Raptor (155 page)

“What? Send the haughty Bishop of Rome to abase himself before the Bishop of Constantinople? Send the man who styles himself sovereign pontiff to plead on behalf of
heretics?
Why, if John has even a splinter of manly backbone and the least adherence to his professed beliefs, he will suffer martyrdom rather than do that.”

Theodoric said again, and grimly, “Whichever he chooses. I imagine Papa John will remember, since he colluded in it, how gruesomely Boethius died. Any number of eyeballs—John’s and his patriarch successors’—can be extruded, if necessary, until I get a sovereign pontiff who will do what I want done.”

“It required no eyeballs, and only the one pontiff,” I told Livia. “Papa John may not have gone joyously or even willingly, but he went. Theodoric may sometimes act irrationally, but he was lucid enough to realize that patriarch bishops, like lesser men, prefer living in this world rather than risking the next one. And not only did John go to Constantinople; he did what the king sent him to do. May I have some more wine?”

I was tired, dusty and parched, having just then arrived back in Rome. While the servant girl poured, Livia said:

“The patriarch bishop actually asked not to have the Arian churches here given to the Catholics? Why, they would have been
his.
He was declining a veritable windfall.”

“That is what Theodoric demanded of him. So that is what John asked. And that is what he got. He brought back to Ravenna another document signed by Justin and Ibas. It amends the earlier decree. The confiscation will be done only within the bounds of the Eastern Empire. By the emperor’s kind dispensation, all the Arian properties in the Gothic Kingdom will be exempted.”

“It is almost unbelievable—that Bishop John would agree to go on such an embassy—still less that he would succeed. But you do not seem very happy about it.”

“Neither is John. Almost immediately upon his return to Ravenna, Theodoric had him seized and imprisoned.”

“What?
Why?
Since he did exactly as the king asked…”

“Livia, you just now called it unbelievable. The king finds it so too. He is enduring another of his spells of dark suspicion. The document of exemption is genuine enough; the Arian churches are safe enough. But Theodoric suspects that Papa John must have traded something to get that parchment. Perhaps a promise that the Church of Rome and all its faithful will aid the Eastern Empire if and when a war breaks out. John, of course, swears on the Bible that he did nothing seditious. Theodoric thinks that putting him for a while in Boethius’s old cell in Ticinum might jog his recollection.”

“And what do you think?”

“Iésus.” I shrugged. “I thought the king was out of his senses when he sent the bishop on that mission. I think he is out of his senses now, but I could be wrong again. Anyway, I should be the last to trust the word of any churchman. Or of Justin, Justinian and Theodora. An ignorant, feeble simulacrum of an emperor. A reformed whore. And Justinian, who will be the next emperor, never eats meat or drinks wine. Would
you
trust such a man?”

“But still… for Theodoric to imprison the Patriarch Bishop of Rome! John may be less high and mighty than he thinks he is, but countless thousands regard him as their sanctified Papa. Those countless thousands of Theodoric’s subjects will be furious when they hear what he has done.”

“I know… I know…” I sighed. “That is why I am back in Rome. I came to seek advice from wiser heads than mine. I stopped here only to rest a bit after the long ride—and to rest my aching head on your soft shoulder, so to speak.” I stood up and brushed at my dusty tunic. “I shall go now and find old Senator Symmachus. He, if anyone, will be able to suggest some way to placate—”

Livia shook her head. “You will not find Symmachus.”

“Oh vái. Not in Rome?”

“Not on earth. A few days ago, his steward came upon his dead body. In his front garden, near that ugly little Bacchus statue of his. The guard here at my door told me about it.”

I groaned in dismay. Livia added, “The guards also have no one else to talk to, so sometimes we talk, they and I.”

I said, though I disbelieved it even as I said it, “I presume Symmachus died of old age.”

“No. Of many stab wounds.” She paused, then said, “On Theodoric’s orders, the gossip has it.”

Which was what I had feared, but I tried to dispute it—as if convincing Livia could change anything. “Theodoric and that noble old man had the highest regard for one another.”

“They did. Until Theodoric let Boethius be slain.” She did not have to remind me that Symmachus had raised and taught and loved Boethius like a real son. “All these months now, the old man had been making bitter lament. Rumor says he
could
have raised an insurrection.”

“So Theodoric simply removed him,” I muttered. “Eheu! True or not, it is calamitous. I worried that Theodoric had outraged only the Catholic Christians here and everywhere else in the world. This will have alienated the Senate, the first families, the plebecula. Even his own most loyal Goths will feel their heads insecure on their necks.” I went wearily to the door. “I must go and hear what the commonfolk are saying. I will be back, Livia. I shall probably have need of your soft shoulder again.”

“Talk?!” exclaimed Ewig. “Of course there is talk, Saio Thorn, and of little else. The universal opinion is that King Theodoric has gone incurably insane. Surely you must have realized that every least manifestation of his madness would be instantly reported throughout the land. The peasants, especially, have means of communication far swifter than courier horses and dromo boats. Why, I could tell you this minute anything that happened in the Ravenna palace yesterday.”

I asked apprehensively, “Did anything happen?”

“The king was served a fine broiled Padus fish for his nahtamats last evening, and—”

“Liufs Guth! The gossips report even his
diet?
What earthly interest—?”

“Wait, wait. The king recoiled from the platter in wild-eyed horror. He saw there not a cooked fish’s head, but the face of a dead man. The face of his old friend and counselor, Symmachus, glaring at him with reproach and accusation. Theodoric fled screaming from the dining room, they say.”

“They say. Are the sayers believed?”

“I regret to tell you, they are.” Ewig sniffled sadly. “Saio Thorn, our beloved king and comrade is no longer being called ‘the Great.’ Not Theodoric Magnus but Madidus, the raving drunk.”

“Surely not on the basis of
fish stories.”

“Surely not. Evidence abounds. This very noontime came galloping a messenger from the king, and a new royal decree has been published. Have you been yet to the Forum, Saio Thorn?”

“Not yet. I knew you would have more dependable information than any senator or—”

“You remember how you and I used to go together to the Concordia temple, so you could peruse the
Diurnal.
Well, I still cannot read, but the new decree is posted there. People are crowding in from all over the city to read it, and getting angrier as they do so. I expect I will soon hear what bad news it—”

“We cannot wait.” I seized his sleeve. “Come!”

Ewig, being somewhat younger than myself and a great deal fatter, served as a battering ram to make a way for me through the throng about the temple. Those people were muttering and growling—not at our rude elbowing, but in amazement or consternation or perplexity at what they read of the
Diurnal.
The announcement to the public comprised many sheets of papyrus, of course, having been composed by the wordy Cassiodorus, but I was able from experience to scan through the dross and pick out the significant phrases. I nudged Ewig and he turned to shove a way for us to get out of the crowd again.

When we stood, somewhat disheveled, in a clear space on the Forum pavement, I said firmly, “This cannot go on, Ewig. Our king and comrade must be saved from himself. Theodoric must be now and always known as ‘the Great.’ “

“Only command me, Saio Thorn.”

“There is nothing to be done here. I must go back to Ravenna, to Theodoric’s side. And I shall not be returning to Rome, but there may later be some few things…”

“Only command me, Saio Thorn. Send a message and I will comply. If you can somehow preserve our king’s good name, you will have the gratitude of every man who ever loved him.”

To Livia too I said, “This cannot go on. Theodoric must be saved from himself. The Diurnal announces that Patriarch Bishop John has died in that Ticinum prison. Whether the wretch died naturally or in the manner of Boethius, I cannot know. But I
can
deduce that he died without confessing anything to ease the king’s mad suspicions, because his death has clearly enraged Theodoric. The king has committed the worst folly yet. He has issued a decree exactly as abominable as the one Justin tried to impose. There it is on the Concordia temple for all to read. Every
Catholic
Christian church in the kingdom is to be confiscated, made into an Arian church, and all Catholic worship is henceforth forbidden.”

I downed my goblet of wine in one gulp. Livia said nothing, but her gaze was somber.

“Theodoric might as well have posted a suicide note of farewell,” I went on, through gritted teeth. “If this does not provoke a nationwide uprising against his rule, or a kingdom-shattering civil war, Arian against Catholic, Theodoric is most certainly baring his throat for it to be slashed from behind.”

“From behind?”

“From abroad. Right now, Lentinus’s fleets are waiting the king’s word to sail off to attack the Vandals. That war is justified—Theodoric’s sister is still a captive of King Hilderic—and that war might be winnable under ordinary circumstances. But we will be committing all our forces there on the southern side of the Mediterranean. Meanwhile, in the east are Justin’s Orthodox Christians, in the north are Clovis’s Catholic Christians, all of them inimical and soon to be irate when they learn of this latest lunacy. The moment we assail the Vandals, their fellow Catholics, what would
you
expect those other nations to do?”

Livia beckoned for more wine to be brought, and said, “I know your name Veleda means an unveiler, a far-seer. So you foresee either devastating foreign war or civil war. Do you suppose you are the only one who does?”

“Of course not. But since the demise of Symmachus and Boethius, who is there to talk sense to Theodoric? His chief remaining counselors are his comes of finances and his master of the offices, Cassiodorus Pater and Filius. The elder knows only numbers and solidi and librae. He will be happy enough keeping count of the arrows expended in any war. The younger Cassiodorus knows nothing but words. A war would give him ample opportunity to blather to his heart’s content. Theodoric’s only other intimates are his generals. They would go cheerfully off to any war in any cause. Who else is there but me?”

“So. You will go to Ravenna. You will hope to find the king lucid. You will tell him—forcefully—what you have just been telling me. You will try to persuade him to recall the decree before it is imposed, and to withhold the fleet before it sails. And if you succeed in convincing him—what then?”

“Iésus, Livia.
That
much is likely too much to hope for. Even if he is lucid enough to recognize me and call me by my name and listen to me, he may fly into a fury and send
me
off to prison. What do you mean: what then?”

“Supposing the Gothic Kingdom survives this period of crisis, is not Theodoric likely to cause another? And if the kingdom survives them all, and outlasts Theodoric himself, what happens when he is gone? That cannot be long now. You have told me there is no one fit to succeed him.”

“Yes.” Then I was silent for a long time, brooding into my wine. Finally I said, “Well, perhaps one of those successors will astound the world by turning out to be worthy, after all. Or perhaps some totally new and better claimant will step forward when the time comes. Or perhaps the Gothic Kingdom
is
doomed. If not today, tomorrow. If not by Theodoric, by his heirs. You are right, my dear. If that is what Fortune ordains, I cannot save the kingdom from ruin. But I can save Theodoric’s having to see it. Livia, how would you like to be free?”

She blinked once, in surprise, but then gave me a long and level look, reminding me how luminous and beautiful her blue eyes still were, though her facial beauty had faded. Sounding half amused, half wary, she asked:

“Free to do what?”

“To go away with me. Tomorrow. I have here in Rome an honest Ostrogoth friend who will arrange the sale of my house and slaves and possessions, or will send along anything I may care to keep. He could do the same for you. Would you wish to come?”

“To where? Ravenna?”

“Ravenna first. Then, if I am not summarily slain during my audience with Theodoric, I thought we might go on to Haustaths, where we first met. It should be lovely now in high summer. And I am curious to see if the names I carved in the ice river have moved from where we last saw them.”

Livia laughed, but kindly. “We are rather old and rickety now, my dear, to go cavorting about an eisflodus on the heights of the Roofstone.”

“Perhaps the names will have come downhill to meet us. Truly, Livia, I have long yearned to visit again the Place of Echoes. The more I think about it, the more fondly I remember it, and the more I believe that I might stay there the rest of my days. I think, also, that I should like to have your soft shoulder beside me always. And you? What would you say to that?”

“Who is asking? Thorn or Veleda?”

“Saio Thorn, with full marshal’s escort, will accompany you and your maidservant as far as Ravenna. Then, when I have done what I hope to do there, Thorn will disappear. It will be Veleda, with no escorting troop, who accompanies you the rest of the way to the Place of Echoes. Thereafter… you and I… well…” I held out my arms to her. “We are old and we are friends. We shall be old friends.”

The next-to-last thing that Theodoric ever said to me was, in melancholy tones, “Think back, old Thorn. Whenever we set out to destroy, we succeeded beyond measure. Whenever we sought to build and preserve and glorify, we failed utterly.”