On the murder of Rothari’s short-lived son in 653, the Lombards elected as their king Aribert, a nephew of the sainted queen Theodelinda, whose name was still held in kindly memory all over the land. |Aribert I. 653-62.| Count Gundoald, Aribert’s father, had long been settled in Italy: he had crossed the Alps with his pious sister more than half a century before, so that Aribert himself was counted a Lombard, and not a Bavarian. The new king reigned obscurely for nine years (653-62): he waged no wars and was mainly noted as a friend of the clergy and a builder of churches. He was a fervent Catholic, and did his best to root out the few traces of Arianism yet remaining in Lombardy. The land had peace under his sway, but ere he died he sowed the seeds of future troubles by the unhappy inspiration which led him to induce the Lombard Witan to elect his two sons, Godebert and Berthari, as joint heirs to the kingship.
When their father was dead, Godebert, the elder brother, dwelt as king at Pavia, while Berthari took possession of Milan. Before they had been reigning a year the inevitable civil war broke out, ‘because evil-minded men sowed discord and suspicion between them.’ |Grimoald king of the Lombards, 662-71.| They were mustering their followers for a decisive campaign, when Godebert was treacherously murdered by the chief of his own supporters, Grimoald, duke of Benevento, who had left his duchy in the south, and led his men-at-arms to Pavia, under the pretence of helping his suzerain against his unruly younger brother. Grimoald took possession of the crown, and married his victim’s sister, in order to connect himself with the house of the holy Theodelinda. He chased Berthari out of Milan, and forced him to take refuge with the Chagan of the Avars, in the far east, by the shores of the Danube.
The unscrupulous usurper reigned for nine years (662-71) over the whole Lombard realm, holding his own court at Pavia, while Romuald, the son of his first marriage, ruled for him at Benevento. This was the only period in the whole history of the Lombards when the king’s mandate was as well obeyed in the southern Apennines as in the valley of the Po. It was, therefore, fortunate for the Lombard race that the attack on Italy of the vigorous emperor Constantinus (Constans II.) fell within the years of Grimoald’s reign. Though he overran much of the duchy of Benevento, the energy of Constantinus failed before the advent of king Grimoald, and the danger passed away (663).[[42]]
His successes against the emperor were not the only triumphs of king Grimoald: he repelled an irruption of the Avars into Venetia, and repulsed a Frankish army which the Mayor Ebroin, who ruled in behalf of king Chlothar III., sent across the Western Alps. His only territorial gain, however, was the capture from the Imperialists of the little town of Forimpopoli, near Rimini, which he stormed by surprise on Easter Day, and harried most cruelly, ‘slaying the worshippers at the altar, and the deacons at the baptismal font, while all were engaged in celebrating the Holy Feast.’ We might have supposed that the Romans in central Italy would have fared worse after the repulse of Constantinus: but no other city was lost. In the south, however, Grimoald’s son Romuald captured Taranto and Brindisi, two of the chief remaining strongholds of the Imperialists in Apulia. But this was after the death of Constantinus, during the troubles caused by the rebellion of Mezecius in Sicily (668-9?).
In spite of the treachery by which he had attained the throne, Grimoald’s victories made him very popular among the Lombards, and many tales survive bearing witness to his generosity and clemency, no less than to his strong hand and cunning. But when he died it was seen that his power rested purely upon his own personal merit: the Lombards did not elect as king either his elder son Romuald, the duke of Benevento, or his younger son, Garibald, whom the daughter of Aribert had borne him. They recalled from exile king Berthari, the son of Aribert, whom Grimoald had driven out of Milan ten years before. This prince had spent an unhappy life in wandering from land to land, from the Danube to the British seas, and was sailing to England when the news of the usurper’s death reached him. He returned to Italy, and was received with submission by the whole Lombard race, and solemnly crowned at Pavia.
Berthari reigned for seventeen years (672-88) in peace and quietness, for he loved not war. He was ‘a man of religion, a true Catholic, tenacious of justice, a nourisher of the poor; he built the famous nunnery of St. Agatha, and the great Church of the Virgin outside the walls of Pavia.’ The kings of this type, whom the monastic chroniclers delighted most to honour, were not those who made history. Berthari never attempted to conquer Rome or the Exarchate, and only took arms once in his reign, when he was assaulted by a rebellious duke, Alahis of Trent, whom he subdued and then pardoned,—as a Christian man should—a pardon which was to cost Lombardy much blood in the next reign.
The reign of his son Cunibert (688-700) was far more disturbed. This king was a man of mixed qualities, brave, generous, and popular, but careless, incautious, and given over to the wine-cup. He was caught unprepared and driven from Pavia by duke Alahis, who now rebelled again, in spite of the fact that his life had once been spared by Cunibert’s father. Cunibert was driven for a time from all his realm, save a single castle in the lake of Como, where he stood a long siege. But Alahis, by his tyranny, made himself unbearable to the Lombards, and ere many months had elapsed the lawful king was able to issue from his stronghold and face the usurper in battle. They met at Coronate on the Adda, not far from Lodi, Alahis backed by the ‘Austrians’ of Venetia, Cunibert by the ‘Neustrians’ of Piedmont. The men of the West had the better, Alahis was slain, and the son of Berthari resumed his kingship over the whole Lombard realm. This was not the last rebellion that Cunibert had to crush: all through his reign we hear of risings of the unruly dukes, and of the punishments which were inflicted on them when they fell into their master’s hands.
There is nothing of first-rate historical importance to relate of the doings of the Lombard kings in this last quarter of the seventh century. But while Berthari was building churches, or Cunibert striving with his rebels, the course of events in the city of Rome was growing more and more important. |The Papacy in the seventh century. | The papacy and the empire were gradually working up to a pitch of estrangement and mutual repulsion, which was in the next generation to lead to open war between them. We have sketched in an earlier chapter the work of pope Gregory the Great, in raising the papacy to a condition of unprecedented spiritual importance in the Christian world, and no less in building up a position of high secular importance for the Pope in the governance of Rome. For half a century after Gregory’s death this state of affairs remained unaltered. The Pope was now firmly established as patriarch of the West, and sent missions to Britain, Gaul, and Spain without let or hindrance. Nor was his secular authority much interfered with, either by the exarch or by the home government at Constantinople. But friction and struggling began under the reign of the stern and ruthless Constantinus (Constans II.) and the hot-headed pope Martin I. We have mentioned elsewhere[[43]] how the emperor published his ‘Type’ or edict of Comprehension, forbidding further discussions on the question of the Monothelite heresy. Martin not merely refused to acquiesce in letting the discussion sleep, but summoned a council which declared the ‘Type’ to be blasphemous and irreverent. Martin wrote to the same effect to the kings of the Franks, Visigoths, and English, thus calling in foreign sovereigns to participate in a dispute between himself and his master. Relying on his remoteness from Byzantium, and on the grandeur of his position as Patriarch of the West, he attempted to defy Constantinus. The emperor’s proceedings show that he was determined to assert his power, but that he was fully conscious of the danger and difficulty of dealing with such an important personage as the bishop of Rome had now become. |Fate of Pope Martin, 655.| He had to wait for a favourable opportunity for punishing Martin, and it was not by openly arresting him in the face of the people, but by secretly kidnapping him, that he got him into his power. But when once shipped to Constantinople the Pope felt his sovereign’s wrath: insulted, loaded with chains, imprisoned, and banished to the remote Crimea, Martin learnt that the emperor’s arm was still strong enough to reach out to Rome (655).