by Marié Heese
“You do know … what that would involve, child?”
“Yes, Aunt Theodora, I do. Sophia told me.”
“Sophia being an expert?”
“She made one of their slaves show her … what … um, intercourse … is like. She says she knows what to do about unwanted pregnancies. So the slave taught her … all kinds of … things. And then she sold him on.”
“My word,” said Theodora. Well, she thought, Comito’s daughter will never be beautiful, but she will be interesting.
“She’s going to marry Justin, she says. She’s made up her mind.”
“Regardless of what he wants or does not want?”
“She’ll make him want to,” said Joannina. “She knows how to do that.”
“Knowledge that she has passed on to you? In theory, at least?”
“Yes,” admitted Joannina.
“So, put your knowledge to use. Don’t just let things happen to you, my child. Be decisive.”
“Yes, Aunt Theodora. I’ll remember that.”
Theodora did not speak privately to Joannina again. But on the boat trip back to Constantinople, when the Empress’s extensive court plus all her guests were being conveyed home, she observed her grandson sitting next to Joannina on a wooden seat. Joannina and Anastasius did not look at each other; they both evinced a bright interest in the gulls gliding gracefully alongside the boat, darting down to snap up scraps of bread flung by servants. But Theodora noted that their thighs touched, hip to knee, and they swayed to the movement of the boat on the water in perfect unison. Ah, thought Theodora, my advice has been taken. I have done what I could to promote this marriage. Then a wave of faintness mastered her and she leaned back against the cushions behind her head and closed her eyes.
Meanwhile, the war in Italy did not progress well. In August 546 Antonina wrote:
My dearest Theodora – Salutations to the Empress!
This letter is to inform you why the Eternal City is now in the hands of the Goths. In short, Rome was lost due to the crass disobedience of Bloody John and Isaac the Armenian. If the dispatches gloss over this, they are lying.
John and Isaac arrived in Durazzo with reinforcements and we sailed to meet them there. By this time, we had had terrible reports from Rome. The citizens and garrison were suffering dreadfully. We learned that they had eaten every ass, dog, cat, rat and mouse to be found and had by this time been reduced to eating cooked nettles. There were reports of many suicides, out of utter desperation.
Bloody John wanted the Imperial army to march across Italy to Rome. Belisarius pointed out that if they sailed they could get there much faster, but John refused to embark his men. So Belisarius took the troops at his disposal and set sail, ordering John to march at once, at campaign pace. We reached Portus at the mouth of the Tiber in six days, but did not have enough men to relieve the siege. So we waited on Bloody John. Who did not arrive. The wretched fellow simply decided not to march at all.
Belisarius was now absolutely determined to provision the suffering city even if he could not lift the siege. So he prepared two hundred dromons loaded with supplies to travel up the river with oars and sails, while two thousand of his comitatus kept pace on the banks, and what cavalry he had, rode on the outskirts as a defensive shield.
I remained in the fortress at Portus and waited anxiously for news of the outcome. With me was Isaac the Armenian, who had strict instructions from my husband not to leave me under any circumstances. Soon a mounted messenger galloped in with good news: Belisarius had successfully removed the chain net obstructing the Tiber after overcoming the guards set by the Goths. The towers and the wooden boom had been incinerated. The river passage to Rome was clear!
Isaac the Armenian, a highly excitable person, was ecstatic. He simply couldn’t stand to be left out of the glorious victory. Disregarding the express orders of his commander, he set forth on a sortie of his own, taking a hundred of the cavalry Belisarius had left to guard Portus. I was left alone in the fortress, except for my eunuch servants.
Afterwards, I heard what happened: Isaac and his merry men had fallen to the Goths. The news that Isaac was dead reached Belisarius just as he was about to enter Rome with life-giving supplies. At once he leapt to the conclusion that the Goths had captured Portus and taken me prisoner, that he had lost his wife as well as his base and refuge – so he turned everything and everyone around in a frantic rescue mission.
Great was my amazement when Belisarius came roaring back post-haste with all his forces, the cavalry galloping in at full stretch! When he found me standing at the entrance to the fortress, he fell onto his knees and embraced me, weeping.
“You’re here! You’re safe! You’re not dead! Oh, God, you’re not dead!” he exclaimed, over and over, clutching desperately at my robes like a child refusing to be parted from a beloved mother.
“Belisarius, what is this? I was never in danger,” I said.
There would have been time, still, to turn once more and sail up the Tiber before the Goths had replaced the barriers across the river. But my poor husband was so distraught that he collapsed, and had to be carried into the fortress. Theodora, know this: It was not weakness, it was not a failure of his will and courage that kept him from a second attempt. He was unable to stand on his two feet, and when we put him to bed, his old fever overcame him – the malaria that he suffered from when we ourselves were besieged in Rome and sat starving amid its marshes. His teeth chattered so hard that I had to insert a piece of wood to keep him from biting his tongue. I did not expect him to survive.
On the eleventh day of Belisarius’s illness, four treacherous Isaurians opened the Asinarian gate of Rome to Totila and his army. Totila allowed the Imperial garrison under Bessas to escape unscathed by the Flaminian gate, along with some senators astride uneaten horses, but the Goth soldiers, for sure, are plundering the great villas of the rich.
This is the full and true report of the fall of Rome to the king of the Goths. Belisarius has recovered from the fever but remains weak and deeply troubled in his mind. He does not deserve to be harshly judged by his Emperor. Please, Theodora, you must explain everything to him.
Ever your loving friend
Antonina
Totila now sent two ambassadors to Justinian in Constantinople to discuss terms for a possible peace – he was obviously hoping that his success in capturing Rome would bring about the end of the war. Justinian received the two ambassadors in the triclinium, Theodora on his left and Narses, as always, in attendance. As they scrambled up from their prostrations, it was impossible not to be struck by how extremely gaunt they were.
“Greetings to the Emperor from Baudila of the Goths, known as Totila,” said the senior spokesman.
“Yes, yes. What is the matter of your embassy?” asked Justinian. He spoke in a brusque manner, with a slightly exaggerated precision, no longer hesitating.
“Totila hopes that the time is ripe for a renewal of the peace between the Goths and the Imperium of Byzantium,” said the ambassador. His companion’s task seemed to consist in smiling with vaguely condescending agreement. “He requests that you should yourself accept, and also accord to us, the blessings of that peace which was enjoyed in the time of the Emperor Anastasius and King Theodoric of the Goths.”
“We had a peace accord,” said Justinian. “He broke it.”
The ambassador looked pained. “Totila wishes that there might be peace once more. Totila does not suggest a completely independent Goth power in Italy, like the Germanic kingdoms in Spain and Gaul, but rather a constitutional system in which we would acknowledge the supreme authority of Byzantium. If you agree, Despotes, Totila says he will call you his father, and we Goths will be your allies against all your enemies.”
Justinian looked dourly unimpressed. “Or?”
“Failing an accord, however, Totila will raze Rome to the ground and attack Illyria.”
Justinian sat back and glowered at them. “The General Belisarius has complete authori
ty to conduct the war and to conclude peace. If you want an accord, you should apply to him.”
“But, Despotes …”
“This audience is over,” snapped Justinian.
Theodora said nothing, but she felt deeply concerned. Her husband, she thought, was acting in ways that were sometimes petulant and irresponsible, but she was powerless to intervene, at least in public.
After the ambassadors had left, Justinian turned to Narses. “Totila does not keep his word,” he said. “And our so-called authority would be purely nominal, he would still do exactly as he pleases.”
“It may please him to destroy Rome,” said Narses. “That would be a pity.”
Justinian grunted. “Then let Belisarius stop him. If he can.”
This time, it seemed, even the famed Belisarius, so well favoured by fortune, would not be able to save the eternal city from the rapacious Goths. Yet extraordinary news arrived.
My dearest Theodora – Salutations to the Empress!
Rome still stands, despite the ferocity of the Goths, who were intent upon razing it to the ground. They very nearly did. I would like you to understand the reason for their clemency, for it is entirely due to Belisarius. As you know, he was extremely ill when the Goths finally took the city, and his failure to prevent that weighed heavily upon him. Totila’s threats to destroy the city altogether caused him even greater grief. So he sat down, having by this time recovered his strength, and wrote a letter to the King of the Goths.
Frankly, it would not have occurred to me to attempt to dissuade a Barbarian from destructive action by means of a letter; but such is the good nature and strong faith of my husband that he believed he had a chance of influencing the outcome by mere words. And lo and behold, his words worked magic. For not only did Totila read the letter, we are told that he reread it a number of times and gave it much thought. In the end, it convinced him. I think he did not wish his name to be forever linked to such uncivilised acts as the destruction of the eternal city. The letter moved him to stop the vandalism that was taking place, and he left Rome standing.
Of course, he has the only copy of the letter, but I read it several times before it was delivered and I made some suggestions and I swear I recall it word for word. This is what Belisarius wrote:
To Baudila, known as Totila, King of the Goths – Greetings and salutations!
It has come to our attention that you have threatened to raze the ancient city of Rome to the ground. My dear Sir, I would urge you to reconsider. Think on this: Those persons to whom a great city owes the establishment of beautiful buildings are considered by posterity to have been wise and civilised. Those persons who cause the destruction of such great works, on the other hand, are judged by posterity to have had no intelligence and to have been uncivilised by nature.
Of all the cities created by man, Rome is universally reputed to be the greatest and most important. She attained this pre-eminence over centuries, due not to a single man, but to generations of emperors, noblemen and artists, who contributed vast resources and exceptional skills to creating her beauty. Sir, the monuments of this great city belong to posterity. An outrage committed upon them will be rightly regarded as a great injustice to future generations as well as to the past generations who built them up.
Therefore, consider well: Should you be victorious in this war overall, the destruction of Rome would be your loss, while a Rome preserved would be your fairest possession. Should you be defeated, on the other hand, the victor must owe you gratitude if you have spared Rome, whereas if you have demolished it, there would be no reason for clemency. Seen in the context of the ages, do you truly wish your reputation to be forever tarnished by the destruction of this great city? I beg you to give this serious thought.
Belisarius
Commander in Chief
Imperial Army of Byzantium
Theodora, you should know that Belisarius saved Rome, even when he could not fight for it.
Ever your loving friend
Antonina
Chapter 19: We don’t want to bother the Emperor with this
Preparations were being made for the grand wedding of Artabanes and Praejecta. The groom was greatly favoured by the Emperor. He had covered himself in glory by successfully overcoming the Vandals in Africa, where Justinian had named him Magister Militum. There was talk of his being raised to Consul. The polished, urbane Armenian aristocrat was a favourite guest at dinner tables in the capital. Ladies preened before him and men sought his opinion. Praejecta was planning to walk to the altar clothed entirely in golden silk. They would ride in a white carriage drawn by four white horses over strewn rose-petals. There would be trumpets and largesse. There would be feasting and free beer.
“I don’t approve of this marriage,” said Theodora. “An aristocrat, and a member of Justinian’s family. He has boundless ambitions, I have no doubts about that.”
“And he’s as treacherous as they come,” said Narses. “As he’s proved several times over. We’ll have to see about this.”
Shortly before the glorious wedding-day dawned, a small Armenian woman begged an audience with the Empress. She arose somewhat stiffly from her prostration in front of the throne chair and stood with bowed head.
“Despoina,” said Narses, “this is the wife of General Artabanes.”
“Who?”
“General Artabanes. He married her, she tells me, around twenty years ago.”
“Is that so? Married, properly and officially? Church records would show that?”
“Yes, Despoina,” replied the woman.
“Never divorced?”
“No, Despoina.”
“Children?”
“Three daughters, Despoina. He was not pleased.”
“When last did you see him?”
“Ten years ago, Despoina. He went away to war, and he never came back.”
“But no divorce?”
“None, Despoina.”
“What made you come to Constantinople now?”
“I heard he was to be married, Despoina. It is not possible.”
“How did you hear of it?” But it did not require the look the woman cast at Narses to explain. “Fetch Artabanes,” ordered Theodora.
The finely dressed soldier strode confidently into the Triclineum, then came to a dead stop and gaped at the little woman standing there in her faded tunic, hands folded in front of her, grey-streaked hair drawn back flat in an unfashionable knot.
“You!” he said.
She merely looked at him, without a word.
“You know this woman?” demanded Theodora.
“No, I … well, yes, I … but I … but she …”
“Is this your wife?”
He stood, opening and closing his mouth. “No … that is …”
She continued to look at him wordlessly.
In the face of her level, humble, patient gaze, he was unable to lie. “Oh, God. Yes,” he said. “But I’ve not seen her in years. I want a divorce! It has not been a marriage for … a very long time. Truly, Despoina …”
“If it ever was a marriage, it still is one,” said Theodora inexorably. “This is your lawful wedded wife. You will get no divorce. You will not marry Praejecta.”
And that was the end of it. The Empress had spoken.
Instead of Praejecta, it was Comito’s daughter Sophia who walked to the altar in spectacular splendour. She was betrothed to Justin, the amiable (though unfortunately chinless) nephew of the Emperor, so they might as well be married in the great Church of Hagia Sophia. So many preparations had been made throughout the capital, said Sophia, that it would simplify matters if a grand ceremony did in fact take place. There would be a use, then, for all the bunting, the tiers of wooden seats constructed for spectators, the arches to be twined with leaves, the vats of rose petals to be strewn. The bread and beer planned for the populace could still be distributed. She would be happy to make use of the white carriage as well. She would have her own wedding dress made, of cou
rse. Not gold, rather virginal white silk, embroidered with pearls and diamonds, with a very long train.
“One hears that the sound of Praejecta grinding her teeth is audible from the street outside her house,” reported Narses with a straight face.
“And I’m told Artabanes has had to set up house here with his long-lost wife,” said Theodora. “Instead of being an eager bridegroom, he has become, in one fell swoop, a pater familias.”
“Not merely a pater,” said Narses. “He has discovered himself to be a grandfather, several times over, with daughters and sons-in-law and grandchildren arriving from Armenia daily.”
“Oh, my,” said Theodora. “Rather a contrast to the newly wedded bliss he had doubtless envisaged.” Her chuckle turned into a cough. “How did you manage to find the wife?”
“Do not forget that I am an Armenian, Despoina. I have widespread contacts there.”
“You surpassed yourself in this instance, Narses, I must commend you.”
“One does one’s best,” said Narses.
The schism in the Church still troubled the royal couple.
“It is time,” announced Justinian, “for Vigilius to come to Constantinople. We have been very patient, but now I’ll send a detachment of excubitors. He’ll either come willingly, or he’ll be brought.”
“I thought he’d be brought straight here, after being fetched out of Rome,” said Theodora. “How did he land up in Sicily?”
“No doubt he bribed the captain of the vessel that went to Rome, and the captain of the guards, both of whom promptly disappeared. This time, I’ll make sure that he does not evade us.”
It was a bitterly cold day in January 547 when Pope Vigilius at last sailed into harbour and disembarked in the New Rome. A substantial deputation from the palace had braved an icy wind to welcome the prelate, including Justinian himself and Theodora, both, like the Pope, well wrapped in furlined cloaks. Vigilius was received with respect and ceremony and escorted to the Placidian Palace, traditional home of the papal nuncios.
Now, thought Theodora, we’ll make some progress. But Vigilius vacillated, hesitated, obfuscated, pleaded illness, claimed a need for further consideration, and produced nothing at all.