In the interests of drama and clarity, I have (as mentioned in the relevant sections in the Notes) gone in for some telescoping and abridging of events, hopefully without distorting essential historical truth. Anyone who has ever wrestled with the arcane complexities of the Laurentian Schism, or the Ostrogoths’ tangled Volkerwanderung throughout the Balkans, will understand my reasons for doing so.
Bar some minor characters and the obvious example of Timothy, the Dramatis Personae are based on real people. Many — such as Rufius Cethegus, who features as an arch-schemer — needed considerable fleshing-out to make them come alive. This hardly applied in the case of Theoderic, whose richly complex character was able to speak for itself in almost every situation. The tension between his natural tendency to furor Teutonicus and desire to achieve Roman dignitas and civilitas generated much of whatever claim to drama the story possesses.
APPENDIX I
The War Between Theoderic and Odovacar, 489-93
Suspecting that a detailed resume of the campaign would test the patience of most readers if encountered in the text, I append here a summary of the main events.
Advancing from Isonzo Bridge in the summer of 489, Theoderic defeated Odovacar’s forces at Verona, causing the Scirian king to retreat to Ravenna, which, being surrounded by marshes, was notoriously difficult to attack. When Tufa, one of Odovacar’s chief generals, deserted to Theoderic, the game seemed up for Odovacar. However, on being despatched by Theoderic to attack his old commander, Tufa again switched sides, enabling Odovacar to sally forth from Ravenna.
Now on the defensive, Theoderic took shelter in the heavily fortified redoubt of Pavia, from which precarious position he was rescued by the fortuitous arrival of a force of Visigothic allies. Now strong enough to take the field again, Theoderic was able to defeat Odovacar at the River Adde on 11 August 490, forcing him to return to Ravenna, which Theoderic then besieged. (Tufa, meanwhile, had split from Odovacar — again! — and was operating independently in the Adige valley region; he was finally brought to bay and killed in 493.)
Theoderic’s capture of Rimini in 492, enabling him to tighten the blockade of Ravenna, spelt the beginning of the end for Odovacar. In February 493 he was forced, under pressure from the effects of famine, to make terms with Theoderic, Bishop John of Ravenna acting as intermediary.
His subsequent murder by Theoderic, condemned by some as treacherous and barbaric, was in truth an act of political necessity, forced on the Amal king in the interests of his own survival. In the ancient world, power-sharing was always fraught with hazard for the parties involved. Even Diocletian’s radical experiment, the Tetrarchy, designed to ensure the smooth functioning of the machinery of rule and succession, can hardly be accounted a success story. Once that emperor’s cold and powerful personality ceased to control the system he had devised, its inherent strains began to show, soon to result in the old cycle of murderous rivalries and usurpations starting up anew.
APPENDIX II
The Laurentian Schism
Like the Schleswig-Holstein Question, or Fermat’s Last Theorem, the Laurentian Schism has caused strong men to weep in the attempt to unravel its complexities. It came about for the following reasons. After the death of Pope Anastasius on 17 November 498, two men were simultaneously ordained Bishop of Rome, the deacon Symmachus and the archpriest Laurentius. Theoderic’s finding in favour of Symmachus, however, failed to resolve the controversy. Laurentius’ supporters brought a number of grave charges against his rival, the main ones being: that he had miscalculated the date of Easter; that he consorted with disreputable women; that he had squandered the wealth of the Church; and that he had produced forged documents to support his claim. Theoderic accordingly ordered that a synod be held in Rome to settle the matter by giving judgement concerning these charges against Symmachus. However, as Symmachus was proceeding to the basilica of Santa Croce in Rome, where the synod was to be held, he was roughed up in a clash (in which several priests were killed) between the rivals’ followers. Subsequently, he declared his refusal to be judged by the bishops making up the synod, claiming that, as Pope, he was [conveniently] above jurisdiction. The bishops, uncertain as to their powers to proceed in judgement, dithered; but Theoderic finally unblocked the logjam by ordering that the churches of Rome be handed over to Symmachus, and that Laurentius go into compulsory retirement on an estate belonging to his patron, Festus.
The schism had wide ramifications, especially concerning senatorial families whose estates had suffered losses because of barbarian invasions, and confiscations to reward the followers of Odovacar, then of Theoderic. One result of Theoderic’s fiat in favour of Symmachus was that lands previously granted to the Church by senatorial families should remain in the pontiff’s possession. Despite doubts as to the strict legality of some of these grants or whether they had been gifted in perpetuity, alienation of land to the Church was allowed to stand — much to the dissatisfaction of most Roman senators. At the other end of the social scale, the plebs were assiduously wooed by Symmachus (quite possibly in a cynical move to reinforce his power base), who made available generous supplies of free food in a series of lean times, a stance with parallels to that of Caius Sempronius Gracchus regarding the poor of Rome, in Republican times.
As an Arian and an outsider, Theoderic was well placed to take a detached and impartial view when it came to ruling on the controversy. This was no doubt on the whole a good thing, as neither side could accuse him of bias. However, one drawback was that Theoderic’s likely impatience with the minutiae of the schism’s implications may have led him to overlook the problems arising from the disposition of Church lands. His fiat on the matter must have cost him the support of many distressed senators anxious to claw back some of the property their ancestors had gifted to the Church prior to the barbarian invasions.
The points covered by the above are what we may call the social and political aspects of the Schism — all pretty clear and straightforward. But when we turn to the theological issues behind the rift (which is ultimately linked to relations with the Eastern Empire) things become impenetrably obscure and complex. A brief passage from the Liber pontificalis gives a hint of what anyone brave enough to try to make sense of these issues is up against: ‘Many clergy. . separated themselves from communion with him [Pope Anastasius] because, without consulting the. . clergy of the whole Catholic Church, he had entered into communion with a deacon of Thessalonica named Photinus who had been in communion with Acacius,* and because he secretly wished to call back Acacius and was not able. This man was struck down by the Will of God.’ In contrast to Moorhead, who struggles manfully in his Theoderic in Italy to explain the religious issues behind the schism, Gibbon’s disdain for Christological hair-splitting allows him to dismiss the controversy in the following delicious put-down: ‘without condescending to balance the subtle arguments of theological metaphysics. . his [Theoderic’s] external reverence for a superstition he despised may have nourished in his mind the salutary indifference of a statesman or philosopher.’ (You know you’re trawling in deep waters when Moorhead summons a word like ‘eirenic’ to comment on theological niceties!)