by Gore Vidal
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.
"They tell me I am dying." Before I could give ritual comfort, she said, "I don't mind. I'm not afraid. Only do remember that the new wing on the east has only a temporary roof. There wasn't time to have the right sort of tiles made. You know the ones I mean. They are called, I think, Patrician tiles. Anyway, the steward knows what to buy. The temporary ones will have to be replaced before the spring rains. I have had estimates made of the cost. It will be expensive, but we can take it out of my private account in Rome. The new mosaic work could be spoiled should there be a great deal of rain, which there is apt to be this time of year in Rome." With those words, Helena died, thinking of her beloved villa in the Via Nomentana.
The bishops looked at me furiously as though I had in some way spoiled their fun. Then they set to praying, very loud. I left the room. In the outer hall I found Helena's women.
"The Queen is dead." I felt nothing. They began to wail.
"Prepare her," I said sternly, "and save your tears."
They went inside the bedroom. Oribasius put his hand on my shoulder. I looked about me at all the things Helena had owned, worn, touched.
"I don't know," I said at last, with wonder, "what I feel."
"You should feel relief. She suffered. Now it's over."
I nodded. "We are toys, and a divine child takes us up and puts us down, and breaks us when he chooses."
So my marriage ended. Helena's body was sent to Rome and she is buried in the same mausoleum as her sister Constantia and our son. I also remembered to give orders to replace the tiles in the villa. Helena was forty-two when she died. I was twenty-eight.
The day after her death, I took the vow of celibacy, as an offering to Cybele for her continued favour.
XV
On 6 November 360, I celebrated my fifth year as Caesar, my "quinquennial", as the Romans call it.
I thought it wise to make a great event of this occasion. It is well known that I detest what goes on in hippodromes, whether games, fighting or the slaughter of animals. But there are certain things one must do in a high place and the giving of games is one of the most important. If the games are a success, one enjoys popularity with the mob. If not, not. It's as simple as that. Though I have many times cursed those consuls of the old Republic who started this boring and costly business, I always do what is expected of me as well as I can with the means at hand.
I am told that the games at Vienne were a success. I cannot judge. I attended them as little as possible. But when I did appear, it was as Augustus. I wore a heavy gold crown which I am now quite used to, justifying it to myself as a symbol of the sun, which is God. I looked quite imperial that year. Even Oribasius was satisfied; he could never endure the old purple fillet I usually wore in public. "You look like a gymnasium director," he would complain.
Constantius and I exchanged polite letters on the death of Helena. Then in December I received the announcement that Constantius had married a lady of Antioch called Faustina. I sent him congratulations. Meanwhile, each of us prepared for civil war.
A number of significant things happened in December. One afternoon while I was practising with shield and sword (I do this nearly every day, because I came late to soldiering and must work harder than most to toughen muscles and learn the subtleties of combat), my shield broke loose from both the handle and the strap, and fell to the ground with a crash in full view of the Petulantes with whom I took exercise. Before anyone could interpret this as an ill omen, I said loudly, "Look!" And! held up the handle which I still clutched. "I have what I was holding!" This was taken to mean that I would hold Gaul, no matter what happened. But I was puzzled until that night when I dreamt that I saw again the guardian deity of Rome. He came to my bedside, and he spoke very plainly, in verse:
When Zeus the noble Aquarius shall reach
When Saturn come to Virgo's twenty. fifth degree,
Then shall Constantius, K. of Asia, of this life so sweet,
The end attain with heaviness and grief.
This was as clear a statement as one could hope for from the gods. The next morning I told Oribasius, and he in turn called in Mastara, the best of the Etruscan astrologers. He cast Constantius's horoscope and found that the Emperor would indeed be dead within a few months. He even set the date as some time in June 361. But in spite of this celestial assurance, I took no chances. I continued to prepare for war.
• • •
I liked the praetorian prefect, Nebridius, though he did not like me, for the very reason I liked him: he was faithful to his master and I honoured him for that. Yet despite his loyalty to Constantius, he did not conspire against me. Because of this, I allowed him to carry out the ceremonial functions of praetorian prefect, though nothing more. Yet despite our cordial relations, he was always on the lookout for ways to trap me. He devised an excellent embarrassment.
On 6 January, the Gallleans celebrate something called the feast of the Epiphany. It is the day the Galilean is supposed to have been baptized. Suspecting my dislike of the Galileans, Nebridius announced to the city that I would attend the feast of the Epiphany at the Vienne charnel house, a brand-new basilica paid for by Helena's numerous gifts to the bishops. I was furious but dared not show it. I am sorry to say Oribasius was amused at my predicament.
Grimly, I did what I had to do. I spent two hours meditating on the thighbone of some villain who had been eaten by lions at Rome, while the bishop delivered a considerable sermon at me, praying that I would throw the weight of my majesty against the enemy Arians. He even turned political by suggesting that as Constantius was Arian and I possibly Athanasian, the line might then be drawn between us in all things, and the side of "truth" (also the side of the majority, he added pointedly) would prevail, supporting my throne like columns, I believe was his metaphor, or it may have been holy caryatids. When it came time to pray, my words were addressed to the Galilean but my heart spoke to Zeus.
The winter was a time of waiting. I was now ready to march. All that I needed was a sign from heaven. Though the prefect at Rome would not allow my emissaries to consult the Sibylline books, a friendly priest of the old order was able to look at a part of that book which describes our period. According to his secret report, I would indeed be the next emperor. My reign would be stormy but long. That is all I ask for: time. Time to make an old world young again, to make winter spring, to free the One God from the triple monster of
the atheists. Give me twenty years, O Helios, and I will fill the earth with praise for your light, and illuminate the dark windings of Hades' kingdom! Even as Persephone returned to Demeter, so shall our time's living-dead return to your arms, which are light, which is life, which is all!
In April I learned that the German tribe of King Vadomar had crossed the Rhine and was devastating the area near Raetia. This was particularly puzzling news because two years before we had negotiated a "final" peace with Vadomar. He had no grievance against us. He was a cultivated man, educated at Milan. He was by nature cautious. To any show of force he always responded with a thousand apologies and a quick withdrawal to his own side of the river. That Vadomar was now actively in the field against me could mean only one thing. He was acting on Constantius's orders. I sent Vadomar one of my counts, a man called Libino. He was a good soldier and negotiator, or so I thought. I sent him with half a legion and orders to reason with Vadomar. Should reason fail, threats of extinction were in order. Libino got as far as Sechingen on the Rhine. There the Germans surrounded him. Unfortunately, Libino was eager for battle, even though his mission was only to negotiate. Like a fool, he ordered his men to attack. Five minutes later, Libino himself was hacked in two by a German sword, and his men, outnumbered five to one, were massacred.
I then dispatched the Petulantes to the Rhine only to find that the savages had faded into their forests, as mysteriously as they had appeared. For the moment all was peaceful on the Rhine. Now ordinarily I would have taken this for what it seemed to be: a single raid by restless tribesmen, conducted without the knowledge of Vadomar, who all the while was writing me long and eloquent letters, offering to punish his own people, if of course the guilty ones were his. He even sent a gift of money to the family of the dead Libino.
I did not believe Vadomar, but I was willing to forget the matter until one of the border guards intercepted a German messenger bound for the East. The messenger was found to be carrying a letter from Vadomar to Constantius. I quote from it: "Your will is being done, Lord, and your Caesar who lacks discipline will be chastened." That was all [ needed. I promptly sent one of my notaries, a clever chap named Philogius, to join the Petulantes who were still at Sechingen, close to the country of Vadomar.
Libanius: I feel compelled to note that this same "clever chap named Philogius" has just been appointed Count of the East by Theodosius. He is a dedicated Christian and no one knows how we shall fare under his rule. If only Julian had sent him instead of the long-forgotten Libino to that fatal rendezvous on the Rhine! But then, were it not he, fate would no doubt find us a worse Philogius. The Count arrived in Antioch early this month. I saw him for the first time yesterday in the senate. He moved amongst us like a swan who has found himself in a particularly small and distasteful pond. Do I dare mention Julian to him?
Julian Augustus
I gave Philogius sealed instructions. If he encountered Vadomar on our side of the Rhine, he was to open the letter and do as he was told. Otherwise, the letter was to be destroyed. I was fairly certain that he would see Vadomar, who often travelled in our territory, visiting Roman friends. Like so many German nobles, he was in some ways more Roman than the Romans.
Philogius met Vadomar at a reception given by a local contractor. Philogius invited the king to dinner the next day at the officers' mess of the Petulantes. Vadomar said that he would be delighted to dine with such distinguished men. When he arrived for dinner, Philogius excused himself, saying that he had forgotten to give certain instructions to the cook. He then read my letter. In it I commanded him to arrest Vadomar for high treason. Philogius did so, to the astonishment of his guest.
A week later, Vadomar was brought to me at Vienne. I received him alone in my study. He is a handsome, blue-eyed man, with a face red from hard drink and cold winters. But his manners are as polished as any Roman courtier's. He speaks excellent Greek. He was very frightened.
"You have made a bad choice, King," I said.
He stammered: he did not know what I meant. I gave him the letter we had intercepted. The red face became blotchy.
"I did as I was told, Augustus…"
"In the letter you call me Caesar."
"No, no, Augustus. That is, I had to when I wrote to him. He'd ordered me to attack you. What could I do?"
"You might have honoured your treaty with me. Or you might have made a better choice, as I suggested originally. You might have chosen me instead of Constantius as your master."
"But I do, great Lord. I do now! I always have. Only…"
"Don't!" I stopped him with a gesture. I take no pleasure in seeing another man grovel before me. "Actually, you—and your correspondence—have been very useful to me." I took the letter back from him. "I now have proof that not only does Constantius mean to destroy me, he incites the barbarians against his own people. Now I know what to do, and how to do it."
"But what will you do, Augustus?" Vadomar was momentarily distracted from his own fate.
"Do? I shall exile you to Spain." He fell on his face in gratitude, and it was with difficulty that I extracted myself from his embrace, and turned him over to the guards. I sent for Oribasius. I have never been so elated in my life.
"We're ready!" I shouted when he joined me. "Everything is ready!" I don't recall now what else I said. I suppose I "babbled", as Priscus calls my talk during seizures of enthusiasm. I do remember that Oribasius, always the most conservative of advisers, agreed entirely with me. It was now or never. There remained only one possible obstacle, the mood of the legions. Some were still adamant about leaving Gaul.
Together we studied the military roster. Those units prone to mutiny we sent as permanent garrisons to the farther cities of Gaul. The remainder would assemble at full strength on 25 June, when it would be my task to rouse them for the war against Constantius. Never was an orator given greater challenge. I rehearsed my speech every day for three weeks. Oribasius coached me until he too knew every word by heart.
At dawn on the 25th, Oribasius and I met with several officers of like mind in a small chapel off the council chamber. There I made special offering to Bellona, goddess of battles. The omens were propitious. Then, nervous at the thought of the speech ahead, I went forth in full regalia to review the legions who were gathered in a field outside the city, just beyond the gate through which I had arrived in Vienne five years before, a green boy with a handful of troops who knew only how to pray. I thought of this as I made my way to the stone tribunal, my neck rigid beneath its burden of gold.
I do not have a copy of this speech with me. In fact, my chief secretary seems to have packed none of my personal files though I especially asked that they be brought with us, knowing that I would be composing this memoir in Persia. Nevertheless, I recall most of what I said, even down to the gestures which I find myself reproducing as I repeat the words I said two years ago. I will not weary the reader with a catalogue of gestures, nor every word of the peroration. I will only say that I was at my best.
First, I addressed the army as "Noble soldiers". This is an unusual way to style an army, and it caused much comment. Yet I wanted to emphasize to them their importance to me and my respect for them. I spoke of all that we had done together against the Germans and the Franks. "But now that I am Augustus, I shall, with your support and that of the Deity—should fortune honour us—aim at greater things. To forestall those in the East who wish us ill, I propose that while the garrisons of Illyricum are still small, we take possession of all Dacia and then decide what more must be done. In support of this plan, I want, under oath, your promise of a lasting and faithful accord. For my part, I will do all that I can to avoid both weakness and timidity. I also swear that I will undertake nothing that does not contribute to us all. I only beg you: do nothing to hurt private citizens, for we are known to the world not only as the victors of the Rhine but as men whose right conduct in victory has made half a world prosperous and free."
There was more in this vein. At the end, by variou
s cries and loud oaths, they swore that they would follow me to the end of the earth, something of an exaggeration since their immediate interest was the spoils to be got as the result of what they knew would be an easy campaign in Dacia.
When I asked them to swear the oath of allegiance to me as Augustus, they did so, swords to their throats. Then I turned to the officers and officials gathered about the stone tribunal:
"Will you, too, swear allegiance to me, in God's name Y' I asked according to ritual. All swore, except Nebridius. There was a menacing growl from the troops.
"You will not swear allegiance to me, Prefect?"
"No, Caesar. I have already sworn an oath to uphold the Emperor. Since he still lives, I cannot swear again without jeopardizing my soul." His voice trembled, but not his will. Only I heard his whole speech, for on the word "Caesar" the men roared their anger. Swords were drawn. A legionnaire grabbed Nebridius by the neck and was about to throw him in the dust when I quickly stepped down from the tribunal and put myself between the soldier and the prefect. Nebridius, pale as death, clung to my knees. I removed my cloak and threw it over him: the ancient gesture which means a man has the protection of the emperor. Then I shouted to the legions, "He will suffer quite enough when we are masters of Rome!" This bit of demagoguery distracted the men, and I ordered Nebridius taken under guard to the palace.
I then reviewed the troops. It was a fine sight, and all the doubts which had tormented me in the night were dispelled by the bluegreen summer day and the sight of twenty thousand men marching in rhythmic unison to the Pyrrhic measure. It is at such moments that one realizes war is an essential aspect of deity, and that the communion of an army is a mystery in its way quite as beautiful as that of Eleusis. For a moment all hearts beat to the same music. We were one and there was nothing on earth we could not do! When I returned to the palace, I sent for the stubborn Nebridius. I exiled him to Tuscany. He had expected death. With tears in his eyes he said, "Caesar, give me your hand. Let me… in gratitude…" But I pulled back.