In the Triclinium of the Nineteen Couches, in a long, long line the Roman Empire’s great and good filed past the bier on which Theodora lay: Menas, the Orthodox Patriarch, with a retinue of monks and bearded priests; Pope Vigilius, accompained by his nuncio and Stephen his apocrisiarius; bishops from both East and West; toga-clad senators; patricians; prefects in their robes of office; high government officials; magistrates; generals; and finally, Justinian himself. His vision half obscured by tears, the old emperor looked for the last time on that beloved face — marble-pale, from which all ravages of pain and sickness had, as if by a miracle, disappeared, leaving her countenance serene and beautiful. Was this at last His sign? Justinian wondered, with a surge of desperate hope. With trembling hands he placed around her neck a parting gift — a necklace of magnificent jewels to wear inside the tomb. Then, unable to contain his grief, he burst into uncontrollable sobs, suffering himself to be gently led away from the bier. Mastering himself with a huge effort, he signed to the bearers, who lifted up the bier. In a loud voice, the master of ceremonies called three times, ‘Go forth, O Empress! The King of kings and Lord of lords calleth thee.’
In slow and solemn procession, the mourners followed the bier down the length of the great hall, out of the Palace, through the Augusteum, along the Mese thronged with silent citizens, through the Fora of Constantine and Theodosius, to the empress’ last resting-place — the Church of the Holy Apostles. Here, while a choir of clergy sang the Office for the Dead, Theodora’s small body was lifted from the bier and gently placed within a porphyry sarcophagus. ‘Enter into thy rest, O Empress!’ declaimed the master of ceremonies, and the enormous lid of the sarcophagus was lowered by pulleys into place. The congregation then dispersed, and Justinian returned to his empty Palace, broken and in tears.
* She died on the 28 June 548.
PART V
AD 552-565
TWENTY-EIGHT
As he rode he hurled his javelin into the air and caught it again. . then
passed it rapidly from hand to hand. . with consummate skill
Seating himself on a marble bench in a little garden in the Palace grounds whither he had been summoned, General Narses awaited the arrival of the emperor. Rumour had it that this was the spot where Justinian had first met, then wooed and won, Theodora; also that, since her death two years before, it had (no doubt on account of its fond associations) become a favourite retreat and a venue for informal interviews.
Why had Justinian arranged this meeting? Narses wondered. It could hardly be to ask him to take command on any military front. Belisarius (together with the official war historian, Procopius) had recently been recalled from Italy to keep an eye on Lazica, where trouble had again flared up. But he had been replaced by an able general, Germanus, cousin* of Justinian, and his heir-designate. And in Africa, John the Troglite was successfully grinding down Moorish resistance. Perhaps Justinian just wished to have Narses’ views on the way strategies were being handled. If so, the Armenian general had plenty to say about the conduct of the war in Italy.
In Narses’ view, it had been utter folly on Justinian’s part to have recalled Belisarius. Any semi-competent general could deal with Lazica, but in Italy, where Totila had been making all the running, you needed the best military talent you could find to counter him. The brilliant young Gothic leader had captured a string of strong points across the peninsula, consolidating his support among the Roman population, and raising a powerful fleet. This last had enabled him to capture Sicily, enriching his war-chest with a vast quantity of booty, and ravage the coastal cities of Dalmatia; for the first time the Goths had seriously challenged Roman sea-power, previously unassailable. Meanwhile, Belisarius, starved of resources by the imperial government despite increasingly desperate appeals for reinforcements, had barely been able to hold his own.
The situation fairly reeked of muddle and incompetence. What should have happened, it was clear to Narses, was for Belisarius to have been given sufficient troops; he would then have been able to regain the initiative, perhaps even to the extent of landing a killer blow on his adversary. Instead, despite being recalled to deal with Lazica and appointed Master of Soldiers in the East, he had, incredibly, been kept in the capital as commander of the Palace Guard!
Things in Italy following the appointment of Germanus as Belisarius’ successor had been even more bizarre, reflected Narses. Germanus was married to Matasuntha, widow of Witigis, and daughter of Amalasuntha whose father had been Theoderic. The plan was that the Western Empire be restored, with Germanus, popular with troops and citizens alike, as its emperor. Also, that some sort of power-sharing deal with Totila’s Goths be negotiated, whereby as well as for the first time sitting in the Senate, Goths would man the army, protecting Italy from invasion by Lombards, Franks, and Alamanni. Any son born to Germanus and Matasuntha would, as a matter of course, become in turn the Western emperor, half-Roman and half-Goth, preserving through his mother the old Amal royal line. Should all this come to pass (and it seemed to Narses there was nothing to prevent it doing so), then, the general thought in disgust, the whole Italian war had been for nothing — a colossal waste of manpower and resources, resulting in the destruction of the country’s infrastructure and the ruin of her people. With Italy the permanent homeland of barbarians, who would also have a major say in running it, Theoderic’s ghost would have surely triumphed. But then, reflected Narses, ever since Theodora had died, Justinian’s grip on affairs had seemed to falter, his policies increasingly lacking in coherence and consistency.
‘Thank you for coming, General,’ announced Justinian, breaking in on Narses’ thoughts. He seated himself beside the general. Narses was shocked to notice how much the emperor had aged, the once-handsome face now gaunt and lined beneath a thinning fuzz of lint-white hair, the neck all scrawny and wattled like a vulture’s. Although older than the emperor by a good five years, Narses reckoned he himself must look at least a decade younger.
‘How would the idea of returning to Italy appeal to you, old friend?’ enquired Justinian. ‘You once served me well in that same theatre.’ He added with a gentle smile, ‘Although I seem to recall, on that occasion yourself and Belisarius had views that, let us say — “diverged”.’
‘You could say that, Serenity,’ acknowledged Narses wryly. He shot the other an appraising look. ‘Of course I’m honoured by your suggestion, but, to be frank, I think it’s a bad idea. I suspect I’d get along with Germanus even less well than I did with Belisarius. With Totila’s star in the ascendant, the last thing you need at this stage is a divided command.’
‘Germanus is dead,’ declared Justinian sadly. ‘After driving from the Balkans a huge force of Slav invaders, he suddenly fell sick and died at Sardica.* What an emperor he would have made! — as Augustus of the West uniting Goth and Roman, then, upon my death succeeding to the Eastern throne, leaving his son to become the Western emperor.’