Triumph

CHAPTER NINE

Sending Procopius south had been the stated object but to get him safely to where he needed to go, armed with all the authority of the man he served, required that he leave the city in darkness and secretly as well as in a manner that reflected his importance. Flavius provided his secretary with a very strong escort, for not only was his mission vital but he was a man the army commander, more than any other, feared to lose, given he fulfilled several functions.

He was the senior and trustworthy bureaucrat who could be relied on to set up the administrative bodies required to control conquered territory. These skills had first been proven in campaigns against the Sassanid empire and doubly so in North Africa, so much so that he had become like an extension of his master’s power. Treated by the inferior commanders as an equal, no one dared to condescend to him.

He was also a foil to the Belisarius temperament, which in matters political – and they were as vital as anything military – could sometimes be a touch wayward, too brusque and martial in areas requiring subtle tact. Corresponding with the likes of Justinian through the filtered and able mind of his secretary stopped Flavius from inadvertently causing any dent to the imperial pride.

The other function Procopius fulfilled was just as vital; high command can be lonely and if there was Photius to talk with, he was a youth, not yet well enough versed to act as a sounding board. A man utterly committed to him and one not swayed into indiscretions by flattery, Flavius could talk to Procopius about matters in which discretion was vital.

If he strayed occasionally into areas outside his bureaucratic duties that was acceptable too, for his counsel, though not always correct, was never foolish or based on self-aggrandisement. He was committed to Flavius in a way that was unusual in its totality, which was the reason Antonina insisted it was based on something other than mere loyalty and admiration.

In sending him on what was, in truth, a military mission, there was sound common sense: Procopius would act only on the wishes of his master. Despatch one of his generals and they might see a chance to act, if only for a short time, for themselves. Constantinus, who was certain he had every right to be given the duty, was naturally upset at what he saw as a blow to his prerogatives and self-esteem.

That led to an open and very vocal argument, something Flavius had been very careful to avoid hitherto, and even then he could not say what he wished to, that he lacked trust in a man who was always bound to act independently and seek a little personal glory at a time when Rome was in peril. It was necessary to quite sharply remind him who commanded and who obeyed, with the obvious rider being that if he was unhappy he should take his complaints to Constantinople.

‘You heard?’ Flavius asked as Photius and Solomon entered his chamber, moments after Constantinus had stormed out; the concerned look on the young man’s face made it an unnecessary question.

‘Every word, and how could I not? It is unlike you to shout so, even at an ordinary soldier.’

‘I don’t think I shouted. Spoke firmly, yes.’

‘I would reckon Witigis heard you,’ Solomon said.

‘As long as Constantinus heard is all that counts.’ Flavius paused, then, looking pensive, asked Photius a question he would normally have put to Procopius. ‘You think me overharsh?’

‘Would it wound you, Father, if I said to you that you are rarely harsh enough?’

‘Soldiers, especially senior officers, can be touchy.’

There was no humour in what was said next; Photius was deadly serious. ‘I was not talking of soldiers.’

Having no desire to talk about his wife, for the second time that night Flavius had cause to raise his voice, which forced Solomon to turn away in order not to be seen smiling.

‘Personal matters can wait. Right now I have to find a way to hold onto this city until reinforcements arrive.’

There was more to fret about than a shortage of fighters; the latest Goth tactics had shut down much of the supply to the city and dearth was a precursor to disease as people sought to supplement their diets with foods best left alone, like rotten wheat and vegetables, rats, cats and certain birds. There was also the problem of water now there was a severe shortage of wine.

Never a wise source with which to slake human thirst, when the level of the Tiber fell, as it was bound to do in the summer months, it was increasingly contaminated with human and animal filth, making it foul to drink. But drink it the Romans did, for that same unbearable heat that caused the river to slow acted on people too; they drank and fell ill and despite his best efforts, Flavius knew that his soldiers were no wiser than the citizens.

Once a pestilence took hold it spread like an out-of-control fire. Many of his men died, even more became so weak as to be utterly ineffective. Matters were reaching a crisis, and for the first time Flavius had to consider the need for a plan to abandon Rome. That was before Mundus, the man who had led the escort for Procopius, reported back to his commander that in his journey south and the return there had been not a sign of a Goth, apart from a few parties out foraging, men who had fled at the sight of such a large body of troops.

‘There was nothing to trouble us so I undertook a little detour or two.’ Seeing the eyebrows begin to rise Mundus was quick to add, ‘Without ever taking a risk.’

‘So no patrols?’ Flavius asked, when Mundus had finished.

‘Nary a one. I swept by two of the Goth camps as well as that fort Witigis had built between Antium and Ostia and there was nothing. They are remaining close to their tents and I could have set up camp myself and stayed for the night on the territory they claim to possess.’

Chin on chest, Flavius was set to thinking. He had occupied enough temporary encampments in his own campaigns to know that what might start out adequate would, over time, be rendered unpleasant. Latrines and middens had to be placed further and further off from where the men laid their heads. Also, living in tents through the kind of weather that had existed over the year of siege was far from ideal, steaming summer heat being just as much a trial as wind, rain and the cold of winter.

Was Witigis having trouble keeping up the spirits of his men? Did he not dare to seek to send them out on patrols on the grounds they might decline? If the army and citizens in Rome were falling sick while housed in buildings that fully protected them from the elements, how much more would the Goths be suffering?

‘This I must see for myself.’

The ride lasted over three days and took Flavius right round the perimeter that Witigis had set up round the city. In each case what Mundus had told him was correct. The Goths were confining themselves to their camps, allowing him to evolve a strategy to make what was disagreeable positively offensive.

The strong patrols he sent out, several at a time, reversed matters, even if in doing so he risked the entire security of his army; losses in any great scale would be disastrous. Yet the Goths stayed supine; no longer were the Byzantines besieged in the city, now it was the Goths who were wary of leaving their camps, and since they were denied the right to easily forage for food, it was they who would begin to suffer from starvation.

‘Bring me reinforcements, Procopius,’ Flavius whispered to the empty fields to the south of the Porta Ostiensis and the road to Naples, aware of just how much he was stretching his resources. ‘Do that and we have our enemies beaten.’

‘If they stay as they are, Father, they are defeated already.’

An arm was put about the shoulders of his stepson, the young man being pulled close. ‘I fear to say such words too loudly unless God sees it as hubris.’

Procopius was feeling as if he was in the process of taking a beating, locked as he was in an argument with the wife of the man he served. Logic, to which he was dedicated, had no effect at all on the Lady Antonina. No amount of reference to the dangers she might face coming to Rome with him made even the slightest dent in her determination to be, as she put it, ‘reunited with my husband!’ and he was not able to say that was the last thing his master desired.

How comforting it would have been to contest that with the true reason for her supposed craving. It would not be for pure affection, though Antonina did demonstrate to Flavius a great deal of that when they were in company, quite able to play the loving wife while spying on behalf of Theodora as if it was of no consequence. It was also true that she saw nothing untoward in her being enamoured of Theodosius; in her world, plainly the two, affection for Flavius Belisarius as well as their adopted son, had no connection and was no sin.

‘Unless you intend to physically prevent me from getting to Rome then I suggest you say no more.’

‘I may have to adopt that course.’

The eyes narrowed and the voice became a hiss. ‘Am I competing for my husband’s affections?’

‘How can you so dishonour that man by such an unwarranted allegation?’

‘I see you do not attach dishonour to yourself, Procopius. You may fool Flavius by your behaviour but I can see into your soul and you do not deceive me. Now I need a palanquin in which to travel. Do what those in service are there for and provide one.’

‘No doubt you will be happy to see your son as well?’

‘That ingrate! I rue the day I bore him.’

She spat that response, her features screwing up to show that her one-time beauty, onto which she had held a remarkably long time, was becoming seriously eroded. The creases on her upper lip were deep now, the crow’s feet around the eyes pronounced, and her anger and spite merely exaggerated how much she had ripened. Not for the first time Procopius wondered what she thought she was doing seeking to seduce a man half her age.

‘Remember, Procopius, you serve my husband. You do not command him and you do not command me.’

His response conceded a point, in which he had no choice. ‘At least you will not lack for protection.’

Given the task of raising reinforcements for Rome, Procopius had thrown himself into it with gusto, issuing orders not only to the garrison commanders of the south to strip out every man they could spare but to the reinforcements that had been sent by Justinian and were languishing in Naples. If they showed the least resentment, the written instructions from Flavius Belisarius were waved under their nose.

He was enjoying himself in an unusual role, utterly unaware of the resentment such behaviour engendered: no military man enjoyed being ordered around by a civilian, however elevated. Had he known, Procopius would not have cared; everything was in place, including supplies set up along the route, and he chose to take a place at the head of what was now a force of some seven thousand men made up of two thousand cavalry, Isaurian infantry and the scrapings of the Apulian and Calabrian garrisons.

His chosen position did nothing to quell any bitterness felt towards him by men who were experienced commanders. Close behind came Antonina in her palanquin, surrounded by her walking attendants, and her background and behaviour were no mystery.

This meant that both were the subject of much unheard ribaldry, he for his pretensions and supposed proclivities, she for her famously lax morals, which were held to be of long duration and included much carnal activity in the company of Theodora, quite a degree of it sapphic, this while their spouses, both emperor and general, were derided for being too weak to deal with their consorts.

Procopius, trailing Antonina, hurried north to advise Flavius that his desired reinforcements were on the move, which required him to pin back the Goths and render them too fearful to move away from Rome in any strength and launch an attack on the column in open country, when he would be unable to support them. That required he go even more on the offensive and the site chosen for the action was the Porta Flaminia, always a defensive position at serious risk, so much so that the interior wall had been constructed behind the main defences to ensure it could not be breached.

It was an avenue of attack just as precious to Witigis, who had to consider that the entire Byzantine army might essay from Rome, in effect abandon the city and get across the Milvian Bridge before he could interfere. Once north of him they would be between the Goths and their capital and base at Ravenna. If it was an unlikely ploy he had to be careful of the man he was up against; he knew just how ingenious Flavius Belisarius could be and was not going to leave anything to chance.

To counter the threat, Witigis had constructed a special forward camp close to what was the main northern entrance to the city and had it not had that double protection, it would have been the gate he chose above all others to attack, given the Tiber provided him a strong protection on his western flank.

He was right to worry about his wily opponent; out of sight and in darkness Flavius had that extra wall slowly and silently dismantled, which meant that what had hitherto been impossible – namely this being a place from which he could sortie out to fight – was no longer so.

When those gates swung open and a thousand cavalry under Martinus emerged, the Goths were taken completely by surprise, yet they rallied quickly to not only fight off these raiders but to drive them back towards the Porta Flaminia in time to get through the gates before they were once more shut, the prize being entry into the city.

That was exactly what Flavius desired; when Martinus and his men began to retreat the Goths pressed doubly hard, at which point Flavius Belisarius himself exited from the next gate along, the Porta Pinciana, leading another thousand men and riding straight for the Goth camp, a place his enemies had no choice but to seek to protect.

Their commander ordered his men to fall back and they moved with speed enough to prevent Flavius from overrunning it, so, thwarted in that aim he rode on slightly before swinging round to attack the Goths and drive them onto the spears of Martinus’s cavalry, who had now reversed their retreat and resumed their assault.

Caught between two forces the Goths, too far off from their other camps to be supported, paid the price. They were slaughtered in droves, few getting clear. Flavius retired to the city having sent to Witigis the necessary message: do not dare detach men from the siege of Rome for it will cost you dearly.

The King of the Goths had similar information at that point to his adversary; he knew that there were reinforcements coming from Naples as well as their numbers. Witigis was also aware that sailing up the coast was a strong Byzantine fleet, which made holding on to some of his more extended possessions, especially blocking the ports, untenable.

Disease was stalking his forces too, and his men being almost prisoners in their own camps had left him with a dispirited set of warriors deeply sick of this fight, a mood which would not be aided by the arrival of the Byzantine reinforcements. It was time to talk and Flavius was called to the Porta Salaria to receive envoys asking that he parley.

A meeting was arranged in a special tent set up close to the gate, given Witigis would not enter Rome and Flavius declined to go far from the safety of the city walls. Face to face for the first time the two men naturally sought to assess each other, as no doubt did the inferior officers both had brought along.

Flavius saw a man much taller than he, for Witigis had imposing height. The head was large, the features heavy under thick greying hair and a single impressive eyebrow. The impression could not be avoided that the Goth would have been a hard man to best in single combat, no doubt one of the reasons he had been elected to his position.

What Witigis observed would look slight to a man of his frame but if he knew anything about Flavius Belisarius he would be aware that he was dealing with a man who could hold his own when wielding weapons. The shoulders were not excessively wide and nor was the body imposing, but the real key to the man lay in the calm expression and steady eyes, under dark curled hair and with a face framed by that thin black beard.

‘You have no right to be here, Flavius Belisarius.’

There was no sitting down, no air that this might be a passive exchange between equals. The Latin was guttural and far from perfect in its composition, the tone as harsh as the expression on the face of the Goth King. Flavius decided the anger was genuine, not faked; Witigis believed every word of what he had just said.

‘No right? I am in Rome at the express command of the Emperor Justinian, who has title to the whole of the lands of Italy. They are part of the Roman Empire.’

‘Long since lost!’

‘Theodoric ruled at the behest of the predecessors of Justinian. Since those who succeeded have failed to acknowledge him as their overlord he has sent me to take back that which he owns.’

‘Why take what you cannot hold? I demand that you hand back the provinces of South Italy that you have stolen and return them to my authority. If some hollow title is needed by your master, the same arrangement he enjoyed with Theodoric, God rest his soul, then I am willing to let him enjoy it.’

‘Even if I was inclined to accede to your demand – which, I may add, I am not – I lack the authority to do so. Only Justinian can decide on such a weighty matter.’

‘You are his legate in Italy.’

‘I am in command of his armies, that is all.’

Flavius and Procopius had discussed what might come out of this meeting and the kernel of it was needs rather than outcomes. Antonina had tried to do likewise and been brusquely informed it was none of her business, even if her husband knew how such a message, conveyed to Theodora, would be taken.

Winter was coming, the Byzantine army was not in perfect condition and it was possible the Goths were equally afflicted. Witigis could no more win than Flavius. What both men needed was time, to rebuild the health of their men and the potency of the forces they led. It was thus a theatrical gesture that had Procopius lean forward and whisper in his master’s ear; the words were already known.

‘It may be, King Witigis’ – the courtesy of the title got a sharp nod, it being the first acknowledgement of his position – ‘that my emperor will be open to what you suggest, I cannot say. All I can do is repeat to you that I will hold what I have until ordered to surrender it. So if you want an answer, one I am not empowered to provide, you must go to where it can be considered.’

‘You think I would go to Constantinople?’ Witigis sneered. ‘Do you see me of so little account that I must go in person to beg?’

‘If you choose to go or to send envoys is none of my concern. All I know is that the journey and return will take time and that is without any idea of how long any discussions will last. I am aware that we are both at a stand. You will never retake Rome with the forces you have and I lack the means to drive you away.’

The pause was long before Witigis acknowledged that with a sharp nod; he knew it to be the case but there was no pleasure in admitting it.

‘So we need to create time, say three months, when such a journey can be undertaken and our differences can perhaps be resolved at a higher level.’

The locked eyes were more revealing than the words; neither man believed Justinian would agree to surrender anything his general had so far recovered, but Witigis might have something to gain just by talking, perhaps the right to peacefully retain what he still held.

‘A three-month truce!’

‘Starting at dawn tomorrow,’ Flavius responded.

The delay in replying was purely for pride and appearance to convince those who had accompanied him of his solemn consideration; really there was no choice, but Witigis made great play of adopting a pensive pose, his eyes lowered and his hand on his firm, square chin.

‘No. I need time to consider. What I will agree to is a cessation of hostilities until I have consulted with my nobles.’

‘Agreed.’