Forging a United England

Yesterday's post mentioned Saint Nectan appearing in a vision ages after his death to give advice about the Battle of Brunanburh. The title of today's post may take a couple days to understand, but the events we are about to discuss led perhaps to the first time that the inhabitants of Great Britain considered "England" to be a united country. We start with Æthelstan, whom I once wrote about as the "Forgotten King."

Æthelstan (c.894 - 27 October 939) became king of the Anglo-Saxons in 927, the same year in which he defeated Vikings in York. That battle convinced several other kings— King Constantine II of Scotland, King Hywel Dda of Deheubarth (south Wales), Ealdred I of Bamburgh (in Northumbria), and King Owen I of Strathclyde (southern Scotland and northern England)—to accept Æthelstan as their "high king" or overlord.

Æthelstan invaded Scotland in 934 (according to monk and chronicler John of Worcester writing decades later, Scotland had violated the 927 agreement), traveling unhindered through the land as a show of force. After this, King Constantine apparently decided that an alliance was necessary to put Æthelstan in his place. Constantine, King of Dublin Olaf Guthfrithson, and Owen King of Strathclyde had all been enemies in the recent past, but made an alliance to conquer and carve up the rest of Great Britain. Constantine had married his daughter to Olaf to help forge the alliance. Olaf also claimed part of Northumbria, but Æthelstan had expelled him from it, so Olaf had several reasons to join.

In August 937, Olaf left Dublin to meet up with Owen and Constantine. The first harrowing of their enemy's territory would have started in the north and the northwest. We know no details. We do not even know where the final encounter took place. (The illustration shows several suggested locations based on place names or other suppositions.)

Despite this last detail, it was one of the most significant battles in English history, and the subject of a famous Anglo-Saxon poem. I'll tell you about the battle and the poem tomorrow.

Saint Nectan

Yesterday's post on Saint Endellion alluded to her siblings also being saints. One of them, her brother Nectan (c.468 - 510), had a life at least as interesting as hers.

Nectan was the oldest child of King Brychan of Brycheiniog, a 5th-century king in mid-Wales who had two dozen children by three wives. Inspired by the legend of the first hermit, St. Anthony, Nectan was determined to adopt an ascetic lifestyle. He left Wales and settled first in a forest at Hartland on the Devon coast, and years later in a remote valley where he built a chapel by a well (see illustration). His siblings were also very religious and interested in converting others to Christianity. Legend says the siblings all gathered at Nectan's place every year on New Year's Eve.

He is also linked to St. Nectan's Glen in Cornwall, near Tintagel, where it is claimed he would stand on the coast and ring a bell during stormy weather to warn ships they were getting too near the rocks. He also helped someone who lost their pigs. After helping find the pigs, Nectan was gifted with two cows. When the two cows were stolen from him, he tried to convert the robbers to Christianity.

The robbers were not having this, so they cut off his head. Nectan's body picked up the head and walked back to his own chapel before collapsing. One of the robbers went mad at the sight, but the other repented and buried the body. We are told (in a 12th-century Life of Nectan) that miracles took place at the gravesite.

Long after his martyrdom, Nectan appeared in a vision to a young man. In 937, on the eve of the Battle of Brunanburh, the soldiers were suffering from plague. In the vision, Nectan appeared and healed the young man with a touch. The next day, the man told King Æthelstan about the vision, and urge him to pray to God for victory. Æthelstan did so, and not only did he win the battle, but also the plague passed away.

The Reformation did away with the trappings of the Nectan shrine, but there are still churches dedicated to him. His feast day is 17 June.

If you clicked on the link about King Æthelstan, you would have seen the title "The Forgotten King." I have mentioned him before, but never gone into his crucial victory at the 10th-century Battle of Brunanburh. I'll tell you more tomorrow.

Saint Endellion

In 5th-century southern Wales we find the Kingdom of Brycheiniog (circled red on the map), ruled by King Brychan. Brychan had many children, one of whom was named Cenheidlon, whose Latinized name was Endellion.

At some point in her life she crossed the Bristol Channel to North Cornwall where her siblings were working to convert the local population to Christianity, stopping first at the Isle of Lundy to found a small chapel (the ruins are listed as a "Scheduled Monument"; it was later erroneously named "St. Helen" [link]). She then traveled to stay with her brother before moving on. Although she frequently went back to spend time in Lundy, she settled in Trentinney near what is now the town of St. Endellion.

She lived as a hermit, supposedly subsisting on nothing but the milk of a certain cow and water (there are two wells named for her near the town of Endellion). Her sister, also a saint, lived nearby. Where the two would occasionally meet to spend time together, it is said that the grass where they walked always grew more lush and green afterward. (If you are realizing that we strayed from historical record to legend, hang on: there's more to come.) A chapel where she lived was destroyed during the Reformation; only a bare foundation remains.

Her cow strayed into the herd of the Lord of Trentinney, who killed it. Legend says that her godfather, King Arthur, killed the Lord of Trentinney for killing the cow, but Endellion was so unhappy to have someone killed on her behalf that she restored the man to life.

The Church of St. Endellion in the town of St. Endellion is supposedly the site of her gave. Prior to her death, she asked that her burial site be chosen by putting her body on a sledge pulled by bullocks. The bullocks were to be given free rein, and wherever they stopped was where she should be buried. The bullocks stopped at the top of a hill. She was buried there and the Church of St. Endellion was built on the site.

I mentioned that her sister was also a saint, Saint Dilic. So was her brother. So was...well, the family was quite religious-minded, and I'll tell you more about them tomorrow.

Prebends and Prebendaries

How would you like to be given a stipend based on a job whose duties you would never have to perform? How about receiving the revenue from a place you'd never have to visit? Let us talk about prebends.

Members of secular churches, like monasteries, were supported by the rents paid by those using the land they possessed. A cathedral diocese had many such smaller churches attached to it, and each of those generated revenue from their property. In the 12th century, it became more common for an amount of money from such local revenue to be given as a grant to the local pastor. The Latin for "to grant" was præbere and in English the word prebend referred to this grant. The person receiving this grant was a prebendary.

As it happened, a prebend could be given to an official of the cathedral as a source of revenue, even though he never visited the church from which the revenue came or administered to the parishioners. (The church itself would be allowed what was necessary for administration; profit would go to the distant prebendary.) Bishops and archbishops gave prebends for faithful service.

One person could be granted several prebends, or a prebend even though he already had a position that supported him. Ralph Neville, one-time Chancellor of England, was Dean of Lichfield (head of the chapter of canons there) in the early 1200s, but also had a prebend in the diocese of London.

Prebends were largely abolished in England and Wales after Henry VIII's Reformation. Henry dissolved the collegiate churches in the same Act, but some survived by being associated and "hidden" in the administration of a university. Cornwall, however, managed to hang onto the prebendary system, and even has prebendaries to this day. The picture above is of the installation of three new prebendaries at the Church of Saint Endellion in Cornwall in 2012. [link]

Who was Saint Endellion? She is an entirely new name for this blog, and we haven't spent much time in Cornwall, so let's look at the life of this 5th century saint next time.

Collegiate Churches

In a more detailed discussion of the "origin" of the Shroud of Turin yesterday I mentioned that the place where it was originally displayed was a collegiate church established by Geoffroi de Charny. A collegiate church was not attached to a college, but was called that because of the collegial nature of those who lived there.

Before the Catholic Church set up the system of parishes so that every geographical area had a church with a pastor, some benefactors would set up their own places where priests could live and minister to the surrounding population. Another benefit/motivation was for the priests to pray for the souls of the founder and his family.

This was not the same as a monastery, although they were often referred to in England as "minsters" which derives from the Latin monasterium. The canons were what we would now call parish priests, not monks with a vow of poverty. In fact, each resident canon would receive a salary for their needs.

The financial support for the collegiate church was often an endowment by a wealthy patron, but could also be donations. Charny's no doubt intended to rely on donations from pilgrims who came to see the cloth that wrapped the body of Christ, and the purchase of souvenirs like the pilgrim badge shown yesterday. A collegiate church could also provide a hospital or school which would generate revenue.

Collegiate churches needed a set of rules to maintain order and explain the roles of different members, and they found a template in the works of Bishop Chrodegang of Metz. Chrodegang was chancellor to Charles Martel and instrumental in a spiritual revival in the Kingdom of the Franks. In 755 he wrote a Regula Canonicorum, "Rule for Canons," based on the Rule of St. Benedict, not for a monastic community but for secular clergy. Chrodegang's rule was popular for a time, even appearing in Ireland (a rule attributed to Máel Ruain looks like it was based on Chrodegang's). By the time that Charny was founding his church, Chrodegang's rule was being abandoned in favor of the Augustinian Rule first promoted by Augustine of Hippo.

Individual positions in a collegiate church could also be supported by a prebend, a gift of income from a specific source, such as a piece of property. For a more detailed explanation of prebends, come back tomorrow.

Once More, the Shroud

Geoffroi de Charny would probably be almost completely unknown to modern audiences but for this strange bit of trivia: he gave us the Shroud of Turin.

Geoffroi died in 1356 at the Battle of Poitiers, having spent a life distinguishing himself through his actions (since he was a younger son who stood to inherit nothing). He did so well that, in 1353, he was able to establish a collegiate church in Lirey near Troyes. Bishop of Troyes Henri de Poitiers approved the founding on 28 May 1356, about four months before Charny's death.

In 1390, the then-Bishop of Troyes wrote that a cloth bearing the imprint of Christ's crucified body was being displayed there, and that Henri de Poitiers claimed it was a clever forgery made by a contemporary artist, and Henri had shut down the display. Now we get into a tricky timeline. If the bishop did not approve, why did he make no mention of it in his approval of the church? The document that establishes the church's foundation exists, but contains no mention of such a cloth as one of its assets. So when did the cloth appear? When did Geoffroi obtain it? It is tempting to say he found it on his travels and crusading in the East, but he makes no mention of it in his writings. Why not mention it as a primary asset of the church?

I mention here how it wound up in Turin, Italy. In the 19th century, in Paris, a pilgrim badge had been found that clearly was made for those who viewed the cloth: it bears the phrase ’SVAIRE IhV’(‘Shroud of Jesus’). It also bears the coat of arms of Geoffroi and of his second wife, Jeanne de Vergy, with the Vergy arms in the dominant position, indicating that she was in charge of the operation. Some speculate that this indicated the arms of Geoffroi's son, Geoffroi de Charny II, partnered with his mother. In later depositions, however, both Geoffroi II and granddaughter Marguerite stated that it was Geoffroi senior who acquired it personally, and not that it came to the church later.

An important facet of its story in France turned up in 2009, when a metal detectorist found a casting mold in the town next to Lirey, a mold for making pilgrim badges. It would make a badge nearly identical to the damaged one found in Paris.

It is odd that Geoffroi de Charny came across something so amazing and kept it quiet. Unless, of course, the family legend is just that, a legend, and Henri of Poitiers was right. Perhaps it came into the family's possession while Geoffroi was away at Poitiers and they decided to turn it into a money-making scheme for the cathedral church. Tests of the Shroud of Turin have yielded contradictory results, with various teams of scientists accusing the others of improper techniques or having a particular agenda to establish if it was a 14th-century work of art or a 1st-century miracle. As yet there is no definitive answer that satisfies all sides.

What exactly was a "collegiate church"? How was it different from other churches? Do they still exist? I'll explain next time.

Geoffroi de Charny at War

Yesterday's post introduced Geoffroi de Charny, a third son with no prospects from his family who set out to make a name for himself. He did very well as a soldier, impressing the king of France, Philip VI, and being given at one point the task of getting the town of Calais back from the English during the Hundred Years War.

As mentioned yesterday, he was captured at one point earlier in his career because of an ambush set up by the English. Unfortunately for him, history was about to repeat itself. In 1349, Geoffroi made contact with a Lombard mercenary who had the responsibility of maintaining the gates into Calais. Edward III of England had made this man, Aimery of Pavia, the captain of the city guard.

Aimery said he would sell Calais to Geoffroi for the sum of 20,000 écus, or gold crowns. Someone blabbed, and Edward found out. He summoned Aimery to London and told him to keep the arrangement, take the money, and let Edward's army know when the French forces intended to arrive to take over the town.

On the night of 31 December 1349, Geoffroi arrived with 500 men, paid the money to Aimery, and entered Calais with 12 knights and 100 archers. Edward's forces were waiting, and the attempted takeover of Calais was thwarted. There was some fighting, and Geoffroi was wounded and taken prisoner once again. (The illustration above is of the wounded Geoffroi lying before Edward III is from a 14th century French chronicle.)

Geoffroi spent a year in an English prison. King Philip VI was succeeded by King John II "the Good", who paid Geoffroi's ransom. Once back on the continent, Geoffroi found out where Aimery de Pavia was, caught him in bed with a mistress, dragged him to Geoffroi's home base at Saint-Omer, and had him publicly executed (tortured with hot irons, then quartered with an axe) as an oath-breaker.

In 1356, King John II and Geoffroi met with Edward, the Black Prince, who was raiding towns in southern France. The two sides parlayed. Mindful that a battle between the two armies would likely produce another bloody Crécy, Geoffroi suggested a "Trial by Combat" with hand-picked men instead of full-scale war. According to an account by the English herald John Chandos:

Then said Geoffroi de Charny: 'Lords,' quoth he, 'since so it is that this treaty pleases you no more, I make offer that we fight you, a hundred against a hundred, choosing each one from his own side; and know well, whichever hundred be discomfited, all the others, know for sure, shall quit this field and let the quarrel be. I think that it will be best so, and that God will be gracious to us if the battle be avoided in which so many valiant men will be slain.'

It was French overconfidence that decided against this advice. The result was the Battle of Poitiers, in which the French overconfidence proved misguided. King John was captured. Geoffroi de Charny was killed, an easy target since he upheld the oriflamme. He was given a quick burial at a nearby Franciscan convent, but in 1370 the body was re-interred in a church in Paris.

Although already mentioned a few days ago, I want to return to the subject of the Shroud of Turin that appeared in Geoffroi's possession with a little more detail surrounding the controversy of its origin. That will be tomorrow.

Geoffroi de Charny*

Geoffroi de Charny (c.1306 - 19 September 1356) was an extremely accomplished and well-known French knight. He was a third son, which meant he was not going to inherit the title Lord of Charny from his father, so he set out to distinguish himself in jousts and tournaments. In fact, he was so lacking of property that, on the records of involvement in the Hundred Years War, he is listed as from Pierre-Perthuis, the fief of the family of his first wife, Jeanne de Toucy.

In 1342, during the Battle of Morlaix in Brittany against the English, he fell for an ambush and was captured and taken to Goodrich Castle in England. Because he had no property to speak of for ransom, and because of the "gentlemanly nature" of war-time noble captives, he was released to go back to the continent and raise money for his ransom.

He turned to the Dauphin Humbert II de Viennois, who owed him the revenues of the town of Saint-Marcellin for service rendered earlier, but the Dauphin was always short of money, so the request for payment was futile. Unable to get anything substantial from Humbert, in the summer of 1344 Geoffroi set sail for the East to find fortune. From his adventures he wrote Livre de chevalerie (The Book of Chivalry), which begins:

Because I am minded to examine the various conditions of men-at-arms, both of the past and of the present, I want to give some brief account of them. And it is right to do so for all such matters are honorable, although some are honorable enough, others more honorable on an ascending scale up to the most honorable of all. And always the noblest way rises above all others, and those who have the greatest heart for it go constantly forward to reach and achieve the highest honor, and for this reason we must start by speaking of these...

Although the book deals with the high-minded ideals of chivalry, we still get a very down-to-earth look at the realities of the life of an active knight. Geoffroi describes the dangers of tournaments and the consequences of losing, the homesickness one feels when on a months-long Crusade, and his own injuries like getting a concussion while scaling a tower.

In October of 1344 he was Crusading against the Turk-held fortress of Smyrna, as part of a group of knights who were given a special commendation for bravery by Pope Clement VI. By the spring of 1346, Geoffroi was back in France. With war against the English ongoing, he prevented an invading Flemish army from capturing the town of Béthune around the same time that King Philip VI lost the battle of Crécy and lost the port of Calais.

Philip was so pleased with Geoffroi that he made him the bearer of the oriflamme, the standard of the French army. This was a great honor with a downside: the enemy would try for a symbolic achievement by striking down the oriflamme, so its bearer became an automatic target.

He was given the task of retaking Calais, and was on the verge of succeeding, when he fell for another ambush. But I will get to that tomorrow.

*This is not Geoffroi de Charney, a Templar who died c.1314.

Following the Shroud

I mentioned yesterday how Robert de Clari claimed, in his account of the Fourth Crusade, to be aware of, in the Church of St. Mary in Constantinople, the cloth that wrapped the body of Jesus. This was in 1204 CE. Many believe he was actually describing the Veil of Veronica. The link I just shared tells that Gerald of Wales claimed to have seen the Veil on a trip to Rome in 1199. That would make it very unlikely that Robert saw it in Constantinople just five years later.

On the other hand, desire for objects of veneration was so strong that it certainly led itself to scams. If all the slivers of the "true Cross" were assembled, you could build a boat.* For example, there are six images extant that claim to be the Veil.

In 1354, the knight Geoffroi de Charnay of Lirey in France declared that he possessed the linen cloth in which the body of Jesus was wrapped after being taken from the Cross. This begins the official history of the Shroud of Turin. There is no record of how it came into his possession. It went on exhibit in 1389, whereupon it was denounced by the Bishop of Troyes, who claimed it was painted and claimed the artist who painted it had come forth and confessed.

One would expect that the Church would be glad to have something like this object come to light, but Antipope Clement VII (1378-94) also did not support its authenticity, although he was okay with it being venerated as a representation of the actual burial cloth. de Charnay's granddaughter Marguerite in 1453 gave it to the house of Savoy, who moved it to Turin, Italy in 1578. It stayed in possession of the Savoy dynasty until 1983, when it was given to the Catholic Church after the death of Umberto II, the head of the House of Savoy (and last official King of Italy; his title ended 12 June 1946).

The original is rarely brought out for viewing by the public. Pope John Paul II arranged public viewings in 1998 and 2000; Pope Benedict XVI did the same in 2010. A replica is on display in the Museum of the Shroud in Turin. Tests and examinations over the years have produced different conclusions as to its age. There is a website devoted to shroud news.

But what do we know of Geoffroi de Charnay? Is there anything in his background that would support having such an artifact come into his possession? Let's talk about him tomorrow.

*Yes, this is hyperbole.

The Shroud of Turin?

Robert de Clari, a knight from Picardy, was a member of the Fourth Crusade, and wrote an account [link] of what he saw. Although his knowledge of the motivations of the Crusade's leaders is scant, he offers a "ground level" view of what life was like among the rank and file.

Constantinople was an amazing experience for him, and he writes about several of the marvels he saw there:

And now in yet another part of the city was another marvel. There were two images, cast in copper, in the shape of women, most cunningly wrought and naturally, and exceeding beautiful. And neither of the two was less than twenty feet high. And the one of these images was stretching out her hand toward the West, and there were letters written upon her which said, “From out of the West will come they who shall conquer Constantinople.”

And the other image was stretching out her hand toward an unseemly place and saying, “Thither” (so spoke the image) “shall they be thrust forth again.”

This seems prophetic, since the city was about to be attacked by the Westerners of the Crusade. 

In the northwest part of the city was a suburb called Blachernae. When the Crusaders attacked, they first breached the walls near there and made Blachernae their base. Clari talks about the Church of St. Mary and an object of veneration that was displayed:

But among the rest, there was also another of the minsters, which was called the Church of my Lady Saint Mary of Blachernae, within which was the shroud wherein Our Lord was wrapped. And on every Friday that shroud did raise itself upright, so that the form of Our Lord could clearly be seen. And none knows – neither Greek nor Frank – what became of that shroud when the city was taken.

The italics are mine. Other translations say "was raised upright"; that is, by a human, not elevating itself. Some like to assume that this was the Shroud of Turin, which would make Robert de Clari the only documented witness prior to 1354, when the Shroud was known to be exhibited in a church in Lirey in north-central France. Some historians think it more likely that Clari heard about (he never says that he saw  the weekly raising himself) the sudarium (Latin: "sweat cloth") of Veronica, the cloth she used to wipe Jesus' face as he trudged to Calvary.

Clari wrote in 120 short chapters, and signs off with a very honest statement:

...Robert of Clari, Knight, hath also caused the truth to be put down in writing, how the city was conquered; and albeit he may not have recounted the conquest in as fair a fashion as many a good chronicler would have recounted it, yet hath he at all times recounted the strict truth; and many true things hath he left untold, because, in sooth, he cannot remember them all.

I've never written about the Shroud of Turin. Perhaps I did not want to tackle the question of its "authenticity." At the very least we can look at its journey through history. See you tomorrow.

Placing Blame

Yesterday we looked at Geoffrey de Villehardouin's account of the Fourth Crusade and how he managed to obscure any culpability of his in the major decision-making that took the Crusade in so many wrong directions ethically. Just as he was about to get to the attack of the Crusaders and Venetians on Constantinople, he slows down the pace and reminds the reader of:

...those who sailed from other ports than Venice, and of the ships of Flanders that had sojoumed during the winter at Marseilles, and had all gone over in the summer to the land of Syria; and these were far more in number than the host before Constantinople.

Notice how he lets you know the the group in Constantinople was significantly smaller (so marvel at all they were able to accomplish), and the others group was so much larger (meaning if they had joined up in Venice then the Crusade never would have had the financial difficulties that led to these disasters).

One could argue that the larger group was the Crusade, rather than the smaller group through Venice, since the larger group managed to get to the Holy Land. Geoffrey assures you that their choice was sinful:

...for in that case would Christendom have been for ever exalted. But because of their sins, God would not so have it, for some died of the sickness of the land, and some turned back to their own homes. Nor did they perform any great deeds, or achieve aught of good, in the land overseas.

Geoffrey neglects to mention how many of his own company died from illness or warfare.

And well does this book bear witness, that of those who avoided the host of Venice, there was not one but suffered harm or shame. He therefore must be accounted wise who holds to the better course.

As it turns out, Geoffrey's is not the only account of the Crusade. A knight from Picardy named Robert de Clari was on the Crusade, and his account is understandably different, since he was never part of any high-level meetings and negotiations. He shows no knowledge of (or chooses not to cast blame on) other Crusaders who did not go to Venice. His account is that, upon reaching Venice, they simply did not have enough to pay the Venetians, and the Venetians—who he thought already decided to accompany the Crusade—then decide to ask for the spoils of the adventure to repay the price of the ships.

Robert de Clari also claims that he saw, after the Sack of Constantinople, a cloth that, from his description, sounds like the Shroud of Turin. I want to mention that tomorrow.

Geoffrey's Account

Remember Geoffrey de Villehardouin? He was one of the leaders of the Fourth Crusade who negotiated with Venice to get the Crusaders across the Mediterranean, which turned out to be a bad deal. You could say that it wasn't Geoffrey's fault that a large number of Crusaders took port from Marseilles instead, but let's talk about the other decisions made by Geoffrey and the leaders. Agreeing to attack Zara (for which they were temporarily excommunicated), agreeing to ally themselves with Prince Alexios, agreeing to attack Constantinople—none of these were wise or appropriate for a group who had taken a vow to free the Holy land.

Geoffrey, a literate man who was involved in all the high-level discussions, wrote an account, De la Conquête de Constantinople ("On the Conquest of Constantinople"), in which he shows absolutely no shame for a Crusade attacking a Christian city. He never criticizes the actions of the Crusade leaders. In fact, he stresses that the young Emperor Alexios IV offered them more and wanted them to stay:

Now the term of your departure is nigh, and your fellowship with the Venetians is timed only to last till the feast of St. Michael. And within so short a term I cannot fulfil our covenant. Be it known to you therefore, that, if you abandon me, the Greeks hate me because of you: I shall losemy land, and they will kill me. But now do this thing that I ask of you: remain here till March, and I will entertain your ships for one year from the feast of St. Michael, and bear the cost of the Venetians, and will give you such things as you may stand in need of till Easter. And within that term I shall have placed my land in such case that I cannot lose it again; and your covenant will be fulfilled, for I shall have paid such moneys as are due to you, obtaining them from all mi lands; and I shall be ready also with ships either to go with you myself, or to send others, as I have covenanted; and you will have the summer from end to end in which to carry on the war against the Saracens.

Geoffrey lays the groundwork for the Crusade's delay, and makes Alexios' later ability to pay them a much greater betrayal of their trust in him. When the Crusaders realize that they cannot trust Alexios to make good on his promise, Geoffrey is part of the small embassy that goes to him and demands what is possible, but Geoffrey wants sympathy for his embassy, stressing that they were in danger by speaking to the emperor:

When they got outside the gate, there was not one of them but felt glad at heart; nor is that to be marvelled at, for they had escaped from very great peril, and it held to very little that they were not all killed or taken.

He then breaks off from the narrative about Constantinople to blame others. I'll tell you about that tomorrow.

Constantinople Under Siege

We saw yesterday that hostility between Byzantines and the Fourth Crusade came to a head when the new(est) emperor, Alexios V, ejected all the foreigners from the city and began reinforcing the defenses. The Crusaders of course had brought siege engines with them for use against Saracens in the Holy Land, but they were happy to use them here against a Christian city.

The first assault came on 9 April 1204 on the northwest walls. Unfortunately (for the westerners), the open ground between the shore and the wall left them open to a hail of arrows. That and bad weather made them retreat.

The weather cleared a few days later, so on 12 April the Crusaders attacked again. They managed to knock a few holes in the wall sufficient for knights to crawl through. Meanwhile, Venetians were scaling the walls and encountering the ferocious Varangian Guards. The northwest was the site of the Palace of Blachernae, where the emperors prior to Alexios V had barricaded themselves. The Crusaders used Blachernae as a base. Creating a wall of fire to defend their base got out of hand and started burning down other parts of the city.

Emperor Alexios V fled the city that night. The Crusaders spent three days looting and pillaging. Now we come to the point of the week-long build-up to explain the last paragraph of this post about influences of Italo-Byzantine art. Constantinople was looted of many of its art treasures, which found there way west to reside in and influence Western Europe.

St. Mark's Basilica in Venice became the recipient of a large number of valuable artworks, thanks to Doge Enrico Dandolo commanding them as part of the Crusade's debt to Venice. Bronze horses from the Hippodrome, a sculpture of Four Tetrarchs (confirmed by the broken-off foot being identified in Constantinople), marble reliefs (including of Alexander the Great), and even carved marble pillars taken from Byzantine buildings—these and more found their way to Venice. The Treasury of San Marco (see more here) is full of the spoils of Constantinople.

Icons and other artworks were claimed by Crusaders and became family heirlooms.

Other art was too large to take but had more valuable purposes. Gold, silver, bronze artifacts were melted down for their value in precious metal and to become coins. Contemporary historian Niketas Choniates mentions a bronze statue of a resting Hercules that was so large "it took a cord the size of a man's belt to go round the thumb, and the shin was the size of a man." That and hundreds of bronze statues at the Hippodrome were melted down. So also was a bronze statue of Hera, so large that her head alone needed four oxen to move it. You can see a longer list by Niketas Choniates here.

So what happened afterward to Constantinople? I'm going to turn back to the Western European knight who also wrote a history, Geoffrey de Villehardouin, and talk tomorrow about how history is written by the victors.

Regime Change in Constantinople

We saw yesterday that very early in 1204 Isaac and Alexios were holed up in the Palace of Blachernae against the upset citizenry, who held an election to choose another leader (who did not want anything to do with it, and fled to Hagia Sophia for sanctuary). The two sent a trusted advisor, Alexios Doukas Mourtzouphlos, to seek help from the Crusaders, whom the citizenry were also attacking.

Doukas, who had until recently been imprisoned because he had tried to overthrow Isaac's brother (who had usurped the throne from Isaac in 1195 and blinded and imprisoned Isaac), took on the assignment, but considered a way to satisfy everyone involved—and by everyone, he included himself.

Doukas went to the main palace and approached the Varangian Guards—essentially Vikings who were personal bodyguards for Byzantine Emperors—with bribes. Niketas Choniates wrote that he had help from a eunuch who had access to the treasure, but this was unnecessary, since Doukas after his release from prison was made protovestiarios—"first of the wardrobe"—a position as head of imperial finances.

Doukas made himself Emperor Alexios V. On the night of 27 January, the Varangian Guards arrested Issac and Alexios. Alexios was strangled in prison about a week later, and Isaac, old and feeble already, died around the same time. The previously elected Nicholas Kanabo was brought from Hagia Sophia and offered a position in the new emperor's court, but refused. He fled again to the Hagia Sophia but was dragged from it and killed on its steps. (Having been elected by a majority, he was a "loose thread" that a new emperor could not allow to have a rebellion form around.)

Alexios V met with Doge Enrico Dandolo (the meeting was illustrated by Gustave Doré; see above) to negotiate a resolution to the conflict between the Empire and the Fourth Crusade, but there was no easy solution. The Empire did not have the money even to help itself, never mind pay enormous sums that had been promised by the younger Alexios. The Crusaders insisted that Alexios IV, with whom they had the agreement, be restored to the throne. This demand is probably why Alexios IV was killed, to eliminate any reason for the Crusaders to attempt a coup.

Alexios V confiscated money from the aristocracy (endearing himself to the lower classes but alienating his friends and relatives) in order to begin fortifying the city against the inevitable clash with the Crusading army. The death of Alexios IV was a further sign that Constantinople was not about to deal with the Crusaders in good faith. In March of 1204, all members of the Crusade who had taken up residence in the city were rounded up and expelled. That was the final straw.

The Crusaders drew up battle plans, and then made ready to put them into action. See you next time.

Crusade versus Constantinople

(It would be best to read yesterday's post to understand where we are.)

So the Fourth Crusade was now in Constantinople, waiting to get support of men and money from Emperor Alexios IV Angelos per their agreement for putting him on the throne (even though they had to coerce his blind emperor father Isaac II to elevate the son).

Emperor Isaac must have been horrified when he discovered the offer made by his son to the Crusade. Isaac knew very well that Constantinople could not provide the 200,000 silver marks on top of 34,000 marks needed to repay a debt to Venice, or the thousands of soldiers promised to join the Crusade. Much of the financial problem was due to Isaac's brother Alexios III, who had usurped the throne in 1195 and fled to Thrace when the Crusaders attacked the city on 18 July 1203. Alexios III had cemented his power after usurpation with lavish bribes, depleting the treasury. When he fled, he took 1000 pounds of gold with him.

Alexios IV scraped together 100,000 silver marks by confiscating church treasures and property of those he considered enemies (supporters of his uncle), and sacking some Thracian towns. By December, however, it was clear that the Crusade was not going to get the support they were promised. Foolishly, Alexios did not even try to placate them further, stating "I will not do any more than I have done."

Meanwhile, the citizens of Constantinople were increasingly annoyed with the overbearing Westerners, and the young emperor who had brought them there and now was proving to be an incompetent ruler. The locals started acting violently toward the Europeans, attacking and killing many. Isaac compounded the problem by spreading rumors that his son kept company with "depraved men." A contemporary historian, Niketas Choniates (c.1155 - 1217) criticized Alexios' childishness, his lavish lifestyle, and his familiarity with the Western outsiders. Alexios, quite foolishly, tried to teach the Crusaders a lesson (and get the citizens on his side) by setting fire to several ships and aiming them at the Venetian fleet. (The illustration is the Venetian fleet at the shore, from a 15th century miniature.)

By January 1204, the citizens of Constantinople had had enough with the Crusaders and with the rulers that were ineffective at dealing with this threat to the city. They wanted a new emperor, and the senate and priests and populace gathered to find one. Anyone who had been paying attention knew the situation was hopeless: the Crusaders would not go away without Alexios' agreement being satisfied, and there was no way to meet their demands. On 27 January 1204 they elected Nicholas Kanabos, a young noble described by Choniates as "gentle by nature, of keen intelligence, and versed in generalship and war". He absolutely refused the authority they wanted to give him and fled to the Hagia Sophia for sanctuary.

Knowing that the citizenry en masse wanted them gone, Isaac and Alexios barricaded themselves in the Palace of Blachernae, one of the imperial residences in the northwestern part of the city. (On the Second Crusade, Louis VII and Eleanor of Aquitaine had been hosted there.) They sent a trusted advisor, Alexios Doukas Mourtzouphlos, to go to the Crusaders and get help. Doukas had tried to overthrow Isaac's usurping uncle and been imprisoned for it. When Isaac was restored, Doukas was released and put in charge of the federal finances. Isaac felt Doukas was a man he could trust.

That was a mistake. Tomorrow the Byzantine intrigue goes on, and includes Vikings!