The Romans, Timothy believed, were an arrogant and fickle race, with long and unforgiving memories stretching back to the massacre of Varus’ legions by Arminius, the German freedom fighter. In the infancy of some ancients yet alive, one of the greatest of Rome’s generals, Stilicho, debarred from the purple by reason of his Vandal blood, had perished at the hands of a Roman executioner. For all his Roman upbringing, Theoderic was still German, a fatal barrier to acceptance by the Romans. He should remember that. But would he? As much chance of that happening, Timothy admitted gloomily, as of a camel going through the eye of a needle.
With the vast expanse of the Campus Martius, studded with theatres and great public edifices such as the Pantheon, stretching away to the right, the procession proceeded beneath the huge aqueduct called Aqua Virgo, passed the Forum of Trajan, skirted the Forum Romanum overlooked by the Capitol, crossed the Tiber by the Aemilian Bridge, left the city by the Aurelian Gate, and ascended the hill called Vaticanus to the Basilica of Peter, built by Constantine over the apostle’s grave. Here, Theoderic went into conclave with the Pope, to settle an ongoing and furious controversy arising from a challenge to the papal succession, and the questionable status of lands gifted to the Church. Timothy found himself wondering how a people who had raised such mighty works, could have allowed themselves to be conquered by illiterate barbarians.
En route, he had been amazed by the numbers of infatuated women who had crowded round the Pope, calling out endearments and fondling his garments — attentions which Symmachus appeared to enjoy, or at any rate did nothing to deter. Particularly brazen was the behaviour of one young female whom the others called ‘Spicy’,* whose propositions to the Holy Father bordered on the obscene.
Next on the royal itinerary was the Senate House, where Theoderic had been invited to speak before the august assembly. Approaching the rostrum, the king had a sudden, unexpected and extremely disconcerting attack of nerves. Confronting the rows of white-clad senators, their faces for the most part hard, proud and fiercely critical, Theoderic quailed. These Romans were men whose ancestors had ruled a goodly portion of the known world for the better part of a thousand years. And here was he, a mere barbarian, presuming to address them; the purple robe he wore all at once felt like the garb of an imposter. The scene swam before his eyes, and for a terrible moment his mind went blank. Fighting for control, he gripped the rostrum’s edge in an effort to restrain the trembling of his hands.
The moment passed; the interior of the great hall came back into focus, the faces of his audience were no longer threatening but politely attentive, if slightly puzzled by the long pause. With confidence flowing back, Theoderic announced, ‘Senators of Rome, I am honoured to be asked to speak to you in this historic spot.’
The speech progressed smoothly, consisting essentially of a routine confirmation in office of the great posts of state — the Praetorian Prefect, the Prefect of Rome, the Quaestor, the Master of Offices, the Private and Public Purses, et al. (with compliments about the holders’ diligence in carrying out their duties), and the announcement of the names of their successors when the present holders’ terms of office should have run their course.
‘Furthermore,’ declared Theoderic, sensing that his speech had so far gone down well, ‘I am pleased to express my complete confidence and satisfaction in the Synod’s choice as to who should occupy the Bishop’s throne of Rome: Symmachus. In consequence, the rival candidate, Laurentius, must abandon his claim to the See of St Peter, but in recognition of his good service he will be permitted to retire from his present post of Bishop of Nocera to a villa on the estates of Festus, which the Caput Senatus has graciously made over to his use.* In conclusion, I see no reason to reverse the grants of land formerly made to the Patrimony of St Peter.’
Mistaking the frosty silence that followed for a respectful hush, Theoderic again thanked the Senate for inviting him to speak, and departed from the building.
As soon as the great bronze doors had closed behind the king, uproar broke out. In vain Festus banged the floor with his rod and called for silence, while angry exchanges (the vast majority hostile to Symmachus) flew back and forth among the benches: ‘The man’s a disgrace — a womaniser who consorts with females of the lowest sort.’ ‘Symmachus squanders the wealth of the Church on the plebs, to be sure of mob support.’ ‘Most of those grants were never legally ratified — we’ve as much right to that land as the Church.’ ‘My estates in Gaul and Spain were lost to the Franks and Visigoths. If I can’t recoup my losses from Saint Peter’s Holdings, I could face ruin.’ ‘He can’t even get the date of Easter right.’ ‘The only reason the Synod chose him was because he was able to back his claim with forged documents.’†
At length, the senators having shouted themselves out, Festus was able to make himself heard. Calling the assembly to order, he declared, ‘Clearly, our new lord and master has no conception of the problems arising from confirming Symmachus as Pope, especially that concerning land grants to the Church. As you all know, I myself, like most of you, am strongly opposed to any settlement which favours Symmachus. Quite apart from the man’s being morally unfit to sit on the throne of St Peter, the lands that might have been set aside, for the purpose of alleviating the distress of many of you who have lost estates to the barbarians, are to remain in Church hands. That situation is compounded by the compensation we’ve all had to pay out for Odovacar’s soldiers and Theoderic’s Ostrogoths. We must therefore make the king aware of our dilemma and, if possible, get him to reverse his decision.’
‘Speak for yourself,’ called a florid-faced senator, Faustus niger, known to be Symmachus’ main champion. This Faustus was a member of the powerful Anicius clan, and notorious for intrigue and shady dealings. ‘Surely Theoderic’s edict settles the matter? I’d have thought the subject closed for good.’
‘Yes, that would suit you splendidly, wouldn’t it?’ retorted Probinus, next to Festus the leading opponent of Symmachus. ‘I expect you’ve come to a cosy little arrangement with the Pope whereby some of that nice Church land devolves miraculously to yourself.’
After a few more recriminations had been hurled against the numerically insignificant pro-Symmachus party, Festus declared the session closed, with, for the moment, no decision taken as to further action re the Church lands controversy. The assembly broke up in an atmosphere of rancorous bile, knots of senators muttering ill-temperedly among themselves as they left the Senate House.
‘In this year of the consuls Patricius and Hypatius and from the Founding of the City the twelve hundred and fifty third, being also the five hundred and first from the birth of Our Lord Jesus Christ,’ intoned the Master of Ceremonies, ‘His Majesty Theoderic, king of the Amal and vicegerent of Italy, bids you all welcome.’ In the great audience hall of Domitian’s Domus Augustana on the Palatine were assembled, together with their wives, the great and good of Rome at a reception hosted by Theoderic. Senators and scholars mingled with bishops, senior civil servants, and the papal entourage; the vast chamber was ablaze with polychrome marble and adorned with enormous statues. Slaves bearing trays of delicacies or flagons of wine wove among the throng from which arose a buzz of animated conversation.