Jack Ludlow: Triumph

Flavius waited till his tent emptied, leaving himself and Procopius alone, his secretary being the man with whom he could share his most intimate thoughts. ‘The Stephanus fellow seems the least ill-disposed.’

That got an emphatic nod. ‘I will seek to get word to him of the rewards he can expect for advancing our cause. I take it I am allowed to be generous?’

Flavius agreed to the bribe but made no enquiry as to how that would be undertaken; it was the sort of nefarious activities at which Procopius excelled. Not for the first time he was inclined to draw a comparison of this man to Justinian and their twin talents for intrigue.

Ever willing to call the Emperor a friend, Flavius could recall too many occasions, long before his rise to his imperial estate, when Justinian had embroiled him in deep conspiracies, never at any time being entirely inclusive in what he was seeking to achieve. It was by those means he had got his childless uncle raised to the purple, his own elevation thus brought about as night follows day.

Yet there was a difference between the two; he trusted Procopius absolutely to act on his behalf and had never had a moment’s doubt that such would be the case, a care that extended even to his troubled private life and that was where comparison faltered. Justinian was too much the weathervane for true reliance, blown off course by his own whims as well as the machinations of the equally devious and tough-minded Theodora.

That thought brought him back to his own marital complications, which were never far from the surface of his considerations. His wife Antonina, left behind in Sicily, had, while in Carthage, formed an unsuitable attraction to their adopted son, Flavius’s godson Theodosius, something to which he had been blind while occupied fighting the Vandals. Procopius, more in sorrow than prompted by any other emotion, had informed him of what possibilities he had failed himself to see.

If he had harboured any residual doubts they had been challenged by one of Antonina’s own attendants, a slave girl called Macedonia. She had stated as fact that which Procopius had only really hinted at. When he challenged his wife with the information given to him by a person well placed to observe, she had merely dismissed it as irrelevant and a lie.

Theodosius and Antonina were both in Sicily and with his fleet rejoined and in regular contact with the island he had sent Photius to find out if he still had cause for concern, something his position barred him from personally investigating. The young man’s return had not brought comfort; Antonina was, it seemed, behaving like a lovesick adolescent and this with a man twenty years her junior.

Of course, no one would have spoken of such matters in his presence but Photius was seen differently, a youth to be ribbed with sly asides and barely disguised jokes as well as one able to see with his own eyes. Having reported what had been imparted to him, the more salacious jests tempered, the young man gave Flavius a look that he had employed before, one that seemed to ask why his stepfather did not just dispose of them both.

Flavius could not explain, for to do so made him sound even more of a potential dupe, quite beside the fact that such an act would be mortal sin enough as to render him an outcast. Strong in his faith and dedicated to honourable behaviour, he could not repudiate a woman whom he had married, taking solemn vows as he did so, even if her reported conduct broke his heart.

But there was another reason and that impacted on his career as a soldier as well as the campaign in which he was now engaged, one he was sure required him to lead in order to be successful. If that was immodest for Flavius it was based on a sound appreciation of the qualities of the man who stood to replace him.

Constantinus was a good general but for Flavius he was too eager a conqueror. Even in Illyria, where he had successfully campaigned in a land which was firmly the territory of his emperor, he had apparently treated the local population as if they were an extension of his enemy, allowing his troops the freedom to despoil as they saw fit.

Antonina was also a bosom and long-time companion of the Empress Theodora, indeed it was she who had brought them into intimate contact within the imperial palace. Having, he suspected, manoeuvred them into marriage – Flavius was honest enough to admit to being willingly seduced by a woman for whom he still had a deep affection – Theodora had insisted Antonina accompany Flavius on his North African campaign.

Unsure of why that should be it had taken Procopius to alert him to a depressing fact and one not in dispute. His wife was writing to Theodora relating anything her husband uttered that would be taken as disrespectful to both Justinian and herself. When he thought on that he was brought to the blush by some of the jests he had made, sure they would never be reported to someone ever on guard for treachery.

Theodora resented his friendship with her husband, which preceded her own connection. Flavius Belisarius could plead till the stars fell from the sky that he had no ambition other than to serve a man to whom he owed a debt and he considered a friend, as well as an empire to which he had dedicated his life. It would be in vain.

The Empress, risen from such a humble background – she had been a singer, an excitingly daring dancer and perhaps more besides – had raw nerves when it came to her class allied to her position. She knew there were people who would be only too willing to rip her into small pieces, and saw disloyalty and threats to imperial security everywhere.

That applied very much to a man in whom Justinian was willing to confide, had been too often alone with and had proved to be a superbly successful soldier, a set of credentials that in the past had led to imperial usurpation. Added to that, Flavius Belisarius was popular with the people, cheered wherever he went in his consular year. How could he not hanker for more?

‘How went the parley?’ Photius asked, once more admitted to his stepfather’s command tent.

‘In the balance I would say.’

The trio of worthies had been back three times and so far nothing had been concluded, each time the excuse of consultation being advanced to continue delay. Flavius knew that was only partly true; they were really waiting to see if the Goths of Ravenna were going to come to their aid.

‘And if they do not?’

‘Then it depends, Photius, on only one factor. Do the notables of Naples think we can win in Italy or do they expect us to be defeated by Theodahad, in which case surrendering to us would be a very precarious move indeed, for there would be retribution on a scale of which only the Goths are capable. Perhaps we shall get a better indication tomorrow when they have promised to return with a definitive answer.’

Flavius put an arm round the shoulder of the youngster, still looking troubled by the information he had brought from Sicily. ‘Enough of this, come join me on my nightly stroll.’

It was a habit of Flavius, when circumstances permitted, to walk the lines of the encampment before his men bedded down for the night. If they called out to him he would answer, if they seemed inclined to talk he would indulge them, and if one or two yelled out a demeaning joke, that would invoke genuine laughter.

Flavius was ever aware that leading an army was personal; these men might in truth be fighting for Constantinople but they would only do so effectively if they were also fighting for him.

It was a lone envoy that came the following dawn. Stephanus, shown to the general’s tent by Solomon, carried with him a list of demands so comprehensive and challenging that he was genuinely embarrassed to deliver them. Questioned, he admitted that the list had been drawn up at the insistence of his two fellow negotiators, Asclepiodotus and Pastor, who held the greatest sway in the senate and the city. It was telling these two had not dared to consider delivering them alongside Stephanus, no doubt fearing for their heads.