The Battle of Manzikert 1071 | Part Two: Alp Arslan and The Seljuk Onslaught

*Transcript is autogenerated and may contain errors*

G'day guys, a big welcome back to the Anthology of Heroes podcast. In this podcast we share
epic stories of figures and events that changed the course of history, and you've just tuned
into part two of what has ended up as a three-part series on the disastrous 1071 Battle of Manzacur.
In our first episode we followed the reign of Emperor Constantine IX. Constantine's
reign is particularly interesting because so much happened in it, yet the Normans in
the west, the Seljuks in the east, Petchnegs in the Balkans, rebel generals, civil distress,
inflation, and just to top things off, a major religious schism. There's a lot in there,
and listening to that episode will help reveal why one battle turned out to be such a disaster
for an empire that looked so robust on paper. In part one we spoke about the Seljuks briefly,
but back then they were a peripheral annoyance to the Roman Empire. Here's where they really
step into the spotlight. This episode we're heading to the desolate wastes of Turkmenistan
to watch the rise of two brothers, Chagri and Turgrul, the founders of the Seljuk dynasty.
After charting their rise we're going to check back in with Byzantium because if you think
things were bad under Constantine IX, well, you ain't seen nothing yet. After a string of rubbish
emperors we're going to follow the tragic reign of Roman Emperor Romanus IV, a man who,
in a different time, could have been one of the greats. Finally we're going to introduce Alp
Arslan, the so-called heroic lion, a brilliant strategist whose achievements are still celebrated
in many Islamic countries today. Specifically in this episode we're going to cover the early
history of the Seljuks, the rise of Turgrul and Chagri, Alp Arslan's raids into Anatolia,
the worsening crisis in Byzantium, the policies of Nizam al-Mulk, Emperor Romanus' Eastern campaigns,
and the manoeuvring that took place just before the Battle of Manzikert.
Be sure to check out our Patreon page where you can listen to ad-free episodes early along with
bonus episodes. Still here? Well, what are we waiting for? The 1071 disaster at Manzikert,
part two, Alp Arslan and the Seljuk onslaught.
It's sometime in May in the year 1038 AD. Citizens of the Iranian city of Nishapur
tentatively unbar the gates of their city. Hands trembling they pull back the iron
clamps and stand in silence. Nishapur had once been a great Islamic city, a cultural hot spot,
famed fruits, refinement and learning. But that was centuries ago. The mighty caliphate that
the prophet had left behind had long since fractured into a patchwork of warring states.
And Nishapur, like many other great Islamic cities, had become a prize to be fought over
by petty warlords. And this latest group was the worst yet, hideous, stunted savages
who the aristocratic city dwellers considered barely human. The battered gates of the city
shut it open, and the conquerors brusquely pushed their way in. Plotting through the mud they came,
one after the other. Perhaps a gasp rippled through the people of Nishapur as they cast
judgmental looks upon their new masters. Clad in tattered clothing and streaked with mud,
their distinctive features, slanted eyes, weathered bronze skin and thin, wispy beards
set them apart. Flex of mud from their filthy rags splattered onto the spotless, colourful
robes of the Nishapurians. So these were the notorious Seljuks, men as wild as animals,
hideous figures that fought like demons. Their horses dropped dung and their riders spat and
laughed as they looked around the glowing city. Their eyes gleaming as they dreamed of the
treasure each building contained. The group suddenly fell solid and seemed to straighten
in the saddles. As two men, indistinct from the rest, dismounted and walked over to a table of
food the Nishapurians had prepared in their honour. Wearing the same filthy clothing as the rest of
their men, the only thing that gave them away as leaders was the air of respect the men seemed to
have for them. They were brothers, and their names were Turgrel and Chagri. Approaching the table with
the curiosity of wild creatures in a new habitat, they examined the delicacies that had been prepared
for them. Turgrel picked up a fist-sized pastry, sniffed it, took a bite, and reluctantly swallowed,
before remarking to his brother, quote, these noodles are good, but lack garlic.
The pastry wasn't noodles, of course, but Turgrel had never tasted anything like it before,
so had no frame of reference. For the sake of their lives, the pompous Nishapurians stifled
their laughter as the savages continually sampled their fancy foods. Uncivilised as these two
brothers may have been, make no mistake, they were not fools. Turgrel had firmly established
his reputation as a military genius. His warriors had seen many remarkable victories owing to his
command, but it would be his skills in statecraft that would leave the civilised world in shock.
Soon, thousands would swarm to his banners and he would transform his followers from a horde
to an empire. The very same Nishapurians who sniggered at his primitive table manners would
soon be begging for a place at his table. Just two years later, he would conquer all of Kurosan
in under 20 years Baghdad, and 33 years later, his successor Alp Arslan would defeat the Roman
Empire at the Battle of Manzikert, beginning a death spiral for the ancient superpower.
So who were these Seljuks, and where did they come from?
The Seljuk story begins in the 10th century, when a man named Seljuk left the service of the
Khazars. The Khazars were a steppe confederacy, a loose group of tribes centred somewhere around
the Crimean Peninsula, modern Ukraine. Seljuk had been a warrior in service of the Khazar chief,
but the two had a falling out. You don't know what happened, but he had to leave. With his cattle
warriors and family, Seljuk left and began the long journey to Jand, modern Kazakhstan. In his
long caravan of men and animals, perhaps there were two children. Barely walking yet, these were
Seljuk's grandsons, Turgrul and Chagri. Many of the Khazar elite adhered to the Jewish faith,
so it's possible that Seljuk and his family were adherents to Judaism. If not, he would have been
a follower of the traditional steppe religion, a kind of ancestor worship that revolved around the
veneration of animal totems, particularly the gray wolf. But by this point, Islam was making
inroads into Central Asia, and soon after arriving in Jand, Seljuk and his followers quickly embraced
the religion of Muhammad. Most chieftains and Khans on the out-of-steppe identified as Muslim,
but their practices differed significantly from the Arabs or the Persians. The rough edges of
steppe culture were very much visible under the blanket of their new religion. By the time old
Seljuk passed away, at 107 years old, according to legend, he'd managed to attract a core group
of followers outside that of his immediate family. In fact, his influence had grown so much that bigger,
bad war chiefs grew concerned. Rather than risk open battle with him, one of the warlords captured
Seljuk's son, hoping that without a leader, the band would fragment and break away. It was a good
plan. The thing about these steppe confederations, hordes, whatever you want to call them, the bands
that held them together were very loose. More often than not, it was a single, charismatic,
powerful man who brought them together. And once he died or stopped providing with plunder,
the warriors dispersed and went their separate ways. When Seljuk's son was in prison, this is no
doubt what his imprisoners thought would happen. But into the power vacuum, stepped Togrel and
Chagri, nephews of the imprisoned war chief. The two men harboured a strong desire to avenge
their unjustly imprisoned uncle, yet an even stronger aspiration drove them, to lead.
Amidst the ever-changing allegiances of the Asian steppe, two brothers and their burgeoning army,
perhaps now 2,000 strong, began to operate mercenaries, taking payment from petty war chiefs
to join them in combat. They fought well, but always seemed to pick the wrong side. In a single,
brutal conflict, the two brothers faced disaster. Utterly outnumbered and outfought, the Seljuks
were slaughtered. Both Togrel and Chagri barely escaped the battlefield with their lives. Pursued
relentlessly by the vengeful blades of steppe chieftains, they rode until the horses could no
longer bear them. Marked men, they knew they could no longer stay where they were, and leaving
behind their family and animals spirited south with only the most loyal followers in tow.
By the time they reached the Zagros Mountains, only the toughest and most determined remained.
Half dead and starving, the tiny band trudged over the first mountain range they'd ever encountered.
As a journey through the foothills, they encountered prosperity and wealth beyond their wildest dreams.
Every family they passed, no matter how poor, were well-dressed and well-fed. The men here were
fat and the women beautiful and powdered. The brothers had crossed into the land of the Ghaznavids.
The Ghaznavids were a local power with roots in both Persia and the Asian steppe. Think of them
as steppe warriors with a sprinkling of Persian sophistication. To the exhausted Turkic brothers,
their strange, brightly coloured mosques, abundant fields and hilly terrain seemed alien. Even the
religion of Ghaznavids practice, though still Islam, was a world away from the basic rituals
they'd performed on the steppe. But there was little opportunity to admire the magnificence of
the landscape. The Seljuks found themselves in an incredibly dire situation. Exhausted, sick,
and impoverished, their worn-out bows and starving horses hardly spoke to their prowess as warriors.
Riding to the Ghaznavid governor, they asked, well, begged for protection.
Quote, If the sultan sees fear, he will accept us as his servants,
so that one of us will pay homage to him as his exalted court, and the other will undertake
whatever service the sultan commands, and we will rest in his great shadow. He should grant us a
province of Nasa and Farawah, which is on the edge of the desert so that we can put down our
possessions and rest. We will not allow any evil doer from Mount Bakhan, Dihestan, the borders
of Khwarezmum and the banks of the oxes to appear, and we will fight the Iraqi and Khwarezman Turkmen.
If, God forbid, the sultan does not agree, we do not know what will happen, for we have nowhere else
to go. The two brothers made their mark on the bottom of the letter, and prayed. Their followers
were few and thinning out by the day, and their families long lost back in Jand. If the sultan
refused them, it was the end of the line for the House of Seljuk. Their police soon made it to the
desk of the Ghaznavid Sultan, a man named Masud, who was himself descended from Turkic people,
just like Turgrul and Chagri. Masud's grandfather, the founder of his kingdom, had been a Turkic slave,
a Mamluk, and his success had stemmed from settled people underestimating the havoc
that a coalition of well-led steppe warriors could wreak. Therefore, he could think of nothing worse
than inviting these untameable vagabonds to guard the northern flank of his realm. His realm was in
the grips of a famine. The people were starving, rebellions were frequent, and he was barely holding
things together as is. He told Turgrul and Chagri to keep on walking, because they weren't settling
there. But the two brothers weren't going anywhere. Like vultures circling a dying line,
they could sense that the Ghaznavid realm was on its last legs. Within a year, they twisted the
sultan's arm into giving them the land they'd requested, just past your land, they promised,
where simple herdsmen, they insisted, all we wanted somewhere to graze our families and live
out our days in peace. Unless they wanted another war, Masud had no choice but to give in.
Turgrul went to the city of Nisa, Chagri got Dihistan, both in modern Turkmenistan.
The termites were now in the walls. Within mere months, the cities of Khorasan had shifted
their allegiance to the Seljuk brothers. The Ghaznavid grip here was so feeble that the shift
was little more than a formality. Sultan Masud had seen it all happening. Everything was going
exactly like he knew it would, yet he was powerless to stop it. Gathering his diminishing forces,
he launched assaults on the Seljuk strongholds, one after the other. But when every gain the upper
hand against the brothers, they would retreat and vanish into their unforgiving northern step,
surviving on dried curds and suckling warm blood from their horses, the Seljuks would
buy their time until the Sultan had left. Civilisation had brought Masud prosperity and
influence, but it had dulled the edge of his grandfather's generation. His soldiers could
not and would not venture into the steppe to pursue the Seljuks. On the 23rd of May, 1040,
Amir five years had passed since a fateful letter had landed on Masud's desk,
and his empire had all but crumbled. Near the modern city of Merv in Turkmenistan,
the exhausted and starving army of the Ghaznavids prepared for their final stand against Turkrul
and Chakri. The once fertile and green countryside was now a barren wasteland. Masud's secret weapon,
his Indian war elephants, must have been swaying from hunger, with their riders scarcely in better
condition. It had been death by a thousand cuts for his army. In every engagement the Seljuks had
had the upper hand. There was no defeating them, only delaying them. The termites had spread to
every supporting structure of his empire, and it was now so weak that one final push was all it
would take to bring it down. His army fought well and bravely, but the outcome was already decided.
Turkrul and Chakri vanquished the Ghaznavid army. Sultan Masud fled to India and was murdered
only a few weeks later by his own men. The Seljuks had torn apart their first realm.
After a lifetime of struggle they'd finally landed on a winning strategy. Masud and his
Ghaznavids were the first in a long line of crippled kingdoms that would eventually lead
the Seljuks to the hallowed walls of the Roman Empire.
The lightning speed collapse of the Ghaznavid kingdom should have been a wake-up call to
the petty rulers of Iran. These two brothers, these Seljuks, were tougher, smarter and more
focused than your run-of-the-mill steppe warriors, but old feuds and grudges are hard to forget.
More often than not the brothers again found themselves employed as mercenaries in the local
squabbles near and around Iran. Once they had money and manpower, that same winning strategy
they'd used on the Ghaznavids was repeated. First to fall were the remnants of the Dalamites,
the old rivals of the Ghaznavids. After them were the Kurds, soundly defeated and chased back into
their mountain fortresses, they would cause no further trouble for the Seljuks. It was around
this time you could say that the Seljuk Horde took its first steps into becoming the Seljuk Empire.
While many contemporary sources write with tears about the horrors of being subjected to these,
quote, barely islamicized barbarians, it's worth remembering many of these cities had been in a
perpetual state of war for over a century. Usually, Turgrul and Chagri opted to keep the
state apparatus in place. As long as the cities they conquered paid their taxes, the peace they
enforced brought a sense of stability that hadn't been felt in this region for years. Clearly,
there were those that welcomed the new overlords. As evident by Kursan poet Nassir Ikhuzro,
a contemporary who blasted his fellow townsfolk for accepting Seljuk rule lying down. In one of
his poems, he wrote, quote, why are you deceived by the rule of the Turk? Remember the glory and
strength of Mammut of Zavulistan? He means the Ghaznavids.
With their realm growing bigger by the day, the two brothers' goals took them in different
directions. There are only scant references to this period, but it seems as if Chagri wished to
continue the well-trodden path of a steppe warlord, sacking, burning, looting, and partying.
But Turgrul had eclipsed that. He began to take the first steps towards true state building.
After over a decade of overthrowing rival dynasties, he wanted to establish his own.
Soon, Turgrul's usual demands of a conquered people, cash, and hostages, came with an additional
one, for his name to be read aloud in Friday prayers at the mosques. When the brothers conquered
Nishapur in 1038, Turgrul forbid his army from looting the city until the holy month of Ramadan
had concluded. And once the date passed, he still refused to allow the customary looting his warriors
were so used to. Moves like this raised his piety across the Islamic world, but he was playing with
fire. Turgrul may have experienced a spiritual awakening, but his warriors' loyalty to him
was the sole factor keeping him in power, and denying them their coveted loot was a surefire way
to incite rebellion. When Chagri, whose men had also participated in the siege, found out about
this, he was furious. The two brothers almost came to blows when Chagri refused to order his men
to stand down, but Turgrul in a rage spat that he would kill him if he dared. The brothers were
moving in different directions. With the Seljuk realm growing so rapidly, they seem to have agreed
to divide it up. Chagri got the eastern provinces and slowly falls off the historical record.
Turgrul got the western provinces, and it's around this time that his name starts to appear
in Roman correspondence. Coins bearing Turgrul's name soon began to filter through the grubby
hands of merchants in Constantinople. For Turgrul to be minting his own coins was a sure sign of
his lofty ambitions. A new, formidable neighbour was setting up on the edge of Roman territory,
steppe archers organised into an empire, and it wouldn't be long before the two entities would
overlap. By the mid-1040s, Turgrul had a problem. His plans for statecraft had hit a snag. The Friday
prayers at every mosque were commenced in his honour. He had viziers, government departments,
and recognition from the caliph himself. But the fact of the matter was, he was a Khan,
a warlord, the leader of a fairly unruly nomadic horde, and the warriors that kept him in power
expected him to behave like one. The duty of a war chief was, above all, to provide pasture land
for the cattle of his followers. And we're not talking about a few goats and a bag of chickens.
According to ACS Peacock, author of The Great Seljuk Empire, each Turkmen may have owned over
a hundred sheep, each, let alone cows, donkeys, or horses. That meant when Turgrul conquered Nishipur
in 1038, his 3,000-man army could have had 300,000 sheep trailing behind them. That is a lot of sheep
that need a lot of grass. Christian chronicler Bar Habraus tells us how these enormous herds
became like locusts to the drought-ridden region, quote. And every place where his troops meet
together, they plunder and destroy and kill. No one district is able to support them for more
than one week because of their vast number, and from the sheer necessity they are compelled to
depart to another quarter in order to find food for themselves and their beasts. How was Turgrul
to cement the foundations of statecraft, law, and taxation, while his troops ate their way
through his empire like tourists at a free buffet? The answer was simple enough. Send them elsewhere.
But where? As another horrified vassal of Turgrul watched his ravenous army devour his winter
possessions, he made a bold suggestion to the warchief, quote. My territories are too small for
you and to support your needs. The best thing is to go attack Anatolia, to fight in God's path,
plunder, and I will come in your wake and assist you. Anatolia, sometimes called Asia Minor as a
part of modern Turkey, would have been well-known to Turgrul. A sweeping plateau of green pasture
lands crisscrossed with rivers, the vassal king spoke true. Anatolia would be perfect. But guarding
it were the Romans. The bulwark of the east, the Roman Empire, was a far greater foe than any Amir
or princeling that Turgrul had vanquished. Even in the golden years of the early Caliphates,
the great Arab armies, blessed by the prophet himself, had not managed to conquer this ancient
land. A war against Rome would not be an easy one, and Turgrul, now moving into his senior years,
had no wish to destabilize the recently-won heartland of his empire with a long, hard
campaign into foreign lands. But he knew someone that did. Since splitting the Seljuk realm,
relations between Turgrul and Chagri seemed to have been frosty at best. There was little contact
between the brothers, but when their realms of influence crossed, they would both nominate governors
to plot against the other. It seemed they passively worked to undermine the other, which
might explain the appearance of Chagri's son sniffing around Turgrul's territory.
So, at long last, 30 minutes into this episode, we introduce Muhammad bin Dawood Chagri,
soon to be known as Alp Arslan, the heroic lion. Alp Arslan was probably born in 1029,
meaning by this point of the story, he would have been in his late teens. He would have
been old enough to remember the bad old days as his father and uncle struggled to make ends meet.
But out of Chagri's 10 or so children, Alp Arslan is mentioned the most frequently,
indicating his favoritism or skill. It's fair to assume he would have accompanied his father on
numerous campaigns, and he seems to have been a natural fit as a commander. While the physical
and psychological traits of Chagri and Turgrul are vague, Alp Arslan steps from the history books in
vivid color. According to Rashid al-Din, a Muslim statesman writing about 200 years after this time,
Alp Arslan had a commanding presence that inspired others just by being near him. He was
consistently focused and attentive, causing foreign emissaries to tremble in his presence
as he seemed to perceive their true intentions. He was tall and carried himself with grace,
but the most distinctive feature was his incredibly long mustaches, which he tied behind his head
when firing arrows, which, according to Rashid al-Din, always found their mark.
While his father, Chagri, treated Islam as a means to an end, Alp Arslan was said to be incredibly
pious. Although he appreciated a good glass of wine, Alp Arslan was deeply committed to Islam,
consistently keeping an Islamic judge well versed in shuri law by his side at all times,
even in battle. His uncle Turgrul knew a rival when he saw one, and it seems likely that he pushed
Alp Arslan to begin his raids west, let the Romans deal with him with any luck he won't return.
But return he did, and with each successful raid the young leader's reputation grew.
The perfect blend of Islamic piety and raw Turkic power,
he was like nothing that had been seen in Byzantium. As we saw in the last episode,
the Byzantine response to these rumblings in the east was weak to non-existent. The Roman empire
was spiralling. Basil II's hard-won conquest of the past few centuries were protected only by a
sparse network of fortresses, which Alp Arslan and his raiders slipped right past. The thumping
that Turgrul hoped his troublesome nephew would get never came. Instead, Alp Arslan returned
across the border, laden with cartloads of treasure and miles of slaves. By 1055, Turgrul found
himself compelled to enlist the aid of his popular nephew to quell a revolt in Baghdad,
a humbling experience for the warlord. The young, stronger lion encircled its proud elderly uncle.
Chagri died in 1059, and Turgrul followed him a few years later. Though another candidate was
raised up for succession, Alp Arslan swatted away his half-brother like a fly. For the first time,
the great Seljuk empire stretched from modern Iraq to Tajikistan, and there was no doubt as to who
would lead it. The gates of heaven's wrath opened upon our land. Numerous troops moved
forth from Turkestan. Their horses were fleet as eagles, with hooves as soldiers rock.
Well-girded, their bows were taut, their arrows sharp. They shot arrows like lions,
and like lion cubs they mercilessly threw the corpses of many people to the carnivorous beasts
and birds. God poured his wrath down upon us by the means of our foreign people, for we had sinned
against him. This was how Armenian historian Aristaqi's last avertcy described the destruction of
his homeland under the hooves of Alp Arslan and his warriors. The kingdom of Armenia, which occupies
roughly the same area as the modern country of Armenia, was one of a few Christian buffer states
that bordered the Byzantine empire. These semi-independent kingdoms dotted across the Caucasus
acted as important barometers for the safety of the Roman heartland. To get to Roman Anatolia,
a hostile power needed to pass through the lands of Armenia, and Alp Arslan had just done that.
And not just pass, Armenia had been transformed into a smoking ruin.
Ani, a city known as the City of a Thousand and One Churches, had been utterly ruined,
with a kind of methodical venom that immediately sent shockwaves back to Constantinople.
Alp Arslan's expedition was launched purely to keep his Turkmen rival happy. His men needed
plunder, and if they didn't get it from outside his empire, well they'd start looking within it.
Alp Arslan may have expected that this expedition, like all his others,
would be met by a pretty limp response, a threatening letter by some weak-willed emperor
whose only motivation was holding onto his head from one day to the next. But he was wrong.
Around the same time as Alp Arslan is a session to the throne, the Byzantine empire got a new
emperor. And from the day he took the throne, he drew a line in the sand. His battered empire would
no longer be a punching bag for Petchnegs, Normans, or Seljuks. The buck stopped here.
His name was Romanus Dojanis, and he took the throne as emperor Romanus IV.
We spent the entirety of this episode following the rise of the Seljuks, so it's time to check
back in with the Romans. Thirteen years had now passed, and time had not been kind to the empire
of Caesar's. Our last episode ended on the death bed of Constantine IX. His reign had
lasted 12 years, and the energetic emperor had done an adequate job holding the empire together,
considering the number of concurrent invasions he faced. After his death, Empress Theodora took over
again. The 75-year-old woman ruled for just a year before dying of natural causes.
Her death brought the prestigious Macedonian dynasty to an end. The godly bloodline of Basil II
was gone. Never again would the Roman Empire be graced by such excellent warriors concurrently.
Following her death, her eunuchs raised up another ancient geezer, Michael the Old. The
ultimate civilian emperor, Michael further sidelined the military. In the Roman Empire, power flowed
from Constantinople, literally. The city was more than a capital, it was the pulsing heart of the
empire. Proceding the city was almost impossible thanks to its harbour and enormous walls,
and this had led to a robust centralised administration. Fodder, ammunition and crucially,
soldiers' pay, came directly from Constantinople. The central government held power which could,
and was, distributed and revoked depending on the need. Armies were supplied, sent out to meet
a threat and then dispersed. But in the mid-7th century, a new system was implemented known as
the theme system. A theme was a localised militia that worked to defend their territory. The theme
system was born out of necessity, as a way to slow down the rapid conquests of Muhammad's armies.
Overall, it had achieved what it was meant to do, but now, 400 years later, that threat had passed,
and the central government now had to contend with regional commanders who,
could and did, act like almost independent warlords within the empire. These men were very
influential in their community. Usually noblemen or farming magnates, they shared the hardships of
their countrymen and served their interests, as opposed to that of some distant courtroom
thousands of kilometres away. Some of these men could call up 5-10,000 soldiers, and they could
and did argue back against the central government. The legacy the theme system left behind was a
delicate power-sharing arrangement. The emperor could now not as easily force new taxes or levy
troops. Now, when his delicates came knocking, powerful men asked, yeah, what's in it for me,
before deciding whether to obey their orders. Times had changed, but emperor Michael the
Old couldn't seem to grasp it. Disconnected from the regality of life on the borderlands,
he continued to sideline, ignore, and insult his military aristocracy. Contemporary historian
Michael Sellas summarises their frustration, quote. For a long time, the soldiers had found the
situation of the state to be intolerable, because the emperor was always chosen from among the other
side. When the need arose for some to conduct hard battles and resist adverse fortunes,
those who lived in Constantinople could sit back and relax, as if in a great castle, while those
who lived far away from the city and the countryside suffered terribly, end quote. You can kind of see
why they're annoyed, can't you? They're trying to fight off enemies that are getting craftier and
more numerous, while an emperor, some guy they barely even heard of a few days ago, thousands of miles
away, is swapping out the commanders and giving them nonsense orders. Sellas goes on to say, quote,
for these reasons they were ready to protest against this situation in a most violent manner,
and they lacked only a spark to set off their explosion. And then it happened. During the festival
of Easter in 1057, the most influential figures of the empire were summoned to the capital to
receive their yearly salary. Everyone who was anyone was there. Dressed in their finest silks,
they waited patiently in the beautiful Iesofia church for the inauguration speech of the emperor.
It was on these occasions they could look forward to an acclamation, a new title, or maybe even a
promotion. But as the aged emperor stalked out into the glistening halls, it was clear that
none of these would be forthcoming. According to Michael Sellas, almost every military commander
there was dressed down for his failings. The emperor barely had a kind word to say between them,
but it was when he reached a man named Isaac Komnemnos that he really blew up. In front of
everyone, he unleashed a tone of abuse at Isaac Komnemnos, blaming him for nearly every one of
the emperor's recent failings. He declared that he had corrupted the army and stolen fun set aside
for the population. When his fellow commanders attempted to defend their colleague, the emperor
told them to shut up and kept the abuse coming. He ranted that Komnemnos had shown no signs of
gallantry or leadership and that he'd used the army as a vessel to enrich himself and win glory.
When he'd finally finished, Komnemnos stood silent, stunned. He'd come expecting a promotion and
instead had been humiliated and insulted in front of everyone. The aristocracy left soon
afterwards, incredulous at the way they'd been treated. It should be no surprise that barely
a few months later, a group of disgruntled soldiers conveyed at the residence of Isaac Komnemnos.
They were there with a singular purpose, to raise the commander as a new emperor.
The rebellion had already begun and these men were as good as dead if they didn't succeed.
We don't know if Komnemnos wanted to be emperor, but when an army of
cagey veteran soldiers rocks up at your door, you can't exactly turn them away.
Komnemnos was a good bet. Bred from aristocratic stock, his father had been a close confidant
of the godly Basil II back in the glory days of the empire. He was level-headed in battle
and most importantly, he was a military man, one of them. Isaac Komnemnos was hailed emperor by his
mob. The rebellion was short and bloody. Roughly matched in size and training the two Roman armies
met at the Battle of Hades, Roman slew Roman in the first of many, many civil wars that would soon
become synonymous with the spiralling Byzantine Empire. By the end of the year, Isaac Komnemnos
sat on the throne of Byzantium as the new emperor. Crucial to his rise had been patriarch
Michael Keralios. If you'll remember in our last episode, Keralios was the outspoken patriarch of
Constantinople who had been, at least partially, responsible for the great schism between the
east and west church. Keralios had been around for almost as long as the wall paint inside the
Aya Sophia and absolutely reveled in yet another opportunity to play kingmaker and assert his
position above the emperor. But Isaac Komnemnos immediately made it clear that he wouldn't
be a puppet to the patriarch, the court eunuchs or even the military, the ones that put him there.
Komnemnos took the throne with an agenda and that was to fix Rome. For decades he'd sat on the
sidelines bemoaning the moronic decisions made by distant palace emperors. Now he had his chance
to fix it and he wasn't going to mess it up. Dark, brooding and laconic, on his coins we'd see the
59 year old standing tall, hand on the hilt of his sword, ready for a fight. That sword first
slashed through the voluntary gifts past empress had paid, there was no money for that. Next it
came down on the bloated state salaries given to the bureaucrats, forget it. After church donations
fell into his crosshair, putting him squarely at odds with patriarch Keralios. As church endowments
were cut one by one, the up-jumped patriarch confronted the emperor, reminding him about how
much he owed him. The patriarch whispered menacingly into his ear, quote, I made you, I can unmake you.
That was one threat too many and the emperor moved to have the old windbags sent away.
Komnemnos soon got him put on trial for treason and thankfully, away from the spotlight he'd
become so accustomed to, the patriarch died of natural causes. The stage was set for a promising
rule, but barely a year later, Komnemnos fell into a fever and died soon after.
He left the throne with the most woefully inept ruler we'll meet in this series,
Constantine Dukas, crowned as Constantine the Tenth. It's fair to say that imperial power had
stalled up to this point, but Constantine the Tenth slams that lever into full gear, he is where the
wheels really fall off. His reign is not well sourced, we don't really know how he got the job,
but he was a member of the Dukas family. The Dukas family, much like the Komnemnos family,
were extremely powerful families that were coming to dominate Byzantium. From this point in the
history until the end of the Roman Empire, these families and a few others will always be somewhere
close to the reigns of power. Their tightly knit clans spent their days scheming on ways to claim
the imperial throne. Once they got it, they spent untold sums of money trying to keep the other
families down. And as we'll see at Manzikert, they were more than happy to throw the empire into
turmoil if it meant they were the rulers of whatever was left. Constantine the Tenth quickly
reversed most of the previous emperor's budget tightening measures. Gifts, salaries, church
donations, he bought them all back. When his advisors asked where he'd get the money from,
he probably shrugged and gestured vaguely towards the army. Just as our past lamb was
ramping up his raids in the east, Constantine the Tenth stood down further units. It also seemed
like he reduced the maintenance for border fortresses, completely disbanded the specialist
units near them and slashed the quality of the equipment the soldiers used. As I said, sources
are really spotty at this time, but it seems like Constantine the Tenth put all his cards into
diplomacy, banking on being able to talk his enemies out of attacking his vulnerable empire.
Obviously, he was wrong. In these tumultuous years, the Normans mopped up the last of Roman
resistance in southern Italy and circled their very last holdout, the stronghold of Bari,
located on the heel of the Italian peninsula. The Roman governors again begged for reinforcements
to shore up their deserting armies, but Constantine the Tenth had nothing to give.
The throne room was in chaos, as his overpaid, under-qualified courtiers received news of a
new sultan in the east. Arl Baslan and his forces had just sacked Arnie. The city of 1001
churches was a major trading hub in Armenia that had been officially annexed by Rome about 20 years
ago. Boasting huge walls and backed up against a quick-flowing river, the city was thought to be
impregnable. Arl Baslan's sophisticated use of tunnels and battering rams proved any doubters
that his band of Seljuks were a far greater threat than some ragtag bunch of horse archers.
Twelfth century historian, Matthew of Odessa, tells us how Arl Baslan entered his city.
Quote, all the troops of the empires ones had sharp daggers, one in each of their two hands,
and one held in between their teeth. In this manner, they generally began to destroy the
city mercilessly, cutting down such a multitude of people in the city that it was as though they
were mowing green grass, piling up bodies one on top of the other as if they were throwing rocks
onto a heap. In a moment, the entire city billowed in blood. All the grand princes of the house of
the Armenians and the ranks of the Azats stood before the sultan in iron chains. Countless,
numberless, bright-faced boys and charming girls were taken along with their mothers.
Many blessed priests were buried alive, while others had their skin flayed from their bodies,
from head to toe. He then goes on to say, the silver cross the size of a man which they had
thrown down, they took and put it under the threshold of the door of the mosque in the city
of Nakti Chavan to be stepped on, where it remains to this day.
The fall of Arni was a disaster, but for whatever reason Constantine the Tenth did nothing. Historians
are at a bit of a loss as to why. I mean, he was pushed on all fronts, sure, but this was a major
incursion into Roman lands. Armenia held strategic importance as the gateway to Anatolia, where
the empire sourced much of its food and reared all of its horses. Unlike their outposts in Southern
Italy, this region was not expendable. Historian Anthony Caldellus speculates whether the emperor,
who was known for his piety, might have viewed the disaster as some form of divine retribution.
Arni had only recently been annexed by the Roman Empire about 20 years prior,
and his population had adhered to a different form of Christianity, which the Roman clergy
disdained. Did the emperor leave this incursion unchecked because he interpreted it as God's
justice? Divine retribution or not, Alp Arslan's bold incursion confirmed to him that the empire
was weak and that could be exploited for his personal gain. While focusing on his main rival,
the Fatimid Caliphate, he now knew he could deploy his more aggressive soldiers into Byzantium to
sow discord. As the Roman Empire spiralled, Alp Arslan continued his uncle's legacy,
doing all he could to legitimize himself as an enlightened Islamic Amir. A key figure in his
success was his vizier, Nazam al-Mulk. Nazam al-Mulk is widely celebrated for his contributions to
Islamic statecraft, earning him the title, the most important statesman in Islamic history.
Al-Mulk had been a person of importance under the reign of Turgril,
but it was under Alp Arslan where he really starts to shine. An only system of Islamic feudalism,
known as the Iqta, had been growing in popularity in the last century or so. It was, at a basic
level, the right to levy taxes from inhabitants on a specific plot of land. Al-Mulk gave this
policy a Seljuk twist. By granting pockets of recently conquered lands to prominent Seljuk
figures, be they brothers or cousins of Alp Arslan or esteemed Seljuk chiefs, he intricately linked
each of them to a parcel of newly conquered territory, binding them to Alp Arslan with a
golden leash of tax collection privileges. It was a clever move because he was seamlessly
replacing one volatile stream of income with a more reliable one. To keep the money flowing
into their pockets, all these princelings needed to do was make sure their fief was peaceful and
keep Alp Arslan on the throne. Al-Mulk also came up with the Madrasa education system which still
remains widespread in the Islamic world today. With such a brilliant statesman at home, Alp Arslan
had free reign to campaign ruthlessly. Shia, Christian or Pagan, there seemed to be none
that could stand against him and his Seljuks. But with the coming of the New Year in 1068,
that easy plunder came to a halt. Rome had a new emperor and not some Nancy Boy bureaucrat or
a toothless octogenarian but a real military emperor and immediately it was clear things were
about to change. Sickly and old, Constantine X died in May 1067. The treasury was near empty,
the borders had collapsed and the army was demobilized and demoralized. So what was the
last thing the emperor did? Exact a deathbed promise from his young wife not to marry. His widow,
Eudokia, reluctantly agreed. But once the emperor had died, she began the new search for a husband
immediately. The new church patriarch deliberated on whether to allow a new marriage. After all,
she did promise. But eventually he reneged, realizing that such a decision would quote,
contribute to the destruction of the Roman Empire. This was the end game. Things were desperate.
So desperate that the usual rig roll of palace emperors caught eunuchs favorites and pretenders
were all skipped. Everyone knew it. They needed someone who could hold a sword.
There was only one man for the job. Romanus IV had royal blood on his mother's side and a famous
general on his father's side. He had devoted his life to soldiering, actively engaging in
frontline combat as an acretai, a border soldier. The acretai were renowned as the toughest of the
tough, representing the remaining core of what had once been an invincible army under Basil II.
The empire's borderlands were perilous and the acretai who inhabited these territories became
legendary figures. The heroic deeds inspired songs that patriotic Greeks still sing to this day.
Romanus IV was firm and disciplined in his own life and expected the same of his soldiers.
When he caught one of his soldiers stealing a donkey, he had the man's nose cut off. He was
harsh, bordering on severe, but so were the times and it's not hard to imagine a miniature shrine
to Basil II sitting in the empress chapel. Like the great man himself, he made it clear that his
reign would be dedicated to a singular purpose, to restore the tarnished glory of Rome. His
contemporary, Michael Ataliades, said of him simply, quote, one thing alone satisfied him,
that he marched against his foes. But jumping on the imperial throne wasn't as easy as just
marrying in. Constantine X had left not just a widow, but a son. And though the royal court
might have been willing to let the empress's vow of celibacy slide, it was much harder to remove
a legitimate heir. So as a kind of compromise, Romanus IV agreed to make Constantine X's son,
his co-emperor. But it didn't stop there. With the son came two younger brothers.
Having already been elevated as co-emperors and junior emperors by their father,
Romanus couldn't exactly strip them of those titles either without causing ripples. So this
gaggle of hangers on was the new ruling family. Looking at a coin from this period, it makes
it clear how crowded the throne was. On a single coin, there were now six figures. Romanus IV,
his wife, Jesus Christ, and three of Constantine X's sons. Why am I harping on about this? Because
as I mentioned before, all of these men were members of one ultra-influential family,
a family that was as petty, vengeful, and vindictive as they were wealthy, the dukes family.
And Romanus IV was now surrounded by them. The family's deep entrenchment in the court added
significant complexity to the emperor's role. While some members of the dukes clan may have
reluctantly accepted the need of having a true soldier emperor for the greater good of the Roman
world, one did not. Andronicus dukes. We have no physical descriptions for this man, but if you
need someone to picture in your mind, conjure up a little finger from Game of Thrones. Because it
was this man, perhaps sneering from the back of the emperor's coronation, who would ultimately bear
responsible for the impending disaster that would soon before the Roman Empire.
Romanus soon realized that he had his work cut out from. Things in the capital were not the same
as the borderlands. Endless bureaucracy hampered his ability to react quickly, and over-the-top
ceremonies sapped energy that could have been spent planning campaigns. The relationship with
his wife was also a source of stress. The emperor seemed to believe that because she had raised him
to this position, he was subservient to her. Romanus saw things differently. How he became
emperor was now irrelevant. Now that he was in control, there was only one thing on his mind,
reconquest. As soon as he could, Romanus assembled an army and marched east. The emperor was well
aware of what was required, a massive display of force to instill fear against the Seljuks.
With a few skirmishes and sackings, Romanus aimed to deter the Seljuks from venturing
into Roman territory in the upcoming campaigning season. Escaping the buzzing intrigue and
plotting of the Dukas faction in Constantinople, the fresh country air and the sounds of marching
boots must have offered a sense of relief as the imperial army headed east. Marching behind him
was the largest eastern army in almost two decades. One could almost believe that the elite army of
old Basil II had returned. But if you looked a little closer, well, here's a quote from a
contemporary who watched as the procession marched by. It was something to see the famous units
and their commanders now composed of just a few men and these bent over by poverty and lacking
proper weapons and war horses. For long there had been neglected since no emperor had gone on
expedition to the east in many years and they had not received their allotted money for supplies.
Decades of Nicolette now reared its ugly head and the emperor knew it. Romanus could not change
the past but he did everything he could to drill the army and inspire a sense of pride in his men.
He wanted them to feel as he did when he fought for his empire and his god.
Northern Syria was the first to feel the crush of imperial boots once again.
Made up of small, mostly Arab principalities, the Seljukhold here was weak and any Amirs that
who recently switched loyalties were dealt with harshly. Hierapolis, modern-day Manbij in northern
Syria was the first test for his demoralized army and with the guiding hand of Romanus they performed
well. As the campaigning season drew to a close, Romanus debated whether to march on to the strategically
vital city of Aleppo but ultimately decided against it, realizing his army was too inexperienced for
such an expedition. The army returned to Constantinople in January 1069. Despite some setbacks,
the expedition had been largely successful. Trust and confidence in the imperial throne had been
restored and morale around the troops had gradually improved. Most importantly, Alp Aslan had been
put on notice. Any aggression against Rome would be met with a fierce response. While it was a
promising start, the emperor understood that instilling fear in the Seljuks would require
sustained effort over many years. Maintaining a constant presence of elite troops in the east
was neither feasible or cost-effective. If only there were a core of elite soldiers ready to guard
the frontier. And of course, there were. The Normans. Roger Crispin was a Norman captain who had just
finished up his service in southern Spain. With more than a few victories against the Moors under
perhaps Romanus figured that he was motivated by some kind of religious zeal, a different breed
to the other Normans he dealt with in southern Italy. But no. Crispin and his company were sent
to the Borderlands and almost as soon as they got there, rebelled against the emperor and began
terrorizing and extorting the locals. Crispin employed the time-tested Norman strategy. Answer
a call for assistance, cause chaos, defend the area from the ruler who originally requested
your service, wait for that roar to tire of the conflict and acknowledge you as their vassal,
rinse and repeat. Crispin entrenched himself effectively, defeating five Roman armies sent
to capture him. It was only when Romanus himself marched out flanked by his fearsome viking body
guards that Crispin finally surrendered. Even after Crispin's arrest, the countryside saw little
improvement. His leaderless followers resorted to banditry and continued to terrorize citizens
in smaller villages. As usual, the decision to hire Normans always seemed so tantalizing.
For just a few thousand gold pieces, an elite foreign army will demolish your enemy
and everything will be back to normal. But it never turned out to be that straightforward.
For the next two years, Romanus' military campaigns continued but
none had the same results as the first. He rebuilt fortifications in the Borderlands
and did what he could with the army, but in the capital there were problems. Drowning in a sea of
Dukas family members, Romanus had cosied up to the other major influential family, the Komnemnoi.
You might remember the promising but short-lived reign of Isaac Komnemnos from earlier. Marrying
his son to an influential Komnemnoi baroness, Romanus ran the risk of upsetting the Dukas family,
but he had few other options. He needed some muscle in the capital and without a counterweight
to the duke, he was vulnerable. As we'll see, it would prove too little, too late.
Numerous expeditions were sent out west but Alp Aslan now had learnt to parry and predict these
counterattacks. His raiders could disappear quickly in a puff of smoke and the sluggish
Roman army had no way of following them. In the year 1070, he raided all the way to the city of
Colisei, only a few hundred miles south of Constantinople itself. Fear gripped the citizens of the
capital as they heard of the sacking of the city, of infidel hordes hacking apart the famous statue
of Archangel Michael and butchering the townsfolk that had gathered beneath his holy feet. Two years
into Romanus' rule, and things had only got worse, the Seljuks had grown bolder and were raiding even
deeper than before. If nothing was done, they would soon be at the gates of Constantinople
itself. Romanus had to do something, and he had in front of him two options. More conservative
advisors insisted that they should fall back to the old defensible lines, give up Basil II's
conquest and leave Armenia to its fate, but his younger, more fiery counselors insisted he go big,
a huge show of force to send his vermin back to where they came from. Romanus, a career soldier
who was used to military solutions, went for the latter. Standing in his council chambers,
the emperor scanned the map of his withering empire. His finger traced the rivers and mountains
until it fell on the recently fallen fortress of Manzikert.