Jack Ludlow: Honour

Eyes were cast anxiously to the east but no one appeared; thankfully, it seemed Narses was too occupied to check on the tale he had been fed. In the fading light the last act was an examination of the true place of slaughter. The field was soaked with blood, as would be the place where he had fought himself, so a silent prayer for rain was not amiss, nor a hope that there was insect and scavenging life enough to remove such traces.

The number of vultures now circling was in the dozens and as the sky took on a dark-blue tint to the west, Flavius had his men remount their somewhat recovered horses and, with the booty they had recovered, set off to rejoin the main body.

The operation, a sweep across a defined area of the borderlands completed, Narses led his men back towards the great fortress of Dara, still a place of masons and engineers skilled in constructing defence works formidable enough to hold off anything Sassanid Persia could send their way. It sat above on a trio of hills that gave a commanding view of the surrounding plains. Within the walls lay several wells, which fed huge cisterns so the water supply was secure and could not be cut off. The storerooms were so large that food and fodder for a two-year siege was stockpiled and maintained, time enough for the empire to mount an operation of relief should Dara be invested.

Flavius Belisarius oversaw the weary mounts handed over to the grooms who would care for them. The men were sent to their barrack rooms, those with wounds diverted to the place where they could receive treatment. He next ensured his men would be fed and the food he saw delivered to the tables at which they would consume it, he having tasted it to ensure it was edible.

Satisfied that his duties were complete he made for the officers’ quarters where he could strip off his armour, breastplate and greaves, as well as clothing made filthy by a week of campaigning, and enter the baths where he could wash and be afforded a massage. He was on the stone slab, with the hands of the masseur kneading out his aches and pains, when one of his fellow junior officers came by to deliver a message. In his absence an order had come from Constantinople calling him back to the capital.

‘A personal order and one that brooks no delay, from no less than the comes excubitorum himself. Our general was so impressed he nearly sent out messengers to fetch you back.’

‘Have you not heard?’ came a voice from another stone table. ‘Flavius is a hero who can fly and so swiftly that his enemies are rendered unable to move by the sight of him above their heads.’

A third voice responded with faux wonder. ‘So that’s why they let themselves be slaughtered within the bounds of empire.’

There were those amongst the officers garrisoning Dara who resented his connections within the imperial palace, influence that had got him his present posting at such a young age. Men were bound to be jealous in a world where such links provided the route to promotion and wealth. The allusion to the recent fight and that last remark indicated Narses had chosen to accept the story rather than believe it, no doubt to cover his own back as the overall commander. Yet he had seen it as sensible also to let his doubts be known to others.

It was a febrile world in which he lived, but that was a fact known to him for many years now. The next question was obvious. Why did Justinus, comes Excubitorum and one of the most powerful men in Constantinople, in command of the body that guarded the person of the Emperor Anastasius, want him back in the capital?

There was a great deal about the capital of the Eastern Roman Empire for Flavius Belisarius to dislike; the sheer teeming mass of humanity was easy to resent as his horse sought to push its way through the crowds that filled the streets, all jostling and refusing to give way as they, in no discernible order, moved simultaneously in two directions on foot, in carts, with the occasional palanquin or mounted worthy. Also, if a military barracks in high summer was not a scented place, Constantinople was many times worse, given it needed heavy rain to wash the filth, both human and animal, from its streets and into a sea often rendered deep brown by the effluent.

Worst of all was the utter lack of regard or respect for a fellow citizen, a natural belligerence in the eyes of those he fought his way through until he reached the Triumphal Way and the open space before the great imperial palace, one so huge not even the population of the city could render it full, where he could dismount.

Flavius had been inducted three years previously into the military unit responsible for the bodily security of the Emperor and it was men of that body who stood guard at the gates leading into the maze of buildings that constituted the seat of imperial power. As befitted the successors to the Praetorian Guard, they were beautifully accoutred in gleaming and decorated armour, archaic in its design, breastplates and helmets flashing in the strong sunshine, as were the points of their spears.

Their commander, Justinus, after a year of training, had sent him to the eastern borderlands to hone his soldiering skills and in doing so he had donned the equipment of the units with which he had served, equipment that now showed the wear of two seasons’ campaigning. His padded garment was worn, the surface nearly worn away in parts and lacking any decor. Added to that he had upon him the grit and muck of weeks of travel which, to these finely clad sentinels, made him look like some kind of vagabond.

Naturally haughty anyway, common soldiers of such an elevated body were not inclined to give any form of greeting to an officer from another unit that came even close to respect. Flavius had also been gone two whole years, time in which the composition of the Excubitors had changed enough to render him unknown to many of those now acting as guards. So his enquiry to be let through to attend upon the comes , if not greeted with mirth, was not taken as anything even bordering on serious, while the response was delivered to a point just above his head.

‘Best if you apply in writing, young sir, and if His Excellency approves of you coming to see him he will issue you with an authorisation to enter the palace.’

Flavius replied in an even tone, partly because of his equable nature but also because of the weariness of the traveller. As if to underline he would brook no delay he held out his reins so that his equally tired mount could be taken care of, an offer declined with a shudder of indignation as it was caught at the edge of the guard’s vision.

‘I am here at his express command, fellow, and I tell you that if I will not resort to temper in the face of your refusal to let me pass, I cannot speak for Justinus. He may be a commander known for his consideration but he is also famous for his attention to the behaviour of his men and not shy of the whip.’

The eyes dropped for an instant to take in the face, as if to acknowledge a commonly known truth, only to be raised again. ‘If I face such wrath it will be for letting you pass.’

‘Then I ask that you at least take my name to the guard commander?’

‘To say what?’

‘That Flavius Belisarius of the Excubitors is returned.’

That brought the eyes down to stare, to take in the grubby padded coat and the filth that encrusted it, the man’s tone so full of astonishment as to render any respect to his rank absent. ‘You, an Excubitor?’

‘I admit to failing to appear as one but I am still part of the imperial guard, so I order you to take my name to your officer.’

‘Best comply,’ said the second guard, stood only two paces distant, who had hitherto remained silent.

The reluctance of his companion was obvious, he having taken a position that he had no wish to relinquish. ‘You go, then.’