by Marié Heese
My dearest Theodora – Salutations to the Empress!
I write to you from Ravenna, a city that has lately known famine and arson and smells of ash and smoke. You should know that it is no small achievement to have captured it, for it commands an excellent geographical position to withstand a siege. Also, when we began the siege Witigis had huge stores of grain and oil and appeared determined to stay put for years if he had to, even though Belisarius had made it impossible to bring in additional supplies. A swift diplomatic victory rather than a drawn-out military campaign was therefore greatly to be desired.
Doubtless you have heard that the Goths offered Belisarius the throne of the Western portion of the empire and he apparently accepted it. You may rest assured that it was nothing but a ruse, and that never, not for one moment, did he have any intention of actually doing so. Do not believe anything else you may be told.
What happened was this: While we were still besieging Ravenna, their situation was drastically worsened because their public grain stores burned to the ground. Had the Goth garrison continued to hold the city against the Byzantines, starvation would have been their lot, and they knew it. (By the way, I can tell you that it definitely was Matasuintha who set fire to the grain stores. Hell hath no fury like a woman forced into a political marriage by an act of rape. She showed me the very tinderbox. The Goths are ascribing the conflagration to lightning. But take my word for it, it was the Queen.) Hostilities were suspended while the Goths entered negotiations with Belisarius.
At this critical juncture the Imperial envoys arrived from Constantinople bearing a treaty drawn up by Justinian offering such good terms that Witigis was only too relieved and delighted to accept. The Imperial envoys first entered Ravenna and acquired the signature of the Goth king. They then approached Belisarius, who had merely to append his signature also and the treaty would have been ratified.
But Belisarius was aghast. My husband could only conclude that the Emperor had not been properly informed about the hopeless military situation of the Goths. It would have been madness to implement the terms offered from Constantinople. Belisarius put the matter to his Council of War and received the support of his generals for his refusal to sign the treaty. He made sure that Witigis was informed of his flat refusal, and of his intention to maintain the siege if the Goths could not come up with a better offer.
Facing certain starvation, Witigis sent a secret message inviting Belisarius to become Emperor of the West. The Goths would rather be ruled from Ravenna, or for that matter from Rome, than from a distant Constantinople, he said.
Belisarius assured the Goth envoys that none of the citizens of Ravenna would be raped or enslaved, nor would the city suffer destruction. This he swore on a codex holding the Gospels. But he would wait to declare himself Emperor until he had taken possession of the city, he told them. This apparent acceptance was, I hasten to emphasise once again, a mere ruse.
It is of course not typical of Belisarius to agree to a set of proposals and then to renege on his word. Being a man of honour, as you well know, his word is normally his pride and one can stake one’s life on it. However, in this instance he did not consider himself honour bound, because it is a situation of war in which any stratagem may be employed to further one’s goals (especially if lives may be spared thereby).
So our army marched in close order along the causeway across the malodorous marshes in the cold sunlight of late spring and Ravenna opened its gates to us. Belisarius and I rode in on horseback. He kept his word as regards the treatment promised to the inhabitants of Ravenna; the soldiers were under strict orders to be disciplined and polite. When we reached the plain in front of the central Basilica of San Vitale where Witigis awaited us with his horde of Goths, the cheers were enthusiastic.
We both dismounted. The ranks of yellow-clad Goths ceremonially laid down their arms and knelt. So did Witigis. Trumpets sounded the Imperial salute as Belisarius accepted the submission of the Goth king. A guard of honour stood to attention, ready to escort Belisarius into the church where, apparently, their chief priest waited to swear in the new Emperor of the West. But Belisarius made a brief speech in which he said that there can be but one Emperor of Byzantium and that Emperor is Justinian the Great, to whom he owed allegiance, on behalf of whom he waged war, and to whom he dedicated this victory.
The faces of the Goths and Witigis in particular were akin to stage masks depicting incredulity. They looked as if they had witnessed Belisarius remounting his steed and taking to the sky like Pegasus on miraculous wings, bearing thunderbolts for Zeus, one of which he had just hurled at Witigis. I was inexpressibly proud of him. Behind me Theodosius muttered: “Justinian will never, never forgive this.”
But there is nothing to forgive. Belisarius declined a throne! He did not declare himself Emperor. That was not even for one single moment his intention. You must understand, and make absolutely clear to Justinian, that to Belisarius his loyalty to his Emperor will always take precedence over any other consideration. He will bring the deposed King of the Ostrogoths to Constantinople, as he did the Vandal King, with rich treasures as before. He lives to serve Justinian. I implore you: do not doubt that truth.
Ever your loving friend
Antonina
“Well, Narses, what do you say?” Theodora looked up from her perusal of the latest letter from Antonina. “Belisarius has outfoxed the Goths! But he remains true to Justinian!”
“They would not have expected what they got,” said Narses. “The great Belisarius in flagrant violation of his given word! Not so noble, after all!”
“But it was war. Surely one may –”
“One’s honour should not be pliable, depending on circumstances,” said Narses. “One’s word should be one’s word.”
“But, as a result, we have triumphed in Italy! We have Rome, and we have Ravenna!”
“Also, Despoina, Belisarius is guilty of gross disobedience. He ignored his emperor’s express instructions. According to the law, that is a capital offence.”
“But he had information that we did not, about the situation.”
“It is not the duty of a military commander to decide the terms of peace,” said Narses. “That is the exclusive prerogative of the head of state: the Emperor.”
“Clearly, he was convinced that, had he been able to explain –”
“Despoina, I have said it before and I say it again: Belisarius is an outstanding tactician, but he is not a good strategist. He does not see the entire chessboard of the war. Mark my words, this will not be the end of it.”
Justinian, when Theodora made out a case in support of Belisarius, was grim. “Narses is right,” he said. “I’m extremely angry with Belisarius. It is unheard of, for a commander to ignore his Emperor’s will and simply act as he sees fit.”
“But if he could conclude better terms?”
“His terms probably won’t be better in the long run,” said Narses. “If we had concluded peace with the Goths on the terms the Emperor offered them, we could have had a clear demarcation: the river Po, with Witigis reigning to the north and our Despotes to the south.”
“Exactly,” agreed Justinian. “Then we might have enjoyed a period of tranquillity in Italy.”
“Belisarius is bringing the deposed King of the Goths to submit to you,” said Theodora.
“My dear Theodora, they have proclaimed a new King of the Ostrogoths: Ildibad, far more able and valorous than Witigis ever was! And he is bound by no covenant with us! No, I am seriously angry with Belisarius, no matter what his wife thinks I ought to feel.”
“But my love, he could have had a throne. He has been completely loyal!”
“It is the height, the very height, of arrogance, to decline a throne,” fumed Justinian. “It is a way of … of … setting oneself up in a position of unassailable superiority. A way of saying: See, I could have been your equal, but so noble am I that I am above such base desires as wielding power.”
“I did not see the
matter in this light,” said Theodora. She was not accustomed to being faced with Justinian and Narses united against her. She knew that Justinian had received a rude shock. But she felt that the explanations offered should have been accepted with understanding.
“Narses agrees with me,” said Justinian. “Well, we have recalled him. But he’ll not be granted a triumph this time around. Nor will he march into the city with the booty piled high for all to see. No. I will not reward dishonour and disobedience. I am not pleased!”
“People will say you are jealous,” said Theodora.
“Let them say what they wish! I am Despotes, I govern this Empire, and my word is law! Is that clear?”
“Yes, Justinian,” said Theodora.
Chapter 11: The trap
With the warmth of summer came the fleet from Italy. But the welcome accorded the victorious general was wintry in its chill formality.
“A temporary dais has been constructed on the docks at the City Port,” said Narses, “with two throne chairs, so that you and the Emperor can receive the general and his wife tomorrow as soon as they disembark, and also take formal charge of the prisoners.”
A clever move, thought Theodora. That would seem gracious, but it would effectively prevent Belisarius from walking through the city streets to the palace at the head of his several thousand strong comitatus, escorting an impressive train of prisoners.
“And the treasures of Ravenna?” she enquired. “Innumerable wagon-loads, I have no doubt?”
“The ships with the booty have been directed to dock and unload at the Imperial port,” said Narses. “The treasures are being carted into the palace as we speak.”
“Ah. No vulgar display. And no largesse, either.”
“No,” agreed Narses. “The Emperor has been wise to keep the loot out of the public eye. One has seen some of it, and it is spectacular. Gold and silver plate, stacks of gold and silver bars, caskets filled with coins, candelabra, urns, ornamental weaponry … not to mention some other items that would stir up the populace.”
“More so than stacks of gold?”
Narses nodded. “The captured standards of ancient Rome.”
“Oh, my,” said Theodora. She pictured those potent symbols of old Roman hegemony being paraded through the streets of the New Rome: the ensigns with gold embroidery on faded purple and scarlet cloth, the long poles topped with metal sculptures of long-dead royal heads, the still gleaming golden eagles of the legendary legions with their wings outstretched. Brought to Constantinople by Belisarius.
“And the very diadem seized from the Emperor Valens by the Barbarians at Adrianople,” said Narses. “One would not wish to see the general handing a diadem over to the Emperor at this juncture.”
“Indeed not,” said Theodora. Oh, yes, clever Justinian, she thought. Taking immediate possession of all those splendid images of power, and placing them firmly within his own ambit. His own space. His dominion.
“Your Majesties will acknowledge prostrations from the dais. I am to stand beside you. Since … since … ,” said Narses, for once sounding slightly hesitant, “the Despotes has … has honoured me. I shall wear my new insignia tomorrow. Perhaps you knew?”
“No,” said Theodora. “What do you mean?”
“I am to be Grand Chamberlain,” said Narses. “Since the previous incumbent is very ill, and has had to retire.”
“Narses! Praepositus Sacri Cubiculi!”
“Yes, Despoina.”
“One of only four illustres! Member of the Most Honourable Privy Council!”
“Yes, Despoina.”
He is actually blushing, she thought. “I had not known, but I am delighted,” she said. “You deserve it.”
“Thank you, Despoina.”
She thought: and it will send a message to Belisarius, that we honour this man whom we recalled from the Italian front. But she did not say that.
So the small eunuch stood high on the dais beside his sovereigns when Belisarius descended the gangplank to the docks plainly dressed as an ordinary soldier, followed by his wife, resplendent in turquoise silk brocade, his immaculate blond godson Theodosius, the profusely perspiring Procopius, a retinue of servants, and the elderly Ostrogothic king in chains. A sustained ecstatic roar from the massed spectators lining the docks and all the city streets swept across the quay and the crowded harbour like a tidal wave. Robed in purple, the Emperor and Empress formally acknowledged the prostrations, side by side, of the returning conqueror and the vanquished king.
Antonina, as she always did when in Constantinople, waited on the Empress, who received her on the terrace of the Hormisdas Palace. She found Theodora looking out to sea, dressed in white silk, small, poised and cool.
“Well, Majesty,” she said, “should I make a complete prostration? Grovel, crawl forward and kiss your shoes?”
“Antonina. Don’t be like that.”
“We have been reminded, in no uncertain terms, that we are lowly subjects,” said Antonina, folding her arms. She had a hard, weatherbeaten look, and grey streaks in her tightly bound red hair. Instead of rounded curves, her figure was now defined by bones. “Despite the fact that my husband delivered, once again, noteworthy victories, a great Roman city, spectacular booty, and a Barbarian king in chains.”
“I know, I know. You did not receive the welcome you deserved. But Antonina, the first reports we had were that Belisarius had agreed to be King of the Goths. Justinian was absolutely horrified, and you can’t blame him.”
“He should have known, you should have known, it could only be a ruse.” Still she maintained her angry, accusing stance. “Belisarius has only ever served the crown. To the utmost of his considerable ability.”
“It was a shock. It was our worst nightmare coming true.”
“It is a grievous insult, that you could have believed it for one moment. We spent years – years, Theodora – suffering extremes of weather, hardships you can’t even imagine, going hungry – starving, in fact, starving, I tell you! To achieve the Emperor’s aims. And you sit here, in peaceful luxury, and you suspect us, you implicitly accuse us, you treat us like … like …”
“It has not been peaceful,” said Theodora. “I was nearly killed by Huns. They got into Comito’s garden. Horrible little dark men. And I’d refused guards, but Narses sent some anyway, otherwise I wouldn’t be here now.”
“Comito’s garden!” Antonina was startled out of her litany of grievances.
“Yes. And I … I thought I was pregnant, I was absolutely convinced, and then I fell, and …” Her throat closed in misery. She hadn’t meant to speak of her sore disappointment, but somehow the story told itself.
Antonina’s arms had dropped to her sides and she took a few steps forward. “Did you have a miscarriage?”
“No. I never was pregnant. It was a … Aetios said it was a … phantom pregnancy. It … I was so sure. I told Justinian. He was delighted. And then it just …” Tears were rolling down her cheeks. “It just went away. There was nothing.”
Antonina had reached her side, and took her into her arms. Theodora wept hard and noisily, like a small and desolate child.
“There, there. It’s over now. It’s over.”
Theodora gripped Antonina’s bony arms painfully. They rocked together with the rhythm of weeping. At length the paroxysms subsided.
“I’m sorry,” said Theodora, mopping her wet face. “I didn’t mean … to do that.”
“Let’s both of us sit down,” said Antonina, “and have a slave bring us some wine.”
Orders were given. They collapsed into cushioned seats under a brilliantly coloured awning. The air was thick with heat.
“I’ve been so miserable,” said Theodora, struggling to achieve even breathing. “I’ve felt so … worthless, so …” She could not find the right words. She had regained, to some extent, her confidence and her sense of mission in governance. But she could explain neither the absence nor the resumption of those feelings to anyone. “But I’m
better now,” she said, inadequately.
Returning to her own grievance, Antonina said: “Theodora, I tell you truly, once and for all, Belisarius will never, never betray Justinian. If you go to war with a man, you see him with complete clarity. This man is honourable, every bone and sinew of him.”
Theodora nodded. “That is good to know.”
“If he had wanted to wrest power from Justinian – and you, my friend – he could have done so long ago. You should believe it. He only wants to serve.” There was a sheen of tears in her eyes, now.
“I’m sure Justinian knows that. He values Belisarius,” said Theodora, “he really does.”
A soft-footed slave brought two goblets of wine, offering them on an ornate salver.
“Try some,” said Theodora. “It’s infused with rose petals.” She changed tack. “Why don’t you come with me to my summer palace?” she suggested. “Bring Joannina, surely she’ll come from Bithynia soon, and I’ll take Anastasius. Comito can bring Sophia. It will be peaceful. And luxurious.”
Antonina said: “Yes, I’ll come.”
They sat sipping side by side, both staring out at the horizon where the sea and sky merged in misty blue. Then Antonina said: “Well. Here we are. On the right side of the wall.” She turned her head to look up at the vast bulk of the Hippodrome that loomed over the palace tucked into the hill behind it. “Has it occurred to you, Theodora, that you had to travel via Africa to get from that side to this?”
Theodora looked surprised. “I never thought of it that way. True, though, I suppose.”
“Journeys,” said Antonina. “We’ve both made extraordinary journeys. And done some … one might say, interesting things.” She set her goblet down. “Dear God in heaven, Theodora! A phantom pregnancy!”
“It’s not over, though,” said Theodora. “It can never be over. Because it never was. And it never will be. I know that now. It’s like a hollow place, you see. Inside here. It’ll always be there.”
“I’m sorry,” said Antonina. “So sorry. Well, let’s go to Hieron. It’ll be cooler there. Can I bring Theodosius? With Photius in town, I’m always afraid they’ll meet in some tavern and come to blows.”
