By the time Valerian reached it, half Constantinople seemed to have swarmed into the Hippodrome. Already, the crowds had split into two rival camps: one, egged on by the Greens, shouting for Celer to be emperor, the other, supported by the Blues, demanding that Roderic be chosen. Armed and armoured, the Excubitors and units from the Scholae regiments patrolled the expanses of the vast racetrack, modelled on the Circus Maximus in Rome.
Spotting Valerian, a harassed-looking Roderic, still upright and vigorous despite his sixty-eight years, marched up to him. ‘Thank God for a friendly face,’ declared the general. ‘I could use some help if things turn ugly. Those toy soldiers from the Scholae are deliberately siding with the Greens — turning a blind eye when Blues get roughed up, joining in when it’s the other way. And the Blues aren’t helping: whipping up support for me to be emperor. They must be mad. I’m the last person who should don the purple; I’ll have nothing to do with it.’
‘You may have to, sir,’ urged Valerian, who knew and liked the other, having once briefly served with him in Armenia in a border dispute concerning Roman and Persian zones of influence. ‘If Celer wins, to say nothing of Vitalian or Hypatius, you’ll be a marked man.’
‘You really think so? But the last thing I’d want to do is contest their claims. None of them has anything to fear from me.’
‘I know that, sir. And so do most informed people at the top.’ Valerian found himself having to shout above a rising clamour, as more and more people streamed into the Hippodrome. ‘But we’re talking here about ruthless, scheming men. In the event of any of them becoming emperor, their first priority would be to liquidate anyone who seemed to offer even the remotest threat to their position.’
‘I hear what you say,’ said Roderic, a hint of desperation creeping into his voice. ‘But I’d be hopeless as emperor. Diplomacy, administration, legal problems, religious disputes — all that stuff’s completely beyond me.’
‘You’d have advisors, sir. Your nephew Petrus would steady the ship while you learned the ropes — forgive the nautical metaphors. He’s in the Senate House at this very moment, arguing your case. Anyway, you’d make a damned sight better emperor than any of those others, who’d only be in it for personal gain and power.’
‘Oh very well then,’ sighed Roderic resignedly. ‘Let’s go for it. Tell the Excubitors and their following that I accept.’
Minutes later, the triumphant Excubitors, in a gesture the Romans had adopted from the Germans, raised their commander on a shield for all to see. Such a powerful symbol had an immediate effect. Calls for Celer to be emperor began to falter then to die away, while shouts of ‘Rodericus Augustus!’ rose to a rhythmic, deafening din. Followed by an excited crowd, the jubilant Excubitors carried their leader out of the Hippodrome, and headed for the Senate House.
Banging his staff on the marble floor, the Caput Senatus called the House to order. Sensing that at last a significant development was in the offing, the senators fell quiet and took their seats.
‘Seeing that this is an emergency session of the House,’ quavered old Methodius, ‘the Patriarch and I have agreed to dispense with the customary prayers and preamble, and proceed straight away to attend to the urgent matter which has brought us all together: namely, the nomination of a successor to Anastasius of blessed memory, who sadly departed from us in the night. I now call upon Celer, Master of Offices and Commander of the Scholae Palatinae, to address the House.’
Celer stepped up to the rostrum and, head thrown back, seized the lectern with both hands — a gesture somehow conveying the image that here was a strong, capable man able to take charge, a safe pair of hands who could be trusted with the running of the Empire.
‘Romans, fellow citizens,’ Celer declared in ringing tones, ‘as a humble servant of our glorious republic, I would be found wanting in my duty if I were to stand aside at this most critical and dangerous of times, and fail to offer myself as choice of emperor. For that would be to leave the vacant throne to be contested by men who are unworthy to wear the purple. A would-be usurper, a weakling, and an incompetent — any one of whom would destroy our prosperity and sap our strength, undermining our ability to resist those enemies who threaten us on every side, just waiting to exploit the slightest signs of Roman weakness: Bulgars, Slavs, and Lombards to the north and west, Persians to the east, and, to the south, the savages of Aethiopia and Nubia.*
‘Let us look closely at these men who threaten to besmirch that most ancient and honourable title — Augustus Romanorum. First, Vitalian — a power-hungry opportunist who, on two occasions, sought to oust our beloved Anastasius, now sadly taken from us. Nor should we forget that Vitalian is a member of that ferocious and fickle race — the Germans. For more than five hundred years, the legacy of these barbarians for Rome has been aggression and bad faith. Arminius, Alaric, Stilicho, Gainas — all Germans who fought for Rome, all ending up betraying her. Can we expect different from Vitalian?’ Celer looked round the rapt faces of his audience. ‘I think we know the answer to that,’ he chuckled.
‘Hypatius? A career soldier, who only rose to his present position of Magister Militum per Orientem through the patronage of his uncle, the late emperor. His military record is hardly an impressive one — thrashed by Vitalian when, reluctantly, he was forced to take the field against him. So, if you want a broken reed for emperor, Hypatius is your man.
‘Finally, Rodericus.’ Celer paused and shook his head, his expression one of amused disbelief. ‘The man’s a joke, a semi-literate peasant who couldn’t even sign his name when first he arrived in the capital. As emperor, this doddering geriatric who should have been pensioned off years ago would have to deal on a daily basis with the complex departments of ministers and officials: the Count of the Domestics, the Master of Audiences, the senior clerks and their staff, the Counts of the Privy and Public Purses, diocesan and provincial governors. . to name but a small selection. As well expect an ape to understand a water-clock. I would also mention, should you need reminding, that Rodericus, like Vitalian, is German — a Goth and a barbarian. Enough said.’ Smiling, Celer bowed his head and, amid enthusiastic applause, returned to his place on the marble benches.
Taking Celer’s place on the rostrum, Methodius, the Caput Senatus, announced, ‘Unless anyone here present has anything further of substance to say, I suggest we proceed to nominate Celer as our choice of emperor, subject to ratification by the soldiers and the people. Accordingly — ’
Petrus, who, not being a senator had been forced to stand in a side aisle, raised his hand. In a voice he barely recognized as his own, he found himself saying, ‘As his nephew, I would like to speak on behalf of General Rodericus.’
A buzz of astonishment tinged with irritation swept round the chamber. Methodius regarded Petrus sternly. ‘A stranger in the House can have no leave to address this assembly,’ he declared in disapproving tones.
‘That depends,’ broke in a white-haired senator, rising. ‘If one of us is unable to attend a session of the House, he may, according to the Senate’s rules, delegate another to speak on his behalf.’ A murmur of agreement from the benches followed his remark.
‘Well, young man,’ snapped Methodius, addressing Petrus, ‘has the commander of the Excubitors appointed you his representative?’
‘Not exactly,’ faltered Petrus, beginning to sweat with embarrassment. ‘But only because he has not had any opportunity to contact me. As with all of you, this crisis has caught him unawares. I expect he felt he had to give priority to keeping order in the Hippodrome over coming to the Senate House.’