By the summer of 717 CE, the Roman world faced its most apocalyptic trial in centuries. The caliphate of the Umayyads—now seasoned by conquest and brimming with ambition—launched its mightiest blow yet against Constantinople. At its helm stood Maslamah ibn ʿAbd al-Malik, prince of the house of Marwān and brother to the reigning caliph Sulaymān. He came with legions by land and sea, with prophecy echoing in the minbars of Damascus, and with the weight of Hijri year 100 bearing cosmic significance. This was no mere raid. It was meant to be the final conquest of Rome.
In the harbors of Asia Minor, the Arab fleet assembled—hundreds of ships from Egypt, Syria, and North Africa. On land, Maslama’s army cut across Anatolia, enduring mountain snows and hostile passes. When the banners of Islam reached the Bosphorus, they did not merely encamp—they enveloped. Constantinople was surrounded by land and sea, hemmed in by hunger and dread.
And yet, within the walls, a counter-narrative unfolded. The strategos of the Anatolics, Leo the Isaurian, rose not only in defiance but in destiny. Crowned in the chaos of siege, he became Emperor Leo III. With him, the dromōnes of the Roman navy, armed with the infernal Greek Fire, turned the waters of the Golden Horn into a flaming trap. The Virgin Mary, invoked in processions and prayers, became the city’s celestial general.
The Arab camp, immense but overextended, was soon tested not just by steel but by winter itself. Snow fell heavy. Supplies ran short. Famine gripped Maslama’s army. According to Christian and Muslim sources alike, soldiers boiled leather and ate grass. Plague followed, then came betrayal—whether by Leo’s diplomatic cunning, or by the false hopes offered under truce.
And yet, the memory of this siege is anything but simple.
Muslim historians diverged. al-Ṭabarī and Kitāb al-ʿUyūn preserve the story of defeat—of hunger, misjudgment, and withdrawal. But others, like Ibn Aʿtham al-Kūfī and Balʿamī, spin a different thread: a tale of symbolic victory, of Maslama entering Hagia Sophia, of a tribute-paying treaty sealed by Leo himself. Triumph and tragedy became two mirrors held to the same battlefield.
On the Christian side, Theophanes the Confessor, the Zuqnīn Chronicle, and the Homily of Germanus I present Leo as both general and saint. The siege is broken by fire or frost and the Virgin’s intercession. Elsewhere, the Chronicle of 1234, Armenian histories, and Latin annals emphasize the storm that wrecked the Arab fleet, the role of the Bulgars in flanking the invaders, and the divine judgment that saved the city.
This blog post will dive into the storm of these sources: reconciling Muslim and Christian memories, weighing fact against folklore, and recovering what truly happened between 717 and 718. It will untangle competing chronicles, revisit battlefield topography, and confront the theological visions that turned history into hagiography.
This was the last time an Umayyad army would camp before Constantinople. It was the final siege of Rome by the sons of Hagar. And though Maslama withdrew, the siege left scars—on both empires, and on the memory of what could have been.
This is the story of doom foretold and deliverance remembered. The final clash at Constantine’s city.
II. Historical Background: From Futūḥ to the Bosphorus
By the early 8th century, the Islamic empire had expanded from the sands of Arabia to the steppes of Central Asia and the shores of the Atlantic. Yet one city remained unconquered: Constantinople, the imperial heart of the New Rome. The memory of two earlier sieges—one under ʿUthmān and another under Muʿāwiyah—still lingered, shadowing the ambitions of caliphs and generals alike.
The 654 Siege: Uthmān’s Naval Gambit
The first serious attempt to seize Constantinople came in 654 CE, during the caliphate of ʿUthmān. Muʿāwiyah, then governor of Syria and already a master of Levantine strategy, dispatched a fleet that reached the waters before the Theodosian Walls. Roman and Arab sources both acknowledge this attempt, though its nature remains debated: Was it a full-scale siege or a probing raid? The Armenian historian Sebeos affirms its reality, while some scholars, such as Peter Crawford, argue it was more of an “opportunistic dash” across the Bosphorus than a concerted encirclement.
Andrew Marsham succinctly captures its legacy:
“Military failures in the latter years of ʿUthmān’s rule may have diminished his prestige: an ill-advised attack on the Khazar Khaganate in 652 ended with the slaughter of an army; worse, the war against Rome had stalled when an assault on Constantinople in 654 failed”.
Still, this campaign marked the birth of Umayyad naval warfare, forging the logistics and aspirations for what was to come.
The 668 Siege: Yazīd’s Holy War
A more structured and prolonged effort came in 668 CE, under Caliph Muʿāwiyah. This time the siege was led by his son Yazīd b. Muʿāwiyah, accompanied by many Companions of the Prophet, including Ibn ʿAbbās, Ibn ʿUmar, Ibn al-Zubayr, and the venerable Abū Ayyūb al-Anṣārī, who died and was buried near the city’s walls. Yazīd's army wintered at Chalcedon before launching the spring assault, only to be ravaged by famine and plague, as confirmed by multiple sources, including the Maronite Chronicle and the Spanish-Arabic Chronicle of 741.
The siege ended not with a glorious breach, but with quiet retreat. Yet its resonance was deep. It inaugurated a vision—that Constantinople could fall, and that the armies of Islam had reached the edge of the Roman world. The lessons of Yazīd’s failure, and the sanctity of those who died there, became part of the Umayyad collective memory.
The Long Truce and the Flame Rekindled
After 668, direct assaults on Constantinople ceased for nearly half a century. Treaties were signed. Tribute flowed from emperors to caliphs. But peace was uneasy and always provisional. The Umayyads shifted focus eastward—to Khurasan, to Sind, to the Caucasus. Still, the prophecy of Constantinople’s fall loomed large in the hearts of believers, poets, and generals.
The 700s saw the renewal of war with Rome, Under Caliph al-Walīd, the Umayyads pushed into Asia Minor, establishing naval supremacy and building advanced fleets. The stage was set. But it was under Sulaymān b. ʿAbd al-Malik, al-Walīd’s successor, that the vision crystallized into campaign.
AH 100: The Millennial Moment
The timing was no accident. The siege of 717–718 CE coincided with the Hijrī centennial—the year 100 AH. As Andrew Marsham writes, this was not just a strategic calculation, but a millenarian moment, laden with eschatological weight:
“Echoes of the millenarian terms in which the coming climactic war were understood in Syria and further afield can be seen in later texts that preserve the court poetry and a large corpus of apocalyptic Arabic traditions about the capture of Constantinople and other prominent Christian holy cities, including Rome."
In Umayyad court poetry, Sulaymān was likened to the Mahdī, the divinely guided redeemer. Jarīr declared:
“The blessed Sulayman, whom you already know is the Saviour (mahdī) who has illuminated the path (sabīl). You redeem every soul from evils and bring about the Messenger’s Covenant.”
The conquest of Constantinople would not merely be a military victory—it would be the culmination of divine history, the moment Islam eclipsed Rome.
The Rise of Leo III
Meanwhile, the Roman Empire teetered on the edge of collapse. Between 695 and 717, the empire saw five emperors deposed in violent coups. Into this chaos rose Leo the Isaurian—or, more precisely, Leo the Syrian, born Konon in Germanikeia (modern-day Marʿash). He rose through the ranks of the Roman military, gaining experience in the Caucasus and Anatolia, and seized power amidst the Umayyad invasion in March 717 CE.
Described by the Zuqnīn Chronicle as “a courageous, strong, and warlike man,” Leo brought not only military acumen but religious zeal and popular charisma. He would become the savior of Constantinople, presiding over its defense through one of the most catastrophic sieges in medieval history.
III. Protagonists of Empire: The Six Faces of the Final Siege
A. The Roman Defenders
1. Leo III the Isaurian (Konon)
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Birthplace: Germanikeia (modern-day Kahramanmaraş, Turkey), a city on the frontier between Roman and Arab lands.
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Parentage: Of Syrian or Isaurian ancestry, born into humble conditions.
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Background: Originally named Konon, Leo rose through the military ranks during the reigns of Justinian II and Anastasios II. He was a seasoned officer with postings in Armenia and the Anatolikon theme, familiar with both the Arab frontier and the turbulent politics of the capital.
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Motivation: A pragmatic survivor of civil wars, Leo’s primary motive was the preservation of the Roman Empire and its religious heart. He combined strategic cunning with religious piety, emerging as both a military savior and, later, a religious reformer (notably initiating iconoclasm).
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Historical Weight: His leadership during the siege made him a hero. The successful defense of the city would later legitimize his seizure of the imperial crown in 717 CE.
2. Patriarch Germanus I
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Birthplace: Possibly Constantinople or Bithynia.
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Background: A scion of a noble family; his father had been executed by Constans II. Germanus rose through the ecclesiastical ranks, eventually becoming Patriarch of Constantinople in 715 CE.
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Motivation: As the spiritual guardian of the capital, Germanus framed the siege as a cosmic battle between Christian Rome and the godless Saracens. His homily after the victory credited the Virgin Mary with saving the city—a theological claim that shaped Romanmemory for generations.
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Historical Weight: Germanus was not only a priest but a political figure—his image of Mary as protectress would shape Christian piety and iconography for a century.
3. Artabasdos
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Birthplace: Armenia.
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Background: Strategos of the Armeniakon theme and later son-in-law of Leo III.
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Motivation: As a key ally of Leo during the siege and his later political supporter, Artabasdos was driven by loyalty and ambition. He would later declare himself emperor during the Iconoclast crisis.
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Historical Weight: A seasoned general and opportunist, he embodied the tensions between military loyalty and imperial aspiration.
B. The Arab Invaders
1. Maslama ibn ʿAbd al-Malik
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Birthplace: Damascus, Syria.
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Parentage: Son of Caliph ʿAbd al-Malik ibn Marwān, half-brother to Caliph Sulaymān.
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Nickname: “The Yellow Locust” (al-Jarādah al-Ṣafrāʾ) for his swift and relentless campaigns.
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Background: A seasoned general, Maslama had led campaigns in Armenia, Transoxiana, and against the Khazars. He also governed Iraq and the eastern provinces.
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Motivation: As a prince of the Umayyad house, Maslama sought to prove his worth through victory. The siege was both a religious and dynastic endeavor: to bring down the Roman capital and establish Umayyad glory on the Bosphorus.
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Historical Weight: Despite the ultimate failure, Maslama was remembered in both Arab and Christian sources as noble, courageous, and even spiritually formidable. His leadership embodied the apex of Umayyad military ambition.
2. Sulaymān ibn ʿAbd al-Malik
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Birthplace: Possibly al-Badīʿ (Arabian Desert), raised in Damascus.
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Parentage: Also son of Caliph ʿAbd al-Malik; full brother of Walīd I.
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Background: Known for his eloquence, religiosity, and love of conquest. Appointed caliph in 715 CE after Walīd’s death. Appointed Maslama as the supreme commander for the siege.
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Motivation: Sulaymān saw the siege as eschatological. With the Hijrī century turning to 100 AH, he believed the fall of Constantinople would fulfill prophecy. He intended to celebrate victory in Jerusalem and built elaborate infrastructure in Palestine in anticipation.
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Historical Weight: He died during the campaign, never witnessing its outcome. His millenarian zeal marks one of the most profound messianic moments in Umayyad history.
3. ʿUmar ibn ʿAbd al-ʿAzīz (ʿUmar II)
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Birthplace: Medina, raised in Egypt and Syria.
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Parentage: Son of ʿAbd al-ʿAzīz ibn Marwān; maternal grandson of ʿĀṣim ibn ʿUmar ibn al-Khaṭṭāb—linking him to the family of the second caliph.
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Background: A devout ascetic, jurist, and reformer, ʿUmar was appointed caliph upon Sulaymān’s death—per his will. Known for his piety, justice, and proto-Abbasid spirit of reform.
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Motivation: Unlike Sulaymān, ʿUmar favored diplomacy and reform over conquest. He called for Maslama’s withdrawal and sought peace with the Romans, securing a treaty.
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Historical Weight: Celebrated in Sunni Islam as the “fifth rightly guided caliph,” ʿUmar’s role in ending the siege symbolized a shift from Umayyad imperialism to religious introspection and political pragmatism.
Together, these six men shaped the destiny of their worlds:
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On one side: Leo’s steely resilience, Germanus’ sacred vision, and Artabasdos’ martial loyalty.
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On the other: Maslama’s noble campaign, Sulaymān’s apocalyptic ambition, and ʿUmar’s pious pragmatism.
Their collision at Constantinople marked the end of the Umayyad dream of a Roman capital—and the beginning of an ideological transformation on both sides of the sea.
IV. The Muslim Accounts: Two Memories of a Siege
The Muslim historiographical tradition splits into two major strands when recounting the siege of 717–718: one of logistical failure, the other of symbolic victory. Both reflect not only narrative choices, but the political agendas of their times.
A. Version 1 – The Defeat Narrative
Main Sources: al-Ṭabarī, Kitāb al-ʿUyūn, and other early Abbasid-era historians.
Key Features:
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Maslama is sent by Caliph Sulaymān with a grand army and navy.
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He is deceived by Leo III, who feigns submission and lures Maslama into burning his own grain reserves.
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The siege is prolonged and brutal, with the Arab camp suffering famine, freezing winters, and the destruction of the fleet.
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The army retreats in defeat after Sulaymān dies and ʿUmar II recalls the troops.
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Tone: somber, bureaucratic, realist — a moral tale of overreach and divine justice.
Historical Purpose:
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Compiled during the Abbasid period, these narratives undercut Umayyad legitimacy, emphasizing their political failures and military incompetence.
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Maslama appears not as a villain but as a tragic and misled figure, illustrating the dangers of hubris and misplaced trust.
B. Version 2 – The Heroic Victory
Main Sources: Ibn Aʿtham al-Kūfī, Balʿamī’s Persian chronicle (translated from an Arabic version).
Key Features:
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Maslama led a righteous campaign and entered Constantinople in triumph.
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He inverts the cross in the Hagia Sophia, signs a treaty, and imposes tribute on the Romans.
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A new city, Madīnat al-Qahr ("City of Conquest"), is founded near the Bosphorus.
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The Arab army withdrew in victory, not defeat.
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Tone: epic, triumphal, and legendary — part of the wider futūḥ literature tradition.
Historical Purpose:
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These accounts reflect an Umayyad-leaning or neutral tradition, preserved either in eastern frontier communities or among those sympathetic to the ideal of Arab conquest.
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They served to uphold Maslama’s legacy and maintain the image of Islam’s inevitable expansion.
C. Critical Comparison and Reconciliation
| Topic | Defeat Narrative (Ṭabarī) | Victory Narrative (Ibn Aʿtham / Balʿamī) |
|---|---|---|
| Siege duration | 1+ year, harsh winters | Vague, brief, focuses on outcome |
| Famine | Central crisis | Minimally mentioned |
| Maslama | Deceived, tragic leader | Heroic, just conqueror |
| Outcome | Retreat, shame, divine lesson | Symbolic victory, treaty, prestige |
| City Entry | Denied | Achieved (into Hagia Sophia) |
| Greek Fire & fleet | Destroyed Arab ships | Absent or minimized |
| Legacy | Humbling of Umayyad arms | Embellished spiritual conquest |
Reconciliation:
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The siege occurred and was prolonged, lasting through a brutal winter.
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Famine and logistical collapse were real, confirmed by multiple Christian sources.
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Negotiations with Leo occurred, possibly with promises of tribute or religious dialogue.
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A symbolic entry into the city may have taken place — a diplomatic visit or parley later transformed into epic memory.
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The withdrawal was orderly, perhaps following a face-saving treaty, but it was not a military victory.
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Both versions preserve fragments of truth, shaped by memory regimes and political context.
V. The Christian Accounts: Leo, the Virgin, and Victory
From the Roman side, the siege is remembered not just as a military engagement but as a cosmic drama of divine deliverance, imperial piety, and miraculous survival.
A. The Greek Tradition
Main Sources: Theophanes the Confessor, Patriarch Germanus I, Nikephoros
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Leo III, still a general during the siege, is portrayed as God’s chosen defender.
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He prays to the Theotokos (Virgin Mary), who miraculously delivers the city.
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The Arab fleet is destroyed by a storm or divine wrath, aided by Greek fire.
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Maslama is either unnamed or portrayed as overconfident and deceived.
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Narrative Goal: Legitimize Leo’s rise, emphasize divine favor, sanctify Constantinople.
B. Syriac and Latin Traditions
Main Sources: Zuqnīn Chronicle, Chronicle of 1234, Latin Chronicles of 741 and 754
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Preserve early, non-Roman views on the siege.
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Focus on military aspects: famine in the Arab camp, Bulgar attacks, naval disaster.
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Acknowledge Leo’s leadership but often without supernatural framing.
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Zuqnīn uniquely preserves a symbolic 3-day visit of Maslama to the city with 30 men — an echo of the second Muslim version.
C. Armenian Chronicle (Łewond)
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Offers the most balanced account.
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Maslama is heroic and competent; Leo is also brave and spiritually guided.
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A storm is sent by God to destroy the Arab fleet.
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Maslama asks for peace, recognizing divine intervention — both sides are dignified.
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Emphasizes reconciliation and mutual respect more than triumph.
D. Synthesis: Where the Threads Intertwine
Despite their differences, nearly all traditions agree on these key points:
| Agreed Fact | Evidence |
|---|---|
| Maslama led the siege | All sources |
| The siege lasted c. 1 year | Greek, Latin, Syriac |
| There was a famine | Muslim and Christian |
| Greek Fire was used | Greek and some Muslim sources |
| The fleet was destroyed | Greek, Syriac, Latin |
| Bulgars attacked from the north | Theophanes, Syriac sources |
| Caliph Sulaymān died | Muslim and Christian |
| Maslama withdrew | All |
Where they diverge:
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Cause of the Arab defeat (divine wrath vs. logistical error vs. Leo’s cunning).
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Maslama’s legacy: fool, hero, or both.
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Whether the Arabs entered the city (symbolic vs. historical vs. mythical).
Conclusion: Both the Muslim and Christian sources mythologized the siege for their own purposes. Christian sources glorified Leo and the Virgin Mary; Muslim sources either preserved a humble defeat or recast it as a spiritual conquest. The historical core? A real siege, a real famine, and a battle for memory as much as for Constantinople.
V. The Siege to End All Sieges: A Year at the Gates of Constantinople (716–718)
A. 📣 The Call to Arms: Umayyad Mobilization (Spring–Summer 716)
In the heat-drenched plains of northern Syria, beneath the shadow of the Amanus Mountains, the drums of war thundered through the encampment at Dābiq. Here, on the frontier between the caliphate and the Roman world, Caliph Sulaymān ibn ʿAbd al-Malik gathered the might of the Umayyad state for what was envisioned not merely as a military campaign, but as the culmination of divine destiny. The year was 716 CE, and according to the Hijrī calendar, it was now the hundredth year since the Prophet Muhammad’s ﷺ migration to Medina. To many, this centenary was not just symbolic—it carried eschatological weight. Muslim chroniclers later recorded that the caliph was inspired by traditions predicting the conquest of Constantinople as a sign of divine favor and impending final victory over the Romans.
The man entrusted with leading this holy endeavor was Maslama ibn ʿAbd al-Malik, a prince-general and younger brother to the caliph. Maslama had already built a formidable reputation as a commander during raids into Anatolia. He was known for his iron discipline, logistical ingenuity, and a shrewd political mind—qualities that would be tested in the crucible of the upcoming siege.
The scale of the mobilization was unprecedented in the history of Umayyad campaigns. From every corner of the empire, soldiers marched toward Syria: hardened ghāzīs from al-Jazīra, experienced infantrymen from Egypt, Armenian auxiliaries, and elite cavalry detachments from Syria. Even the semi-autonomous frontier regions—where Roman-Arab clashes had become routine—contributed their fiercest fighters. The operation had the flavor of an imperial crusade, an attempt not just to expand the caliphate, but to imprint the crescent on the gates of Constantinople, Rome's last bastion in the East.
In Egypt, shipwrights labored day and night to prepare the Umayyad fleet. Hundreds of vessels—merchant ships converted into transports, sleek warships, supply barges—assembled at Alexandria and Damietta, later sailing in waves toward the Aegean. The maritime component of the expedition, which would later play a crucial role in encircling the city, was the result of months of intensive logistical preparation. This maritime dimension is strongly attested in multiple Arabic and Greek sources, including al-Ṭabarī and Theophanes, who describe the immense flotilla of nearly 1,800 ships.
To the Umayyads, this was not merely a campaign of conquest, but one of divine trial and validation. The siege was cast as a millenarian showdown between the forces of Islam and the “Romans,” who had long resisted the faith. The Arabic sources stress the piety of Maslama, who reportedly performed prayers at every milestone, imploring God for victory. He framed the campaign as a test of faith as much as military strength—a battle whose outcome would demonstrate whether the Muslim community was worthy of God's continued favor.
But across the Bosphorus, the Christian world trembled. Greek sources, particularly the Synaxarion of Constantinople, described the oncoming Arab army in apocalyptic tones. The synaxaria depict the Umayyads as a blasphemous and unclean horde—“Saracens guided by the Antichrist”—sent to desecrate the holy city and obliterate the faith of Christ. The texts warned that the enemy sought not only to breach the walls, but to convert Hagia Sophia into a mosque, to trample the True Cross, and to compel Christians to abandon the faith for the "heresy of Muhammad."
And yet, even in these demonizations, there is a grudging respect. The sources describe the sheer scale and intensity of the expedition: the number of ships, the diversity of the army, the months-long preparation. It was clear that this would not be a mere raid like those of earlier decades. The caliphate had come to claim the city of Constantine—and it had committed the full weight of its imperial machinery to the task.
This was the final Arab attempt to take Constantinople. It would not be an easy campaign. The Roman had learned from past assaults. A new emperor was coming —Leo III, a hardened soldier and strategist—and a capital defended by legendary fortifications and a mysterious weapon known as Greek fire. But for now, in the summer of 716, as the Umayyad army departed Dābiq, hope and thunder were with them. The gates of Rome’s eastern capital beckoned.
B. A Cloaked Approach: Maslama’s Early Advance (716)
In mid-716 CE, the formidable Arab general Maslama ibn ʿAbd al-Malik crossed into Asia Minor, leading a massive vanguard of the Umayyad campaign. The formal siege of Constantinople was still a year away, but the prelude was no less intense. With an army reportedly 100,000 strong, as echoed in the Chronicle of 741, Maslama’s forces moved swiftly, his objectives cloaked in diplomacy, backed by military muscle, and sharpened by millenarian zeal.
“Among the Arabs, after the death of Walīd, Sulaymān, his brother by blood, was in power according to the arrangement of their father; he reigned for 3 years. This man, the scourge of Byzantium, sent his brother, Maslama by name, born of a different mother, to destroy Byzantium, one hundred thousand armed men having been gathered together with him. On soon reaching the land of Asia, he arrived at Pergamum [Bergama, western Türkiye], the most ancient and prosperous city of Asia, attacked it in battle, deceived it by a ploy and put an end to it by fire and sword.” — Chronicle of 741
This advance was more than a military operation—it was a calculated campaign of psychological warfare. The devastation that followed in Maslama's wake was not lost on contemporaries. The Chronicle of Zuqnin, written from the Christian East, paints a tragic picture of the desolation caused by the invasion:
“When countless Arab forces gathered and set about to invade the land of the Romans, all the [inhabitants of the] territories of Asia and Cappadocia [central Türkiye] fled from them, as did those of the whole region of the sea coast, the region near the Black Mountain [Nur Mountains], Lebanon as far as Melitene [Malatya], and the region near the Arsanias River [Murat River] as far as Inner Armenia [Eastern Türkiye]. This whole land was blessed with many human settlements and densely planted with vineyards, green crops, and all kinds of delightful trees. It has since been devastated, making these regions no longer inhabitable.” — Chronicle of Zuqnin.
Despite the destruction, Maslama made no immediate move on Constantinople. Instead, he took up winter quarters in the fortified city of Amorion [near modern Emirdağ, Afyonkarahisar], a strategic stronghold in Phrygia. There, Maslama was drawn into a subtle diplomatic game with Leo the Isaurian—a wily general stationed in Anatolia. Leo feigned sympathy for the Arabs, even offering a possible alliance against the reigning emperor Theodosios III. Believing Leo could be manipulated into opening a path toward Constantinople, Maslama let down his guard.
But this was a calculated deception. As winter passed, Leo turned his back on his Arab “ally,” marched to Nicomedia, and seized the Roman throne. By spring 717 CE, he was crowned Emperor Leo III, having deposed Theodosios. The ploy was complete.
Muslim and Christian sources agree that Maslama was outmaneuvered, caught in a clever game of misdirection. Theophanes the Confessor, al-Ṭabarī, and the Chronicle of 1234 all describe Maslama’s pause in Amorion and Leo’s opportunistic rise. According to al-Ṭabarī, Maslama even requested oaths of fealty and offered support to Leo—believing him to be a puppet-in-waiting for Umayyad goals. Instead, Leo played the role to perfection, biding time until he could seize Constantinople from within.
“As for Leo, he was courageous, strong, and warlike. He was also of 'Syrian extraction, a native of border lands, and because of his intrepidity, he was made a military commander. Thanks to his wisdom, he promised Maslama to introduce him to Constantinople without any battle, preventing the ground from being drenched with human blood. Abiding by this promise, the lastnamed neither fought nor took anyone into captivity, but with determination he headed toward Constantinople, marched and besieged it.”— Chronicle of Zuqnin
What unfolded in 716 was more than mere maneuvering—it was a prelude of fate, an omen of the siege to come. Maslama, though a veteran commander, had stumbled against a foe as cunning in politics as he was in war. The Arab army had entered Anatolia with fire and fury, but now faced an emperor who had already turned deception into his first act of imperial resistance.
C. The Siege Begins: Land and Sea Encirclement (August 15, 717)
On August 15, 717 CE, the Feast of the Dormition of the Virgin, Constantinople awoke to a terrifying spectacle: the horizon to the south and east teemed with sails. Hundreds—some say up to 1,800—Umayyad ships crowded the Sea of Marmara and the Bosphorus, forming a massive blockade meant to strangle the capital’s lifelines. From Egypt to Ifriqiya, warships and transports had been summoned and launched over many months, their decks loaded with siege materials, food supplies, and Syrian sailors hardened by years of naval warfare.
To the west of the city, the vast plain of Thrace became a sprawling military camp as Maslama ibn ʿAbd al-Malik deployed his land army beyond the Theodosian Walls, those monumental fortifications which had turned back Attila and many others. Behind him, as far as Hebdomon [Bakırköy, modern İstanbul], tents, stables, siege towers, and encampments swelled daily as reinforcements poured in. The Romans estimated his numbers to be in the hundreds of thousands—though likely inflated, there is no doubt this was one of the largest Arab armies ever to march into Roman territory.
In this moment of existential danger, the newly crowned Emperor Leo III stood tall. The Chronicle of Zuqnin exalts him as:
“...he was courageous, strong, and warlike. He was also of Syrian extraction, a native of border lands, and because of his intrepidity, he was made a military commander. Thanks to his wisdom, he promised Maslama to introduce him to Constantinople without any battle, preventing the ground from being drenched with human blood, Abiding by this promise, the lastnamed neither fought nor took anyone into captivity, but with determination he headed toward Constantinople, marched and besieged it. When Leo entered the capital and realised the hands of the Romans were shaking, and the emperor had resigned the empire, he emboldened the Romans, saying to them: "Fear not!’”
Though he had only recently taken the throne, Leo acted with the brutal precision of a frontier commander. He understood siegecraft. His first order of business: sever the Arab supply lines. The city’s defenders raided and destroyed the logistical bridge made of ships that had connected Maslama’s forces to their grain routes from Syria. He dispatched small elite detachments—likely themes from the Anatolikon and Opsikion—to harass the Arab rear, burn supply wagons, and block mountain passes.
Meanwhile, the Arab fleet, anchored across Chalcedon [modern Kadıköy], sought to cut off the imperial city from the sea. Yet this was not the unguarded Constantinople of centuries past. Leo unleashed his naval trump card—the infamous dromōnes, fast warships equipped with Greek Fire, a terrifying incendiary compound whose exact composition remains unknown to this day. Directed through bronze siphons mounted at the prow, the flaming liquid ignited the decks of Arab ships, turning them into floating pyres.
The fear of Greek Fire was well known across the caliphate. Muslim sources describe it in near-apocalyptic terms—“a sea-born hellfire that clung even to water”. When it struck, even the seasoned Syrian sailors panicked, capsizing their vessels in their rush to escape. The Chronographia of Theophanes details that the fire ships sailed directly into the heart of the Arab fleet, torching sails and causing havoc before retreating under cover of friendly towers.
The siege that followed was not an all-out storming of the walls, but a grueling war of attrition. Maslama did not attempt a full assault, believing, perhaps fatally, that starvation would force the Romans into submission. But Leo’s preemptive action had cut his supply chains, effectively turning Maslama’s army into prisoners of their own encirclement.
The Zuqnin Chronicle echoes this with stark metaphor:
“He also destroyed the bridge which had been made with ships, cutting it off, and the Arabs and all the forces with them were confined as if in a prison.”
Maslama, betrayed yet again by the man he had trusted, is said to have confronted Leo:
“Maslama asked Leo: "Where is the oath that you swore to me by God that you would introduce me to Constantinople without a battle?" Leo answered pleasantly: "Wait for a few days until the nobles of the empire submit to me.” — Chronicle of Zuqnin.
So, the Arab host remained—stranded, sealed off, and slowly starving—on the plains of Thrace, their fleet ravaged by fire and their hopes pinned to a diplomatic mirage. The siege had begun not with clamor and conquest, but with cold calculation and deadly containment.
D. Winter of Despair: Famine, Disease, and Death (Winter 717/718)
As the autumn of 717 CE surrendered to a biting winter, the fields of Thrace were transformed into a landscape of frost and death. The once confident Arab forces—encamped outside Constantinople’s Theodosian Walls and anchored along the Bosphorus—soon found themselves trapped, not by steel, but by the cruel indifference of nature.
The winter of 717–718 was among the harshest on record. Greek chroniclers—Theophanes, the Synaxaria, and later Armenian and Syriac accounts—describe snowdrifts, freezing winds, and a bitter famine that tore through the Umayyad camp. The Chronicle of Zuqnin recounts the surreal desperation that set in:
“At this point, Maslama gave orders to plant a vineyard, but a powerful and severe famine came upon them so that they ran out of bread throughout the camp and had to eat even their beasts of burden and horses... the Arabs remained outside and the Romans inside without any battle for about three years. The famine became so severe for the Arabs that they ate their sandals and even the flesh of their dead. They even attacked each other with the result that a person was afraid to walk alone..”
This was no ordinary siege. Leo III, newly crowned and hardened by years of warfare, had turned Constantinople into an iron citadel. He had already severed Arab supply lines. Now, he tightened the noose. Leo had bribed the Bulgarian khagan Tervel, forging an alliance with the northern power that struck Maslama's exposed rear.
The Synaxaria commemorates this fateful counterstroke with awe:
“The Saracens, clashing with the Bulgarians, died at their hands in the number of twenty thousand, and the remainder of them retreated, marching on foot in disgrace.”
Greek and Armenian sources agree: the Bulgarian cavalry descended upon the Arab foragers and rear guard like wolves in snow, leaving a trail of slaughtered soldiers and shattered morale. Al-Ṭabarī, writing from the Muslim perspective, records Maslama’s growing desperation—his retreat from the Golden Horn, his pleas for reinforcements unanswered, and his realization that Leo had tricked him at every turn.
Back at the siege line, the situation worsened, the Synxaria records:
“And the city was in dire straits, not having food; but they [the Arabs], {Having wasted time and} having wastefully devoured all of the provisions they had and having kept nothing for provision of their own nourishment, entered into such an unheard of famine as to eat the flesh of men and of serpents, of mice and dead animals; and later they ate even the excrement of men kneaded together with a small amount of dough, so that many of their great men deserted to the city.”
Even nature turned against them. Winter storms battered the Arab fleet, especially those moored at Sosthenion and the nearby small harbors north of the Golden Horn. The protective chain at Galata blocked access to the city’s inner waters. With nowhere to maneuver, many Arab ships ran aground and were burned by the Romans, A storm at sea claimed dozens more.
In the chaos, desertions erupted. According to Roman sources, many of Maslama’s high-ranking officers abandoned the siege, slipping into the city walls seeking food or asylum. With hunger gnawing at discipline, morale collapsed. One Arab soldier, according to the Synaxaria, climbed a tree to proclaim the Adhan but immediately fell to his death, interpreted by Christian chroniclers as divine justice.
The Arabs, lulled into inaction by Leo’s persistent stalling, remained on the outskirts for months longer. In a final act of theater and desperation, they proclaimed a pretender as a rival Roman emperor, parading him around the city with bodyguards and singing praises, hoping to fracture morale. But this, too, failed. The people of Constantinople did not stir.
The caliph’s great gamble—once brimming with apocalyptic confidence—had frozen into a nightmare. Horses and camels lay stripped to the bone. Campfires were fed with wooden siege equipment. Men ate leather, vermin, and worse. A man risked his life to simply walk alone in the dark. Death came by cold, starvation, and disease in equal measure.
This was no longer a siege. It was a graveyard.
E. Miracles and Misfires: Symbolic Clashes and Supposed Conquests
As the long siege wore on into its final months, reality began to blur with legend, and both Muslim and Christian traditions shaped the outcome into something greater than military fact—a matter of divine will, cosmic struggle, and symbolic triumph or humiliation.
🕌 Maslama’s “Spiritual Victory” in Muslim Memory
In some Islamic accounts, particularly those from Ibn Aʿtham al-Kūfī and Balʿamī, the Umayyad failure to physically capture Constantinople was reframed not as defeat, but as a moral and spiritual victory. According to these less widespread but deeply evocative narratives:
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Maslama built a fortified outpost facing Constantinople, called madīnat al-Qahr (“City of Conquest”), asserting Umayyad permanence across the straits.
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Following lengthy warfare and apparent negotiations, Leo offered a compromise: Maslama could enter Constantinople alone to fulfill his vow without initiating open battle.
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With al-Baṭṭāl and Muslim troops waiting outside the walls, Maslama rode into the city on a white horse, robed and turbaned in white, his sword and lance displayed for all to see.
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He was welcomed by Leo at the palace gates, who, according to the narrative, kissed the general’s hand in a gesture of submission.
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Maslama entered Hagia Sophia on horseback, seized a bejeweled cross, and inverted it on the point of his lance, parading it as a sign of Islamic dominance.
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The takbīr echoed through the city as he returned to madīnat al-Qahr, his troops cheering their commander’s symbolic conquest, followed by tribute payments and negotiated withdrawal.
This narrative, though contradictory to most earlier and Eastern sources, reveals how memory, identity, and theology reshaped events: Maslama did not return defeated, but glorified—a conquering hero in the courtly retellings of the East.
Christian Miracles and Poetic Justice
In stark contrast, the Christian narratives transformed the siege’s end into a canvas of miraculous intervention and divine protection.
The Synaxaria describe how an Arab herald, intent on publicly proclaiming the adhān, climbed a tall tree near the city—only to fall and burst open as he called upon God, a sign to the Romans that Constantinople would never fall to blasphemers.
Another rider, mockingly calling the city “Constantia” and its church “Sophia” (without the divine prefix), fell into a pit and was torn apart.
The Synaxaria continues:
“Then Sulaymān, the first among them, asked to go into the city and to behold it. Having received a safe conduct, he went on horseback to the Bosporan Gate, and while those going before him entered without harm, he was himself unable to enter the gate, because his horse was immediately stricken and reared its legs. Looking up, Sulaymān saw above the gate, recorded in mosaic, Our Lady, the Holy Theotokos, seated upon a throne and bearing in her arms Our Lord, Jesus Christ, and immediately descending [from his horse], he entered on foot, realizing his own blasphemy, which he had blasphemed. Therefore the unsuccessful Saracens then turned back, having been attacked by God {and the allholy Theotokos} through famine and disease, having lost many multitudes from their own army.”
Whether this “Sulaymān” refers to Maslama himself or another Arab officer, the story resonates with symbolic power: the Virgin Mary herself halts the invasion.
According to Chronicle of Zuqnin, Maslama had pleaded again and again:
“Either live up to your promise or I will wage a battle!.”
Eventually, news reached the Arab camp of Caliph Sulaymān’s death, and the succession of ʿUmar II. The new caliph sent an urgent command:
“Come out of there, lest you and all those with you die of hunger!”
Maslama, still yearning for dignity, asked Leo if he might at least see the city. The emperor allowed him and thirty mounted guards to enter. Maslama toured Constantinople for three days, viewed its palaces, monuments, and churches—then left, not with gold or glory, but a memory of what could not be taken.
Divine Wrath and the Final Storm
The end came not with fanfare but with fire and flood. As Maslama’s shattered army retreated, a storm broke across the Aegean. According to the Synaxaria and Theophanes, hail, fire, and lightning engulfed the Arab fleet anchored at Sosthenion and nearby harbors:
“when a wintery storm came up, the greater number of them were run aground. Among these, the Romans burned the larger of their ships.”
The surviving soldiers—starved, frostbitten, diseased—marched on foot in disgrace, having “wastefully devoured all of the provisions they had and having kept nothing for provision of their own nourishment, entered into such an unheard of famine as to eat the flesh of men and of serpents, of mice and dead animals; and later they ate even the excrement of men kneaded together with a small amount of dough,.”
They had arrived as the champions of the Caliphate. They left, shattered by snow and sanctity, defeated not just by Leo’s cunning, but—so the Romans believed—by God and the Holy Virgin.
Between Truth and Tale
The truth lies somewhere between miracle and misfire:
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Some form of negotiation likely occurred, perhaps a visit or symbolic entrance by Maslama (or his envoys).
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A failed bid to parade a pretender emperor and “convert” Constantinople through performance suggests Arab morale had shifted from confidence to desperation.
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Propaganda, on both sides, sought to preserve face: the Romans with divine intervention, the Muslims with honor-bound retreat.
Ultimately, the Final Arab Siege of Constantinople (717–718) ended not with conquest, but with myth—a remembered battle where faith, fate, and fire all took part.
On August 15, 718 CE, precisely one year to the day after the siege began—on the Feast of the Dormition of the Virgin—the Arabs withdrew from Constantinople. What had begun as an apocalyptic march of faith and fire ended in disintegration, despair, and defeat.“ From there, he
hurried on to the royal city [i.e. Constantinople], and surrounded it with a siege for two years, but after making no progress and perceiving himself to be more endangered than endangering and constrained by hunger, the sword and a comprehensive want, he
returned to his own provinces at the order of the new ruler, having had little success.” — Chronicle of 741
The trigger for retreat came not from steel, but from Damascus. The Chronicle of Zuqnin tells us that Caliph Sulaymān had died during the siege, and his successor, the austere and pragmatic ʿUmar II, sent word:
“Come out of there, lest you and all those with you should die of hunger!”
Faced with annihilation, Maslama requested permission from Leo to enter the city one final time. With thirty cavalrymen, he toured the capital for three days, saw its defenses, churches, and monuments—and departed, empty-handed, his dreams of conquest evaporated in the morning mist.
Tyana’s False Hope and Arab Ambush Victory
“Following a signal on which they had agreed, they came down upon the Romans, surrounded and slaughtered all of them with the blades of their swords. Not one among the Romans who were about sixty thousand strong escaped. The Arabs pillaged the dead and returned to their fellows.” — Chronicle of Zuqnin
The resounding Arab victory in the ambush at Tyana salvaged some military dignity from the failed siege. The second Roman force, hearing of the massacre, retreated in panic, allowing the Umayyads to plunder the region before crossing back into Syria.
Legacies: A Shattered Dream and a Lasting Barrier
G. The Shockwaves of the Siege: Regional Reverberations from al-Andalus to Armenia
The final retreat from Constantinople in 718 CE did not merely end a siege. It triggered a geopolitical, theological, and psychological ripple effect across the Umayyad Caliphate and the Roman world—reshaping both empires and setting the tone for the eighth century’s emerging world order.
Rome: From Brink to Revival
For the Roman Empire, the survival of Constantinople was a civilizational reprieve. Just years earlier, the empire had reeled from civil wars, Arab raids, and iconoclastic ferment. The siege’s failure legitimized Leo III’s new dynasty and gave the Romans a psychological boost not seen since the days of Heraclius.
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Leo’s prestige soared: his survival of the siege allowed him to push bold policies, including religious reforms and the iconoclastic movement, launched just a decade later in 726.
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The Theodosian Walls, long neglected, were now symbols of divine protection, and the Virgin Mary, credited with saving the city in hagiography and liturgy, became a central imperial icon.
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The eastern frontier stabilized. With Maslama’s retreat, Anatolian themes (military districts) were strengthened, and Rome's border society adapted more confidently to continued Arab pressure.
The Umayyad Caliphate: A Crisis of Confidence
In the Islamic world, especially within the Umayyad elite, the siege marked the high-water mark of western military ambition—and a turning point in perception.
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The defeat coincided with the transition from Sulaymān to ʿUmar II, whose more austere and introspective policies led to internal reform rather than external conquest.
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The myth of inevitable Islamic expansion took a blow. Though Balʿamī and Ibn Aʿtham tried to recast the campaign as a symbolic or spiritual triumph, many Muslims recognized it as a costly miscalculation.
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Attention shifted from Constantinople to the east—to Khurāsān, the rebellion of Yazīd ibn al-Muhallab, and the slow-burning unrest that would eventually contribute to the ʿAbbāsid revolution (750 CE).
The Bulgars: From Barbarians to Kingmakers
The Bulgarian Khaganate, led by Tervel, emerged from the siege with an enhanced status.
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For their critical attack on Maslama’s rear, the Bulgars were hailed in Greek sources as deliverers of Constantinople.
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Tervel was granted the title of “Caesar”, the first time a non-Roman ruler was given such recognition. His kingdom was now seen not as a threat but as a strategic partner—a buffer against future Arab and Avar threats.
In the Latin West: A Remote but Reverberant Victory
Though the Latin West remained geographically distant from the siege, the symbolism of Constantinople’s survival against Islam resonated.
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Frankish and Lombard chroniclers began to frame the struggle against Islam not as isolated regional resistance but as part of a pan-Christian cosmic war.
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Later Carolingian ideology, especially under Charlemagne, would look to Leo III’s reign as a precedent for imperial Christian renewal.
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The siege also deepened the Papal-Imperial relationship, even as theological tensions loomed. Constantinople’s survival preserved the eastern half of Christendom, giving Rome more room to maneuver religiously and politically.
The Caliphate’s Shifting Frontiers
With the failure at Constantinople, Umayyad expansion refocused on more attainable frontiers:
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In the west, Arab forces intensified campaigns in al-Andalus and Gaul, culminating in the Battle of Tours in 732—itself part of the long aftershock of Maslama’s failed siege.
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In the Caucasus, Muslim forces engaged in long struggles with the Khazars, especially throughout the 720s and 730s. The memory of Constantinople’s resistance was used by both sides as a propaganda tool.
Memory, Martyrdom, and Myth
What followed the siege was not just a military and political recalibration—but a cultural reckoning:
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In Constantinople, liturgies were composed, icons venerated, and stories of miracles circulated for centuries: the Virgin halting horses, divine fire consuming ships, and muezzins struck dead mid-call.
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In the Islamic tradition, the siege became a quiet ghost—its memory reimagined as victory, reinterpreted as spiritual conquest, or passed over in silence.
The war had ended, but its echoes would haunt battles, sermons, and statecraft for generations.
H. Scorched Earth: The Trail of Desolation
As Maslama and his battered army withdrew from Constantinople in 718, the siege may have ended, but its destructive legacy was far from over. In his retreat through Asia Minor, the Umayyad general did not simply leave the empire behind—he devastated it.
The Chronicle of Zuqnin, written in the Christian East, offers a stark epitaph for the campaign’s end:
“Maslama left the Roman territories, completely destroying the land between its boundaries, turning it desolate like an empty steppe.”
Entire regions of Bithynia, Phrygia, and Galatia, once densely settled and agriculturally rich, were emptied of life. The Arab withdrawal was not peaceful—it was a scorched-earth retribution, laying waste to fields, villages, and vineyards, making it harder for Roman forces to pursue and reclaim the frontier.
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Farms were torched, livestock slaughtered, and granaries raided or burned.
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Infrastructure—bridges, aqueducts, fortresses—was sabotaged, slowing any Roman attempt at reoccupation.
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Local populations, already reeling from famine, siege, and flight, now faced starvation, displacement, and abandonment.
This destruction compounded the earlier devastation of the pre-siege advance, when Maslama’s forces had overrun Pergamum, Amorion, and swathes of Cappadocia. It marked a grim coda to a campaign that had begun in glory and ended in ruin.
For the Roman heartlands, especially the central Anatolian plateau, the aftermath of the Arab siege created a demographic vacuum that would take decades to repair. Entire themes (military-administrative districts) were repopulated with refugees or reorganized militarily to adapt to the new scorched frontier.
This was not just a retreat—it was a message.
The land itself became a casualty, erased between empire and caliphate, memory and myth.
Epilogue: The Empire at Twilight’s Edge
In the swirling snows outside Constantinople, between the frostbitten bones of siege camps and the ghostly echoes of ships ablaze on the Sea of Marmara, history shuddered and shifted.
The Siege of 717–718 was not just a military event. It was a pivot of civilizations.
For one year and one day, the greatest city of Christendom stood face-to-face with the might of the Umayyad Caliphate—Islam’s most powerful imperial machine. And in that confrontation, both the limits of ambition and the depths of faith were revealed.
Constantinople survived—not only with stone and flame, but with prayer, storm, and cunning. Its walls remained unbreached, its domes unsullied, its icons untoppled.
For the Umayyads, the defeat was not total, but it was defining. It signaled that Rome’s second capital would not fall as swiftly as the first. From the western Mediterranean to the steppes of Transoxiana, the caliphate recalibrated. The dream of conquering Constantinople would pass from Maslama to Mehmed—not to be fulfilled for seven more centuries.
In Roman, Leo III stood reborn—not only as a general, but as the savior-emperor, His reign, forged in fire and famine, began an era of reform, resistance, and, in time, religious controversy.
The lands between empires—Asia Minor, Cappadocia, Thrace, and Armenia—would bear the scars for generations: burnt villages, empty fields, broken mosaics, and oral tales of war, saints, demons, and miracles.
From the Chronicle of Zuqnin in the East to the Synaxarion in the capital, from the takbīr of Maslama to the tears of the Theotokos, the siege became myth—retold, reshaped, and resurrected in every generation that followed.
It was not the end of the war between Islam and Rome,
But it was the moment when the crescent and the cross, the lance and the icon, met at the edge of the known world—and found each other, not in victory, but in endurance.
THE END
Works Cited
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Primary Sources
Zonaras, Epitome (trans. T.M. Banchich and E.N. Lane, 2009; Lindorf trans., 1868–1875)
Secondary Sources
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Borrut, Antoine. Between Memory and Power: The Syrian Space under the Late Umayyads and Early Abbasids (c. 72–193/692–809). Translated by Anna Bailey Galietti, Brill, 2023.
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