Crusade

Alexius had been one of Byzantium’s highest nobility, and was a highly renowned general, when he became Emperor in a palace coup over fifteen years earlier. The empire was on its knees: the army was demoralized after a crushing defeat at the infamous Battle of Manzikert; the treasury was bare; and a succession of weak or despotic emperors had sapped the energy of the people.

In truth, the empire had been in a constant state of struggle for hundreds of years against fierce warrior-tribes from the North and the messianic valour of Islam from the south. By the time of Alexius’s accession, the chalice of the Purple could well have been a poisoned one and the empire in its death throes. However, slowly and shrewdly, with a combination of diplomacy and aggression, generosity and ruthlessness, Alexius had managed to rebuild the army, refill his treasury and restore the vigour of the people.

When several significant Muslim leaders died in quick succession and internal squabbling between the Shia believers of the Fatimid Caliphate of Cairo and the Sunnis of the Abbasid of Baghdad weakened it, Alexius chose the moment to make his move. His masterstroke was to appeal to his Christian brothers in the West to do his fighting for him. Perhaps, like Pope Urban, who yearned to unite the two Christian Churches under his governance in Rome, Alexius dreamed of uniting East and West under his sovereignty in Constantinople and recreating the glorious empire of Ancient Rome.

Now, as we arrived at what we assumed was the Emperor’s Great Hall, we were amazed to discover that it was only an anteroom for guests to await an audience with him. Even more remarkably, there were two more grand halls after the first, for guests or delegations of increasing importance. Each one was covered from floor to ceiling in intricately woven tapestries — at least three times the size of any I had seen before — the finest marbles, laid in complex symmetrical patterns aglow with vibrant colours, and astonishing mosaics, the quality of which was breathtaking. They depicted hunting, harvests, banquets, bathing and Byzantium’s great military victories in such detail and realism that it looked as if the people and animals were alive beneath one’s feet.

When we finally arrived at his reception hall, it was so large that all 200 of us seemed swallowed by it, even though the Emperor’s court, entourage and bodyguards were already there in significant numbers.

As we took our positions, standing in neat rows beneath the imperial dais, lords in the front rows, lesser mortals in order of precedence towards the back, the Emperor sat in silence, acknowledging only the most senior men with a slight nod of his head and the hint of a smile.

Alexius Comnenus was in his early forties, well set with a neatly cropped beard, heavily flecked with grey. His demeanour was that of a man of stern resolve, but his physique was unremarkable in appearance, apart from piercing steel-grey eyes. However, his clothes and armour were far from ordinary.

On top of his imperial purple surcoat he wore a lamellar-armour jacket made from plates of solid gold, and gold wristlets and armbands. His sea-blue silk cloak was held across his chest by a deep-purple ruby the size of a quail’s egg, and his finely tooled gold crown was studded with pearls, some of which were strung and cascaded down either side of his face like wringlets of hair. All his weapons, most held by his pages behind him, were studded with precious gems. His sword hung from his belt, the scabbard of which was made from gold inset with more rubies than it was possible to count.

Strangely, of all his splendours, I was drawn mostly to his boots. It is often said that you can judge a man by his footwear — well, make of Alexius’s boots what you will. They had the look of riding boots, but were made from the most luxurious soft leather, which the fullers had managed to dye a rich purple to match the rest of his regalia. Then, to finish them off, an elaborate design had been sown into the boots using the same pearls as those of the Emperor’s crown.

The overall effect was awe-inspiring and led me to think that this is what it must have been like to stand before a Hadrian or Augustus.

To the Emperor’s left were his wife, Irene, modestly clothed in white silk but weighed down with gems and gold jewellery, and his eldest children, Anna, a striking girl in her mid-teens with a very inquisitive eye, and John, a small, unattractive boy of about ten.

With only the slightest movement of his index finger, the Emperor summoned one of his entourage, who addressed us in Greek. Estrith was brought forward to stand beside me and translate.