The actions of Hugh and Peter threatened chaos in the crusader ranks. Those knights with Count Baldwin became agitated: they could not bear to abandon their colleagues, nor could they lightly pass up the chance of glory. So corrosive was this mood that they threatened revolt: ‘Lord, you are doing great shame not to advance, and know that if you do not now ride forward, we will no longer hold ourselves to you.’
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When he heard this, Baldwin had little choice but to comply. He spurred his horse and, joined by Henry’s men, he caught up with the vanguard. Quickly the crusaders rearranged themselves into one long battle line, now within crossbow range of the emperor’s men but back in proper formation. Robert of Clari, our humble knight, is the source for this fascinating insight into the machinations of the crusading nobility. Intriguingly, when Hugh of Saint-Pol, one of the main protagonists of the entire episode, wrote a report of the battle in late July, his account was much simpler: ‘we advanced in an orderly and co-ordinated fashion against the battle-line opposing us’.
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He made no mention of the awkward disagreements between himself and Count Baldwin and the fact that he had, in effect, challenged the count’s integrity and position as commander of the vanguard. In the afterglow of victory it seemed unnecessary to tarnish the day’s outcome by describing these difficult and divisive moments.
The crusaders’ indecision offered a fleeting opportunity for the Greeks to act. A more alert commander than Alexius III might have noticed this temporary weakness, assessed the situation and chosen to strike a swift, sharp blow against the isolated contingent under Hugh and Peter as they marched alone at the front of the army. But with the arrival of the other divisions, the moment—which may have been very brief - had passed.
Between the two armies lay a small rise and, towards the emperor’s side, the River Lycus. When the crusaders reached the top of the hill, both sides paused. The Byzantine troops were joined by those soldiers who had surrounded the camp and so they became an even stronger force. Once again the westerners conferred and this time Baldwin’s arguments were heeded. The Frenchmen were now out of sight of their reinforcements back at the camp and to engage with the Byzantine army would necessitate crossing the Lycus river. Even though this was only a small waterway, it would inevitably slow their advance and taking it might well lead to heavy losses. The crusaders resolved to halt and were probably on the point of retreating when they noticed activity in the enemy lines.
This, surely, was the moment for Alexius III to exploit his massive numerical superiority and order an overwhelming charge to drive the barbarians from his city. He held the banks of the Lycus and could cross it with ease. Like heavy, humid thunderclouds, the Greek forces stood poised to break over the crusaders. Yet the onslaught never came. Incredibly, the emperor gave no instruction to charge and, as time wore on, he gave the order to withdraw his troops, turning them around and heading back towards the city. Whatever tactical reasons lay behind this move, psychologically it appeared to all as a devastating admission of defeat.
Niketas believed that Emperor Alexius’s heart had never been in the fight and that he had always planned to flee. The Byzantine writer felt that had the imperial army moved with real conviction, victory would have been possible. He sensed that Alexius’s own unwillingness to engage in battle transmitted itself to his commanders and prevented the Greeks from striking the lethal blow.
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The crusaders could hardly believe what they saw. A letter sent by the leading nobles back to the West conveyed their understanding of what had taken place: Astounded at our steadfastness (given our small number), he [the emperor] ignominiously turns his reins and retreats into the burning city.‘
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Hugh of Saint-Pol commented: ‘When they saw that we were brave and steadfast and that we moved forward one after the other in formation and that we could not be overrun or broken they rightly became terrified and confused. Retreating before us they dared not fight by day.’
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When the emperor did not dare to commit his troops to the fray, the westerners’ belief in the cowardice and effeminacy of the Greeks seemed justified. The crusaders must have experienced overwhelming relief and a feeling of renewed hope and resolve. To capitalise on the moment, Baldwin ordered the army to advance slowly after the Greeks, in order to emphasise further the Byzantines’ humiliating withdrawal from the field. Crucially, the westerners now retained their discipline. On the brink of victory it was all too easy to be carried away with success, to break ranks and charge after the enemy.
Villehardouin eloquently conveys the crusaders’ almost uncomprehending relief: ‘I can assure you that God never delivered any people from greater peril than that from which He saved our troops that day. There was not a man in the army, however bold and courageous, whose heart was not filled with joy.’ Even so, living through days anticipating battle and hours facing the Byzantine forces outside the walls took an intense physical and emotional toll. In addition, there was a marked lack of food. Thus, in spite of the day’s triumph, the crusaders were unable to drop their guard. The Byzantines were still, numerically at least, the superior force, and it was vital for the westerners to preserve their confidence and not to compromise their military strength.
Why had Emperor Alexius failed to attack, given the Greeks’ apparent superiority in numbers, at least? In part, it seems that the emperor was a man of little innate aggression or military experience. He had hoped that the Byzantines’ display of strength would be enough to break crusader morale, causing them to concede and retreat. Yet he had not grasped just how determined and desperate the westerners actually were. They had made great progress in their advance across the Bosphorus and then the Golden Horn; furthermore, the Venetians had taken a section of the walls. These were surely indications enough that the crusaders were a dangerous force. The presence of the westerners’ heavy cavalry also caused the Greeks serious concern. While some of the knights’ horses had been lost, enough remained to form a potent attacking unit. The lethal strength of the crusader cavalry charge was well known in Byzantium. Back in the 1140s Anna Comnena had memorably written that a western knight on horseback ‘would make a hole through the walls of Babylon’.
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The plains outside Constantinople offered the ideal conditions for the Frankish charge - relatively flat land and a fixed target. The Greeks may have had some cavalry themselves, but their horsemen were almost certainly less well practised than the French knights, who had spent years honing their skills on the tournament fields of northern Europe.
Inside Constantinople there was disbelief and anger. It was the emperor’s responsibility to protect the city. He had so great an army and the crusaders were so few, yet he had not fought them. As Niketas commented: ‘he returned [to the city] in utter disgrace, having only made the enemy more haughty and insolent’.
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The damage caused by the Venetians’ fire further weakened Alexius Ill’s standing in the eyes of his people. They clamoured for action. A group came to the emperor and told him that if he continued to act so feebly, then they would seek out his nephew amongst the crusaders and offer him the imperial throne. Reluctantly, Alexius III promised to fight the following day. In reality, however, he had already decided on a different course of action.
The emperor no longer had the stomach for battle. Niketas depicts a gentle, mild man, accessible to the people and deeply troubled by his blinding of Isaac Angelos. Today we might say that he was not tough enough for the job.
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He was unwilling to risk his own life and he sensed that the people of Constantinople were not prepared to engage in a protracted campaign - which, given the westerners’ lack of supplies, may well have been the Greeks’ best chance of victory. The emperor was sufficiently versed in the politics of Constantinople to realise that he had lost the confidence of the people - and he was experienced enough to recall the grisly and excruciating fate of earlier rulers who had been removed by the mob. Equally, he could hardly expect much mercy from his brother or his nephew, were he turned over to them. Wisely, therefore, he decided to flee.
During the evening of 17 July he conferred with his daughter Irene and his most trusted advisers. Hurriedly they collected 1,000 pounds of gold and as many precious ornaments and objects as could be carried. Near midnight the emperor and his closest associates stole away from the city heading for Develton, a fortified town more than 90 miles away on the Black Sea. Niketas Choniates was both scathing and despairing of Alexius III’s motives and actions. He gives us a vivid and haunting image of the Byzantines’ view of their emperor: ‘it was as though he had laboured hard to make a miserable corpse of the city, to bring her utter ruin in defiance of her destiny, and he hastened along her destruction’.
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Niketas scorned Alexius III’s lack of care for his precious city and decried his eagerness to save his own skin.
As dawn broke on the morning of 18 July, the news began to spread: Constantinople, the Queen of Cities, the New Rome, had been abandoned by its emperor - a devastating and unheard-of blow to the pride and self-esteem of the great metropolis. So deep was this wound that the Greeks could not face prolonging the struggle against the crusaders. Rather than using the moment to try to turn their fortunes around, they despaired. The westerners’ seemingly relentless progress and their refusal to back down outside the city walls, plus the Venetian foothold on the Golden Horn - made apparent to all by the continuing palls of smoke rising above it—made them fear the utter destruction of their city. In terror, they sought the one person who could save them. Imperial officials went to the rooms in the Blachernae palace where the blinded Isaac was held. In him they saw ‘their last hope’.
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The minister of the imperial treasuries, a eunuch named Philoxenites, took charge. He assembled the Varangian guard and secured their support for the idea of making Isaac emperor again. Even though blinding was usually taken to bar a man from holding such an office, the situation demanded that precedent be set aside. Alexius III had abandoned his wife Euphrosyne (with whom he had had a stormy relationship), but she was now seized - in case she sought to create a rival faction—and her relatives imprisoned. The senior figures in the city went to Isaac and explained the situation to him. His reaction is unknown. Did he gloat at his brother’s humiliation? Was he intimidated at the prospect of becoming emperor again, handicapped as he was? Or was he delighted at the thought of exercising ultimate authority again? Servants brought him the imperial robes and insignia. He dressed and left the Blachernae palace as a free man. Poignantly, his blindness meant that Isaac had to be led up to the imperial throne, but he was, after all, proclaimed emperor.
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He wished to make immediate contact with Prince Alexius in the crusader camp. The news of Alexius III’s escape and the recrowning of Isaac could not be concealed for long. The leading men of Byzantium needed to hold on to whatever initiative these developments afforded them. Messengers were sent to tell the prince that his father was emperor again and that the usurper had fled. As soon as the information reached the young Alexius he told Marquis Boniface, who in turn called together all the nobles.
The men assembled in the prince’s tent where he announced the wonderful news. A huge cheer burst from the pavilion. As Villehardouin wrote, ‘their joy on hearing it was such as cannot be described, for no greater joy was ever felt by anyone in this world’.
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The crusaders thanked God for delivering them from the depths of despair to such a great height. They had no doubt that divine favour had blessed their actions: ‘The man whom God desires to help no other man can harm.’ Their decision to go to Constantinople had been correct - God had approved of their actions - how else could they have succeeded?
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CHAPTER TEN
‘I should like you to know that a number of my people
do not love me’
Triumph and Tensions at Constantinople, July—August 1203
I
N SPITE OF the crusaders’ successes, they needed to keep a very firm check on their emotions. While the news of Emperor Alexius’s flight and Isaac’s return to power seemed to guarantee the status of the young prince, the standing of the westerners was far less clear. They had, after all, just been bombarding the very city that was now poised to open its gates to them—how would its inhabitants react to the prince’s allies, particularly in light of Alexius III’s intensive anti-western propaganda over recent months? The overwhelming feeling throughout the camp was one of caution. Suspicion of Byzantine duplicity dated back to the First Crusade when Emperor Alexius I had failed to bring support to the crusaders at the siege of Antioch in 1098. Greek treachery was widely trumpeted as the reason for the crushing defeats suffered by the kings of France and Germany during the Second Crusade. The massacre of westerners in 1182 and the later alliance with Saladin served to consolidate a deeply held scepticism concerning Byzantine reliability. With firm news yet to emerge, the crusaders donned their armour and wearily prepared their weapons just in case Isaac, or his advisers, continued to resist the holy warriors.
Throughout the morning of 18 July a steady trickle of information and messengers came out from Constantinople, but all repeated the same story. The emperor was gone and his blind brother was back on the imperial throne. The doge and the nobles determined to clarify their own position. They selected four envoys: two (unnamed) Venetians and two Frenchmen, Matthew of Montmorency and Geoffrey of Villehardouin. They were instructed to ask Isaac to confirm the agreements made by the prince - covenants that, without a shadow of doubt, the future of the crusade rested upon. Prince Alexius was an asset of paramount importance to the westerners. They were counting on his father feeling sufficient paternal devotion and a moral obligation to ratify the promises made by the young man.