Honour

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

The maps of Italy and Sicily were laid out on the great table round which Justinian, Flavius and a whole clutch of senior officers were gathered, while the Emperor explained to them what had been happening in that huge peninsula and how he intended that it should be brought back to be once more part of his empire. If the rest did not know it, Flavius did; this was a long-held dream and a personal quest.

‘The death of Athalaric merely brings forward a plan long in my mind. He would have never made a king, anyway.’

His mother had tried to keep him out of the clutches of her nobles. She had wanted a Roman education for Athalaric and would have sent him to Constantinople if she had been allowed, but those around her were too powerful to ignore and they wanted the eight-year-old boy to have an education and upbringing fit for an Ostrogoth king.

Forced to surrender him into their clutches, Amalasuintha could only watch as, over the next eight years, he was debauched by men who hoped, when he reached his majority and took his rightful place, to control him. Introduced early to wine he became addicted and his death had occurred after what had been described to Justinian as an epic drinking bout.

‘Probably choked on his own vomit. It matters not, Amalasuintha is utterly weakened by it and there is a fight going on amongst the powerful to seize the vacant throne.’

‘She will have appealed to you for aid, Highness?’

‘She has, Narses,’ Justinian replied, his grin wolfish, ‘which demonstrates how weak she is, given my demand that she cede Lilybaeum was refused. Anyway I have had reports of the Goths taking Roman property by force which they would never have dared to do under Theodoric so that indicates a breakdown in order, with nobles acting to suit their own needs.’

It was common knowledge that one of the thieving culprits was an unsavoury character called Theodahad, who was a cousin to Athalaric and had a strong claim to the throne, which he might have taken if he had not been so unpopular. Utterly unscrupulous he had offered Justinian all his Italian lands for a sum in gold as well as residence in Constantinople. This was a bargain the Emperor would have accepted if his machinations had not been uncovered and Theodahad forced by Amalasuintha to confess and make restitution of his stolen property. He was now telling Justinian that he was no longer bound to his aunt in any way and was at his service.

‘Remarkable woman, Amalasuintha,’ Flavius opined. ‘To lord it over the Ostrogoths.’

‘Remarkable women are not as rare as you might think. Anyway there were three main rivals to take away her power-’

‘Were, Highness?’

‘She had them killed.’

‘Risky.’

‘I offered her a home here if she failed.’

Which was as good as saying she had not acted without Justinian knowing full well what was about to happen. But that was an aside as far as the Emperor was concerned. The woman had more problems than that, for she was plagued by aggressive neighbours to the north, the Franks and the Burgundians, who were encroaching on the Ostrogoth possessions and now she was in dispute with Constantinople over the old Vandal fief in Sicily. Justinian had demanded it, she had refused. At one time she might have had the Vandals as allies; that was now gone.

Only Flavius of the present generals knew the latest intelligence from Italy, imparted to him before this meeting. Amalasuintha was no more. She had tried to come to an arrangement with Theodahad by offering him the throne as long as she could continue to rule, the proposition being surrounded by oaths of a nature that would damn for eternity the man who broke them. At the same time Justinian was treating with her to come east and receive large estates in the hope that she would hand him Italy. Caught between the two she had been taken by Theodahad and if it was others who did the foul deed, he did nothing to save her.

‘They’re an untrustworthy lot, Flavius,’ had been the Justinian opinion. ‘I was treating with Theodahad too for the same thing not long ago, and what does he do? Imprisons his aunt then stands by when she is murdered.’

‘They could teach us a thing or two, certainly.’

The jest was taken well; Justinian reckoned he was being complimented on his own deviousness. He did not know that it was never meant as praise.

‘My envoy declared war.’

‘Does he have that right?’

‘No, but he had only anticipated what I would have done. Italy is in turmoil and is as ripe as a ready-to-fall apple. What we need now, Flavius, is a plan to make that happen, and as luck would have it we are not threatened anywhere else and you are here after your success in North Africa. God, I would suggest, is with us.’

That was a point he made to all the commanders assembled, passing on the moves he had made to act in alliance with the Franks, who had claims on the north of Italy. If they acted, and he had sent them a fortune in gold as encouragement, it would split the Ostrogoth defence.

‘Do they not compete with us?’

The question was posed by Peranias, another senior officer in the imperial army, but one without much in the way of active service to his name; Flavius suspected powerful relatives.

‘In time they will, but I have laid claim only to what was ours. Rome certainly, Ravenna given Theodoric made it his capital. Everything south of course.’

‘Sicily will have to be secured first,’ Flavius ventured. ‘It would be madness to seek to take the mainland with that at our back, but I observed few Gothic troops on the island when we passed through it.’

Narses spoke after Flavius. ‘And I would suggest a strong force on the Adriatic coast to keep them worried about a second invasion. That further splits their forces.’

That received general agreement; the first task was to get an army ashore and any diversions would aid that. The talk went on for an age, tactics were discussed as well as the overall strategy, obstacles identified mainly in fortified cities that would have to be subdued or bypassed. It ended on a note of high confidence, not least from the Emperor himself.

‘There’s a degree of hubris there, don’t you think, Flavius Belisarius?’

Posed after Justinian had left, that got Peranias a bland look; no nod, no agreement or disagreement. That was the kind of remark which, from a placeman like this fellow, could be an opening gambit in what would become treachery. Flavius had decided the only way to deal with people like this fellow was not to respond, given he could not know to whom any reply would be repeated and there was at least one person who would, he was sure, set traps for him.

The idea of no other threats was illusory; an imperial messenger brought news that a Gothic army had landed on the Dalmatian coast and there defeated the forces under the son of Mundus and their young leader killed. By the time Flavius was making ready to depart for Sicily, news came that Mundus himself, a man so feared his name was enough to keep the province at peace, had also been slain in a second battle but that the Gothic army had been defeated. It did not bode well for future operations and changed the nature of the orders Flavius was given.

‘Touch at Sicily and seek out how the population feels. If there seems to be resistance to us retaking the island you can sail on with no loss of face to Carthage, claiming that as your destination all along.’

And that he did, again securing sole command and leading his fleet to a landing near Catania on the east coast, his main worry the lack of force he had at his disposal, which was nothing like that with which he had beaten the Vandals. He had with him, too, Photius, his stepson, now that age at which he, Flavius, had first soldiered. A winning and willing aide it was a pleasure to have him along, especially as at the first sign of a threat the good folk of Catania promptly surrendered their city to him, which had Photius declaring that war was easy.

It seemed as if the youngster had the right of it: what followed was in effect akin to the falling of a set of gambling bones; every city on the island declared for Belisarius and Constantinople except one, Panormus, with a Gothic garrison and stout walls. The defenders were wagering the Romans lacked the force to overcome them and the truth was the man who led them agreed.

The problem he now had was altered: news had come of a mutiny in the provinces of North Africa and that, he suspected, would require his presence and that of a large part of his army. Subdue Panormus and he could claim Sicily conquered. Fail to attain that and he could not leave a force of Goths to reverse what he had just achieved; every city that had opened their gates to him would do the same to the armed garrison of Panormus.

‘This, Photius, is where war becomes less simple.’

The pair were raiding round the extensive walls that went from the sea to the east then round the city to the other end of the deep bay and there were no gaps Flavius could see as well as much evidence of repair. Flavius was using the occasion to educate his young charge.

‘If we attack we lack the strength to do so at enough points that we can hope to face an inferior defence by distraction elsewhere.’ Flavius pointed out the towers that held up the curtain wall and helped Photius to understand that they were only a double-cast spear apart. ‘So soldiers caught between them face annihilation if they use ladders, and boiling oil on their heads as they clamber. If they have archers it is suicide.’

‘Do they have them, Father?’

Warmed by the respect but unable to answer Flavius spurred his horse straight for the walls and cried, ‘Let’s find out.’

Photius did not hesitate; he was right on the heels of the man he had for years thought of as his parent and he copied too Flavius’s wild yell. The walls before them, hitherto empty, suddenly showed faces peering between the embrasures as the two came well within the range of archery. Flavius hauled hard to pull up his mount out of the range of a cast spear and sat there, the youngster at his side.

‘Put your shield over your shoulders to cover your back. First sign of an arrow, pray to God and ride hard to safety.’

What they got were shouts of incomprehensible derision and even though they sat a while no one came to address or insult them in Latin, so eventually they trotted off to jeers, carrying on their inspection until the walls ended at the western shore, and there Flavius sat musing.

‘It would be remiss not to examine the sea walls but I fear it will be to no purpose.’

Back at the point at which they had begun their inspection a fishing boat was commandeered. Flavius had them rowed out into the wide bay and then close into the sea-stained stonework, standing up to get a good look and lifting his head several times as if seeking a measurement.

‘Photius, find a better boat than this and head back to Catania. Order the fleet to this bay. They are to make haste and spare no canvas or rower for time is of the essence.’

It was just the task for a keen youngster and he was given an escort of four experienced men to avoid him being tempted into an adventure that might be dangerous. With nothing to do Flavius went to his tent to join Procopius and to get from the messenger from Carthage, a senior tribune, some idea of what had been happening in the province since he left. There had been victories and defeats but the key battle was that of Solomon against the largest body of Moors.

‘You will have heard tell, General, of the way they used camels against the Vandals, well they tried it on Solomon. They made a circle in which they put their women and children, being nomads even when fighting they travel with their families-’

That got a slightly impatient nod; Flavius had no need to be told that.

‘The place they chose to give battle was cunning, a flat plain but with some high hills on one side. Solomon suspected that not all the Moors were amongst their camels.’

‘He was at Dara, so he would suspect some of his enemies to be in hiding behind those hills.’

‘Aye. We tried to attack those on the flat ground from the open, plain flank but the horses panicked at the smell of the camels. Not one archer of your bucellarii could settle them enough to fire a bow, so the horns were blown to retreat.’

The tribune could see in the face of Flavius that the thought did not please him, and that he could accept. It was the look Procopius was aiming at him that rankled. What did this jumped-up scribe know of what he was speaking, or any aspect of fighting?

‘The order came to dismount and Solomon led us back into the fight on foot, but instead of attacking straight on he slid round to the other flank, the mountain one, and struck from there. The Moors had left that side short and those hidden, well whatever they thought, they did not engage and we broke through the line of camels as easy as kiss my hand.’ That got a loud sniff. ‘Easy to kill camels, Your Honour.’

‘Moors?’

‘Them too. A lot were slain, the rest taken as slaves and that included the whole crowd of women and children. Fetched a pretty penny, they did. Next Solomon and Theodorus the Cappadocian caught the Moors in a trap in Byzacium and that was a grand slaughter I’m told, but for details I wasn’t there, Your Honour, so I can’t tell you much.’

‘And the mutiny?’

‘Where to start. Men ain’t been paid, land that they was hoping for, having wed the Vandal widows, been taken for Justinian, may his greed send him to hell.’

‘Careful where you say that, Tribune.’

That made the fellow sit up and he recounted all the problems that assailed what he had left in peace. Not just those mentioned, but also religion, for if it seemed right to shut the Arian churches and deny baptism, that took no account of the number of Arians in the imperial army such as the Heruls. Then there were Vandals stirring things up too.

‘One piles on top of another and before you know it, mutiny.’

‘Led by whom?’

‘No one.’

That could not be true, but this tribune had no idea. The arrival of Solomon — who had fled Carthage — with the fleet fetched by Photius, brought the information Flavius required but that had to be set to one side since nothing could be done until he had dealt with what was before him. That required that he take to one of the larger transports and sail it as close to the walls of Panormus as was commensurate with safety.

‘I may be too old for this.’

That was said as he began to climb the rigging that held the large central mast. It was not age that was against him but motion of a kind he had never before experienced, even in rough seas. The height exaggerated what on deck was light swell and Flavius felt his stomach churn as he swayed back and forth. For all his discomfort he had observed what he had come to see, though the descent he found was ten times more nerve-racking than the ascent.

Back on deck he spoke with the master mariner acting as the fleet commander and laid out his proposals, to which the fellow readily agreed, sending men off in a boat to go round the other large transports. Some were ordered to join with the vessel on which Flavius was still feeling unwell, others to send their most commodious boats.

‘Photius, ashore as quick as you can with those boats and fetch me my archers.’

They came in small packets and some of them, even in a calm bay, were showing signs of being green at the gills. While they had been travelling, the transports chosen had lined up on the command vessel and were busy anchoring head and stern so they became as stable a platform as was possible on an open sea.

‘Eight archers per boat was the command’, and men who had got gratefully to the deck were put back from where they had come, with a cheerful Flavius commanding his stepson Photius, ‘to wave to our enemies’.

This the boy did, a line of faces at the battlements that seemed to have no idea what was coming; hardly surprising, few did. The boats full of archers were now being rigged with lines, split to both sides so as to keep them even. That done Flavius gave the men on the windlass the order to haul, and slowly, one by one, the boats were raised till they were as near to the top of the mast as they could go.

‘Choose your targets, no arrows to be wasted.’

It was hard to see from the deck but from aloft the masts were much higher than the sea wall defences, which were lower than the landward wall. The archers were firing down on Goths who had nothing with which to defend themselves for they had no archery with which to reply. The protection they relied upon was gone and the threat of what would follow was obvious. A seaward assault in which they dare not man their parapet.

‘Photius. Take one of the other boats and offer the garrison terms. They may leave without their weapons and we will transport them to Italy. They have till the morning to decide.’

With that he called to the archers to desist.

The positive reply came back as required; the man leading the garrison knew he could not withstand the tactic which had been employed against him. A ship was arranged and the Goths marched out of their own watergate as the Romans marched in, the man Flavius was leaving in command given one order to be carried out straight away.

‘Get the masons working, I want those seaward walls up to the height of a Goliath.’