Well, here's the next part. It is about one third longer than most previous chapters. A lot is going on in the Year of 710.
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Part IX
The Roman Emperor Who Lost His Nose
A timeline of Justinian II - The Magnificent Rhinotmetos
Part IX: Into the Fire
"It is fortunate few were *privy* to my missive, And if I must emphasise that in what seems a tedious and odious manner, then it is appropriate.", Theophilos of Doros, Emperor's Personal Emissary & Confidant
710 – Summer Julian the Visigoth gazed out across the Southern Pillar of Hercules. His ships were lying there, laden with Arab troops and supplies. Around 1,700 hardened troops were embarked that would approach the Spanish coast at early dawn and make their surprise landing. They expected it to be unopposed, and they had good reason to do so. Roderic was somewhat concerned with watching Agila to pay too much heed to his southern coast, and there is no reason to expect a sudden attack from North Africa – after all, he feels sure they would hit the Romans first. He knows how much the Followers of the False Prophet would like to obtain possession of that resilient outpost, and seems secure enough in the knowledge that news of such an event would reach him in enough time to be able to deal with any moves on the part of the Arabs towards his lands via the warnings from refuges that would no doubt flee from the garrison. Whilst he is wary of the Arabs and the possible threat they pose, he feels he must watch both them and Agila, and he must watch Agila very carefully lest he be caught out by him.
This is precisely what Julian is gambling upon. In a secret meeting outside of Septum, the citizens as yet unaware of his bargain with the Arabs which is known by only a select few, he has spent generous amounts of time discussing war plans with Musa and briefing Tariq, who will be leading the assault. Julian has been using his local knowledge to inform the Arab general of the best routes to take and the best places for them to make camp in. They can expect help from those kinsmen and vassals of Julian who yet remain on his former lands. Thus trusted guides will be available to show Tariq the best places to ambush local troops and the quickest route towards Roderic’s stronghold. Julian has also agreed to allow an Arab garrison to take control of Septum once they have fought a successful battle in Spain. To sweeten the deal, he has already passed on some quantities of gold, silks and other valuables donated by Wittiza’s former supporters as a sign of their good faith and as a deposit the Arabs may use to fund their campaign further with. In addition, Julian’s supporters will bolster Tariq’s forces once they disembark - his lands being close to the coast.
Tariq was somewhat concerned about the numbers involved. He has just over 1,700 men, and reports show that Roderic could easily turn up with an army more than ten times that. Reinforcements will take a couple of more weeks to arrive, which he hopes will bring his army up to 7,000, still apparently heavily outnumbered. Julian assured him that he need not worry, as his supporters will add thousands to the combined army, bringing it to near parity against anything Roderic can muster. Besides, the recently Islamicised Berber troops that make up most of Tariq’s army are very fierce as well as experienced fighters and will act as shock troops capable of turning a battle. Musa himself will arrive with further reinforcements which will take ship and add thousands more to Julian and Tariq’s combined force. Julian is aware that this puts yet more Arabs onto his beloved soil, but he already has plans for feelers to be sent out to Agila once he has won a battle, and before Musa’s reinforcements can arrive in order to arrange a pact should the Arabs fail to leave and keep their end of the bargain.
(Historical note: the figures for troops are historically accurate and are based on OTL sources.)
Small bands of Berbers have already been across and reported back to Tariq, who wished to reconnoitre the area to be absolutely sure about what he faces there. These groups can easily move about without being thought of as army elements, such bands being dismissed as the periodic appearances of Berber raiding parties that are known to turn up there from time to time. The indications from the reconnaissance were promising, and Tariq’s confidence in the campaign is reinforced. Turning to Julian he murmurs, “It seems we will catch them sleeping tomorrow. That augurs well for our progress.”.
Julian rubbed his chin and nodded in agreement. He knew they would have to move fast, but once they have gathered his supporters, then they have an excellent chance to hold their own in battle. “Let us hope that the usurper is just as sleepy in responding to us, and we will have him by his throat!.”
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In Septum, Theophilos languished in his house arrest, at a loss what to do. The guards at his door, the height of his windows and other guards located throughout the complex of buildings making any notion of escape impossible. He stared mournfully at the missive he had managed to stuff down the privy – it had been safe there, a thorough search of his chambers by Julian’s guards failing to find anything and satisfying the Visigoth that there was nothing else to be found as well. It was somewhat soiled and is possessed of a pungent smell, yet he feels it matters not as it will never reach the Emperor.
The smell caused him to wrinkle his nose and head for the only window that could now be opened to any degree, that of the very small one of the privy, of which he had no chance of squeezing himself through, even if height did not already make it a laughable escape route. Thrusting his body as far into the niche that made the window, he inhaled the air which was tinged with the salt of the nearby sea. He looked down into the small courtyard that was below the window and noticed no troops there. Of course, there was no need for any to be stationed there as it was not seen as a viable escape route.
Sighing, Theophilos was about to withdraw back inside when he spied a figure below that was familiar to him. It was one of the servants, Philippicus by name, and he had just made a start sweeping the courtyard. He was a Roman, not a Visigoth or one of the many Berbers who also made this outpost of Empire their home. And Theophilos remembered that this individual had a private suspicion of some of the Visigoths. Besides that, not being of particularly high birth himself, he had got along rather well with some of the servants and this was one of them. He wondered if this humble servant could be of use in his hour of need. Especially as he knew he possessed a degree of literacy.
First, he had to gain his attention without causing much noise. Quickly hurrying back into his chamber, he grabbed a small item of silk clothing, and rushed back to the tiny window. Thrusting his hand out of the window, he dropped the material to the ground below. Sure enough, it garnered the attention of Philippicus, who naturally enough looked up to see where it had come from and was met by the squashed face of Theophilos peering out of the opened window. Before Philippicus could say anything, Theophilos managed to squeeze his hand up to his lips clearly requesting him to be quiet. For his part, Philippicus nodded and quickly glanced around to make sure no one else was watching from the shadows. He was alone. Looking back up with a quizzical expression, Theophilos motioned him to wait, and his face disappeared. The servant waited patiently for his return.
Moving rapidly to his desk, Theophilos made some additions to the missive for the Emperor, telling of Julian’s motivations for dealing with Roderic, and his nefarious deal with the Arabs. Affixing his seal to the message, he then scribbled a quick note for Philippicus instructing him to smuggle the letter out of the fortress and ensure it would be put on a ship with a trader captain he knew he could rely on. Having done this, he scurried back to the window and dropped the note to Philippicus out first, who duly picked it up, and read the simple language on it. Theophilos prayed that his level of literacy was enough to understand what had been hastily written there, but he need not have worried as the servant made a gesture of acknowledgement. Dropping the message for the Emperor out of the window, Theophilos looked down as Philippicus stooped to pick it up, and wrinkled his nose as he did so. Despite this, he quickly wrapped both messages up in the silk cloth, and slipped everything into his tunic. Nodding to the face looking down at him, he scurried out of the courtyard, leaving Theophilos to pray that he was indeed loyal enough to rely on, and also to hope that he could make it safely to the captain he trusted, thus ensuring the safe passage, storms and other mishaps excepted, to Justinian himself. He hoped the smell of the missive did not cause any guards to give Philippicus any suspicious looks.
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Whilst the nervous Theophilos bit his nails in Septum, the Khazar troops that have been redeployed by Justinian to the Opsikon Theme are greeted by
Komes Barisbakourios who soon has them exercising with his thematic troops. They will remain here for a while before moving off further east, familiarising themselves with the terrain and further learning how to support Roman methods of fighting. It will take them some time to adapt, but they seem enthusiastic enough to prove their worth as warriors, which Barisbakourios notes with approval. He will have to submit a report back to the capital about their progress, so he makes sure he is himself kept informed of their progress when he is not personally observing them, being occupied by other duties required by his office.
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In the meantime, Heraclius has been planning how best to prepare moderate numbers of troops for winter operations following his earlier meeting with the Emperor. Not an easy task, but as he already has some experience of winter operations following his actions in Thessaly, and having expanded on the idea with Myakes, he has been making progress and a good start has been made. Funds have been allocated to make sure these special troops are given a lucrative incentive to turn up for training, and Heraclius has in mind that not just winter training will be carried out, but other areas that will specialise the troops further. It goes without saying that they will receive the best of equipment, and be assigned experienced commanders. Reporting progress to the Emperor, he cannot help feeling a sense of pride that the idea is turning out to be a very promising one, and will be more than a nasty shock if used properly and wisely at important moments in campaigns.
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On the far side of the Empire, early dawn appears, and Julian’s ships disembark supporters of Wittiza, Tariq and his small yet powerful army of Berbers onto the shores of Spain at what is immediately dubbed Jabal Tariq
(Historical note: This is where the name of Gibraltar comes from – the meaning of Gibraltar is ‘the Mountain of Tariq’). Loosing no time, they immediately head for Julian’s former estates, where they expect to meet up with his supporters gathering on those extensive lands and his guides waiting to show them the most advantageous routes through the countryside. The scouting of the small bands sent earlier along with Julian’s local knowledge proves fruitful as they make rapid and almost unopposed progress through the land.
However, it is only a matter of time before news reaches Roderic of this threat into his realm. And reach him it does, but by this time Tariq has reached Julian’s old estates, and it is not long before they are gathering many men as promised. Most, it is true, are militia, not especially well trained or heavily armed, yet full to the brim with plenty of fighting spirit. However, some nobles and heavier armed troops of higher classes including Visigoth Cavalry do form a nucleus for the militia to surround, and as they move further inland, their numbers grow.
Skirmishes begin to break out as smaller elements of Roderic’s forces attempt to harass the combined force heading for his capital of Toledo. In the days that follow, the skirmishes become ever more intense, but even as they do so, Julian’s supporters grow in strength, and towns are falling to the Arab-Visigothic Army. Roderic was busy amassing an army to face the combined force, and eventually it numbers around 25,000 troops of various quality, the bulk of them militia and of questionable abilities. However, he was quick enough in doing so before Tariq’s reinforcements manage to catch up with him. Just short of two weeks into the campaign, they arrived at Jabal Tariq, with Julian accompanying them, and made their way north with all speed. It was not fast enough. Roderic’s forces gathered and marched south to confront Tariq’s 1700 Berbers and Julian’s 12,000 strong army which was under Tariq’s overall command in his absence. Roderic was not even aware of Julian’s participation in the campaign. As far as he was concerned, this was a rebellion instigated by disloyal nobles and attended by Berber mercenaries to boost their numbers.
During all this time, Stephen has not been idle. Now fully recovered from his maladies, he received news of the Berber forces’ landing in southern Spain not long after they happened, but like Roderic remained ignorant of Julian’s involvement is all this and of his movement north with reinforcements. However, he now decided to make his choice. He moved to send a message to Roderic offering his support, and at the same time sent a missive to the Balearics requesting ships loaded with Roman troops sent forth at once in case they are needed. The message reached Roderic rather rapidly, but he is non-committal for the moment, having confidence that his force which he believes is larger and more effective will be able to deal with the small force of Berbers, and what he imagines is a rabble of militia cobbled together by the rebellious nobles. Besides, he was sure that the Romans will want something in return for their help, and saw no reason to give them anything unless absolutely necessary. Agila has shown no sign of making any moves, most likely still consolidating his own position in the northeast. Stephen’s orders for troops arrived within a few days in the Balearics where forces have been building up for some time, and the troops there, already prepared for such a rapid deployment embark on a large fleet of Roman ships and made their way at maximum speed to the eastern coast of Iberia. Stephen, like Roderic, is under the impression this was a rebellion led by nobles who have contracted Berber mercenaries to assist them. He was unaware that there was any formal Arab involvement, as if he did, he may have been somewhat more hesitant about committing troops, seeing as relations with the Caliphate are reasonable at this time. Blissfully ignorant of this, around 6000 troops of various types have disembarked and made their way inland.
As they are doing this however, battle is finally joined between Roderic and Tariq. Tariq had hoped not to fight until his reinforcements had arrived, but Roderic was not considerate enough to wait it seemed and had forced the issue much to the one-eyed general’s chagrin. Thus it was that just northwest of Cordoba, the two forces finally clashed in battle just after two weeks since Tariq had arrived. Roderic had drawn up his army with his relatives Osbert and Sisbert commanding the wings of his force. With Tariq in overall command of the force and various Visigothic nobles in command of their part, plus Tarif ibn Malluk, a commander who had led the scouting parties into Iberia in tactical command of the 1,700 Berbers, the battle erupts with a forceful and aggressive attack by Roderic.
For some time, Roderic’s forces have the upper hand and the militia of Julian, commanded by a number of nobles suffers from a lack of effective communication thus falling back in confusion. However, the fierceness and determination of the nobles is no pushover, and they manage to rally the left flank which smashes into Osbert’s wing which he has rashly spread too thin whilst chasing down the militia with his cavalry. Osbert is hit by an expertly aimed arrow and falls off his horse, sowing confusion amongst his troops as they think he is now dead. He is still alive however, but it is too late as his wing of Roderic’s army collapses and the Berbers see their chance racing in to attack the dangerously exposed centre. Roderic attempts to stem the attack by leading a personal charge against the Berbers, but it is of no use as the break is exploited and Tariq’s centre bears down with irresistible force upon the beleaguered vanguard of Roderic’s army, causing it to waver, and then collapse, the troops knowing now all is lost and now shouting in fear. Roderic, despite his personal bravery, is lucky to flee the field with his life; his army retreating in general disorder followed by Osbert who has somehow managed to get onto a horse before there are none left for him to throw himself onto. Only Sisbert manages to hold off the attack on his wing, doing his best to prevent the flight turning into a rout as his wing retreats in good order, and he brings some semblance of organisation to some of the fleeing troops in the centre. His quick and tenacious action prevents Tariq’s force from effectively pursuing, and thus saves a significant part of the army to fight another day. The humiliated Roderic manages to gather the remains of his army together and move back towards Toledo. In short, the battle is something of a disaster for Roderic, and he can only curse the luck of the archer who managed to put an arrow into Osbert. During his sullen withdrawal, he reflects on what might have happened if the Romans had been there. Knowing that a second battle is not going to be so advantageous to him, he sends off messengers
post haste to Stephen agreeing to his assistance and asking his terms for his help.
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As the messenger streaked his way across the land bearing this crucial missive, a ship also raced across the sea carrying another equally urgent message. Theophilos’ warning to Justinian was safely aboard the ship and in the hands of the trusted trader captain he had hoped it would reach. Philippicus had managed to smuggle it out of the fortress, although it is true that the noses of the guards did notice an unsavoury whiff as he did so. Rather than cause them to investigate, it made them reluctant to even touch the servant, so he was left to be on his way. Knowing the docks well, he found the captain the
Prōtospatharios had informed him of, the message had then been handed over with a minimum of fuss and Philippicus had watched as the vessel had made ready for sea. He waited just long enough to discreetly watch the trading ship disappear over the horizon, before he left the quayside and returned to his chores. He reckoned that if he had a chance, he’d return to the courtyard when it was safe, perhaps in a couple of days and somehow communicate that he had carried out his task.
For his part, Stephen enthusiastically received Roderic’s messenger and stated the Roman terms, which were control of southern and parts of south eastern Spain thus including the Iberian Pillar of Hercules. As the regions in question are not under firm control of Roderic or Agila anyway, it was seen as a reasonable price to pay in return for the services of 6000 well trained, heavily armed, lavishly supplied and very motivated Roman troops, with the possibility of further reinforcements if necessary to help him against his various enemies. Within a few days, it had all been agreed to, Roderic perhaps knowing that his chances of holding onto his throne were shaky given what has befallen him, especially since rumours have arrived that the rebellion appeared to be receiving reinforcements hurrying up from the south. With this agreed to, Stephen sent off a message to the Emperor, and another one to Theophilos. It was fortunate for him that the next battle would happen before that message reached Septum.
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By this time, Julian had finally caught up with Tariq with further supporters in tow. Tariq was eager enough to tell of the success in battle to the delighted Visigoth, who now wonders if he needed to send any messages to Agila to join in the deposition of Roderic. He felt he can wait until the next battle, as he was confident that the usurper’s forces would be at an even bigger disadvantage when they meet again. However, Tariq was not all full of good news, and explained the problems of communication within his militia. Julian acknowledged these, however now that he was here, he felt sure things would improve once he has taken command of them, and made some organisational changes which he explained in depth to the approving Berber general. Despite the dead and injured suffered in the Battle of Cordoba, there are now almost 7,000 Berbers and Arabs, along with 13,000 Visigoths. The militia and nobles had lost about 1,800 dead and wounded in the battle, but with further supporters having joined the army those losses have been replaced and Julian’s strength had increased as well. Tariq’s estimate of around 9,000 casualties for Roderic’s army seemed to indicate to everyone that they had the advantage in numbers as well as skill.
Sitting down to a celebration feast with Tariq and other commanders, Julian toasted their success, “We have shown all of Iberia that Roderic is not just a vile usurper, but an unlucky one. I have heard tales of his bravery in battle, yet he fled towards his capital with his tail between his legs like some filthy and cowardly dog.”. Looking around at the mixture of faces around him, he added, “So this is the man who would rule Iberia. You can all see how ill suited he is to the task and that his downfall will be richly deserved. Thus our sadly absent King Wittiza whom the traitor no doubt killed shall be rightfully avenged.”. The nobles and generals cheered and the Berbers smiled. But none smiled more widely than Tariq, his single eye sparkling in the firelight.
“You will have your Iberia returned to its rightful heirs, and we shall have Septum. A most agreeable state of affairs now your revenge is well on the way to completion and you have your estates once more.”. Like Julian, he glanced around the faces present around the huge table. “Roderic shall surely be crushed in our next encounter now we are one!”.
Julian stood up and shouted, “Yes, and he’ll go down eating his own blood!”, before turning to Tariq, his arms outstretched as if in offering. “Septum is now yours, the commander of the garrison is loyal to me, and will surrender it upon the approach of your representative. My side of the bargain is now kept, and I trust your brave men will continue to fight beside us.”. He licked his lips, perhaps a little nervous that Tariq could now leave the alliance if he really wished to.
He need not have worried. “There is still plunder and victory to be had here. We shall stand by you as brothers until the task is complete and we have final victory!”. Tariq banged the table with his hand and the assembled host roared with approval.
Julian was already planning what to do once Roderic was gone. He was going to offer some land to the Emperor to compensate for the loss of Septum – he would gain far more than had been lost, he’d see to that. And then the Romans could deal with the Arabs at their leisure with a firm base to operate from. Much better for that than poor beleaguered Septum he felt, which they’d get back anyway. He really believed he would be doing them a favour and he hoped the Emperor would see it that way. If he didn’t, well, he had allies.
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Days later Stephen’s army met up with Roderic’s rather battered force near Toldeo. With around 16,000 troops left in fighting trim, the view of 6,000 Roman soldiers was a heartening sight, and the morale of the Visigoth army went up rapidly. Stephen was more of a diplomat than a general, so he wisely left strategy to a certain George, who was the commander of the Roman force. However, to all intents and purposes, he was in overall charge, being the Emperor’s representative in the region. Now joined, they engaged in practising manoeuvres together, as the expectation was that the next battle would be but a short time away, and they would need to be able to work as a cohesive unit and iron out any communication difficulties as far as possible in that time.
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Far away from all this activity a small ship eased its way into the Dardanelles and proceeded with haste to the Queen of Cities. It would arrive there before the next battle is fought in Iberia, but just before it did, more communications were received from the Pope who would shortly be making his journey to Constantinople. The year has been wearing on and already an advance delegation has left Rome in order to prepare the way for the Holy Father. Patriarch Cyrus has been busy making his own preparations. He was not alone in wanting to dazzle Pope Constantine with the wonders of the city, and he was certain that the Great Church of the Holy Wisdom would have a profound effect upon him. The Emperor was also looking forward greatly to the visit, and was determined to throw sumptuous banquets and entertainments so that the Pope can marvel at what the City can provide.
The little ship docked and unloaded its captain who went straight to the palace and insisted upon an urgent meeting with the Emperor. Theophylactus was ultimately informed of this irascible individual who refused to leave until he had passed on a message directly to Justinian. Heading down to the gates to see him, he wondered if the man was yet another of those insane people who often insist upon meeting the Emperor whilst pretending to have a message of import. The guards have said that the man looked like a ship captain and had mentioned the name of Theophilos of Doros, presently far away in Septum. This was enough to stir his interest and the
sakellarios had decided to take a personal interest in this particular case. Reaching the gate, he observed the fellow standing there who was short and stocky with the ruddy face common to sailors whose skin has seen rather more of the elements than the average man.
“So, I hear you have been causing something of a ruckus. I trust that this is worth it since I have come down from my offices to investigate this. You have mentioned a Theophilos of Doros, so you can tell me what this message you say you have from him is about.”. He looked quizzically at the sailor.
The sailor cleared his throat and spoke slowly, “I am John, Captain of that ship you can see out yonder.”, gesturing towards the docks and his small ship tied up there. He paused slightly, as if calculating what words would be best to say. “I have come from Septum by request of Theophilos who has entrusted me with a message of great import. A message that he insisted should be for the Emperor’s eyes only.”. Fishing out the missive concerned, he angled it so it displayed Theophilos’ seal. Theophylactus extended his hand to take it, but John whipped it back with the reactions of a man who was used to catching ill behaved ropes that could vanish rapidly over the side if not caught. “Oh no, you don’t. I’m going to keep my word on this one. Emperor’s eyes only y’see.”.
The
sakellarios was a little taken aback, yet he could see the determination in the man’s eyes. He gestured to the guards. “I could easily have that taken you realise?”, he said nonchalantly.
“I know that, but you’ll be depriving an honest man of his word and honour. God knows, I will keep my word, so they’ll have to whack me up pretty harshly before I give it up.”. He looked defiantly at each of the guards and then fixed his eyes back on Theophylactus.
Looking into those eyes, Theophylactus somehow knew the man was genuine. He sighed, “Very well, you can bring it to the Emperor, and your honour shall remain intact. You’ll be accompanied by guards though, and you should not speak unless spoken to in the audience chamber.”. Turning, he gestured to the guards again and four of them surrounded Captain John as the
sakellarios lead him through the gates of the Palace. His nose twitched as he does so wondering what on earth that strange smell was that seemed to be hanging around the sailor.
Having reached the audience chamber and Theophylactus adding another name to the list of people granted an audience with the Emperor, John had only to wait a small amount of time before he was led into the chamber by the guards.
Sitting on his throne, Myakes beside him, and the room containing a number of guards, yet few officials, as the
sakellarios had dismissed most of them seeing as this message appears to be an important one, Justinian sizes up the captain before beckoning him forward to speak and noted the man’s slow yet relatively calm demeanour as he did so. Myakes had already voiced his caution about the man. “Could be another favour seeker spouting bullshit for all we know.”.
“So, I hear tale that you have a message for me, and only me written by the hand of Theophilos himself. Let us have it then.”.
John bowed deeply and slipped the missive out of his tunic once more. “Aye Emperor, and he had to pass it on to me via a servant. I hear a tale too. That Theophilos is unable to leave his chambers there and that he had to toss it out of a privy window.”.
Justinian frowned as he heard that and took the message that was taken out of John’s hands and to him by an attendant. “You are saying that he has some plague that no man dares to come near him. Or something more sinister?”. He wondered what the strange aroma was that had just appeared. His nose may have been mutilated years before, but his sense of smell was still more than keen enough.
“I know not much of the details, but it seems he is in some sort of trouble with Julian and is confined to his quarters. Perhaps Julian thought he was going to take his job someday.”. He shrugged his shoulders at that.
Justinian saw that Theophilos’ seal was indeed on the missive and he broke it open, his nasal passages being assaulted by a very pungent whiff. It was strong enough to make Myakes wrinkle his nose too. “What is that most unwelcome aroma? It seems to be released with this message.”, he enquired of the captain.
“Search me Emperor. I don’t notice it anymore, although it did strike me the first few hours I was in possession of it.”.
Myakes mumbled loud enough to be heard by the Emperor. “Smells like shit to me Emperor.”, which drew him a sharp yet slightly worried look from Justinian. “Well, he did throw it from a privy after all. Maybe he had a bowel accident after that falling out with Julian.”, he said dryly.
Holding the missive somewhat more lightly and with the tips of his fingers now, the Emperor gingerly opened it fully. “Er, yes Myakes, well, let us see what is written here.”, he murmured as he scanned the contents, his face going from interest, to concern and then finally darkening with anger.
“We have been betrayed it seems! Theophilos tells of Julian working in collaboration with the Miscalled Commander of the Faithful’s governor of the region that is rightly ours. It appears they have been plotting against Roderic because of Julian’s’ desire for revenge and to reclaim his lands that have been seized, yet that is not so troubling as the bargain he has arranged with the followers of the False Prophet! Our outpost of Septum is to be handed over as payment as part of this hideous compact!”. Myakes had scarcely seen the Emperor so angry for a long while. He knew this was very serious indeed. Theophylactus gasped, and the handful of other officials looked astonished. John himself was unable to stop his jaw from dropping open.
“Theophilos adds that even now, Julian, supporters of his, and former associates of the impious Wittiza accompanied by a heathen army are at large in Iberia with intent to kill Roderic and take the land.”. He shook his head in enraged disbelief, “How foolish and rash can a man be? Those soldiers of the desert will be most unwilling to leave once they have settled down like fleas in a dog’s coat on that side of the Pillars of Hercules. He is mad to trust that should they fail in their word, he can deal with them using his own people, as he will have ravaged the place in civil war making it less defensible, not stronger!”. He paused briefly a moment, remembering his own desire for revenge and how it had nearly been his undoing too. He could well understand that Julian would want his lands back and punish those responsible. He could even understand that despite the immorality of Wittiza, he felt duty bound to avenge the King he had cordial relations with. Yet to give away the last outpost of the Roman Empire in Africa – that was beyond the pale.
Justinian did not hesitate to give out his orders and turned to his
sakellarios, “Send a message immediately to the commander of our forces in Sicily. Tell him to amass a fleet and sail immediately for Septum and retake the place. We cannot waste a moment of time on this.”.
He wondered about Stephen. It may be that he knew about his, but he couldn’t be sure. His silence was deafening, yet any missive from him may not have had enough time to reach the Court yet so it was perfectly logical to assume he knew nothing and could not be blamed for not doing so. Besides, if Theophilos was under house arrest, it would be very difficult indeed to get messages out. After all, he had to resort to throwing things out of a privy window to get this precious message to Justinian himself.
“Send a message to Stephen warning him of what has happened in case he is not aware of the situation, and to make an alliance with Roderic. Julian is to be found and arrested and his forces scattered to the winds. Our plans in Iberia could be ruined by this if we do not act swiftly enough.”. He then turned his attention to the possible involvement of the Caliph in all this. He felt sure the local Arab governor would not be doing this unless he has some form of tacit approval from his master. Yet from the missive it is clear that Julian did not expect any Roman troops to get caught up in the fighting with Stephen now away in the Balearics, and that meant the Arabs did not expect to fight them directly. Of course, he may not even be in those islands now with such news reaching him. The outpost’s handover appeared to be by treachery and not conquest. Of course the Arabs were not going to turn down something offered to them so easily - it was too tempting an offer to pass on. However, the followers of the Miscalled Commander of the Faithful had not directly attacked the Empire – yet.
The Emperor once again turned his attention to Theophylactus, “Send a message to the Miscalled Commander of the Faithful to express our dismay and anger at this turn of events, and demand that he withdraw from Septum, or there will be consequences. In the meantime, make sure our messenger to Stephen continues onto Iberia with all haste should he not be in the Balearics and find him.”, He knew that war with the Caliphate was a very strong possibility and events were happening rather sooner than he had planned for. “Also, inform Elias to be ready in the east should the situation deteriorate. Now, summon Aspimarus and Heraclius to my presence. We may need to accelerate our plans for our expedition to North Africa. Go now, and carry out my instructions with all speed.”.
Theophylactus practically ran from the chamber, his robes fluttering out behind him as John remained standing there in rather a state of shock himself. Justinian rubbed his chin and turned his attention to him. “We thank you deeply for conveying this missive to us so rapidly.” He beckoned to one of the subordinate officials of his
sakellarios. “Our generosity for your services will be 15 pounds of gold. This official will see that you receive it promptly.”.
John wasn’t shocked enough to be able to express his gratitude. “My sincere thanks to you Emperor. And if I may sail back to Septum and somehow play a part in liberating the place and my dear fellow Theophilos, I would be grateful.”. He cast an expectant look at the Emperor.
Justinian was more than happy to grant that request, and the captain left to collect his reward before heading off to provision his ship and leave with the messenger embarked for the commander of the forces in Sicily.
Myakes shifted his position and edged closer to the Emperor. “What are you going to do with Julian if you lay your hands on ‘im Emperor?”.
The Emperor scowled at the mention of Julian’s name. “I shall be merciful of course and won’t lop his head off.”. Glancing at the smelly missive he was still holding with his fingertips, he added, “I’ll throw him into the foulest, most stinking and unfriendly to a person’s constitution type of dungeon that I can find in the Empire and leave him to rot there.”.
Justinian flicked the missive from his fingers to an official who tried to conceal his feeling of being less than pleased about receiving the odious item. “Burn this.” was all the Emperor said.
Myakes couldn’t help but imagine that Julian and his supporters had really landed themselves into the heart of the fire now.
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