Justinian (24 page)

‘Altogether, a situation you could describe as interesting,' mused Cethegus. ‘With Justinian waiting in the wings to take advantage of any crisis that develops. Now that Africa's been brought back into the Empire, Italy has to be his next target.'

‘A racing certainty, I'd say.' Cassiodorus shook his head and chuckled. ‘As you so rightly observe, the situation's – “interesting”. Well, here we are – the old imperial barracks.' And he pointed to a grim Roman building looming ahead, an uncompromising stone box with a massive tower at each corner. Here were housed the
protectores domestici
, the household guards. These were now all Goths, their Roman predecessors having been phased out ten years previously in accordance with Theoderic's principle that only Goths should man the army, leaving Romans to run the administration.

Down the centre of the great drill-hall flanking the
quadratum
extended a long line of trestle tables (none of this effeminate Roman nonsense of lounging on couches) at which were seated the king and his guests – all Gothic nobles, apart from the two Romans, Cassiodorus and Cethegus. This latter pair alone wore Roman dress; the others were clad in Germanic trousers and belted tunics, Roman dalmatics being
streng verboten
. No females were present, for this was to be a
warriors
' feast, where men could brag, guzzle, and swill to their hearts' content, free from the restraining influence of womenfolk. Seated in the middle, the young king, his face blotched and puffy from long acquaintance with the wine-stoup, cut a faintly ridiculous figure. In imitation of what he imagined to have been the garb of his heroic German ancestors, he sported a cloak of wolf-fur, fastened at the shoulder by an enormous enamel-and-gold fibula in the form of an eagle, his head being surmounted by a silvered
Spangenhelm
. Gone was his original short Roman haircut; in its place, flaxen locks now depended to his shoulders. Less successful had been his attempt to grow a Gothic-style moustache, his upper lip adorned by a mere downy fuzz.

Swaying slightly, Athalaric rose and raised aloft his wine-cup. (In contrast to his favouring all things Teutonic over Roman, he had acquired, in
preference to German beer, a liking for the strong Roman vintages, which he drank undiluted.) All followed suit.

‘My friendsh . . . friends, fellow Goths and Romans,' the king announced, in tones already slurred, ‘in three weeks time I shall be eighteen. An age at which my illushtrious . . . illustrious grandfather, Theoderic, had already made his name, by capturing the great city of Shingi . . . Singidunum. But my mother says I'm not yet fit to rule. The bitch. Well, we'll see about that. Come my birthday, I intend to tell her she is no longer regent, and musht make way for me. I trust I may count on your support.' He paused and looked muzzily around the table. ‘I therefore ask you all to drink: to my acsheshun . . . accession.'

Goblets were dutifully drained – except by one venerable greybeard, whom the king unfortunately spotted.

‘Hildebrand – you did not drink!' accused Athalaric, his face whitening. ‘You, who were my grandfather's cup-bearer. You wouldn't have refused to toasht . . . toast Theoderic, I think.'

‘You, Sire, are no Theoderic,' declared the old man bluntly.

‘You dare to speak to me like that!' screamed the king. Turning to Cassiodorus he declared, a note almost of pleading entering his voice, ‘Tell him I am worthy to be king.'

‘Italy is fortunate indeed, to have as ruler a descendant of the great Theoderic,' replied the other smoothly.

‘You see!' shouted Athalaric, unaware of the prefect's careful ambiguity. ‘Even Cashiodorus – a Roman – thinks that I should shit . . . sit upon the throne. By God Hildebrand, you
will
drink, you . . . you insolent dotard.' And moving down the table, he grabbed the elder by the nose. Forced to open his mouth in order to breathe, the old man was unable to prevent Athalaric from spilling some wine into it.

‘Now, leave our presence,' demanded Athalaric, setting down a half-empty goblet. ‘You are hereby banished from our court – forever.'

Red-faced and spluttering, Hildebrand nevertheless exited the hall with dignity, an embarrassed silence spreading in his wake.

Awkward and stilted at first, conversation gradually picked up as a harpist began to sing of great deeds by Gothic heroes, and a stream of rude plenty – mainly dishes of beef, pork, and venison – flowed in from the kitchens. (Conspicuous by their absence were elaborate Roman dishes such as flamingoes' tongues with mullets' livers, or sows' udders in tunny sauce.) Toast followed toast, in heavy Roman wines unmixed with water. In contrast to the king, who invariably refilled his goblet, most of the
guests, after a time, contented themselves with sipping sparingly each time a health was drunk.

After several hours, with the torches guttering in their sconces and several guests slumped asleep, their heads resting on the boards, Athalaric, cheeks flushed and eyes bloodshot, rose unsteadily to propose a final toast. ‘To my beloved mother – Amalashuntha,' he mumbled incoherently. ‘May she rot in hell.' Suddenly, he staggered, the goblet slipping from his fingers, and with a loud cry crashed backwards to the floor. Immediately, a doctor was summoned; arriving within minutes, he knelt beside the patient. After a brief examination, he rose and pronounced to the assembled guests, ‘Gentlemen – the king is dead.'

*
For the background of these two influential Roman officials, see my
Theoderic
.

**
Amalasuntha was the beautiful and learned daughter of Theoderic, who had died eight years before in 526.

*
River Po.

**
A Roman education involved liberal use of the cane. In the opinion of Theoderic, this would cow a boy's spirit, so that when he became a man he would be afraid of battle.

*
These two categories of Goths corresponded (very roughly) respectively to barons and sheriffs in mediaeval England. ‘Dux' was a Roman title for the holder of a high military command, one which Gothic nobles had (rather inappropriately) adopted.

If my lord the emperor is dissatisfied, there will be war

Procopius (paraphrasing Peter the Patrician's warning to
Theodahad about the consequences should Amalasuntha
not be reinstated),
History of the Wars of Justinian, after 552

‘Slow down, Serenity,' grumbled John the Cappadocian, as he toiled up the ladder in the wake of Justinian. Unwilling to break his daily routine of checking progress on his beloved project – the building anew of Hagia Sophia – the emperor had summoned his praetorian prefect to join him on the building site, to make his regular report.

Arriving at the topmost tier of scaffolding, adjoining the pendentives linking the arches on which the great dome would rest, Justinian perched himself on the edge of the planking, from which vantage-point he commanded a clear view of the workmen far below, egaged in erecting the green-and-red-veined columns to support the arcades, or encasing the massive piers with slabs of coloured marble – green, red, yellow, and blue. Puffing heavily, John at last joined the emperor, but was careful to position himself well clear of the platform's brink.

‘Well, John, things it seems are looking up for us in Italy. A nephew of Theoderic, one Theodahad – Amalasuntha's cousin and next in line of succession after Athalaric – has offered to transfer his liquid assets to Constantinople in return for a position of dignity at court. A strange, unpleasant character. Tries to be more Roman than the Romans. Divides his time between grabbing land in Tuscany, composing Latin verse, and reading Greek philosophy. Amalasuntha herself has been in secret communication with me, hinting that supreme power might be transferred to ourselves.
And
– this has to be significant – my edict concerning transfer of property, addressed to the senators in both Constantinople and Rome, has been accepted by Ravenna, or at least not rejected.' Producing a length of spiced sausage from a knapsack, the emperor cut off a hunk and passed it to his prefect. ‘All in all, John, it looks as if Italy could be rejoining the Empire without a blow being struck.'

‘Afraid the picture's changed, Serenity,' declared the other, his mouth
full of sausage. ‘Coming here, I bumped into your ambassador, Peter the Patrician, fresh back from Ravenna and on his way to report to yourself. Told him I'd pass on his news to you, on his behalf. So here it is. Athalaric died in October. In consequence, Amalasuntha was forced to make Theodahad her
consors regni
– co-ruler; you know these Goths, can't stand the idea of a female running things. Well, now that he's become king, Theodahad has suddenly got big ideas, which don't include sharing power with his cousin. From being a committed Romanophile he's now sided with the anti-Roman Gothic nationalists, especially the relatives of the three leading Goths Amalasuntha had murdered, all powerful men with lots of influence.'

Justinian stared at the prefect, his expression bleak. ‘This is dreadful, John. And just when things seemed to be going so well.'

‘Better brace yourself, Serenity; it gets worse. Theodahad and his clique of leading Goths have staged a coup, deposed Amalasuntha and imprisoned her on an island in Lacus Volsiniensis
*
in Umbria, where she's rumoured to be in danger of her life.'

‘Unbelievable! Theodahad must be warned, in no uncertain terms, that unless he restores Amalasuntha forthwith to her former position, we shall be forced to intervene.'

‘Quite right, Serenity. Theodahad needs reminding that, constitutionally, he's the vicegerent of the Eastern emperor – a title and function handed down from Theoderic. It applies of course also to Amalasuntha, only more so. So our Gothic philosopher-king has to toe the line. But so in a sense do you, Serenity. After all, Theodahad
is
the legitimate ruler – if we set aside his usurpation of his cousin's role. So it wouldn't do for you just to march into Italy and take over. That would be universally condemned as naked aggression. What you need is a casus belli. That sausage, by the way, is very good; I won't say no if you're offering some more.

‘Suppose, Serenity,
another
message got through to Theodahad – one different to the one you're proposing to send.' Munching sausage, the Cappadocian shot the emperor a crafty glance.

‘Explain yourself, John,' snapped the emperor testily. ‘You know I hate mind games.'

‘This sausage really is excellent, Serenity – you must tell me where you get it. Well now, just suppose that Theodahad was tipped the wink that, despite your threat, nothing would happen to him if Amalasuntha had, let's say, an “accident”. Then suppose Theodahad were to act on that
– you'd have a cast-iron case for invading Italy. If necessary, you could always later disown having any part in a second message. Your reason for intervening in Italy would look even better than your excuse for taking over Africa – restoring Hilderic.'

‘It's monstrous! I won't hear another word, John – I absolutely forbid it. Do I make myself clear?'

‘As glass, Serenity,' the prefect murmured with an enigmatic smile. ‘As glass.'

Waylaying Peter the Patrician as (en route to Salonae on the Adriatic, for the crossing to Ravenna) he emerged from Justinian's
tablinum
, Theodora pressed into the ambassador's hand a missive bearing her seal. ‘Give this to King Theodahad,' she requested. ‘Personally – that's very important. Also, no one, not even the emperor, must know I've given it to you.' She smiled, and patted his hand. ‘I know I can trust you, Peter.'

‘My lips are sealed, Domina,' replied the other, slipping the letter into his satchel to join Justinian's own message to the Ostrogothic king. Like all servants of the imperial court, he was totally in thrall to the empress's charm and charisma.

The previous day had seen Theodora, in an agony of mind, pacing the little garden where she and Justinian had first met. She recalled the horrified indignation with which the emperor had recounted the Cappadocian's suggestion that Theodahad be given carte blanche to do away with Amalasuntha.

Although her husband had dismissed the idea, Theodora had found herself unable to. Till far into the night, she had wrestled with her conscience. She knew how vitally important the realization of his Grand Plan had become to Justinian. Africa had been a glorious start. But Italy – the very
fons et origo
of Rome's imperial saga – was the prize above all others. Although she cared passionately about the rights of her own sex, was not the sacrifice of a single woman's life justifiable in the great scheme of things? Theodora (despite that snake, Procopius, hinting that Amalasuntha's overtures to Justinian had provoked the empress's jealousy) felt no ill-will towards the Gothic queen; rather, Amalasuntha's courage and resolution in holding out against the chauvinism of the leading Goths had aroused Theodora's admiration and sympathy. But such feelings were disembodied, abstract. She had never met Theoderic's daughter, therefore any guilt she might feel would be impersonal. She was reminded of a conundrum once posed by some philosopher. If, simply by nodding, you would acquire
great riches, but at the same time bring about the death of an unknown mandarin in distant China – would you nod?

With a shock of self-disgust, Theodora realized that she had somehow crossed a moral boundary, and was already actively considering how the prefect's sly proposal might be implemented. The steel in her character coming to the fore, Theodora made her decision. Her husband's interests must take precedence. She dismissed the thought that she might be damning her immortal soul; such a consideration would cause Justinian concern, but not herself. Her interest in religious matters was strictly academic, its main solicitude the social penalties of non-conformity. Repairing to her private chamber, she began to draft a letter . . .