But perhaps, as the emperor Commodus — at the height of his power foreseeing his own downfall, observed — the gods were laughing. In Persia, Khusro was contemplating ending the Treaty of Eternal Peace with Rome; in Italy, an unknown young Goth called Totila determined to resist the Roman conquerors; and in far-off Aethiopia, carried in the fur of rats, a tiny creature spreading death and desolation on an unimagined scale began its journey down the Nile towards the Roman diocese of Egypt.
* In March 538.
** Rimini.
* Senigallia, Urbino, Pesaro.
* Milan.
** 29 July 538.
* Sergeants — not to be confused with centuriones, a much higher, but by this time, obsolescent rank.
* Osimo and Fiesole.
* Pavia.
** 10 February 540. (See Notes.)
TWENTY-ONE
Embrace, O king! the favourable moment; the East is left without defence,
while the armies of Justinian and his renowned general are detained in the
distant regions of the West
In the throne room of the great royal palace at Dastagerd on the Euphrates, a tall, handsome young man gazed intently on a bust of Emperor Justinian. ‘We are rivals you and I,’ Khusro, Great King of Persia, murmured to himself, ‘although you may not know it yet. In the age-old contest between Persia and Rome, it is surely Persia that is destined to emerge superior. Let us weigh up your strengths and weaknesses, my enemy.’
The young king peered closely at the bronze features, whose likeness to their subject’s the sculptor had captured with amazing skill from coins and medals bearing the emperor’s image brought back from a Constantinople celebrating the triumph of Belisarius. ‘I see kindness there, and will; also ambition and a desire to rule justly and well. But what you imagine to be best for your people may not be what they themselves desire. You are determined to recover Rome’s Empire of the West, and to establish one Orthodox faith throughout your realm. But in striving for these ends you risk two things. Firstly, overstretching your resources, thus weakening your Eastern Empire; secondly, dividing your subjects into two warring camps — Orthodox and Monophysite. Persia, on the other hand, has no such problems: we have no lost empire to waste treasure in reconquering, nor are we plagued by divisive religious policies. Zoroastrians, Jews, and Christians, at liberty to follow their own creeds, all have enriched our realm by the free exercise of their varied talents.’
Khusro chuckled to himself at the thought of how an observer watching his monarch address a mute lump of bronze might react. He continued to study the metal face, looking to discern further character traits. ‘I see self-doubt, I think. Which suggests that your drive to achieve will be compromised by uncertainty. In the coming struggle, Justinian, it is I, Khusro, who will prove to be the winner. Your character is flawed, your realm riven by potential fault-lines. Old age is waiting in the wings, and soon the years will sap your strength and your resolve. It will be a contest between a young lion and a tired old bull.’ Smiling in anticipation, Khusro fondled the jewelled pommel of his sword. Drawing the weapon, he stood it upright between his knees, a sign to his generals, who would soon be arriving, that they should prepare for war.
Entering the chamber, Khusro’s captains knelt before the three symbolic thrones which, at a lower level, faced the one on which the monarch sat. One was for the Roman emperor, one for the chief ruler of the Central Asian khanates, the third for the emperor of China — against the time when these potentates would come to pay homage to the King of Kings.
‘Rise,’ commanded Khusro. ‘As you see, the sword is drawn. We will make war again against our ancient enemy.’
‘Would that be wise, Great King?’ enquired the elderly Surena,* Isadh-Gushnasp, the only civilian in the group, whose wisdom and experience alone entitled him to express his views without reserve. ‘The Treaty of Eternal Peace still stands; it should not, perhaps, be lightly broken.’
‘“The word of a Persian noble is his bond”,’ the king responded, quoting a maxim of the ruling caste, whose guiding principles were honour, truthfulness, and courtesy. ‘That is true — on a personal level. But at times relations between rival states demand a more, let us say, ‘flexible’ approach. And any ending of the Peace need not be permanent — only long enough for certain pressing issues to be resolved.’
‘These issues — the disputed territories of Lazica, Armenia, Mesopotamia, and Syria**?’
‘Precisely, my Surena. It is my view, as it has long been that of my predecessors, that the balance of power in these regions has for too many years been tilted in Rome’s favour. Once the scales are readjusted to an even level, Rome and Persia can sign the treaty once again.’
‘But give the word, Great King!’ exclaimed a grey-haired general, ‘and we shall raze Constantinople and bring you the hide of this Justinian — as once we served Valerian.’†
‘We do not seek to conquer Rome, Shahen, old fire-eater,’ chuckled Khusro fondly, ‘merely remind her that our Empire of Iran is not to be trifled with. Persia needs Rome — both as a training-ground where our young men can learn the arts of war, and as a source of subsidy in times of peace.’ Addressing the whole group, he went on, ‘Ravenna may have fallen to the Romans, but the situation there is still precarious. Before they can bring back their forces from the West, let us — as the envoys of Witigis have already suggested — surprise them while the Eternal Peace still holds, and launch a strike against their eastern frontier. I have a legitimate claim to Justinian’s throne.* But despite that, as I mentioned, conquest is not our aim — what does Persia need with more territory, when our realm extends from the Euphrates to the Himalayas? Instead, by holding their wealthy cities of Syria to ransom, we can extract huge indemnities to swell our Treasury.’ Turning to the Surena, he went on with an ironic smile, ‘I trust this does not meet with your disapproval, Izadh-Gushnasp?’
The minister bowed his head in mute assent. ‘I would only point out, Great King, that with Italy now Roman once again, Belisarius may soon be posted to the east.’
‘Then we must lose no time. Prepare your various commands for war,’ he declared to his generals. ‘I myself will lead the army. We march for Syria in three days’ time.’
‘My instructions, from the emperor himself, are that you break off any negotiations you may have begun with Khusro, and immediately make ready for a siege.’ The speaker — Count Prudentius, an influential courtier just arrived in Antioch from Constantinople — was addressing Germanus, Justinian’s cousin, whom the emperor had designated plenipotentiary in Antioch, in response to Khusro’s invasion of Syria. The two men faced each other in the main reception hall of Antioch’s Praetorium: Prudentius — florid, running to fat, sweating heavily in his official robes which, despite the June heat, he seemed to think it necessary to wear; Germanus — spare, with sharp, intellectual features, clad in a light tunic.
‘That’s madness!’ exclaimed Germanus, his face creasing in concern. ‘Megas, bishop of Berrhoea,** has just reported back to me after seeing Khusro. He says the king is willing to spare Antioch in return for a thousand pounds of gold. A small price, it seems to me, to save “the Crown of the East”.’
‘Giving in to blackmail,’ sneered Prudentius, mopping his face with a silken handkerchief. ‘Since when did Rome condescend to bow the knee to Persia? Shame on you, Germanus. Before he became emperor, Justin, as commander of Rome’s eastern army, saw off the Persians when they invaded Oriens. His nephew is prepared to do no less.’
‘But the two situations aren’t remotely comparable,’ protested Germanus, his heart sinking at the sight of the other’s stolidly impassive expression. ‘Justin was an inspirational leader, opposed by a mob of unblooded conscripts. There’s just no one of his calibre in Antioch at present. The city faces the prospect of investment by a new type of army: a huge force of volunteer professionals, battle-hardened in campaigns against fierce steppe nomads like the Turks and Hephthalites,* and commanded by Khusro himself — a charismatic leader to whom they show fanatical loyalty.’