There have been many great dynasties and noble lineages throughout history, but 12th-century Britain and France were beholden to a powerful husband, his glamorous wife, and their equally ambitious children. The Angevin Dynasty of Henry II, Eleanor of Aquitaine, and their five sons and three daughters dominated not just politically but culturally and socially too. Their interpersonal squabbles, relationships, and machinations would see the Kingdom of Medieval England go from its greatest height to almost total collapse, all under the gaze of this one family.   Meet the Angevins Henry II, 1597-1618. Source: Wikimedia Commons   Henry II (1133-1189) founded what is now known as the Angevin Empire, encompassing much of the British Isles and more than half of France. Barely a generation later, this empire collapsed. This dramatic rise and fall is the story of Henry and his own family, the Angevin Dynasty, and their scandals, schemes, triumphs, and tragedies.   The story begins, unsurprisingly, with Henry’s parents. His mother was Matilda, the heir of Henry I of England. His father was Geoffrey, Count of Anjou, hence the name of Angevin, though the dynasty also went by Plantagenet, after Geoffrey’s symbol of a broom flower (Latin name: Planta Genesta).   When Henry’s grandfather died, his mother became embroiled in a decades-long civil war with her cousin, Stephen of Blois, for the English throne. Matilda and Geoffrey controlled the Duchy of Normandy, where Henry grew into a young man with an energetic and passionate nature and a love of hunting.   Matilda, Henry’s mother, 1188. Source: Herzog August Library   By 1152, Henry had become Duke of Normandy and Count of Anjou after his father died, and he took over his mother’s campaign for England. That year, Henry made possibly the most consequential decision of his life. He married someone nine years his senior and barely two months out of her first marriage. However, she also happened to be the most glamorous and powerful woman in Europe.   Eleanor of Aquitaine (1124-1204) is one of the most famous women of the Medieval Era. She was the Duchess of Aquitaine, which consisted of much of what is now southwest France. She became Duchess in 1137 at the tender age of 13, and that same year she married Louis, the next king of France.   In their 15-year marriage, Eleanor deftly navigated French court politics and culture. However, despite having two daughters, the marriage was not successful, and with no male heir forthcoming, Louis agreed to an annulment in March 1152. Two months later, Eleanor married Henry.   The Beginnings of a European Hegemony A map of the Angevin territories in France. Source: Wikimedia Commons   The speed of the marriage strongly suggests the two had secretly negotiated their match before Eleanor’s annulment was finalized. It was a good match for both. Henry more than doubled his power base and resources, while Eleanor gained a powerful political ally and retained much of her sovereignty.   Yet, this was more than just a marriage of politics. Eleanor, the tall, graceful, and sophisticated older lady of culture and courtly politics, made a surprisingly good match with Henry, the young, stocky, and rustic Norman noble. Henry was intellectually and culturally inclined as well and was known to be amiable and charming. At any rate, Eleanor had far better chemistry with Henry than with the pious but somewhat dull Louis.   Speaking of Eleanor’s ex-husband, Louis absolutely opposed her union with Henry. He immediately declared war on the newlyweds with support from Stephen in England, who saw an opportunity to remove Henry as a threat to his crown.   However, Henry and Eleanor proved more than a match for this coalition. Eleanor quickly removed all the influence Louis had gained in Aquitaine, preventing him from undermining the duchy. Meanwhile, Henry defeated Louis’s invasion, then turned his attention to Stephen.   As 1153 began, Henry landed in England, and after a few months of campaigning, Stephen agreed to recognize Henry as his heir after his own son, Eustace, died suddenly. A year later, Stephen passed away, and in December 1154, Henry and Eleanor ascended to the throne of England.   After decades of civil conflict, Henry faced the daunting task of restoring England to its former glory and bringing the nobility, particularly Stephen’s former allies, under control. Fortunately, his and Eleanor’s charm, ability, and diplomatic grace soon reestablished royal authority.   The Royal Power Couple Henry II and Eleanor receiving a French envoy, Medieval illumination. Source: British Library   So began the halcyon days of the Angevin Empire, though the term empire was never used at the time, and Henry never sought a title higher than king. In England, Henry swiftly made major improvements to England’s administration and legal system, building the foundation of English Common Law, and reforms to the economy and coinage.   However, the majority of Henry and his family’s domain, and thus their time and attention, was in France, and Henry’s capital, for want of a better word, was at Chinon. However, Henry spent much of his reign travelling throughout his vast domain, overseeing important matters, dispensing justice, dealing with his vassals, and, of course, hunting.   Thanks to the great wealth of his dominion, Henry was able to keep a spectacular travelling court, arguably the finest in Europe. Eleanor would sometimes accompany her husband, but often she acted as his regent in England. While Henry oversaw his kingdom on the road, she maintained a powerful political center for their empire.   Queen Eleanor, by Frederick Sandys, 1858. Source: National Museum of Wales   The new power couple soon grew into the most powerful and glamorous family in Western Europe. Their first child, William, sadly died in infancy, but their seven other children all reached adulthood. Next came Henry in 1155, then Matilda in 1156, Richard in 1157, Geoffrey in 1158, Eleanor in 1161, Joan in 1165, and John in 1166.   Henry also retook land that Stephen had lost to Scotland and became overlord of the Kingdom of Wales. Meanwhile, in France, Henry generally maintained good terms with his legal overlord, Louis, barring the occasional war and Henry’s encroachment on other French vassals, such as the Count of Toulouse. The two even betrothed Henry’s two boys, Henry and Richard, to Margaret and Alys, Louis’s daughters from his second marriage.   Eleanor and Henry also arranged successful political marriages for their other children. Matilda was betrothed to the Duke of Saxony, and Eleanor to the King of Castile. In another geopolitical win, Geoffrey was also married to Constance, Duchess of Brittany, effectively bringing Brittany into the empire.   The Beginnings of Discontent Illumination of Henry and Eleanor at court enjoying the Tale of King Arthur performed by their courtier and famous chronicler, Walter Map, 13th century. Source: BnF   Yet, behind the glorious façade, cracks had developed. Henry, though charming, was also prone to fits of violent rage and could be somewhat of a bully. His most infamous falling out was with Thomas Becket, an old friend who became Henry’s chancellor and then Archbishop of Canterbury in 1162.   However, the two ended up disagreeing violently over royal authority over the Church, and Thomas was even forced to flee in exile to Louis’s court. Though they attempted to reconcile, Thomas wouldn’t return to England until 1170.   At the same time, Henry’s marriage also began to break down due to his wandering eye. While keeping mistresses was not unusual for medieval kings, Henry was notoriously promiscuous. His first illegitimate son was born before he and Eleanor were married, but rumors abounded about other trysts as he traveled his kingdom.   In 1168, not long after Henry had acknowledged his second illegitimate son, Eleanor left England for her own court at Poitiers. Though legally they remained united, on a personal level, the marriage was over. Henry, meanwhile, became more open with his mistresses.   Murder of Thomas Becket, 1864. Source: Wikimedia Commons   Despite these troubles, both Eleanor and Henry continued to display their authority and majesty externally while focusing on the future of their domain. In 1169, Henry officially gave his sons their domains: Richard would take Aquitaine, ruling alongside his mother, and Geoffrey, Brittany. Henry, as the eldest, would take England and Normandy, becoming overlord of this fraternal federation on his father’s death. There were no great Duchies left for John, giving rise to his nickname of “Lackland.”   All three swore homage to Louis for their French holdings, then in June 1170, Henry Junior was crowned co-monarch of England, becoming known as “the Young King.” With the continuation of his kingdom seemingly secure, the older Henry might have been optimistic about what the 1170s would bring. Yet, only six months later, things would go horribly wrong.   Keeping up With the Plantagenets Illustration of Henry the Young King’s coronation, 1220-40. Source: Wikimedia Commons   It began with the tragic death of the turbulent priest Thomas Becket. In December 1170, after another disagreement, Henry flew into a rage and rhetorically despaired that his court allowed Thomas to continue insulting their king. Four of his knights took him at his word and tried to capture Thomas, but ended up murdering him in Canterbury Cathedral.   Though Henry distanced himself from the murderers, the tragedy greatly damaged his prestige, angered the church, and seriously disquieted his vassals. Thomas became a martyr, both literally and figuratively, as a symbol of Henry’s tyranny. Without Eleanor’s political support and counsel, Henry struggled to manage the unfolding PR disaster. Even more unfortunately, Henry had just promoted a perfect figure for opposition to gather around.   Henry the Young King’s public prestige increased rapidly after his coronation. He married Margaret at a stylish wedding and performed his public duties well. He also developed a talent for jousting under the tutelage of his father’s vassal William Marshal, the greatest knight of the age. Young Henry showed a penchant for the glamorous life, even setting up his own royal court like those of his parents.   Effigy of Henry the Young King, Rouen. Source: World History Encyclopedia   However, Young Henry soon began resenting his father, who refused to give his son any actual royal responsibilities. Young Henry had been given several large estates to manage, but his father kept all their revenues, making young Henry do all the work for no reward.   Nor was he the only Angevin with a grudge. Geoffrey and Richard both had similar issues with their father, and of course, Eleanor had her own grievances. The four conspired in secret until spring 1173, when another dispute with their father led to the Young King and his brothers fleeing to Louis’s court, requesting his intervention as their father’s liege lord.   It is likely Louis had been encouraging the boys’ resentments, eager for any opportunity to weaken his arch-rival and sow division amongst the ambitious Angevins. With a coalition of unhappy vassals and international backers, the boys began the Great Revolt.   Uprisings broke out across Henry’s domain, while Louis and King William of Scotland launched separate invasions on different fronts. Just like all the way back in 1152, though now without Eleanor, Henry was surrounded by enemies on all sides, and just like then, he had them exactly where he wanted them.   The Great Revolt and the Aftermath Henry II’s royal seal. Source: Wikimedia Commons   In a whirlwind 18-month campaign, Henry and his loyal vassals defeated the rebels and bloodily repulsed the incoming invasions, even capturing William of Scotland in battle. Henry also found time to make a pilgrimage to Canterbury, where he performed a public act of penance at the new shrine of Thomas Becket. Henry’s tears for his old friend and rival could have been genuine or crocodile but either way, they helped him regain much of his popular support and prestige.   The rebel vassals were variously fined, imprisoned, or had land confiscated. William of Scotland was forced to recognize Henry as his legal overlord and was kept hostage to ensure his kingdom’s compliance. Likewise, Henry placed Eleanor under house arrest in England. His wife and cherished partner for so many years was now his prisoner, the great court matriarch of Europe, kept under guard in a rural English manor.   Meanwhile, Henry settled a white peace with Louis, while Richard, Geoffrey, and Henry kept their lands and titles and had their funds increased. Henry did make Richard responsible for punishing the Aquitanian vassals who had joined his revolt, but aside from that and public pledges of loyalty and pardon, his sons were forgiven.   William II of Sicily, Joan’s first husband, Cathedral of Monreale. Source: Wikimedia Commons   By 1175, Henry was more powerful than ever. He further grew his domain after taking over the Norman colonies in Ireland, and he was the most prestigious ruler in Europe. He arranged for his daughter Joan’s marriage to the Norman king of Sicily and arbitrated diplomatic disputes across Europe.   As for his sons, Richard and Geoffrey both became more settled in their new duchies, though Richard continued to struggle with rebellious lords in Aquitaine. Even John finally received an inheritance, becoming the future Lord of Ireland.   Meanwhile, Young Henry, alongside William Marshal and an all-star squad of knights, became one of the greatest tournament teams in Europe. Across Christendom, the Young King became a sporting icon. Yet unknown to all the family, events would soon change drastically, with devastating consequences.   A Family Falling Apart An image of Henry and his eight children with Eleanor, who is not included for unknown reasons, from the 14th century Genealogical roll of the kings of England. Source: British Library   In 1180, Louis died and was succeeded by his son Philippe, who combined his father’s cunning and anti-Angevin sentiment with his own political and military brilliance. He happily weakened Angevin hegemony whenever the opportunity arose and often succeeded in playing the Angevin sons off against one another and their father.   All the brothers had inherited Henry’s stubbornness and ability to start an argument in an empty room. Eleanor did her best to resolve her family’s disputes, but could only do so much while still under lock and key.   Henry preferred his sons squabbling amongst themselves rather than uniting against him, but in 1182, the situation devolved drastically. Young Henry still resented his lack of royal authority, especially with his brothers now in full control of their own duchies. Trying to compromise, Henry ordered Geoffrey and Richard to officially swear homage to Young Henry. However, Richard, angered by recent fraternal disputes, refused.   Henry, seeing the future of his kingdom threatening to go the way of the Carolingian Empire, forced Richard to back down and apologize to his brother, but the damage was done. Young Henry marched on Aquitaine to teach Richard a lesson. While on campaign in June 1183, the Young King suddenly came down with a fever. In the end, the Young King died with only William Marshal and his loyal knights by his side.   Poets and bards mourned Young Henry’s passing as the end of the heyday of tournaments and chivalry. Chroniclers were more mixed on the 28-year-old, believing he preferred sporting to governing. His potential as a future king aside, his loss was truly devastating for his family and their political future.   The Sins of the Father Young Henry’s tomb in Rouen Cathedral. Source: Wikimedia Commons   As the next eldest, Richard was set to inherit the kingdom. However, his struggle to control his Aquitanian vassals boded poorly for his future kingship, managing the whole empire. Henry, trying to be pragmatic, decided John should have Aquitaine instead of Richard. Richard, after 13 years of blood, sweat, and tears keeping control of Aquitaine, refused.   In 1184, Eleanor managed to bring about a temporary family reconciliation after Henry allowed her to negotiate with Richard directly. However, Henry also kept Richard in line by threatening to make Geoffrey heir to the throne instead of Richard.   Tragically, though, Geoffrey died suddenly in 1186, leaving Henry to struggle with a defiant Richard and the emotional loss of two of his sons. Henry attempted to negotiate an alliance with Philippe to keep Richard subdued. However, Philippe instead sided with Richard in a very public display of friendship and anti-Henry allegiance.   In 1188, Richard, Philippe, and Henry all pledged to join the Third Crusade. However, delays and disputes over the Crusade’s organization, combined with Richard and Henry’s personal animosity and Philippe’s manipulation, finally boiled over into outright war.   Richard I, the Lionheart, Westminster. Source: Wikimedia Commons   In summer 1189, Henry once again faced a coalition of family, foes, and the French king, but this time there would be no energetic response. Now 56 years old, drained from years of family squabbling and loss, and suffering from severe stomach ulcers, Henry’s drive and energy were spent. Too sick and exhausted to keep fighting, he surrendered to Richard and Philippe.   He lived just long enough to hear that John had sided with his brother before slipping into a coma. Henry II, King of England, Duke of Normandy and Count of Anjou, ruler of the Angevin Empire, died on July 6, 1189. Henry’s deathbed, like that of Young Henry’s before him, was not attended by his family but only a few loyal knights, including William Marshal.   Fate of the Empire A battle between Philippe of France and John, during John’s reign from 1199 onwards, most of Angevin France fell to Philippe, 14th century. Source: World History Encyclopedia   In his last moments, Henry may have wondered how he had come to this end. He might also have wondered how long his kingdom would survive after his death, the answer may have surprised him.   Richard reversed some of his father’s more unpopular policies before departing for the Third Crusade, leaving Eleanor and a council of regents, including William Marshal, in charge. The 65-year-old Eleanor tirelessly managed the kingdom in her favorite son’s absence. When Richard was kidnapped during his return journey, Eleanor raised his ransom and held his kingdom together while John, Henry’s favorite son, conspired with Philippe to dismantle the empire.   On his return, Richard and Eleanor maintained the empire until Richard’s sudden death at the siege of Châlus-Chabrol in 1199. John then took the throne while Eleanor, having outlived her husband and three sons, retired to Fontevraud Abbey in Aquitaine. There she was laid to rest beside her husband and Richard in 1204. That same year, Philippe strategically and politically outplayed John, taking all of the Angevin lands in France save for Gascony in Aquitaine.   John’s misrule eventually saw the barons of England force him to sign the Magna Carta, which originated from his father’s legal reforms. Fortunately, William Marshal, by now a powerful landowner and politician, remained loyal to John and became regent to his nine-year-old son, Henry III, on John’s death in 1216. Marshal protected Henry III from an attempted invasion by Philippe’s son, Louis, before he passed away in 1219. Henry III and his descendants would continue the Angevin Dynasty, though going by Plantagenet henceforward, for many more years to come.   Analyzing the Great Drama Effigies of Eleanor and Henry in Fontevraud Abbey, Eleanor designed her tomb to be larger and raised higher than Henry’s, making her appear more prominent than him. Source: Wikimedia Commons   There’s a curious phenomenon in the contemporary sources on the Angevins. Seemingly, Henry II was reviled at the time of his death, but barely 20 years later, he and the greatness and stability of his reign were widely mourned. For over 30 years, Henry kept his kingdom together through his own ability and iron will. However, the stubbornness and lack of compromise in him and his sons all but doomed the Angevins.   It is true that personalities are never the sole drivers of history. It is also likely true that the Angevin Empire, with its loose centralization over a wide diaspora of regions and social structures, was too unstable to ever last. Yet it is fun to speculate on what Young Henry and his brothers could have achieved had he survived, glory or disaster being equally possible.   Likewise, it is a simplification, but not meritless, to argue that the decline in Henry’s reign coincided with his separation from Eleanor. Just as it is worth dwelling on the irony that it was Eleanor and her favorite son Richard, who successfully maintained the empire, while Henry’s favorite son, John, nearly lost it all. Or how the only remaining parts of Henry’s French territories were in Aquitaine, or how Henry’s legal reforms nearly caused his son to lose his crown.   The character drama of Henry and his family is so gripping, it is hard to take a step back for a more historical and dispassionate view. The Angevins were such extraordinary characters with such a compelling story that their personalities left an unquestionable impact on the history and national stories of England and France.

In the mid-1960s, a neighborhood in San Francisco underwent a historic transformation that placed it at the center of the counterculture movement. Haight-Ashbury, named for the intersection of Haight and Ashbury Streets, was now the hippie capital of the United States. Of course, that change didn’t happen overnight. It started as an enclave of bohemians and artists drawn to the neighborhood because of its cheap Victorian housing and close proximity to Golden Gate Park. However, the convergence of several large cultural forces — psychedelia, opposition to the Vietnam War, and a young generation that questioned mainstream American values — turned Haight-Ashbury into fertile ground for the hippie movement. Haight-Ashbury offered something new: a space where young people could create an alternative society based on the principles of peace, love, and communal living. See what it was like in its heyday through our gallery below. Click here to view slideshow Inside The Rise Of The San Francisco Hippie Movement In Haight-Ashbury Throughout the 1960s, San Francisco had been gaining traction as a creative hub. With media attention focused on the city, thousands of young artists and creatives poured in, many of whom found the affordability and community of Haight-Ashbury enticing. The newcomers had many shared interests: music, art, psychedelic drugs, free love, and antiwar sentiment. As researcher Anthony Ashbolt explained in a piece for the Australasian Journal of American Studies, those who flocked to Haight-Ashbury "sought refuge from an American dream that was crumbling quickly in suburban wastelands and urban hothouses, as well as the jungles of Vietnam." The "flower children" in San Francisco shared much in common with the Beatniks, who mostly settled in New York's Greenwich Village, but while Beatniks had a deeper appreciation for jazz and coffee shops, the community in San Francisco was more interested in growing their hair out, listening to folk music, and embracing the evolution of rock 'n' roll. That community also led to some of the era's most influential rock bands, such as the Grateful Dead, Jefferson Airplane, and Janis Joplin with Big Brother. Indiana University Digital CollectionsHippies photographed in Haight-Ashbury. One other thing slightly separated the hippies from the Beatniks, too: drugs. Beatniks were known to partake in drugs like marijuana, of course, but never before the hippie movement had drug use been such a prominent symbol of an American subculture. LSD in particular was common — and legal until 1966. Haight-Ashbury's Psychedelic Shop provided information on LSD and other drugs, and became a sort of support center for the hippie movement. "Suddenly, there was a common fact that everyone could identify with. It was right in the middle of town, and it was called the Psychedelic Shop," said its co-founder Ron Thelin. "And then more people started coming in and then pretty soon it was like the whole Haight-Ashbury was the community." For many hippies, LSD wasn't just a recreational drug — they saw it as a tool for spiritual awakening. Aldous Huxley's writings on psychedelics were also highly influential, while people like Timothy Leary — a psychologist who strongly advocated for psychedelic drugs — became countercultural heroes. Alongside these "awakening" drugs, hippies often pulled from Eastern philosophies and meditation practices, which drew in even more people who had become disillusioned with Western materialism and Cold War anxiety. The result was a peace-emphasizing, creative community that ultimately proved to be largely unsustainable. The movement had simply grown too big, and that was made apparent in 1967, especially during the Summer of Love. The Summer Of Love And The Death Of Hippie San Francisco Public Library ArchivesA man carrying a sign for a Grateful Dead show,. In January 1967, up to 30,000 people gathered in San Francisco's Golden Gate Park for an event called the Human Be-In, a celebration of countercultural ideals. It was partly organized in response to California's ban on LSD just months earlier. Media coverage of the event was constant, broadcasting images of flower children, free love, and what seemed to be a utopian community to countless young people across the country. Upon seeing this celebration, tens of thousands of people made pilgrimages to San Francisco — and Haight-Ashbury, specifically. But according to SF Heritage, these pilgrims didn't exactly find what they were hoping to find. Yes, the creative, communal spirit was there. But the neighborhood itself wasn't prepared for such a massive influx of people — or the growing pains that accompanied it. Housing became scarce, and crash pads overflowed. The once-plentiful resources of free food and medical services became strained under increased demand. And harder drugs began infiltrating a scene that was previously focused on psychedelics and marijuana. As a result, crime increased, and the darker elements of counterculture — exploitation, addiction, and mental health crises, to name a few — became impossible to ignore, as the rest of the country observed the aftermath of the Summer of Love through photographs and television screens. By the fall of 1967, many of Haight-Ashbury's original residents recognized that the movement was starting to outgrow its roots. Some locals even held a mock funeral procession, "The Death of Hippie," signaling that the authentic spirit of the community had been largely commercialized and corrupted. Ruth-Marion Baruch/University of California Santa Cruz ArchivesGraffiti that reads "Let's Smoke Dope." The Psychedelic Shop closed its doors. Some who wished to continue their hippie lifestyles dispersed to communes in rural California and Oregon, hoping to preserve their ideals away from media attention and tourism. But even if the movement was considered "dead" by some, its legacy wasn't. The community that formed in Haight-Ashbury challenged American norms and forced people across the country to reconsider and interrogate conventional values about work, success, sexuality, and community. It had proven that young people could create alternative institutions and ways of living. The status quo was not necessarily set in stone. Haight-Ashbury today is a far cry from what it was in the 1960s. Victorian houses still stand, though many of them command prices unimaginable to the young squatters of the hippie era. Vintage stores cater more to nostalgic tourists hoping to re-live the era's rebellious spirit, but that only speaks to how commercial the movement became. The true legacy of Haight-Ashbury in the 1960s isn't found in nostalgia or merchandise, though. Its true legacy is an enduring belief that society's structures aren't fixed, that community can be chosen rather than inherited, and that young people have the power to imagine and create new ways of being in the world. After this look at Haight-Ashbury in the 1960s, read the wild story of Abbie Hoffman, one of the most iconic faces of counterculture. Or, check out these photographs from Woodstock, the 1960s' most famous music festival. The post ‘Where 1960s Flower Power Blossomed’: 55 Vintage Photos Of Haight-Ashbury’s Counterculture appeared first on All That's Interesting.

  In the 13th century, the Mongol Empire exploded out of the Asian steppe and spread westward across Eurasia. As the first horsemen clashed with the princes of Eastern Europe, the continent’s conception of itself and the world began to shift.   Rumors of a Powerful New Player Prester John as Emperor of Ethiopia from the Queen Mary Atlas, by Diogo Homem, c. 1555-1558. Source: British Library   In 1221, the leaders of the Fifth Crusade were in Damietta, a port city on the right bank of the Nile, contemplating their next steps. The crusade, which had started four years earlier, had been largely disappointing. Campaigns in Syria had failed, one before the enemy had even been engaged. The familiar themes of disunity, domestic concerns, and lack of funds had hampered a concerted war effort.   Then, a story spread through the Crusade leadership and their gathered armies within the city walls. A king, far off to the east, was attacking the Muslim world with devastating ferocity. The Khawarazmian Empire, a power that encompassed vast swathes of Central Asia and Iran, had been humbled. The word was that this new force was not only hostile to Islam, but was Christian. What’s more, its leader was called, portentously, David. The story grew in complexity and excitement.   The Crusader leaders quickly fired off an account of what had happened back to Europe: the new King David was a conqueror devoted to retaking Jerusalem for Christ, sweeping through the infidel armies and liberating Christian prisoners as he went. In Acre, the local bishop was certain that David was the grandson of Prester John, the long-awaited leader of an Asian Christian kingdom. Confident that they were part of a gigantic pincer movement on the Islamic Middle East, they fasted for three days, then marched southwards, ultimately to disaster and retreat.   Two years later, the Pope received a letter from the Kingdom of Georgia. It was an apology for not joining the Crusade themselves. They had been distracted by incursions from a new enemy from the east. That same year, the king of Hungary wrote that the Rus and the Cumans were being attacked by unknown eastern barbarians. The Tours annalist hypothesized that these were the barbaric peoples who followed the army of King David. Others, though, weren’t convinced. One writer at a French monastery mused whether the newcomers may not be Christian or Muslim, but something else entirely.   The Mongol Empire and the Golden Horde Genghis Khan and Wang Khan, illustration from the manuscript Jami’ al-tawarikh, Rashid al-Din Hamadani, early 14th century. Source: Bibliotheque Nationale de France   The “something else” were the Mongols. There are scanty sources for the Mongol world, but historians are relatively confident in the basic outline of events. After years of fragmentation and domination by the Chinese dynasties, Temujin united the nomadic tribes of the Mongol steppe in 1206, adopting the title of Genghis Khan, and set about conquering his neighbors.   The Mongols were not the uncontrolled, bloodthirsty bands of myth, but a cultured and technologically-capable people. Their conquests were as much a consequence of their adoption of Chinese gunpowder, their horsemanship, and their innovative military tactics and use of subterfuge as their sheer violence. They adopted the Chinese philosophy of universal empire, that all the world had been given by providence to their ruler. As the Great Khan Guyug would later tell Pope Innocent IV, “All lands, from the rising of the sun to its setting, have been made subject to us.” Their drive to conquer in all directions, and their confusion when dealing with Western figures seeking equal treatment, must be seen in this context.   Upon his death in 1227, the empire was divided into khanates under the suzerainty of the Great Khan. The khanate that would most prominently figure in Western imagination became known as the Golden Horde, though not until the 16th century. Contemporary Muslim sources referred to it as the Realm of Jochi after its first khan. At its peak, it covered most of modern Ukraine and western Russia. To the south was the Ilkhanate, known to Mongols as the Realm of Hulegu. The Ilkhanate was the primary Mongol power threatening the Muslim powers of the Middle East, although Westerners often did not distinguish between the two khanates, partly correctly assuming a continuity between the two. The Il-Khans would themselves convert to Islam from 1295, although they remained a threat to their fellow Islamic rulers, as well as Christian ones.   On the Frontiers of Europe Bela IV of Hungary depicted fleeing the Mongols in the Chronica Picta, Mark of Kalt, c. 1370-1373. Source: Web Archive   There was relative quiet for the next two decades, but garbled stories of distant attacks on the Islamic empires continued to filter through. At some point, the realization dawned that these were not Christian soldiers, and the stories were greeted with an air of foreboding. By 1237, they had become known as Tatars, in part, a nod to an ancient name for Hell. There is even a story that, in 1238, a Muslim delegation traveled across France and England to beg for assistance.   Then the first full report of the Mongols, from a member of Latin Christendom, reached Western eyes and ears. The Dominican Julian had traveled out into what had been Greater Hungary and deep into southern Russia, only to find that it had already been subjugated. He returned with a letter demanding the submission of the king of Hungary and a verification of the Mongols’ hostile intent from a local prince. Soon, Christian refugees were pouring into Hungary, and its king, Bela IV, began forging alliances. Georgia begged for help from the Pope. Russian princes were exploring closer links with the papacy as a prelude to support.   Latin Christendom, though, was not worried enough to act. There are numerous theories as to why everyone, including the Pope, believed the external threat was serving the papacy’s interests. There was a hope—expressed for one by the bishop of Winchester—that the Muslims and Mongols would destroy each other.   The Mongol Attacks Depiction of the Battle of Liegnitz, from the Legend of Saint Hedwig, unknown artist, 1353. Source: John Paul Getty Museum   They came in 1241. Four Mongol armies attacked Hungary, as Julian had warned, but some divisions invaded the fragmented Poland, probably to target a potential Hungarian ally. There is little detail on the form of these attacks, but a combined Polish and Moravian force was crushed at the Battle of Liegnitz. Two days later, there was a similar outcome for Bela IV at the Battle of Mohi, at which it is likely that Europeans were first introduced to Chinese gunpowder. The stories of the Mongols in Hungary fit with what we know of their actions elsewhere, killing or enslaving local populations, but also engaging in subterfuge, issuing fake decrees ordering populations ahead of them not to flee but to remain in their homes.   No help was forthcoming. Pope Gregory IX wrote to the Germans, Austrians, and Norwegians to call for assistance and the Holy Roman Emperor summoned a crusading army to Nuremberg. Apart from minor scuffles with Mongol raiding parties, the force did not move into Hungary, for reasons that are still unclear. Nevertheless, the German chroniclers were already clear why Hungary fell: the ineptitude of its leaders, the disloyalty of its nobility, and the poor defenses of its borders and towns. Many must have feared a coming storm. Rumors, again, flew around western capitals, saying that they were targeting Rome.   The Battle of Mohi, from The History of the Oriental Kingdoms, unknown artist, c. 1350-1374. Source: Osterreichische Nationalbibliothek   But, as quickly as they came, the Mongols vanished again. After scarcely a year, they withdrew from Hungary and Poland. Contemporary Western writers grasped for explanations, including that the Hungarian grassland was insufficient for their horses. More likely, it was that the Mongols’ objectives were far more limited than most appreciated. Although Western chroniclers assumed themselves the center of the destiny of God’s world, the fact was that the relatively backward and poor petty kingdoms of Western and Central Europe were less of a prize than the empires of the Near and Middle East.   Hedging Bets Innocent IV from MS. Laud Misc. 632, unknown artist, 14th century. Source: Bodleian Library, Oxford   This was not the end of Mongol interactions with the West. The dream of King David or Prester John may have faded, but there was still hope that the Mongols could be a potential ally against the real enemy in the Holy Land and Iberia. Just three years after the devastation of eastern Hungary, Pope Innocent IV sent embassies out to the Mongols. Each embassy carried two letters from the pope himself, one exhorting the Mongol “king” to cease attacks on Christian peoples, and the second extolling the virtues of Christianity and inviting the Mongols to receive baptism. The destinations of these representatives speak to the breadth of the Pax Mongolica that historians speak of, created by Mongol conquest and depopulation, but also by their trading and administrative nous. Two monks, Caprini and Benedict, went as far as Mongolia itself, witnessing the enthronement of the new Great Khan, Guyug.   Caprini and Benedict did not return with good news. Guyug had no interest in baptism and apparently misinterpreted Innocent’s overtures as the first step towards submission, something that would recur with Western outreaches to the Mongol court. Innocent did not give up immediately, but over the coming years, the papacy would simultaneously try to forge good relations with the Mongols—spurred on by repeated rumors that the Khan’s conversion was imminent—and alliances with the peoples that stood between them and the Latin heartland. There were even fleeting moments of alignment with Muslim armies. In 1259, the Mongols attacked Poland and threatened Prussia, demanding the submission of European monarchs. Only a succession crisis and the outbreak of civil war within the Mongol Empire prevented them from encroaching further into Latin Christendom.   Caprini meeting with the Great Khan, fresco in the Council Hall of Magione, Italy, Gerardo Dottori, 1949. Source: Ambasciata d’Italia Ulaanbaatar   Thereon, the direct Mongol threat to the west diminished, limited largely to minor raids and skirmishes with the Teutonic Knights. However, they remained the dominant presence in the east, ruling over enormous stretches and demanding tribute from their neighbors. In 1340, the papacy tried to organize a crusade to push them away from Poland, but there was little international support.   Ultimately, the threat of the Golden Horde was diminished by the Black Death and further weakened by yet more succession struggles. The papacy’s attention turned south against the Turks. New powers emerged to fill the vacuum, often in former client states such as Lithuania. For some, the Mongols started to become a useful ally against more threatening neighbors, with the Poles utilizing them as a counter-weight to the Teutonic Knights.   A new Mongol force under Tamerlane began threatening Western merchant activities in the Mediterranean in the early 15th century, leading again to some tentative alignment between the Christian city-states of Italy and the Mamluk Turks, although kings further west viewed his attacks against the Islamic Middle East more favorably. Again, hopes grew of an alliance against the Turks, with freshly embellished rumors of Tamerlane’s favorable treatment of Christian prisoners, conveniently dismissing the fact that he was a second-generation Muslim himself. In fact, the reverse was often true: Christian populations in Armenia and Anatolia often fared much worse under their new conquerors than Muslims.   The Mongol Rus The sacking of Suzdal, depicted in the Raziwill Chronicle, 15th century. Source: Web Archive   Although the Mongol incursion into Europe was limited to its eastern reaches and was relatively short-lived, it did have a profound impact, not least on the areas occupied. They shifted the area of focus in medieval Rus from Kyiv to Moscow, due to the devastation of the former, and the latter being their preferred client state, a trend with long-lasting repercussions. According to Carpini, the population of Kyiv dropped from 50,000 people to just 200 houses. As once prosperous cities declined, crafts ceased, links with rural centers rotted, and the economy regressed, falling behind Western Europe. The Russians also adopted many of the basic functions of Mongol statecraft, including military organization and its tax and courier systems. Perhaps as much as 15 percent of the Russian nobility as late as the 17th century traced their roots to the Mongol invaders.   It also pulled Russia’s attention and cultural gravity away from Europe and towards Asia, foreshadowing Moscow’s eastern expansion. Although the papacy made opportunistic efforts to bring the princes and kings of eastern Europe into its orbit with the offer of military aid, rulers such as Alexander Nevsky, prince of Novgorod, realistically knew that Mongol power was simply more overwhelming and proximate that the phantom crusades from the west. This exacerbated the cultural and political divide between Orthodox Eastern Europe and the Latin West. We still live with the implications of this today.   Demystifying the East Panotii, depicted in the Nuremberg Chronicle, Hartmann Schedel, 1493. Source: Beloit College   Another impact was breaking the long-held Western ideas about the far-east that had taken hold since the dissipation of Rome’s trading links with India and China. Classical texts, translated from Arabic into Latin, such as Ptolemy’s Geographia, were neglected. Arabic texts were ignored. Instead, accounts of the world beyond Jerusalem were gleaned from classical sources such as Pliny’s Natural History, Isidore’s Etymologiae, and the largely fictional Alexander Romance. These were combined with biblical allusions, such as the deportation of the Ten Tribes of Israel to Asia by the Assyrians.   What the West imagined lay in Asia is preserved in depictions such as the lintel of the tympanum of Vezelay Abbey in France, carved in the early 12th century. These include the dog-headed Cynocephali, the pig-snouted Sciritae of India, the Panotii with their enormous ears, and even one man with feathers. Their physical grotesqueness was supposed to reflect their lack of morality and true religion. It therefore was not difficult to project Prester John into this confusion, a myth perpetuated by a forged letter circulated from the 1160s onwards, mixed with reports of a Central Asian nation, actually the Buddhist Qara-Khitan defeating the army of the Seljuk Sultan Sanjar.   The arrival of the Mongols in Europe shattered these ideas, not just because of their lack of feathers, but also because they re-established Eurasian trade networks, allowing Europeans—most famously, Marco Polo—to travel further east and dispel old myths. Eastern fabrics and goods now found their way into Europe with greater regularity, with even popes wearing Mongol cloth. The prices of previously expensive Asian products, such as Chinese silk, dropped markedly in the early 14th century. This had two effects. In one sense, the expanse of Mongol domains and the sheer number of people made Latin Christians feel like a very small part of the world. On the other hand, tantalizing reports of great wealth and exotic peoples in the Far East, and a greater comprehension of the sheer scale of the Eurasian landmass, would later spur on the push for safe routes to the region after the decline of Mongol power, leading inadvertently to the European discovery (or re-discovery) of the Americas.   Global Cooling and the Black Death Dance of Death leaf from the Nuremberg Chronicle, Michael Wolgemut, 1493. Source: Metropolitan Museum of Art   Perhaps the greatest impact of the Mongols on the history not just of Europe, but of the world, is one that wasn’t recognized until the growth in interest in environmental and climate history over the last three decades. Although there have been some revisionist attempts to qualify the bloodthirsty image of Genghis Khan and his successors, there is a consensus that they wiped out perhaps as much as 10 percent of Eurasia’s population. Gradually, nature reclaimed the now-vacant towns, villages, and agricultural land. One theory is that the consequence of all this was a small but significant reduction in the amount of carbon dioxide in the atmosphere, which may have resulted in a climactic cooling effect. Some have associated this with the increase in abnormal weather events and famines in the period. The Mongol trade empire would later allow the Black Death to spread across the landmass, infecting populations already under stress from the changing weather. Some have even suggested that unfavorable rat population reductions contributed to the infectious fleas seeking alternative hosts.   The plague killed even more—perhaps as much as 50 percent of Europe’s population—which repeated the pattern of depopulation, reclamation, and carbon output reduction. The combination of all the above resulted in a marked increase in societal violence and political instability from the late 14th to early 16th centuries. This weakened some polities—notably, in the Americas—but the following political and institutional reforms would strengthen others, such as England, France, and Spain.   The link between climate change and the Mongols has likely been exaggerated by writers too keen for a headline. The original study was more skeptical of its impact. In any case, it speaks to the dramatic and often underestimated impact that the spread of the Mongol Empire and its confrontation with Eastern Europe had on the history of the West. It may be too much of a strength to directly link the Mongol conquests to the rise of global European empires, but it at least helped establish the conditions in which great change on a global scale could take place.   Select Bibliography   Allsen, T. (2004) Culture and Conquest in Mongol Eurasia, Cambridge.   de Hartog, L. (1996) Russia and the Mongol Yoke: The History of the Russian Principalities and the Golden Horde, 1221-1502, London.   Jackson, P. (2005) The Mongols and the West, 1221-1410, Harlow.   Katzenellenbogen, A. (1944) “The Central Tympanum at Vézelay: Its Encyclopedic Meaning and Its Relation to the First Crusade,” The Art Bulletin, 26: 141-151.   Morgan, D. (2007) The Mongols (2nd ed.) Oxford.   Phillips, J.R.S. (1998) The Medieval Expansion of Europe (2nd ed.) Oxford.   Pongratz, J., Caldeira, K., Claussen, M. (2011) “Coupled climate–carbon simulations indicate minor global effects of wars and epidemics on atmospheric CO2 between ad 800 and 1850,” The Holocene, 21: 843-851.   N.I. Samia, K.L. Kausrud, H. Heesterbeek, V. Ageyev, M. Begon, K.S. Chan, N.C. Stenseth, ‘Dynamics of the plague-wildlife-human system in Central Asia are controlled by two epidemiological thresholds’. Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences of the United States of America, 108 (2011), 14527–14532

  As the continuation of the Roman Empire, the Byzantine Empire also did not have a clear order of succession. The emperor was seen as God’s representative on Earth. In theory, anybody could have become emperor if it was God’s will. As a result, the Byzantine state is famous for its countless civil wars and succession crises. There were many dynasties throughout Byzantium’s long history, but most of them did not last very long. In this article, we present four examples of the Byzantine emperors whose rise to power was marked by political intrigues, conspiracies, and civil wars.   1. Bloody Comeback: Rises and Falls of Justinian II (685–695 and 705–711) Coin of Justinian II with Jesus Christ on the obverse, c. 692–695 CE. Source: Dumbarton Oaks   Although not as famous as his namesake Justinian the Great, the life of Justinian II represents one of the most intriguing stories. He was one of the only two Byzantine emperors who had two separate reigns. The first reign was very eventful, despite the fact that he was only 16 or 17 years old when he came to power. He fought many campaigns against Arabs, Slavs, and Bulgars. These wars were very expensive, which often came at the cost of the aristocracy, whom he forced to fund his campaigns and lavish building projects.   A strong discontent with his rule ended in a coup in 695, led by Leontius, who became the next emperor (695–698). As punishment, Justinian’s nose was cut off, and he was exiled to Cherson in the Crimea. Justinian II spent the next ten years in exile with only one thing on his mind—revenge and return to power.   Mutilation of Justinian II, from a 15th-century French manuscript. Source: Wikimedia Commons   Meanwhile, a general named Apsimarus took the Byzantine throne and ruled as Emperor Tiberius III (698–705). Justinian fled from Cherson in 702/703 CE to seek an alliance with the Khazars. He even married the Khagan’s daughter, who converted to Christianity and took the name Theodora. Emperor Tiberius III bribed the Khazar ruler to conspire against Justinian. They sent two assassins, whom Justinian personally strangled after his wife informed him about the plan. After that, they fled to Bulgaria, where Justinian acquired the help of the Bulgarian Khan Tervel.   In the spring of 705 CE, Justinian II and Tervel showed up in front of the walls of Constantinople with a strong Bulgarian and Slav army. Justinian knew that the walls of Constantinople were unbreachable, so he took another approach. Along with some of his men, he entered the city through an underground water pipe. They staged a coup, and Justinian II regained the throne, despite the fact that he was mutilated.   Emperor Philippicus sends his men to execute Justinian’s son Tiberius, from a 14th-century Bulgarian manuscript. Source: Wikimedia Commons   He awarded Khan Tervel with the title of Caesar, making him the first non-Roman to hold that title. The second reign of Justinian II was marked by blood and repression. His predecessors, Leontius and Tiberius, were publicly humiliated and beheaded. Ecumenical Patriarch Callinicus was blinded and exiled to Rome. He also ordered a punitive expedition against the city of Ravenna because of the anti-imperial sentiment. The whole city was raided in the brutal campaign. Because of his brutality and repression, Justinian’s rule became increasingly unpopular.   The final end of Justinian II started in the same city he was first exiled to, Cherson. The soldiers he sent to put down the rebellion turned against him. In 711 CE, Justinian II was captured and beheaded by the general Bardanes. His head was sent to Italy to be paraded in Rome and Ravenna. Bardanes was proclaimed as Emperor Philippicus (711–713). In Constantinople, Justinian’s son was captured and slaughtered, putting a bloody end to the dynasty of Heraclius.   2. From Peasant to Emperor: Basil I, Macedonian (867–886) Basil I, underdrawing from a 9th-century Byzantine manuscript. Source: Bibliothèque nationale de France   When young Basil came to Constantinople in c. 840 CE, he was just a poor and illiterate village boy looking for a better life. 27 years later, he became the emperor of the Romans. Basil’s early life and rise to power are obscured by the popular legends and tales spread during the reign of the Macedonian Dynasty.   Byzantine sources described young Basil as handsome and beautiful, so it is not difficult to imagine that he used his charm to get what he wanted. We do know that he eventually became a groom in the service of Theophilitzes. Theophilitzes was a relative of Caesar Bardas, uncle of the Emperor Michael III, and one of the most powerful men in the empire. One day, while he accompanied Theophilitzes in the city of Patras, Basil caught the eye of a wealthy widow, Danielis. It seems that he influenced her so much that she gave him great fortune.   As the story goes, the emperor noticed Basil when he defeated a Bulgarian champion during a wrestling match. Because of his abilities, Basil soon became the emperor’s personal horse tamer and a bodyguard.   Basil defeats a Bulgarian wrestler, from a 12th-century manuscript. Source: Library of Congress   While at the court, Basil managed to exert a great influence on the young emperor Michael III, and the two became close companions. Basil even divorced his wife in order to marry the emperor’s mistress, Eudokia Ingerina. However, the emperor kept a relationship with her. At the same time, Basil was involved with Thekla, the emperor’s sister.   Basil’s main opponent was Caesar Bardas, so he decided to put him away. He managed to convince the emperor that Bardas was plotting against him, so the two of them conceived a plan to kill Bardas. A supposed campaign against Arabs was organized, only to get Bardas out of Constantinople. One day, Bardas was brutally slaughtered by Basil and his companions in the presence of the emperor in 866 CE. With Bardas dead, Basil became the most influential man in the court. Not long after these events, Michael III publicly crowned Basil as his co-emperor.   Murder of Caesar Bardas, from a 12th-century manuscript. Source: Library of Congress   It is important to note that much of the bad reputation of Michael III stems from propaganda spread during the Macedonian Dynasty. Because of that, Michael was remembered as a reckless drunkard. Some of his decisions might seem strange, but we do not know the whole truth. It appears that Michael III saw through Basil’s intentions as he started to mistrust him. He even publicly mocked his proclamation as co-emperor on one occasion.   One night in 867 CE, when the emperor was sleeping drunk in his chambers, Basil and a few of his companions brutally slaughtered the emperor, who was only 27 years old. Since Michael III did not have any children, Basil automatically became the sole Emperor of the Romans. The occasion marked the bloody beginning of the Macedonian Dynasty, which would rule the Byzantine Empire until 1057 CE.   Controversy marked Basil’s ascension. Nevertheless, his reign was stable and successful. He issued many new laws, which were later collected in the Basilika, one of the most important works of Byzantine law. He pursued an active policy in the West, which improved Byzantine positions in southern Italy.   3. From Rogue Prince to Ruthless Tyrant: Andronikos I Komnenos (1183–1185) A miniature of Andronikos I Komnenos, 15th century. Source: Estense Digital Library   The reign of the last emperor of the Komnenos Dynasty was short and bloody. In contrast, his life before coming to power was full of rebellious adventures, scandalous love affairs, and political intrigues. Andronikos grew up with his cousin and the future Emperor Manuel I Komnenos (1143–1180). Although the two were great friends, their relationship soon turned to rivalry.   In the early 1150s, Andronikos entered into a relationship with Eudokia, his and Manuel’s niece. At the same time, he plotted against Manuel together with Geza II, King of Hungary. Because of this, Manuel imprisoned Andronikos in 1155. He managed to escape in 1159, only to be caught and imprisoned again. He escaped for a second time in 1164 and fled to Prince Yaroslav of Galicia to seek an alliance against Manuel. However, Manuel soon formed an alliance with Yaroslav, and Andronikos had to reconcile with his cousin. Only two years had passed, and Andronikos was banished from Constantinople. He refused to swear an oath to Prince Bela III of Hungary, who was designated as heir to the Byzantine throne at the time. He was given a post in Cilicia, far away from the capital.   Andronikos I blinds his enemies, miniature from a 13th-century French manuscript. Source: Portail Biblissima   From Cilicia, Andronikos fled to Antioch, where he had another scandalous affair. This time, he seduced Philippa of Antioch, who was the sister of Manuel’s wife, Maria. They soon fled to the Kingdom of Jerusalem, where Andronikos left Philippa for Theodora, daughter of his cousin Isaac Komnenos. Andronikos and Theodora had a long-lasting relationship, which produced two children.   Emperor Manuel ordered Andronikos to come back to court, but he refused and fled Jerusalem with Theodora. Two of them wandered through Anatolia and the Caucasus for several years. During that time, they were welcomed to the courts of many different states. After Manuel’s officials captured Theodora in 1180, Andronikos was forced to come back to Constantinople and beg for forgiveness. Manuel I made him a governor of Paphlagonia, where he lived with Theodora for the next two years.   After Manuel I died, he was succeeded by his underage son Alexios II (1180–1183). The real power was in the hands of his mother, Maria, who ruled as regent. Andronikos came to Constantinople in 1182 at the invitation of Maria, who faced substantial opposition in the capital.   Death of Andronikos I, miniature from a 15th-century French manuscript. Source: Portail Biblissima   Andronikos soon turned against Maria and even forced 13-year-old Alexios II to sign a document that condemned her to death. Although Andronikos presented himself as a “savior” of Alexios II, that did not stop him from ordering his murder in 1183. To boost his legitimacy, Andronikos married eleven-year-old Empress Agnes of France, wife of the late Alexios II.   Andronikos had a lot of internal enemies, many of whom he blinded or executed. Nobles were especially hostile towards his rule because of his anti-aristocratic policies, which were enforced brutally. Although his reforms did improve the lives of the peasantry, Andronikos’s reign is mostly remembered for political purges and the reign of terror. Ultimately, his reign greatly destabilized the empire. Many nobles who escaped persecution sought aid from the Empire’s enemies. In the end, Andronikos was captured in Constantinople during the uprising against him. He was publicly tortured for several days. After he died, his remains were left unburied for several years.   4. Master of Political Intrigue: Michael VIII Palaiologos (1259–1282) A miniature of Michael VIII Palaiologos, 15th century. Source: Estense Digital Library   The early life and career of Michael Palaiologos remain largely unknown. His father, Andronikos, served as a megas domestikos (commander-in-chief) of the Nicene Empire. Michael is recorded as a governor of two important towns in Thrace in c. 1246. It seems that Emperor John III Vatatzes (1222–1254) became suspicious of Michael, as he accused him of treason. As suggested by the Metropolitan Bishop Phokas of Philadelphia, Michael was put on trial by ordeal, with a red-hot iron used to prove his innocence or guilt. Apparently, Michael avoided the trial by suggesting that he would gladly accept the red-hot iron if Metropolitan Phokas would give it to him from his own hands.   Because Michael had considerable support from the army and political elites, charges were soon dropped. After the trial, Michael was given command of the Latin mercenaries. When Emperor John III died in 1254, he was succeeded by his son Theodore II Laskaris (1254–1258). A new emperor took a particularly harsh stance against the aristocracy, which he mistrusted.   Seal of Michael VIII Palaiologos, c. 1261–1282. Source: Dumbarton Oaks   Michael fled to the Seljuk Sultanate of Rum, where he commanded Christian mercenaries. His motives are unclear, but it is possible that he sought Seljuk assistance to overthrow Theodore II. However, his plan failed when Theodore II settled a peace agreement with the Seljuks, and Michael had to return to Nicaea. Theodore II died in 1258, leaving his eight-year-old son, John IV Laskaris (1258–1261), as the new emperor. In his testament, Theodore II appointed his protovestiarios, George Muzalon, as a regent and guardian for his son. He was soon killed in a conspiracy led by Michael, who replaced him as John’s regent.   From this point onward, Michael’s rise only accelerated. By November of 1258, he was given the titles of megas doux and despotes, and on January 1, 1259, Michael Palaiologos was crowned co-emperor. In 1261, one of Michael’s generals managed to get into Constantinople and retake it after 57 years of Latin rule. Michael VIII triumphantly entered the city and was crowned again, this time in Hagia Sophia. The main obstacle to his power was the young John IV, who was blinded and detained in a castle.   Miniature of Emperor Michael VIII Palaiologos, 14th century. Source: Munich Library   Michael VIII used diplomacy against the numerous enemies of his restored empire. He managed to secure the East from the Mongols by marrying his illegitimate daughters to Mongol rulers. His main enemy and rival was Charles of Anjou, who had just become the King of Sicily in 1266. Just as ambitious as Michael, Charles’s main goal was restoring the Latin Empire.   In order to stall Charles’s plans, Michael attempted to negotiate a Church union with Pope Gregory X (1271–1276). While these negotiations bought time, they also caused a significant internal division. By 1281, Charles had gathered a large naval force for the attack on Constantinople. Ultimately, Michael VIII was victorious.   The old Byzantine emperor conspired with Peter III of Aragon to overthrow Charles from Sicily, which eventually happened after the rebellion called “the Sicilian Vespers.” Michael’s Italian ambassadors took an active role in instigating a revolt. Despite his success, Michael VIII’s reign came at a cost to his successors, who couldn’t prevent the Byzantine Empire from declining again.

  The Mongols conquered the largest land empire in recorded history. Their realm stretched across the Asian continent from China all the way to present-day Russia, Poland, Hungary, and the Balkans in Europe before declining in the mid-14th century. They are known today for their military capabilities and swiftness with which they defeated their competitors, oftentimes overpowering centuries-old empires. However, in the case of Japan, they were not so lucky. What happened? The story of the Mongols’ two failed attempts at invading Japan involves politics, naval warfare, and divine winds.   Kublai Khan—Genghis Khan’s Grandson Map of the territory of the Yuan Dynasty around 1290, based on the Encyclopedia of Mongolia and the Mongol Empire by Christopher P. Atwood (2004). Source: Wikimedia Commons   By the late 13th century, the Mongol empire in East Asia was being led by Kublai Khan, grandson of the first Mongol leader Genghis Khan. Genghis Khan’s original name was Temüjin, meaning ‘blacksmith’ or ‘of iron,’ before being changed to ‘Genghis Khan,’ a title which meant ‘universal ruler.’   Although the separate Mongol tribes across Central Asia were united under Genghis, the new empire became divided into four separate regions in the decades after his death in 1227. Each region was led by one of his sons and eventually their descendants. Kublai Khan was the son of Tolui, the youngest son of Genghis Khan, who was assigned to the land of Eastern Mongolia.   Kublai Khan continued Tolui’s territorial legacy by continuing Mongol expansion and power in East Asia. Like his grandfather, Kublai was a strategic military leader, and would eventually name his part of the Mongol empire the Yuan, or ‘origin of the universe.’ This is the empire Marco Polo would come into contact with during his travels to China, even meeting with Kublai Khan himself in 1275. This meeting blossomed into a 17-year relationship, during which Marco Polo served as a personal diplomat for Kublai Khan in his royal court.   An Unstoppable Object Meets an Unmovable Force- Diplomacy Between Kublai and Bakufu A Japanese Samurai and Ainu in Hokkaido, unknown Edo-period artist, 1775. Source: Hakodate City Museum, Hokkaido   Before the arrival of Marco Polo and the subjugation of China under Kublai Khan, however, the Mongol leader also had his eye set on a territory east of Korea: present-day Japan. There are many theories as to why Kublai Khan wanted to conquer Japan. Some scholars theorize that expansion into Japan was Kublai’s desire to increase Mongol power and territory, like Kublai’s grandfather Genghis Khan.   Japan was abundant with resources such as gold, silver, iron ore, and other minerals. Additionally, they were equipped with a strong military force. Samurais, meaning “ones who serve,” were high up in the hierarchical caste system of feudal Japan. The fighting capabilities of the samurai, who began training in childhood and were expert archers and swordsmen, could have made Kublai’s army unstoppable.   Both these factors would have been appealing to Kublai. Some historians, however, argue that the invasion of Japan, at least initially, was part of a military strategy to weaken southern China, at that time under the Southern Song Dynasty (Sasaki, p. 27). Kublai perceived Japan as the lifeline keeping the Southern Song afloat, at least, economically. This point will be explored in more detail below. In order to fully take over the Song, Kublai needed to sever its relationship with Japan.   Boat Scene from the Mōko Shūrai Ekotoba, unknown artist, 13th century. Source: Museum of the Imperial Collections at Tokyo Imperial Palace   Kublai sent an ambassador to Japan in 1266 to extend a diplomatic olive branch which was covered in thorns. What Kublai demanded was recognition of his power and tribute to be paid to his empire. This approach was typical of the Mongols; they encountered new territories by offering their absorption into the Mongol empire on the condition the region provide them with tribute. In the case of refusal, the Mongols would turn to warfare.   Japan at the time was being ruled by the Kamakura Bakufu or shogunate, a regime in which the emperor was effectively a puppet of the shogun or commander-in-chief. After a lack of response from the shogun, Kublai abandoned his diplomatic efforts and began military preparations. Kublai during that time continued to expand his territory, eventually gaining control over Korea in 1273. Before letting his new subjects catch their breath, he demanded an extensive fleet of ships to be built in order to attack Japan.   Although the Mongols were skilled at fighting on land, they were heavily reliant on the newly subjected Koreans and Chinese for maritime knowledge. Much of the manpower used to build and sail these ships was supplied by the Koreans and Chinese, who may have also taught Mongol soldiers. By the summer of 1274, a fleet of 900 ships were ready to be launched from Korea to head towards Hakata Bay in Japan.   The Invasion of 1274 Scene from the Mōko Shūrai Ekotoba depicting Mongol bombs, unknown artist, 13th century. Source: Museum of the Imperial Collections at Tokyo Imperial Palace   When the Mongol fleet left the ports of Korea, they took over the islands of Tsushima and Iki before arriving in Hakata Bay on the Japanese island of Kyūshū, in present-day Fukuoka City. Upon their arrival, they were met by Japanese soldiers led by Kikuchi Takefusa, a member of the Kikuchi clan, an important samurai group.   Mongol military tactics and technology were new to the Japanese soldiers. The samurai were taken by surprise by the group fighting tactics used by the Mongols. Additionally, the Mongols had a type of weapon they had yet to encounter—the exploding iron bomb.   The use of gunpowder to make bombs existed in China prior to the Mongols as early as the 11th century, and were even used against the Mongols by the Song military. This technology not only caused physical damage, but the loud bang it produced was also extremely disorienting for soldiers and horses alike. One can only imagine the chaos of sounds that erupted during this conflict.   The Mongol Invasion by the workshop of Kawashima Jimbei II, after Morizumo Yugyo, 1904. Source: The Walters Art Museum, Baltimore   This chaos is depicted in the Mōko Shūrai Ekotoba, or Illustrated Scrolls of the Mongol Invasion, which were commissioned by samurai Takezaki Suenaga, who fought against both invasions. Nonetheless, the samurai still were able to force the Mongols to retreat, splitting them into two groups who reconvened at Sohara in north-western Fukuoka.   The fighting continued in the bay until the Japanese retreated inland to Mizuki. Japanese soldiers waited there for an attack by the Mongols that never came. The Mongols burned Hakata to the ground, including the Shinto shrines of Sumiyoshi and Hakozaki, but instead of moving inland, left Hakata the next day. Although this first attack on Japan by the Mongols has been written off as Mongol failure, it may not have been intended to fully subject Japan.   The initial Mongol attack on Japan could have been intended to weaken the trading link between Japan and China. This is because Hakata Bay was the port that supported the maritime trade between Japan and the Southern Song. This trade helped the Southern Song finance their military expenditure—if the Mongols could break the trade route, they could undermine Kublai’s primary target. By disrupting trade links, the Mongols secured their strategic objectives without any need for further action.   The Second Attack and the Kamikaze Scene from the Mōko Shūrai Ekotoba or Illustrated Scrolls of the Mongol Invasion, unknown artist, 13th century. Source: Museum of the Imperial Collections at Tokyo Imperial Palace   If the intention of Kublai Khan was to weaken the Southern Song, he succeeded. Southern Song fell to Kublai in 1279 and southern China was officially absorbed into the Yuan Dynasty. However, if Kublai’s intention was to weaken the Southern Song, why did he decide to attack Japan a second time? If there really was a storm that weakened the Mongol fleets, perhaps Kublai Khan perceived the invasion of Japan as an unfinished feat. Perhaps, now armed with the strength and numbers of the Southern Song military, he felt fully confident in a positive outcome for attack.   It should be noted that again Kublai sent a second ambassador to Japan in 1275. Allegedly, the response by the Kamakura was to behead the envoy. Such an action violated diplomatic norms and would have been cause for war, though the exact reason why Kublai decided to attack Japan a second time has been lost in the sands of time. However, what we do know is that an even greater number of vessels and soldiers accompanied this second attempt.   After his conquest of Southern Song, Kublai now had access to an extensive maritime fleet, and double the number of soldiers. Kublai prepared another attack on Japan in 1281, but this time, the number of ships totalled to around 4,400. Kublai also pursued a different strategy for the second invasion—instead of a single attack, Kublai organized two separate fleets that would attack from different directions. However, this strategy could have been a massive mistake.   Scene from the Mōko Shūrai Ekotoba or Illustrated Scrolls of the Mongol Invasion, possibly Mongol ship, unknown artist, 13th century. Source: Museum of the Imperial Collections at Tokyo Imperial Palace   When the eastern fleet arrived from Korea at Iko Island, they were supposed to meet a fleet arriving from southern China. Instead, the admiral commanding the southern fleet got sick and had to be replaced, delaying the arrival of the southern fleet by a month. There are reports that the eastern fleet was running out of food and its soldiers were exhausted. Finally, the southern fleet arrived at Iko Island, and both fleets headed towards Hakata Bay.   Japan was prepared for a second attack by the Mongols, and spent the years between the first attack in 1274 and 1281 building a 20-kilometer or 12-mile stone wall to defend Hakata. Kublai’s fleets made it all the way to Imari Bay. After a few days of combat, a typhoon came that destroyed almost 90 percent of the ships. The typhoon mostly impacted the southern fleet, killing between 70,000 and 100,000 soldiers. Allegedly, the ones who survived turned to fighting each other in order to clamber aboard the remaining ships. The eastern fleet returned to Korea, making this event the last time Kublai would try to attack Japan.   Impacts Defeat of the Mongols in the Western Sea by Utagawa (Gountei) Sadahide, 1863. Source: Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York   The second attack orchestrated by the Mongols in 1281 would have a lasting legacy on the culture and self-perception of the Japanese people. Japan referred to the arrival of the typhoon as a divine intervention from god, referring to it as the kamikaze, or ‘divine wind.’ This name would be adopted by Japanese fighter pilots in World War II, whose sacrifice in suicidal missions was perceived like the destructive winds of the 1281 typhoon. This divine intervention signified the superiority of the Japanese people.   Additionally, the ability to resist attacks on two separate occasions by a political and military force that overtook places like China and Baghdad reinforced this perceived military superiority. In the 21st century, the defeat of the Mongol invasions continues to be a source of Japanese collective memory and national pride. The bay of Hakata is even a tourist attraction, which could perhaps lead to larger questions about war-related tourism.   As for the impact on the Mongols, Japan would always remain a sore spot for Kublai Khan. He began plans for a third attack, but was convinced by his subordinates to abandon them. The attack of 1281 cost Kublai a fortune in terms of weapons and soldiers, and he may not have been able to afford a third invasion of Japan even if he wanted to.   Likewise, Kublai enjoyed limited success in his other ventures to invade various Southeast Asian states, and Mongol control of China began to deteriorate in the decades following his death in 1294. Mongol rule in China lasted until 1368, when the Yuan Dynasty was overthrown by the Ming Dynasty.   Sources cited:    Sasaki, R. J. (2015). The Origins of the Lost Fleet of the Mongol Empire. Texas A&M University Press.