by Gore Vidal
"Procopius!" Nevitta said the name contemptuously, concentrating in that one word a lifelong contempt for all things Greek.
"We'll never see him here. Never!"
"I've sent Procopius orders…" I began.
"But why hasn't he obeyed you?" Victor led the attack. "Why is he still in Corduene?"
"Yes, why? One is never certain whether Dagalaif is naïve or subtle.
"Because he is a traitor," said Nevitta, the Frankish accent growing harsh and guttural, the words difficult to understand. "Because he and that Christian king of Armenia, your friend," he turned malevolently on Ormisda—"want us all dead, so that Procopius can be the next Christian emperor."
There was a shocked silence at this. I broke it, mildly. "We can't be sure that that is the reason."
"You can't, Emperor, but I can. I know these Asiatics. I never trusted one in my life." He looked straight at Victor who returned the hard gaze evenly.
I laughed. "I hope you trust me, Nevitta. I'm Asiatic."
"You're Thracian, Emperor, which is almost as good as being a Frank or a Gaul. Besides, you're not a Christian, or so I've heard."
Everyone laughed; the tension was relieved. Then Victor expressed the hope that we obtain as good a treaty as possible from Sapor. Ormisda and I exchanged a quick glance. I am sure that Victor knows nothing. I am also glad we kept the embassy a secret, especially now that I know Nevitta and Dagalaif are eager to go home. Except for me, no one believes Procopius will join us. I am certain that he will. If he does not…
Salutius proposed a compromise. "We should all assume that Procopius intends to obey his Emperor. Having recently executed a man whom I'd falsely accused of not doing his duty, I fayour giving Procopius every opportunity to prove himself loyal. After all, we don't know what difficulties he may have encountered. He may be ill, or dead. So I suggest that the Augustus wait at least a week before beginning the siege, or making any other plans."
This compromise was accepted. Like most compromises it solves nothing while prolonging—perhaps dangerously—the time of indecision. But I said nothing beyond agreeing to delay the siege. I wanted to appear reasonable because I was about to propose what I knew would be a most unpopular action.
"Our fleet requires twenty thousand men to man and guard it. As long as we keep close to the river, the men can do both. But if we enter the interior-either to go home or to pursue the Great King's army—those men must go with us. If they go with us, the Persians will seize our ships. To prevent that, we must burn the fleet."
They were stunned. Nevitta was the first to speak. He wanted to know how I expected to return to our own country without ships. I explained that whether we returned by way of the Euphrates or by way of the Tigris, we would have to go upstream, a slow and laborious business. The fleet would be an encumbrance. This point was conceded to me; even so, I was opposed by the entire staff except Ormisda, who realized that only by burning the fleet will I be able toget the legions to follow me into the interior. Yes, I am determined now to secure all of the provinces of Persia as far as the border of India, a thousand miles to the east. Alexander did as much. I am convinced that I can do it. Sapor's army is no match for ours. With the harvest at hand, we shall not have to worry about supplies. Only one thing holds me back: Procopius. If he were here, I could set out confident that with Ormisda's help Ctesiphon would fall and there would be no enemy at my back. But I cannot leave until I know where Procopius is. Meanwhile, I must burn the fleet.
Patiently, I answered the arguments of the generals. I convinced none but all acquiesced. As they were leaving my tent, Salutius took me to one side. I could feel the unpleasant heat of his breath on my skin as he whispered close to my ear the single word
"Mutiny".
"Who?"
Though the last of the generals had left the tent, Salutius continued to whisper. "The Christians."
"Victor?"
"I don't know. Perhaps. My reports are vague. The men are singing a song that they will soon be home but you will not be."
"That is treason."
"The way the words run, the thing sounds innocent enough. Whoever wrote it was clever,"
"Who sing it? Gallleans?"
Salutius nodded. "The Zianni and the Herculani. Only a few are involved so far. But if you burn the fleet…"
"Salutius, believe in me." I took his hand. "I know things that others don't."
"As you command, Lord." Salutius bowed and left me. I have spent this night alone except for the deaf-mute and Callistus. I pray. I study Alexander's campaign in Persia. I examine maps and read histories. Helios willing, I shall spend the winter on the border of India. No Roman emperor has ever annexed so great a territory to our world.
Julian Augustus 1 June
The fleet is burned. Twelve ships were spared, suitable for making bridges. We shall transport them on wagons. I have just sent Arintheus with the light-armed infantry to wipe out the remnants of the Persian army in hiding near by. I have also ordered him to fire the surrounding fields and slaughter the cattle. Once we are gone it will take the inhabitaris of Ctesiphon many months to get sufficient food. That will give us time. No word from Procopius.
Priscus: On a hot and windy morning, the fleet was set afire. Flames darted swiftly from ship to ship until the brown Tigris itself seemed to burn. As the sun's heat increased, all objects were distorted by heatwaves. Creation seemed to be ending exactly as Stoics teach, in a vast, cleansing, terminal fire.
I watched the burning with Anatolius. For once I almost believed in Nemesis. The men, too, sensed that this time their Emperor had reached too far, plunging himself and them into the sun's fierce maw. Ordinarily, any order Julian gave was promptly obeyed, and the more puzzling it was the more certain were the men of his cleverness. But that day he was forced to fire the first ship himself. No one would do it for him. I saw fear in the faces of the men as Julian offered the fleet to Helios.
"Of course we are not generals," said Anatolius tentatively, knowing what was in my mind. "The Emperor is a master of war."
"He can still make a mistake." Neither of us could take our eyes off the fire. What is there in the burning of man-made things which so thrills us? It is like Homer's image of the two rivers in Hades: one of creation, the other of destruction, for ever held in uneasy balance. Men have always enjoyed destroying quite as much as building, which explains the popularity of war.
We were still gaping at the fiery river when a group of officers rode past us. One of them was Valentinian, his face scarlet with heat and rage. "Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!" he snarled. Anatolius and I exchanged nervous glances. Was there to be a mutiny of officers? But there was none, despite the grumbling of the tribunes. Incidentally, I have never forgotten that brief glimpse I had of Valentinian, his face swollen with the same rage that was to kill him years later when he died of a stroke while bellowing at a German embassy.
By nightfall, the fleet was gone. In the distance one could see the Persians gathered on the walls of Ctesiphon to watch this extraordinary sight. No one will ever know what they made of it. The Roman Emperor burning the Roman fleet must have seemed to them perfectly incomprehensible. I could hardly believe it myself.
Julian Augustus 3 June
We have broken camp and are moving south-east, into the interior. The countryside is rich; there is plenty of water. The men are less apprehensive than they were. They see now that we do not need the river to survive.
Julian Augustus 4 June
All goes well. Nevitta: on guard. Victor. Ch. Close? How? Days grow hotter. May begin night marches.
Priscus: Nevitta again warned Julian of a Christian plot. This time Victor was directly involved. I know. I rode beside Julian that same afternoon. He spoke frankly of what Nevitta had told him.
"But if they kill me, who will take my place? There's no one except Salutius and he is hardly a friend to them."
"There is Victor."
Julian smiled coldly. "He would be butchered by th
e Gauls."
Then he frowned. "Nevitta says they have put someone close to me to… to do their work. Is it you?" He turned on me and I saw that though his voice was light and playful his face was not. He stared at me with sun-dazzled eyes. Like all of us, his face was burned dark and his eyes were red from sand and sun, the lids suppurating. He had lost weight and one could see the working of the cordlike muscles of his forearms as he grasped the reins. He was a boy no longer, nor even young.
"No, not I." I tried but could not think of a joke to make
"You'd make a very poor emperor." He was his old self again. We rode on. Before and behind us, the army wound through bright country, rich with coming harvest.
Salutius joined us, wearing a headcloth.
"Look at that! A classic Roman consul!" Julian teased him. But Salutius for all his intelligence had no humour. He explained to us at solemn length why he could not wear a helmet in the sun because the heat made his forehead break out in a rash. Then he handed Julian a letter. "From the senate at Constantinople. To congratulate you on your victory."
Julian sighed. "Too soon," he said, giving the letter back. I recall how the sun shone on the back of his hand and the blond hairs glittered against sun-darkened skin. I also noticed what large nails he had inow that he'd ceased biting them). Curious the clarity with which one remembers the shape of a hand glimpsed years ago, while so many things of importance are lost.
Julian Augustus 5 June
Midnight: Fire. Trenches.
Priscus: That night the Persians set fire to the harvest. For miles around fields, vineyards, orchards, villages… everything caught fire, and night was like day. Although Julian ordered protective trenches dug around the camp, a number of our tents burned, as well as several wagons.
For three days and three nights the fire continued. Whenever I think of those weeks in Persia, I see fire in my mind, smell smoke, feel the terrible heat of sun blazing while fire burns. Luckily, there were springs in the camp and we had sufficient water. We also had food for perhaps a week. But after that, famine. As far as the eye could see, there was black desert. Nothing green survived.
I now shared a tent with Anatolius. This meant that I was more than usually involved in the business of the court. Ordinarily I kept out of such things, for I have always been bored by politics, but now I was very interested in what was going on. We all were. Our lives were at stake. It seemed that everyone had a plan to save us, except the Emperor.
The army was now almost evenly divided between Julian and Victor, between the Europeans and the Asiatics, between the Hellenists and the Christians, Julian of course was strongest because his adherents were, quite simply, the best soldiers. Yet as each day passed in that burnt-out wilderness, the party of Victor became all the louder and more demanding, insisting that the Emperor act. But Julian gave absolutely no hint of what he intended to do. In fact, without this journal we might never have known what was in his mincl.
Julian Augustus 6 June
Persian cavalry raided our supply depot just before dawn. Several of them killed. No casualties for us. We must expect more of this.
At noon I prayed to Helios. I sacrificed a white bull. The augury was not decisive. What to do?
A sharp encounter with Victor at this afternoon's staff meeting. My quarters are stifling. None of us wore armour. The generals were arranged about me on stools. At my feet sat the deaf-mute; he watches my every move with the alert, loving eyes of a pet dog. I have only to think I am thirsty for him to read it in my face and bring me water.
No sooner had I greeted the generals than Victor took the initiative. "Augustus, we must go back the way we came, through Assyria." Arintheus promptly agreed with him. The others waited to see what I would say.
"That is always a possibility. Of course. Always." I assumed the Mardonius manner: maddeningly reasonable yet perfectly evasive.
"But perhaps, Count, you will tell us, first, why you believe we must go back now and, second, why you prefer that route."
Victor looked more than ever like the village bully trying to control himself in the presence of the schoolmaster. "First, as the Augustus knows, we shall soon be short of food. My scouts report that for twenty miles to south and east there are only ashes. To the north there is desert. That leaves us the west, where we came from."
"Have you forgotten that we ourselves burned the fields around Ctesiphon?"
"Yes, we made that mistake, but…"
Nevitta made a threatening noise, deep in his throat, like a bull preparing for attack. One may not accuse the Emperor of making mistakes. But I motioned for Nevitta to keep silent. I tried to sound amiable. "But since this 'mistake' was made, what is the point of going from one devastated region to another?"
"Because, Augustus, there are still some regions which we did not burn. We can live off the country. We can also use those forts we captured…"
… and burned? No, Count, those forts are of no use to us and you know it. So I ask you again: Why do you want to go back the way we came?"
"Because we know that country. We can live off it, somehow. The men will be reassured."
"May I speak, Lord?" Ormisda has ceased to be Great King and is once more Greek courtier, a bad sign. "The army cannot return up the Euphrates because there is no longer a fleet. Nor have we the means to make bridges."
"We can use the ships that were saved," said Victor.
This time Salutius answered him. "Twelve small ships are not enough to cross the Tigris. Like it or not, we are now confined to this side of the river. If we set out for home it must be by way of Corduene."
"Can't we get ships from the Persians?" asked Dagalaif suddenly.
"There must be hundreds in the river ports."
"They'll burn them first," said Ormisda.
"I have been making inquiries," Salutius began, sounding as if he were sitting comfortably in his praetorian prefect's chair at Constantinople, surrounded by notaries, instead of sweating in an airless tent with a cloth wrapped about his sunburned head. "And it appears that what ships the Persians have are well out of range. Our only hope would be to build new ones, but of course we lack the materials."
Ormisda finished the matter. "Even if we could cross the Tigris, we would have the same difficulties returning north we have had here. Sapor means to starve us out. He will burn all Persia if he has to. Also, the rains have now begun in Mesopotamia. The winter ice in the mountains has melted. The road that brought us to Ctesiphon is a fever-swamp, swarming with insects. But of course we shall go wherever the Augustus bids."
"So shall we all," said Victor, "but what is his plan?" I looked into the bright eyes of my enemy and saw that he means to kill me. I have known it from the start.
I answered quietly. "Augustus means to consider every possibility before he comes to a decision. He also reminds the council that we have yet to hear from Procopius. There are rumours that he is even now on his way to us here. If he arrives, we shall lay siege to Ctesiphon."
"Using what for food?" Victor challenged me.
"Procopius will bring supplies. Also, to get here, he will have to open up a line of communications from our province of Corduene. That's only three hundred miles away. We don't need to worry about supplies if Procopius comes."
"But if he does not?" Victor leaned forward, a hunting dog who has got the quafry's scent.
"Then we are where we are now. It seems agreed that we cannot return the way we came."
"Because the fleet was burned."
This was too much. I turned on Victor. "Count, you will not speak again until I give you leave." As if struck, Victor blinked and sat back.
I continued. "We can always take our chances in the desert to the north. But it will be a hard march to Corduene." I could see that Ormisda wanted to speak. I nodded.
"The Augustus should know that there are no maps of that territory. We shall have to rely on guides. They may not be reliable."
"Can't we follow the course of the Tigris?"
Dagalaif fanned himself with the frond of a date palm.
"Not easily," said Ormisda. "There are many strong fortresses…"
"And we shall be a retreating army, not a conquering one. We would be unable to lay siege to the cities." I let this sink in. Until now no one has mentioned the possibility of our defeat. Mter all, we have broken the Great King's army; half Persia is ours. Yet now we must talk of retreat because we have been burned out by Persian zealots. It is tragedy. I should have anticipated it. But I did not. The fault is mine. It is hard to believe that without the loss of a single battle one can so swiftly cease to be a conqueror and become the chieftain of a band of frightened men who want only to go home as fast as possible. Is this the revenge of Ares for what I said to him during the sacrifice at Ctesiphon?
Arintheus took my challenge. "We're not retreating, Augustus. How could we be? Why, old Sapor will make a treaty with you tomorrow, giving you anything you want if only we go home." News of the Persian embassy has been in the air for a week Nothing is secret for long in an army. I suspect the Persians themselves of spreading the rumour, to create discord: why is your Emperor driving you so hard when we are willing to give you gold and territory and a safe passage home? The Persians are expert at this sort of thing.
"Victor seems to feel that we have been defeated," I said. "I don't. I think we must wait a few days longer for Procopius. If he does not come, we shall consider whether to go north to Corduene or keep on south to the Persian Gulf." I said this casually. It was the first time I have suggested such a thing to the generals. They were astonished.
"The Persian Gulf!" Victor momentarily forgot my ban of silence. He quickly muttered an apology.
Salutius spoke for what, I am afraid, is the majority. "It is too far, Augustus. We are only three hundred miles from Roman territory and it seems like three thousand miles. If we continue any deeper into Persia, we'll be swallowed up."