Post 168.

This is my 168th post of 2020. 

It's significant because that makes this annus horribilis personally noteworthy for one reason.

Namely, it's the most blog posts I have put up since 2009.

It's no coincidence that I opened my Facebook account in late 2008, and soon found I couldn't split time. 

Now, the value of this current stream of posts is definitely de gustibus, but here they are.

And since I can't leave it on a purely self-indulgent note, I will offer something more valuable.

Namely, a picture of the depiction of Christ from the great Ravenna mosaic cycle:

My youngest daughter did a presentation about Byzantine art last night, and she used a print-out of this mosaic of Christ from the Basilica of Sant'Apollinare Nuovo as an example of the Empire's artistic glories. 

At least one of them is interested in Dad's peculiar historical fancy. 

Nika!

The bastard.

Not unexpected, but I wasn't expecting it today:
 
Erdogan and his puppet Islamist court re-converts Hagia Sofia to a mosque.

Say goodbye to the frescoes--this time, forever. 

The light dims even more.

A little dose of Byzantium.

A Byzantine fresco of Joshua, the Hosias Loukas Monastery, Greece. Dated to the late 12th-early 13th Century. 

If you want an idea of what a contemporary Byzantine army officer looked like, right down to the lamellar armor and sword, there you go.

As always, give it a click for more detail.

What do Byzantium and the wine glass in your cupboard have in common?

Thanks to a recent archaeological discovery, soon you just might be able to drink the Byzantine Empire's favorite vintage, the "Wine of the Negev."

 For the first time, grape seeds from the Byzantine era have been found. These grapes were used to produce “the Wine of the Negev” — one of the finest and most renowned wines in the whole of the Byzantine Empire. The charred seeds, over 1,500 years-old, were found at the Halutza excavation site in the Negev during a joint dig by the University of Haifa and the Israel Antiquities Authority. “The vines growing in the Negev today are European varieties, whereas the Negev vine was lost to the world. Our next job is to recreate the ancient wine, and perhaps in that way we will be able to reproduce its taste and understand what made the Negev wine so fine,” said Prof. Guy Bar-Oz of the University of Haifa, director of the excavation.

The archeologists know of “the Wine of the Negev” or “Gaza Wine” — named for the port it was sent from to all corners of the empire — from historical sources from the Byzantine period. This wine was considered to be of very high quality and was very expensive, but unfortunately, it did not survive to our day, so we do not know what it was that made it so fine. In earlier excavations in the Negev, archeologists found the terraces where the vines were cultivated, the wineries where wine was produced, and the jugs in which the wine was stored and exported, but the grape seeds themselves were not found.

I would love to be able to drink to that. L'chaim!

The Forgotten Battle.

Raymond Ibrahim recalls the anniversary of the beginning of the 717-18 Siege of Constantinople, the second such Arab effort to break Christendom's bulwark. The focus on the Coptic deserters from the Muslim army is especially helpful.

Here's an earlier post of mine on the first siege, with invaluable insights from Ostrogorsky.  

A couple of thoughts:

1. Take the claimed numbers with a grain of salt. Medieval chroniclers, regardless of religion, tended to exaggerate in that department. Not as bad as their classical forebears, but still. 

2. Ibrahim is dead on when he says it deserves more press than Tours. Tours was important, but I'd argue that it wasn't the most important battle Martel fought against the Caliphate: his later southern campaign which led to the uprooting of Muslim France was more important.

 

Historical Cleansing.

Reminders of Jahiliyyah can be quite stressing to the hothouse flowers of jihad.

Tom McDonald directs our attention the newest outburst of piety, the destruction of priceless Assyrian artifacts in newly-ruined Syria.

Of course, the phenomenon is also imposed on the holy places and objects of other "Abrahamic" religions, too. Like the Aya Sofia church in Trabzon (formerly Trebizond) Turkey. There's a court battle over this one, with an initial injunction, but the Age of Erdogan means that this is likely to be a temporary speed-bump.

Meandering on.

Um...yeah.

OK, well...I'm awfully intermittent here, so thanks for humouring me. So, let me proffer a potpourri of links as restitution.

If you'd like to see me in person, I'm making a triumphant return to the stage (last seen in college) in a local rendition of Fiddler on the Roof. I'm playing Mordcha, the innkeeper, in three shows. An asteroid is born!

I know what you're thinking--"What's a Teroid?"

The Pope goes all-in in San Fran. Interesting times, as they say.

The home front remains interesting as well, though we are hoping for such to die down. The Eldest Son is bucking for traditional school at the rate he's going. What can you do?

Mayor Ratched goes a step beyond La Leche League, locking up the formula. By the by, Jeff's place is a lively locale, rewarding repeated visits--a haven for limited-government folks not interested in buying what the GOP is selling.

I have been violated! Ok, tagged. I won't hate, but need time to ponder.

An intrepid soul's taking a run at a Byzantium novel, and one worth watching. Yes, I offer advice in the comments. Like I could resist.

Don McClarey gets the annual bomb debate off to a contentious start. Lawyers... My thought: I'm glad I wasn't Harry Truman.

Professor (and father of 5) Amitai Etzioni explains that asking "does being a parent make you happy?" is the wrong question.

Tragic, telling Detroit quote of the year: "There's nothing here but the devil." Two suspects have been arrested.

If the facts hold up (fog of war, etc.), this is as surprising as the sun rising in the east.

Oh, and our new parish is finishing up a genuine renovation, as opposed to wreckovation. The original movement of the altar forward mercifully left the altar rails and everything else intact. Unfortunately, it created an acoustical sump by covering the raised platform for the altar with gold plush carpeting. Oh, and the altar was wooden, and ditto the lectern. Here are some pre-renovation shots of our parish (Abp. Vigneron leading a pro-life vigil from there) from the invaluable Diane K at the Assumption Grotto site.

The old marble lectern has been pulled out of storage, and the entire platform has been redone in marble--from the same quarry as the church when built in 1956. The altar will be marble, and immobile, with a massive 3 x 5 slab for the altar top. The granite baptistery has been moved back to the altar area. I'll have pictures later--Bishop Byrnes is dedicating the altar on August 19 at 11am.

It feels like home.

Tippler post-script: Fonseca Bin No. 27 is my porto of choice. Costco offers it at a ridiculously-low price, so enjoy.

Well...

I suppose I should start blogging again. The funny thing is I gained three followers since I stopped almost two months ago, which is kinda hilarious. A hint, maybe?

For the curious: Things are fine, actually. Hectic, but fine. We're trying to get short sale approval for the fridge box we are currently living in. The process is best described as proctological. From the recent market surveys of houses nearby, it seems likely that you can have our home for a few artfully-arranged rolls of nickels. Feng that shui. Hey, it could hypothetically be a future historical landmark, or some kind of Amityville redux, what with the cat skulls in the crawl space.

Heather and the offspring are doing well, with Elizabeth tipping the scales at around 17 pounds at four months.

As to the blog, I'm going to change up slightly, weaving in a lot more book reviews, since that seems to be a fun area of discussion and I have the proverbial buttload o' books from which to choose. Ditto matters historical. I also have a yen for short fiction, but that may stay on the shelf. I have a pending request for a Byzantium post (no, seriously) which I will indulge. I'll still drop the occasional fisk, but they are pretty time intensive, and time is a commodity I don't expect to have in abundance for this year.

Thanks for checking in, and stay tuned.

Sic transit gloria mundi.

Jeffrey Smith has a magnificent pictorial post up about one of my favorite places on Earth, the island of Torcello in the Venetian lagoon.

Once home to 20,000 people, it is now inhabited by less than 100. Hemingway loved it, too, and rightfully so.

Jeffrey's pictures focus on the Basilica, which confirmed my love for all things Byzantine, as I've pointed out ad nauseum.

Here are a few more, which emphasize just how quiet the island has become over the last millenium:


A view from the Basilica. [Credit.]

Walking up to the piazza. [Credit.]

And, finally, the bridge over the canal. Those aren't handrails--the bridge isn't that big. A bit more of a precarious walk than depicted. [Credit.]

Just call me "lunger."

Bronchitis. Again. They think.

Tiresome, and I'm coughing like a clown's "ah-ooga" horn.

With that in mind, I'm just giving you a blog recommendation today: Surprised By Time. SBT is a blog by Diana G. Wright, a historian who specializes in the 15th Century Mediterranean. Lots of fascinating stuff there, including melancholy stories about Byzantium just before the lights went out forever.

Great stuff, and material you'd be hard-pressed to find anywhere else without mortgaging your house.

Saints be praised!

Yep, it's that time of year again: time to remember Saint Paul of Cyprus, martyred by the Emperor Constantine V during the iconoclast persecution.

I'm still at sea as to the green-beer-and-shamrocks part of the commemoration, but saints can inspire all sorts of weird traditions.

What am I reading?

Commenter Adam DeVille asked what I'm reading about in things Byzantine.

Every now and then, I do do requests.

Two things Byzantine are at my bedside for the moment. The first is The Empire of Manuel I Komnenos 1143-1180 by British historian Paul Magdalino and the second is Anna Comnena's Alexiad.

I'm about two-thirds of the way through the first work, and I am very, very impressed. Despite the title, it really is an overview of the entire Komnenian Dynasty (1081-1185), with a focus on the last effective Emperor, Manuel I. The Komnenian period represented the last revival of the Empire as an effective political entity. It's not organized as a straight history. Rather, it starts with an historical overview and then goes subject by subject through major themes such as the Imperial family, the Church, literature and so forth. What Magdalino does a very good job of showing what a creative and vibrant period it was, and the effectiveness of Manuel's leadership. Manuel is sometimes blamed as being a flighty spendthrift who went from opportunity to opportunity without a grand plan for preserving the gains of his father and grandfather. Magdalino demonstrates that this is based on an overreliance upon the most popular of the historians of the time, a stern critic of Manuel named Nicholas Choniates (available on Bookfinder for the equivalent of a mortgage payment, if you are interested). Sure, Manuel had his flaws (a near-satyriasis which was quite grim, as Choniates correctly noted). But his leadership decisionmaking was reasoned and thoughtful, though quite unlucky, especially near the end. An essential book if you are interested in the period.

The second is the classic Alexiad, written by Manuel's aunt Anna. The Alexiad is an account of the life and times of Anna's father, the Emperor Alexius I (1081-1118). I've jokingly told my wife that it could be subtitled "My Dad Is Awesome!" given the fulsome praise she rains upon her father. But in this case, it is pretty well deserved and despite Anna's understandable bias, it makes for good history. It could also be subtitled "And My Brother's a Turd."

You see, Anna almost certainly hated Manuel's guts because she hated his father, John II, who had the grotesque character flaw (in her eyes) of being born. Before John's birth, the plan was for Anna to marry Constantine Ducas, the son of a previous feckless Emperor, and to take the throne with him. When John was born, Alexius thought better of it and made his son his heir, dispossessing Anna in the process. Later, Anna was involved in a coup attempt while her father Alexius was on his deathbed, the plan being to supplant her younger brother and to place Anna and her husband Nikephoros Bryennios on the throne.

John learned about it beforehand (almost certainly from the reluctant Bryennios himself) and took the throne before the plotters could act. For a Byzantine Emperor, John II acted with singular mercy, merely confiscating properties and putting some of the plotters under comfortable house arrest (including Anna, but not Nikephoros(!)). House arrest gave Anna plenty of time to write, and thus The Alexiad was born. I'm about a quarter of the way through it, but it is an excellent translation and Anna is a fine, careful historian. I am eagerly awaiting her recounting of the First Crusade through Byzantine eyes. Strongly recommended as both history and a milestone of historical writing.

Oh, and I'm also reading The Sword of the Lady, which is now complete. Book review in September.

Byzantine Icon.

For those of you in need of your Eastern Roman fix.

This is the Ustyug Annunciation, a 12th Century Russian icon and one of the few to survive the Mongol catastrophe that descended upon Russia in the 13th Century. It's one of my favorites (I found it in the sadly out-of-print Byzantine Painting: The Last Phase). Be sure to click on the image for detail.



Note the infant Jesus descending into the Virgin's womb, too. The icon itself is a helpful reminder that Byzantium's influence extended far beyond the lands of the Mediterranean.

The Church of the Savior in Chora, Constantinople.

With all due respect to Hagia Sophia, the best remaining mosaics in the City of Constantine are not to be found there.

Rather, they can be seen at the Kariye Museum, the current name for the Church of the Savior in Chora. "Chora" is a term roughly meaning "rural," and reflects the fact that the city's great Theodosian Walls enclosed a great deal of farmland that was never developed, even when the population of the city exceeded half a million souls.

In fact, the parts of the city nearest the walls were popular sites for monasteries because of their remoteness from the population center.

The Church of the Savior is the last survivor. [Important Technical Note: Clicking on the pictures in the post often gives you a better look.]

Built in the Eleventh Century, during Byzantium's last years of unchallenged political glory, the Chora was made immortal during the fourteenth century by the diligent efforts of an aristocratic patron, Theodore Metochites.

Metochites presenting his work to Christ.

Metochites spent lavishly to adorn the church with the great mosaics which have endured to this day. After his fall from power during one of the many idiot suicidal squabbles within the last ruling Byzantine house, Metochites retired to the Chora as a monk and died there, hopefully consoled by his great work.

The Chora was not immediately turned into a mosque after the fall of the city to the Ottomans in 1453. However, it was forcibly expropriated and turned into a Muslim worshop site in the early 1500s, and heavy plaster covered the mosaics. Please note that the the plaster is not responsible for all of the damage to the mosaics--Istanbul is geologically active and suffers from a large number of earthquakes.

Fortunately, in 1948 the Chora's life as a mosque was ended by the Turkish government and restoration work was begun, resulting in the establishment of the site as a museum in 1958. For that, at least, we can be very thankful.

[Picture credit.]

The Dormition of the Blessed Virgin

The South Dome

The North Dome

Saint Paul

Saint Peter

Belisarius.

Justinian's greatest general, and one of Byzantium's Great Captains, Belisarius was one of the rare non-imperial Byzantine figures to retain a hold on the Western European imagination.




He *may* be the bearded figure to Justinian's right in the famous Ravenna mosaic at San Vitale Church.

This would be appropriate, because Belisarius would be Justinian's right hand in the campaigns to restore the Western part of the Empire. However, Justinian's paranoid streak perennially hamstrung Belisarius, who nonetheless worked miracles time and again in defeating barbarian armies with grossly inferior numbers, first vanquishing the Vandal kingdom, then defeating the Ostrogoths and liberating Rome herself. Sadly, he lacked the resources to finish off the Ostrogoths, and the latter rallied. The resultant generation of warfare, which finally ended in the Goths' defeat, led to horrific destruction throughout the peninsula. The ravages of war meant that the invading Lombards in the 570s-80s were able to conquer most of northern Italy and finally confine the Byzantines to the Mezzogiorno and Sicily by the middle of the 8th Century.

Justinian's paranoia--probably exacerbated by Belisarius' wife's actual political manuevering while the Emperor was stricken with the plague--finally got the better of him, and Belisarius was removed from office in the middle of the Gothic War. Justinian, paranoid as he was, still knew a talent when he saw one, reattached his right hand when the Bulgars threatened the provinces to the north of Constantinople. Once again, with an inferior force, Belisarius prevailed and routed the barbarians. He would die within a few months of Justinian in 565, a tragedy in many ways, not least that the Empire would need a military genius to address the multiplicity of threats that would hobble it over the next decade.

Interestingly, the West remembered both Belisarius and Justinian's ingratitude in the form of legends about a blind Belisarius being reduced to beggary.

Belisarius also survives in two popular works I've read, the fine and straightforward historical fiction of Count Belisarius by Robert Graves, and the slam-bang science fiction homage of Steve Stirling and David Drake, The General.

The General fictionalizes and transposes the campaigns of Belisarius to the future, on a planet settled by humans after the discovery of interstellar travel and the subsequent collapse of that civilization. The Belisarius figure, Raj Whitehall, a descendant of Texas settlers in a Spanglish speaking Byzantium analogue, is assisted by a very diverse group of loyal lieutenants, a loving wife and one slightly sardonic intelligent computer which survived the collapse. Five books in all, but very fun, and available in two omnibus hardcover editions, Warlord (the first two books)and Conqueror (the concluding three).

"The Last Day of the World."

On this day in the year of Our Lord 1453, Constantinople fell to the Janissaries of Sultan Mehmet II, and was given over to slaughter, rapine and pillage. Though it is likely that the last was over quickly, given that the city was quite poor and thinly populated by the mid-fifteenth century. After taking the Second Rome, Mehmet's forces came within a hairsbreadth of taking the first in 1481, but withdrew after being delayed by fierce resistance and the subsequent death of the Sultan.

Contrary to the consistent anti-Byzantine twittery espoused in this tome, the 50,000 inhabitants of the city fought bravely during the siege despite having few allies (Genoese and Venetian mercenaries), being outnumbered in fighting men by more than 10 to 1 and being equipped with inferior arms and technology. They might have lasted longer, or even seen the siege fail, had not a sally port in the walls of the city been left unsecured.

The Greek-speaking world still calls it Black Tuesday, or "the Last Day of the World."

[Thanks to Steve Tirone for the link to the article on the Martyrs of Otranto.]

BlogPoll Review.

Favorite Byzantine Emperors/Empresses

Oh, no, not the Byzantium thing. 16 votes.
--I've addressed your blinkered, philistine pig-ignorance before. Rotating knives, yes.

Alexius I Comnenus (1081-1118). 3 votes.
--Just three? A great emperor, and his biography is still in paperback, written by the equally-remarkable but never-empress Anna Comnena.

Basil I (867-886). 2 votes.
Harry Turtledove has fictionalized his remarkable life in the Krispos of Videssos books. The great rags-to-riches story of the Empire.

Basil II the Bulgar-Slayer (976-1025). 5 votes.
I'm not the Basil-phile I used to be: he dramatically, and I think mistakenly, changed the course of the Empire from East to West. While a successful and competent general, he was hyper-cautious. And he never secured a succession for the Macedonian dynasty. Oh, and he probably did not blind 15,000 Bulgar soldiers after the Battle of the Kleidon Pass. The first account of this event dates from the 12th Century, and cuts against every past policy of the Empire, which was to enlist and resettle defeated enemies. It would have been regarded as a staggering, stupid waste.

Constans II (641-668). 2 votes.
The true initiator of the thematic "land for soldiers" system and the last emperor to visit Rome. OK, the martyrdom of Pope St. Martin weighs in the debit ledger.

Constantine IV (668-685). 2 votes.
Probably the main reason you aren't going to Friday prayers at the mosque. Also convened the Second Council of Constantinople.

Constantine V (741-775). 1 vote.
I guess there's a little gore-caked iconoclast in everyone. His nickname--Copronymous--or Dung-name--stems from the allegation that he took a dump during his baptism.

Constantine VII (913-959). 2 votes.
Poor kid didn't actually get the chance to rule until 945, and he had a wife forced upon him by his sorta-usurping father in law, Romanus I. But a decent ruler and his writings give essential insight into 10th Century Byzantine life.

Constantine XI (1449-1453). 6 votes.
The Last Emperor, and a tragic hero.

Heraclius (610-641). 6 votes.
One of the Great Captains, his stunning victory over Persia is eclipsed by the eruption of Islam. Accused of passivity in the face of the Islamic threat, it is essential to note that Byzantium survived and Persia did not.

Irene (797-802). 1 vote.
The first reigning empress, she's hard to love. Blinding your own son will do that for your reputation.

John I Tzimiskes (969-976). 2 votes.
The greatest of the soldier-emperors, the Abbasid Caliphate probably thought it caught a break when he assassinated Nicephorus II. The Caliphate was wrong. His armies reached Nazareth, and he was contemplating an invasion of Egypt when he died. More than likely assassinated, if he'd lived another 10 years, the history of the Near East would have been changed beyond recognition.

John II Comnenus (1118-1143). 3 votes.
Another case of "he died too young." The greatest of the Comneni and a fine human being. His sister, Anna the historian, despised him for the temerity of being born and ruining her chances at the throne. She plotted against him, the plan being to install her husband as emperor. The irony is that the husband probably ratted out the conspiracy. Whatever is the case, John II treated the plotters with remarkable leniency.

John III Vatatzes (1221-1254). 2 votes.
The greatest of the Nicean Emperors in exile, he understood economics better than most Byzantines and made the Nicean rump state a force to be reckoned with and the eventual victor in the Constantinople Sweepstakes. He is revered as a saint by the Orthodox.

John VI Cantacuzenus (1347-1354). 1 vote.
Fine soldier, learned theologian, along with being a brave, intelligent and virtuous man, he also signed the death warrant of the Empire with his alliance with the Ottoman Turks.

Justinian I (527-565). 6 votes.
The Last Roman. It wasn't his conquests that weakened the empire (though his wars in Italy were fought on a paranoid shoestring)--t'was the plague.

Justinian II (685-695, 705-711). 1 vote.
The comeback kid! Actually, an object lesson in giving your child too hi-falutin' a name. He tried to do too much with too little (the Empire was a stable patient, not recovered) and dealt with his enemies by killing them in large numbers. Real and imagined. Also the subject of a Harry Turtledove (pen name H.N. Turteltaub) work, this time straight historical fiction.

Leo III (717-741). 2 votes.
Yeah, yeah--an iconoclast. But not as psycho about it as his son. Another saver of the collective Western bacon, fending off the Arab siege of 717-18.

Leo VI (the Wise) (886-912). 4 votes.
The Byzantine Henry VIII, with one caveat--his first three wives all died of natural causes. The Orthodox are opposed to third weddings, regardless of reason, but he went for a fourth (after his mistress gave birth to a son, the future Constantine VII). And got it. But only after outlawing third marriages in his reissued law code, the promulgation of which gave him the sobriquet "the Wise."

Also, while he was the legal son of Basil I, it is all too likely that he was the biological son of Michael III. Basil agreed to marry Michael's mistress to keep her close by at court and to supress scandal. A grubby little arrangement, to be sure.

Manuel I Comnenus (1143-1180). 3 votes.
The Knight-Emperor, and the last monarch of Byzantium as a great power. Too flighty in his foreign policy, he addressed the wrong problems at the wrong time.

Manuel II Paleologus (1391-1425). 10 votes.
Yes, yes, the Pope's speech. A genuinely great man and leader, he should have been born about fifty years earlier. As it was, he had too few cards to play, but he played them as well as he could.

Michael III (the Drunkard) (842-867). 6 votes.
That's right, this is a blog frequented by Papists. And not, very likely, fans of this "last" member of the Amorian dynasty. A sot and a doofus, but well advised for the most part. Murdered by Basil I, he probably had a posthumous revenge in Leo VI.

Michael VIII Paleologus (1259-1282). 1 vote.
Called the new Constantine for his rebuilding of Constantinople after its recovery, his reputation is stained by the blinding of John IV Laskaris, his ward, and his squandering of the Nicean recovery on his battles in the west.

Nicephorus II Phocas (963-969). 2 votes.
The soldier-monk and the "White Death of the Saracens." Despite success on the battlefield, he was as popular as tooth decay and had a knack for making enemies. Including his nephew and assassin, John I.

Romanus I Lecapenos (919-944). 1 vote.
The Nice Usurper, he was the genuine protector of the young Constantine VII. Constantine's biggest complaint was that his father-in-law wouldn't give him a big enough budget for his artistic and scholarly work.

Romanus IV Diogenes (1067-1071). 2 votes.
Known to history as the defeated commander at Manzikert, he lost because he was betrayed by an imperial rival. He correctly diagnosed the decay of Byzantine power and was in the process of remedying it when he was defeated.

Theophano. 1 vote.
The wife of two emperors (Romanus II and Nicephorus II), mother of two more (Basil II and Constanine VIII) and lover of a fifth (John I), she was a stunningly beautiful innkeeper's daughter who caught the eye of Romanus II. When he died young after a shockingly short reign, there were whispers that she was behind it. Pure slander, as it appears that they were devoted to each other. Moreover, it would have been stupid as she had no other friends at court by virtue of her commoner status. Her marriage to Nicephorus was one of convenience and protection for her two young sons. Given Nicephorus' ascetism, it probably wasn't too demanding. She was in it up to her eyeballs conspiring in the murder of Nicephorus. It didn't take much prodding for John I to shunt her aside after he was crowned.

Theodora (Justinian I) 3 votes.
Immortalized at Ravenna, she is one of the remarkable figures of Western history, let alone Byzantium. Steely determination during the Nike Riots, loving to her husband (sadly, their one son was stillborn--and ignore Procopius' poison pen) and absolute death on child molesters, Theodora is one for the ages. Justinian never quite recovered his administrative verve after her death, likely from cancer.

Theodora (Restorer of Icons). 18 votes.
Unless I've had a stunning influx of Orthodox readers, yeah, right--like you know who she was. Her decision to restore icons in 843 is still celebrated in Orthodoxy, and also by art aficionados everywhere. Rightly venerated as a saint by the Orthodox.

Four votes for "Oh, no..."

Yes, I have your number.

Yes, Heather is one of the votes.

Philistines.

What do you people want?!

She likes me! She really likes me!

My beloved indulged me with the following items:

Your jealousy is palpable. Don't you wish your nearest and dearest would get you two massive and authoritative tomes about Byzantium just in time for Valentine's Day? To ask the question is to answer it.

I'm serious about the "massive" aspect: the first volume is over 1100 pages.

Thank you, sweetheart...

Let's Go! Constantinople, 1200 AD.

If you've ever wanted to see the Queen of Cities in its last years of greatness, Byzantium 1200 is your website. A Turkish project, Byzantium 1200 is an attempt to recreate the city using CGI and archaelogical findings, along with providing a series of tour guides to some of the lesser-known Byzantine monuments still in the city.

Check it out--looks like a very worthwhile endeavor that's still in its infancy.