Justinian

by Ross Laidlaw

  When the news of the queen’s murder broke in Constantinople, Justinian felt simultaneously indignant and exultant. Now, at last, he had the casus belli that he needed. Peter the Patrician, who had heard of the incident before taking ship from Ravenna for Salonae, assured the emperor that the deed had caused revulsion against Theodahad’s regime, not only on the part of the Roman population, but among many Goths as well. The daughter of the great Theoderic could not be done away with like a common criminal.

  Assured of popular support in Italy — at least by the Romans of that peninsula — Justinian commanded Mundus, Magister Militum in Illyricum, to invade Dalmatia, and Belisarius to sail for Sicily. The second phase of the Great Plan, the War against the Goths, had begun.

  Only later, when he had had time to reflect, did a most disquieting thought occur to the emperor. He had made clear to Theodahad the consequences of maltreating Amalasuntha, yet the king had chosen to ignore the warning. Justinian had (as was his wont) confided to Theodora everything that John the Cappadocian had told him, including the prefect’s suggestion that a counter-message reach Theodahad. Could Theodora, to help her husband realize his dream, have sent just such a message? If so, such action spoke of great, unselfish love, also of an iron will, and a ruthless lack of scruple that Justinian had not hitherto suspected. And was it possible that by confiding in Theodora, he had secretly hoped that she would act upon the Cappadocian’s suggestion?

  Racked with guilt and prey to unnamed fears, the emperor spent the night on his knees in his half-completed great new church, praying for the salvation of his wife’s immortal soul.

  * Lake Bolsena.

  * Secretary of the Council.

  * 30 April 535.

  EIGHTEEN

  We have appointed a large part of the soldiers to garrison the forts in Sicily

  and Italy, which we have been able to conquer, leaving us an army of only

  five thousand; the enemy are coming against us to the number of one hundred

  and fifty thousand

  Procopius (paraphrasing the opening of Belisarius’ appeal to Justinian for more troops), History of the Wars of Justinian, after 552

  From Procopius Caesariensis — Secretary to General Belisarius and Historian of the Roman Expeditionary Force in Italy, to Anicius Julianus, Senator and Vir Clarissimus — greetings.

  Dear ‘Cato’, I write to inform you of events as they now stand here, and of my recent activities on behalf of Libertas. Much you’ll have already heard of, but it won’t do any harm to get things ‘from the horse’s mouth’. Those extra funds you allocated me came in pretty useful. Before leaving Carthage, I was able to bribe some dissatisfied elements among the troops garrisoning Africa into stirring up a serious mutiny. This caused Belisarius no end of bother, forcing him to return to Africa from Sicily in order to quell the insurrection. While he was doing that, I managed to get a jolly little insurgency going in Sicily, by the same means as above. So by the time he’d sorted that out, his plans were badly behind schedule. All in all, I think we can congratulate ourselves on slowing things down nicely. (Pity the Huns reneged on us in Africa — no principles, these people. Even so, the scrap at the Tenth Milestone was a close-run thing.)

  Well, thanks to our beloved emperor’s tight-fistedness, poor old B. — with only five thousand troops at his disposal (the same number are pinned down on garrison duties) has his hands tied. So I’ve been forced to write (following B.’s instructions) to Justinian himself appealing for reinforcements. Even with such a tiny army, B. has, unfortunately, performed wonders — taking Naples, then Rome itself, before the Goths were able to muster their host. The position at present is as follows.

  True to form, Theodahad dithered — switching allegiance between his own people and Constantinople, depending on whichever side seemed at the moment most likely to win. Predictably, the Goths eventually lost patience with their Platonist monarch, and have now replaced him with one Witigis — not a noble scion of the royal Amal line, but a tough, experienced commander. Which is excellent news from our point of view. By the way, I took steps to prevent Theodahad staging a possible comeback. (Had that happened, he might have ended up handing Italy to Justinian on a plate.) Discovering that the deposed king planned to lick his wounds in Ravenna, I was able to inform an old enemy of his (plenty of those to choose from) who intercepted him en route on the Flaminian, and put him out of his misery. For the nonce, B. is holed up here in Rome. He and his staff (which of course includes myself) are comfortably enough quartered in the old imperial palace on the Pincian Hill. Meanwhile, Witigis has invested the city with a force of a hundred and fifty thousand Goths.

  B. is quite the blue-eyed boy, everywhere at once: on the walls directing ballista fire against the enemy, cheering up the troops, organizing raids and sorties, smuggling in convoys of food, encouraging the citizens. . With that mile-wide smile of his, and a comradely hand always ready to clap a man on the shoulder, the soldiers will do anything for him. Everyone in Rome is queueing up to sing his praises, proclaiming how brave, generous, compassionate, and inspirational is their Great Deliverer. Positively sickening. I almost managed to get him killed the other day, which would have been a splendid coup for Libertas. He led a sortie in person (I ask you — what modern Roman general does a thing like that?) from the Flaminian Gate, mounted on a conspicuous bay horse with a white face. I got word to the Goths through a man on my (our) payroll; B. immediately became the target for a veritable blizzard of arrows and javelins, but by some miracle escaped unscathed. Which of course has only enhanced his already sky-high reputation.

  The good news is that Witigis, apart from cutting the aqueducts, has managed to blockade the port of Rome,* and seal off the supply routes from Sicily and Campania. So the siege may yet succeed, forcing B. to surrender or withdraw, tail between his legs.

  As arranged, I shall leave this missive by the Tomb of Cecilia Metella on the Via Appia at the place you know of, to await collection by your agens; the city walls are not so closely watched that a man of mine can’t smuggle it out. Vale.

  Written at the Domus Pinciana, Roma, pridie Kalendas Septembris, in the year from the Founding of New Rome the two hundred and eighth.*

  Post Scriptum.

  How exactly is one supposed to date a letter these days? With no Western consuls appointed for the last three years, and no Eastern one for this year, consular dating may soon be a thing of the past, especially as our dear overlord has intimated that in future, the office may devolve on him alone. Imagine dating one’s correspondence, ‘in the-th consulship of Justinianus Augustus’. Perish the thought! So, for want of any better system, I shall stick meanwhile to dating A.R.U.C.**

  From Anicius Julianus, Senator, to Procopius Caesariensis, Chronicler, greetings.

  My dear ‘Regulus’, friend in Libertas, your letter arrived safely by the hand of the trusty ‘Horatius’. My congratulations on your excellent work in Africa and Sicily. As for B.’s popularity, and thus his influence concerning the citizens of Rome, I don’t think you need be too concerned. Just wait till famine bites, as the siege by Witigis begins to take effect. With priority regarding food of necessity being given to the army and its mounts, B.’s image will become severely dented. Take my word for it; in my youth I saw that happen with Odavacar at the siege of Ravenna, when Theoderic had him penned up inside the place.

  As for myself, I sit here in Fanum† on the Mare Adriaticum — ‘like a great spider in the centre of its web’, as ‘Cincinnatus’, my second-in-command, put it (rather unkindly, I thought). Still, the simile is apt enough. My base here, at the junction of the Flaminian and Aemilian Ways, is the focus of routes north and south in Italy, and being directly opposite Salonae (now in imperial hands again) on the Adriatic’s eastern coast, enables me to keep in touch with my contacts in the Empire. One of these, ‘Catullus’, is an influential senator at court. (Yes, they’re all back in the Palace, as though Nika had never been.) You say that B. is desperate for reinforceme
nts. Why don’t I get ‘Catullus’ to work on Justinian to send General Narses with more troops? If he can bring that off, we can, I think, sit back and watch the fun. Where Belisarius is all dash and brilliance, Narses is slow and exceedingly cautious — rather like Fabius Maximus of old. The two are bound to clash. With B.’s authority likely to be challenged, and the Roman command thus hopefully divided, the Goths may well recover the initiative and the Italian Expedition end in failure — or at least in stalemate.

  By the way, last year Theodahad (now defunct thanks to your initiative) was nearly panicked through the eloquence of Peter the Patrician into handing over power to Justinian. Well, we couldn’t allow that to happen, so I arranged for poor Peter to be ‘taken out’, as they say. Not terminally, you understand (Libertas has principles), just clapped in prison for the nonce. My agents persuaded the new, pro-Gothic Pope, Silverius, to ‘lean’ on Theodatus (as Theodahad Romanized his name) sufficiently for him to have Peter incarcerated. I’m assured he’ll be released ere long. Meanwhile, keep up the good work. Look for further instructions at Cecilia Metella in the last week of this month. Vale.

  Written at Insula Meridiana, Porta Flaminia, Fanum, VIII Ides Septembris, A.R.U.C., ducenti et octavo.*

  * This was no longer Ostia, which had become silted up in the course of the previous century (and whose spectacularly well-preserved remains today rival those of Pompeii), but an altogether humbler facility — Portus.

  * 31 August 537.

  ** Anno Regiae Urbis Conditae — From the Founding of the City (i.e. of Constantinople in AD 330).

  † Fano.

  * 6 September, 537.

  NINETEEN

  Solomon — I have surpassed you!

  Justinian (referring to Solomon’s great Temple in Jerusalem) at the consecration of Hagia Sophia, 537

  The day after Christmas of the same year that Belisarius took Rome and Witigis invested it, Justinian and Theodora, accompanied by Menas, the new Patriarch, and followed by a glittering train of courtiers and clerics, set out from the Imperial Palace for the consecration of the new Hagia Sophia, risen Phoenix-like from the ashes of the old.

  As the procession crossed the Augusteum (or Augusteon, as the great square was coming to be called, Greek fast replacing Latin in the capital), the emperor reflected on the events of the three years that had elapsed since the triumphant conclusion of the Vandal War. There had been a few unforeseen setbacks and anxieties: the mutinies in Africa and Sicily; the shock of hearing from Belisarius that the war might be lost for lack of reinforcements (the speed and apparent ease of victory in Africa, had perhaps caused him to assume too easily that Roman discipline and tactics, even with modest manpower, was a combination that would always beat barbarians); the Gothic resurgence following the replacement of the timid and vacillating Theodahad with the formidable Witigis; the tug-of-war between himself and Theodora over who should be Pope.

  But in the end, most problems (or at least those that could be loosely termed political) had been resolved: a relief force of tough Isaurians and Thracians under an experienced general (rejoicing in the appellation John ‘the Sanguinary’) had entered Rome and re-opened lines of communication, forcing Witigis to prepare to abandon the siege; Theodora’s choice for Pope — the pro-Monophysite Vigilius — had triumphed over his Orthodox rival Silverius. (Perhaps it had been for the best, the emperor conceded to himself, his basic sense of justice enabling him to realize that the recent revival of persecution of the Monophysites was as lacking in humanity as it was unproductive.) All considered, the success of the Grand Plan seemed tantalizingly close to completion. In Italy, the tide was turning in his favour; a few more months should see the whole peninsula in Roman hands (with Spain, Gaul, and perhaps one day even Britain, to follow?), especially as he had decided to send an experienced general — Narses, with a fresh army — to help Belisarius. The second version of his and Tribonian’s great Code* had been published to universal acclaim and satisfaction. While the goal of religious uniformity might seem for the moment to be elusive, with goodwill, patience and perseverance, that too, Justinian believed, could eventually be achieved.

  However, like those fabled Apples of the Hesperides — fair to the eye but which turned to ashes in the mouth — a secret fear lurked ever at the back of Justinian’s mind, threatening to dash the cup of triumph from his lips. There had been times when, if he were being honest with himself, he had experienced ‘a dark night of the soul’ concerning his attitude towards his wife. Deeply though he loved Theodora, there had been moments when he had been tempted to see her, not as his Divinely Chosen colleague, but as an agent of the Evil One with whom he had weakly colluded: a figure like Medea, the enchantress in the fable, who, to gratify her love for Jason slew her own brother. Such a moment had come to pass when the thought occurred to him, ‘Had Theodora sent the letter to the Gothic king that had resulted in the murder of Amalasuntha?’ Another had been prompted by rumours that the recent Pope, Silverius, an enemy of the Monophysites (whose cause Theodora had championed), had been done away with at her orders. At such times, the old corrosive fear that he might be cursed, that he was somehow bad for others (a fear that for long he had believed buried) had returned to haunt him. To the roll of shame: the deaths of Atawulf and Valerian, the near-fatal hesitation to speak up for his uncle in the Senate, that self-inflicted blow in the Cistern of Nomus the mark of which he bore to this day — to these perhaps could now be added the names of Amalasuntha and Silverius.

  As, resplendent in the robes and diadem of a Roman empress, Theodora processed across the Augusteum beside her husband, she reflected on the tumultuous events of the past eighteen months regarding the Monophysites, whose well-being was (next to the lot of her own sex) the cause dearest to her heart.

  As a result of pressure from a reactionary Pope, Agapetus, who, on a visit to Constantinople had been horrified to find the Monophysites in the ascendancy (largely through the efforts of Theodora on their behalf), not only in the capital but as well throughout the Empire, Justinian had been forced to renege on his granting of favoured status to the Monophysites. Squeezed between the Scylla of the Pontiff and the Charybdis of Monophysitism, Justinian had yielded to the former — who was in an extremely strong bargaining position. Agapetus had hinted that he might use the immense power that he wielded as Pope to tell the Romans in Italy not to cooperate with Belisarius and his army of liberation, unless the emperor agreed to his demands. These were: the deposition of Anthimus, the Monophysite Patriarch of Constantinople, and the excommunication of all leading Monophysites in the capital.

  Realizing that his cherished aim of recovering Italy for the Empire (the key constituent of his Grand Plan) could be put in jeopardy, Justinian had reluctantly yielded to what, in effect, was Pontifical blackmail. Anthimus was duly deposed, and replaced by Menas — an ultra-Orthodox Chalcedonian* — who immediately and with brutal thoroughness began a crackdown on Monophysites throughout the Empire, especially in their heartlands of Syria and Egypt, where a reign of terror was unleashed. The death of the aged Agapetus did nothing to improve the lot of the persecuted sect, Silverius — a principled conservative — being consecrated by the electoral college in Rome as his successor.

  Theodora however, wholehearted in her loves as in her hates, was not the sort of person meekly to accept defeat. She had an ally in the corridors of power: Antonina, wife of Belisarius, a strong-willed woman who had even more influence over her husband than did Theodora over hers. Via correspondence, the two women (who were bosom friends) concocted a plot. Antonina would put pressure on her husband (now installed with his tiny army inside Rome, a city which the Goths, led by their new king, Witigis, proceeded to besiege) to have Silverius deposed in favour of Theodora’s choice for Pope, Vigilius, an unscrupulous, ambitious deacon from an illustrious Roman family. Vigilius had sworn that, in the event of his being elected, he would reverse the anti-Monophysite regime of the Patriarch Menas. To undermine Silverius’ position, forged letters
purporting to be messages from him to Witigis offering to throw open the gates of Rome to the Goths, were to be ‘discovered’. .

  Torn by shame and indecision, Belisarius paced the marble floor of a reception chamber in Rome’s Pincian Palace. He had sent a summons to Pope Silverius in the Lateran Palace on the opposite, southern side of the city, and was now awaiting his arrival. It was a meeting the general was not looking forward to. Under orders from Antonina (acting on instructions from that she-devil of a friend of hers, the Empress Theodora), he was to present the Pope with an ultimatum: issue a statement supporting the Monophysites, or face the consequences.

  Belisarius hated the role he had been forced to play — a second Pilate compelled by circumstance to act against a good and innocent man. He liked and respected Silverius, the man who, in the face of considerable opposition from more cautious souls in both the Senate and the Vatican, had opened the gates of Rome to Belisarius’ army. Now, he was to pay back that generous act by betrayal.