Theodora: Empress of Byzantium (Mark Magowan Books) (36 page)

In Justinian’s vision, ideology informed his diplomacy just as religion informed his military strategy, and vice versa. The idea of a peaceful, unified empire under one emperor was part and parcel of his dream of restoring the golden age of Constantine and Theodosius I. But Justinian also felt that it was a strategic move to conquer Italy, or at least a part of the peninsula that could be easily controlled. The ancient Egnatia Road led from Constantinople to Dyrrachium (now Durrës, Albania), a favorite imperial Adriatic port. From there it’s just a short hop to the heel of the Italian peninsula, where the Appian Way leads to Rome. This front had to be protected from all possible dangers.

These considerations did not particularly interest Theodora: for her, the East was the motherland and the cradle of the empire. Still, historical hindsight shows that protecting Italy’s Adriatic and southern shores was indeed vital to Constantinople’s security; Justinian’s analysis held true even centuries later. But his program had high human and financial costs from the very beginning.

When Theodoricus, the great Goth king of Italy, died in 526, his daughter Amalasuntha [
fig. 26
] became queen regent for her young son, Athalaric. She worshipped ancient Rome as Justinian did, and she turned to him for protection. But in the spring of 535 the Gothic aristocracy, which supported different policies, rebelled, deposing and killing her. Then Peter, the rhetorician who had endeared himself to Constantinople’s Augusti and become their expert on ceremony, arrived in Italy with new messages for the queen from Justinian. But he was too late. With the queen dead, he headed back to the palace in Constantinople,
where her death was interpreted as an act of rebellion against the emperor himself, an act that called for retaliation. The Italian Goths were no longer seen as subjects or representatives of the empire of the new Rome: now they were its enemies. The Arian beliefs that they clung to were another reason for attack.

26. Marble portrait head of a queen (“Amalasuntha”), c. 530, Museo dei Conservatori, Rome.

The death of Amalasuntha meant that the Italian situation exploded at a bad time for Theodora. Severus was a guest at the palace and there was a chance for reconciliation, or at least rapprochement, between the Roman Dyophysites and the Monophysites in the East. Yet Procopius disregarded the logic of her point of view and accused her of orchestrating the murder of Amalasuntha. He wrote that the empress, “considering that the woman was of noble birth and a queen, and very comely to look on, and very quick at contriving ways and means for whatever she wanted, but feeling suspicious of her magnificent bearing and exceptional manner, and at the same time fearing the fickleness of her husband Justinian, expressed her jealousy in no trivial way, but schemed to lay a fatal trap for her.”
¹⁷
According to Procopius, Theodora ordered Peter to do away with the queen, and later rewarded him generously for the deed. But even Procopius confesses that he did not know how Peter could have done it.

Undoubtedly, Theodora would not have been pleased to see Amalasuntha
come to Constantinople to discourse in Latin directly with Justinian, debating issues of Western politics or evoking the glories of ancient Rome. If she had once been “venomous, spiteful, envious of her colleagues,”
¹⁸
there is no reason to believe that she was any different once she had ascended the throne. The hagiography of one saintly lady of the court even reported that the jealous Augusta had sent the lady Anastasia into exile in an ascetic convent in the Mediterranean just because Justinian seemed to like her.
¹⁹

It is likely, therefore, that Theodora was personally hostile toward Amalasuntha; but she didn’t have sufficient political motives for ordering her murder. And though Justinian might have been attracted to the Gothic queen because of her appreciation of the myth of Rome and her knowledge of Latin, all the other virtues that Procopius praised in her—especially her energy and her quick mind—could be found in Theodora, who was the same age as Amalasuntha and much more expert in seduction.

As soon as Belisarius began marching the imperial army, the new Goth king sent Pope Agapetus to Constantinople on a peace mission. But the pope did not come only to avert a war. The Western clergy was not controlled by the political authorities as was its Eastern counterpart: the pope started his series of meetings with Justinian by discussing not peace but doctrine. He pressed for true Orthodoxy, he insisted on the two natures of Christ, on the Council of Chalcedon, and on the communion of the Church. He refused to meet Anthimus, the new patriarch of Constantinople. Enraged, Justinian threatened to send the pope into exile, just like a lord threatening a servant. Noble Agapetus showed no fear; he burst out laughing. He called the emperor a “new Diocletian”—that is, a persecutor rather than “a most Christian”
²⁰
emperor.

Theodora saw how dangerous it was that the bishop of Rome failed to tremble before the emperor’s political power. She tried to win Agapetus over with a variety of promises, hinting at financial benefits, inviting him to personal meetings that might facilitate an agreement on
substantive issues. And she planned to introduce him to the most valuable Monophysite in the city, Severus, who dedicated his days to meditation and self-discipline, but whom the pope considered anathema.

The clash between Agapetus and Justinian was not only a confrontation of two proud personalities, but also one of the first conflicts between two different Christian universalisms—papal Rome and the Constantinopolitan empire—each certain of their primacy and of their role as regents of Christ on Earth. They were disputing not only the single or double nature of Jesus Christ but also the possession of Rome and all Italy. There’s a first move in every game. Fresh memories of the lucky North African expedition, and Belisarius’s reputation for invincibility, ultimately prevailed over other considerations. Justinian hoped that the local population in Italy would welcome an invasion, but that could happen only under the Roman papacy, which was Dyophysite by definition. For the soldiers of Constantinople to be greeted as liberators from the ethnic and heretic yoke of the Goths, they had to appear, first of all, to share the same religion—to be Dyophysites.

And so the pope never did meet the new patriarch of Constantinople, Anthimus, or the historical exponent of the Monophysites, Severus. In March 536, Anthimus was deposed and replaced by another patriarch, a Dyophysite who had been consecrated by the pope. His name was Menas, and he came from the monastery of the Saint Samson who, according to legend, had healed Justinian around 524. Dyophysite blessings were said over the swords, spears, and arrows of the imperial troops, which could now conquer Italy under the sign of the restoration. Martial songs alternated with prayers recited in Latin.

The pope’s behavior might be interpreted in light of the Gospel passage “Be as cunning as the snake and as simple as the dove”:
²¹
he had promised Justinian a solid item, Italy—which was not his to give—in return for a concession about the controversial nature of Christ. Meanwhile, Constantinople still had to conquer all of Italy, mile by mile, battling an army that did not answer to Agapetus. And the Monophysites were left to either make amends or withdraw to the Levant, which they considered their true fatherland.

+ + +

These developments were so different from what Theodora had planned. She must have discussed them at length with Justinian in their private apartment at the palace. Finally, he must have convinced her to be patient. Strengthened by the pope’s support and heartened by the quick military defeat of the Vandals, the emperor believed that he could take Italy with the same ease. He could not foresee that it would take years to win this war. He promised his empress that once the peninsula was conquered and the pope satisfied, he would review the situation. Meanwhile, he would create or maintain pockets of tolerance for the Monophysites, starting (paradoxically) in the imperial palace. Hundreds of Monophysites sought refuge there, most of them housed in the palace of Hormisdas (“a wonderful desert of solitary souls”)
²²
and in the church of saints Sergius and Bacchus. Other protected areas were in the suburbs of the capital and, as always, in Alexandria. Still, a few months later Anthimus and Severus and other Monophysite authorities were officially condemned for their beliefs (
Novel
No. 42; August 536). They were asked to leave the capital and the major cities and retire quietly to the desert. The writings of Severus were singled out for censure.

Meanwhile, instead of returning victoriously to Rome as planned, Pope Agapetus died in Constantinople in April 536, ending a very brief pontificate. He had not prevented the war in Italy (as the Gothic king had asked), and he had blocked the rapprochement in the eastern Mediterranean between Monophysites and Dyophysites, which had seemed within reach. In Constantinople his death was regarded as a divine punishment, especially by the Monophysite circles around the intransigent Zooras;
²³
but Rome beatified Agapetus.

Less than two years later, in February 538, Severus died. With the empress’s support he had repaired undisturbed to his beloved Egypt among the anchorites who had fled from secular life. His idea of faith had ultimately proved irreconcilable with the power of the Roman empire, confirming his most pessimistic predictions. In the meantime, the abuses of 518 were being replicated in persecutions in other provinces. John of Tella, who had probably accompanied Theodora during her
memorable journey to Bithynia in 533, died in an Antioch prison just one day after Severus’s death. The Monophysites worshipped him and still worship him now as a confessor who suffered for his faith.

Finally even Alexandria was brought into line. Timothy’s successor there, Theodosius—the moderate Monophysite patriarch who had been forced upon the city by the emperor and empress’s armies only a few months before—went into exile (a fairly pleasant one, under Theodora’s protection). A Dyophysite patriarch was then appointed, but he did not take office.

In Alexandria (where the patriarchate claimed to be the seat of Mark the Evangelist, a direct disciple of Jesus Christ), and in the rest of Egypt, Christianity was setting off along two separate paths. In those vast lands were the Dyophysite Church now imposed by the throne of Constantinople (disparagingly called the “melkite” or “imperial” church), and another Church that worshipped Severus as a saint and that would eventually be identified with nationalism and the Coptic language. Although the authorities of this Church were in exile, the majority of the population supported it. And above all it was protected by the most powerful woman in the empire.

It might have seemed that Theodora was temporarily defeated, or at least brought down to size, but Pope Agapetus (or his ghost) had hardly triumphed. Justinian had hoped to unite the Church, and had therefore marched the imperial troops off to Italy, but the Church was in fact heading for a split. Meanwhile Anthimus, the patriarch that Pope Agapetus had insisted on removing, could not be found. Condemned in absentia, his shadow hovered over the city, and contradictory rumors flew about his fate.

At the palace, people wondered what would happen in Rome when news came of the pope’s death. The projections were disturbing: Italy had yet to be conquered; now that Agapetus was dead, the Roman Church would be both inflexible about the nature of Jesus Christ and more conciliatory to the Goths; it might offer peace to Constantinople instead of victory. In her conversations with the emperor, Theodora might have shown unusual irritation. She might have reproached him
for his mistake, for his infatuation with Rome, his bookish culture, his blindness about people’s real intentions, and especially his negligence of the Christian East.

In Theodora’s eyes, the situation was quite serious. The papacy was undoubtedly guilty of arrogance, and Justinian had been volatile and thoughtless. She might have recalled Tribonian paying homage to the emperor: the minister and jurist had said that he was “fearful that the emperor—so great was his mercy!—would not ascend immediately to Heaven.”
²⁴
Maybe that had been not reverence but veiled mockery. Instead of making her smile now, that sentence might have put her in a bad mood, for only she was allowed these sorts of liberties.

Now she had to act fast. Once again, Theodora dared what no one else would dare, trying to reverse a situation that looked unfixable. To save the Monophysites without losing Rome (which Justinian wanted so badly), she would have to gamble everything. She hatched the idea of putting a Monophysite on the papal throne—or if not a professed Monophysite, at least someone who could make peace with Monophysitism. Justinian approved the plan, trusting in Theodora’s judgment, especially because she believed she had a trustworthy person to carry out the initiative and take the papal seat.

The situation required a man who thought highly of himself and had protectors in high places. There was such a man in Constantinople, named Vigilius. He was papal nuncio at the imperial palace, but this was only his most recent distinction. The scion of an ancient Roman family of consuls and senators, he was used to vast horizons and great wealth. His family history made it easy for him to win popular support, and gave credence to his promises and pledges. He had nearly been consecrated pope in 532; now he could, and should, get the position.