Justinian

JUSTINIAN

Shortly after learning that the Sklavenoi who had defected from the service they owed the Roman Empire were still tormenting us, I had equally unpleasant news from the opposite frontier: from, indeed, the uttermost west. Pope Sergios, taking the habitual presumption of the bishops of Rome to a new extreme, refused to ratify the canons to which the bishops I had assembled for the fifth-sixth synod had agreed.

I admit I was not entirely without warning the pope of Rome might behave in such arrogant and senseless fashion, several bishops from the west or under papal jurisdiction having predicted his descent into folly. But I also admit I had not credited their warning, being unable to believe any priest of God could not only ignore but reject canons promulgated by a synod through whose deliberations the Holy Spirit had surely worked.

Such presumption was all the more distasteful coming from the bishop of Rome. Without the military power of the exarch of Ravenna, the viceroy of the Roman Empire for Italy, the pope's miserable city would soon have fallen to the Lombards. Not only are the Lombards savage and barbarous even by standards prevailing in the west, they also profess the Arian heresy.

When I took counsel with the ecumenical patriarch Paul to formulate a joint response to Sergios's insolence, I spoke in anger: "We ought to let the Lombards have Rome and eat it up, and the pope with it. That would serve him as he deserves, the ungrateful wretch."

Paul coughed several times, deeply and wrackingly, before replying. The sickness of the lungs that would claim his life in the following year already had its hooks deep in him. When he could speak, he said, "Emperor, however much such a course might please you now, it would cause a great scandal throughout Christendom, and would do untold harm to the holy church in the west."

"Pope Sergios is doing great harm to the holy Christian church in the west," I retorted. "How dare he refuse to accept these canons after the synod decided they were proper and just?"

Paul sighed. "I regret the pope's stance no less than you, Emperor. The bishops in Rome being first in honor, they often deem themselves first in authority as well. You are not the first Emperor to discover this." He coughed again.

"I know," I said. "My grandfather exiled a pope for his disobedience. If I have to do the same, I tell you I shall not shrink from it."

"May that not come to pass," Paul said. "It would embroil the church in conflicts better left unkindled. Let us try first to bring the pope to reason."

"Very well," I said. "See to it, then." My father having devoted much of the energy of his reign to restoring unity within the church through the sixth holy ecumenical synod, I did not wish to damage his work by causing another schism. That was not the purpose for which I had convened the fifth-sixth synod. The reverse, in fact: I had intended it to clear up the problems the two previous ecumenical synods had ignored. I truly had not believed the pope of Rome might reject what the bishops prescribed.

A few days later, Paul gave me a draft of the letter he purposed sending to Pope Sergios. It was a small masterpiece of its kind, arguing the case so persuasively and brilliantly that I felt certain even the mulish bishop of Rome would be made to see the light. I wrote I have read and I approve on the draft, then returned it to the ecumenical patriarch.

He let me know when the letter left on a ship bound for Italy. It was, by then, quite late in the sailing season. I was not sure the letter would reach the pope before spring, and did not doubt his reply would not arrive in the imperial city till then. I dared hope Sergios would ponder his course through the winter months and, becoming more moderate with contemplation, would announce his acceptance of the canons when good weather once more permitted intercourse between his barbarous ruin of a city and the heartland of the Roman Empire.

One can always hope.

With spring came a resumption of the Arabs' raids on the eastern frontier of the Roman Empire. As had been true in the previous year, some of Neboulos's Sklavenoi served as guides to the deniers of Christ. I sent messengers renewing my order to burn those barbarians who fell into our hands.

Again, I received from Bardanes the son of Nikephoros vivid accounts of the Sklavenoi he had roasted. Again, they seemed too good to be true, so much so that I once more despatched spies to the east to learn whether he was telling me what he had done or what he hoped I wanted to hear. Again, my agents reported back to me that he had in fact given captives from the special army special treatment. In recognition of his zeal, I promoted him to kleisouriarch.

Spring also brought, as foretold, a reply from Pope Sergios. That reply nearly prostrated poor Paul, weak as he already was from his bodily illness. When he brought the letter to me, he had to be carried to the palace in a litter. His face was hardly more than skin and bones, and his hand looked skeletal as he passed the pope's missive to me.

The letter was in Greek, Sergios being familiar with that language because his family sprang from somewhere near Antioch, although he himself, Paul told me, had been born on the island of Sicily where my grandfather lost his life. Since it was in what is now the chief language of the Roman Empire, I had no trouble understanding it. Having read it, I should have preferred it to be in Latin or some other even more barbarous tongue, so I might have remained ignorant of its import.

In it, Sergios lyingly asserted his legates had affixed their signatures to the canons of the fifth-sixth council after being deceived as to the meaning of those canons. Since they had participated in the synod, their mendacity and that of the pope were made manifest. Sergios further claimed that the canons, decided upon after deliberation of the participating bishops and signed by all the patriarchs save him alone and by myself, went outside the usages of the church and were erroneous innovations. He said he would sooner die than consent to them.

"By the Mother of God," I said to Paul, "nothing would please me better than giving this vain and ignorant bishop exactly what he tells me he wants."

Paul tried to reply, and, after suffering a coughing fit that ended with bloody spittle at one corner of his mouth, succeeded: "Emperor, I pray you in the name of the holy church, exercise restraint. The pope is a fool, but he is also heir to Peter, patriarch of the see of Rome."

"The heir to Peter, patriarch of the see of Rome, is a fool," I answered, reversing his words, "and deserves to pay the penalty for his folly."

"Have mercy upon him, Emperor," the ecumenical patriarch begged.

I tugged at my beard, not wanting in the least to have mercy on any man who presumed to defy me. But Paul, plainly, was a dying man, making this request of me with what was almost the last of his strength. "Perhaps I can put him in fear," I said, "and in so doing warn him of his own fate unless he obeys."

"That would be better," Paul said eagerly, grasping at any straw of conciliation I offered.

And so, on the following day, I sent a letter to Zachariah the exarch of Ravenna, ordering him to send soldiers down to Rome, to seize some of Pope Sergios's closest followers, and to ship them to Constantinople for judgment. In due course, Zachariah wrote back to tell me he had obeyed my commands by sending one of his underlings, a certai n Sergios unrelated to the pope, down from Ravenna to Rome with enough men to lay hold of backers of the bishop of Rome.

Unlike Pope Sergios, my Sergios obeyed me in every particular. As quickly as could be expected, he sailed back to Constantinople with two of the recalcitrant pope's prominent supporters: John the bishop of Portus (a town on the sea near Rome, and serving it as a harbor) and Boniface, one of the pope's advisers.

"What have you to say for your master?" I demand when they were brought before me, their hands chained behind them like those of any other prisoners.

Boniface stood mute. John, who had more spirit, however misguided he was, said, "Emperor, the apostolic father will never agree to canons he thinks wrong."

"Then he will have a hard life," I said. "If I plucked the two of you out of your backwards western land, I can pluck him as well, and I will if he does not come to his senses."

"It shall be as God wills," John answered.

Their fate was as I willed. I ordered them cast into prison with those who had tried withholding money from the state and those jailed for violating the canons of the fifth-sixth synod. Since Pope Sergios was both withholding obedience from the state and violating the canons of the fifth-sixth synod, I reckoned that fate fitting for his henchmen.

But, like that of Pharaoh in bygone days, the heart of the bishop of Rome remained hardened. Not long after my Sergios conveyed Boniface and John to Constantinople, Pope Sergios sent me another defiant letter, not only rejecting the canons of my synod once more but also demanding the release of those two men.

Paul the ecumenical patriarch wrote Sergios of Rome another letter, warning him of his error and also of my wrath. It did no good. Sergios's presumption continued unabated, and indeed grew worse. I would have written to Zachariah on the instant, ordering him to arrest Sergios and convey him to Constantinople, had matters more urgent than the ravings of a backwoods prelate not intervened.

After defeating us at Sebastopolis, the followers of the false prophet might well have stolen considerable territory from the military district of the Armeniacs. This, as I have said, they did not do, contenting themselves with raiding, using the skulking Sklavenoi to show them where the best booty lay. We Romans dealt with these raids fairly well, and I had hoped the lost battle would prove to have no severe consequences for the Roman Empire.

In this, as in the treacherous dealings with Neboulos on the night after the battle by Sebastopolis had been joined, I underestimated the depths of the Arabs' iniquity. And so, the following summer I received the unwelcome news that Sabbatios, an Armenian prince who had been loyal to us Romans since Leontios's campaign some years before, had given his principality into the hands of the deniers of Christ.

I spent much of the summer trying to repair the damage Sabbatios's defection inflicted on the Roman Empire. Unlike Italy, Armenia is vitally important to Constantinople. From its mines, we draw much of our iron. Its sturdy soldiers swell the ranks of Roman armies. And, should a foe control its passes, he gains the best routes for invading Anatolia.

Furthermore, the Armenians, even if not always of perfect orthodoxy, are Christians. Having them come under the yoke of the followers of the false prophet was bitter to me, and would surely prove bitter to them. Sabbatios proving unwilling to pay the least attention to my own entreaties, I prevailed upon Paul the ecumenical patriarch to write to him, bidding him reconsider his abandonment of allegiance to the Roman Empire in light of our common faith.

In this ploy I had considerable hope, Sabbatios having over a period of years established a name for ostentatious piety. But the wretch had, or pretended to have, taken umbrage at the canons of the fifth-sixth council condemning certain Armenian usages- this despite the approval Armenian bishops had given those canons.

"What a satanic hypocrite!" I burst out when Paul sadly gave his letter to me. "He deserves to come under the rule of the followers of the false prophet: only they come close to matching his deceit."

"Emperor, I shall pray that Sabbatios may return to his senses," the patriarch replied. Having spoken, he paused to catch his breath, which he did with increasing difficulty as his illness advanced. Then he went on, "And I shall pray for you."

"Thank you," I said. "May God hear your prayers."

He held up a hand. The tips of his fingers were not pink, nor even white, but faintly blue. "I shall pray for you, Emperor, for you have stirred up hatred against yourself and against the Roman Empire-"

"How dare you?" I broke in, my temper as usual quick to kindle.

"How dare I?" he answered. "I dare because I am a dying man. What worse can you do to me than my body is already doing? Soon God shall demand an accounting of my many sins face to face. But I say again, you have stirred up hatred against yourself and the Roman Empire in Italy and the west, in Armenia, and even here in the Queen of Cities, where rich and poor alike groan under the unfair taxes your ministers inflict on them."

"Is it my fault dissembling evildoers abound in both west and east?" I said. "As for the whiners and grumblers here in the city, when have you ever heard of any man who thinks the tax collector a benefactor, even if without taxes the Roman Empire would come crashing down in ruin?"

Paul said, "Emperor, I have told you the truth. What you choose to do with it is your affair. God has granted each of us free will, to use for good or ill."

"You are dismissed," I said coldly. Paul left the palace, not returning for some time. This estrangement kept me from using him to try to bring Pope Sergios to his senses- assuming Sergios had senses to which he could be brought, which was by no means obvious.

The very next day, Sisinniakes, the logothete in charge of petitions, plopped down a great stack of them in front of me. "These, Emperor," he said mournfully, "are almost all of them from people protesting their tax assessments. Not just little people, either, mind you: some of them are officials in your own government, and some others are rich, powerful men who like to hear yes when they ask for something."

"They will hear that I am their Emperor, and I am to be obeyed," I snapped, angry at the coincidence of these petitions' coming so close on the heels of my argument with the patriarch.

Sisinniakes cleared his throat. "Emperor, forgive my saying so, but you're the fifth of your house I've seen on the throne. People respect the house, Emperor, on account of all the fine things the rulers of your line have done, but they don't love you."

"I don't love them, either," I shot back. "Why should I? They do everything they can to cheat the fisc in its hour of need, and they dance and worship demons and fornicate without the least thought for their immortal souls. If they were better, they would be easier to rule."

Bowing his head, he said no more. He did not have quite the same security in offending me as did Paul, being neither a churchman nor on the very edge of death. But if I took his head, I would have been depriving the old fool of only a few years of life. It seemed hardly worth the fuss it would cause.

Trying to get some use out of him, I said, "You told me almost all these petitions had to do with taxes. What about the rest?"

He looked up to face me, smiling a sad smile. "Emperor, the rest are from men and women who have gone to prison because they got caught breaking the canons of the fifth-sixth synod, or else from their families begging to get them out."

"They are sinners and seducers and blasphemers," I snarled. "Let them stay there till they rot, every last one of them." I picked up the pile of petitions and thrust them back into Sisinniakes' arms. "As for these, take them and burn them!"

I do not know whether or not he burnt them. I do know I never saw them again. That was what I wanted.

When spring returned to the world, the ecumenical patriarch Paul finally had the grace to depart from it. The synod of bishops of the see of Constantinople having sent me the traditional three names from which I could make my choice of Paul's successor, I selected a certain Kallinikos, he having a better reputation for pliability than either of the other two.

On meeting him, I found Kallinikos's demeanor and physiognomy to accord with his reputation. He was a round little man, with no sharp angles on his face or anywhere else about his person. By the way he leaned forward as if hanging on my every word, he gave the impression of being eager to please me.

Nor, in fact, was that impression false. Kallinikos was eager to please me. Kallinikos was eager to please everyone. He had a great many chances, and used every one of them. He was so eager to please, he would have made a better whore than a patriarch, but I did not know that at the time.

"I want you to draft a letter to Sergios, the patriarch of Rome," I told him, "bidding him to come to his senses, to accept the presence of the Holy Spirit at the fifth-sixth synod, and to acknowledge the canons the bishops established at that synod. His own legates, after all, were present there, as were other bishops from the patriarchate over which he has jurisdiction. Remind him of all this in no uncertain terms."

"It shall be just as you say, Emperor," Kallinikos promised, and it was just as I said. A couple of days later, he sent me a draft of his letter for my approval. The text was, if anything, even more fiery than I had hoped. I told him to send it to stubborn Sergios forthwith. For the moment, I was the man he was trying to please, and he was doing a splendid job.

Sergios's reply reached this God-guarded and imperial city as quickly as such things can be expected, given the distance between Rome and Constantinople and the difficulties and delays likely to be encountered on the journey. On account of its contents, though, I would have been as glad had it taken longer on the way, it being full of the same pretentious obstinacy the bishop of Rome had already displayed.

"Emperor, I stand ready to threaten this manikin of a Sergios with even harsher strictures than those of my last letter," Kallinikos declared, "strictures up to and including anathema."

"I thank you for that," I said, and meant it: patriarchs of Constantinople have been known to care more for accommodating themselves to the bishop of Rome than to the Emperor of the Romans. "Sergios did not seem to understand when two of his henchmen were fetched to Constantinople. The time for letters has passed, Kallinikos. I aim to fetch the pope here, to let him answer for his own transgressions."

"How right you are!" Kallinikos exclaimed, also sounding as if he meant it. No doubt he did. He was, however, ready to say How right you are! to anyone who told him anything of any sort.

Off went the letter. In it I told Zachariah to do with Pope Sergios as my grandfather had told the exarch's predecessor at that time to do with Pope Martin: to arrest him and bring him to the imperial city so I could pass judgment on him. My grandfather had sent Pope Martin to Kherson. To me, that seemed a good enough destination for Sergios.

Just how good it was, I would find out in due course.