Justinian

TWENTY

From the citadel of Ancona — Italy’s chief seaport on the Adriatic and recently captured from the Goths* — Belisarius looked down on the vast semi-circular harbour into which were sailing the transports conveying a fresh army under the command of General Narses. Belisarius supposed he ought to feel delighted by the prospect of yet more reinforcements, but admitted to himself that he had mixed feelings. The arrival of John the Sanguinary with his Isaurians and Thracians in November of the previous year had completely altered the tactical situation, tilting the scales decisively in favour of the Romans. Witigis’ lines of communication had been threatened when, on Belisarius’ orders, John had seized Ariminum,** south of Ravenna, the Goths’ capital, and a chain of fortified positions had been established across the Apennines, protecting Roman gains in the south of the peninsula, also the vital route from Rome to the Adriatic. As a result, Witigis had been forced to abandon the siege of Rome and withdraw his army (a shadow of the mighty host that had invested the place a year before, thanks to disease and endless sorties by Belisarius’ crack cavalry) to the Gothic heartland of the Padus valley. The coming of thousands more Roman troops (they were actually Heruls, from the same Germanic tribe that had supplied Mundus with his force at the crushing of the Nika revolt) meant putting an additional strain on the local Italian population, regarding billeting and feeding. And the presence of another senior commander in the shape of Narses, a man much older than Belisarius and standing high in the favour of Justinian, was not entirely welcome, raising as it did the possibility of a challenge to his authority, with the concomitant risk of dividing the command.

What did he know of Narses? Belisarius asked himself. Not much, beyond the fact that he was an Armenian and a eunuch (castration was illegal in the Roman Empire; Narses hailed from the Persian zone of Armenia), and had a reputation for steadiness and reliability. Belisarius recalled that he had met the man briefly when, in the aftermath of Nika, Narses had done a quietly efficient job patrolling the streets to ensure that the insurgency did not flare up again. As for the Heruls he now commanded, they were notoriously troublesome and insubordinate, refusing to obey any officers bar the ones they were accustomed to. Still, there was no point in anticipating trouble where none might actually exist. Determined to put a positive face on things, Belisarius set off down the hill towards the waterfront to welcome the new general, whose fleet was even now dropping anchor beside Trajan’s Mole, the immensely long breakwater constructed in the reign of that emperor more than four centuries before. .

In the auditorium of the citadel’s Praetorium, where Belisarius had summoned a council of war, the staff of the two generals were assembling. Belisarius had called the meeting, firstly to plan the next stage of the campaign against Witigis, secondly as a means of introducing Narses to Belisarius’ own officers, and giving the other a chance to express any views that he might have.

After extending a formal welcome to the newly arrived general, Belisarius advanced to the front of the auditorium and faced his audience. With a pointer, he traced on a large easel-mounted map of Italy a line from Rome north-east across the peninsula to Ancona. ‘This, gentlemen, is our present front line. To the south of it we have cleared the land of Goths, so half of Italy is in our hands. We are now in a very strong position, one which enables us to launch a major push against the enemy. My plan is this: we move forward slowly, taking stronghold after stronghold — Sena Gallica, Urbinum, Pisaurum, et cetera.* An iron frontier too strong for the Goths to break through, creeping relentlessly north to pen them at last into their heartland of the Padus plain. Then we will close in for the kill.’

A murmur of approval swept round the chamber, accompanied by a nodding of heads.

‘What about old “Blood-and-Guts”, sir?’ asked a fresh-faced tribunus.

‘John the Sanguinary, you mean?’ laughed Belisarius. ‘Well, he’s still in Ariminum. But with Witigis pulling back towards the north, he’s now dangerously exposed; in fact Witigis’ advance troops have already begun to invest the town. I’m about to order John to withdraw to the safety of Ancona, while he still can.’

Narses stood up: a slight, delicate-looking figure with fine-drawn Armenian features, as unlike the popular stereotype of the plump, sly eunuch as it was possible to imagine. ‘With respect, General, I think that would be a mistake.’ Though he spoke quietly, Narses projected an air of unassuming certainty that commanded the close attention of all present.

This was the first time that Belisarius had been flatly contradicted by a fellow officer, and he felt at a loss as to how to respond. Up till this moment his charisma and breezy confidence had always proved enough to carry others with him. To be put in a position where he must defend and justify his decisions was a new and disconcerting experience. ‘Perhaps, General, you could explain,’ he replied, in as polite a tone as he could muster.

‘Your plan, insofar as it goes, is sound enough,’ conceded Narses. ‘But with respect, it lacks imagination. Also boldness — a quality without which no campaign was ever won.’ His gaze swept the chamber, establishing eye contact with his audience. ‘With John in Ariminum,’ he went on, ‘you have established an excellent forward position — a marker, if you like, for future gains.’ His voice dropped, which somehow had the effect of heightening the urgency and conviction of its tone. ‘My Heruls have a name for it: Blitzkrieg — Lightning War! It depends on forward momentum — flying columns moving rapidly ahead of the main force, which follows, occupying the territory thus claimed before the enemy can rally his resources. If we let the Goths have Ariminum, we surrender what would be a key advantage.’

A collective buzz of enthusiasm showed how completely Narses had captured the interest of his hearers.

‘Blitzkrieg’, thought Belisarius, in bewilderment tinged with resentment. The Armenian was talking a different language to himself, strategically speaking. It was ironic, he thought, that he, Belisarius, with a reputation for dash and elan, should find himself accused of lack of boldness. By instinct, he was all for swift attack, of taking the battle to the enemy. But in the past year he had learned, through hard-won experience, that the Goths, unlike the Vandals, had huge powers of resilience, recovering rapidly from reverses that at the time had seemed crushing. Hence his present policy of consolidating gains made before risking further moves against the enemy.

‘Perhaps the conqueror of Africa has lost his nerve?’ Uttered in tones of sneering mock politeness, the taunt came from a vicarius noted for his surliness, but who hitherto would not have dared to question the decisions of his commanding officer. The intervention of Narses, acting like some malign alchemy, had somehow changed all that, Belisarius felt. His old, easy authority had now been challenged and might not be easily regained.

‘That was uncalled for,’ rapped out Narses, subjecting the vicarius to a disapproving stare. ‘Let us have no more such aspersions. By falling out we simply play into the hands of the Goths. A disagreement as to tactics should not lead to rolling in the mud.’ Turning to Belisarius he said, ‘However, General, I think you should reconsider your decision to recall John from Ariminum, and instead relieve the place.’

‘Oh you do, do you?’ declared Belisarius, nettled. ‘Perhaps you’re forgetting, Narses, who is in overall command here.’

‘My commission indeed states that I owe obedience to yourself,’ replied the other smoothly. He paused, then added, giving the words a quiet emphasis, ‘- as far as may be advantageous to the public service. It is not my wish to embarrass you before your officers, Belisarius,’ he went on, ‘but I must insist on your compliance in this matter.’

Belisarius felt betrayed and humiliated, sick at heart — as though someone had kicked him violently in the stomach. But the rider to Narses’ commission, though imprecise, was unequivocal. The interpretation as to what constituted ‘advantageous’ lay with the Armenian. Justinian at least had made that clear. His loyalty to his emperor winning out over his sense of hurt and anger, Belisarius heard himself declare, ‘Very well, General — as soon as we disperse, I shall begin my preparations for the relief of Ariminum.’

From Procopius Caesariensis, Chronicler, to Anicius Julianus, Senator, greetings.

Dear ‘Cato’, your plan to have ‘Catullus’ persuade J. to send Narses to the aid of B. has succeeded beyond expectations! N.’s arrival has really set the cat among the pigeons; to mix my metaphors, the general staff here are fighting like ferrets in a sack — some supporting B., some N. In consequence, the Golden Boy’s lustre is now badly tarnished; he’s had to give way to N. (who has our Dear Leader’s ear, it would seem), and lead a force to Ariminum to relieve John ‘the Sanguinary’. (Honestly — the names these Germans give themselves; he’s the nephew of General Vitalian, a Goth who, you’ll remember better than myself, once tried to bring down Emperor Anastasius, then threw his hat in the ring when the old man became a god, as we used to say.) How odd that B. and N. should, thus far, be acting against type — N. all for pushing on, B. for holding back. Unfortunately, B. performed quite brilliantly at Ariminum — quite his old dashing self — and forced Witigis to call off the siege.

Though far from being finished, Witigis has rather gone to pieces since being forced to pull back from Rome. You know these barbarians — easily demoralized when things go wrong. His judgement’s been affected; in a fit of furor Teutonicus he’s had some important Roman hostages killed — a batch of senators he’s been carting around with him as a sort of mobile insurance policy. Which is bad news for us as, predictably, Roman opinion is hardening against the Goths. That venerable old Roman, Cassiodorus, has even resigned in protest from his post of Secretary to the Gothic Council. He’s what you’d call a ‘national treasure’, so unfortunately his opinion carries considerable clout throughout Italy.

News just in — Mediolanum* is in Roman hands once more. Without consulting N. (which means he’s in hot water again), B. sent a seaborne column up the west coast to Liguria, to harry the Goths from the rear. Though little more than a reconnaissancein-force, they’ve managed to capture Italy’s second city without a blow being struck. It seems the citizens — inflamed by the anti-Gothic feeling sweeping Italy thanks to the murder of those senators — threw open the gates to them. Witigis is reported to be furious, breathing fire and slaughter and denouncing the Mediolanese as traitors (against Goths?). With the help of a Frankish army from Gaul (what’s he playing at? — the Franks are simply looking for an excuse to extend their territory), he’s now besieged the place, vowing to put all inside to the sword. So perhaps Golden Boy has bitten off more than he can chew; let’s hope so.

‘Horatius’ knows to collect this from the drop-off point — by the Arch of Trajan near the waterfront. A short trip for him; your base at Fanum’s not thirty miles up the road from here. Vale.

Written at the Praetorium of Ancona, IV Kalendas Augusti, A.R.U.C. the two hundred and ninth.**

Post Scriptum

Narses’ Heruls are a gift — picking endless fights with B.’s Greeks, whom they regard as a bunch of softies. The centenarii* have their hands full keeping the two lots apart. Ferocious fighters the Heruls may be, but in combined operations they’re a total liability, refusing to obey orders from any officers other than their own. What fun!

‘I hear you’ve given orders for a relieving force to set out for Mediolanum!’ Narses accused Belisarius as the two generals, followed by their staff, filed into the officers’ mess in Ancona — now the permanent headquarters of the Roman Army in Italy.

‘The city must be relieved, Narses — its people are starving; we can’t not help.’ Taking his place beside the Armenian at the dinner table, Belisarius went on, a note of desperate appeal entering his voice. ‘Surely you can see that. We can’t allow the place to fall — especially as Witigis has threatened to massacre the inhabitants. I assumed I could take your permission for granted when I gave the order. If, by omitting to do so I’ve given offence, then I apologize.’

‘Your conduct goes beyond a mere breach of good manners, Belisarius,’ replied the Armenian in coldly formal tones. ‘In matters of strategic planning I insist on being consulted. You will cancel the order immediately.’

‘But — by now the expedition will be nearing Sena Gallica!’ cried Belisarius disbelievingly.

‘A mere twenty miles; send a fast rider to recall them.’

‘This is intolerable!’ shouted Belisarius, giving way to a rare burst of fury. ‘Only months ago, you insisted — against my judgement — that I relieve Ariminum. Now, you try to stop me doing the same for Mediolanum. I’m beginning to think, Narses, that this is more about personal animosity towards myself, than anything to do with military requirements.’

Casual conversation around the table died away into fascinated silence, as the other officers became aware of the spat developing between their two commanders.

‘That’s rubbish, and you know it,’ replied the other evenly. ‘By relieving Ariminum we not only retained the initiative, we were able to push forward our front line. With Mediolanum, the situation’s completely different. The place is two hundred miles north-west from here. To hang on to it, we’d have to stretch our lines of communication to breaking-point. In effect, it would mean having to start up a second front.’

‘So much for your theory of Blitzkrieg,’ retorted Belisarius bitterly.

‘Now you’re being deliberately obtuse,’ sighed Narses. ‘Lighting war involves pushing forward from an already advancing front. Until we’ve consolidated our position in Central Italy — Auximum and Faesulae* especially, need to be reduced — that won’t be possible.’

‘So — you’re happy then to see Mediolanum given over to fire and sword. With the slaughter of its innocent inhabitants on your conscience, I hope you’ll be able to live with yourself!’

‘My conscience? I would remind you, Belisarius, that this is a problem solely of your making.’ With a steady hand, Narses poured himself a goblet of wine. Taking a sip, he went on, ‘But we are wasting time. Will you send that order for the recall of your force, or would you prefer that I pull rank on you and do so for myself?’

From Anicius Julianus, Senator, to Procopius Caesariensis, Chronicler, Ave.

Dear ‘Regulus’, friend in Libertas, with B.’s capture of Ravenna in a bloodless coup, it would appear, on the face of it, that Libertas has failed: half the Western Empire recovered and Justinian still on his throne — stronger than ever, it might seem.

I suppose, with hindsight, we succeeded too well with Narses. The squabbling and backbiting that resulted from his transfer to Italy worked spectacularly well, resulting as it did in a fatally divided command. The ensuing paralysis caused Mediolanum to fall to the Goths (half a million put to the sword and the city razed to the ground!), which, unfortunately, caused J. to think again and have N. recalled. Since when, as we know, with his leadership no longer challenged and the field to himself, B. was able to polish off Witigis — since pensioned off by J., like Gelimer. (Doesn’t it make you sick the way we treat defeated barbarian leaders these days? When Rome was Rome, Witigis would have been crucified like Spartacus, or strangled in public like Vercingetorix.) That was a master-stroke of B. — pretending to go along with W.’s suggestion that provided he split with J. and called off the war, the Goths would recognize him as Western emperor in a power-sharing deal. Once B. was allowed into Ravenna and showed his true colours after the Goths surrendered, it was of course too late for poor old W. — who’d had the wool well and truly pulled over his eyes.

I said above that Libertas might appear to have failed. It would however be premature, I think, to throw in the towel — for two reasons. Firstly, B.’s success in Italy may be built on sand. The Goths have not been defeated militarily, only tricked into surrender. Even with Witigis now out of the picture, there are other potential Gothic leaders waiting in the wings — Urais in Ticinum* and Hildebad in Verona, for example, neither of whom have yet lain down their arms. With Belisarius (accompanied by yourself, of course) recalled from Italy, leaving General Vitalius, a competent second-rater, in charge, a Gothic resurgence can by no means be ruled out. Congratulations by the way on your ‘poison pen’ campaign. Your letters to our beloved emperor suggesting that B. seriously toyed with accepting Witigis’ offer to recognize him as Western emperor — like Julius Caesar when Anthony offered him the crown — had the desired effect. They planted the seed of suspicion in J.’s mind (always fertile ground for doubt to germinate), to the extent of persuading him to withdraw B. — just in case. .

My second reason for suggesting that the cause of Libertas may not be dead is this. Last year, as my spies found out, Witigis, seeing defeat staring him in the face, made a desperate appeal to Khusro, the new Great King of Persia. His envoys carried the message that if Italy were reconquered by Belisarius, the Roman Empire would then be strong enough to renew hostilities with Persia — notwithstanding that the Treaty of Eternal Peace was still in force. In other words, W. was suggesting that Khusro launch a pre-emptive strike against the Empire, while Rome still had its hands full in Italy. Even with W. now gone and Italy in Roman hands again, the war might well flare up once more, as I’ve pointed out. So W.’s appeal could still make sense in terms of what’s in it for Khusro.

All in all, my dear Procopius, the Friends of Libertas may yet have all to play for, and, who knows, you may find yourself ere long back in Italy with B. I have entrusted delivery of this missive to ‘Gracchus’, who will no doubt find you ensconced within the Imperial Palace at Constantinople.

Written at Fanum, Flaminia et Picenum (once more a province of the Roman Empire!), IV Ides Februarii, in the Year of the Consul Basillus.** (Wonder of wonders, it looks as if J. may have undergone a change of heart regarding consigning the consulship to history.)

‘Does the capture of Ravenna, Lord, mean that You look with favour on Justinianus, Your unworthy son? With Italy as well as Africa now Roman once again, Your servant has recovered half the Western Empire. Much still remains to be done, of course — the barbarians cleared from Gaul and Spain, and the light of Your true faith, Orthodox Catholicism, made to triumph over the false creeds of the Monophysites and Arians, throughout the Empire. If, as Constantine and Augustine averred, the mission of the Imperium Romanum is to spread and safeguard Christianity over all the world, then perhaps I can dare to hope that You have indeed chosen me, to be the humble instrument for furthering Your great design for the salvation of mankind.’ Cold and stiff, Justinian shifted his aching knees on the marble floor of Hagia Sophia’s nave, where he had spent the night in prayer.

‘There have been times, Lord,’ the emperor intoned, continuing his orisons, ‘when I feared that You had withdrawn your favour from me, that I was indeed in some way cursed: as if the Furies of legend — those dreadful winged maidens whose locks are twisting serpents and whose eyes drip blood — had been sent by Fate to prescribe the course that I must follow. For example, Lord, when I sent Narses to aid Belisarius in Italy, and their quarrel resulted in the destruction of Milan and the massacre of its people. Have I, Lord, been indirectly guilty of the death of half a million souls? At times I think I must have been, for my conscience continues to torment me. Through timidity and hesitation, Lord, the faults that cost the lives of Atawulf and Valerian my friends, I would have let the Goths keep Italy from the Padus to the Alps, had not Belisarius turned a deaf ear to my instructions to abandon the siege of Ravenna and make terms with Witigis. And was I wrong, Lord, to listen to rumours reported to me by Procopius, that Belisarius thought to make himself Emperor of the West — rumours that caused me to recall him? Have I thereby been guilty of a grave injustice against one who is a good and faithful servant?

‘Perhaps I am a weak and broken vessel, Lord, one who is unworthy to be emperor. I think at times of Amalasuntha and Silverius. And then I wonder, Lord, if I should renounce Theodora, my beloved wife, who, as woman, is tainted with the sin of Eve, and whose transgressions I connived at. If however, Lord, You have indeed chosen Justinian, despite his manifest and many frailties, to be Your Appointed Instrument, I would humbly pray that you vouchsafe to him a sign — as once You did to Constantine of blessed memory.’

Justinian opened his eyes and waited, in an agony of hope and doubt. From outside the church, the faint stir of the awakening city came to the emperor’s ears. The creak and rumble of the vendors’ carts told him that the gates in the Wall of Theodosius had been opened. It must be dawn; the realization was confirmed by the dim radiance beginning to suffuse the nave’s interior.

Then, suddenly, the sun’s rays burst through the windows surrounding the base of the great dome, to bathe the kneeling figure in golden light. Here was his sign, Justinian told himself, sobbing with relief and gratitude. He — Justinianus Augustus, Restitutor Orbis Romani — was indeed God’s Chosen One.

But perhaps, as the emperor Commodus — at the height of his power foreseeing his own downfall, observed — the gods were laughing. In Persia, Khusro was contemplating ending the Treaty of Eternal Peace with Rome; in Italy, an unknown young Goth called Totila determined to resist the Roman conquerors; and in far-off Aethiopia, carried in the fur of rats, a tiny creature spreading death and desolation on an unimagined scale began its journey down the Nile towards the Roman diocese of Egypt.

* In March 538.

** Rimini.

* Senigallia, Urbino, Pesaro.

* Milan.

** 29 July 538.

* Sergeants — not to be confused with centuriones, a much higher, but by this time, obsolescent rank.

* Osimo and Fiesole.

* Pavia.

** 10 February 540. (See Notes.)