by Marié Heese
The Roman army now overran the abandoned Vandal camp, a vast ring formed up with country wagons, protected by nothing better than a flimsy palisade. These wagons yielded a staggering booty, for they were loaded with treasures plundered over many years by the Vandals, which Gelimer’s slaves had hastily carted away from Carthage when they realised that Belisarius was about to win the battle. This booty will vastly improve the scope of the royal coffers when Belisarius brings it home.
“Gelimer only needed to maintain his fighting spirit,” said Theodora. “His army drastically outnumbered ours, didn’t it?”
“Oh, yes, by far. But we had Belisarius,” said Narses. “The man’s a military genius, no doubt about it.”
“Where is Gelimer now? Do we know?”
“He has not surrendered. He fled into a mountain eyrie in Numidia where, according to Procopius, he is being sheltered by the Moors.”
“He could hold out for a long time, then?”
Narses smiled austerely. “One is inclined to doubt that. My spies on the ground report that the Vandals have grown soft, and have become accustomed to luxurious living. In Carthage, they have grand villas with splendid gardens.”
“Doesn’t sound like Barbarians.”
“And,” said Narses, “they have grown accustomed to daily baths. It seems that the Moors who are protecting Gelimer are a wild, impoverished and unhygienic lot. They live, I’m told, in underground huts that are stifling in summer and dank in winter.”
“Must be a sore contrast to Carthage, then.”
“Indeed. Belisarius has detailed a Roman force under Pharas to besiege the mountain stronghold. Gelimer will find it intolerable. Soon the Imperial army will have totally vanquished the Vandals. Mark my words.”
The month of December in the year 533 provided balm for the injured spirit of the Emperor, pained as he had been by the violent rebellion against his authority. The war in Africa seemed to have been sanctioned by God. And then Tribonian delivered a precious parcel: a substantial set of codices, which he piled on Justinian’s table where he sat working night after night while most other people slept.
“Depotes, I have the honour to present the Digesta,” he announced. “Doubtless we shall have a grand public ceremony to inaugurate it together with the Codex Constitutionem. But I have brought it to you, personally, first.”
“The Digesta,” said Justinian. He caressed the embossed covers lovingly, as if they could feel his touch and might be seduced. Turning to Theodora, he said, “My dearest, you know how I have dreamed of this! Even before I took the purple, I dreamed of this!”
“I believe I have won our wager,” said Tribonian, his hawk-nosed patrician face weary but bright with pride. “All completed, within a decade.”
Justinian grinned. “You’ve won the bet. I’ve won the Codex and the Digesta.”
“And the Institutiones, which I delivered last month,” Tribonian added.
“I understand,” said Theodora, “that the Codex listed, clarified and edited all the laws. But the Digesta … ?”
“Despoina, it is about the application and interpretation of laws in specific situations,” explained Tribonian. “You see, this is what practising jurists do: they consider the law and the situation and then they provide opinions as to how the law should be applied. But of course, they can differ and often do.”
“Legal fellows being naturally disputatious,” remarked Theodora.
“So they are. There was a complete confusion of contradictory jurists’ opinions on record, and we have sorted and evaluated them.”
“Now we have a collection of the best to help us administer the laws consistently,” said Justinian. “And we have the Institutiones, which is a manual for students of law.”
“I am delighted, my love,” said Theodora. “It is a singular achievement. We are most grateful for your labours, Tribonian.”
“The Emperor’s mind encompassed all that was needful,” said Tribonian suavely, pocketing his bag of winnings. Doubtless, thought Theodora, there would be more than that: properties, most likely.
“And now all that remains is to overhaul the system of legal training,” said Justinian after Tribonian had bowed himself out.
“I might have known you wouldn’t be completely satisfied. There’ll always be something more you need to do,” said Theodora. Standing behind his chair, she put her arms around his shoulders, leaned down and planted a kiss on his wiry hair.
The siege of Gelimer’s mountain refuge by Pharas continued for three months, reported Procopius:
Then even the barley began to give out, and the Romans blocked fresh supplies of any kind from being brought in. Long denied any luxuries, the Vandals now lacked mere basic necessities and Pharas looked set to starve Gelimer out. At this stage, Pharas sent the Vandal king a letter, promising that if he surrendered, Belisarius would spare his life and Justinian would allow him and his family to live a life of comfort in Constantinople.
Gelimer replied that honour prevented him from yielding, for the war against his people was unjust. He prayed, he wrote, that God would punish Belisarius for the suffering he had brought upon the Vandals. He ended his letter thus: “As for me, I can write no more, so cast down am I by my misfortunes. Goodhearted Pharas, of your charity, send me a sponge and a single loaf of white bread.”
“Not much longer now,” Narses prophesied confidently when he heard this, and indeed, within a few weeks Gelimer had sent another letter, surrendering according to the terms previously proposed, providing Belisarius gave him an undertaking in writing. This Belisarius supplied, and so the Vandal king descended from the mountain and bowed at last to his Roman conqueror.
“I have received a denunciation of Belisarius,” Justinian told Theodora.
“What! Who would denounce the conqueror of the Vandals? The hero of Carthage? The paragon of Nature?”
“Cappadocian John.”
“Ah. Of course, he is jealous. What accusations has he thought up?”
“He claims to have dependable intelligence, from his secret agents in Africa.”
“Claiming what?”
“First, that Belisarius sits on the throne of Gelimer in Carthage, like a king, and seems determined to hold it for himself and his descendants in perpetuity; second, that after conquering the Vandals, he reviled his soldiers in a public denunciation; third, that he is making a secret treaty with the savage Moors; fourth, that he is treating his Vandal captives with suspicious leniency.”
“Serious accusations,” said Theodora. “This military triumph could become a political triumph also – for the conquering hero. He has tremendous support.”
“I know he does. We should test him. If he is deeply ambitious, he’ll probably be anxious to remain and rule in Africa, at least for now, to consolidate his power base.”
“And then, perhaps, turn on us. Yes, we should test him. See where his loyalty lies.”
Justinian sent a missive to Belisarius, commending him and his troops for the highly successful campaign. He did not order the general to come back to the capital, but told him he could either send the spoils and the Vandal prisoners to Constantinople under a suitable escort, while he remained in Africa, or he could bring them back himself. The choice was entirely up to him. Belisarius swiftly replied that he would definitely return. He would leave behind sufficient men to maintain order, with a levy of Roman Africans as garrison infantry headed by the eunuch Solomon, and set sail for home.
Within weeks the victorious General Belisarius and his wife sailed into harbour, accompanied by a fleet bearing Roman troops, rich booty, fifteen thousand prisoners, and the Vandal king. A tumultuous welcome awaited them at the docks, and a warm welcome at the palace. Justinian, having seen something of the stupendous treasure Belisarius had brought, placed an arm around his shoulder and declared: “You are our faithful benefactor! We are greatly pleased!”
Theodora took her friend off to a corner where they could sit comfortably. “You must tell me all
about it,” she said. “Was it a long march to Carthage? How do you travel?”
“On horseback. It was a long, frightfully hot and exhausting ride. I’ve often been grateful that my father was a charioteer and later a stable-hand. And Belisarius just won’t accept any privileges of rank. He does exactly what he expects his men to do.”
“So you do, too. No regrets?”
“None. It’s an extraordinary experience, to see him lead his men. He maintains very strict discipline,” said Antonina. “Hanged two drunken Huns on the hill above Abydos for murdering one of their comrades. He wouldn’t let his men rape and plunder on his march across country from the coast. So the locals were supportive, and anyhow the towns were without fortifications.”
“What was it like, entering Carthage?” Compared to Antonina’s adventures, Theodora had begun to feel that her own life lacked spice and colour. “Was there no resistance at all?”
“No, none. The gates were wide open. It was a beautiful sight … it’s a lovely city, you know.”
“So I’m told.”
“Dusk was coming on, and the people had lit lamps in all their houses. The city glowed. All along the streets, they were cheering us on and throwing flowers.”
“And … what did you do then?”
“We went straight to the palace. And the battle had been won so quickly that we were in time to eat the meal that had been prepared for Gelimer.” Antonina laughed her husky, lilting laugh. “It was most amusing, to see all his domestics trotting around eager to serve us, bowing and scraping.”
“It sounds exciting,” said Theodora, somewhat wistfully.
So delighted was Justinian with the success of the North African campaign that he decided to reward Belisarius with a formal triumph. “It will be fitting,” he declared to Theodora. “These have been great and noteworthy victories.”
“I don’t think anyone has been awarded a triumph since Titus and Trajan,” said Narses. “It will be a spectacle such as the people of this city have never seen.”
Theodora, who was always aware of the power of grand spectacles, thought that it would be a potent demonstration of the Emperor’s might and glory. She invited Antonina to join the royal party in the Kathisma. The triumphal procession did not include wives, unless they were prisoners, in which case they would walk behind the victorious chariots in chains. The participants would line up at the house of Belisarius, which was close to the Golden Gate in the Walls of Theodosius. They would wind their way through the city, along the Mesê, and finally enter the Hippodrome to salute the Emperor.
They would pass through the great squares: the Square of Arcadius, the Ox Market, the Square of Theodosius and the Square of Constantine, where the city militia were drawn up on parade and would then fall in. This last stopping point was particularly apt, thought Theodora, since it was the public space where, during the riots, the usurper Hypatius had been crowned with a borrowed chain as diadem. It had suffered arson and the violent destruction of buildings and statues. Now restored, it would be ceremoniously included in a communal act of obeisance to the true emperor.
It was a day of beneficent sunshine, a day of flowers and flags and jubilant festivity. Justinian and Theodora were resplendent in their purple robes, sparkling diadems and scarlet boots. Juliana and Zeno were there, but the small Anastasius had been left with his nurse. Theodora had wanted her grandson to be present, but his mother thought he would get tired and restless. Juliana in her cream silk tunic, her black curls bound in pearls, looked properly regal, thought Theodora. Sadly, not even the richest patrician robes could make her son-in-law resemble anything other than a caparisoned horse.
From her seat in the Kathisma, Theodora could see the gate through which the parade would enter. The ranks of spectators were predominantly blue on the one side and green on the other, but this would not be a day for chariot races, nor for competition. It was a celebration in which everyone could join and rejoice together. Green and blue flags fluttered in the light breeze.
“Who rides with Belisarius in his carriage?” Theodora asked. “His other generals?”
“Belisarius will not ride,” said Narses. “He told me he would walk, side by side with Gelimer. And he will not be preceded by trumpeters, as the ancient custom was. The procession will be led by priests and bishops.”
Theodora thought, crossly, that Belisarius would always find some way to be different and therefore memorable.
“He is a remarkably humble man,” said Antonina, “for one so exceptionally able.”
A wave of cheering could now be heard swelling in the distance.
“Ah! Here they come,” said Zeno, leaning forward expectantly.
Through the gates walked a group of priests led by the Patriarch of Constantinople; they were a mass of bright colours in their vestments, swinging censers and chanting a solemn Te Deum. The spectators settled down respectfully, but then the victorious general came into sight, walking shoulder to shoulder with the vanquished Vandal king. The huge circus erupted as the crowd roared their approval.
“Good heavens,” said Narses, “Gelimer is not only unchained, he’s wearing the purple!”
Indeed, he was wearing a robe of richly purple brocade. Belisarius looked splendid in his uniform, with a laurel wreath on his yellow hair.
Theodora went cold with foreboding. What was this? Could Belisarius and Gelimer be staging some kind of rebellion? Had they made a devilish deal? She glanced at Justinian, who watched the parade silently and intently, his expression hard to read.
Narses had unobtrusively drawn his sword.
Chapter 5: A better empress
Gelimer and Belisarius continued their measured march toward the Kathisma, accompanied by wave after wave of delirious applause.
“Gracious, he is goodlooking,” said Juliana, clearly not referring to the stocky, swarthy Vandal, whose legs were somewhat bowed. His purple looked to have been lent him, temporarily, by a better figure of a man.
Behind the two leaders rode cuirassiers, marines and mercenaries on horseback, each division preceded by a tall standard with its glittering golden eagle. They rode at a slow pace to keep their places with those who walked. These included members of the Senate in their striped togas and the urban militia in spotless white. All the elements of society were present, thought Theodora in growing dread. The army, the Senate, the people, the priests, even the Patriarch. Perhaps she and Justinian were facing a carefully staged coup.
Now more prisoners entered the stadium, although they hardly appeared particularly abject; they were walking tall.
“He’s brought only the tallest and the best-looking,” said Antonina. “Very handsome they are, too. And there are the other members of Gelimer’s family.”
But not in chains, noted Theodora. Nobody was in chains.
Round the circus the procession made its stately way. Now some heavily laden mule-drawn wagons rumbled into sight. They bore extraordinary treasures. Piles of armour, gold-inlaid. Gold-handled swords, scimitars and daggers. Cups and vases and dishes and spoons and bowls and salt-cellars glittering in the sun. A huge branched candelabrum with tongs and snuff-dishes. A gold seat flanked by winged cherubim. Golden statues with jewelled eyes. The sun struck sparkles on the multiple bright surfaces, brighter than the bronze heads of the snakes atop the serpentine column on the central spina around which the procession had to go.
Next followed an entire gold carriage, drawn by four high-stepping chestnuts; even their coats had a golden sheen. It was empty, with only the driver up on the box. The cheering spectators roared with joy. The triple bronze snakes’ heads appeared to be grinning.
“Incredible riches, quite incredible,” said Justinian, awed. “It is truly hard to believe one’s eyes.”
“All the hoarded treasures of the Vandals, gathered over a century of conquest,” said Narses in wonderment.
“Oh, yes, he scoured the vaults and cellars of all the palaces in the cities he took from the Vandals,” said Antonina.
“Some of it must be old Geiseric’s booty from the sack of Rome,” said Narses. “I believe I can see sacred items of the Jews that Titus looted in Jerusalem and bore home to Italy. It must all be here.”
A king’s ransom, thought Theodora in terror. More than a king’s ransom. Enough to buy and finance an entire empire. They could have planned to have the reigning emperor and empress killed. They could have bribed the guards. They could have brought the carriage to drive in triumph out of the Hippodrome to the palace. No doubt they would be cheered, especially if they distributed largesse. Oh, why had Juliana and Zeno come! Oh, dear God, let them not kill my grandson also, she thought. If we are deposed, he won’t be safe. She put up a hand to cover her trembling lips, feeling faint and nauseous.
Now Belisarius and Gelimer had reached the hard and dusty area below the Kathisma. They looked up at the royal couple. The brightly gaudy procession came to a halt. The Hippodrome went silent. In the hush, Belisarius stepped behind his prisoner, reached out and stripped off the purple robe. He flung it aside.
“Thrice August,” he declared, in a stentorian voice accustomed to addressing massed ranks of men without the services of a mandator to speak for him. “We present to thee and to the Empire of Byzantium the vanquished king of the Vandals, and the spoils of war. And we both declare our solemn oath of loyalty to thee.”
Gelimer stood motionless, denuded of his authority. He bowed his head in sorrow, and said in a less carrying but still audible voice: “Vanity of vanities, all is vanity.”
Then the two men made full prostrations, side by side.
