Justinian and Theodora in meme-form

The anxiety of being married to Empress Theodora.

I've been creating a good number of memes lately. While what happened to Pope St. Silverius is certainly no laughing matter, I figured something like this is a good way of starting conversations about Silverius and encouraging folks to ask for his intercession. The meme has garnered a good bit of attention on Reddit and other places where I've posted it, so who knows?

For what it's worth, Silverius is one of the individuals to whom I dedicated Book III of my Belisarius series, Rome the Eternal. And it seemed fitting given that his sad reign plays a major role in the story. 

For other posts on Pope Saint Silverius, see:

• Pope Saint Silverius ~ Resisted state-mandated heresy. Died a martyr.
• The Martyrdom of Pope St. Silverius -- Starved to death on the Island of Palmarola in AD 538
• The epitaph of Pope Saint Hormisdas, written by his son, Pope Saint Silverius
• "I am receiving the reward for my deeds" ~ The Miserable Reign of Pope Vigilius, AD 537-555

What if Belisarius had accepted the Gothic offer to become Western Roman Emperor in AD 540 ~ And why he didn't

A fanciful portrait of Belisarius as Augustus of the Western Roman Empire.

I left off the previous post considering what might have happened if Belisarius had accepted the imperial diadem of the Western Empire when it was offered to him at the end of the first war in Italy in AD 540. Could he have remained on the throne? How would Justinian have reacted? Did Belisarius have the diplomatic and administrative skills to manage the Western Empire? Would his men have remained loyal to him and willing to advance his military goals abroad?

In a best-case scenario that's perhaps not too far-fetched, the answer is yes, Belisarius could certainly have ruled successfully as Western Roman Emperor. The Goths were not only accepting of him, but positively enthusiastic for him to rule them. The core of the Roman army in Italy was made up of his household troops, some 7,000 strong. It's hard to imagine that these elite soldiers would not have remained loyal to the commander who had recruited and trained them. And Belisarius was known to be extraordinarily generous toward his men. Some of the imperial troops and their commanders—men like John the Nephew of Vitalian, Aratius and his brother Narses—would have been reluctant to go along. But future events would prove that these men were all flawed as commanders, unable to work in tandem and largely unloved by the men serving under them. Belisarius would have either received their pledges of loyalty, offered them a one-way ticket back to Constantinople, or quelled them and their forces if they attempted to resist.

For his part, Justinian would not have attacked Italy, certainly not immediately. As mentioned in the previous post, the emperor was at that time facing a very dire threat from Chosroes who had marched the Persian army into the Roman eastern provinces. In fact, by the time Belisarius arrived back in Constantinople, Chosroes had sacked Antioch, the fourth largest metropolis of the empire, leading away tens of thousands of captives which he would settle in a city he built for them called "Better-than-Antioch." Though Justinian would have been rightfully furious over the betrayal of Belisarius, he wouldn't have been able to do anything about it until Belisarius's position in Italy was solidified and made permanent. Most likely, Justinian would have instructed his diplomatic corps to make a virtue of necessity, and initiate friendly relations with the new Western Emperor to ensure there was peace on the western frontier while he dealt with the Persian menace.

Where Emperor Belisarius and Justinian would likely have come into conflict was over Africa. Once news reached Africa of Belisarius's accession to the Western Empire, it is not unlikely that the Africans would have declared for Belisarius. After all, Africa was traditionally a Latin-speaking province of the West. Its fertile crops had supplied Rome with wheat for centuries. Beyond that, it had been the brilliant deeds of Belisarius five years before that liberated Africa from the Vandals. More recently, he had again saved Africa from a dangerous mutiny of the garrison army that Justinian had left unpaid. The fact that Solomon, the governor of Africa in AD 540, was once a member of Belisarius's household tends to seal the deal. Once again, if Africa had switched its loyalty to Belisarius in AD 540, there's not much Justinian could have done to prevent it given his preoccupation with the Persians.

Considering his strategic genius, it's not impossible that Belisarius would have been able to extend Roman power into the former provinces, particularly those which retained significant Roman population centers. Given the disparate units that he managed to command successfully in his own household guard: Illyrian and Thracian Romans, Isaurians, Huns, Heruls, etc., he would have had little difficulty commanding the Gothic army. I suspect that the Goths would have been downright eager to learn and master the tactics of the man who had defeated them. With a reconstituted and re-tooled Gothic grand army built around a core of his magnificently trained household troops, Belisarius would have had a force powerful enough to face the Visigoths or Franks in the open field. He likely would have pressed Gothic claims in Septimania—a region of southern Gaul that the Ostrogoths had unwillingly ceded to the treacherous Frankish king, Theudibert, during the Italian war. However, given the prostration of Italy which was still recovering from famine, and the incipient waves of plague which had begun sweeping across the Mediterranean world beginning in AD 542, it's hard to imagine Roman arms making much more progress in the West. Perhaps he would have found some limited success in Spain as Justinian did later.

In Books II and III of my series of novels, I have Belisarius himself offer some counter arguments—conflicts that could have turned the speculative reign of Belisarius into a disaster. In both cases, it is Belisarius's ambitious wife, Antonina, who plays the role of devil's advocate. 

In Glory of the Romans, Antonina tempts Belisarius to view himself in the role of king after his defeat of the Vandals. Belisarius's reaction is forceful and immediate:

Click for more info.

     [Antonina] moved in close to her husband until she whispered in his ear. “Every day, you enter the Vandal palace and sit on the throne to administer Carthage. And every day, I see you and think to myself: what a magnificent king he would make.”
     His eyes wide with horror, Belisarius pulled away from Antonina with a jerk as if she had touched his face with a red-hot iron poker.
     “Antonina,” he finally gasped. “I will forget that such words ever escaped your lips.”
     Undaunted, she closed with him and put her mouth again close to his ear. “Why not? You are a hero in this place. You have a mighty army and a fleet. And Africa is rich! No one could touch us. We would be free!”
     “Free,” he stammered, holding her away from him. “Free you say? You would make me a king while I live, but upon my death, I shall be a slave chained in the lowest depths of hell. Is that the fate you wish for me?”
     Now it was Antonina’s turn to be surprised by Belisarius’s vehemence.
     “I took an oath, wife!” he growled, keeping his voice down lest anyone hear. “Without my oath, what good am I to anyone? An oath-breaker is the most despicable of all men. A betrayer I would be, no better than Judas. And worse, to break an oath made before God? It is unthinkable! May I be struck dead before I ever do such a thing!”
     Antonina stood back aghast. She had gravely miscalculated.
     “Justinian is my lord here on earth, Antonina. I will never betray him. Never! Even if he stripped me of all rank, title, and wealth. Even if he deprived me of my very life! He is the God-protected emperor. Any authority I have comes through him. Were I to defy my emperor, what right would I have to claim the loyalty of the men under me?”
     “Forgive me, husband,” Antonina muttered, ashamed.
     Belisarius continued as if he hadn’t heard her: “I would have no claim on their loyalty. They would defy me as I defied my lord. And they would be right to do so for I would have shown myself to be a contemptible scoundrel and worse—a liar, a betrayer, and a murderer of the truth.”

This scene is meant to portray Belisarius's steadfast loyalty to Justinian as well has his devotion to the truth as a Christian. It should be recalled that in Book I, Belisarius willingly took an oath over the Sacrament of the Altar to be loyal to Justinian unto death. That scene was meant to correspond with the statement from Procopius featured in the previous post to the effect that Belisarius "had been bound by the emperor previously with most solemn oaths."

In this next scene taken from Rome the Eternal, Antonina, attempts to persuade her husband to take the imperial power once he has the Goths on the point of capitulation. Belisarius presents her with his reasons why he will not do so. Considering the later criticisms of Belisarius for his uxoriousness, perhaps these reasons are persuasive, not necessarily because he bows to her will—he doesn't—but because he cares more about what might happen to her than to attaining power and glory:

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     “If you achieve this victory—and let us admit that the situation shows every indication of resolving in our favor—your name will be mentioned among the most brilliant generals in history,” Antonina quipped, as she quaffed her cup of honeyed wine. “Constantine. Pompey. Even Alexander. Have you considered that? Belisarius the Great. It rolls right off the tongue.”
     Belisarius snorted. Though he was reading over reports from his garrison commanders in southern Italy, he was attentive to every word his wife said.
     “What? Is not the conquest of two immensely powerful barbarian nations something worthy of mention in the annals of history? Procopius certainly thinks so.”
     “You know very well that I do not fight for fame or glory,” Belisarius replied, looking up from his reading.
     “Yes, yes. And not for power, wealth, or from an inordinate lust for battle,” Antonina groused impatiently. “I know all that. You fight for Justinian, because he commands you to. But just once, I wish you would fight for yourself. Or, God forbid, for me.”
     “We’ve had this conversation before,” said Belisarius, his face grave. “You already know my answer.”
     “I do. And the answer is ludicrous,” Antonina said, meeting his gaze. “I see how the Gothic ambassadors regard you, how they address you, how they respect you, admire you. These are men who value nothing more than strength, both of character and of the right arm. You have both in abundance. If you but said the word, the nobles of the Goths would cast that feeble dotard Vitiges off his throne and put you...that is, they would follow you. Then, with your biscuit-eaters and the swords of all the Goths behind you, no one in the world could command you.”
     “And as I said to you once before, no honorable man would follow a general who did what you propose,” Belisarius replied with mounting frustration. “What’s more, you do not know what you are asking.”
     “How so?” Antonina said. “I’m not an idiot, you know.”
     “I never suggested that you were, my love,” Belisarius softened. “But let us play out your ambitious scheme a bit. Let us assume that the Goths depose Vitiges and elevate me in his place. And I, shattering all bonds of loyalty, accept their acclamations. And ignoring this act of perfidy, my army supports the claim and allows me to sit in security upon a throne in Italy. Have you thought about what happens next?”
     Antonina smiled, her eyes glistening with avarice. “Yes. You rule brilliantly, and I rule beside you as your consort as Theodora does in Constantinople.”
     “No, my dearest,” Belisarius said, a little sadly. “Within a month, my subjects will notice that I have but one child—a girl-child who resides in the East within easy reach of the Emperor and Empress. You don’t expect that our Joannina will be allowed to leave and join her traitorous parents, do you?”
     “That is of no concern,” Antonina whispered urgently. “I have agents in Byzantium who could spirit her away before anyone in the palace knew.”
     “For their part, the Goths will not accept Photius,” Belisarius continued in the same tone.
     “Why not? He is your son...”
     “They will see him as your son, not mine,” Belisarius declared. “They will demand a natural son to be my heir. For them, blood is of paramount importance. Do you begin to understand? They will encourage, cajole, wheedle, and threaten me to put you away and marry another woman—a younger woman—who will bear me sons. Recall how they have treated Amalasuntha and her son? How they have treated Matasuntha, though she is the granddaughter of Theodoric? Most likely, they will declare Matasuntha’s marriage to Vitiges annulled, seeing how the vows were made under duress. They will urge me to set you aside and marry her. And considering I have already broken my sacred oath to Justinian, sundering my marriage vow would be a comparatively small thing.”
     Antonina smiled. “There is only one problem with your scenario,” she said seductively, moving her lips toward his ear. “Justinian doesn’t love you as I do.” With her perfectly manicured fingers, she caressed his beard. “You will never set me aside. I have no anxiety. What’s more, do not doubt my ability to handle threats to us. I shall work upon the Gothic nobles, playing one off against the other, arranging advantageous marriages for their sons. I have no fear of court intrigue, for if you make me a queen, I will hold to my diadem with a death-grip every bit as tight as that of my mentor, Theodora.”
     Belisarius sighed, not unkindly, and kissed her. Then, rising to his feet, he gave her hand a squeeze and smiled affectionately. “I have no doubt you were born to be a queen, my love.” Collecting his papers, he made his way toward the door. “But unfortunately, you have married a mere soldier.”

So in the end, it seems likely that Belisarius could have had a long and successful reign as Western Roman Emperor—and it's very likely that he knew that the political and military situation was favorable to him—but he refused the imperial diadem for three reasons:

1. Because he would not transgress the solemn oath he took to Justinian.
2. Because he would not transgress the solemn oath he took to his wife. 
3. Because he was a devout Christian and to him, the keeping of oaths was more important than glory in this world.

If the above reasons are correct, Belisarius becomes a rather rare bird in human history. And we can more easily understand why the Gothic nobles were so utterly flabbergasted when Belisarius ended up leaving Ravenna and rejecting the greatest office in human history: Emperor of the Romans.

"They reproached him as a breaker of promises, calling him a slave by his own choice." ~ Belisarius declines the throne of the Western Empire, AD 540

Belisarius hit the Goths with a major plot-twist in AD 540.

Everyone knows that the Western Roman Empire formally ended in AD 476 when Odoacer deposed the boy-emperor Romulus Augustulus. Or was it AD 480, when the exiled Western Emperor Julius Nepos was assassinated? Or was it in AD 486 when the Roman general Syagrius was defeated by Clovis, King of the Franks, and his outpost of Roman rule in northwestern Gaul was absorbed into the Frankish Kingdom? 

No matter which date is attached to it, the Western Empire had certainly assumed room temperature by AD 493, even if the Eastern Emperor in Constantinople kept up the fiction that the Ostrogoths under Theodoric the Great ruled Italy and Dalmatia as his viceroys. 

But something strange happened about fifty years later in AD 540. A serious effort was made to revive the Western Roman Empire, and if not for the loyalty and devotion of one man, it may have happened.

Regular readers of this blog have seen my frequent posts about war in Italy launched by Justinian beginning in AD 536 (see here, here, here, and here). This war of reconquest was a long, grinding affair which included long sieges of Neapolis (Naples), Rome, Ariminum (Rimini), and Ravenna. The Goths began the war with a significant advantage in both men and morale, only to be methodically worn down by Justinian's Master of Soldiers, Belisarius. By spring of AD 540, Belisarius and his reinforced Roman army had King Vittigis and the remnant of the Gothic forces trapped in Ravenna. 

Considering the scale of the reverses the Goths had suffered, they had no confidence left in their poorly-chosen king, and were ready to talk peace. For his part, Justinian was also ready to talk peace. The Persians under Chosroes I had crossed the frontier and had invaded Roman Mesopotamia, penetrating far into the Empire and threatening the cities of Syria. For Justinian, bringing the war in Italy to a rapid close was his top priority. He therefore sent ambassadors to Ravenna to negotiate an armistice which would leave the Goths in control of Italy north of the River Po, thereby forming a buffer state between Roman Italy to the south of the Po and the bellicose Franks.  

Feeling cheated of his hard-won victory in Italy, and perhaps not fully comprehending the disaster unfolding in the East, Belisarius greeted the peace overtures from Constantinople with dismay. In the words of Procopius who was an eye-witness to events in Italy:

Belisarius, upon hearing this, was moved with vexation, counting it a great calamity that anyone should prevent him from winning the decisive victory of the whole war, when it was possible to do so with no trouble, and leading Vittigis a captive to Byzantium. So when the envoys returned from Ravenna, he refused absolutely to ratify the agreement by his own signature. [Procopius, History of the Wars, Book VI, Chapter XXIX]

Belisarius's stubbornness perplexed both the Goths and the Roman ambassadors. Even his own officers were unanimous in their opinion that he should forgo the conquest of all of Italy and follow the Emperor's decision to split the country. For their part, the Goths feared a double-cross and would not accept any treaty unless it was ratified by Belisarius. 

It was at this moment that a most unexpected thing happened: someone in the Gothic court suggested that they not surrender to Justinian, but to Belisarius instead. At the same time, they would declare Belisarius Emperor and seat him upon the vacant throne of the Western Roman Empire. 

Who proposed this audacious plan? Procopius does not say. In Rome the Eternal, I put the idea into the mouth of Aurelius Cassiodorus, largely for dramatic reasons. However, it is possible if not likely that Cassiodorus played a role in this gambit. After all, he was an extremely able man with long experience navigating a dangerous course between the conservative Roman nobility and the sometimes volatile Gothic royal court. He had been Praetorian Prefect under Queen Amalasuntha, King Theodatus, and under Vittigis as well. After AD 538, he drops out of the historical record for about a decade—his official correspondence ceases during this time. His name is not found at all in the histories of Procopius. Given his political prominence, and his stature as an historian in his own right, having completed an extensive history of the Goths in the early 530s, it is certainly strange that Procopius doesn't mention him. Could there have been a bit of professional jealousy or political rivalry at work? After all, for a classicizing historian like Procopius, the greatest insult he could offer someone he disliked was to pretend he didn't exist. 

One gets a strong sense when reading Procopius's account of the Gothic offer of the Purple to Belisarius, that the historian is not telling the whole story—that he is purposely holding back some of the key details. This is likely because the topic itself was fraught with peril. If the taint of disloyalty to the emperor was attached to any individual in Procopius's retelling, it could have disastrous consequences for the person thus exposed. 

In the case of Belisarius, his legendary loyalty to the emperor and his subsequent behavior tended to immunize him from any charges of treachery. So Procopius has no difficulty describing the part in this affair played by his illustrious benefactor.

When the Goths presented their bold proposal to Belisarius, he pretended to accept. Procopius records Belisarius's true feelings as follows:

Click for more info.

Belisarius was quite unwilling to assume the ruling power against the will of the emperor; for he had an extraordinary loathing for the name of tyrant, and furthermore he had, in fact, been bound by the emperor previously with most solemn oaths never during his lifetime to organize a revolution; still, in order to turn the situation before him to the best advantage, he let it appear that he received the proposals of the barbarians gladly. [Procopius, History of the Wars, Book VI, Chapter XXIX]

What happened next? The Goths surrendered and Belisarius took all the necessary oaths, holding back only the oath to receive the imperial power which he said he would do when he was in Ravenna with his army. The Gothic envoys did not think this at all odd, as Procopius relates:

The envoys, thinking that he would never reject the kingship, but that he would strive for it above all other things, made not the least hesitation in urging him to come with them into Ravenna. [Procopius, History of the Wars, Book VI, Chapter XXIX]

Once inside Ravenna, Belisarius put King Vittigis under guard, disbanded the Gothic army, and proceeded to bring in provisions to feed the starving populace. He did not take any action, ceremonial or otherwise, to proclaim his reign. It wasn't long before the Gothic nobles realized that Belisarius had no intention of ruling as emperor or anything other than Justinian's Master of Soldiers. When Belisarius was summoned back to Constantinople and it became clear that he had every intention of following the emperor's command, the Goths were incensed. In a last ditch effort, they called on Belisarius to uphold his promises, as Procopius writes:

These envoys, upon coming before Belisarius, reminded him of the agreement made with them and reproached him as a breaker of promises, calling him a slave by his own choice, and chiding him because, they said, he did not blush at choosing servitude in place of the kingship. [Procopius, History of the Wars, Book VI, Chapter XXX]

Belisarius did not respond as they hoped:

He, contrary to their expectations, refused them outright saying that never, while the emperor Justinian lived, would Belisarius usurp the title of king. [Procopius, History of the Wars, Book VI, Chapter XXX]

Soon after this confrontation, Belisarius left Italy for Constantinople. Shortly thereafter, the Goths named a new king, Totila, who would be the scourge of Italy for the next decade plus.

19th century woodcut of Belisarius refusing the imperial diadem.

But questions remain. If Belisarius had accepted the diadem of the Western Roman Empire, what would have happened? Could he have remained on the throne? How would Justinian have reacted? Did Belisarius have the political and administrative acumen to rule successfully? Would he have had the military and diplomatic skill to extend Roman power beyond Italy?

Given how long this post has become, I will explore these questions in a separate post.

"Men Are by No Means Wont to Wage War According to the Judgment of their Enemies." ~ Belisarius rejects Gothic surrender terms, March AD 537

"Whoever of you has hopes of setting foot in Rome without a fight is mistaken in his judgment. For as long as Belisarius lives, it is impossible for him to relinquish this city."
~Belisarius to the Gothic envoys in AD 537.

The above quote is taken from The History of the Wars by the late-Roman historian, Procopius of Caesarea. To set the scene, envision the grand Gothic army of over 100,000 mail-clad warriors newly arrived at their camps about the walls of Rome. Within the walls, Belisarius and his paltry force of less than 6,000 men could barely defend a fraction of the total circumference of the immense circuit. The Gothic King, Vitiges, felt that victory was assured. But in order to increase the discomfiture of his opponent, the Goths sent an embassy into the city, hoping to gauge the morale of the Roman citizens, and perhaps turn some of the nobles against Belisarius. They also hold out terms for an armistice if Belisarius would only withdraw his hopelessly outnumbered army from the city.

Procopius writes:

Click here for more info.

Vittigis, King of the Goths, hearing all this from the deserters and desiring to embroil [the Romans] with one another still more, and thinking that in this way the affairs of the Romans would be thrown into great confusion, sent to Belisarius some envoys, among whom was Albis. And when these men came before Belisarius, they spoke as follows in the presence of the Roman senators and all the commanders of the army:

"From of old, general, mankind has made true and proper distinctions in the names they give to things; and one of these distinctions is this—rashness is different from bravery. For rashness, when it takes possession of a man, brings him into danger with discredit, but bravery bestows upon him an adequate prize in reputation for valor. Now one of these two has brought you against us, but which it is you will straightway make clear. For if, on the one hand, you placed your confidence in bravery when you took the field against the Goths, there is ample opportunity, noble sir, for you to do the deeds of a brave man, since you have only to look down from your wall to see the army of the enemy. But if, on the other hand, it was because you were possessed by rashness that you came to attack us, certainly you now repent you of the reckless undertaking. For the opinions of those who have made a desperate venture are wont to undergo a change whenever they find themselves in serious straits. 

"Now, therefore, do not cause the sufferings of these Romans to be prolonged any further, men whom Theoderic fostered in a life not only of soft luxury but also of freedom, and cease your resistance to him who is the master both of the Goths and of the Italians. Is it not monstrous that you should sit in Rome hemmed in as you are and in abject terror of the enemy, while the king of this city passes his time in a fortified camp and inflicts the evils of war upon his own subjects? But we shall give both you and your followers an opportunity to take your departure forthwith in security, retaining all your possessions. For to trample upon those who have learned to take a new view of prudence we consider neither holy nor worthy of the ways of men. And, further, we should gladly ask these Romans what complaints they could have had against the Goths that they betrayed both us and themselves, seeing that up to this time they have enjoyed our kindness, and now are acquainted by experience with the assistance to be expected from you."

The response of Belisarius was, perhaps, not exactly what the Gothic envoys were expecting: 

Thus spoke the envoys. And Belisarius replied as follows: "It is not to rest with you to choose the moment for conference. For men are by no means wont to wage war according to the judgment of their enemies, but it is customary for each one to arrange his own affairs for himself, in whatever manner seems to him best. But I say to you that there will come a time when you will want to hide your heads under the thistles but will find no shelter anywhere. 

"As for Rome, moreover, which we have captured, in holding it we hold nothing which belongs to others, but it was you who trespassed upon this city in former times, though it did not belong to you at all, and now you have given it back, however unwillingly, to its ancient possessors. And whoever of you has hopes of setting foot in Rome without a fight is mistaken in his judgment. For as long as Belisarius lives, it is impossible for him to relinquish this city." 

Such were the words of Belisarius." 

Click for more info.

In Belisarius, Book III: Rome the Eternal, I opted to put this scene into the mouth of Albis, the Gothic envoy, as he described to his king the type of man who opposed them. He concludes his assessment of Belisarius, declaring: "In my opinion, O King, only iron and fire will serve to evict him from Rome." 

To which Vitiges replies: "Then iron and fire is what he will get."

At this early stage of the siege, Vitiges is still brimming with confidence, sure of his ultimate victory but hoping to convince Belisarius to capitulate with a modicum of effort and bloodshed. 

But within a year, the situation had completely turned around.

Though mentioned only once by Procopius, Albis plays a large role in Rome the Eternal as one of the primary strategists of Vitiges, occasionally butting heads but more frequently conspiring with Cassiodorus.

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.

"Work of Every Description Ceased" ~ First hand accounts of the Plague of Justinian, 6th century AD

Click above for a video excerpt from The Ecclesiastical History of Evagrius
describing a personal encounter with the dreaded Plague of Justinian.

The thought of pandemic troubles many souls these days. It is well to keep in mind that as bad as things may seem with regard to the deaths caused by the COVID-19 virus, we are not even within shouting distance of the type of utter and absolute societal devastation caused by the typical catastrophic historical plague.

One of these epic pestilential events was the so-called Plague of Justinian of the mid-to-late 6th century AD. Erupting in AD 542, the Plague of Justinian is thought to be the first recorded outbreak of a disease which would later be known as the Black Death—Bubonic Plague. While not as well-known as the scourge that wiped out nearly a third of the population of 14th century Europe, Justinian's Plague raged for over 50 years and claimed hundreds-of-thousands if not millions of lives. It was also largely untreatable and the physicians of late antiquity were unable to determine even how it was transmitted. Much later, medical science would discover that the vector was a flea carried by the black rat.

Modern popular histories, like Justinian's Flea, have attempted to make the case that this plague was the direct precursor to the collapse of Roman and Persian power in the near east. But much more interesting to me are the first-person accounts of the plague which have come down to us from antiquity.

The premier source for Justinian's Plague is, of course, Procopius of Caesarea, the great classicizing historian of the 6th century. Procopius was, no doubt, an eyewitness to the awful career of the deadly pathogen. His lengthy account includes the following passage which gives an indication of how the scourge ravaged even the most magnificent city in the world at the time, Constantinople:

...All who had the good fortune to he in health were sitting in their houses, either attending the sick or mourning the dead. And if one did succeed in meeting a man going out, he was carrying one of the dead. And work of every description ceased, and all the trades were abandoned by the artisans, and all other work as well, such as each had in hand. Indeed in a city which was simply abounding in all good things starvation almost absolute was running riot. [Taken from Procopius: History of the Wars, Book II, Chapter xxiii]

Detail of The Plague at Ashdod by Angelo Caroselli, 1631. If you click to
enlarge and look closely at the lower left, you will see the culprit who
helped spread the Plague of Justinian in the 6th century AD.

Presented below is another contemporary account of the Justinianic Plague taken from the Ecclesiastical History of Evagrius. This fascinating work was written in the late 6th century AD by Evagrius Scholasticus, a lawyer originating in Syria near Antioch. Though he deals largely with matters impacting the Christian churches of his time, Evagrius also inserts details of more general interest into his histories, including this account of the Plague and how it affected him on a deeply personal level. A video rendering of the Evagrius's account may be found at the beginning of this post. The full text is provided below for convenience:

I will also describe the circumstances of the pestilence which commenced at that period, and has now prevailed and extended over the whole world for fifty-two years; a circumstance such as has never before been recorded. Two years after the capture of Antioch by the Persians, a pestilence broke out, in some respects similar to that described by Thucydides, in others widely different. It took its rise from Aethiopia, as is now reported, and made a circuit of the whole world in succession, leaving, as I suppose, no part of the human race unvisited by the disease.

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Some cities were so severely afflicted as to be altogether depopulated, though in other places the visitation was less violent. It neither commenced according to any fixed period, nor was the time of its cessation uniform, but it seized upon some places at the commencement of winter, others in the course of the spring, others during the summer, and in some cases, when the autumn was advanced. In some instances, having infected a part of a city, it left the remainder untouched; and frequently in an uninfected city one might remark a few households excessively wasted; and in several places, while one or two households utterly perished, the rest of the city remained unvisited: but, as we have learned from careful observation, the uninfected households alone suffered the succeeding year. But the most singular circumstance of all was this; that if it happened that any inhabitants of an infected city were living in a place which the calamity had not visited, these alone were seized with the disorder. This visitation also befell cities and other places in many instances according to the periods called Indictions; and the disease occurred, with the almost utter destruction of human beings, in the second year of each indiction.

Thus it happened in my own case—for I deem it fitting, in due adaptation of circumstances, to insert also in this history matters relating to myself—that at the commencement of this calamity I was seized with what are termed buboes, while still a school-boy, and lost by its recurrence at different times several of my children, my wife, and many of my kin, as well as of my domestic and country servants; the several indictions making, as it were, a distribution of my misfortunes. Thus, not quite two years before my writing this, being now in the fifty-eighth year of my age, on its fourth visit to Antioch, at the expiration of the fourth indiction from its commencement, I lost a daughter and her son, besides those who had died previously.

The plague was a complication of diseases: for, in some cases, commencing in the head, and rendering the eyes bloody and the face swollen, it descended into the throat, and then destroyed the patient. In others, there was a flux of the bowels. In others buboes were formed, followed by violent fever, and the sufferers died at the end of two or three days, equally in possession, with the healthy, of their mental and bodily powers. Others died in a state of delirium, and some by the breaking out of carbuncles. Cases occurred where persons, who had been attacked once and twice and had recovered, died by a subsequent seizure.

The ways in which the disease; was communicated, were various and unaccountable: for some perished by merely living with the infected, others by only touching them, others by having entered their chamber, others by frequenting public places. Some, having fled from the infected cities, escaped themselves, but imparted the disease to the healthy. Some were altogether free from contagion, though they had associated with many who were afflicted, and had touched many not only in their sickness but also when dead. Some, too, who were desirous of death, on account of the utter loss of their children and friends, and with this view placed themselves as much as possible in contact with the diseased, were nevertheless not infected; as if the pestilence struggled against their purpose.

This calamity has prevailed, as I have already said, to the present time, for two and fifty years, exceeding all that have preceded it. For Philostratus expresses wonder that the pestilence which happened in his time, lasted for fifteen years. The sequel is uncertain, since its course will be guided by the good pleasure of God, who knows both the causes of things, and their tendencies. [Taken from: The Ecclesiastical History of Evagrius, Book IV, Chapter XXIX].

No doubt, this is sobering reading. But we may take some solace in that even in the face of such calamitous losses, the plague eventually subsided, men and women survived, children were raised up, and many turned back to God for comfort in their affliction. We should also give thanks that modern-day medical science is better equipped cope with such pandemic scourges than our ancient forebears who stood practically defenseless in the face of such virulent and deadly contagions.

"He incurred the emperor's anger" ~ The last days and death of Belisarius

Belisarius (ca. 1776) by François-André Vincent.

The life of Belisarius, the greatest military commander of the Roman Empire, came to a close in early March AD 565. Considering how much detail we have of his middle life and military career thanks to his secretary, the historian Procopius of Caesarea, we possess comparatively very little information about his final days. The chronicler John Malalas, writing perhaps 10 years after Belisarius's death, provides some of the only reliable notices of the hero's last acts, beginning with the plot against Justinian which was hatched in AD 562 and in which Belisarius was implicated as a co-conspirator. Malalas offers the following:

In the month of November of the 11th indiction, certain persons devised a plot against the emperor Justinian…Their plan was the following: that as the emperor was sitting in the triclinium in the evening, they would go in and murder him. They stationed their own men in various places so that they could create a disturbance when the plot had been carried out….

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The plot had been discovered in advance: Markellos was arrested and, having failed in his aim, he drew the dagger which he was wearing and inflicted three wounds on himself and so died. Sergius, the nephew of Aitherios, sought sanctuary in Our Lady Mother of God at Blachernai. Expelled from the precincts on grounds that he had conspired against the emperor, he was questioned. He made a deposition that Isakios the money dealer, from the household of the patrician Belisarios, also knew about the plot, as did Vitus the money dealer, and Paulus, Belisarios’s sub-optio.

Both were arrested and turned over to Prokopios, the city prefect….They denounced Belisarios the patrician and so he incurred the emperor’s anger. (Jeffreys, Chronicle of John Malalas, pp. 301-303).

Justinian then revealed the details of the plot during a public silentium et conventus which was attended by all of the officers of state. Based on the testimony of the conspirators, Belisarius was stripped of his household guard. Malalas points out that Belisarius did not resist in any way.

In another notice from about nine months later, Malalas says that Belisarius was received by the emperor and given back all his honors.

Finally, near the end of his chronicle, Malalas says: “In March of this year (AD 565) in the 13th indiction, Belisarios the patrician died in Byzantion, and his property accrued to the imperial house of Marina.” (Jeffreys, Chronicle of John Malalas, p. 305).

This sparse account is, sadly, the best we have from a contemporary source. The rest of the story is generally cobbled together from sources writing a long time afterwards. From such later sources emerge the legends about how Belisarius spent the nine months of his disgrace and tales of his being blinded by a vindictive Justinian. Taking stock of all these stories and adding copious assumptions of his own, Lord Mahon, the outstanding mid-19th century biographer of Belisarius, posited his own summary of the great warrior’s last years in his seminal work, The Life of Belisarius:

Since the Bulgarian victory [in AD 559], the hero had remained under the displeasure of Justinian. But it required the very extremity of jealous dotage to believe that he, who in the full vigor of manhood had refused a crown and preserved his loyalty amidst the strongest temptations to rebellion, should now at the close of life assume the part of an assassin. Such considerations were overlooked by his sovereign, or suppressed by his enemies.

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In the month of December, Belisarius was ignominiously deprived of his guards and domestics. His fortunes were sequestered, and he was detained a close prisoner in his palace. The trial of the true and supposed conspirators took place in the ensuing year, when a sentence of death was probably pronounced on all and executed on the greater number. The past services of Belisarius, which might have proved his innocence, served at least to mitigate his fate, and according to a frequent practice of the Byzantine court with eminent state prisoners, the decree of death was relaxed into one of blindness, and his eyes were accordingly put out.

It was then that, restored to liberty but deprived of all means of subsistence by the preceding confiscation of his property, Belisarius was reduced to beg his bread before the gates of the convent of Laurus. The platter of wood or earthenware which he held out for charity, and his exclamation, "Give a penny to Belisarius the General,'' remained for many years impressed on the recollection of the people.

It would seem that this spectacle of persecuted merit, aroused some dangerous feelings of indignation and pity, and was therefore speedily removed from public view. Belisarius was brought back, most probably as a prisoner, to his former palace, a portion of his treasures was allotted for his use, and these circumstances may have given some color for the assertion two or three centuries afterwards, of his having been restored to honors and to freedom.

His death, which perhaps was hastened by the grief or the hardships of captivity, ensued in the course of next spring, and Antonina, who survived him, devoted to the cloister the remains of her life and fortune.

Such, in all likelihood, is the authentic narrative of the fall of Belisarius.

Mahon goes on to build a scholarly case that the legend of the blind Belisarius was in fact reflective of what really happened. His evidence, however, failed to convince many of his contemporaries. Thus, despite the popularity of the blind Belisarius legend in the 18th century, the prevailing view today remains that he was received back into Justinian's good graces and passed away in the imperial favor with his sight intact.

Interestingly, Mahon introduces a previously unconsidered source which, he claimed, pointed toward the truth behind the legend. This source is an anonymous guidebook to Constantinople written during the reign of Alexios I Komenos which Mahon found in Anselmo Banduri's Imperium Orientale. Though this mention moved the first mention of the blind Belisarius legend back about a century, in this same guidebook is a note indicating that there was still standing in Constantinople in the late 11th century a gilded statue of Belisarius outside the Chalke palace beside a statue of the emperor Justin I and a cross erected by Justinian. For details, see Finlay: Greece Under the Romans, BC 146 through AD 176.

Pope Vigilius Celebrates Christmas by Jumping from a Window to Escape Justinian's Henchmen ~ December 23, AD 551

Scene from the life of Joseph the Patriarch as taken from the mid-6th century
throne of Maximian, bishop of Ravenna. The late-Roman garb of the figures,
particularly the soldiers, is notable.

Two days before Christmas, on 23 December 551 AD, a most curious scene took place which involved a Pope squeezing out of a palace window in the middle of the night, boarding a boat, and fleeing pell-mell across the Bosporus to seek sanctuary from the menaces of the Christian Roman emperor.

In a previous post, I provided a summary of the miserable reign of Pope Vigilius, who reigned from AD 537 to 555. At the time of the abovementioned episode, Vigilius had already been detained in Constantinople by the emperor Justinian for several years. The Pope and the Emperor had been squabbling over the so-called “Three Chapters” controversy—part of a debate over the nature of Christ during which accusations, threats and excommunications had roiled the Church for decades. Elected to the papacy as a pawn of the empress Theodora, Vigilius had been spirited away to Constantinople when he had refused to do the bidding of the Empress and lift the excommunications on her monophysite allies.

Vigilius was no stranger to Justinian’s strong-arm tactics. A few years before, he had been man-handled by the emperor’s guardsmen who attempted to remove him physically from a place of sanctuary at the church of Saint Peter in Constantinople. He was only saved by the reticence of Justinian’s soldiers who felt the duty unseemly and fled, spurred on by an angry mob that had gathered in support of the Pope. Vigilius had later been convinced to emerge and negotiate with the emperor again, taking up residence in the Palace of Placidia after oaths were given ensuring his personal safety. But after additional diplomacy produced no good fruit, Justinian again lost patience. Writing in the late 19th century, Thomas Hodgkin describes the situation of Vigilius, drawn directly from the Pope’s encyclical letter to the Catholic world written a few months after the event:

Notwithstanding all this swearing, the situation of the Pope after his return became daily more intolerable. His servants and ecclesiastics who remained faithful to him were publicly insulted. Every entrance to the palace was blocked by armed men. He had reason to think that a violent attack was about to be made upon his person. After making a vain appeal to the imperial envoys whose plighted oath was thus being violated, he quitted the palace again by night two days before Christmas-day. The shouts of men-at-arms penetrated even to his bed-chamber, and only the urgent terror, as he himself says, could have impelled him to the hardships and dangers of a nocturnal expedition. [Hodgkin, Italy and Her Invaders, p. 599]

According to Hodgkin’s footnote on the above passage, it seems that the Roman Pontiff was forced to squeeze his not inconsiderable person through a small window or hole in order to escape. Once out of the palace, Vigilius boarded a boat and made a perilous night-crossing of the Bosporous, taking refuge at the church of Saint Euphemia in Chalcedon. This was a symbolic move on the Pope’s part – Saint Euphemia was the Church where the Council of Chalcedon had met nearly a century before. It was this Council that Vigilius was defending against attempts by the emperor to water down its authority.

The Pope remained in St. Euphemia for a little over a month before Justinian sent a delegation of the most illustrious Romans to attempt to coax him forth. These included no less than the master of soldiers Belisarius, the Roman senator Cethegus, Peter the Patrician, the emperor’s great-nephew Justin, and the emperor’s secretary Marcellinus.

A few days after this meeting, Pope Vigilius wrote the encyclical letter mentioned above. Here are the Pope’s own words from the introduction of the encyclical, as translated in Fr. Hugo Rahner’s book, Church and State in Early Christianity:

We sought asylum in this church for no financial or personal reasons but solely because of the scandal afflicting the Church, which, because of our sins, is known to all. Therefore, if the controversy rending the Church is resolved, and the peace which our most religious sovereign negotiated in his uncle’s [Justin I] time is restored, then I have no need of oaths—I will leave immediately. But if the controversy is not ended, then oaths are of no avail, for I will never agree to leave the Church of St. Euphemia until the Church is rid of this scandal. [Rahner: Church and State in Early Christianity, p. 175]

The balance of this letter is well worth reading. Regardless of what one thinks of Vigilius and his subsequent knuckling-under to the emperor’s wishes, one is forced to admire his steadfastness here in the face of an irresistible political will and threats of physical compulsion. The letter also gives us an idea of the complexity of the political and religious situation in the Roman Empire at the time—when Christian doctrine could be confected and enforced using the most naked partisan tools including threats, intimidation, bribery, intrigue, forgery and even brute force.

One might also wish that our modern Church leaders would show even a fraction of this type of steadfastness when defending traditional Christian doctrine against diabolical innovations.