Ghost Empire Read online

  Map

  Constantinople

  Maps by John Frith, Flat Earth Mapping

  Dedication

  For Emma and Khym, with love.

  Epigraph

  I believe that what we become depends on what our fathers teach us at odd moments, when they aren’t trying to teach us. We are formed by little scraps of wisdom.

  Umberto Eco, Foucault’s Pendulum

  Contents

  Map

  Dedication

  Epigraph

  Author’s note

  Timeline

  Introduction

  1 Radiant City

  2 Rome to Byzantium

  3 The Deep State

  4 Persian Nightmares

  5 Children of Ishmael

  6 Uncreated Light

  7 The Starlit Golden Bough

  8 The Fourth Crusade

  9 End of Days

  10 A Thing Not of This World

  11 The Artifice of Eternity

  Acknowledgements

  Endnotes

  Bibliography

  Index

  About the Author

  Copyright

  Author’s Note

  I LEARNT NOTHING about Byzantium in school. For a long while all I had were images: flashes of lapis lazuli, golden mosaic tiles, gloomy icons. Byzantium was like an undiscovered continent that I planned to get around to exploring one day. My first encounter with the Romans of Constantinople came in my mid-twenties, when I bought the first of John Julius Norwich’s three-volume history of Byzantium. I can recall thinking, as I plunged into the spectacularly colourful thousand-year story, why have I not heard about this before? Why don’t more people know about this? I’ve heard my friends, after I’ve regaled them with some of the tales that follow in this book, ask the same question.

  Following the thread of Byzantine history, I arrived at the tale of the Fourth Crusade and the sack of Constantinople by the Crusaders in 1204, which was, surely, one of the greatest debacles in the history of the world: a perfect storm of bad planning, low cunning and greed masked as high principle. The story was so rich, I wondered if it could possibly be true. Fortunately we have no shortage of firsthand narratives. Some of them are unintentionally and blackly funny, written by earnest Crusader knights who twist themselves into some very awkward moral contortions to justify the taking of something that does not belong to them, and the desecration of the most beautiful city they had ever seen.

  One of those French knights, Geoffrey de Villehardouin, wrote a vivid account of his voyage to Constantinople on that infamous Crusade, the greatest adventure of his life. At the end, Villehardouin describes how, after three days of looting, the Crusaders agreed to pool the plundered wealth of Constantinople and divide it among themselves. As I read this I pictured the Frankish and Venetian soldiers coming and going, depositing barrowloads and sackfuls of treasure into glittering heaps, enough to fill three churches. Villehardouin describes his astonishment in such a way you can almost feel the pen trembling in his hand:

  The booty gained was so great that none could tell you the end of it: gold and silver, and vessels and precious stones, and samite, and cloth of silk, and robes fair and grey, and ermine, and every choicest thing found upon the earth . . . Never, since the world was created, had so much booty been won in any city.

  I have often felt like one of those Crusaders, staring open-mouthed at this treasure heap of stories from the lost world of Constantinople. Professional historians approach such stories with great caution, knowing there will certainly be many fake baubles in the pile. Some accounts will be almost entirely untrue. All will be somewhat distorted according to the prejudices of the author and the political requirements of the moment. Different accounts must be weighed against each other, as well as the documentary evidence and the archaeological record. Sometimes the surviving records are scant and confusing.

  Historians are also obliged to discard supernatural explanations for natural phenomena, which is difficult here, because the people of Constantinople were quick to see the hand of God or an angel or a demon in almost everything that happened to them. A modern reader might be inclined to attribute the victory against the Arabs’ siege of 718 to Roman technological ingenuity, the brilliant deployment of Greek fire and the cunning exploitation of their complex network of land walls. But in their own accounts they were eager to credit the defeat of the Saracens to the divine intercession of the Virgin Mary, whose presence was seen hovering over the city walls.

  The Dutch historian Johan Huizinga wrote of the extreme ‘excitability’ of the medieval soul. Tales of angels and devils intruding into the lives of everyday people were commonplace in Constantinople. The line between the physical and the metaphysical was blurry, if it existed at all. Demons, goblins and witches were as real as the house next door. God’s will could be discerned from the clouds in the sky, and the Devil’s presence could be sensed within a raking shadow in the street, in the maw of a rabid dog or within the psychotic words of a madman.

  As someone who is more of a history enthusiast than an historian, I chose to take some of these stories at face value, to place myself in the thought-worlds of the medieval men and women who saw a kind of cosmic resonance in everything around them. Their myths and phantasms tell something of their obsessions, anxieties and secret longings.

  Myth and fabrication are often intertwined with the concrete and the real. There are wild stories attached to real people, like the insufferably virtuous St Irene, the floating nun. There’s the story of Theodora, the bear-keeper’s daughter turned prostitute and comedian, who became a powerful empress. Our understanding of her has been somewhat skewed by a secret history written by Procopius, Justinian’s bitchy court historian, who wrote at length, and in great detail, about her participation in preposterous and lurid public sex acts. Roman histories often portray talented and powerful women as whores and poisoners. Are the stories of Theodora an exaggeration or a slanderous lie? Could they possibly be true? We don’t know.

  There are stories surrounding world-transformative figures like Constantine the Great, who became a Christian, it was said, after receiving an electrifying vision on the eve of battle. Should we interpret that as a dream, or a vague apprehension or a psychotic episode, or should we discard the whole story as a convenient fabrication? And what are we to make of emperors with exotic nicknames such as ‘Justinian the Slit-Nose’, a man cruelly disfigured by a soldier’s knife, and Constantine V, known to history as ‘Constantine the Shit-Named’, after an unpleasant accident at his christening where he allegedly befouled the baptismal font?

  Some of the most improbable and fabulous tales are tangibly truthful, woven into the fabric of the city and available for all to see: the construction of the Hagia Sophia, the most beautiful church in the world, and the mighty Theodosian Walls, the massive land fortifications that sealed the city for a thousand years. These are places we can see and touch today. If we had nothing but an accurate written description of the Hagia Sophia to go on, we might easily think it was little more than Christian propaganda, or even a myth, like the Tower of Babel. But there it is, still squatting in the ancient heart of Istanbul, as real as the Pyramids or the Sydney Opera House.

  It’s fair to assume that if a story seems too good to be true, then it probably isn’t. Ongoing historical research sometimes requires us to accept that certain events, no matter how compellingly told, simply could not have happened, or were written by impostors. Sometimes I have chosen to tell the story anyway, but have noted its false provenance. On the other hand, research can transform a wildly improbable tale into something altogether more plausible: in 1993, a NASA scientist came forward with new research that offers a compelling explanation for the strange phenomena witnessed
in Constantinople in the week before its fall in 1453.

  The use of Latin in Constantinople fell away almost completely by the seventh century, overtaken by Greek. Nonetheless I have preferred the Latin spelling for names over their Greek versions – I write of Alexius Comnenus, for example, instead of Alexios Komnenos – mainly to emphasise the ‘Roman-ness’ of this world, even though, in time, these Romans would travel a very long way from their ancient origins on the Tiber. The slow evolution of the Romans of the east brings to mind the paradox of the ship of Theseus: over time, every plank on the ship was repaired and replaced, so that eventually, nothing of the original ship remained. If so, can it still be called the ship of Theseus? The medieval Roman empire presents a similar conundrum: can we still call these people Romans if there are no temples, no Latin, no togas and no Rome? I call them Romans because that’s what they called themselves, and because it stresses the long strands of continuity they were proud to share with their ancient forebears. Theseus was, after all, pretty sure it was still his damn boat.

  I wish Byzantine names were easier to follow, that it were easier to distinguish between Constantine Monomachus, Constantine Porphyrogenitus and Constantine Paleologus. I wish the emperors had snappier names like ‘Sven Forkbeard’ or ‘Ethelred the Unready’, but they don’t. I have tried to simplify and contract them wherever I could.

  I have no Latin, Greek or Arabic, and so I have had to read the original narratives in translation. For a brief shining moment, I was able to fool my son that I speak fluent Turkish, but I have no Turkish words to offer you, dear reader, other than this helpful phrase of hospitality, gleaned from a cheap guidebook: Güle güle kullanin, which means, ‘May you use this smiling’.

  public domain

  Timeline

  657 BC

  Byzantium is founded by Greek settlers.

  27 BC

  Augustus becomes the first Roman emperor.

  73 AD

  Byzantium is fully incorporated into the Roman empire under Vespasian.

  203

  Emperor Septimius Severus orders construction of the Hippodrome in Byzantium.

  312

  Battle of the Milvian Bridge. Constantine adopts Christianity.

  324

  Constantine becomes sole ruler of the Roman empire.

  330

  Byzantium is re-inaugurated as the new Roman capital by Constantine, and is renamed Constantinople.

  380

  An edict from Emperor Theodosius proclaims Christianity as the official religion of the empire.

  395

  The empire divides in half; the western portion is ruled from Ravenna in Italy, the eastern from Constantinople.

  410

  Rome is sacked by the Visigoths, the first time in eight centuries that Rome has fallen to an enemy.

  413

  Construction of the Theodosian Walls is completed.

  447

  The Theodosian Walls partially collapse after an earthquake. The walls are repaired and reinforced just in time to thwart an attack from Attila the Hun.

  450

  Princess Honoria sends an engagement ring to Attila, giving him a pretext to attack the western empire.

  476

  The last western Roman emperor, Romulus Augustulus, abdicates in Ravenna.

  527

  Reign of Justinian and Theodora begins. Justinian’s generals begin the partial reconquest of the fallen western empire, of North Africa, Italy and Spain.

  532

  The Nika Riots break out across Constantinople. Half the city is destroyed. Tens of thousands of citizens are killed.

  532–37

  Construction of Hagia Sophia.

  541–42

  The bubonic plague is brought to Constantinople by infected rats from Egyptian ships, killing four out of every ten citizens.

  570

  Muhammad born in Mecca.

  610

  Heraclius’s reign begins. Greek becomes the official language of the empire.

  628

  Heraclius, having restored the empire’s borders, returns to Constantinople in triumph.

  636

  Battle of Hieromyax (Yarmouk). The Arab victory finishes Roman rule in Syria. The Romans are expelled from Egypt and Palestine.

  678

  First Arab siege of Constantinople ends in retreat of Arab forces.

  690

  African provinces are lost to Muslim armies.

  711

  Emperor Justinian II (‘the Slit-Nose’) is beheaded.

  717–18

  Second Arab siege of Constantinople by land and sea.

  721

  The empire regains control of Asia Minor.

  726

  Leo the Isaurian bans the veneration of icons. Widespread destruction of religious images across the city.

  800

  Charlemagne crowned as holy Roman emperor in Rome.

  843

  Use of icons is restored. The empire regains some territories and enters a revival.

  976

  Basil II, ‘the Bulgar Slayer’, takes the throne. The empire regains control of Syria and Greece.

  1054

  The great schism begins as the Latin Roman church and the Orthodox church excommunicate each other.

  1071

  The Battle of Manzikert: the empire enters its long, final decline.

  1095

  Emperor Alexius Comnenus appeals to Pope Urban II for help against the Seljuk Turks. The First Crusade is proclaimed at the Council of Clermont.

  1096

  The First Crusade arrives and then passes through Constantinople.

  1148

  Anna Comnena writes the Alexiad.

  1198

  Pope Innocent III calls for a new Crusade to reclaim the Holy Land.

  1204

  Sack of Constantinople by Fourth Crusade. Latin empire of Constantinople declared.

  1261

  Byzantine empire restored under Michael VIII Palaeologus.

  1347

  The Black Death returns to Constantinople. The plague kills half the population of Europe.

  1451

  Sultan of the Ottoman Turks Murad II dies, succeeded by his son Mehmed II.

  1452

  Mehmed orders construction of the Throat Cutter fortress on the Bosphorus.

  1453

  Constantinople falls to the Ottoman Turks and is renamed Istanbul. The Roman empire ceases to exist.

  Introduction

  If the Earth were a single state, Constantinople would be its capital. – Napoleon

  public domain/Fausto Zonaro

  ON THE OUTSKIRTS of Istanbul’s Fatih district is a pedestrian underpass that runs underneath a major traffic artery. My son Joe and I follow the steps down into the underpass and we see a large, brightly coloured mural fixed to the tiled wall. In the foreground, a turbaned figure sits astride a white horse. Behind him, a bannered army surges forward. In the centre of the picture a team of oxen hauls the muzzle of a great bronze cannon.

  I step up close to inspect the mural, but Joe stands back to take in the whole scene. Joe is fourteen. He’s thin, with hair like mine, wavy to the point of curly. Joe wishes it were straight. He likes history and he’s always asking questions.

  ‘So,’ he ventures, ‘the guy with the turban – that would be Mehmed the Conqueror?’

  ‘That’s him alright.’

  I pause for a moment to consult my map, and then I look around.

  ‘It’s funny, but this painting marks the spot, more or less, where the Roman empire died in 1453. Somewhere above our heads’.

  ‘What’s the story here?’ he asks.

  So I tell him.

  ON 6 APRIL 1453, the young sultan of the Ottoman Turks came to the walls of this city, which was then known as Constantinople. His name was Mehmed, and he had brought with him an army of 200,000 men and the biggest bronze cannon in the world. Mehmed had longed to possess this city since childhood.
Taking it would make his empire whole, and allow him to claim the mantle of the Caesars of Rome.

  Mehmed’s soldiers had marched for many days down the old Roman road from their capital of Edirne. They came to a halt a quarter-mile from Constantinople’s formidable land walls, where they assembled thousands of tents and positioned their artillery. A group of workers constructed a palisade fence. An Ottoman observer marvelled at the spreading mass of soldiers that flowed like ‘a river of steel’ and were ‘as numerous as the stars’. Mehmed’s luxurious red-and-gold tent was placed in the front and centre of the Ottoman line, so he might observe the firing of the massive cannon that had been hauled all the way from Edirne.

  That night the Turks lit hundreds of bonfires. High up on the walls, the defenders looked on in wonder and terror at the long line of camps, extending as far as they could see along the entire length of the three-mile land walls.

  CONSTANTINOPLE WAS AN OLD and exhausted city. It had served as the capital of the eastern Roman empire for eleven hundred years, but by 1453 this was an empire in name only. The Romans of Constantinople were like threadbare aristocrats eking out a living on a dilapidated estate, surrounded by lands that no longer belonged to them. Even so, something of the glory of the Roman name still clung to this sad and shrunken city founded eleven centuries earlier by Constantine the Great. It was still seen as the seat of world power, the second Rome. The Muslim warriors at the gates were fired by the words of a prophecy, uttered by Muhammad himself: Surely, Constantinople will be conquered; how blessed the commander who will conquer it, and how blessed his army.