The reply came with a deep sigh. ‘You have arranged even this. Robbed a dead emperor of his possessions.’
‘To avoid bloodshed, Uncle, it seemed apposite.’
‘And your aunt?’
‘Will be wearing suitable garments. She and you must appear before the mob as an imperial couple. Flavius take the chests to my uncle’s quarters. The distribution can take place tomorrow as long as this day is a peaceful one. Galataeo, is all secure?’
‘Word was sent by the praefectus urbanus to his troops to secure the Hippodrome and streets around as soon as he knew Anastasius was dying and this has been done. But fear not, Petrus Sabbatius, we Excubitors will make sure nothing happens to our new emperor.’
‘Good. Please send a body of men ahead to line the imperial box.’
‘I will lead them personally.’
The whole of the capital had been on edge for days now and if many had continued to toil, others had taken advantage of the tension to become idle, and naturally it was they, surely the least trustworthy citizens of the empire, who got to the Hippodrome first, to fill in anticipation the best seats as news of the death of Anastasius seeped out.
By the time a still reluctant Justinus, accompanied by Lupicina, who had also pressed him to accept, entered the covered passage that led from the palace to the imperial enclosure the place was packed to more than capacity and the noise of the gathering was like some buzzing swarm of distant hornets.
Petrus had been master of ceremonies from the very beginning of the day’s events and he was not about to relinquish the lead position until he had to. He organised the way matters would proceed, and anyway, nothing could happen until the Patriarch of Constantinople, done with saying prayers for the soul of Anastasius, was informed of the new dispensation and sent ahead to bless the crowd.
When all was ready, Petrus, a man usually indifferent to his clothing, went ahead wearing a costume of shimmering black silk covered with silver devices that, once he encountered sunlight, flashed its reflections in all directions. His task was to prepare the multitude through rhetoric. The Excubitors, parade dressed and spick with it, marched out to take up guard positions at key points, a clear message that any dissent would be met with retribution.
Others lined the covered way, all eyes raised so as not to impiously stare at their new imperial master, each spear cast to the salute as he and his consort passed. Behind them came Flavius Belisarius, his sword in one hand, full infantry shield in the other, his task to act as personal protector of the imperial personages, a signal honour.
Justinus now wore a purple cloak sewn with a ransom in gold thread and on his head sat a wreath of laurels, the sign for centuries of a conquering Roman hero. The nerves he had evinced earlier — these emerged when he had finished berating Petrus for his devilish machinations — seemed to have morphed into a sort of stupor of acceptance. Lupicina, despite an encouragement that might have carried the greatest weight with her husband, was trembling like a leaf in the wind, for if her spouse had been close to imperial ritual and understood it, the same clearly terrified her.
The panegyric of Petrus, as he sang the praises of his uncle, was often drowned out by the sound of mob approval, for what had been said in the council chamber was not false. Justinus was seen by the citizens of the metropolis as less venal than those alongside whom he carried out his duties. The reign of Anastasius as far as the city was concerned had been relatively peaceful, even if General Vitalian and his Rebels of Chalcedon had visited a trio of ineffectual sieges upon its walls.
As in every polity there were the ever-malcontents, those who hated imperial rule whoever was the occupant, prepared to make their opinions known with loud booing and catcall insults. But they were a minority amongst a citizenry that wished for order so that prosperity could be pursued. Only when these citizens were troubled did an emperor have concerns about the public peace; if they became riotous, then apprehension turned to deep alarm.
They wanted an emperor and if the men who had served Anatastius had, as far as they knew, agreed on a candidate quickly, as well as one of whom they could openly approve, then they were happy. There was, too, the knowledge that old Anastasius, who had taxed vigorously and spent sparingly, would have left full coffers and some of that would surely be distributed to the populace.
Behind the imperial party stood all the high officers of state, Amantius included, and if his face was that of a man who had swallowed a wasp, others were inclined to keep hidden any feelings they had, of either joy or the reverse. Given how they must have so recently schemed, Flavius wondered if such a trait could be put in abeyance when matters were seemingly resolved. That he doubted it made him feel sympathy for the man he was now protecting.
The next act overseen by Petrus involved the production of the imperial diadem, gold-encrusted with diamonds, as well as the consort’s less splendid crown, both borne onto the imperial viewing podium on a pair of purple cushions to be raised and shown to the audience. They fell silent as the Patriarch began to intone the prayers of blessing, their loud noises replaced by whispered and individual prayers. That done, the diadem was presented to the comes Excubitorum.
It might be the right of the citizen of empire to approve of an imperial candidate and it might be the task of the Church to bless it. But when it came to coronation it fell to the person taking office to see himself crowned and that was a moment to test the resolve of any man. To be the Roman Emperor, to have total sway over half of its territories and a titular supremacy over the old western polity, to be the focus of all law-giving and the arbiter of religious dogma, was a burden to be considered before being accepted.
Flavius watched the hands reach out then stop, the crowd falling into utter silence as the thought occurred that the man so gloriously clad in purple and gold might in fact deny that which was being offered to him. Some may have thought it to be merely dramatic show, a deliberate heightening of tension. Flavius knew the hesitation was genuine: Justinus lacked the pride to be sure of his right but he was still of strong mind. Decision made, those hands reached out, lifted the crown high, and then slowly he placed it on his head.
Had there been a roof on the Hippodrome it would have lifted at the roar which greeted the new Emperor Justin — his Roman rendering was held by Petrus to be too unpleasant to the ears of a population mostly of Greek extraction. Nor was it to be the Empress Lupicina, a name that identified her barbarian roots, her Roman leanings and was redolent of the pagan cult of Lupus, her crowning met with cheering if at a less fulsome volume.
She was acclaimed as Empress Euphemia, taking the name of a well-known martyred saint and seeking to imply, to those who would bow to her from this moment on, her aim was for their welfare. She personally venerated Saint Euphemia, something they would come to know by her actions and pronouncements. That she was a good choice would too become widely accepted for here was a woman who hated imperial pomp as well as patrician condescension, hence her refusal to previously take up residence in the palace. Deeply religious she would use her office to carry out good works.
Justin the First stepped forward to speak of his desires of peace, harmony and prosperity, the common tropes of any ruler seeking to ingratiate himself with his subjects. He wanted the empire’s enemies thwarted and her friends cossetted, none of these causing excitement by folk expecting largess. But there was to be no distribution of gold; instead public works too long held in abeyance would be commenced, a better supply of water and a more swift removal of the city’s filth would be put in hand, for it was not his policy to bribe those who were in anticipation of it but to improve the way of life for all.