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Messy love affairs are hardly unusual; indeed, more than a few have impacted events at royal courts, determined the course of revolutions and precipitated the destruction of empires. This fact is no less true of queer history, though the sometimes-tragic outcomes of such entanglements are perhaps less well known to modern audiences than their more infamous heterosexual counterparts. The sordid history of two Byzantine emperors – who may have been intimate lovers before one murdered the other to claim his throne – certainly fits this category. But who were Emperor Michael III and his purported boyfriend-turned-assassin, Basil the Macedonian?
While this historical episode would make for a fabulously scandalous miniseries on any streaming service, it raises important questions of historical significance. What is known of homosexual love affairs in the Byzantine age, especially among the elites who ruled this expansive empire for a thousand years? Did love blind a young emperor to the ambitions of a man he elevated to dangerous power? What does this tantalizing story tell us about the queer history of the Middle Ages, a topic still shrouded in mystery and uncertainty?
Part I of this series explores the background, cultural and sexual mores surrounding love among men in the Byzantine era, as well as how these mores intersected with and influenced the lives of the two principal figures at hand. Part II (available here, if you’re from the future) will explore what exactly happened in the tale of two emperors and how their entanglement influenced the course of an empire’s history.
Second Rome
For all the attention devoted to the destruction of the Roman Empire, it is more accurate to refer to the infamous year 476 CE as the end of the Western Roman Empire. What historians today refer to as the Byzantine Empire was simply known by its inhabitants as the stalwart polity of Rome – a continuation of what had come before merely re-centered at a “New Rome” in Constantinople. The latter city was founded in 330 CE by then-Roman Emperor Constantine I, whose predecessor Diocletian realized that the empire needed to be cleaved to have any chance of political survival.[1] Constantine persisted along this pathway and pursued policies – notably the permissibility of Christianity – which would soon make Constantinople the world’s leading city.
The Eternal City itself fell to barbarian invaders in the late fifth century, leaving the fast-growing Constantinople as not just a new Rome, but the new hope of the teetering Roman civilization. Constantinople’s pre-eminence in the emerging Christian world would earn it the moniker of “Second Rome” (bestowed in later centuries after the Byzantine iteration crumbled against the surging power of the Ottoman Turks in 1453).
That unfortunate future, of course, was unknown to the earliest Byzantine emperors: in their view, the era of the European “Dark Ages” was a pathetic sideshow to the sparkling glory that was the Roman Empire’s eastern successor state. The Byzantine Empire flourished during the first few centuries after the fall of its Western twin. It became defined by a few key features: first, it represented the continuation of a Latin-language civilization which was then supplanted by a Greek-speaking one, with vast cultural implications for Byzantium’s thousand-year history. Second, and crucially for this discussion, the Byzantine Empire was the hotbed of what would become Eastern Orthodox Christianity – a political and theological rival to the Roman Catholic church centered at a still-smoldering Rome. As the Dark Ages lumbered forward, the Roman papacy laid claim to almighty governing authority across Western Europe. While that particular cleavage would not be formalized until 1054, it was nevertheless a prominent feature of East-West relations well before.
Finally, the Byzantine Empire survived for several centuries as a cohesive, if oft-times fractured, political entity by carefully manipulating relations with other nation-states surrounding its position at the center of the Eurasian world. Historians emphasize that Byzantine emperors often managed this tension with a series of canny political maneuvers, usually leveraging the empire’s wealth and trade prowess to play enemies off against each other or secure valuable allies as the occasion required.[2] The rise of Islam would ultimately prove the most profound challenge to the Byzantine method of empire management and eventually be its undoing – but not before a millennium of history had passed under Byzantine rule.
Sins and Sinners
This brief background is not intended to imply that affairs were eternally rosy in Constantinople during the second empire’s millennial history. There were problems aplenty – often in the form of plagues and pestilence – and these imperial woes fostered tensions that rebounded onto vulnerable and marginalized people. Queer individuals, it seems, were within this unfortunate category.
How did the Byzantine Empire, in a cultural sense, view homosexuality? After all, the Byzantine Empire was the successor of Rome which, as previous posts in this blog series have elucidated, was hardly unfamiliar with the notion of same-sex physical relations (albeit often violent, abusive and problematic versions given that society’s view of sexual power and patriarchal hierarchies which influenced hetero and homosexual relationships alike). Moreover, the culture centered at Constantinople became an explicitly neo-Greek one, replete with influence from the receding Hellenistic Age. The classical Greek world and then Greek late antiquity were rife with mythologies and real-world examples of what would today be classified as queer relationships.
But despite these cultural influences, Byzantium (as least in theory) was another matter entirely. This was due largely to the rise of Christianity which had adopted a decidedly negative view of gay relationships (of any type) by the decades when Constantinople was on the rise as the new imperial headquarters. How the earliest Church fathers in Christianity’s first few centuries viewed homosexuality (if and as they understood the notion at all) is debatable, as are those views associated with the so-called “heresies” and syncretic belief systems which flourished briefly during this heady period. This topic can (and probably will) produce an entirely separate blog post. What is essential for this discussion, however, is how theological perspectives stood around the time of Justinian I, Byzantine emperor from 527 – 565 CE.
Justinian is perhaps Byzantium’s most famous ruler, and arguably its most effective at a time of manifold crises facing his empire. His accomplishments span multiple aspects of medieval leadership, including the realms of law, defensive and offensive warfare, economic statecraft and holding the institutional center when virulent outbreaks of plague threatened to derail his imperial project altogether.[3] His indomitable wife, Empress Theodora, is one of history’s femme fatales (and a reputed beauty who reportedly met her future husband as an exotic dancer – a notable detail given how Justinian would persecute others’ supposed sexual indiscretions).
It was his law code, the Codex Iustinianus, or Justinian Code, which solidified a strident legal and theological regression for homosexuality (specifically in regards to male sexual activity with other males) in the empire.[4] In this respect, the Code solidified into law what had become the predominant religious opinion of influential theologians led by Saint John Chrysostom: that any male who engaged in any such activity (passively or actively) deserved capital punishment in accordance with the presumed Mosaic tradition.[5]
Justinian’s reign was thereafter marked by unprecedented levels of persecution of accused homosexual men. One might consider the results a “Lavender Scare” stylized for the 6th century. Intriguingly, one of the first such acts of retribution targeted prominent bishops from Rhodes and Thrace, which resulted in “a great fear ensu[ing] among those who suffered from the evil desire for males.”[6] Later violent persecutions (including punishments of death, castration and otherwise dismemberment) would follow. Notably, contemporary observers to Justinian’s reign argue that such accusations could be the result of offending or otherwise incurring the ruler’s anger, and may not have been entirely in response to actions so much as threat and intimidation.
The persecutions may have also served as a distraction or a political blame game. For all his erstwhile accomplishments, the middle of Justinian’s reign saw the empire shaken to its core (both figuratively and literally). There were, of course, the standard-issue military conflicts and public unrest, notably the Nika Revolts of 532 during which Empress Theodora reportedly convinced her husband not to abandon his job and his capital.[7] But Justinian’s problems were far worse: the “Justinianic Plague”, which ravaged Anatolia and Syria in the early 540s, nearly killed the emperor himself and certainly killed millions across Eurasia.[8] These early precursors of the bubonic plague, or Black Death, were not Justinian’s fault. An estimated ten major earthquakes during his reign, some of which caused critical damages to churches and other infrastructure in addition to steep casualties, were not either.[9]
But how Justinian and his upper cadre responded to these political pressures is another matter, as Justinian’s cruel treatment of other minority groups (including Jews and pagan worshippers) arguably mirrored his persecution of men accused of homosexuality. Natural disasters, plagues and other instability might have abetted the drive for persecution of perceived “others” in Byzantine society as a means to reclaim the good graces of an irate almighty divinity.[10]
Whatever the reasons, the rules – that even a whisper of homosexual activity would be severely punished – were well in place as the Byzantine Empire approached its zenith. But of course rules, as is so often the case in queer history, were made to be broken.
Elite Loves
Following this discussion of the stridently repressive Justinian, it is a sharp turn indeed to consider that one of his successors to the purple (at least) was likely bisexual. By the time of Michael III’s reign (842 – 867 CE), the times were indeed changing. Or perhaps more accurately – they never changed at all.
Despite periods of intense persecution of accused gay men, historians suggest that homosexual socialization, romance and even outright affairs were hardly unheard of among the Byzantine upper classes. From this perspective, the earlier traditions of antiquity were perhaps no longer publicly endorsed but resilient nonetheless. Mark Masterson, author of Between Byzantine Men: Desire, Homosociality, and Brotherhood in The Medieval Empire writes that “measured appraisal” of the available Byzantine sources affirms that gay desires were not only widely evidenced but a well-documented source of joy and contentment among Byzantine elite men despite official repression.[11] Indeed, Masterson argues, such queer inclinations were regularly associated, and intertwined, with “friendship, pleasure, brotherhood and religion.”
One area where such “homosociality” (and possibly much more than that) received rare explicit public endorsement was the practice of adelphopoiesis. As the root words suggest, this phrase refers to “brother-making” or a sanctioned, sanctified union between two men. Claudia Rapp writes that this ceremony was popular throughout Byzantium primarily in monastic and religious communities, but occasionally at the Byzantine imperial court also, from the 8th to 16th centuries. Officially, it was not understood as a “marriage”, certainly not in the physical sense of assumed consummation.
The ceremony itself consisted of at least two core prayers, followed by a choose-your-own-adventure slate of additional prayers. These prayers numbered over a dozen options depending on the participants’ preferences and their chosen “vows” to one another. Typically, these oaths invoked rights and responsibilities of one party toward the other in areas such as personal fidelity, protection and interpersonal alliances (a pressing matter indeed in an age rife with courtly rivalries and political drama).[12] The fact that this was a common practice, and endorsed by the church itself, affirms that it was intended as a platonic gesture among men not meant to go beyond that.
However, in practice, some of these relationships likely went well beyond the stated intention. Or, as Masterson, writes, “reality was messy.”[13] One of the key subjects of this discussion, the future Emperor Basil, made his famous entrée into Constantinople through an adelphopoiesis ceremony with a monk, Nicholas, who facilitated his meteoric rise at the Byzantine court (more on this to follow). Certainly, Basil’s later relationship with Michael III seems to mirror this sense of intensive brotherly devotion until that relationship turned lethal. Unsurprisingly, then, the prospect of improper relationships producing adelphopoiesis, or resulting from it, was known in contemporary accounts which lamented that “ritual brotherhood gives rise to many sins.”[14] The sins, in this instance, were almost certainly illicit romantic and sexual intercourse.
The empire’s leaders who ruled contemporaneous to the era of such brother-making rituals did little to disassociate love and desire from their close male relationships.
Michael III
Michael III (r. 842 to 867 CE) has been viciously immortalized as “Michael the Drunkard”. As this less than salubrious nomenclature suggests, his reign and personality are hotly controversial. His rule over the Byzantine Empire can be roughly divided into two parts: his minority, during which his mother held powerful sway over his affairs, and his adult leadership which ultimately ended in tragedy.
Michael III was still a toddler when his father, Emperor Theophilos, died in 842 CE.[15] It would take the child ruler thirteen years to finally depose his mother Theodora, fully taking the reins of power unto himself in 855 CE. This latter period of his reign has been interpreted in various ways: his enemies argued in the wake of his assassination that the positive attributes of his rule were largely the work of others, such as his former regents. In throwing off their yoke, the otherwise incapable and malleable Michael floundered so disastrously that his own courtiers had little alternative but to conspire against him. This narrative, while perhaps not wholly fictional, is a convenient one given how events in Michael’s life transpired.
Ilias Pinakoulias is among those who argues against this view, asserting that Michael III was a talented ruler who succeeded in the political, military and cultural affairs expected of a Byzantine prince.[16] Most historical accounts agree that the empire flourished during his reign, with the emperor himself personally involved with leading important military campaigns along the empire’s eastern flank.[17] The key debate is whose involvement – Michael’s or his ministers and generals – was the more important to these improvements in the empire’s position.
To be sure, Michael III was a man who looked forward to a good time. Genesios, one of the important chroniclers of Michael’s reign, was hardly generous in this regard: he lamented that Michael was overly fond of drink, obsessed with horseracing and charioteering – both as a gambler and a driver himself. All of these activities supposedly damaged the imperial dignity and undermined the security of his rule and thus the empire itself.[18] In these accounts, the emperor is defamed as immature, emotional, reckless and suspicious to the point of ruining his own family.
Much of this is likely exaggerated by Basil’s later propagandists to blacken his predecessor’s memory. Even so, Michael III was also shown early in his adulthood to be willful and stubborn when it came to asserting his romantic interests. As a teenager, Michael began an affair with Eudocia Ingerina with the intention of making her his empress. Despite his mother’s strong disapproval of their relationship, Michael demanded Ingerina be included in a “bride show” as a contestant for his royal hand.[19] His mother ultimately got her way and forced him to marry the daughter of another potentate, Eudocia Dekapolitissa, but Michael would find unusual ways to keep Ingerina lingering around his court.
Perhaps unsurprisingly, the historical records of this period, as one historian notes, “resemble a narrative of human passions…filled only with people acting on emotional impulse.”[20] Michael III’s disposal of his domineering mother, then the destruction of two key advisors Manuel and Theoctistos with the connivance of his uncle Bardas, certainly bolster the view that affairs in Constantinople were fast and dangerous. Whatever his other achievements, Michael’s reign was perhaps inevitably tumultuous as he consolidated his own power against his family and potential rivals.
This situation makes it all the more strange that Michael would ultimately empower the man who would destroy him – raising serious questions about the nature of their relationship and what could compel a young ruler so jealous of his own power to share it.
The Macedonian
Basil the Macedonian was perhaps one of the last people in Eurasia who should have become the ruler of Byzantium. Of Armenian origin, he was born around 812 CE in Charioupolis, Macedonia to a humble family which boasted only vague noble connections in his uncertain genealogy.[21] What little is known of his early life certainly points to modest beginnings: he was not literate until he reached his adulthood, and he apparently developed a youthful talent for breaking and training horses. Basil was powerfully built, athletic and fearless in the saddle; these physical attributes may have facilitated his rise in Constantinople in more ways than one.
While still a youth, Basil left his family and native Macedonia for the imperial capital in the hopes of launching himself into a more profitable, secure career outside his homeland. He hardly traveled in high style; a bedraggled Basil arrived in the grand city only to collapse on the steps of the church of St. Diomedes. Apparently, the exhausted traveler was attempting to sleep upon the steps of the holy institution. It was there that another man named Nicholas, possibly a monk or maybe a servant at the church, noticed the desperate fellow (reportedly in the wake of a dream admonishing him to locate a mysterious new friend) and offered Basil shelter.[22]
Almost immediately thereafter, Nicholas and Basil engaged in an adelphopoiesis ceremony. Depending on the historical source, Nicholas may have taken Basil for a much-needed bath (perhaps even bathing him himself) and provided him with fresh, clean garments prior to the brother-making.[23] Thereafter, the pair engaged in the ceremony itself and then “rejoice[d] together” with some versions of the text implying “with” or “in” one another. These linguistic notes are significant given that they harken back to sexual metaphors (in the Bible and in classical resources) associated with heterosexual love and marriage consummation. According to the account of Symeon the Logothete, Nicholas “was having him as one who shared the same house and meals with him.” The pair thus evidently co-habited for some time as Basil established himself in Constantinople.
None of this, of course, is proof positive for what would today be considered a queer affair, let alone consummation of said affair. It is odd, however, that Nicholas was so immediately taken with a destitute, utter stranger that he almost immediately pursued a “brother making” which facilitated a cohabitation thereafter. If brother-making was purely intended to seal powerful alliances or formalize existing friendships, none of that would apply in this instance. It seems reasonable to interpret the adelphopoiesis ceremony as a means by which Nicholas could justify, or legitimize, his relationship with Basil as quickly as possible – possibly acting out of romantic or sexual interest. At the risk of minimizing Basil’s soon-to-be-evident intelligence and acumen, it is unclear what else at this stage he had to offer his benefactor.
His benefactor, as events would prove, had a great deal to offer him – namely, all-important personal and professional connections. Nicholas’s brother, as it happened, was a doctor in service to Theophilitzes – one of the relatives and counselors of Emperor Michael III. Theophilitzes was at some point introduced to the athletic and charming Basil, who impressed him enough that Basil was inducted into Theophilitzes’ hetaireia.[24] The latter phrase refers to a retinue, typically about a person of high noble status or exceptional wealth; in this case, that retinue would have been exclusively young gentlemen who fought, drank, played and rode horses with abandon.
By all accounts, Basil excelled at all of the above. Not surprisingly, he soon caught the eye of another young man who could match his audacity and alacrity for rough living: the emperor himself.
Part II is coming soon. Thanks for reading!
[1] John Tell and Donald MacGillivray, “Byzantine Empire,” Encyclopedia Britannica, updated July 29, 2025, https://www.britannica.com/place/Byzantine-Empire.
[2] Ibid.
[3]Will Wyeth, “Justinian I,” World History Encyclopedia. Last modified September 28, 2012, https://www.worldhistory.org/Justinian_I/.
[4] Louis Crompton, “The Persecutions of Justinian” in Homosexuality and Civilization (Harvard University Press, 2003), pg. 142.
[5] Ibid. Notably, Chrysostom is depicted in the Hagia Sophia in a reflection of his theological influence.
[6] Ibid, pg. 144.
[7] The Chronicle of John Malalas Books VIII-XVIII, translated from Church Slavonic by Matthew Spinka, and Glanville Downey (University of Chicago, 1940), https://archive.org/details/downey-1940-malalas-books-08-18/Downey_1940_Malalas_Books08-18/page/n1/mode/2up.
[8] Kristina Sessa, “The Justinianic Plague,” Origins: Current Events in Historical Perspective, Ohio Humanities, June 2020, https://origins.osu.edu/connecting-history/covid-justinianic-plague-lessons.
[9] Radic Radivoj, “”Earthquakes in Constantinople (Byzantine period)”, Encyclopaedia of the Hellenic World, August 8, 2008, http://www.ehw.gr/l.aspx?id=12316
[10] Crompton, pg. 147.
[11] Mark Masterson, Between Byzantine Men Desire, Homosociality, and Brotherhood in The Medieval Empire, (Routledge Taylor and Francis Group, 2022), pg. 5.
[12] Claudia Rapp, ‘The Ritual of Adelphopoiesis‘, Brother-Making in Late Antiquity and Byzantium: Monks, Laymen, and Christian Ritual, Onassis Series in Hellenic Culture (New York, 2016), https://doi.org/10.1093/acprof:oso/9780195389333.003.0003.
[13] Masterson, pg. 122.
[14] Harrison Voss, “When Looks Could Kill: The Rise of Basil the Macedonian,” Working Classicists, November 12, 2024, https://www.workingclassicists.com/zine/when-looks-could-kill-the-rise-of-basil-the-macedonian.
[15] Mark Cartwright, “Michael III,” World History Encyclopedia, UNESCO, November 16, 2017, https://www.worldhistory.org/Michael_III/.
[16]Ilias Pinakoulias, “Michael III: a misinterpreted emperor,” (Thesis, University of Ioannina), 2022, https://www.didaktorika.gr/eadd/handle/10442/50988?locale=en
[17] Cartwright, ibid.
[18] Pinakoulias, pg. 61.
[19] Ibid, pg. 94.
[20] Katerina Nikolaou and Irene Chrestou. “LOVE, HATRED AND VIOLENCE IN THE ‘SACRED PALACE’: THE STORY AND HISTORY OF THE AMORIAN DYNASTY.” Byzantion 78 (2008): 87–102. http://www.jstor.org/stable/44173068.
[21] Frank Tucker, “Basil the Macedonian,” EBSCO, 2022, https://www.ebsco.com/research-starters/biography/basil-macedonian.
[22] Masterson, pgs. 126 – 130.
[23] Ibid, pg. 128.
[24] Ibid, pg. 71.