The Rumored Theft Of Zeno’s Treasure

During the reign of Emperor Justinian (r. 527-565), a wealthy man named Zeno was appointed to be the emperor’s prefect of Egypt. After receiving this order, Zeno started gathering his treasures of gold and jewels, for he wanted to live in luxury during his term of office. Vast quantities of gold, silver, emeralds and pearls that he owned were transported to the empire’s capital city of Constantinople, where the treasure was stockpiled on the ship that would soon take Zeno to Egypt. The voyage, however, never took place—before Zeno could leave for Egypt, his ship caught fire and the wreckage sank below the waves. With the ship went his treasure. To Zeno’s horror, not a single salvageable coin or jewel could be found floating above the water or down in the debris field on the seabed. Yet, Zeno’s misfortunes did not end there. Not long after the fire, Zeno mysteriously and suspiciously died. After his death, a will was discovered in which Zeno bequeathed all of his property to the imperial couple, Emperor Justinian and Empress Theodora.

Zeno’s death became a hot topic for gossip. With the suspicious fire on the ship, the unexplained absence of treasure in the wreckage, and his subsequent mysterious death not long after the incident, many people in Constantinople were convinced that there was foul play afoot in Zeno’s sudden downfall. One of the people who expressed this concern was Procopius (c. 490-565), the greatest contemporary historian of Justinian’s reign. In his Secret History, Procopius took the side of the gossipers, suggesting that Emperor Justinian sent henchmen to steal Zeno’s treasure and then burned the ship to cover the crime. The historian was less assertive, but still insinuative, in implicating Justinian in Zeno’s later suspicious death. Procopius wrote, “Not long after, as it happened, Zeno died very suddenly, and the two of them [the imperial couple] took over his estate as his lawful heirs, for they produced a will of sorts, which it was openly rumored was not of his making” (Secret History, chapter 12). It must be noted that Procopius was extremely critical, and often libelous, of Justinian in his Secret History, and the historian’s allegations should be taken with a grain of salt. Procopius had no definitive proof or evidence that Justinian was involved in Zeno’s death; the historian likely believed, however, that such a crime could fit with the emperor’s conniving and opportunistic character.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Picture Attribution: (Painting of the Archimedes Mirror being used to burn a ship, by Giulio Parigi  (1571–1635), [Public Domain] via Creative Commons).

Sources:

• The Secret History by Procopius, translated by G. A. Williamson and Peter Sarris. New York: Penguin Classics, 1966, 2007.
• https://www.britannica.com/biography/Justinian-I 
• https://www.ancient.eu/Justinian_I/

The Duels Of Trainer And Coach, Andreas, Before The Battle Of Dara

In the year 530, Emperor Justinian’s newly appointed General of the East, Belisarius, led a Byzantine (Eastern Roman) army to a position between the cities of Nisibis and Dara to block the path of an invading Sāsānian Persian force. According to the historian Procopius, who happened to have been General Belisarius’ accompanying legal advisor, the Romans dug a series of trenches near Dara and deployed at the site a force of approximately 25,000 warriors in a fairly typical tripartite formation, with a left, center and right. After the Romans had constructed their defensive features and took up their positions on the battlefield, the Persian army arrived on the scene. Procopius, an eye-witness to the battle, claimed that the Persians numbered around 40,000 upon their arrival on the battlefield, and they initially set up in what seemed to be a single block-like phalanx formation.

On the first day of conflict, the Persians probed the left wing of the Roman formation with a noncommittal cavalry charge. In the ensuing skirmish, the Romans drove off the charging horsemen, reportedly killing seven of the Persians before the cavalry rejoined their main force. At this point in the day, it was late in the afternoon, but the Persians were not done taunting and testing the Roman lines. Next, a young Persian horseman reportedly rode up to the Romans, demanding to duel anyone who was brave enough to come forward. According to Procopius, the Persian warrior’s challenge was accepted by a man named Andreas, a physical trainer and a wrestling instructor who had accompanied one of the Roman generals into battle, not as a warrior, but as an attendant. Reportedly wielding only a spear and a knife, Andreas marched forward to meet the Persian horseman in combat.

When Andreas stepped forward, the Persian horseman charged at him, perhaps thinking that the athletic instructor would be an easy foe. Yet, although Andreas was not a professional warrior in the army, he was nonetheless a skilled fighter. With the horseman bearing down on him, Andreas stood his ground and readied his spear. As the story goes, Andreas used his polearm to knock the charging Persian off of his horse, leaving the horseman dazed on the ground. Now that the Persian warrior was defenseless, Andreas tossed aside his spear, took out his knife, and “slew him like a sacrificial animal as he lay on his back” (Procopius, The Wars, 1.13). As Andreas finished off his opponent, cheers erupted from the Roman army, as well as from onlookers on the walls of nearby Dara.

The day’s events, however, were not over. According to Procopius, a second Persian horseman soon rode up to the roman lines, demanding another duel. The new arrival was much older than the first Persian duelist, and he was reportedly equipped with a whip and a spear. The physical trainer and wrestler, Andreas, as he was already on a roll, accepted this second challenge. After picking up his spear and hopping onto a horse (perhaps the fallen Persian’s steed), Andreas charged at the new duelist. Noticing Andreas’ advance, the Persian lowered his own spear and set off on his horse toward the Roman champion. What resulted was an ancient joust of sorts, with the two horsemen bearing down on each other with their lances leveled. Yet, when the two connected, neither fighter made a direct hit. Instead, the Roman and the Persian unhorsed each other and both fell to the ground, likely dropping their weapons in the process. Down on the ground and unarmed, the wrestling instructor Andreas was in his element. Using all of his grappling prowess, Andreas quickly overpowered the Persian and, either with or without a weapon, slew his opponent.

By the time Andreas’ second duel had finished, the sun was already setting and both armies decided to return to their camps. In the morning, 10,000 Persian reinforcements would join the preexisting 40,000-man-strong army. Despite this, the smaller Roman army, with its series of trenches, would hold its ground and win the day.

Written by C. Keith Hansley.

Picture Attribution: (Medieval depiction of Byzantine emperor Basil I (left) with his son Leo VI from a manuscript of John Skylitzes's history, [Public Domain] via Creative Commons).

Sources:

• The History of the Wars (Book I) by Procopius, translated by H. B. Dewing (Harvard University Press, originally published 1914).

The Odd Signature Stencil Stamp Of Emperor Justin I

Emperor Justin I of Constantinople had quite a rags-to-riches story. He was born into a peasant family around the year 450, but eventually left the life of a commoner behind to join the military. Upon enrollment, Justin was said to have had with him nothing but some bread and the clothes on his back. His fortunes would skyrocket, however, once he started down the path of the warrior; Justin became a member of the palace guard for Emperor Anastasius (r. 491-518) and ultimately became the commander of that force. When Anastasius died without a clear heir in 518, the unlikely Justin became a top contender for the throne. How exactly he cinched his claim to the throne is debated—some say he touted his respected status in the military, while others suggest he used of well-placed bribes—yet, whatever the case, Justin did indeed win the backing of the military and government officials, allowing him to become the next emperor of Constantinople.

Although Emperor Justin I (r. 518-527) had ample military experience, matters of war and national defense were not the only duties of an emperor. He was also expected to oversee the empire’s internal laws and external diplomacy. In these other aspects of government, the new emperor was less well-equipped. Whereas the elite families of Constantinople were educated in such matters and trained in proper calligraphy for legal and diplomatic documents, Emperor Justin did not have that upbringing. Instead, when Justin ascended to the throne, he was said to have been a poor writer, and the words he could write were not aesthetically pleasing. This was a problem, as the emperor was expected to write out a sign of approval on official government decrees and documents.

So as to not embarrass the emperor or the empire, Justin’s officials reportedly developed a way for their uneducated emperor to easily write a perfect signature. According to the historian Procopius (c. 490-565), a high official named Proculus took a small piece of wood and carved in it a regal-looking stencil of the word, “LEGI,” which meant “I HAVE READ.” With this stencil, Emperor Justin I needed only move his pen along the grooves of the wood to create a perfect, professional-looking stamp for state documents. Whether or not he always needed to use the stencil, or if he learned to sign without it is unknown, but it was reportedly brought back into frequent use when Emperor Justin I became too old and ill to function. Procopius unflatteringly described how the emperor’s nephew, Justinian (r. 527-565), and other government officials would help Justin use the stencil when he was too old to write on his own:

“Then they used to dip a pen in the special ink reserved for emperors and place it in the hands of Emperor Justin. Next they took the strip of wood I have described and laid it on the document, grasped the Emperor’s hand and, while he held the pen, guided it along the pattern of the four letters, taking it round all the bends cut in the wooden stencil. Then they went, carrying the Emperor’s writing, such as it was” (Procopius, The Secret History, chapter 6, section 15-16).

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Picture Attribution: (Blanche of Castile and King Louis IX of France, dated to 1220-1230, [Public Domain] via Creative Commons).

Sources:

• The Secret History by Procopius, translated by G. A. Williamson and Peter Sarris. New York: Penguin Classics, 1966, 2007.
• http://penelope.uchicago.edu/Thayer/E/Roman/Texts/Procopius/Anecdota/6*.html 
• https://www.britannica.com/biography/Justin-I  

The Scandalous Tale Of The Rogue Priest, Themel

A priest named Themel was said to have preached in Herakleos, a village which belonged to the emperors of Constantinople. His home town was in a precarious location, set within striking distance from the hostile lands of Tarsus and Aleppo. Themel lived in the 10th century, and his community was thrown into chaos by the constant warfare between Emperor Constantine VII (sole rule 945-959) and Emir Sayf al-Dawla of Aleppo (r. 945-967). Themel reportedly got a personal taste of the era’s prevalent bloodshed, and his experience would take him down a truly bizarre path.

According to the historian John Skylitzes (c. 1040-1101), a band of scavengers and foragers from Aleppo or Tarsus arrived at Herakleos to commandeer food to feed their army during the ongoing border struggle between the Empire of Constantinople and its Muslim neighbors. At the time, the people of Herakleos were reportedly in the middle of Holy Mass, and the priest Themel was leading them in the celebration of the Eucharist. Messengers interrupted Themel’s liturgy, informing the congregation of the arrival of the hostile foragers. Upon hearing of this news, Themel apparently decided to not only lead his flock in prayer, but to also lead them in battle—as the story goes, Themel ended his church service prematurely, then stormed off to face the looters. For a weapon, the priest reportedly picked up a semantron, a large wooden or metal beam used as a percussion instrument in the church. As for armor, he simply wore his religious vestments. Thus equipped, the warrior-priest joined the fray and allegedly bludgeoned a few of the scavengers to death with his trusty semantron, helping the town of Herakleos to drive off the enemy.

One might expect that Themel would have been treated as a hero after the battle—after all, it was the Middle Ages, and militant religious figures were, at the time, condoned and often praised. Nevertheless, praise was not in Themel’s future. If he were a character in a literary work,  you could say that his path underwent a sudden and bizarre plot twist. Instead of being applauded and praised, the priest would be vilified by his countrymen.

The bishop over Themel’s diocese reportedly took issue with the warrior-priest’s actions. Be it the blood-spattered vestments, the gore-stained semantron, or the neglected Eucharist, the bishop held a grudge against Themel that never healed. Due to their unreconciled differences, the bishop reportedly sabotaged Themel’s pastoral career and blocked the priest from continuing his ministry. Themel reacted poorly to the bishop’s interference, and the situation made him begin to reevaluate his life.

Themel, suppressed and criticized by the bishop, eventually chose to drastically change the direction of his life. He reportedly renounced the priesthood and fled to Tarsus or Aleppo, where he was said to have joined armies opposed to the emperors of Constantinople. According to Byzantine scholars, the former priest Themel apparently abandoned Christianity, itself, after his flight. On Themel’s career after his defection, John Skylitzes wrote, “So he went over to the Hagarenes and renounced Christianity. He joined forces with them, and not only ravaged Cappadocia and the adjacent themes but penetrated as far as what is called Asia Minor” (Synopsis of Byzantine History, chapter 11, section 8).

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Picture Attribution: (Conquest of Jerusalem painted by Émile Signol (1804–1892), [Public Domain] via Creative Commons).

Sources:

• A Synopsis of Byzantine History by John Skylitzes (c. 1040-1101), translated by John Wortley (Cambridge University Press, 2010).
• https://www.britannica.com/topic/Hamdanid-dynasty 
• https://www.britannica.com/biography/Constantine-VII-Porphyrogenitus
• https://www.encyclopedia.com/arts/culture-magazines/ode-reconquest-al-hadath 
• https://www.oxfordreference.com/view/10.1093/oi/authority.20110803100443950 
• https://referenceworks.brillonline.com/entries/encyclopaedia-of-islam-2/sayf-al-dawla-COM_1010 
• https://www.britannica.com/biography/Sayf-al-Dawlah  
   

Patriarch Theophylact And The Luxurious Lives Of His Horses

Theophylact was a son of Romanos I, the emperor of Constantinople between 919 and 944. Emperor Romanos, a skilled political maneuverer, sent young Theophylact to apprentice under the Patriarchs of Constantinople in 924, when the boy was only seven years old. The emperor intended for his son to take up the highest church office in Constantinople, but, as the boy was far too young to hold the office, he had to wait as an assistant to three successive patriarchs from 924-931. When Theophylact reached fourteen years of age in 931, Emperor Romanos I arranged for the then Patriarch Tryphon to resign from his clerical office. Theophylact, however, was still too young to take the job, so Romanos schemed to keep the patriarchal throne vacant for two years. Finally, in 933, the emperor succeeded in having his son named patriarch of the church of Constantinople.

Despite being apprenticed under different patriarchs for more than half of his life, Theophylact was said to have remained a spoiled nobleman at heart. He was only sixteen when he became patriarch and, despite his new high and holy office, he still wanted to engage in typical teenage pastimes. It was an understandable wish, yet his behavior distressed and disturbed the clergymen who looked to him for leadership. Like worrisome parents, the clergy constantly criticized the teen’s behavior—too much dancing, too much singing, too much partying, and too little respect for tradition. As Theophylact grew out of his teenage years, his partying gave way to a passion for luxury, and collecting horses became his greatest obsession.

According to the historian, John Skylitzes (c. 1040-1101), Patriarch Theophylact eventually owned more than two thousand horses. On the great care that the clergyman showed these animals, Skylitzes wrote, “He was not satisfied with feeding them hay and oats, but would serve them pine-seeds, almonds and pistachios or even dates and figs and choicest raisins, mixed with the most fragrant wine. To this he would add saffron, cinnamon, balsam and other spices and serve it to each of his horses as food” (Synopsis historian, chapter 11, section 10).

Theophylact’s great affection for his horses caused a minor scandal when a prized mare in his herd was pregnant. The patriarch was said to have been in the middle of a church service when a messenger arrived to tell him that the horse had foaled. Theophylact was reportedly so eager to go see the newborn animal that he speed-read through the liturgy as if he were an auctioneer, and eventually ran off to see the foal after he had directed the congregation to begin singing lengthy hymns.  Once he greeted the new member of the horse herd, Theophylact rushed back to the church and was able to join his flock in singing the final hymn.

Besides simply caring for his horses, Theophylact also enjoyed galloping with them around the vicinity of Constantinople. In 954, one such ride took a deadly turn. While gallivanting by the seawall on one of his steeds, Patriarch Theophylact was thrown from his horse and he crashed violently to the ground, landing awkwardly or hitting an object in the dirt. He reportedly never recovered from the fall, but instead sickened and deteriorated, eventually dying in 956.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Picture Attribution: (Two Horses and a chicken in a Stable by Wouterus Verschuur (1812–1874), [Public Domain] via Creative Commons).

Sources:

• A Synopsis of Byzantine History by John Skylitzes (c. 1040-1101), translated by John Wortley (Cambridge University Press, 2010).

The Dramatic Downfall Of Patriarch Tryphon of Constantinople

Emperor Romanos I was a brilliant political maneuverer who arose out of obscurity to become, for a time, one of the strongest men in the Mediterranean world. Although he held the title of emperor for decades, Romanos had no genuine claim to the throne—his remarkable rise to power came through the marriage of his daughter, Helen, to the child-emperor Constantine VII on May 4, 919. The very next year, Romanos climbed his way to the top of the child-emperor’s regency council by forcing Constantine’s mother into a convent and similarly disposing of other nobles who posed a threat to his ascendance. Romanos at first took the title of ‘caesar,’ but he quickly became a co-emperor, and by 921 he had gained enough power to supersede Constantine VII as First Emperor in the political hierarchy.

Romanos, however, did not ascend alone up the political ladder; he also brought his children along for the ride. Romanos’ son, Christopher, was similarly named a co-emperor in 921 and in 924, Romanos similarly crowned two other sons, named Stephen and Constantine. Romanos further increased his power in 927 by having Christopher named Second Emperor, pushing the original ruler, Constantine VII, down one more rung on the ladder of political hierarchy.

Another of Romanos’ sons, by the name of Theophylact, drew the metaphorical short straw when it came to high office appointment. While his brothers were named caesars and co-emperors, Theophylact was sent to join the church. Yet, for Romanos, only the position of Patriarch of Constantinople would do for his son. Nevertheless, there was a problem—when Theophylact was sent to join the church in 924, he was only seven years old. Although Romanos could not immediately place his young son at the head of the church in Constantinople, he was able to rush the boy through the hierarchy of the clergy. Theophylact was appointed as a cleric and put in the position of synkellos, a lofty title that made the young boy an assistant to the patriarch of Constantinople. It was an important appointment, as the synkellos was often considered the heir to the patriarchal throne. The newly appointed clergyman, however, was still a child, so he remained in the role of synkellos during the reigns of Patriarch Nicholas (d. 925), Patriarch Stephen (d.927) and Patriarch Tryphon. Emperor Romanos apparently had agreements with these patriarchs that they would step down when Theophylact finally came of age. Although Patriarch Tryphon had supposedly agreed to this plan, he was said to have become hesitant to relinquish power as the young synkellos began to reach his mid-teens.

The power struggle between Patriarch Tryphon and Emperor Romanos came to a head around 931, when Theophylact was about 14 years old. Medieval historians who wrote about the incident recorded differing accounts of the episode. Leo the Grammarian, Symeon the Logothete and the Theophanes Continuatus present the occasion dryly or in passing. The so-called Pseudo-Symeon (whose identity remains anonymous) and the historian John Skylitzes, however, recorded a much more dramatic tale. Whatever the case, bland or embellished, all of the scholars came to the same conclusion—Patriarch Tryphon ultimately resigned from his post in 931.

The story presented by the Pseudo-Symeon and John Skylitzes about the downfall of Patriarch Tryphon is one of subterfuge and trickery. As the patriarch had done nothing to merit his resignation from the leadership of the church of Constantinople, Tryphon reportedly tried to delay or break his deal to step down. As the story goes, Romanos became impatient with the stubborn patriarch and he and his allies soon began to spread rumors about Tryphon to make the man’s position at the head of the church untenable. One such accusation that was reportedly spread insinuated that Tryphon was illiterate and did not know how to write. In 931, so the story goes, the patriarch convened a synod to disprove these rumors. Before the eyes of his peers, the patriarch was said to have written down his name and title on a document and handed it over to an acquaintance who would bring the proof of Tryphon’s literacy to the emperor. The messenger, unfortunately for the patriarch, was alleged to have been an agent of Emperor Romanos. Therefore, as soon as he had the chance, the mischievous messenger supposedly added a forged letter of resignation to Patriarch Tryphon’s signed document. According to John Skylitzes, before the clergymen of Constantinople left the meeting, the tampered document was brought back in and, “This ‘resignation’ was presented to the Synod and Tryphon was put out of the church, bitterly decrying the deceit which had been practiced on him” (Synopsis historian, chapter 10, section 26).

Whatever the truth behind Tryphon’s resignation, he indeed stepped down in 931. Although Romanos’ son was the successor to Tryphon’s position, young Theophylact was still not old enough to take up the role as Patriarch of Constantinople until 933, when he reached the age of sixteen. Theophylact would continue to oversee the church of Constantinople until his death in 956.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Picture Attribution: (Second Ecumenical painted by Vasily Surikov, c. 1876, [Public Domain] via Creative Commons).

Sources:

• A Synopsis of Byzantine History by John Skylitzes (c. 1040-1101), translated by John Wortley (Cambridge University Press, 2010).

The Intriguing Tale Of Basil The Copper Hand

The early 10th century saw the rise and fall of an interesting rebel leader named Basil. The date of his birth is unknown, but his path to infamy began in the first decades of the reign of Emperor Romanos I of Constantinople (r. 919-944). Basil’s life of crime apparently started with a simple scheme of impersonating a nobleman. The man he chose to impersonate was Constantine Doukas, a popular figure from a prominent family who was slain in a failed coup d’etat around 913. Although he was gone, many people apparently refused to believe that Constantine Doukas was truly dead. The mischievous Basil, proclaiming himself to be Constantine, was happy to oblige the fantasies of the people.

Once Basil took on the persona of Constantine Doukas, he found that people not only respected him, but also wanted to fight for his cause. The fake Constantine suddenly found himself in command of a growing band of armed fighters. Whether or not it was his original intention, Basil soon embraced this growing militancy. He eventually started openly trying to incite several cities into rebellion. The plot, however, did not turn out well. A regional official discovered the fledgling rebellion and succeeded in capturing Basil alive without much issue.

Basil was brought before the emperor for judgment. Considering the often-brutal crackdown on rebels, Basil was given a fairly light punishment. The emperor cut off one of Basil’s hands, but after that punishment was carried out, Basil was allowed to walk free otherwise unmutilated. Upon his release, Basil in no way gave up his ambitions. Instead, he made the most of the situation and delved right back into his ploys. According to the 11th-century historian, John Skylitzes, “he equipped himself with a hand of bronze and had a huge sword made. He stalked the Opsikion theme [northwest Anatolia] deluding the simpler folk into believing that he was Constantine Doukas, and when he had gathered a large following he broke into revolt” (Synopsis historian, chapter 10, section 27).

This time, Basil (“the Copper Hand,” as he came to be known) was much more successful in his rebellion. He and his rebels successfully managed to storm and seize a stronghold called Plateia Petra. They used the conquered fort as a headquarters from which they pillaged the surrounding area. Yet, the emperor of Constantinople would soon put an end to Basil the Copper Hand’s reign of banditry. An imperial army was sent to hunt down the rebels and their charismatic leader. Although Basil had fought well against local garrisons, he proved no match for the larger army sent to crush his revolt. Basil the Copper Hand was ultimately captured alive for a second time, along with most of his followers.

Emperor Romanos apparently believed that Basil was working for someone else, and he had the rebel interrogated along that line of questioning. Basil, however, was said to have never implicated anyone during his imprisonment. The emperor eventually stopped asking for the names of accomplices, but the end of interrogation was not much of a relief for Basil—next came punishment. The rebel leader would not be lucky enough to be released for a second time. Instead, according to John Skylitzes, “they had him put to the flames at the place called Amastrianon” (Synopsis historian, chapter 10, section 27). The execution of Basil the Copper Hand is reported to have occurred in 932.

Written by C. Keith Hansley.

Picture Attribution: (Scene from the Menologion of Basil, c. 985, [Public Domain] via Creative Commons).

Sources:

• A Synopsis of Byzantine History by John Skylitzes (c. 1040-1101), translated by John Wortley (Cambridge University Press, 2010). 
• https://www.oxfordreference.com/view/10.1093/oi/authority.20110803095450210 
• https://www.ancient.eu/Constantine_VII/  

The Banquet-Inspired Raid Of Saktikios

Simeon I of Bulgaria (r. 893-927) was a constant and formidable foe of the emperors of Constantinople. As the Bulgarian leader declared war on Constantinople frequently between 894 and 924, Simeon’s name was likely brought up in tones of anger and frustration in many an emperor’s banquet. One such feast in which the Bulgarians were the topic of conversation took place between 921 and 922. The exact date is difficult to discern, but the event reportedly occurred around the time that Emperor Romanos I lost his wife on February 20, 922. Whenever this feast was taking place, there were Bulgarian warriors ravaging and looting the countryside near Constantinople. These raiders no doubt irritated the emperor, and he made his frustration known to the nobles attending his banquet. According to the 11th-century historian, John Skylitzes, “the emperor gave a fiery speech, which enlisted an enthusiastic response, urging them valiantly to go forth against the foe and to fight for their fatherland” (Synopsis of Byzantine History, chapter 10, section 8). Although all of the emperor’s courtiers boldly proclaimed themselves ready to fight for the empire, only one of the officers at the banquet apparently took the emperor’s speech as an immediate call for action.

A certain Saktikios, commander of the corps of the Exkoubitors (one of four regiments charged with defending the city of Constantinople), was so inspired by Emperor Romanos’ banquet battle-cry that he mustered the forces under his command and set out against the Bulgarians, alone, in the early hours of the morning. The forces of Constantinople apparently knew the exact location of the main Bulgarian camp at the time, and it was for that campsite that Saktikios marched his band of warriors. When the Exkoubitors arrived at their target, they found the camp largely deserted, as a majority of the Bulgarians operating from the camp were still out pillaging the countryside. Taking advantage of the camp’s poor defenses, Saktikios and his troops successfully barged into the site, and set to work on making their emperor proud by slaughtering as many Bulgarians as they could find. Yet, as people fled the camp or as looters began to return with their spoils, the word soon spread among nearby Bulgarian forces that their camp was under attack. Before long, Saktikios and his men were surrounded by newly-arrived foes. The encircled Exkoubitors stayed and fought for a time, but as more and more Bulgarians arrived to help the camp, Saktikios and his troops began to retreat back toward Constantinople.

The retreat reportedly went well until they came to a river crossing, where Saktikios’ men and horses became stuck in the mud. As the Exkoubitors tried to pull themselves free, the pursuing Bulgarians caught up with their prey and the battle resumed. The forces under the command of Saktikios were eventually able to free themselves from the mud and fight their way back to Constantinople. Yet, the delay at the river crossing had been costly—before escaping the mud, Saktikios received a deep cut on the inside of his thigh and died not long after reaching safety.

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Sources:

• John Skylitzes. A Synopsis of Byzantine History: 811-1057, translated by John Wortley. Original text c. 11th or early 12th century. New York: Cambridge University Press, 2010.
• https://www.britannica.com/biography/Simeon-I 
• https://www.encyclopedia.com/history/encyclopedias-almanacs-transcripts-and-maps/simeon-king-bulgaria 
• https://www.ancient.eu/Romanos_I/ 
• https://www.oxfordreference.com/view/10.1093/oi/authority.20110803100427591  

The Reaction Of 10th-Century Constantinople To Conjoined Twins

In the mid-10th century, two travelers entered the city of Constantinople (modern Istanbul) and caused quite the stir. The pair were conjoined twins, and their unexpected arrival at the city was initially met with shock, and then hostility. John Skylitzes, an 11th-century historian, mirrored the feelings of his ancestors in his own statements about the event: “In those days a monstrous thing came to the imperial city from Armenia…males sharing a single belly, but they were driven out of the city as an evil portent” (Synopsis of Byzantine History, chapter 11, section 38). As for the date of the twins’ entry and exit from the city, Skylitzes only divulged that the event took place near the end of the reign of Emperor Romanos I (r. 919-944). Given the threats faced by the empire at the time—their precarious relationship with the Bulgarians, the raids of the Magyars into imperial lands (beginning around 934), and an attack by the Rus in 941—it is no wonder that the people of Constantinople wanted to rid themselves of whatever they perceived could cause bad luck.

After the conjoined twins left Constantinople, there was a power shift in the empire. Romanos’ predecessor was a child-emperor named Constantine VII who ascended to the throne in 913, reportedly at the age of seven. As the emperor was young, the empire was ruled by a regency council. Romanos I, who eventually became Constantine’s father-in-law, came to dominate the regency and usurped power in 919, pushing Constantine VII further and further into the background as the decades passed. In 944, however, Constantine VII backed a successful plot by Romanos’ sons to oust the old usurper, their father. Constantine followed up this success by rallying his supporters and arrested Romanos’ sons in 945, finally taking his rightful place as the sole emperor of Constantinople.

The conjoined twins from Armenia returned to Constantinople sometime after Constantine VII (r. 944-959) regained power. This time, the twins were more openly received. Instead of recoiling in horror and shock, the people of Constantinople now were apparently more curious than frightened and allowed the twins to live the rest of their days in the city. Eventually, one of the conjoined twins died, and intrigued physicians from Constantinople eagerly volunteered to separate the surviving conjoined twin from his deceased sibling. John Skylitzes recorded their bittersweet results: “When one of the twins died, some experienced doctors tried to excise the dead portion—and they were successful, but the living twin survived only a short while and then died” (Synopsis of Byzantine History, chapter 11, section 38).

Written by C. Keith Hansley

Picture Attribution: (16th century painting of Constantinople by Sebastian Münster (–1552), [Public Domain] via Creative Commons).

Sources:

• A Synopsis of Byzantine History by John Skylitzes (c. 1040-1101), translated by John Wortley (Cambridge University Press, 2010).