Justinian Read online

  "That is true," I said. "But if I win, as I expect to do, your armies will have to come back here without plundering their way home. We will be allies then, and allies do not ravage each other's lands." And then, unable to contain my eagerness another instant, I burst out, "When shall we move against the Queen of Cities?" Nomads, I knew, were always ready to ride out at a moment's notice.

  But Tervel said, "In ten days, or perhaps half a month. I have sent messengers to my cousins to the south and west, asking them if their men will ride with us."

  "You cannot simply order them to ride?" I said in some surprise.

  "If you Romans invaded us, we would all stand together," he answered. "But I cannot tell them to take their men to war outside their grazing grounds. I hope they will join us, though."

  "I will reward them if they do," I said. Bowing again, I added, "But not so richly as I will reward you."

  "Good enough," Tervel said. "May it be so." Again, though, he sounded less concerned than he might have. As Ibouzeros Gliabanos had before him, he purposed using me for his own ends. His lands marching with those of the Roman Empire, he could use my cause as a plausible excuse for what would in fact be an invasion. I regretted the evils the Empire would suffer as a result, but saw no alternative. I had come too far to go back. Forward was the only way left.

  ***

  When we marched, we marched without Tervel's cousins. Though my war against them after I had subdued the Sklavenoi lay many years in the past, the Bulgars inhabiting the lands near the former Sklavinias still remembered me with something less than fondness. "We do not trust the Emperor with the cut-off nose," one of them told Tervel. "If you are wise, you will not trust him, either."

  Under other circumstances, I should have been flattered at the Bulgars' still fearing me after so long. As things were, I mourned the support I would not have. Tervel did not fret about trusting me. He had no need to fret. I was in his power. If I displeased him or alarmed him, he would put me to death, and that would be that.

  The Bulgars who did ride with us, I am sure, had their minds more on loot and rape and murder than on restoring me to the throne of the Roman Empire. Any soldiers are more apt to dwell on the pleasures of their trade than on the purposes for which their rulers employ them.

  As we rode south toward the mountains, the landscape took on a familiar look- or so I thought, at any rate, although I had seen a great many landscapes since. Not wanting to put the question to Tervel, I asked Myakes, "Are we not heading toward the pass we used to get back into Romania when we were campaigning against the Bulgars?"

  "I think we are," he answered. "I'll tell you something else, too- I'm bloody glad we've got the Bulgars with us this time, not trying to keep us here."

  "So am I," I told him. Instead of showing proper march discipline, the Bulgars straggled out across the land, as if they were the flocks they tended. If one of them spied a rabbit in the grass, he would ride off and try to kill it, eventually either rejoining his comrades or not, as he thought best. But the more I associated with the nomads, the more I came to respect them as warriors. Their horses seemed tireless, and subsisted on what they pulled from the ground as they traveled. The men were no less hardy, going on long after Romans or Arabs would have had to halt. Having noted this same endurance among the Khazars, I was pleased to have it at my disposal.

  No. I overstate that. The Bulgars were not at my disposal. They were at Tervel's disposal. When we traversed the pass in the Haimos Mountains and entered Roman territory, he sent them out broadcast to plunder the countryside. He had made no promises to keep them from doing so before I had regained my throne. If I had to guess, I would say he did not expect me to regain it. I did not discuss this with him. The event would prove him right or wrong.

  Roman frontier guards at the southern end of the pass rode forward to resist what they mistakenly took to be one of the many small Bulgar raiding parties that had so troubled the land in the quarter-century since the barbarians, as divine punishment for our sins, succeeded in establishing themselves south of the Danube. Now, though, I intended using the Bulgars as divine punishment for Apsimaros's sin of usurpation, and for that of Leontios as well, if he still lived.

  On discovering we were a veritable army rather than a band of bandits, the Romans rode away far faster than they had ridden forward. Whooping, the Bulgars rode after them, slaying a few and bringing a few back for questioning. Most of them were Mardaites and other easterners whom I had resettled to hold this frontier. I was somewhat irked to see them so incontinently flee, but did not blame them overmuch, they being so outnumbered.

  "Justinian! It is you!" one of them exclaimed in Greek with a guttural Syrian accent years on this chilly frontier had been unable to efface. "We heard they cut off your nose, not that they just smashed it. I saw you in Sebasteia when you arranged to move us here. Have you come to take back the throne?"

  "I have," I declared, whereupon the Mardaite burst into cheers.

  One of his companions, however, was imprudent enough to shout out, "Tiberius Apsimaros, Emperor of the Romans!" Two Bulgars were holding the man. I glanced at a third nearby, who was not at that moment tending to any prisoners. The Bulgar drew a knife. I nodded. He plunged it into the frontier guard's belly, again and again. The Bulgars holding him let him fall, writhing and shrieking, to the weeds and dirt.

  With his screams as background, the rest of the Mardaites wasted no time in acclaiming me. Some, no doubt, were satanically dissembling, but I let them all go, to spread word of my coming and, I hoped and expected, to bring more Roman soldiers over to my side along with the Bulgars.

  A few of the barbarians grumbled at watching the prisoners leave their hands still intact and breathing, but I said, "You have just entered the land of the Romans. Do you think you will have no chances for sport later?"

  Tervel shouted something in his own language. The Bulgars calmed themselves. Shifting to Greek, Tervel told me, "You did right. You are right. The Romans you let go will do us more good alive than they would give us amusement."

  "That was also my thought," I replied, and then, pointing southward, continued, "And now, shall we ride on?" Tervel dipped his head in agreement and waved to his host. We followed the frontier guards into Romania.

  The main road running south and west from the pass toward Adrianople and away from the Queen of Cities, we abandoned it, traveling south along the seacoast toward Constantinople instead. Watching gentle waves slap against the shore, I found myself thinking of anything but the gentle waves I had survived out on that same sea.

  As we came down toward Mesembria, the most northerly of the Roman coastal cities, we discovered that most of the villages in our path had been abandoned. Myakes snorted, saying, "Those frontier guards you let go, Emperor, they spread the news, all right- the news the Bulgars were coming. Nobody cared whether you were with 'em or not. People heard that, they ran."

  "I fear you're right," I answered. "No help for it now."

  A little later, Tervel rode up to me. "Shall we lay siege to Mesembria?" he asked.

  I shook my head. "No. Taking it gets us no closer to seizing the imperial city, and besieging it wastes time we do not have."

  "This is sense," he agreed after a moment's thought. "If you fail, we will capture this town on the way north." In his mouth, if you fail sounded like when you fail. As with most men, he did what he did primarily for his own purposes, not out of any special charity of soul.

  That evening, we encamped only a couple of miles outside Mesembria. Some of the Bulgars rode out to pillage the suburbs beyond the wall. And, to my surprise, one of the locals rode into our camp. He did not come alone, either. but at the head of a flock of some five hundred sheep chivvied along by a couple of herdsmen who looked as if they wished they were somewhere, anywhere, else.

  The man on horseback- a young fellow, probably born about the time I succeeded my father- dismounted and prostrated himself before me. In a loud voice, he said, "Emperor Justinian, I
bring your army these sheep, and with them I bring myself." His Greek had some of the same Syrian flavor as that of the frontier guards the Bulgars had captured.

  "Rise," I told him, and he did, with the fluid grace of a well-trained warrior. "I accept the sheep, and I accept you as well," I said. "Tell me your name, so that I may know whom I thank."

  "Emperor," he said, "my name is Leo."

  MYAKES

  Yes, Brother Elpidios, that Leo, the one who's Emperor now. Up till then, nobody outside of Mesembria had ever heard of him, nor many folk inside Mesembria, either. But he found himself a way to get noticed, that he did. When everybody else was running away from Justinian, he ran toward him.

  What? What would he have done if Justinian had lost? Probably gone back to Mesembria and tried like the devil to pretend he never had anything to do with him. He likely would have got away with it, too. Leo was the sort of fellow who could tell you the sun rose in the west, and you'd believe him.

  Yes, you're right, Brother. It's just the same way as Leo has moved against the holy icons, as a matter of fact. When he took the throne, he swore he wouldn't fool around with the faith, didn't he? Of course he did. Every Emperor does. But then a few years later he started going on about whether it was proper to make images at all, and- what was it? last year? year before last?- didn't he toss the patriarch out on his ear and put in his own man?

  What? Leo's chum Anastasios isn't limber enough to lick his own privates like a dog, so he licks Leo's instead? I'm going to have to watch out for you, Brother Elpidios. Every once in a while, you can still surprise me. Yes, of course I accept your apology. It's the Christian thing to do, after all. If you want me to set you a penance, why don't you read to me for longer than you'd planned?

  JUSTINIAN

  "Well, Leo, when I tell you I am pleased to meet you, I want you to know I'm not saying it just for politeness' sake," I answered. "You are the first Roman who has not only shown me my proper respect but also helped me toward getting my throne back. On account of that, I name you my spatharios here and now."

  He bowed low. His black eyes glowed in his narrow, swarthy face. "Emperor, you are generous to me," he said.

  "You've earned it," I told him. Spatharios is a handy title. The spatharios of a petty noble who brags of his authority makes everyone around him laugh. An Emperor's spatharios, on the other hand, may be a person of considerable importance. Or he may not: he may be a man with no more power than the petty noble's spatharius, but one whom the Emperor, for whatever reason, has chosen to honor with the title.

  I had no idea which sort of spatharios Leo would make. If he proved useful to me, I would give him power commensurate with his rank. If not, no harm done.

  "Tell me of yourself," I said. "If you say you were born in these parts, I'll be surprised."

  Smiling, he shook his head. "I cannot, Emperor. I spring from Germanikeia, on the edge of Syria. I was a little boy when my parents brought me here. That would have been at your order, wouldn't it?"

  "So it would," I agreed. "And now you've given me another reason to be glad for that order." He bowed once more, pleased at the compliment. And I- I was pleased at the mutton. I shall not deny also being pleased at Leo, who, though young, seemed both clever and energetic.

  I presented him to Tervel, as much to see how he would react as to honor him. His eyes widened, and he said, "Khagan, I tried to kill you once. I shot an arrow at you when you came down raiding into Romania, but I missed."

  "When Justinian came up raiding into the land of the Bulgars, I tried to kill him," Tervel returned. "He tried to kill me, too. I failed. He failed. You failed. Now we are together."

  "And now we shall not fail," I said. Tervel and Leo both nodded. "Once we get down to Constantinople," I added, "the soldiers will abandon Apsimaros the usurper, returning their allegiance to me. My family, after all, has ruled the Empire for almost a hundred years. What has this Apsimaros done, to make him worth keeping? Nothing, I tell you. Nothing! Nothing!" My voice rose to a shout.

  Tervel and Leo nodded again.

  ***

  From Mesembria down to the imperial city, the army I and Tervel led had but little fighting to do. The Bulgars who spoke Greek- perhaps one of them in four- would smile broadly at me on that journey, saying, "They fear us. See how they fear us."

  "Indeed they do," I would answer, not wanting to discourage them. But, while some of it may well have been fear on the part of my foes, more, I think, was strategy. Constantinople had been attacked before, but no foreign enemy had ever taken it in battle. My great-great-grandfather, however, had put paid to a vile usurper. I expected to do no less.

  Fewer Roman soldiers than I s hould have liked abandoned Apsimaros to come over to me. Many of those resuming the cause of their rightful master did so at the urging either of Myakes, whose acquaintance with some of their officers went back to the days before my throne was stolen from me, or of Leo, who demonstrated for the first time but not the last a gift for persuasive speech remarkable in one of his years.

  Apsimaros's men did not try to hold us at the Long Wall. I thought briefly of Philaretos, my former father-in-law, who had commanded the garrison along the wall, and wondered if he still lived. We reached Constantinople on the seventh day after passing Mesembria. The last glimpse of the city I had had was from the deck of the dromon taking me, freshly mutilated and half blind with pain, off into exile. Apsimaros, I remembered, had captained that dromon: one more requital needed.

  "Coming home, Emperor," Myakes said, pointing to the walls looming up over the southeastern horizon.

  "Coming home," I agreed. "I've been away too long."

  We rode closer. As the true height and length of Constantinople's fortifications became clear to Tervel, he brought his horse close to mine. "I have seen Roman cities," he said. "Men I have sent to the city here have told me of it, as I said when you first came before me. I always had trouble believing them. Now I see with my own eyes they were telling less than the truth, not more."

  We encamped outside the northern part of the city wall, the tents of the Bulgars and those Romans who had joined us extending from Blakhernai hard by the Golden Horn south and west as far as the Kharisian Gate, about a quarter of the distance down toward the Sea of Marmara. Near that gate, the aqueduct of Valens enters the imperial city. It has, unfortunately, been useless to Constantinople since the days of my great-great-grandfather, when the Avars, during their siege of the city, destroyed almost a mile of it. No Emperor since had enjoyed the leisure or the resources to make the necessary repairs.

  Soldiers on both the outer and inner walls stared out toward us, watching our every move. Mounting one of the ponies on which I had ridden down from the land the Bulgars had stolen from us Romans, I approached the walls so I could speak to the warriors manning them, being certain that, once they were certain it was indeed I who came before them, they would renounce Apsimaros the illegitimate and acclaim me once more.

  Myakes rode with me, offering his usual pragmatic advice: "Don't draw within bowshot of the walls, Emperor. If Apsimaros hasn't put a price on your head, I'm a big green sheep."

  "We already know he has put a price on my head," I said. "He was willing enough to pay it to my brother-in-law, that's certain. And as for the confidence you show in me, I do thank you very much." Myakes blew air out through his lips, a snorting sound likelier to come from a horse than a man.

  Tervel rode along, too, a few paces behind me. Though wishing he had stayed in our camp, I could hardly tell him so, he having served as my benefactor since I arrived in his country seeking aid. But I did not want him to see me fail, and feared his presence would make me more likely to do so.

  With no help for it, I rode on, ignoring him as best I could. Also ignoring Myakes, I drew close to the walls, close enough to let the soldiers see me, to let the veterans among them recognize me, and to remind them of where their loyalty should lie. They stirred, up on the walls, waiting for me to speak. They could have
pincushioned me with arrows, but no one shot. I took that for a good sign. Tervel, prudently, had stopped at the distance Myakes had suggested for me. Myakes himself, whatever he thought of my boldness, remained at my side.

  "I am Justinian, Emperor of the Romans!" I shouted to the soldiers. "Justinian son of Constantine son of Constans son of Herakleios Constantine son of Herakleios, of the house that saved the Roman Empire from the fire-worshiping Persians and the followers of the false prophet both. I have returned to reclaim the throne rightfully mine."

  For a moment, only silence followed my words. I quietly sat my horse, awaiting the great roar of approbation and delight that would lead to opened gates and to my sweeping back to power. From the top of the outer wall, a soldier cried, "Hey, Justinian, aren't you missing a nose for this kind of duty?"

  The wretch, the scoffing Thersites, could not have been above thirty yards from me. He and his comrades could see perfectly well that I bore a nose which, if perhaps less lovely than the magnificent appendage with which God had graced me, was nonetheless adequate for all legitimate purposes, including the purpose of establishing my own legitimacy as ruler.

  But, caring nothing for whether he lied or spoke the truth, he continued to cast scorn on my physiognomy. And, emboldened by his licentious freedom of speech, others showered me with differing sorts of insults. "How do you like riding the barbarian mare you bought?" one of them shouted. I shook my fist at him, that surely being a reference to Theodora rather than to the gelding on which I was then mounted.

  "You come down here with an army of Bulgars and you call yourself Emperor of the Romans?" another soldier said. "If you love them so well, why don't you go off and be Emperor of the Bulgars?"

  More abuse and insults rained down from the walls. At last, a couple of soldiers shot arrows that stood thrilling in the dirt not far from my horse's forefeet. I rode away, believing they would next shoot at me intending to hit, not to miss.