The wretch, the scoffing Thersites, could not have been above thirty yards from me. He and his comrades could see perfectly well that I bore a nose which, if perhaps less lovely than the magnificent appendage with which God had graced me, was nonetheless adequate for all legitimate purposes, including the purpose of establishing my own legitimacy as ruler.
But, caring nothing for whether he lied or spoke the truth, he continued to cast scorn on my physiognomy. And, emboldened by his licentious freedom of speech, others showered me with differing sorts of insults. "How do you like riding the barbarian mare you bought?" one of them shouted. I shook my fist at him, that surely being a reference to Theodora rather than to the gelding on which I was then mounted.
"You come down here with an army of Bulgars and you call yourself Emperor of the Romans?" another soldier said. "If you love them so well, why don't you go off and be Emperor of the Bulgars?"
More abuse and insults rained down from the walls. At last, a couple of soldiers shot arrows that stood thrilling in the dirt not far from my horse's forefeet. I rode away, believing they would next shoot at me intending to hit, not to miss.
Tervel's face remained impassive on my coming up to him. "They did not hail you as you hoped," he said, a statement of the obvious I could have done without.
"They mocked your men as much as they mocked me," I said. Tervel said nothing, and his face continued to reveal nothing. Myakes suffered one of his unfortunate, unbecoming, and untimely coughing fits. Despite that, my own words gave me an idea. "Let the Romans come forward," I told Tervel. "Let them and me go up and down the whole length of the wall, showing the garrison that Romans do support me and persuading the soldiers to abandon the usurper and return to me."
"We will do this," Tervel said, with no hesitation I could discern. "It is the best hope you have." How good a hope it was, he did not express an opinion. Nor did he say what he might do if it failed.
The next morning, small bands of Romans rode up and down the length of the wall, haranguing the soldiers inside the city and urging them to come over to my cause. Accompanied by Myakes and, at his usual discreet interval, by Tervel, I myself traveled down past the Kharisian Gate, the southern limit of the Bulgars' encampment.
I spoke as I had on first approaching the city walls. Now Myakes added his voice to mine. Among others, the formidable Leo was speaking on my behalf elsewhere along the walls. If I could not persuade the soldiers myself, I reckoned the two of them most likely to do it for me.
What sort of promises Apsimaros was making inside the imperial city, I cannot say with certainty. Whatever they were, they and the familiarity of having been ruled for seven years by the usurper kept the soldiers on the walls from going over to me. I judged them to feel a certain amount of sympathy for my cause, as none of them, no matter how close I approached, tried to slay me with an arrow or a stone flung from a catapult. But none of them made any move to admit me into Constantinople, either, nor did I note any signs of strife among them implying one faction wished to do so but was prevented by another.
Having shouted myself hoarse to no visible effect, I returned dejected to the encampment the Bulgars had established. Shortly thereafter, Leo also rode into camp. "What news?" I called to him. This was foolishness on my part, for any news he had worth giving would have been sent to me on the instant. Knowing as much now, however, did nothing to help me then.
Leo shook his head. "I'm sorry, Emperor," he said. "They seem very stupid and stubborn."
"Justinian, how are we going to get into the city?" Tervel said. "By my sword, everything I had heard of these walls is only a piece of the truth. I would be mad to throw my army at them."
"I did not ask you to do that," I answered. I had not asked because I did not think he would do it, and I did not think an attack would succeed if he did do it. I had not adequately considered the walls from outside until then. When I was a child, the Arabs had assailed the Queen of Cities with siege engines of the sort the Bulgars lacked, and to no avail. They had also challenged us Romans on the sea, where the Bulgars had no ships whatever.
Tervel had that same thought in a different context, saying, "We cannot make this city starve, either, not when boats bring in food in spite of everything we are able to do on land." In truth, we could not do that much on land, either, lacking as we did the manpower to extend a tight siege line along the whole length of the wall. I had counted on the soldiers' renouncing Apsimaros at my return. To find that hope mistaken was a bitter blow.
"Can't hardly quit now," Myakes declared. "We've come too far for that."
"Yes," Tervel said, but I liked neither his tone of voice nor the look on his face. He could quit our venture without a qualm, return to the lands north of the Haimos Mountains, and, by means of booty and slaves taken, reckon the raid a success. He could take me with him, to use as pretext whenever he cared to attack Romania again. Only gaining the city now would keep me from that fate, but how to gain it?
"We'll try again tomorrow," I said, with luck sounding more confident than I felt.
I went to different parts of the wall that next day, traveling past the Golden Gate down toward the Sea of Marmara in my effort to persuade the soldiery with in the Queen of Cities to abandon the usurper and return to their rightful and proper affiliation. I had no more success, however, than I had enjoyed, or rather not enjoyed, on previous days. Some soldiers continued to revile me on the grounds that I was noseless, despite the refutation of that argument being there before their eyes. More cursed me for having come with a host of Bulgars at my back.
To that charge, I found myself hard-pressed to respond. Perhaps I should have been received more favorably had I come straight down to Constantinople in Moropaulos's fishing boat. At the time I began the journey, I had thought it more likely I would be seized and beheaded.
That still struck me as having been highly likely. In any case, I had no choice. The die, as Julius Caesar said, was cast. I harangued the soldiers on the walls from first light of dawn till dusk deepened into night. They would not open the gates for me. More dejected than I had ever been in all my life, even in the black days shortly after my mutilation, I rode back toward Tervel's encampment, back past the Golden Gate, back past the Kharisian Gate, back past the ruins of the aqueduct of Valens.
My supporters seemed as downhearted as I was. The men from Kherson had marveled no less than Tervel at seeing Constantinople. Now, though, its splendor took on a sinister meaning for them. "How are you going to get in there, Emperor, if they won't open up?" Barisbakourios asked gloomily.
"Whatever you do, Emperor, it's going to take something special," Leo agreed. He had again been unable to persuade the garrison to renounce the usurper.
Tervel stood listening quietly to our conversation. Eventually, the khagan of the Bulgars would suggest withdrawing to the lands he ruled, the lands north of the mountains. I saw no choice ahead but to go with him, to pursue my dream even as it receded before me, to become the glove inside which rested his hand. Part of me would die every day, but the breathing husk that remained would be enough for him and to spare.
Moropaulos, in his earnest, dull way, ticked off points on his fingers: "We can't go over the walls- we're not hawks. We can't go under the walls- we're not moles." He knew nothing of mining, but the Bulgars knew nothing of mining, either, which made him correct. He went on, "We can't go through the walls- we're not woodpeckers." He laughed, but only for a moment. Then his heavy face curdled to sadness. "That doesn't leave anything."
The rest of my followers looked similarly dejected. So did Tervel, although art might have substituted for emotion on his features. For one moment, downheartedness threatened to overwhelm me, too. Then, ever so slowly, I straightened, where before I had slumped. "We are not hawks," I said in a voice that made my comrades turn toward me and pay my words close heed. "We are not moles. But perhaps, by God and His Mother, we can be woodpeckers."