Theodoric (22 page)

With the vast expanse of the Campus Martius, studded with theatres and great public edifices such as the Pantheon, stretching away to the right, the procession proceeded beneath the huge aqueduct called Aqua Virgo, passed the Forum of Trajan, skirted the Forum Romanum overlooked by the Capitol, crossed the Tiber by the Aemilian Bridge, left the city by the Aurelian Gate, and ascended the hill called Vaticanus to the Basilica of Peter, built by Constantine over the apostle's grave. Here,
Theoderic went into conclave with the Pope, to settle an ongoing and furious controversy arising from a challenge to the papal succession, and the questionable status of lands gifted to the Church. Timothy found himself wondering how a people who had raised such mighty works, could have allowed themselves to be conquered by illiterate barbarians.

En route, he had been amazed by the numbers of infatuated women who had crowded round the Pope, calling out endearments and fondling his garments – attentions which Symmachus appeared to enjoy, or at any rate did nothing to deter. Particularly brazen was the behaviour of one young female whom the others called ‘Spicy',
*
whose propositions to the Holy Father bordered on the obscene.

Next on the royal itinerary was the Senate House, where Theoderic had been invited to speak before the august assembly. Approaching the rostrum, the king had a sudden, unexpected and extremely disconcerting attack of nerves. Confronting the rows of white-clad senators, their faces for the most part hard, proud and fiercely critical, Theoderic quailed. These Romans were men whose ancestors had ruled a goodly portion of the known world for the better part of a thousand years. And here was he, a mere barbarian, presuming to address them; the purple robe he wore all at once felt like the garb of an imposter. The scene swam before his eyes, and for a terrible moment his mind went blank. Fighting for control, he gripped the rostrum's edge in an effort to restrain the trembling of his hands.

The moment passed; the interior of the great hall came back into focus, the faces of his audience were no longer threatening but politely attentive, if slightly puzzled by the long pause. With confidence flowing back, Theoderic announced, ‘Senators of Rome, I am honoured to be asked to speak to you in this historic spot.'

The speech progressed smoothly, consisting essentially of a routine confirmation in office of the great posts of state – the Praetorian Prefect, the Prefect of Rome, the Quaestor, the Master of Offices, the Private and Public Purses, et al. (with compliments about the holders' diligence in carrying out their duties), and the announcement of the names of their successors when the present holders' terms of office should have run their course.

‘Furthermore,' declared Theoderic, sensing that his speech had so far gone down well, ‘I am pleased to express my complete confidence and satisfaction in the Synod's choice as to who should occupy the Bishop's throne of Rome: Symmachus. In consequence, the rival candidate, Laurentius, must abandon his claim to the See of St Peter, but in recognition of his good service he will be permitted to retire from his present post of Bishop of Nocera to a villa on the estates of Festus, which the
Caput Senatus
has graciously made over to his use.
*
In conclusion, I see no reason to reverse the grants of land formerly made to the Patrimony of St Peter.'

Mistaking the frosty silence that followed for a respectful hush, Theoderic again thanked the Senate for inviting him to speak, and departed from the building.

As soon as the great bronze doors had closed behind the king, uproar broke out. In vain Festus banged the floor with his rod and called for silence, while angry exchanges (the vast majority hostile to Symmachus) flew back and forth among the benches: ‘The man's a disgrace – a womaniser who consorts with females of the lowest sort.' ‘Symmachus squanders the wealth of the Church on the plebs, to be sure of mob support.' ‘Most of those grants were never legally ratified – we've as much right to that land as the Church.' ‘My estates in Gaul and Spain were lost to the Franks and Visigoths. If I can't recoup my losses from Saint Peter's Holdings, I could face ruin.' ‘He can't even get the date of Easter right.' ‘The only reason the Synod chose him was because he was able to back his claim with forged documents.'
†

At length, the senators having shouted themselves out, Festus was able to make himself heard. Calling the assembly to order, he declared, ‘Clearly, our new lord and master has no conception of the problems arising from confirming Symmachus as Pope, especially that concerning land grants to the Church. As you all know, I myself, like most of you, am strongly opposed to any settlement which favours Symmachus. Quite apart from the man's being morally unfit to sit on the throne of St Peter, the lands that might have been set aside, for the purpose of alleviating the distress of many of you who have lost estates to the
barbarians, are to remain in Church hands. That situation is compounded by the compensation we've all had to pay out for Odovacar's soldiers and Theoderic's Ostrogoths. We must therefore make the king aware of our dilemma and, if possible, get him to reverse his decision.'

‘Speak for yourself,' called a florid-faced senator, Faustus
niger
, known to be Symmachus' main champion. This Faustus was a member of the powerful Anicius clan, and notorious for intrigue and shady dealings. ‘Surely Theoderic's edict settles the matter? I'd have thought the subject closed for good.'

‘Yes, that would suit you splendidly, wouldn't it?' retorted Probinus, next to Festus the leading opponent of Symmachus. ‘I expect you've come to a cosy little arrangement with the Pope whereby some of that nice Church land devolves miraculously to yourself.'

After a few more recriminations had been hurled against the numerically insignificant pro-Symmachus party, Festus declared the session closed, with, for the moment, no decision taken as to further action re the Church lands controversy. The assembly broke up in an atmosphere of rancorous bile, knots of senators muttering ill-temperedly among themselves as they left the Senate House.

‘In this year of the consuls Patricius and Hypatius and from the Founding of the City the twelve hundred and fifty third, being also the five hundred and first from the birth of Our Lord Jesus Christ,' intoned the Master of Ceremonies, ‘His Majesty Theoderic, king of the Amal and vicegerent of Italy, bids you all welcome.' In the great audience hall of Domitian's Domus Augustana on the Palatine were assembled, together with their wives, the great and good of Rome at a reception hosted by Theoderic. Senators and scholars mingled with bishops, senior civil servants, and the papal entourage; the vast chamber was ablaze with polychrome marble and adorned with enormous statues. Slaves bearing trays of delicacies or flagons of wine wove among the throng from which arose a buzz of animated conversation.

Theoderic circulated among his guests, chatting easily in excellent if rather rusty Latin, and even being given the chance to air his Greek when introduced to two scholar-aristocrats, young Anicius Manlius Severinus Boethius (son of the recently deceased Marius Manlius Boethius,
City Prefect and Praetorian Prefect), and Quintus Aurelius Memmius Symmachus, a senator from Rome's most distinguished family. With these two the king felt an immediate rapport, also a rekindling of interest in intellectual pursuits which, of necessity, had been forced into abeyance since his youth in Constantinople. He decided there and then to invite them to join his inner circle of councillors and advisers. He felt instinctively that these were soul mates who would be of use not only in helping him to frame his policies, but also in realizing his dream of being accepted as a Roman – perhaps even (Tell it not in Gath) in taking the ultimate step of becoming Roman emperor. Then he remembered: seven years ago, Symmachus and the father of Boethius had been among those voting for Odovacar. Well, at least that spoke of courage and loyalty, qualities especially admired by his own people, and rarely enough found among today's Romans. He would not hold the past against them. Excited and happy, Theoderic continued to mingle. After the long years of struggle and hardship, his ambitions seemed at last to be moving smoothly towards fulfilment.

The climax of the evening arrived: the presentation to his guests of medallions to celebrate his
tricennalia
, the thirty years that had elapsed since his capture of Singidunum from Babai, king of the Sarmatians. The beautiful discs, each a triple solidus in weight, showed on the obverse a frontal picture of Theoderic with long hair and moustache, clad in imperial robes, right hand half raised, the left holding a globe surmounted by a figure of Victory. On this side, the legend round the edge read:
‘
REX THEODERICUS PIUS PRINC I S
'
.
*
The wording had been chosen with the utmost care, so as not to offend his Roman subjects. Theoderic was ‘
Rex
' only to the Goths, the title still anathema to Romans a thousand years after they had rid themselves of their own kings. ‘
Princeps
', the title chosen by Augustus in preference to ‘
Imperator
', implied (by a polite fiction designed by Rome's first emperor to soothe republican sensitivities) first among equals, rather than absolute ruler.

The distribution of the medallions proceeded amid exclamations of surprise and pleasure from the recipients. However, with some senators – those most bitterly opposed to Symmachus over the issue
concerning Church lands – this was a mere façade behind which, taking care not to be overheard, they expressed their true feelings among themselves, in whispers: ‘Barbarian locks and moustache, yet he has the effrontery to have himself represented wearing an emperor's robe.' ‘
Pius Princeps
indeed – who does he think he is, another Hadrian perhaps?' ‘If he thinks a pretty bauble's going to shut us up, he can think again.'

Then one of them floated an idea: ‘Why don't we take the opportunity to put him straight about the Church lands? He's in a good mood – we may never get a better chance than now. Probinus, you're the best one to put our case; would you approach him on our behalf?'

Emboldened by collective resentment, the others, after minimal discussion, agreed to the suggestion, Probinus volunteering to be spokesman.

‘Majesty, a moment of your time, if it pleases you to spare it.'

Theoderic turned, to find a tall, distinguished-looking senator smiling at him.

‘Speak.'

‘It's this business of Church lands, Your Majesty. Perhaps you may not be fully aware of all aspects of the matter. If I may be permitted to elucidate?' Taking Theoderic's silence for assent, the other pressed on. ‘When our ancestors made these grants, in many cases before the invasions of a century ago, it was not intended that they should belong to the Church in perpetuity. They were merely temporary loans to enable the Church to raise money by short-term leases or the sale of produce. Unfortunately, many of the documents which would prove this have been, ah . . . “lost”, as Pope Symmachus maintains. Others, we think, have been deliberately falsified. If Your Majesty would care to review the facts behind the case, you would be assured of our most heartfelt gratitude.'

‘And who are “we”?' Theoderic enquired, his tone deceptively mild.

‘Almost all the senators of Rome, Your Majesty. Hardly one of us but has lost lands to the barbarians – to the extent that many of us are struggling to survive.' Probinus' heart sank, as he suddenly realized his gaffe in using that charged word ‘barbarians'.

Theoderic regarded him with rising anger and contempt. Smooth-tongued hypocrite. He knew the type: self-serving aristocrats, like the
fathers of his school fellows in Constantinople, whose chief concern was to preserve their privileges, men who would close ranks the moment the interests of their class were threatened. Red rage exploded in his brain.

‘You disgust me!' roared Theoderic. ‘My edict stands. Get out of my sight!'

‘As Your Majesty commands.' Probinus bowed coolly and backed away, the great hall suddenly falling silent.

Shaking with fury and humiliation, Theoderic knew that the reception was ruined past repair. He signalled the Master of Ceremonies to make the appropriate announcement.

‘Well, at least we know now where we stand,' sighed Probinus as his group made its way towards the Forum. ‘For all that he speaks Latin and doesn't scratch his arse, the fellow's an out-and-out barbarian.'

‘And an Arian to boot,' fluted old Festus. ‘Anthemius would never have behaved like that.' He was referring to the last emperor of any substance whom most of them could still remember.

‘Nor would Odovacar,' declared Faustus
albus
, one of the strongest pro-Laurentians, despite his kinsman Faustus
niger
being Symmachus' patron. ‘He'd just have laughed in your face, and told you to go to hell. So what do we do now? Ideas, anyone?'

‘We bide our time,' pronounced Probinus. ‘With Pope Symmachus able to whistle up the plebs against us, and Constantinople playing hard to get, we've no choice. For the moment, we keep our heads down and bend with the wind. Our time will come.'

As come it surely would. For these were patient, cunning men, who knew, above all, about survival. Their families, many of which went back to the Republic, had seen imperial dynasties come and go, Rome itself rise and fall, yet were themselves still here. One barbarian ruler more or less was hardly going to make a dent in their long-term fortunes.

 

*
Built in the late third century against incursions of the Alamanni, they stand, for the most part, impressively intact today.

†
No relation to the senator of the same name.

*
A term defying exact translation. High-minded self-control linked to a sense of justice and respect for law perhaps comes close. The quality was displayed par excellence by the Roman emperor Marcus Aurelius; witness his noble
Meditations
.