by Jack Ludlow
‘These things are a mystery even to the women who bear the consequences,’ was her answer when he enquired gently as to her seeming ignorance. ‘You can only be certain when you feel the first kick.’
If she claimed ignorance of what constituted a pregnancy that was more than Flavius knew and further probing suggested that the conception may have occurred on the very night he had been told by Procopius of her possible infidelity, which Antonina recalled fondly, but also with a wistful aside that there had been no reoccurrence of the passion he had then shown.
‘Perhaps you require the threat of being killed to rouse you, Flavius.’
‘I live with that, Antonina, every time I go out to fight.’
Even with the torture of uncertainty Flavius had to assume the child was his own and he wavered between joy and, in his darker moments, the contrary thought. But it was impossible not to become solicitous, to seek to ensure that his wife was comfortable, even if he was aware that his secretary saw him as perhaps being taken for a fool.
The first sight of Constantinople was the number of high domes of the many churches that dotted the seven hills of the city, looking vague in the smoke from the many fires that had been lit to ward off what the inhabitants saw as cold, this added to all-year-round fug from cooking charcoal. The wind being in the east there was the smell of the city too, highly unpleasant after time spent at sea, then the crowded approach to the main channel before their vessels peeled off to moor at the pier of the imperial palace.
The court had been forewarned and there was a signal mark of honour in the sheer number of high functionaries lined up to greet the returning hero. Gelimer was on the deck, in chains he had been free of throughout the voyage, this for show, likewise the other Vandal captives. It took longer to berth than was actually required, this to allow the imperial couple to be there on the landing stage – not for them a long wait even for an imperial hero.
The whole quay was lined with Excubitors in their finest regalia and if the trumpets were used to greet the presence of Justinian and Theodora they were blown again when the gangplank was lowered and Flavius Belisarius, his wife on his arm, came on to dry land.
‘Is there a finer sight in all Christendom to compare with you, Flavius?’
‘I can think of many, Highness.’
‘How can you be modest at a time like this, a year away and you return a conqueror?’
Flavius turned and bowed to Theodora, a deep obeisance that disguised his thoughts that this woman might be his enemy.
‘We welcome you,’ was her regal response. ‘And you, Antonina, whom I have much missed.’
His wife being led slightly away to converse with Theodora had Flavius guessing at what they might discuss amid the realisation that from now on he would be in ignorance. There would be no letters to read between two women who could now talk to each other. There was in any case another matter to attend to.
Procopius was behind Flavius again, he knew that without looking, just as he was aware his secretary would be dying for another chance of an introduction that might gain him such recognition; attached as he was to Flavius Belisarius, Procopius was in the presence of the fount of all patronage, a rare event for a man of his standing and one not to be lightly thrown away, as he had hinted on more than one occasion since leaving Carthage.
‘If I may be allowed to insist, Highness,’ Flavius began, only to be interrupted.
‘What could I possibly refuse you?’
Trust was on the Belisarius lips, but could not be uttered here, so he turned and brought forward his secretary, fulfilling what was to him an obligation. ‘I ask you to acknowledge Procopius, who aided me much in my campaign.’
‘A soldier?’ Justinian asked, the air of confusion obvious; anyone senior he would have known of, anyone junior was another matter.
‘My secretary.’
The Emperor looked confused for a moment but it was just a flash across his features. He obviously concluded this fellow was important to Flavius so he proffered a hand to be kissed, which was duly done by a bowing Procopius. The point at which he followed that up by trying to speak was embarrassing and not only to him. Justinian’s hand was so abruptly withdrawn and so swiftly hooked into the arm of Flavius that the pair were moving past him before Procopius was once more fully upright.
‘I am agog to meet this Gelimer and I am eager to hear what you think we should do with him.’
‘I wondered if the treasure we brought home might be of more interest, Highness.’
‘I am never able to fox you, Flavius, you know me too well.’
How often does he say that? How often do I doubt it to be true?
Antonina, less occupied than her husband, had seen the flash of anger on the face of Procopius at being so condescended to and she burst out laughing, which had Theodora curious as to the cause. Her newly returned friend leant to whisper in the imperial ear, words which Procopius could not overhear, but then he hardly needed to for the Empress laughed as well, this after throwing him a quick and sneering glance. Then they followed their respective spouses, leaving him isolated and unsure what to do.
‘You have fought a free campaign, Highness.’
‘So it would seem.’
Justinian had been much impressed by what he had seen aboard the ship carrying the Vandal treasure and that had only been a partial glance at the top layer of deep coffers. Gelimer he had chastised for the murder of Hilderic, asking how he could give orders to kill a man so committed to peace, a king who had opened the Catholic cathedral and appointed a bishop of that faith.
‘A Germanic king is elected to fight, not to make peace or bishops. My brother could not lead our armies, therefore he forfeited the right to his liberty.’
‘And his death?’
‘Falls to you and your army. If you had not invaded he would still be alive. I had no desire to kill him but my brother carried out the deed because you might have reinstated him in my place. Then Hilderic would have killed me. Do not think him a saint.’
‘I have read the terms of your surrender at Medeus and I wonder if Flavius Belisarius here was a mite too generous. Perhaps I should visit upon you that which you had visited upon your elder brother.’
‘Kill me if you wish. I will not plead.’
‘Flavius?’
‘I gave my word, Highness, I would be unhappy to see it breeched.’
The silence was long-lasting enough to induce concern, for Flavius was prepared to argue if the surrender terms he had agreed with Gelimer were not met, given it impinged on his honour.
‘We will decide after the triumph, in which you will be the most puissant prisoner. Then perhaps we will evoke those old Roman habits that my good friend here is so wedded to and invite him to strangle you. Come, Flavius, it is time to take you to my private rooms where we can lay out our plans for that event.’
‘A triumph?’
‘You deserve no less.’
That did surprise Flavius: no one but a reigning emperor had been granted a triumph for decades and no general leading the armies of the Eastern Empire had ever been gifted one. It seemed politic to claim he was hardly worthy.
‘I will decide who is worthy, my friend. Now we must go, for we have little time before the banquet I have arranged to allow those rogues that surround me to welcome you back.’
They were walking now, back onto the quay, leaving Theodora and Antonina gazing lovingly at the Vandal treasure, with Justinian talking in his usual rapid fashion.
‘Does that Gelimer think I will break your word? Does he really think we went to all that trouble to put his brother back on the throne?’
They passed Procopius who bowed once more only to be ignored for a second time in the sand of one glass. All he got was a sympathetic look from his employer and a quick aside.
‘Stay aboard, Procopius, and I will send for you.’
It was a still-smarting secretary, sorting his scrolls before unloading, who got the message sent to him by Fla
vius, to say that he had secured for him a place at the imperial banquet and enclosing a pass that would get him past the Excubitors and into the palace. He was advised to wear his best clothing and to understand that if he would be very far from the imperial presence it was the best his grateful general could do.
The clothing in which Procopius presented himself to at the Watergate was splendid garb indeed. Honest he might be but the wardrobe of the Vandal royals had fallen to the Romans when Carthage was occupied and he saw no difficulty in borrowing their finery. It was pleasing so attired to be treated with deep respect, not only by the imperial guards but those he was sat next to, who took him for someone much more important than he really was.
When they found he had been with and close to Flavius Belisarius his stock with those same people rose even more, he being a fount of information about the campaign which occasioned many a smile from a man in his element. There was only one person subjected to an infrequent glare and that was Justinian, though care had to be taken not to be too obvious in his loathing.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
In all his previous sojourns in the imperial palace, even as an acknowledged confidant of Justinian, even as the Victor of Dara, Flavius Belisarius had not been seen as someone with whom it was vital to be on good terms but now that was utterly reversed. It seemed no courtier or official felt comfortable without some insight into his thinking on matters of policy and those included areas where he had no interest: taxation and the new code of laws being drawn up at the Emperor’s behest.
Strangest of all the questions posed to him was his view on the rebuilding of the massive Church of St Sophia, set alight during the Nika riots and burnt to the ground. The new building was now well on its way to completion, when it would be seen by the citizens as a basilica that would proclaim the glory of God as well as the empire and dwarf anything that had gone before. It would certainly meet the aim of Justinian, to render insignificant the Church of St Peter in Rome, built by Constantine the Great.
‘I am happy for it to be built, Highness, and I am sure it will be a thing of great beauty shorn of its scaffolding, but my opinion on its merits, what is that worth?’
‘Do not think they really care about St Sophia, Flavius, it is merely a ploy to get you to converse with them. In time, the topic of conversation will not be my new church but me and the way I govern the empire, which they will suspect you and I discuss.’
‘Then it will be wasted breath,’ was his reply.
‘But any act of a military nature I undertake will be led by you and everyone knows that. They also know that early knowledge provides a chance to profit from it.’
Flavius suspected that would be Italy; since the death of Athalaric there had to be turmoil and Justinian would be determined to exploit that, indeed it had been loosely alluded to. During this conversation the question Flavius wanted to ask died on his lips as he contemplated, and not for the first time since landing, asking Justinian if he had believed the tale of his plan to rebel, something that had not been mentioned and was clearly being treated as if it had never happened.
Flavius was not beyond a touch of reserve on the matter; he made no mention of having interrogated those tribunes in Carthage or what he had deduced, which had him wonder if he was absorbing the mores of the place where he now spent most of his time, the palace and the Senate House, and his being a full member of Justinian’s council exposed Flavius to a community he would rather not have been part of.
He needed no telling that the palace was a fount of secret manoeuvres, of officials jockeying for a sliver of advantage, usually by damning their rivals. It was made worse because he had come from a task in which he was clearly the sole fount of authority and if he had been intrigued, against that was better than being a part of the morass he was now embroiled in.
Only in one area was he studiously alert; the relationship with Antonina he kept on an even keel and her being with child was an aid to that, allowing him to be solicitous without too much intimacy. Despite what he knew, the only thing that could flow from any accusations of bad faith would be yet further misery with a woman to whom he was bound by the most holy of sacraments.
Then there was the rapport his wife enjoyed with Theodora who might take any slight against Antonina as one against herself. They had resumed their previous intimacy and joy in each other’s company as if there had been no gap in time, the only difference now being that he seemed to be excluded from a fellowship of which he had previously been a part. Whatever set the pair giggling no longer included him and the message he took from that was that his wife had a greater lever on imperial favour than he did.
Justinian was prone to waver even when he was dealing with someone he insisted was a trusted friend, while Theodora had a constancy of purpose the Emperor lacked, which was made obvious by the way his promised triumph was whittled down from grandeur to an event that would not diminish the imperial standing. It had all started so well as Justinian enthused about what was to come, exposing a desire for pomp and ceremony that Flavius had never perceived before.
‘We shall have a proper Roman triumph,’ had been the Justinian declaration. ‘You in a chariot painted blue, crowned with laurels, your prisoners dragged along in chains and your soldiers parading at their rear.’
Normally quite physically constrained, in discussing the plans he became quite animated so it was doubly noticeable when that stopped and he began to slice away at things, the first part of the ceremony to go being the chariot.
‘It is perhaps not fitting for even a general as successful as you to take upon yourself that which is reserved for monarchy.’ Justinian looked somewhat sheepish as he continued, ‘You will, of course, be splendidly garbed.’
‘On my horse?’
‘Perhaps on foot.’
The prisoners he kept, and the chains, which were symbolic in any case. The notion of his whole comitatus marching in his wake was shortened by the bucellarii he had left with Solomon and was now further cut by Justinian to a mere numerus of his best troops. The embarrassment with which these economies were spoken of led Flavius to believe that Theodora was at the back of them and that was borne out by her continued behaviour.
She did not trust him. Not only was he too close to her husband, he was now too successful. Flavius guessed in her view that if there was any opposition to Justinian, and by extension herself, he would be the focus around which it would coalesce. To deny it would achieve nothing and he was aware that the way he was cornered by other senators, even if the talk was innocent, only fuelled her suspicions, given she had no idea what was being discussed. His own mistrust of his wife barred him seeking to use her as a conduit.
It is not pleasant to feel there is nothing you can do about a misperception. The idea Theodora obviously entertained, that he hankered after the diadem, was firmly rooted in her own fear of being torn apart by the mob. Emperors were rarely popular; they taxed, they punished and they built up over time a rising tide of grievances, but within that Justinian was not doing as badly as some of his predecessors. He had peace on the eastern border, albeit a bought one, and his favourite general had brought not only North Africa back into the imperial fold but a treasure so great it had been fought at a profit.
‘Added to that, the mob have forgiven me for my part in the Nika riots and I am hailed wherever I go.’
‘How she must hate that.’
Procopius being right did not make matters any easier, for there was always the fear that Theodora would allow her imaginings to get out of control and seek to dispose of him.
‘I cannot see how you will be safe if you do not speak with Justinian.’
‘And say what?’
‘You are at risk,’ his secretary insisted, before adding, ‘Not that I would believe any assurances he gave me.’
‘Then, what is the point?’
‘It tells him you’re aware of the dangers, and who knows, he may stay her vitriol because he needs you. He is the only one who can s
top Theodora, and from what you say that might be necessary.’
It had to be done, Flavius knew it as well as Procopius, but there was the timing to add to the reluctance. The suggestion that Justinian might, as had his uncle of old, take a walk on the greensward with Flavius in company was not met with instant approval; the nephew was neither a lover of the outdoors or much in the way of physical exercise, which in truth he scarcely needed, given his frantic way of pacing the palace corridors. As usual, they walked past men exercising with weapons, but whereas Justin had shown interest his nephew eschewed none and nor was he fooled into thinking that this was just a friendly stroll.
‘So, Flavius, now that you have me where no one can overhear what we say …?’
‘I need the answer to certain questions and only you possess them.’
‘Need? I have ceased to be accustomed to that.’
There was a degree of annoyance in the imperial tone. Justinian had grown into his role; any nerves he had displayed, albeit in private, after his elevation or during the Nika riots had evaporated now. He was not open to his subjects demanding anything, never mind his inner thoughts.
‘Then I am going to encroach on our past association to seek answers.’
‘And I will use that past association to warn you to show some care.’
He would know what was coming: Justinian was not a fool, but it was clear the first query threw him. ‘My triumph, which is rapidly becoming a sham.’
‘Imperial dignity,’ was the reply, a slow response and one that was as evasive as it was unsatisfactory.
‘Yours, Highness, or that of your wife?’ Getting no immediate reply Flavius continued. ‘What was her reaction when those messengers came from Carthage to tell you I was preparing to rebel?’
Looking at him Flavius was sure he was going to deny that any such message had come to him, but it was an exchanged look and a flinty-eyed one from Flavius that told His Imperial Highness that would not wash.