Justinian

JUSTINIAN

I received from Cyrus the ecumenical patriarch word I had long been awaiting, namely, that he and Constantine the bishop of Rome had at least the beginnings of an understanding concerning Constantine's acknowledgment and acceptance of the canons of the fifth-sixth synod I had summoned before being sent into exile.

"Excellent," I told Cyrus. "About time we see some sense from a Roman pope."

"Yes, Emperor," he said, nodding. "I think your treatment of Felix made Constantine see cooperating with the Roman Empire is a wiser course than opposing its might."

"A good thing for him he has seen it," I answered. "If I weren't busy elsewhere, I'd use him as I used Felix. Or rather, I'd use him as I would have used Felix if I hadn't had that dream that told me to spare his useless life."

"A dream may be the voice of God, Emperor," Cyrus said. "You were wise not to risk divine anger."

"I thought the same," I said. Why God thought the rebellious bishop of Ravenna deserved to remain among the living was beyond me, but no mortal man could oppose His desire and hope to prevail. Shifting my thoughts from what I had been unable to prevent to what I might be able to accomplish in times to come, I asked Cyrus, "How close, precisely, has Pope Constantine come to accepting the canons of the fifth-sixth synod?"

"He does still have reservations on a few of them, Emperor, but expresses those much more temperately than have previous bishops of Rome," the patriarch replied. "He may, if God be kind, accept those canons almost in their entirety."

Almost complete acceptance was indeed more than any previous bishop of Rome had shown himself ready to grant, but struck me as inadequate nonetheless, being a partial rejection of canons inspired by the Holy Spirit. "To which of them does he still object?" I asked.

"In particular, the thirteenth and the thirty-sixth," Cyrus said. "To refresh your memory, Emperor, these are-"

"I know what they are," I snapped. "The thirteenth requires a married man ordained a deacon or priest to keep on cohabiting with his wife rather than putting her aside, as is the ignorant practice throughout the patriarchate of Rome. The other states that your rights as patriarch of Constantinople are the same as those of the arrogant bishops of Rome, their primacy to be due solely to seniority. How can the popes object to that, it having been stated in the acts of the first ecumenical synod of Constantinople and in those of the ecumenical synod of Chalcedon?"

"Do not ask me to fathom the western mind," Cyrus said, "for I cannot. But with the principle already enshrined in the acts of the ecumenical synods, as you say- and your learning is marvelous, marvelous- perhaps we need not insist on its formal acknowledgment here."

"Perhaps," I said grudgingly. "What of the thirteenth canon, then?"

"The thirteenth canon does allow clergy in barbarous lands to retain their previous practices where those are not clearly forbidden," Cyrus said. "That offer, if not grounds for agreement, is at least grounds for negotiation."

"Very well," I said. "Go ahead and negotiate with Cyrus, since he seems willing to talk. Yield as little as you can, and accept nothing before submitting it to me for approval."

Cyrus bowed. "It shall be exactly as you say, Emperor, in every particular."

I was surprised that he needed to reassure me on the point. Did it prove other than exactly as I said in every particular, Cyrus's tenure as patriarch of Constantinople would come to an abrupt end. I had raised him to the patriarchal dignity because of his loyalty to me; should that loyalty falter, Kallinikos's fate would also fit him.

While he and Constantine sent letters back and forth, a desultory war with the Arabs broke out in southeasternmost Anatolia. The deniers of Christ, after some months' fighting and after Roman forces fell into confusion because of quarrels among their generals, succeeded in breaking into Tyana, north of the Kilikian Gates. They were unable to go farther, though it gave them a base from which they might later try to effect deeper penetration into Romania.

Under other circumstances, the fall of Tyana would have filled me with fury. But I paid little heed to it, nor has it much concerned me since. For one thing, the negotiations with Rome at last seemed likely to bear fruit, and gaining the pope's acceptance of the canons of the fifth-sixth synod counted for more with me than losing a dusty Anatolian fortress.

"The only remaining sticking point," Cyrus reported to me after exchanging a couple of letters with Constantine, "is the thirty-sixth canon, the one proclaiming Constantinople's authority equal to that of Rome, and Rome's primacy that of honor and seniority alone."

"Are you truly certain this point is adequately covered in the canons of the first ecumenical synod at Constantinople and that held at Chalcedon?" I said.

"I believe so, yes," Cyrus replied.

"You do not feel the dignity of your see impaired if the bishop of Rome rejects this one canon?"

"Emperor, I do not," the patriarch said.

"I have seen since naming you that you are zealous in protecting Constantinople's ecclesiastical rights and privileges," I said, whereupon Cyrus inclined his head in modest acknowledgment of the praise. "If this does not trouble you, I shall accept it."

"That is splendid news, Emperor," Cyrus exclaimed. "I confess, I had looked for you to be more refractory. I shall write to Bishop Constantine at once; I'm certain he will be as delighted as I am."

"Go ahead and write," I said indulgently. "Let us have this matter settled, it having hung over us for almost twenty years."

Under other circumstances, Constantine's preposterous obstinacy would have filled me with fury. As things were, however, it, like the faraway trouble in Anatolia, mattered little to me. I was engaged in the work that would be- that will be, by God and His Son!- the capstone of my revenge against all those who wronged me during the time in which I was denied my God-given right of sitting on the throne and ruling the Roman Empire.

Arrogant, cowardly little manikins that they were and are, the rich men who rule in Kherson- ruling, by their way of thinking, being defined as playing Roman influence off against the power of the khagan of the Khazars, as centered in the Khazar tudun in the city- had presumed to try to take me into custody and deliver me up to Apsimaros, that the usurper might deprive me of my head.

And not only shall I avenge myself upon them. I intend to remove Kherson from the map, to wipe it off the face of the world as a man wipes shit from the cleft of his buttocks, to leave no single stone, no brick, standing upon another. Nine mortal years I passed in that wretched, fish-stinking town. Only in the monastery where I dwelt and in the brothel where I took occasional comfort did I find the slightest trace of human kindness for a soul in anguish. Those I would let stand. The rest? Let fire take it!

Furthermore, the Khersonites are the only ones who remember seeing me with my mutilation. I also intended, and yet intend, to remove all memory of that from mankind. That an Emperor of the Romans should have suffered the humiliation of being allowed to couple with a whore only in darkness absolute, and then for double the going rate, shall be as forgotten as the ultimate fate of the ten lost tribes of Israel.

When I fall upon Kherson, I purpose doing so in force so overwhelming, the Khersonites shall be able neither to resist nor to summon the Khazars to their rescue. Ibouzeros Gliabanos, having survived his visit to Constantinople, might be tempted to thwart me there. That I will not allow.

Reasoning thus, I began gathering dromons and merchantmen to carry troops and horses not only at the imperial city but also at Kyzikos and Nikomedeia. To command the expeditionary forces, I chose my spatharios Helias, Stephen the sailor who had aided me with the bureaucrats reluctant to join my feast, and black-bearded Mauros, reckoning them well suited to my purpose.

"Helias," I said to the spatharios, "you shall govern the new Kherson when the expedition has succeeded in destroying the old. We will settle it by means of merchants and artisans transplanted from elsewhere in the Empire."

"Yes, Emperor," he said, making a show of submissiveness. "Just as you say, Emperor." He coughed a couple of times, then went on, "You are aware, of course, of the grumbling among the property owners of the city at the taxes they have had to pay for your force."

"Theirs is to obey," I growled. "Mine is to decide what the Empire requires. If they grumble, their heads will decorate the Milion, which has looked rather bare of late. Keep your ear to the ground, and bring me the names of those who complain. Have your friends do likewise. We shall nip this in the bud."

"Of course, Emperor." Bowing deeply, Helias departed.

Myakes, who had stood silent by the throne while Helias and I conversed, spoke up after the spatharios left. "That's trouble, Emperor."

"What, Helias?" I said. "I think he's safe enough."

Myakes' shoulders went up and down in a shrug. "You know I don't much like him, so I won't waste your time with what I think there. But remember when Stephen the Persian and Theodotos were squeezing Constantinople so tight fifteen years ago? That got you hated, and it helped Leontios send you into exile."

"I'm ready for trouble this time, Myakes," I said. "Let it come. I'll make a bigger slaughter here in Constantinople than I intend to make in Kherson." Thinking about it was plenty to make my member rise in anticipation.

"Emperor, isn't it better not to have trouble than to smash it when it comes?" Myakes asked.

"I need the great fleet to send against Kherson," I replied. "If building it causes no trouble, well and good. But I shall build it, whether it causes trouble or not." I folded my arms across my chest. "I have spoken." Having spoken, I expected no further comments from Myakes, and in that I was not disappointed. He has never failed me through disobedience.