by Marié Heese
Despotes, we all understand that the ultimate aim of the war in Italy is to regain lands formerly part of the ancient Roman Empire, and to consolidate the old Rome of the west and the new Rome of the east into one great realm. But if this goal is to be attained, forceful leadership will be essential. We must have a general behind whom the army of Byzantium will unite. Therefore we beg of you: send Belisarius, with more men, and funds to pay our soldiers. Please, Despotes, we beg of you: do not delay. It is a matter of the utmost urgency.
“They have all signed it,” said Justinian disbelievingly. “All five. Even Bloody John.”
“They must be in dire straits,” said Theodora, “to have made such a confession of failure.”
“Indeed, they must.”
“So, will you send Belisarius?”
Justinian’s face set into lines of obstinacy. “No. He’s not getting an opportunity to glorify himself and return as the conquering hero bearing booty for the impoverished Emperor.”
“But, Justinian, the war …”
“They need funds. They need more men. I’ll send both, under the authority of a civilian.”
“Who?”
“Maximinus.”
“I don’t even know who that is.”
“You don’t have to know everything,” said Justinian. “I’m the Emperor of this realm, I govern it according to my lights, and I’m sending Maximinus! He’ll become Praetorian Prefect of Italy, with general powers of supervision over the conduct of the war. That is my decision. Is that clear?”
“Yes, Justinian,” said Theodora.
Maximinus was duly sent to Italy with some Thracian and Armenian troops and a few Huns.
At this time, a scrap of good news reached Theodora, but it was something she could not share with Justinian.
“Your Monophysite bishop was accosted on the main road to Damascus by some soldiers, Despoina, did you hear?” asked Narses.
“Did they take him prisoner?”
“No. They didn’t recognise him,” said Narses. “He was on foot, dressed in his rags. In fact, they asked him whether he knew where the Bishop of Edessa was. He said, quite truthfully, that he thought the Bishop was somewhere in the vicinity.”
“And they let him go?”
“Yes. They let him go.”
“God is with him,” said Theodora. “And I’m glad he’s on his way. I can’t do anything further for the Monophysite cause right now.”
“It is a pity that the Edict of the Three Chapters does not seem to be achieving what the Emperor hoped,” said Narses.
“Yes, a very great pity. But perhaps the documents in question were too old, and the issue of Nestorianism no longer one to arouse passions.”
“I fear the ruse was too obvious,” said Narses.
“I know,” said Theodora with a deep sigh. “Justinian’s thinking was not as clear and as logical as usual. The approach was good in principle, but the ruse itself was transparent. So here we are, still sadly divided.”
“And with the war situation as it is, the Emperor cannot do anything to anger the Orthodox Church in Italy,” said Narses. “Not the church officials, nor the general public who maintain the Orthodox faith. Our forces need their support.”
“What do you know of this Maximinus the Emperor’s sent to Italy?”
“One hears nothing good,” said Narses. “Not for the purpose. He’s a senator, a patrician, an administrator. It is seldom that an able administrator also makes a good general. An administrator likes to have everything under control, based on a tried and tested system, with every detail correct and precise.”
“Doesn’t sound like the profile of a warrior,” said Theodora.
“It isn’t. Not at all. A general must take risks. Preferably calculated, but still risks, with an uncertain outcome. A lot depends on luck. And often it is necessary to do something unexpected and original.”
“Belisarius is good at that.”
“Yes,” said Narses, with a lack of enthusiasm. “He is.”
Theodora added: “Now you, my friend, are a rare instance where an able administrator and a good general are to be found in one and the same person.”
“One is pleased to have your good opinion, Despoina,” said Narses. “But the Emperor does not wish to spare me at the present time.”
“Nor do I, Narses. Nor do I.”
The reservations Narses expressed proved to be well founded. The Emperor waited in vain for good news from the Italian front. Military reports, one after another, were grim. The first of the major tasks awaiting the new Supreme Commander was the relief of Naples. Maximinus completely failed in this, first dispatching a limited force which was captured by Totila’s cavalry, and then sending the rest of his army in his remaining ships to succour Naples so late in the year that a violent north-westerly gale drove the ships ashore. Onto the very beach where Totila and his Goths were encamped.
The starving Neapolitans and exhausted garrison in Naples abandoned all hope of relief and opened the gates to Totila and his army. The unhappy news of the fall of Naples helped to convince Justinian to recall Maximinus, whose appointment was clearly a disaster. The need for a better choice of commander was undeniably imperative.
“My love, we must send Belisarius to Italy again,” said Theodora. “No one else can do what he does.”
“Well, if the need is so great, then I suppose Belisarius will have to go,” conceded Justinian, glowering. “But I’ll not restore his title. He’ll go as Count of the Stables. That will have to do.”
“He’ll never agree to that,” said Theodora. “After having been Commander in Chief? Count of the Stables? You’re not serious!”
“I am se … rious! I mean, serious!” The speech impediment that had troubled him after his illness still returned in moments of stress. “If he truly wishes only to serve the Crown, as a simple soldier, which is what he always claims, he’ll accept that, and he’ll go!”
The Emperor’s instructions were conveyed to Belisarius. Theodora went to try to placate her friend.
“It is a grievous insult, to a man who has devoted his life to pursuing the Emperor’s expansionist dream,” said Antonina. She sat very erect, staring out across the garden of their villa. “Stripped of his comitatus, his fortune expropriated, and now to be sent to do what none of the other generals can do – with the magnificent title of Count of the Stables! Why didn’t Justinian make him a stable-hand while he was about it?”
“Belisarius’s Household Regiment is doing yeoman service along the Danube,” said Theodora. “Once, when that border was not well defended, the suburbs of Constantinople were overrun by Huns.”
“Yes, and his fortune must save Constantinople in other ways, and he himself must go and risk his life while the Emperor sits at ease in his palace dreaming dreams!”
“Antonina, you go too far,” warned Theodora. “This is traitorous talk.” She coughed.
“So punish me,” said Antonina. “Jail me, kill me, do you think I care?” Her face was hard with anger, and tears glimmered in her eyes.
“Justinian is never at ease,” said Theodora. “He hardly even sleeps. He walks the corridors deep into the night, thinking and planning how best to serve his kingdom. A stable-hand sleeps more than he does. He has far, far more to keep him awake than just the war in Italy.”
Antonina gave a tremulous sigh. “Belisarius too has lacked sleep and ease. He has expected, daily, that a contingent of Imperial guards will arrive to take him away. Or that an assassin will attack him while he walks the streets. We have had no peace. It is better to be actively at war, where at least you can recognise your enemy, where you can see him coming.”
“Justinian would not do him physical harm,” exclaimed Theodora. “Never! Truly, take my word for that!”
“Well, let us rather go to Italy,” said Antonina. “Anything would be better than cowering here without a goal to life.”
“I’ll see to it that a substantial amount of his confiscated treasur
e is restored,” promised Theodora. “A considerable haul of booty has remained untouched in the palace cellars. With that he could finance a campaign. Our treasury is near empty.”
“I don’t know if he’ll go under such circumstances,” said Antonina. “But his devotion to duty is such that he probably will.”
“Go where?” asked a voice from the arch behind her. “Who’s going where?” Joannina stepped out of the shadows and looked at her mother accusingly.
“The Emperor is sending your father to Italy again,” said Antonina, folding her angry arms. “And he’s such a fool, he’ll go.”
“And you’ll go with him,” said Joannina. “You’ll both go away again.”
“Of course I’ll go with him,” said Antonina. “I’m not going to stay here alone.”
“But I’m here, Mother, you wouldn’t be alone.”
“You don’t understand.”
“I’ll go too,” said Joannina, her blue eyes defiant. “I’ll come with you.”
“On campaign? No, you can’t, don’t be ridiculous. It’s no place for a child, especially not a girl child.”
“It’s no place for an old woman either,” said Joannina, her lower lip protruding.
Antonina rose in fury. “You forget yourself! Who do you think you’re speaking to?”
“And I won’t go back to Bithynia!” shouted Joannina. “You’re not sending me away again! They’re so old, and so boring!”
“Go to your room!”
The child stood her ground, pigeon-toed but staunch, trembling with emotion. “I feel like an orphan,” she said, passionately. “I might as well have been an orphan! Nobody wants me! Not Aunt Eugenia either, she says I make her tired.”
“But my dear girl, we only want what’s best for you,” said Antonina.
“Bithynia’s not best for me. I hate you! I hate the lot of you!” The child stormed off, wailing in sorrow and anger.
Antonina sighed and sat down again. “Oh dear. I’m a useless mother. I thought she was happy there.”
“Let her stay in Constantinople,” suggested Theodora, suppressing a cough. “With Comito. She’ll be company for Sophia, they’re close together in age. Then she can come to Hieron again in the summer. She’ll enjoy that.”
“Sounds like a good idea. Will you ask Comito?”
“Leave it to me.”
“And, Theodora …” She paused.
“What?”
“Photius. Is he still in jail?”
“Yes, he is. Escaped twice, but we found him and hauled him back.”
“Might as well let him go now,” said Antonina. “What harm could he do?”
“He has expressed a desire to become a monk. Elsewhere.”
“Really? Wants to serve God now, does he? That will make a change.”
“Shall we pardon him?”
“Yes,” said Antonina. “Let him go.”
“I’ll see to it. Antonina … before you leave for Italy … I have a suggestion.”
“Suggestion?”
“An idea. I think we should make it known that Joannina and Anastasius are betrothed.”
“What! They’re children!”
“He’s fourteen, she’s twelve. Next year she’ll be of marriageable age. It would be an excellent match. They get on very well, you know. I’ve watched them, at Hieron.”
“Have they any notion of this idea of yours?”
“No. None at all. I wanted to find out what you think.”
“I hadn’t thought about a husband for Joannina. She’s so young! But I suppose I should consider it. Well … it might actually … yes, it might indeed be a good idea. Perhaps we could just agree, in principle, and wait until next year to announce it formally.”
“As soon as she is thirteen,” said Theodora. “I want to see Anastasius settled.”
“Definitely no prince to be expected from you then, one gathers. Change of life creeping up on you?”
“Yes,” said Theodora desolately. She could not speak of her husband’s impotence since the plague. She could not tell her friend how cruelly the passionate connection that she and Justinian had felt from the very start had been sundered. She could not put into words the deep sense of loss with which she had to live. It was not a matter to be discussed. Not with anyone. Not ever.
“Have you consulted your daughter? Is she in favour of the proposed betrothal?”
“Yes, I have, and Juliana and Zeno are both in favour.” She coughed. “I mentioned it before Justinian sent them to Alexandria.”
“Are you ill?” asked Antonina. “You’ve been coughing a lot.”
“Just an irritation,” said Theodora. “Bit of food went down the wrong way. So, then, are we agreed?”
“We are agreed.”
Chapter 17: A miracle has occurred!
Belisarius once again departed for Italy, accompanied by his wife. Procopius joined him, sending reports to Constantinople. Belisarius, he informed the Emperor, had recruited four thousand men in Thrace and Illyria. The first engagement was the relief of Otranto in June 544.
The Imperial forces have succeeded in overcoming the Goths encamped around this city, wrote Procopius. Great was the joy of the inhabitants when they were able to bring in food, since they had suffered greatly from hunger. Although they had become weak and weary, they lined the streets to cheer their deliverer, some of the women on their knees and in tears.
The General Belisarius subsequently decided to make Ravenna his base, and we have now been here for two weeks. The Goths have never succeeded in retaking this city since the first time Belisarius won it for Byzantium. It has a salubrious climate, and we are well situated.
“I don’t agree that they are well situated,” said Narses. “They may be comfortable, but that should not be his first consideration.”
“Why do you say that?” asked Theodora. “What’s wrong with their situation?”
“Ravenna is unsuitable for what have to be his most pressing objectives: succour Rome, which the Goths will certainly besiege soon, and recover Naples and Southern Italy. Ravenna is simply too far away.”
“I see what you mean,” said Theodora, studying a map Narses kept on his table. “It would take a long time to march to Rome.”
“It would. Far too long. And Naples is even further.”
“Fortune is not smiling on Belisarius right now.”
“Nor is the Emperor,” said Narses. “He has not supplied enough men, Despoina.”
“But he must supply so many fronts,” said Theodora. “Khosrau has sent a message that he will take Edessa, enslave the Edessenes, and make the site of their city a pasture for sheep.”
“Fortunately we have three experienced generals there.”
Khosrau first tried to wring an extravagant bribe from the inhabitants of Edessa to buy his army off, but it was beyond the bounds of what was possible and his demand was refused.
“He will throw everything into an attack on Edessa,” predicted Narses.
“I doubt he will succeed,” said Justinian. “My uncle and I both rebuilt and strengthened its fortifications. It is a solidly defensible stronghold.”
Khosrau did indeed launch an attack on Edessa. He was determined to take it by force, not by an extended siege.
He conceived a remarkable plan, almost worthy of the great Belisarius, said the report. He decided to create a platform high enough to overtop the walls of Edessa, from which his besieging army could successfully attack. He caused an immense square to be constructed near the walls, with a guard of Persians standing by to protect the builders from harassment by the besieged. It was built by alternating layers of hewn trees, earth and rough stones; as the work progressed, the platform approached ever closer to the walls.
The besieged dug a small subterranean chamber under the platform, lined it with boards and stuffed it with combustibles. This they set alight. By late afternoon the column of smoke was visible for many Roman miles, and then the fire burst out into the open and roared as i
t consumed the layers of wood. The besieged jeered their attackers from their impregnable walls and the Persians stood disconsolate.
Next day the baffled enemy made a final attempt to rush the walls, but those inside the city vigorously defended their ramparts. Cauldrons of boiling oil were poured onto their assailants’ heads, and the Persians, unable to endure such fury, retired vanquished.
For the time being, the Persians had been stopped.
Theodora sat in front of her large, polished mirror, watching critically as her lady’s maid deftly pinned the shining black loops of hair in place. Actually, there were several strands of grey, but the maid had a concoction that she applied with a small brush to hide them. The Mistress of the Bedchamber brought an ornate casket containing jewels.
“I’ll wear the sapphires today,” said Theodora, her voice slightly husky. She coughed. “And the pearls, the new long strings, with the gold clasp.”
She had returned to her more relaxed routine after the exhausting period when the plague had demanded all her time and every bit of strength and resolution. Once again her mornings began after sleeping late with a long bath and a massage involving various scented unguents. Then her ladies dressed her in layers of embroidered silk. One of them applied makeup. The jewellery went on last, completing an exquisitely finished, iconic image. I have to be put together, she thought, like a mosaic. Step by step, with careful attention to detail. Everything held in place with fixative. More required every day. And one must hope there will be no seismic tremors that would cause the entire image to disintegrate.
“Done, Despoina,” said the Mistress, locking the casket with the key that hung on a gold chain around her scrawny neck.
“I want to sit on the terrace of the Hormisdas Palace for a while,” said Theodora. “It’s such a lovely spring day.”