It was two and a half centuries before Niccolo Machiavelli would found the science of modern politics by “ascribing all things to natural causes or to fortune”, yet his concepts were certainly similar to those of Doge Dandolo. (It often takes men of letters a long time to formulate the conclusions that have been practised for centuries by those whose business lies in the government of the world.)

That small incident over 700 years ago—the attack on the Byzantine cavalry by the Crusaders—foreshadows the events of our own sad century. For a short time in the history of the world it had been proclaimed (even if not believed) that “might is not right”. From now on, the pattern of politics was to alter:

 

All changed, changed utterly:

A terrible beauty is born.[2]

 

If Christians might attack fellow-Christians without excuse or justification—but with only an eye to the main chance and to material advantage—then the creed which Rome had adopted was clearly quite different from the one that had been formulated by its Founder.

Throughout its troubled centuries of incessant warfare, the Orthodox Church of the East had been engaged against pagans or against the self-proclaimed enemies of Christianity. They had had to barter, connive and often make opportunist ‘deals’ with these enemies, in order to preserve their own life. Their aim, nevertheless, had been to establish the Christian Church and the traditions of the Roman Empire over barbarians, or over those whom they held to be the followers of a mistaken and evil faith. Even their conflicts on previous occasions with Normans or Venetians or Crusading armies, had been dictated not by any desire to win land from these westerners but solely in defence of their own territories and sphere of influence. It was left to western Europe, and in particular to Venice and France, to prove to Byzantium that its real enemies were fellow-Christians.

After this first clash of arms, the Crusaders felt confident in their superiority. “With the help of God the engagement was brief and successful, for the Greeks fled, our troops pursuing them for all of a league. We then seized a good number of horses, palfreys, mules, tents, and other booty…”[3] The next day an ambassador came over to Scutari from Constantinople. He was Nicholas Roux, a Lombard who had been selected for his post because he could speak the language of the invaders. He had been sent, as he immediately explained, to find out why the Crusaders were occupying and pillaging Byzantine territory.

“You are Christians, and so is the Emperor. He is well aware that you are on your way to the Holy Land, to deliver the holy places from the infidel. He wonders, therefore, why you have come into his country. If you are in want and short of supplies, he will readily give you food and money—but on condition that you leave his territory. He is more than unwilling to do you any harm, though he is perfectly capable of it—as you must well know—if you refuse to go on your way.”

Conon de Béthune, one of the more cultured knights (he was something of a poet and an orator), was chosen to reply. He maintained that the Crusaders had not invaded the lands of Alexius III, since they were not his. “They belong,” he said, “to his nephew, and he is here with us. But, if your master is willing to throw himself on his nephew’s mercy and restore to him his crown and throne, we will intercede with the young prince to forgive his uncle and allow him enough money to live upon in luxury.” He concluded by saying that unless the messenger returned with an acceptance of these conditions he had better not come back at all.

For the first time, the purpose of the Crusaders was made brutally clear to the Emperor and his people. It was unlikely that Alexius III would respond to this message, with its specious explanation of the Crusaders’ presence in his lands, and with its suspect promise that his security would be assured. It left him with no option but to abdicate, or to trust that the army and the citizens would support him against the invaders.

There can be little doubt that young Alexius had managed to convince the barons that he was assured of popular support in the city. Like many another exile and pretender, he was probably under the illusion that his name would evoke an immediate response in the people. He may well have believed that they would respond to his appeal, dethrone his uncle and open the gates to their liberators.

The council of the Doge and the barons certainly acted as if they thought that the sight of Alexius would be sufficient to induce a popular revolt in his favour. It is likely that the barons did indeed believe this, although it is hardly credible that the Doge (with his excellent espionage system in the City) could have been so duped. For the people of Constantinople, however much they may have disliked their slothful and sybaritic emperor, were certain to resent having another and unknown ruler forced upon them by an army of foreigners. Their reaction was perfectly understandable—if Alexius III was to be deposed, they themselves would have the rightful say as to who should be his successor.

The day after the despatch of their message to the Emperor, ten galleys embarked the Doge, the Pretender Alexius, and the senior knights, and rowed them over to Acropolis Point. According to Robert de Clari, the Doge had suggested that they should show Alexius to the people of the city—in the hope that this would evoke a wave of popular feeling for him, and that the Byzantines themselves would accomplish the object of the expedition. The galleys passed as close to the walls as they dared, while Alexius was ‘showed’ to his people. A herald cried out that this was their rightful ruler, and that it was their duty to rally to his side. “But if you do not acknowledge him,” the herald concluded, “we will reduce you to utter ruin!”

Ever eager to put a good face on the Crusaders’ actions and to justify them in the eyes of posterity, Villehardouin maintained that the Byzantines did not dare show themselves to be on the side of young Alexius ‘out of their fear and terror of the Emperor’.