Honour (26 page)

‘I must go back and talk with my wife.’ Seeing alarm on the face of Procopius he took a bit of delight in delaying the need to allay his fears; why should he not suffer some discomfort too? ‘Do not worry, what you have told me remains a secret, though I will ensure that Theodosius is moved to where he can cause me no more grief.’

The question was not posed by Procopius; there might be others to take his place. ‘And I will need to be more attentive, will I not?’

‘I will happily aid you in that.’

Flavius produced a dry laugh. ‘You should get to know Justinian better, Procopius, you and he would be firm friends. And before you take that amiss I mean it as a compliment.’

The first thing Flavius did was to apologise to a freshly wakened Antonina for his behaviour the previous night, which got him licked lips and a wet smile.

‘The last part was wonderful, though I have never seen you so sullen over the meal and you have yet to tell me why.’

‘I had just come from questioning two tribunes who had been apprehended on their way to Constantinople to tell Justinian that I was about to rebel, claim the province as my own and crown myself king.’

‘Is that true?’

What a revealing response that was. Antonina did not decry it as nonsense, nor did she seem overly upset at the prospect that such a claim might have some validity. It took some effort to contain himself, to sit on the bed and stroke her hair.

‘Would you like it to be true?

She pondered for a bit, as if thinking through the pros and cons, perhaps imagining herself a queen, before concluding it was impossible to give an honest answer.

‘I doubt your good friend Theodora would approve of your hesitation.’

‘What makes you think her view counts?’

‘Nothing. And just so you can cease to wonder, I have no intention of betraying the faith Justinian placed in me.’

A most unladylike snort was the response to that. ‘It is to be hoped
he would keep faith likewise with you, but I would not wish to wager my head on it.’

The guts were churning, the desire to yell at her near to overwhelming. How could she question Justinian after what she had done? The control he fought to impose on himself was necessary but it took several seconds to achieve.

‘As I said, two tribunes were stopped in the docks before they could sail, for which I have to thank Procopius.’ That name made her frown and aged her in an instant, the fact that he noticed being upsetting. ‘It was he who brought the conspiracy to light.’

‘He is snake enough for that.’ Seeing Flavius bridle she was quick to add, ‘Which is as well if it is in your service.’

‘There is, however, a difficulty.’ The place where her eyebrows existed during the day – they were well plucked – shot up. ‘These two were not the only ones. I suspect more have been despatched by whoever it is who wants to do me harm, to carry that same message to Constantinople.’

‘And if that is the case?’

She had controlled her voice when asking that, but not enough to fool a man who knew her so intimately. He had, of course, to let his observation pass.

‘I should not be concerned, Antonina. After all, what possible grounds could Justinian have for believing it?’

His wife was not looking at him when she whispered, ‘None.’

T
he best way for Flavius to ignore his problems was activity and that involved movement. He made a point of travelling the region, talking to the leading citizens of the towns and to any leaders of tribes that still held themselves aloof. That he did do in an elaborate almost regal caravan was so that Antonina could accompany him, and of course along came Procopius; watching them spar now caused less discomfort and more amusement, for it was to Flavius a game, one of the few things in which he could take pleasure.

Theodosius had been sent to the one-time Vandal fortress of Septem, right by the Pillars of Hercules, with instructions to keep an eye on the towering rock and the safe harbour it protected; if the Visigoths had any notion to take advantage of turmoil in North Africa while the Romans sought to pacify the province, that was where it would come from.

If Antonina was in any way affected by this posting it did not show; indeed she seemed to relish the travel even if it was the cause of some discomfort. Perhaps it was the treatment she received as the consort of the Roman-proconsul. Those who wished a good opinion from
Flavius saw flattering her as a good avenue and Antonina lapped at it like a cat in a creamery.

The wait for word of a response from Constantinople was never mentioned between them; it was as if Antonina had forgotten. That was only ever referred to between Flavius and Procopius and the longer it was delayed the more troubling it seemed, yet the time taken to sail to there and back, notwithstanding the discussion and decisions such a message might entail, were subject to many variables.

There was the wind, which had Flavius making a rare joke that as much would be expended in talking about what to do as was needed to fill the sails of the ship carrying the imperial response. He could have no idea how that quip cheered his secretary, who saw it as a sign that the despair of what had been revealed, if not easing, was morphing into acceptance, albeit that must cause disquiet.

Thoughts on who had despatched the message did not mellow either, for Flavius knew he would have to be very much on his guard. Whoever was the traitor might move at any time and not wait to hear how their communication had been received, though Procopius thought that unlikely.

‘The way I see it, General, is this.’

You have become more confident of late, fellow, Flavius thought, but nothing on his face betrayed that, leading him to wonder if he had become more subtle in his dealings. Certainly he had been that with his wife, whom he now watched as a hawk observes its prey, seeking to read her mind even if he had concluded long ago that it was somewhat shallow.

‘The man who intends to rebel has a plan at the centre of which lies you.’ Procopius had his nose in the air now, and his eyes were following it upwards, as if he was cogitating the meaning of the universe. ‘He
expects from Constantinople some kind of message either chastising you or ordering your recall. At that point he will move to kill you, then claim he has prevented your coup and he will pledge his loyalty to Justinian.’

‘A smokescreen?’

‘Precisely.’

Perfectly capable of working these things out for himself it pleased Flavius to indulge his secretary. The man had always been a touch self-satisfied; now he felt he had his employer’s absolute confidence that had swelled. Flavius was pleased to let it be; it would be Procopius who would see the dangers that threatened, perhaps before he did, no matter how guarded he had become.

It was hard to face his inferior generals and not speculate, but even travelling he was obliged to return to Carthage to call a conference and ensure his policies were being implemented. There were stirrings everywhere, how could there not be, yet nothing so serious as to trouble the public weal. Odd that the place where he should feel most secure was the one at which he felt most at risk. Did they notice the increase in his guard detail? Would they spot that only those
bucellarii
he had raised before the Battle of Dara, men who were loyal and part of his original recruitment to the corps, made up his escort?

It was unfortunate that real trouble began to brew just as the emissaries from Justinian arrived, two high-ranking bureaucrats tasked with the job of assessing the new province for taxation with his own emissary Solomon a welcome returnee. They would carry out a new census, make certain titles to land were valid – much had been appropriated from the Vandals including the royal estate – and set the rate at which North Africa would pay into the imperial treasury after funds were extracted for local expenses.

‘Justinian has sent a right pair of villains,’ Flavius remarked when he saw their names. ‘I know them to be adept at fleecing.’

‘I doubt it matters who he sent, General. There is too much temptation here even for an honest man.’

‘I hope my coffers only hold that which is my due.’

‘Which is my point,’ Procopius replied. ‘You are honest and those coffers are overflowing.’

‘With you being straightforward on my behalf, I know.’

That made Procopius preen and again that was let pass. The time had come to meet the representatives from Constantinople, for as well as their imperial edicts they carried those detailing how the province should be run and garrisoned, orders he would have to begin to implement. They also carried a sealed communication from the Emperor to him, which he opened in their presence, though much to their obvious frustration he did not divulge the contents.

‘You will wish to read it, Procopius?’ Flavius said, when they were alone.

‘If I am permitted.’

The held-out hand gave the lie to that faux reluctance and his secretary took and read the letter, skipping over the niceties of greeting and praise for the achievements of Flavius to the nub.

‘A trap?’

‘Partly,’ Flavius replied. ‘It all depends on what I choose to do.’

‘Am I allowed to suggest that the matter resting with you is a snare?’ Procopius studied the writing before reading it out. ‘After such an achievement, how can I not leave you to make up your own mind as to how to proceed? You are in Carthage, I am not. If you feel that you need to remain there to oversee those edicts I have promulgated then do so. If you think your work complete and it would be best to
return, then your well-beloved friend is eager to welcome you home.’

‘If I choose to stay he will think I mean to rebel.’

‘And in order to guard against that his envoys will carry messages to more than yourself.’

‘I can see Theodora’s hand in this. Justinian knows me well enough to demand a straight answer.’

The doubt that such was true travelled across the face of Procopius. ‘You must go home.’

‘God above, do I not long to!’

‘This undermines those who wished to depose you, and anyway, I fear they have waited too long to act. They must see you are on your guard.’

‘Which means we may never know who are the miscreants, which I must say troubles me greatly. What will happen once I am gone?’

‘Put it behind you, for it will not serve to brood on it.’

Preparations were put in hand to travel. A ship had to be equipped with a comfortable place of confinement for Gelimer, another less altered to carry his leading adherents and the remainder of his family. The treasure of the Vandals would travel with Flavius and Antonina and it required a deep-hulled transport to carry it, so great was the weight. There was a small fleet of vessels to accommodate his
comitatus
for they were his personal troops and went with their general.

A final tour of his units had to be hurriedly arranged so he could say farewell to those who had aided him to conquer, so obviously the news of his impending departure spread through the whole of the North African littoral, and if it stirred some emotion in his pardoned Vandals it was the Moors who saw opportunity, Flavius being sure they were egged on by the Visigoths making mischief. They might fear Hispania as a new objective of Roman reconquest.

It could not be classed as rebellion, the Moors were not under imperial tutelage, but it infuriated Flavius Belisarius for he could do nothing about their invasion of the western border. Stay and fight them and he could be seen as a traitor. He had to leave the need to chastise them in the hands of others and the one he trusted most, Solomon, was given the task and he was also given the
bucellarii
of Flavius’s personal troops in order to accomplish it, but it was only a loan. As soon as the Moors were subdued they were to be sent back to serve under him, for he had no illusion that he would not be occupied elsewhere and he wanted his best soldiers with him when that came about.

There were, of course, ceremonies; the handing over of command to Valerianus, the regretful farewell to Pharas, which was tearful for both. But the time came to board ship, unmoor and sail out of the harbour, with the man who had conquered thinking, as he looked back at the fortifications of Carthage, if he had that to his credit, there was just as much debit in his personal life.

The route taken home was nearly the same as coming, the first stop being Sicily where they heard of the death of the Goth heir Athalaric, no more than sixteen summers old, his demise reputedly brought on by a bloody flux after an epic drinking bout. That must impact on his mother and her tenuous grip on power but if Flavius was curious as to what such an event would entail, he had his course to resume, once more crossing the Adriatic and hugging the coast of Greece.

The sea did not suit Antonina, who seemed to suffer from sickness on a daily basis and her affliction became so regular that doctors were consulted, only to tell Flavius Belisarius that he was about to become a father; Antonina was pregnant and since she had a child from her previous marriage she must have known what the symptoms portended. Why had she not told him herself?

‘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.