Early 1058
I heard two familiar voices echoing down from the other end of a long corridor in the Boukoleon one afternoon. I had just left the nursery after checking on the twins who both had a slight fever and a drippy nose. The voices, though, came from an alcove overlooking the Marmara, where the setting sun glowed through the glass, stretching the couple’s shadows out into the hall. The man’s voice was wheedling, pressing; the woman’s clipped responses betrayed her nervousness. I approached and peered around the corner.
Constantine Ducas held the arm of Isaac’s daughter, Marika, bending close to her as she attempted to push away from him. A bolt of rage shot through me. Without thinking, without hesitating, I walked into the alcove thrust myself between the two of them.
“Marika,” I said, glaring directly at Ducas, “I believe your mother is looking for you.”
Ducas’s eyes bulged at the sight of me. Sputtering, he struggled to maintain control, while dropping his hands and stepping back from Marika.
I had known Ducas since I was a child. He had been tall, handsome, and blond, with my cousin Xene in love with him. That was before he’d hounded her to her death. Now, his face was flabby with middle age, his hair thin and beard a dingy gray. No young girl would be in love with him again, least of all Marika. But that would count for little if he forced himself on her.
“Lady Marika, I so enjoyed our chat before the Caesarissa interrupted us. We will have to speak another time.” He turned and left, pointedly ignoring me. His footsteps echoed as he retreated down the hall and took the stairs to exit the building.
“I can’t believe what just happened.” She stood white-faced with her jaw set tight, the same way Isaac did when he was upset. “That disgusting man was trying to kiss me.”
Ducas had once told me that his ambitions were to one day rule the empire himself. I realized then that Marika was simply an easy step on the climb to reach that pinnacle.
I could feel her trembling when I put an arm around her. “Marika, you need to avoid him. You must always be sure to have a companion with you.”
“He started telling me how pretty I am, how fond he is of me, how much he respects Papa. He kept getting closer until he grabbed my arm and was pulling me to him.” She shuddered, still incredulous at the man’s behavior.
“That’s terrible,” I said. “It’s a good thing I happened by when I did, otherwise something worse could have happened.”
“I swear he was going to kiss me when you arrived. It was so horrible.” Marika grimaced. “He’s older than Papa, and his wife is pregnant. How can he think I would want that?”
“He doesn’t care about what you want, only what he wants.”
Ducas would not hesitate to think up some reason to divorce Eudokia if the opportunity arose to marry Marika. Eudokia got pregnant with no trouble, unlike Xene, whose infertility had led Ducas to plan to divorce her before her unexpected death. Other men had divorced their wives and forced them into a monastery so they could wed the daughter of the emperor. Marika needed a solution.
“We should speak to your mother about this, but don’t tell your father, and don’t tell Eudokia. It would only complicate your father’s life, and I think the augusta and I can take care of this.”
How to deal with Ducas and his ambition? He wanted himself and his children, whether Eudokia’s or Marika’s, on the throne. The situation reminded me of all I had learned from Uncle Costas on maneuvering in a chess game. We needed to move a strategic piece between Ducas and Marika.
Catherine was adamant.
“Ducas is not someone I want as a husband for Marika. Just because he supported Isaac’s rebellion doesn’t give him the right to marry my daughter. Even so, Isaac can’t afford to offend him now when so many in the city are angry about higher taxes. We need to find a way to let him know he’s absolutely unwelcome, without jeopardizing Isaac’s relationship with him.”
I made the suggestion of a dinner invitation he would not refuse.
A few days later, Catherine and I made sure we were walking to the Daphne so as to encounter Ducas on his way in.
“Senator,” Catherine began, “would you and your lovely wife join us for dinner? Eudokia is such a delightful lady, and she and our daughter have become such close friends. You know they share everything? Really, everything. Almost as much as she does with me.” Her regal formality, expecting instant agreement, did not invite discussion. “I’ve also requested that your wife’s uncle, the patriarch, attend.”
Catherine paused, letting her meaning seep in. She wore the gold embroidered gown and red shoes only an empress, the augusta, could wear. She looked and sounded every inch the proud daughter of a king and the wife of an emperor.
Ducas’s fleshy face reddened and he gave me a brief but angry sideways glance.
“Augusta Catherine, thank you for the kind invitation,” he mumbled, making a deep bow to her.
“I am so glad you and your wife will join us and the patriarch,” Catherine said in a condescending imperial voice. This was one time I appreciated her superior manner.
Ducas bowed again, and we continued past him into the Daphne.
Catherine sniffed. “That should keep the old lecher on his best behavior for a while.”
“Yes, but the best solution would be for Marika to get married.”
“I know that,” she said, pursing her lips. “But she refuses to consider any of the men I’ve suggested. Isaac won’t push her, and even if he would, he’s got too much on his mind now to think about finding the right husband for her.”
The unfortunate difficulty was that Marika would not give up her dream of the young naval officer Michael Maurex. Michael may have been talented, hardworking, and ambitious, but he was lowborn and that was not good enough for Empress Catherine. She often spoke of Marika one day inheriting the throne with her husband. That man, she was sure, could not be a sailor such as Michael. Marika would consider wedding someone else only if Isaac insisted on it. If she waited too long, though, Marika could turn into a pawn for Ducas or some other ambitious man seeking the throne.
I used the excuse of my own pregnancy to avoid the dinner with Ducas and Eudokia, so I did not hear what had transpired at it until the next day.
“Ducas had an interesting idea last night,” he said as he dressed, “one he didn’t mention until after the patriarch left.”
“He did?” I asked, feeling cynical. I thought it unlikely that anything good could come from Ducas.
“Yes. He suggested that Isaac approach Keroularios and ask for a portion of the Church’s wealth. There’s plenty of land and gold there, and Ducas is sure Isaac can convince Keroularios to give it up.”
I raised an eyebrow at that. Patriarch Michael Keroularios had a forceful personality, not an agreeable one. He’d even had the temerity to excommunicate the Latin pope in Rome a few years earlier over some nonsense. I was skeptical that he would be willing to give up even a small portion of the Church’s wealth. “What did Eudokia say?”
John looked at me blankly. “I don’t think she said anything, but she was talking with Catherine when the subject came up.”
I sighed. My dress needed letting out again. I seemed to get large sooner with each pregnancy, but at least my physician, Maria Kourtikios, said it wasn’t twins this time.
I glanced at my husband and wondered if he believed the patriarch would consent to raid the monasteries’ storehouses for their gold chalices and patens. Isaac needed gold, but I doubted the Church would willingly give it up.
“Isaac agreed with Ducas that this could be a good solution.”
“Maybe,” I said slowly, “but where will Ducas be if Keroularios disagrees? Isaac will get the blame, not him.”
John frowned. “That’s true. I’ll mention it to Isaac. It’s just he’s so impatient to put money problems behind him and push back against the Turks and Pechenegs. He wants to fight battles, not fret over money.”
The Great Palace soon made up for the many decades without children inside its walls. Eudokia and I had our babies in the spring; my seventh was a son, Adrian, named after my grandfather, and Eudokia’s fourth, a daughter, Theodora.
My cousin, Romanus Diogenes, left on assignment to Armenia at about the same time. His wife, Anna, whom we called Anya, was another of Catherine’s nieces. With Romanus gone, Catherine soon had Anya and their two children in the palace with us.
One afternoon, Catherine appeared with two little girls who looked younger than eight or nine years old. The younger of the two, a sweet-faced child with red-gold hair, stood subdued and shy. The other girl was not so fair, but had sharp eyes that missed nothing.
“Anna, the King of Alania sent his daughter Maria to us, along with her cousin, to be educated and brought up as princesses should be.” She glanced around the room at the dozen or so children scampering about. “So I’ve brought them to join the rest of the children.”
“This is Maria,” she said, indicating the pretty, petite girl, “and what did you say your name was?” Catherine looked down inquiringly at the other child.
“My name is Irene,” she said, giving Augusta Catherine a bold direct look.
“Oh yes, thank you. Girls, this is Lady Anna. She is in charge of the nursery, and she’ll be taking care of you.”
I seethed inside when Catherine spoke to me as though I were a servant, even forgetting to use my title of Caesarissa. I should have been used to her haughtiness, but it could still infuriate me. Catherine glided away, the very picture of an imperial augusta, back to the Daphne Palace and Isaac’s offices. As was her wont, she looked as relieved to be done with the children as Pilate washing his hands.
I took a deep breath to calm down and turned to the little girls. Even bold little Irene had a nervous look in her eyes behind her brave front. I bent down to speak to them.
“Welcome to the palace, Maria and Irene. I am Caesarissa Anna. Let me introduce you to the other children.”
Accompanied by a pair of black-robed priests, Michael Keroularios walked the short distance from the patriarch’s residence, across the busy Mese, to the Great Palace to meet with Isaac. The patriarch was in his mid-fifties, impeccably dressed in his clerical robes with his dark hair now shot with silver. Isaac was much the same age, but despite the rich imperial garments he had a soldier’s aspect. The two men greeted each other as equals with the kiss of peace. The rest of us in attendance, John and I, Catherine, Eudokia and Ducas, Isaac’s old friend Katakalon Kekaumenos and his nephew, along with Michael Psellus as secretary, made deep bows of obeisances to the patriarch, kissing his ring and asking for his blessing. Isaac invited his guest to be seated in a chair equal to his own, recognizing the eminent position he held that exceeded any other in the world except the emperor’s.
The rest of us stood in respectful silence while servants brought wine and bread for patriarch and emperor. Once the niceties of imperial etiquette were accomplished, Isaac broached the subject at hand. “Your Beatitude, thank you for joining me today. I hope you can provide me with some advice and assistance.”
The patriarch put down the elegant blue wine glass he’d been served, and eyed Isaac with a calculating look. “Of course, my son. What is your difficulty?”
“How much do you know about the state of the empire’s treasury?”
The patriarch shrugged. “I am not concerned with such worldly matters, my son. I trust the worldly to look after their own affairs.”
Isaac’s eyebrows rose and he looked as if he was considering whether the patriarch was being honest or deflecting a subject he didn’t want to discuss.
Patriarch Michael looked around the room and made a banal comment about the weather.
“Sir, unfortunately, I am one of those poor souls condemned to be concerned about worldly matters,” said Isaac with a somber air. “I have grave concerns about the condition of the treasury, and I hope you can assist me.”
“I am sure there is nothing I can do to assist you.” The patriarch gave Isaac an irritated look and began gathering up his robes. He nodded to the two priests who rose to attention.
“Sir, please hear me out,” Isaac said. I suspected the patriarch would have preferred to be gone already, except that protocol demanded he remain while the emperor spoke.
“Those who have sat in this imperial seat in the thirty-two years since Emperor Basil died have not been good stewards of the empire’s wealth. The treasury that was full to overflowing when he died is bare. They have squandered all the gold that Basil left.”
“No doubt you exaggerate. It is impossible for the treasury to be empty. Ours is the richest kingdom in the world.”
Isaac frowned. “The kingdom may have wealth, but none of it is in the treasury.”
“I fail to see why you are coming to me with this matter. Again, I do not concern myself with worldly affairs such as taxes and treasury,” he said with a dismissive wave of his hand.
I thought that was disingenuous. He had concerned himself enough with the world to help get rid of the last emperor. Of course, Michael VI had shown no respect for this proud patriarch, thus losing his allegiance. Keroularios grimaced and picked at a speck of dust on his robe, before glaring hard into Isaac’s eyes.
Isaac’s face turned as cold and hard as a piece of porphyry marble.
“Your Beatitude, the empire’s treasury is empty. The Turks, the Bulgarians, and the Pechenegs are all attacking our borders every day. What money we have is not enough to pay our soldiers, much less supply them.” Isaac paused to let his words sink in before continuing.
“Sir, I am asking you now, much as Christ said to ‘ask and it shall be given to you.’ I need gold for our soldiers. The Church has gold in its vaults and income from the lands the monasteries hold.” He paused. “I’ve cut what costs I can. The taxes levied on the people are already high; I can’t push them higher. There’s no place else I can go other than the Church.”
“There’d just be a few grumbles if you raised taxes; it would pass. Or what about the Venetians? I’m sure they would lend you the money.”
“Your Beatitude, you know the taxes are already higher than they have been in a hundred years. And the Venetians are a big part of the problem. Psellus here can explain how they lent Emperor Monomachos enormous amounts for all the grand buildings he erected. We can’t even repay them what we owe now, as well as pay our armies defending our borders, as General Kekaumenos can tell you, when we have so little income. No, I’ve given this shortfall much consideration. Our best option, our only option, is for the monasteries to share their wealth.”
The patriarch stood, red-faced with anger. “No,” he said in a raised voice and waving a dismissive hand. “Your greedy exaggerations do you no credit. We are the Roman Empire, and none is wealthier. This discussion is finished. I can assure you that neither I, nor the Church, will be giving you any of its wealth. It would be pure theft from the Almighty. You must find a different way out of your difficulties.”
Isaac glared at the patriarch, outraged that the man would defy him.
The emperor’s eyes narrowed, his voice low and dangerous. “I assure you, Your Beatitude, that I have looked for alternatives. None has presented itself. The Church will provide us with gold.”
It didn’t happen immediately. John and Psellus first made up lists of the wealthiest monasteries with the largest tracts of land and holding the richest endowments from patrons. Psellus was diligent in his list-making. He had no love for the patriarch after the man had made dangerous accusations of paganism against him some years earlier. Psellus’s smoldering resentment left him eager to destroy the churchman, and his thorough survey of the monasteries overlooked nothing.
Most monasteries were small, humbly endowed, with a few monks living quietly within their walls and serving the poor, with little to contribute to the treasury. But it was common knowledge that the best-known ones had received rich gifts of gold, precious objects, or vast farms and vineyards that were exempted from taxation once the monastery owned them. St. John Stoudion, St. Demetrios in Thessaloniki, Hosios Loukas in Greece, Mt. Olympus in Bithynia, and at least forty others. All, even those favored by Isaac and his family, received instructions from the emperor.
They were allowed to keep enough land to feed their monks and the local poor, but the rest was to be turned over to the imperial treasury. Each monastery was limited to a few fine gold and silver vessels to use in the Divine Liturgy, with the remainder sent to Isaac to be melted into coins.
Isaac wanted to be out fighting battles, pushing back the invaders threatening our borders. He hated spending so much time trying to find gold. He was angry with Catherine over any money she spent and asked me each day about where we could cut expenses. His words now held more vinegar than honey.
“These monasteries should be grateful to me. They will have fewer worries now that they no longer have so much gold to guard or so many fields to till,” he said, his face dark.
Of course, the patriarch instructed the monasteries not to remit anything to the emperor, but the wiser hegoumeni made at least a small show of compliance. They would send some dented silver patens, bowls, chalices, a chest full of the copper follis with little value with a few random shaved gold solidi scattered amongst them. The fields turned over were distant from those monasteries and unproductive.
My husband, John, told me that he would be taking a troop of soldiers to Bithynia for a few weeks to, as Isaac said, “encourage compliance with the imperial edict.”
“I’m not relishing this trip,” John said glumly as he mulled over our chess game. “I hate scavenging in monasteries, but Isaac can do nothing without their gold. Keroularios should have agreed to help.” He nervously stroked the small enamel-and-gold cross he wore on a chain around his neck.
I looked over the board with its game pieces—knights and castles, kings and bishops, pawns. The king had little ability to win anything without the other pieces. The king could lose some of his pieces, but the more he lost, the more difficult winning became. I thought about what pieces Isaac had lost in his chess game. His bishops were gone with Keroularios, and probably some of the pawns, angry at taxes. Isaac still held his castles and the knights—the generals who supported him.
I looked up at my husband’s face, recalling how I had first gotten to know him over a chessboard. Now his once bright red hair was faded to a tawny color. John was in his forties, years younger than Isaac, but he looked even more anxious than his brother did. He thought of himself as a good man, faithful to the Church. The need to expropriate Church property made him miserable.
I tried to reason with him. “Ask yourself what the patriarch is doing with all that gold. Isaac is only asking the wealthiest monasteries to contribute, not the small, poor ones. Those monks took vows of poverty. Don’t blame yourself or Isaac for what’s happening.”
John frowned and pushed away from the chessboard after toppling over his king and admitting defeat. “I don’t blame anyone but Keroularios, but I still don’t like having to do it.”
Pascha was just a few days away when my cousin Romanus returned to the city, dusty and travel-stained from his assignment in Armenia. He strode into the nursery to excited shouts from his children, Theophano, called Thea, and Constantine, whom we called Costas. Moments later, he embraced his wife, Anya, before bowing to Catherine, who was there on one of her rare visits.
“Augusta Catherine, I apologize for not changing into more appropriate attire for a palace visit, but I was eager to reunite with my family. I hope you don’t mind if they return with me to our home now.” Romanus smiled down at Anya, his arm wrapped around her waist.
“Of course not, General,” said Catherine. “My niece has been watching for you since we received word you were on the way. I believe they’ve been ready to leave for days.”
My daughter Theodora was at my side then, tugging at my dress.
“Is Costas leaving?” She looked bereft. He was just a year older than her five years and still tolerated her following him around.
“Yes, dear, but he’ll be back soon. You still have your sisters to play with.” I gave her a quick kiss to comfort her before she wandered off, still unhappy at her playmate’s departure.
Servants scurried about while the nursery’s remaining children played. I noticed that Eudokia stood apart, a hand resting on her son Michael’s shoulder. She looked miserable and ignored in a corner with eyes downcast. She brightened when my little Isaac came over to Michael and asked him to play. Easygoing Isaac was never much bothered by Michael’s oddities.
And Michael was odd. A sweet child, but slow to grow, slow to learn, easily frightened. He was not half-witted, nor was he sickly—or no more so than other children. Maybe just weak in a world that scorned the weak. He might make a good priest.
Catherine left to wish her niece’s family farewell, and the other children settled down. I walked over to speak to Eudokia.
“Are you all right? You look upset,”
Her mouth twisted into a half grimace. She shook her head.
“It isn’t fair.”
“What isn’t?” I asked.
“To see your cousin and his family so happy, and mine . . .” she trailed off, looking dejected. “It’s been weeks since Constantine bothered to see our children. I know he’s with the emperor, but he won’t spare a moment for them and barely any time for me. Your cousin, though, wouldn’t even take the time to bathe and put on fresh clothes. He couldn’t wait to get back to his wife and children.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, putting my hand on her arm. I was sympathetic. Eudokia had many blessings, but her husband wasn’t one of them. Ducas’s wealth bought her the finest silk gowns with exquisite embroidery, almost as fine as anything Catherine wore, and yet the gold bracelets encircling her wrists were more like shackles.
“Not your fault. I was my uncle’s pawn. Now, my husband is sniffing around the emperor’s daughter and looking for an excuse to divorce me and marry her. It’s humiliating.”
So she knew.
“That won’t happen. Catherine wants a prestigious marriage for Marika, and certainly not one to Constantine. He’s older than Isaac, and he’s already been married twice. The Church won’t permit a third one.”
She gave me a skeptical look that I could not blame her for.
John completed his tasks for Isaac and returned home by April. Isaac’s persistence and John’s military help went a long way to returning the treasury to a healthy state by September, the first anniversary of his crowning. The soldiers on our borders received long overdue back pay, along with desperately needed supplies. Isaac also made payments to the Venetians for much of what they were owed.
The patriarch still fumed about what he called the “raping and pillaging” of the churches, although he only spoke of it publicly in the ambo when Isaac was not at the Divine Liturgy. Isaac took to attending when he knew Keroularios led the services at the Hagia Sophia. No one expected the patriarch, even one as bold as this one, to dare speak against Isaac with him standing there. This ploy minimized the patriarch’s vocal criticisms and his sway over the many devout people of Constantinople who did not understand Isaac’s dilemma. The churchman still kept up a steady drumbeat of criticism of Isaac in private and with friends, and word of his diatribes did make it back to us.
We hoped that over time Keroularios would become more reconciled to Isaac’s demands, but his outrage and anger festered. Eudokia told me he complained bitterly when she visited him. For his part, Isaac resented the patriarch’s stubborn refusal to understand why he’d been forced to make such demands. They were like two dogs circling a piece of meat, snarling and nipping at each other. The rest of us just wanted to stay out of their way and avoid getting bitten. It was inevitable that eventually one of them would attack and the real fight begin.
Keroularios lunged first on a Sunday in late September, at the Divine Liturgy at the Hagia Sophia. At first it was only the men in the nave who noticed, whispering among themselves as they glimpsed him, heads swiveling to look again to be sure. The sound of whispering and muttering reached us high in the women’s gallery. My mouth hung open in disbelief when I saw what he was wearing, as bold as an actor on a stage. Catherine, at first engrossed in her prayers, stood on the green marble empress’s circle but soon bent over the balustrade to see what was causing the chatter. She gasped when she saw him.
The patriarch was processing through the church in his usual patriarchal regalia, accompanied by priests and servers with their censers and candles burning. The one difference was that he wore purple socks and shoes. Only the emperor was permitted to wear purple socks and shoes. No one, not even a patriarch, had ever presumed to wear them before. He was insinuating that he was emperor, not Isaac.
The other women with us were all soon peering over the railing to see what was going on, whispering among themselves as much as the men in the nave were. Isaac looked up at us from where he stood with John and the rest of his entourage and gave a nod toward the exit to the palace. We left immediately, following behind him as soon as we could retreat down the long ramp.
It was only when we were behind closed doors that he voiced the anger and frustration that had been building during the year he had been emperor. My brother-in-law’s patience had reached its limit.
John and I, Catherine and Marie, the old general Kekaumenos and his nephew, Peter, gathered in Isaac’s office in the Daphne. The gray-haired Kekaumenos massaged his maimed hand, mutilated in the same battle that had killed John and Isaac’s brother-in-law, Michael Dokeianos, almost ten years earlier.
“You know he’s just goading you, trying to force your hand,” said the older man.
Isaac raised an eyebrow and nodded.
“You’re right. The question is, what does he think I will do? And what is it that I should do?”
“I think you need to get him to abdicate now and ship him off to some remote island,” drawled young Peter Kekaumenos. “He’s just trouble.” Peter was a stocky man, about my height, who had fought alongside his uncle when Isaac took the throne. He had a soldier’s preference for blunt speech.
“I know it seems like Keroularios was trying to say he should have the throne, but maybe he had a different message. Maybe he was just trying to say that the Church should rule our behavior, not the emperor.” John was looking for any excuse to avoid making matters worse. I felt almost embarrassed at his gullible comment.
“Well, I suppose it’s possible,” said Peter, “but I doubt it.”
The men continued arguing, but after a few minutes I felt too tired to keep listening. I was exhausted from trying to manage the palace’s operations, even with Thomas’s help. The children in the nursery always needed attention. Baby Adrian had been up several times during the night, and then, just at dawn, one of the nursemaids had woken us saying Alexios had disappeared. That child was smaller than his brothers had been at his age of two, but he had more energy and mischief than the two of them ever had. John and I got up, sick with fear, and searched for him for at least half an hour before I found him throwing sticks and rocks into the Boukoleon harbor.
It was fortunate I found him when I did since he was about to tumble into the deadly water when I scooped him into my arms. I chastised him for scaring his mother, but my heart melted when I saw the fear on his face.
“Sorry, Mama,” he said, wrapping his little arms around my neck.
After such a night, with little sleep and an early rising, I was exhausted. The men droned on, and my head lolled back on the chair. Within a few minutes, I was asleep, dreaming of chess games, the little marble pieces gyrating in my head as if in some victory dance.
Someone must have noticed that I had nodded off since I felt a poke.
I heard Isaac speak through a sleepy haze, “How can Keroularios think he could become emperor? It’s just crazy.”
“Pawns,” I responded without thinking.
Every face turned to me, even though I was not exactly sure what I meant.
“What did you say?” asked Isaac.
“She said ‘pawns’,” answered Catherine. She gave me a thoughtful look.
The dream I’d been having still swam through my head, but the clouds dissipated. “Yes, pawns. The patriarch has no castles, no soldiers, unlike a king does. All Keroularios has are the pawns, the people of Constantinople who believe everything he tells them. They support him.”
“That’s true,” said Isaac. “I need to get him away from them. We need to grab him when he’s not in the city, so no one learns of it until after we have his abdication in hand. Then he can retire to a remote monastery somewhere.”
Kekaumenos and his nephew exchanged glances.
“I’ll start figuring out a plan,” said Peter.