The room was one of the smallest in the palace, but it had a pleasant view of the lateral gardens and a generous flow of fresh sea breeze constantly invigorating the air. The columns decorating the corners were of exquisite Phrygian marble, as were the floors, while on the sides of the vaulted ceiling small ornate mosaics of a hunting scene glistened with the rays of the morning sun.
A beautiful spectacle indeed.
The gaze of the captain of the excubitors, Priscus, son-in-law of the Emperor Phocas, switched from the mosaics back to the Comes Orientis Bonosus’ reddening face, full of impotent anger. The scolding he had just endured had been humiliating indeed. In front of him was the Emperor himself who had just concluded his newest rant , flanked on one side by the praetorian prefect, Theodorus, who seemed to be studying the situation calmly, and on the other by Alexander, the new head of the Imperial scholai, who could not hide his delight at what had just happened. Surrounding Priscus were also the elder Domentziolus, and Comentiolus, both brothers of Phocas.
“Did We make Ourselves clear, Comes?” asked Phocas.
“Yes, Kyrie. But … but you must comprehend that the morale of the troops …” Bonosus started. He would not finish.
“You don’t talk to Us about the morale of the troops. We are the morale of the troops. Have We not done enough to repay the Illyrian armies for their efforts? Did we not come Ourselves from the armies which had been abandoned by Maurice?” Phocas’ words cut through the general’s sentence like a sharp sword, silencing him. Bonosus lowered his head.
A small gush a scented fresh air came in from the gardens through the open doors in the chamber’s balcony, dancing with the curtains as it did so. Priscus knew that John Mystacon had had just some communication with Narses, and he did not know how serious it was; but the extrajudicial manner in which his execution had been carried out had unnerved many of the leading generals. Alexander’s men had just showed up in the middle of the night. One thing was to remove Maurice, whose avarice endangered the men; a different thing was to leave them altogether leaderless and vulnerable.
“Very well then, we have also the matters of the eastern front. The Persian advance in Armenia has slowed, but there are some factors that have been brought to Our attention that We would like everyone to consider. Magistros Alexander…” the Emperor announced as he signaled with his hand for the officer to continue.
“It is matter of common knowledge that sin is the cause of worldly misfortune. Some of the greatest sins that we Romans are committing at the present time, to the immense disgust of the Almighty, are to tolerate the Monophysite heresy and continuous existence of Judaism” Alexander began, as he took a few steps ahead.
“The justice of the Emperor’s cause was demonstrated by God’s willingness to grant him The City and the Empire, but the Devil working in his insidious ways, has made use of his underling Theodosius to harass the Roman people from the west, in order to distract the attention of the faithful. However, to the East lays a greater problem, and the root cause of our inability to dislodge the Persians. Divine favor has been withheld from the Romans because of our toleration of Judaism. We have proof that Jews of Syria and Palestine are conspiring with the enemy to deliver the entire east to Chosroes, under the promise that he will allow them to create their own client kingdom, right where Our Lord Christ lived and preached.” Alexander had by now leaned forward while standing in the same spot; a posture reminiscent of a pedagogos lecturing his students.
The whole room was silent. Alexander’s words bounced in Priscus’ head like a boulder hitting city walls.
Who would ever ask him for his opinion? He was but a mere Doryphoros less than two years ago…
“In order to secure God’s favor for this most Christian Empire once again, we must deal with the deniers of Christ. They must be converted and baptized; then not only will their souls be saved, but as Christians they will be more loyally tied to the empire and its God-protected Capital. Those who resist are beyond redemption and must be disposed of as enemies of the state” the magistros concluded.
“Bonosus; you will detach a thema of your men, to reinforce the troops that magistros Alexander will mobilize into Syria in order to secure the success of this plan” ordered Phocas. The comes only nodded silently still looking down.
“Kyrie, is it prudent to dedicate efforts to deal with the Jews at this time, in spite of the Persian threat?” questioned Comentiolus, Phocas’ own younger brother, who had been placed in charge of the Danubian forces.
“We are facing the Persian threat because of Jewish insidiousness!” Phocas thundered, as he slammed his left fist on his open right palm. “The magistros has offered a solution, which We are sure Christ Himself would approve of. Now let’s not waste any more time on this. Domentziolus; how are the new ships coming along?” Alexander took a step back again, while Phocas’ brother, the new “commander of the Imperial Navy” stepped forward.
“Work has stalled for the most part Kyrie. The greater part of the workers and even the sailors has been drafted to reinforce the Eastern armies. But we think we could field about fifty new dromons by the end of fall…” answered Domentziolus, as his right hand curled up in a nervous fist. “We still have not fully recovered from the losses … in the Adriatic…but if Your Lordship allows we could reinforce the new fleet with units from the Aegean … and attempt a move on Italy again…”
The ineptitude was too much for Priscus. “Why not take the whole Home Navy and seize Sicily then, splitting Theodosius’ lands in two?” he interrupted sarcastically.
Domentzilus, looked at him briefly, moved his arms behind him, holding both hands together as he seemed noticeable more relaxed. “Sicily…hhhmmm…” he continued thoughtfully.
“I was only joking magistros. We cannot leave The City defenseless….”
“Enough” Phocas commanded. “Domentziolus, continue the work at the piers and I will see if any additional men can be transferred back to the docks. All of you have your orders.”
All of those present turned to leave, as they had been already standing up, when the Emperor called him back; “Priscus, please stay.” Alexander turned to give him a rather malicious look as he departed.
Crazy bastard, Priscus thought to himself. Bonosus continued to walk with his eyes down as he left the room.
He felt a chill run down his spine. He had begun to realize how precarious everyone’s position and indeed their lives had become. The patrician Germanus, father-in-law of Theodosius, had initially been allowed to retire to a monastery; but had then been dragged out and executed after the naval fiasco. The first general that had been sent against Narses, also a Germanus, had been lucky to die at the front, since Leontius the second general, who had managed to return, but defeated, was whipped and thrown into prison. Narses himself had been promised immunity as a Persian delegate, but had been seized and burned at the stake. Along with John Mystacon, several other prominent figures who still had any ties to the old regime had been “disposed of,” as Alexander used to say. Empress Constantina and her daughters until now seemed be in God’s good grace, since they had not been disturbed from the time when they entered the convent adjoined to the church of the Theotokos Panagiotissa. And Priscus had not done badly at all for himself.
Son-in-law of the Emperor… but for how long …The memories of the scenes at the Hippodrome from the previous months, when his own life had been at risk, replayed in his head.
“Yes Kyrie.”
“I had actually considered the Sicilian campaign myself; I know that if we succeed and with God willing, we can follow on Belisarius’ steps…” Phocas affirmed grinning slightly, walking up to him.
“Kyrie, as I previously said, it was just a joke. To carry out such an operation we would need a larger fleet, just to transfer troops from the Danube, which in its turn would expose us to the Avars…”
“God works in mysterious ways my son…the Avars didn’t allow us to reach Italy by land but they have not followed up on their victory. The payments seem to be keeping them content” the Emperor continued as he put an arm over the excubitor’s shoulder. They began to walk over to the balcony.
“With all due respect Kyrie, the moment that the Avars notice the reduction in troops they will start to mobilize, and not just them but the Sklavenoi. Should they attack we will be in no position to respond, and should anything happen to the fleet, the troops will be stuck in Sicily, where even in spite of a victory, they will be unable to continue onto neither Africa nor Italy” Priscus answered, staring at Phocas dead in the eyes. “And the Persians…”
“And the Persians seemed to be stuck in Armenia” the Emperor concluded the sentence for him, as he removed his arm from him. “And should we be stuck in Sicily I can always increase the subsidies and surely the Avars will deliver in Italy what the Franks could not. God will not abandon us. God cannot abandon us.”
You can’t be serious. The North will collapse. The Persians are now regrouping for a deeper thrust into Armenia. We are going to have the Jews at our backs. And here we are talking about opening an active third front. “God is indeed mysterious Kyrie. I think that he has certainly inspired you” Priscus smiled, as he directed his gaze out of the window, towards the sea beyond the walls. At a distance he could discern the fishing boats, which dotted the Marmara.
Perhaps He has inspired me now as well.
