by Marié Heese
And it was the result, I very much fear, of a divided command. There should be only one commander in chief, with a definite line of authority. I had thought, when I was dispatched from Constantinople, that Justinian intended that commander to be myself. But then there was the letter sent to Belisarius, ambiguous though it was. Now the Emperor must decide, and make his wishes absolutely clear.
15 April, AD 539
Spring finds me back home in Constantinople. Belisarius wrote to the Emperor, explaining the circumstances that led up to the massacre of Milan. I must grant that he did so with a remarkable degree of objectivity. Mainly, he stressed the negative results of divided authority, and asked the Emperor to state clearly and unambiguously exactly who was to be Commander in Chief in the Italian campaign.
The Despotes promptly recalled me, and wrote to Belisarius confirming that he was the undisputed Supreme Commander and everyone, including Bloody John, was to obey his orders implicitly.
To me the Emperor said: “Narses, this was extremely unfortunate, but I cannot place the blame on your shoulders, nor the general’s. There seems to have been a total breakdown in communication.”
“True enough, Despotes.”
“I see now that divided authority leads to disaster. Let Belisarius take the decisions, let him lead the army, that is what he does. But I can’t bring him to Constantinople to be my Grand Chamberlain.”
“No, Despotes. He does not have those skills.”
“Whereas you, I have noted, do have military skills. I’ll not forget that. But for now, I need you here.”
“One tries to serve,” I said, “as best one can.” I suppressed a sigh.
I feel like a person who has had a grand adventure but now has to return to a constraining everyday routine. I know I am an unlikely person to be a soldier, let alone a commander of thousands, but I did fare well in a number of battles, and I did win the respect of those who served under me. The officers and the men had, I think, come to regard me simply as their general, perhaps shorter than usual in the forces, but with strategic and tactical insight, courage to equal theirs in battle, and tough enough to endure all the physical hardships that fell to our lot. For a brief while, there, I was a man among men.
On the other hand, I am back with the Empress and I can be of service to her again. There was never a day when I did not think of her. And she needs me.
Chapter 10: I am not pleased!
The month of May brought sun-warm days to Constantinople and swathed the city in a purple haze as the judas trees burst into blossom.
“Narses,” said Theodora, “Please order an ordinary carriage for me. I want to go and see my sister without the usual entourage. It’s such a glorious day.”
The eunuch frowned. “Despoina, you know I am always nervous when you make these incognito sorties. Right now there is good reason to beware.”
“What do you mean?”
“The Huns have celebrated spring by overrunning the Danube and invading Illyria,” he told her. “Our defences there are stretched extremely thin due to the extra men the Despotes sent to bolster Belisarius’s army.”
She laughed. “The Danube is far from Comito’s villa. Many a Roman mile away.”
“They have reached Thrace,” he said, stubbornly trying to cross her will.
“Thrace,” she said, still laughing. “Really, Narses, don’t be an old … don’t fuss. Send two guards, if you must, but have them dress in something neutral, not royal livery.”
“Very well, Despoina.” Disapproval soured his face like the taste of lemons as he backed out.
Theodora found her sister in the garden behind her villa on the northern shore of the Golden Horn, seated in a pavilion surrounded by trees in extravagant purple bloom. Comito had grown matronly and stern in widowhood, but her smile softened a face set in sad lines. Her hair had grown again, her sister noted, and was drawn back in a simple style.
“Where are your guards?” Comito asked.
“In the kitchen, charming your numerous female domestics,” said Theodora. “It’s such a relief not to be surrounded by crowds of people. Where’s Sophia?”
“Down at the shore, catching crabs in a bucket. Poor mite, she’s often lonely. Slaves are not a replacement for sisters.”
“Even if they fight,” said Theodora.
They sat side by side, not speaking much, looking out across the lush garden stretching almost to the edge of the water. A light breeze blew some blossoms onto the floor at their feet. Servants brought nut-filled pastries sticky with honey and warm drinks infused with rosemary and bowls of rose-scented water to wash their hands. The afternoon took on the suspended quality of time in a dream.
Then the somnolent silence was pierced by a high, strange, keening sound. For a moment it sounded like a musical instrument, some kind of flute, perhaps? But no, it had turned harsh and shrill. Screaming, thought Theodora in fright. Somebody was screaming, down by the water.
Comito stood up. “Sophia,” she said. “Oh, God, Sophia!”
Theodora looked around at the sprawling villa behind them. Where were her guards, she thought, did they not hear it, where were they when she needed them?
Suddenly a number of dark figures materialised on the path leading up from the bank. A group of small, bow-legged, black-haired men converged on the pavilion, armed with short swords. The screaming voice in the distance choked and stopped.
“Oh, Jesus, Sophia, oh, Jesus,” breathed Comito.
Theodora’s mind was struggling to make sense of what was happening. Huns, she thought in disbelief. These little dark men were Huns. But they were supposed to be in Thrace. Not in Constantinople. Not in a garden. Not here. She looked around her desperately. There was not a guard, not a eunuch, not a servant in sight. The pavilion had no doors to close, nothing to hide behind. Nothing to use as a weapon. No oil lamps to break and turn into a shield of fire. They were defenceless.
The fellow in front was advancing fast. His eyes were slanted in a yellowish face. His walk was purposeful. On he came, hefting his sword, and as he walked, he smiled.
Suddenly there came a faintly whistling sound, almost like a whiplash. An arrow had flown across the garden to strike deep in the barrel-chest of the foremost invader. His smile turned to surprise, and then fury; he dropped his sword, clutched at the shaft, blood seeping through his fingers, staggered a few more steps and fell. More arrows whooshed overhead. Then there was a rush of soldiers from the house, their feet thumping past the pavilion down to the river bank. The air was filled with voices bellowing in anger and howls of pain.
Comito started to run down the steps of the pavilion, but Theodora grabbed her and held her back. “No,” she said. “You’ll get killed.”
“Sophia!” Comito was struggling to breathe in terror.
“They’ll bring her. Wait, stand still.”
The sisters stood holding each other as the cacophony of the brief battle first swelled and spread along the shore and then died down. They waited.
An excubitor walked up the path to the pavilion carrying the small figure of Sophia, who clung around his neck and had locked her feet behind his back. Comito ran to meet them and he set the child down. She stood on spindly ten-year-old legs glaring angrily at her mother with her straight dark brows drawn together. “They hurt my slave,” she said. “It is not right.”
“Oh, darling!” Comito knelt to embrace her daughter.
The child held her body hard and unyielding. “It is not right,” she repeated, pushing away her mother’s yearning arms. “It should not be allowed.” She pulled herself loose and stalked off to the house, her small back an indignant accusation.
“The child hid under an upturned boat,” said the soldier. “I don’t think she saw everything, Kyria, Despoina.”
Back at the palace, Narses was equally disapproving. “I warned you, Despoina. Fortunately I sent a squad of excubitors, just in case.”
Theodora, under the circumstances, accepted his scolding.
“How did they manage to get into the city?”
“Not by sea,” said Narses. “A number of their infantry slipped into the city four at a time. But the urban militia is on full alert, they’ve rounded up the infiltrators, and the Master of Soldiers in Thrace is throwing his troops against the Hunnish invasion.”
“Thank you,” said Theodora.
“I told you so,” he said. “Despoina, these are but the fringe elements of a horde of Huns bent on conquest and destruction. I had not realised they had come so far, so fast. Otherwise …”
A hurricane of Huns, together with a host of Bulgars, proceeded to spread devastation from coast to coast, conquering many castles and walled towns and taking many thousands of prisoners. Tales of frightful atrocities reached the capital. Thoroughly alarmed, Justinian riposted by offering a strategic settlement and annual subsidies to ancient rivals of the Bulgars, the Antae, who joined the Thracians and soldiers of Illyria in resisting and taming the Barbarian onslaught.
“And we’ll have to refortify and extend our system of fortresses,” said Justinian, distraught. “We need hundreds more. Can’t spare enough military forces to protect the provinces. And we must repair and strengthen the Long Wall of Anastasius. Bricks and stone must be our bulwarks. I have given instructions.”
“We must garrison Constantinople,” said Narses. “It is unthinkable that Barbarians should have penetrated to the suburbs of the capital. We must have a strong force visibly protecting the Walls of Theodosius.”
Antonina’s son Photius so distinguished himself in the battles against the invaders that Justinian recalled him from the Danube and appointed him commander of the urban garrison.
“He struts around the streets as if he is the heir apparent to the throne of Byzantium,” said Narses. “And they have declared him persona non grata at the Egyptian brothel. Apparently he has injured several of their hetaerae and recently throttled one who displeased him. She barely survived.”
“It does not surprise me,” said Theodora. “I will not receive him.”
Meanwhile Justinian awaited news from the western front. But when at last something other than “the situation continues as before” was reported, it was not what the Emperor wanted to hear. The King of Kings in Persia, the wily Khosrau, was bent on breaking the Eternal Peace.
Justinian called Narses and Cappadocian John to attend a secret conference at the palace to discuss the allegations that had been brought by two men disguised as priests. “We have received some very disturbing intelligence from our spies at the Persian court,” he said. “It appears that Khosrau intends to attack us once again, but he has been holding back for fear of bringing the forces of Belisarius down upon his head.”
“The Eternal Peace was never going to last very long,” said Cappadocian John. “I think Khosrau is bored with it.”
Justinian ignored him. “Now, our spies inform us, Belisarius can no longer be depended on to keep the Persian wolf from the door.”
“Belisarius is absolutely dependable,” said Theodora. “Always has been.”
“Our spies report that he intends to remain in Italy,” said Narses, “but in the new year he will break his oath of allegiance to Justinian, ally himself with the Goths and the Franks, and proclaim himself Emperor of Byzantium in the West.”
“I cannot credit that,” said Theodora.
“I can,” said Cappadocian John. “I think he has been planning this for some time. Meanwhile amassing an enormous fortune, which that wife of his and their godson have been investing in a number of countries, not only here at home.”
“His men worship him,” said Narses. “Where he leads, they will follow. If he turns traitor, we may lose the greater part of the Byzantine army.”
“We must keep a close scrutiny,” said Justinian. “I assume we have informers ready and able to bring fast intelligence …”
“We do, Despotes,” said Narses.
“It may be necessary to dispatch troops. May we depend on you if need be to depart at short notice, Narses?”
“Always, Thrice August.”
“Very well, then. We shall wait and see. But be prepared.”
Belisarius, once more in complete command over an expanded army, continued on his relentless sweep across the lands of the ancient Roman Empire. In November 539, Antonina wrote:
My dearest Theodora – Salutations to the Empress!
From being ourselves besieged in Rome, we went to being the besiegers, encircling both Auximum and Faesulae. Belisarius considered it essential to capture these two Goth strongholds before advancing on Ravenna. It has been much easier since that funny little fellow you’re so fond of departed for Constantinople again. Truly, my friend, with all due respect, sending a small eunuch who thinks he is superior to the great Belisarius to wage war in Italy was not one of your husband’s most brilliant ideas.
We knew that the Gothic garrisons in Faesulae and Auximum were starving, but they held on grimly, probably waiting for support from Witigis, which did not arrive. At last the defenders of Faesulae capitulated. They were brought to Auximum and paraded up and down in front of the walls. Finally convinced of the perfidy of their king in Ravenna, Auximum also surrendered, and agreed to terms.
Belisarius is now determined that Ravenna, too, shall fall. He will proceed to besiege Witigis. I do not hold out a great deal of hope for the Goths.
This is a strange life, Theodora. I am surrounded by hardship, cruelty and death. Despite the fact that we are by now extremely rich, my immediate surroundings are as basic and meagre as they can be. Yet we have food enough, and we have each other, Belisarius and I, and I have the constant company of my dear son. The sharp awareness of mortality enhances the quality of life. Every dawn is a resurrection and a blessing. I am content.
Ever your loving friend
Antonina
Now that Rome was no longer in a state of siege, Theodora wrote to Vigilius, demanding that, as Pope of Rome, he should fulfil his promises to her concerning the Monophysites.
“When I undertook to get him consecrated, he promised me that he would officially renounce the doctrines of Chalcedon, but he’s making no such moves,” she complained to Narses. “You remember that?”
“I do,” said Narses. “Why else did we remove Silverius?”
“Also, he promised to write to all the leading Monophysite leaders and tell them that he agrees with their doctrines. This would go a long way toward restoring peace to the church. But he has not acted at all.”
“Patience, Despoina,” advised Narses. “The city of Rome is only now recovering from a long time of sore trial. Give him time.”
Theodora’s plans for religious change were not moving forward. However, the fall of Auximum and Faesulae made it seem as if Justinian would inevitably succeed in his aim to reconquer all the lands that had made up the ancient Roman kingdom, and more besides. The New Rome, even his enemies were saying, would reign supreme.
Procopius wrote: Despotes, I have heard it said: The whole earth cannot contain you; you are already scrutinising the aether and the remote places beyond the ocean, to see if you may win some new world.
Belisarius is losing no time in advancing on Ravenna. One may confidently expect that he will have the city choked off within days.
It was indeed not long before a noose had been laid all around Ravenna.
In the following months, Procopius had no fighting to report. Not one ship succeeded in running the blockade of the river, nor did any reach the city from the harbour to the seaward side. No supplies at all did the besieged Goth garrison manage to bring in. Winter arrived, and with it cold and sleet. Those inside the walls and those outside the walls endured both with stoic fortitude. The will of Belisarius opposed the will of Witigis. Stalemate.
The time had come, concluded Justinian, to enter into negotiations with the Gothic king. He dispatched envoys from Constantinople with a reasonable offer, a treaty that would allow Witigis to keep half of his treasure, and retain all of
his dominions in Italy north of the river Po, ceding those to the south of the great river to Byzantium.
Justinian explained his thinking to his wife: “I’ll need all the forces I can muster to throw into the war with Persia if Khosrau strikes again, but we have too many enemies left unconquered in Italy. We must achieve a satisfactory conclusion on the Italian front. Witigis would be a fool not to accept my terms.”
Then an Imperial spy, who had managed to board a swift dromon leaving the Italian coast, brought extraordinary news: The Goths had offered Belisarius a throne, as King in the Western Roman Empire! He would reign over the Roman citizens, and the Goths also agreed to bow to him! He had accepted, and entered Ravenna to be crowned!
Theodora held the great Despotes in her arms while he wept like a child, faced with the terrifying treachery that he had constantly feared. It was an act of utter perfidy, that sliced his vast dominium into a far smaller entity, bereft of the great cities. A man whom he had promoted despite objections, who had pledged his devotion to his emperor, who had appeared to share the vision of a regenerated Roman Empire, had stolen from him the heartland of the ancient Imperium.
“He has taken Rome from me,” lamented Justininan. “He has taken Rome the city, and he has destroyed the concept of Rome the Imperium.”
Theodora could find no words of comfort. She understood Justinian’s grief. His dream of resurrecting the Rome destroyed by the Barbarians was completely shattered. He had been betrayed.
But then a courier brought better news in an official dispatch: No, Belisarius had not been crowned, it had merely been a stratagem to get his forces into the city and capture Witigis. This he had achieved. Ravenna had fallen to the Byzantine army without any further fighting being required. Belisarius had once again pledged his allegiance to the Emperor in Constantinople.
With the official reports came an anxious letter from Antonina, dated May 540:
