Honour

CHAPTER TEN

Flavius only found out why the border had flared up into that desultory campaign on his return to the capital: he also found Petrus once more acting as a close advisor to Justin in a relationship with as many strains as agreements. The star of Euphemia had waned and his had risen as Justin found the task of ruling the empire, especially the greedy and fractious bureaucracy, increasingly difficult; as Petrus pointed out, with his uncle being subjected to all sorts of obfuscation and downright intrigue in pursuit of personal gain, his pious wife was ill-equipped to deal with it and had been for some time.

‘But most of all he needed sound advice to respond to the offer from Kavadh, for it was clear some of his other advisors had been bribed by the Sassanids to favour it.’

‘An offer of what?’

‘Eternal peace.’

‘How many times has Rome been offered that, Petrus!’

‘Scoff if you will but it may be this time he meant it. Kavadh does not easily hold his throne, you know, and he came by it by deposing another. He had lots of enemies, some very powerful, as well as allies to keep loyal.’

‘Both of whom he pays off with the gold we gift him.’

‘It works.’

‘It’s a wound dressing not a solution.’

‘My, Flavius, have you become the wit?’

‘You know I’m right.’

‘What else would you have us do? Fight Kavadh to a bloody finish and take control of lands we cannot hold? What would we then face, the same troubles he has internally and on his eastern and southern borders? It is too big a meal to swallow.’

‘Alexander not only swallowed Persia, he crossed the Indus too.’

That got a wry look from Petrus, implying it was meaningless to look back to the glories of the ancient Macedonians, that Flavius should know the truth as well as anyone. The Eastern Roman Empire lacked the resources to inflict a complete defeat on the Sassanids of Persia, indeed it was a task that had been beyond the Roman Empire at the height of its powers. All of the fighting on the eastern border had been and was, at its root, defensive and that had really been the situation for centuries. Frustrating it might be for an ambitious soldier, but it was a fact.

‘What else did that devil offer, eternal peace being so common when his coffers are bare?’

‘His son and heir, Khosrau, as hostage. The boy is coming up ten and it was suggested he would benefit from a Roman education here in Constantinople.’

That made Flavius sit up; if true it was serious, not as had been the case from what he had heard on the border and indeed before he ever got there; the Sassanids made peace for money and only for a period until they needed more.

‘We refused.’

‘We?’

‘I advised my uncle, he finally agreed.’

‘But surely if Kavadh’s heir was in Constantinople?’

‘He would not break the peace?’ Petrus asked, but it was not really a question. ‘Part of the offer was that Justin should adopt Khosrau.’

‘That confuses me.’

‘It did my uncle till I pointed out the flaw.’

‘Which is?’

‘Justin has no children. To adopt Khosrau would technically make him the imperial heir as well as the Sassanid. It was that advice that got me back into my uncle’s confidence, given most others counselling him, and I include his wife, were too stupid or too compromised with gold to see where it might lead.’

‘No one in the empire would accept a Sassanid to succeed Justin.’

‘How naïve you are, Flavius. How many of the men around my uncle secretly harbour a desire to take the diadem when he, God forbid, dies? And if they cannot have the purple for themselves then the promotion of another and a chance to be the power behind the throne will serve. Do you really think to them it matters where the candidate comes from when we have had upstart Isaurians with Zeno and now an Illyrian whom they hold to be a barbarian.’

‘From within the boundaries of empire.’

‘Do you really think that would matter?’

Flavius got no chance to respond, Petrus was off tugging at his hair as he paced back and forth, cursing the ambition of men who he would not admit to being his rivals, just as he would not admit to his own aspirations. Justin was correct when he insisted his nephew was out for his own ends; the one unknown was how he would deal with it, for being childless and, barring a second marriage to a much younger woman, something he had never shown any signs of contemplating, he would remain so.

‘How is the health of the Empress Euphemia?’ Flavius enquired, mischievously, for if he could deduce what was needed to create a succession, namely her demise prior to a new consort, it was certain Petrus could too.

‘Robust, God be praised,’ came the fulsome reply.

Petrus was obviously on the horns of a dilemma with that lady, part of him wanting her and any influence she might still have out of the way, the other the fear of a sudden illness carrying her off and leaving the field clear for someone to replace her. Not that he would have eschewed precautions; there was probably some young and fertile woman already listed in the Sabbatius mind to take on the role. On second thoughts, she would be young and infertile.

‘When my view finally prevailed and the suggestion was formally rebuffed, Kavadh started to assemble his army once more to counter the insult.’

‘And got his bribe again,’ Flavius sighed. ‘It should not be so easy.’

‘Perhaps, one day it will not be so.’

Looking for further explanation Flavius was left in limbo; all he had was that look on the face of the imperial nephew that hinted at plans laid that would be long in coming to fruition, that quickly masked by another more calculating.

‘Come, Flavius, we must go down to the docks and some entertainment. Back from the wilds of Mesopotamia you will be in need of comfort of a kind I hardly believe can exist out there.’

‘Don’t be so sure, Petrus,’ came the reply as Flavius stood to comply. ‘If you have not known the sweetness of an Arab concubine do not dismiss it so.’

‘You savoured some?’

‘Of course.’

‘Flavius, you’re as big a rogue as I am.’

‘Petrus, no one is as big a rogue as you.’

‘Have you met this dancing girl of his yet, the one I am told he is so very enamoured of?’

Justin and Flavius were walking together on the sward that filled the area between the imperial palace and the walls abutting the Propontis, a place where the Emperor regularly took exercise. And he was striding out, still fit even in his eighth decade of life and the fourth of his reign, with an expert eye cast at those Excubitors exercising their military skills in the open spaces between the trees, swordplay and spear work accompanied by much shouting from instructors.

The way the question was posed underlined it was an awkward one. Flavius thought for a moment to say no, not sure if an admission of the truth would lead him into deep waters. Yet on reflection he could not easily lie to this man and he doubted his denial would be believed. Justin had any number of sources of information and he might well know of any visits both he and Petrus had made to the dockside fleshpots.

‘Theodora?’

‘I am told that is her name,’ came a jaundiced response.

And not one you like to utter, Flavius thought. He had met the lady, if she could be called that, in the company of Petrus in his favoured dockside tavern-cum-brothel, one run by a singularly corpulent and debased Egyptian. Theodora was one of his troupe of entertainers, a quite athletic dancer, able to juggle, good with snakes and a fine singer. She was striking to look at, the flesh she readily bared much admired by the customers of the place, and bold in her person.

If she lacked education, which Flavius had to suppose would be the case, Theodora did not lack for wit or a kind of devious charm and she had certainly worked her wiles on the imperial nephew. Enamoured was too soft a word; Petrus was besotted to the point of being indifferent to possible flaws as well as the allure of any of the other dancers, and these were women he had regularly bedded, either alone or in various combinations some of which, he suspected, would have included Theodora. The lady was not regarded for her chastity.

She resented the clear regard Petrus had for him; if it was subtle, the way she sought to diminish him had become apparent at the time, even more in recollection. In the morning light Flavius had remembered the small, seemingly humorous asides that were on the cusp of being affronts, looks and words with double meanings that bordered on the salacious, designed, he thought, to make her smitten paramour jealous, not attempts at seduction but wedges to drive them apart.

Even aware of that it was hard not to be tempted for she was a beauty — and it was not just the stunning looks that made her attractive, it was her quick wits and a degree of presence and natural grace not normally afforded to those of her background, which was much chequered. Petrus was not the first man to have her sole attention; she seemingly had been the paramour of more than one other man.

‘He has asked if I would permit him to marry her.’

‘What!’

‘You’re right to be shocked. If the Sabbatius name is not amongst the most elevated it is high enough to make such a thing unthinkable. His mother would crucify me.’

‘Quite apart from his being your nephew.’

It was the measure of Justin the man that he blushed at that; he never wished to be thought of as grand, even when clad in purple and gold. ‘I suppose it will pass. We have all been struck by that singular arrow called lust at some time, and such a passion usually burns out.’

‘Of course,’ Flavius replied, his tone guarded.

He was far from sure that Justin was right, either, about everyone being subject to such a thunderbolt; he never had and it gave him cause to wonder when and who had struck his mentor, an event that would have had to have preceded his marriage. Nor was he convinced regarding Petrus, and it was not just the way he was behaving; the Theodora he had met and recalled on waking was not one to extract her claws once they were firmly in the Sabbatius flesh.

‘Anyway, that must be left to time. Tell me about your adventures.’

‘What adventures? We marched up and down the border, we trained and we fought one battle that ended with no fanfares for anyone.’

‘How do you think the men in command behaved?’

‘Well,’ came the immediate response.

‘Do not confuse loyalty to those you have served under with your duty to me Flavius.’ There was no mistaking the change of tone; Justin had gone in a blink from surrogate father to imperial master. ‘Was it a battle we could or should have won?’

The reply came after a lengthy pause. ‘Not with what we possess.’

‘Explain.’

‘We lack a weapon to drive off their horse archers, who have a bad effect on any body of troops exposed to their fire. Yes, they can be compelled to retire by cavalry but once they have gone in pursuit of these Armenians, then they are as good as lost to the men who command them and they must continue the battle without one of their main components. I did formulate a way that might be countered but I hesitate to suggest it to even you.’

‘Who else would you suggest it to?’

‘The military commanders.’

‘Who would have to come to me, so you may as well bypass that and speak up.’

‘It is not a wholly formed idea.’

Justin stopped abruptly, forcing Flavius to do likewise, and given he was half a head taller, the way he was looking down as his young protégé showed he was irritated and that was amplified by his tone of voice.

‘If you have thought on this Flavius, you will have done so assiduously. If you do not know to avoid dancing around the bushes with me then I wonder if you have any knowledge of my person at all.’

‘It may be foolish.’

Justin began to walk again, forcing Flavius to scurry to catch up and match his longer stride, speaking over his shoulder. ‘If it is, I will let you down with gentleness.’

‘In everything we have done we Romans copy our enemies.’

‘No arrogance there, eh?’ Justin hooted. ‘A thousand years of success in war dismissed in a sentence.’

‘Did we not follow the Huns when it came to fighting on horseback?’ That got a nod. ‘Yet it is the Sassanids who have taken their bows and allied them to horsemen who can use them and move simultaneously.’

It was necessary for the sake of clarity that Flavius explain the effect of those tactics in an actual battle — the confusion and the effect it had on formations ready to do as required by their commanders — not because an old soldier who had faced the same enemy needed it but to set up his argument for a different kind of mounted force.

‘One that needs to be both disciplined and flexible.’

‘Are those two aims not mutually exclusive?’

‘What if the horses were not ponies and swift but heavier beasts, with barding on their chests and flanks to protect them against arrows and spear thrusts.’

‘Which would slow them.’

‘Speed is not the only aim. Cohesion and impact are. I think we can improve on the Sassanid cataphracts with the use of speedier and specially trained horses.’

The younger voice took on the air of a preacher then, as he added the details of what he had in mind. ‘A unit of heavy cavalry armed with bows as well as spears, well protected both in themselves and their horses, able to attack enemy infantry like a wall of flesh and bone, and drive into their formation having assailed them first with arrows.’

‘And a mounted foe?’

‘They would have nothing to fear from ordinary cavalry and, if need be, they would have the ability to engage and drive off enemy horse archers without indulging in a furious chase that takes them out of the battle.’

‘Numbers?’

‘One numerus to begin.’

‘Horses?’

‘There are many of the kind we need in the Cappadocian herds, as I found out on the way home.’

‘Armour and barding?’

‘Specially designed, again lighter than the cataphracts to assist with speed. I can show you some drawings I have made but I would need to go to the imperial factories and talk with those who will be required to make what is needed. Weapons we have already and all they will require is to be adapted.’

‘And you think, Flavius, this will win us our battles.’

‘I would be happy, Highness, to start by not losing one. The only reason we did not do so recently is that the Sassanid general did not press to do so. Had he attacked the second day I suspect we would have been obliged to flee for the safety of Dara.’

‘What you suggest sounds to be heavy on cost. Three hundred men, twice as many mounts, and special equipment and I think I can assume that is just the beginning-’

‘Whatever it costs must be less than the talents we send as subventions to Kavadh.’

‘How long will you require?’

‘Perhaps a year of training. As to proof, that is in the hands of others. Only an enemy can validate what I believe.’

‘Many will see it as no more than a chance to enrich yourself.’

The response was too sharp to be addressed to an emperor, regardless of how high the speaker was held in esteem. ‘I hope that you are not amongst them!’

‘We are alone, Flavius, which is just as well, is it not?’

‘Forgive me, Highness, if I speak too boldly. It is not an accusation I can lightly accept for it besmirches not only my name but that of my family.’

The mention of that seemed to mollify Justin. At least it produced a wilful smile. ‘Did your father ever tell you of how we came to Constantinople?’

Decimus had, many times, but his son felt it politic to imply he had not and because he did so Justin began reminiscing; how they had fled a serious barbarian invasion of Illyricum, four stalwarts who thought they had the world at their feet, entering a city where the streets were paved with gold and one in which such paragons must both conquer and find wealth.

‘Not even lead did we find, Flavius. We encountered indifference and near starvation, for the people of Constantinople are not kind to strangers. Joining the army was a way to survive and, if I am now the only one left alive, it served us well.’

‘I found the same indifference myself when I came here.’

Justin stopped and looked back towards the Great Palace, at the cream stones of the outer walls and at the eastern end the earthquake-damaged dome of the church of St Sophia.

‘And who would have thought it would end like this? My wife and I say prayers every night for those we have loved and lost, but I tell you that your father holds a special place in mine. We were as close once as brothers.’

Seeing the eyes of the young man before him begin to well up, Justin added, to mitigate his obvious anguish, ‘Gather your men and horses, Flavius, and let us see if we can forge the weapon you describe.’

It took more than a year; there seemed not one member of the military or imperial bureaucracy inclined to aid him, quite the reverse. They set out to obstruct him by diverting the funds he needed or holding up his new equipment in the imperial arms factories, standing proof that most men of high rank were more concerned with their place and their own purse than with the needs of the empire.

Only when Justin interceded did matters improve, but the travails of one young man did not figure large in the cares of the state and when he appealed to Petrus he found him to be indifferent to the task upon which he was engaged and overdistracted by his private affairs. Still enamoured of Theodora, Petrus had removed her from her less than salubrious circumstances as an entertainer and more besides.

She and some of her companions were now accommodated in a wing of the palace well away from the imperial apartments and the Empress Euphemia, a lady now in poor health but still strong in her piety and never one to be inclined to welcome the less than chaste daughter of a circus acrobat into her presence.

Not that Flavius saw much of either; all of his time was now spent on the task at hand. The horses had been gathered and broken in, as had the men he needed, of a size and muscular ability to command exceptionally strong and often stubborn mounts. The armour and weapons were coming, if slowly, while ideas that had seemed sound at first needed to be modified, not least the bow used by his shock cavalry, the Hunnish model being refined to be more balanced in its construction.

Even with everything in place the training had to be instituted in the open fields outside Galatea, put to the test and refined to the point where every man in charge of a decharchia could both command his own men and act in concert with every other group, to either combine or act independently as circumstances demanded in response to a set of horn-blown commands. Time spent on the other side of the Bosphorus was rare.

The news of the demise of Euphemia, of a wasting fever, brought him hurrying back to Constantinople for the ceremonies of burial and attendance at the Masses said for her soul. It was a testament to her innate goodness and the many works of charity she had performed since becoming empress that he found not just a household in mourning but a whole city. He brought his new cavalry with him, to join in the parade that followed the catafalque to her place of interment, a spacious sarcophagus commissioned by Justin, his beautifully caparisoned men a wonder to the assembled crowds, who might have cheered on a less solemn occasion.

Naturally, Euphemia’s nephew was well to the fore amongst her mourners, just behind his parents and his uncle; more surprising to Flavius was the fact that he was accompanied by Theodora who, if she was overawed by the company in which she now found herself, managed to hide it well. He was sure he could see in her eye that she felt she was where she belonged.