"He commanded them to rebuild the Temple." ~ Julian the Apostate's spectacular failure to reconstruct the Temple in Jerusalem in AD 363

"For I am rebuilding with all zeal the temple of the Most High God." –Julian the Apostate
as preserved in De Mensibus written by John Lydus, 6th century AD

Like clockwork, whenever there's a military conflict in the Middle East, articles begin popping up regarding the rebuilding of the Third Jewish Temple in Jerusalem. Some claim that construction is already secretly underway. Others maintain that the Temple can not be rebuilt except by the Messiah. The topic even came up at a White House press briefing last October when a reporter asked Press Secretary Karoline Leavitt if the topic of rebuilding the Temple had been brought up in Trump cabinet meetings.

"It has not," Ms. Leavitt replied. "No it hasn't"

Given that the Temple Mount is currently occupied by the Al-Aqsa mosque, building the Third Temple would entail destroying the third holiest site in Islam. So for the foreseeable future, it seems that no serious attempt can be made. And honestly, it's better that way.

The Second Temple was destroyed by the Romans in AD 70 at the climax of the Jewish Revolt. Christ Himself predicted the Temple's annihilation some 40 years before the fact as recorded in the Gospel of Saint Matthew 24:1-2:

And Jesus being come out of the temple, went away. And His disciples came to show Him the buildings of the temple.  And He answering, said to them: "Do you see all these things? Amen I say to you there shall not be left here a stone upon a stone that shall not be destroyed."

The looting and razing of the Second Temple by Roman soldiers after the capture of Jerusalem is memorialized on the Arch of Titus in Rome.

Roman relief showing the looting of the Second Temple in Jerusalem by the soldiers of Titus.

The subsequent Bar Kokhba rebellion, which ended in AD 136, resulted in the defeat of the Jews by the Romans and their expulsion from Judea.

Between then and the present day, only one serious attempt was made to reconstruct the Jewish Temple on the Temple Mount. That effort was spearheaded by the Roman emperor Julian the Apostate in the early 360s AD. According to the 5th century historian Hermias Sozomen, whose Ecclesiastical History is well worth reading in its entirety, Julian showed favor to the Jewish people, but this was not inspired by any particular love for them. Instead, his goodwill toward the Jews was motivated by a desire to provoke his former co-religionists:

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Though the emperor hated and oppressed the Christians, he manifested benevolence and humanity towards the Jews. He wrote to the Jewish patriarchs and leaders, as well as to the people, requesting them to pray for him, and for the prosperity of the empire. In taking this step he was not actuated, I am convinced, by any respect for their religion; for he was aware that it is, so to speak, the mother of the Christian religion, and he knew that both religions rest upon the authority of the patriarchs and the prophets; but he thought to grieve the Christians by favoring the Jews, who are their most inveterate enemies. [Ecclesiastical History of Sozomen, Book V, Chapter 22]

Sozomen offers the following rationale for why Julian allowed and encouraged the Jews to rebuild the temple:

[Julian] sent for some of the chiefs of the race and exhorted them to return to the observance of the laws of Moses and the customs of their fathers. On their replying that because the temple in Jerusalem was overturned, it was neither lawful nor ancestral to do this in another place than the metropolis out of which they had been cast, he gave them public money, commanded them to rebuild the temple, and to practice the cult similar to that of their ancestors, by sacrificing after the ancient way. [Ecclesiastical History of Sozomen, Book V, Chapter 22]

With the cautionary wisdom of hindsight, Sozomen explains how fully and joyfully the Jews—and even many pagans—took to the monumental, but ultimately futile, task:

The Jews entered upon the undertaking, without reflecting that, according to the prediction of the holy prophets, it could not be accomplished. They sought for the most skillful artisans, collected materials, cleared the ground, and entered so earnestly upon the task, that even the women carried heaps of earth, and brought their necklaces and other female ornaments towards defraying the expense. The emperor, the other pagans, and all the Jews, regarded every other undertaking as secondary in importance to this. Although the pagans were not well-disposed towards the Jews, yet they assisted them in this enterprise, because they reckoned upon its ultimate success, and hoped by this means to falsify the prophecies of Christ. Besides this motive, the Jews themselves were impelled by the consideration that the time had arrived for rebuilding their temple. [Ecclesiastical History of Sozomen, Book V, Chapter 22]

They had not long been at this work, however, when tragedy struck:

When they had removed the ruins of the former building, they dug up the ground and cleared away its foundation; it is said that on the following day when they were about to lay the first foundation, a great earthquake occurred, and by the violent agitation of the earth, stones were thrown up from the depths, by which those of the Jews who were engaged in the work were wounded, as likewise those who were merely looking on. The houses and public porticos, near the site of the temple, in which they had diverted themselves, were suddenly thrown down; many were caught thereby, some perished immediately, others were found half dead and mutilated of hands or legs, others were injured in other parts of the body. [Ecclesiastical History of Sozomen, Book V, Chapter 22]

This earthquake, which is well attested in literary sources of the period and via archaeological evidence, was very destructive, but it was not enough to discourage these eager builders from a task which was mandated not only by the emperor but, they felt, by God himself. Yet, their desire to resume the work met such a serious check that the builders found themselves unable to continue:

[I]nstead of regarding this unexpected earthquake as a manifest indication that God was opposed to the re-erection of their temple, [the Jews] proceeded to recommence the work. But all parties relate, that they had scarcely returned to the undertaking, when fire burst suddenly from the foundations of the temple, and consumed several of the workmen. This fact is fearlessly stated, and believed by all; the only discrepancy in the narrative is that some maintain that flame burst from the interior of the temple, as the workmen were striving to force an entrance, while others say that the fire proceeded directly from the earth. In whichever way the phenomenon might have occurred, it is equally wonderful. [Ecclesiastical History of Sozomen, Book V, Chapter 22]

This second disaster was enough to dampen the ardor of even the most enthusiastic of the re-builders. Beyond that, Sozomen claims that yet another miraculous occurrence connected to the Temple re-build led many to embrace the Christian religion: 

A more tangible and still more extraordinary prodigy ensued; suddenly the sign of the cross appeared spontaneously on the garments of the persons engaged in the undertaking. These crosses were disposed like stars, and appeared the work of art. Many were hence led to confess that Christ is God, and that the rebuilding of the temple was not pleasing to Him; others presented themselves in the church, were initiated, and besought Christ, with hymns and supplications, to pardon their transgression. [Ecclesiastical History of Sozomen, Book V, Chapter 22]

These events took place in AD 363, a few months before Julian himself was killed while on campaign in Persia. With the emperor's death, the Christian Jovian was elevated to the throne, thus ending the short-lived reconstruction effort on the Temple Mount.

It is easy to discard Sozomen's account as the fantastical tale of a later Christian. While it's true that Sozomen was not a contemporary of Julian, he was likely born within 20 to 30 years of Julian's demise, and was actively writing within the living memory of the events. It should also be remembered that Sozomen was a native of Bethelia, a town in Roman Palestine near Gaza, and it is clear from his writing about other historical episodes in and around Palestine that he was intimately familiar with the local lore. From his closing passage on this particular topic, Sozomen hints that he himself had spoken to those who witnessed the failed effort to resurrect the Jewish Temple:

If any one does not feel disposed to believe my narrative, let him go and be convinced by those who heard the facts I have related from the eyewitnesses of them, for they are still alive. Let him inquire, also, of the Jews and pagans who left the work in an incomplete state, or who, to speak more accurately, were able to commence it. [Ecclesiastical History of Sozomen, Book V, Chapter 22]

For any who may find the preceding story a tough one to swallow coming as it does from an unapologetic Christian source of great antiquity, perhaps consider that there are numerous other accounts of it, including one from the Roman History of Ammianus Marcellinus. Recall that Marcellinus was a pagan and furthermore, was a direct contemporary of Julian, even accompanying that emperor on his doomed campaign against the Persians. His short account of Julian's efforts regarding the Temple reads as follows:

[B]eing eager to extend the recollection of his reign by the greatness of his exploits, [Julian] proposed to rebuild at a vast expense the once magnificent temple of Jerusalem, which after many deadly contests was with difficulty taken by Vespasian and Titus, who succeeded his father in the conduct of the siege. And he assigned the task to Alypius of Antioch, who had formerly been proprefect of Britain. But though Alypius applied himself vigorously to the work, and though the governor of the province co-operated with him, fearful balls of fire burst forth with continual eruptions close to the foundations, burning several of the workmen and making the spot altogether inaccessible. And thus the very elements, as if by some fate, repelling the attempt, it was laid aside. [The Roman History of Ammianus Marcellinus, Book XXIII, Chapter 1]

This and the several similar accounts found in the works of St. Gregory Nazianzan, Socrates Scholasticus, St. John Chrysostom, and even oblique references in the extant fragments of Julian's own letters, make it abundantly clear that the Julian the Apostate did make an attempt to rebuild the Jerusalem Temple, and this this effort failed under mysterious—perhaps miraculous—circumstances.

For a deeper dive into the multitude of ancient sources which recorded this event, visit the Eternal Christendom site.

Here are links to several additional articles on Julian that have appeared on this blog. If nothing else, Julian is a fascinating historical figure. Though unlikely, it may be hoped that he repented on his deathbed.

• A passionate longing to acquire (and destroy) books ~ The cognitive dissonance of Julian the Apostate 
• The Sudden Collapse of Greco-Roman Paganism and Rise of Christianity during the 4th century AD ~ Some Stark Clues Courtesy of Julian the Apostate
• "A monarch more wicked than all the nations of the earth" ~ Julian the Apostate and the martyrdom of Saints Juventius and Maximus
• "He hated the entire city intensely" ~ St. Eupsychius and Julian the Apostate's reaction to the destruction of the Temple of Fortune in Caesarea in Cappadocia
• December 2 ~ Saint Bibiana, 4th century martyr during the reign of Julian the Apostate.
• "Martyrs Neither Ignoble Nor Few" ~ The death of Hypatia and mob violence against Christians during the reign of Julian the Apostate

Young Constantine as a Ward (or Hostage) at Diocletian's Court

Constantine slays a lion in this detail from a 17th century tapestry by Peter Paul Rubens.

As part of the series of tapestries by Peter Paul Rubens on the life of Constantine, we find a vignette from the early life of the first Christian Roman emperor showing him slaying a lion with an audience of Roman soldiers looking on.

This is an odd anecdote from the life of Constantine and one that is not commonly known. Was it based on an actual event? Or was it one of those medieval interpolations meant to enhance the reputation of a beloved hero from Christian antiquity? 

Let's take a look at the ancient sources.

We know from several different sources that before rising to the the imperial authority, Constantine the Great spent much of his early life as a guest/hostage at the imperial court of Diocletian at Nicomedia. This is because when founding the Tetrarchy, the senior Augusti, Diocletian and Maximian, sought to bind their most important underlings via family ties. Thus, once named as Praetorian Prefect of the West about AD 292, Constantine's father, Constantius Chlorus, would set aside his common law wife, Helena, and marry Maximian's step-daughter, Flavia Theodora. 

Not long after, Constantius Chlorus was elevated to the position of Caesar of the West under Maximimian. To further cement this bond, Constantius sent his beloved son via Helena—that is, Constantine—to Diocletian's court at Nicomedia. One of the anonymous Latin panegyricists of Constantine mentions that a mosaic in the imperial palace at Aquileia showed the moment of the promising young man's departure for the East where he is handed a plumed helmet by his future wife (and Maximian's daughter), Fausta. [See Barnes, Eusebius and Constantine, p. 9]

When he arrived in the East somewhere around AD 294 at the age of 21 or 22, Constantine had just attained the full flower of his youthful vigor. Here he would receive a classical education, though it is likely that he already possessed a solid foundation to build upon. His martial skills and prowess at arms were also not to be despised. Indeed, if the words of Constantine's biographers are to be believed, he was a young man of shining parts. Firmianus Lactantius, who very likely served as one of Constantine's teachers during this period, would in later years recall him as:

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"A young man of very great worth and well meriting the high station of Cæsar. The distinguished comeliness of his figure, his strict attention to all military duties, his virtuous demeanor and singular affability, had endeared him to the troops and made him the choice of every individual. He was then at court, having long before been created by Diocletian a tribune of the first order." [Lactantius, On the Deaths of the Persecutors, Chapter XVIII]

It is perhaps not surprising that his admiring biographer, Eusebius Pamphilus, Bishop of Caesarea in Palestine, goes even farther in praise of Constantine's physical gifts saying that:

"...even in the very earliest period of his youth he was judged by [his father's imperial colleagues] to be worthy of the highest honor. An instance of this we have ourselves seen, when he passed through Palestine with the senior emperor [Diocletian], at whose right hand he stood, and commanded the admiration of all who beheld him by the indications he gave even then of royal greatness. For no one was comparable to him for grace and beauty of person, or height of stature; and he so far surpassed his compeers in personal strength as to be a terror to them."

But Eusebius assures us that Constantine was no mere imposing meathead with massive biceps and an underdeveloped brain. Rather, he says that Constantine was:

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"...even more conspicuous for the excellence of his mental qualities than for his superior physical endowments; being gifted in the first place with a sound judgment, and having also reaped the advantages of a liberal education. He was also distinguished in no ordinary degree both by natural intelligence and divinely imparted wisdom." [Eusebius, Life of the Blessed Emperor Constantine, Book I, Chapter XIX] 

This decade or so serving in the East would give Constantine ample opportunity to exercise both his intellect and his exceptional physical abilities. He would follow Diocletian and Galerius on numerous military expeditions including campaigns in Syria, in Persia, and along the Danube frontier. By about AD 305, however, it became clear that the exceptional young man was not, in fact, being groomed by the emperors for greater offices. This became unmistakably obvious when Constantine was passed over for promotion to the rank of Caesar upon the abdication of Diocletian and Maximian—a scene described dramatically by Lactantius who was likely an eye-witness. 

It was at about this time, according to Lactantius, that Constantius began to request that his son be permitted to return to him. With the abdication of Diocletian and Maximian in AD 305, Constantius had become Augustus of the West. But the hard-fought campaigns in Gaul and Britain had taken their toll on the aging Augustus, and his health began to fail. This awakened a desire in the older man for the companionship of his eldest son. As a subtext, it is likely that the Augustus was also irked that his son had been passed over for promotion. 

Galerius, the newly self-promoted Augustus of the East, however, had his own political ambitions to consider. These ambitions did not include Constantine and, indeed, Galerius considered Constantine to be a distinct threat. Rather than send Constantine off to be with his father, Galerius decided to send Constantine for the proverbial long walk off a short pier. 

Lactantius provides some details about Galerius's efforts to provide Constantine with a one-way ticket to Elysium, along with an explanation of why these efforts ultimately failed:

"He laid repeated snares for the life of that young man because he dared not use open violence lest he should stir up civil wars against himself and incur that which he most dreaded—the hate and resentment of the army. Under pretense of manly exercise and recreation, he made him combat with wild beasts, but this device was frustrated. For the power of God protected Constantine, and in the very moment of jeopardy rescued him from the hands of Galerius. [Lactantius: On the Deaths of the Persecutors, Chapter XXIV]

Some additional detail comes from the summary of Praxagoras of Athens's work, History of Constantine, which identifies one of the wild beasts in question as a lion: 

"[Galerius] who happened to be there, determined to lay a plot against the youth and set him to fight with a savage lion. But Constantine overcame and slew the beast, and having discovered the plot, took refuge with his father, after whose death he succeeded to the throne." [Synopsis of Praxagoras of Athens's History of Constantine the Great (otherwise lost) included in the Bibliotheca of Photius 9th century, AD]

Full image of Ruben's tapestry shown in detail above.

The Latin manuscript known as Anonymous Valesianus, tentatively dated to the late 4th century AD, elaborates further on Galerius's attempts to have Constantine snuffed out using a method similar to that which King David used to destroy Uriah the Hittite: 

"Galerius first exposed him to many dangers. For when Constantine, then a young man, was serving in the cavalry against the Sarmatians, he seized by the hair and carried off a fierce savage, and threw him at the feet of the emperor Galerius. Then sent by Galerius through a swamp, he entered it on his horse and made a way for the rest to the Sarmatians, of whom he slew many and won the victory for Galerius." [Anonymous Valesianus, Part I:2]

Following these near approaches to death, the young Constantine understood that if he didn't remove himself from the East, Galerius would eventually succeed in having him cut down. Most of the extant sources agree that Galerius finally decided to allow Constantine to return to his father, but Lactantius and Anonymous Valesianus opine that Galerius only acquiesced in order to have Constantine arrested on the road by the troops of his Caesar, Severus, as he traveled through Italy. 

To save himself, Constantine rode at break-neck speed, outpacing the messengers from Galerius to Severus. Multiple sources mention that to frustrate his pursuers, Constantine had all the post horses slain at each station, depriving them of fresh mounts. 

He would eventually reach his ailing father and spend over a year in his company. Some sources say that he joined Constantius in his war against the Picts. All agree that when Constantius I Chlorus passed from this life in York, Constantine was present and would immediately afterwards be acclaimed emperor by his father's soldiers.

Constantine is a favorite subject of mine, so if you found this article to be interesting and would like to read more about the first Christian Roman Emperor, see below:

• Constantine — Military Hero and Christian Emperor
• Death of Constantius I, the father of Constantine the Great ~ Primary Accounts
• Constantine's Vision of the Cross ~ Early Accounts and Backstory
• October 28, AD 312 ~ Constantine defeats Maxentius at the Battle of the Milvian Bridge
• Constantine's Execution of Crispus and Fausta
• Was Constantine a Sincere Christian? ~ In his own words: The Oration of Constantine to the Saints

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Was Constantine a Sincere Christian? ~ In his own words: The Oration of Constantine to the Saints

At 43 feet in height, the replica of the Colossus of Constantine in Rome is truly impressive.

Most visitors to Rome over the years have marveled at the famous fragments of the Colossus of Constantine. Largely destroyed and dismantled in antiquity, this massive work of marble, wood and bronze once stood in the Basilica of Maxentius. Significant chunks of the Colossus are now located in a courtyard at the Capitoline Museum in Rome where my wife and I visited them on our honeymoon a few decades back. 

In 2024, a magnificent replica of the Colossus was erected nearby in the garden behind the Capitoline Museum. While the sheer size of the work has drawn considerable attention, the fact that it does not display any obvious Christian iconography and, indeed, seems to portray the emperor as Zeus-like, has led some folks to assume that the replica is evidence that Constantine's Christianity was somehow insincere. 

My wife with Constantine's
tremendous head in 2000.

How close this modern replica resembles the original is a matter of conjecture, as its creators exercised some significant interpretive license with regard to the design. This matter is dealt with in considerable detail in an excellent post on the NumisForms site entitled: Designing a Colossus. So I'll not get into much detail on that question here. Suffice it to say that the decision by the Factum Foundation to portray Constantine as Zeus was based on "conjecture, maybe not even particularly well informed conjecture."

The point of this post is to contradict the facile confirmation bias that many experience when seeing this version of the Colossus. The most common immediate reaction is: "See? Constantine was a pagan and portrayed himself as such." 

Well, sure. Up through about AD 306 Constantine was a pagan. Beyond that, he reportedly even had a vision of Apollo a few years before his more famous vision of the Cross. But after the Battle of the Milvian Bridge, Constantine began the process of becoming a Christian. It is not known when exactly he became a catechumen, but after about AD 312 when he and Licinius issued the Edict of Milan, his affinity for Christianity becomes increasingly evident.

By AD 324, following his defeat of Licinius, it is absolutely evident that Constantine is a Christian. Anyone who doubts that can read the words he himself spoke in his Oration to the Saints. The text of this lecture was preserved by the bishop Eusebius Pamphilus who knew Constantine personally and also wrote his well-known ancient biography, Life of the Blessed Emperor Constantine. The entire oration is a profession of Constantine's faith and a defense of Christianity. In it, you will find the emperor praying emphatically:

"Do thou, O Christ, Savior of mankind, be present to aid me in my hallowed task! Direct the words which celebrate your virtues, and instruct me worthily to sound your praises." [Oration to the Saints, Chapter 11]

You will also find Constantine presenting evidence for the truth of Christianity, not only from the Hebrew prophets of the Old Testament, but also from pagans such as the Erythrean sibyl and from the Roman poet, Virgil, author of the foundational epic of Rome, the Aeneid. 

The emperor goes on to condemn those pagans who have persecuted Christians, even going so far as to ridicule pagan beliefs, saying: 

"What, then, have you gained by these atrocious deeds, most impious of men? And what was the cause of your insane fury? You will say, doubtless, these acts of yours were done in honor of the gods. What gods are these?...You will allege, perhaps, the customs of your ancestors and the opinion of mankind in general, as the cause of this conduct. I grant the fact: for those customs are very like the acts themselves, and proceed from the self-same source of folly. You thought, it may be, that some special power resided in images formed and fashioned by human art; and hence your reverence, and diligent care lest they should be defiled: those mighty and highly exalted gods, thus dependent on the care of men!" 

[Oration to the Saints, Chapter 22]

Finally, in an echo of his contemporary and sometime confidant, Lactantius, Constantine gives a brief catalog of the dreadful ends suffered by those emperors who persecuted Christians most severely: 

"To you, Decius, I now appeal, who has trampled with insult on the labors of the righteous: to you, the hater of the Church, the punisher of those who lived a holy life: what is now your condition after death? How hard and wretched your present circumstances! Nay, the interval before your death gave proof enough of your miserable fate, when overthrown with all your army on the plains of Scythia, you exposed the vaunted power of Rome to the contempt of the Goths.

You, too, Valerian, who manifested the same spirit of cruelty towards the servants of God, hast afforded an example of righteous judgment. A captive in the enemies' hands, led in chains while yet arrayed in the purple and imperial attire, and at last your skin stripped from you, and preserved by command of Sapor the Persian king, you have left a perpetual trophy of your calamity. 

And thou, Aurelian, fierce perpetrator of every wrong, how signal was your fall, when, in the midst of your wild career in Thrace, you were slain on the public highway, and filled the furrows of the road with your impious blood!" [Oration to the Saints, Chapter 24]

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Of course, he could not leave out his contemporary and one-time mentor/captor, Diocletian. In this passage, Constantine provides his own witness of Diocletian's vicious character and unstable psyche, attributes which are echoed by Lactantius in his own work, On the Deaths of the Persecutors: 

"Diocletian, however, after the display of relentless cruelty as a persecutor, evinced a consciousness of his own guilt and owing to the affliction of a disordered mind, endured the confinement of a mean and separate dwelling. What then, did he gain by his active hostility against our God? Simply this I believe, that he passed the residue of his life in continual dread of the lightning's stroke. Nicomedia attests the fact; eyewitnesses, of whom I myself am one, declare it. The palace, and the emperor's private chamber were destroyed, consumed by lightning, devoured by the fire of heaven. Men of understanding hearts had indeed predicted the issue of such conduct; for they could not keep silence, nor conceal their grief at such unworthy deeds; but boldly and openly expressed their feeling, saying one to another: What madness is this? And what an insolent abuse of power, that man should dare to fight against God; should deliberately insult the most holy and just of all religions; and plan, without the slightest provocation, the destruction of so great a multitude of righteous persons?" [Oration to the Saints, Chapter 25]

Interestingly, Lactantius also reports fire destroying parts of the imperial palace in Nicomedia on two separate occasions 15 days apart. He claims that the fires were set by Diocletian's junior emperor, Galerius, in an effort to frame the Christians for the deeds. [see On the Deaths of the Persecutors, Chapter 14]

Constantine wrapped up his oration with a ringing profession of his faith in Jesus, urging his hearers to pray fervently to Christ:

"It becomes all pious persons to render thanks to the Savior of all, first for our own individual security, and then for the happy posture of public affairs: at the same time intreating the favor of Christ with holy prayers and constant supplications, that he would continue to us our present blessings. For he is the invincible ally and protector of the righteous: he is the supreme judge of all things, the prince of immortality, the Giver of everlasting life." [Oration to the Saints, Chapter 26]

After reading the entirety of Constantine's oration, it becomes impossible to maintain the position that the first Roman emperor to tolerate Christianity formally in law did not truly believe Christian doctrine or remained partially pagan to the end of his life. 

Although he was unbaptized until shortly before his death, Constantine was clearly a believing Christian catechumen with a zeal for bearing witness to the faith even publicly with his own lips.  

Belisarius and Procopius celebrate the defeat of the Goths at the Siege of Rome, March of AD 538 ~ An excerpt from Belisarius, Book III: Rome the Eternal

Belisarius and Procopius chat atop the Pincian Gate in Rome. 
Image created using hotpot.ai/art-generator

In March of the year AD 538, the late Roman general, Belisarius, pulled off one of the most incredible feats in military history: he successfully defended the massive city of Rome—with its 12 miles of circuit walls—with a scant 5,000 soldiers, against a vast army of Goths that outnumbered his own some 15 or 20 to 1. Indeed, by the time the Gothic King Vitiges broke up the siege after twelve frustrating months, it had become unclear which side was the besieged and which was the besieger. Unable to prevent the Romans from bringing in supplies or leaving the city in force, Vitiges found himself bogged down with a stubborn fortified city in front of him, and far flung enemy cavalry units ravaging his supply lines behind him, threatening to cut him off from his base in Ravenna.

What did Belisarius do once it became clear that the Goths were abandoning their camps and moving out? Did he allow the reduced but still tremendous force of Goths to go in peace, counting himself blessed and fortunate that the city had withstood the prolonged siege against such heavy odds? 

He did not. 

Instead, he rode out with every available man and attacked the Gothic rear-guard. 

I recorded Procopius's eye-witness account of the end of the siege in a previous post here.

Belisarius, Book III: Rome the Eternal, provides a dramatized description of this action with Belisarius's biscuit-eaters Longinus and Mundilas leading the charge. Mundilas is injured, while Longinus is killed despite amazing acts of valor. This much is recorded in Procopius's History of the Wars. I embellished the action in the novel.

Here is an excerpt from the novel, presenting a scene on the walls of Rome in the immediate aftermath of the Gothic withdrawal. In this scene, Belisarius has an opportunity to speak privately with his secretary, Procopius of Caesarea—the man who would go on to become the most important historian of the Justinianic period.

I had fun writing this scene. I hope you enjoy it!

 End of Chapter XXXI...

Belisarius secured the gatehouse at the Milvian Bridge that he had been forced to cede when the Gothic host first arrived the previous March. With that act, the great siege of Rome came to an end. Belisarius entered the city to cheering throngs, many of whom had ventured out of the gates to watch the battle from the protection of the tree line. The ecstasy of the Romans was tempered only by the arrival of a cart bearing Mundilas and Longinus—the first gravely injured, the second slain. Meeting the bereaved men of Longinus, Belisarius offered his sincere sympathy, weeping along with them without shame.

Later, Belisarius stood alone atop the Pincian Gate, for once gazing into the city, not outward toward the Gothic camps now in ashes. As the celebration continued unabated well into the night, Belisarius insisted that the gates be manned and the guards be sober, lest the Goths sneak into the city via stratagem while its inhabitants were lulled into a drunken slumber. To drive home the point, Belisarius himself kept vigil all night on the walls.

“Has the great wooden horse arrived yet, O Aeneas?” Procopius laughed. He made his way slowly and carefully up the stone steps, his tottering gait threatening to cast him fifty feet down.

“No sign of it,” Belisarius smiled, offering his secretary a strong hand up. “If you would warn me against it, though, be mindful of the fate of Laocöon. How are you at wrestling with snakes?”

“I would fare no better than the ill-fated Trojan priest, I suppose,” Procopius sighed. “I fear serpents above all things. Here, I have brought you a drink—wine mixed with honey, and a good vintage, too.”

“Though I am on duty, I accept. From any hand but yours I might demur, old friend,” Belisarius replied, recalling the recent attempt to drug the gate guards using spiked wine.

The two stood in silence as Belisarius sipped.

“Was it worth it?” Procopius intoned quietly, casting his bleary gaze over a large group of revelers carousing in the plaza below. “Was recovering this city worth the lives of Longinus and Principius and Tarmutus?”

“Don’t forget about Chorsamantis, Bochas and Cutilas,” Belisarius added. Poor Cutilas had lingered a month after suffering his gruesome head wound, only to perish of fever despite the best efforts of Theoctistus. “May Christ have mercy on their souls.” He made the sign of the cross on his forehead.

“Maxentius, Petronius and Valentine, too,” continued Procopius. “And so many other good men.”

“And Constantinus,” Belisarius added gloomily. “His unhealthy lust for plunder killed him as surely as any Gothic spear. But my answer is yes. This is the Eternal City of Rome, the birthplace of the Empire and the rampart of civilization. Had more good men been willing to give their lives to defend it in past ages, it would never have fallen under the sway of the barbarians to begin with.”

“But if too many good men die, who...who...but wicked men and weaklings will remain to defend Rome?” Procopius asked with a tipsy stammer.

“God will raise up others as He raised up this generation. That is why what you are doing is of such great import.”

“My letters to the praetorian prefect about the grain supply are pointless—irrelevant two weeks after they are written,” Procopius lamented.

“Not your letters, friend. Your history.”

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“That disorganized pile of waste paper?” Procopius replied, the wine loosening his tongue. “Alas, your words earlier today—was it really today? It feels like weeks ago—your words have put a worry into my heart. What will the ending be? Will our astounding run of blessed good fortune continue? Or will some great disaster turn the tale into an awful tragedy? Or worse, will a sequence of little disasters grind us down into abject failure. You know, when my mood turns this way, I have considered destroying all my notes and abandoning the work completely.”

“Am I truly speaking with the same man who said that he was writing a history to be read for a thousand years?” Belisarius replied in amazement. “Has our victory in the siege somehow drained your cask of optimism?”

“Even victories, it seems, come with a cost in noble lives lost that can never be replaced,” Procopius sighed. “Writing about the death of yet another hearty soul like Longinus makes me never want to write again.”

“That is not well at all,” Belisarius chided, turning deadly serious. “You must persevere and continue to write without flinching and without despair, no matter what outcome God has ordained for our campaign. For if those men died in this cause, their deaths will not be in vain if their names are recorded for posterity so that those who read in the far distant future, hundreds or thousands of years from now, may remember and admire their acts.”

“Of course, you are right,” Procopius grimaced, focusing his eyes on a bonfire burning outside the city. “The purpose of history is to give the future examples of valor to imitate and perfidy to despise. And certainly, the acts of Principius and Longinus did just that.”

“So then you will continue?” Belisarius asked, exhaling a vaporous cloud into the chilly night air.

“Yes, I will continue, Magister,” Procopius replied pensively. “Though I will pray hard that my history doesn’t devolve into a dreary chronicle of disasters and obituaries.”

“Indeed,” Belisarius nodded. “I will do my very best to make sure that you are well supplied with noble deeds and heroic victories to record.”

Procopius smiled a little sadly, but remained silent. Would that you had the power to ensure that, O Magister.

If you want to see how things turn out for Belisarius, check out Book III: Rome the Eternal which is available from Arx Publishing here, on Amazon.com here, on Amazon Kindle here, and other bookselling websites.

One should never forget about the Persians ~ The Eternal Peace between the Roman Empire and Persia is broken after 8 years

When Justinian secured the so-called "Eternal Peace" with the Persians in AD 532 after the Battle of Daras, it is likely that he realized that the peace on his eastern frontier would not actually be perpetual. But he probably thought it would last longer that seven or eight years. In any event, the emperor made the most the respite, gathering his substantial forces from the east which had previously been on station to face down the Persian menace, and readying them for a thrust to the West.

His first target was the Vandal Kingdom which had ruled Roman Africa for nearly 100 years. Squatting upon one of the richest provinces of the Empire, the Vandalic realm had been a thorn in the Romans' side. Their acts of piracy were legendary, extending even to the sack of the city of Rome itself in AD 455. The stars aligned for Justinian in AD 533. The Vandal throne was occupied by a usurper named Gelimer who was reputedly unfriendly to the Romans. Justinian furthered this instability by instigating rebellions throughout the Vandal realm, while at the same time, mustering an army under the command of his bold Master of Soldiers, Belisarius, to strike at the seat of the Vandal government in Carthage. Landing safely in Africa (a trick that previous Roman commanders had failed to accomplish) Belisarius was victorious at the Battles of Ad Decimum and Tricamarum and, having captured Gelimer, he returned to Constantinople in triumph.

Within a year of this signal victory, however, Justinian was already planning an even greater campaign. It so happened that the situation in Ostrogothic Italy was also unstable. King Athalaric, grandson of King Theodoric the Great, had perished before his time in AD 534. The rule over the Kingdom of the Goths and Italians had then passed to his mother, Queen Amalasuntha, but as the Gothic nobles could not endure a woman ruling over them, Amalasuntha accepted marriage to her cousin, a weasel of a man named Theodatus, who was then crowned king. Within several weeks of this arrangement being formalized, Amalasuntha was dead, strangled in her bath. With such a weak character on the Ostrogothic throne, Justinian decided to make his move. He assembled two more armies to menace the Goths. The first, under Mundus, was to invade Dalmatia and threaten Gothic Italy from the north. The second, under Belisarius, would land in Sicily and march up the Italian boot from the south. 

Though things did not go as smoothly as during the Africa campaign, Belisarius was able to resist the full power of the Goths at the great Siege of Rome and then chase their retreating host back to Ravenna. While Belisarius laboriously captured Gothic held fortified cities in central Italy, however, the new Gothic king, Vittiges, hit upon a strategy to relieve his beleaguered kingdom. He would send agents east to convince the Persians to end the Eternal Peace. 

For their part, the Persians had a young king who had taken the throne shortly after the Eternal Peace was originally promulgated. This man, King Chosroes I (or King Khosrow I), had now come of age, secured his kingdom, and was itching for a fight with the hated Romans. As Procopius relates, the Gothic ambassadors found willing ears for their suggestions at the Persian court:

When Chosroes heard [their arguments], it seemed to him that Vittigis advised well, and he was still more eager to break off the treaty. For, moved as he was by envy toward the Emperor Justinian, he neglected completely to consider that the words were spoken to him by men who were bitter enemies of Justinian. But because he wished the thing he willingly consented to be persuaded. [Procopius, History of the Wars, Book II, Chapter II]

Encouraged by the Gothic ambassadors, Chosroes unilaterally ended the Eternal Peace in AD 540 and invaded the Eastern provinces of the Roman Empire.

With the bulk of his forces fighting in Italy and putting down still simmering rebellions in Africa, Justinian was caught with his pants down. Chosroes and his armies burst through the frontier and began demanding ransom from the Roman cities of the east, sacking any that resisted. Meeting hardly any resistance, he besieged the city of Antioch—the fourth largest city of the Empire after Rome, Constantinople, and Alexandria—and successfully captured and looted it in June of AD 540, returning to Persia with a long train of Roman captives.

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So the moral of the story is, "Don't forget about the Persians." And perhaps it's not completely fair to accuse Justinian of forgetting about them. If one reads Procopius, it seems clear that as soon as Justinian and his court were made aware of the dangerous Gothic overture to the Persians, he attempted to bring the war in Italy to an immediate conclusion, offering the Goths a remnant of their kingdom in northern Italy in exchange for peace. 

Belisarius thought this offer to be extravagant given the dire situation of the Goths at the time. How he settled things in Italy, the resulting delay, and the unfolding catastrophe in the East forms the climax of my most recent novel, Belisarius, Book III: Rome the Eternal.

The Martyrdom of Pope St. Silverius -- Starved to death on the Island of Palmarola in AD 538

Pope St. Silverius is deposed in AD 537. Artwork by Lori Kauffmann.

Throughout the history of the Church, several Popes have been deposed for a variety of reasons. Pope Liberius was deposed and exiled by the Arian emperor, Constantius II in the mid-4th century. Six hundred years later, Pope Gregory VII was deposed by anti-Pope Clement III, the creature of the Holy Roman Emperor, Henry IV. 

During the reign of Justinian, Pope Saint Silverius, who I have written about previously on this blog, was not only deposed—he was martyred by the political forces who coveted his ecclesiastical power as head of the Church. In my previous post, I included an excerpt from the Liber Pontificalis that provided some extraordinary details of the event. Given that the Liber was first compiled in the late 6th century, possibly within living memory of the deposition, it is a solid source, and I used the account provided therein as the basis for that pivotal scene in Belisarius Book III: Rome the Eternal.

Most of what we know of Silverius's brief reign comes from the Liber Pontificalis and the writings of Procopius. To the best of my knowledge, the only written work of Silverius that survives is an epitaph that he wrote for his father, Pope Saint Hormisdas. After his deposition, Silverius was exiled to the city of Patara in Asia Minor. According to the account of Liberatus of Carthage in his Breviarium, it soon became clear to the resident bishop, a certain Licinius, that Silverius had been slanderously accused and wrongfully deposed. Licinius took it upon himself to go directly to Constantinople to advise the emperor Justinian of this fact. The bishop's effort had the desired effect because following this meeting, the emperor sent Silverius back to Italy to receive a proper trial.

But Silverius would never get the opportunity to defend himself. Upon his arrival in Italy, the deposed Pope was seized and hustled to the tiny island of Palmarola about 20 miles off the west coast of Italy, roughly halfway between Rome and Naples. 

A craggy islet about a mile long and a quarter of a mile wide, Palmarola is part of the Pontine Archipelago, a grouping of small islands which were used as places of exile during Roman times. One of the other islands in the group—known as Ventotene today and Pandateria in antiquity—once housed the disgraced Julia the Elder, daughter of Augustus Caesar. The same island also served as the place of exile for Agrippina the Elder, granddaughter of Augustus. Saint Flavia Domitilla, granddaughter of the emperor Vespasian, was also exiled there on suspicion of being a Christian.

But Pandateria at least has a harbor and some residents. Tiny Palmarola is uninhabited. It is said that Pope Silverius starved to death after being abandoned there. To this day, a shrine in his honor may be found on Palmarola. 

Here is how I have described the scene in Belisarius: Rome the Eternal. Silverius is a recurring character in the first half of the book, and I have given him a fictional servant named Philo to serve as an interlocutor:

Chapter XXIX

“Something’s wrong,” Philo whispered. “The pilots were supposed to conduct us into the harbor, but instead, they are taking us back out to sea.”

“We are in God’s hands, Philo,” Pope Silverius replied. “His will be done.” The Holy Father had become thinner since his exile in the east. A rough gray beard now covered his previously smooth chin. A raspy cough rattled in his chest, as he pulled his cloak tighter about him to ward off the chilly wind.

“That may be, but nevertheless, I am going to say something,” Philo persisted.

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“Friend, I beg you...” Silverius trailed off. But his servant was already making his way to the stern from whence the ship was conned. Silverius returned to his prayers, gazing out over the choppy sea. January was a terrible time for travel by sea and the sailors dreaded it. To this point, they had credited their unusually safe passage from Asia at this inauspicious time of year to Stella Maris smiling kindly upon their very special passenger. But their attitude had shifted after their arrival outside the harbor at Ostia. A large dromon had intercepted them and four men came across in a skiff, braving the rough seas. All aboard had assumed they were harbor pilots—until the ship’s prow was turned toward the south, back from whence they had come.

Striding with care along the pitching deck with Philo stumbling behind him, a hooded Calligonus approached Silverius with a stony expression. “My apologies but there has been a change of plans. It is too dangerous for you to land at Ostia now. We will therefore conduct you to a place of safety until the perils have passed.”

“Where?” Philo asked. “Neapolis? We seem to be sailing south.”

Silverius said nothing. He recognized Calligonus immediately as one who had been present at his deposition and none too friendly.

“Neapolis is not safe either, I’m afraid,” Calligonus said.

“Safe for whom?” Silverius asked. “Belisarius and his wife? Or for Theodora, perhaps?”

Calligonus gave a sly smile, bowed his head and walked away. 

“What do you mean?” Philo said, clutching Silverius’s sleeve, alarm rising in his voice. “Where are they taking us, Holy Father?”

“God knows,” Silverius replied.

Several hours of sailing brought them to within sight of a small islet with vaulting cliffs of sheer rock, almost white, emerging from a rolling azure sea. Using a combination of sail and oars, the crew maneuvered the ship to a sheltered spot about two bowshots offshore where they dropped anchor.

“May I present your new home,” Calligonus said as he once again approached Silverius and Philo.

“Does this rock even have a name?” an agitated Philo asked.

“It is called Palmarola,” Calligonus replied. “I am told that no one lives there at all, so you will have a new patriarchal see all to yourself with plenty of gulls and lizards to hear your homilies. Now, if you please. I would ask you both to step smartly into the boat. Your basilica awaits.”

“Is there even any fresh water?” Philo cried.

“That’s a fair question,” Calligonus puzzled. “You will have to find out.”

Pope Silverius and his servant climbed down into the heaving boat with friendly hands from the sailors, all of whom seemed to dread what was happening. “Remember us in your prayers, Holy Father,” one of them said softly. “What we do today we are forced to do.”

“Have no concern, my son,” Silverius replied. “Even Saint Peter was led where he did not wish to go.”

“Forgive us!” a few called aloud from the deck.

Silverius made the sign of the cross over the ship as the boat pulled away. “I shall always remember the kind sailors who risked the winter seas for me.”

Moments later, the boat grounded on a beach of brown sand. The three henchmen of Calligonus hurried Silverius and Philo out of the boat, dumped some meager supplies on the beach, and hastened to row back to the ship. Within an hour, the ship had sailed out of sight.

Resigned to his fate, Silverius soon found a small grotto which would at least offer shelter and a place to pray if nothing else. He put the supplies in order and attempted to set up a place of repose for them that was somewhat protected from the chilly wind. Philo, meanwhile, made a circuit of the tiny island which did not take him long.

“Based on what I have seen, we will starve within two weeks,” Philo declared. “Sooner if it doesn’t rain at all.”

“I doubt I will last even that long,” Silverius said, suppressing a cough. Even the light work he had done had exhausted him.

“Perhaps they will drop food and water for us?”

“I don’t think so, my friend,” Silverius smiled a little sadly. “I think Our Lord Jesus has offered us the palm of a bloodless martyrdom. Let us embrace it, come what may.”

Philo sighed, fingering the stiff fronds of a dwarf palm which he had collected during his walk. “A small, pathetic palm to match the stunted trees that clutter this tiny rock.”

Silverius smiled luminously. “There is no such thing as a small martyrdom. Let us fill this island with our prayerful voices so that blessings may flow from it for centuries to come.”

If you enjoyed that passage, you'll probably enjoy the entire book which is available for purchase at the Arx Publishing website. Other excerpts from this book may be found at these links:

• "He weathered their rage like some craggy rock in a howling tempest." ~ Belisarius and the lead-up to the Great Siege of Rome
• Saint Benedict Chases the Devil off a Boulder
• "They went with all speed to the palace carrying weapons and raising a great tumult" ~ March 23, AD 536, Mutiny of Justinian's Army in Africa

Palmarola today. The shrine of St. Silverius is atop the peak at left.

"He weathered their rage like some craggy rock in a howling tempest." ~ Belisarius and the lead-up to the Great Siege of Rome

Given the month, I am mindful of a February nearly 1,500 years ago when Belisarius, newly arrived in Rome after the withdrawal of the Gothic garrison, found his situation far from secure. The Roman citizens, who had welcomed his arrival with glad tidings, now began to suspect that their savior was not intent on pushing on to face the Goths in a decisive battle. Worse, the army of Belisarius that had liberated Rome was not some overwhelming force—far from it. An optimistic observer might have counted their number at 5,000. 

Such an army could not be expected to inflict an open-field defeat upon the vast Gothic hosts of Vitiges, the self-styled King of the Goths and Italians. Worse, it was not even sufficient to guard the 12-mile long circuit walls of Rome in the event of Gothic attack.

With these facts clear to even the most obtuse citizen, the Senate of Rome, still largely intact despite over sixty years of Gothic rule, watched with trepidation as Belisarius and his men began repairing the crumbling fortifications of Rome. The great walls which surrounded the city had been constructed 250 years before by the emperor Aurelian. Though imposing, these fortifications were ruinous and vulnerable in many locations, and Belisarius assiduously set about restoring them. Some of his innovations—such as adding a merlon to each battlement to protect the backs of the defenders—left the Romans impressed. Yet they remained deeply troubled by what these preparations presaged. As Procopius relates:

The Romans applauded the forethought of the general and especially the experience displayed in the matter of the battlement; but they marveled greatly and were vexed that he should have thought it possible for him to enter Rome if he had any idea that he would be besieged, for [Rome] can not possibly be supplied with provisions since it is not on the sea, is enclosed by a wall of so large a circumference, and above all, lying as it does on a level plain, is naturally exceedingly easy of access for its assailants. [Procopius, History of the Wars, Book V, Chapter XIV]

Procopius goes on to say that Belisarius heard all the criticisms of his strategy but redoubled his efforts, even compelling the indignant Romans to bring in all their provisions from the countryside.

In his novel, Count Belisarius, Robert Graves puts the discontent of the Roman citizens over the strategy of Belisarius into the mouth of Pope Silverius. In this, he plants the seed of the conflict that would later emerge between the Pope and the household of Belisarius. Given Graves's rather negative view of the Catholic Church which is evident throughout Count Belisarius, I have always disliked this approach.

In my third book, Belisarius: Rome the Eternal, I have opted to expand this discontent into a scene in which the Roman senators and clergy confront Belisarius at the Lateran Palace, taking the opportunity to work in some history lessons. Rather than using the scene to create conflict between the spiritual and temporal powers in Rome, I have attempted to show how Belisarius turned the situation to his favor, enhancing the loyalty of the doubtful Roman senators who were pretty clearly having second-thoughts at this time immediately before the commencement of the siege. 

Here is part of the scene. I have added a few notes in red, if for no other reason than to remind myself of why the individuals named are present. See what you think:

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...“Forgive the interruption, O General,” Fidelius said, bowing slightly. “All are now present. And here is Honorius, prefect of the city. Allow me to present him first.”

“At your service,” mumbled Honorius bowing.

“Ah, here is a man I am anxious to meet,” said Belisarius, raising the prefect up by his hand. “I am told you have a crew at your disposal whose purpose it is to repair public monuments and buildings. Is that correct?”

“Certainly. Three hundred men, no less,” Honorius bellowed in response. “Granted, some are slaves, but all have strong backs and are skilled in metalcraft and stonework. For the past months, they have been restoring the great bronze elephants along the Via Sacra, for this was our final order from Theodatus the tyrant.” [This is taken directly from the Variae of Cassiodorus, Book X, Letter 30]

“Laudable as that work may be, I must conscript all of your men starting tomorrow morning. Restoring the fortifications must take immediate precedence over all other construction work in the city,” Belisarius explained. “Let them know that they will be well paid for their labors.”

“Yes, that is something that puzzles us, Magister, if I may,” senator Gennadius Orestes spoke up with a slight chuckle. “Perhaps it is my fatalistic nature getting the better of me, but it almost seems as if you are preparing Rome for a siege.” [Gennadius Orestes was a Roman Senator who was Consul in AD 530]

“But we know that cannot be,” the elderly senator Anicius Basilius added. “Anyone who has studied the history of Rome knows that the city cannot be defended effectively without a great army, several legions at least. The walls are too long, the supply lines impossible to protect, the civilian population too huge. And your men, regrettably, are too few.” [Anicius Basilius was a Roman senator who would later be named consul by Justinian in AD 541]

“That brings us to another question, Magister,” senator Cethegus boomed in his pompous oratorical voice. “Where is your army? Surely, the skeleton crew that marched into the city with you is but the advance guard. When should we expect to see the rest?” [Nicomachus Cethegus was consul in Rome under the Gothic king, Theodoric the Great, in AD 504. He would later flee to Constantinople and play a role in the discord between Justinian and Pope Vigilius.]

Belisarius scowled slightly and scanned the faces gathered about him. It was time to deliver some hard truths to these men, many of whom had grown used to security and prosperity under the long reign of Theodoric. He wasn’t sure how they’d stomach what he had to offer them—the gloomy trio of hardship, want, and a desperate struggle.

“Noble senators, the rest of my army is scattered throughout Sicily and southern Italy. Just as I have brought the core of my forces here to guard Rome, so the remainder secure Neapolis, Cumae, Beneventum, Rhegium, Syracuse, Panormus and a score of other cities. Yes, it is my intention to hold Rome in safety against all attacks by the Goths. If that means enduring a siege, then endure it we must.”

An outcry immediately erupted from the assembled politicians.

“Your men are five thousand at most!” tall Cethegus cried. “You cannot hold the city with so few. It is impossible!”

“Do you not realize, O Magister, that this Vitiges whom the Goths call king, can muster an army of myriads upon myriads?” Orestes shouted. “If you attempt to defend Rome against the full power of the Goths, you will bring upon us destruction that will make the sacks of Alaric and Gaiseric seem like the Saturnalia. Olympius could not defend Rome from the Visigoths despite his lofty name. Petronius Maximus failed utterly to thwart the Vandals despite the greatest blessings of holy Peter. What hope have you, then, to repulse such a force when these others have failed with more resources at their disposal?”

“Peace, senators, peace!” Pope Silverius commanded in a loud voice, but few took heed even among the clergy who had joined the tumult.

Belisarius said nothing, but let the assembled men grumble, rant and vent their frustration. Wearing on his face a look of stoic dispassion, he weathered their rage like some craggy rock in a howling tempest.

Minutes more of clamorous outrage passed during which the expression on the face of Belisarius softened not at all but grew only harder, and it suddenly dawned upon the senators that he would not engage in debate with them. Soon they grew quiet, looking upon him in astonishment, wondering whether their outburst would ultimately elicit a reaction of anger or capitulation from the Magister Militum of Roman Empire, the right hand of the emperor Justinian.

“What say you, O General?” Honorius the prefect ventured, now feeling empowered by the near unanimity of the nobles. “Will you not—ahem—reveal to us your plans for defending Rome and defeating—uh—our enemies?”

Leaping up onto a low platform surrounding a fountain in the middle of the courtyard so that he could better be seen and heard, Belisarius began:

“It is not for you to know my plans, O Senators, for what fool of a general announces his intentions to the wide world? But I will say this: if you compare me with Olympius or Petronius Maximus you do me a great wrong. As you well know, Olympius of ill fame, took the administration of Rome after plotting the disgraceful murder of Stilicho, the greatest warrior of his age, who fearlessly defended the Empire. [Stilicho was the Master of Soldiers and principal support of the Western Emperor Honorius, assassinated in AD 408. Rome would be sacked by Alaric two years later.]

"In the same way, Petronius Maximus proved himself only the greatest of traitors, seeking ascendancy for himself by the assassination of Aetius, a general of such excellence that even the hordes of Attila quailed before him. [Aetius was the Master of Soldiers under the Western Emperor Valentinian III. He defeated Attila at the Battle of the Catalaunian Plains in Gaul in AD 451, but was assassinated following a court intrigue three years later. Soon after, Rome would be sacked again by Gaiseric.]

"Both Aetius and Stilicho feared not death and indeed preferred it to surrender to the enemies of the Empire. Both were ultimately undone not by lack of military prowess, but by short-sighted politicians bent on amassing power and fortune.

“Let us recall these events of a century ago with shame, for we have five-score years of gloomy hindsight to remind us where they led—defeat and fear, sack and slaughter, domination and ruin. But now this will change. I come before you not as a politician or as a bureaucrat, but as a soldier and servant of Justinian Augustus, most happy and victorious emperor of the Romans. I hereby pledge my life to your safety. If during the coming storm you suffer, know that I will suffer before you. If you are injured, know that the enemy will have to knock me down to get at you. If you are in peril of death, know that I will share that peril every day until the peril is gone. As Stilicho and Aetius, I do not fear my own destruction, but I will put everything I have on the line to protect Rome from our enemies.”

In stunned silence, the assembled nobles and clergy listened, amazed that this man whom they considered an unlettered Thracian was more knowledgeable in their own history than most of them. A smile brightened the wrinkled face of Anicius Basilius, and Orestes’s cynical scowl turned to a look of delighted stupefaction.

“You see that my army is small,” Belisarius continued, “but what you do not see is that it is filled with men of the greatest courage. I have, furthermore, requested reinforcements from the thrice-blessed Justinian Augustus, and these he will supply after no little time. But, noble senators and holy fathers, no strategy designed by a man can succeed without trust and ultimately obedience. I have no concerns in this regard when it comes to my soldiers. I know that they are loyal and will, when called upon, sacrifice their lives for the safety of Rome. Thus, the success or failure of this enterprise depends ultimately on the Will of God and on you, the inhabitants of this city. If you will support my efforts, trust my decisions, and obey my commands, there is no question in my mind that we will attain victory.

"If, however, you doubt, despair, demur and disobey, there can be only one result: death for me, defeat for the cause, and destruction for Rome.

“Friends, one year ago, no one believed that Justinian Augustus could liberate Rome. And yet, here I stand before you having accomplished the deed. Will you support me now in preserving the victory? Will you trust me?”

“Magister, please,” Basilius said quietly. “Please step down.” Belisarius stepped from the platform onto the flagstones of the courtyard. Now at eye-level, Basilius grasped Belisarius’s hand and fell to one knee, his aged frame tottering slightly. “You have my trust.”

“I will trust you as well, O Magister,” Orestes said solemnly, repeating the gesture of the older man.

“And I,” Cethegus said humbly.

“As for me, my life already belongs to Justinian Augustus,” Fidelius said with a smile.

The rest of the nobles crowded around to show similar obeisance. Belisarius accepted it, knowing well the sacrifices he would soon demand of these men.

“Command us,” Honorius the prefect said. “Whatever you would have us do, it will be done.”

“I shall confer with my commanders,” Belisarius replied. “Come to the Pincian at first light tomorrow morning.”

“And what of the clergy, Magister?” Pope Silverius asked. “How would you have us serve the people of Rome to aid this endeavor?”

“Far be it from me to advise your Holiness on how best to provide for your flock,” Belisarius replied. “Only do not disrupt the normal cycle of liturgies, feasts and processions in the city. And keep me informed as to the wants of the poor. I will do my utmost to ameliorate their travails.”

Rome the Eternal is deep in the edits, so feel free to hit me with criticisms of this scene if you feel the urge.  My expectation is that edits and some incidental interior art will complete in March, and this book will finally make it into print after over a decade of work. 

"Attila shouted that he would have crucified him and given him as food to the birds." ~ Priscus and the Roman Embassy to the Huns of AD 448

The Roman Embassy to Attila by Cecila Lawrence, as it appears on the cover of
Given's Fragmentary History of Priscus. 

Much of our detailed knowledge of Attila and the Huns comes from one relatively obscure source, the late 5th century History of Priscus. It’s probable that you’ve never heard of Priscus because his history was considered lost after about the 10th century AD. All that survives of it are fragments that later historians have recovered from other ancient and medieval sources that incorporated or paraphrased certain passages of interest. Excerpts from Priscus may be found embedded within works such as the Gothic History of Jordanes, the Histories of Procopius, the works of Constantine Porphyrogenitus, the Suda, the History of John of Antioch, and several others.

Priscus possessed such in depth knowledge about the Huns because he had a personal encounter with Attila himself. In AD 448 or 449, Priscus was part of an embassy to the Huns sent by the Emperor Theodosius II and his right-hand eunuch, Chrysaphius. At that time, Attila was threatening both the Eastern and Western Roman Empires, and both halves were making every possible attempt to pacify the barbarian and his pillaging horde. In fact, Chrysaphius and Theodosius had made a secret pact with one of Attila’s leading advisors, Edekon by name, to make sure that Attila rested in peace—for good. Unbeknownst to them, however, Edekon had revealed everything to Attila, and the King of the Huns was well prepared to deal with the potentially treacherous Roman embassy when it arrived.

Priscus has left a fascinating account of his visit to the Huns and his initial meeting with Attila. Following is an excerpt from the Fragmentary History of Priscus as translated by John Given, detailing the opening phase of what must have been a very frightening encounter:

You may also listen to the excerpt at the video above. 

FRAGMENT 8: From the Excerpts on Romans’ Embassies to Foreigners of Constantine VII Porphyrogennetos

After the eunuch Chrysaphius urged Edekon to kill Attila, Emperor Theodosius and the magister Martialios decided, as they discussed the events, to dispatch as ambassadors to Attila not only Bigilas but also Maximinos. They also decided that Bigilas, as a pretense, should keep occupying the translator’s post and should do whatever Edekon thought best, and Maximinos, since he knew nothing of their plans, should deliver the emperor’s letter....

With earnest entreaty, Maximinos persuaded me to accompany him on this embassy. And so, closely following the road alongside the barbarians, we reached Serdica, a thirteen days’ journey from Constantinople for a lightly armed man. There, as we settled into our quarters, we thought it would be a good idea to invite Edekon and his barbarian companions to a feast. We bought sheep and cows from the locals, slaughtered them and made our meal. At the height of the banquet, when the barbarians were extolling Attila and we the emperor, Bigilas said it was not right to juxtapose a god and a man—meaning by “man” Attila and by “god” Theodosius. The Huns were agitated and, their temperatures rising little by little, grew angry. We turned the conversation to other topics and appeased their anger with friendliness...

Arriving at Naissos, we found the city bereft of people because it had been overturned by the enemy, though there were some people in the sacred lodgings who were suffering from diseases. We camped a little bit upriver in a clearing, since the bank was everywhere covered with the bones of war casualties...

After passing the night, we traveled from the region of Naissos to the Istros River....After we crossed the Istros and traveled about seventy stades with the barbarians, we were forced to wait on a plain so that Edekon’s men could inform Attila of our arrival. The barbarians stayed with us and acted as our guides. As we were taking our dinner in the late afternoon we heard the rumble of horses coming toward us. Two Scythian men arrived and ordered us to go to Attila. First, though, we asked them to join us for dinner. They dismounted and we sumptuously entertained them. On the next day they led us along the road. Around the ninth hour of the day we reached Attila’s tents (and there were many tents there). We wanted to pitch ours on the crest of a hill, but the barbarians who met us prevented it, since Attila’s tent was on lower ground.

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Once we settled down where the Scythians wanted, Edekon, Orestes, Skottas and some other select men came and asked what our embassy was eager to procure. We expressed our confusion at the senseless question and kept looking at one another, but they continued to trouble us for an answer. When we said that the emperor bade us to speak to Attila and to no one else, Skottas replied angrily that their order was from their leader; they would not have come to us out of their own desire to meddle. We said that it was not customary for ambassadors to be questioned by intermediaries about why they had come without their meeting nor even seeing the parties to whom they had been sent. This, we said, was not unknown even to the Scythians, who often sent ambassadors to the emperor. It was necessary that we receive identical treatment; otherwise we would not disclose the embassy’s purpose. So we spoke, and they withdrew to Attila.

Again they returned, though without Edekon, repeated to us all the reasons for which we had come on the embassy, and ordered us to go away by the quickest route possible unless we could name anything else. We were still more mystified by these words since it was not easy to see how decisions made by the emperor in secret had become clearly known. We believed that it was to our benefit to answer nothing further about the embassy unless we gained access to Attila. So we said it was their leader who asked whether we came to negotiate the things listed by the Scythians or other matters too; we would not discuss it with anyone other than him. They immediately ordered us to leave....

At this point, Priscus goes off on a slight tangent, explaining that Bigilas was insistent on meeting with Attila, boasting that if he would be able to meet with him, he would easily persuade him to make peace. It is not clear that Priscus or anyone else among the Romans knew at this point that the true purpose of the embassy was to arrange the assassination of Attila. Priscus explains, however, that unbeknownst to Bigilas, the plot had already been revealed to Attila by Edekon.

Priscus continues:

We had already loaded our baggage onto the pack animals and were attempting—out of necessity, at nighttime—to begin our journey, when some of the barbarians came and said Attila told us to remain because of the late hour. To the place from which we were getting ready to set out, some men brought us a cow and some river-caught fish sent by Attila. Then, after dining, we turned to sleep. When day came, we thought that the barbarian would reveal some kind, pleasant news.  Once again, however, he sent the same men, advising us to go away unless we had something to say beyond what they already knew. We said no and began preparing for the journey, although Bigilas vehemently argued we should say that we had more to say.

Seeing Maximinos very dejected, I went out with Roustikios since he knew the barbarians’ language fluently. (He had come with us to Scythia not on the embassy, but for some business with Constantius, Attila’s Italian secretary, whom Aetius, the Western Roman general, had sent.) I came to Skottas—Onegesios was not present at the time— and, addressing him through the translator Roustikios, I said that he would receive numerous gifts from Maximinos if he helped him get access to Attila. The embassy, I said, would benefit not only the Romans and the Huns but also Onegesios, since the emperor wanted him to come and mediate the nations’ differences, and he would receive magnificent gifts when he went. Since Onegesios was away, I said, he needed to support us, and more his brother, in pursuit of this good business. I said we knew Attila followed his guidance too, but we would not firmly believe the reports about him unless we came to know his power through experience. He replied that no one any longer doubted Attila deemed his words and deeds equal to his brother’s. And he immediately mounted his horse and rode to Attila’s tent.

I returned to Maximinos, who with Bigilas was perplexed and at a loss regarding the recent events. I repeated what I said to Skottas and what I heard from him, and said that we needed to prepare the gifts for the barbarian and to calculate what we would say to him. Both of them leapt up (they happened to be lying in the grass), praised my actions and called back those who had already departed with the pack animals. They considered how to address Attila and how to give him the emperor’s gifts as well as what Maximinos had brought for him. As we were worrying about these things, Attila summoned us through Skottas. And so at last we came to Attila’s tent, which was guarded by a barbarian multitude arrayed in a circle.

When we reached the entrance, we found Attila seated on a wooden chair. Maximinos approached, as the rest of us stood a short distance from the seat, and he greeted the barbarian. Giving him the emperor’s letter, he said that the emperor prayed that he and those around him were safe. Attila replied that the Romans would have what they desired for him. He turned his attention straight to Bigilas, called him a shameless beast and asked why he wanted to come to him, considering that he knew his and Anatolios’s peacetime agreement that no ambassadors should come to him until all fugitives had been surrendered to the barbarians. Bigilas said that there was not a single Scythian fugitive among the Romans; those who had been there had been surrendered. Growing angrier and reviling him all the more, Attila shouted that he would have crucified him and given him as food to the birds, if he did not think inflicting this penalty on his shamelessness and on the effrontery of his words would violate sacred diplomatic law. There were, he said, fugitives of their race among the Romans—many of them—whose names, which had been recorded on papyrus, he ordered the secretaries to read out.

When they had gone through <all the> absent men, he ordered Bigilas to depart without a moment’s delay. He would send Eslas with him too, he said, to tell the Romans they should send him all the barbarian fugitives, from the time of Karpileon (the son of Aetius, the Western Roman general), who had lived as a hostage at his court. He would not allow his own subjects to fight against him, although they were incapable of helping anyone who trusted them to protect his land. What city, he asked, or what fortress had they saved, once he himself had begun a siege? He told us to return again after we had repeated his demands about the fugitives and to say whether the Romans wanted to surrender them or undertake war on their behalf. He had earlier told Maximinos to stay, so that he might reply to the emperor’s letter through him, and so he permitted us to present the gifts Maximinos was carrying and to withdraw.

We presented the gifts and retired into our tent, where we reviewed what had been said. Bigilas was amazed how Attila angrily reviled him, even though he seemed gentle and kind to him on his previous embassy. I expressed the fear that some of the barbarians who had feasted with us in Serdica had made Attila hostile to him by reporting that he called the Roman emperor a god but Attila a man. Maximinos thought that was right, since he was <not> a partner in the eunuch’s conspiracy against the barbarian. Bigilas was doubtful and seemed to me at a loss to explain why Attila had reviled him. He thought, as he later told us, that neither the events in Serdica nor the details of the plot had been reported to Attila, because, on the one hand, no one else from the group, he thought, was bold enough to speak with Attila due to the fear that governed them all; on the other hand Edekon, he thought, would keep his silence completely because of his oaths and the uncertainty of the deed, in fear that he himself too, since he was a participant in such plans, would lose his favored status and suffer death as punishment. [Given, Fragmentary History of Priscus, pages 47-55]

What happens next is perhaps even more intriguing. Later, Priscus would meet a former Roman citizen who had been taken captive by the Huns. This man would claim that life as a prisoner among the Huns was superior to life as a Roman. His debate with Priscus on this topic is perhaps the most famous of the surviving fragments of Priscus’s History and well worth reading. I have discussed this debate in a previous post: "Romans are easily killed in war because they rely on others for safety" ~ Priscus and the notion of Romans voluntarily becoming Huns.