A stunned silence filled the Hippodrome. Then, isolated at first, but swiftly growing to a mighty, swelling chorus, came the shouted response: ‘Probus Augustus! Probus Augustus! Probus Augustus!’
His initial disbelief swiftly turning to panic, Justinian allowed himself to be hastily escorted back to the Palace. There, in his private study or tablinum, he summoned a council of war. Present, besides himself, were: Marcellus, captain of the Palace Guard, and two of his most trusted generals who, along with their contingents of German mercenaries happened to be in the capital — young Belisarius and Mundus, a doughty veteran of many tough campaigns. To these three, Justinian, close to tears, gabbled an account of the scene in the Hippodrome in which he had just been involved. ‘Gentlemen — I confess I’m at a loss as to what should now be done,’ he concluded, in tones of desperation. ‘I would greatly value your advice.’
First to speak was Belisarius. ‘Serenity — it seems to me that while we face an admittedly daunting challenge, it’s by no means an insurmountable one. Out there we have a rabble, unorganized and as yet leaderless. If myself and Mundus here, with our Germans plus the Palace Guard, were to take them on immediately, I’d be surprised if we weren’t able to disperse them.’
‘But your Germans number less than two thousand, while the Guards are a mere half of that!’ exclaimed the emperor in dismay. ‘Against odds of at least a hundred to one, how can you hope to prevail?’
‘Serenity — mere numbers count for little against trained soldiers, provided they are disciplined and committed,’ replied the youthful general. Tall and handsome, with an air of insouciant confidence, he seemed every inch the dashing cavalry commander (though in this instance in charge of infantry). His infectious optimism made Justinian begin to feel more sanguine. ‘Very well, if you really think you can succeed,’ the emperor pronounced. ‘Then you have my blessing — and my heartfelt gratitude.’
‘Oh, we’ll succeed all right, Serenity,’ put in Mundus,* his flat Mongol features breaking into a grin. ‘Our Germans are just spoiling for a fight.’
‘But my Palace Guards are not,’ declared Marcellus smoothly. ‘Their duty is to protect your person, Serenity — not wage war against their fellow Romans. While they are willing to prevent insurgents from entering the Palace, or threatening yourself, Serenity, they cannot be expected to go on the offensive against unarmed citizens.’
‘We’re better off without you, anyway,’ sneered Mundus. ‘You’d only get in the way.’
‘Yes — we wouldn’t want you getting those fancy uniforms dirty,’ said Belisarius gravely, shaking his head in mock concern. He turned to Justinian. ‘Well, Serenity, with your permission we’ll be on our way.’
Shouting Probus’ name, the crowds streamed from the Hippodrome and made their way to the senator’s house. But that particular bird, having got wind of their intentions, and well aware of the fate awaiting failed usurpers, had already flown. Finding his house empty, barred, and shuttered, the disappointed populace burned it down, then headed for the Palace in a mood of fury and frustration. Intercepted in the Augusteum by Belisarius and Mundus, the mob received a bloody mauling from the German mercenaries. Disconcerted, their ardour suddenly cooling, the people were about to break and scatter, when the situation was unexpectedly reversed.
In a commendable attempt to save lives, a group of clergy, carrying religious symbols, tried to separate the combatants. In the ensuing scuffle, some of the clerics were hurt, and their holy relics, which of course meant nothing to the Arian Germans, got trampled underfoot. Infuriated by such sacrilege, the people recovered their spirit and fought back with redoubled fury, to be joined by sympathetic onlookers, hitherto too frightened to become involved. Fighting stubbornly, the crowds retreated in good order into the twisting streets and alleys of Regions IV and V. With the mood of outrage spreading like wildfire, they were now joined by whole households, the womenfolk hurling roof tiles, buckets full of boiling water, and anything that came to hand, onto the heads of the hated Germans. In the labyrinth of narrow lanes, the mercenaries lost the tactical advantage they had held in the great open space of the Augusteum; the initiative now lay entirely with the urban population. Recognizing the hopelessness of the situation, Belisarius and Mundus called off their men and returned to the Palace.
Meanwhile the people, their mood now both triumphant and vindictive, rampaged through the city, burning down the Churches of the Holy Peace, St Theodore Sphoriacus, and St Aquilina, the Hospitals of Eubulus and Sampson, the Baths of Alexander, and any buildings that could be identified as connected with the government.
‘Let’s face it, gentlemen — we gambled, and we lost,’ said Julianus to the same audience he had addressed the night before, assembled once again in the house of Methodius. ‘My advice to you now is that you quietly disappear, pro tempore at least, to country houses if you have them, or to the homes of distant relatives. Thanks to my little speech in the Hippodrome this morning, I am now of course a marked man. Any of you known to have conversed with me these last few days, could well be tainted with — ’
‘Guilt by association?’ broke in a worried-looking councillor.
‘I fear so.’ Julianus raised his hands in a gesture of helpless apology. ‘The Roman Empire may today have more civilized values than in Sulla’s time; but is compulsory enrolment in a monastery so vastly preferable to being required to slit one’s veins?* I wonder.’
‘But surely we don’t need to throw in the towel yet,’ objected a senator. ‘The plebs control the city. The attempt by Belisarius and Mundus to suppress the revolt has failed, and they’ve been forced to retreat to the Palace.’
‘Which remains invulnerable as long as they’re inside it with their troops,’ countered Julianus. ‘So where does that leave us? — stalemate, gentlemen. But that won’t last. With Probus gone, and his brothers in the Palace, the people no longer have a focus for revolt. Soon they’ll tire of protest and abandon taking to the streets. All Justinian has to do is wait. As for myself, I shall leave you now, my friends, to pack for my return to Italy. It has been an honour and a privilege to — ’
He was interrupted by the door bursting open to admit a breathless young man — an ‘ear’ of Julianus, planted in the Palace.
‘Procopius — what brings you here?’ the Anician enquired.
‘Great news, gentlemen,’ gasped the newcomer. ‘Fearing treachery on the part of the courtiers and senators within the Palace, Justinian has just this minute forced them all to leave, Hypatius included. We have our new Augustus, after all!’
‘Pull yourself together and stop behaving like a headless chicken!’ his wife, Maria, shouted at Hypatius, who was pacing the atrium of his villa in the capital, in an agony of indecision. ‘We should follow the example of your brother Probus, and leave now — while there’s still time.’
‘But if they find the house untenanted, my dear, they’ll burn it down — as they did my brother’s. My bronzes, my Rhodian marbles,’ the old general wailed, ‘my silver crater,* gifted me by Anastasius. . I can’t bear to think of losing them.’
‘Better that than losing your life,’ his spouse retorted. She held her hand up, her expression suddenly alert. ‘Hear that? I think they’re on their way.’
A distant hubbub, faint at first but swiftly growing louder, came to the couple’s ears. Almost before Hypatius could collect his scattered wits, the building was surrounded by exultant crowds shouting, ‘Hypatius Augustus! Hypatius Augustus!’
‘You’ve left it too late,’ declared Maria bitterly. ‘As usual. It’s been the story of our lives. When Anastasius died, if you’d marched at once from Antioch instead of dithering, you could be emperor today.’
‘Just tell them I’m not here; perhaps they’ll go away.’