Harry Turtledove - Justinian

Paul's bow showed respect for my person now, not merely for the imperial office I happened to hold. "I shall put the question to Mansour, exactly as you have put it to me, and shall immediately report to you his response."

That response was in essence no response: on the grounds that the matter of Cyprus was beyond the scope of his instructions and that he dared not decide without having consulted his principal, Mansour felt compelled to write to the misnamed commander of the faithful in Damascus before replying. The letter went east, negotiations pausing while we awaited Abimelekh's reply.

With the impatience of youth, I chafed at the delay. Paul tried to calm me, saying, "Emperor, we remain at peace with the Arabs while the letter and its reply go thither and return hither. A bit of time-"

"A bit of time?" I burst out. "Weeks, a bit?" Waiting seemed unconscionable. Even now, when I have had to wait years to return to my throne, I hurl myself headlong into every enterprise. Then, I daresay, I had no patience whatever.

After what seemed a very long time, a messenger brought Abimelekh's answer to the imperial city. His arrival made the delay seem, if not worthwhile, at least tolerable, for the Arabs' ruler agreed to codominium over Cyprus as well as over Armenia and Iberia. That agreement, I had hoped, would let us complete the treaty, but Mansour, at Abimelekh's urging, raised yet another issue.

Paul the magistrianos brought the matter to me: "Emperor, the commander of the faithful"- almost like Leontios, he was so used to dealing with the Arabs, he did not append misnamed to Abimelekh's title-"urges you to take an unusual step in securing the border between his land and making sure no trouble that endangers the peace being arranged between us, which peace, he adds, he will at once assent to upon your agreement to his proposal."

"And that proposal is?" I asked.

"Emperor, he asks you to remove and resettle the Mardaites, whom he terms brigands and bandits and robbers and thieves, taking them into Roman territory and away from his own."

"You don't like the idea," I said. Though he had continued to speak dispassionately, diplomatically, Paul had made that very clear. By the way his nostrils flared, by the way he quivered ever so slightly, Abimelekh, as far as he was concerned, might have been demanding we serve him up a stew of Christian children as prerequisite for ratifying the treaty.

Having been given permission to speak his mind, he exclaimed, "Emperor, I do not! The Arab's offer is a snare, a delusion, a deception. For a generation and more, the Mardaites have stood like a wall of bronze on the Roman Empire's eastern frontier. Removing them, resettling them, would accomplish nothing but a mutilation of the Empire. Your father used them to keep the Arabs busy close to home so they could not attack us, and you yourself augmented Leontios's campaign by loosing them against Abimelekh at the same time as he invaded Armenia. What we have done before, we shall surely need to do again."

"And yet," I said musingly, "when the Arabs make a treaty, they generally honor it, don't they?- they being our most civilized neighbors." Though plainly reluctant, Paul had to nod. He could scarcely do anything else, since our other neighbors included, then as now, barbarians like the Lombards and the Bulgars, as well as Sklavinian tribes like the Croats and the Serbs, who hardly deserved to be called even barbarous. I went on, "If the deniers of Christ may be relied upon to keep agreements once made, would it not be wise to shift proven fighting men and their families to frontiers where fighting is likelier to break out unexpectedly?"

"It goes against all traditional usage," Paul said, his voice stiff with disapproval.

He spoke as if he were a bishop arguing a theological position by citing the view of the church fathers of old and the text of the Holy Scriptures. But the Scriptures are divinely inspired, while the Roman Empire's dealings with its neighbors (save insofar as God guards us) are but human, and therefore mutable.

Besides, arguing tradition to a man who has not yet seen twenty years is like arguing chastity to a billy goat: no matter how eloquent you are, he will not listen to you. I said, "Perhaps we can resettle some of the Mardaites elsewhere and leave some of them in place. We truly could use such warlike men in other parts of the Empire. Abimelekh has compromised in these negotiations before; maybe he will again. Put the matter to Mansour as I have stated it."

"But, Emperor-" Paul began to protest anew.

I cut him off. "I am the Emperor of the Romans, and as Emperor of the Romans I command you. Obey or abandon your office."

"Yes, Emperor," Paul said, in tones suggesting I had given him over to martyrdom. But obey he did, as all subjects of the Emperor of the Romans must.

Do you know, Brother Elpidios, the things you do sometimes end up causing other things you never would have- never could have- expected. When Justinian ended up shipping those Mardaites to Europe- I daresay he'll have more to tell about that soon enough- one of them was a little brat who then would have been.. oh, I don't know how old exactly, but not long past the age of making messes in his clothes.

What? Oh, aye, Brother, there would have been a lot of brats like that. The one I'm thinking of in particular, though, came out of Germanikeia in northern Syria. Does that give you enough of a clue? Why, so it must- I hear how you suck in air in surprise. Yes, the Emperor Leo who rules us now was one of those resettled Mardaites.

Who can guess how things would have turned out if Leo and his family had stayed behind in Germanikeia? Who would be Emperor of the Romans now? Would there be an Emperor of the Romans, or would the Arabs have taken Constantinople in that second siege? It would be a different world, one way or another, that's certain. Would God allow such a thing?

No, don't consult the Scriptures now, Brother Elpidios. It will wait. You have Justinian's book in front of you. Read that instead.

While we were awaiting Abimelekh's reply to Mansour's letter asking if he would accept partial rather than complete resettlement of the Mardaites, Eudokia went into labor. Looking back on these leaves, I realize I have scanted my wife, saying little about her since the time we were wed. I can offer no better defense than saying quiet contentment leaves little to record.

My mother brought me the news. "I have attended to everything," she said. "I have summoned the midwife, I have summoned Peter the physician, though God forbid he be necessary, I have summoned the patriarch to bless the baby and to exorcise the evil spirits that attend a birth, and I have ordered a girdle brought from the monastery of the Virgin to make the labor easier."

I bowed to her, as if I were a servant. "And what is left for me to do?"

"Wait," she snapped. "Pray. When the time comes, receive your son or daughter in your arms and say what a beautiful child it is. It won't be- newborns are of an odd color, and their heads are apt to be misshapen. Say it anyhow. Eudokia will expect it of you." Having outlined her plan of campaign and given me her orders, she went off to help Eudokia through her trial.

I waited. I prayed. Those palling, I called for wine. Eventually, I fell asleep. I woke in darkness. My head ached. It was the eighth hour of the night, two thirds of the way from sunset back to sunrise. I called for more wine, and some bread to go with it. Sopping the bread in the wine, I made a nighttime breakfast of it. I prayed some more. I waited some more.

Presently, I summoned a serving woman and told her to bring me back word from the birthing chamber. When she returned, she said, "The physician- Peter is his name, yes?- is busy in there, and shouted at me to go away. I told him you had sent me, and he told me to go away anyhow." Her eyes were wide and astonished: Peter had defied me. "He was most rude."