Free The Fourth Crusade and the Sack of Constantinople by Jonathan Phillips Page A

many of the parallels are beguilingly plain, the modern derivations of positive violence in the West—unlike the holy wars of the medieval age—now stem from wholly different origins. The jihad no longer has a true counterpart in the secular just war theory of the West.
     
    Sunningdale, December 2004

PROLOGUE
     
    The Coronation of Emperor Baldwin
     
    16 MAY 1204 marked a defining moment in medieval history—a seismic change in the accepted world order. For more than eight centuries successive Byzantine emperors had dominated an enormous and sophisticated empire, but this had been swept aside by the armies of the Fourth Crusade —the holy warriors of the Catholic Church. Now a northern European sat on a throne in the great cathedral of the Hagia Sophia, acclaimed by a packed congregation of western knights and traders; the Greeks were far away from their mother city, fleeing from the horrors inflicted by the ruthless warriors who had so brutally sacked their great metropolis. To the westerners, however, God had approved of their fight and now they sought His blessing. Under the soaring dome of the Hagia Sophia, the closing words of the Catholic mass faded away to end the coronation ceremony of Baldwin of Flanders, the first crusader emperor of Constantinople.
    Baldwin himself was transformed: as a powerful noble he was accustomed to a position of authority, but now he ascended to a higher, almost divine, status. Earlier in the day the leaders of the western army had collected the count from the Bucoleon palace and escorted him to a side chapel of the cathedral. There, Baldwin exchanged his woollen hose for a pair made of the finest red samite and donned shoes covered in rich gemstones. He then put on layer after layer of the most dazzling robes. First, a splendid coat with golden buttons at the front and back; then a long cloak, studded with jewels, that came down to his feet at the front and had to be wound round his middle and brought up over his left arm. As if this were not enough—in terms of weight alone it must have been a remarkable costume to bear—he wore one further gown. This too sparkled with precious stones and carried designs of the imperial eagle; it was so richly embellished that eye-witnesses reported that the garment shone as if it were aflame. Accompanied by his senior colleagues, Baldwin walked to the altar of the Hagia Sophia—partially damaged during the conquest, it was originally an exquisite piece of workmanship, 29 feet long, studded with gold and precious stones and surmounted by a solid silver canopy. The nobles carried his sword, his crown and the imperial standard; and they were followed by the crusader bishops whose task was to crown the new emperor. At the altar, after Baldwin had knelt in prayer to give thanks for the crusaders’ victory, the bishops stripped him to the waist to signify his humility before God. They anointed him, re-dressed him and, finally, gathered around him. Each held the crown with one hand and then they blessed it, made the sign of the cross, and placed it on his head. For an instant the knot of churchmen, themselves dressed in their finest vestments, masked the figure bearing the fearsome imperial eagle on his back, but then they withdrew to reveal the new emperor of Constantinople in all his magnificence—a tangible manifestation of the power and riches that the crusaders had seized. In tribute the bishops immediately presented the emperor with one of the hundreds of treasures pillaged from the imperial palaces: an enormous ruby, the size of an apple, to clasp the front of his robes.
    Baldwin sat on a high throne, holding in one hand a sceptre and in the other a golden orb. One can only imagine his feelings and thoughts as he faced the huge crowd, all magnificently attired in jewelled and silken robes. As the congregation chanted the mass, Baldwin’s mind perhaps turned to his northern European home: the cold, marshy lands of Flanders; he may have thought