Jack Ludlow - Triumph

‘You may sit,’ was the rasping introduction, ‘though God knows I should have you branded with red-hot irons.’

‘Would that be to satisfy your conscience or to trouble mine?’

That stopped the pacing and got the still standing Flavius a glare, made more hostile due to the light and the shadows it cast. Outside Flavius had been afforded time to think and he had concluded that to grovel to Justinian would be useless. Was it possible, given the information he had been fed by his wife, that the Emperor believed a man who named him a friend had set out to usurp him?

There was no point in seeking to guess at such a problem; he needed to convince Justinian that such accusations were false and the one thing that might bend his mind to even a hint of truth was for someone who had always challenged him to miss an opportunity of doing so now. Whatever else he must face, Justinian had to be presented with the Flavius Belisarius he knew.

‘You deny your transgressions?’

‘I deny wishing for your passing. Had God seen fit to reject my prayers for your recovery I would have acted as I always have.’

‘Don’t tell me, Flavius,’ came the mocking response. ‘For the good of the empire.’

‘A duty which falls daily to both of us.’

‘I see your tongue has not been stilled by your recent travails.’

‘I have learnt to be more skilful with certain people but I cannot change the way I address you. If I am required to do that I would rather you dismiss me from your presence and allow me to return to being ignored.’

‘For the love of God, Flavius, sit down!’

‘Why am I here?’

‘You are here because I want you here.’

‘Want or need? Did you really believe I would betray you?’

‘Why not?’ came the weary response. ‘Everyone else seems bent on doing so. Not a week goes by when I do not hear of some attempt to topple me.’

Conspiracies all brought to you by your wife, Flavius thought; it was not a politic thought to express. There was also something in the way Justinian had responded that indicated that he knew the notion of his rebelling had to be nonsense; the man who had turned down the crown of the Goths? He had been ill, probably near death’s door, which had left Theodora in total control. Would Justinian have believed a word of the accusations if he had been hale?

When Flavius finally sat down, Justinian came close enough to allow the features to be studied and the ravages of what he had gone through were there to see: hollow cheeks, eyes that were embedded in deep sockets, and given he was wearing a silken cowl, it had to be assumed he had suffered the kind of severe hair loss Flavius had witnessed in his surviving soldiers. That explained the candlelight in the middle of the day.

‘Admit you needed to be reminded of your place?’ All that got was a nod; there would never be a verbal admission of guilt but it seemed enough to satisfy Justinian who laid a hand on his shoulder and pronounced. ‘Your sequestration is over, Flavius. I require you to go to Italy.’

‘If you intend to reinstate me, let me go back to Dara and with everything I enjoyed in terms of rank.’

‘Italy is where you are needed and as to reinstatement, well …’ The pause was followed by a sigh. ‘Martinus has only recently been named as magister militum per Orientem . Can you not see it impossible to strip him of that or to recall him when he is properly carrying out his duties and is fully engaged in manoeuvring against Khusrow?’

‘You have the power to do as you wish.’

That changed the imperial tone markedly. ‘It seems I do not have the power to command you!’

There was no choice but to succumb and what followed was a description of how dire matters were in the Italian Peninsula where the various Byzantine generals seemed content to remain in whatever towns and cities they held, making no effort to combine against Totila. Flavius was to be restored to a senior military command and had the promise that his wealth, now in the possession of Theodora, would be returned, a promise only kept in part, since she subsequently gave part of it to Justinian and he saw no reason to decline such a gift.

Equally disquieting was the insistence by Theodora that Antonina once more accompany him, no doubt to fulfil the same purpose she had previously performed: namely to keep the Empress fully informed of her husband’s actions and statements, which, in the case of the latter, with Flavius now being very guarded, she would probably have to invent.

What he could not have was his previous title or his old comitatus , now in the service of other commanders, men who had paid large sums for their service. When he asked for soldiers, especially bucellarii , that too was hardly forthcoming in any great number. Unknown to Flavius as he set out from Constantinople, along the Via Egnatia, at the head of no more than a thousand men, was that he was heading for years of frustration, mainly due to the lack of effective fighting men, but also because he had, in Totila, an opponent who had learnt from him.

The Goth King had adopted the Belisarian policy with the natives; even in Naples, which by the laws of war he had the right to sack, Totila had avoided punishing them for holding out against him. He did the very opposite to a population near to starvation, bringing in food with which to feed them and even controlling the distribution to avoid the kind of sudden overeating which could kill. He had shown clemency to the Byzantine garrison by allowing them to march out with their equipment for Rome, and given many were now locally recruited this spread the word to the Italians of a wise and temperate ruler.

By the time Flavius reached Salona on the coast of Illyria, recruitment by bounty in that province had quadrupled his forces but that counted for little in a situation in which matters had deteriorated. If he was to be successful, it rested on the men he had been appointed to command and they, even those who had served with him previously, were no longer the homogeneous body he required.

Declining to cross the Adriatic by sea he decided to take the land route to Ravenna but before he moved pressure on several Italian garrisons obliged him to send supplies to avoid unnecessary surrenders. That did not stop the rot; certain places were not only opening their gates, they were going over to an enemy who seemed to gain in strength as Flavius struggled.

On reaching Ravenna he found it hard to persuade the non-Totila Goths to take service under his banner, and even worse the Byzantine soldiers stationed there also declined, a blow that no amount of reassurance from his domesticus could soften.

‘You are still held in high regard.’

‘Am I, Solomon?’

‘The men here who once served under you remember your care for their welfare and they are more than willing to attest to it for those who did not, Goths included.’

‘Yet not a single man saw fit to attach themselves to my standard,’ Flavius muttered.

‘It is their present leaders they do not trust. They are certain that at some time in the future you will be recalled and they will once more fall under the command of generals who do not act as you do. These are men whom they have also refused to serve. It is not you alone.’

‘Then,’ Flavius sighed, ‘we must show to them that there is gain in fighting with me.’

That was an aim easier enunciated than achieved and really it was as much an answer to inactivity as any desire to impress. All that could be despatched were small parties of troops, never more than a thousand at a time, to seek to apply pressure on Totila that would have him move to counter it, thus relieving stress on strongholds like Rome.

Even if he was not personally present, some of the magic which had attached to his name seemed still to prevail. Vitalius, the magister who had aided him in raising troops in Illyricum, was sent with those levies into the province of Amelia to tie down the garrison in Bononia, which allowed him to exert control over the surrounding, supremely fertile area. This forced Totila to send a superior force to dislodge them.