Jack Ludlow: Vengeance

‘This person.’ The question came with a vague wave of the senator’s free hand; he was fishing when he should have been talking. ‘Am I to act as if he is of some account?’

‘It might be as well to treat him so. My Uncle Justinus is an old comrade of Decimus Belisarius, who died in that raid. Friends from youth who enlisted in the army at the same time.’

There were several slow nods before an admission, as he sought reasons why he was being told a fact that, for the sake of the Count of the Excubitor, would have been better not stated.

‘I did not know that.’

‘Unfortunately he chose to become involved in the affairs of this old friend, which led to certain matters being discussed in private with the emperor.’

Pentheus was good and if he briefly lost his composure it was back in full potency once he had digested the ramifications; Petrus had just given him the answer to something he must have puzzled over but there was no sign of it affecting him at all, which told his visitor what he had suspected. The senator had lacked precise knowledge of what was going on and had acted on a vague suspicion or gossip; it would be nice to know how much of each but that was unnecessary.

‘Why are you telling me this?’

‘If I was to tell you I did not approve of his actions?’

‘Yet you must have been party to them, I know your uncle cannot read and write.’ Realising he might have said too much, given away a source, Pentheus added, ‘I assume that is how they communicated.’

‘Of course, and I wrote them.’

‘So have you come to tell me what they contain?’

‘Why, when you can guess? Belisarius threatened to cause your cousin a certain amount of trouble. If you are not privy to the details of what my uncle was engaged in then the gist will do.’

The senator tried to maintain an air of detachment and he rarely let his guard drop as Petrus listed some of the charges levelled against Senuthius, all of which his listener knew since Decimus had written many times to the imperial court to complain of them, only to have them rubbished by the senator and his allies.

‘I am curious, Flavius Petrus, what this is all leading up to.’

‘If I was to say, Senator, that I am wholly dependent on my Uncle Justinus, who is not in the first flush of spring youth …’

There was no need to finish, for that made Pentheus nod, if not vigorously, then emphatically enough to say he understood. He knew that the male Sabbatius parent was so addled with drink as to be of no use to an ambitious son, and nor did he seem to harbour any doubt that Petrus was afflicted with a desire for, at sometime in the future, personal power of his own.

‘And the Belisarius boy, given it is to him I assume you are referring.’

‘My uncle wants to send him north in an official capacity. It seems your cousin paid a large sum in gold to the Huns, in order that they would raid over the Danube and threaten Dorostorum.’

‘Surely a lie!’

‘That is to be established, Senator, but given his past actions …’ There was again no need to finish that sentence. ‘During the raid he was in command of the militia, but stood off and allowed the imperial cohort to be massacred and the Huns to depart without much in the way of loss. That is treason, not theft, and I think would be a hard accusation to refute, indeed it would be one that must lead to an enquiry, which if ordered by the emperor cannot be stopped. And if it turned out to have a basis in fact … well?’

Petrus was willing him to think it through; even if it does not destroy you, he thought, you will be impoverished. No more bribes handed out, no more of your fellow senators courting you and hanging on your every word, everything you value taken away including this villa and the very gardens in which we now walk. You are angling to be made consul again, I suspect, and you can kiss goodbye to that as well, for no blood relative of a traitor will have a hope.

‘I cannot believe it to be true.’

‘It does beggar belief, I agree,’ came the seemingly sympathetic reply.

That was like a nail in his breast and Pentheus came close to wincing; Petrus believed all right, in fact he knew it to be true!

‘This mission you say the Belisarius brat is set upon?’

‘Has already been set in motion.’

‘Gone already?’ Pentheus demanded, for once showing real emotion, for if Belisarius was on his way, the conclusions he had come to about the motives of this visitor were wrong.

‘No, but he will depart soon.’

‘How?’ came the reply, the senator reassured, though only up to a point; he was still mistrustful.

‘He will go by the Via Gemina, I assume,’ Petrus replied, with seeming indifference. ‘Then by Marcianopolis.’

‘But not to Dorostorum?’

‘That would be unwise, don’t you think? He had contact with the Sklaveni and it was they who told him of your cousin’s arrangement with the Huns. He will seek to persuade them to witness against him.’

‘Are we now believing the lies of barbarians?’

‘It will be enough to set hares running that would be better staying in their burrow.’

A slow nod. ‘In what capacity will the boy travel?’

‘On horseback and alone; my uncle has got for him the promise of a written commission.’

It was again instructive to watch the senator’s face, even in its immobility; such a document could only come from Anastasius. That he believed the emperor to be so devious as to keep him in the dark came as no surprise, nor should it.

‘Which you will compose?’

‘Of course, Senator.’

The best bargains are struck without the parties having to enter the details; Petrus was telling him he would be given a copy of that commission as well as the other information he would need. With clever men, so much does not have to be said and that was the case now, the only thing left the words Pentheus spoke.

‘I think you know how gratified I am you came to see me, Flavius Petrus.’

‘If I am to look out for myself, it behoves me to also look out for those whose friendship in the future I might come to depend on.’

‘Let us go back indoors and drink a glass of wine together.’

‘I am at your service.’

‘Hidden away?’ Justinus demanded. ‘Where hidden away?’

‘In the city, somewhere safe, and even you must accept, Uncle, to have him stay here in the palace is to put his life in danger. I moved him for that reason.’

‘You have overreached yourself, Petrus.’

‘I have done what was needed.’

‘Tell me where?’

‘It is best you do not know.’ Seeing Justinus fill his lungs with air to shout at him, Petrus cut him off. ‘If you are asked you can answer honestly that you have no idea. You are never comfortable telling lies.’

‘While you are!’

What his nephew said was true: Justinus was a poor liar, barely able to be convincingly false in kindness, inclined to go red and even stutter if the matter was serious. It was one of the things that made him so valuable to Anastasius, his patent honesty, indeed it had marked his career and the way he had risen within it. People trusted him and were rarely disappointed.

‘Do we want to keep the youngster safe?’ A nod; he had not used the name, for he did not know who could hear them arguing. ‘Can we do so here?’

That got an angry sigh. ‘No.’

‘If Anastasius asks you where he is … do you want your loyalties to be tested?’

‘You’re sure he is safe?’

Petrus could see his uncle was beginning to calm down and so he should, for what had been done was both wise and logical. ‘As far as he can be.’

‘What does that mean?’

‘It did occur to me that a guard consisting of a couple of your officers might make things more secure.’ Seeing the question rear up he cut across that too. ‘They don’t need to know his name, and if you wish, I will suggest a pair who talk of you as if you are the manifestation of Christ risen.’