Harry Turtledove - Justinian

Fewer Roman soldiers than I s hould have liked abandoned Apsimaros to come over to me. Many of those resuming the cause of their rightful master did so at the urging either of Myakes, whose acquaintance with some of their officers went back to the days before my throne was stolen from me, or of Leo, who demonstrated for the first time but not the last a gift for persuasive speech remarkable in one of his years.

Apsimaros's men did not try to hold us at the Long Wall. I thought briefly of Philaretos, my former father-in-law, who had commanded the garrison along the wall, and wondered if he still lived. We reached Constantinople on the seventh day after passing Mesembria. The last glimpse of the city I had had was from the deck of the dromon taking me, freshly mutilated and half blind with pain, off into exile. Apsimaros, I remembered, had captained that dromon: one more requital needed.

"Coming home, Emperor," Myakes said, pointing to the walls looming up over the southeastern horizon.

"Coming home," I agreed. "I've been away too long."

We rode closer. As the true height and length of Constantinople's fortifications became clear to Tervel, he brought his horse close to mine. "I have seen Roman cities," he said. "Men I have sent to the city here have told me of it, as I said when you first came before me. I always had trouble believing them. Now I see with my own eyes they were telling less than the truth, not more."

We encamped outside the northern part of the city wall, the tents of the Bulgars and those Romans who had joined us extending from Blakhernai hard by the Golden Horn south and west as far as the Kharisian Gate, about a quarter of the distance down toward the Sea of Marmara. Near that gate, the aqueduct of Valens enters the imperial city. It has, unfortunately, been useless to Constantinople since the days of my great-great-grandfather, when the Avars, during their siege of the city, destroyed almost a mile of it. No Emperor since had enjoyed the leisure or the resources to make the necessary repairs.

Soldiers on both the outer and inner walls stared out toward us, watching our every move. Mounting one of the ponies on which I had ridden down from the land the Bulgars had stolen from us Romans, I approached the walls so I could speak to the warriors manning them, being certain that, once they were certain it was indeed I who came before them, they would renounce Apsimaros the illegitimate and acclaim me once more.

Myakes rode with me, offering his usual pragmatic advice: "Don't draw within bowshot of the walls, Emperor. If Apsimaros hasn't put a price on your head, I'm a big green sheep."

"We already know he has put a price on my head," I said. "He was willing enough to pay it to my brother-in-law, that's certain. And as for the confidence you show in me, I do thank you very much." Myakes blew air out through his lips, a snorting sound likelier to come from a horse than a man.

Tervel rode along, too, a few paces behind me. Though wishing he had stayed in our camp, I could hardly tell him so, he having served as my benefactor since I arrived in his country seeking aid. But I did not want him to see me fail, and feared his presence would make me more likely to do so.

With no help for it, I rode on, ignoring him as best I could. Also ignoring Myakes, I drew close to the walls, close enough to let the soldiers see me, to let the veterans among them recognize me, and to remind them of where their loyalty should lie. They stirred, up on the walls, waiting for me to speak. They could have pincushioned me with arrows, but no one shot. I took that for a good sign. Tervel, prudently, had stopped at the distance Myakes had suggested for me. Myakes himself, whatever he thought of my boldness, remained at my side.

"I am Justinian, Emperor of the Romans!" I shouted to the soldiers. "Justinian son of Constantine son of Constans son of Herakleios Constantine son of Herakleios, of the house that saved the Roman Empire from the fire-worshiping Persians and the followers of the false prophet both. I have returned to reclaim the throne rightfully mine."

For a moment, only silence followed my words. I quietly sat my horse, awaiting the great roar of approbation and delight that would lead to opened gates and to my sweeping back to power. From the top of the outer wall, a soldier cried, "Hey, Justinian, aren't you missing a nose for this kind of duty?"

The wretch, the scoffing Thersites, could not have been above thirty yards from me. He and his comrades could see perfectly well that I bore a nose which, if perhaps less lovely than the magnificent appendage with which God had graced me, was nonetheless adequate for all legitimate purposes, including the purpose of establishing my own legitimacy as ruler.

But, caring nothing for whether he lied or spoke the truth, he continued to cast scorn on my physiognomy. And, emboldened by his licentious freedom of speech, others showered me with differing sorts of insults. "How do you like riding the barbarian mare you bought?" one of them shouted. I shook my fist at him, that surely being a reference to Theodora rather than to the gelding on which I was then mounted.

"You come down here with an army of Bulgars and you call yourself Emperor of the Romans?" another soldier said. "If you love them so well, why don't you go off and be Emperor of the Bulgars?"

More abuse and insults rained down from the walls. At last, a couple of soldiers shot arrows that stood thrilling in the dirt not far from my horse's forefeet. I rode away, believing they would next shoot at me intending to hit, not to miss.

Tervel's face remained impassive on my coming up to him. "They did not hail you as you hoped," he said, a statement of the obvious I could have done without.

"They mocked your men as much as they mocked me," I said. Tervel said nothing, and his face continued to reveal nothing. Myakes suffered one of his unfortunate, unbecoming, and untimely coughing fits. Despite that, my own words gave me an idea. "Let the Romans come forward," I told Tervel. "Let them and me go up and down the whole length of the wall, showing the garrison that Romans do support me and persuading the soldiers to abandon the usurper and return to me."

"We will do this," Tervel said, with no hesitation I could discern. "It is the best hope you have." How good a hope it was, he did not express an opinion. Nor did he say what he might do if it failed.

The next morning, small bands of Romans rode up and down the length of the wall, haranguing the soldiers inside the city and urging them to come over to my cause. Accompanied by Myakes and, at his usual discreet interval, by Tervel, I myself traveled down past the Kharisian Gate, the southern limit of the Bulgars' encampment.

I spoke as I had on first approaching the city walls. Now Myakes added his voice to mine. Among others, the formidable Leo was speaking on my behalf elsewhere along the walls. If I could not persuade the soldiers myself, I reckoned the two of them most likely to do it for me.

What sort of promises Apsimaros was making inside the imperial city, I cannot say with certainty. Whatever they were, they and the familiarity of having been ruled for seven years by the usurper kept the soldiers on the walls from going over to me. I judged them to feel a certain amount of sympathy for my cause, as none of them, no matter how close I approached, tried to slay me with an arrow or a stone flung from a catapult. But none of them made any move to admit me into Constantinople, either, nor did I note any signs of strife among them implying one faction wished to do so but was prevented by another.

Having shouted myself hoarse to no visible effect, I returned dejected to the encampment the Bulgars had established. Shortly thereafter, Leo also rode into camp. "What news?" I called to him. This was foolishness on my part, for any news he had worth giving would have been sent to me on the instant. Knowing as much now, however, did nothing to help me then.