William, illegitimate son of Duke Robert by an embalmer’s daughter, was seven when he succeeded to the duchy. The Bastard grew up in a rough school – one of his guardians was actually murdered in his bedroom right in front of him – and from an early age he had to fight nobles, family and invasions by King Henri I of France, who ruled only the Île-de-France around Paris and coveted Normandy. The Bastard had inherited a forward policy towards England where the Alfred and Canute families were intermarried with his own. In 1051, Edward the Confessor, last of the Alfred dynasty, promised the throne of England to his first cousin William. When Harold, earl of Wessex, son of Godwin, was shipwrecked in Normandy, the Bastard squeezed an oath of loyalty out of him before sending him home. Harold had no real claim to the throne, except that his sister was married to the king. When Edward died, Harold hurriedly had himself crowned as enemies across the sea raised their armies.
The Bastard commissioned a fleet to invade. Yet he had competition from the Hard Ruler: Harold Hardrada had as a boy lost his kingdom to King Canute, escaping abroad to serve Yaroslav the Wise in Kyiv, then joining the Varangian Guard of Constantinople and fighting beside the Hauteville brothers, before in 1046 reclaiming Norway. Now he invaded England with 10,000 troops and Harold’s dissident brother Tostig. Landing in Tyneside, Hardrada defeated the northern earls, as Harold galloped north. If one had to back anyone in this tournament, one would have backed Hardrada – but a lucky thrust or arrow changed all. Harold killed Hardrada at Stamford Bridge – just as the Bastard landed at Hastings. Harold headed south with an exhausted army. At Hastings, an arrow struck him in the eye. The surprise results of two small battles directed England towards Normandy instead of Scandinavia. The Bastard became the Conqueror.*
In 1071, while William crushed English resistance, Palermo, the great Arab capital of Sicily, finally fell to Roger de Hauteville, great count of Sicily, who instead of massacring its Arabs and Jews embraced their culture and made Arabic an official language. Wily Robert meanwhile waged war against Constantinople, taking its last Italian outpost, Bari. Then a disaster in the east encouraged him to seize the big prize: Constantinople itself.
PENIS IN A PALM TREE: THE POET -PRINCESS AND THE VAIN LION
As William scoured England and Roger besieged Palermo, Emperor Romanos IV was marching out to fight Alp Arslan, the Seljuk sultan, who was making advances into today’s Anatolia, the beginning of its transformation into a Turkish heartland. But Arslan’s chief war was against the Fatimiyya caliphs, so he renewed an earlier treaty with Romanos, then headed southwards into Syria. But, provoked by Seljuk raids, the emperor advanced with a disorganized army of Varangians, Pechenegs and Anglo-Saxons. Arslan headed north but offered a generous peace which Romanos impulsively rejected. At Manzikert, on 26 August 1071, unwisely dividing his army and feuding with his generals, Romanos was routed.* Arslan made him bow low, resting his boot on the imperial neck, but then he raised him to his feet, asking, ‘What would you do if I were brought before you as a prisoner?’
‘Perhaps I’d kill you,’ replied Romanos, ‘or exhibit you in the streets of Constantinople.’
‘My punishment is far heavier,’ said Arslan. ‘I forgive you, and set you free.’
If the battle was small and not particularly bloody, ‘the fortunes of the Roman empire had sunk to their lowest ebb’. Back in Constantinople, Romanos was clumsily blinded, and died from an infection.
Arslan marched eastwards to crush a rebel, whom he captured and was just sentencing to death when the desperado lunged at him. Proud of his archery, the sultan coolly waved aside his bodyguards and raised his crossbow, but his foot slipped and the assassin stabbed him. ‘Alas, I was surrounded by great warriors, who guarded me day and night … yet here I lie dying in agony,’ he told his paladins. ‘Remember this lesson learned: never allow vanity to overcome good sense.’ Buried in Merv beside his father, the forty-two-year-old Arslan surely dictated his tomb’s inscription: ‘O those who pass behold the sky-high grandeur of Alp Arslan! He is under black soil now.’
His son Malikshah, then only fifteen, and his veteran vizier Nizam al-Mulk* were with him, struggling to hold Arslan’s realms together. A cousin set up a sultanate of Rum (Rome) in the formerly Roman provinces of Anatolia, and their campaigns against Constantinople brought the Romans to the negotiating table.
