Triumph

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

A hundred-strong bucellarii consisting of some of his old comitatus, leavened by Goths and Vandals who had taken service with him, was never going to be enough to confront and stop Zabergan, so Flavius sent his most trusted men to those places in the city and surrounding countryside where old soldiers gathered, with enough in the way of rewards to tempt them from whatever life they had chosen, and by the time he had departed the city he had a force numbering some six hundred effectives.

Everyone was superbly equipped, for their general had raided the quarters of the useless units, such as the Scholae Palatinae and deprived them of their weapons, armour and horses. As a leader who had always valued experience over numbers he was not content – how could he be, facing a host of the size reputed? – yet he was lifted in spirit by the way the various contingents gelled within days into a proper formation.

The lack was in any infantry and that was impossible to address, so again using Justinian’s gold he bribed the peasantry on his way to depart their fields and hamlets and take service in what would, and this was driven home, be a case of them protecting their hearths from a marauding horde heading their way.

Watching them move up the road he was reminded of the host led by Vitalian over forty years previously, of which he had been a part. Fired by religion, that march on Constantinople had consisted of very much the same sort of people – farmers, artisans, day labourers – and they carried the same variety of weapons. Old swords and spears had been dug out, axes were more numerous and sharp enough to shave a chin. It was the other tools that amused: scythes, pitchforks and one he recalled had once probably saved his live, a long-handled pollarding tool with a serrated billhook at its end.

Solomon rode at his side, a man who, if he bore the title of domesticus and was responsible for the organisation of the life of his general, was much more useful than any mere domestic servant. First, he was brilliant at supply so that the marching army, now numbering thousands, never lacked for food or warmth. Added to that, he had proved both in North Africa and Italy to be a clever commander of men, indeed against the Vandals Flavius had stood off and let Solomon successfully complete a battle he had been the first to engage in.

Progress was attended by a great dwell of noise, this due to the enthusiasm of the peasants he had recruited who, never having been in battle, were convinced of their innate ability to beat any foe they came across. God was with them – so were their priests – and he would not let them fail against pagans.

‘How I pray that they are right,’ Flavius said, when Solomon alluded to the almost constant bursts of cheering that emanated from their rear, as well as that which animated it. ‘I hope, too, some of them make it home.’

‘We have been in some bad places together, Comes, but I can’t think of one worse than this.’

‘Do not be insulted if I say that any man who has no desire to be here has to remain.’

‘Where else would I go?’ Solomon barked, clearly irritated.

Flavius smiled to take the sting out of the exchange. ‘I don’t know about you but I could think of a hundred places.’

‘Home?’

‘Where would that be, Armenia?’

‘Where else, with a sound roof, good horses and women and all the time in the world to hunt.’

‘My father’s domesticus was an Armenian and an irascible old mentor he was. I would not be here without him having saved me on more than one occasion, but when you talk so fondly of home I fear I have none.’

Solomon knew better than to allude to the villa they had so recently departed, rarely occupied since Flavius had been accommodated in the palace and still not seen by him as a domicile for a family. He was also aware that in years of serving alongside his general he had never alluded to the past beyond his arrival in Constantinople.

‘There had to be a home once, Comes.’

‘There was – and a happy one. I had good friends, a strong family and I can even remember fondly the pedagogue whom I teased so mercilessly up until the day it was all taken from me. We are now retracing steps that I took in the aftermath. I have wondered since we set out if being on this road is taking me towards my destiny.’

‘That is a gloomy reflection.’

‘True,’ Flavius said emphatically, ‘and that is a mood that will not serve. We must act as if victory is foretold.’

‘Don’t let the priests hear you say that, they will think it blasphemous.’

It took a week of marching to get into a position that would oblige the Huns to react, Flavius having no doubt his approach would be known. He hoped Zabergan would have no idea of the composition of his army for, if he did, there could only be one result. At every stop for the night, he had lit ten times more campfires than were truly required, hoping to fool the Huns as to his numbers.

Out ahead of his forces, indeed even in front of his cavalry screen, hard by a settlement called Cherson, Flavius found the kind of battlefield he sought, a long narrow valley, not too steep-sided but heavily wooded and one that would require Zabergan to take a wide detour to avoid him.

‘Not that I think he will want to.’ This was addressed to the trio of leaders he had chosen to act with a degree of independence. There was not a general amongst them and for that Flavius was grateful. Instead of persuasion he had men who listened carefully and accepted without question that what he proposed must be followed. ‘We will be heavily outnumbered. The task is to take from our enemies the advantage they draw from that.’

Less sober were the peasant levies; if they had been full of braggadocio when setting out, a week of free food and mutual dares had raised their enthusiasm to a dangerous level and the risk from that was that they would become uncontrollable. On what he hoped would be their last night of camping, and before they were fed, Flavius had them gather so he could lecture them on what he required.

‘My fellow citizens,’ he bellowed, arms outstretched, raising a murmur of approbation, hardly surprising given these folk were more accustomed to insults from men of the Belisarius stamp. ‘Upon us rests the security of the whole state. We, and only we, stand between the barbarians and the gates of Constantinople.’

The response started as a couple of yells but ended up as a roar of bellicose defiance.

‘Do you know of me?’ he demanded when that died down. ‘I am Flavius Belisarius and I have beaten every enemy the empire has faced these last forty years. Persians, Vandals, Goths and even some Italians.’

That got a cheer; mostly Greek, these levies hated that race. Flavius then listed his victories; Dara, Carthage, Naples, Rome, Ravenna, even if most before him would never have heard the names and could certainly not place them in their narrow world.

‘But!’ Up went a hand that indicated restraint. ‘I have only been successful because I have been obeyed. No general can win a battle. Only the men he leads can achieve that. Do you before me wish to beat the Huns?’

That naturally produced an even greater roar as Flavius dropped his voice just enough to force those before him to lean forward to listen. ‘Do as I tell you, keep your eye on my standard and do not go far from it, and we will prevail. Now, I call upon you to fill your bellies, to see to your weapons and pray, for I believe it cannot be long before the Huns come to chase us away. What a fright we shall visit upon them.’

‘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.

‘You deny the charge?’ Vicinus crowed.

‘Of course.’

‘The senate has evidence.’

‘Obtained under torture,’ Flavius replied, his hand on a chest that now contained a permanent pain.

‘Which is valid. Hot irons will produce a truth that would otherwise be concealed.’

‘My fellow senators,’ Flavius cried, wincing as he did so.

‘You are not at liberty to address the house.’

‘I am and I defy anyone to prevent me. Step forward, Vicinus, if you wish and you will experience the difference between serving the empire and serving your malice.’

Looking past his prosecutor Flavius raised his voice, ignoring the stabbing it produced. ‘I have served the empire and its emperors for near fifty years and been faithful all that time. You know the offers made to me and declined, and I suspect you are also aware that none of you may walk the streets of the city as freely as I do.’

That set up a low hum. ‘Could I depose my emperor? Maybe, but it requires me to break a vow to a man I hold in higher esteem even than the Autokrator. That is my father, Decimus Belisarius who, along with my three elder brothers, was murdered by the father of the man now accusing me of seeking the diadem.’

‘A lie!’ Vicinus yelled.

‘You are so steeped in treachery, it is so in your blood, Vicinus, that you cannot even conceive of honesty. Who overheard my men talking of revolt?’ Pain notwithstanding he pointed at a number of senators to be favoured with shaking heads. ‘You? You? On whose orders were they tortured until they confessed?’

‘Know this,’ he cried, a digit now aimed straight at Vicinus. ‘I destroyed this man’s father and impoverished his heirs. I did so with the secret assistance of our Emperor Justinian when he was no more than secretary to his uncle.’

That set up a whole raft of whispers as heads came together to cogitate on what they were being told. ‘If you do not believe me, I demand you call Justinian before this house and question him on the truth of what I have said.’

It would have been amusing if it had not been so serious. No senate would dare call an emperor to face them; it was a good way to see the inside of the dungeons.

‘I am sick of this kind of accusation levelled at me more than once. I, as one of your equals and an ex-consul, demand that you vote now on whether this charge is valid or part of a conspiracy that may well be aimed at disguising the ambition of others. You have nothing but torture evidence. Torture me if you must but it will be to no avail. And then I invite you to face the citizens of Constantinople and convince them of my guilt.’

The slow handclap from the balcony took every eye in that direction. It had to be Justinian and he was telling the house which way to vote.

‘Why did you not intervene earlier? You must have known it was nonsense.’

‘Do I know that,’ Justinian said, canting his head and pulling at his few remaining strands of grey hair, ‘when nearly every voice I hear tells me you are conspiring against me?’

‘I see I am a victim of my own absence from your council, which has allowed others to work on wits surely becoming addled.’

‘You dare not address me so.’

‘I do and I will.’ Flavius responded, stopping a hand that was halfway to the pain in his chest. ‘Those who spoke of this, hate my success. They wish to see me a beggar.’

‘All your offices and your monies have been restored.’

‘What was it, jealousy?’ Justinian actually went white but Flavius would not let him speak. ‘Do you so hate the cheers that greet me in the Hippodrome that you seek ways to clip my pride?’

‘Don’t deny you are proud, Flavius.’

‘I am proud of the service I have given you and your uncle. I am proud that when the time comes to meet my Maker I will have nothing of which I am ashamed.’

‘Are you so free from sin?’

‘No man is and no ruler either. I hope that God and the saints are so impressed with the Church of St Sophia that they will forgive you, for you are but a man.’

Flavius hit a nerve then and it was deliberate; others might seek to imply that his imperial estate was semi-divine, but neither man believed it to be true. If Justinian feared anything it was the prospect of answering for the way he had lived his life and the manifest sins therein, hence his devotion to prayer.

‘Know that I wish you no ill,’ Flavius added, ‘but I must tell you that I will provide you with no more of my service.’

‘You will do as I command.’

‘What, and me to appeal to the mob you so fear?’

Flavius turned then, and despite being angrily called back, limped out of the imperial presence. It was only out of sight that he found the need to lean against a pillar and allow the marble to cool a heated brow. He felt his time was coming: the latest wounds had tapped his resolve and left him feeling weak. He was no longer fit to do battle and had no desire to still advise. That Antonina was furious he took as inevitable but he lacked the strength to argue with her.

Less than a year after his success against the Huns the moment came when the effect of that chest wound could no longer be held at bay and Count Flavius Belisarius went to meet his maker. The last image in his mind as he slipped out of life was of himself crossing a field next to the River Danube inhabiting a body sixteen once more rather than sixty. Standing waiting to greet him and smiling were his father and three elder brothers eager to tell him that he had nothing to fear.