Theodoric

preparation of the evening meal, the cena. Fluent in Greek as well as Latin, well versed in classical literature, the princess was an enthusiast for all things Roman, including cooking. Here, her guide and mentor was the great Apicius, his famous cookery book her bible. It was one of his recipes that she was using now. ‘Sucking-pig in the manner of Frontinus: fillet, brown and dress; put in a casserole of fish sauce and wine, wrap in a bouquet of leeks and dill, pour off the juice when half cooked; when cooked, remove and dry, sprinkle with pepper and serve.’

Smiling fondly, Amalasuntha anticipated her husband’s reaction. Pretending to despise Roman cooking as fussy and pretentious, he had a weakness for any dish which included pork. The dinner-time ritual had become familiar: a show of grumbling, followed by enthusiastic consumption, then (eventually) a compliment on a delicious meal, expertly prepared. Following patriarchal German custom, he preferred to eat alone (seated at a table: none of this effeminate Roman nonsense of lounging on couches).

‘The master’s ready. You may take this in to him,’ Amalasuntha told Prosper, her new young scullion, whom she had taken on after he had repeatedly turned up at the palace asking for kitchen work. Keen and quick to learn, he had emerged with flying colours from a trial period, and was now a valued addition to the kitchen staff.

En route to the triclinium with a steaming bowl of ‘Frontinus’ Speciality’, Prosper took a phial from his belt-purse, emptied the contents into the bowl, then proceeded on his way.

‘What’s this, flamingoes’ tongues with mullets’ livers, or some such Roman trash?’ sighed Eutharic, as Prosper ladled out a small portion onto a plain pewter dish. (No fancy gold or silver Roman plate for a Goth with simple tastes, thank you.)

‘Go on, Sire, try some,’ coaxed Prosper. ‘You’ll like it. The Domina prepared it specially.’

‘Mmm, not too bad,’ conceded Eutharic, after sampling a spoonful. He signalled Prosper to fill the dish.

Two days later, Eutharic took to his bed, complaining of violent stomach cramps. Prosper, meanwhile, had disappeared, never to be seen again.

‘Greetings, gentlemen,’ said Cethegus to the four Anulars awaiting him in Symmachus’ house in Ravenna: Boethius, Symmachus, Cassiodorus and, fresh back from Constantinople, Priscian. ‘This year of the consul Maximus* bids fair to be an exceedingly auspicious one — an Annus Mirabilis indeed. For the Cause, that is, though not, I fear, for our esteemed lord and master. Quintus,’ turning to Symmachus, ‘let us for a change, begin with the Falernian. There being nothing to discuss, merely items to report, a toast to Fortuna is in order, I believe. Even the heavens, it would seem, are on our side; a comet, that portent of the death of kings, has appeared in the sky.

‘This year has seen three highly desirable deaths,’ Cethegus announced when all were seated comfortably in the tablinum, goblets brimming with ruby wine. First and most important, Eutharic died recently from a mysterious sickness-’ He broke off, when he caught Cassiodorus’ eye. ‘Don’t look at me like that, Magnus. You can’t think I had anything to do with it, surely? Heaven forfend! Plenty of disgruntled Romans in Ravenna willing to do the deed. Anyway, who’s to say he didn’t die from natural causes? But back to what I was saying. Don’t expect to hear the news officially for some time yet. The palace is desperately trying to hush it up — and for good reason.’

‘The succession?’ suggested Boethius. ‘That’s bound to be thrown into chaos.’

‘Absolutely right, Anicius. The next heir is a child, Athalaric, son of Eutharic and Amalasuntha. Among Germans, for a minor to succeed is unacceptable. Already, powerful Gothic nobles are lining up to try to usurp the throne. Best of all, Justin has refused to recognize the succession.’

‘But he seemed only too happy to recognize Eutharic as Theoderic’s heir,’ protested Symmachus. ‘What’s happened to make him change his mind?’

‘Justinian is what’s happened,’ put in Priscian, his dark, African face thoughtful. ‘Understand that the empire never happily went along with Theoderic’s grand pretensions; just made the best of what it undoubtedly saw as a bad job. Remember that when Zeno persuaded him to go to Italy as his vicegerent, it was really a cover to get rid of a dangerous nuisance who was troubling his realm. Granted, Theoderic’s turned out better than anyone expected, but the emergence of a Gothic super-state cum Western-Empire-reconstituted on its doorstep was hardly going to be welcomed by the East. Fortunately, Justin — simple, good-hearted old soldier that he is — has had enough sense to let Justinian now take over and make the decisions.’

‘And the other deaths?’ queried Symmachus.

‘Pope Hormisdas — next to you, Anicius Boethius, Theoderic’s most loyal and valued colleague,’ said Cethegus. ‘Undoubtedly, his death will have come as a severe blow. Finally, Thrasamund, the Vandal king, Theoderic’s ally, who was married to his sister, Amalafrida. Thrasamund’s successor’s yet another ancient monarch, a spineless nonentity called Hilderic. Very odd ancestry.’ The senator grinned, looking more than ever like a craftier version of Emperor Vespasian. ‘Grandson, would you believe, of the Western Emperor Valentinian III, whose daughter Eudocia, Hilderic’s mother, was part of Gaiseric’s booty from the second Sack of Rome.’

‘And the great thing as far as we’re concerned,’ remarked Priscian, waving a pink-palmed hand in emphasis, ‘is that Hilderic has ended the Vandal-Ostrogoth alliance and become — perhaps because of his part-Roman descent — a poodle of Justinian. He’s even rumoured to have named him as his heir. If so, Africa could revert to Roman rule without a blow being struck. And just to prove to Justinian that he’s really finished with Theoderic, he’s clapped Amalafrida in gaol and murdered all her Ostrogothic retinue, who came over with her when she married Thrasamund.

‘It gets better,’ the African went on. ‘In this same year of the consul Maximus, Justin — Justinian, really — has passed a law declaring Arians to be heretics. Of course, it’s only enforceable in the empire, but the implications for Theoderic are enormous. It amounts to the most colossal snub, announcing to the world that Theoderic and his Arian Ostrogoths are spiritual outlaws. In effect it’s a rejection of Theoderic by Rome — id est, Constantinople — implying that his vicegerency is now held only on sufferance.’

‘And there’s more,’ said Cethegus, rubbing his hands in gleeful satisfaction. ‘Theoderic’s empire is disintegrating. In Hispania, the honeymoon has soured, thanks to the Ostrogoths behaving to their Visigothic cousins more like conquerors than allies. Encouraged by Justinian, Theudis, a powerful noble, has declared himself king and split Hispania off from Gaul and Italy. In Gaul, the Franks and Burgundians are once again resurgent, threatening the security of Theoderic’s outer ring of buffer states: Thuringia, Rhaetia* and Noricum. Even in Italy Theoderic’s authority is crumbling. Together, Justinian and Hilderic have dealt him a massive blow. And once a barbarian leader’s seen to be weakened, he’s in real trouble with his followers. As a result, his nephew Theodahad and a certain Count Tuluin have carved out for themselves huge personal fiefs, virtually independent of central government control. If they’re seen to get away with it, others will begin to try it on, and Theoderic’s hold on his nobility will slip.’

‘I wonder if that’s why he’s building a fleet?’ pondered Cassiodorus. ‘Here, down in Classis, and elsewhere, the shipyards are busy night and day turning out vast numbers of dromons. Seeing his rule everywhere challenged, perhaps this is his response to a perceived threat. If so — unless he’s somehow got wind of plans for the Day of Liberation, which anyway is hardly imminent — it’s totally irrational and surely points to mental instability. But maybe we shouldn’t be surprised. If pushed too far, this is how barbarians behave.’

‘Personally I can’t help feeling sorry for Theoderic,’ murmured Boethius, shaking his head sadly. ‘He’s always treated me with kindness and consideration, and he’s done his best for Italy, according to his lights. It must be terrible for him to see everything he’s worked for collapse like an arch whose keystone is removed. I think of a sick old lion surrounded by jackals and hyenas circling for the kill. Rather than pull him down, perhaps we should try to help him.’

‘You’re not going soft on us I hope, Anicius?’ said Cethegus with mock sternness. ‘Especially not now. Support for the Cause is growing by the day, with increasing calls from senators, both in Rome and in Constantinople, for Italy to be reunited with the empire. Leading the charge in Rome is a very influential and persuasive senator, Albinus — a name to reckon with, I think we’ll find. And talking of sick old lions’ — he paused, looking round at the others — ‘don’t forget they can be dangerous and unpredictable, lashing out when you least expect it. So no loose talk, gentlemen. Our lives could be at stake. Well, enough of politics.’ He turned to Symmachus with a smile. ‘If you’re feeling kind, Quintus, I think we’d all appreciate another flagon of Falernian.’

It had been shipped — with huge difficulty — across from Istria on the other side of the Adriatic. Now, hauled