Nobilissima (5 page)

“Are you unwell?” he asked in the nasal tone that I hated so much.

“Not at all. I’m in excellent health. And I’ll remind you to call me Nobilissima when you address me.”

“Nobilissima,” said Olympius, drawing the word out. “What can I do for you?”

“I want you to tell Honorius to sign the agreement with Alaric so that this siege will come to an end before anyone else dies.”

He smirked. “Is that all?” he said. “I’d hoped to hear something more sensible from you. I was impressed, you know, that you signed the death warrant for Serena. That showed some backbone. But to give in to the Goth king’s outrageous demands shows only weakness.”

“If we don’t settle with Alaric, he’ll attack the city. And if Rome falls, then not even Ravenna will be safe.”

“That’s an empty threat, as you well know, Nobilissima,” said Olympius. “Alaric will never dare to attack Rome. All we have to do is wait it out. His people will tire of camping out there, and they’ll leave. They’ll go back north where they belong. It’s just a matter of time.”

“Time!” I exclaimed, feeling the heat rising to my cheeks and aware of Sylvia’s warning touch on my arm. “There’s no time left for the citizens of Rome. Last week, Alaric’s men took control of the aqueducts and bribed city officials to show them how to operate the valves. Almost all the water to the city has been cut off and redirected to the tanks nearest to the Goth camps. There’s no food and no water. There’s no more time.”

I paused and looked into his face but it showed no expression.

“Why did you agree to see me, if you aren’t willing to listen to what I have to say?” I asked.

“I was curious,” replied the Provost. “I thought perhaps you would assist me in convincing the senators to refuse any further negotiations with the Goth.”

“Well, I won’t,” I said. “Go back to Ravenna and tell Honorius to sign the agreement. He has more than enough money in his coffers and he doesn’t care about the land that the Goths want. He probably couldn’t even find it on a map. This is the deal that we promised to Alaric and his army, nothing more. Then we’ll have done what we should have done all along.”

“It was Stilicho who promised these things to the Goths, and he’s dead. We have no obligation to honor his promises. He was a traitor, and conspired against the Emperor, in case you’ve forgotten.”

My knees trembled and I had to take a couple of deep breaths. Olympius himself had ordered the assassination of Stilicho. And Alaric would never have besieged Rome if Stilicho, his friend and mentor, were still alive.

“Stilicho wasn’t conspiring against my brother, as you know very well. He was accused falsely.”

For a split second, Olympius looked shaken but then his face hardened into its usual expression of malice.

“That’s a lie,” he said.

“You go too far,” I replied, standing up. “I’m the daughter of Theodosius the Great, and sister of the Emperors of the East and West. Don’t forget your place, Olympius. Go back to Ravenna and make Honorius sign that document, or you’ll have the blood of thousands on your hands.”

I turned my back on Olympius. Sylvia joined me and together we crossed the black and white mosaic floor. The slap of my sandals on the hard surface seemed thunderously loud, the sound echoing against the high, vaulted ceiling where old gods and mythical creatures cavorted against a midnight sky filled with stars. My lictor and the two guards walked with us through the maze of corridors that led back to my apartments.

An open shutter at a window caught my attention and I stopped to look outside. The sun was setting, and a solitary star twinkled in the darkening sky. Turning away, I continued my walk past the statues and busts on marble pedestals that lined the silent corridors, imagining my ancestors watching me and wondering what would come next.

“I can’t believe that the fate of Rome is in the hands of that murderous brute,” I said after a while.

“Rome’s fate has often been in the hands of murderers and villains,” replied Sylvia, “and she’s always survived. No lasting harm will come to her.”

I stopped and looked at her. “Such optimism! I have to admit I’m surprised. You can see the danger as well as I can.”

“Yes, but we have you, and Marcus, and Senator Gardius to protect us,” Sylvia answered. “I have faith in all of you to save us.”

“I wish I could say I have faith in God to help us too,” I said, starting to walk again. “But our God is also Alaric’s God, so how can He choose between two sides that both believe in Him? Who has the greater right to His protection? Rome or the Visigoths?”

Sylvia sighed. “I don’t know. Your religion is so confusing but if you believe it, then I’m sure your god will do what’s right.”

“Perhaps,” I said, “but I prefer to take matters into my own hands.”

Chapter 6

Two days later, I heard that Olympius had returned to Ravenna. His attempt to convert anyone to his way of thinking had failed. No one in the Senate or the military believed that the Goths would just give up and leave. Daring to hope that he would advise Honorius to go through with the settlement, I waited for news from my brother. The days dragged by but there was no word from him.

After yet another morning of no news, I made my way to the palace chapel. I’d avoided it since my first encounter with the brash young priest, but now I wanted to pray there. I made Sylvia come with me, hoping that constant exposure to the new state religion would gradually lead to her conversion. It was a secret between us. The only other person who knew was Aurelia.

Aurelia.
I missed her so much, but my pride stopped me from reaching out to her. She’d taken a big risk in refusing to agree to a request from a member of the imperial family and, while I had no intention of punishing her, I couldn’t look past it completely.

The chapel was empty when we arrived. Small and simple, it had been built as an afterthought to the original construction of the palace. I found it dank and gloomy, and shivered, dreading the chill I always felt after visiting it. I crossed myself in front of the altar, which was covered in a plain white cloth, stained with tallow wax that had dripped messily when the candles were lit. The floor was of a beige marble that was cold to the touch, and the ceiling vaulted high above, the joists bare and unpainted. The unadorned stone walls exuded a clammy dampness. A single opaque window allowed passage of only a thin, grey light that rendered the room even more harsh and unwelcoming than it already was.

I pulled a small, hard cushion towards me to kneel on and tried to concentrate on praying, but a drab painting propped up on the altar distracted me. It was an artist’s image of Jesus as a shepherd, tending a flock of sad-looking sheep. No wonder so many people found Christianity hard to follow, I thought in frustration. At least the new Bishop of Rome, in company with many of his ecclesiastics, recognized the need to make churches welcoming and inspirational places. I thought of my own design for a new church in Ravenna, and hoped that I would soon be able to return there to oversee its construction.

I closed my eyes and began to pray, all too aware of Sylvia’s constant fidgeting. I wasn’t sure how long we’d been there when I heard a soft voice and opened my eyes. Sylvia was still on her knees, but was looking toward the door. I turned to see the young priest, Alanus, standing inside the entryway, holding a candle. Its flame danced in a draft from the window and the priest shielded it with his hand.

“May I?” he asked, gesturing towards the candles on the altar.

“Please do,” I replied, getting to my feet and watching him light the larger candles. He seemed to take his duty very seriously and soon the room was pleasantly illuminated by a warm glow.

“We were just about to leave,” I said.

“Oh please do stay. May I say Mass for you now?”

I glanced at Sylvia, who looked pained and quickly dropped her eyes to the ground. In truth, I was numb with cold and aching from kneeling for so long, but I could hardly refuse, especially when I was trying to teach Sylvia how to be a good Christian. Nodding, I returned to my cushion and knelt down, my knees sinking into the depressions they had already made in the worn fabric. Sylvia did the same, her look of resignation barely hidden. The priest intoned some prayers, and we all joined in saying “amen.” I was eager to find the warmth of my own rooms. Alanus seemed intent on conversation, however, and began to describe with great enthusiasm the various duties he performed for the Bishop, all of which were apparently of the utmost importance.

“I was telling the Bishop, only yesterday, that it is time for us to convene a new synod to discuss the matter of paganism in the city,” he said, and I nodded politely. I couldn’t imagine that a junior priest would dare to tell the Bishop to do anything, but Alanus seemed unconscious of my skeptical look.

“And if the pagans aren’t bad enough,” he continued, “we’ve done little to decrease the number of Arians in the city, a problem that is most alarming.”

“Arians are Christians. Surely they pose no threat?” I said, provoked into speaking in spite of myself. Alanus was holding forth on a subject I had given much thought to.

“On the contrary, Nobilissima. There can be no tolerance for those who do not follow the doctrines of our orthodox Christian church. The Arian view that Jesus, although the Son of God, is not a divinity in his own right is quite absurd. I’m confident that we will overcome the Arians in due course, but it’s very unsettling that they should be tolerated at all. It’s the same with the pagans. Something must be done, in my view. Still, if one looks on the bright side, all the heretics will go to hell, and there will be more room in Heaven for the rest of us.” He gave a little laugh.

“I see no humor in your words,” I said. “I’m sure the Pope will work with both the Arians and pagans in a reasonable and measured way.”

“Perhaps,” said Alanus, clearly oblivious to my barely concealed anger. “Although I’m sure he must wrestle with his conscience when he is faced with blatant exhibitions of heresy even among the leaders of our great city. To choose whether to let such infractions go unremarked or to make an example must be a constant dilemma.”

I held out my arm. “Come, Sylvia. We must go.”

“I’m sorry, Nobilissima,” said Alanus. “I didn’t mean to offend. But you must surely be aware of the beliefs of those with whom you spend so much time.”

I bit my lip to stop the retort that sprang to mind. Alanus gazed at Sylvia, an innocent look on his face, but his eyes were narrowed and calculating. Sylvia trembled and her cheeks flushed.

“I’m sure you speak of some of our esteemed senators,” I said, anxious to deflect his attention from her.

“Yes, and of our military commanders,” replied Alanus. His words hit me like a bolt of lightning. Of course, he was referring to Marcus. It was no secret that many in the Senate and the upper echelons of the military inclined to the Arian beliefs. Until recently, this had been tacitly ignored, but the Goths were also Arians and the orthodox Church had begun to attack Arianism more vociferously as part of a wider assault on the Goth race and culture.

“You must know…” he began, but I held up my hand.

“Now, you must excuse us. We have many other duties to attend to. Sylvia, let’s go.”

Alanus swept an extravagant bow when we turned for the door.

A few steps along the corridor, Sylvia burst out. “What a horrible man. He scared me.”

“Yes,” I murmured. “He scared me too. He is a priest too much taken with himself and he seems to forget the first mission of the church, which is to care for the souls of all men.”

I made a mental note to talk about the young priest with Pope Innocent when I next saw him.

As we crossed the atrium on the way back to our rooms, a servant approached with a letter on a silver tray and held it out to me. I saw from the seal that it was from my brother. Telling Sylvia to go ahead, I pried off the royal seal, ripped the parchment open in haste and peered in the morning sunlight at the neat script on the pale, expensive parchment.

Dear Sister,

I am deeply distressed by the tone of your letters and am writing to explain one more time my position regarding the despot Alaric.

Olympius is of the opinion that we owe Alaric nothing. He believes that you and others exaggerate when you speak of a possible attack. I regret the inevitable deaths of some of our citizens due to lack of food and water, but such is the sacrifice that must be made in order to secure the long-term safety of the city. To expedite a resolution, I have sent an envoy to tell Alaric of my decision to rescind the offer of any settlement. I believe that he will quickly withdraw his troops and return to Germania. The Empire will be well rid of them all.

Come back to Ravenna at once to make yourself useful.

Your loving brother,

Honorius Augustus

Post Scriptum: I was glad to hear of the execution of Serena. She was an awful woman and not to be trusted. Olympius was undoubtedly correct in suspecting her of conspiracy. I hope you are relieved as I am that she is gone.

In a fit of anger, I threw the parchment to the ground and stamped on it until the wax seal broke in crimson splinters under my sandals. Several guards near the doors eyed me warily but I didn’t care. My brother was weaker and more pathetic than I’d ever imagined. His refusal to deal with Alaric would bring disaster to the Empire. Olympius was clearly weaving his spells closely around him, blinding him to all reason.