Vengeance (21 page)

It took all the strength Flavius could muster to restrain buck-toothed Baccuda, who was swinging his stave like a man possessed, in no way like he would employ a proper spear, his shield held away
from his body, the fellow he had chosen to fight just as stupid; if either had faced a decent opponent they would have been battered to the ground. Worse, they were unaware that such behaviour in a real fight would endanger everyone on their own side; at all costs the line must be held!

Forbas should have been beside himself observing this, but when the horn blew to separate the competing factions he looked surprisingly calm, calling his junior leaders together.

‘Now we can see clearly what we must do and a start has to be made with you lot, who seem to have lost any skills you might have had. You cannot lead if you do not know how to fight yourselves, so fetch your spears, form up in a line and listen to what I say.’

For a man held to be short on temper, Forbas was surprisingly patient, arranging them in line and even personally adjusting their shields and spears to the correct position. When he came to Flavius their eyes locked, for there was no need to touch his equipment: it was where it should be, shield slightly angled to cover his neighbour on the left and once Forbas had sorted out the man to his right, a gap through which he could employ the weapon he carried.

‘Shield rims at eye level and look at me.’ He then called on them to advance one pace at a time, ordering that they keep a firm grip on both their weapons and their protection. ‘When you move forward stamp, get your lead foot down hard and brace yourself. Remember there will be an enemy trying to either kill you or force you back, so the move must be as one. Once it is safe to do so take another pace forward.’

They went through it several times until it was, if not perfect, enough to satisfy Forbas, who now had them do the same with
swords, which required a different shield position so it was possible to properly use the weapon.

‘You need to be stabbing not swinging, for that will expose you. Get your weight right and your body behind the blow.’

It was all in the manuals and histories Flavius had studied, the classic fighting formation of the legion, whose success rested on tight discipline and total solidity and that had not changed even if the army had been reorganised in different-sized components with new names. Everything must be done as a unit and once Forbas was satisfied, the
decani
were sent to instruct their own men.

‘If they don’t do as you say, give them a swipe of your stick and if they are really bad you have my permission to stick your spear up their arse, the real one too.’

The training went on until, despite the cooling breeze, every mouth was dry and filled with dust and all were soaked with sweat. Forbas then called a halt and directed his charges to wooden vats of water, cool, fresh and fetched from a nearby spring. Flavius was enjoying his scuttle when a hand on his shoulder had him turn to face Forbas and a raised and crooked finger.

‘You, with me.’

There was no choice but to obey and throwing the scuttle to another he followed the centurion across to a spot just below the raised platform where there was some shade from the sun, now well past the zenith.

‘I think you are going to have to tell me who you are.’

‘Flavius.’

‘Which is the given name of half the folk in the whole empire and something tells me it is not all of yours, so out with it. And why are all and sundry now referring to you as “master”?’

That got a shrug. ‘A jest, no more.’

‘I watched you today, as I have watched you since we formed and you are not as the others around those water butts. You knew what to do without being told, which means you are fully trained and if that’s the case at your age …’

‘We used to practise at home.’

‘Home is where?’

‘North of here.’ That got raised eyebrows, being clearly insufficient. ‘North of Marcianopolis.’

‘That’s a lot of ground.’ Flavius nodded and Forbas growled. ‘Do I have to beat it out of you? For I will. You’ll wish you had never been born!’

‘Dorostorum,’ Flavius conceded after a long pause, mentally berating himself when he observed the way Forbas reacted, eyes narrowing and taking on a knowing look.

‘Where there was a fight not long ago, a bad one.’ When Flavius declined to take that up, Forbas added, ‘There was a big raid from over the Danube, one we were told the locals might struggle to hold. We were all set to march, to put aside thoughts on this place, when news came that the raiders, who turned out to be Huns, had run away, so we were stood down. The sad bit was the fate of the imperial cohort, who were led to their deaths by some fool who—’

‘Not true!’ Flavius exclaimed, protesting at what could only be a lie concocted by that viper Senuthius, but the news of such a disturbing falsehood opened him up more than he wanted and he could not stop the wetting of his eyes, which did not go unnoticed.

‘How would you know that?’ Forbas asked, in a low voice, and when he got no answer he added, ‘Listen, lad, I am not trying to
catch you out and you’re clearly distressed, but I like to know who it is I am dealing with.’

The implication was slow to come, but it was an obvious point Forbas was making. There had to be imperial spies in Vitalian’s host. Was he one of them?

‘Settle for Flavius,’ he hissed, a last try at obscurity.

That got a shake of the head. ‘Is that old friend of yours a servant? If he is, a lad with an armed servant is no ordinary spear, is he? He will have been schooled, perhaps?’

‘I came to join the cause and to fight to see Chalcedony restored. Why does anything else matter?’

‘You’re not like the rest of them out there. Tribune Vigilius said there was something about you that didn’t smell right, something about the way you spoke and I thought he was spouting shit. Now I don’t.’

‘If I wish to keep things to myself—’

‘For what, fear of an angry father coming to fetch you for running from home?’

‘Not that.’

‘You said what we were told of that Hun raid was not true. How can you say that with such certainty?’

‘Because it is a lie.’

‘So tell me.’

‘Only if it goes no further.’

The response to that was a long time coming. ‘You have my word.’

That night he took Apollonia to the same little copse, only this time with impatience. In having his way he was confused by her lack of joy and no enquiry seemed to elicit from her what she
found troubling; had they not just repeated what had occurred the previous night? He tried words, but they seemed to have little effect, and he attempted to sulk like a thwarted lover, only to find she went silent.

‘Tomorrow?’ Flavius whispered to her before they were within the hearing of anyone close to where she laid her head for the night.

‘If you wish it,’ she replied.

‘Of course, as much as you.’

She was gone in a flash, with not another word, leaving Flavius with views and opinions that came from his peers his own age, not his parents. Girls were strange creatures, unfathomable.

I
t was rare for a meeting of the imperial council to go on after the setting of the sun. Anastasius being a man of strict habits and receding levels of energy he liked to retire to his private quarters early to eat and drink, take his ease, talk with a very tight circle of chosen friends and then sleep. But the lamps were lit as the Scholae Palatinae guards were changed under the watchful eye of their commander, activities which only held up the discussions for a short time.

If not crowded, the audience chamber held sufficient courtiers, scribes, guards and servants to make it, on a summer night, uncomfortable and over time the multiple lines of advice had fallen into two camps, those both military and civilian who wished to appease Vitalian, in short men who had some sympathy for the right of free worship, up against those who were in outright favour of the emperor’s edict. They thought it best to destroy him and his beliefs while he was within easy reach.

‘Justinus?’

He was obliged to step forward, surprised to be asked to do so. It was obvious Anastasius was about to ask him once more for an opinion, which given the presence of other generals, some of whom were superior in both age and experience and had commanded armies, came as a surprise and as he hesitated his nephew just had time to whisper in his ear.

‘The wily old fox is up to something.’

Justinus bowed his head. ‘Highness?’

‘What would you advise now that this rebel is outside my walls?’

‘Do nothing.’

‘That is hardly an option,’ cried Probus, his least mentally favoured nephew. ‘It insults the dignity of the emperor as well as the state. We should get out from this cowering and drive him away.’

‘Into the sea if we can,’ cried another courtier, an old man with flowing near-white hair, using the kind of flowery arm gestures seen in old drawings of the Republican Senate.

Justinus was tempted to tell the first speaker to stick dignity up his rear; in his experience, standing on that in a war tended to get men killed and armies defeated. With the other he could use that theatrically upraised arm and put it in the same fundament.

‘The possibility was aired that we harass him on the march, but that was not seen to be viable and would, in any case, only have slowed him down.’ He made a point of not looking at the throne; the emperor knew that had been his advice but it had been proffered in private and would stay that way unless Anastasius chose to reveal it. ‘We sit behind walls Vitalian cannot breech, with a port open to any amount of food we need to bring in.’

‘While Vitalian eats the food from our nearby fields,’ Probus
added, ‘feeding his army on what should be feeding the populace of the city. There will be shortages and that could mean rioting.’

‘If you send the city divisions out to fight men will die to no purpose. Let him, like an unsweetened grape, wither on the vine and in time he will go away.’

As Justinus stepped back another stepped forward with Petrus whispering again to identify the speaker, a man who had hitherto held his counsel.

‘Senator Pentheus Vicinus.’ That got a nod from his uncle and he added, ‘Well versed in intrigue.’

‘Who in this room is not?’ came the equally discreet reply. ‘And is he not cousin to the criminal named by Decimus?’

With his nephew at his back Justinus did not see the look he received, which implied in no uncertain terms that there was one person not well versed in intrigue in this chamber and it was the uncle. Vicinus began to speak, employing a very rhetorical mode of address, which to a soldier smacked of going round the houses. It was full of references to the glory of the empire and the sagacity of its present ruler. Finally he came to the point: surely wisdom dictated the first thing to do was talk. Once he got on to the real point of his intervention his language was a lot less extravagant.

‘Invite Vitalian to attend upon you and let him set out his grievances.’

The hiss from Petrus was right in his uncle’s ear. ‘If he comes through a gate he will be killed.’ A pause. ‘Which is not such a ridiculous notion.’

Justinus shook his head as the speaker continued. ‘It may be that a few small concessions will satisfy, if not Vitalian himself, then those he leads.’

‘You think there are those ready to betray him, Senator Vicinus?’

‘Unlikely. As you know, Highness, I have met Vitalian. He is a man who inspires loyalty among those he commands, for, if his opinions are skewed, his nature is not. He is a zealot for his cause, but it may be to others his views are towards the extreme. Perhaps those closest to him could aid him to modify his demands in order that no blood needs to be spilt and peace can once more be restored. It is fitting that it should. Might I also add that should any of his officers aid us in this, it would be appropriate that they should be well rewarded.’

‘Bribe them, sound thinking,’ murmured Petrus, before another pause and a question. ‘Do you think all of this spontaneous, Uncle?’ That got no reply; the senator was speaking again, explaining how this could be achieved.

‘If it pleases Your Highness, since I know Vitalian, I am happy to convey such an invitation to him.’

‘He might not take benevolently to that,’ Probus cried, as he saw his policy being swept to one side. ‘He might send us back your head.’

‘If my head is forfeit in the service of my emperor,’ Vicinus responded, in a sententious tone, ‘then so be it.’

Anastasius raised a hand palm out to command silence and then gave his consent. ‘An offer I cannot do other than accept, Senator.’

‘Too pat, far too pat,’ said Petrus. ‘It has the stink of being arranged beforehand.’

He moved alongside Justinus who replied with a sigh. ‘I do not have your nose for subterfuge, nephew, but no rat would have trouble smelling this.’

The details took little time; it was agreed that the senator would
take an invitation to the rebellious general and his senior officers to attend, under a safe conduct, upon their emperor, where it was hoped common ground could be found that would still the need for any conflict.

‘He will kill him,’ Petrus said, ‘he has to.’

‘I fear he might ask that I do the deed.’

‘You would decline?’ Justinus emphatically nodded his head, but Petrus had a solution handy. ‘One of your officers would I am sure oblige, in fact I may know the very fellow.’

‘One of your drinking and whoring companions?’

‘Who else?’

Which told the uncle that if he had hoped to shame his nephew for both his way of living as well as his tranquil attitude to assassination, he had singularly failed.

The spirit that had animated the host and carried them all the way from Moesia had begun to wilt; faced with such a barrier as the Walls of Theodoric, what had seemed both divine in inspiration and attainable by sheer faith evaporated. It soon became evident that to achieve their stated goal was going to be neither easy nor rapid, a fact bound to dent the fortitude of those who had seen the task as being over long before the spring planting.

Flavius did not set out to be an extra-knowledgeable naysayer, but he was too wedded to logic and too well read in the history of siege warfare to do other than point out to his own group and anyone else prepared to listen the very palpable difficulties, which, if it had not infected the lower ranks, he suspected would command the thinking of those who led them.

‘They will know that even if we had enough men to close off every
gate, you still need to have a fleet of ships to blockade the port and keep food from getting into the city.’

‘What about attacking the walls?’

Helias asked this in a hoarse voice, his mood grumpy. He seemed to have slept little or drunk too much, having gone off in search of entertainment the previous night, and was now struggling to eat his breakfast of bread and figs.

Those wishing to take advantage of a new source of custom had wasted no time in setting out their stalls between the walls and the camp and all must have come from within the city, which turned some minds to a quick raid that would get them inside the gates. Flavius was damp on that too; he suspected the guards would not be slack: anyone exiting would be allowed out by no more than a small postern, easily secured by one soldier, and would probably have to, on re-entry, use a password of some kind.

‘To attack the walls you need siege engines,’ said Flavius, replying to not only Helias, but also to a committed group of listeners. ‘Ballista and the like, and even then what kind of rocks would you have to fire to breach those structures? They are four cubits thick.’

‘There has to be a way, surely,’ insisted another fellow of no name; he came from a separate group. ‘Or why have we come all this way?’

‘You make it sound a waste of time,’ added Tzitas.

‘There are only two ways to get into Constantinople,’ Flavius replied, unaware that he was sounding smug, ‘that is, short of a miracle.’

That had them all crossing themselves, as though by doing so they could bring one on. Flavius was halfway to telling him that from what he had read miracles rarely came along when they were
required. He did not because he was not prepared to admit he could read and even more reluctant to list what those histories had contained.

‘Possibly you can undermine the walls by tunnelling underneath them.’

Helias snorted derisively, before noisily coughing up some phlegm. ‘You, maybe, me never, I like to see the sun.’

‘How far out would you begin?’ asked Tzitas.

‘Beyond a cast spear,’ another soldier called Conon said, which was surprising, given he rarely spoke.

‘More than that,’ Flavius insisted. ‘You have to begin digging where it cannot be seen.’

‘That would take forever.’

‘It would, and the defenders will not just let it happen. Even if they cannot see it they will know.’

‘How?’ demanded a chorus.

‘Don’t think all those folk Helias went to see last night are honest traders.’

Helias cut in, with an angry growl, ‘Rogues and cheats, that’s what they are!’

‘You should have kept to our tent,’ Tzitas crowed, ‘serves you right.’

‘Like our leader?’

Flavius had no interest in what Helias had got up to the previous night or how much he felt he had been dunned and nor was he going to respond to his jibe; so someone had blabbed about him and Apollonia, hardly surprising since it seemed you could not take two steps in an army camp without someone gossiping. He was lost in his imaginings of sieges and battles and relating his
opinions with the eagerness of his age, which carried with it a lack of sensitivity.

‘The other way is starvation, a siege that stops any food getting in, even better if we can cut off their water.’

‘But you just said that needs ships …’

‘I did, Tzitas.’

‘So knowing we lack those, how does our general hope to do what you say is not possible?’

Flavius was so lost in his enthusiasms he did not pick up that his way of talking to them was beginning to grate. Now his voice had that quality that implied to his listeners that only a fool would not be able to deduce the truth.

‘By stirring up the population of the city, of course! There must be many within the walls that are Chalcedonians. My father was always harking on about how prone the people of the city were to riot, and what better cause could there be than the one we are fighting for?’

The sun, which had created a golden sky, rose from behind the city of Constantinople, silhouetting in sharp relief the many spires and also warming their bodies. Unaware of how he was beginning to bore his audience, Flavius began to explain what he knew of the Blues and Greens and how much trouble they could cause. He did not get far, interrupted as he was by a set of blaring trumpets, the sound coming from the same direction as the shining sun, making it impossible to see anything.

Much to his annoyance all his unit stood and walked forward, shading their eyes, and they were not alone; it looked as if the whole host had reacted in a similar fashion, and looking along the line, once he too had joined them, Flavius could see Forbas and Vigilius
acting with the same curiosity as every man they led, only the tribune had a servant strapping on his breastplate.

‘What does this say?’ asked dim Baccuda.

‘It’s a call for you to take up the diadem,’ Helias joked, coughing and spitting again. ‘You from today are to be emperor.’

‘Me?’

‘Does anyone have the wisdom to deserve it more?’

The half-suppressed laughter was enough to let the numbskull see he was being practised on, which made him glower and brought to mind for Flavius the character of Thersites from the
Iliad
, so ugly did that make him appear. Tempted to say so, he thought better; this lot would know nothing of Homer.

‘I’m sure that gate before us is opening,’ called Tzitas, well in advance of the others.

All the while they had been watching, those trumpets had continued to blow and the rising sun, now illuminating the battlements, began to flash off the metal with blinding streaks of light. Tzitas had the right of it, the great gates had swung open and from within them came a body of men on foot, all in startlingly white robes: closer to they saw the broad purple stripes with which they were edged.

‘A delegation from the senate,’ cried Helias.

‘What use is that?’ Flavius enquired only to be utterly ignored, which piqued him enough, after several seconds of total silence, to add, ‘Suit yourself!’

Did they not know, these ignorant
rusticae
that the senate mattered not a scrape on a wax tablet since the time of Augustus and had lost even more power since? It might talk, it rarely even met to do that now, but it did not decide: only the emperor had that right.

Horns began to play to their rear and from that direction came the pounding of hooves, soon to reveal the mounted
foederati
, led in person by Vitalian. He had them fan out before their own encampment with the general at the centre, under his personal banner, an attendant rushing forward with his helmet, that quickly donned, which had his companions looking to Flavius to explain, which he did, feeling his standing restored.