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  Astonishment took possession of those who were present, who had come as envoys from the nations in Asia, the Khorezmians and Susans and Ekbatanians, and all of Media and Babylon, whose ruler they call the Great Sultan, and from Nur-ad-Din the atabeg of Aleppo and Yaghi-Basan the Turks’ chieftain, and from the Abasgai and Iberians [Georgians], even from the Palestinians [Crusading States] and the Armenians beyond Isauria.2

  For the Franks, the humbling of Reynald de Chatillon, under the gleeful gaze of their enemies, was mortifying. ‘He threw himself on the ground at the emperor’s feet,’ wrote William of Tyre:

  where he lay prostrate till all were disgusted and the glory of the Latins was turned into shame; for he was a man of violent impulses, both in sinning and in repenting.3

  And, with Reynald grovelling in the dust, the emperor studiously ignored him.

  After a suitably pointed interval, Manuel turned disdainfully towards the prince and laid out his terms. Reynald’s life would be spared and he would remain as Prince of Antioch, but with onerous conditions: first, he was to reaffirm the allegiance to Byzantium and surrender the mighty citadel of Antioch to Manuel. Second, Reynald and his army would campaign, if requested, in the service of the emperor. Third, a Greek patriarch would be imposed in Antioch. Reynald agreed, binding himself to the agreement with a series of solemn oaths. Manuel then gestured that he could rise and be forgiven his ‘drunken offence’ on Cyprus.

  So why would Manuel forgive Reynald? The explicit agreement to campaign on the emperor’s behalf was new, but although the concessions appeared considerable, they mostly reflected the form of previous professions of Antiochene fealty. The actual arrival of an Orthodox patriarch, for instance, was still unlikely – it would prove too unpopular in Frankish Antioch – even though the tension between Reynald and the Latin patriarch (Aimery used Manuel’s visit to return to Antioch from exile) meant there was a greater possibility that a Greek prelate really would arrive from Byzantium. Manuel could also have achieved the same concessions from a regime led by the young Bohemond, or by another of the many Franks – such as the Patriarch Aimery or King Baldwin – who would happily have supplanted Reynald. But getting rid of Reynald would have left King Baldwin with a free hand in Antioch, something the emperor would not risk. Depriving Bohemond, the rightful heir of his principality, would not have looked good either, and would have given the inevitable Frankish rebellion a legal justification. The best way for the empire to control Antioch was not through an unpopular Byzantine governor or an empowered King of Jerusalem. It was in the form of a cowed and pliable Reynald de Chatillon.

  Along with that political reality and the extent of his concessions, key to Reynald’s survival was the extremity of humiliation to which he subjected himself. The Byzantine court was a theatre of protocol, in which the display was often as important as the message itself. Reynald’s own fate was in a sense incidental. The central point of this ceremony was to exalt the emperor and demonstrate his power – and his mercy. Reynald clearly outdid himself here. His show left a deep impression on the observers, amused and astonished the neutrals, satisfied the Greeks and dismayed the Franks.

  The Byzantines would also have grumbled that Manuel had a soft spot for the Latin Christians. During his reign Franks held important roles at court and in the imperial administration. Meanwhile the great maritime cities like Venice forged strong trading links with Byzantium. Called megas (‘the great’) by Greek commentators, Manuel was a thoughtful and perceptive leader, who had the capacity to look beyond grudges and take the long view.

  Once Reynald had been reconciled to the emperor, he continued to work on him for further concessions. In this he found a supporting voice in King Baldwin, who made the journey north from Jerusalem to pay his respects to the emperor. Despite breaking protocol by dismounting too close to the emperor’s tent, Baldwin struck up a close relationship with Manuel, who talked with him at length (though seating Baldwin on a distinctly lower seat than his). Now without hope of running Antioch, Baldwin helped Reynald persuade Manuel that occupying the citadel would be a bad move, as would the imposition of a Greek patriarch. Baldwin warned the emperor that implementing these clauses was sure to cause serious unrest amongst the Franks, as well as among the Armenians and the strongly anti-Greek communities of local Christian Churches, such as the Nestorians and Jacobites. Won over by the charming young king, Manuel agreed not to force the issue, though he did insist that no bishop be accepted from anywhere other than Byzantium.

  The next carefully staged event in the programme agreed between Manuel and Reynald was the emperor’s ceremonial entry into Antioch. Again Reynald laid on a good show. In April 1159, Manuel marched his army from Cilicia and camped before the walls of Antioch, as his father John had done in 1138. Back then John’s army had to attack the town before it submitted. Reynald and Manuel avoided violence this time. King Baldwin and Prince Reynald, along with the leading nobles and churchmen and a great crowd of townspeople, ‘streamed forth from the gates to meet him [Manuel] with a show of servile submission’, wrote the chronicler Nicetas Choniates.4

  Wearing a purple robe covered in precious jewels, the emperor in all his splendour rode into the city. To the sound of drums and trumpets, he paraded as though it was a triumph in Byzantium. Some of the Latins had tried to prevent the emperor’s entry by warning of threats against his life, but Manuel was not deterred. Still, he took no chances, wearing two layers of chainmail hidden beneath his regalia. Alongside him marched the magnificent axe-bearing barbarians of his bodyguard, blond-haired, ‘tall as palm trees’. Reynald’s part in this theatre was that of loyal vassal. Unarmed, he walked subserviently beside Manuel’s stirrup, holding his bridle like a groom. King Baldwin rode a respectful distance behind, without his crown. On ‘stately horses of proud bearing’, the cavalcade proceeded along boulevards covered in rich rugs and planted with fresh sprays of flowers like ‘a garden of delights’.5 Every citizen of the town turned out to line the streets. It must have been passing brave to be Manuel that day, the triumphant master of celebrating Greeks, sullen Armenians, frightened Syrian Christians, fascinated Turks and Arabs and murmuring Franks, some of them cheering, perhaps in relief. After worshipping in the great Cathedral of St Peter, they paraded to the royal palace, where they settled in for more than a week of lavish festivities.

  The charming Manuel won a lot of friends, not least by his extravagant gifts showered on all and sundry. The town was put completely at the disposal of the emperor, and during his sojourn in Antioch, it was effectively in Greek hands. Even the courts were presided over by Greek judges. Reynald entertained the emperor and his entourage royally. They enjoyed feasts, pageants, the luxurious public baths and much more. Manuel was young and passionate and, according to Choniates, despite being married, he was:

  Wholly devoted to a dissolute and voluptuous life and given over to banqueting and revelry. Whatever the flower of youth suggested and his vulgar passions prompted, that he did. Indulging in sexual intercourse without restraint and copulating undetected with many female partners.6

  It is likely Manuel took full advantage of the varied sensual delights on offer in Antioch. His roving eye would also have taken in the beauty of Princess Constance and, even more so, that of Maria, her exquisite young daughter by Raymond of Poitiers. To the consternation of his advisers, Manuel even risked life and limb in the grand culmination of the celebrations laid on by Reynald – a magnificent tournament in the Western style. Manuel, who was personally brave and a warrior of renown, insisted on fighting. Unusually for a Byzantine, the emperor was an expert in the Western knight’s speciality: charging with the couched lance. He had practised this a lot and was known for using a particularly long and heavy spear.

  Now fully reconciled to the emperor and firmly ensconced as Prince of Antioch, Reynald took advantage of the tournament finally to reveal his true colours. In complete contrast to the bedraggled penitent of Mamistra and the servile groom of Manuel’s triumph, Reynald
took centre stage. Escorted by the mightiest warriors of his princely guard, he emerged in splendour that echoed the swan knight of the chansons de gestes. Choniates describes him coming forth ‘on a horse whiter than snow, wearing a cloak slit down the middle and reaching to his feet and a cap like a sloping tiara, embroidered in gold’.7 While he did spend most of his time campaigning in chainmail, when called for, Reynald was clearly not averse to flaunting his fashion sense.

  Wisely, it was decided that the grudge match between the gloating Greeks and the ‘high-spirited and insolent’ Franks would take place with blunted lances. It was a hard-fought battle of ‘diverse noble deeds’, with beaten knights fleeing the field or hiding behind their shields in fear, riders knocked from their saddles and victors lauding it over their cowering victims. The only holds barred were when Frankish knights faced the emperor. Jousting against the most powerful man on earth was a no-win situation and the knights drawn to fight him must have agonized at the possibility of unhorsing the basileus by mistake or, even worse – heaven forfend – injuring him.

  While the Byzantine lords generally came off worse against the more practised Franks, luckily Manuel fared better – he even dashed two knights to the ground at once. His prowess, combined no doubt with judicious Frankish tumbles, enabled him to win the grand prize. The victory crowned an extraordinary propaganda success for Manuel, and left His Imperial Majesty in a very agreeable mood for the more serious business at hand.

  Manuel was confident enough in his supremacy even to forgive Thoros, who crept down from his mountain hideout to beg, like Reynald, for mercy. The emperor confirmed the Armenian prince in his dominions as a vassal of the empire and demanded his service immediately – in battle against the heathen.

  In that spring of 1159, for the second time, Reynald de Chatillon and Thoros joined a grand Christian alliance against Nur al-Din. But this time the visiting contingent was not just Thierry of Flanders and a few Frankish knights. This time Reynald would march with the whole of the eastern empire at his back. Nur al-Din would have no chance but to capitulate. Aleppo itself would fall. From its camping grounds around Antioch, the great Byzantine war machine, with its innumerable legions and creaking siege engines, rumbled slowly into motion and lumbered inexorably towards the east.

  The Zengid emirs were in a state of panic. Nur al-Din sent far and wide for volunteers to engage in the jihad, but while he prepared for battle, he realized the military position was hopeless. As the irresistible Christian army rolled towards the Orontes, he negotiated feverishly with Manuel to head off the inevitable defeat. When the expeditionary force reached the frontier at the ford of the Orontes, just a few hours from Aleppo, an embassy arrived from Nur al-Din. To the consternation of Reynald and the Franks, who immediately smelt treason, Manuel agreed to meet the envoys.

  The truth of the matter was that, just as with the siege of Shayzar, political issues had intervened to thwart the great Christian coalition. This time the problem was back in Constantinople. Word had come to Manuel of serious plots against his rule. He had no choice but to break off his offensive and rush back to the capital. To save some face, he wrung concessions out of Nur al-Din, who, despite his commitment to jihad, bowed to the realities of Byzantium’s irresistible might. He promised to fight on the Byzantine side against the Seljuk Turks and agreed to release all the Christian captives languishing in his dungeons. The prisoners included some prominent men, such as the Grand Master of the Temple, Bertrand de Blanchefort, and Bertrand of Toulouse, a claimant to the county of Tripoli. There were also 6,000 others taken during the constant battles of the previous decade and more. Many were French and Germans who had been captured during the Second Crusade. The Franks, disappointed and furious, but powerless to influence Manuel’s decision, were forced to watch the Byzantine army simply turn around and ‘slink off like foxes’. The jubilant Muslims saw the retreat as a great victory. Nur al-Din was able to point to the precious gifts sent to him by Manuel, including fine horses, mules, robes, jewels and a magnificent brocade tent, as proof of the honour and respect that he commanded, and to which, implicitly, the emperor had been obliged to bow. The atabeg had greatly enhanced his prestige and, as a Damascene chronicler wrote, his reputation for ‘sureness of judgement and design, ability of management and decision, and purity of intention towards God’.8

  The Franks had nothing to show for the grand imperial coalition other than the captives released to them by Nur al-Din. There must have been some pleasure in seeing old comrades again, and the release of the Grand Master was significant, but the reappearance of Bertrand was an embarrassment to the incumbent Count of Tripoli, Raymond III. Bertrand’s captivity had left him a broken man, however, and even the 6,000 were no great addition to the fighting strength of the Franks. Most were in a pitiful condition after years of harsh treatment. While Reynald and King Baldwin, abandoned again by the Greeks, fell back into their territory, Nur al-Din ostentatiously celebrated his triumph with an immense banquet. Then, to add insult to ignominy, his Turcomans harried the Byzantine rearguard as they marched out of Syria, inflicting serious casualties.

  Over the century since the catastrophic defeat at Manzikert in 1071, Byzantine power had slowly been re-established by the great trio of Comnenos emperors, Alexius, John and Manuel, but that recovery was now reaching its zenith. Nobody knew it at the time, but Manuel’s great expedition was the last time a Byzantine army would impose imperial hegemony in Syria. For now, the emperor’s word was still law, and even though Manuel had departed, Reynald remained at his beck and call. In 1160 the emperor ‘commanded’ his service in a campaign against Byzantium’s greatest enemies, the Seljuks. The emperor attacked up the valley of the Meander. Reynald and a mercenary force hired by the Franks marched northwards alongside Thoros of Cilicia and the Byzantine general John Kontostephanos.* Nur al-Din also fulfilled his commitment, attacking the Seljuks from the rear. The campaign was successful and the Seljuk sultan, Kilij Arslan, was humbled. In a grand ceremonial visit to Constantinople he was treated very much as a vassal. Manuel dazzled him with great banquets, circuses and astonishing gifts of gold and silver tableware. The Turks failed dismally with their attempt to impress the Byzantines in their turn, when one of their noblemen promised to fly across the Hippodrome. The parachute-like pockets of his suit failed to provide the required lift and he plummeted to his death. Overwhelmed on all fronts, Kilij Arslan recognized imperial suzerainty and, amongst other things, reopened the land route across Anatolia to Christian pilgrims travelling to the Holy Land.

  Reynald was now firmly in the imperial circle of trust. This is reflected in a letter from Manuel to the German emperor, Conrad, referring to Reynald as ‘a prince of my empire’.9 In this spirit of friendship with the empire, Reynald helped put together a deal that would bring Antioch and Byzantium even closer together. The move would prove very unpopular with the rulers of the other Latin states, especially with the Count of Tripoli. At stake lay which of the ruling families of Outremer would win the lottery of the next marriage alliance with the empire, and this time the jackpot was huge – the post of empress itself. Manuel Comnenos was looking for a bride, and he wanted a Frankish girl.

  The emperor’s first marriage had been to Bertha of Sulzbach, the plain daughter of the Emperor Conrad. ‘Not so much concerned with physical beauty’, she also unfortunately had the ‘natural trait of being unbending and opinionated’, according to Choniates.10 This unpromising combination meant that Manuel was not very attentive towards her, especially in ‘matters of the bed’.

  Bertha (or Irene, as she was known as empress) died in 1159. According to Michael the Syrian, she was poisoned by the emperor because of her failure to bear him an heir. Manuel decided that a Frankish replacement would make most sense and, after a decent period of mourning, sent an embassy to the Latin states to look for candidates. King Baldwin of Jerusalem suggested the beautiful Melisende, sister of Count Raymond III of Tripoli. When Manuel indicated his agreement, Raymond III was ec
static. He was always manoeuvring to improve his station, and the imperial engagement enabled him to revel in dreams of the immense prestige and influence he would wield, with a Caesar as brother-in-law. William of Tyre described how Raymond went overboard on the preparations and blew a fortune on his sister’s trousseau:

  bracelets, earrings, pins for her headdress, anklets, rings, necklaces, and tiaras of purest gold. Silver utensils of immense weight and size… all these things were prepared at vast expense and with great zeal; the workmanship alone was evidence of their exceeding great cost.11

  Count Raymond even built an entire fleet of twelve galleys to convey himself and the bridal party to Constantinople in the high style to which he planned to become accustomed. While all this was happening, imperial envoys arrived in Tripoli to complete the preparations. The Greek delegation ‘carefully scrutinized each detail and inquired into the life and conduct of the damsel even to the most secret physical characteristics’.

  But then… nothing happened.

  The whispers were that the imperial team’s report confirmed Melisende’s beauty and character, but also cast some doubt on her legitimacy. Her mother Hodierna had indeed quarrelled with Melisende’s father, but the gossip was almost certainly false, and in this case nothing more than a red herring. The real reason for the hold-up was the emergence of another candidate, Princess Maria of Antioch – the stepdaughter of Reynald de Chatillon, and a daughter of Constance and Raymond of Poitiers – whom Manuel would have met during his stay in Antioch in April 1159. She was now about sixteen years old, and already famous for her beauty:

  The woman was fair in form and exceedingly beautiful… she was like unto the laughter-loving, golden Aphrodite, the white-armed and ox-eyed Hera, the long-necked and beautiful-ankled Laconian [Helen of Troy].12

  While Raymond and Baldwin complained to the emperor about the inexplicable delay of his marriage to Melisende, Reynald was skilfully and secretly exercising one of his greatest diplomatic skills – matchmaking. He was negotiating Manuel’s marriage to his stepdaughter. Left in ignorance, Raymond felt his impatience mount until, in the summer of 1161, he dispatched an embassy led by Otto of Risberg to Byzantium, to hurry things along. Otto returned with the shocking news that the emperor had called off the engagement. The summary jilting of his sister, ‘like the daughter of a common person’, enraged Raymond III. It was a gross insult. It also meant Raymond’s vision of a glittering future as a member of the imperial family had vanished in an instant. In retaliation for this dishonour, and for the emperor’s refusal to repay his substantial costs, the enraged Raymond took a leaf out of Reynald’s book. He hired a gang of pirates to crew his twelve galleys, re-equipped them for war and ravaged whatever Reynald and the earthquakes of 1157 had left intact on Byzantine Cyprus.