‘So — you’re happy then to see Mediolanum given over to fire and sword. With the slaughter of its innocent inhabitants on your conscience, I hope you’ll be able to live with yourself!’
‘My conscience? I would remind you, Belisarius, that this is a problem solely of your making.’ With a steady hand, Narses poured himself a goblet of wine. Taking a sip, he went on, ‘But we are wasting time. Will you send that order for the recall of your force, or would you prefer that I pull rank on you and do so for myself?’
From Anicius Julianus, Senator, to Procopius Caesariensis, Chronicler, Ave.
Dear ‘Regulus’, friend in Libertas, with B.’s capture of Ravenna in a bloodless coup, it would appear, on the face of it, that Libertas has failed: half the Western Empire recovered and Justinian still on his throne — stronger than ever, it might seem.
I suppose, with hindsight, we succeeded too well with Narses. The squabbling and backbiting that resulted from his transfer to Italy worked spectacularly well, resulting as it did in a fatally divided command. The ensuing paralysis caused Mediolanum to fall to the Goths (half a million put to the sword and the city razed to the ground!), which, unfortunately, caused J. to think again and have N. recalled. Since when, as we know, with his leadership no longer challenged and the field to himself, B. was able to polish off Witigis — since pensioned off by J., like Gelimer. (Doesn’t it make you sick the way we treat defeated barbarian leaders these days? When Rome was Rome, Witigis would have been crucified like Spartacus, or strangled in public like Vercingetorix.) That was a master-stroke of B. — pretending to go along with W.’s suggestion that provided he split with J. and called off the war, the Goths would recognize him as Western emperor in a power-sharing deal. Once B. was allowed into Ravenna and showed his true colours after the Goths surrendered, it was of course too late for poor old W. — who’d had the wool well and truly pulled over his eyes.
I said above that Libertas might appear to have failed. It would however be premature, I think, to throw in the towel — for two reasons. Firstly, B.’s success in Italy may be built on sand. The Goths have not been defeated militarily, only tricked into surrender. Even with Witigis now out of the picture, there are other potential Gothic leaders waiting in the wings — Urais in Ticinum* and Hildebad in Verona, for example, neither of whom have yet lain down their arms. With Belisarius (accompanied by yourself, of course) recalled from Italy, leaving General Vitalius, a competent second-rater, in charge, a Gothic resurgence can by no means be ruled out. Congratulations by the way on your ‘poison pen’ campaign. Your letters to our beloved emperor suggesting that B. seriously toyed with accepting Witigis’ offer to recognize him as Western emperor — like Julius Caesar when Anthony offered him the crown — had the desired effect. They planted the seed of suspicion in J.’s mind (always fertile ground for doubt to germinate), to the extent of persuading him to withdraw B. — just in case. .
My second reason for suggesting that the cause of Libertas may not be dead is this. Last year, as my spies found out, Witigis, seeing defeat staring him in the face, made a desperate appeal to Khusro, the new Great King of Persia. His envoys carried the message that if Italy were reconquered by Belisarius, the Roman Empire would then be strong enough to renew hostilities with Persia — notwithstanding that the Treaty of Eternal Peace was still in force. In other words, W. was suggesting that Khusro launch a pre-emptive strike against the Empire, while Rome still had its hands full in Italy. Even with W. now gone and Italy in Roman hands again, the war might well flare up once more, as I’ve pointed out. So W.’s appeal could still make sense in terms of what’s in it for Khusro.
All in all, my dear Procopius, the Friends of Libertas may yet have all to play for, and, who knows, you may find yourself ere long back in Italy with B. I have entrusted delivery of this missive to ‘Gracchus’, who will no doubt find you ensconced within the Imperial Palace at Constantinople.
Written at Fanum, Flaminia et Picenum (once more a province of the Roman Empire!), IV Ides Februarii, in the Year of the Consul Basillus.** (Wonder of wonders, it looks as if J. may have undergone a change of heart regarding consigning the consulship to history.)
‘Does the capture of Ravenna, Lord, mean that You look with favour on Justinianus, Your unworthy son? With Italy as well as Africa now Roman once again, Your servant has recovered half the Western Empire. Much still remains to be done, of course — the barbarians cleared from Gaul and Spain, and the light of Your true faith, Orthodox Catholicism, made to triumph over the false creeds of the Monophysites and Arians, throughout the Empire. If, as Constantine and Augustine averred, the mission of the Imperium Romanum is to spread and safeguard Christianity over all the world, then perhaps I can dare to hope that You have indeed chosen me, to be the humble instrument for furthering Your great design for the salvation of mankind.’ Cold and stiff, Justinian shifted his aching knees on the marble floor of Hagia Sophia’s nave, where he had spent the night in prayer.
‘There have been times, Lord,’ the emperor intoned, continuing his orisons, ‘when I feared that You had withdrawn your favour from me, that I was indeed in some way cursed: as if the Furies of legend — those dreadful winged maidens whose locks are twisting serpents and whose eyes drip blood — had been sent by Fate to prescribe the course that I must follow. For example, Lord, when I sent Narses to aid Belisarius in Italy, and their quarrel resulted in the destruction of Milan and the massacre of its people. Have I, Lord, been indirectly guilty of the death of half a million souls? At times I think I must have been, for my conscience continues to torment me. Through timidity and hesitation, Lord, the faults that cost the lives of Atawulf and Valerian my friends, I would have let the Goths keep Italy from the Padus to the Alps, had not Belisarius turned a deaf ear to my instructions to abandon the siege of Ravenna and make terms with Witigis. And was I wrong, Lord, to listen to rumours reported to me by Procopius, that Belisarius thought to make himself Emperor of the West — rumours that caused me to recall him? Have I thereby been guilty of a grave injustice against one who is a good and faithful servant?
‘Perhaps I am a weak and broken vessel, Lord, one who is unworthy to be emperor. I think at times of Amalasuntha and Silverius. And then I wonder, Lord, if I should renounce Theodora, my beloved wife, who, as woman, is tainted with the sin of Eve, and whose transgressions I connived at. If however, Lord, You have indeed chosen Justinian, despite his manifest and many frailties, to be Your Appointed Instrument, I would humbly pray that you vouchsafe to him a sign — as once You did to Constantine of blessed memory.’
Justinian opened his eyes and waited, in an agony of hope and doubt. From outside the church, the faint stir of the awakening city came to the emperor’s ears. The creak and rumble of the vendors’ carts told him that the gates in the Wall of Theodosius had been opened. It must be dawn; the realization was confirmed by the dim radiance beginning to suffuse the nave’s interior.
Then, suddenly, the sun’s rays burst through the windows surrounding the base of the great dome, to bathe the kneeling figure in golden light. Here was his sign, Justinian told himself, sobbing with relief and gratitude. He — Justinianus Augustus, Restitutor Orbis Romani — was indeed God’s Chosen One.