Catastrophe: An Investigation Into the Origins of the Modern World by David Keys
Authors: David Keys
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THREE
DESTABILIZING
THE EMPIRE
5
R E V O L U T I O N
“I n this terrible tragedy, the emperor demonstrated his courage for, when a nurse tried to substitute her own child for one of his, he would not allow it but pointed out his own child.¹ And, some report, milk flowed with the blood as the boy was killed so that all who saw it wept bitterly. And so at last the emperor, having shown himself above the law of nature, exchanged life for death. From that time on, vast disasters and many calamities continued to afflict the Roman Empire.”²
That is how the eighth- and ninth-century Greek historian Theophanes described a particularly poignant episode in the tragic execution of much of the imperial family during a popular yet bloody revolution that engulfed Constantinople in November 602. It was an event of pivotal importance in the history not only of the Roman Empire but of the world as a whole.
In a sense, its consequences still reverberate today, for it weakened the empire at a critical time and led directly to the de-Romanization of most of the Balkans, the loss of 70 percent of the empire, and, perhaps most significant, the rise of Islam.
But how did the mighty Roman Empire come to be humbled by a populist revolution?
A s we have seen, for some thirty years the empire had been milked of vast quantities of gold, up to thirty thousand pounds of it—the protection money paid to the Avars. In addition, successive bouts of plague and war had reduced the empire’s population—and thereby its tax base—by up to a third.
Emperor Maurice’s solution was to try to make the army more productive, but at the same time not just to pay it less but to replace cash payments with payments in kind—usually of military equipment. Then he changed the war-booty apportionment system in such a way that the imperial government got a much larger slice and the soldiers a smaller one. None of this sat well with the army rank and file. Nor were they pleased with the emperor’s refusal to pay ransom money to the barbarians for the return of colleagues who had been captured.
One officer, speaking out against the imperial government, said the emperor’s “avarice produces nothing good and honest, but it is the mother of all troubles.”³ Furthermore, it was said that Maurice sent money to the clergy throughout the empire “in order to gain their prayers, so that he might make atonement in this world rather than the next.” 4
The last straw came when the emperor ordered the army to cross the Danube and spend the winter in barbarian territory. It refused to move, and in mid-November 602 it mutinied and chose as its leader an outspoken centurion by the name of Phocas—a ruthless soldier who was destined to become emperor within less than a fortnight.
Having concluded—correctly—that Phocas was “a lover of blood and slaughter,” Maurice took the precaution of mobilizing Constantinople’s home guard. He also staged a day of chariot races and other circus games in a last, desperate bid to prevent the population from being influenced by the mutiny, but the ploy backfired. At the games, one of the capital’s political factions—the so-called Greens 5 —shouted to the emperor that if he wanted to avoid bloodshed, he should sack his finance minister. 6
Theophanes wrote that at this juncture, the people “could not bear the rule of Maurice any longer” and invited the emperor’s eldest son, Theodosius, to become emperor, or, if he was unwilling, his father-in-law, Germanus. Maurice then tried to have Theodosius flogged and Germanus arrested. But the people protected them and rose in revolt, shouting, “Let any who love you, Maurice, be flayed alive.”
As the Greens and others demonstrated in the streets, and the mansion of a prominent government official went up in flames, the home guard deserted their positions on the city walls.
“Throughout the night the people swarmed around, shouting obscene
DESTABILIZING
THE EMPIRE
5
R E V O L U T I O N
“I n this terrible tragedy, the emperor demonstrated his courage for, when a nurse tried to substitute her own child for one of his, he would not allow it but pointed out his own child.¹ And, some report, milk flowed with the blood as the boy was killed so that all who saw it wept bitterly. And so at last the emperor, having shown himself above the law of nature, exchanged life for death. From that time on, vast disasters and many calamities continued to afflict the Roman Empire.”²
That is how the eighth- and ninth-century Greek historian Theophanes described a particularly poignant episode in the tragic execution of much of the imperial family during a popular yet bloody revolution that engulfed Constantinople in November 602. It was an event of pivotal importance in the history not only of the Roman Empire but of the world as a whole.
In a sense, its consequences still reverberate today, for it weakened the empire at a critical time and led directly to the de-Romanization of most of the Balkans, the loss of 70 percent of the empire, and, perhaps most significant, the rise of Islam.
But how did the mighty Roman Empire come to be humbled by a populist revolution?
A s we have seen, for some thirty years the empire had been milked of vast quantities of gold, up to thirty thousand pounds of it—the protection money paid to the Avars. In addition, successive bouts of plague and war had reduced the empire’s population—and thereby its tax base—by up to a third.
Emperor Maurice’s solution was to try to make the army more productive, but at the same time not just to pay it less but to replace cash payments with payments in kind—usually of military equipment. Then he changed the war-booty apportionment system in such a way that the imperial government got a much larger slice and the soldiers a smaller one. None of this sat well with the army rank and file. Nor were they pleased with the emperor’s refusal to pay ransom money to the barbarians for the return of colleagues who had been captured.
One officer, speaking out against the imperial government, said the emperor’s “avarice produces nothing good and honest, but it is the mother of all troubles.”³ Furthermore, it was said that Maurice sent money to the clergy throughout the empire “in order to gain their prayers, so that he might make atonement in this world rather than the next.” 4
The last straw came when the emperor ordered the army to cross the Danube and spend the winter in barbarian territory. It refused to move, and in mid-November 602 it mutinied and chose as its leader an outspoken centurion by the name of Phocas—a ruthless soldier who was destined to become emperor within less than a fortnight.
Having concluded—correctly—that Phocas was “a lover of blood and slaughter,” Maurice took the precaution of mobilizing Constantinople’s home guard. He also staged a day of chariot races and other circus games in a last, desperate bid to prevent the population from being influenced by the mutiny, but the ploy backfired. At the games, one of the capital’s political factions—the so-called Greens 5 —shouted to the emperor that if he wanted to avoid bloodshed, he should sack his finance minister. 6
Theophanes wrote that at this juncture, the people “could not bear the rule of Maurice any longer” and invited the emperor’s eldest son, Theodosius, to become emperor, or, if he was unwilling, his father-in-law, Germanus. Maurice then tried to have Theodosius flogged and Germanus arrested. But the people protected them and rose in revolt, shouting, “Let any who love you, Maurice, be flayed alive.”
As the Greens and others demonstrated in the streets, and the mansion of a prominent government official went up in flames, the home guard deserted their positions on the city walls.
“Throughout the night the people swarmed around, shouting obscene
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