Justinian

has no such problems: we have no lost empire to waste treasure in reconquering, nor are we plagued by divisive religious policies. Zoroastrians, Jews, and Christians, at liberty to follow their own creeds, all have enriched our realm by the free exercise of their varied talents.’

Khusro chuckled to himself at the thought of how an observer watching his monarch address a mute lump of bronze might react. He continued to study the metal face, looking to discern further character traits. ‘I see self- doubt, I think. Which suggests that your drive to achieve will be compromised by uncertainty. In the coming struggle, Justinian, it is I, Khusro, who will prove to be the winner. Your character is flawed, your realm riven by potential fault-lines. Old age is waiting in the wings, and soon the years will sap your strength and your resolve. It will be a contest between a young lion and a tired old bull.’ Smiling in anticipation, Khusro fondled the jewelled pommel of his sword. Drawing the weapon, he stood it upright between his knees, a sign to his generals, who would soon be arriving, that they should prepare for war.

Entering the chamber, Khusro’s captains knelt before the three symbolic thrones which, at a lower level, faced the one on which the monarch sat. One was for the Roman emperor, one for the chief ruler of the Central Asian khanates, the third for the emperor of China — against the time when these potentates would come to pay homage to the King of Kings.

‘Rise,’ commanded Khusro. ‘As you see, the sword is drawn. We will make war again against our ancient enemy.’

‘Would that be wise, Great King?’ enquired the elderly Surena,* Isadh-Gushnasp, the only civilian in the group, whose wisdom and experience alone entitled him to express his views without reserve. ‘The Treaty of Eternal Peace still stands; it should not, perhaps, be lightly broken.’

‘“The word of a Persian noble is his bond”,’ the king responded, quoting a maxim of the ruling caste, whose guiding principles were honour, truthfulness, and courtesy. ‘That is true — on a personal level. But at times relations between rival states demand a more, let us say, ‘flexible’ approach. And any ending of the Peace need not be permanent — only long enough for certain pressing issues to be resolved.’

‘These issues — the disputed territories of Lazica, Armenia, Mesopotamia, and Syria**?’

‘Precisely, my Surena. It is my view, as it has long been that of my predecessors, that the balance of power in these regions has for too many years been tilted in Rome’s favour. Once the scales are readjusted to an even level, Rome and Persia can sign the treaty once again.’

‘But give the word, Great King!’ exclaimed a grey-haired general, ‘and we shall raze Constantinople and bring you the hide of this Justinian — as once we served Valerian.’†

‘We do not seek to conquer Rome, Shahen, old fire-eater,’ chuckled Khusro fondly, ‘merely remind her that our Empire of Iran is not to be trifled with. Persia needs Rome — both as a training-ground where our young men can learn the arts of war, and as a source of subsidy in times of peace.’ Addressing the whole group, he went on, ‘Ravenna may have fallen to the Romans, but the situation there is still precarious. Before they can bring back their forces from the West, let us — as the envoys of Witigis have already suggested — surprise them while the Eternal Peace still holds, and launch a strike against their eastern frontier. I have a legitimate claim to Justinian’s throne.* But despite that, as I mentioned, conquest is not our aim — what does Persia need with more territory, when our realm extends from the Euphrates to the Himalayas? Instead, by holding their wealthy cities of Syria to ransom, we can extract huge indemnities to swell our Treasury.’ Turning to the Surena, he went on with an ironic smile, ‘I trust this does not meet with your disapproval, Izadh-Gushnasp?’

The minister bowed his head in mute assent. ‘I would only point out, Great King, that with Italy now Roman once again, Belisarius may soon be posted to the east.’

‘Then we must lose no time. Prepare your various commands for war,’ he declared to his generals. ‘I myself will lead the army. We march for Syria in three days’ time.’

‘My instructions, from the emperor himself, are that you break off any negotiations you may have begun with Khusro, and immediately make ready for a siege.’ The speaker — Count Prudentius, an influential courtier just arrived in Antioch from Constantinople — was addressing Germanus, Justinian’s cousin, whom the emperor had designated plenipotentiary in Antioch, in response to Khusro’s invasion of Syria. The two men faced each other in the main reception hall of Antioch’s Praetorium: Prudentius — florid, running to fat, sweating heavily in his official robes which, despite the June heat, he seemed to think it necessary to wear; Germanus — spare, with sharp, intellectual features, clad in a light tunic.

‘That’s madness!’ exclaimed Germanus, his face creasing in concern. ‘Megas, bishop of Berrhoea,** has just reported back to me after seeing Khusro. He says the king is willing to spare Antioch in return for a thousand pounds of gold. A small price, it seems to me, to save “the Crown of the East”.’

‘Giving in to blackmail,’ sneered Prudentius, mopping his face with a silken handkerchief. ‘Since when did Rome condescend to bow the knee to Persia? Shame on you, Germanus. Before he became emperor, Justin, as commander of Rome’s eastern army, saw off the Persians when they invaded Oriens. His nephew is prepared to do no less.’

‘But the two situations aren’t remotely comparable,’ protested Germanus, his heart sinking at the sight of the other’s stolidly impassive expression. ‘Justin was an inspirational leader, opposed by a mob of unblooded conscripts. There’s just no one of his calibre in Antioch at present. The city faces the prospect of investment by a new type of army: a huge force of volunteer professionals, battle-hardened in campaigns against fierce steppe nomads like the Turks and Hephthalites,* and commanded by Khusro himself — a charismatic leader to whom they show fanatical loyalty.’

Prudentius blew out his cheeks then expelled his breath in a contemptuous puff. ‘Excuses,’ he declared dismissively. ‘Antioch’s protected by massive walls, with many wells and granaries within their circuit; she could withstand a siege of months. Belisarius will soon be on his way with a powerful army. And meanwhile, you have already been reinforced by six thousand Roman troops, just the first of more to come.’

‘They will come too late!’ cried Germanus desperately. ‘Can’t you understand what’s going to happen? Six thousand men’s a tiny force with which to defend the immense circuit of the city walls. The Persians will eventually break in, then, in revenge for having been put to the trouble of besieging the place, start to massacre the population. It’s what always happens.’ He added bitterly, ‘But perhaps you’re just too blind or stupid to appreciate that.’

‘How dare you!’ retorted the ambassador, a rosy flush rising up his neck. ‘Don’t think I won’t report your insolence to the emperor.’

‘Do you really suppose I care?’ replied Germanus wearily. He prepared to make a last appeal to the other. ‘Look,’ he declared in a conciliatory tone. ‘I shouldn’t have said that; I got carried away. But I wouldn’t be doing my duty if I didn’t point out the realities of the situation. Khusro may be ruthless, but he’s also a man you can do business with, as they say. ‘Pay up and you’ll be left alone’ is his message to the Syrian cities. Hierapolis handed over two thousand pounds of silver and was spared, Berrhoea didn’t and was burned. I’ve no reason to suppose that Antioch will be an exception. Clearly, Justinian has failed to grasp just how serious things are on the ground here. Victory in Italy, and the fact that Belisarius is now free to intervene in the east, must have made him over- confident. Go back to him and point out that calling Khusro’s bluff simply won’t work. I imagine you’ve enough influence to make him see sense. I suggest that meanwhile we pay off Khusro, and thus avert catastrophe.’

By the supercilious lifting of the other’s eyebrows, Germanus knew that his appeal had failed. ‘I do believe that you’re naive enough to think that I might act counter to the orders of our emperor,’ Prudentius declared, in terms of mild amusement.

‘Do as you will,’ responded Germanus in resigned disgust. The man, he saw, was a career politician, incapable of acting other than from narrow self-interest. ‘As for myself, I intend to withdraw to Cilicia; Khusro shall not have the glory of capturing a kinsman of Justinian.’

Even before Germanus’ departure for the north, Prudentius made known to the garrison and citizens of Antioch the wishes of their emperor. The six thousand reinforcements, experienced in the harsh realities of war, greeted the announcement with dismay, the people with a wild elation born of ignorance, and a rash sense of superiority inherited from their proud Seleucid ancestors.

While the citizens made ready to defend the walls, Prudentius (secure in the knowledge that his ambassadorial status gave him diplomatic immunity, a tradition scrupulously honoured by both Persia and Rome), retired to the pleasant suburb of Daphne to await the Persian host.

Macedonia was awakened by a thunderous knocking on her Daphne villa’s outer door opening onto the street. Simultaneously, an agitated major-domo entered her cubiculum, bearing a lamp.