In the course of sharing confidences about their past lives, Macedonia revealed to Theodora that she had been briefly married to a successful merchant, before his untimely death from ague. ‘Mathias was a sweet, kind man,’ she recounted, ‘who fell in love with me after seeing me perform with my troupe of dancers. It was hard to refuse his proposal of marriage; he offered me security, genuine affection, a life of luxury beyond the wildest dreams of a mere dancing-girl from a poor background. And I was truly fond of him. Not, of course, in the way I feel about yourself, my love, but as a dear friend, whose death left me with a devastating sense of loss and sadness. He willed me his trading empire which, though I say it myself, I manage pretty well; if there’s one thing my sort of upbringing has taught me, it’s how many nummi make a solidus.’
‘You were lucky; my own seeming passport to a better life came about in circumstances not dissimilar to yours,’ remarked Theodora, adding with a rueful laugh, ‘but instead of a Mathias, I ended up with an absolute bastard.’ And she related the story of her sojourn with Hecebolus.
But nothing lasts forever; as the days grew shorter, warning of the autumn gales to come which would make voyages by sea impossible, Theodora knew that the time had come when the idyll had to end.
‘You don’t have to go,’ entreated Macedonia. ‘We could be partners in business, as in love.’
‘Darling, I have my path to find,’ Theodora responded gently. ‘We’ll meet again, I promise. But first, I have to make a new life for myself.’
And so, with many tears and kisses, they parted, Theodora embarking from Seleucia on a vessel bound for the Golden Horn. Packed with her belongings was a business plan for a wool-spinning enterprise, drawn up by Macedonia; also a sheaf of letters of introduction.* Among the latter was one addressed to a certain ‘Petrus Sabbatius, Comes, Vir Illuster, Consul et Patricius’ (Count, the Illustrious, Consul and Patrician).
* Dinner.
* All to be laid low seven years later, in the catastrophic earthquake of 29 November 528.
* See Notes.
SEVEN
Barbarian nations. . know the scale of our exertions in war
Looking across the camp fire at his friend Petrus (‘Justinian’, he corrected himself — the official name bestowed on Petrus in January as one of last year’s* consuls), Valerian felt a twinge of concern. Here they were, deep in the wilds of Aethiopia two thousand miles from Constantinople, heading a probably dangerous mission the success of which could not be guaranteed. . Yet, from his relaxed, almost carefree demeanour, you would think Petrus (‘Justinian’, he reminded himself again) didn’t have a care in the world.
Beyond the glowing circle of light from their own camp fire, hundreds of flickering dots, extending to a radius of several hundred yards, indicated the presence of the Roman expeditionary force supplemented by its Aethiopian guides. Perhaps he was being unduly apprehensive, Valerian conceded to himself. Thus far, he had to admit, the expedition had proceeded without a hitch. Sailing from the Golden Horn three months ago, the force (comprising a large contingent, mainly cavalry, from the Army of the East) had disembarked at Pelusium on the Nile Delta, marched the short distance overland to Arsinoe at the head of the Sinus Arabicus,** whence a fleet of transports (making excellent progress with a steady wind on the beam) had conveyed them to the port of Adulis on the coast of Aethiopia, a thousand miles further to the south-east at the other end of the Sinus.
Led by native guides sent to meet them at the port, the expedition had then struck inland across a rising tract of barren scrub-land to a high plateau — blessedly cool, Valerian found, after the energy-sapping heat of the coastal strip. Ahead towered a vast rampart of cliffs split by a mighty defile, before whose entrance the expedition made camp for the night. Next day, the force threaded the Great Pass, as the defile was known, through a series of striking and ever-changing scenes: groves of mimosa and laurel, flower-starred meadows, stands of pine and fir on the lower slopes and (just to remind you that this was Africa and not, say, Isauria or the Caucusus, thought Valerian) higher up, clumps of strange cactus shaped like many-branched candelabra.
The Dhu-Nuwas Expedition, AD 522-3
Beyond the Great Pass the scenery changed abruptly, the way climbing up into range upon range of stark mountains — a nightmare vision of fantastically shaped peaks, some like fangs, others like flat-topped pillars, riven by boulder-filled gullies or dizzying precipices. For weeks the column inched its way south-westwards through that fissured wilderness, whose only sign of human habitation was an occasional stone fortress impossibly perched atop sheer cliffs. At last, to everyone’s huge relief, the terrain began to descend, barren mountains giving place to rolling veldt — a sea of waving grass, relieved by crystal streams fringed by stands of sycamore fig, and stippled by herds of antelope, also a curious species of black-and-white striped horse. Although (assuming the great geographer Ptolemy was correct) Valerian reckoned they must now be midway between the line of the Tropic in the northern hemisphere and that of the Aequator, the climate, on account of the elevation of the country, was delightfully temperate — warm rather than hot by day, and cool at night. They passed many villages, each a cluster of cone-shaped thatched huts surrounded by a stockade. The inhabitants (tall, slim, brown-skinned people with, rather to Valerian’s surprise, an Arabic rather than a negro cast of countenance), negotiating with the expedition’s guides, were happy to exchange, for sticks of salt, fresh milk, bread, and meat — all much appreciated by the troops who had survived up to this point on hard tack and dried beef. In the midst of this Elysium, they came at last to Gondar* — an imposing hill-top city of stone-built houses, shops, and churches, and the agreed rendezvous with the King of Axum.
As the soldiers set up camp outside the town, Valerian recalled that fateful briefing in the Empire’s capital, when the expedition had been planned. .
Early in Justin’s reign, in the year that his friend Petrus was made consul (his name on the occasion being changed to Justinianus, as being thought more fitting for the nephew of an emperor), Valerian, along with Justinian, received a summons to attend a meeting at the palace.
A silentiarius conducted the pair to an audience chamber in which were seated Justin, wearing plain undress military uniform (he hated wearing the imperial regalia of diadem and purple robe, and avoided doing so whenever possible), and a large, red-faced, coarse-looking man, whom Valerian recognized as John the Cappadocian* — a clerk in the scrinium for military billeting. Justin waved the friends to a bench.
‘Dhu-Nuwas has invaded Arabia Felix,’** announced John, speaking in a pronounced mid-Anatolian accent. ‘What does that tell you?’ He stared expectantly at Justinian and Valerian.
When, after a lengthy pause no answer had been forthcoming, John sighed ostentatiously and continued, ‘A crisis, gentlemen, that’s what it means — a crisis linked to spices, silk, and Christianity.’ Raising his considerable bulk from his seat, he moved to an easel supporting a large wall-map showing the Arabian peninsula, the Sinus Arabicus, and the adjoining coast of Africa. With a pointer, he rapped the south-west tip of Arabia. ‘Arabia Felix — the home of an ancient race, the Sabaeans. It comes within the sphere of influence of Aethiopia, which has extended its power across the straits which the Arabs call Bab-el-Mandeb — the Gate of Tears, from shipwrecks caused by the strong currents there. Arabia Felix is now virtually an Aethiopian colony. Aethiopia, as I’m sure I don’t need to remind you, has been Christian for the past two hundred years; the Sabaeans were quite happy, it appears, to give up their primitive sun and moon worship in favour of the faith of their new masters.’