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His Beatitude SAINT THEOPHYLACTUS THE APOSTLE 846 - 907
Comes Tusculanensis Senator, Glorissimus Dux, Dominus Urbis Sacri Palatii Vestararius et Consul Romanorum Cancelarii Sancta Romanae Ecclesiae
A man larger than life, ahead of his time. Theophylact, Count and Duke of Tusculum, was the first of his glorious line. From an early age one of the most prominent nobles of Rome, Theophylactus distinguished himself for his unrelenting piety and service to the Holy Roman Church, whether as diplomat, general or administrator. In the dark times of the late ninth century, it was Theophylactus who rose to defend the Church against those corrupt philistines who would do her harm to unify Christendom and purify the Curia. At his ever faithful side stood his holy wife Teodora Bonifazi, a brilliant daughter of the Duke of Florence, and the first woman to be created senatrix in her own right. Together, they imposed their will from the Alban hills over the city of Rome and the fields of Latium, saving the Mother Church from itself by their combined aptitude and sanctity. The Pope's champion and Captain-General, Theophylactus extended the Supreme Pontiff's reach as far south as the fair city of Naples, ridding the land of impious tyrants in the name of the Church. He raised cities and castles, took uncountable artists under his patronage and explored the architectural mysteries of the ancients. He commissioned and consecrated churches in all the land in the honor of God and the House of Tusculum, whose devoted service and pious success was an honor to God by itself.
Senatrix Theodora of Tusculum (850-916)
By his wife Theodora, Theophylactus was the father of five children who would inherit his legacy of piety, service and the arts:
Ercole de' Tusculana (870-923), Count and Duke of Tusculum, his firstborn son and successor, who wed Angelina Guideschi, a daughter of the Duke of Spoleto, and produced issue by her. He ruled Tusculum from his father's death in 907 to his own in 923.
Maria de' Tusculana (873-936), who resided at Tusculum for all her life and served as an important adviser to her family. A woman skilled with numbers and the art of governance, she proved invaluable to the Tusculani in the management of their lands, holdings and estates. She became the patroness of several nunneries and churches paid for by the Tusculani treasury, which remained full at all times given the godly wealth of Duke Theophylactus. She married Prince Eosterwine of Wessex at the behest of the Pope to bind the English kingdom closer to the Universal Church than ever. They had offspring:
Contessina de' Tusculana (888-930), who followed in her mother's footsteps and skills. She married Prince Godcild of Wessex, but ended her tragic days murdered by an unknown assailant. They had two daughters: Maria de' Tusculana (b. 911), who became the Duchess of Aragon and mother to six Tusculani children; and Simonetta de' Tusculana, briefly Queen of Bulgaria by marriage to Grgur of Bulgaria, by whom she had issue.
Cardinal Teofilatto de' Tusculana (b. 898), named after his grandfather, Prince-Bishop of Tusculum, a remarkable man who was for a time considered Duke Ercole's heir and married Princess Judita of the Holy Roman Empire, joining the clergy after her premature death.
Tiziana de' Tusculana (b. 905), a woman afflicted with madness, shut away in a convent at Salerno.
Teodora de' Tusculana (882-896), who tragically died young of rabies.
Addolarata de' Tusculana (884-931), Mistress of Naupaktos, who married Photeinos Skleros and had two children: the famed condottiero Basilio de' Tusculana, known as Basilio the Fearless.
Cardinal Giovanni de' Tusculana (b. 886), Prince-Bishop of Tusculum, who would serve the Church more than any other man in his family.
Duke Theophylactus died at age 61 in his sleep. He had served four Popes in his lifetime. He was immediately beatified upon death and canonized by Pope Sixtus II three years later, having his feast day on November 18th. He is celebrated as a godly and holy man, one who even acquired the greatest relic of Christendom - a nail of the True Cross - and became its devoted custodian. He was buried at Tusculum, and his tomb would become a pilgrimage site for all pilgrims approaching Rome from the south.
Comes Tusculanensis Senator, Glorissimus Dux, Dominus Urbis Sacri Palatii Vestararius et Consul Romanorum Cancelarii Sancta Romanae Ecclesiae
Firstborn son of St. Theophylactus of Tusculum and a worthy successor to his legacy. Although vastly overshadowed by his father, Duke Ercole was a very successful and accomplished ruler in his own right, as Count and Duke of Tusculum from 907 to 923. A patron of the arts as his father was before him, Duke Ercole gave patronage to several new churches and monasteries during his rule. A gifted steward, he studied with the wise and learned men of his father's lettered court and became an outstanding architect himself. Until the construction of the Duomo di Tusculo centuries later, the Palazzo Ercolino, a magnificent and decorated grand tower, was the highest structure at Tusculum and served as the principal seat and palace of the Tusculani dukes for centuries. He was an affable and god-fearing man, but also a martial one indeed. He defended the city of Rome and the Vatican multiple times from Norse raiders, come to kill and plunder, but who only found death at the hand of the Lion of Tusculum. A champion of the Church as his father before him, Duke Ercole extended the Papacy's reach as far south as Salerno and Lucania by the might of the sword. Following the mysterious death of the child Count of Salerno, for which Ercole in his magnanimity did penance, he raised a magnificent church at Salerno to lay the child to rest (and, some say, his conscience).
The Grand Tower of the Palazzo Ercolino at Tusculum
Duke Ercole had two children by his wife: the eldest, Teodora de' Tusculana, and his heir Ermanno de' Tusculana, who died in childhood. For many years, given Teodora's apparent lack of skill for ruling, Ercole considered his heir to be his nephew Teofilatto. However, he had a change of heart towards the end of his life, coincidentally shortly after the death of the Child of Salerno. Ercole de' Tusculana passed away at age 53 on August 14th, 923, only days after the completion of his palazzo. His daughter's reign would surpass even his wildest expectations.
Theophylact opened his eyes. He was met by the sight of glory. No matter how many times he visited and prayed at the Pantheon, the marvel never wore off. The Count of Tusculum picked himself up from his knees and bowed in submission before the splendid golden altar, inhaling the sweet scent of incense in the air. It brought him peace, and God only knew how much peace he would need in the months to come.
He made the sign of the cross before turning to face his wife.
"May God rest his soul."
"He will know no rest until he knows a worthy successor seats St. Peter's throne," the young woman stated, and Theophylact had to admit he did not appreciate the nonchalant tone of her delivery. "My lord, we must act fast."
"Madonna," he said warily, regarding his newly-made wife with caution. Theodora was a beautiful woman, four years his junior at the yet nubile age of seventeen. She wore the finest silks her lord father the Margrave of Tuscany had afforded in her dowry, and the expression she carried imprinted upon her face suggested a sort of wisdom beyond her years. No, not wisdom, Theophylact thought. Astutia. "The Vicar of Christ has just passed this plane. Now is the time for mourning. We must go to the Lateran and pay our respects."
The nobles and aristocrats of Rome disagreed on many things, but if there was one common point among them all was that Pope Nicholas had been great. He had sat St. Peter's throne for nearly a decade and, when the Franks and Saracens had dared to march against Rome, he had risen to the occasion and become David himself to defend the City from all Goliaths who would have done her harm. His loss was not only a loss for Christendom, but for all the Romans. Daggers had remained sheathed in the Eternal City for nine years. Now, they would be wielded again.
To her credit, Theodora looked chastised. But the moment, her husband noted, was merely fleeting. The Margrave had warned me she was opinionated, but not stubborn, mused the Count in the safety of his inner thoughts, where his words could do no harm. A marriage was built upon more than politics, Cardinal de' Subiaco had taught him after his father, Count Gregorius, had passed away. It was a lifelong practice of love and devotion to God.
God only knew how difficult it was to be devoted with Theodora Bonifazi for a wife, and how easy it was too, at the same time.
"Theophylact, your enemies won't stand idle while we mourn the dead Pope," Theodora warned him carefully, although her tone was urgent. She slid forwards in quick steps which resonated beneath the Pantheon's fabled dome, taking his rough warrior's hands into her soft ones. "Our enemies won't stand idle. The Pope was great, and so was his peace. But now he is dead, and so is the peace."
The Count of Tusculum sighed. He stepped away from her, pushing her fingers away, and took a deep breath. Incense filled his lungs. There was no scent so sweet, except, perhaps, Theodora's hair in the flowering of spring. He pushed those lustful thoughts away. He struggled with sin whenever Theodora was in his company, and yet inexplicably he could not dismiss her presence. He had grown attached to her. She was his cross to carry.
"Do you know how the ancients built this place?" Theophylact asked her suddenly, marveling at the impossible dome. His face, full of wonder, was illuminated by the white moonlight which flooded into the temple from the Eye of the Pantheon above. Theodora joined her husband's side and gazed at the ancients' present to Rome. Her green eyes were colored with skepticism.
"With an awful lot of gold?"
"With faith," Theophylact interjected, offering her a smile. He could not help it. Under the Eye of the Pantheon, she looked as if Venus herself. He wrapped an arm around her waist, damning himself for touching flesh with flesh in this holy place. "Faith," Theophylact repeated, "faith not only in God, but in themselves. Faith in the righteousness of their cause. Faith in the virtue of their labor. Faith in the essence of their knowledge. Faith in the quality of their instruments. Above all, faith. Only through faith could they have envisioned such a building, and only through faith did they complete God's work and raised this temple from nothing. You must also have faith that our cause is just, madonna. You must have faith that God will elect the new Pope from among the virtuous."
"Faith," Theodora repeated, tight-lipped. She turned her eyes away from the starlit sky and set her penetrating gaze on her husband instead. "You say faith built places like this. Why do you figure, then, that the ancients could build this place, when we cannot? Did heathens have more faith than the followers of Christ do?"
She disentangled herself from him, moving towards the golden altar with determination. She set her eyes on Constantine's cross, and then on Jesus hanging from his destiny.
"I have often heard that a heathen is more virtuous than a heretic," she said darkly. "The nobles of this city have no small amount of faith. They lack it entirely. They are corrupt, and spread corruption wherever they venture. Even to St. Peter's throne. Don't deny it, you know it," she pressed, as Theophylact had opened his mouth to argue. "While we pray, faithless men draw their knives and prepare to usurp what is not theirs. You ask why we can longer build this?" She opened her arms, as if embracing the Pantheon. "It is because faithless men rule here. Is it not, by your own account? They have corrupted Rome. They have corrupted us."
The metal scales in Theophylact's armor clattered together as he walked forward, away from the moonlight, a frown on his face. His father had not raised him to be a naive man. Gregorius had been many things in life, but an idealist he had not been. When he died, he had named his son too intoxicated with youth and zealotry to see clearly. He had reminded him of his duty to the folk of Tusculum, to the Senators, to the Pope, to the City and, most of all, to his family. A blind man was one who could not see. And yet...
"We are all sinners, Theodora."
"Some sin more than others," she pointed out in turn, and he could not fault her reason. "Can you not see, my lord? Ah, sì, the Ottaviani, the Albani, the Lunghezzi, all have faith, yes, in themselves. Not in God. And that is not enough." She paced towards Theophylact, gently cupping his face, her irresistibly soft skin embracing his auburn beard, adoration reflected in the green of her eyes. "You are the Warrior of Christ, you are the Champion of the Church. You are a man of faith, my love. So much more than the corrupt nobles of this city. You cannot entrust the Papacy to their tainted hands. God cannot act alone. Pope Nicholas is dead. Only you can protect all that he stood for. Only you can keep the vultures away. It is you who must rule this city. By the Grace of God, you must rule this city."
All men needed a purpose. That much had always been clear to Theophylact. Purpose was sacred. His mind drifted to Tusculum, to the lush Alban hills, where he would sit with Cardinal de' Subiaco amidst orchards and vines, studying the holy text while his father was away in business at Rome. Purpose was saintly. Jeremiah 32:19, great are your purposes and mighty are yours deeds. Your eyes are open to the ways of all mankind; you reward each person according to their conduct and as their deeds deserve. Purpose was holy. Job 42:2, I know that you can do all things; no purpose of yours can be thwarted. For the longest time, he had struggled with his purpose. Like Job, he had been challenged, but he had never lost his faith. His faith in God, and in God's plan for him. For the longest time he had thought that his purpose was to serve the Church. Servitude was simple. All men served others. There were no questions. That was all the answer he needed. He had never asked himself how he could serve, and perhaps that had been his mistake, Theophylact realized now. Despite all his prayers, he had felt hollow after his father's death. Disoriented. Lost. He had not understood how he could honor his father's teachings of service to his family and the Church's teachings of service to God at the same time. He looked down at Theodora, brushing a hand against her temple, coming to rest at the nip of her neck. He could not help but be in awe. God had revealed his true purpose to him; not from the word of the scriptures, the prayers of a priest or the revelation of introspection... but from the mouth of a woman.
"Dei Gratia," Theophylact repeated his wife's words, enthralled by her voice, enthralled by her presence, enthralled by her scent, "dominus urbis."
He did not push her away when she raised her head and pressed her lips against his own. She tasted right, and wrong, and of virtue and vice, but she tasted most of all of Theodora, his wife. She was his, and he lost himself in her.
"Come, my lord," she whispered, taking his hand in hers again, pulling him across the empty rotunda towards the exit and the city of vice that laid beyond. "We must not linger. There is much to do."
When he breathed in the winter night sky, amidst the Pantheon's imposing columns, he thought that Rome had never looked more beautiful and more terrible at once.
The death of Nicholas I, Supreme Pontiff of the Universal Church, plunged Rome into disarray in the closing weeks of 867. The Pope had breathed his last on December 14th, only ten days before Christmas Eve. At sixty-seven years of age, his passing had not been unexpected, but no man could ever be truly prepared to face the aftermath of the demise of a Pope who had brought the Catholic Church to its pinnacle from the brink of collapse.
Pope Nicholas had been, by all accounts, one of the most capable men to ever sit the Petrine throne. Staunch and stubborn, he had led an ascetic lifestyle of piety and genuine devotion to the Church’s teachings in spite of his Roman noble upbringing. At his election, he had met a Church that was held hostage by the Carolingian rulers, a mere plaything in their game of thrones. Indeed, Louis II of Italy had been present at Rome to authorize his election. The Pope, throughout his decade-long pontificate, came several times into conflict with the Carolingians, chiefly when he refused to grant Lothaire V a non-canonical divorce. The Carolingians marched against Rome and laid siege to the city, but Pope Nicholas was unrelenting. He held out in the Vatican and eventually the siege was lifted, and Lothaire was left empty-handed. To prevent further Carolingian interference in the Curia, Nicholas decreed that only the Roman community would have a voice in future Papal elections, vying for the independence of Rome and the autonomy of the Church. For this reason, as well as for his piety and the defensive campaigns he promoted against the Saracens in Southern Italy, Pope Nicholas was well loved in Rome, by the nobility and the common people alike.
Therefore, when he died, the Pope was mourned by all. Thousands of cittadini escorted his funeral procession, demanding his immediate canonization. At their head rode Theophylact, Count of Tusculum, who watched the Papal election that would follow with concern. Theophylact was a man with a simple goal: to protect and defend the independence of the Roman Church and the glorious legacy of the late Pope, whom he had greatly admired in his time. When a Pope died, however, Rome became a dangerous place. The Ottaviani family had always been rivals to the House of Tusculum and now flexed their muscles, arriving at Rome shortly after the Pope’s passing. The other Roman noble families were wildcards, though it would be safe to assume that each had a candidate of their own in mind. To the north, word of Nicholas’ death would reach the Carolingian courts sooner rather than later, and they would surely rejoice at the fall of their enemy. They would march down to Rome, bypass Nicholas’ ban on outsiders and impose their will on the Papacy again.
Theophylact, it seemed, was running short on time.
At the time of Nicholas I’s death, the College of Cardinals contained nine members. One, Cardinal Silva Candida, was a scion of old Roman and Lombard nobility, and had served the former Pope as his personal confessor. Another, Cardinal Verdun, was the only Frenchman to sit the Consistorium, and served the King of Lotharingia in the field as a military commander. Two, Cardinals Subiaco and Piperno, had received their red hats under the patronage of Theophylact’s father, Count Gregorius, while another two, erudite Cardinal Jesi and slow Cardinal Ortona, were on the payroll of the Dukes of Spoleto. The College was completed by two lonely cardinals, Sulci and San Marco, respectively Sardinian and Venetian, who lacked strong patrons and found themselves solitary in the cutthroat politics of Rome.
When Pope Nicholas passed away, all but one of the Cardinals were present at Rome, but the absent one was the one who troubled Theophylact the most. By all accounts, Cardinal Verdun was a faithful servant of the King of Lotharingia who had been spurned by Nicholas. Married childlessly to the barren Queen Teutberga, Lothaire V had sired four bastard children with his mistress Waldrada. To secure his dynasty, his best bet was to place his own Cardinal on St. Peter’s throne and gain the divorce he had long yearned for. Theophylact did not underestimate Lothaire. In his adolescence he had seen the Carolingian hosts descend upon Rome at his behest. Even though the Franks had ultimately retreated, they had shown what they were capable of. He had to ensure that Verdun was not imposed on the Petrine throne.
Unfortunately, that was easier said than done. The Roman nobles were notorious for their constant quarreling, and now that the Pope was dead there was no one to stop them from scheming against each other. Some, Theophylact guessed, could even be cowered by Carolingian arms if (when, in the Count’s mind) Lothaire marched on Rome. Time, again, was of the essence, but the College of Cardinals was divided and the nobility was far from reaching a consensus on Nicholas’ successor. He had to act, and to act fast.
At the time, many would have considered Theophylact’s support of one of the Tusculan Cardinals to be a given. His father, Gregorius of Tusculum, had in the past meticulously engineered and arranged for their appointments as Cardinals, in the hope that his voice would carry more weight in the Curia and with Pope Nicholas, against other nobles from Rome. Theophylact, however, was not his father, and he was not blinded by ambition. Despite Gregorius’ best efforts, the Tusculan Cardinals stood isolated in the Curia. If Theophylact tried to push for either of them, he would find himself isolated as well. Worse, he would be no different from the Roman philistines who dared to call themselves nobles if he placed the interests of his family above the well-being of the Holy Mother Church. He had no choice but to seek an alternative candidate, one who could win over the support of the Italian families before it was too late and a Carolingian candidate was forced down their throats.
The man Theophylact decided to put his weight behind eventually turned out to be Cardinal Silva Candida, the Roman Lombard. A respected citizen and ordained priest, Maurizio della Silva Candida could rally the necessary support of the noble families and the common people. Silva Candida was not only known for his charity and humility, but also as a close associate of the late Pope Nicholas who could uphold and carry on his legacy of independence. The Cardinal appeased Theophylact on a personal level as well, being of martial inclination. As a child, he had witnessed the Arab raid against Rome in 846 and the sacking of St. Peter’s Basilica by the Mohametan forces, a sacrilege he had vowed he would never suffer to witness again. Although Tusculum was not on the coast and had not been hit as hard by the Arabs, the Tusculani stronghold sat to the south of Rome next to the Appian Way. If the Arabs in Sicily and Calabria were allowed to consolidate, Tusculum would fall before Rome did.
Men and gold were sent for from Tusculum. Envoys were dispatched to the court of Lamberto Guideschi, Duke of Spoleto, who held sway over the two Spoletan cardinals in the Curia. Theodora, Countess of Tusculum, penned a letter to her father, the Margrave of Tuscany, warning him of the impending Carolingian incursion and imploring for his aid. At Rome, Theophylact conversed with the common people, giving out alms and grain with Cardinal Silva Candida by his side. While Theophylact engaged with the pleb and drilled the Papal guard, Theodora took to herself the tasks her husband considered too unwieldy. She caroused with the Roman nobles of the city and negotiated with Cardinals their support. Gold and the word of her father appeased the Tuscan cardinal. The Sardinian, on the other hand, gave in under well placed threats. A declaration of support did not linger to arrive from Spoleto; Duke Lamberto, who controlled the entire Apennines from north to south, had no wish to see Carolingian rule strengthened in Italy. The Venetian, isolated in the Curia, followed suit.
Not all were convinced, however. It was said that no man could force Tusculani and Ottaviani to work together. “Certainly not a woman,” the young Giuseppe Ottaviani had said with a sneer, “and much less a putana.” Theodora of Tusculum, who had come to secure the noble’s allegiance, was expelled from the Ottaviani Tower next to the ancient forum, where the family had made their seat. Ottaviani’s cries followed her out. “Tell your coglione of a husband that he should have sent me a prettier whore!”
Cardinal Subiaco recalls that when Theophylact of Tusculum learned of his wife’s humiliation, he was consumed by rage. The Ottaviani were old enemies of his family. To Theodora, Theophylact accused them of being in league with the Franks to subjugate Rome and rule the city as tyrants. When Theodora pointed out that his accusation was baseless, Theophylact said that he did not care.
“Ottaviani!” the Count of Tusculum shouted, clad from head to toe in black scale armor, with the Eagle of Tusculum imprinted on a badge upon his armored chest. He turned his barded stallion in circles before Ottaviani’s tower, counting twenty armed men-at-arms flying the Tusculan banner at his back. “Ottaviani! Come out and die!”
“Tusculani!” Giuseppe Ottaviani shouted back from a high window, safe behind the reinforced gates of his tower-keep in the heart of Rome. “I cornuto tuscolani…” he sneered, “what are you going to do, throw your pretty horse against my castellum?”
“I’ll kill you!” the Count of Tusculum cried, unsheathing the sword he kept at his belt. “You insult my honor, you insult my family’s honor, you insult my wife’s honor, and now you hide behind a wall? Come out, codardo, and die!”
“Do you see, people of Roma, the face of the beast?” Ottaviani declared from his tower, addressing the unruly mob that had been gathering around the small Tusculani force. The Forum was home to traders and vagrants, and all had paused their duties to watch the spectacle of their confrontation. “Teofilatto de’ Tusculana brandishes his sword like a bitch in the heat and threatens to spill blood in the streets so close to Christmas Day! He sends out his whore to do his bidding and makes a joke of our late Pope! Heed my words, he means to make himself our tyrant!”
“LIAR!” cried Theophylact in fury. “Did your mother give birth to a man or a rat, bastardo? If you will not face me like a man, I’ll pluck you from your tower and, I swear to God, I’ll throw you into the Tiber!”
“ENOUGH!” bellowed a loud voice, belonging to a man Theophylact had not expected to see here. I should have known. “Peace, Theophylactus. Qui est testis!”
The Tusculan knew Latin as well as his mother’s womb. The people stand witness. Indeed, nearly all of the Forum had gathered around Torre Ottaviani to watch the confrontation. Some sneered in disgust, others looked excited, others fearful. Theophylact could not tell if their sneer was directed at him, who had brought violence and armed thugs openly to the street, in broad daylight, or the coward Ottaviani. Perhaps he would not have faltered only under Cardinal Silva Candida’s stern gaze, had Theodora of Tusculum not been riding to his right. The look in her green eyes was worse than anger. It was disappointment. He sheathed his sword.
“This doesn’t end here, Ottaviani,” he warned the sorry excuse of a man in the window.
Giuseppe Ottaviani laughed.
“You can bet it doesn’t, cornuto.”
***
Villa Tusculanensis Rome
***
“He called you a whore, Theodora!”
“And now everybody knows he did!”
“He said you’ve been unfaithful!”
“Who cares?!”
The discussion raged on throughout the night at Villa Tusculanensis in the shadow of the Porta San Sebastiano. The villa was a large fortified townhouse, raised high and crenellated, put up by Theophylact’s grandfather next to the gate where the Appian Way intercepted the Aurelian walls. Marble capitals and other decorations had been scavenged from the Forum and stone quarried from the ruined Baths of Caracalla to construct the stronghold of the Counts of Tusculum at Rome. Tonight, however, neither the Count or the Countess could stop to appreciate the beauty of their scavenged home.
“You let your emotions control you!”
“You went after Candida!”
“You didn’t listen to me!”
“No, Theodora, you didn’t obey me!”
“What, obey the Cuckold of Tuscolano?”
With a rage that had yet to subdue, Theophylact raised his hand to strike the rebellious woman across the face. Order, honor and discipline are the foundations of this world, Teofilatto, he heard his father’s voice say, if disturbed, you must set it right again. All it took was a flash of her bright green eyes and a moment’s hesitation for his father’s words to turn into dust. He stopped himself just shy off her face, an inch between his calloused hand and Theodora’s pink cheek.
Immediately overtaken with embarrassment and overwhelming shame, Theophylact withdrew his hand. “Mi dispiace, madonna mia,” he apologized in a voice marred with regret. “I should not have done this. It was unchristian of me.”
Theodora’s infamous temper would not relent so easily. Fuming, he grabbed her husband’s offending hand by the wrist and shook it angrily in the air. “This is exactly what I mean, Teofilatto!” she cried, her long fingernails biting down on his wrist, drawing droplets of blood. “This is the proof!”
“Proof of what?” challenged Theophylact, feebly trying to overcome his shame.
“That you let vile lies and slander get under your skin! That you allow your emotions to rule you, cazzo!”
“That is not true at all, woman,” he argued, forcefully pulling his hand back to himself and turning his back to Theodora. He stared through the eagle-crested window, into the Roman night. “Ottaviani makes a mockery of my family’s honor. This has nothing to do with emotion. It is reason.”
“Was it reasonable for you to lay siege to the Ottaviani Tower in full sight of the city?” challenged Theodora. “There is only one thing Rome hates more than corrupt popes, Teofilatto. Tyrants.”
“Tyrants,” Theophylact scoffed. “You said we should rule this city, for its own good. To protect the Pope from nobles such as Ottaviani. Have you changed your mind?”
“No,” the Countess said firmly. “But you most of all know the difference between a prince and a tyrant. The difference is in our actions, and the people’s perception of our actions. The people saw you march across the streets with armed men at your back and threaten a noble in his home. You’ve risked everything, Teofilatto.” She sneered. “For honor.”
“For you,” he corrected, “and Rome.”
“Ottaviani baited you, and you fell for it,” she growled. “If we wish to crown Silva Candida and resist Lothaire and Verdun when they come, the people must stand with us. Only then will we be able to defend Rome. Ottaviani is trying to put the people against us. He does not wish us to succeed. The fate of the Church doesn’t matter to him, only that of his own family. He is vassal to the Iron Crown. He would not begrudge the Karlings their Pope, if they kept the Tusculani out of Rome. And you helped him. You must think before you act, Teofilatto!”
She was right. Ottaviani deserved justice, but the scales of God’s justice were patient and timeless. He would get his reckoning, one day. In his anger, Theophylact had endangered all that they had fought for. Ottaviani was on the verge of winning the sympathy of the crowds, and Theophylact was not blind to the shift in power that it could represent if the wound was allowed to fester. The cardinals would hesitate in uncertainty, the noble families would sit and wait to see who would be the last man standing, and the election would be delayed. Perhaps long enough for Lothaire to reach Rome.
That was inadmissible.
He took a deep breath in, to steady and calm himself. When he was ready, he turned away from the window to face Theodora. An idea had sprouted in his mind.
“Acclamatio,” he said, in almost a whisper.
There was a moment of silence, only broken by the crackling fire in the winter hearth.
“Election by acclamation?” his wife eventually asked astutely, stroking her chin with her long fingers, a thoughtful look on her face. “We force the election to happen. Now, not later. We force our allies’ hand. Either they are with us, or against us. That… that could work.”
“We deny Ottaviani time to scheme,” Theophylact stated carefully, watching for her reaction. “All the pieces are set in the board, Theodora. You made sure of that. The cardinals don’t need to convene in Conclave. The people are still behind us. If we wait, Ottaviani might convince them otherwise, and our allies would follow the new tide.”
“That is… unorthodox,” Theodora noted with a frown, staring past her husband in a gaze that meant she was deep in thought. “The last papal acclamation took place over a hundred years ago.”
“Gregorius Tertius,” Theophylact confirmed. Of course, he had been taught the story of how Pope Gregory III had been universally acclaimed the Vicar of Christ while he was accompanying the funeral procession of his predecessor. It was a touching and inspiring story of faith. Acclamations were rare, and had not happened ever since. “It happened before. It can happen again. Silva Candida defused the situation at Torre Ottaviani. The people saw him do it. Perhaps this election can still be salvaged.”
“Acclamation it is,” said Theodora firmly, jogging towards the desk where ink and parchment lied, starting to furiously scribble messages in her fine and elegant script, signing with her husband’s seal. “I will alert our allies.”
“I’ll prepare the men, the alms and the grain,” he replied, once again burning with sacred purpose. “We move at dawn.”
Annuntio vobis gaudium magnum; HABEMUS PAPAM!
Eminentissimum ac Reverendissimum Dominum Dominum Mauricium Sanctae Romanae Ecclesiae Cardinalem Silva Candida Qui sibi nomen imposuit Stephanum Quintum
The acclamation of Maurizio della Silva Candida took place at the ancient Forum of Nerva, in the heart of Rome. The early hours of dawn graced the urban mass that crowded the old forum in greeting. The papabile was seated on a splendid golden litter, carried by the patriarchs of the Tusculani, Albani and Lunghezzi families, among half a dozen other Roman families who had seen the sense in a speedy election to keep Frankish influence well at bay. The seven cardinals of the Holy Roman Church, all except for Verdun, followed behind on foot, garbed in their crimson coats and episcopal hats, none having dared to challenge the wave. Noblewomen distributed alms to the poor, while men-at-arms bearing the Eagle of Tusculum on their badges distributed grain to the cheering poor. They chanted.
“PAPA CANDIDA!”
“PAPA CANDIDA!”
“PAPA CANDIDA!”
Pope Stephen V was crowned on Christmas Eve, 867, in St. Peter’s Basilica, donning the Papal tiara that had been Nicholas’ before. His predecessor had been the first Pope to be crowned in the history of the Church. That Stephen V chose to continue the new tradition spelled fortune for the defense and promotion of Nicholas the Great’s vast legacy. The procession that had started in the Forum of Nerva at sunrise had marched on the Vatican and taken the basilica as if by storm. There was nothing anyone could do against the mob, led into the temple by the ecclesiastical and secular princes of Rome at once. The people had spoken. No scar remained of the Sack of St. Peter’s by Arab raiders twenty years before. Stephen V vowed to keep his Church scarless, unified and pure, for the glory of God.
Theophylactus of Tusculum knelt before St. Peter’s throne and kissed the Fisherman’s Ring, pledging his loyalty, faith and fealty to Pope Stephen. When the Pope bade him to rise, His Holiness invested him, for his faith and service, with the titles, offices and honors of Senator, magister militum and sacri palatii vestararius, and named him to his council as Chancellor of the Holy Roman Church. Although Theophylact would return to Tusculum to winter there and put a dozen miles between himself and the city he had pushed to its limit, he was the man who collected the most honors that day. By the time word of Pope Nicholas’ death reached the Lotharingian court at Nancy, Stephen V already sat the Petrine throne as Pope of Rome. It was the start of a long and prosperous relationship between Stephen and Theophylact that would bring much joy to the Roman Church in the decades to come.
St. Peter's Basilica, enclosed by the Leonine wall built after the Arab sack
The return to the Alban Hills proved to be the safe refuge the Count and Countess of Tusculum both required after the events of December 867 in the neighboring city of Rome. Although Theophylact had succeeded in placing the Holy See in the capable hands of Pope Stephen V and had received many honors and titles in recognition of his blessed effort, his public image had suffered as a consequence of the lengths he had gone to do so. Where once people would only see the young, inexperienced and pious Count of Tusculum, now many watched the figure who emerged from the Papal election with a certain amount of apprehension. The Tusculani had been powerful nobles since the beginning of the century, but none had risen as far and as quickly as Theophylact of Tusculum had in the closing weeks of 867. The noblemen of Rome feared how he would wield his newfound influence over the Pope and the city, and while Theophylact could count with the people’s love for the time being, the mob was a fickle mistress to bow to. Thus, removing himself from the city to let matters lie low during the winter season was a decision viewed by some as a calculated move to prevent further erosion of his previous reputation, and by others as a victor’s glorious homecoming.
Not that it was an unwilling and reluctant Theophylact that returned to Tusculum in time to celebrate Epiphany in the local episcopal church with the ever present Cardinal de’ Subiaco by his side. Homesickness had not truly been his affliction. With Tusculum lying only twelve miles away from Rome, the distance had not been so great for the Count’s heart to ache in the supposed impossibility of homecoming. Instead, Theophylact longed not for home, but for quiet; peace and quiet. Those who had known him for several years knew how uncharacteristic his longing for the tranquility of the Tusculan retreat was. Theophylact had always adored the liveliness of the Eternal City; its churches, its markets, its art. Nothing in Tusculum could compare. Living in a countryside town was a dull life for the Count, who, unlike his ancestors that had built their fief from nothing, felt closer attachment to the higher culture of Rome than to the land, the plough and the farmstead of the simple life of Tusculum, in spite of the vices life in the city inevitably incurred (especially if said city was Rome). But even Theophylact sometimes needed a break from the Papal court.
For Countess Theodora, on the other hand, the withdrawal to Tusculum proved to be nothing short of slow torture. Having grown up in the thriving Bonifazi courts of Tuscany, she had divided her time in childhood and adolescence between the city of Lucca and the rising star of Florence in her father the Margrave’s itinerant court. Part of the reason for her desired marriage to Theophylact had been that she longed for the fair city of Rome and its imperial splendors (the other and arguably more important part of the reason having been, of course, her father’s desire to wield more influence in the Papal court via the powerful Tusculani). Although Rome, a city not that much larger than Lucca whose former imperial splendor had been ruined by countless generations of mismanagement and misuse, had disappointed Theodora once she had had the time to get to know the city as her home, the country town of Tusculum was by far more depressing. The sole exception was, perhaps, the ready availability of wine from the lush vineyards of Frascati, the picturesque village below the hill upon which old and new Tusculum had been raised. She had struggled to remain in Rome rather than return to tedious country life, where it seemed only herself and her family, which at the time consisted only of her husband, existed, far away from the far more stimulating events of higher society. In the end, Theophylact’s will had prevailed, and the proud Countess had been forced to leave Villa Tusculanensis in Rome for her adopted family’s countryside castello.
The fortress of Tusculum on the Alban hills
That is not to say that either of them had been idle. For Theodora, her forced retreat at Tusculum presented opportunities for the young woman to fully assert herself as the mistress of the household, a position left vacant by the death of the mother-in-law she had never met, a decade before. Theophylact and Theodora had been married for nary a year, most of which had been spent at Villa Tusculanensis at Rome. There, the young Countess had been in her element, but upon her return to Tusculum to properly settle in for the winter season for the first time in her life, she found out the unpleasant truth that she would have to adjust to a new reality as mistress of the Count’s country household. Only few of those servants known to her from her time at Rome accompanied the Count and Countess back to Tusculum. Most had instead remained behind at Rome, for that was where they made their livelihoods and because Villa Tusculanensis had to remain staffed in their prolonged absence, both for the palacet’s maintenance and defense, and because the Tusculan Cardinal Piperno was expected to move into the villa while they were away from court.
The servants that welcomed her at Tusculum were of a different sort altogether. Many of them had been serving the Tusculani family for multiple generations. Few had stepped foot outside of the town, even though Rome was next door. All called Tusculum their home and were accustomed to the slower pace life took in the countryside, which Theodora soon noted also applied to their work rhythm. “Lazy, self-righteous, ignorant barbarians, and unwashed too,” she once wrote in one of her letters to her mother, Rothildis, complaining about the quality of the staff she found entrenched at Tusculum and which would only hardly be replaced. For the time being, she would have to grow used to them, and they to her.
As for Theophylact, when not praying in the chapel or huddled around the fire consulting the small number of books that the minimalist library of Tusculum had to offer, he spent the winter preparing for war. The election of Pope Stephen V had left a bittersweet taste in his mouth. A battle might have been won, but that said nothing about the war. He doubted that the Carolingians would so easily accept the Pope’s acclamation, having had no input in his election. Theophylact was confident that the Carolingians would come to Rome one way or another. If they chose to do so at the head of an army, they would come only after winter. Therefore, he had the winter to prepare, and he counted his blessings for it.
The Tusculan winter
After donning the Papal tiara at St. Peter’s Basilica, Pope Stephen had invested Theophylact with the high-ranking office of magister militum. That meant, in effect, that Theophylact had been entrusted with the command of the Papal forces and of the urban militia of Rome. However, that title had always been almost an empty honor, for it was well known that the militia was under the control of the Roman noble families (and the highest bidder), while the Papal Guard answered chiefly to their direct commander with whom their personal loyalty laid, rather than the nobleman of the week the Pope had appointed to a superior office. Had he been at Rome, he might have been able to try and enforce his authority, but his time was short and his resources shorter. Furthermore, he was not at Rome, but at Tusculum, which made any institutional authority derived from his position that he might have wielded at the Eternal City a mere fantasy.
That was not to say that his office was useless in the country. Theodora had battered the importance of appearances into Theophylact’s mind on that evening after the stillborn assault on Ottaviani Tower. Being magister militum granted him the authority to marshal men in the Pope’s name throughout the Papal States, while also giving him the right and privilege of riding under the Papal banner. For the new labarum that his office demanded, Theophylact chose to halve the sigil of his family, the Eagle of Tusculum, with the Key of St. Peter, representing that he derived his authority from the Pope and that his family was the executor of the Pope’s will, riding under the Pope’s banner and insignia. He claimed the right to bear the Key of St. Peter in his arms not only due to this office as magister militum, but also due to the honor of vestararius of the Sacred Palace that the Pope had also invested him with, making him the custodian and metaphorical keeper of the keys of the Apostolic Palace. Whatever the case, St. Peter’s Key would always accompany the Tusculan Eagle in the arms of the House of Tusculum from that day on.
Theophylact's labarum
Wielding the authority and legitimacy provided to him by the office of magister militum and the Papal insignia, Count Theophylact proceeded to drill the men of Tusculum and of the adjacent holdings in the name of Pope Stephen. His success would have been far lesser had his voice solely been that of the Count of Tusculum, but speaking with the Pope’s own voice granted him moderate success where there would have been none instead. He was able to impose military authority over the Alban hills and enforce his own family’s authority over their lands, marshaling levies and training militia where he could. Theophylact, anticipating the worst, had stone quarried from the ruins of ancient Tusculum to repair and strengthen the fortifications of his seat as a final refuge for the Pope in the event of a siege of Rome.
Men and arms were not the only pressing issues to occupy the Count of Tusculum’s mind in the winter of 867-868. Coin, he knew, was also a necessity. He collected gold from every source he found. The Tusculan treasury had nearly been emptied due to the costs incurred during the Papal election, and also in no small amount due to Countess Theodora’s high expenditure to maintain her luxurious standards of living at Rome. Theophylact understood that war was waged not only with men, but also with gold; it was one of those lessons his father, Count Gregorius, had been successfully able to teach his only son and heir. Thus, he cut expenditures, forbade Theodora from reforming the castle staff and extracted tribute from his fief, however unpopular that made him with the peasants. Once the Tusculan finances were healed, they could be compensated.
Theophylact even went as far as reaching out to moneylenders of prosperous trade ports along the Italian coast, although it pained him to deal with suspected usurers. He made progress conversing with the small merchant community of Terracina, whose podestà went by the name of Antonio. The commune of Terracina was nominally associated with the Counts of Tusculum (who also personally held the fief of Segni), though their authority in the port town was at best fragile. He soon reached a gentleman’s agreement with Terracina; the capable podestà was brought to Tusculum and placed in charge of the Count’s treasury and tax collection, in exchange for the resumption of tax payment by Terracina and the administrative-minded expertise of their leader. Furthermore, the trade port would enjoy the protection of the Counts of Tusculum and the Papal forces should they be threatened by Arab raids and pirates, which were frequent in the Tyrrhenian Sea ever since their conquest of Sicily. The alliance with Terracina, coupled with the podestà’s skill and Theophylact’s other measures, allowed the mistreated Tusculan treasury to gradually recover. By 870, the annual revenue of the Count of Tusculum was recorded as being 6,151 scudi [1], nearly double the amount of 3,751 scudi of three years before [2].
The port town of Terracina, the most prosperous settlement in Tusculani lands
Winter passed, spring bloomed and the scorching Mediterranean sun was soon heralding the arrival of summer, and yet the war Theophylact had predicted did not come. He had been so caught up in his own troubles that he had forgotten that others certainly had troubles of their own. Trouble indeed, in the case of the King of Lotharingia. News was slow to reach Italy, but when they did they were met with cautious celebration. King Lothaire was locked in dynastic struggle against one of his many cousins. It seemed that the seed of Charlemagne was as inclined to fight each other as they fought foreign realms, or perhaps even more so. Details were sorely lacking, but if the Carolingians fought each other beyond the Alps, they were unlikely to take the fight to Rome; and they did not.
King Lothaire’s death took all by surprise. That he had been brought down by a Bishop of the Church was delightful to anyone with a hint of irony in their hearts. His kingdom, it seemed, was to be divided between his heirs. His brother, the King of Italy, who ruled over the Northern part of the peninsula from his seat at Pavia, inherited the Crown of Burgundy. To secure his inheritance and affirm his personal authority over his new territory was a far greater problem to the young monarch than picking a fight with the Pope in Rome. Stephen V finally sat easily on St. Peter’s throne.
For Theophylact and Theodora, that meant a speedy return to Rome. Half a year had passed since they had last been to the city. Much had changed in their absence. They had been in touch with Cardinal Piperno, who spoke with their voice at the Papal court and personally reported the city’s ongoings to his Count and Countess at Tusculum whenever he could. Giuseppe Ottaviani had quit the city upon learning of Lothaire’s death; war in the north meant that his family estate at Subiaco could come under threat sooner rather than later. The crisis in the Carolingian realms to the north had also caused a collapse of the Carolingian faction in the Curia, deprived of resources and foreign support. That would not be the last that the Count and Countess of Tusculum would hear or see of Franks in Rome, but, for now, Rome was in the hands of the Romans. Theophylact and Theodora staged a triumphal return to the city, riding under the Papal banner, giving out alms to the poor and reassurances of peaceful co-existence with the urban nobility. In all the excitement, no one remembered that the Tusculani had almost shed blood in the streets during the sacred peace of Christmas and Sede Vacante, and, if they did, no one cared.
It was finally time to stop reacting and to start planning for the future.
Ah, Roma
Notes:
Originally, this chapter was going to be longer and cover the years of 868 to 872. However, I decided to split the chapter into two because I felt this was a natural cutting-off point, narratively and thematically. When you see the next one, hopefully you will agree. This is why I’m also uploading this chapter relatively early. I hope you enjoyed!
[1] The Roman scudo is the currency in the Papal States. For this AAR, I will be multiplying game values by a hundred to give simplified in-world monetary values. An annual income of 6,151 scudi represents an annual income of 61.51 wealth in the game (5.34 monthly income; it’s not much, but it’s honest work). For simplicity’s sake, I will be considering scudi to have the same value as Florentine florins and Venetian ducats, so I may use them interchangeably.
[2] For comparison, in 870 the annual income of neighboring Docibilis of Gaeta was 4,078 scudi. Both Gaeta and Tusculum still pale in comparison to the Pope’s 22,902 scudi.
The Count and Countess of Tusculum had no difficulty re-adjusting to life in Rome. Whereas Theodora’s long anticipated reunion with her noble friends, the Villa household and the Roman markets and luxuries had at last arrived, Theophylact could fully devote his time to sit in the Pope’s council and pursue activities of his personal interest. The birth of the Tusculan Collection can be dated to the second half of 868, when Theophylact started collecting books and ancient knowledge in a private chamber at Villa Tusculanensis. It was a small collection, but the Count was still proud of its humble beginnings. For far too long had Tusculum been a backwards country retreat. He would turn his seat into a centre of learning and the letters in due time. Everything, however, started at Rome. The latter half of the year and the beginning of 869 witnessed the beginning of trends that would perpetuate themselves throughout the Count and Countess’ lives. They became local patrons of artists and convents and would encourage other noble families to follow in their footsteps in time. The future, it seemed, shone brightly on the Tusculani.
The sweet taste of Theophylact and Theodora’s return to Rome proved to be short-lived, however. Early in the spring of 869, they were startled to learn that Louis of Italy, who at the time had seemed so distant and content, had levied his men and assembled a mighty host not to move into Burgundy and secure his reign over the new territory inherited from his late brother Lothaire, as had been predicted, but had instead marched south. He had sent no foreword of his intentions. Nothing and no one in the Southern reaches of his kingdom demanded the raising of a large force to be dealt with. Louis could only have one destination in mind: Rome. Where Lothaire had failed to act on account of his death, the Kingdom of Italy was at peace and its Carolingian king in the prime of his health. It appeared that the time of reckoning had come at last.
Frantically, Theophylact turned to prepare Rome for an assault, doing what he could in the short time to repair the Aurelian and Leonine walls and to store food and supplies in Castel Sant’Angelo for the Pope and the Curia, as a last resort if the city fell. The gates were reinforced, fletchers were ordered to make arrow shafts and smiths arrowheads. Trade grinded to a halt. The city was barred to all outsiders, although those who wished to leave were not prevented from doing so, for Theophylact did not have the resources to fight his own people (and the fewer mouths to feed, the better). Faced with the Carolingian march, many of the noble families chose to abandon Rome for their country estates, momentarily leaving the city under the custody of the Tusculani and their allies who had been brave enough to stay. Theophylact seized the opportunity presented by the sudden noble exodus to enforce the authority of his office of magister militum. He took control of the Roman urban militia and, in the few weeks it took for Louis’s army to arrive, shaped them up to be a force of at least some discipline to be able to face a siege, though Theophylact would have been lying to himself if he thought they stood a chance against a prolonged and determined assault.
By the end of April, he had run out of time.
They met outside the Porta Flaminia.
“Your Majesty,” the Count of Tusculum greeted the King in Latin, placing himself and his small retinue on the ancient Via Flaminia between Louis’ army and the city of Rome. Theophylact was ahorse and garbed in full scale armor, a magnificent set coated in gold that the Pope had gifted to him upon his return to the city. A crimson silken cloak fell from his shoulders and over his white stallion’s rear. The eagle and key of Tusculum, the crossed keys of St. Peter and even the scarlet banner of the city of Rome, with the bright letters S.P.Q.R. traced in cloth of gold on the ruby wool, danced in the morning sky, crowning lances wielded by the Tusculan equites that escorted their party outside of the walls. Behind them rode four of the Cardinals who had not fled the city, garbed in the blood-red robes of their office, ready to shed blood and give their lives if need be in defense of the Holy See. Further behind rose the imposing and ancient Aurelian walls, eight meters high and almost four thick, a square tower after every thirty. They were manned by the militia Theophylact had so arduously trained.
The King of Italy did not bear armor. Instead, he wore comfortable riding leathers, although the horsemen around him were all covered in steel and scale from head to toe. On his temples rested the unmistakable Iron Crown of Italy. Louis showed a pleasant, almost unconcerned, expression on his face, almost as if he was bored by the welcoming committee. Riding by the King’s left, Theophylact was unsurprised to see the mocking and cocky smile of Giuseppe Ottaviani. So that’s where you scurried off to, bastardo. Ottaviani’s selfish alliance to Louis and his betrayal of Rome did not shock him. What did shock Theophylact was the sight of the person riding to the King’s right. When he laid his eyes upon the middle-aged man he immediately recognized him as Adalberto Bonifazi, Chancellor of Italy, Margrave of Tuscany, Warden of Corsica… and his father-in-law.
“You will address the Emperor as His Imperial Majesty,” said Bonifazi, conceding no hint of past familiarity in his voice as he spoke. He turned to Louis, even as Ottaviani’s cocky smile widened. “Your Imperial Majesty, this is the man I told you about.”
Theophylact felt his blood boil inside of him. He had dined with Adalberto Bonifazi, he had hosted him in his home both at Rome and at Tusculum. He had married his daughter! What was he doing here, unannounced, at the head of an army that had certainly nothing but ill intentions to Rome? What was he doing showing a corrupt monarch his way to the city? What was he doing fraternizing with the man who had humiliated his daughter, and who would gladly see all Tusculani die and Tusculum burn? He spurred his stallion forward in sheer indignation, approaching the King of Italy and his retinue. The Carolingian knights twitched towards their swords.
“I am Theophylactus Tusculanensis; Senator, Comes, Magister Militum, Chancellor of the Holy Roman Church and Vestararius of the Sacred Palace. You will state your business at Rome.”
The Carolingian emperor studied the Tusculan count curiously, as if he was a particularly intriguing specimen of a bygone age. Theophylact felt uncomfortable under his scrutinizing gaze, though he refused to show it. Ottaviani whispered something to the King’s ear, and they both shared a short chuckle.
“So you are, dominum,” Bonifazi replied politely, bowing his head in a show of courtesy and respect, ignoring his companions’ display. “We come in peace. His Imperial Majesty has traveled long and far to seek an audience with His Holiness the Pope, to consult his wisdom and pray before St. Peter’s tomb. We humbly request that you allow His Imperial Majesty entry to the city, as is his right as the Most August Emperor, rightful heir and successor to Charlemagne.”
“Rome looks no different from the last time I was here,” the Emperor commented off-handedly, looking over Theophylact’s shoulder to marvel at the city’s skyline dominated by the seven hills. “It still has its charm.”
“Despite the filthy vermin who crawl in her streets,” noted Ottaviani, perhaps too pleased with himself. He shot Theophylact a look that made his skin crawl in disgust.
“The last time you came here, five years ago, you did so to overthrow the Holy Father,” accused the Count of Tusculum, unphased by his father-in-law’s and mortal rival’s words. “You besieged St. Peter’s so that your brother could fuck his whore.”
Louis, rather than feel insulted, laughed affably.
“My brother is dead. And I left, did I not?”
“You did, Your Imperial Majesty,” Ottaviani, the little sycophant, agreed.
“Against your will,” Theophylact rebutted. “Only because God saw fit to strike you down with illness. He will do so again if you threaten his Vicar on Earth once more.”
The Carolingian’s gaze pierced the Count in wounded pride.
“Now, now, Senator, my Engelberga can be deadly in her wrath, but I would hardly call her an illness,” said the Emperor pleasantly. “Surely you remember that I left Rome because of the arrangement she reached with the Pope, not because of… what was it, divine punishment? I rule because God wills it.” He made the sign of the cross. “You could never understand. I was crowned by the Pope. You only empty his chamberpot.” Louis let his head fall cockily to one side and smiled. “I would measure your words, Tusculani. My Engelberga is not with me this time.”
“His Imperial Majesty was a good friend of the late Pope Nicolaus,” Bonifazi offered diplomatically, trying to break the tension that was building up between the Count and the Emperor, even as Ottaviani delighted in the situation. “Without the Emperor’s support, it is doubtful Nicolaus would have been elected in the first place.”
“False friends are worse than enemies,” Cardinal de’ Subiaco spoke up from behind the Roman retinue in anger. “The Pope of Rome is not a dog to be kept leashed. That is what you tried to do. That is why you’re here again.”
“I tire of this game,” said Louis impatiently, unwilling to hear any more insults and insinuations, even if they were true. He turned to the Margrave and spoke in French. “Adalbert, you told me these people were reasonable. Oh, Teofilatto de’ Tusculana is a good man, he holds the Pope’s best interests to heart, he can be reasoned with. I see nothing but a savage child who thinks he is Caesar brandishing a paper sword at the man he should be kneeling to by all rights. Perhaps I should have listened to Ottaviani instead.”
“Your Imperial Majesty, please, if you would allow me.” At Louis’ reluctant nod, the Margrave rode forwards and stopped right in front of his son-in-law. He brought their horses in line, so that they could speak privately. His Italian was severely accented by the Tuscan dialect, but Theophylact could understand him. He had had almost two years of training under his wife. “Teofilatto, do you not trust me?”
“No,” he answered plainly, making no effort to disguise his anger at Bonifazi’s betrayal. “Not anymore.”
“We are family, my child,” replied the Chancellor, wielding a warm tone that did not quite reach his eyes. “Imperatore Ludovico wished to march on Rome to impose his will. Ottaviani had his ear, and the words he whispered to him were not quite flattering where they concerned you, I assure you. I convinced the Emperor otherwise. A mutually beneficial alliance would be far more suitable and less costly to our needs.”
“You ride beside the man who called your daughter a harlot and humiliated her in front of Rome,” growled Theophylact, unwilling to take Bonfazi’s words at face value. “Do you care so little for Theodora?”
“On the contrary, child. I ride beside Ottaviani because I do care for her. You’ve spent a year preparing to fight a war you knew you could not win. I spent the year ensuring that it never came to war in the first place,” he affirmed coolly. “You couldn’t keep her safe if Rome was sacked and Giuseppe Ottaviani was installed as the new Pope’s right hand man. I could, and I did. Some gratitude would be appreciated.”
He felt as if he had been slapped across the face, but he would not relent just yet. Was Bonifazi asking them to surrender without a fight and just hand everything to the Carolingians in a silver platter? That he could not do. He would defend the Church. No matter the cost.
“Why didn’t you send word of your coming?” demanded Theophylact. “If you came in peace seeking an alliance, why did you make us think you were here to attack?”
Bonifazi looked away in irritation, as if personally insulted by the question.
“You’re better than this, Teofilatto. Think.” He paused, rearranging his cylindrical black hat that had been on the verge of falling off from the short trot. “To make Rome feel uncertain and insecure would present the best results, once we extended the olive branch. I serve the Emperor, my boy, not you.”
“I thought you served the Pope,” Theophylact noted cynically.
“Perhaps they can be one and the same,” Bonifazi suggested slowly, “given the right circumstances.”
“And what circumstances are those?” Theophylact challenged.
Theodora’s father’s lips contorted into the same mischievous smile Theophylact knew only too well.
“Saracens.”
***
Louis of Italy entered Rome with an honor guard of a hundred Carolingian knights and an escort of two hundred Tusculan men-at-arms and Roman militia. The Emperor rode in front of the procession, proudly wearing the Iron Crown of Lombardy on his head. The men and women of Rome, who had hidden inside their homes when the Frankish army had arrived the day before, now were out in the streets cheering for Louis. The masses are a fickle mistress, Theophylact had thought then. He rode directly behind the Emperor as the recently appointed count of his honor guard. A courtesy title if there ever was one, as Theophylact knew true command of their guard rested with Giuseppe Ottaviani, who once again looked all too pleased with himself as he returned to Rome and was given a victor’s welcome by the people, who cheered him on along with Theophylact, the Emperor and the rest of the newcomers.
“I’m going to kill him!” Theodora had roared the evening before, safe behind the walls of Villa Tusculanensis. She paced back and forth from one end of the living room to the other in anger. “Well, not really, but why would he do this? Why would Father not send word?”
“He claims his loyalty lies with the Emperor, and not his family or the Pope,” Theophylact had said darkly, his arms crossed as he stared outside of the stained glass window. “I don’t trust him.”
Theodora had paused her pacing then and run towards Theophylact to take him into her arms and look up pleadingly.
“Teofilatto, you must,” she had insisted. “Father would never do us harm. His words have saved us from war. You saw the size of Ludovico’s army. We couldn’t beat him on our own. Especially not with Ottaviani and his condottieri marching alongside him. Father knows what he’s doing. We must trust him.”
And that was how Theophylact had found himself in the fine company of Louis of Italy, Adalberto Bonifazi and Giuseppe Ottaviani as they triumphantly rode through the streets of Rome towards the Archbasilica of St. John in Lateran. Louis’ army had remained encamped outside of the city walls, as Theophylact had demanded; it was a small mercy, but he currently was in the market for even the smallest of mercies. Command over the city’s defenses had been given to Arioald, Theophylact’s Lombard champion and captain of his guard. Even with Louis inside their walls, they would not take any chances and remain alert for any assault.
The Lateran palace and archbasilica
Pope Stephen V, clad in the pure white of his office and bearing a simple white zucchetto on his head, waited for them in the steps leading up to the Archbasilica. It had been hard to convince the Holy Father to open the gates of Rome to the Carolingian emperor who had come knocking. Sometimes Theophylact felt that the Pope was a more martial and belligerent man than he was himself. He is a fierce as it is needed to protect the Church. He watched passively as Emperor Louis dismounted from his barded stallion and made for the Pope. The Carolingian knelt in front of the Supreme Pontiff and kissed the Fisherman’s Ring in a sign of respect and devoutness, though not submission. He and the Pope exchanged quiet words which Theophylact could not hear, and both entered the Archbasilica alone. He watched helplessly as the huge bronze doors closed behind them, wishing that he could join in. Instead, he steered his horse towards the Lateran Palace and dismounted himself.
Giuseppe Ottaviani was not far behind.
“Your time in Rome is coming to an end, Tusculani,” he snarled. “God will punish your simony and corruption, and if he doesn’t, well, Emperor Ludovico will. Mark my words.”
Theophylact kept his anger in control as Ottaviani pushed past him and entered the Lateran Palace, always one step ahead, it seemed. The Tusculan watched him go. The Count of Sabino had grown a splendid beard in spite of his youth ever since Theophylact had last seen him that fateful day at Torre Ottaviani. He dresses like a Frank now. Speaks like a Frank, serves a Frankish king and invites the Franks to invade and seize Rome.
He had never despised Giuseppe Ottaviani as much as he did now.
“A very charming man,” Adalberto Bonifazi noted as he dismounted from his own horse next to his son-in-law. Not even Theophylact could have missed the tone of sarcasm in the Margrave’s voice.
“How did this happen?” he asked forcefully. “How could you allow Ottaviani into Ludovico’s good graces?”
“I don’t rule over the Emperor, child,” answered Bonifazi, leading the younger man up the frontal stairs of the Lateran Palace. The doors were open to them, and they passed through into the opulent entrance hall. “Ludovico is a stern, but fair, man, you will find. Oh, don’t look so skeptical, I am well aware of the grudges you hold against him.”
“I would not call them grudges exactly, Adalberto,” Theophylact replied dejectedly, giving his father-in-law a stare. “I still remember the siege of 864. We Romans do not have a short memory.”
The Margrave sighed and shrugged.
“We all do things for family.”
Theophylact, on his turn, shook his head.
“We all do things for power.”
The older man smirked.
“You have changed, Teofilatto.”
At the Count of Tusculum’s lack of an answer to his provocation, Bonifazi paused his step and leant against a column in the arcade walkway which opened to the Lateran garden. He admired all the nature for a moment, but soon turned his attention back to Theophylact.
“Everywhere in Christendom, chaos reigns supreme,” he said grimly. “Saracens besiege us in Italia and Hispania. Heathens attack us from the East and the North. Brother fights brother in Francia and Germania. Each day it seems that Charlemagne’s dream escapes our fingers little by little.” Adalberto’s green eyes pierced Theophylact’s, just as Theodora’s were wont to do. “Not in Italy. The Emperor is an able ruler. He has kept the peace in his domain and rules justly from Pavia. The realm has prospered on account of his ability. Sometimes I cannot believe how much Florence has flourished in these past years. I have half a mind to leave Lucca and install my court there. All because Ludovico has been a good king, a good emperor, and a fair ruler. I understand your hatred for him, Teofilatto. But he is the very best Christendom has to offer today.”
Theophylact allowed the silence to linger for a moment, listening to the birds singing in the garden, blessed in the ignorance of the meeting that was taking place between two titans in the Archbasilica next door. Sometimes I wish I was ignorant. The commoner knows no burden. But knowledge and wisdom were his cross to carry. He turned his back to Adalberto Bonifazi and started to walk away in a determined step, calling back over his shoulder:
“If he is the best Christendom has to offer, no wonder we are doomed.”
***
Louis of Italy left Rome three days later. The Emperor and his army took the Appian way south, leaving the Eternal City unmolested in their wake. Their destination was Capua and, eventually, the city of Bari by the Adriatic coast in Apulia. Two cardinals accompanied the Emperor’s host, bearing letters of safe conduct and passage in the name of the Pope. The King of Italy had come to Rome to set things right with the Papacy and secure the Pontiff’s support for his campaign against the Saracens in Southern Italy. Pope Stephen had been enthusiastic at the Emperor’s proposed alliance against their common enemy. Whereas the Pope provided the funds and became the symbolic head of an anti-Saracen coalition of Southern Italian Catholic princes, the Emperor marched against the Saracen Al-Mawri Emirate in Apulia.
Southern Italy in the 860's.
Following the talks in Rome, Adalberto Bonifazi returned to Florence, though not before enjoying the hospitality of Villa Tusculanensis at his daughter’s insistence. The Margrave was not a warrior. He was a man of words, and his place wasn’t in the battlefield. On the other hand, Giuseppe Ottaviani marched with the Emperor’s host. Theophylact could only watch helplessly as his enemy was covered in imperial favor and glory, while he, the Pope’s champion, had remained behind in Rome. Counselled by Ottaviani, Louis would not entertain the idea of welcoming the untrustworthy Tusculan into his army. Instead, Ottaviani himself was appointed to a position of command and was promised estates and the riches of Apulia to himself and his house.
By the end of 869, news of Bari’s fall had reached Rome. Rather than lose his life and lands, the Emir had fallen on his knees before the Emperor and sworn him his everlasting service and loyalty, pledging himself to the Christian faith. A great victory for Christendom had been achieved by the Emperor and the Pope. A detente, if not peace, existed between Pavia and Rome. For Theophylact, who would have been otherwise ecstatic at the Saracen defeat in Southern Italy, word of the Emperor’s victory had come as bittersweet. Carolingian ambition had prevailed, and Emperor Louis had strengthened his hold over Italy and the leadership he intended to claim over the Christian world. Giuseppe Ottaviani, on the other hand, was welcomed back to Rome as a biblical hero would, having been part of the Conquest of Bari and having received significant boons and privileges from the Emperor. Ottaviani, who had seen himself friendless after Stephen V’s acclamation as Pope, was now perhaps the most popular man in Rome. The balance of power in the Papal court had shifted.
