Theodoric

the extent that many of us are struggling to survive.’ Probinus’ heart sank, as he suddenly realized his gaffe in using that charged word ‘barbarians’.

Theoderic regarded him with rising anger and contempt. Smooth-tongued hypocrite. He knew the type: self- serving aristocrats, like the fathers of his school fellows in Constantinople, whose chief concern was to preserve their privileges, men who would close ranks the moment the interests of their class were threatened. Red rage exploded in his brain.

‘You disgust me!’ roared Theoderic. ‘My edict stands. Get out of my sight!’

‘As Your Majesty commands.’ Probinus bowed coolly and backed away, the great hall suddenly falling silent.

Shaking with fury and humiliation, Theoderic knew that the reception was ruined past repair. He signalled the Master of Ceremonies to make the appropriate announcement.

‘Well, at least we know now where we stand,’ sighed Probinus as his group made its way towards the Forum. ‘For all that he speaks Latin and doesn’t scratch his arse, the fellow’s an out-and-out barbarian.’

‘And an Arian to boot,’ fluted old Festus. ‘Anthemius would never have behaved like that.’ He was referring to the last emperor of any substance whom most of them could still remember.

‘Nor would Odovacar,’ declared Faustus albus, one of the strongest pro- Laurentians, despite his kinsman Faustus niger being Symmachus’ patron. ‘He’d just have laughed in your face, and told you to go to hell. So what do we do now? Ideas, anyone?’

‘We bide our time,’ pronounced Probinus. ‘With Pope Symmachus able to whistle up the plebs against us, and Constantinople playing hard to get, we’ve no choice. For the moment, we keep our heads down and bend with the wind. Our time will come.’

As come it surely would. For these were patient, cunning men, who knew, above all, about survival. Their families, many of which went back to the Republic, had seen imperial dynasties come and go, Rome itself rise and fall, yet were themselves still here. One barbarian ruler more or less was hardly going to make a dent in their long- term fortunes.

* Built in the late third century against incursions of the Alamanni, they stand, for the most part, impressively intact today.

† No relation to the senator of the same name.

* A term defying exact translation. High-minded self-control linked to a sense of justice and respect for law perhaps comes close. The quality was displayed par excellence by the Roman emperor Marcus Aurelius; witness his noble Meditations.

* Sic (see Notes).

* See Appendix II: The Laurentian Schism.

† The charge was correct (see Notes).

* Expanded, this becomes: Rex Theodericus pius princeps invictus semper — King Theoderic Dutiful Leader Ever Unconquered.

TWENTY-FOUR

In celebration of his ‘tricennalia’ he [Theoderic]. . exhibited games in the Circus for the Romans

Anonymous Valesianus, Excerpta: pars posterior, c. 530

During the next few weeks, Theoderic endeavoured assiduously to restore his image, which had been seriously damaged by his outburst at the palace reception. Such displays of unrestrained fury were, like drunkenness, regarded with indulgence (sometimes even admiration) by his own people, but among the Romans could result in a serious loss of dignitas — the very quality that distinguished Romans from barbarians.* Dignitas implied self-control, living according to a code in which passions were always subordinated to reason — a code (according to Roman received opinion) conspicuously absent among barbarians.

Acceptance by the Romans (and ultimately any prospect of becoming their emperor) depended, Theoderic knew, on his being accepted by their representative assembly, the Senate. Despite the Senate’s apparent lack of political power, Theoderic knew it would be a grave mistake to dismiss it as a merely passive body, whose only function was to legitimize the policies of whatever ruler was in power. In the past, emperors who had continued to flout the accepted mores of SPQR† never died in their beds. The outrages of a Nero, a Caligula, a Commodus, a Heliogabalus, or a Valentinian III, ensured their violent removal. Even in the empire’s dying days, the Senate’s disapproval was enough to ensure the execution not only of Arvandus and Seronatus, Prefect and Deputy Prefect of Gaul respectively, but of Emperor Avitus, for the crime of making terms with the barbarians — the very people about to take over the Western Empire.

As ruler, Theoderic could not apologize for his loss of temper at the tricennalia, nor for depriving the Laurentian senators of Church lands. But he did the next best thing: made himself regularly attend sessions of the Senate, where he comported himself with respectful attentiveness bordering on meekness. (Shades of Theodosius I doing penance before Ambrose, Bishop of Milan.) And, employing a tried and tested gesture guaranteed to attract popularity from plebs and patricians alike, he decided to hold Games in the Flavian Amphitheatre.* (Normally, this would have been the dubious ‘privilege’ of the Western consul, but this year both consuls were Eastern appointees.)

Compared to the ‘good old days’ of high empire, Games had become a rarity in Rome. Disruption of trade routes resulting from barbarian invasions, centuries of depletion of wildlife stock, with shrinkage of state and aristocratic wealth, had made the capture, transport and maintenance of large animals an extremely difficult and prohibitively expensive business. Nevertheless, the recent thawing of relations between the Vandal and Ostrogothic kingdoms, combined with substantial disbursements from Theoderic’s treasury, ensured ships laden with crates, containing savage beasts from north Africa, unloaded at the quays of Ostia.

Outside the amphitheatre, a huge and noisy crowd was building up. ‘Ticket-holders only,’ bawled a burly security guard, whereupon those fortunate enough to possess a bone slip marked with seat, tier and entrance numbers poured into the great building through seventy-six of its eighty entrances. (Of its remaining four, two were for royalty and aristocracy, the other two, which opened directly into the arena, were the Doors of Life and Death, for the entry of contestants and the removal of dead bodies respectively.) Once the ticket-holders had been shown by locarii, ushers, to their seats in the lowest three of the four tiers of stands, divided horizontally by flat walks and vertically by flights of stairs, the guards at the entrances stood aside, and non-ticket- holders dashed in to find a seat in the aisles or a standing-place in the topmost tier. Directly below the lowest tier, encircling the arena, ran a fifteen-foot wall, its smooth marble surface topped with revolving cylinders of bronze, denying purchase to any beast attempting to climb it.

Inside, a soft glow filled the stadium — sunlight diffused through the awning which covered the vast oval’s open top. This was the responsibility of nautae, sailors, who alone possessed the skills necessary for securing the enormous sheet by means of a complex system of ropes and pulleys to a ring of masts projecting from the topmost tier. Now the aristocracy — almost all senators in their traditional togas, accompanied by their wives — filed into the first thirty-six rows of seats reserved for the upper classes. Next came the privileged guests — Pope Symmachus surrounded by a coterie of leading clergy and female admirers; members of Rome’s top families: the Symmachi, Decii and Anicii. These seated themselves in the podium on curule chairs, movable to allow their occupants to get up and stroll at will. Finally, with a flourish of trumpets, the royal party, consisting of Theoderic with his bodyguard, accompanied by Symmachus and Boethius, now his chief advisers, and the editor of the Games, Probinus, entered the royal box raised above the podium, from the rear. In a gesture of appeasement to the Laurentian senators, Theoderic had