by Jack Ludlow
‘Assures you, Flavius? My, how you have risen, and of such tender years too.’
He’s playing a part, Flavius thought, pretending to this gallery that there is an alternative when the whole impression of this encampment is one of a failed enterprise, it being nothing like it had been before, with boundless enthusiasm for a righteous cause. Even in extremis, when Hypatius and his army threatened, there had been an air of purpose. If he had inspired rebellion before, could Vitalian raise himself to do so again and for a fourth time? Flavius felt in his bones he could not.
‘And if I decline?’
‘General, I carry no threat. I have not been ordered to deal with such a consequence for the every simple reason that Justin cannot conceive it would be necessary. He invites you to the capital and will meet you in person.’
‘Outside the walls?’
Flavius knew where that question came from; on the first investiture of Constantinople, Anastasius had invited Vitalian and his officers to enter the city to treat for an accommodation. His subordinates had agreed and emerged impressed, safe and loaded with gold, as well as committed to the lifting of the siege. Vitalian had not, on the very good grounds that had he done so none of them would have emerged alive.
‘That is for His Imperial Highness to decide.’
‘It shall stick in my craw to address him so.’
That was a relief, for if it was not couched as such, it hinted at acceptance. ‘I think you will find it easier than you suppose, for he wears his station lightly.’
‘And when am I to be afforded this privilege?’
‘It is at your convenience but it is hoped that you will return with me and my men.’
‘Like a prisoner?’
He was playing to the crowd again and it was time to neutralise that. ‘The offer of amnesty applies to you, sir, and those you choose to lead your men.’
‘To counsel him?’
‘Perhaps to fight for the empire and not against it.’
‘Posts for all.’
‘Possibly.’
‘I would want that assured.’
‘Then I repeat, meet Justin and let him be the one to convince you, since I cannot commit him to anything other than my mission allows.’
‘You come in peace, Flavius, and will be treated as an honoured guest. But you must wait for your reply till I have discussed the offer with those who counsel me.’ His head spun to one side. ‘Vigilius, you have played host to this young man before, oblige me by doing so once more.’
‘My men and their mounts? They must be catered for before I am given comfort.’
That got the first smile; he was a good general who took care of his own men and he was clearly happy that Flavius felt likewise. ‘Vigilius, make it so.’
That his Excubitors were nervous was natural; they were ten men wearing imperial uniform, surrounded by what were still enemies and numerous, men who might not wait to ask what dogma they subscribed to before cutting their throats. Vigilius, once their horses had been fed and watered, with a couple of willing, young camp followers brought forth to groom them, led them to a communal tent, close to a long, low, wooden hut that was the general’s own quarters, then surrounded that with guards. Once food was brought to them and that dished out Flavius could do no more.
It spoke a great deal that Vigilius then led him to a tent of his own, albeit a beautifully appointed one, richly furnished, he being the son of a wealthy senatorial family, already with guards outside as befitted his rank. To still be under canvas after all this time drove home how temporary the whole rebellion was. Vitalian might hold sway over much of Northern Thracia, he might be able to tax its citizens and recruit its men, dispense justice and enforce its edicts, but there was no permanence. What he had here counted for little; what he needed lay in Constantinople and try as he might he could not get at it.
Food was brought to this tent as well, to be eaten off fine plate and washed down with good wine. Flavius found himself subject to gentle interrogation and if there was some genuine interest in his time fighting on the Persian frontier that was only a mask to allow Vigilius to probe into his reasons for being here and what he had left behind. The tale he told of the rise of Justin to the purple was only partially true; the devious machinations of Petrus were not mentioned so it was made to sound as if there had been no opposition to the elevation and no alternative candidates.
His host had never met Justin/Justinus and had, it seemed, barely heard of him, so much delving arose related to the imperial character, and as Flavius described him he was aware that it sounded too good to be real. Yet the man was a good and successful soldier and so honest he had difficulty in telling a lie without blushing. He had been loyal to Anastasius when he was alive and revered his memory now, even if it was plain he had never agreed with the policy against Chalcedon.
‘You make him sound like a paragon, Flavius.’
‘If I do, then it is because I cannot do otherwise, which is what I expect you to tell Vitalian when he questions you as you have queried me.’
That got a wry smile. ‘Are you going to tell me what I should say?’
‘If I was it would be to this effect. The general who commands you has served with Justin before. If he remembers the man from then, you could not say better than that he is the very same now.’ With that he stood. ‘I must make a last visit to my men.’
‘Then I must accompany you. The foederati will have been at their brew and that makes them dangerous.’
The vague noise of singing, which had penetrated the walls of the tent, became louder as they made their way through the encampment and being wistful it could hardly be reckoned as threatening. Vigilius explained if the Gautoi began their recitals with mournful ballads of their homeland, it would later turn to raucous renditions to the deeds of heroes and death to their foes.
‘If it gets out of hand, then Vitalian must personally soothe them, for they are fiercely loyal to him as their leader.’
‘No wonder he looks weary if he must attend to that every night.’
‘It is not every night.’
The sound was a backdrop to the carrying out of his final task for the day. When Vigilius suggested he return to his quarters to sleep, Flavius politely refused; he would stay with those he led and share their cots, this before he commanded his men to keep their weapons close by them throughout the night, as would he.
If the passing of the hours of darkness were noisy there was no threat of danger. Flavius woke to the sound of the guards being changed. He rose from his cot to observe that being carried out and to reassure himself that it was men of the right kind. Morning brought food, the means to wash and shave as well as a message for him to attend upon Vitalian when he was ready.
Again the general surrounded himself with his inferior commanders, making Flavius wonder if there was a lack of complete trust. It was something of a thought to hold on to and possibly pass on as Vitalian, having rehearsed his grievances and theirs, finally got to the point.
‘No man has the right to fight without just cause, therefore it is incumbent upon me to test the goodwill of my one-time comrade and see if his sudden rise has altered his character.’ There was yet again that inclusive turn before he came back to look Flavius hard in the eye. ‘But I will do so not only in the company of my sons and my officers but with my army at my back, and I will not accede to anything that favours me yet does not do likewise for them.’
‘So be it,’ Flavius replied.
Vitalian seemed to grow then, to become something of his old self, as in a loud and commanding voice he ordered that the camp be broken. ‘We depart at dawn!’
‘Which means that he is not at liberty to make a peace of his own. If he does, I think his officers will kill him.’
His audience with Justin was a private one; not even Petrus was in attendance, though Flavius had found enough time to relate to him what had occurred before being called into the private imperial chamber. He gave his report still with the mu
ck of several days march upon him, having come south with Vitalian to only part company when the rebel army was outside the walls and setting up yet again a siege camp, albeit their numbers made such a notion risible.
‘Should I go out to meet him?’
‘I doubt he will enter the city, but if you do so, Highness, I would take as many archers as you can muster.’
‘No,’ Justin mused. ‘I can see why you think it wise, Flavius, but I am a soldier still. To get what I want means the taking of risks, though I will make sure I am on a fleet-of-foot horse. If there is trickery, it is best shown without the walls. Once inside it would be impossible to detect.’
That took Flavius back to that hurried conversation with Petrus who, if he had listened, was also full of enough worry and barely suppressed anger to speak. Justin was having trouble imposing himself on the officials he had inherited from Anastasius and the palace was seething with scheming, his nephew certain that some were openly plotting against the imperial person, furious that he would not do what was necessary.
‘He will not remove them?’ Flavius had asked.
‘That is not how you deal with treachery. When you are faced with a snake, the best way to rid yourself of it is to cut off its head, but what does my uncle do? He wants to introduce another reptile into his presence and promises to hold him close.’
Justin did not go out to meet Vitalian entirely naked; he deployed the gloriously accoutred Scholae Palatinae, a unit that revelled in the opportunity to display themselves and appear as what they should have been: an effective imperial mounted bodyguard, to which Petrus remarked, ‘God help us if it all if goes wrong, because those overperfumed oafs will not.’
They were halted halfway between the walls and the point at which Vitalian waited, while Justin rode on with only Flavius Belisarius and a decharchia of Excubitors to protect his person. When close he dismounted and Vitalian responded likewise, the two closing to engage in a private conversation. No one was sure of what was being said for there seemed no physical sign of either amity or dispute.
Finally, Vitalian took a step back, to spin round and stride out to close with and face his troops. The distance meant the words he used to address them were rendered indistinct to the likes of Flavius, but the final effect, if it was some time in coming, was stunning. As one, the entire rebellious army withdrew their swords then knelt, each one held out in submission. Vitalian did likewise until Justin closed the gap and raised him up to be taken in a tight and brotherly embrace.
The cheers were from the walls as well as from those Vitalian had led there and they lasted all the way through the Golden Gate and up the Triumphal Way as, on foot, Justin led his old comrade to his palace. It hardly seemed to matter that his army, officers included, was left outside.
CHAPTER NINE
It was two months before Vitalian’s men were deployed on the Persian frontier, eight weeks in which the first two were spent outside of the walls of Constantinople. If allowed to enter it was in small groups and that applied even to the officers, so it was some time before Flavius was able to return hospitality to Vigilius. Not that he had him to himself; his colleagues in the Excubitor officers’ quarters were keen to quiz this guest who had campaigned for nearly three years in a less than perfect army.
More impressive was the way Justin treated the one-time rebel commander; Vitalian was raised to senatorial rank and granted a pension, his sons Bouzes and Coutzes promised favour and advancement in the offices of empire. For those who attended the meeting of the imperial council it must have been strange to find him not only present but listened to when he spoke, often to disagree with the Emperor, a way of behaviour most reckoned by long experience to be hazardous. They voiced their disagreements elsewhere and in private.
Vitalian’s army was fed and paid as would be any unit of the imperial army, in this case the only difference being that it was prompt in delivery for it was overseen by Justin personally and not left to officials who seemed to behave, when it came to paying soldiers, as if they were disbursing their own money. The Emperor wanted no trouble from disgruntled foederati outside his walls.
‘So you are to come with us, Flavius?’ Vigilius asked.
‘I am.’
‘And we are now of like rank?’
‘Does that cause resentment?’
‘Not with me but I daresay there are those who see how young you are and wonder how you can achieve the title of tribunos so quickly.’
‘Precocious ability,’ Flavius responded, though with enough of a grin to ensure it was not to be taken seriously.
‘Our newly elevated ruler obviously has great faith in you?’
‘Why do you never call him Emperor? I have heard you use every other possible word to refer to Justin but not that.’ It was the fact that Vigilius blushed and was plainly uncomfortable that made Flavius press the point. ‘Is it that you think him unfitted to the office?’
‘There must be many who do.’
‘Must?’
‘Where has he come from, Flavius? And is it fitting that a man who cannot read or write should rule over men who are trained in the arts of composition and rhetoric?’
‘Arts which they employ to confuse.’
‘These are matters that are beyond me.’
Sensing a desire not to get embroiled in a discussion that must, by definition, be insulting to his host, Vigilius changed the subject and began to talk about possible trouble on the frontier. If he was aware that he left Flavius feeling uncomfortable it did not show; perhaps his patrician upbringing had provided him with a carapace of protection against discomfiture.
‘The Gautoi will not react well to the heat.’
‘We are past high summer now and by the time we reach the border we may face rain and even snow so they are more likely to be at home than you or I.’
‘No fighting for a time, then?’
‘Not unless the Sassanids change their ways.’
The subject that Vigilius was keen to avoid was one Flavius took up with Petrus later the same day. The patrician class had never really supported even Anastasius, who had come to his eminence through the bedchamber of his predecessor’s widow, but they were probably even less enamoured of Justin. What worried the nephew was the increasingly open way those who held positions at the palace were making their disdain known.
‘A situation I could end within a day if he would allow me to.’
‘He will take you back into his confidence soon I am sure.’
‘Don’t patronise me, Flavius,’ Petrus spat back.
‘I didn’t mean it that way. If your uncle is foundering he cannot but be aware of it and who can he trust except you to remedy that?’
‘Perhaps he will elevate Vitalian,’ was the equally jaundiced response. ‘From what I am told he allows that stoat much licence.’
There was no point in even seeking to refute that description or to say that Justin probably reposed more trust in the views of a fellow soldier than he did in men who had risen to prominence through the known to be corrupt imperial bureaucracy, a body he had been unhappily observing for years.
‘He certainly trusts you now more than he does me.’
‘For which I do not accept any blame. And can I say that I was not pleased to be some cog in your scheming, either.’
‘Could I have trusted you to stay silent?’
‘You will never know, Petrus, because you never tried.’
‘You’re too like my uncle.’
‘Thank you for that. If it is a fault to you it is a compliment to me.’
Flavius was afforded another private audience with Justin before he departed for Asia Minor and one in which, given he had a licence to speak granted to few, he decided to plead the case of Petrus, not because he had forgiven him but because if Justin was having difficulty then his nephew was, even as a habitual intriguer, the person he could most rely on.
‘Not an opinion my wife would share.’
Tempted to respond by poi
nting out that pillow politics were a bad idea, Flavius asked instead how the lady was adjusting to being the Empress Euphemia.
‘She never took to living in the palace before, as you know, but she seems content now that we occupy the imperial apartments and no one dare look down their nose at her.’
‘Apartments within which she proffers to you political advice?’
‘Careful, young man! That is not a territory to stray into.’
Flavius did not know Euphemia well but he was aware she was strong of mind, a person not afraid to express her opinions and she would be doing that to her spouse regardless of his new eminence. She was also deeply religious, with a particular fondness for the saint whose name she had adopted. Her lack of regard for her nephew sprang from a deep and genuine piety; Petrus appeared too cynical for her, a man who used religion rather than adhering to it.
Justin too was religious but without being so fervent as to be blinded. He came across as one who trusted God to see into men’s souls and make his decisions as to the rightness of their beliefs, hence his pardoning of Vitalian, not to mention the way he had embraced him, and not only physically. Was he too trusting? Did he, Flavius, have the right to pronounce upon such a matter? If Justin had become like a surrogate father to him it was his real parent that counted now. Decimus Belisarius had been adamant that a true Roman never wavered from the need to speak truth to the powerful.
‘It must be confusing to go from comes Excubitorum to where you are now, Highness.’
‘Such formality, Flavius, when we are alone?’
‘Would it trouble you to know that I have concern for you, for the burden you carry?’
Justin favoured him with an avuncular smile. ‘If you have a worry, Flavius, make it that you survive another bout with the Sassanid.’
‘I would not presume to advise you—’
‘But you are about to,’ came the sharp interruption.