by Gore Vidal
"How many bushels?" I broke in. The prefect conferred a moment with several hard-faced men.
"Four hundred thousand bushels, Lord."
I turned to Salutius. "Send to Chalcis and Hierapolis. They have the grain. Buy it from them at the usual cost." I looked up at Diocletian; the heavy face was majestic yet contemptuous; how he had despised the human race!
When the burghers of Antioch departed, Felix rounded on me. "You have done exactly the wrong thing! I know them better than you. They will hold the grain back. They will create a famine. Then they will sell, and every time you reason with them they'll tell you: but this is the way it is always done. Prices always find their proper level. Do nothing. Rely on the usual laws of the market-place. Well, mark my words…" Felix's long forefinger had been sawing the air in front of me when suddenly he froze, an astonished look on his face."What's wrong?" I asked.
He looked at me vaguely. Then he touched his stomach. "The fish sauce, Augustus," he said, turning quite pale. "I should never touch it, especially in hot weather." He ran quickly to the door, in much distress. I'm afraid that Salutius and I laughed.
"My apologies, Augustus," he said. "But one greater than you calls!" On that light note Felix left us. An hour later he was found seated on the toilet, dead. I shall never have such a good tax adviser again.
• • •
Two weeks later I had a most unsettling vision. I had gone to pray at the temple of Zeus on Mount Kasios, which is in Seleucia, not far from Antioch. I arrived at the temple just before dawn. All preparations had been made for a sacrifice, and there was none of the confusion I had met with at Daphne. I was purified. I put on the sacred mantle. I said what must be said. The white bull was brought to the altar. As I lifted the knife, I fainted.
My uncle attributed this to the twenty-four-hour fast which preceded the sacrifice. No matter what the cause, I was suddenly aware that I was in danger of my life. I was being warned. No, I did not see the face of Zeus or hear his voice, but as a black green sea engulfed me, I received a warning: death by violence was at hand. Oribasius brought me to, forcing my head between my knees until consciousness returned.
That night, two drunken soldiers were heard to say that no one need worry about a Persian campaign because my days were numbered. They were arrested. Eight more were implicated. They were all Galileans who had been incited to this action by various trouble-makers, none of whom was ever named. I was to have been killed at the next day's military review, and Salutius made emperor.
Salutius was most embarrassed by this, but I assured him that I did not believe he was responsible for this hare-brained plot. "You could kill me so easily in far subtler ways," I said quite amiably, for I respect him.
"I have no desire to kill you, Augustus, if only because I would kill myself before I ever allowed anyone to make me emperor."
I laughed. "I felt that way once. But it is curious how rapidly one changes." Then I said to him with perfect seriousness, "Should I die, you might well be my personal choice to succeed me."
"No!" He was fierce in his rejection. "I would not accept the principate from Zeus himself."
I think I believe him. It is not that he is modest or feels himself inadequate, quite the contrary. But he does feel (and this I gather by what he does not say) that there is some sort of—I cannot find any but a most terrible word to describe his attitude—"curse" upon the principate. As a man, he would be spared it. Perhaps he is right.
The ten soldiers were executed. I used the military review where I was to have been murdered as an occasion to announce that I would not make any further inquiry into the matter. I said that unlike my predecessor I was not afraid of sudden death by treachery. Why should I be when I had received a warning from Zeus himself? "I am protected by the gods. When they decide that my work is done then—and not until then-will they raise their shield. Meanwhile, it is a most dangerous thing to strike at me." This speech was much cheered, largely because the army was relieved to discover that I was not one of those relentless tyrants who wish to implicate as many as possible in acts of treason.
But while this matter ended well, my relations with the magnates of Antioch were rapidly deteriorating. Three months after our meeting, they had not only not fixed prices, they had kept off the market the corn I had myself imported from Hierapolls. Prices were sky-high: one gold solidus for ten bushels. The poor were starving. Riots were daily. I took action.
I set the price of corn at one silver piece for fifteen bushels, though the usual price was one for ten. To force the merchants to unload their hoarded grain, I threw on to the market an entire shipment of corn sent me from Egypt for the use of the troops. The merchants then retreated to the countryside, forcing up the price of grain in the villages, thinking that I would not know what they were doing. But they had not counted on thousands of country people floeking to the city to buy grain. Their game was fully exposed.
I was now ruling by imperial decree and military force. Even so, the burghers, confident of my restraint (which they of course took to be weakness), continued to rob the poor and exploit the famine they had themselves created.
I again sent the senate a message, ordering the burghers to obey me. At this point several of the wealthier members (my own appointees) saw fit publicly to question my knowledge of the "intricacies of trade". A report of this rebuke was sent me while the senate was still in session. I had had enough. In a rage, I sent troops to the senate house and arrested the entire body on a charge of treason. An hour later, thoroughly ashamed of myself, I rescinded the order, and the senators were let free. Criticism of me now went underground. Rude songs were sung and anonymous aliatribes copied and passed around. The worst was a savagely witty attack, composed in elegant anapaests. Thousands were amused by it. I read it, with anger. These things always hurt no matter how used one is to abuse. I was called a bearded goat (as usual), a bulbbutcher, an ape, a dwarf (though I am above the middle height), a meddler in religious ceremonies (yet I am Highest Priest).
I was so much affected by this attack that on the same day that I read it I wrote an answer in the form of a satire called "BeardHater". This was written as though it were an attack by me upon myself, composed in the same style as the unknown author's work. Under the guise of satirizing myself, I made very plain my quarrel with the senate and people of Antioch, pointing out their faults, much as they had excoriated mine. I also gave a detailed account of how the speculators had deliberately brought on famine. My friends were appalled when I published this work, but I do not in any way regret having done so. I was able to say a number of sharp and true things. Priscus thought the work ordinary and its publication a disaster. He particularly objected to my admitting that I had lice. But Libanius felt that I had scored a moral victory against my invisible traducers.
Libanius: I do regard "Beard-Hater" highly. It is beautifully composed and though there are echoes in it of many other writers (including myself!) I found it altogether impressive. Yet Julian somewhat misrepresents me in suggesting that I approved of the work and thought its effect good. How could I? It was an unheard-of gesture. Never before had an emperor attacked his own people with a pamphlet! The sword and the fire, yes, but not literature. Nor had any emperor ever before written a satire upon himself.
Antioch laughed. I remonstrated with friends and fellow senators, reminding them that the patience of even this unusual emperor could be strained too far. But though the arrest of the senate had certainly frightened them, the subsequent countermanding of the order had convinced them that Julian was mad, but in a harmless way. There is of course no such thing as a harmlessly mad emperor, but my constant exhortations were ignored. Luckily, I was able to save Antioch from Julian's wrath, for which I was credited at the time. All this, naturally, has been forgotten or twisted by malice into something other than the truth. There is nothing so swiftly lost as the public's memory of a good action. That is why great men insist on putting up monuments to themselves with their deeds carefully recorded, since th
ose they saved will not honour them in life or in death. Heroes must see to their own fame. No one else will.
I should note—I will note when I assemble this material for the final edition—that the senate did have a case against Julian. Though a few senators were speculators, most of them had not taken advantage of the famine. Their only fault had been negligence in not preparing for the scarcity, but if negligence in statesmen were a capital offence there would not be a head left in any senate in the world. When Julian's message was read to us, it was received most respectfully. Yet everyone agreed that his abrupt underpricing of grain would result in a worse shortage than the overpricing of the speculators. As it turned out, the senate was right. The grain which had been sold so dramatically below cost was soon gone, and the shortage was as bad as before.
I suspect Julian of wanting to make himself popular with the mob. He had hoped to win their support against the wealthy Christian element, but he failed. Our people can be bought rather cheaply, but they are far too frivolous to remain bought. Also, he neglected to hold down the price of other commodities, and it is the luxuries, finally, that are the key to the Antiochene heart. So his attempt at price-control was a failure, just as Diocletian's had been. Perhaps if Count Felix had lived the thing might have worked, for he was most brilliant in these matters and all his life had searched for a prince who could put into effect his quite elaborate system of economic controls. Myself, I tend to believe with the conservative element that inflation and scarcity must be endured periodically and that in time all things will come more or less to rights. But then I am neither trader nor fiscal agent… merely Stoic!
Count Felix, incidentally, had literary ambitions, and I once spent a pleasant afternoon with him at Daphne in the house of a mutual friend. The count read us a most entertaining set of verses on—I believe—the pleasures of agriculture. Odd because he was very much a city man. I remember his saying that my essay "For Aristophanes" had opened his eyes to a whole new view of that superb writer.
Julian Augustus
Shortly before noon on 2 December, a messenger came to me with the appalling news that once again Nicomedia had been struck by earthquake. Everything that had been rebuilt was thrown down. As soon as I heard the news I went outside. The day was dark and cold, and a thin rain fell. I walked to the garden just north of the riding ring, and there I prayed to Zeus and to Poseidon. All day I prayed, while the rain continued to fall and the cold wind to rise. Not until sundown did I stop. Two days later I learned that the tremors ceased at exactly the moment I began my prayers in the garden. So what had been the worst of signs became the best: the gods still look favourably upon me, and answer my prayers.
A week later I was deeply saddened, though not surprised, to learn that my uncle Julian had died in his sleep. The Galileans promptly declared that he had been struck down by the Nazarene for having removed the treasure from the charnel house in Antioch. But of course his illness preceded this act by some years. Actually, I am surprised that he lived as long as he did, considering the gravity of his illness, I can only assume Asklepios must have blessed him.
I was fond of my uncle. He was a good and loyal functionary; he was also the last human link with my parents. His only fault was the common one of avarice. He could never get enough money. In fact, our last meeting was spoiled by a small quarrel about the Bithynian farm my grandmother had left me. He was furious when I gave it to a philosopher friend, even though the land was not worth one of the gold vases he used to display in his dining-room. I seemed to have missed the fault of avarice. I have no desire to own anything. No. On second thought, I am greedy about books. I do want to own them. I think I might commit a crime to possess a book. But otherwise, I am without this strange passion which seems to afflict most men, even philosophers, some close to me.
Priscus: An allusion to our friend Maximus. He was at this time buying real estate in Antioch with the money he obtained from selling offices and titles. Looking back on those days, I curse myself for not having leathered my own nest. Unlike Julian, I am rather greedy, but I am also proud and the excessiveness of my pride prevents me from asking anyone for anything. I cannot easily accept a gift. Yet I could steal, if I thought I would not be caught. Julian's uncle was an amiable man, though overzealous as an official. He once told me that his sister Basilina, Julian's mother, had been extraordinarily ambitious. When she was pregnant with Julian, he asked her what sort of life she wanted for her child, and she replied, "There is only one life for a son of mine. He must be emperor."
Julian used to describe his mother (from hearsay) as having been quite blond. She was indeed. According to her brother, she was an albino. I once made love to an albino girl in Constantinople. She had the most extraordinary blood-red eyes, like an animal's. The hair of course was absolutely white, including the pubic hair. I believe she was called Helena.
Libanius: How interesting
Julian Augustus
On 1 January 363, I became consul for the fourth time in association with Sallust. Naturally, there were many complaints, since Sallust was not of senatorial rank. But I ignored custom. Sallust is my right arm at Gaul. I also appointed Rufinus Aradius as Count of the East and filled a number of other offices, mostly in the West. I was now ready for the Persian campaign. I waited only upon the weather.
On the Kalerids of January I went to the temple of the Genius of Rome to make sacrifice. Here, on the steps, were assembled most of the city's priests and high officials. As I was completing the ritual, I happened to look up just as one of the priests fell the length of the steps. Later I learned that the priest who had fallen was not only the oldest but he had fallen from the highest step, dead of a heart attack.
By nightfall all Antioch had interpreted this to mean that he who is highest (oldest) in the state will fall from his great place (the top step), dead. So my days are supposed to be numbered. But I interpret the omen another way. The dead priest was on the top stair. Our highest rank is consul. There are two consuls. The dead priest was the oldest priest. Sallust is many years my senior. If either of us dies, the omen suggests it will be Sallust, not I. Of course the whole thing might possibly have no significance at all. Perhaps I should listen more to Priscus, who does not believe in signs.
Priscus: Indeed I don't! I am sure that if the gods (who probably don't exist) really wanted to speak to us, they could find a better messenger than the liver of a bull or the collapse of an old priest during a ceremony. But Julian was an absolute madman on this subject. And I must say, even though I don't believe in omens, I was impressed by the number of disasters reported. Among them: the second earthquake at Nicomedia, the first in the Jewish temple, the burning of the temple of Apollo, and as if all these "signs" were not bad enough, Julian sent to Rome for a consultation of the Sibylline books. As we all know, these "books" are a grab bag of old saws and meaningless epithets, much rewritten at morhents of crisis. But bogus or not, their message to him was clear: Do not go beyond the boundaries of the empire this year. I never heard him reinterpret that sentence. I can't think why I am recording all this. I don't believe any of it, but then Julian did, which is the point. True or false, these signs affected his actions.
There was one more bit of nonsense. The day that Julian left Antioch for Persia, an earthquake shook Constantinople. I told Maximus that if he told Julian what had happened, I would kill him. As far as I know, he never said a word.
Julian Augustus
Late in February I completed plans for the Persian campaign. Word was sent the legions that we would start moving east during the first week of March. I also sent a message to Tarsus, instructing the governor that his city would be my winter quarters, as I would not return to Antioch. My private letter to the governor was immediately known to the senate of Antioch, and they were most contrite. Would I not reconsider? I would not. And so I was ready to depart, in good spirits, except for the fact that Oribasius, suddenly ill of fever, was not able to accompany me. This was a blow. But I shall se
e him later in the year at Tarsus.
The day before I left Antioch, I had a final meeting with Libanius. Getting to know this wise man was perhaps the only good experience I had in that terrible city. He had been unable to attend a dinner I had given the night before, because of gout. But the next day he felt somewhat better and was able to join me while I was exercising at the riding ring.
It was the first spring-like day. Air warm, sky vaporous blue, first flowers small but vivid among winter grass. I was practising sword-play with Arintheus and though we had both started the exercise in full winter uniform, by the time Libanius had joined us, we were half-stripped and sweating freely in the sun.
Libanius sat benignly on a stool while we banged at one another. Arintheus has the body of a god and is far more agile than I, but my arms are stronger than his, so we are well matched. Besides it is not humanly possible for a mere army commander to defeat an emperor, even in mock combat.
Finally, Arintheus, with a mighty cry, struck my shield a fierce blow which caused me to stagger back. He was almost upon me with his blunt practice sword when I raised my hand majestically and said, "We must receive the quaestor Libanius."
"As usual, when I'm winning," said Arintheus, throwing his weapons to the nearest soldier to catch. Then, wearing only undershorts, he sauntered off.
"The young Alcibiades," said Libanius, appreciatively, watching the muscular figure as it disappeared into the barracks. I wrapped myself in a cloak, breathing hard. "Let's hope he doesn't take to treason like the original." I sat in my folding chair. There was a long pause. Aware then that Urbanius had something private to say to me, I motioned for the guards to fall back to the edge of the riding ring.
Ulbanius was unexpectedly nervous. To put him at his ease, I asked him a question about philosophy. Answering me, he recovered his poise. Even so, it was some time before he got the courage to say, "Augustus, I have a son. A boy of five. His mother…" He stopped, embarrassed."His mother is a slave?"
