The emperor Nikephoros III Botaneiates, who reigned in Constantinople from June 1078 to April 1081, famously claimed to descend from the family of Phokas, one of the most influential kin groups of the tenth-century Anatolian aristocracy, and, through them, the ancient Roman Fabii. The claim is preserved in the historical narrative written by Michael Attaleiates, who devotes a considerable portion of his History to praise of the new emperor, including the assertion of Botaneiates’ supposed ancestry and extolling the virtues of his ‘ancestors’, the Phokades and Fabii.

Among modern historians, some have accepted this connection (some more cautiously than others), some have focused on its likely fictitious nature, while others have simply noted that such claims were made.Footnote ¹ Few have devoted more than a passing reference to the topic. Yet there are other, contemporary Byzantine sources that preserve at least the rumour of Botaneiates’ relation to the Phokades and, in some of them, hints of scepticism at the claim being made. These references have received very little attention by modern scholars, in particular their implications for the near-contemporary reception of Botaneiates’ genealogical assertion and others like it.

The purpose of this article is twofold. First, it reviews the available sources related to Nikephoros Botaneiates’ genealogical claims and offers several plausible interpretations of the claims’ origins and reception. Secondly, it aims to situate Botaneiates’ case within a broader context of exaggerated and contested claims of kinship in medieval Byzantium. While exploring the uses of fictionalized or exaggerated kinship and their reception in contemporary society, it begins to address questions regarding the Byzantine concepts of authenticity, proof, and credibility. As will be made clear, there are some indications that, in the eleventh century at least, Byzantine authors were widely sceptical of audacious genealogical claims and may have been exposed to false claims of kinship more often than previously acknowledged.

The account of Botaneiates’ ancestry contained in the pages of Attaleiates’ history stands out not only for its apparent audacity, but also for its relative prominence in the narrative and the strength with which the author asserts his patron's claims. Attaleiates spends more time and spills more ink in the pages of his History covering the careers of Botaneiates’ supposed ancestors than he does on the deeds of the emperor's own father and grandfather, who receive comparatively short shrift. Half of chapter 27 and all of 28 are dedicated to the assertion of Botaneiates’ descent from the Phokades and Fabii and provide a detailed account of the deeds of famous members from each family.

According to the account,

Such statements are largely consistent with the reputation still enjoyed by the family of Phokas in the latter half of the eleventh century.Footnote ³ Attaleiates claims that Botaneiates’ pedigree also included a direct link to none other than Constantine the Great.

Botaneiates was not the only member of the Byzantine aristocracy to claim descent from Constantine in this period, but Attaleiates does not stop there. ‘Based on all this, as the story goes and as can be surmised from the family ancestry, the Phokades are the descendants of those most famous Fabii, and draw from them their fame and valiant, irresistible courage. . .’Footnote ⁵ He then recounts the deeds of several historical figures, including Scipio Africanus, Scipio Asiaticus, and Aemilius Paulus.

The narrative may feel slightly out of place and even awkward in a history, but it is in keeping with the encomiastic nature of Attaleiates’ treatment of his patron. While the first three quarters (roughly) of Attaleiates’ narrative fit more comfortably within the bounds of the genre of history, the last quarter, whose subject is Nikephoros Botaneiates before and during his reign as emperor, is more or less unabashed encomium.Footnote ⁶ In the latter genre, praise of the subject's ancestors is a common, even fundamental element.Footnote ⁷

Many of Attaleiates’ claims in this part of the text, as in others whose purpose was to glorify or flatter his patron, are clearly exaggerated, if not outright fabrications.Footnote ⁸ Leaving aside his hollow assertion that Botaneiates had outdone both the Fabii and Phokades in the greatness of his deeds, the claim that the Phokades had flourished at the pinnacle of Byzantine politics and society for 92 unbroken generations from the reign of Constantine I would probably have sounded just as fantastical to his eleventh-century audience as it does to modern readers, even if the connection between the Phokas family and Constantine I had already been circulating for more than a century.Footnote ⁹ The problem would have been exacerbated by Attaleiates’ inability to offer any detail about the specific genealogical connection linking the tenth-century Phokades with the eleventh-century Botaneiates lineage. He does not even tell his reader whether the relation came from Botaneiates’ mother's or father's side, a practice that was becoming commonplace among aristocratic claims to ‘nobility’ in much more mundane circumstances by the last quarter of the eleventh century.Footnote ¹⁰ Such an oversight suggests that the genealogy rested on shaky foundations.

Despite the gaps in Attaleiates’ presentation, it seems that at least some of Botaneiates’ contemporaries were convinced of his connection to the Phokades, judging from several late eleventh- and early twelfth-century sources. Some, but not all, of the authors of these sources could have used the History as their principal source. Perhaps most notable among those witnesses independent from Attaleiates is the Chronographia of Michael Psellos.

The final part of Michael Psellos’ Chronographia consists of a summary (with some apparently direct quotations) of a letter supposedly sent from emperor Michael VII Doukas to Nikephoros Botaneiates at the time of the latter's revolt in 1077. Admittedly, it is an odd way to close such a work, but Psellos’ writing seems to have been interrupted before he could finish his history.Footnote ¹¹ The letter, as it is preserved in the text, is relatively short, consisting of rather formulaic elements: Michael VII acknowledges the harshness of Botaneiates’ exile and laments the former friendship the two men had previously enjoyed before recounting the many benefits he had offered to the man who was now ‘rumoured’ to be contemplating usurping the throne. The emperor then expresses his hopes that such rumours are unfounded and, finally, reminds the rebel of the ever-watchful eye of God and his judgement. The letter is full of flattery, apparently meant to shame Botaneiates for his treason.

Rather than being ‘to Nikephoros Botaneiates’, the letter is simply addressed to ‘Phokas’, and Botaneiates is again called simply ‘Phokas’ in the short text.Footnote ¹² The name Botaneiates makes no appearance at all. The Chronographia was almost certainly written earlier than Attaleiates’ History, making it unlikely that Attaleiates himself was the originator of Botaneiates’ genealogical claims, even if he was probably their chief perpetuator.Footnote ¹³ Psellos and Attaleiates may have known each other personally; they were familiar with each other's work at least.Footnote ¹⁴ Dimitris Krallis and others have shown without a doubt that Attaleiates used parts of the Chronographia in the writing of his own history.Footnote ¹⁵ Yet the relative date of the two works makes it unlikely that Psellos’ choice to address Botaneiates as ‘Phokas’ was inspired directly by Attaleiates’ text.

The interpretation of Psellos’ ‘letter’ is further complicated by alternative readings of Attaleiates’ ostensibly encomiastic history. Dimitris Krallis has suggested that Attaleiates’ profuse praise of the emperor in the pages of his history, including the lengthy genealogy, could contain more than a hint of irony and should be read, in some cases at least, as veiled criticism of his patron.Footnote ¹⁶ Applying a similar reading to Psellos in this instance adds another layer of complexity to an already complicated set of possibilities.

One cannot know for certain the way in which Michael VII addressed Botaneiates in the letter itself, if indeed it was ever sent or even existed. The fact that no form of address appears in any portion of the text supposed to be directly quoted from the letter should caution against any conclusions regarding the emperor Michael VII's intentions. Psellos, however, unquestionably made the choice to refer to Botaneiates using only the surname Phokas, which could be interpreted in a number of ways.

Firstly, it could indicate that Botaneiates was actively employing the surname Phokas at the time of his revolt. Such fluidity in the use of surnames was not unheard of in this period, even if an individual changing the surname by which he was known would stand out as slightly unusual.Footnote ¹⁷ Alternatively, Nikephoros may not have been going by the name Phokas, but he may have been disseminating his supposed relation to the family at that time. Psellos’ reproduction of the name Phokas could even have been a stylistic choice by Psellos meant to make Botaneiates seem a more serious opponent, thereby reflecting well on Michael VII by giving him a worthy adversary whom the emperor, it may have been expected, would then defeat. The Chronographia was dedicated to the emperor Michael VII after all, and the Phokas family's fame and reputation for martial prowess had not diminished by the 1070s.Footnote ¹⁸

At the same time, the name of Phokas equally conjured images of rebellion and usurpation in the mid-eleventh century. Psellos begins his chronicle with an account of the failed rebellions of Bardas Phokas and Bardas Skleros against Basil II, and, although the chronicle was never finished, at least in its surviving form, the fact that it begins and ends with an account of a Phokas gives the work a certain cohesion. Anyone reading or listening to Psellos’ text could not fail to make the connection between the rebel Phokas from the beginning of the chronicle and the one appearing at its end. Several sources produced in the later eleventh century maintain the memory of the infamous rebellions of Bardas Phokas in the late tenth century. In a panegyric composed for the emperor Constantine IX Monomachos ca. 1044, Psellos associated the entire Phokas family with deceit and rebellion.Footnote ¹⁹ By the time he composed his Chronographia, it is possible that he made the choice to address Botaneiates as ‘Phokas’ in order to strengthen public mistrust and distaste toward Botaneiates by further linking him with rebellion. As was the case for the contemporary Doukai, a single family name could simultaneously be associated with rebellion and still be remembered fondly for such things as martial prowess or ‘nobility’. Authors might choose to highlight one or another aspect of such contradictory reputations, depending on their particular aims.

Regardless of the precise interpretation of the passage in the Chronographia, it remains evident that Attaleiates did not invent the connection between Botaneiates and the Phokades. Most likely it was Nikephoros himself who disseminated the idea, whether or not he actively used the name itself at any time. As valuable as Psellos’ account may be as a witness for the relationship between Botaneiates and the Phokades, it does not include any mention of the more ancient Fabii, nor does it reveal the extent to which these claims of descent were accepted by Nikephoros’ contemporaries. For this, one is forced to look elsewhere. In fact, several other sources from the late eleventh and twelfth centuries repeat the supposed ties between Nikephoros III and the genos of Phokas, while simultaneously preserving at least the suggestion of scepticism regarding their veracity.

The Botaneiates-Phokas link is repeated several times by Byzantine historians of the late eleventh and twelfth centuries. In every case, however, authors distance themselves from the assertion through the use of qualifying language. The continuator of John Skylitzes’ Synopsis of Histories (possibly Skylitzes himself), who extends Skylitzes’ chronicle from 1057 to 1079, remarks that

The author probably derived his information from Attaleiates, judging from the inclusion of the Fabii, but the words seem to be the author's own. The final clause, stressing that the information reported about Botaneiates’ ancestry is ‘as the tradition has it’, distances the author from the assertion and its veracity. His employment of the adverb πολυπλόκως could be an additional jab.

Botaneiates’ ties to the Phokades are again mentioned, briefly, in the twelfth-century Epitome of Histories, written by John Zonaras, although he does not include the more fanciful link with the ancient Fabii. ‘Botaneiates was among the well-born, thought to have drawn his line from the genos of Phokas’.Footnote ²¹ Zonaras’ word choice suggests he used Skylitzes Continuatus for this passage as for other portions of the text concerning Botaneiates, though he does not quote it directly. Like the continuator of Skylitzes, Zonaras finishes his statement with a qualifier, in this case, νομιζόμενος.

Even with the qualifying language, the fact that these late eleventh- and twelfth-century authors chose to include Botaneiates’ supposed relation to the Phokades is significant. Both Skylitzes Continuatus and Zonaras elide or omit a large amount of material from their sources. Whether or not these authors personally believed the assertion made so forcefully by Attaleiates (or Botaneiates himself), they clearly deemed the connection plausible enough, or at least important enough, to warrant inclusion in their works. It is also noteworthy that neither Nikephoros Bryennios nor Anna Komnene say a word about Botaneiates’ supposed links to the Phokas family in their histories. Both authors, writing in the first half of the twelfth century, would have had good reason to dislike Botaneiates. Bryennios’ grandfather was vying for the imperial throne in open rebellion at the same time as Botaneiates, while Anna's father, Alexios I Komnenos, ousted the man from power by force. While it should not be taken too far (arguments from silence are inherently weak), the fact that both authors omit any reference to the Phokades in their treatments of Botaneiates could reflect the generally positive attitude toward the family in this period and the potential benefits an association with them might bring.

Botaneiates himself employs his surname in numerous surviving documents and lead seals, both before and after his rise to the throne (unlike his reputed ancestor Nikephoros Phokas).Footnote ²² In every known instance, it is Botaneiates, not Phokas, which he used. It is not as though the name Botaneiates was without distinction. Nikephoros III's grandfather and father had both served the Byzantine state with high-ranking offices and titles.Footnote ²³ Even without the addition of Phokas or Fabii ancestry, Botaneiates could still have claimed to be, as contemporary sources often put it, ‘from among the nobles’ (τῶν εὐγενῶν/εὐπατρίδων).Footnote ²⁴ Yet Botaneiates would have had several reasons to advertise, or indeed fabricate his ties to the Phokades.

First and foremost, descent from the genos of Phokas would have given Botaneiates an imperial pedigree, greatly increasing his legitimacy as an imperial claimant. After the death of the empress Theodora in 1056, imperial legitimacy could no longer flow through the well-established Macedonian dynasty founded by Basil I in the mid-ninth century. For nearly two centuries, no emperor ruled without some sort of connection (by blood, marriage, adoption, or regency) with Basil's descendants. After 1056, emperors or imperial claimants had to rely on their own connections within the Byzantine aristocracy and their own claims to ‘nobility’ in order to garner sufficient support to rule, triggering a kind of genealogical arms race regularly attested in surviving sources. While the family of Botaneiates was unquestionably among the elites in the late eleventh century, several other lineages could lay claim to more ancient and illustrious lines, potentially making them more favourable candidates for the throne.

The Phokades’ Cappadocian origins also would have served Botaneiates well during the months of his rebellion, since the majority of his support, both in terms of troops on the ground and within aristocratic circles, came from western and central Anatolia (or families with origins in areas of Anatolia now lost to the advancing Turks).Footnote ²⁵ The regional character of his revolt was further intensified by the fact that his was not the only armed bid for the imperial throne in 1077 and 1078. Nikephoros Bryennios, a representative of an elite family based in and around Adrianople (modern Edirne), himself led an uprising at the same time as Botaneiates. The bulk of Bryennios’ support, as one might expect, came from the regions of Thrace and northern Greece. Though not a perfect model, it is generally accurate to imagine two rebellious factions simultaneously aiming to take control of a weakened Constantinople, a western contingent led by Bryennios and an eastern one championed by Botaneiates.Footnote ²⁶ For those coming from Anatolia, most of whom were facing the immediate threat of the Seljuk Turks or other Turkmen, the martial virtues embodied by the tenth-century Anatolian family of Phokas would have been a popular rallying cry.

The Phokades were long remembered for their origins in Cappadocia (sometimes recalled in this period as ‘the East’), and there is every reason to believe that the general populace, especially soldiers, in the Anatolian provinces would have remembered the family fondly in the eleventh century. At least four members of the Phokas family, including an unbroken period between 944 and 963 in which three members held the title in succession, had served as strategos of the Anatolikon theme in the tenth century, and the family held a near-monopoly on the position of Domestic of the Schools, the highest military command in the empire at the time, for most of the same period.Footnote ²⁷ At the time of his rebellion in October of 1077, Botaneiates had served roughly two years as doux (military commander) of the Anatolikon theme in west-central Anatolia.Footnote ²⁸ Not only was he remembered in surviving sources as coming ‘from the East’, he was also reportedly thrust into the position of imperial claimant by a group of elites again ‘from the East’.Footnote ²⁹

Although the family had effectively disappeared from the ranks of the Byzantine elite by the 1020s or 1030s, the Phokades seem to have held a special place in the collective memory among the Byzantine aristocracy in the second half of the eleventh century. From the last quarter of the tenth century, the name Phokas itself was synonymous with the aristocratic ideals of wealth, piety, martial prowess, and fame.Footnote ³⁰ Aside from the more or less ‘official’ records and histories of Nikephoros II's reign, there is considerable evidence that a number of other writings dedicated to the man or his family were in circulation.Footnote ³¹ Already by the early eleventh century, just a generation or two removed from the death of Nikephoros II Phokas, the emperor and his lineage had attained something of a legendary status. Michael Psellos devotes an unusually long portion of his Historia Syntomos (‘Short History’) to the deeds of Nikephoros II Phokas (chapters 103, 104, and 105), most of which covers the man's exploits before his reign as emperor.Footnote ³² Maria of Bulgaria, wife of Andronikos Doukas and mother of Eirene Doukaina (the eventual wife of Alexios I Komnenos), was reportedly descended from several illustrious families, including the Phokades. Nikephoros Bryennios records how Maria ‘on her mother's side [was descended from] the Kontostephanoi, Aballantes, and the Phokades, who were previously very famous (περιφανεστάτους) and adorned with much wealth’.Footnote ³³ The fact that the Phokades receive special emphasis in the form of additional descriptors highlights the family's importance in the construction of Maria's genealogy.

Assuming the accuracy of Eirene Doukaina's maternal link to the famous genos, the children and grandchildren of the emperor Alexios I Komnenos and Eirene Doukaina could also have claimed descent from the Phokades. Yet the Komnenoi rarely, if ever, celebrated this fact. This is not, however, an argument against the importance of the Phokades in the Byzantine collective memory in this period. Alexios I could already lay claim to an imperial lineage, that of Isaac I Komnenos (r. 1057–1059), who was his uncle. His marriage to Eirene Doukaina also tied him to the imperial dynasty of Constantine X and Michael VII. Taken together, Alexios and his descendants had little need to reach further for the legitimation of their right to rule or the illustriousness of their lineage. It may also have been foolish to associate oneself with the same family as that of Alexios I's predecessor, who, it should be remembered, was ousted from his office by force.

Despite their significance, the Phokades represent only one part of Nikephoros III Botaneiates’ genealogy. Undoubtedly the more fantastical claim is the supposed descent from the Roman gens Fabia.Footnote ³⁴ In fact, such an assertion does not appear to be particularly unusual in its late eleventh-century context. Exaggerated or invented genealogies were certainly not unheard of in this period, and there is ample evidence to suggest a fairly large number of individuals or families were looking to the more ancient, Roman past both for inspiration and, it seems, the origins of their lines.

Aside from Botaneiates’ assertion of descent from the Roman Fabii, for example, the Serblias family is known to have claimed descent from the ancient Roman gens Servilia. In a mid-twelfth century letter from the John Tzetzes to a certain Nikephoros Serblias, Tzetzes repeatedly refers to his addressee as ‘descendent of Caesars’, perhaps as a form of flattery.Footnote ³⁵ In the case of the Serbliai, the linguistic similarities between their surname and the gens Servilia made this claim an obvious choice and would have reinforced their association repeatedly with each use. Elsewhere, a twelfth-century lead seal belonging to one sebastos John Mankaphas celebrates his family's origins in old Rome.Footnote ³⁶

The Doukai were one of the most well known families to claim that one of their ancestors had been a contemporary of Constantine the Great at the time of his foundation of the city that bore his name. It was even said that the founder of the lineage was Constantine's first cousin, and that he was given the title of doux by the emperor himself, whence the name of Doukas reportedly survived until the tenth and eleventh centuries. The anonymous preface to the Material for History by Nikephoros Bryennios records that ‘the first Doukas was a legitimate relative of Constantine the Great, for he was his first cousin, and received the title of doux from him. Hence are all of those descended from him named Doukas (Doukonymoi)’.Footnote ³⁷ An anonymous poem in the well-known manuscript Marcianus graecus 524 dedicated to one sebastokratorissa Eirene also celebrates her family as ‘descendants of Aeneas’, an obvious reference to ‘old’ Rome and the ancient Romans.Footnote ³⁸

At the same time that apparently fictionalized elements were making their way into ostensibly historical genealogical accounts, historical families were also inserted in avowedly fictional literature. The Doukai appear in several surviving versions of Digenes Akrites. In the Grottaferrata version, the name Doukas is repeated several times, and Basil Digenes’ grandmother, the Emir's wife (the hero's mother), and Basil Digenes’ own wife are all, at times, assigned ancestry that includes the Doukai.Footnote ³⁹ In the Escorial version, perhaps achieving its written form slightly later than that of the Grottaferrata manuscript, the connection to the Doukai receives less attention, but the hero's uncles (his mother's brothers) relate to his father that their own father was ‘of the Doukas faction’ (τῶν Δουκάδων τὴν μερέαν).Footnote ⁴⁰

The Doukai also appear in the twelfth-century tale Timarion, lending their name to the ‘heroic and fortunate’ pedigree of a governor of Thessalonike. The governor's father, thanks to his wealth, learning, and, above all, battlefield achievements, was able to marry a beautiful woman

Common to all of these fictional cases is the connection of the Doukai with women (grandmothers, mothers, and wives of the protagonists), a fact that has been seen as reflecting the actual role played by the Doukai in the genealogy of the Komnenoi in the twelfth century.Footnote ⁴²

One might plausibly argue that Digenes Akrites was viewed, like the Trojan War, as a quasi-historical account by medieval Byzantine readers, but stories such as the Timarion could only have been recognized as fiction. In certain cases, the inclusion of the Doukai in such contexts may have been a deliberate attempt (perhaps funded by Komneno-Doukas patrons) to flatter members of the family, while further associating the family name with illustriousness and nobility. Even if it is unlikely that members of the Doukai would have sought to have their name included in the Timarion, the text nonetheless uses the name as shorthand for ‘nobility’ and the aristocracy as a whole, reinforcing the association in an otherwise biting satire.Footnote ⁴³

Nikephoros Botaneiates was a usurper, and, like any usurper, the necessity of legitimizing his rule was made all the more urgent because of this fact. Botaneiates faced a particularly difficult task because of the man he replaced on the throne, Michael VII Doukas. During the reigns of Constantine X and, especially, Michael VII, the aristocratic credentials of the Doukas family had been firmly established. Botaneiates was perhaps inspired (or pressured) into asserting his own family's ‘nobility’ by efforts such as that contained in Psellos’ Chronographia, which set out to affirm the quality of the Doukas family, thereby strengthening their claim to the throne.Footnote ⁴⁴ Yet even these claims were not above suspicion or criticism in the heated atmosphere of eleventh-century Byzantine politics.

John Zonaras, the twelfth-century author of a universal history, delivers a curious aside in that work regarding the family and ancestry of the emperor Constantine X Doukas. According to Zonaras, Constantine was ‘not considered a pure Doukas, but as having mixed and adulterated kinship with the Doukai’.Footnote ⁴⁵ The sentiment is an odd one on its own, but it is made even more so by the reasons Zonaras gives for his critique. He tells us that all the male members of the Doukas family were wiped out following the failed revolt of Andronikos and Constantine Doukas in 913. Constantine X was thus related to the tenth-century family through the female line, which is apparently enough to have polluted his bloodline, or at least to have diluted his legitimate claim to membership in the genos of Doukas.

Although Zonaras’ opposition to Alexios I Komnenos, who was married to a member of the Doukas family, is well-documented, and probably helps explain his criticism of Constantine X, the method chosen to discredit him here appears odd in a Byzantine context. Strictly agnatic lines of descent are rarely considered to be a part of Byzantine culture.Footnote ⁴⁶ The classical Roman familia, consisting of a male paterfamilias who held absolute authority over all of his living descendants through the male line, had effectively disappeared long before the tenth century in Byzantium. Byzantine law always favoured equitable, partible inheritance practices, for male and female offspring, and family names could be inherited through the female line as often as through the male.Footnote ⁴⁷ Combined with the lack of any legally defined nobility, this has traditionally been one of the features most frequently cited to differentiate the medieval Byzantine aristocracy from its western counterparts.Footnote ⁴⁸ Zonaras' comments about the emperor Constantine X seemingly bear witness to a current within Byzantine thought seldom acknowledged by modern scholarship, and one that could have serious implications for how we understand the intergenerational reproduction of families in a Byzantine context. As anomalous as it may appear, the very fact that Zonaras felt he could attack Constantine X on these grounds indicates that at least some of his readers would have agreed with his assessment that descent through the female line was somehow less legitimate than through the male or that it even had a polluting effect.

Zonaras was not alone in his scepticism of outlandish genealogical claims. Michael Italikos, in a twelfth-century letter to Eirene Doukaina, includes a passing remark ostensibly criticizing those members of the Byzantine aristocracy who exaggerated their genealogies, saying that some would even claim descent from Zeus himself.Footnote ⁴⁹ Comments like these suggest that the practice was far more common than is sometimes assumed. They also caution against any modern assumption of Byzantine gullibility upon hearing or reading such exaggerated lists of ancestors.

Probably the most famous case of a Byzantine emperor claiming a fantastical genealogy belongs to Basil I (r.867-886), who would found one of the longest-lasting dynasties in Byzantine history. He came from rather humble origins in Macedonia but, thanks in large part to the efforts of the patriarch Photios, Basil's son Leo VI, and his grandson Constantine VII, the legitimacy of his dynasty came to rest, in part, upon a myth of royal ancestry.Footnote ⁵⁰ For Basil and his successors, this meant the Armeno-Parthid dynasty of the Arsakids.

Constantine VII's tenth-century Vita Basilii, which takes the form of a history (even if it contains elements of encomium and even hagiography), devotes considerable space to Basil I's illustrious lineage.Footnote ⁵¹ In this text, the sheer amount of detail seems to be the chief strategy employed to convince the reader of the veracity of its audacious claims. The author (perhaps Constantine himself) provides a detailed narrative of how the descendants of Arsakes were forced to settle in Roman territory during the reign of Leo I and their subsequent history up to Basil's birth. He is, of course, careful to mention that, in all the generations separating the first Arsakids to settle in Macedonia and the birth of Basil, the descendants of Arsakes maintained their cohesiveness and unique identity, despite intermarrying with some locals. The repeated mention of the names of emperors, other rulers, and even bishops appears designed to ground the narrative firmly in its historical framework, giving the entire account an air of authenticity. Emperor Leo VI also asserts Basil's Arsakid ancestry, though very briefly, in his funeral oration for his parents. This brevity, he says, is due to the nature of his work: ‘panegyric, not history’.Footnote ⁵² He simply states that anyone who has read his history knows of the Arsakids. In typical Byzantine fashion, he does insert a few lines describing the ancient house of Arsakes and its prestige.

Not every Byzantine author, however, repeated the dynasty's contention. The chronicler Symeon the Logothete, famously opposed to Basil I and his line, says nothing of the emperor's supposed royal ancestors.Footnote ⁵³ He even goes so far as to claim rather matter-of-factly that Leo VI was the son of the former emperor Michael III, rather than of Basil. Symeon's silence, however, is not the most damning critique of Basil's supposed Arsakid origins. This title surely belongs to the Life of Patriarch Ignatios by Niketas David, a hagiography of the patriarch of Constantinople who was a political rival of patriarch Photios.Footnote ⁵⁴ The text attempts to discredit Photios by claiming that he invented Basil's Arsakid lineage in order to ingratiate himself with the emperor (Photios was in exile at the time). He reportedly wrote a text ‘using ancient lettering’ and made the manuscript appear old, which he then ‘discovered’ in one of the imperial libraries and brought to Basil as proof of the emperor's royal ancestry.Footnote ⁵⁵ In one fell swoop, the vita undermines not only Photios, but also a cornerstone of Basil I's and his dynasty's legitimizing propaganda. The importance of the patriarch's genealogical aggrandizement to Basil I's legitimacy is highlighted by the method his opponents chose to attack him.

Taken as a whole, sources from several periods suggest a certain degree of anxiety regarding the veracity of claims of kinship in Byzantine society, especially from the second half of the eleventh century. Part of this surely lies in the benefits that could be accrued by membership in a given family and, conversely, the consequences of accepting someone's claims at face value. Kekaumenos, for example, includes in his text a story in which a man invites a stranger into his home on the pretext that the traveller was a distant relative of his wife. In the story, the supposed stranger is, in fact, only interested in stealing his gracious host's wife, which he promptly does.Footnote ⁵⁶ The tale is meant to remind his sons of the importance of protecting an inherently fragile household, in particular against outsiders posing as kin. Though surviving examples of overt criticism (e.g. Zonaras on Constantine X or the vita of Ignatios regarding Basil I) are relatively rare, more subtle clues like the efforts of several authors to distance themselves from Botaneiates’ assertions suggest that scepticism of genealogical claims was much more widespread. Evidence of anxieties over the quality of proof offered by authors themselves further supports this contention.

For Attaleiates, the lack of detail regarding the genealogical connection between his patron and the Phokades seems to have been a thorn in his side and something for which he tries to make up by offering alternative proofs of the link. Attaleiates was a personal relation of the new emperor, yet he claims that his source was not Botaneiates himself, but ‘a certain old book’.Footnote ⁵⁷ He also argues that, as further proof of the connection, Botaneiates simply looked like a member of the Phokas family. The future emperor Nikephoros Phokas reportedly built a church in Crete dedicated to the Theotokos after he had led Byzantine armies to victory in their conquest of the island in 961. According to Attaleiates, ‘Phokas himself is represented in it . . .When I visited the island, I saw the image myself, which in all ways resembles the aforementioned emperor. . .perfect proof (πίστεως ἀκριβοῦς σύμβουλον) that he is in fact the descendant of that man’.Footnote ⁵⁸ Such passages suggest that Attaleiates felt the need to support his argument with additional evidence in order to convince his contemporary readers, who could be suspicious of claims of kinship, especially when they were politically charged.

Genre at least partially dictated the means by which a potentially contested genealogy was presented. In history, this was done largely through a barrage of detail. In rhetoric, no such space could be given, but the relative fame and glory of the ancestors compared with contemporaries was meant to act as proof. In letters and, often, poetry, forms of address appear to be particularly important. In all cases, linguistic similarity or seemingly plausible etymologies served this function, as did similarities in character, personality, or physical appearance. One general strategy seems to have been to associate an individual or family with as many important personages, both mythical and historical, near-contemporary and ancient, as possible. Perhaps the hope was that the future mention of the subject's name would subconsciously conjure up images of such heroic associations among those who had encountered the work. This would have been equally true for the insertion of historical names into fictional tales. The authority of the written word, especially more ‘ancient’ works, and eyewitness accounts is attested in many sources.

The impetus to exaggerate or fabricate one's ancestry in the late eleventh century was the product of the confluence of several developments in Byzantine society, both social and cultural. Family connections were rapidly becoming a primary means of political success at the same time that a growing interest in classical literature was increasingly influencing the kinds of works produced by Byzantine authors and the ways in which they conveyed their message to their audience.Footnote ⁵⁹ Eleventh- and twelfth-century authors like Skylitzes and Bryennios actively sought to appease and flatter members of the aristocracy through prodigious praise of their ancestors.Footnote ⁶⁰ A renewed taste for classical Roman literature in late eleventh- and twelfth-century Byzantium and its reflection in contemporary sources has already been noted by other scholars.Footnote ⁶¹ This trend extended into the realm of family politics and the ever-increasing competition for prestige among the elite.

On the basis of surviving sources, it is impossible to prove or disprove definitively Nikephoros Botaneiates’ genealogical relation to the Phokades of the tenth century. The evidence of Psellos’ Chronographia strongly suggests Attaleiates did not invent the connection, and the inclusion of the Phokades and, in some cases, the Fabii in later sources attests to the (partial) success of the message, wherever it originated. One might guess that Attaleiates expected his version of Botaneiates’ ancestry to be challenged since he repeatedly asserted its veracity, and this approach could be fruitfully applied more generally to other sources from this period. Commonly acknowledged familial connections seem to have needed little evidence in the texts themselves, with the focus instead being on praise for the family and their ancestors (which remained the dominant element in more fantastical versions).

The end goal of most genealogies was to demonstrate the superior claim of a family or individual to ‘nobility’ (a rather intangible concept in medieval Byzantium), which could and did translate into real benefits in politics and social interactions more broadly.Footnote ⁶² In this sense, convincing even a few of a connection to Constantine I or the Arsakid royal bloodline would be a success. Even if the connection was not accepted by most, if enough people were saying your or your family's name alongside those of impeccable nobility, especially from the more ancient and revered past, it could produce very tangible gains. In this sense, whether or not the claims were believed to be literally true was perhaps not the most pressing question in the minds of many Byzantine authors.