Julian (60 page)

"Can you make your gods appear?" asked Victor suddenly, "the way he does?" Because Victor would not dignify Maximus by giving him a name, my heart went out to him, briefly.

"No," I said. "The gods rather leave me alone. But then I make no effort to talk to them."

"Do you believe?" He spoke with such passionate urgency that I turned to look at him. I have never seen such cold eyes as those which stared at me beneath thick pale brows. It was like coming face to face with a lion.

"Believe in what?"

"Christ."

"I believe that he existed." I was myself again. "But I don't think of him as a god."

Victor was again the Roman commander. "It will be a long campaign," he said, as though speaking of the weather. "But we shall win it."

We are at Circesium, ninety-eight miles south of Callinicum. We have been here two days. All goes well.

On 28 March while I was still at Callinicum, four tribes of Saracens appeared at the city's gate. Their princes wished to speak to me. Now the Saracens are among the most savage and unreliable of this world's races. They live in tents in the desert. They never build so much as a hut nor till an acre of ground. Restlessly, they roam through the deserts of Assyria, Egypt, Morocco. They live on game, wild birds, whatever grows of itself. Few have tasted grain or wine. They love warfare, but on their own terms. They are good at striking swiftly (their ponies and camels are especially bred for fleetness), but since they fight only for plunder, they are useless in a formal engagement. They are best at scouting and harassing an enemy.

Salutius did not want me to see them. "They will offer to help you. Then they will make the same offer to Sapor—if they haven't already—and betray you both."

"So we shall be on our guard." I was not in the least disturbed. I received the Saracen princes. They are small, sinewy, dark from the sun. They wear full cloaks to their knees. Beneath their cloaks, they wear only leather drawers. Of the dozen princes, only one could speak Greek.

"We come, Lord, to pay homage to the ruler of the world." The Saracen then motioned to one of his fellows, who gave him an object wrapped in silk. The prince removed the silk to reveal a heavy gold crown. Hermes knows what king lost it to them. I took the crown and made them a little speech, to which the prince replied, "Lord, we wish to fight beside you in your war against Sapor. Our courage is known to all the desert. Our loyalty to our ruler is so far beyond that of the merely human that it partakes of the divine…" Salutius cleared his throat but I did not dare look at him. "Therefore, Lord, with us beside you in the desert, you need never fear…"

At that moment Nevitta broke into the meeting, to the horror of Anatolius. "Caesar, the fleet is here!" I'm afraid we all behaved like excited children. I turned the Saracens over to Salutius. Then, followed by the entire Consistory, I made my way to the docks where, as far as the eye could see, the river was filled with ships. 50 W.S., 64 P.B., 1403 C.S., Ct. Luc.

Priscus
: This entry breaks off here. The abbreviations mean that there were 50 ships of war, 64 pontoon boats used for making bridges, 1403 cargo ships containing food, weapons, foundries, siege engines; Count Lucillianus was in charge of the fleet. As you will recall, he was the commander at Sirmium whom Dagalaif captured in the middle of the night. Though he was a ridiculous creature, Julian used him because he was an important strand in that web of men and families which governs the world. Despite the vastness of the empire, the actual rulers are a small, close-knit family. Every general knows or has heard of every other general, and they talk of nothing else except, "How is old Marcellus? still with the same wife? got a different post?"

Lucillianus was waiting at the fiver bank when Julian and the Consistory arrived. He greeted Julian with meticulous ceremony and formally turned the fleet over to him. Suddenly Dagalaif said, "Lucillianus, where's your nightshirt?" Everyone laughed except Julian, who muttered, "Shut up, Dagalaif." I noticed that Lucillianus's son-in-law Jovian scowled. He was less than amused.

I have been working for three hours on my memoir. It is nearly dawn. My voice is hoarse. The secretaries have just gone. I scribble these random notes. We are still at Circeslum. It is a large city, well fortified by Diocletian. The city occupies a promontory between the Euphrates River and the place where the Abora River empties into the Euphrates. The Abora is the traditional border between Rome and Persia. Circesium is our last important outpost. From now on we shall be in enemy country.

All night the troops have been crossing the river. The engineers are complaining because the river is swollen with spring rains. But engineers always complain. So far their pontoon bridge is holding. Scouts report no sign of the Persian army. The Saracens tell me that Sapor is astonished at the suddenness of our attack. Apparently, he did not expect us until May. That means he has not yet assembled his army. All of this is marvellous for us. Yet I am not so energetic and hopeful as I ought to be. For one thing, I have just received a long letter from Sallust at Paris. He is unimpressed by the good omens. He begs me not to cross into Persia. Like Libanius, he wishes I would remain at Constantinople and execute the reforms I have proposed. As usual he puts his case superbly, and I am thoroughly depressed.

Tonight I sent away everyone except Maximus. I showed him what Sallust had written, remarking that since Sallust was seldom wrong when it came to politics, we ought at least to consider his advice. Maximus agreed. He praised Sallust at extraordinary length and I wonder how I had ever got the impression they were not friends. For almost an hour Maximus and I discussed the pros and cons of the Persian campaign. We agreed it must continue; although Maximus pointed out that there were any number. of precedents for assembling an army and then not using it. Constantius used to do this every year, maintaining that the assembling of an army is in itself a deterrent; perhaps it is.

"But then of course Sallust does not know what we know," I said at last, referring to Maximus's vision of Cybele.

"There is something else he does not know." Maximus fixed me with those luminous eyes which have looked upon so many secret and forbidden things. "Something I have not told even you."

There was a long silence. I knew Maximus well enough not to hurry him. I waited, heart's blood pounding in my ears. Maximus got to his feet. The robe of yellow silk fell about him in hieratic folds. In the wavering lamplight he cast a huge shadow on the wall. I felt the imminence of some extraordinary force, that premonitory chill which signals the approach of deity. To ward off demons, Maximus drew a circle around us with his staff. Then he spoke.

"Last night, at the darkest hour, I summoned from the depths of Tartarus, Persephone herself, the Queen of all the Dead that are and ever shall be."

The lamps flickered; his shadow danced upon the wall; though the night was warm, I shivered with cold.

"I asked her the one question that must not be asked, but since the question concerned not me but you, not you but Rome, not Rome but the worship of the gods, I believed that I could ask this awful question without incurring the wrath of the Furies, or tangling the web of Fate."

I knew the question. I waited. I could hardly breathe. Maximus drew precautionary symbols on the floor, murmuring spells as he did.

"I asked: 'Dread Queen of Tartarus, tell me the place where your loyal son Julian will meet his death.'"

Maximus suddenly stopped. His hand went to his throat. He choked; he stumbled; only by clutching at his staff was he able to keep from falling. Something invisible wrestled with him. I did not move to help him for fear of breaking the power of the circle he had drawn. At last he was free. "Demons," he whispered. "But we have the highest power. Helios is our shield…. Persephone said, 'While all men mourn and all gods rejoice at a new hero come to Olympus, our beloved son Julian will die in Phrygia.'"

Maximus's voice faded as though from great weariness. I sat very still, cold as my own Phrygian death. Then Maximus clapped his hands and said in a matter-of-fact voice, "We are quite a long way from Phrygia, my dear fellow."

I laughed weakly, from relief. "And if I have my way, I shall never set foot in that province again." I then told Maximus that I had been told the same thing by Sosipatra. He was most surprised. He had not known.

"In any case, you see now—why I am not concerned by Sallust's letter. Persephone has spoken to us. You know what few men have ever known, the place of your death."

"And the hour?"

"… impossible, for that would be an affront to Fate herself. But we do know that you will survive the Persian campaign. If you survive it, that means you will have conquered."

"Like Alexander!" In a rush my confidence was restored. Am I not Alexander come again to finish the great work of bringing to the barbarous East the truth of Hellas? We cannot fail now.

Priscus
: That was Maximus at his very best, and further proof that Sosipatra and Maximus were in league together. Maximus should have been an actor. But then he was an actor, and Julian was his devoted audience.

I don't remember much else about Circesium except that a supply master was executed because the grain barges he had promised for 4 April did not arrive. An hour after the wretch was put to death, the barges were sighted. It was an unpleasant business and Salutius, who had ordered the execution, was most unhappy at what he had done.

At dawn the next day, unable to sleep, I walked to the river bank where Salutius sat in his praetorian prefect's chair, while the army laboriously crossed the pontoon bridge into Assyria, as that part of Persia is called. I remember that cool dawn as though it were today's. A pale pink light in the east, the Abora River muddy and swollen, the cavalry on the bridge, horses shying, men cursing, armour rattling. As far as the eye could see men waited, their armour gleaming like stars in the first light, their voices unnaturally subdued, even apprehensive, for it had been many years since a Roman army had pursued the Great King into his own land. I sat on a stool beside Salutius while aides came to him at regular intervals: could the Tertiaci Legion cross before the Victores, who weren't ready? in what order were the siege engines to be moved? were the Saracens to cross now with the cavalry or later with the infantry? Patiently, Salutius kept all things in order.

In between messengers, we chatted. I asked him bluntly what he thought of the campaign. He shrugged. "Militarily, we have nothing to fear from the Persians." He indicated the legions about us. "These are the best soldiers in the world, and the Emperor is the best general. We shall beat them in every battle."

"But they avoid battles. And this is their country. They know how to harass an enemy."

"Even so, we are the superior force. Only…"

"Only?" Salutius studied the list of legions which rested on his lap. "Only?" I repeated.

But at that moment a centurion rode up, cursing the Saracens, who insisted on crossing at the same time as the cavalry "with those damned wild horses of theirs!" Salutius soothed the man, effected a compromise, by which time a notary had come to tell me that the Emperor wished me to attend him. As I left, Salutius said, "Be on your guard, Priscus. We are not safe." An understatement, as it turned out.

Julian Augustus 6 April

I crossed the Abora River yesterday afternoon. As Highest Priest I made sacrifice to Zeus. All omens were good except one: my horse nearly rode over the body of a quartermaster who had been executed by order of the praetorian prefect. Luckily, one of my aides pulled the horse to one side, nearly unseating me in the process.

We then rode some fifteen miles to a village called Zaitha, which means "olive tree" in Persian. The day was cool, and our spirits were high. Miles before we got to Zaitha we could see its principal monument, the tall circular mausoleum built for the Emperor Gordian. In 242 Gordian conducted a successful campaign against the Persians. Two years later he was murdered by his own men, who had been incited to mutiny by an Arab named Philip who became—briefly—emperor. A sad story, and typical. How often have emperors won great victories and saved the state only to be struck down by an unsuspected rival! Gordian decisively defeated the Persian king at Resaina, only to be murdered by Philip. As a result, a lasting victory over Persia was promptly thrown away by that pusillanimous Arab who wanted only to loot an empire gained by murder.

We stopped for an hour at the tomb, which is in good repair since the Persians respect monuments to the dead, while the roving Saracens fear all buildings. I offered a sacrifice to Gordian's spirit and prayed that I be spared his fate. I must get a biography of him.

I know almost nothing of his life, except of course that he was a friend of Plotinus. Maximus says Gordian still haunts this part of the world, demanding vengeance. Unhappy spirit!

While we were still at the tomb, Nevitta got me to one side. He was troubled because, "The men believe this is the first time Romans have ever invaded Persia. They believe that…" he gestured to include all the south… "this country has a spell on it."

We were standing in the shadow of the tomb. I reached out my hand and touched the rough-hewn tufa. "Here is the proof that we have been in Persia before."

"Exactly, Emperor. They say that this old emperor was killed by Persian demons because he dared to cross the Abora River. They say lightning struck him dead. They say Persia is forbidden to us."

I was astonished. Nevitta, who fears no man, is frightened of demons. I spoke to him as teacher to child. "Nevitta, Gordian defeated the Great King in a battle one hundred and twenty years ago. Then he was killed by his own men. The Persians had nothing to do with his death. They are not demons. They are men. Men can be defeated, especially Persians. We have defeated Persians many times before."