With the appointment of a Praetorian Prefect of Gaul (in reality, Gaul south of the Liger), and an ecclesiastical vicar for Spain and the whole of Gaul — the post was confirmed by Pope Symmachus, so had to be accepted, however reluctantly, by the Catholic Franks — Theoderic set the seal upon his triumph — a victory reinforced by the death of his great rival, Clovis.* A few short years had seen his fortunes change from a state of abject humiliation to one where he could, with justification, claim to have reconstituted much of the old Empire of the West. The time was ripe, he told himself, to begin the implementation of long-cherished plans — plans which would see his imperial dreams at last become reality: the official rebirth of the Western Empire, with himself crowned emperor.
‘“It is proper for us, most clement emperor, to seek peace”, blah, blah, blah. “Indeed, peace is something to be desired by every state”, blah, blah, blah. “And so, most pious of princes, it is in accordance with your power and an honour for us”, blah, blah, blah, “to seek concord with you.”’ Anastasius was in conclave, in his private tablinum in the Great Palace of Constantinople, with his two chief generals, Sabinian and Julianus, and Agapitus, the envoy of Theoderic. Anastasius looked up from the king’s letter, which he had been reading aloud. ‘Well, he sounds contrite enough,’ he murmured with a smile, handing the missive back to Agapitus. ‘You may tell your master, our vicegerent, that, provided he keeps to the agreement made with General Sabinianus here — never again to cross our frontier in arms — we accept his offer of peace.’
‘Hear, hear, Serenity,’ enthused Sabinianus. ‘I’d stake my reputation that Theoderic will honour such a mutual agreement. When I negotiated with him about the transfer of Pannonia, I felt that I was dealing with a straight and honest man, one whose word could be relied on. In these sorts of situations, I’ve learned to trust my instinct; I’ve seldom been proved wrong.’
‘Not good enough, Serenity!’ exclaimed Julianus. ‘Considering Theoderic’s outrageous conduct in invading Moesia, he should be made to pay handsomely for reparation, and to come in person to Constantinople and abase himself before your throne. Instead, we hand him back Pannonia, and are prepared, it seems, to treat him as a friend. Kow-towing to barbarians — it’s a disgrace!’
‘I think we can say that the harrying of Magna Graecia, to say nothing of the sacking of Sipontum and Tarentum, more than cancels out any debt of reparation,’ said Anastasius coldly. A compassionate man, he had been deeply troubled by rumours of gratuitous brutality connected with the naval expedition. As a result, Sabinianus had displaced Julian in favour as well as seniority. ‘As for Pannonia,’ the emperor went on, ‘he’s welcome to run it — to him it’s a useful buffer zone, to us a drain on our resources, any revenue from taxes far outweighed by the expenses of administration.’ He looked sternly at Julianus. ‘As Theoderic himself has said, the wars that turned out happily for him were those brought to completion with moderation. A lesson you have yet to learn, it would seem, General.’
And so began a Golden Age for Italy. With peace established, Theoderic’s firm and equitable rule ensured prosperity at home, while abroad his status as a father-figure to all Germanic peoples was unchallenged. A series of dynastic marriages with women of Theoderic’s immediate family helped to create a stability hitherto unknown among the barbarian monarchies of Europe. Under the Pax Theoderica, trade, agriculture and industry flourished to a degree not seen since that happiest of epochs, the near-century from the reign of Nerva to that of Marcus Aurelius. Relations with the East thawed, to the extent that Theoderic’s consular nominees, including the once-spurned Venantius, were confirmed in office by the emperor. Supervised by presidents assisted by ‘correctors’, the administration of Italy’s fifteen regions was run efficiently, and a Gothic tendency to violence and an Italian towards corruption were, if not stamped out, at least severely curbed, by the strict enforcement of the law. Public buildings, which had gradually been permitted to fall into decay, were protected and refurbished under a preservation scheme with its own specially appointed architect.
Content to be guided as to policy by his three Roman chief advisers, Cassiodorus, Symmachus and Boethius, and with leisure to cultivate his orchard in Ravenna and take up again his interest in the arts and literature, the king entered on the happiest period of his life. The only touch of sadness was in the loss of his friendship with Timothy, who was under (not uncomfortable) house arrest. Although that friendship was broken, never to be repaired, the king’s original anger and feeling of betrayal had faded over time to dull regret. He could afford to make a generous gesture: he would arrange a secret test of loyalty; if Timothy passed, his liberty would be restored, along, perhaps, with a small pension, so that the old Isaurian could see out his days without the fear of penury.
And so, in a glow of serenity and peace, the afternoon of Theoderic’s life drew quietly towards its evening. But, unnoticed by him, a cloud had appeared on the horizon, a cloud ‘no bigger than a man’s hand’, which would grow and grow until it filled the sky.
‘My friend from Constantinopolis, and your fellow Anular, Lucius Vettius Priscianus,’ announced Cethegus, introducing his companion (whose dark skin and tightly curled black hair denoted an African origin) to Cassiodorus, Boethius and Symmachus, ensconced in the tablinum of Symmachus’ house in Ravenna. ‘But I was forgetting, Quintus’ — he nodded at his host — ‘you two already know each other.’
‘Indeed we do,’ said Priscianus warmly. ‘When we first met in Constantinople, I had to congratulate him on his command of Greek — better than most native speakers’.’
‘And showed his appreciation by dedicating three treatises to me,’ the senator responded with a smile. He clapped his hands and a slave entered, bearing a tray on which were five goblets and a silver flagon. ‘Let’s toast this reunion in Falernian.’
‘Perhaps later, Quintus,’ Cethegus suggested. ‘Best we keep our heads as clear as possible while I explain the reasons why I’ve called this meeting — which must be strictly sub rosa, by the way.’ Smiling cheerfully, in a significant gesture he drew a finger across his throat.
‘Anastasius is dead at last,’* Cethegus announced, when all were seated, listening, in a silence tinged with apprehension. ‘Expect to hear officially in a day or two; my sources usually provide me with intelligence before the government couriers arrive with news.’
‘And his death means. .?’ prompted Boethius.
‘That the Acacian Schism, too, is dead. Or, if not yet defunct, shortly to become so.’
‘Forgive me, Rufius,’ said Cassiodorus, looking mildly puzzled, ‘but I’ll have to ask you to enlighten me.’
‘Without elaborating on religious niceties,’ Priscian put in, ‘it means that peace, theologically speaking, has broken out between Rome and Constantinople. Our new ruler, Justin — another geriatric emperor — is a tough old soldier from a peasant background. The real power behind the throne is his nephew Justinianus — well educated, and highly intelligent, to boot, by all accounts.’