Jack Ludlow - Vengeance

‘Numbers obliged us to bury the victims of the recent incursion in a communal grave and they have had a Mass said for their salvation. But we must say another for the departed souls of your father and brothers that are, thanks to your actions, in deep peril of eternal damnation. Now, as it is my duty, I will confess you and grant you absolution.’

If Flavius had been nervous prior to that he was rendered doubly so now: could he in confession, before taking in the blood and the body of Christ, fail to tell when asked of what he had found? Would he, in failing to be utterly truthful, damn his own soul?

‘Leave us alone,’ Blastos hissed at Ohannes, there being no need to explain why.

Dread of God’s wrath disappeared somewhat, Flavius wondering if he had things other than damnation to worry about. In truth such fears were misplaced; Bishop Gregory Blastos carried out his clerical duties impeccably, listening to the young man’s filleted confession without interruption, imposing upon him as penance a strict regime of prayer and repentance, before producing a small box containing bread and a vial of consecrated wine, both properly administered.

The bishop then began praying sonorously above his kneeling body and bowed head, asking that he should be granted forgiveness, yet all Flavius could hear throughout was his father’s voice cursing this man, his blasphemous depredations and filthy behaviour. It was necessary to hold to the truth that if God was omnipotent and could see everything and everyone, to the innermost thoughts of their soul, a blessing from Gregory Blastos might well be meaningless.

One hand dropped from where it had been placed, on the top of his head, to softly caress his cheek and then seek to cup his chin. Flavius shot to his feet and looked the bishop in the eye, which must have contained a measure of his fury at what was being inferred. His glare was greeted by a smile and a shrug added to a soft injunction that to a troubled youth sounded like a threat.

‘I am sure in time we may be friends, Flavius, closer than your grief allows us to be at present.’

Still wary, Flavius moved to the doorway and called on Ohannes to return, to take up his position by the doorway, wearing the same unfriendly expression with which he had previously fixed their visitor. Both the act and the look seemed to mildly amuse the bishop, who had begun to relate how busy his church had become since what he called ‘that unfortunate event of two days past’.

‘So many victims, you understand. Many of those who have come to pray for the souls of those we lost have also asked that the Lord bless you with the means to overcome your sorrow.’

‘For which I am bound to give them thanks.’

‘A goodly number are curious as to what you will do now.’

‘What can I do but take my mother, if she comes here to grieve, back to the place of her birth. There is family there, after all, and given my father’s appointment is no more-’

‘Ah yes,’ Blastos interjected, taking hold of the large and expensive cross that adorned his chest. ‘We will sadly need to send to Constantinople to have another come to protect us, as well as the men to do so, perhaps in greater numbers than we have hitherto been granted.’

The word ‘sadly’ struck a totally false note; Flavius could not believe Blastos cared a sliver for the men lost of whatever rank or relation, so again he was left fighting to stop himself from raining curses down on this swine’s head. When he did speak, he croaked a question he had been dying to ask since the bishop arrived, not that he anticipated an honest answer.

‘Do you feel that Senuthius acted as he should?’

That brought a deep, almost animal growl from the throat of Ohannes, which got him a look of utter disdain from a man who thought the views of such a fellow to be worthless. The bishop then looked at Flavius, eyebrows raised, as if he was surprised to be in receipt of such a question.

‘I mean as commander of the militia.’

‘How is a mere priest to know? Such things are the province of fighting men, which my calling dictates I cannot be.’

‘You were present.’

‘In the capacity of my office, no more, to bless those going into battle.’

‘Which was as good as over before Senuthius sounded the advance.’

Up came the hands in a gesture of futility, added to a furious shake of the jowls, leaving the youngster with a distinct impression he had pushed Blastos into an area in which he was far from comfortable. It was as if such an enquiry was unexpected, yet how could he come to this house and not anticipate something of that nature to be raised?

‘Yet you must agree that I am entitled to ask for an explanation?’

‘I am not sure I understand the nature of what you are asking.’

‘He stood unmoving when it was clear that battle had been joined.’

Blastos turned away to address a wall, thus breaking eye contact. ‘Senuthius stuck rigidly to the standing arrangements he made with your father.’

Much as Decimus Belisarius hated the senator he had a need to deal with a man upon whose support he depended if any incursions lay beyond the capabilities of the cohort he led, trying as it was to do so. If nothing serious had happened for years, precautions had to be taken against such an occurrence and plans laid to counter it. Flavius could easily recall when such meetings had taken place, they being ones from which his father returned in a foul mood, making little attempt to hide from the family his frustration.

‘Then why did those plans fail?’

The already deep voice dropped an octave. ‘My son, only God will ever know.’

‘Yet surely you, of all people, know the mind of Senuthius Vicinus?’ There was flattery in the way Flavius said that, as if it was too obvious to be denied, yet more spooned on as he added, ‘Are you not also his very close friend and confidant, indeed his confessor? I find it impossible to believe he would act in a way he had not yet discussed with you.’

The reply was yet again addressed to the wall and the voice, for the first time, showed a hint of real uncertainty. Blastos was pinned by his own vanity; he could not admit that he had no knowledge of the thoughts of a man who was his patron and one he wanted everyone to believe was his equal and friend. If the truth was not obvious to the bishop, it was to anyone with eyes to see; he was in no way the senator’s equal, more a lackey than a companion.

‘I do not say that your father and Senuthius always saw eye to eye, but in this matter they were in full agreement. I seem to recall, though it’s some time ago, four years if am a-minded right, what was planned. That should there be another serious attack, the imperial cohort would seek to get between the intruders and their boats to secure the riverbank and hold it while the militia under Senuthius drove them onto their swords, though, of course, knowledge on what was intended had to be kept to the very few who needed to know, so you would not have been aware of it. I doubt your father told anyone, he being a man who knew how people gossip and was well able to keep things close to his chest.’

Having delivered this statement Blastos turned back to face the youngster, looking him full in the eye, which caused Flavius acute discomfort: Belisarius senior had certainly never told him what was planned and as for keeping quiet about things? Blastos missed the sense of that reaction, concluding very quickly that his listener was unconvinced, that more was required, so he carried on, his voice sounding less than wholly confident.

‘If I understand little of war, I do know it is all confusion once battle is joined. Something took place that could not have been foreseen, something that caused your father to alter his tactics. It saddens me to say that if you look for the cause of this unfortunate event, it is there you must go.’