Download PDF | Jonathan Harris - Introduction to Byzantium, 602–1453-Routledge (2020).
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Introduction to Byzantium, 602–1453 provides students with an accessible guide to medieval Byzantium. Beginning with the near collapse of Byzantium in the seventh century, the book traces its survival and development through to its absorption by the Ottoman empire. As well as having an overall political narrative, the chapters cover a wide range of topics including society and economy, art and architecture, literature and education, military tactics and diplomacy, gender and education.
They also explore themes that remain prominent and highly debated today, including relations between Islam and the West, the impact of the Crusades, the development of Russia and the emergence of Orthodox Christianity. Comprehensively written, each chapter provides an overview of the particular period or topic, a summary of the ongoing historiographical debates, primary source material textboxes, further reading recommendations and a ‘points to remember’ section. Introduction to Byzantium, 602–1453 provides students with a thorough introduction to the history of Byzantium and equips them with the tools to write successful analytical essays. It is essential reading for any student of the history of the Byzantine empire.
Jonathan Harris is Professor of the History of Byzantium at Royal Holloway, University of London, UK. His recent publications include: Byzantium and the Crusades (2nd ed., 2014); The Lost World of Byzantium (2015) and Constantinople: Capital of Byzantium (2nd ed., 2017).
Preface
This book is an introduction to what might be termed ‘middle’ and ‘late’ Byzantium. It is designed to provide a gateway for those who are coming to the topic for the first time but also to give teachers points of discussion on which they can expand. The three centuries of Late Antiquity (c.300–c.600 CE) have been deliberately omitted. There are a number of reasons behind that decision, of which the most important is the author’s want of the expertise needed to cover the earlier period. The world of Late Antiquity was, in any case, very different from that of post-650 CE, so that the upheavals of the seventh century constitute as tangible a break as, say, 1776 or 1914. I have made various other arbitrary decisions in the way I have presented Byzantine history. The long and unfamiliar names of the protagonists can sometimes present a barrier and it does not help when different books use discrete spellings for the same person.
So while I have tried to transliterate surnames as closely as possible to the original Greek, Nikephoros rather than Nicephorus, Phokas rather than Phocas, when it comes to first names I have taken a different course. Where there is a recognised English equivalent, I have used it: Isaac rather than Isaakios, and John rather than Ioannes. I have done this not because I wish to anglicise the Byzantines but because I want their history to be accessible to an international audience who will be more familiar with these versions. To avoid confusion, I have adapted the spellings in quoted extracts to conform to this model. During the gestation and writing, I received a great deal of help from all quarters. My home institution, Royal Holloway, allowed me to take two terms of sabbatical leave in which to complete the book.
The Dumbarton Oaks Center for Byzantine Studies in Washington, DC generously provided photographs of items in its collection. Oxford University Press kindly gave me permission to reproduce the text in Box 15.1. I am indebted to Brian McLaughlin for his help with Byzantine Greek and for letting me to use his Kantakouzenos translation, to John Haldon and Michael Hesemann for allowing me to use their photographs, to Joni Joseph and Ashley Schwartz of Dumbarton Oaks for their advice on images, to Maria Mavroudi and Shaun Tougher who provided invaluable feedback on the proposal and draft text, and to Catherine Aitken, Laura Pilsworth and Morwenna Scott of Taylor & Francis who all helped to firm up my ideas into something tangible and, I hope, publishable.
The copy editor Katharine Bartlett and the production manager Colin Morgan did a superb job of tidying up the text. At the end of the day though the greatest influence on the book has come from relays of students who have taken my undergraduate and postgraduate courses and have helped me to appreciate the wide gaps in my own understanding of this sometimes rather perplexing world. I think that it was Albert Einstein who said that if you cannot explain something simply, then you do not understand it yourself. Royal Holloway, University of London November 2019.
Introduction 0.1 What’s in a name? ‘Byzantium’ and ‘the Byzantine empire’ are terms used by historians to describe the eastern half of the Roman empire which survived after the western provinces were lost in the invasions of the fifth century CE. The terms were coined in the sixteenth century by the German Protestant scholar Hieronymus Wolf to distinguish this state from the classical Roman empire which was perceived to have ended in 476 CE, when the last emperor of its western half was deposed. Other terms have been tried over the years.
Those writing in French for a time preferred l’empire romain d’orient and some British historians likewise adhered doggedly to ‘the Eastern Roman empire’ or ‘the Later Roman empire’. In the end, ‘Byzantium’ and the ‘Byzantine empire’ stuck, although neither term is satisfactory. Throughout the period covered by this book, the inhabitants of this large and powerful state did not use the word ‘Byzantine’, unless they were referring specifically to residents of the city of Byzantion or Constantinople. Instead they considered themselves to be Romans and their state as the Roman empire. They had good reason to do so, in that the emperors who ruled them were the direct successors of the first Roman emperor, Augustus (27 BCE–14 CE). Moreover, the word ‘Byzantine’ is not only anachronistic but decidedly unhelpful since it has entered the English language in a negative sense as either ‘excessively complicated’ or ‘devious and crafty’.
Applying it to this medieval state is to denigrate it and to imply it was somehow rather less impressive than its Roman predecessor, the unworthy product of the latter’s decline and fall. Even the use of the word ‘empire’ is unhelpful in this context. It invites comparison with the European colonial empires of the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, yet Byzantium seldom conquered or acquired territory: for most of its history it was fighting merely to hold on to what it had. Consequently there are those who feel that these accepted terms should be abandoned but no one can decide on what to replace them with. To call Byzantium the ‘Roman empire’ would be to invite confusion with a very different kind of society. The term ‘Romania’, that was sometimes used for it during the Middle Ages, has been proposed, but that would likewise lead to complication because that is the official name of a modern European republic. So it is that, for the time being, Byzantium is here to stay.
0.2 The study of Byzantium It goes without saying that historians have arrived at very different understandings of Byzantium over the past five centuries, usually conditioned by the nature of the times in which they lived. For Hieronymus Wolf and the German protestants who initiated Byzantine studies in the sixteenth century, the impetus was provided by the search for another society and Church that had rejected the authority of the pope. In the seventeenth century, the centre of interest moved to France and to the circle of the Abbé du Cange who published his Historia Byzantina in 1680.
Again, there was a contemporary agenda behind the study of a vanished empire. Du Cange made it clear in his laudatory preface that the Byzantine ideal of the Christian emperor placed on Earth to protect the Faith and the Church was perfectly suited to the ambitious king of France, Louis XIV. During the eighteenth century, however, the political climate changed in a way which, while it was to foster the ideals of human rights and constitutional liberty, also created a very negative image of the Byzantine empire in Western European and American thought. The intellectual movement known as the Enlightenment championed human reason as the primary source of authority and legitimacy, arguing for personal liberty, government that was answerable to the governed and toleration of religious diversity.
Autocratic Byzantium with its identification of orthodox religious belief with loyalty to the emperor was apparently the antithesis of everything that Enlightenment intellectuals believed in. Consequently the historiography of the day presented it as a degenerate shadow of vanished Roman greatness. A typical example is Baron Montesquieu, a French political philosopher whose emphasis on the separation of powers was to influence the constitution of the United States. In his Considerations of the Causes of the Greatness of the Romans and their Decline (1734), he identified a balanced constitution as an ingredient in Roman success. Thus, the transformation of the well-regulated Roman into the autocratic and unconstitutional Byzantine empire was a retrograde step. The sternest Enlightenment critic of Byzantium was the English historian Edward Gibbon, for whom the empire’s thousand-year history was merely a long, drawn-out decline.
It was only with the rise of a more detached and scientific approach to history in Germany during the nineteenth century that historians began to try to assess Byzantium on its own terms rather than judging it by the standards of their own day, the pioneering figure being Karl Krumbacher. Nevertheless, the old perceptions still lingered, which accounts for some over-enthusiastic twentieth-century historians such as George Ostrogorsky (see Box 3.3) and Steven Runciman (see Box 12.2) attempting to redress the balance by occasionally making rather exaggerated claims for Byzantine greatness. Even today, books about Byzantine history often begin with a protest against the negative portrayals found in Gibbon and his contemporaries. Moreover, try as they might to arrive at an objective understanding of Byzantium, historians of the late twentieth and early twenty-first century reflect contemporary concerns in their work just as much as their predecessors did.
There is now a greater interest in social issues, on the role and experience of women and on issues of gender and identity. It should be remembered, though, that while these debates and interpretations have come and gone, some of the greatest advances in the discipline have come as a result of the efforts of those who had made original texts more widely available. Byzantium produced a vast corpus of literature over its thousand-year existence but most of it survives only in the original manuscripts that are locked away in libraries and archives. The patient work of collating, editing, publishing and translating these works goes on steadily and will continue for many years to come.
0.3 Byzantium in 602 CE This book begins at the very end of a period known as Late Antiquity that is regarded as having begun in around the year 300 CE. During those three centuries, the Roman empire had been radically transformed in numerous ways, so that it is understandable that later historians felt that it needed a new name. A glance at the map reveals the most obvious change: the borders of the empire of 602 were rather shorter than the old Roman ones. While in the east, the frontier was more or less where it had been in 100 CE, enclosing Asia Minor, Syria, Palestine and Egypt, between 400 and 480 the western provinces from Italy to Britain had been lost to invasions by migrating peoples from the north.
Under Emperor Justinian I (527–565) (see Figure 0.2), a serious attempt had been made to reconquer the lost lands of the west. As a result, in 602 the empire now once again held part of North Africa, Sicily, some areas of Italy and a foothold in southern Spain around the city of Cartagena (see Map 0.1). Other areas were never recovered. Much of Italy was occupied by the Lombards and most of Spain was in the hands of the Visigoths. Gaul (modern France) had become the kingdom of the Franks and the old province of Britain had been divided between the Angles, Saxons and Jutes. Within the territories that remained, there had been further changes over the centuries of Late Antiquity. Perhaps the most striking was that Rome, which had given the state its name, was no longer the capital and the emperors no longer resided there.
Stuck awkwardly on the edge of imperial territory, it was largely in ruins after being bitterly fought over during Justinian’s reconquest of Italy. Ever since the crisis of the third century, when the emperors had found that Rome was too far from the threatened frontiers, they had been basing themselves in other cities. In 324, Emperor Constantine I (306–337) (see Figure 0.2) had selected the city of Byzantion as his place of residence, because it was in a perfect strategic position, halfway between the Danube and Mesopotamian frontiers, at the crossing point between Europe and Asia (see Figure 0.1). After expanding and rebuilding it, in 330 he renamed it Constantinople or the city of Constantine. Over the next three centuries, the city grew apace so that by 602 it probably had a population of about 700,000 and was the unquestioned capital.
Geographic contraction and the eastward move of the capital city were driving a third major change, that of language. In 602, the inhabitants of Byzantine Italy and North Africa would have spoken some form of vernacular Latin as they always had. But with much of the west now lost and with the centre of administration moved east from Rome to Constantinople, Latin was rapidly ceasing to be an official language. Most Byzantines would have spoken Greek on an everyday basis, a version of the language known as Koine or Common Greek. In Egypt and Syria, it is true, Coptic and Syriac were widely spoken but Greek prevailed in the major towns and cities. For that reason, Greek was fast becoming the only language of the court, the administration and of intellectual life.
To anyone travelling through the eastern provinces of the empire in 602, the changes in borders, capital and language might not have been immediately apparent. After all, Greek had always been widely used in Asia Minor, Syria, Palestine and Egypt and the loss of the western territories and the moving of the capital to Constantinople probably made little difference on the ground in those areas. There was a continuity in urban life there too with large and prosperous cities functioning much as they had always done. Alexandria in Egypt was the second-largest after Constantinople with a population of about 200,000. Antioch in Syria had about 100,000 inhabitants.
Athens and Beirut were important intellectual centres. Asia Minor, the landmass that is now Turkey, was peppered with flourishing urban centres such as Ephesus, Sardis and Pergamon. Cities were fewer and smaller in the western provinces, the most important being Ravenna, which was now the administrative capital of Byzantine Italy, and Carthage, the main town of North Africa. There was a fourth change that had taken place between 300 and 602 which could not be concealed or ignored. It had had a huge impact on the life of every inhabitant and had come to dictate many aspects of their everyday existence.
The old Olympian gods of ancient Rome had been abandoned and replaced by Christianity. The process had begun in 312 CE when Emperor Constantine, convinced that he had emerged triumphant from a civil war because of the intervention of the God of the Christians, had begun to favour the Church and he ultimately accepted baptism. Over the next century, all of Constantine’s imperial successors, with one exception, were also Christians, so inevitably their co-religionists prospered. To start with, no attempt was made to prevent pagan worship but by the reign of Emperor Theodosius I (379–395), the Christian Church was in a strong enough position to move against the opposition. Laws were passed banning pagan sacrifice and the temples were razed to the ground by Christian mobs with the tacit encouragement of the authorities. By 602, the empire was almost completely Christian, apart from its Jewish inhabitants and perhaps a few diehard pagans who had to live very quiet lives to avoid the notice of the authorities.
The advent of Christianity had brought with it a change in the way the people perceived the world around them. Jerusalem had been an obscure and unimportant town under the pagan Roman emperors. Now it became a place of immense religious significance with pilgrims flocking to the Holy Sepulchre, the tomb where the body of Jesus Christ was placed after his crucifixion and where it lay for three days before his resurrection. The change in religion also brought Rome to prominence once more, albeit in a different way from its former political role. It too was a place of pilgrimage as the two foremost Apostles of Christ, Saints Peter and Paul, were buried there. Its bishop, known as the pope, was the most important churchman in the Christian world.
He was seen as having greater authority and prestige than other bishops because he was the direct successor of St Peter to whom Christ had allegedly entrusted the keys of the kingdom of Heaven. Christianity also changed the way that the Byzantines perceived their ruler. The image of the emperor had always been highly visible with statues, busts, painted portraits or mosaics of the present incumbent on public display in the main squares of cities and towns. Some Roman emperors were even revered as gods after their death in temples specially dedicated to them. Now that the emperor was a Christian that option was closed as it would be outright blasphemy to suggest that he was divine, alive or dead. Instead the theory developed that the emperor, or basileus as the Byzantines called him in Greek, was the next best thing to a god: a kind of delegate and earthly reflection of God.
It was no coincidence, the Byzantines believed, that the birth of Christ had taken place during the reign of the first Roman emperor, Augustus. Clearly God’s plan for the salvation of mankind included a provision for the government of Christians on earth and the of protection their faith and their Church, until the second coming of Christ. Indeed, Jesus himself had told his followers that they should ‘Render unto Caesar what was Caesar’s’ (Matthew 22:21), that is to say that they should obey the Roman emperor. Only the Byzantine emperor, the successor of the Caesar of Christ’s day, was regarded as holding this position. No other ruler, even if he was a Christian, had been entrusted with this commission of universal rulership. The theory was reflected in the way the emperors were physically portrayed. Their portraits were to be found as often inside churches as out on the streets and whereas in the past the emperor had been portrayed as an ordinary man, now he was often given a halo or nimbus around his head. So, in some cases, was the empress.
The halo did not necessarily denote personal holiness on the part of the emperor but rather it was an indication of the sanctity of the office that he held. The theory was also reflected in the layout and architecture of Byzantium’s capital city of Constantinople. Although Constantine I had probably not intended it to replace Rome, he certainly modelled it on the old capital. He provided it with a forum, a senate, statues and columns looted from other cities and a stadium for chariot races, known as the Hippodrome, the equivalent of the Circus Maximus. Just as Rome had a grandiose imperial residence on its Palatine Hill, so Constantinople was given the Great Palace, a sprawling complex of buildings, churches and gardens on the city’s eastern tip. As well as buildings that harked back to Roman past, Constantine erected others that reflected the Christian future, notably the first cathedral of Hagia Sophia and the great church of the Holy Apostles.
This merging of the Roman and the Christian in the city continued under Constantine’s successors, especially Justinian I. He provided Constantinople with its most famous Christian monument by rebuilding the cathedral of Hagia Sophia in 537, along with most of the other churches in the city (see Figure 0.3). By then, Byzantium’s capital had the monumental appearance it required as befitted the capital of God’s appointed representative: both a seat of worldly power and a religious centre. In view of its importance, the clergyman who presided over its Church could not be just a bishop and was given the title of patriarch, like the patriarch of Jerusalem. He came to be regarded as second only to the pope of Rome in the religious hierarchy. So Byzantium in 602 was very different from the empire of 300 and yet some aspects were much as they had always been. What people could not have known at the time was that it was on the edge of a precipice. Over the next century, a series of tumultuous upheavals were to sweep away much of the Roman inheritance and leave it as a completely different kind of society.
0.4 The tragic end of Emperor Maurice In spite of the ambitious political theory and the showcase capital, by the end of the sixth century Byzantium was in trouble. Huge resources had been expended on Justinian’s reconquest of North Africa and Italy and, even before the emperor’s death in 565, the expanded frontiers had started to come under serious pressure. In 568, recently reconquered Italy had been invaded by the Lombards who had occupied most of the interior and confined the Byzantines to certain key cities such as Rome and Ravenna and to the far south of the peninsula. On the eastern frontier, war broke out in 573 with Sassanid Persia whose king was eager for an opportunity to repeat his success of 540 when he had crossed into Byzantine Syria and captured and sacked the major city of Antioch. The Danube frontier was particularly prone to attack as it lay directly in the path of peoples migrating westwards from the Steppes of Central Asia so that, by the later sixth century, the Balkan provinces south of the river were coming under attack from the Slavs.
They were a relatively backward and unsophisticated people who might not have posed too great a threat in themselves, had they not come to be dominated by the nomadic, aggressive and militarily very efficient Avars. The latter were a Turkic people, superb horsemen who were also very advanced in siege technology. They had subjugated most of the Slav tribes along the Danube and incorporated them into their own army, thus creating a major threat. In 584, this Avar–Slav coalition invaded the Balkans in huge numbers, penetrating as far as Thessalonica and settling on the land round about.
As well as facing threats on its borders, Byzantium was divided internally. For the past century and a half, many of the inhabitants of the eastern provinces of Syria, Palestine and Egypt had become increasingly alienated from the government in Constantinople by a long-running theological dispute over the nature of Jesus Christ. All Christians agreed that Jesus was God born in a man’s body but there was sharp disagreement over the extent to which he was human and the extent to which he was divine. In 451 the Fourth Ecumenical Council, held at Chalcedon opposite Constantinople, had attempted to put an end to the debate. It declared that Jesus had two natures (i.e. divine and human) without separation.
That is to say that Christ was simultaneously human and divine: the Catholic definition. It was an attempt to please everyone but it did not work. Many theologians, known as Monophysites or Miaphysites, objected that this formula lessened Christ’s Godhead and they argued instead that he had only one, divine nature. While the clergy and people of Constantinople, Palestine, Asia Minor and the western provinces accepted Chalcedon, many of the inhabitants of the eastern provinces were strongly opposed to it. Inevitably the theological split mingled with other matters and adherence to Monophysitism became a sort of rallying point for all those dissatisfied with government from Constantinople and resentful of the heavy taxes imposed by the Greek-speaking elites on the Syriac and Coptic-speaking majority. The separatist danger that the dispute opened up meant that the emperors could not just leave it to the theologians to resolve the issue but they vacillated in their response. Sometimes they tried to find some kind of theological compromise, sometimes they tried to force the Monophysites to accept Chalcedon. Under Justinian I, Monophysite bishops were deposed and replaced with candidates whose theological views were more acceptable. Monophysite monks were driven out of their monasteries.
As a result, two rival hierarchies emerged. There was an official, Catholic patriarch of Alexandria, recognised by the government in Constantinople, and there was a rival Monophysite one, who had the loyalty of the vast majority of the population. Most other cities in the eastern provinces also had two bishops, one Catholic and one Monophysite. While this was happening, Byzantium was ruled by Emperor Maurice (582–602). He had become emperor not by birth but by marrying the daughter of his predecessor and he may well at times have regretted doing so, given the rather poisoned legacy that he inherited. That said, Maurice was an able military leader, who came quite close to finding a military solution to the multiple threats. The emperor had no troops to spare for Italy but he managed to hold the line by reorganising Byzantine forces there into the so-called Exarchate of Ravenna. A similar reform was carried out in North Africa around the same time with the creation of the Exarchate of Carthage.
The main change seems to have been that civil and military power were merged in the hands of the Exarch, who governed these areas, so giving him wider powers to act independently without needing to call on the emperor for aid. In the east, Maurice countered the Persian threat by astutely intervening in a Persian civil war and aiding King Khusro II (591–628) to regain his throne. A grateful Khusro made peace with the Byzantines and even ceded them part of Armenia in gratitude for their help. That peace held firm for the rest of Maurice’s reign.
He even attempted to grasp the nettle of the Catholic–Monophysite split since the acquisition of part of Armenia in 591 had brought another Monophysite population under Byzantine rule. It would appear that Maurice did manage to get some kind of union agreed with the Armenian church, which was a major achievement, even though not all Armenians accepted it. Unfortunately, in dealing with the Avars and Slavs, Maurice was not so successful.
Although, after concluding peace with Persia in 591, he was able to commit more troops to the struggle, they made no headway. They frequently defeated the Avar–Slav armies yet they proved unable to deal a knockout blow. In his desire to bring the war to a conclusion, Maurice made a fatal mistake which was to cost him his empire and his life. He decided that, to deal with the Slavs and Avars once and for all, he would send an army to follow them north of the Danube and attack them in winter when they least expected it. The winter of 601–602 was a particularly harsh one and the Byzantine troops soon became extremely disgruntled at the harsh conditions they were being forced to endure. So they mutinied and proclaimed a junior army officer called Phokas as emperor. The army then marched on Constantinople, entered the city and murdered Maurice along with his five sons. That is the point where this book begins in earnest.
Box 0.1 Byzantium in film The ancient Roman empire is familiar to global audiences from a number of memorable Hollywood epic films, from William Wyler’s Ben Hur (1959) to Ridley Scott’s Gladiator (2000). Byzantium, on the other hand, has never tempted international film-makers to produce anything on that scale. The closest to date is probably Alejandro Amenábar’s Agora (2009), although that deals with Late Antiquity rather than the period covered by this book. Those films that do feature aspects of middle and late Byzantine history tend not to circulate internationally. They are usually made in countries that incorporate areas that were once part of the empire or whose culture, religion and language reflect its influence. In spite of those links, the Byzantines are often given the role of the villains of the piece, the evil empire against which the protagonists have to struggle for freedom. One example is the Bulgarian production 681 AD: The Glory of Khan (1981), directed by Ludmil Staikov, which follows the creation of the Bulgarian khanate under its ruler Asparukh (c.640–701). It features a dramatic recreation of the crossing of the Danube, the building of Pliska and the defeat of the Byzantine army at the battle of Ongala (see Section 3.5), all seen through the eyes of a fictitious Byzantine envoy called Belisarius.
Emperor Constantine IV (668–685) is among the historical characters, presiding over an oppressive and declining empire. In line with the Communist ideology prevailing at the time, the Bulgar invasion is presented as a proletarian liberation of a subject people, the local Slav peasants rushing to Pliska to join the Bulgars against their imperialist overlords. The Byzantines play a similar role in Faruk Aksoy’s Turkish-language The Conquest 1453 (2012), which chronicles the fall of Constantinople to the Ottoman Turks (see Section 15.5). At an alleged cost of $17 million, it was the most expensive movie ever made in Turkey and most of the budget was spent on the computergenerated imagery of Ottoman cannon battering the walls of Constantinople. Less was spent on the actors, few of whom were well known, even inside Turkey.
The film is, of course, sympathetic to the Ottomans and Sultan Mehmed II’s attack is presented as an entirely justified response to aggression. To enhance the drama, Emperor Constantine XI and the Byzantines appear as formidable, if rather selfindulgent, adversaries, and Constantinople is depicted as a rich and powerful city. The reality was that by 1453 much of Constantinople was in ruins and that the defenders were outnumbered by the attackers by something like a hundred to one. A more positive portrayal of the Byzantines appears in the Russian film Viking, which was directed by Andrei Kravchuk and released in 2016. It follows the fortunes of Vladimir, prince of Kiev (980–1015), who wages a blood feud against his half-brother Yaropolk. Interspersed among the violent battle scenes are evocative recreations of tenth-century Kiev and Cherson (see Section 7.4). Two-thirds of the way through the film, some Byzantine envoys arrive by ship in the Crimea, like a kind of divine intervention.
They offer gold for Vladimir’s military services but also bring the redemptive message of Christianity. By adopting the Orthodox faith, Vladimir is at last able to break the cycle of violence and revenge that has dictated his life to date and open a new chapter in Russian history. The film reflects the return of Orthodox Christianity to the centre of Russian life since 1989, a further illustration that attitudes to Byzantium are always coloured by current events and by cultural background and assumptions. Further reading: Przemysław Marciniak, ‘And the Oscar goes to … the Emperor! Byzantium in the cinema’, in Wanted: Byzantium: The Desire for a Lost Empire, ed. Ingela Nilsson and Paul Stephenson (Uppsala: Uppsala Universitet, 2014), pp. 247–55.
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