The phrase οὐ νέμεσις—softly whispered—was sufficient to capture immediate attention. Courtiers, officials, and even the Byzantine emperor himself recognized it instantly from Homer’s Iliad, understanding it as an unreserved tribute to the beauty of the emperor’s mistress. She did not comprehend its meaning at the time, but upon later learning its significance, she expressed both gratitude and generosity toward the speaker.
Ou némesis—‘it would be no shame’ or ‘no cause for indignation or retribution’—referred to the idea that Trojans and Achaeans alike might justifiably endure prolonged suffering ‘because of this woman.’ Helen’s beauty, likened to that of an immortal goddess, was deemed sufficient to justify the bloodshed and suffering of the Trojan War.
No greater compliment could be imagined by any woman. No court outside Byzantium was composed of men so thoroughly educated in the classical canon. Jonathan Harris’s original 2003 study has now appeared in a revised and expanded edition, incorporating much of the scholarship of the past two decades. While enriched by this updated research, the fundamental thesis remains unchanged: the sophisticated culture and traditions of Byzantium not only shaped imperial policy toward crusaders from the Latin West but also contributed to the empire’s inability fully to grasp the fervent and belligerent Latin theology of the late eleventh century that gave rise to the crusading movement.
For Byzantines, warfare was a regrettable necessity to be avoided whenever possible. Diplomacy was the preferred instrument of statecraft, involving a delicate balancing of rival powers, lavish expenditure of gold, the conferral of prestigious titles, and the employment of Western mercenaries. To crusaders, whose attention was fixed upon the religious significance of Jerusalem, such policies appeared to reflect a lack of commitment to the Christian cause—even a willingness to betray crusaders to the enemies of the Cross. This perception, whether justified or not, was reinforced by repeated instances of apparent duplicity, which Byzantine rulers sometimes ignored and at other times sought to counteract by adopting elements of Latin religious rhetoric. Yet, as Harris emphasises, the Latins never fully trusted the Byzantines, even when they came bearing gifts, and the Byzantines, for their part, neither fully understood nor always cared about Latin attitudes.
According to Harris, imperial prestige and recognition were more important to Byzantine emperors than the actual acquisition of territory. This attitude was sustainable thanks to the empire’s substantial revenue from land taxes and commercial activity, especially in Constantinople. It became problematic only in the thirteenth century, when territorial contraction reduced the tax base and much of the lucrative trade income in Constantinople fell into Italian hands, depriving the imperial treasury of essential resources for sustaining its costly diplomacy.
This indifference to territorial expansion surprised the Latin crusaders and may equally surprise modern historians inclined toward more materialist interpretations of historical change. Harris’ analysis might have been strengthened by a fuller account of the Byzantine economic system.
Following the crusader conquest of Constantinople in 1204, the empire was partitioned between a Latin polity and several smaller Greek successor states, each led by its own prince or claimant to the imperial title. This fragmentation prompted experimentation within the strong Byzantine tradition, producing, in Harris’ words, ‘a strange combination of radical renewal and conservative entrenchment’. Some Byzantines now emphasized their Hellenic heritage rather than their Roman identity, while an Orthodox patriarch went so far as to promise remission of sins to those who died defending the homeland against the Latin usurpers—a theological innovation in Byzantium. This development proved short-lived, and following the fall of the Latin regime, traditional patterns reasserted themselves.
Harris places particular emphasis on continuity, seeing it as a source of Byzantine resilience that served the empire well for much of its history. Ultimately, however, he identifies this very adherence to tradition as a factor in Byzantium’s final downfall to the Ottomans in 1453. The empire fell, Harris argues, not primarily because of the crusades, internal separatism, economic shifts, or theological interpretations, but because ‘no human institution can survive unchanged indefinitely as conditions develop and new challenges arise.’
Byzantium and the Crusades is political history at its finest. Harris reconstructs events and analyses the varying interpretations and perceptions of the principal actors, with particular attention to the Byzantine emperor. His mastery of the sources enables him to uncover attitudes embedded beneath layers of rhetorical formality and to demonstrate how messages were often ‘distorted’—not entirely misunderstood, but misconstrued or insufficiently interpreted—by the opposing side.
It is a mark of a distinguished work that the reader is left wanting more. One might wish for extended discussion of Byzantine theological thought on warfare and violence, on the internal mechanics of decision-making at the imperial court, or on the broader organization of the Byzantine military. Yet such additions might have diminished the clarity and focus of the present volume. As it stands, Harris’ book offers a lucid, precise, and persuasively argued account of a pivotal era in the history of both Byzantium and the Crusades, and it will remain an indispensable reference for scholars and students for years to come.
