Justinian by Ross Laidlaw Page B

in the succession game, he most certainly could not be ruled out. Thus, the perfect ingredients for a bloody civil war had all come together at the worst possible conjunction.
    It was therefore incumbent on Celer and Roderic, as the two ‘strong men’ in the capital, to take swift, decisive action to install a new emperorbefore Vitalian or Hypatius could enter the arena. Though speed was of paramount importance, the candidate for the purple must yet be chosen with the utmost care. He would have to be acceptable not only to the Senate and the Army, but most of all to the people – the volatile, strong-willed, and passionate citizens of Constantinople (whose views could be said to reflect in microcosm the opinion of the Empire as a whole), without whose approval no emperor could hope to keep his throne.
    Eagerly exchanging reminiscences, the two men headed south into the Twelfth Region (less distinguished than the Eleventh, but still respectable), bound for the Harbour of Theodosius.
    â€˜Phew! After campaigning in the highlands of Isauria, I’d forgotten just how hot the city gets in July,’ murmured Valerian, mopping his brow as they crossed the wide and crowded Mesé, its arcaded sides filled with shops selling silks, jewellery, scent, and a hundred other luxuries. All around them swirled a dense mass of humanity, colourful, cosmopolitan: wealthy citizens bejewelled and dressed in the height of fashion, attended by a train of servants and hangers-on; members of the new order of patricians, distinguished in their white robes edged with purple; monks and bearded priests; off-duty soldiers; blue-eyed Germans, conspicuous by their fair hair and pink skins; peasants from the country, driving carts full of vegetables; Egyptian sailors on leave from the grainships of Alexandria; soberly clad merchants . . .
    A group of Blues supporters approached, everyone in their vicinity giving them a wide berth. On passing Petrus and Valerian however, they greeted the former with respectful salutations.
    â€˜You’re not involved with that bunch of thugs, surely!’ exclaimed Valerian.
    â€˜Purely on a business basis. Call it mutual back-scratching: I keep the city prefect’s police off their backs, in return, they employ, ah – “persuasion”, to expedite certain contracts for my uncle. You’ve no idea the amount of tedious bureaucracy you have to cope with if you go through the normal channels.’
    â€˜You dark horse, you.’ Valerian shook his head, half in disapproval, half in admiration.
    As the two threaded the narrow lanes of wooden houses leading to the harbour area, they became aware of a distant shouting coming from an eastern direction. It grew steadily in volume as it swept westwards through the city like an advancing wave. At last, what had at first been a confusedbabel of sound, resolved itself into intelligible phrases: ‘Anastasius is dead . . . the emperor is no more . . . our “little father” has been taken from us . . .’ The efforts of the imperial staff to stop the news from getting out had failed – little wonder, considering that the Palace was not a single edifice but consisted of two dozen separate buildings: pavilions, banqueting halls, state rooms, offices, chapels, barracks . . . Given such a scenario, total security was virtually impossible.
    â€˜I must get back to the Palace!’ exclaimed Petrus, immediately aware of the potential crisis that the news would have precipitated. ‘As a member of the Scholae I’ll be expected; I’d have been there already but for the fact that, thanks to my uncle, I’m excused living in barracks. I just hope to God that Celer and uncle Roderic can keep a lid on things and instal a new emperor before Vitalian or Hypatius can stir things up.’ He smiled apologetically at his companion. ‘Sorry, old friend, our session at Diogenes’ will have to –’ He broke off