by Jack Ludlow
The horns that blew to sound the retreat were those which Flavius had been so recently trained to recognise and now he had some idea who was friend and who was foe, for the latter were advancing while they were retreating in a ragged line. Slashing with his picked-up sword – he had cast three found lances – he managed to form something of a line by which the falling back could avoid being a rout.
Regardless of their efforts Vitalian’s force was driven from the encampment, and when the fight petered out, all they could do was watch their huts and buildings burn and, along with that, anything not worth looting.
Dawn found them, blackened and weary, in an open field, the smoke from the fires still rising in the distance to the east, with Vitalian, as grubby as any of his men, walking through the disordered ranks seeking to lift their spirits. When he came to Flavius, who had found and joined Vigilius and Forbas, he stopped and barked at him.
‘You brought this on.’
‘No, General,’ Vigilius replied, pulling himself to his feet with some difficulty. ‘Flavius Belisarius fought with us. You need to talk to him and, if you will forgive my impertinence, listen too.’
What enemy they had faced the night before was nowhere to be seen and Vitalian, having heard out the man come to alert him, was firmly of the opinion that if it was Hypatius, then it could not be the main force, given the numbers Flavius had said could be anticipated.
‘If that had been the whole army this fellow claims we would all be wondering with what words we might greet St Peter. It was a raid but not a battle.’
‘A damned successful one.’
‘We have lost a fight, we have lost our camp and forfeited that which we possessed. Have we lost our spirit?’
Flavius, listening as Vitalian rallied his officers first and his men next, thought this the stuff of true generalship. He could not be less drained than anyone present but nothing in his demeanour hinted at it. Once he had finished his encouragement he called for Flavius.
‘Tell me again what you know of Hypatius.’
‘You believe him?’ Diomedes demanded, still unconvinced.
‘If I had listened to him last night we might not be sat here in this open field, without even a tent in which to confer.’
The tale was simple and what impressed Flavius was that Vitalian saw the solution as the same. With great effort he rallied his men to march back to their ruined camp, there to search the rubble for weapons and any recoverable possessions, in fact few; the furniture of Vigilius was charred and destroyed. Next, Vitalian ordered that the nearby settlement and farms be denuded of food, no quarter given, for he could achieve nothing commanding a depleted army with empty bellies. That completed – it took two days – he marched his men out and headed east, with Flavius held close by his side, not out of affection but a lack of trust.
They caught Hypatius when his main force was in extended order, marching from Odessus towards Marcianopolis along a narrow via rustica expecting no battle of any consequence, anticipating an easy victory once they found Vitalian and his disorganised and already defeated troops. But they were very much in existence, and, having taken up positions on both sides of a deep valley, they charged down on the head of the imperial columns and threw them into great disarray.
The rout inflicted on forward elements of the imperial forces was total, the middle and rear parts of the imperial army fleeing back, hoping to find the ships that had brought them from the southern shore of the Euxine. The front cadres not mown down in the initial assault were now seeking to throw themselves on the mercy of their attackers, many dying in the bloodletting that followed, as they paid in revengeful mayhem for the defeat and burning of the foederati encampment.
The Gautoi barbarians were unstoppable; not that much effort was made to impede their butchery and it was made plain to Flavius, not that he had any inclination to interfere, that to do so was as dangerous to him as it was to what they saw as their rightful victims. Soon the paving stones of the via rustica were awash with blood ankle-deep, which formed a river along the sloping valley floor, while the killers were covered from head to foot in the same gore and seemingly more drunk than he had ever seen any of their officers on wine.
Vitalian was as quick as he could be in pursuit, pressuring the enemy away from Odessus and an easy evacuation, more through their own confusion than by any hard fighting. Hypatius fell back on and barricaded himself in a small coastal town called Acris and was sure, having fortified his camp, he was safe and from there no doubt sent for his ships.
Vitalian, taking a leaf out of Hypatius’s book, launched a surprise attack at night, overran the temporary defences and utterly destroyed the imperial army as a fighting force. Once more the Gautoi were let loose with their weapons to kill as they pleased. Not many of the enemy made it onto the few ships that had managed to arrive in the harbour and those that sought safety on land were lucky if they ended up as slaves.
Both Hypatius and the newly appointed magister militum per Thracias were taken prisoner, saved from being butchered by the personal but much-diminished cohort that Vitalian kept for himself as guards, they being too valuable to just kill. The emperor’s nephew pleaded for his officers, those close to him, and they too, being high-born and fit for ransom, were spared. So it was a triumphant force that marched back towards a destroyed camp, richer now than they had been before it was looted, for they had the treasury of the imperial army as pay for their success and much labour with which to rebuild.
When they finally reached the camp, they found two officers of the excubitor with another prisoner, Pentheus Vicinus, who were seeking out Flavius Belisarius to hand him over. The tale he had to listen to seemed as fanciful as that he had related to Vigilius, for these men had been sent out of Constantinople by Petrus Sabbatius.
‘He suspected that Pentheus would try to kill you. Our task was to prevent that and we caught two bastards in the corridor leading to your quarters.’
‘They might not have been intent on killing me.’
‘They were and said so before we slit their throats, then stripped both and left them in the nearby woods to make it hard to identify them.’
‘And Pentheus?’
‘If he had turned up in person to see you assassinated, we were to bring him to you at Vitalian’s camp. Old sod put up a bit of a fight but we got him into his chariot and away past the watchman, who was sound asleep. If you look under that threadlike hair of his, you will see an impression of the butt of my sword hilt.’
‘How did Pentheus know where I would be?’
‘You’d have to ask Petrus that,’ said one, not answering in a way that hinted he would be able to provide any enlightenment if pressed. But then he added something meaningful without intending to. ‘He’s a very sly fox, that one.’
‘How sly?’ Flavius asked, seeking to mask his suspicion that there were things of which he was unaware, what Justinus called ‘currents’.
The second officer laughed, though Flavius did not take what he jested about as a joke. ‘If he follows you through a swinging door, he will come out in front.’
‘What were your orders after you delivered the senator?’
‘To return to our duties.’
Vitalian called Flavius into his presence so that the appearance of the senator could be explained, as well as his own tale, and he listened to both stories with as much scepticism as had been the case with Vigilius. He and Forbas had to be called to the general’s new tent to back up one part of the tale. Pressed on who had really sent the warning, given it had not been Pentheus, Flavius again refused to say and pleaded with Vitalian that since his advice had saved him from annihilation his reticence should be respected, that granted, though with ill grace.
The two excubitors departed under safe conduct and the heartfelt gratitude of Vitalian. To say he was pleased ranked as understatement, for no man so hates a person as much as one who has been a friend and then betrayed him. Hypatius had been vocal in order to ingratiate himself an
d keep his head on his shoulders; he had laid bare the whole of the Vicinian chicanery.
Pentheus pleaded, claimed the emperor forced him to act but to no avail, and Vitalian made him grovel before throwing him into an open-to-the-elements cage where he was assailed by anyone in the camp who had filth of which they wanted to dispose.
‘So tell me, Flavius Belisarius, what it is I can gift to you that will serve as a fitting reward?’
‘Would I be correct General, in thinking that north of Marcianopolis, you represent the legal authority?’
‘I am not the magister but one is dead and his replacement is in my custody, so will do anything I tell him. But why do you ask?’
Flavius was disturbed about the way Pentheus had come to be here and concerned too that there might be a game being played in which he was nothing but a low-value gambling bone. Did he here, and with this man, have a chance to do that which he sought without relying on any sly foxes?
‘Only one thing, General. I would ask that I be given both Tribune Vigilius and Centurion Forbas to act under my instructions as well as a strong unit of soldiers and the right to command obedience and the truth. I have told you how my family, my father and brothers were betrayed and who was responsible. Let that man be obliged to pay for his transgressions and to suffer whatever punishment I decree.’
‘Why don’t you just kill him? For that you need only your own sword.’
‘To do so would sully the memory of my father. I must constitute a real enquiry, call forth those who will witness and prove to those who stood aside when they should have acted, year after year in their own regard, that justice eventually will come to those who transgress against God and their fellow citizens.’
‘Judge and executioner?’
‘No, I will ask Tribune Vigilius to act as judge.’
‘And that slug Pentheus?’
‘Do with him as you wish, he is your enemy, not mine.’
‘I will just remove his head.’
‘So be it. Do you grant my request?’
‘Have you asked those you wish to go to Dorostorum with you if they agree?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then choose the men you want, and may God go with you. I will get the new magister to compose an order conferring on you your official status. Thus you will be acting on behalf of the emperor, God rot his lying soul.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
The gloom that descended in the imperial palace was palpable, no one seeming to be unaffected by it from the emperor to the lowest sweeper. Vitalian had inflicted a grievous defeat on Anastasius and was now demanding a massive ransom for his nephew Hypatius. Justinus, who had been obliged to keep his own counsel for so long found the need even greater now. How had his ruler got himself into such a mess, only by his own folly?
‘You do not seem to share the present mood, Petrus?’
‘I am as downcast as the next man, how could I not be, Uncle?’
‘Let us say I know you too well to believe that. I am wondering if you will pass on to me the reasons why your step seems lighter than it was before we got news of the defeat of Hypatius.’
I cannot, Petrus thought, for you would be shocked, you might hate me, you might even dismiss me. But I have done you a service, for I have removed a man who had become a potent enemy in Pentheus Vicinus, whom Anastasius now thinks, since the news of his defection was delivered, first deluded him, then betrayed him. He would have found out how we sought to secretly bring down his cousin and, unlike you, he would have seen the need to kill to stop us.
I have engineered a major loss of face for one of the emperor’s nephews and the one best suited to succeed him; what hope now for a nephew who has lost an entire army, a modern-day Varus? I hope in time we will be able to satisfy the burden you carry for the deaths of Decimus Belisarius and his sons, and at no time have I endangered your standing with the man you are tasked to protect and who trusts you now more than he ever has.
‘What do you think made Flavius flee, Petrus, when you had him safely hidden away?’
‘No idea, Uncle, but I must say he was so animated with his desire for justice that I suspect he has gone back to Dorostorum with murder in his heart.’
‘Which might cost him his own life.’
‘Indeed, if only he had waited. Who knows, though, he may see sense and come back to us.’
The excubitor officers Petrus had engaged were returned but there was no sign of Flavius, for which Petrus had not calculated; he was supposed to be back in Constantinople.
‘How will it all end?’ Justinus sighed.
‘Who is to know how anything will ever end?’
‘We can pray for good outcomes, an ending in which all is resolved and everyone content.’
‘In that I will willingly join you, Uncle.’
Petrus said his prayers with his habitual fervour and he knew he had much to seek absolution for; he always felt he did. He had engineered the death of some men and the disgrace of others, those who had attached themselves to Pentheus seeking cover in new alliances. He had played a dangerous game and come out unscathed and if there was pleasure in that there was, too, a residual recollection of the moments of deep apprehension he had suffered in the process; it could all, his conspiracy, have so easily fallen apart, especially because it had all hinged on an innocent and easily biddable youth!
The power Flavius had was fully proconsular; he was, in Upper Moesia, the law for both church and state and one unknown to the citizens of Dorostorum. Given the road from Marcianopolis passed by the forum square and the basilica, his first act was to bypass the town in darkness with most of his men, leaving a detachment to surround and seal off the cathedral and the buildings attached, including the residence of Gregory Blastos, no one to exit on pain of death.
This set light to multiple rumours, multiplied when the rest of his troops headed east to the Senuthius villa, a compound of buildings he invested with near a full century of mounted and bloodthirsty Gautoi mercenaries. If they arrived without warning, their presence did not go unremarked, judging by the flaring torches that illuminated the panic caused within.
‘Tribune Vigilius, please send a message to the senator inviting those men he commands, on the order of the magister militum per Thracias, to lay down their arms or to come out and do battle. Do not use my name.’
They heard Senuthius, so carrying were his exhortations and commands, which turned to pleas that those he paid to defend him go out and fight, in time reduced to futile threats. It fell on ears that were not deaf but wise enough to see that what was being proposed was not just fruitless but suicidal. A professional body of soldiers surrounded his villa and he could not send for reinforcements; the numerous fighters who controlled his outlying farms and stood guard on his mills were cut off from any knowledge of what was taking place.
He tried to send a messenger, one fool who did not realise that his head, once detached from his body, would be slung into the villa compound, along with a second demand, one that was timed and aimed at the men who guarded Senuthius; come out now, throw down your weapons or not only will you die, but those who carry your blood will perish likewise.
For men who had once been soldiers but had settled, who had taken wives and bred children on farms looted in legal chicanery by their master, facing certain death was a powerful incentive, the loss of wives and children too great a sacrifice for a mere stipend or a ploughed field and low rent; they came out in their entirety and with them the cowering and terrified servants.
‘There is one amongst you to whom I owe a great deal,’ Flavius called, once the two groups were separated, to what was now a tight knot of terrified people who had served Senuthius and in many cases felt the weight of his whip. ‘I do not now need to know who that is, who saved my life by advising me to flee, but if you come forward I will embrace and reward you.’
No one moved.
‘I suspect you wish to keep your identity hidden for fear that someone will make you pay for wha
t they see as betrayal, and if that is true, then know this. I am in your debt and you may come to me at any time and lay a claim upon my gratitude.’
‘How will you know?’ whispered Vigilius.
‘A ladder,’ Flavius replied equally softly, which made no sense to anyone but him.
‘Our Gautoi are itching for slaughter,’ the tribune pointed out, watching them as they pressed in on and corralled the surrendered fighters.
‘They are not to be killed,’ Flavius shouted, making a statement that satisfied the barbarians. ‘I have in store a more fitting retribution in which they will shed tears as slaves, not merely their blood on a cross.’
‘Your senator is refusing to come out,’ said Forbas, who had been sent with a third demand and returned.
‘Then set fire to the place and see if he can hold to his refusal.’
‘There is much in there to loot, the swine is rich.’
Flavius got what Forbas was hinting; the foederati given to him by Vitalian would be looking for plunder. ‘Is he alone?’
‘There are two children with him, well not quite children judging by the amount of their flesh.’
‘A boy and a girl, I seem to recall.’ Forbas nodded. ‘Tell him they will be sold in the market at Constantinople, and to the worst of the owners he sold others to, the Sklaveni his paid henchmen snatched from their farms. It is him I want, not the innocents.’
Senuthius tried to negotiate, to secure some kind of terms, to no avail, his last request a palanquin for his son and daughter, to which Flavius replied that they would have to walk, given it was a mode of travel they would now be required to get used to. Eventually he sent them out and Flavius dismounted and went to face a man he so hated, the moment he removed his helmet and exposed his face one of pure pleasure.