Justinian (25 page)

‘Was the use of Socrates as a character merely a literary device for presenting a philosophical argument?' pondered Theodahad, pen in hand, ‘or did it represent Plato's personal views?' Dressed in a Roman dalmatic, and seated at a desk in his
tablinum
(festooned with busts of Greek philosophers and Roman poets) in Ravenna's royal palace, the Gothic monarch was working on a treatise, which he hoped would at last cause others to take him seriously as a scholar and a man of letters. This opus (about the differences between Plato's early dialogues and the middle and late ones) was to be entitled
Crito versus Gorgias
, or perhaps
The Avoidance of Hiatus
. When published, it would, he hoped, impress Cassiodorus to the extent that his eminent
Scriba Concilii
*
would spread the word, and thus increase his – Theodahad's – status among his Roman subjects. Useless, of course, to expect any Goths to read it; even the few who were literate were hardly likely to have heard of Plato.

He was interrupted by a
silentiarius
(a Goth, the Roman
silentiarii
having been phased out under Theoderic) ushering in, ‘The ambassador from Constantinople.'

‘Ah – Petrus Patricius,' the king greeted the travel-stained figure who entered. ‘Back so soon? Fresh tidings from the emperor, I take it.'

‘And from the empress, Your Majesty,' said Peter, removing from his satchel two despatches which he handed to the king.

Theodahad's face paled as he read the first letter, then cleared as he perused the second.

‘You may tell His Serenity, Justinianus Augustus, that all is well with Amalasuntha Regina,' he informed the ambassador. ‘Far from being under house arrest, she is presently recuperating at a pleasant spot in one of my . . .
our estates in Umbria. Her health, you see, has suffered in consequence of her son's untimely death.'

Pacing the study after Peter the Patrician had departed, Theodahad – his markedly Teutonic features furrowed in thought, contemplated his next course of action. Justinian's letter had been unequivocal – return Amalasuntha immediately to Ravenna as queen, or expect the Empire to invade and reinstate her. But against that, the tenor of Theodora's message could hardly have been more different: if Amalasuntha were to be got rid of, Theodahad could rest assured that the emperor would do nothing. The king knew that Theodora's influence over her husband was total; it was well known that he could refuse her nothing. Were she to veto an Italian expedition, then it would be most unlikely to take place. So, on balance, Theodahad felt confident that he could proceed with impunity to do away with Amalasuntha and consolidate his position as sole monarch.

But what was Theodora's motive in sending him the letter? Theodahad decided it was probably jealousy. Suppose a conspiracy of Gothic nobles were to force the queen to come to Constantinople in order to make a personal appeal to Justinian? Amalasuntha was younger than Theodora, and beautiful to boot – probably more so than the empress. Thus, Theodahad reasoned, to Theodora the queen would appear a potential rival, and as such, a target for elimination.

After several hours of swithering, the king at last made up his mind. Murmuring an aphorism of Epicurus, ‘
Nil igitur mors est ad nos
– Therefore death is nothing to us', he sent for two of his undercover henchmen. When the men arrived – two burly Gepids, a tribe noted for its savagery as well as for its dullness of mind – he proceeded to issue them with instructions, along with a purse of
solidi
. Soon the pair were posting east then south along the Via Aemilia and the Via Cassia – bound for Lacus Volsiniensis . . .

In the fortified villa on the island of Martana assigned by her
consors regni
for her ‘recovery', Amalasuntha prepared to take her bath. In the calm of that spring morning,
*
walking the short distance from the main building to the bath-house, she paused to admire the scenery on the far side of the lake: a shoreline of white rocks making a dramatic contrast to the dark green of pines and cypresses beyond. A flight of ducks planed down onto the tranquil sheet of water, shimmering in the sun's early rays. The sight,
as usual, helped to calm her troubled mind, tortured with uncertainty since her arrest and confinement in this place, in December of the previous year.

The ritual of bathing was one of the few things to give her pleasure in her present existence – a welcome break in the boredom mingled with anxiety which filled her days. First, after depositing her clothes in the
apodyterium
or changing room, a bracing immersion in the plunge pool. Then, a session in the
sudatorium
or steam room to sweat the dirt from every pore, followed by the transit of three cubicles – the
laconium
,
caldarium
, and
tepidarium
, the air in each progressively less hot. Finally, after scraping off the dirt and loosened outer skin with a
strigil
, a period of repose wrapped in a soft dry sheet in the
frigidarium
, when a delicious sensation of perfect well-being would steal over her.

Seated on the wooden bench surrounding the inside of the
sudatorium
, Amalasuntha felt the first prickles of discomfort. The steam was becoming hotter than usual, causing her skin to redden as well as freely to perspire. Clearly, the slaves had miscalculated the amount of fuel to heat the external boiler. She must have a word with the major-domo. For the present, she couldn't bear to remain in the steam room a moment longer; the heat was now intolerable. She tried to push back the sliding door into the
laconium
, but it seemed to be stuck. Fighting down a surge of panic, she pushed harder – still no movement. The door back to the plunge pool she found was likewise jammed. Shouting for the slaves to come to her assistance, she continued to wrestle with the doors – to no avail. Meanwhile, the steam grew hotter and hotter; gushing through the inlets in scalding jets, it caused crops of blisters to erupt all over her skin. Now the vapour was as hot as boiling water: she screamed in mortal agony as the blood began to seethe and bubble in her veins . . .

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.

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.