Theodoric (13 page)

Matching the Isaurian's agility, the king sprang onto the saddle – whereupon the full wickedness of Sleipnir's nature manifested itself. Feeling the weight of a stranger on his back, the stallion, eyes rolling, ears laid back, immediately began to rear and plunge, obliging Strabo to hang on grimly to the two front saddle-horns. A gasp of horror arose from the scattering onlookers as Sleipnir bounded in the air, then landed with a jarring thud that sent Strabo flying from the saddle, to crash onto a rack of spears outside a tent. Several blades drove through the king's back, their bloody points emerging from his chest. Strabo gave a choking cry, a fount of blood gushed from his mouth, and he lolled lifeless, suspended from the spears.

Before the Goths could react, Timothy had mounted Sleipnir and was galloping from the camp. A spear whistled past his head; a warrior
who tried to bar the way went down, skull stove in by an iron-shod hoof. Then they were clear and speeding eastward along the Via Egnatia, at a pace no other steed could hope to emulate. The plot – intended by Theoderic and Timothy only to humiliate Strabo before his followers, and thus hopefully reduce his standing – had succeeded beyond their wildest imaginings.

The results of Strabo's accidental death were immediate and far-reaching. Theoderic had proved himself stronger than his rival. Therefore (according to the Gothic mind) he was worthy to be the leader of Strabo's followers. Thus the hegemony of all the Ostrogoths fell to Theoderic, who thus became, almost at a stroke, a major potential threat to Zeno. Unable now to play off one Gothic bloc against another, the Eastern emperor sought to win over Theoderic by a series of gestures. He connived in the murder of Strabo's son Rekitach, thus eliminating the only serious challenge to Theoderic's supremacy; he granted the Amal Goths land in Dacia Ripensis
*
and Moesia Secunda; he appointed Theoderic
Magister Militum praesentalis
, the highest post in the Roman army; and he designated him (along with one Venantius) consul
†
– an unheard-of honour for a barbarian. Through an unexpected turn of fortune's wheel, it seemed that all Theoderic's tribulations had been smoothed away, and his dream at last fulfilled.

 

*
Roughly equivalent to north-east Serbia.

†
For 484.

The divine inspiration of his [Severinus'] prophetic mind

Eugippius,
The Life of Severinus
, 511

As he neared his destination, Lauriacum, Theoderic's pleasurable anticipation at the throught of meeting the famous holy man of Noricum, Severinus, was tempered by a deep sadness. Everywhere throughout the former West Roman province, ruined farmsteads and the fire-blackened remains of villages made a stark and ugly contrast to the beautiful landscape of mountains, lakes and Alpine meadows. The devastation had been wrought only in recent years by bands of Alamanni, Heruls and, sadly, the northern Ostrogoths under his brother Valamir, now dead. (The Sciri had ceased their raids, banned by Odovacar of the royal house of that tribe and now king of Italy. For all that he was a barbarian ruler, Odovacar was a just and enlightened one, doing a far better job than his recent predecessors who had worn the imperial purple.)

Keen to capitalize on the power-vacuum created by the death of Strabo, and anxious (secretly) to know what the future held in store, Theoderic had decided to visit the famed sage and reputed seer to seek advice and prognostications. Forced to leave Thiudimund nominally in charge of the Amal during his absence (but with Timothy and Videric, the aged but able head of the Kuni, primed to take over at the first hint of disloyalty), Theoderic had travelled by ship from Dyrrachium
*
up the Adriatic coast and out of the empire, to the port of Tergeste
†
(Aquileia, which would have been nearer his destination, having been destroyed by Attila thirty years earlier). He had completed the remainder of his journey via the route over the Alpes Carnicae, in
the guise of a wandering monk – sure defence against the attentions of raiders or bandits, such was the universal veneration in which these anchorites were held.

At the town's main gate, Theoderic was searched and questioned by two guards in imperial-issue helmets and mail hauberks – reminders of a Roman government now defunct. Theoderic didn't object, accepting that in these times of insecurity, strangers, especially those of Germanic appearance, were understandably regarded with suspicion. Enquiring as to the whereabouts of Severinus, he was given directions but warned that the sage was dying, and might be too ill to receive him. Outside a mean dwelling in a back street he found a throng of people, some openly weeping, waiting their turn to see the great man.

‘No more today,' a man in the doorway called to some visitors approaching the line. Then, spotting Theoderic's tall form among them, he added, ‘Just one more,' and signalled him to join the end of the queue. Two hours later, when the last of those before the king had been ushered out, the porter, a spare man with a wise and pleasant face and the tallest forehead Theoderic had ever seen, admitted him to a bare lower room, then shut and barred the door behind him. Showing Theoderic to a settle, he seated himself on a stool.

‘My master is exhausted and must rest a while, but will see you by and by, Sire,' said the doorkeeper with a smile. ‘I could hardly send away such a distinguished visitor as the king of the Amal.'

‘But, how—' began Theoderic, amazed.

‘—did I know who you were?' finished the other. ‘Not magic, I assure you, Sire. Merely observation, a faculty I've practised and developed all my life. Despite your monkish garb, your bearing, fair colouring, and blue eyes bespeak a German warrior of high rank. Among that race and class, how many have attained such a great height as yourself? You see, already the field has narrowed to a few. Your habit is worn, and ragged at the hem, besides bearing traces of salt, suggesting you have made a long journey by land and sea. Which fits the circumstances: all the world has heard that the squinting king is dead, and now waits to see what his great rival, Theoderic, will do. What more likely than that the king of the Amal should seek counsel from the sage of Noricum – as did Odovacar, on his way to Italy? The clues all point to just the one conclusion, Sire.'

‘Well, when you put it like that, it seems obvious enough,' said Theoderic. He shook his head and laughed. ‘Still, I'm impressed. Not many would have spotted those tell-tale signs, let alone deduced anything from them.' He went on gently, ‘I'm sorry to hear that your master is sick.'

‘His days draw peacefully to a close.' The man paused and blinked back tears. ‘Excuse me, Sire. We should celebrate rather than grieve; he has had a long and wonderful life, full of service and achievement, and is assured of a heavenly reward. But where are my manners? You must be tired and hungry; let me offer you some repast – only poor fare, I'm afraid.'

While Theoderic gratefully partook of a bowl of thin soup, with bread and a wrinkled apple from a store-cellar, the other told him a little about himself. Named Myrddin, from Cambria in Britain, he had become, while scarcely more than a boy, an eager acolyte of Severinus when the latter visited the island as part of Germanus' second mission, during the wretched reign of Valentinian III. When the sage stayed on to help Aurelian organize the Britons' fight-back against the Saxons, Myrddin had become part of his team. He had returned with Severinus to the empire, eventually settling with him in Noricum as the old man's factotum, as well as friend.

A monk appeared on the stairs leading to the upper part of the house, and said, ‘If there are any more visitors, the master will see them now.'

‘Thank you, Eugippius.' Myrddin turned to Theoderic. ‘Severinus' mind and memory are as sharp as ever, and you'll find him willing to listen, and discuss any topic you wish to raise. But bear in mind he's very weak, and will unselfishly overtax his strength if allowed to.'

‘It will be
ave atque vale
with but two questions in between. You have my word.'

The group of monks surrounding Severinus moved to a far corner of the chamber. Theoderic seated himself on a bench beside the bed on which the patient lay, propped up by pillows. Long white hair and beard reinforced the aura of authority and dignity emanating from the strong features. Though the old man was gaunt and pale, his breathing shallow, the eyes in the kindly face glittered with a fierce intelligence.

‘Greetings, Theoderic,' said the sage, in a faint yet clear voice. He seemed, by some strange mental osmosis, to be aware of Myrddin's observations to the king. ‘For some time now, I've been expecting you – and at last you've made it. But only just,' he added with a wry chuckle. ‘Is there anything you wish to ask me?'

‘I have arrived at my own Rubicon, and am uncertain what my next course of action should be. Also, I would know what the future holds for me, if that is possible.'

‘As to your first point: the death of Strabo, while appearing to have solved your problems, has in fact created one much greater. As long as Strabo lived, you were useful to the Eastern emperor as a counterbalance to the Thracian Goths. Now that he is gone, and with all the Ostrogoths united under your rule, Theoderic has become a far more serious threat to the Empire than either he or Strabo were separately, as rivals. Oh, I know that you yourself are well disposed to Rome; but the people you lead are too warlike, their energies too violent, ever to co-exist peacably within the empire. But if you were to try to fight that empire, you would lose; it is simply too strong. So, for you, the status quo is not an option: you must remove your people from imperial soil. Where, I cannot say. Bleak tidings I'm afraid, but all I have to offer.' Severinus gave a wan smile. ‘However, you are wise and strong, I think, Theoderic. I have no doubt that you will find a way.

‘Now, regarding the second matter that you raised, I fear I cannot help you. My reputation has become somewhat inflated, you see. I am credited with the power of prophecy, would you believe, a power which I simply do not possess. But try Myrddin. He is said to have what they call the ‘second sight' – a gift peculiar to the Celts, I believe. It comes to him only at certain times; but who knows, you might be lucky.' The old man drew a wasted hand from beneath the coverlet and laid it on Theoderic's. ‘Thank you for coming, my friend. Farewell, and God's blessing be upon you.'

Saddened and dispirited, Theoderic took his leave and descended to the lower room.

‘I see two eagles,' intoned Myrddin, ‘one living, and one dead: the living in the East, the dead in the West.' The seer sat upright in a trance-like state, his eyes open but seeming to look at something far beyond the
confines of the chamber. ‘A horse comes from the land of the live eagle to that of the dead one, where he fights and kills a boar which has come there before him. After many years the horse dies, to be followed by eight others of his line. The final six of these the eagle of the East attacks, killing the last. The vision fades; there is no more.' Myrddin stirred and blinked, seeming to return to the present.

‘Don't question me about what I've seen, or ask me to explain it,' he said. ‘I have no memory of anything. The meaning is for you alone; in due course it will reveal itself to you.'

‘That's good to know, for I confess I can make nothing of the menagerie that you've described. Eagles, boars and horses!' Theoderic shook his head, giving a wry smile. ‘But I'm grateful nonetheless. Tell me, what are your plans now, Myrddin? Stay on in Noricum, perhaps, to continue the work begun by Severinus?'

‘Hardly that, Sire. There is only one Severinus – “the latchet of whose shoe I am not worthy to unloose”, as it says in the Gospel of St John. Besides, his work here is done. As a province of the former Western Empire, Noricum comes under the jurisdiction of Odovacar, who has proved himself a strong and able king. In the six short years of his reign, he has done more to solve the problems of the Noricans than all the petty emperors who wore the purple following the murder of Aetius. Severinus has suggested that I return to Britannia. He says that there I will find work fully to engage my hands and brain, in helping Artorius.'

‘Artorius?'

‘The successor to Aurelian, the
Dux Britanniae
who fell in battle against the Saxon invaders seven years ago.'

‘Then I wish you good fortune, Myrddin. I fear you will need it. I've heard the Saxons are a hard and cruel foe, still clinging to the fierce old gods that we Goths abandoned a century ago for a kinder faith.'

‘I've no doubt the struggle will be long and bloody, Sire. But I've had a vision of my own in which two dragons fight, a red against a white. In the end it is the red dragon which prevails.'

‘Make it the symbol on your pennant, then. A red dragon fluttering in the breeze before the host – now
there's
a flag to inspire your fighters.'

 

*
Durrësi, Albania.

†
Trieste.

If, with the Divine permission, I succeed, I shall govern in your name

Anonymous Valesianus (paraphrasing Theoderic's reply to Zeno, on being commissioned to invade Italy),
Excerpta: pars posterior
,
c.
530

From the battlements surmounting St Barbara's Gate, Julian watched the flotilla creeping across the Bosphorus from Chrysopolis on the Asiatic shore. Licking his lips nervously, he glanced at the array of brazen tubes poking between the crenellations. ‘These things had better work,' he snapped at Menander, the engineer in charge of a revolutionary new weapons system intended to counter Theoderic's assault on Constantinople.

‘Don't worry, General,' replied the other calmly. ‘They performed perfectly during the trials yesterday. Those chaps have a nasty surprise coming to them.' And he nodded towards the fleet of impounded vessels crammed with Ostrogoths, the van of which was already grounding on the narrow strip of shore below the city's sea-walls.