Besides, arguing tradition to a man who has not yet seen twenty years is like arguing chastity to a billy goat: no matter how eloquent you are, he will not listen to you. I said, "Perhaps we can resettle some of the Mardaites elsewhere and leave some of them in place. We truly could use such warlike men in other parts of the Empire. Abimelekh has compromised in these negotiations before; maybe he will again. Put the matter to Mansour as I have stated it."
"But, Emperor-" Paul began to protest anew.
I cut him off. "I am the Emperor of the Romans, and as Emperor of the Romans I command you. Obey or abandon your office."
"Yes, Emperor," Paul said, in tones suggesting I had given him over to martyrdom. But obey he did, as all subjects of the Emperor of the Romans must.
MYAKES
Do you know, Brother Elpidios, the things you do sometimes end up causing other things you never would have- never could have- expected. When Justinian ended up shipping those Mardaites to Europe- I daresay he'll have more to tell about that soon enough- one of them was a little brat who then would have been.. oh, I don't know how old exactly, but not long past the age of making messes in his clothes.
What? Oh, aye, Brother, there would have been a lot of brats like that. The one I'm thinking of in particular, though, came out of Germanikeia in northern Syria. Does that give you enough of a clue? Why, so it must- I hear how you suck in air in surprise. Yes, the Emperor Leo who rules us now was one of those resettled Mardaites.
Who can guess how things would have turned out if Leo and his family had stayed behind in Germanikeia? Who would be Emperor of the Romans now? Would there be an Emperor of the Romans, or would the Arabs have taken Constantinople in that second siege? It would be a different world, one way or another, that's certain. Would God allow such a thing?
No, don't consult the Scriptures now, Brother Elpidios. It will wait. You have Justinian's book in front of you. Read that instead.
JUSTINIAN
While we were awaiting Abimelekh's reply to Mansour's letter asking if he would accept partial rather than complete resettlement of the Mardaites, Eudokia went into labor. Looking back on these leaves, I realize I have scanted my wife, saying little about her since the time we were wed. I can offer no better defense than saying quiet contentment leaves little to record.
My mother brought me the news. "I have attended to everything," she said. "I have summoned the midwife, I have summoned Peter the physician, though God forbid he be necessary, I have summoned the patriarch to bless the baby and to exorcise the evil spirits that attend a birth, and I have ordered a girdle brought from the monastery of the Virgin to make the labor easier."
I bowed to her, as if I were a servant. "And what is left for me to do?"
"Wait," she snapped. "Pray. When the time comes, receive your son or daughter in your arms and say what a beautiful child it is. It won't be- newborns are of an odd color, and their heads are apt to be misshapen. Say it anyhow. Eudokia will expect it of you." Having outlined her plan of campaign and given me her orders, she went off to help Eudokia through her trial.
I waited. I prayed. Those palling, I called for wine. Eventually, I fell asleep. I woke in darkness. My head ached. It was the eighth hour of the night, two thirds of the way from sunset back to sunrise. I called for more wine, and some bread to go with it. Sopping the bread in the wine, I made a nighttime breakfast of it. I prayed some more. I waited some more.
Presently, I summoned a serving woman and told her to bring me back word from the birthing chamber. When she returned, she said, "The physician- Peter is his name, yes?- is busy in there, and shouted at me to go away. I told him you had sent me, and he told me to go away anyhow." Her eyes were wide and astonished: Peter had defied me. "He was most rude."
I hurled across the room the heel of bread on which I had been nibbling. That Peter had shouted was of small moment to me. That he was busy in there, though, made me tremble with fear.
On the one hand, it is against all custom for a husband to enter the chamber where his wife is giving birth. On the other hand, that which is pleasing to the Emperor has the force of law, as the jurists who served my namesake put it. And if I scandalized the midwife, I expected a few nomismata would put things right.
Serving women fled gabbling before me when they saw where I was going. I sighed. I would have to put things right with them, too. I was about to round the last corner when I heard the high, thin, indignant cry of a newborn babe.
The midwife was holding the baby. It had already been washed and swaddled in woolen wrappings. She nodded to me; thanks to the servants, she had known I was coming. "Emperor, you have a daughter," she said, and held the baby out to me. "What will you name her?"
"Epiphaneia," I said shortly. I did not take her from the midwife. Instead, I started for the chamber in which she had been born. The midwife moved to put herself between me and the door. We stared at each other. "My wife," I said. "Eudokia."
"Pray for her," the midwife said, and made the sign of the cross. "It was a hard birth, and she began to bleed. I could not make it stop. I wasted no time calling in the physician, Emperor. Your mother was there- she's in there yet- and she will tell you the same. I know Peter; he is better than most of the butchers who go by the name of doctor. But there is only so much to be done-" She held out the baby again. "You have a fine daughter here, strong and healthy."
"Stand aside," I snarled, and in my fright and fury I would have struck her had she dared disobey. That she did not; she scuttled aside like a frightened mouse. But, at the same time as I set my hand on the latch, a great burst of lamentation came from inside the chamber. I knew my mother's cries of anguish: how could I not, having heard her mourn my brother and my father? Mixed with them were Peter's vile but helpless curses. Death had beaten him again.
Numbly, my hand fell away from the door. As if from very far away, I heard myself say, "Kyrie eleison. Christe eleison." I felt as if I had been rolled in ice: cold and stinging at the same time. A woman who lies down in childbed risks her life, no less than a man going off to war. We men do not think on this, not until- or unless- we are are forcibly reminded.
The door to the birthing chamber opened. Out came my mother, her face haggard and drawn. When she saw me, she cast herself into my arms, tears flooding down her cheeks. "Too much, God!" she screamed. "Too much. How can You let one person, one family, suffer so much?"
I had no tears, not yet. Those would come later, when I started to believe. Now\a160… now Peter the physician came out. He had washed his hands and arms, but Eudokia's blood, still fresh and red, splotched his tunic; on looking more closely, I saw it under his fingernails as well. Behind him lay a still form covered by a sheet. The sheet was stained with blood, too.
Noting the direction in which my eyes had moved, he made haste to close the door after himself. Then he stood very straight, as if he were a sentry acknowledging a general's presence. "I failed you, Emperor," he said baldly. "She hemorrhaged. I did everything I could to stop it. Nothing worked." He spread his hands- his bloodstained hands, I thought, although, as I have said, the only blood physically on them lay under his nails. "Do what you will with me."
It occurred to me then that I could order him slain, as Alexander had the physician who could not save his beloved companion Hephaistion. The temptation, the desire, were very strong. That must have shown, for Peter's face, already pale, went paler. "Get out of my sight," I said, my voice thick with the fury I strove to hold in.
Peter, if not wise enough to save either my father or my wife, had the sense to obey me. His withdrawal was the next thing to headlong flight. He did not show himself before me for some weeks thereafter. By then, my grief having lost its edge, I was willing to suffer him to live.