“Is it wise to encourage that young man’s development, excellency?”
“He is a favorite of the Master of the Offices,” Justinian replied, “and I always like to keep an eye on court officials’ proteges. But it’s too hot to be standing about in the sun. Sit.” He indicated a marble bench set in the shade of the cedars, waving his ever-present guards away. They stationed themselves watchfully at a distance of several paces.
Wiping his ruddy face with a piece of purple silk, Justinian suddenly chuckled. “I suppose you’re wondering why I am not hearing petitions, Lord Chamberlain? It’s because I decided to abandon the task when the reception hall became so hot that its bust of Constantine began sweating.”
John offered a thin smile with the comment that the petitioners waiting to be heard were doubtless disappointed not to have been granted an audience with their emperor.
Justinian sat down next to John. He was in an unusually expansive mood, it seemed, for usually he explained his actions or reasoning to no one. Nor was it necessary, for as emperor he held absolute power over the life and death of everyone within the empire.
“There were nothing but minor matters to be heard,” he said. “Tax abatements, license disputes, that sort of thing. So just for today I empowered a silentiary to render a positive verdict in every case. Tomorrow I will be extolled in every corner of the city as a paragon of magnanimity. If only the sun god would have such mercy on me, as pagans would doubtless say, would they not, Lord Chamberlain?” He gave John a sly smile.
John nodded silently. He had no doubt the emperor was aware that his trusted Lord Chamberlain practiced Mithraism, a proscribed religion. However, it was a fact that could never be articulated-at least not until Justinian opened the topic.
Justinian’s smile passed quickly into a graver expression as he continued. “Concerning the boy, Gadaric. His death greatly distresses me, John. It’s been some years since I promised to defend his grandmother Amalasuntha, yet she was found strangled in her bath. And now, with General Belisarius at the gates of Ravenna, with Italy almost reclaimed from the Ostrogoths and Amalasuntha all but avenged, it seems that I have failed again.”
“Gadaric’s sister is still alive,” John pointed out. “Although she has a lesser claim to the Italian throne, her marriage to an ally would certainly go far towards mending the empire as well as ensuring you have honored your promise.”
For all Justinian’s public declarations of avenging Amalasuntha, John and most of Constantinople were aware that her murder had been little more than a convenient excuse to allow Justinian to pursue his dream of returning the empire to its former glory. The loss of Italy, to the emperor’s way of thinking, had been only a temporary defeat in a protracted war. There were, after all, old men who could still remember a Roman emperor in the west.
It was true, he thought, that while the Ostrogoths had grudgingly accepted King Theodoric’s daughter Amalasuntha as regent for her son Athalaric, after Athalaric’s death they had refused to allow her to reign as queen. Now there were signs that the new regime would be less sympathetic to Roman culture-and Roman landowners and business interests-than Theodoric and his daughter had been. Then too, the Ostrogoths were of the Arian faith and thus heretics in the eyes of the church. So if Justinian wished to be ruler of an empire made whole again, he would certainly have more than sufficient support in his quest from more than one quarter.
Then too, since Belisarius, his most trusted general, had long since wrested Africa back from the Vandals was now on the verge of reconquering Italy, Justinian had considerable interest in protecting Amalasuntha’s grandchildren and advancing their claims to Theodoric’s throne.
The polo players approached again as the girls squealed and the boys shouted. John noted that Hektor was now wielding his stick with some skill, not to mention an accuracy apparently miraculously acquired just after the recent near accident.
Once the riders had passed by, Justinian resumed speaking. “I have been contemplating a diplomatic solution. They say the Goths’ general Witigis is a most estimable leader. I am considering marrying the girl Sunilda to him and then dividing Italy between us. Your objection will doubtless be that he is already married to Amalasuntha’s daughter Matasuntha. But she was an most unwilling bride, was she not?”
“Perhaps she would be a more willing wife if you were to elevate Witigis in the manner you suggest, but I confess, excellency, that I do not see why it would be politic to employ the granddaughter instead.”
“Matasuntha cannot be relied upon,” Justinian replied, his voice surprisingly sharp. “It is not generally known, Lord Chamberlain, but when one of Belisarius’ commanders was approaching Ravenna, that vile woman offered herself to him if he would deliver her from Witigis! Such treachery of a wife toward her husband is unthinkable.”
“I see.” John fell silent. Justinian sounded genuinely distressed by the woman’s not-uncommon faithlessness. He reminded himself that the emperor was still only a man, an ordinary man once known as Petrus Sabbatius but now possessed of limitless power. His view of the world was, like everyone’s, colored by his own experiences and his marriage to Theodora was, so far as anyone could tell, an ideal match. Justinian remained besotted with her, and, so it seemed, she with him, despite their often clashing views of religious and political matters. Those at court often whispered that the emperor gave her too much freedom, that she was allowed to say or do anything she pleased, even to engage in machinations entirely contrary to official policy. John knew this was not entirely the case. The empress hated him and if Justinian were so malleable, Theodora would have been granted John’s death long ago.
“Well, John?” Justinian prompted him.
“I would strongly advise against this particular diplomatic solution,” John replied. “It seems to me that Witigis might prove too strong to be a reliable ally in the future.”
“Possibly. However, time to find a solution is short. The Persians are threatening to break our truce in the east and I may well have need of Belisarius and his troops there.”
“Still, excellency, it seems to me that there is nothing to be gained by dealing with Witigis. Ravenna cannot withstand Belisarius’ siege. It must fall, and that very soon.”
Whatever Justinian’s ruddy features might have revealed of his reaction was concealed as he wiped his face again with the purple silk cloth. John knew, however, that he would consider the advice. Justinian was a reasonable man, so far as an all-powerful emperor could be reasonable. He valued his advisors for their personal qualities rather than their backgrounds and John respected him for that. He also admired the fact that despite the pomp required by court ceremony, the emperor remained, in many of his private ways, an abstemious man.
Justinian stood abruptly and John followed him along the path around the playing field, their armed escort a few paces behind. They were accompanied by the muffled thud of hooves, the exclamations of the players rising and receding as the game approached them and then veered away. Even the waves breaking at the base of the sea wall seemed to be more sluggish and quieter than usual in the hot air.
At length, Justinian spoke. “The empress left several of her most trusted guards to watch over Sunilda. However, you will immediately accompany Captain Felix and an attachment of excubitors to Zeno’s estate where you and the captain will take personal responsibility for the girl’s safety until her brother’s murderer has been caught. In addition, as instructed by the empress, you will continue your investigations into the matter of the mime.”