Theodoric

The young harpist retired to thunderous applause, whereupon the Franks returned to the serious business of drinking, boasting and competing with each other in feats of strength and skill such as raising a barrel of ale above the head, or throwing a knife in the air then catching the descending blade between one’s teeth. Not to be outdone, Clovis performed a trick for which he had become famous. The fire needing replenishing, a servant led in a donkey loaded with firewood and began to throw on logs. Thrusting the man aside, Clovis lifted both the donkey and its load and hurled them into the flames. The screams of the dying animal were drowned by the roars of approbation from a delighted audience.

Next morning, Connal, accompanied by Apollinaris, took his leave of Clovis and, with pounding head and parched mouth, set out on the long journey back to Italy.

Pacing the weed-grown suites of the deserted bath-house, his favourite retreat, Clovis mulled over his immediate plans. Let others — Gundobad of the Burgundians, for instance, or even Thrasamund the Vandal king — jump when Theoderic snapped his fingers. He, Clovis, would follow his star irrespective of his brother-in-law’s approval or otherwise. That star? Nothing less than the conquest of the whole of Gaul. Everything north of the Liger was already his. The main barrier between that frontier and the Mare Internum† was the kingdom of the Visigoths. In south-east Gaul, the Alamanni had been already crushed, and the Burgundians were his allies — for the moment; they could be picked off later. But the Visigoths were no longer the mighty power they had once been, their king, Alaric II, a mere shadow of his father, the great Euric. For the time being Clovis would stay his hand. Then, when the Visigoths had been lulled into a false sense of security, he would launch his strike against them.

* River Seine.

† Marseilles.

‡ Lyons.

* In Greek legend, with the music of his lyre Orpheus was able to tame savage beasts.

* ‘The ch expresses only the German aspiration; and the true name is not different from Luduin or Lewis’ (Gibbon).

* The Rhine and the Somme.

† The Mediterranean.

TWENTY-SEVEN

My ancestors, the Western Roman emperors

[quoting a remark of Theoderic], Cassiodorus Variae, c. 537

‘Ave Petronius Rufius,’ Symmachus greeted the cloaked and hooded figure that the porter had just shown into the vestibulum of the senator’s house in Ravenna. He instructed the porter to see to the stabling of the visiter’s equipage of currus (light carriage) and pair, and to arrange for the driver to be looked after in the domestics’ quarters. ‘How was the journey?’

‘Ave Quintus,’ replied Cethegus, allowing the porter to divest him of his dripping cucullus. ‘Journey? Vile weather but apart from that it could have been worse, considering that the old cursus publicus has finally packed up. A few way-stations still operating along the Flaminia, though.’

‘Come and meet the others,’ continued Symmachus, when his guest had bathed and changed. ‘We’re all agog to hear this news you wrote to us about. Must be important, for you to have come all the way from Rome.’ Symmachus conducted Cethegus, son of Probinus, the leader of the Laurentian faction in Rome, to the triclinium, where lamps had been lit and couches and tables made ready for dinner. Here, already waiting, were the young Boethius, who had recently married Symmachus’ daughter Rusticiana, and Cassiodorus, Theoderic’s Scriba Concilii,* whose quaestorship was virtually guaranteed within the next few years. The four men were key members of Anulus, the Ring, an influential group of aristocratic intellectuals centred in Rome and Constantinople, who kept in touch and exchanged ideas through regular letters and visits.

During the meal conversation was light, consisting mainly of mutual compliments — congratulations to Cethegus on being appointed consul for the current year,* praise for Boethius’ recently published treatises on music and astronomy, and for the first instalment of Cassiodorus’ History of the Goths, an ambitious project undertaken with the approval of Theoderic and planned to be in twelve volumes. Also given due plaudits was the fare provided by their host, sows’ udders in tunny sauce, followed by sucking-pig in a casserole of garum (fish sauce) and wine, washed down with vintage Falernian.

After dinner the four retired to the tablinum, where Cethegus, whose good- humoured, somewhat battered-looking features bore an astonishing resemblance to those of the Flavian emperor, Vespasian, announced without preamble, ‘Fastida has made contact with Thrasaric,’ a statement which was greeted with polite bemusement.

‘You make it sound like, “Caesar has crossed the Rubicon”,’ observed Cassiodorus with a puzzled smile. ‘Forgive our ignorance Rufius, but who are these gentlemen? Barbarians I take it, from their names.’

‘My apologies, gentlemen,’ grinned Cethegus, enjoying the others’ reaction. ‘My warped sense of the dramatic. Don’t blame yourselves if you’ve never heard of them — not one in a thousand has. The only reason I know about them is that fossicking about in the tangled under-growth of foreign affairs has long been a hobby of mine. The pair I’ve named are involved in something I’ll call “the Sirmium question” — which is going to be very, very big in the coming months. That’s why I’ve decided to speak to the three of you in confidence. As Theoderic’s most trusted advisers, you’re the ones best placed to influence his policy. Quintus, would you think me rude if I suggested we pass round another flagon of that excellent Falernian? What I’ve got to say may take a little time.’

The Gepids, who, fifteen years before, had tried to block Theoderic’s expedition to Italy, had recovered from the thrashing they received on that occasion, Cethegus explained, and were flexing their muscles once again. Under their king, Thrasaric, son of Thrapstila, who had been killed in Theoderic’s victory at the River Ulca, the Gepids, always a troublesome lot, were growing in confidence, their embassies to Ravenna behaving with an arrogance bordering on insolence. However, on their own they were a minor irritant rather than a major threat.

The trouble was that there existed a second group of Gepids living north of the Danubius outside imperial territory, and the two Gepidic subtribes were making dangerous efforts to unite. Should that happen, the Gepids — traditional enemies of the Ostrogoths — might, just conceivably, become a threat to Theoderic’s kingdom. The Praetorian Prefect’s agentes had recently confirmed that Thrasaric had been in conclave with Fastida, king of the northern branch of the Gepids. The meeting had taken place at Sirmium, the old capital of Pannonia Secunda, the long-abandoned Western frontier province, occupied after Roman withdrawal first by the Huns, then by the Ostrogoths prior to their migration into Eastern imperial territory, and now homeland to the southern Gepids.

‘I think I know what you’re going to say next,’ put in Boethius. ‘Theoderic’s about to launch a pre-emptive strike, to prevent the Gepids joining up. Correct?’

‘Absolutely, young Anicius Manlius. He hasn’t actually said so yet, but he will. Of that you may be certain.’ He took a sip of wine and looked at the others appraisingly. ‘We all know about Theoderic’s imperial ambitions. He hasn’t yet dared to don the diadem, but the Gepids have provided him with a perfect casus belli to achieve the next best thing, the recovery of Roman imperial territory.’

‘That might prove controversial.’ Cassiodorus’ mild face took on a worried cast. ‘Pannonia Secunda used to be part of the Western Empire — technically. But since it was abandoned it’s become a grey area, a sort of Debatable Land, which the East has long regarded as coming within its own sphere of influence. There’s a general understanding that the empire’s western boundary is now the Ulca river, where