‘Personally I can’t help feeling sorry for Theoderic,’ murmured Boethius, shaking his head sadly. ‘He’s always treated me with kindness and consideration, and he’s done his best for Italy, according to his lights. It must be terrible for him to see everything he’s worked for collapse like an arch whose keystone is removed. I think of a sick old lion surrounded by jackals and hyenas circling for the kill. Rather than pull him down, perhaps we should try to help him.’
‘You’re not going soft on us I hope, Anicius?’ said Cethegus with mock sternness. ‘Especially not now. Support for the Cause is growing by the day, with increasing calls from senators, both in Rome and in Constantinople, for Italy to be reunited with the empire. Leading the charge in Rome is a very influential and persuasive senator, Albinus — a name to reckon with, I think we’ll find. And talking of sick old lions’ — he paused, looking round at the others — ‘don’t forget they can be dangerous and unpredictable, lashing out when you least expect it. So no loose talk, gentlemen. Our lives could be at stake. Well, enough of politics.’ He turned to Symmachus with a smile. ‘If you’re feeling kind, Quintus, I think we’d all appreciate another flagon of Falernian.’
It had been shipped — with huge difficulty — across from Istria on the other side of the Adriatic. Now, hauled by a double span of two hundred oxen, on a massive sledge moving on rollers, the enormous marble dome, really a capstone of titanic size, approached its destination. This was a vast limestone structure consisting of two cylinders one atop the other, the lower, larger one pierced by arches. Adjoining a section of the building’s curving face was an enormous sloping ramp of earth and timber, on to which the dome was eased by a complex block-and-tackle system. This was worked by teams of men astonishingly few in number, thanks to the mechanical advantage obtained from multiple pulleys. Slowly, under the watchful eyes of architects and engineers, the great mass, all five hundred tons of it, crept up the ramp; as it slid home to crown the building, a cheer of triumph (and relief) burst from the workmen and professionals.
Leaning on his stick, Theoderic watched the scene from the top of the Porta Artemetoris in Ravenna’s north wall. If they remember me for nothing else, the old king thought sadly, at least they will remember me for this, my mausoleum. What had it all been for? he wondered, reflecting on his long career: his boyhood in Constantinople and the beginning of his doomed love affair with Rome; the epic struggle to find a homeland for his people, culminating in his vicegerency of Italy; his dream of empire with himself becoming emperor, so nearly (it had seemed) coming to fruition; finally, the collapse of his ambitions when all he had striven to achieve suddenly seemed built on sand. What hurt the most was that the Romans, to whose welfare he had tirelessly devoted himself, should have turned against him, with their senators, if rumour could be trusted, in treacherous communication with the empire.
What was the final part of the prophecy that Myrddin, disciple of the saintly Severinus, had foretold for him? Strangely, he could recall the words as clearly now as when he first had heard them: ‘After many years the horse dies, to be followed by eight others of his line; the final six of these the eagle of the East attacks, killing the last.’ The horse, the totem of the Ostrogoths, must be himself. The eagle of the East could only mean the Eastern Roman Empire. The meaning of the prophecy was clear: his long reign would be followed by a dynasty of eight successors, in whose reigns, barring those of the first two, the empire would attempt to reconquer Italy, finally succeeding with the death of the last.
The sudden tragic death of Eutharic had plunged the succession into confusion. Little Athalaric would become the next king. Assuming the boy was still a minor when he ascended the throne, that spelt trouble, with greedy and ambitious nobles, like Athalaric’s relative Theodahad, likely to contest his crown. And after Athalaric. . Amalasuntha, perhaps? Although gifted and popular, being a woman she would face the same problems as a minor: trying to impose her authority over fierce and independent warriors. Whether or not the prophecy was true, the outlook for his people was not auspicious.
What was left for him, now that his life was moving towards its close? (The increasing severity of stomach pains and attacks of diarrhoea carried a message as stark as it was clear.) Like stranded flotsam left by an ebbing tide, a few things remained that could with profit be attended to. His faithful Magister Officiorum, Boethius — the only Roman he had ever truly learnt to trust — should be rewarded with wealth and recognition commensurate with his devoted and unstinting service. Connal, the brave and loyal Scot who commanded his bodyguard, should be permitted to retire with a generous pension, commuted to a lump sum if he wished to return to his homeland. In that event, he could perhaps be asked to seek out news of Myrddin, which could be conveyed back to Italy by a travelling companion. Then there was Timothy, lifelong friend and faithful servant, who had tried to warn him about Roman perfidy and been imprisoned for his pains. Reparation must be made before it was too late.
Finally, and most important of all, he had a duty to defend his own poor people, whom, like Moses, he had led out of the wilderness into their supposed Promised Land. They were beset on every hand by enemies: Vandals, Franks, Burgundians, rebels in Hispania, Romans in Italy, the mighty empire looming like a vast and threatening thunder-cloud beyond the Adriatic. The old king’s face clouded momentarily, then brightened. Ships! Ships and yet more ships — great dromons no one dared defy; that was the answer. Who could deny that, barring the Amal, the strongest of the German nations was the kingdom of the Vandals? Why? Because it had a navy. (True, a navy built by subject Romans, but the concept was the rulers’.) Rome had beaten Carthage only when she built a superior navy; and the same held for the Greeks in their wars against the Persians. The Ostrogothic navy would become the terror of the seas. Then, all those peoples who had dared threaten his realm would perceive their error and repent.
His mind restored to equanimity, Theoderic descended (with some difficulty) to the base of the Porta Artemetoris and made his way towards his tomb, to thank the men responsible for its completion.
* Main street.
† Filthy Jews.
* 523.
* Between the rivers Inn and Rhine.
THIRTY-FIVE
King among all the kings of the British people
‘There she is, Dacore!’* exclaimed Cella to Connal. Far below them was a distant cluster of timber buildings surrounded by a palisade, near the head of an immensely long and twisting sheet of water, whose placid surface reflected the majestic surrounding mountains.
Accompanied by Cella, a full-bearded, jolly bear of a man, one of a breed of itinerant monks — a familiar sight on the roads of the Empire and the Christian West — Connal had travelled from Italy through Gaul and thence by ship to West Cambria in Britannia.† Advised by Theoderic, who had adopted the same guise himself when journeying to meet the holy man Severinus, the pair had adopted the distinctive robe, staff and scrip of pilgrims (bound for Candida Casa in Galweya and Dun Patricii in Hibernia‡). Thus equipped, they could travel without fear of molestation in Christian lands, such was the reverence in which these pious travellers were held.