Harry Turtledove - Justinian

Unlike Pope Sergios, my Sergios obeyed me in every particular. As quickly as could be expected, he sailed back to Constantinople with two of the recalcitrant pope's prominent supporters: John the bishop of Portus (a town on the sea near Rome, and serving it as a harbor) and Boniface, one of the pope's advisers.

"What have you to say for your master?" I demand when they were brought before me, their hands chained behind them like those of any other prisoners.

Boniface stood mute. John, who had more spirit, however misguided he was, said, "Emperor, the apostolic father will never agree to canons he thinks wrong."

"Then he will have a hard life," I said. "If I plucked the two of you out of your backwards western land, I can pluck him as well, and I will if he does not come to his senses."

"It shall be as God wills," John answered.

Their fate was as I willed. I ordered them cast into prison with those who had tried withholding money from the state and those jailed for violating the canons of the fifth-sixth synod. Since Pope Sergios was both withholding obedience from the state and violating the canons of the fifth-sixth synod, I reckoned that fate fitting for his henchmen.

But, like that of Pharaoh in bygone days, the heart of the bishop of Rome remained hardened. Not long after my Sergios conveyed Boniface and John to Constantinople, Pope Sergios sent me another defiant letter, not only rejecting the canons of my synod once more but also demanding the release of those two men.

Paul the ecumenical patriarch wrote Sergios of Rome another letter, warning him of his error and also of my wrath. It did no good. Sergios's presumption continued unabated, and indeed grew worse. I would have written to Zachariah on the instant, ordering him to arrest Sergios and convey him to Constantinople, had matters more urgent than the ravings of a backwoods prelate not intervened.

After defeating us at Sebastopolis, the followers of the false prophet might well have stolen considerable territory from the military district of the Armeniacs. This, as I have said, they did not do, contenting themselves with raiding, using the skulking Sklavenoi to show them where the best booty lay. We Romans dealt with these raids fairly well, and I had hoped the lost battle would prove to have no severe consequences for the Roman Empire.

In this, as in the treacherous dealings with Neboulos on the night after the battle by Sebastopolis had been joined, I underestimated the depths of the Arabs' iniquity. And so, the following summer I received the unwelcome news that Sabbatios, an Armenian prince who had been loyal to us Romans since Leontios's campaign some years before, had given his principality into the hands of the deniers of Christ.

I spent much of the summer trying to repair the damage Sabbatios's defection inflicted on the Roman Empire. Unlike Italy, Armenia is vitally important to Constantinople. From its mines, we draw much of our iron. Its sturdy soldiers swell the ranks of Roman armies. And, should a foe control its passes, he gains the best routes for invading Anatolia.

Furthermore, the Armenians, even if not always of perfect orthodoxy, are Christians. Having them come under the yoke of the followers of the false prophet was bitter to me, and would surely prove bitter to them. Sabbatios proving unwilling to pay the least attention to my own entreaties, I prevailed upon Paul the ecumenical patriarch to write to him, bidding him reconsider his abandonment of allegiance to the Roman Empire in light of our common faith.

In this ploy I had considerable hope, Sabbatios having over a period of years established a name for ostentatious piety. But the wretch had, or pretended to have, taken umbrage at the canons of the fifth-sixth council condemning certain Armenian usages- this despite the approval Armenian bishops had given those canons.

"What a satanic hypocrite!" I burst out when Paul sadly gave his letter to me. "He deserves to come under the rule of the followers of the false prophet: only they come close to matching his deceit."

"Emperor, I shall pray that Sabbatios may return to his senses," the patriarch replied. Having spoken, he paused to catch his breath, which he did with increasing difficulty as his illness advanced. Then he went on, "And I shall pray for you."

"Thank you," I said. "May God hear your prayers."

He held up a hand. The tips of his fingers were not pink, nor even white, but faintly blue. "I shall pray for you, Emperor, for you have stirred up hatred against yourself and against the Roman Empire-"

"How dare you?" I broke in, my temper as usual quick to kindle.

"How dare I?" he answered. "I dare because I am a dying man. What worse can you do to me than my body is already doing? Soon God shall demand an accounting of my many sins face to face. But I say again, you have stirred up hatred against yourself and the Roman Empire in Italy and the west, in Armenia, and even here in the Queen of Cities, where rich and poor alike groan under the unfair taxes your ministers inflict on them."

"Is it my fault dissembling evildoers abound in both west and east?" I said. "As for the whiners and grumblers here in the city, when have you ever heard of any man who thinks the tax collector a benefactor, even if without taxes the Roman Empire would come crashing down in ruin?"

Paul said, "Emperor, I have told you the truth. What you choose to do with it is your affair. God has granted each of us free will, to use for good or ill."

"You are dismissed," I said coldly. Paul left the palace, not returning for some time. This estrangement kept me from using him to try to bring Pope Sergios to his senses- assuming Sergios had senses to which he could be brought, which was by no means obvious.

The very next day, Sisinniakes, the logothete in charge of petitions, plopped down a great stack of them in front of me. "These, Emperor," he said mournfully, "are almost all of them from people protesting their tax assessments. Not just little people, either, mind you: some of them are officials in your own government, and some others are rich, powerful men who like to hear yes when they ask for something."

"They will hear that I am their Emperor, and I am to be obeyed," I snapped, angry at the coincidence of these petitions' coming so close on the heels of my argument with the patriarch.

Sisinniakes cleared his throat. "Emperor, forgive my saying so, but you're the fifth of your house I've seen on the throne. People respect the house, Emperor, on account of all the fine things the rulers of your line have done, but they don't love you."

"I don't love them, either," I shot back. "Why should I? They do everything they can to cheat the fisc in its hour of need, and they dance and worship demons and fornicate without the least thought for their immortal souls. If they were better, they would be easier to rule."

Bowing his head, he said no more. He did not have quite the same security in offending me as did Paul, being neither a churchman nor on the very edge of death. But if I took his head, I would have been depriving the old fool of only a few years of life. It seemed hardly worth the fuss it would cause.

Trying to get some use out of him, I said, "You told me almost all these petitions had to do with taxes. What about the rest?"

He looked up to face me, smiling a sad smile. "Emperor, the rest are from men and women who have gone to prison because they got caught breaking the canons of the fifth-sixth synod, or else from their families begging to get them out."

"They are sinners and seducers and blasphemers," I snarled. "Let them stay there till they rot, every last one of them." I picked up the pile of petitions and thrust them back into Sisinniakes' arms. "As for these, take them and burn them!"