Justinian

MYAKES

He's probably right, Brother Elpidios- I could have gotten away. It never would have occurred to me on my own. I turned him down without even thinking about it, same as I would have if he'd told me to worship Mouamet. I might still have my eyes if I'd run, but I don't suppose I'd be a holy monk now. What? It all worked out for the best, you say? I- oh, never mind.

The only time he had any juice in him was when he talked about revenge. That was what fed him, the last part of his life. He never quite figured out it could feed other people, too, though. He got his. He made other people want to get theirs. When they wanted to pay him back, he wondered why. But he didn't lay down at the end. He fought on. I give him that much.

Iwake to more desertions in the morning. Around the third hour of the day, with the sun halfway up the sky, a rider comes. "Truce!" he shouts. "Truce! Hear me out!"

I hope the bandits have fallen to fighting among themselves. If they have, I can play them off, this one against that. "Go ahead," I tell him. "Say your say."

"My commander is Helias, chief general to the Emperor Philippikos," he says. "By God and His Son, he swears that none of the soldiers who leave Justinian's army will be harmed in any way because they fought for him till now. He's lost; Philippikos has won. Anyone with eyes in his head can see that. Anyone who wants to keep eyes in his head had better see that. Day after tomorrow, Philippikos overruns this camp. Anyone who's still fighting for Justinian is going to pay."

"Helias leads that army?" I called to the horseman.

"Aye." He peered in at me. "You bloodthirsty madman, you'll pay, sure enough, when he catches up with you."

"Me?" I cried in a great voice. "That vile, murdering son of a whore you call your master, let him come. Let him come with an army of ten thousand against me alone. He wantonly murdered my son, and thinks to escape unscathed? Christ, let him come! Let him not wait so long! Let him come tomorrow. No- let him come today!" I drew my sword and brandished it. "Let him come this minute, and I will cleave his filthy head from his shoulders."

"He'll come when it suits him, not when it suits you," the messenger answered: a whipworthy rogue if ever there was one. "It's not like you're the Emperor any more. He doesn't have to do what you say."

"Kill him!" I shouted to my men. "Kill him for the disgusting, debased liar that he is."

A couple of arrows flew out toward Helias's toady. Coward that he was, he fled away from the camp, back to the savage brute's other diseased arse-lickers. I shouted in triumph to see him run, but even then my own men were slipping out of camp.

Morning again. I have three hundred left. At Thermopylai, the Spartans won glory forever against the Persians with no more.

But the Spartan three hundred would not flee, would not run, would not give up, would not abandon, would not think of themselves ahead of the cause. My men\a160…\a160?

Evening. Maybe a hundred remain. They eat well. Why not? We have food for an army dozens of times this size.

These are the last words I shall set down in this book. After I write them, I shall send for Myakes. Perhaps he will escape. Perhaps my words will live, even if it be God's will that I do not. Ah, Ibouzeros Gliabanos, I should have slain you and kept my vow. See what loving your sister brought me?

I am Justinian, Emperor of the Romans, the son of Constantine, Emperor of the Romans, the son of Constans, Emperor of the Romans, the son of Herakleios Constantine, Emperor of the Romans, the son of Herakleios, Emperor of the Romans. Romania is mine.