Attila (48 page)

The Surena held a brief conversation with the castellan, then turned again to Julian. ‘It seems that after lengthy interrogation this prisoner remains obdurate. It is time, therefore, to try other methods.'

On a raised stone slab in the centre of the torture chamber, the naked body of the prisoner, face down and limbs extended, was held securely by straps around the wrists and ankles. Two menials in grubby loincloths hovered in the background. At a table was seated a scribe, ready to record any utterances by the victim. The Surena approached the prisoner and addressed him. The man remaining silent, the Surena nodded to the torturers to begin their work.

With a knife, one of the pair made a long incision in the back of the prisoner, who jerked against his bonds but made no sound. The bleeding wound was then forced apart and kept open by means of clamps. Removing a glowing crucible with tongs from a furnace in the corner, the second torturer poured a stream of white-hot metal into the wound. Agonized screams cut though the loud hissing of molten metal coming into contact with raw flesh; the prisoner convulsed on the slab, then fainted.

‘They use copper which, having a higher melting-point than lead, inflicts a keener agony,' the Surena remarked to Julian, who was watching in horror. ‘They will repeat the process, gradually extending it to more sensitive parts. Eventually the man will break – they always do. As will you,' he added grimly, ‘if you choose to remain silent. Come, we have seen enough.'

They retraced their steps, Julian flanked by guards, to the prison's outer walls. ‘Save yourself young man,' the Surena told Julian. ‘You have witnessed what will happen if you refuse to talk. There can
be no dishonour in co-operation. Afterwards, you will stay with me at my estate in the Karun valley, not as a prisoner but as an honoured guest, while this Armenian affair runs its course. We will hunt and hawk, and in the cool of evening listen to the music of the lyre and flute, and drink wine chilled by snow from the Sanganaki Mountains.' He stared intently into Julian's eyes. ‘Say you agree.'

Mingled with terror, Julian felt an overwhelming urge to accept the Surena's offer. He opened his mouth intending to comply, but heard himself whisper, ‘I cannot.'

The Surena raised his arms in a gesture of frustrated resignation. He nodded to the guards, who seized Julian by the arms. ‘Then I can do nothing for you,' he said. ‘You are a fool, Roman, but a brave one.' Turning on his heel, he walked swiftly towards the prison gates.

In the great menagerie of Beklal, near Ctesiphon, his capital city, Yazdkart II walked his horse, surrounded by vast herds of deer, zebra, and ostriches. Persia would be great once more, he mused as he rode among the grazing game. He, the Great King, would bring back the glorious days of Darius and Cyrus, Cambyses and the two Shapurs. Armenia would serve as a useful testing-ground. His forces would overrun the Persian protectorate and, should that renegade Vardan resist, he would be ruthlessly crushed. Christianity would be stamped out, and the people made to accept the one true faith. His victorious army would then press on into Western Armenia. Rome (East Rome, that is) would of course object. Well, let it. Yazdkart would welcome a challenge by the Romans. Perhaps the time had come for a final trial of strength between the two great rivals. His chief minister's report on how things stood in Rome's two empires, which was due for his attention this very day, should prove invaluable in helping him to shape his policy. It was in a sanguine and confident frame of mind that he cantered back to Ctesiphon.

Entering the Iwan-i Kisra, the royal palace in Ctesiphon, through the great central arch in the façade,
⁸
the Surena made his way to
the audience chamber, whither he had been summoned by the Great King.

He found Yazdkart enthroned, arrayed in the full panoply of a warrior-aristocrat, a drawn sword held upright between his knees. Before the royal throne and at a lower level stood three empty seats: for the Emperor of China, for the great Khaghan, the ruler of the nomads of central Asia, and for the Roman Emperor, against the time when these rulers came as vassals to the court of the King of Kings. In the face of this aggressive posturing, the Surena reluctantly decided that now was not perhaps the moment to press the King (as he had intended) to abandon his plans to invade Armenia. Bowing low before him, he said, ‘Great King, as you requested, I have ready my report on Rome.'

Yazdkart frowned. ‘We see no papers. Where are your notes, your memoranda?'

‘Here, Sire,' replied the Surena, tapping his forehead. ‘I need no parchment or papyrus. From earliest youth I have trained myself to dispense with such aids, by memorizing what I need to know from written or oral sources.'

‘We are impressed; you may proceed.'

‘Of the two Christian empires of the Romans,' the Surena began, ‘the West need not detain us. It is weak, its coffers empty, half its territory ceded to fair-haired barbarians from beyond the Rhenus and Danubius. Only the genius of its great general, Aetius, has thus far safeguarded it from dissolution. Our only concern is with our neighbour, the Eastern Empire.'

‘Whom we have cause to fear?' Yazdkart suggested hopefully.

‘I think not, Sire. True, their new Emperor, Marcian, is taking a more resolute stance against Attila than his feeble predecessor, which may cause the Scourge of God, as the Romans call him, to switch his attentions to the West. Thus leaving the East free, in theory, to resume hostilities against us after a nine-year lapse.' The Surena paused, then added delicately, ‘Hostilities which
we
began, Great King.'

‘But they are strong enough to pose a threat?' persisted Yazdkart.

‘Again, in theory, yes. East Rome is wealthy, densely populated, run well by gifted men, its armies being nurtured back to strength after their several maulings by Attila. But I believe its energies will now be directed solely to rebuilding their ravaged land; as ever, its priorities are economic not military. Armenia
alone constitutes a potential flashpoint for war. But only if we demonstrate we have designs upon the Roman part of the protectorate. This, besides much else, I learnt from the confessions of a Roman spy who fell into our hands.'

‘. . . the East, then, pacific yet strong,' mused the King, when the Surena had finished his report. As though tiring of the role of warrior-king, he sheathed his sword and propped it against the arm of his throne. ‘Perhaps too strong for us to risk picking a quarrel with at this juncture?' His tone, though one of disappointment, held a tinge of relief.

‘Exactly, Sire,' declared the Surena with feeling, the alarming spectre of a full-scale war beginning to recede. ‘That, if I may say, Great King, is a commendably wise conclusion.'

In his office in the barracks of the palace guard at Constantinople, Aspar crossed Julian's name off his list of agents. Two months had passed since the tribune had left for Armenia, so it must be assumed that he was either a prisoner of the Persians, or else dead – most likely the latter.

Another fine young man sacrificed – for what? the general reflected with a heavy heart. Even if successful, Julian's mission would have been unlikely to affect the great scheme of things involving Rome and Persia to any significant extent. Whatever happened, the Great King was probably going to invade eastern Armenia; Roman aid to Vardan's freedom fighters would now probably not materialize; in any event, resistance would be crushed by the Persians and eastern Armenia become another satrapy. However, Yazdkart, who at bottom was a parchment tiger, would probably hold back from attacking Roman Armenia. So in the end little would change, and relations between Persia and Rome continue much as before. Meanwhile, there was the sad duty of a letter to Julian's parents to attend to. Having called for his secretary, Aspar began to dictate.

 

¹
The pact partitioned Armenia between Rome and Persia; Sapor (Shapur II) was a ‘king of kings' of the Sassanid dynasty.

²
Imperial palace guards; see Notes p. 437.

³
Korea

⁴
Alas, blown up by the reactionary Taliban government of Afghanistan, before its overthrow.

⁵
Ceylon/Sri Lanka and Malabar.

⁶
the Yemen.

⁷
Ethiopia and northern Sudan

⁸
Still today the largest arch in any façade in the world. Prior to the invasion of Iraq in 2003, the ruinous façade was being reconstructed by the Iraqi Department of Antiquities.

Have I not given birth to God?

Protest of the Augusta Pulcheria to the Patriarch Nestorius, against her exclusion from the Sanctuary of Hagia Sophia,
c.
430

Returning Priscilla's wink from across the chapel floor, Honoria, exiled sister of Valentinian, the Western Emperor, felt the familiar excitement stir within her. The thought of their coming tryst helped to make endurable the tedium of the prayer session, led by Sister Annunciata, a Syrian ascetic to whom fasting, prayer, and mortification of the flesh were disciplines to be embraced eagerly, and whenever possible enforced on others. At last the interminable litany of invocations and responses came to an end, and the troop of chosen maidens, eyes modestly downcast, filed out of the building, which was richly decorated with mosaics, and tapestries they themselves had embroidered. They were preceded by Pulcheria, sister of the recently dead Theodosius and now consort of the new Emperor, Marcian, accompanied by her sisters Arcadia and Marina. The chapel formed part of the monastery into which Pulcheria had converted the Hebdomon, the second of Constantinople's three imperial palaces. It was located near the Golden Gate, and from it all males, barring eunuchs, were rigorously excluded. The eunuchs were all imported, mainly from Persia, castration being illegal within the Roman Empire.

Devout and iron-willed, Pulcheria commanded awe and admiration as ‘the Orthodox One' among the populace. The semi-mystical veneration in which she was held owed much to her deliberate promotion of the cult of the Mother of God,
Theotokos
which, by analogy, transferred to the Augusta the virgin dignity of the unblemished Mary. Once, a bishop of Constantinople, Nestorius, had had the temerity to challenge her assumption of this role; he was silenced by an angry mob, then deposed.

Officially, the inmates of Pulcheria's convent had all been selected for their devoutness. Most were young women from good
families, who had displayed a religious vocation. With some, this had proved to be a passing youthful enthusiasm; once accepted into the community, however, it was far from easy to be granted a discharge. A few had been taken in at the request of parents who found the upbringing of a difficult daughter beyond them, and who hoped that immersion in a strict devotional way of life would succeed, where they had failed. In these cases, a generous financial ‘dowry' was an invariable condition of acceptance. The community therefore contained a small minority of desperate or rebellious members. It was to this category that Honoria, during her fourteen years' confinement in the palace, had always belonged.

The women entered a large colonnaded courtyard opening off the chapel. Here, for the next two hours, before partaking of a meagre midday
prandium
in common, they were free to meditate, peruse devotional texts, pray, or embroider hangings and altar-cloths. Conversation was frowned on, as constituting a frivolous distraction from more serious – that is, holy – matters.

‘The eighth hour,' whispered Honoria, briefly brushing against Priscilla as they emerged into the courtyard. Neither woman witnessed the look of jealous hate on the face of Ariadne, Honoria's prior but now discarded lover, who, walking just behind them, had overheard the remark.

Pacing up and down as though deep in religious contemplation, Honoria reviewed her present circumstances with fury and frustration. Brought up in the Western capital, Ravenna, while still a child she had been raised by her mother Placidia to the title of Augusta, an appellation normally reserved for the consort of the Emperor. This conferred a status somewhere between high priestess and national figurehead, effectively debarring the holder from marriage. This had put Honoria beyond the reach of ambitious schemers, marriage to whom, it was felt, might form a danger to the state. Absolutely no thought had been given to her feelings, she fumed inwardly. Her mother and the government, for reasons of political convenience, had made her into a non-person. Honoria felt the injustice especially keenly as, with the onset of puberty, she began to develop strong sexual appetites – now denied any legitimate gratification.

Partly to spite her mother and the bloodless men of the Consistory who had condemned her to the life of a latter-day Vestal Virgin, partly to gratify her raging desires, at the age of
sixteen Honoria began an affair with her chamberlain, Eugenius. The resulting pregnancy could have been hushed up and the world none the wiser; instead an outraged Placidia publicized the royal family's disgrace by exiling her daughter to Constantinople, after a period of severe confinement. Subjection to a life of strict religious observance would, it was believed, constitute both a salutary punishment and a corrective discipline. Chafing against the restrictions imposed by Pulcheria's monastic community (whose aspirations she totally rejected), and barred from finding an outlet for her passions through marriage, Honoria embarked on a series of clandestine Sapphic liaisons with some of the community's freer spirits. The latest was with Priscilla, who had recently displaced Ariadne in Honoria's affections. Ariadne, however, had not accepted her dismissal meekly, confronting Honoria in tearful rages in which she declared her undying love for the one-time Augusta, whom she accused of betrayal. To all of which, Honoria, infatuated with the comely Priscilla, responded with indifference, and in the end exasperated impatience.