The stench of burning flesh still permeated the area. Some of the courtiers quietly continued to stare in disbelief. The Empress smacked her red lips in disgust. “Are we done here?” she asked, yawning, her golden robes fluttering as she reached to cover her mouth. Down in the arena under the gaze of the Emperor’s bronze statue, the charred corpse was still smoldering, tied to the black stake behind it. She was right.
Good God this is such a bore.
“He is not going anywhere. Let’s go.” Phocas got up from the throne at the imperial box, and began to lead the parade back to the great palace. The crowd that had assembled there began to disperse, as far as they were concerned they had come to watch one more spectacle at the Hippodrome, but with many less cheers than usual, mostly of all them coming from members of the Blue deme. Nonetheless, burning Narses [1] at the stake had been necessary, Phocas was Emperor now. No need to be loyal to a dead man.
Or a child.
The situation was beginning to worry him. His general Germanus [2] was dead, and Narses had had the nerve to come to Constantinople on behalf of the Persians, and purportedly of Theodosius, after betraying him.
Betraying me, the one Augustus. King Chosroes had initiated an offensive to avenge his “friend and father Maurice” and soon after, thanks to Narses’ defection, Edessa had been turned over to the Persians and Mesopotamia had been overrun, with only some strongholds, like Dara, resisting. Now Armenia, the Anatolian provinces, and Syria were threatened. The fact that half his armies were along the Danube did not help either. Africa had rebelled against him, and then Italy. Even the footholds leftover in Spania had followed suit. Theodosius’ forces had soon landed and taken Dyrrachium earlier in the year, against all of his own advisors’ predictions, but had been annihilated shortly after when Phocas’ veteran army arrived from Illyricum. It was a bluff that had paid off; the Avars did not make a move, while they very well could have. And Nicetas’ head, or rather skull now, still adorned the Forum of Constantine. Nevertheless, when he tried to take the initiative his luck had proven just as good as the rebels’. His hastily assembled navy was shattered by a sudden storm along the way and then defeated by the African fleet when trying to cross the Adriatic; then a small army sent overland towards Italy was wiped out by the Avars, who were also getting restless, in spite of the subsidies he had given them. Furthermore, the Lombards had begun to negotiate with the “child:” Lombard troops had been with Theodosius’ men at Dyrrachium.
Christe eleison! he thought.
Maurice had been a terrible ruler. He never understood the men, he just could not have. Asking them to winter in the middle of nowhere?
His tightfistedness served him right in the end. But why would there be anyone still loyal to his house then? Hadn’t his easy downfall been proof enough of his illegitimacy? Of God’s displeasure? Phocas knew that he had now set things right; after all of the back pay and gratuities he had handed out to the armies; there could be no doubt of their loyalty to him. Having arrived at the palace, traversing the passageway which linked it to the Hippodrome, his thoughts were broken up. “Kyrie, the ambassador awaits” the bowing guard by the Palace gate informed him. Phocas looked at him briefly, while he was still down.
Dirty peasant. That could have been him however.
That was me, a year ago. He had barely had any time to ponder on his personal success with the war and all.
Now an Emperor. Another guard pushed open the golden twin doors.
But now he thought he had finally an opportunity to secure the throne and wipe out Maurice’s memory forever.
To deal with the child and even his damned Langobardi. Or at least distract Theodosius long enough to stabilize the east.
When war fails, there is always diplomacy. “Ave Caesar!” saluted the excubitors in Latin as Phocas entered the audience room, walking past the porphyry pillars on his way to the twin throne, his wife Leontia following closely behind. “Let the Frank in” he ordered as he sat down.
The doors were opened and in came a blonde man with rather long hair tied on the back; long mustaches, seemingly intent on trying to compete with his hair in length, clung around his upper lip. The bluish tunic he sported seemed altogether too small for him; obviously a rash purchase once he arrived at The City. Perhaps he had deemed his original garments inappropriate for the occasion.
“Hail Emperor!” saluted the Frankish ambassador in heavily accented Greek, bowing down. “My lord Theuderic [3] send his greetings.”
“May God bless your king, Our vassal” answered Phocas.
The Frank lost no time. “My lord know of the issues the Emperor have in Italy and he want to be of assistance to the Empire. In exchange for small tribute, token of gratitude, as it be…the King know he be needed…” he proposed as he straightened back up.
“How dare you dirty animal! We’ll have you flogged and send your head to your king stuffed with our reply. We do not need his meager help, nor his blackmails!” The Emperor had jumped to his feet before he even noticed it, bellowing all those words. The scar on his face, turned a slight purple, and the color in his reddening face seemed to compete with his red hair and beard. The pendilia hanging from the crown continued to sway, back and forth. Softly his wife tapped his hand. He glanced at her. Her hazel eyes pierced his. She nodded gently.
I know. The Frankish ambassador continued to observe him, anxiously.
He sat back down. “Nonetheless We are graceful, and We would gladly concede Our blessing on Frankish efforts to bring Italy and the West back to a state of rightful obedience. Loyalty always has its rewards.”
The Frank’s face lit up. “Indeed mighty lord. And the Franks be the Empire’s very loyal allies.”
“We shall seal our bargain with ten thousand solidi. Tell Theuderic that thirty thousand more will come once he begins operations and 150,000 when he sends Us Theodosius’ head. Be gone.” Phocas stood up to leave.
“Your will b...be...be done Emperor we will advance with the onset of spring and the clearing of the Alpine passes” stuttered the Frank, stupefied, as he took a few steps back.
Phocas left the audience room, the Empress next to him, and both followed by a small detachment of excubitors
. These savages should stick to their tongue and seek out Roman translators. “Now that Narses has been disposed of, you should have Alexander deal with the rest of them” Leontia suggested, interrupting his thoughts once again. He assented, nodding silently.
Alexander, yes. And nevertheless the Franks might prove useful. Hopefully enough savages could be mustered to quell Theodosius’ little revolt and allow him to refocus on the east.
The East, damn!
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[1] Commander of the Mesopotamian armies. IOTL he led a rebellion against Phocas, from the city of Edessa, which was supported by Khosrau II; after defeating troops sent against him, he was lured by treachery back to Constantinople, where he was burned alive. In this TL he does likewise.
[2] The general whom Phocas designated to fight Narses; he was defeated in a battle near Constantina (modern Viranşehir) and died a few days later from his wounds.
[3] Theuderic II, king of the Burgundy (595-613) and of Austrasia (612-613.)