Theodoric

Ambrose and their circle), to the extent of being able to influence the attitude of leading Romans in both Italy and the Eastern Empire. What worried Timothy was the suspicion, ground out by the busy rumour mill of palace intrigue, that these men, all champions of Nicene orthodoxy, were strongly anti-Arian — the branch of Christianity to which Theoderic belonged.

Even more disturbing was the suggestion that they regarded a barbarian king of Italy as merely the head of a caretaker government, until, in the words of Priscian, ‘both Romes would come to obey the emperor alone’. This might be nothing more than windy rhetoric, Timothy thought, an intellectual nostalgia for the days when the empire had had a Western as well as an Eastern half. Or, taken out of context, it could be interpreted as highly treasonable. That word ‘refugees’ in Priscian’s panegyric implied that some Romans, at least, were unhappy with Ostrogothic rule, and therefore might in the future challenge Theoderic’s authority. Understanding (and caring) nothing about the theological aspects of the Laurentian Schism, Timothy nevertheless knew that its effect had been to cool relations between Rome (and by extension, Italy) and Constantinople. Therefore anything which fervently extolled the rule of Anastasius, as Priscian’s panegyric had done, could, by implication, almost be held to denigrate that of Theoderic.

Unwelcome though he felt the news would be, Timothy knew he would be wanting in his duty if he failed to lay his findings before Theoderic. It was with a heavy heart that he approached the king’s quarters in the palace.

Theoderic had never been so happy. Sequestered in a small tablinum or study- cum-library which he used as a council chamber, he began discussing the schedule for the day with his two new friends and chief advisers, Symmachus, the wise and cultured senator, and young Boethius, a brilliant scholar whose mind displayed the grasp and judgement of someone far beyond his years. Thanks to the assistance of this gifted pair, those early years of consolidating his rule following the overthrow of Odovacar, were being crowned by ambitious plans which were already beginning to spread his fame and influence far beyond the confines of Italy, and bidding fair to make Theoderic the mentor and unofficial leader of all the German peoples. And when the business of the day was done, it was an unalloyed pleasure to discuss, sometimes in Greek, the literature and philosophy of Greece and Rome: something for which his soul had hungered ever since he had been forced to abandon his studies in Constantinople.

Already accepted by other barbarian kings (even the ferocious Vandals) in the former Western Empire as a ruler too powerful to tangle with, Theoderic had only one real problem: his brother-in-law, the Frankish monarch, Clovis. Twelve years younger than Theoderic, the ambitious Clovis, whose marriage to a Catholic princess, Clotilda, was followed by his own conversion from Arianism, had embarked on plans to extend his rule over the whole of Gaul — plans which threatened Theoderic’s Visigothic kinsmen and allies in Aquitania, and had led to a pre-emptive strike by Clovis against the Alamanni on Gaul’s eastern border. The cynical cover for these aggressive moves was a professed desire to bring the light of Catholicism to those benighted heretics living in Arian darkness — a ploy which had succeeded with the late Pope Anastasius, leading him to confer on Clovis the title of ‘Most Christian King’. Boethius and Symmachus were at present engaged in helping Theoderic devise a policy aimed at curbing Clovis’ expansionist designs.

‘A firm but tactful stance might be the best approach, Serenity,’ suggested Symmachus; ‘a hint of iron hand in velvet glove.’

‘Reinforced with a “sweetener” perhaps,’ added Boethius with an innocent-seeming smile. ‘The man loves music, especially songs accompanied by the harp. Why don’t we send him an expert harpist, one who can make up songs extolling Clovis’ martial feats? That’s sure to go down well; our Frankish friend is not impervious to flattery.’

‘Excellent,’ laughed Theoderic, clapping the young man on the shoulder. ‘Quintus,’ he said to Symmachus, ‘time to put your epistolary skills to use.’

‘“Theoderic, king of the Ostrogoths,”’ Symmachus read aloud, some time later, ‘“to his esteemed brother-in- law, Clovis, king of the Franks, greetings. The husband of your beloved sister appeals to you for help in resolving the delicate situation in which he finds himself. For I am between Scylla and Charybdis.* The Alamanni, against whom you recently won a great and glorious victory, and who have now sought refuge within my own realm, have appealed to me to intercede with you on their behalf. I beg you, take the advice of an older man whose experience has taught him that successful wars are those brought to completion with moderation. I ask you, in the name of friendship, to desist from further hostile action against your former foes. Likewise, I urge you to end your campaign against the Visigoths. As his friend as well as kinsman, honour would compel me to come to the assistance of King Alaric II, should he request it. But I trust it will not come to that. Restraint and good sense on your part will, I am sure, prevail.

‘“As a token of my goodwill and continuing friendship, I am accompanying this letter with a gift, which will, I hope, prove a source of pleasure and solace in the manner of Orpheus.”’

Symmachus looked up with a dubious smile. ‘I wonder if perhaps I haven’t laid the flattery on a bit too thickly in parts, Serenity?’

‘Not at all,’ enthused Theoderic. ‘You’ve hit the right note exactly. Subtlety’s not one of Clovis’s strong points. I’d be surprised if this doesn’t get results. Now to find that harpist.’

Observing Theoderic’s expression as he concluded his report, Timothy’s heart sank. The king’s face, which at first had reddened, was now pale.

‘Where did you get this information?’ The voice was ominously quiet.

‘From all over Rome, Deric — from the slums, the taverns, even from the palace.’

‘The idle gossip of the mob, backstairs chit-chat among palace underlings. You give credence to such malicious drivel?’

‘It can’t all be dismissed, surely? Sometimes it’s one’s painful duty to tell a friend what he doesn’t want to hear.’

‘You dare to call yourself my friend! Symmachus and Boethius, whom you choose to smear, they are my friends — true friends.’

‘They’re Romans, Deric!’ cried Timothy, becoming desperate. ‘Of course they’re going to go along with you, agree with everything you say. It’s in their interest to do so. It’s all smiles and flattery — for the present. But times can change. Suppose this rift between Rome and Constantinople gets healed, and the East wishes to recover Italy for the Roman Empire? Do you really think that Symmachus and Boethius wouldn’t drop you in a moment? Open your eyes.’

‘Enough!’ roared Theoderic, raising his fist.

‘Strike me if you must, but I’ll finish what I have to say. Forget these dreams of becoming Roman emperor; you can never be “Theodericus Augustus”. But you can be “Dietrich von Bern”. That’s your true role, Deric, a German ruler of a foreign land. Be content with that, as all the other German kings have been, from Gaiseric and Odovacar to Clovis and Alaric II. There, I’ve done.’

‘As I’ve done with you.’ The king’s voice was now level, but with an edge of cold fury. He scratched a message on a pair of waxed writing-tablets — the diptych with exquisitely carved ivory covers presented to him on his consulship, sixteen years before. ‘Go back to Constantinople, Timothy,’ he said, handing him the tablets. ‘This message will enable you to draw funds sufficient for the journey from the Comes Rei Privatae. You may keep the diptych — a memento of a friendship which is now no more.’

The lump in his throat prevented Timothy from speaking. Nodding in acknowledgement, he turned and headed for the door, half blinded by tears — the first he had known since his mother’s death, when he was a child.

* From Lingua Theodisca, the Roman name for the Goths’ language.

* Scandinavia.

* In Greek legend, two sea-monsters believed to drown sailors navigating the Straits of Messina. In popular parlance, the expression would translate as ‘between a rock and a hard place’.