Justinian

by Harry Turtledove

  From Nikomedeia to Chalcedon across the Bosporos from Constantinople, the journey along the military road was uneventful. Ferries waited there to take me, the guardsmen, and Leontios back to the God-guarded and imperial city. Although returning sooner and with less glory than I had hoped upon beginning my campaign, I had lost no great stretch of Roman territory despite defeat at the battle by Sebastopolis.

  I invited Leontios to accompany me and one company of the excubitores on the ship that would return us to Constantinople. "Thank you, Emperor; that's very kind of you," he said. "I'm glad you're not upset any more, and that you've gotten over being angry at me." He went up onto the deck of the ferry with a broad smile of relief stretched across his face.

  The wind blowing from the wrong quarter, oarsmen took us across the narrow neck of water separating Asia from Europe. Before we had gone more than a couple of bowshots from the quays of Chalcedon, I pointed to Leontios and called out to the excubitores near me: "Seize that man and cast him in chains!"

  "What?" Leontios bellowed, like a bull at the moment when the knife makes it into a steer. As the excubitores dragged him down, he exclaimed, "Emperor, I thought you'd forgiven me!"

  "What do I care what you thought?" I said while the guardsmen were wrapping heavy iron chains around his wrists and ankles and locking them with heavy iron padlocks. "I never forgive those who wrong me. I punish them- as they deserve."

  Leontios kept on bellowing, quite unpleasantly. One of the excubitores asked, "Shall we pick him up and fling him into the drink, Emperor? A few bubbles and it'd be all over. With all those chains on him, he'll sink like a rock."

  "No," I said, though I should have said yes. "Drowning the wretch is too quick to suit me. I want him to have plenty of time to think about his crimes and his stupidity. We'll take him back to the city, we'll throw him into a prison, and then- we'll forget about him."

  "Emperor, your father never would have done such a thing," Leontios said while the excubitores, resenting him no less than the Sklavenoi for the defeat near Sebastopolis, howled laughter to see and hear him discomfited.

  He had tried before to use the memory of my father to get me to do what he wanted rather than what I wanted. Having failed then, he merely proved his own foolishness by making the attempt a second time. "You're right," I told him, remembering what had happened to my uncles Herakleios and Tiberius. "My father would have cut off your nose and slit your tongue, or perhaps put out your eyes, before disposing of you for good. You may thank me for my mercy." The excubitores laughed louder yet. Leontios said nothing. I signaled to one of the guardsmen. He seized Leontios by the hair and smashed his face against the planking of the deck. "You may thank me for my mercy," I repeated.

  "Thank you for your mercy," Leontios choked out through cut and bleeding lips. His nose also bled. I made up my mind to reward the excubitor for serving me well.

  Constantinople neared, perhaps more rapidly than I might have liked. The simplicity of campaigning appealed to me. Now, the Emperor of the Romans is God's deputy on earth. That which is pleasing to the Emperor has the force of law. Basic tenets of Roman law, aye. But practice and law, here as in many instances, were not identical.

  For one thing, I was coming home to my mother, who would pester me to marry again, which I did not want to do (an error, I see now, but I failed to see it then), and to show friendliness toward my daughter, which I wanted even less to do. For another, I was imperfectly enamored of the mass of administrative detail through which I would have to wade on returning to the imperial city. And, for a third, on campaign I did not suffer the constant scrutiny I had to endure at the palace.

  The closer I got to Constantinople, the better I understood why my grandfather had abandoned it for the barbarous west. True, Lombards and the Arabs were troublesome there, but I grew ever more certain that was not the only reason for his going. If he was not also seeking escape, I should be very surprised.

  But, considering the fate that found him in Sicilian Syracuse, he must have learned- although too late- there was no escape from the dangers dogging the imperial dignity. And Ia160… I stayed in Constantinople, and my fate found me there.

  ***

  Stephen the Persian looked grave. Standing beside him, Theodotos looked like a vulture bereft of carrion. Stephen said, "Emperor, the treasury would have greatly benefited had the revenues anticipated from this past summer's campaign been realized. As things are, however-"

  "As things are, we're flat," Theodotos broke in, his voice a harsh croak made all the harsher by contrast with Stephen's smooth almost-contralto.

  "Very well, we're flat," I said. "How do we recover from being flat?"

  Stephen the Persian shrugged. His jowls, flabby like those of so many eunuchs, flopped up and down. "Most desirable would have been either the continuation of tribute from the Arabs or the acquisition of booty of comparable value. Absent those factorsa160…" He shrugged again. "I have done such things as I could to increase revenue for both the public treasury and the privy purse, but we still face a significant shortfall."

  "You have been diligent; I will say that much," I replied. That was, if anything, an understatement. Since returning to the imperial city, I had found myself bombarded with petitions and complaints about Stephen's methods of collecting that which was owed to the state. Up until that time, I had not imagined the Greek language contained so many syn onyms for extortion.

  Most of these petitions I rejected out of hand: what man ever pays his taxes with a glad heart? Even where there was some doubt in the matter, I supported my sakellarios, for, when the needs of the subject and those of the fisc collide, those of the subject needs must give way. If the fisc fails, the Roman Empire fails, and, if the Roman Empire fails, the subject goes down in ruin.

  I recall no cases where there was not at least some doubt, enough to decide in favor of gaining the needed revenue. Even so, it was not enough.

  Theodotos said, "Emperor, I know how we can bring in more gold, if you'll but say the word."

  I leaned forward. "Tell me. This is what I want to hear."

  With a nod to Stephen the Persian, Theodotos said, "Your sakellarios, he's a clever fellow with the numbers, but he's too kindhearted by half." I looked at the ex-monk with new respect. A great many men had accused Stephen of a great many things, but excessive generosity had not, till now, been one of them. Theodotos went on, "Oh, he's willing enough to squeeze the artisans and the merchants and such, but he's hardly touched the nobles and magnates here in the city."

  "What have you to say about that?" I asked Stephen.

  "There is some truth to it," the eunuch replied. "Squeezing artisans and merchants makes them grumble, but nothing more. Squeeze the nobles and magnates of Constantinople too hard, and they begin to plot against you."

  "Let them plot." Theodotos made a quick chopping gesture with his right hand. "Then they end up short their eyes or their noses or their tongues- or their heads. And the property of proved traitors is forfeit to the fisc."

  Both finance ministers looked my way. They could propose, but I had to decide. I nodded to Theodotos. "Let it be as you say," I told him. "The nobles and magnates will not plot against me. If it weren't for my family, there would be no Roman Empire for them to inhabit. We would have fallen to the Persians or to the followers of the false prophet many years ago. Or if I am mistaken, and some of those dogs prove base enough to turn toward treachery despite that trutha160… if that be so, we shall use them as you suggest, Theodotos."

  He and Stephen the Persian both bowed their heads. I having made the decision, they went forth and put it into effect. They were good at what they did; I would not have set them in their places had they been anything but good at what they did. From that day forth, money came into the fisc in quantities adequate to make up for the tribute the deniers of Christ were no longer paying.

  But oh, how the grandees screeched to have to pay their share to the government that not only kept them safe but kept them ri
ch! By the petitions flooding in to me, by the complaints from those nobles bold enough to beard me in person, anyone would have thought the whole of their wealth was being confiscated, not just that part necessary to preserve the whole.

  Some of them, as Stephen had warned me, did worse than carp. These vicious fools I detected in good time, having a fair number of spies of all descriptions scattered about the imperial city. Some of them I ordered mutilated, following Theodotos's suggestion. Others I simply cast into prison, along with the insolent guildsmen and with Leontios. Occasionally, to show my mercy, I would release one or two. The rest simply stayed where they were. Fewer people missed them, I am certain, than they imagined would be the case.

  They found company in their prison cells, too, for, men being sinful and imperfect creatures, not all found themselves able or willing to obey the canons set down by the assembled bishops of the fifth-sixth synod. Those who persisted in lewd practices or in the demonically inspired customs of the pagan past deserved punishment no less than those who sought to conceal their wealth- and what they deserved, they received. If I could make it so, Constantinople would be a moral city.

  I also had in mind that Constantinople should be a safe city: safe for me, I should say. To that end, my spies watched not only those still free and able to make mischief, but also some of the prominent personages in prison. One of these fellows, a converted Jew named George, brought me word of Leontios. "He has two suspicious characters who visit him all the time," the spy reported.

  "Assume anyone who wants to visit Leontios is a suspicious character and go on from there," I answered, to which George, who himself looked like a born conspirator, nodded emphatic agreement. I added, "Who are these people, anyway?"

  "One is a monk, a certain Paul, from the monastery of Kallistratos," George said, "and the other a former officer, also now a monk, called Gregory the Kappadokian."

  "The plain monk I don't much care about," I said. "Even Leontios is entitled to prayers for the benefit of his soul. In fact, considering the state of Leontios's soul, I daresay he needs more prayers than most other people I could name. But tell me more about this Gregory, who was once a soldier. He may still remember his old trade."

  "Right now, Emperor, I don't know any more." George looked crafty, an expression that, by the way the lines on his face fell into familiar patterns, he frequently assumed. "But I can find out."

  He sent me a written memorandum a few days later. Gregory the Kappadokian turned out to have been a kleisouriarch, an officer in charge of defending a mountain pass against the Arabs, and had served under Leontios in a couple of his campaigns. More reports on him trickled in over the days and weeks that followed. He seemed to have been a good if unspectacular soldier before donning the monastic robe, and to have no intimate ties to Leontios save their common service: he had no relatives married to any of Leontios's, nor did Leontios owe him money. For that matter, he did not owe Leontios money, either.

  I considered flinging Gregory into prison, too, by choice into the cell next to Leontios's so they could talk with each other to their hearts' content. In the end, though, I forbore. But for his continued friendship with a former commander, Gregory appeared to be an utterly ordinary fellow. And Leontios, imprisoned as he was, could hardly threaten me. Reasoning so, I let Gregory stay free and keep on visiting him.

  I would not be so naive today.

  ***

  Before the campaigning season ended that year, the Arabs sent several raiding parties into Anatolia. They did this, I gathered, every year no truce was in force between them and us. These raids, though not large, penetrated deeper into our territory than the followers of the false prophet usually managed to do. I did not take long to find out why: Sklavenoi from the special army were guiding the Arabs through the territory that had once nurtured them.

  Receiving that news, I rounded on Myakes. "If I had been sorry about slaughtering the Sklavenoi, I wouldn't be any more."

  Infuriatingly, he shrugged. "I don't know about that, Emperor," he said. "You took vengeance on them, and now they're taking vengeance on you. How is one any different from the other?"

  "How?" I exclaimed. "I'll tell you how! I am Emperor of the Romans. They are a pack of wretched barbarians. Now do you see?"

  All he did was shrug again. In his quiet way, he could be, and often insisted on being, a difficult man. Having been accustomed to his stubbornness from boyhood, I tolerated it in a way I would not have from a more recent acquaintance.

  Dismissing him, I summoned a scribe. The man poised reed pen over papyrus to take down my words. "This order is to go to all Roman military commanders in the east," I said, and the scribe nodded. I drew a deep breath before continuing, "Let any Sklavinian traitor captured in the company of Arab raiders within Romania be burned alive as fitting punishment for his treachery. Let there be no appeal from or reduction to this sentence. Let the barbarians be filled with fear so that they no longer abet such debased acts of brigandage."

  The chancery having prepared sufficient copies of the order, couriers on fast horses sped it to the military district of the Armeniacs and to that of the Anatolics, the two most likely to be concerned with it. Before the end of the campaigning season, I received several most gratifying reports of incinerated Sklavenoi.

  I summoned Myakes and read to him a particularly fine one. "Isn't that splendid?" I said. "Reading it, I can almost hear the Sklavinian's shrieks, almost smell the meat roasting on his bones. This Bardanes who would sooner be called Philippikos has the makings of a first-rate officer. I aim to promote him for the excellent service he's given me."

  "If I were you, Emperor, before I promoted him I'd check to see if he ever really did cook any Sklavenoi," Myakes answered stolidly. "Anybody can tell a good yarn. There's people out on the streets of the city who make their living doing nothing else but- and I'm not even talking about lawyers."

  I snorted. "I think you've been jealous of Bardanes since he spotted that Sklavinian breathing through a reed."

  "You're the Emperor. You can think whatever you like," Myakes said. "Me, what I think is, that story sounds too good to be true. And when a story sounds too good to be true, it usually is."

  That made me thoughtful. I have already remarked on several occasions that the worst curse of being Emperor is hearing what people want you to hear, not what is true. If Bardanes Philippikos was sending me fancy stories about how many Sklavenoi he had given over to the flames so as to make himself look good, I needed to know as much. And if he had, he would be a long time regaining my confidence, if ever he did.

  The Roman Empire has spies among the Arabs. The followers of the false prophet, worse luck, also have spies in Romania. And the Emperor of the Romans has spies of his own, whom he can send forth to examine the deeds not only of foreign foes but also of enemies and potential enemies closer to home. I sent out two of these men, neither knowing of the other, to learn whether Bardanes had done as he claimed.

  Their separate reports came back to Constantinople within days of each other a few weeks later, the gist of both being that Bardanes Philippikos had indeed incinerated a goodly number of captured Sklavenoi. On receiving the second report, I shoved them both under Myakes' nose, asking him, "What have you to say about these?"

  Not reading with any great fluency, he needed some little while to make sense of the reports. When he had finished them, he handed them back to me with a single offhand comment: "All right, Emperor, he didn't get caught- this time."

  "Why, Myakes," I said mockingly, "I do believe you're jealous."

  To that he made no reply at all, but turned and took his leave with far less ceremony than was suitable on departing the presence of the Emperor of the Romans. Too late, I realized I had wounded him. Perhaps he truly was jealous. Perhaps he was but hurt I could have thought him so. Emperor of the Romans though I was and am, I have never, from that time to this, dared to ask him. Over the next few days (with, I grant, some friendly overtures on my part), his demean
or gradually regained the gruff familiarity I tolerated from no one else.

  MYAKES

  Jealous, Brother Elpidios? Why on earth would I have been jealous of Philippikos? Because I was a starving peasant when I took up the soldier's life and he had a patrician for a father? I'd known plenty of bluebloods by then. It's not angels that come out when they sit on the latrine, any more than it is with me.

  Is that blasphemy, Brother? I'm sorry; I didn't aim to singe your virgin ears. I just meant that wasn't the reason. Because I was Justinian's friend- or as close to a friend as Justinian let himself have- and Bardanes came sniffing round the Emperor? That, now, that's closer to the mark. I didn't trust him. He was too smooth somehow, if you know what I mean. Justinian couldn't see it. He never could. He paid for it, too, at the end.

  Because Bardanes Philippikos was a heretic who tried to overthrow the sixth holy ecumenical synod? I didn't know that thena160… and I wouldn't have worried much about it if I did know.

  You didn't hear that last? Well, never mind. Wasn't important anyhow.

  JUSTINIAN

  Shortly after learning that the Sklavenoi who had defected from the service they owed the Roman Empire were still tormenting us, I had equally unpleasant news from the opposite frontier: from, indeed, the uttermost west. Pope Sergios, taking the habitual presumption of the bishops of Rome to a new extreme, refused to ratify the canons to which the bishops I had assembled for the fifth-sixth synod had agreed.

  I admit I was not entirely without warning the pope of Rome might behave in such arrogant and senseless fashion, several bishops from the west or under papal jurisdiction having predicted his descent into folly. But I also admit I had not credited their warning, being unable to believe any priest of God could not only ignore but reject canons promulgated by a synod through whose deliberations the Holy Spirit had surely worked.