Justinian

MYAKES

Idid nothing of the sort, Brother Elpidios, and I haven't the slightest idea why Justinian says I did. Just because I managed to put one right into the eye of a partridge two days running, I suppose. Nobody else came close to that, not in all the time we were on the road- not that there was any road, mind you. How could anyone blame me if I let people know about it?

The sin of pride, Brother? Oh, no, not me. What do you mean, why not? Because\a160… That is, because\a160… What does Justinian say next? Maybe it won't be about me.

From Doros to Atil is a journey of upwards of a month, even for men riding steadily, as my companions and I did. In all that time, the landscape changed little. We could have ridden east for another month from Atil, and it would have changed little. Having departed Doros, we could have ridden west rather than east, and the landscape would have changed little. We could also have ridden north; again, it would have changed little. If I harp on the vastness of the plains north of the Black Sea, it is indeed because of the strong impression that vastness left on me.

At last coming to Atil, now, that was a change. The town the Khazars have made for their capital lies close by the northern shore of the Caspian or Hyrcanian Sea, a body of water known to us Romans more in legend than in fact, though, in the Persian wars after the death of the Justinian for whom I am named, one Roman general did reach it by way of the Caucasus, built a small fleet, and ravaged Persian commerce on it.

A great river, the Volga, flows south into the Caspian Sea. Nearing the sea, its stream breaks up into a number of channels, as the Egyptian Nile does in what is called the Delta on account of its shape. Atil straddles one of these channels, the district to the west being larger than that to the east, though less populous. The khagan's residence is in the western part of the town.

Calling Atil a town, now that I think on it, stretches the meaning of the word. In many ways, it more closely resembles the encampments of the Khazar bands in which I had sometimes passed a night on the journey from Doros. Only a few of the dwellings are of timber or of mud brick; far more of the inhabitants dwell in tents like those of their nomadic fellows. These tents, however, do not wander over the plains, the natives making their living for the most part by agriculture. They sow crops for miles around in the rich soil of the Volga Delta, and bring in a good harvest.

But enough of that. On our reaching Atil, Stephen brought us to the khagan's palace, if a building made of clay and sticks may be dignified by such an appellation. Servants in coats and tunics of fine wool took charge of us and led us to Ibouzeros Gliabanos, khagan of the Khazars.

Rather than a throne, the khagan used as his high seat a gilded cart ornamented with a cloth-of-gold canopy, another remembrance, I suppose, of the nomadic life most of the Khazars lead. The khagan's servitors spoke to Barisbakourios, who translated their words into Greek: "We are to prostrate ourselves before the lord of this land."

He and the rest of my companions went to their bellies without hesitation. I remained upright. Ibouzeros Gliabanos spoke. Barisbakourios and Stephen, who understood him, rose; the others soon followed their example. He spoke again, and again Barisbakourios served as interpreter: "He asks why you did not go down."

"He is the khagan of the Khazars. I am the Emperor of the Romans," I answered. I daresay Ibouzeros Gliabanos took that to mean I assumed we were equal in rank. If he did, I did not correct him. In fact, though, I reckoned myself his superior. The only equals Emperors of the Romans have ever acknowledged are the Persian kings and their successor to power on our eastern frontier, the Arabs' miscalled commanders of the faithful. German kings? Barbarous khagans? They have more pretensions than true quality.

Ibouzeros Gliabanos spoke again. Barisbakourios looked relieved. "He says you are a man of spirit. He says you would not have come to him if you were not a man of spirit."

"Tell him I thank him for inviting me to his court," I replied, studying the khagan as I did so. He was younger than I had expected, being not far from my own age. He had a broad, rather swarthy face, black hair, and a thin, straggling black beard. His nose was low and flattish, not much more impressive than the one Auriabedas had restored to me. His eyes, narrow and dark, seemed clever.

He said, "You have endured much to claim the rule still." Henceforth I shall omit mention of Barisbakourios's translations, which sometimes slowed our speech together to a crawl.

"It is mine," I said simply.

He nodded. "You speak as one who rules should speak. And yet\a160…" His voice trailed away. He looked sly. I understood him well enough. I was not the only man to claim the title, and the other sat in Constantinople while I stood here in Atil.

"It is mine," I repeated. "In times gone by, the khagan of the Khazars aided the Emperor of the Romans, Herakleios, who was my great-great-grandfather, against the Persians. We Romans and you Khazars have fought together against the Arabs. We are allies by interest and allies by blood. In fact, is it not so that my great-great-grandfather once sent a portrait of his daughter to the man who was then khagan, offering a marriage alliance?" My opinion at the time was that this spoke more of Herakleios's desperation than anything else, but I hoped Ibouzeros Gliabanos would not see it the same way.

Ibouzeros Gliabanos turned to a man who stood at the right side of his cart and spoke to him in a low voice. Although Barisbakourios leaned forward as far as he could without falling over, he was unable to make out what the khagan said or the counselor's reply. Ibouzeros Gliabanos then spoke directly to me: "This marriage alliance was never made."

"But it was offered, which shows how close your people and mine have been." I hid my disappointment. What a boon for my hopes it would have been had the khagan proved my distant cousin! He spoke again to the man beside him, who hurried away.

Presently, the fellow returned with a square of gilded wood inset with precious stones and pearls. In the center of the square was the portrait of a young woman in imperial regalia; as an icon of the Virgin is labeled MOTHER OF GOD, so her image was entitled EUDOKIA DAUGHTER OF HERAKLEIOS.

"From the treasury," Ibouzeros Gliabanos said, while I stared at the image of my great-great-aunt, whom I had never known. She was not Herakleios's daughter by my great-great-grandmother, but rather by Martina, through the incestuous connection he formed with her in his later years. I should have disapproved of her for that, but here, so far from home, she did not seem such a distant relation after all. The khagan looked from me to her image and back again. "I thought I remembered we had this old picture."

"It proves what I told you," I said boldly.

"Yes," he said. He and his counselor spoke again. The counselor left once more, returning this time with one of the handful of old men I had seen among the Khazars. The khagan asked him what he knew of the picture. He answered in a quavering voice only a little above a whisper, so I had to wait until Ibouzeros Gliabanos spoke directly to me once more: "He says the reason there was no marriage is that the khagan of those days was murdered before the maiden arrived."

"We know of such things in my family, too," I said, remembering my grandfather's death in the Sicilian bathhouse.

"For the sake of the past then, and for the sake of friendship in the future, I declare you are my guest here, and I will do for you what I can," the khagan said. Though a barbarian, he had proved himself a polite man. That did not keep me from grasping the intent behind his speech. When he said for the sake of friendship in the future, what he meant was for the sake of the debt you will owe me.

I bowed in return, accepting that. If he did give me the aid I needed to regain my throne, I would indeed owe him a great debt, and would be honor-bound to repay it. And if he did not\a160… in that case, how would I see Constantinople again?

Ibouzeros Gliabanos put me up in a tent near the palace. This was no insult, most folk in Atil, as I have said, inhabiting such dwelling places. I was fed well, if curiously, on rice and fish. Rice is a grain grown in the moist soil of the delta thereabouts, and eaten in porridges and stews and casseroles, as it lends itself to being baked in loaves even less well than oats.

I thought I would despair at having to eat fish again, but the smoked, tender flesh of the sturgeon bore little resemblance to the dried fish I had for so long endured at Kherson. The Khazars also preserve the eggs of the sturgeon in salt, a delicacy for which I was slower to acquire a taste, but one of which I eventually grew quite fond.

The khagan having granted me freedom to travel in the city, I crossed the Volga to the eastern half, where the larger half of the population and most of the merchants dwelt. The Khazars sell slaves, honey, wax, furs, and isinglass, all but the last of which are imported into their country from the even more barbarous lands to the north. In exchange, they buy cloth and finished clothing, as well as wine and fine sword blades, though their own smiths produce the ordinary sort.

Ibouzeros Gliabanos was himself a pagan, though among his advisers he numbered pagans of his own erroneous creed, followers of the false prophet, a handful of Christians, and some Jews as well. He was permitted, and he made full use of, a company of twenty-five wives and more than twice that number of concubines. Though not providing entertainment on such a lavish scale to his guests, he did see to it we lacked no companionship we desired.

We got on well, he and I. He invited me to dine with him at the palace more than once. At one of these affairs, he said, "I envy you the spirit that lets you go on seeking what was taken from you. If that happened to me, I hope I would do the same."

"I think you would," I told him, not altogether insincerely.

"I hope so," he repeated, frowning into his wine cup. "I wish I could do all I want to help you. The other Emperor of the Romans\a160…" His voice trailed away.

"Is a usurper," I said.

He nodded. "Yes. But he is also strong and rich. The Roman Empire obeys him."

"If I took the throne from him, the Roman Empire would again obey me." I spoke with confidence, and why not? If the Roman Empire had bowed to the wishes of Leontios, it would obey anyone set over it.

The khagan drank more wine, then ran his tongue over his lips. "Once you were in Constantinople, far from Atil, you would forget your friendship for the Khazars. I would have no hold on you but gratitude, and gratitude is worth its weight in gold." Yes, he was a ruler of men.

"I will give you any oath you like," I promised. "I would not risk my soul by promising falsely. You must believe that."

"Why must I?" he said, a question that, while imperfectly polite, was very much to the point. He plucked one of the long hairs from his unkempt beard. "I need a way to bind you to me."

"You do not trust my oath?" I did my best to sound injured and offended. In Ibouzeros Gliabanos's place, I should have placed no faith in oaths, either, but I would have let myself be given over to his torturers before admitting as much. I drank more wine myself. The khagan, disdaining the fermented mare's milk of his people, imported fine vintages from Kherson, the Caucasus, and Romania.

He studied me, then found another question, one I had not expected: "Have you a wife back in Constantinople, Justinian?"

"I am a widower," I answered. Poor Eudokia was by then sixteen or seventeen years dead: almost half my life. I had not forgotten her- I shall never forget her, of course- but I did not think of her every day, either.

"I know you Christians are allowed only one at a time, poor fellows," Ibouzeros Gliabanos said, "but even the rules of your religion let you marry again if that wife dies, is it not so?"

"Certainly it is so. Why do you ask?"

"I think," the khagan said slowly, "I think I may have a way to bind you to me as you should be bound. One of my younger sisters, you see, has not yet been pledged in marriage to any man\a160…"

My mouth fell open. I stared at him. He smiled back, looking pleased at his own cleverness. And, indeed, from his point of view, the ploy was nothing less than brilliant. Were I to become his brother-in-law, I would be far less likely to go against his interests, for in so doing I should be harming my own kin.

Well and good. I took another pull at my wine while mulling over the other side of the nomisma. Could I, I asked myself, stomach being wed to a barbarian princess? I had come to the Khazars because they were strong, not because they were civilized. I had not expected Ibouzeros Gliabanos (he being, as I say, a barbarian) to come up with a scheme an Emperor of the Romans might have admired. I did admire it, and should have admired it even more had it not put me in such a predicament.

I said, "I will not- I cannot- marry any woman who is not of my faith. This is not only because I am a Christian myself, but also because the Romans would never accept an Emperor with a pagan wife." The khagan had to know that was true. I hoped it would suffice to release me from the trap he had set.

"We have Christians and Christian priests here in Atil," he said placidly, "and you brought one with you, even if we did not. She will become a Christian: I see it is needful. Her name, you should know, is Tzitzak."

"Tzitzak," I echoed. I looked down into my wine cup. It still had wine in it. I drained it, filled it, and drained it again. The chamber in which Ibouzeros Gliabanos, Barisbakourios, and I sat began to spin. "Tzitzak," I repeated. It sounded like the noise a small, hungry finch might make. I looked over at the khagan, who sat waiting courteously to see what I would do. Despite that courtesy, I knew he would not aid me if I said him nay. I tried to bow while sitting cross-legged, and almost fell forward onto my face. Having no choice and knowing it, I said, "I am honored to have you for my brother-in-law."

His face lit up. I think he, knowing something of Roman pride, had expected me to reject the offer even if that meant I should never see Constantinople again. That I did not gave him some clue as to the depth of my desire to regain what was and is rightfully mine, thought to this day I do not think he grasps it in fullness. He put both hands to his mouth and shouted for a slave: "More wine!"

Those words of the Khazar tongue I learned quite well that night: he and I both used them again and again over the next several hours. At the end of that time, the khagan slumped over sideways and began to snore. He and I had had nothing intelligible to say to each other for some little while, Barisbakourios having passed out before either of us.

I got to my feet, surprised to discover I could do so. Weaving down the halls from one wall to another like a ship making a series of tacks against the wind, I made my stumbling way out of the palace and to my tent. Barbarians though they were, the Khazars, as a result of their living in nomadic fashion, had great skill with tents, and the one with which they had furnished me was nearly as luxurious, in their fashion, as the pavilions in which I dwelt while on campaign at the head of the armies of the Roman Empire.

Instead of excubitores, two Khazar guards stood before the entranceway. They nodded to me; I was their charge if not their sovereign. After considerable fumbling, I succeeded in lifting the flap and going inside. There was an excubitor in there: he was snoring, as a matter of fact. I shook him.

Myakes' first move was to grab for the sword lying beside him. "Congratulate me!" I said, causing him to arrest the motion.

"Why is that?" he asked sourly. "For falling into a wine jar?" He was always testy on being suddenly awakened.

"No, for pledging my troth," I answered.

"Emperor, you're very drunk," he said, whic h, God knows, was true. "Tell me about this in the morning, if you remember any of it then. My bet is, you won't." He pulled a sheepskin up over his head, trying to go back to sleep.

I shook him again. He said something not becoming to my imperial dignity, something pungent enough I wish I could have remembered it come morning. I said, "I am going to be wed. Her name is-" I hiccuped, not, actually, a bad approximation of Tzitzak.

It might not have been a bad approximation, but it was not good enough, either. "Her name is what?" Myakes said from under the sheepskin.

"Tzitzak," I said carefully, managing to get it right this time.

Getting it right did me little good: "Sleep it off, Emperor," Myakes urged, and rolled over onto his side.

"She is the sister of Ibouzeros Gliabanos, khagan of the Khazars," I said, taking some little while to do so: being as drunk as I was, I spoke at about half one's usual speed to make sure Myakes understood me.

He did. He sat up again, letting the sheepskin fall where it would. "You're going to marry the khagan's sister, Emperor?" he repeated. I nodded, and wished I had not, the motion already being enough to make my head ache. Myakes whistled softly; he could see the implications in that. "And once you do, he'll help you?"

"So he says," I replied. "If he will not help his brother-in-law, whom will he help?" Myakes might have answered me. I do not know. The next thing I remember, it was morning.