Honour (27 page)

‘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 Flavius, 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.

I
n 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 stop 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.

‘It troubled me, it was bound to.’

‘Me?’

‘I spend my whole life now having people declare to me how virtuous they are and not one of them is telling the truth.’

‘And I do not count as an exception?’

‘Yes, Flavius, you do.’

‘Then why—’

Justinian cut across him. ‘If I am counselled to show caution I
would be a fool to refuse to take heed. When someone reminds you that it was Brutus who helped murder Julius Caesar then you will know that no ruler can ever think himself secure.’

‘Theodora thinks I mean to topple you?’

‘She will not cease to fear that the possibility exists and the oddity is, Flavius, that it is your upright nature that she fears most.’

‘That makes little sense.’

‘It does to her. You cannot rule without making enemies and we have made many and that does not begin to count the greedy. In addition to that we both have a bloodline despised by most of these with whom you share the Senate, Theodora especially.’

‘Mine is not much better.’

That point was ignored. ‘Who would those people turn to when they seek to overthrow the person they conveniently call a tyrant other than the man of shining virtue? Who would the mob proclaim in the Hippodrome if not the most successful general this empire has produced in decades, the paragon who is draped in glory?’

‘I cannot help what people think.’

‘Then apply that to my wife and take comfort from this. If she fears you, then you are far from alone.’

‘Fears me enough to ensure I can be no threat?’

‘I will protect you, Flavius, but there are occasions where I must bend with the wind she creates. I rule but she does so as my consort and we are, in all respects, partners.’

There was a terrible temptation to ask Justinian if he too felt threatened by Theodora – homicidal female companions were not unknown – but that would be a step too far, indeed it was next made plain to him that he had already overstepped the bounds of whatever friendship existed between them, an admonition delivered in a tone
that left Flavius in no doubt Justinian meant the words he employed.

‘This subject will never be raised again, for if it is, what you rely on for your freedom to speak will be forfeit. Do not ever seek to have me choose between a subject, which is what you are, and my wife, who is Empress and not just in name.’

‘Would it help if I said I have faith you will keep your word?’

‘Given it is all you have it better be so.’

Justinian spun away to walk back to the palace. Flavius could not help but notice how canted was that head of his, exaggerated by the gold circlet that was his everyday crown. Clearly he was deep in thought and it was far from idle to speculate what they might be.

If the triumph was bogus to the man celebrating it, the crowds that lined the Triumphal Way took it seriously. Even before that there was a surge of well-wishers by the Golden Gate, those who lived outside the city walls, in the farms and villages that supplied much of the capital’s food, who had come to partake in the celebrations. Naturally there were the usual opportunistic vendors selling everything from false Vandal trinkets to Belisarius dolls.

Flavius had been allowed at least to partly dress in proper old Roman armour, a gleaming leather breastplate decorated with gold symbols, the white cloak that denoted his rank, and in his hand the fasces enclosing an axe that had once been the symbol of proconsular praetorian power since the Republic. The huge gates, hitherto closed, were opened to the sound of the imperial trumpets and the roar of approbation came bursting out from several thousand throats.

‘Every shout a dagger in Theodora’s vitals,’ he murmured to himself before he crossed himself and stepped out. ‘Cheer yourself with that, Flavius.’

To walk through these gates on such an occasion was a pinnacle dreamt of by his father, and not just him. Even if triumphs had long been appropriated by pagan god-emperors for their own aggrandisement – no mere mortal would be allowed to share their glory – it had stayed the dream of military men down the centuries and now, even if it was in a diminished form, he was taking what was his due.

Flavius had no illusions; this was as much a show for Justinian as it was for him. The crowd would applaud General Belisarius and shout acclaim, throwing flowers in his path so deep they would carpet the cobblestones. They would jeer and spit at the chained and shuffling Vandals, including Gelimer who came behind. The soldiers, even in such a small number, would bring back the noise of approbation, but it was the treasure the crowd really wanted to see and what they would talk about when the ceremonies were complete.

The carts, escorted by Excubitors, had been piled in such a way that every object of value was visible; the jewelled crucifixes of gold and silver so large half a dozen men would struggle to carry them, open chests of coins, with a fellow by them to dip in a hand and let the glistening objects fall back to rest on the heaped-up pile with that dull clunk only precious metal makes.