Author: Roan Blake.

In the summer of 1809, a lame brat by the name of Lord Byron, and his companion John Hobhouse were languishing in Malta. Deprived of the traditional grand tour that defined the youth of an aristocrat, they lamented the trouble that Napoleon Bonaparte had roused, and their inability to frequent the Italian peninsula. Amid the modern war, however, the duo had the hope of antiquity renewed. A British flotilla was due to leave Malta, bound for the realm of Ali Pasha.

It was not apparent to either Byron or Hobhouse at the time that their journey around the Mediterranean would take on some minor geopolitical significance (quite a stir for a holiday). The Ionian islands were within the French domain, thus in the cross-hairs of the British Empire. However, the looming local power of Ali Pasha had made the area something of a sticking point. Byron was to embark to Prezeva, and from there, visit the Albanian chief’s capital to reconcile Britain’s sudden presence so near to his polity.

Perhaps blissfully ignorant, or youthfully dismissive, there seems to be little apprehension on the part of Byron. Unbothered by a sudden diplomatic venture (towards a notoriously heavy-handed man) there was a feeling of opportunity and adventure in this curious circumstance. It was a chance to wander among the ruins of old and imagine the scenes of a classical education before one’s very eyes. 

Whilst under the guise of antiquity, modernity impressed Byron on this trip. It was not the ordered pillars of pantheons, or the classical melodrama of what once was that would truly ground him in this time, but a fascination in the chaos rampant in that small section of Europe. At first sight of the Hellenic homeland, Byron declared the scene ‘savage’ but new, resurgent with its new heroes, fit for a new odyssey.

Arriving in the capital of Ali Pasha, the youthful envoys were confronted with the true danger of their journey. The outskirts of the settlement were littered with the remains of Orthodox Christians who had tempted the ire of the man in charge. Intending to send a message, Byron and Hobhouse certainly received it. With knowledge of the stick, they would soon become acquainted with the carrot.

Pasha, who was off attending to some business at the time of their arrival, nonetheless, prepared the city for their arrival. Pampered with a reign of all the luxuries to be found, they were introduced to the illustrious cuisine and clothing of Albania – no expense spared.

Byron would be faced with the marauder of the Southern Balkans numerous times and prove himself effective in his intended endeavour. Enamoured by Byron’s charm, Pasha was content for the British to capture the islands that hugged the coast of his domain. Given confidence by the pomp that had met him in a polity so fraught with stories of terror and strife, Byron departed from Pasha with a mark of protection. This promised the fury of the ‘Mohammodean Bonaparte’ if its holder was crossed in any way.

A mark such as this would typically leave an entire nation open to whoever held it, but this was no typical nation.

With Childe Harold undergoing its slow birth, its author travelled by sea towards Patras. However, the harsh winds and currents did not allow Byron simple passage. Hobhouse and Byron had refrained from travelling by land to Patras due to rumours of mountain bandits harrying the road there, causing trouble in the creases of Ali Pasha’s iron grip. However, the fates were discontent with allowing Byron onward without meeting these bandits.

Unexpectedly, the bandits took in the shipwrecked aristocrats, sheltered them and allowed them to recuperate. Uninterested in the tidy profit one could find in the purse of an Englishman, it was not the mark of Pasha that shielded Byron and Hobhouse from destitution. Perhaps if Byron had vaulted from the shipwreck, proclaiming himself under the protection of Ali Pasha, he would have been met with a tirade of laughter, and a saber to the chest – for his authority may have spread across the land, but not in the hearts of these men.

These bandits were unlike others infecting the highways of Europe. Not purely devoted to violent avarice, there was a greater prize than gold that guided their raids. Byron had entered the embrace of the Souliots, they had their roots in the tribal structure of Albania but had taken up the Greek language. They were something of a scourge for the travellers of Epirus and beyond, illustrious vests laid atop their simple shirts; and their person was adorned with an array of weapons and a simple rope. They were not quick to rampage upon any old convoy they found about the roads, not being typical Albanians or Greeks. Their enterprise went beyond the seizing of gold, they were a part of a larger sub-culture of political banditry; one that had harassed the Turkish occupation of Greece since its inception and would soon deliver a final blow of liberty.

At that time, however, liberty was contained in the misty peaks of Greece. When Constantinople fell in the mid-15th century, a subset of Greeks was not resolved to abandon the altar of freedom and made a pilgrimage to the mountains that pierced the sky above Hellas. They attracted fanatics, nationalists, religious fundamentalists, plain robbers, and simple brutes. This band of social bandits was formed from the myriad of men convinced to resist Ottoman rule, whether by a love of freedom, love of violence, or Greece. In the early formations of these groups, there was much interaction with the Venetians, who 400 years before Byron, held onto a small sliver of western Greece. Through the collection of Venetian ports that dotted the Hellenic coast, these proto-bandits would circulate from mountain hideouts to skirmishes with the Ottomans, with arms and training from Venice. The famed maritime republic frequently sparked uprisings in this manner whenever they saw it fit to march against the Ottomans.

However, as Venetian interest in the area dwindled, the resolve of these groups only hardened – with the hills becoming further dominated by misanthropic political bandits. Guerilla war was maintained against the Ottoman occupation. For hundreds of years, Sultans and Pashas were weary of the hardened men descending from the mountains of Olympus and wreaking havoc on any Turkish convoy they could spot. For a young, hardy Greek, it was these resisting hills or the Janissary corps.

Seeking to reiterate his magnificence, Sultan Suleiman set his sights on the amendment of the troubles faced by the Turkish occupation. A Grand Vizier named Ibrahim, a Greek who had been strong in youth, but chose the Janissary corps over the romantic brigands of the hills was determined to solve these issues. Recognising the inherently fortified position of his enemy, and the peril that dispersing a decentralised mountain-dwelling resistance would incur, he went on to have himself counted among history’s problem solvers, rather than among the foolhardy aggressors.

Ibrahim devised a system wherein Greece would be subdued with limited autonomy. He set 15 districts, all to be headed by a native Christian who would handle addressing the robberies and outrages of his jurisdiction. These αρματολοί (Armatoloi) were appointed captain of their given district and were at the head of a largely successful system. By contracting the calming of Greece to self-interested Greeks themselves, the face of occupation was made more palatable and thereby blunted the outrage and indignation among the population. After all, how could a young Greek not be tempted to take up arms against the Turks when the swords of the bandits were meeting his fellow countryman?

However, the careful consideration of Ibrahim would be swept away by the canon of history. After nearly a century of keeping these mountain bandits at bay, Sultan Amurath would renew their cause, and in his actions, give these men their name.

The Sultan was weary of the growing power of the Armatoloi. Their encampments and arms, their power and respect, seemed to him a looming threat to the Ottoman grip over Greece. Convinced that allowing this system to continue would sow the seeds of future revolt, he did not know what his successors would reap through his actions. Ottoman soldiers came upon the Armatoloi’s camps and settlements, driving them out and restabilising a direct, and daily Ottoman occupation of mainland Greece. The dispossessed Armatoloi did not give up their position lightly, and waged a concerted resistance against the loss of their role, they drove the new Turkish officials from their districts and took back their encampments. After every attempt to stamp themselves out was exhausted, they took back their role as guardians of the roads.

In this minor crusade against the Turks, in which all that the Sultan was resolved to remove from them, was taken back – the name κλέφτης (Klepht) was born. Hailing etymologically from the Greek verb ‘to steal’ (see; kleptomaniac, kleptocracy) this term is contradictory in its origin and application. First used to describe Armatoloi who reseized their possessions from the Turks, it would however come to adorn the aforementioned mountain social bandits.

Another layer of contradiction is evident when the line between Klepht and Armatoloi became increasingly unclear through the centuries. It was common for the Ottoman-sanctioned Armatoloi to be manned by many former Klephts, the most effective bandits were actively wooed and encouraged into service by the authorities. Similarly, many Armatoloi who grew frustrated with their life in service of the Turks would venture up into the mountains and join the ranks of the Klephts.

By the time Byron was venturing around Western Greece and Albania, it was hard to tell who was who. A tradition had taken root, wherein Klephts would seasonally descend from the mountains (after a whole summer of causing trouble for Armatoloi, and any found Turks) only to enlist with the Armatoloi for the winter, taking their pay back up to the hills with them. Naturally, this seemed to contradict the refusal to accept Ottoman rule, however, it is easy to be cynical looking back now.

In keeping with this unclear line between the two groups, they dressed in a similar fashion: simple shirts, decorative vests, red caps, and imposing weapons. The only way to tell if a man by the road was a highway robber or a representative of the authorities was the rope Klephts would tie around their waists. They used these to keep their Turkish captives where they wanted them. 

Nestled in their mountain citadels, the Klephts developed a culture distinct to themselves and their lifestyle, obeying a doctrine of martial Orthodox Christianity. Many of their customs hailed from their second home, the battlefield. Among the Klephts, there was a Roman attitude towards death, with no greater humiliation than being taken captive by the Ottomans. Their songs lauded a morbid valour in taking one’s life rather than being apprehended. This theme of defiance in death is further exemplified in their more gruesome rites— if a comrade were to fall in battle, it was your duty as a Klepht to remove the head of your martyred brother so that it may not become a trophy to the Turk that killed him.

Orthodox Christianity was adhered to strongly among the Klephts, functioning as a nexus of Greek identity in the face of a new state religion. Before going out to meet the Turks, priests would bless the brigand militias, with offerings made to saints of valour and honour. The weapon of the Klepht would be blessed and consecrated. Despite their fervent beliefs, there was a Klepht tradition (not wholly condoned among all bandits) of sacking monasteries. The logic was that the monks of many monasteries paid a tithe or jizya to the Ottomans, and occasionally informed upon dissident activities among their countrymen to keep the holy sanctuary from persecution. Some Klephts deemed this a betrayal, an unforgivable collaboration, leading to devout Orthodox Christians riding into monasteries and politely stealing from God’s house. They refrained from seizing any consecrated valuables before returning to the mountains and having their swords blessed with the will of Christ.

The Klephts had a strong bardic, or warrior-poet tradition. Their songs of daring and resistance maintain stature in modern Greek musical history today, with a hearty rhythm that recounts the heroic dances the ballads once inspired. There is a staggering depth to their tales— I shall recount a few below:

Olympus and Kissavos,

these two mountains quarrel

Olympus then turns toward Kissavos and says

“Do not quarrel with me, O Kissavos, you Turk-trodden!

I am Old Olympus, so renowned o’er the world.

I have forty-two summits, sixty-two fountains.

On each fountain a banner, a Klepht on each tree-branch

And on my highest peak an eagle is sitting.”

It is through that array of peaks that Byron heard the echoes of independence in song itching to cast itself in a new pantheon.

“Vassili, be wise, be a landlord, get sheep, and oxen, and cows,

Fields and vines, and boys for your service.”

“Mother, I don’t want to be a landlord, To get vines, and boys to serve me.

While I myself am a slave to the Turks,

A servant to the Elders.—Fetch me the light sword

And the heavy gun, that I may fly like a bird, high on the mountain-peaks;

Go along the mountains, walk through the woods, discover the lemeria of the Klephts,

Their Chieftains’ retreat; whistle like a Klepht, join the comrades.

It was a youthful defiance and misanthropy that brought both Klepht and Byron to the troublesome mountains of Epirus. In their warrior ballads, the Klephts put to words the unintelligible myriads of sentiments that rest in a man taking up arms. This is a feeling that can permeate widely without ever being truly comprehensible by tongue or pen.

It is ultimately that defiance that united all Klepths over centuries of war and struggle, the times could change and the winds of history blow, but no storm could erode the imposing peaks that nurtured their resistance. It is then, no wonder, that when the hour of decision befell Greece, and its war of independence was sparked, the Klephts were the core of revolutionary action.

Bandits turned Jacobins, the famed Theodoros Kolokotrones dominated not only the rank and file of the revolution but its political and military leadership. Seasoned in raids nearly 300 years, it would be the resolute bandits of the mountains that would form the first battalions that struck freedom for Greece. Thereby, the Klephts have entered legend in modern Greek histories, serving as a shining example of valiance in the face of tyranny and occupation.

Thus, in the youthful eyes of Byron, the hero that dotted his works was to be found here on this earth. The gloomy, misanthropic, and defiant figures of Childe Harold and Don Juan could well have been born in his experiences with these political bandits. Perhaps the Byronic hero first set eyes upon its author in Epirus. 

Roan is a hobbyist interested in history, philosophy, and literature. He does not have any academic qualifications beyond his GCSEs.