The current series is The First Woman, and today’s episode was supposed to be subtitled the First Female Historian. However, my fears about this series have come true. A woman I planned to cover because various sources assured me that she was the first to do something turned out not to be first to do that thing. But she does a really interesting story, and we have more information on her than on her female predecessors, so we are going with it, and a slightly modified title.

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“Time in its irresistible and ceaseless flow carries along on its flood all created things, and drowns them in the depths of obscurity… But the tale of history forms a very strong bulwark against the stream of time, and to some extent checks its irresistible flow, and, of all things done in it, as many as history has taken over, it secures and binds together, and does not allow them to slip away into the abyss of oblivion.”

(Comnena, 2)

Thus begins The Alexiad, an epic prose narrative written about 1148 CE by the Byzantine princess Anna Komnene.

At the time of writing, Anna was in her sixties and living in a monastery. Her book is about her father Alexios, who was emperor until his death in 1118. Her history runs for hundreds of pages, covering politics and war. It is a masterpiece of its kind and a major primary source, not only for Byzantine history but also for the history of the First Crusade, which Anna lived through.

It is hard to overstate just how far Anna was getting out of her lane by writing this history. While it turns out she was not actually the first woman to write a history, she probably didn’t know that. Certainly she didn’t have any female mentors to help her through it. Byzantine princesses were expected to be literate, but not learned. They were expected to maintain their chastity by never talking to men to whom they were not related. They were most virtuous if they never left the house. Their job was to support the menfolks. It was not their job to have opinions, plans, ideas, ambitions, or voices of their own.

This is not to say there weren’t strong Byzantine women. There absolutely were. (See bonus episode 2.a Irene, Empress of Byzantium). It’s just that usually any woman who made herself worthy of public note was going to find herself regarded as a prostitute, a schemer, a conniver, a temptress, or some other follower of the devil.

Anna wanted to be seen as a virtuous woman. She also wanted to be noticed as a gifted intellectual. Since these were mutually exclusive goals, she had a problem then, and as you’ll see in the second half of this episode, she still has a problem now.

A Byzantine Princess

Anna was born on December 1, 1083, in the city of Constantinople, in the traditional, purple-draped room where the imperial family was supposed to be born. Her mother was Empress Irene (not the same one covered in that bonus episode). By her own account, her mother, the Empress Irene, had first felt the labor pains three days earlier, but the Emperor was away and on his way home. Irene made the sign of the cross on her womb and said, “Wait a little, child, for your father’s coming!” And Anna, being very obedient, filial, and affectionate, did exactly as she was told and waited.

She was born after her father returned, and everyone celebrated the birth of a royal child with the usual ceremonies. She gives no hint of any disappointment that the oldest child was a girl, though she does say that her parents also wished for a boy and when her brother was born four years later, their joy was complete (Comnena, 107-108).

Alexios and Irene would eventually have nine children and that was good because few things are as destabilizing as a lack of clarity on the heir apparent. The whole empire had been living without stability for a while now. Alexios himself had only seized power two years before Anna’s birth. The previous emperor was also a usurper and no fewer than eight of his generals had tried to take his throne before Alexios succeeded. In one respect, Alexios was stunningly successful. He not only took the throne. He stayed on it for forty years until he died of natural causes (Neville, 2). Not many people expected that.

He also gets good marks from me because he encouraged or at least permitted his daughter to pursue her intellectual interests to a level way, way beyond what was normal or expected.

Anna learned the Greek classics: Homer, Aristotle, Sophocles, and more. She also knew the Bible and the Christian authors. She was accomplished in mathematics, astronomy, and medicine. All of this must have been done with the knowledge and consent of someone in charge because that level of learning doesn’t just happen. Anna had the support she needed (Neville, 1).

Anna was betrothed as a baby and at age seven she went to live with her future mother-in-law. This was standard practice. But it means that someone in that household also supported her education. But in any case, that living situation didn’t last for too many years. Her fiance died and that was the end of that.

The First Crusade

In 1095, when Anna was about 13, Alexios was worried about the Seljuk Turks who were making incursions from the east. We have the records to show that he sent an envoy to Italy to ask Pope Urban in Rome whether the pope could send some troops to help out a fellow Christian ruler. (Admittedly, Anna doesn’t mention that part, but we know it from other sources.)

The Byzantines were Christians, but they were not Roman Catholic. They did not acknowledge the primacy of the pope. But religiously, they had more in common with western Europe than they did with the Seljuk Turks, who were Islamic. Alexios probably hoped for a small but disciplined force who would help him drive the Seljuks off his border. That is not what he got. Pope Urban gave a famous speech at Clermont in which he admonished his listeners that:

“your brethren who live in the east are in urgent need of your help, and you must hasten to give them the aid which has often been promised them. For, as the most of you have heard, the Turks and Arabs have attacked them and have … occupied more and more of the lands of those Christians, and have overcome them in seven battles. They have killed and captured many, and have destroyed the churches and devastated the empire.

If you permit them to continue thus for awhile with impunity, the faithful of God will be much more widely attacked by them. On this account I, or rather the Lord, beseech you as Christ’s heralds to publish this everywhere and to persuade all people of whatever rank, foot-soldiers and knights, poor and rich, to carry aid promptly to those Christians and to destroy that vile race from the lands of our friends … Moreover, Christ commands it.

All who die by the way, whether by land or by sea, or in battle against the pagans, shall have immediate remission of sins. This I grant them through the power of God with which I am invested. O what a disgrace if such a despised and base race, which worships demons, should conquer a people which has the faith of omnipotent God and is made glorious with the name of Christ! With what reproaches will the Lord overwhelm us if you do not aid those who, with us, profess the Christian religion! Let those who have been accustomed unjustly to wage private warfare against the faithful now go against the infidels and end with victory this war which should have been begun long ago.”

(Urban II)

(That’s not even the whole speech. I cut it down significantly.)

This was a considerable step up from what Alexios probably thought was a fairly routine request between allies. Even Pope Urban must have been surprised by the response he got. Western Europe rose up in arms, ready to defend Christianity against the infidel, even though they weren’t quite sure who or where the infidel was, how to get there, or how to conduct a war. A charismatic priest named Peter the Hermit spoke all over Europe gathering peasants and petty nobles to fight the holy war. And in fact, they began their holy war well before they arrived in the Byzantine empire, much to the dismay of the local populations they passed by.

For Alexios, the arrival of this mob on his border was not a cause for joy. This was not what he had asked for. On the contrary, according to Anna’s account from years later:

“He dreaded their arrival for he knew their irresistible manner of attack, their unstable and mobile character and all the peculiar natural and concomitant characteristics which the Frank retains throughout.”

Just a pause, Frank here refers to the French. Actually the mob was more than just the French, but Anna had particular grievances against the Franks who came and led the charge in her country.

“He also knew that they were always agape for money and seemed to disregard their truces readily for any reason that cropped up. For he had always heard this reported of them and found it very true. However, he did not lose heart, but prepared himself in every way so that, when the occasion called, he would be ready for battle.

And indeed the actual facts were far greater and more terrible than rumour made them. For the whole of the West and all the barbarian tribes which dwell between the further side of the Adriatic and the pillars of Heracles, had all migrated in a body and were marching into Asia through the intervening Europe, and were making the journey with all their household… And those Frankish soldiers were accompanied by an unarmed host more numerous than the sand or the stars, carrying palms and crosses on their shoulders; women and children, too, came away from their countries. And the sight of them was like many rivers streaming from all sides, and they were advancing towards us.”

(Comnena, 176-177)

Anna’s account does not make it clear to me whether she personally witnessed this host descend on her city. She was about thirteen. Certainly old enough to be aware, if she was not kept away and in ignorance. But perhaps she only learned about it later.

What I think you can see, though, on both sides, is a very human response: People we don’t know, people from far away, people who are different from us, are definitely barbarians, infidels, people we don’t like. It’s sad that people response that way, but it’s very common in history.

Alexios’s strategy for dealing with this proved very effective. He provided this mob with the transport and supplies to speed them hastily out of his realm. They gratefully accepted and got themselves slaughtered on the other side. In fact, if Peter the Hermit’s army had been the only crusading army, the First Crusade would have been a total loss and there might never have been another Crusade. But there was also a more professional Western army (led by Franks) which arrived slightly later, and they did much better. Alexios supported them with logistics as well.

He was rewarded for his efforts with an increased territory, but not as much as he felt he had been promised, so he felt cheated. (This explains Anna’s bitterness.) For their part, the Crusaders considered him duplicitous and religiously suspect. Plus, though they were originally called to help Alexios against the Turks, they were more interested in Jerusalem and other areas that were not held by Turks or Alexios. They were held by the Fatimid empire from Egypt. Relations with the Byzantines were tense and destined to get worse.

Marriage and Family

Whether Anna was aware of any of this or blissfully ignorant at the time, she had other things to think about. She was fifteen and that was time to get married. Her first fiancé was dead, but a new one had been chosen. In 1097, Anna married Nikephoros Bryennias. He was just a few years older than her.

For many people in history, the work of a successful marriage was the production of children, and by that measure, Anna and Nikephoros did great. They had six children that we know about: four sons and two daughters (Neville, 3).

Another thing the couple had in common was literary interests. Nikephoros could probably have put an end to her intellectual pursuits (husbands had that power), but he didn’t. He also wrote a history himself.

In 1118, when Anna was in her mid-thirties, her father Alexios fell ill. First, he had difficulty breathing. Then, he had difficulty swallowing. Anna says “And yet, God knows, I occupied myself diligently with the preparation of his food and brought it to him daily with my own hands and tried to make it all easy to swallow. All remedies applied for healing the inflamed tumours seemed … and all our efforts and those of the physicians were vain” (Comnena, 299). She even—and this is big for her—”despised philosophy and learning for I was wholly occupied with my father and in service for him” (Comnena, 300).

But these efforts proved futile. Alexios died, and after a long lament, Anna says “But now my history must be concluded, for if I were to describe sad events any longer I might become bitter” (Comnena, 302).

Thus ends The Alexiad.

Murdurer? Conspirator? Deviant?

But that is only where the real story of Anna picks up. Because if you read anything about her written in the  18^th, 19^th, or 20^th centuries, the one thing that you do know is that she then attempted to murder her younger brother John because she was ambitious, scheming, and vengeful, and she thought that the eldest child should inherit the empire, not the eldest son. Her coup failed, largely because her husband Nikephoros failed to cooperate, and she was exiled to a monastery for decades where she spent the time thinking bitter thoughts and writing The Alexiad. All of this is much repeated, and certainly the story I intended to tell, though possibly without the moral aspersions that usually accompany the story.

This is why I was surprised to learn that there isn’t much evidence for most of that. My major source here is Leonora Neville of the University of Wisconsin-Madison, and in her book on Anna Komnene she does an absolutely beautiful bit of historiography where she explains the different sources and histories and how each one built on the previous one until we ended up with a story that has no resemblance to the original, just like a party game of Telephone.

I highly recommend Neville’s book, but to summarize, the first source is Anna Komnene’s own book, The Alexiad. She doesn’t say that hated her brother or that she had imperial ambitions for herself. There is quite a bit about how much she loves her family, though it’s true that her love is mostly lavished on her parents.

The next closest source was written by John Zonaras. He presents Anna as an intellectual, not a conspirator. He says there was a struggle for control after Alexios’s death. It was between John and his mother Irene, who had been administering the empire while Alexios was sick. John won (Neville, 93).

The next source written after that was by Michael Glykas in the second half of the 12^th century. He doesn’t mention any succession disputes at all. Just that John succeeded his father (Neville, 97).

Meanwhile, there are general records of the imperial court that indicate Anna was a loving mother, a devoted wife, and a remarkable intellect. There is nothing from that time period that indicates that she was out of favor. In fact, many of the records are of people begging her for patronage, which probably mean that she had some patronage to give. Sure, she moved into the monastery, but she didn’t take vows as a nun. She didn’t need to. Her mother was the founder of the monastery, and she had a very nice house there, separate from the nun’s quarters (Neville, 134-137). If someone left me a very nice house and lifelong vows of poverty were not required, I’d probably take it too.

We also have the eulogy given at Anna’s own funeral after she died around 1155. It’s a glowing report. Of course, it’s a eulogy, so it’s not surprising that it would be positive, but eulogies are not about pleasing the person who has died. They’re about pleasing the surviving family members. Surely, if the family thought of her as a traitor and an attempted murderer, would it please them to hear about how devoted she was to her family? Yet the eulogist stresses that at length and then talks about her amazing intellectual abilities. He just really can’t cope with how incredible her philosophy and history were! So strange in a woman! (Neville, 99).

Yeah, okay, there’s lots I could say about that, but for the moment, the point is that he leaves you in no doubt that Anna was a good daughter, a good wife, a good mother, and all that a good Byzantine woman was supposed to be. There’s not a sniff of scheming, vengeful, or murderous anywhere in that eulogy.

The first person who did say all those negative things about Anna was Niketas Choniates, who was born two years after Anna died and did his writing another 50 years after that, so he had no first-hand knowledge of the events (Neville, 101). In other words, this is the kind of source that historians accept only when we have nothing better.

What Choniates did have first-hand knowledge of was the total collapse of Constantinople in 1204 during the Fourth Crusade. He had time to write because he’d been driven out of his civil service job and forced to flee for his life. He most certainly did not have access to the imperial library in Constantinople. Not at the time of writing anyway. Most of the people who knew Anna were dead. The rest of them were scattered. He had good reason to look for what went wrong, and the danger of being at the top politically is that you’re easy to blame when things go wrong. Choniates has lots to say about how the whole Komnenos family botched everything.

Most important for our purposes is that Choniates says that Irene wanted Nikephoros to take the throne (Anna’s husband), while Alexios wanted John to inherit. He has Irene say some incredibly terrible things about John, who was her son too, after all. Then when Alexios was sick, Choniates says that John only pretended to mourn, while secretly he stole the imperial seal right off his father’s finger. He used it to get the support of the guards and attempted to seize power even while his father was still alive. The common people plundered the palace because John opened it to them. Then John refused to come to his father’s funeral. His relatives were naturally not best pleased, and many of them would have preferred Nikephoros. Choniates does not exactly specify which of the relatives he means, but if John really behaved that way, you can kind of understand why they might not have liked him.

So a plot was hatched to do away with John, except that Nikephoros was sluggish and flaccid and refused to cooperate. Choniates then says that “the Caesarina Anna was so disgusted with her husband’s frivolity that she considered herself as suffering something terrible and blamed nature most of all” (Neville, 108).

Choniates then makes it abundantly clear that Nikephoros was womanish, while Anna was mannish, and he most certainly does not mean any of that as a compliment. He is so graphic in his depiction of what was wrong with their various private body parts that Victorian historians blushed and said they couldn’t repeat such obscene language (Neville, 108).

Anyway, the plot fell apart and John forgave everyone, including Anna (Neville, 103-111). That’s the story per Choniates, who remember was in no position to know any of this first-hand, especially not the part about the genitals of people who were dead before he was born. He also seems to have forgotten that their respective body parts functioned well enough to produce six children, so they can’t have been that far out of standard. No one comes out of his account looking good, and that’s intentional because Choniates is trying to explain how this corrupt family ruined everything for people like him.

Nonetheless, Choniates’s version that got the most press by historians starting in the 18^th century. They also exaggerated it, making Anna the chief conspirator who wanted the throne for herself, which even Choniates never said. And the trouble is that if you read Anna’s words with that hovering in the back of your mind already, it leads you to all sorts of other conclusions. Did Anna list her incredible intellectual credentials in The Alexiad? That’s just a sign of her arrogance. Did she say very little about John in The Alexiad? That must be because she hated him. Did she write a long lament about her father’s death? That’s an indication that she was bitter about what happened next. Did Anna spend the last couple of decades living in a monastery? That must be because John had banished her there. Did Anna vaguely mention sorrow in her childhood? She must mean that she was super mad when John was born and bumped her out of the line of succession (Neville, 141).  

The conclusion of historian Leonora Neville is that Anna did not try to murder her brother and she did not attempt a coup. If she had done so, it would have been mentioned by all the sources written before Choniates was even born. It wasn’t.

Instead, Neville takes the view that Anna listed all her intellectual credentials because she had to establish why readers should her taken seriously as a historian. She said little about John because her book was not about John. She lived in the monastery because she inherited a nice house there. She wrote long laments about her sorrow to establish why she should be taken seriously as a woman. The one and only time a Byzantine woman was supposed to raise her voice was in lament for the loss of a man. The Byzantine literary tradition had plenty of precedent for the wailing widow and the sobbing daughter. Anna was demonstrating that she was an honorable family woman as well as a historian. Her easier route would have been to write under a male pen name, but she chose not to do that.

As with so many things in history, we will never know for sure without a time machine. But I found Neville’s interpretation pretty convincing. Also cautionary. Like everyone else who writes history long after the fact, I’m dependent on whatever sources I can lay my hands on. They’re not always ideal, and it’s very easy to misinterpret them. I just find it a little ironic that Anna, who probably thought she was the world’s first female historian, was also a victim of what amounts to historical malpractice. She certainly just proves what I said at the top about Byzantine woman: If she made herself worthy of note, she was going to find herself regarded as a schemer, a conniver, a temptress, or some other follower of the devil.

I have a special thanks this week to Deena who made a one-time donation to the show on Buy Me a Coffee. If you can be as awesome as Deena, or as awesome as my Patreon supporters, doing it during March 2026, you will get into the prize drawing at the end of the month. If you are interested in the women who bumped Anna Komnene out of the title of absolute first female historian, one of them was Hrotsvit, the subject of the subject of Monday’s bonus episode. Even earlier, is Ban Zhao, from 1^st century China. I knew about Ban Zhao, but she’s even more famous for her other nonhistorical writing, and I hope to cover her in a future series. And still another female historian was Pamphile of Epidaurus.There’s not a lot known about her, but such as there is I will share in the next bonus episode, which will come out on Monday.

Selected Sources

Alvarez, Sandra. “Anna Comnena, the Alexiad and the First Crusade» de Re Militari.” Deremilitari.org, 2014. https://deremilitari.org/2014/04/anna-comnena-the-alexiad-and-the-first-crusade/.

Comnena, Anna. The Alexiad. Translated by Elizabeth A.S. Dawes. London, 1928. https://www.yorku.ca/inpar/alexiad_dawes.pdf.

Garland, Lynda. “Review of Anna Komnene and Her Times Thalia Gouma-Peterson.” Speculum 78, no. 3 (2003): 889–90. http://www.jstor.org/stable/20060821.

Neville, Leonora. Anna Komnene. Oxford University Press, 2016.

Parker, Kenneth Scott. “Review: Anna Kommene: The Life and Work of a Medieval Historian.” Royal Studies Journal (RSJ) 4, no. 2 (2017): 228. https://rsj.winchester.ac.uk/articles/111/files/submission/proof/111-1-156-1-10-20180413.pdf.

Urban II, Pope. “Urban II: Speech at Council of Clermont (1095).” http://www.thelatinlibrary.com, 1095. https://www.thelatinlibrary.com/imperialism/readings/urban.html.