Triumph

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

To say that the invasion stretched the nerves of Flavius Belisarius was an understatement; he dare not raise the siege of Auximus prematurely for to do so would waste months of efforts and spoil his whole purpose, doubly galling given the stubbornness of a defence that by now should have crumbled. So he waited anxiously for developments, heartened when he learnt that the new invaders, having been welcomed by the Goths as saviours, turned on their supposed allies and ravaged their territory, enslaving thousands and killing more.

The Goth army that had decamped from Milan was assailed likewise, fleeing across the River Po in disorder, some of their elements actually riding through the camp of Martinus and John Vitalianus, who mistaking what was happening rode north only to encounter the same problem; the Franks were allied to no one and they too were forced into a hasty retreat which left them well back from where they started and nervous as to what was to follow.

It was a combination of dearth and disease that saved them from annihilation. The Frankish host was huge and now occupied lands that had suffered much from the foraging of previous armies; there was simply not enough food to sustain them and that brought on the ravages which always affected an army short on supply – serious and debilitating disorders of the belly being the most common. Such disease restricted movement and being stationary exacerbated the problem, so Theudibert, the most southerly successor to Clovis, decided to cut his losses and retire north.

Just as troubling was a Hun invasion of the Balkans, one part of which nearly reached the walls of Constantinople before the barbarians withdrew, taking a massive quantity of plunder. The second prong of that incursion marched as far south as Delphi and in doing so drew off an army marching towards Italy to aid Flavius. The only saving grace was that if the Byzantine camp knew of these developments; as far as Flavius was aware the Goths holding Auximus did not.

Disillusionment on that point was provided by an Isaurian traitor called Burcentius who, suitably bribed and using the excuse of ill health to absent himself from the siege lines, had undertaken two missions to Witigis on behalf of the garrison, the results of which only became known when he was apprehended and that took place only because a captured Goth informed Flavius of his double mission to Ravenna.

In the first instance Witigis had sent Burcentius back with news of the Frankish incursion, promising to march on Auximus once that was dealt with. When nothing came the traitor was once more bribed to find out the intentions of the Goth King, with an added warning that the time was coming when Auximus would be forced to surrender. This was replied to with soothing words of his imminent arrival.

No amount of hot iron could get from Burcentius a statement as to the veracity of this; the man did not know if Witigis was being truthful or hopeful, and he was finally handed over to his own Isaurian tribesmen do with as they wished. Their decision was to manufacture a wicker cage, raised high on faggots, and burn him alive within sight of the whole Byzantine host, a statement of loyalty as much as an act of revenge.

‘If they are short of food let us see if we can cut their water.’

Flavius oversaw the operation to do this personally, seeking to interdict a spring that ran from just outside the city walls into a well-built cistern covered by a thick stone vault and he used the Isaurians, hell-bent on proving their worth. In order to disguise their purpose it was necessary to draw up the whole of his infantry as if they were about to attack and have them move forward as if this was the case.

Those tasked with the real purpose advanced with huge hammers, protected by the held-high shields of their comrades, which allowed the small party to break the cistern to get into the water and begin their work, the aim to so damage the exterior walls that the water would flow downhill instead of into the city. At first the whole endeavour seemed to be going as planned. That changed as the Goths, hitherto unfazed by an assault that stood little chance of success, realised the actual aim. First they rained down every known kind of missile on those trying to protect the cistern breakers: rocks large enough to crush shields, spears heavy enough to penetrate the hard leather and flaming wads, until they broke and ran.

Next a strong party emerged to save their vital water supply, with Flavius ordering the forces under his command forward. With the advantage of higher ground the Goths did great slaughter to the Isaurians, until a section led by a more enterprising leader launched a furious counter-attack that broke through to the now cut-off breakers, forcing the Goths to fall back on their walls, before retreating themselves, taking their hammer-bearing comrades with them.

‘The cistern is too well built to be quickly damaged, Magister. Those who built it in ancient times knew its worth.’

Aratius, the Isaurian commander who made this report and the man who had driven the Goths back, was crestfallen at their failure, but his general was not.

‘Did you not see how hard they fought to protect it, Aratius?’

‘We are willing to try again.’

Flavius acknowledged the offer with a pat on the Isaurian’s shoulder. ‘That would merely spill blood uselessly. There are more ways to spoil a water supply than hammers. Our next visit will be with rotting animal carcasses and lime. Let them drink from their cistern after it has been so poisoned.’

To further depress the defenders the forces that had been besieging Fisula arrived. First seen marching towards Auximus from the elevated walls of the city, it was a sight to raise hopes of relief until they were identified as Byzantine, inducing the precise opposite emotion. Flavius, normally benign with senior captives, drove home the message of hopelessness by parading the leaders of that now surrendered garrison before the walls in halters as if they were cattle and humiliating them.

The sight was enough to finally break the defenders’ resolve; the leaders came out to parley, their initial offer being that they would exit with their weapons and possessions then march north to Ravenna. Given that city was the next object on the Byzantine campaign it was wise to dismiss such a suggestion, as to let go men – and proven fighters at that – whom they would have to fight once more was imprudent.

In addition, after so many months of siege, the army Flavius led was looking to some kind of reward for what had been a debilitating effort, grumbles which soon reached their general’s ears and had him resolve to be a great deal more firm in his demands. High-value warriors, well provided over many years with much in the way of booty, the Goths of Auximus were far from poor and that fact was known to the men who had been besieging them.

The compromise, brokered by Procopius, was a just one for both parties, especially since, for the garrison, one of the less pleasant options was a resumption of the siege followed by wholesale slaughter. Yet they would face that rather than penury, so it was agreed they would surrender half their wealth to their opponents and they would not join Witigis but go east to fight in the service of Byzantium.

With winter once more approaching haste was required. One general, Magnus, was sent on a forced march to the north of Ravenna to patrol the south bank of the River Po and ensure neither men nor supplies could cross. He was aided in this by the army of Vitalius who, having been held up by the invasion of the Huns, was now free, given they had retired with their plunder, to cross the Timavo from Illyricum and close off the northern bank.

There he came across a fleet of barges loaded with grain destined to make their way through the marshlands that surrounded Ravenna and supply a city in much need of their cargo, held up because the water level was too low to allow passage. As it rose with autumn rains that same grain was used to supply Flavius Belisarius.

Witigis was now on the horns of a real dilemma: he faced starvation in a siege he could not break, with so many of his fortresses lost and too many of his warriors either captive, sent east as mercenaries or locked up in places that he had to hold, such as the passes in the Cottian Alps between Gaul and Italy, secured to prevent a second Frankish invasion.

There they were being pressed daily in a fight where their numbers could never suffice, and Theudibert, well aware that the Ravenna garrison was short of food and faced with a formidable general leading a buoyant army, offered to support Witigis for a half-share of Italy. That reached the ears of Flavius, who sent Ennes to Witigis to remind him of the recent way the Franks had behaved, the obvious concomitant being that they could not be trusted.

Matters went from bad to worse for the besieged. First the forces on the Alpine passes surrendered. Meanwhile Vitalius was ravaging Venetia, the sole region from which Ravenna could be supplied, and Flavius had sent strong forces to take possession of those now abandoned passes and to demand the surrender of any Goth garrisons still remaining in the region.

Not that such a mission was without difficulty; the men who had left Milan to succour Auximus and had been scattered by the Franks, had partially re-formed and the man who commanded them, originally on his way to Ravenna, changed tack and marched against them. Luckily, Martinus and John Vitalianus were still in the region and able to combine and create a force strong enough to bring about a victory without a battle.

Flavius made sure that Witigis heard of this development and understood that he was now cut off from any possibility of aid. As if once more, the hand of God intervened: the grain storerooms that held the last of the Goth supplies caught fire, either by accident or sabotage, which took with it the food that might have sustained the city, albeit on very short rations, throughout the winter. It was time for Witigis to talk.

If Flavius Belisarius was now in complete control of Italy he had no control over extraneous matters and here his emperor intervened. The envoys sent by Witigis to Constantinople had done better than he could have hoped, aided by the stirrings on the eastern border. There the Sassanid Empire and Byzantium were engaged in a low-level conflict that threatened at any moment to erupt into all-out war. Faced with such a hazard Italy would become a sideshow.

Domnicus, the chief negotiator sent by Justinian, was empowered to offer Witigis a treaty, his terms being for half the wealth of the Goth treasury and all of Italy south of the River Po. Given his situation Witigis was eager to accept, his only problem being that Flavius Belisarius, on the spot in a situation of which his imperial master was ignorant, refused to allow the proposal to be implemented.

The imperial envoy was quick to tell him he did not have the right to act so; Flavius merely asked him how many men he could put in the field to stop him. But he did offer Domnicus one sop: he could appeal to a conference of the senior officers of the Army of Italy and if they agreed, then Flavius would bow to their judgement. Having made that offer he was not fool enough to allow it to happen without he had a prior chance to put his case.

‘I would remind you all, that it is not you that is questioning the imperial will but me.’ A glance around the assembled faces showed a mixture of caution and in one or two cases outright defiance, but it was as well to remind them all that to defy Justinian carried with it a risk to their careers. ‘I hope you trust me not to shirk the accusation, if it is put to me, and seek to spread responsibility.’

‘Then why have you assembled us?’ demanded John Vitalianus, still far from reconciled to the man who had led them to their present overwhelming superiority.

‘If you collectively counsel that we allow Witigis his treaty, then I will not oppose your wishes. It is my hope you do not.’

‘Which flies in the face of what you have just said, Flavius Belisarius.’

Vitalianus again and he was smirking to have pointed out what he saw as an anomaly: if he was asking their opinion he was obviously spreading responsibility.

‘No, John, I am saying that if you stop me I will respect your wishes. Any who have no opinion are free to remain silent.’

‘Well I for one will not,’ barked Martinus, glaring at Vitalianus, with whom he had reportedly enjoyed a stormy relationship these last months. ‘The Goths are beaten. Surely if Justinian was here to see that, the offer would be withdrawn.’

That set up a rumble of agreement to which Flavius responded. ‘I agree. We have within our grasp outright victory and the time to press for such an outcome. To my mind it would be folly to throw away years of campaigning for a bastard peace.’

Looking at the faces and sensing he had carried the room, he asked a servant to send to Domnicus so he could join them. Not that he called for his officers to speak, but only to listen. Once the imperial envoy had concluded his view that Justinian should be obeyed it was Flavius, and Flavius alone, who replied in the negative. What he had achieved, and those among his subordinates with the wit to see it would discern the fact, was security for himself.

None in the future, Vitalianus especially, would be able to say at some hearing on his conduct, that he had total victory in his grasp and had failed to press it home. Flavius knew that such was the nature of the world in which he lived, and the malice that could be created by jealousy, he could one day be accused and sanctioned for obedience to the orders of Justinian or find himself on trial for the very opposite.

‘It is depressing that even in an army the need to think like a politician is necessary.’

Procopius, who never ceased to think that way, merely gave his master a wry look. ‘You may need all the wiles of that profession, given there is a secret embassy waiting to see you.’

‘From Witigis?’

‘No, but the men waiting are from the highest Goth nobility.’

‘And what is it they wish to say?’

‘That they would hardly impart to me, Magister. I am but your servant.’

‘When you say secret …?’

‘The approach was made to me. I made sure no one knows of their presence. If anyone asks, I will say they are Roman citizens who reside in Ravenna and are naturally concerned at what is about to become of their home city once the Goths are deposed.’

It was all very well for Procopius to be devious, indeed it was often essential, but at this moment Flavius had a feeling he was not being gifted the truth in the matter of secretarial ignorance. Odd that with all the power at his command there was no point in asking if that feeling was true.

‘Will you see them?’ That got a raised eyebrow, to which Procopius added. ‘In my opinion you must.’

‘Then bid them enter.’

‘I ask your permission to post guards on the doors with instructions to use force to ensure you are not disturbed, this a request put to me by these visitors.’

Flavius smiled at the word ‘visitors’, but he nodded and went to stand close to the flaming brazier that heated the chamber, on the opposite side to the doorway. He felt for his dagger and eased it in its scabbard while making sure there was a sword close by. These men would have been searched, of that he was sure, but a three-to-one advantage did not debar them from attempting to assassinate him with their bare hands.

The trio who entered did so in the manner of conspirators, slowly, their eyes darting around the chamber from one oil lamp to the next before finally settling on the logs burning before the man they had come to see. They were dressed in clothing of high quality, wore objects of gold and silver and had on their shoulder soft fur skin cloaks. In their eyes and their bearing, once they had relaxed somewhat, it was possible to see these were warriors and accustomed to respect.

‘Who is it I am being asked to greet?’

‘No names,’ protested one, who stood slightly ahead of his companions, which marked him out as the leader. He had unblinking blue eyes and a wide, hooked nose large enough to dominate every other feature on his face. The look was serious, added to which his Latin seemed perfect. ‘At least, not yet.’

‘Procopius, some chairs for our visitors.’ Once these had been set out Flavius added, ‘I wish my secretary to remain, which I trust will cause you no concern.’

A sharp nod from the same hook-nosed fellow; his companions stared straight ahead and added nothing and Flavius took a chair of his own.

‘Then I am awaiting what it is you have come to see me about.’

‘As you know, Flavius Belisarius, we elect our rulers.’

An amused smile and a shrug. ‘It is not beyond the habits of Constantinople to occasionally act in a similar fashion.’

‘And you will not be surprised to learn that we have tempered our faith in Witigis to lead us.’

‘It would ill suit me to slight a man who has fought me, and well.’

‘But he is also a man who has lost.’

‘It is rare in war that one side does not win while another loses. But Witigis has been both shrewd and resourceful, therefore I would be unhappy that anything said should diminish that.’

‘And what does the man who has won wish to gain?’

Flavius shrugged. ‘The approbation of his peers, the respect of his officers and, in my case, the gratitude of his emperor.’

‘And if he could be granted more?’

‘Such as?’ Flavius asked, even if he knew what was coming.

‘Italy.’

‘I have already conquered Italy, which given you’re here can hardly have escaped your notice.’

‘We have come to offer you the kingship of the Goths.’ It was hard to keep a straight face, even if Flavius had got there ahead of the actual words, even more difficult with that which was suggested next. ‘And if you aspire to the title of Emperor of the Western Roman Empire, then we, the Goths, will support you in taking that title. We’re sure that you will carry the majority of your army with you as well.’

‘Not even Theodoric the Great aspired to that, or if he did, he had the sense not to provoke Constantinople by calling himself “emperor”.’

‘He chose not to, you may decide otherwise.’

Flavius looked at Procopius, whose face, lit by the oil lamps and the flaring logs, looked avaricious. It was as if the offer was being made to him.

‘This proposal is being made without the knowledge of Witigis?’

‘It is. Should you accept, we will tell him.’

Flavius spread his hands in a gesture of concern. ‘If I was to even consider your proposal, and that is yet to be decided, it would only be on the understanding that he concurred. You Goths, as you say, elect your rulers, but too often the man deposed also forfeits his life.’

The elaborate shrug was far from reassuring, which had Flavius adding an insistence that the offer had to come from Witigis before it could even be deliberated upon.

‘So I bid you return to the city and speak with him, but of course I offer you refreshment should you so desire it.’

‘No. But I ask that we be able to return on the morrow?’

‘That you must arrange with my secretary, who seems to know how to get you in to my presence without the knowledge of anyone else.’

‘And your inclination, Flavius Belisarius?’

‘There is as yet no such thing.’

‘But there might be?’

The reply came as Flavius stood. ‘What there will be is serious contemplation.’

Interview plainly over, the trio likewise stood and with direct looks departed, escorted by Procopius. Left to think for several minutes, Flavius was still in deep meditation when his secretary returned, to give him a meaningful glance that presaged a question, and one Flavius had no desire to answer.

‘Not a word, Procopius, if you please. Let us see what the morrow brings.’