Honour

CHAPTER SEVEN

Flavius Belisarius rode out the next morning at the head of a decharchia of cavalry, each of his men having an extra pack mount, carrying the despatch Petrus had written, or rather had dictated to him, the contents checked by another clerk before the newly named Justin the First used his freshly created imperial stencil and the Great Seal of his office that he had inherited to render it official.

As a messenger on imperial business Flavius had the right to command even senior officials to facilitate his passage, not that he anticipated the need. The roads of the Roman Empire, if not always in as good a repair as they should be, were very often straight for several leagues and lined at regular intervals with comfortable mansiones specifically for the use of people on official government business.

Sprawling as it was the empire depended on these roads to function, routes where riders bringing despatches could change mounts and if the news was desperate, ride on without resting to sound the alarm. Most officials travelled more slowly and comfortably in a slave-carried litter, staying overnight to bathe the dust off their bodies, to have their clothing brushed and cleaned and to be fed in a fashion that suited their rank. If they had needs of a sexual nature, these could be discreetly catered for.

Luxuriating in a bath, attended by two young slave girls and well beyond the point of gratification, Flavius was thinking about Petrus and the way he had reacted to his uncle’s behaviour. No amount of logic seemed to be able to shift his sense of grievance.

‘He resents the manipulation,’ had been the explanation Flavius had volunteered for the new coolness between them.

‘And where,’ Petrus had demanded, with a well-canted head and a look of superior knowingness, ‘would he be without it?’

‘Perhaps if you had confided in him-’

‘Confided in him!’ came the shout, before Petrus had suppressed his vocal anger, well aware it could be overheard, giving a clear indication that his newly constrained status was troubling him. ‘We would have been nowhere, or in the depths of the dungeons.’

Feeling the need to be emollient, Flavius advised that time would ease matters but he knew well, as he sat in this bath, that Petrus would not see it that way. He had focused particularly on the pardoning of Vitalian to vent his spleen, worried that the rebellious general would be a schemer — being one himself he hated that anyone else should employ such methods — and that once within the palace he might wonder at why a man who once served him as a junior military commander should now lord it over all he could survey.

‘But how can I advise caution,’ had been the plea, ‘or even a special guard against the secret knife if the man will not listen to me anymore, tell me that?’

Climbing onto the warm tiles, to be dried by gentle towelling, Flavius deliberately forced his mind to concentrate on his task. How would he be received by a man he knew and had fought both under and alongside? Vitalian was a fine soldier, an excellent commander of his barbarian foederati, fighters mainly from north and east of Germany and fierce with it, men he would have to find a way past before he ever got to their general.

Once he had ensured his soldiers were likewise being catered for it was an unfortunate thought to take to bed, or was it the oversized meal he had felt obliged to consume? Someone had gone to the trouble of cooking it and the man who ran the mansio put such store by appreciation. The night was warm and humid, his stomach was full and thus his reveries were wide-ranging and finally deeply disturbing.

Flavius had a recurring dream-cum-nightmare in which he was fighting hard alongside his family on the banks of the River Danube. Yet he was simultaneously not part of the contest, able to hover above it and scream hopelessly that a blow should be parried or back should be covered, useless because no actual sound seemed to emanate from his mouth. Neither his father nor his brothers reacted to the aid he tried to give them and if the details varied the ending was ever the same as a horde of devilish fiends, slavering four-footed beasts able to ply swords and axes as well as their fearsome teeth, cut into his family and dismembered each one by one.

The limbs would struggle to rejoin only to be further mutilated and eyes would plead to the last remaining son to come to their aid. Flavius always woke up drenched in sweat and near to tears, the last image prior to wakefulness the florid, fat and grinning face of the villain who had betrayed them to the raiding Huns. Looking out of a window at an inky-black sky dotted with stars did not bring relief, only a wonder at a fate that had in reality allowed him to witness, if not the actual event, the way they had been overcome without his being able to have any effect on the outcome.

Then came the question to which there was no answer. Had his father realised why he had been abandoned to defeat and death along with the men he led? Had he told Flavius’s brothers how close he was to bringing down his venal and wealthy nemesis, a senator of the empire and a lawbreaker of staggering proportions, but one who nevertheless had such strong support in Constantinople he had been able to frustrate efforts to bring him to justice for years.

After a decade of imperial inaction the Centurion Decimus Belisarius had finally got what he wanted; the promise of a high-ranking official commission to investigate the crimes and misdemeanours of his adversary and one kept secret even from the Emperor’s own court officials. Somehow Senuthius Vicinus, the rogue in question, must have got wind of it and his reaction was to contrive a plan that removed the messenger and thus the threat.

Lying on his cot Flavius reprised what happened next; he had been forced to flee from his family home in the company of his father’s aged domesticus Ohannes. A one-time fighting soldier, he had ensured the last surviving child did not suffer the same fate of the rest of his family, for Senuthius saw security only in the wiping out of the entire Belisarius clan. It was a blessing his mother had been absent visiting relatives when her family was destroyed for she too would have faced death, and escape with her in company would probably have been impossible.

Now he recalled the visit he had made to her and the tears they had both shed as he recounted the details of what had occurred. Not that she was unaware; he had sent Ohannes to her with the sad news so he was at least spared being the first to say the words and by the time he met with her, grief had mellowed to stoic acceptance. Happily, despite being deeply religious, she had never hinted any disapproval of the way he had seen to the remains of her husband and sons, which was seen by many as blasphemous.

On the site of the deadly encounter Flavius had built and lit a funeral pyre in true Roman fashion, sure his father would have approved, for he was strong for the virtues of the great millennial empire. That brought his ruminations full circle; it had been Petrus who had created the circumstances that got Flavius his revenge, Petrus who had given him the means to bring down Senuthius.

Rising from his bed and falling to his knees he began to pray for the souls of his lost family and he decided to include Petrus. Surely, given his nature, his way of living and his scheming nature, he required much intercession with the Almighty. Only when his supplications were concluded was it possible to sleep.

It was refreshing to be back in the saddle, spotting places and landscapes that had marked his passage south serving as a ranker under the rebellious Vitalian. Ohannes had been by his side much of the way, chastising, moaning and occasionally praising his young charge. There was a warm memory too, underscored with guilt, regarding a girl he had met, one of a group of camp followers; the warmth came from his first introduction to physical love, the guilt from a feeling he had abandoned her to pursue his own cause.

Their route, the Via Gemina ran along the shores of the Euxine Sea, which, when it was in sight, brought with it a welcome breeze that took some of the heat out of the air. Reaching Odessus they turned inland toward Marcianopolis, the landscape changing from an open vista to one often enclosed by thick woods, dotted with areas where these opened out to show fields of corn stubble. Often there were small groups of dwellings around a set of farm buildings and a villa.

They were now in country over which Vitalian exercised total control, for the imperial writ did not run in these parts, a region where, Flavius suspected, there would be no meaningful law. The man he had come to see was a rebel and his interest lay in ensuring the security of his fighting men; enforcing order on the surrounding countryside was a secondary consideration and would only concern the security of supply.

Nothing drove home more the state of affairs than the lack of traffic and when they did come across anyone moving towards the coast the party took time to assess them before coming on, passing with the minimum of exchange based on caution. Rebellion brought on lawlessness as the worst elements of the citizenry sought to profit from disorder so it was necessary to be guarded; no more resting in comfortable mansiones, no delightful and gratifying baths and no more changes of mounts.

What they rode was what they had so the animals had to be husbanded and cared for. Now it was a half-riding, half-walking progression with two men up ahead looking out for trouble and swords and spears to hand. Even divested of their fine Excubitor armour these ten men and their officer presented a tempting target if spotted by a large band of brigands, albeit one that could fight.

In the high heat of midday it was necessary to find shade and a stream, to unsaddle the mounts to let them drink as they wished and graze while Flavius and his men likewise rested. Where possible, when they camped for the night, it was within sight of one of those villas-cum-farms and their presence was not usually welcome, they being quickly identified as imperial soldiers and thus dangerous folk to be seen to be helping. Any objections had to be brushed aside; such places had feed to sell for both horses and humans and wells to access for much needed water.

The hilly country closer to Marcianopolis made more manifest that which they had already encountered; in the wooded valleys there was no farming and in high summer no trails of woodsmoke in the sky to hint at dwellings of any kind. The trees were taller, and being in full leaf and untended they formed a canopy that joined above their heads to create a tunnel. Likewise the actual pave was in poor repair, with blocks missing and in some cases whole sections gone, looking to have been washed away in winter storms.

The feeling you are being watched, once it takes hold, is impossible to shake and Flavius had felt it for the whole morning. There were signs, though they could be animal not human; sudden rustlings in the undergrowth not far from the road, the occasional startled bird that cawed as it was disturbed and flew to safety, added to that the particular sound a frightened pigeon makes as in escaping danger its wings flap against a surround of leaves.

Even in such dense woodland, where the sun did not penetrate, it was hot, and worse, it was humid. So walking the horses so as not to tire them out increased the feeling of vulnerability. Also, the need to find a resting place just off this badly maintained road was just as paramount, the problem being that if they existed, and they did, they tended to be tight glades with trickling streams that made the feeling of enclosure acute.

‘Leave the riding horses saddled,’ Flavius ordered, looking aloft at the patch of sky afforded them by the surrounding trees. ‘Lead them to water and let them drink in pairs. Likewise we eat and drink two at a time, with the rest to stay armed and alert.’

‘I don’t like it much either, Your Honour.’

‘Too quiet?’

‘That, and the itch in my neck.’

Karas, the decanus who had spoken, was no spring chicken; he was an experienced soldier with a face the colour of leather, eyes surrounded by wrinkles and he acted as second in command. Flavius had learnt to have great respect for his abilities on the ride north; he kept the rest of the men up to the mark and was not slow to remind them that they belonged to a unit that formed the elite of the imperial army, with a responsibility to behave like it.

‘Thoughts, Karas?’

That made the decanus blink; he was unaccustomed to have his views sought never mind listened to. Before he replied his eyes ranged around the surrounding trees, given there was no need to allude to what was being asked.

‘It’s not bears or cats.’

‘Human, then?’

A nod. ‘If there is a threat out there it is not large or well-armed, nor is it mounted.’

‘They would have attacked us on the road.’

Karas nodded. ‘So it won’t be blood they’re after but what we carry on the pack animals, for they will have seen our weapons. A horse round here and to a peasant will be of value an’ all, Your Honour, never mind their loads.’

‘A night raid?’

Again the eyes ranged around the enclosing woods, forests that the locals could very likely move through without giving away their presence. ‘It will be if we are camped and sleeping in a place such as this.’

‘Then there will be eyes on us now?’

‘There will, but I would not like to seek to find them. We’re safer in the open than on the turf they will call home.’

Flavius smiled; this older man was probably just taking precautions against the impetuosity of youth, unaware that he had no need to issue such a warning: they were on a mission to find Vitalian and that was paramount. He mused that whoever might be trailing them had to be a native and that must constrain the amount of distance they would move from their hearths.

‘They will not stay with us more than one day, will they?’

‘No, which makes tonight they’re only chance.’ Karas grunted. ‘Should have fetched along a hound or two.’

‘We will post sentinels, Karas.’

‘Who I have known to fall asleep, even facing the wheel. Dogs you can rely on.’

‘I think it best we don our armour, Karas, let them see what they are up against. It will make whoever is out there think.’

That got a jaundiced look; in the last two days they had been riding and walking in loose garments that suited the heat and humidity. Armour meant the padded jackets that lay beneath it for the body and an extra layer on the thighs, arms and lower legs, thus a high degree of discomfort.

‘I would rather deter than let them raid and steal.’

The order was not well received yet that was well disguised — insubordination was too risky even with what seemed to be a soft officer, so the Excubitors were fully kitted out and sweating for it with short order. Flavius did not want any risk that their uniforms should be stolen; that would leave them looking very unmilitary in a situation in which he required appearances to be correct. Thus clad, they unloaded the packhorses and piled their belongings in what was to be the very centre of their encampment, near a large and kept flaming fire by which they took it in turns to sleep on what turned out to be an uneventful night.

At dawn, and after a breakfast of hard biscuit and water, they remounted and got back on to the road. Finding a long stretch to be seemingly in good repair, Flavius gave the order first to canter then to gallop. That was held longer than seemed wise given, once he called them back to a trot, it left the horses with their heads down and their mouths flecked with froth. Nor did he then dismount and walk them, he kept up a pace that seemed excessive until, earlier than would have been normal, a halt was called at yet another stream-dissected forest glade, though this time of greater size than hitherto.

‘Now,’ came the next command, which was not the usual order to remove saddles and see to the mounts, ‘since we will have outrun anyone trailing us, let us lay for them some traps before they can catch up.’

‘If we’ve outrun them, Your Honour,’ Karas responded, part in question but also in part acknowledgement.

As a boy Flavius had hunted rabbits and small game and so it seemed had many of his soldiers, but this was different: little snares would be no good against human thieving. Stakes were cut from the surrounding branches, sharpened and set in the ground. One of his men had the notion of swinging rocks that would cover the gaps between the trees, their release set off by someone disturbing the tie on the ground. Likewise saplings were bent and secured so they would spring back and wound if disturbed.

Only then could the horses be looked to, fed and watered before being hobbled in lines. Lastly, as would have happened anyway and before it became dark, another large fire was created on which the whole unit could cook their food and one which, if kept fed, would illuminate much of the ground on which the majority would at any time be asleep, albeit fully clad and ready to defend themselves.

Flavius knew he would not be one of them; even if Karas volunteered to do likewise, the responsibility fell to him as an officer to ensure that those set as sentinels stayed awake. Also they had to be replaced and from his pack he produced the required hourglass that would be allowed to run through twice as the whole was rotated to cover the twelve hours of darkness.

‘I hope they have given up, Karas, and all this will be a waste. Now, Decanus, check on the horse lines then get to sleep.’

Having done the duty himself Flavius knew that those set to keep watch would have imaginings, especially when the sky clouded over, trapping the heat of the day and cutting out any star or moonlight. Regardless of how many times you do it no one can stand sentinel without seeing chimeras as they stare in to a wall of blackness. Sitting down is forbidden for that brings on sleep, an offence that could see you broken on the wheel in the days of the Roman legions, so a man must wander to and fro, aware that half of the time his back is exposed to danger.

Forests do not sleep at night; they have their own sounds as the nocturnal hunters emerge to find their food, this while the wind moves the branches of trees in full leaf and they do not always just rustle. Nerves would be stretched even more by the suspicion that there was some kind of danger lurking just outside the ring of light provided by the fire, not aided by the hooting of owls and the swish of passing bats.

Flavius did not know what set off one of the traps, but the cry as a snapping-back sapling hit someone had his entire unit coming awake and getting to their feet, following a previous instruction to fan out and cover the ground. Only by looking backwards could they see those hoping to surreptitiously steal for they were in their midst, the crouched outlines silhouetted against the flickering embers of the fire.

Flavius had reacted the fastest; sword out, he ran towards the horse lines followed by a couple of his men carrying the torches they had just set light to. There was no casting of spears: in the dark, what might you hit? — a horse you needed to ride or one of your own. His quarry was no more than a shape, while he was silhouetted against the fire, so that when he raised his sword to strike the blade sent forth a flash of glaring orange.

The scream that action produced was so high and piercing it caused him to hesitate long enough to register that what he was about to cut in half was the wrong size. Instead of striking, he leant forward to grab and got hold of a smock. Pulling raised up what was either a dwarf or a child and, judging by the sound, it was not the former, a fact confirmed when one of his men shoved forward a torch to show a grubby, small and terrified face.

Torches now illuminated the glade and a quick turn showed what looked like dozens of scampering children seeking to avoid the swords that threatened to lop off their heads. Flavius called out a command to secure the perimeter and not to seek to kill those caught inside it. As a response it was not entirely successful, given there was too much space to fully secure, but when things died down, not least the screaming of children, that was what he found he had to deal with, his men having caught hold of half a dozen intruders, while it was obvious most had got clear.

It would have been funny had it not then created another problem: what to do with them once the sun came up and he could look at them properly? Attempts to ask questions fell up against two hurdles: mulish silence and, when they could be brought to speak, an impenetrable local dialect. Had he put it to his men how to respond to these youngsters — he reckoned none had seen twelve summers — they would have been strung from the surrounding trees.

His solution was less harsh, albeit it was painful. He had his men cut flexible saplings and administer a sound beating. While this was in progress he stomped the perimeter and glared into the forest at the ones who had escaped, sure they were still watching, sure they would get his message as the cries of their compatriots turned from yells to whimpers. His last act was to put them on the road, and facing east, with a stern finger that told them to go back from whence they came.

‘Am I allowed to say you’re too soft, Your Honour?’

‘Hang them, Karas? Urchins when they did not have so much as a knife between them? No, that would be blasphemy, so let us breakfast and then be on our way.’