The Normans in Byzantium

Levi Roach

In 1074 the population of Constantinople looked on aghast as the town of Chrysopolis (modern Üsküdar), just across the Bosporus, was put to the torch. The Byzantine Empire had been through a great deal over the previous decade, which had seen Turkic bands carve up much of the old imperial heartlands of Asia Minor. Now it seemed as if the capital itself would fall. But the man responsible was no Turkish sultan or atabeg. It was Roussel de Bailleul, a Norman adventurer who had begun his career in Byzantine service.

The story of Norman involvement in the Middle East is relatively well known to specialists, but easily forgotten in wider surveys of the subject. Starting in the 1040s the Normans were an essential feature of Byzantine politics for over half a century – every bit as important as the Seljuk Turks or nomadic Pechenegs, a steppe people resident along the northern and western shores of the Black Sea. The Normans were drawn east by the prospects of advancement and enrichment. Of all the empires of the European Middle Ages, Byzantium was without doubt the grandest. The direct descendent of the Roman Empire, it could claim an antiquity unequalled by its rivals. Above all, it was the wealth of the Byzantines that so impressed their neighbours. Here was a state still running on the Roman model, capable of generating large tax revenues and redistributing them to faithful servants and allies.

Fearless and ferocious

The hundred years or so before the Norman arrival had been one of the most successful periods of Byzantine history. The empire expanded on all fronts, subduing the Bulgar khanate in the Balkans, securing Anatolia and pushing deep into the Middle East. These successes inspired an attempt to retake Sicily from the Kalbids in 1038. The Byzantines had retained control of Apulia and Calabria through the ninth and tenth centuries and now sought to take advantage of divisions among their Muslim neighbours to the south. The Normans themselves had just started to settle in nearby Campania, where they served in the armies of the local Lombard princes. Now a group joined the forces of George Maniakes, the Byzantine general charged with the Sicilian expedition. Despite an impressive string of victories, in 1042 Maniakes was brought down by hostile rumours in the imperial capital, which led to his recall. By this point, many of the Normans had deserted. The first recorded Norman leader, Hervé, however, remained loyal. He and a unit known as the Maniakatoi – named after Maniakes – were apparently redeployed to Constantinople, where the latter was involved in putting down a revolt the following year.

Hervé and his men – invariably called Franks in Byzantine sources – were the first of a series of Norman bands to be employed in this fashion. In Constantinople the Normans quickly gained a reputation for fearlessness and ferocity. The court historian Michael Psellos reports that they were impetuous and irresistible in their onslaught, sentiments echoed by Anna Komnene, the Byzantine princess whose history of her father’s life and times provides the most detailed (if tendentious) narrative of the later 11th century. As their reports reveal, the Normans were prized primarily as heavy cavalry and it was the force of their charge that most impressed eastern observers. Anna notes, with grudging admiration, that they were undefeatable in the assault. Psellos similarly comments that their charge was unique it its ferocity. By the later years of the 11th century, the Normans were enough of a fixture in Byzantine armies to have earned an ethnic stereotype.

Seljuks attacking Edessa, from the Madrid Skylitzes, 12th century. akg-images/Album/Prisma.

These anecdotes help explain the stationing of Norman bands. Most were placed in central and eastern Anatolia, regions under growing pressure from the Turks. The Turks also fought on horseback, albeit as lighter and nimbler forces, and the Normans offered a natural foil. The clearest sign of growing Norman repute, however, comes from Byzantine efforts to recruit more of them. Writing from the Norman domains of southern Italy, William of Apulia reports that in 1051 Emperor Constantine IX sent a recruiting drive to the region, offering riches in exchange for service ‘against the Persians’ (Turks). William interpreted this as a ploy to sap Norman forces in Italy. But, given the military plight that Constantine faced in Anatolia (not to mention the growing Pecheneg threat in the north), his need was genuine. Indeed, there are even reports of attempts to secure the support of William the Conqueror in these years.

Son of a Frank

Despite their popularity, Norman recruits proved no more reliable in Asia Minor than they had done in Sicily. A mercenary’s loyalty is to his paymaster. While this made the Normans a useful counterweight to regular imperial forces, which frequently revolted in the name of rival claimants to the throne, it added a further element of instability to the mix. We can see this in the career of the Norman leader, Hervé. He had been part of the Sicilian force recruited in 1038 and, thereafter, secured a position of trust in the imperial regime. In 1049/50, he commanded the left flank of the ‘Roman phalanx’ (apparently comprised of Norman cavalry) against the Pechenegs. The battle ended disastrously and the Byzantine historian John Skylitzes – our main source for Hervé’s career – accuses the Norman leader of having instigated the flight, an allegation probably informed by knowledge of Hervé’s later infidelity. Certainly Hervé remained in imperial service, his career unaffected by the defeat.

In 1057, however, Hervé was one of several men snubbed at the emperor’s Eastertide rewards ceremony. He had requested promotion to the status of magistros, an elevated title in the Byzantine court. When rebuffed, Hervé took up arms. His rebellion coincided with that of two other leading generals, Isaac Komnenos and Katakalon Kekaumenos, who had similar grievances. But Hervé does not seem to have considered co-operation with them, choosing instead to make common cause with the Turkish leader, Samouch. Their plan was to lead raids on imperial territory from the east of Anatolia. Yet disagreements soon emerged between the two of them. Despite defeating the Turks in battle, Hervé found himself imprisoned by the amir of Chliat (modern Ahlat).

Mosaic of Constantine IX Monomachos, Hagia Sophia, Istanbul. Agefotostock/Alamy.

This was not, however, the end for Hervé. There are two seals in his name, which throw light on the Norman mercenary’s later career. The first gives Hervé’s name in its Greek form, as Erbebios Frangopoulos (‘Hervé son of a Frank’); it also accords him the honorifics magistros, vestes and stratelates (the latter two being honorary titles akin to magistros). Since Hervé is called magistros here, the seal cannot pre-date 1057, when he was denied promotion to this office. It would seem that Hervé had returned to Byzantine service at some later point, earning those honours he had previously been denied. Confirmation of this comes from the other seal with Hervé’s name. This accords him the even more exalted title proedros; it also states that he was charged (probably temporarily) with oversight of all Byzantine forces in the east. This would indeed have been an astronomic rise, a plausible context for which is offered by the disastrous battle of Manzikert in 1071. In its aftermath Emperor Romanos IV was imprisoned and the eastern army left in disarray. Hervé would have been well placed to step in.

An upstart sell-sword

Whatever the precise details of Hervé’s later career, two other Norman leaders figure prominently in Byzantine politics of the 1060s and 1070s: Robert (or Roger) Crispin and Roussel de Bailleul. Unlike Hervé, both are mentioned by the Benedictine monk and historian, Amatus of Montecassino, our main source for the Norman conquest of southern Italy. Evidently Norman involvement in Asia Minor was now beginning to attract comment ‘back home’. According to Amatus, Robert cut his teeth in Spain, where he had participated in the famous siege of Barbastro in 1064. This was one of the first attempts to rally Christians to the cause of the (re-)conquest of al-Andalus (as Islamic Iberia was known). Amatus implies that this was Robert’s first venture beyond the duchy of Normandy. However, Islamic sources speak of a ‘commander of the cavalry of Rome’ in this connection, who has been identified with Crispin. If so, it may be that Robert spent some time in Italy first, where the Normans had been working closely with the pope since 1059. Either way, following the loss of Barbastro in 1065 a shame-faced Robert sought out (or returned to) his fellow countrymen in Italy. A few years later he entered imperial service on the Bosporus.

It is here that Byzantine sources pick up the trail. Michael Attaleiates, writing in the late 1070s, reports that ‘a certain Latin man from Italy’ called Crispin had joined the imperial forces shortly before Romanos’ eastern expedition of 1069. Like most Norman recruits Robert was sent to the eastern front, where the threat from the Turks was greatest. But almost as soon as he arrived he started causing problems. Believing that he had been insufficiently rewarded by the emperor, he began to harass local tax collectors. When Romanos got wind of this, he ordered an attack on the upstart sell-sword. An initial strike by local forces was defeated, so Romanos sent five western tagmata (the tagma being a kind of professional unit which formed the core of the imperial army) to deal with Robert. They attempted a surprise attack on a Sunday, knowing that the God-fearing Robert and his men would be at rest. However, they bungled things – tripping over the Norman tents, reportedly – and soon found themselves driven back. Once the Normans were able to mount their horses and regroup, the imperial tagmata were routed. This was no longer a local tax revolt; it was a direct threat to imperial authority. In response Romanos marched to Dorylaion (Şarhöyük), where the main Byzantine army was assembling. Sensing the danger, Robert decided to submit in exchange for an amnesty. Soon after doing so, however, he was arraigned on charges of conspiracy. When they heard this, the bulk of Robert’s troops, who had stayed behind, went on the rampage.

The body of Leo V, watched over by the Varangian Guard, from the Madrid Skylitzes, 12th century. Alamy.

Robert’s revolt bears similarities to Hervé’s. Again, the core issues were honour and remuneration. Robert’s hope was clearly to come to terms with the emperor, much as Hervé had done. Indeed, while reconciliation proved impossible under Romanos, in 1071 Robert was restored. He returned from exile to join a rebellion, earning a place of honour in the new regime of Michael VII Doukas. Nevertheless, Robert’s rebellion also represents a significant escalation of Norman troublemaking. Hervé’s forces only numbered a few hundred and his revolt petered out without direct intervention from the emperor. Robert, by contrast, had removed significant territory from Romanos’ control, subverting the all-important imperial taxes. He had also defeated a retaliatory expedition. In the end, it took the Romanos’ own involvement to bring him to heel.

Attending to the east

If Robert Crispin’s revolt revealed the prospects awaiting a sufficiently brazen Norman commander, these were fully realised by Roussel de Bailleul a few years later. Amatus mentions Roussel in the same breath as Robert and it is clear that contemporaries saw him as a successor of sorts. If Amatus is to be trusted, Roussel had first served the emperor in ‘Slavonia’. This probably means that he was involved in putting down the Bulgar revolt of 1071; he may also have been charged with guarding the region against the ever-dangerous Pechenegs. Following Robert’s death (c.1073), Roussel seems to have inherited command of his men in north-eastern Asia Minor.

This was an extremely difficult time for the empire. Defeat at Manzikert in 1071 had not only opened the way for Turkish inroads into Anatolia, it also represented an ideological blow. For almost a century the Byzantines had been on the front foot, securing and expanding their frontiers in the Balkans and Middle East. Romanos’ defeat now created a crisis of confidence. Worse still, it left a power vacuum in the imperial capital, when Romanos himself was captured by the forces of the Turkish sultan Alp Arslan. It was these internal problems that were to prove the most intractable and the following years saw successive waves of revolt and rebellion. The first (and most successful) of these brought Michael VII Doukas to the throne (with Crispin’s assistance). But Michael VII soon faced disruption in the Balkans, where efforts were being made to resurrect the old Bulgar state.

Only in 1073 was Michael in a position to attend to his eastern frontiers. His aim was to claw back recent losses. Isaac Komnenos was placed in charge of a large expeditionary force alongside his younger brother Alexios. This included the Norman detachment now headed by Roussel, which reportedly numbered 400 heavily armoured knights. As four years earlier, however, tensions soon emerged between the mercenaries and the main imperial army. In this case the cause was the treatment of one of Roussel’s men, who had been charged by Isaac with mistreating a local. According to Nikephoros Bryennios the Younger – the Byzantine general and historian, and our main source – Roussel had been looking to rebel for some time, so this may have been no more than a pretext. In any case, the Normans struck out on their own, defeating a small Turkish force at Melitene (Malatya) or perhaps Sebasteia (Sivas). Isaac and the depleted main army, meanwhile, were defeated by the Turks at Kaisareia (Kayseri) in the central Anatolian plateau.

Depiction of Michael VII Doukas on the back of the Holy Crown of Hungary. Alamy.

Isaac’s defeat presented Roussel with a golden opportunity. With the empire in disarray, central Asia Minor was ripe for the picking. He immediately began to set himself up as an alternative to imperial rule, offering the people of the region protection in exchange for payment. This may have been little more than a racket, but it was not so different from regular imperial rule; all it involved was redirecting taxation from Constantinople to Roussel and his men. From a local perspective, this arrangement had the singular advantage that the Normans were on hand and ready to fight. (They may also have been cheaper.) Certainly, the offer found many takers, and a Norman state began to emerge in the eastern reaches of the empire.

We know little about the nature of Roussel’s polity, in part because it proved so short-lived. The threat was, however, taken very seriously in Constantinople. Early in 1074 the last remaining imperial forces in Asia Minor were assembled under the command of the emperor’s brother, John Doukas, to stamp out Roussel’s revolt. The entire army, which included Norman mercenaries, probably numbered just a few thousand – a sign of the straits in which the empire now found itself. They marched through Dorylaion, south-east of Constantinople, to the bridge at Zombou. This was a strategic crossing point over the Sangarios (Sakarya), the river that divides north-western Anatolia from the rest of the peninsula. Alerted to John’s advance, Roussel and his men secured the opposite bank.

The sides now drew up for battle. At this point, John’s Normans, who comprised the left flank of the battle order, decided that their interests would be better served by joining their fellow countrymen. As was so often the case, one act of insubordination soon led to another. Nikephoros Botaneiates, the commander of the rear guard, also decided to withdraw when the battle began to go against the imperial forces. The result was a comprehensive and humiliating defeat. John and his son Andronikos were captured, the latter being badly wounded.

Gold and steel

John’s defeat marked the effective end of Byzantine authority in Asia Minor. Roussel, by contrast, was at the height of his powers. With no active army between him and Constantinople, he marched on the capital. He encamped at Chrysopolis, which he proceeded to raze within sight of the city walls. Roussel had now won almost all the Norman mercenaries to his side, a total force of perhaps 2,000-3,000 heavily armed men. This was far larger than the imperial armies available. But it was not nearly enough to take the walls of the city by storm. Roussel seems to have hoped that internal divisions would bring Michael VII down. He had miscalculated.

Unable to take Constantinople, Roussel was forced to improvise. He now proclaimed his captive, John Doukas, emperor, seeking to create a puppet imperial government. Yet Roussel had overplayed his hand. A Norman-led regime in the heart of Asia Minor may have been a viable prospect. But by setting himself squarely against the entire Byzantine state, Roussel made it impossible to find any middle ground. Sensing that the Normans were now the greatest threat to the empire, Michael reached out to his erstwhile opponents, the Turks. He hired a prominent Turkish commander Artuk, who was able to make quick work of the Normans. Artuk captured both Roussel and John, but was happy to release the first on payment of a ransom. Although chastened and diminished, Roussel remained a potent force.

Nikephoros III flanked by personifications of Truth and Justice, and his court dignitaries, from the Homilies of Saint John Chrysostom, 11th century. Alamy.

In response, Michael sought out support from his brother-in-law, George II of Georgia. George placed 6,000 men at the service of Nikephoros Palaiologos, the emperor’s chosen general, who marched west to Pontos, on the northern Turkish coast. But he soon ran out of funds and his troops began deserting. Roussel dispatched the remnants. In desperation Michael finally entrusted the task of bringing Roussel down to the young Alexios Komnenos, who had led the expeditionary force of 1073 alongside his brother Isaac. Given his future career – Alexios would be Michael’s successor but one – it is hardly surprising that later writers glamorise his capture of Roussel. They present Alexios as waging a valiant guerrilla war against the odds with a skeleton force.

The reality was more prosaic. Alexios let gold do the work of steel, putting a bounty on Roussel’s head. Soon enough Tutak, a former ally of the fledgling Norman state, switched sides and arrested Roussel at a feast. He then gave Roussel over to Alexios at Amaseia (Amasya) in northern Anatolia. Interestingly, Bryennios records that the local population was so upset by the possibility of a return to Byzantine rule that Alexios, to save him, had to pretend to blind Roussel, rendering him unfit for rule. The tale has a legendary air to it, but preserves a kernel of truth. Roussel had proven a reliable protector and many were unhappy about the prospect of returning to rule from Constantinople.

Though Norman state-building proved abortive in Anatolia, its legacy was considerable. While future generations for Norman mercenaries were to prove more pliable – more like Hervé than Roussel in disposition – westerners continued to form a dynamic element within imperial armies. Indeed, the same Alexios who earned acclaim for bringing Roussel to heel would later seek to harness the power of the ‘Franks’ for his own purposes. The seeds of the First Crusade had been sown.

Levi Roach is Associate Professor of Medieval History at the University of Exeter and author of Empires of the Normans: Makers of Europe, Conquerors of Asia (John Murray, 2022).