Justinian by Ross Laidlaw

ashlar blocks, rising in the middle of the cistern. Petrus started at the sight of two vast, half-submerged Medusa heads, glaring balefully at him from the side of the landing-stage, their serpent-locks appearing to stir in the gently agitated water.
    A short flight of steps took Petrus and Valerian to the top of the great platform which served as an anchorage for the boats of the inspection and maintenance workers, and a repository for their equipment. Today, it was ringed by those who had witnessed the scene in the bath-house, enclosing a space about thirty feet across. Clad only in his underwear, his second beside him, Nearchus was already waiting in the centre.
    Stripping, Petrus advanced towards his opponent, his height and graceful build contrasting with the other’s squat, heavily muscled frame. Dismissing the seconds to the perimeter, the
arbiter
now stepped forward, positioning himself between the contestants. ‘No artificial aids permitted,’ he declared. ‘The first to force the other onto his back, wins.’ Moving aside, he called, ‘Begin.’
    The two young men circled each other warily; then, with a speed and agility that belied his bulk, Nearchus, arms whirling, closed withhis adversary in a weaving rush. Clapping a hand to his head, Petrus uttered a sudden, loud cry – and collapsed. Seconds and
arbiter
sprinted forward and bent over Petrus’ barely conscious form. ‘Foul play!’ declared Valerian, pointing to a discoloured lump visibly swelling on his friend’s forehead. Picking up a round stone that lay beside the prostrate Petrus, the
arbiter
concurred. Holding aloft the offending object for general inspection, he announced, ‘By employing a concealed weapon, Nearchus has flagrantly breached the rules of the contest. I therefore declare Petrus the winner by default.’
    In vain, Nearchus angrily protested his innocence. If he’d really hit Petrus with a stone, he shouted, he’d hardly leave the evidence lying around. But it was no good; having already forfeited general sympathy, no one, it seemed, was now prepared to accord him credence. Shunned by his fellow students, he became an increasingly lonely and embittered figure at the university. Meanwhile, his victorious rival’s star continued to rise, Petrus’ popularity boosted by the face-off with Nearchus.
    At night however, Petrus was increasingly troubled by a recurring dream from the past. It would start with the first sighting of that helmet, caught in a bush halfway up the cliff. Then, although knowing what was coming, he would struggle to regain consciousness, but the dream would progress with an awful inevitability: his agony of hesitation at the Bad Step; then Atawulf clinging desperately to the boulder; finally, his friend’s cry of terror as he lost his grip and went spinning into space . . . Sweating and terrified, only then would Petrus awake. As if drawn by some strange compulsion, he would study his face in a looking-glass, and note, reflected back at him accusingly, a faint, star-shaped scar on his forehead – the brand of the coward. At such moments his confidence would drain away as he found himself wondering if, after all, Nearchus had been right: could a barbarian and the son of an ex-slave ever hope for real and lasting acceptance by the Roman world?
    * The five leading Roman jurors in the past, whose verdicts were accepted as deciding precedent.
    * The Sea of Marmara.
    * Ethiopia.
    * Their rival faction was the Greens. See Notes for Chapter 3.

THREE
    The Emperor Caesar Justin . . . assuming empire by universal choice. . .it is
our care . . . to keep you in all prosperity
    Constantine VII Porphyrogenitus,
On the Ceremonies of the Court
, c. 950
    â€˜Petrus!’
    â€˜Valerianus!’
    The two friends (whose diverging paths after their student days ended fifteen years before, had prevented their meeting save on rare occasions) embraced warmly, at the