Justinian (27 page)

Off Naples, the ship carrying Silverius to Rome was intercepted by a fast galley or
liburna
and boarded by four rough-looking individuals. Showing the captain a letter of authorization bearing the seal of Belisarius, their
caput
demanded that Silverius accompany them. The skipper and the former Pope had little choice but to comply. Two hours later, the
liburna
beached on a rocky islet and Silverius was bundled ashore. ‘Your new See, Holiness,' chuckled the
caput
. Then the craft stood out to sea, dwindled to a distant dot, and vanished.

The awful truth dawned on Silverius. Here, on this tiny island, he had been left alone to die. A hasty examination of his ‘new See' confirmed his fears: the place consisted of bare rocks from fissures in which sprouted a few hardy shrubs. It was totally devoid of shelter, fresh water, or edible substance – in short, of anything that might sustain life. A horrible, lingering death from thirst and hunger awaited him. Unless . . .

The son of another stout-hearted Pope, Hormisdas, (before the latter entered the priesthood), Silverius had grown up on the coast of Calabria.
*
Like all his boyhood companions, young Marcus, as he had then been known, had taken to swimming almost as soon as he could walk. But that was sixty years ago. Old and in failing health, could he now attempt the sort of distances he had swum with ease in his youth? He looked east across the blue Tyrrhenian, to a steep and barren coastline perhaps five miles distant. On the far horizon a tiny, purple cone was etched against a sky of palest azure – Vesuvius.

Never one to shirk a hard decision, Silverius rapidly made up his mind. If he remained on the island, he faced inevitable death – barring unlikely rescue by some passing craft. Death too, probably awaited him if he attempted to swim to shore, but at least it would come quickly. Stripping off his monkish habit, he waded into the sea and began to swim.

It being summer, the water was not cold and he managed to make slow but steady progress; his old skills had not completely atrophied. After what he estimated to be an hour, Silverius noted to his gratified surprise, that the coast was appreciably closer. Though tiring, he was far from exhausted; provided he could escape the onset of muscle cramps and did not encounter adverse currents, there might, he thought, be a possibility that he could actually reach shore. And then? With luck, he could surely beg some local peasant to provide him with clothing and sustenance for his immediate needs. He could then make his way to Rome where he
had many friends among both Goths and Romans, men of integrity and influence who would help him live ‘underground' as it were, until . . . Until Justinian and Belisarius (both decent, well-intentioned men, but as potter's clay in their wives' hands) developed enough backbone to call off Theodora and Antonina. And that, Silverius was realist enough to acknowledge, might not be for a very long time. Still, better a life of precarious obscurity than imprisonment in a remote monastery, or slow starvation on a sea-girt rock.

Now, on the approaching shore he could make out individual features such as rocks and trees; he must have covered at least two-thirds of the distance. Silverius felt a surge of optimism. Against all the odds, it looked as though he might in fact survive. Then he spotted something that caused hope to shrivel in his breast, to be replaced by a cold knot of terror – a dark, triangular fin slicing through the water fifty feet ahead of him.

The great shark dived deep below the swimmer, then, with powerful sweeps of its crescent tail, shot upwards with the speed and impetus of a missile from an
onager
.

Feeling a jarring thump against his leg but as yet no pain, Silverius reached downwards – and experienced a thrill of disbelieving horror as his groping fingers encountered a stump of shredded flesh and jagged bone, felt a pumping flow of blood from a severed femoral artery. Then pain struck; Silverius' scream of agony was mercifully cut short as the monster hit again, crushing his torso to a jelly in its massive jaws . . .

With its scaffolding now removed, Justinian could see the exterior of the great church clearly for the first time. As Anthemius had warned him to expect, though impressive through sheer scale, it was not otherwise especially arresting. However, entering from the narthex into the ambulatory and thence into the vast central space, Justinian (who had deliberately refrained from visiting the building in the final stages of construction, the more to savour this moment of revelation) was reduced to stunned silence, awed by an overwhelming sense of space and light. And everywhere, such colour: marble richly veined in varied hues, softly glowing mosaics, the gleam of gold and silver.

Justinian raised his eyes, caught his breath at the sight of the vast dome high above, appearing, just as Anthemius had said it would, to float in air – ‘as though suspended by a golden chain from Heaven'. A sense that he had touched the Infinite, the Transcendental, overcame the emperor. Through these mute stones, he felt, God was assuring him that he was
indeed His Chosen One, as Theodora was divinely authorized to be his helpmeet. His doubts and fears evaporating like the mists of morning on the Bosphorus, Justinian fell upon his knees and whispered, ‘Solomon – I have surpassed you!'

*
The version we possess today.

*
To refresh the reader's memory: the Chalcedonians believed that Christ had two natures – human
and
divine (the view accepted by Orthodox Catholicism), while the Monophysites held that Christ had only one nature – divine.

*
29 March 537.

*
Then situated where Apulia – the ‘heel' of Italy, is today; Calabria is now the ‘toe' of Italy – anciently Bruttium.

As far as may be advantageous to the public service

Rider to Justinian's commission to Narses enjoining
obedience to Belisarius, 538

From the citadel of Ancona – Italy's chief seaport on the Adriatic and recently captured from the Goths
*
– Belisarius looked down on the vast semi-circular harbour into which were sailing the transports conveying a fresh army under the command of General Narses. Belisarius supposed he ought to feel delighted by the prospect of yet more reinforcements, but admitted to himself that he had mixed feelings. The arrival of John the Sanguinary with his Isaurians and Thracians in November of the previous year had completely altered the tactical situation, tilting the scales decisively in favour of the Romans. Witigis' lines of communication had been threatened when, on Belisarius' orders, John had seized Ariminum,
**
south of Ravenna, the Goths' capital, and a chain of fortified positions had been established across the Apennines, protecting Roman gains in the south of the peninsula, also the vital route from Rome to the Adriatic. As a result, Witigis had been forced to abandon the siege of Rome and withdraw his army (a shadow of the mighty host that had invested the place a year before, thanks to disease and endless sorties by Belisarius' crack cavalry) to the Gothic heartland of the Padus valley. The coming of thousands more Roman troops (they were actually Heruls, from the same Germanic tribe that had supplied Mundus with his force at the crushing of the Nika revolt) meant putting an additional strain on the local Italian population, regarding billeting and feeding. And the presence of another senior commander in the shape of Narses, a man much older than Belisarius and standing high in the favour of Justinian, was not entirely welcome, raising as it did the possibility of a challenge to his authority, with the concomitant risk of dividing the command.

What did he know of Narses? Belisarius asked himself. Not much, beyond the fact that he was an Armenian and a eunuch (castration was
illegal in the Roman Empire; Narses hailed from the Persian zone of Armenia), and had a reputation for steadiness and reliability. Belisarius recalled that he had met the man briefly when, in the aftermath of Nika, Narses had done a quietly efficient job patrolling the streets to ensure that the insurgency did not flare up again. As for the Heruls he now commanded, they were notoriously troublesome and insubordinate, refusing to obey any officers bar the ones they were accustomed to. Still, there was no point in anticipating trouble where none might actually exist. Determined to put a positive face on things, Belisarius set off down the hill towards the waterfront to welcome the new general, whose fleet was even now dropping anchor beside Trajan's Mole, the immensely long breakwater constructed in the reign of that emperor more than four centuries before . . .

In the auditorium of the citadel's Praetorium, where Belisarius had summoned a council of war, the staff of the two generals were assembling. Belisarius had called the meeting, firstly to plan the next stage of the campaign against Witigis, secondly as a means of introducing Narses to Belisarius' own officers, and giving the other a chance to express any views that he might have.

After extending a formal welcome to the newly arrived general, Belisarius advanced to the front of the auditorium and faced his audience. With a pointer, he traced on a large easel-mounted map of Italy a line from Rome north-east across the peninsula to Ancona. ‘This, gentlemen, is our present front line. To the south of it we have cleared the land of Goths, so half of Italy is in our hands. We are now in a very strong position, one which enables us to launch a major push against the enemy. My plan is this: we move forward slowly, taking stronghold after stronghold – Sena Gallica, Urbinum, Pisaurum, et cetera.
*
An iron frontier too strong for the Goths to break through, creeping relentlessly north to pen them at last into their heartland of the Padus plain. Then we will close in for the kill.'

A murmur of approval swept round the chamber, accompanied by a nodding of heads.

‘What about old “Blood-and-Guts”, sir?' asked a fresh-faced
tribunus
.

‘John the Sanguinary, you mean?' laughed Belisarius. ‘Well, he's still in Ariminum. But with Witigis pulling back towards the north, he's now dangerously exposed; in fact Witigis' advance troops have already begun to invest the town. I'm about to order John to withdraw to the safety of Ancona, while he still can.'

Narses stood up: a slight, delicate-looking figure with fine-drawn Armenian features, as unlike the popular stereotype of the plump, sly eunuch as it was possible to imagine. ‘With respect, General, I think that would be a mistake.' Though he spoke quietly, Narses projected an air of unassuming certainty that commanded the close attention of all present.

This was the first time that Belisarius had been flatly contradicted by a fellow officer, and he felt at a loss as to how to respond. Up till this moment his charisma and breezy confidence had always proved enough to carry others with him. To be put in a position where he must defend and justify his decisions was a new and disconcerting experience. ‘Perhaps, General, you could explain,' he replied, in as polite a tone as he could muster.

‘Your plan, insofar as it goes, is sound enough,' conceded Narses. ‘But with respect, it lacks imagination. Also boldness – a quality without which no campaign was ever won.' His gaze swept the chamber, establishing eye contact with his audience. ‘With John in Ariminum,' he went on, ‘you have established an excellent forward position – a marker, if you like, for future gains.' His voice dropped, which somehow had the effect of heightening the urgency and conviction of its tone. ‘My Heruls have a name for it:
Blitzkrieg
– Lightning War! It depends on forward momentum – flying columns moving rapidly ahead of the main force, which follows, occupying the territory thus claimed before the enemy can rally his resources. If we let the Goths have Ariminum, we surrender what would be a key advantage.'

A collective buzz of enthusiasm showed how completely Narses had captured the interest of his hearers.

‘
Blitzkrieg
', thought Belisarius, in bewilderment tinged with resentment. The Armenian was talking a different language to himself, strategically speaking. It was ironic, he thought, that he, Belisarius, with a reputation for dash and élan, should find himself accused of lack of boldness. By instinct, he was all for swift attack, of taking the battle to the enemy. But in the past year he had learned, through hard-won experience, that the Goths, unlike the Vandals, had huge powers of resilience, recovering rapidly from reverses that at the time had seemed crushing. Hence his present policy of consolidating gains made before risking further moves against the enemy.

‘Perhaps the conqueror of Africa has lost his nerve?' Uttered in tones of sneering mock politeness, the taunt came from a
vicarius
noted for his surliness, but who hitherto would not have dared to question the decisions
of his commanding officer. The intervention of Narses, acting like some malign alchemy, had somehow changed all that, Belisarius felt. His old, easy authority had now been challenged and might not be easily regained.

‘That was uncalled for,' rapped out Narses, subjecting the
vicarius
to a disapproving stare. ‘Let us have no more such aspersions. By falling out we simply play into the hands of the Goths. A disagreement as to tactics should not lead to rolling in the mud.' Turning to Belisarius he said, ‘However, General, I think you should reconsider your decision to recall John from Ariminum, and instead relieve the place.'

‘Oh you do, do you?' declared Belisarius, nettled. ‘Perhaps you're forgetting, Narses, who is in overall command here.'

‘My commission indeed states that I owe obedience to yourself,' replied the other smoothly. He paused, then added, giving the words a quiet emphasis, ‘–
as far as may be advantageous to the public service
. It is not my wish to embarrass you before your officers, Belisarius,' he went on, ‘but I must insist on your compliance in this matter.'