Harry Turtledove - Justinian

They are a comely people, the folk of Doros: tall and straight and some of them fairer of hair and of skin than I. That much I had known, from meeting in taverns their traders who came down to Kherson. What I had not known was how nervous being around many of them would make me: those of them who spoke Greek did so with an accent almost identical to that of Apsimaros.

On reflection, that was not surprising. He was of German blood of some sort, and the folk of Doros, it turns out, are Goths. The Emperor for whom I was named, the first Justinian, conquered the Ostrogoths a century and a half ago. We Romans have had few dealings with the Visigoths of the western Iberia, also called Spain, since they ousted us from it while my great-great-grandfather was distracted with more urgent wars against the Persians and Avars and Arabs. (It is said, though- whispered, actually- that he had more intimate dealings with them than those of war, siring a bastard on a woman of their people: a truth the women of my family no doubt wish the men would forget.)

See, Brother Elpidios? I already told you about that, long time gone. I know what's what, I do.

In ancient days, the Goths ruled much of the plain over which the Khazars now roam. The folk of Doros are a remnant of those who did not accompany the rest on their journey to the richer lands of the Roman Empire. They have improved over their ancestors in that they are now orthodox Christians rather than cleaving to the vile and abominable heresy of the Arians.

Barisbakourios had brought money enough to secure us lodgings in a tavern dirtier, smellier, and far more expensive than the xenodokheion where I had stayed so long. How galling it was that I, who had formerly commanded the resources of the Roman Empire, should again have been reduced to living off the generosity of my followers. Barisbakourios now being general of the military district of the Opsikion, though, I can truthfully say I have requited generosity with generosity, as I have also requited treason with vengeance.

More of Barisbakourios's money and, I think, some of Myakes' as well, went into persuading Totilas, the leader of the Goths of Doros, not to yield me up to the Khersonites if they asked that of him. The risk there, of course, was that they might pay him more to surrender me, but our bribe did at least raise the stake in the game.

Totilas said, "I do not want trouble from Kherson. I do not want trouble from the Romans. I do not want trouble from the Khazars. I do not want trouble of any kind. I want to stay here undisturbed."

Like a turnip in the ground, I thought. Totilas's nose resembled a turnip, being large and purple and bulbous. Well, not all of us are turnips. Some deserve the imperial eagle as emblem. But I had to speak him fair, lest he use his petty power to harm me. "Noble Totilas, I want no trouble, either, but I take it as trouble when evil men band together to kill me or send me in chains to another man who would surely do that. All I want is the chance to live in freedom." And to take back what is mine. "God willing, I shall not be in your city long."

God willing, indeed. Acting on the belief that the khagan of the Khazars was at the moment not unfavorably inclined toward me, the first thing I had done after having arrived at Doros was to send Stephen- otherwise known as Salibas- to Ibouzeros Gliabanos, entreating him to accept me at his court. Being of half-Khazar blood, Stephen could speak to the khagan in his own tongue.

If Stephen brought back word that Ibouzeros Gliabanos would accept me, I purposed leaving Doros at once and repairing to his capital on the plain. If, on the other hand, Stephen brought word of a refusal\a160… I did not know what I should do then. The best plan I had was to board ship, sail back to Constantinople, and try to raise a revolution. Against Leontios, such a plan might well have succeeded. But Apsimaros had shown himself more alert than the usurper he had usurped.

Totilas scratched that great root of a nose; I do believe I preferred my own, as Auriabedas had repaired it, to the one with which nature had endowed him. "If you do not stay long, maybe there will be no trouble." Avoiding trouble appeared to be his alpha and omega in life. A turnip indeed, I thought.

Sure enough, the Khersonite leaders did send a delegation to Doros seeking me. Sure enough, they did offer Totilas a bribe to yield me up to them. But, being most of them tight-fisted merchants, they offered only a tiny bit more than I had paid. I told him, "If you try to take me, I will make as much trouble as I can. I will not go quietly. In fact, I will set fires in my room and all over that building. With any kind of wind, they will cause you all sorts of trouble." Having heard him speak, I bore down on the word as if I were a magician casting a spell.

And so I might have been. He turned so pale even that nose became for a moment the color of ordinary flesh. "Don't do that!" he exclaimed. "Christ have mercy, don't do that." Any leader in any town would have had goo d cause to fear incendiarism. Put that next to Totilas's fear of trouble, and the game was mine. "I'll send those Khersonites away with a flea in their ear, see if I don't."

He did. They left Doros grumbling. By all appearances, they were unused to having Totilas stand up for the independence of his town. Actually, he was not standing up but being propped up, but the Khersonites did not know that. I breathed easier when they rode away.

Bread in Doros was as rare as it had been down in Kherson. As at the latter place, salt fish formed the bulk of the diet. The Goths of Doros had their own way of preparing it, though, mixing it with cabbage half-pickled in sharp vinegar. I cannot decide to this day whether that was better or worse than the fish stews of Kherson. It was, however, different from them, which at first gave the mixture an appeal the stew had long since lost. Before long, though, fish and sour cabbage also began to pall.

Kherson made better wine than Doros. That did not keep me from drinking a good deal of the wine of Doros while waiting for Stephen to return. Like my great-great-grandfather before me, I became infatuated with a big, yellow-haired Gothic woman, a servant at the tavern. Though not thinking of herself as a prostitute, she proved more mercenary than the whores at the brothel I had patronized in Kherson. Since I had little to give her, she gave me little. All things considered, that may well have been for the best, even if I would not have said so at the time.

I fretted and fumed as the days went by and Stephen remained out on the plain. "I want him here," I told Myakes. "I don't care if he tells me Ibouzeros Gliabanos won't even spit on me. I just want to know, curse it. Not knowing is what drives you mad."

"Not me," Myakes said. "Sooner or later, it'll happen. You can't do anything about it till then, so what's the point of getting in an uproar?"

To Myakes, who was not in the habit of looking ahead, the future seemed small and distant, unworthy of special heed. I had done nothing but look ahead since the day I came out of my delirium at the xenodokheion in Kherson: Constantinople and the throne beckoned me. The khagan's response either eased my way toward what I saw or cast a great shadow across it. I burned to know which.

Burn as I would, God revealed things in the time He desired, not the time I desired. His will be done, but it nearly led to disaster for me. After leaving me severely alone once I threatened to do my best to burn down his small, ugly, fish-stinking town, Totilas summoned me to his house: Doros was too insignificant to boast any more significant residence for its leader than a hovel somewhat larger than most of the hovels around it.

"Uh, the Khersonites have been here again," he said, nervously cracking his knuckles. "This time, they say they'll give me twice as much as the last time they were here."