13
When Anna Komnena, the Byzantine princess and historian, came to write of Guiscard’s eldest son Bohemond, it was with awe, fear and grudging respect. He was ‘a marvel to behold’, a man whose appearance inspired admiration and whose name struck terror in his foes. Bohemond towered above his fellow men, with broad shoulders and a wide chest. His hands were large and his neck and back compact. Though he possessed a rough charm, there was a savage side to his demeanour. Even his laugh was more a threat than an invitation to merriment. Bohemond was also arrogant and cunning, his words carefully chosen for their ambiguity. Only the emperor himself was Bohemond’s match.1
In many respects, Bohemond is the antihero of Anna’s work – the antithesis of her great father, Emperor Alexios Komnenos. That Bohemond should loom so large is no accident. For in Alexios’ thirty-seven-year reign, no-one troubled him so often (or so seriously) as Bohemond. The fall of Roussel de Bailleul may have spelt the end of Norman state-building in Asia Minor, but it was just the prelude to more serious threats from the Hautevilles. Once Bari had fallen in 1071, responsibility for Sicily was delegated to Roger. Guiscard then spent nearly a decade quelling rebellions and vying for power and influence with the pope, whose conciliatory attitude had hardened since the fall of Apulia. But soon enough, Robert began to turn his attentions to more daring ventures.
The obvious target was the Byzantine Empire. The Byzantines had long been Robert’s main rivals. And core provinces of the empire lay in Greece and Illyria, just a short boat trip across the Adriatic. As the emperor’s attention was drawn ever more firmly to the Turkish threat on the eastern frontier, these regions presented an easy target. Yet Robert might hope to do more than just pick off another Byzantine province or two. If he played his cards correctly, he stood a chance of replacing the emperor outright. In the aftermath of the Battle of Manzikert and Roussel’s rebellion, the empire was teetering on the verge of collapse. All it would require to bring it down was a gentle nudge (or so it seemed).
Robert had another, less lofty, reason for wanting to carve out domains in Greece and the Balkans. Guiscard had married twice, first to the fellow Norman Alberada, then to the Salernitan princess Sichelgaita. The latter match was the more exalted, and it was probably always foreseen that any sons from it would be Robert’s main heirs. Yet this left the question of what would happen to his son with Alberada, Bohemond. With three younger sons with Sichelgaita to accommodate, Robert had little to offer in Italy. Yet if he failed to satisfy Bohemond, the risk was that the latter would take matters into his own hands. Sichelgaita was well aware of the threat. When Robert fell severely ill in early 1073, she rushed to call an assembly, at which she secured support for the succession of her eldest, Roger Borsa.2 New conquests in Greece and the Adriatic promised to solve this knotty problem: these could be left to Bohemond, leaving Robert’s Italian domains undiminished in the hands of his younger sons.
For much of the 1070s, Robert avoided antagonising his Byzantine neighbours. After the fall of Bari, Romanos IV had reached out to Guiscard, hoping to secure his western frontier at a time when new threats (some of them of Norman making) were presenting themselves in the East. Though initial efforts failed, in August 1074 Romanos’ successor Michael VII Doukas established a formal treaty with Robert. This was to be sealed by a dynastic union and one of Robert’s daughters was now pledged to the young son of Michael VII. The marriage itself never came to pass, but the engagement alone brought considerable kudos to the fledgling Hauteville dynasty. There was also another side to the pact. Robert was granted the highest court rank available to non-members of the Byzantine royal family, that of nobilissimus (literally, ‘most noble’); and similarly high ranks were offered to one of Robert’s sons and many of his followers. Besides prestige, these roles came with large annual stipends. This was tribute by any other name, and Robert and his men stood to gain to the tune of over 200 pounds of gold per annum.3 One can see why they were keen not to throw this away.
By the early 1080s, however, the situation had begun to change. In 1078, Michael VII was ousted by Nikephoros III Botaneiates, who was replaced in turn by Alexios Komnenos I three years later. This effectively meant the end of the alliance. It also created political instability on the Bosporus, which Robert might hope to exploit. It didn’t take long for him to respond. As soon as he’d put down a rebellion at home, Robert began making plans. His interests coincided with those of the pope, who was keen to re-establish contacts with the eastern Church; and they now began to hatch a joint plan for an eastern invasion.
The key figure in the coming campaigns, however, was Bohemond himself. Bohemond would become a legend in his lifetime. His given name was Mark, perhaps because he’d been born at San Marco Argentano, Robert’s early base in Calabria. Mark itself is a Graeco-Italian name, not a Norman one, and the young boy’s parents evidently saw his future in the south. As significant as his given name, however, is the designation by which Mark went: Bohemond. This was originally the name of a giant, about whom Robert had heard during a banquet. Struck by the similarities between this legendary figure and his own larger-than-life son, Robert henceforth took to calling the young prince Bohemond.
The name stuck – and aptly so. For in almost every respect, Bohemond loomed over his contemporaries. Anna Komnena remarks that he towered over a cubit (about 1.5 feet or 0.44 m) above the tallest of other men. He was also perfectly proportioned (so Anna con-tinues) and stood out on account of his pale complexion and light hair (a product, perhaps, of his Scandinavian heritage).4 We do not know Bohemond’s precise date of birth. Robert wed Alberada in 1050 and separated from her in 1058, so a date in the early to mid-1050s is likely. This means that he would have come of age in the early 1070s, around the time that Robert’s illness threatened to overturn Sichelgaita’s succession plans. It’s in these years that Bohemond had his first experience in battle, perhaps in connection with the rebellion of 1079.5 Certainly by the time Robert began to turn his attentions to Byzantine Illyria, he had considerable faith in the capabilities of his first born.
In early 1080, a Greek monk arrived in southern Italy, claiming to be the deposed Michael VII, with whom Robert had been on such good terms. Pretenders were a common phenomenon in the ancient and medieval world. In an age before mass media and rapid transportation, it was easy to claim an exalted lineage.6 In this case, it was in Robert’s interest to suspend disbelief. In reality, Michael VII had entered a monastery after his deposition. And far from seeking restitution, Michael enthusiastically embraced religious life, eventually rising to the post of metropolitan of Ephesus – one of the most senior offices within the Byzantine Church. Robert must have known all this and one suspects a degree of calculated cynicism on his part. Indeed, later sources suggest that the duke had put the false Michael up to the task, and there may be some truth to this. In any case, with ‘Michael’ in tow, Robert and Bohemond could position themselves as the restorers of their old friend and ally, the rightful emperor.
In March 1081, Robert placed a fleet under Bohemond’s command, with instructions to strike at Corfu and, if possible, secure bases on the mainland. Over the next two months, Robert gathered further forces. By now, the pope was starting to have misgivings about the venture. But Robert pressed on with his plans. He had Roger Borsa designated heir, then proceeded to Corfu. Robert arrived in May, and together with Bohemond, soon secured the main city on the island. He then moved over to the mainland, establishing a base at Buthrotum (Butrint), in the south of modern Albania. From here they travelled north to Valona (Vlorë). Their target was Dyrrachion (Durrës), the most important administrative centre in the region (and to this day Albania’s second city). Before investing the town, however, Robert and Bohemond had ‘Michael’ crowned, staking their claim to the empire in suitably ceremonial form. The siege itself was under way by 17 June.7
Our main Byzantine source for these events, Anna Komnena’s panegyric of her father (the Alexiad), claims that Robert was out to take the entire eastern empire. Her testimony must be treated with caution. Anna wrote many decades after the events from an avowedly pro-Byzantine (and pro-Komnenian) perspective. Alexios had just seized the throne, and it was in her interest to exaggerate the Norman threat, so as to make her father’s eventual success all the more remarkable.8 However, Anna is not alone in making this claim. Amatus also reports that Robert dreamt of conquering Constantinople. This would indeed have been a bold move. But in the context of the early 1080s, it was far from inconceivable. Over the previous decade, military failures had spawned factional divides, and every emperor since Constantine X Doukas (r. 1059–67) had been violently removed from the throne. Having just taken southern Italy against the odds, Robert must have fancied his chances. Even if he failed to secure the whole empire, he might still hope to carve off valuable territories in northern Greece and the Adriatic.
The siege of Dyrrachion was a protracted affair. The city was well defended and Norman efforts were hampered by repeated attempts to lift the siege. Alexios made contact here with his Venetian allies, who had every reason to be concerned by the emergence of a new naval power to their south. They planned to encircle the Normans, with the Venetians attacking by sea and Alexios approaching by land. But co-ordinating forces was a tricky matter at the best of times. And while the Venetian force may have had some success, any sign of it was long gone by the time the emperor appeared in mid-October. Alexios engaged Robert in battle on 18 October, but was decisively defeated. Even so, the siege dragged on deep into winter. In the end, Dyrrachion was taken by deception rather than force, when a Venetian nobleman called Dominic, who commanded one of the towers, was bribed to betray the city.9
Robert and Bohemond were in no position to press their advantage. Dyrrachion had fallen in February, in the heart of the winter months which made campaigning difficult in the Balkans. In the spring, they moved inland, initially on a route along the Diabolis (Devoli) valley, taking Kastoria in northern Greece. This was a detour from the Via Egnatia, the main road from Dyrrachion to Constantinople, and may have been intended to catch Alexios off guard. Robert and Bohemond were now making good progress (all things considered), and Geoffrey of Malaterra reports that those at the capital began to tremble. We may suspect a degree of exaggeration, but Byzantine sources also speak of growing unease. Certainly large swathes of Greece looked set to fall. But just as the campaign was gathering steam, troubling news reached Robert. The German ruler Henry IV was poised to march on Rome, a move which not only threatened Robert’s papal allies but also exposed his own domains in southern Italy. Even more disturbing were reports of renewed revolt in Apulia, perhaps encouraged by Alexios’ agents.10
In face of this dual threat, Robert returned to Italy. He had not, however, given up on the Balkans. Bohemond was left behind with the main force, with instructions to press on towards Constantinople. And soon after Robert’s departure, Bohemond dealt decisively with a counterattack led by Alexios near Ioannina. In the aftermath of victory, Bohemond struck north and east, back along the Via Egnatia. Here he defeated Alexios a second time. But while the Normans might best the Byzantines in battle, they struggled to make much of a dent in the well-oiled machine that was the Byzantine state. Bohemond was able to secure the strategic city of Lychnidos (Ohrid), but the citadel held out, barring further passage along the Via Egnatia. In response, Bohemond tacked south once more, striking at Thessaly. The intention was probably to force an alternative route through to Constantinople, though the prospect of further conquests in Boeotia, Euboea and the Peloponnese may also have been alluring.
Travelling down the Salvarias valley, Bohemond took Triakkala, then made for Larissa, not far from the Aegean Sea. The Byzantines, however, avoided battle, leaving Bohemond with the prospect of another long siege. Norman supplies now started to run short, and Alexios approached with a new army. He once again offered battle. But this time, it was a decoy. Alexios drew out Bohemond’s men, only to have a smaller force sneak behind and sack their camp. The following day, the Normans were defeated outright, though not decisively. Trapped deep in enemy territory with morale ebbing (and supplies running low), Bohemond was forced to retreat. In his absence, the Venetians had taken Dyrrachion, depriving him of his main base of operations on the Adriatic. The Normans therefore returned to Valona. Soon, however, Kastoria was lost, making Bohemond’s position untenable. And so Bohemond withdrew once more – this time, all the way back to Apulia.11
Robert had been kept busy with the Apulian revolt for much of 1082 and 1083. And just as he might have hoped to regroup with Bohemond, pressing matters demanded his attention in the north. For in early 1084, Henry IV had finally seized Rome. So far, Robert had been unable to heed the pope’s pleas for assistance. But now, the time had come for action. Robert marched north, arriving to find an abandoned Rome in late May. Here he was able to free the pope, who’d holed up in the Castel Sant’Angelo, just outside the medieval city. But the cost of victory was high. Much of the city was put to flame by Guiscard’s men, and the pope’s (long fraught) relations with the urban aristocracy never recovered.
Only in October was Robert in a position to turn his attentions to the Adriatic once more, launching a belated invasion with Bohemond. But if Robert’s first foray had posed a real threat to the empire, his second never did. Alexios was now well established in Constantinople; the emperor was also becoming a deft hand at dealing with Norman troublemakers. Robert came with a large force, this time including his younger sons. Initially, Roger Borsa and his brother Guy were sent with a reconnaissance force to secure Valona, much as Bohemond had in 1081. Robert then followed with the main army, joining up with them between Valona and Buthrotum. Roger’s presence is significant. This suggests that Guiscard now felt more secure in his southern Italian domains and did not feel the need to leave his son behind; it’s also a sign that any lands won for Bohemond were to be held under Roger’s aegis.
Autumn invasions were always risky affairs; and in this case, the risk did not pay off. The intention was to relieve the remnants of the first expeditionary force, who had been holding out in the citadel of Corfu since May 1081. Storms, however, prevented operations for the first two months after landing. And when the weather finally improved, allowing a crossing, Robert almost immediately faced opposition from Venetian and Byzantine naval forces. As previously, Robert managed to get the better of his opponents. But the cost of victory was high (Roger is said to have been wounded). Robert then raised the siege of Corfu. But with further rough weather on the horizon, there was little way of exploiting the victory. So Robert laid up the fleet for the winter on the Acheron, taking up quarters himself with the main force at Vonitsa to the south. This southwards move is reminiscent of Bohemond’s tactics in 1083. It points toward Robert’s strategy for the coming year, when he would leave the well-defended Via Egnatia and strike at the empire’s soft Grecian underbelly.12
Whatever the plan, it was soon overtaken by events. Keeping large armies safely encamped in hostile territory is always a challenging affair. In this case, plague struck. As important as the resulting loss of manpower was the psychological blow this represented. While the Normans’ enemies’ forces grew steadily stronger, their own army was wasting away. A particular loss was Bohemond, who fell so ill that he had to return to Salerno for treatment.
Apparently undeterred, Robert pressed on south in the summer. The first prize was to be Cephalonia, which would open the way into the Gulf of Corinth. An advance force under Roger and Sichelgaita had already secured the island’s capital. But by the time Robert met them, he was severely ill himself – perhaps with the same plague that had struck his men over the winter months, or perhaps with malaria (the traditional Mediterranean illness of the summer). Whatever the cause, Robert died on 17 July, soon after his arrival on the island.
Robert’s death spelt the end of Italo-Norman adventures in Greece and Illyria for over a generation. A power vacuum beckoned back in Apulia and Calabria, which Roger and Sichelgaita rushed to fill. But Robert’s dream of an eastern empire would live on in his eldest son. Alexios may have won the first engagements, but Bohemond was not about to leave matters at that.