Halfway through the ceremony it was plain Justin’s mind had clouded; once more he had the air of someone at a complete loss to know where he was or what was happening and that lasted through many a sycophantic peroration, with Flavius now wondering why his nephew did not curtail the speeches until the truth dawned on him. This public demonstration of Justin’s affliction suited the new joint ruler very well; let those who occupied the great offices of state see where they must come if they required permission to initiate anything or even act on present procedures.
Only when Justin came back to lucidity did Petrus/Justinian whisper to him and the import was plain, since his uncle called forward Theodora so she could occupy the throne formerly used by Euphemia, which was a perfect way of announcing that one particular Law of Constantine was repealed, the one debarring marriages between patrician and those from a lower class. His voice seemed to gather some of its old strength as he put that into words.
‘For too long men of talent have been unable to create a life howsoever they wish, for too long able people of the wrong class, apart from eunuchs, have been blocked from advancement. From this day on my nephew and I will wish to see ancient rank play no part in the selection of the officials of empire, military or civilian. Opportunity will thus be open to all.’
Given the nature of his audience, the fact that such an announcement sent up a hum of protest was hardly surprising; high-born men accustomed to competing with each other for lucrative offices were being told that from henceforth they would have to also contend with those outside a class that had husbanded its rights for a millennium.
‘In discussion with my heir,’ Justin continued, ‘I have agreed that no precipitous changes will be made to the imperial bureaucracy. But we will, from this day on and in consultation, be seeking to find ways of introducing new blood.’
Justinian had a triumphant expression on his face now and it was not a benign one. He sat forward on his throne, reaching out at the same time to take Theodora’s hand, his thoughts so obvious they might as well have been spoken. It addressed his feelings about these men gathered: you have tried to run rings round my uncle — do not be so foolish as to attempt the same trick on me!
Justin stood, his nephew and his wife doing likewise, which obliged the whole assembly to bow, probably just as well given the looks of hate being directed at a person they saw as no more than a low-born whore. Time spent like that allowed them to compose their features before they once more raised their heads, to gaze upon the imperial trio with looks of fabricated respect. As they departed, Flavius and his Excubitor bodyguard fell in behind them, to escort the party back to the now expanded imperial suite.
‘So now, how do I address you?’ Flavius asked, once his men had been deployed and he was alone with the new imperial couple.
The response came with a sly smile. ‘Does Highness stick in your craw, Flavius?’
‘I admit it will be hard, but I managed with your uncle, so I daresay I can abide the usage with you.’
‘Just as long as you do not use his given name of Petrus!’
Flavius turned to face Theodora, to come under the gaze of a pair of near black eyes which were well short of affection, a reflection of the tone she had just employed.
‘A right, I am sure, Lady, you will reserve to yourself?’
‘What I choose to reserve to myself is no concern of yours, Flavius Belisarius.’
‘My dear,’ her husband interjected, ‘he is my friend. I was merely jesting, he may address me as he wishes.’
The response was cold. ‘You are a ruler now and an emperor can have no friends.’
‘I fear you are in for a lonely existence,’ Flavius responded, favouring Petrus with a sympathetic smile.
‘I will take care that is not so, thus it does not fall to you to concern yourself.’
The dilated nostrils sent a physical message to add to the biting verbal one, a trait that took her nose and sharpened it in a remarkable and very obvious way. Flavius did not know, but his gut feeling was acute: Theodora, striking to look at and seemingly full of purpose, even after what had just taken place, felt vulnerable and that might extend to a deep-seated fear.
That the upper classes would hate her elevation, she must know; even many an ordinary citizen would shake their heads at such a woman occupying a position that could be, as it had in the past, one of great power and influence. Had not the late Emperor Anastasius got the diadem through the bedchamber? To reach such a pinnacle, as she had, brought with it risks and it did not take too vivid an imagination to see that should she fall, her end would not be a pleasant one.
Were such concerns justified? If she did not command her husband it was plain that he rarely did anything without consulting her. He was still as besotted as he had been when Flavius first sat with them in company, the time at which he had sensed her resentment of him; Theodora wanted to be the sole fount of advice and comfort, the one person the newly coined Justinian would turn to and she resented not only that Flavius was able to bypass this, but also, it seemed, that he did so in such an easy-going manner. Sensing the need to broker a peace, Justinian spoke up.
‘I will not object, Flavius, if you call me Justinian in private, since I have never been truly enamoured of the name Petrus. But I would ask that you acknowledge my dignity in a public space.’
‘You’re too soft, husband.’
‘No, Theodora, I owe Flavius much and so do you.’
That open repudiation, sternly delivered, was not well received: those nostrils dilated even further but the sight of that was brief; Theodora abruptly spun round and left the chamber, leaving Flavius to wonder what price her husband would pay for such a public rebuke.
‘I fear your good lady does not care for me.’
‘She will come round in time, Flavius. She has been betrayed too many times in her life, lied to and even abandoned, to repose much trust in anyone.’
‘I can assume she trusts you?’
‘Let’s hope so, for if not I am in for an imperial nightmare.’
‘Then I request that you send me on some service so that I do not have to share it.’
‘Flavius, it is my intention to lead you. My uncle has granted me permission to attempt to remind the Sassanids that they have a power with whom they must contend. No more sitting and letting them do as they please and just soak up our subventions to their coffers.’
Full of enthusiasm, Justinian began to outline the plans, which involved a two-pronged assault, one in the north under his personal command, another further south in Mesopotamia to attack towards Nisibis under the command of one Libelarius. Flavius, examining the proposal, did not do so with as much confidence as that of the man outlining it, not least because of the utterly unproven military ability of Justinian. But the other factor which worried him was the excessive level of ambition.
Given such thoughts, there would have been a time, and a recent one, when Flavius might have responded with a jokily delivered ‘God help us’. Now that seemed inappropriate; if Theodora was wrong in saying an emperor could have no friends, such companions were required to show care in bringing them to their senses.
Justinian led the forces that invaded Persian Armenia but it was not from the front; he took up residence in the city of Theodosiopolis in the Roman province of Armenia Inferior and acted as commander from there. These ancient lands, the cockpit of so much Persian, Greek and Roman conflict over the centuries, had been acrimoniously split between the two empires and that meant raid and counter raid, the odd siege of a border fortress. But there had been no major incursions by either side for years and that was a situation Justinian was keen to exploit, given there should be little organised opposition.