Jack Ludlow: Triumph

She was far from convinced and there was also the possibility of Antonina seeing the disadvantage of giving up the role Theodora had allotted to her.

‘Do you too think I hanker after the diadem?’ That got no answer. ‘What can I do to convince you? I could have had the title of Western Emperor and I said no. That would have made you Theodora’s equal.’

Sounding genuine took some effort; he had not been entirely against the notion Procopius had advanced, that in such a role he could cast his less than wholehearted companion aside. Even thinking about it now, he was not sure he would not have been tempted, despite the threat to his soul. Procopius had countered that fear by hinting at a papal dispensation.

‘I could never be her equal,’ Antonina insisted, not entirely convincingly.

‘And you are all the better for it.’ Given he rarely even came close to flattery with his wife, that had some effect. ‘You have often hinted that I do not treat you with the respect you deserve.’

‘Like a chattel most of the time, and when was the last time you came to my bed?’

Flavius did not react with his usual excuse of being either too busy or in recovery from some fight or other; he was long past feeling much passion for Antonina. Yet he had never said so, having, through a natural kindness that had appalled both Procopius and Photius, declined to employ words that would wound her feelings. There was also the residual thought, which was far from flattering to him, that insulting her would not be wise.

‘There is no more important mission to be undertaken. The only person of greater standing than you Antonina, is me, and I cannot leave my command without being suspected of rebellion, the very thing I choose to utterly deny. Must I plead with you?’

A soft probing response. ‘You would make it known that I am important?’

‘Not important, vital.’

A pout now. ‘You know that some of your officers feel free to insult me at any time of their choosing.’

They don’t, Flavius thought, but you, my dear, see an insult in a want of adulation.

‘I have not observed it,’ was the feeble response.

‘Then, Flavius,’ she hissed, ‘as I have always contended, you are blind.’

The way she paced a bit, her arms hugging her body, he knew to be role playing. When she stopped and looked at him he felt certain she was about to agree to his request.

‘I want you to call a meeting of all your senior officers.’

‘Why?’

‘If you are going to announce the need for an embassy to Constantinople and if you are so insistent that I am the only one you can trust to carry it out, that is something I would wish to be stated in public.’ The voice hardened. ‘I want to see the faces of those who feel free to slight me when you announce that.’

‘Of course,’ came the reply; it was small price to pay so she could gloat.

‘And as soon as that has been arranged you must go aboard a fast galley to Dyrrachium and on my authority employ every means at your disposal to make the fastest journey possible.’

That clearly appealed: to be able to order every posthouse resident to provide her with transport. Antonina loved ordering her maids around; now she would be able to command men to obey. To watch her swell as her mission was announced, to a gathering of officers who could not fathom why they had been summoned, had amusing elements to Antonina’s husband. In her it produced obvious and rather unbecoming conceit.

Antonina never returned to Italy. She made a fast journey and what came back, sent by her and brought to Flavius by imperial messenger, was much more telling. Theodora was no more; she had died after a short illness and by the tone of Antonina’s letter, the fate of the Army of Italy was of secondary concern. What would she do now her patron was gone?

The message from Justinian arrived right on the heels of that from his wife; it was a categorical order that Comes Flavius Belisarius relinquish his command in the peninsula and return with all speed to Constantinople.

This was no homecoming in triumph; if not quite the reverse Flavius had no reason to expect any kind of grand welcome and nor was one provided. There was to be no docking at the private imperial harbour, the landing was in the main dock area. Yet Antonina, alerted to the vessel bearing his standard was in the offing, was on the quayside to greet him. As soon as he landed she rushed forward to kneel at his feet and having grabbed his hand, kiss it.

‘My prayers have been answered.’

The welcome threw Flavius; overt displays of affection had been rare in their marriage for quite a long time but it did not take much thought to discern Antonina’s reasoning: with Theodora gone she was without high-level protection and she would have reasoned, as had he, that Justinian had not recalled him at such a time to inflict on him any kind of punishment.

‘Whatever fears you had Antonina, let them rest.’

Up came the face, with damp eyes. ‘I feared only for your person. You were surrounded in Italy by many who would be jealous of what position you could be elevated to. And then there is the sea itself, never still and always dangerous.’

That she was deliberately avoiding the real reason he had to expect, which annoyed Flavius. Surely for once she could be truthful and say she needed him and his protection. In amongst all his speculations on the voyage – and they had ranged far and wide – what to do about his errant wife had barely surfaced. Had he become so immune to her endemic underhandedness as to just take it as part of the life he had to live?

‘I sent word to the palace as soon as I heard your galley had been sighted.’

‘Then I best make my way there.’

The response was swift. ‘Is it not better to wait? Is not best to let Justinian summon you rather than appear too ardent to kneel at his feet.’

‘I don’t kneel at his feet,’ Flavius replied with real anger. ‘Others may give way to Persian follies, not me!’

To accompany that rebuke he hauled Antonina to her feet to see confusion in her expression, which was part a frown yet mixed with uncertainty: she probably wanted to chide him but was cautious of doing so.

‘If you go to the palace I shall not accompany you.’

‘Because you don’t want to or you cannot?’

The old Antonina emerged then, her eyes flashing. ‘Do you need to be so deliberately cruel?’

‘I wasn’t aware of being so, but it is obvious that with Theodora dead you are no longer such a welcome visitor to the parts of the palace she once occupied. Which makes me wonder where you have been laying your head.’

‘At our villa, where else?’

‘Then go back there, Antonina.’

‘You will come there?’

‘Of course. Where else would I go?’

It came as no surprise that Justinian kept him waiting. For all the peremptory nature of his command to return, he would still be conscious of his rank; emperors did not inconvenience themselves for anyone. That accepted, the time he took to send for Flavius rankled, so it was a far from benign comes sacri stabuli who, having gone through many more layers of bodyguards and Excubitors than had ever previously protected Justinian, was ushered into his presence.

At least there was daylight; the drapes were open, albeit there were two broad-shouldered guards outside to ensure no one could cast a spear into the room and kill him. He looked better than the last time Flavius had clapped eyes on him, fuller of face and body, though he had never been large. The two men appraised each other for several seconds before Justinian spoke.

‘You have gone grey, Count Belisarius.’

‘Who would not in your service, Excellency?’