A Flame in Byzantium aoc-1

by Chelsea Quinn Yarbro

  This is not a request intended to impose upon your goodwill or upon your other obligations; you have entrusted me with the task of saving Roma from the forces of Totila, and it is my intention to do so, but without the aid I have already indicated, the loss of men and equipment currently available would place our risks much higher than you have indicated before was acceptable to you and to the Empire.

  While we have been able to forage for half the food for men and stock, we are still not sufficiently supplied that we can march for more than a day without stopping to renew provisions. This has seriously impeded our progress and is likely to increase as we move into part of the country where Totila and his men have already raided and plundered. This would sow discontent not only with the soldiers of the army, but with the people. We have already had the gates of one monastery closed against us, and we do not wish to have this occur again.

  If you will take the time to discover what is slowing the delivery of the supplies we were assured from the first would be available, then perhaps this campaign may be able to proceed in the manner you have said from the first was your preference in speed and disposition of land and peoples.

  I have read Your Most August Majesty's letter to me, and I with you lament the steady stream of people from Roma into the other ports of the Empire. Sadly, unless these people are treated like slaves, there is nothing we can do to compel them to remain in their homes and within the gates of Roma. I seek your advice, for I must tell you frankly and with great reluctance that the Bishop of Roma himself, from his stronghold with his clergy at Monte Casino, will do nothing. Three times I have sent messengers to him, and once I attempted to see him myself and in all instances we were refused with only prayers to guide us. The prayers are welcome, and I am grateful even for that much, but food and arrows would be more to my liking at the moment.

  It is not my intention to cause you distress, August Majesty, but I am sure that if there is not some significant change in the manner in which this war is conducted soon, then it is not impossible that we will not make the advances here that you have said you wish. With proper supplies, the monies we needed, ships at our disposal and additional troops, we have an excellent chance to reclaim our preeminence in Italy.

  Let me urge you to devote time and consideration to the plight of your men here in Italy, and to the fate of this country should it fall into the hands of that barbarian Totila. We will forfeit more than land if we cannot provide the protection and aid that is desperately needed and desired by these people as well as by Your August Majesty.

  My prayers blend with your own in supplication for aid at this time, and I place myself and the lives of my men and the people of this country in the hands of God as well as in the hands of Your August Majesty.

  With all duty and reverence,

  Belisarius, General

  4

  Only one of the fountains still ran, and it was little more than a sluggish stream instead of the bright, soaring cascades that had greeted Belisarius when he first was given the right to use this villa outside the walls of Roma. He stood beside the huge marble basin, one booted foot resting on the rim, and stared into the brackish depths. His face was leaner than it had been a month ago, and the lines in it had deepened. He looked up, squinting, as he heard footsteps coming toward him.

  "God's blessing this morning, General," said Drosos at his most amiable, raising his voice enough so that the greeting would carry to those nearby.

  "And on you," Belisarius said with less enthusiasm than his Captain showed.

  "I've finished inspection, and it should take little more than an hour for my boys to be out of here for good."

  "That's fast," said Belisarius, trying to make his approval apparent to the other man. "And the others?"

  "Ask their Captains, not me," Drosos chuckled, coming to stand beside the General. "I have all I can contend with to watch my own men."

  "Sensible," the General nodded. "Can you venture a guess?"

  "I'd say that we'll be away from here by midmorning." He indicated the villa. "It's a shame to have to give this up."

  "But with Totila so close, we'd be increasing our disadvantage if we remain. This villa could easily become a trap," Belisarius reminded him. "It's a pity, but it can't be helped."

  "And what do we tell Olivia? It is her villa; willed to her by an old friend, many years ago, or so she said. How do we explain that this place which she loaned to us and which we promised to care for has been left for the Ostrogoths to pick clean—which they will. Look around you: she has treasures here. The statues, the library—"

  "You're impressed with books and murals?" Belisarius said with surprise.

  Drosos hesitated before he answered, as if the idea were new to him. "I suppose I am." He shrugged, continuing awkwardly. "Perhaps being here, seeing all these things… There are over a thousand volumes in the library and there are thirty-seven statues in the villa. I've never had the chance to…"

  "And there is Olivia," Belisarius added when Drosos did not go on.

  "Yes; there is Olivia. These are her things." He broke off, staring unseeing at the far wall. "But that's not all. She has shown me that there is worth in art and books, that they are more than the trophies of a wealthy life."

  "Olivia is a woman of the old school," Belisarius said, hoping it was true. "She has some of the old Roman virtues left to her and she will not blame you or me if the barbarians get inside the compound."

  "Still," Drosos objected vaguely.

  "You might as well mourn for the horses she provided us—only two of them are alive now, and there were more than thirty in the stables when she left. Or the nine slaves that remained to care for us—they were gone weeks ago." He took his foot off the marble rim of the fountain. "Or for that matter, why not regret that the barbarians are here at all? and that we must meet their forces with our own or lose everything in Italy."

  "You know what troubles me," Drosos said, deliberately lowering his voice to a soft growl.

  "I suspect, I don't know," said Belisarius, peering into the early morning sun. Of the six hours of the day and the six hours of the night, this one was his favorite, when the world was still fresh and promising.

  Drosos hitched his shoulders awkwardly. "I miss that woman. I know we had to send her away, but by the Dormition, I miss her."

  "And does she miss you?" Belisarius asked without much interest.

  "I hope so. When we get back to Constantinople, I intend to find out." He put one hard, square hand on his sword belt. "It will be easier then, with no battles, no war to distract us."

  "You assume you will be returned to Constantinople," Belisarius said wearily. "There are other posts in the Empire, and you may find yourself at any one of them." He stretched and then tugged at the end of his pallium which was wrapped across the segmented links of his old-fashioned loricae. "Shoes of the Evangelists! I'm as stiff as a white-bearded monk this morning."

  Drosos had seen this before. "It's the campaign," he said knowledgeably. "You always sleep ready to fight the night before we break an established camp. Remember the morning we left Africa? You said it hurt to breathe." He patted the General on the shoulder once, a familiarity that was permitted few of the other Captains. "Have the farrier put some of that camphor salve on it—it stopped my roan's lameness in a day."

  "If it lingers through the day," said Belisarius, knowing that the tight muscles would be eased as soon as he climbed into the saddle and finally got moving. He never felt so vulnerable as he did at this stage—when he and his men were preparing to leave, but were not yet ready to march.

  Two other officers, one of them holding a chip of bone to his lips, ambled into the courtyard. They were both fresh from their morning prayers, as Nikolaos' relic showed. He lifted it toward Leonidas, and the other man also kissed what was believed to be part of the index finger of the Apostle Loukas.

  "Do you think that is genuine?" Drosos wondered aloud. It was a question he would put to no one but the G
eneral, whose discretion was as absolute as his loyalty.

  "Nikolaos believes it is, and that may be sufficient. I don't like to venture guesses. How many times have I seen scraps of Mother Maria's robes or the head of the Spear of the Crucifixion offered in the marketplace next to fresh fruit and new bread?" Belisarius shook his head. "It may be genuine. It may be all that is left of some poor creature who died walking from Jerusalem to Damascus."

  "The Emperor has the Lord's Shroud," said Drosos with very little emotion.

  Belisarius said nothing. He cocked his head. "Horses, coming fast."

  At once Drosos' manner changed; he moved quickly and with surprising speed as he shouted to the other two officers. "Nikolaos, Leonidas, now!"

  The other two responded at once, sprinting across the courtyard to the central part of the villa where they began to shout orders to the men still there.

  Belisarius hurried toward the stables at the back of the second atrium. He no longer felt the stiffness in his body and he lifted his head in anticipation of news and fighting. He was almost at the stables when he heard Drosos' shout and a clarion signal. Immediately he hurried back toward the entrance to the villa.

  Drosos was waiting for him, holding the steaming horse of the Emperor's messenger. He had summoned one of Belisarius' slaves to tend to the messenger and had just issued instruction for the care of the lathered horse.

  "The Emperor honors me," said Belisarius as soon as he did not have to shout to be heard. There were now more than ten men in the courtyard, all gathered near the messenger.

  "The Emperor tends to all those who are his subjects," said the messenger, sounding more fatigued than devoted.

  "And I am to have words from him. I thank him and I thank God for this distinction." Belisarius longed to reach up and take the scroll from the man, but that would be intolerable to the man and to Justinian, so he waited until the slave finally arrived with a suitable stool so that the man could dismount in complete safety and not risk dropping the scroll he carried.

  Once that ceremony had been observed, Belisarius took the scroll and retired to the dining room that now served as the officers' chapel. He broke the seals in the presence of his officers and the two priests who accompanied them, and then read the scroll.

  "Leonidas, Drosos, Savas, Hipparchos, Omerion, you are all being distinguished by the Emperor Justinian, who is ever the champion of God and his people. You are ordered to return to Constantinople in forty days, at which time you are to tender a complete and unbiased report of what has taken place here in Italy. Furthermore, each of you is instructed to keep daily records from now until your time of departure, and to tell no one of the contents of those records until such time as the Imperial Censor shall examine them for the August Majesty." He sighed; such orders did not bode well.

  The five officers all accepted their orders with enthusiasm, but Drosos tried to catch his General's eye as he did.

  "I am required to make a catalogue of misdeeds of our soldiers here in Italy and see that it is placed in the files of the Imperial Censor, along with any record of punishment meted out for the action of the soldiers." That would cause more rancor than the daily reports, he knew, but he would not dispute a direct order from Justinian. "If there are goods, chattels and other properties to be shipped back to Constantinople, the messenger must be informed so that proper allocation of space and slaves may be made. The messenger has the Emperor's mandate to see all of you are treated with greatest respect and attention, and you are assured that nothing of value need be discarded or left behind unless you would rather not be hampered by the material, in which case access to markets in Italy will be guaranteed by Justinian." He could not imagine how the Emperor could make such promises, and having made them, fulfill them, but he knew better than to question what Justinian said and did. He held out the scroll to the messenger. "You have witnessed the notification of these officers. Is there anything more I need do while you are in my presence?"

  "No, General, not at the moment," said the messenger, who looked overcome with fatigue now that his actual duties had been discharged.

  "Very well. You will be escorted to quarters here, if that is your wish, although we are about to move out. We can also arrange for you to travel in a litter or—" All his life since he had become a soldier Belisarius had taken care to treat messengers well; they were far too important to ignore simply because they did no fighting.

  "Any provision you make, General, will be acceptable. I am tired, but…"He finished the thought with a shrug.

  "Then we will order a litter, so that you may rest and not have to be jostled about on a horse." He clapped his hands and was gratified when one of the household slaves hurried up. "This man needs food, and while he is eating, order a litter made ready for him, so that he can travel when we leave." He realized that in giving that order he had just pushed back their departure the better part of an hour, but he could think of no alternative.

  "General?" Leonidas asked.

  "Yes?" He waited while the young Captain ordered his thoughts. "What is it?"

  "How long do you think we will be here? Not this place, but in the vicinity of Roma?"

  "That is hard to say, but since you are returning to Constantinople, there is no reason for you to be concerned about the army in Italy." He smiled to show that he had no opinions on the matter one way or the other.

  "But what will this do to the plans we have been following?" It was a question they all wanted to ask but had hesitated to bring to Belisarius' attention, for this change in officers would seriously alter the strength of his forces.

  "That," Belisarius said slowly, "will depend on what Justinian decides to do in regard to our men here. If he sends the troops he has said that he would, we will be able to maintain our positions; if he does not send the troops and supplies, or if they are not sent in time, then the situation becomes a great deal more grave. As you are aware, we are not at the advantage now, and to recover it will take time and real effort."

  "And the troops?" asked Drosos.

  "If we have seasoned troops, good Roman and Greek fighters, we will be more likely to succeed than if the men are new to war or are from those peoples who delight in pillage. Some of the Italians are already abused by our men, and they resent this. If we continue in the same manner, then any support we might hope for will be lost." He shook his head once. "We must strive to carry out the orders of the Emperor."

  "How?" was the reasonable question Drosos put forth for all of them.

  "Ah, if I knew that, I would be one with the Saints and God. We will pray that if there can be victory, we will be shown the way to achieve it." He saw an odd look on the messenger's face, and then the man was following the slave into the villa.

  "I say these orders bode ill for our campaign," announced Omerion, who was lean and tough as a ship's mast.

  "That may be, but keep such thoughts to yourself, for your own protection," said Belisarius. "There are those in Constantinople who would turn your sentiments to your disadvantage; the court is not the army. Here we may gossip, but there a few unguarded words can endanger your life." He gave a signal. "All right. Everyone back to work. Assemble in front of the walls before midday and we will start then." That would be much later than he would have wished, but there was no chance now to move up their leaving. Cursing softly, Belisarius started away toward the stables, his attention more on the messenger than on the journey of the day.

  "Belisarius," said Drosos behind him, half-running to catch up with the General.

  "What is it, Drosos?" He kept walking, but slowed his pace until the Captain was abreast of him.

  "I want to know what you really think about the orders. I know you can't say much in front of the men, but, by the Horns of Moses, you can say more to me."

  They emerged from the hallway into haze-brilliant sunlight. Around them men were struggling to be prepared to march. The noise was tremendous, compounded of shouts and brays, of the sounds of hammers and winches an
d wagons. Belisarius strode along, careful to stay out of the way of the work, and Drosos dropped slightly behind him.

  "Belisarius," Drosos insisted as they reached the tents where the saddlers and farriers kept their supplies.

  "Yes, I know. What do I think about the orders. I don't know yet. I don't know what Justinian is preparing, but I am certain that he must be preparing something." He ducked through a tent flap and called out, "Begoz."

  A gnarled old man answered the call. "Here, master. I have been doing what I can since before dawn, but you—"

  "I am not criticizing you, Begoz," Belisarius assured him. "I only want to know what progress you've made."

  The old man shook his head and indicated the trunks half-filled and standing against the canvas wall. "There's not been enough time, sir. Not enough at all. I want to do you credit, but to do that, I need several more hours, and it hasn't been possible, what with all the comings and goings." As he continued his recitation, his voice took on a whine that was irritating to both Belisarius and Drosos. "You see, when someone orders something special, well, it means that I have to take extra care, and with some of these youngsters coming to me with worn girths and broken saddle-frames, what can I do? They need their tack for battle, don't they? and that means that such orders as yours must be postponed. You can see why this is so difficult for me."

  "Yes," said Belisarius with more patience than he would have thought necessary. "And I know that a craftsman of your skill is not going to make a saddle that is anything less than the best you can provide. However, I think you might be a little more vigilant."