August 1072 to November 1074
The Emperor Romanus IV Diogenes died on August fourth, five weeks after the blinding. The thought of what kind of suffering he must have endured left me sicker and sadder than I'd ever felt before. Nightmare images of his face with bleeding eyes woke me screaming in the dark of night. The news, when it came, was a relief, and dreams of him in a white silk shroud a blessing.
I received a letter from Eudokia.
Sister Anna Dalassena
August 10
My dearest friend, Anna,
My son, Emperor Michael, gave his approval for an imperial funeral for my beloved husband, Romanus Diogenes. He will be buried where he died at the monastery of the Transfiguration on the Island of Prote, near Prinkipo, where you now reside. My son also gave his approval for you to attend this funeral, as will Romanus's son Costas and his daughter Thea. Please accept this invitation. I've arranged for a boat to bring you here.
The two sons that Romanus and I had will not be there, being judged too young to attend. I am grateful that Michael's wife, Empress Maria, now cares for them as her own. I miss them every day but after such a long absence I fear they may have forgotten me. My only release is in quiet contemplation and prayer, and completing this final task for my beloved husband.
Sister Eudokia Makrembolitissa
The funeral was as magnificent as it could be on a small island in the Sea of Marmara, separated from Constantinople by miles of water. Attendees came from Cappadocia in the east and Bulgaria in the west, and more than a few dared to come from the city. Romanus had been respected and loved by many, and they would pay their last respects.
For the last time, I stood as companion to Eudokia during the services that saw her husband's burial in the crypt of the monastery's church. A carved white marble gravestone covered his casket.
"You were so strong," I told her afterward. "I could not stop crying."
She looked at me, as composed as a luminous icon staring down from a church wall. "I'm done with crying. I'm grateful Romanus is not being hunted like a criminal or a wild animal. I'm glad he is no longer suffering. His time on this earth, struggling against the relentless demands of petty creatures, is done. I was blessed to have him as my husband, even if for such a short time."
"What will you do now?"
"Return to the monastery after the fortieth-day observance. It is my home now."
I embraced my friend, feeling the bones in her back pushing through her black gown. She'd become a pale wraith in the months since I'd last seen her.
"I do have one request of you," she said, a shadow of concern crossing her face.
"Anything," I answered.
"If you, or someone in your family, could watch over our sons, Leo and Nikephoros? Maria loves them the way she would her own sons if she and Michael had any. But if she ever does have a child, my little boys could be forgotten." Eudokia's eyes teared up now, thinking of the sons she would never see grow up, who would never remember her.
"Of course. Those boys are part of our family. We'll do whatever we can to keep them from harm."
Romanus's two oldest children, Costas and Thea, arrived together. They'd spent the past year being unobtrusive so as to escape the wrath of John Ducas and were a subdued presence. Costas looked almost embarrassed to be seen attending the funeral of a deposed emperor, while Thea shrank back into the shadows whenever possible. Still, they greeted me warmly and assured me of the good health of my children and grandchildren.
One man I saw standing alone was the judge Michael Attaleiates, tears streaming down his face.
"Thank you for coming," I said in greeting.
He nodded, then looked at me with troubled eyes. "I had to be here. He was a great man, and what happened to him was a tragedy—and a crime."
"I think we need to sit down and talk about what happened at Manzikert," I said.
He rubbed his eyes, as though trying not to see something.
"Maybe, someday. I'm still trying to sort it out myself, get answers to all my questions," he said before turning to leave.
The one surprise attendee at the funeral was fair Irene, as I called her to myself. Perhaps she hoped that Isaac would be there.
"I'm so glad to see you, Lady Anna," she said. "It's been almost a year."
Interesting that she used my secular title rather than my religious one.
"It's good to see you, as well. And how are matters in the palace? Your cousin and Emperor Michael are well?"
"Yes, they are. There have been some staff changes, though," she said, a smile lifting the corners of her mouth. "Caesar John recalled a eunuch named Nikephoritzes that his brother sent into exile five years ago after some disagreement with Empress Eudokia. He's proven to be a great help to Emperor Michael. The emperor no longer has to rely so much on his uncle now."
Irene likely didn't know that the story was Nikephoritzes had tried to pass on some nasty rumors about Eudokia to her first husband, Emperor Constantine. To Constantine's credit, he never believed them, and Nikephoritzes got kicked to some remote outpost for his trouble.
Irene and I soon parted, and I returned to the monastery on Prinkipo.
The fall winds had begun to blow when Isaac appeared at the monastery, not wearing monk's robes and accompanied by the fair Irene.
"Mama, it is time to go home. Irene has done it—we are free to leave Prinkipo."
The story tumbled out like bits of tesserae into an elaborate mosaic over the next few hours on the journey home. Michael missed his friendship with Isaac, was fond of me, and did not understand the need to exile us for the plain letter I had written. He had also grown resentful his uncle's domination, and Psellus's constant fussy corrections annoyed him.
John Ducas's fatal mistake, however, was bringing back the little eunuch Nikephoritzes. It turned out Nikephoritzes had taken the blame for the rumors about Eudokia all those years ago when John Ducas had actually started them. Then the eunuch got stuck in the hinterlands with not a word from the Caesar for over five years, which was plenty of time to build up a load of resentment.
Nikephoritzes arrived at the palace and soon wormed his way into Michael's favor. Irene whispered into his ear that he could best get revenge by convincing Michael to bring us back to the city. It would thoroughly anger John Ducas and prove he'd lost the influence he thought he had over his nephew. Psellus, who had always looked down on the uneducated little eunuch, would also be expunged from the emperor's circle. Gold did change hands, and Nikephoritzes got his revenge.
Irene was a determined woman and set about reaching her next goal—marriage to Isaac—like a general on campaign. Easygoing Isaac had been friendly with Michael since they were babies, so this was not difficult.
After our return, Michael found himself hunting in the park outside the Blachernae walls with Isaac. Isaac often joined Michael and his wife and Irene for dinner. There were many chess games played that Isaac tactfully lost. Michael invited Isaac to join his council when a seat became available following John Ducas's departure in January. The Caesar was not exactly sent into exile, but he was encouraged to return to his estates in Bithynia.
Isaac came home one day in late January with a smile on his face.
"Mama, you are invited to the palace to meet with Michael."
I raised an eyebrow at that but said nothing.
He picked me up and whirled me around the room, glowing. "Yes, it's to discuss the terms of a betrothal with Irene."
"So tell me what happened," I said.
He laughed. "Irene and Maria planned it all out. Maria brought up the subject of whom I should marry. Very casually, almost like she was joking about it. Then I teased her that I'd have to find someone willing to marry me. Michael was feeling pretty good about himself, having just won a game of chess from me. Irene was sitting right there, looking demure but smiling at Michael. And so he decided I should marry Irene. Thought he came up with the idea on his own."
The two of them—good-natured Isaac and single-minded Irene—would be a good match.
1073
Michael Attaleiates visited me in early March, a year and a half since that terrible day at Manzikert. Rumors, whispers, and speculation had run through the city since we'd learned of that defeat. Some said it was betrayal, some incompetence, and others saying the Turks could not be defeated. I just wanted to know the truth.
Alexios joined us; Isaac was busy and I wanted another witness to this testimony.
"I would have come sooner," the judge said, "but I was trying to find out what really happened that day. Of course I was there, but where I was behind the battle lines I saw only a small piece of it. I tracked down every person I could to learn the whole story. Even then, some refused to speak to me. Some from fear, others from embarrassment or guilt about their role."
Attaleiates looked gaunt, no longer the well-fed, esteemed judge of the highest courts of Constantinople. This was a different man than the one who had presided over Romanus's trial for rebellion almost seven years ago.
"Please tell me what you know," I asked.
This is his story.
Romanus had one hundred thousand soldiers under his command. He wanted to make an end to the Turks that year and could have with those men he had trained so well. The army spent the summer marching deep into the eastern borderlands to take the fight to the enemy. They moved often because trying to keep that many men fed was an awful strain on the local people, many of whom had already suffered from devastating raids. There were small problems—the fire that killed the emperor's horses and destroyed much of his equipment that no one could explain, the usual quibbles with locals when trying to buy food. Then there were the lands they passed through, many of them ravaged by Turkish attacks. They journeyed through the valley where my son, Manuel, had fought the prior year. The sight of the rotting dead bodies of those soldiers frightened the superstitious in the emperor's army.
"Did Emperor Romanus look intimidated by these things?" I asked.
"No. He grew only more determined."
They arrived at the fortress of Manzikert on Lake Van in August to find it occupied by only a few Turks. Romanus was determined to take it back. The Roman army emptied the town and fort of the Turks in a day or two, but this place could not provide the food needed by a hundred thousand men and their beasts. Romanus sent thirty thousand to the nearby town of Chliat under Joseph Trachaneiotes so that recalling them would be easy if he needed them. Reports from our spies said that Sultan Alp Arslan was in the south, in Aleppo. However, once he realized the emperor had gone north, he raced to Manzikert with his men and surprised Romanus. Even so, the Romans were ready for a fight when they appeared outside Manzikert's walls. The two armies skirmished a few times, feeling each other out. The emperor and sultan tried negotiating for a day, but the emperor was determined to end the raiding permanently. He sent word to Joseph Trachaneiotes to bring his army from Chliat before the battle started.
"And what happened then?" I asked.
"Nothing. They never showed up. Romanus worried something terrible must have caused them not to come." Attaleiates's eyes flashed; his face reddened. "If they had encountered a larger force, then those might be coming to reinforce the sultan. He thought he had to start the battle soon or risk losing any chance of success he had."
"Had something happened to them?"
"No. Trachaneiotes got word to come, but he decided to retreat. The Frankish mercenaries with him, led by Roussel de Bailleul, wanted to come. Trachaneiotes refused. I only learned all that when I tracked down Roussel."
"Why did he refuse to come?"
"According to Roussel, Trachaneiotes said it was no use. Romanus was doomed. There was no way he would survive."
"But how could he know? Do you think Roussel was telling the truth?" I asked, feeling sick.
"I don't know about Trachaneiotes. I tried to speak with him, but he refused to see me. He just told Roussel to get his men ready to leave to return to the city. No other explanation. I do believe Roussel; he had no reason to lie to me."
Romanus still had an advantage over the sultan, with about seventy thousand men. Alp Arslan had far fewer, so the emperor sent about half of his army into reserve, to be called when needed. The man leading that part of his army was Andronikos Ducas.
I stopped Attaleiates then.
"Eudokia and I tried to warn him about Andronikos, but he could not believe the boy would be disloyal."
The judge nodded slowly, a frown on his face. "I wish he had paid attention to you. There were many things about this campaign that were. . .not right."
The battle went well for Romanus at first. They chased the Turks off a long distance but had raced so far from where they were camped that they risked being cut off. Romanus signaled for his banner to be reversed, indicating a return to the original battlefield. He also sent a man to Andronikos, instructing him to bring the reserves he commanded into the fight as he continued the battle.
"I don't know exactly what happened then. Some men said they saw the emperor fall; others said he never fell but was full into the frenzy of fighting. I can't say if some truly thought the emperor was dead or if they are lying. I just know someone called out that the emperor was dead and began abandoning the field. I was in camp, as usual. I'm a judge and no good with a sword. First, it was just a few men fleeing, but soon it looked like the entire army panicked and was grabbing what they could before leaving.
"I learned later what happened with Andronikos Ducas. He rode out alone to meet the emperor's messenger with the instructions he was to join the battle. Ducas handed the fellow a bag of gold, told him to keep quiet about it, and sent him away. He then turned back to the soldiers he commanded and told them the emperor was dead. They must retreat."
"How did you find out all those details about the messenger from Romanus?" I asked.
Attaleiates looked as though he would be sick. "I spoke with the man himself. He was loyal to Romanus until that bag of gold hit his palm. He's been quietly drinking himself to death since then."
I looked out the window, where a few starlings swooped over our garden, graceful as though all the world was in harmony. All the betrayals and treachery that those men could accomplish had been done to Romanus.
"I scurried off to Trebizond along with many others after the battle. Found ships to bring us back here. Every day, I've learned more and more about what happened, what I witnessed but didn't see enough of or understand properly. I can barely fathom how horribly the emperor was treated by his own officers—far worse than how he was treated as the sultan's captive. I can't stop thinking about how he must have suffered with his terrible blinding. It's been a nightmare for me, and the many others loyal to Romanus Diogenes.
"I've been an impartial judge my whole life. Tried to be calm and measured in my decisions. But I want to kill that bastard Constantine Ducas, kill him in the most painful way imaginable, so he receives in full measure the agonizing death he gave an honorable man. And I want the same for his traitorous brother, Andronikos Ducas, and their miserable father, John Ducas."
The judge's eyes brimmed with tears and he could not speak anymore.
Alexios escorted Attaleiates out. Cold fury washed through me. John Ducas had bought the souls of so many weak and greedy men and destroyed the one good and strong man in their midst.
"Mama," said Alexios, standing in the doorway, shock still bold on his face. "What do we do now?"
"We do what we can but trust God to extract vengeance in His own way and time."
Isaac and his Irene were wed in early February, before the start of Lent. Emperor Michael promoted Isaac to be the Domestic in charge of all the empire's forces in the east, in Anatolia. It was a great honor, and Isaac was a good soldier, but at only twenty-three he had never led an army, much less all of Romanus's remaining eastern forces. Alexios would join him, in this his first campaign.
The wedding was a lavish affair since it was for the empress's cousin. John Ducas and his sons did not attend and were not missed. Even so, others from the Manzikert battle were there—Joseph Trachaneiotes, Basil Maleses, Nikephoros Basilakes—and were among those who had abandoned and betrayed Romanus. John Ducas had arranged promotions for all of them, with Trachaneiotes becoming dux of Antioch. I gritted my teeth and made polite greetings to them.
Lovely Irene became pregnant almost immediately. She and Isaac were elated about the child, but I could see deep envy, or perhaps grief, in the empress's eyes. The beautiful Maria of Alania spent most of her time mothering her husband's younger siblings, including his two half brothers. It was a poor substitute for having her own children, though. According to Thomas, the gossip was that the twenty-three-year-old emperor had not yet consummated his marriage.
Thomas was on good terms with Michael's favorite, the eunuch Nikephoritzes. Michael may have counted Isaac as a friend, but he relied on Nikephoritzes for anything related to governing and they were together from morning to night. I visited Thomas with a suggestion.
"Do you think Nikephoritzes could convince the emperor to. . ." I began.
Thomas looked amused at my polite reticence. "To do his husbandly duty?"
"Yes," I said. "Maria looks miserable, seeing her cousin with child almost immediately after marrying, while she's had none after seven years."
"He would be the only one to push Michael that way. No one else could." Thomas looked down, embarrassed.
"What exactly do you mean—the only one?" I asked, then stopped. "You can't mean. . ."
Thomas reddened and raised his hands in protest. "I have no proof, not seen anything specific myself. Just rumors, but reliable rumors."
The unspoken allegation explained Michael's years of reluctance, though.
"Nikephoritzes must know Michael's position would be strengthened if Maria has a son."
Thomas nodded. "Maybe, or he may worry Maria's position might be better. He knows palace politics." He looked thoughtful. "I wonder what his price would be?"
I sighed, resigned to the situation. "See if you can find out. Maria may be willing to pay it."
"He'll have to convince Michael that seven years is really too long to wait for an heir. Michael is perfectly happy with how things are. It may take some time."
"Whatever we need to do."
Thomas nodded but then pursed his lips together and gave me a long look.
"Is there something else, Thomas?"
"As a matter of fact, there is. It's about Martina."
"Martina? My seamstress?"
"Yes," he answered, looking down. "We got to know each other while you and your son were on Prinkipo last year. She's a strong woman, a good woman with wonderful children. She overcame a terrible disaster to provide for them. We have become. . .fond of each other, in a way."
I blinked at this revelation.
"Of course, we cannot marry since I am a eunuch. But I want to adopt her children. I have no other family, and I do have the means to provide a dowry for Thekla and an apprenticeship for George. Eunuchs are permitted to adopt orphaned children, but I still wanted your blessing before I did so."
I'd known for years that Thomas yearned for a family.
"You have my blessing. Congratulations on your new children," I said. "Let me know when the ceremony will be held."
"Thank you, I will. And with any luck, we'll make sure the emperor has a child too."
Isaac departed with his army and Alexios, right after Pascha, in the first week of April. I hesitated about allowing them to serve together, where both might be lost, but there was no one else I could trust him with as much as Isaac. He pleased Alexios, who turned seventeen that summer, by allowing him to lead a phalanx for the first time. Isaac had to focus on rebuilding the imperial armies that had dissipated in the three years since Manzikert, recruiting and training men. Sultan Alp Arslan who had defeated Romanus, had himself been killed by a rebel, leaving the Turks fighting like jackals over the territory he'd claimed. Otherwise, the empire's weakened army would have had little chance against these invaders.
The army included the Frankish mercenary Roussel and four hundred soldiers loyal to him. Isaac wrote often, complaining about Roussel's typical Frankish greed. Mercenaries were a necessary evil due to the depleted army ranks. Like all Franks, Roussel never felt paid enough and groused endlessly about it. My son lost all patience with him when the Frank made one too many nasty remarks about Emperor Michael and sent him and his soldiers away.
Isaac wrote that he was leading his army to Caesarea in July after learning Turkish troops were gathered there. I hoped his ranks, diminished with the loss of the troublesome but experienced Franks, would suffice against the Turks.
Thomas appeared at my gate a few days into August with an anguished look on his face. He came into the garden, where I was watching my granddaughters playing in the sunshine.
"Lady Anna, there's been news from Caesarea. Your son Isaac's army fought a battle there, and he was captured. He wasn't wounded, but the Turks are demanding ten thousand gold solidi for him."
I sat stunned for a minute before asking, "What about Alexios? He was there too."
"Alexios wrote the emperor with the news, so he's free. He said he's negotiating with the Turks since he speaks their language. There was no one else to do that with the rest of the army scattered."
I raised an eyebrow at that. Alexios had always been able to talk the other children into mischief, but this was different—his brother's life might depend on it. Most lads at seventeen would not know how to take control of that sort of situation.
I spent an anxious two weeks waiting to hear any news of Isaac before Alexios blithely wrote me that Isaac was free and gathering his men back together. They would be home in the fall.
Isaac and Alexios returned to Byzantium in mid-October after a few more battles with the Turks. Isaac was at the palace when Irene gave birth to their first child, a son they named John. The experiences of battle, captivity, and perilous escapes that they shared that summer created as solid a bond between Isaac and Alexios as I had seen between their father and his own brother, Isaac. Alexios carried himself with a mature confidence, and Isaac treated him with the respect due an equal, not a brother six years his junior.
"Mama, I cannot imagine how matters would have turned out if Alexios hadn't been with me this year," Isaac said when I was at the palace visiting my new grandson. "I know a lot of sunny-day soldiers who would have given up and gone home after I was captured. Alexios just kept pushing and pushing. The emperor probably would have come up with the gold eventually, but not so soon as Alexios did by sweet talking the eparch of Ancyra."
"So he's not just the little brother who teased you mercilessly, talking you into trouble?" I asked.
Isaac laughed. "No, he's the little brother who always has my back. And as for talking, I wonder if he could persuade the devil himself into abandoning hell. At one battle, Alexios gave a little speech about honor and duty and fighting the empire's enemies to a bunch of dynatoi boys who hadn't ever gotten their soldier boots dusty and were quivering at the thought of the Turks outside the city walls. You could almost see those boys growing a spine as he spoke. They weren't the best soldiers in battle, but we needed every blade we could find."
1074
The Greeks of Homer's day believed the pagan goddess Nemesis flew on immortal wings to bring balance and justice to the world, punishing the arrogant and wrongdoers. I am Christian, but if I were pagan I would have seen Nemesis's correcting scourge in the events of this year.
The dux of Antioch, Joseph Trachaneiotes, one of the traitors of Manzikert, died at the hands of a band of thieves outside Antioch. The emperor, or possibly Nikephoritzes, decided Isaac would be the best replacement as the dux of Antioch.
Isaac asked Theodora's husband, Romanus's son, Costas, to join him, which he eagerly did. Costas and Theodora had had bitter arguments over his visits to brothels for the past few years, followed by tearful reconciliations. A few weeks after my son and son-in-law departed, Theodora joyfully announced that she was pregnant. Sadly, though, young Costas was killed in the fighting with those bandits, making my daughter Theodora a widow, and her unborn child fatherless.
Anatolia was a festering sore. The Frankish mercenary Roussel made trouble for the emperor wherever the Turks weren't doing so. That rogue managed to convince cities and towns from Amasea in the north to Charsianon in the south to acknowledge him as their ruler and pay their taxes to him rather than to the emperor. Emperor Michael, or more likely his favorite, Nikephoritzes, decided to enlist Caesar John Ducas to lead the army against Roussel. He was joined by his son, Andronikos.
John Ducas had been a low-ranking soldier in his youth. He had commanded the soldiers who guarded his brother when Constantine had been emperor, but he had never led an entire army at war. A few years earlier, he had railed against Romanus's supposed incompetence as my cousin struggled to build an army in the east from almost nothing. Ducas had no idea of the serious challenges faced by a true general. He had never convinced men to join battle against a deadly serious foe. He had forgotten the terror of thousands of arrows raining on your head, swords slashing at arms, spears finding the one deadly opening in your armor.
John Ducas, brother to one emperor, proud uncle of another emperor, harsh critic of Romanus Diogenes, went into his first battle against the mercenary Roussel, a man making his living by his sword, and he was defeated and taken captive. Andronikos Ducas fought to stop his father's capture, instead getting wounded so badly that Roussel just sent the boy home since he would have little ransom value if he died, as appeared likely.
Alexios, by then commanding several forts along the main road from Dorylaion to Nicomedia, encountered the party of Turks escorting Andronikos back to Constantinople. He took over the care of the wounded man with the aid of a military surgeon from one of the forts, and returned with him to the city.
"He looked pretty bad," Alexios said when he made a brief stop at our house. "Face gashed, and he might lose a leg. Surgeon had to cauterize slashes on his arms. Passed out most of the way back here; I only knew he still lived from his groaning."
"How was his wife when she saw him?" I asked. Marie of Bulgaria, as I still thought of her.
"I sent a messenger ahead to expect us. She was prepared, had a physician from the Hospital of Sampson already there. She looked shocked at his condition but didn't cry or scream the way some might. She did have to shoo a little girl back in the house. The child looked about eight but had the presence of mind to thank me for bringing her father home."
"That's probably Irene, their oldest child. I'm afraid I frightened her the last time I saw her."
"You, mama?" Alexios laughed in feigned shock before continuing. "The emperor better do something to get the Caesar back soon. Roussel is bound to make even more trouble if he doesn't."
Emperor Michael dithered about what to do, finally deciding that it would be best to send the Caesar's younger son, that vile Constantine, who had overseen Romanus's blinding, to rescue his father. Horrible Constantine accepted the task and went home to make ready before falling violently ill, dying that same night. He was only twenty-eight and healthy until then. No word of poison was ever spoken about his sudden death, but he had few friends and many enemies. Not many shed tears at his passing, except perhaps his father, languishing in chains in Roussel's castle through that long winter.
The death of one Constantine Ducas was followed not long after with the birth of another Constantine Ducas. Yes, Emperor Michael finally consummated his marriage with the beautiful Maria of Alania, who almost immediately became pregnant, giving birth to a son in November.