Justinian

MYAKES

A miracle, Brother Elpidios? I don't know if it was a miracle, or if we'd come out the other side of the squall line or whatever it is sailors call those sudden storms that blow up out of nowhere, or what. I do know it happened just the way he writes it, though. He's right. I was frightened to death. You can fight a man. How do you go about fighting the sea? One minute I was certain sure we were sunk and drowned and food for the mackerel and the squid and the tunny that had been feeding us for so long up in Kherson. The next-

The next minute, Brother Elpidios, the clouds were flying away to the east, and the rain went from sheets to spatters and then stopped, and all at once when we were in the trough of a wave the crest of the next one wasn't higher than the top of our mast, and the sun came out, and-

It sounds like a miracle to you? If you think I'm going to argue very hard, you can bloody well think again.

From that moment forward, I knew I should prevail, God having by sparing me given an indubitable sign He approved of my purposes.

All of us, working with buckets and cups and a small bronze cooking pot, bailed as much of the sea as we could from the fishing boat. By the time the long, weary task was done, we stood ankle deep in water. Having been knee deep before, we reckoned that great progress.

By God's providence, the rigging had survived the storm. Like our tunics, it flapped wetly. But the sail filled with the gentle breezes following the storm, and let us sail slowly toward the west, the direction in which the sun was now setting. We were out of sight of land, and spent a chilly night on the sea. Making sail again the next morning, though, we spied the shore no later than the third hour.

On our sailing closer to that shore, we discovered we had reached one of the several mouths of a considerable river. "Does the Danube break up before it flows into the sea, the way the Volga does?" Barisbakourios asked, the simple word delta evidently being unfamiliar to him.

He, his brother, Theophilos, and Foolish Paul all looked toward Myakes and me. None of them had been in his part of the world before. We being Romans and this having been Roman territory before the Bulgars raped it away from my father, they expected us to know the answer.

And Myakes, who had accompanied my father on his ill-fated campaign against the Bulgars, did know. "Aye, that's the Danube, all right," he said. "All we have to do now is sail up it a ways and wait for the Bulgars to notice us." He shook his head. "No, that's not all. We have to hope they feel like talking with us instead of killing us for the fun of it."

"A point," I admitted. I had been so full of thought for what the Bulgars might do for me, I had not asked what I might do for the Bulgars. After a moment's doubt, though, I straightened in the battered fishing boat. "I do not- I will not- believe God, having spared me from the storm, will let me perish at the hands of the barbarians."

"Here's hoping you're right." Myakes was seldom inclined to take on faith the goodwill of potential foes.

With Moropaulos skillfully using the steering oar and turning the sail so as best to catch the wind, we made our way up one of the channels of the Danube, waiting to be noticed. I began to wonder whether any Bulgars lived in that part of the land until I saw a large herd of cattle grazing in the distance. Where there were animals, there their masters would also be found.

And, before long, one of the Bulgars riding with the cattle spied the boat on the river and came riding up to the riverbank for a better look at us. Barisbakourios and Stephen called to him in the language of the Khazars, and he shouted back to them, but neither side could understand the other.

My turn, then. "Do you speak Greek?" I called across the water. Some Bulgars did, I knew, having acquired the tongue either from the luckless Romans who had inhabited the land they now ruled or from traders coming up out of the Roman Empire.

The good fortune that had smiled on me since the storm abated continued. "Greek? Yes, I speak little Greek," the horseman answered. "Who you? What you want here?" He leaned forward on his horse like a hound seeking a scent. Every line of his body seemed to shout, Are you fair game? Can I slay you?

"I am Justinian, Emperor of the Romans, the son of Constantine, Emperor of the Romans," I answered, and had the satisfaction on watching his jaw drop and him go slack with astonishment on the ugly little pony he rode. I continued, "I have come to see your khagan, Tervel. Will you take me and my friends to him?"

For all I knew, the barbarian might have thought I still sat on the throne in Constantinople. True, I had been cast down ten years before, but who can say how swiftly, if at all, news reaches a Bulgar herder? Maybe he thought I had come to take supper with my fellow sovereign, and would then return to the Queen of Cities.

On the other hand, maybe he merely thought me a liar. But if I lied, I lied on a scale greater than he had ever imagined. "You stay," he said. "Not go. I bring you another man. He talk toward you." Riding away, he booted the pony up into a gallop, getting a better turn of speed from the animal than I had expected.

"Shall we beach the boat, Emperor?" Moropaulos asked.

"Yes, do," I said. "We've come to see the khagan. If the Bulgars fall on us before we can do that\a160…" I did not go on. But if the Bulgars chose to fall on us before I could see the khagan, I had no place else to go in any case. Tervel was, and how well I knew it, my last hope.

The fishing boat glided up onto the muddy bank of the Danube. We all got out of it as fast as we could. Solid ground, however muddy, beneath my feet for the first time since escaping the storm felt monstrous fine. I walked up from the mud to the grass beyond and lay at full length upon it.

Myakes came over and sat down beside me. "If I ever go to sea, Emperor, I mean to say, if I'm ever that stupid-"

"What? You won't even cross from Constantinople to Asia?" I teased.

"Maybe I'll go that far," he said. "Maybe. And maybe I won't, too." Plucking a blade of grass, he set it between his teeth, as if to say he was at one with the ground from which it sprang.

We rested for perhaps two hours before that first Bulgar returned not with one but with several of his fellows. One of them wore gold hoops in his ears and a gold armlet on his left wrist: a chief of sorts, unless I missed my guess. He did not dismount, staring down at me from horseback. In better Greek than his countryman had used, he said, "I hear Justinian had the nose of him cut off when they threw him out of Constantinople."

"I did," I answered, and touched first my repaired nose and then the scar on my forehead above it. "You see how the surgeon covered the hole with skin, so now I have a nose again, even if it is not such a good nose as I owned before."

Having studied me, he answered, "Why do you want to see the khagan?"

"I shall discuss that with the khagan," I answered haughtily. "Or is he in the habit of talking over his business with everyone he chances to meet?"

As nothing else had done, that show of arrogance went far toward convincing him I was what I said I was. Like the first Bulgar who had found me, he said, "You have to wait here a little while." He shouted orders in his own tongue to his men, a couple of whom rode away. Returning to Greek, he told me, "They will bring horses for you and your friends to ride."

While we waited, I introduced my companions to him and learned he was called Omurtag. He paid me the compliment of not asking again what I wanted of Tervel. But for the Bulgar who had found us, none of his followers spoke Greek. Seeing that, I realized how fortunate I had been on the initial encounter.

The Bulgars he had sent forth returned to the riverbank more quickly than had been the case after the first meeting. Moropaulos was the only one of us not an experienced horseman. He also fretted over his boat, saying, "What shall I do without it?"

"If I win," I said, "I'll make you rich enough to buy twenty boats, a hundred boats. If I lose, you'll die in battle or Apsimaros will cut off your head. You won't need this boat either way, will you?"

"But this is my boat," Moropaulos said, showing how he'd got his name. After a while, we cajoled him into leaving it behind. He awkwardly scrambled up into the saddle of the horse the Bulgars identified as the calmest of those they had bought. Calmest proved less than identical to calm, but Foolish Paul managed to keep from being pitched off onto his head.

We rode south and west from where we had come to solid ground. The countryside resembled the plain across which I had traveled to reach the court of Ibouzeros Gliabanos, but was not so limitless; to the south, silhouetted against the sky, I could see the mountains separating the land the Bulgars had stolen from us from that still under Roman rule.

Omurtag being a man of authority in his own right, he commandeered the services of a band of Bulgars we encountered as evening drew near. Thus we had plenty to eat, plenty to drink even if it was fermented mare's milk, and tents in which to sleep. The accommodations were similar to those we had had of the Khazars, one band of nomads apparently living as much like another as peasants near Thessalonike live like peasants near Nikomedeia.

We rode out again at first light the next morning and, after riding all day, came to Tervel that evening. Atil, where Ibouzeros Gliabanos dwelt, had come more than halfway toward transforming itself from a nomadic encampment to what might one day become a considerable city. The camp at which Tervel ruled had barely begun the same process. The Bulgars had built a wooden fence around a good stretch of territory surrounding Tervel's tent and those of his followers, but the khagan and his men still made their living from the herds that fence enclosed.

A rider went ahead to announce my arrival to Tervel. The fellow came back with permission for me to go on and meet the khagan. Omurtag, knowing which was Tervel's tent, led me to it. A couple of slaves- Romans, by their looks and by the Greek they spoke with each other- tended to the party's horses. Perhaps having learned who I was, they stared and stared at me.

I wonder whether Tervel's curiosity would impel him to come out and greet me, but he waited for me to go to him, he being after all sovereign in this place. The interior of his tent glowed with lamps of glass and silver- Roman plunder- till it was almost bright as day, though the lamps burned butter rather than oil as they would have done in Romania. More plunder- golden bowls, silver wine pitchers- gleamed in the lamplight.

Tervel, sitting there cross-legged on the carpet, wore plunder, too: a woman's jeweled earring in each ear and a necklace of nomismata. Since he had succeeded his father not long before, I expected him to be hardly more than a youth, as had been true for me. But he was a man of close to my own age, a battle scar seaming his right cheek, his face almost as lined and weathered as that of any other nomad.

My followers prostrated themselves before him; I bowed, as I had to Ibouzeros Gliabanos. When I straightened, he was studying me through narrow eyes like those of the Khazar khagan. "I think you really may be Justinian," he said in Greek as fluent as mine. "I guessed some mountebank was coming to fool me, but you have not only the wound- fixed some sort of way, I see- but also the look of the man I remember seeing."

"Have we met?" I asked. "Were you on an embassy to Constantinople? I hope you will not be angry if I say I do not remember you there."

"We have met." His smile showed excellent teeth. He somehow contrived to make them look very sharp. "It was not in Constantinople. I have never been inside Constantinople. But you have come here before. I saw you then. I fought your men, to try to keep them and you from getting back inside the Roman Empire. We failed"- he shrugged-"but not by much."

"No, not by much," I admitted. "That was half a lifetime ago for me." Much of my reign had been half a lifetime ago for me. "You would have been young to fight then."

"My first battle," he agreed. "You Romans should never have got away. We should have trapped you and killed every one of you."

I should be stretching a point if I said I liked Tervel from the outset. But I could tell at once that he and I, agreeing or not, would always be able to understand each other. We thought alike: half-measures satisfied neither of us.

I said, "When my father came here with his army, he should have destroyed every one of you Bulgars. Then my campaign would not have been needed."

"When your father came, and all the ships vomited out their soldiers, we thought he was the most fearsome man in the world," Tervel answered, smiling that unpleasant smile once more. "Then we found the soldiers only knew how to run away from us. They fought better with you leading them, I must say."

"Why- thank you," I said in some- more than some- surprise. Up till that moment, whenever people compared me to my father, they always found me the lesser. So much had I come to take that for granted, the possibility it might not be so smote me with the force of Paul's revelation on the road to Damascus.

Tervel either did not notice my confusion or controlled himself so well, he revealed nothing of his thoughts. He said, "And now you come to me without an army at your back, Justinian. Tell me why this is. Did I not hear you married the daughter of the Khazar khagan? Is he not your friend?"

"I married his sister," I said. He inclined his head, accepting the correction. I went on, "I think he would be my friend, if he did not think being Apsimaros's friend counted for more."

"Ah," Tervel said. "He can afford to be Apsimaros's friend. The Khazars have no borders with the Roman Empire. We Bulgars do. We have never been friends with the Emperors of the Romans: not with Constantine, not with Justinian"- one eyebrow lifted ironically-"not with Leontios, not with this Apsimaros, either." He folded his arms across his chest, waiting to see what I would say next.

"That will change, if an Emperor of the Romans owes his return to his throne to the khagan of the Bulgars." I was careful to use the indicative, not the subjunctive, Tervel having shown he grasped subtle shades of meaning.

"Taking Constantinople would not be easy." He used the subjunctive. "My countrymen who have seen the city do nothing but talk about how strong its walls are."

"Apsimaros got into the city," I returned. "I too shall find a way."

"Maybe," he said. "Maybe." He stretched, lithe as a wildcat. "I need not decide this at once. Drink and eat with me, and tell me of how you came here from Kherson. Unless I am wrong, this will be worth hearing."

Clapping his hands together, he shouted for slaves. Like the others I saw in the country of the Bulgars, they were Romans, poor souls. They brought us roast mutton and wine, the khagan preferring it to his people's native strong drink.

Tervel had me speak in some detail on the repair of my nose, the Bulgars being more ignorant of surgery of any sort than we Romans. "Do you think you could teach my people to cut so?" he asked when I was through.

"I doubt it," I answered. "I paid as little attention as I could to what Auriabedas was doing to me. Myakes here watched. He'd have a better notion of how the operation was done than I do."

"Not good enough to teach it to anybody else," Myakes said quickly. "What I was trying to do was not to puke."

"Too bad," Tervel said. "Noses get lopped often enough, it would be worth knowing what this foreigner with the name I cannot say did. But go on, Justinian."

I told of traveling to the court of Ibouzeros Gliabanos, and of my marriage to Theodora, with which he had shown himself somewhat familiar. Then I spoke of my journey to Phanagoria, of the khagan's betrayal, and of how I had dealt with Papatzun and Balgitzin. Tervel and the other Bulgars who understood Greek clapped their hands at that.

I also told them of how God had chosen to spare me out on the sea as I was sailing to their land, finishing, "And so you see, O Khagan, I am truly destined to enter the Queen of Cities and avenge myself on all who wronged me."

"So you say," Tervel replied, voice betraying nothing. He was no more a Christian than Ibouzeros Gliabanos- less, in fact, for the khagan of the Khazars tolerated all faiths, including the true one, in the lands he ruled, while the Bulgars saw Christianity as connected with Roman rule, and so suspect.

"With your help or without it, I am going on to Constantinople," I said.

"I believe you," Tervel said. "You are a man who keeps promises- I see that. If you go without my help, though, I do not think you will have a glad time of it."

Although thinking him likely to be right, I would sooner have had my new nose cut off than admit as much. "I would like your help," I said, "but I will go on without it." This ignored what had to be as evident to Tervel as it was to me: that, should he order, I would go nowhere but into whatever grave the Bulgars gave me.

He also ignored the fact, perhaps deeming its mention impolite, perhaps finding it too obvious to need mention. As Ibouzeros Gliabanos had before him, he said, "If you win, you will be inside Constantinople, and you are liable to forget whatever help you had getting there. How do we seal this bargain so I will get the reward I'd deserve?"

"I cannot marry your sister," I said, "nor even your daughter." In theory, I suppose, I might have done that, Emperors tending to make their own law on such matters, but I had no wish to put aside Theodora. On the contrary. And then, as I seldom did, I remembered Epiphaneia. "I cannot marry your daughter," I repeated, "but I can give you mine."

I had not seen her, of course, since my treacherous overthrow and exile. Before that time, I had s een her as little as I could, and would have seen her less than that had my mother not continually tried to make me act as a father toward her. That I did not wish to do, and would not do. All I could think of, whenever I set eyes on her, was that she had caused the death of her mother Eudokia, whom I had loved.

A decade's separation and near forgetfulness, I discovered, had not caused this feeling to ease, any more than that same decade had slaked my desire for vengeance against Leontios and Apsimaros. Nor did my marriage to Theodora, happy though it was, ease the pain of having lost Eudokia. Thus I felt not the slightest hesitation in offering the barbarous Bulgar the child of my flesh. In its way, that too was an act of vengeance.

"Tell me of this daughter," Tervel said, his voice so elaborately casual, I knew he was interested.

Having given him her name, I went on, "She would be seventeen now, I think. Now"- I help up a hand-"I have heard nothing of her since I was overthrown. It may be she has wed in that time: she would have been a small girl then, you know. It may even be she is no longer among the living, though God forbid it." I said that, I own, more for fear of losing the bargain than from concern for her safety. "But if she lives, and if she is not wed or has not accepted the monastic life, I swear by my God, the one true God, to yoke the two of you together in marriage."

"That is not a small promise," Tervel said slowly. He spoke in his own language, to enlighten those of his noble company- boyars, the Bulgars call them- who spoke no Greek. I could not understand their startled exclamations, but I could not mistake them, either.

Myakes leaned toward me, whispering, "Emperor, the Augusta your mother will-"

"Obey," I broke in. "My mother is not here, Myakes, nor are you she. Remember it." He bowed his head in acquiescence.

"That is not a small promise," Tervel repeated, fortunately having missed Myakes' comment and my equally soft-voiced reply. The khagan went on, "But it is a promise full of conditions. Maybe these are conditions you cannot speak to now, because you do not know enough. And maybe, too, you know more than you say. What will you do, Justinian, if you find your daughter is dead or cannot marry me?"

For a moment there, I hated him. But it was my own weakness I was hating, hating cruel necessity that caused me to come before him, as I had come before Ibouzeros Gliabanos, as a beggar. A beggar I was, though, and so I would remain until Constantinople was mine once more. If I could not make Tervel sweet, that time might never come. And so I said, "Khagan, if for any reason you cannot marry my daughter, I will name you Caesar."

Beside me, Myakes stiffened. Tervel's eyes went so wide, they were almost round. "You would do this?" he said.

"I would," I replied. "I will."

"But, Emperor"- Myakes was whispering again-"Caesar is-"

"I know what the title of Caesar is," I said aloud, both to him and to Tervel. "It is the highest title in the Roman Empire, save that of Emperor alone. The only difference between the Emperor's crown and the Caesar's is that a cross surmounts the Emperor's."

"Good," Tervel said. "I do not want a cross on my crown. I am not a Christian. I do not wish to become a Christian."

I wished he had not said that. The Roman Empire had not had a pagan Caesar since before the days of Constantine the Great. The Roman Empire, so far as I knew, had never had a Caesar who was at the same time a barbarian. None of that mattered longer than a moment. If Tervel did not aid me, I should be in no position to grant titles to anyone. And, relatively speaking, titles are cheap.

"I must think on this." After widening, Tervel's eyes narrowed. "Does it mean that, if you die, I become Emperor of the Romans?" His smile said this was not intended to be taken altogether seriously, but the hungry expression that followed said he wished it were.

Shaking my head, I replied, "I will not lie to you," by which I meant I saw no profit in lying. "For one thing, my wife is with child. For another, if you are not a Christian, you will never be Emperor of the Romans."

"You speak freely," he observed.

"I could tell you any number of pretty lies," I said. "They might make you help me now, but they would make you hate me later."

"You tempt me, Justinian," Tervel said. "I will not tell you yes now, and I will not tell you no, either. I will think on this, as I said I would, and I will give you my answer when I decide. Until then, you are my guest."

"You are kind beyond my deserts," I replied. That was probably a lie, but a lie I was obligated to tell. Tervel gave not a hint of what he would do with me if he decided not to give me the soldiers I had asked of him. I did not inquire. If he would not aid me, I cared little as to what happened next.

He set me up in a tent surprisingly similar to the one in which I had dwelt by the palace of Ibouzeros Gliabanos. Slaves- Romans- tended to my needs. After the first couple of nights, I took a good-looking woman named Maria into my bed. I loved Theodora no less, but she was far away, the slave woman close by. Maria was resigned rather than eager, but one seldom finds more in a slave.

A week after my first coming before him, Tervel summoned me to his tent once more. I went with outward impassivity as complete as I could muster, but with my heart pounding and my stomach knotted within me. How strange, how grim, that my fate should depend on the whim of a barbarian chieftain who was a lifelong enemy of the Roman Empire.

I bowed before him, as I had bowed before Ibouzeros Gliabanos: he was master here, not I. More often than not, I scorned the nomads for their lack of anything approaching proper ceremonial. This once, I welcomed their barbaric abruptness, for with it I learned more quickly what I wanted to- what I had to- know.

Without preamble, Tervel said, "I will give you soldiers. We will go down to Constantinople together, you and I, and see if we can set you back on the throne you lost."

My heart pounded harder than ever, but now from joy rather than concern. "If I reach Constantinople with an army at my back, I shall rule again."

"May it be so." Tervel sounded polite, but not altogether sincere. A moment later, he explained why: "If you win, everything will be as you said. Either I will have your daughter or I will be Caesar. And if you lose, my armies will still have their chance to plunder the Roman lands between here and Constantinople."

"That is true," I said. "But if I win, as I expect to do, your armies will have to come back here without plundering their way home. We will be allies then, and allies do not ravage each other's lands." And then, unable to contain my eagerness another instant, I burst out, "When shall we move against the Queen of Cities?" Nomads, I knew, were always ready to ride out at a moment's notice.

But Tervel said, "In ten days, or perhaps half a month. I have sent messengers to my cousins to the south and west, asking them if their men will ride with us."

"You cannot simply order them to ride?" I said in some surprise.

"If you Romans invaded us, we would all stand together," he answered. "But I cannot tell them to take their men to war outside their grazing grounds. I hope they will join us, though."

"I will reward them if they do," I said. Bowing again, I added, "But not so richly as I will reward you."

"Good enough," Tervel said. "May it be so." Again, though, he sounded less concerned than he might have. As Ibouzeros Gliabanos had before him, he purposed using me for his own ends. His lands marching with those of the Roman Empire, he could use my cause as a plausible excuse for what would in fact be an invasion. I regretted the evils the Empire would suffer as a result, but saw no alternative. I had come too far to go back. Forward was the only way left.

When we marched, we marched without Tervel's cousins. Though my war against them after I had subdued the Sklavenoi lay many years in the past, the Bulgars inhabiting the lands near the former Sklavinias still remembered me with something less than fondness. "We do not trust the Emperor with the cut-off nose," one of them told Tervel. "If you are wise, you will not trust him, either."

Under other circumstances, I should have been flattered at the Bulgars' still fearing me after so long. As things were, I mourned the support I would not have. Tervel did not fret about trusting me. He had no need to fret. I was in his power. If I displeased him or alarmed him, he would put me to death, and that would be that.

The Bulgars who did ride with us, I am sure, had their minds more on loot and rape and murder than on restoring me to the throne of the Roman Empire. Any soldiers are more apt to dwell on the pleasures of their trade than on the purposes for which their rulers employ them.

As we rode south toward the mountains, the landscape took on a familiar look- or so I thought, at any rate, although I had seen a great many landscapes since. Not wanting to put the question to Tervel, I asked Myakes, "Are we not heading toward the pass we used to get back into Romania when we were campaigning against the Bulgars?"

"I think we are," he answered. "I'll tell you something else, too- I'm bloody glad we've got the Bulgars with us this time, not trying to keep us here."

"So am I," I told him. Instead of showing proper march discipline, the Bulgars straggled out across the land, as if they were the flocks they tended. If one of them spied a rabbit in the grass, he would ride off and try to kill it, eventually either rejoining his comrades or not, as he thought best. But the more I associated with the nomads, the more I came to respect them as warriors. Their horses seemed tireless, and subsisted on what they pulled from the ground as they traveled. The men were no less hardy, going on long after Romans or Arabs would have had to halt. Having noted this same endurance among the Khazars, I was pleased to have it at my disposal.

No. I overstate that. The Bulgars were not at my disposal. They were at Tervel's disposal. When we traversed the pass in the Haimos Mountains and entered Roman territory, he sent them out broadcast to plunder the countryside. He had made no promises to keep them from doing so before I had regained my throne. If I had to guess, I would say he did not expect me to regain it. I did not discuss this with him. The event would prove him right or wrong.

Roman frontier guards at the southern end of the pass rode forward to resist what they mistakenly took to be one of the many small Bulgar raiding parties that had so troubled the land in the quarter-century since the barbarians, as divine punishment for our sins, succeeded in establishing themselves south of the Danube. Now, though, I intended using the Bulgars as divine punishment for Apsimaros's sin of usurpation, and for that of Leontios as well, if he still lived.

On discovering we were a veritable army rather than a band of bandits, the Romans rode away far faster than they had ridden forward. Whooping, the Bulgars rode after them, slaying a few and bringing a few back for questioning. Most of them were Mardaites and other easterners whom I had resettled to hold this frontier. I was somewhat irked to see them so incontinently flee, but did not blame them overmuch, they being so outnumbered.

"Justinian! It is you!" one of them exclaimed in Greek with a guttural Syrian accent years on this chilly frontier had been unable to efface. "We heard they cut off your nose, not that they just smashed it. I saw you in Sebasteia when you arranged to move us here. Have you come to take back the throne?"

"I have," I declared, whereupon the Mardaite burst into cheers.

One of his companions, however, was imprudent enough to shout out, "Tiberius Apsimaros, Emperor of the Romans!" Two Bulgars were holding the man. I glanced at a third nearby, who was not at that moment tending to any prisoners. The Bulgar drew a knife. I nodded. He plunged it into the frontier guard's belly, again and again. The Bulgars holding him let him fall, writhing and shrieking, to the weeds and dirt.

With his screams as background, the rest of the Mardaites wasted no time in acclaiming me. Some, no doubt, were satanically dissembling, but I let them all go, to spread word of my coming and, I hoped and expected, to bring more Roman soldiers over to my side along with the Bulgars.

A few of the barbarians grumbled at watching the prisoners leave their hands still intact and breathing, but I said, "You have just entered the land of the Romans. Do you think you will have no chances for sport later?"

Tervel shouted something in his own language. The Bulgars calmed themselves. Shifting to Greek, Tervel told me, "You did right. You are right. The Romans you let go will do us more good alive than they would give us amusement."

"That was also my thought," I replied, and then, pointing southward, continued, "And now, shall we ride on?" Tervel dipped his head in agreement and waved to his host. We followed the frontier guards into Romania.

The main road running south and west from the pass toward Adrianople and away from the Queen of Cities, we abandoned it, traveling south along the seacoast toward Constantinople instead. Watching gentle waves slap against the shore, I found myself thinking of anything but the gentle waves I had survived out on that same sea.

As we came down toward Mesembria, the most northerly of the Roman coastal cities, we discovered that most of the villages in our path had been abandoned. Myakes snorted, saying, "Those frontier guards you let go, Emperor, they spread the news, all right- the news the Bulgars were coming. Nobody cared whether you were with 'em or not. People heard that, they ran."

"I fear you're right," I answered. "No help for it now."

A little later, Tervel rode up to me. "Shall we lay siege to Mesembria?" he asked.

I shook my head. "No. Taking it gets us no closer to seizing the imperial city, and besieging it wastes time we do not have."

"This is sense," he agreed after a moment's thought. "If you fail, we will capture this town on the way north." In his mouth, if you fail sounded like when you fail. As with most men, he did what he did primarily for his own purposes, not out of any special charity of soul.

That evening, we encamped only a couple of miles outside Mesembria. Some of the Bulgars rode out to pillage the suburbs beyond the wall. And, to my surprise, one of the locals rode into our camp. He did not come alone, either. but at the head of a flock of some five hundred sheep chivvied along by a couple of herdsmen who looked as if they wished they were somewhere, anywhere, else.

The man on horseback- a young fellow, probably born about the time I succeeded my father- dismounted and prostrated himself before me. In a loud voice, he said, "Emperor Justinian, I bring your army these sheep, and with them I bring myself." His Greek had some of the same Syrian flavor as that of the frontier guards the Bulgars had captured.

"Rise," I told him, and he did, with the fluid grace of a well-trained warrior. "I accept the sheep, and I accept you as well," I said. "Tell me your name, so that I may know whom I thank."

"Emperor," he said, "my name is Leo."