Julian, by Gore Vidal Read online

  12 May

  It is afternoon. I am seated in the throne room of one of the Great King's palaces, a fine building in the Roman style, more like a country villa than a formal palace. Next to it is a fenced-in game preserve. Here all sorts of wild animals are kept in a wooded area… lions, boars and that truly terrible beast, the Persian bear. The men have just broken down the fences and are now hunting and killing the animals. I should have preferred for them not to indulge in this slaughter but they must be kept in a good mood, for we are close to Ctesiphon and the decisive battle. Jovian has just come and gone. He brought me the skin of a lion he killed, quite a large beast. "A match for the one on your bed."

  I thanked Jovian warmly. Of the Galilean officers, he is the one I trust the most, possibly because he is the stupidest. I gave him some wine we had found in the cellar of the palace. He drank it so greedily that I gave him two more flagons to take with him when he left. He was most pleased and slightly drunk.

  Priscus and I explored the palace together. It is both beautiful and comfortable, a combination Roman emperors are not used to. Apparently the servants fled shortly before we arrived, leaving a dinner still warm in the kitchen. I was about to taste the contents of one of the pots when the deaf-mute boy struck the ladle from my hand. Then he tasted the mess, indicating that I should beware of poison. I never think of such things. No, that is not true. I do occasionally wonder if my evening bowl of polenta contains my death, but I never hesitate to eat it. If that is to be my end, there is nothing I can do about it. Fortunately, the dinner the Persians left us was not poisoned.

  I have set the secretaries to work in the throne room, a cool dim room with latticed windows and a red lacquered throne on which I now sit scribbling. The Great King lives far more luxuriously than I. In one of the rooms we discovered hundreds of his silk robes… Priscus insists that I give them to Maximus.

  Tonight I have planned a large dinner for the military staff. I have the beginnings of a plan for this last phase. Contrary to what historians may think, wars are mostly improvisation. One usually has an ultimate goal, but the means of attaining it cannot be determined in advance. That is why the favourite deity of generals—and of Rome—is Fortune.

  16 May

  Encamped for three days now at Coche. This is a village near the site of the now vanished city of Seleucia, built by Alexander's general. Farther on are the ruins of yet another city, destroyed in the last century by the Emperor Carus. I thought it good policy to show this to the men, demonstrating yet again how victorious Roman arms have been in Persia.

  I am still struck by the beauty of the countryside. Flowers bloom; fruits ripen; there are many forests; much water. This is an idyllic part of the world and I am sad that so many of its cities must be put to the torch. But what men build they can rebuild. I am with the Stoics, who regard all life as an infinite series of growth and decline, each temporary terminus marked with the clean impartiality of fire.

  Near the city Carus destroyed, there is a small lake which empties into the Tigris. Here we beheld a gruesome sight. Impaled on stakes were the entire family of Mamersides, the officer who surrendered Pirisabora to us. Thus cruelly does the Great King punish those who disobey him. It was horrible to see not only women but children put to death in this painful way.

  While we were at the lake, Ormisda and his Persian court (he now has over a hundred Persians in attendance on him) appeared, with Nabdates, the governor of Maiozamalcha. Ormisda saluted me formally. Then he said, "Augustus, I have passed sentence of death on Nabdates."I asked him why.

  Ormisda was grim. "Before the siege, we had a private understanding. He was to surrender the city to us. It was all arranged. Then he broke his oath to me, the highest oath a Persian can swear. Therefore, as Great King, I must put him to death, by fire." I was impressed by Ormisda's manner. The closer we come to Ctesiphon, the more imperial and Persian he becomes. So I gave my assent, and the wretched man with his broken legs was dragged to the stake. I left before the burning began. I dislike all executions except those done with the sword.

  I write these lines seated on a bench in what looks to be some nobleman's park. It is a beautiful day; the sun is warm but not hot; as far as the eye can see the countryside is green and blooming. I am certain now of success. A messenger from Arintheus has just come and gone. A fortress some twenty miles to the east will not surrender.

  I shall have to go there to determine whether or not there should be a siege. Now another messenger approaches. I feel lazy and comfortable. I would like to sit in this park for ever. A warm south wind suddenly brings me the scent of flowers: roses?

  Priscus: The second messenger probably brought him the bad news that three of Dagalaif's cohorts were set upon by the Persians at a town called Sabatha. While the cohorts were thus engaged, guerrillas sneaked up behind the army and slaughtered most of the pack animals and their attendants. This was a severe blow and Julian was furious with Dagalaif, who had left the beasts unguarded.

  As for "the fortress some twenty miles to the east", which would not surrender, Julian rode too close to its walls and was nearly killed; his armour-bearer was wounded.

  That night Julian ordered the siege engines to be put in place. Unfortunately, the moon was nearly full and night was like day. While the mantlets and turrets were being placed against the walls, the Persians suddenly threw open their gates and charged our siege troops with sword and javelin. They killed the better part of a cohort, as well as the tribune in command.

  How do I remember all this so clearly? Because I have just received by post a rough draft of Ammianus Marcellinus's account of Julian's Persian campaign. I wrote him months ago to ask him if he had written anything about those days. In a covering letter, he says that he kept "untidy notes in Persia, as usual". I assume that his account is reliable. He is particularly good at describing military action. He ought to be. As a professional soldier, he served from Britain to Persia. I would send you his history, but since it is in Latin you won't be able to read it and I am sure that you wouldn't want to go to the expense of having it translated. By the way, he says that he intends to write the history of Julian's reign "just as it occurred". I suppose he means "deadpan", as though Julian's reign took place a thousand years ago and were not of any contemporary interest. I wish him luck.

  Where was I? The mauling of one of our cohorts by the Persians. As soon as the Persians had done their bloody work, they escaped inside the fortress. The next day Julian threw the full force of his army against the fortress. After fierce fighting, it fell. Julian was physically exhausted by this engagement. I am told that he led the siege himself, fighting for thirteen hours without a break. I don't know because our camp was pitched ten miles away. We of the court rested comfortably while the soldiers fought.

  What do I remember of that particular time? Not much. I used to play draughts with Anatolius. We would sit in front of his tent and play on a portable table whose top was inlaid with squares like a game board. Inside the tent, the clerks laboured incessantly. The Emperor's correspondence is always kept up just as though he were at the palace in Constantinople. No matter how desperate the military situation, he must answer his mail.

  Once when Anatolius and I were busy at draughts, Victor swept through the camp at the head of a column of light cavalry. We were nearly blinded by the dust. Anatolius was furious. "He does that deliberately! He knew we were sitting here!" He dabbed the dust from his eyes with the edge of his cloak.

  "He behaves rather as the Gauls are supposed to." I said this to be challenging. Anatolius was usually close-mouthed about the various factions at court.

  "He is a good deal worse than any Gaul. More ambitious, too."

  "For the purple?"

  "I can't say." Anatolius pursed his small mouth.

  "What do you know?"

  "Augustus knows what I know." He said no more. I then won four silver pieces from him, which he never paid me. That is the sort of historian I am.

  Julia
n Augustus 19 May

  We are again spending the night in one of the Great King's palaces. This one is even handsomer and more luxurious than the hunting lodge. It is surrounded by a large park of cypresses in a countryside rich with vineyards and orchards. We are now at high summer. What a fine season to be at war!

  Victor reports that he was able to ride up to the walls of Ctesiphon and no one stopped him. The gates were shut. The guards on the walls made no move to fire at his men. According to rumour, the Great King's army is still some miles to the south. We must now be ready to move fast. Once the capital falls, the war is over. Sapor will sue for peace. At the worst, he will risk everything in one set battle, and the Persians are not noted for their ability at conventional warfare. They are by nature marauders, like the Saracens.

  I gave dinner to Maximus, Priscus, Anatolius and Ormisda. The dining room is particularly splendid with painted frescoes showing Sapor hunting lions and boars, all very realistic, the sort of painting I like, though I have not much taste for these things. Even so, after two months of staring at the wall of a tent, one enioys beauty.

  I was surprised to find that Maximus is rather a connoisseur of art. This morning he made a careful tour of the palace, recommending to Anatolius what should he packed up and sent back to Constantinople. "But have you noticed, Augustus, how the paintings have only one subject? Killing. Animals in the chase. Men at war. Beast against beast." I hadn't noticed this, but it was quite true.

  "That is because we regard killing as a necessary and sacred part of life," said Ormisda.

  "So do we," said Priscus. "Only we pretend to abhor it."

  I chose not to correct him. I was-am—in much too good a mood. I had bathed in the Great King's marble bath, and put on one of his fine linen tunics. Apparently we are the same height. I also found a strongbox containing a number of Sapor's personal ornaments, among them a gold ram's head helmet with the imperial ensign on it. I gave it to Ormisda.

  "You may as well get used to wearing this," I said. He took it from me. Then he dropped to his knees and kissed my hand. "The House of Persia is grateful to you for all eternity."

  "A generation of peace will do," I said dryly, wondering how long it would be before the Great King Ormisda would prove disloyal to Rome. Men are without gratitude, particularly kings.

  Ormisda does not know it, but I have decided to maintain an army at Ctesiphon indefinitely.

  While the philosophers amused themselves in debate, Ormisda and I met the generals in an adjoining room. On the table was a map of Ctesiphon which Ormisda had found in the Great King's library. He believes it reliable. Victor, Nevitta, Dagalaif, and Arintheus were present; also the chief engineer.

  I came straight to the point. "There is no way for us to approach Ctesiphon by water." I pointed to the map. "We are within a triangle. Above us the King's River; behind us the Euphrates; in front of us the Tigris. The Euphrates and Tigris Rivers meet here, just south of Ctesiphon. But we can't sail from the Euphrates to the Tigris because Ctesiphon commands the Tigris at the natural juncture. Also, we would be downstream from the city. As you know, we'd hoped to use the King's River, which ioins the Tigris above Ctesiphon, but that section of the channel is dry. We are left only one choice, to open up Trajan's canal." I pointed to a dotted line on the chart. "When Traian was here, he dug a deep channel from the Euphrates to the Tigris, following the bed of an old Assyrian canal. The chief engineer has been studying this canal for the past two days. He believes it can be reopened."

  The chief happily listed the many difficulties involved in opening the canal, the principal being a stone dam the Persians had built across the channel to prevent invaders from using it as Trajan had. But once the dam was breached, the chief engineer was positive the canal would be navigable. After a brief discussion, I gave orders for the dam to be broken.

  The generals are in a good humour. Dagalaif and Victor are particularly eager for a decisive battle. Ormisda is nervous: so close to the fulfilment of all his dreams. I then dismissed everyone except Nevitta, who asked to stay behind. Disturbing. Ch.

  Priscus: What did they talk about? I think Nevitta must have warned him that there was a plot against his life. "Disturbing" suggests this. "Ch" means the Christians. Put the two together and the meaning is plain.

  On 24 May the channel was opened and the fleet crossed the three miles from the Euphrates to the Tigris, anchoring half a mile north of the city of Ctesiphon, which rose from the green valley of the Tigris like a mountain of brick whose massive weight seemed quite enough to cause the earth itself to bend. From our side of the river we could see nothing of the city except the walls, which are half again as high as those of Constantinople. At regular intervals, semicircular towers support the thick masonry. Between the Tigris and the city there is an open plain where, during the night of 25 May, the army of the Great King gathered.

  Anatolius woke me at sunrise and together we left the camp and went to the river bank, where half our army was already gathered to observe the enemy. It was a splendid sight. The Persian army numbered almost a hundred thousand men. Or so we now claim. No one ever knows how large the enemy's army is, but we always say that it is three times the size of ours. I think this one probably was. Behind a wooden palisade on the steep river bank, the Persians were drawn up in battle formation. A crossing seemed madness. All around us soldiers talked worriedly among themselves. It did not take a skilled veteran to realize how difficult it would be to cross that river under fire and, even worse, to climb the slippery river bank and assault the barricade.

  I turned to Anatolius, who looked as worried as I felt. "We can't cross here."

  "Perhaps the Emperor means to move upstream. To cross a few miles to the north then, circling round—you know, the classic Constantine manoeuvre…" But in spite of his amateur's passion for strategy, Anatolius mumbled into silence. For almost an hour we stared gloomily at the Persians who stared right back. Then one of Julian's heralds appeared, calling the men to assemble. The Emperor would give the day's orders in personj.

  "Nothing short of complete retreat will satisfy me," I said, while Anatolius wondered what would happen if we simply ignored Ctesiphon and turned south to the Persian Gulf "where the pearls come from. Very rich country, too, from all accounts."

  Julian appeared to the assembled troops. He was exuberant: his eyes shone; his cloak for once was clean; his nose was only slightly peeling from sunburn.

  "Men, you have seen the army of Persia. More important, they have seen us!" He paused for cheering. There was none. He cut the silence short. Generals who allow an unfortunate pause to last too long are apt to find the silence filled with that one rude phrase which sets off mutiny.

  But Julian had a surprise for us. "We are all tired today. It has been a difficult week, clearing the channel, moving the fleet, setting up camp. So today we shall have games. I propose horse racing, with gold prizes for the winners. The betting will be your affair since there are, I understand, a few Petulantes who know about racing odds. I'm sure they'll help the rest of us. Have a good time."

  He dismissed the men with a wave, like a schoolteacher giving his pupils an unexpected holiday.

  Everyone was stunned. If it had been any other general, the men would have thought him mad. But this was Julian who had never lost a battle. After the first gasp of surprise, the men delightedly cheered their young leader who could, with such aplomb, order games while the entire army of the Great King of Persia was drawn up only a mile away. To a man they trusted Julian's luck and skill. If he was this confident, who were they to worry? So the army did as he told them, and spent the day in races and games.

  That night Julian ordered a surprise crossing of the Tigris. The army was divided into three sections. When the first had secured a footing on the far side, the second would embark, and so on. The generals opposed the plan. Victor pointed to the thousand Persian campfires which filled the horizon. "They have every military advantage."

  "Not every," said
Julian ambiguously. "You'll see that I'm right. Tell your men to board ship. I want everyone across by morning."

  Four thousand men boarded five empty cargo ships, under the reluctant command of Victor. I've never seen soldiers so frightened. Just before they left, Victor quarrelled with Julian on the river bank. None of us heard what was said, but Victor departed in a rage and Julian was uncharacteristically quiet. The ships disappeared into the darkness. Silence. An hour passed. Julian paced up and down, pretending to be interested only in the remaining ships which were to take the rest of the army across the river once the Persian side had been secured. The army waited. Suddenly flaming arrows pierced the black night. Victor's men were landing. The Persians were attacking them. First one, then two, then all five of the boats were set afire by Persian arrows. Far off, we could hear Victor's men shouting to one another as they clambered up the slippery river bank by the flickering light of burning ships. On our side of the river, panic was beginning. Julian saved the situation with one of his inspired lies. Just as we were all positive the landing had failed and the men were lost, Julian pointed to the five burning ships and shouted, "That's it! The burning of the ships. That's the signal, Victor's signal. The landing's a success! To the boats! To the boats!"

  I don't know how he did it, but he made the men believe him. He raced up the down the river bank, shouting, pushing, coaxing the men on to the landing craft. Then he himself leapt into the first boat just as it was about to leave the shore. The men were now as excited as he. They crowded on to the remaining boats. Some even floated across the river on their shields. Convinced of total disaster, I watched the Roman army disappear on to the black river.