potential threat to Zeno. Unable now to play off one Gothic bloc against another, the Eastern emperor sought to win over Theoderic by a series of gestures. He connived in the murder of Strabo’s son Rekitach, thus eliminating the only serious challenge to Theoderic’s supremacy; he granted the Amal Goths land in Dacia Ripensis* and Moesia Secunda; he appointed Theoderic
* Roughly equivalent to north-east Serbia.
† For 484.
THIRTEEN
The divine inspiration of his [Severinus’] prophetic mind
As he neared his destination, Lauriacum, Theoderic’s pleasurable anticipation at the throught of meeting the famous holy man of Noricum, Severinus, was tempered by a deep sadness. Everywhere throughout the former West Roman province, ruined farmsteads and the fire-blackened remains of villages made a stark and ugly contrast to the beautiful landscape of mountains, lakes and Alpine meadows. The devastation had been wrought only in recent years by bands of Alamanni, Heruls and, sadly, the northern Ostrogoths under his brother Valamir, now dead. (The Sciri had ceased their raids, banned by Odovacar of the royal house of that tribe and now king of Italy. For all that he was a barbarian ruler, Odovacar was a just and enlightened one, doing a far better job than his recent predecessors who had worn the imperial purple.)
Keen to capitalize on the power-vacuum created by the death of Strabo, and anxious (secretly) to know what the future held in store, Theoderic had decided to visit the famed sage and reputed seer to seek advice and prognostications. Forced to leave Thiudimund nominally in charge of the Amal during his absence (but with Timothy and Videric, the aged but able head of the Kuni, primed to take over at the first hint of disloyalty), Theoderic had travelled by ship from Dyrrachium* up the Adriatic coast and out of the empire, to the port of Tergeste† (Aquileia, which would have been nearer his destination, having been destroyed by Attila thirty years earlier). He had completed the remainder of his journey via the route over the Alpes Carnicae, in the guise of a wandering monk — sure defence against the attentions of raiders or bandits, such was the universal veneration in which these anchorites were held.
At the town’s main gate, Theoderic was searched and questioned by two guards in imperial-issue helmets and mail hauberks — reminders of a Roman government now defunct. Theoderic didn’t object, accepting that in these times of insecurity, strangers, especially those of Germanic appearance, were understandably regarded with suspicion. Enquiring as to the whereabouts of Severinus, he was given directions but warned that the sage was dying, and might be too ill to receive him. Outside a mean dwelling in a back street he found a throng of people, some openly weeping, waiting their turn to see the great man.
‘No more today,’ a man in the doorway called to some visitors approaching the line. Then, spotting Theoderic’s tall form among them, he added, ‘Just one more,’ and signalled him to join the end of the queue. Two hours later, when the last of those before the king had been ushered out, the porter, a spare man with a wise and pleasant face and the tallest forehead Theoderic had ever seen, admitted him to a bare lower room, then shut and barred the door behind him. Showing Theoderic to a settle, he seated himself on a stool.
‘My master is exhausted and must rest a while, but will see you by and by, Sire,’ said the doorkeeper with a smile. ‘I could hardly send away such a distinguished visitor as the king of the Amal.’
‘But, how-’ began Theoderic, amazed.
‘-did I know who you were?’ finished the other. ‘Not magic, I assure you, Sire. Merely observation, a faculty I’ve practised and developed all my life. Despite your monkish garb, your bearing, fair colouring, and blue eyes bespeak a German warrior of high rank. Among that race and class, how many have attained such a great height as yourself? You see, already the field has narrowed to a few. Your habit is worn, and ragged at the hem, besides bearing traces of salt, suggesting you have made a long journey by land and sea. Which fits the circumstances: all the world has heard that the squinting king is dead, and now waits to see what his great rival, Theoderic, will do. What more likely than that the king of the Amal should seek counsel from the sage of Noricum — as did Odovacar, on his way to Italy? The clues all point to just the one conclusion, Sire.’
‘Well, when you put it like that, it seems obvious enough,’ said Theoderic. He shook his head and laughed. ‘Still, I’m impressed. Not many would have spotted those tell-tale signs, let alone deduced anything from them.’ He went on gently, ‘I’m sorry to hear that your master is sick.’
‘His days draw peacefully to a close.’ The man paused and blinked back tears. ‘Excuse me, Sire. We should celebrate rather than grieve; he has had a long and wonderful life, full of service and achievement, and is assured of a heavenly reward. But where are my manners? You must be tired and hungry; let me offer you some repast — only poor fare, I’m afraid.’
While Theoderic gratefully partook of a bowl of thin soup, with bread and a wrinkled apple from a store-cellar, the other told him a little about himself. Named Myrddin, from Cambria in Britain, he had become, while scarcely more than a boy, an eager acolyte of Severinus when the latter visited the island as part of Germanus’ second mission, during the wretched reign of Valentinian III. When the sage stayed on to help Aurelian organize the Britons’ fight-back against the Saxons, Myrddin had become part of his team. He had returned with Severinus to the empire, eventually settling with him in Noricum as the old man’s factotum, as well as friend.
A monk appeared on the stairs leading to the upper part of the house, and said, ‘If there are any more visitors, the master will see them now.’
‘Thank you, Eugippius.’ Myrddin turned to Theoderic. ‘Severinus’ mind and memory are as sharp as ever, and you’ll find him willing to listen, and discuss any topic you wish to raise. But bear in mind he’s very weak, and will unselfishly overtax his strength if allowed to.’
‘It will be
The group of monks surrounding Severinus moved to a far corner of the chamber. Theoderic seated himself on a bench beside the bed on which the patient lay, propped up by pillows. Long white hair and beard reinforced the aura of authority and dignity emanating from the strong features. Though the old man was gaunt and pale, his breathing shallow, the eyes in the kindly face glittered with a fierce intelligence.
‘Greetings, Theoderic,’ said the sage, in a faint yet clear voice. He seemed, by some strange mental osmosis, to be aware of Myrddin’s observations to the king. ‘For some time now, I’ve been expecting you — and at last you’ve made it. But only just,’ he added with a wry chuckle. ‘Is there anything you wish to ask me?’
‘I have arrived at my own Rubicon, and am uncertain what my next course of action should be. Also, I would know what the future holds for me, if that is possible.’
‘As to your first point: the death of Strabo, while appearing to have solved your problems, has in fact created one much greater. As long as Strabo lived, you were useful to the Eastern emperor as a counterbalance to the Thracian Goths. Now that he is gone, and with all the Ostrogoths united under your rule, Theoderic has become a far more serious threat to the Empire than either he or Strabo were separately, as rivals. Oh, I know that you yourself are well disposed to Rome; but the people you lead are too warlike, their energies too violent, ever to co- exist peacably within the empire. But if you were to try to fight that empire, you would lose; it is simply too strong. So, for you, the status quo is not an option: you must remove your people from imperial soil. Where, I cannot say. Bleak tidings I’m afraid, but all I have to offer.’ Severinus gave a wan smile. ‘However, you are wise and strong, I think, Theoderic. I have no doubt that you will find a way.
‘Now, regarding the second matter that you raised, I fear I cannot help you. My reputation has become
