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“Thank you,” sputtered Tarasios. He looked down at his meal, then started eating.
“My friends,” said Father Esaias. “Eat up, for who knows what tomorrow will bring us?”
The party began in earnest, and the priest walked over to Aglaia and me.
“Relieved, Fool?” he asked.
“Surprised, in fact,” I said.
“As I said, I abhor waste,” he said. “I have been looking for some talented blood to join us.”
“So, this was a test for them,” said Aglaia.
“Of course,” said the priest.
“But how can you trust Julian now?” she asked.
“I don't,” said Father Esaias. “And I never will.”
“But the death sentence is rescinded, isn't it?” I asked.
In the shadows of his cowl, I thought I saw the faintest hint of a smile.
“No,” he said. “Merely postponed. He will work for me knowing that he lives under a sentence of death.”
He turned as if to leave, then paused and turned back to us.
“But don't we all?” he said, and then he left us, chuckling softly to himself.
“Do we owe him any more favors?” asked Aglaia.
“Probably,” I said. “You take the next one, all right?”
History is more or less bunk.
—HENRY FORD
 
 
 
I
t is hoped that with the addition of these chronicles of Theophilos the Fool more light has been shed upon the origins of the Fourth Crusade. A debate has been raging for decades among literally dozens of scholars worldwide over whether the Crusade had been subverted from the start by the Venetians toward the elimination of their trading rival (the Byzantinist view), or whether this change in course came about later, during the winter after the conquest of Zara, at the instigation of the Germans who used the boy Alexios as their tool (the Venetianist view). The French historian Achille Luchaire wrote in 1907 that the issue was not settled, nor was it likely ever to be, while another medievalist scholar writes of a conference in the 1980s where the two camps divided so bitterly that they nearly came to blows.
I, for one, would gladly have paid to see this last. In my fantasy, the Venetianists and the Byzantinists are at opposite ends of a large field. Each side is given a disassembled mangonel, operating instructions in the appropriate thirteenth-century manuscript, and a pile of stones. The last historian standing gets to write the definitive work.
My own timid forays into the field have convinced me that what historians prefer above everything else is to denounce other historians, usually through the use of spectacularly catty footnotes (“What Professor
So-and-so fails to take into account …” “Unaccountably, Ms. Such-and-such has relied upon a simple misinterpretation …” “Herr Something merely parrots the long disproved observation that …” and so on). However, a reasonable book on the subject may be found in
The Fourth Crusade: The Conquest of Constantinople,
second edition, by Donald E. Queller and Thomas F. Madden. While unabashedly apologists for the Venetianist view, they at least discuss opposing ideas before demolishing them in the aforementioned footnotes, and their bibliography is extensive.
I would, however, take issue with their conclusion that the diversion came later. The two, citing the argument of John Pryor, suggest that the vast amount of time spent by the Venetians constructing horse transports with ramps for easy beach access could only mean that they meant to attack a target with an easily accessible beach, such as Egypt. Let me point out that the Venetians also built the giant transports with the extended bowsprits, which remained the only machines of war used successfully against the walls of Constantinople from their inception until the Turkish cannons finally blew them apart nine centuries later. Further, the design of the
Eagle,
with its massive metal plates coming to an edge at the bow, was perfectly suited to breaking the great chain guarding the Golden Horn. These huge vessels had to have been designed and built for these purposes from the start. Given the great familiarity of the Venetians in the quarter with the layout of the seawalls by the Golden Horn, all of this smacks of something resembling a plan—one that had been set in place from long before the fleet even left Venice. And the horse transports worked just fine when they landed and attacked Galata.
One small mystery is cleared up by the translation of Theophilos's report of the first siege, and that is how a Venetian banner came to be displayed from a Byzantine tower at the seawall. This was mentioned in passing by Geoffroy de Villehardouin, who “affirms that more than
forty people solemnly assured him that they had seen the banner of Saint Mark flying from the top of one of the towers, but not one of them knew who had planted it there.” Even with flying bridges, taking a forty-foot wall from the water is no simple feat. It is not surprising that the Crusaders had help from the Venetians within the city.
What is impressive about this particular battle is how many contemporaneous accounts have survived it. I have mentioned the Chronicle of Geoffroy de Villehardouin. The translation by M. R. B. Shaw is available from Viking Press. Villehardouin gives much of the higher negotiations as well as the military take on the whole event, all while tilting the moral balance to the Crusaders in general, the French in particular, and Geoffrey de Villehardouin most of all.
A rare and fascinating grunt's eye view of the war may be found in the memoir of Robert de Clari, which was translated by Edgar Holmes McNeal and published by the University of Toronto Press. This ordinary soldier was in the thick of several battles, including the final taking of the seawall in the second siege of 1204. He also gives the reader the tour of the city, albeit with enough misinformation to suggest that Plossus may have been his mischievous guide. De Clari passes along gossip, fact, myth, and hearsay in equal measure but provides a slightly more cynical counterpoint to the self-serving justifications of Villehardouin.
Finally, from the Greek point of view comes our old friend Niketas Choniates, and I once again refer the reader to the marvelous translation by Harry J. Magoulias,
O City of Byzantium, Annals of Niketas Choniates,
from Wayne State University Press. Choniates was as good a historian as ever lived through a cataclysmic event, and his lament for the city unites reporting with poetic grace to produce a work of powerful beauty rivaling that of the Old Testament prophets.
The events set in motion by the Fourth Crusade are still being played out. Had the Crusaders not defeated Byzantium, there might
still have been a strong enough empire to withstand the Turks later on. The thrust of the latter into Europe and the creation of the Ottoman Empire led to the long-term tribal faultlines whose tremors culminated in World War I. The pockets of Muslim-Catholic-Orthodox division deposited by the dissolution of the Ottoman Empire are still erupting in civil war and ethnic “cleansing” in the Balkans to this day.
On May 4, 2001, Pope John Paul II visited Orthodox Archbishop Christodoulos of Athens. In a powerful symbolic gesture, the Pope prayed to God to forgive the Catholics for their history of sins committed against Orthodox Christians, specifically singling out the Fourth Crusade. “How can we fail to see here the
mysterium iniquitatis
at work in the human heart?” he said. “To God alone belongs judgment and, therefore, we entrust the heavy burden of the past to His endless mercy, imploring Him to heal the wounds that still cause suffering to the spirit of the Greek people. Together we must work for this healing if the Europe now emerging is to be true to its identity, which is inseparable from the Christian humanism shared by East and West.”
Perhaps we need another Fools' Guild to help us bring peace back to this troubled world.
Sections of the city walls still stand. If you chance to travel to Istanbul, go look upon them and think of this passage from Choniates: “As we left the City behind, others returned, thanks to God, and loudly bewailed their misfortunes, but I threw myself, just as I was, on the ground and reproached the walls both because they alone were insensible, neither shedding tears nor lying in ruins upon the earth, and because they still stood upright. If those things for whose protection you were erected no longer exist, being utterly destroyed by fire and war, for what purpose do you still stand? And what will you protect hereafter … ?”
A DEATH IN THE VENETIAN QUARTER. Copyright © 2002 by Alan Gordon. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. For information, address St. Martin's Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.
 
 
 
 
eISBN 9781466823105
First eBook Edition : June 2012
 
 
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Gordon, Alan (Alan R.)
A death in the Venetian quarter / a medieval mystery / Alan Gordon.
p. cm.
ISBN-13: 978-0-312-36932-3
ISBN-10: 0-312-36932-8
1. Istanbul (Turkey)—History—Siege, 1203-1204—Fiction. 2. Crusades—Fourth, 1202-1204—Fiction. 3. Fools and jesters—Fiction. I. Title.
PS3557.0649 D43 2002
813'.54—dc21
2001048750
“The Jester and the Thieves” originally appeared in
Alfred Hitchcock's Mystery Magazine,
Vol. 49, #10 (October 2004)
First St. Martin's Minotaur Paperback Edition: May 2007

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