Jack Ludlow - Honour

‘Do they have them, Father?’

Warmed by the respect but unable to answer Flavius spurred his horse straight for the walls and cried, ‘Let’s find out.’

Photius did not hesitate; he was right on the heels of the man he had for years thought of as his parent and he copied too Flavius’s wild yell. The walls before them, hitherto empty, suddenly showed faces peering between the embrasures as the two came well within the range of archery. Flavius hauled hard to pull up his mount out of the range of a cast spear and sat there, the youngster at his side.

‘Put your shield over your shoulders to cover your back. First sign of an arrow, pray to God and ride hard to safety.’

What they got were shouts of incomprehensible derision and even though they sat a while no one came to address or insult them in Latin, so eventually they trotted off to jeers, carrying on their inspection until the walls ended at the western shore, and there Flavius sat musing.

‘It would be remiss not to examine the sea walls but I fear it will be to no purpose.’

Back at the point at which they had begun their inspection a fishing boat was commandeered. Flavius had them rowed out into the wide bay and then close into the sea-stained stonework, standing up to get a good look and lifting his head several times as if seeking a measurement.

‘Photius, find a better boat than this and head back to Catania. Order the fleet to this bay. They are to make haste and spare no canvas or rower for time is of the essence.’

It was just the task for a keen youngster and he was given an escort of four experienced men to avoid him being tempted into an adventure that might be dangerous. With nothing to do Flavius went to his tent to join Procopius and to get from the messenger from Carthage, a senior tribune, some idea of what had been happening in the province since he left. There had been victories and defeats but the key battle was that of Solomon against the largest body of Moors.

‘You will have heard tell, General, of the way they used camels against the Vandals, well they tried it on Solomon. They made a circle in which they put their women and children, being nomads even when fighting they travel with their families-’

That got a slightly impatient nod; Flavius had no need to be told that.

‘The place they chose to give battle was cunning, a flat plain but with some high hills on one side. Solomon suspected that not all the Moors were amongst their camels.’

‘He was at Dara, so he would suspect some of his enemies to be in hiding behind those hills.’

‘Aye. We tried to attack those on the flat ground from the open, plain flank but the horses panicked at the smell of the camels. Not one archer of your bucellarii could settle them enough to fire a bow, so the horns were blown to retreat.’

The tribune could see in the face of Flavius that the thought did not please him, and that he could accept. It was the look Procopius was aiming at him that rankled. What did this jumped-up scribe know of what he was speaking, or any aspect of fighting?

‘The order came to dismount and Solomon led us back into the fight on foot, but instead of attacking straight on he slid round to the other flank, the mountain one, and struck from there. The Moors had left that side short and those hidden, well whatever they thought, they did not engage and we broke through the line of camels as easy as kiss my hand.’ That got a loud sniff. ‘Easy to kill camels, Your Honour.’

‘Moors?’

‘Them too. A lot were slain, the rest taken as slaves and that included the whole crowd of women and children. Fetched a pretty penny, they did. Next Solomon and Theodorus the Cappadocian caught the Moors in a trap in Byzacium and that was a grand slaughter I’m told, but for details I wasn’t there, Your Honour, so I can’t tell you much.’

‘And the mutiny?’

‘Where to start. Men ain’t been paid, land that they was hoping for, having wed the Vandal widows, been taken for Justinian, may his greed send him to hell.’

‘Careful where you say that, Tribune.’

That made the fellow sit up and he recounted all the problems that assailed what he had left in peace. Not just those mentioned, but also religion, for if it seemed right to shut the Arian churches and deny baptism, that took no account of the number of Arians in the imperial army such as the Heruls. Then there were Vandals stirring things up too.

‘One piles on top of another and before you know it, mutiny.’

‘Led by whom?’

‘No one.’

That could not be true, but this tribune had no idea. The arrival of Solomon — who had fled Carthage — with the fleet fetched by Photius, brought the information Flavius required but that had to be set to one side since nothing could be done until he had dealt with what was before him. That required that he take to one of the larger transports and sail it as close to the walls of Panormus as was commensurate with safety.

‘I may be too old for this.’

That was said as he began to climb the rigging that held the large central mast. It was not age that was against him but motion of a kind he had never before experienced, even in rough seas. The height exaggerated what on deck was light swell and Flavius felt his stomach churn as he swayed back and forth. For all his discomfort he had observed what he had come to see, though the descent he found was ten times more nerve-racking than the ascent.

Back on deck he spoke with the master mariner acting as the fleet commander and laid out his proposals, to which the fellow readily agreed, sending men off in a boat to go round the other large transports. Some were ordered to join with the vessel on which Flavius was still feeling unwell, others to send their most commodious boats.

‘Photius, ashore as quick as you can with those boats and fetch me my archers.’

They came in small packets and some of them, even in a calm bay, were showing signs of being green at the gills. While they had been travelling, the transports chosen had lined up on the command vessel and were busy anchoring head and stern so they became as stable a platform as was possible on an open sea.

‘Eight archers per boat was the command’, and men who had got gratefully to the deck were put back from where they had come, with a cheerful Flavius commanding his stepson Photius, ‘to wave to our enemies’.

This the boy did, a line of faces at the battlements that seemed to have no idea what was coming; hardly surprising, few did. The boats full of archers were now being rigged with lines, split to both sides so as to keep them even. That done Flavius gave the men on the windlass the order to haul, and slowly, one by one, the boats were raised till they were as near to the top of the mast as they could go.

‘Choose your targets, no arrows to be wasted.’

It was hard to see from the deck but from aloft the masts were much higher than the sea wall defences, which were lower than the landward wall. The archers were firing down on Goths who had nothing with which to defend themselves for they had no archery with which to reply. The protection they relied upon was gone and the threat of what would follow was obvious. A seaward assault in which they dare not man their parapet.

‘Photius. Take one of the other boats and offer the garrison terms. They may leave without their weapons and we will transport them to Italy. They have till the morning to decide.’

With that he called to the archers to desist.

The positive reply came back as required; the man leading the garrison knew he could not withstand the tactic which had been employed against him. A ship was arranged and the Goths marched out of their own watergate as the Romans marched in, the man Flavius was leaving in command given one order to be carried out straight away.