Chapter III: Heraclius
April, 692, Constantinople
The cheers of the crowd were deafening. It seemed as if the whole of Constantinople had followed the triumph from the Golden Gate [1], wishing to see the grand spectacle of their victory. And what a grand spectacle had his brother organized. At the front, even though Justinian was on campaign, still rode a pale white horse, whose rider held aloft an icon of the Virgin Mary and an infant Jesus. Behind the icon he rode, clad in a golden breastplate and holding a golden lance aloft. Following him was the city guard, in lieu of the actual army still on campaign. Further, behind them, were the prisoners sent by his brother, tied under yokes and pelted with trash and stones.
Heraclius wished the crowd would be finished. Though he may have been at the center of the triumph, he was only a proxy for his brother, and second to a waving piece of cloth. Even as the precession came to an end and they flowed into the hippodrome, the citizens kept screaming and shouting. The stands were filled to the brim, to the point where many citizens had to be forcefully turned away at the gates to prevent a stampede or collapse of the bleachers. Even as he dismounted and walked towards the podium, their cheers were still ever present and his eardrums felt as if they would burst. As he stepped onto the podium, flanked by a host of Excubitors and a group of Arab prisoners, the crowd grew silent.
Heraclius took the center of the podium, the Hippodrome silent and still. He held for a few seconds, enjoying the peaceful silence of the anticipating crowd, but eventually started the ceremony and signed the cross.
“One Holy God!” Heraclius cried out.
“One Holy God!” The entire stadium shouted.
Heraclius turned his head, gazing at the kathisma [2] where the pregnant Eudokia and both Anastasia the Elder and Younger [3] were seated. “Today we are gathered in the name of victory!” he shouted. “We stand triumphant over the Saracens once more! With the glory and help of God we have crushed them and driven them from our lands!”
The crowd burst into wild cheers, and Heraclius was forced to raise his hand and silence them. “My brother has continued the fight of our father, the New Constantine [4], and has done so successfully! The once innumerable tide of Arab raiders has been weathered, and in its place Rome still stands! Her people still stand! The One True Faith still stands! Our sins have been cleansed and forgiven by God, and now we may destroy that which He has used to punish us!”
Once again, thunderous applause and cheers filled the crowd, with even the soldiery banging their spears against their shields. Heraclius let their excitement continue on for a minute, before it died down naturally. “Lands which have been lost to us have been retaken! People cut from their nation and their church returned to the fold! We stand triumphant and so does God!” He took one of the prisoners kneeling in front of him by the hair. “Here sits their commander! The once mighty Mouameth, and the brother to the Chief of the Arabs, and the leader of their unholy army! Now he kneels here, defeated by the armies of Rome and of Justinian, discarded by his iron god [5]! As such he shall be punished! Punished for his crimes against God, against his church, and against his people! Him and his generals shall face justice for their actions!”
As the hippodrome once again burst out in joy, Heraclius made no attempt to stop them. Instead he simply continued to hold Mouameth’s head high, as an excubitor on his flank approached. The man drew his knife, and for a second Heraclius thought he saw Mouameth’s lips move, likely in some of prayer. Despite it, his god did not deliver him, and the Excubitor cut his nose clean off. Blood sprayed from the wound, dyeing his long beard red with its color. The once general was weeping, crying tears of pain and sadness. Heraclius released his grip on the man's hair, and backed off, watching as the Excubitors along the platform continued to do the same to each of the lieutenants. He was sure each one of them said something before their noses were clipped, but he couldn’t hear it over the plebeian screaming and shouting.
Heraclius stretched out his hand to the Excubitor in front of him gesturing towards his sword. The guard unsheathed his sword and placed it in his palms, kneeling before Heraclius. Upon that the whole of the hippodrome went silent with anticipation. Heraclius took the sword by the handle and raised it into the sky. “Our Father in Heaven! We thank you for delivering us victory against our enemy and giving them unto us. May you please grant unto us victory until they are vanquished!”
Once again the plebs cheered, but he didn’t pay attention. Only grasping the sword in his hand and readying his arm. He swung and cleaved the head of Mouameth off of his body, watching it bounce and roll off the podium and into the sand of the hippodrome. The crowd seemed to have join Mouameth in that moment, losing their own heads and cheering at a pitch that pained his ears. All but one of the prisoners were decapitated, the last man having his ears clipped as well and being dragged off of the podium, kicking and crying. Heraclius too followed, him and the Excubitors leaving the hippodrome to make way for the chariot matches to be held.
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[1] The southern most gate of Constantinople, where the triumphal precession would enter through
[2] The box in the Hippodrome of Constantinople where the Emperor and his family would sit
[3] In reference to both Anastasia the Elder (wife of Constantine IV) and Anastasia the Younger (daughter of Justinian II)
[4] The name by which Constantine IV was referred to by his contemporaries.
[5] The Byzantines commonly believed that the Islamic God was made of iron, due to a misinterpretation of a Quranic verse where God is described with "hands of iron"
