Unholy Roman Empire
PROLOGUE
The carnage was everywhere as far as the eye could see, blood stains
painting the streets in sinister crimson, splattering under the hooves of
thousands horses; even the seasoned veterans frequently turned their eyes away,
making the sign of the cross and uttering prayers at the sight of their work.
There was no one left standing; every Saracen in the city was slaughtered with
no mercy shown, revenge for the occupation of the Holy City that was once again
in the hands of soldiers of Christ. The man on the horse smiled, observing the
utter devastation from the higher ground.
He was already rather aged, but still powerfully built, clad in
expensive armor embellished with the black eagle on yellow field. A great sword
rested at his side, adorned with gold and jewels, a symbol of status in the
war-torn world. The man’s great red beard showed more than a few strains of
grey hair, and his movements, while still betraying the great deal of strength
in his bulky frame, showed more than a few signs of coming old age.
As the knights of his entourage looked down at the Holy City of Jerusalem, engulfed in plunder, slaughter, and rapine, he reflected on his moment of triumph. This was the one accomplishment not even the greatest of his predecessors could match, the crowning achievement of the four and a half decades of his life’s struggle. He could remember the days long gone when panic spread through all of Christendom when the Saracens took Edessa, and the humiliation that his uncle and predecessor suffered on the ill-advised foreign adventure; now was the time for payback.
He thought of the churchmen in distant Rome, so sure of their innate
superiority to him and his likes, yet too cowardly to do anything but hide
behind the walls of the Vatican while the real men fought and died to spread
the word of God and His Son into the lands the meek and degenerate long
deserted. At least the Saracens, infidels and heretics they might be, were in
his mind preferable to the overbearing, controlling so-called “Vicar of Christ”
and his clique of sycophants and master manipulators, the very ones who would
dare to deny him, the Holy Roman Emperor, his birthright, and the birthright of
his Empire.
At least the Saracens, misguided as they were, were brave, fearless,
fighting to death against his men, and dying on the streets of Jerusalem as the
payment for their bravery. In another time, another place, he would have spared
a few words of admiration for an enemy like that, fighting whom would be
stories worth of minstrels singing about for centuries to come. Yet, this was
neither time nor place, for the Warriors of Christ proven victorious once
again, and now there would be no one to deny that God is truly with them, with
him.
Then, his thoughts darted towards the distant north-west, towards the
city of the Greek schismatics on the Bosphorus. How could these heretics claim
his title, passed on through Charlemagne and Otto the Saxon? How could they
dare to claim their superiority to the true Emperor of the West? He had little
love for them… hell, he thought, at least the Saracens could be noble,
virtuous, and honorable – the Greeks were weak, degenerate, constantly scheming
against him and against one another. Maybe, he thought, one day they will be
shown the might of the one true Roman Empire, and be made to bow down like the
vermin they were. At least that Saladin fellow held strong and proud before the
axe of the executioner; he doubted that Isaakios of Constantinople would even
manage a straight face for a short moment before breaking down in pleas for his
life. He hated these schismatics more so than the Pope and his schemes.
He knew, however, that the time was growing short. He was already
nearing seventy years of age, and as much as he liked to think otherwise, his
time on this earth was nearly over. Who would continue the struggle, he
thought? There was one thing he envied of the Greek basileus, the ease with
which he seemed to be able to control the Patriarch of Constantinople – and how
little the Patriarch was able to interfere in the worldly affairs. Maybe, one
day… a thought simmered in his mind. Maybe not him, but one of his successors
would be able to return the reign of Emperors to Europe, and to make the
insolent, proud nobles and clerics alike bow down to them, like it was once
before – and like it shall be again.
The wind blew a patch of dust into his face, dry desert sand drenched
in blood of this fateful day. He knew today that his place in history was
complete, and that, like Charlemagne, Constantine, or Augustus, he has
accomplished what was laid out before him, to be remembered forever in the
moment of his victory, untarnished by defeat or setbacks. The wind made the
man’s long cloak waver in the hot air of afternoon, revealing the insignia of
the House of Hohenstaufen, and the Imperial Eagle – the eagle of Caesar,
Augustus, Constantine, and now – the eagle of Frederick Hohenstaufen, the first
of his name to hold the scepter of the Holy Roman Empire, and the Savior of
Jerusalem. Frederick smiled again, this time a wolfish grin. His name stroke
fear into the hearts of Saracen and heretic alike, with all bowing down before
him, heard all over the Christendom and in many places beyond. And this name
will be the one to remember him by, the man of great deeds and great red beard,
Barbarossa!
The Aftermath of the Third
Crusade (1190-1198)
All in all it's just a poor
man's crusade
Poor man's crusade
The Holy Land home of our blessed lord
Enslaved and stained by godless hands
They shall be damned
Jerusalem
Is waiting for you
To rise once again
So we will slaughter in the name of Christ
Demons & Wizards “Poor
Man’s Crusade”
To understand the phenomenon of European history known as the Unholy
Roman Empire, it would be necessary to examine the roots of its establishment,
hundreds of years before the crowning of Ulrich as the first Unholy Emperor.
Thus, it is only fitting that our story begins in the wane of the XIIth century
with the one Frederick von Hohenstaufen, more commonly known as Barbarossa.
While the story of Frederick’s life and accomplishments prior to the
Third Crusade is best told elsewhere, there is no denying that the capture of
Jerusalem by the German army in the fall of 1190 was probably the single
greatest achievement of the man’s life, at least in his own eyes, and in those
of his contemporaries. That Barbarossa lived only for three more years after
his most spectacular victory also helped to create the myth of the great
Emperor that served as an inspiration to many of his more and less capable
successors. To this day there are legends circulating about the late Frederick
not being truly dead, but simply asleep, waiting to come to his people in their
greatest hour of need, signified by the time when the ravens stop circling
around the tower under which he is said to sleep.
Thus, when Frederick Barbarossa departed the Holy Land in late 1190,
there was no question in the minds of his subjects and, more importantly, other
Christian rulers, that this short, unassuming looking man except for the great
red beard was truly blessed by God, and commanded authority far greater than
that his temporal status gave him. With the succession of his son Henry, future
Henry VI, virtually assured, Barbarossa’s reign, despite his failures in Italy
and problems enforcing his authority in Germany, was viewed by his
contemporaries as an astounding success. With Henry already crowned the King of
Germany and, in 1190, the King of Jerusalem, his future seemed bright indeed.
When in 1193 Henry VI succeeded to the Imperial crown, he was already
an accomplished leader, having been the chief enforcer of his father’s policies
in Italy, and a regent during the Third Crusade. By then, Henry could claim a
successful expedition against Sicily to his credit, adding it to Hohenstaufen
domains on the account of it being his wife Constance’s inheritance, as well as
quelling of numerous Guelph rebellions in Northern Italy; the transfer of
authority from Frederick to him was therefore smooth and relatively efficient.
Within months of his ascent to the crown, Henry shown that he was made
of the same material as his late father. Any dissent in Italy was crushed; the recently
elected octogenarian Pope Celestine III was in no position to intervene as
Henry’s armies encroached on Rome itself. An embassy was sent to the court of
the Eastern Emperor Alexius III with demands of tribute, which Alexius was all
too quick to give in to. Thinly veiled threats were sent to the court of
Richard of England, demanding that the latter recognizes Henry as his suzerain.
Richard’s flat out refusal was the source for much political hostility
between England and Holy Roman Empire during the remainder of Henry’s eventful
reign, mostly displayed in the debate on another Crusade, this time against
Egypt. Eager to win for himself the glory and the wealth that such an adventure
would bring, Richard attempted to invoke yet another Crusading adventure, which
was being opposed by Henry and (through Henry’s forceful manipulation) by the
Pope for the fear of Richard becoming too powerful. Secretly, however, aging
Celestine hoped that Richard might be his deliverance from this boorish German,
and thus soon secret correspondence begun to travel between London and Vatican
with alarming frequency.
Unfortunately for Henry, while still technically he was the most
powerful monarch on the continent, his ability to project power to the British
Isles was minimal, to say the least, and with French King being of little help,
Henry could do little but wait, all the while trying to centralize his domains
and transferring much of his power base to his new fief in Sicily. By 1196,
inspired in part by the Byzantine model, Henry attempted to change the
succession law in the Holy Roman Empire to be hereditary, rather than elective.
Meeting with stiff resistance from the German princes and Italian nobles, Henry
was ultimately unsuccessful, albeit he found some significant support for the
idea. It was, however, of some consolation to him that the princes agreed to
confirm the crowning of his infant son Frederick as the King of Germany, the
sure stepping stone to the Holy Roman Empire itself.
In a meanwhile, elsewhere in Europe the clouds were gathering fast. In
1195, the Eastern Emperor Isaac II was overthrown by his own brother Alexius
III, blinded and imprisoned. However, another Alexius, Isaac’s son, was able to
escape his uncle’s trap and found refuge at the court of one Philip of Swabia,
a German prince married to dethroned Isaac’s daughter, and almost immediately
started to weave the incessant web of intrigue that could only be described
befittingly as Byzantine in nature, ultimately hoping to unseat his uncle in
Constantinople.
Henry was immediately skeptical of this new pretender; it was better
for him to have a weak, complacent Emperor in Constantinople that was already a
proven quantity, and a relatively worthless one at that. As long as Alexius III
was in power, there could be no trouble expected in the East; no matter what
promises his young namesake made, the fact remained that in the wrong hands, he
might become a pawn of those opposing Henry, and the weapon by which his
downfall could be wrought.
As long as the ailing Celestine was Pope, Henry was content with his
ability to contain any Crusading sentiments that posed direct threat to his supremacy;
however, the introduction of young Alexius into the mix of European politics
threw all bets off. As Alexius’ promises grew more and more exorbitant, many in
England, France, and even German principalities begun to support the idea of a
Crusade, financed in large part through the newly restored Emperor of the East.
Then, in 1198, the situation changed once again. The Pope Celestine
III, already an invalid after series of strokes, died in Rome. In his stead,
the Curia elected a man of a very different caliber, the one Lotario de Conti.
A scion of one of the most prominent Roman aristocratic families, Conti was the
nephew of late Pope Clement III, and despite his relative youth, was no
stranger to politics. As the new Pope ascended to the Pontificate under the
name of Innocent III, Henry knew that the battle for the hearts and souls of
Europe just entered into another round.
Opening The Floodgates (1198-1205)
Oh, you've been surprised
again
Pulled like a leaf to the waterfall
Everybody's just pretending
I thought that you'd learn by now
Ooh, think about it one more time
What have you got when the god is gone
Clouds don't have a silver lining
And all you ever get is rain
'Cause you can't get blood from a stone
You can't open the door if there's nobody home
They've taken it all so just leave me alone
You can't get blood from a stone
Dio – Blood From A Stone
By the time of his ascention, Innocent III was thirty seven years old,
and determined to make a lasting impact. His first action upon ascending to the
Pontificate was to make the Prefect of Rome swear allegiance to him, rather
than to the Emperor, which understandably was not received well in Henry’s
court. When Innocent demanded that Romagna be restored to Papal control in
1199, Henry has had enough, and departed for Italy at the head of his knights,
with the full intention of removing Innocent and having him replaced with
someone more agreeable. Excommunication was quick to follow.
When Henry’s troops invaded Italy from the north, the reason for Innocent’s
seemingly senseless bravado was made clear – Germany was in arms again, under
the leadership of the one Otto, son of Barbarossa’s one-time ally and eventual
rival Henry the Lion and the member of the House of Welph – sworn enemies of
the Hohenstaufens. Otto was one of the staunchest opponents of making the
Emperorship hereditary during Henry’s earlier attempt at that, and was long
suspected of harboring the designs on the Empire himself; with Innocent’s
backing, and with large sums of money covertly provided by Richard cour-de-Lion
of England and Philip Augustus of France (who, ironically, decided to abandon
the age-long grudge against England, at least for a time being, in order to put
down the more immediate threat of Henry’s Germans), Otto was able to wreak
havoc, swaying many of the German nobles to his cause.
Now, Henry was faced with a dilemma. On one hand, he was within reach
of Rome, and thus could attempt to solve the question of supremacy within his
Empire once and for all; on the other hand, if he could not return to Germany
and deal with the rebels, there could be not much of the Empire left. Thus
outmaneuvered, Henry could do little but accept the Papal offer of peace, which
lifted the excommunication at the price of Italian territories of Ancona and
Romagna, and recognition of the Papal authority in Rome itself. At any other
time, Henry would have probably refused the offer and would have attempted to
enforce his authority in Italy by less diplomatic measures; however, as
Innocent was able to create a powerful and determined league to ward off
Henry’s ambitions, the Emperor was forced to let the Pontiff arbitrate the
supposed dispute between him and the rebel Otto. Moreover, to further the
Emperor’s humiliation, he had to provide at least several regiments of knights
for a new Crusade. The only concessions, seemingly minor at the time, but
increasingly important later, won by the Emperor were the affirmations of his
son Frederick as both the King of Sicily, and the King of Germany, given out by
the Pope as almost an afterthought to placate Henry for the time being. When
Henry returned to Germany in mid-1200, the relations between the Emperor and
the Pope could not have been much worse.
Thus, the call for another Crusade was made in autumn of 1200; however,
this time around Innocent believed that having a powerful European ruler lead
it would result in said ruler becoming extremely dangerous should he emerge
victorious – he did not have to look far back to recall the example of
Barbarossa, whose legacy dominated the Papal affairs during Celestine’s
pontificate. The call was sent not to the crowned heads of the continent, but
to the rank-and-file feudal lords anxious to carve new fiefdoms for themselves
in the distant lands. Out-of-work soldiers, disinherited younger sons, petty
minor nobles with dreams of power and wealth – all were welcome, and all were
to become the weapon by which Innocent III would deliver Egypt from the grip of
the infidel. Moreover, the victory would create a set of new Christian states
loyal to the Supreme Pontiff and the Mother Church, not to the temporal rulers
like despised Henry.
At this time, the focus of our story shifts to the lagoons and canals
of the city of Venice. A mercantile republic with long history and even longer
memory, it long stood as an oddity in the Mediterranean world populated by
bandit kings, feudal warlords, or autocratic empires, competing against few
other Italian city-states in selling its goods and services to the highest
bidders all the while building an empire of its own. By 1201, when Pope’s call
for a new Crusade spread with alarming urgency throughout Europe, Venice was in
possession of possibly the largest fleet on the continent, her influence
growing with every passing day.
Its seafaring abilities, long an envy of the kings and emperors, were
now going to be put to use in the name of Christ, for the Venetian Doge Enrico
Dandolo negotiated a profitable agreement with the leaders of the new Crusading
army, promising to transport the army to Egypt and to provide naval support on
the journey in return for their share in any plunder, and land for new colonies
in North Africa.
However, now there was another factor of unpredictability in the air.
With young Alexius Angelus attempting to gather support among the powers of
Europe for restoration of his father (and, of course, himself) to the Eastern
throne, it was not long before the Venetians sensed a much more profitable
venture in the making. As Alexius’ promises of military and financial assistance
grew more and more fantastic, the gathering European knights were more and more
interested in the idea of subduing the proud and defiant Byzantium, just as the
Pope himself looked favorably upon the idea of ending the Great Schism between
the Eastern and Western Churches.
When in early 1205 the great fleet sailed out, supposedly towards
Egypt, no one could guess what its final destination and eventual fate would
be.
The City Of Men’s Desire
(1205-1207)
Mortified by the lack of
conscience,
Our sanctity bears no relevance.
Insignificance is our existence,
Hear the litany of life's persistence.
Our pleas for mercy fall upon
unhearing ears,
Take my life, my soul, wipe away these
bitter tears.
Vanquished in the name of your god,
One of the same to whom we all pray.
Vanquished in the name of your god,
One of the same to whom we once
prayed
Try to close my mind - From the
screams I hear,
Repentance is denied, the
conformation of my fear
Bolt Thrower – “IVth
Crusade”
As the Venetian galleys sailed on to the East, the purpose of the
Fourth Crusade became rather clear. With young Alexius in the tow, the armies
were bent on achieving one goal – to restore him to the throne, and to obtain
the wealth of Constantinople’s suzerain to attack and ultimately conquer Egypt,
the last major Saracen bastion in the Middle East.
The army gathered upon the ships was of varying composition, with many
French and Italian knights and their retinues composing the bulwark of it;
however, there was a sizeable German contingent sent by Henry, handpicked from
the troops of the princes unquestioningly loyal to him. While only about a
third of the army in size, this was where most of the battle-worthy troops
hailed from; some were the veterans of the Third Crusade, while some others
were inspired by the tales of wealth and power their fathers or older siblings
achieved during that adventure. In summer 1205, the great fleet sailed slowly
up the Bosphorus, creating widespread panic amongst the Greek landowners and
Constantinople’s residents.
Courage was by far not one of Alexius III’s few virtues, and the sight
of the Crusading army camped under the walls of his capital was more than he
could take. Slipping away under the cover of the night with as much of the
Imperial treasury as he could get his hands on, he escaped to one of his
Thracian estates. Thus, in the most critical moment of its history, the Eastern
Empire was left without an Emperor, and with no effective leadership to face
the Western army.
With the lack of other options apparent, old Isaac II was taken from
his cell and draped in Imperial purple, restoring him as the ruler of the city.
Due to his blindness, which would have normally disqualified him from ruling in
the eyes of the Byzantines, young Alexius IV was hastily brought into the city
and crowned co-Emperor. Now, all eyes were on the Emperor to fulfill the
promises he made back in the courts of Europe, and now probably regretted ever
considering.
One of the first things young Alexius found to his dismay was the horrid
state the Imperial finances were in after his uncle’s inept reign. By
instituting extreme measures and confiscating church and some private funds, he
was able to pay off about half of the amount he promised to the Crusading
leaders; however, this did little to endear him to the city’s population, who
knew very well where their money was going. Nor did he have much support from
the Byzantine military, already in the state of decay, with various generals
openly questioning his right to be on the Imperial throne.
On the other side of the walls, however, was an army determined to take
what was promised to them, by force if needed. And within that army, Enrico
Dandolo, the Doge of Venice, was gaining momentum as its effective leader. This
development could not have been any more unwelcome to the Byzantines, as
Dandolo seemed to have held a long personal grudge against them, going back,
accordingly to the rumors, to the riots of 1186 and 1187 that cost many Latins
their lives, and, supposedly, causing Dandolo’s blindness. With this
charismatic leader, gradually the focus of the Crusade shifted from simply
installing a sympathetic Emperor and collecting their pay, to outright takeover
of the schismatic Greeks and their Empire.
As the Crusaders’ demands for money grew more and more outspoken,
Alexius IV was unable to answer them; the theoretical union of the churches was
not accepted throughout the population, and the Byzantines openly questioned if
someone more capable than the Angeli should sit on the Throne of Emperors.
Finally, in 1206 the official named Alexius Ducas, nicknamed Murtzuphlus due to
his connecting eyebrows, decided to take matters into his own hands,
successfully executing a plot to kill his younger namesake and to mount the
throne himself as Alexius V. Isaac II succumbed quickly as well, suspicions of
poisoning circulating around with much validity.
This new development was just the excuse the Crusaders needed. As the
new Emperor refused to pay up to their demands, and started to reinforce the
walls and the city’s garrisons, Dandolo and his compatriots gathered in the
outlying district of Galata to make their plans for not only the conquest, but
the eventual division of the Byzantine Empire.
On the morning of August 6, 1206 the assault on Constantinople begun by
both land and sea. The initial fighting was hard, and wave after wave of the
Crusaders was repulsed from the walls; not all, however, was well both within
and without the walls of the Imperial capital. The demoralized Byzantine troops
were hardly able to hold off the invaders; only the regiments of Varangian
guards proved to be the reason the city did not fall on the first day of the
assault. Many of the noble families were gathering their possessions, ready to
leave the city for their estates at the first chance, some even sending
emissaries to the advancing Latins to guarantee them the safe passage.
Outside the walls, the underlying cracks within the Crusading camp
started to show. The first assault was mostly performed using Italian and
French troops; Germans sent by Henry saw little of the actual fighting. Now,
the Venetians and the French were demanding that the next assault be led by the
Germans. The German commanders, handpicked by Henry, were not enthusiastic
about the idea of assaulting Constantinople to begin with; in addition, they
had secret orders to ensure the Crusade does not end up being a victory for the
Papal-sponsored league, instead resulting in an advantage for their Emperor. On
the morning of a second day, it seemed that the Crusaders could not even mount
an effective assault due to their army being divided.
Then, the German camp received a visitor whose presence changed the
situation. One of the patrols happened upon the hiding place of Alexius III,
and brought the fugitive former Emperor along with his remaining treasures to
the camp. He was a usurper, true, and a proven coward; however, with the deaths
of Isaac II and Alexius IV, he was the only remaining legitimate candidate for
the Byzantine throne. In open defiance of the Venetians and the French, the
German army proclaimed that it would fight to restore Alexius III to the
throne, but not to install a Latin Emperor.
Desperate that his scheme was at the verge of ruin, Dandolo attempted
to bribe the German leaders into complying with his orders; with at least a
third of his army suddenly flaying away, he knew he could only hope to take
Constantinople by reaching some sort of an agreement with them. By October, the
negotiations practically stalled as two camps were as far away from each other
as they could be.
As the last days of October were slowly trickling away, the German camp
received another visitor, this time of even more importance. Arriving with his
own retinue of knights and supporting troops was Philip of Swabia, the
Emperor’s brother and loyal enforcer of his will. By now any chance of
agreement was in tatters, as Philip was quick to point out that the presence of
the Italians and the French were no longer necessary.
Within days of Philip’s arrival, aged Enrico Dandolo, already
frustrated with his designs not going as planned, succumbed to illness, leaving
the Venetians and the French leaderless; this was the moment Philip chose to
strike. Rounding up the Crusading leaders, he proclaimed that as the Emperor’s
representative, he is the one with the highest authority in the camp, and that
the army shall follow his command. Any dissenting nobles were quickly executed
or otherwise silenced; with the German contingent now larger and better
organized than their Italian and French counterparts, the room for any dissent
was nigh absent.
As the army encamped for the winter, Philip sent embassy after embassy
to Constantinople, attempting to come to agreement with its Emperor, and, if
that failed, with the city’s leading nobles, whose fears of assault by now
somewhat eased. The presence of the Crusading army was a thorn in their side,
sure – but was a reinstated Emperor such a large price to pay for these
unwashed barbarians leaving them alone? This was the question many a Byzantine
noble asked himself during the waning days of 1206. On Christmas day, just as Alexius
V arrived in Hagia Sophia cathedral for the service, several conspiring nobles
attacked him, and hacked him to pieces before the Varangian guard could get to
them.
Yet again the great city was without a ruler; however, the populace was
not willing to accept Alexius III as their rightful sovereign, remembering his
conduct nearly two years before. Instead, the Senate made a different offer.
Anxious to get rid of the army camped below their walls, and to prevent
an instance of another one just like it emerging from the West, they, however,
decided that Alexius Angelus was unfit to rule, and definitely not fit to
reign. But, was not Philip the husband of late Isaac’s daughter? Was he not,
also, the brother of the Western Emperor, the most powerful man in the West,
and an ally that they could not afford not to keep? Thus, when Philip of Swabia
was invested with the Imperial Purple on New Year’s Day, 1207, the news were
received with relief both in Constantinople and the rest of Byzantium, and in
the court of Henry, the Emperor of the West.
Another man, however, was furious. Not only the upstart Hohenstaufens
outplayed and outmaneuvered him this time, Innocent III could never hope to
raise another army for his own purpose. Having considered excommunicating both
Henry and Philip, he was only able to restrain himself when the rumors that the
Imperial army was marching towards Rome started to surface.
Yet, he thought, let the Hohenstaufens enjoy their brief triumph.
Innocent’s coalition still included Richard of England and Philip Augustus of
France; two bitter enemies that were only held together by their mutual fear,
hatred, and loathing of Henry and his house. With Henry’s power growing, was it
not the time the French and the English provided some much-needed muscle to the
Pope’s grand schemes?
Trouble In Paradise (1207-1212)
An unforeseen future nestled
somewhere in time.
Unsuspecting victims no warnings, no signs.
Judgment day the second coming arrives.
Before you see the light you must die.
Forgotten children, conform a new faith,
Avidity and lust controlled by hate.
[the] never ending search for your shattered sanity,
Souls of damnation in their own reality.
Chaos rampant,
An age of distrust.
Confrontations.
Impulsive habitat.
Slayer – “South Of Heaven”
As much ambition as Innocent III held, he knew that his sights were set
on a rather impossible goal. Yet, after all, was he not Christ’s Vicar on
Earth, heir of Saint Peter, and the Supreme Pontiff of all Christendom? Who,
but the Pope himself was qualified to sit above the petty squabbles of the
earthy princes and kings, to guide the Christendom and its empires towards
greater glory, towards the kingdom of God?
Innocent spent long months of early 1207 formulating his plans,
gathering his allies, and attempting to placate the English and the French into
giving up their old rivalries for the sake of crushing the insolent German
Emperor. He instantly found that after the outcome of the Fourth Crusade being
more favorable to Henry and the House of Hohenstaufen than to anyone else, even
Richard Cour-de-Lion of England, known for his hot temper and willingness to
risk everything for the sake of adventure, would not commit thoroughly to the
league designed to curb the Imperial power.
Meanwhile, the thoughts of Emperor Henry were increasingly centered
around ensuring the succession of his son Frederick, now aged thirteen. It was
his hope to found a true dynasty, not unlike the Emperors of the East, who
could at least usually assure the succession of their sons in stark contrast to
their Western counterparts, whose attempts to centralize the control of their
domains were met with stiff resistance from German princes and the Catholic
hierarchy. In late 1209, he felt secure enough to consider another Diet, with
the implied purpose of making the Emperorship hereditary. However, just as
Henry was preparing to send out the heralds to his sometime untrustworthy and
rebellious subjects, a stroke of fortune changed his luck again, via news from
faraway Constantinople.
There, Philip was facing with a variety of problems, including the
increasingly porous border with the various Turkish tribes and the Seljuk
Sultanate, the persistent problem of Bulgars, Vlachs, and Serbs pressing on the
Empire’s Northern and Western frontiers, and the always restless Greek
nobility, scandalized at his insistence of Rome’s ecclesiastic supremacy to the
Patriarch of Constantinople, and scoffing at him as a rude and boorish
barbarian behind his back, only tolerated because the other alternatives were
much worse. Trying to make himself secure, Philip commanded series of
expeditions against the Seljuk-ruled Anatolian frontier, most of which were met
with only limited success at best; the heavy Western troops had a hard time
catching mobile light Seljuk cavalry, while the Greek nobles made it painfully
obvious that they had very little interest in campaigning, preferring the
comforts of Constantinople to the rigors of the battlefield.
Even more trouble awaited him in the capital. While he had little
trouble having his seven year old son Otto crowned co-Emperor, the Byzantine
intrigue between the Greek nobles rampaged almost unchecked, with a few covertly
questioning whether it was a good idea to accept a Teuton Emperor, even if the
one with the family ties to the Angeli. Gradually, the intrigue centered around
the person of one Theodore Laskaris, son-in-law of former Emperor Alexius III.
Lascaris was the most vocal opponent of allowing the Latin Emperor into
the city, and even now his allegiance to the new regime was uneasy at best.
Having previously distinguished himself as a valiant and resourceful military
leader, and commanding respect and grudging admiration from much of the
Byzantine and even some of the Latin military, he believed himself to be the
rightful successor to the Angeli, his right to the throne being stronger than
that of Philip, and his faith remaining unashamedly Orthodox. When by mid-1209
Philip attempted to enforce the Catholic supremacy, Lascaris discovered that
the allies were not very hard to find, and even easier to manipulate.
Waiting for the right moment to strike, the conspirators soon saw their
chance. As most of the Latin troops were away from the capital on a raid into
the Turkish territory, Lascaris and his companions attacked Philip in his
palace, where the latter was hacked to death. Running through the streets of
Constantinople with their bloody swords and the detached head of Philip, the
conspirators made their way into Hagia Sophia, where they announced to the
surprised populace that the Latin occupation was over, and that the true
Orthodox Emperor was to be crowned.
As Theodore Lascaris accepted the crown from the trembling hands of the
Patriarch, he knew very well that his empire was in a precarious position. It
would not survive another Crusade; even now, there were thousands of Latin
troops through its principal cities; his primary hope was in the fact that the
Western European politics would make it impossible for any major undertakings
to be made. Thus, he had to tread on very thin ice.
First, there was a matter of young Otto. Under different circumstances,
Lascaris would have happily ordered the boy to be disposed of, or at the very
least blinded or castrated in order to invalidate his claim to the throne;
however, anything that might placate the Western Emperor Henry could also
prevent him from retaliating. Thus, Otto was forced into a monastery, however,
suffering no mutilations or other injuries.
When the word of it reached the Latin army, the German commanders were
in a state of rage. The twenty thousand strong German army quickly marched on
the capital, laying waste to the parts of Byzantine Asia they passed through. A
Byzantine army under command of one Michael Ducas was smashed near Nicomedia,
and Ducas himself was lucky to escape alive. In the capital, the general mood
was on the verge of complete panic. As the rumor of Henry’s promise of
reinforcements to the Latin leaders trickled its way into the city, many
Byzantine nobles outright fled the capital for the dubious safety of their
country estates, hoping to disassociate themselves from this new government.
In 1210, the second siege of Constantinople begun. However, this time
around Lascaris was able to commandeer the citizens into a spirited defence
against lesser Latin army, whose troops launched assault after assault upon the
city walls. But the walls stood firm; little by little, courage was returning
to the defenders, who sent numerous sallies against the Latins, sometimes with
much success.
In Vatican, the Pope Innocent watched these developments with
satisfaction. He was not overtly enthusiastic about the idea of a schismatic on
the throne of the East; however, this was still greatly preferable to the hated
Hohenstaufens. When Henry attempted to crown his son Frederick co-Emperor in
order to govern his empire while Henry himself sailed towards Constantinople,
Innocent flat out refused to perform the ceremony, and threatened
excommunication should such a ceremony be performed. Henry’s anguish and rage
were not hard to imagine; not only the Pope managed to prevent him from
ensuring his son’s succession, but also from being able to safely launch an
assault against his brother’s murderer, and a usurper to his own title!
Enraged, Henry swept down into Italy, however, during the siege of Milan, now
occupied by Gwelph-affiliated Papal supporters, Henry was fatally wounded by an
arrow, dying in September of 1210.
Henry’s death sent shocks through Europe. Shortly before departing
towards Italy, he had young Frederick crowned King of Germany and King of
Sicily in open defiance of the Pope; now Frederick’s birthright was at stake.
Henry’s old enemy Otto once again assumed leadership of a ragtag group of
German barons, getting himself crowned an anti-King, and soon the Holy Roman
Emperor, all with the covert blessing of Innocent, who even now attempted to
strengthen the Papal armies and to retake the regions of Italy from the
Imperial domination.
By 1211, Frederick was in Sicily, where he started gathering an army to
assault Rome from the south, and to put a more agreeable Pope in power; in a
meanwhile, he had arranged for a coronation as a Holy Roman Emperor in Naples,
which was performed with great pomp by a churchman who was selected as
Frederick’s own anti-Pope as Calixtus III. This resulted in prompt
excommunication by Innocent, who was just as promptly excommunicated in turn.
In the East, things took turn for worse as well. Despairing at their
ability to take Constantinople by force, the Latin troops wrecked terrible
vengeance through the countryside, tearing through the Balkans and Asia Minor
like a scythe of doom. Eventually, they seized control of Thessalonica,
establishing the Kingdom of Greece, which also extended into Thessaly, cutting
off the former Byzantine provinces of Morea and Epirus from the capital. This
was also the moment the Bulgar Tsar Kalojan chose to strike south, capturing
large portions of Thrace and leaving the Byzantines only with the Black Sea
coast.
In Asia, Michael Ducas, though defeated once, set himself up as a
pretender to the Imperial throne with the capital in Nicaea, deciding that this
was the best defense against the punishment Lascaris would likely inflict on
him for his inability to stop the Latins from crossing over into Europe. The
Comneni brothers, grandsons of Emperor Andronicus Comnenus, swept into
Trebizond, capturing it by using the troops provided by their Georgian allies
and proclaiming the elder brother Alexius as the legitimate Emperor. The local
governors in Morea and Epirus, realizing that there was little chance of help
from the capital, set up independent principalities, with the one Andronicus
Paleologus claiming Epirus, and one Andreas Cantacuzenos setting himself up in
Morea. Thus, where there was one united Empire only years before, there were
six statelets, with no less than four claiming right to the Throne of Emperors.
As both the West and the East braced themselves for the coming storm,
no one could predict what the outcome of this tempest was going to be.
Kingdoms Of Gods (1212-1218)
Iron Maiden – “Montsegur”
By 1212, the ancient order of Europe was on the brink of collapse. In
Southern Italy, Sicilian armies of Frederick Hohenstaufen clashed against Papal
mercenaries, supplemented by Guelph sympathizers from Italy and troops sent by
Otto IV, the Holy Roman Emperor sponsored by the Pope Innocent. In the Balkans,
the Latins, the Greeks, the Serbs, and the Bulgars fought against each other,
sometimes forming fragile alliances that dissolved as soon as one side clearly
had the advantage, all the while blissfully ignorant of the Seljuk raids
against the Nicaean principality that ravaged the countryside even as the Greek
nobles plotted for the jeweled prize of Constantinople.
The old rivalries sprung up again in France and Britain, with death of
King Richard and the succession disputed between his brother John and his
nephew Arthur, the latter being immensely popular in England’s continental
territories. In Germany, the Hohenstaufen party all but went into hiding,
suppressed by their Welf enemies, who celebrated their ascention to the
Imperial throne and were ready to destroy the last remnant of their former
rivals’ power – the Kingdom of Sicily, where young Frederick’s uneasiness was
not in any way mitigated by these ongoing developments.
The chaos and overall confusion muddied up the waters of European
politics, all to the joy and satisfaction of the Pope Innocent III. Now, finally,
he could make his long-going plans into reality. No longer satisfied with the
spiritual leadership, he longed to make the Holy See’s temporal power as great
as its ecclesiastic guidance – being the supreme arbiter, the only authority
fit to pass judgment on kings and princes, emperors and doges alike. Now,
another scheme begun to take shape in his head.
In the regions known as Languedoc, in the no-man’s land between the
kingdoms of Iberia, city-states of Italy, and tenuous hold of France, a new and
dangerous heresy begun to prosper. Known to contemporaries as the Cathars,
these heretics denied the Catholic hierarchy, and preached against the validity
of oaths, the main instrument by which business was conducted in largely
illiterate European societies, and among the European courts. Moreover,
believing that material world was evil in essence, and that nature of Jesus was
that of a ghost, not a flesh and blood manifestation of the almighty, who would
never appear in a world as tainted with sin as ours, and denying the Holy
Trinity were the offenses that no self-respecting Catholic theologician would
even bother reconciling with. This was the heresy in its vilest form, and the
fact that it was supported by a number of local nobles, some of whom held considerable
power, was nothing short of insult to Innocent.
As it became clear that the Sicilians had little chance to break into
Central Italy, held off by Papal mercenaries and Emperor Otto’s troops,
Innocent’s thoughts returned to France, and to one man in particular. Simon de
Monfort was his name, a staunchly religious French noble who won reputation for
himself as an efficient, competent, and energetic soldier with just enough
ability to be a threat on the battlefield, but without the kind of worldly
ambition that would make him dangerous to his would-be master in Rome.
Innocent summoned de Monfort to Vatican in early 1213, and there gave
him his holy mission – to rid Languedoc of the vile heretics in the name of
Mother Church. When de Monfort returned to his estates in France, accompanied
by the entourage of Catholic envoys, abbots, priests, and quite a few shady
looking characters whose bearing gave them away to be assassins in monk’s
robes, he met with Philip Augustus, the King of France, who was long attempting
to extend his control southward, and the plan was formed.
This new endeavor was not to be just another expedition to subdue
rebellious counts and barons; no, this was different. For this time, the Pope
Innocent called for an all-out Crusade against this vile rot that plagued
Christendom, promising final absolution to any faithful Catholics that take
part in this sacred task. Gathering in the city of Lyon in mid-1214, about
10,000 Crusaders were ready to bring the word of their master to Languedoc.
In 1214 and 1215, a number of battles were waged between the Crusaders
and the local armies, now gathered under the leadership of one Count Raymond of
Toulouse. As time went on, Raymond became increasingly desperate, attempting to
claim religious orthodoxy if the Crusading forces just left him along and
focused on the Cathars. Alas, this was to no avail, for Simon de Monfort saw
not only heresy to be exterminated and souls to be saved, but a land to make
his own, at the expense of Raymond and his allies.
In 1216, Raymond was captured under the flag of truce, and imprisoned,
whereas de Monfort claimed the title of Count of Toulouse for himself, with
full endorsement of the Pope. In the meanwhile, the war on Italian peninsula
was swinging decisively into Innocent’s favor, as Frederick’s troops were
pushed further and further towards Naples, and off the mainland. In Thrace, the
Despotate of Epirus made a number of gains against the Latin kingdom of
Thessalonica, only to be forced back by the Bulgar onslaught; the Byzantine
remnant in Constantinople triumphed against all odds near Nicomedia in Asia
Minor against their Nicaean counterparts, making an alliance of convenience
with the Comneni in Trebizond; the Latins forced Morea into vassalage only to
withdraw to deal with the Epirote threat.
As 1217 drew near, a shocking message trumpeted all throughout
Christendom. Jerusalem, the Holy City, and the site of one of five ancient
Patriarchates, the same Jerusalem that so much blood was spilled to liberate a
generation ago has fallen to the infidel – once again. How could this be,
Catholics in courts all over Europe asked each other? Could it be that the
German Emperor, excommunicated and pressed hard on all sides, was not worthy in
the eyes of the Almighty to defend the holy places of Christianity? Could it be
the punishment for the treacherous slaughtering of Eastern Emperor Philip
inflicted on Christendom by the unforgiving hand of God?
One man knew this was no fluke. At fifty six years of age, Innocent III
was beginning to think about the continuation of his labors by a worthy
successor; at the same time, there was still much to be done in this world. In
a series of fiery proclamations, Innocent lambasted the “King of Sicily” (as he
officially referred to Frederick, refusing to acknowledge him as the Emperor),
the Cathars, and the Greek heretics for keeping entire Christendom so divided
as to lose its holiest places to the Saracen. More often than not, the Pope and
his legates implied the innate superiority of his spiritual stature over the
temporal statures of the rulers, rekindling the memories in those who listened,
memories of a better age than this century of strife, where brother stood
against brother, and corruption was the rule.
In 1218, Otto IV succumbed to fever, and Innocent decided on a radical
solution. Rather than crown another Emperor, who would be tempted by all things
worldly to stray further away from Mother Church, was it not the time for the
Holy Father himself to take the burden of the Empire upon his own shoulders?
The Donation of Constantine, though often questioned by some of the worldly
leaders, did clearly say that the Pope could bestow the Empire upon whoever he
wishes to – and that the Pope is its true spiritual caretaker. Even the great
Theodosius kneeled before the Church; was it not the time the haughty German,
Greek, French, Italian, Spanish, and English princes followed his example?
Thus, as Innocent prepared his declaration, both the German princes and the
court of Frederick in Sicily grew increasingly more alarmed.
At the same time, in the Eastern portion of Christendom, another death
sent waves throughout the neighboring locales. In September 1218, Theodore
Lascaris fell from his horse on a hunting trip, breaking his back in process;
by November he was dead. Theodore left no male issue; the husbands of his two
daughters were relative non-entities, only one of whom, Sergius Sphrantzes,
showed some sort of promise. And then there was a matter of Philip’s son Otto,
technically a monk, but still possessing respectable claim to the throne.
The Byzantine Senate debated the succession for weeks, even before
Theodore’s body was cold, considering not only the matter of legitimacy, but,
incidentally, the matter of saving their own skins. After all, was not Theodore
indirectly responsible for a disaster of the Empire’s splintering just a few
years ago? Most of the men could remember the time when the Eastern Empire
ruled over Asia Minor as well as Europe, when the Emperor’s word was law from
Epirus to faraway Trebizond – and there were some that knew that their
association with late Theodore was a death sentence should Otto be allowed to
take the throne.
And yet there was another candidate in the wings. Alexius Comnenus, the
ruler of Trebizond, based his claim on his own descent from the Comneni dynasty
that ruled through most of the XIIth century, and was seen as more legitimate
claimant than the rest. After all, the Senators whispered, was it not the
Comneni who brought the Empire back from the brink of ruin of Manzikert into
the glory it enjoyed until the degenerate Angeli took over? Besides, here was a
prospect of regaining at least some of the Empire’s former dominions, and maybe
– just maybe, restoring it to the greatness it had once known?
As the waning days of 1218 made their slow run on the shores of
Bosphorus, Alexius Comnenus was raised to the purple as Alexius VI, in hopes
that the great Eastern Empire might once again regain its former glory. In
Trebizond, his brother David was given the rank of sebastokrator, second only
to the Emperor himself, in addition to the title of Despot of Trebizond. But
another man’s star was rising fast, a Turkic tribal leader who accepted baptism
at the insistence and with sponsorship of David, and whose raids against the
Seljuk interior of Anatolia were bringing terror into his enemies’ hearts. He
was given a name of David at baptism, both as a symbol of his new allegiance’s
strife against the hostile world, and as an acknowledgement of his benefactor;
but the name that stroke fear against his enemies was the one given to him at
birth – Ertugrul.
Like Lambs To The Slaughter
(1219-1230)
What pain will it take
To satisfy your sick appetite
Go in for the kill
Always in sight-prey
The time always right-feast
Feed on the pain-taste
Sorrow made flesh-sweet
Live how you want
Just don't feed on me
If you doubt what I say
I will make you believe
Shallow are words from those who starve
For a dream not their own to slash and scar
Big words, small mind
Behind the pain you will find
A scavenger of human sorrow
Scavenger
Abstract theory the weapon of choice
Used by scavenger of human sorrow
Scavenger
So you have traveled far across the sea
To spread your written brand of misery
Death – “Scavenger Of Human
Sorrow”
The year 1219 begun on a somewhat ominous note, with the Pope Innocent
refusing to crown any of the claimants to the Imperial throne, but instead
announcing that just as Constantine gave his Empire to the Pope nine centuries
ago, it is the Supreme Pontiff that should also take on the duties of the
Emperor, as the leader of Christendom, and the infallible prelate of God.
Understandably, this did little to endear Innocent to any of the claimants, but
at the same time, did not cause an all-out assault on Italy as Innocent feared
might be the case. Much of the European armed forces were still tied up in
internecine conflicts, pouring resources and manpower into a vain attempt to
vanquish the flame of Cathars; with Jerusalem lost to the Egyptian Caliph
again, it was clear that the divine favor left secular rulers who allowed
things to sink to such a dire state.
Still, from Frederick Hohenstaufen’s point of view, the churchman in
Rome was nothing but an impostor; in fact, he had a Pope of his own that did
his bidding and that would dutifully issue proclamations denouncing the usurper
in Vatican, and the entire Sicilian ecclesiastic hierarchy that supported the
Emperor, not the renegade Pontiff. Therein was a problem; it was Sicily that
was his, not the entire Empire. Yet as long as Innocent was in charge of the
Catholic Church, the best Frederick could hope for was some sort of
reconciliation – that is, as long as the renegade Pope acclaimed him as the
rightful Holy Roman Emperor.
In the East, things continued as before, with Ergutrul’s forces dealing
a number of significant defeats against the Nicaeans, and forcing the rebel
Michael Ducas to recognize the authority of Constantinople, albeit grudgingly.
The Epirotes managed to inflict heavy defeat on the Latins, overrunning
Thessaly and forcing Morea into vassalage; desperate, the Latins turned to
Alexius VI for help, offering to recognize him as the lawful Emperor and to
join in with his forces as long as their lives, lands, and religion are
respected. Alexius was only happy to oblige, with restoration of his empire
well under way. By early 1221, the territories claimed by the Byzantines
extended into Asia Minor, southern coast of the Black Sea all the way to
Trebizond, large chunks of Thrace, and most of Macedonia.
Of course, the Imperial control of these areas was not as strong as
Alexius would have liked to believe; in Asia Minor, Michael Ducas was
constantly plotting to either regain his independence, or even to usurp the
throne; in Macedonia, the Latins, delivered from the Epirote threat, were
getting restless, getting into numerous conflicts with the local Greek and Slav
populations. The Bulgars to the northwest were another threat, their incursions
being repulsed only to come back again next year. But still, this was better
than the miserable reign of Theodore Lascaris, the Byzantines whispered among
themselves; maybe with more time, a true Renaissance might come again,
restoring the outlying provinces, and making the word of Constantinople’s
sovereign law through the Mediterranean again.
It was with this proud state that Frederick decided his future might
lay. Neither the Greeks nor the Latins living in the Balkans had much love for
the Pope or his recent antics; an offer of alliance from the “legitimate” Western
Emperor was a godsend. Not that the Eastern Emperor could realistically project
much military power; however, Constantinople, despite all pitfalls that befell
her in recent years, was still rich, and could offer some much needed financing
for Frederick’s own grand plan – final subjugation of the unruly Pope, and the
restoration of the Roman Empire in the West.
In Languedoc, however, the flames of war were further fanned by the
involvement of French king Louis VIII, who succeeded his late father Philip in
1220. Louis joined in the Crusade after its previous leader, Simon de Monfort,
succumbed to an arrow wound during a particularly difficult siege, and made it
clear that he considered these lands part of France, as opposed to being an
independent state that de Monfort’s heirs attempted to keep. An extremely
religious man, Louis saw the Pope Innocent as the true representative of God,
and led the Crusade with enthusiastic zeal, slaughtering both the Cathars and
their faithfully Catholic neighbors with little regard for telling one from
another. When a papal legate complained about a particularly gruesome execution
of one village’s entire population, it is recorded that Louis’ response was,
“God will know his own,” although to the end of his life Louis denied ever
speaking the words.
At any rate, Louis in Languedoc was bad news for Frederick, who instead
attempted to reach out further north, towards England. There, a long, bitter
civil war was being fought between despotic king John and his nephew Arthur, in
which John seemed to gain an upper hand. In early 1222, Sicilian ambassadors
were secretly dispatched towards the courts of English barons, who were not
only tired of the long, drawn out fighting, but who were also beginning to be
extremely discouraged with both claimants. As the Sicilians arrived on the
shores of Albion, even better news awaited them – Arthur was captured in France
by troops loyal to John, and summarily executed. Now, many English barons were
on the point of revolt, and did not take much persuading.
With Sicilian gold, the barons attempted to force John into signing a
document that would make him little more than a figurehead king – the Magna
Carta, granting the barons an unheard-of before right to overrule the king.
Sure enough, such powers were frequently used with the lower ranks on the
feudal ladder, but for king John, it was nothing short of an insult. The result
was another round of civil war. This time, however, the baronial envoys
listened to Sicilian suggestions to offer the throne to Louis of France, who
accepted their offer with enough eagerness that some could have suspected him,
not Frederick, of the ulterior motive.
Louis’ English campaigns are better told elsewhere; it suffices to say
that by 1226 he controlled most of southern England when a bout with dysentery
ended what could have become French supremacy of the British Isles. Ironically
enough, John followed him to the grave within weeks, not able to enjoy the
spoils of his unlikely victory; the Magna Carta was signed in the name of
John’s eleven year old son Edward by a baron-appointed regent. In a meanwhile,
Frederick was given a free hand at restoring Imperial control in Central
Europe.
Negotiations with the various German princes resumed, and with good
amount of bribery, Frederick was able to once again reestablish the league that
his Hohenstaufen predecessors led against their Welf enemies; by 1223 he was
recognized as lawful Emperor through most of Germany. In 1226, Frederick’s
forces were massing to attempt an invasion of Central Italy, and subjugation of
the Pope, when the news he was hoping for all along arrived. Innocent III was
dead.
His time as a Supreme Pontiff was a turbulent one, and not completely
successful in all respects; however, he was looked at by the number of
succeeding Popes as somewhat of a model ruler, able to keep both the Emperors
and the churchmen on a tight leash, and commanding respect, if not outright
admiration even from his staunchest enemies. He strengthened the Catholic
church immensely, creating a powerful structure that defied conventional
borders and secular rulers; ordered destruction of the heretics and brought the
haughty Easterners to their knees. This man, considered controversial even in
his time, cast his shadow across the ages to come, and formed a mold in which
the future of his faith would be forged.
Earlier in the year, Frederick’s own anti-Pope passed away; his
successor had not been chosen yet. Thus, would it not be only appropriate to
enthrone a new Pontiff in Rome itself, with the condition being a triumphal
coronation of the lawful Holy Roman Emperor? This was on Frederick’s mind as he
advanced towards Rome, meeting with little resistance except for several
diehard Italian nobles whose well-being was directly tied to the late Pope, and
who attempted to prevent election of anyone sympathetic to Frederick with a
measure of desperation.
The cardinals, however, placed their bets on one Sinibaldo de Fieschi,
a member of one of the first families of Genoa, and a man of considerable
learning and erudition. De Fieschi mounted the Papal throne as Innocent IV,
making it clear that he was going to emulate his celebrated predecessor if by
his name alone. However, the new Pope was willing to be a bit more
accommodating than his predecessor, helped not in the least by the Imperial
armies sitting on his borders.
As a Christian, he reminded Frederick, it would be his Imperial duty to
undertake a great venture into the East, where Jerusalem herself was tormented
under the heel of the Saracen, and where heathen Turks threatened the Eastern
Christendom. He would, indeed, be willing to accept Frederick as a lawful
Emperor, on a condition of a promise to lead another Crusade into the Holy
Land, to restore it back to the light of Mother Church.
While Frederick had his own reservations, the offer seemed much more
reasonable than the he expected, and with a potential for additional gains
through a Crusade, he hesitated very little before entering Rome to receive the
Imperial crown from the trembling hands of a new Pope. It seemed that very
little could stand in the way of this maverick young Emperor who stood against
the greatest Pope in recent history and emerged triumphant despite all
obstacles.
And yet despite this seemingly major victory, Frederick still
entertained doubts. For one, there was a matter of the Crusade itself, a
difficult logistical endeavor that would leave him open to his enemies at home.
For two, there was a matter of preserving his current gains, and of securing
his newly recovered Empire from further revolts of the German barons, and
further attempts by the Church to infringe upon what was rightfully Imperial
domain.
As Frederick pondered his next actions, the focus of our tale shifts
once again to the region known as Languedoc, where the brutal crusade against
the Cathars was starting to wind down due to lack of competent leadership and
internal squabbles between the crusading nobles who attempted to divide their
conquests even before they were made. Announcement of king Louis VIII’s death
was a complete shock to many, and the fact that at least two of Louis’ sons
stood in line for the throne further muddied up the waters. Under the late
king’s will, France was to be given to his eldest son, another Louis, thirteen
years old at the time; however, the queen Blanche favored another son,
eight-year-old Robert to ascend the throne, claiming that shortly before his
death, the late king changed the will so that Robert, not Louis would inherit.
The succession crisis in France gave the Cathars a much needed reprieve,
resulting in a virtual exodus of much of Cathar believers from Languedoc into
friendlier lands of Muslim Spain; while the leaders of Cathar faith frequently
chose to stay in Languedoc and face torture and mutilation at the hands of the
recently created Catholic Inquisition, a number of the Perfecti, the Cathar
preachers left with the main body of believers.
Meanwhile in Sicily Frederick II spent most of 1227 and 1228 visibly
making preparations for the Fifth Crusade, although the true nature of his
preparations had more to do with the need to properly secure his dominions, and
keep a watchful eye on the Pope. Innocent IV, while clearly not a man of his
predecessor’s caliber, was nevertheless a firm believer in clerical supremacy,
and still had all wealth and power of the Catholic Church at his disposal.
While Frederick’s Sicilians stood at the borders of the Papal State, he could
do very little; as soon as the Emperor departs on a Crusade, all bets were off.
While the Western Emperor pondered the issues at hand, his Eastern
counterpart was busy preparing for an undertaking of his own – the restoration
of mainland Greece to the Imperial rule. While the Latins made their grudging
submission, there could be no question of completely destroying their power and
risking alienating his erstwhile Sicilian ally; yet their loyalty was
questionable at best, and Alexius VI knew that given half a chance, they would
revolt, currently kept in check only by the fear of Epirotes.
Therefore, he had to tread with care. Alexius entered into a secret
arrangement with the Epirotes, offering them large quantities of tribute in
return for their help in his newest undertaking. Under the pretense of
attacking the Epirote heartland, Alexius led both the Imperial forces and the
large Latin contingent through the mountain passes into the Epirote territory,
where the Latin force was ambushed by what appeared to be an Epirote onslaught.
The result was a complete slaughter; of five thousand Latins, only two hundred
survived as prisoners of the Epirotes. The battle spelled the end of Latin
power in Greece; curiously enough, the Byzantine force claimed to have been
separated from the Latin one, and unable to come to its aid – even more curious
was the fact that there were no reported Byzantine casualties.
In Anatolia, Ergutrul’s raiders attacked Seljuk and Armenian
settlements with impunity, always returning to Trebizond loaded with plunder
and prisoners, and proving their worth many times over to sebastocrator David.
However, the experience of the past years awakened more ambitions for a
territory of his own, a great empire built on dual Turkic and Greek
foundations. It was not time yet, he thought to himself – but in his mind he
could already see himself and his successors exalted beyond their wildest hopes
and expectations. As the year 1230 rolled on, even Ergutrul himself could not
predict what turn his fate would take following the tide that loomed across the
great plains of Asia, beneath the rising sun, and that was about to storm east.
Arrival Of The Demons
(1230-1243)
Fear Factory – “Body Hammer”
By spring of 1230, Frederick II was finally ready to undertake the
promised Crusade. In a meanwhile, he had to contend with the unruly German
princes resisting his attempts to crown his own son Conrad as the King of
Germany, the title usually leading to the Emperorship itself; the machinations
of the Pope Innocent IV, who appeared to bide his time before unleashing the
animosity he felt towards his Imperial rival; and the problems in the East,
where allegations of foul play were quietly whispered in slaughter of Latin
knights in the mountains of Epirus. The promised Crusade, already delayed
several times, was almost in danger of not happening at all, prompting threats
of excommunication upon Frederick from the Pope.
With all of these issues weighting heavily on him, it is no wonder
Frederick decided upon a more diplomatic solution. In summer of 1230, his
envoys returned from Baghdad, where the Abbasid Caliph al-Mustansir granted his
demands for return of Jerusalem, as long as Frederick promised to undertake to
protect the Muslim residents of the city and Muslim pilgrims. In truth,
al-Mustansir held little real power, being more of a figurehead ruler, however,
both he and his viziers agreed that another Crusade would be too much trouble
to deal with – especially since Frederick’s terms were quite reasonable, and he
did come from a long line of rulers with strong crusading record.
To say that the Pope was outraged to hear of this arrangement was an
understatement. Not only Frederick was able to outmaneuver him again and to
resolve the Crusade without actually leaving Sicily, but he succeeded! This was
not good, to say the least, for the authority of the Pope. Unfortunately for
Innocent IV, as much as he strived to emulate his celebrated predecessor, he
was not quite up to task; the ability to stand against the Emperor required
just a tad more ruthlessness, diplomatic ability, and administrative acumen
than he himself possessed. It was said of him that he spent days wandering
around his palace, devising ideas and schemes that ultimately came to little
fruition, all the way until his death in 1232, which some say was caused by him
simply giving up on the strife against this godless Emperor. To add insult to
injury, the conclave of cardinals assembled to elect his successor was
successfully prevented from making a definite decision by Frederick’s
machinations, resulting in a stalemate that continued well into next year.
Late in 1233, the college of cardinals finally made their decision,
albeit not the one Frederick II hoped for. In late Innocent’s stead, they
elected one Ugolino di Conti, nephew of the great Innocent III, who took the
vow of Papacy and the somewhat ironic name of Clement IV. Although already aged
eighty eight, and not expected to last long, Clement was to prove an energetic,
powerful leader that the Catholic church sorely needed, and a persistent thorn
in the side of the Emperor.
At the same time, strange reports started to arrive from the east. In
1223, an army of Russian princes was crushed on the shores of river Kalka by a
previously unknown menace, a horde of steppe warriors from the northern
outskirts of China that seemed unstoppable. Various accounts of the battle
placed the blame on the cowardice of Russians’ tribal Polovets auxillaries, but
in reality, the outcome of the battle seemed to have been decided by the
inability of the princes to work together to overcome this new menace.
Surprisingly, the horde withdrew back into the wastes of Asia as quickly as
they came, leaving little but terror and questions in its wake.
Now, a slew of reports came in indicating that the kingdom of Volga
Bulgars, distant relatives of the original Turkic Bulgar tribesmen that founded
Bulgarian kingdom centuries ago, was being dismantled by concerned effort from
the same steppe warriors, known as the Mongols. In the West, Emperor Frederick
did not seem to be at the least concerned; this was the Easterners’ problem, he
thought – let them deal with it. In Constantinople, various parties debated on
how to best treat this invasion. As long as it did not trample on Byzantine
territories, the Eastern Emperor Alexius VI did not give it too much attention,
and the matter was quickly discarded.
In 1233, Alexius VI died in his sleep, only the second Byzantine
Emperor in half a century to pass on peacefully while still a reigning monarch,
and the first one to hand over the throne to his successor of choice without
the questions of legitimacy or strife since the death of Manuel I. In July
1233, late Emperor’s son Andronicus was crowned in Hagia Sophia as Andronicus
II, much to the chagrin of sebastocrator David who hoped his own son Manuel to
succeed, but to little calamity otherwise. The tension between Andronicus and
his uncle was soon resolved, after Andronicus definitely confirmed Manuel as
his successor on condition that should Andronicus have any male issue, they
would succeed Manuel. The arrangement appeared to be mutually beneficial, and
silenced the small, but vocal minority previously incited by David.
By early 1234 the last vestiges of Catharism in Languedoc were
extinguished, and fires burned high fed by both the supposed heretics and the
people who had the misfortune of living by their side. The region was by now
being incorporated into the greater Kingdom of France, many traces of its
former practical independence being erased along with its inhabitants. And the
French king Louis IX was not finished. Although still rather young, by now he
had his sights on England, where succession of short-lived child kings and figureheads
kept the kingdom in state of complete chaos. Preparations were being made for
invasion when the new Pope first started to show his mettle. He absolutely
forbid Louis to embark on this expedition, not only echoing his uncle’s belief
of Papal supremacy over the secular rulers, but also attempting to keep Louis,
a fervent Catholic, from getting too powerful and becoming a threat to match
Frederick’s. Grudgingly, Louis complied, even if he was not very enthusiastic
about the idea of putting an end to strife in England – that, of course,
through imposing his own authority and incidentally adding England to his own
domain.
In addition, Clement issued a proclamation to Frederick ordering him to
perform a great Crusade against the Saracen holdouts in North Africa. By this,
he hoped to distract the Emperor for long enough to where he could again begin
the campaign of subverting the Holy Roman Empire to subservience under the
benevolent rule of the Pontiff. After all, he thought, was not the Pontiff, and
not the Emperor, the supreme authority in the land? Time after time he reminded
himself that it was the Pope that crowns the Emperor, not the other way around;
Clement was determined to keep it so.
While the Pope was busy asserting his authority and issuing decrees to
the rulers of Christendom, the runaway Cathars found their lot much improved in
the haven of Al-Andalus, the Muslim holdout in Spain. Desperate for allies and
manpower, the Caliph of Al-Andalus offered them enthusiastic reception, as long
as they provided tribute for his coffers and men to defend his frontiers
against the ever more aggressive Christian rulers. By 1236 the situation on the
Iberian peninsula stabilized enough to where the Nasrid Caliph of Granada,
Muhammed I was able to start retaking some of the splinter taifa kingdoms and
reassert control over whatever little was left of Muslim Spain. Recognizing the
wisdom of accepting non-proselytizing dissidents and heretics from the
Christian world as loyal subjects, Muhammed covertly begun to seek other groups
such as the Cathars that faced extermination in their lands, but were willing
to relocate, providing his kingdom with newfound vitality and security. Soon,
Granada became known as one of the most cosmopolitan, multi-cultural regions in
all of Europe, with the level of tolerance for religious and ethnic minorities
unrivaled even in Frederick’s Sicily, where the skeptical Emperor chose to
overlook enforcement of Papal edicts against the Muslims and the Jews.
As for Frederick II, his promised Crusade still had not departed by
1237, enraging Clement over what he saw as blatant disregard for his authority.
Matters came to blows quickly, with furious Pope excommunicating the Emperor,
who gave the notice little regard. Curiously, in late 1237 Frederick did choose
to embark on a Crusade, apparently in open mockery of the Pope who was now
deprived of any affiliation with this endeavor.
Despite Frederick’s sailing to Carthage, Clement still was not
completely certain of his ability to put this upstart Emperor down once and for
all. After all, Carthage was only across the water, and Frederick could be back
any day, either as a conquering hero that once again raised the banner of
Christendom over the infidel lands, or, as Clement preferred, shamed, defeated,
or, better yet, dead.
As the initial reports of the Emperor’s progress started to trickle in,
Clement was disappointed. In 1238, Frederick took Carthage, suffering very
little losses in the process; by 1239 he controlled most of the surrounding territory.
Still, betting on the fact that Frederick would be preoccupied with quelling
Muslim resistance in the area, Clement ordered an invasion of Southern Italy,
which succeeded in short term thanks to the efforts of rather large French
contingent sent by Louis IX at the Pope’s insistence. The invasion was,
however, stalled at Naples, albeit at great cost in lives; besides, Frederick
was on his way back with many battle-hardened veterans of his Tunisian
campaigns, and this time he meant business.
In early 1240, after having recovered Southern Italy, Frederick
launched an invasion of Papal State, attempting to remove Clement once and for
all; however, the invasion was not the success he hoped for, and after several
inconclusive battles, representatives from both the Pope and the Emperor
arrived at negotiations table. The excommunication was lifted; however,
otherwise status quo was maintained. Neither side was willing to press too hard
to achieve an advantage, however, as there was a more pressing issue to deal
with at hand, which was seemingly threatening all of Christendom.
When the first reports of Mongol attacks on the Russian cities between
1237 and 1239 surfaced, they were of little concern to the Western Europeans,
being dismissed as yet another steppe invasion that would pillage the eastern
steppes and leave back where it came from. Better yet, when the Mongol attacks
against the Saracen states were reported, where they showed no mercy to anyone
who resisted, the Westerners could be almost forgiven for thinking this horde
was the wrath of God inflicted upon the Orthodox heretics and the infidels. It
all changed in 1240, when Batu Khan captured Kiev, the center of moribund and
fragmented Kievan Rus, and clearly decided to march further west.
The legend has it Batu was so amazed at the splendid beauty of Kiev
that he gave orders to his troops not to use their enormous siege engines, and
not to destroy any of its magnificent architecture as the great Mongol host
surrounded the capital of the Russian principality. Whether or not there was
any truth to the legend, it did little to save the inhabitants of the city;
many were slaughtered, many more carried off to slavery or other unmentionable
fates. What was even more frightening to the kings and princes of the west was
that not only the Mongols laughed in the faces of Christian missionaries, but
that it was only one of the three great hosts sent to subjugate all land until
the last sea, carrying the orders of the Great Khan in a faraway realm.
Another force smashed into the Middle East and Anatolia, devastating
all in its wake, and laying waste to much of Persia. In 1242 the Mongols under
command of Baiju took Erzerum from the Seljuk Sultan Kai Khusrau II; in 1243
they defeated the Seljuk army at Kose Dag. While Andronicus II in
Constantinople could only watch with glee at the Seljuk defeats, it became
clear to him that something must be done before entire Anatolia is overran by
the Mongol horde. In 1243, Andronicus dispatched his uncle David along with a
large contingent of Turkish cavalry under command of Ergutrul against the
Mongols; the result was nothing short of disastrous.
At Nicomedia, David’s Byzantines ill-advisedly attacked the Mongol
center, which drew away leading into an ambush. The result was a complete
slaughter. Heavy Byzantine cavalry could not catch the light Mongol horse
archers, all the while being peppered with arrows and javelins; as the sun set,
the survivors fled for their lives. David himself was not amongst them,
captured and subsequently executed by the Mongols along with his son Manuel.
The only commander on the Byzantine side to emerge from this disaster
with any sort of credit was Ergutrul, whose light cavalry were able to cover
the Byzantine retreat, and who distinguished themselves in battle by being the
last to run, and inflicting large casualties upon the Mongol force sent against
them. In Constantinople, panic ensued. Not only the route into Europe lay open
for invasion, the best and the ablest military force the Empire has been able
to assemble since the days of the original Comneni has just been completely
wiped off the face of the earth. The Mongol host cut off the lines of
communication between the capital and outlying enclaves, now accessible only by
the sea, and wasted no time in taking both Nicomedia and Brusa within months of
the battle.
When the Mongol messengers reached the Emperor in Constantinople, he
was prepared to make accommodations, acknowledging himself a tributary of the
Khan as long as the terrifying invaders left him alone. Not only that, but much
of Asia Minor was completely depopulated and ravaged, leaving only lands
surrounding Nicaea and Trebizond relatively untouched. To salvage the situation
the best he could, Andronicus invested Ergutrul with the rank of Despot of
Trebizond, hoping that his best commander would be able to maintain Imperial
control by the Black Sea coast.
This was beyond Ergutrul’s wildest hopes when he acknowledged
Trapezuntine Emperor as his overlord decades ago. A barely literate son of a
tribal chief was now a ruler of wealthy realm, nominally as a provincial
governor of the Byzantine Emperor, but as he would soon discover, practically
independent, with little way for the capital to enforce its authority. With the
Seljuks still in a state of complete disorder, and with the Mongols pacified by
large tribute, Ergutrul could pick off smaller states, principalities,
villages, and cities one by one, enlarging his dominions considerably over the
next decade. The seeds of true greatness had been sown.
Deal With The Devil (1243 –
1250)
Judas Priest – “Deal With
The Devil”
The year 1243 in the West opened up on an ominous note with the death of Clement IV in Rome. While many were surprised to see old Clement last as long as he did, expecting him to pass on within a year or two of his ascent to the Papacy, even more surprising were the news of his passing, just as the Emperor Frederick and the Pope were finally beginning to agree that the menace of the Mongol horde, which by now ravaged Anatolia, Middle East, Russia, and was beginning to raid the Hungarian borders was greater than the issue of whose lead the Christendom should fol