Harry Turtledove - Justinian

"I did not steal your throne," he answered in his peculiar Gothic accent. "I took it from Leontios, who did not know what to do with it. When it was mine, I did well with it." Accent or not, he had some courage and more in the way of brains than Leontios could ever have aspired to.

"It was not yours, any more than it was Leontios's," I said. "And while you were on it, you tried to get rid of me."

"I wish I would have done it, too," he replied. "I should have flung you overboard when I was taking you to Kherson. Worse luck, I did not see the need." He shook his head. The chains with which he was adorned clanked mournfully at the motion.

"Take him to the monastery of Delmatos," I told his captors. "Have them put him in the cell next to Leontios's. I am sure the two of them will have some interesting things to say to each other." I laughed at the thought.

Apsimaros said, "They cast you down because you were a cruel, hard man. You have not changed, except to grow worse. I may not live to see it, but they will cast you down again."

"No, they won't," I answered. "No one will. Everyone who is or might be or might become my foe will die before getting the chance to strike." He started to speak again. I hit him in the face, and he fell silent. To the soldiers, I said, "Take him away." I am Emperor of the Romans. The last word is mine.

When he was gone, Myakes said, "He's not like Leontios, that one. I'm glad he panicked when he heard you were in the city. If he hadn't, he'd have given us a tough fight. You ought to take his head now, and have done."

"Soon," I said. "Not yet. I'll take his head and Leontios's at the same time. I want to do a proper job of it, one that the people who see it will remember for a long time- and that will warn everyone who dreams of rebelling."

"All right," he said. "Maybe you'll have this Herakleios in hand by then, too."

"That would be very good," I agreed. "And I am certain to have a good many other officers. Putting all in all, I can make a show the people will enjoy- and so will I."

"You've waited a long time, Emperor," he said.

"By God, I have," I burst out. "But I will make up for that, too. Everyone who crossed me before I was exiled, everyone who backed either of the usurpers- those people will pay. How they will pay! If I have mercy on even one of them\a160… you saw the will of God there, Myakes."

"Yes, I saw it," he said. "You've kept your promise, that's sure enough."

Not being certain of his tone, a matter in which he had more license than most in the Empire, I asked, "Are you arguing against anything I've done?"

"Oh, no, Emperor," he said emphatically. "After the storm, after you got into the city, how could I argue with anything you've done?" A moment later, he added, more than half to himself, "What good would it do, anyhow?"

"None whatever," I told him and he nodded, having already known that.

Brother Elpidios, when we rode south with Tervel's Bulgars, I figured it was the forlornest forlorn hope you ever did see. When we went into the aqueduct, I figured Apsimaros's soldiers would be waiting inside the city to slaughter us. When Apsimaros ran away- when Apsimaros ran away, Brother, I figured God really was on Justinian's side.

That's one reason I quit arguing with him. The other was that Justinian decided God was on his side, too. Now, Justinian had never been much for listening to anybody else. He even knew that was so. But once he got his crown back\a160… once he got his crown back, what he said went. And if you didn't like it, you went, too- off to the headsman, like as not.

And if you didn't go to the herdsman, you went some other way. Justinian had had a lot of time to think of interesting ways to get rid of people. Turned out he hadn't wasted it, either, not a moment's worth.

Yes, I kept quiet. No, it wasn't brave. But you don't have the vaguest notion what Justinian was like in those days, Brother. You would have kept your mouth shut, too, believe you me you would.

Herakleios lasted three weeks to the day after his brother Apsimaros came into my hands. What I had hoped would happen came to pass:

on learning of the usurper's capture, his brother's supporters melted away until he was left with a band any self-respecting bandit chief could have bested. And one of his few remaining followers promptly proceeded to betray him to Barisbakourios.

"How are you going to reward him, Emperor?" Myakes asked. "With thirty pieces of silver?" He laughed, to show it was a joke.

It did not strike me funny. "Betraying a usurper's brother is hardly the same as yielding up the Son of God," I replied. "I'll give this fellow two pounds of gold." That made Herakleios more expensive than our Lord had been, but Judas, of course, did not- could not- get full value for Him.

Barisbakourios brought Herakleios into the imperial city a few days later. I rewarded my old comrade from Kherson more substantially than the soldier who had given him Herakleios: it was then that I named him general of the military district of the Opsikion, a post that, along with being one of the most important commands in the Roman Empire, paid its holder thirty pounds of gold a year. At the same time, I sent Theophilos, who, to my surpri se, had served Barisbakourios well as his lieutenant general, to head the Karbisianoi, the Aegean fleet, a post paying five pounds of gold a year. The Aegean then being quiet, my assumption was that he could do no great harm in the position, and might do well.

As I had been with Leontios and Apsimaros, I was eager to speak with Herakleios, who had been the last man in arms against me. Barisbakourios led him before me; though not so decked in chains as Apsimaros had been on reaching Constantinople, Herakleios wore manacles that clanked when he went down in an awkward prostration. "You know what I will do with you, of course," I said as he got to his feet once more.

"You'll kill me some kind of way," he answered. "I don't doubt that for a minute." He had a guttural accent like his brother's and resembled him in bodily appearance, too, being tall and slim and lighter in complexion than most Romans.

In a couple of sentences, he also proved he had a good understanding of the way the world works. "You're right," I said. "You deserve nothing less."

He had courage. His shrug made the manacles clank again. "I hope you have the courtesy to make it quick," he said. "I wasn't the one who overthrew you. All I did was try to keep my own brother on the throne. I lost, and now I'm in your hands."

It was not begging. It was nothing like begging. He might have been reminding me of an appointment I had next week. Never before, never since, have I seen a man discuss his fate so dispassionately. His calm words swung me toward agreement where tears and histrionics would have earned him an ending opposite that which he craved. "Fair enough," I told him. "You'll not suffer."

"For which I thank you," he said, and then, still dispassionately, continued, "I never would have guessed you'd pull this off."

"God was on my side," I told him, to which he had no answer. I asked him a question about which I had been wondering since my days up in Kherson: "Is your name truly Herakleios, or did you change it when your brother changed his?"

"Herakleios is the name my mother gave me," he replied. "Had we both changed at the same time, he would have become Herakleios and I Tiberius. I was named for your- great-grandfather, is it?"

"Great-great," I said.

"Your great-great-grandfather, then, the famous Herakleios who saved the Roman Empire. My brother wanted to do the same thing." He raised an eyebrow; as I have noted, he kept his sangfroid in the face of death remarkably well. "You will admit, the Empire needed saving after three years of Leontios."