Julian, by Gore Vidal Read online

  "The men won't go." Nevitta was abrupt. "They're already frightened. Order them to go south and you'll have a first-class mutiny on your hands."

  "But the cities of the Gulf are rich and unprotected…"

  "They won't go, General. Not now. But even if they would, what's to keep the Persians from burning everything in our path? They're crazy enough to. We'd starve to death before we ever saw the Gulf."

  So I have abandoned this dream. For now, I dismissed the council.

  I sit on my cot, writing this on my knees. Callistus is preparing the sacrificial robes. The deaf-mute plays the lute. In a few minutes Maximus joins me. In an hour I pray first to Zeus, then to the Great Mother. Where have I failed? Is this the revenge of Ares?

  Julian Augustus 7 June

  The omens are bad. The auguries inconclusive. They advise against returning home by way of Assyria, they also advise against going north to Corduene. One indicated that I should go south to the Gulf! But the troops would not obey. They are already close to mutiny. I must bring Victor to heel or face rebellion.

  Julian Augustus 8 June

  I have not slept for days. The heat at night is almost as bad as the heat by day. It is like having the fever. We all resemble driedup cadavers. I lose my temper with everyone. I struck Callistus when he fumbled with the fastening of my robes. I quarrelled with Salutius over a trivial matter, and he was in the right. Tonight Maximus was with me. We were alone together because Priscus is sick with dysentery and Anatolius nurses him. While I was having supper, Maximus tried to cheer me up. He achieved the opposite.

  "But it's so simple. Give the order to march south. They must obey. You are the Emperor."

  "I shall have been the Emperor. They'll kill me first."

  "But Cybele herself has told us that you must complete your work. After all, you are Alexander."

  I erupted at this. "No, I am not Alexander, who is dead. I am Julian, about to die in this forsaken place…"

  "No. No! The gods…"

  "… misled us! The gods laugh at us! They raise us up for sport, and throw us down again. There is no more gratitude in heaven than there is on earth."

  "Julian…"

  "You say I was born to do great things. Well, I have done them. I conquered the Persians. I conquered the Germans. I saved Gaul.

  For what? To delay this world's end for a year or two? Certainly no longer."

  "You were born to restore the worship of the true gods."

  "Then why do they let me fail?"

  "You are Emperor still!"

  I seized a handful of charred earth from the tent's floor. "That is all that's left to me. Ashes."

  "You will live…"

  "I shall be as dead as Alexander soon enough, but when I go I take Rome with me. For nothing good will come after. The Goths and the Galileans will inherit the state, and like vultures and maggots they'll make clean bones of what is dead, until there is not even so much as the shadow of a god anywhere on earth."

  Maximus hid his face in his hands while I raged on. But after a time I stopped, ashamed of having made a fool of myself. "It's no use," I said finally, "I am in Helios's hands, and we are both at the end of the day. So good night, Maximus, and pray for me that it will indeed be a good night."

  But I can't believe it is over yet. Our army is intact. The Persian army is broken. We can still go north to Corduene. If Helios deserts me now, there will be no one to restore his worship. But this is madness! Why am I suddenly in such despair? Why should I die now, at the height of my reign, at the age of… I had to stop to count! I am thirty-two.

  Julian Augustus 10 June

  Afternoon. We are still encamped. Food is running low. No word from Procopius. Yesterday and again this morning, Persian cavalry attacked us. They strike at the outskirts of the camp. Then when we sound the call to arms, they vanish. This is the most demoralizing kind of warfare.

  I must soon decide what to do. Meanwhile, I make daily sacrifice. The omens are not good. The auguries confused. I want to put Victor under arrest. Salutius thinks I should wait.

  Julian Augustus 14 June

  During this morning's staff meeting, there was a sudden racket outside my tent. I heard the tribune who commands my bodyguard shout, "Stand back! Stand back!"

  I went outside. A thousand men, mostly Asiatics, surrounded the tent. They begged me to lead them home by way of Assyria. They had been well coached. They shouted and whined, wept and threatened. It took me some minutes to silence them. Then I said,

  "We shall start for home only when our work is done." Several jeered at this. I pretended not to hear.

  "When we do go home, it cannot be by the way we came. Your general Victor will tell you why." This was a pleasantly ironic move. Victor was now forced to placate the men he had himself incited. He did it very well, explaining why the Euphrates route was no longer open to us. He was plausible, and the men listened to him respectfully. When he had finished, I assured them that I was as eager as they to return to safety. At the proper time we would go; meanwhile, I asked them not to take seriously the Persianinspired rumours which I knew were going about the camp. They dispersed. I turned to Victor.

  "This is not the way to force us," I said carefully.

  "But, Augustus…"

  I dismissed him. He has been warned.

  Later, I spoke privately to each of the generals. Most are loyal. For instance, Jovian sat on a stool in my tent, his tunic wet with perspiration, his face flushed from wine as well as heat. "Whatever Augustus commands, I will obey." His voice is deep and somewhat hoarse, for he drinks those harsh German spirits which burn the throat.

  "Even if I say go south to the Persian Gulf?"

  Jovian squirmed uncomfortably. "That is far away. But if the Augustus orders us…"

  "No, I shall not order you. Not now."

  He was relieved. "Then that means we'll be going back soon, won't we?"

  I said nothing.

  "Because the longer we stay here, the more difficult it will be. What with the heat, the Persians…"

  "The Persians are defeated."

  "But the Great King still has a good many soldiers and this is their country, not ours."

  "Half of it is ours, by right of conquest."

  "Yes, Lord. But can we hold it? I'm for getting out. They say demons ride with the Persians, especially at night."

  I almost laughed in his foolish face. But instead I proposed: "Pray to your man-god to make them go away."

  "If demons haunt us, it is because Christ wills it," he said piously.

  I smiled. "I prefer a god who protects those who worship him."

  "I don't know about these things, Augustus, but I say let's make terms with the Persians and leave this place. Not that it's for me to decide."

  "No, it is not for you to decide. But! shall bear in mind your advice." I dismissed Jovian, more depressed than ever. I make sacrifice in a few minutes.

  Julian Augustus 15 June

  Mastara sees great peril no matter what I do. I sacrificed yesterday and again this morning. There is still no sign. The gods are silent. I prayed more than an hour to Helios. I looked straight at him until I was blind. Nothing. I have offended. But how? I cannot believe that my anger at the war god would turn all heaven against me. Who else will do their work?

  Nevitta brings me word that the Asiatic troops already speak of my successor "who will save them". But apparently there is no popular choice. They follow Victor hut do not love him. Arintheus? Emperor? No. Not even his boys would accept that. Salutius? He is loyal to me and yet… I grow suspicious. I am like Constantius now. I suspect treason on every side. For the first time I fear the knife in the dark. I make Callistus sleep on the ground beside my bed while the deaf-mute remains awake most of the night, watching for the assassin's shadow to fall across the door to my tent. I never believed that I would become like this. I have never feared death in battle, and I never thought that I feared murder. But I do. I find it hard to sleep. When I do, my
dreams are of death, sudden, black, violent. What has gone wrong?

  Beside my bed there is a hook by Aeschylus. Just now I picked it up and read this at random: "Take heart. Suffering when it climbs highest lasts but a little time." Well, I am near the peak. Will it be swift? or slow?

  Priscus and Maximus spent most of the evening with me. We talked philosophy. No one mentioned our situation and for a time I was able to forget that the gods have abandoned me. Yet why do I think this? Merely because the Persians have burned the countryside? Or because of the treachery of Procopius, which does not come as a surprise? Although things are not so bad as I feel they are, the fact that I have this sense of foreboding is in itself a message from the gods.

  Maximus wanted to stay behind after Priscus left. But I would not let him, pleading fatigue. I suspect even him. Why should he be in league with Victor? Everyone knows he has influence over me, and certainly anyone could buy him if they met his price. This is insane. Of course Maximus is loyal to me. He has to be. The Galileans would have his head if I were not here to protect him. I must stop this brooding or I shall become as mad as those emperors who feared the long night of death more than they loved the brief living day. I am still alive; still Augustus; still conqueror of Persia. Tomorrow we start for home. I gave the order at sundown. The men cheered me. They don't know what a long journey it is from here to Corduene. All they know is that we are leaving Persia. All I know is that the goddess Cybele revealed to me that I was Alexander born again, and I have failed both her and Alexander, who is once more a ghost, while I am nothing.

  I should have agreed to Sapor's treaty. Now that we are withdrawing, we shall get worse terms.

  Priscus: As well as I knew Julian, I never suspected that he was in such despair. The exhausted man who scribbled the journal, and the proud laughing general Maximus and I used to dine with are two different creatures. Naturally, we knew that he was worried. But he never betrayed to us that morbid fear of assassination he writes about. He joked occasionally about the succession, saying that if Rome were to have a Christian emperor he hoped it would be Victor because in a year there would be a million converts to Hellenism. But that was all. He talked as he always talked: rapidly, enthusiastically, late into the night, reading aloud to us from the classics, quarrelling with me over Plato's meanings, teasing Maximus for his ignorance of literature. The great magician, having always been in such close communion with the gods, seldom condescended to read the reports of those who could only guess at the mysteries he knew.

  On 15 June Julian gave the order to go north along the Tigris to Corduene and Armenia. The thing was finished. Even Ormisda now realized that he would never rule in Persia.

  At dawn 16 June we broke camp. Julian asked me to ride with him. I did not realize until I read the journal what a good actor he was. That day he was the exuberant, legendary hero, hair and beard burned a dull gold by the sun, arms and legs dark, face as clear and untroubled as a child's; even the constant nose-peeling had finally stopped and his head looked as if it had been carved from African wood. We were all quite black except for the pale Gauls, who turn painfully red in the sun and stay that way. There was much sunstroke among them.

  As we rode through fire-blackened hills, Julian seemed unusually cheerful. "We haven't done too badly. The campaign has been a success, though not exactly what I had hoped for."

  "Because Ormisda is not Great King?"

  "Yes." He did not elaborate.

  We were interrupted by the tribune Valens. It was the only other time I recall seeing him in Persia. He was not bad-looking, though physically rather dirty, even as soldiers go. He was profoundly nervous in Julian's presence. "Augustus, the scouts report an army approaching. From the north."

  Julian dug his heels into his horse's ribs and cantered down the road to the head of the army, two miles distant. Within half an hour, the sky was dark with swirling dust. The rumour went about quickly: Procopius has come! But Julian took no chances. We made a war camp on the spot, with a triple row of shields placed around us. Then we waited to see whose army it was, Procopius's or Sapor's.

  We were on battle alert all day. I bet Anatolius five silver pieces at three-to-one odds that the army was Sapor's. Neither of us won. The "army" turned out to be a herd of wild asses.

  But that night the Great King's army materialized.

  Julian Augustus 17 June

  Sapor's army still exists. They are encamped a mile from us. Cannot tell what their numbers are but not so many as were assembled at Ctesiphon. Our troops eager for battle. Had to restrain them all morning. At noon Persian cavalry attacked one of our battalions. General Machameus killed. Though wounded, his brother Maurus fought his way to where the body was lying and carried it back into camp.

  The heat is beyond anything I have ever before endured. Though we are all of us giddy from too much sun, I ordered the march to be continued. At first the Persians fell back; then they rallied and tried to stop us. We butchered them. By afternoon they were all of them gone except for a band of Saracens who follow us even now, waiting for the right moment to raid our baggage train. I write this sitting on a stool beneath a date palm. Everywhere I look I see green circles before my eyes. I am dazzled by Helios. The air is so hot it scorches the lungs. My sweat mingles with the ink on the page. The letters blur. Few casualties.

  Julian Augustus 20 June

  For two days we have been encamped at Hucumbra, the estate of a Persian nobleman who, luckily for us, did not burn his crops and orchards. Food and water are plentiful. The men are almost happy. I have ordered them to take all the food they can for we must burn this place as soon as we leave it. We shall not find so much food again until we reach our own territory, twenty days' march from here.

  Julian Augustus 21 June

  On the march. The country is hilly and barren. We are about twenty miles to the west of the Tigris, moving north. Early today the Persian cavalry attacked our infantry rear-guard. Fortunately, the cavalry of the Petulantes was near by and drove them off. One of the Great King's counsellors, Adaces, was killed and his armour brought me by the soldier who struck him down. As I gave the usual reward, Salutius suddenly said, "We were good friends, Adaces and I." He then reminded me that the Persian had once been Sapor's envoy to Constantius.

  An ugly business tonight. Instead of attacking the Persians at the same time as the Petulantes, the cavalry of the Tertiaci gave way. As a result, what might have been a complete rout of the Persians became only a skirmish. I broke four tribunes but took no other action. We shall soon need every man we have, coward or brave. We are no longer certain where we are. We move in a line north, but there are no maps to show us where water and villages are. But two days ago, at Hucumbra, an old Persian who knows the province well offered to lead us to fertile country. Ormisda talked with him at length and believes he is not a spy. The old man says there will be three days of barren country and then we shall be in the rich valley of Maranga.

  Julian Augustus 22 June

  Battle. Execution. Vetranio. Victory. Where?

  Priscus: The old Persian was of course a spy who led us straight into an ambush at Maranga, which was not a "rich valley" but a stony place where we were exposed on all sides to the Persian army. Julian was just able to form the army into a crescent when they attacked. The first rain of Persian arrows did little harm. There was no second flurry. Julian was able to resort to his favourite tactical exercise, throwing his infantry at the enemy's archers before they could get proper range.

  The fighting went on all day in ovenlike heat. I remained with the baggage and saw very little of what happened. My principal memory is of heat, of blood on white rocks, of the hideous trumpeting of elephants reverberating through the narrow valley.

  "Execution." The old Persian was crucified when it was discovered that he had deliberately led us into this trap.

  "Vetranio." He was commanding officer of the Zianni; he was killed.

  "Victory." The Persian army disappeared at nig
htfall. Their casualties were three to our one. But the men were frightened. The business of the Persian spy had particularly alarmed them. How far out of the way had he taken us? Wouldn't it be betterif riskier—to follow the crooked Tigris north? All these questions were addressed to Julian whenever he appeared among the troops. But he seemed confident as always.

  "Where?" Where indeed!

  Julian Augustus 23 June

  We are now eight miles from the Tigris. I have decided to follow the river north, though that is the longest and most dangerous route, since we shall have to pass many fortresses. Even so, I am alarmed by this wilderness. We have no idea where we are. The advantage is entirely the enemy's. We are short of food. I have ordered my own supplies given to the men. Ormisda tells me that the Great King is again ready to make peace on terms still favourable to us. Ormisda advises me to accept the treaty. This alarms me most. If Ormisda has given up his dream of the Persian throne, the war is lost.

  Julian Augustus 25 June

  There seems to be a tacit truce between the Persians and us. They have completely vanished. We are remaining in camp, tending to the wounded, repairing armour, getting ready for the long journey north. I feel like Xenophon, who also went this way.

  A while ago I fell asleep while reading The March Upcountry. So deep was my sleep that I did not realize I was dreaming (usually I do). I thought I was wide awake. I was even aware of the oil lamp sputtering as insects passed through its flame and burned. Suddenly I felt someone watching me. I looked up and there at the door to the tent was the tall figure of a man with head veiled; in one hand he held the horn of plenty. At first, I tried to speak, but could not-tried to rise but could not. For a long moment the spectre looked at me sadly. Then without a word the figure turned and left my tent, and I awakened, cold as a corpse. I leapt to my feet and crossed to the tent opening. I looked out. Except for the sleepy sentry no one was in sight. Small fires glowed in the darkness. I looked up just as a star fell in the west; it came from on high, flared briefly, then vanished.