by Jack Ludlow
‘Highness.’
Justinus bowed as he presented his emperor with the overnight reports of disturbances in the city, the first personal duty of the day, not that Anastasius would read them; nor could Justinus recite them to him, for that, reading and writing, was an area in which he utterly lacked the skill. The nephew on whom he depended being absent he presented a summary given to him by a literate servant, though there was very little to report from that sent in by the praefectus urbanus; the previous night Constantinople had been quiet.
‘A dispute in the docks between sailors from Alexandria and others from Latakia, a few wine shops destroyed and heads broken, but no reported deaths.’
The old man nodded, which upset the barber trying to dress his hair, not that the fellow let his irritation be known to the subject of his attentions; Justinus picked it up because he saw the eyes flash for a second. Like all functionaries he cared only for his own role in palace life; it mattered not to him that a fear of riot was a constant in the mind of the emperor and with good cause. The capital was a feverish melting pot of many races and, though underground, any number of outright criminals as well as creeds that refused to adhere to official edicts on religion.
Anastasius himself had experienced how dangerous this could be, and all due to, as was the case in Thrace, his stance on religion. He had, in the year ’12, been massively troubled by uproar, had seen his statues cast down as well as those of his predecessors, the homes of his relatives set on fire, and the disturbances only snuffed out when he offered himself before the febrile mob in the Hippodrome and proposed he stand aside if they put up another candidate. Fickle as ever, they cheered him to the heavens!
Then there were the factions called the Greens and the Blues, originally supporters of the rival teams of charioteers, now more a pair of groupings representing different parties in the city. Loosely they were low-class mobs controlled by either the old Greco-Roman aristocracy or the bustling merchant class. The leaders would happily bring their supporters onto the streets in pursuit of some policy that suited their interests, naturally opposed by the other side which had them engaging in an endless ritual of tit-for-tat and bloody violence.
With the members of these factions numbered in their tens of thousands no one could be sure the troops quartered in the city were numerous enough to contain the danger – they were certainly too few to crush either community – and emperors were frequently obliged, like Anastasius, to appear before the mob in the Hippodrome to placate them over a policy inimical to their interests. Often it was politic that they should consider fleeing the capital and more than one emperor had faced being deposed; God help the man who aspired to rule who did not have some kind of approval.
‘Enough.’
Anastasius issued this command in a voice as soft as the wave of his bejewelled hand, which was sufficient to send packing the man attending to his hair. Another command cleared the chamber of others waiting to attend upon him, which made Justinus curious, for it implied that his master wished to converse with him without being overheard. As an extra precaution he spoke in the Illyrian dialect common to both, Anastasius being a native of Dyrrhachium on the Adriatic coast.
‘You have seen the reports of how matters fare in the Diocese of Thrace.’
‘I have had them relayed to me, Highness.’
‘You know Vitalian as well as any man in my service, Flavius Justinus, do you not?’
The use of the full name had the commander of the guard stiffen, for it seemed too formal. He did indeed know Vitalian, for he had served under the general during the recent Persian War and helped him to put down the Isuarian risings that had plagued the early years of the present reign.
‘I need to be aware,’ Anastasius continued, his voice still low and even, ‘before I attend the council, if the threat he presents to us is real or sham.’
There were always times in the life of a court official, and Justinus was that, when a choice had to be made as to whether to be truthful, as against others, or whether it was more prudent to tell the emperor what he wanted to hear. No position was safe; every appointment was in the imperial gift and could be removed at a stroke, albeit such an action in certain cases was not without risk to the emperor: some men were too powerful to just dismiss, and if a ruler wanted to be sure of success it was safer to kill the person in question, sometimes including his family.
‘General Vitalian is not a man to issue a false challenge.’
‘A threat, then?’
‘I would say it would be wise to treat him so.’
What he could not say was that the policy enacted to give him cause to rebel was foolish, doubly so when Vitalian, a committed Christian and strong in his support for Chalcedonian beliefs, commanded the only decent-sized force of soldiers on the European side of the capital. Added to that, camped as he was in a region that supported his views on dogma, he would have no trouble in recruiting others to his banner.
‘Given the difficulty that Vitalian is creating, I cannot see it as wise to alienate what support we enjoy on the Danube border.’
Justinus now knew why Anastasius had cleared the room and spoke in dialect, this being a subject that when discussed, his guard commander had requested be overheard by no one. He also suspected he knew what was coming.
‘Given the possibility of serious disturbances, I suggest that you give instructions that the commission headed by Petrus Sabbatius is to be recalled for the time being. He will not have got far I suspect. Dealing with the complaints of your old comrade …’ That got another waved hand, until Justinus provided the name. ‘Belisarius will have to wait.’
‘We are all yours to command, Highness,’ Justinus replied, making sure that whatever anger he felt was well concealed.
‘Be so good as to call back in my attendants.’
Which was, without the need to say so, a dismissal.
CHAPTER TEN
If sleep brought welcome relief and restored both Flavius and Ohannes it did not bring comfort, but they had a whole day with enough of that fisherman’s catch remaining to feed themselves and to begin to think how to proceed, which would not be easy. That did not become any more simple after a second peaceful night, when the only threat came from others fishing too near the shore for comfort. Daylight brought back to the fore the real concerns.
To camp on the northern bank of the Danube for any time without their presence being observed was impossible; even in deep woods they would be seen by someone and that was if they stayed still, not an option if there was a need to hunt and fish in order to eat. They would be spotted, too, from the river trying to tickle their supper, for they lacked the means to cast a line. Snares would have to be set and a certain amount of movement had to be undertaken to put those in place, as well as to seek out larger creatures.
Easily edible food to steal, like chickens, were more likely to be found where folk were settled than in the wild, but too much theft of that kind would soon result in a reaction. In order to eat what they caught, a fire would have to be lit so it could be cooked, all of which put them at risk of discovery and from folk unlikely to be overly friendly.
‘If they don’t cut our throats straight off,’ Ohannes intoned, sat on a fallen and rotting tree trunk facing the river and Flavius, ‘they will find out who you are and that will mean a bit of gold for selling you to the Huns. Worse still, they might sell you to Senuthius.’
When Flavius showed an immediate impatience to recross the river, Ohannes had the task of restraining him, on the very good grounds that it was not yet safe to do so; indeed, the old man was far from sure it would ever be that.
‘And what if that commission from Constantinople comes and goes without our even knowing?’ Flavius demanded.
‘You put too much faith in that, to my mind.’
‘And where else would you have me place it?’ That got the youngster a look; it also got the older man an apology. ‘I did not mean you.’
‘Never thought you did,’
came the less than convincing reply, followed by a sigh that hinted at understanding. ‘You want revenge and that is only natural, but it might be in seeking blood you end up as dead as your family and what good will that serve?’
‘I must somehow contact my mother and I cannot do that from here.’
‘Aye, that is a worry. If they had a cross in mind for you, I fear they might have something of the like for her should she choose to ignore your request and arrive at a time inconvenient.’
‘Which would be any time before the commission arrives.’ Flavius looked to the trees under which they sat. ‘I might be able to see something from the upper branches. Make out if the coast is clear. Men still searching I could not miss.’
‘With that shoulder of yours, you might just as like end up with a broken neck.’
That got a slow swing of the arm and a wince. ‘It’s getting better, good enough to row.’
‘Give it the time it needs, Master Flavius, for if you do go back, an’ I cannot see how I can stop you, then you best be fully fit for fighting.’
‘My sword arm is good.’
‘That’s not enough in a real scrap, young sir,’ Ohannes hooted. ‘Folk would have you believe that battle is all pretty sword and spear work, but it is nothing like. It’s gouge, bite and kick as much as anything, with the need for trickery to make sure you don’t fall and the fellow afore you does. I once needed to crush one head with a stone.’
‘If a sword is used properly …’
‘And who says you’ll get the chance? I used to watch you and your fellows being instructed, thrust here, parry there, how to use your shield. Never saw anyone tell you to put the boss of that hard into the groin of the boy you were contesting with, wouldn’t be proper that.’
There was a scoffing tone in the old man’s voice that set Flavius on edge; he considered himself the best of his group – only rarely did he ever have to give ground to another – and he felt it was incumbent upon him to say that if Ohannes had been watching their practice he would have observed that.
‘Very lively it was too, but as much use to you in a true contest as a stalk of corn. I say that, and if your papa were here he would say so too.’ That saw the young head drop, and brought forth an apologetic hand from Ohannes, to tap his good shoulder. ‘Didn’t mean to pain you, lad.’
‘Remind me, Ohannes,’ Flavius insisted, unable to hide the fact that he was close to tears again.
‘Recall the way we fought those two thieving sods that tried to rob your house, Master Flavius.’
‘I wish you would stop calling me that, it makes me sound like a child.’
It was a good job he was not looking at Ohannes then, for he would have seen in the old man’s eyes a reaction which indicated that was exactly how he saw him; there was, however, nothing in the voice to let the youngster discern that opinion.
‘What I am saying is this, that from what I could see, an’ I admit it were not much given I was far from looking at what else was happening, for I had my own concerns, you fought real foul.’
That allowed Flavius a smile. ‘Which would have got me a swipe of the vine sapling from those who instructed us.’
‘It gets praise from me!’ came the empathic reply. ‘Them fellows were there to teach you to look and act noble-like. Yet there’s not one of them ever saw it as the right way to be going on.’
‘How I wish we could ask them.’
Ohannes crossed himself and murmured a blessing for men who had died fighting with his old and now deceased master. Yet his voice was strong as he continued and he picked up and made a mock threat with his spear to drive home the point.
‘All that fighting fair is nice for an arena and a crowd content to do without blood. It will not serve where it’s a choice between you and another. Fight dirty I say again, ’cause winning is the only thing that counts.’
‘Put up the spear,’ Flavius said in a soft voice, looking over the old man’s shoulder.
‘Trouble?’
‘Lots.’
‘Too much?’
Flavius nodded and the spear was laid gently on the floor of fallen leaves at his feet, Flavius wondering why Ohannes spun it first so the point was aimed towards the trees at his back. That done he turned, at no greater pace, to see on the edge of the small clearing in which they had made camp, a line of men in amongst the trees, several with bows already strung with arrows.
‘Best stand,’ he said, ‘arms well out.’
Flavius did as he was bidden, moving to one side so Ohannes did not mask him in any way. Making a quick judgement based on their clothing, he issued a greeting in the Sklaveni tongue, nervous that there would be some kind of reply, for it was very close to all he knew of their language, a few common words. As it was, all he got was a look of deep curiosity from a man who stepped forward, his stance and attitude, or perhaps it was the way the rest looked to him, marking him out as their leader.
Flavius put him as older than any of his brothers, over thirty summers, and he was well built, with a broad pair of shoulders and hands hanging loose at his side, yet still they looked capable of action. Bareheaded, the face was broad, the nose flattish, the eyes a deep brown and steady, and while his non-archer companions had their swords out he did not. The silence did not last long, even if it seemed so, and what followed was a set of guttural words that neither Flavius nor Ohannes would understand, before he changed to good Latin.
‘I have had to lie to my men about who you are.’
‘And who am I?’ Flavius asked, feeling a knot in the pit of his stomach.
‘You are the son of Decimus Belisarius and there is a man over the river, a senator of the empire, who sent a message not a day past, willing to pay handsome for your body, dead or alive, if you are found.’
‘And if I say I am not?’
That got a laugh, head tilted back, though not a very humorous one, more the kind that enquired if he was taking him for a fool. ‘Flavius Belisarius is who you are, even down to those two shiners of yours, which those who took the message were told to look out for.’
‘Not much point in denying it,’ Ohannes hissed, which if it was too low to be overheard, still drew the other man’s eye.
‘In the company of a slave, too.’
‘I’m no slave, nor ever likely to be!’
‘Like to hear you say that to a Hun with a whip.’
‘I might prefer death to that.’
The man nodded and glanced at the spear that lay at the feet of the old soldier. Given their eyes were locked, the youngster could not help but look from the one to the other, the Scythian determined, the other fellow slightly amused. Yet it took no great imagination to understand the meaning of the exchange; Ohannes was implying he might just have time to lift and cast that spear before he was taken by arrows and there was no doubt at whom it would be aimed.
His possible target spoke quickly in his own tongue, which had several bows lifted, the arrow points lined up on the Scythian’s chest. ‘Even if death is certain, something tells me you might still try.’
‘Spare the boy if I do.’
‘No need to kill him.’
‘If you intend to hand me over to Senuthius,’ Flavius croaked, his hand going to the hilt of his sword, ‘then I would rather you did.’
‘A noble death?’
‘Better that than what the senator has in store for me.’
‘Take out your sword slowly, and if you have a knife that too, then lay them on the ground. No one is going to die here and nor will it be decided what is to happen when we leave this glade.’
‘Ohannes?’ Flavius asked, unsure what to do.
‘Obey, Master Flavius, there’s no choice.’
‘Why did you call me that?’ came a hiss.
‘Look into his eyes,’ Ohannes replied as he stepped away from the spear, Flavius drawing out his sword and dropping it. ‘He has no doubt who you are.’
Without another word the Sklaveni leader spun on his heel and began
to walk away. There was no need for him to actually say they had to follow nor did either think it prudent or useful to ask. The others fell in alongside and behind them, a couple staying to gather up their weapons. The way the party moved told Flavius these people knew these woods well, there being no deviation from a course that paid little attention to thinning undergrowth. The man merely barrelled his way through bushes and ferns, with Ohannes softly counting off the number of paces.
‘Never know,’ came the whispered reply, when the youngster asked him why.
The hut they came to was well hidden by foliage. Made of sods of turf interleaved with rough strands of wood, it was roofed in evergreen tree branches that had it blend into the surroundings. It had to be a hide for hunting, a place in which a body of archers and spearmen could wait until the forest forgot their presence. As they were ushered in under an opening, only the Latin speaker followed them, the rest remaining outside, and the first thing he did was to take from Flavius the small sacks of coins tied to his belt.
‘I dare not take you to the town. I must leave you here and under guard, for if I do not, word of your capture will get across the river before the sun dips tonight.’
‘You are not going to hand us over to Senuthius?’
‘The decision is not mine. Food will be brought to you and I advise you not to try for an escape, because the men I leave behind will have orders to kill.’
‘Am I allowed to know your name? You know mine.’
‘No harm in that, Flavius Belisarius, my name is Dardanies.’
‘And who are you, what are you?’
That got a wry smile. ‘Am I not a mere barbarian?’
‘You speak good Latin.’
‘One day you might find out why.’
As soon as he exited the hut a wickerwork panel was placed across the entrance, plunging the interior into darkness, the only sound Flavius could hear the breathing of his companion. He was dying to ask what they should do now, until he concluded that would be useless; they were trapped and prisoners. Slowly, as his eyes adjusted, he realised there was some light coming in through the gaps in the roof, not much, just enough to see the outline of Ohannes, who spoke in a low and incensed tone.