Julian, by Gore Vidal

by Unknown

  "There would be no honour nor sign of affection for me to give to my friends, if I gave you my hand." That was the end of Nebridius in Gaul.

  • • •

  On 3 July I took the field against Constantius. The omens were excellent and the weather fair.

  We moved east to Augst, where I called a staff meeting. As usual, I had kept my plans to myself; not even Oribasius knew what I intended, though we rode together, ate together and chattered like schoolboys.

  With me as commanders were Nevitta—the great Frank whom I come to admire more and more as I know him; Jovinus, a competent officer; Gomoarius, a man I did not trust, for he was the one who betrayed his commander Vetranio when he rebelled against Constantius; Mamertinus, a good secretary; Dagalaif, perhaps the best commander of cavalry in the history of the Roman army. I began with the announcement that Sallust was now on his way to Vienne to act as praetorian prefect; he would govern in my place. This was well received. Sallust is admired not only by me but by all men.

  "I now have certain appointments to make." I did not have to consult the sheet of paper before me. I got the disagreeable task over with first. "Gomoarius, I remove you as commander of cavalry. That post goes to Nevitta." There was silence. Gomoarius said nothing. All knew my motive. We are a small family, the military, despite the size of the empire. We all know one another's faults and virtues. "Jovinus, I make you quaestor; Mamertinus, treasurer; Dagalaif, commander of the household troops."

  Then I went over the map on the folding table. "We are outnumbered ten to one by the combined armies of Illyricum and Italy. Fortunately, those armies are not combined. They consist mostly of garrison troops, while ours is an aggressive army, used to swift attack. Now, what is our best course of action?" I paused. They took my question for the rhetoric it was. "When in doubt, imitate Alexander. Whenever his army was seriously outnumbered, he would disperse his troops in such a way as to give the impression that he had far more men than anyone knew. Therefore I mean to split the army in three sections. We shall seem to be attacking from every direction.

  "Jovinus will take the direct route to Italy." I pointed to the map. "You will notice I have marked the main roads for you. Spread out along them. I want everyone to see you. Nevitta, you take the middle course, due west through Raetia. I shall take the remainder of the army and go north through the Black Forest to the Danube. Then west and south along the Danube, straight to Sirmium. Whoever holds Sirmium controls Illyricum and the approach to Constantinople." I turned to Nevitta. "You and I will rendezvous at Sirmium, no later than October."

  None objected to my plan. Incidentally, for those who may get the impression from history that divine emperors are never contradicted by those who serve them, I should note that such is not the case in the field. Though the emperor's word is final, any commander is free to argue with him as much as he likes until the war plan is actually set in motion. Personally, I have always encouraged debate. Often as not it deteriorates into quibbling, but occasionally one's strategy is improved. This time, however, there was little discussion, only the usual arguments as to who got what legion. The next day the army was divided, and the conquest of the West began.

  The Black Forest is a strange and ominous place. Seeing it from within made me understand the Germans better. The place is haunted; perverse demons lurk in every shadow… and what shadows! Even at noon, the forest is so dim that it is like being drowned in a deep green whispering sea. As we rode over quiet trails, the legions, two abreast, wound like some slow sea-serpent on the ocean floor. Fortunately, we had reliable guides who knew every twist and turn of the forest. I cannot think how, for there were no markers of any kind; yet they knew their way through the green maze. For days on end we never saw the sun, until I despaired of ever seeing my god again.

  • • •

  By the middle of August we were in the wild but beautiful valley of the Danube. Though the river is not as impressive to look at as the Rhine, it is far less treacherous to navigate. So I decided to make the rest of the iourney by water.

  At a village on the south bank, we halted and I ordered boats built. While this was being done, I received the fealty of the local tribes. They were amazed to see a Roman emperor (even a not quite legitimate one!) so far north. When they discovered that I meant them no harm, they were most co-operative and offered to act as river pilots. They are a handsome, fair-skinned people, somewhat shy.

  Meanwhile, messengers from Jovinus arrived, with good news. Milan had fallen. He also wrote me the latest news of Constantius. Sapor had advanced to the Tigris. Constantius had then withdrawn to Edessa, where he was now holed up, avoiding battle. I was amused to note that he had appointed Florentius praetorian prefect of Illyricum. I was obviously poor Florentius's nemesis. I had sent him out of Gaul; soon I would drive him from Illyricum. I believe of all those who hate me, he must hate me the most. He certainly has the best reason!

  We sailed down the Danube through a golden country, rich with harvest. We paused at none of the towns or fortresses which became more numerous the farther south we went. There was no time to waste. If I took Sirmium, all these towns would be mine by right, but if I paused to lay siege to each I should never be done fighting. Most of the natives were well disposed towards us; but then none was put to the test.

  In early October, at night, with the moon waning, we reached Bonmunster, nineteen miles north of Sirmium. It is a small town, with no garrison. Late as it was, I ordered all men ashore. We pitched camp on the bank of the river.

  I do not know if it is common to all in my place, but it was my experience as a usurper (and one must call me by that blunt name) that everywhere I went well-wishers and informers flocked to me like bees to honey, until I was forced to devise a screening process to examine each would-be ally and determine if he could be used. Most proved to be sincere; but then I proved to be victorious! Before the moon had set, I had learned that Count Lucillianus was at Sirmium, with a considerable army and orders to destroy me. However, Lucillianus did not expect me in the vicinity for another week, and so he slept now at Sirmium.

  As soon as I had heard these reports, I sent for Dagalaif. I ordered him to go straight to Sirmium with a hundred men; he was to seize Lucillianus and bring him back. This was a considerable assignment, but I knew from spies that the city was no more than usually guarded and that the palace where Lucillianus was staying was close to the gate. At night our men would look no different from any other imperial troops; there would be no problem entering the city. For the rest, I counted on Dagaliaf's boldness and ingenuity.

  After Dagalaif had left, Oribasius and I strolled together on the river bank. It was a warm night. In the black sky a misshapen moon, like a worn marble head, made all the country silver. Behind us the fires and torches of the camp burned. The men were quiet; they had orders to make no unnecessary noise; only the horses occasionally disobeyed me, with sharp sudden whinnies. At the top of the river bank we stopped.

  "I like this," I said, turning to Oribasius, who was seated now on a rock, staring at the bright diagonal the moonlight made across the slow deep water.

  Oribasius looked up at me. The moon was so bright that I could make out his features. "This?" He frowned. "Do you mean the river? or war? or travel?"

  "Life." I sat on the damp ground beside him and crossed my legs, muddying the purple I wore. "Not war. Nor travel. Just this. Right now." I sighed. "I can hardly believe we have crossed nearly half the world. I feel like the wind, without a body, invisible."

  He laughed. "You are probably the most visible man on earth, and the most feared."

  "Feared," I repeated, wondering if I would ever take satisfaction from the knowledge that men's lives and fortunes could be taken from them at a nod of my head. No, I cannot enjoy that sort of power; it is not what I want.

  "What do you want?" Oribasius had divined my mood, as he so often does.

  "To restore the gods."

  "But if they are real and do exist…"

&n
bsp; "They are real! There is no 'if'! They do exist!" I was fierce. His laughter stopped me. "Then they exist. But if they exist, they are always present, and so there's no need to 'restore' them."

  "But we must worship what God tells us to."

  "So the Christians say."

  "Ah, but theirs is a false god, and I mean to destroy them."

  Oribasius stiffened at the word "destroy". "Kill them?"

  "No. I shall not allow them the pleasure of martyrdom. Besides, at the rate they kill one another, it would be gratuitous for me to intervene. No, I shall fight them with reason and example. I shall reopen the temples and reorganize the priesthood. We shall put Hellenism on such a footing that people will choose it of their own free will."

  "I wonder." Oribasius was thoughtful. "They are rich, wellorganized. Most important, they educate the children."

  "We shall do the same!" I was thinking as I spoke; I had no plan. "Even better, we could take the schools away from them."

  "If you could…"

  "The Emperor can."

  "It might work. Otherwise…"

  "Otherwise?"

  "You would have to reign as a bloody tyrant and even then you'd lose."

  "I am not so pessimistic." But Oribasius had put an idea into my head, one which will save us all. Curiously enough, though we had often spoken of what it would be like when I became emperor, none of us had ever really considered in much detail what form the contest between Hellenism and the Galileans would take. We agreed that when I could I would publicly repudiate the Nazarene, but none of us had thought what the reaction might be, particularly from the common people of whom perhaps half are Galilean. Only the army is truly religious. The men worship Mithras. There are few Galileans in the ranks, though a third of the officers believe in the triple monster.

  We talked until it was morning. Just as the sun appeared over the world's edge, like an omen, Dagalaif returned to camp with Count Lucillianus as prisoner.

  I hurried to my tent. There on the ground in his nightclothes was Lucillianus, trussed like a chicken. He was terrified. For a moment I looked down on the shivering body, recalling that the last time I had seen him he had been my brother's jailer. Then I loosened his bonds and raised him to his feet. This friendly gesture somewhat relieved his anxiety. He is a large man, given to peculiar diets. For years he would eat only udder of sow; at least that is the story one hears.

  "We are happy you could attend us on such short notice, Count."

  I was formal but agreeable.

  "If only I had known, Caesar… I mean Augustus… I should have met you myself…"

  "And put me to death, like Gallus?"

  "Those were my orders, Augustus, but you may depend on my loyalty to you in this dispute. I have always been loyal. I have always preferred you to the Emp– to him at Antioch."

  "We accept your loyalty, your troops, your city of Sirmium, and the prefecture of Illyricum."

  He gasped but bowed. "Such is the will of Augustus. All these are yours."

  "Thank you, Count." I was in an excellent mood. Lucillianus is the sort of man who does not think ahead—witness his failure to anticipate my arrival—and men who do not think ahead tend to accept what is; they never conspire. I said, "Now swear your oath to me." He swore; and kissed the purple, getting a bit of Danube mud on his face. "You will retain your rank, Count, and serve in my army."

  Lucillianus's recovery was swift. "If I may say so, Lord, it is a very rash thing you have done, coming here with such a small army in the midst of someone else's territory."

  "Reserve, my dear Count, your wisdom for Constantius. I have given you my hand not to make you my counsellor but less afraid."

  I turned to Mamertinus. "Give the word to the army. We march to Sirmium."

  Sirmium is a large city, highly suitable for an imperial capital, standing as it does upon the border between the prefecture of Illyricum and the diocese of Thrace—the westernmost country of the prefecture of the East. I was now at the beginning of the territory traditionally assigned to the Augustus of the East. I had warned my officers that there might be incidents. I did not expect the city to surrender without token resistance, even though its commander was now with us, riding at my side. But to my astonishment, we were met outside the gates by a vast crowd of men, women and children, carrying chains of flowers, boughs of trees and numerous sacred objects. I was hailed as Augustus with the most extraordinary enthusiasm. I turned to Lucillianus and shouted to him above the din, "Did you arrange this?"

  He shook his head. He was too stupid to lie. "No, Augustus. I don't know who arranged it…"

  "Legend!" said Oribasius. "They know you'll win. They always do."

  A large bouquet of flowers hit me in the face. Eyes stinging, I swept it aside; a blood-red poppy caught in my beard. Men and women kissed my robe, my legs, my horse. Thus was I escorted into the capital of Illyricum while the grapes were still green. It was the first great city ever to fall to me, twice the size of Strasbourg or Cologne or even Treyes. The date was 3 October 361. I went straight to the palace, and to business. I received the senate of the city. I allayed their fears. They swore loyalty to me, as did the legions within the city. I ordered a week of chariot races next day to amuse the populace, one of the burdens the conquered invariably put upon the conqueror. With great pleasure I received Nevitta who, true to his promise, arrived at Sirmium after a victorious passage through Raetia. The West was ours.

  I called a staff meeting, and we discussed our next move. Some favoured marching straight to Constantinople, two hundred miles distant. Dagalaif argued that with Constantius in Antioch, Constantinople would fall to us without a battle. Nevitta was not so certain. He was afraid that Constantius was probably already on the march from Antioch to the capital. If this were so, we were hardly a match for what was, in fact, the largest army on earth. I agreed with Nevitta. We would remain where we were for the winter.

  I entrusted to Nevitta the defence of the Succi Pass, a narrow defile in the high mountains that separate Thrace from Illyricum. Whoever holds this pass is safe from attack by land. I then sent two of the Sirmium legions to Aquileia, to hold that important seaport for us. With the main part of the army I withdrew some fifty miles north-west to Nish (where Constantine was born); here I went into winter quarters.

  The weeks at Nish were busy ones. Every night I dictated until dawn. I was determined to present my case against Constantius as clearly as possible for all to read and comprehend. I sent a lengthy message to the Roman senate. I also composed separate letters for the senates of Sparta, Corinth and Athens, explaining what I had done and what I intended to do. Heavily but justly, I placed the blame for all that had happened on Constantius. Then—though Oribasius warned me not to—I assured the various senates that I intended to restore the worship of the old gods, making the point that I personally imitated them in order that, by having the fewest possible needs, I might do good to the greatest possible number. These letters were read at every public gathering. They made a profound and favourable impression.

  During this period I planned an amphibious attack on Constantinople to take place as soon as the winds favoured us. We were in a good position militarily. At Succi we controlled the land approach to the West. At Aquileia we controlled the sea approach to northern Italy. I felt reasonably secure, and was confident that before civil war broke out, Constantius would come to terms with me. But my sense of security was rudely shattered when I learned that the two legions I had sent to Aquileia had promptly gone over to Constantius. The port was now his, and I was vulnerable to an attack by sea. Since I was not able to leave Nish and Nevitta could not leave Succi, my only hope was Jovinus, who was in Austria en route to Nish. I sent him a frantic message: proceed immediately to Aquileia. My situation was now most precarious. Constantius could at any time land an army at Aquileia and cut me off from Italy and Gaul. I was in despair, confident that the gods had deserted me. But they had not. At the last moment, they intervened. On the n
ight of 20 November I was working late. Lamps filled with cheap oil smoked abominably. The three night secretaries sat at a long table, mountains of parchment stacked in front of them.

  At a separate table I was writing a letter to my uncle Julian, trying to reassure him—and myself—that victory was certain. I had just finished the letter with one of those postscripts which even old friends say they cannot decipher, when I heard footsteps quickly approaching. Without ceremony the door flew open. The clerks and I leapt to our feet. One never knows if assassins are at hand. But it was Oribasius, out of breath, a letter in his hand.

  "It's happened!" he gasped. Then he did something he had never done before. He dropped on his knees before me, and offered me the letter. "This is for you… Augustus."

  I read the first line. Then the words blurred together and I could read no more. "Constantius is dead." As I said those extraordinary words, the clerks one by one fell to their knees. Then, as in a dream, the room began to fill with people. All knew what had happened. All paid me silent homage for I had, miraculously, with the stopping of one man's breath, become sole Augustus, Emperor of Rome, Lord of the world. To my astonishment, I wept.

  Augustus

  XVI

  Priscus: That is the way it happened. At least that is the way Julian says it happened. As you must gather, he omits a number of details. To read his account one would think that there had been no resistance at all to him, other than from the wicked Constantius. This was hardly true. I should say that a majority of the "responsible" men in the empire preferred Constantius to Julian, nor was this on religious grounds, since Julian's passion for Hellenism was not generally known as of November 361. I am sure you will want to state matters as they actually were. Your famous balance would be seriously deranged if you were to record that Julian's success was the result of a popular uprising against Constantius. It was not-despite the impression you gave in your justly celebrated oration at the time of Julian's death. But then the great wings of a memorial, like those of a panegyric, are not expected to be clipped by tedious fact.