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„Constantinople,“ one of Narses‘ early owners used to say, „is the place where everyone knows everyone else’s price – and no one knows anyone else’s worth.“
He was a heavy wine merchant fancying himself a philosopher, who thought nothing of buggering the Armenian slave boy he’d bought while uttering these pearls of wisdom, and selling him the next day to bribe a palace official. After all, he had debts which had inspired his utterings to begin with.
„He’s not just a useful slave, he’s a eunuch,“ he said while trying his best to get as much money as possible, and ordered Narses to lift his tunic and prove those claims. „You know it’s still legal in Armenia to cut their balls off.“
„What did you need a eunuch for, I wonder,“ the official said. „Never mind, I can guess. I take it you speak Persian, boy, but how’s your Latin? If you‘re going to work at the palace, you‘ll need that as well as Greek.‘“
At the time, Narses did not speak more than two or three sentences in Latin. There had never been any need for it, neither in Armenia nor on the long road to Constantinople nor in the city itself, where most people, including the merchant, spoke Greek. But he knew he could learn quickly. And living with the wine merchant had made him into an expert liar. So he replied „Loquor“, which was one of the few Latin words he’d heard, and that, together with his general air of quiet usefulness, was enough. That and the fact there was always a need for eunuchs at the palace.
Narses did know his price. He’d originally been sold for sixty-nine Solidi, enough to buy his farmer parents out of their debts and get them new livestock besides. The palace official paid less, because the wine merchant was a terrible negotiator when in his doldrums and desperate.
He also knew his worth, but that was a secret he did not intend to share with anyone. They would find out in time.
When the Emperor was born a farmer’s son who couldn’t read or write more than his name, you were sure of two things: a sense in the air that anything was possible, and the ancient nobility doing their very best to ensure it wouldn’t be. Narses wasn’t young anymore by the time Justin the Dacian became Emperor. He was now a scribe in the treasury, true, and that was better than how he had started out; but it fell very far from his secret dreams. Besides, he was still a slave, and property of the state. His immediate superior had unfortunately realised that Narses was both more intelligent and more competent than he was, and thus ensured Narses would not rise any further, and certainly would not be allowed to buy his freedom, lest said superior would actually have to do some work instead of taking the credit for what Narses did. There was just one chance to improve on this less than promising situation: Narses had to attract the attention of someone outranking his superior, preferably by much. And so he did his level best to listen to the gossip about the Emperor and his immediate family, those nephews likely to succeed the childless Justin: Germanus and Petrus Sabbatius, whom Justin had adopted and who was now called Justinian.
Germanus had charm, popularity, and had married a Patrician, almost enough to make Constantinople forget about the peasant dirt into which he had been born. Justinian was dour, methodical, and downright scary in his willingness to include the occasional assassination in his methods of ensuring his Uncle’s and his own power. Popular guesses were that Germanus would rule and Justinian would be the power behind the throne.
But Narses had met Justinian. Justinian didn’t seem to care for women, drink, or anything else but power. Such single-mindedness would not allow for anything less than the ultimate power. Unfortunately, it also meant there wasn’t much a lowly scribe in the Treasury could offer. Narses was still pondering this when the one thing happened that absolutely no one, including himself, had ever predicted: Justinian the ruthless had fallen in love with a woman from the gutter, a former comedian, a whore, and not only had he fallen in love, no, he wanted to marry her.
It was a lesson, somewhat late in life, to never take anything for granted, including your own judgment of people. When he met the woman in question, Narses was struck by two things above all, and neither of them were Theodora’s beauty, which was considerable. The first was the way these two matched wits, challenged each other, and the utter delight Justinian took in it. The second was a baffling sense of familiarity Narses felt when he himself looked at Theodora. What could they share? She was Constantinople born and bred, a child of the arena in which her father had been the bearkeeper; Narses had been born into the part of Armenia that was now ruled by the Persians. She was a woman who by the necessity of her profession had to use her body to ensnare the senses; he had rejoiced when leaving boyhood behind had also freed him from unwanted attentions, and had now spent decades without touching another person in ways other than handing over a scroll. She, gossip had told him, had born a daughter in her younger days, had sisters and friends whom she did not hide but now did her best to promote; he, while understanding why she did it, had never forgotten his mother handing him over to the slave trader to be castrated and sold, and had never tried to find out what had become of her and his siblings. They were utterly different.
Then Theodora, when Justinian spoke of law reform, suggested a law to punish any man who took a girl before she bled, or a boy. Their eyes locked, and Narses knew. It was more than this, though. It was the fact that Theodora had seen the worst and was as determined to ensure she’d never be powerless again as he was.
It was the fact that while people sneered at her for being an actress just as the term „Eunuch“ in Constantinople was hardly ever used without the adjective „slimy“, „corrupt“, or „shrieking“, Theodora knew her worth.
If asked, Narses would say he never regretted gambling everything on Justinian and Theodora, for it soon turned out he made the right choice. Despite all the obstacles, they married, Justinian kept the succession, and kept his word, for he freed Narses and made him Steward. If there was unending work, it was precisely what Narses had wanted, now that he got due credit for it, and the chance to contribute to reforming the Empire. But in truth, there was one time when Narses found himself wishing he’d remained an unknown scribe, though he knew better than to share that thought with anyone. It came during the riots that saw half the city in flames, and the mob shouting for Justinian’s head. They had even already selected another Emperor, and judging by the smug faces of many a Senator who had fled to the Palace when the riots first started, most of them believed the peasant Emperor and his actress wife were done for. Along with anyone still supporting them and not changing sides quickly enough.
„Sir, do you think they’ll go after our families?“ one of his secretaries asked Narses. This was Anastasios, who had a wife to worry about. „Our neighbours know I work in the palace.“
Narses realised he had no idea what the mob would or wouldn’t do. He also realised he liked Anastasios, who was the bastard of a man eager to absolve himself from responsibility by buying his unwanted son a job, but who had fulfilled any and all tasks Narses had given him with utmost diligence. It was the likes of Anastasios‘ wife who were getting trampled in the city right now if they didn’t curse the Emperor’s name loud enough.
At the moment, the palace was barricaded and defended, but that also meant there was no way of smuggling Anastasios‘ wife into it. Narses had always assumed that if the worst happened, he’d be among those Justinian and Theodora would take with them when fleeing across the Golden Horn. Not least because of all he knew. But Anastasios and his wife would be left behind in such a scenario.
Narses sought out Theodora and said „This has to end sooner rather than later, or they’ll burn down the rest of the city as well.“
„I agree,“ she replied. „But not by us fleeing. You’re not throwing in your lot with those other cowards, are you?“
„Most of us won’t even get a death shroud, let alone one in purple,“ Narses retorted softly and in allusion to Theodora’s words from earlier that same day, with which she’d argued against exile, escape or surrender. „But no, that is not what I mean, Thrice August. We have to split up the crowd.“
Her eyes narrowed. „And how do you propose to do that? Until a few days ago, I would have thought it impossible for the Blues to ever make common cause with the Greens, and yet, here we are. They’re both baying for our blood.“
„Someone has to remind the leaders of the Blues that the Greens will turn against them as soon as they don’t share an enemy any more. With money. With a lot of money.“
„And by someone, you mean…“
Narses found he was human after all. This was when he wished himself far, far away. Being torn apart by an angry crowd primed to see a eunuch as the embodiment of the Palace was an ugly death.
„Me,“ he said, and smiled, the smile he had perfected by the time he’d left his adolescence behind, hiding any and all of his thoughts and feelings.
Theodora gave him a long look. „The whole reason why the late Justin became Emperor,“ she said, „was that he got entrusted with enough money to bribe the Demes by the fool who later found himself on the run while Justin, on my husband’s advice, used the money to bribe the people to shout his own name instead. Petrus hasn’t forgotten. And now you’re asking him to trust you with a similar sum of money.“
„No, I’m asking you, Mistress,“ Narses said quietly. Whether or not Justinian trusted him enough was something he couldn’t afford to find out in this particular crisis. But he was ready to bet his life on the fact Theodora had meant what she said. She’d rather die than be powerless again. And she knew he could do it.
Theodora sighed. Suddenly he could imagine her as a child, being told there was no choice but to please a wealthy patron.
„Very well,“ she said. „I shall give you the money.“
He bribed the Blues into shouting „Justiane, tu vincas!“, which confused and enraged the Greens enough that they were still busy battling each other by the time Belisarius‘ troops arrived to kill a whole arena full of people. By the end of the day, Justinian sat on a secured throne again, and Anastasios was reunited with his very much alive wife.
While the blood of thousands was being washed away, Narses was well aware it could have ended differently. He prayed to his favourite icon of the Virgin in gratitude, the one he took with him into every office he ever inhabited. The first time he’d done this had been in the wine merchant’s house. He did believe in miracles. As long as he was allowed to have a hand in accomplishing them.
A few days later, Justinian declared he was promoting Narses to Grand Chamberlain.
„The Empress told me what you did,“ he said. „She knows your worth.“
The Plague wasn’t something you could throw money at, cajole or trick. Narses had never experienced anything like it. Nor had anyone else in the entire Empire. It had come from Egypt as far as anyone could tell, but soon it was everywhere. Impossible to provide reliable numbers in such a time, but if even half of the reports coming in were true, up to five thousand people were dying each day in Constantinople.
And the Emperor was afflicted as well. Justinian fell ill and soon lost consciousness. If he talked, he babbled, but mostly he was a sweating body shaken with fever and unable to give any orders at all.
„People say we’re in the end times,“ Anastasios observed, early on. Then his wife got sick and died, and this time, there was absolutely nothing Narses could do, nothing but silently sitting with Anastasios who took to living in his office so he would not have to face his empty home, and pour him some wine to drink now and then. He watched his own body for signs more attentively than he’d ever done since growing up. But no black spots or bulges appeared, day after day, week after week. And still the Emperor would not wake up.
„He will,“ Theodora said with clenched teeth, when the officials who were still living asked about Justinian’s health. She was doing what had been declared impossible for centuries: ruling the Roman Empire, as a woman. She did not rejoice in it.
„He will not die,“ she said to Narses when they were alone. „If they give him the time to recover. But you know what rats do if they smell weakness. They’ll try to give the Purple to another man, assemble all the soldiers left and trust that if and when Justinian recovers, it will be too late.“
Narses did not deny this was a possibility, but he did point out that the Nika Riots had happened more than a decade ago, and besides, the Plague knew no social status or restraint – it struck so randomly that anyone planning a coup would have to fear for their lives as well if they came anywhere near the Palace.
„If there is one thing stronger than fear for your life, it’s the thirst for power,“ Theodora retorted. „Especially by men who know they won’t get such a chance again. Men like John the Capadoccian. And…“
He knew what she would say. What she thought. A part of him was thinking it as well. Narses was painfully aware that his own perspective in this regard was tainted, though not necessarily the way most people would assume. He did not doubt that Flavius Belisarius was every bit the hero and general people were praising him as. The greatest general of their age, even, and a man who had meant it when he rejected the purple once before, saying he would not attempt to take the throne as long as Justinian was still alive.
But Justinian was near death now. And Belisarius‘ genius as a general had never translated into being a good politician. Nor was he immune to flattery. It might be entirely possible for someone to talk him into making a play for the Purple now, so that the Empire would not fall into chaos, with its ruler as good as a dead man. After all, with a woman at the helm, what man could not be convinced he’d be able to do it better?
„I cannot advise you in this,“ Narses said abruptly. This seemed to surprise her.
„You did not hesitate to go against him in Italy,“ Theodora said.
„That is why. I was wrong to do so. Whether or not my strategy would have been the better one, it damaged morale to see commanders argue with each other. There can only be one Supreme Commander in the field at a time. I should have either supported Belisarius unconditionally or replaced him entirely. By doing neither, I made things worse. Now I feel myself in debt to him. And that is why I cannot advise you in this matter.“
Theodora frowned, but fell silent. In truth, it was even worse, for in his heart of hearts, Narses still believed he had a better strategy to deal with the eternal war Belisarius’ attempted conquest of Italy from the Goths had turned into. But Belisarius was the great military genius and soldier, and Narses was a court official who had yet to prove his theory that you could win a war with logistics and great organisation. And could he really swear to be free from envy? Wasn’t Belisarius what he, Narses, had dreamt of being as a very young boy, before he got sold and castrated?
„I could get infected with the Plague every day myself,“ Theodora said at last. „And whoever then rules the Empire, it must not be Belisarius. I would say he could do it with you to advise him on political matters, but can you honestly say he’d be capable of doing that, after Italy? You’d be lucky if he only dismisses you. Narses, good generals are important, but good administrators more so. Whoever takes the Purple after Petrus must value competent administrators above all. That remains true if I don’t get infected as well, and even in the best of cases, if Petrus recovers tomorrow. No, I’m afraid Belisarius has to go.“
She raised her hand when Narses opened his mouth. „No, not in a final way. He has served the Empire well. But I have to ensure he will not be in a position to rule.“
„I wasn’t going to protest,“ Narses said mildly. Not least, he decided, because biased or not, he didn’t think her arguments were wrong. „But I do have a question. Are you aware of the price you may pay?“
He didn’t have to spell out the details. Never mind dying of infection: Belisarius was popular. If word got out the Empress had him arrested, in a city where many believed they were living through the final days of humanity anyway, they might decide on staging another uprising, and this time there were no troops there to defend Theodora and the sick Justinian, nor was there any money to bribe anyone with left. The costly wars and the Plague in unholy union had drained the treasury to the limit.
„I know the worth of what I want to achieve,“ Theodora retorted. „Don’t you?“
Narses thought of the horror surrounding them right now. He also thought of what they had achieved ever since the Emperor Justin had died, and Justinian and Theodora had been crowned together. For every fire, there had been breathtaking new architecture arising; the new Church in the Middle of the City was the greatest and most beautiful in Christendom. Roman law was no longer the mess of precedents and eccentric rules dating back to the early days of the Republic; it was ordered, systematic, adapted to these times and available to everyone in need to consult it now, from senators to prostitutes. Whether or not the West could be reintegrated into the Empire, or was lost for now: this would remain.
His hands had helped create this, too. The peasant Emperor, his wife from the brothel, and the former slave: working together, they had done this. God willing, they would be able to continue doing it for a while longer yet.
„I always have,“ Narses said, bowed, returned to his office where a red-eyed Anastasios was waiting and set himself on his next task.