Justinian Read online

  Justinian

  Ross Laidlaw

  Ross Laidlaw

  Justinian

  HISTORICAL NOTE

  In AD 468, organized by both the Eastern and the Western Roman Empires, a mighty seaborne expedition — the largest the Ancient World had ever seen, set sail from Constantinople. Its aim: to expel from Africa the Vandals, a ferocious and destructive German tribe who had occupied the Western diocese some forty years before. If successful, the enterprise had the potential to save the Western Empire, crumbling under the onslaught of other German peoples — Franks, Visigoths, Suevi, Alamanni, et al. Prior to the Vandal invasion, Africa had been the West’s richest and most productive possession. Liberated, she would have the potential again to provide revenue sufficient to revive the West’s economy and to replenish her decimated armies, enabling them to drive out, or at least contain, the barbarian invaders.

  In the event however, the expedition was a total disaster. Pinned by contrary winds against a lee shore, the Roman fleet was scattered by Vandal fireships, its vessels doomed to burn, founder on rocks, or be picked off by Vandal boarding parties who had the wind in their favour. With the funds of both empires now exhausted, no further rescue attempts could be forthcoming. Immediately grasping this fact, the barbarians proceeded swiftly to overrun the remaining Western enclaves. In only eight short years the West went from something to nothing; in 476 the last Western emperor was deposed, and the empire he nominally ruled came to an end. In contrast, the Eastern Empire — wealthy, stable, comparatively untroubled by barbarians (it was only threatened by them on its Lower Danube frontier, and had moreover become rather adept at passing on to the West any who invaded; whereas the West had the whole of the Rhine/Upper and Middle Danube border to defend), was destined to continue for many more centuries to come. At the time of West Rome’s fall, the only serious threat to East Rome was Persia, with whom the Romans had been at war off and on — forever, it must have sometimes seemed. Persia however — potentially a far more dangerous enemy than any German confederation, was a civilized power that on the whole kept its treaties.

  In or about the year the doomed armada sailed, a young Goth — let’s call him Roderic (for his true given name has not come down to us), a peasant from the East Roman province of Dardania,* set out with two companions on the high road for Constantinople, capital of the East Roman Empire. In the words of Gibbon, ‘the three youths. . were soon enrolled, for their strength and stature, among the guards of the emperor Leo. Under the two succeeding reigns [of the emperors Zeno and Anastasius], the fortunate peasant emerged to wealth and honours; and his. . long and laudable service in the Isaurian and Persian wars. . might warrant the military promotion which. . he gradually obtained’. All this despite being German — a race both feared and hated by the Romans.

  In 496, when our story begins, Roderic is forty-six years of age, a middle-ranking general serving under the Magister Militum per Orientem — the Commander-in-Chief of the Army of the East. He is adored by his troops for his generosity, fairness, genuine concern for their welfare, and success against the enemy. He remains however at base a simple peasant (though he has learned to read, literacy being a prerequisite for any officer in the East Roman army), unfitted for any role outside a military command. In that year of 496, the Western Empire has been defunct these twenty years, its former territories now ruled by barbarian kings: Gaul and Spain have been taken over by Franks, Visigoths, Suevi, Burgundians, and Alamanni; Africa has long been under Vandal sway; Italy is in the hands of the Ostrogoths under their powerful and charismatic king, Theoderic — nominally the vicegerent of Anastasius, the aged Eastern emperor, between whose realm and Persia an uneasy truce prevails.

  Meanwhile, back in Roderic’s homeland of Dardania, his sister Bigleniza cherishes hopes that her brother will be able to advance her gifted and ambitious son, Uprauda. .

  * Roughly equivalent to present day Bulgaria. See Appendix I.

  PART I

  THE DARDANIAN

  AD 482-500

  The Roman Empire and the Barbarian kingdoms at Justinian’s accession, AD 527

  PROLOGUE

  ‘Elephants, sir!’ gasped the scout, reining in his lathered mount before the general. ‘Scores of the brutes. And they’ve got cataphracts as well — hundreds of them, in addition to vast contingents of infantry.’

  ‘Calm down, lad,’ said Roderic gently. ‘Nothing to panic about; Romans’ll see off elephants and armoured cavalry every time. Now — just the facts please. Location? Line of march? Numbers?’

  Looking slightly shamefaced, the scout dismounted and stood to attention, helmet tucked under arm. ‘The Persians are several miles this side of the Euphrates, sir, heading our way,’ he reported in more sober tones. ‘About twenty thousand altogether, I’d say.’

  ‘Thank you, soldier; you did well. Report to the cook-house and ask for a hot meal — my orders.’ Roderic grinned and clapped the young man on the shoulder. ‘But first see that your horse gets a rub-down and feed. Dismiss.’

  ‘Of course, sir. Thank you, sir.’ Saluting smartly, the scout turned and walked away, leading his horse; he now looked and sounded relaxed and reassured, in contrast to his earlier state of excited apprehension.

  Leaving the agora — the town square — Roderic returned to his quarters in the citadel of Palmyra, the strategically important frontier city on the interface between the empires of East Rome and Persia. He’d done his best, he reflected, to prevent that young scout from spreading alarm and despondency among his fellow soldiers. But in truth, he acknowledged to himself, the situation looked bad. At present, all the imperial field armies had been moved north, engaged in suppressing yet another insurrection by the Isaurians — a wild tribal people inhabiting a mountainous region of Anatolia. Roderic had been left with a scratch force of limitanei — second-rate frontier troops, to guard the eastern border, pending the absence in the north of his superior, the Magister Militum per Orientem. In normal circumstances, this role would have amounted to no more than a routine policing assignment; officially, Rome and Persia were at peace. But the reigning King of Kings, Kavad, was known to be under the influence of his top general, Tamshapur, a maverick commander with dangerously expansionist ideas. Tamshapur was suspected of harbouring dreams of seizing East Rome’s Diocese of Oriens, whose territory, back in the days before Alexander, had once formed part of the empire of the Peacock Throne. The scout’s report suggested that these suspicions were well founded: that Tamshapur, taking advantage of the fact that Rome’s eastern frontier was for the time being virtually undefended, had decided that here was a golden opportunity to launch an attack and make his dreams reality.

  Pacing the floor of his spartanly furnished tablinum or study, now converted to a command centre, Roderic tried to formulate a plan to counter this appalling threat. He had two choices: to remain inside Palmyra, or engage the enemy. Should he decide on the former, he could probably hold out, for a time anyway, against any siege that Tamshapur (for it was almost certainly he who commanded the approaching army) might decide to mount. Palmyra’s walls were strong; but even if they fell, the garrison could then retreat to the virtually impregnable citadel to await eventual relief by a Roman field army. The trouble with that choice was that it would allow Tamshapur to take over the diocese unchallenged, leaving Palmyra isolated within enemy-occupied territory — territory which Rome might, quite conceivably, find itself unable to recover. The other alternative was to take on the Persians — a David and Goliath stance if ever there was, and one that must surely end in annihilation for his tiny force, Roderic reflected gloomily. Clearly, in this situation two heads would be better than one. He would pick the brains of Victor, his trusty vicarius or second-in-command; his opinions were always worth listening to.<
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  Victor Marcellinus — great-grandson of the famous soldier-turned-historian, Ammianus Marcellinus, and vicarius of the Numerus Euphratensis, strode along Palmyra’s Great Colonnade — the magnificent mile-long avenue flanked by Corinthian columns which connected the former Royal Palace (now pressed into service as barracks) with the agora and the citadel. As, responding to a summons from his commanding officer, Victor made his way towards the citadel, he reflected on Palmyra’s chequered history. In past centuries the place had been the capital of an independent city-state, handling most of the trade between the Roman Empire in the west, and Persia, India, and China, in the east — successfully playing off Rome against Persia, while somehow managing to remain friends with both. Then, a little over two hundred years ago, Palmyra’s queen — a formidable lady called Zenobia, taking advantage of a succession crisis in Rome, had invaded Syria and Egypt, both Roman possessions. This proved to be a serious mistake. A strong Roman emperor, Aurelian, arose, who, after restoring stability at home, descended on Palmyra with several legions, crushed the forces of the upstart queen, and integrated the place fully into the Roman Empire. However, though no longer independent, Palmyra — thanks to its being the focal point of key trade routes and its proximity to the Persian border — remained of vital economic and strategic importance. Whoever controlled Palmyra held the balance of power between Persia and Rome.

  Returning the salutes of soldiers that he passed, Victor sensed from their demeanour that a mood of excitement mingled with foreboding was spreading throughout the Numerus Euphratensis. The frontier unit was largely made up of raw recruits, its seasoned veterans having been drafted into the field army of the Diocese of Oriens, posted north as a result of the Isaurian crisis. Wryly acknowledging to himself that officers were usually the last to know about the origins of army rumours, Victor wondered what could be the cause of the strange mood.

  ‘Seems we’re between Scylla and Charybdis, sir,’ commented Victor, when Roderic had apprised him of the situation.

  ‘Silla and Caribs?’ The general stared at his vicarius with a puzzled frown.

  ‘Sorry, sir,’ apologized Victor, mentally kicking himself for his lapse. It was easy to forget that, unlike the vast majority of East Romans — heirs to a culture rooted in Homer and Greek mythology — classical allusions would be lost on Roderic, a Goth from the remote backwoods province of Dardania. He reminded himself of Roderic’s background.

  Despite the migration to the West of the two great branches of the Gothic people — the Visigoths and the Ostrogoths — pockets of the tribe remained inside the Roman Empire (now consisting only of its surviving Eastern half): a tolerated minority, technically Roman citizens, but both resented and despised by the host nation. Following his arrival in Constantinople, the young barbarian had climbed the slippery pole of military promotion, ignoring racial slurs and put-downs by ‘proper Romans’, to rise, through sheer courage, perseverance, and aptitude, to the position of a respected general in the finest army in the world.

  Victor regarded his commander’s homely face, fringed by a stubbly beard (very un-Roman) and topped by a thatch of straw-coloured hair, with mingled affection and concern. Unless Roderic could come up with a miraculous plan to counter Tamshapur’s move, then this year of the consul Paulus* (no Western candidate this year) could well see the end, not only of the general’s career, but in all likelihood of his life as well — consequences that applied in equal measure to both of them, Victor suddenly realized with a sense of chill foreboding.

  ‘In legend, sir,’ explained Victor, in response to the general’s query, ‘Scylla and Charybdis were sea-monsters, waiting either side of the Straits of Messina to drown unwary sailors. So the expression, “between Scylla and Charybdis” means — ’

  ‘- between a rock and a hard place,’ sighed Roderic. ‘Well, why the hell didn’t you say so?’ He shook his shaggy head and grinned ruefully. ‘You Romans — honestly. Now, about our Persian friend; any ideas? In plain Greek, if you don’t mind.’

  ‘He must be stopped, sir — if that’s at all possible. If we just sit tight in Palmyra, he’ll overrun the whole diocese. Our field armies in the north couldn’t possibly get here in time to intervene.’

  ‘My own thoughts precisely. Dispatch riders are already on their way to Constantinople and Isauria: a futile gesture, I fear. Any relieving force would arrive to find a Persian fait accompli.’ The general rose and began to pace the chamber, his brows furrowed in concentration. ‘On the face of it, Victor, for the Numerus Euphratensis to square up to Tamshapur seems like a recipe for suicide.’ He shrugged helplessly. ‘But we have to try.’

  ‘Things may not be quite as bad as they look, sir,’ said Victor. ‘Elephants and cataphracts apart, Tamshapur’s obvious apparent advantage is enormous superiority in numbers. Now, if that could somehow be made to work against him. . It’s been done before: Alexander against Darius at Issus, Hannibal against Varro at Cannae, and, in more recent times, Fritigern’s Goths against our own troops at Adrianople. They all faced overwhelming odds, in situations which they managed to turn to their own advantage.’

  ‘We’d have to force them to fight on a narrow front,’ mused Roderic. ‘That way, they could only use a fraction of their strength at one time. It’s those elephants and cataphracts I’m most worried about. Especially elephants. Roman soldiers have always been terrified by the things, apparently. I’ve never encountered them myself, however; the Persians seem largely to have abandoned their use as being old-fashioned. Until now, that is. Help me out here, Victor; I’m sure your eminent ancestor, the great Ammianus, has something to say on the subject.’

  ‘Plenty, sir; unfortunately none of it of much use to us. In his account of Emperor Julian’s Persian campaign, he describes their war-elephants in, frankly, tedious detail. He appears to have been both fascinated and appalled by them. Horses don’t like their smell; as a cavalry officer, that would have bothered him. Maddeningly, he doesn’t explain how our troops dealt with them. Like a lot of historians, he skimps on tactical details as being somehow unworthy in the context of serious literary composition. Arrian, however, has a tip that could be useful; he tells how Alexander had spiked boards laid in the path of elephants. Their weak point is their feet — tender soles, you see.’

  Noting the sudden look of distaste on the other’s face, Victor pressed on hurriedly. ‘But that could backfire. Scipio’s tactics against Hannibal at Zama are probably more helpful.’ (Despite Roderic’s carefully cultivated image of the hard, unsentimental soldier, Victor had long suspected that his commander had a softer side. Witness the general’s reluctance to expose the men under his command to unnecessary suffering or danger — a consideration that extended also to cavalry mounts and beasts of burden. Misinterpreted, such an attitude could incur a risk; an officer suspected of fastidium — squeamishness, could suddenly find his career going nowhere. Hence Roderic’s concern to maintain a persona of iron toughness.) ‘According to Polybius, sir,’ Victor continued, ‘when Hannibal gave the order for his elephants to charge. .

  ‘Eminence — the Romans have come out of Palmyra,’ announced the scout, kneeling before Tamshapur. ‘Two thousand at the most, drawn up in battle array not five miles distant. We caught one of their outriders.’ And he pointed to a captive Roman pinioned between two Persian soldiers.

  This was the best possible news, gloated Tamshapur, dismissing the man. After dealing with the Romans’ puny force (the prisoner could prove useful here), he would occupy Palmyra, whose citizens, learning of the garrison’s fate, would scarcely dare to close the gates against the Persian host. With Palmyra secure and no one to oppose him, the whole Diocese of Oriens from the Euphrates to the Red Sea would fall into his hands like a ripe plum. And after Oriens — Egypt? The name of Tamshapur would then be forever remembered in the annals, as the commander who restored to Persia the lands filched centuries before by Alexander and since annexed by Rome. Filled with a sense of euphoric anticipation, Tamshapur gave
the order for the army to advance.

  When a distant line of dust-clouds signalled the Persian approach, the Numerus Euphratensis withdrew to the position which Roderic and Victor had reconnoitred a few days earlier. This was a long defile, with towering walls of red sandstone — open-ended, wide at the mouth, narrowing in the centre to a neck just broad enough to be spanned by three ranks of soldiers — a disposition which accounted for the unit’s entire strength, barring archers and a small force of cavalry, both stationed elsewhere.

  Carrying oval shields of laminated wood and wearing scale-armour hauberks and traditional Attic helmets, the pedites or foot-soldiers waited, stiff with apprehension, their young faces pale and set with the effort of concealing their fear. In an elaborate show of nonchalance, their officers, resplendent in muscle cuirasses, lounged atop their horses or strolled among the men, smiling and murmuring encouragement. A little to the fore, the commander and his vicarius sat astride their mounts. The pedites’ equipment was standard regulation issue — with one startling exception. Instead of the normal seven-foot spear, each infantryman held an immensely long pike measuring fully twenty feet.

  ‘Remind you of anything, sir?’ Victor asked the general in breezy tones, in an attempt to break the tension, building as the minutes bled away. He waved towards the silent ranks behind them.

  ‘Should it?’

  ‘The three hundred Spartans at Thermopylae, sir — surely you’ve heard of them?’

  ‘You’re forgetting, Victor — your commanding officer is just an ignorant barbarian. Enlighten me.’

  ‘Well, sir, in order to buy time for the main Greek army to come up, an advance force of three hundred Spartans under their king, Leonidas, volunteered to block a narrow pass against an invading Persian army, numbering three hundred thousand. Odds of a thousand to one.’ He grinned. ‘With us, they’re only ten to one; should be a walkover.’