The revived interest in the Roman past in tenth–twelfth century Byzantium led to a revived interest in ancient historical writings, and in particular Cassius Dios’ Roman History, the most comprehensive Greek narrative of the history of Rome. Whereas in earlier periods Dio was mainly referenced by grammarians and moralists, scholars of the tenth through twelfth centuries, who admired Dios’ classicizing prose and identified with his focus on emperors and dynasties, copied, excerpted and abridged his lengthy account. Notably, excerpts from the Roman History were included in the tenth-century Excerpta Constantiniana, a voluminous assemblage of excerpts from historians ranging from the fifth century BC to the ninth century AD commissioned by Constantine VII. An epitome of the Roman History was made by John Xiphilinus, probably for the education of the young Michael VII in the eleventh century, and the text was adapted by John Zonaras in his sophisticated world chronicle in the twelfth century. In addition to these major works, Dio was referenced and utilized by poets such as Theodosios the Deacon, scholars such as John Tzetzes, and educated laymen like Kekaumenos. All this indicates a familiarity with and esteem for Dio’s Roman History not only in court circles but also among the educated reading public.

In the tenth century the character of the bronze horseman grew even more complex. As the horseman became a preeminent imperial landmark, it made some Orthodox observers uncomfortable. A comparison of perspectives from different strata of Constantinopolitan society reveals tensions over the horseman. While both Constantine of Rhodes and the Narrative on the Construction of Hagia Sophia praise Constantinople, they create very different emotional and narrative frameworks for evaluating Justinian’s column and the emperor’s legacy. While for Constantine of Rhodes (and like-minded individuals at court) Justinian’s monument is the greatest wonder of Constantinople, for the pious author of the Narrative it signifies imperial hubris. Likewise, Constantine of Rhodes is at ease with elevating Justinian’s stupendous accomplishments, while the Narrative is cautious about his legacy. During this period the mosaic of the south-west vestibule of Hagia Sophia also attempted to institutionalize and normalize the discourse of Justinian’s greatness not only in the imperial sphere, but also in Orthodoxy.

The fourth chapter analyses what scholars have called ‘symbolic’ or ‘heavenly’ coronations in Byzantium. With the expansion of Christianity throughout the Mediterranean, self-coronation and the mediation of priests became a point of divergence. Emperors in Christian Byzantium are to be crowned by the patriarchs in ritual practice, but they are frequently crowned by the iconographic representation of the ‘hand of God’. This chapter engages in a comparative analysis of the reality of church intervention in the real performative ceremony of the imperial coronation and the imaginative fiction of the crowning of the emperor directly by Christ and his angels and saints, as established in some iconographic representations. In Byzantium, imperial art was given the task of translating into a visual and symbolic – but not necessarily referential – language the values and ideology that prevailed in each dynasty concerning the source of its power.