The harbour, also, is crowded with the shipping of every land; anything in the world may be bought there, and remarkably cheap; there are no robbers, and a special lawcourt holds merchants to their bargains. All is arranged to give the impression that the Empire is the centre of the world. But when you look again you notice that the best ships are Italian, and even those which fly Roman colours hail from Venice, which only pretends to be Roman to annoy the other Emperor in Germany.
I began to understand that a great deal of what I saw was a sham. The city is not the centre of a mighty Empire; the whole Empire is nothing but the city. Practically every Theme in Asia had been overrun by the Turks, and the Themes of Europe were in the hands of powerful and insubordinate nobles. John Bryennius, for example, brother to the great Strategus of Hellas, conducted a private war against the Scythians of the Danube; the campaign was successful but expensive, since these nomads yield poor plunder; now the powerful house of Bryennius was putting pressure on the Lotothete to make him pay for the expedition. They might have succeeded, if there had been any money in the Treasury.
The real weakness of Romania was poverty; not the grinding parsimony of men who have never been rich, but the sudden shock which comes to a wealthy magnate when his lands are confiscated. For more than seven hundred years the favourite weapon of the Romans had been gold; they had grown used to handling the richest revenue in the world; they paid barbarians to fight for them, they built expensive fortifications round every town, they bought allies by heaping presents on neighbouring rulers. Now there was no more tribute from Asia.
Since it seemed that my lord’s only hope of pardon lay in a change of ruler I took as much interest in politics as a native Roman. Of course I dared not speak freely to strangers; but standing at the back of some great church, listening to those nasal hymns which I found so unpleasant, I might talk treason with my lady. She often rode in the private hunting parties, for ladies only, which were the favourite amusement of the barbarian Empress. I remember one evening in the summer of 1077 when I begged her to let me know what she thought of Alexius and his prospects.
‘Of course he could seize the Purple tomorrow, if he wished,’ my lady answered. ‘I myself wonder why he doesn’t, and this morning, when we had jumped a stream and got rid of the field, I took the opportunity of asking the Empress. Alexius is a very close friend of hers. Maria was frank, as she always is with me. She finds it a relief to open her mind to another barbarian, instead of keeping up appearances with these staid Romans, who would remember the right etiquette if an earthquake interrupted an Imperial audience. She told me Alexius does not wish to undertake the responsibility of ruling until affairs have become either better or worse. Every taxpayer must hate the Emperor who presses them so hard; they don’t hate Alexius, but they would if taxes were levied in his name. When the Treasury is filled it will be time to seize the throne and win popularity by reducing the assessment. Or if the city were threatened by a hostile army the people would insist on putting a gallant young soldier at the head of the state; but then Michael would probably make him co-Emperor, and everything would arrange itself. Alexius has his life before him, and he is willing to wait; but it’s odd that the Empress is so confident that no harm will come to her. Franks cannot understand these Roman politics.’
‘I see, my lady. One day Alexius will rule, and until then my lord must wait in prison. But what will become of his children, landless boys and a dowerless maid? Will the heirs of Balliol live out their lives as paid soldiers, with no wall of their own to keep out their enemies?’
‘They are not the heirs of Balliol. The head of the house holds a strong town in Normandy, and these sons of a landless cadet may visit their cousin if they wish to live as Frankish lords. Or they can stay in Romania and draw ordinary army pay.
“Soldiers, be content with your wages.” That’s all the Gospel has to say about soldiering. Oh Roger, I’m tired of scheming and fighting, and pillaging to have the ransom ready when we meet bad luck. I never want to see another corpse. That last year in Asia I led the band, you drew on my courage, I kept a brave front and bargained with our enemies when we were helpless. I couldn’t go through it again. I never want to leave St Thecla, and the well-ordered city, and the debonair scented gallants of the Hippodrome. I would rather live peacefully in a hired lodging than defend my own land against the infidel, riding through rain and sleeping in mud. I hope my lord is freed, and I’m sure he will be; but if Messer Roussel would then hang up his mail and enter religion my old age would be happy.’
This was not the Matilda whose steadfast courage had won the admiration of Artouch. I was surprised. Middle age often changes the character of a lady, but she was in her thirties and it could not be that. It must be the influence of the city, which can undermine the character of the most courageous Frank. Don’t you young gentlemen stay there too long, or you will find yourselves playing polo instead of jousting with sharpened lances. There had once been a Matilda de Balliol whom I had admired as a noble heroine; now she no longer existed, and walking about in her body was a tired old woman who sought happiness in the mild gossip of convent parlours. I sighed, and turned my attention to the squeaking eunuch who sang antiphonally against a choir of basses, that even the queerest of His creatures might give praise to the Lord.
If my lady had retired from the struggle my lord’s sons still needed my help. Young Messer Ralph was fifteen, and should already have gone as a page to some friendly baron, that a conscientious master whose correction would not be handicapped by natural affection might teach him courtesy and gracious manners. I did what I could, but I am not a gentleman, and I could not bring myself to beat a youth of such high birth. The Domestic offered to put him in the Varangian Guard, which in Roman eyes is the most honourable position open to a barbarian; but I answered that a wellborn Frank could not walk, even in gilded armour; it might bring him into personal contact with the Emperor, but nothing could compensate for the lack of a warhorse; any pupil of mine must ride against his enemies. It was arranged that in a year or two he should join the Frankish mercenaries. Young Osbert was only eleven, and there was plenty of time to decide his future. A shipmaster from Amalfi, who had known Messer Roussel in Italy, offered to make him a pirate when he was old enough to fight; the pirates of Amalfi win a very good living off the African coast; they seldom rob Christian ships, unless they meet one that is undermanned and carrying a rich cargo, and they are respected in every port of Christendom.
Little Joan wished to pass her life in the convent of St Thecla. But this Matilda would not allow. The house was notoriously lax, and though it made a good harbourage for widows, and wives whose husbands happened to be in gaol, the young novices often produced superfluous babies. In any case the Abbess exacted a rich dowry from every newcomer. Joan was told she might enter religion if she wished, and we would be glad of her prayers; but it must be in one of the strict communities of the west, where dowries are not demanded and men do not visit the parlour. If she chose the world instead her mother would look for a decent mercenary, willing to take a penniless bride for the sake of her noble birth. Like most girls who have free choice in the matter Joan eventually chose marriage; though by the autumn of 1077 Matilda had not yet found a suitable husband.
In those days the whole city began to think that the Emperor Michael had weathered the storm. The Turks seemed content with the territory they had overrun; the Domestic was a model of fidelity and competence, and so long as he obeyed a civilian Emperor the remnant of the Army of Asia followed his example; the very heavy taxes and ingenious confiscations devised by the Logothete slightly exceeded expenditure; when the Treasury was full mercenaries could be hired, and once the Turks began to retreat native recruits would join the army, the taxes could be lightened, and the power of Romania would increase every year like a snowball rolling downhill. It very nearly came off. But as usual the Romans did not pay enough attention to the affairs of Europe.
There the house of Bryenniu
s remained powerful, since Nicephorus was now Strategus of Thrace and Hellas. For the last two years he had remained in his castle of Adrianople, and the Logothete rightly supposed he was plotting treason. If the Empire had been stronger the Strategus would have been appointed to some remote fortress, and arrested if he did not go into exile as commanded. But Michael and his minister wished to postpone the trial of strength until there was more money in the Treasury. It was a tense situation, just the kind of thing Roman politicians enjoy; every Roman who has reached eminence by his own efforts is certain that he is the cleverest man in the world, and it amuses him to watch his enemies prosper until it is time to crush them. About harvest in the year 1077 Nicephoritzes thought the time was ripe; but he had left it just too late. The Bryenii were strong enough to wage war with the city.
In that September the Strategus was far away in Durazzo, burning the lairs of the Sclavonian pirates. Here was a good opportunity to arrest him while he was parted from the main body of his troops, and the Logothete sent a Varangian with orders to put him on a ship and bring him to the city. It was a good plan, typically Roman; the Strategus must think himself safe at that extremity of the Empire, while the Army of Europe lay at Adrianople, a shield between him and the Emperor; but the messenger carried bribes for his bodyguard, and his followers could do nothing to rescue him from a ship.
The plan miscarried through the incompetence of the Varangian. These men enjoy a very high reputation, and certainly they are brave, and skilled in arms; but they are utterly reckless, and though faithful they do not bother to obey orders which they find inconvenient; their real job is to guard the Emperor’s person, and they are unfit for more difficult tasks. They all tell you that in their own fatherland they are of excessively noble birth, but they can’t ride, and they get drunk whenever they feel like it, instead of waiting for an appropriate time. I could never regard them as gentlemen.
This Varangian broke his journey at Adrianople. There, in the ancestral stronghold of the Bryennii, the foolish barbarian drank in a low tavern and got it into his muffled head that the troopers round him were not treating the Emperor’s guardsman with sufficient respect (these northern savages are always on the lookout for slights). He began to boast that he carried orders for the arrest of the Strategus. That got him all the attention he wanted. The soldiers took him before John Bryennius, who cut off his nose and proclaimed Nicephorus Emperor of Romania.
At first this revolt of the unfashionable and second-rate Army of Europe was not taken seriously in the city. But when the Logothete looked round for the mighty Army of Asia he found that since Manzikert there was very little of it left. A force had to be gathered from the garrisons of the Black Sea, and by the time it was levied Nicephorus Bryennius was back in Adrianople. The loyalists marched north under the command of the Strategus Basilakes, and that was another mistake; for the Treasury owed him a great deal of money, and the pay of his men was in arrears. On reaching Adrianople he joined Bryennius.
It was agreed that Nicephoritzes seemed to be losing his touch, and there was speculation about the prospect of an Emperor from Europe, the first for more than two generations. But no one thought civil war would affect the private lives of undistinguished citizens; this was the normal way in which the Purple changed hands, and nobody would suffer except Michael and his ministers. The Emperor ought to enter religion, and Nicephoritzes should take the ready cash in the Treasury and sail to Italy or some infidel land. Then Romania would have a competent ruler who could get on with the pressing business of pushing back the Turks.
But Michael made a fight of it, and to everyone’s surprise Alexius remained loyal. I think fidelity to his oath had something to do with his decision, though no Roman politician would give that explanation for his conduct, from fear of the derision of his colleagues; but in fact, though Alexius is now Emperor, he succeeded on the abdication of his predecessor, and in all his career he has obeyed his lawful superior. Whatever the reason, when Alexius backed Michael everyone saw that the Emperor had a chance after all; there was a pause in the campaign, because neither side wished to incur the reproach of shedding first blood.
The established pattern for a peaceable change of Emperors would have been for Michael to retire, or for the populace of the city to rise against him and open the gates to Bryennius. But Michael was obstinate, and the populace feared Alexius. The rebels waited in Adrianople, but when November came and Michael still reigned they advanced gingerly, hoping their approach would set off the revolt. Both sides had tried to hire barbarian mercenaries. But the Turks, who were doing very well in Asia, scorned the meagre pay offered by Nicephoritzes; while Bryennius was in touch with the Patzinaks, poor men who were delighted to cross the Danube unhindered. John Bryennius was a dashing leader of horse, though not really a skilful commander, and he brought a cloud of nomad archers right up to the city, while his elder brother remained with the regular bands in Adrianople.
Crowds of frightened refugees poured in through all the landward gates. The Patzinaks were in the suburbs. It was useless for a peasant to sit at home and cheer for Bryennius; that would have been all right in a civil war between Roman troops, but these barbarians pillaged without inquiring into politics, and cut the throat of anyone who grumbled. Since Bryennius could not pay them his officers had no control; and Romans from the backward Themes of Europe are jealous of the city; the rebels were secretly pleased to avenge a long memory of slights and insults on the élite of the capital.
The city was in despair. Politics were interfering with the private lives of law-abiding taxpayers, Bryennius and his ridiculous Europeans were plundering the home of civilisation; in a night the whole mob of porters, day-labourers and craftsmen became intensely loyal to Michael. The gates were closed, and puzzled householders thronged the office of the Eparch to find out whether they should march under the banners of the Greens or the Blues, in the old organisation for home defence which had not been called out for generations.
In the middle of a wintry night I was roused by a hammering on the door of our little house. I had long ago made arrangements for an emergency, and the stout door stood firm while I hustled the boys through a big drain which came out in the garden of the convent. Then I picked up my sword and went down to interview the callers. The street was a blaze of torches, and I was too dazzled to recognise anyone, but a well-known voice called:
‘Hallo, surely little Roger is in ambush behind that beard. Will you be my man for this campaign? Alexius has freed me, and I’m glad to fight for the man who saved my eyes.’
I fell on my knees before Messer Roussel, and renewed the fealty which had never left my heart.
The eunuch who guarded the convent knew my voice and opened at the first summons. Naturally the Rule lays down that everyone must be in bed from supper to Matins, but the whole of St Thecla was gathered in the hall; these nuns never keep their Rule, even in time of peace, and with all these exciting goings-on in the city they were still discussing politics. My pupils had joined them, and were playing cat’s-cradle with a pretty young novice.
Now I could examine my lord by the light of those excellent Roman lamps; he seemed very much altered, for during his long imprisonment his hair and beard had grown untrimmed; it was now more grey than red, and the bushy effect made his head so large that his body appeared smaller. But he was not really shrunken; thanks to Alexius he had been allowed sufficient food and a walk in the open every day; when his hair was clipped to go under the hauberk he would look a gallant knight. I blessed the tender-hearted Romans; how many brave knights in the west never recover after a few months in a foeman’s dungeon.
His children hung back; they recognised him, but for four years they had thought of him as someone from the past who would never return. They enjoyed life in the city, and remembered with aversion the hunger, the cold, and the long marches which had made up their days when the house of Balliol was trying to conquer Asia. But Matilda, after one gasp of astonishment, flung herself into hi
s arms.
‘Oh, my lord,’ she cried, when do we march, and which side do we help? Or shall we bar the gate and hold this convent for ourselves? The chapel is full of silver, and if we hire mercenaries we might get Bryennius and Ducas bidding in competition for our support.’
‘No, sweetheart,’ my lord said firmly. ‘Five years ago we tried to found a realm, and it’s really too difficult. Besides, young Alexius has been very good to me. I shall stick to the Emperor he supports. That’s Michael at present, though of course he may change his mind. I have been released to help in the defence of the city, and tomorrow I shall start to recruit Franks from the Italian factories. The Logothete has promised horses and mail, and an advance of pay. It’s a come-down, after being lord of Armeniakon, but at least I’m no worse off than when we first landed in Romania; that’s really a triumph for a simple Frank after eight years in the east. Now I’ve been alone for a very long time. It would be tactless to ask the Abbess to provide a marriage-bed; let’s go back to that little house where I found young Roger. The children can stay here, and we’ll all meet at breakfast.’
The Lady for Ransom Page 24
