March to November 1071
Eudokia spent the weeks prior to Romanus’s departure trying to get him to send Andronikos Ducas back to Bulgaria. I told them both what I’d overheard but my cousin seemed to think I could not be sure they were speaking of him. True enough, the two plotters had mentioned no names, but there could be little doubt of whom they’d spoken. Romanus had trained Andronikos and fought beside him in Bulgaria and refused to believe the young man could be disloyal to him.
It was painful to hear their arguments about the Ducas boy, but both emperor and empress trusted me to hold my tongue about their private matters.
“Husband, you don’t think Andronikos would betray you if his father asked him to? I’ve known him since he was born, and I believe he would.” Her voice held a desperate tone.
Romanus gave her a skeptical look. “My dear, you don’t understand loyalty between soldiers. And even John Ducas has to realize there’s no one else capable of stopping the Turks. Politics is one thing, but in a fight to survive? I doubt it.”
The muscles in Eudokia’s face were taut, her eyes bright. “I don’t doubt it. Please believe me, you must not let John Ducas’s son go with you; you must not give him authority of any kind. I don’t know what he’ll do, but I do know he means you harm.”
Romanus’s face turned an angry red. “I must not take him? If you know so much about military affairs, why didn’t you do anything about the abysmal state of affairs when your first husband was ruling? Really? Exactly how much do you know now that you can lecture me, someone who has spent his entire life donning armor, in the saddle, leading men, and fighting wars? Explain that to me.”
Eudokia flushed with embarrassment at his accusation.
“I will admit I know little of war. What I do know is that Caesar John will do whatever it takes to get his way. And I know he means you no good.”
Their argument turned the mood of the imperial chambers frosty with formality in the last days before Romanus’s departure.
The emperor’s ship left the quay outside the Boukoleon Palace at dawn on March thirteenth. Their quarrel not settled, Eudokia gave him a chaste kiss on the cheek in their rooms in farewell and did not accompany him to the water’s edge.
“Anna, I am so worried about him. I keep waking in the night thinking about what John Ducas could be planning. Romanus is everything to me, no matter our disagreements. I don’t know what I’ll do if something happens to him. I hate that we’ve argued.” She stood by a window, watching his ship cross the Bosphorus, tears streaming down her face.
It seemed the emperor felt the same way. His ship soon returned with a message and gift for Eudokia.
The gift was a soft gray dove that delighted Eudokia. She reached though the staves of its cage to stroke its small head.
“You know, Romanus sometimes calls me his ‘gray dove,’” she said after reading the message, smiling at the bird. She looked up at me, her eyes bright. “He apologized for the cold words we had. I can’t leave things as they are between us. Anna, let’s pack up and go to Nicomedia ourselves. He’s at the palace there, and we can stay with him for a few days.”
We were soon on board one of the imperial ships, wrapped in heavy mantles and with sea spray chilly on our faces. I was secretly glad to be going since I’d only seen Manuel briefly before he’d boarded the ship with Romanus. I would never again take for granted my son’s safe return after his capture the year before.
Our carriage arrived at the palace near sunset. Romanus stood in the sun’s reddish glow at the building’s entrance talking with some of his men, including Manuel. The surprise on Romanus’s face when he saw Eudokia soon turned to joy, and he descended the steps to embrace her. I stepped away while they spoke in intimate whispers, hands clasped.
“Mama, I didn’t expect to see you so soon,” said Manuel as he enfolded me in a warm hug. “I am glad to see you, of course.” He glanced over at the emperor and empress. “And I’m glad to see her. The emperor’s been grumpy since we left. I hope she’ll brighten his mood.”
I took his arm so we could walk away from the rest of the men milling around the entrance, down to a garden beside it.
“The empress worries about what John Ducas might be plotting,” I began and then told him about what I overheard Andronikos Ducas and Michael Psellus discussing.
“Romanus doesn’t believe Andronikos would do anything to hurt him. Eudokia and I think he could and will.”
I searched my son’s face, looking for his reaction. He looked to the west, where the sun was lowering below the horizon, before responding.
“I haven’t noticed anything suspicious with Andronikos myself. He comports himself well, gives no indication of disloyalty, but. . .” he trailed off, looking thoughtful. “Everyone knows loyalty is everything to the Ducas family. A threat to one of them is a threat to them all. I doubt John Ducas ever liked my father-in-law, even before he married Eudokia. Romanus is everything he isn’t.”
I shivered when a cold wind blew through just then. “Son, I know nothing my cousin does can ever win over John Ducas. Nothing.” My teeth chattered with cold. “Promise me you’ll keep an eye on the Ducas boy? Make sure he can’t threaten the emperor?”
“Of course, Mama,” he said. “I hope you’re wrong, but I think you’re right to be concerned.”
“Thank you, Manuel. The empress will be relieved to know you’re watching out for him.”
Eudokia and I spent four delightful days in Nicomedia with Romanus and Manuel. The day after our arrival, the weather had an early spring thaw and we had clear days for the visit. Romanus kept busy, purchasing supplies, monitoring the training of new recruits, getting reports from scouts about Turkish activity, planning the details of the year’s campaign. Romanus and Eudokia spent their evenings alone and each morning looked as happy as they’d been when they’d wed three years earlier.
Manuel and I ate together every evening, laughing and recalling stories from his childhood. I felt so proud of this son, tall and muscular, his hair and beard the same chestnut color as my hair, laugh lines around his eyes, but still every inch of him a fierce warrior. His tanned skin glowed golden in the lamplight.
“Son, please be careful this year. You can’t scare your mother again the way you did last year,” I said in farewell the last day.
“Mama, me? I was always fine. You worry too much,” he said with a casual grin. Did every son say that to his mother when he left for war?
I embraced him and gave him my blessing before whispering in his ear, “And don’t forget about Andronikos.”
“Of course, Mama.”
Eudokia gave a small speech to her husband and his officers assembled to see her off.
“Dearest husband and officers of the imperial army, you will soon be going into battle against a fierce enemy. I am confident you will be accompanied by the spirits of the soldiers gone before you who have fought for the Roman Empire—in Julius Caesar’s battles, with Trajan’s soldiers, to win Constantine the Great’s victories. The souls of those murdered by the Turks call out for retribution, and they will be with you, strengthening your right arm in battle. Led by my imperial husband, Emperor Romanus Diogenes—God grant him many years—I am confident you will perform your duty to defeat this terrible invader and return peace and plenty to our beautiful, God-blessed land. Never forget the honor you bear serving the Roman Empire.”
The soldiers gave her enthusiastic applause, and we departed in our carriage. Romanus rode beside us as escort the two miles to the shore where the imperial barge awaited, sails furled.
Romanus and Eudokia stood close together, delaying her departure as long as possible.
“Farewell, my beautiful gray dove,” I heard him say to her.
“God keep you safe, my handsome prince,” she said before kissing him.
Romanus glanced over at me, a fierce expression on his face. “Anna, you must keep my wife and children safe from harm. There’s no one else I can entrust them to more than you.”
“Of course, cousin. You don’t even need to ask.”
We boarded the ship and waved to Romanus as long as he remained in sight. It was only when he could no longer see us that Eudokia turned to me and wept in my arms.
I accompanied Eudokia to the council meetings where Romanus’s frequent dispatches were read and discussed. The debates I heard going on around the table left me unsettled. Some of the men somehow remained blind to the threat the Turks meant to the Roman Empire. Others were obvious partisans of John Ducas, always ready to point out some perceived flaw in the emperor’s strategy. None fully supported Romanus. Michael Psellus, the chattering bureaucrat, who, if he had ever picked up a sword would have hurt himself, was the worst of them. His petty criticisms of the emperor only revealed his ignorance of war. I realized his loyalty was always first to himself and then to whomever paid him the most.
I tried not to worry about Romanus, knowing he had Manuel’s support and the support of his troops, many of whom would do anything for him. I knew that too many of the other officers, though, had ties to Caesar John. It concerned me, then, when Manuel wrote that he and Arisghi, now going by the Greek name of Chrysokoulos, and a small force were being sent by a different route to Sebasteia, where the two armies would meet again. Romanus was a capable man, but a feeling of foreboding settled over me during the long days of Lent.
A mud-stained and sweaty messenger arrived at the palace late on the day after Pascha. A messenger for me from the hegoumenos of the monastery of the Theotokos of Alypos, someone I did not know. My finger trembled as I broke the wax seal and opened the short note.
The monk had written that Manuel had taken ill with an ear infection and I must come immediately.
I packed a few items and left for Bithynia within the hour on the imperial dromon Eudokia insisted I take. I sent a quick note to Thea letting her know of Manuel’s illness, trying not to frighten her. I didn’t think an ear infection could be too serious, although the letter’s urgency alarmed me.
The monastery was a day’s journey from the city, and I arrived late on the sixteenth. The little Turk, Arisghi/Chrysokoulos, was at the entrance gate. I could barely understand his garbled tongue, but the terrible words I did discern were “You came in time.” Inside the walls were several soldiers wearing imperial insignia. Romanus must be inside.
A monk hurried toward me, his head bowed and bald pate shining pink.
“Lady Anna, God be praised, you have arrived. A priest is with your son now.”
I felt my knees buckle and leaned heavily against the stone wall, the blood draining from my body along with hope. “Tell me. What happened?”
“Your son arrived a few days ago on Holy Saturday. He was in great pain with his ear and feverish. I don’t know how it happened, mayhap a tiny scratch; the physician does not know how. The ear was already swollen to twice its normal size. The poison in the infection soon spread throughout his body. We’ve done what we can but. . .”
But there was no chance. I could see that in his kind eyes. Dear God, how could this be?
“Father, can I see him?”
“I’ll take you to him. The priest shouldn’t be much longer.”
He escorted me to the monastery’s infirmary. One old monk lay in his bed, breathing heavily, while a younger one sat up with his foot elevated. Manuel was in an alcove where he had some privacy. Romanus stood outside it, pale and mournful. He looked up when I entered the infirmary and came to embrace me.
“Anna, I am so sorry about this. Manuel said he just woke up one morning with the ear throbbing and the pain just got worse and worse, the swelling worse and worse, and he ended up here.”
My son, my firstborn, my handsome, laughing son, so strong in war and now losing a battle with an infection. I could not understand how God could let this happen. It was so unfair. He was a good man, the world needed good men; not the many bad men who still walked its streets. It made no sense to me.
The priest finished his blessing of Manuel. I crept into the alcove, sat on the stool beside the bed and took my son’s burning-hot hand. His right ear was hugely swollen, almost resembling an elephant’s ear. I reached to gently stroke it only to see him wince in agony.
“Manuel, it’s Mama.”
Feverish eyes in a red face turned to me. “Mama” he said, gripping my hand. “Mama, I’m so sorry. I don’t know how this happened. It just started hurting one night and—”
“Don’t tire yourself with talking.” Tears streamed down my face at my poor boy, my golden son, once so strong. “I’m here now. I’ll not leave you.”
“You must tell Thea I love her and our daughters. Tell her I’m sorry. Please take care of them. I’ve disappointed everyone.”
“No, you haven’t. You have been the best son I could ever ask for.” I wiped away tears that blurred at the sight my poor boy. “Your daughters will grow up knowing you were the best father they could ever have.”
“Lady Anna, we should let him rest for a bit,” said one of the infirmary monks.
“Yes, son, rest your eyes and sleep. I’ll be here when you awaken.”
He smiled faintly and closed his eyes, his breathing rough and unsteady.
Romanus and I sat beside his bed that last night my son lived on this earth, as he groaned and fitfully clawed at the swollen ear. Our tears flowed watching his fever dreams turn to nightmares, frightening him to half wakefulness. We wiped his head with a cool damp cloth for some small relief. Manuel’s little Turkish friend, Chrysokoulos, watched from across the room with a somber face.
Finally, at dawn, he roused suddenly, gasped, his eyes wild before they rolled back in his head in agony. His body went limp, his strong hand no longer gripping mine.
Chrysokoulos accompanied me with Manuel’s body to Byzantium, along with an honor guard Romanus sent. He would be buried at St. Thekla’s beside his father and Uncle Isaac. Romanus sent a letter with me to Thea, apologizing to his daughter for not returning home with the body. He was the emperor, and the death of a son-in-law, however fond he might be of the lad, could not take precedence over the Roman Empire. The monks wrapped Manuel’s body in a white linen shroud and placed it in a plain coffin for his return home.
Every step on that journey home was a step I didn’t want to take, but the living have no choice but to go on. We arrived at the quay outside the Boukoleon not long after sunset the day of his death. Eudokia wept at the news and made an effort to console me. My grief was too fresh for consolation, though. A wagon brought his coffin to our house in Blachernae in the dark hours of the night, where it would wait for burial. Manuel and Thea had moved there after Theodora and Costas married so they could have Romanus’s old house to themselves. I had to break the news to Thea, using words I had no practice speaking, but with her I had someone with whom I could grieve, someone who loved Manuel as much as I did.
Thea and I spent the rest of the night weeping and saying the prayers for the dead beside his body. The servants began preparations at dawn for the expected visitors but after two sleepless nights, I could only fall into my bed. I woke after midday and found my mourning clothes in the room. Eudokia must have sent them from the palace. It was almost four years since I’d first worn them when John died, and it was agony to put them on again.
I crept downstairs to the room where John had lain, and it was almost exactly as before. Friends were comforting Thea, bright yellow spring daffodils surrounded the casket, food nearby for visitors. My other sons were there, my daughters and their husbands too. Chrysokoulos stood in a corner speaking softly with Alexios. Isaac came and embraced me with tears in his eyes.
“Mama, I can’t believe he’s gone.”
I could only shake my head. My children soon surrounded me, murmuring words of shock, sadness, and consolation.
The rest of that day and the next, the day of the funeral at St. Thekla’s, were a blur of condolences. It was only after the third-day service that I realized the little Turk, Chrysokoulos, was staying at the house with us.
“Do you expect him to be here much longer?” I asked Thea, puzzled by his presence.
She shrugged. “I’m not sure, but he and Manuel became great friends. He’s stayed with us since swearing loyalty to my father.”
I decided to speak with Chrysokoulos the next day, perhaps learn more about what happened to Manuel.
“Lady Anna, I do not understand your son’s illness. Maybe from a scratch, but I saw nothing there. We traveled for two days, his ear looking worse and worse, when he said we turn back. Get to physician. Monastery was closest. But too late.”
“Oh. Thank you.” I started to turn away when he stopped me.
“Lady, Manuel and I talked. He say you suspect someone betray emperor. I say you probably right.”
“Really?”
“Yes. Some say things around me, don’t think I understand. I tell Manuel I think you right, some might betray emperor.” He stopped, glancing around to be sure no one heard us. “Now Manuel not there to watch.”
Manuel’s death had pushed that worry from my mind. Now the little Turk brought it back.
“I have idea,” he said. “Maybe you send Alexios to emperor. I take him there.”
“Alexios? But he’s not even fifteen. Why not Isaac?”
“Isaac leave soon for Bulgaria. Too suspicious. But Alexios so young, no one suspect he spy on them. So maybe a good idea?” He looked at me for agreement. “Boy is eager to go.”
Now I knew what he and Alexios had been speaking of. In truth, it was not a bad plan, even though Alexios was still younger than most. Or maybe because he was younger.
I sent a letter to the palace to be forwarded to Romanus in Cappadocia, offering to allow Alexios to take the place of Manuel.
I made a decision about the house while I waited for a response. I told Thea she could, of course, stay there with their daughters. I would stay until the end of the forty days of mourning before returning to the palace as Eudokia’s companion.
Thea looked around the house, tears brimming. “I do want to stay. We were happiest here.”
I returned to the palace with the three youngest boys, Alexios, Adrian, and Nikephoros, in June. The ancient philosophers say we are all, at any moment, close to death’s door, something we all have to accept. So while I wanted to curl up in a cocoon with my grief, my duty to them kept me sane.
It wasn’t long after we returned to the palace that I heard back from Romanus about my offer of Alexios.
I sat down with Alexios to show him the emperor’s letter. He’d let his hopes rise that he might soon be fighting in the army, perhaps with the added excitement of spying.
“So he doesn’t think I’m ready,” he said, mouth twisted into a scowl.
“He thinks you’re too young. And he doesn’t want me to risk losing another son.”
“Chrysokoulos said you were worried about the emperor, that you’d asked Manuel to keep an eye on the officers, especially Andronikos Ducas,” Alexios said.
“That’s true. Not everyone is as loyal to the emperor as they should be.”
Alexios frowned. “Are you talking about Caesar John? Because everyone knows he hates the emperor.”
The same words Thomas had used. “Alexios,” I began.
“And everyone knows Andronikos will do anything his father says. He’s terrified of the old man. If I were Romanus, I know I’d be worried about Andronikos.”
“Son, I have the same worries, but you must keep this to yourself.”
He pushed back his red hair impatiently. “Keep it to myself? Everyone knows. All my friends talk about it.”
Even the children knew. “Perhaps so, but it will do you no good to speak openly about it. Let others do that. This is a lesson you need to learn early and learn well.” I looked him hard in the eye.
He backed off then, quiet for a minute, staring back at me, before answering. “I understand, Mama.”
Eudokia shared with me the correspondence she received from her husband before she had it read in the council chamber. We read these letters to determine how she could best discuss their contents with the council, many of whom were antagonistic toward Romanus and the rest ambivalent. The army’s scouts reported Alp Arslan’s forces besieged Edessa in Syria, so the emperor decided to use that opportunity to attack the Turks in their less-fortified towns of Manzikert and Chliat. Inevitably, criticism of his decision arose.
“Wouldn’t it be better if the emperor attacked the Turks at Edessa?” asked Psellus. “He could finish all of them off there.”
“The emperor chose Manzikert since it is the easternmost fort held by the Turks. It’s reported to be lightly manned since the sultan diverted most of his soldiers to Edessa. If we regain Manzikert easily, as he expects, it will cut off Turkish access to a large part of the empire. Edessa is outside our borders and difficult to keep armies supplied,” Eudokia explained calmly.
Psellus pursed his lips and sat stroking his long gray beard. “I still think attacking Edessa would be the better option.”
Eudokia gave him a sweet smile and said, “Perhaps next year you can take the army on campaign, then.”
The bureaucrat, terrified of horses, turned red and looked back at his notes.
A week later, a letter arrived with more alarming news. The emperor had camped his army near Cappadocia, and during the night a fire broke out in the camp, although it only destroyed his horses, weapons, saddles and other equipment.
Eudokia looked up at me. “The fire only destroyed Romanus’s horses, weapons, and saddles? No one else’s?”
I looked at her. “That seems odd.”
Eudokia rubbed her temples. “Yes. I don’t want to believe sabotage, but this worries me.”
“He wrote that he’ll stop at his estate in Cappadocia to replace his horses and equipment,” I said. “I hope it doesn’t take long. Every day it takes is another day that gives the sultan a chance to find out where Romanus is going. Those Turkish armies move fast.”
Eudokia had this letter read out in the council meeting. There were a few murmurs of sympathy from the dozen men in the chamber, but most said nothing, sitting silent and looking bored. Psellus kept his head down, using the time to write his notes.
Romanus’s other letters told of visiting forts along the roads to Manzikert, inspecting them to be sure they could hold out against attacks. He also had problems with some of the mercenaries, who carried off the grain stores of local farmers, forcing him to discipline them. These were the normal problems any military leader would have.
Eudokia watched the ships coming to the Boukoleon quay each day, looking for any letter from Romanus as the summer passed. She was restless, often visiting a palace church to pray, and even her children distracted her for only short periods. I tried to reassure her.
“Romanus has the strongest army we’ve had in the east in many years. The Turks do not stand a chance against him now. Once Manzikert and Chliat are secured, he’ll be able to turn them back forever.”
She gave me a wan smile. “You’re right, but so much could still go wrong. There are no certainties in war. I can’t relax until I know for sure.”
Early August brought more letters. In one of them Romanus spoke of coming across the bodies of Roman soldiers left behind after Manuel’s battle last year near Sebasteia. I wept at that reminder of his last year, where Manuel turned defeat into victory when he convinced Chrysokoulos to change sides. Another letter spoke of the terrible devastation the Turkish raids caused to the city of Theodosiopolis caused—most of the people gone, either killed or enslaved; the buildings looted before being burned down; the hunger rampant among the survivors.
The horrific destruction Romanus encountered on the road to Manzikert appeared only to reinforce his intention to return control of the area to the empire. He wrote that scouts confirmed the fort at Manzikert had few soldiers manning it. The army he had assembled over three years was now well-trained and experienced.
Eudokia had this last letter read out in the council meeting, pleased at the confidence her husband had at the expected outcome. Most of the usual nay-sayers grumbled out a few comments—except for Psellus, who said nothing.
I often visited our house in Blachernae that summer to spend time with Thea and her two small daughters. We consoled each other, one of us strong when the other could not be. Theodora was often there since, except for servants, she was alone in her house while Costas was in Bulgaria with Isaac.
Thea was inside with the girls one day in late August while Theodora and I worked in the herb garden. My daughter’s forceful efforts to remove the weeds growing around the rosemary plant began to threaten the herb with extinction.
“Theodora, I think you’ve removed all the weeds,” I said.
She looked up at me, startled and with tears in her eyes. She wiped her sleeve across her face and sat back on her heels, shaking.
I moved to wrap my arms around her, murmuring, “I know, we all miss Manuel.”
She shook her head. “No, Mama. Well, it’s not that I’m not sad he died, I am. It’s not about Manuel.”
“So what is it?”
She rubbed her fingers against her forehead, as though trying to rub something out of her mind.
“It’s Costas.”
“Costas? Is he hurt? Have you had news of him?”
“No, that’s the problem. I rarely hear from him. It’s been almost two months without word, and Isaac sends you letters almost every week. If it weren’t for them, I would know nothing about how they are doing.”
“Perhaps he’s busy or maybe just doesn’t realize you want to hear from him.”
“I tell him I do in every letter I send him. But that’s not all that worries me.” She scowled as though remembering an unpleasant thought.
I wasn’t sure I wanted the answer to my question but asked it anyway.
“What else worries you?”
She flushed so deep a pink that the freckles across her nose stood out. “I didn’t tell you before, but we did not consummate our marriage until a week after the wedding. He said we should get accustomed to each other before we did that.”
The two of them had known each other since they were babies.
“But you did consummate it?”
“Yes, we did finally. And then it was Advent, and Costas said we must abstain from it until Epiphany, but he’d be out late at night. There were a few more times before Lent, and we had to abstain again. There were more excuses for being out late. Then he left right after Pascha,” she stopped, her hand over her eyes. “Mama, I wonder if he finds me ugly or doesn’t love me. He says he does, but. . .”
“Sweet girl, you are certainly not ugly, and he wouldn’t say he loves you if he doesn’t.” I hoped that was true, but avoiding the marriage bed did not bode well. “I’m sure things will get better once he’s home again.”
She nodded and dried her eyes. “I hope so.”
I would have to speak with Romanus about his son when he returned. He’d told me Costas was willing to marry her, but perhaps there was someone else? Or some other problem?
I awoke after midnight on September third, a servant knocking on my door. “The empress requests your presence in the Daphne Palace, Lady Anna.”
A midnight summons is never good news. I began saying my prayers as I hurried to dress.
Thomas greeted me at the door with a hard face, putting a finger to his lips to indicate silence. The walk from there to the Daphne Palace was short, guided by the small lamp he carried. We reached the office Romanus used, and Thomas quietly opened the door.
Eudokia was inside, resting her head on her husband’s desk, sobbing softly. A scruffy soldier was also in the room, clothes ripped in places, his exhausted face filthy, gazing on the empress with pity. . . and with fear.
I ran to Eudokia’s side, taking her hand.
“My dear friend, what’s happened?” I asked, barely able to get the words out.
“Anna, he’s dead,” she said and grasped me around the waist. “This soldier tells me the Turks killed my beloved husband at Manzikert.”
It felt like we had been flung from a ship, left adrift in stormy waters. “Oh no, Eudokia,” I said, stroking her shaking head.
The soldier spoke abruptly. “The fighting was fierce, terrible. The emperor right in the middle of it, leading the army. I saw him, but then I couldn’t. Someone said he was down, heathen Turks killed him. All our men started to abandon the fight then. We all raced to escape like ghouls were chasing us. Found a fast horse and rode to bring word.”
“Did you actually see the emperor killed? Laying on the ground dead?” I asked, grasping for some thread of hope.
He hesitated. “Not exactly, but I heard people say it.”
“How soon did you leave the area? A few hours later or right away?”
He looked at me as if I were crazy. “Right away, Lady. Made no sense to wait to get hauled to the slave markets.”
I caught Thomas’s eye. “Take this young man someplace safe, where he won’t be noticed. Get him food and drink and a place to sleep. We’ll need to speak with him again in the morning. But don’t let anyone else know about him or talk to him.”
We couldn’t keep the emperor’s death quiet for long, but we needed to come up with a plan before word got out. Assuming he was dead.
“Eudokia, we mustn’t despair. That man did not see Romanus dead. Battles are savage places where confusion reigns above all. John and Isaac always said that; my grandfather taught me that as a child. So this man might be mistaken. Let’s not give up hope. Not yet.”
Her grief-shattered face looked up at me, and she nodded. I helped her to her chamber, put her in the bed, and sat next to her on a chair in the dark, considering what to do next.
Eudokia woke from a few hours of fitful sleep at dawn, still weeping but calmer. The first person she asked me to summon was Emperor Michael.
Michael looked surprised to see his mother’s tearstained face.
“Mama, what’s wrong? What’s happened?”
She looked away from him, as though she couldn’t face him while saying the ghastly words. “My son, I received word last night that your stepfather was in a great battle at Manzikert in the eastern borderlands around Lake Van.” She stopped to wipe her eyes, catch her breath.
“A soldier arrived with the news. He said. . . he said that my husband may have been killed. That’s what he heard from other soldiers, but he didn’t see him fall, so he might have been captured. We aren’t sure yet.”
Michael blinked at that news, pushing his hair back. He sat without saying anything for a minute, as though trying to grasp what this meant, before looking again at his mother.
“Mama, this is terrible news. I am so sorry to hear this. When did the battle happen?”
His words sounded concerned, but he did not look grief-stricken. Perhaps he was eager to rule on his own, without the oversight of such a formidable stepfather.
“It was over a week ago. I am calling a council meeting for tomorrow to discuss what our options are. I hope we’ll have more news by then.”
“I think you should also send for Uncle John.”
Eudokia stiffened at that. She had tolerated John Ducas in her first marriage, but she could not forget or forgive the rudeness and backstabbing he displayed to her second husband. Even so, timid Michael would be no help, and no other dynatoi had the influence to lead in this situation the way John Ducas could.
She sighed heavily and nodded. “I think you’re correct. I’ll ask Psellus to send a messenger to him.”
“I can tell him. I was going to see him shortly anyway.” Michael, who might now be the sole emperor ruling, embraced his mother and left.
“I wish I didn’t have to send for Caesar John,” she said.
“I know,” I said. “He hates Romanus, but if Romanus is dead, the empire will need John Ducas.”
I accompanied Eudokia the next day to the council chamber. She had invited the leading senators to join the normal council members, and they gathered around the table, curious about the summons. I entered the room a step behind Eudokia, as apprehensive about this situation as she was.
“Senators and council members, this soldier, Petrus from Emperor Romanus’s army, arrived yesterday with disturbing news.”
The soldier, cleaned up and in decent clothes, came forward to relate his story. He was unused to such elite company and his voice quavered in places. He recounted his story, but this time, on Eudokia’s instructions, made sure his listeners knew he had not seen Romanus dead.
“The fighting was fierce, the emperor leading the army, as was his way, and right in the thick of it. Then I looked for him, didn’t see him, someone called out he was down. Men started saying the emperor’s dead, falling back. I kept fighting but soon the field was almost empty. I had to go.”
“You didn’t see the emperor when the field was deserted?” asked one of the senators.
Petrus shrugged. “It was all confusion then. He might’ve been there, but I wasn’t going to hunt for him when men said he was gone. I’s lucky to find a horse and get away. Weren’t many left, most scattered or slaughtered in the fighting.”
The senators had been silent when the soldier told his story, but now broke into a torrent of questions, shouts, accusations. Eudokia stood up, forcing the counselors to stand up and stop talking.
“Senators, we need to discuss what our response will be to the sultan. If my husband is dead, then we must demand his body for burial. If not, we must negotiate his release.”
“Your Majesty,” said Nikephoros Palaiologos, a great friend of John Ducas’s, “this is terrible news but we should have expected it. I never thought Emperor Romanus had a chance against the Turks. He shouldn’t have been so aggressive against them.”
Eudokia kept calm at this calumny, only saying, “Do you think you could have done better?”
“I’m sure I could have,” he said, his chest thrust out. “What about Caesar John? He should be here.”
“We’ve sent for him,” said Michael, speaking on his own for the first time in a council meeting that I had attended. “We expect him in a few days.”
“Have we received word from anyone else?” asked another senator.
“No, this soldier is the only one so far,” said Eudokia. “I suggest we wait for any other news about the battle’s outcome and for Caesar John’s arrival. I am sure if the emperor survived the battle, we will soon hear from him, or if otherwise, other men will bring that news. In the meanwhile, Senator Palaiologos, perhaps you can start assembling an army since the Turks may arrive on our doorstep at any time?”
The puffed-up senator’s eyes widened, apparently surprised to have his offer taken up, but he nodded agreement.
John Ducas’s Bithynian estate was some distance from the city, at least a two-day journey in each direction. So it was surprising when he showed up at the palace on the following day. The Caesar swaggered into the imperial audience chamber with Michael Psellus and his son Andronikos trailing in his wake, giving me a terrible sense of foreboding. Eudokia stared incredulously when she saw Andronikos who would have been with Romanus at Manzikert.
“Caesar, I didn’t expect you to arrive so soon. I summoned you only two days ago.”
“Your Majesty, I was already on my way here when I met your messenger. My son arrived with part of the emperor’s army a few days ago. He has news of the battle that you and Emperor Michael should hear.” Serious words said with an attitude of glee at someone else’s misfortune.
Andronikos Ducas stepped forward, staring at Eudokia and her son as they waited to hear what he had to say. He looked away from them, then coughed to clear his voice before finally speaking.
“I was with Emperor Romanus at Lake Van, outside the fortress of Manzikert. The battle with the Turks began on August twenty-sixth. Before it started, the emperor assigned to me thirty-five thousand men to keep some distance from where the army would fight, held in reserve should he need us. He said he would send me a message when he wanted us.” The young man stopped, seeming uncertain about what to say next.
“Go on, tell her what happened,” said his father, nudging him with his elbow.
Andronikos looked at his father and stiffened. “The fighting was relentless, but we could see from a distance that the emperor had the upper hand at the start. His men began chasing the Turks back, but then it looked like the emperor went down. At least, we could no longer see him. Then a message arrived that the emperor was dead, so we turned around and left as quickly as we could.”
Eudokia was near tears at this confirmation of the story of her husband’s death, but she was calm enough to ask questions.
“What sort of message was it? Written? By whom?”
Andronikos looked around, as if trying to think of the answer. “No, not written. I recall it was a messenger who brought the news.”
“Who was the messenger? I’d like to speak to him.”
Andronikos swallowed hard and blinked. “I can’t recall his name. He turned around and rode toward camp. I didn’t see him again.”
Eudokia slumped back in her throne, hand to her mouth, unable to speak. Michael gripped his mother’s hand and was biting the nails on his other hand, a habit he’d never been able to break.
“Your Majesty,” said the Caesar while looking at Michael, “when your mother wed Romanus Diogenes you were still quite young and perhaps needed a guiding hand. Over the past three years everyone has seen you grow in maturity and dignity. I believe it is time for you to rule on your own and without a regent now that your stepfather is dead. Of course, with the advice of your council.”
Michael stopped biting his nails, released his mother’s hand, and sat up a little straighter.
“And Your Majesty,” said Psellus, “if I might suggest that your uncle, Caesar John, rejoin the council? I believe his presence, with his many years of wisdom and judgment, has been sorely missed.”
Emperor Michael looked surprised but proud at this sudden elevation in his status. “Of course, Uncle John, I would be pleased for you to rejoin the council.” He stepped down and embraced his uncle and cousin, with Psellus beaming at the three of them.
The four men soon left the audience chamber, forgetting Eudokia.
Eudokia rose and turned to me, tears flowing down her cheeks.
“Anna, I can’t believe he’s gone. It just doesn’t seem real.”
“I know,” I said. I was crying too, and I wrapped my arms around her, trying to give some comfort. The thought that Romanus was gone appalled me, sickened me. It had been centuries since a Roman emperor had been killed in battle, and that was a terrible stain on any emperor’s reputation. He was a great general, a strong soldier, and had assembled a formidable army. I needed to find out what truly happened that day.
The other thoughts churning in my brain were about Emperor Michael. No one could believe he had grown in maturity when he had not even managed to bed his lovely wife after almost five years of marriage. It certainly looked like John Ducas’s flattery found its mark with Michael, though. And now the Caesar would return to the council.
Caesar John managed, with a combination of honey-coated words and generous gifts, to grasp control of the council and Emperor Michael within a day of his return. Michael often met with his uncle and Psellus, paying little attention to his mother. In any event, Eudokia cared little about that in her grief.
More soldiers straggled into the city, none with any other news about Romanus. Then, in mid-October, a travel-stained messenger arrived and demanded to see the empress. He carried a letter meant only for her.
Eudokia’s hands trembled as she took the folded parchment with its red wax seal. Her thin finger broke the seal, and she opened it to read the words on it.
“Anna, Anna, he’s alive!” she exclaimed. “God be praised, he is alive. He says he was captured, but he signed an agreement with the sultan who then released him. He’s had to agree to pay a huge ransom, but he’s on his way home.” She clasped the letter to her chest, joy radiating from her.
“I must tell Michael about this,” she said, standing and reaching for her maphorion to cover her hair.
“Eudokia, you do need to tell them, but. . .” I began.
She looked at me, an eyebrow raised.
“How do you think Michael and John Ducas and the rest of the council will react to this letter? They’ll not be pleased. They seem like they would be. . . uninterested in having Romanus return.”
She sucked in her breath, realizing the truth of what I said.
“Perhaps you should calm yourself, do not express great happiness at this news, then see what their response is. You have to think about what this might mean for your Diogenes sons. We should plan how you will let the council know.”
Her eyes widened in understanding. She sat down again, running her fingers nervously up and down the maphorion’s embroidered edge.
We spent a few minutes planning a strategy we hoped would work. Then Eudokia sent a messenger to her son, requesting a meeting.
“My son, I have received a letter from my husband. It seems he is still alive. The Turkish sultan captured him but released him on the promise of a ransom to be paid.”
Michael sat silent, his mouth partly agape, perplexed by this new information. John Ducas stood next to Michael, his face a blustering red, while Psellus’s eyes narrowed, calculating. No one spoke for several minutes until Psellus piped up.
“Thank you, Augusta, for providing this information to us. How sure are you of its veracity?”
“The letter is in his hand, so I am sure it came from him. He says he is on his way back to the city now. He was captured but agreed to a ransom in exchange for his release. He will be gathering what troops he can on his journey, to begin rebuilding the army.”
Eudokia’s voice was calm, but she had a more difficult time hiding her happiness at this news. Her words hung in the air, none of the three men responding.
Finally, Michael said, “Thank you for telling me of this letter, Mother. Uncle John and my other counselors and I will decide how best to respond.”
He turned away, coldly dismissing his mother. Eudokia glanced at me, her lips closed tight against a thoughtless response.
Eudokia and I slipped out of the audience chamber. A Varangian shut the door behind us, almost too fast, as though willing us to be gone. We looked at each other, knowing without speaking that the meeting had not gone well for her or her husband.
Eudokia tried to speak with her son alone several times over the following days but was given one excuse after another for why that was impossible. And yet John Ducas’s sons, Michael’s cousins Andronikos and Constantine, spent much time closeted with him and Psellus.
We were in the nursery with the younger children when Eudokia noticed a large number of imperial messengers leaving from the quay outside the palace.
“Anna, come with me. I can’t wait any longer. I need to speak with Michael now.”
We stood outside his audience chamber a few minutes later, Eudokia insisting on being admitted. Finally, the door creaked open. Michael was there, Psellus at his side.
“My son, you must tell me if you’ve heard any news from your stepfather, Emperor Romanus. I saw messengers leaving and wanted to know if they had anything to do with him.”
“M-m-mother,” he began with a stutter, “n-n-no, I’ve heard nothing from him.”
“Augusta, Emperor Michael has decided that it is time he rules on his own,” said Psellus. “He has the support of the Varangians and the council. The failure of General Diogenes at Manzikert, his disgraceful capture by the sultan, and his unauthorized signing of an agreement to pay a huge ransom all mean he has forfeited his place on the throne. Your son sent out messages to all our cities and fortresses that any attempt by Romanus Diogenes to exercise any imperial authority is invalid and that his capture will be well rewarded.”
Eudokia gasped. “But how can you do that? He is still an emperor crowned by the patriarch; he’s still my husband. What do you mean by all this? It can’t possibly be. Could I speak with the council, try to explain?”
“Augusta, the council already made its decision. The entire city will soon learn of the former emperor’s dreadful dereliction of duty and that he has been removed from the throne.” Psellus spoke those words with a smile of smug satisfaction.
I was angry at their condemnation of Romanus and my best friend’s relegation to unimportant dowager. I grasped Eudokia’s elbow and guided her out of the room, both of us shocked at this vicious attack on Romanus. Everything had gone wrong, horribly wrong.
Eudokia began sobbing when we got back to the privacy of her rooms. She took off her maphorion and flung it across the room.
“I hate Psellus. I hate John Ducas. Those two snakes are just evil. They could never do what Romanus did. They are so jealous of him. Fools, they’re just evil, vicious fools. Anna, what can we do now?”
I was going to suggest writing to Romanus when I heard a clattering outside. A troop of the Varangian soldiers were crossing the courtyard in front of the Boukoleon, heading right for us. John Ducas followed close behind them. A sense of dread clutched at me.
“We need to get out of here now. Look at those men. We have to get away from them.” My throat was dry as I choked out those words.
Eudokia looked out on them and made a strangled cry.
We took the back stairs used by the servants, down and out through a side door. Looking around, I saw an old building that had to be at least three hundred years old, dilapidated and sagging to one side. It held an underground room once used for storage that I hoped was forgotten. I pulled Eudokia behind me into the building, her fair hair flying, down its stairs to what seemed almost a crypt.
We heard sounds of men searching outside for us. Eudokia grasped my hand, tears streaming down her face. I put an arm around my old friend, trying to be strong while my heart beat painfully in my chest. It felt like we were mice hiding in this dark place, waiting for the cat to pounce. Perhaps it was a blessing that we did not wait long.
The Varangians soon realized where we were, making loud noises to get John Ducas’s attention. The soldiers broke down the door when Ducas arrived and dragged us out onto the pathway in front of the building.
“Augusta,” said Ducas with a sneer on his face, “sorry to disturb your rest. Not your usual rooms, I believe? No matter. You’re here now. Your son has asked me to let you know that since Romanus Diogenes has been deprived of his crown, Emperor Michael has decided that the best thing for you is to enter a monastery. I’ve brought a razor to begin that change.”
“No, I don’t want to,” she cried.
“Go ahead, resist if you want. But if you do, I will also use this to cut your sons with Diogenes.”
He pulled out a razor and began chopping at her beautiful hair. Eudokia did not, could not resist if that meant the small boys she had with Romanus might be made eunuchs.
I could not speak, horrified at John Ducas’s raw hatred and threats. He slashed at her head, hacking at the hair to make it as short as he could. Blond hair scattered on the ground among the red autumn leaves. Even the soldiers, hard men from barbarian lands, looked shocked at the anger twisting in Caesar John’s face as he worked.
He grunted out vile words as he chopped. “Whore.” “Oath-breaker.” and “Bitch.”
Eventually, he finished and pushed Eudokia to the soldiers.
“See she’s on the ship I have waiting at the quay.”
Ducas bellowed at her as the two soldiers escorted her away, “And don’t expect to ever see your filthy bastard of a husband again.”
Eudokia stumbled at those words, held up only by the two soldiers who each grasped an arm.
Then he seemed to notice me. “Lady Anna, you can see the Augusta Eudokia no longer requires your companionship. You need to leave the palace immediately.”