But his new-found serenity and peace of mind were destined not to last. .
* Not to be confused with the Theodosian Walls protecting Constantinople (and which can still be seen). The Long Walls constituted a further line of defence, running across the peninsula thirty miles west of the capital — a sort of Maginot or Siegfried Line.
* Theodosius I at the Battle of the Frigidus in 393; Justinian took the field against the Kotrigurs in 559.
* Oath of loyalty, requiring the swearer to become a foederatus — federate.
* The project was undertaken by Anthemius’ son. By increasing the curve, he succeeded in making the new dome even more impressive than the original.
THIRTY-ONE
Revenge is the poor delight of little minds
Procopius, one of whose duties as city prefect was to ensure the flow of water to the public baths and fountains, nodded to the water engineer. That official turned the handles of a long iron rod projecting from the roadway to open the sluice-gate of a subterranean tunnel leading from the Cistern of Aetius. The assembled group of workmen looked on anxiously, then burst into a ragged cheer as, after a few moments, sparkling jets of water spurted from the fountain.
‘Well done, lads!’ laughed Procopius. ‘You’ve earned your bonus; clearing that channel must have been a mucky job. Take a short break now, then meet me at the Mocius Cistern in an hour.’
Grinning cheerfully at the prospect of that extra drinking money (Procopius was a popular prefect), the maintenance crew, accompanied by the engineer, departed — except for one man, a tall individual with an air of quiet self-possession that marked him out from his fellow workers, Procopius had observed.
‘A word in private, Prefect?’
‘Very well.’ Impressed by something in the other’s manner and bearing, Procopius suggested they walk to the Necropolis, situated coveniently near to the Cistern of Saint Mocius. A stroll through an expanse of low-density housing interspersed with vegetable gardens, between the Walls of Constantine and those of Theodosius, brought them to the City of the Dead, a strange and haunting area of mortuary monuments — tombs, urns, obelisks and statues, many of exquisite workmanship, their whitewashed surfaces or gleaming marble contrasting with the sombre greens of cypress, box, and yew.
‘Will this do?’ asked Procopius, and went on with a smile. ‘A bit crowded, but at least they can’t hear us.’
‘We haven’t met, Sir,’ said the stranger. ‘But we both, as “Friends of Libertas”, served the same great man — Gaius Anicius Julianus, alias “Cato”. You’ll have heard of me as “Horatius” — a go-between who collected and delivered messages. And you, Sir, I believe were known as “Regulus”.’
Procopius inclined his head in acknowledgement. ‘Well, Horatius — something you wish to tell me?’
‘We both know, Sir, that Libertas has been disbanded, and all its leaders — Cato, Catullus, Cincinnatus et al., dead or forced to take Holy Orders. However, something has arisen which — if we can ensure it goes ahead — would amount to a final blow being struck for the Cause.’
‘Go on.’
‘Justinian is in a quandary regarding the succession. Because of his advanced years, he knows that he can’t for much longer avoid naming his successor. Yet he fears to do so, because he thinks he would then be perceived as yesterday’s man, with the reins of power slipping from his grasp. For someone like the emperor, who can’t bear the idea of not being in control, that would be intolerable. So he’s let the matter drift.’
‘Even though it’s an open secret that the succession’s almost bound to pass to one of two men,’ the prefect commented. ‘There’s Justin the son of Germanus who commanded in Italy before his untimely death. And there’s another Justin, son of Justinian’s sister — a modest, capable fellow, of a type usually referred to as “a safe pair of hands”. Of course the fact that no preference has been made public has led to wild speculation on the part of the citizenry.’
‘Exactly, Sir. Which brings me to my point. All this uncertainty has created an atmosphere of disquiet and instability, the perfect breeding-ground for riots — stirred up, of course, by the Greens and Blues. Also plots. Most of these are hatched by bungling amateurs and come to nothing. But one or two have to be taken seriously — like the one your vigiles put down two years ago.’
‘You mean the Theodore affair? — when the curatores* George and Aetherius tried to elevate to the purple the son of Peter the Patrician, of all people?’
‘That’s the one, Sir. Compromised by security leaks, as I recall. However, I’ve got wind of a fresh conspiracy — this time one that’s been planned with meticulous care, and, in my view, stands a much better chance of succeeding.’
‘How come you know this?’ asked Procopius, both astonished and piqued that his own efficient network of delatores — informers — had failed to hear of such a plot.
‘Before I was recruited by Libertas, Sir, I was an agens in rebus for the state, which meant I had to be ready to take on any role from diplomat to spy. And, though I say it myself, Sir, I was good. Which is why Cato took me on. When it comes to keeping an ear to the ground to learn the “buzz”, there’s no one can match yours truly, Sir.’
‘You say this plot could succeed. Your reasons?’
‘It’s being masterminded by a pair of senators, Marcellus and Ablabius — intelligent, cool-headed types. They’re on the guest list for a banquet celebrating the re-dedication of Hagia Sophia, to be given by the emperor and held in a fortnight’s time — on the Ides of October. At a given moment during the feast, they, together with another senator, will draw their daggers — hidden till then beneath their robes — and despatch Justinian. Their men — already stationed in the vestibule and porticoes — will then announce the death of the tyrant, and excite sedition in the capital. Given the present mood of discontent, that shouldn’t be a problem. I learned all this from the third main accomplice, Sergius, a friend of two officers of Belisarius. I had made it my business to strike up an acquaintanceship with Sergius, and managed to convince him that I was sympathetic to the plot. Which of course, because its purpose is identical to the primary aim once held by Libertas, is no more than the truth. As a one-time Friend of Libertas yourself, Sir, I thought you’d like to be put in the picture.’
‘Would I, indeed! My thanks, Horatius — you’ve done well to tell me this. I’d appreciate it if you’d keep me informed of any future developments.’
‘My pleasure, Sir. A word of caution though.’
‘Explain.’
‘We wouldn’t want the plot to be aborted, would we, Sir? Best keep what I’ve told you to yourself; it wouldn’t do for any of your vigiles to act in any way which might arouse the suspicions of the plotters. You get my drift, Sir?’
‘Rest assured, Horatius. This conversation will remain between ourselves.’
‘I’ll be off then, Sir; I see your workmen beginning to arrive at the cistern over there. I’ll keep you posted, never fear.’