Guinevere: The Legend in Autumn by Persia Woolley

Goth who now rules Italy. He’s an odd one, Your Highness—came to power by killing the old king before him, but has given the Empire more than a decade of peace since.”
    “The Empire?” Arthur queried. “Are you saying there is a barbarian who preserves the concept of the Empire, rather than destroying it in order to set up his own separate kingdom?”
    “Aye. This Theodoric is not the typical unwashed savage,” Palomides concurred. “He’s a civilized sort who spent his childhood as a political hostage in the Court at Constantinople. So he pays homage to the Emperor in the East and has kept the Roman government of Italy intact—honors the Senators and that sort of thing. They say his army is made up entirely of Goths like himself but he gives them no power in governing.”
    The warriors in our Hall were beginning to fidget, having little interest in politics so far from home. With the mention of the army they quieted down again, however, no doubt curious about their eastern counterparts.
    “Theodoric is trying to rule a country of two separate peoples,” the Arab noted, elaborating on tales he’d heard of great waves of Goths pouring over the mountains into Italy, trundling along with all their earthly goods piled in huge, lumbering wagons, driving their flocks before them. Most of them had settled into peaceful farming, taking over deserted villas or clearing new land. Still, it must have been shocking to see a whole nation of foreigners swarming over the land like locusts.
    That is one of the advantages to living on an island—at least the Saxons and Angles and Jutes who keep invading our shores come only in scattered boatloads. And most of those have sworn fealty and become Federates under our rule, for all that they are aliens on our shore.
    “Theodoric has separate laws for the Goths and the Romans, each based on their own historic codes,” Palomides continued. “But he’s compiled them all in a collection called the Edictum. He holds it’s for the good of all his subjects, whether barbarian or Roman, Catholic or Aryan, Pagan or Jew.”
    By now other guests at the Round Table had begun to shift about and I tried to catch Arthur’s attention before a dissertation on legal matters put everyone to sleep. But examples of other people’s laws were exactly what Britain’s High King wanted to hear, and he wasn’t about to be distracted. “Were you able to get a copy?”
    “No.” Palomides shook his head. “But while I was in Ravenna I met a Roman noble who is an adviser to Theodoric—Boethius, his name is. He promised to keep watch in the bazaar for whatever manuscripts might be useful for you. And he himself has worked on such matters.”
    The Arab paused to drink from his goblet and I spoke up quickly. “Did you get to Constantinople?”
    “Ah, M’lady, indeed. It is truly even more exciting than Rome, now that the Eternal City is in decline…greatest center of learning and art and commerce there is.”
    He went on to describe the fabled city that sits on a spit of land between two seas, with a natural harbor for those traders who come by boat instead of caravan. The bazaar is a crossroads of goods from all over the world—oranges and bronzeware from India; shining silks and beautiful gilded platters from Persia; leather and black goat-hair capes from Spain; cotton and papyrus from Egypt; and linens from Panopolis. There was, he said, even a display of British wool at one of the stalls! And perfumes, wonderful perfumes. On a warm day they filled the city with their fragrance, though sometimes the stench of the tanneries overwhelmed them.
    “Did you see the Emperor Anastasius?” Arthur inquired.
    “No, M’lord, I’m afraid not,” Palomides turned suddenly serious. “It seems the Emperor is very old.”
    “But what of the letter we wrote to him? Did you deliver it?”
    “Not exactly. I tried, Your Highness, but they are all very strict about being Christians, those eastern nobles,