Harry Turtledove - Justinian

This wasn't the only time I tried to get him to slow down, to think about what he was doing, to see if maybe he'd had enough. You just saw how much good it did me. As time went on, I tried less and less often. What, Brother? The sin of despairing? Well, maybe it was. The sin of not being listened to, that's certain.

With winter wearing on toward spring, the logothete in charge of petitions approached me with a rolled-up parchment. This was no longer the elderly- indeed, the ancient- Sisinniakes, who had died during my years in exile, but a certain Philotheos, the successor appointed by one of the usurpers. Thus far, having nothing more against him than that fact, I had permitted him to remain in office.

After prostrating himself and gaining my permission to rise, he handed me the parchment, saying, "Emperor, this petition for return from exile comes to you from an island in the Ionian Sea, Kephallenia by name. The petitioner is a certain Bardanes, son of the patrician Nikephoros, who, he writes, is also sometimes known as Philippikos." Seeing me stir, Philotheos said, "Am I to gather that this man is known to you, Emperor?"

"I first met him almost twenty years ago," I answered.

"Ah. I see." The logothete coughed delicately. "Are you aware of the crime for which he was sent into exile on this distant, inhospitable island?"

"Yes, word of that reached me in the distant, inhospitable land to which I was sent into exile," I said, which served to take Philotheos's toploftiness down a peg. "He dreamt of an eagle, and Apsimaros heard about it."

"This is correct." Philotheos licked his lips in anticipation of what would follow. "Do I assume, therefore, that, should you deign to recall him, you shall to so to requite him as you did those two whose heads remain on display at the Milion?" His tone said he had confidence in the assumption.

So much confidence had he, indeed, that his jaw dropped on my saying, "No." I went on, "I gave the usurpers what they deserved: they were my foes. Bardanes Philippikos always served me well. Not only do I intend recalling him, but I shall restore him to the rank formerly his. Prepare for my signature the necessary orders for his release and convey them to the governor of Kephallenia, whoever he may be." The island and its affairs, such as they were, had before that moment not drawn my notice since my return to Constantinople.

Looking flabbergasted, Philotheos went off to do as I had ordered of him. From behind me, I heard another cough. I turned to find Myakes' face set in disapproving lines, as it often was at that time. "Emperor, Bardanes has done well enough on Kephallenia all these years," he said. "Why don't you leave him there for the rest of his days?"

"Now that the whole Roman Empire recognizes me as Emperor once more, I can repay all my debts," I answered: "the ones I owe to those who wronged me, and the ones I owe to those who served me well. When we were campaigning in Thrace, Bardanes might well have saved my life from that Sklavinian hidden in the river."

Myakes snorted. "The only thing that poor barbarian wanted was for the lot of us to go away so he could run without anybody seeing him. He was about as dangerous as a weanling calf."

"You were jealous then of the favor I showed him," I said. "Are you still, after so many years?"

"Call it whatever you please." He stubbornly stuck out his chin. "I say that anybody who dreams of becoming Emperor isn't safe to have around. Let him stay on his island and imagine he's Emperor of that."

"I told Philotheos what to do," I said. "He is doing it. When Bardanes returns, I may use him. He was a good commander. Deny it if you can."

"I don't like it." As was often true, Myakes did not know when to yield.

"I did not ask whether you liked it. I explained my reasons for doing it, which is more than you deserve. I have made my will clear, and my will shall be done. Do you understand that, Myakes?"

He bowed his head at last. How could he do otherwise? I was- I am- the Emperor.

He would have done better to listen to me, Brother Elpidios, then and some other times, too. Or maybe in the end it wouldn't have mattered, anyway. No way of telling that, not really. If you change one thing, most of the others stay the same. You never can know, not for certain.

But, considering how things ended up, I wish Bardanes had stayed on Kephallenia.

All winter long, I had been making plans for Theodora's entrance into Constantinople- and for that of little Tiberius, too. I wanted to see my wife's face as I paraded her down the Mese. From Atil and from Phanagoria, she imagined she knew what the imperial city was like. I smiled whenever I thought of that: she was like a man who, having seen two copper folleis, fancied he could tell his neighbors about a gold nomisma.

I also wanted to remind her how much I valued her, and to show I cared for her still, despite my having returned to the heart of the civilized world. Accordingly, as soon as spring approached, I sent Theophylaktos the eunuch to Phanagoria with a good-sized fleet to take my wife from Ibouzeros Gliabanos and bring her back to the imperial city.

No one said a word to me about the earliness of the season. When I commanded the fleet to sail, sail it did. Having been away from Theodora for most of a year, I was impatient to have her by my side once more, and even more impatient to set eyes on the son I had never seen. I knew, too, that the fleet would have some considerable layover in Phanagoria while Theodora came thither from whatever part of Khazaria to which she had removed herself- Atil, most likely- on my departure from Phanagoria for the land of the Bulgars.

Not to stretch the tale unduly, the fleet turned out to have sailed too early in the season for its own safety. A storm blew up on the Black Sea the day before the fleet would have made port at Phanagoria. Theophylaktos survived, but several ships went down and more than three hundred sailors drowned.

This news I gained from Makarios, the merchant captain who the fall before had brought me news of Theodora's confinement and the birth of Tiberius. He had got to Phanagoria ahead of my fleet, escaping the storm, and set out after the survivors limped into that town. After recounting the unfortunate tale, he added, "The tudun of Phanagoria also told me to give you a message from Ibouzeros Gliabanos."

"Did he?" I said, amused. "Go ahead." I expect it to be a warning against killing any more officials the Khazar khagan had sent out to govern the cities he ruled.

But Makarios said, "He told me to tell you two or three ships would have been plenty to bring your wife back here to Constantinople. He says you didn't need to throw so many men away doing that. Did you think you were taking her by force?" He held up a hasty hand, as well he might have. "These are his words, Emperor, not mine. All I'm doing is delivering them."

"I understand that," I said. "I am not angry at you. But the Khazars will pay for their insolence. All the cities up there will pay for what they did to me. If I were you, Captain Makarios, I'd trade along the southern coast of the Black Sea, not the northern one. Once I am through with those towns, they will have little to trade."

"Thanks for the warning, Emperor," he said, but I could tell by the way he said it that he did not believe I intended my words to be taken literally. He having brought me good news, I hope his business has not suffered in the subsequent years of my reign.

Two months and more passed by before Theophylaktos and the ships of his fleet still floating returned to the imperial city. I bore the delay with such patience as I could, knowing from my own experience how long news and people took to travel across the tremendous breadth of the steppe.