“Day 47 of the Franks’ invasion, and there he stood—Bohemond, a marvel to look upon, his stature surpassing even Father’s tallest guards, his hair reddish, his eyes a piercing blue-grey, his shoulders broad, his waist narrow, and a certain charm hanging about him, though marred by a hint of the terrible.” That is me, Anna Komnena, confessing in my quietest quill strokes, a princess stuck in Constantinople’s shadowed court in 1097.
Why this moment? The First Crusade had stormed through, a tide of Western knights seeking Jerusalem, and Father, Emperor Alexios I, needed their oaths to protect our empire’s edges. Bohemond of Taranto, a Norman warlord in his 40s and son of Robert Guiscard, emerged as one of their leaders, his reputation as fierce as his frame. He had battled Byzantines before, but now, swaggering into our Great Palace, he swore fealty to Alexios, kneeling with that lion-like presence I could not ignore.
“His laugh sounded like a threat to others,” I wrote, “yet I found it… compelling. He moved with a grace that made one forget his barbarous nature.” Father’s eyes narrowed. Another Norman trick, he hissed, pacing as Bohemond charmed the council. I sketched his form in my mind, not daring to ink it on parchment, lest Father’s imperial glare catch me. That glare, his eyebrow arching, slow and sharp, like a silent rebuke, haunted me later, as if he had glimpsed my thoughts.
But history barreled on. Bohemond’s oath was fleeting. By 1108, he had sieged Dyrrhachium, Father’s nemesis reborn. Still, in that moment, I saw not just a foe, but a man whose “shrewdness and courage” left me torn. If only he had stayed an ally, Father might have rested, and I, less burdened by this secret. Yet here it lies, in The Alexiad, my chronicle and confession.
What stirs in your heart for this ancient Byzantine tale? Join me on my next quest—history’s echoes, faith’s sparks, mysteries uncharted. What’s your battle?
Sources and Further Reading:
https://amzn.to/4igWVXR The Alexiad By Anna Komnene