Constantinople: The Imperial Heir

Constantinople, 519 AD

Emperor Justin’s reign is now secure after he was proclaimed emperor. His talented and ambitious nephew Justinian, named after his uncle, is next in line to inherit the throne. Justinian’s career in the Imperial Guard, called the Excubitors, has launched him into a notable position of power. Justinian has learned about the great Roman emperors of old, and he has big plans…

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“It is so often hot here, isn’t it?” Justinian looked up from his papers. Marcus gazed out onto the harbor with a fondness that only a native of Constantine’s City would understand. Whenever Marcus said it was hot, he really meant that it was a nice day. Justinian still sweated in the city’s heat after his native home in Illyria.

“Marcus, do you need to speak with no meaning?” Justinian frowned, and Marcus looked at Justinian and his face fell. Marcus liked Justinian, and he didn’t want to antagonize his friend.

“I apologize, I didn’t mean anything by it.” Marcus looked down in regret. Justinian’s expression softened a little. He didn’t mean to be harsh when he didn’t need to, and Marcus had many connections. He could be useful in the future.

Justinian went back to his work. Without looking up, he asked, “Did you see the race yesterday?” Marcus brightened. If there was one thing a young aristocrat like Marcus knew about, it was chariot racing. Like any self-respecting noble, Marcus and Justinian both supported the Blues, who were, in their opinion, the best team in Constantinople. For Marcus, it was all about the sport. Justinian saw the Blues as a means to gain political connections and influence in society, in addition to being just a chariot racing team.  

“Are you kidding me? Oricles wasn’t thinking! He took that turn way too sharply. Too much of a risk.” Justinian had already stopped listening. His attempt at small talk led Marcus to spew endlessly about chariot racing stats, and Justinian immediately regretted it.

Marcus continued rattling off chariot racing results, until he realized that Justinian was no longer paying attention, and he fell silent. Marcus came from an old aristocratic family, Italian in origin, that had relocated to Byzantium along with the emperor Constantine. Following the trends, just like young Marcus, Justinian thought. Marcus was just beginning his climb up the political ladder with a position in the Excubitors, the Imperial bodyguard. Along with Justinian and a number of other wealthy noblemen, Marcus was an officer, commanding the common infantry in the bodyguard.

In an attempt to break the awkward silence, Marcus cleared his throat and started another conversation.

“So, Justinian, how is your uncle?”

Justinian looked up, furrowing his brows.

“You mean, my father?”

“Well, yes, your adopted father, but…”

“My father, Marcus. Never forget that.” Justinian snapped back.

Marcus fell silent once more, looking out the window towards the harbor once more.

Justinian was now too distracted to continue his work, and he lowered his quill and took a drink from a cup of wine on the desk. Justinian leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes in relaxation. For a young man in his late twenties, Justinian was surprisingly handsome, with a strong jawline and curly dark hair. His penetrating deep blue eyes betrayed a non-Greek origin, which was explainable as he hailed from a small village in Illyria, just like his adopted father.

Marcus, on the other hand, had a pale complexion with light brown hair and a thin face. Marcus looked like many other nobles of senatorial rank, paler and cleaner than the unwashed masses that populated the city. Justinian, for a man who was born in poverty and rose through the ranks, did not have much affinity for the peasants and city poor. For Justinian, there existed a different connection with the people, the same connection that previous Roman emperors had had with their own subjects. The citizens of the city and elsewhere were Romans, whether or not they lived in Rome, so Justinian believed that they had a right to share in the benefits and glories of being a Roman.

A knock at the door snapped Justinian back from his reverie. A tall, well-built soldier walked in, closing the door behind him.

“Andronicus!” Marcus exclaimed, probably a little too loudly. Justinian surveyed the newcomer, coolly noting Andronicus’ expensive scaled armor.

Andronicus has never even seen battle, Justinian thought. Neither had Justinian, but he didn’t carry himself like a self-proclaimed war hero the way Andronicus did.

“Marcus, Justinian,” Andronicus nodded lazily at the sight of the two officers. Andronicus commanded a section of the guard in the south of the city. The tower had an excellent view of the harbor adjacent to the Imperial Palace.

Andronicus strutted into the small room, surveying it lazily. His aristocratic demeanor did not impress Justin, who grew up in a poor Illyrian village. Andronicus finished his inspection of the room in just a few seconds. Justinian was a little suspicious.

“Finished inspecting, Andronicus?” Justinian said patronizingly. Andronicus wrinkled his nose slightly and turned to face Justinian.

“That’s not why I’m here. The emperor wants to speak with you.”

Justinian raised his eyebrows. He had not expected this. His uncle was normally very busy with trying to surround himself with capable yet trusted advisors, not an easy task in the cutthroat world of Eastern intrigue.

“Why didn’t you say this earlier,” Justinian asked. “And why did he send you?”

Andronicus looked rather pleased with himself.

“The emperor trusts me. He says he will have use for me.”

Justinian scowled. Of course Justin said this to Andronicus; he said that to everyone. It was a way of making reference to vague hopes of achieving some favor with the emperor, but mostly it came to naught. If Justin carried through with every promise he ever made, he’d have an army of cooks alone.

“Alright, I’ll be at the palace shortly.” Justinian went back to his paperwork, but Andronicus shook his head.

“Now, if you please.”

Justinian raised his head slowly, staring right at Andronicus’ smug face. Justinian’s eyes narrowed, but he didn’t say anything further. He put his stylus down and shifted his cloak. Justinian regarded Marcus as he left, completely ignoring Andronicus. Without another word, Justinian exited the tower.

---

A herald announced Justinian as he entered the emperor’s private study. Justin, sitting at a cluttered desk, was surrounded by a dozen advisors. Most were talking to each other about affairs of state, while the rest were trying to get the emperor’s attention. As Justinian entered, the emperor, who was conversing with one of his advisors, turned his head and saw Justinian. The emperor always loved to see his nephew, and his wrinkled face cracked into a broad smile.

“Nephew!” Justin boomed loudly, causing all of his advisors to stop talking and watch Justinian, with one dropping the stack of scrolls that he was holding. Justinian was a little embarrassed by the attention.

“Caesar,” Justinian nodded his head respectfully. Justin waved this away with a calloused hand.

“There’s no need for that, nephew. Come, come, walk with me. I want to discuss something with you.” The emperor beckoned to Justinian to a door on the opposite side of the room. One of the advisors, a young but stern looking man, cleared his throat slightly.

“Caesar, I must remind you that there is still much to do.”

“Later,” Justin said distractedly.

“Caesar,” the man began, but the emperor cut him off.

“Quiet, Gratian. The work can wait. You are here to advise, not to rule.”

Gratian bowed his head, and the rest of the advisors did the same as Justin stood and guided Justinian through the far door and out into the gardens.

The palace gardens were truly spectacular. Rows of fruit trees grew everything from figs to oranges. Brightly colored flowers blossomed in the warm sun. Several gardeners tended the various flora, but when they saw the emperor, they bowed their heads and left the gardens.

Justin strolled along the garden path with Justinian slightly behind him. Two Excubitors trailed the emperor, as was standard protocol. However, Justin decided that they were not needed, and he told them to wait at the entrance. They nodded their compliance and left the gardens. Justin and his nephew were now alone.

“Justinian,” the emperor began. His tone was still warm, but it was lower, quieter. The emperor almost always spoke with a soldier’s booming voice, needed to bark orders on the battlefield or parade ground. But now that they were alone, the emperor had no need for it.

“There is something that I need to discuss with you. It is a very delicate matter.”

“Of course, Caesar.” Justinian replied. Even when they were alone, Justinian knew the importance of keeping up appearances. Familiarity with the emperor could break his image of a leader, even if it was with his nephew. Justinian always stressed the importance of formality.

Justin walked around a large palm tree and plucked a pear from a nearby tree. He examined the piece of fruit, then continued walking along.

“Nephew, I am naming you my official successor.”

Justinian stopped in his tracks. He was expecting this, but he had to make it seem like a surprise. Justinian fumbled with his words; this was something that Justinian never did, and it only added to the illusion.

“I...uh...I am greatly honored, Caesar.” Justinian averted his uncle’s eyes, but Justin merely touched his nephew’s jaw with his free hand.

“Nephew, this is very important to me,” The emperor’s tone changed from warmth to urgency. Justinian phased back into a less humble demeanor.

“I am an old man. I will die soon, and be with God,” Justinian opened his mouth, but Justin raised his hand to silence him.

“I am old, nephew, no matter what you say. I care dearly for you, but I also care for the empire. You are a very talented and capable man, and the empire needs you; more than it needs me.”

The emperor stopped speaking for a moment, and walked a short distance to a bench. As Justin made his way to the bench, Justinian was suddenly struck by just how old his uncle truly was. The emperor was hunched over slightly, and he hobbled slightly when he walked. Justin’s once strong and muscular body had become soft and thin. Justinian knew that his uncle had been one of the strongest men in the capital in his heyday, but that was almost thirty years ago.

Justin sat down on the bench and groaned slightly as his frail body rested from the short walk. The emperor looked at his pear thoughtfully, but didn’t eat it.

“Rome is gone, nephew. The Goths have taken the old capital, defiling it before the rest of the world. You must take it back.”

Justinian frowned.

“But, uncle, why can’t you retake Rome? You have an army, loyal subjects, and a full treasury. Rome is yours for the taking.”

Justinian was truly puzzled by the emperor’s resignation to not taking Rome. It was true that Justin was old and weak, and if the emperor had become emperor in his younger days, a reconquest would have been much easier. But time was running out, and the empire was strong enough to reclaim Rome easily.

Justin looked slightly annoyed by the question, but his expression softened almost immediately.

“Justinian,” the emperor began, shocking Justinian by using the latter’s adopted name.

“I am old and weak, and my time is almost gone. I became emperor to secure the empire’s future, and I have come to understand that I can accomplish this best by giving you, my successor, the resources to save the empire.”

There was a long silence between the two. Justinian stared towards the sky, observing a few birds that had landed on the tiled roof. Justin stood up from the bench, doing so with some difficulty. The emperor spoke softly now:

“I leave the empire in your capable hands, nephew. Do make me proud.” With that, Justin started to walk back towards the exit. Suddenly, he turned around and handed Justinian the pear.

“Ye shall know them by their fruits,” the emperor said, quoting the Gospel of St Matthew. Justinian smiled and took the pear. Slowly, Justinian bit into the pear, savoring the sweet fruit.

It was done.