Sons of the Harlot Empress
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XIX. Hengistfeld
XIX. Hengistfeld
Artist’s interpretation of Haldenburg, an example of one of the Ungarnwälle (“Hungary ramparts”) built over the course
of the 10th century to resist Magyar attacks. Composed of earthen ramparts, palisade walls, trenches, and thorny
hedges or abatis, the fortress of Hengistburg probably bore many similarities to Haldenburg, which was located
in the vicinity of Augsburg in Bavaria.
of the 10th century to resist Magyar attacks. Composed of earthen ramparts, palisade walls, trenches, and thorny
hedges or abatis, the fortress of Hengistburg probably bore many similarities to Haldenburg, which was located
in the vicinity of Augsburg in Bavaria.
Prelude
In July of 978, three armies – Italian, German, and Hungarian – met each other at Hengistfeld in Carinthia.[A] Our sources for the battle itself, as well as the events leading up to it, are somewhat lacking. Liutprand, who died less than a year before, is sorely missed. The two Italian chroniclers who were writing at the time, Basil Notarius and the Venetian historian John the Deacon, mention the war in Carinthia only in passing. From the German perspective, Widukind of Corvey was also dead by this time, and while Thietmar of Merseburg offers some detail on the battle he was a “contemporary” only in the most technical sense – in July of 978 he turned three years old. Richerius gives the war between Henry and Octavian some attention, but as a monk of Rheims he was concerned primarily with what the event meant for the French monarchy. All other sources on the battle date from the 11th century at the earliest, and thus we must treat every specific detail with some caution.
It seems safe to assume that a pitched battle was not the original intent of any of the three monarchs in the spring of that year, when the Magyar and Italian campaigns into Carinthia began. Prince Géza, as we will see, may have played the most substantial role in bringing the conflict to its culminating point at Hengistfeld, but he surely could not have predicted the victory of Emperor Octavian over Margrave Berthold at Velden, and the absence of any evidence of coordination between the Italians and Magyars before that point belies the notion – notably advanced by Hungarian chroniclers beginning in the early 13th century – that Géza from the very beginning of his 978 raid had intended to lure King Henry II into the field.
That Géza should have wanted to confront Henry following Velden, however, is easily understandable. Otto’s victory at Augsburg[B] a quarter-century earlier had most likely come about from an attempt by the Magyars to force Otto into the field and defeat him in a decisive battle, thus breaking the string of recent German victories and reversing the strategic situation that had set in so unfavorably to Géza’s predecessors. That attempt had obviously failed, but it had not been on its face a foolish plan – the selection of Augsburg (surrounded as it was by a broad, open plain) was undoubtedly made with care to make the battlefield as favorable a place as possible to traditional Magyar warfare, and Otto’s eventual triumph was both hard-fought and costly.
The strategic situation that faced Géza in the 970s was, if anything, worse. His predecessors had been fighting at Augsburg to try and maintain their free reign over all Christian Europe; 25 years later, Géza was fighting merely for the independence of the nascent Magyar state from German domination. Henry’s resources were not as great as his uncle’s, but Bavaria alone had been quite able to take on the Magyars during the reign of Henry’s father; the addition of the German crown certainly did not make Henry’s relative position any weaker, though it came with new commitments that divided Henry’s attention. Géza had deflected Henry’s first attempt to humble him, but only with a desperate scorched-earth campaign in Pannonia. This was no long-term strategy for success, yet confronting the Germans directly seemed likely to end in tragedy.
With this background, it becomes easier to see why Géza may have been the most eager of the three monarchs for a battle in the summer of 978. Octavian had not yet proven himself to be a very useful partner; when he finally came around to making war with Henry, his instincts had been to first try to grab territory for himself in Brixen. In 978, however, Géza’s ally and suzerain was in Carinthia with an army, and he had just ambushed and routed the margravial army of Berthold. The injury inflicted was very far from fatal, but it was serious enough to require Henry’s intervention. If the strategy of decisive battle that had failed at Augsburg was to be attempted again, this time with success, there was unlikely to be a better opportunity for it.
Octavian’s original incursion is frequently described as a “raid,” but according to Thietmar, Berthold had marched out to relieve Crain, suggesting that Octavian was not merely despoiling lands but besieging one of the major fortresses of Carniola. Octavian’s ambush at Velden is described (again, by Thietmar) as being accomplished “with [his] cavalry,” and no infantry are mentioned, but Octavian evidently did have an infantry force at Hengistfeld. Some have suggested that Octavian split his force at Crain, leaving his infantry to continue the siege while his cavalry moved against Berthold. Berthold, we are told, failed largely because he did not expect Octavian to leave Crain to attack him; but it may be that even if he anticipated a countermarch, he did not expect Octavian to be upon him so quickly. If accurate, this interpretation tells us something about Octavian as a tactician – he gambled that he would have a better chance stealing a march on Berthold with a smaller but more mobile force than facing him at Crain or nearby with his full army.
Octavian’s motivation to seek battle with Henry is less clear. Géza’s dilemma was existential, but Octavian had ably parried the last German attempt to invade Italy, and after Velden the emperor was in a decent position to negotiate with Henry on favorable terms. The Hungarian chronicles insist that Géza convinced him to stay, but they do not claim a reason – the conquest of Carniola, the prospect of replacing Henry with Bruno, a desire to faithfully support his ally, and a craving for personal glory have all been suggested. Ultimately, we know only that when Octavian received word of Henry’s approach, he chose to stand, not flee.
Forward and Back
King Henry seems to have first entered the march near the Danube, most likely to shore up the defenses of his feudatories in the vicinity of the Wachau who were hard-pressed by the Magyars. Finding no Magyars there, he turned south, and among other tasks reinforced the garrison at Hengistburg, a key fortress along the Mur. Thietmar states that there Henry learned of Octavian’s presence in the region of Iunetal.[1] Henry, concerned that Octavian would soon make an escape, attempted to march to the Drava at a location upriver from Octavian’s army, thereby standing between him and his return to Italy, but upon his approach he was informed that Octavian had under his command not merely the Italians but “a great host of Ungari.”[2] Concerned that he was being led into a trap, Henry withdrew the way he had came, towards the security of Hengistburg.
It was probably a sound decision. Henry’s progress had thus far been unopposed, but as soon as he turned from the Drava he was subject to the aggressive skirmishing of Magyar horsemen. The sudden change suggests that Géza (and probably Octavian) was indeed awaiting Henry’s arrival, and the Magyars took the offensive only after it was clear that Henry would not be marching into their arms. Iunetal and Hengistburg are about 40 miles from one another as the crow flies; as we do not know what route Henry took or how close to Iunetal he was when he turned back, it is difficult to certainly know the length of the journey. Still, it seems safe to assume that the return march took at least several days, and the Magyar harassment probably slowed the army considerably.
Thietmar reports that the Germans, taking shelter behind their shields, stoutly resisted the Magyar attacks; critically, the Magyars were unsuccessful in luring the German cavalry into an ill-considered pursuit away from the infantry, as they had done to the Franks in the first battle of Augsburg.[C] They did, however, continue to engage the Germans – Thietmar describes the Magyars as continually shooting from the cover of nearby woods, and attacking (or approaching as if to attack) the German camp every night with “fearsome cries” and “blaring horns.” Although later Hungarian chronicles insist that many Germans were killed in their sleep by arrows, this is probably merely an echo of Liutprand’s account of the 910 Battle of Augsburg (in which sleeping Germans are killed by arrows in an identical fashion), and is unsupported by writers closer to the actual date of the battle. If casualties were low, however, the Magyars probably succeeded in eroding the morale of the Germans, who faced long marches under continual harassment and sleepless nights interrupted by constant alarms and wailing horns.
The course of events was now in the hands of Octavian, who after seeing Henry turn away from what was probably an ambush – or, at the very least, a prepared position favoring the Italians and Magyars – could have managed a clean escape from Carinthia. Instead, he pursued Henry towards Hengistburg, although there is no indication that the Italians and Germans actually engaged during Henry’s retreat.
Hengistburg was a strong defensive position which had thus far resisted Magyar attacks, but it lacked the supplies or infrastructure to support a large army for too long.[3] Henry was faced with a choice between confrontation and retreat, but his enemies, who were bent upon confrontation, would end up making that choice for him.
Opposing Forces
Henry’s army was in most ways, including sheer size, probably superior to Octavian’s force. Henry had inherited the well-armed and organized cavalry force of his predecessors, composed of both loricati (“armored men,” but in context often referring to soldiers owed by a count, bishop, or other lord as a duty to the king and sustained off their land) and milites (paid/professional soldiers, albeit not necessarily cavalry, in context usually men of lower status who served the army for immediate rewards rather than as a fulfillment of an intermediate lord’s service to the king).
Henry’s greatest advantage over Octavian, however, was quite possibly the quantity and quality of his foot troops, consisting most likely of paid troops, lesser retainers, and men of the Bavarian military levy (exercitus). Thietmar describes these men as forming an armored “phalanx” at the core of the German army at Hengistfeld. Octavian surely had infantrymen, but the Lombardic equivalent of the exercitus, the arimanni, had degenerated to virtual irrelevance years before Alberic’s reign. We do not know precisely from where the imperial infantry was drawn, but following his father’s example it likely consisted of lesser milites, smallholding remnants of the arimanni class, and civic militiamen. The imperial “phalanx” seems to have been smaller, not as well-equipped, and probably less disciplined than the German array.
Octavian’s cavalry came closer to parity with the Germans, though by most accounts they were still outnumbered. These consisted in part of Alberic’s old sodales, the “permanent” force of milites sustained by small estates (largely in Tuscany), but Octavian depended less on these men than his father had; originally men of modest means, lax oversight and the disruption of Otto’s invasion after Alberic’s death had allowed many of them to accumulate greater fortunes and establish themselves as urban nobility. Whether they were ever truly an elite corps as Liutprand suggests is unclear, but by Octavian’s reign there were clearly doubts as to their motivation and quality. Octavian’s other cavalrymen, like those of the Germans, were drawn both from the lands of vassal lords and a body of paid milites, but owing to the untrustworthiness of the Lombard nobility and the relative cash-richness of the Italian monarchy compared to the French and Germans,[4] the latter outnumbered the former.
The emperor’s personal retinue was also significant. Octavian was by all accounts generous with his hunting and feasting companions and did not turn his nose up at men of lower classes who impressed him with their physical skill and feats of bravado. Accordingly he tended to surround himself with young men of varied origins who competed for his attention and his lavish gifts of both treasure and honors. This following seems to have come into being in Corsica, and after his return to Rome he continued to privilege this comitatus above the sodales, the milites Romani, or other forces which had fulfilled the function of household guard in Alberic’s reign. Octavian’s comitatus was, if not exactly “professional,” composed of men who were evidently skilled, athletic, and highly motivated.
The Magyar forces were of the traditional sort, consisting mainly of light cavalry fighting with the composite bow. The Magyars had fielded infantry before – principally at (Second) Augsburg, for purposes of a siege, and possibly made up in substantial part of subject Slavs – but no mention of Magyar infantry at Hengistfeld exists. The Magyar riders of Géza’s day were perhaps not the equal of those earlier in the century – the Byzantines wrote that the Magyars of those early days were iron-clad in their discipline and ignored spoils in favor of the extermination of the enemy, a stark contrast to those Magyars at Augsburg who allegedly lost the day in part thanks to their ill-considered choice in the midst of battle to loot the German baggage. They had not, however, lost their skill in the saddle, for though the great raids had ended, they were not yet a sedentary people, and the culture of nomadism was still strong.[5] In discipline and coordination they may have declined from the days when Arpad’s horde held all of Europe in terror, but they still represented a capability that the Germans and Italians generally lacked.
Henry’s army, though largely Bavarian, included Swabian and Franconian troops (though apparently few Saxons), as well as Bohemians. Octavian counted amongst his forces some Germans of his own, the most prominent of which were Bruno, Otto’s son by Empress Alda, and his half-brother Henry of Carinthia, Alda’s son by Duke Berthold of Bavaria (her first husband), who seems to have defected to Octavian shortly before the invasion of Carinthia. The number of Germans fighting with Octavian is unknown, but it is assumed that the half-brothers – Henry in particular, who was of the Bavarian Liutpolding dynasty and had himself ruled Carinthia for a short time before his deposition by King Henry II – had their own retinues. Thietmar also reports in passing a corps of “Burgundinians,” who - assuming they were not simply mercenaries - were presumably there on account of Prince Bruno or supplied directly to Octavian by King Lothair of Provence. As with the assumed German contingent, the size of this Burgundinian company is unknown.
The Battle
King Henry’s pause at Hengistburg allowed his men some time to recuperate from their march, but it gave his foes the chance to cut off his line of further retreat. It also gave Géza precious time to consolidate his forces – traditionally, the Magyars spread out widely throughout a territory they were raiding, and drew together into an “army” only when presented with concentrated resistance. If he had been planning an ambush of Henry at Iunetal, presumably the prince already had a significant force there, but evidently neither they nor the force that had harassed Henry on his retreat (which may have been fairly small, despite Thietmar's claims of vast screaming hordes) constituted the full measure of Magyar strength in Carinthia, which by way of smoke signals and horns was now gathering at Hengistfeld.
At Augsburg a quarter-century before, Otto had been faced with relieving a fortified position; now, however, Henry was compelled to break out of one. A close siege may have given Henry the opportunity to launch a surprise sally against his besiegers, but the Italians and Magyars seem to have encamped at some distance. Maintaining a stranglehold on Hengistburg was unimportant when there were no significant relief forces on the horizon nor much prospect for resupply on the edge of a thoroughly devastated march, and the free reign of Magyar patrols in the region meant that a true circumvallation may not have been necessary to keep the Germans from slipping away unnoticed. According to Thietmar, Henry considered using the Mur as an avenue of action, but the army was too large and the watercraft at hand too few to either mount an amphibious attack or effect a general escape.
The Germans resolved to fight their way out, and had ample reason to think they would be successful in doing so. The Magyars had so far been unable or unwilling to stand their ground against the Germans, and the military prowess of the Italians was not highly regarded. Yet the Germans did not really know the scope or disposition of the forces arrayed against them, as Octavian had (according to Thietmar, on the advice of Henry of Carinthia) encamped some distance away from Hengistburg in a wooded area, and King Henry’s scouts (exploratores) were unable to operate successfully with the surrounding terrain patrolled by Magyar cavalry. Thietmar claims that some of these scouts were captured, which may have provided Octavian with vital intelligence.
King Henry opted for a sally in force at dawn to catch his foes off-guard. Even if the main enemy force eluded him, he could at least advance through the Hengistfeld to the woodlands, where the Magyars would be unable to use their full force effectively. For whatever reason, however, he never gained the element of suprise, and he faced a direct attack by the Magyar cavalry while still in the clearing. Presumably these Magyars, like their predecessors, engaged in the same tactic of close skirmishing – often with the bow, but sometimes approaching for a brief melee – and then quickly withdrawing in the hopes of drawing the Germans out of position. Again, Henry’s soldiers demonstrated considerable discipline in not falling for the ruse.
When the Germans finally launched a counterattack, it was coordinated, with Henry leading his cavalry in the van in a counter-charge. According to Thietmar, in a virtual duplication of descriptions of the tactics of King Henry I (the grandfather of this current King Henry), King Henry II waited until the Magyars drew particularly close, ordered them to pursue “deliberately,” with their horses in step and their shields held before them, and to charge home after the first volley from the Magyars had been broken upon their shields. This was performed with admirable success, and the German cavalry seemed to break the Magyar center, which streamed back in bloody disarray.
Had the Germans been fighting only against the Magyars, this capably executed tactic may well have won them the day. Henry, however, seemed to forget that the entire Italian army had yet to engage. In fact, it was close at hand; the stiff Magyar resistance had allowed Octavian time to advance to the edge of the Hengistfeld. Thietmar describes the Magyars being “put to flight” and very nearly beaten until the abrupt appearance of Octavian’s cavalry. Hungarian sources are, not surprisingly, more charitable to the Magyars, portraying their “flight” as a planned retreat.
Thietmar’s account is at this point somewhat contradictory; having previously described Henry’s successful counter-charge as being characterized by horsemen in perfect lock-step, with none racing ahead of the others or falling behind, he then describes the Italian counter-counter-charge as finding the Germans in disarray. It may be that the Germans, having attacked in good order, simply became disordered in the melee with the retreating Magyars, or because of their growing weariness. Energy does seem likely to have been a factor – while the German horse had been repulsing repeated feigned attacks since dawn, and had now driven home a charge at full tilt against the Magyars, Octavian’s cavalry was fresh.
The timely arrival of the Italians was decisive. Henry had been careful up to now not to permit his cavalry to charge ahead of his infantry, but by seeking the defeat of the Magyar force he had managed to do just that. Even so, the cavalry battle between the Italians and Germans was hotly contested, and the contest seems to have only clearly gone against Henry when the Magyar cavalry was able to rally and surge around the flanks of the German cavalry, whereupon they were enveloped and defeated.[6]
The defeat was not yet total. The German infantry phalanx pressed forward, albeit not in time to save their cavalry from a rout. Initially the Italian cavalrymen attempted to press home the charge to the German infantry, but their attack was ill-disciplined and the Germans drove them back. A general attack by the clearly inferior Italian infantry was also repulsed without difficulty. After Octavian pulled back, however, the Magyar cavalry surrounded the German phalanx and showered it with arrows. This, combined with the loss of much of the German leadership in the cavalry force, seemed to cause the stout infantrymen to waver. Dedo, the Duke of Swabia (who had lost his horse to an arrow), led the phalanx in a retreat back into Hengistburg, which despite their attempts the Italians and Magyars were unable to prevent.
Aftermath
Though battered and bloodied, the majority of the German army had escaped actual destruction. The toll among the cavalrymen had been heavy, but the Italians and Magyars had also paid heavily; in terms of overall human casualties there may not have been a clear winner. The German equines, however, seem to have been very badly mauled. Dedo was hardly the only man to lose his horse - Thietmar reports that the miles who made it back to the fortress had scarcely one suitable mount for every two of them still able to fight. This, more than anything else, probably dashed any hope of a successful breakout; the German infantry had performed admirably, but would he seriously vulnerable without cavalry support.
According to Thietmar, Henry resolved upon escape – by taking to the river Mur, he could evade his enemies, who had no watercraft of their own. This would necessarily involve abandoning the bulk of the army, who possessed a strong defensive position but were unprepared to withstand a long siege (though the attackers may have been similarly ill-equipped). Allegedly, however, his plans were unraveled by betrayal - Duke Dedo, appalled at the “shame” of abandoning so many Germans, made contact in secret with Henry of Carinthia and agreed to turn on his king. King Henry made his escape, but erred by putting ashore at the sight of a party of presumably loyal Bavarians on the banks; the group turned out to be men in the pay of Alda’s sons, and with the help of Dedo’s men among the king’s party, the king was arrested upon landing and dragged back to Octavian’s camp.
The story is unkind to Henry, possibly for political reasons – Thietmar’s family had supported Henry over Liudolf, but by the time Thietmar was writing his chronicle he had ample reason not to appear to be too great a partisan of Henry, who was then no longer in power. A more charitable reading might be that the king was not "abandoning" his army, but merely attempting to find relief. Alternately, the episode may be partially or entirely fictional – the Hungarian chronicles generally agree that Henry was captured trying to escape from the fortress, but mention neither boats nor treachery, and imply that the "escape" was attempted with a significant force rather than just the king slipping out with his guards. The fact that Dedo did indeed lead a general defection of the besieged Germans to Prince Bruno after Henry's capture may support Liudolf's account, though it may also be that Dedo's decision to join the winning side was made only after the capture of his sovereign made the rewards of loyalty look unattractive. Richerius, for his part, simply states that Henry was taken captive as a consequence of Hengistfeld, and does not treat the battle and the capture as two separate events at all.
Although Dedo may have led the German army into Bruno's camp, the defection may not have been successful were it not for the presence of Henry of Carinthia, who was a scion of the Liutpolding house and far more popular among the Bavarians than the up-jumped Duke Dedo. Octavian was not quite as quick to give his support – Henry, in his captivity, allegedly gave Octavian extravagant promises of territorial concessions, tribute, and the acknowledgement of his suzerainty. Bruno, anxious to keep Octavian's favor and ensure Henry remained a prisoner, countered with his own promises. Octavian surely enjoyed the reversal of fortune – once compelled to bow to Otto, he now sat in judgment between Otto’s son and nephew. The delay may have been only theatrical, as in the end Octavian sided rather predictably with his ally over his captive enemy. Henry would remain in Octavian’s custody for the time being, helpless to contest the theft of his kingdom by his cousin.
The Crown of Germany
Bruno launched his bid for the German crown thereafter, and with Dedo and Henry of Carinthia (who he quickly installed as Duke of Bavaria) at his side his prospects seemed good. Octavian had promised him the hand of Helena, the emperor’s only living legitimate child, so in time he might even achieve his father’s imperial dream by marriage instead of force of arms.
The reign of King Bruno, however, was to be short-lived. While Dedo and Duke Henry provided him with support in the south, the Saxon nobility rejected him from the start. There had been grumbling already during the rein of Otto by his otherwise loyal Saxons who felt he had neglected Germany for Italy; the prospect of a half-Italian[7] king betrothed to an Italian princess who had few friends in Saxony was a nonstarter. The Saxon nobility turned instead to Otto, the son of Emperor Otto’s late son Liudolf, who was also supported by the exiled Bernard, son of Hermann Billung and the cousin of Duke Egbert the One-Eyed whom Henry had installed in Saxony. The Saxons drove out Egbert, welcomed back Bernard from France and Otto from England, and hailed the latter as king.
The result was another civil war in which Otto was to be the ultimate victor. The allegiance of Duke Henry played a pivotal role – though initially faithful to Bruno, he betrayed his mother and half-brother by switching sides and supporting Otto, possibly because of disgruntlement over Bruno’s extravagant promises to yield Bavarian and Carinthian territory to Octavian (which, after being appointed Duke of Bavaria, was now Henry’s territory). In the winter of 979-980 Bruno was compelled to flee from Germany, and his support there collapsed. He took refuge with Octavian once more, and implored the emperor to support him. With the Bavarians and Saxons firmly behind Otto, however, it seemed to be a lost cause.
Now unchallenged in Germany, Otto was crowned King Otto II at Fritzlar in the spring of 980, and initially countenanced a campaign against Octavian.[8][D] The emperor was, after all, occupying Brixen and Carniola (which Bruno had apparently agreed to cede to him), and was sheltering no fewer than two former German kings. Like Henry II before him, however, Otto II found himself distracted by serious problems elsewhere. King Lothair of France had favored Otto over Henry while the latter reigned, and may have also supported Otto over Bruno. With familial ties to Provence and Italy, Bruno seemed to present a greater threat of a renewed German hegemony over the lands of Middle Francia were he to firmly establish himself; Otto, in contrast, had purely German and English roots. But Lothair’s support for Otto lasted only so long as Otto was not king, and once Bruno fled the country Lothair redoubled his attempts to wrest permanent control of Lotharingia from the Germans.
Even more seriously, the combination of King Henry’s defeat, the subsequent civil war, the incitements of the again-exiled Duke Egbert, and the general resentment by the Wends towards Christianization and high-handed German dominion led in 980 to a violent uprising by the Lutici and Obodrites under the leadership of the sons of Nako, Mstivoj and Mstidrag. Renouncing Christianity, the brothers and their tribal allies razed churches, assaulted fortresses, and murdered German settlers and priests. It was all King Otto could do to prevent the rebels from overrunning Saxony; much of the Slavic march forged by the Ottonian kings quickly reverted to native (and pagan) control, undoing decades of campaigning and proselytizing.
In these circumstances, Otto decided it was best to bury the hatchet with Octavian. The emperor, finding no remaining value in his alliance with Bruno, offered Princess Helena to Otto instead. Otto, now 26 years old, had not yet married, and the 21 year old daughter of the emperor was a considerable prize despite her somewhat advanced age for a new bride.[E] As a result, Octavian agreed to relinquish Brixen, which he never seemed to have entirely subdued, but retained control of Carniola and thus kept his newly acquired border with Hungary. Bruno, bitter and defeated, returned with his mother Alda to Provence; the deposed King Henry, then still Octavian’s prisoner, was handed over to Otto, whose father he had rebelled against and killed. He was imprisoned in a Franconian monastery.
The marriage of Helena and Otto was to have significant consequences for Germany. The close relationship between Helena and her mother, who was to live to an advanced age, would for some time engender a relative stability in Italian-German relations that had thus far been elusive. Those who expected the marriage to result in a personal union, however, already had reason to worry. Shortly before Octavian left for Carinthia, it had been revealed that Empress Agatha was pregnant. She had by this time been with child at least five times in her life, but save for Helena all had ended either with miscarriage or, in the case of her first child Alberic, death in infancy. According to Basil Notarius, before his departure Octavian issued an edict commanding monasteries throughout the kingdom to pray for a healthy birth. Two weeks after Octavian was victorious at Hengistfeld, his 42 year old empress bore a live son. After either Agatha’s father or Octavian’s uncle, he was christened as Constantine.
Map of Italy and its environs in late 980 following the marriage of Otto II, King of Germany, and
Helena, Imperial Princess (Click for big). The exact borders of Carniola are not known; Villach
and the Upper Drava remained German, suggesting a border along the Karawanks, but the
border between the imperial and Magyar territories was considered to be the Drava itself.
Where exactly the border transitioned from mountain to river is unclear, and it may have
shifted as the Magyar frontier changed. The extent to which the Magyars overran eastern
Carinthia is also not well known, and the red-striped frontier shown above should be taken as
only roughly approximate.
Next Time: Ironhead
Footnotes (In Character)
[1] The Jaun Valley of the Drava, named after the nearby Roman settlement of Juenna.
[2] Thietmar does not even name Géza in his account of the Battle of Hengistfeld; in his narrative the Ungari are subjects or mercenaries of Octavian, not his allies, who serve him directly. This has the effect not only of eliding the role of the Hungarian monarch in the subsequent battle, but of maligning the Italian emperor by placing him in personal command of a pagan army.
[3] Hengistburg, though often described as a “castle,” was not the towering stone edifice that today is often associated with that word. Like many fortified positions in Germany (and, for that matter, Italy) in the 10th century, wood and earth were the primary building materials. Hengistburg in particular is described as being composed of formidable palisades, earthworks, and brambles.
[4] While the agricultural dominance of the 10th century Italian economy should not be understated, the cash economy never slipped quite as far into oblivion in Italy as it did elsewhere in western Europe in the post-Roman era (particularly in the cities, which also survived far better in Italy than elsewhere). The economic course of the Italian kingdom will be covered in more depth later.
[5] Although sources on Magyar life in the transitional phase between the initial invasion of Pannonia and the gradual establishment of Hungary as a Christian state are extremely thin, contemporary writings suggest that even during the 11th century Magyar settlements were still composed substantially of tents, and the text of a decree has survived from the reign of Géza’s son Vajk (the first “true” Christian prince of the Magyars) prohibiting towns from “moving too far from their church.”
[6] Some sources describe Géza leading this rally personally, with one Hungarian chronicle and its later derivatives even giving him an inspiring and rather extended speech that seems altogether too long for the circumstance.
[7] More precisely half-Burgundinian, given Emperor Hugh’s origins.
[8] During his exile in England, Otto was known as Otto “the Ætheling,” as he was the son of Liudolf and (as far as the English monarchs were concerned) the rightful heir of the German crown. The moniker seems to have been adopted in a limited fashion on the continent following his return and coronation, where he was sometimes known as “Otto the Noble” – or, in a Latinized version of the original Anglo-Saxon, Otto Adelinus. English sources also titled his father Liudolf as “Ætheling” but in Liudolf’s case that does not seem to have found any purchase beyond the chronicles of English monks.
Timeline Notes (Out of Character)
[A] A real place, not far from modern-day Graz, Austria.
[B] This, if you recall, was our not-Lechfeld, in which the Germans defeated the Magyars in a very similar manner and place as Lechfeld, but different weather prevented the Magyar army from being annihilated in the same way it was in the aftermath of Lechfeld IOTL.
[C] This is a reference to the Battle of Lechfeld/Augsburg of 910, in which the Frankish emperor Louis the Child was crushingly defeated by the Magyars in roughly the same place that Otto defeated the Magyars nearly half a century later. As Mark Twain said, history does not repeat itself, but it does rhyme.
[D] This is not the same person as Otto II of our own timeline. Our Otto II was Otto the Great’s son by Adelaide of Italy; ITTL, of course, they are never married. The Otto II of this timeline is the same person as Otto, Duke of Swabia, who IOTL was given Bavaria as well after the deposition of Henry the Wrangler (ITTL King Henry II).
[E] Otto never married IOTL. He died in 982 at the age of 28 following the disastrous Battle of Stilo.
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Great update! Italy and Germany are soldifying as separated entities, the campaign in Carniola/Carinthia looks plausible enough. I wonder how the relationship between Italians and Magyars will develop...
Carp, I think you made a minor mistake under note E because Otto II was married, fathered Otto III, and died of disease after the battle of Stilo. Otto III was the unmarried and died heirless. Also Great Timeline.
Actually, the rebellion happened IOTL as well, but in 983 instead of 980. The proximate cause IOTL was the defeat of Otto II at the hands of the Sicilians at the Battle of Stilo, while ITTL the uprising happens a few years earlier because the defeat of Henry II and the ensuing civil war provides an equally good trigger.
As for France, I'm not yet sure how I want it to turn out. IOTL, Lotharingia remained in German hands for the rest of the Ottonian period; it would not be until later centuries that it would come back gradually into the French orbit. ITTL, German power is not nearly as strong, and Lothair of France has better odds of taking control of Lotharingia as he attempted to do historically, but I don't yet know if he's going to actually manage it or whether the new Otto II will end up driving him out.
To a large extent, they already were. Despite the fact that they were Latin-speakers, the people (and particularly the nobility) of 10th century Rome were still deeply influenced by Constantinople in terms of culture, dress, and nomenclature. Names like Sergius, Demetrius, Theodora, and Romanus were rare in non-Byzantine Italy, but appear regularly in the early Tusculani-Crescentii geneology. Constantinus was already in use by the family - Constantine, brother of Alberic II, was a real person. The only name that may have been a true innovation was Octavian; there are other examples of medieval Roman noblemen IOTL being named Octavian, but as far as I know all of them post-date Octavian/John XII. (On the other hand, it may just be that no Octavians appear before him because Roman noblemen prior to the early 10th century are so poorly attested.)
Certainly Octavian and Agatha are not ignorant of the implications of Constantine as a name, but even were it not for those implications it makes a certain amount of sense for them to choose it - it was not uncommon for a son to be named after his maternal grandfather, particularly when another son had already been named after the paternal grandfather (in this case, the Prince Alberic who died as an infant). Add to this the fact that the name was already in use in the Tusculani family, and the choice is a pretty reasonable one.
Overall, the Tusculani ITTL will tend to favor Latinized Greek names, but mostly because that was already their culture, and not so much because they are trying to imitate the names of the Constantinopolitan emperors.
I may have written the note a bit confusingly. Let me lay it out in a more straightforward manner:
Otto, son of Liudolf
- IOTL, this Otto was the Duke of Swabia, and later of Bavaria as well, until he died on the return journey from the Battle of Stilo in 982. He never married and had no children.
- ITTL, this Otto flees to England after the death of his father Emperor Liudolf. On the invitation of the Saxons, he returns to take the throne from Bruno in late 978, and is crowned as King Otto II in early 980. He marries Helena, daughter of Octavian.
Otto, son of Otto the Great
- IOTL, this Otto became Emperor Otto II after the death of his father (though technically he was crowned years before his father's death). He died in 983 of an illness, less than a year after the death of Duke Otto (son of Liudolf). His son, also named Otto, became Emperor Otto III.
- ITTL, this Otto never exists because his parents, Otto the Great and Adelaide of Italy, never married. The closest analogous figure is Bruno, son of Otto the Great by Empress Alda, who ITTL is Otto the Great's second wife instead of Adelaide.
XX. Ironhead
XX. Ironhead
The Castle of Arechis, an 8th century fortress overlooking Salerno,
originally built by Prince Arechis II of Benevento
The Prince of Salerno
Early in his reign, Prince Gisulf of Salerno had been pro-Byzantine, even earning himself the rank of patrikios from the general Marianos Argyros around 956 for his loyal service. In the 960s, however, he drifted away from his previous loyalties and became an ally of Pandulf, Prince of Capua and Benevento. Pandulf and Gisulf had accepted the suzerainty of Emperor Otto and dutifully made war against the Byzantines, but after Otto’s death and a counteroffensive by the Catapan Michael Abidelas they were compelled to seek the aid of Emperor Octavian, who had only just returned from his Corsican exile. Octavian dispatched his kinsman, Duke Crescentius of Spoleto – whose daughter Theodora was also Pandulf’s wife – and with his support the Lombard princes defeated Michael at the Battle of Calor in 971. The status quo restored by this battle was confirmed in the following year by an agreement between Octavian and the Byzantine emperor John Tzimiskes, under which Gaeta and Capua-Benevento were acknowledged as being under the suzerainty of Octavian and the remainder of “Langobardia Minor” was acknowledged as owing allegiance to John.
The agreement had succeeded in preventing further hostility between the eastern and western empires, but it was made in near-total disregard for local politics. Southern Italy was a veritable maze of dynastic and territorial disputes between the petty rulers of the region, and the emperors had given these disputes little attention when they blithely drew a line across the peninsula and declared their respective spheres of influence. Most egregiously, the division left Gisulf on the Greek side of the line despite his anti-Byzantine politics, thus separating him from his allies. It was a situation just waiting to be exploited by Gisulf’s rapacious neighbors: Duke Marinus II of Naples, who had adopted a pro-Byzantine policy despite his Tusculani blood and his father’s long alliance with Alberic, and Duke Manso of Amalfi, whose city-state was the smallest but also the richest of the southern Italian principalities thanks to its dominant position in maritime trade.
Back in 940, the then-Prince of Capua and Benevento, Landulf Antipater, had banished his nephew (also named Landulf) from the principality in an effort to seize power for himself after the death of his brother Atenulf. The younger Landulf had sought refuge first in Naples, and then in Salerno, as his sister was married to Salerno’s prince, Guaimar II. Guaimar gave Landulf his protection, made him gastald of Conza, and granted land in Salerno to all Landulf’s sons. Prince Guaimar II died around 952 and was succeeded by his son Gisulf. Gisulf’s reign was secure as long as he could rely on the support of powerful allies, but after the imperial pact of 972 he became perilously vulnerable. With the support of Manso and Marinus (and possibly with the tacit support of Catapan Michael Abidelas), Landulf of Conza treacherously repaid Guaimar’s generosity by deposing Gisulf in 973, less than a year after peace had been established.
Gisulf fled to his ally Pandulf of Benevento-Capua, who agreed to restore Gisulf to his rightful place. In 974, with some aid from his brother-in-law John Crescentius (who had only recently been serving under Emperor Octavian in Lombardy), Pandulf made war on the combined pro-Byzantine alliance of Naples, Amalfi, and Salerno. The campaign was short and decisive, and Landulf of Conza was soon driven from his stolen throne. It was probably exploits like these which would cause Pandulf to receive in due time the unusual name of Pandulfus Capiteferreus – “Pandulf Ironhead.” The grateful Gisulf, having regained his principality, rewarded Pandulf by becoming his vassal and agreeing that if he should die without heirs – of which, in 974, he had none – Pandulf’s second son (also named Pandulf) would succeed him as Prince of Salerno.[A] The status quo was thereby restored, though the vassalage of Salerno (a nominally Byzantine vassal) to Capua (a nominally Italian vassal) and the prospect of their consolidation put the previously agreed-upon imperial dividing line in some doubt.
In 974 this petty argument among princelings – which resulted in no immediate territorial changes – was not enough to rouse the interest of either Octavian or John Tzimiskes, but it would been the seed of later trouble.
Unification
In 977, Gisulf died without heirs, and Pandulf was able to make good on their agreement and secure his son’s succession to Salerno. He installed himself as co-prince alongside his son, and for the first time in more than a century all the Lombard states of the south were united. Octavian’s hands were full enough with Germany and Carinthia in the north, and in the east a new emperor had only just come to power after the death of John Tzimiskes and faced domestic troubles of his own. Neither could spare much attention to southern Italy, and in the vacuum Pandulf could assume the mantle of regional hegemon.
One of the men least satisfied with this state of affairs was Duke Marinus of Naples. Pandulf had his eye on Neapolitan territory, and Marinus’s faith in the ability of his Byzantine suzerain to protect him was eroding. He also had ample reason to be concerned about threats from the sea, for around this time Byzantine Italy was being devastated by raids from Sicily under the direction of its emir Abu al-Qasim. Beginning in 976, Sicilian raids in Apulia and Calabria had escalated sharply. Taranto was sacked in 977, and numerous captives were taken by the Sicilians and ransomed or sold into slavery. These raids, as far as we know, did not affect Naples directly, but the Sicilians had laid siege to the city before and might be expected to broaden their sights since the thematic forces under Michael Abidelas were evidently powerless to stop them.
The Duke of Naples was too practical a man to remain loyal without reward, and as early as the downfall of Landulf of Conza he may have been reconsidering his pro-Byzantine strategy. At the time, however, there was no good alternative for his allegiance. It was not until the end of the decade, with Octavian’s victories in Carinthia in 978 and the peace established between Italy and Germany by the marriage of Otto II and Helena in 980, that the Italian emperor was sufficiently freed from northern threats to think at all about his southern frontier.
Emperor Octavian gives the Lance of Constantine to Pope Adeodatus III, 11th c. illustration
The Holy Lance
As it happened, Octavian paid a visit to Rome in 981, a city which he had been absent from since the revolt of Benedict and Joseph in 976. Benedict, the Rector of Sabina since elevated to the position of praefectus urbi, had kept the peace ably enough since then, and had overseen the election of Octavian’s brother as Pope Adeodatus III after the death of Octavian’s uncle, Sergius IV, in 979. The occasion of this visit in 981 was the acquisition of a great relic, a most holy lance.
In the Antapodosis, Liutprand describes the lance as belonging originally to Constantine the Great, who had embedded in it one of the nails used in the Crucifixion of Christ which his mother Helena had brought back from Jerusalem. He skips over its subsequent history, resuming in the early 10th century with its possession by a certain Italian Count Samson, who around 922 gave the relic to King Rudolph II of Burgundy as an inducement to invade Italy and overthrow Emperor Berengar. Rudolph failed to keep Italy, but maintained the lance – that is, until the German king Henry I decided he wanted it for himself, and threatened to devastate all of Burgundy to get it. Rudolph relinquished the lance, and Liutprand seems to admit only grudgingly that Henry compensated Rudolph with the Swabian land of Aargau. Liutprand portrays the whole series of events as the sacrilegious work of scurrilous villains, and brings up the story only as one of many justifications for the “judgment of God” against Otto.
An intriguingly similar tale concerns the relics of Saint Maurice, a 3rd century Roman soldier-martyr. These were traditionally kept at the Burgundinian abbey of Agaunum. According to legend, in 926 King Henry I acquired the sword, spurs, and lance of Maurice from the abbey and translated them to Magdeburg. Despite the obvious inconsistencies – Samson could not have given Rudolph a lance which had been in residence at Agaunum since ancient times – the identical timing suggests that this story and Liutprand’s account may refer to the same event. The matter confused contemporaries as well, who were not always consistent as to whether the spear belonged originally to Constantine or Maurice, but by the 11th century these views had been synthesized into the notion that the spear had been possessed by both men.
Though it is unrelated to the historical narrative, it may be of interest to the reader that modern testing of the spearhead suggests an origin date between the 7th and 9th centuries AD (though the piece of metal asserted to be the embedded nail has never been subject to metallurgical analysis). In an attempt to reconcile the date and explain the apparent relevance of the lance to the throne of Italy in Liutprand’s account, one novel theory has relied on the writings of Paul the Deacon, an 8th century Lombard monk. Paul described the grasping of a royal lance as part of the inauguration ritual of Lombard kings, and spoke of the Lombard chiefs as being from the race/stock of “Gugingus” (ex genere Gugingus), which is somewhat evocative of Gungir, the Norse name for Odin’s spear. Thus, the “Spear of Constantine” is proposed to be a ceremonial spear of investiture for the Lombard kings, which was either cast or recast in the 7th or 8th centuries to serve as a reliquary for a Holy Nail in an attempt to “Christianize” a pagan coronation rite. The story is intriguing and seems to fit what few facts are known, but no pre-modern account exists which links such a ceremonial spear of the Lombard kings to the relic which Liutprand described.
Basil Notarius reproduces Liutprand’s story almost identically – he almost certainly got it from Liutprand directly – and adds that the lance passed in turn from Henry, to Otto, to Liudolf, and to the usurper Henry II after Liudolf’s death. Otto famously carried it with him in a number of his battles, including his famous victory over the Magyars at Augsburg, from which the lance began to acquire a certain reputation as a relic of military power. Perhaps with a mind to repeat his uncle’s feat, Henry II carried the lance with him at Hengistfeld as well, but it did not avail him there. Octavian claimed the lance, along with the rest of Henry’s baggage, after Henry’s defeat and capture.
Basil further relates that Otto II initially demanded the lance’s return from Octavian as part of their marriage negotiations; it had, after all, belonged to his family for three generations. Basil seems ambivalent as to the provenance of the relic – his statements on it are all prefaced with qualifications like “it is said” and “the Lombards believe” – but he agreed with Octavian’s justification of keeping the lance, on the basis that a) it had resided originally in Italy until Count Samson gave it to a usurper king, and b) as a supposed relic of Constantine it was rightfully associated with the imperial crown, not the German crown. In the end, Otto was not in a position to be demanding much from Octavian, and the emperor appeased him sufficiently with rich wedding gifts and the translation of unspecified “lesser relics.” Octavian decided to enshrine the lance in Rome, the imperial city and place of his birth. [B]
The View from Rome
The lance would come to reside in the Basilica of Saint Mary,[C] then and now one of the greatest churches of Rome. The basilica’s association with the Tusculani family is first evidenced by a late 9th century inscription in the Basilica which records the burials of Sergia et Boni[facius] ermani filii Theophilacti vesterarii et Theodor[æ] vesterarisse (Sergia and Boniface, children of the treasurer Theophylact and the treasuress Theodora). Since that point, the basilica seems to have been the favored church of the Tusculani when judged by donations and bequests (although Alberic’s charity was directed more towards the monasteries of the Roman hinterland). In the 10th century the basilica already held several important relics, most notably five boards of sycamore wood said to have formed the crib of Jesus and the famed icon of Mary and Jesus known as Salus Populi Romani (Salvation of the Roman People). The “Lance of Constantine” was added to the collection after a ceremony of translation involving Pope Adeodatus, though its later housing, the so-called Sacellum Lanceae (Chapel of the Lance), was not built during Octavian’s reign.
Octavian found the family seat of Tusculum to be in poor condition and insufficiently grand for the imperial presence, and made his residence within the city instead, possibly in the estate of his brother (that is, the Lateran Palace). His dissatisfaction with the ancestral estate provided the impetus for a significant renovation and expansion of Tusculum, whose foundations were truly ancient.[1] The late 10th century iteration of the castle is mostly lost today, but evidently it was a true fortress and not merely a palace, perhaps intended as both an imperial residence and a check on the power of the urban prefect who dwelt in Rome just a few miles away. The surviving stonework and fragmentary mosaics suggest strong Byzantine architectural and artistic influence.
It was at this time in the spring of 981 that Duke Marinus II arrived in person to seek an audience with the emperor. According to Basil, the Neapolitan duke addressed Octavian as his “beloved cousin,”[2] renounced his former opposition to Octavian and his allies, and pledged himself as the emperor’s servant. What Marinus wanted was undoubtedly protection – perhaps not so much from the Saracens, whose incursions were for now largely directed at the Catapanate, but rather from Pandulf Ironhead, whose territory now almost completely encircled his own. It was an allegiance that Octavian was eager to receive. He forgave Marinus for all his previous acts of defiance and gave him the title of patricius. The fact that Naples was a longstanding vassal of Constantinople seemed of no consequence to him; perhaps Octavian believed with the death of John Tzimiskes that he was no longer obligated to observe the letter of his agreement.
While Octavian seems to have enjoyed the pomp and circumstance of his initial entry into Rome and the triumphant translation of the lance, the glow soon began to fade. The constant demands upon him at court only aggravated Octavian, and it was even more so in this city, where the usual petitioners were joined by a legion of ecclesiastical bureaucrats who were determined to use the rare presence of the imperial court to submit grievances, sort out jurisdictions, acquire benefices, and otherwise advance their own petty agendas. The emperor left that business, as much as possible, to Prefect Benedict and Empress Agatha, and turned his mind elsewhere. Marinus’s account of the woes of the Greeks intrigued him; to Octavian, just like Otto the Great, it seemed natural that the Emperor of Rome and King of Italy should rule in southern Italy as well, and it was surely his right and duty as the defender of Christendom to shield its people from infidel predations (which the Greeks had so obviously failed to do). For the time being, however, Octavian would not undertake any war against the empire that was still ostensibly his ally, and he turned to his other myriad amusements.
The diplomatic strategy of the Duke of Naples seems to have been a success, for Pandulf was never to trouble him again and soon set his sights on greener pastures. Although Octavian’s protection of Marinus may have annoyed the Capuan prince, it also sent a clear message to Pandulf that strict observance of the 972 pact was no longer a priority of the emperor. Pandulf soon resumed his aggression towards the Greeks. He captured the inland fortress of Forentum by subterfuge in 982, and then campaigned down the valley of the Aufidus all the way to the coast. In 984 he boldly besieged Trani, one of the major coastal bastions of Byzantine Apulia and only 25 miles up the coast from the Apulian capital of Bari, but timely relief from a detachment of the Byzantine fleet foiled the attempt. Pandulf, delayed but not defeated, withdrew to contemplate his next move and prepare for a new campaign season. But the walls of Trani were destined to be the high water mark of his career, as on his return from the city he was stricken with an illness and died at Cannae.
The Salernitan Expedition
Upon the Ironhead’s death, his united principality was immediately divided once more. His eldest son Landulf succeeded to Capua and Benevento, while his second son Pandulf succeeded him in Salerno. None of this was a surprise, as it had long been the custom of the southern Lombard princes to associate their heirs in governance; Landulf had been de jure co-prince of Capua and Benevento since 968, while Pandulf had been established as Prince of Salerno since Gisulf’s death in 977. Pandulf, however, was still underage, and the effective power there was wielded by the Count-Palatine John Lambert.[3]
The division of the southern Lombard state and the replacement of Pandulf Ironhead by his rather less capable sons proved too great a temptation for Duke Manso of Amalfi. For Manso, violent ambition was something of a family tradition – his father, Sergius, had murdered the previous Amalfitan duke Mastalus II and usurped his city. Little Amalfi was insufficient for Duke Manso, and within a few months of Pandulf Ironhead’s death Manso invaded Salerno and drove out both the young duke Pandulf II and his regent. They fled to Capua, and the sons of Pandulf Ironhead appealed to Octavian for aid.
It was the moment the emperor had been waiting for. Pandulf Ironhead had been loyal in the sense of never fighting against Octavian’s interests, but after 972 he had also been almost completely autonomous. His death was destabilizing, but it also provided Octavian with a chance to increase his influence in the south – and possibly also steal away the territory of the Greeks. As soon as the emperor received the news, he swiftly set about mustering an army to restore his client and make his presence known.
Before Octavian could reach Salerno, however, Manso was himself caught off-guard by a coup d'état. As it turned out, the ambitious streak in his family ran just as strongly in his younger brother Adelfer, who took the occasion of Manso’s absence from Amalfi to seize power for himself. Manso may have initially planned to hold Salerno against his adversaries, as the city could be easily resupplied by the Amalfitan fleet, but without Amalfi to support him the cause was hopeless. When Octavian’s army drew near, Manso fled before he could be trapped and went into exile. Octavian marched bloodlessly and triumphantly into Salerno, whose people had evidently detested Manso and now welcomed their “liberators.” Their delight would not be long-lasting, for though Octavian reinstated the young Pandulf on the throne, he removed the Count-Palatine John Lambert who was highly regarded by the people. The act may have been opportunism, or perhaps merely a lack of trust in a Lombard lord wholly unknown to the emperor. His chosen replacement was Crescentius the Younger, the second son of Duke Crescentius, who would henceforth serve as regent in Salerno on behalf of his nephew Pandulf.
Adelfer obviously would gain no recognition nor assistance from the new Catapan Kalokyros Delphinas, who was sheltering his fugitive brother, so he sought Octavian’s recognition instead and successfully bought it with what Basil describes as “a great quantity of good gold coins.”[4] This whetted Octavian’s appetite, and to sate himself he next made demands of Kalokyros. Either genuinely or opportunistically, Octavian accused the Greeks of supporting Manso’s invasion of Salerno, further evidence of which was the fact that they now gave him refuge. Presumably the irony was not lost on the Catapan that Octavian was demanding compensation for an invasion of a territory that was, by the 972 agreement, a Byzantine client state.
Bulgarians ambush the Byzantine governor of Thessalonica c. 990, 12th c. illustration
The Troubles of the Greeks
Kalokyros Delphinas, patrikios, anthypatos, and katepano, was in an unenviable position. He was charged with the maintenance of Constantinople’s authority in southern Italy, but that authority seemed to be disintegrating at a rapid pace. Octavian was steadily snapping up Byzantine vassal states – first Salerno and then Naples had come under his sway, and now Amalfi paid him tribute as well. The catapan’s own military resources were already stretched to the limit trying to defend his shores from the Sicilians, a struggle which thus far had been mostly unsuccessful. In better times, he might have looked to Constantinople for support, but in the 980s the empire had no shortage of military crises much closer to home.
Emperor Basil II was the eldest son of the late emperor Romanos II. He had been made co-emperor alongside his father in 960 at the tender age of two, but Romanos died an untimely death only three years later. The throne passed to Nikephoros II Phokas, who married Basil’s mother Theophano, and then to John Tzimiskes, who murdered Nikephoros and imprisoned Theophano; both had ruled in theory as co-emperors alongside Basil and his younger brother Constantine, but the child-emperors had exercised no actual authority. When John died in early 976, either of illness or poison, the eighteen year old Basil had the great burden of ruling the Roman Empire abruptly thrust upon him.
Within months of his accession, Basil was faced with a serious threat from one of his generals, Bardas Skleros, who led an insurrection in Anatolia and would not be driven from the empire until 979. At the same time, the empire was struggling to withstand the attacks of the Bulgarian generalissimo Samuel, who by the time of Pandulf Ironhead’s death had invaded Thessaly and besieged Larissa. That city was eventually to fall, and this phase of the war would end with a humiliating Byzantine defeat at the Gates of Trajan in 986 from which Basil himself would only narrowly escape. Needless to say, the precariousness of Byzantine rule in Italy was far down on the list of Basil’s most urgent military priorities, and the emperor had nothing to spare for its defense.
Kalokyros played a weak hand as best he could. While his manpower was very limited, the fortifications of Apulia and Calabria were strong – the Byzantines had been building fortresses in the south since the days of the Lombard invasion and had many solidly built citadels and walled cities to show for it. When Octavian sent his demands, the Greeks did their best to buy time through a drawn out diplomatic back-and-forth while re-supplying and reinforcing those castles nearest to Salernitan territory. The emperor, eventually growing tired of their prevarications, raided Lucania and demonstrated against Byzantine fortifications, but by winter he had only succeeded in taking one, the castle of Venosa, and subsequently withdrew to Rome.
Basil Notarius describes the arrival of ambassadors from Catapan Kalokyros in Rome that winter to seek a truce with Octavian. Kalokyros may have assumed that Octavian, having been largely frustrated in the past year, would now be amenable to a face-saving peace. But he misjudged the character of the emperor, who took the arrival of the Greek ambassadors as a sign of weakness. Octavian rejected their terms and made more demands that the Catapan was unprepared to fulfill.
The Third Option
According to legend, in early 985 Manso and his son John smuggled themselves into Amalfi in the hold of a merchant ship and instigated a popular uprising against Adelfer. Basil confirms the covert entry of the former duke but strips all agency from Manso, framing him and his son as merely the beneficiaries of a Byzantine-sponsored counter-coup. Either way, Octavian’s newest client ended up a prisoner and the pro-Byzantine Manso was thrust back in power in Amalfi.
Octavian resolved to deal with Amalfi first before continuing the unappealing job of slogging through Greek defenses, but to take the maritime duchy was no easy task. It was not for no reason that Amalfi, despite its miniscule size, had retained its independence for so long. The town’s strategic position was enviable, located on the rugged Sorrentine Peninsula where the Lattari mountains plunged precipitously into the sea. Even were an army to besiege the city and somehow keep itself supplied there – a severe logistical challenge – the city could easily keep itself fed by way of its fleet and thereby wait out its besiegers indefinitely.
Amalfi’s strengths, however, were also its weaknesses. The same rough terrain that protected the city and confounded its enemies also made it dependent on trade – some Amalfitans grew fruit or vines on the steep slopes, but Amalfi was compelled to import its grain by sea. So long as the Amalfitan fleet sailed freely, that was no issue at all, but if the city could be blockaded by water it would swiftly be starved into submission. Aware of the necessity of sea power in Amalfi’s capture, Octavian called upon his Pisan subjects to render him a fleet, which would be joined by the Neapolitans and Gaetans. Manso realized the danger he was in and offered to pay off Octavian as Adelfer had, but Octavian does not seem to have been willing to cooperate this time. It may be that Octavian, confident that the whole city was on the verge of falling into his hands, reasoned that there was no point in settling for the milk when he could have the whole cow. The Catapan was undoubtedly sympathetic to Manso’s plight, but Kalokyros had neither the ships nor the men to contend with the emperor.
Amalfi had long traded with the Muslims of Sicily and Tunisia, and in the 9th century it had not been uncommon for the Amalfitans to side with the Saracens against their Christian neighbors in the power struggles of southern Italy. According to Greek sources, Manso’s solution to his dilemma was to revisit this policy and seek out the aid of Abu al-Qasim, the emir of Sicily. What exactly Manso offered the emir in return is unclear, though Amalfi was a rich city and the tribute it could offer was probably eye-catching even by the standards of prosperous Sicily. Basil Notarius agrees, though he is contradicted by most later Latin sources, who describe the Sicilian landing in Italy in 985 as the result of a Byzantine-Saracen alliance. That view seems more consistent with Basil’s earlier characterization of Manso’s coup as a Byzantine plot; Basil, having dismissed Manso as a pawn, would have us believe that he was immediately thereafter an architect of an independent foreign policy that aligned him with the enemies of both the Greeks and the Italians. Unlike all later Latin sources, Basil was a firsthand observer of the events in question, but those who support the Latin account have argued with some persuasiveness that Basil is always loathe to slander the empire of his birth. It is not altogether unbelievable that he would play down any Byzantine role in summoning an infidel army which seemed to Latin audiences to be the height of perfidy.
Confusingly, Arabic sources of succeeding centuries omit any mention of an alliance at all. Several confirm that the emir of Sicily received tribute from Amalfi, which was described as a city of the Romans (i.e. Byzantines). Not one source, however, directly connects this tribute with the expedition of Abu al-Qasim, who in 985 as one source memorably recalls “marched out [from Sicily] demanding jihad.” The Byzantines had at various times paid the Fatimids tribute in exchange for peace, and whatever payment was rendered by Manso seems to have been interpreted by Muslim writers in that light rather than a payment for services or an inducement for an alliance. If this view is correct and the actions of Manso and Abu al-Qasim are essentially unrelated, it suggests that the emir’s choice of target – Salerno – was not any kind of strategic move against Octavian but an attempt to take advantage of the recent upheaval in the Lombard principality.
The Battle of Salerno
As Octavian was in Naples preparing his attack, Abu al-Qasim landed near Salerno with an army of Arab and Berber soldiers. At once they began plundering the suburbs and taking captives. Octavian led his army to intercept them, a march of some 30-40 miles, over the course of several days. The account of the battle given by Basil – one of the rare battle accounts he produced – describes the Sicilians as being surprised by Octavian’s approach, but being rallied by their king (that is, the emir) and counterattacking the Italians. His description of the battle is confusing and not very useful, as he seems to merely regurgitate classical narratives of ancient conflicts, but on the outcome he agrees entirely with the Arabic sources – that Octavian’s army was decisively defeated.
Octavian himself escaped, along with John Crescentius and Duke Marinus, but Prince Landulf was killed along with a number of prominent Italian and Lombard counts and milites. The young Prince Pandulf II of Salerno was not present, being too young to participate, but his regent Crescentius the Younger was captured. Losses among the Christians were heavy, though Basil claims that the Sicilians too suffered much bloodshed. After driving the routed Italo-Lombard force into the nearby foothills, the Sicilians turned on Salerno itself. The defenders fled to the citadel where they were able to hold out, but the city itself was sacked and much of its population enslaved.[D]
This humiliating blow to the emperor was moderated only by the action on the following day, when the Pisan-Neapolitan fleet – dispatched by Octavian but not yet aware of his defeat – sighted the Sicilian fleet and launched an attack. Many of the Sicilian ships were apparently drawn up in the harbor of Salerno to load booty or otherwise unprepared for an engagement, and the imperial fleet captured many ships and burned yet more ships (both Sicilian and Salernitan) in the harbor. While the losses of the Sicilians at sea were probably far less than the losses of the Italians on land, the scattering or loss of much of the emir’s fleet scuttled any plans he may have had to follow up his victory with an attack on Naples. The Sicilians withdrew from Salerno, but raided extensively in the hinterland of the principality and capped off their campaign with the capture of Akropolis, a coastal outpost on the Salernitan-Byzantine frontier. The fortress had previously been a Saracen rabat between 882 and 915, and it would now reprise its role as a valuable forward base for raids into Lombard and Greek territories.[5]
Despite this naval victory, his defeat at Salerno forced Octavian to forget about the conquest of Amalfi, to say nothing of a further invasion of the Catapanate. It would also soon lead to complications in the north, as the destruction of Octavian’s aura of invincibility acquired after Hengistfeld encouraged old and new enemies to greater boldness. It did not, however, degrade the imperial position in southern Italy as much as one might expect. Salerno was lost – in the absence of Crescentius the Younger, the regency of the hapless Pandulf II was taken up again by John Lambert, whose sympathies were now predictably pro-Byzantine – but the Principality of Salerno had been militarily and politically insignificant for decades, and the sack of its capital city was merely the latest misfortune on its long slide into irrelevance. After the death of Prince Landulf, Octavian confirmed Pandulf Ironhead’s third son, Atenulf, as Prince of Benevento and Capua, but Atenulf was underage and the regency was bestowed upon his uncle John Crescentius, who would also succeed his own father as Duke of Spoleto in the following year. With this considerable base of power, John Crescentius would hold together the Italian position in the south and keep Naples and Gaeta within the imperial orbit. The aggrandizement of John Crescentius may have been the most important indirect effect of Octavian’s loss at Salerno, as he was now guaranteed a major role in the dynastic crisis to come.
Next Time: The Successor
Footnotes (In Character)
[1] The lowest foundations of the medieval fortress of Tusuclum appear to be Roman, though they could be older – Tusuclum itself, as a settlement, predates the Roman Republic.
[2] While we might doubt the “beloved” portion, “cousin” was accurate enough, as they were second cousins by way of the duke’s mother Theodora, Marozia’s niece.
[3] The name of the Salernitan Count-Palatine was simply John, and very little is known about his origins save for the name of his father, which was Lambert. For that reason, later historians often referred to him as “John Lambert” to distinguish him from other Johns of his era. I will continue this scholarly convention here, though it should be noted that none of his contemporaries referred to him in that way. Basil Notarius refers to him as “John of Salerno.”
[4] Amalfi was one of the few states of Latin Christendom which minted gold coins on account of its good trade relations with the Saracens. The Amalfitan gold tari was a potent symbol of its wealth at a time when most European kingdoms hardly had a cash economy at all, let alone access to gold plentiful enough to make coins from. Even the Muslims were impressed – in 972, the Baghdadi merchant Ibn Hawqal visited the city and deemed it “the richest city in Lombardy, the noblest and most illustrious for her condition, the busiest and wealthiest.”
[5] Akropolis had been recaptured from the Muslims following the famous Battle of the Garigliano in which Alberic of Spoleto, Octavian’s paternal grandfather, had been one of the principal Christian commanders.
Timeline Notes (Out of Character)
[A] Pandulf’s sons ITTL are not actually the same people as Pandulf’s sons IOTL, as his wife is different – IOTL, he marries Aloara, the daughter of a certain Count Peter, while ITTL he is married to Theodora, the son of Duke Crescentius and the sister of John Crescentius. Theodora may have been younger than Aloara, and so Pandulf’s sons ITTL are also somewhat younger than his actual sons. Because Southern Lombard naming conventions among princely families were fairly consistent and repeated a lot, however, I have chosen for the most part not to alter their names.
[B] Octavian’s “holy lance” is in fact the same spearhead you can see today in the Imperial Treasury in Vienna (I’ve seen it myself!), and most of what I’ve written about it above is factual – IOTL, Liutprand did really relate the history of the lance and its use by Otto at Lechfeld in his Antapodosis, there does seem to have been some confusion about whether the lance originally belonged to Constantine or Maurice, and the bit about its origins as a Lombard ceremonial spear really is a modern theory about the origins of the Viennese lance. “But wait,” I hear you saying, “isn’t the lance in Vienna supposed to be the Lance of Longinus, the spear that pierced Christ’s side after he died on the cross?” Well, that’s what it’s often billed as now, but that belief was a later development. Nobody in the days of Otto the Great believed it to be the lance that pierced Christ; only in later centuries did the mythology of the lance change into the notion that it was the “Spear of Longinus” that also had one of the Passion nails embedded in it, which was also wielded by Maurice and possessed by Constantine, making it a rather improbable super-relic. In the 10th century it was generally agreed, as far as I can tell, that the Christ-piercing lance resided in Constantinople.
[C] Or, as it is known IOTL, Basilica di Santa Maria Maggiore (Basilica of Saint Mary Major).
[D] This echoes the historical Battle of Stilo in 982, in which Otto II was disastrously defeated by Abu al-Qasim, though at Stilo the emir was killed despite the victory of his army. I don’t set out to “copy” historical events, but it seemed likely that Octavian’s ambitions in the south would bring him into conflict with the Sicilians eventually, and if the Sicilians were capable of defeating a Germano-Lombard army under Otto II IOTL then it’s probably reasonable that they could have done the same to Octavian’s army ITTL. Octavian is a good soldier, but he’s not a military genius, and it seemed proper to hand him a defeat.
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Interesting.
Will John Crescentius become the next Roman Emperor?
Or merely creating an earlier "Kingdom of Naples"?
Unless he comes a cropped he is poised to become a leader of the South at least
Will John Crescentius become the next Roman Emperor?
Or merely creating an earlier "Kingdom of Naples"?
Unless he comes a cropped he is poised to become a leader of the South at least
Thanks everyone!
As it happens, there's (probably) just one more update to go before I finish up Octavian's reign. At that point, I'm thinking about taking a break from narrative-style political history and touching on other subjects. That could include non-political stuff - economics, religion, etc. - or it could take the form of more detailed bits on characters we haven't covered in too much depth, or something else.
Basically, I'm willing to take suggestions for what I ought to work on in the "intermission" between Octavian's last chapter and what's to come after that, so if there's something you want me to focus on please feel free to request it.
As it happens, there's (probably) just one more update to go before I finish up Octavian's reign. At that point, I'm thinking about taking a break from narrative-style political history and touching on other subjects. That could include non-political stuff - economics, religion, etc. - or it could take the form of more detailed bits on characters we haven't covered in too much depth, or something else.
Basically, I'm willing to take suggestions for what I ought to work on in the "intermission" between Octavian's last chapter and what's to come after that, so if there's something you want me to focus on please feel free to request it.
Really liked the last update, it had a real ring of truth to it.
I especially liked looking at from the Byzentine point of view: short on resources and assailed by enemies from all sides and treason and idiocy from within you still try to hold the line as best you can out of sheer bloody-minded stubbornness so that when your enemies start fighting each other you can declare victory even thought you're left with less than you started with. Felt exactly right.
More seriously though, the Byzentines might be able to catch a few breaks in this timeline since the Tusculani have GOT to be better neighbors over the long haul than the Normans.
Oh and much approval for the plan to dive down into the day to day stuff for a bit. Will be a good chance of pace from the biography of kings-style aerial view we've mostly had.
I especially liked looking at from the Byzentine point of view: short on resources and assailed by enemies from all sides and treason and idiocy from within you still try to hold the line as best you can out of sheer bloody-minded stubbornness so that when your enemies start fighting each other you can declare victory even thought you're left with less than you started with. Felt exactly right.
More seriously though, the Byzentines might be able to catch a few breaks in this timeline since the Tusculani have GOT to be better neighbors over the long haul than the Normans.
Oh and much approval for the plan to dive down into the day to day stuff for a bit. Will be a good chance of pace from the biography of kings-style aerial view we've mostly had.
Carp I must say that I am loving this TL and keeps getting better and more exciting. If we have the opportunity to request certain 'focused' chapters I would love to see the impact on Religion - The Papacy is slowly becoming hereditary and I can't imagine that wont have a backlash eventually - and Culture - I find it interesting that Alberic and Agatha will be the most important in securing the long-term health of the Dynasty as well as allowing the WRE to survive/thrive but I imagine Octavian will be the legendary cultural figure that capture the public imagination and likely become the legendary historical figure of the dynasty unless the Cresentii replace the current branch hahaha