Justinian

by Ross Laidlaw

  There were master-builders aplenty in the capital, capable of producing a fine successor to the ruined church — men whose workmanship, based on precedent and rule of thumb, was invariably dependable and of the highest quality. Certainly, such men could build a bigger, more impressive version of the Church of the Holy Wisdom. But like almost every church of any size, it would be based on the basilica — a municipal building for the conduct of public business, of rectangular construction, with pillared aisles and a pitched roof: solid, rational, Roman. This, however, was not what the emperor wanted. Something suggestive of the meeting-point of this world and the transcendent world of the divine absolute was what was called for. In a word, something more spiritual. Justinian had heard of a man, perhaps the only one in his whole Empire, who might answer such a call: one Anthemius of Tralles, a trained engineer and mathematician from a brilliant family of lawyers, physicians, and grammarians. Only a man of quite exceptional talent would be capable of conceiving the bold, ideal vision that Justinian hoped could be realized in stone. Perhaps Anthemius was that man; he would send for him this very day.

  ‘Magnificent,’ breathed Justinian in awed delight, as two servitors placed before him on a table in his tablinum, a model of the church-to-be. Turning to its maker, he went on, ‘That dome — when built, it will be enormous. What are its dimensions?’

  ‘One hundred feet across, Serenity,’ replied Anthemius. Small, fat, and bald — the engineer could not have appeared more different from the lean ascetic that Justinian had pictured before their meeting. In fact, Anthemius reminded him of an ivory figurine he had once seen in a shop in the Mese, representing, as a plump and smiling sage, one Siddhartha,* an Oriental holy man who had lived a thousand years before.

  ‘A hundred feet! Its mass must be incalculable! Surely the pressure must crush its supporting walls, however thick.’

  ‘Not so, Serenity. See.’ And with a flourish, the little engineer lifted up the model’s dome to reveal the interior — exquisitely painted to represent marbles of every hue. ‘Those four mighty piers are joined, at a height of seventy feet, by those four great arches on whose apices the dome will rest.’

  ‘Even so. .’ The emperor’s voice trailed off in doubt.

  ‘Rest assured, Serenity. The piers and arches won’t collapse. The dome, you see, will be constructed from the lightest material imaginable.’

  ‘Wood!’ exclaimed Justinian in horror. ‘A lightning strike — then up it goes in flames!’

  ‘Not wood, Serenity,’ Anthemius chuckled, shaking his head in mild reproof. ‘Pumice. So light it floats on water. Yet tough and durable. It will enable the dome’s construction to be thin, but strong; all to be covered with a marble skin, of course. Imagine half an eggshell resting on four child’s building blocks.’

  ‘Pure genius!’ Justinian smiled, raising his hands in admiration. ‘I chose well, Anthemius, when I chose yourself to oversee my project.’

  ‘The scale’s too small, Serenity, to let you appreciate the building’s chief quality. From the outside, it’ll appear impressively big, certainly; and those flanking semi-domes should impart a certain elegance. Otherwise, it won’t look all that remarkable. Inside, however, it’s a different matter. Standing in the centre of the nave, the spectator will be aware of vistas of space receding into space, while above, the great dome will appear to float in air.’ He paused, and his tone, which up to this point had been briskly matter-of-fact, became hushed and solemn as he continued, ‘As if suspended by a golden chain from Heaven.’

  On almost any day thereafter, the citizens of Constantinople, if passing through the Augusteum could be greeted by the extraordinary sight of their emperor, clad in a workman’s linen tunic, clambering about the organized chaos of the great new church’s building site, inspecting, exhorting, questioning, his presence both a nuisance and a source of inspiration. Justinian had never been happier.

  In that same year, Khusro — the new Great King of Persia (old Kavadh, for so long a thorn in East Rome’s flesh, having died the year before) signed a Treaty of Eternal Peace with the Roman Empire. Nothing could have been more opportune for Justinian; now his hands were freed to press ahead with his plans to recover the West’s lost provinces for Rome — plans which he had recently been forced to modify.

  For a time, it had seemed that Africa could be reunited with the Empire without a blow being struck. The Vandal king, Hilderic — grandson of Gaiseric the conqueror of Roman Africa — had, probably on account of his Roman ancestry of which he was inordinately proud, adopted a remarkably pro-Roman stance, favouring an alliance with the Empire, combined with a hostile stance towards the Ostrogoth regime in Italy. He had even abandoned his Arian faith to become a Catholic. (His mother Eudocia, daughter of the West Roman emperor Valentinian III, was part of the booty which Gaiseric had brought back to Carthage after sacking Rome; subsequently, she had married Gaiseric’s son, Hilderic being their offspring.)

  All that had changed recently, however. Disgusted with Hilderic and his cosying-up to Rome, the Vandal nobility — anti-Roman to a man — had rebelled, overthrowing Hilderic and replacing him with his cousin, Gelimer, a man after their own heart. Justinian had intervened diplomatically on behalf of his now-imprisoned friend, only to receive a sharp rebuff from Gelimer. No question now of a friendly Africa becoming a launch-pad for an invasion of Italy. On the pretext of restoring Hilderic, the Vandal kingdom must be conquered first. And who better to carry out this task, thought Justinian, than Belisarius — the brilliant young general whose initiative and loyalty had been crucial in ending the Nika affair. Now that peace had broken out with Persia, the emperor lost no time in recalling Belisarius from the eastern frontier.

  ‘This time, my friend, we shall succeed,’ declared Justinian warmly, clapping Belisarius on the shoulder. The two were standing on the Palace walls, looking down on the fleet (which had just been blessed by old Epiphanius, the Patriarch) anchored in the Harbour of Hormisdas on the Sea of Marmara. The mighty armada consisted of five hundred ships, four-fifths of them transports, the rest dromons — sleek war-galleys armed with deadly rams; aboard were sixteen thousand soldiers, plus thirty thousand sailors and marines. Neither man needed any reminder that the last attempt to liberate Roman Africa from the Vandals — sixty-five years previously — had ended in disaster, bankrupting both empires, and precipitating the fall of the Western one, a mere eight years later.

  ‘On the last occasion, Serenity,’ commented Belisarius, ‘Basiliscus dithered; some say he was bribed by Gaiseric to do so — anyway, long enough for the wind to change and pin his fleet against a rocky promontory. Then, when the the Vandals sent in fireships. .’ Belisarius shrugged expressively, then went on with a grin, ‘Don’t worry, Serenity, I’m not about to make the same mistake. A beach-head landing on an occupied coast is a notoriously difficult operation to pull off successfully. But thanks to your brilliant undercover work in Sardinia,* Serenity, I’ve a good chance of disembarking the army unopposed.’

  Setting sail almost exactly eighteen months after the ending of the Nika Riots, and assisted by fair winds, the fleet progressed in stately fashion over the Aegean, around the Peloponnese, then across an unaccustomedly calm Ionian Sea, to make landfall south of Tauromenium** in Sicily, to take on water. It also took on fresh food, for many of the men had fallen sick from eating mouldy biscuit, issued (for profiteering reasons) by a reinstated John of Cappadocia.

  While supplies were being loaded onto the ships lying off the beach, an important intelligence mission was entrusted to none other than Procopius. Unsuspected by Justinian of any treachery, and standing high in the emperor’s favour, the ambitious young lawyer and aspiring writer had managed to secure for himself the post of military historian for the expedition. Meeting up with a merchant friend in Syracuse, a man with a web of contacts throughout the Mediterranean, Procopius learned from him that the Vandals had not the slightest inkling of Belisarius’ expedition; in consequence, their fleet was still tied
up in Sardinian waters. (Before leaving Syracuse to rejoin Belisarius, Procopius arranged with his friend — for a sum — that a message be despatched to Carthage. .)

  On receiving Procopius’ report, Belisarius — overjoyed by his good fortune, and impressed by the efficiency of the expedition’s historian — sailed immediately for Africa via Malta, making landfall at Caput Vada,† a bleak and lonely headland some five days’ journey to the south of Carthage. Here, thanks to the general’s discipline and organization, the huge and complex task of disembarking thousands of men and horses proceeded smoothly. Once ashore, Belisarius addressed the army, warning the men against doing anything that might alienate the natives. A friendly population would, he pointed out, prove an enormous asset to the Romans in the imminent trial of strength. No sooner had the general dismissed the troops and stepped down from his tribunal, than a scout on a lathered mount came posting in from the north.

  Africa and Italy during the Vandal and Gothic Wars, AD 533-52

  ‘Sir,’ gasped the man, dismounting before Belisarius, ‘the Vandals have got wind of your arrival. Gelimer has ordered Hilderic be put to death, and is even now advancing against you with three great armies!’

  * But only for a few years. When it reopened, the Green and Blue factions were soon as belligerent as ever, and continued to foment riots periodically.

  * The Buddha.

  * Secret agents sent by Justinian had stirred up a revolt by the native Romans against the island’s Vandal occupiers, prompting Gelimer to send his fleet to Sardinian waters to put down the insurrection.

  ** Taormina. Diplomatic negotiations with the Ostrogoth regime in advance had secured landing rights for the fleet.

  † Ras Kaboudia.

  FOURTEEN

  Only in states in which the power of the people is supreme, has liberty any abode

  Cicero, De Republica, c. 50 BC

  Blinking in the bright African sunlight as, in the wake of his Berber guide, he emerged from the darkness of the tunnel, Procopius gasped at the sight that met his eyes: a vast elliptical arena, encircled by tiers of marble seating soaring to a height of a hundred feet or more. At the far end of the amphitheatre,* nearly a hundred and fifty yards away, a figure, flanked by standing spearmen, sat in the podium, a raised platform reserved for aristocratic spectators, access to which could be gained only from the exterior of the building. Accompanied by the guide and Aigan — captain of the Hun contingent serving in Belisarius’ army — as well as some Huns to act as porters, Procopius advanced towards the podium. As he walked, Procopius remembered a conversation with Anicius Julianus, a little over a year and a half before. .

  Responding to a summons from Julianus immediately following the failure of the Nika revolt, Procopius found the senator in his villa, surrounded by trunks and packing-cases.

  ‘Forgive the confusion, dear boy,’ said Julianus, sounding remarkably unperturbed considering the circumstances. ‘But tempus fugit, as they say, and my ship for Italy awaits the tide.’ He handed the lawyer a brimming goblet. ‘Nomentan — a reasonable vintage. I’ve several amphorae of the stuff in my cellars. I recommend you help yourself — before John of Cappadocia’s henchmen arrive to confiscate it. Well, to proceed in medias res, as Horace puts it. Regarding Nika — we may have lost the battle, but not, perhaps, the war. At stake is an issue the import of which could not be greater. It is this: unless he can be checked, Justinian will be disastrous for the Empire. Already, his policies, driven by blind ambition verging on paranoia, have brought the state to the verge of ruin. If prosecuted, his plan to reconquer the West from the barbarians will complete that process.’

  ‘But the restoration of the Roman Empire in its entirety; is that really such a bad thing?’

  ‘The West is finished, my young friend.’ The senator turned to some slaves who had entered the room, and issued instructions as to the removal of luggage. When they had departed, burdened with crates and portmanteaux, he went on, ‘Any attempt to put the clock back will ultimately prove to be a waste of time, effort, and money. Even if we succeed in driving the barbarians out, other barbarians are waiting beyond the frontiers to take their place: Lombards, Gepids, Heruls, Slavs, to name but some. The effort of reconquering the West will enormously weaken the East, inviting attack from Persia, an empire that is strong, united, and aggressive. And let us not ignore another potential threat — Arabia.’

  ‘A scattered collection of backward, nomadic tribes! Surely, Senator, you can’t be serious.’

  ‘Well, perhaps I am being unduly alarmist,’ conceded the other. ‘I base my suggestion on my observations of the Arab character — ferocious and fanatical when committed to some cause. They caused no end of trouble on the Syrian frontier in Justin’s time; some were even rumoured to have drunk the blood of slaughtered Romans.* It would only take a leader of sufficient charisma to unite them, and then. .’ The senator smiled, and shook his head. ‘Once, we thought the Huns too primitive to be taken seriously. Then along came Attila, and look what happened.

  ‘But I digress.’ Julianus refilled their goblets and went on, ‘Some of us who love Rome have, as you know, for you were briefly involved, joined together in a movement called Libertas, dedicated to the overthrow of Justinian’s regime** and its replacement by a constitutional government. One which will respect the rights of every Roman citizen, rights to be safeguarded by the people’s representative body — the Senate — from whose ranks will be drawn a Council, to advise the emperor: both ancient institutions which Justinian, in his overweening arrogance has virtually abolished. Moreover, he who wears the purple will do so only subject to the approval of the Senate, the Army, and the Church. Thus it will be impossible for any such as Justinian ever again to rule the Empire.’

  ‘It all sounds very noble, Senator,’ responded Procopius. ‘But with the crushing of Nika, Justinian’s firmly back in the saddle. He won’t easily be unseated, I think.’

  ‘Perhaps not; but we must try. At present, thanks to Nika’s failure, Libertas is seriously weakened, its members dispersed and demoralized. What we all share however, are determination and commitment. Also, we intend to keep in touch, through correspondence and intermediaries, with myself as co-ordinator — leader, if you like. So concerted policy and planning can still be carried on.’

  ‘I don’t quite see — ’

  ‘- how you fit into this?’ Julianus looked keenly at the other. ‘You could be invaluable to Libertas. You are close to the emperor — a trusted confidant, in fact. When he embarks on his invasion of the West, it shouldn’t be too difficult for you to persuade him to involve you in the expedition.’

  ‘In what capacity?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know — observer, go-between; i/c. commissariat; an intelligent young fellow like yourself will think of something. May I take it you’d wish to continue your association with Libertas?’

  ‘Perhaps. Depends what’s in it for myself.’ The lawyer shrugged self-deprecatingly. ‘Don’t misunderstand me, Senator, I admire what Libertas is trying to do. It’s just that I’m maybe not so altruistic as your other members.’

  ‘Well, at least you’re honest.’ Julianus smiled wryly, and topped up their goblets. ‘What I would ask of you is this: once Justinian’s Western campaign gets under way, that you send regular reports to myself or my agents, apprising Libertas of the situation as it stands. Also, you will receive instructions periodically regarding spying, sabotage, acting as an agent provocateur, generating misinformation, et cetera. Such things call for nerve, coolness, and initiative — all qualities that you possess, as you amply demonstrated during your short time with us. In addition, you will be given, on an ad hoc basis, information regarding contacts, drop-off points for messages or letters, safe houses, and the like. Your services will be rewarded by a generous fee from central funds, plus bonuses when merited; most of us, being of senatorial rank, are wealthy, although some will shortly become considerably less so — thanks to confiscations in the wake of Nika. Anythin
g you can do to destabilize Justinian’s Western campaign will help to weaken his authority, thus assist in paving the way for his removal. Well, Procopius, what do you say?’

  ‘When do I start?’

  ‘Consider yourself on the payroll as of now.’ Smiling, Julianus handed the other a small but heavy bag, that chinked invitingly. He raised his goblet. ‘To Libertas.’

  ‘To Libertas.’

  Arriving at the base of the arena’s marble wall, beneath the podium, Procopius looked up at the seated figure — a massively built man with a great shock of tawny hair.

  ‘The Roman, Procopius, Highness,’ called out the guide. Turning to the young historian, he announced, ‘Duke Ammatas, Domine, brother of King Gelimer.’

  The whole mise-en-scene was a childish piece of stage-management on the Vandal’s part, thought Procopius with irritation. It was designed to emphasize Ammatas’ superior status, and put the Roman on the back foot in any negotiation. Craning his neck in order to address the other face to face, and putting on a false smile, he declared, ‘Greetings, Highness; in pursuance of prior arrangements to hold this meeting, I would respectfully tender the following request. That in return for Hun help to enable the Vandals to defeat their Roman enemy, you agree to pay Aigan here — captain of the Huns in the army of Belisarius Comes — the sum of one thousand pounds weight in gold, half to be paid now, the remainder following a successful outcome of hostilities.’

  ‘Ho! ho! — you seek to chaffer like a housewife in the market?’ boomed Ammatas. ‘Well, Roman, two can play at that game. One thousand pounds? One hundred is surely what you meant to say.’