Julian (39 page)

"I have no choice," he said. "If I stay here, if I remain as I am, he will have my head." He indicated the papers on the table.

"There is a report here that he is negotiating with the Scythians to come into Gaul. Typical, of course. To destroy me he'll wreck Gaul a second time, fill it again with savages and
never
regain it."

He sat up. "Next spring, my friends, I take the field against Constantius."

All that I could think to say, finally, was, "He has ten times the army you have. He controls Italy, Africa, Illyricum, Asia…"

"I know." Julian was unexpectedly calm. Ordinarily, such a conversation would have had him on his feet, arms waving, eyes flashing, words tumbling over one another in his excitement. I think I was more impressed by his unusual gravity than by what he said.

"But if we move swiftly, gathering strength as we go, I can take all of Europe in three months."

"Then you must face the largest army on earth, at Constantinople." Oribasius looked unhappy.

"I believe I shall win. Anyway, better to die at the head of an army than perish here and be known to history as the fourth usurper Constantius put down. Besides, this contest is between the Gallleans and the true gods, and we shall win it because I was chosen to win it." He said this so quietly, so lacking in his usual exuberance that there was nothing left for us to say; sooner tell the rain to stop on a spring morning in Gaul.

Then he was his old self. "So now Priscus deserts us! Just as the battle lines are drawn, he retreats to Athens."

"Cowardice is my prevailing characteristic," I said.

"And uxoriousness," said Oribasius slyly. "Priscus longs for the powerful arms of Hippia…"

"And the company of my children, who are now at an age to embarrass me not only intellectually but financially."

"Will you need money?" Julian, even at his poorest—and at this point he was unable to pay his household expenses—was always generous to friends. Maximus took him for a considerable fortune… and Maximus was one of the reasons I was leaving Gaul: he was rumoured to have accepted Julian's offer to join him in the spring. I could not face that.

I told Julian I had all the money I needed. He then gave me his personal medallion, or
tessura
, which allowed me to travel free of charge anywhere in the West. We made a most warm farewell. He seemed perfectly certain of his own victory, although in the memoir he betrays an anxiety which one would never have suspected from his behaviour, proving that our Julian had at last grown up. For once he kept his own counsel.

Julian and Oribasius saw me off in the afternoon carriage which left from the palace door for Vienne. As I got into the wagon with its usual complement of bishops and secret agents, Julian whispered in my ear, "We shall meet in Constantinople." That was the last I saw of him until we did indeed meet in Constantinople, to my surprise. I thought he would be dead before the autumn.

Julian Augustus

I should here sum up what I did in Gaul during the four years I was actively Caesar. Three times I crossed the Rhine. One thousand persons who were held as captives on the farther bank I took back. In two battles and one siege I captured ten thousand prisoners, men in the prime of life. During those years, I sent Constantius four levies of excellent infantry, three more of infantry (not so good), and two very distinguished squadrons of cavalry. I recovered every place held or besieged by the barbarians, some fifty towns. After strengthening our defences as far as Augst, I proceeded late in the summer to Vienne by way of Besanqon. All told, I spent three months in the field that summer.

I had hoped to find Maximus at Besanqon. There was a rumour that he was there, waiting for me. But though I had the agents look everywhere, he was not to be found. I did have a curious experience in Besanqon while strolling about the city, quite alone, enjoying the sights. There is a fine view from the citadel, which is situated on a high rock. The place is well protected, not only by its eminence but by the River Doubs which circles it like a moat. Besanqon is a small town now, but it was once an important city and there are many abandoned temples, relics of a better time. Standing in front of the ruined temple of Zeus, I saw a man dressed as a Cynic. I was so positive that it was Maximus that I came up behind him—as boys do, I'm afraid—and clapped him on the shoulder to startle him. I succeeded. He turned about and to my embarrassment it was not Maximus at all but a fellow I had once met at Prohaeresius's house. Both of us blushed and stammered. Then he saluted me, and said, "How great is Caesar to remember the friend of his youth, a humble philosopher, a mere seeker of truth…"

"Welcome to Gaul," I said, not letting on I had mistaken him for another. "You must dine with me." And thus I attached to my court for several months one of the most extraordinary bores I have ever known. Oribasius teases me about it to this day. But I never had the heart to dismiss the man, so he sat with us night after night, ruining all conversation. Why do I find it difficult simply to say, 'No!' Why am I so timid? I envy the tyrants. Also, why do I tell this story when it is my purpose to describe only crucial events? Because I am reluctant to describe the state of my own mind that winter at Vienne when, like Julius Caesar before me, I decided to cross the Alps. I have always said that I acted in self-defence, that I did not want to usurp the throne, that I wanted only to be recognized by Constantius as legitimate Augustus in the West. Yet I must say I find it impossible to describe what I really felt. Only historians can ever be certain of one's motives! Nevertheless, I do mean to record the truth, no matter how painful or in what a bad light it puts me.

•          •          •

I entered Vienne about the first of October. I moved into the praetorian prefect's palace. I now had a personal retinue of nearly a thousand men and women, slaves and soldiers. Heaven knows how these households expand, but they do, and they are ruinously expensive even for emperors… even?
Especially
for emperors! I installed Nebridius, the new praetorian prefect, in my old villa by the wall. He was a good enough fellow who wisely kept to himself.

At this time I made an important decision. In all public places it is the law that the image of the Emperor, either painted or in the round, be displayed. Oaths are sworn to it. No legal decision is binding unless made in the sight of his image. And so the ubiquitous face of Constantius, with its soulful eyes and pinched mouth, looked down on every official in the West, including me. My first day in Vienne, I ordered that my own portrait,
as Augustus
, be placed beside his. Now the two of us stared, side by side, at litigants and lawyers. I am told that we were known as "man and wife", since I looked the man with a beard and he, with his jewellery and smooth face, seemed the woman.

I was bombarded all through the summer with letters from Constantius. Why had I detained Lupicinus? Why had I stolen grain belonging to the prefecture of Italy? Where were the troops I had promised? The horses? Why did I style myself Augustus? I was ordered to report immediately to Constantius at Antioch. He even prescribed the household I might bring with me: no more than a hundred soldiers, five eunuchs… he delighted in making lists. Yet to every denunciatory letter I made soft answer, always signing myself "Caesar".

While I was assembling the army of Gaul, Constantius was having his difficulties with Arsaces, that most unreliable king of Armenia, who was suspected of dealing with the Persians on the sly. I have since read the secret transcript of the meeting between Arsaces and Constantius. It was shocking. Arsaces got everything he asked for in exchange for remaining as he ought to be in the first place: loyal to us who support not only his throne but his country's independence. Constantius was hopeless at negotiations. To seal this '"reunion" (there is no word to describe holding an ally to a course to which honour and treaty have already committed him), Constantius gave Arsaces as wife the daughter of the old praetorian prefect Ablabius. Her name is Olympia, and she was once supposed to marry Constantius, which made her the nearest thing he had to an unmarried female relation. She is now queen of Armenia, a devout Galilean and hostile to me.

During this exchange between the Emperor and the Armenian, there was much talk of me. It is a strange experience to read literal transcripts of conversations in which one is discussed like a character in an epic.

Arsaces brought up the subject: would Julian march against the Emperor? Constantius thought it unlikely. If I did, at a signal from him, the German tribes would attack me on the Rhine. Then, should I survive them, Scythians would bar my way to the East, not to mention the loyal armies of Italy and Illyricum.

Arsaces wanted to know if it was true that Julian's victories in Gaul surpassed those of Julius Caesar. Constantius responded angrily: "All that was done in Gaul was done by my generals, acting on the orders of my praetorian prefect, who obeys me."

Constantius then went on to declare that he himself had achieved every victory, despite my hopeless muddling. In fact, I was so incompetent that Constantius was himself forced to take personal command of the army in order to win the famous victory of Strasbourg!

I must say I trembled with rage when I read those lines. Yes, I am vain. There is nothing to be done about it. I want credit. I want honour. I want fame. But I want only what is mine. I was amazed at Constantius's boldness. How could he lie with such recklessness? Arsaces must have known that Constantius was on the Danube becoming Sarmaticus Sarmaticus, while I was freeing Gaul. I rather suspect that Arsaces
did
know the Emperor was lying, for in the transcript he swiftly changed the subject. I was particularly struck by one passage about myself (how hungrily we read about ourselves!). Constantius said that I had no gift for soldiering; I was a pedant who should have been left at the University of Athens. Arsaces remarked that the pedant seemed to have made a remarkable court of fellow pedants for himself at Paris. He even named them. Constantius said that he approved of the company I kept for schoolteachers would keep me so occupied with books and idle dispute that I would not have time to ponder treason. He offered to show Arsaces the "cringing" letter in which I declared my loyalty to him, while rejecting the title "Augustus". Arsaces said that he would indeed like copies, and they were prepared. I wonder if Constantius showed him
all
the correspondence? I still blush when I think of that Armenian reading my highly politic and conciliatory (but hardly "cringing") letters.

Then Arsaces said, "I mention the men at Julian's court because there is a rumour that they are all of them atheists." Surprisingly, Constantius seemed not at all interested in this. He merely remarked that schoolteachers tend to be unreliable, dirty, greedy, impious, beard-wearing… all of them Cynics, he said largely. But Arsaces was obviously concerned; he hoped that Julian was a true Galilean. Constantius said that he was certain I was but that it made little difference, since after the Persian campaign I would cease to exist. They then talked of other matters.

Constantius next proceeded south to Melitena, Locatena and Samarath. He crossed the Euphrates and made for Edessa, a large city of Mesopotamia, sixty miles west of the ruins of Amida, now Sapor's by right of conquest. Daily Constantius's army grew larger and larger, but he did nothing with it. Finally, as autumn began, he marched to Amida. In sight of the troops, he wept; not a particularly helpful gesture in a war. That was the same day that Ursulus, the Count of the Sacred Largesse, made his much-quoted remark,

"See how bravely our citizens are protected by those soldiers, whose pay is bankrupting us!" This sardonic remark later cost him his life. One sympathizes with treasurers, but one must honour soldiers, especially those who fought at Amida against impossible odds.

From Amida, Constantius crept some thirty miles south-east to Begabde, a Persian town on the Tigris. He laid siege to the town, but because of the ardour of the Persians and his own incompetence, Begabde withstood every sort of assault. Then came the rainy season. Those who were there have since told me that the thunder and lightning was appalling. Our men were demoralized by what they took to be heaven's anger-and perhaps it was, directed at Constantius. Also, there were innumerable rainbows, which means that the goddess Iris has been sent down from heaven to effect some important change in human affairs. Constantius abandoned the siege and withdrew to Antioch for the winter.

Meanwhile, I was getting my own affairs in order at Vienne. I sent for various wise men and prophets, including the Hierophant of Greece. I consulted oracles and sacred books; I made sacrifices to the gods… in secret, of course, for Vienne is a city dominated by Galileans. All signs agreed that I would prevail and that Constantius would fall. Yet I did not neglect the practical. Every prophecy is always open to interpretation and if it turns out that its meaning was other than what one thought, it is not the fault of the gods but of us who have misinterpreted their signs. Cicero has written well on this. I particularly credit dreams, agreeing with Aristotle that important messages from heaven are often sent to men as they sleep, though to dream meaningfully it is necessary for the eyes beneath the lids to be turned neither to left nor right but set straight ahead, often difficult to arrange.

At the end of October, during consistory, Oribasius sent me a message. I must go straight to my wife. She was dying. Eyes shut, Helena lay on her bed. She was emaciated except for her stomach, which was grotesquely large beneath the coverlet. Oribasius was at her side while the bishops of Vienne and Paris chanted and prayed. I took Helena's hand, now cool, soon cold. It is a grisly miracle when the soul leaves the body, taunting us with the unimportance of that flesh which in life so entirely enslaves us, since it is us, or seems to be.

"Julian." She spoke in an ordinary voice.

I found I could say nothing, only murmur sounds of compassion. Yet I suffered with her even though I hardly knew her. We were royal animals, yoked by the same master to pull a golden carriage. Now one animal had fallen between the traces.