Death of an Emperor

10th December 969
A freezing winter night, a strong wind from the north and snow falling heavily. The empress of Constantinople stood on a palace balcony looking out to sea. In the distance a small boat glided through the rough icy waters carrying her lover. Inside her husband slept the last minutes of his life on the cold marble floor.

The empress, Theophano, was not born to the palace, she was an innkeepers daughter whose legendary beauty won her the hand of the crown prince, Romanos. The emperor died shortly after, the word poison was on everyone’s lips and all fingers pointed to her. Then when her husband died, she was left very alone with two small children.

Nikephoros Phokas, was the empire’s greatest general. He had spent a lifetime battling the Arabs, leading the great Byzantine revival, retaking the coast of Lebanon and sacking Aleppo. He looked at what was going on in the city and saw weakness and opportunity. His troops declared him emperor and he marched west to claim the throne. Theophano saw the writing on the wall and offered a truce - she would marry him and he would recognise her children as his heirs. Nikephoros was a tough and pious old solider, used to the hard life on campaign. Even for an arranged marriage, this match with the pleasure loving Theophano was not a good one. His vow of chastity after the death of his first wife didn’t help either.

John Tzimiskes was Nikephoros nephew and second in command and it was he who had urged his uncle to grab power. He was everything the Nikephoros wasn’t; young, handsome and charming. The empress soon saw that he was a man who dared more than others and kept him in town and in the palace as much as possible. A plot was hatched.

The great palace of the Byzantine emperors was a huge complex; from beside Hagia Sophia and the Hippodrome dropping down to the sea. It was a collection of terraces and scattered free standing buildings. Little survives to today, but wander the back streets of Sultanahmet and you see fragments of brick walls sticking out from between the old wooden houses. There is also the palace mosaic museum almost under the blue mosque and the empress’ bath has recently been dug up in the back garden of the four seasons hotel. The top of the hill was the more public part of the palace, where eunuchs ran the empire and emperors held court. At the bottom was the Boukoleon palace, the private residence. It was built right out over the walls, a perfect sea view and private back door boat landing. A decent chunk of it survives, wedged between the lanes of traffic of Kennedy Bulavari, and the train line carrying 100s of rattling earthquakes a day. What is left is strewn with garbage and the homeless live in the basement lighting fires against the cold. It doesn’t take much imagination though to see the sea lapping at the walls, and the royals above enjoying the sea breeze and the best view in town.

The empress prepared for her balcony scene, but this was no Romeo and Juliet. The basket on a string is an old Istanbul tradition in this vertical city, you see it used every day as you walk the streets. And soon a few strong servants had hauled Tzimiskes and his men up. The party headed straight for the emperors bedroom, but his bed was empty. Panic. He knows. They ran for the sea but a servant stopped them. The royal bed was too soft for this pious old soldier; he was curled up in the corner on the floor on a panther skin with his icons. They formed a circle, kicked him a bit till he was awake and screaming, then finished him off with their swords.
Next morning, a path was cleared through the snow and the happy couple set off to the great church for a wedding and a coronation. They found the patriarch waiting, but he wasn’t happy, “No”. The wise heads got together. The empire needed an emperor and Tzimiskes was the best man they had, so on Christmas day he got his coronation. Someone had to be punished though and Theophano was disposable. They decided to pack her off to a distant nunnery. When her former lover gave her the news, the innkeepers daughter, replied with language the likes of which had rarely been uttered in the palace particularly by an empress. But the deal was done, after landing a few decent punches on the court chamberlain she was dragged off to a ship and sailed into exile leaving John and her sons behind, perhaps waving from the palace balcony.