόνα των ‘κακοφρόνων’ Βουλγάρων. Symm 10 (1996) 269–282; 59–72; J. Gaudemet, Les Romains et les ‘autres’, in: La nozione di ’Romano’ tra cittadinanza e universalità (Da Roma alla terza Roma, Documenti e Studi. Studi II, 21. Aprile 1982 7–37; N. Radošević, Les allophyloi dans la correspondance des intellectuels byzantins du XIIe siècle, ZRVI 39 (2001) 89–101; J. Koder, Λατίνοι – The Image of the Other, in: Bisanzio, Venezia e il mondo franco-greco (XIII–XV secolo). Atti del Colloquio Internazionale organizzato nel centenario della nascia di Raymond-Joseph Loenertz o.p., Venezia, 1–2 dicembre 2000. Venezia 2002, 25–39; A. Markopoulos, Das Bild der Anderen bei Laonikos Chalkokondyles und das Vorbild Herodot. JÖB 50 (2000) 205–216; A. Kazhdan, Latins and Franks in Byzantium. Perception and Reality from the Eleventh to the Twelfth Century, in: The Crusades from the Perspective of Byzantium and the Muslim World, ed. A. E. Laiou – R. P. Mottahedeh. Washington, D.C. 2001. 2 Fremde der Gesellschaft. Historische und sozialwissenschaftliche Untersuchungen zur Differenzierung von Normalität und Fremdheit, ed. M.-Th. Fögen. Frankfurt am Main 1991; Strangers to themselves, 32th Spring Symposium of Byzantine Studies. University of Sussex, Brighton. March 1998, ed. D. C. Smythe. Aldershot 2000; see in particular the general presentation of the matter of alterity in Byzantine society in M. Mullet, The ‘Other’ in Byzantium, in: op. cit., 1–22. 3 The XVIe Congrès International des Sciences Historiques: L’image de l’Autre: Étrangers – Minoritaires – Marginaux. Stuttgart, du 25 août au 1er septembre 1985, ed. H. Ahrweiler. Stuttgart 1986, was dedicated to the analysis of the other. The following articles are the most relevant with the object of our study: H. Ahrweiler, L’image de l’autre et les mécanismes de l’altérité, in: op. cit., Rapports I, Actes II 60 –67, in which alterity is examined from ancient until modern times; R. Bàrkai, De l’utilisation de l’image dans la recherche historique, in: op. cit., Rapports I, Actes II 28–59. 1

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Rather than looking at a people as the other or the alterity itself this article focuses on a specific feature of the other, that of the enemy4, in a certain place and time, namely the first capture of Constantino­ple in 12045. The exploration pursued in the present work is based on the History of Niketas Choniates6. Choniates wrote the last version of his History in Nicaea7, where the Empire had been “exiled”8, and he did not hold any of his old high offices, even though he had a position in the Nicaean court9. Thus, being free up to a certain degree to express his own perspective and interpretation of the historical events10, he supplemented and completed his work, ending his narration in 1206/711. A common question that arises while studying a historian’s work is related to the reliability of his narration. Choniates’ work in particular has caused quite a controversy concerning the author’s credibility, which in turn has divided modern historians into two main groups12; those who consider him to be overly hostile to the Latins and those who regard him as “a balanced observer who could see wrong on both sides”13. Nevertheless, a comparison between his outlook and the views of other scholars who eyewitnessed the First Capture















There is no bibliography particularly dedicated to the image of the enemy. The enemy is referred to as an element of the other in studies presenting the image of peoples or their leaders or marginal society figures. Cf. Οι περιθωριακοί στο Βυζάντιο, Πρακτικά ΣυμποσίουΗ Κύπρος, ed. Ch. Malrezou. Athens 1993. Thus, this article is based primarily on sources. 5 The bibliography on the Crusades is very rich. Only indicatively, see St. Runciman, A History of the Crusades, 3 vols. Cambridge 1951–1954; A History of the Crusades, vols. I–V, ed. K. M. Setton. Madison – Milwaukee – London 1955–1985. About the Fourth Crusade in particular, see the following studies where further bibliography is quoted: J. Godfrey, The Unholy Crusade. Oxford 1980; M. Angold, The Fourth Crusade: event and context. Longman 2003; Urbs Capta. The Fourth Crusade and its Consequences, ed. A. Laiou. Paris 2005; J. Koder, Selektive Erinnerungen bei Zeitzeugen. Berichte über die Eroberung Konstantinopels im Jahr 1204 (Wiener humanistische Blätter 47). Wien 2005, 28–50; The Fourth Crusade: event, aftermath, and perceptions. Papers from the sixth conference of the society for the study of the crusades and the Latin East. Istanbul, Turkey, 25–29 August 2004, ed. Th. F. Madden. Aldershot 2008; Η Τέταρτη Σταυροφορία και ο Ελληνικός Κόσμος (NHRF/IBR, International Symposia), ed. N. G. Moschonas. Athens 2008. 6 J.-L. Van Dieten ed., Nicetae Choniatae Historia, (CFHB 11/1,2). Berlin 1975. On Choniates’ biography see G. Stadtmüller, Zur Biographie des Niketas Choniates (um 1150–um 1214). BF 1 (1966) 321–328; J.-L. Van Dieten, Niketas Choniates. Erläuterungen zu den Reden und Briefen nebst einer Biographie (Supplementa Byzantina 2). Berlin – New York 1971, 1–60; H. Hunger, Die hochsprachliche profane Literatur der Byzantiner, Bd. I. Munich 1978, 429–441. About the exact year of his death (1217), see B. Katsaros, Α contribution to the exact dating of the death of the Byzantine historian Nicetas Choniates. JÖB 32/3 (1982) 83–91. 7 Cf. Choniates, 645.80–82. On the time of composition of the different versions of Choniates’ History see A. Simpson, Before and After 1204: The Versions of Niketas Choniates’ Historia. DOP 60 (2006) 189–221. The article is based on her thorough research on the subject in her thesis, see Eadem, Studies on the Composition of Niketas Choniates’ Historia. King’s College London 2004. In this work, the author examines not only the variations of Choniates’ narration, but the causes that led him to these discrepancies as well, before and after 1204. 8 Choniates uses the term captivity (αἰχμαλωσία) in his speeches addressed to Theodoros I Laskaris, whom he compares to Zorobabel and expresses his fervent wish that he, as the Biblical hero, would free Zion, that is, Constantinople. See, for instance, J.-L. Van Dieten ed., Nicetae Choniatae Orationes et Epistolae. Berlin – New York 1972, 128.24–28: εἰ δὲ καὶ τὰ εἰσιτήρια ἑορτάσομεν ἧς ἐκπεπτώκειμεν πόλεως εἰς ἐλευθερωτήν Μωσῆν καὶ τὸν ἐπανάγοντα τὴν αἰχμαλωσίαν Σιὼν Ζοροβάβελ κριθείσης τῆς βασιλείας μου, εἴη ἄν τοῦτο τῶν σῶν θαυμασίων ἔργων θαυμασιώτερον καὶ τῶν πώποτε τελεσθέντων ἐξαισίων ἐξαισιώτερον; M. Angold, A Byzantine Government in Exile. Government and Society under the Laskarids of Nicaea (1204–1261). Oxford 1975, 13–14; D. Angelov, Byzantine Ideological Reactions to the Latin Conquest of Constantinople, in: Urbs Capta. The Fourth Crusade and its Consequences, ed. A Laiou. Paris 2005, 293–310, particularly 297–299; I. Giarenis, Ο αυτοκράτορας Θεόδωρος Α΄ Κομνηνός Λάσκαρις: η συγκρότηση και η εδραίωση της αυτοκρατορίας της Νίκαιας (1174–1222). Athens 2008, 296–299, 315. 9 Stadtmüller, Zur Biographie 325; Van Dieten, Biographie 47–48; Hunger, Literatur I 431; 10 See also a relevant comment in Simpson, Versions 220. 11 Hunger, Literatur I 431; Simpson, Versions 190. 12 On the assessments of Choniates by modern scholars, see J. Harris, Distortion, Divine Providence and Genre in Nicetas Choniates’s Account of the Collapse of Byzantium 1180–1204, Journal of Medieval History 26 (2000) 19–21. 13 Harris, Distortion 20. The author argues that the modern researcher should understand the literary genre in which Choniates wrote his work, in order to understand, in turn, his historical causation, op. cit. 21. Furthermore, he supports that Choniates does not consider the Latins to be a means of divine punishment; instead he attributes the collapse of Byzantium to the incompetence of the Byzantine emperors, op. cit. 19–31. 4

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shows that they all concur as far as the assessment of the events is concerned14, but they differ in the style of narration, namely the rhetorical style Choniates adopts15. In examining the οther as enemy, both the external and the internal enemy should be explored. The internal enemy is the emperor, the aristocracy, the monks and the common people. Modern historians have conducted a great deal of research on the critique which emperors received from Byzantine scholars, research which has led to what we call Kaiserkritik16. However, this article focuses not only on this but also on all those present during the Capture of 1204 – leaders, monks and common people, as already mentioned. 1. The External Enemy 1.1. Leaders Unpacking the concept of the enemy, it is the external enemy and his defining characteristics which are the most obvious. Choniates refers to their leaders as being greedy not only as far as money is concerned, but also literally in terms of food and wine. The historian describes the Latin leaders as insatiable, regardless of the abundant gold they were given by Isaac II. The words ἐρασιχρημότερον (avaricious) and τρεχεδειπνότερον (always at the ready to run for the dinner table) embody this perfectly17. Furthermore, Choniates ascribes to the Latins love for profit and money18. He even goes so far as to describe them as robbers19, and refers particularly to the Venetian leaders as being a gang of pirates20. Choniates ascribes profound dislike of the Latins for the Byzantines. In fact, the leaders are referred to as Roman-haters21. This hatred is evident in their lack of respect for the conventions of peace negotiations; in

See further on in this article the descriptions and comments on the Capture by Nikolaos Mesarites, also an eyewitness of the event, in comparison with Niketas Choniates. On the Byzantine authors who have written about 1204, see R. Macrides, 1204: the Greek Sources, in: Urbs Capta. The Fourth Crusade and its Consequences, ed. A. Laiou. Paris 2005, 141–150, who basically compares Niketas Choniates’ and George Akropolites’ accounts and locates their differences, mainly in the way they present Alexius III. For a comparison between the Byzantine and the Latin view of 1204, see Koder, Erinnerung, 33ff.: both sides refer to the plundering of the City, but the Latin chronographers present it as justified by the will of God. 15 The recent collective work Niketas Choniates. A Historian and a Writer, ed. A. Simpson – St. Efthymiadis. Geneva 2009 is dedicated to an analytical presentation of the literary style of Niketas and makes pertinent correlation of this with his historical aims. On the subject, see especially A. Simpson, Niketas Choniates: the Historian 13–34. Simpson asserts that Choniates has intentionally adopted a rhetorical style in his History in order to convey vividly the atmosphere of decline of his era, even sometimes at the expense of the precision. St. Efthymiadis, Niketas Choniates: The Writer 35–58 follows the same correlation and adds that his quoting of ostensibly trivial events aims at a better depiction of his turbulent times; cf. in the same volume, A. Kaldellis, Paradox, Reversal and the Meaning of History 75–99. It should be added that the collective volume contains a rich bibliography on Niketas Choniates. 16 F. H. Tinnefeld, Kategorien der Kaiserkritik in der byzantinischen Historiographie. Von Prokop bis Niketas Choniates. Munich 1971; P. Magdalino, Aspects of Twelfth-Century Byzantine Kaiserkritik. Speculum 58/2 (1983) 326–346; R. Gentile Messina, Elementi di ‘Kaiserkritik’ in fonti storiche bizantine (Michele Psello, Scilitza Continuato, Niceta Coniata), in: Κανίσκιν. Studi in onore di Giuseppe Spadaro, ed. A. Di Benedetto Zimbone – F. Rizzo Nervo. Rubbettino 2002, 129–152; J. Harris, Distortion, Divine Providence and Genre in Nicetas Choniates’s Account of the Collapse of Byzantium 1180–1204. Journal of medieval history 26 (2000) 19–31, in which the author argues that “the only way to understand Choniates’ historical explanations is to appreciate the literary genre in which he wrote”, 19; furthermore, he asserts that for Choniates the main reason for the fall of the empire was the ineptness of the emperors; cf. Idem, Looking back on 1204: Nicetas Choniates in Nicaea. Mésogeios 12 (2001) 117–124. 17 Choniates, 551.61–64 (Van Dieten): Ἐπεὶ δὲ ταῦτα ὡσεὶ καὶ ῥανὶς ἐκρίνετο τοῖς λαμβάνουσιν (οὐδὲν γὰρ ἔθνος ἐρασιχρηματώτερον τοῦδε τοῦ γένους τρεχεδειπνότερόν τε καὶ δαπανηρότερον ἕτερον) καὶ διψῶντες ἦσαν ἀεὶ προχοῶν πελάγους Τυρσηνικοῦ. 18 Choniates, 539.14–15 (Van Dieten): ἀλλὰ καὶ χρημάτων ἀποθεραπεύσων σωρείαις τὸ κερδαλέον ἐκείνων καὶ φιλοχρήματον φρόνημα. Cf.: 560.86: ἡ Λατινικὴ … βούπεινα. 19 Choniates, 539.12 (Van Dieten): τὸν κατὰ Ῥωμαίων λῃστρικὸν ἔκπλουν. 20 Choniates, 539.6–9 (Van Dieten): Ἀλέξιος γὰρ ὁ παῖς Ἰσαακίου τοῦ Ἀγγέλου γράμμασιν ἐφοδιασθεὶς τοῦ πάπα Ῥώμης τῆς πρεσβυτέρας καὶ τοῦ ῥηγὸς Ἀλαμανίας Φιλίππου, χάριτας μεγίστας ὁμολογούντων τοῖς πειρατικοῖς τούτοις ἐργαστηρίοις. 21 Choniates, 551.43–44 (Van Dieten): ὁ Ἀλέξιος Δ΄ μειράκιον, οὔτ᾽ ἠκριβολόγησε πρὸς οὐδὲν τῶν ζητημάτων, οὔτε μὴν τὸ μισορρώμαιον φρόνημα τῶν Λατίνων ὁπωσοῦν ἐβάλετο κατὰ νοῦν. Cf. 568. 74: τὸ γὰρ ἄκρον τῆς ἐκείνων πρὸς ἡμᾶς ἀπεχθείας.

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the middle of the discussions, a division of the Latin cavalry attacked the Byzantine emperor who barely escaped the attack, though some of his escorts were not so fortunate22. Furthermore, according to Choniates, the leaders of the Crusaders are cunning and sly, in the worst possible sense. He uses the word πονηρός which carried the meaning of cunning as well as evil23. 1.2. Soldiers After the leaders, Choniates turns his attention to the soldiers. One of their defining characteristics was avarice, like that of the leaders. However, this greed was combined with the lack of an ability to appreciate beauty, as well as a spirit of death and destruction24. The Latin soldiers were conceited and arrogant, as they believed that they were wiser, more pious, and more knowledgeable than the Greeks. Furthermore, they believed themselves to be the only true guardians of the Christian faith, the only ones who really understood the Christian creed25. In war they believed they were unrivaled in their courage and martial skills26. Although Choniates recognized these skills27, he also describes them as brutal, as they showed no mercy to anyone, no matter how they pleaded28. In addition, they were irascible, spewed out bile29, their tongue being uncontrolled30 and at the ready to draw the dagger against anyone who dared to utter a difference of opinion31. They put people to the sword indiscriminately, regardless of age or sex32, and took women by force, even nuns33.

Choniates, 568.70–74 (Van Dieten): ἐν ᾧ δὲ τὰ πρὸς εἰρήνην εἰς διάλεξιν προύκειντο, ἱππικαὶ Λατινικαὶ δυνάμεις ἐξ ὑπερδεξίων αἴφνης ἀναφανεῖσαι ἡνίοις ὅλοις τῷ βασιλεῖ ἐπιτίθενται, ὡς μόλις μὲν ἐκεῖνον παρερύσαντα τὸν ἵππον διεκφυγεῖν τὸν κίνδυνον, τῶν δὲ συνόντων χειρωθῆναί τινας· τὸ γὰρ ἄκρον τῆς ἐκείνων πρὸς ἡμᾶς ἀπεχθείας … 23 Choniates, 567.58–59 (Van Dieten): πονηροί τινες Τελχῖνες πολλάκις συνέχεον· ὁ γὰρ δοὺξ Βενετίας Ἐρίκος Δάνδουλος … 24 Choniates, 560.1–6 (Van Dieten): ὅθεν τοῖς περὶ τὴν μεγαλόπολιν τρυφηλοῖς χωρίοις καὶ τοῖς ἐν Προποντίδι ἱεροῖς τεμένεσι τοῖς τε λαμπροτάτοις οἰκοπέδοις τῶν βασιλέων παραλλὰξ οἱ στρατηγοὶ ἐφιστάμενοι, καὶ παρὰ θάτερον ἅτερος ὁπλιζόμενοι, ἐσκύλευόν τε τὰ ἐνόντα καὶ αὐτὰ πυρὶ παρεδίδοσαν, φειδόμενοι μηδενὸς παραλίου οἰκοδομήματος οἱ τοῦ καλοῦ ἀνέραστοι κηρεσιφόρητοι βάρβαροι; cf. Nikolaos Mesarites, in: Neue Quellen zur Geschichte des lateinischen Kaisertums und der Kirchenunion: I. Der Epitaphios des Nikolaos Mesarites auf seinen Bruder Johannes, ed. Α. Heisenberg. Munich 1923, 46.8–11: πάντας ξιφήρεις ἀρειμανίους, φόνιον πνέοντας, … δεινὸν βλεμμεαίνοντας, κερβέρειον ὑλακτοῦντας καὶ χαρώνειον ἀποπνέοντας. 25 Choniates, 575.67 (Van Dieten): μᾶλλον δὲ οἱ παρ᾽ ἑαυτοῖς ἐπιστήμονες καὶ σοφοί, οἱ εὔορκοι καὶ φιλαλήθεις καὶ μισοπόνηροι καὶ τῶν Γραϊκῶν ἡμῶν εὐσεβέστεροί τε καὶ δικαιότεροι καὶ τῶν Χριστοῦ διαταγμάτων φύλακες ἀκριβέστεροι. L. Bossina, Nicetas Choniates as a Theologian, in: Niketas Choniates. A Historian and a Writer, ed. A. Simpson – St. Efthymiadis. Geneva 2009, 165–184 interprets in a new light Choniates’ theological aspects: the historian believed that all Christians should be united in order to face the uprising Islamic peril. For this purpose, the disturbed – due to the Schism of 1054 – relations of the two Churches should be re-established, neither of the sides compromising as far as dogmatic issues were concerned. 26 Choniates, 598.86 (Van Dieten): τὴν γὰρ ἀνδρείαν τῶν συννόμων ἀρετῶν ἀφορίζοντες καὶ ταύτην ἑαυτοῖς οἰκειοῦντες ὡς συγγενὲς καὶ σύντροφον ἐπιτήδευμα οὐδὲν τῶν ἄλλων ἐθνῶν εἰς Ἄρεος ἔργα παρασυμβεβλῆσθαι σφίσιν ἠνείχοντο. On the views of the Western chroniclers about Byzantines during the four Crusades, see M. Carrier, L’image des Byzantins et les systèmes de représentation selon les chroniqueurs occidentaux des croisades 1096–1261. Diss. Université Paris I – Panthéon Sorbonne 2006; about the ‘effeminate’ Greeks in relation with their inadequate martial skills and bravery, see in particular op. cit. 77–79. 27 See for instance Choniates, 569.15–570.21 (Van Dieten), where the historian admires the strength and fearlessness of the knight Peter during the attack of the Crusaders at the walls of Constantinople. 28 Choniates, 574.37–38 (Van Dieten): ἐπὶ πᾶσιν ἐργῶδες ἦν καὶ δυσμήχανον τὸ μειλίξασθαι λιταῖς ἢ ὁπωσοῦν εὔνουν θέσθαι τὸ βάρβαρον. 29 Choniates, 574.39–40 (Van Dieten): οὕτω μὲν εὐπαρόξυντον ὄν, οὕτω δ᾽ ἐρευξίχολον ἀκριβῶς καὶ πρὸς πᾶσαν ἀκοὴν ἀθέλητον. 30 Choniates, 574. 41–42 (Van Dieten): ὡς τὴν γλῶτταν ἀταμίευτος ἐπεπλήττετο. 31 Choniates, 574.42–43 (Van Dieten): ἐν πολλοῖς δὲ καὶ τὸ παραξιφίδιον εἶχεν ἐπ᾽ αὐτὸν σπώμενον ὁ καὶ μικρὸν ἀντειπὼν ἢ πρὸς τὰ θυμήρη σφίσιν ἀναδυόμενος. 32 Choniates, 570.29–30 (Van Dieten): οἱ δὲ πολέμιοι … τὰ ξίφη σπῶσι καθ᾽ ἡλικίας πάσης καὶ γένους παντός; cf. Mesarites, Ι, 46.24–27 (Heisenberg): οὕτως ἠσχημόνουν περὶ τὴν φύσιν αὐτὴν οἱ κακοπράγμονες καὶ κακόσχολοι· ἐπαιδοφθόρουν τὰ νεογνά, τὰς σωφρονούσας διέφθειρον, τὰς πρεσβύτιδας ἀπεγύμνουν καὶ γέροντας ᾔκιζον, Ναζιραίους ἐστρέβλουν. 33 Choniates, 574.35–37 (Van Dieten): πάνυ δ᾽ ἂν ἐφείσαντο γυναικῶν εὐλαβῶν καὶ κορίων ἐπιγάμων ἢ τῶν θεῷ ἀνακειμένων καὶ παρθενεύειν ἑλομένων οἱ κατὰ τῶν θείων οὕτω λυττήσαντες;

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They were sacrilegious, plundering shamelessly the articles consecrated to God34, even the holy table of sacrifice in Hagia Sophia35. They were blasphemous, as they spilt the Holy Body and Blood of Christ36. Choniates, so shocked by their deeds, points out, sometimes ironically, the contradiction between their claim that they represented the cross and the crimes they committed in the name of the cross37. In short, says Choniates, this is how the armies from the West committed crimes against the legacy of Christ38. The historian even dares to call them the forerunners of the Antichrist39, a characterization that emphasizes their dreadful deeds40 rather than alluding to the eschatological Byzantine belief that connected the end of their empire with the Day of Judgement41. Choniates underlines the coarseness of the Crusaders. Not only did they plunder private houses but they also defiled the sacred furnishings and icons from the churches42 and used them as utensils for their everyday needs, such as chairs and footstools43. They clothed themselves in the robes of the noblemen, and ridiculed all Byzantine customs44; they held pens and inkwells pretending they were writing books in mockery of the Byzantines whom they saw as secretaries45. They went about the city on horseback, carrying with them the women they had violated46. They lacked fine manners, eating heavy food, and stuffing themselves with beef and pork, cooked with beans in a thick garlic sauce mixed with other seasonings, until there was no discernable flavour47. Choniates, 573.88–90 (Van Dieten): ἀλλ᾽ ἐσκύλευον ἀναιδῶς, ἐκ τῶν ὀχημάτων πρώτως ἀρξάμενοι, οὐ τὰ τῶν πολλῶν μόνον χρήματα, ἀλλ᾽ ἤδη καὶ τὰ τῷ θεῷ ἀνακείμενα; cf. op. cit., 573.18–20: δεῆσαν δ᾽ ἐκκομισθῆναι καθά τινα σῦλα τὰ παναγῆ σκεύη καὶ ἔπιπλα, τὰ τὴν χάριν καὶ τὴν τέχνην ἄμαχα καὶ τὴν ὕλην σπάνια, […]. Cf. Mesarites, I, 46.11–15 (Heisenberg): συλῶντας τὰ ἅγια, τὰ θεῖα καταπατοῦντας, τὰ ἱερὰ ἐξυβρίζοντας, τὰς ἐν τοίχοις καὶ πίναξιν ἱερὰς τοῦ Χριστοῦ εἰκόνας αὐτῆς τε τῆς θεομήτορος καὶ τῶν ἀπ’ αἰῶνος ἁγίων εὐαρεστησάντων, διαβεβλημένα καὶ βλάσφημα φθεγγομένους. 35 Choniates, 573.13–18 (Van Dieten): Τὰ δ᾽ ἐπὶ Νεὼ τοῦ Μεγίστου ἠσεβημένα οὐδ᾽ ἀκοαῖς εἰσιν εὐπαράδεκτα. ἡ μὲν θυωρὸς τράπεζα, τὸ ἐκ πασῶν τιμίων ὑλῶν σύνθεμα συντετηγμένων πυρὶ καὶ περιχωρησασῶν ἀλλήλαις εἰς ἑνὸς ποικιλοχρόου κάλλους ὑπερβολήν, ἐξαισίου τῷ ὄντι καὶ ἀξιαγάστου παρ᾽ ἔθνεσιν ἅπασι, κατετεμαχίσθη καὶ διεμερίσθη τοῖς σκυλευταῖς, ὥσπερ καὶ πλοῦτος ἅπας ὁ ἱερός, ὁ τοσοῦτος τὸ πλῆθος καὶ τὴν ἀγλαΐαν ἀπέραντος. 36 Choniates, 573.3–4 (Van Dieten): τὸ δὲ φρικῶδες καὶ ἀκουόμενον, ἦν ὁρᾶν τὸ θεῖον αἷμα καὶ σῶμα Χριστοῦ κατὰ γῆς χεόμενον καὶ ῥιπτόμενον; cf. Mesarites, I, 46.29 (Heisenberg): κἀπὶ τὰς ἱερὰς τραπέζας αἷμα βρότειον ἐξεκέχυτο. 37 Choniates, 576.1–4 : Ὄντως λογοποιοὶ ἐξεφάνθησαν καὶ τοῦ θείου τάφου διφῶντες ἐκδίκησιν κατὰ Χριστοῦ προδήλως ἐλύττησαν καὶ μετὰ σταυροῦ τὴν τοῦ σταυροῦ κατάλυσιν ἠνομήκασιν, ὃν ἐπινώτιον ἔφερον, τοῦτον πρὸ ποδῶν τιθέναι μὴ φρίττοντες διὰ χρυσίον βραχὺ καὶ ἀργύριον. Cf.: op. cit., 575.70–74: οἱ τὸν σταυρὸν ἐπ᾽ ὤμων ἀράμενοι καὶ πολλάκις κατὰ τούτου καὶ τῶν θείων λογίων ἐπομοσάμενοι τὰς μὲν τῶν Χριστωνύμων χώρας παρελθεῖν ἀναιμωτί, μὴ προσνεύσαντες ἀριστερά, μηδ᾽ ἐκκλίναντες δεξιά, κατὰ δὲ Σαρακηνῶν ὁπλίσαι τὰς χεῖρας καὶ τὰ ξίφη πορφυρῶσαι τοῖς αἵμασιν. Cf. Mesarites, I, 47.1–6 (Heisenberg): τοιοῦτον τὸ σέβας περὶ τὰ θεῖα τῶν ἐπ’ ὤμων ἀραμένων τὸν τοῦ κυρίου σταυρόν, οὕτως αὐτοὺς δρᾶν οἱ σφῶν ἀρχιερεῖς ἐκδιδάσκουσι. τὶ γοῦν τούτους τὶς ὀνομάσει; ἐν στρατιώταις ἀρχιερεῖς ἢ ἐν ἀρχιερεῦσι πολεμιστάς; 38 Choniates, 575.59–60 (Van Dieten): Τοιαῦθ᾽, ὡς ἐκ πολλῶν βραχέα δοῦναι τῇ ἱστορίᾳ, οἱ ἐξ ἑσπέρας στρατοὶ κατὰ τῆς Χριστοῦ κληρονομίας παρηνομήκασιν. 39 Choniates, 573.7–9 (Van Dieten): οἱ τοῦ Ἀντιχρίστου πρόδρομοι καὶ τῶν προσδοκωμένων πανασεβῶν πράξεων ἐκείνου πρωτουργοὶ καὶ προάγγελοι. 40 On Choniates’ literary style in connection with his historical narration, see the bibliography quoted in note 14. 41 See on the matter in the late Byzantine period, M.-H. Congourdeau, Byzance et la fin du monde. Courants de pensées apocalyptiques sous les Paléologues, in: Les traditions apocalyptiques au tournant de la chute de Constantinople, ed. B. Lelouch – St. Yerassimos. Paris 1999, 55–97, where further secondary bibliography is quoted and sources from the early Byzantine period on which the apocalyptic tradition was based. 42 Choniates, 594.80–83 (Van Dieten): οἱ δ᾽ ἐκ τῆς φαύλης συμμορίας καὶ ἀγοραῖοι ἐχρηματίζοντο καὶ πάλιν τὰ θεῖα βεβηλοῦντες ὑπὸ Λατίνων ἀποδιδόμενα καὶ ὡς κοινὸν ἀργύριον ἐμπορευόμενοι, ὡς εἴπερ τῶν ναῶν ἀφῃρημένα καὶ τὸ εἶναι τοῦ θεοῦ ἀπεβάλοντο. 43 Choniates, 595.8–9 (Van Dieten): τὰ δὲ τοῦ Χριστοῦ καὶ τῶν ἁγίων θεῖα εἰκάσματα εἰς ἕδρας καὶ ποδῶν θρανίδας παρῆγον. 44 Choniates, 594.83–85 (Van Dieten): τὸ δέ γε ἀντίπαλον ἐν ἀσελγείαις ἦν καὶ τρυφαῖς, καὶ τούτων ταῖς ἀσέμνοις μάλιστα καὶ τῶν Ῥωμαϊκῶν ἐν κωμῳδίᾳ ἐθῶν. 45 Choniates, 594.90–91 (Van Dieten): οἱ δὲ γραφέας δόνακας καὶ δοχεῖα μέλανος φέροντες τόμοις τὴν χεῖρα ἐδίδοσαν, ὡς γραμματέας ἡμᾶς τωθάζοντες. 46 Choniates, 594.91–92 (Van Dieten): οἱ δὲ πλείους τὰς μὲν ὑπὸ σφῶν βιασθείσας ἐπὶ τῶν ἵππων ἀνεῖχον … 47 Choniates, 594.95–5 (Van Dieten): ἐκώμαζόν τε καὶ ἠκρατίζοντο πανημέριοι, οἱ μὲν βρωμάτων μαγγανείαις προσκείμενοι, οἱ δὲ καὶ τὴν πάτριον ἐδωδὴν παρατιθέμενοι ἐπιδείπνιον, ἥτις ἦν νῶτοι βοείων κρεῶν διαχαλώμενοι λέβησι καὶ συῶν τεμάχη ταριχηρὰ κυάμοις ἀλητοῖς συνεψόμενα, ὥσπερ καὶ τὸ ἐκ σκορόδων ἐπέμβαμμά τε καὶ σύνθεμα ἐξ ἄλλων χυμῶν δριμυσσόντων τὴν αἴσθησιν.

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The historian presents a further, more graphic image of this enemy by describing their faces so vividly, through rough but expressive lines, underlining their arrogance and cruelty. Some characteristic words are the haughty spirit, the high brow, the ever-shaved and youthful cheek, the flared nostril, the disdainful eye48. This description encapsulates the features which Choniates has already attributed to the Latins: they are harsh, cruel, merciless, sacrilegious, uncivilized49, Byzantine-hating, robbers and common thieves. A brief comparison between the Muslims and the Christian Crusaders falls in favour of the former, according to Choniates. First, he points out that their fellow Christians sinned against the Cross in the name of the Cross, which they wore so proudly, proving themselves to be frauds and liars50. The Muslims, on the other hand, spared the Crusaders when they recaptured Jerusalem and they respected the Latins’ women – whereas the Latins did neither of these51. Choniates, like the other citizens of Constantinople, seems to be more sympathetic to Muslims than to Crusaders, sharing a story of his fellow citizens running to help them extinguish the fire in their mosque set by the Crusaders52. It is worth noting that in the beginning of Choniates’ History one can distinguish between leaders and soldiers of the Crusades, but later on as the narration of the events proceeds, the distinction blurs. This can be exemplified by the very words of Choniates who observes that the Latins, as they stormed through the city of Constantinople, behaved as if they had no leadership, like a mob53. This is further supported by his idea about the western peoples whom he describes as disorganized, powerless and nameless54. 2. The Internal Enemy As far as the internal enemy is concerned, it is here that Choniates expresses his most barbed and acerbic comments, because, as he says, truth is more important than loyalty to one’s compatriots55. The internal enemy can be divided into four groups, each with their defining characteristics: emperors, aristocrats, monks, and the common inhabitants of Constantinople.

Choniates, 575.63–65 (Van Dieten): ὁ χαλκοῦς αὐχήν, ἡ ἀλαζὼν φρήν, ἡ ὀρθὴ ὀφρύς, ἡ ἀεὶ ξυριῶσα καὶ νεανισκευομένη παρειά, ἡ φιλαίματος δεξιά, ἡ ἀκροχολῶσα ῥίν, ὁ μετέωρος ὀφθαλμός. Cf.: op. cit., 602.4–7: εἰ καὶ πονηρὸν ἐς θεραπείαν χρῆμα Λατῖνος, φωνὴ ἀσύμφωνος Ἕλλησι, γνώμη φιλοχρήματος, ὀφθαλμὸς ἀπαιδαγώγητος, γαστὴρ ἀκόρεστος, ὀργίλος καὶ δριμεῖα ψυχή, καὶ χεὶρ διψῶσα τὸ ξίφος διὰ παντός. 49 Choniates, 598.89–90 (Van Dieten): ἀλλ᾽ οὐδέ τις τῶν Χαρίτων ἢ τῶν Μουσῶν παρὰ τοῖς βαρβάροις τούτοις ἐπεξενίζετο. 50 Choniates, 576.78–95 (Van Dieten): Ὄντως λογοποιοὶ ἐξεφάνθησαν καὶ τοῦ θείου τάφου διφῶντες ἐκδίκησιν κατὰ Χριστοῦ προδήλως ἐλύττησαν καὶ μετὰ σταυροῦ τὴν τοῦ σταυροῦ κατάλυσιν ἠνομήκασιν, ὃν ἐπινώτιον ἔφερον, τοῦτον πρὸ ποδῶν τιθέναι μὴ φρίττοντες διὰ χρυσίον βραχὺ καὶ ἀργύριον. Unfortunately, the article of K. Petkov, ‘To disdain the truth and look at others with contempt’: Byzantines and Muslims on Latin pride and arrogance, ca. 1100–1300, Al-Masaq 19 (2007) 99–119 was not accessible. 51 Choniates, 576.84–91 (Van Dieten): οἱ δ᾽ ἐξ Ἰσμαὴλ οὐχ οὕτως, ὅτι μὴ καὶ πάνυ φιλανθρώπως καὶ προσηνῶς τοῖς ἐκ τοῦ γένους αὐτῶν προσηνέχθησαν τῆς Σιὼν κατισχύσαντες. οὔτε γὰρ γυναιξὶ Λατινίσιν ἐπεχρεμέτισαν, οὔτε τὸ Χριστοῦ κενήριον πολυάνδριον πεσόντων ἔδειξαν, οὐδὲ κάθοδον ἐς ᾅδου τὴν πρὸς τὸν ζωηφόρον τάφον εἴσοδον, οὐδὲ θάνατον τὴν ζωήν, οὐδὲ πτῶσιν τὴν ἀνάστασιν, ἁπαξάπασι δ᾽ ἀνέντες τὴν ἔξοδον χρυσίνοις ἀριθμῷ κατ᾽ ἄνδρα βραχέσιν ἀφώριζον τὰ ζωάγρια, τὰ λοιπὰ τοῖς κεκτημένοις παρέντες, κἂν ψάμμῳ ἦσαν παρόμοια. 52 Choniates, 553.3–8 (Van Dieten): τῷ τῶν ἐξ Ἄγαρ συναγωγίῳ λάθρᾳ ἐπεισπίπτουσιν, ὅ φησι Μιτάτον ἡ δημώδης διάλεκτος, καὶ τὰ ἐνόντα μετὰ ξίφους λῃστεύουσιν. ὡς δ᾽ οὕτω ταῦτα παραλόγως καὶ ὑπὲρ δόκησιν πᾶσαν παρηνομεῖτο, ἠμύνοντο μὲν αὐτοὺς οἱ Σαρακηνοὶ τὰς χεῖρας τοῖς παρατυχοῦσιν ὁπλίσαντες, ἐπιβοηθοῦσι δὲ καὶ Ῥωμαῖοι, παρὰ τῆς τοῦ κακοῦ φήμης ἐκεῖσε συνηλισμένοι. 53 Choniates, 570.29–32 (Van Dieten): οἱ δὲ πολέμιοι μηδενὸς εἰς χεῖρας ἰόντος διαθέουσι πολλαχῇ καὶ τὰ ξίφη σπῶσι καθ᾽ ἡλικίας πάσης καὶ γένους παντός, οὐχ εἷς ἑνὶ συνημμένοι καὶ κατὰ σύνταξιν πλείους ἀλληλουχούμενοι, ἀλλὰ διεκκεχυμένοι σποράδες ὡς ἤδη παρὰ πᾶσιν ἐπιφοβώτατοι. 54 Choniates, 585.61–62 (Van Dieten): παρὰ γενῶν ἑσπερίων σποραδικῶν, ἀφαυρῶν τὰ πλεῖστα καὶ ἀνωνύμων. 55 Choniates, 564.7–9 (Van Dieten): ἐπεὶ δὲ τὰ χείρω ἐπικρατέστερα παρὰ τοῖς Κωνσταντινουπολίταις καὶ μάλιστα (φιλτέρα γὰρ ὑπὲρ τοὺς ὁμογενεῖς ἡ ἀλήθεια), ὁ μὲν Δούκας ἐκραταιοῦτο καὶ ηὔξανεν.

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2.1. Emperors The emperor or rather the emperors deserved, according to Choniates, to shoulder most of the blame for the disaster of 120456. The characteristics which he attributes to them are avarice, cowardice, which he particularly underlines, lust for power, which, however, is coupled with incompetence to rule and with foolishness, impiety and superstition. Each of these negative characteristics can be identified in the emperors’ behaviour. Firstly, they were greedy. The two emperors Angeloi, the brothers Isaac II and Alexius III, were incompetent as rulers but indulged in imposing new taxes on towns and spent the collected money on thoughtless luxuries of the palace57. This greed was combined with an unjust policy, also towards the Latins. The emperors wronged them, as they broke the treaties with them by demanding an increase in unfair levies. They raised the Pisans against the Venetians58. The result of such inconsistent and unjust behaviour of the Byzantine rulers was to enrage both of them59. Choniates eloquently describes the foolishness of the emperors, starting with Alexius III, who did nothing to defend his country, when he was informed that the Latins were gathering an army against Byzantium60. Instead, he was building new baths and gardens and his guards prevented those who wanted to cut wood from the royal forests for building ships61. For this, the historian calls him utterly feeble-minded62 and accuses all Byzantine emperors of the time of turning the city of Constantinople into the biblical town Sybaris, notorious for its lasciviousness63. On the inadequate Byzantine policy that led to the Fall of 1204, see E. Chrysos, Whose fault? Reflections on Byzantine shortcomings before and during the Capture of Constantinople, in: The Fourth Crusade Revisited. Atti della Conferenza Internazionale nell’ottavo centenario della IV Crociata. Andros, 27 – 30 maggio 2004 (Pontifico Comitato di Scienze Storiche, Atti e Documenti 25), ed. P. Piatti. Città del Vaticano 2008, 155–162. 57 Choniates, 537.50–538.63 (Van Dieten): οἱ Ἀγγελώνυμοι κασίγνητοι καὶ ἄλλως μὲν πλημμελῶς διῴκουν τὰ τῆς ἀρχῆς, ὡς ἤδη λέξαντες ἔχομεν, μάλιστα δὲ φιλοχρηματίαν νοσοῦντες οὔτ᾽ ἀπὸ δικαίων πόρων πλουτεῖν ἠνείχοντο, οὔτε ξυνεῖχον τὰ συλλεγόμενα, ἀλλ᾽ ἐξέφερον ἀμφοτέραις αὐτὰ καὶ περιττῇ μὲν θεραπείᾳ καὶ κόσμῳ πολυτελεῖ σώματος, πλέον δ᾽ ἀπεπλούτουν πρὸς ἑταιρίδας καὶ συγγενεῖς ἀλυσιτελεῖς παντάπασι τῷ κοινῷ. οὐ μόνον τοίνυν τὰς Ῥωμαϊκὰς πόλεις ἐκαλαμῶντο καὶ ἐπεφύλλιζον, εὑρεταὶ καινῶν εἰσφορῶν καθιστάμενοι; cf. op. cit., 560.81: φόρων ὠδίνοντο συλλογαί referring to the taxation imposed later on, when Isaac II and his son Alexius were trying to give the Crusaders the promised amount of money; see also M. F. Hendy, Byzantium, 1081– 1204: The economy revisited, twenty years on, in: The Economy, Fiscal Administration and Coinage of Byzantium, Variorum Reprints (First Publication). Northampton 1989, III 47–48 where the cruel way of extracting excessive taxes by the Angeloi is pinpointed. 58 Choniates, 537.57–538.63 (Van Dieten): ἀλλὰ καὶ τοὺς ἐκ φυλῶν Λατινίδων ἐν οἷς εἶχον εἰσέπραττον. πολλάκις οὖν τὰς πρὸς Βενετίκους ξυνθήκας παραβλεψάμενοι αὐτούς τε εἰς χρήματα ἐζημίωσαν καὶ τὰ πλοῖα τούτων ἠργυρολόγουν καὶ τοὺς ἐκ Πίσσης αὐτοῖς ἐπανέστησαν. ἀμέλει καὶ ἦν ὁρᾶν ὁτὲ μὲν τῆς πόλεως ἔνδοθεν, ὁτὲ δὲ κατὰ θάλατταν διὰ μάχης ἀμφότερα τὰ γένη χωροῦντα, κρατοῦντά τε ἀνὰ μέρος καὶ κρατούμενα, καὶ παλίωξιν ἐντεῦθεν καὶ ἀντισκύλευσιν. 59 Choniates, 537.64–71 (Van Dieten): Ἀτὰρ οἱ Βενέτικοι, παλαιῶν μεμνημένοι πρὸς Ῥωμαίους σπονδῶν καὶ μεταχωροῦσαν πρὸς Πισσαίους τὴν σφετέραν δεξίωσιν οὔκουν ὁρᾶν ἀνεχόμενοι, δῆλοι ἦσαν Ῥωμαίων κατὰ βραχὺ ἀφιστάμενοι καὶ μελετῶντες ἐν καιρίοις τὴν ἀντιλύπησιν, καὶ μάλισθ᾽ ὅτι κιμβικευόμενος ὁ Ἀλέξιος οὐκ ἀπεδίδου σφίσι χρυσίου μνᾶς διακοσίας ἐνδεούσας ἔτι πρὸς τὸ ἅπαν ὀφείλημα τῶν δέκα πρὸς τοῖς πέντε κεντηναρίων, ἃ συνέθετο δοῦναι τοῖς Βενετίκοις ὁ βασιλεὺς Μανουήλ, ἡνίκα συνειληφὼς Βενετίκους δημόσια τὰ τούτων ἔθετο χρήματα. 60 Choniates, 540.26–28 (Van Dieten): ὁ δέ γε κρατῶν Ῥωμαίων Ἀλέξιος ἐκ πολλοῦ τὴν τῶν Λατίνων ἐνωτιζόμενος κίνησιν πρὸς οὐδέν τι ἄμεινον Ῥωμαίοις διέκειτο. 61 Choniates, 540.33–541.41 (Van Dieten): καὶ αὐτὸν ἦν ὁρᾶν εἰς ἐπιδόρπιον γέλωτα ὥσπερ ἐθελοκακοῦντα τὰς περὶ Λατίνων ἀγγελίας τιθέμενον, λουτρῶν τε ἀνεγέρσεις φιλοτίμους καὶ βουνῶν καθαιρέσεις πρὸς ἀλωὴν καὶ φαράγγων ἀναπληρώσεις σπουδάζοντα καὶ τὸν καιρὸν εἰκαίως ἐν τούτοις καὶ παραπλησίοις ἄλλοις προϊέμενον. οἱ δὲ τῶν περιφύτων ὀρῶν φύλακες ἐκτομίαι, ἃ τοῖς βασιλεῦσιν ἀνεῖται πρὸς κυνηγέσια, καθάπερ ἱερῶν ἄλσεων, εἰπεῖν δὲ καὶ θεοφυτεύτων παραδείσων, ἐφείδοντο τουτωνὶ καὶ διηπειλοῦντο τὸν ἔσχατον κίνδυνον τοῖς ἐκτεμεῖν προθεμένοις ἐκεῖθεν ξύλα ἄττα ναυπηγήσιμα. Choniates’ emperor portraits have caught scholarly attention, as they are considered to be an organic part of Niketas’ historical view and interpretation; among these, Andronikos I Komnenos has attracted the most attention, see for instance A. Vasilikopoulou-Ioannidou, Ἀνδρόνικος ὁ Κομνηνὸς καὶ Ὀδυσσεύς, EEBS 37 (1969–70) 251–259; C. Cupane, Der Kaiser, sein Bild und dessen Interpret, in: Novum Millenium. Studies on Byzantine history and culture dedicated to Paul Speck, ed. C. Sode – S. Takacs. Aldershot – Burlington USA – Singapore – Sydney 2001, 65–79; Efthymiadis, Choniates: The Writer 56–57; Kaldellis, Paradox 83–84, 91ff. 62 Choniates, 540.28–29 (Van Dieten): τὸ γὰρ περιττὸν ἐς μαλακίαν ἴσην ἔχει πως καὶ τὴν βλακείαν πρὸς τὰ κοινωφελῆ καὶ τὰ δέοντα. 63 Choniates, 541.54–56 (Van Dieten): ᾔδεσαν γὰρ ἐκ μακροῦ τὴν τῶν Ῥωμαίων οἱ ἀφ᾽ ἑσπέρας ἀρχὴν ἐς μηδὲν ἕτερον περιστᾶσαν ἢ κραιπάλην καὶ μέθην καὶ τὴν Βυζαντίδα Σύβαριν ἀτεχνῶς τὴν ὑμνουμένην ἐπὶ τρυφῇ.

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Choniates attributes the property of foolishness to Isaac’s son, Alexius, as well, who was – according to our historian – immature in his wits64. One can see this also in the words χαλίφρον καὶ πραγμάτων ἀδαὲς μειράκιον, a thoughtless and inexperienced boy65, who, concerned with his childish power-hunting, failed to notice the Byzantine-hating mind of the Latins66. Later in his narration, Choniates rants that all Byzantines are fools and their rulers inept, properties which were skillfully exploited by the Latins67. The most poignant criticism Choniates charges the emperors with is cowardice. As far as Alexius III is concerned, not only did he not do anything to defend his country (as mentioned above), but he also just stood there on his balcony watching what was going on and calculating the right time to flee68. In the end he shamefully ran away, taking a large amount of gold and precious jewels with him69. Choniates comments: “ther is no worse a thing than a womanish man”70, referring also to the nephew of Alexius III, who thought it was unnatural to take arms against the Latins while they were ravaging the City. His father Isaac II was of the same opinion71. A shameful flight also marks the end of the reign of Alexius V Mourtzouphlos, who, fearing that he would become food in the jaws of the Latins, as Choniates puts it in his graphic way, flees in a small boat together with three royal ladies72. The rulers of the time also failed in their duty as Byzantine emperors because they were impious. Not only did they not defend the orthodox faith but father and son (Isaac II and Alexius IV) promised the submission of the Church of Constantinople to the Pope, thus betraying Byzantine customs73. They even became sacrilegious, as they seized the sacred furnishings and icons of the temples74 and even those of Hagia Sophia in order to pay off the Westerners who had helped them to the throne75. Choniates gives a description, which, although realistic, serves also as a symbol of the decadence of the Byzantine or Roman emperors; not only did young Alexius carouse and drink, playing dice in the tents Choniates, 539.15–16 (Van Dieten): τὸν τοίνυν Ἀλέξιον, οὐ μᾶλλον τὴν ἡλικίαν ἢ τὰς φρένας νεάζοντα. Choniates, 550.42–551.43 (Van Dieten). 66 Choniates, 550.41–551.44 (Van Dieten): ὑπὲρ γὰρ τοῦ μὴ τῆς πατρῴας ἀρχῆς ἀποτεύξασθαι πάντα πράττων Ἀλέξιος, χαλίφρον καὶ πραγμάτων ἀδαὲς μειράκιον, οὔτ᾽ ἠκριβολόγησε πρὸς οὐδὲν τῶν ζητημάτων, οὔτε μὴν τὸ μισορρώμαιον φρόνημα τῶν Λατίνων ὁπωσοῦν ἐβάλετο κατὰ νοῦν. Cf.: op. cit., 551.54–55: ὡς τὸν φίλαρχον Ἀλέξιον ἐς αὐτὰ τισάμενοι τὰ παιδικά. 67 Choniates, 560.91–93 (Van Dieten): ἠβούλοντο γὰρ οἱ τῶν χρημάτων εἰσπράκτορες, τῆς τῶν Ῥωμαίων εὐηθείας κατατρυφῶντες καὶ τῆς τῶν κρατούντων ἠλιθιότητος καταπαίζοντες. 68 Choniates, 544.9–13 (Van Dieten): ὁ δὲ βασιλεὺς Ἀλέξιος πάλαι τεθησαυρικὼς ἐν ψυχῇ τὴν φυγὴν καὶ ἅπας αὐτῆς γινόμενος ὡπλοφόρησεν οὐδαμοῦ, οὐδ᾽ ἀντιμέτωπος ὤφθη τοῖς ἔξωθεν, ἀλλὰ θεατὴς τῶν δρωμένων ἐκάθητο, τοὺς ὑπερυψήλους δόμους ἀνιών, οἳ τῆς ἐξ Ἀλαμανῶν δεσποίνης κικλήσκονται. Cf.: op. cit., 586. 67–69: ἡ γὰρ ὑπτιότης καὶ οἰκουρότης τῶν τὰ Ῥωμαίων χειριζόντων πράγματα δικαστὰς ἡμῶν καὶ κολαστὰς τοὺς λῃστὰς ἐπεισήνεγκεν. 69 Choniates, 546.72–83 (Van Dieten): Εἰσιὼν οὖν Ἀλέξιος τὰ βασίλεια πρὸς ἀπόδρασιν ἐνσκευάζεται, ὡς εἴπερ φερομένην τὴν πόλιν εἰς ἀτυχὲς πτῶμα καὶ ὑπὲρ αἶσαν ἀφαντῶσαι διεπονεῖτο καὶ τὸν ταύτης ἀποτεταμένον συνέτεμεν ὄλεθρον. τὰ τοῦ σκοποῦ τοίνυν κοινωσάμενος μετρίοις τῶν κατευναστριῶν ἐκείνῳ καὶ συγγενῶν κἀκ τῶν θυγατέρων τῇ Εἰρήνῃ, καὶ δέκα χρυσίου ἐνθέμενος κεντηνάρια καὶ κόσμους ἄλλους βασιλικοὺς ἐκ λίθων τιμαλφῶν συγκειμένους καὶ μαργάρων διαφανῶν, περὶ τὴν πρώτην ἄρας φυλακὴν τῆς νυκτὸς ἤλαυνεν ἐς τὸ Δεβελτόν, ἔνθα τὴν οἰκείαν προητοίμασεν ἄφιξιν, δείλαιος ἐν ἀνθρώποις, μὴ φίλτρῳ παίδων μαλαχθείς, μὴ γυναικὸς ἔρωτι δαμασθείς, μὴ τηλικαύτῃ πόλει μαλακισθείς, μηδέ τι τῶν ἄλλων εἰς νοῦν βαλόμενος, φιλοψυχίᾳ δὲ καὶ δειλανδρίᾳ σωτηρίαν ἑαυτῷ, καὶ ταύτην ἀμφίβολον, χωρῶν καὶ πόλεων τοσούτων καὶ γένους παντὸς ἀλλαξάμενος. 70 Choniates, 549.7–8 (Van Dieten): ἀλλὰ καὶ γύννις ἀνὴρ ἀργαλέον καὶ χείριστον. 71 Choniates, 561.14–16 (Van Dieten): ὅ τε γὰρ Ἀλέξιος ὡπλίσθαι κατὰ Λατίνων μὴ πεφυκὸς ᾤετο καὶ ἀσύμφορον καὶ ὁ τούτου πατὴρ Ἰσαάκιος εἰσῆγε παραίφασιν κενοφωνεῖν τοὺς ἐκ τριόδων ἐᾶν, […]. Choniates adds that he was a populist, pretending to soothe the mob by allowing them into the palace: op. cit., 558.42–46: καὶ δὴ καὶ τὸν Καλυδώνιον σῦν, ὃς ἐν τῷ ἱππικῷ φρίσσων τὴν ἐπινώτιον τρίχα ῥύδην φέρεται, τῆς βάσεως καθελὼν μετήνεγκεν εἰς τὸ μέγα παλάτιον, τὸν τὴν ὁρμὴν συώδη καὶ ἀτάσθαλον δῆμον τῆς πόλεως καταστελεῖν ἐντεῦθεν οἰόμενος. 72 Choniates, 571.47–51 (Van Dieten): Ἰδὼν τοίνυν ὁ Δούκας ὡς οὐδὲν ὠφελεῖ, καὶ δεδιὼς ἅμα μὴ συλληφθείη καὶ ὡς ὄψον ἢ ἐπιτράγημα ταῖς γνάθοις τῶν Λατίνων προκείσεται, εἴσεισιν ἀρχεῖον τὸ μέγιστον. καὶ δὴ τὴν βασίλισσαν Εὐφροσύνην τὴν τοῦ βασιλέως Ἀλεξίου γυναῖκα καὶ τὰς ταύτης θυγατέρας λεμβαδίῳ ἐνθέμενος, ὧν ἔρωτι μιᾶς προκατείληπτo […]. 73 Choniates, 540.20–23 (Van Dieten): τὸ δὲ δὴ μεῖζον καὶ ἀτοπώτατον, παρεκτροπὴν πίστεως, ὁποία τοῖς Λατίνοις ἀσπάζεται, καὶ τῶν τοῦ πάπα προνομίων καινισμὸν μετάθεσίν τε καὶ μεταποίησιν τῶν παλαιῶν Ῥωμαίοις ἐθῶν συγκατέθετο. 74 Choniates, 551.65–552.71: ὡς γὰρ χρημάτων ἐσπάνιζε, καὶ τοῖς θείοις ἐπεφύη διὰ τοῦτο τεμένεσιν. ἦν ἰδεῖν οὐ μόνον τὰς ἱερὰς εἰκόνας Χριστοῦ ἀξίναις ἐκκοπτομένας καὶ χαμαὶ ῥιπτομένας καὶ τοὺς αὐτῶν κόσμους μὴ σὺν φειδοῖ καὶ ὡς ἔτυχεν ἐκσπωμένους καὶ πυρὶ παραπεμπομένους, ἀλλὰ καὶ σκεύη τὰ σεπτά τε καὶ παναγῆ ἀπεριθαμβήτως ἐκ τῶν ναῶν ἁρπαζόμενα καὶ πυρούμενα καὶ ὡς κοινὸν ἀργύριον καὶ χρυσίον τοῖς πολεμίοις στρατεύμασι παρεχόμενα. 75 Choniates, 560.86 (Van Dieten): καὶ τὰ χρύσεα δὲ τοῦ Μεγίστου Νεὼ ἔπιπλα βαρυτάλαντα ὄντα καὶ λυχνίαι σὺν αὐτοῖς αἱ ἀργύρεοι, ἀφαιρούμεναι καὶ παραδιδόμεναι πυρί, πρὸς βρῶσιν ἀτεχνῶς προυβέβληντο τοῖς κυσὶ καὶ μῖξις ἦν τῶν ἀμίκτων ἀνόσιος.

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of barbarians but also let them take the Byzantine crown from his head, as a game, and replace it with a Latin woollen cap. He went so far as to allow them to wear the crown, making a mockery of his office76. Choniates, making an overall assessment of those Byzantine emperors, talks of their reign as being distinguished by a spirit of profit-making77, combined with absolute indifference to public affairs78. 2.2. Aristocrats The previous groups (the external enemy and the emperors) have received scrutiny from scholars, whereas the next three groups, which according to Choniates also played their part in the Capture of Constantinople, have been mostly overlooked. The first among these is the aristocrats 79 who Choniates presents as traitors and indifferent to the fate of the state. They did not try to put up a fight against the invaders80, even aligning with young Alexius and his father for that matter. The corruption of the aristocrats is depicted in their attempt to find a competent ruler among themselves to be chosen as emperor, as Isaak II was dying and his young son Alexius IV was absolutely out of the question. In fact, the nobles and officials could find no worthy replacement for the throne81. When they finally chose Nikolaos Kannavos it was only against his will82. Another candidate later appeared, Alexius V Mourtzouphlos, who in the end prevailed and proved to be an even worse choice. “As usual”, comments Choniates, “the worst prevails in the affairs of Constantinople”83. The historian judges the Byzantine aristocrats who sided with the Latins after the Capture as traitors84. 2.3. Monks The next group to be considered are the monks85 and in particular the most accursed of them: those who were impious and charlatans. They surrounded Isaac II and predicted to him that he would gain a universal state, Choniates, 557.14–21 (Van Dieten): τὸ μεγαλοπρεπὲς καὶ παγκλέϊστον τῆς τῶν Ῥωμαίων βασιλείας κατερρύπαινεν ὄνομα. εἰς γὰρ τὰς τῶν βαρβάρων σκηνὰς μετὰ μετρίων ὀπαδῶν περαιούμενος συνεκραιπάλα τοῖς ἐν αὐταῖς καὶ συνδιημερεύων ἐκύβευεν. οἱ δὲ συμπαίγμονες ἐκείνῳ τὸ τῆς κεφαλῆς ἀφαιροῦντες διάδημα, χρυσόκολλον ὂν καὶ λιθόστρωτον, αὐτοὶ μὲν ἐκεῖνο περιετίθεντο, τὸν δ᾽ Ἀλέξιον περιέβαλλον τὸ λαχνῆεν καὶ ἐρεοῦν καὶ τῆς Λατινικῆς ταλασίας κάλυμμα. 77 Choniates, 584.15–16 (Van Dieten): τὸ δὲ πολίτευμα ἐμπορικόν τε καὶ κάπηλον τὸ φρονεῖν. 78 Choniates, 584.25–26 (Van Dieten): οἱ μὲν βασιλεῖς ἐν ῥᾳθυμίᾳ τραφέντες ἦσαν ἐξ ἀρχῆς καὶ ῥέγκοντες ἡδύτερον Ἐνδυμίωνος … 79 About the nature of Byzantine aristocracy, their close tights with the emperor and their integration in the administration system of the empire the bibliography is rich. Indicatively, see The Byzantine Aristocracy IX to XIII Centuries (BAR International Series 221), ed. M. Angold. Oxford 1984; J-Cl. Cheynet, Le rôle de l’aristocratie locale dans l’État (Xe–XIIe siècle). BF 19 (1993) 105–112; Idem, Pouvoir et contestations à Byzance (963–1210) (Byzantina Sorbonensia 9). Paris 1990, in which all the separatist movements of the era under discussion are presented. On the subject, cf. A. Savvidis, Βυζαντινά στασιαστικά και αυτονομιστικά κινήματα στα Δωδεκάνησα και στη Μικρά Ασία, 1189–περ.1240 μ.Χ. Athens 1987. 80 Choniates, 561.18–22 (Van Dieten): ταῖς δὲ γνώμαις ταύταις προσέρρεπον καὶ τὰ τοῦ βασιλείου γένους ἐγκαταλείμματα, ἥλικες ἥλικα τέρποντες τὸν Ἀλέξιον. ἔνιοι δὲ καὶ τοῖς Λατίνοις εἰς ἑταίρους ἀνακραθέντες ὡς ἑώλους ὕθλους τὰς τῶν πολιτῶν ἐντεύξεις παρέτρεχον, τὸν τῶν Λατίνων ἐκτρεπόμενοι πόλεμον ὡς οὐδὲ λέοντα βρυχητίαν ἐλάφων στρατόπεδον. 81 Choniates, 562.53–60 (Van Dieten): οἱ δὲ τὸν ἄρξοντα ἐπιμελῶς ἀνεδίφων, καὶ νῦν μὲν τόνδε, νῦν δ᾽ ἐκεῖνον ἐκ τῆς εὐγενοῦς φυταλιᾶς ηὐτοσχεδίαζον αὐτοκράτορα. τέλος δ᾽ ἀπειρηκότες τοῖς ὅλοις τοὺς ὀχλαρχικοὺς καὶ δημοκόπους, ἐνίους δὲ καὶ τοῦ καθ᾽ ἡμᾶς τάγματος στεφηφορήσειν ἀνέπειθον. φεῦ φεῦ, τί τοῦ τότε πειρατηρίου θυμαλγέστερον ἢ ἀχθεινότερον, ἢ τῆς τῶν συνειλεγμένων ἀβελτηρίας γελοιωδέστερόν τε καὶ ἀλογώτερον; τὸ γὰρ «ἱμάτιον ἔχεις· γενοῦ ἡμῶν ἀρχηγὸς» ἦν ὁρᾶν ἀτεχνῶς περαινόμενον. 82 Choniates, 562.60–62 (Van Dieten): μόλις δὲ καὶ τρίτης ἡμέρας παριππευσάσης νεανίσκον τινὰ συλλαβόντες Νικόλαον τὴν κλῆσιν, Κανναβὸν τὴν ἐπίκλησιν, εἰς βασιλέα χρίουσιν ἄκοντα. 83 Choniates, 564.7–9 (Van Dieten): ἐπεὶ δὲ τὰ χείρω ἐπικρατέστερα παρὰ τοῖς Κωνσταντινουπολίταις καὶ μάλιστα (φιλτέρα γὰρ ὑπὲρ τοὺς ὁμογενεῖς ἡ ἀλήθεια), ὁ μὲν Δούκας ἐκραταιοῦτο καὶ ηὔξανεν. 84 Choniates, 601.72 (Van Dieten): τῆς πατρίδος προαγωγοὶ γινόμενοι. 85 About monasticism see a general review in C. Mango, Byzantium. The Empire of new Rome. London 1980, chapt. 5; the final remark of the chapter is quite illuminating on the matter: that throughout the Byzantine era the principles of monasticism remained within the ideals of the Fathers of the Desert of the 4th century, cultivating asceticism and mysticism, op. cit., 123. As far as the relations of the bishops and the laity are concerned, there seems to have been genuine interest and care on the part of the metropolitans for their flock, see M. Angold, Church and Society in Byzantium under the Comneni 1081–1261. Cambridge 1995, particularly pp. 197–212 where Choniates’ brother, Michael metropolitan of Athens, is presented.

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and regain his sight, as he was blind86. The emperor paid attention to this kind of monks, who were flattering him, and ignored the pious. Thus, both the emperor and these monks blurred the true Christian faith with superstition. 2.4. Common people The inhabitants of Constantinople should also be recognized for their part in the downfall. It is interesting that Choniates does this because that means that he sees them as having a responsibility for their city. First of all, he refers to their negative features. He condemns them as an irrational mob87, superstitious and unable to appreciate beauty in art. The historian is shocked when, led by drunks, they ended up smashing the statue of Athena in the forum of Constantine, because they believed it had been possessed by an evil spirit that was in favour of the Westerners’ army88. He also condemns them as an irrational and unrighteous mob when they attacked the Latins in Constantinople, who had been residing in the city for a long time and had been brought up according to the Byzantine customs, becoming essentially Byzantines89. Despite his characterization of the people as a mob, Choniates sees some positive characteristics on their part. They incited, in wrath, Alexius III to run and put up a fight against the attacking Crusaders, which he did, though shamefully unsuccessfully90. They demanded the same from Isaac II and Alexius IV but in vain this time. What is interesting, though, is that Choniates attributes two features to the people, faithfulness and patriotism (πιστοὶ καὶ πατριῶτες)91, which demonstrates a responsibility on their part and outweighs the impersonal and irrational attitude of the previous incidents. They wanted to defend their beloved city; yet, because they found no worthy leader, no leader at all as a matter of fact, they burst out cursing their rulers92. Later, when the battle raged inside the City, they were scattered and dispersed in fear93. Choniates, 558.37–40 (Van Dieten): καὶ τοῖς ὀφθαλμοῖς αὐτὰς προσάπτοντες τὴν ὅσον οὐδέπω τούτων προηγόρευον ἀνακαίνισιν καὶ κραταίωσιν. ὁ δὲ διεχεῖτο πῶς ἂν εἴπῃ τις τοῖς λεγομένοις καὶ ἐπεσκίρτα τοῖς βωμολοχεύμασι τούτοις ὡς ἀψευδέσι θεσπιῳδήμασιν. Choniates criticizes Isaac for believing in astrological prophecies, Choniates, 558.41–42: Ἐν πολλοῖς δὲ καὶ τοὺς τῇ ἀστρικῇ προσκειμένους προσιέμενος ἄλλα τε ταῖς αὐτῶν ὑποθήκαις ὑπείκων εἰργάζετο. Nevertheless, Niketas himself quotes a number of prophecies and predictions that do not derive from the Church. These references aim at underlining the decadence of his time and illuminating the character and the motives of the emperors; thus they are one more way of exerting Kaiserkritik on the part of Choniates, P. Magdalino, Prophecy and Divination in the History, in: Niketas Choniates. A Historian and a Writer, ed. A. Simpson – St. Efthymiadis. Geneva 2009, 59–74. 87 Choniates, 558.45 (Van Dieten): τὸν συώδη καὶ ἀτάσθαλον δῆμον τῆς πόλεως. 88 Choniates, 558.47–49 (Van Dieten): Ἀλλὰ καὶ τῶν ἀγοραίων οἱ φιλοινότεροι τὸ ἑστὼς ἐπὶ στήλης ἐν τῷ Κωνσταντινείῳ φόρῳ τῆς Ἀθηνᾶς ἄγαλμα εἰς πλεῖστα διεῖλον τμήματα· ἐδόκει γὰρ τοῖς ἄφροσι σύρφαξιν ὑπὲρ τῶν ἐξ ἑσπέρας ἐστοιχειῶσθαι τοῦτο στρατῶν. On the sculptures in Constantinople as described in Choniates’ History, see A. Cutler, The De Signis of Niketas Choniates: A Reappraisal, American Journal of Archaeology 72 (1968) 113–118. T. Papamastorakis, Interpreting the De Signis of Niketas Choniates, in: Niketas Choniates. A Historian and a Writer, ed. A. Simpson – St. Efthymiadis. Geneva 2009, 209–223 asserts that each piece of art referred to in the History symbolizes a historical person or an event or a moral value. 89 Choniates, 552.77–84 (Van Dieten): Ὁποῖον γὰρ τὸ χυδαΐζον στῖφος τῆς πόλεως, μήτ᾽ αὐτόθεν τοῖς ἐπαινετοῖς προσχωροῦν, μήθ᾽ ἑτέρῳ πειθόμενον εἰσηγουμένῳ τὰ λῴονα, ἤδη ταῖς Ῥωμαϊκαῖς χώραις εἰσκεχυμένων τῶν πολεμίων εἰς ἔδαφος καθαιρεῖ καὶ διαλύει παραλόγως εἰς χοῦν τὰς πρὸς θάλασσαν οἰκίας τῶν ἐξ ἑσπέρας ἐθνῶν, μὴ διαστεῖλαν τοῦ πολεμίου τὸ φίλιον. ἐδυσχέραινον οὖν πρὸς τὴν ἀτοπίαν ταύτην καὶ ἀβουλίαν οὐχ οἵπερ μόνον ἐκ τῆς Ἀμάλφης ἤθεσιν ἐντεθραμμένοι Ῥωμαϊκοῖς, ἀλλὰ καὶ οἳ τῶν ἐκ τῆς Πίσσης τὴν Κωνσταντίνου ἀνθείλοντο. 90 Choniates, 545.51–55 (Van Dieten): Ἰδὼν δὲ ὁ Ἀλέξιος τὸ οἰκτρὸν τοῦτο τῆς βασιλίδος δυστύχημα καὶ τὴν συνοχὴν τῶν ἀνθρώπων εὐλαβηθεὶς ὁπλίτης μόλις ὁρᾶται, καὶ μάλισθ᾽ ὅτι πρὸς ὀργὴν τοὺς πλείους ἐπιφρίσσοντας ἑώρα καὶ λόγους ἐπαχθεῖς κατ᾽ αὐτοῦ καὶ προπηλακισμοὺς ἀφιέντας, οἷς οἰκουρεῖν ἑλόμενος ἦρεν ἐπὶ μᾶλλον τὰ τῶν ἐναντίων φρονήματα. 91 Choniates, 560.7–561.22 (Van Dieten): Πλεῖστα δὲ κἀν ταῖς ᾐόσι τῆς πόλεως ἐπιπλέοντες συνίστων πόλεμον. καὶ ἦν ἡ νίκη ἀμοιβαδὸν ἐπιμειδιῶσα καὶ Ῥωμαίοις καὶ μὴ τιθεῖσα πάντῃ τὰ τῶν ἐναντίων ἀπρόσμαχα. ὁπόθεν καὶ τὸ δημῶδες τῆς πόλεως ἀνδριζόμενοι ἐνέκειντο τὸν βασιλέα αἰτούμενοι συνάρασθαι σφίσι μετὰ στρατεύματος κατὰ τῆς τῶν πολεμίων ἀντιμαχήσεως, πιστοῖς οὖσι καὶ πατριώταις, εἴπερ μὴ χείλεσι μὲν Ῥωμαίοις προστίθεται, τῇ δὲ καρδίᾳ Λατίνοις προσνένευκεν. 92 Choniates, 561.33–36 (Van Dieten): Τὸ τοίνυν λαῶδες τῆς πόλεως μηδένα τῆς ἐπὶ Λατίνους ξιφουλκίας συναγωνιστὴν εὑρίσκον καὶ σύμμαχον εἰς ἀποστασίαν οἰδαίνειν ἤρξατο καὶ ὡς λέβης ἐκ πυρὸς κατὰ τῶν κρατούντων ἀτμοὺς ἀνιέναι ὕβρεων καὶ τὴν πάλαι ὕφαλόν τε καὶ ἄγνωστον γνώμην ἐκζέειν πρὸς φῶς. 93 Choniates, 570.11–14 (Van Dieten): οἱ δὲ πολέμιοι μηδενὸς εἰς χεῖρας ἰόντος διαθέουσι πολλαχῇ καὶ τὰ ξίφη σπῶσι καθ᾽ ἡλικίας πάσης καὶ γένους παντός, οὐχ εἷς ἑνὶ συνημμένοι καὶ κατὰ σύνταξιν πλείους ἀλληλουχούμενοι, ἀλλὰ διεκκεχυμένοι σποράδες ὡς ἤδη παρὰ πᾶσιν ἐπιφοβώτατοι. Cf.: op. cit., 570.26: κατὰ χιλίους ὑφ᾽ ἑνὸς ἐδιώκοντο.

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Niketas Choniates and the image of the enemy after the Latin capture of Constantinople

3. Causes

of the

Capture

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When Choniates refers to the causes of the disaster of 1204, he considers it to be the result of the faults of the Byzantines and attributes it to their impiety, a common perspective in Byzantine literature. The responsibility though in Choniates’ work is shouldered clearly by everybody, rulers, noblemen, clergy, and common people. God allowed us all to suffer and become slaves, he writes, because we had all turned away from him.94 He puts the blame on the Byzantines as a whole and he does this explicitly, as he uses the word ὑπεύθυνοι (responsible). He uses the first person plural to underline the common responsibility of impiety and the righteous suffering in which this resulted.95 Later on in his narration, Choniates compares the inhabitants of Constantinople and of other regions of the empire with the people of ancient Athens (τοῦ δήμου τῶν Ἀθηναίων)96 in the years of Solon. The historian finds a parallel between the attitude of his compatriots and the ancient Athenians, because both of them did not listen to the voice of prudence and did not care for their liberty.97 This is an astonishing comparison between democratic Athens and imperial Constantinople, which, first, points out the responsibility which the people bear for the defense of their city, independently of the politics of their state. And second, in this parallel to ancient Athens Choniates stresses that a main reason for the Capture were the faults and inaction to defend their liberty, as he shows when he quotes a poem of Solon criticisizing his fellow Athenians that the reason they lost their freedom to the tyrant Peisistratos was their indifference, and not the will of the gods.98 4. Conclusion The external enemy is real and abhorrent. He is to blame for breaking the moral and sacred rules. He is gross and uncivilized, harsh and conceited. Nevertheless, the true enemy is within. It is us: rulers, noblemen, monks, common people. While the primary responsibility for their homeland belongs to the rulers, as they failed to be Byzantine emperors (they failed to be emperors altogether), the common people, according to Choniates, shoulder a considerable amount of blame, because, in the end, rulers and common people are all the nation of God, as they are all Christian. The most indicative quotation of Choniates is φιλτέρα ὑπὲρ τοὺς ὁμογενεῖς ἡ ἀλήθεια (truth is more important than loyalty to one’s compatriots) for two reasons: first, because Choniates does not spare his own people and charges them with the gravest faults which resulted in the disaster of 1204; and second, because both the external and the internal enemy share common features (impiety and greed), which means that the line separating “us” and “them” – as far as the enemy is concerned – is not only thin but also permeable. The enemy is therefore not to be defined by side, but by the features of morality, piety, responsibility and duty.

Choniates, 569.7–10 (Van Dieten): ἐπεὶ δὲ ἔδει δούλιον ζυγὸν ὑποδῦναι τὴν τῶν πόλεων πασῶν ἄρχουσαν, ἐν κημῷ τε καὶ χαλινῷ τὰς σιαγόνας ἡμῶν ἄγξαι θεὸς ἐδικαίωσεν, ὅτι καὶ πάντες ἐξέστημεν ἱερεὺς ὁμοῦ καὶ λαὸς ὡς ἵππος θρασαύχην τε καὶ δυσχάλινος. 95 Choniates, 552.75–76 (Van Dieten): ὅθεν ὡς ὑπεύθυνοι πεπόνθαμέν τε καὶ εἴδομεν ὁπόσα βαρυσυμφορώτερα τῶν κακῶν. 96 Choniates, 584.34–35 (Van Dieten). 97 Choniates, 584.19–585.8 (Van Dieten): Τὸ δέ γε συντιθέναι ποιήματα καὶ τῶν διαμαρτόντων καθάπτεσθαι ἦν μὲν καὶ τοῦ μεγαλείου Σόλωνος, ἦν δ᾽, ὡς ἔοικε, καὶ τοῦ τότε δήμου τῶν Ἀθηναίων, κνωμένου τὸ οὖς ταῖς τῶν εἰσηγήσεων χρησίμοις καὶ ἠρέμα ὑπενδιδόντος ταῖς τῶν ἀρίστων ἀνδρῶν παραιφάσεσι. καὶ ἄλλως δὲ τῷ πρὸς ὄνειδος ᾄδειν τιθασσοῖς λόγων μέροψιν ἔνεστί τι καὶ γλυκάζον σὺν τῷ στύφοντι ἐμφαινόμενον· καὶ ἡ μνήμη, ὅσα δὴ καὶ ῥιπὶς τὸ παραμένον ἐν ψυχῇ καὶ ἐνθαπτόμενον ἐμπύρευμα τοῦ καλοῦ κατὰ ζῶσαν ἔτι φλόγα πυρὸς ἀναθάλπουσα, τὴν ἐφ᾽ ὁμοίοις ἐσέπειτα διαμαρτίαν φυλάττεσθαι διανίστησι. τοῖς δ᾽ ἐς ἡμᾶς τῆς Κωνσταντίνου οἰκήτορσιν, εἰπεῖν δὲ καὶ τοῖς ἐκ τῶν ἄλλων ὁρμωμένοις χωρῶν, οἱ ἔλεγχοι μώλωπες ἀκριβῶς. τοῖς δὲ πολλοῖς οὐδ᾽ ὦτα πεφύτευται τετρημένα εἰς νοῦν, οὐδ᾽ ἡ Παφία τῆς ἐλευθερίας ὁποία τίς ἐστιν, ἐς δεῦρο κατείληπται, ὡς οὐδὲ γλυκύτης μέλιτος τοῖς μηδέπω γευσαμένοις μέλιτος. 98 Choniates, 584.16–19 (Van Dieten): εἰ δὲ πεπόνθατε λυγρὰ δι᾽ ὑμετέραν κακότητα, / μή τι θεοῖς μῆνιν τούτων ἐμφέρετε·/ αὐτοὶ γὰρ ταῦτ᾽ ηὐξήσατ᾽ ἐρύματα δόντες, / καὶ διὰ ταῦτα κακὴν ἔσχετε δουλοσύνην.

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Reflections on Byzantine “War Ideology” in Late Byzantium* Towards the end of the fourteenth century the Byzantine emperor Manuel II Palaeologus stated: “It appears that it was my destiny to live with continuous war, with all kinds of war1.” This statement implies the extent to which Byzantine society found itself in a state of crisis at the time. War was the product as well as the symptom of this crisis. In the late Byzantine period, when war became almost endemic, it was mainly connected with the phenomenon of political instability, which was characteristic of the era. Already in the thirteenth century the conquest of Constantinople by the Crusaders (1204) had signaled the political fragmentation of the empire into separate political entities, which were under Latin administration. At the same time state formations emerged in Nicaea, Epirus and Trebizond, which became the seats of Byzantine Greek power. The reestablishment of the Byzantine Empire in 1261 did not reverse the process of political disintegration and its effects, which was described by Gregory of Cyprus as “disorder, confusion and innovation2.” The gradual penetration of the Ottomans into the territories of Asia Minor from the end of the thirteenth century, the invasion of the Serbs into northern and central Greece (Macedonia, Epirus, Thessaly) in the middle of the fourteenth century and the outbreak of ongoing civil wars during the same century were some of the more important military developments threatening the survival of the Byzantine state as well as social coherence. In addition, religious conflicts, political ineffectiveness and economic recession intensified the climate of decline. Byzantine society was experiencing a turbulent and belligerent situation, which led to the capture of Constantinople by the Ottomans (1453)3. Even though it was destined for Manuel to live in a time of war, he was an advocate of peace. He advised his son John VIII as follows: “Do not fight against Christian brothers, neither against the barbarians, who have concluded peace with you4.” Indeed, he recognized the existence of war as a tragic and inevitable reality and as such he proclaimed the principle upon which Byzantine strategy was founded and “war ideology” was defined. The pursuit of peace and the subjection of military force to such an end were the essential features of the Byzantines’ art of war5. Simultaneously, the Vegetian meditation of “si vis pacem, para bellum”, which represents the absurd logic of strategy itself, was incorporated into military doctrine and supported the supremacy of the Byzantine Empire. Perceptions, which were relevant to the preference for peace, the need for military preparation as well as the acceptance of war as a necessary evil, prevailed during the Middle Byzantine period. They were reflected in military treatises, which provide us with information not only about the practice, but also about the theory of war. In the “Anonymous Byzantine treatise on strategy”, compiled in the late sixth century, it is stated that: “…war is a great evil and the worst of all evils”; “Negotiating for peace may be chosen before other means, since it might very well offer the best prospect for protecting your interests6.” In the Taktika of Leo VI, composed in the tenth century, the need for peace is repeated regularly: “…all men ought to embrace peace and foster love for one another instead of taking up murderous weapons in their hands to use against their own people”; “We must always embrace peace for our own subjects, as well as for the barbarians”; and “We must always prefer peace above all else and we should…refrain from I would like to thank Professor Johannes Koder for his useful suggestions during the completion of this paper. Manuelis II Palaeologi, Epistulae 67, 187 (Dennis): εἵμαρτο γάρ μοι, ὡς ἔοικε, πολέμῳ συζῆν ἀεί, καὶ τούτῳ παντοδαπῷ. 2 J. Fr. Boissonade, Τοῦ ἁγιωτάτου κυροῦ Γρηγορίου τοῦ Κυπρίου, Ἀρχιεπισκόπου Κωνσταντινουπόλεως, Ἐγκώμιον εἰς τὸν αὐτοκράτορα κῦρον Μιχαὴλ τὸν Παλαιολόγον καὶ Νέον Κωνσταντίνον, in: Anecdota Graeca I. Hildesheim 1962, 345. 3 See e.g. A. Laiou, Στο Βυζάντιο των Παλαιολόγων: Οικονομικά και πολιτιστικά φαινόμενα, in: Ευφρόσυνον. Αφιέρωμα στον Μανόλη Χατζηδάκη. Athens 1991, Ι, 283–286. D. Nicol, The Last Centuries of Byzantium, 1261–1453. Cambridge 1993. 4 Manuelis II Palaeologi, Preceapta Educationis Regiae. PG 156, 314–384, here 354–356 ΝΣΤ΄ (LVI): Μηδὲ πολέμεε πρὸς ἀδελφοὺς τοὺς ἀπὸ Χριστοῦ, μὴτε μὴν πρὸς ὁντινοῦν, ἤ βαρβάρων ἔθνος, ἐν σπονδαῖς σοὶ καταστάν, καὶ τηρεῖν αὐτὰς ἔθελον. 5 See E. N. Luttwak, The Grand Strategy of the Byzantine Empire. Cambridge – Massachusetts – London 2009, 415. 6 G. T. Dennis, Three Byzantine Military Treatises. Washington, D.C. 1985, 22, 20.



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war7.” Leo VI insisted on the significance of military readiness and drilling to facilitate security and declared that: “A general who desires peace must be ready for war8.” Such perceptions were also maintained in later years, as becomes evident from the works of scholars and historians of the era9. In the thirteenth century, Maximus Planudes declared himself to be against war. In the fourteenth century, Thomas Magistros and Theodore Metochites concluded that to achieve peace it is necessary to be ready for war, while the latter also supported that “we must fight out of necessity”; John Cantacuzenus stated that “peace is preferable to any kind of war”; and Manuel II Palaeologus asserted that “nothing is more pleasant than peace10.” The same happened with perceptions concerning the causes of war, which are usually connected with human passions (selfishness, greed, avarice) and the desire for profit11. Thomas Magistros recommended to Andronicus II Palaeologus not to wage war out of egotism; the human race gained nothing from war. Nicephorus Gregoras pointed out that it was the excessive ambition of Charles I of Anjou and the arrogance of the Serbian ruler Stefan Dusan that had led them to make war against the Byzantines12. Hatred and aggressiveness were responsible for military conflicts according to the Chronicle of the Morea (thriteenth century), the Chronicle of Ioannina (fourteenth century) and that of the Tocco family (fifteenth century); these mark out the interrelation between warfare and the human instincts13. Moreover, the attribution of warfare to moral decline, that is to “sin”, as it is called by the bishop of Naupactus John Apocaucus in the thirteenth century14, touches at the soul of the Christian citizen and imputes to war a metaphysical feature. Thus it is Divine providence that determines the beginning and outcome of war. The intervention of Divine providence is evident during military activity, according to late Byzantine historians15. These continue to reproduce, alongside classical models, the pattern of interpreting the world as part of a divine plan. Nicephorus Gregoras accepts the fact that Divine providence regulates the world order and he interprets the idea of the balance of power as a divine act16. Furthermore, considering war as divine punishment results in placing it into a general scheme of the providence of nature17. This perception justifies war as a natural phenomenon and explains its acceptance as something inevitable18.















Leonis VI Tactica, Prol. 4, II 30 (3–4, 34–35 Dennis). Leonis VI Tactica Prol. 5, XX, ροε΄, ο΄, Epil. ιη΄, IX, 20 (4–5, 596–597, 568–569, 624–625, 160–161 Dennis). Leo also believed that civilians had the right to possess a weapon (a bow) in order to use it at critical moments. See Leonis VI Tactica XX, πα΄ (564–567 Dennis). On military drilling see Leonis VI Tactica VII, 1–70 (104–145 Dennis). Dennis, Three Byzantine Treatises 318–320. See also Thomas Magistri, Oratio de Regis Officiis, PG 145, 447–496, here 460–464 θ΄–ι΄. 9 It has to be noted that the testimony of scholars, who are the main bearers of the official ideology, is used here with the aim of enriching the information derived from more objective works, such as the military treatises and the historical texts. The lack of military handbooks or war literary texts in Late Byzantium oblige us to study – critically – any work that refers to war theory or practice. 10 L. G. Westerink, Le Basilikos de Maxime Planude. BSl 29 (1968) 34–50, here 47. Magistri, Oratio 457 ζ’–η. M. Müller – M. Kiessling, Theodori Metochitae Miscellanea. Philosopica et Historica. Amsterdam 1966, 515 (καὶ πολεμητέον γὰρ ἐξ ἀνάγκης ἔσται), 517, 520. Cantacuzeni Historiarum I, 462 (Schopen). Manuelis II Palaeοlogi Praecepta 353 ΝΣΤ’ (LVI). See also C. Knowles, Les Enseignements de Theodore Paleologue. London 1983, 81. Cf. J. Haldon, Warfare, state and society in the Byzantine world, 565–1204. London 1999, 24–25. E. Chrysos, Ο πόλεμος έσχατη λύση, in: Βυζάντιο, κράτος και κοινωνία, Μνήμη Νίκου Οικονομίδη, ed. A. Avramea – A. Laiou – E. Chrysos. Athens 2003, 543–563. 11 See e.g. Acropolitae Opera I, 34, 54 (Heisenberg). Westerink, Le Basilikos 46. In addition the causes of war are associated with retaliation, conflict of interests or even the awareness that no benefic comes out of peace. See Cantacuzeni Historiarum I, 461–462 (Schopen). Gregoras, Byzantina Historia, I, 99, 255 (Schopen – Bekker). Acropolitae Opera II, 16 (Heisenberg). 12 Magistri, Oratio 457 ζ΄. Gregoras, Byzantina Historia Ι, 123, II, 746–747 (Schopen – Bekker). 13 P. Kalonaros, Το Χρονικόν του Μορέως. Athens 1940, vv. 2770–2773, 8782–8785. See also E. Synkellou, Ο πόλεμος στον δυτικό ελλαδικό χώρο κατά τον ύστερο Μεσαίωνα (13ος–15ος αι.) (NHRF/IBR Monographs 8). Athens 2008, 362–363. Cf. J. Keegan, Η ιστορία του πολέμου (trans. from English by L. Charalampides). Athens 1997, 49–50. 14 N. A. Bees, Unedierte Schriftstücke aus der Kanzlei des Johannes Apokaukos des Metropoliten von Naupaktos (in Aetolien). BNJ 21 (1971–1976) 55–160, here 156. Cf. Gregoras, Byzantina Historia I, 258 (Schopen – Bekker). 15 See e.g. Gregoras, Byzantina Historia Ι, 20–21, 24–25, 119–120, 231, 539–540 (Schopen – Bekker). Cantacuzeni Historiarum ΙΙΙ, 122, 146 (Schopen). Acropolitae Opera Ι, 16, 83–84 (Heisenberg). Cf. Leonis VI Tactica II, 23, XIII, 15, XX, μβ΄, σβ΄, XV, 31 (30–31, 286–287, 552–553, 608–609, 364–365 Dennis). Dennis, Three Byzantine Treatises 147. See also Haldon, Warfare 23– 25. 16 Gregoras, Byzantina Historia Ι, 145 (Schopen – Bekker). 17 Gregoras, Byzantina Historia Ι, 139–140, 258 (Schopen – Bekker). Cf. Haldon, Warfare 23. 18 Cf. Müller – Kiessling, Metochitae Miscellanea 515. In the 19th century, General Moltke stated: “war is an element of the harmony placed by God in the world”; B. Kleanthous, Ὁ πόλεμος καὶ αἱ ἱδέαι. Athens 1940, 7. 7 8

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In this context, civilians, as well as soldiers and their officers turned to Divine support so as to be encouraged morally and even to be rewarded for their acts of heroism and humanity during military operations. Religious faith provided the Byzantines with the moral qualities which were necessary for the conduct of war; much relevant information for this can be found in the military handbooks of the Middle Byzantine period. Their authors refer constantly to the help given to the Romans (that is the Byzantines) by God, who protects the soldiers19. In particular Leo VI stresses the importance of religious ceremonies in warfare. He encourages soldiers to “offer prayers to God and to invoke him as an ally” as well as to be purified from sin before battle; he believed in the reward for brave soldiers as well as for those who fall fighting for Christians20. He promoted as well the religious profile of the general, which was strongly reinforced by the favor and grace of God21. After all, it was the judgment of God in accordance with the leadership of the general and the moral of the army which decided the outcome of a war22. Leo’s opinion echoes a well-established truth: “the moral elements are among the most important in war” (Clausewitz)23. Besides, it reflects the consciousness of a given society, which was inspired spiritually and morally by religion24. The value of faith on the battlefield and in military mobilization remained strong during the late Byzantine period25. The case of the Byzantine expedition against Charles I of Anjou at Berat (1280) is characteristic of this. The religious ceremony which took place before the departure of the soldiers from Constantinople included vigil, unction and supplying the soldiers with sacred amulets, all of which aimed at boosting their morale26. The defeat of Charles was followed by a victorious triumph of the Byzantine soldiers in Constantinople, whereas various episodes of the battle were portrayed at the Blachernon Palace27. Though the religious policy of the Union of the churches applied by Michael VIII Palaeologus was intended to avert a military attack from the West, his campaign was against a Catholic western adversary. The latter acted in a hostile way towards the Byzantines, according to Gregoras. So, it was by appealing to the Orthodox faith which ultimately mobilized a military expedition against an “aggressive” enemy such as Charles of Anjou28. It is clear that the identification of the Byzantines according to their faith was one of their basic psychological and strategic advantages29. In later years, when the official justifications of war seemed to have had limited impact on individual soldiers30, the intervention of the Church aimed basically at serving the social needs of those involved in warfare. It should be noted, that from the psychological and ideological points of view, the thirteenth century was a particularly charged period for the Byzantines, who were living “in exile” for more than 50 years and had to face Western Christian aggression. During this period, the diffusion of the Crusaders’ perceptions of “holy” war suggested the use of religion as a means to achieve internal legitimacy for war, as well as to ensure consistency on the battlefield. Thus, the role of the Byzantine Church appears to have been decisive in the

Leonis VI Tactica XIV, 1 (290–291 Dennis). Dennis, Three Byzantine Treatises, 147–148, 312. E. McGeer, Sowing the Dragon’s Teeth: Byzantine Warfare in the Tenth Century. Washington 1955, 44. See Haldon, Warfare 23. 20 Leonis VI Tactica XX, οζ΄, ρμθ΄, ροβ΄, οβ΄, XVI, 2, 4, 10, 11 (562–563, 588–589, 596–597, 560–563, 382–384, 386–387 Dennis). 21 Leonis VI Tactica , XX, γ΄, μζ΄, σκα΄, ο΄, ργ΄, Epil. μα΄, η΄, ογ΄, XIV, 96, II, 22, 24, 18, 34, XVI, 11, 15, XIV, 31 (538–539, 554–555, 616–619, 560–561, 572–573, 630–631, 622–623, 642–643, 344–345, 30–33, 26–27, 36–37, 386–387, 388–389, 306–307 Dennis). 22 Leonis VI Tactica Prol. 8,9, XII, 3, XIV, 33 (8–9, 216–217, 308–309 Dennis). 23 C. von Clausewitz, On war (trans. M. Howard – P. Paret). Oxford 2007, 141–142. The moral elements of war are the following: the skill of the commander, the experience and courage of the troops, and their patriotic spirit; see Clausewitz, On war 143. 24 See Leonis VI, Tactica II, 32, 34, 36, XX, σκα’, 618, Epilogue, γ΄–ζ΄, 620–623. 25 See e.g. Gregoras, Byzantina Historia Ι, 120, 231, 539–540 (Schopen – Bekker). On the religious ceremonies in Constantinople during the sieges by the Ottomans and the belief that Constantinople was a God-protected city see A. Athanasopoulos, Οθωμανικές πολιορκίες της Κωνσταντινουπόλεως (PhD Diss.). University of Ioannina 2011, 199–207. 26 Pachymeris, De Michaele et Andronico Palaeologis II, 511 (Bekker). 27 Pachymeris, De Michaele et Andronico Palaeologis II, 517–518 (Bekker). On the ideological implications of the triumphs in the Palaeologan era see D. Angelov, Byzantine Ideological Reactions to the Latin Conquest of Constantinople, in: Urbs Capta. The Fourth Crusade and its Consequences. La IVe Croisade et ses consequences, ed. A. Laiou. Paris 2005, 293–310, here 305. 28 Gregoras, Byzantina Historia Ι, 145 (Schopen – Bekker). 29 Luttwak, Grand Strategy 410. 30 S. Kyriakidis, Warfare in Late Byzantium, 1204–1453 (History of Warfare 67). Leiden – Boston 2011, 18.

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outcome of war31. In the following years, as the number of mercenaries (both Christians and Turks) in the Byzantine army was on the rise, the Church persisted in its traditional mission of providing material and moral support to Christian Orthodox warriors and civilians. This feature became more pronounced in the fifteenth century, in the face of the Ottoman threat. At that time religious faith marked out the distinction between Byzantines and Ottomans, with the latter being identified with the common enemies of Christendom32. The attitude of the Orthodox Church towards war was one that continued to embrace the ideas of St. Basil and St. Athanasius. The Church only accepted defensive war; it was against violence and denied the active participation of its members in military conflicts33. The limited cases of monks participating in military operations, of which the written sources inform us, ought be attributed to special political and local conditions compelling them to join the army34. Although John Apocaucus defined their punishment, which was anathema and the deprival of their right of congregation with the bishop, Patriarch Athanasius I accepted the necessity for the military readiness of clergymen to face the Turkish threat35. Undoubtedly, considering war as an “ultima ratio” and conducting it with a spirit of charity (φιλανθρωπία) and economy (οικονομία) was the result of the impact of Christian perceptions on war, which constituted a particular “war ideology”36. Gregoras pointed out that the Byzantines, the Albanians and the Serbs did not wish for the captivity and killing of those of the same religion outside the battlefield. John Cantacuzenus stressed that “Romans…do not capture people” and Doukas confirmed that the method of taking captives was avoided in military conflicts between Romans (that is Byzantines), Bulgarians, Serbs, Epirotes and Thessalians37. We ought to mention that the aforesaid cases concern opponents of the same religion and reflect the Byzantines’ point of view regarding the initiative of war taken against them. On the other hand, captivity constituted a typical element of military action38; it was also connected to the nature and purpose of war. As “guerilla” warfare was predominant in Late Byzantium, the acquisition of spoils was the main objective of military activity. The latter was thus directly connected to the military ethics of those involved and incorporated into the model of medieval “limited” wars39. According to Christian theology, it was the coordination between the divine and the human worlds that could promote justice and support peace. This perception had resulted in the acceptance of war as a means of defense. “The Orthodox Christian Empire, given that it was the earthly reflection of the Kingdom of

On the influence of the Crusaders’ war ideas in Late Byzantium see Angelov, Ideological reactions 298. I. Giarenis, Η συγκρότηση και η εδραίωση της αυτοκρατορίας της Νίκαιας. Ο αυτοκράτορας Θεόδωρος Α΄ Κομνηνός Λάσκαρις (NHRF/IBR Monographs 12). Athens 2008, 331–337. 32 R.-J. Loenertz, Démétrius Cydonès: Correspondance ΙΙ. Vatican 1960, 239. See also J. Chrysostomides, Manuel II Palaeologus, Funeral Oration on his Brother Theodore. Thessaloniki 1985, 131. 33 A. Kolia-Dermitzaki, O Βυζαντινός ‘ιερός πόλεμος’. Athens 1991, 37–66. J. Chrysostomides, Byzantine Concepts of War and Peace, in: War, Peace and World Order in European History, ed. A. V. Hartmann – B. Heuser. London – New York 2001, 91–101, here 92–93. Haldon, Warfare 16–17. A. Laiou, On Just War in Byzantium, in: ΤΟ ΕΛΛΗΝΙΚΟΝ. Studies in Honor of Spyros Vryonis, Jr., I. New York 1993, 155–177, here 170–171. 34 On these cases see Synkellou, Πόλεμος 319–321. Cf. Kyriakidis, Warfare 162. 35 Bees, Unedierte Schriftstücke 88. A.-M. Talbot, The Correspondence of Athanasius I Patriarch of Constantinople (CFHB 7). Washington, D.C. 1975, 56. See Haldon, Warfare 30–31. 36 Leonis VI Tactica XIII, 15, XV, 31, 39, XVI, 9, XX, στ΄, ιη΄–ιθ΄, κη΄, λγ΄, πε΄–πστ΄, VIII, 22 (286–287, 364–365, 368–369, 384–387, 538–541, 542–543, 546–547, 548–549, 566–567, 150–151 Dennis). Dennis, Three Byzantine Treatises 124, 126. 37 Gregoras, Byzantina Historia Ι, 116 (Schopen – Bekker). Cantacuzeni Historiarum I, 497 (Schopen): Pωμαῖοι...ἀνθρώπους οὐκ ἐξηνδραποδίζοντο. Doukas, Istoria turco-bizantina, 99 (Grecu). On captivity in the region of western Greece see Synkellou, Πόλεμος 334–345. 38 E. Chrysos, Νόμος πολέμου, in: Byzantium at War (9th–12th c.) (NHRF/IBR, International Symposium 4). Athens 1997, 201–211, here 204–205. 39 The Byzantine emperor Andronicus II blamed the Catalans for their crimes against Christian people, although they were Christians too: see Pachymeris, De Michaele et Andronico Palaeologis II, 566–567 (Bekker). In the western world the trade of captives was more common than their killing; see A. Corvisier, A Dictionary of Military History and the Art of War. Oxford 1994, 669. R. Barber, The Knight and Chivalry. London 1970, 203–204. On the medieval “limited” wars see M. Howard, Ο ρόλος του πολέμου στη Νεότερη Ευρωπαϊκή Ιστορία (trans. from English Η. Stroikou). Athens 2000, 23–26. Clausewitz, On war 231–232, 258. Synkellou, Πόλεμος 344–345.

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Heaven, was quite justified in fighting to defend itself against external aggression40.” Leo VI supports in his Taktika the idea of defensive war, which he considers to be “just”41. In the same spirit, the military treatises of the Middle Byzantine period explain the phenomenon of war as a result of hostile invasion, disrespect, disobedience and the violation of agreements. For example, the anonymous writer of the “Byzantine treatise on strategy” emphasizes the need for defense “...since our enemies clearly look upon the shedding of our blood”; Leo VI urges men to take up arms lest “our adversary…initiate unjust hostilities and invade our territory” and he believes that “the crime of breaking an oath is a great evil”42. During the fourteenth century, John Cantacuzenus, in his speech to the Serbian king Stefan Dousan, repeats the same points and describes the notion of the “just” war43. According to him, the Byzantines had suffered an injustice on account of the Serbs taking a part of Roman (that is Byzantine) territory; they had broken the agreements and had started hostilities. So the Byzantines were entitled to engage in war with them in order to overturn the injustice and to take back their heredity territories44. Similar perceptions are reflected in the works of late Byzantine historians. The Serbs and the Bulgarians violate peace treaties; the Albanians are bandits as well “perjurers”; the Epirotes are renegades and rebels; the rulers of Thessaly breakers of oaths, rebels and invaders45. This being the case, war against those of the same race and religion is justified since it is the only way to bring them back within the empire and restore imperial power. The latter was indeed the basis for legitimizing Byzantine wars against the Latins and it functioned in combination with the traditional idea of defending ancestral lands; this latter idea had moreover been redefined in relation to the past46. On the other hand, the concepts of self-defense and defense of freedom and religion, which were also promoted in military treatises47, characterized the general perceptions of war against the Turks48. Viewing the Turks as Haldon, Warfare 25. See also M. C. Bartusis, The Late Byzantine Army. Arms and Society 1204–1453. Philadelphia 1992, 351–354. 41 Leonis VI Tactica II, 29, 31, XX, νη΄, ρξθ΄, Epil. ιδ΄ (34–37, 556–557, 594–595, 624–625 Dennis). See also G. MichaelidisNouaros, Ο δίκαιος πόλεμος κατά τα Τακτικά του Λέοντος του Σοφού (Symmikta Seferiadou). Athens 1961, 411–434; Laiou, On Just War 167–168. Haldon, Warfare, 33; Chrysostomides, Concepts of War 93; I. Stouraitis, Krieg und Frieden in der politischen und ideologischen Wahrnehmung in Byzanz (7.–11. Jahrhundert) (Byzantinische Geschichtsschreiber, Erganzungsband 5). Vienna 2009, 272f. Apart from the Byzantines, the Venetians made a “just” war during the 2nd Venetian-Ottoman war, according to Sanuto (noi non intramo in guerra se non necessitati o per propulsar la ingiuria): M. Sanuto, I Diarii (1496–1533), 1–58 (ed. R. Fulin – F. Stefani – N. Barozzi – G. Berchet – M. Allegri. Venice 1879–1903, here ΙΙ, 1004). Cf. Müller – Kiessling, Metochitae Miscellanea 515. See P. Contamine, War in the Middle Ages. Oxford 1986, 284. 42 Dennis, Three Byzantine Treatises 20. Leonis VI Tactica II, 31, XX, λθ΄ (34–37, 550–551 Dennis). Cf. Westerink, Le Basilikos 46. Cantacuzeni Historiarum I, 325, II, 160 (Schopen). 43 Cf. Cantacuzeni Historiarum I, 158 (Schopen). Thomas Magistros also described warfare as a result of injustice: Magistri, Oratio 457 ζ΄; Gregoras believed that an army guided by injustice and impudence was meant to be destroyed: Gregoras, Byzantina Historia Ι, 206 (Schopen – Bekker); J. Apocaucus justified the wars of the ruler of Epirus Theodore Doukas against the Latins, as they were greed and tyrants: Bees, Unedierte Schriftstücke 157. V. G. Vasilievskij, Epirotica saeculi XIII. VV 3 (1896), 233–299, here 243. 44 Cantacuzeni Historiarum III, 140–151 (Schopen). The Byzantine writers of the late period (such as Gregory of Cyprus, Chumnos, Metochites, Lampinos) believed that the military operations of Michael VII and Andronicus II in Asia Minor were defensive; see D. Angelov, Imperial Ideology and Political Thought in Byzantium, 1204–1330. Cambridge 2007, 102 cit. 91, 92. Kyriakidis, Warfare 25–30. 45 Cantacuzeni Historiarum II, 460–462, III, 37 (Bulgarians/Serbs), II, 79, 81 (Serbs/Albanians), Ι, 499, 509, 520 (Epirotes) (Schopen). Gregoras, Byzantina Historia Ι, 55 (Bulgarians), 544–545 (Albanians), 48, 71, 83 (Epirotes), 110–111 (Thessalians) (Schopen – Bekker). Acropolitae Opera I, 52, 55, 57, 109 (Bulgarians), 89 (Epirotes) (Heisenberg). 46 Acropolitae Opera IΙ, 18 (Heisenberg). Boissonade, Γρηγορίου τοῦ Κυπρίου Ἐγκώμιον 343. Chrysostomides, Manuel II Palaeologus, Funeral oration 111. See E. Chrysos, Οι βυζαντινές ρίζες της ‘Μεγάλης ιδέας’. Dodone 1 (1987) 193–202, here 194, 199. On the “war ideology” formed in Nicaea see Giarenis, Aυτοκρατορία της Νίκαιας 330–340. Angelov, Ideological Reactions 296–299 (who supports the idea of militarism). 47 Dennis, Three Byzantine treatises 20. The Taktika of Leo VI promoted the concepts of defense of the fatherland, the faith and the Christian nation: Leonis VI Tactica XVI, 16, XVIII, 16, 19, 105 (390–391, 442–445, 444–445, 476–477 Dennis). Leo also believed that the Byzantine emperor made war in order to preserve the honor of the emperor’s status as well as the security and freedom of his subjects: Leonis VI Tactica XV, 33 (366–367 Dennis). Cf. Dennis, Three Byzantine Treatises 320, 216 (struggle for the emperor, the fatherland and the Christians). 48 B. Laourdas, Ο ‘Συμβουλευτικός προς τους Θεσσαλονικείς’ του Μανουήλ Παλαιολόγου. Makedonika 3 (1953–1955) 290–307, here 296, 299, 302. Cantacuzenus supports the struggle for the fatherland and freedom, as well as the glory of the Romans: Cantacuzeni Historiarum I, 344–345 (Schopen).

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“barbarians” both preserved the prestige of the Byzantines and helped define the existence of a military threat that introduced a new kind of war, that of “total” war49. It has been said, that for the Byzantines, military force worked together with diplomacy and was used only to maintain and punish, rather than to attack or defend in all strength. The operational code of the Byzantines, as it is analyzed in military manuals, includes the avoidance of war, the use of diplomacy and the methods of undermining and watching the enemy, the application of stratagems, the preference for raids instead of major attacks, risk minimization and the use of the element of surprise50. These principles, which determine the strategy and tactics of battles, were also maintained in late Byzantine times, according to the testimony of authors51. George Akropolites notes that John III Vatatzes did not desire to engage in pitched battles, because he was afraid of the “unreasonable”, namely the uncertainty of war52. Nicephorus Gregoras as well as John Cantacuzenus accept that strategic planning and intelligence are more effective than numerous soldiers and weapons53. John Cantacuzenus also claims that a good general is one who preserves his troops even when he fails on the battlefield54. The Byzantines usually adopted aggressive strategy after they had become convinced that this was the only way to deal with the enemy55. The fact that the states of Nicaea and Epirus implemented offensive strategy in the early thirteenth century was something dictated by the psychological effects of the “exile”, though it was transferred to the rivalry between them. However, this kind of strategy was fully integrated into the Byzantine theoretical framework of defensive war, which resembled the “offensive war with a limited aim” (Clausewitz)56. From the middle of the fourteenth century, diplomacy was the main means of reacting to external threats, which were continually on the increase. Additionally, the available resources of the Byzantines were limited and did not allow the adoption of long-term policies and strategic plans, which could have led to “total” or expansive wars57. A key place in the theoretical “armory” of war is, without a doubt, that of the military role of the emperor, with most of the late Byzantine emperors being soldiers. The emperor, according to Byzantine official ideology, was considered a warrior as well as a general. The military imperial profile was reproduced by the rulers of Nicaea and Epirus along with the Palaeologan dynasty58. In encomia and the funeral orations of emperors, their military virtues are emphasized. Moreover, their capacity in warfare could even be a criterion for ascending the throne (such as with Cantacuzenus). The relevant examples are many: Akropolites praises John Vatatzes and Theodore II Laskaris for their strategic abilities; John Apocaucus honors Theodore (Angelus) Doukas for his military experience; Gregory of Cyprus praises Michael VIII Palaeologus for his martial skills; Nicephorus Gregoras praises Andronicus III Palaeologus for his bravery and strategic mind; Demetrius Cydones admires John Cantacuzenus for his strong military personality and John Dokeianos commends Constantine Palaeologus for his military achievements in the Peloponnese59. Praising bravery and heroism was a genuine feature of medieval and Byzantine “war ideology.” It appears in military treatises as well as Byzan See Kyriakidis, Warfare 36–44. Synkellou, Πόλεμος 343–345. Luttwak, Grand Strategy 415–418. Haldon, Warfare 37–38. 51 See e.g. Pachymeris, De Michaele et Andronico Palaeologis II, 403–405 (Bekker). Gregoras, Byzantina Historia I, 113, 146, 497 (Schopen – Bekker). 52 Acropolitae Opera I, 104 (Heisenberg). 53 Gregoras, Byzantina Historia I, 146, 497 (Schopen – Bekker). Cantacuzeni Historiarum ΙI, 116 (Schopen). Cf. Leonis VI Tactica Prol. 8, 9, XIV, 35 (8–9, 310–311 Dennis). 54 Cantacuzeni Historiarum Ι, 103 (Schopen). 55 Cantacuzeni Historiarum Ι, 185–185 (Schopen). 56 See e.g. Acropolitae Opera I, 34 (Heisenberg). Gregoras, Byzantina Historia I, 214, 20–21, 24–25, 400–401, 484 (Schopen – Bekker). On the offensive war with a limited aim see Clausewitz, On war 258–260. 57 See Cantacuzeni Historiarum ΙΙΙ, 295–299 (Schopen). Cantacuzenus also stated that the Byzantines seemed to be incapable of war, as they usually employed diplomacy: Cantacuzeni Historiarum Ι, 328 (Schopen). See also Chrysos, Πόλεμος έσχατη λύση 551–553. Kyriakidis, Warfare 64, 139, 183, 226. 58 Angelov, Ideological Reactions 297–298. Giarenis, Αυτοκρατορία της Νίκαιας 299–308. A. Stavridou-Zafraka, Νίκαια και Ήπειρος τον 13ο αιώνα. Ιδεολογική αντιπαράθεση στην προσπάθειά τους να ανακτήσουν την αυτοκρατορία. Thessaloniki 1990, 121,125–126, 130, 145. 59 Acropolitae Opera II, 16, 114–127 (Heisenberg). Vasilievskij, Epirotica 246. Boissonade, Γρηγορίου τοῦ Κυπρίου Ἐγκώμιον 326–327. Gregoras, Byzantina Historia I, 561–562 (Schopen – Bekker). Loenertz, Démétrius Cydonès Correspondance Ι. Vatican 1956, 34–35. S. Lampros, Ἰωάννου Δοκειανοῦ, Λόγοι καὶ ἐπιστολαὶ. Παλαιολόγεια και Πελοποννησιακά 1 (1912–1923) 221–255, here 228, 244.

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tine imperial encomia, the mirrors of princes and the works of scholars60. But it was in the Palaeologan era that such praises were addressed to a military élite which had monopolized the military leadership. Consequently, a kind of “heroic individualism” was developed according to the models of the Western chivalric spirit61. It is clear that the emergence of the emperor’s military profile was associated with his role and his mission, as it was determined by Byzantine official ideology62. The emperor, who was identified as “the lieutenant general of God” (ὁ τοῦ Θεοῦ ὑποστράτηγος) took care of the safety of his subjects; so he was responsible for controlling the army and mostly for declaring and conducting war63. In the thirteenth century John Apocaucus believed that war was a matter of “the great authorities”64. He distinguished between polemos hieros (sacred war) and polemos stratiotikos (military conflict) and he placed each of them into different fields65. With sacred war he defined the spiritual, religious struggle within an ecclesiastical context, thus employing the term in a metaphorical manner and analogously to military struggle which he related to the field of politics. The emperor’s prerogative to wage war remained unaffected until 1453. But the new realities that came with 1204 brought into question his exclusive right to declare and manage war. The apparent reason for this is that from the early fourteenth century the emperor did not have full control of available resources and military forces. The crisis of the central imperial system had already begun. The factors which caused but also extenuated this crisis are the following: the growing power of the aristocracy, which was able to support war financially; the independence of local military authorities in the provinces; the difficulty in controlling border areas; and the powerful role of local rulers. All these factors led to a partial “privatization” of war. Furthermore, civil wars accelerated the fragmentation of imperial power. Additionally, the political program of furthering the interests of the Palaeologan dynasty, according to which the administration of imperial areas was assigned to different members of the ruling family, undermined the prerogative of the emperor to wage war66. The “despots” of the Morea managed military matters on their own by entering into alliances or by hiring mercenaries. In addition, the common practice of awarding the title of “despot” to local rulers in Greek regions, though it implied the existence of a central state authority, did not diminish the “despots’” will to make war67.

Dennis, Three Byzantine Treatises 116. Leonis VI Tactica , XX, ροα΄, ριστ΄, Epil. μα΄, ΧΙΙ, 4 (604–605, 576–577, 630–631, 216–219 Dennis). Cf. Manuelis II Palaeοlogi Praecepta 376 ΗΖ’ (LXXXVII). See also J. A. Munitiz, S.J., War and Peace in Mirrors of Princes, in: Peace and war in Byzantium. 50–61, here 55–57. On the mirrors of princes in Late Byzantium see C. Paidas, Τα βυζαντινά ‘κάτοπτρα ηγεμόνος’ της ύστερης περιόδου (1254–1403). Εκφράσεις του βυζαντινού βασιλικού ιδεώδους. Athens 2006. 61 See e.g. Cantacuzeni Historiarum Ι, 17–18, 37, 334 (Schopen). Manuelis II Palaeologis Praecepta 376–377 ΗΖ΄–ΗΘ΄ (LXXXVIII–LXXXIX). See also Kyriakidis, Warfare 48–51, 222. D. Kyritses, The Byzantine Aristocracy in the Thirteenth and Early Fourteenth Centuries (PhD Diss.). Harvard University 1997, 258–260. Bartusis, Byzantine Army 364–365. 62 Angelov, Ideological reactions 305, 308–309. A. Stavridou-Zafraka, The political Ideology of the State of Epiros, in: Urbs Capta. The Fourth Crusade and its Consequences. La IVe Croisade et ses consequences, ed. A. Laiou. Paris 2005, 311–323, here 312, 317–320. Eadem, Νίκαια passim. Giarenis, Αυτοκρατορία της Νίκαιας 289–330. The military role of the political leader was already legitimized in early Christian approaches, cf. Luke 14.31–32: …τίς βασιλεὺς πορευόμενος ἑτέρῳ βασιλεῖ συμβαλεῖν εἰς πόλεμον οὐχὶ καθίσας πρῶτον βουλεύσεται εἰ δυνατός ἐστιν ἐν δέκα χιλιάσιν ὑπαντῆσαι τῷ μετὰ εἴκοσι χιλιάδων ἐρχομένῳ ἐπ’ αὐτόν; εἰ δὲ μήγε, ἔτι αὐτοῦ πόρρω ὄντος πρεσβείαν  ποστείλας ἐρωτᾷ τὰ πρὸς εἰρήνην. 63 Vasilievskij, Epirotica 244. See also Laiou, Just war 170. Haldon, Warfare 24–25. 64 Bees, Unedierte Schriftstücke 157. See G. S. Rondinini, Il diritto di guerra in Italia nel secolo XV. Nuova Rivista Storica 48 (1964) 275–306, here 286–287. Howard, Ο ρόλος του πολέμου 23–24. 65 Vasilievskij, Epirotica 277 (οὐ σκοπεῖς δὲ ὡς ῥάψαι ζητῶν μεῖζον τὸ σχίσμα ποιήσεις…καὶ πόλεμον αναρριπἰσεις τὸν ἱερόν· λεγέσθω γὰρ καὶ πόλεμος ἱερός, ὥσπερ καὶ στρατιωτικός;). On religious warfare in Byzantium see Haldon, Warfare 17–33; for up-to-date bibliographical information on the issue of Byzantine ‘holy war’ cf. I. Stouraitis, Jihād and Crusade: Byzantine positions towards the notions of ‘holy war’. Byzantina Symmeikta 21 (2011) 11, n. 1. 66 Cf. Kyritses, Byzantine aristocracy 387–391. J. Barker, The problem of appanages in Byzantium during the Palaiologan period. Byzantina 3 (1971) 105–122. 67 See the case of Charles I Tocco in Epirus: Synkellou, Πόλεμος 192–194, 363. On the title of “despot” and its political usage see S. Asonitis, Παρατηρήσεις στις πρακτικές πολιτικοϊδεολογικής σύνδεσης Κωνσταντινούπολης και Ηπείρου κατά τον όψιμο Μεσαίωνα, in: Byzantine Arta and its region. Proceedings of the 2nd International Archaeological and Historical Congress, Arta 12–14 April 2002, ed. E. Synkellou, Arta – Athens 2007, 141–159 here 146–153. A. Stavridou-Zafraka, Το αξίωμα του ‘Δεσπότη’ και τα δεσποτικά έγγραφα της Ηπείρου, in: Medieval Epiros. Proceedings of a Symposium, Ioannina 17–19 September 1999, ed. C. Constantinides. Ioannina 2001, 73–97.

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It is thus obvious that the theoretical background to Byzantine warfare was directly connected to imperial and church thinking. As far as its principles are concerned, it remained almost unchanged during the Byzantine period. This also explains the implementation of the “grand” strategy, the basic characteristics of which were the following: the commitment to the idea of the “ecoumene” accompanied by political flexibility; the avoidance of pitched battles; the use of diplomatic methods and manoeuvres; and military preparedness. In later years, when the borders of the empire were constantly changing and shrinking, this strategy was the one that provided the Byzantine state with strong forces of resistance and survival. In addition, the restatement of a Graeco-Roman identity from the thirteenth century onward offered the Byzantines strong psychological and strategic advantages68. Regarding the theatre of war, the Byzantines continued to demonstrate their capacities on both a tactical and an operational level69. At the same time they remained faithful to the doctrine of avoiding military clashes; rather, they usually launched surprise attacks and raids and made use of ambushes, various forms of stratagems and tactics of deception. Their military goal was the application of indirect and diplomatic methods70. It is worth mentioning that the defensive strategy of the Byzantines was served by the construction of forts or networks of castles as the basic element in their defensive structure. The conduct of military operations confirms this reality71. Certainly the implementation of defensive strategy resulted from the Byzantines’ awareness of their lack of resources and manpower, which were required for the mobilization of war and in which their opponents excelled. In the state of the Palaeologi, it was these deficiencies, alongside with the mismanagement of available resources, administrative inadequacies, numerous military fronts and political instability, which were responsible for territorial losses and the inability to apply long-term military policy. Instead, as a way of counterbalancing the absence of structured military policies, the Byzantines resorted to their traditional ideological and political ideals and adopted several Western models of military ethics72. It is well known that Byzantium interacted with the Western world throughout its later period. Such an interaction allowed the Byzantines to redefine their political orientations and strategic objectives, to review entrenched attitudes on the notion of the state and finally to develop new intellectual perspectives. The period of “exile” highlighted the need to review the limits of imperial power within the newly-fragmented political environment73. The conflict between the States of Nicaea and Epirus expressed this reality to a great extent74. On the other hand, the formation of a consistent political ideology in line with the principles of the past acted as the principal means to preserve Byzantine prestige as embodied in Constantinople. Thus, war among the Byzantine successor-states resembled the liberation struggle against the “tyranny” of the Latins. The recovery of Constantinople, which was regarded as the “common homeland of the Romans”, was the main strategic goal and lay at the core of war “ideology” at the time. In this context, the idea of defending the motherland while at the same time promoting the Greek aspect of the Byzantines’ identity, mainly from the Nicaeans, enhanced the “moral elements” of war75. With the reconquest of Constantinople (1261), which remained a common fatherland of the Byzantines and the world metropolis (that is, the ecoumene), the “res Luttwak, Grand Strategy 410–412. On Byzantines’ identity after 1204 see P. Magdalino, Hellenism and nationalism in Byzantium, in: Tradition and transformation in Medieval Byzantium, ed. P. Magdalino. London 1991, XIV, 1–29. Angelov, Ideological Reactions 299–303. L. Maurommatis, Ρωμαϊκή ταυτότητα, Ελληνική ταυτότητα (ΙΓ΄–ΙΕ΄ αι.). Symm 7 (1987), 183–191. S. Vryonis, Jr., Byzantine cultural self-consciousness in the fifteenth century, in: The twilight of Byzantium. Aspects of Cultural and Religious History in the late Byzantine Empire. Papers from the Colloquium held at Princeton University 8–9 May 1989, ed. S. Ćurčič – D. Mouriki. Princeton 1991, 5–14. S. Kourouses, Ἑλληνικὴ παιδεία καὶ ἐθνικὴ συνείδησις τῶν Ἑλλήνων ἀπὸ τῆς ἀρχαιότητας εἰς τὸ Βυζάντιον. Athens 1993, 32–35. 69 See the recommendations of Magistros about the art and science of war, namely the study of the military handbooks, the military drilling and the maintenance of land and naval forces: Magistri, Oratio 460–464 θ΄–ι΄. 70 On tactics and strategy in Late Byzantium see Synkellou, Πόλεμος 149–314. Kyriakidis, Warfare 64–65, 197–215, 224–225. 71 Kyriakidis, Warfare 157–187. Synkellou, Πόλεμος 79–87. 72 Kyriakidis, Warfare 20–21, 32–33, 51–60. Angelov, Ideological reactions 305–310. See also A. Kazhdan, Certain Traits of Imperial Propaganda in the Byzantine Empire from the Eighth to the Fifteenth Centuries, in: Prédication et propagande au Moyen Age. Islam, Byzance, Occident. Penn – Paris – Dumbarton Oaks, 20–25 Octobre 1980, Colloquia III. Paris 1983, 13–27, here 24–25. 73 See M. Angold, Byzantium in Exile, in: The New Cambridge Medieval History V. Cambridge 2008, 543–568, here 559–560. 74 See Stavridou-Zafraka, Political Ideology 317–323. 75 See Angelov, Ideological reactions 299–303. M. Angold, Byzantine ‘Nationalism’ and the Nicaean Empire. BMGS 1 (1975) 49–70. See also above cit. 23, 46.

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toration” of Byzantine imperial perceptions gave some life to Byzantine power76. However the notion of the “ecoumene” had already been undermined on account of ongoing border instability. Simultaneously, the ongoing process of political fragmentation was destabilizing the power of central authority by furthering the power of regional potentates. Indeed the regional and local role of independent authorities (e.g. in Asia Minor) was elevated; so also with small regional entities, which were developed on the basis of the Byzantine political system in association with Western political practices, mainly in the Greek areas (e.g. Epirus). The regional wars that prevailed in late Byzantine times show that the phenomenon of war was interpreted as the principal means to consolidate authority77. The emperor, who represented central power, seemed incapable of exercising his control directly78. However, the development of local self-consciousness as a result of the dynamic role of regional cities and the military enlistment of their residents acted as a means of participation in the matters of defense and security. The defense of the fatherland, a notion that was increasingly gaining political content, became the main objective in the face of the impending Ottoman threat79. Thus in the fifteenth century, the last emperor of Byzantium is praised for the defense of imperial Byzantine territory, rather than for the recovery of “Roman” lands80. Similarly, Pletho becomes detached from the idea of universal empire and underlines the role of the Peloponnese as a key area for the empire’s expansion81. Despite however the political realism that was shown by the intellectuals of the era, the Byzantines remained loyal to their cultural past and to their own art of war82. Late Byzantine warfare was still motivated by the traditional forms of political ideology, which was challenged by the decline of Byzantine authority from the thirteenth century onwards. This ideology, despite becoming composite and many-sided during the late period,83 supported a kind of strategy that was still genuinely Byzantine. As a final point, it is worth quoting from Carl von Clausewitz’s book on war theory “On war”: “We therefore conclude that war does not belong in the realm of arts and sciences; rather it is part of man’s social existence. War is a clash between major interests, which is resolved by bloodshed– that is the only way in which it differs from other conflicts. Rather than comparing it to art we could more accurately compare it to commerce, which is also a conflict of human interests and activities; and it is still closer to politics, which in turn may be considered as a kind of commerce on a larger scale.”84 In the Late Middle Ages, when warfare in the broad Mediterranean world was not far from Clausewitz’s judgment, the Byzantines were supporting the value system which had created their particular culture of war.85

S. Lampros, Ἀνωνύμου Πανηγυρικός εἰς Μανουὴλ καὶ Ἰωάννην τοὺς Παλαιολόγους. Παλαιολόγεια και Πελοποννησιακά 3 (1926) 132–199, here 136, 145. See also Giarenis, Αυτοκρατορία της Νίκαιας 296–299. Angelov, Ideological reactions 296–297. T. Kiousopoulou, Βασιλεύς ή Οικονόμος. Πολιτική εξουσία και ιδεολογία πριν την Άλωση. Athens 2007, 204–216. R. Macrides, The New Constantine and the New Constantinople –1261?. BMGS 6 (1980) 13–41. Laiou, Στο Βυζάντιο των Παλαιολόγων 286. 77 Synkellou, Πόλεμος 189–199, 213–215. 78 Cf. Angold, Byzantium in Exile 567–568. 79 On the denotation of the fatherland see Kiousopoulou, Βασιλεύς 204–216. 80 Lampros, Ἰωάννου Δοκειανοῦ Λόγοι 228–231, 244–245. 81 Βλ. D. M. Nicol, Byzantine Political Thought, in: The Cambridge history of Medieval Political Thought c.350–c.1450, ed. J. H. Burns. Cambridge 1988, 51–79, here 77–79. 82 See I. Ševčenko, The Decline of Byzantium Seen Through the Eyes of its Intellectuals. DOP 15 (1961) 169–186. 83 Angelov, Ideological reactions 310. 84 Clausewitz, On war 100. 85 See Contamine, War 305–306. G. T. Dennis, Defenders of the Christian People: Holy War in Byzantium, in: The Crusades from the Perspective of Byzantium and the Μuslim World, ed. A. E. Laiou – R. P. Mottahedeh. Washington, D.C. 2001, 31–39, here 37. Synkellou, Πόλεμος 176–185, 188–189, 195–196.

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Civilians as Combatants in Byzantium Ideological versus Practical Considerations* In almost every discussion revolving around the use of civilians as combatants in warfare, a double standard is evident. This leads to a controversy that usually manifests itself as a tug-o’-war between small nations and Great Powers, the former insisting that every civilian fighting for his country – in whatever fashion – must be regarded as a “lawful combatant”, the latter claiming that only regular armies may take part in military operations1. Furthermore, the perception of a civilian combatant’s legitimacy may also vary within the same state formation, the ambivalence depending not so much on the state’s changing political ideology, as on its strategic needs at a given time2. If sympathetic to the idea of using civilians as combatants in warfare, one might call this attitude towards their ideological and legal status many things: unethical, insincere, twofaced, underhand, and dishonest – in fact, nineteenth-century moralists might have gone as far as to label it “Byzantine”. For once, those sanctimonious Victorians would have been correct, for it was precisely this ambivalence that characterized the Eastern Roman Empire’s policy towards civilian combatants. What follows is an attempt to approach this controversial issue from a different angle, albeit in a rather introductory fashion, due to limitations in space and the fact that my research on the subject is still at an early stage. I will focus my analysis on the Early and Middle Byzantine periods, with a brief venture into the later centuries of Byzantium. The clear distinction between soldier and civilian in early Byzantium was firmly rooted in its Roman past. Unlike the armies of classical Greece and Republican Rome, which by modern standards would have been classified as citizen militias, the Roman army of the Principate was a force of long-service professionals organized into distinct units (the legions), each with its own number, name and tradition3. Even after the reforms of Diocletian and Constantine, which brought about significant changes in the Empire’s military structure, the underlying principles remained unaltered. If anything, the Late Roman / Early Byzantine army was









This is a reworking of the original paper given at the Vienna symposium in May 2011. I would like to express my gratitude to Prof. Dr. Johannes Koder and Dr. Ioannis Stouraitis (both Vienna) for their kind invitation to attend, as well as for their efforts to promote a wonderful atmosphere of hospitality and scholarship. I would also like to thank the distinguished participants to the symposium for their comments and constructive criticism. Last, but certainly not least, I must thank my wife, Dr. Angeliki Papageorgiou (Junior Lecturer, Department of Slavic Studies, University of Athens), whithout whose patience none of this would have ever been possible. 1 The use of civilian combatants in warfare was addressed in the two Hague Conventions (1899, 1907), where it was upheld by Belgium, Netherlands and Switzerland, but opposed by Germany and Russia. A compromise was finally reached in the form of the so-called Martens Clause – named after the Russian delegate to the first convention –, which allowed civilians to form volunteer auxilliary units under the auspices of their central government or take up arms to protect their homes. See in general S. C. Neff, War and the Law of Nations. A General History. Cambridge 2005, 207–210. The ways in which a small nation may employ its civilians against an invader were the subject of a handbook by the Swiss Army officer H. von Dach, Der totale Widerstand: Eine Kleinkriegsanleitung für Jedermann. Bern 1957. 2 An illuminating example is the reverence shown by the Soviet Army to the memory of its partisans who fought valiantly during World War II, juxtaposed with the brutal treatment of equally brave (though at times also ruthless) Afghan guerillas between 1979 and 1989: cf. R. Braithwaite, Afgantsy: The Russians in Afghanistan 1979–1989. Oxford 2011, 231–232, for references to Soviet atrocities against civilians, both combatants and non-combatants, as recorded by Austrian civil rights lawyer and UN investigator Felix Ermacora. 3 The transformation of the Roman army during the late Republic and early Principate has been the subject of a vast amount of research, neatly summarized in P. Cagniart, The Late Republican Army (146–30 BC), in: A Companion to the Roman Army, ed. P. Erdkamp. Oxford 2007, 80–95, and K. Gilliver, The Augustan Reform and the Structure of the Imperial Army, in: Ibid. 183–200. See also L. Keppie, The Making of the Roman Army. From Republic to Empire. London 21998. *

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even more separate from civil society than its predecessor, since it now contained increased numbers of “barbarian” recruits4. The consensus among older historians was that the replacement of the old citizen militia by a standing army of volunteers during the first century BC led to the development of a “passive inertia” among Roman citizens, who had grown accustomed to being defended by professional soldiers and displayed little or no patriotism when it came to resist barbarian incursions5; it also coincided with measures taken by the Roman state to demilitarize and disarm its civilian population. It was to that effect that Augustus – or perhaps Julius Caesar – introduced the lex Iulia de vi publica, which, among other things, prohibited private citizens from bearing arms for military purposes within imperial territory; at the same time, certain references in the sources have been interpreted as evidence that the Roman Empire had a strict policy of confiscating all weapons immediately after conquering a people6. Finally, the cornerstone of Roman and Byzantine political ideology was the idea of a head of state as commander-in-chief (imperator) of a standing army – including the less-than-warlike emperors who were reluctant to leave the comforts of the Palace – not to mention the safety of the Theodosian Walls – and take the field. It was their control over the professional army that allowed the emperors to project themselves as rulers of the Roman world and (after the fourth century) defenders of the Christian faith7. Given all that, one cannot help but wonder: Were Byzantine civilians anything more than taxpayers supporting a standing army? Did they play a role in warfare other than that of victims? If we are to draw an accurate picture of the participation (or lack thereof) of private citizens in the defense of the Byzantine Empire, a re-evaluation of the evidence dating from the previous period is imperative. Over the last decades new research has modified our perception of the military policy of the Roman Empire. As it turns out, the image of Rome as a Late Antique version of Victorian England, where civilians were able to dismiss war as something that did not concern them, leaving the fighting solely in the hands of regulars, is somewhat misleading. Even the idea of an all-volunteer Roman Imperial army is inaccurate, with conscription (dilectus) continuing to be enforced well into the Early Byzantine period8. Furthermore, it would seem that the notion of a total disarmament of the civilian population of the empire is not entirely accurate, since there were quite a few loopholes in the lex Iulia de vi publica and the supposed wholesale confiscation of arms after each and every Roman conquest has been grossly exaggerated9.











On Late Roman military reforms, D. van Berchem, L’armée de Dioclétien et la réforme constantinienne (Bibliothèque archéologique et historique 56). Paris 1952, remains useful as a starting point, although it has been superseded by M. J. Nicasie, Twilight of Empire. The Roman Army from the Reign of Diocletian until the Battle of Adrianople. Amsterdam 1998. The standard textbook on the relations between civilians and Roman soldiers in Late Antiquity is still R. MacMullen, Soldier and Civilian in the Later Roman Empire. Cambridge, MA 1963. On the numbers of barbarian recruits in the Late Roman army, see H. Elton, Warfare in Roman Europe AD 350–425. Oxford 1996, 128–154. 5 A. H. M. Jones, The Later Roman Empire, 284–602 II. Oxford 1964, 1058–1062; his views were shared by G. E. M. de Ste. Croix, The Class Struggle in the Ancient Greek World. London 1981, 264–265, 485. 6 It is not clear whether there was one or two Julian laws on violence, and the identity of their promulgator is still debated. See e.g. J. F. Gardner, Being a Roman Citizen. London 1993, 122–123, who believes (following A. W. Lintott, Violence in Republican Rome. Oxford 1968, 107ff.) that there were two, one issued by Caesar, the other by Augustus, and A. Berger, Encyclopedic Dictionary of Roman Law (Transactions of the American Philosophical Society 43/2). Philadelphia 1953, 554, who claims both were promulgated by Augustus. For the notion of Rome dissarming all subjects and conquered peoples, see Jones, Later Roman Empire 1061–1062; R. MacMullen, Roman Social Relations 50 BC–AD 284. New Haven – London 1974, 35, 158–159. de Ste. Croix, Class Struggle 264–265 believes that disarmament in the Roman Empire was not quite as universal, but still claims that the standing army had a monopoly on armed violence. 7 See in general J. B. Campbell, The Emperor and the Roman Army 31 BC–AD 235. Oxford 1984. Regarding the level of imperial involvement in warfare, A. D. Lee, War in Late Antiquity. A Social History. Oxford 2007, 21–37, makes a clear distinction between the soldier-emperors of the third and fourth centuries (a pattern that would re-appear in the seventh century) and the fifth- and sixth-century non-campaigning emperors. 8 On the persistence of conscription into the Principate, see P. A. Brunt, Conscription and Volunteering in the Roman Imperial Army. Scripta Classica Israelica 1 (1974) 90–115. For methods of recruitment during the Early Byzantine period, including conscription, see M. Whitby, Recruitment in Roman armies from Justinian to Heraclius (ca. 565–615), in: The Byzantine and Early Islamic Near East III. States, Recources and Armies, ed. A. Cameron. Princeton 1995, 61–124. 9 See the arguments of P. A. Brunt, Did Imperial Rome Disarm her Subjects? Phoenix 29 (1975) 260–270. A telling example of how ineffective this or any other attempt at disarmament would have been is the case of the Cretans, whose skill with the bow had been legendary throughout the ancient Greek world (A. M. Snodgrass, Arms and Armor of the Greeks. Baltimore – London 4

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However, the most important piece of the puzzle consists of indications in the source material that point to the existence of local militias in the Roman Empire. In the West there were armed youths (juventus) among various barbarian tribes under Roman rule, and a similar term (juvenes) is used to describe local militias in the cities of Roman Africa. The Greek cities of Judaea furnished a number of armed citizens in the fight against the Jewish revolts during the second half of the first century AD, while the Roman army could also count on the support of the “hoplites” of Trebizond when operating along the north-eastern frontier of Asia Minor. As the northern limes began to crack in the second and third centuries, it became necessary for cities in Greece to look to their own defense. In AD 170 the Germanic tribe of the Costoboci broke through the Danube frontier, reaching as far south as Attica. The Olympic victor Mnesiboulos hastily organized a group of armed citizens of Elateia in Phokis in a valiant attempt at self-defense that ultimately failed. One hundred years later, Publius Herrenius Dexippus and 2,000 of his fellow Athenians were rather more successful against a departing war band of Heruli10. Therefore, sufficient evidence exists in the sources to indicate that armed civilians could and did participate in warfare during Roman imperial times, their existence clearly tolerated, albeit reluctantly11, by the authorities. Such was the legacy – of pragmatism prevailing over ideology – that Rome bequeathed to Byzantium and it is in this new light that we must now review the status of civilians as combatants in the Eastern Roman Empire. The willingness of Byzantine civilians to take up arms in defense of their homes is well-documented for the Early Byzantine period. In 363, the people of Nisibis, dismayed at the news that Emperor Jovian was about to cede their city – which with their help had successfully withstood three sieges in the recent past – and other frontier regions to the Persians, pleaded with the emperor to allow them to stay behind and organize a self-defense force12. A few years later, in 376, a local magistrate of Adrianople armed a great number of civilians and led them against the Goths who were blockading the city13. An incident similar to that of Nisibis took place in Constantinople, shortly before the fateful battle of Adrianople (378). When news of Valens’ intention to incorporate the city’s garrison into his field army reached the populace, they demanded that arms be issued to them, so that they could defend themselves and the city in the absence of regular troops. The emperor turned them down, but it was not long before they managed to procure arms and take part in the fight against the Goths, who were attempting to attack the city after their victory at Adrianople14. The presence of armed civilians was by no means limited to the empire’s cities. In 399 a militia was organized in Pamphylia by a private citizen, Valentinus of Selge, in order to protect the countryside from the

21999, 39–40, 80–81, 98, 108, 124–127). According to Venetian documents (K. D. Mertzios, Οἱ Κρῆτες τοξόται. Kretika Chronika 8 [1954] 287–290) and the eye-witness account of an English merchant (V. Laourdas, Οἱ Κρῆτες τοξόται 484), they remained formidable archers in the sixteenth century and beyond. This can only mean that they were able to keep their weapons and exercise their craft regardless of the Roman conquest, the lex Iulia, various Byzantine laws banning the possession of weapons, and several centuries of Arab and Venetian occupation. 10 The evidence for the existence of urban and rural militias during the Principate is collected in E. Birley, Local Militias in the Roman Empire, in: Bonner Historia-Augusta Colloquium, 1972/1974, ed. J. Straub. Bonn 1976, 65–73; de Ste. Croix, Class Struggle 264, 480 dismisses the idea that local militias were active during the Later Empire, even though the evidence to the contrary that he has amassed (Ibid. 480, n. 42) constitutes a list even longer than that of Birley. 11 A characteristic example of this reluctance – caused by an aversion to any form of organized groups that might disrupt the peace or offer resistance to imperial authority – is Trajan’s refusal to sanction the creation of a fire brigade in Nicomedia; cf. M. Whitby, The Violence of the Circus Factions, in: Organised Crime in Antiquity, ed. K. Hopwood. London 1999, 229–253, here 241 and n. 61. 12 Ammianus Marcellinus XXV 9, 2 (ed. W. Seyfarth, Ammiani Marcellini rerum gestarum libri qui supersunt. Leipzig 1978); Zosimus III 33, 4, (ed. F. Paschoud, Zosime, Histoire Nouvelle, Tome II/1: Livre III. Paris 1979). For a comparison between the two accounts, see J. den Boeft et al., Philological and Historical Commentary on Ammianus Marcellinus XXV. Leiden – Boston 2005, 279ff. 13 Ammianus Marcellinus XXXI 6, 2–3 (Seyfarth). 14 Socrates IV 38, 4–5, V 1, 1–5 (ed. G. Ch. Hansen, Sokrates Kirchengeschichte. Berlin 1995). Other contemporary sources, followed by most modern authorities, tend to focus more on the actions of the Saracen cavalry; on the identification of the latter see D. Woods, The Saracen Defenders of Constantinople in 378. GRBS 37 (1996) 259–279. Cf. N. Lenski, Failure of Empire: Valens and the Roman State in the Fourth Century A.D. Berkeley – Los Angeles – London 2002, 335, n. 94, regarding the issue of whether the Goths attacked Constantinople before and / or after the battle of Adrianople.

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depredations of the rebellious Goths under Tribigild15. This was not an isolated incident: a few years before, Libanius was remarking that there was a shortage of regular troops and cities in the East such as Antioch were forced to depend on rustics for their defense16. The last years of the fourth and the early years of the fifth century are singularly important in a study of the use of armed civilians in Byzantium, for it was at this time that an ideological controversy began to manifest itself regarding their status as combatants. This controversy is related to the supposed existence of a so-called “anti-Germanic party” in Constantinople and its most vocal representative, Synesius of Cyrene, a Neoplatonic philosopher turned Christian prelate17. Synesius had little love for the regular army: his native Libyan Pentapolis was ravaged by Berber raiders and the local units offered precious little in the way of protection. Synesius was forced to organize and equip a body of rustics and citizens in order to protect the cities. Many of his letters describe with increasing pessimism his desperate struggle18. Nineteenth-century scholars had misinterpreted Synesius’ intentions, believing that he was an advocate of supplanting the standing army of barbarian regulars by a citizen militia. Based on that misrepresentation, others have described Synesius as a hopeless romantic out of touch with reality19. He was probably neither. In his Περὶ βασιλείας, addressed to Arcadius20, he distinguishes clearly between soldiers and civilians, merely instructing the emperor to recruit the former from among his own subjects and not Germanic federates. In one of his letters he did not fail to praise a group of brave soldiers who had distinguished themselves in the fight against the desert raiders21. On the other hand, he was an eyewitness of the frontier troops’ inability to protect his beloved Cyrene and in some of his letters he lets out a stream of invective against the regulars that is indicative of his compatriots’ dark mood22. He must have been aware of the fact that the Pamphylian militia had ambushed Tribigild’s rebels in a ravine and was on the verge of utterly destroying the Goths, when the commander of a regular unit cooperating with the militia allowed Tribigild and his bodyguard to escape unharmed23. It has also been noted that, in describing the uprising that finally ejected Gainas and his Goths from Constantinople in 400, Synesius magnifies the role of the poorly-armed civilians and conveniently forgets to mention the important part played by regulars, in this case the palace guards24. Apart from documenting Synesius’ efforts to create a local militia, his letters also bear witness to the legal ramifications his actions might have, as well as to the controversy surrounding the issue of civilians bearing Zosimus V 15, 5–17, 2 (ed. F. Paschoud, Zosime, Histoire Nouvelle, Tome III/1: Livre V. Paris 1986). A short account of the rebellion of Tribigild may be found in T. S. Burns, Barbarians within the Gates of Rome: A Study of Roman Military Policy and the Barbarians, ca. 375–425 A.D. Bloomington – Indianapolis 1994, 168–171. 16 Libanius, Oration XXIV, 16 (ed. R. Förster, Libanii opera II. Leipzig 1904, 521, 11–13): καὶ νῦν ἐπὶ τοὺς γεωργοὺς ἥκομεν τῶν ἐν τοῖς ὅπλοις βεβιωκότων οἰχομένων. 17 For a short survey of Synesius’ life and career, see C. Rapp, Holy Bishops in Late Antiquity. Berkeley – Los Angeles – London 2005, 156–160. J. H. W. G. Liebeschuetz, Barbarians and Bishops: Army, Church and State in the Age of Arcadius and Chrysostom. Oxford 1990, provides a rather uneven treatment of the years before and after the downfall of Gainas in AD 400. Older views regarding the supposed “anti-Germanic” movement were ruthlessly debunked in A. Cameron – J. Long, Barbarians and Politics at the Court of Arcadius. Berkeley – Los Angeles – Oxford 1993. 18 Synesius, Letters 78, 107–108, 122, 125, 130, 132–133 (ed. A. Garzya, Synesii Cyrenensis Epistolae. Rome 1979, 136–138, 191–193, 209–210, 213–214, 221–224, 227–232). 19 Advocate of supplanting the regular army: W. Smith – H. Wace, A Dictionary of Christian Biography, Literature, Sects and Doctrines IV. London 1887, 766. Hopeless romantic: S. Williams – G. Friell, Theodosius: The Empire at Bay. London 1994, 152–153. Curiously enough, “Synesius” was the pseudonym chosen by the anonymous author of a 1785 editorial on the the U.S. militia: P. J. Charles, The Constitutional Significance of a ‘Well-Regulated’ Militia Asserted and Proven With Commentary on the Future of Second Amendment Jurisprudence. The Northeastern University Law Journal 3 (2011) 1–104, here 87. 20 N. Tergazhi ed., Synesii Cyrenensis Opuscula. Rome 1944, 5–62; on the date and purpose of the work, see Cameron – Long, Barbarians 103–142. 21 Letter 78 (136–138 Garzya). 22 E.g. letter 125 (213, 18–214, 9 Garzya): ἡμῶν δὲ οὐδεὶς ἀγανακτεῖ, ἀλλ’ οἴκοι καθήμεθα τὴν “συκίνην ἐπικουρίαν” τοὺς στρατιώτας προσδεχόμενοι, καὶ τὸ σιτηρέσιον καὶ τὰς ἐν εἰρήνῃ πλεονεξίας διὰ στόματος ἔχομεν, ὥσπερ τούτους δικάζεσθαι δέον, ἀλλ’ οὐκ ἐκείνους ἀμύνεσθαι. οὐ παυσόμεθα φλυαροῦντες; οὐ σωφρονήσομέν ποτε καὶ γεωργοὺς βωλοκόπους ἀθροίσαντες ὁμόσε χωρήσομεν τοῖς ἐχθροῖς ὑπὲρ παίδων ὑπὲρ γυναικῶν ὑπὲρ χώρας, εἰ δὲ βούλει καὶ ὑπὲρ αὐτῶν τῶν στρατιωτῶν; καλὸν γὰρ ἐν εἰρήνῃ λαλεῖσθαι ταῦτα, ὡς ἡμεῖς αὐτοὺς τρέφομέν τε καὶ σώζομεν. 23 Zosimus V 16, 2–3; cf. V 17, 1–2 (Paschoud), referring to imperial troops – many of them “barbarians” – sent by Gainas, ostensibly to pursue Tribigild, but in effect collaborating with him and allowing him to cross over to Phrygia. 24 Cameron – Long, Barbarians 211–212.

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arms for military purposes. When Euoptius, his younger brother, was informed by Synesius of the latter’s efforts to procure weapons for his militia, he apparently felt the need to remind him that it was still illegal for civilians to be armed. Synesius was livid, and rightly so: “Are you going to say that civilians are not allowed to bear arms, but they are allowed to die? Is the government angry against those who try to save themselves?”25 By now circumstances were rather different in the western part of the Empire. In 407 (the same year that Synesius was writing his angry letter to brother Euoptius) all frontier troops were withdrawn from Britain. Three years later Honorius instructed the Britons to assume responsibility for their own defense against the Saxons. In 440 Valentinian III, faced with the need to defend Italy against Vandal pirates out of Carthage, took steps to organize both an urban militia in Rome and rural militias in the Italian countryside. The acts of 410 and 440 have been viewed by modern scholars as a formal repeal of the old laws regarding public violence in the West26. Eastern Rome, however, still held on: less than a decade after Valentinian’s edict, a Greek who had joined the Huns could complain to the historian Priscus that private citizens in the Balkans were still prohibited from arming themselves27. References to armed civilians defending city walls and other fortifications continue to be found in sixthand seventh-century sources, even as state control over the production, distribution, and storage of weapons was enhanced after Justinian issued his 85th Novel (De armis) in 539, which prohibited civilians from owning arms28. In 540 the young men of the circus factions took part in the defense of Antioch against the Persians29. Other recorded incidents include the manning of the Long Walls of Thrace, the Theodosian Walls and parts of the sea walls in 601, 602 and 61030, while the Greens of Alexandria took part in the defense of the city against troops loyal to Phocas in 60931. A seventh-century Syriac source refers to “the young men of the City” in a passage that seems to describe a hitherto unrecorded Arab attack against Constantinople in the 660s, perhaps yet another instance when Blues and Greens of the imperial capital volunteered their military services32. Much has been written on the subject of the military role of the circus factions in Byzantium. In the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries it was fashionable to speak of the Demes of the Hippodrome as an armed militia comprising all men of military age. In order to refute this notion, Alan Cameron went to the other extreme, belittling in no uncertain terms the importance of the circus factions in the defense of Constantinople and other cities in the East33. It is true that earlier views on the role played by the factions of Constantinople – e.g. that they could put a brigade of trained cavalry in the field – were highly exaggerated, but Cameron seems determined to overlook the references of sixth- and seventh-century sources to Blues and Synesius, Letter 107 (192, 1–3 Garzya): εἶτα λέξεις ὡς οὐκ ἐξὸν ἰδιώταις ἀνθρώποις ὁπλοφορεῖν, ἀποθνήσκειν δ’ ἐξόν, εἴπερ καὶ ἡ πολιτεία χαλεπαίνει τῷ πειρωμένῳ σώζεσθαι; Cf. Cameron – Long, Barbarians 211 and n. 62. 26 Jones, Empire 1062 and n. 54; B. S. Bachrach, Early Medieval Europe, in: War and Society in the Ancient and Medieval Worlds, ed. K. Raaflaub – N. Rosenstein. Cambridge, MA – London 1999, 271–307, here 283–284; Idem, Merovingian Mercenaries and Paid Soldiers in Imperial Perspective, in: Mercenaries and Paid Men. The Mercenary Identity in the Middle Ages, ed. J. France. Leiden – Boston 2008, 167–192, here 173; I. A. Wood, The North-Western Provinces, in: The Cambridge Ancient History XIV, ed. A. Cameron – B. Ward-Perkins – M. Whitby. Cambridge 22008, 497–524, here 505. 27 Priscus 11, 2, 438–442 (ed. R. C. Blockley). The Fragmentary Classicising Historians of the Later Roman Empire II. Liverpool 1983, 221–400, here 268): τοὺς μέντοι παρὰ Ῥωμαίοις ἐν μὲν πολέμῳ ῥᾳδίως ἀναλίσκεσθαι εἰς ἑτέρους τὰς τῆς σωτηρίας ἐλπίδας ἔχοντας, ὡς πάντων διὰ τοὺς τυράννους μὴ χρωμένων ὅπλοις· καὶ τοῖς χρωμένοις δὲ σφαλερωτέρα ἡ τῶν στρατηγῶν κακία μὴ ὑφισταμένων τὸν πόλεμον. The latter statement obviously refers to regular troops, as is clear from the mention of incompetent generals. 28 R. Schöll – W. Kroll ed., Corpus Iuris Civilis III: Novellae. Berlin 1895, 414–418. 29 Procopius, Wars II 8, 11 (ed. J. Haury – G. Wirth, Procopii Caesariensis opera omnia I. Leipzig 1962, 185, 21–23): οἱ δὲ Ῥωμαῖοι ἠμύνοντο δυνάμει πάσῃ, οὐ στρατιῶται μόνον, ἀλλὰ καὶ τοῦ δήμου εὐτολμότατοι νεανίαι πολλοί. 30 Theophylact Simocatta VII 15, 7 (AD 601), VIII 8,2 (AD 602) (ed. C. de Boor – P. Wirth, Theophylacti Simocattae Historiae. Stuttgart 1972, 272, 297); John of Antioch frag. 110 (AD 610) (ed. C. de Boor, Excerpta de Insidiis. Berlin 1905, 150). 31 John of Nikiu 107, 46 (translated by R. H. Charles, The Chronicle of John, Bishop of Nikiu. Oxford 1916, 172): “And Nicetas got together a numerous army of regulars, barbarians, citizens of Alexandria, the Green Faction, sailors, archers, and a large supply of military store.” 32 The Maronite Chronicle 33 (translated by A. Palmer, The Seventh Century in the West-Syrian Chronicles. Liverpool 1993). 33 A. Cameron, Circus Factions: Blues and Greens at Rome and Byzantium. Oxford 1976, esp. 105–125 (the military role of the factions); cf. Ibid. 1–2 on the earlier views of Rambaud, Uspenskij, Manojlović and others on the Demes as the City’s urban militia.

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Greens participating in the defense of cities in favor of later sources focusing on the role of the guilds of Constantinople. His assertion that “we never hear of the factions performing any regular military duties”34 seems to ignore the fact that the defense of city walls was of cardinal importance in Byzantium’s overall strategy. The references in the sources are too frequent to justify Cameron’s belief that the military role of the circus factions was inconsequential. He was, however, correct in assuming that other elements of the local population could also take part in the defense of fortifications. Amida in 502–503 is a case in point35, while an even more illuminating incident took place in Edessa during the Persian siege of 544, when not only men – both citizens and peasants that had taken refuge in the city –, but also women and children are described by Procopius as rushing to the battlements to offer resistance36. Local farmers in Central Greece were tasked with manning the cross-wall at Thermopylae, until Justinian replaced these amateurs with a garrison of regulars37. The population of Constantinople and its environs participated in the fight against the Cutrigurs in 55938, while ordinary citizens of Alexandria fought side by side with demesmen and professional soldiers in 60939. Finally, at the end of the sixth and throughout the seventh century the citizens of Thessaloniki played a quite active (and rather effective) role in defending their city against the Avars and Slavs40. Even though the sources for the Middle Byzantine period are not as forthcoming as those of the earlier period when it comes to the subject of civilian combatants41, enough circumstantial evidence has been preserved to lead us to the conclusion that their participation in the defense of their cities had not diminished. If anything, we should expect an increase. Since the loss of the East to the Arabs and the upheaval in the Balkans brought about by the Slavic invasions, Byzantium had neither the finances nor the manpower to maintain a large standing army; therefore, even though the thematic army that rose from the ashes of the old magisteria militum42 was almost as efficient as its predecessor, and the presence of soldiers in the interior of Asia Minor Cameron, Circus Factions 106. Pseudo-Joshua 54 (translated by F. R. Trombley – J. W. Watt, The Chronicle of Pseudo-Joshua the Stylite. Liverpool 2000) refers to the defenders as “Amidenes”, but Trombley – Watt, Chronicle 54, n. 260 do not seem to be convinced that there were no soldiers present during the siege of 502–503. However, Procopius, Wars I 7, 4 (31, 1–3 Haury – Wirth) is adamant that no regular troops were stationed in the city: Ἀμιδηνοὶ στρατιωτῶν μὲν, ἅτε ἐν εἰρήνῃ καὶ ἀγαθοῖς πράγμασιν, οὐ παρόντων σφίσι. 36 The events of the siege are narrated in Procopius, Wars II 26–27 (268–282 Haury – Wirth); see esp. 27, 33–35: προϊούσης δὲ τῆς ξυμβολῆς θορύβων τε καὶ ταραχῆς ἔμπλεως ἡ πόλις ἐγίνετο, καὶ ξύμπαντες ἤδη αὐταῖς γυναιξὶ καὶ παιδαρίοις ἐπὶ τὸ τεῖχος ἀνέβαινον. οἱ μὲν οὖν ἐν ἡλικίᾳ ξὺν τοῖς στρατιώταις καρτερώτατα τοὺς πολεμίους ἠμύνοντο, καὶ τῶν ἀγροίκων πολλοὶ ἐς τοὺς βαρβάρους ἔργα θαυμαστὰ ἐπεδείκνυντο. παῖδες δὲ καὶ γυναῖκες ξὺν τοῖς γεγηρακόσι λίθους τε τοῖς μαχομένοις ξυνέλεγον καὶ τἄλλα ὑπούργουν. 37 Procopius, Buildings IV 2, 14–15 (ed. J. Haury – G. Wirth, Procopii Caesariensis opera omnia III. Leipzig 1964, 110, 1–11); F. Curta, Peasants as ‘Makeshift Soldiers for the Occasion’: Sixth-Century Settlement Patterns in the Balkans, in: Urban Centers and Rural Contexts in Late Antiquity, ed. T. S. Burns – J. W. Eadie. East Lansing 2001, 199–217 makes a few remarks regarding the presence or absence of urban and rural militias in the Early Byzantine Balkans, but is mainly concerned with historical demography. 38 Agathias V 16, 2–3 (ed. R. Keydell, Agathiae Myrinaei Historiarum libri quinque [CFHB 2]. Berlin 1967, 184, 3–8). 39 See above, n. 31. 40 E.g. Miracles of St. Demetrius 126, 6–8, 13–14, 152, 20–153, 2, 178, 12–17 (ed. P. Lemerle, Les plus anciens recueils des miracles de Saint Démétrius I. Paris 1979). The source’s credibility has been questioned by P. Speck, De miraculis Sancti Demetrii, qui Thessalonicam profucus venit, in: Varia IV (ΠOIKIΛA BYZANTINA 12). Bonn 1993, 257–532; cf. Idem, Nochmals zu den Miracula Sancti Demetrii. Die Version des Anastasius Bibliothecarius, in: Varia V (ΠOIKIΛA BYZANTINA 13). Bonn 1994, 319–429; however, it has been defended by N. Dapergolas, Σλαβικές εγκαταστάσεις στη Μακεδονία από τον 7ο έως και τον 9ο αιώνα. Thessaloniki 2009, 37–52. 41 We should also consider the possibility that our Constantinopolitan sources are perhaps a little biased towards military aristocrats or the central government and its apparatus – i.e. the regular army – and thus pay less attention to the participation of civilians in military actions when compared to non-Greek sources. The narratives of the siege of Mantzikert (mid-eleventh century) are suggestive: while Skylitzes 462, 51–464, 10 (ed. I. Thurn, Ioannis Scylitzae Synopsis Historiarum [CFHB 5]. Berlin – New York 1973) and Attaleiates 46, 8–47, 11 (ed. I. Bekker, Michaelis Attaliotae Historia. Bonn 1853) are either unclear on the identity of the defenders or else focus on the deeds of individuals – the commander Basil Apokapes or the anonymous Frankish mercenary who destroyed the besiegers’ huge stone-thrower; Matthew of Edessa II 3 (translated by A. E. Dostourian, Armenia and the Crusades, Tenth to Twelfth Centuries: The Chronicle of Matthew of Edessa. Lanham – New York – London 1993, 86–88) does not neglect to mention the fact that Apokapes recruited the townspeople, both men and women, to defend the walls. 42 On the etymology of the term thema and its relation to the regions into which the troops of the old magistri militum were settled in the seventh century, see J. Koder, Zur Bedeutungsentwicklung des byzantinischen Terminus Thema. JÖB 40 (1990) 155–165.

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even more conspicuous, there were times when urban centers there and especially in the Balkans had to be left to fend for themselves43. This phenomenon was already evident in the sixth century. The citizens of Asemous refused to allow Peter, brother of Emperor Maurice, to incorporate the city’s garrison into his field army; even though the unit was technically part of the regular army, it had come to be viewed by the citizens – who were probably its main source of recruits by this time – as their own militia44. The same fate befell the Byzantine units of Italy in the seventh and eighth centuries45, while Cherson is another example of a city transforming an old army unit into a city militia and preserving it at least into the tenth century46. The Middle Byzantine period is also the time when the central government seems to have admitted for the first time the need to have armed civilians in the cities. By the ninth century, if not earlier, the imperial capital was garrisoned – although not heavily, for political and not military reasons – by a mixture of regular army units (palace guards, the tagmata and whatever thematic troops were available in a crisis) and militiamen, the latter comprising the systemata (the City guilds), what was left of the circus factions, as well as other citizens during sieges47. Judging from the description of the measures taken during the assault of Leo Tornicius against Constantinople in 1047, these dispositions were still in place at the middle of the eleventh century48. We do not know whether similar measures were taken in other Byzantine cities, but it would be a safe assumption; we do know that civilians of all classes and professions took part in the defense of Thessaloniki against the Arabs in 904 and the Normans in 118549. Furthermore, Byzantine military manuals clearly state that in an emergency, i.e. a siege, the cities must expel all non-combatants to avoid starvation; the latter included women, children and old men, leading to the conclusion that male civilians of military age stayed behind and were expected to assist in defending the city50. Indeed, the chapters of the Περὶ στρατηγίας dealing with defensive siege operations do not once mention soldiers, only citizens and, at one point, peasants seeking refuge in the city and doing their part in the fight51. Many historians and archaeologists attribute the reduced size of cities, the shortening of circuit walls and the construction of cross-walls in the so-called Dark Ages to a shortage of defensive manpower. Cf. for example: T. E. Gregory, Kastro and diateichisma as Responses to Early Byzantine Frontier Collapse. Byz 62 (1992) 235–253. 44 Theophylact Simocatta VII 3, 1–10 (249, 20–251, 8 de Boor – Wirth). It should be noted that in the fifth century the people of Asemous seem to have possessed some sort of urban militia, if we follow Blockley, Historians 381 in taking Priscus 9, 3, 41–51 to refer to citizens, as opposed to regular soldiers; on the contrary, M. Whitby, The Late Roman Army and the Defence of the Balkans, in: The Transition to Late Antiquity, on the Danube and Beyond, ed. A. G. Poulter. Oxford 2007, 135–161, here 145, 155, claims that the force that drove back Attila’s raiders in 443 were also regulars, either limitanei or comitatenses. 45 Cf. A. Guillou, Régionalisme et indépendance dans l’empire byzantin au VIIe siècle. L’exemple de l’Exarchat et de la Pentapole d’Italie. Rome 1969, 155–163, qualified by T. S. Brown, Gentlemen and Officers: Imperial Administration and Aristocratic Power in Byzantine Italy, A.D. 554–800. London 1984, 93–101. 46 De administrando imperio 53, 149–158 (ed. G. Moravcsik – R. J. H. Jenkins, Constantine Porphyrogenitus De administrando imperio [CFHB 1]. Washington, D.C. 1967, 266). For the Late Roman origins of the unit stationed at Cherson, see B. Nadel, Literary Tradition and Epigraphical Evidence: Constantine Porphyrogenitus’ Information on the Bosporan Kingdom in the Time of Emperor Diocletian Reconsidered. Dialogues d’Histoire Ancienne 3 (1977) 87–114, qualified by C. Zuckerman, The Early Byzantine Strongholds in Eastern Pontus. TM 11 (1991) 527–553, here 549–552. 47 J. F. Haldon, Strategies of Defence, Problems of Security: the Garrisons of Constantinople in the Middle Byzantine Period, in: Constantinople and its Hinterland: Papers from the Twenty-Seventh Spring Symposium of Byzantine Studies, Oxford, April 1993, ed. C. Mango – G. Dagron. Aldershot 1995, 115–131. 48 Skylitzes 440, 16–19 (Thurn): καὶ αὐτὸς δὲ ὁ βασιλεὺς διά τε τῶν πολιτῶν καὶ τῶν παρευρεθέντων κατὰ τύχην στρατιωτῶν ἀντεπαρατάττετο, τοὺς πολίτας μὲν καὶ τὸν δῆμον τάξας ἐπὶ τοῦ τείχους. 49 Kaminiates 22, 74–78, 24, 24–26, 26, 90–14 (ed. G. Böhlig, Ioannis Caminiatae De expugnatione Thessalonicae [CFHB 4]. Berlin – New York 1973); Eustathius 86, 1–12, 88, 23– 33, 90, 1– 32 (ed. S. Kyriakidis, Eustazio di Tessalonica, La espugnazione di Tessalonica. Palermo 1961). 50 The clearest description of such actions preparatory to a siege may be found in the treatise known as De obsidione toleranda (ed. H. van den Berg, Anonymus de obsidione toleranda. Leiden 1947, reprinted with English translation and commentary in D. F. Sullivan, A Byzantine Instructional Manual on Siege Defense: The De Obsidione Toleranda, in: Byzantine Authors: Literary Activities and Preoccupations. Texts and Translations dedicated to the Memory of Nicolas Oikonomides, ed. J. W. Nesbitt. Leiden – Boston 2003, 139–266); see De obsidione toleranda 46, 6–47, 4. The text is thought to date from the middle of the tenth century, but internal evidence actually points to a date at the end of the century, cf. Ch. G. Makrypoulias, Η χρονολόγηση του De obsidione toleranda, in: Γ΄ Συνάντηση Βυζαντινολόγων Ελλάδος και Κύπρου. Rethymnon 2002, 52–54. 51 E.g. 13, 22–24 (ed. G. T. Dennis, Three Byzantine Military Treatises [CFHB 25]. Washington D.C. 1985, 1–136, here 38). Until 20 years ago it was thought that the treatise was anonymous and dated to the sixth century. Today most scholars agree that it was

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However, even though practical considerations had changed, the ideological background remained as stagnant as ever: the Basilika, the single most important collection of laws dating from the period in question, still assume that any civilian caught with a weapon is in violation of the old law on public violence and should be found guilty52. This is indicative of the fact that the legal and ideological ambivalence surrounding the “quasi-militias” of Early Byzantium had not abated, which is ironic because, quite apart from urban dwellers defending their homes, in the Middle Byzantine period we also come across instances of civilians being pressed into service and send in short- and medium-range expeditions. Two of these incidents are mentioned by Theophanes. In the first instance, Justinian II attempted to lift the siege of Tyana in Cappadocia with a force of regulars and a group described by the chronicler as λαὸς χωρικοβοηθείας53. The term is usually translated as “peasant militia”54 or “farmer-soldiers” 55, although “territorial auxiliaries” might be a more accurate rendering. Theophanes also refers to Nicephorus I drafting even the poorest elements of the population of Asia Minor to serve as slingers during his fateful expedition into Bulgaria in 81156. Since no other direct evidence has survived, further research is required before we can pronounce a verdict on the possible use of civilians in Byzantine expeditions.57 A possible explanation for the existence of such auxiliaries is that they may be connected to the thematic army. We should keep in mind that the latter seems to have included only cavalry in its regular establishment, as well as sailors for the three naval themes. Cavalrymen and sailors are the only servicemen that possessed military lands58, which means that for a period of 300 years – from 650 to c. 960, when regular infantry units reappear in the form of the taxiarchiai – there is a gap in our knowledge concerning the methods used to recruit the empire’s infantry forces59. The fact that they did not possess military lands leaves open the possibility that most footsoldiers were either conscripted or drafted for specific expeditions. If this reasoning is accurate, then the light-armed auxiliaries mentioned in previous paragraphs could be irregular infantrymen

composed by Syrianos in the ninth or early tenth century. See Ph. Rance, The Date of the Military Compendium of Syrianus Magister (Formerly the Sixth-Century Anonymus Byzantinus). BZ 100 (2007) 701–737. 52 T. G. Kolias, Τὰ ὅπλα στὴ βυζαντινὴ κοινωνία, in: Ἡ καθημερινὴ ζωὴ στὸ Βυζάντιο. Athens 1989, 463–476, here 467, n. 13. 53 Theophanes 377, 2–5 (ed. C. de Boor, Theophanis Chronographia I. Leipzig 1883); cf. Nikephoros 44, 9–11 (ed. C. Mango, Nikephoros, Patriarch of Constantinople, Short History [CFHB 13]. Washington, D.C. 1990, 106): καὶ πλεῖστον λαὸν ἄγροικόν τε καὶ γεωργικὸν ἀθροίσας πρὸς τὰ Τύανα ἀφικνεῖσθαι ἐκέλευσεν ὡς τοὺς πολιορκουμένους ἐπαμυνόμενος. 54 C. Mango – R. Scott, The Chronicle of Theophanes Confessor. Byzantine and Near Eastern History AD 284–813. Oxford 1997, 526. 55 H. Turtledove, The Chronicle of Theophanes. Philadelphia 1982, 74. 56 Theophanes 490, 4–7 (de Boor); W. Treadgold, The Byzantine Revival 780–842. Stanford 1992, 170 believes that these poor were not conscripts but volunteers. 57 A tantalizing passage in the Miracles of St. Demetrius, 136, 17–21 (Lemerle) refers to the great fear that overtook the inhabitants of Thessaloniki when they saw the vast army of the Avaroslavs so close to the city, since until then only those who served in the army “and those who were used to facing them [i.e. the Avars] as soldiers away from the city” had witnessed the sight of a barbarian array: Τὸν δὲ ἄφατον φόβον τῇ πόλει τότε περιεποίησε, καὶ τὸ πρώτως ἰδεῖν φάλαγγα βαρβαρικήν· οὐδέπω γὰρ οὕτω πλησίον ὤφθησάν ποτε περικαθίσαντες οἱ πολέμιοι, καὶ ἀγνῶτες ἦσαν οἱ πολλοὶ τῶν πολιτῶν καὶ τῆς θέας αὐτῶν, πλὴν τῶν ἐν τοῖς στρατιωτικοῖς τεταγμένων λόχοις, καὶ τῶν ἄλλως πως ἐθισθέντων μακράν που τῆς πόλεως ὁπλιτικῶς αὐτοῖς παρατάττεσθαι. The passage seems to imply that the city’s armed civilians could supplement Thessaloniki’s garrison not only during sieges but also in campaigns away from the city – presumably in its hinterland. If this interpretation is correct, it would indicate – in conjunction with the references in Theophanes – that the Byzantines were not above incorporating armed civilians into expeditionary forces when the need arose. See also below, n. 65. 58 See the novel of Constantine VII Porphyrogennetos dating probably from the first years of his reign (ed. N. Svoronos, Les novelles des empereurs Macédoniens concernant la terre et les stratiotes. Athènes 1994, 118, 9–18): cavalrymen and thematic sailors must have military lands worth four litrai, other sailors serving mostly in the Imperial Fleet (βασιλικὰ πλώϊμα) are to have lands worth two litrai; cf. a similar passage (ed. J. J. Reiske, De cerimoniis aulae Byzantinae. Bonn 1829, 695, 14–18) mentioning lands of five and three pounds respectively. Footsoldiers are not mentioned in either text. W. Treadgold, Byzantium and Its Army 284–1081. Stanford 1995, 175–176 seems to believe that infantrymen possessed military lands worth one pound of gold, but he produces no direct evidence for this and is forced to admit that it is based on guesswork. 59 Cf. J. F. Haldon, Warfare, State and Society in the Byzantine World 565–1204. London 1999, 197–200. W. Treadgold, The Byzantine State Finances in the Eighth and Ninth Centuries. New York 1982, 33–34 makes the intriguing hypothesis that in the Middle Byzantine period the local population of the themes had been organized into an irregular militia under officers called paraphylakes tōn kastrōn and drouggarioi tōn pezōn.

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marginally connected to the thematic organization of the Middle Byzantine period60. Furthermore, the existence of similar troops in Late Byzantium, termed “supplemental infantry” by Mark Bartusis, shows continuity in the practice of recruiting infantry on an ad hoc basis61. If such is the case, however, we must revise one of Bartusis’ hypotheses put forward in his excellent book on the Late Byzantine army. Analyzing Plethon’s writings on the military situation of the Morea in the early fifteenth century, Bartusis casts doubt on two assumptions that seem to follow from Plethon’s statements, i.e. that the bulk of the army of the Despotate were not professional soldiers, but peasants, and that the drafting of civilians – in this case, peasants – was a very old practice62. In light of the evidence from the Middle Byzantine period, one might argue that Plethon was actually correct in his assumptions. Perhaps that could explain why the Frankish sources describing the battle of the Olive Grove of Koundouras in 1205 state that the local Greeks who tried in vain to repel the Frankish invaders numbered four or five thousand, a figure for the fighting men of the southern part of the peninsula that is possibly more than twice the number of troops in the regular establishment for the whole theme of Peloponnesus in the tenth century63. Supplemental infantry were not the only civilians doing military service in the Late Byzantine period. Guard duty in the cities was another form of service64, but again the bulk of our evidence relates to city dwellers manning the walls in case of emergency65. Ill-equipped but steadfast citizens, both men and women, successfully defended Constantinople against the Turks in 1422, as described by Ioannes Kananos, while the Greeks of Venetian-held Thessaloniki attempted to do the same in 143066. The 4,773 armed civilians of Constantinople who faced the huge army of Sultan Mehmed II in the fateful spring of 1453 were the last army fielded by the 1,000-year-old Eastern Roman Empire67. A number of issues arise from this brief survey of the sources. Two of the most important pertain to the composition of these “quasi-legal” militias, and their combat potential. Who were these armed civilians exactly throughout the centuries is still a matter of debate. At the present state of our knowledge, it would be idle to wonder whether all citizens of military age were under an obliga A similar case could be made about the so-called matzoukatoi (“cudgel-men”) mentioned in eleventh-century documents among various other types of infantry (cf. E. Vranoussi, Βυζαντινὰ ἔγγραφα τῆς Μονῆς Πάτμου I. Αὐτοκρατορικά. Athens 1980, 1, 41: ἐξ’ὀπλήσεως πλωΐμων ἢ κονταράτων ἢ τοξοτῶν ἢ ματζουκάτων ἢ ἐτέρων στρατιῶν). Since they are the only type not described – or prescribed – in the tenth-century treatises referring to the regular line infantry of the taxiarchiai (Στρατηγικὴ ἔκθεσις, Περὶ καταστάσεως ἀπλήκτου), we must assume that they formed a sort of poorly-armed irregular levy, half-soldiers / half-policemen, as they have been called. See N. Oikonomidès, Fiscalité et exemption fiscale à Byzance (IXe–XIe s.). Athens 1996, 113, 115. 61 M. C. Bartusis, The Late Byzantine Army: Arms and Society, 1204–1453. Philadelphia 1992, 213–217. 62 Bartusis, Army 217–221 and S. Kyriakidis, Warfare in Late Byzantium, 1204–1453 (History of Warfare 67). Leiden – Boston 2011, 96–99 make some interesting remarks on the state of the army in the Morea, referring to the comments of Bessarion regarding the Peloponnesians’ poor training and armament. 63 Geoffroi de Villehardouin 329 (ed. E. Faral, Villehardouin, La Conquète de Constantinople II. Paris 1939, 138); Chronicle of Morea (ed. J. Schmitt, The Chronicle of Morea. London 1904), 1715–1736, esp. 1725: Ἦσαν χιλιάδες τέσσαρες, πεζοὶ καὶ καβαλλάροι. On the number of troops in the theme of Peloponnesus in the tenth century, see the estimates of W. Treadgold, The Army in the Works of Constantine Porphyrogenitus. RSBN n.s. 29 (1992) 77–162, here 99–100. 64 See in general M. C. Bartusis, Urban Guard Service in Late Byzantium: The Terminology and the Institution. Macedonian Studies 5 (1988) 52–77. 65 Special attention should be paid here to the provisions included in the chrysobull by which Andronicus II Palaeologus recognized the old privileges of the city of Ioannina in 1319 (MM V 77–84), particularly the passage (Ibid. 81) stating that the citizens (kastrenoi; for the meaning of the term in Late Byzantine sources see A. Papageorgiou, Το Ὑπομνηστικὸν του Μιχαήλ Χωνιάτη και οι καστρηνοί. ByzSymm 18 [2008] 159–169) cannot be forced to serve as soldiers outside the city, since that is the duty of the soldiers in the regular army units (allagia) who are endowed with an oikonomia, i.e. a pronoia: ἔτι ἵνα αὐτοὶ οἱ καστρηνοὶ Ἰωαννιῶται οὐδὲν καταναγκάζωνται οὐδὲ καθέλκωνται, ἵνα ἐκδουλεύσωσι στρατιωτικῶς ἐκτὸς τῆς τοιαύτης πόλεως, ἐπεὶ αὐτοὶ μόνοι οἱ ἀποτεταγμένοι στρατιῶται, συναριθμούμενοι δὲ εἰς τὰς συντάξεις τῶν ἀλλαγίων καὶ ἔχοντες οἰκονομίαν ὀφείλουσιν ἐκδουλεύειν. Although this shows that Ioannina had a regular garrison of pronoiars (cf. Bartusis, Army 164–165), it also implies that it was usual for civilian inhabitants to serve as soldiers inside Ioannina, i.e. as the city’s defenders in times of siege or other emergency. Furthermore, it indicates that the inhabitants of other cities not awarded such privileges might find themselves pressed into service as part of an expeditionary force. This interpretation runs contrary to the assumptions of Bartusis, Army 309 and Kyriakidis, Warfare 128 that in areas still under imperial control the central government would not be interested in fostering the creation of urban militias. 66 Their efforts were narrated by Ioannes Anagnostes. Both sources have been edited in I. Bekker, Georgius Phrantzes, Ioannes Cananus, Ioannes Anagnostes. Bonn 1838. 67 Sphrantzes 96, 15–31 (ed. V. Grecu, Georgios Sphrantzes, Memorii 1401–1477 [Scriptores Byzantini 5]. Bucharest 1966).

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tion to serve68. However, the need to protect one’s home or farm should have been incentive enough for quite a few civilians to turn out for the fight. The people of Nisibis were even willing to go against their own emperor’s will in 363, whereas the 6,000 regulars present at Antioch in 540 did not deter the men of the circus factions from participating in the defense. The fact that the Blues and Greens chose to fight anyway speaks volumes about the willingness of those amateur soldiers to share the dangers of combat with their professional betters. However, there were probably other inducements as well: in Adrianople part of the militia organized by the local magistrate in 376 comprised workers of state-owned factories, and in Pamphylia slaves were apparently enrolled by their owners. The city’s poor made up the rest of the militia of Adrianople; they probably served for money and / or loot. Synesius was under no illusions when he wrote of the volunteers he expected to join the ranks of his militia: “the best sort will want to take part in the good work; the worthless will come for the booty.”69 Special mention should be made to the age group to which these amateur soldiers belonged. It is clear from many references that the young were particularly drawn to this kind of endeavour. No doubt some were members of the circus factions, but there were also others with no such apparent affiliations. We have already seen that juvenes or juniores were often co-terminous with “militia”, while sources of the Middle Byzantine period seem to equate “the young men of the city” with its defenders70. It is interesting that Synesius mentions epheboi accompanying him to patrols outside the city walls. This institution was connected to military training, not only in Cyrene but almost everywhere in the ancient Greek world, and it would be tempting – though no evidence could be adduced – to see the circus factions as a continuation of such practices71. In the Early and Middle Byzantine period certain groups of citizens (e.g. members of the circus factions and the trade guilds) were apparently obliged to contribute to the defense of their city, not only in their capacity as amateur soldiers, but also as builders and repairers of fortifications. On the other hand, the eighteenthcentury idea of compulsory military service as a civic duty and a privilege was foreign to the Byzantines. With a single exception, that of Thomas Magistros in his Περὶ πολιτείας72, no member of the educated élite A similar hypothesis has been put forward by Ai. Christophilopoulou, Βυζαντινὴ Ἱστορία II/2: 867–1081. Thessalonikē 21997, 338–340. 69 Synesius, Letter 125 (214, 16–18 Garzya): ἥξουσι γὰρ ἁπανταχόθεν, οἱ βέλτιστοι μὲν ἐφ’ ᾧ μετασχεῖν ἔργου καλοῦ, οἱ πονηρότατοι δὲ καὶ ἐπὶ διαρπαγῇ λαφύρων. 70 For Latin terms denoting “youths” and their relation to local militias, see above, n. 10. The armed civilians who saved the future emperor Alexius Mourtzouphlos during a skirmish with the Crusaders outside the walls of Constantinople in January 1204 were described by Niketas Choniates as “the bow-wielding youth” (ed. J. A. van Dieten, Nicetae Choniatae Historia [CFHB 11]. Berlin – New York 1975, 561, 32): εἰ μὴ τοξότις νεολαία τῆς πόλεως τὰ δυνατὰ παρατυχοῦσα ἐπήμυνε). E. Stein, Studien zur Geschichte des Byzantinischen Reiches. Stuttgart 1919, 122 put forward the hypothesis that the term νεώτεροι found in Maurice I 2, 28–30 (ed. G. T. Dennis – E. Gamillscheg, Das Strategikon des Maurikios [CFHB 17]. Wien 1981, 78) referred to civilian youths trained in the use of the bow. However, J. F. Haldon, Recruitment and Conscription in the Byzantine Army c. 550–950. Vienna 1979, 24 refutes this notion, pointing to the fact that the term actually means “recruits”. 71 Synesius, Letter 132 (228, 5–7 Garzya): νύκτωρ δὲ μετὰ τῶν ἐφήβων περιπολῶ τὸν λόφον καὶ παρέχω ταῖς γυναιξῖ τοῦ καθεύδειν ἄδειαν ἐπισταμέναις ὅτι πρὸ αὐτῶν τινες ἐγρηγόρασι. Cyrene was one of the last Greek cities to preserve the institution of ephebia well into Imperial times, although it went through a number of reforms, bringing it more in line with Roman practices. For second-century reforms see N. M. Kennell, The Gymnasium of Virtue. Education and Culture in Ancient Sparta. Chapel Hill – London 1995, 85–86, and in general M. Luni, Documenti per la storia della istituzione ginnasiale e dell’ attività atletica in Cirenaica, in rapporto a quelle della Grecia, Quaderni di Archeologia della Libia 8 (1976) 223–284. 72 PG CXLV, cols. 495–548, here 509: Τούτου χάριν κελεύω τούτων ἕκαστον παντοδαπὰ δήπου κτησάμενον ὅπλα, τοῖς μὲν ἐξ ἔθους ἔργοις πάντα δήπου τὸν χρόνον ἐπιμελῶς ἄγαν προσκεῖσθαι, καὶ μηδὲν ἀνιέναι σπουδῆς· ἐπὰν δὲ τούτων σχολὴν ἄγωσι, τότ’ ἤδη τοῖς ὅπλοις κεχρῆσθαι καὶ μελετᾷν κἀν ταῖς μάχαις· ἐφ’ ᾧ πολεμίων ποτ’ ἂν ἐπιόντων, καὶ πολιορκίας ἐνστάσης, οὕτως ἐῤῥωμένως καὶ μετὰ τοσαύτης ἀνθίστασθαι τῆς παρασκευῆς, ὡς εἰσάπαν ἀντέχειν, και μηδ’ ἂν εἴ τι καὶ πάθοιεν την τάξιν λιπεῖν ἐθελῆσαι, μηδ’ ὑφέσθαι τοῦ τόνου καὶ τῆς προθέσεως· ἀλλὰ πρὸς οἷς ἔχει στρατοπέδοις ἡ πόλις, καὶ τούτους εὐδοκιμεῖν, καὶ χεῖρ’ αὐτῆς σώζουσαν ὑπερίσχειν. For an English translation of this passage, cf. Bartusis, Army 308. Thomas’ motives in advocating the creation of urban militias are not clear. Apart from the influence of ancient Greece that is to be expected in the works of a fourteenth-century scholar (a brief survey in E. Fryde, The Early Palaeologan Renaissance [1261–c.1360]. Leiden – Boston – Köln 2000, 299–301), it has been suggested (Bartusis, Army 308) that the depredations of the Catalan Company near Thessaloniki and the inability of the central government to protect the environs of the city led Thomas Magistros to the conclusion that a local armed force was neccessary. On the other hand, there is some evidence to suggest (Kyriakidis, Warfare 128–129) that he might have also been influenced by the work of Synesius of Cyrene. A knowledge of the existence of urban militias in contemporary Italian city-states should also not be discounted. Be that as it may, it cannot be a coincidence that such radical notions appeared in Thessaloniki, a city whose inhabitants had time and again been called upon to fight – often with good results – for its protection.

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and certainly no emperor would advocate such radical notions. When a ruler turned to his subjects for aid or to urge them to defend themselves, it was not a case of granting a privilege or acknowledging the idea of civic duty, it was merely a case of dropping a very hot potato onto someone else’s lap. Let us conclude with a few remarks on the combat potential of these quasi-legal “militias”. Combat potential is the sum of a number of factors: mobility, firepower, protection, leadership, training, motivation, flexibility, and size73. We will limit ourselves to commenting on a few of these. Two of the most important are (offensive and defensive) weapons and training. As we have seen, neither was forthcoming in the context of Byzantium’s legal and ideological milieu. However, it was possible for wealthy and influential individuals like Valentinus of Selge or Synesius of Cyrene to manufacture, buy, beg and borrow enough offensive weapons of non-military grade74 and city magistrates could issue weapons from the local military warehouses. In one case, that of Thessaloniki in the late sixth and early seventh centuries, we hear of citizens apparently keeping weapons at home, but we are not told whether these were privately-owned or issued by the authorities75. Hunting weapons like bows and slings were also available, especially to rustics and shepherds, as well as wooden clubs and stones to be used as missiles76. The most popular weapon seems to have been the bow. Although its use by civilians was technically forbidden by law, since it was considered a military weapon77, it usually found its way into the hands of the poor for hunting purposes, and there are indications in the sources that many Byzantines were highly adept in its use and that of the sling78. The local militiamen of the borders of the Nicaean state in the thirteenth century are a good case in point. They are described as skillful archers and Michael VIII Palaeologus was happy to draft them into his field army and send them to the Morea – political reasons also played a part. Their removal from the frontier, however, was a death warrant for the last remaining Byzantine possessions in Asia Minor79. On the other hand, it would seem that civilian combatants lacked even rudimentary defensive equipment80. This meant that they could defend fortifications and ambush raiders in mountainous areas, but were hardly a

I. G. Spence, The Cavalry of Classical Greece: A Social and Military History. Oxford 1993, 35, elaborating on theoretical approaches that usually take into account only the first three factors. 74 Synesius writes (letter no. 108, Garzya 192–193) that he had in store 300 spears and an equal number of single-edge swords, but no more than ten double-edge ones. He also refers to cudgels and axes. In another letter (no. 133, Garzya 229–232) he asks a friend for a gift of Egyptian arrows of good quality. 75 Miracles of St. Demetrius 126, 13–14 (Lemerle): Ὁ γὰρ δῆμος ἅπας τῆς ἀπροσδοκήτου ταύτης βοῆς κατακούσαντες ἔδραμον εἰς οἴκους, καὶ ὁπλισθέντες ἐπὶ τὰ τείχη ἀνῄεσαν. 76 E.g. Procopius, Wars II 26, 8–9 (269, 19–23 Haury – Wirth): τῶν τέ τις Οὔννων πρὸ τῶν ἄλλων μαχόμενος μάλιστα πάντων ἠνώχλει Ῥωμαίους. καί τις αὐτὸν ἀγροῖκος ἐς γόνυ τὸ δεξιὸν σφενδόνῃ ἐπιτυχὼν βάλλει, ὁ δὲ πρηνὴς ἀπὸ τοῦ ἵππου ἐς τὸ ἔδαφος εὐθὺς ἔπεσεν, ὃ δὴ Ῥωμαίους ἔτι μᾶλλον ἐπέρρωσεν; Kaminiates 25, 79–81 (Böhlig): μόνον γὰρ ὅτι ταῖς βαθμίσι τὰ ἴχνη ἐκίνησαν, καὶ δίκην χαλάζης πυκνῆς οἱ λίθοι κατ’ αὐτῶν ἀφεθέντες ὁμοῦ τῇ θαλάσσῃ καὶ τῷ ὀλέθρῳ τούτους ἐξανεσκεύασαν; Kananos 474, 7–9: τινὲς δὲ οὐδὲ μετ’ αὐτῶν εἰς τὸν πόλεμον ἦλθον, ἀλλὰ μὲ λίθους καὶ μόνον ἐμάχοντο τολμηρῶς καὶ ἀνδρείως. The humble rock was quite formidable as a missile during sieges, even when thrown by hand; cf. D. Baatz, Town Walls and Defensive Weapons, in: Roman Urban Defences in the West, ed. J. Maloney – B. Hobley. London 1983, 136–140. 77 For the Byzantine bow see T. G. Kolias, Byzantinische Waffen. Ein Beitrag zur byzantinischen Waffenkunde von den Anfängen bis zur lateinischen Eroberung (BV 17). Wien 1988, 214–238. 78 For hunting in Byzantine times see the literature cited in the recent paper of A. Sinakos, Το κυνήγι κατά τη μέση βυζαντινή εποχή (7ος–12ος αι.), in: Ζώα και περιβάλλον στο Βυζάντιο (7ος–12ος αι.), ed. I. Anagnostakis – T. G. Kolias – E. Papadopoulou. Athens 2011, 71–86. Hunting with bow and arrow is depicted in many scenes from the illuminated manuscript of Oppian’s Cynegetica: I. Spatharakis, The Illustrations of the Cynegetica in Venice: Codex Marcianus Graecus Z 139. Leiden 2004, fig. 9, 41, 92. As for the assumption that there were many Byzantines who were familiar with the use of the bow and the sling, the Στρατηγικὴ ἔκθεσις (ed. E. McGeer, Sowing the Dragon’s Teeth: Byzantine Warfare in the Tenth Century [DOS 33]. Washington D.C. 1995) prescribes the use of Armenians as heavy infantrymen (1, 1–2; McGeer 12) and Russians or other foreigners as javeliners (1, 52; McGeer 14), while no such exotic individuals are mentioned when discussing archers and slingers. From that we may infer that there was an adequate pool of native recruits who knew their way around a bow or a sling. 79 See Bartusis, Army 54–57 for an analysis of the sources and the results of Michael VIII’s policy. 80 E.g. Synesius, Letter 108 (193, 3 Garzya): οἱ μηδὲν ἔχοντες ὅπλον πρόβλημα; Procopius, Wars II 8, 28 (188, 19–21 Haury – Wirth): ἦσαν δὲ αὐτῶν τινες μὲν ὁπλῖται, οἱ δὲ πλεῖστοι γυμνοὶ καὶ λίθων βολαῖς χρώμενοι μόναις; Kananos 474, 4–7: ἕτεροι δὲ οὐδὲ ἐξ αὐτῶν εὐποροῦσαν, ἀλλὰ τὰς ταύλας ὁποῦ ἐτρώγαν καὶ τὰ τυμπάνια τῶν βουτζίων ἔδησαν μὲ σχοινία, καὶ ἐβάσταζαν ἀντὶ σκουταρίων.

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match for seasoned troops on the field or even in a street fight, unless stiffened by regulars troops or (in the case of the battle before the walls of Alexandria in 609) arrow-shooting and stone-throwing artillery. Most modern scholars seem to think that the combat potential of Byzantine civilians would have been negligent. This, however, begs the question: if their military potential was nil and their legal status ambivalent, why did the central government tolerate these groups of armed civilians and the upper-class individuals and local magistrates who fostered their creation? One could point to the statement of the Strategikon, which advises the garrison commander to mix the men of the circus factions with the soldiers keeping watch on the walkway of the walls, so that the former would be unable to create strife or betray the city81. This might appeal to certain scholars’ sense of distrust for the military role of the Demes, but it does not explain the extensive use of other groups of civilians – after all, not all of them could have been potential traitors. The answer probably lies in the fact that, inexperienced and poorly-armed though they appear to have been, local militias did serve the purpose of supplementing – and at times supplanting altogether – the regular army, who had duties other than defending every single urban center in the Empire. In other words, civilians would have been used as the last line of defense in what has been described as “a strategy of defense-in-depth”. The latter required the transformation of the cities into “hardened” centers of military strength to be used as supply depots, control points on key routes and strongholds for field armies82. Since most of the regular units would have been used as mobile field forces covering the areas between the cities, it was imperative that armed civilians be given the responsibility of manning urban fortifications, especially where regular troops were unavailable83. Given the fact that the inhabitants of cities received no military training, inexperience was a decisive factor that had a detrimental effect on their military potential. The lack of training and experience did not manifest itself as cowardice, as one would think, but as rashness and enthusiasm. Such qualities could have very negative effects on discipline, especially when overexcited amateur soldiers demanded to be led out on a sortie. On the other hand, the unreliability of civilian combatants has been exaggerated and needs to be put into perspective. In 540 the circus factions of Antioch panicked and left the battlements when a wooden structure collapsed, but they were not alone in this: the regulars also abandoned the walls, took their horses and fled the city through the only gate still left open, trampling women and children in the process. The demesmen, on the other hand, regrouped in the streets of Antioch and put up a stiff fight, poorly-armed and even more poorly-armored though they were. They paid a heavy price for their valiant resistance against the Persian troops pouring into the city. As for the Blues and Greens fighting each other when they were supposed to guard the walls in 602, it was to be expected in time of civil war or internal rebellion. Modern scholars compare such lack of discipline with the supposed reliability of professional soldiers. Personally I would very much doubt that Maurice was either impressed or satisfied with the discipline and reliability of the professional troops of his Danube army in 602. This paper was a first attempt to document the use of civilians as combatants between the fourth and the fifteenth centuries. Some might find the product of such an attempt nothing more than a laundry list of amateurs playing at soldiers. A few romantics might see in it the secret history of the unsung heroes of Byzantium. Be that as it may, it is obvious that a lot remains to be done before historians can feel satisfied that the picture we have of the Byzantine Empire’s military organization throughout the centuries is complete. In order to achieve this completeness, however, it is not enough that we advance our knowledge of the deeds of professional warriors, military aristocrats, generals and emperors. We should also focus on those supposedly “unwarlike and effeminate” Byzantines who, even though they did not live by the sword, were many a time forced to draw it – if one could be found – in order to prevent themselves and their families from dying by the sword. Maurice X 3, 32–35 (344 Dennis – Gamillscheg): Εἰ δὲ δῆμός ἐστιν ἐν τῇ πόλει, δέον κἀκείνους συμμίξαι ἐν ταῖς τοῦ τείχους πεδατούραις τοῖς στρατιώταις. Ἐκ τούτου γὰρ οὐδὲ εὐκαιροῦντες στάσιν μελετῶσιν, ἀλλὰ καὶ δοκοῦντες φυλακὴν τῆς πόλεως πιστεύεσθαι ἐρυθριῶσι νεωτερίσαι. 82 See E. N. Luttwak, The Grand Strategy of the Roman Empire. Baltimore 1976, 132–134; Haldon, Warfare 60–66. Cf. W. E. Kaegi, Byzantium and the Early Islamic Conquests. Cambridge 1992, 59–61, 260–261 for a description of a similar strategy in the early seventh century and the role civilian disarmament might have played in its failure. 83 Cf. Synesius, Letter no. 130 (223, 18–224, 5 Garzya), reporting the instructions given to the citizens of Cyrene by the garrison commander: stay within the walls, make no sorties, keep four watches at night. This is perhaps indicative of the regular army’s opinion of the civilian defenders’ combat potential. However, we should add that these instructions were received by mail, since no troops were available and the garrison commander had boarded a ship and fled into the open sea.

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“Holy War” In Byzantium Twenty Years Later A Question of Term Definition and Interpretation During the 1980s, and after the establishment of the Society for the Study of the Crusades and the Latin East, the crusaders’ movement attracted the interest of scholars on a large scale. As a result, a series of related books and articles were (and still are up to this day) written and a great number of conferences were organized1. It was, thus, inevitable to investigate and review – to some extent – the negative reaction of the Byzantines towards the Crusaders, who crossed the territories of the Empire2. I was one of those attracted by the idea of conducting such an investigation. The first thing to do was to find out – through a thorough looking into the sources – the way in which the Byzantines themselves regarded the idea of a Holy War, on the off chance of identifying there the explanation of their attitude.





The crusade bibliography of the last three decades is too extensive to be referred to here. One should, however, indicatively mention the following titles: P. Rousset, Histoire d’une idéologie. La croisade. Montreux 1983; J. Riley-Smith, The First Crusade and the Idea of Crusading. London 1986; J. Richard, Histoire des Croisades. Paris 1996; L. Riley-Smith – J. Riley-Smith, The Crusades. Idea and Reality. London 1095–1274 (Documents of Medieval History 4), London 1981; Idem, Crusade and Settlement. Papers Read at the First Conference of the Society for the Study of the Crusades and the Latin East and Presented to R. C. Smail, ed. P. W. Edbury. Cardiff 1985; Autour de la Première Croisade. Actes du Colloque de la Society for the Study of the Crusades and the Latin East, Clermont-Ferrand 22–25 Juin 1995 (Byzantina Sorbonensia 14), ed. M. Balard. Paris 1996; The First Crusade: Origins and Impact. Proceedings of the Deus Vult Conference, London, Nov. 1995. Manchester–New York 1997; Montjoie: Studies in Crusade History in Honour of H.-E. Meyer, ed. B. Kedar – J. Riley-Smith – R. Hiestand. Aldershot–Hampshire 1997; P. D. Partner, God of Battles: Holy Wars of Christianity and Islam. Princeton, N.J. 1998; Dei gesta per Francos. Études sur les croisades dediées à Jean Richard, ed. M. Balard – B. Kedar – J. Riley-Smith. Aldershot–Burlington–Singapore–Sydney 2001; The Crusades from the Perspective of Byzantium and the Muslim World, ed. A. E. Laiou – R. P. Mottahedeh. Washington, D.C. 2001; Ch. Tyerman, Fighting for Christendom. Holy war and the Crusades. Oxford 2004. For the evolution of ideas and realities that resulted in the formation of the crusade idea and lead to the First Crusade, see the classic study of C. Erdmann, The Origin of the Idea of Crusade. Princeton, N.J. 1977 (translation with additional notes of the original German edition of 1935, by M. W. Baldwin – W. Goffart); J. Flori, La guerre sainte. La formation de l’idée de croisade dans l’Occident chrétien. Paris 2001 and J. France, Christianity, Violence and the Origins of Crusading: à propos of a Recent Study. Revue Belge de Philologie et d’Histoire 80 (2002) 593–598 (a review article discussing the aspects of the latter). For the development of the crusade historiography, a presentation of several aspects of the ideology and motivation of the crusading movement, and extensive relevant bibliography, see G. Constable, The historiography of the Crusades, in: The Crusades from the Perspective of Byzantium and the Muslim World, ed. A. E. Laiou – R. P. Mottahedeh. Washington, D.C. 2001, 1–22; cf. Tyerman, Fighting for Christendom, 218–233. 2 For the main bibliography up to the beginning of the 1990s, see A. Kolia-Dermitzaki, Die Kreuzfahrer und die Kreuzzüge im Sprachgebrauch der Byzantiner. JÖB 41 (1991), 163–188, n. 1. Also see D. Nicol, The Crusades and the Unity of Christendom, in: The Meeting of Two Worlds. Cultural Exchange between East and West during the Period of the Crusades, ed. V. Goss. Michigan 1986, 169–180; St. Runciman, Byzantium and the Crusades, in: The Meeting of Two Worlds, 15–22; J. Koder, Das Bild des ‘Westens’ bei den Byzantinern in der frühen Komnenezeit, in: Deus qui mutat tempora. Menschen und Institutionen im Wandel des Mittelalters. Festschrift Alfons Becker, ed. E.-D. Hehl – H. Seibert – F. Staab. Sigmaringen 1987, 191–201; R. D. Thomas, Anna Comnena’s Account of the First Crusade: History and Politics in the Reigns of the Emperors Alexius I and Manuel I Comnenus. BMGS 15 (1991) 269–312; P. Schreiner, Byzanz und der Westen: Die gegenseitige Betrachtungsweise in der Literatur des 12. Jahrhunderts, in: Friedrich Barbarossa. Handlungsspielräume und Wirkungsweisen des Staufischen Kaiser, ed. A. Haverkamp. Sigmaringen 1992, 551–580; A. Kolia-Dermitzaki, Συνάντηση Ανατολής και Δύσης στα εδάφη της Αυτοκρατορίας. Οι απόψεις των Βυζαντινών για τους Σταυροφόρους (Υλικό, Φυσικό και Πνευματικό Περιβάλλον στον Βυζαντινό και Μεταβυζαντινό Κόσμο 5). Athens 22000; Εadem, Iter Hierosolymitanum – Ἐς Παλαιστίνην πορεία: The Crusader Movement as a European Movement, in: The Idea of European Community in History, Conference Proceedings, ed. E. Chrysos – P. Kitromilides – C. Svolopoulos. Athens 2003, I, 73–90. Cf. J. Shepard, Aspects of Byzantine Attitudes and Policy towards the West in the Tenth and Eleventh Centuries, in: Byzantium and the West, c. 850–1200, Proceedings of the XVIII Spring Symposium of Byzantine Studies, Oxford 30th March – 1st April 1984 ( = BF 13 [1988]) 67–118, here 94–116. 1

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The study of the – until then – bibliography showed that eminent byzantinists and medievalists, such as V. Laurent, P. Lemerle, M. Canard and others believed that the residents of the Empire in their majority could not understand the fighting of a war for religion, regarding it as completely unthinkable. This was due to their political theory, which accepted only one empire in the Oecumene, the ‘Roman’, which faced its enemies only as barbarians and rebels and not as infidels, and because of the adherence of theologians to tradition, which means the way early Christianity regarded war3. When I looked deep into this issue, after having thoroughly studied all the relevant sources in order to form a personal opinion on it, I arrived at the following conclusion: in the long lifetime of Byzantium, there were many cases when the imperative need of addressing non-Christian enemies (mainly Persians and Arabs and to a lesser extent Turks) led rulers to promote war in which the religious diversity of the opponents was emphasized, a kind of war with its own special characteristics that I called Byzantine “holy war”4. These characteristics can be summarized as follows: a) First of all, the authority of the person who was to declare such a war – which, it should be noted, was an affair of the State and not that of the Church, as was the case in the West – was the emperor. His jurisdiction derived from Byzantine political theory, according to which he was the supreme political leader, and, at the same time the chosen one, the representative of God (θεὸς ἐπίγειος) and therefore responsible for the protection of his subjects, and the defender and avenger of the Church and the Christian religion. b) The purpose of the war, in which we can recognize elements of “holy war”, was the protection of the Church and Christians, the revenge for an insult committed against God, and also the recovery of lost Christian territory. These territories constituted, for the most part, the south-eastern provinces of the “Roman” empire (Mesopotamia, Syria, Palestine). c) Only the army participated in a war of this kind (civilians were not summoned to attend, as was the case of the Crusades in the West); the projection of the religious element, however, aimed at supporting the morale of the people who would undergo the indirect consequences of the war. The means that were used in order to give religious dimensions were the more widespread usage and projection of symbols, such as the cross (not only in the army – where it was taken for granted anyway – but primarily in the means of propaganda, such as coins), the harangues whose contents refer to another kind of war, different from the usual kind, and the composition of Divine Liturgies; in the latter, officers and soldiers are either incited to fight vigorously against “atheist enemies who blaspheme against the Mother of God and desecrate the holy” or to address their prayers to God, asking Him to grant eternal life and remission of their sins to those who died in war and in prison fighting for Christ. Thus, sometimes an assurance was given – by the State and only in a few specified cases by representatives of the Church – that those who participated in such a war would gain the salvation of their souls. d) Finally, the Byzantines were presented as “the chosen people of the Lord”, who was the “commander” that protected them and led them to victory, as H had once led the Israelites5. It should be noted here that a Byzantine military operation can be accepted as being conducted in the form of a “holy war” only in case it shares all or almost all of the above mentioned characteristics, otherwise one could argue that all the Byzantine wars should be considered as Holy – as in fact some researchers did6.









V. Laurent, L’idée de guerre sainte et la tradition byzantine. Revue Historique du Sud-Est Européen 23 (1946) 7–98; P. Lemerle, Byzance et la Croisade, in: Relazioni del X Congresso Internazionale di Scienze Storiche, v. III: Storia del Medioevo. Firenze 1955, 595–620 ( = Idem, Le monde de Byzance. Histoire et Institutions. London 1978, VIII); M. Canard, La guerre sainte dans le monde islamique et dans le monde chrétien. Revue Africaine 79 (1936) 605–623 ( = Idem, Byzance et les Musulmans du Proche-Orient. London 1973). 4 A. Kolia-Dermitzaki, The Byzantine ‘Holy War’. The Idea and Propagation of Religious War in Byzantium. (Historical Monographs 10). Athens 1991 (in Greek, with an English summary). 5 Kolia-Dermitzaki, ‘Holy War’, especially 91–92, 97–98, 121, 150, 177–182, 292–298, 345–355. For the harangues, the Divine Liturgies and the promise of salvation, see also below n. 50 and 51. 6 A rather simplistic standpoint, sustained by N. Oikonomides, The Concept of ‘Holy War’ and Two Tenth-century Byzantine Ivories, in: Peace and War in Byzantium. Essays in Honor of G. T. Dennis, S.J., ed. T. S. Miller – J. Nesbitt. Washington D.C. 1995, 62–85, here 63–64; J. Haldon, Warfare, State and Society in the Byzantine World, 565–1204. London 1999, 13–33, here 23, 25, 32; G. T. Dennis, Defenders of the Christian people: Holy War in Byzantium, in: The Crusades from the Perspective of Byzantium and the Muslim World, 31–39, here, 34; Tyerman, Fighting for Christendom, 103: (“the coterminous relation of Church and State rendered all public war in some sense holy, in defence of religion, approved by the Church”). 3

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The above argument triggered a series of articles, the authors of which either adopted my point of view or even supported this stance further7 or, in most cases, formulated their objections, presenting a different view. In my opinion, the aforementioned idea is still open for discussion and this symposium provides an ideal occasion for it. In the first place, the researchers rejecting this opinion can be divided into two categories: the historians (N. Oikonomides, A. Laiou, I. Stouraitis) and the clergymen-historians (such as G. T. Dennis) or the clergymen-theologians (such as R. Taft). The former place a particular emphasis on a prevalence of the concept of a Just War in Byzantium, by closely relating it to the political ideology and the role played by the emperor in it, and by supporting the argument that this ideology prevails and leaves no space – in association with other reasons – for the development of a concept of Holy War8. Within the second category of researchers, R. Taft – as can be expected – examines the matter only from the perspective of the Church, by using solely the religious texts of the Eastern Church as sources. He exploits the promotion of peace within this category of texts, not only as a situation opposite to the war, but also as a mental and spiritual state, which provides a bond between the human being and God9. G. T. Dennis also projects a religious dimension in this matter and, by exploiting cases of monks and saints, considers that the only war that was compulsory and continual for the Byzantines was the war against the daemons and evil, while he places all of the secular wars among the so-called “imperial wars”10. Finally, there is another group of byzantinists who acknowledge the presence of a “holy war” ideology in the tenth century; they attribute it to Islamic influence on the inhabitants of Asia Minor, who went through the hardships and the repercussions of the confrontation with the Arabs during this period (an earlier view of G. Dragon, partly shared later on by J. Haldon, and J.-Cl. Cheynet)11. The last two go further, connecting this ideology with the existence of a military aristocracy in this area that kept a different stance towards the use of such an ideology from that of the political and ecclesiastical élite of Constantinople. In order to facilitate a better understanding of the problem, we should first analyse the definition of a Just War and that of a Holy War. The idea of Just War in the Christian world was based on the texts of Ambrose





H. Ohme, Die Haltung der serbischen orthodoxen Kirche im gegenwärtigen Balkankonflikt: ‘Religionskrieg’? – ‘Hl. Krieg’? Zur Frage nach der Wurzeln. Kerygma und Dogma 42 (1996) 82–113, here 91–98; T. M. Kolbaba, Fighting for Christianity. Holy War in the Byzantine Empire, in: Hommage à la mémoire de J. Labarbe = Byzantion 68 (1998) 194–221. Cf. also P. Magdalino, Digenes Akrites and Byzantine Literature: The Twelfth-Century Background to the Grottaferrata version, in: Digenes Akrites. New Approaches to Byzantine Heroic Poetry, ed. R. Beaton – D. Ricks. London 1993, 1–14, here 8; Idem, The Empire of Manuel I Komnenos 1143–1180. Cambridge 1993, 421; V. Vatchkova, The Biblical Idea of Holy War and its Reflection in the Life of the Byzantine Empire. Sophia, 1997 (Ph. D. dissertation in Bulgarian); G. Regan, First Crusader. Byzantium’s Holy Wars. New York 2003, 75ff., 233ff. For the opinions expressed in favour or against the existence of a “holy war” perception in Byzantium till 1990, see Kolia-Dermitzaki, ‘Holy War’ 16–30. 8 A. Laiou, On Just War in Byzantium, in: To Hellenikon. Studies in Honor of Speros Vryonis, Jr., ed. J. Langdon – S.W. Reinert. New Rochelle–New York 1993, 153–177 (the author examines the concept of Just War in Byzantium, based mainly – if not exclusively – on the Alexiad of Anna Komnene in the first place and the Taktika of Leo VI in the second); Eadem, The Just War of Eastern Christians and the Holy War of the Crusaders, in: The Ethics of War. Shared Problems in Different Traditions, ed. R. Sorabji – D. Rodin. Oxford 2006, 30–43; Oikonomides, Concept, esp. 62–68; I. Stouraitis, Methodologische Überlegungen zur Frage des byzantinischen ‘heiligen’ Krieges. BSl 67 (2009) 269–290; idem, Jihād and Crusade: Byzantine Positions towards the Notions of ‘Holy War’. Byzantina Symmeikta 21 (2011) 11–62. Cf. a rather original, though not documented in the sources, view of W. Treadgold, Byzantium, the reluctant warrior, in: Noble Ideas and Bloody Realities, Warfare in the Middle Ages (History of Warfare 37) , ed. N. Christie – M. Yazigi. Leiden–Boston 2006, 209–233, esp. 209–213. 9 R F. Taft, War and Peace in the Byzantine Divine Liturgy, in: Peace and War in Byzantium. 10 Dennis, Defenders. 11 G. Dagron, Byzance et le modèle islamique au Xe siècle à propos des ‘Constitutions tactiques’ de l’empereur Léon VI, in: Comptes rendues des séances de l’Académie des Inscriptions et Belles Lettres. Paris 1983, 219–243; Haldon, Warfare, 13–33; J.-Cl. Cheynet, La guerre sainte à Byzance au moyen Âge: un malentendu, in: Regards croisés sur la guerre sainte. Guerre, religion et idéologie dans l’espace méditerranéen latin (XIe–XIIIe siècle), Colloque international de la Casa de Velásquez, Madrid 11–13 avril 2005, ed. D. Baloup – Ph. Josserand. Toulouse 2006, 13–32; idem, Légitimer la guerre à Byzance. Mélanges de l’Université Saint-Joseph 62 (2009) 1–19. See also Κ. Pitsakis, Guerre et paix en droit byzantin. Méditerranées 30/31 (2002) 203–232; Idem, Ο πόλεμος στη βυζαντινή νομική θεωρία, in: Τιμητικός τόμος καθηγητή Ιωάννη Βούλγαρη. Athens–Komotini 2010, 927–959 (a slightly extended version of the previous article), for the juristic point of view. The author, examining mainly texts of secular and canon law and remaining strictly within the legal framework, concludes that a theory of war in Byzantium was never developed either on a juristic or on an ideological level. 7

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(340–397) and – especially – of Augustine (354–430). Both of these Fathers of the Roman Church received the Roman view (as expressed by Cicero, for whom a war was justified when it aimed at the preservation of public safety and the defence of allies and if it was declared officially or after demands for reparation) and adapted it to Christian moral standards12. This was essential, following the recognition of Christian faith as the official religion of the Empire; the Christian values had to be reconciled with the need for its maintenance and defence. The waging of war was the means to meet this imperative need. To the Helleno-Roman idea of right causes and ends, there were added Christian views of moral virtue, right intent and legal authority. For Augustine, however, war is always the result of malice and sin, but at the same time a means for the therapy of these vices, intended for the benefit of the enemy and the prevalence of peace. That means, the motivation is philanthropy and the final goal is peace. This is, in a few words, the notion of bellum justum that prevailed in the Christian world. It has to be added that the right intent has to be the correction of injustice and the defence of one’s fatherland and Christian faith13. Since the opposing opinions refer par excellence to the notion of Holy War in a way that gives emphasis to its conception, there are two notes to be made prior to examining its definition: a) I used – and I am still using – the term “holy war” on the analogy of the prevalent term for two types of war, which are considered to be ex initio holy14, the crusade and the jihād15, and in the absence of a terminology that could briefly and inclusively convey the notion of this particular type of war (which is not plainly just or imperial thought bearing certain characteristics of both); this is why the term is written in quotation marks. b) The term Holy War was not in use in the West in the times when there was formed and promoted an ideology of war proclaimed and conducted for religious reasons, for sanctioned campaigns, i.e. during the period of the crusades. To the best of my knowledge, none of the Western sources, either the preachers of the movement, which is prevailed to be called “crusade”, or those who narrated the events related to it, use the term bellum sacrum. The prevalent terms are iter hierosolymitanum (a journey to Jerusalem), expeditio Hierosolymitana (a campaign to Jerusalem), peregrinatio (a pilgrimage), Dei servitium (a service to God), via Dei (on the path of God)16. Despite the fact that there is a strong and clear association with religious war and its objective (Jerusalem), the term bellum sacrum is absent. This definition is absent as self-determination from the Old Testament and from Islam as well [the Arabic word jihād does not mean literally holy, religious war, but intense effort, both – spiritual and physical17]. J. Brundage, Holy War and the Medieval Lawyers, in: The Holy War, ed. Th. P. Murphy. Columbus 1976, 99–140, who examined both notions – just and holy war – and suggested that the latter was a specific variation of the former, according to medieval canonists; R. M. Grant, War – Just, Holy, Unjust – in Hellenistic and Early Christian Thought. Augustinianum 20 (1980) 173–189. Cf. F. H. Russell, The Just War in the Middle Ages. Cambridge 1975, 24–25 and the interesting view of Flori, Guerre sainte, 37–39 and 266–269, that Just War derived from the Holy War and not vice-versa. 13 A brief account of both Latin Fathers’ views, see in Kolia-Dermitzaki, ‘Holy War’, 141–145 (with the relevant references to their texts and bibliography). See also the interesting views of J. Salisbury, “In Vain Have I Smitten Your Children”. Augustine defines Just War, in: The Just War and jihād. Violence in Judaism, Christianity and Islam, ed. J. Hoffmann. Amherst–New York 2006, 203–216. Cf. T. Barnes, From Eusebius to Augustine. Selected papers 1982–1993. Aldershot 1994. For the concept of Just War in Byzantium, see G. Michailides-Nouaros, Ὁ βυζαντινὸς δίκαιος πόλεμος κατὰ τὰ Τακτικὰ τοῦ Λέοντος τοῦ Σοφοῦ (Symmikta Seferiadou). Athens 1961. 14 On the notion of Holy War in general, see among other R. H. Bainton, Christian Attitudes Towards War and Peace. New York – Nashville 1960; A. Noth, Heiliger Krieg und heiliger Kampf in Islam und Christentum (Bonner Historische Studien 28). Bonn 1966; Brundage, Holy War, 116–125; Grant, War – Just, Holy, Unjust; E.-D. Hehl, Was ist eigentlich ein Kreuzzug?, Historische Zeitschrift 259 (1994) 297–336; Partner, God of Battles; E. Flaig, ‘Heiliger Krieg’. Auf der Suche nach einer Typologie. Historische Zeitschrift 285/2 (2007) 283–294. 15 Laiou, Just War; Oikonomides, Concept of ‘Holy War’; Dennis, Defenders; Stouraitis, Jihād and Crusade, esp. 12–13. The most characteristic example is the volume under the title The Holy War, mentioned below (n. 17), where all the articles – but one (examining jihād) – are dedicated to the crusade. 16 On the terminology used by the Western sources regarding the crusade, see P. Rousset, Les origines et les charactères de la première croisade. Geneva 1945 [repr. Neuchâtel 1978], 69–71; Ch. Tyerman, The Invention of the Crusades. London 1998, 49–55. Cf. Kolia-Dermitzaki, Kreuzfahrer, 168–169, 171–174. 17 On jihād see W. M. Watt, Islamic Conceptions of the Holy War, in: The Holy War, 141–156; Kolia-Dermitzaki, ‘Holy War’ 67–82 (with bibliography). Among the extensive, more recent bibliography, see A. Morabia, Le Gihad dans l’Islam médiéval: Le ‘combat sacré’ des origines au XIIe siècle. Paris 1993; Partner, God of Battles 31–58; R. P. Mottahedeh – R. al-Sayyid, The Idea of the Jihād in Islam before the Crusades, in: The Crusades from the Perspective of Byzantium and the Muslim World, 23–29; M. Bonner, Jihād in Islamic History: Doctrines and Practice. Princeton – Oxford 2006.

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Personally, I was not able to identify exactly when the term bellum sacrum appears, but in my opinion, we should accept the view of Heinz Ohme, according to which it is a creation deprived of a linguistic tradition (“sprachlich traditionslose Neuschöpfung”) with a national political content, which was launched by German poets of the early ninteenth century as “heiliger Krieg”, without any Christian or theological connotations. Later on, it received the connotation of “sacred values” (“geheiligte Werte”), as were God, Freedom and Nation, featured in German war poetry. Based on this tradition, the scientific use of the term was first made in 1901 and 1916 by the Semitist Friedrich Schwally. He used the term in order to describe the wars of the Old Testament and jihād (although subsequent researchers argued that the case of the Old Testament does not denote any sacralization of the war or any struggle with a “sacred value”, but the confession of Israeli faith regarding the leadership of God during the past). Therefore, according to Ohme, the concept “holy war” is a scientific classification of the twentieth century, which was used to indicate the specific properties of those wars, which, let us emphasize, are not identical either in ideology or in their practical implementation18. In contrast, the term exists in Byzantium and declares three different situations, none of them responding to the kind of war analyzed here. The authors of the first group (for instance Eusebius19, Constantine Porphyrogennetos20, Eustathius of Thessaloniki21) refer to the Holy Wars which broke out because of the embezzlement or the damage incurred to property and suffered by persons of the Apollo temple in Delphi. They are following the terminology presented by Thucydides [“After this, the Lacedaemonians took in hand the war called the holy war and, having won the temple at Delphi, delivered the possession thereof to the Delphians” (Λακεδαιμόνιοι δὲ μετὰ ταῦτα τὸν ἱερὸν καλούμενον πόλεμον ἐστράτευσαν, καὶ κρατήσαντες τοῦ ἐν Δελφοῖς ἱεροῦ παρέδοσαν Δελφοῖς.)]22 and the explanation given by the scholiast of Aristophanes [“He is speaking about a holy war, for it had to do with gods” (ἱερὸν πόλεμον λέγει, καθὸ πρὸς θεοὺς ἔσοιτο)]23 as well. So it is literally a war with religious dimensions. In the second – and, as I think, more representative – group, the term refers to intense ecclesiastical controversy, to a “war” within the Church or to antagonism between the State and the Church. In this sense, the “holy war” is found in both early and middle, as well as in late Byzantine period. Thus, Gregory of Nazianzos, addressing the 150 bishops of the Second Ecumenical Council (381) in his valedictory speech, and referring to the Arian controversy and the conflict in the bosom of the Church, cries out: “How shall I bear this holy war? For one can call a war holy as well as one can call a war barbaric. How shall I connect and unify those being set over against one another and playing the rival shepherd and the people being torn asunder with them and opposed to them?” (Ἀλλὰ πῶς οἴσω τὸν ἱερὸν τοῦτον πόλεμον; Λεγέσθω γάρ τις καὶ πόλεμος ἱερὸς, ὥσπερ καὶ βαρβαρικός. Πῶς συνάψω, καὶ εἰς ἓν ἀγάγω τοὺς ἀντικαθεζομένους τούτους καὶ ἀντιποιμαίνοντας, καὶ τὸν συναπεῤῥωγότα τούτοις λαὸν καὶ ἀντίθετον … ;)24. Ohme, ‘Religionskrieg’? – ‘Hl. Krieg’? 87–91. Λέγεται τοίνυν ὑπὸ τῶν ἀναγεγραφότων τὸν ἱερὸν πόλεμον ἐν Φωκίδι, νόμου κειμένου τὸν ἱερόσυλον κατακρημνίζεσθαι …, τρεῖς συλήσαντας τὸ ἐν Δελφοῖς ἱερόν, …, διανείμασθαι τὰς τιμωρίας. Eusebius, Praeparatio Euangelica 8.14 (ed. K. Mras, Eusebius Werke VIII/1 [GCS 43.1]. Berlin 1954, 33.5). 20 Ὅτι Φιλόμηλος ὁ Φωκεὺς ἀνὴρ θράσει καὶ παρανομίᾳ διαφέρων κατελάβετο μὲν τὸ ἐν Δελφοῖς ἱερόν, ἐξέκαυσε δὲ τὸν ἱερὸν πόλεμον. Constantinus VII Porphyrogenitus, De virtutibus et vitiis, 144 (ed. T. Büttner-Wobst – A. G. Roos, Excerpta historica iussu imp. Constantini Porphyrogeniti confecta, vol. 2/1, Excerpta de virtutibus et vitiis. Berlin 1906, 243, 24–26). 21 Ἱστορεῖ γοῦν ὁ Γεωγράφος, ὅτι λέγονται οἱ Φωκεῖς συλῆσαι τὸ τοῦ Ἀπόλλωνος ἱερὸν κατὰ Φίλιππον τὸν Ἀμύντου. Ἐπίφθονος γάρ, φησίν, ὢν ὁ πλοῦτος δυσφύλακτός ἐστι, κἂν ἱερὸς ᾖ. Ὅθεν ὁ Φωκικὸς καὶ ἱερὸς καλούμενος ἐξήφθη πόλεμος. Eustathius, Commentarii ad Homeri Iliadem 742, 26–29 (ed. M. van der Valk, Eustathii archiepiscopi Thessalonicensis commentarii ad Homeri Iliadem pertinentes. Leiden 1976, vol. 2). 22 Thucydides 1, ch. 112.5 (ed. H. S. Jones – J. E. Powell, Thucydidis historiae. Oxford 1942 [repr. 1970] vol.1). [English translation by Th. Hobbes, in: The English Works of Thomas Hobbes of Malmesbury (ed. Sir William Molesworth), vol. 8, Thucydides. London 1843 (repr. Aalen 1966)]. 23 Scholia Graeca in Aristophanem. Scholia in Aves no 556 (ed. F. Dübner. Paris 1877 [repr. Hildesheim 1969]), 223, 18-19: καλεῖται δὲ ἱερὸς (sc. ὁ πόλεμος), ὅτι περὶ τοῦ ἐν Δελφοῖς ἱεροῦ ἐγένετο. See also the definition by Hesychius I. 317 (ed. K. Latte, Hesychii Alexandrini lexicon. Copenhagen 1966, vol. 2). 24 Συντακτήριος, εἰς τὴν τῶν ρν´ ἐπισκόπων παρουσίαν, PG 36, or. XLII, ch. XXI, 481D–484A. The translation of Greek citations is mine, unless stated otherwise. On the Second Oecumenical Council, see L. Perrone, Von Nicaea (325) nach Chalcedon (451), in: Geschichte der Konzilien. Vom Nicaenum bis zum Vaticanum II (ed. G. Alberigo). Düsseldorf 1993, 22–135. The same context, see in Nikephoros Kallistos Xanthopoulos, Historia ecclesiastica, PG 146, 8. ch. 16, 69B [Constantine’s the Great speech to the

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Five centuries later, in 901, the future bishop of Caesarea, Arethas, in his oration on the enthronement of patriarch Nikolaos I Mystikos (1st March 901) praises Leo VI for having put an end to “the holy in fact and undeclared war” (καὶ τὸν ἱερὸν τῷ ὄντι καὶ ἀκήρυκτον πόλεμον, ὃν … καταπαύεις αὐτός)25. The holy war meant here is an almost half a century long controversy between Photians and Ignatians that came to an end some months before the enthronement26. Finally, two examples from the twelfth century are worth mentioning. Eustathius, archbishop of Thessaloniki, in a similar way as Arethas characterizes the conflict involving Maria Comnena and her husband Rainier of Montferrat on the one hand and πρωτοσεβαστὸς Alexius and Augusta Xene (Maria of Antioch) on the other, in his historical work: “Οne could say rightly and very briefly, that a holy war broke out” (Εἰπεῖν γὰρ ἐν βραχυτάτῳ, πόλεμος κροτεῖται ἱερός, ὡς ἂν καιρίως φαίη τις)27. The Byzantine archbishop described in this way the battles that took place when Maria and Rainier requested and obtained asylum in St. Sophia, as well as the following dethronement of the patriarch Theodosius (which was due to the fact that the latter had offered the asylum to them) and, finally, the strong controversy among the members of the Church, prompted by this dethronement (1181)28. In the same context, Niketas Choniates praises the emperor Alexius III Angelos (in his panegyric delivered in summer 1200), who summoned a Synod in 1199/1200 and put an end to the dispute over the Eucharist, which had started about half a century ago (… ἐξ ἀρχῆς τοιᾶσδε καλλίστης ἀρξάμενος καὶ ὡς Θεῷ φίλον τὸν ἱερὸν κατευνάσας πόλεμον …)29. The third kind of “holy war” in Byzantium is purely spiritual. It is the one referring to the control of passions: “a holy and sacred war breaks out against all our passions” (καὶ κατὰ παντὸς τοῦ ἐν ἡμῖν ὄντος πάθους ἱερός τε καὶ ἅγιος αἴρεται πόλεμος)30. There are, however, two cases where ἱερὸς πόλεμος is mentioned in a context that does not belong to any of the above categories. In the first case, it is connected with the armed defence of a holy relic (a fragment of the Holy Cross) by the inhabitants of Apameia – who owned it – against the delegates of Emperor Justin II (565–578), who wanted to take the precious relic and transfer it to the capital: “they accepted a holy war, members of the First Oecumenical Council (325) in Nicaea]: Καὶ τοίνυν τὴν ἔριν ὡς ποῤῥωτέρω βαλόντες, ἣ τὸν ἱερὸν τοῦτον πόλεμον ἀνηρέθισε, τοῖς θεοῤῥήτοις διδάγμασι τῶν ἀμφηρίστων τὴν λύσιν ζητήσωμεν. 25 Arethas, Ἐκφώνησις Λέοντι τῷ εὐσεβεῖ βασιλεῖ ἐπὶ τῇ χειροτονίᾳ Νικολάου τοῦ ἁγιωτάτου πατριάρχου, no 57 (ed. L .G. Westerink, Arethae archiepiscopi Caesariensis scripta minora. Leipzig 1972. vol. 2, 2, 3–4). 26 R. H. Jenkins – B. Laourdas, Nine Orations of Arethas from Cod. Marc. Gr. 524. BZ 47 (1954) 1–40 (= R. H. Jenkins, Studies on Byzantine History of the 9th and 10th Centuries, London 1970, VI), here 4. About the controversy and its ecclesiastical and political dimensions, see F. Dvornik, The Photian Schism. History and Legend. Cambridge 1948 (repr. 1970), part I; cf. S. Tougher, The reign of Leo VI (886–912) (The Medieval Mediterranean. Peoples, Economies and Cultures, 500–1453 15). Leiden–New York–Köln 1997, 68–88. 27 Eustathios of Thessaloniki, 26,12 (ed. St. Kyriakidis, Eustazio di Tessalonica La espugnazione di Tessalonica [Istituto Siciliano di Studi Bizantini e Neoellenici, Testi e Monumenti, Testi 5]. Palermo 1961). 28 As above, 24, 15 – 26, 15. Cf. 26, 31 (... τοῦ ἐκκλησιαστικοῦ πολέμου ἀκμὴν ἔχοντος … ὁ Κομνηνὸς ἤκει) and 34, 9–11 (οἵ γε καὶ τοῦ, ὡς ἐρρέθη, ἱεροῦ πολέμου συνεφάψασθαι τότε προσελήφθησαν …). See also, Eustathios of Thessaloniki, Ἐπίσκεψις βίου μοναχικοῦ ἐπὶ διορθώσει τῶν περὶ αὐτόν 167 (ed. K. Metzler, Eustathii Thessalonicensis De emendanda vita monachica [CFHB 45]. Berlin–New York 2006, 184, 1–10). For these events, see M. Angold, Church and Society in Byzantium under the Comneni, 1081–1261. Cambridge 1995, 116–118. In his commentaries on Homer, however, the Byzantine scholar uses the example of the wars for the jurisdiction over the Delphic sanctuary. See Eustathios of Thessaloniki (ed. M. van der Valk, Eustathii archiepiscopi Thessalonicensis commentarii ad Homeri Iliadem pertinentes, vol. 1. Leiden 1971, 419, 14–14, vol. 2. Leiden 1976, 742, 28): ... λέγονται οἱ Φωκεῖς συλῆσαι τὸ τοῦ Ἀπόλλωνος ἱερὸν … . Ἐπίφθονος γάρ, φησίν, ὢν ὁ πλοῦτος δυσφύλακτός ἐστι, κἂν ἱερὸς ᾖ. Ὅθεν ὁ Φωκικὸς καὶ ἱερὸς καλούμενος ἐξήφθη πόλεμος. 29 Λόγος Z΄, Εἰς τὸν αὐτοκράτορα Ἀλέξιον τὸν Ἄγγελον … 64, 6–7 (ed. J.-L. van Dieten, Nicetae Choniatae Orationes et Epistulae [CFHB 3]. Berlin–New York 1972). Cf. J.-L. van Dieten, Nicetas Choniates. Erläuterungen zu den Reden und Briefen nebst einer Biographie (Supplementa Byzantina 2). Berlin – New York 1971, 98, 101. In a letter of mediation by Ioannes Mauropous (ed. A. Karpozilos, The Letters of Ioannes Mauropous Metropolitan of Euchaita. Thessalonike 1990, no. 25, 101, 7–10) to an unknown recipient (most probably a member of the clergy as well), there is another reference to a “holy war” as well as to a “holy tyranny”: χάριν τοίνυν ἡμῶν – καὶ πρὸ ἡμῶν τοῦ δικαίου – σῴζειν τοῦτον δικαίου μοι τῆς ἱερᾶς τυραννίδος· λεγέσθω γὰρ οὕτως ἡ τῶν ἱερέων ἡμῶν, ὥσπερ ἤδη καὶ πόλεμος ἱερὸς ὁ ἡμέτερος (“Therefore, for my own sake – and even more for the sake of justice – you should rescue this man, on my claim, from holy tyranny. Because the tyranny of the priests should be called by this name just as our war is now a holy war”. English translation by Karpozilos). On the Eucharist controversy, see Angold, Church and Society, 128–132. 30 Cyril of Alexandria, Homiliae paschales 15 (ed. W. H. Burns, Cyrille d’Alexandrie. Lettres Festales, vol. 3, Lettres 12–27 [SC 434]. Paris 1998, 1. 53–54). Cf. 15. 1. 82–87.

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so that they would not be deprived of the most holy wood they kept” (ὑπὲρ τοῦ μὴ ἀφαιρεθῆναι τὸ κατ’ αὐτοὺς ἱερώτατον ξύλον, ἱερὸν ἀνεδέξαντο πόλεμον)31. In the second case, the patriarch of Constantinople Athanasius II, imploring the emperor Andronicus II Palaeologus (1282–1328) to fight against injustice and punish the perpetrators of dastardly deeds, wonders: “what would one call more blessed than to undertake a war with the help of Christ and for the sake of Christ? This is a holy war, and a clear indication of your love for and faith in God” (οὗ τί ἄν τις εἴποι μακαριώτερον τοῦ μετὰ Χριστοῦ καὶ διὰ Χριστὸν τὸν πόλεμον ἄρασθαι; τοῦτο καὶ πόλεμος ἱερὸς καὶ ἔνδειξις φανερὰ τῆς πρὸς Θεὸν ἀγάπης καὶ πίστεως)32. So, with regard to the terminology issue, it is quite obvious that the notion of a Christian Holy War, in the way we nowadays accept and conceive it, was created in retrospect, and prevailed among the researchers who – based on the texts which described the crusades and on the relevant sermons – looked for a term that could concisely describe its special character. Therefore, there is not an a priori definition of Holy War with specific characteristics, due to which the crusade had been recognized as a Holy War, but vice versa: the characteristics of the crusade have stimulated and moulded the prevailing concept of a Holy War. At this point, the main features of this type of war are given: the crusade was conducted under divine command and aimed at defending the Churches of the East. Particularly, its objective was to offer assistance to the fellow Christians, who were persecuted by Muslims, to take revenge for an insult to God (an insult due to the occupation of the land of His martyrdom, looting of churches and persecution of believers) and (especially regarding the first and the third crusades) the restoration of Christian control of the Holy Land. The person who had the authority to launch the campaign by organizing and conducting it was the bishop of Rome, who was regarded as the representative of God on Earth. The pope granted a papal standard (the vexillum sancti Petri) and promised indulgence (or – according to another interpretation – remission of penance) to those who would be killed in battle. He also reassured their recognition as martyrs and provided them with material privileges as well. The presence of the cross at the head of the army as well as on the uniforms of the crusaders, their ritual purification before the battle through prayers, fast and confession are three further features of the crusade33. Following a methodology opposite to that usually implemented, in compliance with which we seek to identify the features of the crusade in Byzantium, we may state that the crusades had many common attributes with the specific kind of war mentioned above, which Byzantines used to conduct. The basic changes in the crusades (apart from their close association with the pilgrimage) are two: 1. the Pope takes the place of the secular prince, the emperor, and 2. the remission of sins for those who are killed during the crusade is officially granted by the Church. In fact, these two features are considered to be those rendering to the crusades the quality of a “holy” procedure34. We have ascertained, I believe, from what is mentioned above, that in Byzantium the concept of war for defence of religion and fellow believers (as well as naturally for the Emperor, who declared and conducted this kind of war, and for the Empire) was not unknown. It is now interesting to indicate up to what point the different features of the crusades are related to the negative reaction of the Byzantines. Starting from the study of secular Byzantine literature, it should be noted that none of the three historians who described the passing of the Crusaders through the Byzantine territory and the problems encountered35 Menander protector, Fragmentum e cod. Paris. Gr. 1140A [Dub.], (TLG 4076.606, without a reference to the edition). Athanasios patriarch of Constantinople, Epistulae CXV ad imperatorem … 12 (ed. A.-M. Talbot, The Correspondence of Athanasius I, Patriarch of Constantinople [CFHB VII]. Washington, D.C. 1975, 30, 34–37). 33 For the features of the crusade, see Rousset, Origines, 68–109; Erdmann, Origin, esp. (for the significance of the symbols) 35–56 and 182–189; H. E. Mayer, Geschichte der Kreuzzüge. Stuttgart 1965, 15–46; E. O. Blake, The Formation of the ‘Crusade Idea’. Journal of Ecclesiastical History 21 (1970) 11–31; Kolia-Dermitzaki, ‘Holy War’, 37–66; Tyerman, Fighting for Christendom, 27–32. Cf.. H. E. J. Cowdrey, Pope Urban’s Preaching of the First Crusade. History 55 (1970) 177–188 (repr. in: The Crusades: The Essential Readings, ed. Th. Madden. Oxford–Malden 2002, 15–30); Idem, Pope Urban and the Idea of Crusading. Studi Medievali 36 (1995) 721–742 (repr. in: Idem, The Crusades and Latin Monasticism, 11th–12th centuries. Aldershot 1999, V). 34 Among other, see Laiou, Just War 153; Oikonomides, Concept 63. 35 Anna Komnene, (ed. D. Reinsch – A. Kambylis, Annae Komnenae Alexias [CFHB XL/1]. Berlin–New York 2000) (First Crusade); Ioannes Kinnamos (ed. A. Meineke, Ioannis Cinnami Epitome rerum ab Ioanne et Alexio Comnenis gestarum. Bonn 1836) (Second Crusade); Niketas Choniates, (ed. J.-L. van Dieten, Nicetae Choniatae Historia [CFHB, XI/1]. Berlin–New York 1975) (Second, Third and Fourth Crusade).

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– despite their generally negative attitude towards them – castigated about or even mentioned the leadership of the Roman Church in this movement. Anna Komnene, describing the political events in Italy prior to the invasion of Robert Guiscard in Byzantium (1082–1085) – events in which, apart from the Norman leader, Pope Gregory VII (1073–1085) and the German Emperor Henry IV (1056–1106)36 were involved – makes an allusion to the political power of the pope and his use of an army37. She inveighs against Gregory for misconduct towards the ambassadors of Henry in 1076 (a misconduct that aimed at the humiliation and degradation of their master, i.e. the Roman emperor of the West) and comments with contempt and irony on the intervention of the pope in the war between this same emperor and the anti-emperor Rudolph (promoted and supported by the pope) in 1180: “this to-be-spat-upon pope (for I cannot call him another name when I bear in mind that inhuman hubris towards the ambassadors) with spiritual grace and evangelic peace marched to the civil war, the despot, with all his soul and all his means, and all these by the peaceful man and the pupil of the peace-giving”38. Even though Komnene could have commented at this point or later on, in her narration of the First Crusade, on the fact that this movement lied in the competence of the pope, as its leader and a preacher, she prefers not to do it, giving the impression that she takes more interest in the humiliation of the secular leader of the West by the ecclesiastical one – insinuating the Canossa incident in the context of the Investiture Controversy39 – than in the direct involvement of the latter with the crusade. She chooses to demonstrate the same attitude, when she refers to granting of the papal standard, the vexillum sancti Petri, to the secular leader of the crusade, Hugues de Vermandois, in Rome40. On the other hand, this same reference to the papal emblem of war – as C. Erdman calls it – indicates that Anna was well aware of the procedure and the symbolic significance of this action: it was a sign of victory, blessed and offered by the pope in the name of saint Peter to one of the leaders departing for a war approved by the Church – the crusade – thus becoming the preferred commander of the expedition41. However, as far as it concerns the role of the head of the Church of Rome in launching that campaign, this is the only and uncommented allusion made by the author on this matter. I feel it is important to make the point here that both Komnene and the two other historiographers who wrote about the crusades (John Kinnamos and Niketas Choniates) though certainly aware of the ideology of the Crusaders (as it is clear, for instance, in Alexias as well as in the posthumous praise by Choniates for the German Emperor Frederick I Barbarossa and the harangue read out by Louis VII to his army on the eve of the battle, which took place on the banks of the River Meandros around 1st January 1148)42, do not question it at all; what they do question is the sincerity of their purpose. They firmly believe that the latter were setting against their Empire and not against “infidels”; a suspicion, which should be ascribed – especially – to the invasions of the Normans, as well as on other grounds, not to be analyzed here43. On these events, see – apart from the classical works of J. Gay, L’Italie méridionale et l’empire byzantin. Tours 1904 (repr. New York, s.a.), vol. II and F. Chalandon, Histoire de la domination normande en Italie et en Sicile. Paris 1907 (repr.. New York 1960), vol. I, 226–257, 274–279 – R. Bünemann, Robert Guiskard 1015–1085. Ein Normanne erobert Süditalien. Köln–Weimar–Wien 1997, 79ff.; G. A. Loud, The Age of Robert Guiscard: Southern Italy and the Norman Conquest. Singapore 2000, 186–208. 37 Anna Komnene I, 13.1–8 (43, 80–46, 85 Reinsch – Kambylis). 38 Anna Komnene I, 13.7 (45, 51–55 Reinsch – Kambylis): ὁ δὲ κατάπτυστος οὗτος πάπας (οὐδὲ γὰρ ἔχω τι ποτ’ ἂν ἄλλο τοῦτον ἐπονομάζειν τὴν ἀπάνθρωπον ἐκείνην ὕβριν ἐνθυμηθεῖσα τὴν εἰς τοὺς πρέσβεις) μετὰ πνευματικῆς χάριτος καὶ εὐαγγελικῆς εἰρήνης ἐπὶ τὸν πόλεμον ὁ δεσπότης ἐχώρει ὅλῃ γνώμῃ και ὅλαις χερσὶ τὸν ἐμφύλιον, ὁ είρηνικὸς ταῦτα καὶ τοῦ εἰρηνικοῦ μαθητής. On these events and the Investiture Controversy, see U.-R. Blumenthal, Der Investiturstreit. Stuttgart–Berlin–Köln– Mainz 1982 (engl. transl. Philadelphia 1988), 118–146 (with literature); H. E. J. Cowdrey, Pope Gregory VII, 1073–1085. New York 1998, 91–270. 39 See previous note. 40 Anna Komnene X, 7.3, (302, 87–89 Reinsch – Kambylis): ... ὁ κύριος ἡμῶν Οὖβος ὅσον ἤδη καταλαμβάνει ἀναλαβόμενος ἀπὸ Ῥώμης τὴν χρυσῆν τοῦ ἁγίου Πέτρου σημαίαν, ἀρχηγὸν δὲ τοῦτον ἐπίστασο τοῦ φραγγικοῦ στρατεύματος ἅπαντος. 41 Erdmann, Origin 182–187, 199–200. Also see Flori, Guerre sainte, 163–173. 42 Niketas Choniates 416, 29–417, 50 and 68, 74–70, 42 (Van Dieten), respectively. For more on Byzantine authors’ knowledge of the crusade ideology and practice (the term “soldiers of Christ”, the symbolic act of taking the cross, the relation between crusade and pilgrimage), see in Kolia-Dermitzaki, Kreuzfahrer, 174–184; Eadem, Iter Hierosolymitanum – Ἐς Παλαιστίνην πορεία 80– 82. 43 Kolia-Dermitzaki, Kreuzfahrer; Eadem, Συνάντηση. Cf. P. Charanis, Aims of the Medieval Crusades and How They Were Viewed by Byzantium. Church History 21 (1952) 123–134 ( = Idem: Social, Economic and Political Life in the Byzantine Empire. London 1973, XV]; W. Daly, Christian Fraternity, the Crusaders and the Security of Constantinople, 1097–1204: The Precarious Sur-

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In addition, from the point of view of the texts of anti-Latin polemic, it seems that there is no comment concerning the leading role of the Pope in launching the crusades; in general “a survey of religious discussions with and polemic against the Latins from the middle of the eleventh century through the end of the empire unearthed no reasoned refutation of the idea of Holy War and no theological discourses against such Western innovations as the crusade indulgence or monastic knights”44. The situation is similar in the text of the “Grievances against the Latin Church” (Αἰτιάματα τῆς λατινικής Εκκλησίας), a folk type of text, composed after the capture of 1204, between 1204 and 1213, by the archbishop of Kyzikos Konstantinos Stilbes, which focuses on information and details that turn out to be a libel and a caricature, according to J. Darrouzès45. The only – even in this kind of text – accusation concerns the fact that the pope – as the head of their Church – did not reprove the crusaders of the Fourth Crusade46. In general, there is no comment on the crusade as a movement, while on the contrary, there are many negative judgments pertaining to active participation of bishops in the war against “Christians” (the author means, of course, the Byzantines and the siege of Constantinople)47. In a few words, his main objection concerning the crusade lies not in the conception of a war against non-Christians proclaimed by the head and being under the auspices of the (Roman) Church, but in the fact that it turned against the people of the Christian empire. The narrative sources pay no attention to the official confirmation of the remission of sins by the Church of Rome. A typical example again derives from Anna Komnene, who certainly does not ignore it, as well as the other two historians, mentioned above. Only in the case of the text of Konstantinos Stilbes – that, as I have already mentioned, was composed after 1204 – there exist some references concerning the offer of salvation indiscriminately to those who were killed, even if they fell “fighting for greed, bloodthirstiness or other excessive evil”48. However, the specific references must be associated with the acts of the crusaders, who unleashed violent treatment against the orthodox Christians during the capture of 1204. Furthermore, we should also take into account the fact that the argumentation does not refer only to the remission granted due to death during the military campaign. The objections concern mainly the reasons why this was obtained – according to the Byzantine writer –, since these reasons cannot be affiliated with Christian morale. According to what has been outlined above, one can reach the conclusion that the Byzantines showed no interest in the fact that the head of the Church of Rome was in command of the crusade. Also, it is obvious that the prospect of ensuring eternal life through the participation in the crusade was a matter to which they paid no attention. As far as the first issue is concerned, it is – I think – hazardous to attempt to give an explanation, given the lack of any concrete evidence49. So, we have to confine ourselves to – merely – underlining this really important ascertainment.













vival of an Ideal. Medieval Studies 22 (1960) 43–91; E. Jeffreys – M. Jeffreys, The wild beast from the West, in: The Crusades from the Perspective of Byzantium and the Muslim World, 101–116 (studying the relevant testimony for the Second Crusade given by poems of the Manganeios Prodromos). For the impact of the Norman invasions upon the shaping of the Byzantines’ mistrust towards the crusaders and the Latins in general, see A. Kolia-Dermitzaki, The Norman Factor in the Gradual Alienation of East and West, in: The Fourth Crusade Revisited. Atti della Conferenza Internazionale nell’ottavo centenario della IV Crociata, Andros, 27–30 maggio 2004 ( = Pontifico Comitato di Scienze Storiche, Atti e Documenti 25), ed. P. Piatti. Città del Vaticano 2008, 32–53. 44 T. M. Kolbaba, Byzantine Perceptions of Latin Religious ‘Errors’: Themes and Changes from 850 to 1350, in: The Crusades from the perspective of Byzantium and the Muslim world, 117–143, here 118. 45 J. Darrouzès, Le Mémoire de Constantin Stilbès contre les Latins. RÉB 21 (1963) 50–100, here 100 (edition of the text with French translation: 61–91). 46 As above, paragr. 98 (Ἐπὶ πᾶσι δὲ τούτοις τοῖς παρανομηθεῖσιν ὑπὸ τοῦ στρατιωτικοῦ πρὸς τε Θεὸν καὶ ἀνθρώπους οὐδεμία τις ἐπιτίμησις παρὰ τῆς κατ’ αὐτοὺς ἱερᾶς ἐκκλησίας πρὸς τοὺς παρανομήσαντας, εἰ μὴ καὶ πᾶν τοὐναντίον, ὅθεν καὶ ἀναγκαίως συνάγεται ὡς καὶ τὸ αὐτῶν ἱερατικὸν τοῖς τηλικούτοις άτοπήμασιν εὐδοκεῖ καὶ τῷ αὐτῷ λοιπὸν ὑπόκειται κρίματι). 47 As above, paragr. 38 and 94; cf. paragr. 60 (Ταῖς σφαγαῖς τῶν χριστιανῶν ἐπευδοκοῦσιν οἱ τούτων ἀρχιερεῖς καὶ μᾶλλον ὁ Πάπας καὶ σωτηρίους τοῖς δρῶσιν αὐτὰς ἀποφαίνονται). 48 As above, paragr. 60 (see previous note), 61 (Τοὺς εξ αὐτῶν ἐν πολέμοις κτεινομένους σεσωσμένους δοξάζουσι καὶ κατευθὺ λέγουσιν ἐλαύνειν τοῦ παραδείσου, κἂν διὰ πλεονεξίαν ἢ μιαιφονίαν ἤ τινα κακίας ἑτέραν ὑπερβολὴν μαχόμενοι). See also Kolbaba, Fighting for Christianity, 217–218. For a different point of view, see Stouraitis, Jihād and Crusade, 49–52. 49 P. Stephenson, Anna Comnena’s Alexias as a Source of the Second Crusade? Journal of Medieval History 29 (2003) 41–54, here 50–51, suggests that the silence of Anna regarding the role of Urban II in preaching the crusade and the presence of his legate, Adhémar de Monteil, should be attributed to her intention “to diminish the spiritual side of the crusade”. This would have been a plausible explanation, if: a) she had considered the role of the pope as the preacher and the head of the crusade praiseworthy,

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In terms of the second attitude of the Byzantines, there is – to my mind – a simple explanation. It is particularly related to the fact that the Byzantines were already provided with assurances for eternal life by the political authority50, and sometimes by people of the Church51. An example of the latter case is a letter addressed by patriarch Nikolaos I Mystikos (901–907, 912–925) to the General of the theme of Longibardia in response to his victory at Garigliano, in 915, during the war against the Arabs. In this letter he wished to him: “I pray unceasingly that your strategic virtue may be illuminated by achievements yet greater than these, so that through your exploits His Divine Name may be magnified, ... and that you may in this life receive as the





b) she had not later on expressed her strong opposition to the practices of the Latin Church and the bearing of arms by its clergy (an attitude recognized by the same scholar, 51–53). In this context, the mentioning of the calling of the crusade by the head of the Church of Rome coloured with the proper hints or sarcastic remarks (as the above-mentioned) by the pen of the skillful Byzantine writer, would have been additional means to diminish the very notion of the crusade as a war declared for God and his Churches, if she had had such an intention. However, even if one could explain Anna’s attitude in this way, it is difficult to find an explanation for the rest of the Byzantine sources. On Anna Komnene, cf. R. D. Thomas, Anna Comnena’s Account of the First Crusade. History and Politics in the Reigns of the Emperors Alexius I and Manuel I Comnenus. BMGS 15 (1991) 269–312, here 283–284, for a different explanation. 50 For example, see the harangue delivered by the general Justinian to the army that was about to fight against the Persians, in Melitene in the year 575: Σήμερον ὑμᾶς στρατολογοῦσιν ἄγγελοι, καὶ τὰς τῶν τεθνεώτων ψυχὰς ἀναγράφονται, οὐ μισθὸν ἰσοστάσιον αὐταῖς παρεχόμενοι, ἀλλ’εἰς τὸ ἀπειροπλάσιον ὑπεραίροντες τῇ ὁλκῇ τοῦ δωρήματος (Theophylaktos Simokattes III 13 [ed. C. de Boor – P. Wirth, Theophylacti Simocattae Historiae. Stuttgart 1972, 137, 15–24, 138, 14–17]): “today angels are recruiting you and are recording the souls of the dead, providing for them not a corresponding recompense, but one that infinitely exceeds in the weight of the gift” (transl. by M. Whitby – Mary Whitby, The History of Theophylact Simocatta. Oxford 1986, 93–94); two harangues of Herakleios to his army – fighting against the Zoroastrian Persians – in the third decade of the 7th century: a) Οὐκ ἔστιν ἄμισθος ὁ κίνδυνος, ἀλλ’ αἰωνίου ζωῆς πρόξενος (Theophanes [ed. C. de Boor, Theophanis Chronographia. Leipzig 1883], 307, 3–13): “The danger is not without recompense: nay, it leads to the eternal life” (trans. by C. Mango – R. Scott, The Chronicle of Theophanes Confessor. Oxford 1997, 439); b) Θύσωμεν οὖν τῷ Θεῷ ἑαυτοὺς ὑπὲρ τῆς τῶν άδελφών ἡμῶν σωτηρίας. Λάβωμεν στέφος μαρτύρων, ἵνα καὶ ὁ μέλλων ἡμᾶς χρόνος ἐπαινέσῃ, καὶ ὁ Θεὸς τοὺς μισθοὺς ἀποδώσῃ (Theophanes 310, 27–311, 2 [De Boor]): “So let us sacrifice ourselves to God for the salvation of our brothers. May we win the crown of martyrdom, so that we may be praised in the future and receive our recompense from God” (trans. by C. Mango – R. Scott, 442–443)], whose source must have been the poem of Herakleios’ contemporary Georgios Pisides, Heracliadis III acroaseos fragmenta (ed. A. Pertusi, Giorgio di Pisidia, Poemi, I, Panegirici epici. Ettal 1959, 276–292, here 3.1–10, pp. 276–277 and 6.1–3, p. 279), according to P. Speck, Das geteilte Dossier. Beobachtungen zu den Nachrichten über die Regierung des Kaisers Herakleios und die seiner Söhne bei Theophanes und Nikephoros (Poikila Byzantina 9). Bonn 1988, 129 with n. 238. For a closer analysis of the above citations and more examples, mainly from the military treatises (the Taktika) and imperial lettersharangues, see Kolia-Dermitzaki, ‘Holy War’, 157–158, 165, 174–176, 244, 248–251. I would like to underline here that, regarding the view maintained by some scholars, that this is simply a meaningless rhetoric not actually proving a recognition of the fallen soldiers as martyrs, I shall quite agree with the second half of this statement, i.e. the issue of their official recognition as martyrs by the Church; besides, I was the first to underline this parameter (as above, 355f, 391f). But, I do not accept that the testimony of those sources has no substance as an indication of a “holy war” notion – not of a holy war institution as the crusade grew to be. On the contrary, if seen in the context of all the other evidence offered by a variety of sources, it shows a society quite familiar with the idea of a war proclaimed – in certain periods and against certain non-believing opponents – for the sake of faith, with a promise of salvation next to secular benefits. 51 The most important evidence – in my opinion – is the existence of three 10th-century divine liturgies, one of which is entitled: “Liturgy chanted in order to send off the army and provide (divine) assistance to it” ( Ἀκολουθία ψαλλομένη ἐπὶ κατευοδώσει καὶ συμμαχίᾳ στρατοῦ [ed. A Pertusi, Una acolouthia militare inedita del X secolo. Aevum 22 [1948] 145–168]). What is really amazing is the content of this ecclesiastic text, which expresses the Byzantine notion of “holy war”, as I have described it above. Even more, in the second text, a liturgy dedicated to all the dead Christians and “... to those dead in war or in captivity, generals, commanders and soldiers” (… εἰς τοὺς ἐν πολέμοις καἰ δεσμοῖς θανέντας στρατηγούς, ταξιάρχας καὶ στρατιώτας [ed. Th. Detorakis – J. Mossay, Un office byzantin inédit pour ceux qui sont mort à la guerre, dans Cod.Sin. Gr. 734–735. Le Muséon 101 [1988] 183–211]), indulgence and martyrdom is referred to explicitly: The “Romans” who died fighting for God, Christian faith and fellow-Christians or in captivity for His sake, often called soldiers of Christ, gained eternal life according to the second ode. Further on, there is a petition to God asking the remission of their sins, because their deeds were equal to those of martyrs (Μετόχους ἀνάδειξον / σκηνωμάτων φωταυγῶν, / ἁμαρτιῶν ἀφέσεως / τοὺς ἐν πολέμοις, σῶτερ, καὶ ἐν εἰρκταῖς / πιστῶς τελευτήσαντες / εὐλαβούμενος τούτων τὴν εὐσέβειαν … / Ἵλεως ἔσο, σωτήρ μου, / τοῖς ἡμῶν ὁμοφύλοις /τοῖς ἐν πολέμοις καὶ δεσμοῖς / θανοῦσιν / υπὲρ σοῦ / καὶ πταισμάτων δίδου τὴν ἀπολύτρωσιν … [as above, ll. 215–220, ll. 339–343] and Στρατεύματά σου, παμβασιλεῦ, / τὰ προκινδυνεύσαντα τῆς σῆς πίστεώς τε καὶ ὀνόματος / ταῖς τῶν πρωτοτόκων / σκηναῖς κατάταξον, / ἐφάμιλλα μαρτύρων ὡς χρηματίσαντα [as above, ll. 179–185]). For a further analysis of those texts, see Kolia-Dermitzaki, ‘Holy War’ 252–259; cf. Dennis, Defenders, n. 15, who – I think – downgrades the meaning of the liturgies when he considers them to be simple prayers; Idem, Religious Services in the Byzantine Army, in: Eulogema: Studies in Honor of Robert Taft S.J. (Studia Anselmiana 110). Rome 1993, 107–117.

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fruits of your labours yet greater honours ..., and in the life to come may be granted the common reward of all those who strive for Christ our God and His glory”52. Apparently, the notion that martial achievements in a military conflict against non-Christians provided not only secular recompenses given by the emperor, but also post-mortem ones granted by God must have been well-spread in the Eastern Empire and not incomprehensible and unthinkable53 to the people and the secular and ecclesiastical authorities. The fact that the Byzantines were constantly involved in military conflicts does not mean that for them peace was not an ideal situation or an objective for both government and people. This is apparent in numerous reports, including, for example, the anonymous speech on peace with the Bulgars in 927 and the letters of Nikolaos Mystikos to both the Bulgarian leader Simeon and to the Arab caliph54. As I have already expressed my opinion elsewhere55, peace is an ideal situation; war must be avoided, since peace may be achieved through diplomacy. War is however essential when the Byzantines must defend the rights of their Empire, which rely upon their view of it as a successor of the Roman Empire. As a result, in any case the war is theoretically defensive as well as the means which will ultimately lead to peace. When a war is conducted against non-Christians, who have offended the Christian religion and mistreated the Christians, though it might – from a strategic point of view – be an offensive one, it is theoretically defensive; if, at the same time, this war bears most of the specific – already mentioned – attributes of a war which in the current literature is characterized as Holy, then this type of Byzantine war can be also clearly classified as a subcategory of the Just War just like the crusades are (since all Holy Wars are per se just)56, and not simply a Just War. As a final conclusion we can sustain, in the first place, that the notion of the crusade did not urge the Byzantines to express an objection; their stance towards its conception was rather that of indifference (as it is proved by the lack of criticism of this concept as a whole) and to its practice, that of mistrust regarding the real aim of their enterprise57. In the second, but equally important, that the study of the whole modern literature regarding the subject of the Byzantine “holy war” showed that all the scholars examined almost the same existing sources, each one pointing out different aspects based on how he/she defines the notion of Holy War and its relevance to Just War, interpreting the sources under this viewpoint. Two quotations by eminent scholars will prove the truth of this statement. According to the first one (T. Kolbaba), “The Christian Roman Empire, with God’s vicar anointed at its head, did God’s work on earth. Its soldiers therefore fought for God when they fought to protect or to expand the empire. It seems illogical to dismiss all of this as not really Holy War”. Recognition of a similar – if not the same – ideology that urged the Byzantines to decide on and wage a war, led J. Haldon to quite an opposite conclusion: “Thus it is precisely because the Byzantines fought under the symbol of the Cross, and because they saw themselves as soldiers of Christ fighting to preserve God’s kingdom on earth, that no theory or doctrine of ‘holy war’ evolved. Warfare was almost by definition of a religious character, since the East Roman Empire was the sole orthodox polity fighting to preserve and extend the Christian faith” 58. Nikolaos Mystikos, ep. 44, (ed. R. J. H. Jenkins – L. G. Westerink, Nicholas I Patriarch of Constantinople. Letters [CFHB VI]. Washington D.C. 1973, 262, 6–12): εὐχόμενοι διὰ παντὸς καὶ ἔτι μείζοσι κατορθώμασι λαμπρύνεσθαι τὴν σὴν στρατηγικὴν ἀρετήν, ὥστε διὰ τῶν σῶν ἀνδραγαθημάτων τὸ θεῖον ὄνομα μεγαλύνεσθαι … καὶ ἐν τῷ παρόντι βίῳ καρποὺς τῶν ἰδίων πόνων τὰς μείζονας τιμάς ... καὶ ἐν τῷ μέλλοντι αἰωνι τῆς κοινῆς καταξιωθῆναι τῶν ὑπὲρ τοῦ Χριστοῦ καὶ θεοϋ ἡμῶν καὶ τῆς ἐκείνου δόξης ἀγωνιζομένων ἀντιδόσεως (English translation by Jenkins – Westerink). Cf. ep. 80 and 144 to the same general. About the identity of the recipient of the letter (probably Nikolaos Picingli) and the battle, see A. Kolia-Dermitzaki, Το εμπόλεμο Βυζάντιο στις ομιλίες και τις επιστολές του 10ου και 11ου αι. Μία ιδεολογική προσέγγιση, in: Byzantium at War (9th–12th century) (NHRF/ IBR, International Symposia 4). Athens 1997, 213–238, n. 44. 53 Canard, Guerre sainte; Lemerle, Byzance et la croisade; Dennis, Defenders. 54 Alkmene Stavridou-Zafraka, O ανώνυμος λόγος ‘ἐπὶ τῇ τῶν Βουλγάρων συμβάσει’ Byzantina 8 (1976) 343–406; I. Dujčev, On the Treaty of 927 with the Bulgarians. DOP 32 (1978) 219–295 (text 288–295); Nikolaos Mystikos, ep. 3, 5–15, 14–31 and 2, respectively. Cf. the letter of Arethas (no 31) to the emperor Romanus I Lecapenus. On the significance of the peace for the Byzantines, see Kolia-Dermitzaki, Εμπόλεμο Βυζάντιο 221–225, 238. Cf. Stouraitis, Krieg und Frieden, 204–208 and passim, who – regarding another aspect of the notion of peace – is right giving to the Byzantine concept the context of pax byzantina. 55 As above. 56 Tyerman, Fighting for Christianity, 103. Cf. 118, 119 and passim (the author considers the crusade as a subcategory of Holy – not of Just War). 57 See here, n. 43. 58 Kolbaba, Fighting for Christianity 210; Haldon, Warfare 32.

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So, I am afraid that we have to conclude that a definition of Holy War which would be accepted once and for all will never be achieved59. Thus, if we cannot agree on defining the notion of Holy War – since there are no clear-cut limits between Holy and Just – it is far more difficult to reach an agreement regarding the Byzantine wars bearing the special characteristics referred to above. To some of us, they will always be Just Wars, to others a particular kind of Holy War, unless we can find another definition for them; a definition that would underline the fact that the Holy War is a subcategory of the Just War.

Cf. Kolbaba, Fighting for Christianity 202.

59

Selected Bibliography Note: The abbreviated titles in the footnotes are following the list of abbreviations in the Jahrbuch der Österreichischen Byzantinistik (JÖB): www.oeaw.ac.at/byzanz/sig.pdf Becker A., Papst Urban II. (1088–1099), Teil 2: Der Papst, die griechische Christenheit und der Kreuzzug (Monumenta Germaniae Historica 19, II). Stuttgart 1988 Bonner M., Jihad in Islamic History: Doctrines and Practice. Princeton, N. J. 2006 Brundage J. A., The Crusades, ‘Holy War’ and Canon Law (Variorum). Norfolk 1991 Byzantium at War (9th–12th c.) (NHRF/ΙΒR, International Symposia 4). Athens 1997 Carile A., La guerra santa nella Romania (Impero Romano d’Oriente) secoli VII–XI, in: Guerra santa, guerra e pace dal vicino oriente antico alle tradizioni ebraica, cristiana e islamica, ed. M. Perani. Bologna 2005, 251–261 Cheynet J.-Cl., La guerre sainte à Byzance au moyen Âge: un malentendu, in: Regards croisés sur la guerre sainte. Guerre, religion et idéologie dans l‘espace méditerranéen latin (XIe-XIIIe siècle), Colloque international de la Casa de Velásquez, Madrid 11–13 avril 2005, ed. D. Baloup – Ph. Josserand. Toulouse 2006, 13–32 Cheynet J.-Cl., Légitimer la guerre à Byzance. Mélanges de l’Université Saint-Joseph 62 (2009) 1–19 Chrysos E., Ο πόλεμος έσχατη λύση, in: Βυζάντιο – Κράτος και Κοινωνία. Μνήμη Νίκου Οικονομίδη. Athens 2003, 543–563 Cook D., Understanding Jihad. Berkeley – Los Angeles – London 2005 Cowdrey H. E. J., The Reform Papacy and the Origins of the Crusades, in: Le concile de Clermont de 1095 et l’appel à la croisade (Collection de l’École française de Rome 236). Rome 1997, 65–83 Dagron G., Byzance entre le djihâd et la croisade: quelques remarques, in: Le Concile de Clermont de 1095 et l’appel à la croisade (Collection de l’École franҫaise de Rome 236). Rome 1997, 325–337 Dagron G., Byzance et la modèle islamique au Xe siècle. À propos des Constitutions Tactiques de l’Empereur Léon VI. Comptes rendus de séances de l’Académie des Inscriptions et Belles Lettres 127 (1983) 219–243 Dennis G. T., Defenders of the Christian People: ‘Holy war’ in Byzantium, in: The Crusades from the Perspective of Byzantium and the Muslim World, ed. A. Laiou – R. P. Mottahedeh. Washington, D. C. 2001, 31–39 Firestone R., Jihad. The Origin of ‘Holy War’ in Islam. New York 1999 Flaig E., ‘Heiliger Krieg’. Auf der Suche nach einer Typologie. Historische Zeitschrift 285/2 (2007), 265–301 Flori J., La guerre sainte. La formation de l’idée de croisade dans l’Occident chrétien. Paris 2001 Haldon J. F., Blood and Ink: Some observations on byzantine attitudes towards warfare and diplomacy, in: Byzantine Diplomacy, Papers from the Twenty-fourth Spring Symposium of Byzantine Studies. Cambridge, March 1990, ed. J. Shepard – S. Franklin. Aldershot 1992. 281–295 Haldon J. F., Warfare, State and Society in the Byzantine World 565–1204. London 1999 Heck P. L., Jihad Revisited. Journal of Religious Ethics 32 (2004) 95–128 Hehl E.-D., Was ist eigentlich ein Kreuzzug? Historische Zeitschrift 259 (1994) 297–336 Hiestand R., ‘Gott will es!’ – Will Gott es wirklich? Die Kreuzzugsidee in der Kritik ihrer Zeit (Beiträge zur Friedensethik, Bd. 29). Stuttgart – Berlin – Köln 1998, 5–16; Kelsay J. –Johnson J. T. eds., Just War and Jihad. Historical and Theoretical Perspectives on War and Peace in Western and Islamic Traditions. Westport, CT 1991 Kolbaba T. M., Fighting for Christianity. ‘Holy war’ in the Byzantine Empire. Byz 68 (1998) 194–221 Kolia-Dermitzaki A., Die Kreuzfahrer und die Kreuzzüge im Sprachgebrauch der Byzantiner. JÖB 41 (1991) 163–188 Kolia–Dermitzaki A., Ο βυζαντινός ‘ιερός πόλεμος’. Η έννοια και η προβολή του θρησκευτικού πολέμου στο Βυζάντιο (Ιστορικές Μονογραφίες 10). Athens 1991 Laiou A., On Just War in Byzantium, in: To Hellenikon. Studies in Honor of SperosaVryonis Jr.. New Rochelle 1993, 153–177 Laiou A., The Just War of Eastern Christians and the ‘Holy War’ of the Crusade, in: The Ethics of War. Shared Problems in Different Traditions, ed. R. Sorabji – D. Rodin. Oxford 2006, 30–43 Lehtonen T. M. S. – Jensen K. V. eds., Medieval History Writing and Crusading Ideology (Studia Fennica Historica 9). Tampere 2005 Miller T. S. – Nesbitt J. eds., Peace and War in Byzantium. Essays in Honour of G.T. Dennis, S.J.. Washington 1995 Nichanian M., De la guerre ‘antique’ à la guerre ‘médiévale’ dans l’empire romain d’orient, in: Guerre et Société au Moyen Âge, Byzance – Occident (VIIIe – XIIIe siècle) (Monographies 31), ed. D. Barthelemy – J.-Cl. Cheynet. Paris 2010, 27–41 Oikonomides N., The concept of ‘holy war’ and two tenth-century Byzantine ivories, in: Peace and War in Byzantium. Essays in Honor of G. T. Dennis S. J., ed. T. S. Miller – J. Nesbitt. Washington, D. C. 1995, 62–86

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Pitsakis K., Guerre et paix en droit byzantin. Méditerranées 30/31 (2002) 203–232 Riley-Smith J., The First Crusade and the idea of Crusading. Philadelphia 1986 Schreiner K. – Müller-Luckner E. eds., Heilige Kriege. Religiöse Begründungen militärischer Gewaltanwendung: Judentum, Christentum und Islam im Vergleich (Schriften des Historischen Kollegs 78). Munich 2008 Steffen L., Holy War, Just War. Exploring the Moral Meaning of Religious Violence. New York 2007 Stephenson P., Imperial Christianity and Sacred War in Byzantium, in: Belief and Bloodshed. Religion and Violence across Time and Tradition, ed. J. K. Wellman, Jr.. New York 2007, 81–93 Stephenson P., Religious services for Byzantine soldiers and the possibility of martyrdom, c. 400–1000 C. E., in: Just Wars, Holy Wars, Jihads, ed. S. Hashmi. Oxford 2012 Stouraitis I., Krieg und Frieden in der politischen und ideologischen Wahrnehmung in Byzanz (7.–11. Jahrhundert) (Byzantinische Geschichtsschreiber, Ergänzungsband 5). Vienna 2009 Stouraitis I. , Methodologische Überlegungen zur Frage des byzantinischen ‘heiligen’ Krieges. BSl 67 (2009) 269–290. Stouraitis I., Jihād and Crusade: Byzantine positions towards the notions of ‘holy war’. Byzantina Symmeikta 21 (2011) 11–62 Stouraitis I., ‘Just War’ and ‘Holy War’ in the Middle Ages: Rethinking Theory through the Byzantine Case-Study. JÖB 62 (2012) Stoyanov Y., Defenders and Enemies of the True Cross. The Sasanian Conquest of Jerusalem in 614 and Byzantine Ideology of Anti-Persian Warfare (Öster. Akad. d. Wiss., Phil.-Hist. Klasse, Sitzungsberichte 819). Vienna 2011 Strässle P. M., Krieg und Frieden in Byzanz. Byz 74 (2004) 110–129 Treadgold W., Byzantium, the Reluctant Warrior, in: Noble Ideals and Bloody Realities. Warfare in the Middle Ages, ed. N. Christie – M. Yazigi. Leiden – Boston 2006, 209–233 Trombley F. R., War, Society and Popular Religion in Byzantine Anatolia (6th–13th centuries), in: Byzantine Asia Minor, ed. St. Lampakis (NHRF/IBR, International Symposia 6). Athens 1998, 97–139

Index Abbasids 17, 18, 25, 42, 43, 45 Abd al-Hamid bin Yahya 42 Adaloald 27 Adrianople 73, 110, 111, 118 Africa 23, 24, 28, 29, 30, 111 North Africa 22, 23, 28 Alexander the Great 15, 61, 63, 64, 66, 84 Alexandria 30, 113, 114, 120 Alexius I Comnenus 13, 69, 70, 72, 73, 74, 75, 76, 78, 79 Alexius III Angelos 93, 94, 96, 126 Alexius IV Angelos 94, 95, 96 Alexius V Mourtzouphlos 94, 95 Alexius, protosebastos 126 Ambrose 124 Amida 114 Andronicus II Palaeologus 100, 102, 103, 117, 127 Andronicus III Palaeologus 104 Anna Comnena 7, 45, 69, 70, 71, 72, 73, 74, 75, 76, 77, 78, 79, 80, 128, 129, 130 Anonymus Byzantinus  see Syrianus Magister Antioch 112, 113, 118, 120, 126 Apameia 127 Arethas of Caesarea 126 Arioald 27 Aristotle 70 Artavasdus 7, 33, 34, 38, 39 Asia Minor 11, 13, 14, 73, 79, 82, 85, 86, 99, 107, 111, 114, 116, 119, 123 Athanasius of Alexandria 11, 102 Augustine 11, 59, 70, 124 Avars 36, 114, 116 Basil II 86 Basilika 116 Basil Lecapenus 47, 48 Basil of Caesarea 33, 85, 102 bellum  see war Bogomils 45 Bohemund of Taranto 70, 77 Bulgaria 102, 103, 116, 131 Bulgars 36, 37, 131 Cappadocia 116 Charlemagne 60, 63, 64, 67 Charles I of Anjou 100, 101 Cherson 28, 115 Christianity 10, 44, 58, 67, 122 Cicero 70, 124 circus factions  see demes civilians 24, 25, 101, 102, 109, 110, 111, 112, 113, 114, 115, 116, 117, 118, 119, 120, 122 Constans II 7, 18, 21, 22, 23, 24, 27, 28

Constantine IV 22, 31 Constantine the Great 9, 14, 36, 55, 56, 67, 109 Constantine V 7, 33, 36, 37, 38, 39 Constantine VI 34, 37, 38, 39 Constantine VII Porphyrogennetos 7, 47, 49, 50, 51, 52, 53, 54, 55, 56, 125 Constantinople 9, 10, 11, 14, 22, 27, 28, 29, 30, 31, 33, 34, 36, 37, 39, 42, 43, 44, 53, 55, 66, 69, 73, 75, 77, 80, 87, 88, 90, 91, 92, 93, 94, 95, 96, 97, 99, 101, 102, 106, 107, 111, 112, 113, 114, 115, 116, 117, 118, 123, 127, 129 crusade 8, 13, 18, 42, 44, 45, 81, 82, 83, 84, 85, 86, 92, 121, 122, 124, 127, 128, 129, 130, 131 crusaders 13, 85, 86, 90, 91, 92, 96, 99, 101, 121, 127, 128 crusader states 82 First Crusade 69, 77, 127, 128 Fourth Crusade 14, 129 Heraclius 18, 19 Manuel I 7, 81, 82, 83, 86 Second Crusade 86 Third Crusade 127 Cyprus 99, 103, 104 Damascus 22, 23, 25, 85 dār al-h. arb 41, 45 dār al-islām 41, 45 dār as-salām 41 demes 8, 113, 114, 115, 118, 120 Demetrius Cydones 104 Devol, treaty of 76, 77, 78 Digenes Akritis 123 Digenis Akritis 42, 43, 44, 123 dikaios polemos  see war, just war Diocletian 36, 55, 109, 110, 115 diplomacy 10, 11, 18, 20, 21, 24, 25, 66, 78, 104, 106, 131 Dorylaion 81, 82, 83, 86 ecumenical  see Oecumene Edessa 23, 33, 55, 114 Eleutherius, Exarch of Italy 27 Epirus 99, 103, 104, 105, 106 Eusebius of Caesarea 55, 125 Eustathius of Thessaloniki 81, 83, 125, 126 fatherland 66, 103, 106, 107, 124 Franks 58, 60, 63, 64, 87 Frederick Barbarossa 82 ġāzī 42, 43, 44 gens 59, 61, 63, 66 George Akropolites 89, 104 ğihād  see Jihad Gospels 9, 54

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Index

Gregory of Nazianzos 55, 125 Gregory VII, Pope 128 Henry I 58, 64, 65 Henry II Plantagenet 83 Henry IV 128 Heraclius 7, 18, 19, 20, 21, 24, 27, 30, 35, 41, 43, 110 Heraclius Constantine 18 Holy Cross 82, 127 Holy Land 13, 82, 86, 127 holy warrior 7, 18, 19, 21, 43, 45 martys 7 šahīd 7, 43 Hugues de Vermandois 128 Iconoclasm 7, 33, 34, 35, 36, 37, 38, 39, 44 Ignatius the Deacon 36 indulgence 127, 129, 130 Irene 34, 35, 38, 39 Isaac Comnenus, brother of Alexius I 72 Isaac, Exarch of Italy 27 Isaac II Angelos 89, 93, 94, 95, 96 Islam 13, 15, 17, 18, 21, 22, 23, 24, 41, 42, 43, 44, 45, 106, 121, 124, 125 Jerusalem 18, 82, 84, 92, 124 jihād 8, 13, 17, 19, 24, 25, 41, 42, 43, 124, 125 John Apocaucus 100, 102, 104, 105 John Chrysostom 85 John II Comnenus 13, 78, 79 John III Vatatzes 104 John Kinnamos 82, 128 John of Damascus 85 John VI Cantacuzenus 100, 102, 103, 104 John VIII Palaeologus 99 Jovian 111 Julian 36, 110 Julius Caesar 110 justification 9, 10, 11, 13, 33, 39, 60, 80, 100, 101, 103, 124 Justinian I 45, 86, 113, 114 Justinian II 18, 116 Justin II 127 Konstantinos Stilbes 129 Kosmas 7 Lebanon 86 Leo III 7, 33, 34, 36, 38, 39 Leo IV 34 Leo VI 12, 47, 51, 52, 71, 73, 74, 80, 99, 100, 101, 103, 126 Leo Tornicius 115 Libanius 85, 112 Lombards 7, 27, 28, 29, 30 Magyars 65, 67 Malik-Shah 79 Manuel I Comnenus 7, 13, 69, 70, 76, 77, 78, 81, 82, 121, 123, 130 Manuel II Palaeologus 99, 100 Maria Comnena 126 Maria (Xene) of Antioch 126 Martina 19

Martin I, Pope 24, 28, 29, 30 Maurice 115, 118, 120 Mehmed the Conqueror 14, 15, 117 Michael, Archangel 66 Michael the Syrian 82 Michael VIII Palaeologus 101, 104, 119 Milan 28, 47, 48, 49 militia 8, 109, 110, 111, 112, 113, 114, 115, 116, 117, 118, 119, 120 Moses 54, 55, 56 motherland 106 Movses Dasxuranci 22, 24 Mu’āewiya 20, 21, 22, 23, 24 muğāhid 42 Muhammad 14, 17, 19, 24, 41 Myriokephalon 81, 82, 83, 86 Naples 29 nation-building 57, 60 Naumachika 47 Nicaea 34, 35, 73, 88, 89, 99, 103, 104, 106, 126 Nicephorus Bryennius 72 Nicephorus Gregoras 100, 104 Nicephorus I 116 Nicephorus, Patriarch 28, 33, 34, 35, 36, 37, 38, 39 Nicetas Byzantius 13 Niketas Choniates 7, 82, 85, 87, 88, 89, 90, 91, 92, 93, 94, 95, 96, 97, 118, 126, 128 Nikolaos I Mystikos 126, 131 Normans 13, 63, 65, 72, 78, 115, 128, 129 Oecumene 9, 10, 14, 27, 29, 30, 31, 51, 74, 75, 76, 77, 78, 122 ecumenism 9, 14, 78, 80 Old Testament 10, 50, 53, 54, 55, 68, 85, 124, 125 Otto I 58, 59, 65, 66, 67 Ottomans 14, 44, 99, 102, 107 Ottonians 58, 59, 60, 62, 63, 64, 65, 67 Palestine 37, 84, 86, 122 Pavia 28 pax byzantina 14, 76, 131 pax islamica 41 Pax Romana 41 peace 7, 9, 10, 11, 14, 22, 41, 60, 62, 63, 65, 69, 70, 71, 72, 73, 74, 75, 76, 78, 79, 80, 82, 83, 89, 99, 100, 102, 103, 111, 123, 124, 128, 131 Peloponnese 104, 107 penance 67, 127 Phocas 27, 113 Plethon 117 polemos hieros  see war, sacred war Procopius of Caesarea 36, 44, 114 Rainier of Montferrat 126 rebellion 33, 35, 39, 112, 120 reconquista 11, 13, 14, 83 relics 53, 55, 64, 65, 82, 127 remission of sins 12, 122, 127, 129, 130 Roman Empire 9, 11, 23, 24, 27, 38, 65, 70, 74, 78, 79, 109, 110, 111, 113, 117, 120, 131, 132 Romanitas 75 Romanus I Lecapenus 131

Index Romanus IV Diogenes 79, 82 Rome 12, 13, 14, 19, 21, 28, 29, 30, 31, 44, 48, 66, 82, 95, 109, 110, 111, 112, 113, 115, 127, 128, 129, 130, 131 Rothari 27 ruling élite 7, 10, 11, 14, 69, 70, 71, 73, 75, 76, 77, 78, 80, 105, 118 Rum Sultanate 86 Saxons 57, 58, 59, 60, 61, 62, 63, 64, 65, 66, 67, 113 Sayf-al-dawla 50 Seljuks 7, 14, 73, 76, 78, 79, 81, 82, 83, 86 Sicily 21, 22, 23, 29, 30, 65 Slavs 28, 36, 41, 64, 65, 67, 114 Strategika 47 Strategikon 120 Sundarit, Lombard Duke 27 Synesius of Cyrene 112, 113, 118, 119 Syracuse 21, 22, 23, 28, 30 Syria 17, 34, 37, 42, 44, 86, 122 Syrianus Magister 47, 49, 50, 51, 52, 53, 54, 103, 116 Taktika 12 Tarasius, Patriarch 35, 36, 37, 38 Tarentum 28, 29 Theodore II Laskaris 104 Theodore Metochites 100 Theophanes (Confessor) 23, 28, 30, 31, 33, 34, 35, 36, 37, 38, 39, 116 Theophilus of Edessa 23 Thessaloniki 81, 87, 102, 104, 114, 115, 116, 117, 118, 119, 126 Thomas Magistros 100, 103, 118 Thomas the Slav 33 Thucydides 36, 125 Trebizond 99, 111 tyranny 106, 126

137

Umayyads 17, 23, 25, 41, 42, 45 Valens 36, 111 Vegetius 99 Vitalian, Pope 29 war

“holy war” 12, 19, 20, 81, 86, 122, 124, 125, 126, 131 bellum civile 60 bellum externum 60 bellum justum 59, 124 bellum publicum 60 bellum sacrum 124, 125 bellum universale 60 civil war 20, 22, 28, 33, 36, 38, 65, 99, 105, 120, 128 defensive war 10, 73, 74, 102, 103, 104 expansionary war 10, 14, 73, 78, 104 holy war 7, 8, 13, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 23, 24, 25, 81, 82, 85, 86, 121, 123, 124, 125, 126, 127, 129, 131, 132 jus ad bellum 13 just war 11, 12, 19, 69, 70, 73, 74, 75, 80, 102, 103, 123, 124, 127, 131, 132 limited war 102, 104 polemos stratiotikos 105 sacred war 20, 105, 126 total war 104 unlimited warfare 71 war ethic 13, 69 war ideology 7, 9, 11, 13, 14, 31, 73, 81, 85, 99 war mentality 70, 72, 75 warrior saints 45 Saint Demetrius 44 Saint George 44 Saint Theodore 44 William of Tyre 82

Verzeichnis der Autoren Prof. Dr. Panagiotis Antonopoulos University of Ioannina [email protected]

Dr. Christos G. Makrypoulias Independent scholar, Athens [email protected]

emer. Prof. Dr. Evangelos Chrysos University of Athens [email protected]

Prof. Dr. Athanasios Markopoulos University of Athens [email protected]

Dr. Olof Heilo Center for Middle Eastern Studies, University of Lund [email protected]

Dr. Doretta Papadopoulou National Research Foundation, Athens [email protected]

Prof. Dr. Walter E. Kaegi University of Chicago [email protected] emer. Prof. Dr. DDr. h. c. Johannes Koder University of Vienna [email protected] Prof. Dr. Athina Kolia-Dermitzaki University of Athens [email protected] Stergios Laitsos, MA University of Vienna [email protected]

Dr. Ioannis Stouraitis University of Vienna [email protected] Dr. Efstratia Synkellou Ionian University (Kerkyra) [email protected] Prof. Dr. Warren Treadgold Saint Louis University, Missouri [email protected]