Jack Ludlow: Triumph

‘I don’t think I have ever heard you boast before.’

‘It makes me uncomfortable, Solomon, but the times require it.’

The only sign of the Huns the following day was scouts reconnoitring their camp. For all his attempts to fool them in darkness Flavius knew he could not do so in daylight, nor could he avoid it being seen that he was preparing a defensive ditch all around his position. Those scouts would be counting his numbers and from that Zabergan would draw a very obvious conclusion: an easy victory awaited him.

It was necessary to anticipate that he would move on the next day, so Flavius, in the pre-dawn, made his deployments. Two-thirds of his cavalry were despatched to hide in the woods either side of the valley while the remainder, under his personal command, stood at the head where it opened up into a wide area of pasture cut by a dry river bed. Part in and part out of that were his peasant levies under Solomon.

His hopes were rewarded by the sight of the glinting on armour and the men he had set out to watch for the enemy came back with the first bit of good news: the Huns’ numbers were guessed at around two thousand, which meant that Zabergan had not brought to the field his entire host.

As soon as they began to advance Solomon blew a horn that had those peasants yell at the top of their voices while brandishing with fury whatever it was they carried.

The next move had to place a question in Zabergan’s mind, even as he began his advance. Flavius led his small force forward, passing over the defensive ditch and filling the valley floor from side to side.

The Huns were eager for battle and in Zabergan they had a leader fully confident of victory, to Flavius a dangerous combination and he watched as his enemies acted exactly as he hoped. What had been a steady progress broke into a fast canter and for some a full-out charge as the Huns sought to close with the thin crust of fighting men they faced, not checked by the fact that the enemies did likewise, though in a flat and continuous line.

The bucellarii checked the leading elements of the Huns by arrow fire before they hooked their bows over the saddle horn and took hold of their spears. Behind them the peasants had set up such a cacophony of noise that it drowned out the sound of thudding hooves and yelling combatants and by stamping their feet they also sent into the air a huge cloud of dust which, on the wind, drifted down the valley.

As soon as the two opposing lines met, with the Hun advance momentarily checked, the men Flavius had placed in the woods emerged at full tilt to hit both the flanks of their enemies, which drove the Huns in on themselves creating a dense mass of horsemen most of whom could not get at the men attacking them for their own comrades. It was obvious that both in front and to the sides the experienced fighting men Flavius had deployed, better armoured and mounted than the Huns, were killing at will.

Flavius was in the heart of the central battle and he was rarely engaged against just one enemy. A sword stroke cut through his thigh but that had to be ignored. Another swinging blade hit his helmet and so dazed him he had to spin his mount away to clear enough space to recover, finding himself enclosed by his own bodyguards as he re-entered the fray.

A low blow from an axe got under his shield to dent his chest armour and he knew he had suffered a wound but that too had to be disregarded as the battle reached its climax. The Huns were penned in, milling around and mostly useless. The sound of horns struggled to be heard over the still yelling peasant levies and now the dust was among the fighting, making it hard to see anything.

That must have affected Zabergan, who would be unable to observe if those screaming peasants, who Flavius knew would look formidable at a distance, were about to push forward and get in among his horsemen. If they did the result could be a catastrophe and slowly at first, then with increasing pace, the rear elements of the Huns began to withdraw, soon followed by their comrades desperately trying to disengage from their personal contests.

Solomon had his orders and as soon as the fact was relayed to him – he could not see for the dust either – he ordered the peasants forward. If they were barely visible the rising sound of their stridency must have conveyed to Zabergan that he was in danger of being overwhelmed. Within a blink, all those at the front could see was the retreating flanks of the Hun horses.

Flavius had not felt pain until that point but it came upon him now, both from the wounds he had suffered as well as blows inflicting less damage. Yet he could not relax for he feared his own levies, if they got out of control and went after the Huns, would be massacred; such peasants could not face proper fighters in an open battle and he was now riding before them accompanied by his horsemen to block their desire to run after the enemy.

That it succeeded was only by a narrow margin, added to the fact that having shouted for so long many of the host were hoarse and only too eager to desist. Their general was thus able to convey that they had won a great victory and so replace the desire for pursuit with celebration.

‘One battle, Solomon.’ Flavius gasped as the mendicant monks worked to repair his wounds. The gash in his thigh had gone deep and he had several broken ribs, from armour so dented it had been a task to get it off without causing further harm. ‘If he comes again we will not beat him twice.’

He was still comatose when the news came of the Hun withdrawal. Zabergan had suffered just enough to make him worry about progressing further, so he offered to sell his thousands of Thracian captives to Justinian, which was readily accepted, at which point he headed north, back to the Danube and home.

Flavius required a litter with which to re-enter the capital but the cheering was just as vociferous as it had been when, on his return from North Africa, he rode along the Triumphal Way on horseback. It pleased him that those Vandals in his service, and the Goths too, were hailed with equal passion.

Justinian provided the best physicians but it was weeks stretching into months before Flavius was fully ambulant, albeit with a pronounced limp, while the black bruise on his chest seemed permanent, which had the people attending him shaking their heads. His popularity soared as that of Justinian fell; the Emperor castigated for buying Zabergan off instead of pursuing him and destroying his army, this by a citizenry that had no idea such a thing was impossible.

Being a rod for discontent had an effect on their relationship; Justinian hated to be booed in the Hippodrome when Flavius Belisarius, limping and clearly in pain, was loudly cheered.

The day three months later when the Excubitors came to arrest Flavius was one of brilliant sunshine and he was in a good mood, overseeing a better laying out of his garden, this while Antonina entertained a whole host of neighbours only too willing to listen to her boasting – she had a hand in winning all of her husband’s battles of course – for the chance of proximity to the wife of such a hero; they scattered quick enough when the fact of his arrest became known.

‘The charge is that you have engaged in conspiracy to displace the Emperor.’

‘Again?’ Flavius sighed.

By the time he reached the palace dungeons, he had once more been stripped of offices and wealth. The source of the charge was none other than Ancinius Probus Vicinus and it was relayed to him that proof existed of the crime. Two of his comitatus had been arraigned for plotting the downfall of Justinian and under torture had implicated their general, which obliged him once more to face the senate and interrogation by a man he knew wanted him disgraced.