Jack Ludlow - Vengeance

There could be no doubt whatsoever he was the one who had daubed the walls; the youth’s clothing, grubby leggings and dirty smock were streaked with red paint. He had a sword, a spear resting point down and some kind of sack over his shoulder. Justinus marched up, sizing him as he went: the height, taller than Decimus, the black hair long and untidy, then there was the direct look in the eyes. The spear must have worried the men set to guard the gate for they moved to create an angle in which they could watch that weapon.

‘How am I to know you are who you say?’

There was no blinking in those deep-brown eyes, just a steady gaze that hinted at self-assurance; how could the older man know that not for the first time in his life this youngster’s knees were shaking?

‘I need to know who it is I am talking with.’

‘I don’t think you are in any position to demand anything.’

‘I did not think I demanded, sir,’ Flavius replied, in an emollient tone. ‘If you are not Count Justinus, I would be obliged if you would take a message to him.’

‘Which is?’

‘That his correspondence with my father, Decimus, is safe.’

Justinus stood stock-still for several seconds, before growling as he spun round, ‘Come with me.’ Flavius heard him mutter to the guards as he passed them not to say a word to anyone, then he had his arm taken to be bustled in through the gate and, with a sharp turn, down some stone steps into a cold, stone-walled basement. There were several heavy wooden doors with grills, all wide open, the one closest showing a bare cell with a bench and a cot into which he was shepherded.

‘Wait here.’

Flavius, who still had his weapons and possessions, was confused ? more so when the older man swung the door shut but did not lock it. He was gone for a short while before returning carrying a large set of keys.

‘I want you to stay here, Flavius, until the palace settles down for the night, then I can take you to somewhere more comfortable. I have to lock the door, not to keep you in but to keep anyone else out. No one must know you are here and if anyone but me comes through this door I suggest kill them, for they will be here to assassinate you.’

‘Who are you?’ Flavius pleaded, his voice cracked.

Justinus moved close and took him by the shoulders, looking deep into his eyes. ‘I was told you were dead, that my old comrade Decimus had died with all of his sons.’

‘You are Justinus?’ That got a nod. ‘My brothers were killed fighting bravely alongside our father and by the downright treachery-’

‘Save that till we can talk properly,’ Justinus interrupted. ‘I must go back to my own guards and not only command their silence but ensure it by threatening them with hellfire and damnation. There are currents within these walls that you will not understand, heaven knows I struggle myself, but you are in my care now and, once I fetch you from this cell, no one will harm you without they need to harm me too and I have command of over a thousand spears.’

Flavius began to cry, as a month of anxiety seemed to fall away, unaware that Justinus was mulling over what he had just said; no one was immune from harm in an imperial palace.

‘I have a better idea. The door locks from the inside; you do that when I go and if I do not return before dawn tomorrow, get out of here, get out of Constantinople and change your name.’

Justinus had a heavy gold chain round his neck, which he removed and handed to Flavius. ‘Use this to fund your travel, sell one gold link at a time and the medallion last.’

‘Am I allowed to know who would threaten me?’

‘The name Vicinus will suffice and it is a problem of your own making. It was he who was first alerted to your name being daubed on the walls. If I thought you dead it is possible he will know you are not, just as he will know what a threat you represent to his family.’

‘I want Senuthius dead, I want vengeance for my family.’

‘In time, perhaps, first let us keep you whole.’ Justinus smiled. ‘I have no sons of my own. Perhaps, if God wills it, you may come to fill that gap. Now, once you have locked the door, get some rest, for when I come for you it will take many an hour to tell me everything that has happened this last month.’

‘Why was the commission recalled?’

‘It was the decision of Anastasius; he feared to stir up more trouble in an area that might go over to Vitalian.’

‘Can we arraign Senuthius, can I see him pay for his crimes?’

‘One day,’ Justinus replied, but he was no longer looking the youngster directly in the eye. So Flavius was unsure if he was being told the truth.

Justinus had to tell Petrus what had happened and how it had come about, even if he did so with a lack of enthusiasm, certain that his nephew would object to bringing Flavius Belisarius into the palace. His reluctance extended to another truth, the knowledge that he had come to rely on his sister’s son as a means of finding his way through the labyrinth of imperial politics. In the field Justinus, fighting the enemy, was a master of his craft, not least because it was easy to see who your opponent was: in his present post, outside his actual duties, he often felt uncertain.

Open recognition of friend or foe did not exist in the great palace of the richest and most extensive empire in the world, a building in which an invitation to dinner could result in a painful poisoned death, where a smile could be a prelude to betrayal or a firm embrace the act that preceded the secret knife. It was not easy to admit that, being just a simple soldier loyal to his polity, and a man who saw his word once given as binding, he lacked the gifts needed to ensure his own security and continued employment.

Being a natural intriguer, Petrus seemed to thrive in this cesspool for he enjoyed the game. With no official function other than to act as secretary to Justinus, he had ample time to observe the behaviour of others, as well as the aptitude to cultivate even people he saw as potential enemies. He was adept at evaluating motives even if they were hidden by men skilled in subterfuge and he could manoeuvre for an advantage that his uncle did not even know existed or was beneficial.

‘Here? In the palace?’

‘Out of sight, in one of the punishment cells to keep his presence a secret.’

Petrus wanted to tell his uncle then that there were no secrets in this building, which was as much a palace of gossip as it was the seat of imperial governance, but there was no point. He had felt a clutch at his heart on hearing that Flavius was alive and that it was he who had daubed a message on the walls; a moment when he saw the angel of death hovering over his body and it had taken all his guile to keep hidden from his uncle the terror that assailed him. Thankfully, having delivered his lightning bolt, Justinus seemed lost in thought, which gave Petrus time to control his breathing and begin to think matters through.

‘Who saw him?’ he demanded.

‘The two guards at the gate, and the man they sent with the message. All three have been spoken to and issued with dire warnings.’

‘The gaoler?’

‘Knows nothing, I took his keys without explanation.’

‘No one else?’

Justinus bridled slightly at that third peremptory query, in what, it seemed to him, was turning into an interrogation. ‘Are you aiming for the post of imperial inquisitor?’

‘Forgive me,’ Petrus responded, knowing it was necessary to be less aggressive. ‘If I feel the need to advise you I would not like to make an error through ignorance.’

‘He’s a fine-looking youth, Petrus,’ Justinus said wistfully, diverting his own anger and a potential point of dispute. ‘Even shabbily dressed you can see his father in him.’