"You do not feel the dignity of your see impaired if the bishop of Rome rejects this one canon?"
"Emperor, I do not," the patriarch said.
"I have seen since naming you that you are zealous in protecting Constantinople's ecclesiastical rights and privileges," I said, whereupon Cyrus inclined his head in modest acknowledgment of the praise. "If this does not trouble you, I shall accept it."
"That is splendid news, Emperor," Cyrus exclaimed. "I confess, I had looked for you to be more refractory. I shall write to Bishop Constantine at once; I'm certain he will be as delighted as I am."
"Go ahead and write," I said indulgently. "Let us have this matter settled, it having hung over us for almost twenty years."
Under other circumstances, Constantine's preposterous obstinacy would have filled me with fury. As things were, however, it, like the faraway trouble in Anatolia, mattered little to me. I was engaged in the work that would be- that will be, by God and His Son!- the capstone of my revenge against all those who wronged me during the time in which I was denied my God-given right of sitting on the throne and ruling the Roman Empire.
Arrogant, cowardly little manikins that they were and are, the rich men who rule in Kherson- ruling, by their way of thinking, being defined as playing Roman influence off against the power of the khagan of the Khazars, as centered in the Khazar tudun in the city- had presumed to try to take me into custody and deliver me up to Apsimaros, that the usurper might deprive me of my head.
And not only shall I avenge myself upon them. I intend to remove Kherson from the map, to wipe it off the face of the world as a man wipes shit from the cleft of his buttocks, to leave no single stone, no brick, standing upon another. Nine mortal years I passed in that wretched, fish-stinking town. Only in the monastery where I dwelt and in the brothel where I took occasional comfort did I find the slightest trace of human kindness for a soul in anguish. Those I would let stand. The rest? Let fire take it!
Furthermore, the Khersonites are the only ones who remember seeing me with my mutilation. I also intended, and yet intend, to remove all memory of that from mankind. That an Emperor of the Romans should have suffered the humiliation of being allowed to couple with a whore only in darkness absolute, and then for double the going rate, shall be as forgotten as the ultimate fate of the ten lost tribes of Israel.
When I fall upon Kherson, I purpose doing so in force so overwhelming, the Khersonites shall be able neither to resist nor to summon the Khazars to their rescue. Ibouzeros Gliabanos, having survived his visit to Constantinople, might be tempted to thwart me there. That I will not allow.
Reasoning thus, I began gathering dromons and merchantmen to carry troops and horses not only at the imperial city but also at Kyzikos and Nikomedeia. To command the expeditionary forces, I chose my spatharios Helias, Stephen the sailor who had aided me with the bureaucrats reluctant to join my feast, and black-bearded Mauros, reckoning them well suited to my purpose.
"Helias," I said to the spatharios, "you shall govern the new Kherson when the expedition has succeeded in destroying the old. We will settle it by means of merchants and artisans transplanted from elsewhere in the Empire."
"Yes, Emperor," he said, making a show of submissiveness. "Just as you say, Emperor." He coughed a couple of times, then went on, "You are aware, of course, of the grumbling among the property owners of the city at the taxes they have had to pay for your force."
"Theirs is to obey," I growled. "Mine is to decide what the Empire requires. If they grumble, their heads will decorate the Milion, which has looked rather bare of late. Keep your ear to the ground, and bring me the names of those who complain. Have your friends do likewise. We shall nip this in the bud."
"Of course, Emperor." Bowing deeply, Helias departed.
Myakes, who had stood silent by the throne while Helias and I conversed, spoke up after the spatharios left. "That's trouble, Emperor."
"What, Helias?" I said. "I think he's safe enough."
Myakes' shoulders went up and down in a shrug. "You know I don't much like him, so I won't waste your time with what I think there. But remember when Stephen the Persian and Theodotos were squeezing Constantinople so tight fifteen years ago? That got you hated, and it helped Leontios send you into exile."
"I'm ready for trouble this time, Myakes," I said. "Let it come. I'll make a bigger slaughter here in Constantinople than I intend to make in Kherson." Thinking about it was plenty to make my member rise in anticipation.
"Emperor, isn't it better not to have trouble than to smash it when it comes?" Myakes asked.
"I need the great fleet to send against Kherson," I replied. "If building it causes no trouble, well and good. But I shall build it, whether it causes trouble or not." I folded my arms across my chest. "I have spoken." Having spoken, I expected no further comments from Myakes, and in that I was not disappointed. He has never failed me through disobedience.
MYAKES
You see how it was, Brother Elpidios? Every so often, I would try to get him to listen. Christ on His cross, even Helias tried to get him to listen. He wouldn't do it. We might as well have been talking to the city wall. Justinian was going to do what Justinian was going to do, and if the world didn't like it, he figured, that was the world's hard luck.
Yes, he bent a little for Pope Constantine. Less than you'd think, though, and he'd seen dickering in the church always had a bit of give-and-take to it. Anything outside the church, it was all take and no give. And even with Constantine, Justinian wasn't the one who did most of the bending. You'll see, I expect.
Cyrus came to me in a state of high excitement, waving a sheet of parchment. "Emperor, not only has the bishop of Rome agreed to all canons of your fifth-sixth synod save only the thirty-sixth, but he has requested your leave to come to the imperial city so that he might personally show forth his affection for you."
"Has he?" I said. "Well, he is welcome here, since he accommodated himself to me more than I to him. You may write and tell him I shall be pleased to receive him when he comes."
"I shall send the letter this very day," Cyrus said. "But, Emperor"- he assumed an expression of concern-"what if you are away from the imperial city when the holy bishop of Rome arrives? You have been traveling a good deal of late, and-"
"And I aim to go right on traveling," I broke in. "Preparations for the expedition against Kherson go better when they are under my eye. If I'm away when he comes, either I'll return or he can come to me. But I will not keep myself locked up in Constantinople to wait on any man- most especially not for a backwoods bishop with a pretentious title. Is that plain?"
Cyrus's eyebrows climbed on his hearing my true opinion of the pope's view of his own importance. "It is most plain, Emperor," he answered after a moment. "But who can receive the bishop of Rome in your absence?"
"As I say, I won't be absent long at any one time. Surely you can keep Constantine happy for a little while." I laughed. "And even if I am in Nikomedeia or Kyzikos, a Roman Emperor will be residing in Constantinople."
"The Emperor Tiberius?" By his face, Cyrus could not decide whether to be dismayed or delighted.
"He's five years old now," I said. "I don't expect him to rule yet- I don't expect him to rule for many years- but he can serve as my substitute in ceremony."
"I suppose that's so, Emperor." Cyrus looked like a man casting about for objections but unable to find any. He left the grand palace to compose his reply to Pope Constantine and extend my invitation to the Queen of Cities.
That afternoon, I asked my son, "How would you like to welcome the pope of Rome if he happens to come here while I'm out of the city?"
"I don't know," he answered. "Can I cut off his head if he doesn't do as I tell him?"