Justinian

Friends of Rome?’

‘Indeed, My Emperor. It will be a privilege indeed to serve one whose feats of arms are known throughout the world.’ Zabergan added slyly, ‘And whose generosity to his allies is equally legendary.’

‘The labourer is worthy of his hire, I suppose. Mind you, I expect results — no Utigurs, Slavs, or Bulgars to cross the Danube into Roman territory. An annual subsidy of, say, fifty pounds of gold; would the Khan of the Kotrigurs find such a sum acceptable?’

Justinian was well satisfied with the outcome. Zabergan duly led his Kotrigurs back across the Danube and seemed prepared to earn his subsidy, for no further raiding parties crossed the river. Not everyone agreed with his methods of maintaining peace beyond the frontiers, Justinian knew. His generals to a man (Belisarius included) regarded the stratagem of paying barbarians to keep the peace or to police other barbarians as shameful appeasement, unworthy of a Roman emperor. Which did not trouble Justinian one whit; his policy worked, and that was all that mattered.

After a tour of inspection of the Long Walls against ordering a programme of urgent repairs, Justinian and Belisarius returned to Constantinople at the head of their tiny army. As they rode past market gardens and fields of sunflowers, the emperor reflected on the main events occurring since the termination of the Gothic War. Apart from the start of silk production in the Empire, and barbarian incursions into the Balkans — now hopefully halted thanks to his deal with Zabergan — those seven years had seen: the death of Pope Vigilius and his replacement by Pelagius (a most reluctant ‘convert’ to Justinian’s Edict condemning the Three Chapters, acceptance being the price for Peter’s Throne), with the goal of religious unity however, seemingly even more remote than before; a series of destructive earthquakes (one of which had caused the dome of Hagia Sophia to collapse); a recurrence of the plague — mercifully less lethal and of shorter duration than its terrible predecessor; a renewal of the so-called Eternal Peace with Persia; and a wary alliance forged with yet another formidable tribe of steppe-nomads, newly arrived in Trans-Caucasia from Mongolia (the survivors of a massacre masterminded by the Chinese) — the Avars.

Of his friends and close advisers none remained, thought Justinian with sadness. John of Cappadocia, his one-time right hand man, following his disgrace at the hands of Theodora had taken Holy Orders, and died some years before. Narses, ever-efficient and still on active service in Italy though in his eighties, was however, never a man the emperor found that he could warm to. Popes, bishops, generals, and civil servants — all had come and gone, most serving him with competence, some brilliantly, without ever touching his heart. Wait though, he was forgetting; there were two faithful servants he could count as friends — Belisarius and Procopius, of course. Both had stood by him at that supremely testing time — the Nika Riots. Belisarius had shown unswerving loyalty throughout a long career, and Procopius — almost alone of his officials — had been brave enough to visit him when stricken with the plague. So, following Theodora’s death, he was after all not quite so alone as he had thought.

Constantinople came in sight: behind the mighty Walls of Theodosius stretched a vista of low hills rising one behind the other, studded with domes, towers, and tall columns topped by statues of past emperors, with — in the far distance — the looming mass of Hagia Sophia, shrouded now in scaffolding against the reconstruction of its fallen dome.* Entering the city from the north by the Charisius Gate, the procession was greeted by a deputation of senators and dignitaries headed by Procopius, now city prefect (duly promoted to the post — as Justinian had promised on his sick-bed). As it advanced past the Cistern of Aetius then through the ruined Wall of Constantine, the column was cheered to the echo by ecstatic crowds who had assembled to welcome home their emperor and favourite general, together with their little band of citizen-militia. True, no wagon-loads of booty or lines of chained captives accompanied the victors, but Roman arms had triumphed and Roman honour been upheld.

When it reached the Church of the Holy Apostles the procession halted, Justinian dismounting to enter and light candles before Theodora’s tomb. As he rose from his knees after offering a prayer, the emperor experienced a sudden, overwhelming conviction. His victory against the Kotrigurs had proved the sign appearing in his dream to be no false illusion. God had indeed forgiven him, and confirmed that he, Justinian, truly was His Chosen One. He would enter Heaven after all, to be forever reunited with Theodora.

Rejoining the procession, another realization struck Justinian that further raised his spirits. In taking on the Kotrigurs, he had, at last, exorcised those demons of self-doubt and hesitation that had plagued him all his life, resulting in: the deaths of Atawulf and Valerian; his self-harming in the Cistern of Nomus, the mark of which he carried to this day; his near-fatal hesitation to speak up for his uncle in the Senate; his vacillating concerning Belisarius; his failure to support Silverius or send troops adequate to protect Antioch. At last, those phantoms from the past could finally be laid to rest. As the column made its way beneath the towering arches of the Aqueduct of Valens, the emperor felt calm, and happier than at any time since Theodora had died.

But his new-found serenity and peace of mind were destined not to last. .

* Not to be confused with the Theodosian Walls protecting Constantinople (and which can still be seen). The Long Walls constituted a further line of defence, running across the peninsula thirty miles west of the capital — a sort of Maginot or Siegfried Line.

* Theodosius I at the Battle of the Frigidus in 393; Justinian took the field against the Kotrigurs in 559.

* Oath of loyalty, requiring the swearer to become a foederatus — federate.

* The project was undertaken by Anthemius’ son. By increasing the curve, he succeeded in making the new dome even more impressive than the original.

THIRTY-ONE

Revenge is the poor delight of little minds

Juvenal, Satires, 128

Procopius, one of whose duties as city prefect was to ensure the flow of water to the public baths and fountains, nodded to the water engineer. That official turned the handles of a long iron rod projecting from the roadway to open the sluice-gate of a subterranean tunnel leading from the Cistern of Aetius. The assembled group of workmen looked on anxiously, then burst into a ragged cheer as, after a few moments, sparkling jets of water spurted from the fountain.

‘Well done, lads!’ laughed Procopius. ‘You’ve earned your bonus; clearing that channel must have been a mucky job. Take a short break now, then meet me at the Mocius Cistern in an hour.’

Grinning cheerfully at the prospect of that extra drinking money (Procopius was a popular prefect), the maintenance crew, accompanied by the engineer, departed — except for one man, a tall individual with an air of quiet self-possession that marked him out from his fellow workers, Procopius had observed.

‘A word in private, Prefect?’

‘Very well.’ Impressed by something in the other’s manner and bearing, Procopius suggested they walk to the Necropolis, situated coveniently near to the Cistern of Saint Mocius. A stroll through an expanse of low-density housing interspersed with vegetable gardens, between the Walls of Constantine and those of Theodosius, brought them to the City of the Dead, a strange and haunting area of mortuary monuments — tombs, urns, obelisks and statues, many of exquisite workmanship, their whitewashed surfaces or gleaming marble contrasting with the sombre greens of cypress, box, and yew.

‘Will this do?’ asked Procopius, and went on with a smile. ‘A bit crowded, but at least they can’t hear us.’

‘We haven’t met, Sir,’ said the stranger. ‘But we both, as “Friends of Libertas”, served the same great man — Gaius Anicius Julianus, alias “Cato”. You’ll have heard of me as “Horatius” — a go- between who collected and delivered messages. And you, Sir, I believe were known as “Regulus”.’

Procopius inclined his head in acknowledgement. ‘Well, Horatius — something you wish to tell me?’

‘We both know, Sir, that Libertas has been disbanded, and all its leaders — Cato, Catullus, Cincinnatus et al., dead or forced to take Holy Orders. However, something has arisen which — if we can ensure it goes ahead — would amount to a final blow being struck for the Cause.’